N*FW Wrestling #19 - Memphis, Tennessee! 9/2/2018!

Prior to the opening vignette to the show, the camera opens up on Morgan Payne, getting ready in the locker room area. As it stands, she’s wearing low rise, black jeans cut into shorts...extremely short ones, and a Steeler’s sports bra, as well as her ankle boots and kneepads. A black t-shirt currently hangs over one shoulder as she finishes pulling on her arm sleeve over her right arm. Tonight, her hair has the addition of temporary golden streaks in the bangs. After finishing the sleeve, she starts double checking her kneepads as she calls out to Ryan Steele. We don’t see him yet, but he’s clearly somewhere in the locker room.

“Hey, babe?” Morgan calls out. “Ya sure you’re up t’this, tonight? I mean, this is alotta work, for anyone.”

"Yeah, I am" Ryan responds to Morgan... "Listen Beautiful...If theres anything i learned in the indies.. its prove yourself to the end.... And thats what im gonna do....... " Ryan says to Morgan..."Plus i kinda hope your dad is watching too" he adds to his previous comment...

Morgan paused with her hand halfway inside of her glove, looking over her shoulder in the direction of Ryan’s voice. “My dad? Why’s that?”

"Cause listen... Titles speak volumes... especially in this industry..."Ryan responds to Morgan's somewhat concerned question
"And if i have multiple championships... just think what your dad is gonna say to you about me... I gave you a vehicle.. our determination is gonna get us these tag titles... and im eventually gonna go after a singles title... just think abouyt that.. Babe.. ive got a lot to prove.. and all tbe time in the world to prove it".. Ryan says...
"Hey i was gonna ask... did you have fun hanging out with me these past couple of days?"

Morgan nodded. What Ryan was saying made sense as far as titles went. Maybe it would help show her dad that he wasn’t a slouch in the business and could handle himself. And if they worked together well and landed those Mixed Tag Team Championships, that would speak volumes of their chemistry. Morgan hoped that Ryan’s determination would speak volumes to her family.

“I did!” She said in response to his last question; standing up as he finally appeared and hugged him around his neck. “‘Specially the last day we spent there...if you know what I’m gettin’ at....” She said with a suggestive grin.

"Yea , i know exactly... You were amazing.. and you are more beautiful than i had originally imagined under there...... Thats what sparking more determination out of me.. cause ive got someone that's gorgeous and can handle herself in the ring... id say im good... so id say lets go do this" Ryan responds to Morgan as he is adjusting his knee pads " So you ready beautiful?" He asks Morgan.

Morgan lays a big kiss on Ryan’s lips before stepping back and putting her t-shirt on - a stylized homage to the Scarface movie except with herself in the place of Al Pacino
and the title being replaced by ‘BAD BITCH’. Morgan puts on her jacket, followed by her signature hat and nods. “Ready! Let’s do this shit!” Side by side, they walk passed the camera and out of the locker room as the shot fades to black.

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Rather than the intro song of Ozzy's "Scream" fading out as Hanson and Reynolds finished welcoming viewers to the show, the music is abruptly replaced by that of Hollywood Undead's "Renegade." The crowd's excited cheers instantly turn into boos as the lights took on a flickering, white and red effect around the stage and ramp while the rest of the arena darkened. Not so much an eerie effect, but one that drew all attention to the entrance area.

Hanson: "Now, what the hell do these guys want?"

Reynolds: "Is there ever any telling?"

~YOU'RE A RENEGADE!~

As the guitar and drums fully kicked in, the leader of the Renegades appeared. Max LeBrun wore mostly black, consisting of jeans, boots and a t-shirt with a black leather jacket, trimmed in red around the elbows and the lower hem, as well as up around the collar. The stable's signature 'R' logo, was seen emblazoned on the back. Coming to stand center stage, he cast a cold glare around at the audience before raising his arms out to the side, soaking in their hatred with a devilish smirk as the rest of the Renegades joined him on the stage.

Beside him, Candi Broduer walked confidently, clad in ripped blue jeans, a sleeveless tee with art of her eyes and the word "CRIPPLER" on it, and black fingerless gloves. As usual these days, she showed almost no emotion, other than the occasional trusting glance to Max, or evil glare at the crowd.

Behind them stood Julian Morrison, in his wrestling gear and a Kobe Bryant jersey, and Tyson Law, who wore a red bandanna over his head, a Renegades tee, and baggy denim shorts.

As their entrance music roared on through the arena, Max LeBrun lead the way down to the ring, stepping in slowly under the ropes after sitting on the middle to let Candi step in first.

Reynolds: “What a gentleman!”

Hanson: “Oh please....”

Once they were all in the ring, Max called for a mic and came to stand back in the center, waiting for the crowd to quiet down with their booing. “Good ol’ Memphis....” He said coldly and mockingly as he turned to scowl at the fans in attendance. “I’ve only got one thing to say about last week....” He held up a finger. “How...do you motherfuckers...like us...now?”

He paused, lowering the microphone, smirking at the heavy boos that erupted in the arena.

“That’s exactly the reaction I expected from the white trash central of America! You boo the ones who don’t have some extravagant record to their name! You boo the ones who get shit on by the big wigs of this industry, while trying to make it in this business! Meanwhile, you cheer, you rant, you rave, you lose your goddamn minds for people that have been doing their same old redundant shit for two damn decades!” He extends an arm out, gesturing to the Renegades. “Take a look right here! Three of us have been in this sport for over ten years, but do you see us prancing around in the same old shit we debuted with? Candi...she dumped the skater girl gig because she wanted to show you people what she could actually do in the ring. You forgot about her! Julian?” He turns from Candi to his main partner in crime. “He decided he wanted to step out on his own. Do his own thing. You people shit on him because he doesn’t hang with a bunch of crones on bath salts who drink blood and fuck goat skulls anymore!”

Finally, he came to Tyson. “Let’s not forget this kid. The guy who reminds me of...well...me, when I first started. Yeah, you were feeling him for awhile. He had the attention he deserved. But then what? You tossed him to the curb as soon as some second gen bitch came in, looking to make his own name relevant. Well, look at what happened now. *I* beat that second gen piece of shit and put him in his place! And next week? Scott...you listening? I hope so...and I hope you’re ready. Because when you and I step into that ring at Highway to Hell, I’m doing this for us. Not just for me. For us....” He gestured to the entire Renegade group. “I’m doing this for every midcarder who has to claw...and scrape...and struggle...just to pass up old bastards like you so he can keep the lights on and feed his family! This is the New Frontier? I’m gonna make it so, because there’s gonna be a fresh, NEW world heavyweight champion!”

He steps back from the camera, holding out the mic for one of his comrades.

Julian grabbed the mic, spitting his gum out into the crowd with a laugh. "Like the man said... next week, the Renegades bring the World Title home where it belongs. With the stars of TODAY. The stars who will take this promotion into the future. And most importantly... the stars who DESERVE it. But don't think we're only focused on next week, ohhhhh no. Way I see it, we may have been robbed in the Mixed Tag Tourney, but that doesn't mean we're finished with Baby Brody or her over-the-hill hero. Hell no. We ain't finished with ANY of you yet!"

Candi took the mic from him, her glare almost as frightening as her arsenal of submission holds. "This is how I see it. There were only two veterans that were worth a damn. That really cared about helping the next generation succeed. And they're both gone. Only difference is... one of them, we aren't allowed to celebrate...." she said with a sad tone, "And the other is over-celebrated. But aside from the two of them? The rest of you can get fucked. Because we didn't get here because of you... we got here IN SPITE OF YOU."

Taking the mic back, Max looked at Tyson and could be seen mouthing the words, “no words, man?” He then laughed and gave him a fist bump. “My boy here’s not even gonna waste a breath on your sorry asses.” Max said thumbing to Tyson. “Because he’s tired. Like us...he’s tired of the bullshit. Unfortunately, it seems like we need to keep saying it until we’re blue in the face before somebody listens. Well, as of tonight, we’re done with words. We’re done with verbal warnings. We’re done hashing it out with idiots on social media. Tonight, the war continues. But make no mistake, this war is *far* from over.... It won’t even be over after Highway to Hell. The rebels...people...are rising up to stand against the oppression we’ve faced for years, now. The Renegades...are raising the banner...and our army has received the marching orders. And if you think what you see here is all there is to stand against? Oh, you’ve got it all wrong. We are a growing force...in this company...and believe me, we *are* growing. You’ll see it soon enough. And when we strike again? Mark my words...it’s gonna blow...you...away....” As a finale to their speech, Max made the gesture of flicking the pin out of a grenade. “Enjoy the show....”

