FRIGHT NIGHT II (052)


PRE-SHOW
ISTVAN BATHORY VS. EL FUTURO

Istvan started this match on fire as El Futuro seemed to be outta sorts. The much bigger Istvan using his size to his advantage early on in this one. El Futuro tried to utilize his speed to slow down the early momentum of Istvan but Istvan hits El Futuro with a big Jack Hammer that slows El Futuro down.

El Futuro was picking up the pace and wearing down on Istvan who was slowly becoming gassed. El Futuro showing off an array of high flying maneuvers. One of them the Swanton Bomb that rocks Istvan. El Futuro gets the crowd into the match as the pops come from everywhere, but Istvan slows them down when he connects with a big boot that sends El Futuro over the top ropes.

The match has been going back and forth at this point. Not one man being able to take full control. They both go back and forth until Istvan nails El Futuro with punch that sends Futuro into the corner where Istvan unloads some more punches before hitting Futuro with The Full Moon and going for the pin. The ref drops down and makes the cover as Istvan picks up the victory.

Winner: Istvan Bathory (5:23)

B A C K S T A G E

The steel door leading to the Parking Garage is center of the screen as the cameras cut to backstage. Suddenly the door is pulled open from the other side and in walks Underground Champion, Niobe Martin. She removes sun glasses as she enters the building and behind her, having held the door open comes Jason Cashe. Yawning before he hears some music playing somewhere and begins going bobble head.

NIOBE: “Where was the locker room? Do you remember the number?”

CASHE: “Nah you know me, I’ll use the bathroom if need be. We’ll find it though.”

As the uncommitted “Couple” head deeper into the hallways, the traffic is picking up as staff low and high are already running around the large room where catering and everything is setup for the entire show. This room connects to every hallway in the backstage. Plucking a grape off the table lined with food, Cashe smacks as he chomps down on it, still following behind Niobe. That’s where Gabriel Hartman seen them as he races over in a jog.

HARTMAN: “Jason! Niobe! I’m glad I caught you!”

CASHE: “Niobe look, it’s Hartman!”

NIOBE: “I can see AND hear him..”

Extending a friendly hand, Jason Cashe looks to shake Hartman’s hand. Old friends the two have been even before 4CW but this was common knowledge. Hartman shakes the hand of the former 4CW Champion as he hurries to get some questions in.

HARTMAN: “Putting aside the Main Event tonight, I have to ask. Niobe…are you ready for the Challenge that Nathaniel Havok has been at one point in his career? His return was on your behalf and now you sit defending the Underground Championship against the “Source”, how are you feeling?”

NIOBE: “He made the mistake in his return to think he could jump right to the top of the ranking. Fight for the Title I have earned and fought to keep around my waist. I’m not worri–“

CASHE: “Havok ain’t nothing but a past tense bitch, straight up! This the same fool who has for the last handful of years has tried calling me out, talking shit but each and every time we close quarters? He wants to chat, play nice.”

HARTMAN: “Jason I must ask…Are the rumors true? Are you spreading yourself thin? Finding the last few moments of glory you can grab before your clock stops?”

You can see that the questions, the mere mention of these things brought a nasty taste to Jason’s mouth as he slides his tongue along the front of his gaped top teeth.

HARTMAN: “I didn’t mean to offend you I jus–“

Holding a hand up to cut Hartman off, Cashe leans over and kisses Niobe on her cheek. A hard pressed kiss, pulls away from her and begins walking down Gabriel Hartman.

CASHE: “Tonight, you will see two things. You and everyone else will see that I am FAR from finished and that will be proven not by my victory tonight but my Actions. Dakota spoke on Addictions, I been on that feed tube. Filling my veins, feeling the stream of Addiction flow through the blood stream and tonight? I’ma get my fill.”

HARTMAN: “Don’t hurt me but….What’s the second thing? You said two things..”

Pausing, Cashe turns back to Niobe Martin and looks directly at her Underground Championship. Facing Hartman again, he gives the 4CW Interviewer what he wants.

CASHE: “We’re gonna make sure our priorities are aligned..I’ll be accompanying Niobe to ringside for her match.”

NIOBE: “Wait, what?! No, No, no!”

Surprised at her abrupt approach of disapproval. Cashe looks confused as Niobe makes her case.

NIOBE: “You don’t need to be down there! Focus on your match tonight..It’s just not a good plan Jason..”

CASHE: “How you figure? Who knows Havok better? Who can make sure he doesn’t cheat to beat you, it’s the only way he can!”

NIOBE: “How do I say this? Umm…Ok let’s say you’re down there! Havok scoops me up and hits some move, drops me on my head. Or he hits the ropes closest to where your standing? You’ll get involved either way!”

CASHE: “Whaaa!? Me? Noooo!”

She gives him a look, he begins laughing. Nodding because she wasn’t wrong. Havok just pointing or looking wrong towards Cashe could spark the flame for him to get involved.

CASHE: “Fine. You right..”

Turning back to Gabriel Hartman. Jason Cashe smiles and steps in close.

CASHE: “Tonight…Watch me work…”

Stepping back and getting to Niobe’s side, Cashe puts an arm around her neck and shoulders. The two walk past Hartman and Cashe hard pats him to the side of the shoulder.

PRE-SHOW
OTTO CORBAN VS. KHRIS YOUNG

The bell sounded and Corban looked to start the match off quickly but Young was the one who was with quick maneuvering. Young catches Corban with a DVD into a DDT that rattled Corban. Khris stayed on the attack, keeping Corban to the mat using his submission game before Corban gets back to his feet looking to explode but once again the vet keeps him in check with his savviness.

Growing impatient Corban desperately begins swinging for the fences looking for anything to pick up the pace. He catches Khris Young with a tough flying knee but Khris isn’t down for long as he keeps the momentum on his side with quick strikes. He hits Otto with the move he calls First Impression and looks like he rips Otto in half. He goes for the pin but Otto kickouts at two.

With the match fully in Young’s hand he begins to toy with Otto catching him with quick suplexes here and there. When it looked like Otto was about to deviate Young with a Spinebuster Young reverses and capitalizes with a huge Hysteria that leaves Otto down for the count as Young goes for the pin and this time gets it as he returns to Four Corners Wrestling with a victory.

Winner: Khris Young (5:36)

B A C K S T A G E

Pumpkins

Two massive pumpkins.

But hey, it’s Halloween time and people love pumpkins. Especially when they’re flesh colored, attached to the chest of a hot woman and are half hanging out of an extremely tight low cut top. These pumpkins just so happen to be those type of pumpkins, and they’re attached to none other than Starla Von Grant. Yes, it has been a while since we’ve seen her assets and the very disinterested or disapproving look on her face as she smacks away at some chewing gum, but not much has changed in the few months it seems. Tonight, she has more of a redheaded thing going on with bright red lipstick and too much eye shadow. Next to her is none other than her brother, Max Von Grant. Max has a pair of pumpkins, however, they are small orange pumpkins with happy faces drawn on them which he holds up close to his chest. His eyes are starring directly at his sister’s pumpkins in the most inappropriate slash creepy way possible, he even licks his lips a couple of times. Starla holds a phone up to her ear and rolls her eyes.

STARLA: “I swear to God, Brody Lee better show up tonight. His lazy ass better not be sitting on that chair of his watching ‘Last Man on Earth’ again. Last time he watched that show he ended up spending nearly all of the rent money on making that tequila swimming pool.”

“Dammit, voice mail!”

“He said he was going to be here, right Max?”

That’s when Starla turns and notices that her brother’s eyes are locked directly onto her chest, Max is even rubbing the two smaller pumpkins he is holding close to his chest a little bit as well. Starla pulls her shirt up which forces her brother to break eye contact and actually look up towards her face.

MAX: “Um… yeah.”

STARLA: “I’m up here.”

MAX: “Right. I mean, yeah, Brody Lee said he was going to be here tonight to explain to the world why he disappeared for two months. He even was writing a speech when I left him.”

STARLA: “This is an important question now Max. When he was writing the speech was he sitting in the chair?”

Max goes silent, he thinks about it for a moment and then gives a deep sigh as he nods his head ‘yes’ which causes Starla to roll her eyes.

STARLA: “He’s not coming then.”

MAX: “Probably not then.”

STARLA: “Dammit, Max. I told you to make sure that he didn’t sit down on that chair, I told you before you left make sure that he was standing and nowhere near the Netflix.”

MAX: “There’s a lot of good stuff on the Netflix.”

STARLA: “I hate the Netflix.”

MAX: “Still, some good stuff there.”

STARLA: “Shut up, Max.”

Starla holds the phone up again, dialing in the process, angry in the process, not really liking the process, speaking of processes that touchdown catch the Lions had against the Bears didn’t complete the process. She shuts off the phone and smacks the pumpkins out of the hands of Max who looks rather confused.

MAX: “Voicemail?”

STARLA: “Two rings! Two rings! He shut off his damn phone again!”

MAX: “Oh yeah, third season of Hemlock Grove.”

STARLA: “We got stood up.”

MAX: “Again.”

STARLA: “I’m canceling the fucking Netflix.”

With that, Starla charges off as Max follows behind her and we fade to black.

PRE-SHOW
UNDERGROUND CHAMPIONSHIP

NATHANIEL HAVOK VS. NIOBE MARTIN ©

As the bell rings Nathaniel comes out of his corner first but Niobe meets him halfway, sending a boot into his gut. Havok holds on, trapping her foot, but Martin counters with a dragon whip! As he starts to get to his feet Niobe is already moving, blasting him in the face with a discus back elbow the moment he stands! As Havok goes down he manages to trip Niobe up with a drop toe hold, but she catches herself on the ropes before she can fall into the turnbuckle.

JOHNSON: “Quick thinking by Niobe.”

VASSA: “I generally protect my face too.”

Havok is back on his feet, bouncing off of the ropes and charging at Martin, but she leans forward and flips him over to the mat with a back body drop. Like a bolt of lightning Niobe climbs the turnbuckle and sails off for a corkscrew elbow drop right into Nathaniel’s sternum! Havok rolls across the mat, clutching his chest in pain. As Martin reaches down to pull him up by his blonde streak he sends her reeling with a palm strike to the face.

VASSA: “Ooh, a cheap shot to stop Niobe in her tracks! I guess Nathaniel will do whatever he has to.”

JOHNSON: “It’s true. Niobe Martin has been on fire tonight. Havok just can’t get any momentum.”

Nathaniel follows up with a clothesline. Niobe hits the mat from the impact and rolls all the way through to land in a crouch. As Havok charges her again she pops up for a stunner that lays him out on the canvas! Without hesitation she goes for the pin!

ONE!

.

.

TW—KICKOUT!!!

Havok gets the shoulder up after just two.

JOHNSON: “Almost! Niobie Martin almost put Havok away for another successful defense of the Underground title.”

VASSA: “You know what they say, Steve! Almost doesn’t count.”

Niobe keeps her head, leaving Nathaniel on the mat and climbing the turnbuckle once more. Havok gets to his feet quickly, trying to knock her off the top rope. The two exchange several shots before Niobe grabs hold and throws her body over his for a sunset flip! Martin scrambles across the mat and tries to lock on a crossface, but Nathaniel is able to get his hands on the ropes easily.

VASSA: “Smart move by Havok. If he wants to turn this match around he is going to have to dig deep.”

JOHNSON: “Since winning the title Niobe has been unstoppable.”

As they get to their feet Havok grabs Niobe’s arm, whipping her toward the ropes. Martin hops up and launches off of the second rope, twisting midair and taking him down with a springboard hurricanrana! Niobe stalks across the ring, grabbing one leg as she starts to get him into position for a camel clutch, but he kicks her off! Nathaniel gets to his feet quickly, grabbing Martin by the hair. The referee intervenes, warning him about the illegal hair pulling.

JOHNSON: “Nathaniel is resorting to dirty tactics tonight. I have to wonder what has brought a former champion so low!”

VASSA: “Sometimes you have to do what you have to do, Steve.”

As Havok’s back is turned Niobe dives in behind, rolling him up in a small package!

ONE!

.

.

TWO!

.

.

THREE!!!

DING!!! DING!!! DING!!!

VASSA: “Just like that.”

JOHNSON: “Niobe Martin did it!”

VASSA: “It wasn’t pretty, but the Underground Championship is still caught firmly in her grasp!”

FRIGHT NIGHT [052]
BARCLAY’S CENTER BROOKLYN, NEW YORK
OCTOBER 28TH, 2015

Without an empty seat in the house, we open with an overhead view of the inside of Barclay’s Center. “War Is The Answer” by Five Finger Death Punch plays over the speakers, barely even being heard with the fans in attendance screaming in unison. Looking over the crowd, a few various signs stick out and grab the attention of the camera.

Queen Banks

EVERYTHING DIES

Perry Is My Dad

FREEDUMB STFU

We then change views to the announcers booth at ringside where Steve Johnson and Mike Powers both sit, dressed to impress and waiting to officially get the evening underway. With a stack of papers in front of him, Steve Johnson looks over some notes while the man beside him, Vinny, pours himself a drink. Noticing the camera, Vinny quickly elbows Steve in the side of the arm and then nods his head towards the camera. After adjusting his tie, Steve then looks at the camera as it slowly moves closer to the booth.

JOHNSON: ”Good evening ladies and gentlemen and welcome to 4CW Fright Night! I’m your host, Steve Johnson, and the man beside me is the one and only, Vinny Vassa.”

VASSA: ”Indeed I am! Welcome to the show folks!”

JOHNSON: ”We have finally made it to Fright Night! It’s been a bumpy ride along the way but here we are at the Barclay’s Center in Brooklyn, New York!”

VASSA: ”We have a very exciting night planned as well.”

JOHNSON: ”We do Vinny, we really do. Every 4CW Championship is on the line tonight! The landscape of 4CW Champions could change drastically tonight.”

VASSA: ”We even have two championships on the line in one match.”

JOHNSON: ”Before we get to our main event let’s go over a few big matches on the card tonight. First up, the Pride Championship will be on the line in our opening match as Seamus O’Connor will be defending the championship against John Austin.”

VASSA: ”These two have been going back and forth over the last few weeks. For a moment there, it looked as if Jason Cashe was going to find his way into this match but all that changed three weeks ago when he threw it all away and practically gave John Austin the number one contender spot.”

JOHNSON: ”I wouldn’t necessarily say that he gave it away. He just went completely crazy inside of the ring and got himself disqualified.”

VASSA: ”Call it what you will. The man had an opportunity to become the number one contender and he threw it away.”

JOHNSON: ”His loss is someone else’s gain and John Austin will look to capitalize on the opportunity presented before him.”

VASSA: ”You know what match I’m looking forward to? I’m really looking forward to this Lion’s Den match between Lord Raab and Chris Madison.”

JOHNSON: ”You and me both, Vinny. Ever since Chris Madison made his presence felt at Ante Up, he and Lord Raab have tried to rip each other to shreds. The awaited showdown between these two finally comes to an end as they will climb inside of the cage with one another.”

VASSA: ”This is going to be an awesome match! The only way to win is by submission or knockout. This match will have a huge MMA influence so it’s something different for the folks at home watching.”

JOHNSON: ”It surely is something far different than what we’ve all grown accustomed to. With the hatred those two possess for one another, anything is bound to happen insi9de of that cage.”

VASSA: ”That’s what we want to hear!”

JOHNSON: ”For our headline this evening, we will finally conclude the tournament for the 4CW Tag Team Championships and the cash prize of twenty five thousand dollars!”

VASSA: ”Money, money, money! I want to see someone make it rain in here tonight!”

JOHNSON: ”What started out as twelve teams just a few weeks ago, it all comes down to three final teams facing off in the ring. CJ O’Donnell and Cyrus Riddle, the Distinguished Archetypes, will be taking on the team of Bryan Williams and Aidan Carlisle, and the 4CW Tag Team Champions, Gold Standard, Francis Dart and Drew Stevenson!”

VASSA: ”This is going to be one hell of a match but only one can walk out of here tonight with the championships and butt-load of cash!”

JOHNSON: ”If that wasn’t enough for you all, we still have the main event on the schedule for tonight!”

VASSA: ”We have the 4CW Championship! We have the Extreme Championship! We have the Fright Night Warzone of Horrors!”

JOHNSON: ”That’s right folks! Six people will enter and only two, maybe even one, will walk out of here a winner tonight!”

VASSA: ”It’s going to be a stacked match from top to bottom! We have Bronx Valescence, Lo’Renzo Porter, Jason Cashe, Jair Hopkins, the Extreme Champion Dakota Smith, and the 4CW Champion, Felicity Banks!”

JOHNSON: ”The Warzone was voted 4CW 2014 Match of the Year. Will this years win the award? We’re just going to have to wait and see!”

VASSA: ”We also have quite a few matches mixed in throughout the lineup folks so it’s guaranteed to be an exciting night!”

JOHNSON: ”You can say that again, Vinny, but don’t. We’re going to go backstage for a few moments as we get ready to kick the evening off. Sit tight ladies and gentlemen!”

VASSA: ”We’ll be right back!”

Faint red rays of light danced across the otherwise black enclosure, as they emanated from the bright red EXIT sign, and remained the only visible entities. The soft drip of water from a sizable height echoed throughout the room, registering within the senses both a calming and an eerie feel. The drip was slow, but steady, making itself known once every six seconds. The scene was relatively serene, if not, atypical of one folks might typically find at the start of a major pro-wrestling supercard. For almost a minute, the scene remains unchanged, until finally, another sound boomed into viewers’ consciousness.

“Our father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name. Thy kingdom come, thy will be done on Earth, as it is in Heaven. Give us this day, our daily bread, and forgive us all our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us. Lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil…”

Drip… drip… drip…

“I always used to start out talkin’ to you that way, but, I don’t know if that was just my thing or if I was s’posed to do that. If my form is off, you know…I’m sorry. Anyway, I haven’t, uh, spoken to you, in a while. I think it’s been since…shit, maybe I was seven? Eight? I’m sorry about that. I, uh…I just…I don’t know. I’m still trying to come to grips with everything that happened back then and since then, and if that’s a sin, which I know it probably is, to question you…then, I’m sorry for that, too. I haven’t found it within me, yet, to stop doing that, but I’m…I’m tryin’. I’m tryin’ real hard. I don’t like being filled with anger all of the time, I don’t…and then having to play it off, like I’m cool, like I’m not about to explode with rage at any second. You know that. If you built us, you know you didn’t build us THAT way. At least, I…at least, I hope you didn’t. If I trust anything about you, it’s that you MEAN to do right by most of us.”

Drip… drip… drip…

“I, uh…I never really know how this works. Is it bad for me to ask you for anything? Is that being selfish? Is that being un-Christian of me? Sinful? Should I only pray for others, like I used to? Remember, I used to think I could, uh…handle everything, even at seven, eight years old. I don’t think I’ve ever asked anything of you, outright, for just myself. In fact, I know I haven’t. I deliberately haven’t.”

Drip… drip… drip…

“If you’re real, and you’re up there, and you’re guiding us…if you’re the giver of opportunity and the presenter of paths, then…you’ve given me the ability to…to be here. You’ve given me the ability to realize my dream. As we speak, I am just about twenty or thirty minutes from the biggest moment of my life, which you’d know, if you are real. Sorry I keep sayin’ that…sometimes, I have no filter when it comes to words. Then again, I guess, if you’re real, you already know what I’m sayin’ in my head. Can’t help that, right? Might as well just doubt openly.”

Drip… drip… drip…

“Anyway, what I’m getting’ at is…if, uh…if, you know…if you see fit to watch over…not just me, but all of us. Folks I don’t know, folks I’ve just met…we’re all about to go to war. We’re about to bleed and break bones. Some folks’ in this building’s spirits will be broken. Some folks’ll see their only shot at their childhood dream come and go, right before their eyes. Some friendships will form, but more will be broken. Some folks will be inspired, but more will just SCREAM for more blood…outta me. Outta Aidan Carlisle. Outta Bryan Williams. Outta Lord Raab. Outta Jair Hopkins. Outta Jett Wilder. Outta Rob Hewitt. Outta Felicity Banks. Outta Jason Cashe. Outta Drew Stevenson, Kellen Shaw, Kat Jones, Dakota Smith…Cyrus Riddle and C.J. O’Donnell…you’re omnipotent, so you get the point, I guess. Instead of asking you to carry me aloft to victory, God, I’m askin’ you to watch over all of those folks, as any tragedy that might befall one of them, could certainly befall me. Just…I don’t know…just, please make sure everybody’s cool when this, undoubtedly, insane night is done.”

Drip… drip… drip…

“I’m done rambling, I guess, seein’ as you already know everything that’s goin on in my fuckin’ head, anyway, if you’re real. I just wanted to touch base with you, and uh…you know…um…thank you…for this opportunity…to seize this moment. To live my dream. I probably won’t make a habit of this, as I already feel stupid, knowing that, if you’re real, you already know all of this anyway. I just…I guess, I had to say it out loud. Thanks again. I’ll be in touch…in my thoughts…like always, I guess. I never really worked out what ‘Amen,’ means, so I guess I’ll just say…cheers.”

Drip… drip… drip… silence, aside from the leaky shower head, pervaded the nearly unlit room, until the door beneath the “EXIT” sign burst open and the middle row of lights in the locker room flicks on. Carmella Wilder stood in the threshold, as voluptuous and tantalizingly tempting as ever, with a relatively perplexed look on her face, which was almost an afterthought when one took note of her naughty schoolgirl Halloween outfit.

WILDER: “What the heck are you doing on the floor, Boston?”

Shooting to his feet, as if he was already in “mid-motion” he quickly and awkwardly walked over to the back end of the room, and tightened the lever on the shower door.

BOSTON: “I, uh…I fell. Slipped, fell, decided to rest my head on the bench, there…think about…to think on that the minor accident for a while. What, uh- what- what are you up to?”

Carmella raises an eyebrow, obviously not believing Boston’s idiotic excuse. She did, however, decide not to invade his privacy, and instead, focused on invading other parts of his mind.

WILDER: “Just seein’ if you were amped up for your match, tonight! Wondering if there’s anything I could do to boost your…energy.”

BOSTON: “You just being here, saying things and looking like that…is already hurting me. Seriously, no offense, you’re awesome, but get the fuck out.”

Smiling coyly, Carmella knew exactly what Boston meant.

WILDER: “Should I bother looking into any legal ease regarding your ‘accident?”

BOSTON: “I’m fuckin’…fuckin’ fine, thank you, now seriously…also, I’m sorry if that sounded dickish.”

Carmella winked, turned slowly and seductively, and made her way out of the dressing room.

BOSTON: “That chick…I’m gonna get fuckin’ fired before Christmas.”

Looking toward the tiled ceiling above, Boston adds one last comment to his prior conversation.

BOSTON: “Also, if you could let her, please, bang Perry Wallace, so he’ll lose interest and not kill me when I do, that would be…well, all the things I said earlier, first, but THEN, if that could happen, you know. Anyway, cheers.”

OPENING MATCH
PRIDE CHAMPIONSHIP

JOHN AUSTIN VS. SEAMUS O’CONNOR ©

JOHNSON: ”Here we go with our first match of the night ladies and gentlemen. Seamus is defending his Pride title against John Austin in what sure is to be an outstanding match between the two men.”

VASSA: ”Yes indeed, it is the tough Irishman against the self-proclaimed Magic Man of 4CW. Let’s take a look at how this all came about.”

After the video package finishes playing, we cut back to ringside.

POWERS: ”The opening contest is for the 4CW Pride Championship! Introducing first, from Raleigh, North Carolina… he is the challenger …the MAGICCCC MANNN…. JOOOHNNNN AUSTINNNNN!!!!!”

The opening to Satan’s Sister begins to play throughout the sound system of the building. Smoke fills up the entrance way as John slowly makes his way through to a chorus of “boos” and “traitor”. He turns his back to the camera as we clearly see the words “Magic Man” on the back of his ring jacket.

JOHNSHON: ”Here comes in my opinion Seamus’ toughest opponent to date. Now Seamus already has two victories over Austin but tonight is a different story. This time the title is on the line and I expect John to do whatever it takes to pick up the victory tonight.”

VASSA: ”Seamus has said in past interviews that he intends to go after Austin’s troubled right knee, will Seamus make good on his claim tonight?”

He turns around with a cocky smile upon his face and slowly makes his way to the ring. John casually walks up the ring steps and into the ring without a care in the world. He climbs upon one of the turnbuckle and raises his fist in the air with pride. He hops back down and begins to run the ropes as he awaits for his opponent.

The arena flashes between green, white and orange lights. “The Spicy McHaggis Jig” by Dropkick Murphy plays. He comes out with a shillelagh in one hand and the Pride title in the other. He runs out on stage does a heel click. Before walking to the ring, he tries to amp up the crowd to make noise. He steps into the ring and run up to the second rope and plays to the crowd with his arms out. He holds his title up in the air as Austin looks at it with intent.

POWERS: ”His opponent….he is the 4CW Pride CHAMPION….. SEAMUSSSSSSS O’CONORRRRRRRRRRRRRR!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

VASSA: ”Look at John, he can’t take his eyes off the title.”

JOHNSON: ”This is his time, it’s either put up or shut up for John.”

Seamus places his shillelagh down by the ringside along with his title. He enters into the ring and John goes right up to his face. Both men are nose to nose talking up a big game as the fans are going nuts at ringside. John laughs to himself then slaps Seamus right across the face. The sound echoes through-out the arena. Seamus holds his face and smiles. He shakes his head as if to say “So this is how it’s going to be?” Seamus quickly tackles John to the mat and begins to tag his jawline with rights and lefts.

VASSA: ”John awoke Seamus, look at those rights and lefts from the Irish-man. John still hasn’t got off his ring jacket yet!”

The ref breaks up the scuffle between the two men. John slides out of the ring and throws his jacket off down in disgust. He slides back into the ring and goes after Seamus. Both men lock up in the center of the ring like two bulls locking horns. John goes to whip Seamus into the ropes but Seamus reverses it and sends John bouncing back. He catches John with a beautiful powerslam. Seamus goes after John’s legs but John rolls away to the ropes. The ref backs Seamus off as fans begin to boo through-out the arena.

JOHNSON: ”Seamus was going for that bad knee of John’s but John took the coward’s way out.”

VASSA: ”What do you expect? If you had a crazy Irish-man threatening to rip off your leg and beat you with it, you would roll away to safety too.”

John goes back to the center of the ring and locks up with Seamus. John places a side headlock on Seamus. John sweeps Seamus’ legs and takes him down. John begins to tighten the pressure on Seamus as fans begin to chant “traitor” at John Austin. The ref asks Seamus if he wants to quit but he tells the referee “NO”.

JOHNSON: ”Looks like the chants of “traitor” is starting to get under John’s skin.”

Seamus is able to roll Austin up in a unique pin but Austin quickly kicks out at the count of one. He goes back to the seated side-headlock. Seamus tries to do the exact pin again but Austin kicks out before the referee can count. Austin breaks the side headlock and quickly stomps at the head of Seamus. He picks up Seamus and whips him into the turnbuckle. John comes running towards Seamus but he moves out of the way and John hits the turnbuckles chest first.

VASSA: ”Oooo not a good landing for John.”

Seamus comes from behind and hits a belly to back suplex sending Austin down to the mat. He goes after John’s legs once again and locks in a painful cloverleaf submission. He begins to wrench back on the right knee of John. John screams out in pain as fans begin to chant “TAP TAP TAP”

JOHNSON: ”Seamus has that cloverleaf locked in tight. He said he was going after that knee and he made sure of that promise….This is it for John!”

VASSA: ”Tell these fans to shut it up! Don’t tap John…don’t tap.”

John reaches out for the ropes but Seamus pulls him back to the center. John begins to bite his own hand so he can’t tap out. Austin begins to wiggle around and is able to throw Seamus off balance to break the hold. Austin clutches at his knee as Seamus tries to regain his bearings. Austin whips Seamus into the ropes but Seamus reverses it and hits his trademark sitout spinebuster as Austin bounces back off the ropes. Seamus hooks the leg as the ref counts the pin.

ONE

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TWO

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.

KICKOUT!!!

The fans let out a gasp as Seamus picks John back up. Seamus places John over his shoulders and goes for the “Drunk Landing” but Austin is able to rake the eyes of Seamus. Austin gets off Seamus’ shoulders and chop blocks him. Austin goes behind and sending Seamus down to the mat with a vicious German suplex. He still has Seamus locked up in a go behind and sends up and back down with yet another German suplex.

VASSA: ”John is sending Seamus to suplex city, ha ha I LOVE IT!”

JOHNSON: ”He still has the go behind locked in..how many will it take to put Seamus down?”

Austin sends Seamus down with yet another German but this time he bridges for the pin. The ref flies down to the canvas to count.

ONE

.

.

TWO

.

.

THR–KICKOUT!!!

Seamus throws his arm out to break the count at the very last second. The fans irrupt into cheers, the sound is almost defining and this is only the first match! Austin picks up Seamus and goes for another German but Seamus blocks it. He brings John over with a snapmare and tries to lock in a side headlock but John rolls back over to the ropes. He makes his way up to his feet and runs after Seamus. Seamus catches John in and hits him with the Irish Kiss. John falls down and Seamus quickly goes for the pin

JOHNSON: ”THE IRISH KISSS!!!!!!!! This is it….Seamus has retained it.”

VASSA: ”John’s out cold!”

ONE

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.

TWO

.

.

THR–KICKOUT!!!

Seamus thinks he won the match but the ref informs him that John placed his foot on the bottom rope. The fans break out into a chorus of boos. Seamus goes to talk to the ref and state his argument. John slowly gets up to his feet and shoves Seamus into the referee. Both the ref and Seamus go down hard as the fans begin to chant “BULLSHIT BULLSHIT”

VASSA: ”The fans may not like it but John is doing what it takes to stay in this”

JOHNSON: ”You can’t expect much from the Magic Man.”

Austin reaches over and grabs Seamus’ shillelagh. He holds it up high in the air and begins swinging it around. Seamus gets back to his feet and when he turns around, he receives a knock-out shot to the jaw with his own shillelagh. Austin throws it over the top rope and quickly falls on top of Seamus for the pin. The ref slowly makes his way over to count.

ONE

.

.

TWO

.

.

KICKOUT!!!

JOHNSON: ”SEAMUS KICKED OUT! LISTEN TO THESE FANS!!!!!!!!”

VASSA: ”Pshhh Luck of the Irish.”

John looks on with anger. He begins grabbing at what hair he has on his head and tries pulling it out in frustration. Seamus begins to slowly move around as does the ref. John goes to pick up Seamus but he deadweights him. John begins to put the boots to Seamus to keep him down.

JOHNSON: ”Seamus will not stay down. John tries to cheat and he still can’t put Seamus away!”

VASSA: ”Wait a minute, John looks hurt…”

John quickly kneels down and begins grabbing at his right knee. The grimace on his face shows that he is a good amount of pain. He pulls down the kneepad of the bad knee to expose the bare skin. He starts to rub the kneecap to get some feeling back in it. He limps back up and walks to the opposite corner. He turns around and taps at his knee. He raises two fingers up in the air and is motioning for Seamus to get up.

JOHNSON: ”He is signaling for that Million Dollar Knee-Lift, it John can hit this, we may have a new champion.”

