Post by Steven Brody, CEO on Sept 27, 2018 9:34:24 GMT -8
Backstage in the parking lot, an old red jacked up, Chevy Colorado, caked in mud, pulls up. The sound of “Dirt Road Dollars” by Dirt Rock Empire pounds from the sound system. After the engine and music shut off, the front doors open as none other than the Rebel Rousers exit the front cab. Teddy Morse steps down from the driver’s side as Chase Evans hops out of the passenger seat and shuts the door with an echoing thump. Both men wear faded blue jeans and camo jackets, looking every bit the humble Southern proud fellows they are. Teddy’s jacket actually matches his hat. Underneath their jackets, Teddy wears a Grunt Style ‘Infidel’ t-shirt while Chase has on an ACal ‘Just Fight Me’ shirt.
“Hey, man!” Teddy yells from the other side of the truck. “Don’t go slamming that door!”
“That ain’t gonna hurt yer damn door, Teddy.” Chase calls back. “This thing’s been through worse anyway.”
The two men grab their bags out of the bed — the back seats having no room due to the jerry rigged speakers hooked up in the back. Carrying his bag beside him in one massive hand, Chase looks at their sound setup and shakes his head. “Teddy? Tell me somethin’.”
“What up?” Teddy answers as the two start walking towards the locker room area.
Chase thumbs back towards the truck, looking to his tag partner. “We’re on a big, multi thousand dollar contract now. Why we still rollin’ around in that piece o’shit?”
Teddy’s jaw almost hits the floor. “Hey man! You’re lucky you’re my boy; you know better than that! Talkin’ ‘bout a man’s truck like that’s liable to get you knocked out!”
Chase rolls his eyes with a look that says he doubts the smaller man could even pull such a feat off on him. He shrugs his shoulders. “The damn thing sputters down the road! I’m surprised we even made it from New York to here in that rust bucket. I’m just saying, man. We made it big; why not get you something new? Even if it’s just a newer model?”
“Hey, you know what that is there?” Teddy turns to back pedal for a brief moment as he points to their mode of transportation. “That’s memories, right there. Dog gonnit. I drove to school my sophmore AND senior year in that thing. You and I always drive out to go hunting in that. Shit, I made it to third base with Mary Lynn—“
“Alright, alright, ALRIGHT!” Chase closes his eyes and waves his free hand frantically, to shut Teddy up. “Good god, almighty. Forget I said anything.”
Teddy cracks a self accomplished smirk like he just won a major argument. “Hey, she might be old but she can still go, ya feel me? Hey, kinda like our opponents tonight! Check that out!”
Chase finally breaks into a grin and laughs. “Man, we used to watch the House of Payne in middle school. You remember that?”
“Yessir! They were some badass sumbitches!” Teddy says, before a thought crosses his mind. “Hey, you think Big Daddy’s daughter’d go out for a beer with me?”
Chase lets out a belting laugh so loud it echoes throughout the hallway they’re walking through. “I think he’d whup yer ass if he heard you say that shit.”
Teddy scoffs. “Pfft. C’mon man. He might be tough still, but I’m like a cat! I could run circles around him. I bet you could give ol’ boy a run for his money, too!”
“The Punisher?” Chase asks.
“Yup!” Teddy nods back.
“Well, I guess we’re gonna see about that tonight, ain’t we? McKeesport Mafia and the Rebel Rousers, tearing it up in Atlanta, Georgia y’all! Let’s get it!” Chase throws up the horns with his thumb and pinky at the camera.
Teddy responds with a resounding, “HEEEEELL YEEEEEAAAAH!!!!!!” The two finally move passed the camera as we fade out.
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As the camera cuts back to ringside and the announce team of Mike Hansen and James Reynolds welcomes back the viewers, the sound of Prophets of Rage’s “Unfuck The World” fills the arena. A pop sounds from those fans that are more familiar with the veteran side of the roster once the titan tron starts flashing clips of Pittsburgh’s streets.
As the lyrics to the track start, the newly named McKeesport Mafia makes their way out on stage. The Punisher, Andrew Payne, steps out in new ring gear but still sporting the same black and yellow he always has, complete with a sleeveless t-shirt bearing a Marvel Punisher skull logo with the words ‘HOUSE PAYNE: Non Facciamo Altro Vinto’ on the front while the back reads ‘ALL WE DO IS F**KIN’ WIN’ with two smaller skulls ‘censoring’ out the word.
Age shows in the veteran star’s features: grey in his black hair and beard, lines in his face, but he still looks in shape enough to roll with the new generation. As the tag team’s theme song booms loudly over the speakers, Andrew raises one fist up, clutching a Terrible Towel within his grip, his other hand pointing to the crowd.
At his side, as always, was Big Daddy Payne. A few pounds lighter than in his prime, a greying bit of five o'clock shadow on his face, and wearing black jeans and a black sleeveless tee with Eddie Guerrero's picture on it, the former NFW World Champion clapped his partner on the back as he entered the ring. Calling for the microphone, he caught it as it was tossed into the ring.
"I remember an old saying years ago, that went: 'you can't go home again'. Well... we're here to tell you all that's bullshit." He took a moment to let the crowd cheer, before continuing, "I started out right here in NFW. Few years later? I brought my brother-from-another-mother here in to join me. And we put together a stable that rocked this motherfucking promotion to it's core. Over time... we went our separate ways. Andy and me went to Japan. A few guys retired. Some..." He paused to look down at his own t-shirt, before continuing. "Got called home. But now? With the new NFW comes a new generation. And if we're gonna pass the torch of The House of Payne to the next generation, you better damn well believe we're gonna help obliterate anything in it's way before we call it a career."
Holding a second mic of his own, Andrew claps a hand on BDP’s shoulder at the mention of their late friend and team member. To his approval, the crowd shows their own respect — starting up a chant of “EDDIE! EDDIE! EDDIE!” Before The Punisher says his piece, he circles the ring, gesturing with his other hand for the crowd to get louder. They happily oblige.
“And you can bet your asses, if not for the unfortunate circumstances, he’d be right here in this ring with us, tonight, ready to blow the roof off of this motherfucker!” The crowd pops.
“But let’s look at the reality, here.” Andrew pauses, turning to his partner and blood brother, pointing in between them. “We’re getting up there. You know it. I know it. But something else we know?” He turns back to the crowd. “Age is just a number so long as you’ve got the heart and the drive, and us? We were built on both of those! We put our blood and sweat into this business — especially our blood — because even after we’re done and sitting at home, there’s a new generation of the House of Payne ready to take up the reins but for now? The McKeesport Mafia STILL RUNS THIS BITCH!”
BDP bumped fists with Andy, before continuing: "We're gonna be here as long as it takes to make sure this new generation doesn't take for granted the legacy of those that came before them. The work and the pain that men like Eddie Guerrero and Vlad Blackheart put into making NFW what it was and what it again will be. This our official notice - I don't care if it's a tournament, a battle royal, a gauntlet match... whatever - we are entering ourselves into whatever match or matches will determine the first NFW Tag Team Champions."
A rarely seen smirk crosses Andy’s face as he lifts his mic again. “And as most of you damn well know, we don’t just run around these arenas blowing smoke. The Mafia is back and House Payne is bigger and stronger than ever. Tonight? Brother, we’ve never faced these kids before; and not to take anything away from them, but me? Personally, I can’t say I’ve ever caught them on the independent circuit. Rebel Rousers? You looked pretty solid in this ring, last week. But if you wanna show the NFW universe what you’re really worth? Come on down to this ring and let us show you how a couple of old time boys from the Steel City do it. Because whether it’s wrestling...hell, even drinking or sitting back and killing time on ‘dat Madden’....” Here, Andy cracks a sly smirk at BDP as the crowd lets out a friendly, instigative ‘ohhhhhh’. Andy turns back to the crowd and stage. “One thing, ONE thing is certain...when it comes to us!” As the crowd starts stirring up with excitement for the impending match, Andy backs up to the center of the ring. “NON FACCIAMO—“ He raises the mic as the Atlanta audience roars back, “ALTRO—VINTO!” Andy tosses the mic out of the ring, and his t-shirt into the front row, bumping fists with BDP again as they await their opponents.
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The camera is blurry and has multiple lens flares as five objects are barely seen As the camera comes into focus the five candles are again seen, green, red yellow, black and blue in colour. Rosemary is dragging a large metal barrel with her and she grunts setting it up. Pulling out a stack of papers from the deep recess of the barrel, it is quickly obvious she has a stack of photographs, presumably of the women she will be facing in Atlanta.
“So, we have an interview where we embarrass well, everyone, and minutes later, Steven Brody announces a working agreement with New Japan. It is like he is scared of us claiming yet another title to add to our list. To make matters worse. He invites five starts to compete for our title. We did some research and let’s go over that list shall we?
She grabs the five candles, one by one and slams them into the barrel and as each new candle shatters and the flames rise higher and higher, spurned on by some accelerant, her face becomes more and more like the demon she is. The Deathdealer, The Demon Assassin.
"Well, these first five can just go into the fire shall we —"
Quickly tossing into the fire the pictures of Trina Tanaka, Mia Hayashi, Kennedy Campbell, Kid Cthulu and Hayley Comett.
"They are just fodder for the Inferno match, which we haven’t forgotten about our little pez dispenser. Which brings us to the rest of the match Let us start with the losers of last week first. "
She walks over and grabs a picture of Morgan Payne stapling it to the wall.
"You shouldn’t find yourself <she giggles> downtown after dark deary, not when you look like a drunken bumblebee. Don’t worry though we’ve faced drunks before just as Laural Van Ness."
She scribbles the letters DvD in red lipstick on the photo, obviously talking about Morgan’s Finisher. Next she picks up Angel’s picture, doing the same.
"This should be fun, your black mass versus our red wedding. We think red is more <she pauses> evocative don’t you?"
Writing the word “WoW” on the picture, an obvious reference the the Women of wrestling promotion Angel was in in 2015.
She walks over and grabs the picture of Jason Hardwick, looks confused why an announcer ended up in her stack of photos with a shrug she tosses his photo into the fire with the rest as flames flicker against her face.
"Never heard of her…."
Lastly she picks up Candi Brodeur ’s photo and staples it to the wall.
"For fourteen minutes and thirty seven seconds, you briefly touched the flame. For fourteen minutes and thirty seven seconds, you danced to our tune. Till we decided to stop toying with you and end the charade. We are glad, as we said, you accepted the Inferno match. See you there sweetie."
"Which brings us to the so called winners."
Picking up the picture of Lara Blackheart and stapling it to the wall.
"Yes we called you so called winners, if only because you won a dance with a demon, so really is that winning? Lara Blackheart, you won against … whoever her name was, we forget."
Small smile with a giggle,than picks up a meat cleaver and slaws it into the wall through the head of Lara, sending a very clear message.
"Which brings us down to three, our knock off, and a member of the house of payne, and of course, us."
"By know you should all realise how the end plays out. We’ve said it multiple times, all things come to Decay….."
Slamming another meat cleaver into the picture of Morgan Payne
"Decay……"
Slamming the last meat cleaver, conveniently stationed near by on a table through the picture of Apocalypta tossing her arms out behind her and bending over at the waist…
"DECAY!!!"
<camera turns off as the seen fades with her sticking her tongue out>
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As the shot fades in from black, Morgan Payne sits in the Iron Maidens’ locker room in front of a laptop with it’s back to the camera. In an almost hilarious display, the powerhouse of the three women stable is dressed completely in her ring gear with her entrance jacket hanging behind her on the chair, her hat on her head and a pair of reading glasses resting on her face with a pad and pen in her hands as she watches the screen. We cannot see what she’s watching but we can somewhat hear it: and it sounds downright, almost pornographic with the sounds of multiple women coming from the laptop’s speakers.
Morgan takes a sip from a fountain drink cup through a straw, raising her eyebrow questionably at the screen before shrugging and jotting something down into her notepad.
A happy whistling can be heard fading in as Marissa Payne walks into the room, still in her ripped, baggy jeans, tight House Targaryen shirt, and Steelers cap, stopping when she realized what was going on. Comically, her smile just faded instantly into a look of annoyance that only needed a little anime-like squiggle over her head to be complete.
"Mor? What the actual, legitimate fuck are you doing?"
Adjusting her glasses, Morgan looks up at Marissa. “What’s it look like? I’m taking notes! Lara said we had a huge women’s orgy for the first Women’s Championship. Now, I’ve had my run of the mill but never *this* big!” Turning back to the laptop, she jots another note down, then looks back to her friend with comical confusion on her face. “I’ve never heard of this in wrestling before. Do our dads know we signed up for this? Cuz’, let’s be honest: this is gonna be kinda...well...weird. I mean, me and yins are practically like sisters, ya know? I know you and me are House Targaryen through and through but still....”
