Post by Steven Brody, CEO on Dec 17, 2018 19:34:13 GMT -8
The camera opens backstage, pre-credits, to the parking lot where we see Vincent Stone arriving to the arena. He promptly get out of his rental, grabs his bag and hits the remote lock on it before starting towards the locker room area. He's dressed in a simple wardrobe of jeans and a black, button up, short sleeved shirt and is in an obvious rush as he mutters something under his breath about traffic. The camera sticks with him as it only takes a moment or so for him to reach the locker rooms and find the door with his name on it.
"Here we go. Fuckin'...." He sighs and reaches for the doorknob.
"VIN!" A woman's voice offscreen calls, getting the man's attention.
Stone looks up, alarmed at first before visibly relaxing. "Hey, Erin. What's up?" He calls back as we start to hear labored pants getting closer before Erin Mercer comes jogging into the frame, dressed in tight blue jeans and a Team Merlex t-shirt under her black, leather jacket, and stops in front of her friend.
"You okay?" She asks. "You looked like a deer in headlights for a second, there."
Stone shakes his head dismissively. "I'm good. How's the head?" He asks, looking at her forehead before grinning slightly. "I'm digging the new do!"
Erin giggles a little. "Thanks. It's just until the stitches heel. Lara liked it too when she saw it. She was like 'awwwwww, girrrrl!! Eighties as fuuuuuuck!!'" Erin raises both hands in the metal horns, adoringly mimicing Lara Blackheart's reaction. Suddenly then, Erin gives Vin a half-playful, half-serious shove in the arm. "Hey! You forget how to answer your phone, fuckshit? I haven't heard from you all week! Had me worried."
Vincent Stone looks apologetically at her. "Sorry. I shut my phone off until this morning. Didn't want people blowing up my shit about the Dominion of Pain." His expression turns serious as if he knows what's coming from her, then. "Buuuut, judging from the fifty or so messages you sent me, I'm guessing that's what you wanna talk about."
"Uhh, no shit. You mind?" Erin Mercer responds, folding her tattoo covered arms over her chest, suggesting she isn't really giving him a choice.
Stone realizes this as he finally opens the locker room door and steps in. Erin follows right on his heels and the camera man follows right behind her. "Ugghhh. Goddamn it, Erin. How many times am I gonna have to say it? I'm doing this shit and nobody's gonna stop me!" He drops his bag on the floor and turns to face her, unbuttoning his shirt as they talk.
"You need to stop!" Erin almost snaps on him. "You need to stop and think about what the hell you're doing!"
"I know exactly what the hell I'm doing, Erin!" Stone responds, defensively. "And I don't need people telling me to think about my future or to think of what I'm getting myself into."
"We're worried about you! Jesus fucking Christ, Vince! Listen to me!" Erin flails her hands in desperation. "You're pissed off over an accident and you're gonna turn a small flame into an inferno! Lara didn't mean to go that far! I know you saw her apology!"
Stone raises a hand in front of Erin to silence her. "Stop! Okay? I know it was an accident. I know she didn't mean it. I'm not angry at Lara. I have no problem with her, whatsoever. Shit. I don't even have anything against the Dominion of Pain as a whole. But I know they're gonna be in my way for this. My problem is Judas. He's all about this 'hone your anger' shit. 'Turn it into a weapon.' Which, don't get me wrong. That can be fine! But when he's getting off at seeing his people hurt others who have nothing to do with it? When he's all---" Here, Stone does his on-point impersonation of Judas Lasher. Voice, mannerism and all, "--'give into your anger, my child. Let it flow through you. Bathe in the blood of your opposition.'"
Stone's humorous quip manages to get a small laugh out of Erin Mercer. As a result, she visibly relaxes some but still looks at him, pleadingly. "Vin, seriously, come on. Think about what LeeAnn said."
Sighing, Stone finishes removing his shirt and lays it out on the bench. "What LeeAnn said? I know it seems like she means well and that she's concerned and all, but let's be real: she said that shit thinking that I'm just another scrub that Lasher's gonna be able to run over. And while I respect everything she's done -- while I respect everything both of them have done -- you should know by now, nothing fucking pisses me off more than someone telling me that I'm incapable of doing something. That's why I got into this business, in the first place. And now this? That...was a mistake!" Stone says the last part with a funny accent.
"So..." Erin responds, rolling her index fingers as she tries to wrap her brain around something. "In order to take it to Judas Lasher...you challenge Ethan Skinner? I mean, he's got nothing to do with any of this. You're kinda doing what you're accusing Judas of doing and...well...dragging people that aren't involved into this shit."
"Nah, see." Stone shakes his head. "I'm just thinking ahead. I know Judas is probably gonna try and use me as his next test or some shit with me pulling this stunt. So, I'm beating him at his own game. If you wanna get to the Emperor, you need to take out the Praetorian Guard first."
Erin raises an eyebrow, crossing her arms. "And Buzzsaw? You expect to take him on, too?"
Stone rubs his mouth, thoughtfully, stopping to contemplate the scenario. "I mean...I will if I have to, ya know? But if I know Buzzsaw as well as I think I do, he'll probably just be like--" Stone drops the tone in his voice to mimick Buzzsaw's as best as he can, "--'your funeral, kid.'"
Erin Mercer shakes her head, unable to help a small chuckle of amusement. "You are too good at that."
"Hey, you gotta remember: I used to idolize these guys as fans. Anyway...." Vincent Stone stops and looks at his friend. "You gonna step out so I can get changed for my match, or you trying to watch me take my pants off?"
Grimacing in playful disgust, Erin raises a hand to shield her eyes as she turns towards the door. "Alright, alright. Fine. But we're not done talking about this! If I have to, I'll send her to knock some sense into your ass!"
Vincent Stone looks at Erin Mercer with all amusement dropping from his face. "Right. I don't think she's even into me. Try again."
Erin sighs. "Look, just be careful. Okay?" Stone nods as Erin stops at the door and looks back at him with a tiny, amused grin on her face. "By the way.... Was that Romeo Must Die?" Digging through his bag and pulling out pieces of his gear, Stone looks over at her, cracking a silly grin. Erin shakes her head and the camera follows her out of the locker room. "Fucking dork." Fade to black and the show credits begin....
"Here we go. Fuckin'...." He sighs and reaches for the doorknob.
"VIN!" A woman's voice offscreen calls, getting the man's attention.
Stone looks up, alarmed at first before visibly relaxing. "Hey, Erin. What's up?" He calls back as we start to hear labored pants getting closer before Erin Mercer comes jogging into the frame, dressed in tight blue jeans and a Team Merlex t-shirt under her black, leather jacket, and stops in front of her friend.
"You okay?" She asks. "You looked like a deer in headlights for a second, there."
Stone shakes his head dismissively. "I'm good. How's the head?" He asks, looking at her forehead before grinning slightly. "I'm digging the new do!"