Seamus begins to slowly get back up to his feet. John comes running like a freight train and connects hitting Seamus with the Million Dollar Knee-Lift with his bad bare knee. Both Seamus and John go down hard. Seamus is out cold as John is grabbing at his knee in severe pain. He slowly crawls over and throws his arm over Seamus. The ref slowly makes the count.

ONE

.

.

TWO

.

.

THREE!!!

DING!!! DING!!! DING!!!

The bell rings signaling the end of the match. Satan’s Sister begins playing through-out the arena as the fans cheers are mixed.

POWERS: ”Your winner and NEWWWW 4CW PRIDE CHAMPIONNN…. THE MAGIC MANNNNN…. JOHNNNNNNN AUSTINNNNNNN!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

JOHNSON: ”JOHN DID IT! “

VASSA: ”What an opening match here at Fright Night! “

JOHNSON: ”You gotta figure at what price did John pay? Seamus capitalized on the bad knee of John’s early on with that vicious cloverleaf submission. You could tell through-out the match that his knee was bothering him. He paid the ultimate sacrifice but he did it, he finally became Pride Champion.”

VASSA: ”Seamus’ stock has certainly risen with this match. John brought everything to Seamus. I mean he hit the Stampede, he sent him to Suplex City and even hit him across the jaw with that stick but he still would not stay down. I may not like Seamus but I can tell you this, he is one tough man and I hope we get to see a rematch between these two. “

Gold Standard comes to the ring to attend to John. Freedom and Drew help John to his feet and begin to congratulate him. The referee goes to hand John the Pride title. EMTs come out to check on Seamus as video replays of the ending is shown. EMT’s help Seamus out of the ring and towards the back. Austin is seen limping around the ring, holding the title up in the air.

We cut backstage to find Gabriel Hartman not actually backstage. Nope instead he is sitting in one of the arena’s loft suites. Joining him are three individuals, two women and a man. The man is checking something on his smartphone as one woman is checking out the drink selection while munching on some grapes. The one sitting closest to Gabriel though is the one the fans recognize. Rocking a Fright Night tanktop along with her jeans and boots, the Orion Promotions Echelon Title draped across her waist we see Tanya Black as she munches on some cheese and sausage.

HARTMAN: “Miss Black I was just–“

BLACK: ”Just Tanya. I’m here to party, not to be worshiped.”

HARTMAN: ”Ah well okay then. Tanya. What exactly are you doing here in 4CW?”

BLACK: ”For tonight I just want to watch some incredible wrestling. I had a chance to play mentor for Boston for a few weeks so I’m really anxious to see his match in a few minutes. I really hope Boston does great here. I’m a fan of wrestling Gabriel. I go where the best wrestling is and that means 4CW.”

“Hell I even got my lawyer, Daniel, there and his wife, Stephanie, to drive up from Boston to keep me company. Steph is my BFF after all.”

STEPHANIE: ”Tanya sweetie you remembered the flavor syrups. I am going to mix you my special kick-ass cherry vanilla cola.”

BLACK: ”Hellz Yeah! Oh um… sorry G.H. Stephanie used to be a bartender so she makes great drinks of all kinds.”

Gabriel just nods and ignores that as he stares at the title belt around Tanya’s waist. He knows it’s not a recognized championship here in 4CW but it’s still impressive.

HARTMAN: ”So Tanya. What happens after tonight? I’ve heard you signed a guest talent contract here with 4CW.”

BLACK: ”Well of course I did. I told you I go where the best wrestling is and 4CW is talent top to bottom. That is talent that gets me excited to test myself against. I don’t care if it’s Underground or Adrenaline. Someone wants to fight me, just call me out. Perry Wallace wants to feed me to one of his people, all he has to do is tell me to get my ring gear. Champs or Rookies I just want to fight.”

“Remember G.H. I am The Sinful Angel. I have one foot in heaven and one foot in hell. I’m a good girl now but I never really stopped being wicked in that ring. Find me the meanest, cruelest wrestler in this company and I’ll go No DQ all night long with them. Find me a honorable wrestler who has nothing but a desire to get better through experience and we’ll put on a clinic and find new limits together.”

“I made my name by wrestling anything and everything. As long as I’m standing I will leave it all in the ring and do my damndest to steal the show! But not tonight. Tonight I am a fan. Because how can you not be a fan of these folks. That Warzone of Horrors match is going to be off the chain!”

HARTMAN: ”Well I am sure that everyone on both Underground and Adrenaline rosters will be more than happy to wrestle a veteran talent like yourself Tanya. Especially one who has proven she can still win gold when it’s on the line.”

Tanya nods and laughs as she rubs the faceplate of her title, interrupted from answering as Stephanie hands a glass complete with straw to both Tanya and Gabriel Hartman. Our intrepid interviewer hesitates a moment then sips at the drink.

HARTMAN: ”Wow that is a kick-ass soda.”

STEPHANIE: ”All about the cherry and vanilla ratios. And getting quality syrups.”

Tanya just nods as Stephanie goes to sit in Daniel’s lap as everyone turns to the ring in time for Boston and Rob Hewitt to go to war.

MAIN CARD
BOSTON VS. ROB HEWITT

“From Whom The Bell Tolls” blares over the PA system. The screens above the entrance ramp flash in bright orange and red with “RABID” emblazoned across the four screens in black. Rob Hewitt makes his way down to the ring to lukewarm and polite applause, grinning at the crowd and pointing to random fans wearing a “Rabid” shirt. He makes a quick jogging circuit around the ring, slapping hands with anyone who bothers to extend one, then rolls stiffly into the ring and raises an arm to the crowd, fingers extended like claws.

POWERS: “Coming down to the ring, from Bristol, England….ROOOBBB HEEWWIITTTTT!!!”

JOHNSON: “Well folks, we got us a good one here tonight. “Rabid” Rob Hewitt takes on Boston.”

VASSA: “Boston?”

JOHNSON: “Yes, you heard me correctly.”

It’s so loud, inside my head,

With words that I, should have said,

As I drown, In my regret,

I can’t take back, The words I never said…

The soft, opening words to “Words I Never Said,” by Lupe Fiasco, featuring Skylar Grey, linger through the arena to an inquisitive audience, new to this entrance’s cue of what’s soon to come. After Skylar Gray’s voice serenades the audience with a soulful expression of sorrow, the beat drops over the PA system, as loud as sound crew will allow, Boston walks through the curtain, his chin cocked at a forty five degree angle, in relation to his neck, his glistening blue eyes, reminiscent of a rapidly thawing lake, are set dead forward on the ring before him.

I really think the war on terror is a bunch of bullshit

Just a poor excuse for you to use up all your bullets

How much money does it take to really make a full clip

9/11 building 7 did they really pull it

At a medium pace, he walks toward the ramp, where he remembers, suddenly, that there’s about ten times more folks here, in this place alone, than he’s ever experienced, contained, in his life, period- let alone, when he was the center of attention. Remembering first impressions are everything, he remembers to flash his trademark smile at 4CW’s guests, which makes the women in the crowd (the majority of them, anyway), swoon and grab the attention of any female counterparts who happen to be missing out on this, apparent, life changing event. Boston smiles and points a few of them out, until he realizes he wants dudes to like him, too, at which point, he immediately shifts to giving fist bumps to men whose partner just locked away a visual of who their boyfriend or husband would take the form of, just about three or four hours from that moment.

Uhh, And a bunch of other cover ups

Your childs future was the first to go with budget cuts

If you think that hurts then, wait here comes the uppercut

The school was garbage in the first place, that’s on the up and up

With about a quarter of the ramp left to traverse, Boston notices his proximity to the ring, and immediately shifts his focus away from exuding universal charisma, and toward the match at hand. Eyes narrow, jaw clenches on and off, almost as a tick, Boston finds the his zone. Boston slides beneath the ring ropes, and begins loosening up. His stare held out toward the audience, with slight gestures of acknowledgement here and there. After stretching his calves on the turnbuckles, quickly, he rips off his black beater and throws it into a sea of screaming women and their men, pretending not to notice.

POWERS: “And his opponent, from Dewey Beach, Delaware…BBOOOSSSSTTOOONNN!!!”

VASSA: “Well folks, looks like we’re all ready to get this thing started.”

JOHNSON: “Ring dat bell!”

Boston and Rob circle each other as the match is underway, Boston is a bit hesitant to move in as Rob taunts him. Rob wants him to shoot in, but Boston understands that his Catch Wrestling style would be too much to handle. Rob tries to cut the distance, shooting in himself with a double leg. He’s able to get behind Boston, wrapping his arms around his waist and taking him down to the mat. Rob uses his forearms to clobber the back of Boston’s head, he tries to lock in a rear naked choke.

JOHNSON: “Rob Hewitt already looking to use that Catch Wrestling style he has, very old school.”

VASSA: “I wanted to make some kind of old person’s joke here, but I just couldn’t bring myself to do it.”

Boston isn’t having any of it, in a show of strength he stands up to his feet. Rob holds on tight, not letting go, Boston stumbles backwards and slams Rob into the corner. Rob’s grip loosens, allowing Boston to turn around and level Rob with a forearm shot. Boston charges at Rob, who brings up a boot that Boston quickly eats. Boston stumbles backwards, Rob levels him with a running clothesline out of the corner. Rob quickly picks Boston back up, grabbing him again and slamming him to the mat with a Belly to Belly suplex. Rob quickly covers for the pinfall attempt.

ONE

.

.

TWO

.

.

KICKOUT!!!

JOHNSON: “Big Belly to Belly, but Boston powers out!”

VASSA: “Rob is going to need to keep this kid down for as long as possible, Boston doesn’t seem like the type who will quit that easy.”

Boston powers out, Rob Hewitt sure that his opponent was down for the three count. Boston gets to his feet, as Rob rains down shots to the back of Boston’s head. Boston reaches back, his right arm winding back far enough so that Rob cannot see it coming. The haymaker connects, sending Rob Hewitt stumbling into the opposite corner!

VASSA: “The Back Pocket connects!”

JOHNSON: “That is the definition of a out of nowhere type move. Lets see if this turns the tide for him.”

Boston quickly springs to action, he smashes into Rob with a corner clothesline. And in one quick motion, Boston tosses him out of the corner and onto the mat. Boston springs up to the top turnbuckle, crashing down onto his opponent with a 450 Splash!

JOHNSON: “450! Look out!”

VASSA: “This kid has some moves, I’ll tell you that.”

Rob Hewitt staggers up to his feet, Boston runs to the ropes, crossing his opponent who stands there dazed in the middle of the ring. Boston hits the other side, jumping into the second rope and springboarding off with a front dropkick to his opponent! Rob Hewitt gets tossed backwards, falling out of the ring to the outside.

VASSA: “He’s just so graceful in the ring, very majestic.”

JOHNSON: “Like a beautiful peacock, I think Boston is about to fly here.”

VASSA: “I’m pretty sure that peacocks cannot fly, Steve.”

Boston looks to the New York crowd, he hypes them up as he hits the ropes once again. Amazingly he pulls out a backhand spring, twisting and jumping over the ropes onto his opponent below!

VASSA: “WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT?!”

JOHNSON: “That looked to be some kind of gymnastic maneuver, I’m not quite sure but it looked cool as shit.”

The outside dive worked perfectly, as Rob Hewitt is down and not moving much. Boston gets up, picking his opponent up and tossing him back into the ring. Boston quickly moves over to his downed opponent, covering him for the pin.

ONE

.

.

TWO

.

.

KICKOUT!!!

VASSA: “Not quite enough there.”

Rob Hewitt still has some life left in him, but Boston is determined to end this match now. Both men get to their feet, Rob grabs the back of Boston’s head and levels him backwards with an european uppercut. Boston almost falls down, but his back hits the ropes and keeps him upright. He leaps towards his opponent, connecting with a flying forearm shot! A quick second later, and Boston is following that up with a superkick that levels his opponent!

JOHNSON: “Superkick party!”

VASSA: “Shut up, Steve.”

Rob Hewitt is out on his feet, allowing Boston to pick him up in a Fisherman’s Suplex position. He lifts his opponent up, quickly dropping him on his head. The fisherman’s brainbsuter connects, and Boston looks to the top rope next to him with evil intentions. A smile comes over his face, the crowd fully behind him as he leaps up to the top turnbuckle. He motions for the crowd to get off of their feet, as he attempts another 450 Splash. The rotations are good, and Boston lands KNEES FIRST on the sternum of his opponent.

JOHNSON: “BILLY HOYLE’S REVENGE!!”

VASSA: “I’m not sure who Billy Hoyle is, but with a move like that he must be pretty pissed. I think Rob Hewitt is out.”

Boston confidentially walks back over to his downed opponent, making the pinfall cover.

ONE

.

.

TWO

.

.

THREE!!!

POWERS: “Here is your winner, BBOOOSSSTTTOONNN!!!”

“Words I Never Said” begins to play again, Boston hopping up onto the turnbuckle to celebrate his victory here tonight with the fans. The New York crowd seems to love him, his style and energy flowing very well for them tonight. The camera cuts to some replays of Boston’s offense, as we go back to ringside.

VASSA: “What a showing from Boston here tonight, I’m thinking we just got a small taste of what is to come.”

JOHNSON: “Very much indeed, Boston looks to be a great talent here for 4CW. What a pickup by Perry Wallace!”

VASSA: “Who would have thought a drunk encounter in Atlantic City would lead to something like this?”

JOHNSON: “Definitely not me! I have had only bad times in Atlantic City…very…bad times.”

Cut to the backstage area, where Bryan Williams is standing by the gorilla position. He isn’t dressed for his match yet, but has just finished watching Boston’s match. Boston finally comes through the back, where Bryan is standing there with a smirk on his face.

WILLIAMS: “Hey man, congrats out there! Way to give everyone a good show tonight.”

BOSTON: “I do what I do. Old man river, out there…he wasn’t quite sure what to make of the flips and springboards. I think he might have had a minor stroke about two and a half minutes in. I asked him if he was alright, but I don’t speak British- I speak American, cause we’re in America, ya know?”

WILLIAMS: “Well yeah…but I mean…It is all English, right?”

BOSTON: “I’m terrible with accents. Plus, they have words, like…words, that sound like I should know them, but I don’t, so then I feel stupid. Their accents also feel, generally, condescending. Like, super nice, but…in a patronizing way. You’re not fuckin’ smarter than me, Reginald. Ya know what I mean?”

WILLIAMS: “Uhh…yeah? Hey, anyway, those were some nice moves out there. I really mean it!”

Bryan sticks his hand out, towards Boston to congratulate him for his performance tonight. Boston returns the gesture and grasps Bryan’s hand with a casual handshake, snapping his fingers after completion.

BOSTON: “Uh, shit, sorry about the snap, there, it’s a…just, force of habit…and about the foreigner rambling…I get all amped up out there, sometimes, I…yeah, so, THANK you, for that, man, that means a lot, coming from you. I mean, I think…you’re in a big match, so I assume you’re good. No, well…I mean, you’re here, you’re definitely good, I didn’t mean- than- thank you. Thank you. I like to…jump. A lot…”

Boston shakes his head, nervously scanning the cement below him, as if he was looking for his relaxed, “cool” nature, he had apparently misplaced. As the two of them talk Jett Wilder now enters the scene looking a bit lost, however he’s unable to avoid their eye contact.

WILDER: “Oh hey guys.”

WILLIAMS: “Cheese? Is that you?”

Bryan nudges Boston, pointing over towards Jett.

BOSTON: “CheeeEEEEEse…didn’t we lock you in the dumpster, as a kid?”

Jett doesn’t laugh at all.

WILLIAMS: “Seriously though, Jett how the hell are ya? You and your mom doing alright tonight?”

Before Jett has the chance to answer, Boston interrupts, the dots almost visibly connecting in his head and eyes.

BOSTON: “Hey, sorry about all that…disrespect…just, blatant disrespect I threw your way on the internet. Something about a computer screen and thousands of miles of distance between words and consequences makes me feel alright about saying terrible things about people. So, yeah…sorry. Also, hi, I’m Boston. ”

Wilder glares over at him clearly not forgiving of his harsh words on Twitter,

WILDER: “Whatever. Only reason I even know who you are is because my mom, sees something in you. Not sure what exactly. But anyways, why don’t you two watch my match coming up. Show you how it’s done out there.”

Bryan steps in between the both of them, Boston clearly not about to do anything in response to Jett’s words.

WILLIAMS: “Now Jett, I think you should hang out with Boston a bit more. Did you watch his match out there tonight? This guy is going to be a tour de force around here in 4CW.”

Boston smiles like an idiot at Bryan.

BOSTON: “Hey! Thanks, man! I appreciate that!”

Turning his attention toward Jett.

BOSTON: “A tour de force, Jett. I don’t speak German, French, or whatever that phrase is, but I’m pretty sure it’s awesome.”

WILDER: “It’s a bicycle race. Idiot.”

Jett looks at Bryan and laughs at Boston for not knowing what it means. Boston can be seen mouthing, “Lance Armstrong,” as he nods softly to himself.

WILLIAMS: “Alright boys, let’s back this up a couple of paces. I’m seeing a lot of hostility in this room, I wanna take it down a notch and really get to the root of this problem here. Jett, why do you hate Boston and his luscious head of hair so much?”

BOSTON: “Actin’ like my hair ain’t luxurious, when you know it is, bitch…”

WILDER: “His hair looks stupid! And I hate him because he said I have autism. I don’t know what it means but I know it isn’t good!”

Bryan shakes his head, sighing slightly.

WILLIAMS: “Alright, here is what we need to do. We need to get on some common ground here, find some things you both like and dislike. Who knows, maybe you both have the same interests?”

With a straight face, eyes squinting with intensity, Boston answers Bryan’s question.

BOSTON: “Dislikes? People that show VERY telltale signs of autism that don’t get it fully checked out. Like, REALLY exhaust all avenues to be POSITIVE they’re not autistic. Likes? Women with huge boobs that are my agent, who I could but don’t bang, because Perry Wallace also finds her highly attractive…and, I don’t wanna fuck with him, because he seems like…not a business guy, and more of a King Swingin’ Dick guy…between us, of course. Jett, don’t say a fuckin’ word, man! I know I’ve continued to disrespect you, but that’d be SOOO fucked up.”

WILDER: “Bryan. This guy is lame and my mom doesn’t even really like him. Sick of talking to him. So you are either hanging out with him or me!”

Jett throws it on Bryan to pick a side.

WILLIAMS: “Hold the phone! I got one more idea, okay guys? Just…bear with me here.”

BOSTON: “I’m not playing laser tag with this little prick.”

WILLIAMS: “Easy, Boston. Now, on the count of three, name your favorite dinosaur. Don’t think about it, just name it, okay? One. Two. Three!”

BOSTON: “Stegosaurus.”

WILDER: “Amargasaurus.”

WILLIAMS: “Name your favorite 90’s family sitcom, played on ABC’s TGIF block of programming throughout most of the decade.”

BOSTON: “Does ‘Major Dad’ count?”

WILDER: “I don’t watch sitcoms.”

WILLIAMS: “Favorite movie with Scott Bakula as the lead role?”

BOSTON: “They’re all classics…Unnecessary Roughness, if I had to choose.”

WILDER: “The third Major League, the best I might add.”

Bryan slaps his leg.

WILLIAMS: “See! There you go, you guys are BEST FRIENDS now!”

Bryan tussles Jett’s hair, walking past Boston giving him a good slap on the shoulder. Bryan looks happy with his work, leaving Jett and Boston alone in awkward silence.

BOSTON: “I’m going to be honest with you, Jett. I don’t know if Scott Bakula is enough to keep us really on this high level of mutual affinity.”

Jett shakes his head, scoffs and walks off leaving Boston all alone with his man bun.

MAIN CARD
NOVA WONDER VS. KAT JONES

POWERS: ”The following contest is scheduled for one fall. Introducing first from Seattle, Washington weighing in at one hundred and twelve pounds…NOVA WONDERRRRRR!!!”

The lights in the arena go to complete darkness. The almost eery, lullaby-sounding entrance chimes to “Sex Metal Barbie” began to play over the PA system before the beat began to pick up and the heavy guitar riff accompanied the big screen video of Nova Wonder. A slight, sparkly slither could be seen on the stage, getting a clamor from the crowd. A pulsing silver light ominously begins to flicker in the arena, its pattern mimicking a heartbeat.

Excuse me can you tell me what you’ve heard about my life?

Maybe a dirty little fairy tale, a girl of the night

I heard that I grew up filthy, a trailer park queen

Drop out pregnant statistical teen

I know you’ve heard about the bloody knife

About my daddy’s perfect virgin and my mother’s wife

You know I heard I don’t belong in this game

Still you hold your hands in the air screaming my name

Let’s go!

At the sound of Maria Brink’s scream, a single, glowing, red eye emerges in the darkness. There’s just enough light to see Nova Wonder crouched on one knee, lifting her head and opening her eyes. One red glow in the dark contact is placed in, the other half of her face covered in a dystopian robot cybernetic half-mask. The spotlights all form into one at the turn of a dime, on the crouching Nova.

Baby go ahead

I’ll be your hatred and your pain

This is killing us all

I don’t care if I fall

We’re the dying, we are the damned!

Slowly – mechanically – she rose from one knee to two. Her head glancing at the ground, her feet shoulder width apart. Her long, blonde hair hides her already half-hidden face.

Baby go ahead

I’ll be the villain you can blame

I’ll be the belle of the brawl

Be the lust in us all

I’m the diva of the damned

I heard I don’t belong in this scene

Sex Metal Barbie, Homicidal Queen

The guitar riff gets a little heavier, as she raised her head. The look on her face is one that is completely stoic, heavy black makeup on the contact-wearing eye. One hand raises, at a snail’s pace. Her fist unfurls, opening to reveal the tattoo on the inside of her right palm: the Illuminati pyramid, including its all-seeing eye. That hand furls back into a fist, then fingers pointed into a gun, pointed at the center of the ring.

Excuse me can you tell me the worst thing you’ve heard about me?

Maybe that I’m a little harlot homicidal queen

You know I heard that I don’t belong in this scene

Sex, Metal, Barbie, Whore, attention fiend

You know I heard that I’m a hater’s dream

No class, White Trash – I’m so obscene

You know I heard that I should be ashamed

Still they hold their fists in the air screaming my name

Come on!

Her pace down the ramp is slow and calculated, eyes focused on the ring in front of her. Everything seems methodical, from the slow pace of her breathing to each dragging step. At the foot of the ramp, there’s finally a break. A wicked grin curling her lips up to the sky.

Baby go ahead

I’ll be the villain you can blame

I’ll be the belle of the brawl

Be the lust in us all

I’m the diva of the damned

“The Deathbringer,” as she calls herself, gave a stern glance to the camera – allowing it to take in every intricate detail of her half-mask and the piercing glow of her single, red eye. A machine built for destruction is the best way to describe the robotic appearance of Nova Wonder. Climbing into the ring underneath the second rope, she retreats to one corner, resuming her crouching position with both arms outstretched and taking hold of the top rope, to pull herself up at the toll of the bell. “Sex Metal Barbie” faded off into the distance as the lights slowly returned to normal.

POWERS: ”And her opponent, fighting out of Kansas City Missouri, weighing in at one hundred and twenty-four pounds, she is “Hell Kat” Kat JONESSSSS!”

Kat Jones comes out from the back standing at the entrance area glaring at the crowd.. She ignores everyone on her way to the ring. She walks slowly and methodically.. Removing the short leather jacket she wears to the ring slowly she whips it back and screams a blood curdling scream before she gets into the ring.

VASSA: ”I don’t know if I’m excited for this one or just like blah.”

JOHNSON: ”There are two beautiful ladies in the ring so I’m excited for this one.”

DING!!! DING!!!

With the ringing of the bell the match begins with both women staring across the ring at one another before Nova darts from her corner and looks for Flying Knee that Kat easily dodges. Nova stays on the attack and looks to wrap up with Kat, but Kat elbows Nova and drops her with a DDT. Bringing Nova back to her feet Kat whips her into the turnbuckle, running towards Nova and spearing her. Nova bounces from the turnbuckle, Kat wrapping up around her and Suplexing Nova to the mat.

VASSA: ”Right out of the gates Kat is accepting the challenge of Nova Wonder.”

Kat sneers out at the crowd while receiving boos. She grabs Nova by the hair and pulls her back to her feet where she chops her across the chest. Nova stumbles backwards and Kat chops her across the chest once more. Up against the ropes Nova begins swinging, Kat weaving her blows like a pro before Kat hits Nova with a European Uppercut that rocks Nova. Kat grabs Nova by the hand, twist’s it and Clotheslines Nova.

JOHNSON: ”Kat’s looking really good right now.”

VASSA: ”Come on Nova.”

Kat brings Nova back to her feet where she mocks Nova in her ear before slapping her across the face. Nova grabbing at her face while Kat lifts up for Superkick but Nova ducks under and wraps up around Kat trying to slow her , but Kat reverses and puts a knee to the back of Nova, turning her around and mutating her with a Dropkick.

VASSA: ”EW.”

Kat sets up in a corner and awaits for Nova to get to her feet. As she does Kat charges her way and looks for another Spear, this time Nova moving out of the way of it. Kat halts herself by grabbing the ropes, turns around and in a split second ducks a Roundhouse kick from Nova. Kat punches Nova in the face but really eye gouges her before Kat levels Nova with the move she calls Kat-Astrophe. She drops down for the pin as the referee comes sliding in.

ONE

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.

TWO

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.

THREE!!!

DING!!! DING!!! DING!!!

POWERS: ”Here is you winner Kat Jones.”

“Asylum” by Disturbed flares up as Kat gets to her feet to jeers. She raises her own hand before looking down on Nova with a grin. Kat once more sneers out at the crowd, before she blows a kiss and makes her way up the ramp.

As the cameras cut backstage you can hear a “fit” being thrown even before you see who’s throwing it. Then from around the corner at the end of the hallway comes Nathaniel Havok as he angrily swipes a whole table of food clean from the table surface.

HAVOK: “Where is she? Which one is hers?”

He checks every door he passes as he moves down the hallway. There are a handful of locker rooms and most of them were just numbered. Under his breath he begins mumbling 14 as he scans each door.

HAVOK: “12, 13, 14, there it is…”

Deciding not to knock, he wasn’t concerned with being respectful. He targeted Niobe and she found a way to beat him. He was going to get another shot. Storming into the room, he didn’t know what to expect but there he found her. Bouncing up and down as she yanks up a pair of pants over her thick backside. Startled she spins around in pants and a bra and her eyes go wide as Havok rushes at her.

NIOBE: “Whoa, whoa!”

She backs away, the wall behind her stops her progress as Nathaniel Havok punches each side of the wall next to her head. Like a school yard bully he has her up against the wall and a smile slowly fills his face as he gives her cleavage a long look over.

NIOBE: “Back off I’ve already beaten you today. Go bother Wallace if you want another shot buster!”

HAVOK: “Oh no…we’ve got unfinished business, you and I. Leaving you bloody and beaten will make me the no questions asked, undisputed number one contend–“

The sounds of a toilet flushing comes from the small bathroom in the room. Havok looks and notices Niobe’s hair was wet like she just showered but then he slowly turns his head towards the bathroom as Jason Cashe steps out. A paper towel in hand as he dries off his hands, the two old rivals lock eyes.

CASHE: “Havok…”

HAVOK: “Cashe…”

Havok makes the first move and lunges from in front of Niobe, towards Cashe with a high and wide Haymaker! Ducking it, Cashe twirls around and catches Havok to the jaw as he tries to regain his balance from the big miss. Cashe lays into Havok with right after right clinched fist until Havok moves and trips back over the bench near the lockers.

Using his feet, Havok kicks Cashe near his “oh ah” and the former Champion grunts out and grabs at his manhood. Up to his feet, Havok has the Underground Title in hand and again dives at Cashe looking to peg him with Niobe’s belt. Instantly, Cashe springs from his feet and Spears Havok. Like a car hitting a wall, neither budge but one takes the damage. Havok was the car. He cries out as they both crash to the floor.

CASHE: “Long time coming bitch!”

As both push up to one knee, Cashe pops up first and hits a DDT that plants Havok’s head into the hard waxed floor of the locker room. Going limp, Havok seemed to be done as Cashe shoves him off to the side. Using a folding chair set up nearby, Cashe pushes himself to his feet. Smiling at Niobe, he found the little scrap entertaining. He was excited for the night to come and Niobe knew it by the look on his face.

NIOBE: “You’re Crazy! What if he had gotten the upper hand?”

CASHE: “Shit I’d HOPE you’d not let him if that had happened. Damn would you just watch? That’s messed up ya know…”

Finding himself rather riled up, Cashe bounces in place. Niobe shakes her head but then notices Havok hurrying to his feet. In her stare alone, Cashe sees something is up, grabs the chair nearby, folds it flat, spins around and as Havok springs from the ground towards Cashe, he is met with a thundering, echo filling the room shot to the head with the steel chair. Havok drops to his knees and then collapses over to the side. Looking back at Niobe, Cashe shrugs and steps over Havok to leave the room.

NIOBE: “Where are you going? You’re not going to just leave him there are you?”

CASHE: “I’m going to find the Janitor to come clean up this mess. I’ll be back. If he wakes up, hit him again. Haha!”

Now alone with an unconscious Havok, Niobe Martin walks over and picks up her Underground Championship. Brushing it off after he had touched it with his sweaty palms. She kicks him for good measure.

“Glory” by Lil Wayne blast inside the Barclays causing the crowd to go haywire as Lo’Renzo Porter steps from behind the curtains wearing Pink skinny jeans, pink chuck taylors and a pink and cotton candy ty-die t shirt. He stops at the top of the ramp and salutes toward the fans in attendance before continuing his way to the ring. He steps in the ring, taps his chest and throws his hands up before being handed a microphone from a stage hand.

FLIPP: “Brooklynnnnnnn what’s goodie framo?”

There is a ‘BK’ chant that stirs up.

FLIPP: “Right bout now would be the time me and the brodie would be doin The Sesion but wit tonight bein such a big ass one I jus been focusin on becomin the new Four C Dub Champion for y’all.”

He pauses as he takes in the reception from the crowd.

FLIPP: “Next Adrenaline it’s a go though and I already got in mind who gone be that special guest, but for now how y’all enjoyin Fright Night.”

He smiles as he begins to pace around the ring. The crowd cheering.

FLIPP: “It’s a couple matches I can’t wait to see. One fasho bein the Lions Den match wit Chris Madison and Lord Rabb.”

The camera pans around the Barclays Center.

FLIPP: “But the reason I’m out here tonight is cuz we all know that October is Breast Cancer Awareness month and this is somethin people should be aware off.”

He points to a fan in the crowd whose deck out in pink herself.

FLIPP: “Many people have lost their lives to Breast Cancer Awareness and the biggest reason is because they don’t get the yearly check ups like they need to. Here are some of the symptoms that you need to be cautious bout cuz it could be an indicator that you have breast cancer.”

Camera zooms to the 4CW Jumbo TV where a doctor goes over some of the symptoms and indicators.

FLIPP: “So whenever you feel like somethin is wrong there you should take immediate action gzz.”

Hands clap as Lo’Renzo nods his head.

