Post by Steven Brody, CEO on Sept 27, 2018 9:40:57 GMT -8
As the opening sequence fades out, the arena is filled by the combination of Babymetal's "Karate" and a chorus of boos raining down from the crowd as Mia Hayashi made her way to the ring. Clad all in black (jeans, boots, tee, and leather jacket), she slid into the ring under the bottom rope, grabbing the microphone on her way.
"Go ahead... boo me. Boo me without even knowing why I did it, you mindless sheep." She lowered the microphone, letting the crowd just continue to boo her for a few moments.
"All I've heard, all week, everywhere I've gone... is "Why, Mia? Why did you turn on poor little Lara like that?". Like she's just the poor, innocent little victim in all this. Well, I call bullshit."
She began pacing a little as she spoke, so overcome with rage and hostility that she could barely keep from crawling out of her own skin.
"I hear the exact same comments. 'Oh, Mia... you were childhood friends!', and 'After everything Lara and her family did for you...'. And I'm sick to goddamn death of it. There for me? Are you serious? Sure, Vlad trained us both...and got us our start as a team on the independents... but once he was gone? Funny how Lara jumped on the money train built by Vlad nostalgia and got herself a big money deal here in NFW. Yes... she got that big money offer and left her supposed 'best friend' behind to keep working in the indies, barely making enough to keep food on the table."
"But the worst... THE WORST... was last week. I did it. I got myself a contract with NFW. And what do I hear from you? Roll the damn footage."
The video screen flickered to life, showing a clip from last week's show, where Lara Blackheart happily tackled Mia in the locker room. Lara is shown grinning at Mia, saying the words "Who do you think got ya booked for NFW? Cos I'm that good of a friend, lady."
Mia snarled as the screen flickered out. "How. Dare. You. How DARE you take credit. Sure, maybe you talked me up, or put in a good word... but I busted my ASS to get here, after you left me behind! And for you to take credit for that? To piss all over what I accomplished WITHOUT you? That did it. I knew, right then and there, what I'd been contemplating that entire week: the only way to get out from your shadow was going to be to destroy you. And what better way to start then by humiliating you right in front of Dear Old Mom, hm? You unleashed a monster, Lara. Your selfish, self-centered ways unleashed a monster that is going to eat... you... alive."
Narrowing her eyes at the still-booing crowd, she threw the microphone down and exited the ring, walking to the back as her music played again.
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*We go to the backstage area where one of the road agents is at the doorway, pacing back and forth nervously. He stops pacing and reaches for into his pocket as he's receiving a phone call.*
"Hello? No, he's still not here. No, he didn't arrive when the majority of the talent arrived earlier today," the agent pauses as he continues to listen.
"Yes, he knows he has a match tonight. He's been here even though he hasn't had a match. That was last week, remember? Yes, I know his match is a little later, but I will let you know when Connor does arrive. Thank you, goodbye," the agent ends the call and looks up and shakes his head in disbelief.
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Fade in on a close up of the NFW Women’s Championship, gleaming in the light of a dimly lit locker room. Due to it’s positioning, it appears to be resting over the shoulder of someone as the hand of the same arm, wrapped in white tape with a red, demonic pentagram drawn on it comes to grasp it, holding it in place.
The camera shot slowly pans out to reveal the Women’s Champion herself - Apocalypta - standing with her newly won title and looking at her reflection in the mirror. Silently, she looks down at the gold and silver plate on white leather and runs the fingers of her other hand over it, then looks up at her reflection again with her head tilting as if she’s quietly pondering something.
The silence was broken then as the door swung open, and the team of Chris Wolfe (still in his jeans and a Behemoth tee), and Tyler Grey (wearing his ring gear) bounded in, both wearing their facepaint already. Wolfe grinned and pointed at her, both men looking thrilled. "There she is! How's it going, Champ?" He asked, walking over and playfully throwing an arm around her shoulders as Grey patted her on the shoulder. "Abaddon said we gotta rule this promotion, girl. And you took the first step for us. Total bad-ass."
Apocalypta barely phases from her stable mates sudden, loud, appearance - one which might have made any other person jump. That’s not to say she isn’t surprised, however, as her head does snap to look at their reflection in the mirror.
Once they come over to her, however, she relaxes. After what seems like another moment of her about to silently convey her thoughts to her brethren, she looks up and in between herself at the Circle of Snakes’ tag team unit, then back at their reflection in the mirror, stroking the title belt again....
“We already rule this promotion....”
Her voice is surprisingly soft spoken.
“This...” She lays her stroking hand flat against the title on her shoulder, “...was just a reminder; a message to the entire New Frontier that the Circle cannot be broken. Tonight, Abaddon reminds them again. He shows the filthy scourge that surrounds us that *we* are *the* unstoppable force; and when the time comes...,” she looks at Tyler and Chris again beside her, “you two will drill it into their skulls, too....”
"Go out there tonight and show that little masked weirdo what suffering is all about." Grey told her with a nod, before the door opened again, and Abaddon walked slowly into the room, flanked by the gigantic Belphegor, who mere stood behind Abaddon, growling under his breath, his arms crossed over his barrel chest.
"Last week, Apocalypta drew first blood in our takeover of NFW. Tonight, I will take the next shot, and we will also possess the TV Title. As they come into the picture, we will claim the other titles as our own, until all are owned and protected by The Circle."
Apocalypta nodded in agreement with Grey and Wolfe’s statement concerning her opponent. The white eyed woman then bowed her head once their leader entered with their own personal giant at his side.
Nodding in agreement to Abaddon’s claim, the woman who has broken her initial silence, Apocalypta removes the Women’s Championship from her shoulder and looks down at it. “As for my task, tonight...I have the assignment of demonstrating what true fear means among the women’s division.” She looks up from the belt...*her* belt... to Abaddon and then around at Belphegor, Tyler Grey and Chris Wolfe. “Kid Cthulhu...? A little girl who dresses up in a monster mask and plays to the sheep, starved for their approval. Hungry for their acceptance.”
Placing the title back over her shoulder, she turns towards the camera this time. “That’ll be the reason you fail, tonight. You can wear the mask of a fictional ‘god’ and act like a monster all you want. But you’ll see, tonight...what happens when a little girl in a Halloween costume...meets a force that only cares about one thing. Dominance. Destruction. Mayhem. I’ve held my silence until now...but I haven’t forgotten about the rats who think they can scurry around the Snakes’ den.”
Tilting her chin up, it’s almost difficult to see her white eyes shift to stay locked on the camera. “I haven’t forgotten about you...Angel. You and I...our business definitely isn’t finished. Then there’s you.... Rosemary....” Here, she lowers her head menacingly, peering out through the long strands of black and red hair that fall in front of her face. “I don’t strive to ‘mimic’ you. I don’t hunger for your attention. I am a *weapon* that will take out anything that gets in my way. I am a *force of nature* that will cleanse the very plane of existence of wasted little specks like you. I...am the fire...that will burn your world...to the ground. Step into the abyss if you like. It’s there that you’ll find yourself lost and alone in the darkness; and just when you see the light at the end of the tunnel...we will snuff it out.”
She takes a step forward, clutching her title tighter.
“I look forward to when our paths cross...because I will relish...in every ounce of agony...that I distribute upon your very essence....”
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Trina Tanaka defeated Lara Blackheart by forfeit, when Lara failed to show up for the match.
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Cutting to the scene of a gym in the afternoon, a small caption appears in the bottom corner of the screen.
~Earlier Today~
The shot focuses in, at first, on a set of hands wearing lifting gloves. They grip a weight bar, lifting it into frame and lowering it out - slower each time, with a feminine grunt each time it comes up. After the third lift, the bar shaking, the individual sets it back on the rack as we pan back in time to see Morgan Payne sit up, red faced and sweating. Three 45lb plates on each end of the 20lb bar. She’s wearing a black Steelers beanie cap, solid black sports bra and a pair of baggy gold basketball shorts with black trim and a pair of black Jordans. Panting with a look of seething anger on her face, she grabs her shaker cup filled half filled with water and takes a swig before looking over at someone off camera.
“This shit is drivin’ me to Dixmont!” She snorts, angrily. “When I see that little bitch again, I’m gonna give her a good once over.”
"I'm... gonna guess... we're talking about... Mia?" Marissa asked in between rapid roundhouse kicks aimed at the nearby heavy bag. Oh, both girls were livid over watching their friend get betrayed by someone so close to her. She took one last kick at the bag, making a loud snapping sound as her foot connected. Backing off then, she grabbed her water and took a few quick sips. "I tried to call Lara... figured I'd ask her if she wanted some House of Payne backup to deal with this. Ms. Chastain said she hasn't been home or in touch all week."
“Yeah. I’ve been texting her all week.” Morgan replied, getting up and adding more albeit smaller plates onto the bar. “All my messages are ‘unread.’ I mean I kinda can’t blame her. She spent most of her early career with Mia. They was supposed to be like this!” She pounds her two fists together.
“I mean, Shrimp wasn’t even the one t’toss her out! So what the fuck gives?!”
‘Hey, keep it down, over there! You’re killing our pump!’ A male voice off screen calls. Morgan lowers her cup, interrupted in taking a sip and looks off camera in annoyance. “Hey, fuck the both of yinz, huh? We’re talking some serious shit here!” She looks back to Marissa and scoffs, gesturing in that direction as if to say ‘can you believe this guy?’ She finally takes another sip of her water. “I dunno, Mari. Part of me wants to find Mia and say ‘yo, what gives?’ But a bigger part of me wants t’just bust her fuckin’ head open.”
"Yeah. I get that. Completely." Marissa sighed, clearly stressed by the whole thing. "I'm torn, you know? I mean... we're not supposed to let personal shit interfere in the ring. I know that. But... Lara's not part of The House of Payne, but she's still our friend, and has been since we were all kids. There's a part of me that says we shouldn't get involved until Lara gives us the ok to interfere in her business. Then there's the part of me that grew up in an Italian household and says 'we need to stomp this bitch OUT', and it's.... definitely an internal battle."
“Right?!” Morgan exclaimed, racking the last plate on the bar and sitting down on the bench, rolling her shoulders in preparation for her next set. “Hell, she’s not just our friend. She’s *family!* We all ah. The ‘tree’ of us.
Morgan takes another sip of her water and sets her cup down. “Tell ya what...we’re pre-booked for t’nite, but next week?” She stops and sighs, leaning forward and pinching the bridge of her nose. “Ugh. I’onno. Ya think Shrimp would get steamed if I called that back ‘stahbin’ trick out to square up in the ring?”
Marissa stayed silent for a few moments, clearly thinking long and hard about this. "Let's give it a week or so. See if Lara decides to handle it herself. I mean... girl got humiliated in front of her MOM. Give her a chance to whoop that ass herself. If she doesn't? Then we handle it for her."
Morgan lifts her head from her hand and nods reluctantly. “Arright. I ‘spose we owe ‘er that much.” She glances over her shoulder at the weight bar and looks away dismissively, back to her friend as she stands up and exchanges a back and forth hand slap and fist bump with her. “I better save some o’this steam for the ring. You ready t’whup some ass t’nite? I mean...we’re fightin’ solo an’ all again, but still. Jeez-o-man, this league needs ‘summore’ chick teams! Guess I gotta bang heads wit’ ol’ girl again. Wasser name again?”
Holding back a smirk, Marissa reached up, untying her hair from the knot she'd had it in, before drinking a bit more of her water. "Angel? Yeah, good luck there. Bitch is fucking crazy. I got that Mercer chick. No walk in the park by any means, but at least I don't have to wonder if MY opponent is gonna try to murder me..."
Morgan snorts again. “Angel, right. What kinda name is that for her? That irony or sumtin’? Like, ‘hey, my name’s Angel, but I behave like a friggin’ demon!” Morgan chugs down the rest of her water. “Well I tell ya what: she wants t’waltz out to the ring an’ act all spooky quiet and shit? Girl ya can come gimme ya best shot. I’ll take ya ‘dahntahn after dahk’ and leave ya in the gutter like fuckin’ Pennywise.” She says this as she briefly looks to the camera, sending her opponent a message.
“And Mercer?” Morgan stops, looking for words before she turns to Marissa. “Shit, I ain’t got nuthin’ bad t’say about ‘er. Maybe yinz just go out there and have a good match, huh?”
"Girl." Marissa blinked, looking at Morgan with an exasperated expression. "You... and remember, this is coming from a fellow Pittsburgh girl... you have the most ridiculously thick 'Burgh accent I have ever heard. EVER." She snickered, shaking her head. "C'mon. We gotta get moving if we're gonna clean up, get dressed, and get to the arena with time to spare."
Morgan looks at Marissa wide eyed, stunned as she watches her partner walk off frame. “Whattayagettinat? Ya sayin’ I’m hahd t’unnastand or sumtin’?” She pauses. “Mari!” Morgan puffs her cheeks in comical annoyance, grabbing her cup as a huge gym patron walks up behind her in frame.
“Excuse me, mind if I work in?”
Morgan turns and sizes the dude up, raising an eyebrow in interest before looking at the bench. “Nah, yer good. I’m done.”
“Thanks!” He says and starts removing the heavy plates, replacing them with smaller ones. Morgan loses her smile and scoffs. “Pussy.” She utters, walking off camera, leaving the man stunned and confused. As we fade to black, we hear her yelling after Marissa. “Mari! C’mere! The hell’s wrong wit my accent?!”
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In his locker room, Vincent Stone prepares for his match. Sitting on a bench, he’s just begun taping up his hands when he hears a knock on his door. He closes his eyes and gives an exasperated sigh.
“Come on in!” He calls, then muttering his breath as we hear the door open. “For fuck’s sake, don’t be Rosemary....”