Erin giggles a little. "Thanks. It's just until the stitches heel. Lara liked it too when she saw it. She was like 'awwwwww, girrrrl!! Eighties as fuuuuuuck!!'" Erin raises both hands in the metal horns, adoringly mimicing Lara Blackheart's reaction. Suddenly then, Erin gives Vin a half-playful, half-serious shove in the arm. "Hey! You forget how to answer your phone, fuckshit? I haven't heard from you all week! Had me worried."
Vincent Stone looks apologetically at her. "Sorry. I shut my phone off until this morning. Didn't want people blowing up my shit about the Dominion of Pain." His expression turns serious as if he knows what's coming from her, then. "Buuuut, judging from the fifty or so messages you sent me, I'm guessing that's what you wanna talk about."
"Uhh, no shit. You mind?" Erin Mercer responds, folding her tattoo covered arms over her chest, suggesting she isn't really giving him a choice.
Stone realizes this as he finally opens the locker room door and steps in. Erin follows right on his heels and the camera man follows right behind her. "Ugghhh. Goddamn it, Erin. How many times am I gonna have to say it? I'm doing this shit and nobody's gonna stop me!" He drops his bag on the floor and turns to face her, unbuttoning his shirt as they talk.
"You need to stop!" Erin almost snaps on him. "You need to stop and think about what the hell you're doing!"
"I know exactly what the hell I'm doing, Erin!" Stone responds, defensively. "And I don't need people telling me to think about my future or to think of what I'm getting myself into."
"We're worried about you! Jesus fucking Christ, Vince! Listen to me!" Erin flails her hands in desperation. "You're pissed off over an accident and you're gonna turn a small flame into an inferno! Lara didn't mean to go that far! I know you saw her apology!"
Stone raises a hand in front of Erin to silence her. "Stop! Okay? I know it was an accident. I know she didn't mean it. I'm not angry at Lara. I have no problem with her, whatsoever. Shit. I don't even have anything against the Dominion of Pain as a whole. But I know they're gonna be in my way for this. My problem is Judas. He's all about this 'hone your anger' shit. 'Turn it into a weapon.' Which, don't get me wrong. That can be fine! But when he's getting off at seeing his people hurt others who have nothing to do with it? When he's all---" Here, Stone does his on-point impersonation of Judas Lasher. Voice, mannerism and all, "--'give into your anger, my child. Let it flow through you. Bathe in the blood of your opposition.'"
Stone's humorous quip manages to get a small laugh out of Erin Mercer. As a result, she visibly relaxes some but still looks at him, pleadingly. "Vin, seriously, come on. Think about what LeeAnn said."
Sighing, Stone finishes removing his shirt and lays it out on the bench. "What LeeAnn said? I know it seems like she means well and that she's concerned and all, but let's be real: she said that shit thinking that I'm just another scrub that Lasher's gonna be able to run over. And while I respect everything she's done -- while I respect everything both of them have done -- you should know by now, nothing fucking pisses me off more than someone telling me that I'm incapable of doing something. That's why I got into this business, in the first place. And now this? That...was a mistake!" Stone says the last part with a funny accent.
"So..." Erin responds, rolling her index fingers as she tries to wrap her brain around something. "In order to take it to Judas Lasher...you challenge Ethan Skinner? I mean, he's got nothing to do with any of this. You're kinda doing what you're accusing Judas of doing and...well...dragging people that aren't involved into this shit."
"Nah, see." Stone shakes his head. "I'm just thinking ahead. I know Judas is probably gonna try and use me as his next test or some shit with me pulling this stunt. So, I'm beating him at his own game. If you wanna get to the Emperor, you need to take out the Praetorian Guard first."
Erin raises an eyebrow, crossing her arms. "And Buzzsaw? You expect to take him on, too?"
Stone rubs his mouth, thoughtfully, stopping to contemplate the scenario. "I mean...I will if I have to, ya know? But if I know Buzzsaw as well as I think I do, he'll probably just be like--" Stone drops the tone in his voice to mimick Buzzsaw's as best as he can, "--'your funeral, kid.'"
Erin Mercer shakes her head, unable to help a small chuckle of amusement. "You are too good at that."
"Hey, you gotta remember: I used to idolize these guys as fans. Anyway...." Vincent Stone stops and looks at his friend. "You gonna step out so I can get changed for my match, or you trying to watch me take my pants off?"
Grimacing in playful disgust, Erin raises a hand to shield her eyes as she turns towards the door. "Alright, alright. Fine. But we're not done talking about this! If I have to, I'll send her to knock some sense into your ass!"
Vincent Stone looks at Erin Mercer with all amusement dropping from his face. "Right. I don't think she's even into me. Try again."
Erin sighs. "Look, just be careful. Okay?" Stone nods as Erin stops at the door and looks back at him with a tiny, amused grin on her face. "By the way.... Was that Romeo Must Die?" Digging through his bag and pulling out pieces of his gear, Stone looks over at her, cracking a silly grin. Erin shakes her head and the camera follows her out of the locker room. "Fucking dork." Fade to black and the show credits begin....
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As the NFW logo flashes across the screen, Ozzy Osbourne's "Let Me Hear You Scream" plays as the opening video recaps previous highlights of NFW ever since the re-inception on February 22, 2018. Clips from the show are intercut with segments of the actual music video that was made with the track. As Ozzy and the band play on, we're reminded of some of NFW's most insane moments thus far while members of the roster flash across the screen, staring into the camera under a grainy, black and white filter.
One by one, in sped up shots, we see each current champion with their title belts in two different shots:
- Ultra-Violence deliver a devastating double chokeslam to an opponent through a table.
- They raise their championship belts over their heads.
- The duo of Crimson Sabre and LeeAnn Viskan are each seen in action. Crimson Sabre hits a running Shooting Star Press off of the apron while LeeAnn is seen with an opponent tapping desperately to the Chemical Wedding.
- In front of a Dominion of Pain backdrop, the two stare back at the viewers, calmly holding their titles over their shoulders.
- In a quick, jarring sequence, we see Buzzsaw as he delivers the Buzzsaw kick to several opponents' faces.
- He stands right up in the camera, raising the Television Championship in a silent taunt for someone to take it from him.
- Rick Dickulous is seen delivering a variety of his hard hitting arsenal on opponents before finally landing the Misery Whip.
- With the Silver Mountain Championship over his shoulder, Rick stands in front of a Great White North banner and gives the camera a thumbs up with a wink and his trademark smile.
- Adrianna Salvatore is shown hitting her various signature moves; her running knee, the MOAB, the Ground Zero, before being shown with the rear naked choke locked in as her eyes roll back and her tongue slide out.
- In front of a backdrop for the Unwanted, she stands with the Women's Championship over her shoulder, simply lifting her eyes up to meet the camera.
- Max LeBrun is seen hitting the Slapshot and Aneurysm on various opponents.
