Post by Steven Brody, CEO on May 13, 2018 13:51:15 GMT -8
The camera opens up to a dark backstage area that has a swinging light from the ceiling and we hear a mans voice... Its Ryan Steele..
" The fact that my opponents name is a little weird.. No... it's just...Ric-diculous. Hahahaha!!!!!!!" Scene closes out....
And we *EXPLODE* right into the N*FW intro video featuring Ozzy Osbourne's "Scream." As the pyro goes off on the stage, we are greeted by Nick Hanson and Jim Reynolds.
Reynolds: "IT'S TIME FOR N-F'n-W PEOPLE!"
Hanson: "That was actually pretty good, Jim. Hello and good evening everybody! As my broadcast colleague said, it is time for New Frontier Wrestling! As always, we're promising action packed matches from start to finish and god knows what else?"
Reynolds: "I'll tell ya what else. It's time to start prepping for our first pay-per-view!"
Hanson: "Precisely! In two weeks, we will be live in the Big Apple! Madison Square Garden for our first annual presentation of Reckoning Day, ladies and gentlemen! It's our first pay-per-view of the revived N*FW and believe me, it's gonna be huge!"
Reynolds: "Damn right! We have FOUR title matches taking place! We're gonna see the Silver Mountain and Women's Championships defended AND we'll crown our first Tag Team and World Heavyweight Champions."
Hanson: "Not only that, Jim, but let's talk about that Heavyweight Championship match for a second. The two competitors in that match? That's gonna be their second match of the night. Next week, we start the tournament with the first round - quarterfinal brackets. The winners will go to Reckoning Day to compete in the semi-finals and from there, the last two men will meet in the main event to crown our first world champion."
Reynolds: "I can't wait, Nicky! Now on a darker note, let's talk about these damn messages on the N*FW official twitter that have been popping up all week. What the hell's going on?"
Hanson: "Ya got me, Jim. They're definitely a little on the dark side."
Reynolds: "Is that the term you're using? They're a bunch of pictures of pentagrams and devil faces counting down the days! And if my timing's not off, today is apparently THE day that all of this is gonna come to a head. What the hell's going on?!"
Hanson: "I don't know, man. But, regardless, we have a show to call so, let's hope for the best."
Reynolds: "But expect the fucking worst!"
Hanson: *sigh* "Time will tell, Jimmy. Let's take it to ringside. It's time to find out who the first team competing for the Tag Team Titles is!"
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*During the tag team titles qualifying match, Mannheim and Pitt walk out onto the ramp carrying steel chairs. They look at each other and nod, looking back to the ring. Then, suddenly, they unfold their steel chairs and sit down, watching the match. Mannheim motions to the back and a stagehand brings he and Pitt two large whiteboards. Mannheim and Pitt begin judging the match, holding aloft numbers written on the whiteboards after each exchange of moves in the ring*
In the opening match of the night, the Rebel Rousers and McKeesport Mafia both showed why they deserved to go on to Reckoning Day. After a clean, highly entertaining match, the McKeesport Mafia came out on top, advancing to the first spot in the pay-per-view when BDP nailed Teddy Morse with the Bukakke Blast and covered him for the pinfall at 16:12. After the match, the two teams stood in the middle of the ring with the Mafia obviously commending the Rousers on the fight they put up. After shaking hands, in a twist of irony, it was the older team of veterans who raised the arms of the southern proud duo, calling for the crowd to show respect to them.
On the way out of the ring, Andrew Payne walked close to the camera, panting still and thumbed over his shoulder to the Rebel Rousers leaving up the ramp. "Tag team of the next generation, right there! Those boys are tough as goddamn nails. Keep your eye on 'em, people!"
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*Amy Connors is standing backstage, ready to do an interview*
"Amy Connors backstage here, ladies and gentlemen, I'm just hoping to get a word with William Mannheim and Pitt about their actions just a few moments ago."
*A clip is shown of Mannheim and Pitt holding up their whiteboards, Mannheim's showing the number 3.5, Pitt's showing 4. Mannheim and Pitt slip through the curtain carrying their chairs and whiteboards laughing. Amy Connors jumps right in*
"Mr. Mannheim, Pitt, we were wondering what your intentions were just now, seemingly rating the tag team title match?"
*Mannheim smiles smugly at Amy*
"Well, Amy, it's like this: Pitt and I are tag team legends, so we're just rating the tag team field. I mean, can you get a better judge than that?"
*Amy Connors looks confused*
"Well, I suppose not..."
*Mannheim points at Amy*
"Good, Amy. If you had a problem with that, I would've had to tell you my favourite three words."
*Amy looks intrigued*
"And they are?"
*Mannheim points at the camera*
"Deal with it."
*Mannheim and Pitt high five and walk off*
"There you have it ladies and gentlemen, words from William Mannheim and Pitt....back to you at ringside."
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In a terrifying display of power and ferocity, Belphegor successfully retained his TV Championship, delivering the Ninth Circle fo El Piso Mojado after giving him a one sided beating and finally pinning him at 0:59.
Reynolds: "Fuck me harder than Christie Mack; is Piso okay?"
Hanson: "If it weren't for the rise and fall of his chest, I'd say he was dead."
Reynolds: "I'm actually glad Belphegor's leaving him be. That hurt me just looking at---"
Hanson: "Whoa, wait a minute! Jim, I'm sorry to cut you off but I'm getting word of something going on backstage! We're gonna see if we can get our cameras back there to see what's happening!"
Reynolds: "The hell's going on?! Does it have to do with that devil shit?!"
Hanson: "I don't know, Jim! We're gonna see, hopefully, if we ca-- okay, here we are!"
As Hanson continues, the camera cuts backstage to Shelton Benjamin on the floor, mounted by a male figure in street clothes, raining punches down on him. Shelton tries to cover up but to little avail.
Hanson: "Someone's attacking Shelton Benjamin!"
Reynolds: "What the hell?! Who the fuck is--"
Before Reynolds can finish, the camera pans back and we recognize the attacker as the same masked man who tried to run down Mannheim and Pitt last week.
Reynolds: "Hey! It's that asshole from last week!"
Hanson: "The guy that almost hit Mannheim and Pitt with a CAR! What the hell is he doing?!"
The masked man stands up off of Shelton Benjamin, only to start kicking and stomping on him. Finally, a pair of referees rush in and attempt to pull the man back.
"Hey, c'mon, man! What are you do--"
The first referee is cut off as the man in the mask turns around and strikes him with a precisioned elbow to the face, knocking him down. He quickly turns to the other referee and kicks him in the gut before dropping him with a punch to the head.
Hanson: "Who the hell is this guy?! He's attacking our referees, now!"
"HEY, MOTHERFUCKER!" A voice shouts off camera. The masked man quickly looks up and high tails it down the hallway. A couple seconds later, BDP and Andrew Payne come rushing into the frame, stopping next to their stable mate. Andrew Payne being the one who called out. "Son of a.... D, help Shelton. I got this asshole." Andrew says to his tag team partner before he gives chase to Shelton Benjamin's attacker.
Reynolds: "Get that motherfucker, Andy!"
Hanson: "I have to say, I second that notion!"
Fade out to a commercial break.
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A video via social media opens up. Given the movement of the camera, we can instantly tell it’s being filmed from a web cam. We get the hint that it’s being recorded from a computer inside a hotel room. The same one Erin Mercer was in weeks ago. First, all we see of the one responsible for turning the camera on is the figure of a woman wearing the classic ring attire of the black tights with red flames. Smirking at the camera and holding up a finger to the indicate she is almost ready, Rosemary pushes the space bar and we hear “Say10” from Marilyn Manson start in the background.
“We hope you don’t mind, sweetie, we borrowed your computer and are streaming out to the hive now. We will record this for you as a gift because Erin, sweet little Erin. Erin Mercer. You have our attention.”
<Lyrics>
“Devil's got a cut, like a slit in a cattles calf
Dollar sign snakes, I'm all in the damned
Godless, fearless of the flood
Or the blood of the coming spring”
Rosemary continues “The problem is.. You misunderstand everything. So let us lay out our plan now for you, because for now, it’s too late for you. You see, you seem to think we wanted to take Stone, our precious little son and brainwash him, only because we could. That, seems too.. easy”
She stops for a moment and starts to tap her temple a few times while the lyrics continue as she turns her head sideways.
<Lyrics>
“You say "God" and I say "Say 10"
She continues. “ We tried to show you what was necessary to beat us, over and over again. We used our son as a message to you. We grabbed him, claimed him, own him, because we wanted…. you. We wanted to elevate you to new heights in this business. We knew approaching you would never work, because frankly you’re stronger than him. We are glad he has soared to new heights and won matches, under our tutelage. We also know all of this has been a prelude to you walking on the dark side, just to beat us. What good does it do to have you not get tested, to not have a nemesis to show you the light inside you have can either be squashed by the darkness, or will it fight against its’ very nature and roar like a wildfire inside you, attempting to claim us, in a funeral pyre. We shall see soon.
<Lyrics>
And a crown of thorns is hard to swallow
You should pray now
Rosemary, gets very close to the webcam, turning her head this way and that. Finally smiling at the camera again she continues ”Which brings us to the next order of business.“ Holding up her finger again and obviously pushing the space bar to stop the music, we watch her move the mouse, and new music begins to play. This song is Killing Strangers from Manson, this time. The hard baseline plays for about thirty seconds or so, then the lyrics continue.
<Lyrics>
This world doesn't need no opera, we need it for the operation
We don't need a bigga knife (a bigga knife)
'Cause we got guns, we got guns, we got guns (we got guns)
We got guns, you betta run (ya betta run, ya betta run, ya betta run)
We're killin' strangers, we're killin' strangers
We're killin' strangers, so we don't kill the ones that we love
We're killin' strangers, we're killin' strangers
We're killin' strangers, so we don't kill the ones that we love
Love, love
We pack demolition
We can't pack emotion
Dynamite, we just might
So blow us a kiss, blow us a kiss
Blow us a kiss, and we'll blow you to pieces
Rosemary sits there while the music continues and lets the music play, mumbling to herself. Pushing the space bar, she continues “ Which brings us to our opponent in a few weeks Candi Brodeur. Many people have speculated why we challenged her to an inferno match. We have been evasive till now.“
She starts to pound her right hand on the table,three rapid taps, three taps with longer intervals in between, and three rapid taps again, continuing while she speaks.
“It is all about the females division, and us never getting our fair shake. So we suggested an inferno match, we had hoped it would be for that same night, that was not to be.. Regardless, we have our dance soon, and Candi, when we burn you, and burn you we will, we will do so, out of love. For you’re not a stranger to us.”
-Fade-
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In a somewhat back and forth match that mostly favored Kenny Omega, the leader of the Bullet Club came out with the victory against Satoru Shade III after planting him with the One Winged Angel and pinning him at 10:05.
After the match, Kenny Omega slipped out of the ring and walked over to the ring announcer, snatching the microphone from her. Raising it to his mouth, he pointed his finger to inside the ring in the shape of a gun.
"If this..." he says in between panting breaths, "...is the competition that N*FW has to offer...then NONE OF YOU...have a chance at stopping us. The Bullet Club rules the wrestling world...and this company doesn't come close to even earning an honorable mention. GOOD--BYE...*MUAH*..." He says, kissing his finger and pointing it at the crowd. "And good...night. BANG!!"
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The shot opens up, focusing on a burning barrel. The flames inside lick at the air above and around them. Some viewers may even recognize the barrel as being that of the one that Rosemary uses in her promos. Panning out, we see that the shot is indeed inside Rosemary’s den.
Hanson: “Oh no...what now?”
Reynolds: “Shit. We saw Rosemary earlier.”
Hanson: “Yeah, she was taunting Erin Mercer. Stole her laptop even!”
Reynolds: “She’s not gonna burn it is she?! Those things are expensive!”
Into the frame steps a feminine figure, behind the barrel, visible only from the chest down; dressed in cut off, black daisy duke length jean shorts, fishnet stockings, a Hands Of Stone t-shirt and a black leather jacket. Through the fishnet, we see familiar tattoos on pale legs. One hand sets down an open folding chair while the other holds a black trash bag.
