Post by Steven Brody, CEO on Sept 27, 2018 9:24:31 GMT -8
THE RETURN OF NFW - New York City, NY
-----------------------------------------------------
After the show’s intro cinematic, the camera opens up on the locker room area. At first, the central figure is Marissa Payne. However, a moment after the show’s theme song fades out, a loud belch is heard resonating throughout the locker room. After a second or two of us being left wondering what sort of disgusting looking pig made such a vile sound, into the frame steps the drop dead gorgeous form of Morgan Payne. Already in her gear — themed black and yellow — complete with a leather jacket and a backwards, Pittsburgh Steelers flat-bill, the young female superstar holds a sheet of paper in her hand and...a beer in the other. We also notice a cigarette tucked behind her ear.
“Yo!” Morgan calls to Marissa, as she steps into the shot, stifles another burp and uses the index finger of her beer hand to point at the paper — evidently, the match card. “You catch this shit? I thought we were signed on as a tag team and these ‘jagoffs’ got us spread apart further than Paris Hilton’s legs! Sup with that?!”
"Mor. Calm your tits. Seriously." Marissa laughed, sitting back against the lockers as she began lacing up her boots. "It's the first night. We'll have plenty of chances to team up and to kick ass on our own. Jesus you got your dad's patience." She went silent for a few moments then, before letting out a deep sigh and looking up at her lifelong friend. "This is big, you know? Our first night in a major promotion. Embracing who we are. It's a little overwhelming, don't you think?"
She paused then, trying not laugh. "And come on... don't talk shit on Paris. I'm like 90% sure she's one of Laura's celeb pals, and we don't wanna upset the runt."
Morgan pauses in raising her beer for another chug. Her face going comically horrified at the very mention of upsetting their currently absent third member.
“Yeeeeaah. You’re right. And when you’re right, you’re right.” She plops down beside her friend and takes that drink from her can she initially stopped for. “Bitch, I got the patience of a Christian school girl on date night compared to Pops.” Again, she stops, realizing the irony of her statement. A faint laughter can be heard from the crowd watching them on the tron from ringside.
Humor is replaced by sincerity then as she tosses the match card aside carelessly. “I know, right? I mean, I know our families never doubted us and always pushed us to succeed...but still...here we are! We’re starting the first major chapter in our careers in the same place your old man made it big! How wicked is that?!”
"They don't say it... but I think we both know our dads came back mostly to help us get a good start. We owe it to them to take The House of Payne into a new generation, and keep it just as tough." Marissa said, reaching for her kickpads, and starting to strap them to her boots.
"Blah blah bliddy blah, enough with all the rah-rah inspirational crap." Lara Blackheart walked in then, bag slung over her shoulder, sunglasses perched on the bridge of her nose, and wearing denim cutoffs, combat boots, and a faded, vintage Motley Crue tour tee. "My headache says to tell you to knock that shit off."
The voice of the cameraman could be heard, mumbling, "...is... is she hung over?"
Lara turned to the camera and gave a forced, innocent little smile. "Of course not. Because I'm not 21 yet, so obviously I don't drink because that would be *wrong*."
Morgan crinkles her nose through her amused smirk, sizing Lara up from where she sits. “Goddamn, and yins tell me *I* got a problem?” She laughs. “What’s up short, sloshed and easy?” Morgan teases, reaching over and giving Lara’s butt a playful slap in greeting.
“You gonna be alright stumbling down the ramp that way, or you need me to carry you to the ring?” She chuckles through a closed mouth as she plucks she cigarette from her ear and pops it into her mouth.
“Umm...miss, you can’t smoke in here.”
Morgan looks directly into the camera as if staring through the lens and at the same camera man that questioned Lara’s sobriety. A wide eyed, borderline unhinged expression taking over her. Keeping her focus on him, she flicks the zippo in her hand and lights up the menthol, plucks the cigarette out of her lips, and blows the smoke. “Rim me, fuck boy.
Finally, she leans down and snatches up the match card again. The ‘biggest’ of the three girls, talking with her cigarette hanging between her lips, and one eye closed in a comical look of concentration. “Alright, so who are the unlucky bitches that we get to—“ Both eyes widen. “What the piss is this? Yins each got singles and I got a threesome...erm...I mean a three way dance?!” She looks at Marissa. Looks at Lara. Back to Marissa. Back to Lara. Then to the cameraman. “Who booked this fuckin’ ‘cahd’?!”
Lara raised an eyebrow, before giving an hilariously cute frown. "I'm hung over. I mean, I'm THEORETICALLY hung over. Not drunk, dork. I'm fine. And speaking of threesomes, remind me to tell you later about the party I was at last night. It involves whiskey, questionable cigarettes, and losing my underwear somewhere in Riley Reid's hotel room. This is one to tell the kids every Christmas, I swear."
Marissa just blinked, before looking to Morgan. "....this girl lives a life we mortals can only dream about, you know that?"
“Tell me about it! Riley Reid?!” Morgan looks from Morgan and at Lara with envy in her eyes. “You better tell us all the juicy details! Speaking of juicy, what’s up with Christy Mack; you holla at her for me, yet?”
"Yeah... I'll tell the whole thing later, but... in the end I found my undies, mastered my impression of the singer from Creed, and found out that Return of the Jedi is even better when you're stoned. And we all lived happily ever after. Anyhoo..." She said, dropping her bag to the ground. "I'ma go get changed and get all focused. Gotta make my papa proud." She said with a melancholy smile, dragging the heavy bag behind her as she walked off.
Marissa watched her, pursing her lips and sighing. "If compartmentalizing was an Olympic sport, our girl would have more gold medals than Phelps."
Morgan watches along side Marissa as Lara ventures off. Dragging long and thoughtfully on her cigarette, she sighs the smoke out in a steady stream. “Yeah, tell me about it. I got a feeling though, Uncle V’s already proud as shit over what she’s accomplished so far. I just hope our opposition are ready for what’s comin’ to ‘em, right?” She cracks a smirk.
Just then, we can hear a brief knock on the locker room door before it opens. “Morgan Payne, you’re up!”
Morgan looks up towards the sound and rolls her eyes. “Yeah, yeah!” Shaking her head, she looks to Marissa and thumbs towards the doorman offscreen. “This fuckin’ guy. Tryin’ to have a sentimental moment, here.” One last chug of her beer finishes the can and a final drag finishes her cigarette. Morgan stomps the butt out and tosses the can away with a clatter. “Alright then, time to go show these floosies who they’re messing with.” Knocking forearms with Marissa, Morgan gives herself a slap to get in the zone. She gets up, gives the locker a headbutt and a slam with her hands before walking out of the shot. The last we hear of her is her arguing with the doorman.
“Yo, dude. Which way is the door for ground level audience?”
“Uh...stage and ramp are this way.”
“I don’t want stage, I want the crowd area, ya mook!”
Marissa watched her go, chuckling to herself as she shook her head softly. "They're weird, they're damaged.... and they're mine." She mused, hopping to her feet and beginning to do her stretches as the camera faded out.
--------------------------------------------------------------------
The scene opens on a flat screen monitor, mounted to the wall inside of a locker room. We can visibly make out a wrestling match taking place on the screen, however, it is not inside the NFW arena. Instead, it appears to be a few years old as the two women inside the ring go back and forth against one each other.
From here, the camera pans back until we pass back over the shoulder of a woman with her back to the viewers, watching the screen silently as she stands with her arms folded across her stomach. The hood of a black, silk robe, trimmed in purple is folded down around her shoulders so that we are able to see her white hair. She stands motionless as her attention rests fully on what's going on on the television.
Entering the frame from several feet back, Amy Connors -- the backstage interviewer for NFW -- calmly approaches with a microphone in her hand, hoping for an interview. "Excuse me, miss--"
She is cut off by a hand gently but quickly catching her by the shoulder. Amy Connors stops and turns around as the camera adjusts to reveal a Japanese man about in his forties, dressed in a black suit. "Please, ma'am. Do not disturb her. If you have any questions for her, you may direct them to me." He speaks in perfect English, in a smooth, calming tone yet...there's still something sinister about him.
"Oh...pardon me, sir. You're...?" Amy Connors asks, looking a little taken aback and slightly rattled by the man's appearance.
"Eido Tanaka; at your service." The man says, introducing himself with a polite bow of his head. "Miss Connors, is it?" She nods. Eido smiles. "How may I help you, this evening?"
Seeming to regain her composure, still a little unnerved by the man, Amy Connors smiles for the camera, gesturing to the woman watching the screen in the background. "Well, on behalf of the NFW fans, we were wanting to know a little more about...."
Tanaka smiles again. "Yes, of course. Rest assured that all you need to know is that she is here to write a new chapter in her young but decorated career. She has left her mark in our country; conquered all opposition thrown at her. I dare say, we have both grown bored of repetitive competition. Here, she seeks new challenges. New prizes." Tanaka pauses with that sinister smile again. "New prey, you could say."
Amy Connors, looking more unnerved by Tanaka's delight seeming delight in an otherwords dark vibe, simply nods. Her smile more forced than ever. We can clearly see she'd rather not be around these two. "I see." She says, clearing her throat. "Moving onto her opponents for tonight. We have a three way dance to showcase our women's division. Have you two talked over her strategy for going in against two individuals she has never faced before? To her credit, it looks like she appears to be..." Amy Connors turns and gestures unsurely towards the flatscreen TV, "...studying a tape of one of them."
"It will be interesting to see how she goes about dismantling them, yes." Tanaka says with a confident chuckle. "As for anything she might have to say to them? She does not often waste breath on words where they do not matter. She lets her *actions* speak for her. But I will say this: in regards to one of her opponents...Apocalypta?" Tanaka gives a slight cringe in disbelief at what he deems a silly name. "She has been a rather elusive one. Very hard to study. But that will not matter once the match has begun. However, this ah...Morgan Payne." Tanaka turns over his shoulder to glimpse the television, indicating exactly who the woman behind them is watching...studying. He turns back with a chuckle, glancing to the camera. "Your second opponent tonight here, Miss Payne, will pick you apart piece by piece if this...." He thumbs casually over his shoulder to the screen. "...is all you have to bring to the table."
Amy Connors visibly swallows nervously, raising the microphone to her mouth again. "Thank you, Mister Tanaka. Well, we look forward to the match, it is the opener for our first show. We hope the fans enjoy what NFW and these talented women have to offer."
Tanaka smiles -- like a snake -- and nods. "The pleasure is all mine, miss." Lifting one arm up, Tanaka checks the time on his rolex watch. He gives Amy Connors a side smirk and taps the face of it before lowering his arm down. "Angel-san!" He calls back the one wathing the screen.
Behind them, the white haired women lifts the remote to the television and shuts the tape off. Her movements slow and fluid like, she sets the remote down and lifts the hood to her robe over her head before turning towards the camera finally -- her head down so we cannot see her entire face. What we do see is the emotionless scowl of her mouth as she approaches and comes to stand between Amy Connors and Tanaka.
"Junbi dekiteru no?" Tanaka asks, looking down at Angel.
"Ikimasho...." Angel speaks in a tone just over a whisper, not even bothering to look up at the interviewer or her manager before moving forward, out of frame.
Tanaka smiles in cold delight as he follows her out of the locker room.