- Holding the Heavyweight Championship up in one hand, he 'pops the pin' with his other, winking at the same time while smirking coldly and cockily. As a result of his hand gesture:
The screen explodes outward and brings us to the arena where the opening pyro goes off around the stage. The camera sweeps across the audience, showing the electric crowd. Finally, the camera settles on the announce table where we are met by Nick Hanson in between James Reynolds and Matt Klazzic.
HANSON
"GOOD EVENING, LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, AND WELCOME TO NEW FRONTIER WRESTLING!!"
KLAZZIC
"WOOH-WOOOOOOOOOOOH!!!"
REYNOLDS
"What in the HELL was that, Matt?!"
KLAZZIC
"That's the sound of excitement, James Reynolds!! Aren't you excited?!"
REYNOLDS
"Dare I even ask, over what?"
KLAZZIC
"We're back for more NFW wrestling! Not only that, we're one week away from Season's Beatings!! Our year end show!! And after that -- like, literally, the next day -- it's Christmas!! This is turning out to be the best year ever!"
REYNOLDS
"Wow. I'm surprised."
KLAZZIC
"What do you mean?"
REYNOLDS
"Best year ever, you say. Coming from a guy who really has nothing to show for in his career this entire year."
Matt Klazzic pauses and stares, dumbfounded, at James Reynolds.
KLAZZIC
"...Ouch, Jim. I am gutted! But that's not entirely true! I've got my pride!"
REYNOLDS
"Pride? What the hell do you have to be proud over? You've gotten your ass kicked week in and week out all year. You made a big comeback, running off Adam Cole, only to have him beat your ass the next week. You racked up a measley, what 5 points in the Vlad Blackheart Memorial Tournment, and now you're stuck here on commentary."
KLAZZIC
(raising a finger, matter of factly)
"Hey, I beat Kane and Chris Wolfe in that tournament! That's nothing to scoff at!"
Matt Klazzic suddenly stops with a sense of realization seeming to come over him.
KLAZZIC
"Hey, wait...I beat Chris Wolfe. Huh...."
James Reynolds stares, painfully annoyed at Matt Klazzic as the masked man appears to start silently deducing something in his head. Meanwhile, Nick Hanson looks in between the two men before slowly shaking his head and turning to the camera.
HANSON
"No clue, folks. Anyway, as Matt said, we're one week away from our year end show, Season's Beatings and after that, the road to WrestleWar officially begins! But first, we have tonight's show. We've got tag team action: TMDK versus Taichi and Shingo Takagi of Suzuki-Gun, Vincent Stone taking on Ethan Skinner of the Dominion of Pain, Sabastian Riley Young challenging Buzzsaw for his Television Championship in a Parking Lot Brawl, and our main event - Max LeBrun and Tyler Grey versus Nico Salvatore and Chris Wolfe. AND!!"
Nick Hanson smirks, looking beside him at James Reynolds who leans back in his chair, exasperated. He says nothing but he knows what's coming as Nick Hanson turns back to the camera.
HANSON
"Something my colleague to my right here is most definitely excited for: we have, folks, the return of the Silver Mountain Champion!! Rick Dickulous is back from suspension and will be competing here, tonight in Glasgow!"
REYNOLDS
"Can I just say that I think Commissioner Brody was far too lenient with that idiot? He should have been stripped of his title and suspended for longer than just a damn month! And what about Doomsday?!"
HANSON
"What about him? He hasn't been seen since then, either."
REYNOLDS
"No, but he wasn't suspended. The raging lunatic just hasn't been around. God only knows why. Probably kidnapping babies for some demonic ritual the Dominion of Pain's planning for Christmas, or Winter Solstice. Whatever those nutjobs celebrate."
Nick Hanson shakes his head.
HANSON
"Anyway, folks. That's our card for tonight and---"
KLAZZIC
"BINGO!!!!"
Matt Klazzic suddenly springs to life from his pondering posture and throws a finger up in the air, slapping the table with his other hand. Nick Hanson and James Reynolds both almost jump out of their skin and look at him. Matt looks back at them.
KLAZZIC
"Gentlemen, I'm a genius. If you'll excuse me for just a few moments!"
With that, Matt Klazzic suddenly gets out of his seat and goes running towards the backstage area.
HANSON
"Matt? Where are you going?! MATT!!"
REYNOLDS
"What the hell is that idiot doing?!"
HANSON
"I...have no idea, Jim...."
*As Wolfmother's "Joker and the Thief" starts to play in the arena, the arena crowd stand and look to the entranceway. A moment later, Mikey Nicholls and Shane Haste come out waving towels in the air to fire up the crowd as they make their way to the ring. They take a few moments ringside to high five the crowd and even take a moment to stop at the announcer's table to high five the announce crew.*
HANSON
"How's it going, guys?! Looking pumped as always!!"
Nick Hanson happily greets Shane and Mikey as they approach, high fiving them back. Even James Reynolds stands to greet the tag team with a wry, knowing smirk on his face.
REYNOLDS
"Good luck, boys! God knows I don't say that often!"
As Haste and Nicholls turn and enter the ring, Nick Hanson looks at James Reynolds with a surprised, almost amused look on his face.
HANSON
"Wow, I'm really proud of you, Jim."
REYNOLDS
"Yeah?"
HANSON
"Yeah! You actually showed some class!"
REYNOLDS
"You know what the best part is?"
HANSON
"What's that?"
REYNOLDS
"Matt's gone and run off to do who fucking knows what and he missed high fives from his boys."
HANSON
"Is that the only reason you high fived those two?"
REYNOLDS
"HAH! Yup!"
HANSON
"Wow, you're horrible."
REYNOLDS
"Hahahaha, I know right?!"
*As they get into the ring, Nicholls and Haste stand on the turnbuckles and wave their towels over their heads as the fans throw streamers into the ring, whipping the team into a frenzy. As they step down from the turnbuckles, Shane Haste shakes hands with the ring announcer before taking the ring mic from his hand.*
"GLAAAAAAAAASSSSSSSSCOOOOOWWWWW!!!! Let me hear you!!!" Haste starts as the fans cheer wildly.
"Hey Mikey, so this is what they call a real crowd pop, eh?" Haste says to Mikey who nods in agreement while leaning against a turnbuckle.
"I knew when the opportunity came, that THIS place, NFW, was the place to be. You can have your millions, you can have your promo classes, you can have your performance centers. But for Mikey and I, the place we needed to be is right here, in front of all you fans!!!" Haste says emphatically.
"Now, to borrow a phrase from someone, 'Shingo Takagi. Taichi. Come on...over...HERE!!!" Haste says as he points in front of him as they await their opponents.
In the opening match of the evening, Shingo Takagi and Taichi defeated TMDK, by pinfall in 16:11, when Shingo Takagi planed Shane Haste in the middle of the ring with the Last Falconry and kept the leg hooked for the pinfall victory.