Hanson: “Wait, that’s not—“
The person sits down in the chair, bringing their face into the frame, thus revealing Erin Mercer. Her red hair is tied back in a loose braid, hanging over her shoulder. Her usual sweet smile, however, isn’t there at the moment. Instead, she looks cold and calculated. When she starts to speak, though, her face lights up with false joy and sarcasm threaded in her tone.
“Hi Rosemary! I hope you don’t mind me stopping by while you’re not here. Seems only fair since you stopped by my hotel room. Sorry you missed me, though. I was just on my way to come see you and well...here I am!” She shrugs her hands up by her head. “See? I can play the sneaky, invading places, too.” Erin adds, dropping the false smile and back to that hardened expression. “So, let’s get down to brass tacks. You wanted my attention? You got it. You had it the moment you pulled your little stunt with someone I care about! But I understand now...it wasn’t just tricking him into siding with you that was supposed to get my attention. No, you had to bring him down to your level. The attacks...the dirty tactics in the ring...taking away everything about him that made him one of the best damn talents to step into a ring! Now he’s nothing more than a backyard brawler with a paycheck! So you wanna sit there and say you did all of that just to get my attention? Well, guess what bitch: you got it! You say I need to tap into a darker side of me to beat you? Well, if being pissed off counts as such, consider your goal accomplished! Now I’ve got a goal of my own. See, you may have my attention, but just to make sure the focus is mutual, I decided to make my time in your personal little shit hole here, worth it. So, I did a little spring cleaning for you.”
Erin lifts the trash bag into her lap and begins digging into it with her hands. “See, Rosemary...you may like to walk around here, acting like you’re some ungodly she-bitch, but as I was looking around your den here, I realized something: I can get into your head, too. I can fuck with you the way you fuck with people!” She said with a raised, angry tone in her voice.
After some searching in the bag, Erin pulls out an 8x10 photograph and looks at it. Erin chuckles. “This is a nice one.” She doesn’t show what it is. Instead, she slips it back into the bag and pulls out another. She almost gives a genuine smile. “I remember watching you win this match. Your first big time championship win.” She sticks it back into the bag and folds the open end over as she looks at the camera. “See, that’s the sad part, Rosemary. As a girl who aspired to be a wrestler, you were one of the women I watched. One that I idolized. I thought you were *so* cool!” She shakes her head. “But now...I see the real you. You have an ugly soul. You’re just as bad - if not worse - than the Circle of Snakes. Remember what I said, Rosemary; I’m doing Candi a solid by letting her settle whatever you two have going on first, but then...it’s my turn.”
Here, Erin stands from the chair, holding onto the bag. “If you want what’s in this bag back, you’re gonna have to come take it from me. That’s if you can.” The camera pans around as she begins walking away from the chair and burning barrel but stops just a couple of steps from it and looks into the lens again. “You can talk about burning people all you want...but tonight...this is the night damn near everything you care about...gets burned to the ground.”
Suddenly, Erin turns to the barrel again and gives it a hard kick with the bottom of her foot. With a metallic bang, it hits the ground with the flames licking across the floor. We see, now, that Erin has previously poured a trail of some kind of accelerant that begins to ignite along the ground until it reaches the far wall and goes completely up in flame.
Hanson: “OH MY GOD!”
Reynolds: “NO WAY!!”
The camera moves with Erin out of the den, finally stopping as she passes by and turns to watch her walk off into the distance. Finally, the camera turns back to show a distant shot of Rosemary’s Den, completely up in flames. In the distance, we see a figure come running from the side and standing in front of the building frantically. From the sound of the voice, we recognize it as Vincent Stone.
“Who did this?! WHO DID THIS?” We can hear him yelling as he turns around in all directions, evidently seeing no one until he apparently sees the camera man. “YOU!” He comes running right towards the viewers, grabbing the camera and looking just over it, at the camera man himself. “DID YOU DO THIS?! DID YOU?! ANSWER ME!”
“N-n-no! It wasn’t me!” The camera man stammers, terrified. Vincent Stone sneers and lets out an angered cry as he swings his arm from the side, evidently hitting the camera man as we see the camera angle drop to the ground, still focusing in the burning den which begins to collapse from the flames eating away at it. This is the final shot we see, albeit with Stone’s feet moving frantically to and from the frame before we fade out....
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*The roaring chainsaw of Jackyl's "The Lumberjack" fills the stadium, the crowd lights red, the entrance ramp lit in white, the ring lights on full. Rick Dickulous steps from behind the curtain. Behind him trail William Mannheim and Pitt, waving to the cheering fans. The three men make their way down the ramp towards the ring, playing the crowd, high fiving fans, Rick stops to take a selfie with a baby*
Hanson: "Here's Rick Dickulous, ladies and gentlemen, clearly a fan favourite, but what in the hell was he doing last week when he distracted Shelton Benjamin?"
*A clip of Rick's antics from the previous week play on the screen, the words "Last Week" edited onto the clip. Rick's gyrating hips and Shelton Benjamin's puzzled look and mouthed 'what the fuck' before taking a vicious superkick to the face play in slow motion, Reynolds' voice broadcast as the clip is playing*
Reynolds: "Seriously, shut the front door. What the hell is this from Rick Dickulous? Is this some sort of Canadian mating ritual, or maybe some sort of challenge? He's definitely got some explaining to do here tonight."
*The three men enter the ring and high five in the middle as the house lights revert to normal. Rick calls for a microphone from ringside*
"Hey guys! How's it goin' here tonight, bud?"
*The crowd pops, Rick lets them cheer for a minute before motioning for quiet*
"So, I know a lot of you are probably saying to yourself: "Guy, why did Rick air hump towards Shelton Benjamin's face?""
Reynolds: "No shit, Rick, we already covered this."
Hanson: "Relax...guy. He can't hear us, remember? Buddy?"
Reynolds: "Oh Jesus, not you too..."
*Rick holds a finger in the air*
"Truth is, I know Adam Cole blows smoke out his ass, eh? And as much as he says I suck, or that I'm not on his level, buddy...well, I always prove him wrong."
*The crowd cheers*
"Now, I said I'd be the one to take that Silver Mountain Championship from Adam Fucking Cole..."
*As Mannheim and Pitt dramatically put their thumbs down and boo, the crowd chimes in*
"..and truth is, Shelton? Guy? I know you would've beat him last week if I hadn't did my little dance, eh? So, I'm sorry, buddy. Seriously."
*Rick strokes his beard, thinking for a moment before his eyes light up*
"Maybe to make it up to you, after I take back what's mine, I'll give you first crack at it? How about that, friend? I mean, if I can do that..."
*A UPS delivery man begins walking down the ramp with a package, waving at Rick while holding up the package and pointing from it, to Rick. He walks up the ring stairs and climbs awkwardly into the ring, walking up to Rick and handing him the package*
"Well, thanks, guy? I think? I'll give you a 5 out of 5 on customer service, for sure!"
*The UPS man smiles and waves with an awkward smile. He holds up a finger and pulls out a tablet, pressing the screen a few times before handing it and a stylus to Rick. Rick signs the screen and hands it back. The UPS man leaves as Rick inspects the plain paper wrapped box. Rick gently shakes it before tearing open the box after placing the microphone on the mat. Rick opens the box and pulls out...a giant pink dick shaped bong. As the camera pans in on the bong, scrawled in black marker, one word on each ball: "BAY BAY." Rick stares at it, and suddenly....
“Riiiiiiick?” A voice fills the arena. “Rick!”
Reynolds: “What the hell? Who’s...?”
“YO, RICK!”
Hanson: “Wait a minute. Up there on the tron!”
The camera pans from the three in the ring to the tron screen where we see Adam Cole. For some reason, he’s dressed in a factory worker’s jumpsuit with a pair of safety goggles on.
“Hey, guy!”
Adam smiles, clapping his hands together that just so happen to be covered in a pair of heavy duty leather gloves.
Reynolds: “HAH! He called him ‘guy’!”
Hanson: “Are you ser...nevermind.”
“Now, I know what you’re thinking, Dick. Can I call ya, Dick?” Cole muses. “I know that seems a little ironic, right now but if you’re watching me now then....” His jaw drops and his eyes light up. “You must have gotten my present! Ya like it?! I think it suits you. I only felt like it was right, seeing as how much you like putting things in your mouth; and I know how much you miss your little friend BUT, alas! There’s nothing to fear! I got your girlfriend right here with me! Say hi, Anne!”
Cole reaches off screen and picks something up. He brings it onto the screen, revealing...Rick’s Anne Murray bong!!!!
Reynolds: “What in the world?! How did he get that?!”
Hanson: “Oh, you know damn well how!”
Reynolds: “Wait...did he steal that from Piso?!”
Hanson: “Jesus, Jimmy....”
Cole continues, holding Anne Murray in his hands, wiggling her at the camera as he speaks in a high pitch voice. He pinches his lips shut, mocking a ventriloquist. “Oh, Rick! It’s so good to see you, again, buddy! I’ve missed you so much, guy!”
Cole lowers the bong and switches to his normal voice. “Rick, I wanna thank you for the past few weeks. I haven’t had a laugh that good in well...forever! Buuuut, all good things must come to an end. Ya know, I thought you were just messing with everybody when you started ‘investigating’ El Piso Mojado as the thief...no...the ‘kidnapper’!” He chuckles in disbelief. “But as time went on, I realized: you really *are* THAT fucking stupid! The signs were obvious it was me! I mean, come on, Piso doesn’t look that good even in a mask. I’d hate to think what he looks like underneath it!”
Hanson: “Now, that’s uncalled for.”
Reynolds: “Funny as shit, though.”
Adam Cole clears his throat. “Anyways, back to business, Rick. I told you what would happen - I WARNED you not to fuck with me. But you kept on. Truth is? I was ready to give Anne back to you this week. I thought maybe you’d learned your lesson. But after you stuck your nose where it didn’t belong last week, I realized that you need a harsher lesson in reality. You fuck with the man, you get the grinder. Or should I say....” The camera quickly pans back to show Cole standing in a glass recycling factory right next to an industrial shredder, “—the shredder!”
Hanson: “Wait a second, what is he doing?”
Reynolds: “Ohhhhh fuck me running, this is just WRONG!”
Adam grins at the camera. “You see what I’m getting at, Rick? Just in case not, I want you to watch closely. Because I’m about to destroy what you love most and THEN...at Reckoning Day — don’t worry, I actually got Brody to agree to this next one — I’m gonna put you out of your misery and destroy any hopes you have of EVER winning the Silver Mountain Championship. MY...Silver Mountain Championship! Say bye bye, Anne!” He wiggles the bong again, switching to his puppet voice again. “Nooooooo! You can’t do this! Stooooop! I’m not that kinda girl!”
Adam reaches over and flips on the shredder. It roars to life with a metallic hum. He beckons the camera over to get a good angle.
Hanson: “This is absurd.”
Reynolds: “Oh, I can’t watch!”
With the camera focused on the moving shredder, we see Adam Cole toss Anne Murray INTO the grinding teeth. With the crunch of glass, the bong is pulled in and crunched into oblivion. Off screen we hear Adam Cole in his best Jim Ross impersonation. “BAH GAWD, THE HORROR! SOMEBODY STOP THIS!!!!”
*In the ring, Rick reaches out to the screen, a shocked look on his face. He lets out a yell of despair and slumps over the top rope. Mannheim and Pitt move to check on Rick, patting him on the back while consoling him. Suddenly Rick stands up, throwing Mannheim and Pitt off of him. An enraged scream comes from Rick as he pitches the dick bong at the screen like an axe, it tumbles end over end and smashes against the screen dead square in the center of Adam Cole's smugly smiling face. Mannheim and Pitt hold Rick back as he begins raging in the ring, clearly attempting to get up the ramp and into the backstage area*
Hanson: "He just threw that dick in Adam Cole's face!"
Reynolds: "Screw that, he just damaged company property. This is ridiculous, aren't Canadians supposed to be nice and friendly?"
Obviously, oblivious to what Rick just did, Cole smiles and brings up his hands. “Now, now. Knowing you, Rick, I’m sure you’re throwing a big, stupid fit over your bong and proooobably headed to the back to look for me. But the thing is?” He tosses his head back with a “HAH!” Then, he looks back at the camera again. “This is a pre-recorded video, dumbass! All this happened at approximately...” He pulls back the glove on one hand and checks his watch, “...1:30 PM. In other words? You just got fucked - again - by...” He removes the goggles, tosses them aside, and throws up his hands, “...ADAM COLE, BAY-BAY!!!!” Finally, he leans into the camera and waves ‘bye-bye’ with that shit eating grin. “Later, Rick!”