"MORGAN FOR FUCK'S SAKE." Marissa raised her voice with a crack, dropping her bag to the floor. "She said 'an orgy of violence'. It's a battle royal, you fuckin' goof!" She sighed, placing her palm to her forehead as she grumbled. Before she could say anything else though, little Lara Blackheart came prancing on in, wearing her ring clothes already, just with an old LA Guns tee over it. "Heeeey Marissa. Heeeeeey Morg-" she paused blinking as she looked at the computer. "Oh wow, I know that dude. Bee tee dubs? Never party with a guy that big the night before a match. It does not make falling on your ass feel very good."
“A battle roy...ohhhhhhh! Gotcha!” Morgan looks between her two friends and the laptop, back and forth before tossing the pad and pen to the side and sets her glasses on the table before standing up with a look of relief on her face. The audio from the adult video still going on in the background.
“Well, I’m glad we got that out of the way. That would have been awkward.” She turns to Lara, specifically, for a moment. “That guy? Eh. Not too shabby, but I met this dude at a sports bar once? Full blooded Apache, and lemme tell ya girl...” She lets out a whistle and holds up her index fingers about a foot apart, “big tatanka!” She pauses to notice the look on Marissa’s face and quickly shakes her head, waving her hands to get back on the important subject of the match. “Alright, then. So it’s us and every other chick in the locker room, beating the piss out of each other for the title. Well, that’s better than...the other thing....” She gives a nervous chuckle.
“Shit, that means we still gotta go against each other, though! Like what if we end up as the final three? Training in the family gym is one thing but...we’ve never actually had to bang heads before.”
"In situations like this?" Marissa answered, looking at her friends. "We always fall back to the promise we made each other years ago: We don't ever fuck each other over, but otherwise it's every woman for herself."
Lara nodded before giving a happy bounce. "Plus! Did you see who's in it with us? Mia! Small But Mighty reunion!" She said with adorable excitement over her former partner and training mate being in NFW now. "This woulda made Dad so happy... me and Mia are the only two girls he ever trained."
“I *did* see that!” Morgan says with a genuine happy smile on her face. The tallest of the three giving the shortest a light slug in the shoulder. “Hey. He may not be here.” She says, pointing around them. “But he’s here.” She taps a finger over Lara’s heart. “And here.” Another tap to her head. “Uncle V’s gonna be watching both of yins with a smile on his face. He’s already proud of you. Even I know that much. And like you said, Mar, every bitch for herself...but in the end we’re family. Always. If...no, fuck that...*when* one of us leaves tonight with that title, we stay humble and keep the bond we’ve always had. Cool?”
Marissa gave a proud, agreeing nod. "Exactly. Hell... either one of you sees an opening to eliminate me tonight? I'd be pissed if you DIDN'T take it. And Morgan's right. Your dad would be down here having a damn lightsaber duel with you in center ring if he could."
Lara gave a wistful grin, before looking at her watch as her eyes widened. "Awwww crap in a HAT. I gotta go, girls. My mom's making her first appearance on camera in 19 years tonight, and I told her I'd come hang out with her before the show."
“Hey, tell her we said hi! Been awhile since we’ve seen her since we started touring on the indies!” Morgan says before finally turning to turn off the video on her laptop and letting out a huff. She turns to Morgan and Lara again. “Well, that being said, that video’s got me all riled up. I need to either go get a quick workout pump or rub one out to get my head right; and I don’t feel like dealing with another indecent exposure charge so, off to hit the gym across the street!”
Throwing up the deuces, Morgan then bumps fists with the two and walks off camera, out of the locker room.
"And I'm off to go give Mom some pre-show hugs before I go find Mia and hug the crap outta her." Lara said cheerfully, before scrunching her face up. "Not literally though. I mean.... ew." And with that, she scampered off like the dork she was.
Marissa just shook her head, mumbling under her breath as the camera faded out. "....has everyone lost their goddamn mind but me?"
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The McKeesport Mafia defeated The Rebel Rousers by submission in 17:11 when BDP put Teddy Morse in The Steel Curtain, and The Punisher hit the 11th Hour on Chase Evans as he tried to break it up, leaving no choice for Morse but to tap.
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Inside the locker room area, Amy Connors - looking radiant as ever - stands with Erin Mercer. Beside the interviewer, the female superstar looks anxious and ready to go for tonight. Her color scheme for her attire this evening is red with gold accents under her black leather jacket bearing her initials embroidered with rhinestones.
“Ladies and gentlemen, I’m here with one of the competitors in tonight’s main event - a Battle Royale to crown the NFW Women’s Champion. Erin, how are you feeling tonight?” Amy Connors offers the mic up. Erin, all smiles with just a hint of visible nervousness, takes a deep breath and lets it out, softly. “I feel...honestly?” A nervous laugh escapes her. “I don’t know what to say. I mean... I know it sounds a little cliché to say that I’ve waited my entire career for this but, really, who hasn’t? We come into this business to compete in the ring. While it’s true that none of us would be here without any of the people that buy tickets or pay to watch us from their home - and we do this for them, of course - we also do it, in part, for ourselves. Everybody who laces up their boots and steps through that curtain wants to be champion. They wanna prove their worth. They wanna reach their top potential. So, to have this opportunity so early on after signing is...it’s unbelievable.”
Amy Connors brings the mic back to her; an enthusiastic smile on her face. “An exciting moment for you, I’m sure. Now, you will be facing off against twelve other opponents in this match. Do you have any strategy planned going in, and do you have any words for the women that you’ll be competing against, tonight?”
Erin smiles. “Again, it’s gonna sound cliché, Amy but a good strategist never gives away her secrets. I can promise you, though, that I’m gonna go in there headstrong, confident, and ready to rock and roll with each and every one of them. As for any words to the ladies in the match? Look, there’s a lot of great athletes vying for that title. Each and every one of them have something unique to bring to the ring. Do some of them need...an attitude check? Yeah. I’d say so. Am I gonna be the one to say that I’m gonna shut their mouths? They say the one who talks the loudest is the one who goes down first. I let my actions speak for me. That being said?” The smile fades somewhat from her face. “I do wanna say one thing to one of those ladies.” She says, holding up one finger before lowering it and turning to the camera.
“Rosemary?” She pauses. The crowd watching on the tron screen from the arena gives a rising pop of anticipation. “I’ve seen you in the ring. You’re good. No denying that. However, you *are* one of those who does a whole lot of talking. You wanna sit there and go on about how the rest of us don’t deserve a mention in the same breath as you. Well, I say, when that bell rings and thirteen superstars start beating the holy hell out of each other? Come find me. I will GLADLY show you how I made it into this company. That’s all I’m gonna say.”
Amy Connors, looking a little taken aback by Erin’s brief switch in attitude holds her smile. “Well, Erin, good luck tonight and may the best woman win.” Nodding with her smile returning, Erin moves off screen, heading for the ring. “Well, that’s it folks. We’re just moments away from finding out who will be our first NFW Women’s Champion! Mike and James, back to you!”
Cut back to ringside
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*The scene shifts elsewhere in the back area to someone wearing a pair of white wrestling boots using an old set of wooden ring steps to exercise, stepping up then stepping down and repeating the process. The camera scrolls back and we see that it's Matt Klazzic performing these exercises, wearing his trademark white mask with black trim and a sweat towel around his neck. As the camera comes closer, from off-camera, new ringside announcer Josh Davison comes into the frame approaching Klazzic in the middle of his training regimen.*
"Excuse me. Matt Klazzic? Last week, you turned a lot of heads in your match against Adam Cole. This week, you step into the ring with Shelton Benjamin. How are you going to prepare yourself for someone with the athletic pedigree as Shelton Benjamin?" Davison asks as he holds the mic to Klazzic who's still doing his step exercises.
"Well, I know a lot a lot of my fans down out there last week in my match against Adam Page...," Klazzic says before he's interrupted by Davison.
"Cole?" Davison interjects.
"No, I'm warming up quite nicely, thank you," Klazzic says, oblivious to what that exchange was about. "But that was last week. Tonight, I have heard a lot about this man Shelton Benjamin. NCAA champion wrestler, multi-time champion here and abroad. He's a talented athlete, but he doesn't have what Matt Klazzic has, which is my tremendous heart, determination, and the support of all those nice people out there, I know I have what it takes. And once I hit that piledriver and lock in that abdominal stretch, I will get that win. Now if you will excuse me, I would like to finish warming up before my match. Thank you, Joshua," Klazzic says between breaths as he continues to his step exercises as Davison and the cameraman back away and we go to commercial.
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Backstage, Shelton Benjamin is shown preparing to walk to the ring for his match. As he starts toward the entranceway, the voice if Big Daddy Payne can suddenly be heard. "YOOOOO! B-Money! My man!" With a big grin, he walks over to his old stablemate, offering a hand in welcome, the other one clutching a black t-shirt.
Benjamin just cracks up laughing, and pulls his friend in for a quick hug. "I never thought I'd miss being annoyed by you guys." He said, looking down at the shirt BDP held. "Do I even want to know what that is?"
"Hell yes you do..." BDP chuckled, before holding it up to him: it was a House of Payne tee. "You still down with the family, B-Money? If so... got your shirt right here, got your old music ready to go... I'll even give you our one guaranteed slot in the upcoming World Title Tournament. God knows you deserve it."
"God damn..." Benjamin said with a whistle, at the prospect of a World Title opportunity. "Man... you don't have to give me anything. I've always been family. Now lemme get out there and grab a win for the House."
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Shelton Benjamin defeated Matt Klazzic by pinfall in 13:53 after slipping out of an attempted gourdbuster and hitting a superkick followed by a belly-to-belly suplex.
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The shot cuts to a close up of sweat running down the face of a demonic reaper tattooed across the canvas of lightly tanned, brown skin. The tattooed image moves slowly up and down, lifting partially out of frame before lowering back down over and over...slowly. With each motion, we hear the soft rattling of chains.
The camera begins to pan back and the tattooed skin is revealed to be the back of Apocalypta doing wide gripped pull-ups somewhere backstage in the equipment area. The metallic rattling sound is coming from a set of long chains hanging around the back of her neck, long enough to coil up on the floor, even though she, herself is suspended a good three feet from the floor — this doesn’t include the fact that she has her feet crossed and her legs bent.
As the camera finishes panning out, we see that she is not alone but joined by the rest of the Circle of Snakes in the darkness around her, each doing their own thing.
Abaddon looked over each of them. The raw aggression of Apocalypta. The deadly precision of Grey and Wolfe. The terrifying size and power of Belphegor. On their own, each would be dangerous. But together... under the leadership of Abaddon... they had the potential to be unstoppable. "Tonight..." Abaddon began, grinning behind the stringy hair that hung in his eyes, "The Circle of Snakes will officially begin it's hostile takeover of NFW. The Women's Title will be the first championship to come under our rule. Each of the others will follow. The tag team championships and the World Championship will also be ours. Starting tonight... everyone will find out... you cannot break The Circle."
Grey and Wolfe nodded, each bowing their head in respect to their leader. Belphegor slowly turned his head toward Abaddon, before silently nodding as he tightened his gloves.
In the background, Apocalypta drops down from the support structure she’s been using for her strength training and turns towards her brethren. The chains around her neck rattle softly as she lurks towards them. As she comes up behind their leader, Apocalypta drops down out of view for a second until the camera pans down and finds her crawling on her hands, dragging her knees across the floor in an eerie slide right under Abaddon’s legs until she comes up onto one knee in front of him.
Lifting her hand, she clutches a paper image of Angel, with whom she has an unsettled tension with. Off camera, we hear the strike of a match before Apocalypta’s other hand comes up with it in her fingers. Sneering, never taking her void, white eyes off of the camera, she touches the flame to the photograph, igniting it. After the flame consumes most of the picture, she snuffs the flame out by crumpling the paper in her hand until she forms a tight fist, bearing her teeth like a snarling animal.
"Exactly, dear. Exactly. She will burn... just like all the others who stand in our way." Abaddon grinned,raising an arm in the air to loudly clap Belphegor on the back. "And this.... this is our failsafe. This is our version of a nuclear weapon. The endgame. Belphegor... the unstoppable, unbeatable, destroyer of men. Anyone who dares stand in our way? Will be obliterated by this monster."
Moving to stand in front of the entire group, Abaddon spread his arms wide and looked toward the sky.
"The Circle of Snakes cannot be stopped... and soon... all of NFW will succumb to our venom. We... are... eternal."
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The camera catches Lara Blackheart skipping happily towards the locker room, the sound of someone playing "Num Num" by The DNC is heard in the corridor. As Lara walks, she stops and sees Connor K., sitting on the equipment boxes blasting the song through a Beats Pill next to him, bobbing his head and playing a game on his Switch. He stops and stares at Lara for a moment, who stares back, before exchanging a sequence with a forward high-five, backward high-five, and a fist bump, before Lara smirks and continues on her way.