As "Legend Falconry" filled the arena, with Shingo Takagi and Taichi arrogantly celebrating in the ring, the camera cut back to the announce table just as Matt Klazzic was returning from backstage.
HANSON
"Everything alright, Matt?"
KLAZZIC
Peachy keen, Nick Hanson!! Peachy keen!"
REYNOLDS
"Where the hell were you?! You missed an entire match!!"
KLAZZIC
"Sometimes, James Reynolds, a man's gotta handle his own affairs!!"
REYNOLDS
"What? You know, actually...nevermind. I don't think I wanna know."
KLAZZIC
"You'll see eventually. So! What'd I miss?!"
Matt Klazzic looks passed the camera, up at the ring. Even through his mask, we see the horrid realization in his eyes and from his jaw dropping.
KLAZZIC
"Suzuki-gun won?!"
HANSON
"They did, indeed."
KLAZZIC
"Fiddle sticks!"
REYNOLDS
"Fiddle sticks...?
KLAZZIC
"Yes, James Reynolds! Fiddle sticks! I am not happy with it!"
REYNOLDS
"Can't you just say 'fuck' like a normal person?"
KLAZZIC
"Absolutely not!! There's kids that watch this show! I detest the fact that they even allow such language to go uncensored here! It's my only gripe with the company!"
HANSON
"They censor Pitt."
KLAZZIC
"Huh...true. Maybe they have a set limit of what they're able to bleep out and lord knows that man has a mouth that would make a sailor turn red."
REYNOLDS
"Say, Matt. You know what else you missed?"
KLAZZIC
"What?"
REYNOLDS
"High fives from TMDK."
KLAZZIC
"WHAT?!"
REYNOLDS
"Yes sir!!"
KLAZZIC
"OH, MOTHERF---"
The shot cuts to a commercial break before Matt Klazzic can finish.
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Standing backstage in Glasgow Scotland, Ethan Skinner is found throwing water balloons at a white sheet, apparently for the funsies. As the cameras zoom on on him he takes a moment and just waits, throwing not one, or two, but three more balloons and moves the camera away from the sheet.
“So we begin, and of course I have to mention the self styled Tap Out King first. You see it took you thirteen minutes and 5 seconds to rid yourself of the newcomer. Maybe you should put back on your Mortal Kombat costume. Why? You ask? Because the you failed to make me pay like you said you would. I didn’t tap out, I didn’t quit, I didn’t HAIL. . . TO. . . THE . . . KING. Regardless, we’ll meet again one day, and you may find yourself bowing and scraping to me, not the other way ‘round.”
Moving to sit down on his throne, with skulls at the end of the arm rests, all painted in the deepest black. Ethan leans back and looks smugly at the camera for a moment, then continues.
“So this week, I face Vincent Stone. My only question is, which Stone will I be facing? Will I be facing the man, the myth, the legend Vincent Stone? The one who toyed with greatness, the one who you could arguably say is the onus behind the mix tag team division here in NFW, due to Rosemary’s influence? Or will I be facing the broken man, before her influence? The man who lost at least three matches in a row, even after being a professional wrestler for many, many years. Which, Stone, Shows?”
Leaning back in his chair for a moment, but only the briefest of moments.
“Before you scream into the t.v. screen from your cozy digs. Before you try and froth at the mouth, spitting frivolites and inanities, it doesn’t matter which ones shows. What matters. What matters most, is what you do when you get there? My prediction, you’ll fold like a wet stack of cards. You see, here is your problem. You are likely to cut a promo, mention a catch phrase of three, spew something for the sheep you call your fans. Your so fickle, fickle fans. The problem, is all of that is old and tired. Why fickle? Why fickle you ask? Where were they when you were aligned with …. With.. Rosemary? They turned on you. Then she had to leave due to a failure of contract negotiations. She moved onto other battlefields. So you snapped out of it, and returned to your fickle fans, the ones who loved, hated, and loved you again.
I want you to be the one with enough anger to try and finish me quickly. Hence why I invoked a foe of your past. I want you to bring the fight to me, with a fire inside of you only the best can bring out. I don’t want the match to last thirteen minutes. I want you to run to the ring with righteous indignation, and spite, wanting to take my head off. Because, when I beat you, and I will, no one can say I didn’t try and sharpen the Stone, into something more useful.
Getting up from his throne and returning to throwing water balloons at the blank canvas.
Throwing a few more balloons, taking careful aim and letting the ‘pop,pop,pop’ of the dull thuds fill the void.
I guess being a lumberjack is useful though. Which of course bring me to mention that I am also a lumberjack Vincent, and win or lose during our match, they decided to give me a weapon. I mean, technically you will have one to but since you can’t even use handcuffs when prompted too, you lack finesse, and you can’t create works of art like I can. The match between Buzzsaw and SRY will be art, one for the ages.
Turning the camera around to show the wall where he was throwing the “water” balloons.
Sneering into the camera, “I can make fine art too. See you there Vincent. Ave Satanas.”
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Vincent Stone and Ethan Skinner wrestled to a double countout in 20:19 when the referee was unable to usher them back into the ring after the count of twenty. Following the bell, the brawl soon deteriorated into Ethan Skinner taking a chair to Vincent Stone with repeated shots as the referee tried to restore order and break the two up. Rather than end the confrontation, it only gave Stone enough time to regain his bearings before folding an empty chair in the crowd and spinning around, whipping it right into Skinner's face, picking it up and coming back at him with a barrage of his own before security got involved and pulled the two men apart. The shot faded to a commercial break then, advertising for Season's Beatings.
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Trans-Siberian Orchestra's "Carol of the Bells" slow intro rises as the background music. With the voice of a narrator reading each line, text appears on the screen:
Do You Love The Holidays?
A clip rolls, showing a rural neighborhood covered in snow and Christmas lights.
Do You Love Violence?
The wholesome, warm hearted feel of the ad suddenly takes on a dramatic (albeit somewhat humorous) change as the next clip shows Doomsday of the Dominion of Pain SMASHING a steel chair over an opponent's head. The crowd gives an "OHHHHHH!!!" and we hear Nick Hanson exclaim "Good GOD!!!!"
Why Not Have Both?
The melody builds to the powerful main piece as a short highlight reel depicts some of the more intense bumps seen in NFW:
- Judas Lasher delivers a vicious Lucifer's Halo.
- The Army of Darkness hit the Trip to Hell.
- Shelley Silver hits a brutal Falling Rain.
NFW Presents:
SEASON'S BEATINGS!!
LIVE in London, England
A clip rolls, showing a rural neighborhood covered in snow and Christmas lights.
Do You Love Violence?
The wholesome, warm hearted feel of the ad suddenly takes on a dramatic (albeit somewhat humorous) change as the next clip shows Doomsday of the Dominion of Pain SMASHING a steel chair over an opponent's head. The crowd gives an "OHHHHHH!!!" and we hear Nick Hanson exclaim "Good GOD!!!!"