And the tron screen cuts off.
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The second the bell rang, Rosemary and Erin Mercer were at each other's throats. While Mercer put up a valiant effort, she still seemed to lack the necessary savagery that Rosemary spoke of her needing to beat her. Despite kicking out of several pin attempts after an onslaught of punishment, Rosemary scored the pinfall after landing the Red Wedding at 9:09.
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Backstage, the camera tries desperately to keep up with Andrew Payne as he walks, briskly, down the hallway. On the way, he stops an N*FW staff member.
"Hey! I'm looking for that prick in the mask! You seen him?!"
The staff member perks up as if remembering. "Wait, wait! Yeah! Just a couple minutes ago! He took off down that way!" He points down the hallway. Andrew looks in the direction then back to the staff member. "Good man." He slaps him on the shoulder and takes off in his brisk walk again.
Reynolds: "Ohhhh man. The Punisher is on the hunt!"
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*Steven Brody sits quietly in his office. The door violently swings open and through the doorway steps Rick Dickulous, still visibly angry. He goes into a tirade, pointing at Brody and slamming the desk*
"BRODY, THIS IS COMPLETE BULLSHIT!! HE JUST MURDERED ANNE...."
*Steven Brody raises his hands to attempt to calm the big man down*
"Now, Rick, just relax. It's an inanimate object...what the hell do you want me to do about it?"
*Rick stops for a second and thinks before continuing*
"Look, my dad was telling me he had some pretty crazy matches in the past...and this is the Silver Mountain Championship, eh? So, how about we make this interesting? Adam Cole wants to be a dirty, cheap, homicidal maniac? I want to beat the piss out of him. How do we make this a thing, guy?"
*Brody rolls his eyes*
"Rick. Look. I have a lot on my plate right now. If you want Adam Cole so badly, you're just gonna have to be patient and wait for your match at Reckoning Day. And that's two weeks away. This is a wrestling company, not a zoo! The only thing I'm still trying to figure out is the stipulation."
*Rick strokes his beard*
"So, what you're saying is I can help with the match type....buddy?"
*Brody smiles at Rick, Rick continues*
"So, how about this? I wanna club Cole like a fucking baby harp seal, so can we do an Extreme Rules Match? Or...wait! A streetfight. Motherfucker wants to dance, let's dance..."
"We could do that, Rick. We could. But I have a better idea, since I've been paying attention to this....situation...for awhile now. It seems to me there's a third party involved. El Piso Mojado has just re-signed with the NFW, and he's been sucked into this little battle unwittingly."
*Rick looks confused*
"So, you want to do a threeway match? Is that what you're saying, friend?"
*Brody shakes his head*
"No, Rick. What better way for El Piso Mojado to clear his name than to referee the title match I'm about to sign: Rick Dickulous vs. Adam Cole, with special guest referee El Piso Mojado, at Reckoning Day, for the Silver Mountain Championship - and this match, Rick? It'll be a streetfight. No holds barred, no rules. You, and Cole. How's that tickle your fancy?"
*Rick wrings his hands together in anticipation*
"Brody, you won't regret this, guy! Your Silver Mountain Championship match is gonna bring the house down...or I will, with Cole's smug face...either way, my response will be the same: SORRY, NOT SORRY!"
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Morgan Payne defeated Kennedy Campbell in an 8:44 long bout that did more than enough to showcase both women's legit wrestling technique. While it appeared as if it could go either way, it was Morgan who scored the pinfall after countering a springboard back elbow from Kennedy by catching the women on her shoulders out of the air. The majority of the crowd immediately jumped up onto their feet, taken aback by the display of technique and power as Morgan finished Kennedy off with 'Dahntahn After Dark.'
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Despite Ryan Steele's dirty, underhanded style, Rick Dickulous' multi-layered training brought him out on top and he managed to score the pinfall at 9:27 after a Spinning Doctor Bomb.
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Experience and technique overcame raw power and brawling when "The Tapout King" Scott Leroux defeated "Shotgun" Colt Shields in 6:20 with the Anklelock submission.
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"WHERE ARE YOU, MOTHERFUCKER?!"
The camera cuts to the backstage area again as we see Andrew Payne come storming into the equipment storage area, still looking for the masked assailant.
"YOU WANNA START SHIT WITH SOMEBODY?!" His booming voice echoes throughout the large room. "COME START IT WITH ME, HUH?!"
He begins flipping things over that look like someone could presumably hide behind or under. Basically trashing the room.
"I'm gonna fuck you up when I find you! DO YOU HEAR ME?! I'M GONNA---"
We are almost startled as the masked man suddenly comes into frame from behind with a kendo stick and - *CRACK* - strikes Andy in the back of the knee that we always see him wear a brace on in matches. Andrew lets out a yell of pain as his knee buckles and the masked man continues striking him over the back - *CRACK* *CRACK* *CRACK* *CRACK* - until he's down on his hands and knees.
Hanson: "My god! Somebody has to stop this man!"
Reynolds: "Do you hear those shots?!"
The masked man gives a final strike with the kendo stick across Andy's back so hard, it splits. Andy goes down completely and the camera focuses on him struggling to get up as we hear the kendo stick clatter across the floor. After much effort, The Punisher managed to get up on one knee and foot, grunting in pain.
"Ungh...who...are you?! Wh---"
With a final blow, we see the masked man's converse sneaker dressed foot come FLYING into frame with a sickeningly loud superkick to the side of Andy's face. *SMACK* The muscle of the McKeesport Mafia crumples down, rolling onto his back, unconscious. Panning up, we see the man in the mask standing over him. Dressed in black jeans and a white long sleeved shirt that reads "CANADIAN BORN -- HELL BOUND." We can just barely make out his cold eyes behind the blue and red wrestling mask that, otherwise, covers his entire face. He hovers over Andrew Payne for another moment before stepping over him and leisurely walking out of the storage area....
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Despite the recently amped up aggression and brutality that Vincent Stone had been displaying in his matches, Matt Klazzic's arsenal of traditional, technical wrestling kept the child of the hive on his toes. It still wasn't quite enough, however, as Stone ended up getting the final upperhand and, at 13:38, hit the Disasterpiece on Matt Klazzic for the pinfall victory.
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As the show returns from the final commercial break, Nick Hanson and James Reynolds welcome back the viewers from home. As the camera pans over the arena, we can already see Commissioner Steven Brody, standing in the ring with a table and two chairs.
Hanson: “Welcome back, ladies and gentlemen. We hope you’ve been enjoying the show so far. While the in-ring competition has concluded for the night, we still have one more matter of business to take care of.”
Reynolds: “Damn right, Nicky. It’s time for the contract signing for the Women’s Championship match at Reckoning Day! Just two weeks away! Now, the matches may be over but trust me: things are so fucking heated up between the champion and challenger that if anything goes wrong here, we may just see a prelude to the pay-per-view.”
Hanson: “Well, things have gotten so out of hand lately. Let’s not forget the latest incident last week. We’re not gonna recap it again, because frankly, I can’t stand seeing it anymore. So without further adue, let’s hope for the best and turn it over to our commissioner, Mr. Steven Brody.”
Hanson gives Brody a thumbs up off camera to tell him they’re good to go and the shot cuts to inside the ring. Steven Brody manages a smile, in spite of the insane week of ominous internet posts and dark threats. He raises the microphone up.
“Thank for being here tonight, everyone. As the commissioner of New Frontier Wrestling, I hope you’ve been enjoying the entertainment that we offer each week and we look forward to giving you more to look forward to well into the future.”
He pauses to allow the crowd a moment to respond with an approving cheer before he continues. “Now, that being said, there have been some questions... and there’s been some speculation...as to the activity over this past week. I’ve been getting numerous questions about the ‘hackers’ of our social media accounts. I can assure you that we have everything under control now. I’ve also been getting questions left and right about the well being of Lara Chastain as well as her response to last week’s unfortunate and - to put it plain and simple - disgusting attack on her last week. Now, I spoke with Ms. Chastain personally over the week and she wanted me to inform the N*FW fans that no charges will be pressed against Abaddon and the Circle of Snakes.” While the crowd boos heavily, Brody nods understandingly. He looks about as thrilled as the crowd is but he raises a hand to ask for silence. “However! However...while there will be no charges pressed...and while booking and set dates would make suspensions problematic, I do wanna take a moment to inform you all that there will be consequences for last weeks actions as each member of the Circle of Snakes will be receiving heavy fines. Abaddon himself will be receiving a fine of $15,000 while the other members will be fined $10,000.” Brody says this with firm and cold seriousness in both his voice and expression.
Hanson: “WOOOWWW!!!”
Reynolds: “HOOOOOLY SHIT!!! MR. BRODY DON’T FUCKING PLAY!!”
This news somewhat cheers the crowd up as Brody turns to the stage. “Also! I’m gonna say this only once. Last week was an embarrassment to this company and to every man and woman who ever called themselves a professional wrestler so I want you all in the back to make sure you hear this next part - ESPECIALLY the Circle of Snakes: if you ever, I say again, if any of you under contract with NFW EVER lay a harmful finger on anyone who is not contracted with us as an in-ring competitor, you will not have a job with New Frontier Wrestling and I will make DAMN sure that you never wrestle ANYWHERE in the world again. Not for New Japan, not for Ring of Honor, hell...not even Dixie Carter or the McMahons will take your sorry asses. DO I MAKE MYSELF CLEAR?!”
Hanson: “CRYSTAL CLEAR, BOSS MAN!!”
Reynolds: “AMEN, TO THAT!!”
Crowd: “BRO-DY!! BRO-DY!! BRO-DY!!”
Brody calls for silence again and continues. “Now. I do wanna apologize for getting off topic but that needed to be said.” He smiles a little easier this time. “So!! It would seem, folks...that in two weeks...we have our first pay-per-view. Reckoning Day is nearly upon us! Now the card’s almost stacked but as you all know, last week, we crowned a number one contender for the prestigious Women’s Championship. Granted, we didn’t get the match we were all looking to see, I hold nothing against the decision made. Because as it stands, our number one contender is already a legend in this business. She has done things in the ring that no other woman, excuse me, no other wrestler has ever done! She’s torn it up in the ring, she’s entertained you on the big silver screen, she has held multiple championships among the independent circuit. Ladies and gentlemen, this wrestler is an absolute force to be reckoned with and she is your number one contender for the N*FW Women’s Championship. Please welcome, to the ring, SHELLEY SILVER!!”
Brody turns and points sharply towards the stage.
The crowd erupts as the opening cords to "I Am the Fire" played over the speakers and Shelley walked out onto the stage. A huge grin shown on her face as she walked down the ramp with her best friend and manager, the equally heavy tattooed and beautiful, Sloane Cameron. She waved to everyone and high fived as many people in front as she could before climbing into the ring and over to Commissioner Brody, shaking his hand as her music faded.
Brody shakes Shelley’s hand with a nod and politely invites her over to one side of the table where one of two microphones sit. In the center is the folder baring the N*FW logo that holds the contract inside.
Once the crowd settles down again, Brody’s smile fades into a serious expression again as he turns back to the stage. “And now, ladies and gentlemen....” The crowd almost immediately begins booing before he continues; “...please welcome her opponent for Reckoning Day. She’s a second generation superstar...a high school girl’s weightlifting and bodybuilding champion. Now...she is your N*FW Women’s Champion - APOCALYPTA!!”
As the boos from the crowd soar to a higher volume, the arena lights dim down and the opening growl of Tore Fagerheim’s “Hurricane” rips through the arena. Strobe lights flash across the stage and ramp, causing an eerie effect as a wall of smoke spews from the floor in front of the entry way. A moment later, the Women’s Champion, Apocalypta, appears; walking through the smoke with her title clutched in one hand. Along with her usual face paint, she’s dressed again in rugged street clothes: ripped jeans, low rise black boots, a black sports bra and an open grey denim vest, leaving her tatted arms and the black sun tattoo over her navel to be seen. She also wears a black, War of Ages beanie cap on her head.