As “Renegade” started up on the speakers again, Max dropped the microphone and lead the others out of the ring, departing silently up the ramp.

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When the first match of the night was ready to begin, the N*FW Television Champion, The Buzzsaw, stood inside the ring in the far corner, waiting to see who his open challenger would be. As he held the title over his shoulder, the lights dimmed down as Disturbed's "Haunted" filled the arena.

Reynolds: "What the hell?"

Hanson: "Ryan Steele?!

Reynolds: "Doesn't he have another match, tonight?"

Hanson: "Well...Buzzsaw did say anyone, so...."

Sure enough, as "Haunted" played on, Ryan Steele made his entrance to the ring, accompanied by Morgan Payne. It was clear that this was why they appeared to be heading to the ring so early before their scheduled tag team match. Morgan remained on the outside as Ryan entered the ring with Buzzsaw slowly nodding and handing the TV Title off to the referee.

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Buzzsaw defeated Ryan Steele in 7:13 with the DNR submission to retain the NFW Television Championship.

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"Belial... Behemoth... Beelzebub"

"Asmodeus... Satanas... Lucifer"

Ghost's "Year Zero" once again signals the arrival of The Dominion of Pain, as Judas Lasher led his followers out onto the stage, LeeAnn and Lara on each side of him, Crimson Sabre, Buzzsaw, Doomsday.... and now Belphegor bringing up the rear.

Rather than walking down to the ring, the entire group stayed right there on the stage, beneath the video wall. A look of sheer hatred was etched on the face of Judas, as he took a microphone that LeeAnn handed him. "The clock.... is nearly at midnight. Your time is nearly up, Abaddon. I promised you that the moment you laid your hands upon Lara Chastain, that I would destroy your life and career to the point that you would never set foot in a wrestling ring again. And each week, I've been taking out another piece of your armor."

"First... I showed your followers that you are far from the confident, dominant leader they thought you were. I turned you into a frightened, paranoid, tempermental wreck."

"After that... I placed well-deserved doubt in the minds of each person until your rule."

"Then... we took away your greatest weapon. First via injury... then by way of him leaving your control. On that note: Before I continue... I'd like to give our newest ally a chance to speak his mind." He held the microphone to the side, handing it to the giant Belphegor.

"All week... all I've seen are questions everywhere. Of why I left the Circle. Why I turned against Abaddon. Why I joined the Dominion. The answer is more plain than most would think. Yes... I'm a beast in that ring. Yes, I'm merciless once that bell rings. But I'm not a thing. I'm not some weapon that's to be thrown aside once it stops working properly. And that is exactly what Abaddon did to me. When Buzzsaw shattered my nose... took my title... and left me to the medics... did Abaddon even bother checking on me once? No. Adrianna did. Chris did. Tyler did. But the man that was supposed to be our leader, our savior... forgot I even existed. Funny how mere hours after I got to the hospital though, Lara, Judas, and 'Saw all checked on me. Lara said she wanted me in the Dominion. And for once, I feel both wanted... AND appreciated."

Taking the microphone from Belphegor, the monster Doomsday cast an angry sneer from under his mask across the audience. Finally, he lifted the microphone up to speak. "Your sheep...Abaddon...are slowly becoming the wolves.... The people that you have fed lies and delusions to...are starting to open their eyes. As has become evident...with him...." He pointed at Belphegor. Two words this kid mentioned...wanted...and appreciated.... You, Abaddon...only ever wanted for yourself...and you never appreciated a damn thing that anyone in your broken circle have done for you. You wasted the time of a man, here, who has limitless potential. The Dominion, however...*WE* will carve a path for him to pave on his own. Now, I'll be honest, with you...Belphegor here...he's a much valued bonus to us. Personally? I came here to liberate one person...*one*...from your web of lies. Ironically, enough, it seems as if everyone but myself have been able to do that. I can see it. You're losing her, Abaddon. You're losing *them*. You can try to cling onto what control you think you have. You can continue your megalomaniacal tactics, but the end is coming. *YOUR* judgement day...your *armageddon*...is nigh.... And even if it took the words of revelations of others to take her away from you...*I* will be there...with Judas...to end you."

Doomsday, lowered his head but kept his eyes on the camera, stepping forward. "You like to paint your face up....you like to act scary. Abaddon...you know nothing of fear.... But since you refused to let everything go...since you insisted on keeping up the fight...and holding onto those that were never yours...I'll leave you with some cinematic horror to dwell on during your final week.... Because in your case...it's absolutely true...that 'should you find no way to release...he will come...to take a piece....' And mark my words, Abaddon...I may not be officially scheduled to be in that cage...but I am coming...to take my piece...."

Lasher took the mic back, and sneered.

"All that's left now... is to play the vultures. To pick away at your rotting remains until nothing is left. And next week, that is precisely what will happen. And before you say that we haven't completely ruined your control of the rest of your followers... perhaps they should see a video I found. Or should I say... that Ms. Blackheart here found."

Lara gave a cheesy grin and leaned into Judas to talk into the mic. "What can I say? You start out searching for celebrity sex tapes, and end up falling down the YouTube hole, and next thing you know you've gone from a Paris Hilton blowjob video to old interview footage. It happens."

The crowd laughed as Judas merely pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration, before pointing up at the video wall.

"As I was saying... perhaps Mr. Grey, Mr. Wolfe, and Ms. Salvatore should see this educational video. And learn from the words of Mr. Keith Jameson."

A video begins to play, with the datestamp 3/18/2010 in the upper right hand corner. It's clearly a clip from one of the many unlicensed "shoot" interviews that various websites and publications produce. Sitting at a table, across from an older, thin interviewer, is a pale, muscular man with long black hair. His face, while younger and free of any type of paint or makeup was still clearly that of Abaddon. Beneath him, the screen lists his name as "Keith Jameson", as he talks of his goals for his future in pro wrestling.

"You know... as much as I'd like to be a World Champion somewhere, it's not really my goal. My goal is to be known. To be recognized. To be a leader."

The interviewer asks, "And how would you plan to go about that?"

"Jameson" rolls his eyes and points to some of the various memorabilia around the room. "Simple. The answer there is in stables. Look at some of the greats that are known worldwide for the groups they led. Flair. Michaels. Nash. Devitt. Nakamura. All you need to be famous is a group of people willing to fight and die for you. And trust me... you find yourself some sad-luck sob-stories who need to feel wanted and accepted, and you can mold them into more than a stable. You can mold them into damn near a *cult*. It's all about crafting a proper persona, then finding people big on talent, but low on esteem."

The video cuts out then, and the picture switches back to Lasher, standing in the ring shaking his head with a smirk. "Tsk, tsk... 'Keith'. People really should consider being careful of what they commit to video, wouldn't you agree? I sincerely hope you found your 'sad-luck sob-stories', because next week.... you are going to need them more than you ever have. You have seven days left of your career, Mr. Jameson. Seven... days.... until you look the apocalypse right in the eye, and are obliterated once and for all. Because mark my words... the price for disrespect is a steep one, and you will be the sacrificial lamb that all others will learn from. You will not be walking out of that cage next week, Mr. Jameson. I guarantee you will be *carried* out. In a puddle of your own blood and regrets. Ave.... Satanas."

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~Man these boys think they got me.... You ain't got shit son! I'm the Lane Frost of this shit! So bring ya ass on in.... HEEEELLLLL YEEEEAAAAAAH!!!!~

To the delight of the Memphis crowd, Ryan Upchurch's "Cheatham County" kicked on over the speakers as Teddy Morse and Chase Evans, The Rebel Rousers came out onto the stage, amped with energy as usual. More so than usual, in this case, as they were here in their home state. On their way to the ring, they each take a side of the ramp, high fiving fans. Teddy stopped to let a busty blonde country girl in the front row snap a selfie with him before plucking off his signature camo patterened Rousers hat and placing it on the excited woman's head before he hit the ring running, the rest of the way, to catch up with Chase.