“Hey....” The voice is female, but soft spoken and kind instead of the tell tale unhinged tone that Stone’s new ‘ally’ speaks with. As Stone looks up, his expression relaxes, with Erin Mercer stepping into the frame. Like him, she’s already dressed in her gear - white with red this week - standing with a somber look of concern on her face.
“Hey, Erin!” Stone smiles at first. “Isn’t your match up next?” His own smile falters when he notices she’s bothered by something. “What’s up? Wanna sit down?” Erin shakes her head. “I’m good....” Stone shrugs and stands up, still wrapping his hands. “Alright then. You alright? What’s on your mind?”
Erin sighs and shakes her head. “I don’t know. I just...I’ve been thinking all week; about this whole thing with you and Rosemary.” Stone nods in understanding. “I know. Trust me, I know. I don’t like it either. But, as much as she’s off her rocker, she has a point. Those guys need to be stopped. How many times have we seen crazy ass tyrants try to run a promotion and it turns into a violent circus show?”
Erin slumps her shoulders and throws her hands up half heartedly before letting them slap against her bare thighs. “Yeah, but Vin, c’mon! I mean, if you wanted help going against the Circle of Snakes, you’ve got loads of other options! You could have asked Andy and BDP. You’ve got a little history with them. Positive history. Hell...” she raises her arms up to waist level, “...there’s also me. Hello? What am I, chopped liver?”
Stone gives her a disappointed expression as if telling her to stop with that. “You know that’s not it. You’re one of the best friends I’ve got. Besides, this was her idea, remember? She came to me. I didn’t wanna get involved in something like this, again. I’ve got a big opportunity ahead of me tonight and I’m gonna focus on that.”
Erin lowers her head, keeping her eyes on Stone with her eyebrows lifting. “And you plan on going for that opportunity on your own right? No help from a certain little ‘Demon Mother Assassin, or whatever she calls herself?’” She makes quotation marks with her fingers.
Stone pauses with his hand tape and lays a hand on her shoulder. “Yes!” He says reassuringly. “I’ve made it perfectly clear to Rosemary: she is *not* to get involved in my match in any way shape or form. For the time that she and I are working together, we do things clean. We’re not gonna become what we seek to destroy.”
Erin sighs again and nods, looking up at him. “Look, I just worry about you. You know what she does to people.”
Stone pats her shoulder before releasing it and returning to taping his hands. “Oh, I’m well aware. I’ve also warned her about consequences if she tries to help me with ‘transformation.’ And you don’t need to worry about me. C’mon. If you *are* so worried, why not help us? You can keep an eye on her with me and it’ll give us more numbers against Abaddon’s pack of rabid dogs.”
Erin looks at him as if he’s crazy. “Uhh, no. Trust me, as much as I’d love to help you, I don’t think it’d be a good idea to have her and I in the same room, together. We clearly don’t get along. But you know if you ever need help with anything else, holla at your girl. After all, who are the longest running Mixed Tag Team Champions of CIPW?” She raises a fist with a small smile finding it’s way back on her red lips.
Stone laughs and returns the fist bump. “True that, girl. Anyway, you better get to the ring. You’ve got another redhead to tussle in the ring with. Man, that’s gonna be confusing to watch.”
Erin hits him in the arm. “Oh, funny! You want me to tell Marissa Payne you said ‘heeeeey giiiiirl’?”
Stone’s face turns a shade of pink. “I’ll fucking kill you.”
Erin busts out laughing, patting his chest. “I gotta go, buddy. Good luck in your match. It’ll be sweet to see you with some big league gold around your waist.” Her and Stone exchange a hug. “Thanks. Have a good match, yourself.”
“Thanks Vin!” Erin gives a wave and leaves the frame. As we hear the door close, Stone’s smile turns back to that of a doubtful look. “I hope you’re doing the right thing....” He says to himself as the shot fades out.
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Marissa Payne defeated Erin Mercer by pinfall in a surprisingly hard-hitting and even match, that saw Mercer mounting a huge comeback at the end, all the momentum seemingly on her side as she threw Payne into the corner, only for Payne come charging out, throwing a knee into the air and connecting with The Bitch Killa for the pin at 16:20.
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*The scene shifts to the backstage interview area where Josh Davison is standing.*
"Ladies and gentlemen, at this time, Paul Heyman," Davison starts as the camera pans out a little bit as Heyman enters from the right, with a confident smile on his face and staring off into the distance.
"Now, Mr. Heyman. Last week, you shocked viewers both here and at home with a rather unexpected appearance in Commissioner Brody's office. This week, you're here by yourself and with none of the new talent you're here to manage..." Davison continues before being forced to stop by Heyman holding his hand up as he closes his eyes and shakes his head.
"Mr. Davison, let me stop you right there before you trip over some words and hurt yourself. It's obvious your new here, so let me make one thing perfectly succinct to you. Now, before you give yourself an aneurysm, that means let me be clear, concise, and to the point, if you will. My client is, in fact, here. He is just working over, sorry, training, with our young charge, giving him a few pointers on how to work in the ring. I am no manager, I am an advocate. I represent my client and will execute his wishes to the best of my ability. And tonight, it is not his wish to make an appearance in front of the camera. In fact, it is NO ONE'S prerogative to decide when he will make his debut. This is not going to be some sort of cookie cutter program where I tease an appearance the week before then follow through with said appearance the week after. My client is far from following that cliché and I respect his wishes. When he chooses to appear, he will let ME KNOW and we will let you ALL KNOW. Are we clear on that, Mr. Davison? Of course, if you wish to go straight to the source, you are more than welcome to do so. Don't let me stop you. In fact, I can go on ahead right now and let him know you are coming is that perfectly acceptable to YOU, Josh Davison?!?" Heyman says as his tone gradually gets more agitated.
"No, Mr. Heyman. That is perfectly alright," Davison replies in an almost embarrassed tone as he slowly looks down, unaware that Heyman is lowering his head trying to stay in eye contact with him.
"Good. I'm glad I'm here to help. Now, let's straighten you up here and send you on your way as you work on another pointless backstage segment. Let's go," Heyman says as he straightens Davison's blazer and gives him a couple of small slaps to his face as he walks away, apparently accompanied by someone off-camera, leaving Davison slightly shaken as the camera fades to black.
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The camera clicks on after some static, inside the static you faintly see the words Hands of Decay in the fuzz then the camera come to with Rosemary sitting in a corner. The barrel with the flames is dying out as the shadows it cast send shivers down the spine of even the most stalwart enemy. Meat cleavers, still in the a wall, all but one. The one for the picture Mia is in the hands of Rosemary as she begins to speak.
Small but Mighty, Small but Mighty. Mia believes she is small but mighty. We feel for her. Like, honestly, who is she kidding. The terms small and mighty just don’t apply to her. More like senile and mediocre.
Twirling the meal cleaver between her hands and giggling a little. Just then suddenly she starts looking at her finger and talking in a whisper.
You have other things to worry about, the knock off is still here, kill the knock off, kill the knock off. We know, We know.
Putting her hand down after tapping her temple a few times . Giggles as she looks back at the camera.
Things are never as they seem Mia, not when you face the Shadow’s Advocate, the Death Dealer, the Demon Assassin. You see, you likely think you have our number. You likely think because you outlasted us in the Battle Royale that makes you better than us. Let’s us put that to rest, quickly. Everyone knows we the havoc and bloodshed we cause. Everyone knows. What have you done?
Quick answer, nothing said in a growl.
Rosemary stands and walks towards the camera, past all the cleavers stuck in the wall, left arm absentmindedly stroking them with a sick smile on her face. Stopping inches from the camera she continues.
You came her for fame, you came here for fortune, you came here to be a champion. Tonight, we’ll make you famous. The other two, you earn on your own. Just know, tonight is the night of Rosemary.
Giggling into the camera as the static returns and you can briefly again see the Hands of Decay in the fuzz before the camera fades to black.
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The camera cuts quickly to the parking area beneath the arena, where Lara Blackheart is seen entering the building. She’s wearing street clothes of jeans, combat boots, and a baggy red Pokemon hoodie, with the hood pulled up over her head and sunglasses on. Walking beside her is a taller woman, covered in tattoos and with a very unhappy expression on her face.
Lara barely turned her head when the interviewer called out to her.
“I’m not in the mood.” She said, her voice cracking a bit, as though she’d basically cried until her body wouldn’t let her cry anymore. “I know last week has to be dealt with. But right now…. I can’t talk about it.”
Shelley Silver walked beside her young friend, she was quite used to cameras, but right now she was in no mood. Her torn up jeans perfectly complimented her well-worn Pearl Jam t-shirt that was obviously not one of those brand new shirts that was designed to look like it was decades old. Shelley had worn this shirt quite regularly since the late 90s, and she wasn’t about to retire it anytime soon.
She looked over to the interviewer shortly after Lara spoke her peace and tilted her sunglasses down. “I know that you’re looking for answers, but now is simply not the time. You’ll be seeing me again.” She pushed her sunglasses back up and slipped an arm around Lara’s waist, looking to lead her away from the scene. “C’mon, sweetie. We’ve got work to do.”
Lara stopped, just for a moment, and lowered her glasses, looking right into the camera. “Just like how old friends can obviously let you down… sometimes you have a problem you can only go to a newer friend with. And this woman right here? We’re young, but trust me: we’ve been through some interesting shit together already.” She looked at her friend, taking a deep breath and nodding. “Yeah. Let’s go, Shelley. It’s time to make sure everyone knows who they’re screwing with here.”
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Rosemary defeated Mia Hayashi by pinfall, when, after the referee was knocked out, Lara Blackheart and her friend Shelley ran to ringside, Shelley just overseeing as Lara pounced on Mia, throwing her to the outside then hitting an insane suicide dive before giving her The Shocker on the floor, and rolling her back into the ring. The barely-concious Mia was easy pickings for Rosemary, who hit the Red Wedding for the win.
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We fade in on the face of Teddy Morse looking disgruntled and frustrated. He wears his gear, complete with his denim vest and a camo colored trucker’s hat with the text ‘MWGA Make Wrestling Great Again’ on it. With a wad of dip bulging from his bottom lip, he spits into a water bottle and sits back on the bench.
“Man, what’re we doin’ wrong?” He looks up at his tag team partner, Chase Evans, as the muscle of the Rebel Rousers steps into frame, tying on a green camo bandana.
“What do you mean, man?” Chase asks, rolling his shoulders one after the other to loosen up before their match.
Teddy shrugs, at a loss. “What do you mean, what do I mean? Two weeks back to back, we got whupped. We got mad tag team chemistry, brother. So it ain’t like we ain’t on the same page. What’s wrong with us?”
Chase rolls his eyes. “There ain’t a damn thing wrong with us. We had a couple of damn fine matches with both teams. We’re hot on the internet, bro! Check this out.” Chase slips on a pair of reading glasses as he lifts up his smart phone. It’s almost comical to see the big, country brute look so...sophisticated in a way, as he reads. “BDP tweeted last week: ‘Had a great time, mixing things up with Morse and Evans. Keep an eye on these boys, fans. They’re gonna go far.’” He looks reassuringly down at his partner before scrolling with his finger, his eyebrows raising. “Dave Meltzer tweeted: ‘Whoa! Amazing performance by those two young talents from Tennessee. 4.5 out of 5 stars!’ David Meltzer, man!”
Teddy spits into his bottle again. “Man, fuck David Meltzer! That sumbitch don’t know wrasslin’ from the underside of his nutsack!”
Chase gives a mix of a frown and a stifled laugh. “Alright, man.” He scrolls again. “Hot dawg! Look at this! Adam Cole tweeted: ‘what the fuck did I just watch? Looked like two grandpas and a couple of audition rejects from Deliverance trying to—“ Chase frowns and puts his phone away while Teddy looks wide eyed with murder on his face. “—Nevermind that.” Chase continues and nudges Teddy to scoot over so he can sit down.
“Look, don’t worry about it, man.” Chase says confidently. “We’re in the main league now. These guys are tougher! Even those two clown faced bastards we debuted against. They got contracts for a reason. *We*—“ He gestures between himself and Teddy, “—got contracts for a reason. They saw something in us and that’s why they brought us here. We’re good man, we just need to keep doing what we’re doing.”
Teddy spits into his bottle. “Hell, man, we need to do more than that. We need to fight harder if we’re gonna stay in this company. I ain’t losing three goddamn weeks in a row. Especially not against two guys that creative stuck together that ain’t even signed as a tag team!”
Chase slaps Teddy on the back, almost knocking him off of the bench. “There ya go, man! That’s the spirit! That’s the mindset you need to have! We go out there and just keep trying! We kick ass and take names! I guarantee we’ll make it here! Colt and Shade?” Chase looks at the camera.
“The third.” Teddy interjects, before spitting again.
Chase stops and looks at him. “What?”
“The third!” Teddy repeats himself. Chase looks like his friend just spoke a foreign language to him. “The hell you talking about?” Teddy rolls his eyes. “That’s his name; Satoru Shade the third. Those three little marks after his name? Means his daddy and grandaddy were also named Satoru Shade. I’m just saying, man. Have some respect and properly address the guy.”
Chase looks long and dumbfounded at Teddy. “Man, what the hell are you—...nevermind.” He lifts a hand dismissively and looks back at the camera. “Look here, y’all. All due respect, Colt Shields and Satoru Shade—“ he looks at Teddy, “—the third,” Teddy lifts his spit bottle in a silent ‘there you go’ as Chase looks back at the camera. “Hey, we’re excited about this one, too. We’ve seen y’all in the ring before. Y’all know how to whup some ass. But this here’s a tag team match. Y’all ain’t a tag team. There’s no chemistry. Us? We’ve been working together our entire careers. You got a combat veteran—“ As Chase speaks, Teddy points proudly to the U.S Marine logo tattooed on his arm, “—and a simple big bad sumbitch who loves to fight that go together like Tennessee and fine whiskey. Now, we gon’ do this clean, but we’re gon’ show y’all the difference between two guys thrown together at the last minute and a tag team that’s the future of the wrasslin’ business. Ain’t that right, boy?!” Chase turns sharply to his partner.