FLIPP: “I had a lil idea for tonight too to raise money for the We Are Pink foundation. It already started tonight but every time somebody get hit by a knee or a kick we raise two hundred dollars for the foundation so ayeeee that’s what’s up.”

The cameras pan to the front row where the founders of We Are Pink smile and wave to the camera.

FLIPP: “It’s Fright Night though Framo. Feel like just yesterday I was just out here in this ring sqaurin off wit Khris Young man. Time be flyin like a mug.”

He smiled.

FLIPP: “I’m in the Main Event of this Fright Night now. The Horrors of Warzone…mannnnnn the Warzone last year was beasty like, but this year, this year is gonna be even outrageous. I know y’all can’t wait for that ish to get jumpin. Neither can I. We gone have new champion out here tonight.”

He pointed to himself while looking up at the Jumbo screen.

FLIPP: “I don’t wanna hold y’all up though cuz it’s allot more to go down tonight. Get more lit BK and enjoy the rest of Fright Night.”

“Glory” by Lil Wayne flares back up as Lo’Renzo chunks the deuces before taking off his shirt and throwing it into the crowd. The camera beginning to fade as Lo’Renzo steps out of the ring to sign some autographs.

HARTMAN: ”Jair … Jair, one minute please?”

Awaiting near the entrance in full-on dark blue suit and tie, 4CW’s Gabriel Hartman watched as the stretch white limo that had stopped, the back doors had opened with Jair Hopkins stepping out from within with a white three-piece suit and a snapback Mets cap on his head. The cheers brewing as he is seen are heard. Hartman walks up closer.

HARTMAN: ”Jair, mind if I get a word with you real quick?”

HOPKINS: ”Go!”

Hartman wasn’t sure of how to proceed on whether that was telling him to instead leave or continue on with the questions. Shaking his head, he went with the second version as he tried to look at who else might’ve ben in the limo before deciding to shrug his shoulders.

HARTMAN: ”Tonight, obviously the biggest night ever in your young, well-established career. This more important than the rest of the big matches you’ve been in being this is your hometown, how are you feeling? Any leftover jitters?”

Hopkins just laughed as he shook his head as his hair was freshly braided, ready all over for the big night in the Big Apple and in his hometown of Brooklyn.

HOPKINS: ”Jitters? The jitters are long gone, Gabe. Shit, the jitters been gone for two days now, because to me, I’ve gotten a good, valuable depth of experience with this match tonight thanks to last year. It was even worst and there was no title on the line, it was just brawl and whoever wins get a shot. This year, two titles hang above.”

Hopkins points up towards the roof.

HOPKINS: ”People seem to think this is my last shot at entering the “Glory Hole”, man. I dunno’ where they came from with that assumption but this is far from my last. If I somehow don’t come out of this thing tonight with some gold, I’ll get at it again. I can only suck up an L for so many hours before moving on, man. Tonight is my night, once in a lifetime do you get to perform in front of your hometown crowd, people cheering your name and holding faith in you to kill it out there. That’s what I’m going to do.”

Hopkins looking behind himself for a split-second, turned his attention back to Hartman, whom continued on.

HARTMAN: ”Well you may no longer have the jitters but you must have some kind of slight feeling going into that match knowing your ace partner, Lo’Renzo “Flipp” Porter is going to be looking to take home some gold too, right?”

Hartman, always asking those bone-crushing questions caught Hopkins as he smiled after hearing the question.

HOPKINS: ”Me and Flipp aren’t like some teams man. We do things differently, we don’t cheat each other. But we all aspire to be the greatest, man. Flipp, he been tasting gold since he lost the Pride title and it’s been a mouth-watering taste since I failed to lead the 4CW Nation after losing it on the first defense. We made mistakes but we always find ways to bounce back. Everybody been asking us this question … How we gonna do being in the same ring at each other’s throat? How will the friendship be after a rough, bloody contest? Oh and the favorite, If you two are the last three standing, who’s getting what? There’s got to be a feeling of greed of wanting both titles!”

Hopkins shook his head.

HOPKINS: ”We came into this industry, looking to master it. We are ‘Urban Warriors’ man, we fight through controversy and bullcrap. Since this match arised, we’ve defended every question thrown our way the same. We’ve done this before. We’ve faced each other before, albeit it being for gold, we’ve seen the hunger to win in each other’s eyes. We’re going into this match to do our thing and at the end of the night, the survivor wins. Nothing else needs to be said. Stop twisting this like a pretzel, ya’ll attempts aren’t going anywhere.”

Hopkins shook his head as he looked at Gabriel before walking off out of the picture.

MAIN CARD
KELLEN SHAW VS. NICK WATSON

POWERS: Ladies and gentlemen, the following contest is set for one fall!

The crowd cheers as the cameras pan around the entire Barclay’s Center, showing Kellen Shaw already in the ring with “Break” playing over the arena loudspeakers.

POWERS: “Already in the ring… Coming to us from Hollywood, California… KELLEN SHAAAAAAAAAAW!”

The crowd boos Shaw as he climbs up to the middle turnbuckle and throws his arms out to his sides. He ignores the boos, jumping back down to the canvas as he waits patiently for his opponent.

POWERS: “And his opponent…”

As the portion of the song reaches the final part of the opening, pyro explodes from all over the stage, and the lights come on. Watson is standing on the entrance ramp, dressed in his ring tights, and a pair of matching boots. He begins to limber up as the fans begin to cheer loudly for him.

POWERS: ”Making his way to the ring, from Salt Lake City, Utah… he is the Sensational One, Nick Watson!”

Watson begins to make his way down to the ring, slapping hands, and pausing to sign autographs with the fans as he slowly makes his way down. He pauses for a long time as he reaches the ring, looking around at all of the people in attendance that evening before grinning, and jumping up to the apron. He enters the ring from the middle rope as he runs to the nearest turnbuckle and poses for the fans, who let him hear their cheers. After posing for a bit, he jumps down from the turnbuckle, and begins to limber up in the middle of the ring again.

JOHNSON: “Nick Watson is coming off a tough loss three weeks ago in the elimination rumble that decided who would enter the Warzone of Horrors later tonght.”

VASSA: “Kellen Shaw is coming off a tough loss to the crybaby himself, Freedumb.”

JOHNSON: “Both men should have something to prove here tonight.”

VASSA: “One thing is for certain, someone will be walking out of here with a win under their belt tonight.”

The referee gets in between both men and asks them if they’re ready before he looks over at the timekeeper and calls for the bell!

DING!!! DING!!!

Once the opening bell sounds, both men begin circling around the ring in attempt to feel one another out. After a few seconds, they step towards the middle of the ring and come together in a collar and elbow tie up, Shaw quickly turning the tie up into a snap armdrag on Watson. Watson pops right up to his feet and looks over at the smirking Shaw who motions for Watson to bring it. Watson immediately charges at Shaw, but Shaw catches Watson with a stiff elbow to the face, followed by a spinning neckbreaker attempt, but Watson pushes Shaw away and catches him with a discus elbow!

Shaw falls right to the canvas, Watson not letting up on his attack as he bounces off the ropes and lands a jumping knee down to Shaw’s face! Watson pulls Shaw up by his head and irish whips him right into the closest corner. Watson backs up a few steps to pick up a full head of steam as he charges forward and connects with a running enziguri, knocking Shaw out cold! Watson pulls Shaw away from the corner and spins him on his back to make the cover…

ONE

.

.

TW–KICKOUT!!!

Shaw kicks out before the two count, Watson immediately rising to his feet and waiting for Shaw to get up. Once Shaw gets up to a vertical base, Watson lunges forward and attempts a reverse vertical suplex, but Watson spins himself around, wraps his arms around Shaw’s waist, and throws him over his head with a release northern lights suplex!

JOHNSON: “Big move by Watson there! Definitely the momentum changer he was looking for.”

VASSA: “He’s gonna have to do more than that to keep Shaw down though, Johnson. A good momentum changer, sure, but this match is nowhere near over yet.”

JOHNSON: “Well… it had just started about two minutes go. I know it’s going to take more to win, but –”

VASSA: “Just shut up, Steve. Watch the match and keep quiet.”

JOHNSON: “Whoa. What got up your ass all of a sudden?”

Shaw rolls out underneath the bottom rope and onto the apron while Watson pulls himself up to his feet and walks toward Shaw. Watson reaches over the top rope and grabs a hold of Shaw’s head. Watson pulls Shaw up to his feet and tries to suplex him back inside the ring, but Shaw presses his weight down to make it hard for Watson to lift him up. Watson lets go of the suplex and tries to blast Shaw with a right hand, but Shaw ducks underneath it, grabs a hold of Watson’s shoulders, and pulls Watson over the top rope and out of the ring!

Watson takes a hard landing on the floor, but immediately pushes himself back up to his feet, only to get blasted by a penalty kick from Shaw! Watson stumbles back and clutches his chest, and once he turns around, Shaw dives off the apron with a flying forearm smash straight to Watson’s face! Shaw immediately mounts him and starts clubbing away with rights and lefts, the referee inside the ring beginning his ten count.

“One! … Two!”

Shaw grabs a hold of Watson’s head and pulls him up to his feet, only to send him back first into the protective guardrail on the outside. Shaw doesn’t stop there, lunging forward and blasting the “Sensational One” with a stiff European uppercut!

“Three! … Four!”

Shaw pulls Watson away from the guardrail and looks for a DDT, but Watson pushes Shaw forward, sending Shaw spine first into the apron. If that wasn’t enough, Watson wraps his arms around Shaw’s waist and sends him over his head with a belly to belly suplex right into the steel guardrail!

“Five! … Six!”

Watson hears the referee’s count already up to six and slides into the ring, remaining on his back to catch his breath as the referee continues to count Shaw out.

“Seven!”

VASSA: “Shaw needs to get up and get his ass back in that ring! He’s about to get counted out!”

JOHNSON: “I’m not even sure if he could stand upright right now. That belly to belly into the guardrail looked brutal and seemed to have taken a lot out of Kellen Shaw.”

Shaw begins to stir, getting up to one knee but the referee’s count continues.

“Eight!”

Shaw sees and hears the referee’s count was up to eight and gets up to both knees, clutching at his back as he crawls closer and closer to the ring.

“Nine!”

The count goes up to nine and a surge of adrenaline comes over Shaw as he gets up to his feet and slides into the ring before the count of ten!

JOHNSON: ”Damn. Close call for Shaw there.”

VASSA: ”But the match continues!”

Watson goes right over to Shaw and starts putting the boots to his back. After the boots, Watson immediately drops an elbow right to the small of Shaw’s back, continuing to work on the possibly injured body part. He continues his assault by pulling Shaw up to his feet, kicking him in the midsection, and following it up with a monstrous powerbomb! The impact from the powerbomb makes the entire ring shake as Watson falls down on top of Shaw and makes the cover.

ONE

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.

TWO

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.

THR—KICKOUT!!!

Shaw gets his shoulder up to break up the pin, Watson looking over at the referee to double check the count. Once the referee shows him two fingers, Watson gets back up to his feet and watches as Shaw slowly starts to rise. Watson charges forward and goes for german suplex, but Shaw spins out of it and rolls Watson up in a school boy!

ONE

.

.

TWO

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THRE—NO!!!

Watson just manages to push Shaw away to break the fall! Both men scramble up to their feet and charge toward one another. Watson goes for a big lariat, but Shaw ducks underneath it and dropkicks Watson in the back of the head! Watson stumbles into the ropes, allowing Shaw to get a running start and hit a jumping neckbreaker!

With Watson down, Shaw steps out on the apron and climbs up to the top rope. Once he catches his balance, Shaw measures Watson up and goes for a frog splash… but Watson gets his knees up! Watson holds Shaw in position and rolls him over, packaging up his legs for the pin attempt.

ONE

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.

TWO

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.

THR—NO!!!

Shaw just manages to break out of the pin attempt, Watson in disbelief that Shaw kicked out. Watson gets up to his feet and stumbles around a bit, motioning that he was going to finish off the match. He steps out onto the apron and climbs up the top rope, calling for the “True Flying Knee”, but before he could catch his balance, Shaw storms up to his feet, leaps up onto the top turnbuckle, and executes a super belly to belly suplex onto Watson!

JOHNSON: “Wow! What a move by Kellen Shaw!”

VASSA: “Pure agility right there, Stevie. But I think it might’ve taken just as much out of him as it did Watson!”

Both men are down, neither moving much until Shaw starts to stir. The crowd tries to cheer Watson back up to his feet, but it’s Shaw who gets up first, stumbling around the ring before he closes in on Watson. He pulls Watson up to his feet and goes for the “Roll of the Dice” corkscrew neckbreaker, but Watson shoves Shaw away and blasts him with a huge superman punch! Shaw falls back against the ropes and rebounds back toward Watson who looks for a roundhouse kick, but Shaw ducks underneath it, blasts Watson with a stiff European uppercut and spikes him on his head with a picture perfect brainbuster! Shaw crawls toward Watson and hooks the leg for the cover…

ONE

.

.

TWO

.

.

THR–KICKOUT!!!

Watson somehow gets his shoulder off the canvas to stop the referee’s count! Shaw can’t believe it, moving over toward the referee to yell in his face, telling him to count faster. Shaw turns his head back and sees Watson was still down, immediately exiting out onto the apron and calling for the “Picture Perfect” 720 DDT!

JOHNSON: “Looks like Shaw is going for that picture perfect DDT of his.”

VASSA: “It’ll be over if he hits it too. That thing’s a thing of beauty!”

Shaw begins stomping his feet off the apron as he watches Watson slowly rise to his feet. After a few seconds, Watson finally gets up, turns around…

… PICTURE PERFECT DDT!…

NO! Watson sidesteps out of the way, Shaw rolling through after his feet hit the floor. Shaw turns around and charges toward Watson, but Watson kicks him in the midsection, lifts him over his shoulder and hits a big Samoan drop! The crowd cheers Watson on as he starts to feel it, slapping himself in the face to wake up and finish off the match.

Watson waits for Shaw to get up and immediately takes him down with a clothesline. Shaw gets right back up, but Watson was right there to kick him in the back of the knee, following it up with a huge roundhouse kick! Shaw hits the canvas like a sack of potatoes and Watson falls to his knees, crawling over toward Shaw to make the cover with one arm draped across his chest.

ONE

.

.

TWO

.

.

THR–NO!!!

Shaw grabs a hold of Watson’s arm, rolls himself back and onto his knee, and then rolls Watson up in a magistral cradle!

ONE!

.

.

TWO

.

.

THRE—NO!!!

Watson just manages to break out of the cradle, both men spent after the back and forth exchange. It takes a few seconds for either of them to start stirring, but Watson and Shaw both grab a hold of the ropes and start pulling themselves up to their feet. Both men turn to look at one another, Watson striking first with a big right hand! Shaw staggers back a bit, but comes back with a right hand of his own that sends Watson back into the corner.

Shaw takes a momentary breather and then charges toward the corner for a double knee attack on Watson, but Watson moves out of the way, causing Shaw to hit his knees off the turnbuckles. Watson sees his opening and moves toward Shaw, picking him and fling him over his shoulder. Watson looks for a tombstone or possible a running powerslam, but Shaw slides down Watson’s back, spins him around… WHAM!

Shaw blasts Watson with a stiff european uppercut, but he wasn’t done there! Shaw wraps his arm around Watson’s throat and neck area, leaps back and connects with his patent “Straight Flush” moonsault slam!

JOHNSON: “What a move by Shaw!”

VASSA: “This one might be over, Johnson!”

Not satisfied yet, Shaw staggers up to his feet and sees Watson was in perfect position for what he had planned next. Shaw moves over to the corner and locks his hands around the top rope, turning his back to make sure Watson was still in the right position. Shaw turns back around, spring onto the ropes, and lands his “Top Notch” catapult corkscrew splash right on Watson! Shaw clutches at his stomach momentarily after the impact, but Shaw hooks the leg and watches as the referee gets in position to make the count…

ONE

.

.

TWO

.

.

THREE!!!

DING!!! DING!!! DING!!!

POWERS: “Here is your winner… KELLEN SHAAAAAAW!”

”Break” by Three Days Grace fills the arena speakers as Kellen Shaw rises up to his feet and gets his hand raised by the referee. Shaw rips it right away and stares down at the lifeless Nick Watson before he climbs up to the middle rope and taunts the crowd.

JOHNSON: “Great showing by both men right there. Nick Watson may have not picked up the win, but I wouldn’t feel too bad about it if I were him.”

VASSA: “You wouldn’t feel too bad about it if you were him? He lost a pay per view match, Johnson! He should feel bad! Anyone who loses tonight should feel bad! This is why you’re not a wrestler and you’re stuck behind this announce desk.”

JOHNSON: “What’s your excuse?”

VASSA: “I like to talk. Shut up. Why are we even talking about Nick Watson right now? We should be talking about Kellen Shaw!”

Shaw exits the ring and ignores the fans on his way up the entrance ramp while Watson slowly starts to recover after the grueling contest.

The cameras switch backstage to find Aidan Carlisle pacing back and forth in the hallway outside her locker room, looking almost… nervous? Despite the pacing she is already geared up for her match, wearing a Wonder Woman themed outfit instead of her usual ring gear. The heels of her gold boots click softly against the floor with each step.

Her pacing stops as her eyes become fixed on something down the hall coming toward her. With a scowl on her face, she waits as the sound of additional footsteps become closer and closer. Then, with a smirk and a shake of the head, Cyrus Riddle walks up to her, completely calm and reserved than their previous bathroom encounter.

CARLISLE: “What do you want?”

RIDDLE: “Ah, come on, is that really a way to greet someone? What’s wrong with a ‘hey, how are you?’ or ‘long time no see.’

CARLISLE: “Shouldn’t you be getting Bridget the Midget all powdered up for the match?”

Cyrus laughs at her insult.

RIDDLE: “He can handle his preparations by himself. Plus, we ran out of powder because your boyfriend snorted it all.”

CARLISLE: “You’re almost as stale as your partner’s Lucky Charms.”

RIDDLE: “Yeah, because that was much better. Anyway, I’m not here to trade jabs with you in regards to absent people. In fact, I didn’t intend to run into you at all, but seeing as how this place doesn’t have enough hallways and you are in front of me ready to join the Justice League, I figured we could have a normal chat for once.”

CARLISLE: “You’ve ruined all chance for that. Keep walking.”

Aidan turns toward the door to her locker room, reaching for the handle.

RIDDLE: “Yes, go ahead, turn away and run like you enjoy doing so much. Close the door behind you.”

Tired of ignoring the constant insults and disrespect from the likes of Cyrus, CJ O’Donnell, and everyone else Aidan spins on her heel, throwing all of her weight behind a punch aimed right into his face. The punch connects flush with Cyrus’ jaw as he turned his head slightly, holding his lip with his hand as he looked back at her. A few seconds elapsed before it fully registered to him what had happened, but he nodded and smiled in return.

RIDDLE: “Might want to save some of that for later on. However, I’ll take it in stride for now. But, now that I have your attention, are you ready to listen?”

CARLISLE: “Why, so you can start running off at the mouth like your partner? Or maybe you want to repeat what you thought was so cute to say over and over again after Dead Man’s Hand, hm? I’ve had enough of listening to your shit and everyone else’s.”

RIDDLE: “Then how about some sincerity for a change of pace?”

CARLISLE: “Oh, I don’t doubt for a minute that you meant everything you said. I’m not stupid. Don’t you think it’s a little late for that anyway?”

RIDDLE: “I won’t deny that I meant some of it, and other things I said were meant to attack you for fun. However, we made an agreement a while back that I am willing to honor now, because frankly, I am fucking tired of all of this.”

CARLISLE: “The only ‘agreement’ was you shutting your mouth because you hoped it would keep you out of trouble with your girlfriend. I’m not the one that just happened to be taking a stroll in front of your locker room. And for someone who claims he’s tired of it, you don’t seem to have any issue continuing to insult me.”

RIDDLE: “My insult kept you from walking back into that locker room, didn’t it? That was the end game for that. Now, are you going to let me say what I need so I can get out of here, or do you wish to remain stubborn?”

CARLISLE: “I don’t give a fuck what you say. Obviously I can’t stop you. If you feel the need to stand there and recite a bunch of rehearsed lines, then do it. I’ll tune out until you’re done.”

A frustrated Cyrus starts to rub his forehead with his hand and looks up at the ceiling as a means to calm himself.

RIDDLE: “You make this extremely difficult, but fuck it, even if you don’t give a fuck, it’s worth saying for me.”

He looked back at her, still a bit apprehensive of speaking, but cooled off after a few extra seconds of thinking.

RIDDLE: “It’s come to my attention that maybe… just maybe… I was a bit wrong. Now, tonight, we have a match against one another, and we’ll have to see each other regardless of whether we wish to or not. However, that doesn’t mean that things have to be miserable. You’re doing what you do, I’m doing what I do, so the time for throwing jabs and trying to take pieces of flesh from one another can stay in the ring. Outside of it, I’m done.”

CARLISLE: “If that was supposed to be an apology, it was shit, Cyrus. Try getting on your knees and kissing my ass, it might work better.”

He wanted to say something smart, but decided against it, as apparent from the way his mouth closed up. Instead, he reached into his pocket, taking out a knife and holding it up between the two of them, before putting the blade into his hand and extending the handle to her.

RIDDLE: “It’s up to you, but like I said, I’m done with this shit. I’ll stay out of your business as long as you stay out of mine. Life’s too short for a grudge. This is my apology.”

Aidan looks suspiciously down at the knife, not seeming to believe him in the least. The dark expression on her face hasn’t changed, in spite of his words.

CARLISLE: “Keep it. Do something useful with it. Maybe stick it between your partner’s ribs.”

RIDDLE: “English, American, and Irish blood on one blade? Not a chance. That’s your problem to solve, I insist.”

Aidan rolls her eyes and lets out an exasperated sound. And people called her stubborn? After a few moments she takes the knife by the handled. More than familiar with it, since it had once been hers, she flipped it over in her hand, holding the tip of the blade between her thumb and forefinger before flinging it across the hall where it buried in the wooden door of another locker room.

CARLISLE: “Good enough?”

Cyrus smirked and let out a slight laugh.

RIDDLE: “Say what you will about the timing, but at least I tried.”

CARLISLE: “I could have stuck you with it, but I didn’t.”

RIDDLE: “Fair enough. Well then, see you out there tonight, I guess my words are done here. Wish you well.”

CARLISLE: “See you on your back in the middle of the ring.”

Cyrus grinned a sinister grin.

RIDDLE: “You wish…”

CARLISLE: “When I want something I don’t wish for it, I make it happen.”

RIDDLE: “I probably know that better than anyone. But, I also know that I am the counter to you.”

CARLISLE: “You’re giving yourself far too much credit now. I’ve always been my own kryptonite. The only difference is that now I know it.”

RIDDLE: “Good, I’m glad, because then you’ll have nobody to blame but yourself when you don’t walk out tonight as a champion.”

CARLISLE: “Yeah? Who are you going to blame?”

He scoffs at her question.

RIDDLE: “Who do you think? I’m the Atlantic City Champion, O’Donnell is the second hand guy. If we lose, it’s because of his mistake. What are you, barmy?”

Aidan starts to laugh but immediately stops herself.

CARLISLE: “I think we might have just agreed on something.”

RIDDLE: “Kind of odd, I know.”

After several long seconds of very uncomfortable silence Aidan looks either direction up and down the hall. At last, she offers her hand. Cyrus looks at her curiously after she offers her hand, completely taken back by the gesture. However, he nods his head and accepts. It takes so long for Aidan to actually shake it that it practically seems painful for her to do so.

CARLISLE: “I don’t know where I stand at the moment, other than not over your grave. Don’t read too much into it.”

RIDDLE: “No worries, I’ll take it for what it’s worth. This is more than I expected anyway.”

CARLISLE: “Did you bring She Hulk so you have a shoulder to cry on when you lose?”

RIDDLE: “First, her name is Tate. Second, I don’t cry. Third, she’s a better person than you think. But yes, Tate is here with me.”

CARLISLE: “Well then, keep her out of my locker room this time and we’ll be as square as we can get for now.”

RIDDLE: “You have a deal… and in return, just give me a legit fight tonight, and tell Bryan to do the same. If I have to rely on Freedom and Stevenson for a good brawl, I might as well bring a pillow and blanket with me to the ring.”

CARLISLE: “I’ll beat you so badly that Tate will have to spoon feed you. Pinky promise.”

Cyrus laughed loudly.

RIDDLE: “Okay, whatever you say. Just don’t cry in the morning when you can’t move.”

Aidan cocked a brow at the comment.

CARLISLE: “Don’t threaten me with a good time that you won’t deliver. Now… get out of here before one of the two of us gets in trouble.”

RIDDLE: “Yeah, I better, I have to get ready and I’m not trying to have to answer any questions later. See you out there… be ready for the show of a lifetime.”

CARLISLE: “…Don’t strip, please.”

RIDDLE: “Whatever it takes to win those belts, I make no promises.”

Aidan turns, beginning to back into her locker room just so she can have the last word.

CARLISLE: “It would take a better partner and lesser opponents.”

With a smirk she closes the door before he can say anything further. He shakes his head and makes his way down the hall, taking the knife out of the door and putting it back in his pocket as the cameras fade out.

MAIN CARD
JOHNNY REBEL VS. JETT WILDER

JOHNSON: “We’re going to keep the action here tonight rolling…”

VASSA: “What’s next on the docket?”

JOHNSON: “Johnny Rebel versus Jett Wilder; any thoughts?”

VASSA: “Is Carmella Wilder going to be at ringside tonight?”

JOHNSON: “She usually is.”

VASSA: “Well at least there will be something worthwhile to look at.”

JOHNSON: “Oh come one Vinny. You’ve got a grizzled veteran who has seen his better days come and go against a kid who always seems to find a way to draw a bit of the spotlight, despite any sustainable success in the ring. One of these two are going to find themselves in a position to get the ball rolling in the right direction tonight.”

VASSA: “Yet I’d rather sit here and stare at Carmella stand still at ringside for ten minutes. What does that tell you about these two?”

JOHNSON: “I got a hunch that you’re going to be caught off guard tonight. It’s Fright Night. There’s a lot on the line for both of these guys. Someone is going to have to step up to the plate and overcome their lackluster past tonight.”

VASSA: “Right… And maybe while all that’s going on I’ll work on a crossword puzzle.”

Steve Johnson shakes his head as Vinny Vassa reaches down and grabs a newspaper, swiftly skimming through the pages to find the daily crossword puzzle.

JOHNSON: “You’re unbelievable. Let’s go to mike Powers for the official introduction.”

The feed cuts over to Mike Powers who’s standing by with a microphone in hand.

POWERS: “The following contest is schedule for one fall. Introducing first, by way of Chicago, Illinois, weighing in at two hundred and thirty-one, ‘Simply Put’ JOHNNY REBEL!”

#SIMPLY

#F’N

#PUT!

A recorded voice comes over the loud speaker and “Smoke on the Water” by Deep Purple blasts over the PA. Johnny Rebel comes out in a gold robe shimmering in the lights. “SIMPLY PUT” is written in silver on the back. His blonde goatee is neatly trimmed and blonde hair is freshly cut; his eyes hidden behind dark sunglasses.

#IT’S TIME TO PAY THE PRICE!

The crowd has come unglued in their hatred for Rebel. He gets to the ring and pulls a camera man down to the ground and on all fours as Rebel uses him as a stepping stone to get in the ring. He takes off his robe to reveal his gold tights and tasseled white boots. He poses on the second turnbuckle with both hands held high.

JOHNSON: “This guy makes me sick. Instead of using the ring steps like everyone else he pulled down that poor cameraman and used him as a step stool to get onto the apron.”

VASSA: “Just nudge me when Carmella comes out.”

The lights go dark as the beginning of “Blessings” by Big Sean hits the fans more then likely unhappy to hear the music playing. Out from the back dancing and wilding out is Jett Wilder followed not far by the imposing Luiz Cavalcante and the beautiful Carmella Wilder. Though generally the young and small Wilder alone would not be imposing with his atrocious dance moves we get a close up of the imposing Luiz walking to the ring to really strike some form of fear. Clapping her son on is Carmella with her glasses on looking professional as she usually does, as Wilder bounces up the steps stopping.

POWERS: ”Coming to the ring from Los Angeles, California accompanied to the ring by Carmella Wilder and Luiz Cavalcante, weighing in at one hundred and forty five pounds and standing five feet, eight inches tall, JETT WILDER!!!”

Waiting for Luiz who as usual doesn’t look pleased to have to stop and lower the top rope down so that Wilder can jump over it to show off. Shaking his head as he follows him into the ring as Jett jumps up to the top rope pounding his chest as the crowd boos him. Carmella walks around the ring ignoring the cat calls and the boos to continue to cheer her son on as Jett bounces off the ropes and heads to the other side with Luiz standing behind him arms crossed. Finally bouncing back down taking off the hoodie he came out with to hand to Luiz who walks to the ropes to hand it out to Carmella as Jett readies himself.

JOHNSON: “And here we go! Patrick McDade is your official for this upcoming match and he’s calling for the opening bell.”

DING!!! DING!!!

Wilder and Rebel come out of their respective corners and meet in the center of the ring, instantly locking up with a collar and elbow tie up. Rebel uses his size advantage to drive the much younger Wilder into one of the corners, causing the referee to call for a clean break. Both competitors cautiously separate from one another with their hands up. As Rebel backs up Wilder hits him with a kick to the gut and locks on with a side headlock. Proud of himself, Wilder grins as he wrenches on Rebels head. Rebel wraps his arms around Wilder’s waist and backs up to the ropes before pushing Wilder off. Wilder runs across the ring and rebounds towards Rebel but hits a brick wall as Rebel lays his shoulder into the young kids sternum. Wilder hits the mat hard but instantly turns to his stomach and crawls towards the ropes. Rebel reaches down and grabs Wilder by an ankle. He drags Wilder to the center of the ring but gets caught off guard as Wilder kicks him between the eyes.

Wilder climbs to his feet and marches over to a dazed Johnny Rebel and punches him with a stiff right hand. Rebel shakes out the cobwebs and laughs, realizing the kid just hit him with his best shot. Rebel begins to unload on Wilder with a combination of right hands and knife edged chops. He backs wilder into the corner and quickly grabs him with a side headlock before dragging Wilder’s face along the top ring rope. Rebel releases halfway across the ring and allows for Wilder to stumble to the center of the ring as he bounces off the ring ropes. He cuts Wilder off as he staggers and folds him up with a running clothesline. Carmella Wilder covers her mouth with both hands as she watches her son get bent in half by the force of Johnny Rebel’s clothesline.

JOHNSON: “What a clothesline! The early stages of this match have all been in favor of Johnny Rebel as he uses his experience to his advantage.”

VASSA: “And poor Carmella has to watch her son get a whooping from a real man.”

Rebel sits upright and glances over at Carmella, smiling for a moment. He stands up and grabs Wilder by his head, lifting him slowly from the mat. Wilder counters and rolls Rebel up with an inside cradle. McDade slides into position to see Rebel’s shoulders and begins to count.

ONE

.

.