Finally getting to the locker room, she carefully looked around until her eyes found Mia Hayashi. Dressed in gothic makeup, black leggings, and a Satyricon tee, the small Japanese girl barely had time to process what was going on before she was being tackled right off the bench into a huge hug from Lara.
"THERE SHE ISSSSSSS!" Lara squealed happily as she hugged on the other girl. "I missed youuuu..."
"Holy shit, Lar... OK!!!!" She laughed, finally prying the slightly smaller girl off of her. "Missed you too, hon. Thought you forgot about me, what with being all over TV, and partying with all your celebrity pals... "
Lara scoffed, waving a dismissive hand. "Oh, that's ridiculous. I said I'd always have your back, didn't I? Who do you think got ya booked for NFW? Cos I'm that good of a friend, lady."
Mia rolled her eyes, reaching over to ruffle Lara's hair. "Goofball. Anyway... yes. We got each other's back. Even tonight. You protect me and I'll protect you. Then? If it comes down to just us? Small But Mighty will give these people one hell of a wrestling match."
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Belphegor shocked everyone by completely overwhelming Colt Shields. While Shields is a tough opponent for almost anyone, the giant cut through him like paper, pinning him in :48 after a running lariat, a spear, and a jackhammer called The 9th Circle. After the match, Belphegor grabbed Shields and chokeslammed him to the outside of the ring.
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The camera opens on Vincent Stone in his locker room. Already dressed in his gear - his t-shirt bearing a cracked stone wheel with the words ‘STONE AGE’ etched into it - the man paces back and forth with something, clearly, on his mind. After he seems to decide on his words, he speaks, still looking down at the floor.
“Thirteen years ago...I made my big league debut. I debuted in an uphill battle against a man that, let’s face it, at that point in my career, I couldn’t possibly beat.”
Here, he stops and looks up at the camera with determination...an almost scary sense of drive in his eyes.
“But I still made that walk down to that ring and I stood in the path of that unstoppable force. I pushed against that immovable object. Tonight, some might say I’m in those exact same circumstances....”
A tiny smirk crosses his face as he shakes his head"
“But I see things differently. Are the circumstances similar? Oh, yeah. Definitely. Abaddon, you’re one of those...egotistical lunatics, who tries to hold power over those you deem weaker than you. A megalomaniac who centers everything around him and tries to mold other things in his image. Now, I’ll give you credit, you’ve evidently pulled it off on more than one occasion. You’ve got your little pack with you.”
Stone snorts dismissively, clutching one wrist as he rolls his fist in anticipation.
“Steven Brody called them your dogs and that’s exactly what they are. Let’s see; you’ve got your two maulers. A couple of pissed off pitbulls, that need to be put down. You’ve got your angry bitch that, clearly, doesn’t get along with anybody outside of the household. Then you’ve got your big dog. Your great dane that you obviously keep on a chain and set loose on anybody that gets in your way.”
Cracking his neck to the side, Stone starts bouncing on the balls of his feet, rolling his shoulders and warming up.
“I’ve stepped into a ring with all sorts of superstars. Including guys like your great dane, including guys like your pitbulls, including guys like YOU!”
He jabs a finger at the camera, staring hard into it.
“Now, my record isn’t perfect. I’ve taken my losses as well as my wins. BUT...among the ones I’ve beaten? Those include guys like you, Abaddon. You’re not gonna be able to get inside my head.”
He points off screen, indicating towards the ring.
“You either come out there, ready to put up a fight...or you’re gonna get stomped under my boot like the snake that you are.”
Lowering his hand, Stone steps closer to the camera, leaning in towards the lens with a focused look in his eyes.
“Tonight...I tear the head off the serpent that looks to poison professional wrestling. Welcome...to the Stone Age....”
Stepping back from the camera, Vincent Stone steps out of frame and is heard leaving the locker room, slamming the door behind him.
--------------------------------------------
Abaddon defeated Vincent Stone by pinfall in 20:09 when Apocalypta distracted Stone long enough for Abaddon to hit a low blow, then connect with his guillotine driver, The Road to Hell.
--------------------------------------------
Tyler Grey and Chris Wolfe defeated Roppongi 3K by pinfall in 18:48 when Chris Wolfe pinned Sho after hitting his brainbuster/piledriver hybrid called The Direwolf.
-------------------------------------
*As the camera fades in to the locker room door of Rick Dickulous, loud cheering can be heard coming from the other side. A stagehand walks up to the door and knocks loudly*
"MISTER....uh.....MISTER DICKULOUS?!"
*The cheering subsides, and the door handle turns. The door opens slowly as a giant cloud of smoke pours from inside the locker room, and Rick Dickulous' smiling face peers down at the coughing stagehand*
"Hey, guy! Just killing the pregame ritual while we watch some Rock 'Em Sock 'Em Hockey! Don Cherry should seriously run for Prime Minister...."
"You..*cough*..requested a cameraman?"
*Rick looks disappointedly at the stagehand*
"Buddy....that was uncool. The correct term is 'Cameraperson,' jeez..ya can't assume gender, it's not inclusive!"
*Pitt's voice calls from inside the dressing room*
"Rick! Come on, or we're passing Anne around again like a dirty *beep*!"
"Pitt, I'm trying to explain inclusivity to our young, impressionable stagehand in hopes he'll be a benefit to society, hold on...."
*Rick turns back to the stagehand*
"So, yeah, friend! Good talk!"
*Rick pats the stagehand on the shoulder and motions to the cameraperson to follow. Walking through a haze, we can see Don Cherry on the screen, delivering his special brand of commentary, and his patented thumbs up. In unison with Cherry, Rick, Mannheim, and Pitt scream*
"LET'S GO!!"
*Rick turns to the camera, Anne Murray in one hand, lighter in the other. The flatscreen tv showing Rock 'Em Sock 'Em Hockey sits bottom right of the frame, giving a picture in picture effect. He smiles, puts his mouth to the top, and lights the bowl. The contents of the bowl glow orange as the bong bubbles, the embers eventually being sucked through with a pop. Rick clears the bong with a giant breath and holds it in for a few seconds before exhaling a thick white cloud towards the camera. Rick holds Anne Murray out to the camera*
"Want some, buddy?"
*The camera focuses on the bowl, then pulls back out. The camera shakes from side to side*
"Ok, but before you leave you gotta hit Anne, AND you gotta do a shot. Deal?"
*The camera shakes up and down, and a hand slides into frame from the bottom, thumb up*
"So, here we are, in my fucking awesome dressing room, just givin'er before my match, and I got to thinking. I thought to myself: 'Self, what are your goals? What are your dreams? How are you going to achieve them?'"
*Mannheim looks over from the flatscreen*
"And then I said: 'Hey, fuckface....inner monologues are supposed to be in your head.'"
*Pitt chimes in*
"And you guys say I'm *beep*in' crazy..."
*Pitt rolls his eyes and gestures at Rick with his thumbs. Rick scrunches his face comically before continuing*
"Tonight I continue my quest. Like in World of Warcraft, but without the grinding - unless she's hot. Just so all you ladies know, I wear my kilt properly."
*Rick winks and throws finger guns at the camera*
"Satoru Shade? Guy? No offense, but if I gotta go through you to get that Silver Mountain Championship, that's what I'm gonna do. I mean, yeah, you got moves, but I got something more....besides what's under my kilt, amirite?!"
*Rick extends his hand back towards the couch and high fives Mannheim and Pitt. He hands Anne Murray off to Mannheim before continuing*
"I saw your match last week, and I gotta say, you can put up a helluva fight, but tonight you're the Edmund Fitzgerald....and I'm Lake Superior."
*Rick nods authoritatively. Bubbling can be heard from behind Rick, and a thick cloud seems to erupt behind his head. Mannheim coughs deeply, placing Anne on the table in front of Pitt. Mannheim regains his breath and stands up, looking at Rick*
"Ya know, we're probably the only people who get that reference, right? We SERIOUSLY need to work on that."
*Pitt begins packing abother bowl*
"We should have some sort of education program about Canada. Maybe Brody will let us do a spot every week...I mean, Canada Corner sounds pretty good, eh, Willy? Rick?"
*Rick shrugs, Mannheim looks at him like he's retarded. Pitt stands up and walks towards the camera, holding out Anne Murray*
"Here, cameraperson....it's your hit next. We'll wait, we're patient."
*Rick looks back at the camera*
"Satoru, buddy, sorry if you don't get the reference, I mean, you can always Google it, eh? Ask Alexa, or whatevs. At the end of the day, you're going down like a dirty eskimo hooker in the Yukon. Sorry, not sorry."
*Rick shrugs, Mannheim's eyes light up and he points at Rick*
"Oh. My. Fuck. That's your muthafuckin' line! It's perfect! *Mannheim comically deepens his voice* Sorry, not sorry!"
*Pitt nods. Rick looks at the camera*
"Cameraperson? What do you think?"
*The camera quick focuses on Mannheim, then pans and refocuses on Pitt before snapping back to Rick. The camera shakes up and down*
"Ok then. It's settled! Now, someone needs to put some fire on Anne Murray's crotch...and then, a shot!"
*Pitt sets a shot glass of amber liquid next to Anne Murray. Rick reaches for the camera and lifts it, spinning it up onto his shoulder as the frame jostles around. It focuses on a cameraman, headset on, looking very sheepish and uncomfortable as he reaches for Anne. Rick's voice chimes in*
"Is this, like, your first time on camera, guy? Or are you worried about Brody?"
*The cameraman nods his head and points. Mannheim steps into frame and nods down at the cameraman*
"We'll deal with Stevie. Don't you worry. Now light it up and slam it back, little man."
*The cameraman flicks the lighter a few times before getting a flame. He touches the flame to the bowl and power hauls, the contents of the bowl making a louder pop than any other yet as the ashes are pulled through. The cameraman reaches for the shot and slams it back, the thick liquid sliding slowly out of the shot glass. The cameraman's face lights up as he exhales a giant cloud of smoke and looks around. Mannheim, Pitt, and Rick in unison cheer*
"Yeah, guy!!/Give'r!!/Fuckin eh!!"
*Rick spins the camera to point at himself, getting the other three men in the frame. He puts a huge arm around the cameraman*
"Friend....you're an honourary Canadian now...you can come back here any time!"
*Hard cut*
---------------------------------------------
The camera fades back in on a close-up of a green mask, with short tentacles hanging from the jaw area. Damp, straggly dark green hair frames the mask, the eyes behind it female, but intense.
As it pulls back, the full view of Kid Cthulu could be seen. While only an average-sized woman, her mask and physical demeanor immediately singled her out as fearsome, violent, and crazed.
Until she spoke. And the voice that came out was about the cutest, most giggly voice ever.
"Ohhhhmahgod. Can I just TELL you all how excited I am to be part of this tonight? So many women I respect in this match. Candi Brodeur, from the original Team Canada. Lara Blackheart! I grew up thinking her father was the best wrestler ever. And Rosemary! I'm a huge fan. Seriously. But while I'd admittedly love nothing more than to go around and fangirl over pretty much all of you, I gotta keep my eyes on the prize. And that prize is the NFW Women's Championship."
She fidgeted slightly, her ADHD acting up as it tended to do.
"This is gonna be AWESOME. So let's just all go out there, have some fun, and show the guys that us girls can steal the show."
---------------------------------------------------------
Rick Dickulous defeated Satoru Shade III by pinfall in 10:32 after hitting him with The Misery Whip.
-----------------------------------------
The shot fades in on somewhere in the backstage area, close up on a concrete support. Every couple of seconds that pass, something rocks the support, sending a light tremor throughout it’s entirety. Bits of plaster dust flake down with each shake it gives. Finally, the camera pans outward, revealing the source of the pillar’s trembling to be none other than Angel. Dressed in black spandex shorts, a dark violet sports bra and with her hair pinned up in a short ponytail, she appears to be in the middle of some kind of training. That training, evidently, involves delivering sharp and precise kicks directly into the concrete support.
Behind her, into the foreground, Eido Tanaka steps into the frame. He coaches her in a low, cold voice. We do not understand his words as he uses Japanese to communicate his instructions. While he speaks to Angel, his tone remains low and sinister. It barely even changes as he turns towards the camera to address the viewers.
“Most of you who are watching...you might be remembering last week and thinking of it as a...setback.” He chuckles softly. “Perhaps it was...perhaps not. You see...a true warrior studies their opponent. Even if it may come to their expense in one battle...they are ready for the next. How does that American movie say it?” He pauses to think for a moment before that sinister smile creeps across his face. “No sacrifice...no victory. Last week, Angel made her sacrifice...tonight...in the midst of the chaos wrought by enemies on every side...she will seize her victory. While it wasn’t exactly the victory we were expecting...the one that Mr. Brody and I agreed on...we will gladly accept this one; and the New Frontier will bear witness to a true fighting spirit; a goddess of war in the flesh...and one worthy of being called...champion!”