To the jeering of the crowd and her music, she walks down the ramp with her solid white eyes locked right on the ring and climbs up onto the apron. She pauses to stare down both Shelley and Sloane before entering the ring between the top and middle rope. When Brody offers another handshake, the woman slowly looks over at him before lifting the title onto her shoulder and brushes passed him, coming to stand across the table from Shelley where another microphone waits.
As her music fades and the lights return to normal, Brody shrugs off the cold shoulder from the champion and comes to stand at the center side of the table as he picks up the folder and opens it. “Ladies, I hold here, in my hand, the contract that will seal your match in stone. The winner will walk out of Reckoning Day the N*FW Women’s Champion. Ms. Silver, as is the custom, being the challenger, you have the honor of signing first and speaking whatever is on your mind going forward.”
Here, Brody sets the open folder down in front of Shelley Silver and offers her the pen from his suit jacket before taking a step back.
This was actually first in-event contract signing, but she had been around long enough to know what to expect. Sloane looked over her shoulder, reading over the contract as Shelley accepted the pen from Brody. Shelley wasn't in full out gear, but she was dressed in preparation for a fight, and Sloane had Shelley's trusty nightstick carefully hidden in case Apocalypta (or anyone else) started something. Waiting for a nod from Sloane, Shelley chuckled.
"You know, this is taking me back this my very first title shot. It was in another company, of course," Shelley grinned. "I took on two large men. One of which claimed to be a zombie, and let me tell you after pinning him... he definitely smelled like he had been dead for centuries." She paused as the audience laughed. She then looked over at her future opponent after Sloane nodded and began signing. "I case you didn't get where I was going with that, I won that match," she winked over at Apocalypta.
After Shelley signed, Brody nodded and took the folder with the pen. “Thank you, Ms. Silver.” He said, turning then, to Apocalypta and set them down in front of her. “Apocalypta...if you would, please....”
There was an uncomfortable silence as Apocalypta stared, unamused, across the table at Shelley and Sloane. Finally, she picked up the pen and sharply signed the contract on the other line before closing the folder herself and tossing it into the center. She picked up the microphone and paused for another moment before responding.
“...I couldn’t care less about your past accomplishments.” She said, in a low, cold tone. “If you think bragging about taking on two men is going to make me worry about anything, then you obviously don’t know a thing about me. But let’s be honest here...there isn’t a goddamned soul here that does. Not you, nor do any of the rats around us or those hiding in the back. If you did, then you and that one right there—“ she pointed at Sloane with the title in her hand, “—wouldn’t be smiling like this is some sort of game! Ever since we, the Circle of Snakes, arrived here, we have left a path of destruction in our wake. Nothing has stopped us...nothing *will* stop us. Nothing...*can*...stop us! Everyone who’s stood against us has found that out the hard way. I have a list of names I could run off, but let’s focus on you and yours. In two weeks...you’ll find out first hand. They’re calling it Reckoning Day. At the end of the night...you...lying beaten and broken in the ring...will come to realize that it is *my* day. *I*...am the reckoning! And when I’m finished with you...when I leave you alone in the dark abyss...I’ll finish off Blackheart. Because, let’s face it...you’re all she has left in this mess of a world...but after I’m through? She...will...have...NOTHING!!” Apocalypta lowers the mic while the crowd roars their disgust and disapproval.
Hanson: “Oh, I wish her and the others would just leave that poor girl alone.”
Briefly, Apocalypta raises the mic again and scans the arena. “Where are you, huh?! Still crying over last week?! Admit it, Blackheart...Lara. You...*FEAR* me! You’re afraid of me - afraid of *US*!! Because you know that no matter how hard you fight back, no matter how much willpower you muster up inside, you...cannot...beat us. You...cannot...beat...ME!! Mark my words; I will destroy you!” She turns back to Shelley and Sloane. “And you’re gonna watch...helplessly....” She lowers the mic again.
Sloane laughed, shaking her head as Shelley stood up. "This is some retirement you've got going on here, movie star."
Shelley glared over at her manager, "I don't pay you to dictate how I spend my retirement, now do I?" She then turned back to Apocalypta, "oh, I'm sorry. You assume that just because I've never heard of you before, that I am supposed to be quivering in fear and expecting to just take my lumps like a good little girl and be done with it?" She scoffed, rolling her eyes. "You want to believe that you are unique, but in three years I went up against numerous opponents who were *exactly* like you. You think that you are all big and bad because you paint yourself up like a blind two-dollar hooker with oral herpes? That because you think that you can call yourself a demon that everyone in the back room should be afraid of you and this little circle of yours. But you see, Apocalypta, that is EXACTLY why I am here. I'm going to nip this shit right in the bud so that NFW won't have to suffer through the bullshit of some pathetic, holier than thou stable that aren't worth the fabric that their t-shirts are printed on." She smirked, lowering her mic for a moment before bringing it back up, "you cry about the fact that I don't know anything about you, and you know what? You're not wrong. I don't know shit about you and quite frankly, I don't give a damn. At the same time, I'm going to throw it right back at you and ask what exactly do you think that you know about me?"
Apocalypta stood unphased by the verbal attack. Or so it seemed, to those from the crowd who didn’t notice the narrowing of her eyes as she lifted the microphone again, pointing to Sloane.
“Just as she said...movie star. You think you can just step out of Hollywood and back into the ring and pick up where you left off? I have to wonder how Blackheart met you. Was it at one of her wild orgies where you two laid on your backs for any celebrity that wanted an easy piece? Face it, Silver. You’re just like her godfather: a forgotten wrestler who moved onto the movie screens and is now pining over the better days. Lara, brought you and your little entourage to put a stop to us?”
She extended her title arm out to the side. “You’ve been here over a month and haven’t done a damn thing to slow us down!” Lowering her arm, she tilts her head down, keeping her void-like eyes on her challenger. “And don’t mistake me for someone who thinks they are a demon. You want someone like that? You can go look for that schizo worm in the back who calls herself the Demon Assassin. I’m no demon, Silver. Never claimed to be. I am the harbinger of *your* end and anyone else who gets in my way! I am the ARMAGEDDON of anyone who tries to stand against me! Reckoning Day isn’t a matter of whether or not you walk out with this....” She lifts the Women’s Championship. “It’s a matter of whether or not you *survive* our clash. Whether or not you walk out AT ALL! Whether or not...I let you.... And hear me now....” She shakes her head. “...I won’t. Nothing can save you.... Frankly, I’d love nothing more than to wipe you out of existence right here and now. But this says I have to wait. So while you’re waiting for your date of execution, I wanna leave you with this.... You admit you know nothing of me. And I couldn’t care less whether or not you give a damn to. But you might wanna think about how well you know little Lara. How close you wanna associate yourself with her and those other two. Because if by some miracle you survive what I have in store for you...it won’t be long until you’re forgotten again. This time by her. She threw Mia to the dirt...we picked her up and gave her a place. She’s done it a couple times...and you’ll be the next one she turns her back on. Just when she’s used you for everything she needs...she’ll turn her back on you, Shelley. There you’ll be...alone in the dark...with no one. The difference with you is...the Circle won’t be there to pick you up. *I’ll* be there...to tear you apart...body and soul...and leave you screaming for mercy. Begging for the agony to end. And when you do? I’ll take that pretty face of yours into my hands...and you’ll feel my breath in your ear as I whisper...’no’....”
With a resonating ‘thump’, Apocalypta lowers her microphone hand and lets it fall to the mat before spreading both arms to the sides, waiting to see what Shelley Silver has to say...or do.
Before anyone got to see if Silver *would* do anything, Steven Brody raised his mic and stepped towards the table again. “Ladies. Please. Keep your cool, both of you. Save it for the pay-per-view—“
It was here that Apocalypta suddenly grabbed the table between she and Shelley (and Sloane) and yanked it up and out of the way, upturning it on one side of the ring and stepped forward to try and get in Shelley’s face. Brody served as the proverbial wall, however, and stepped in between the two women, staring Apocalypta right in the face. At 5’8, the champion didn’t seem the least bit intimidated by the 6’0 commissioner.
“I said: not — here!” Brody added some base to his voice, but Apocalypta refused to back down.
Crowd: “LET THEM FIGHT! LET THEM FIGHT! LET THEM FIGHT!”
"STOP IT!"
With those words, Lara Blackheart appeared at the top of the ramp. Dressed in street clothes (jeans, Docs, and a tight Rocket Raccoon tee), she stared at both women for a moment, before sighing into the mic. "Shelley.... I'm sorry. You're my friend, yet I dragged you into this whole thing. And Adr-...Apocalypta. I thought better of you than this. You guys couldn't resist the easy target, could you? It's always easy to pick on the smallest girl, but the smallest girl WITH a dead daddy? Oh, that's like blood in the water for you guys. You pushed. And you pushed. And you pushed some more. And I just took it. Not because I feared you, but because of three reasons. I can't fight you all alone... I don't want all my friends ruining their careers because of my drama... and because the only option I had was one that could possibly ruin a lot more careers than just yours."
"But when that piece of trash Abaddon put his hands on my *mother*? That was it. I only had to make one phone call to take that drastic step. One phone call to make sure that if I go down, I bring this whole goddamn promotion with me. Sloane? Trust me. If you truly value Shelley's career, get her out of that ring and into the locker room. Now. It's time to use the weapon I hoped I'd never have to use."
She glared at Apocalypta, a look so angry, so full of rage and hatred, that it was easy to forget how tiny the girl was.
"And *you*.... I would advise you to leave the ring as well. Because your time is coming.... but it shouldn't be today. You made a crack about my godfather. And most people know exactly who you meant. The Rock. Dwayne Johnson. My father's friend and former tag team partner. But there's one thing most people don't know: I got more than one godfather, bitch."
Reynolds: “More than one g—?”
Suddenly, the lights in the arena went out, the only light visible the flashes from fans' cell phones. After a few seconds, the beginning of Ghost's "Monstrance Clock" began to play through the arena.
"To the sound of the Monstrance Clock... Air is cleansed, assembled flock... Black candles burn, all minds aligned..."
Reynolds: “Nicky, what the HELL is going on?!”
Hanson: “I don’t know but I’ve got a bad feeling”
Reynolds: “What’s this music?”
As the song continued to play, some fans who'd figured out what was going to happen singing along as spotlights shone down on the aisle to the ring, as well as the stairs among the fans, with dozens of men wearing black cloaks and skull masks walking in lines towards the ring. all carrying black flags with red pentagrams on them.
Reynolds: “Who the hell are these people, Nicky?!”
Hanson: “I don’t know!”
As more and more of the men began to gather around the ring, huge banners matching the flags the men carried began to unfurl around the ringside area.
Finally, the men began tapping their flagpoles on the ground in unison, before slamming them down hard twice in a row, as all the lights again went out.
This time, spotlights shone down on a chorus of children, stationed around the arena among the fans, all wearing skull masks and vintage Vlad Blackheart t-shirts. The children began to sing, a capella:
"Come together.... together as one....."
"Come together.... for Lucifer's Son...."
Hanson: “Jim, I don’t like this.”
Reynolds: “Oh this isn’t creepy at all!”
Reynolds voice was thick with sarcasm.
The lights then came up through the arena, to reveal five figures in the ring, all wearing hooded black cloaks. one looking to be far taller than the others, and another (in the middle) wearing what appeared to be a mask made of a goat skull.
Reynolds: “Who the hell are these people in the ring?!”
Hanson: “Would you look at the size of the one? He’s gotta be damn near seven feet!”
"Come together.... together as one..."
"Come together.... for Lucifer's Son..."
As the music hit once more, the masked man removed the goat skull to reveal none other than Chicago's own Judas Lasher! At the same time, the others pulled their hoods down, revealing Doomsday, Buzzsaw, LeeAnn Viskan, and The Crimson Sabre! The crowd went berserk as Lasher glared into the camera, flanked by several of the most dangerous people to ever comprise his Dominion of Pain.
Hanson: “OH MY GOD!!!!”
Reynolds: “ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!”
Hanson: “THE DOMINION OF PAIN! THE DOMINION OF PAIN IS HERE!!!!”
Reynolds: “WHAT THE HELL DOES THIS MEAN?!?!”
Hanson: “THE FOUNDATION OF NEW FRONTIER WRESTLING IS ABOUT TO GET ROCKED TO THE CORE, THAT’S WHAT IT MEANS!!”