Right on cue, Teddy, after dropping his wad of dip into his bottle to dispose of, leans back on the bench and bellows out his signature, “HEEEEEELL YEEEEEAAAAAH!!!!”
The two men stand from the bench and exchange a chest bump hug with Teddy’s face bashing against Chase’s chest due to the height difference. “That’s what I’m talking about, brother!” Teddy exclaims. “Damn, you know how to pump me up for a fight! Let’s tear some shit up!” He storms out of the locker room as Chase looks down at his shirt in disgust. “Maaaan!” He follows after his partner. “Hey, wipe yer lip! You got Copenhagen all over my shit!”
Teddy hollers back. “It ain’t Copenhagen! It’s Grizzly!”
Cut to black.
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The Rebel Rousers defeated Colt Shields and Satoru Shade III by pinfall in 9:01 when Teddy Morse pinned Colt Shields after the Hook, Line, and Sinker.
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Backstage, the camera finds Amy Connors in the parking lot. “Good evening folks! Amy Connors here; I’m waiting on the arrival of Nico Salvatore, hoping to get a few words with him. I’m hoping to catch him on his way in, as it seems to be the easiest time to reach him.”
As she speaks, we hear the low growl of a car as a black and silver 2017 Bugatti Veyron rolls into the shot and finds a parking space. The driver side door opens and the man Amy Connors mentioned steps out of the vehicle, closing the door and walking around to the passenger side to grab his bag out as she and the camera man approach. “Excuse me, Nico Salvatore? Amy Connors with the N*FW interview team. May I have a quick word?”
Nico looks down at her, lowering his raybans to get a better look at her. With his expensive car and sunglasses, he wears pressed black slacks, custom fit black shoes and a silver silk shirt with the buttons undone halfway down his torso, just exposing his chest tattooed over with an image of the weeping Virgin Mary on one side and Jesus Christ wearing the crown of thorns on the other. Nico smirks at Amy. “For you, gorgeous? Anything. Let’s walk and talk, though. I gotta get changed and ready.”
Amy Connors smiles as if she’s just scored the interview of the century and nods, walking along hurriedly beside Nico who moves with slow, long strides. “Nico, on behalf of the entire N*FW staff, I’d like to start by saying welcome. It would appear the fans were extremely impressed with your debut performance last week!”
Nico chuckles. “Well, no shit. Look at me: I’m the total package. I’ve got a fresh wardrobe, I’m cut like a god, and I’m one of if not *the* greatest athletes professional wrestling has ever seen.”
Amy Connors keeps her smile, however nodding hesitantly. “A claim that, no disrespect, many in the N*FW have stated about themselves.”
Nico chuckles dismissively. “What do they know? Half the jerkoffs that Brody signed get off on theatrics and flipping around the ring like a bunch of circus clowns. That ain’t wrestling. That’s bullshit. Nobody else here can hold a candle to me.”
“Again, no disrespect, but...” Amy Connors says warily, “...your match against Tyson Law, last week, did end in a draw. You never did actually win that match....”
Nico stops in his tracks, turning towards Amy and looming over her like a predator over it’s prey...and smiles. “...Fuck, I like you. You’ve got balls, so to speak, that most interviewers don’t. You don’t sugar coat shit. You’re right. I didn’t beat Tyson Law. However, comma, he didn’t beat me either. We ended in a draw. Which, ya know what?” He looks towards the camera. “Tyson? I’ll give you that bro. I can’t say I’ve ever had a draw in my career. That says we’ve got unfinished business. So, if you got a set of balls too, step into the ring with me again. Matter of fact, if I’m not mistaken, there’s still an opening or two on the pay-per-view card. So consider this an open challenge, specially from me to you, paisano. No draws this time. I can’t live with that shit. So there it is. Offer’s on the table. You wanna fight a real man again? You know where I’ll be.”
Amy Connors brings the mic back to her mouth. “Well, we all look forward to hearing back from Tyson Law on that. As for tonight, Nico, you step into the ring with Connor K. He, too, has proven to be someone to contend with on the New Frontier roster.”
Nico remains silent, at first. Reaching up, he pulls his raybans off of his face, staring down at Amy and then looking into the camera with hard brown eyes. “You want my thoughts on my ‘opponent’ tonight? He thinks he’s a tough guy from the streets. He walks around here, bumpin’ his headphones like a fuckin’ thug. Lemme tell you about street thugs: I run into bastards like them on my way to the coffee shop or the gym back in Brooklyn. You know what happens then? I beat the shit out of them and leave them regretting the moment they decided to fuck with me! That’s exactly what’s gonna happen, tonight, when Connor K steps into that ring! A punk thug versus the Urban Gladiator. That’s like when the Romans used to throw slave fodder into the arena for the gladiators to warm up. Who’s who, you ask? It’s all in my name. How the fuck do you think this is gonna turn out, huh?!”
Amy Connors swallows nervously, bringing the mic back. “I’m uhh...sorry if I upset you, Mr. Salvatore. I know you need to get ready for your match so...good luck tonight.”
Before she can step away, Nico stops her with a hand on her shoulder. “Whoa, hey now. I didn’t mean to direct any of that anger towards you, gorgeous. I’ll tell ya what....” He reaches into his shirt pocket and pulls a plastic card out, and places it into Amy’s hand, closing her fingers around it. “Lemme make it up to you. Here’s the spare keycard to my hotel room. Come see me after the show.” He smirks, handsomely and devilishly as he strokes his index finger under her chin and slides his shades back onto his face as he backs out of frame. The camera angle pans around to focus on Amy Connors as she looks at the keycard and back up in the direction Nico went off in, not sure what to make of what just transpired.
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Tyson Law defeated Matt Klazzic by pinfall in 10:39 after hitting him with a top-rope somersault stomp to the chest.
After the match, Law grabbed the microphone, giving a cocky, impressed grin as he pointed into the camera.
"Salvatore? I like your attitude. Neither of us wants a draw. We both have a burning desire to be the best. We both NEED to win. So here's me accepting your challenge... with a condition of my own. No time limit, no screwy endings... we go until one of us gets a decisive pinfall or submission on the other. Nothing either of us can make excuses about. If that sounds good to you? Then pal... looks like we got us a pay-per-view match."
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*The camera takes us back to the arrival area and this time there are a couple of the road agents waiting at the door. Both are looking at their watches and frantically checking their phones for text messages or any possible missed calls.*
"So, he did check out of his hotel this morning? Am I correct in this assessment," says one agent.
"Yes, I got a confirmation from the front desk and also a copy for his hotel room. Send a copy of this over to billing, he pretty much cleaned out the fridge and the snacks in the room," the other says, incredulously.
"Unbelievable, Mr. Brody's going to lose his mind if we have to drop this match on account of him no-showing this week," says one agent, now looking into a tablet to check on something.
"His mind? I'm going to lose my job here. Connor was my responsibility. How was I supposed to kno..." the second agent says as he stops and Connor K. finally comes through the doorway, rolling his spinner behind him and holding what appears to be a brown paper bag of food in the other.
"CONNOR!!! For fuck's sake, where the hell have you been?!? Your match is up next?!? You're in no shape to work your match this week?!? What the hell is this?!?" Says the agent as Connor hands him the paper bag.
"Oh, that's something for you guys. I was over at a place called Chaps Pit Beef and got some sandwiches for you guys. Man, that shit is goooooooooood!!!" I got you guys some roast beef sandwiches with this thing called 'tiger sauce' that's a combination of mayo and horseradish. You gotta try..." Connor rambles on before he's cutoff again.
"Damnit, Connor! Get your head out of your ass and back in the game here man. This is worse than your debut a few weeks ago. You're
on NOW!!!" yells the agent.
"For real? Oh shit, watch my shit. I gotta go then!!!" Connor says as he takes off his coat, baseball cap, and sunglasses and leaves them on one of the equipment crates next to the road agents. He reaches in and hands the other agent his phone as he walks off in street clothes to the ring with both agents shaking their heads in disbelief.
"It's a shame. He actually did have a pretty good debut match in spite of things," says one agent.
"You're right. It's those 'things' that will not only hold him back, it's going to get someone hurt. I just don't know if it's going to be him or whoever he's in the ring with." says the other agent.
"He's right about one thing though...," the agent pauses.
"What's that?" the second agent asks as he's about to unwrap the foil from his sandwich.
"This sandwich and this tiger sauce thing is pretty good; like disgustingly good," the other agent says as the camera scrolls to him already taking a couple of bites from his sandwich as the camera fades to black.
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Nico Salvatore defeated Connor K by pinfall in 10:47 after hitting him with the "To The Gods" sit-out crucifix powerbomb.
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"Go ahead... boo me. Boo me without even knowing why I did it, you mindless sheep." She lowered the microphone, letting the crowd just continue to boo her for a few moments.
"All I've heard, all week, everywhere I've gone... is "Why, Mia? Why did you turn on poor little Lara like that?". Like she's just the poor, innocent little victim in all this. Well, I call bullshit."
She began pacing a little as she spoke, so overcome with rage and hostility that she could barely keep from crawling out of her own skin.
"I hear the exact same comments. 'Oh, Mia... you were childhood friends!', and 'After everything Lara and her family did for you...'. And I'm sick to goddamn death of it. There for me? Are you serious? Sure, Vlad trained us both...and got us our start as a team on the independents... but once he was gone? Funny how Lara jumped on the money train built by Vlad nostalgia and got herself a big money deal here in NFW. Yes... she got that big money offer and left her supposed 'best friend' behind to keep working in the indies, barely making enough to keep food on the table."
"But the worst... THE WORST... was last week. I did it. I got myself a contract with NFW. And what do I hear from you? Roll the damn footage."
The video screen flickered to life, showing a clip from last week's show, where Lara Blackheart happily tackled Mia in the locker room. Lara is shown grinning at Mia, saying the words "Who do you think got ya booked for NFW? Cos I'm that good of a friend, lady."
Mia snarled as the screen flickered out. "How. Dare. You. How DARE you take credit. Sure, maybe you talked me up, or put in a good word... but I busted my ASS to get here, after you left me behind! And for you to take credit for that? To piss all over what I accomplished WITHOUT you? That did it. I knew, right then and there, what I'd been contemplating that entire week: the only way to get out from your shadow was going to be to destroy you. And what better way to start then by humiliating you right in front of Dear Old Mom, hm? You unleashed a monster, Lara. Your selfish, self-centered ways unleashed a monster that is going to eat... you... alive."
Narrowing her eyes at the still-booing crowd, she threw the microphone down and exited the ring, walking to the back as her music played again.
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*We go to the backstage area where one of the road agents is at the doorway, pacing back and forth nervously. He stops pacing and reaches for into his pocket as he's receiving a phone call.*
"Hello? No, he's still not here. No, he didn't arrive when the majority of the talent arrived earlier today," the agent pauses as he continues to listen.
"Yes, he knows he has a match tonight. He's been here even though he hasn't had a match. That was last week, remember? Yes, I know his match is a little later, but I will let you know when Connor does arrive. Thank you, goodbye," the agent ends the call and looks up and shakes his head in disbelief.
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Fade in on a close up of the NFW Women’s Championship, gleaming in the light of a dimly lit locker room. Due to it’s positioning, it appears to be resting over the shoulder of someone as the hand of the same arm, wrapped in white tape with a red, demonic pentagram drawn on it comes to grasp it, holding it in place.
The camera shot slowly pans out to reveal the Women’s Champion herself - Apocalypta - standing with her newly won title and looking at her reflection in the mirror. Silently, she looks down at the gold and silver plate on white leather and runs the fingers of her other hand over it, then looks up at her reflection again with her head tilting as if she’s quietly pondering something.
The silence was broken then as the door swung open, and the team of Chris Wolfe (still in his jeans and a Behemoth tee), and Tyler Grey (wearing his ring gear) bounded in, both wearing their facepaint already. Wolfe grinned and pointed at her, both men looking thrilled. "There she is! How's it going, Champ?" He asked, walking over and playfully throwing an arm around her shoulders as Grey patted her on the shoulder. "Abaddon said we gotta rule this promotion, girl. And you took the first step for us. Total bad-ass."
Apocalypta barely phases from her stable mates sudden, loud, appearance - one which might have made any other person jump. That’s not to say she isn’t surprised, however, as her head does snap to look at their reflection in the mirror.
Once they come over to her, however, she relaxes. After what seems like another moment of her about to silently convey her thoughts to her brethren, she looks up and in between herself at the Circle of Snakes’ tag team unit, then back at their reflection in the mirror, stroking the title belt again....
“We already rule this promotion....”
Her voice is surprisingly soft spoken.
“This...” She lays her stroking hand flat against the title on her shoulder, “...was just a reminder; a message to the entire New Frontier that the Circle cannot be broken. Tonight, Abaddon reminds them again. He shows the filthy scourge that surrounds us that *we* are *the* unstoppable force; and when the time comes...,” she looks at Tyler and Chris again beside her, “you two will drill it into their skulls, too....”
"Go out there tonight and show that little masked weirdo what suffering is all about." Grey told her with a nod, before the door opened again, and Abaddon walked slowly into the room, flanked by the gigantic Belphegor, who mere stood behind Abaddon, growling under his breath, his arms crossed over his barrel chest.
"Last week, Apocalypta drew first blood in our takeover of NFW. Tonight, I will take the next shot, and we will also possess the TV Title. As they come into the picture, we will claim the other titles as our own, until all are owned and protected by The Circle."
Apocalypta nodded in agreement with Grey and Wolfe’s statement concerning her opponent. The white eyed woman then bowed her head once their leader entered with their own personal giant at his side.