As the two stood in the ring, each taking a corner and playing to the crowd, they goaded the fans into pumping their fists in rhythm with the beat of their entrance music.

Hanson: "Listen to this crowd, Jim! They are pumped for these guys!"

Reynolds: "I wanna shoot myself every time I see them."

Hanson: "Now that's a little extreme. These guys are great!"

Reynolds: "They're hillbilly trash, Nicky!"

Hanson: "Would you say that to their face?"

Reynolds: "....."

Hanson: "Thought not."

From the corner of the ring, Chase calls for a couple of microphones, tossing one to Teddy who stands waiting in the center. Teddy's also the first to address the crowd, hollering into the mic.

"HEEEEEEEEELL YEEEEEAAAAAHH!!!! MEMPHIS TENNESSEE, HOW THE HELL Y'ALL DOIN'?!" Teddy stands on the bottom rope, extending the mic out to the crowd to soak in their roars of approval. After a moment, he steps back into the center of the ring. "Man, I'll be honest, it ain't Nashville, but I'll be damned if Chase and I ain't happier than a pig in shit to be back in Tennessee!"

Chase's smile immediately drops from his face, swapped out for a comical look of confusion. Rather than say anything just yet, he shakes his head and lets Teddy continue on.

"Now, we've had our ups and downs since we came up in this company." Teddy says, shrugging his empty hand up. "Hey, it happens, right? Ya win some, ya lose some. But I will say this much. All due respect...Ultra-Violet, was it? We'll vote for alcohol prohibition before we let some new tag team come up in here and try to whup our asses in our own home state. So y'all come on ou---"

Chase suddenly stops Teddy with a hand on his shoulder. "Dude...it's Ultra-Violence."

Teddy, frowning with confusion, looks up at him. "Say what?"

"Our opponents tonight...they're called Ultra-Violence...not Ultra-Violet." Chase says, nodding reassuringly to him.

Teddy makes an audible 'pfft' into the microphone. "What? Nah man. I looked at the card. It's Ultra-Violet. Y'know...like the rays of the sun? They're probably a couple o'doofuses that're gonna try to hock a vacation timeshare down in Tijuana or some shit. You know, like them two horse's asses in that 'other' wrestling promotion?"

Chase gave an eyeroll that was so deep, one might have thought his eyes were gonna fall out of his mouth. "Teddy...bro...I looked at the card, too. It's Ultra-Violence. Vi-o-lence. Like violent? Ain't nothin' about that name suggests some rip off of the Colon brothers. They're probably a couple o'crazy, sporadic sons o'bitches that wanna chew our faces off rather than wrestle."

Teddy mimicked Chase's eyeroll and shook his head. "Look man. Ultra-Violet, Ultra-Violence...it don't matter. Whoever the hell y'all are. The Rebel Rousers are right here and ready for a fight. So bring ya asses on in and come get whupped!" WIth that, Teddy and Chase dropped the microphones and began removing their ring gear.

Literally, the second the microphones hit the mat, the lights took on an eerie black and red effect as Calavera Conspiracy's "Ultra-Violence" started up over the speakers. For a moment, the crowd was a little confused as the tag team's name - ULTRA-VIOLENCE - appeared on the video wall in front of the Dominion of Pain symbol. Even more so as Lara Blackheart came walking out onto the stage with a mischievous smile. She briefly looked, somewhat remorseful, as she waved to the Rebel Rousers down in the ring.

The crowd finally gave a pop when the team of Ultra-Violence was finally revealed, as DOOMSDAY and BELPHEGOR came storming, all business like, out onto the stage. They didn't even pause beside Lara, but rather moved right passed her, marching towards the rings, reminiscent of the 1980s Road Warriors.

Reynolds: "WHAT THE HELL?!"

Hanson: "HOOOOLY CRAP, JIM!!!!"

Reynolds: "THIS IS ULTRA-VIOLENCE?!"

Hanson: "TALK ABOUT A DAMN TEAM!!"

Without missing a beat, the two monsters hit the ring and went right for the Rebel Rousers who barely had an instant to react and try fighting back. Seconds into the brawl, Doomsday lifted Chase Evans up and chokeslammed him over the top rope and to the outside floor. Meanwhile, Belphegor hit Teddy Morse with a vicious clothesline, knocking him head over heels. He stepped up to one side of the ring and threw his hair back, roaring to the crowd as Doomsday poised back in the corner, waiting for him to pull himself up. Belphegor, while this was happening, exited the ring and moved onto Chase as the bell officially rang to start the match.

As the bell was being rung, Belphegor lifted Chase Evans up outside of the ring and delivered a powerbomb right through the announce table. Inside the ring, Teddy got to his feet only to turn around right into a SPEAR by Doomsday. Rather than pin him, he stood to his feet and met Belphegor over on the apron, tagging him in. As Lara cheered on the Dominion of Pain's new member, the younger of the two behemoths scooped Teddy up off of the mat and lifted him up, delivering the Ninth Circle jackhammer, followed by the pinfall, effectively ending the match between the bells at 0:45.

Reynolds: "HOLY CRAP, NICKY!"

"Ultra-Violence" by Calavera Conspiracy kicked on again as Belphegor promptly exited the ring, joining Doomsday and Lara at ringside before the three made their exit, leaving the Rebel Rousers an absolute wreck at ringside.

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The camera opened up on a small television screen, replaying last week's incident that saw Belphegor return from his three week absence by turning on the Circle of Snakes. The spear to Abaddon drew a huge pop from the crowd as the tag unit of GreyWolfe, as well as Apocalypta looked on in utter shock. The shot paused just as Belphegor threw his head back, mid roar, following the spear. All of a sudden, the shot was rewound back to the start that showed Belphegor entering the ring, poised and ready to strike. The clip replayed again as the camera angle began to pan backwards. Finally, the Women's Champion, Apocalypta, was brought into view. At least, it was pretty obvious that it was her underneath that black hoodie, given the N*FW Women's Championship laid across her lap as the camera only caught her from behind with her hood up to conceal her face of which she hadn't covered in makeup yet. The remote to the TV was seen in her hands as she rewound and replayed the instance over and over. Finally, after about the fourth replay, the remote fell from her hand, letting the rest of the turning moment play as she lowered her head into her hands, silently....

"You know..." The voice of Mia Hayashi rang out, as she walked into the locker room. "You're kinda my best friend, so I'm not gonna hit you with "I told you so"s here. I will say one thing though.... obviously Belphegor already realized what I've been telling you for weeks."

Dressed in her ring gear for the night (a sexy take on Star Wars' Boba Fett), she sighed before reaching over to put a comforting hand on her friend's shoulder. "Look. I'ma go out there have my match, 'breed with the Switchblade'...." The cameraman cut her off then.

"Mia... it's 'BREATHE' with the Swi..."

She cut him off right back, "Yeah, I like my version WAY better. Anyhoo. I'ma go out there and have my match, then me and you are gonna go chill somewhere and talk. About evvvvvvverything goin' on in that noggin of yours. Ok?"

From where she sat, Apocalypta straightened up and looked over her shoulder at Mia. Her face still shrouded bu her hood and the angle the camera had. “I...could use that. Honestly.... Aside from you...I don’t know who to trust anymore....” She gave the girl’s outfit a brief once over but neglected to make a perverted comment like she would have, had she been in a good mood. As Mia turned to walk away then, Apocalypta called out to her. “Hey mou—...Mia...? You were right, though. I’m starting to think you did tell me so....”

Sighing, Mia turned back around, walking back to her friend. Normally a fierce, terrifying warrior, Apocalypta looked more like a sad, wounded animal right now, and frankly it broke Mia's heart. "You know who you can trust. You can trust me. Have I ever given you even ONE reason not to? As much as we're not exactly on good terms, you can trust Lara. You just gotta stop worrying about people that clearly just want to use you." She leaned in, hugging the other girl and giving her a caring little kiss on the forehead. "And hey. No matter how much your attempts to make me join the #MeToo movement irk me sometimes... I'll always be your mouse."