TWO

Rebel kicks out and quickly pops up to his feet. He watches as Wilder pushes off of the mat to stand and quickly takes him out with a diving chop block to the front of Wilder’s knee! Wilder thrashes on the canvass as he holds his left knee. Rebel grabs Wilder’s left leg and extends it out as he drops an elbow to the inside of his knee. Rebel pops up to his feet and repeats, dropping another elbow to the inside of Wilder’s knee. Rebel grabs Wilder’s leg again and pulls him towards a corner. Rebel slides under the ring while holding onto the Wilders ankle, forcing the ring post to split between his legs. Rebel violently whips Wilder’s left leg against the steel ring post and grins. He barks at some of the fans who are heckling him before again whipping Wilder’s leg into the steel ring post. Rebel rolls back into the ring under the bottom rope and keeps his focus on the left leg. He places Wilder’s ankle on the bottom rope and and then steps on the rope, for added leverage as he jumps down onto Wilders knee. Rebel quickly keeps the pressure on Jett as he grabs the left leg, drags him to the center of the ring and locks in a half crab submission! Wilder inches and crawls towards the ropes, finally getting his hand on the bottom rope. The referee warns Rebel to break the hold but he ignores the officials order. Rebel turns his body and with his free arm grabs the middle rope for leverage, forcing the referee to utilize his five count.

“One! … Two! … Three! … Four! … Fi–”

Rebel breaks the hold and steps away with his arms held over his head.

JOHNSON: “Rebel is trying to ground Wilder here tonight. If he’s got only one good leg he won’t be able to use his high flying attacks.”

VASSA: “You don’t last as long as Johnny Rebel has in this business without being able to gameplan for your opponent. Wilder likes to bounce around that ring like a mexican jumping bean. If he only has one good leg, that option is taken away from him.”

Rebel slides out of the ring as Wilder lays near the ropes. He grabs Jett by his head and places his throat over the bottom rope before pulling down to choke him. McDade leans through the ropes and begins to warn Johnny Rebel once again. Rebel releases and steps back before laying into Wilder with a stiff right hand. Rebel climbs up onto the ring apron and waits for Wilder to push up to his feet. He quickly grabs him and tries for a suplex. He gets Wilder up vertically but Jett manages to wiggle enough to be placed down on the apron alongside Rebel. Rebel quickly rakes the eyes of Wilder, getting the upper hand before lifting Jett up and dropping him back first onto the apron with a belly to back suplex. Wilder bounces off of the apron and rolls to the arena floor.

Carmella stands near the ring steps and watches as her son struggles to his feet. Rebel quickly grabs Jett by his wrist and then whips him towards Carmella and the ring steps. Wilder bounces back first into the steps, dislodging them as a result of the impact. Rebel stalks Carmella, forcing her to back away from her son as he rolls around grabbing his back. Rebel rolls in and out of the ring, breaking the referee’s ten count before turning his attention back to Jett. Wilder suddenly bursts to his feet and charges Rebel. With his back towards the ring, Rebel counters with a back body drop. Wilder was close enough that he somehow landed on the apron in a handstand. Rebel turns around as Wilder’s legs bounce off of the ropes, sending his momentum forward. On the way back down to the floor he extends his legs, secures them around Rebel, and flips him back first into the security railing with a head scissor takedown!

JOHNSON: ”What a move by Jett Wilder! He looked as if he was dead to rights in this match and then performed one of the most innovative head scissor takedowns that I’ve seen in my long career in the industry.”

VASSA: ”The kid’s got my attention now! We’ll have to see if he can keep the momentum going his way!”

Wilder climbs up to the ring apron gingerly. He turns his head and sees Johnny Rebel climbing up to his feet. Rebel pushes forward, trying to sweep Jett’s feet out from underneath him. Jett hops over Rebel’s hands and then backs himself against the further of the two ring posts. He trots along the ring apron and leaps off with a running senton, taking Rebel back down to the arena floor. Wilder slides into the ring and quickly runs towards the opposing ropes, he bounces off and then dives between the top and middle rope, hitting Johnny Rebel with a suicide dive. Rebel falls backwards into the security railing but stays on his feet. Wilder quickly slides back into the ring and again bounces off of the opposite ring ropes before once again hitting Rebel with another suicide dive. Rebel falls back once more, the security railing barely holding him up. Wilder goes through the repetitions one more time and hits a third straight suicide dive, this one knocking Rebel over the security railing and into the first row of the live crowd. Jett looks up at the nearby ring post and quickly ascends to the top. He faces out towards Rebel and sits perched for a moment before standing fully upright. The crowd scatters, realizing what Wilder is about to do. Wilder leaps off of the top turnbuckle and into the first row of the crowd, clearing the security railing and hitting his Jett Plane Crossbody on Johnny Rebel!

“Holy Shit! Holy Shit! Holy Shit!”

JOHNSON: “Jett Wilder just leaped from the top turnbuckle to a few rows into the crowd!”

VASSA: “You’ve got to give the kid some credit. He just laid everything on the line with that flying crossbody! But now he’s got to get back into the ring before the ref reaches ten.”

Wilder makes it to the ring apron as McDade reaches seven on his count. He looks back over his shoulder and sees Rebel on his knees, holding himself up with both hands on top of the railing. Wilder rolls in and rolls out to break up the count. He pulls Rebel over the railing and tosses him back into the ring. Rebel rolls and ends up parallel with ring ropes. Wilder grabs the top rope and then launches himself up over with a slingshot leg drop and crashes down over the throat of Johnny Rebel. Wilder quickly floats over and hooks the near leg for the cover.

ONE

.

.

TWO

.

.

McDade notices Johnny Rebel got his free leg on the bottom rope before his three count. Wilder complains to the referee while slapping his hands together three times. Carmella tries to keep her son focused by shouting instructions.

JOHNSON: “This is where Wilder needs to dig down and just stay focused on the task at hand. Johnny Rebel isn’t going to go down easily.”

VASSA: “Couldn’t agree more Steve. Just keep pushing forward Jett. Keep giving Rebel everything you’ve got and this match could be yours!”

Wilder climbs to his feet and continues his persistence with the official, giving Rebel an opening to get back into the match. Rebel uses the ropes to get to his feet and notices Jett’s back turned towards him. Rebel secures a rear waist lock and drags Wilder to the center of the ring. Wilder throws a few back elbows to break free from Rebel’s grasp. As Wilder turns around he ducks underneath a short clothesline attempt. Rebel spins and Wilder grabs him by the wrist. He tosses Rebel across the ring and leap frogs over Rebel as he bounces back towards him. Rebel’s momentum keeps him going and he bounces off of the opposite ropes, heading back towards Wilder. Wilder leap frogs Rebel again, this time with his back towards him. Rebel once again hits the ropes and this time runs right into a rolling wheel kick from Jett! Jett scampers onto Rebel and hooks both of his legs, rolling most of their weight down onto Rebel’s sternum.

ONE

.

.

TWO

.

.

THR…

Rebel pushes the much smaller Wilder off of him and gets his shoulder off of the mat just in time.

JOHNSON: “That was close Vinny! Even the crowd thought that was a three count!”

VASSA: “Wilder will let this one slip away if he continues to argue with the referee after every close count. That sort of immaturity is a handicap in this business.”

Rebel crawls towards the ropes and gets face to face with Carmella. He looks back at Jett and the referee who are distracted by their discussion over the recent count. Rebel spits in the face of Carmella, causing her to unleash a wicked slap to the face before climbing up onto the apron. The official’s attention is drawn by the ruckus and quickly begins to order Carmella back down to the floor. Wilder moves towards the bunch confused but is suddenly hit with a low blow from Johnny Rebel with the officials back turned. Wilder drops down to his knees as Johnny stands up. Johnny quickly grabs Wilder with a front face lock and drops down to the canvass with a DDT.

The referee turns around only to see the aftermath as the crowd heckles Rebel with “Rebel Sucks” chants. Rebel drags Wilder up to his feet and shoves his head between his legs. Rebel secures both of Wilder’s arms and pauses before trying for the Putdown. Wilder manages to power out with a back body drop before going down to one knee. He watches as Rebel rolls over and pushes back to his feet. As Rebel stands Wilder quickly hits his Gotcha’ Bicycle kick! Rebel hits the canvass and seems to be out cold as Wilder climbs the nearest turnbuckle. Wilder taunts Rebel and panders to the crowd before leaping off and hitting his Swag Splash! Wilder sticks the landing and hooks the leg.

ONE

.

.

TWO

.

.

THREE!!!

DING!!! DING!!! DING!!!

JOHNSON: “Wilder has done it! Wilder beat Johnny Rebel!”

VASSA: “That could have been his most impressive performance in his young 4CW career!”

JOHNSON: “We’ll have to see what’s next for Jett Wilder but hopefully the kid can build off of a big win, on a big stage, over a well respected veteran of the sport.”

VASSA: “Rebel has won numerous World Championships over his long career. Beating a guy like that could be the spark Jett needed to put the pieces together. But we’ll have to wait and see.”

“Blessings” by Big Sean blares over the P.A. system as Jett Wilder is joined in the ring by his mom Carmella and Luiz Cavalcante. They hold the young man up as Mike Powers makes the official announcement.

POWERS: “Ladies and gentlemen, the winner of the match, JETT WILDER!”

Cameras cut backstage where Gabriel Hartman was shown standing in front of a “Fright Night” logo, a microphone in his hand and a toothpick in his mouth. Hartman rips the toothpick out of his mouth and flings it across the hallway as he nods his head toward the camera.

HARTMAN: “What a night it’s been already, folks! And Fright Night is still far from over! Still to come we have the Lions Den Match between Chris Madison and Lord Raab, the 4CW Tag Team Championship match, and the one we’ve all been waiting for… The Warzone of Horrors!”

The crowd was heard exploding from the stage area of Barclay’s Center, a smile forming on Hartman’s face.

HARTMAN: “And joining me at this time is none other than the young lady who will be defending the 4CW Championship inside the unforgiving Warzone of Horrors… Felicity Banks!”

More cheers are heard coming from the fans inside the arena as Felicity Banks steps into the picture with her cell phone pressed against her ear, and the 4CW Championship dangling down from her shorts. Felicity holds a finger up toward Hartman as she listens to the person on the other hand of the call.”

BANKS: “I don’t really care what you want to do and what you don’t want to do. You’re paid to do a job and I expect you to do it no matter how messy it might be!”

Fel pulls the phone away from her ear and taps the screen to end the call, a scowl on her face as she throws her hand to forehead. She slides her hand down her face and looks over at Hartman, shaking her head from side to side.

BANKS: “Seriously can’t find good help anywhere these days, Gabriel. Like, what’s a girl gotta do to hire a hitman who knows how to do his job! Jeeeesus, it’s like I have to do everything by myself!”

Gabriel stares at Felicity with one of his eyes closed, slowly pulling the microphone back up toward his mouth.

HARTMAN: “Hitman…?”

Slowly turning her head to look over at Gabriel, Felicity cracks a small smirk while she pats Gabriel on the shoulder.

BANKS: “That was a joke, Gabriel. Everyone knows if I needed a good hitman I’d just have to make one call, but that’s neither here nor there. I don’t think you asked for this time with me to talk about hitmen though, did you, Gabriel? I mean, if you need one I could give you a number…”

She looks directly at the camera team positioned in front of her and Gabe.

BANKS: “Should proooooobably not be talking about this on camera though, should we?”

Gabriel shakes his head from side to side, a goofy looking grin forming on his face.

HARTMAN: “That’d be a good idea, but I don’t need a hitman, Fel. What I would like though is to get your thoughts on the main event of the evening. Your first title defense inside the Warzone of Horrors at the Baryclay’s Center. Are you nervous?”

Fel narrows a brow as she stares up at Hartman, pulling the microphone in his hand down to her level.

BANKS: “Nervous? Please, Gabriel. I don’t get nervous. It’s kind of a gift and a curse because there’s times that I would love to feel nervousness, you know? Butterflies in your stomach. The feeling of anxiety taking over your mind and body. The constant need to stand up and walk around because the thoughts in your head start rushing a mile a minute. But… it just doesn’t happen to me. What do I even have to be nervous about? Losing my title? Been there, done that, bounced back stronger than ever. Getting beat within an inch of my life and spending a couple hours in the hospital to get stitched up? Again, been there – done that. There’s no point in being nervous, Gabriel. None. Zero. Zilch. Nada. Nervousness does you no favors before a match like the Warzone. If you step inside the cage expecting the worst, then you already lost half the battle. I can’t be worrying about what could happen. All I could really do at this point is stay focused and remember what’s on the line here.”

She glances down at the 4CW Championship hanging down from her shorts, tapping it with her left hand.

BANKS: “The 4CW Championship and my place in 4CW history. See, I’ve done a lot of talking since I came to 4CW, Gabe. That’s what I do. I talk and talk and talk because I thoroughly enjoy hearing the sound of my own voice. I thoroughly enjoy talking shit about every single human specimen that inhabits this company – but, even I know that the time for talking is over. Tonight?”

She smirks.

BANKS: “Tonight is all about action. I could be on social media right now tweeting and facebooking hashtag Fright Night, but, seriously… what’s the point in all that? People know that Fright Night is tonight, and hell, the Brooklyn faithful is already here!”

Cheap pop from the fans inside the stage area of the Barclay’s Center.

BANKS: “I don’t get ready for a match by tweeting about it, Gabe. I lock myself up in my locker room, put on my headphones, and wait for one of the stagehands to knock on my door and tell me that it’s time to go. Different strokes for different folks I guess, but that’s not important right now.”

Breathing in and out, Felicity bites down on her lip and begins to ponder over her thoughts.

BANKS: “There’s a lot of things that could possibly happen inside the Warzone of Horrors. Nobody knows what to truly expect from this night, but I could tell you how this night is going to end…”

She reaches her hand down and pulls the 4CW Championship up to her shoulder, a slick smirk on her face.

BANKS: “I’ll be the one who’s standing on top of the Warzone structure, holding this baby right here, still … the 4CW Champion. Now, if you’ll excuse me…”

She winks in Gabriel’s direction.

BANKS: “It’s time for me to go get in my zone. Do me a favor though, will ya?”

Gabriel quirked an eyebrow, a bit surprised that Felicity asked him for a favor.

HARTMAN: “What’s that?”

Felicity smirks, moving her hand down and rubs her belly.

BANKS: “Go and fetch me some pizza from catering. I forgot to eat before I got here and I’m freaking starving! I have like… another hour or so to stuff my face and get myself ready so try and hurry up!”

”Fel spins Gabriel around, slaps him on his backside, and pushes him out of the picture before she turns around herself, and walks towards her locker room as the picture transitions to ringside.”

MAIN CARD
NO DISQUALIFICATION MATCH

MANNIE ROMERO VS. THE RED PIONEER

The beginning of “Another Way” airs through the sound system, building anticipation.

POWERS: ”Introducing to the ring from The Commonwealth of Virginia, weighing in at two hundred twenty five pounds and standing six feet, two inches tall… He is “Young” MANNIE RROOMMEERROO!!!”

Mannie emerges to a wave of cheers while jogging through the middle isle, his demeanor is slightly chilled but quite amp’d as well, but however he still manages to also fist bump some fans before finally sliding underneath the bottom rope to await his Opponent.

“22 Faces” by Periphery blasts out through the arena as the lights all dim.

POWERS: “And the opponent..Residing in Prospect, Connecticut! The Former 4CW Extreme Television Champion! RRRED PIIIOOONNNEEERRR!!!”

The camera pans around the ramp and the arena, searching for The Red Pioneer. From out of nowhere the spotlight shines into the crowd, and we see him sitting next to a couple of fans that didn’t see him move there while the lights were out. Once he has been spotted, the crowd breaks into a roar of cheers, and Red makes his way through the masses toward the ring.

JOHNSON: “The final showdown between Mannie and Pioneer is about to go down!”

VASSA: “I’ve heard that this match will determine whether or not Mannie stays employed with 4CW.”

Once he leaps the barricade, he wastes no time sliding into the ring under the bottom ropes before running over to the far corner. Once there, he leaps up onto the second turnbuckle where he crosses his arms and nods at the crowd who continues to roar their near deafening approval for him. After a long pause, making sure the fans have had their opportunity to flash a few photos, he finally drops back to the mat and begins stretching before the match starts.

“Young” Manny Romero dances back and forth in his corner of the ring, a bright, big smile emblazoned across his face. The Red Pioneer stalks in toward him, almost as if he felt Romero couldn’t see him, and gets the action started off by shooting in on The Main Attraction, taking him down to the mat with a double leg takedown, immediately securing a front face lock afterward. Manny jockeys for position, and eventually finds his out, following several stiff right hands to Red’s ribcage. Losing control of the brief ground battle, the Pioneer scrambles to his feet and retreats toward center ring. Manny, having now reached his own vertical base, narrows his eyes at the Pioneer, whose body language implies that a meticulous plan is being formed inside of his head.

JOHNSON: “Red Pioneer is so methodical, so tactical, I just don’t see how “Young” can match up with him, tonight.”

VASSA: “It’s fuckin’ Fright Night, Steve, I do believe anything can happen.”

The Red Pioneer dashes toward his opponent once again, but after taking merely two steps forward, he is met with a PUNISHING superkick, STRAIGHT to the jaw! A loud *POP* can be heard directly after impact, and the Pioneer crumbles to the mat.

JOHNSON: “THAT WAS SICKENING, VINNY! YOU HEARD THAT, DIDN’T YOU?!”

VASSA: “You’re damn right, I heard that, Steve, Red’s jaw might have just broken right there, smack dab in the center of the ring!”

JOHNSON: “He might be out, Vinny. I think he might be out! What an ENORMOUS win this would be for The Main Attraction!”

The Red Pioneer’s position on the mat indicates that he did lose consciousness. His shins buckled beneath his buttocks, while his back and head lay limply on the mat. The crowd is STUNNED, having no idea how to react. Pioneer looks like a man who may have just passed away.

VASSA: “My god, Steve, I hate to say it, but Pioneer ain’t lookin’ real good. He’s lookin’ about as good as Apollo Creed looked halfway into Rocky IV. Didn’t work out too well for Apollo.”

JOHNSON: “Maybe we should get the medics down here.”

While confident in his abilities as a striker and professional wrestler, Manny’s facial expression suggested pure bewilderment. With a look of brief concern, Manny does what’s best for the show and for his career, and climbs atop the Red Pioneer.

JOHNSON: “I think this is gonna be it, for Red.”

ONE

.

.

TWO

.

.

THR–KICKOUT!!!

VASSA: “DID HE JUST GET A FUCKIN’ SHOULDER UP!!? STEVE, DID RED PIONEER JUST POP THAT SHOULER OFF THE MAT?!”

JOHNSON: “I believe he DID, VINNY!”

VASSA: “Not TEN SECONDS AGO, I thought he was DEAD!! That, Steve, is a borderline MIRACLE! I’M NOT KIDDING!”

JOHNSON: “AND I’M NOT DISAGREEING!”

“HO-LY-SHIT! HO-LY-SHIT! HO-LY-SHIT!”

The crowd chants their approval, as well as astonishment, regarding the Pioneer’s escape from defeat, if not the grips of death.

Perplexed to every extent of the word, Manny looks up at the referee who holds up two fingers, despite his own jaw having dropped. For the first time in almost thirty seconds, The Red Pioneer’s head moves, as it begins to roll back and forth on the mat. He attempts to find a seated position, and in doing so, he instinctively throws a right hook into Manny’s ribs, which stiffly catches the astonished, though unguarded, Main Attraction. Cringing to his left, Manny winces, and prepares for another attack, but it doesn’t come.

JOHNSON: “Pioneer isn’t moving as if he knows where or WHAT he is!”

VASSA: “No time for mercy, Manny!! It may sound harsh, but Pioneer’s not dead, he’s not even unconscious, so Manny had better take GREAT advantage of this opportunity to put away the man that not a whole helluva lot of folks thought he could beat, here tonight, The Red Pioneer!”

JOHNSON: “Something may be wrong with the Pioneer, but in the record book, a W is a W, and on the card tonight, this match DOES say No Disqualification! Oh boy, Vinny, I have a feeling things are about to get ugly!”

With disdain in his eyes, having not appreciated the powerful shot to his ribs, considering his merciful attempt to end the match with as little damage done to the Pioneer as possible, “Young” takes on an air that folks around 4CW have not yet seen. His face contorted in the image of anger and fury, his posture tight and imposing, Manny lifts the extremely hazy Pioneer to his feet, slaps him in the face, and screams…

“MOTHAFUCKIN’ MONSTER!!”

JOHNSON: “All week, Manny referred to a ‘demon’ that he was going to unleash on 4CW, and Vinny, I gotta say, I’ve never seen such a vile look on Romero’s face before.”

VASSA: “I’ve never heard him imply to an opponent, at the top of his lungs, that he’s a ‘mothafuckin’ monster,’ so I think your evaluation might be spot on.”

Grabbing a hold of the Pioneer’s head with what appears to be a crushing grip, Romero takes two bounds towards the ring ropes and, in one fell swoop, tosses his 5’11, 200 pound opponent directly over the top rope…by only his head. Breathing deeply, nostrils flaring with disgust, Romero swiftly makes his way to ringside, standing over top of the Pioneer. Like lightning, his arms dart down toward the ground, but stop short around Red Pioneer’s neck. As if he were a rag doll, Manny lifts Pioneer high into the air, maintaining his chokehold all the while, before sending Red down to the concrete below with MASSIVE impact absorbed almost entirely by his lower back. The Pioneer stirs, but barely. At the start of the match, his ill condition was the result of a vicious, well-placed Superkick culprit. Now, who knows?

JOHNSON: “This is only going to get worse. I don’t know who that man is, wearing Romero’s gear, but it is NOT the man 4CW has known all this time.”

VASSA: “He just snapped, Steve. We’ve seen it before, except, this time, the guy snapping is a primely conditioned SUPER athlete, we know as “Young” Manny Romero.”

As the two converse regarding Romero’s recent shift in attitude, the devastation outside of the ring continues. Head locked between Manny’s thighs, now, Pioneer is just a moment away from being sent up into the air, and crashing back down on the security railing. Sickeningly.

JOHNSON: “SWEET FANCY MOSES, HE JUST BROKE THE DEFENSELESS RED PIONEER IN HALF WITH THAT POWER BOMB! OH, AND ON THE GUARD RAIL!!”

VASSA: “I have a STRONG stomach and a VERY jaded heart, Steve, but that made one turn and the other feel empathy, Steve. Christ Almighty. And what’s more, Steve, THE RED PIONEER HAS MAINTAINED CONSCIOUSNESS!”

In as close to a ball as he could possibly curl himself into, The Red Pioneer laid huddled against the very security rail that played accomplice to the act that’d perpetrate the agonizing pain in his back. As the Pioneer lifts his head and turns his face to, it would seem, attempt to find his feet, it is met with a MASSIVE boot to the face. The crowd, stunned by the turn of events, is starting to make it very clear that they are NOT big fans of Manny’s brutality against another of their favorites, the great Red Pioneer.

JOHNSON: “In a million years, Vinny, did you see anything like this being what transpired during this match?”

VASSA: “…NO, STEVE, I…NO. Romero has snapped, and at least for right now, has certifiably lost it. The Red Pioneer, one of the VERY BEST our business has to offer is VALIANTLY trying to hold on in hopes of making SOMETHING happen, but the fact that he is CLEARLY trying to FIND a vertical base, but CANNOT get his bearings…I mean, we’ll have to hear the medic report later, but Pioneer’s got a MAJOR issue, right now.”

JOHNSON: “Any other match, Vinny, would have been stopped by now.”

VASSA: “God damned right. Should have been stopped anyway! The guy’s defenseless!”

Romero, tuning out both the disapproval of Pioneer’s fan base and the excitement of his own fan base, lifts the Red Pioneer to his feet. Standing on cold, hard, cement, with pomp and circumstance being replaced by stiff movements and swift execution, “Young” lifts the Pioneer high above his head, in a vertical suplex setup.

JOHNSON: “OH MY GOD, NO.”

VASSA: “………Christ……..”

JOHNSON: “SOMEBODY DO SOMETHING!!”

Before anyone could, Romero had spun his opponent to face him on his headfirst downward freefall, before loosely catching him by the waist, following Pioneer’s already-questionably healthy skull and brain down to the cement, in a seated position. From disapproval, the crowd’s tone falls toward that of nearly complete silence. Romero’s face was showing no emotion, no remorse, no excitement, nothing but cold-hearted, calculated sadism. “Young” lifted The Red Pioneer from the cement, and tossed him over his shoulder. On both Manny’s front side and back side, The Pioneer hung lifelessly.

VASSA: “Such a…bizarre scene, Steve. All I know is those god damned medics should be running their asses down here, RIGHT NOW!”

JOHNSON: “Here they come, Vinny, here they come.”

Romero efficiently rolls The Pioneer beneath the bottom rope, before entering the ring himself. The Pioneer’s head can be seen moving, though millimeters at a time.

VASSA: “He’s still trying to do something.”

JOHNSON: “Tough son of a bitch, Red Pioneer.”

Romero coldly, though casually, lays his body across The Red Pioneer’s torso.

ONE

.

.

TWO

.

.

THREE!!!

The atmosphere in the arena can only be expressed as a mixture of dread, grief, confusion, and anger. Romero rises to his feet, and before making a much quicker exit from the ring than normal, can be seen mouthing indiscernible, but most definitely not empathetic words…

POWERS: “The winner of this bout, by way of pinfall, The Main Attractiiiionnn, “YOUNG” Manny Romerrrroooooooo…”

Even Powers’ typical enthusiastic bravado had been sucked out of the arena. The Red Pioneer laid nearly motionless in the ring, as the 4CW medical team took action.

The production cuts backstage and we find Frankie Morrison navigating the hallways of the Barclay’s Center wearing a tailor made suit with a cup of coffee in hand. He exchanges handshakes with different members of the backstage crew as he passes before finally settling at a door. He puts his free hand up to knock but pauses. He forgoes the knock and lets himself into the room. Chris Madison is sitting on a steel chair, fully dressed for his upcoming bout with Lord Raab. Madison shoots a glance over at Morrison and then plucks the earbuds that were stuck in his ear.

MORRISON: ”How are you feeling Chris?”

MADISON: ”Loose. Ready to tear Lord Raab apart limb by limb!”

MORRISON: ”Good. This is the moment you wanted. Tonight is the reason you came to 4CW. Lets put Lord Raab and this bad blood to rest so we can focus on getting your career on the right path.

Frankie sips on his coffee as he waited for Madison to respond. Madison sat still in the steel folding chair, staring a hole into the floor between his feet.

MADISON: ”I’d like to say that regardless of what happens out there tonight I can just move on. But that’d be complete and utter bullshit! Unless Raab is being stretchered off tonight, I’m not going to satisfied. This isn’t about piling on another win and you know that more than anyone. He’s going to be laid up in a hospital bed tonight after I’m through with him!”

Frankie reluctantly nods his head. He turns towards the wall and pulls a second steel folding chair, placing it across from Madison and opening it up. Frankie sits down, placing his coffee down beside him before folding one leg over the other.

MORRISON: ”They’re not going to allow you to go beyond the perimeters of this match. You feel you have to hurt Raab. You feel you have to try and finish his career. You better do it within the confines of that cage.”

MADISON: ”Yeah I know.”

MORRISON: ”Good. Have you put any thought about what’s next?”

Madson looks up from between his legs and glares at Frankie.

MADISON: ”Isn’t that your job? Honestly… I haven’t given it much thought. You line ’em up and I’ll knock ’em down. The only thing on my mind is that cage and smashing Raab’s face bad enough to give him a reason to wear that stupid fucking mask!”

MORRISON: ”And you’re feeling good? No after effects from that mugging on the last Adrenaline?”

Morrison looks Madison over briefly as Madison took a deep sigh and leaned back in his chair, visibly annoyed by Morrison’s concern.

MADISON: ”I’m good Frankie. Passed the concussion protocol, swelling is down, wounds are closed. Raab and McPherson had plenty of opportunities to prevent this night from happening. Their biggest mistake over the last three months is never getting the job done!”

MORRISON: ”Alright…”

Frankie reaches down and snatches his coffee cup from the ground before pushing up to his feet. He looks at Madison and cracks a smile, seemingly content with Chris’ answers.

MORRISON: ”I’m going to go find Perry and watch this brawl between the two of you. He’s been chewing my ear off about this Lion’s Den match since it was booked. I’ll try to pick his brain and see what he thinks about what’s next.”

Frankie turns away from Madison and exits the locker room as the production cuts away from the scene.

Retro Jordans step along the concreted floors as the cameras open from the ground up as a young lady scrolls the corridors of The Barclay’s. Dressed in white jeans, a black a white sweater with a Brooklyn Nets Jersey over it. She looks around her surrounding nodding her head as she’s very pleased with what her eyes are seeing.

???: “Lola?”

She rolls her and sucks her teeth as she turns around to a tall and powerfully built blond woman in a black skirt and white blazer with a red v-neck shirt beneath. The woman gives her another look before speaking again.

???: “Lola?”

LOLA: “Whaaaat Ms. Bailey?”

She exaggerated as she was eager to see the rest of The Barclay’s Center.

BAILEY: “Are you prepared for tonight?”

LOLA: “I’ve been prepared. I think I’m more prepared than you think I am?”

Lola smiled with a slight nod to the side.

BAILEY: “It was just a question, not an accusation. It’s a big deal. I would understand if you were nervous.”

LOLA: “Nervous? Just a little bit. More worried than anything.”

BAILEY: “What are you worried about?”

Lola lets out a slight sigh as her eyes look down toward the floor.

LOLA: “That my office isn’t big enough. I need allot of space. Like allot allot of space. Plus the simple fact that there are going to be haters. I don’t want any negativity trying to bring me down from this.”

Bethany stares at the younger woman for a few moments, clearly having expected complaints about something more important.

BAILEY: “When you’re the boss, you get to put haters in their place. That’s part of the deal.”

LOLA: “I’m just like…nevermind. Can we please hurry up. You do know that Perry’s waiting on us?”

BAILEY: “No, I didn’t know. We should go meet with him.”

Lola looks confusingly looks at Bethany.

LOLA: “But we’re suppose to finalize FNF. The next hottest show since Adrenaline.”

BAILEY: “Yes, I know. I just didn’t realize he was already waiting.”

LOLA: “Had me lost there for a minute Bethany. I still can’t believe that I’m getting this opportunity. Here’s a cheer to Friday Night Fate.”

Lola reaches out giving Bethany a big hug.

LOLA: “We’re gonna be the best GM’s in history.”

Bethany looks very put off as Lola suddenly hugs her, finally awkwardly giving the other woman a few pats on the back.

BAILEY: “Fate is going to be better than Underground ever thought of being, that’s for damn sure.”

LOLA: “Underground wasn’t bad. Just needed our touch, but hurry let’s go. The Lions Den match is coming up next.”

BAILEY: “Right. I’m sure he won’t notice if we’re a few moments late, but we’d better go.”

Lola jets down the hall leaving Bethany. All she could do was shake her head before she shouts.

BAILEY: “LOLA!”