--------------------------------------------------------------
Cut to a dimly lit room in an undisclosed area of the arena. The camera focuses in on the man called, simply, Abaddon. Long black hair hung in his black & white painted face, as he stretched out his arms. Flanked by Apocalypta in front of him, Tyler Grey to the left of him, and Chris Wolfe to the right,
"For the past few months... I have slowly, methodically pieced my Circle of Snakes together. Choosing the finest... the toughest... the most sadistic people I could find. Tyler Grey & Chris Wolfe were floundering in the independents, two young wrestlers with no upward mobility... merely forced to perform for the public like trained animals, beating on each other night in and night out. I came to them... I showed them the way. Now they are a team, and are focused and deadly. And now, I claim this progeny of violence: Apocalypta. I have never seen such unbridled rage locked up inside a person... and I will guide her in unleashing it upon the world."
The one that Abaddon refers to as Apocalypta stands firmly in place. Her head down, shrouded in long black hair with a single red streak in the front on one side. Over her ring gear, made up of black and red, she wears a simple t-shirt with slitted sleeves bearing the words ‘AGAINST ALL GODS’ in jagged text.
Only when the Circle of Snakes leader mentions her directly, does she lift her head to acknowledge the camera. If she was simply intimidating before, she is downright terrifying the moment she shows her ‘face.’ Narrow features obscured in face paint designed to look like a rotting skull. Her eyes, are but two lifeless white orbs that stare back at us with a silent hatred for all things pure and innocent.
Abaddon set a hand upon her head, not unlike one would to their favorite attack dog. "Tonight begins the reign of terror of my Circle of Snakes. Before we're finished... we will rule this promotion, and will have a death grip on every title it has to offer. But tonight..." Abaddon continued, a sick smile tugging at his lips, "Will be our finest hour yet. Tonight we welcome the most lethal engine of destruction wrestling has ever seen. Tonight.... N*FW will bear witness... to the coming of Belphegor"
And much like an obedient pet, relishing in her master’s semblance of affection, Apocalypta tilts her head up into Abaddon’s hand. For a moment, her eerie white eyes drift closed as she seems to be off in her own little world of delight. After a moment, her eyes re-open and focus back on the camera, her shoulders rising and falling slowly with a deep breath of anticipation. Whether it is for the arrival Abaddon speaks of or an anxiousness to meet her opponents for the evening, or both is unclear. Either way, another exhale escapes her lips that barley part as her head cranes to the side with an audible crack of her neck.
"Abaddon is the way. He is the light that guides us." Tyler Grey then said, looking at his stablemates with confidence. "He took two men without a path, two men who just kept trying to destroy each other... and helped us channel that rage. Helped us turn that need to destroy towards others, as a unit. And as NFW builds it's tag team division? We're going to crush all others beneath us."
Chris Wolfe hopped lightly back and forth, loosening up as he cracked his neck. "Me and Tyler... we're more focused than ever now. Ain't no team gonna beat us. We're more in tune with each other than I ever thought a team could be. This is the shot we've been working for all this time on the indies.... and there's no way we're going to let a couple of redneck bitches ruin it for us."
Abaddon raised his head, staring in nothingness. "Tonight.... The Circle... is complete."
------------------------------------------------------------------
In the three-way dance to kick off the new NFW, chaos quickly broke out among the three women, coming to a conclusion when Morgan Payne hit a top rope spin kick on Angel.... only for Apocalypta to suddenly shove her through the ropes and tying Angel up in a cradle for the pin at 14:08
-------------------------------------------------------------------
As the show returns from a commercial break, the main theme song fading out after the brief vignette logo, the camera finds Vincent Stone backstage, warming up for his match later that evening. Already geared and ready to go, the former indie competitor throws shadow punches and elbows at the air.
A few seconds later, a knock at his door makes him pause in his warm up. “Come in!” He calls, going back to his workout.
The sound of the door opening and closing can be heard before we hear a voice offscreen. “Well, look at you....”
Stone stops again, turns towards the voice and cracks an amused grin. “What’s up, man?!” He responds, reaching out to clasp hands with none other than Andrew Payne as the large man steps into frame.
“How’s it goin’, kid?” The man known by fans as The Punisher looks about as dangerous, albeit older, as ever. His black hair is speckled with grey as is the beard he now sports. His arms, bare from the sleeveless House of Payne t-shirt he wears, still look big enough to break a cruiserweight in half. He gives Stone a quick look over with just a hint of an impressed smirk at the younger superstar’s physique. “You put some muscle on since the last time we saw you.”
Stone laughs, before stopping and looking passed the guy who once served as an early mentor in his career. “We? Is D here, too?!”
Andrew shakes his head. “He’s back with the girls, making sure their head’s in the game.”
“The girls!” Stone reacts as if he almost forgot. “Can I meet them?”
Andy nods. “You will. I wanted to come see how things were with you. Ready for your match?”
Stone waves the air with a hand. “More than ready. I may have never been in the ring with this Connor K guy, but I hope he’s ready for what I’ve got for him.”
Andy raises an eyebrow. “And what’s that?”
Stone grabs a t-shirt out of his locker and snaps it out. “BAM!” The front of the shirt features large text made to look like cracked rock, reading ‘HANDS OF STONE’. Andy looks at the shirt, crossing his arms idly over his chest. “Hands of Stone. Hmm. You know what? I like it.”
“Really?” Stone asks, pulling the shirt on over his head.
Andy nods. “Really. Just remember something. Make sure you can back up your words.”
Stone smirks. “Oh, trust me.” He raises a taped fist. “I can back these up, no problem. Anyone who steps into the ring with me here is gonna find that out, real quick.” He drives the fist into his other taped hand.
Andy nods approvingly. “Keep that mindset kid, and you’ll silence any naysayers. Kick some ass out there tonight.”
Andy and Stone clasp hands again. “Thanks, Andy. Tell D I said hey. I’ll stop by later.”
Andy merely nods and leaves Stone to his warmup again which the man resumes once the locker room door closes. His punches resuming before we cut back to ringside.
----------------------------------------------------------------------
*In the backstage arena, we see Connor's arrival. He's pulling his spinner behind him and wearing a pair of Beats headphones over his ears, looking confident as he makes his way through the back. One of the agents in the back stops him and prompts him to remove his earphones.*
"There you are. We've been trying to get a hold of you, you know that? At least you knew you have a match tonight, right?" the agent says.
"Nah, it's cool, man. I'll be ready," Connor says as he looks down at his phone and covering the smile over his mouth as he reads something on the screen.
"Are you even taking this seriously, man? Look, a lot of strings were pulled for you, given who your..." the agent blurts out before Connor looks up and holds his hand to his face.
“Look man, I got this, ok? No need to bring family here, alright?" Connor says before someone in the distance yells, "Hey Connor! There you are! You got your Switch?!? We're starting soon!!!”
"Yeah man, it's in my bag. Let me get to the back and let's do this!" Connor yells back at someone off-camera. "Yo, good talking to you man, I gotta go," Connor says to the agent before walking away.
The camera zooms in on the agent, shaking his head as he watches Connor walk away, "He's going to get himself killed like that," the agent says as the scene fades to black.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------
In what was a surprisingly even match, Vincent Stone and Connor K went back and forth for over 20 minutes with neither keeping a clear advantage for very long. Finally, after watching as Connor managed to kick out of damn near every move in his arsenal, Stone hit three consecutive Bootscrapers to finally keep the rookie down at 24:29.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------
“Man, what kinda shit is this?!”
The shot immediately opens on Teddy Morse of the Rebel Rousers, standing in the locker room area with a sheet of paper in his hands; presumably the match card. Teddy is already in his ring gear, wearing his entrance gear of a denim jacket modified into a vest with a hunter’s camo baseball cap.
As he frowns down at the match card, his tag team partner, Chase Evans, steps into frame, looking over his buddy’s shoulder.?Chase’s ring gear matches Teddy’s, but his own entrance gear is a sleeveless t-shirt with their tag team name on it and a rebel flag bandana.
“What’s up?”
“Look at this!”
Teddy hands the card to Chase, who takes it and reads over it.
“Okay?” Chase shrugs his broad, hairy shoulders, confused by what has Teddy so angry.
Teddy points to their match. “The Rebel Rousers...right? That’s us. Versus Greywolfe. Greywolfe!” He throws his hands out to the side. “C’mon, man! We’re a tag team, trying to make a name for ourselves!”
Chase looks even more confused, shrugging his broad, hairy shoulders. “Yeah?”
Teddy grows more flustered at his friend’s alleged ignorance. “So they put a couple of country boys - us - in a handicap match against an indian named Greywolfe?! You know what that’s gon’ do to our image?! ‘Ooh, look at them there rednecks, beatin’ up on that Native American!’”
Chase looks up from the card and stares at Teddy as if he just sprouted a second head. “Are you fucking retarded?”
Teddy looks taken aback. Almost offended. “Hey man, just because my mama smoked meth until the second trimester don’t mean shit. I graduated high school with honors, sumbitch!”
Chase rolls his eyes and smacks him up against the back of his head so hard his hat falls off. “It ain’t Greywolfe, dumbass. It’s Grey...Wolfe. Tyler Grey and Chris Wolfe! It’s a *tag team* match! You know, because we’re, like you said, a *tag team*!”
Teddy stops and thinks, looking off to the side for a second. “Lemme see that.” He snatches the paper from Chase and looks at it again. His eyebrows raise with a look of clarity on his face. “Ohhhhhh! I see now. The G and W are both capitalized! Huh...GreyWolfe. The hell kinda tag team name is that?! Talk about a lack of creativity!”
Chase shrugs again. “Hell if I know, brother. I hear they’re tough shit, though, so we gotta be on our A game.”
“Man, to hell with that. They might be tough as shit, but we’re tough as nails, son! Them two ain’t gonna know what hit ‘em!”
“Yessir!” Chase heartily agrees, high fiving his partner. “Rebel Rousers, rolling in to fuck shit up and get paid doin’ it!”
“HEEEEEEELL YEEEEAAAH!” Teddy hollers at the top of his lungs, quoting part of their theme song. Afterwards, he laughs and reaches into his bag on a bench behind him, pulling out a can of Copenhagen and shaking it. “Man....” He shakes his head and laughs some more, pulling out a big pinch. “You know, for a second there?” He pauses to stick it in his mouth, leaving a huge lump in his bottom lip. His next words are partially distorted due to the dip in his mouth. “Ah thawt they wurr trynna shtereotype ush. Couple o’hillbirries, dippin cthew, drinkin’ beer and beatin’ up mernorities.”
As he speaks, Chase ducks down off screen to retrieve something himself. We hear him laugh to his friend. “Nah, man. We’re good. I mean there’s assholes like that in the world, but that ain’t us. We’re just a couple of Southern boys, friendly with everyone, and wanna have a good time.”
Chase pops back up, with two beers and hands one to Teddy. “Pre-match ritual?”
Teddy takes it and they crack their brews open together. “Pre-match rishual!”
The Rebel Rousers chug their beers simultaneously. However once they finish, Chase crushes his can in one hand and tosses it over his shoulder while Teddy goes into a coughing, hacking fit. Regardless, Chase punches his fist into the opposite hand and walks off frame. “Let’s go, buddy!”
Still coughing, Teddy follows after him, catching his breath. As the shot begins to faded out, we hear Teddy complaining hoarsely. “Aw man, I swallowed my dip! Yuck!”
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
Tyler Grey & Chris Wolfe defeated The Rebel Rousers by pinfall in 13:01 when Wolfe pinned Chase Evans after a phoenix splash.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
"Over the years... I've seen a lot in this sport."
The camera panned down to find Candi "The Crippler" Brodeur in the locker room, slowly taping up her hands and wrists. Far from the fresh-faced 18 year old who'd barely belonged in the sport, she was now older, tougher, and harder.
"I've seen partners come and go. I've seen the only family I had split up and go their separate ways. I've seen my hero... the who took me under his wing... self-destruct in the most horrible way possible. But through every personal loss. Through every setback. Through every heartbreak... I learned. I adapted. I let nothing stop me, and let nothing keep me down. I became an expert in the art of submission wrestling. And grew to revel in the pain I deal to others."