Why Not Have Both?
The melody builds to the powerful main piece as a short highlight reel depicts some of the more intense bumps seen in NFW:
- Judas Lasher delivers a vicious Lucifer's Halo.
- The Army of Darkness hit the Trip to Hell.
- Shelley Silver hits a brutal Falling Rain.
NFW Presents:
SEASON'S BEATINGS!!
LIVE in London, England
December 24th!!
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Scene opens as we see Sabastian Riley Young in what looks to be a front yard to a residence and there are various weapons in the background
"Buzzsaw... You sir are in for your doom.. your personal hell.. you are gonna see it first hand, up close and very personal.... they say payback is a bitch... im gonna make that bitch look like a first grade catholic student... compared to what im gonna do to you... I am the Dangerous One for a reason.... and you will find out that reason..." the scene continues as we are seeing various independent wrestling videos of SRY in different matches showing his sadistic side...the scene closes as we see the last video play..........
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Following TAKA Michinoku's entrance with Zack Sabre Jr as his second, the camera shot focused high up on the crowd as the familiar yet long since unheard sound of a chainsaw being cranked up, filled the arena. The crowd immediately gave a pop before the music even started.
REYNOLDS
"Oh god...."
HANSON
"Here we go, folks!!"
KLAZZIC
"The prodigal fan favorite, ladies and gentlemen!!"
REYNOLDS
"NOOOO!!"
KLAZZIC
"HA-HA!!!!"
(with the start of the song)
As Jackyl's "The Lumberjack" filled the arena and the lights began flickering red and white, the crowd popped even louder as a familiar, enormous figure emerged from the entrance curtain. Silver Mountain Championship shining brightly around his waist, almost as bright as his pearly white smile as he raised a double thumbs up to the audience.
ARDEN
"His opponent!! From Toronto, Ontario Canada!! Standing six-foot-seven!! Weighing in at three hundred and fifteen pounds!! He is, the Silver Mountain Champion!! RIIIIIIICK DIIIIIICKULOOOUUUUUUSSSS!!!"
HANSON
"WOULD YOU LISTEN TO THIS GLASGOW CROWD?!?! THEY ARE GOING NUTS FOR THE SILVER MOUNTAIN CHAMPION!!"
REYNOLDS
"Don't let him hear you say that. He'll probably come up with one of his stupid jokes!!"
KLAZZIC
"I like his jokes!! Some of them. The family friendly ones!"
REYNOLDS
"Name one joke of his that's family friendly."
KLAZZIC
"....Okay, you've got me there, Jim."
*As Rick Dickulous makes his way into the ring, he has to be restrained by the official from going after ZSJ for his attack a few weeks ago. ZSJ stands on the second turnbuckle, motioning him to step away while TAKA stands in between them, getting ready for his match and sizing up the obvious size differential.*
"Whoa, whoa, whoa. That's enough there, sunshine. No need to get all pissy. We have Season's Beatings for that. So save up your angry pissy face for that time," ZSJ says confidentally to Rick Dickulous standing at the opposite side.
"Now, you apparently picked a lumberjack match, which is the stupidest thing you could have done Because you'll be stepping in the ring with a wrestling machine, a submission master, as my man TAKA here points out. You look like you're about ready to blow up after a minute in the ring, and you can't step out for your breather while the lads outside toss your ass back in," ZSJ says.
"But before we see the embarrassment that is you in a ring with me, tonight, you have another problem. You get to step in the ring with one of the great ring technicians of his time, yeah. You know you're in trouble when you your opponent has had not one, but two moves, named after him, yeah. You're in with a true wrestling master. He is, master of the Michinoku Driver. He is, TAKA. He is, TAKA Michinoku!!!" ZSJ says as TAKA gets to one knee and flexes.
*ZSJ calmly steps down from the turnbuckle and stands on the ring apron as TAKA takes the mic from ZSJ.*
“Rick Dickulous. COME ON...OVERR...”
Suddenly, like a human freight train, Rick Dickulous came barreling at TAKA Michinoku, knocking him slam off of his feet with such an impact, even the crowd reacted.
CROWD
"OHHHHH!!!!!!!"
REYNOLDS
"HOLY CRAP, FELLAS!!"
HANSON
"Welcome back, Rick!!"
KLAZZIC
"RIGHT?!"
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
In his return from suspension, Rick Dickulous defeated TAKA Michinoku, by pinfall in 7:51, after beating him mercilessly around the ring, taking his frustration from the previous weeks out. Once he seemed satisfied...more so bored, than anything, he lifted TAKA up onto his shoulder, giving a thumbs up...then turning it into a thumbs down.
KLAZZIC
"Say it with me, gentlemen!!"
REYNOLDS
"I will not!!"
KLAZZIC & CROWD
(With Rick)
"SORRY...NOT SORRY!!!!"
With this, Rick Dickulous planted TAKA Michinoku with the Misery Whip and folded him over for the pin.
ONE!!
TWO!!
THREE!!
Following the match, Rick Dickulous soaked in the praise from the crowd.
WELCOME BACK!
WELCOME BACK!
WELCOME BACK!
WELCOME BACK!
As the Silver Mountain Champion took his title from the referee and raised it high over his head as a message for Season's Beatings, Zack Sabre Jr taunted back from outside the ring, arrogantly chiding Dickulous as the challenger stood with Taka Michinoku leaning on him for support. "You hold onto that for me, Rick! I'll come get it next week!" Zack could be heard shouting before he turned with Taka and helped his stable mate.
The camera followed them for a comical moment as Zack walked Taka towards the back where he could be heard saying, "You alright there, mate? You did great out there!" Taka's only response, to viewers' amusement, was an exhausted and agonizing "Unnnnnngggghhhhhhh" as he dragged his feet, leaning on Zack after the beating he just took.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Cutting from ringside, the camera opened up inside a locker room. The first object the shot focused on was an open locker with an old photograph taped to the inside of an open locker door. The photograph displayed that of a small family. One might recognize the man in the picture as that of Doomsday from the Dominion of Pain. Although he lacked his mask, the sunglasses over his eyes did enough to conceal his full features. A massive, tattooed arm rested around the shoulders of a woman who looked about his same age in the image. In front what appeared to be the romantically involved couple, were two children of about ten. By now, the boy and girl would be identifiable as a young Nico and Adrianna Salvatore.
Synonymous with the shot opening came the sound of grunts and huffs as the sound of someone hitting a heavy bag could be heard. The camera slowly panned from the locker, moving along the wall until it settled on a mirror. Through the reflection, the modern day, grown Nico Salvatore came into view, working a heavy bag with a pair of full on boxing gloves like the bag itself owed him money. His grey tank top was already soaked in sweat as more perspiration ran down his arms and face, dripping from his hair. Nico struck with a force that would make Iron Mike nod in approval but danced around the swaying bag with a grace that would impress even the late, great Ali -- using the bag's momentum caused by hit punches to practice his footwork and evasion. As impressive as it was to behold, the look on the Urban Gladiator's face wasn't just focused. It was downright...angry.