MAIN CARD
LION’S DEN MATCH

LORD RAAB VS. CHRIS MADISON

A bustling in the crowd rapidly picks up until a moderate roar could describe its level of noise and aggression. The reason for such heightened excitement is octagonal, made of steel chain links accented by eight lightly padded poles at each angle shift and a steel beam lining the entire structure at it’s top, and is slowly being lowered from the ceiling down toward a ring full of 4CW officials, who wait to receive the “Lion’s Den” as it would be referred to, this evening. As if the odds weren’t stacked against him enough, already, in this atmosphere, Lord Raab would also have to contend against an even more hostile crowd than normal, as Chris Madison grew up in Long Island, and the Brooklyn crowd has adopted the New York native as one of their own.

VASSA: “You think they’re a little excited, Steve?”

JOHNSON: “I think they’re VERY excited, Vinny, as well they should be! Not only is Chris Madison finally going to get his hands on Lord Raab, after weeks and weeks of build up and hype, but he’s getting it in his hometown! Listen to these Brooklyn-ites!”

VASSA: “Brooklyners, Steve.”

JOHNSON: “What?”

VASSA: “Brooklyn-ites?? Are they from Babylonian times, Steve?”

JOHNSON: “They ARE Brooklynites. I looked it up, it said so on Urban dictionary.”

VASSA: “Maybe, it’s just that you sound like an idiot when you say most things.”

The 4CW officials in the ring have secured the octagon within the confines of the squared circle and have exited the ring. The fans, in all of the evening’s excitement, have not allowed their fervor to subside.

JOHNSON: “These fans are relentless in their support of Madison, and neither contestant has entered the arena!”

VASSA: “There is absolutely nothing like having a hometown crowd behind you, Steve.”

JOHNSON: “That may be true, but Lord Raab has been training VERY, VERY hard on the amateur Mixed Martial Arts circuit, and has even been rumored to have won a heavyweight championship in one of the local outfits around here.”

VASSA: “Well, that, plus it being about time that something popped for Lord Raab here in 4CW definitely make him a dangerous competitor, tonight, BUT, there is NO replacement for a lifelong pursuit of excellence in MULTIPLE martial arts disciplines, like Chris Madison has engaged in.

JOHNSON: “That’s true, Vinny, but the level of animosity that has escalated between these two make this ANYONE’S match.”

The secret side of me, I never let you see

I keep it caged but I can’t control it

So stay away from me, the beast is ugly

I feel the rage and I just can’t hold it

“Monster” by Skillet plays over the sound system as Lord Raab comes out through the curtain with Henry Losak.

It’s scratching on the walls, in the closet, in the halls

It comes awake and I can’t control it

Hiding under the bed, in my body, in my head

Why won’t somebody come and save me from this, make it end?

Raab and Losak stand at the top of the entrance ramp, looking towards the ring, ignoring the fans in attendance, who continue to ardently chant their opinion about the upcoming course of events. Raab slowly proceeds towards the ring. Amidst the chanting, a torrent of boos crash down around Raab and his trusted doctor. Losak shoots a few disconcerted looks towards the Brooklyn mob, but Raab remains focused on the chain link octagonal structure that looms before him. Climbing into the Lion’s Den, he walks to the far side and crouches down, moving back and forth, rubbing his hands together in excitement and rolling his neck around. He remains focused with anger in his eyes as he waits for the match to begin as Henry Losak stands at ringside.

JOHNSON: “Vinny, I can’t see his face, due to the mask, but his body language is more than enough to indicate: this man is looking to permanently HURT someone.”

VASSA: “Why Madison has no issue with Raab wearing his mask in this style of match is beyond me, since you mentioned it, Johnson, but just chalk that up to another advantage in Raab’s column.”

JOHNSON: “You gotta think, Vinny, that tonight is NOT ONLY the culmination of a heated rivalry with Chris Madison, but ALSO a very significant crossroads in Raab’s career, here, in 4CW.”

VASSA: “He needs a big win, Stevie, and he needs it TONIGHT!”

Vassa and Johnson’s commentary is cut short by the cutting of the Barclay Center’s lights and a screeching static . The video screen near the entrance way lights up with a white snowy picture, barely illuminating the entrance ramp. A black handprint slowly fades into the picture with a red anarchy symbol carved into the palm of the handprint.

We will not take this anymore

The words blast into the atmosphere of the Barclay’s Center, and the crowd erupts into a fit of excitement and cheers. Over twenty thousand fans on their feet and making noise, the roar is deafening. So much so that the next two lines of choir-like verse are drowned out.

(These words will never be ignored

You want a battle)

However, it would be impossible to drown out the scream that foreshadows the match to come.

HERE’S A WAAARRRRRRRRR!!!!!!

A sole spotlight focuses on the curtain for the entranceway as Chris Madison steps out. His head is tucked down and covered by a black towel, focusing on the ground beneath him. The crowd roars in anticipation as Madison stands as still as a statue. He finally brings his fists up towards his face and punches himself on the jaw with both hands before ripping the towel from his head and spiking it down to the ground. Madison charges to the ring, before grinding to a halt just before the apron. He looks up at the Lion’s Den, before him and then toward the crowd, which SURGES with positive electricity. Without an iota more of emotion or hype, Madison’s eyes find Lord Raab. His focus never falters, as he enters the Den and loosens up a bit. Before his music fades out, Madison simply raises his arms, horizontally.

JOHNSON: “Fans, I know you can hear this at home-”

VASSA: “No, Steve, you have to be here to feel the energy coming from this crowd for Chris Madison.”

JOHNSON: “I have to agree, Vinny, this place is almost LITERALLY rocking for the hometown hero, Chris Madison!”

Though the crowd is impossible to ignore, both fighters stand seemingly unaffected, unable to break their concentration on one another.

JOHNSON: “Logan Whitby will be officiating the Lion’s Den match this evening, folks, as you can see him going over the ground rules with Lord Raab right now, soon to make his way over to Chris Madison. Let’s go to Mike Powers.”

POWERS: “Fans of Four Corners Wrestling and people of BROOKLYN, NEW YORK, we bring to you this evening a special event, unprecedented in 4CW! ARE YOU READY FOR THE LION’S DEN??!??”

The raucous crowd doesn’t miss a beat in their enthusiasm.

POWERS: “Victory in the Lion’s Den can ONLY be achieved via knockout or submission. Fighting out of the black corner, representing Monster Energy, wearing red shorts with black trim, standing at six feet, four inches tall, and weighing in at two hundred and thirty pounds, he hails from Cologne, Germanyyyy, and he is “The Masked German Monsterrrr,” LORRRRD RAAAAAAAAAAB!!!!!!!!”

Boos rain down on Raab who is devoid of movement, with the exception of slight movements in his joints, while his glare is stuck on Madison across the Lion’s Den.

POWERS: “His opponent- ”

The crowd one eighty’s their expression of emotion, as the cheers force Powers to stop to give the moment its due.

POWERS: “Fighting out of the blue corner, representing “The Black Hand,” wearing black shorts with red trim, he stands six feet tall and weighs in at two hundred and twenty pounds. Hailing from LONG ISLAND, NEW YORK-”

Another massive pop forces Powers to pause for a few moments.

POWERS: “MAYHEEEEMMM’ CHRIS…MAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAADISOOOOONNNNNN!!!!”

As one might expect, the roof blows off the place, yet again. Whitby calls the two men to the center of the ring and goes over the ground rules, though without a microphone. Finally, he points to the space between the two wrestlers, which prompts Madison to stick out his right glove. Raab looks down at the gesture of respect, steps in, and mushes Madison’s face, before hopping back toward the chain link fence, his chest and abdominal muscles suggest there is laughter emanating from his masked face. Madison, however, does not retaliate, or even demonstrate anger at this sign of blatant disrespect. He simply shakes his head, with a faint smile, and takes his own step backward.

JOHNSON: “Raab, downright, does not respect anything.”

VASSA: “He reminds me of the type that would ask his own wife why she would slow roast a dog’s asshole and feed it to her husband, after she serves him dinner.”

JOHNSON: “What-”

VASSA: “It’s from a movie.”

Whitby makes his way toward the Den’s gate, opens it, lets himself out, and proceeds to go about locking it with a chain. Madison’s faint smile hasn’t left, and has arguably grown bigger, as Raab edges toward him. Whitby signals to the time keeper.

DING!!! DING!!!

JOHNSON: “They are ALL ALONE in that Lion’s Den, Vinny, and WE are UNDERWAY, here ladies and gentlemen!”

VASSA: “I’m ready to see some TEETH knocked out!”

As soon as the bell ring ceases to sound, Madison darts in and takes Raab to the ground with a double leg takedown, before immediately securing control of his opponent’s lower body with his own legs. The crowd pops measurably as Madison throws forearm after forearm into Raab’s masked cranium. Madison grabs a hold of Raab’s right arm and, giving up control of the ground grapple for a moment, yanks Raab over onto his stomach, before tightly locking in an arm bar. Madison gives Raab’s arm a few good wrenches, before he locks it up next to Raab’s head and snakes his other arm beneath Raab’s body, finding his other hand on the far side, and interlocks them. Madison then proceeds to execute four gator rolls across the Den, slamming right into the cage.

JOHNSON: “Madison taking Lord Raab to school, there, Vinny.”

VASSA: “That was pure showmanship from a no bullshit kinda guy. Just shows you how deep the level of dislike between these two goes. If that cage wasn’t there, Madison would be rolling Raab all the way to the concession stand.”

Holding his pseudo-half nelson in place, Madison sprawls out to a very deeply angled stance, with almost all of his weight resting directly on Raab’s upper back, and subsequently, clavicle. With a heave, Madison torques his position upward, hooking Raab’s contained arm in the process, and ultimately slamming Lord back down on his face. Madison repeats this maneuver three more times.

Johnson: “Madison is just smashing Raab’s face into the ground!”

VASSA: “Yeah, but Raab’s got that mask factor, who knows how effective Madison’s being, right now.”

After maneuvering slightly to his right, and then back toward his left, with the cage behind him not giving him many options, Madison resolves to lift Raab again, but this time, he hoped to move his opponent backward just a bit, to enable him more maneuvering room. Unfortunately for Madison, Raab seemed to know what Chris needed to do. As Madison lifted Raab into the air and pushed forward with his core, his left leg slid forward a bit- just enough for Raab to reach across his body and pick Madison’s left ankle, causing Madison to awkwardly fall backward into the cage. Though Madison maintained control over the downward facing Raab’s right arm, it wasn’t long before Raab was able to gather enough strength and solid footing to throw himself as hard as he could into Madison, who, in turn, was thrown into the cage.

JOHNSON: “Raab firing back, and Madison loses control. Raab may not be as skilled as Madison on paper, Vinny, but he’s clearly familiar with MMA style mat technique.”

VASSA: “Seems to me, he’s familiar with doing what ya gotta do to get out of a shitty situation.”

Grabbing a hold of Madison’s hair, and lifting him to his feet, Raab Irish whips Madison from one end of the cage, directly into the far end. Madison bounces off, wincing, and stumbles forward, allowing Raab to secure a tight grip around his ribcage. Taking a step to the side, and then the back, in a repeated motion, it seems that Raab is almost dancing with Madison. It seemed that way until, upon his final step to the side, he lifted Madison into the air, and belly to belly suplexed him into the cage. Madison was unable to complete the natural transgression of being thrown from point A to point B and found himself striking the chain link fence while still upside down. Though Madison threw his hands toward the mat in instinctive defense, the back of his head and his neck still managed to absorb the majority of impact. The crowd gasped with concern, many folks being jolted to their feet.

JOHNSON: “MY GOD!! Madison might have just broken his neck!!”

VASSA: “You’d think his hands would have done a little more to make that impact LESS sickeningly awful on his neck, but…nope.”

Not taking a moment to rest or relish in Madison’s agony, Raab remained on top of his opponent. Again, with a handful of hair, he lifts Madison to his, now, very unsure feet, grabs hold of his waist from behind, spins around with Madison, again, rhythmically, as just prior, before stopping, planting his feet, and heaving Madison backward. The Release German Suplex, this time, saw Madison’s neck take the CAGE’S impact, not the mat below. Randomly, Madison lands in a seated position, though his body is thoroughly dependant on the chain link fence to keep it upright. A missile dropkick that connects square in the mouth/chin/nose area knocks his Madison’s head squarely back into the cage, though Raab’s attacking body prevented Mayhem’s from moving from one side or the other, leaving his head prone to further cage-related attacks.

JOHNSON: “I think he may be out, Vinny. I think Madison might be out. Raab just hit that dropkick SQUARE in Madison’s face- BUT NOT ONLY THAT, VINNY, IT SENT HIS HEAD CAREENING INTO THE VERY CLOSE CAGE just INCHES behind his head!”

VASSA: “I’m not a doctor or a scientist, but I’d say the impact of those last three Raab maneuvers would equal about…probably a 57 mile per hour car crash…in…I’d say a Dodge Neon.”

JOHNSON: “If he does not have a major concussion, I would be HIGHLY surprised.”

VASSA: “Concussion? Yes, he most definitely has a concussion. Knocked out? If he was, which he may have been, he’s back now. I see his head rockin’ back and forth, there.”

JOHNSON: “That’s just from Raab’s stiff left and right hooks.”

Raab pummels Madison without relent, as Johnson suggested, stinging Mayhem with a barrage of left and right hooks, while spewing a myriad of inaudible insults at his opponent. The crowd, silent throughout Raab’s onslaught of punishment, takes it upon themselves to rally their hometown hero. Raab pulls Madison to his feet and sends a flurry of stiff knees into Chris’ midsection, before locking in a standing guillotine choke, after appropriately sprawling backward to negate Madison’s reach.

JOHNSON: “Here is where Raab’s MMA training is going to come in handy. Instead of a bodyslam, he’s going for a choke that could mean lights out for Madison.”

VASSA: “I don’t know if Madison’ll be able to escape, but that’s sure as hell gonna drain whatever resources he’s got left.”

Raab wrenches upward relentlessly, lifting Madison’s feet off of the mat each time he cinches his grip. Whitby jockeys for position outside of the cage, attempting to gain the best vantage point relative to a potential Madison tap-out or loss of consciousness.

“MAY-HEM! MAY-HEM! MAY-HEM! MAY-HEM!!”

The crowd remains firmly behind “Mayhem” Chris Madison, but instead of recharging his batteries, Madison falls to a knee, his arm movements becoming more and more sluggish. Lord Raab nods his head vigorously, symbolizing his belief that this match was just about over.

JOHNSON: “Raab thinks he’s got this one in the bag, and Vinny, I think he might. Madison is fading QUICK!”

VASSA: “Steve, the upset of the year might just take place here in a few seconds!”

Raab looks around at the fans jeering him in a taunting manner, holding their hometown boy’s life in his guillotine grip. In doing this, however, his grip loosens slightly, a fact made apparent by Madison’s rise back to a standing base. Before Raab has a handle on the transpiring events, Madison had already found the strength to push Raab backward into the chain link fence! Despite the vicious impact against the unforgiving Lion’s Den wall, Raab does not lose his grip, and in fact, cinches it in even tighter, causing Madison’s legs to flail into the air at an almost ninety degree (or one hundred and eighty degree, depending on your desired perspective) angle. Unsatisfied with merely choking the life out of Madison, Raab decides to assert his dominant control of the situation.

JOHNSON: “I’m not sure what Raab’s doing here.”

Raab forces Madison out to the center of the ring, CHANGES HIS GRIP, and drops the reeling, bowled over Madison with a three-quarter front face-lock bulldog (RKO)!

VASSA: “Raab just nailed him with the KILLERCUTTER!!!”

JOHNSON: “THIS HAS GOT TO BE IT FOR MADISON!! IT’S GOT TO BE!!”

A slow trickle of blood drips from Madison’s mouth down to the mat, as Raab lifts his rival’s head for the hometown crowd to see, soaking their boos and jeers in with pride. One more big shot away from unconsciousness, Madison showcases glassy, wandering eyes and arms moving before him on the mat, without purpose. Raab lifts Chris up, one more time.

JOHNSON: “If he hits him with another one of those KillerCutter’s, that will be the END of Madison’s undefeated streak AND the BEGINNING of Raab’s ascension in 4CW! He’s gotta be going for another one!”

VASSA: “Nope, no, he’s not Steve. He wants to beat Madison at his own game! He’s strapping that guillotine choke back on, one more time!”

Bringing Madison to his feet and locking in the guillotine would have most likely spelled the end for Mayhem, but Raab attempted to apply pressure by quick bursts of hops and wrenches, which inflicted a great deal of pain at times, but at others, allowed Madison reprieve. It was in the midst of such repositioning that Madison was able to dig deep and find a what some would call much more than a desperation maneuver.

JOHNSON: “FROM THE GRIPS OF THE GUILLOTINE, MADISON JUST NORTHERN LIGHTS SUPLEXED RAAB OVER HIS HEAD, RIGHT INTO THE CAGE!!!”

VASSA: “HOLY SHIT, WHERE DID THAT COME FROM, STEVE?!??”

The fans seconded Vinny’s initial reaction.

“HO-LY-SHIT!!! HO-LY-SHIT!!! HO-LY-SHIT!!!”

JOHNSON: “This crowd has been ACHING for him to get back in this thing!”

Raab lies on his side, parallel to the cage, and though he attempted to capitalize, all Madison could do after surviving such a great length of time in the guillotine, interspersed with a vicious KillerCutter, was collapse on top of his rival. For about twenty seconds, the only motion the men make is that of heavy breathing.

JOHNSON: “These men have gone through HELL, and we’re only about ten minutes into this match!”

VASSA: “Ten minutes is a LOT longer than most of these matches go, Steve. BOTH of these men should have been knocked out, by now! It’s a god damned miracle they’ve both still got a shot to pull out the W!”

Raab is the first to find his wits. From his prone position, he waffles Madison with a GIANT elbow to the nose, provoking blood to drain profusely onto the mat.

JOHNSON: “Madison is bleeding ALL OVER the place!”

VASSA: “Not a First Blood, Steve, he can bleed ‘til he can’t no more- as long as he can stand, he’s still in this match.”

Still from a seated position, Raab positions his prey up against the chain link fence before proceeding to unleash an array of right and left hooks, each causing varying amounts of blood to spray to the left and right.

“MAY-HEM! MAY-HEM! MAY-HEM!”

JOHNSON: “Madison has never needed that fan support MORE in his career!”

VASSA: “He needs a helluva lot more than that, Steve!”

The cheers provide Madison with a brand new rush of energy, though that rush only provides him with enough strength and presence of mind to put his arms up over his face. No longer swinging at a wide open target, and considering Madison’s appearance of gaining life, rather than losing consciousness, Raab becomes immediately, visibly frustrated. Three double axe handles land directly on Madison’s forearms, doing minimal to no damage. Upon attempt of a fourth, Madison drives his head directly into Raab’s solar plexus, knocking the wind out of him, momentarily. Raab falls to his side, off of his opponent, and begins to side-crawl toward a more neutral territory within the Lion’s Den. Madison rolls to his side, as well, resting for a moment, before, rotating all the way to his knees, while grasping the cage, attempting to climb his way back to his feet.

JOHNSON: “I don’t believe it! A well-placed headbutt, and this match is still very much up in the air!”

VASSA: “It was a hell of an out, Steve, but let’s not forget that Madison, almost definitely concussed, is still just about one or two knocks away from wakin’ up in the Brookdale Medical Center, wondering what the hell happened to Thursday, Friday, and the weekend.”

Both men, now, are climbing to their feet with the aid of the chain link fence. Raab, the less battered of the two, reaches his feet first, and wastes no time making a charge at his bitter rival. Either by sixth sense or by the reaction of the crowd before him, Madison spun to face the charge and dropped to a deep crouch, just in time for Raab’s shins and knees to connect. As Raab bowled over Mayhem, Madison swiftly lifted his own body, as well as Raab’s, up as fast as he could, pushing Raab as hard as he could toward the rafters. Raab soared through the air, briefly, before being nearly halved by the barely padded steel beam atop the Lion’s Den. Raab hung over the side of the Den, bellowing moans of agony, with limited movement.

VASSA: “It sucks hard enough to get the wind TRULY knocked outta’ ya once, let ALONE twice, twenty seconds later.”

JOHNSON: “Madison’s reflexes have given him a second chance here!”

Madison falls back down to one knee, blood tinged sweat dripping profusely from his face.

“FUCK-RAAB-UP!! FUCK-RAAB-UP!! FUCK-RAAB-UP!! FUCK-RAAB-UP!!”

VASSA: “It does NOT take these Brooklyn-ITES too long AT ALL to harmonize original chants. I am impressed.”

JOHNSON: “The modern wrestling fan seems to stay on their toes, when it comes to clever chanting.”

A look of exhaustion marked Madison’s face, despite the fact that he had found the way to his unsure feet. Stumbling toward his opponent, still bent in half over the side of the Den, Madison stops and wearily assesses the situation. He looks down, his bloody sweat staining the mat, before he looks back toward Raab and dives into him with several forearms to his lower back. Raab stirs, absorbing the blows, and attempts to right himself atop the Den. He throws a back kick that strikes Madison in his pectoral region, provoking him to stumble backward. Raab finally finds his bearings and struggles to, at the very least, face forward. As he turns himself around, facing the inside of the Den, now, he is met with flying elbow that directly connects with his solar plexus, once again. Holding his midsection, Raab hangs his head. Madison, on the other hand, has an idea that might just make the late edition of Sportscenter. He climbs up the chain link fence, about half way, before he props himself up next to Raab, though facing the roaring hometown crowd.

VASSA: “Holy shit. What’s he gonna do up there?”

JOHNSON: “Hurt Lord Raab. A lot.”

Madison steps back down, hooking his feet into the chain links about a foot from the top of the Den. A few straight rights to Raab’s ear and corner jaw area land in rapid succession, before Madison inches his way right next to his opponent. He hooks his left arm behind Raab’s head, gripping it tightly against his own inner torso, before throwing Raab’s left arm behind his own head. The crowd roars with rabid fury as Madison holds this position for several moments.

VASSA: “Holy shit.”

JOHNSON: “You said it, Vinny!”

“FUCK-RAAB-UP!! FUCK-RAAB-UP!! FUCK-RAAB-UP!!”

Placing his right arm in that same solar plexus sweet spot, Madison exhibits a showing of magnificent core strength. With a burst emanating from his legs and coursing all the way up through his right arm, Madison blasts Raab into the air. The moment that Raab’s legs touch back down atop the Den, Madison snaps backward, sending Raab flying over Mayhem’s head, before both of them crash down to the mat, which rumbles, while the cage itself rattles, and the crowd roars. Madison, rolls through the momentous crash, finally coming to rest on top of Lord Raab, whose head is still firmly in his grasp, enabling Mayhem to lock in a DEADLY guillotine choke!

JOHNSON: “HE JUST HIT THE CATALYST FROM THE TOP OF THE LION’S DEN!!”

VASSA: “Jesus CHRIST, Steve, I didn’t think had it in him to PEE STANDING UP later tonight, LET ALONE drop Raab with The Catalyst from on top of a FUCKING OCTAGONAL CAGE!!”

“HO-LY-SHIT!! HO-LY-SHIT!! HO-LY-SHIT!! HO-LY-SHIT!!”

Chris wrenches back on Raab’s head, his grip so tight that Raab’s mask is pinched in half, steepled above Raab’s beat red, surging vein exposed face and head. Madison’s base is strong, as Raab writhes beneath him, looking for any escape, whatsoever. Instinctively, Raab attempts to inch toward the side of the Den, though without ring ropes, there’s nothing there that can save him from the grips of the guillotine choke. Raab summons all the strength he has left to throw as many right hammers as he possibly can to Madison’s ribs, though Madison has his head wrenched to about a one hundred and thirty five degree angle, which disables almost any power Raab may have been able to muster. Though he winces, Madison takes the shots, his grip and dominance over the current situation becoming more and more devastating to Lord Raab’s chances of winning this grudge match.

“TAP-RAAB-TAP!! TAP-RAAB-TAP!! TAP-RAAB-TAP!! TAP-RAAB-TAPP!!”

VASSA: “I think it’s just a matter of time, now, Steve.”

JOHNSON: “I have to agree, Vinny. You can’t blame Raab, he gave it hell.”

Raab’s struggles become fewer and further between, as well as less and less aggressive. After another fifteen seconds, or so, movement from Raab is no longer discernible. After another ten seconds, and one last wrench backward, assumedly for personal reasons, Madison releases Raab, whose head and shoulders fall lifelessly to the mat.

JOHNSON: “AND THAT’S IT, VINNY! Madison’s UNDEFEATED streak CONTINUES!”

VASSA: “This guy is TALENTED, he’s SMART, and god damn it, we learned tonight, he’s OLD-SCHOOL ROUGH AND RUGGED TOUGH!!”

JOHNSON: “I don’t think it’ll be long before we see him knocking on the 4CW World Title’s door, Vinny.”

Madison turns toward Whitby, who is hastily unlocking the Lion’s Den door, and runs his flat hand across own throat, indicating that Raab was, without a doubt, knocked out. Bursting through the unlocked cage door, Whitby slides to Raab’s side, while signaling for the bell, before checking for a pulse.

DING!!! DING!!! DING!!!

VASSA: “I can’t disagree with ya there, Steve. On the other hand, I don’t know where Raab goes from here.”

JOHNSON: “He turned in a stronger effort than I OR MADISON expected, Vinny, I think he can take A LOT of positives from his performance tonight!”

Whitby slaps Raab’s face several times, to no response, but his countenance does not suggest mortal emergency. Within seconds, a gang of 4CW officials and medics fill the Lion’s Den and surround Raab, as Madison climbs the chain link fence and finds himself a perch atop the beam from which he had just superplexed Raab. The crowd is rocking with pride for their hometown hero, who stoically takes it all in, scanning the hordes of cheering fans as well as the unconscious Lord Raab, laid out in the center of the Lion’s Den.

POWERS: “The winner of this match, by way of KNOCK OUT… “MAYHEEEEEM” CHRIS…MAAAAADISOOOOONNNNNNNNN!!!”

From atop the Lion’s Den, Madison can be seen shouting at the paramedics and 4CW staffers to move out of the way. Raab had begun to stir, himself, his consciousness returned. Confused, but not stupid enough to question a bloodied, quite probably delirious human hurt machine, like Madison, Raab is left in the center of the ring, unattended once again. Madison pumps a fist toward his hometown crowd and unleashes a guttural, victorious roar…before he soars through the air, at an altitude that seems like a thousand feet, flipping backward, and crashing down on his most disrespectful and bitterest of rivals with a High Jump Moonsault!

“HO-LY-SHIT!! HO-LY-SHIT!! HO-LY-SHIT!!”

JOHNSON:“UNBELIEVABLE!!!”

VASSA: “That was a little FUCK YOU, RAAB!! ONE FOR THE ROAD, SON!!!”

“THAT-WAS-AWE-SOME!! THAT-WAS-AWE-SOME!! THAT-WAS-AWE-SOME!!”

JOHNSON: “BROOKLYN LOVES IT, FANS, AND WE’VE STILL GOT A WHOLE LOT LEFT TO GO!!”

Camera cut to the backstage area, where Bryan Williams is getting ready for his upcoming match. He stands there in the gorilla position, bouncing up and down as he loosens up. His ring gear on, Bryan looks ready to perform tonight.

CARLISLE: “You ready for this, partner?”

Bryan looks over, Aidan Carlisle enters the frame. Bryan embraces her in a quick hug, one that catches Aidan off guard.

WILLIAMS: “Always ready. We’ve been through a lot in this tournament, let’s finish up with a bang. What do you say?”

Aidan nods.

WILLIAMS: “Now, I think it is about time we go out there and win us some belts. I got a title just waiting to have a brother.”

CARLISLE: “Sounds like a plan to me.”

WILLIAMS: “There is…one thing.”

CARLISLE: “Shoot.”

WILLIAMS: “Just make sure to hit the OTHER team, if you have to?”

Bryan smirks, Aidan doesn’t seem to be having any of his playful banter here tonight.

WILLIAMS: “Get it? Cause you hit me…with a chair…couple of weeks ago.”

Aidan sighs, walking past Bryan as their match is about to get underway.

HEADLINE
TAG TEAM CHAMPIONSHIP
TRIPLE THREAT TAG TEAM MATCH

DISTINGUISHED ARCHETYPES VS. BRYAN WILLIAMS & AIDAN CARLISLE VS. GOLD STANDARD ©

POWERS: ”The following contest is for the 4CW Tag Team Championships and twenty five thousand dollars!”

As “Bitter End” by The Veer Union begins to play the black curtains begins to move. Out steps Julliet Brooks and Boardwalk Wrestling Internet Champion, “The Distinguished” CJ O’Donnell to a chorus of boos. CJ and Julliet stand on the top of the entrance ramp embracing the boos. As O’Donnell and Brooks walk arm and arm down the aisle CJ starts to yell at the fans in attendance tonight.

POWERS: ”Introducing to the ring from Boston, Massachusetts and being accompanied by Julliet Brooks, weighing in at one hundred sixty pounds and standing five feet, ten inches tall, he is the Boardwalk Wrestling Internet Champion, “The Distinguished”, CJ O’Donnell!”

O’Donnell hands Brooks the Internet Title as he climbs up the ring steps and wipes his feet on the top of the steps before entering the ring. As CJ hops over the top rope and raises his hands in the air, he gets another chorus of jeers from the fans. O’Donnell lifts up the middle rope as Julliet enters and raises the Internet Title over her head. CJ begins to stretch in the corner with a smirk on his face as he awaits for the bell to ring.

POWERS: “And his partner, hailing from London, England and weighing in at two hundred twenty eight pounds, he is ‘The Archetype,’ ‘The Epitome of Excellence…’ Cyruuus Riiiddleee!”

The lights inside of the Barclay’s Center go out, rendering the entire interior pitch black. Over the sound system, a deep, demonic voice can be heard speaking.

“Welcome to the nightmare, I think you are going to like it, I think you are going to feel you belong.”

Suddenly, a crimson light begins to illuminate the entryway while fog fills up the aisle leading to the ring. The demonic sounding voice is heard once more, this time laughing. As the laughing fades, a howling wind is heard followed by a few rumbles of thunder, giving way to the intro of “Lords of Salem” by Rob Zombie. As the music is heard resoundingly, Cyrus Riddle makes his way out from the curtain dressed in a black and grey trench coat, wearing a white mask with the word “God” written on the forehead in red ink. He holds up his index and middle fingers on each hand and begins to methodically walk to the ring.

“I speak the truth, I dare not tell a lie

One child is in fits, the other child dies

Now the yellow bird sits upon her finger

The yellow bird a specter lost to linger”

The way in which he walks indicates that he is very much in his own, dark element as the fans try to reach out to him, but fall just short of grabbing his sleeves.

“God hates the Lords of Salem

No can ever save them

God hates the Lords of Salem

No one can destroy them”

He finally makes his way to the apron of the ring, staring around the arena and into the ring, the crimson glow still providing a blood wash onto the crowd and the ring. He walks to the steel steps and onto the apron, stepping between the top and middle ropes before making his way and standing in the center of the ring.

“Do you think they suffered up on Gallows Hill?

Burn me and hang me and I always will

Tumble like a swine, a victim of the fury

Glory to the saint, before you start to bury”

Cyrus unbuttons the trench coat to reveal a painted chest, the word “REDRUM” across his chest, looking as if it is written in blood.