She stood, curling both hands into fists. This was a woman who, while confident in her own ability, also took nobody lightly.
"And now... tonight, the promotion I came into the business in is resurrected. And I welcome it back by bringing my brand of pain to Rosemary. And believe me... I've seen you in the ring before, babe. And I know how tough you are. I know damn well there's a decent chance that you would let your own neck snap before you'd tap out to me."
She looked into the camera, a sadistic grin forming as the camera closed in on her face.
"Luckily for me... that's a chance I am *more* than happy to take. It's time to tap or snap. See you in the ring, Rosemary."
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
At first the camera is blurry, and five objects are seen sitting on a table as the camera gets clear. The five objects are a green, red, yellow, black and blue. They are sitting in the foreground and Rosemary can be seen rocking back and forth, apparently talking to herself under her breath.
[Noticing the camera finally she smiles]
"We are sorry, and are wondering what you did to the management at New Frontier Wrestling that was so bad. We heard your words, your pale hollow words.
[She laughs]
"You must not pay as much attention to our career as you claim to. If you had you would know we had a run in with a fallen star and she thought she could break us. She didn't.
[She stands and walks over to the first green candle. After she lights it she continues to speak]
"We find it fitting that we light the green candle, as we were just speaking about obscured vision, don't worry, we can help illuminate your path for you. The path that leads to meeting us in the ring. The path that has us intersected. The path you are now on towards your inevitable end. We do thank you for the laugh though. Tap or snap eh? How original"
[She lights the red candle.]
"We looked at the matches on the schedule, and we noticed something we don't appreciate. We have held belts in almost everyone place we have competed, and have been choke slammed into tacks by men, and yet we are not a participant in the tv title match. We guess that is fine. So here is our proposal Candi, let's steal the show. We present to you an Inferno match. Accept our proposal, if you dare?
[Skipping over the yellow candle in the middle and going to the black candle.]
"Dark nights of the soul are in store for you Crippler. You think you stand a chance against us. You are deluding yourself. We accept you as our first sacrifice. So, thank you. Kill you we won't though. We have many plans for you...
[She cackles]
"First step is to put to sleep your doldrums, your ego, your wants and needs. Why is this the first step, because only through sleep and a chrysalis will you....
[She lights the final candle, the yellow one, representing the mist of transformation]
"Transform into what you could become... with our tutelage, our help. So accept our invitation. We expect an Inferno match in our future... see you soon. "
[She walks off camera, leaving the candles burning]
----------------------------------------------------------------------
Candi Brodeur and Rosemary had a wild, reckless brawl of a match that ended up playing more to Rosemary's strengths. Surprisingly, Rosemary managed to get in Candi's head a bit, keeping the match firmly based in brawling and high-impact moves, and keeping away from a more ground-based, submission style. While Candi kept the match even, in the end she fell victim to The Red Wedding, as Rosemary pinned her cleanly in 14:37.
After the match, as Rosemary was leaving the ring, Candi slowly got to her feet, and called for the microphone.
"Rosemary! You took this match and turned it around on me. And you beat me clean as can be. I respect the hell out of you for that. So how does this sound.... in less than a month, NFW is going to have it's first pay-per-view event. At that event? I accept your challenge to an Inferno Match. And this time, I'M going to turn the tables on YOU."
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
*William Mannheim and Pitt are walking through the back halls of the arena*
"Pitt, you weren't kidding. This place IS amazeballs. I mean, we've got sexy women, all sorts of nutritious food, and as soon as Rick gets here, we'll have hooker and beer money."
*Pitt looks down at Mannheim's smiling face*
"Yeah, Willy, but I wanna know when the *beeep* that *beep* right there is gonna stop. It's *beep*in' annoying. I mean, I'm an adult...I can say dirty words too."
"Well, Pitt...apparently not..."
*Mannheim is cut off by an 8-bit ringtone of 'Never Gonna Give You Up'. He fishes his phone out of his pocket and looks at it, rolling his eyes*
"It's fucking Brody. Probably gonna try to be a dick like every other GM...hold on a sec."
*Mannheim answers the call, putting the handset up to his ear.*
"City Morgue, you stab 'em, we slab 'em.....what?....yeah, I told you he'd be here, calm your ass, Brody....he had a flight that was supposed to land at 15:30, he probably had to rent a--hold on a sec, I have a beep.....yes, I'm putting you on hold."
*Mannheim angrily jams a finger at the screen of his phone*
"Hello?.....Don't you hey guy me, motherfucker. Where the fuck are you? I've got Brody up my ass, and, in case you forgot, I'm not into that homo shit.....you're on the way? They couldn't do what??....who cares what car you show up in, just fucking get here!"
*Mannheim jams a finger again into the screen of his phone before placing it back to his ear*
"See? I told y--"
*Mannheim scowls, and jams a finger into his phone screen again. Pitt looks inquisitively at Mannheim*
"Brody hung up, eh? Well, *beep* that guy right in the *beep.*"
"Exactly, Pitt. Right in the ass....twice, with no lube."
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Abaddon and Colt Shields fought to a no-contest at 9:22 when a huge, muscular giant of a man with a painted face and long, stringy black hair entered the ring, threw the referee out by the neck, and powerbombed Shields over the top rope to the concrete floor, before silently dropping to one knee before Abaddon.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Backstage, a black rental Escalade pulls up into the parking lot as the words "Earlier Tonight" appear at the bottom of the screen. The muffled sound of heavy metal music can be heard from inside; we can identify it as Soil’s “My Own” when the driver side door opens before the engine shuts off and the driver gets out. The driver is, in fact, Erin Mercer. The fire headed superstar is dressed in grey and black army camo pants that hang low on her hips, a cut off Trivium t-shirt, a black unzipped hoodie and a backwards, Nike flat bill.
Walking around to the back, she pulls her bag from the vehicle and begins walking towards the locker room area. She gets about halfway there before a voice echoes through the hall.
“ERIN!!!!”
Slightly startled, she looks around until something catches her eye off camera. Her expression breaks into a smile.
“VIN!!”
Vincent Stone steps into frame, dressed in his own streetwear of black track pants and a Five Finger Death Punch tee. The two exchange a quick hug.
“You just get here?” Stone asks.
“Yeah! Literally, just now.” Mercer adjusts her bag on her shoulder. “You?”
Stone shakes his head. “Me? Nah, I got here awhile ago. I gotta hurry and get changed, though. My match is up, soon.”
“Yeah, I’ve got a bit, but I’m gonna get ready as soon as I find the locker rooms....” Mercer says as she looks around, unsurely.
“They’re over down this way.” Stone points in the direction he came from. “Speaking of which, you’ve got a pretty big match for the kickoff show, huh?” He says with a wry smile.
Mercer smiles with a small, excited bounce on her toes. “I know! Can you believe it?! I used to watch Easy V when I was a kid; and now I get to wrestle his daughter in my big league debut? Talk about sick!” Her expression turns serious, almost sympathetic. “You knew him, didn’t you?”
Stone nods slowly; his expression also looking somewhat somber. “Yeah. Well, kinda. I chatted backstage with him a few times. I know his brothers more than anything. Well, you know: ‘brothers.’” He says, making quotation marks with his fingers.
Mercer nods. “I’ve got an autograph photo of him from when I was like, ten years old.”
“Nice!” Stone exclaims.
“Have you met her? Lara?” Mercer asks, tilting her head.
Stone shakes his again. “Nope. Haven’t even met BDP or Andy’s kids yet. Who knows? You know me: I go with the flow of things and see where paths cross. You’re gonna meet her, later tonight though!” He grins.
Mercer laughs. “Well, yeah! In the ring! I’m a little excited, you know? I get to wrestle the daughter of one of the guys that inspired me to get into this business. Is that one of those full circle things?”
Stone glances upwards thoughtfully. “Hmmm.” He looks back at Mercer. “Not sure. I bet your match is good, though. I’ve seen you tussle with some tough ones. You know your shit. And if Lara Blackheart is anything like her old man?” He lets out a long, low whistle. “They probably should have made you two’s match the main event.”
“I know, right?!” Mercer laughs. “But hey, it’s the semi-main event! For my first match here? I’ll take it!”
“That’s the spirit!” Stone and Mercer high five each other.
“Anyways; care to show a lady where the locker room is?” Mercer asks, batting her eyelashes jokingly.
Stone nods and steps to the side, giving a mock bow as he extends his arm off in the direction they need to go. “After you, m’lady. I can even show you exactly where yours is! I saw it on my way in: right next to theirs.”
Mercer stops mid-step, her jaw dropping. “Wait...them as in...?”
Stone nods. “Yeah. Second generation of PA and Chicago’s finest. C’mon!” He gives a light slap to her arm and hurries off screen.
“Are you serious?!” Mercer looks more shocked than anything. “They put me right next door to my opponent?! What if she’s one of those ‘deep in the zone’ types and tries to kick my ass before the match?!” Mercer shifts her bag onto her other shoulder and hurries out of frame after Stone, still talking frantically. “What the hell is wrong with the staff in this company?! Vin! Wait up!”
Hard cut to the next scene.
---------------------------------------------------------------------
Marissa Payne defeated Hotaru Takagi by pinfall in 7:59 after hitting her with the Bitch Killa.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
*A shrill "O, Canada" ringtone can be heard as the scene fades in to Mannheim and Pitt, still sitting outside the arena. Mannheim pulls out his phone, swipes the screen, and puts the handset to his ear*
"Tell me you're almost here....your match is right after this one. I didn't stick my fucking neck out and put my reputation on the line for--"
*Mannheim pulls the phone away from his ear, as very faintly "Tom Sawyer" by Rush can be heard*
"Would you turn that shit down, for fuck sakes? I'm trying to have a conversation here."
*Pitt stands up and looks off in the distance, the music seeming to get just a little louder*
"RICK, FOR FUCK SAKES...."
*Pitt points down the street as he looks back at Mannheim*
"Willy...I think I see him...he's trolling the *beep* outta you!"
*Mannheim stands up, phone still at his ear. He squints down the road, and the music continues to grow in volume. Mannheim's phone clatters to the ground as the camera pans down the street to show a rusted out, kind of red, 1982 Chevrolet Acadian weaving through traffic. As the car pulls up, the music is almost deafening. As the car is shut off, the driver's door opens, and out clambers a huge man. He sports black boots, a red tartan utilikilt, a white shirt with a Canadian flag and the caption: "I'm an EH HOLE" on the front. He smiles at Mannheim and Pitt*
"Hey, guy! I told you to relax, eh? I was just grabbin a pack of darts and a two four at the store. I had to go teach a little bitch a lesson - hoser tried to sell me fuckin' oregano, so I went and tuned him up, and now the back of the car is loaded with green."
*Mannheim looks puzzled*
"This is not what I pictured you showing up in. Is THIS what took so goddamned long?"
*Rick smiles*
"Hey, buddy, this is a Canadian classic. They looked at me like I had three heads when I landed and asked the pretty lady at the desk for one, so I went back to the border and bought this off of craigslist....and I didn't get fucking murdered! Then I drove non stop all the way here."
*Pitt looks more confused*
"Hey, waitasecond. Number one: didn't you have to stop and pee? And, number two: WHY THE *beep* AM I THE ONLY ONE BEING *beep*IN' CENSORED?"
*Rick shrugs at Pitt*
"Water bottles are a godsend. That's not lemonade in there, eh? Just sayin..."