With a final strike to the concrete support, Angel halts in her training; the woman reaching back and freeing her white hair from the hair tie, allowing it to fall just above her neck as she turns towards the camera and approaches, leisurely. Brushing passed Tanaka, the camera hones in on her, closing in on her sweaty face as she lifts her gaze to peer at the audience through strands of white dangling in front of her bright, blue eyes.
In a soft, eerie whisper, the woman speaks in broken English. Her native accent much thicker than that of her manager. “Arru...wirru...suffer...!” She stands there, staring and breathing heavily as the shot fades to black.
---------------------------------------------
Returning from the commercial break, we come to ringside where the N*FW announce team welcomes back the viewers and prepares them for the next match.
“Welcome back, ladies and gentlemen to New Frontier Wrestling! Once again, I’m Nick Hanson, along side my broadcast partner, James Reynolds. We hope you’re enjoying the show thus far because we’ve got another great match on the way!”
“Oh man, I’m excited for this one!”
“You and me, both. This is gonna be good!”
Cutting away from the announce team and to the stage, the lights dim as the opening warning siren and grinding guitar riff to I Prevail’s “Come And Get It” fills the arena. The titan tron comes to life with the familiar image of the gladiator helmet from the vignettes seen previously over the week as the camera focuses on a pane of glass bearing the equally familiar skull logo seen tattooed on the back of the ominous figure seen in all three videos.
As the song reaches the 0:13 second mark, the pane of glass SHATTERS from a fist punching through it and out, onto the stage, walks the man himself. Recognizable from the ‘Gladiator’ etched boots seen in the latest vignette, he walks out onto the stage and pauses to look around at the crowd with an expression mixed between disinterest and disdain. With his ring gear, he wears a sleeveless black t-shirt bearing a helmet made up of the buildings of New York City. The words ‘URBAN GLADIATOR’ are etched underneath.
From the ring, the announcer calls into the microphone.
“The following contest is scheduled for one fall! Introducing first: from Brooklyn, New York. Weighing in at two hundred and thirty pounds: he is the Urban Gladiator...NICO SALVATORE!!”
As his name is announced, Nico Salvatore comes to stand center stage, sneering down at the ring, and raises his wrapped fist up to the camera. He gives a hard strike to the air before making his walk down the ramp.
“Jim, what do we know about this guy?” Mike Hanson asks offscreen.
“I did some research, Mike, and believe me when I say: he’s the real deal.”
“By research, you mean youtube and daily motion?”
“Hey, that counts! This guy hits hard and he can take what he dishes out. He doesn’t sugar coat his words, either.”
“Well, we’re about to see just how hard he *can* hit — and get hit — as he gets ready to face Tyson Law here in just a moment.”
Nico reaches the ring, taking a knee at the steps like a gladiator praying to the gods before a fight in the coliseum. He then pounds his fist against his chest and raises it and his gaze to the air before running up the steps and jumping over the top rope. Immediately, he crosses the ring and hops up onto the middle turnbuckle to observe the audience again. He still doesn’t look too pleased with what he sees.
Stepping down to the mat, Nico pulls off his t-shirt and discards it to the outside floor as his music fades out and he turns towards the stage; the man awaiting his opponent as he hunches forward in a poised position, idly rocking side to side on his legs as he eyes the stage with hardened, focused intensity
----------------------------------------------------------------
Nico Salvatore and Tyson Law wrestled to an incredible 30 minute draw, in which both men hit their finishers yet had the other kick out.
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In the women's battle royal, order of elimination was as follows:
1. Hayley Comett (Eliminated by Rosemary)
2. Trina Tanaka (Eliminated by Kid Cthulu)
3. Angel (Eliminated by Apocalypta)
4. Candi Brodeur (Eliminated by Kid Cthulu)
5. Erin Mercer (Eliminated by Morgan Payne)
6. Morgan Payne (Eliminated by Rosemary)
7. Rosemary (Eliminated by Kid Cthulu)
8. Mia Hayashi (Eliminated by Apocalypta)
9. Kennedy Campbell (Eliminated by Lara Blackheart)
10. Marissa Payne (Eliminated by Apocalypta)
With three women remaining, the match then became a Triple Threat Elimination Match. Kid Cthulu was eliminated first, pinned by Lara Blackheart after a 450 splash following a powerbomb by Apocalypta.
Once it was down to two, Lara took the fight to Apocalypta admirably, especially considering the size and strength difference. Eventually, Apocalypta gained a steady upper hand, and threw Lara up in the air for a pop-up powerbomb. Lara reversed it by turning it into a dropkick mid-air! With Apocalypta down and stunned, Lara quickly scaled the top rope to prepare for another 450.... when Mia Hayashi ran back down to the ring and shoved Lara from the top rope! Apocalypta then hit an elbow drop from the ropes and pinned Lara at 37:59 to become the new NFW Women's Champion!
------------------------------------------------------------------
As “Bad Reputation” Adelita’s Way starts playing throughout the ringside area, the crowd gives a mixed reaction of cheers and jeers while Adam Cole strolls out, cockily, onto the entrance stage. Dressed in his gear and a sleeveless t-shirt with his smug smirk plastered across it and the words ‘New Kingslayer’, he beckons to the crowd to get louder, soaking in their attention be it positive or negative. He, obviously, doesn’t really care whether he’s loved or hated.
Strutting his way down the ramp, he climbs up onto the apron and turns to cast his smug smile at the audience — arrogantly mouthing along to the lyrics to his entrance music — before entering the ring. As his music fades out, he pulls a small index card from his trunks and hands it to the ring announcer. After some firm insistence, she hesitantly takes the card from him. As she looks it over, Cole can be seen mouthing ‘go on! Read it!’ Slowly bringing the microphone up to her mouth, the ring announcer reads the card aloud.
“Umm...ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls....” She pauses, looking up from the card and to Adam Cole in alarm. He waves his hand, urging her on, rolling his eyes impatiently. Hesitantly, she continues, “...bitches and...cucks. Please take your seats and lend your ears.... It’s time for another edition of ‘Story Time with Adam Cole...bay...bay—“
Adam Cole abruptly snatches the mic from her hand and waves her into the corner before turning to the audience. “Holy shit, management really needs to hire some better announcers. Fergie could do a better job than that!” He thumbs over his shoulder towards the announcer. “You’re cute though, sweetie, so I’ll give you an A for effort. An A minus, but still.” He clicks his tongue and snaps his fingers, pointing at her before addressing the audience again.
“Take a seat and get your popcorn ready, folks! This is the story of a king. An aging, washed up king who thought he was still top shit in the wrestling business.” Again, a mix of cheers and jeers resound throughout the crowd as Cole chuckles to himself. “Ya see, this king’s name is Scott Leroux; a so-called legend in the wrestling industry. A wayward performer who came out of the asshole of God only knows where, once NFW’s return was announced, and likes to think he’s still king shit around here; as if people still remember him like he’s still fresh. Well, Scotty, if you’re still so popular, a guy like me has to wonder: where the *fuck* have you been for the past ten years?”
He lowers the mic, bringing up his hands with a look on his face that seems to ask ‘am I right?’ Lifting the mic to his mouth again, he continues, beginning to idly pace around the ring as he talks. “I mean...I’ve been all over several companies and I never heard so much as a mention of what you’ve been up to lately. Every time I’d ask somebody ‘hey, you guys remember Scott Leroux? Whatever happened to him?’ The answer I always get is ‘hey! Scott Leroux! Hail to the King! He was awesome back in the original NFW!’” The smile leaves his face as he leans against the ropes, facing towards the stage. “But, again I digress: where...the fuck...have you been, lately?”
Cole stays there against the ropes, looking from side to side at the crowd, then back to the stage. “I’ll tell you where, you’ve been. I have a good guess that you’ve been sitting on your ass at home, getting old...*and fat*, while hot new talent like this guy-“ he points to himself “-make a name for themselves and remind you of what you used to be. You *used* to be great. You *used* to be the best. You *used* to be ‘The King’!” He shakes his head. “But not anymore. Ya see, this is the *New* Frontier. This is for young, fresh talent to climb the mountain and take that coveted prize! And tonight? That prize is the N*FW TV Championship that you managed to win last week, somehow, without throwing out your back. So let’s give ‘The King’ Scott Leroux a round of applause folks! He’s still got some gas left in the tank!” Stepping away from the ropes, Cole makes a lap around the inside of the ring, slapping the mic in sarcastic praise.
He comes to a halt in the center of the ring, facing the stage again. “So that’s the story, people. The story of the king who’s still trying to hold onto his glory days. But tonight is the final chapter for him. Tonight, you’re all about to see Scott Leroux march into his final battle where the new king in the land is gonna beat his ass and take the torch — aaaaand that TV Championship — and make it actually mean something!” Cole lowers the mic for a moment before he seems to remember something. “Oh! And one more thing!” Sarcastically scratching behind his ear with a thoughtful look on his face, he raises the mic again. “You know how after a story, you sometimes find a little sample page of the next edition? Well, here’s one for all of you sitting here and also all of the fat asses sitting at home watching from their couches.” Here, he turns back to look directly towards the camera. “Ryan Steele....” He chuckles, shaking his head. “Silly fucker. You don’t just get *handed* a championship in wrestling. You have to earn it, dumbass. If you’re lucky, maybe you’ll get a shot at it after I win it tonight. But if you’re looking for a participation prize, you might wanna reconsider your future as a wrestler and go join the special olympics...BITCH!!”
Adam Cole tosses the microphone up over head, out of the ring behind him and removes his t-shirt. Tossing it to the ring announcer, he gives her a wink before turning towards the stage and gesturing with his hands for his opponent to come meet him in the ring.
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The TV Title Match between Scott Leroux and Adam Cole ended in a no-contest at 12:01 when The Circle of Snakes stormed the ring. Abaddon, Grey, and Wolfe beat down Cole and tossed him from the ring, while Belphegor powerbombed Leroux to the outside, then stood in the ring holding the TV title belt, staring at it as the camera cut to one final backstage segment.
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The scene shits in the back to the NFW banner, the camera pans back and we see that we're in Commissioner Brody's Office and we see Brody seated behind his desk, staring intently at someone across his desk, off-camera.
Brody sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose in slight frustration. "I like your ideas. It's no secret you've a brilliant mind for this sport. But I have my concerns. This is not some... playground, where you can bring some part-timer in and expect him to be given the world. In this place... you go all in or you go home."
The camera pans over and we see Brody talking to Paul Heyman, dressed in his usual advocate business suit attire, with a wry smirk on his face. Heyman smirks a little more before slowly rubbing his chin and looking down on the floor.
"Mr. Brody, may I call you Steven? Nevermind, I know you're a man with a sharp mind for the business. But it appears you have made the mistake so many others, like you, in the past have made. You see? I am not what you would call a 'manager, ' I am an advocate. I serve an advisory role on behalf of my clients. I can't be held responsible for what they choose to do. I can't be held responsible if the contract negotiators I've met up with in the past have the mentality of a 4th grader, trading a coat for a bag of potato chips...", Heyman says with a confident smile as he slightly leans forward, resting his knuckles on Brody's desk. "If you must know, Mr. Brody, my services as an advocate are available to anyone who is willing to pay top currency for them, be it in dollars, euros, pesos, or in yen. You can be straight-edge with an self-absorbed crusade, a beast who would gladly get paid top dollar for limited appearances, or like my latest client, a general, " Heyman smiles as the camera pans back to Brody's face seeing someone enter his office from off-camera.
"And what of your client's.... reputation?" Brody asked, brow furrowed in real concern. "Advocate or not, it will still be your responsibility to keep him in line. This talent exchange we worked out is exciting to all of us, but not at the expense of our own talent's livelihood."
"Mr. Brody, you have nothing to concern yourself here. My client has, in the past, worked with many a younger generation of talent, showing them the years of his knowledge and expertise. In fact, at the airport today, we came across a young man who was a recipient of many hours of training by client, and he has also decided to come here to continue his training," Heyman says as the door opens and another individual steps in off-camera.
Brody looks the men up and down, giving a resigned sigh before nodding. "Fine. The talent exchange will include these two. Just remember what I said: you are responsible for them here. What they do in Japan is on them. But what they do here? Is on you and you alone."
"Mr. Brody, rest assured, my client's full intention is to merely expand his brand worldwide. Now, if he finds other like minded individuals sharing the same ideal..." Heyman says as he unfolds a tablet and has it displayed facing Brody with the case acting as a stand, "well, it would certainly make things a little more interesting, wouldn't you say?"