The group stood mid-ring, Lasher posing with his arms outstretched, an evil grin on his face, and the crowd chanting "DOMINION! DOMINION DOMINION" as the cameras faded out.
" The fact that my opponents name is a little weird.. No... it's just...Ric-diculous. Hahahaha!!!!!!!" Scene closes out....
And we *EXPLODE* right into the N*FW intro video featuring Ozzy Osbourne's "Scream." As the pyro goes off on the stage, we are greeted by Nick Hanson and Jim Reynolds.
Reynolds: "IT'S TIME FOR N-F'n-W PEOPLE!"
Hanson: "That was actually pretty good, Jim. Hello and good evening everybody! As my broadcast colleague said, it is time for New Frontier Wrestling! As always, we're promising action packed matches from start to finish and god knows what else?"
Reynolds: "I'll tell ya what else. It's time to start prepping for our first pay-per-view!"
Hanson: "Precisely! In two weeks, we will be live in the Big Apple! Madison Square Garden for our first annual presentation of Reckoning Day, ladies and gentlemen! It's our first pay-per-view of the revived N*FW and believe me, it's gonna be huge!"
Reynolds: "Damn right! We have FOUR title matches taking place! We're gonna see the Silver Mountain and Women's Championships defended AND we'll crown our first Tag Team and World Heavyweight Champions."
Hanson: "Not only that, Jim, but let's talk about that Heavyweight Championship match for a second. The two competitors in that match? That's gonna be their second match of the night. Next week, we start the tournament with the first round - quarterfinal brackets. The winners will go to Reckoning Day to compete in the semi-finals and from there, the last two men will meet in the main event to crown our first world champion."
Reynolds: "I can't wait, Nicky! Now on a darker note, let's talk about these damn messages on the N*FW official twitter that have been popping up all week. What the hell's going on?"
Hanson: "Ya got me, Jim. They're definitely a little on the dark side."
Reynolds: "Is that the term you're using? They're a bunch of pictures of pentagrams and devil faces counting down the days! And if my timing's not off, today is apparently THE day that all of this is gonna come to a head. What the hell's going on?!"
Hanson: "I don't know, man. But, regardless, we have a show to call so, let's hope for the best."
Reynolds: "But expect the fucking worst!"
Hanson: *sigh* "Time will tell, Jimmy. Let's take it to ringside. It's time to find out who the first team competing for the Tag Team Titles is!"
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*During the tag team titles qualifying match, Mannheim and Pitt walk out onto the ramp carrying steel chairs. They look at each other and nod, looking back to the ring. Then, suddenly, they unfold their steel chairs and sit down, watching the match. Mannheim motions to the back and a stagehand brings he and Pitt two large whiteboards. Mannheim and Pitt begin judging the match, holding aloft numbers written on the whiteboards after each exchange of moves in the ring*
In the opening match of the night, the Rebel Rousers and McKeesport Mafia both showed why they deserved to go on to Reckoning Day. After a clean, highly entertaining match, the McKeesport Mafia came out on top, advancing to the first spot in the pay-per-view when BDP nailed Teddy Morse with the Bukakke Blast and covered him for the pinfall at 16:12. After the match, the two teams stood in the middle of the ring with the Mafia obviously commending the Rousers on the fight they put up. After shaking hands, in a twist of irony, it was the older team of veterans who raised the arms of the southern proud duo, calling for the crowd to show respect to them.
On the way out of the ring, Andrew Payne walked close to the camera, panting still and thumbed over his shoulder to the Rebel Rousers leaving up the ramp. "Tag team of the next generation, right there! Those boys are tough as goddamn nails. Keep your eye on 'em, people!"
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*Amy Connors is standing backstage, ready to do an interview*
"Amy Connors backstage here, ladies and gentlemen, I'm just hoping to get a word with William Mannheim and Pitt about their actions just a few moments ago."
*A clip is shown of Mannheim and Pitt holding up their whiteboards, Mannheim's showing the number 3.5, Pitt's showing 4. Mannheim and Pitt slip through the curtain carrying their chairs and whiteboards laughing. Amy Connors jumps right in*
"Mr. Mannheim, Pitt, we were wondering what your intentions were just now, seemingly rating the tag team title match?"
*Mannheim smiles smugly at Amy*
"Well, Amy, it's like this: Pitt and I are tag team legends, so we're just rating the tag team field. I mean, can you get a better judge than that?"
*Amy Connors looks confused*
"Well, I suppose not..."
*Mannheim points at Amy*
"Good, Amy. If you had a problem with that, I would've had to tell you my favourite three words."
*Amy looks intrigued*
"And they are?"
*Mannheim points at the camera*
"Deal with it."
*Mannheim and Pitt high five and walk off*
"There you have it ladies and gentlemen, words from William Mannheim and Pitt....back to you at ringside."
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In a terrifying display of power and ferocity, Belphegor successfully retained his TV Championship, delivering the Ninth Circle fo El Piso Mojado after giving him a one sided beating and finally pinning him at 0:59.
Reynolds: "Fuck me harder than Christie Mack; is Piso okay?"
Hanson: "If it weren't for the rise and fall of his chest, I'd say he was dead."
Reynolds: "I'm actually glad Belphegor's leaving him be. That hurt me just looking at---"
Hanson: "Whoa, wait a minute! Jim, I'm sorry to cut you off but I'm getting word of something going on backstage! We're gonna see if we can get our cameras back there to see what's happening!"
Reynolds: "The hell's going on?! Does it have to do with that devil shit?!"
Hanson: "I don't know, Jim! We're gonna see, hopefully, if we ca-- okay, here we are!"
As Hanson continues, the camera cuts backstage to Shelton Benjamin on the floor, mounted by a male figure in street clothes, raining punches down on him. Shelton tries to cover up but to little avail.
Hanson: "Someone's attacking Shelton Benjamin!"
Reynolds: "What the hell?! Who the fuck is--"
Before Reynolds can finish, the camera pans back and we recognize the attacker as the same masked man who tried to run down Mannheim and Pitt last week.
Reynolds: "Hey! It's that asshole from last week!"
Hanson: "The guy that almost hit Mannheim and Pitt with a CAR! What the hell is he doing?!"
The masked man stands up off of Shelton Benjamin, only to start kicking and stomping on him. Finally, a pair of referees rush in and attempt to pull the man back.
"Hey, c'mon, man! What are you do--"
The first referee is cut off as the man in the mask turns around and strikes him with a precisioned elbow to the face, knocking him down. He quickly turns to the other referee and kicks him in the gut before dropping him with a punch to the head.
Hanson: "Who the hell is this guy?! He's attacking our referees, now!"
"HEY, MOTHERFUCKER!" A voice shouts off camera. The masked man quickly looks up and high tails it down the hallway. A couple seconds later, BDP and Andrew Payne come rushing into the frame, stopping next to their stable mate. Andrew Payne being the one who called out. "Son of a.... D, help Shelton. I got this asshole." Andrew says to his tag team partner before he gives chase to Shelton Benjamin's attacker.
Reynolds: "Get that motherfucker, Andy!"
Hanson: "I have to say, I second that notion!"
Fade out to a commercial break.
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A video via social media opens up. Given the movement of the camera, we can instantly tell it’s being filmed from a web cam. We get the hint that it’s being recorded from a computer inside a hotel room. The same one Erin Mercer was in weeks ago. First, all we see of the one responsible for turning the camera on is the figure of a woman wearing the classic ring attire of the black tights with red flames. Smirking at the camera and holding up a finger to the indicate she is almost ready, Rosemary pushes the space bar and we hear “Say10” from Marilyn Manson start in the background.
“We hope you don’t mind, sweetie, we borrowed your computer and are streaming out to the hive now. We will record this for you as a gift because Erin, sweet little Erin. Erin Mercer. You have our attention.”
<Lyrics>
“Devil's got a cut, like a slit in a cattles calf
Dollar sign snakes, I'm all in the damned
Godless, fearless of the flood
Or the blood of the coming spring”
Rosemary continues “The problem is.. You misunderstand everything. So let us lay out our plan now for you, because for now, it’s too late for you. You see, you seem to think we wanted to take Stone, our precious little son and brainwash him, only because we could. That, seems too.. easy”
She stops for a moment and starts to tap her temple a few times while the lyrics continue as she turns her head sideways.
<Lyrics>
“You say "God" and I say "Say 10"
She continues. “ We tried to show you what was necessary to beat us, over and over again. We used our son as a message to you. We grabbed him, claimed him, own him, because we wanted…. you. We wanted to elevate you to new heights in this business. We knew approaching you would never work, because frankly you’re stronger than him. We are glad he has soared to new heights and won matches, under our tutelage. We also know all of this has been a prelude to you walking on the dark side, just to beat us. What good does it do to have you not get tested, to not have a nemesis to show you the light inside you have can either be squashed by the darkness, or will it fight against its’ very nature and roar like a wildfire inside you, attempting to claim us, in a funeral pyre. We shall see soon.
<Lyrics>
And a crown of thorns is hard to swallow
You should pray now
Rosemary, gets very close to the webcam, turning her head this way and that. Finally smiling at the camera again she continues ”Which brings us to the next order of business.“ Holding up her finger again and obviously pushing the space bar to stop the music, we watch her move the mouse, and new music begins to play. This song is Killing Strangers from Manson, this time. The hard baseline plays for about thirty seconds or so, then the lyrics continue.
<Lyrics>
This world doesn't need no opera, we need it for the operation
We don't need a bigga knife (a bigga knife)
'Cause we got guns, we got guns, we got guns (we got guns)
We got guns, you betta run (ya betta run, ya betta run, ya betta run)
We're killin' strangers, we're killin' strangers
We're killin' strangers, so we don't kill the ones that we love
We're killin' strangers, we're killin' strangers
We're killin' strangers, so we don't kill the ones that we love
Love, love
We pack demolition
We can't pack emotion
Dynamite, we just might
So blow us a kiss, blow us a kiss
Blow us a kiss, and we'll blow you to pieces
Rosemary sits there while the music continues and lets the music play, mumbling to herself. Pushing the space bar, she continues “ Which brings us to our opponent in a few weeks Candi Brodeur. Many people have speculated why we challenged her to an inferno match. We have been evasive till now.“
She starts to pound her right hand on the table,three rapid taps, three taps with longer intervals in between, and three rapid taps again, continuing while she speaks.
“It is all about the females division, and us never getting our fair shake. So we suggested an inferno match, we had hoped it would be for that same night, that was not to be.. Regardless, we have our dance soon, and Candi, when we burn you, and burn you we will, we will do so, out of love. For you’re not a stranger to us.”
-Fade-
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In a somewhat back and forth match that mostly favored Kenny Omega, the leader of the Bullet Club came out with the victory against Satoru Shade III after planting him with the One Winged Angel and pinning him at 10:05.
After the match, Kenny Omega slipped out of the ring and walked over to the ring announcer, snatching the microphone from her. Raising it to his mouth, he pointed his finger to inside the ring in the shape of a gun.
"If this..." he says in between panting breaths, "...is the competition that N*FW has to offer...then NONE OF YOU...have a chance at stopping us. The Bullet Club rules the wrestling world...and this company doesn't come close to even earning an honorable mention. GOOD--BYE...*MUAH*..." He says, kissing his finger and pointing it at the crowd. "And good...night. BANG!!"
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The shot opens up, focusing on a burning barrel. The flames inside lick at the air above and around them. Some viewers may even recognize the barrel as being that of the one that Rosemary uses in her promos. Panning out, we see that the shot is indeed inside Rosemary’s den.
Hanson: “Oh no...what now?”
Reynolds: “Shit. We saw Rosemary earlier.”
Hanson: “Yeah, she was taunting Erin Mercer. Stole her laptop even!”
Reynolds: “She’s not gonna burn it is she?! Those things are expensive!”
Into the frame steps a feminine figure, behind the barrel, visible only from the chest down; dressed in cut off, black daisy duke length jean shorts, fishnet stockings, a Hands Of Stone t-shirt and a black leather jacket. Through the fishnet, we see familiar tattoos on pale legs. One hand sets down an open folding chair while the other holds a black trash bag.
Hanson: “Wait, that’s not—“
The person sits down in the chair, bringing their face into the frame, thus revealing Erin Mercer. Her red hair is tied back in a loose braid, hanging over her shoulder. Her usual sweet smile, however, isn’t there at the moment. Instead, she looks cold and calculated. When she starts to speak, though, her face lights up with false joy and sarcasm threaded in her tone.