*Mannheim starts guiding Rick into the arena, Pitt following behind, muttering to himself, the odd beep strewn into his muttering*
"Look, we gotta get you ready to go, Rick. You're on next...fuckin' hustle!"
*Rick stops dead in his tracks*
"I'm not going in there without Anne Murray. She's my beautiful queen."
"Wait, you brought Anne Murray with you? How in the fuck did you pull that one off?"
*Rick runs back to his car, opens the hatch, moves a bunch of freezer bags full of marijuana, and emerges with a bong that's evidently been well used*
"Willy, Pitt, meet Anne Murray. She always knows just how to treat a guy, especially when I'm givin'er, eh?"
*Mannheim shakes his head and palms his face, while Pitt looks confused.*
"Come on, buddy....let's go...enough dog fuckin', eh?"
*The three men head into the arena as the camera fades to black*
-------------------------------------------------------------
Rick Dickulous defeated Black Dragon by pinfall in 9:33 after catching him in a hurricanrana attempt and hitting him with the Misery Whip.
---------------------------------------------------------------------
The shot fades in on a photograph of Matt Klazzic, blown up to a larger size and sitting on an easel. As the camera starts panning backwards, our ears are greeted by a man's voice.
"Matt Klazzic...."
Finally, the source of the voice -- none other than Adam Cole -- comes into frame. He's dressed in his ring gear, with a black sleeveless t-shirt, bearing the text "YOUR WIFE WAS HERE" and an arrow pointing downwards. The look on his face is comically confused. In the background, we hear the faint sound of his new entrance theme playing. It almost serves as a soundtrack for the scene.
"Who the *fuck* is Matt Klazzic?!"
Cole, looks towards the picture, gesturing a hand up and down the photo. He lets out a "pfft" sound from his lips as he looks back towards the camera and shakes his head. "I signed a contract with this company. Agents practically BEGGED ME to come compete in New Frontier Wrestling! And this is my debut match? A second rate, Nacho Libre knock off? I mean, the guy looks like he double fists chalupa supremes before each match. And not the good kind either. I'm talking Taco Bell here, not Taco Cabana."
Cole gives the photo another look and shakes his head again.
"If this is the type of competition I'm looking at here, I'd probably have a better time beating the shit out of the prostitute trying to make a score down on the corner." He points off camera, and laughs. His face turns serious then as he holds his hands up in a 'wait, calm down' gesture. "But, hey. I'll give you one thing, Matt. I watched your little video on social media; several times, in fact. Pretty hilarious when they threw you and your camera man out onto the street which -- let's be honest -- it's probably where you belong. However, you seem to have a real passion for wrestling. That's good!"
Cole shoots a double thumbs up to the camera with a mocking enthusiastic smile.
"I mean, it's probably what got you into the business to begin with. Because this?" He thumbs back towards the photo. "Yeesh! This ain't the Golden Era of that "other" company anymore." Cole makes quotation marks with his fingers. "Maybe back then, you'd be a star, but here? You're just a stepping stone for my way to the top. Just try not to disappoint me in the ring, because booking already has. Let's face it: I deserve better." He looks down and to the side, thoughtfully. "Matter of fact...." He looks up and passed the camera. "HEY!" Evidently calling to a stagehand. "WHY THE HELL AM I NOT IN THE TV TITLE MATCH?!" Cole pauses, shrugging his hands up. We don't hear the stagehands answer but it's clear they're the wrong person to ask. "YOU DON'T KNOW?! YEAH, WELL FUCK YOU TOO! READ THE SHIRT, PAL!" Cole gestures to his t-shirt before shaking his head.
"Loser. Anyway, where was I?" He looks back to the camera. "Right! Maybe this is their attempt at giving you an opportunity to shine, Matt. Maybe they figure you could learn something by stepping into the ring with me. I'm sure you're sitting there right now, saying to yourself 'Gosh golly gee whillickers Mr. Brody! I sure do appreciate your faith in me! I won't let you down! I promise! The fans sure are in for a treat, tonight!" Cole pumps his arm and gives a thumbs up with a sarcastic, mocking smile before going serious again. "You wanna talk about bringing good old fashioned wrestling to NFW? You're looking at the greatest goddamn wrestler to ever walk this Earth, right here. He's gonna kick your sorry ass all around the ring so bad, security's gonna toss you out onto the street again and send you packing. He's gonna show you that true greatness has a name and that name--" Throwing his fingers up into the air, "--is ADAM COLE, BAY BAY!!"
Dropping his hands, Cole turns and slaps the photograph of Matt Klazzic, knocking it and the easel over. "Get this thing outta here!" He says, walking out of the frame as it fades out.
----------------------------------------------------
*The scene shifts to a local nearby gym (actually, a Planet Fitness) as "Cake by the Ocean" by DNCE plays in the gym sound system. There are many patrons using all the different treadmills and exercise climbers, some are using the circuit, and others are using the different nautilus machines camera pans to the left and we see Matt Klazzic with his back to the camera at the front desk conducting business. Upon finishing his interactions with the front desk staff, he turns around, still wearing his mask and wearing a powder blue velour tracksuit.*
"Hi there. Matt Klazzic here again and I'm going to train for my first NFW match against Adam Cole. I don't know anything about you, good sir, but Matt Klazzic is on his way to blazing a new trail here in NFW. A trail using these two hands. A trail based on substance and not flash or style. All I need to beat you is to wear you down with my mastery of the abdominal stretch to the point where, once I hit that piledriver, will leave me with the 1-2-3, and the win. But enough about that, it's time to get to work. Hit my music," Klazzic says to the cameraman as he goes over to start using the free weights.
*At that moment, the music cuts off in the Planet Fitness and we start hearing "Training Montage" by Vince DiCola play instead and everyone not listening to their own music through their headphones and earbuds just stop what they're doing and look around. Some look at each other and say, "what the fuck is this" and others just look around confused and annoyed. As the song kicks into gear, the only one oblivious to all this is Matt Klazzic as he starts on his workout. What follows next is clips of Matt Klazzic using the free weights and displaying a surprisingly high amount of strength during his workout. The clip continues throughout the course of the song, culminating with Klazzic doing his last set of butterfly curls on an elevated bench. He grunts and yells as he pushes hard and finally gets that last rep in, letting a loud yell out as he drops the weights and stands up nods approvingly to himself before looking back at the camera.*
"Mr. Cole, get ready, because Matt Klazzic's coming fo...," Klazzic says before a loud siren goes off in the gym. Klazzic looks around somewhat confused before a staff member approaches him and points out the Lunk Alert sign and being asked to leave, along with the cameraman, fading the scene to black.
------------------------------------------------------------
Despite the air of humor around him, Matt Klazzic took Adam Cole almost to the limit, at one point coming within a fraction of pinning him after an Arn Anderson-esque spinebuster. Cole proved to be too much for the masked man though, eventually pinning him in 12:53 after a Last Shot.
-------------------------------------------------------------
It was a moment the crowd had been waiting for all night. As the opening strains of Steel Panther's "Just Like Tiger Woods" began to play, cheers born of fandom, excitement, and respect for her father rippled through the arena as the girl known as "America's Sweetheart", Lara Blackheart, sprinted out onto the stage.
She wore a two-piece outfit clearly meant to be a tribute to her father, using the same green and black color scheme Vlad famously had years earlier. Her hair was dyed purple, with a few green streaks in it. She was a tiny thing, no more than 5'1", and with a face that was more adorable than tough or sexy. Yet somehow, she still radiated star power. Despite her size and appearance, there was an aura to her that just screamed "this girl is a star".
Running down the aisle, she happily slapped hands with as many people in the front row as she could, before sliding into the ring under the bottom rope. She grabbed the microphone... but remained quiet for a few moments, smiling with tears in her eyes as the crowd loudly chanted "EAZY-V! EAZY-V!"
"Thank you... You guys are awesome. Tha-.... OK, SHUDDUP!" She finally yelled in a ridiculously cute squeak as the crowd abruptly stopped chanting. "Better. Anyhoo... this is a big night for me. Hell, for ALL of us. When it was first announced that NFW was coming back... I know most of you were excited to see my father in this ring. He'd been in Japan for a couple of years, and I know he was amped up to have one more good run before he retired. But.... well... sometimes life just doesn't work out the way we expect."
She paused for a moment to collect herself, before continuing.
"I know I haven't been in this business very long. Only a year, to be exact. But when Dad passed away... well, NFW extended the offer to me to come in and continue Vlad Blackheart's legacy. I talked it over with my mom..."
The crowd cheered again, at the mention of her mother, Lara Chastain.
"I talked it over with my mom... and we agreed that Dad would want this. He'd want his little girl to go out there and keep his spirit alive. I mean.... does that mean I probably can't party as much anymore? Or do filthy things with questionable people in ludicrous places? Yeah... but dammit, no sacrifice, no victory. That's my motto." She paused, blinking a few times. "Actually... no. That was Shia LeBeouf's motto in the first Transformers movie. My bad."
"I should probably cut to the chase here. Erin Mercer? We're both young and trying to make a name for ourselves. And you seem like a cool chick. So let's skip the trash-talking, and just get out here so we can get all sweaty and roll around on the mat toge... I mean, get out here so we can kick each other's asses!"
-------------------------------------------------------------------
In a surprisingly high-impact and intense match, Lara Blackheart defeated Erin Mercer by pinfall in 19:11 after hitting her with a variation of the Canadian Destroyer she called The Shocker. After the match, Lara helped Erin to her feet and shook her hand in a show of respect.
---------------------------------------------------------------------
NFW Reporter- Hi Wrestling Universe I’m backstage. I’m gonna see if I can get an interview with one of the talents here at NFW.. (Ryan Steele walks by) You sir.
Ryan- Yes what do you want??
Reporter— Can you tell the Universe your name and a little about yourself?..
Steele— Why do you want my number there hot stuff??
Reporter— Well, (Seems a bit nervous)
Steele— Listen the name is Steele.. Ryan Steele.. I’m originally from Dayton, Ohio.. but currently live in Cincinnati to cheer on my favorite NFL team..I’ve changed a bit since I signed my contract.. I’ve heard I’ve got a match but don’t know who my opponent is nor do I care.. he’s an idiot just like the rest of the Universe... but you on the other hand.. (Reporter blushes) Anyway.. I’ve gotta go beat some guy up..
Reporter— There you have it folks.. (looks away from camera) I guess.. mumbling under breath..”God he’s strange..”
We catch Ryan just going to the curtain.. Different Reporter-“Ryan we heard there’s been a change to your match..”
Steele— Yea I know it’s a four way to get a title.. that’s what I’m gonna do...
(Ryan leaves camera sight to go through the curtains...)
--------------------------------------------------------------------
"The TV Title? Are you fucking serious?" The familiar voice of Scott Leroux called out, positively seething. "I'm a five-time NFW World Champion, for Christ's sake. And they wanna stick me in a match for the TV Title? Lucky I don't walk out the goddamn door right now."
He stood as the camera came into view, looking far different than when he last competed in NFW. Older now, he'd replaced his lean, svelte physique for a more ground-based, bulky and muscular one. His formerly spiky blonde hair was now cut into a modest buzz.
"Fine. I'll go out there tonight. I'll climb that ladder and grab the TV Title. And then? I'm going to get myself into the tournament for the World Heavyweight Title, so I can throw this damn thing right in the trash. Law? Steele? Shade? You don't even *know* what you're in for tonight. Hail to The King, bitches."
--------------------------------------------------------------------
In the four-way ladder match, the end came at 18:20 when, as Tyson Law and Satoru Shade were brawling at the top of the ladder, Ryan Steele tipped the ladder over and dumped both of them to the outside. As he turned around, Leroux walloped him right in the face with a steel chair, then climbed the ladder and grabbed the belt to win the NFW TV Title.