Nodding in agreement to Abaddon’s claim, the woman who has broken her initial silence, Apocalypta removes the Women’s Championship from her shoulder and looks down at it. “As for my task, tonight...I have the assignment of demonstrating what true fear means among the women’s division.” She looks up from the belt...*her* belt... to Abaddon and then around at Belphegor, Tyler Grey and Chris Wolfe. “Kid Cthulhu...? A little girl who dresses up in a monster mask and plays to the sheep, starved for their approval. Hungry for their acceptance.”
Placing the title back over her shoulder, she turns towards the camera this time. “That’ll be the reason you fail, tonight. You can wear the mask of a fictional ‘god’ and act like a monster all you want. But you’ll see, tonight...what happens when a little girl in a Halloween costume...meets a force that only cares about one thing. Dominance. Destruction. Mayhem. I’ve held my silence until now...but I haven’t forgotten about the rats who think they can scurry around the Snakes’ den.”
Tilting her chin up, it’s almost difficult to see her white eyes shift to stay locked on the camera. “I haven’t forgotten about you...Angel. You and I...our business definitely isn’t finished. Then there’s you.... Rosemary....” Here, she lowers her head menacingly, peering out through the long strands of black and red hair that fall in front of her face. “I don’t strive to ‘mimic’ you. I don’t hunger for your attention. I am a *weapon* that will take out anything that gets in my way. I am a *force of nature* that will cleanse the very plane of existence of wasted little specks like you. I...am the fire...that will burn your world...to the ground. Step into the abyss if you like. It’s there that you’ll find yourself lost and alone in the darkness; and just when you see the light at the end of the tunnel...we will snuff it out.”
She takes a step forward, clutching her title tighter.
“I look forward to when our paths cross...because I will relish...in every ounce of agony...that I distribute upon your very essence....”
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Trina Tanaka defeated Lara Blackheart by forfeit, when Lara failed to show up for the match.
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Cutting to the scene of a gym in the afternoon, a small caption appears in the bottom corner of the screen.
~Earlier Today~
The shot focuses in, at first, on a set of hands wearing lifting gloves. They grip a weight bar, lifting it into frame and lowering it out - slower each time, with a feminine grunt each time it comes up. After the third lift, the bar shaking, the individual sets it back on the rack as we pan back in time to see Morgan Payne sit up, red faced and sweating. Three 45lb plates on each end of the 20lb bar. She’s wearing a black Steelers beanie cap, solid black sports bra and a pair of baggy gold basketball shorts with black trim and a pair of black Jordans. Panting with a look of seething anger on her face, she grabs her shaker cup filled half filled with water and takes a swig before looking over at someone off camera.
“This shit is drivin’ me to Dixmont!” She snorts, angrily. “When I see that little bitch again, I’m gonna give her a good once over.”
"I'm... gonna guess... we're talking about... Mia?" Marissa asked in between rapid roundhouse kicks aimed at the nearby heavy bag. Oh, both girls were livid over watching their friend get betrayed by someone so close to her. She took one last kick at the bag, making a loud snapping sound as her foot connected. Backing off then, she grabbed her water and took a few quick sips. "I tried to call Lara... figured I'd ask her if she wanted some House of Payne backup to deal with this. Ms. Chastain said she hasn't been home or in touch all week."
“Yeah. I’ve been texting her all week.” Morgan replied, getting up and adding more albeit smaller plates onto the bar. “All my messages are ‘unread.’ I mean I kinda can’t blame her. She spent most of her early career with Mia. They was supposed to be like this!” She pounds her two fists together.
“I mean, Shrimp wasn’t even the one t’toss her out! So what the fuck gives?!”
‘Hey, keep it down, over there! You’re killing our pump!’ A male voice off screen calls. Morgan lowers her cup, interrupted in taking a sip and looks off camera in annoyance. “Hey, fuck the both of yinz, huh? We’re talking some serious shit here!” She looks back to Marissa and scoffs, gesturing in that direction as if to say ‘can you believe this guy?’ She finally takes another sip of her water. “I dunno, Mari. Part of me wants to find Mia and say ‘yo, what gives?’ But a bigger part of me wants t’just bust her fuckin’ head open.”
"Yeah. I get that. Completely." Marissa sighed, clearly stressed by the whole thing. "I'm torn, you know? I mean... we're not supposed to let personal shit interfere in the ring. I know that. But... Lara's not part of The House of Payne, but she's still our friend, and has been since we were all kids. There's a part of me that says we shouldn't get involved until Lara gives us the ok to interfere in her business. Then there's the part of me that grew up in an Italian household and says 'we need to stomp this bitch OUT', and it's.... definitely an internal battle."
“Right?!” Morgan exclaimed, racking the last plate on the bar and sitting down on the bench, rolling her shoulders in preparation for her next set. “Hell, she’s not just our friend. She’s *family!* We all ah. The ‘tree’ of us.
Morgan takes another sip of her water and sets her cup down. “Tell ya what...we’re pre-booked for t’nite, but next week?” She stops and sighs, leaning forward and pinching the bridge of her nose. “Ugh. I’onno. Ya think Shrimp would get steamed if I called that back ‘stahbin’ trick out to square up in the ring?”
Marissa stayed silent for a few moments, clearly thinking long and hard about this. "Let's give it a week or so. See if Lara decides to handle it herself. I mean... girl got humiliated in front of her MOM. Give her a chance to whoop that ass herself. If she doesn't? Then we handle it for her."
Morgan lifts her head from her hand and nods reluctantly. “Arright. I ‘spose we owe ‘er that much.” She glances over her shoulder at the weight bar and looks away dismissively, back to her friend as she stands up and exchanges a back and forth hand slap and fist bump with her. “I better save some o’this steam for the ring. You ready t’whup some ass t’nite? I mean...we’re fightin’ solo an’ all again, but still. Jeez-o-man, this league needs ‘summore’ chick teams! Guess I gotta bang heads wit’ ol’ girl again. Wasser name again?”
Holding back a smirk, Marissa reached up, untying her hair from the knot she'd had it in, before drinking a bit more of her water. "Angel? Yeah, good luck there. Bitch is fucking crazy. I got that Mercer chick. No walk in the park by any means, but at least I don't have to wonder if MY opponent is gonna try to murder me..."
Morgan snorts again. “Angel, right. What kinda name is that for her? That irony or sumtin’? Like, ‘hey, my name’s Angel, but I behave like a friggin’ demon!” Morgan chugs down the rest of her water. “Well I tell ya what: she wants t’waltz out to the ring an’ act all spooky quiet and shit? Girl ya can come gimme ya best shot. I’ll take ya ‘dahntahn after dahk’ and leave ya in the gutter like fuckin’ Pennywise.” She says this as she briefly looks to the camera, sending her opponent a message.
“And Mercer?” Morgan stops, looking for words before she turns to Marissa. “Shit, I ain’t got nuthin’ bad t’say about ‘er. Maybe yinz just go out there and have a good match, huh?”
"Girl." Marissa blinked, looking at Morgan with an exasperated expression. "You... and remember, this is coming from a fellow Pittsburgh girl... you have the most ridiculously thick 'Burgh accent I have ever heard. EVER." She snickered, shaking her head. "C'mon. We gotta get moving if we're gonna clean up, get dressed, and get to the arena with time to spare."
Morgan looks at Marissa wide eyed, stunned as she watches her partner walk off frame. “Whattayagettinat? Ya sayin’ I’m hahd t’unnastand or sumtin’?” She pauses. “Mari!” Morgan puffs her cheeks in comical annoyance, grabbing her cup as a huge gym patron walks up behind her in frame.
“Excuse me, mind if I work in?”
Morgan turns and sizes the dude up, raising an eyebrow in interest before looking at the bench. “Nah, yer good. I’m done.”
“Thanks!” He says and starts removing the heavy plates, replacing them with smaller ones. Morgan loses her smile and scoffs. “Pussy.” She utters, walking off camera, leaving the man stunned and confused. As we fade to black, we hear her yelling after Marissa. “Mari! C’mere! The hell’s wrong wit my accent?!”
---------------------------------------------------
In his locker room, Vincent Stone prepares for his match. Sitting on a bench, he’s just begun taping up his hands when he hears a knock on his door. He closes his eyes and gives an exasperated sigh.
“Come on in!” He calls, then muttering his breath as we hear the door open. “For fuck’s sake, don’t be Rosemary....”
“Hey....” The voice is female, but soft spoken and kind instead of the tell tale unhinged tone that Stone’s new ‘ally’ speaks with. As Stone looks up, his expression relaxes, with Erin Mercer stepping into the frame. Like him, she’s already dressed in her gear - white with red this week - standing with a somber look of concern on her face.
“Hey, Erin!” Stone smiles at first. “Isn’t your match up next?” His own smile falters when he notices she’s bothered by something. “What’s up? Wanna sit down?” Erin shakes her head. “I’m good....” Stone shrugs and stands up, still wrapping his hands. “Alright then. You alright? What’s on your mind?”
Erin sighs and shakes her head. “I don’t know. I just...I’ve been thinking all week; about this whole thing with you and Rosemary.” Stone nods in understanding. “I know. Trust me, I know. I don’t like it either. But, as much as she’s off her rocker, she has a point. Those guys need to be stopped. How many times have we seen crazy ass tyrants try to run a promotion and it turns into a violent circus show?”
Erin slumps her shoulders and throws her hands up half heartedly before letting them slap against her bare thighs. “Yeah, but Vin, c’mon! I mean, if you wanted help going against the Circle of Snakes, you’ve got loads of other options! You could have asked Andy and BDP. You’ve got a little history with them. Positive history. Hell...” she raises her arms up to waist level, “...there’s also me. Hello? What am I, chopped liver?”
Stone gives her a disappointed expression as if telling her to stop with that. “You know that’s not it. You’re one of the best friends I’ve got. Besides, this was her idea, remember? She came to me. I didn’t wanna get involved in something like this, again. I’ve got a big opportunity ahead of me tonight and I’m gonna focus on that.”
Erin lowers her head, keeping her eyes on Stone with her eyebrows lifting. “And you plan on going for that opportunity on your own right? No help from a certain little ‘Demon Mother Assassin, or whatever she calls herself?’” She makes quotation marks with her fingers.
Stone pauses with his hand tape and lays a hand on her shoulder. “Yes!” He says reassuringly. “I’ve made it perfectly clear to Rosemary: she is *not* to get involved in my match in any way shape or form. For the time that she and I are working together, we do things clean. We’re not gonna become what we seek to destroy.”
Erin sighs again and nods, looking up at him. “Look, I just worry about you. You know what she does to people.”
Stone pats her shoulder before releasing it and returning to taping his hands. “Oh, I’m well aware. I’ve also warned her about consequences if she tries to help me with ‘transformation.’ And you don’t need to worry about me. C’mon. If you *are* so worried, why not help us? You can keep an eye on her with me and it’ll give us more numbers against Abaddon’s pack of rabid dogs.”
Erin looks at him as if he’s crazy. “Uhh, no. Trust me, as much as I’d love to help you, I don’t think it’d be a good idea to have her and I in the same room, together. We clearly don’t get along. But you know if you ever need help with anything else, holla at your girl. After all, who are the longest running Mixed Tag Team Champions of CIPW?” She raises a fist with a small smile finding it’s way back on her red lips.
Stone laughs and returns the fist bump. “True that, girl. Anyway, you better get to the ring. You’ve got another redhead to tussle in the ring with. Man, that’s gonna be confusing to watch.”
Erin hits him in the arm. “Oh, funny! You want me to tell Marissa Payne you said ‘heeeeey giiiiirl’?”
Stone’s face turns a shade of pink. “I’ll fucking kill you.”
Erin busts out laughing, patting his chest. “I gotta go, buddy. Good luck in your match. It’ll be sweet to see you with some big league gold around your waist.” Her and Stone exchange a hug. “Thanks. Have a good match, yourself.”
“Thanks Vin!” Erin gives a wave and leaves the frame. As we hear the door close, Stone’s smile turns back to that of a doubtful look. “I hope you’re doing the right thing....” He says to himself as the shot fades out.
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Marissa Payne defeated Erin Mercer by pinfall in a surprisingly hard-hitting and even match, that saw Mercer mounting a huge comeback at the end, all the momentum seemingly on her side as she threw Payne into the corner, only for Payne come charging out, throwing a knee into the air and connecting with The Bitch Killa for the pin at 16:20.
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*The scene shifts to the backstage interview area where Josh Davison is standing.*
"Ladies and gentlemen, at this time, Paul Heyman," Davison starts as the camera pans out a little bit as Heyman enters from the right, with a confident smile on his face and staring off into the distance.
"Now, Mr. Heyman. Last week, you shocked viewers both here and at home with a rather unexpected appearance in Commissioner Brody's office. This week, you're here by yourself and with none of the new talent you're here to manage..." Davison continues before being forced to stop by Heyman holding his hand up as he closes his eyes and shakes his head.
"Mr. Davison, let me stop you right there before you trip over some words and hurt yourself. It's obvious your new here, so let me make one thing perfectly succinct to you. Now, before you give yourself an aneurysm, that means let me be clear, concise, and to the point, if you will. My client is, in fact, here. He is just working over, sorry, training, with our young charge, giving him a few pointers on how to work in the ring. I am no manager, I am an advocate. I represent my client and will execute his wishes to the best of my ability. And tonight, it is not his wish to make an appearance in front of the camera. In fact, it is NO ONE'S prerogative to decide when he will make his debut. This is not going to be some sort of cookie cutter program where I tease an appearance the week before then follow through with said appearance the week after. My client is far from following that cliché and I respect his wishes. When he chooses to appear, he will let ME KNOW and we will let you ALL KNOW. Are we clear on that, Mr. Davison? Of course, if you wish to go straight to the source, you are more than welcome to do so. Don't let me stop you. In fact, I can go on ahead right now and let him know you are coming is that perfectly acceptable to YOU, Josh Davison?!?" Heyman says as his tone gradually gets more agitated.