“Hi Rosemary! I hope you don’t mind me stopping by while you’re not here. Seems only fair since you stopped by my hotel room. Sorry you missed me, though. I was just on my way to come see you and well...here I am!” She shrugs her hands up by her head. “See? I can play the sneaky, invading places, too.” Erin adds, dropping the false smile and back to that hardened expression. “So, let’s get down to brass tacks. You wanted my attention? You got it. You had it the moment you pulled your little stunt with someone I care about! But I understand now...it wasn’t just tricking him into siding with you that was supposed to get my attention. No, you had to bring him down to your level. The attacks...the dirty tactics in the ring...taking away everything about him that made him one of the best damn talents to step into a ring! Now he’s nothing more than a backyard brawler with a paycheck! So you wanna sit there and say you did all of that just to get my attention? Well, guess what bitch: you got it! You say I need to tap into a darker side of me to beat you? Well, if being pissed off counts as such, consider your goal accomplished! Now I’ve got a goal of my own. See, you may have my attention, but just to make sure the focus is mutual, I decided to make my time in your personal little shit hole here, worth it. So, I did a little spring cleaning for you.”
Erin lifts the trash bag into her lap and begins digging into it with her hands. “See, Rosemary...you may like to walk around here, acting like you’re some ungodly she-bitch, but as I was looking around your den here, I realized something: I can get into your head, too. I can fuck with you the way you fuck with people!” She said with a raised, angry tone in her voice.
After some searching in the bag, Erin pulls out an 8x10 photograph and looks at it. Erin chuckles. “This is a nice one.” She doesn’t show what it is. Instead, she slips it back into the bag and pulls out another. She almost gives a genuine smile. “I remember watching you win this match. Your first big time championship win.” She sticks it back into the bag and folds the open end over as she looks at the camera. “See, that’s the sad part, Rosemary. As a girl who aspired to be a wrestler, you were one of the women I watched. One that I idolized. I thought you were *so* cool!” She shakes her head. “But now...I see the real you. You have an ugly soul. You’re just as bad - if not worse - than the Circle of Snakes. Remember what I said, Rosemary; I’m doing Candi a solid by letting her settle whatever you two have going on first, but then...it’s my turn.”
Here, Erin stands from the chair, holding onto the bag. “If you want what’s in this bag back, you’re gonna have to come take it from me. That’s if you can.” The camera pans around as she begins walking away from the chair and burning barrel but stops just a couple of steps from it and looks into the lens again. “You can talk about burning people all you want...but tonight...this is the night damn near everything you care about...gets burned to the ground.”
Suddenly, Erin turns to the barrel again and gives it a hard kick with the bottom of her foot. With a metallic bang, it hits the ground with the flames licking across the floor. We see, now, that Erin has previously poured a trail of some kind of accelerant that begins to ignite along the ground until it reaches the far wall and goes completely up in flame.
Hanson: “OH MY GOD!”
Reynolds: “NO WAY!!”
The camera moves with Erin out of the den, finally stopping as she passes by and turns to watch her walk off into the distance. Finally, the camera turns back to show a distant shot of Rosemary’s Den, completely up in flames. In the distance, we see a figure come running from the side and standing in front of the building frantically. From the sound of the voice, we recognize it as Vincent Stone.
“Who did this?! WHO DID THIS?” We can hear him yelling as he turns around in all directions, evidently seeing no one until he apparently sees the camera man. “YOU!” He comes running right towards the viewers, grabbing the camera and looking just over it, at the camera man himself. “DID YOU DO THIS?! DID YOU?! ANSWER ME!”
“N-n-no! It wasn’t me!” The camera man stammers, terrified. Vincent Stone sneers and lets out an angered cry as he swings his arm from the side, evidently hitting the camera man as we see the camera angle drop to the ground, still focusing in the burning den which begins to collapse from the flames eating away at it. This is the final shot we see, albeit with Stone’s feet moving frantically to and from the frame before we fade out....
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
*The roaring chainsaw of Jackyl's "The Lumberjack" fills the stadium, the crowd lights red, the entrance ramp lit in white, the ring lights on full. Rick Dickulous steps from behind the curtain. Behind him trail William Mannheim and Pitt, waving to the cheering fans. The three men make their way down the ramp towards the ring, playing the crowd, high fiving fans, Rick stops to take a selfie with a baby*
Hanson: "Here's Rick Dickulous, ladies and gentlemen, clearly a fan favourite, but what in the hell was he doing last week when he distracted Shelton Benjamin?"
*A clip of Rick's antics from the previous week play on the screen, the words "Last Week" edited onto the clip. Rick's gyrating hips and Shelton Benjamin's puzzled look and mouthed 'what the fuck' before taking a vicious superkick to the face play in slow motion, Reynolds' voice broadcast as the clip is playing*
Reynolds: "Seriously, shut the front door. What the hell is this from Rick Dickulous? Is this some sort of Canadian mating ritual, or maybe some sort of challenge? He's definitely got some explaining to do here tonight."
*The three men enter the ring and high five in the middle as the house lights revert to normal. Rick calls for a microphone from ringside*
"Hey guys! How's it goin' here tonight, bud?"
*The crowd pops, Rick lets them cheer for a minute before motioning for quiet*
"So, I know a lot of you are probably saying to yourself: "Guy, why did Rick air hump towards Shelton Benjamin's face?""
Reynolds: "No shit, Rick, we already covered this."
Hanson: "Relax...guy. He can't hear us, remember? Buddy?"
Reynolds: "Oh Jesus, not you too..."
*Rick holds a finger in the air*
"Truth is, I know Adam Cole blows smoke out his ass, eh? And as much as he says I suck, or that I'm not on his level, buddy...well, I always prove him wrong."
*The crowd cheers*
"Now, I said I'd be the one to take that Silver Mountain Championship from Adam Fucking Cole..."
*As Mannheim and Pitt dramatically put their thumbs down and boo, the crowd chimes in*
"..and truth is, Shelton? Guy? I know you would've beat him last week if I hadn't did my little dance, eh? So, I'm sorry, buddy. Seriously."
*Rick strokes his beard, thinking for a moment before his eyes light up*
"Maybe to make it up to you, after I take back what's mine, I'll give you first crack at it? How about that, friend? I mean, if I can do that..."
*A UPS delivery man begins walking down the ramp with a package, waving at Rick while holding up the package and pointing from it, to Rick. He walks up the ring stairs and climbs awkwardly into the ring, walking up to Rick and handing him the package*
"Well, thanks, guy? I think? I'll give you a 5 out of 5 on customer service, for sure!"
*The UPS man smiles and waves with an awkward smile. He holds up a finger and pulls out a tablet, pressing the screen a few times before handing it and a stylus to Rick. Rick signs the screen and hands it back. The UPS man leaves as Rick inspects the plain paper wrapped box. Rick gently shakes it before tearing open the box after placing the microphone on the mat. Rick opens the box and pulls out...a giant pink dick shaped bong. As the camera pans in on the bong, scrawled in black marker, one word on each ball: "BAY BAY." Rick stares at it, and suddenly....
“Riiiiiiick?” A voice fills the arena. “Rick!”
Reynolds: “What the hell? Who’s...?”
“YO, RICK!”
Hanson: “Wait a minute. Up there on the tron!”
The camera pans from the three in the ring to the tron screen where we see Adam Cole. For some reason, he’s dressed in a factory worker’s jumpsuit with a pair of safety goggles on.
“Hey, guy!”
Adam smiles, clapping his hands together that just so happen to be covered in a pair of heavy duty leather gloves.
Reynolds: “HAH! He called him ‘guy’!”
Hanson: “Are you ser...nevermind.”
“Now, I know what you’re thinking, Dick. Can I call ya, Dick?” Cole muses. “I know that seems a little ironic, right now but if you’re watching me now then....” His jaw drops and his eyes light up. “You must have gotten my present! Ya like it?! I think it suits you. I only felt like it was right, seeing as how much you like putting things in your mouth; and I know how much you miss your little friend BUT, alas! There’s nothing to fear! I got your girlfriend right here with me! Say hi, Anne!”
Cole reaches off screen and picks something up. He brings it onto the screen, revealing...Rick’s Anne Murray bong!!!!
Reynolds: “What in the world?! How did he get that?!”
Hanson: “Oh, you know damn well how!”
Reynolds: “Wait...did he steal that from Piso?!”
Hanson: “Jesus, Jimmy....”
Cole continues, holding Anne Murray in his hands, wiggling her at the camera as he speaks in a high pitch voice. He pinches his lips shut, mocking a ventriloquist. “Oh, Rick! It’s so good to see you, again, buddy! I’ve missed you so much, guy!”
Cole lowers the bong and switches to his normal voice. “Rick, I wanna thank you for the past few weeks. I haven’t had a laugh that good in well...forever! Buuuut, all good things must come to an end. Ya know, I thought you were just messing with everybody when you started ‘investigating’ El Piso Mojado as the thief...no...the ‘kidnapper’!” He chuckles in disbelief. “But as time went on, I realized: you really *are* THAT fucking stupid! The signs were obvious it was me! I mean, come on, Piso doesn’t look that good even in a mask. I’d hate to think what he looks like underneath it!”
Hanson: “Now, that’s uncalled for.”
Reynolds: “Funny as shit, though.”
Adam Cole clears his throat. “Anyways, back to business, Rick. I told you what would happen - I WARNED you not to fuck with me. But you kept on. Truth is? I was ready to give Anne back to you this week. I thought maybe you’d learned your lesson. But after you stuck your nose where it didn’t belong last week, I realized that you need a harsher lesson in reality. You fuck with the man, you get the grinder. Or should I say....” The camera quickly pans back to show Cole standing in a glass recycling factory right next to an industrial shredder, “—the shredder!”
Hanson: “Wait a second, what is he doing?”
Reynolds: “Ohhhhh fuck me running, this is just WRONG!”
Adam grins at the camera. “You see what I’m getting at, Rick? Just in case not, I want you to watch closely. Because I’m about to destroy what you love most and THEN...at Reckoning Day — don’t worry, I actually got Brody to agree to this next one — I’m gonna put you out of your misery and destroy any hopes you have of EVER winning the Silver Mountain Championship. MY...Silver Mountain Championship! Say bye bye, Anne!” He wiggles the bong again, switching to his puppet voice again. “Nooooooo! You can’t do this! Stooooop! I’m not that kinda girl!”
Adam reaches over and flips on the shredder. It roars to life with a metallic hum. He beckons the camera over to get a good angle.
Hanson: “This is absurd.”
Reynolds: “Oh, I can’t watch!”
With the camera focused on the moving shredder, we see Adam Cole toss Anne Murray INTO the grinding teeth. With the crunch of glass, the bong is pulled in and crunched into oblivion. Off screen we hear Adam Cole in his best Jim Ross impersonation. “BAH GAWD, THE HORROR! SOMEBODY STOP THIS!!!!”
*In the ring, Rick reaches out to the screen, a shocked look on his face. He lets out a yell of despair and slumps over the top rope. Mannheim and Pitt move to check on Rick, patting him on the back while consoling him. Suddenly Rick stands up, throwing Mannheim and Pitt off of him. An enraged scream comes from Rick as he pitches the dick bong at the screen like an axe, it tumbles end over end and smashes against the screen dead square in the center of Adam Cole's smugly smiling face. Mannheim and Pitt hold Rick back as he begins raging in the ring, clearly attempting to get up the ramp and into the backstage area*
Hanson: "He just threw that dick in Adam Cole's face!"
Reynolds: "Screw that, he just damaged company property. This is ridiculous, aren't Canadians supposed to be nice and friendly?"
Obviously, oblivious to what Rick just did, Cole smiles and brings up his hands. “Now, now. Knowing you, Rick, I’m sure you’re throwing a big, stupid fit over your bong and proooobably headed to the back to look for me. But the thing is?” He tosses his head back with a “HAH!” Then, he looks back at the camera again. “This is a pre-recorded video, dumbass! All this happened at approximately...” He pulls back the glove on one hand and checks his watch, “...1:30 PM. In other words? You just got fucked - again - by...” He removes the goggles, tosses them aside, and throws up his hands, “...ADAM COLE, BAY-BAY!!!!” Finally, he leans into the camera and waves ‘bye-bye’ with that shit eating grin. “Later, Rick!”