-----------------------------------------------------
After the show’s intro cinematic, the camera opens up on the locker room area. At first, the central figure is Marissa Payne. However, a moment after the show’s theme song fades out, a loud belch is heard resonating throughout the locker room. After a second or two of us being left wondering what sort of disgusting looking pig made such a vile sound, into the frame steps the drop dead gorgeous form of Morgan Payne. Already in her gear — themed black and yellow — complete with a leather jacket and a backwards, Pittsburgh Steelers flat-bill, the young female superstar holds a sheet of paper in her hand and...a beer in the other. We also notice a cigarette tucked behind her ear.
“Yo!” Morgan calls to Marissa, as she steps into the shot, stifles another burp and uses the index finger of her beer hand to point at the paper — evidently, the match card. “You catch this shit? I thought we were signed on as a tag team and these ‘jagoffs’ got us spread apart further than Paris Hilton’s legs! Sup with that?!”
"Mor. Calm your tits. Seriously." Marissa laughed, sitting back against the lockers as she began lacing up her boots. "It's the first night. We'll have plenty of chances to team up and to kick ass on our own. Jesus you got your dad's patience." She went silent for a few moments then, before letting out a deep sigh and looking up at her lifelong friend. "This is big, you know? Our first night in a major promotion. Embracing who we are. It's a little overwhelming, don't you think?"
She paused then, trying not laugh. "And come on... don't talk shit on Paris. I'm like 90% sure she's one of Laura's celeb pals, and we don't wanna upset the runt."
Morgan pauses in raising her beer for another chug. Her face going comically horrified at the very mention of upsetting their currently absent third member.
“Yeeeeaah. You’re right. And when you’re right, you’re right.” She plops down beside her friend and takes that drink from her can she initially stopped for. “Bitch, I got the patience of a Christian school girl on date night compared to Pops.” Again, she stops, realizing the irony of her statement. A faint laughter can be heard from the crowd watching them on the tron from ringside.
Humor is replaced by sincerity then as she tosses the match card aside carelessly. “I know, right? I mean, I know our families never doubted us and always pushed us to succeed...but still...here we are! We’re starting the first major chapter in our careers in the same place your old man made it big! How wicked is that?!”
"They don't say it... but I think we both know our dads came back mostly to help us get a good start. We owe it to them to take The House of Payne into a new generation, and keep it just as tough." Marissa said, reaching for her kickpads, and starting to strap them to her boots.
"Blah blah bliddy blah, enough with all the rah-rah inspirational crap." Lara Blackheart walked in then, bag slung over her shoulder, sunglasses perched on the bridge of her nose, and wearing denim cutoffs, combat boots, and a faded, vintage Motley Crue tour tee. "My headache says to tell you to knock that shit off."
The voice of the cameraman could be heard, mumbling, "...is... is she hung over?"
Lara turned to the camera and gave a forced, innocent little smile. "Of course not. Because I'm not 21 yet, so obviously I don't drink because that would be *wrong*."
Morgan crinkles her nose through her amused smirk, sizing Lara up from where she sits. “Goddamn, and yins tell me *I* got a problem?” She laughs. “What’s up short, sloshed and easy?” Morgan teases, reaching over and giving Lara’s butt a playful slap in greeting.
“You gonna be alright stumbling down the ramp that way, or you need me to carry you to the ring?” She chuckles through a closed mouth as she plucks she cigarette from her ear and pops it into her mouth.
“Umm...miss, you can’t smoke in here.”
Morgan looks directly into the camera as if staring through the lens and at the same camera man that questioned Lara’s sobriety. A wide eyed, borderline unhinged expression taking over her. Keeping her focus on him, she flicks the zippo in her hand and lights up the menthol, plucks the cigarette out of her lips, and blows the smoke. “Rim me, fuck boy.
Finally, she leans down and snatches up the match card again. The ‘biggest’ of the three girls, talking with her cigarette hanging between her lips, and one eye closed in a comical look of concentration. “Alright, so who are the unlucky bitches that we get to—“ Both eyes widen. “What the piss is this? Yins each got singles and I got a threesome...erm...I mean a three way dance?!” She looks at Marissa. Looks at Lara. Back to Marissa. Back to Lara. Then to the cameraman. “Who booked this fuckin’ ‘cahd’?!”
Lara raised an eyebrow, before giving an hilariously cute frown. "I'm hung over. I mean, I'm THEORETICALLY hung over. Not drunk, dork. I'm fine. And speaking of threesomes, remind me to tell you later about the party I was at last night. It involves whiskey, questionable cigarettes, and losing my underwear somewhere in Riley Reid's hotel room. This is one to tell the kids every Christmas, I swear."
Marissa just blinked, before looking to Morgan. "....this girl lives a life we mortals can only dream about, you know that?"
“Tell me about it! Riley Reid?!” Morgan looks from Morgan and at Lara with envy in her eyes. “You better tell us all the juicy details! Speaking of juicy, what’s up with Christy Mack; you holla at her for me, yet?”
"Yeah... I'll tell the whole thing later, but... in the end I found my undies, mastered my impression of the singer from Creed, and found out that Return of the Jedi is even better when you're stoned. And we all lived happily ever after. Anyhoo..." She said, dropping her bag to the ground. "I'ma go get changed and get all focused. Gotta make my papa proud." She said with a melancholy smile, dragging the heavy bag behind her as she walked off.
Marissa watched her, pursing her lips and sighing. "If compartmentalizing was an Olympic sport, our girl would have more gold medals than Phelps."
Morgan watches along side Marissa as Lara ventures off. Dragging long and thoughtfully on her cigarette, she sighs the smoke out in a steady stream. “Yeah, tell me about it. I got a feeling though, Uncle V’s already proud as shit over what she’s accomplished so far. I just hope our opposition are ready for what’s comin’ to ‘em, right?” She cracks a smirk.
Just then, we can hear a brief knock on the locker room door before it opens. “Morgan Payne, you’re up!”
Morgan looks up towards the sound and rolls her eyes. “Yeah, yeah!” Shaking her head, she looks to Marissa and thumbs towards the doorman offscreen. “This fuckin’ guy. Tryin’ to have a sentimental moment, here.” One last chug of her beer finishes the can and a final drag finishes her cigarette. Morgan stomps the butt out and tosses the can away with a clatter. “Alright then, time to go show these floosies who they’re messing with.” Knocking forearms with Marissa, Morgan gives herself a slap to get in the zone. She gets up, gives the locker a headbutt and a slam with her hands before walking out of the shot. The last we hear of her is her arguing with the doorman.
“Yo, dude. Which way is the door for ground level audience?”
“Uh...stage and ramp are this way.”
“I don’t want stage, I want the crowd area, ya mook!”
Marissa watched her go, chuckling to herself as she shook her head softly. "They're weird, they're damaged.... and they're mine." She mused, hopping to her feet and beginning to do her stretches as the camera faded out.
--------------------------------------------------------------------
The scene opens on a flat screen monitor, mounted to the wall inside of a locker room. We can visibly make out a wrestling match taking place on the screen, however, it is not inside the NFW arena. Instead, it appears to be a few years old as the two women inside the ring go back and forth against one each other.
From here, the camera pans back until we pass back over the shoulder of a woman with her back to the viewers, watching the screen silently as she stands with her arms folded across her stomach. The hood of a black, silk robe, trimmed in purple is folded down around her shoulders so that we are able to see her white hair. She stands motionless as her attention rests fully on what's going on on the television.
Entering the frame from several feet back, Amy Connors -- the backstage interviewer for NFW -- calmly approaches with a microphone in her hand, hoping for an interview. "Excuse me, miss--"
She is cut off by a hand gently but quickly catching her by the shoulder. Amy Connors stops and turns around as the camera adjusts to reveal a Japanese man about in his forties, dressed in a black suit. "Please, ma'am. Do not disturb her. If you have any questions for her, you may direct them to me." He speaks in perfect English, in a smooth, calming tone yet...there's still something sinister about him.
"Oh...pardon me, sir. You're...?" Amy Connors asks, looking a little taken aback and slightly rattled by the man's appearance.
"Eido Tanaka; at your service." The man says, introducing himself with a polite bow of his head. "Miss Connors, is it?" She nods. Eido smiles. "How may I help you, this evening?"
Seeming to regain her composure, still a little unnerved by the man, Amy Connors smiles for the camera, gesturing to the woman watching the screen in the background. "Well, on behalf of the NFW fans, we were wanting to know a little more about...."
Tanaka smiles again. "Yes, of course. Rest assured that all you need to know is that she is here to write a new chapter in her young but decorated career. She has left her mark in our country; conquered all opposition thrown at her. I dare say, we have both grown bored of repetitive competition. Here, she seeks new challenges. New prizes." Tanaka pauses with that sinister smile again. "New prey, you could say."
Amy Connors, looking more unnerved by Tanaka's delight seeming delight in an otherwords dark vibe, simply nods. Her smile more forced than ever. We can clearly see she'd rather not be around these two. "I see." She says, clearing her throat. "Moving onto her opponents for tonight. We have a three way dance to showcase our women's division. Have you two talked over her strategy for going in against two individuals she has never faced before? To her credit, it looks like she appears to be..." Amy Connors turns and gestures unsurely towards the flatscreen TV, "...studying a tape of one of them."
"It will be interesting to see how she goes about dismantling them, yes." Tanaka says with a confident chuckle. "As for anything she might have to say to them? She does not often waste breath on words where they do not matter. She lets her *actions* speak for her. But I will say this: in regards to one of her opponents...Apocalypta?" Tanaka gives a slight cringe in disbelief at what he deems a silly name. "She has been a rather elusive one. Very hard to study. But that will not matter once the match has begun. However, this ah...Morgan Payne." Tanaka turns over his shoulder to glimpse the television, indicating exactly who the woman behind them is watching...studying. He turns back with a chuckle, glancing to the camera. "Your second opponent tonight here, Miss Payne, will pick you apart piece by piece if this...." He thumbs casually over his shoulder to the screen. "...is all you have to bring to the table."
Amy Connors visibly swallows nervously, raising the microphone to her mouth again. "Thank you, Mister Tanaka. Well, we look forward to the match, it is the opener for our first show. We hope the fans enjoy what NFW and these talented women have to offer."
Tanaka smiles -- like a snake -- and nods. "The pleasure is all mine, miss." Lifting one arm up, Tanaka checks the time on his rolex watch. He gives Amy Connors a side smirk and taps the face of it before lowering his arm down. "Angel-san!" He calls back the one wathing the screen.
Behind them, the white haired women lifts the remote to the television and shuts the tape off. Her movements slow and fluid like, she sets the remote down and lifts the hood to her robe over her head before turning towards the camera finally -- her head down so we cannot see her entire face. What we do see is the emotionless scowl of her mouth as she approaches and comes to stand between Amy Connors and Tanaka.
"Junbi dekiteru no?" Tanaka asks, looking down at Angel.
"Ikimasho...." Angel speaks in a tone just over a whisper, not even bothering to look up at the interviewer or her manager before moving forward, out of frame.
Tanaka smiles in cold delight as he follows her out of the locker room.
--------------------------------------------------------------
Cut to a dimly lit room in an undisclosed area of the arena. The camera focuses in on the man called, simply, Abaddon. Long black hair hung in his black & white painted face, as he stretched out his arms. Flanked by Apocalypta in front of him, Tyler Grey to the left of him, and Chris Wolfe to the right,
"For the past few months... I have slowly, methodically pieced my Circle of Snakes together. Choosing the finest... the toughest... the most sadistic people I could find. Tyler Grey & Chris Wolfe were floundering in the independents, two young wrestlers with no upward mobility... merely forced to perform for the public like trained animals, beating on each other night in and night out. I came to them... I showed them the way. Now they are a team, and are focused and deadly. And now, I claim this progeny of violence: Apocalypta. I have never seen such unbridled rage locked up inside a person... and I will guide her in unleashing it upon the world."