Apocalypta practically looked like human puddy the moment Mia moved in to hug her. The champion returned the hug around Mia, burying her face down into the girl’s neck. A moment went by before her shoulders began to visibly shake as if she were silently crying.

“Umm....” The camera man said slowly from behind the camera. “I’ll give you two a minute....”

The angle slowly began panning back as the camera man made his retreat. The last shot being that of the smaller girl, for once, looking like the stronger of the pair as she held the taller girl just to comfort her.

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Lara Blackheart and Candi Broduer wrestled to an incredible 25 minute draw that saw the referee having to come stand in between them to make sure they didn't break out into a post-match brawl.

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The camera fades in on a black boot, covered with a black and silver kickpad. The foot is propped flat against the wall as the camera slowly moves to the side. After passing the knee, it begins to reveal painted flesh. Tattooing, over a pale thigh, of a large scorpion. On commentary from ringside, we hear Nick Hanson and James Reynolds.

Hanson: “Jim.”

Reynolds: “Yeah...?”

Hanson: “You’re drooling....”

Reynolds: “Don’t care right now.”

The camera shot widens, revealing Erin Mercer performing pre-match stretches. She’s wearing a black and silver variation of her gear to match that of her Mixed Tag Team partner and a “Kicks and Stones Break Bones” t-shirt. In the background, on a bench, her tag partner Vincent Stone sits, scrolling through his phone.

“Ya know? I have to give it to Morgan’s squeeze. Still participating in our tournament match *after* that match with Buzzsaw? Dude’s got balls.”

Vincent Stone sits quietly, focused intently on his screen.

“Vin?” She lowers her leg and turns to the man. “You listening?”

“Huh?” Stone looks up, broken from his thoughts and clears his throat. “Oh! Yeah. Definitely. Balls of steel, totally. No pun intended.” He looks back down at his phone.

Erin tilts her head curiously at him, realizing he’s distracted. “Right.... Anyway! That doesn’t mean we shouldn’t still throw everything we have at them, tonight.”

“Uh-huh....” Stone says absent mindedly.

Erin rolls her eyes and shakes her head. “Whatever.”

"Hellooooooo?" The adorably bubbly voice of Alex Brody came through the door then, along with a light, rhythmic knocking. "Anyone home? Jevhovah's witnesses here, wanting a moment of your tiiiiiime..." Oh good lord. Just by the tone of her voice, one could almost picture the girl bouncing happily outside the door.

Erin broke out into a grin, muffling her hysterical laughter. She absolutely adored that girl! Moving over to the door and taking hold of the doorknob, she leaned in. “Sorry! We’re a little busy right now! Blood baths and sacrificing goats and shit!” She almost lost it with laughter as she opened the door to let Alex in. “Hey girl! Is there a reason you’re so chipper or are you just being you?”

"Oh, my dear, dear Erin." Alex said in a mockingly disappointed voice, prancing into the room in a pair of cut-off denim shorts, combat boots, and a slightly-snug Spider-Man tee. "Don't you know what happens to people the sacrifice goats? Maaaaaaaybe we should ask THE g.o.a.t., hm?"

The crowd popped loudly then, as Chris Jericho walked in looking a mix of his last few personas: black leather pants, a frilly, light-up scarf around his neck, a black fedora on his head... and a clipboard and pen in his hands. I'll tell ya what happens to those people..." Jericho said, eyeing up Erin and Stone, "YOU'RE ON THE LIST!"

Erin’s eyes bugged out wide and her hands flew up to her mouth. “OHHHHHHHHHMYFUCKINGGAWD!!!! VIN!!! WE JUST MADE THE LIST!!”

Reappearing into the frame, eyes on his phone, Stone answers, half-attentive to the situation. “What list?”

Erin frowns in annoyance at him before grabbing him by the back of the head and making him look up and directly at Jericho. Stone finally snaps out of his distracted daze and lowers his phone. “Hooooly shit! I knew you were tagging with Alex but I never thought, in my life, I would actually *meet* you, dude!” Swapping hands with his phone, Stone raises his right for a handshake. “One thing she and I share? You inspired the hell out of both of us, man. We got into this business because of you.”

"Wise choice in idols there, chum." Jericho said as he shook Stone's hand, before looking back to Alex. The two shifted positions so they were standing back-to-back, almost like Team Rocket from the old Pokemon cartoons. "Since, after all.... I am the Ayatollah of Rock-N-Rollah..."

Alex then continued, "The King of Bling..."

Jericho crossed his arms, "The Highlight of The Night..."

Alex then crossed hers in the same manner, "And The Man of 1,004 Holds..."

Jericho blinked at that, turning to talk in a completely normal tone of voice, "Oh, good one. Oldie but goodie, that one is..."

"Anyway!" Alex said, beaming with pride, "My partner here was gracious enough to gift me with something old of his."

Jericho picked right up at the end of her sentence. "Something I no longer have use for... but something that I think fits our little spitfire here perfectly."

Alex slid a black leather jacket on, then waited a moment for it to... sigh... light up, before turning around. "And that's.... my new ring-name." And there it was, emblazoned on the back of the jacket, "LIONHEART" ALEX BRODY

“Wow....” Erin said, looking at the jacket. “Now, THAT is the coolest thing ever! Not gonna lie, Alex. So! Probably a dumb question but...you two ready to rock and roll like a couple of Ayatollah’s tonight? I know Vin and I are ready to kick some—“ She looked over at Stone to see that he was buried in his phone again. With another roll of her eyes, Erin stepped over and looked over his shoulder. “Vin? What the hell are you looking at, that has you so...” Her eyes widened in shock again and she looked at her friend. “Seriously, Vin? Are you stalking Marissa’s instagram?!”

Stone looked up like he’d been busted by his mom. “What?! No!! I mean....”

Erin stepped back, crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow.

Stone swallowed nervously. “Hey, she knows I follow her! She accepted my request!”

“And you’re focusing on her beach and pool selfies.” Erin said coolly with an amused grin on his face.

Stone looked guilty as charged. “I know, I know! She is sooo fucking hot, though!”

Erin busted out laughing, pointing to him while looking at Alex and Jericho as if to say, ‘can you believe this guy?’ “Why don’t you stop being Mr. NSA then and go talk to her? But for now, focus on our match!”

Stone went damn near ghostly pale. “I *am* focused! And I can’t just go talk to her.”

Erin gave Alex and Jericho another look of disbelief before turning to Stone again. “Why not?”

“Because!” Stone threw up his hands. “Her dad’ll probably kick my ass! You don’t just go up and flirt with an Italian’s daughter!”

Jericho looked from Stone to Erin then back again, then looked to Alex as he jerked a thumb at the other two. ".....your friends?"

Alex just grinned and nodded. "My best friends, actually."

"........right." Jericho sighed, holding back a chuckle. "Well... I'm gonna let you guys do... whatever. Remember to come talk to me before the match. I have a few ideas. We're gonna be a sword tonight, Alex. Why a sword, you ask? Because next to a sword, a switchblade is just... a little... prick."

Jericho gave her an adorable little kiss on the hand, winking as he turned... before pausing, and looking back to Stone. "And dude.... be careful stalking the redhead. You don't wanna end up sleeping with the fishes..." He then turned again, walking out.

Alex just snorted back a laugh, shaking her head as she looked at Stone. "Wow. You think you know someone, and they turn out to be a creeper..." She said, teasingly.

Stone frowned, comically, before putting his phone away. “I’m *not* a creeper!”

“You totally are.” Erin teased, backing Alex up.

Stone rolled his eyes. “You two....” He sighed in defeat. “I’m gonna go warm up.” With that, Stone sulked off camera, leaving the girls to their own devices. Erin looked at Alex again. “I love Vin to death, but he’s helpless around girls.”

"In all fairness to him... Marissa's beach selfies almost got ME riled up, and I'm straight." Alex said, before shaking her head. "Anyway. Just wanted to wish you guys luck tonight! If we all win, then the four of us can really show off next week and give people the best mixed match ever."