And the tron screen cuts off.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The second the bell rang, Rosemary and Erin Mercer were at each other's throats. While Mercer put up a valiant effort, she still seemed to lack the necessary savagery that Rosemary spoke of her needing to beat her. Despite kicking out of several pin attempts after an onslaught of punishment, Rosemary scored the pinfall after landing the Red Wedding at 9:09.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Backstage, the camera tries desperately to keep up with Andrew Payne as he walks, briskly, down the hallway. On the way, he stops an N*FW staff member.
"Hey! I'm looking for that prick in the mask! You seen him?!"
The staff member perks up as if remembering. "Wait, wait! Yeah! Just a couple minutes ago! He took off down that way!" He points down the hallway. Andrew looks in the direction then back to the staff member. "Good man." He slaps him on the shoulder and takes off in his brisk walk again.
Reynolds: "Ohhhh man. The Punisher is on the hunt!"
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
*Steven Brody sits quietly in his office. The door violently swings open and through the doorway steps Rick Dickulous, still visibly angry. He goes into a tirade, pointing at Brody and slamming the desk*
"BRODY, THIS IS COMPLETE BULLSHIT!! HE JUST MURDERED ANNE...."
*Steven Brody raises his hands to attempt to calm the big man down*
"Now, Rick, just relax. It's an inanimate object...what the hell do you want me to do about it?"
*Rick stops for a second and thinks before continuing*
"Look, my dad was telling me he had some pretty crazy matches in the past...and this is the Silver Mountain Championship, eh? So, how about we make this interesting? Adam Cole wants to be a dirty, cheap, homicidal maniac? I want to beat the piss out of him. How do we make this a thing, guy?"
*Brody rolls his eyes*
"Rick. Look. I have a lot on my plate right now. If you want Adam Cole so badly, you're just gonna have to be patient and wait for your match at Reckoning Day. And that's two weeks away. This is a wrestling company, not a zoo! The only thing I'm still trying to figure out is the stipulation."
*Rick strokes his beard*
"So, what you're saying is I can help with the match type....buddy?"
*Brody smiles at Rick, Rick continues*
"So, how about this? I wanna club Cole like a fucking baby harp seal, so can we do an Extreme Rules Match? Or...wait! A streetfight. Motherfucker wants to dance, let's dance..."
"We could do that, Rick. We could. But I have a better idea, since I've been paying attention to this....situation...for awhile now. It seems to me there's a third party involved. El Piso Mojado has just re-signed with the NFW, and he's been sucked into this little battle unwittingly."
*Rick looks confused*
"So, you want to do a threeway match? Is that what you're saying, friend?"
*Brody shakes his head*
"No, Rick. What better way for El Piso Mojado to clear his name than to referee the title match I'm about to sign: Rick Dickulous vs. Adam Cole, with special guest referee El Piso Mojado, at Reckoning Day, for the Silver Mountain Championship - and this match, Rick? It'll be a streetfight. No holds barred, no rules. You, and Cole. How's that tickle your fancy?"
*Rick wrings his hands together in anticipation*
"Brody, you won't regret this, guy! Your Silver Mountain Championship match is gonna bring the house down...or I will, with Cole's smug face...either way, my response will be the same: SORRY, NOT SORRY!"
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Morgan Payne defeated Kennedy Campbell in an 8:44 long bout that did more than enough to showcase both women's legit wrestling technique. While it appeared as if it could go either way, it was Morgan who scored the pinfall after countering a springboard back elbow from Kennedy by catching the women on her shoulders out of the air. The majority of the crowd immediately jumped up onto their feet, taken aback by the display of technique and power as Morgan finished Kennedy off with 'Dahntahn After Dark.'
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Despite Ryan Steele's dirty, underhanded style, Rick Dickulous' multi-layered training brought him out on top and he managed to score the pinfall at 9:27 after a Spinning Doctor Bomb.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Experience and technique overcame raw power and brawling when "The Tapout King" Scott Leroux defeated "Shotgun" Colt Shields in 6:20 with the Anklelock submission.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"WHERE ARE YOU, MOTHERFUCKER?!"
The camera cuts to the backstage area again as we see Andrew Payne come storming into the equipment storage area, still looking for the masked assailant.
"YOU WANNA START SHIT WITH SOMEBODY?!" His booming voice echoes throughout the large room. "COME START IT WITH ME, HUH?!"
He begins flipping things over that look like someone could presumably hide behind or under. Basically trashing the room.
"I'm gonna fuck you up when I find you! DO YOU HEAR ME?! I'M GONNA---"
We are almost startled as the masked man suddenly comes into frame from behind with a kendo stick and - *CRACK* - strikes Andy in the back of the knee that we always see him wear a brace on in matches. Andrew lets out a yell of pain as his knee buckles and the masked man continues striking him over the back - *CRACK* *CRACK* *CRACK* *CRACK* - until he's down on his hands and knees.
Hanson: "My god! Somebody has to stop this man!"
Reynolds: "Do you hear those shots?!"
The masked man gives a final strike with the kendo stick across Andy's back so hard, it splits. Andy goes down completely and the camera focuses on him struggling to get up as we hear the kendo stick clatter across the floor. After much effort, The Punisher managed to get up on one knee and foot, grunting in pain.
"Ungh...who...are you?! Wh---"
With a final blow, we see the masked man's converse sneaker dressed foot come FLYING into frame with a sickeningly loud superkick to the side of Andy's face. *SMACK* The muscle of the McKeesport Mafia crumples down, rolling onto his back, unconscious. Panning up, we see the man in the mask standing over him. Dressed in black jeans and a white long sleeved shirt that reads "CANADIAN BORN -- HELL BOUND." We can just barely make out his cold eyes behind the blue and red wrestling mask that, otherwise, covers his entire face. He hovers over Andrew Payne for another moment before stepping over him and leisurely walking out of the storage area....
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Despite the recently amped up aggression and brutality that Vincent Stone had been displaying in his matches, Matt Klazzic's arsenal of traditional, technical wrestling kept the child of the hive on his toes. It still wasn't quite enough, however, as Stone ended up getting the final upperhand and, at 13:38, hit the Disasterpiece on Matt Klazzic for the pinfall victory.
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As the show returns from the final commercial break, Nick Hanson and James Reynolds welcome back the viewers from home. As the camera pans over the arena, we can already see Commissioner Steven Brody, standing in the ring with a table and two chairs.
Hanson: “Welcome back, ladies and gentlemen. We hope you’ve been enjoying the show so far. While the in-ring competition has concluded for the night, we still have one more matter of business to take care of.”
Reynolds: “Damn right, Nicky. It’s time for the contract signing for the Women’s Championship match at Reckoning Day! Just two weeks away! Now, the matches may be over but trust me: things are so fucking heated up between the champion and challenger that if anything goes wrong here, we may just see a prelude to the pay-per-view.”
Hanson: “Well, things have gotten so out of hand lately. Let’s not forget the latest incident last week. We’re not gonna recap it again, because frankly, I can’t stand seeing it anymore. So without further adue, let’s hope for the best and turn it over to our commissioner, Mr. Steven Brody.”
Hanson gives Brody a thumbs up off camera to tell him they’re good to go and the shot cuts to inside the ring. Steven Brody manages a smile, in spite of the insane week of ominous internet posts and dark threats. He raises the microphone up.
“Thank for being here tonight, everyone. As the commissioner of New Frontier Wrestling, I hope you’ve been enjoying the entertainment that we offer each week and we look forward to giving you more to look forward to well into the future.”
He pauses to allow the crowd a moment to respond with an approving cheer before he continues. “Now, that being said, there have been some questions... and there’s been some speculation...as to the activity over this past week. I’ve been getting numerous questions about the ‘hackers’ of our social media accounts. I can assure you that we have everything under control now. I’ve also been getting questions left and right about the well being of Lara Chastain as well as her response to last week’s unfortunate and - to put it plain and simple - disgusting attack on her last week. Now, I spoke with Ms. Chastain personally over the week and she wanted me to inform the N*FW fans that no charges will be pressed against Abaddon and the Circle of Snakes.” While the crowd boos heavily, Brody nods understandingly. He looks about as thrilled as the crowd is but he raises a hand to ask for silence. “However! However...while there will be no charges pressed...and while booking and set dates would make suspensions problematic, I do wanna take a moment to inform you all that there will be consequences for last weeks actions as each member of the Circle of Snakes will be receiving heavy fines. Abaddon himself will be receiving a fine of $15,000 while the other members will be fined $10,000.” Brody says this with firm and cold seriousness in both his voice and expression.
Hanson: “WOOOWWW!!!”
Reynolds: “HOOOOOLY SHIT!!! MR. BRODY DON’T FUCKING PLAY!!”
This news somewhat cheers the crowd up as Brody turns to the stage. “Also! I’m gonna say this only once. Last week was an embarrassment to this company and to every man and woman who ever called themselves a professional wrestler so I want you all in the back to make sure you hear this next part - ESPECIALLY the Circle of Snakes: if you ever, I say again, if any of you under contract with NFW EVER lay a harmful finger on anyone who is not contracted with us as an in-ring competitor, you will not have a job with New Frontier Wrestling and I will make DAMN sure that you never wrestle ANYWHERE in the world again. Not for New Japan, not for Ring of Honor, hell...not even Dixie Carter or the McMahons will take your sorry asses. DO I MAKE MYSELF CLEAR?!”
Hanson: “CRYSTAL CLEAR, BOSS MAN!!”
Reynolds: “AMEN, TO THAT!!”
Crowd: “BRO-DY!! BRO-DY!! BRO-DY!!”
Brody calls for silence again and continues. “Now. I do wanna apologize for getting off topic but that needed to be said.” He smiles a little easier this time. “So!! It would seem, folks...that in two weeks...we have our first pay-per-view. Reckoning Day is nearly upon us! Now the card’s almost stacked but as you all know, last week, we crowned a number one contender for the prestigious Women’s Championship. Granted, we didn’t get the match we were all looking to see, I hold nothing against the decision made. Because as it stands, our number one contender is already a legend in this business. She has done things in the ring that no other woman, excuse me, no other wrestler has ever done! She’s torn it up in the ring, she’s entertained you on the big silver screen, she has held multiple championships among the independent circuit. Ladies and gentlemen, this wrestler is an absolute force to be reckoned with and she is your number one contender for the N*FW Women’s Championship. Please welcome, to the ring, SHELLEY SILVER!!”
Brody turns and points sharply towards the stage.
The crowd erupts as the opening cords to "I Am the Fire" played over the speakers and Shelley walked out onto the stage. A huge grin shown on her face as she walked down the ramp with her best friend and manager, the equally heavy tattooed and beautiful, Sloane Cameron. She waved to everyone and high fived as many people in front as she could before climbing into the ring and over to Commissioner Brody, shaking his hand as her music faded.
Brody shakes Shelley’s hand with a nod and politely invites her over to one side of the table where one of two microphones sit. In the center is the folder baring the N*FW logo that holds the contract inside.
Once the crowd settles down again, Brody’s smile fades into a serious expression again as he turns back to the stage. “And now, ladies and gentlemen....” The crowd almost immediately begins booing before he continues; “...please welcome her opponent for Reckoning Day. She’s a second generation superstar...a high school girl’s weightlifting and bodybuilding champion. Now...she is your N*FW Women’s Champion - APOCALYPTA!!”
As the boos from the crowd soar to a higher volume, the arena lights dim down and the opening growl of Tore Fagerheim’s “Hurricane” rips through the arena. Strobe lights flash across the stage and ramp, causing an eerie effect as a wall of smoke spews from the floor in front of the entry way. A moment later, the Women’s Champion, Apocalypta, appears; walking through the smoke with her title clutched in one hand. Along with her usual face paint, she’s dressed again in rugged street clothes: ripped jeans, low rise black boots, a black sports bra and an open grey denim vest, leaving her tatted arms and the black sun tattoo over her navel to be seen. She also wears a black, War of Ages beanie cap on her head.
To the jeering of the crowd and her music, she walks down the ramp with her solid white eyes locked right on the ring and climbs up onto the apron. She pauses to stare down both Shelley and Sloane before entering the ring between the top and middle rope. When Brody offers another handshake, the woman slowly looks over at him before lifting the title onto her shoulder and brushes passed him, coming to stand across the table from Shelley where another microphone waits.