"I want what's best for this promotion. And right now..." Brody paused, looking at all involved again. "I believe this is best. Just remember: you may bring hell itself to NFW... but there will be others who aren't going to take essentially an invasion lightly."
"It's all a matter of perspective, Mr. Brody. They may see it as an invasion. My client...?" Heyman pauses, "he sees it as war," Heyman finishes with a smile as we go to credits.
“Hey, man!” Teddy yells from the other side of the truck. “Don’t go slamming that door!”
“That ain’t gonna hurt yer damn door, Teddy.” Chase calls back. “This thing’s been through worse anyway.”
The two men grab their bags out of the bed — the back seats having no room due to the jerry rigged speakers hooked up in the back. Carrying his bag beside him in one massive hand, Chase looks at their sound setup and shakes his head. “Teddy? Tell me somethin’.”
“What up?” Teddy answers as the two start walking towards the locker room area.
Chase thumbs back towards the truck, looking to his tag partner. “We’re on a big, multi thousand dollar contract now. Why we still rollin’ around in that piece o’shit?”
Teddy’s jaw almost hits the floor. “Hey man! You’re lucky you’re my boy; you know better than that! Talkin’ ‘bout a man’s truck like that’s liable to get you knocked out!”
Chase rolls his eyes with a look that says he doubts the smaller man could even pull such a feat off on him. He shrugs his shoulders. “The damn thing sputters down the road! I’m surprised we even made it from New York to here in that rust bucket. I’m just saying, man. We made it big; why not get you something new? Even if it’s just a newer model?”
“Hey, you know what that is there?” Teddy turns to back pedal for a brief moment as he points to their mode of transportation. “That’s memories, right there. Dog gonnit. I drove to school my sophmore AND senior year in that thing. You and I always drive out to go hunting in that. Shit, I made it to third base with Mary Lynn—“
“Alright, alright, ALRIGHT!” Chase closes his eyes and waves his free hand frantically, to shut Teddy up. “Good god, almighty. Forget I said anything.”
Teddy cracks a self accomplished smirk like he just won a major argument. “Hey, she might be old but she can still go, ya feel me? Hey, kinda like our opponents tonight! Check that out!”
Chase finally breaks into a grin and laughs. “Man, we used to watch the House of Payne in middle school. You remember that?”
“Yessir! They were some badass sumbitches!” Teddy says, before a thought crosses his mind. “Hey, you think Big Daddy’s daughter’d go out for a beer with me?”
Chase lets out a belting laugh so loud it echoes throughout the hallway they’re walking through. “I think he’d whup yer ass if he heard you say that shit.”
Teddy scoffs. “Pfft. C’mon man. He might be tough still, but I’m like a cat! I could run circles around him. I bet you could give ol’ boy a run for his money, too!”
“The Punisher?” Chase asks.
“Yup!” Teddy nods back.
“Well, I guess we’re gonna see about that tonight, ain’t we? McKeesport Mafia and the Rebel Rousers, tearing it up in Atlanta, Georgia y’all! Let’s get it!” Chase throws up the horns with his thumb and pinky at the camera.
Teddy responds with a resounding, “HEEEEELL YEEEEEAAAAH!!!!!!” The two finally move passed the camera as we fade out.
---------------------------------------------------------------
As the camera cuts back to ringside and the announce team of Mike Hansen and James Reynolds welcomes back the viewers, the sound of Prophets of Rage’s “Unfuck The World” fills the arena. A pop sounds from those fans that are more familiar with the veteran side of the roster once the titan tron starts flashing clips of Pittsburgh’s streets.
As the lyrics to the track start, the newly named McKeesport Mafia makes their way out on stage. The Punisher, Andrew Payne, steps out in new ring gear but still sporting the same black and yellow he always has, complete with a sleeveless t-shirt bearing a Marvel Punisher skull logo with the words ‘HOUSE PAYNE: Non Facciamo Altro Vinto’ on the front while the back reads ‘ALL WE DO IS F**KIN’ WIN’ with two smaller skulls ‘censoring’ out the word.
Age shows in the veteran star’s features: grey in his black hair and beard, lines in his face, but he still looks in shape enough to roll with the new generation. As the tag team’s theme song booms loudly over the speakers, Andrew raises one fist up, clutching a Terrible Towel within his grip, his other hand pointing to the crowd.
At his side, as always, was Big Daddy Payne. A few pounds lighter than in his prime, a greying bit of five o'clock shadow on his face, and wearing black jeans and a black sleeveless tee with Eddie Guerrero's picture on it, the former NFW World Champion clapped his partner on the back as he entered the ring. Calling for the microphone, he caught it as it was tossed into the ring.
"I remember an old saying years ago, that went: 'you can't go home again'. Well... we're here to tell you all that's bullshit." He took a moment to let the crowd cheer, before continuing, "I started out right here in NFW. Few years later? I brought my brother-from-another-mother here in to join me. And we put together a stable that rocked this motherfucking promotion to it's core. Over time... we went our separate ways. Andy and me went to Japan. A few guys retired. Some..." He paused to look down at his own t-shirt, before continuing. "Got called home. But now? With the new NFW comes a new generation. And if we're gonna pass the torch of The House of Payne to the next generation, you better damn well believe we're gonna help obliterate anything in it's way before we call it a career."
Holding a second mic of his own, Andrew claps a hand on BDP’s shoulder at the mention of their late friend and team member. To his approval, the crowd shows their own respect — starting up a chant of “EDDIE! EDDIE! EDDIE!” Before The Punisher says his piece, he circles the ring, gesturing with his other hand for the crowd to get louder. They happily oblige.
“And you can bet your asses, if not for the unfortunate circumstances, he’d be right here in this ring with us, tonight, ready to blow the roof off of this motherfucker!” The crowd pops.
“But let’s look at the reality, here.” Andrew pauses, turning to his partner and blood brother, pointing in between them. “We’re getting up there. You know it. I know it. But something else we know?” He turns back to the crowd. “Age is just a number so long as you’ve got the heart and the drive, and us? We were built on both of those! We put our blood and sweat into this business — especially our blood — because even after we’re done and sitting at home, there’s a new generation of the House of Payne ready to take up the reins but for now? The McKeesport Mafia STILL RUNS THIS BITCH!”
BDP bumped fists with Andy, before continuing: "We're gonna be here as long as it takes to make sure this new generation doesn't take for granted the legacy of those that came before them. The work and the pain that men like Eddie Guerrero and Vlad Blackheart put into making NFW what it was and what it again will be. This our official notice - I don't care if it's a tournament, a battle royal, a gauntlet match... whatever - we are entering ourselves into whatever match or matches will determine the first NFW Tag Team Champions."
A rarely seen smirk crosses Andy’s face as he lifts his mic again. “And as most of you damn well know, we don’t just run around these arenas blowing smoke. The Mafia is back and House Payne is bigger and stronger than ever. Tonight? Brother, we’ve never faced these kids before; and not to take anything away from them, but me? Personally, I can’t say I’ve ever caught them on the independent circuit. Rebel Rousers? You looked pretty solid in this ring, last week. But if you wanna show the NFW universe what you’re really worth? Come on down to this ring and let us show you how a couple of old time boys from the Steel City do it. Because whether it’s wrestling...hell, even drinking or sitting back and killing time on ‘dat Madden’....” Here, Andy cracks a sly smirk at BDP as the crowd lets out a friendly, instigative ‘ohhhhhh’. Andy turns back to the crowd and stage. “One thing, ONE thing is certain...when it comes to us!” As the crowd starts stirring up with excitement for the impending match, Andy backs up to the center of the ring. “NON FACCIAMO—“ He raises the mic as the Atlanta audience roars back, “ALTRO—VINTO!” Andy tosses the mic out of the ring, and his t-shirt into the front row, bumping fists with BDP again as they await their opponents.
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The camera is blurry and has multiple lens flares as five objects are barely seen As the camera comes into focus the five candles are again seen, green, red yellow, black and blue in colour. Rosemary is dragging a large metal barrel with her and she grunts setting it up. Pulling out a stack of papers from the deep recess of the barrel, it is quickly obvious she has a stack of photographs, presumably of the women she will be facing in Atlanta.
“So, we have an interview where we embarrass well, everyone, and minutes later, Steven Brody announces a working agreement with New Japan. It is like he is scared of us claiming yet another title to add to our list. To make matters worse. He invites five starts to compete for our title. We did some research and let’s go over that list shall we?
She grabs the five candles, one by one and slams them into the barrel and as each new candle shatters and the flames rise higher and higher, spurned on by some accelerant, her face becomes more and more like the demon she is. The Deathdealer, The Demon Assassin.
"Well, these first five can just go into the fire shall we —"
Quickly tossing into the fire the pictures of Trina Tanaka, Mia Hayashi, Kennedy Campbell, Kid Cthulu and Hayley Comett.
"They are just fodder for the Inferno match, which we haven’t forgotten about our little pez dispenser. Which brings us to the rest of the match Let us start with the losers of last week first. "
She walks over and grabs a picture of Morgan Payne stapling it to the wall.
"You shouldn’t find yourself <she giggles> downtown after dark deary, not when you look like a drunken bumblebee. Don’t worry though we’ve faced drunks before just as Laural Van Ness."
She scribbles the letters DvD in red lipstick on the photo, obviously talking about Morgan’s Finisher. Next she picks up Angel’s picture, doing the same.
"This should be fun, your black mass versus our red wedding. We think red is more <she pauses> evocative don’t you?"
Writing the word “WoW” on the picture, an obvious reference the the Women of wrestling promotion Angel was in in 2015.
She walks over and grabs the picture of Jason Hardwick, looks confused why an announcer ended up in her stack of photos with a shrug she tosses his photo into the fire with the rest as flames flicker against her face.
"Never heard of her…."
Lastly she picks up Candi Brodeur ’s photo and staples it to the wall.
"For fourteen minutes and thirty seven seconds, you briefly touched the flame. For fourteen minutes and thirty seven seconds, you danced to our tune. Till we decided to stop toying with you and end the charade. We are glad, as we said, you accepted the Inferno match. See you there sweetie."
"Which brings us to the so called winners."
Picking up the picture of Lara Blackheart and stapling it to the wall.
"Yes we called you so called winners, if only because you won a dance with a demon, so really is that winning? Lara Blackheart, you won against … whoever her name was, we forget."
Small smile with a giggle,than picks up a meat cleaver and slaws it into the wall through the head of Lara, sending a very clear message.
"Which brings us down to three, our knock off, and a member of the house of payne, and of course, us."
"By know you should all realise how the end plays out. We’ve said it multiple times, all things come to Decay….."
Slamming another meat cleaver into the picture of Morgan Payne
"Decay……"
Slamming the last meat cleaver, conveniently stationed near by on a table through the picture of Apocalypta tossing her arms out behind her and bending over at the waist…
"DECAY!!!"
<camera turns off as the seen fades with her sticking her tongue out>
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As the shot fades in from black, Morgan Payne sits in the Iron Maidens’ locker room in front of a laptop with it’s back to the camera. In an almost hilarious display, the powerhouse of the three women stable is dressed completely in her ring gear with her entrance jacket hanging behind her on the chair, her hat on her head and a pair of reading glasses resting on her face with a pad and pen in her hands as she watches the screen. We cannot see what she’s watching but we can somewhat hear it: and it sounds downright, almost pornographic with the sounds of multiple women coming from the laptop’s speakers.
Morgan takes a sip from a fountain drink cup through a straw, raising her eyebrow questionably at the screen before shrugging and jotting something down into her notepad.
A happy whistling can be heard fading in as Marissa Payne walks into the room, still in her ripped, baggy jeans, tight House Targaryen shirt, and Steelers cap, stopping when she realized what was going on. Comically, her smile just faded instantly into a look of annoyance that only needed a little anime-like squiggle over her head to be complete.
"Mor? What the actual, legitimate fuck are you doing?"
Adjusting her glasses, Morgan looks up at Marissa. “What’s it look like? I’m taking notes! Lara said we had a huge women’s orgy for the first Women’s Championship. Now, I’ve had my run of the mill but never *this* big!” Turning back to the laptop, she jots another note down, then looks back to her friend with comical confusion on her face. “I’ve never heard of this in wrestling before. Do our dads know we signed up for this? Cuz’, let’s be honest: this is gonna be kinda...well...weird. I mean, me and yins are practically like sisters, ya know? I know you and me are House Targaryen through and through but still....”
"MORGAN FOR FUCK'S SAKE." Marissa raised her voice with a crack, dropping her bag to the floor. "She said 'an orgy of violence'. It's a battle royal, you fuckin' goof!" She sighed, placing her palm to her forehead as she grumbled. Before she could say anything else though, little Lara Blackheart came prancing on in, wearing her ring clothes already, just with an old LA Guns tee over it. "Heeeey Marissa. Heeeeeey Morg-" she paused blinking as she looked at the computer. "Oh wow, I know that dude. Bee tee dubs? Never party with a guy that big the night before a match. It does not make falling on your ass feel very good."