"Bro. Right now? You look how I feel." Chris Wolfe walked into the frame, in jeans, army boots, and a white towel around his neck. He carried himself like a man with a grudge, a man far removed from the happiness AND the self-doubt he'd been overcome with the last few weeks. "Remember... do whatever you want to LeBrun... but leave Grey for me. I'm gonna give that son of a bitch the beating I should've given him back when we were still in the indies."
Nico remained silent for a few more blows into the bag. What sounded like they would be rib cracking punches slammed into the leather before the man some also referred to as the "Son of the Beast" caught the bag in his arms and stopped it from swaying. "Dead ass, bro? I could give a fuck about Grey. He's all yours." Pulling off his gloves, Nico reached out a hand asking for the towel. The man wiped his face and neck, pushing his dark blonde hair out of his face as he moved to a bench in the locker room and grabbed a bottle of water. "If his ass steps to me, though, you're gonna have an easy time picking his ass apart. What I'm more torn about is how bad I beat Max's little bitch ass, tonight. As much as I'd love to send his ass out of here on a four month recovery like his little lap dog that got his face kicked in, I have to save the worst for Season's Beatings." He sipped from the water bottle, grimacing. "Kinda fuckin' name is that for a show anyway? Brody needs to come up with some new ideas. Or was that one from the new GM broad?"
"Broad? Make her sound like an old lady, bro." Wolfe replied with a laugh, shaking his head. "I get you though. Just do me a favor, man. In that title match? Learn from my mistakes. I figured... "I beat him once? I can beat him again". And I never stopped to think about how much harder a man's gonna fight when his livelihood is on the line."
"Hey, I'm not saying I wouldn't still smash." Nico stopped, looking around as if to ensure no third party heard that before looking back to Chris. He turned serious then, sipping more water before setting it down and moving back over to the bag, minus the gloves this time. "Real shit, though. I hear you on one hand. But on the other? I don't think Max knows what it's like to be on the receiving end of a personal beef. He sealed his fate with that shit when he ran his fuckin' mouth. On top of that? He's at the top of the ladder with nowhere else to go. Me? I've got everything to gain...and nothing to lose." Nico rolls his neck, loosening up. "His bitch ass wants to talk about dangerous? He's gonna find out first hand next week. And after that? Big Ben ain't gonna be the only clock ringing in fuckin' London." Raising his fists up again, Nico began throwing more shots with just his taped fists into the bag.
"I wish you all the luck, brother." Wolfe told him, completely sincere. "And for that matter, if you DO take that title home? I wanna be one of the first to challenge you for it." He said, nodding to himself. He meant it: Nico may have an arrogant attitude, but he was a hell of an athlete, and Chris knew deep down he'd also make a hell of a fighting champion. "These guys are goin' down tonight, partner. Just watch each other's back, make sure Morrison and the others don't get involved, and we got this bitch."
Nico slugged the bag with a handful of shots before stopping the bag again and looked at Chris. "Man...you know I get along only with as many people that I can count on my fingers. But for someone who's been a legit friend to A without any ulterior motive bullshit? First shot's all yours, bro." He fist bumped the man who had frankly been there for his sister when none of her other family could. With that said, Nico went back to hitting the bag. His fists, now without gloves and only taped, sounded a lot deadlier against the canvas as the camera focused on the two men before cutting away.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"Mr. Young." The calm, almost scarily eloquent voice of The Buzzsaw opened the scene, "Last week... you impressed me. I don't find myself saying those words often these days. Yet in this case, it's deserved. You were still taken out.... but you lasted far longer in the ring with me than most of your peers have. Especially your friend Ryan." When he mentioned Steele, a sadistic grin could be seen forming beneath the black and red mask.
"However, there IS a difference between respect and tolerance. I respect the effort you gave last week. But I will not tolerate you continuing to think you are on my level. I have already beaten you in the ring. Proven beyond a shadow of a doubt that I am better than you. So now you've decided to challenge me to a fight. As if even the ability to strike me with weapons will enable you to better me. You are delusional, Mr. Young. Last week, I beat you. But tonight? I will break you."
The door opened then, the suit-clad form of Judas Lasher walking into the frame. "Buzzsaw."
The Television Champion looked over, bowing his head in respect to his leader. "Yes, sir."
Lip curling into a sneer, Lasher placed a hand on his apprentice's shoulder. "I understand your experiment. And what you're trying to do. But an example must be made. It's time to put your dog down, son."
Buzzsaw paused, before nodding. "I will do what must be done, sir."
"See to it then." Lasher huffed, turning before walking out as abruptly as he'd arrived.
The shot cut away to another commercial....
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The Parking Lot Brawl was more or less for NFW but reminiscent of another one-off classic match from the late 90's. Taking place in the parking lot of the arena, several cars were parked and arranged in a wide circle, in addition to several weapons strewn about and set up for the competitors.
The lack of any music of indoor fanfare made the setting feel a little more serious than other Television Title matches. Several members of the NFW roster were present as spectators of sort, sitting either on the roofs of the cars or standing safely back between a pair of them as referee James Greer stood in the center of the circle of headlights with a skullcap and NFW windbreaker to fight back the freezing, Glasgow weather.
Entering from the arena itself, Sabastian Young and Buzzsaw made their way into the same circle. Even with Buzzsaw's mask still being worn, both men appeared in street clothes befitting of the inevitable winter street fight.
What ensued was a street fight, indeed. The referee was there, solely, to maintain relative order and make the pin count or announce the submission. For 17:02, Young and Buzzsaw beat the absolute HELL out of each other in a shockingly even matchup. The spectating superstars served as a small audience, banging on the cars and hollering for their pick to win. Shouts filled the night throughout the parking lot.
"C'MON, YOUNG!! KICK HIS ASS!!"
"FUCK HIM UP, BUZZSAW!!!"
In the climax of the match...no, not match...the fight, Buzzsaw finally retained the Television Championship, hitting Young with a martial arts counter kick from the ground right in the midsection as the challenger came towards him with a baseball bat. Then, Buzzsaw grabbed the nearest weapon he could get his hands on -- a rack of flourescent light tubes -- and smashed it over Young's head with a splintering sound of exploding glass. The audience of roster members voiced their reactions plain and clear.
"OH SHIT!!!"
"GOOOODDDD DAAAAAAAMN!!!!!"
As Young fell back onto the pavement, crumpling, Buzzsaw threw himself over the man as the referee dropped down and slapped at the ground with a gloved hand.
ONE!!
TWO!!
THREE!!
HANSON
"Well, and now we know who Havok is gonna have to get ready for come Season's Beatings!"
REYNOLDS
"This is gonna definitely be a match I don't wanna miss."