“God hates the Lords of Salem

No can ever save them

God hates the Lords of Salem

No one can destroy them”

Once the mask is removed and trench coat is thrown over the top rope, the arena lights once again turn on as Cyrus remains steadfast in the ring, holding up his two finger salute into the air with a focused, evil look on his face as he runs his tongue along his bottom lip and gives a smirk. The referee checks with him, but he does not acknowledge him as he walks to the Distinguished Archetypes’ corner and leans against the turnbuckle, wearing new, black “Fright Night” gear with red accents of what appears to be blood spatter. “Lords of Salem” begins to fade out as he waits.

JOHNSON: ”The Distinguished Archetypes are now in the ring ladies and gentlemen.”

VASSA: ”They look ready to get right down to business.”

JOHNSON: ”They should, this match is for the twenty five thousand dollar cash prize and the 4CW Tag Team Championships.”

VASSA: ”That’s a nice chunk of change for one nights work.”

JOHNSON: ”It’s actually two nights work. These two have already beaten two other teams to get here tonight.”

VASSA: ”I know, Steve. I’m just making sure that you’re on top of your game.”

The beginning bass notes of “Get Out Alive” begin to play, lights strobing along to the song. The guitars and drums kick in, and Bryan Williams springs out from the back curtain. Aidan Carlisle is not very far behind him. She stands there as Bryan drops to one knee in front of her, and flexes. He gets back to his feet, Aidan piggy backs on him as he carries them both towards the ring.

POWERS: ”Coming to the ring, weighing in at a combined three hundred and eighty pounds, they are the team of BRYAN WILLIAMS AND AIDAN CARLISLEEEEE!!”

Aidan hops off of Bryan’s back, as the two of them get closer to the ring. Bryan slides up onto the apron, laying down in a very relaxed fashion. Aidan wastes no time, she hops into the ring and begins to stretch. As she gets ready for her upcoming match, Bryan rolls under the bottom rope and joins her.

VASSA: ”This should be interesting. Aidan has some history with both Cyrus and CJ. After everything that Aidan went through with being abducted by Dakota, turned out that Cyrus had a hand in it as well.”

JOHNSON: ”Not only that but it appears that Aidan has rocked the boat a little bit in Boardwalk Wrestling with CJ and group known as the Unstable.”

VASSA: ”Who the hell does Ian Bishop think he is coming over here and pulling that crap?! And now she’s with him?! This is one fucked up situation.”

JOHNSON: ”Let’s not forget about Bryan Williams. How will he fit in this whole cluster?”

VASSA: ”Aidan is his partner so there really isn’t much he can do but fight with her. If things get too heated, he could always call in a favor with his new dad, Perry.”

JOHNSON: ”You’re not buying that, are you? Bryan is a little too old for Mr. Wallace to be adopting him.”

VASSA: ”You tell Perry that!”

Dirty Deeds” by AC/DC rocks the house as out comes Francis “Freedom” Dart and “Public Enemy #1 Drew Stevenson to roar of thunderous boos shaking the arena to it’s core. Freedom and Drew are both wearing Gold Standard t-shirts and matching gold and black ring gear with the 4CW Tag Team Championships around their waists.

POWERS: ”Introducing to the ring, we have Francis “Freedom” Dart and “Public Enemy Number One” Drew Stevenson. They are the 4CW Tag Team Champions… GOLD SSTTAANNDDAARRDD!!!”

As the two walk down the ramp, Dart grows furious at the sight of a nearby fan holding up a sign.

FREEDOM CRY

Ignoring Dart, Drew continues walking towards the ramp, focused on the ring ahead. Following behind, Dart gets bombarded with boos from the fans. Out of nowhere, a fan throws a drink towards Dart and connects with the side of his head, sending soda flying everywhere and all over him. Wiping the soda from his face, Dart looks over the crowd as a sad look appears in his eyes. He then continues towards the ring where Drew is already climbing the steps and entering. Rolling underneath the bottom rope, Dart enters the ring and then stands side by side with his partner. The two remove the championships from their waists and hold them in the air for a moment before handing them over to the ref.

JOHNSON: ”There are out tag team champions, Gold Standard. The fans don’t really care for them too much, Francis more in particular.”

VASSA: ”Can you blame them?! The douche acts like a moron each and every night on social media. He gets on every single persons nerves. I even heard he was a little creepy with the ladies.”

JOHNSON: ”But he’s married…”

VASSA: ”After two weeks! I don’t understand how Drew puts up with the guy to be honest. He’s carried the team ever since their first tag team match. Having to deal with this guy outside of the ring is just as much, if not more, than having to deal with him in the ring. Drew’s pulling doub– triple duty with this guy!”

JOHNSON: ”If that’s the case then I must say, he’s doing a damn good job at it. He’s won the 4CW Tag Team championships. A win here tonight against these other two teams will go a long way for him and I guess his partner, Francis.”

VASSA: ”If anyone can carry the dead weight and childishness of Francis it’s Drew. The people may hate the man but damn if he isn’t good in the ring.”

JOHNSON: ”He is a ring general as he likes to call himself. We’ll just have to wait and see if he can carry his team to the finish line here tonight.”

Standing in the center of the ring, the ref holds the 4CW Tag Team Championships above his head before turning to each side of the ring and displaying them for the crowd. He then walks to the edge of the ring and hands them to a member of the ringside crew on the outside before making his way back to the ring and checking with each corner.

Looking over to the corner of CJ and Riddle, the ref waits as the two decide who will start the match off. Stepping out of the ring, Riddle leaves CJ to start things off. CJ then looks at the ref and gives him the nod.

Turning to the opposite corner, the ref looks on as Aidan and Bryan discuss things amongst themselves. Aidan then exits onto the apron, leaving Bryan to begin the match. Bryan gives the ref a thumbs up, signaling that he’s ready.

In another corner, the champs discuss strategy. Francis goes to exit the ring but Drew quickly stops him. After a short stare, Drew then exits the ring, leaving Dart inside and confused a bit. The ref then yells, grabbing Dart’s attention. Caught off guard, Dart just looks at him funny for a moment before snapping out of it and nodding to the ref.

With each corner ready to get things underway, the ref slowly raises his arm into the air before swinging it downward and signaling for the bell.

DING!!! DING!!!

Before the bell can even silence, CJ takes off from his corner and charges towards Dart, catching him off guard and planting a solid right hand into the side of his jaw. From the other side, Bryan races in with a swift kick to Dart’s stomach, knocking the breath out of him while forcing him to lunge over. CJ and Bryan then attack Dart’s back with forearm strikes, taking turns with each hit until breaking him down to his hands and knees. Meanwhile, Drew just looks on, relaxed and calm before yelling and catching Bryan’s attention. The two stare at one another for a few moments, leaving CJ time to drag Dart away from the corner.

Bryan and Drew exchange a few words before Bryan turns his back to him and focuses his attention on Dart, who is now on his stomach and being stomped on by CJ. Rushing in, Bryan pushes CJ out of the way and then kicks Dart in the side of the head, forcing him to roll over to his back. In a rage, CJ then grabs Bryan by the shoulder and spins him around. After wrapping both arms around Bryan, CJ then lifts him up and drops him to the canvas with a side belly to belly suplex. Rolling away from Bryan, CJ then stands to his feet and looks back over to Dart who is starting to climb to his feet.

Grabbing Dart by the head and keeping him down on both knees, CJ pushes his head downward while lifting his knee upward and planting it into Dart’s face. With his head still in his clutches, CJ then delivers another knee and then another to Dart’s face before finally releasing him and watching as he face plants into the canvas. From behind, Bryan moves in and delivers a forearm shot to the back of CJ’s head, knocking him forward only to trip over Dart and fall to the mat. With Dart down at his feet, Bryan then raises his elbow into the air and then falls to the canvas, dropping the elbow across the back of Dart’s head, pressing his face into the mat.

JOHNSON: ”Freedom is getting it from both guys. It’s like he’s the main target in this match.”

VASSA: ”Can you blame them? The guy gets on everyone’s nerves constantly. If I could climb into the ring, I’d kick his ass myself.”

JOHNSON: ”No you wouldn’t.”

VASSA: ”Yes I would!”

Grabbing Dart by the back of the head, Bryan pulls him up to his feet and then drives his knee into his stomach. Pulling Dart’s head down and against his body, Bryan applies a side headlock. With his other hand, he then punches Dart in the head over and over while keeping the headlock in tact. Behind them, CJ slowly gets back to his feet and stands back, looking on for a moment before shaking his head back and forth. CJ then grabs ahold of Dart’s feet and lifts them up from the mat. Noticing what’s going on, Bryan then drops to a sitting position and drives Dart’s face into the mat.

Before Bryan can get back to his feet, CJ quickly moves in with a series of kicks that keep him down on all fours. After landing half a dozen vicious kicks, CJ then grabs Bryan by the arm and drags him up to his feet. With his grip firm around Bryan Wrist, CJ then throws him to the ropes behind him with all of his strength. With Bryan coming back quickly off the rebound, CJ then leaps into the air and plants both feet into Bryan’s mouth, knocking him backwards to the canvas with a dropkick. Popping back to his feet, CJ then races to the nearby empty corner and climbs to the middle rope with Bryan still down on his back. Leaping from the corner, CJ comes down with a leg drop across Bryan’s throat, pinning his head to the mat while his feet shoot into the air.

Looking across the ring, CJ notices Dart climbing to his feet. Pushing himself up in an instant, CJ then charges Dart and grabs ahold of him before he can get up from one knee. Wrapping his arm around Dart’s head, CJ then falls back and plants Dart’s face into the canvas with a DDT. With Dart face down to the canvas, CJ then crawls on top of his back and goes crazy with a fury of elbow strikes to the back of his head. With Dart motionless underneath him, CJ rolls him over to his back and then makes the cover as the ref sweeps in for the count.

ONE

.

.

TW–

From across the ring, Bryan breaks up the pinfall with a boot to the back of CJ’s head.

VASSA: ”CJ’s going for the quick win there but Bryan wasn’t going to let that happen on his watch!”

JOHNSON: ”The opportunity was there, he had to go for it.”

Grabbing CJ by the shoulder, Bryan pulls him up to his feet and then hits him over the back with a forearm. Grabbing onto CJ’s wrist, Bryan then whips him to his corner where Aidan looks on, eager to get into the action. Upon slamming into the corner, Aidan sticks her knee through the middle and top ropes, driving it into CJ’s back. As the pain shoots up his spine, CJ arches his back, looking up at the ceiling only to nearly have his head taken off with a running clothesline from Bryan. With CJ trapped in the corner, Bryan and Aidan slap hands, initiating the tag.

After quickly entering the ring, Aidan closes in on CJ as Bryan steps out of the way. Firing away, Aidan connects with a powerful elbow smash to CJ’s face, knocking his head backwards and slamming it against the top of the turnbuckle padding. She then climbs over him to the middle rope and slowly draws her hand back before planting her fist into the side of his head.

“One!”

She then hits him again and again as the crowd counts along with each landing blow.

“Two! … Three! … Four! … Five! … Six!”

Before swinging with a seventh punch, Aidan looks over her shoulder only to notice Dart slowly getting back to his feet. She then hops down from the corner and turns her attention to him, leaving CJ barely holding himself up in the corner. Grabbing Dart by the head with both hands, Aidan pulls him up to his feet. She then locks onto his wrist and goes to throw him to the corner but before she can release, Dart reverses the throw and sends her to the ropes instead. After coming back on the rebound, Aidan quickly ducks underneath a clothesline and continues to the ropes across the ring. Hitting them hard and coming back with even more speed, she then does a handstand and locks her feet around Dart’s head. Holding herself upside down for a few moments, she then falls forward, pulling Dart up from his feet and throwing him across the ring with a Frankensteiner.

JOHNSON: ”Aidan makes it look easy with that handstand Frankensteiner!”

VASSA: ”It’s not that difficult. In the heat of the moment, I could see myself pulling that move off.”

JOHNSON: ”You would break your neck, Vinny.”

VASSA: ”I’m more agile than you think!”

After getting back to her feet, Aidan is then whipped around by CJ from behind. He then kicks her in the stomach and as she lunges over, he wraps his arms around her waist and then lifts her up into the air only to fall forward and drop her stomach first to the canvas. Rolling over to his back, Cj lays beside Aidan, looking up at the ceiling while catching his breath, He then pushes himself up from the mat, standing between both Aidan and Dart, who are both down. With Dart nearly out of it, Cj turns his attention to Aidan and grabs a handful of hair and pulls her up to her feet. Dragging her to his corner, CJ throws her into it, slamming her against the turnbuckle. He then grabs onto the top ropes with both hands and begins to kick Aidan in the stomach over and over, slowly breaking her down into a seated position. He then looks to Riddle and the two quickly tag in plain sight of the ref.

Not wasting any time, Riddle hops over the top rope and enters the ring. With Aidan down in a seated position and her back against the corner, CJ steps out of the way and then exits onto the apron. After looking down at Aidan for a few moments, Riddle glances over his shoulder where Dart grabs his attention as he struggles to climb to his feet. Dragging himself towards his corner where Drew leans over the top rope, screaming for the tag, Dart focuses on his hand, ignoring everything else in the arena. Riddle quickly turns around but as he takes his first step, Aidan sticks her foot out and trips him up. Falling forward, Riddle crashes into the canvas, leaving nothing to stop Dart from dragging himself to his corner.

JOHNSON: ”Francis is getting closer to his corner and closer to making the tag with Drew, who hasn’t seen a bit of action yet!”

VASSA: ”He really needs to make this tag. Francis has been the focus of each teams assault. I don’t know how much more he can take.”

Pulling himself closer to the corner, inch by inch, Dart fights through the pain and focuses on Drew’s hand, waving at him to make the tag. Reaching for the tag, Dart extends his arm as far as he can, only to come up about six inches short of Drew’s hand, Not able to reach inside the ring any further, Drew continues to yell for Dart to make the tag and push even further.

JOHNSON: ”There’s only about a five or six inches between them.”

VASSA: ”All Francis has to do is get up and lea–“

JOHNSON: ”He found a burst of energy!”

Digging both feet into the canvas, Dart drives himself forward while extending his arm out as far as possible.

VASSA: ”Francis is making the tag!”

Just as Dart’s hand is about to touch Drew’s, he misses as it is pulled back.

JOHNSON: ”What the heck?!”

Coming up empty on the tag, Dart falls face first to the canvas while Drew leans back with his arm not extended anymore.

VASSA: ”Drew pulled his hand back! Drew wouldn’t make the tag!”

JOHNSON: ”What the heck is going on here?!”

VASSA: ”I don’t know, Steve! But I don’t think Drew is ready to enter the ring just yet.”

Slowly lifting his head up from the canvas, Dart looks up at Drew who stares back, shaking his head in disgust. Drew then hops down from the apron and onto the floor. Looking through the ropes, the two lock eyes for a moment while Drew shakes his head even more and then spits on the floor. Out of nowhere, Dart’s eyes widen as the entire arena erupts.

JOHNSON: ”You better pay attention Francis because Cyrus has ahold of you now!”

Cyrus then drags Dart away from the corner and to the center of the ring. Curing that time, Dart and Drew keeps their eyes locked together. Drew then cracks a smile as Cyrus lifts Dart’s foot into the air. Turning his attention to Cyrus, Drew then yells.

“DO IT!!!”

Cyrus then slams Dart’s knee down into the canvas as it collides with blunt force. With a smile on his face, Drew then slowly walks to the opposite side of the corner, keeping his eyes locked on Dart who is rolling around, holding his knee. From behind, Aidan spins Cyrus around and then goes to kick him in the stomach but gets stopped as he catches her foot. With Aidan’s foot in his clutches, he then pulls her inward with one hand and knocks her to her back with a clothesline from his free arm.

JOHNSON: ”What is happening right now?”

VASSA: ”From the looks of it, I would say that Drew is tired of Francis’ shit just like everyone else. There’s only so much a man can take and it appears that he’s reached his limit.”

“BBBBBBOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!”

The fans quickly turn their attention to Drew, not holding back their hatred for the man. Looking over the crowd, Drew stands there with a cocky grin on his face, appearing to be amused with the crowds heat.

With Aidan back on her feet, Cyrus hits her with a hard left, knocking her back a couple of steps. Aidan then fires back with a kick to the ribs, forcing Cyrus to go down to one knee. Meanwhile, Dart drags himself towards the corner where Drew stands on the outside. With only a few feet to go, Dart pushes through the pain, leaving Aidan and Cyrus behind to fight amongst themselves.

Aidan then throws a right hand towards Cyrus’ head but gets blocked at the last second as he throws an arm up. Cyrus then counters with a stiff punch to the stomach from his other hand, knocking the breath out of her. Cyrus then stands pops up to both feet and pushes Aidan away with both hands digging into her chest. Stumbling backwards, Aidan collides with the ref, knocking him down to the mat and her falling on top of him.

Finally in the corner, Dart climbs halfway through the middle and bottom rope. With Drew’s back turned to him, Dart grabs ahold of his shoulder and pulls him in. Ripping his arm away from Dart’s grasp, Drew then turns around as a smile comes over his face, stretching from ear to ear. Drew then slaps Dart across the mouth with an open palm. Looking around for a moment, Drew’s eye then widen as he locks his sights onto the Tag Team Championships resting on the announcers booth.

Making his way to the announcers booth, Drew grabs one of the belts and then turns around to face Dart, who quickly takes notice and tries to crawl backwards through the ropes. With the ref out of commission for the moment, Drew then takes off from stand still and rushes towards Dart. Taking a swing for the fences, Drew smacks Dart upside the head with the belt before he can pull his head back through the ropes.

CCRRAACCKK!!!

JOHNSON: ”DREW JUST LAID OUT FRANCIS WITH THE CHAMPIONSHIP!!!”

VASSA: ”I can’t say that I blame him but why would he throw away a championship match like this?!”

JOHNSON: ”What about Gold Standard?!”

VASSA: ”What the hell is going on here?!”

“BBBBBBOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!”

With Dart hanging over the bottom rope, lifeless, Drew then throws the championship to the floor and turns his back on his former partner.

VASSA: ”I think that’s your answer right there, Steve.”

JOHNSON: ”But he’s a tag team champion…”

VASSA: ”Some things are just more important than gold.”

Drew then walks away from the corner of the ring and makes his way towards the entrance ramp on the other side of the ring.

Back in the ring, Aidan and Cyrus roll around trying to rip each other apart with the ref still underneath them. Aidan then crawls away from the pile but doesn’t get too far before Cyrus grabs ahold of her foot. Rolling over to her back, Aidan then draws her other leg back and then kicks it forward, planting the bottom of her boot into Cyrus’ face. She then rips her other leg away from him and quickly drags herself away from the pile where she is then able to get back to her feet.

Grabbing onto the ropes, Riddle pulls himself up from the ref and then steps over him to where nothing is between him and Aidan. He then charges towards her and swings with a powerful clothesline, only to miss as Aidan ducks underneath. Continuing in stride, Riddle runs to the ropes and bounces off with force. Just as he takes a couple of steps away from the ropes, Aidan then takes off from stand still and charges towards him, only to then take him down to the canvas with a spear.

Climbing over Cyrus and mounting herself on top, Aidan then unloads with a series of lefts and rights, hitting him from every direction possible, one after the other with no resistance. She then draws back further than any other time and clenches her fist even tighter. With Cyrus locked in her sights, she then swings down for the kill shot only to get caught by surprise as Riddle catches her fist with both hands, only inches from his face. He then rolls her off to the side and the two then race to get to their feet.

JOHNSON: ”Cyrus is lucky to have avoided that knockout punch!”

VASSA: ”And now it’s on to the races! Who is going to get to their feet first?!”

Making his way up the ramp, Drew continues to receive massive amounts of boos from the crowd showing their displeasure and hatred for him. With a smile on his face, he just continues to the top of the ramp before stopping to look over his shoulder.

“BBBBBBOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!”

After thinking to himself for a quick moment, he then nods his head before turning away and disappearing through the curtain.

Back in the ring, Cyrus makes it up to his feet first and quickly moves in with a elbow smash to the side of Aidan’s head before she can get up from one knee. He then grabs her by the head with both hands to pull her up but keeping her bent over. Lifting his arm into the air, he then slams it down across her back with a forearm smash, knocking her down to one knee. He then takes a few steps back before adjusting the waistband on his pants and running forward. Once in range, he plants his knee into her face with a running knee lift, flipping her over to the canvas flat on her back.

With Aidan down on her back, Cyrus then grabs her by the ankle and drags her to his corner where CJ stands on the apron, eager to get in. Placing her ankle on the bottom rope, Cyrus props her leg into the air before looking to CJ and making the tag. Once Cyrus exits onto the apron, CJ grabs ahold of the top rope and vaults himself up and over into the air. On his way down, he then goes for an elbow drop across Aidan’s knee but collides with only the canvas as she rolls out of the way.

VASSA: ”CJ missed the elbow drop!”

JOHNSON: ”If I didn’t know any better I would say that Aidan was playing opossum.”

With CJ down and holding his elbow, Aidan pops up to her feet. She then turns her attention to Cyrus and shuffles towards him only to deliver a sidekick that knocks him down from the apron. After crashing to the floor, Cyrus rolls for a bit until slamming into the barricade, knocking his head against the cold steel. Aidan then looks down at CJ and raises her foot into the air only to stomp down with it across his face. She then grabs him by the arm and drags him up to his feet before whipping to the corner where Bryan awaits. After crashing into the corner, CJ takes a forearm shot to the back of the head from Bryan, knocking him a step away from the corner. From across the ring, Aidan then charges towards him before leaping into the air and crushing him in the corner with a body splash.

Just as her feet touch down to the canvas, Aidan steps out of the way, leaving CJ to fall forward to the canvas with nothing to break his fall. She then looks to Bryan and the two slap hands, making the tag as the ref recognizes it in plain sight. Bryan then climbs the corner to the top while Aidan rolls CJ over to his back. The ref then begins the five count, screaming directly at Aidan.

“One!”

Once at the top, Bryan turns around with his back to the ring and looks over the crowd.

“Two!”

He then jumps away from the corner, does a back flip in the air and comes down with a moonsault across CJ’s body. After hooking the leg, Bryan goes for the cover. With the ref about to screen three towards Aidan’s count, Dart bursts into the action and throws the ref to the canvas. Dart then kicks Bryan in the back of the head, breaking up the pin.

VASSA: ”Here’s Francis butting in when not wanted like always!”

JOHNSON: ”Not only did he just break up the count, he also threw the official to the mat.”

VASSA: ”Leave it to him. He’s not the smartest whe–“

JOHNSON: ”UH-OHH!!!”

Aidan then jumps towards Dart while turning her body to face the mat and wrapping her legs around his waist. She then pushes herself up from the canvas with both hands only to then roll forward, lifting Dart up from his feet and slamming him face forward into the mat with a wheelbarrow facebuster.

JOHNSON: ”RAIN OF PAIN!!!”

VASSA: ”It’s going to be raining tears from his eyes tonight!”

With Dart unconscious, Aidan rolls him over to his back. She then grabs ahold of Bryan, getting his attention before helping him crawl over to make the cover on Dart. Aidan then kneels down and shakes the ref for a few moments, snapping him back to reality and pointing out the pin only a few feet away. As the ref crawls over to make the count, Aidan then stomps on CJ until rolling him out of the ring.

ONE

.

.

TWO

.

.

THREE!!!

VASSA: ”Bryan Williams pins Francis Dart! We have new 4CW Tag Team Champions!”

JOHNSON: ”They did it! Bryan Williams and Aidan Carlisle have won the championships and the twenty five thousand dollar cash prize!”

VASSA: ”We have new champions! We have new champions!”

“Get Out Alive” hits the speakers as the fans erupt with mixed reactions, cheers and boos, for the new champions. Aidan helps Bryan slowly get to his feet as the two look over the ring and outside at all the fallen bodies.

DING!!! DING!!! DING!!!

POWERS: ”Here are your winners and new 4CW Tag Team Champions, BRYAN WILLIAMS and AIDAN CCAARRLLIISSLLEE!!!”

The two congratulate each other in the center of the ring while the fans continue to flood them with mixed reactions. After grabbing the two championships from a member of the ringside crew, the official then makes his way in between Aidan and Bryan before handing them both a championship belt. He then grabs each of the hands and raises them into the air while they hold up their other hand with the belt in its grip.

VASSA: ”Well there we have it, Steve, the new 4CW Tag Team Champions!”

JOHNSON: ”We witnessed a lot happen in this match tonight but through it all, Bryan and Aidan stuck together and proved that they were the better team here tonight.”

VASSA: ”I was expecting dollar bills to rain from the ceiling with the announcement of a winner but now that I look up, the only thing I see is the cage.”

JOHNSON: ”That’s it, Vinny. Up next we have the Warzone of Horrors. We’re going to cut backstage folks while we clear the ring and quickly set the Warzone of Horrors up.”

VASSA: ”There’s a lot that has to be done. The ropes need to be replaced with barbed wire. Weapons need to be carted down and thrown all over the place. The 4CW Championship needs to be secured above it all.”

JOHNSON: ”There’s a lot that needs to be done so we’ll be right back folks so we can get back here at ringside and not skip a beat.”

STEVENSON: “Why?”

After a rather grueling contest, a sweaty Stevenson stands in the backstage area with a smile stretched along his face and that is because he just shocked the world as he turned on his former friend and partner, Freedom. Still dressed in his wrestling gear; Stevenson stares dead on into the lens of the camera that records his every word.

STEVENSON: “That is the biggest question being asked right now. Why? Why did you turn your back on your partner, your brother and the answer is simple – because I was sick and tired of being held down. I was sick and tired of having to clean up his messes, of having to listen to him and everybody around him whine and cry simply because his flavor of the week saw his true colors and decided to find a REAL man.”

Still expressing that traditional Stevenson smile, he continues to speak not leaving anybody in suspense with what he has to say.

STEVENSON: “Week after week, it was the same damn thing and that was Freedom blowing my phone up with texts and calls simply because he needed somebody to talk to because the woman that he supposedly “loved” and I use that term loosely decided she didn’t want him no more so what did he do? Blow up my phone with how he wants to leave the business. Every single week, it was the same damn thing and I put up with it, I tried to understand but as time has gone by? I realized that I just don’t get it and maybe that’s because each and every time that a relationship of mine has went south? I didn’t call up my best friends and cry about it, I didn’t call up the head of the promotion and tell him how I needed time off, or how I was stepping away from the business – no, I did exactly what I do now and that is step up and carry promotions just like 4CW on my back because that is the kind of guy that I am.”

With his face growing red, a lot of it was passion but also some anger as he was fed up with it the way that his partner was acting.

STEVENSON: “Oh yeah, I know that you will bring up my recent divorce and I hope that you do Freedom because I make no qualms about it; this business is my life and I have dedicated everything to it and I will continue to dedicate everything to it. You see, when Gold Standard was born – I thought that it was only the best that the business had the offer coming together but boy was I wrong. Instead, I had to hold your hand and guide you on the right path simply because you couldn’t learn how to differentiate your on and off camera persona and guess who had to hear about it?”

Slapping his chest, he was signaling to the fact that it was him who had to hear about it each and every time.

STEVENSON: “Yeah, you’re looking right at him! I had to hear about every sob story, I had to watch you go into a downward spiral over some floozy who I never gave a damn about in the first place. Yeah, you could say that I have thought about doing this for a while, and now that you feel the need to try and get back your old love? You’re definitely on your own because *I* have better things to do than deal with a failed relationship that isn’t my own. So from me to you? Learn how to remove the tampon from out of your vagina because every single woman in this company has bigger balls than you do.”

As the fans gasp as to what Stevenson just said about his former partner; he stands there still smiling with all of the arrogance in the world.

STEVENSON: “Now… Since I have removed all of the dead weight that was holding my career down – let me tell you, you are looking at the REAL Golden Standard of this company, the man who made that entire group what it is today and the man who carried Freedom’s pussy whipped ass all the way to the top.”

Bringing his arms out at his sides, he surprisingly gets a very mixed reaction from the crowd as he embraces all of the cheers as well as boos. Still grinning from ear to ear, it was evident that Stevenson was riding on his own instead of trying to carry Freedom any longer.

STEVENSON: “So to everybody listening, take notice of what I am saying to you because I am coming for the 4CW Championship and there isn’t a soul alive who has the ability to stop me. Dakota Smith? I have already beaten his ass before and trust me, I will do it again if he decides to step in my way. Jason Cashe? Nobody is denying what you have done for this company, you have taken it on your shoulders and that is simply amazing because you are quite possibly the biggest retard that I have ever seen in this business. However… I promise you that if you decide to stand across that ring from me? I will put you down, I will make an example out of you because *I* am the measuring stick around here and not you, not Dakota, not Bronx and damn sure not Felicity but ME; Drew Stevenson; the Golden Standard!”

While standing there with all of the arrogance in the world, that smile never leaves his face as he knows that it will get under people’s skin, especially since they can’t do anything about it. Bringing his arms back in towards his body, he takes in a much needed deep breath and then exhales showing a sign of relief, glad that he no longer has to carry so much dead weight. Turning on a dime, Stevenson walks out of view of the camera as everything temporarily fades to black.

The lights in the Barclay Center all shut off at once. Quite a few seconds go by as we hear the crowd stir. We can also see cell phones light the arena as well. Finally, the big screen comes to life with static. Said static disperses as we follow a point of view shot racing through what seems to be an old abandoned Summer Camp near the lake. From behind us we can hear a non-copyrighted version of the famous “Kill-Kill Die-Die” sound from that famous movie series about a gentleman who might or might not wear a hockey mask. As the point of view shot continues run from something, the narrator begins.

NARRATOR: “The Blue Harvest Is Nigh Upon Is…”

The scene fizzles out into white noise and quickly switches to a black and white scene in a graveyard. A young man in glasses warns “They’re Are Coming to Get You Barbara” before a Zombie attacks him.

NARRATOR: “They have been watching; waiting in the shadows. 4CW has unknowingly summoned them and have awoken them from their slumber. Now, the witching hour is close at hand.”

A quick jump cut in the video stream and now we are in what seems to be outside a farmhouse in Texas. Running through clotheslines, the sound of a rusty chainsaw can be heard in the distance. The scene fizzles into darkness once again.

NARRATOR: “Disgraced former rulers of a Boardwalk Empire, they have come to penance. They have come to earn redemption. They will receive retribution.”

The white noise leads us into inside a cabin within the woods. There is a cellar door in front of us that rattles up and down, as if there were something horrible trying to get out. From beneath we can hear a demonic voice yelling “I’ll swallow your SOUL!”

NARRATOR: “Living Dead Rejects of a false a Illuminati, they have seen the face both of evil and counterfeit. They sold their souls and thus ascended to become nothing more than lowly demons for false profits.”

The scene switches up again, but this time we are looking at a Troll in the middle of a Halloween Party in a auditorium. Standing across from him is Ernest P. Worrel. In amazing defiance, the iconic heroic character of yesteryear holds up a jar of Miak in defense of the foul troll.

NARRATOR: “They have come to a new home, but their mission remains the same…”

Finally, we race through the hallways of a house. We pass by dead bodies of teenagers on the living room couch. In the distance we can hear that a phone is off the hook. A figure wearing a ghost mask darts past us as we crawl deeper into the living room. Our destination: the television set. We stop and stair at the static in the T.V before the narrator speaks to us once more.