“A battle roy...ohhhhhhh! Gotcha!” Morgan looks between her two friends and the laptop, back and forth before tossing the pad and pen to the side and sets her glasses on the table before standing up with a look of relief on her face. The audio from the adult video still going on in the background.
“Well, I’m glad we got that out of the way. That would have been awkward.” She turns to Lara, specifically, for a moment. “That guy? Eh. Not too shabby, but I met this dude at a sports bar once? Full blooded Apache, and lemme tell ya girl...” She lets out a whistle and holds up her index fingers about a foot apart, “big tatanka!” She pauses to notice the look on Marissa’s face and quickly shakes her head, waving her hands to get back on the important subject of the match. “Alright, then. So it’s us and every other chick in the locker room, beating the piss out of each other for the title. Well, that’s better than...the other thing....” She gives a nervous chuckle.
“Shit, that means we still gotta go against each other, though! Like what if we end up as the final three? Training in the family gym is one thing but...we’ve never actually had to bang heads before.”
"In situations like this?" Marissa answered, looking at her friends. "We always fall back to the promise we made each other years ago: We don't ever fuck each other over, but otherwise it's every woman for herself."
Lara nodded before giving a happy bounce. "Plus! Did you see who's in it with us? Mia! Small But Mighty reunion!" She said with adorable excitement over her former partner and training mate being in NFW now. "This woulda made Dad so happy... me and Mia are the only two girls he ever trained."
“I *did* see that!” Morgan says with a genuine happy smile on her face. The tallest of the three giving the shortest a light slug in the shoulder. “Hey. He may not be here.” She says, pointing around them. “But he’s here.” She taps a finger over Lara’s heart. “And here.” Another tap to her head. “Uncle V’s gonna be watching both of yins with a smile on his face. He’s already proud of you. Even I know that much. And like you said, Mar, every bitch for herself...but in the end we’re family. Always. If...no, fuck that...*when* one of us leaves tonight with that title, we stay humble and keep the bond we’ve always had. Cool?”
Marissa gave a proud, agreeing nod. "Exactly. Hell... either one of you sees an opening to eliminate me tonight? I'd be pissed if you DIDN'T take it. And Morgan's right. Your dad would be down here having a damn lightsaber duel with you in center ring if he could."
Lara gave a wistful grin, before looking at her watch as her eyes widened. "Awwww crap in a HAT. I gotta go, girls. My mom's making her first appearance on camera in 19 years tonight, and I told her I'd come hang out with her before the show."
“Hey, tell her we said hi! Been awhile since we’ve seen her since we started touring on the indies!” Morgan says before finally turning to turn off the video on her laptop and letting out a huff. She turns to Morgan and Lara again. “Well, that being said, that video’s got me all riled up. I need to either go get a quick workout pump or rub one out to get my head right; and I don’t feel like dealing with another indecent exposure charge so, off to hit the gym across the street!”
Throwing up the deuces, Morgan then bumps fists with the two and walks off camera, out of the locker room.
"And I'm off to go give Mom some pre-show hugs before I go find Mia and hug the crap outta her." Lara said cheerfully, before scrunching her face up. "Not literally though. I mean.... ew." And with that, she scampered off like the dork she was.
Marissa just shook her head, mumbling under her breath as the camera faded out. "....has everyone lost their goddamn mind but me?"
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The McKeesport Mafia defeated The Rebel Rousers by submission in 17:11 when BDP put Teddy Morse in The Steel Curtain, and The Punisher hit the 11th Hour on Chase Evans as he tried to break it up, leaving no choice for Morse but to tap.
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Inside the locker room area, Amy Connors - looking radiant as ever - stands with Erin Mercer. Beside the interviewer, the female superstar looks anxious and ready to go for tonight. Her color scheme for her attire this evening is red with gold accents under her black leather jacket bearing her initials embroidered with rhinestones.
“Ladies and gentlemen, I’m here with one of the competitors in tonight’s main event - a Battle Royale to crown the NFW Women’s Champion. Erin, how are you feeling tonight?” Amy Connors offers the mic up. Erin, all smiles with just a hint of visible nervousness, takes a deep breath and lets it out, softly. “I feel...honestly?” A nervous laugh escapes her. “I don’t know what to say. I mean... I know it sounds a little cliché to say that I’ve waited my entire career for this but, really, who hasn’t? We come into this business to compete in the ring. While it’s true that none of us would be here without any of the people that buy tickets or pay to watch us from their home - and we do this for them, of course - we also do it, in part, for ourselves. Everybody who laces up their boots and steps through that curtain wants to be champion. They wanna prove their worth. They wanna reach their top potential. So, to have this opportunity so early on after signing is...it’s unbelievable.”
Amy Connors brings the mic back to her; an enthusiastic smile on her face. “An exciting moment for you, I’m sure. Now, you will be facing off against twelve other opponents in this match. Do you have any strategy planned going in, and do you have any words for the women that you’ll be competing against, tonight?”
Erin smiles. “Again, it’s gonna sound cliché, Amy but a good strategist never gives away her secrets. I can promise you, though, that I’m gonna go in there headstrong, confident, and ready to rock and roll with each and every one of them. As for any words to the ladies in the match? Look, there’s a lot of great athletes vying for that title. Each and every one of them have something unique to bring to the ring. Do some of them need...an attitude check? Yeah. I’d say so. Am I gonna be the one to say that I’m gonna shut their mouths? They say the one who talks the loudest is the one who goes down first. I let my actions speak for me. That being said?” The smile fades somewhat from her face. “I do wanna say one thing to one of those ladies.” She says, holding up one finger before lowering it and turning to the camera.
“Rosemary?” She pauses. The crowd watching on the tron screen from the arena gives a rising pop of anticipation. “I’ve seen you in the ring. You’re good. No denying that. However, you *are* one of those who does a whole lot of talking. You wanna sit there and go on about how the rest of us don’t deserve a mention in the same breath as you. Well, I say, when that bell rings and thirteen superstars start beating the holy hell out of each other? Come find me. I will GLADLY show you how I made it into this company. That’s all I’m gonna say.”
Amy Connors, looking a little taken aback by Erin’s brief switch in attitude holds her smile. “Well, Erin, good luck tonight and may the best woman win.” Nodding with her smile returning, Erin moves off screen, heading for the ring. “Well, that’s it folks. We’re just moments away from finding out who will be our first NFW Women’s Champion! Mike and James, back to you!”
Cut back to ringside
--------------------------------------------------
*The scene shifts elsewhere in the back area to someone wearing a pair of white wrestling boots using an old set of wooden ring steps to exercise, stepping up then stepping down and repeating the process. The camera scrolls back and we see that it's Matt Klazzic performing these exercises, wearing his trademark white mask with black trim and a sweat towel around his neck. As the camera comes closer, from off-camera, new ringside announcer Josh Davison comes into the frame approaching Klazzic in the middle of his training regimen.*
"Excuse me. Matt Klazzic? Last week, you turned a lot of heads in your match against Adam Cole. This week, you step into the ring with Shelton Benjamin. How are you going to prepare yourself for someone with the athletic pedigree as Shelton Benjamin?" Davison asks as he holds the mic to Klazzic who's still doing his step exercises.
"Well, I know a lot a lot of my fans down out there last week in my match against Adam Page...," Klazzic says before he's interrupted by Davison.
"Cole?" Davison interjects.
"No, I'm warming up quite nicely, thank you," Klazzic says, oblivious to what that exchange was about. "But that was last week. Tonight, I have heard a lot about this man Shelton Benjamin. NCAA champion wrestler, multi-time champion here and abroad. He's a talented athlete, but he doesn't have what Matt Klazzic has, which is my tremendous heart, determination, and the support of all those nice people out there, I know I have what it takes. And once I hit that piledriver and lock in that abdominal stretch, I will get that win. Now if you will excuse me, I would like to finish warming up before my match. Thank you, Joshua," Klazzic says between breaths as he continues to his step exercises as Davison and the cameraman back away and we go to commercial.
-------------------------------------------------------------------
Backstage, Shelton Benjamin is shown preparing to walk to the ring for his match. As he starts toward the entranceway, the voice if Big Daddy Payne can suddenly be heard. "YOOOOO! B-Money! My man!" With a big grin, he walks over to his old stablemate, offering a hand in welcome, the other one clutching a black t-shirt.
Benjamin just cracks up laughing, and pulls his friend in for a quick hug. "I never thought I'd miss being annoyed by you guys." He said, looking down at the shirt BDP held. "Do I even want to know what that is?"
"Hell yes you do..." BDP chuckled, before holding it up to him: it was a House of Payne tee. "You still down with the family, B-Money? If so... got your shirt right here, got your old music ready to go... I'll even give you our one guaranteed slot in the upcoming World Title Tournament. God knows you deserve it."
"God damn..." Benjamin said with a whistle, at the prospect of a World Title opportunity. "Man... you don't have to give me anything. I've always been family. Now lemme get out there and grab a win for the House."
----------------------------------------------------------
Shelton Benjamin defeated Matt Klazzic by pinfall in 13:53 after slipping out of an attempted gourdbuster and hitting a superkick followed by a belly-to-belly suplex.
------------------------------------------------
The shot cuts to a close up of sweat running down the face of a demonic reaper tattooed across the canvas of lightly tanned, brown skin. The tattooed image moves slowly up and down, lifting partially out of frame before lowering back down over and over...slowly. With each motion, we hear the soft rattling of chains.
The camera begins to pan back and the tattooed skin is revealed to be the back of Apocalypta doing wide gripped pull-ups somewhere backstage in the equipment area. The metallic rattling sound is coming from a set of long chains hanging around the back of her neck, long enough to coil up on the floor, even though she, herself is suspended a good three feet from the floor — this doesn’t include the fact that she has her feet crossed and her legs bent.
As the camera finishes panning out, we see that she is not alone but joined by the rest of the Circle of Snakes in the darkness around her, each doing their own thing.
Abaddon looked over each of them. The raw aggression of Apocalypta. The deadly precision of Grey and Wolfe. The terrifying size and power of Belphegor. On their own, each would be dangerous. But together... under the leadership of Abaddon... they had the potential to be unstoppable. "Tonight..." Abaddon began, grinning behind the stringy hair that hung in his eyes, "The Circle of Snakes will officially begin it's hostile takeover of NFW. The Women's Title will be the first championship to come under our rule. Each of the others will follow. The tag team championships and the World Championship will also be ours. Starting tonight... everyone will find out... you cannot break The Circle."
Grey and Wolfe nodded, each bowing their head in respect to their leader. Belphegor slowly turned his head toward Abaddon, before silently nodding as he tightened his gloves.
In the background, Apocalypta drops down from the support structure she’s been using for her strength training and turns towards her brethren. The chains around her neck rattle softly as she lurks towards them. As she comes up behind their leader, Apocalypta drops down out of view for a second until the camera pans down and finds her crawling on her hands, dragging her knees across the floor in an eerie slide right under Abaddon’s legs until she comes up onto one knee in front of him.
Lifting her hand, she clutches a paper image of Angel, with whom she has an unsettled tension with. Off camera, we hear the strike of a match before Apocalypta’s other hand comes up with it in her fingers. Sneering, never taking her void, white eyes off of the camera, she touches the flame to the photograph, igniting it. After the flame consumes most of the picture, she snuffs the flame out by crumpling the paper in her hand until she forms a tight fist, bearing her teeth like a snarling animal.
"Exactly, dear. Exactly. She will burn... just like all the others who stand in our way." Abaddon grinned,raising an arm in the air to loudly clap Belphegor on the back. "And this.... this is our failsafe. This is our version of a nuclear weapon. The endgame. Belphegor... the unstoppable, unbeatable, destroyer of men. Anyone who dares stand in our way? Will be obliterated by this monster."
Moving to stand in front of the entire group, Abaddon spread his arms wide and looked toward the sky.
"The Circle of Snakes cannot be stopped... and soon... all of NFW will succumb to our venom. We... are... eternal."
-------------------------------------------------------------------------
The camera catches Lara Blackheart skipping happily towards the locker room, the sound of someone playing "Num Num" by The DNC is heard in the corridor. As Lara walks, she stops and sees Connor K., sitting on the equipment boxes blasting the song through a Beats Pill next to him, bobbing his head and playing a game on his Switch. He stops and stares at Lara for a moment, who stares back, before exchanging a sequence with a forward high-five, backward high-five, and a fist bump, before Lara smirks and continues on her way.
Finally getting to the locker room, she carefully looked around until her eyes found Mia Hayashi. Dressed in gothic makeup, black leggings, and a Satyricon tee, the small Japanese girl barely had time to process what was going on before she was being tackled right off the bench into a huge hug from Lara.