Erin rolled her eyes and laughed. “Maybe we should help him. Honestly? Vin’s like a third brother to me and it’s a little unnerving for people to think we’re...you know...’intimate.’” Erin made quotation marks with her fingers. “But! On a work note; you’re right. Just like with you and me in that number one contender’s match - not to mention, my promise to you - this business doesn’t have to be about hating your opponent. So let’s knock this shit out of the park. Then next week? We put women’s wrestling AND mixed tag wrestling on the map even more. Plus? I’m pretty sure your hero is on Vin’s little dream list, so that makes everyone happy. AND...after that’s said and done? Team Merlex all the way!” She said, fist bumping Alex.

"That's right.... together? There's nothing we can't do. Me, you, and Vin: three pals that'll be there for each other no matter WHAT." Alex agreed, happily returning the fist bump. "So let's work on making sure Vin doesn't freak out Marissa, ok? Cos personally? She already hits hard enough, I don't need her hitting me even HARDER."

Erin was in the middle of nodding in agreement when Stone stepped into frame again. “Hey.” He said, looking at Erin with worry on his face. “Do people *really* think you and I are screwing around?”

“Yeah!” Erin answered, bug eyed with disbelief on her face. “Can you believe that shit?”

Stone grimaced. “Gross! That’s like practically incest! I mean, I grew up in the South but like...the high end South. Not like—“

“Vin, Vin.” Erin raised a hand to silence him. “We get it, hon. Now, c’mon. We got a few before our match. Alex and I need to school you on some shit.”

“School me on what?” Stone asked; his comical side showing more as Erin put a hand on his shoulder and gestured for Alex to follow, guiding their guy friend off screen. A few seconds passed after all three had left the frame and Erin came darting back into the shot, pointing at the camera with a warning look in her, usually stunning, green eyes but now had a comical look of warning in them. “Motherfuckers, this is *not* what it looks like!” She said in a sharp whisper before disappearing off screen again as the shot faded out.

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Mia Hayashi & Jay White defeated Alex Brody & Chris Jericho by pinfall in 13:22 when Julian Morrison ran out and attacked Jericho while he was on the outside, distracting Alex long enough for Mia to hit Supreme Thunder for the pin, advancing she and Jay White to the Finals of the Mixed Tag Team Tournament at Highway To Hell!

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The scene opens as we see the backstage area, the camera pans through it till finally slowing down to the locker room area where we see a gentleman thats kinda new to NFW going in to his locker room. As the camera follows the gentleman he turns around and its the best friend of Ryan Steele. Its Sabastian Riley Young..
"Hello NFW Universe my name is Sabastian Riley Young or SRY for short... " He wearing his wrestling gear that consists of warning & caution signs with a beanie cap that has the hazardous label on it... His tights have caution tape spread all over. His shirt that says "Warning: Its Dangerous Here" ... As he continues talking
" I wanted to take this time to tell you about myself... Im from Dayton, Ohio and yes Ryan and Myself were all over the indies .. collecting tag titles like they were trophies... because when you win a title.. you have to be a competitor to help keep its prestige.... Well they call me "Dangerous" or the "The Dangerous One" i got that nickname a few years ago... i was in the ring with an unknown jobber.. and was trying to make a name for myself.. cause Ryan is "The Omega" so im like "I need to find something that fits me.... So i went out that night against the jobber... and just started to come up with moves on the spot... well in the midst of that i overheard the announcer or commentator say "Wow thats Dangerous "... and im like hmmmm .he might be onto something.. and been called that since.. and as you see.. ive adapted that name...very well actually...so to my future opponents if you have to face me... just fair "Warning" you might need to have a hospital ready to take you after i get done.. because Dangerous is not just a name or a gimmick.. its the way i live..." scene closes as the camera spans back out of the locker room and the door shuts and screen goes black.......

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GreyWolfe defeated The Young Bucks by pinfall in 20:18 after Chris Wolfe hit Matt Jackson with the Direwolfe.

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As the shot cut from ringside, the camera found Apocalypta again, tucking her championship belt into her duffle bag before zipping it closed. Suddenly, came a knock on the door to which the woman stopped, her back still to the camera as she reached up and lifted a thin, half mask from around her neck and up over her face.


“You don’t need to knock, Mouse....” She said, still evidently emotionally drained from everything that had transpired so far in the night. The door could be heard opening, followed by a man’s voice.


“It ain’t Mia.”


Apocalypta spun around after donning a pair of sunglasses to go with the half mask that covered her face from the nose, down, revealing it’s design to be that of a snake’s open mouth. Even behind her facial concealment, it was obvious she was surprised. “...Nico....”


From the right of the frame, Nico Salvatore stepped into view, looming over his shorter, otherwise, twin sister. He was clearly on his way to the ring as he was dressed in his ring gear. He gave his sister a somber look, however.


“You doing okay?” He asked, watching her carefully.


Apocalypta straightened her posture, doing her best to put on her strong, intimidating persona. “I’m fine....”


“Bullshit.” He said softly yet bluntly. “You can dress up in leather straps and paint your face up to hide it all you want. I know you haven’t been you for a long, damn time now. And especially last week and then just earlier? That shit’s eating you up....”


Apocalypta tilted her head, hoisting her bag up onto her shoulder. “...Did you come here to berate me? Say I was wrong? Stupid for following him? I already admitted that Mia was right. At least she stood by me when nobody else did.”


“Tch....” Nico said. “So you didn’t listen to one word Lara said, did you?”


“I did.... And I wanna believe her.” Apocalypta said, lowering her head. “I do. Just....”


“Sis.” Nico said, for once totally serious and no sign of his arrogance or cockiness being shown. “Everything that everyone’s been saying?” He laid a hand on her shoulder. “It ain’t bullshit. People miss you. Dad misses you. *I* miss you....”


Apocalypta looked up at him, again.


“Shit. I miss who you really are.” Nico continued. “That person’s still in you. I see it when you go out into that ring. You’re still a badass...a force to reckon with. But this whole ‘Snake’ shit?” He gestured to her half mask. “This ain’t part of that. This ain’t you. That’s all any of us wanna see. The real you. And you can bring that person out and own it in the ring without relying on someone who obviously used you to get his own momentum going. That’s how you got that championship. Not by dressing up for Halloween and playing some scary, ghost faced chick. As pissed off as you’ve been at everyone you said abandoned you? You’ve been kicking ass with what those people taught you. That’s what’s made you the champ you are in this company. But you can be even better, sis. I know it. They know it. And your hot little friend knows it.”


“Hey....” Apocalypta looked up at him, almost comically raising a finger at him. “Hands off.”


Nico rolled his eyes. “Relax.” He raised his hands. “I’m not tryin’ to steal your little rat.”


“It’s mouse!” Apocalypta corrected him. “Little mouse! And yeah...she is mine. Sorta....”


Nico nodded. “Yeah, good luck with that. Anyway. Back on topic...you can be better. You *are* better. You just gotta show it. You wanna talk about a ‘Circle’? It’s time for *you* to come full circle...with yourself. Hell, it might even help you with Mia since you’d probably stop scaring the piss out of her. Open up out of this fake ass shell you’ve hidden yourself inside of and let the real monster girl out. Now, I gotta go beat the shit out of the pal of the asshole that damn near got into my head by talkin’ trash on my sister that I’d give the world to. If you find her in there, let me know. Think about it....”


Nico turned and walked off screen, leaving the locker room as Apocalypta stood, watching him silently....

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Kicks And Stones defeated the team of Ryan Steele & Morgan Payne by pinfall in 10:29 when Vincent Stone countered a superplex attempt by Steele into a top rope variation of his FATALITY brainbuster, followed by a successful pinfall cover, advancing himself and Erin Mercer into the Finals of the Mixed Tag Team Tournament at Highway To Hell.

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Nico Salvatore defeated Julian Morrison in 15:42 after introducing a new finishing maneuver, a vicious GTS style knee to the face that had been redubbed, by him, as the GFY.