"No, Mr. Heyman. That is perfectly alright," Davison replies in an almost embarrassed tone as he slowly looks down, unaware that Heyman is lowering his head trying to stay in eye contact with him.
"Good. I'm glad I'm here to help. Now, let's straighten you up here and send you on your way as you work on another pointless backstage segment. Let's go," Heyman says as he straightens Davison's blazer and gives him a couple of small slaps to his face as he walks away, apparently accompanied by someone off-camera, leaving Davison slightly shaken as the camera fades to black.
-------------------------------------------------------
The camera clicks on after some static, inside the static you faintly see the words Hands of Decay in the fuzz then the camera come to with Rosemary sitting in a corner. The barrel with the flames is dying out as the shadows it cast send shivers down the spine of even the most stalwart enemy. Meat cleavers, still in the a wall, all but one. The one for the picture Mia is in the hands of Rosemary as she begins to speak.
Small but Mighty, Small but Mighty. Mia believes she is small but mighty. We feel for her. Like, honestly, who is she kidding. The terms small and mighty just don’t apply to her. More like senile and mediocre.
Twirling the meal cleaver between her hands and giggling a little. Just then suddenly she starts looking at her finger and talking in a whisper.
You have other things to worry about, the knock off is still here, kill the knock off, kill the knock off. We know, We know.
Putting her hand down after tapping her temple a few times . Giggles as she looks back at the camera.
Things are never as they seem Mia, not when you face the Shadow’s Advocate, the Death Dealer, the Demon Assassin. You see, you likely think you have our number. You likely think because you outlasted us in the Battle Royale that makes you better than us. Let’s us put that to rest, quickly. Everyone knows we the havoc and bloodshed we cause. Everyone knows. What have you done?
Quick answer, nothing said in a growl.
Rosemary stands and walks towards the camera, past all the cleavers stuck in the wall, left arm absentmindedly stroking them with a sick smile on her face. Stopping inches from the camera she continues.
You came her for fame, you came here for fortune, you came here to be a champion. Tonight, we’ll make you famous. The other two, you earn on your own. Just know, tonight is the night of Rosemary.
Giggling into the camera as the static returns and you can briefly again see the Hands of Decay in the fuzz before the camera fades to black.
--------------------------------------------------
The camera cuts quickly to the parking area beneath the arena, where Lara Blackheart is seen entering the building. She’s wearing street clothes of jeans, combat boots, and a baggy red Pokemon hoodie, with the hood pulled up over her head and sunglasses on. Walking beside her is a taller woman, covered in tattoos and with a very unhappy expression on her face.
Lara barely turned her head when the interviewer called out to her.
“I’m not in the mood.” She said, her voice cracking a bit, as though she’d basically cried until her body wouldn’t let her cry anymore. “I know last week has to be dealt with. But right now…. I can’t talk about it.”
Shelley Silver walked beside her young friend, she was quite used to cameras, but right now she was in no mood. Her torn up jeans perfectly complimented her well-worn Pearl Jam t-shirt that was obviously not one of those brand new shirts that was designed to look like it was decades old. Shelley had worn this shirt quite regularly since the late 90s, and she wasn’t about to retire it anytime soon.
She looked over to the interviewer shortly after Lara spoke her peace and tilted her sunglasses down. “I know that you’re looking for answers, but now is simply not the time. You’ll be seeing me again.” She pushed her sunglasses back up and slipped an arm around Lara’s waist, looking to lead her away from the scene. “C’mon, sweetie. We’ve got work to do.”
Lara stopped, just for a moment, and lowered her glasses, looking right into the camera. “Just like how old friends can obviously let you down… sometimes you have a problem you can only go to a newer friend with. And this woman right here? We’re young, but trust me: we’ve been through some interesting shit together already.” She looked at her friend, taking a deep breath and nodding. “Yeah. Let’s go, Shelley. It’s time to make sure everyone knows who they’re screwing with here.”
----------------------------------------------
Rosemary defeated Mia Hayashi by pinfall, when, after the referee was knocked out, Lara Blackheart and her friend Shelley ran to ringside, Shelley just overseeing as Lara pounced on Mia, throwing her to the outside then hitting an insane suicide dive before giving her The Shocker on the floor, and rolling her back into the ring. The barely-concious Mia was easy pickings for Rosemary, who hit the Red Wedding for the win.
-------------------------------------------------------
We fade in on the face of Teddy Morse looking disgruntled and frustrated. He wears his gear, complete with his denim vest and a camo colored trucker’s hat with the text ‘MWGA Make Wrestling Great Again’ on it. With a wad of dip bulging from his bottom lip, he spits into a water bottle and sits back on the bench.
“Man, what’re we doin’ wrong?” He looks up at his tag team partner, Chase Evans, as the muscle of the Rebel Rousers steps into frame, tying on a green camo bandana.
“What do you mean, man?” Chase asks, rolling his shoulders one after the other to loosen up before their match.
Teddy shrugs, at a loss. “What do you mean, what do I mean? Two weeks back to back, we got whupped. We got mad tag team chemistry, brother. So it ain’t like we ain’t on the same page. What’s wrong with us?”
Chase rolls his eyes. “There ain’t a damn thing wrong with us. We had a couple of damn fine matches with both teams. We’re hot on the internet, bro! Check this out.” Chase slips on a pair of reading glasses as he lifts up his smart phone. It’s almost comical to see the big, country brute look so...sophisticated in a way, as he reads. “BDP tweeted last week: ‘Had a great time, mixing things up with Morse and Evans. Keep an eye on these boys, fans. They’re gonna go far.’” He looks reassuringly down at his partner before scrolling with his finger, his eyebrows raising. “Dave Meltzer tweeted: ‘Whoa! Amazing performance by those two young talents from Tennessee. 4.5 out of 5 stars!’ David Meltzer, man!”
Teddy spits into his bottle again. “Man, fuck David Meltzer! That sumbitch don’t know wrasslin’ from the underside of his nutsack!”
Chase gives a mix of a frown and a stifled laugh. “Alright, man.” He scrolls again. “Hot dawg! Look at this! Adam Cole tweeted: ‘what the fuck did I just watch? Looked like two grandpas and a couple of audition rejects from Deliverance trying to—“ Chase frowns and puts his phone away while Teddy looks wide eyed with murder on his face. “—Nevermind that.” Chase continues and nudges Teddy to scoot over so he can sit down.
“Look, don’t worry about it, man.” Chase says confidently. “We’re in the main league now. These guys are tougher! Even those two clown faced bastards we debuted against. They got contracts for a reason. *We*—“ He gestures between himself and Teddy, “—got contracts for a reason. They saw something in us and that’s why they brought us here. We’re good man, we just need to keep doing what we’re doing.”
Teddy spits into his bottle. “Hell, man, we need to do more than that. We need to fight harder if we’re gonna stay in this company. I ain’t losing three goddamn weeks in a row. Especially not against two guys that creative stuck together that ain’t even signed as a tag team!”
Chase slaps Teddy on the back, almost knocking him off of the bench. “There ya go, man! That’s the spirit! That’s the mindset you need to have! We go out there and just keep trying! We kick ass and take names! I guarantee we’ll make it here! Colt and Shade?” Chase looks at the camera.
“The third.” Teddy interjects, before spitting again.
Chase stops and looks at him. “What?”
“The third!” Teddy repeats himself. Chase looks like his friend just spoke a foreign language to him. “The hell you talking about?” Teddy rolls his eyes. “That’s his name; Satoru Shade the third. Those three little marks after his name? Means his daddy and grandaddy were also named Satoru Shade. I’m just saying, man. Have some respect and properly address the guy.”
Chase looks long and dumbfounded at Teddy. “Man, what the hell are you—...nevermind.” He lifts a hand dismissively and looks back at the camera. “Look here, y’all. All due respect, Colt Shields and Satoru Shade—“ he looks at Teddy, “—the third,” Teddy lifts his spit bottle in a silent ‘there you go’ as Chase looks back at the camera. “Hey, we’re excited about this one, too. We’ve seen y’all in the ring before. Y’all know how to whup some ass. But this here’s a tag team match. Y’all ain’t a tag team. There’s no chemistry. Us? We’ve been working together our entire careers. You got a combat veteran—“ As Chase speaks, Teddy points proudly to the U.S Marine logo tattooed on his arm, “—and a simple big bad sumbitch who loves to fight that go together like Tennessee and fine whiskey. Now, we gon’ do this clean, but we’re gon’ show y’all the difference between two guys thrown together at the last minute and a tag team that’s the future of the wrasslin’ business. Ain’t that right, boy?!” Chase turns sharply to his partner.
Right on cue, Teddy, after dropping his wad of dip into his bottle to dispose of, leans back on the bench and bellows out his signature, “HEEEEEELL YEEEEEAAAAAH!!!!”
The two men stand from the bench and exchange a chest bump hug with Teddy’s face bashing against Chase’s chest due to the height difference. “That’s what I’m talking about, brother!” Teddy exclaims. “Damn, you know how to pump me up for a fight! Let’s tear some shit up!” He storms out of the locker room as Chase looks down at his shirt in disgust. “Maaaan!” He follows after his partner. “Hey, wipe yer lip! You got Copenhagen all over my shit!”
Teddy hollers back. “It ain’t Copenhagen! It’s Grizzly!”
Cut to black.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------
The Rebel Rousers defeated Colt Shields and Satoru Shade III by pinfall in 9:01 when Teddy Morse pinned Colt Shields after the Hook, Line, and Sinker.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
Backstage, the camera finds Amy Connors in the parking lot. “Good evening folks! Amy Connors here; I’m waiting on the arrival of Nico Salvatore, hoping to get a few words with him. I’m hoping to catch him on his way in, as it seems to be the easiest time to reach him.”
As she speaks, we hear the low growl of a car as a black and silver 2017 Bugatti Veyron rolls into the shot and finds a parking space. The driver side door opens and the man Amy Connors mentioned steps out of the vehicle, closing the door and walking around to the passenger side to grab his bag out as she and the camera man approach. “Excuse me, Nico Salvatore? Amy Connors with the N*FW interview team. May I have a quick word?”
Nico looks down at her, lowering his raybans to get a better look at her. With his expensive car and sunglasses, he wears pressed black slacks, custom fit black shoes and a silver silk shirt with the buttons undone halfway down his torso, just exposing his chest tattooed over with an image of the weeping Virgin Mary on one side and Jesus Christ wearing the crown of thorns on the other. Nico smirks at Amy. “For you, gorgeous? Anything. Let’s walk and talk, though. I gotta get changed and ready.”
Amy Connors smiles as if she’s just scored the interview of the century and nods, walking along hurriedly beside Nico who moves with slow, long strides. “Nico, on behalf of the entire N*FW staff, I’d like to start by saying welcome. It would appear the fans were extremely impressed with your debut performance last week!”
Nico chuckles. “Well, no shit. Look at me: I’m the total package. I’ve got a fresh wardrobe, I’m cut like a god, and I’m one of if not *the* greatest athletes professional wrestling has ever seen.”
Amy Connors keeps her smile, however nodding hesitantly. “A claim that, no disrespect, many in the N*FW have stated about themselves.”
Nico chuckles dismissively. “What do they know? Half the jerkoffs that Brody signed get off on theatrics and flipping around the ring like a bunch of circus clowns. That ain’t wrestling. That’s bullshit. Nobody else here can hold a candle to me.”
“Again, no disrespect, but...” Amy Connors says warily, “...your match against Tyson Law, last week, did end in a draw. You never did actually win that match....”
Nico stops in his tracks, turning towards Amy and looming over her like a predator over it’s prey...and smiles. “...Fuck, I like you. You’ve got balls, so to speak, that most interviewers don’t. You don’t sugar coat shit. You’re right. I didn’t beat Tyson Law. However, comma, he didn’t beat me either. We ended in a draw. Which, ya know what?” He looks towards the camera. “Tyson? I’ll give you that bro. I can’t say I’ve ever had a draw in my career. That says we’ve got unfinished business. So, if you got a set of balls too, step into the ring with me again. Matter of fact, if I’m not mistaken, there’s still an opening or two on the pay-per-view card. So consider this an open challenge, specially from me to you, paisano. No draws this time. I can’t live with that shit. So there it is. Offer’s on the table. You wanna fight a real man again? You know where I’ll be.”
Amy Connors brings the mic back to her mouth. “Well, we all look forward to hearing back from Tyson Law on that. As for tonight, Nico, you step into the ring with Connor K. He, too, has proven to be someone to contend with on the New Frontier roster.”
Nico remains silent, at first. Reaching up, he pulls his raybans off of his face, staring down at Amy and then looking into the camera with hard brown eyes. “You want my thoughts on my ‘opponent’ tonight? He thinks he’s a tough guy from the streets. He walks around here, bumpin’ his headphones like a fuckin’ thug. Lemme tell you about street thugs: I run into bastards like them on my way to the coffee shop or the gym back in Brooklyn. You know what happens then? I beat the shit out of them and leave them regretting the moment they decided to fuck with me! That’s exactly what’s gonna happen, tonight, when Connor K steps into that ring! A punk thug versus the Urban Gladiator. That’s like when the Romans used to throw slave fodder into the arena for the gladiators to warm up. Who’s who, you ask? It’s all in my name. How the fuck do you think this is gonna turn out, huh?!”
Amy Connors swallows nervously, bringing the mic back. “I’m uhh...sorry if I upset you, Mr. Salvatore. I know you need to get ready for your match so...good luck tonight.”
Before she can step away, Nico stops her with a hand on her shoulder. “Whoa, hey now. I didn’t mean to direct any of that anger towards you, gorgeous. I’ll tell ya what....” He reaches into his shirt pocket and pulls a plastic card out, and places it into Amy’s hand, closing her fingers around it. “Lemme make it up to you. Here’s the spare keycard to my hotel room. Come see me after the show.” He smirks, handsomely and devilishly as he strokes his index finger under her chin and slides his shades back onto his face as he backs out of frame. The camera angle pans around to focus on Amy Connors as she looks at the keycard and back up in the direction Nico went off in, not sure what to make of what just transpired.