"THERE SHE ISSSSSSS!" Lara squealed happily as she hugged on the other girl. "I missed youuuu..."
"Holy shit, Lar... OK!!!!" She laughed, finally prying the slightly smaller girl off of her. "Missed you too, hon. Thought you forgot about me, what with being all over TV, and partying with all your celebrity pals... "
Lara scoffed, waving a dismissive hand. "Oh, that's ridiculous. I said I'd always have your back, didn't I? Who do you think got ya booked for NFW? Cos I'm that good of a friend, lady."
Mia rolled her eyes, reaching over to ruffle Lara's hair. "Goofball. Anyway... yes. We got each other's back. Even tonight. You protect me and I'll protect you. Then? If it comes down to just us? Small But Mighty will give these people one hell of a wrestling match."
---------------------------------------------------------
Belphegor shocked everyone by completely overwhelming Colt Shields. While Shields is a tough opponent for almost anyone, the giant cut through him like paper, pinning him in :48 after a running lariat, a spear, and a jackhammer called The 9th Circle. After the match, Belphegor grabbed Shields and chokeslammed him to the outside of the ring.
--------------------------------------------------------------
The camera opens on Vincent Stone in his locker room. Already dressed in his gear - his t-shirt bearing a cracked stone wheel with the words ‘STONE AGE’ etched into it - the man paces back and forth with something, clearly, on his mind. After he seems to decide on his words, he speaks, still looking down at the floor.
“Thirteen years ago...I made my big league debut. I debuted in an uphill battle against a man that, let’s face it, at that point in my career, I couldn’t possibly beat.”
Here, he stops and looks up at the camera with determination...an almost scary sense of drive in his eyes.
“But I still made that walk down to that ring and I stood in the path of that unstoppable force. I pushed against that immovable object. Tonight, some might say I’m in those exact same circumstances....”
A tiny smirk crosses his face as he shakes his head"
“But I see things differently. Are the circumstances similar? Oh, yeah. Definitely. Abaddon, you’re one of those...egotistical lunatics, who tries to hold power over those you deem weaker than you. A megalomaniac who centers everything around him and tries to mold other things in his image. Now, I’ll give you credit, you’ve evidently pulled it off on more than one occasion. You’ve got your little pack with you.”
Stone snorts dismissively, clutching one wrist as he rolls his fist in anticipation.
“Steven Brody called them your dogs and that’s exactly what they are. Let’s see; you’ve got your two maulers. A couple of pissed off pitbulls, that need to be put down. You’ve got your angry bitch that, clearly, doesn’t get along with anybody outside of the household. Then you’ve got your big dog. Your great dane that you obviously keep on a chain and set loose on anybody that gets in your way.”
Cracking his neck to the side, Stone starts bouncing on the balls of his feet, rolling his shoulders and warming up.
“I’ve stepped into a ring with all sorts of superstars. Including guys like your great dane, including guys like your pitbulls, including guys like YOU!”
He jabs a finger at the camera, staring hard into it.
“Now, my record isn’t perfect. I’ve taken my losses as well as my wins. BUT...among the ones I’ve beaten? Those include guys like you, Abaddon. You’re not gonna be able to get inside my head.”
He points off screen, indicating towards the ring.
“You either come out there, ready to put up a fight...or you’re gonna get stomped under my boot like the snake that you are.”
Lowering his hand, Stone steps closer to the camera, leaning in towards the lens with a focused look in his eyes.
“Tonight...I tear the head off the serpent that looks to poison professional wrestling. Welcome...to the Stone Age....”
Stepping back from the camera, Vincent Stone steps out of frame and is heard leaving the locker room, slamming the door behind him.
--------------------------------------------
Abaddon defeated Vincent Stone by pinfall in 20:09 when Apocalypta distracted Stone long enough for Abaddon to hit a low blow, then connect with his guillotine driver, The Road to Hell.
--------------------------------------------
Tyler Grey and Chris Wolfe defeated Roppongi 3K by pinfall in 18:48 when Chris Wolfe pinned Sho after hitting his brainbuster/piledriver hybrid called The Direwolf.
-------------------------------------
*As the camera fades in to the locker room door of Rick Dickulous, loud cheering can be heard coming from the other side. A stagehand walks up to the door and knocks loudly*
"MISTER....uh.....MISTER DICKULOUS?!"
*The cheering subsides, and the door handle turns. The door opens slowly as a giant cloud of smoke pours from inside the locker room, and Rick Dickulous' smiling face peers down at the coughing stagehand*
"Hey, guy! Just killing the pregame ritual while we watch some Rock 'Em Sock 'Em Hockey! Don Cherry should seriously run for Prime Minister...."
"You..*cough*..requested a cameraman?"
*Rick looks disappointedly at the stagehand*
"Buddy....that was uncool. The correct term is 'Cameraperson,' jeez..ya can't assume gender, it's not inclusive!"
*Pitt's voice calls from inside the dressing room*
"Rick! Come on, or we're passing Anne around again like a dirty *beep*!"
"Pitt, I'm trying to explain inclusivity to our young, impressionable stagehand in hopes he'll be a benefit to society, hold on...."
*Rick turns back to the stagehand*
"So, yeah, friend! Good talk!"
*Rick pats the stagehand on the shoulder and motions to the cameraperson to follow. Walking through a haze, we can see Don Cherry on the screen, delivering his special brand of commentary, and his patented thumbs up. In unison with Cherry, Rick, Mannheim, and Pitt scream*
"LET'S GO!!"
*Rick turns to the camera, Anne Murray in one hand, lighter in the other. The flatscreen tv showing Rock 'Em Sock 'Em Hockey sits bottom right of the frame, giving a picture in picture effect. He smiles, puts his mouth to the top, and lights the bowl. The contents of the bowl glow orange as the bong bubbles, the embers eventually being sucked through with a pop. Rick clears the bong with a giant breath and holds it in for a few seconds before exhaling a thick white cloud towards the camera. Rick holds Anne Murray out to the camera*
"Want some, buddy?"
*The camera focuses on the bowl, then pulls back out. The camera shakes from side to side*
"Ok, but before you leave you gotta hit Anne, AND you gotta do a shot. Deal?"
*The camera shakes up and down, and a hand slides into frame from the bottom, thumb up*
"So, here we are, in my fucking awesome dressing room, just givin'er before my match, and I got to thinking. I thought to myself: 'Self, what are your goals? What are your dreams? How are you going to achieve them?'"
*Mannheim looks over from the flatscreen*
"And then I said: 'Hey, fuckface....inner monologues are supposed to be in your head.'"
*Pitt chimes in*
"And you guys say I'm *beep*in' crazy..."
*Pitt rolls his eyes and gestures at Rick with his thumbs. Rick scrunches his face comically before continuing*
"Tonight I continue my quest. Like in World of Warcraft, but without the grinding - unless she's hot. Just so all you ladies know, I wear my kilt properly."
*Rick winks and throws finger guns at the camera*
"Satoru Shade? Guy? No offense, but if I gotta go through you to get that Silver Mountain Championship, that's what I'm gonna do. I mean, yeah, you got moves, but I got something more....besides what's under my kilt, amirite?!"
*Rick extends his hand back towards the couch and high fives Mannheim and Pitt. He hands Anne Murray off to Mannheim before continuing*
"I saw your match last week, and I gotta say, you can put up a helluva fight, but tonight you're the Edmund Fitzgerald....and I'm Lake Superior."
*Rick nods authoritatively. Bubbling can be heard from behind Rick, and a thick cloud seems to erupt behind his head. Mannheim coughs deeply, placing Anne on the table in front of Pitt. Mannheim regains his breath and stands up, looking at Rick*
"Ya know, we're probably the only people who get that reference, right? We SERIOUSLY need to work on that."
*Pitt begins packing abother bowl*
"We should have some sort of education program about Canada. Maybe Brody will let us do a spot every week...I mean, Canada Corner sounds pretty good, eh, Willy? Rick?"
*Rick shrugs, Mannheim looks at him like he's retarded. Pitt stands up and walks towards the camera, holding out Anne Murray*
"Here, cameraperson....it's your hit next. We'll wait, we're patient."
*Rick looks back at the camera*
"Satoru, buddy, sorry if you don't get the reference, I mean, you can always Google it, eh? Ask Alexa, or whatevs. At the end of the day, you're going down like a dirty eskimo hooker in the Yukon. Sorry, not sorry."
*Rick shrugs, Mannheim's eyes light up and he points at Rick*
"Oh. My. Fuck. That's your muthafuckin' line! It's perfect! *Mannheim comically deepens his voice* Sorry, not sorry!"
*Pitt nods. Rick looks at the camera*
"Cameraperson? What do you think?"
*The camera quick focuses on Mannheim, then pans and refocuses on Pitt before snapping back to Rick. The camera shakes up and down*
"Ok then. It's settled! Now, someone needs to put some fire on Anne Murray's crotch...and then, a shot!"
*Pitt sets a shot glass of amber liquid next to Anne Murray. Rick reaches for the camera and lifts it, spinning it up onto his shoulder as the frame jostles around. It focuses on a cameraman, headset on, looking very sheepish and uncomfortable as he reaches for Anne. Rick's voice chimes in*
"Is this, like, your first time on camera, guy? Or are you worried about Brody?"
*The cameraman nods his head and points. Mannheim steps into frame and nods down at the cameraman*
"We'll deal with Stevie. Don't you worry. Now light it up and slam it back, little man."
*The cameraman flicks the lighter a few times before getting a flame. He touches the flame to the bowl and power hauls, the contents of the bowl making a louder pop than any other yet as the ashes are pulled through. The cameraman reaches for the shot and slams it back, the thick liquid sliding slowly out of the shot glass. The cameraman's face lights up as he exhales a giant cloud of smoke and looks around. Mannheim, Pitt, and Rick in unison cheer*
"Yeah, guy!!/Give'r!!/Fuckin eh!!"
*Rick spins the camera to point at himself, getting the other three men in the frame. He puts a huge arm around the cameraman*
"Friend....you're an honourary Canadian now...you can come back here any time!"
*Hard cut*
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The camera fades back in on a close-up of a green mask, with short tentacles hanging from the jaw area. Damp, straggly dark green hair frames the mask, the eyes behind it female, but intense.
As it pulls back, the full view of Kid Cthulu could be seen. While only an average-sized woman, her mask and physical demeanor immediately singled her out as fearsome, violent, and crazed.
Until she spoke. And the voice that came out was about the cutest, most giggly voice ever.
"Ohhhhmahgod. Can I just TELL you all how excited I am to be part of this tonight? So many women I respect in this match. Candi Brodeur, from the original Team Canada. Lara Blackheart! I grew up thinking her father was the best wrestler ever. And Rosemary! I'm a huge fan. Seriously. But while I'd admittedly love nothing more than to go around and fangirl over pretty much all of you, I gotta keep my eyes on the prize. And that prize is the NFW Women's Championship."
She fidgeted slightly, her ADHD acting up as it tended to do.
"This is gonna be AWESOME. So let's just all go out there, have some fun, and show the guys that us girls can steal the show."
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Rick Dickulous defeated Satoru Shade III by pinfall in 10:32 after hitting him with The Misery Whip.
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The shot fades in on somewhere in the backstage area, close up on a concrete support. Every couple of seconds that pass, something rocks the support, sending a light tremor throughout it’s entirety. Bits of plaster dust flake down with each shake it gives. Finally, the camera pans outward, revealing the source of the pillar’s trembling to be none other than Angel. Dressed in black spandex shorts, a dark violet sports bra and with her hair pinned up in a short ponytail, she appears to be in the middle of some kind of training. That training, evidently, involves delivering sharp and precise kicks directly into the concrete support.
Behind her, into the foreground, Eido Tanaka steps into the frame. He coaches her in a low, cold voice. We do not understand his words as he uses Japanese to communicate his instructions. While he speaks to Angel, his tone remains low and sinister. It barely even changes as he turns towards the camera to address the viewers.
“Most of you who are watching...you might be remembering last week and thinking of it as a...setback.” He chuckles softly. “Perhaps it was...perhaps not. You see...a true warrior studies their opponent. Even if it may come to their expense in one battle...they are ready for the next. How does that American movie say it?” He pauses to think for a moment before that sinister smile creeps across his face. “No sacrifice...no victory. Last week, Angel made her sacrifice...tonight...in the midst of the chaos wrought by enemies on every side...she will seize her victory. While it wasn’t exactly the victory we were expecting...the one that Mr. Brody and I agreed on...we will gladly accept this one; and the New Frontier will bear witness to a true fighting spirit; a goddess of war in the flesh...and one worthy of being called...champion!”