The one that Abaddon refers to as Apocalypta stands firmly in place. Her head down, shrouded in long black hair with a single red streak in the front on one side. Over her ring gear, made up of black and red, she wears a simple t-shirt with slitted sleeves bearing the words ‘AGAINST ALL GODS’ in jagged text.
Only when the Circle of Snakes leader mentions her directly, does she lift her head to acknowledge the camera. If she was simply intimidating before, she is downright terrifying the moment she shows her ‘face.’ Narrow features obscured in face paint designed to look like a rotting skull. Her eyes, are but two lifeless white orbs that stare back at us with a silent hatred for all things pure and innocent.
Abaddon set a hand upon her head, not unlike one would to their favorite attack dog. "Tonight begins the reign of terror of my Circle of Snakes. Before we're finished... we will rule this promotion, and will have a death grip on every title it has to offer. But tonight..." Abaddon continued, a sick smile tugging at his lips, "Will be our finest hour yet. Tonight we welcome the most lethal engine of destruction wrestling has ever seen. Tonight.... N*FW will bear witness... to the coming of Belphegor"
And much like an obedient pet, relishing in her master’s semblance of affection, Apocalypta tilts her head up into Abaddon’s hand. For a moment, her eerie white eyes drift closed as she seems to be off in her own little world of delight. After a moment, her eyes re-open and focus back on the camera, her shoulders rising and falling slowly with a deep breath of anticipation. Whether it is for the arrival Abaddon speaks of or an anxiousness to meet her opponents for the evening, or both is unclear. Either way, another exhale escapes her lips that barley part as her head cranes to the side with an audible crack of her neck.
"Abaddon is the way. He is the light that guides us." Tyler Grey then said, looking at his stablemates with confidence. "He took two men without a path, two men who just kept trying to destroy each other... and helped us channel that rage. Helped us turn that need to destroy towards others, as a unit. And as NFW builds it's tag team division? We're going to crush all others beneath us."
Chris Wolfe hopped lightly back and forth, loosening up as he cracked his neck. "Me and Tyler... we're more focused than ever now. Ain't no team gonna beat us. We're more in tune with each other than I ever thought a team could be. This is the shot we've been working for all this time on the indies.... and there's no way we're going to let a couple of redneck bitches ruin it for us."
Abaddon raised his head, staring in nothingness. "Tonight.... The Circle... is complete."
------------------------------------------------------------------
In the three-way dance to kick off the new NFW, chaos quickly broke out among the three women, coming to a conclusion when Morgan Payne hit a top rope spin kick on Angel.... only for Apocalypta to suddenly shove her through the ropes and tying Angel up in a cradle for the pin at 14:08
-------------------------------------------------------------------
As the show returns from a commercial break, the main theme song fading out after the brief vignette logo, the camera finds Vincent Stone backstage, warming up for his match later that evening. Already geared and ready to go, the former indie competitor throws shadow punches and elbows at the air.
A few seconds later, a knock at his door makes him pause in his warm up. “Come in!” He calls, going back to his workout.
The sound of the door opening and closing can be heard before we hear a voice offscreen. “Well, look at you....”
Stone stops again, turns towards the voice and cracks an amused grin. “What’s up, man?!” He responds, reaching out to clasp hands with none other than Andrew Payne as the large man steps into frame.
“How’s it goin’, kid?” The man known by fans as The Punisher looks about as dangerous, albeit older, as ever. His black hair is speckled with grey as is the beard he now sports. His arms, bare from the sleeveless House of Payne t-shirt he wears, still look big enough to break a cruiserweight in half. He gives Stone a quick look over with just a hint of an impressed smirk at the younger superstar’s physique. “You put some muscle on since the last time we saw you.”
Stone laughs, before stopping and looking passed the guy who once served as an early mentor in his career. “We? Is D here, too?!”
Andrew shakes his head. “He’s back with the girls, making sure their head’s in the game.”
“The girls!” Stone reacts as if he almost forgot. “Can I meet them?”
Andy nods. “You will. I wanted to come see how things were with you. Ready for your match?”
Stone waves the air with a hand. “More than ready. I may have never been in the ring with this Connor K guy, but I hope he’s ready for what I’ve got for him.”
Andy raises an eyebrow. “And what’s that?”
Stone grabs a t-shirt out of his locker and snaps it out. “BAM!” The front of the shirt features large text made to look like cracked rock, reading ‘HANDS OF STONE’. Andy looks at the shirt, crossing his arms idly over his chest. “Hands of Stone. Hmm. You know what? I like it.”
“Really?” Stone asks, pulling the shirt on over his head.
Andy nods. “Really. Just remember something. Make sure you can back up your words.”
Stone smirks. “Oh, trust me.” He raises a taped fist. “I can back these up, no problem. Anyone who steps into the ring with me here is gonna find that out, real quick.” He drives the fist into his other taped hand.
Andy nods approvingly. “Keep that mindset kid, and you’ll silence any naysayers. Kick some ass out there tonight.”
Andy and Stone clasp hands again. “Thanks, Andy. Tell D I said hey. I’ll stop by later.”
Andy merely nods and leaves Stone to his warmup again which the man resumes once the locker room door closes. His punches resuming before we cut back to ringside.
----------------------------------------------------------------------
*In the backstage arena, we see Connor's arrival. He's pulling his spinner behind him and wearing a pair of Beats headphones over his ears, looking confident as he makes his way through the back. One of the agents in the back stops him and prompts him to remove his earphones.*
"There you are. We've been trying to get a hold of you, you know that? At least you knew you have a match tonight, right?" the agent says.
"Nah, it's cool, man. I'll be ready," Connor says as he looks down at his phone and covering the smile over his mouth as he reads something on the screen.
"Are you even taking this seriously, man? Look, a lot of strings were pulled for you, given who your..." the agent blurts out before Connor looks up and holds his hand to his face.
“Look man, I got this, ok? No need to bring family here, alright?" Connor says before someone in the distance yells, "Hey Connor! There you are! You got your Switch?!? We're starting soon!!!”
"Yeah man, it's in my bag. Let me get to the back and let's do this!" Connor yells back at someone off-camera. "Yo, good talking to you man, I gotta go," Connor says to the agent before walking away.
The camera zooms in on the agent, shaking his head as he watches Connor walk away, "He's going to get himself killed like that," the agent says as the scene fades to black.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------
In what was a surprisingly even match, Vincent Stone and Connor K went back and forth for over 20 minutes with neither keeping a clear advantage for very long. Finally, after watching as Connor managed to kick out of damn near every move in his arsenal, Stone hit three consecutive Bootscrapers to finally keep the rookie down at 24:29.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------
“Man, what kinda shit is this?!”
The shot immediately opens on Teddy Morse of the Rebel Rousers, standing in the locker room area with a sheet of paper in his hands; presumably the match card. Teddy is already in his ring gear, wearing his entrance gear of a denim jacket modified into a vest with a hunter’s camo baseball cap.
As he frowns down at the match card, his tag team partner, Chase Evans, steps into frame, looking over his buddy’s shoulder.?Chase’s ring gear matches Teddy’s, but his own entrance gear is a sleeveless t-shirt with their tag team name on it and a rebel flag bandana.
“What’s up?”
“Look at this!”
Teddy hands the card to Chase, who takes it and reads over it.
“Okay?” Chase shrugs his broad, hairy shoulders, confused by what has Teddy so angry.
Teddy points to their match. “The Rebel Rousers...right? That’s us. Versus Greywolfe. Greywolfe!” He throws his hands out to the side. “C’mon, man! We’re a tag team, trying to make a name for ourselves!”
Chase looks even more confused, shrugging his broad, hairy shoulders. “Yeah?”
Teddy grows more flustered at his friend’s alleged ignorance. “So they put a couple of country boys - us - in a handicap match against an indian named Greywolfe?! You know what that’s gon’ do to our image?! ‘Ooh, look at them there rednecks, beatin’ up on that Native American!’”
Chase looks up from the card and stares at Teddy as if he just sprouted a second head. “Are you fucking retarded?”
Teddy looks taken aback. Almost offended. “Hey man, just because my mama smoked meth until the second trimester don’t mean shit. I graduated high school with honors, sumbitch!”
Chase rolls his eyes and smacks him up against the back of his head so hard his hat falls off. “It ain’t Greywolfe, dumbass. It’s Grey...Wolfe. Tyler Grey and Chris Wolfe! It’s a *tag team* match! You know, because we’re, like you said, a *tag team*!”
Teddy stops and thinks, looking off to the side for a second. “Lemme see that.” He snatches the paper from Chase and looks at it again. His eyebrows raise with a look of clarity on his face. “Ohhhhhh! I see now. The G and W are both capitalized! Huh...GreyWolfe. The hell kinda tag team name is that?! Talk about a lack of creativity!”
Chase shrugs again. “Hell if I know, brother. I hear they’re tough shit, though, so we gotta be on our A game.”
“Man, to hell with that. They might be tough as shit, but we’re tough as nails, son! Them two ain’t gonna know what hit ‘em!”
“Yessir!” Chase heartily agrees, high fiving his partner. “Rebel Rousers, rolling in to fuck shit up and get paid doin’ it!”
“HEEEEEEELL YEEEEAAAH!” Teddy hollers at the top of his lungs, quoting part of their theme song. Afterwards, he laughs and reaches into his bag on a bench behind him, pulling out a can of Copenhagen and shaking it. “Man....” He shakes his head and laughs some more, pulling out a big pinch. “You know, for a second there?” He pauses to stick it in his mouth, leaving a huge lump in his bottom lip. His next words are partially distorted due to the dip in his mouth. “Ah thawt they wurr trynna shtereotype ush. Couple o’hillbirries, dippin cthew, drinkin’ beer and beatin’ up mernorities.”
As he speaks, Chase ducks down off screen to retrieve something himself. We hear him laugh to his friend. “Nah, man. We’re good. I mean there’s assholes like that in the world, but that ain’t us. We’re just a couple of Southern boys, friendly with everyone, and wanna have a good time.”
Chase pops back up, with two beers and hands one to Teddy. “Pre-match ritual?”
Teddy takes it and they crack their brews open together. “Pre-match rishual!”
The Rebel Rousers chug their beers simultaneously. However once they finish, Chase crushes his can in one hand and tosses it over his shoulder while Teddy goes into a coughing, hacking fit. Regardless, Chase punches his fist into the opposite hand and walks off frame. “Let’s go, buddy!”
Still coughing, Teddy follows after him, catching his breath. As the shot begins to faded out, we hear Teddy complaining hoarsely. “Aw man, I swallowed my dip! Yuck!”
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
Tyler Grey & Chris Wolfe defeated The Rebel Rousers by pinfall in 13:01 when Wolfe pinned Chase Evans after a phoenix splash.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
"Over the years... I've seen a lot in this sport."
The camera panned down to find Candi "The Crippler" Brodeur in the locker room, slowly taping up her hands and wrists. Far from the fresh-faced 18 year old who'd barely belonged in the sport, she was now older, tougher, and harder.
"I've seen partners come and go. I've seen the only family I had split up and go their separate ways. I've seen my hero... the who took me under his wing... self-destruct in the most horrible way possible. But through every personal loss. Through every setback. Through every heartbreak... I learned. I adapted. I let nothing stop me, and let nothing keep me down. I became an expert in the art of submission wrestling. And grew to revel in the pain I deal to others."