---------------------------------------------------------------------
Tyson Law defeated Matt Klazzic by pinfall in 10:39 after hitting him with a top-rope somersault stomp to the chest.
After the match, Law grabbed the microphone, giving a cocky, impressed grin as he pointed into the camera.
"Salvatore? I like your attitude. Neither of us wants a draw. We both have a burning desire to be the best. We both NEED to win. So here's me accepting your challenge... with a condition of my own. No time limit, no screwy endings... we go until one of us gets a decisive pinfall or submission on the other. Nothing either of us can make excuses about. If that sounds good to you? Then pal... looks like we got us a pay-per-view match."
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------
*The camera takes us back to the arrival area and this time there are a couple of the road agents waiting at the door. Both are looking at their watches and frantically checking their phones for text messages or any possible missed calls.*
"So, he did check out of his hotel this morning? Am I correct in this assessment," says one agent.
"Yes, I got a confirmation from the front desk and also a copy for his hotel room. Send a copy of this over to billing, he pretty much cleaned out the fridge and the snacks in the room," the other says, incredulously.
"Unbelievable, Mr. Brody's going to lose his mind if we have to drop this match on account of him no-showing this week," says one agent, now looking into a tablet to check on something.
"His mind? I'm going to lose my job here. Connor was my responsibility. How was I supposed to kno..." the second agent says as he stops and Connor K. finally comes through the doorway, rolling his spinner behind him and holding what appears to be a brown paper bag of food in the other.
"CONNOR!!! For fuck's sake, where the hell have you been?!? Your match is up next?!? You're in no shape to work your match this week?!? What the hell is this?!?" Says the agent as Connor hands him the paper bag.
"Oh, that's something for you guys. I was over at a place called Chaps Pit Beef and got some sandwiches for you guys. Man, that shit is goooooooooood!!!" I got you guys some roast beef sandwiches with this thing called 'tiger sauce' that's a combination of mayo and horseradish. You gotta try..." Connor rambles on before he's cutoff again.
"Damnit, Connor! Get your head out of your ass and back in the game here man. This is worse than your debut a few weeks ago. You're
on NOW!!!" yells the agent.
"For real? Oh shit, watch my shit. I gotta go then!!!" Connor says as he takes off his coat, baseball cap, and sunglasses and leaves them on one of the equipment crates next to the road agents. He reaches in and hands the other agent his phone as he walks off in street clothes to the ring with both agents shaking their heads in disbelief.
"It's a shame. He actually did have a pretty good debut match in spite of things," says one agent.
"You're right. It's those 'things' that will not only hold him back, it's going to get someone hurt. I just don't know if it's going to be him or whoever he's in the ring with." says the other agent.
"He's right about one thing though...," the agent pauses.
"What's that?" the second agent asks as he's about to unwrap the foil from his sandwich.
"This sandwich and this tiger sauce thing is pretty good; like disgustingly good," the other agent says as the camera scrolls to him already taking a couple of bites from his sandwich as the camera fades to black.
------------------------------------------------------------------
Nico Salvatore defeated Connor K by pinfall in 10:47 after hitting him with the "To The Gods" sit-out crucifix powerbomb.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------
As the shot returns to the backstage area, the camera pans up from the custom made Pittsburgh Steelers embroidered ankle boots and up a pair of fishnet covered legs as they walk with us down the corridor. Panning up the rest of the way, it’s - just as we guessed it - Morgan Payne. Only this time, she’s in her ring gear. Her beanie cap swapped out for her backwards Steelers flat bill and black face paint under her eyes like people see, mostly on football players.
As she walks along, we hear the faint sound of loud music coming from a pair of earbuds she wears. Her expression is that of someone focused and prepared.
Ryan Steele walks by and gets her attention.... " I couldnt help but over hear you got some rock playing in your stereo right???""
Morgan stops, almost bumping into him, and pulls one earbud out. Once she does, we can just barely detect Hatebreed’s ‘Everyone Bleeds’ as her song of choice. “Hells yeah. This is that good shit.”
“Thats awesome girl.. Love me some rock.. Listen i got tickets to go see FFDP in a couple months and my buddy backed out on me.. you wouldnt be intrested in going with me would you?? I apologize if i seem weird im kinda nervous talking to you.....”
Morgan’s eyes light up like someone told her she just won the lottery. “Five ‘Finga’ ?! Shit, I *love* them!” Her excitement falters, then, as she pauses her music player. “Mmh. I’onno, though. It’s Ryan, right? Ryan Still? Much as I love Five Finga Death Punch, muh girl Mari thinks they’re the tits more ‘an’ I do. Wouldn’t feel right, goin’ witout ‘er.”
“Yes its Ryan Steele.. But listen im kinda neevous saying this but i like you so how about you guys just go...” Ryan hands her the tickets. “What about you come watch my match... Ringside... what do you say???”
Morgan takes the tickets, hesitantly. She looks at Ryan, then down at the tickets, and back up at him. “Cheese and crackers! Ya not pulling my leg on this, are ya?”
“No, you and your friend can go.. I insist
It’s the least i can do for someone whos as pretty as you....”
Morgan’s cheeks turn pink under the black football streaks. “Dude, that’s wicked! Mari’s gonna flip ‘er shit! Check it, I’m on my way t’my match ri’nah. Whattaya gettin’ into? Y’anna come watch?”
“Yea I’ll walk out with you.. just me and you right?? Your not seeing anyone right now are you??”
“Who, me?” She points her gloved hand to herself. “Nah, I’m in the zone ri’nah. Ready t’bust some heads! Well, really just one...unless that floozy’s fuckin’ mouthpiece tries anything, he’ll get these hands, too. Feel me?” She slugs Ryan in the shoulder - playfully but with an audible ‘thump’ that says she probably hit him harder than most girls playing around would do. “Let’s get it, ‘Still’! ‘Still’ like the ‘Stillers’! I think you ‘an me could be buddies!” Morgan hurries off camera, calling after him. “Let’s rock!”
“Yea Girl.. lets rock...” Before the camera fades we hear Ryan saying "ouch" and rubbing his shoulder as he follows her to the entrance area.
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Amy Connors stands with Eido Tanaka in the backstage area. In the background, secluded by herself, we can make out Angel hanging by her legs from a metal support beam; fists tucked up by her head as she curls herself up and back down, performing crunches at an impressive pace, despite her position. Eido Tanaka, however, looks none too pleased, given the expression on his face.
“Hi folks; Amy Connors here with Eido Tanaka.” She wears a bright, professional smile despite the mood that has been set in the scene. “Mr. Tanaka, we saw your client put up quite a performance last week in the women’s battle royale for the NFW Women’s Championship. However, she was unsuccessful. Do you see this as another setback of any kind?”
Tanaka exhales in annoyance, speaking into the mic. “Setback. Miss Connors, you seem to enjoy using that phrase when something doesn’t exactly go someone’s way. No, Angel-san did not leave last week as the Women’s Champion. Does that deter her? Not at all. The Championship will be in her possession, in due time. I find it to be sweet, beautiful irony that the one she has set her sights on as the target of her wrath is the one that did win the contest. Make no mistake, as champion there is a target on your back, Apocalypta. I am sure every other woman on this roster who fancies themselves a true in-ring performer will be vying to take that gold away from you. However, rest assured...it is my pupil who will seize that honor.” He smiles wickedly.
In the background, we see Angel drop from her position on the support bar and land in a crouch on her feet. Turning around, she approaches the camera at a brisk pace, Tanaka steps to the side, making room for her as she grabs Amy Connors by the wrist and pulls the microphone down by her mouth, panting into it. “...Apocaryptura...watashi ha anata to watashinitsuite wasure te i masen. Watashitachi no bijinesu ha owatte i nai! Chanpionshippu ga jirai ni naru shi wasurerare masu....”
Eido Tanaka’s devilish smile grows wide as Amy Connors looks uneasy again, as she usually does around these two. It’s clear she doesn’t understand a word Angel is saying. Only Tanaka does, as he nods approvingly to Angel.
Here, Angel pulls the microphone from Amy’s hand and handles it herself, stepping slowly towards the camera. Her blue eyes piercing the very souls of those who watch. “Morriganu...Paynu...konya, watashiha anata no re wo tsukuru....” Pausing, she brings her icy gaze right up to the camera, as close as possible. “You...wirru...beg...for mercy....”
Hard cut.
----------------------------------------------------------------------
Angel defeated Morgan Payne by referee stoppage at 13:09 when, as Morgan was climbing to the top rope, Angel hit a massive enziguiri to the side of Morgan's head, that knocked her to the outside, where her head then hit the concrete with a violent 'thud', knocking her unconcious.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
As she walks along, we hear the faint sound of loud music coming from a pair of earbuds she wears. Her expression is that of someone focused and prepared.
Ryan Steele walks by and gets her attention.... " I couldnt help but over hear you got some rock playing in your stereo right???""
Morgan stops, almost bumping into him, and pulls one earbud out. Once she does, we can just barely detect Hatebreed’s ‘Everyone Bleeds’ as her song of choice. “Hells yeah. This is that good shit.”
“Thats awesome girl.. Love me some rock.. Listen i got tickets to go see FFDP in a couple months and my buddy backed out on me.. you wouldnt be intrested in going with me would you?? I apologize if i seem weird im kinda nervous talking to you.....”
Morgan’s eyes light up like someone told her she just won the lottery. “Five ‘Finga’ ?! Shit, I *love* them!” Her excitement falters, then, as she pauses her music player. “Mmh. I’onno, though. It’s Ryan, right? Ryan Still? Much as I love Five Finga Death Punch, muh girl Mari thinks they’re the tits more ‘an’ I do. Wouldn’t feel right, goin’ witout ‘er.”
“Yes its Ryan Steele.. But listen im kinda neevous saying this but i like you so how about you guys just go...” Ryan hands her the tickets. “What about you come watch my match... Ringside... what do you say???”
Morgan takes the tickets, hesitantly. She looks at Ryan, then down at the tickets, and back up at him. “Cheese and crackers! Ya not pulling my leg on this, are ya?”
“No, you and your friend can go.. I insist
It’s the least i can do for someone whos as pretty as you....”
Morgan’s cheeks turn pink under the black football streaks. “Dude, that’s wicked! Mari’s gonna flip ‘er shit! Check it, I’m on my way t’my match ri’nah. Whattaya gettin’ into? Y’anna come watch?”
“Yea I’ll walk out with you.. just me and you right?? Your not seeing anyone right now are you??”
“Who, me?” She points her gloved hand to herself. “Nah, I’m in the zone ri’nah. Ready t’bust some heads! Well, really just one...unless that floozy’s fuckin’ mouthpiece tries anything, he’ll get these hands, too. Feel me?” She slugs Ryan in the shoulder - playfully but with an audible ‘thump’ that says she probably hit him harder than most girls playing around would do. “Let’s get it, ‘Still’! ‘Still’ like the ‘Stillers’! I think you ‘an me could be buddies!” Morgan hurries off camera, calling after him. “Let’s rock!”
“Yea Girl.. lets rock...” Before the camera fades we hear Ryan saying "ouch" and rubbing his shoulder as he follows her to the entrance area.
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Amy Connors stands with Eido Tanaka in the backstage area. In the background, secluded by herself, we can make out Angel hanging by her legs from a metal support beam; fists tucked up by her head as she curls herself up and back down, performing crunches at an impressive pace, despite her position. Eido Tanaka, however, looks none too pleased, given the expression on his face.
“Hi folks; Amy Connors here with Eido Tanaka.” She wears a bright, professional smile despite the mood that has been set in the scene. “Mr. Tanaka, we saw your client put up quite a performance last week in the women’s battle royale for the NFW Women’s Championship. However, she was unsuccessful. Do you see this as another setback of any kind?”
Tanaka exhales in annoyance, speaking into the mic. “Setback. Miss Connors, you seem to enjoy using that phrase when something doesn’t exactly go someone’s way. No, Angel-san did not leave last week as the Women’s Champion. Does that deter her? Not at all. The Championship will be in her possession, in due time. I find it to be sweet, beautiful irony that the one she has set her sights on as the target of her wrath is the one that did win the contest. Make no mistake, as champion there is a target on your back, Apocalypta. I am sure every other woman on this roster who fancies themselves a true in-ring performer will be vying to take that gold away from you. However, rest assured...it is my pupil who will seize that honor.” He smiles wickedly.
In the background, we see Angel drop from her position on the support bar and land in a crouch on her feet. Turning around, she approaches the camera at a brisk pace, Tanaka steps to the side, making room for her as she grabs Amy Connors by the wrist and pulls the microphone down by her mouth, panting into it. “...Apocaryptura...watashi ha anata to watashinitsuite wasure te i masen. Watashitachi no bijinesu ha owatte i nai! Chanpionshippu ga jirai ni naru shi wasurerare masu....”
Eido Tanaka’s devilish smile grows wide as Amy Connors looks uneasy again, as she usually does around these two. It’s clear she doesn’t understand a word Angel is saying. Only Tanaka does, as he nods approvingly to Angel.
Here, Angel pulls the microphone from Amy’s hand and handles it herself, stepping slowly towards the camera. Her blue eyes piercing the very souls of those who watch. “Morriganu...Paynu...konya, watashiha anata no re wo tsukuru....” Pausing, she brings her icy gaze right up to the camera, as close as possible. “You...wirru...beg...for mercy....”
Hard cut.