NARRATOR: “…to televise their revolution!”

The white noise takes over the screen again before fading into darkness. Once again the the entire is dark. A few seconds go by before the beginning of The Final Countdown plays. It sounds different though. In fact, the tune is being played on Kazoo’s. This is not the traditional version of the song but, instead, the Toy Dolls cover of it. Once the song picks up, the big screen comes to life in bright eighties colors, almost like the Saved By the Bell opening. There is a fairly good pop (though not bigger than anyone currently on the roster) as the name Bitch TV appears on screen. A pillar smoke goes off on the stage as a young woman with her dark and green hair up in a Mohawk runs up onto stage. This woman, decked in bondage pants, a halter top, and a jean vest with several buttons and patches on it, stops on the ramp way to crack her neck as if she is ready for a fight. Soon she is joined by a very well built pink haired lady. The lady gives a smirk before turning to her partner. Re-united in a wrestling arena for the first time in six months, the quickly embrace in a hug before the taller woman holds up her right arm and the woman with the green Mohawk jumps up to give her a five. Clearly these two are not just team mates, but really good friends. Most of the fans know these two women from their time at Boardwalk Wrestling. The woman with the green hair and Mohawk is the gamer girl known as Zelda Orion, even though she had a bit of a make-over. The well built pink haired lady is Sloane Atreyu, though she went through a transformation that made her come out very physically fit. The cuts out as they remain on the stage. Both ladies are handed microphone. Zelda is the first to speak.

ORION: “Well …we can take “weeks of cryptic build up to a surprise debut” off the bucket list. We did it and, frankly, we never need to do it ever again.”

ATREYU: “Yeah, aside from the theatrics you have just seen, there will be no more second coming of Christ Antics. We made a grand debut, it was fun, we can move onto to getting ourselves settled within 4 Corners Wrestling. We even left our managers in the back for the night.”

ORION: “We inexplicably have two of them now for whatever reason.”

Orion shrugs at her partner as Sloane mirrors the action as if to say that she doesn’t really understand either.

ATREYU: “Some of you may know us while others of you may think Bitch TV is some kind of porn channel. Hell, probably some of you do not even care. We take great pride in accepting the challenge of making you care. While we are definitely here to win, put more gold around our waists, and add to our legacy, we also feel a devout responsibility to provide the fans with quality, entertaining television. Maybe we might have gotten confused along the way, but we remain steadfast in our mission now.”

ORION: “For those that need a refresher on who in the hell we are, I am going to briefly summarize our stay at Boardwalk Wrestling for all of you. We came, we saw, we sold out worse than the band Sugar Ray ever did, and we held the most important and prestigious titles in the company. No, not the Atlantic City title. Anyone can hold that title …but many do not hold onto it for long periods of time for whatever reason. No, we are talking about the BW Tag Team Titles. We aren’t just saying that because we held those titles, but because it a fact. Look at all of the lengthy reigns and the names who held the titles. Only the REAL elite compete for those titles. Suffice to say, we know how to compete on a high level. We don’t just know how to reach the bar, but how to raise it.”

ATREYU: “Which brings us to why we are here. No, we are not here to “SAVE” the division. What bull shit is that. Why would we go ANYWHERE near a company that had a tag team division that needed to be saved. There is no entertainment in that. It is just a tag team joining a company so they can have titles …even if those titles happen to be worthless because there are no real teams. We would not be here if that were the case.”

ORION: “We are like moths, we are attracted to fire. We have been watching the tag teams over the last few months and we were impressed. While we loved our time at Boardwalk, we wanted to conquer new challenges…”

Sloane leans over and whispers to Zelda.

ATREYU: “That …and Syxx fucked up and I think got us banned for life.”

Orion rolls her eyes.

ORION: “Yeah, that little hiccup too. But still, we already proved ourselves in one very daunting tag landscape, we want new challenges as a tag team. I think the tournament and the finals going down tonight PROVE that 4 Corners Wrestling is that next big step for us to overcome. Me, personally, I am a gamer. And I don’t mean I play games here and there. No, I am a hardcore “Teabag the fucking newb” gamer who doesn’t like to lose. If I play a game, I play to win. And if I am going to play to win, it better be a game WORTH winning. The 4CW tag team division is a game worth winning.”

ATREYU: “Another thing we are ABSOLUTELY not going to do is run our mouths about how we deserve title shots now. There will be no challenging the winners or losers of tonight’s contest. When we were on top of the mountain at Boardwalk, nothing was more disrespectful than a tag team that came in and immediately demanded that they be propelled to the top because they happened to be a tag team. That might work in low rent Extreme Hardcore Sinner Prime time Championship Force Wrestling in some backwoods gym, but that doesn’t work in a company that is STACKED with tag team talent. We certainly believe in paying our dues and climbing the ladder. Especially after we pretty much screwed up our own run by joining forces with a group we KNEW were using us, we need to build ourselves back up the right way.”

ORION: “That doesn’t mean we are not going to be watching and scouting the match later tonight. We certainly are. One day we are going to get to that level and we are going to make sure we are prepared to beat whoever the champions may be. We are thrilled to see what stops the three teams will go to not just be tag champions, but win the tournament. Personally, I am rooting for Gold Standard. Those smug assholes are the type of people I personally like to take down a notch. Though Aidan Carlisle is an extremely talented performer and Bryan Williams holds one half of the BW tag team title, obviously he is in the elite we were talking about. Personally, I have not seen Cyrus Riddle in action but that fucker has been the talk of this summer. I personally would like to see if he lives up to all of that hype. It will be interesting to see if he and Gilligan can pull off the win.”

ATREYU: “No matter who wins, I hope you do not take our pleasantries for weakness nor misunderstand our want to earn a way a sign of apathy. We WANT those titles; we will one day be coming for those titles and you would do best by being ready for us when that day does arrive. We like to have fun, but when that bell rings, we know how to get the job done.”

Sloane begins to walk to the back as Zelda finishes off their promo.

ORION: “For further research on what to expect, check out this coming Adrenaline for our tutorial level. Orion OUT!”

Zelda does an old school mic drop before The Toy Dolls The Final Countdown plays as there is a pretty good crowd response for the debuting Bitch TV.

Switching over, the now former Tag Partners are seen within finger reach of one another. Francis Dart is losing his mind, stomping his feet and begins to threaten Drew Stevenson.

FREEDOM: ”How DARE You! I made this shit, I am the Architect of Gold Standard!”

STEVENSON: ”You came up with the idea, I made it work. I just don’t need you to continue that success..”

FREEDOM: ”I am The Drama King! I am Public Enemy Number ONE, you have been put in 2nd place! I am FAMOUS on Twitter!”

STEVENSON: ”For being a moron. You’ve done nothing but put a bad look, a bad image to Gold Standard and I’m tired of it. Everyone is…”

FREEDOM: ”Then fuck it, I’m gone. I’m signing full time with MWA, screw you, screw Perry Wallace and screw FOUR CEE DU–”

WHACK!!!

From behind a chair swings in and cracks Francis Dart to the side of his face. He slams against the nearby wall and collapses to the floor. Drew Stevenson gets puffy in the chest, expecting Cashe to attack him as well. Gold Standard and Cashe have some heat for one another from a few shows back. Looking down at Francis as he begins to rise from the ground, Cashe gives Drew an option.

CASHE: ”You can either assist him or step the fuck off and leave it to me. Your choice…”

Not afraid of Cashe but also no longer a fan or friend of Francis Dart, Drew motions a salute towards Freedom and turns away from the situation, leaving the scene. Cashe lifts the chair again and as Freedom sits on his knees, Cashe blasts him over the head once more. Francis Dart slumps and falls over, blood trickles out from somewhere on his head, hidden by his hair.

CASHE: ”Now you had to know this was coming! I took care of Austin, repaid that debt but for you, I had to make an example. I knew your Father and he was a good man but you? You are far from it, you are a disgrace to not only the man your Father was but the business as a whole. After hearing you signed a deal with MWA and that TONIGHT was your last night? I had to act and here we are!”

Grunting on the floor, Freedom slowly moves but is dazed and bleeding. The blood has rolled down the front of his face as he looks up at Cashe with a glaze in his eyes.

FREEDOM” ”Fuuuck…yooouu…Ughh..”

Tightly gripping the steel chair, Jason Cashe cocks back but before he takes another swing, he pauses..

CASHE: ”No, it’s fuck you buddy! You should have been left to rot in NGW but I will do what should have been done then…Goodnight Francis…”

WHHAAAACCK!!!

Over and over and over again, Cashe swings down with the Steel Chair. Into the body of Freedom and the now former Tag Champion has no fight in him to defend the shots. His body stops flinching after about 5 shots and the Chair is bent to all hell. Cashe tosses it to the side and he stares down at an unconscious Francis Dart.

Turning around, Cashe’s eyes glance around for another weapon. He seems antsy, wanting to inflict more pain. He finds a small television sitting on a table. He rips it out from the wall and approaches the sprawled out Freedom. Lifting the TV up high, Cashe seconds from doing serious damage he is tackled. The TV falls to the ground and Niobe Martin is the one hugging Cashe from the side.

NIOBE: ”Stop, stop! Save your energy. This punk isn’t worth it. He’s done, a bum.”

CASHE: ”Yeah ok…OKAY! The Main Event needs to hurry up…I want to tear flesh open..”

Still latched to Cashe, Niobe walks him in an opposite direction as EMTs rush the scene to check on Francis Dart.

MAIN EVENT
WARZONE OF HORRORS
4CW CHAMPIONSHIP
EXTREME CHAMPIONSHIP

BRONX VALESCENCE VS. LO’RENZO PORTER VS. JASON CASHE VS.
JAIR HOPKINS VS. DAKOTA SMITH © VS. FELICITY BANKS ©

JOHNSON: ”There it is folks, the Warzone of Horrors!”

VASSA: ”Look at all of that! The inside of the cage is filled with weapons, barbed wire ropes, and even pane of glass.”

JOHNSON: ”I’d be willing to bet that there are some things underneath the ring that would surprise us as well.”

VASSA: ”So let’s get this straight. After Felicity makes her way down to the ring, the ref will take the 4CW Championship from her and then climb the cage. He will then climb the ladder and secure it to the harness above the cage. Once the bell sounds, all six people will try to kill each other inside of the cage using whatever they can get their hands on. Then someone will leave the cage and try to make a climb for the 4CW Championship, meanwhile, the Extreme Championship will be on the line the entire time and can change hands more than once?”

JOHNSON: ”I didn’t think you were ever going to stop.”

VASSA: ”I’m out of breath.”

JOHNSON: ”That’s basically it, Vinny. The Extreme Championship will be on the line for the entire match. It can change hands multiple times. Whoever is the current champion when the 4CW Championship is pulled down from its harness will be the champion leaving this match. It is possible for one person to leave here tonight with both championships.”

VASSA: ”I’m assuming that we have medical staff on standby?”

JOHNSON: ”As always. We have barbed wire ropes that no one will be able to avoid. Then account for all of the weapons we see laid across the ring and floor, this is going to be one heck of a match.”

VASSA: ”It’s going to be a goddamn massacre!”

JOHNSON: ”It is but each and every person in this match knows what they’re getting into. The only thing we can do now is sit back and wait as each person makes their entrance. Once everyone is in the cage and the door closes, the Warzone of Horrors will officially begin.”

POWERS: ”The following contest is for the 4CW and Extreme Championships!”

“What You Know About That” by TI hits over the house system as smoke fills the top of the entrance ramp. Bronx with his head down walks out to the top of the ramp to stand in the smoke for a moment before he pulls his hands up slowly pointing two finger guns at the ring. He pulls the trigger before he twirls the said “guns” and places them back into his “holsters” on either side before he starts his business like walk to the ring.

POWERS: ”Coming to the ring from Eastport, Maine, weighing in at two hundred five pounds and standing six feet tall, Bronx Valescence!”

After entering the cage, he slides with one knee up on the apron, wipes his feet and then flips over the top barbed wire rope into the ring. Bronx then walks over to the edge of the ring, surveying the crowd through his sunglasses before walking over to his corner and waiting for the bell.

“Glory” by Lil Wayne begins playing causing a stir of cheers as Lo’Renzo Porter steps out onto the stage dressed in ty-die knee length trunks and custom made blue and grey DC wrestling kicks. He taps his chest a few times before smiling, raising his left hand to his face.

POWERS: ”Making his way to the ring from St. Matthews, South Carolina, weighing in at two hundred fifteen pounds and standing six feet, four inches tall, LO’RENZO PPOORRTTEERR!!!

He begins making his way down the ramp, pausing to sign a few autographs before continuing his way to the ring, slapping hands as he does. He steps inside the ring where he spins in a circle before coming to a knee in the center of the ring. He crosses his chest before looking up and looking out at the crowd to his right.

He jumps up to his feet, jumping up and down getting the crowd hype before he crosses his chest and points up to the rafters once more. Setting up in his corner he closes his eyes for a few seconds before letting out a deep breathe, waiting for the match to begin.

The Country beat rolls into the Theater as Jason Cashe comes almost sliding out from the back with a smile on his face and a dip in his step as he hears the place give him both Jeers and Cheers. Depending on the opponent more one than the other but he takes it all in, deeply inhaling the air with his head tilted back and his eyes closed at the edge of where the stage meets the entrance ramp.

POWERS: “From Houston, Texas! He is the Former three time 4CW Champion….”THE TROUBLED” JAAASSOOON CAAAAASSSHE!!!”

“Another day on the grind for a couple cents.

I kiss goodbye to my relevance.

Work throws stone while I ride the fence,

I’m old and old enough to bring up something that makes sense.

It’s like I’m livin in a war zone.

And they can write it on my tombstone.

Here lies a man who don’t cry,

With ash on the feet in front pillars held high!

I’ve been up

And I’ve been down.

But my place ain’t on the ground.

I’d rather me death on my feet,

Life on my knees.

Trouble ain’t nothin’

But another damn thing to me.”

Taking two quick puffs from an “Air Joint”, Cashe throws his arms up above his head briefly, slaps the camera zoomed in on his face and then takes his first real steps towards the ring. Giving a few fans fist bumps, those who have their hands out wanting some love he makes his way down to ringside. After entering the cage, he rounds the corner of the ring and jogs the steel stairs, getting up on the ring apron.

“I’ve been up

And I’ve been down.

And I’ve been beat

And pushed around

I’ll pick myself up off the ground,

Just wait and see.

Cause it’s just another thing to me.

Just another bridge I’ll have to burn.

Just another lesson I’m bound to learn.

Buddy ain’t damn thing changin’ me.

So watch and see,

Cause it’s just another thing to me.”

Dipping through the middle ropes, he enters the ring. Walking to the opposite side, he balances on the middle rope, leaning against the top barbed wire rope piercing his skin and raises a single arm roaring out the crowd once more.

”RRRRAAAAHHH LET’S GO!!!”

Dropping down, he puts his back into a nearby corner and awaits the bell.

The lights in the Barclays Center go out, leaving nothing but complete darkness as up on the tron comes a part in the movie “Blades Of Glory”, a short clip that plays out…

“I don’t even know what that means

(No one knows what it means, but it’s provocative)

No it’s not, it’s gross (Gets the people going)”

The quick clip fades out as a line mimicing a heartbeat pops up that forms soon forms into the letterings of “BK” short acronym for Brooklyn. It pulses to the incoming beat that is “N***as In Paris” by Jay-Z and Kanye West. The arena livens up as the fans know what time it is and who is about to come out. Fog begins appearing at the entrance as the beat intensifies…

“So I ball so hard mothafuckas wanna fine me

First n***as gotta find me

What’s 50 grand to a mothafucka like me

Can you please remind me? (Ball so hard)

This shit crazy y’all don’t know that don’t shit faze me

The Nets could go 0 for 82 and I’d look at you like this shit gravy

(Ball so hard) This shit weird, we ain’t even s’posed to be here

(Ball so hard) Since we here it’s only right that we’d be fair

Psycho: I’m liable to go Michael, take your pick

Jackson, Tyson, Jordan, Game 6”

Hopkins in his native Brooklyn Nets Jersey, black and white with the words “FLIPP-HOP” on the back with the #24 on the front and back. Hopkins jumps up and down, getting the rowdy as the fog strengthens with the visibility. Hopkins lunges forward with excitement as he is rocking the Pink alternates of his beloved Adidas ‘Winged’ sneakers. He comes down the entrance ramp, stopping to “Meet & Greet” with the fans who hold up their signs for him, one specifically saying “F Donald Trump, Vote 4 Hops!” and a variety of other signs that are cartoonish illustrations of him with his grill. Another one is fake nipple posted, with the words “BITE OFF THE OTHER ONE TOO!” Reappearing back into the smoke and fog, Hopkins is once again seen near the bottom of the ramp as the lights are flickering red and white throughout the arena.

“(Ball so hard) Got a broken clock, Rollies that don’t tick tock

Audemars that’s losing time, hidden behind all these big rocks

(Ball so hard) I’m shocked too, I’m supposed to be locked up too

If you escaped what I’ve escaped

You’d be in Paris getting fucked up too

(Ball so hard) Let’s get faded, Le Meurice for like 6 days

Gold bottles, scold models, spillin’ Ace on my sick J’s

(Ball so hard) Bitch, behave, just might let you meet ‘Ye

Chi town’s D. Rose, I’m moving the Nets to BK”

Lookig at the monstrous structure that is in front of him, Hopkins nods his head as he looks up high at the cage. Hopkins begins to make his way towards the cage and into with the door wide open…

POWERS: “From the “Concrete Jungle” in Brooklyn, New York, he stands at five feet, eight inches and weighs in at two hundred and two pounds, …. JJJAAAAIIIIRRRR … HHOOPPKKIIINNSS!!!”

“Don’t let me get in my zone, don’t let me get in my zone

Don’t let me get in my zone, don’t let me get in my zone

The stars is in the building, they hands is to the ceiling

I know I’m ’bout to kill it, how you know? I got that feeling

You are now watching the throne, don’t let me into my zone

Don’t let me into my zone (I’m definitely in my zone)”

Once again, greeted with loud cheers, he enters the ring as he points upwards to the top of the cage where the two 4CW Titles are. A bright, wide smile on his face, he beats his chest a little bit as he’s ready to throwdown. The music fades out.

The arena goes pitch black, the audience in hush as they await the next man about to enter the match.

“I was born with the devil in me. I could not help the fact that I was a murderer, no more than the poet can help the inspiration to sing..I was born with the evil one standing as my sponsor beside the bed where I was ushered into the world, and he has been with me since.”

The savage words of serial killer, H.H. Holmes, echo throughout the arena as “Dance with the Devil” by Mr. Liqz starts to play – its sharp tones almost stabbing the audience in their eardrums. The lights come back on but are still very dim as Dakota Smith makes his way out from the back, on his face was a mask that looked as if was made from the face of Perry Wallace. Dakota looks around the arena like a deranged animal – his 4CW extreme championship hanging from his pant’s belt loop. Dakota then points down to the ring and starts his march down.

“ Do you really wanna’ dance with the devil

Tell me do you really wanna’ fuckin’ take that chance?

I can two-step walk side of thug talk all over that ass, this devil can dance

I can spit fire like a sideshow freak with a mouth full of gas, while im flippin’ a match

I can make it hotter than lava when a volcano blow, scoop it up

and finger paint with your ash. “

POWERS: ”Coming to the ring from The Arena, weighing in at two hundred thirty one pounds and standing six feet, two inches tall. He is “The Butcher” and 4CW Extreme Champion, Dakota Smith!”

As Dakota makes his way into the ring, he enters the cage before sliding into the ring under the bottom rope and plants his fist into the ground – pushing himself up as he does so. As he gets to his feet he removes the extreme championship from his belt strap and raises it up in the air, the mask still on his face. He then looks around the ring and slowly brings his hand up, removing the mask revealing his own sickening grin. The butcher drops the mask to the ground then goes over to his respective corner, throwing the extreme championship on the ground before him and waiting.

An official then rushes over and picks up the Extreme Championship from the ground before leaving the confinements of the cage.

“Can you feel that…?”

“Scream” by Thousand Foot Krutch fills the arena sound system, the crowd coming unglued with a mixture of cheers and jeers just as “Scream” pours out of the speakers. There’s still no sign of the 4CW Champion as little gold sparklers come raining down from the top of the stage, the crowd anxiously awaiting the arrival of Felicity Banks.

“Can you feel that…?”

The soft voice of Felicity Banks echos throughout the arena as a red strobe light begins to flicker all around the arena. The strobe light stops flickering, the entire arena going dark as a bright spotlight hits the top of the entrance ramp and Felicity Banks steps right into it to a monstrous ovation. The 4CW Championship is wrapped around her right shoulder as she stares down at the monstrous Warzone of Horrors structure, no fear whatsoever in her eyes. Instead, she has a smug smirk on her face as she makes her way through the gold sparklers, her arms extended out to her sides, a blowpop in her mouth, and the spotlight following her with every step she takes.

As usual, she has the usual disinterested look on her face as she pulls the blowpop out of her and mouth and flings it backwards, slowly pacing down the ramp and spinning around to show the camera the “Best to ever do it” writing on the back of her sleeveless sweatshirt. Once halfway down the ramp, Felicity glances at the fans at ringside, pulls the 4CW Championship from her shoulder, and holds it high in the air, allowing some of the fans at ringside to touch it as Mike Powers announces her name.

POWERS: “From Jersey City, New Jersey… She is the SULLEN ANGEL! … THE QUEEN B! … THE PERSONIFICATION OF ABSOLUTE PERFECTION… THE 4CW CHAMPION… “FIVESTAR” FELIIIIIIICITY BAAAAAAAAAAAAAANKS!!!”

Felicity drapes the championship against her shoulder and saunters toward the Warzone structure, grabbing a hold of the cage and shaking it a bit to test its sturdiness. After that, Felicity begins side skipping all around the ring while holding the 4CW Championship high in the air, staring at every single body inside the Warzone with a slick smirk on her face. Once she does a full circle around the ring and gets near the cage door, she removes her sweatshirt and throws it out into the crowd, stepping inside the cage but not before she takes a deep a breath in and lets it out.

She gets on the ring steps and saunters her way up them, getting to the apron and stepping toward the center. She turns to look at the crowd, feeding off of their cheers and jeers as she holds the 4CW Championship up high in the air and then glances back at the bodies inside the ring. She enters the ring and spins around in circles until the lights in the arena start getting brighter, not stopping until the arena was fully lit. Felicity glances at crowd, finally climbing up to the middle barbed wire rope to look out into the crowd and motion to them to bow down to her – to which most oblige – wrapping the 4CW Championship around her shoulder.

She hops off the barbed wire ropes and turns around, sliding her back down against the turnbuckle pads until she was fully seated on the mat, setting the 4CW Championship on her lap as she looks at every last one of her opponents and gives them all a sarcastic wave, a look of confidence plastered all over her face.

JOHNSON: ”That’s all six competitors for the Fright Night Warzone of Horrors.”

VASSA: ”Six people, two champions, one hell of a match!”

JOHNSON: ”This will be Felicity’s first true test as 4CW Champion seeing that it is her first title defense.”

VASSA: ”She won the 4CW Championship at Ante Up back in July. That wasn’t an easy match by any means. With Cashe, Ramona, and Hopkins all in a sixty minute Ironman match to win the belt, she truly proved that she is a champion. But like all championships, they aren’t worth nearly as much until defended against all odds.”

Inside of the cage, the official reaches through the ropes and grabs the 4CW Championship from Felicity. He then makes his way towards the door and exits the cage. Two officials on the outside then set a madder up beside the cage and hold both sides of it, keeping it sturdy as the official with the 4CW Championship begins to climb to the top.

VASSA: ”Come of ref! The wrestlers aren’t going to have a ladder to get to the top, why do you? Be a man!”

JOHNSON: ”You’re right, Vinny. From what I’ve been told, after the ref hangs the championship above the cage and climbs back down, the ladder will be taken backstage so that it can not be used to help anyone ascend to the top of the cage.”

VASSA: ”Climbing to the top of the cage is going to be the tricky part. With the barbed wire ropes and weapons, there’s sure to be blood everywhere and I can only imagine that blood on the bottom of boots will make it hard to get grip to climb a cage.”

Once at the top of the ladder, the official climbs over to the cage and slowly stands to his feet. He then proceeds towards the ladder secured to the top of the cage and grabs it with both hands, shaking it to check that it is in fact tightly secured. He then climbs towards the top, slowly, step by step.

JOHNSON: ”Remember folks, the ladder on top of the cage that must be climbed to grab the 4CW Championship is bolted down.”

VASSA: ”At first I wondered why but the more I think about it, the more it makes sense. If that ladder were to somehow fall or be thrown from the top of the cage, this match could literally take all night, possibly even longer before a winner is able to get the ladder back up top and climb to grab the belt.”

JOHNSON: ”Not that it matters, but I would think it’s also some sort of safety precaution.”

VASSA: ”Safety precaution?”

JOHNSON: ”The last thing anyone would want is for someone to be at the top of the ladder and then have the ladder tipped over, sending someone falling twenty to thirty feet over the side and down to the floor with nothing to soften the fall.”

Once at the top of the ladder, the official holds the championship up with both hands, displaying it for the crowd as the entire building begins to rumble with the cheers from the crowd. The official then does a hand signal and instantly, the harness lowers until it’s within reach. The official then secures the championship to the harness and then waves his hand, signaling for it to be raised slightly, just barely within his reach. The official then begins to climb down the ladder and once there, he makes his way to the edge of the cage and climbs over to the ladder leading to the floor.

VASSA: ”It’s just about time to get things started!”

JOHNSON: ”So that’s it, folks! In order to win this match and be the 4CW Champion you must first climb to the top of the cage. Then you must climb the ladder on top of the cage and remove the 4CW Championship from its harness.”

VASSA: ”Let’s not forget about the Extreme Championship. This championship can be won by pinfall only and can change hands multiple times until the 4CW Championship is removed from its harness above the ring.”

JOHNSON: ”We could literally see each and every person in this match become the 4CW Extreme Champion. Whoever is the current Extreme Champion when the 4CW Championship is grabbed from above will leave tonight’s match the holder of the Extreme Championship.”

VASSA: ”We could very well have someone leave here tonight with both the 4CW and Extreme Championships.”

JOHNSON: ”Indeed we could, Vinny.”

VASSA: ”Just look at all the weapons inside of that cage. Not only do we have barbed wire ropes, but I see chairs, kendo sticks, tables, a pane of glass… Is that an original Nintendo?”

JOHNSON: ”I believe it is, Vinny.”

VASSA: ”Just when you think you’ve seen it all.”

JOHNSON: ”That’s one big bag of thumbtacks sitting beside the ringside steps.”

VASSA: ”Holy fucking shit!”

JOHNSON: ”Hold on a second, is that? Oh my gosh! Vinny! There’s a box of light tubes leaning in the far corner of the cage.”

VASSA: ”Somebody is going to die tonight.”

JOHNSON: ”Mr. Wallace said everyone had to be willing to leave a part of themselves behind in this match.”

VASSA: ”I didn’t think he meant actual flesh.”

JOHNSON: ”I guess he did.”

VASSA: ”Well the official is finally touching down to the floor. I’m so exited!”

JOHNSON: ”You should be. The Warzone was the match of the year last year and this one has the makings to repeat this year.”

Once standing on the floor, the official steps away from the ladder as members of the ringside crew rush over and quickly pull it down from the side of the cage. They then rush up the ramp with the ladder in hand, carrying it to the back and away from the ring. Meanwhile, the head official talks with the other two before the three separate. One enters the cage and stands on the floor between the apron and cage. The other walks to the opposite side of the cage from the head official. With everyone in place, the head official closes the cage door and then backs away slowly. With the crowd waiting in anticipation, the head official slowly raises his hand in the air as the crowd goes silent. Holding his hand up, the official then swings it downward as the crowd erupts and the bell sounds.

DING!!! DING!!!

Standing on the outside of the ring, Dakota sets his sights on the box of light tubes leaning in the corner. Popping the top open, he then pulls out two tubes before turning back to the ring. With a tube in each hand, Dakota slowly walks along the outside of the ring, stalking each and every person inside it.

With the crowd roaring in the background, each of the five wrestlers in the ring look at one another, a little timid to make the first move. Breaking the awkward silence, Cashe screams at the top of his lungs and then charges out of his corner headed directly for Felicity. As Cashe approaches, Felicity stands her ground in the corner until he leaps towards her. Rolling out of the way, Felicity dodges Cashe, only to leave him with nothing to break his fall but the corner and the barbed wire ropes on each side. She then pops back to her feet and with Hopkins only a few feet away, she turns her attention to him and kicks him in the side with a stinging right boot. The two then exchange blows, back and forth, slowly separating themselves from the other wrestlers.

Tangled up in the corner, Cashe pulls himself away from the ropes, as the barbs tear at his skin. From behind, Flipp hits Cashe in the back of the head with a stiff right hand, knocking him back into the corner and piercing him once more with the barbs. Flipp then rips Cashe away from the corner and spins him around. After pulling him in closely, Flipp wraps both arms around him only to then lift him up from his feet and plant his back into the canvas with a belly to belly suplex.

Standing in the distant corner of the ring, Bronx looks on, turning his head back and forth from left to right, watching as Banks and Hopkins exchange blows and Cashe and Flipp roll around on the canvas fighting to get on top of the other. With his back turned and attention focused on the action on the ring, Dakota then rolls into the ring quietly and slowly stands to his feet. Stalking Bronx from behind, Dakota slowly moves in on him, unnoticed and foaming at the mouth so to speak. Extending his arm, Dakota taps on Bronx’s shoulder with one of the light tubes, catching him by surprise. As the fear overtakes his body, Bronx slowly turns around and at the sight of Dakota, his eyes instantly open as wide as the possibly can. Bronx quickly throws up both hands and begins to backstep away from Dakota. With a light tube pointed directly at him, Dakota slowly follows, backing him to the corner.

As his back touches the corner, Bronx panics as he then realizes there’s no where to go. With a smile on his face, Dakota then points the light tube and jabs it towards him. Grabbing onto the light tube with both hands, Bronx tries to rip it away from Dakota’s hand. With both of Bronx’s hands occupied, Dakota then swings the other light tube and shatters it across the side of his head. Letting go of the other light tube, Bronx quickly holds his head with both hands and as he does, Dakota then swings the light tube and shatters it across the side of his shoulder. Dropping to his knees, Bronx holds his head with one hand and shoulder with the other as blood slowly begins to trickle down from both.

VASSA: ”Holy fucking shit!”

JOHNSON: ”Bronx is already bleeding pretty badly from his head and this match has only gotten started.”

VASSA: ”Hey, that’s only two light tubes out of the box. There has to at least be another eight or ten. I would guess that each box is a dozen?”

Dakota then leaps onto Bronx and tackles him back down to the canvas. Climbing on top, Dakota then goes wild with punches and elbows while screaming with each landing blow.

JOHNSON: ”Oh wait, look at Jair and Felicity!”

VASSA: ”Hopkins is throwing down!”