As her music fades and the lights return to normal, Brody shrugs off the cold shoulder from the champion and comes to stand at the center side of the table as he picks up the folder and opens it. “Ladies, I hold here, in my hand, the contract that will seal your match in stone. The winner will walk out of Reckoning Day the N*FW Women’s Champion. Ms. Silver, as is the custom, being the challenger, you have the honor of signing first and speaking whatever is on your mind going forward.”
Here, Brody sets the open folder down in front of Shelley Silver and offers her the pen from his suit jacket before taking a step back.
This was actually first in-event contract signing, but she had been around long enough to know what to expect. Sloane looked over her shoulder, reading over the contract as Shelley accepted the pen from Brody. Shelley wasn't in full out gear, but she was dressed in preparation for a fight, and Sloane had Shelley's trusty nightstick carefully hidden in case Apocalypta (or anyone else) started something. Waiting for a nod from Sloane, Shelley chuckled.
"You know, this is taking me back this my very first title shot. It was in another company, of course," Shelley grinned. "I took on two large men. One of which claimed to be a zombie, and let me tell you after pinning him... he definitely smelled like he had been dead for centuries." She paused as the audience laughed. She then looked over at her future opponent after Sloane nodded and began signing. "I case you didn't get where I was going with that, I won that match," she winked over at Apocalypta.
After Shelley signed, Brody nodded and took the folder with the pen. “Thank you, Ms. Silver.” He said, turning then, to Apocalypta and set them down in front of her. “Apocalypta...if you would, please....”
There was an uncomfortable silence as Apocalypta stared, unamused, across the table at Shelley and Sloane. Finally, she picked up the pen and sharply signed the contract on the other line before closing the folder herself and tossing it into the center. She picked up the microphone and paused for another moment before responding.
“...I couldn’t care less about your past accomplishments.” She said, in a low, cold tone. “If you think bragging about taking on two men is going to make me worry about anything, then you obviously don’t know a thing about me. But let’s be honest here...there isn’t a goddamned soul here that does. Not you, nor do any of the rats around us or those hiding in the back. If you did, then you and that one right there—“ she pointed at Sloane with the title in her hand, “—wouldn’t be smiling like this is some sort of game! Ever since we, the Circle of Snakes, arrived here, we have left a path of destruction in our wake. Nothing has stopped us...nothing *will* stop us. Nothing...*can*...stop us! Everyone who’s stood against us has found that out the hard way. I have a list of names I could run off, but let’s focus on you and yours. In two weeks...you’ll find out first hand. They’re calling it Reckoning Day. At the end of the night...you...lying beaten and broken in the ring...will come to realize that it is *my* day. *I*...am the reckoning! And when I’m finished with you...when I leave you alone in the dark abyss...I’ll finish off Blackheart. Because, let’s face it...you’re all she has left in this mess of a world...but after I’m through? She...will...have...NOTHING!!” Apocalypta lowers the mic while the crowd roars their disgust and disapproval.
Hanson: “Oh, I wish her and the others would just leave that poor girl alone.”
Briefly, Apocalypta raises the mic again and scans the arena. “Where are you, huh?! Still crying over last week?! Admit it, Blackheart...Lara. You...*FEAR* me! You’re afraid of me - afraid of *US*!! Because you know that no matter how hard you fight back, no matter how much willpower you muster up inside, you...cannot...beat us. You...cannot...beat...ME!! Mark my words; I will destroy you!” She turns back to Shelley and Sloane. “And you’re gonna watch...helplessly....” She lowers the mic again.
Sloane laughed, shaking her head as Shelley stood up. "This is some retirement you've got going on here, movie star."
Shelley glared over at her manager, "I don't pay you to dictate how I spend my retirement, now do I?" She then turned back to Apocalypta, "oh, I'm sorry. You assume that just because I've never heard of you before, that I am supposed to be quivering in fear and expecting to just take my lumps like a good little girl and be done with it?" She scoffed, rolling her eyes. "You want to believe that you are unique, but in three years I went up against numerous opponents who were *exactly* like you. You think that you are all big and bad because you paint yourself up like a blind two-dollar hooker with oral herpes? That because you think that you can call yourself a demon that everyone in the back room should be afraid of you and this little circle of yours. But you see, Apocalypta, that is EXACTLY why I am here. I'm going to nip this shit right in the bud so that NFW won't have to suffer through the bullshit of some pathetic, holier than thou stable that aren't worth the fabric that their t-shirts are printed on." She smirked, lowering her mic for a moment before bringing it back up, "you cry about the fact that I don't know anything about you, and you know what? You're not wrong. I don't know shit about you and quite frankly, I don't give a damn. At the same time, I'm going to throw it right back at you and ask what exactly do you think that you know about me?"
Apocalypta stood unphased by the verbal attack. Or so it seemed, to those from the crowd who didn’t notice the narrowing of her eyes as she lifted the microphone again, pointing to Sloane.
“Just as she said...movie star. You think you can just step out of Hollywood and back into the ring and pick up where you left off? I have to wonder how Blackheart met you. Was it at one of her wild orgies where you two laid on your backs for any celebrity that wanted an easy piece? Face it, Silver. You’re just like her godfather: a forgotten wrestler who moved onto the movie screens and is now pining over the better days. Lara, brought you and your little entourage to put a stop to us?”
She extended her title arm out to the side. “You’ve been here over a month and haven’t done a damn thing to slow us down!” Lowering her arm, she tilts her head down, keeping her void-like eyes on her challenger. “And don’t mistake me for someone who thinks they are a demon. You want someone like that? You can go look for that schizo worm in the back who calls herself the Demon Assassin. I’m no demon, Silver. Never claimed to be. I am the harbinger of *your* end and anyone else who gets in my way! I am the ARMAGEDDON of anyone who tries to stand against me! Reckoning Day isn’t a matter of whether or not you walk out with this....” She lifts the Women’s Championship. “It’s a matter of whether or not you *survive* our clash. Whether or not you walk out AT ALL! Whether or not...I let you.... And hear me now....” She shakes her head. “...I won’t. Nothing can save you.... Frankly, I’d love nothing more than to wipe you out of existence right here and now. But this says I have to wait. So while you’re waiting for your date of execution, I wanna leave you with this.... You admit you know nothing of me. And I couldn’t care less whether or not you give a damn to. But you might wanna think about how well you know little Lara. How close you wanna associate yourself with her and those other two. Because if by some miracle you survive what I have in store for you...it won’t be long until you’re forgotten again. This time by her. She threw Mia to the dirt...we picked her up and gave her a place. She’s done it a couple times...and you’ll be the next one she turns her back on. Just when she’s used you for everything she needs...she’ll turn her back on you, Shelley. There you’ll be...alone in the dark...with no one. The difference with you is...the Circle won’t be there to pick you up. *I’ll* be there...to tear you apart...body and soul...and leave you screaming for mercy. Begging for the agony to end. And when you do? I’ll take that pretty face of yours into my hands...and you’ll feel my breath in your ear as I whisper...’no’....”
With a resonating ‘thump’, Apocalypta lowers her microphone hand and lets it fall to the mat before spreading both arms to the sides, waiting to see what Shelley Silver has to say...or do.
Before anyone got to see if Silver *would* do anything, Steven Brody raised his mic and stepped towards the table again. “Ladies. Please. Keep your cool, both of you. Save it for the pay-per-view—“
It was here that Apocalypta suddenly grabbed the table between she and Shelley (and Sloane) and yanked it up and out of the way, upturning it on one side of the ring and stepped forward to try and get in Shelley’s face. Brody served as the proverbial wall, however, and stepped in between the two women, staring Apocalypta right in the face. At 5’8, the champion didn’t seem the least bit intimidated by the 6’0 commissioner.
“I said: not — here!” Brody added some base to his voice, but Apocalypta refused to back down.
Crowd: “LET THEM FIGHT! LET THEM FIGHT! LET THEM FIGHT!”
"STOP IT!"
With those words, Lara Blackheart appeared at the top of the ramp. Dressed in street clothes (jeans, Docs, and a tight Rocket Raccoon tee), she stared at both women for a moment, before sighing into the mic. "Shelley.... I'm sorry. You're my friend, yet I dragged you into this whole thing. And Adr-...Apocalypta. I thought better of you than this. You guys couldn't resist the easy target, could you? It's always easy to pick on the smallest girl, but the smallest girl WITH a dead daddy? Oh, that's like blood in the water for you guys. You pushed. And you pushed. And you pushed some more. And I just took it. Not because I feared you, but because of three reasons. I can't fight you all alone... I don't want all my friends ruining their careers because of my drama... and because the only option I had was one that could possibly ruin a lot more careers than just yours."
"But when that piece of trash Abaddon put his hands on my *mother*? That was it. I only had to make one phone call to take that drastic step. One phone call to make sure that if I go down, I bring this whole goddamn promotion with me. Sloane? Trust me. If you truly value Shelley's career, get her out of that ring and into the locker room. Now. It's time to use the weapon I hoped I'd never have to use."
She glared at Apocalypta, a look so angry, so full of rage and hatred, that it was easy to forget how tiny the girl was.
"And *you*.... I would advise you to leave the ring as well. Because your time is coming.... but it shouldn't be today. You made a crack about my godfather. And most people know exactly who you meant. The Rock. Dwayne Johnson. My father's friend and former tag team partner. But there's one thing most people don't know: I got more than one godfather, bitch."
Reynolds: “More than one g—?”
Suddenly, the lights in the arena went out, the only light visible the flashes from fans' cell phones. After a few seconds, the beginning of Ghost's "Monstrance Clock" began to play through the arena.
"To the sound of the Monstrance Clock... Air is cleansed, assembled flock... Black candles burn, all minds aligned..."
Reynolds: “Nicky, what the HELL is going on?!”
Hanson: “I don’t know but I’ve got a bad feeling”
Reynolds: “What’s this music?”
As the song continued to play, some fans who'd figured out what was going to happen singing along as spotlights shone down on the aisle to the ring, as well as the stairs among the fans, with dozens of men wearing black cloaks and skull masks walking in lines towards the ring. all carrying black flags with red pentagrams on them.
Reynolds: “Who the hell are these people, Nicky?!”
Hanson: “I don’t know!”
As more and more of the men began to gather around the ring, huge banners matching the flags the men carried began to unfurl around the ringside area.
Finally, the men began tapping their flagpoles on the ground in unison, before slamming them down hard twice in a row, as all the lights again went out.
This time, spotlights shone down on a chorus of children, stationed around the arena among the fans, all wearing skull masks and vintage Vlad Blackheart t-shirts. The children began to sing, a capella:
"Come together.... together as one....."
"Come together.... for Lucifer's Son...."
Hanson: “Jim, I don’t like this.”
Reynolds: “Oh this isn’t creepy at all!”
Reynolds voice was thick with sarcasm.
The lights then came up through the arena, to reveal five figures in the ring, all wearing hooded black cloaks. one looking to be far taller than the others, and another (in the middle) wearing what appeared to be a mask made of a goat skull.
Reynolds: “Who the hell are these people in the ring?!”
Hanson: “Would you look at the size of the one? He’s gotta be damn near seven feet!”
"Come together.... together as one..."
"Come together.... for Lucifer's Son..."
As the music hit once more, the masked man removed the goat skull to reveal none other than Chicago's own Judas Lasher! At the same time, the others pulled their hoods down, revealing Doomsday, Buzzsaw, LeeAnn Viskan, and The Crimson Sabre! The crowd went berserk as Lasher glared into the camera, flanked by several of the most dangerous people to ever comprise his Dominion of Pain.
Hanson: “OH MY GOD!!!!”
Reynolds: “ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!”
Hanson: “THE DOMINION OF PAIN! THE DOMINION OF PAIN IS HERE!!!!”
Reynolds: “WHAT THE HELL DOES THIS MEAN?!?!”
Hanson: “THE FOUNDATION OF NEW FRONTIER WRESTLING IS ABOUT TO GET ROCKED TO THE CORE, THAT’S WHAT IT MEANS!!”
The group stood mid-ring, Lasher posing with his arms outstretched, an evil grin on his face, and the crowd chanting "DOMINION! DOMINION DOMINION" as the cameras faded out.