After the bell, Nico called for a microphone where he then walked back over to where Julian laid out in the center of the mat. "Yo! Julian! You still with me, pal?" He taunted into the microphone, taking a knee beside him. "I just put my knee right through your goddamn face. And oh, did it feel...fucking...GOOD!" He lifted his head up, staring up the ramp at the stage. "Max...motherfucker, I know damn well you were watching this. I almost have to wonder why you and Tyson weren't out here with this f'nuc...." He pointed down at Julian. "To try and pull your sneak-ass bullshit! Maybe you realize that if it weren't for this motherfucker laid out beside me, that it'd be me going to Highway to Hell and not you! Maybe you realized that you went too far with your little jabs when you brought my family's personal matters into your crew's little goal to be a royal pain in the ass to everyone else. Motherfucker, mark my words. I ain't done with your ass. I ain't done with Tyson...I ain't done with any of yous'. Not yet! You wanna talk about firing the first shot...the second shot...third shot...however many? You wanna talk war, Max?"

Nico stood up and stepped away from Julain, sneering into the camera. "If there's one thing you should know about war, is that sooner or later...the people you shoot at...they don't always sit there and take it. Eventually, they go around, they round up their own reinforcements...and they return fire! Consider this, right here...." He pointed back at Julian, "...my return fire. It's the first of many. So long as you keep poppin' off? I'm gonna be the one leadin' the fuckin' resistance. You're declarin' war? On behalf of everybody you bastards have been screwin' with, I gladly...officially..." He raised up a hand with his thumb out sideways...and turned it downward, reminiscent of an ancient Roman Emperor in the coliseum, "...accept!!" Tossing the microphone over his shoulder, Nico exited the ring as "Come And Get It" by I Prevail resumed over the speakers, walking up the ramp towards the back.

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As the camera returns from commercial break, we see Commissioner Steven Brody standing in the center with a microphone in hand. He waits patiently for the proper cue before raising the mic up and beginning to speak.

“Ladies and gentlemen, as the owner and commissioner of New Frontier Wrestling, I’d like to, of course, start by thanking you all for being here tonight.” He pauses, to allow the crowd a moment to cheer their approval before continuing. “As you know, last week, I announced the inaugural Vlad Blackheart Memorial Tournament which will begin two weeks after next week’s Highway To Hell. So without further adue, I’d like to start off the build up for this tournament by announcing the first half of the tournament’s chosen competitors. While A Block is still being carefully decided, I’m pleased to announce that after careful consideration, I have looked at the roster and everyone’s accomplishments since the re-incarnation of this company and have carefully selected those worthy of participating in what will surely be NFW’s greatest spectacle of each year, second only to Wrestle Wars. So, without further adue, ladies and gentlemen, I give you...the Vlad Blackheart Memorial Tournament’s...B Block....” He gestures to the video wall then, as the lights dim down.

The video wall comes to life with a stylized logo and text for the tournament as one of the late Vlad Blackheart’s former entrance songs plays as the background music. Befitting of the caliber the tournament holds, the choice of theme song is Saliva’s “Ladies and Gentlemen!” The vignette’s announcer, in a thunderous voice sounds out....

“The Vlad Blackheart Memorial Tournament! Twenty superstars! Eighteen matches! One winner! Introducing...the competitors of B Block!”

As each name is called, their picture SLAMS into the center of the screen with a background of highlights showing them hitting their high impact moves.

“THE KING OF PRO WRESTLING...MINORU SUZUKI!”

“MCKEESPORT MAFIA’S...BIG...DADDY...PAYNE!”

“GREAT WHITE NORTH’S...THE MANGLER...WILLIAM...MANNHEIM!”

“BULLET CLUB ELITE’S...THE BEST BOUT MACHINE...KENNY...OMEGA!”

“THE OMEGA...RYAN...STEELE!”

“FROM NEW JAPAN PRO WRESTLING...EVIL!”

“HE’S HOT...HE’S SPICY...HE TASTES GREAT...HE IS...CURRY MAN!”

“THE DOMINION OF PAIN’S KING OF PAIN...JUDAS...LASHER!”

“MCKEESPORT MAFIA’S...THE PUNISHER...ANDREW...PAYNE!”

“NFW HEAVYWEIGHT CHAMPION...THE TAPOUT KING...SCOTT...LEROUX!”

The display explodes, switching to a collage of all ten superstars side by side with the tournament’s title underneath them. “The Vlad Blackheart Memorial Tournament! B Block! Who will go the finals?! Who will make history?! Don’t miss it!”

The video wall shuts off and the lighting returns to normal as Brody raises the microphone. “There you have it folks. Now...that’s only half of the men who will be competing as we still have yet to announce A Block, which will be announced next week at Highway To Hell. Let me assure you that the family of Vlad Blackheart has had heavy involvement in putting this together as a way to honor his great memory. It is my intention to make this tournament worthy of his name and I hope that each and every one of you here and those watching at home are as excited about it as we are. I wanna thank you all for your time, folks, and so without taking up anymore, please enjoy the rest of tonight’s—“

Brody is suddenly cut off by new music coming on over the speakers. Frowning in confusion and, admittedly, some surprise and annoyance, he turns to the video wall as a very familiar skull with red war paint and cross guns logo appears on the screen. Above it, the words BULLET CLUB...below it...the words FIRING SQUAD as “Guerrilla Tactics” begins to play.

Hanson: “Ohhhh my lord....”

Reynolds: “Nicky, what the *hell*?!”

A mixture of pops and boos sound as wrestling icon, King Haku comes walking out onto the the stage in black jeans, boots and a BC Firing Squad t-shirt.

Reynolds: “NO WAY!”

Hanson: “ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!”

Rather than immediately begin walking down the ramp, however, Haku stops and looks across the sea of fans with a cold sneer before slowly turning towards the curtain. At this moment, his two sons appear. The first being Tanga Loa, wearing his own sleeveless Firing Squad shirt with military camo cargo shorts. His face is that of mock excitement to the crowd as if to say ‘look who’s here’ before he rolls his eyes and gives the audience the finger.

Sure enough, with a cocky, smug grin plastered on his face, "The Bad Boy" Tama Tonga began to strut down the aisle, pausing to occasionally mock or flip off one of the fans. Upon getting down the aisle, and into the ring, the smirking tongan walked *right* up to the commissioner, standing almost nose-to-nose with him.

Practically *GLARING* at the interruption, Steven Brody raised the microphone up slowly. “Do you wanna tell me...just exactly...what...the hell...y—“ Before he could continue, Tanga Loa reached in diligently and took the microphone from him.

Hanson: “Oh wow....”

Reynolds: “Did he just....”

Tanga Loa brought up the mic to his mouth as he aimed a cold smirk at the camera.

“Ladies and gentlemen.... Bitch ass hoes...and flamin’ doritos....” Tanga paused to shoot a cocky wink at the camera. “Please allow me to introduce, this guy and I...” He gestured to Tama and then himself rhythmically as he spoke. “Though, if anyone here doesn’t know us...bitch you must be high....” He made a subtle gesture of taking a toke.

“Three time IWGP Tag Team Champs...*current* Six Man...Tag Team Champs....” He leaned into the camera before raising a hand quickly to the crowd. “Our boy’s not here, tonight folks. Ladies, keep them panties on.... Where was I?”

Pausing for a dramatic effect, Tanga then continued back on track. “NFW Tag Division...fall down and grovel on your knees...for from New Japan...comes the G...O...D! Coming to you straight from the island of Tonga...we’ve decided to sit back and observe this bullshit...no ‘longah’! Y’all know me...as a man of immense ‘powah’...” He paused to flex the bicep of his arm, making sure the camera caught it. “For they call me the Silverback, Tanga...Loa!” With the same arm he was flexing, he held up a finger to call for silence. “However! Right now, I must direct your attention, to this man right here...because he’s got somethin’ that y’all punk bitches in the back...need to hear. An OG of the BC, he is my ‘brotha’...ladies and gents, I give you...the Bad Boy...TAMAAAAA...TONGAAAAA!!” Passing the microphone to Tama, Loa gave him the newly modifed, down low two-sweet before stepping off to stand beside Haku who remained silent with his arms crossed. Meanwhile, Brody still looked irritated as to what was going on.