----------------------------------------------------------------------
Angel defeated Morgan Payne by referee stoppage at 13:09 when, as Morgan was climbing to the top rope, Angel hit a massive enziguiri to the side of Morgan's head, that knocked her to the outside, where her head then hit the concrete with a violent 'thud', knocking her unconcious.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
The lights in the area suddenly dropped to a dark green tint, and "Judas" by Fozzy began to blare out through the arena, as the girl known as Kid Cthulu sprinted out onto the entrance ramp, in a black t-shirt that said 'All You Need Is Love(craft)', excitedly throwing her arms wide as she soaked in the cheers from the crowd. While wearing her tentacled mask, her excitement was so infectious you could practically see her smile, even though it was obscured. Jogging down to ringside, she did an impressive flip over the top rope, rolling to her feet and springing up, grabbing the mic and taking a moment to wave to the crowd.
"Heeeeey everyone! SUPER duper excited to be here in front of you all." Again... it seemed strange: such a weird and horror-themed gimmick for such an obviously sweet and bubbly girl. "This is a big night for me... last week, I showed everyone how efficient I can be. Eliminating several women and managing to make it almost to the very end of the match. I hated to see Lara go out like that... but at the end of the day, you have to take advantage of any opening you're given. Learned that from years of watching my hero in action. But girl-to-girl? Kick that bitch's ass, honey."
She paused, getting herself back on track.
"Tonight? I get another shot at becoming NFW Women's Champion. I'm not gonna lie and say Apocalypta doesn't scare the Nutella outta me, because she does. But I can also tell you she's going to find out that I'm no pushover. I want this. I've wanted this my entire life. And I'm not about to take this chance lightly. So bring your scary, painted-up ass out here, right now... and let's do this!!!"
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
Apocalypta defeated Kid Cthulu by disqualification in 7:12 when Rosemary jumped up onto the apron and spit green mist into Apocalypta's eyes, but the referee turned around just in time to see it. As Rosemary backpedaled up the ramp, she waved to Kid Cthulu, and mouthed the words "We shall beat you to death later".
-------------------------------------------------------------
Afterwards, as the camera catches up to Kid Cthulu in the locker room, getting a post-match checkup by a physician, Rosemary violently attacks her. Standing over the motionless body of the child of the elder god, Rosemary kneels down, licking her hand and running her hand down the face of the spawnling
“We warned you sweetie, next time, you should run. “
------------------------------------------------------------
The camera cuts from the previous shot to Adam Cole, standing in front of a solid backdrop. His black t-shirt reading ‘Blessed Art Thou For This Asswhuppin Ye Are About To Receive.’ Just as it was, last week, his entrance music plays faintly in the background as he stands with his hands folded.
“The Silver Mountain Championship; another prize to be earned here in New Frontier Wrestling. Now, unfortunately, yours truly isn’t wearing the TV title like I surely would have been had it not been for the Four Musketeers of Emoville ruining what would have truly been match of the night. Maybe even match of the year! Buuuut, I digress....” He shrugs his shoulders with an ‘eh’ look. “Maybe it was a blessing in disguise. Maybe I wasn’t meant to win the TV Championship. Maybe, just maybe...I’m destined for something greater! I mean, let’s face it, I’m fucking pay-per-view caliber, baby! Do you ever see the TV champ on pay-per-view? Not unless booking can’t figure out who to book for the damn pre-show. I don’t do pre-shows.”
He shakes his head. “‘But, Mr. Cole, why not?’ That’s exactly why. Because my name is Adam-fucking-Cole, bay bay! I belong in the main event! Now, while my match tonight isn’t the main event, hey my tenure here is still young! Like I said, people have been living under a rock in this business, because they clearly don’t know who I am! So, tonight, I show everyone what a real champion is when I climb that ladder and grab that title. Then, you’ll see who the real king of the mountain is. Now, as for my opponents?” He snickers. “Like I’m gonna waste a breath on them. Shelton? You’re about as old news as Scott Leroux. Go home. Dick Rickulous? Rich Ditch—I don’t care what the hell your name is. You’re just another big piece of shit who’s the meal ticket for a couple of bumbling idiots who have nothing else to do for a living. Vincent Stone; you hit hard. I’ve seen it. You’ve got potential, but that ain’t gonna get you far against me. We have our similarities but you’re stepping into that ring with the best wrestler in the world! And if you’re not careful, he’s gonna put you in the hall of fame as the shortest tenured son of a bitch in the New Frontier. I may, very well send each and every one of you packing, and that, you three is a promise. Because at the end of the night, the only one who’s name matters is gonna be the one standing on that ladder—“ He raises his hand up, lifting his gaze towards it. “—holding that Silver Mountain Championship, and come hell or high water, that name will be—“ His hands shoot up into his signature pose, “—ADAM COLE, BAY-BAY!!”
Grinning wide, his hands lower, directing a double bird towards the camera as we fade out.
--------------------------------------------------------------
"Heeeeey everyone! SUPER duper excited to be here in front of you all." Again... it seemed strange: such a weird and horror-themed gimmick for such an obviously sweet and bubbly girl. "This is a big night for me... last week, I showed everyone how efficient I can be. Eliminating several women and managing to make it almost to the very end of the match. I hated to see Lara go out like that... but at the end of the day, you have to take advantage of any opening you're given. Learned that from years of watching my hero in action. But girl-to-girl? Kick that bitch's ass, honey."
She paused, getting herself back on track.
"Tonight? I get another shot at becoming NFW Women's Champion. I'm not gonna lie and say Apocalypta doesn't scare the Nutella outta me, because she does. But I can also tell you she's going to find out that I'm no pushover. I want this. I've wanted this my entire life. And I'm not about to take this chance lightly. So bring your scary, painted-up ass out here, right now... and let's do this!!!"
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
Apocalypta defeated Kid Cthulu by disqualification in 7:12 when Rosemary jumped up onto the apron and spit green mist into Apocalypta's eyes, but the referee turned around just in time to see it. As Rosemary backpedaled up the ramp, she waved to Kid Cthulu, and mouthed the words "We shall beat you to death later".
-------------------------------------------------------------
Afterwards, as the camera catches up to Kid Cthulu in the locker room, getting a post-match checkup by a physician, Rosemary violently attacks her. Standing over the motionless body of the child of the elder god, Rosemary kneels down, licking her hand and running her hand down the face of the spawnling
“We warned you sweetie, next time, you should run. “
------------------------------------------------------------
The camera cuts from the previous shot to Adam Cole, standing in front of a solid backdrop. His black t-shirt reading ‘Blessed Art Thou For This Asswhuppin Ye Are About To Receive.’ Just as it was, last week, his entrance music plays faintly in the background as he stands with his hands folded.
“The Silver Mountain Championship; another prize to be earned here in New Frontier Wrestling. Now, unfortunately, yours truly isn’t wearing the TV title like I surely would have been had it not been for the Four Musketeers of Emoville ruining what would have truly been match of the night. Maybe even match of the year! Buuuut, I digress....” He shrugs his shoulders with an ‘eh’ look. “Maybe it was a blessing in disguise. Maybe I wasn’t meant to win the TV Championship. Maybe, just maybe...I’m destined for something greater! I mean, let’s face it, I’m fucking pay-per-view caliber, baby! Do you ever see the TV champ on pay-per-view? Not unless booking can’t figure out who to book for the damn pre-show. I don’t do pre-shows.”
He shakes his head. “‘But, Mr. Cole, why not?’ That’s exactly why. Because my name is Adam-fucking-Cole, bay bay! I belong in the main event! Now, while my match tonight isn’t the main event, hey my tenure here is still young! Like I said, people have been living under a rock in this business, because they clearly don’t know who I am! So, tonight, I show everyone what a real champion is when I climb that ladder and grab that title. Then, you’ll see who the real king of the mountain is. Now, as for my opponents?” He snickers. “Like I’m gonna waste a breath on them. Shelton? You’re about as old news as Scott Leroux. Go home. Dick Rickulous? Rich Ditch—I don’t care what the hell your name is. You’re just another big piece of shit who’s the meal ticket for a couple of bumbling idiots who have nothing else to do for a living. Vincent Stone; you hit hard. I’ve seen it. You’ve got potential, but that ain’t gonna get you far against me. We have our similarities but you’re stepping into that ring with the best wrestler in the world! And if you’re not careful, he’s gonna put you in the hall of fame as the shortest tenured son of a bitch in the New Frontier. I may, very well send each and every one of you packing, and that, you three is a promise. Because at the end of the night, the only one who’s name matters is gonna be the one standing on that ladder—“ He raises his hand up, lifting his gaze towards it. “—holding that Silver Mountain Championship, and come hell or high water, that name will be—“ His hands shoot up into his signature pose, “—ADAM COLE, BAY-BAY!!”
Grinning wide, his hands lower, directing a double bird towards the camera as we fade out.
--------------------------------------------------------------
*The theme song and intro to Hockey Night In Canada play out, however in every shot of Don Cherry, another man's face has been video edited in. As the theme song fades, the man is sitting at a sportscaster's desk straight out of the early 1980s. A cigarette burns in an ashtray on the desk, and various short necked bottles of Labbatt's Blue litter the desktop. The man looks up at the camera after shuffling papers.*
"Oh, we're on? Well ya shoulda given me the 5 second countdown. I coulda got some of these pop bottles off the desk!"
*The man quickly hides the beer bottles behind the desk, then takes the ashtray and puts it behind the desk after taking a giant drag of the almost finished cigarette and butting it out. He exhales the smoke off to the side, straightens his brown, double breasted suit jacket and tie, then looks back at the camera*
"So, tonight we have with us a special guest, a good buddy of mine from the NFW to talk playoffs with yours truly, John Cherry. We're gonna talk about some hockey, and some wrestling, and we'll get a little insight into both the Cup, and the Silver Mountain Championship. I'm John Cherry, and I'm gonna be your host tonight while we talk with none other than Rick Dickulous. I understand he's got a few things to show us, so let's get right to it!"
*A second screen pops up to the right of John Cherry's head, Rick Dickulous' face fills the screen momentarily, as he is aiming the webcam for the video conference. He moves back from the camera and sits in a chair a few feet back and puts a headset with a microphone over his black beanie*
"Hello? Don? Can you hear me, guy?"
*John Cherry nods*
"Rick, yeah, we can hear you. It's JOHN...John Cherry..."
*Rick smiles*
"Don Cherry! How's things, buddy? Long time..."
*John Cherry closes his eyes tightly and shakes his head back and forth before continuing*
"Rick, glad you could take time to come on the program and tell us about what you're doing over there in the NFW, and talk hockey with me."
"Absolutely, friend! I know you wanna talk playoffs though, and I found a great way to tie them both together! I put together my Eastern Conference predictions in a fun way, and I want to show you all of it!"
*John Cherry shrugs*
"Far be it from me to say no to a bit of fun...so LET'S GO!"
*Cherry shoots a thumbs up to the camera as Rick's screen suddenly fills the whole screen.*
"Don, wait...can I call you Grapes? I've always wanted to call you by your nickname..."
"Rick, it's John....and they're more like raisins...."
"I know, Don...relax, guy! *John Cherry lets out an audible sigh* So, I was playin' some NHL 18, and I put together my own playoff bracket. So, we're just gonna focus on the team that matters, MY team - the Toronto Maple Leafs."
*The screen changes to the title screen for NHL 18, Rick opens a saved franchise mode game. Rick opens the playoff bracket for the Eastern Conference, Toronto's first round matchup shows as the Ottawa Senators*
"I may have taken a little liberty on this, but hey, guy, it is MY prediction."
"Well, yeah, Rick, but you gotta at least keep it realistic, right?"
"Don, buddy, just relax...you'll see my logic. Here's where I get to show you some highlights I recorded from my gameplay earlier."
"Oh, we're on? Well ya shoulda given me the 5 second countdown. I coulda got some of these pop bottles off the desk!"
*The man quickly hides the beer bottles behind the desk, then takes the ashtray and puts it behind the desk after taking a giant drag of the almost finished cigarette and butting it out. He exhales the smoke off to the side, straightens his brown, double breasted suit jacket and tie, then looks back at the camera*
"So, tonight we have with us a special guest, a good buddy of mine from the NFW to talk playoffs with yours truly, John Cherry. We're gonna talk about some hockey, and some wrestling, and we'll get a little insight into both the Cup, and the Silver Mountain Championship. I'm John Cherry, and I'm gonna be your host tonight while we talk with none other than Rick Dickulous. I understand he's got a few things to show us, so let's get right to it!"
*A second screen pops up to the right of John Cherry's head, Rick Dickulous' face fills the screen momentarily, as he is aiming the webcam for the video conference. He moves back from the camera and sits in a chair a few feet back and puts a headset with a microphone over his black beanie*
"Hello? Don? Can you hear me, guy?"
*John Cherry nods*
"Rick, yeah, we can hear you. It's JOHN...John Cherry..."
*Rick smiles*
"Don Cherry! How's things, buddy? Long time..."
*John Cherry closes his eyes tightly and shakes his head back and forth before continuing*
"Rick, glad you could take time to come on the program and tell us about what you're doing over there in the NFW, and talk hockey with me."
"Absolutely, friend! I know you wanna talk playoffs though, and I found a great way to tie them both together! I put together my Eastern Conference predictions in a fun way, and I want to show you all of it!"
*John Cherry shrugs*
"Far be it from me to say no to a bit of fun...so LET'S GO!"
*Cherry shoots a thumbs up to the camera as Rick's screen suddenly fills the whole screen.*
"Don, wait...can I call you Grapes? I've always wanted to call you by your nickname..."
"Rick, it's John....and they're more like raisins...."
"I know, Don...relax, guy! *John Cherry lets out an audible sigh* So, I was playin' some NHL 18, and I put together my own playoff bracket. So, we're just gonna focus on the team that matters, MY team - the Toronto Maple Leafs."