KLAZZIC
"If I'm being completely honest, I can't even pick a favorite out of the two. I detest both of them as human beings!"
REYNOLDS
"If you can even call Havok human...."
HANSON
"Can you call Buzzsaw human?"
KLAZZIC
"Good question, Nick Hanson. Good question...."
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Inside a locker room, the camera opens on a shot of Tyson Law, kicked back on a bench against a locker with his phone in his hands. He swipes his finger to the side, shaking his head. He pauses, grimaces and swipes again before muttering, “Goddamn.... Some ugly ass hoes on this shit! I can’t wait to get back stateside.”
“What the hell are you doing over here?” The voice of Max LeBrun precedes his appearance in the frame as he slides his bicep cover on and leans over to peel at Tyson’s screen as the man raises his phone.
“Scopin’ out the local Tinder chicks. I think Braveheart had that shit twisted with the English wanting to bang all the Scottish girls and take over. Either that, or them fools had low standards.”
Max stops dead in his actions and stares, dumbfounded at Tyson. He says nothing, blinking away the confusion as he steps away. “You do you, man.” Offscreen, we hear Tyson: “I sure as fuck ain’t doing any of these bitches.” Max ignores him and moves over to where Tyler Grey is. “Big dog!” He says in greeting, offering a fist bump. “You good?”
With a bitter, spiteful smirk, Tyler fist-bumped Max, nothing but malice and sadism in his eyes. "I'm ready to beat the fuck out of my little bitch of an ex-partner. So yeah. I'm good." He said, glaring into the camera, as if aiming his glare directly at the commentators at ringside.
“That’s what I wanna hear.” Max claps a hand onto Tyler’s shoulder, turning to the camera as well and pointing to the man. “You see this guy, here? All of you. Take a good look. This is what you get when you shit on honest to god talent and leave them behind. They turn on your sorry ass...like an angry dog.”
Max snatches up a sleeveless Renegades: Rebels Without A F### To Give t-shirt and pulls it on. “See, most people like to see being referred to as dogs as an insult.” He shakes his head. “Me? I see it differently. You see, a dog can be the most loyal companion a person ever has. Man’s best friend, all that shit. Stick by their side. Protect them. So long as they’re respected back and taken care of. But then you have those idiots who neglect the dog and don’t give them what they need. What they deserve. They just ignore him and stop caring. And that’s when - BAM!” He snaps his fingers in front of the camera. “You get your ass bit! And that’s if you’re lucky. That’s if you’ve only neglected the one. But you have some people who have more than one. Sometimes even just two. And when they decide to strike back, it isn’t just a bite. That’s when you see shit on the news of neglectful or abusive owners being mauled to death. Ripped apart! And those dogs will never trust anyone again, outside of their pack. Well this....” He motions between him and Tyler, “...is the sight of just two out of a pack who are sick of being stepped on and walked over. Yeah, I’ve got the Heavyweight Championship. Because I took it by force. You could say I had to bite the hand that used to feed me. But once a rabid dog gets a taste for blood?” Max forms that sinister smirk on his face and shakes his head. “That thirst is unquenchable. The only thing more dangerous than this dog, however....” He slaps Tyler in the chest. “Is this one. This motherfucker is still hungry. He’s practically starving for what he has coming to him. And he can smell it. Ain’t that right? Tell these idiots.” He says to Tyler, giving him the floor as he steps back.
"Everyone out there... the fans? Hanson? Reynolds? Klazzic?" Grey sneered, practically snarling as he spoke. "You all thought Chris was gonna be the big breakout star. Every one of you arrogant, know-nothing, pieces of shit overlooked me just so you could suck Wolfe's dick over a couple fluke wins in the Blackheart Tournament. You're all a bunch of bandwagon-jumping whores. You should go hang out with Connors' well-used ass, because you all can't wait to suck the dick of who you think is gonna be the next big deal."
Max winced in amusement as Tyler let out his pent up thoughts. “Jesus, am I glad you’re on our side. You are fucking SCARY when you get pissed off.” Max looked back at the camera, pointing at the Renegade’s newest member from the bottom of the frame.
“We told everyone the Renegades were done fucking around. We told everyone we were taking over. Every...goddamn...division! Tonight...Chris Wolfe finds out, first hand, what it’s like to be taken down by the throat by someone who was once completely loyal to him. As for you, Nico Salvatore, I’m not even sweating your ass, tonight. Sure, I’m gonna soften you up for next week when I remind you that you ain’t shit. After that, it’s onto WrestleWar. Tyler here’s got three obstacles that he’s gonna tear through and get what’s due to him. Judas, I haven’t forgotten about you. Shit, as it stands, you may end up helping my boy here out with one of those idiots. But I’ll be ready for your ass when the time comes. You just better make sure you’re ready for me.”
With that, Max turned to Tyler and clasped his hand like a brother in arms. “Let’s do this, T. You ready to eat?”
"Goddamn right." Tyler grumbled, face literally quivering as his rage threatened to boil over. "Time to break some motherfuckers in two."
The camera angle faded to black, then, as Max pulled on his entrance vest and pulled his hood up over his head, leading the way for him and Tyler Grey, out of the locker room....
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
In the main event of the evening, Nico Salvatore and Chris Wolfe defeated Max LeBrun and Tyler Grey, by pinfall in 24:40. While Wolfe and Grey had broken out into a brawl at ringside, Max appeared to gain the upper hand against Nico and was setting up for the Slapshot. As he waited for him to turn around, however, Chris Wolfe overwhelmed Tyler Grey and threw him over the barrier, into the crowd. On a split second whim, then, he climbed to the top turnbuckle and came off of it with a Somersault Missile Dropkick to the back of Max LeBrun. As the champion stumbled forward, Nico Salvatore scooped him up over his shoulders, hitting a quick GFY for the pinfall.
ONE!!
TWO!!
THREE!!
KLAZZIC
"AND HOPEFULLY, THAT'S A PREMONITION OF WHAT WE'LL SEE ON SEASON'S BEATINGS!! NICO SALVATORE HAS PINNED MAX LEBRUN AGAIN FOLKS!!"
REYNOLDS
"Oh bullshit! He wouldn't have been able to if it weren't for Chris Wolfe!!"
HANSON
"Hey, that's his tag partner for the match."
REYNOLDS
"He wasn't the legal man! He should have stayed out of it!"
KLAZZIC
"Oh, like Tyler Grey would have stayed out of it if the situation was flipped!"
REYNOLDS
"You say that when he's laid out at ringside!! Real rich, Matt!!"
HANSON
"Alright, you two. Hash it out backstage, later. Anyway, that's our show for tonight, folks! Remember, you won't wanna miss Season's Beatings next week, in London as we wrap our UK Invasion Tour AND our broadcasts for the year!! December 24th!! Title matches left and right!! Scores being settled!! We'll be there! We hope you join us!! For Matt Klazzic and a very upset James Reynolds, I'm Nick Hanson! So long, ladies and gentlemen!"