After landing three backhand chops to the chest in a row, Hopkins shoots in and lifts Banks into the air, placing her on his shoulders. With Banks in a fireman’s carry position, Hopkins then walks towards the center of the ring and falls backwards, taking her down to the mat with a Samoan drop.

In the corner not far away, Flipp stands over Cashe and kicks him repeatedly in the stomach, keeping him down and not letting him get back up to his feet. Drawing back with his right hand, Flipp then swings downward, cracking Cashe across the side of the jaw with a power punch. He then grabs Cashe by the head with both hands and rolls him over to his stomach and then pulls him up to one knee. Clenching Cashe’s head with both hands, Flipp then drives his knee upward, smashing it into Cashe’s face. Not letting go, Flipp then drags him up to his feet only to get caught off guard as Cashe thrusts forward and connects with a headbutt right underneath Flipp’s chin. With Flipp staggering backwards, Cashe then steps forward and greets him with a European uppercut that sends his head flying backwards and spit shooting straight into the air from his mouth. Cashe then grabs Flipp by the shoulder and arm and drags him to the corner before throwing him into it stomach first.

Across the ring, Dakota pushes himself up from Bronx and stands over him, taunting without a care in the world. He then reaches down to grabs Bronx by the head with both hands but as he does, Bronx kicks his right foot up and plants it into Dakota’s family jewels. With his face turning bright red, Dakota quickly holds himself with both hands before falling backwards and hitting the mat like a sack of rocks. Bronx then rushes to his feet, pushing himself up while keeping his eyes locked on the fallen Dakota. Once up, he grans Dakota’s leg and lifts it into the air only to then kick him in the back of the knee. Bronx then holds Dakota’s leg out to the side and drops down, planting his elbow into the side of his knee as he hits the mat. Rolling away from Dakota, Bronx exits the ring underneath the bottom barbed wire rope. He then grabs Dakota’s foot and drags him close to the corner, pulling his leg through the ropes. With an unfamiliar look on his face, Bronx then swings Dakota’s foot to the side, slamming the side of his knee into the ring post.

VASSA: ”Well I’ll be damned! I didn’t think Bronx had it in him to get dirty like that.”

JOHNSON: ”In a match like this I don’t think you can technically consider it getting dirty. With everything else going on and what could possibly happen, this is just going with the flow.”

VASSA: ”It’s a good thing! This isn’t going to be an easy match for anyone and anything is bound to happen with what all is inside of that cage. I’m sure Perry is sitting back watching right now having a proud father moment.”

Pulling his leg back through the ropes, Dakota holds it while grunting in pain. On the outside, Bronx paces back and forth, wiping the blood away from his face as it trickles down from the top of his head.

Meanwhile, Jair slowly pulls Banks up to her feet. He then latches onto her wrist with both hands and throws her to the barbed wire ropes only a few feet away. Hitting the ropes stomach first, Banks flips over the top and crashes down onto the apron. Holding her stomach after the fall, Banks wipes away a little blood from a laceration on her right abdomen. Hopkins then takes a few steps back before running forward, sliding through the ropes, and hitting her in the face with both feet, knocking her the apron and down to the floor. Hopkins then rolls underneath the bottom rope and exits the ring. With Banks down at his feet, Hopkins grabs ahold of her head and slowly rolls her up to both feet. He then ships her into the cage, back first. After releasing a loud howl from the pain, Banks extends her arms to lock her fingers to the links of the cage, holding herself up.

Hopkins then clinches his fists and unloads with a series of lefts and right to Banks’ body, slowly breaking her down to both knees as each blow takes her breath away. Out of nowhere, Bronx runs into the picture and hits Hopkins in the side of the head and a running elbow, knocking him sideways a few feet away. As soon as Hopkins turns to face him squarely, Bronx then runs towards him once more and this time hits him in the chops with a European uppercut, knocking him backwards. Tripping over his own feet, Hopkins falls backwards and crashes into the bag of thumbtacks, knocking it over and spilling them across the floor. Racing to his feet, Hopkins pushes himself up only to get caught from above with a forearm crashing down over the top of his head. Bronx then grabs him by the head with both hands and pulls him to his feet. Scooping Hopkins up, Bronx then walks over to the scattered mess of thumbtacks and body slams Hopkins on top of them.

In the ring, Cashe and Flipp exchange punches wildly. Cashe then throws an overhead right but gets stopped as Flipp blocks and counters with a stiff kick to the stomach. Grabbing Cashe by the arm, Flipp then pulls him in closely, wraps him up and tosses him over his head with a T-bone suplex. From across the ring, Dakota limps over and hits Flipp over the top of the back with a double axe handle before he can get up from one knee. With Flipp down on his knees, Dakota then grabs him by the back of the head and dives forward, slamming Flipp’s face into the canvas with force. Before he can push himself up, Cashe crawls over and clocks Dakota upside the head with closed fist, knocking him off of Flipp. With Dakota lying on his back, Cashe quickly gets to his feet and then turns his attention solely to the Extreme Champ.

Grabbing Dakota by the head, Cashe pulls him up to his feet and then jabs his thumb into his eye. With Dakota half blind, Cashe then spreads his arms apart before swinging them inward and hitting Dakota’s ears with a double ear clap. Stumbling backwards, Dakota maintains his balance only to then get hit with a chop to the throat. Cashe then pulls Dakota’s head down and applies a side headlock. After cranking down on the pressure for a few moments, Cashe then lifts him up into the air and drops him to the canvas with a side suplex. Rolling out of the ring, opposite where the rest of the action is, Cashe looks for some goodies on the outside. Spotting a table not far away, he quickly rushes over to it and lifts it up from the floor. He then slides it into the ring underneath the bottom rope. Still not satisfied, he looks around a bit more and locks his sights on a couple of kendo sticks. Picking them up from the floor, he then tosses them over the top rope and into the ring. As he makes his way back to the ring, the glass pane catches his attention in the corner of his eye. Like a kid in a candy store, Cashe licks his lips as a joyful look comes over his face. Pulling it away from the cage it’s leaning on, he then slides it into the ring and quickly follows behind.

VASSA: ”Things are about to get a little interesting!”

JOHNSON: ”This whole match has been interesting so far. It’s been complete and total carnage from the sound of the bell.”

VASSA: ”Well now the glass pane has been brought into the ring. This is either going to be really awesome or really horrific.”

JOHNSON: ”With this being the Warzone of Horrors, I think horrific fits the bill.”

Picking the table up from the mat, Cashe holds it in both hands with his back turned to the rest of the action. Reaching around to grab one of the legs, Cashe leaves himself open as Flipp races over and dropkicks him in the back of the head. Stumbling forward with the table in hand, Cashe crashes into the corner, sandwiching the table between himself and the corner. Before Cashe can pull himself away from the table, Dakota runs from the other side of the ring and throws Flipp to the canvas. He then moves in on Cashe and grabs him by the shoulder, turning him around. With Cashe standing defenseless, Dakota punches him in the mouth twice before grabbing onto his head with both hands. With Cashe’s head in his clutches, Dakota then pulls his head back as far as he can before slamming it forward and hitting Cashe right between the eyes with a headbutt. Dakota then pulls Cashe away from the table and lifts him up onto his shoulder in a fireman’s carry. After taking a few steps back from the table propped up in the corner, Dakota then jobs towards it and once in range, he twists his body and drives Cashe through the table with a twisting Samoan drop.

CCCRRRAAASSSHHH!!!

JOHNSON: ”OH MY!!! He just put Cashe through the table with the Dovah Death Drop!”

VASSA: ”They just broke that table into a hundred pieces! DAMN!!!”

“Ho-ly Shit! … Ho-ly Shit! … Ho-ly Shit! … Ho-ly Shit! … Ho-ly Shit!”

JOHNSON: ”Listen to the crowd Vinny, they’re going insane!”

VASSA: ”That was fucking awesome! HOLY SHIT!!! HOLY SHIT!!! HOLY SHIT!!!”

On the outside, Bronx and Banks double team Hopkins, hitting him from both sides. The camera changes angles to a clear shot of Hopkins’ back, covered in thumbtacks and blood spots all over the back of his shirt. Bronx then grabs ahold of Hopkins and throws him into the door of the cage, sending him to the other side as it swings open. Following behind, Banks exits the cage but before she can get too far, Bronx rushes in behind her and drives his shoulder into her lower back, knocking her forward and falling into the steel barricade separating the fans from the action. Bronx then closes in on Banks’ and stomps on her a few times while she’s down before pulling her up to her feet. Once up, Bank’s slaps Bronx across the face and then the two grab ahold of each others hair and begin and shake each other back and forth. While the two struggle with one another, Hopkins stands back to his feet and slowly sneaks in behind them unnoticed. Hopkins then grabs Banks and Bronx by the back of the heads and them slams them together. After letting go, he takes a step back as Bronx and Banks both drop to their knees.

JOHNSON: ”Dang, talk about going head to head!”

VASSA: ”They’re both on their knees now and after that up close and personal, I wonder if Bronx will try to propose again?”

JOHNSON: ”Only the man gets down on one knee for the proposal.”

VASSA: ”Don’t be mad because no woman will get on her knees for you.”

JOHNSON: ”What are you eve–“

VASSA: ”Hopkins is going to the top!”

Hopkins then begins to climb the cage, grabbing onto it tightly with both hands and pulling himself up slowly. After shaking the cobwebs, Bronx, punches Bank’s in the chest with both hands, knocking her backwards to the floor. He then pops up to his feet and rushes towards Hopkins. Grabbing the back of Hopkins pants, Bronx then pulls him down from the cage and to the floor, rolling him up in one fluid motion. The nearby official then races over to make the count.

ONE

.

.

TWO

.

.

THREE!!!

JOHNSON: ”With that quick rollup Bronx is now the 4CW Extreme Champion!”

VASSA: ”Who the hell saw that coming? I sure as shit didn’t!”

Back in the ring, Dakota and Cashe slowly begin to move around in the mess created by the table broken into pieces. Up to his feet first, Dakota kicks Cashe in the mouth, sending his head spinning around and smacking into the bottom turnbuckle padding. With his back turned to the ring, Dakota focuses his attention on Cashe until his eyes quickly light up. From behind, Flipp wraps his arms around Dakota’s waist and then tries to lift him up from his feet but doesn’t get far as Dakota quickly locks his leg into his. Dakota then throws a fierce elbow back, knocking Flipp in the mouth but not breaking his hold. Flipp then goes to lift Dakota up once again but doesn’t as Dakota keep his leg locked, keeping himself down on the mat. Dakota then throws another elbow back, this one harder than the other, and clocks Flipp in the mouth with it. Releasing his hold, Flipp takes a few steps back until standing on top of the pane of glass.

Flipp then rubs his hand across his mouth, wiping the blood away from his now busted open lip. Turning around slowly, Dakota locks his sights on Flipp and stares at him for a few moments in silence. Flipp then lowers his hand from his mouth and clenches both fists before yelling at Dakota. Flipp then waves him over and as he does, Dakota charges towards him. Swinging with an overhead punch, Dakota gets stop as Flipp blocks it and counters with a punch of his own. Dakota then throws another punch and clocks Flipp in the side of the jaw, sending blood whipping out of his mouth and splattering upon the canvas. Shaking his hand, Dakota appears to have hurt himself with the stiff punch. Ignoring the pain, he then throws another haymaker but gets stopped in his tracks as Flipp kicks him in the stomach. Lunging over with his breath taken away, Dakota holds his stomach. Flipp then grabs him by the head and pulls it in between his legs. he then wraps his arms around Dakota’s waist and with all of his strength, he lifts Dakota up into the air and then slams him onto the pane of glass, shattering it into hundreds of pieces with a powerbomb.

CCCRRRAAACCCKKK!!!

VASSA: ”HOLY HELL!!! Flipp just powerbombed Dakota onto that pane of glass!”

JOHNSON: ”Jesus Christ! These people are going to kill each other before the night is said and done.”

VASSA: ”That’s the point! We’re already forty minutes into this thing and it’s been complete chaos the whole time.”

Looking down at Dakota laid out on the pile of shattered glass, Flipp then drops down to one knee before looking in the corner where Cashe is still down but starting to show signs of life. Flipp then makes the cover and hooks the leg as the official inside of the cage rushes over and makes the count from the outside, leaning over the apron and through the ropes.

ONE

.

.

TWO

.

.

THREE!!!

JOHNSON: ”We have a new 4CW Extreme Champ! Flipp just stole it away from Bronx after putting the former champ away!”

VASSA: ”That was insane! I don’t know how Dakota is even going to be able to come back from that.”

Standing back to his feet, Dakota looks down at the mess and then turns his back to look at the action going on outside of the cage. He then spots Hopkins going toe to toe with both Bronx and Banks. Leaving the mess in the ring, Flipp then makes his way to the other side. Stopping at the barbed wire ropes, Flipp scouts the action for a moment as Hopkins is holding his own against the two. The crowd then erupts and grabs Flipp’s attention. Slowly turning around, Flipp braces himself as Cashe charges towards him. Wrapping his arms around Flipp’s waist, Cashe lifts him up from his feet and then tackles him into the barbed wire ropes, ripping each end away from the ring posts. As the ropes give, Cashe drives Flipp out of the ring and the two crash hard to the floor below.

JOHNSON: ”They just ripped the barbed wire ropes from the ring posts!”

VASSA: ”If I didn’t know any better I would say that Tommy Knox fastened that barbed wire to the posts. He obviously didn’t do a good job.”

JOHNSON: ”Cashe hit Flipp full speed and with that momentum and weight from both bodies, it was inevitable I suppose.”

Rolling their separate ways, Flipp takes the barbed wire with him as it is latched to his body. With each barb piercing his skin, Flipp bleeds on the floor in a world of pain. He then rolls over to a seated position and begins to pull the barbed wire away from his body, opening up the wounds with blood gushing from them. Crawling in the opposite direction, Cashe makes his way towards the door to the cage. he then pushes himself up and wobbles back and forth for a moment until regaining his balance. As he takes a step through the doorway, Bronx kicks the door from the other side and swings it around, crashing into Cashe’s face and knocking him backwards into the ring steps. Rolling over to his stomach, Cashe reaches around to his back where the camera zooms in to show a large gash running up his back from the edge of the steps.

JOHNSON: ”Cashe is going to need stitches after this match is over with.”

VASSA: ”Hopefully he doesn’t bleed out before we have a winner.”

Banks then kicks Hopkins in the side of his knee, forcing his leg to buckle and give out from under him. She then turns to Bronx who still has his back turned to the action and grabs him by the head with both hands. Slamming his face forward into the cage, Banks then drags it back and forth, pressing his flesh against the cold steel. She then throws him down to the side and reaches up as far as she can before locking her fingers around the links of the cage.

VASSA: ”Felicity is headed to the top! She’s making a run for the title!”

Banks then begins to ascend the side of the cage and quickly becomes out of reach from anyone below. Looking up from the floor, Hopkins shakes his head as the determination kicks in. Pushing himself up, he then rushes to the cage and begins his climb as well.

Standing up, Flipp finally pulls the last bit of barbed wire away from his flesh. He then rushes towards the door, stepping over Cashe and kicking it open. Once on the outside, Flipp turns around and reaches up, locking his hands onto the cage and pulls himself up, beginning his climb. Back on his feet, Bronx looks up to see the three climbing to the top of the cage. He then paces back and forth for a moment, a little hesitant to climb. After getting the nerve to do so, Bronx then grabs onto the cage and starts climbing to the top.

VASSA: ”We now have four people headed to the top of the Warzone of Horrors!”

JOHNSON: ”I’m surprised it took this long for one to even make a run for it. Now all of a sudden we have four people making the climb.”

Finally back to his feet, Cashe looks up the side of the cage from the inside. Roaring with rage, he steps through the door to the cage but just as he gets to the other side, a surprise hits him from behind.

SSSMMMAAASSSHHH!!!

Pieces of plastic fly through the air as Dakota smashes the Nintendo over the back of Cashe’s head, knocking him forward into the steel barricade. With the leftovers still in his hand, Dakota throws them at Cashe before slowly turning his head upward and looking to the top of the cage where everyone else is headed. He then wipes the sweat away from his eyes and grabs ahold of the cage, slowly pulling himself up and making his way to the top.

VASSA: ”Now Dakota is climbing to the top. Do we even know if the top of the cage can hold the weight of each and every wrestler combined?”

JOHNSON: ”I would assume that was taken into consideration.”

VASSA: ”A part of me hopes it doesn’t. I want to see the top go and everything crash and burn!”

JOHNSON: ”How is the 4CW Championship supposed to be grabbed from above the cage if the cage implodes?”

VASSA: ”Not my fucking problem!”

Finally making it to the top, Banks drags herself away from the edge and then pushes herself up. With the ladder in front of her, she takes a step towards it only to get stopped when her other foot can’t move forward. Looking over her shoulder, Banks grows angry at the sight of Hopkins reaching over the top of the cage and grabbing onto her ankle. She then turns around and kicks at his hand with her other foot, trying to break his grip. Refusing to let go, Hopkins keeps his firm grip around her ankle. Banks then bends over and tries to pry his fingers away from her ankle but doesn’t get anywhere as Hopkins has a death grip in tact. Buying just enough time, Hopkins looks to his side where Flipp climbs right by him and pulls himself onto the top of the cage. With nowhere to go, Banks leans back up and balls her fists, ready for Flipp to strike. Quickly moving in on her, Flipp then locks his arms around Banks and throws her down. He then reaches over the side and extends his hand to Hopkins, helping pull him to the top.

Hopkins and Flipp then turn their attention to Banks and quickly close in on her before she can get up. Standing on each side of her, the two then go on a relentless attack, kicking and stomping on her from all angles. Flipp then pulls her up and turns her around, pinning her arms behind her back and holding her in place. Hopkins then unloads with a karate combination of kicks and punches to Banks’ body. After landing a dozen stinging blows, Flipp then lifts Banks into the air and drops her across his knee with a backbreaker. With Banks down on her stomach, both Hopkins and Flipp stand side by side, looking down on her with their backs turned to the edge of the cage.

JOHNSON: ”Look out Flipp-Hop!”

Running in behind them, Bronx knocks them both down to their faces with a double clothesline from behind to the back of their heads. With all three now down on the top of the cage, Bronx then looks up with his sights now set on the ladder. Leaping over the pile of bodies, Bronx rushes towards the ladder and places both hands on it while gazing towards the top at the 4CW Championship hanging high above. After placing his foot on the first step, Bronx takes a deep breath before pulling himself up and stepping onto the second. Taking too much time, Bronx gives Hopkins, Banks and Flipp just enough time to get back to their feet. The three then rush him and surround him from every side, leaving him with nowhere to go. Standing behind Bronx, Flipp grabs ahold of his shoulders and then rips him away from the ladder and slams him down to the top of the cage on his back. The three then begin to kick, stomp, punch and claw at Bronx rabidly.

VASSA: ”Damn that looks like a scene straight out of a zombie movie.”

JOHNSON: ”I guess the comparison fits being that this is Fright Night and only days away from Halloween.”

VASSA: ”It’s like Bronx is a living person and the others are zombies, ripping away at his flesh!”

JOHNSON: ”It can’t be considered a horror movie without Dakota and the Devil himself has just made it to the top of the cage.”

With everyone’s attention focused on Bronx, Dakota slowly creeps in behind them and then goes berserk with punches to everyone’s back. This then turns into an all out brawl between everyone, giving Bronx enough time to get back to his feet and join in the fun.

At the bottom on the floor, Cashe looks up as the action takes place. He then grabs ahold of the cage and begins his climb to the top, keeping an eye on the brawl taking place above. After a few moments pass, Cashe finally makes it to the top and pulls himself over before rolling to his back and taking a short moment to catch his breath.

Grabbing Banks by the hair, Dakota drags her away from the cluster of people. She then reaches out and digs her fingernails into his cheek before scratching the side of his face and drawing blood. Dakota then draws back with his free hand and swings forward, smacking her across the cheek and knocking her down to one knee. Looking down at Bank’s Dakota laughs for a moment before grabbing ahold of her head and pulling her back up. Out of nowhere, Banks throws her knee upward into his stomach, knocking the breath out of him and forcing him to lunge over. Banks then leaps straight into the air, wraps her arm around his head and then falls backwards, planting his face into the top of the cage with a jumping DDT.

JOHNSON: ”Space Jam DDT!!!”

VASSA: ”Holy shit!”

“Ho-ly Shit! … Ho-ly Shit! … Ho-ly Shit! … Ho-ly Shit! … Ho-ly Shit!”

With the crowd chanting in the background, Banks rolls over to her stomach and pushes herself up. With Dakota down face first to the cage, she then turns back to the cluster and quickly races over to join back into the mix of the brawl.

VASSA: ”Dakota is moving around! He isn’t dead yet!”

JOHNSON: ”That DDT looked awfully painful but lucky for him, the top of the cage does give some where there isn’t a support beam running across the top. Dakota was just fortunate enough to have his face planted into the weakest spot of that section of roof.”

Bronx and Hopkins both lock up, separating themselves from the pack. Breaking the lock up, Bronx delivers a knee to Hopkins’ stomach. Hopkins then counters with a spinning elbow to the jaw, knocking Bronx back a few steps. The two then unleash on each other with punches and kicks, slowly backing themselves towards the edge of the cage where the announcers booth is.

Back on his feet, Dakota rushes and forces himself in between Flipp and Banks. After taking a punch to the side of the jaw from Banks, Dakota’s head whips to the side only to then collide with an even harder punch from Flipp. Reaching up while being blinded, Dakota grabs Flipp by the head and then quickly turns his body, throwing Flipp the to cage and rolling a few feet away. Banks then lunges forward and drives both fists into Dakota’s chest, slamming him backwards against the ladder. She then wraps her hands around his throat and begins to choke the life out of him as his face begins to slowly turn red.

Finally up to his feet, Cashe looks on at the clusters of people fighting, trying to kill each other for the top prize in the company. He then reaches down into his pants and pulls out an old dirty sock.

JOHNSON: ”We’ve seen this before!”

VASSA: ”I wonder how much change he’s packing in there tonight?”

JOHNSON: ”I think the proper question would be just how dirty is that sock.”

VASSA: ”Well, he did pull it out of his junk so that should tell you something.”

Hopkins then takes a swing for the fences at Bronx’s head but misses as he barely ducks out of the way in time. Bronx then reaches across Hopkins’ chest and wraps his arm around his throat. Lifting Hopkins into the air, Bronx then drops him back down to the cage with a modified lifting reverse STO.

JOHNSON: ”Bronx just took Jair down with the Valescence’s Victory!”

VASSA: ”Damn he hit Jair with that reverse STO out of nowhere!”

Both Bronx and Hopkins roll in opposite directions, Hopkins slowly creeping towards the edge of the cage. Standing back to his feet, Bronx staggers backwards. On the edge of the cage, Hopkins rolls just once more and as he does, he falls off the top of the cage.

JOHNSON: ”OH MY GOD NO!!!”

VASSA: ”FLIPP’S GOT HIM!!!”

Rushing to the edge of the cage, Flipp reaches down and grabs ahold of Hopkns’ wrist, saving him from the tragic fall.

JOHNSON: ”That was close, that could have been very bad!”

VASSA: ”We haven’t really seen Flipp or Hopkins helping each other much in this madness. Luckily for Hopkins, Flipp was right there to save him from taking a dive from the top.”

With Bronx looking on, wondering to himself whether or not he should help, Cashe rushes in from behind and hits him in the back of the head with the sock full of loose change.

CCHHAA-CCHHIINNGG!!!

Loose change erupts from the sock as it explodes. Stumbling forward, Bronx maintains his balance and stops right at the edge of the cage. Wobbling back and forth, he slowly turns around only to see Cashe looking straight at him with a busted open sock in hand with a few quarters falling from its inside. Cashe then takes off toward Bronx as Bronx swings forward towards him. Ducking underneath the punch, Cashe then reaches upward and wraps his arms around Bronx’s head before leaping from the top of the cage, outward while pulling Bronx along for the ride, towards the announcers booth below.

JOHNSON: ”WATCH OUT!!!”

VASSA: ”OOHHHH SHIT!!!”

With Cashe and Bronx falling towards the booth from the top, Johnson and Vassa quickly run in opposite directions, leaving the announcers booth and its vicinity. With the announcers out of the way, Cashe and Bronx then crash through the announcers booth, Cashe executing his back to back cutter from up above.

CCRRAASSHH!!!

VASSA: ”WHAT THE FUCK?!?!?!”

JOHNSON: ”OH MY GOD!!! Cashe just put Bronx through the booth from up top with the UTI! OH MY GOD!!!”

VASSA: ”HOLY FUCKING SHIT!!!”

“Ho-ly Shit! … Ho-ly Shit! … Ho-ly Shit! … Ho-ly Shit! … Ho-ly Shit!”

With the table broken in half, Cashe and Bronx both lay on their backs in tremendous pain from the deadly fall. With both men nearly unconscious, Cashe slowly rolls over and drapes an arm across Bronx’s body. Taking notices from the other side of the cage, the official quickly rushes over and drops down for the count.

ONE

.

.

TWO

.

.

THREE!!!

JOHNSON: ”Cashe is the current Extreme Champion!”

VASSA: ”I don’t know what good that championship is going to do if no one else claims it tonight when Cashe is dead after that stunt.”

JOHNSON: ”We really need to get some medical staff down here at ringside!”

VASSA: ”Where the hell am I supposed to sit now?”

JOHNSON: ”Look up top, Vinny! Felicity is climbing the ladder!”

With Flipp still hanging over the side of the cage holding onto Hopkins trying to help him back to the top, Banks begins her climb up the ladder while Dakota is hunched over and out of breath. After getting up halfway, Dakota looks up and quickly grows angry at the sight of her making the climb for the belt. He then climbs up the other side of the ladder. Reaching through the ladder, Dakota grabs ahold of her foot and quickly jerks it downward, pulling her whole body down and chin crashing onto the step underneath it. Banks then kicks his hand away and then continues her climb to the top as Dakota follows, only a few steps behind.

Once at the top, Banks reaches upward and barely touches the championship. Realizing she needs to step on the very top of the ladder, she climbs a little more but before she can reach up any further, Dakota punches her right in the goods. Banks then begins throwing wild punches downward onto Dakota’s head. Ignoring the attack, Dakota continues climbing until he is face to face with Banks. Locking both hands onto Dakota’s face, Banks then digs her fingernails into his flesh as blood begins to slowly trickle from underneath her fingertips. She then hits Dakota in the mouth with an elbow, knocking him down a step.

Banks then reaches upward with one hand while holding onto the top of the ladder with the other for balance. Grabbing ahold of the championship, she tries to pull it down from the harness but can’t as it’s secured too tightly. She then reaches up with her other hand and as she does, Dakota pops back up in her face and screams directly down her throat. He then opens wide and bites down on her nose before grabbing her head with both hands and slamming her face into the top of the ladder. Reaching into his pocket, Dakota then pulls out a piece of piano wire and slowly wraps it around both hands. He then wraps the wire around Banks’ throat before pulling her off the ladder. As Bank’s body drops to the bottom, it suddenly stops as the piano wire tightens around her throat. Her eyes then open wide as she reaches up with both hands, trying to pull the wire away from her throat.

JOHNSON: ”Oh no, oh no, oh no! He’s hanging Felicity!”

VASSA: ”Somebody do something! He’s going to kill her!”

After finally pulling Hopkins up from the side of the cage, Flipp turns to the ladder and is instantly shocked at the sight of Banks’ face turning bright red as she hands from the piano wire in Dakota’s grip. Fighting to pull herself away, Banks begins to grow tired and out of breath. Flipp quickly helps Hopkins to his feet and then two then rush over. Just as Banks’ body goes limp, Hopkins and Flipp both grab one of her legs and raise her upward, taking the pressure off from around her throat. Banks then gasps for air and as she does, Dakota releases the piano wire from his clutches. Banks then falls downward with Hopkins and Flipp both breaking her fall.

VASSA: ”Thank you baby Jesus! Thank you for not letting anything bad happen to Felicity!”

JOHNSON: ”He’s going for the title!”

Looking up, Dakota licks his lips as the title sways back and forth just above his head. He then reaches up with both hands and after a few moments, he rips the belt away from its harness.

JOHNSON: ”Dakota Smith has done it! Dakota has taken the 4CW Championship from up above!”

VASSA: ”It looks like we have a new 4CW Champion!”

JOHNSON: ”Mr. Wallace said that each and every person would have to discover a part of themselves that they never knew existed but this seemed like a normal walk in the park for Dakota.”

VASSA: ”I don’t know what to think. Wrestling and championships are one thing but tying to strangle someone from the top of a ladder is another.”

DING!!! DING!!! DING!!!

“Dance With the Devil” hits the speakers as the crowd erupts with mixed reactions. Holding the championship with both hands, Dakota stares down at it with a look of insanity in his eyes. He then wipes his bloody face against the face of the belt before holding it up into the air, displaying his bloody trophy for the world to see.

JOHNSON: ”That’s just disgusting!”

VASSA: ”If I had to guess, I would say he’s marking his territory?”

POWERS: ”Ladies and gentlemen here are you winners, the new 4CW Extreme Champion, JASON CCAASSHHEE!!! And the new 4CW Champion… DAKOTA SSMMIITTHH!!!”

Looking down at the bottom of the ladder, Dakota laughs hysterically at the sight of Hopkins and Flipp assisting Banks as she slowly recovers from being hanged moments before. He then extends both arms to his side, the championship in one hand, and closes his eyes, listening to the sounds of the arena as the crash upon him like tidal waves.

JOHNSON: ”Dakota has been an unstoppable force as of late. The man has even went as far as kidnapping. Now that he’s the 4CW Champion and at the top of the food chain, I don’t know if I’m ready to see what’s in store for 4CW and its future.”

VASSA: ”He was a handful as the Extreme Champion. Now we get to see Dakota unleashed as the 4CW Champion. Hide you kids, hide you wife, hide the fucking dog! I’m not coming to the next show without a bodyguard and a twenty-two in my boot.”

JOHNSON: ”It’s been one crazy night ladies and gentlemen. We’ve had four championship change hands and then the warzone to give us nightmares for weeks to come.”

VASSA: ”Four new champions! John Austin is our new Pride Champion. Aidan Carlisle and Bryan Williams are out new Tag Team Champions. Jason Cashe is our new Extreme Champion. And Dakota Smith is now the new 4CW Champion and the kind of the land!”

JOHNSON: ”This match took over an hour to come to an end and it’s already getting late. Be sure to tune in two weeks from now as we head to Detroit Michigan!”

VASSA: ”You won’t want to miss it folks. I can guarantee you that it will be one hundred times more entertaining than watching a Lions game!”

JOHNSON: ”Thank you all for tuning in to Fright Night. For 4CW, I’m Steve Johnson…”

VASSA: ”And I’m Vinny Vassa! Good Night!”

The camera then changes shots to the broken announcers booth where Jason Cashe and Bronx Valescence lay side by side, still not moving after the long fall from the top of the cage. Changing views to the top, Flipp and Hopkins continues to hold Felicity as she now shows more signs of life. Slowly zooming in to the top of the ladder, Dakota Smith looks over the crowd, standing at the top and still holding his trophy high above his head. As the camera slowly begins to back away from the cage, the scene slowly fades to darkness as nothing but the sounds of the crowd are head and the show comes to an end.