Tama gave his brother an appreciative slap on the chest, taking the microphone and giving Brody a long once-over. "So... lemme get this straight. You all were gonna have some bullshit tournament, claiming to have the best of the best.... without the G.O.D.? Bitch, look at who you got in this block alone. Curry Man. He ain't done a damn thing in years. Mannheim? He's been retired for years. And Ryan Steele! Like that young-ass, wet-behind-the-ears idiot deserves to be in this thing. In fact, there’s three fucked up things that chap my ass. Disrespecting the military...pedophilia...and not eating bacon. Ryan Steele being in this goddamn tournament and not me beats all of those."

Hanson: “Wait a minute....did he just...?”

Reynolds: “Did he just list pedophilia and not eating bacon in the same category of offenses?”

In the ring, Brody, having called for a second microphone, looked less than amused at both Tama and Tanga’s interruptions. In fact, he looked more angry than anything. “And you came all the way out here...out to Memphis...to this arena...and down to this ring...interrupting an announcement about a tournament that was put together to honor the name and memory of the man who put NFW on the map...just to complain, to my face, about who got added to the list of competitors...?” Brody looked to the side at Tanga and Haku, surprisingly not intimidated as he looked back to Tama. “...Or did you have an actual point you wanted to get to? Speak now, before I have your asses tossed out of this building!”

Tama reached over, clearly nonplussed at Brody's threats, and ruffled the man's hair with amusement. "We're here for a DAMN good reason, son... we're here because this tournament ain't shit with The Bad Boy in it. And I know damn well I deserve a spot more than an old-ass man or some kid who's only here because he's fuckin' the skank daughter of someone more famous than he is."

The crowd let out an audible “OHHHHHH” while Brody’s eyebrows raised up. Whether it was in surprise or shock, it was unclear. Taking a moment to half-fix his hair with one hand, he began circling around the three Tongans, looking them over before coming to stop in front of Tama again. “So then...you want a place in the Vlad Blackheart Memorial...is that it?”

As Brody fell silent, a heavy portion of the crowd did seem thrilled at the idea. “I guess as ‘the Bad Boy’, you’re willing to prove you actually *deserve* a spot, then? How about this, then? Assuming you don’t have any pressing business, next week. You bring that smug attitude of yours to Phoenix and you can earn it in this ring! However, it looks like you’re questioning my decision on the gentlemen participating in B Block...so if you want it that bad...Bad Boy...you’re gonna have to take the spot from one of them, if you’re up to it.”

Reynolds: “Whoa!”

Hanson: “A challenge match for a spot in the Blackheart Memorial?!”

Brody looked around at the approving crowd before honing in on Tama Tonga again. “So who’s it gonna be? The ‘old, retired’ Mangler, William Mannheim? Or the one involved with that so-called ‘skank’ of a veteran’s daughter you seem so bothered about?”

Raising an eyebrow silently, Tama leaned in to silently discuss this with his family, before getting right back in Brody's face. "If he'll be a man and accept the challenge.... annnnd if he can take a break from his bitch's worn-out cooch, I wanna kick Steele's worthless ass."

Hanson: “Now is that really necessary?”

Reynolds: “Well...have you seen his new t-shirt that’s out? No Fu—“

Hanson: “I know what it says, Jim.”

Steven Brody sighed, rubbing his eyes. He obviously didn’t approve of how brash Tama Tonga was being about this.

“Alright, then. So I’ll allow the challenge to be made. However, in all fairness, as you said, it’s up to Steele to accept. I’ll get with him, talk it over; hell, if I know anything about the guy, he’s all about stepping up to a challenge. Besides, I doubt he’d appreciate any of what you’ve said out here. Not to mention—“

Before he could get another word out, the sound of Battle Beast’s “Push It To The Limit” suddenly blasted on throughout the arena.

Hanson: “OH MAN!”

Reynolds: “UH-OHHHH!”

As the song suggested, Morgan Payne appeared out on the stage. Dressed out of her ring gear now and in street clothes consisting of a sleeveless Iron Maidens tag team shirt and low rise, baggy black jeans, the woman came storming down to the ring with a look of fury in her eyes. Wasting no time to play to her fans, she slid into the ring and walked right up to the men, SNATCHING the microphone from Steven Brody before getting up in Tama Tonga’s face. Her music died down and she, mockingly, looked the man over in the same manner he had done to the commissioner.

“And just who...the HELL...do ya think yins are, huh?! Ya come out here, talkin’ trash like yins’re hot shit around here? Last time I saw one of ya little Firin’ Squad fucks step into an NFW ring, they got their head rocked by those crazy ass Snake assholes!” She looked from Tama, over to Tanga and Haku, then back to Tama. “The biggest one of ya jackasses, I wanna add! Punked like a little bitch by two guys with face paint that don’t even know whether or not t’stick around their chicken shit leader! And now *you*...” She jabbed a finger into Tama Tonga’s chest, “...you wanna come out here...barkin’ and gruntin’ about how yins’re better than Ryan?! At least he steps up to the plate! Outcome regardless, my man wrestled not one but TWO...” She threw up two fingers in his face, “...matches tonight! Because he doesn’t back down from anybody! But a struttin’, gyratin’ little bitch like you ain’t even worth your weight in bullshit that you constantly let come flyin’ outta ya mouth! And don’t think, just ‘cause I’m a ‘little girl’ that I’m gonna sit back and let you run ya mouth about me the way ya’ve been doin’. Asshole, I’ll slap that goddamn perm right outta those oily ass locks o’yers before Ryan has a chance to break his foot off in that sore ass o’yers.”

Without missing a beat, Morgan lowered the microphone and SLAPPED Tama Tonga right across the face, with an audible *SMACK*.

Crowd: “OHHHHHHHH!!!!”

Hanson: “HOOOOOLY CRAP!!”

Reynolds: “Baby girl’s got CLAWS!!”

Tama looked to the crowd, amused little smirk on his face. Clearly, he was surprised (and maybe even a little impressed) at the courage of this girl. Finally, he turned back to her. "I gotta say, little girl... that took guts. It really did. In fact..." he cut himself off then however, leaping up and hitting Morgan with the Gun Stun, brutally snapping her down to the canvas.

Hanson & Reynolds: “OH MY GOD!!!!”

Morgan hit the canvas like dead weight, lying motionless, face down on the mat as Brody stepped up to Tama Tonga. Even without a microphone, he could be heard yelling, “WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?!”

Hanson: “YOU’VE GOTTA BE KIDDING ME! TAMA TONGA JUST GUN STUNNED MORGAN PAYNE!!”

Reynolds: “THESE FANS ARE LIVID, NICKY!”

Hanson: “THESE GUYS ARE GONNA CAUSE A DAMN RIOT!!”

Reynolds: “GET THEM OUTTA HERE!!”

The deafening jeers from the crowd turned into an even louder pop, then, as the entrance curtain flew open.

Hanson: “Ohhh and here comes the McKeesport Mafia, Jim!!”

Leading the way, as was probably expected in this instance, was Andrew Payne, booking it to the ring with the speed of an NFL Runningback despite his size. As the Mafia hit the ring, Haku sprung into action and quickly ushered his sons out of the ring, leaving Morgan’s father to kneel by her side and begin checking on her. After a moment, he looked up with a murderous look at Brody who stood in utter disbelief. Regret in his eyes for even letting it go this far. The shot faded out with Andrew cradling an unconscious Morgan in his arms as he glared up the ramp at Haku and the G.O.D - more specifically, at Tama Tonga....

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*In the backstage area, we see Josh Davidson.*

"Ladies and gentlemen, at this time, accompanied by his advocate, Paul Heyman, Minoru Suzuki," Davidson says.