She stood, curling both hands into fists. This was a woman who, while confident in her own ability, also took nobody lightly.
"And now... tonight, the promotion I came into the business in is resurrected. And I welcome it back by bringing my brand of pain to Rosemary. And believe me... I've seen you in the ring before, babe. And I know how tough you are. I know damn well there's a decent chance that you would let your own neck snap before you'd tap out to me."
She looked into the camera, a sadistic grin forming as the camera closed in on her face.
"Luckily for me... that's a chance I am *more* than happy to take. It's time to tap or snap. See you in the ring, Rosemary."
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
At first the camera is blurry, and five objects are seen sitting on a table as the camera gets clear. The five objects are a green, red, yellow, black and blue. They are sitting in the foreground and Rosemary can be seen rocking back and forth, apparently talking to herself under her breath.
[Noticing the camera finally she smiles]
"We are sorry, and are wondering what you did to the management at New Frontier Wrestling that was so bad. We heard your words, your pale hollow words.
[She laughs]
"You must not pay as much attention to our career as you claim to. If you had you would know we had a run in with a fallen star and she thought she could break us. She didn't.
[She stands and walks over to the first green candle. After she lights it she continues to speak]
"We find it fitting that we light the green candle, as we were just speaking about obscured vision, don't worry, we can help illuminate your path for you. The path that leads to meeting us in the ring. The path that has us intersected. The path you are now on towards your inevitable end. We do thank you for the laugh though. Tap or snap eh? How original"
[She lights the red candle.]
"We looked at the matches on the schedule, and we noticed something we don't appreciate. We have held belts in almost everyone place we have competed, and have been choke slammed into tacks by men, and yet we are not a participant in the tv title match. We guess that is fine. So here is our proposal Candi, let's steal the show. We present to you an Inferno match. Accept our proposal, if you dare?
[Skipping over the yellow candle in the middle and going to the black candle.]
"Dark nights of the soul are in store for you Crippler. You think you stand a chance against us. You are deluding yourself. We accept you as our first sacrifice. So, thank you. Kill you we won't though. We have many plans for you...
[She cackles]
"First step is to put to sleep your doldrums, your ego, your wants and needs. Why is this the first step, because only through sleep and a chrysalis will you....
[She lights the final candle, the yellow one, representing the mist of transformation]
"Transform into what you could become... with our tutelage, our help. So accept our invitation. We expect an Inferno match in our future... see you soon. "
[She walks off camera, leaving the candles burning]
----------------------------------------------------------------------
Candi Brodeur and Rosemary had a wild, reckless brawl of a match that ended up playing more to Rosemary's strengths. Surprisingly, Rosemary managed to get in Candi's head a bit, keeping the match firmly based in brawling and high-impact moves, and keeping away from a more ground-based, submission style. While Candi kept the match even, in the end she fell victim to The Red Wedding, as Rosemary pinned her cleanly in 14:37.
After the match, as Rosemary was leaving the ring, Candi slowly got to her feet, and called for the microphone.
"Rosemary! You took this match and turned it around on me. And you beat me clean as can be. I respect the hell out of you for that. So how does this sound.... in less than a month, NFW is going to have it's first pay-per-view event. At that event? I accept your challenge to an Inferno Match. And this time, I'M going to turn the tables on YOU."
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
*William Mannheim and Pitt are walking through the back halls of the arena*
"Pitt, you weren't kidding. This place IS amazeballs. I mean, we've got sexy women, all sorts of nutritious food, and as soon as Rick gets here, we'll have hooker and beer money."
*Pitt looks down at Mannheim's smiling face*
"Yeah, Willy, but I wanna know when the *beeep* that *beep* right there is gonna stop. It's *beep*in' annoying. I mean, I'm an adult...I can say dirty words too."
"Well, Pitt...apparently not..."
*Mannheim is cut off by an 8-bit ringtone of 'Never Gonna Give You Up'. He fishes his phone out of his pocket and looks at it, rolling his eyes*
"It's fucking Brody. Probably gonna try to be a dick like every other GM...hold on a sec."
*Mannheim answers the call, putting the handset up to his ear.*
"City Morgue, you stab 'em, we slab 'em.....what?....yeah, I told you he'd be here, calm your ass, Brody....he had a flight that was supposed to land at 15:30, he probably had to rent a--hold on a sec, I have a beep.....yes, I'm putting you on hold."
*Mannheim angrily jams a finger at the screen of his phone*
"Hello?.....Don't you hey guy me, motherfucker. Where the fuck are you? I've got Brody up my ass, and, in case you forgot, I'm not into that homo shit.....you're on the way? They couldn't do what??....who cares what car you show up in, just fucking get here!"
*Mannheim jams a finger again into the screen of his phone before placing it back to his ear*
"See? I told y--"
*Mannheim scowls, and jams a finger into his phone screen again. Pitt looks inquisitively at Mannheim*
"Brody hung up, eh? Well, *beep* that guy right in the *beep.*"
"Exactly, Pitt. Right in the ass....twice, with no lube."
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Abaddon and Colt Shields fought to a no-contest at 9:22 when a huge, muscular giant of a man with a painted face and long, stringy black hair entered the ring, threw the referee out by the neck, and powerbombed Shields over the top rope to the concrete floor, before silently dropping to one knee before Abaddon.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Backstage, a black rental Escalade pulls up into the parking lot as the words "Earlier Tonight" appear at the bottom of the screen. The muffled sound of heavy metal music can be heard from inside; we can identify it as Soil’s “My Own” when the driver side door opens before the engine shuts off and the driver gets out. The driver is, in fact, Erin Mercer. The fire headed superstar is dressed in grey and black army camo pants that hang low on her hips, a cut off Trivium t-shirt, a black unzipped hoodie and a backwards, Nike flat bill.
Walking around to the back, she pulls her bag from the vehicle and begins walking towards the locker room area. She gets about halfway there before a voice echoes through the hall.
“ERIN!!!!”
Slightly startled, she looks around until something catches her eye off camera. Her expression breaks into a smile.
“VIN!!”
Vincent Stone steps into frame, dressed in his own streetwear of black track pants and a Five Finger Death Punch tee. The two exchange a quick hug.
“You just get here?” Stone asks.
“Yeah! Literally, just now.” Mercer adjusts her bag on her shoulder. “You?”
Stone shakes his head. “Me? Nah, I got here awhile ago. I gotta hurry and get changed, though. My match is up, soon.”
“Yeah, I’ve got a bit, but I’m gonna get ready as soon as I find the locker rooms....” Mercer says as she looks around, unsurely.
“They’re over down this way.” Stone points in the direction he came from. “Speaking of which, you’ve got a pretty big match for the kickoff show, huh?” He says with a wry smile.
Mercer smiles with a small, excited bounce on her toes. “I know! Can you believe it?! I used to watch Easy V when I was a kid; and now I get to wrestle his daughter in my big league debut? Talk about sick!” Her expression turns serious, almost sympathetic. “You knew him, didn’t you?”
Stone nods slowly; his expression also looking somewhat somber. “Yeah. Well, kinda. I chatted backstage with him a few times. I know his brothers more than anything. Well, you know: ‘brothers.’” He says, making quotation marks with his fingers.
Mercer nods. “I’ve got an autograph photo of him from when I was like, ten years old.”
“Nice!” Stone exclaims.
“Have you met her? Lara?” Mercer asks, tilting her head.
Stone shakes his again. “Nope. Haven’t even met BDP or Andy’s kids yet. Who knows? You know me: I go with the flow of things and see where paths cross. You’re gonna meet her, later tonight though!” He grins.
Mercer laughs. “Well, yeah! In the ring! I’m a little excited, you know? I get to wrestle the daughter of one of the guys that inspired me to get into this business. Is that one of those full circle things?”
Stone glances upwards thoughtfully. “Hmmm.” He looks back at Mercer. “Not sure. I bet your match is good, though. I’ve seen you tussle with some tough ones. You know your shit. And if Lara Blackheart is anything like her old man?” He lets out a long, low whistle. “They probably should have made you two’s match the main event.”
“I know, right?!” Mercer laughs. “But hey, it’s the semi-main event! For my first match here? I’ll take it!”
“That’s the spirit!” Stone and Mercer high five each other.
“Anyways; care to show a lady where the locker room is?” Mercer asks, batting her eyelashes jokingly.
Stone nods and steps to the side, giving a mock bow as he extends his arm off in the direction they need to go. “After you, m’lady. I can even show you exactly where yours is! I saw it on my way in: right next to theirs.”
Mercer stops mid-step, her jaw dropping. “Wait...them as in...?”
Stone nods. “Yeah. Second generation of PA and Chicago’s finest. C’mon!” He gives a light slap to her arm and hurries off screen.
“Are you serious?!” Mercer looks more shocked than anything. “They put me right next door to my opponent?! What if she’s one of those ‘deep in the zone’ types and tries to kick my ass before the match?!” Mercer shifts her bag onto her other shoulder and hurries out of frame after Stone, still talking frantically. “What the hell is wrong with the staff in this company?! Vin! Wait up!”
Hard cut to the next scene.
---------------------------------------------------------------------
Marissa Payne defeated Hotaru Takagi by pinfall in 7:59 after hitting her with the Bitch Killa.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
*A shrill "O, Canada" ringtone can be heard as the scene fades in to Mannheim and Pitt, still sitting outside the arena. Mannheim pulls out his phone, swipes the screen, and puts the handset to his ear*
"Tell me you're almost here....your match is right after this one. I didn't stick my fucking neck out and put my reputation on the line for--"
*Mannheim pulls the phone away from his ear, as very faintly "Tom Sawyer" by Rush can be heard*
"Would you turn that shit down, for fuck sakes? I'm trying to have a conversation here."
*Pitt stands up and looks off in the distance, the music seeming to get just a little louder*
"RICK, FOR FUCK SAKES...."
*Pitt points down the street as he looks back at Mannheim*
"Willy...I think I see him...he's trolling the *beep* outta you!"
*Mannheim stands up, phone still at his ear. He squints down the road, and the music continues to grow in volume. Mannheim's phone clatters to the ground as the camera pans down the street to show a rusted out, kind of red, 1982 Chevrolet Acadian weaving through traffic. As the car pulls up, the music is almost deafening. As the car is shut off, the driver's door opens, and out clambers a huge man. He sports black boots, a red tartan utilikilt, a white shirt with a Canadian flag and the caption: "I'm an EH HOLE" on the front. He smiles at Mannheim and Pitt*
"Hey, guy! I told you to relax, eh? I was just grabbin a pack of darts and a two four at the store. I had to go teach a little bitch a lesson - hoser tried to sell me fuckin' oregano, so I went and tuned him up, and now the back of the car is loaded with green."
*Mannheim looks puzzled*
"This is not what I pictured you showing up in. Is THIS what took so goddamned long?"
*Rick smiles*
"Hey, buddy, this is a Canadian classic. They looked at me like I had three heads when I landed and asked the pretty lady at the desk for one, so I went back to the border and bought this off of craigslist....and I didn't get fucking murdered! Then I drove non stop all the way here."
*Pitt looks more confused*
"Hey, waitasecond. Number one: didn't you have to stop and pee? And, number two: WHY THE *beep* AM I THE ONLY ONE BEING *beep*IN' CENSORED?"
*Rick shrugs at Pitt*
"Water bottles are a godsend. That's not lemonade in there, eh? Just sayin..."
*Mannheim starts guiding Rick into the arena, Pitt following behind, muttering to himself, the odd beep strewn into his muttering*
"Look, we gotta get you ready to go, Rick. You're on next...fuckin' hustle!"