REYNOLDS
"Fuck you, Nicky!!"
Fade out and credits roll....
Inside a locker room, the camera opens on a shot of Tyson Law, kicked back on a bench against a locker with his phone in his hands. He swipes his finger to the side, shaking his head. He pauses, grimaces and swipes again before muttering, “Goddamn.... Some ugly ass hoes on this shit! I can’t wait to get back stateside.”
“What the hell are you doing over here?” The voice of Max LeBrun precedes his appearance in the frame as he slides his bicep cover on and leans over to peel at Tyson’s screen as the man raises his phone.
“Scopin’ out the local Tinder chicks. I think Braveheart had that shit twisted with the English wanting to bang all the Scottish girls and take over. Either that, or them fools had low standards.”
Max stops dead in his actions and stares, dumbfounded at Tyson. He says nothing, blinking away the confusion as he steps away. “You do you, man.” Offscreen, we hear Tyson: “I sure as fuck ain’t doing any of these bitches.” Max ignores him and moves over to where Tyler Grey is. “Big dog!” He says in greeting, offering a fist bump. “You good?”
With a bitter, spiteful smirk, Tyler fist-bumped Max, nothing but malice and sadism in his eyes. "I'm ready to beat the fuck out of my little bitch of an ex-partner. So yeah. I'm good." He said, glaring into the camera, as if aiming his glare directly at the commentators at ringside.
“That’s what I wanna hear.” Max claps a hand onto Tyler’s shoulder, turning to the camera as well and pointing to the man. “You see this guy, here? All of you. Take a good look. This is what you get when you shit on honest to god talent and leave them behind. They turn on your sorry ass...like an angry dog.”
Max snatches up a sleeveless Renegades: Rebels Without A F### To Give t-shirt and pulls it on. “See, most people like to see being referred to as dogs as an insult.” He shakes his head. “Me? I see it differently. You see, a dog can be the most loyal companion a person ever has. Man’s best friend, all that shit. Stick by their side. Protect them. So long as they’re respected back and taken care of. But then you have those idiots who neglect the dog and don’t give them what they need. What they deserve. They just ignore him and stop caring. And that’s when - BAM!” He snaps his fingers in front of the camera. “You get your ass bit! And that’s if you’re lucky. That’s if you’ve only neglected the one. But you have some people who have more than one. Sometimes even just two. And when they decide to strike back, it isn’t just a bite. That’s when you see shit on the news of neglectful or abusive owners being mauled to death. Ripped apart! And those dogs will never trust anyone again, outside of their pack. Well this....” He motions between him and Tyler, “...is the sight of just two out of a pack who are sick of being stepped on and walked over. Yeah, I’ve got the Heavyweight Championship. Because I took it by force. You could say I had to bite the hand that used to feed me. But once a rabid dog gets a taste for blood?” Max forms that sinister smirk on his face and shakes his head. “That thirst is unquenchable. The only thing more dangerous than this dog, however....” He slaps Tyler in the chest. “Is this one. This motherfucker is still hungry. He’s practically starving for what he has coming to him. And he can smell it. Ain’t that right? Tell these idiots.” He says to Tyler, giving him the floor as he steps back.
"Everyone out there... the fans? Hanson? Reynolds? Klazzic?" Grey sneered, practically snarling as he spoke. "You all thought Chris was gonna be the big breakout star. Every one of you arrogant, know-nothing, pieces of shit overlooked me just so you could suck Wolfe's dick over a couple fluke wins in the Blackheart Tournament. You're all a bunch of bandwagon-jumping whores. You should go hang out with Connors' well-used ass, because you all can't wait to suck the dick of who you think is gonna be the next big deal."
Max winced in amusement as Tyler let out his pent up thoughts. “Jesus, am I glad you’re on our side. You are fucking SCARY when you get pissed off.” Max looked back at the camera, pointing at the Renegade’s newest member from the bottom of the frame.
“We told everyone the Renegades were done fucking around. We told everyone we were taking over. Every...goddamn...division! Tonight...Chris Wolfe finds out, first hand, what it’s like to be taken down by the throat by someone who was once completely loyal to him. As for you, Nico Salvatore, I’m not even sweating your ass, tonight. Sure, I’m gonna soften you up for next week when I remind you that you ain’t shit. After that, it’s onto WrestleWar. Tyler here’s got three obstacles that he’s gonna tear through and get what’s due to him. Judas, I haven’t forgotten about you. Shit, as it stands, you may end up helping my boy here out with one of those idiots. But I’ll be ready for your ass when the time comes. You just better make sure you’re ready for me.”
With that, Max turned to Tyler and clasped his hand like a brother in arms. “Let’s do this, T. You ready to eat?”
"Goddamn right." Tyler grumbled, face literally quivering as his rage threatened to boil over. "Time to break some motherfuckers in two."
The camera angle faded to black, then, as Max pulled on his entrance vest and pulled his hood up over his head, leading the way for him and Tyler Grey, out of the locker room....
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
In the main event of the evening, Nico Salvatore and Chris Wolfe defeated Max LeBrun and Tyler Grey, by pinfall in 24:40. While Wolfe and Grey had broken out into a brawl at ringside, Max appeared to gain the upper hand against Nico and was setting up for the Slapshot. As he waited for him to turn around, however, Chris Wolfe overwhelmed Tyler Grey and threw him over the barrier, into the crowd. On a split second whim, then, he climbed to the top turnbuckle and came off of it with a Somersault Missile Dropkick to the back of Max LeBrun. As the champion stumbled forward, Nico Salvatore scooped him up over his shoulders, hitting a quick GFY for the pinfall.
ONE!!
TWO!!
THREE!!
KLAZZIC
"AND HOPEFULLY, THAT'S A PREMONITION OF WHAT WE'LL SEE ON SEASON'S BEATINGS!! NICO SALVATORE HAS PINNED MAX LEBRUN AGAIN FOLKS!!"
REYNOLDS
"Oh bullshit! He wouldn't have been able to if it weren't for Chris Wolfe!!"
HANSON
"Hey, that's his tag partner for the match."
REYNOLDS
"He wasn't the legal man! He should have stayed out of it!"
KLAZZIC
"Oh, like Tyler Grey would have stayed out of it if the situation was flipped!"
REYNOLDS
"You say that when he's laid out at ringside!! Real rich, Matt!!"
HANSON
"Alright, you two. Hash it out backstage, later. Anyway, that's our show for tonight, folks! Remember, you won't wanna miss Season's Beatings next week, in London as we wrap our UK Invasion Tour AND our broadcasts for the year!! December 24th!! Title matches left and right!! Scores being settled!! We'll be there! We hope you join us!! For Matt Klazzic and a very upset James Reynolds, I'm Nick Hanson! So long, ladies and gentlemen!"
REYNOLDS
"Fuck you, Nicky!!"
Fade out and credits roll....