*An audible boo can be heard from the arena crowd as Suzuki steps into the camera area with a towel over his head with Paul Heyman by his side. Before Davidson can start, Heyman puts his hand over the mic and gestures him to step away from the area as he focuses his attention to the camera.*

"Ladies and gentlemen. My name, is Paul Heyman. And I'm here as an advocate for the King of Pro Wrestling, Minoru Suzuki. Now, Mr. Davidson, let's get one thing perfectly straight here. Mr. Suzuki is NOT one to conduct interviews before a match. And I will more than gladly step in and act as his spokesman in his stead. If you see this is as a problem, you are certainly MORE than welcome to bring it to Mr. Suzuki's attention and he will more than happily discuss this matter with you off-camera," Heyman says flatly as Davidson slowly nods uncomfortably while looking down and avoiding eye contact with Suzuki, who's looking at Davidson, but his head remains obscured by the towel.

"No problems? Great, you can run along now. Go ahead, run along now like a good little stooge," Heyman says as he shoos Davidson away, who moves off-camera.

"Now, let's make one thing perfectly clear. Mr. Dickulous, or should I simply say, Mr. Dick, this is nothing personal. This is only business. You have something that my client, Minoru Suzuki, would like to add to his collection. Now Mr. Dick, as the Silver Mountain Champion, I'm sure you're reign has been, well, mediocre at best. You are a man who has effectively been nothing more than a steward, a placeholder, for the TRUE King of professional wrestling, the great Minoru Suzuki, and he...," Heyman says before Suzuki places his hand over his mic and looking at Heyman, slowly takes the mic as Heyman respectfully nods and gives Suzuki the mic before taking a step back and flanking over Suzuki's right shoulder as Suzuki starts to speak, his face still obscured by the towel over his head.

"Rikku Dickulous, anata wa namaedeari, sekai de anata no sonzai to onaji ōki-sa no jōdandesu. Anata wa anata ga nozomu subete no anata no ushiro ni kakureru koto ga dekimasu. Shikashi kon'ya, anata ga watashitoisshoni sono ringu ni ashi o fumiireru to, anata wa watashi ga mawari ni jōdan o iu hitode wanai koto ga wakarimasu. Watashi wa dare mo sasaina kotode wanai. Anata wa kon'ya shirubāmauntenchanpion ga shūryō suru yō ni tōchi shite imasu. Utagai no yochi no aru yuiitsu no mono wa, anata ga sore o yaru tame ni kowasu hone no kazudesu. Tada hitotsu no koto o oboete oite kudasai. Subete ga iwa rete okonawa retara, anata wa watashi no michi ni aru mōhitotsu no fumidaidesu. Anata wa soko ni uso o tsuite, Suzuki-gun, ICHIBAN!!!" Suzuki says sternly to the audience as Heyman can be seen giving a smug smile to the camera as the scene fades to black.

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The main event for the evening saw an absolute war between Rick Dickulous and Minoru Suzuki. It was already a hellacious contest, just as a one on one. Each man trading vicious blows and strikes, trying to soften up appropriate body parts in order to create the opportunity for that submission hold that would lead them to victory. As the match reached passed the 15 minute mark, it appeared as though Rick Dickulous had fully gained the upper hand. However, when he came charging for Minoru Suzuki in the corner, Suzuki grabbed the referee and pulled him into Rick's path, sidestepping himself, causing Rick to flatten the ref against the turnbuckle.

Hanson: "AWWWWW DAMN IT!!!"

Reynolds: "There goes the ref!"

As Rick tried to assess the situation -- the referee crumpled on the mat -- Taichi sprung up onto the apron with his microphone stand and *CRACKED* Rick right across the head with it, causing him to stumble back. As he did, Suzuki whipped him around and planted him with the Gotch Style Piledriver!! Next, he stood to his feet, smiling maniacally down at the champion before motioning to Taichi.

Hanson: "What the hell is Suzuki calling for?"

Reynolds: "He's asking Taichi for something, it looks like."

Hanson: "Aww, c'mon! No! This is just adding insult to injury!"

Outside, Taichi violently threw the timekeeper out of his seat and snatched up his chair. As Miho Abe clapped and applauded him, he smacked the ring post before sliding the chair in to Suzuki. As soon as he finished sliding the chair in, however, the crowd gave a pop as AKI sprung out of the crowd and began laying into Taichi with sharp strikes.

Hanson: "JIM, LOOK!! IT'S AKI!!!"

Reynolds: "WHAT THE HELL'S HE DOING OUT HERE BY HIMSELF?!"

Hanson: "I DON'T KNOW!"

Reynolds: "Hey, nice Luger impression!"

As AKI continued brawling with Taichi on the outside, he failed to notice T-Hawk and Shingo Takagi rushing down to the ring where the two immediately got him off of Taichi and began a two on one beatdown.

Barely a moment went by of this before Connor K appeared, taking it directly to Shingo Takagi while AKI began to mount a counter offense on T-Hawk.

Reynolds: "THIS IS NUTS, NICKY!!"

Hanson: "THIS IS CHAOS!!"

A moment later saw more of Suzuki-Gun coming down to aid their side - Davey Boy Smith Jr and Lance Archer of the Killer Elite Squad, as well as Havok ( who, for once, was out of his ring gear and seen in a sleeveless SG t-shirt with his own pair of black and white track pants). The instant these three made it to ringside, the brawl turned over in Suzuki-Gun's favor, once more.

However, another pop exploded from the crowd with those who could actually see everything losing their minds as Shelton Benjamin hit ringside from the ramp, accompanied by Big Daddy Payne and Andrew Payne. Finally, the numbers were a little more even, it seemed, as Suzuki-Gun fought it out towards backstage against the group of the McKeesport Mafia, Connor K and AKI.

Reynolds: "THE MAFIA SAID THEY WEREN'T GONNA TAKE MUCH FROM SUZUKI-GUN, ANYMORE!! THEY'VE LAID OUT ONE OF THEIR OWN GUYS ON MORE THAN ONE OCCASION!! NOW THE WAR IS ON!!"

Inside the ring, Suzuki stood with the chair in his hand, watching briefly as the two groups fought their way backstage. Readying his weapon, he turned towards Rick Dickulous who finally made it up onto his groggy legs. Suzuki, sneering, rushed in towards Rick with the chair reared up for a strike. To the shock of the crowd, Rick evaded the attempt at the chairshot, putting himself behind Suzuki and locked him into a tight Crossface Chickenwing, using his weight advantage to pull Suzuki down to the mat.

Hanson: "WAIT A MINUTE!!! RICK'S GOT HIM!!!! HE'S GOT HIM!!!! SUZUKI'S GONNA TAP, JIM!!!!"

Reynolds: "NO WAY!!!"

Down on the mat, Suzuki struggled against Rick's sheer power, fighting with the one free arm he had to try and pry Rick's choking arm off of his neck. All the while, grinning and taunting his opponent that he would have to do better. Whether or not Rick knew Japanese was anyone's guess, but the man did adjust his hold, locking it in tighter around Suzuki's neck. Rather than relenting and tapping, Suzuki continued to try and escape the hold as the referee came to and groggily crawled over to assess the man. Instead of tapping out to Rick's submission, Suzuki finally, completely faded out with his free arm going limp and his eyes slowly drifting shut, leaving the referee to desperately call for Rick to release him, granting Rick Dickulous the victory at 18:30 and retaining the Silver Mountain Championship.

Hanson: "HE'S OUT! SUZUKI'S OUT, JIM!!!"

Reynolds: "YOU GOTTA BE KIDDING ME!!!"

Hanson: "RICK DICKULOUS JUST CHOKED OUT MINORU SUZUKI!!!"

Reynolds: "BUT HE DIDN'T TAP, NICKY! WHAT DOES THAT MEAN?!"

Hanson: "WELP!! RICK STILL HAS HIS CHAMPIONSHIP!

Reynolds: "Hey, wait, look. He's coming over here!"

Dripping with sweat, clutching his coveted championship, Rick limped over to the announce table and picked up the third headset, for use of the mic.

Hanson: "Rick, if you don't mind me saying, that was very impressive! Congratulations on your defense!"

Panting into the headset's mic, Rick looked at the camera. "Thanks, guy.... I just hope the Kaiju was watching.... Because soon enough...he's gonna be fucking the dog!" Dropping the headset down, Rick raised his title over his head in one hand as he made his exit.

Reynolds: "Fucking the d...what...?"

Hanson: "...I have no idea. But! That's our show for this evening. Good night, ladies and gentlemen!"