With a final strike to the concrete support, Angel halts in her training; the woman reaching back and freeing her white hair from the hair tie, allowing it to fall just above her neck as she turns towards the camera and approaches, leisurely. Brushing passed Tanaka, the camera hones in on her, closing in on her sweaty face as she lifts her gaze to peer at the audience through strands of white dangling in front of her bright, blue eyes.
In a soft, eerie whisper, the woman speaks in broken English. Her native accent much thicker than that of her manager. “Arru...wirru...suffer...!” She stands there, staring and breathing heavily as the shot fades to black.
---------------------------------------------
Returning from the commercial break, we come to ringside where the N*FW announce team welcomes back the viewers and prepares them for the next match.
“Welcome back, ladies and gentlemen to New Frontier Wrestling! Once again, I’m Nick Hanson, along side my broadcast partner, James Reynolds. We hope you’re enjoying the show thus far because we’ve got another great match on the way!”
“Oh man, I’m excited for this one!”
“You and me, both. This is gonna be good!”
Cutting away from the announce team and to the stage, the lights dim as the opening warning siren and grinding guitar riff to I Prevail’s “Come And Get It” fills the arena. The titan tron comes to life with the familiar image of the gladiator helmet from the vignettes seen previously over the week as the camera focuses on a pane of glass bearing the equally familiar skull logo seen tattooed on the back of the ominous figure seen in all three videos.
As the song reaches the 0:13 second mark, the pane of glass SHATTERS from a fist punching through it and out, onto the stage, walks the man himself. Recognizable from the ‘Gladiator’ etched boots seen in the latest vignette, he walks out onto the stage and pauses to look around at the crowd with an expression mixed between disinterest and disdain. With his ring gear, he wears a sleeveless black t-shirt bearing a helmet made up of the buildings of New York City. The words ‘URBAN GLADIATOR’ are etched underneath.
From the ring, the announcer calls into the microphone.
“The following contest is scheduled for one fall! Introducing first: from Brooklyn, New York. Weighing in at two hundred and thirty pounds: he is the Urban Gladiator...NICO SALVATORE!!”
As his name is announced, Nico Salvatore comes to stand center stage, sneering down at the ring, and raises his wrapped fist up to the camera. He gives a hard strike to the air before making his walk down the ramp.
“Jim, what do we know about this guy?” Mike Hanson asks offscreen.
“I did some research, Mike, and believe me when I say: he’s the real deal.”
“By research, you mean youtube and daily motion?”
“Hey, that counts! This guy hits hard and he can take what he dishes out. He doesn’t sugar coat his words, either.”
“Well, we’re about to see just how hard he *can* hit — and get hit — as he gets ready to face Tyson Law here in just a moment.”
Nico reaches the ring, taking a knee at the steps like a gladiator praying to the gods before a fight in the coliseum. He then pounds his fist against his chest and raises it and his gaze to the air before running up the steps and jumping over the top rope. Immediately, he crosses the ring and hops up onto the middle turnbuckle to observe the audience again. He still doesn’t look too pleased with what he sees.
Stepping down to the mat, Nico pulls off his t-shirt and discards it to the outside floor as his music fades out and he turns towards the stage; the man awaiting his opponent as he hunches forward in a poised position, idly rocking side to side on his legs as he eyes the stage with hardened, focused intensity
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Nico Salvatore and Tyson Law wrestled to an incredible 30 minute draw, in which both men hit their finishers yet had the other kick out.
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In the women's battle royal, order of elimination was as follows:
1. Hayley Comett (Eliminated by Rosemary)
2. Trina Tanaka (Eliminated by Kid Cthulu)
3. Angel (Eliminated by Apocalypta)
4. Candi Brodeur (Eliminated by Kid Cthulu)
5. Erin Mercer (Eliminated by Morgan Payne)
6. Morgan Payne (Eliminated by Rosemary)
7. Rosemary (Eliminated by Kid Cthulu)
8. Mia Hayashi (Eliminated by Apocalypta)
9. Kennedy Campbell (Eliminated by Lara Blackheart)
10. Marissa Payne (Eliminated by Apocalypta)
With three women remaining, the match then became a Triple Threat Elimination Match. Kid Cthulu was eliminated first, pinned by Lara Blackheart after a 450 splash following a powerbomb by Apocalypta.
Once it was down to two, Lara took the fight to Apocalypta admirably, especially considering the size and strength difference. Eventually, Apocalypta gained a steady upper hand, and threw Lara up in the air for a pop-up powerbomb. Lara reversed it by turning it into a dropkick mid-air! With Apocalypta down and stunned, Lara quickly scaled the top rope to prepare for another 450.... when Mia Hayashi ran back down to the ring and shoved Lara from the top rope! Apocalypta then hit an elbow drop from the ropes and pinned Lara at 37:59 to become the new NFW Women's Champion!
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As “Bad Reputation” Adelita’s Way starts playing throughout the ringside area, the crowd gives a mixed reaction of cheers and jeers while Adam Cole strolls out, cockily, onto the entrance stage. Dressed in his gear and a sleeveless t-shirt with his smug smirk plastered across it and the words ‘New Kingslayer’, he beckons to the crowd to get louder, soaking in their attention be it positive or negative. He, obviously, doesn’t really care whether he’s loved or hated.
Strutting his way down the ramp, he climbs up onto the apron and turns to cast his smug smile at the audience — arrogantly mouthing along to the lyrics to his entrance music — before entering the ring. As his music fades out, he pulls a small index card from his trunks and hands it to the ring announcer. After some firm insistence, she hesitantly takes the card from him. As she looks it over, Cole can be seen mouthing ‘go on! Read it!’ Slowly bringing the microphone up to her mouth, the ring announcer reads the card aloud.
“Umm...ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls....” She pauses, looking up from the card and to Adam Cole in alarm. He waves his hand, urging her on, rolling his eyes impatiently. Hesitantly, she continues, “...bitches and...cucks. Please take your seats and lend your ears.... It’s time for another edition of ‘Story Time with Adam Cole...bay...bay—“
Adam Cole abruptly snatches the mic from her hand and waves her into the corner before turning to the audience. “Holy shit, management really needs to hire some better announcers. Fergie could do a better job than that!” He thumbs over his shoulder towards the announcer. “You’re cute though, sweetie, so I’ll give you an A for effort. An A minus, but still.” He clicks his tongue and snaps his fingers, pointing at her before addressing the audience again.
“Take a seat and get your popcorn ready, folks! This is the story of a king. An aging, washed up king who thought he was still top shit in the wrestling business.” Again, a mix of cheers and jeers resound throughout the crowd as Cole chuckles to himself. “Ya see, this king’s name is Scott Leroux; a so-called legend in the wrestling industry. A wayward performer who came out of the asshole of God only knows where, once NFW’s return was announced, and likes to think he’s still king shit around here; as if people still remember him like he’s still fresh. Well, Scotty, if you’re still so popular, a guy like me has to wonder: where the *fuck* have you been for the past ten years?”
He lowers the mic, bringing up his hands with a look on his face that seems to ask ‘am I right?’ Lifting the mic to his mouth again, he continues, beginning to idly pace around the ring as he talks. “I mean...I’ve been all over several companies and I never heard so much as a mention of what you’ve been up to lately. Every time I’d ask somebody ‘hey, you guys remember Scott Leroux? Whatever happened to him?’ The answer I always get is ‘hey! Scott Leroux! Hail to the King! He was awesome back in the original NFW!’” The smile leaves his face as he leans against the ropes, facing towards the stage. “But, again I digress: where...the fuck...have you been, lately?”
Cole stays there against the ropes, looking from side to side at the crowd, then back to the stage. “I’ll tell you where, you’ve been. I have a good guess that you’ve been sitting on your ass at home, getting old...*and fat*, while hot new talent like this guy-“ he points to himself “-make a name for themselves and remind you of what you used to be. You *used* to be great. You *used* to be the best. You *used* to be ‘The King’!” He shakes his head. “But not anymore. Ya see, this is the *New* Frontier. This is for young, fresh talent to climb the mountain and take that coveted prize! And tonight? That prize is the N*FW TV Championship that you managed to win last week, somehow, without throwing out your back. So let’s give ‘The King’ Scott Leroux a round of applause folks! He’s still got some gas left in the tank!” Stepping away from the ropes, Cole makes a lap around the inside of the ring, slapping the mic in sarcastic praise.
He comes to a halt in the center of the ring, facing the stage again. “So that’s the story, people. The story of the king who’s still trying to hold onto his glory days. But tonight is the final chapter for him. Tonight, you’re all about to see Scott Leroux march into his final battle where the new king in the land is gonna beat his ass and take the torch — aaaaand that TV Championship — and make it actually mean something!” Cole lowers the mic for a moment before he seems to remember something. “Oh! And one more thing!” Sarcastically scratching behind his ear with a thoughtful look on his face, he raises the mic again. “You know how after a story, you sometimes find a little sample page of the next edition? Well, here’s one for all of you sitting here and also all of the fat asses sitting at home watching from their couches.” Here, he turns back to look directly towards the camera. “Ryan Steele....” He chuckles, shaking his head. “Silly fucker. You don’t just get *handed* a championship in wrestling. You have to earn it, dumbass. If you’re lucky, maybe you’ll get a shot at it after I win it tonight. But if you’re looking for a participation prize, you might wanna reconsider your future as a wrestler and go join the special olympics...BITCH!!”
Adam Cole tosses the microphone up over head, out of the ring behind him and removes his t-shirt. Tossing it to the ring announcer, he gives her a wink before turning towards the stage and gesturing with his hands for his opponent to come meet him in the ring.
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The TV Title Match between Scott Leroux and Adam Cole ended in a no-contest at 12:01 when The Circle of Snakes stormed the ring. Abaddon, Grey, and Wolfe beat down Cole and tossed him from the ring, while Belphegor powerbombed Leroux to the outside, then stood in the ring holding the TV title belt, staring at it as the camera cut to one final backstage segment.
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The scene shits in the back to the NFW banner, the camera pans back and we see that we're in Commissioner Brody's Office and we see Brody seated behind his desk, staring intently at someone across his desk, off-camera.
Brody sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose in slight frustration. "I like your ideas. It's no secret you've a brilliant mind for this sport. But I have my concerns. This is not some... playground, where you can bring some part-timer in and expect him to be given the world. In this place... you go all in or you go home."
The camera pans over and we see Brody talking to Paul Heyman, dressed in his usual advocate business suit attire, with a wry smirk on his face. Heyman smirks a little more before slowly rubbing his chin and looking down on the floor.
"Mr. Brody, may I call you Steven? Nevermind, I know you're a man with a sharp mind for the business. But it appears you have made the mistake so many others, like you, in the past have made. You see? I am not what you would call a 'manager, ' I am an advocate. I serve an advisory role on behalf of my clients. I can't be held responsible for what they choose to do. I can't be held responsible if the contract negotiators I've met up with in the past have the mentality of a 4th grader, trading a coat for a bag of potato chips...", Heyman says with a confident smile as he slightly leans forward, resting his knuckles on Brody's desk. "If you must know, Mr. Brody, my services as an advocate are available to anyone who is willing to pay top currency for them, be it in dollars, euros, pesos, or in yen. You can be straight-edge with an self-absorbed crusade, a beast who would gladly get paid top dollar for limited appearances, or like my latest client, a general, " Heyman smiles as the camera pans back to Brody's face seeing someone enter his office from off-camera.
"And what of your client's.... reputation?" Brody asked, brow furrowed in real concern. "Advocate or not, it will still be your responsibility to keep him in line. This talent exchange we worked out is exciting to all of us, but not at the expense of our own talent's livelihood."
"Mr. Brody, you have nothing to concern yourself here. My client has, in the past, worked with many a younger generation of talent, showing them the years of his knowledge and expertise. In fact, at the airport today, we came across a young man who was a recipient of many hours of training by client, and he has also decided to come here to continue his training," Heyman says as the door opens and another individual steps in off-camera.
Brody looks the men up and down, giving a resigned sigh before nodding. "Fine. The talent exchange will include these two. Just remember what I said: you are responsible for them here. What they do in Japan is on them. But what they do here? Is on you and you alone."
"Mr. Brody, rest assured, my client's full intention is to merely expand his brand worldwide. Now, if he finds other like minded individuals sharing the same ideal..." Heyman says as he unfolds a tablet and has it displayed facing Brody with the case acting as a stand, "well, it would certainly make things a little more interesting, wouldn't you say?"
"I want what's best for this promotion. And right now..." Brody paused, looking at all involved again. "I believe this is best. Just remember: you may bring hell itself to NFW... but there will be others who aren't going to take essentially an invasion lightly."
"It's all a matter of perspective, Mr. Brody. They may see it as an invasion. My client...?" Heyman pauses, "he sees it as war," Heyman finishes with a smile as we go to credits.