*Rick stops dead in his tracks*
"I'm not going in there without Anne Murray. She's my beautiful queen."
"Wait, you brought Anne Murray with you? How in the fuck did you pull that one off?"
*Rick runs back to his car, opens the hatch, moves a bunch of freezer bags full of marijuana, and emerges with a bong that's evidently been well used*
"Willy, Pitt, meet Anne Murray. She always knows just how to treat a guy, especially when I'm givin'er, eh?"
*Mannheim shakes his head and palms his face, while Pitt looks confused.*
"Come on, buddy....let's go...enough dog fuckin', eh?"
*The three men head into the arena as the camera fades to black*
-------------------------------------------------------------
Rick Dickulous defeated Black Dragon by pinfall in 9:33 after catching him in a hurricanrana attempt and hitting him with the Misery Whip.
---------------------------------------------------------------------
The shot fades in on a photograph of Matt Klazzic, blown up to a larger size and sitting on an easel. As the camera starts panning backwards, our ears are greeted by a man's voice.
"Matt Klazzic...."
Finally, the source of the voice -- none other than Adam Cole -- comes into frame. He's dressed in his ring gear, with a black sleeveless t-shirt, bearing the text "YOUR WIFE WAS HERE" and an arrow pointing downwards. The look on his face is comically confused. In the background, we hear the faint sound of his new entrance theme playing. It almost serves as a soundtrack for the scene.
"Who the *fuck* is Matt Klazzic?!"
Cole, looks towards the picture, gesturing a hand up and down the photo. He lets out a "pfft" sound from his lips as he looks back towards the camera and shakes his head. "I signed a contract with this company. Agents practically BEGGED ME to come compete in New Frontier Wrestling! And this is my debut match? A second rate, Nacho Libre knock off? I mean, the guy looks like he double fists chalupa supremes before each match. And not the good kind either. I'm talking Taco Bell here, not Taco Cabana."
Cole gives the photo another look and shakes his head again.
"If this is the type of competition I'm looking at here, I'd probably have a better time beating the shit out of the prostitute trying to make a score down on the corner." He points off camera, and laughs. His face turns serious then as he holds his hands up in a 'wait, calm down' gesture. "But, hey. I'll give you one thing, Matt. I watched your little video on social media; several times, in fact. Pretty hilarious when they threw you and your camera man out onto the street which -- let's be honest -- it's probably where you belong. However, you seem to have a real passion for wrestling. That's good!"
Cole shoots a double thumbs up to the camera with a mocking enthusiastic smile.
"I mean, it's probably what got you into the business to begin with. Because this?" He thumbs back towards the photo. "Yeesh! This ain't the Golden Era of that "other" company anymore." Cole makes quotation marks with his fingers. "Maybe back then, you'd be a star, but here? You're just a stepping stone for my way to the top. Just try not to disappoint me in the ring, because booking already has. Let's face it: I deserve better." He looks down and to the side, thoughtfully. "Matter of fact...." He looks up and passed the camera. "HEY!" Evidently calling to a stagehand. "WHY THE HELL AM I NOT IN THE TV TITLE MATCH?!" Cole pauses, shrugging his hands up. We don't hear the stagehands answer but it's clear they're the wrong person to ask. "YOU DON'T KNOW?! YEAH, WELL FUCK YOU TOO! READ THE SHIRT, PAL!" Cole gestures to his t-shirt before shaking his head.
"Loser. Anyway, where was I?" He looks back to the camera. "Right! Maybe this is their attempt at giving you an opportunity to shine, Matt. Maybe they figure you could learn something by stepping into the ring with me. I'm sure you're sitting there right now, saying to yourself 'Gosh golly gee whillickers Mr. Brody! I sure do appreciate your faith in me! I won't let you down! I promise! The fans sure are in for a treat, tonight!" Cole pumps his arm and gives a thumbs up with a sarcastic, mocking smile before going serious again. "You wanna talk about bringing good old fashioned wrestling to NFW? You're looking at the greatest goddamn wrestler to ever walk this Earth, right here. He's gonna kick your sorry ass all around the ring so bad, security's gonna toss you out onto the street again and send you packing. He's gonna show you that true greatness has a name and that name--" Throwing his fingers up into the air, "--is ADAM COLE, BAY BAY!!"
Dropping his hands, Cole turns and slaps the photograph of Matt Klazzic, knocking it and the easel over. "Get this thing outta here!" He says, walking out of the frame as it fades out.
----------------------------------------------------
*The scene shifts to a local nearby gym (actually, a Planet Fitness) as "Cake by the Ocean" by DNCE plays in the gym sound system. There are many patrons using all the different treadmills and exercise climbers, some are using the circuit, and others are using the different nautilus machines camera pans to the left and we see Matt Klazzic with his back to the camera at the front desk conducting business. Upon finishing his interactions with the front desk staff, he turns around, still wearing his mask and wearing a powder blue velour tracksuit.*
"Hi there. Matt Klazzic here again and I'm going to train for my first NFW match against Adam Cole. I don't know anything about you, good sir, but Matt Klazzic is on his way to blazing a new trail here in NFW. A trail using these two hands. A trail based on substance and not flash or style. All I need to beat you is to wear you down with my mastery of the abdominal stretch to the point where, once I hit that piledriver, will leave me with the 1-2-3, and the win. But enough about that, it's time to get to work. Hit my music," Klazzic says to the cameraman as he goes over to start using the free weights.
*At that moment, the music cuts off in the Planet Fitness and we start hearing "Training Montage" by Vince DiCola play instead and everyone not listening to their own music through their headphones and earbuds just stop what they're doing and look around. Some look at each other and say, "what the fuck is this" and others just look around confused and annoyed. As the song kicks into gear, the only one oblivious to all this is Matt Klazzic as he starts on his workout. What follows next is clips of Matt Klazzic using the free weights and displaying a surprisingly high amount of strength during his workout. The clip continues throughout the course of the song, culminating with Klazzic doing his last set of butterfly curls on an elevated bench. He grunts and yells as he pushes hard and finally gets that last rep in, letting a loud yell out as he drops the weights and stands up nods approvingly to himself before looking back at the camera.*
"Mr. Cole, get ready, because Matt Klazzic's coming fo...," Klazzic says before a loud siren goes off in the gym. Klazzic looks around somewhat confused before a staff member approaches him and points out the Lunk Alert sign and being asked to leave, along with the cameraman, fading the scene to black.
------------------------------------------------------------
Despite the air of humor around him, Matt Klazzic took Adam Cole almost to the limit, at one point coming within a fraction of pinning him after an Arn Anderson-esque spinebuster. Cole proved to be too much for the masked man though, eventually pinning him in 12:53 after a Last Shot.
-------------------------------------------------------------
It was a moment the crowd had been waiting for all night. As the opening strains of Steel Panther's "Just Like Tiger Woods" began to play, cheers born of fandom, excitement, and respect for her father rippled through the arena as the girl known as "America's Sweetheart", Lara Blackheart, sprinted out onto the stage.
She wore a two-piece outfit clearly meant to be a tribute to her father, using the same green and black color scheme Vlad famously had years earlier. Her hair was dyed purple, with a few green streaks in it. She was a tiny thing, no more than 5'1", and with a face that was more adorable than tough or sexy. Yet somehow, she still radiated star power. Despite her size and appearance, there was an aura to her that just screamed "this girl is a star".
Running down the aisle, she happily slapped hands with as many people in the front row as she could, before sliding into the ring under the bottom rope. She grabbed the microphone... but remained quiet for a few moments, smiling with tears in her eyes as the crowd loudly chanted "EAZY-V! EAZY-V!"
"Thank you... You guys are awesome. Tha-.... OK, SHUDDUP!" She finally yelled in a ridiculously cute squeak as the crowd abruptly stopped chanting. "Better. Anyhoo... this is a big night for me. Hell, for ALL of us. When it was first announced that NFW was coming back... I know most of you were excited to see my father in this ring. He'd been in Japan for a couple of years, and I know he was amped up to have one more good run before he retired. But.... well... sometimes life just doesn't work out the way we expect."
She paused for a moment to collect herself, before continuing.
"I know I haven't been in this business very long. Only a year, to be exact. But when Dad passed away... well, NFW extended the offer to me to come in and continue Vlad Blackheart's legacy. I talked it over with my mom..."
The crowd cheered again, at the mention of her mother, Lara Chastain.
"I talked it over with my mom... and we agreed that Dad would want this. He'd want his little girl to go out there and keep his spirit alive. I mean.... does that mean I probably can't party as much anymore? Or do filthy things with questionable people in ludicrous places? Yeah... but dammit, no sacrifice, no victory. That's my motto." She paused, blinking a few times. "Actually... no. That was Shia LeBeouf's motto in the first Transformers movie. My bad."
"I should probably cut to the chase here. Erin Mercer? We're both young and trying to make a name for ourselves. And you seem like a cool chick. So let's skip the trash-talking, and just get out here so we can get all sweaty and roll around on the mat toge... I mean, get out here so we can kick each other's asses!"
-------------------------------------------------------------------
In a surprisingly high-impact and intense match, Lara Blackheart defeated Erin Mercer by pinfall in 19:11 after hitting her with a variation of the Canadian Destroyer she called The Shocker. After the match, Lara helped Erin to her feet and shook her hand in a show of respect.
---------------------------------------------------------------------
NFW Reporter- Hi Wrestling Universe I’m backstage. I’m gonna see if I can get an interview with one of the talents here at NFW.. (Ryan Steele walks by) You sir.
Ryan- Yes what do you want??
Reporter— Can you tell the Universe your name and a little about yourself?..
Steele— Why do you want my number there hot stuff??
Reporter— Well, (Seems a bit nervous)
Steele— Listen the name is Steele.. Ryan Steele.. I’m originally from Dayton, Ohio.. but currently live in Cincinnati to cheer on my favorite NFL team..I’ve changed a bit since I signed my contract.. I’ve heard I’ve got a match but don’t know who my opponent is nor do I care.. he’s an idiot just like the rest of the Universe... but you on the other hand.. (Reporter blushes) Anyway.. I’ve gotta go beat some guy up..
Reporter— There you have it folks.. (looks away from camera) I guess.. mumbling under breath..”God he’s strange..”
We catch Ryan just going to the curtain.. Different Reporter-“Ryan we heard there’s been a change to your match..”
Steele— Yea I know it’s a four way to get a title.. that’s what I’m gonna do...
(Ryan leaves camera sight to go through the curtains...)
--------------------------------------------------------------------
"The TV Title? Are you fucking serious?" The familiar voice of Scott Leroux called out, positively seething. "I'm a five-time NFW World Champion, for Christ's sake. And they wanna stick me in a match for the TV Title? Lucky I don't walk out the goddamn door right now."
He stood as the camera came into view, looking far different than when he last competed in NFW. Older now, he'd replaced his lean, svelte physique for a more ground-based, bulky and muscular one. His formerly spiky blonde hair was now cut into a modest buzz.
"Fine. I'll go out there tonight. I'll climb that ladder and grab the TV Title. And then? I'm going to get myself into the tournament for the World Heavyweight Title, so I can throw this damn thing right in the trash. Law? Steele? Shade? You don't even *know* what you're in for tonight. Hail to The King, bitches."
--------------------------------------------------------------------
In the four-way ladder match, the end came at 18:20 when, as Tyson Law and Satoru Shade were brawling at the top of the ladder, Ryan Steele tipped the ladder over and dumped both of them to the outside. As he turned around, Leroux walloped him right in the face with a steel chair, then climbed the ladder and grabbed the belt to win the NFW TV Title.