*The screen changes to the title screen for NHL 18, Rick opens a saved franchise mode game. Rick opens the playoff bracket for the Eastern Conference, Toronto's first round matchup shows as the Ottawa Senators*
"I may have taken a little liberty on this, but hey, guy, it is MY prediction."
"Well, yeah, Rick, but you gotta at least keep it realistic, right?"
"Don, buddy, just relax...you'll see my logic. Here's where I get to show you some highlights I recorded from my gameplay earlier."
*All of a sudden gameplay pops up on the screen. All the Toronto players seem to look the same - like Rick - while all of the Montreal Canadiens seem to look like Adam Cole.*
"So, here's the first round, Toronto and Montreal. We're on game 5 here, and this is where Toronto eliminates the Habs, but not before this happened!"
*The scene switches to a fight on the ice, a Rick Dickulous lookalike and an Adam Cole lookalike drop the gloves and square off. The scene pauses and John Cherry interrupts*
"Now, Rick, we should tell the people at home that if they don't like fighting, if they just don't have the stomach for it....TURN IT OFF......ok, we gave you the chance....roll the clip!"
*Rick gives running commentary*
"I find it fitting that Adam Cole plays for Montreal, I mean, he DOES seem a bit like a whiner. But here they go, locking up, and we see the immediate size difference. Rick is just manhandling the shit out of Adam here..."
*The fight sees 'Rick' and 'Adam Cole' exchange blows back and forth, bobbing and weaving. 'Rick' lands a brutal haymaker to the side of the head of 'Adam Cole', and both men fall to the ice with Rick on top*
"And this is where we count...1, 2, 3! That's not only a W for the fight, Don, it's also a W for the series. 5 games, and about 40 of these fights, all ending the same way. I'd say it was a rough series, but let's face it...it was pretty easy."
"This is the kinda stuff I like, Rick. The rough and tumble, hard grindin', and hard hittin' we need to see if this prediction is gonna become a reality...so, 5 games, eh? I guess we'll have to see. Who's next?"
*Rick moves on to the second round, which has Toronto facing off against Boston. All the Boston players resemble Vincent Stone*
"Don, I take you to Boston for game 6 of the second round of the playoffs. These teams have history, and they certainly don't play clean, eh? - anytime it's a Toronto-Boston series, it's fast, hard hitting hockey, and you know tempers are always running high, guy!"
"And let's not forget, Rick, I coached the Bruins minor league team at the same time Don Cherry was coaching the Colorado Rockies, so I might have a little bit to say about this one..."
*Again we cut to a fight about to begin, the tape is paused*
"We're in game 6 in Boston, and this is where the series ends for the Bruins. And this, right here, Don....this is the turning point. Toronto's down 3-1, and they're gassed. They needed someone to start givin'er, and get the emotions running on the bench. This is exactly what the doctor ordered...."
*The fight begins as 'Rick' drops his gloves and helmet, 'Vincent' only drops his gloves. The fight pauses and John Cherry interjects*
"Now here's somethin' I hate, eh? These guys who don't drop the helmet. They're the same guys who wear those visors - and the guys who wear those visors usually hide behind the guys doing the hitting. This guy might be different, but if it walks like a duck, and it quacks like a duck....you know how the saying goes, Rick..."
*The fight resumes as we see both men exchange a flurry of blows, dancing back and forth for a solid minute before 'Rick' gets the upper hand and delivers a hard uppercut, knocking 'Vincent' to the ice*
"The lefts and rights were just flying here, Don...I'd easily give this one a 7/10. They both put up a good fight, and they both spent 5 minutes in the naughty box. But after this fight, Toronto comes back and scores 4 unanswered goals in the third period, and that was all she wrote for Boston."
*John Cherry holds up a finger and stresses his point by jamming his finger into the desk with each syllable*
"But Boston will make off like bandits at the draft," *he stops stressing his point* "and that is where the future lies, so I see Boston making a good showing next year, mark my words. All the kids in their system, they're gonna develop the next Crosby, and as much as he's a crybaby, he's one helluva player...that's all I got on that one..."
"Right you are, Don. And this is why I like you. In fact, I do have an opening right now for an interviewer....if you ever get bored, ya know, buddy?"
"Well, let me work out my contract with the CBC and maybe I'll get back to ya, who knows? At least I know I have something in my back pocket. YA HEAR THAT, CBC?"
"Relaaaax, guy! Don't giv'er too hard, you're a national treasure, Don."
"I appreciate that, Rick. You know, my mom calls me John, and I've gone by some interesting nicknames...."
"Well, say hi to your mom for me, Don...I haven't seen her in awhile."
*More NHL 18 gameplay pops on screen, this time featuring the Toronto Maple Leafs and the Pittsburgh Penguins, who, oddly all look like Shelton Benjamin*
"So now we move on to the Eastern Conference Championship, Don. The winner takes a trip to the finals, and has the possibility to lift the Stanley Cup, the loser hits the golf course."
*John Cherry looks offscreen, an unintelligible voice can be heard*
"What's that, Carol? A minute? Ok, Rick, I've just been told by Carol we have a minute left. Lay it on me, Toronto/Pittsburgh...let's go!"
"This one went 7, Don. But here it is, the fight that broke the Pens. This happened in game 6, and we're gonna have to speed it up..."
*'Rick' squares off with 'Shelton' and then the tape begins running double speed. The two exchange punch after punch, neither one giving up, both bloodied, until 'Rick' manages to pull 'Shelton' off his feet, punching him a few times on the way down.*
"This right here? This is givin'er. These two fought like rabid wolverines, but Toronto took the upper hand, and the series in 7. Don, I call Leafs winning the cup in 6."
"Well, Rick, I can't say I'm with you...but tell me something, when the Leafs did win in 6, did you turn the XBox off?"
*Rick feigns being offended*
"No, I left it on because I was downloading episodes of Degrassi. Sorry, not sorry."
"Well, there you have it, folks, Rick Dickulous, going after the Silver Mountain Championship, calling Toronto winning the cup in 6. This is John Cherry, thanks for tuning in!"
*Mannheim's voice can be heard in the background*
"Did you tell him? No? Hold on..."
*Rick's webcam shakes and spins, Mannheim's scowling face fills the screen*
"I just have one thing to add. Rosemary? Sweetie? I saw you and your little buddy Vinnie having kumbaya time, and I just want to tell you something real quick: interfere in the Silver Mountain Championship, and you'll be taking a trip....a Trip to Hell. You feel me? You will. You've been warned. That goes for everyone else in the back too."
*Mannheim's face smiles suddenly*
"By the way, hi Don! Say hi to your mom for me too - tell her I'll come by later tonight to pick up my banana hammock and ball gag...."
*John Cherry's face wrinkles as the scene cuts*
--------------------------------------------------------------
"So, here's the first round, Toronto and Montreal. We're on game 5 here, and this is where Toronto eliminates the Habs, but not before this happened!"
*The scene switches to a fight on the ice, a Rick Dickulous lookalike and an Adam Cole lookalike drop the gloves and square off. The scene pauses and John Cherry interrupts*
"Now, Rick, we should tell the people at home that if they don't like fighting, if they just don't have the stomach for it....TURN IT OFF......ok, we gave you the chance....roll the clip!"
*Rick gives running commentary*
"I find it fitting that Adam Cole plays for Montreal, I mean, he DOES seem a bit like a whiner. But here they go, locking up, and we see the immediate size difference. Rick is just manhandling the shit out of Adam here..."
*The fight sees 'Rick' and 'Adam Cole' exchange blows back and forth, bobbing and weaving. 'Rick' lands a brutal haymaker to the side of the head of 'Adam Cole', and both men fall to the ice with Rick on top*
"And this is where we count...1, 2, 3! That's not only a W for the fight, Don, it's also a W for the series. 5 games, and about 40 of these fights, all ending the same way. I'd say it was a rough series, but let's face it...it was pretty easy."
"This is the kinda stuff I like, Rick. The rough and tumble, hard grindin', and hard hittin' we need to see if this prediction is gonna become a reality...so, 5 games, eh? I guess we'll have to see. Who's next?"
*Rick moves on to the second round, which has Toronto facing off against Boston. All the Boston players resemble Vincent Stone*
"Don, I take you to Boston for game 6 of the second round of the playoffs. These teams have history, and they certainly don't play clean, eh? - anytime it's a Toronto-Boston series, it's fast, hard hitting hockey, and you know tempers are always running high, guy!"
"And let's not forget, Rick, I coached the Bruins minor league team at the same time Don Cherry was coaching the Colorado Rockies, so I might have a little bit to say about this one..."
*Again we cut to a fight about to begin, the tape is paused*
"We're in game 6 in Boston, and this is where the series ends for the Bruins. And this, right here, Don....this is the turning point. Toronto's down 3-1, and they're gassed. They needed someone to start givin'er, and get the emotions running on the bench. This is exactly what the doctor ordered...."
*The fight begins as 'Rick' drops his gloves and helmet, 'Vincent' only drops his gloves. The fight pauses and John Cherry interjects*
"Now here's somethin' I hate, eh? These guys who don't drop the helmet. They're the same guys who wear those visors - and the guys who wear those visors usually hide behind the guys doing the hitting. This guy might be different, but if it walks like a duck, and it quacks like a duck....you know how the saying goes, Rick..."
*The fight resumes as we see both men exchange a flurry of blows, dancing back and forth for a solid minute before 'Rick' gets the upper hand and delivers a hard uppercut, knocking 'Vincent' to the ice*
"The lefts and rights were just flying here, Don...I'd easily give this one a 7/10. They both put up a good fight, and they both spent 5 minutes in the naughty box. But after this fight, Toronto comes back and scores 4 unanswered goals in the third period, and that was all she wrote for Boston."
*John Cherry holds up a finger and stresses his point by jamming his finger into the desk with each syllable*
"But Boston will make off like bandits at the draft," *he stops stressing his point* "and that is where the future lies, so I see Boston making a good showing next year, mark my words. All the kids in their system, they're gonna develop the next Crosby, and as much as he's a crybaby, he's one helluva player...that's all I got on that one..."
"Right you are, Don. And this is why I like you. In fact, I do have an opening right now for an interviewer....if you ever get bored, ya know, buddy?"
"Well, let me work out my contract with the CBC and maybe I'll get back to ya, who knows? At least I know I have something in my back pocket. YA HEAR THAT, CBC?"
"Relaaaax, guy! Don't giv'er too hard, you're a national treasure, Don."
"I appreciate that, Rick. You know, my mom calls me John, and I've gone by some interesting nicknames...."
"Well, say hi to your mom for me, Don...I haven't seen her in awhile."
*More NHL 18 gameplay pops on screen, this time featuring the Toronto Maple Leafs and the Pittsburgh Penguins, who, oddly all look like Shelton Benjamin*
"So now we move on to the Eastern Conference Championship, Don. The winner takes a trip to the finals, and has the possibility to lift the Stanley Cup, the loser hits the golf course."
*John Cherry looks offscreen, an unintelligible voice can be heard*
"What's that, Carol? A minute? Ok, Rick, I've just been told by Carol we have a minute left. Lay it on me, Toronto/Pittsburgh...let's go!"
"This one went 7, Don. But here it is, the fight that broke the Pens. This happened in game 6, and we're gonna have to speed it up..."
*'Rick' squares off with 'Shelton' and then the tape begins running double speed. The two exchange punch after punch, neither one giving up, both bloodied, until 'Rick' manages to pull 'Shelton' off his feet, punching him a few times on the way down.*
"This right here? This is givin'er. These two fought like rabid wolverines, but Toronto took the upper hand, and the series in 7. Don, I call Leafs winning the cup in 6."
"Well, Rick, I can't say I'm with you...but tell me something, when the Leafs did win in 6, did you turn the XBox off?"
*Rick feigns being offended*
"No, I left it on because I was downloading episodes of Degrassi. Sorry, not sorry."
"Well, there you have it, folks, Rick Dickulous, going after the Silver Mountain Championship, calling Toronto winning the cup in 6. This is John Cherry, thanks for tuning in!"
*Mannheim's voice can be heard in the background*
"Did you tell him? No? Hold on..."
*Rick's webcam shakes and spins, Mannheim's scowling face fills the screen*
"I just have one thing to add. Rosemary? Sweetie? I saw you and your little buddy Vinnie having kumbaya time, and I just want to tell you something real quick: interfere in the Silver Mountain Championship, and you'll be taking a trip....a Trip to Hell. You feel me? You will. You've been warned. That goes for everyone else in the back too."
*Mannheim's face smiles suddenly*
"By the way, hi Don! Say hi to your mom for me too - tell her I'll come by later tonight to pick up my banana hammock and ball gag...."
*John Cherry's face wrinkles as the scene cuts*
--------------------------------------------------------------
In the ladder match, the big story of the match was the utter dominance through most of the match by Rick Dickulous. While he acts goofy... clearly he's a true threat in the ring, as he managed to use everything from martial arts, to objects like chairs and the ladder, to inflict damage and keep his opponents from climbing the ladder. After tossing Benjamin and Stone both to the outside with a double-clothesline, he climbed the ladder to grab the title... but Adam Cole slid back into the ring and pushed the ladder over, causing Dickulous to crash to the outside, right on top of Stone and Benjamin. Cole then hurried up the ladder and snatched the belt for the win at 23:05 to win the Silver Mountain Championship.
-------------------------------------------------------------------
Scott Leroux retained the TV Title, defeating Abaddon by disqualification in 7:44 when Belphegor, Tyler Grey, and Chris Wolfe ran into the ring and beat Leroux down, before tossing him over the top rope to the floor, clearly more worried about sending a message than winning the TV Title.
-------------------------------------------------------------------
Scott Leroux retained the TV Title, defeating Abaddon by disqualification in 7:44 when Belphegor, Tyler Grey, and Chris Wolfe ran into the ring and beat Leroux down, before tossing him over the top rope to the floor, clearly more worried about sending a message than winning the TV Title.
