Post by The Commissioner on May 30, 2020 20:26:34 GMT -5
The cold open for Alberta Wrestling Federation’s pay-per-view debut:
Dark red lights illuminate the rather vast but cluttered room. Amidst the mess, are numerous sofas and beds, seas of velvet and dark black leather, reflected in the shiny pristine steel of the chains dangling from the ceiling, housing various contraptions that Prince Albert knows the feeling of all too well. Little Lucas though, is none the wiser, his small face illuminated by the bright glow of the flat screen television sat on the wall in front of him.
His narrow eyes rest on the man on the screen, a stern looking fellow with slicked black greasy hair, and a rather smug smile. He speaks out with a posh voice, as a little graphic HUD reveals his name to be Howell Saxon.
Howell Saxon
You are watching 'Sax with the Facts', the favourite wrestling discussion show of anyone who isn't a moronic buffoon. Bringing you today more from the Alberta Wrestling Federation, who revealed their weekly Top 10 the other day to, interesting reactions. The Best Friends were chosen to be number 1, despite one member of the trio losing their match, and the other two being layed out on the mat at the end of theirs. They won their match, but it was only through Priscilla Kelly seemingly allowing them to, laying one of the best friends, it does not especially matter which one, over Max Ironside for the win after she'd just had Prince Albert flatten the pair of them.
Lucas narrows his eyebrows slightly. Prince Albert walks in with an incredibly sloppy sandwich, the contents of which spilling out of the sides of the bread onto the floor, that which isn't smeared across his face that is. He looks over at Lucas eagerly watching the TV.
Howell Saxon
Why then, is Priscilla, who stood high at the end of that last show, at number two? Some say it's technically correct, the win did indeed go to the Best Friends… but some say it's because of Bret Hart and Booker T themselves. They've refused to mention Priscilla Kelly a single week, no words on her, positive or negative… some think they're purposely trying to sabotage her success out of shame. I would be ashamed Bret. She got one over on your stupid lawyers with that contract loophole of hers, now you have to put up with it mate. Just like my time with RPW this. You'd think they'd reward intelligence, but instead they treat you like the bad guy. It's just playing the game, that's all it is Bret!
Lucas gets up and whoops.
Lucas
Yeah! You tell 'em Saxon! I love this guy!
Lucas turns and sees Albert stood there, and gulps slightly, his demeanour shrinking.
Lucas
Oh, Prince Albert, hey. I was just uuhhh- watching Sax with the Facts...
Albert looks past Lucas to the screen, looking at the still talking Howell Saxon.
Prince Albert
Met that guy.
Lucas
Oh really!? Is he cool!?
Albert shrugs, and Lucas looks slightly disappointed.
Prince Albert
Want a sandwich?
Lucas
Oh uhh- yes please, can I have a-
Prince Albert
Here.
Albert hands his own sandwich, half eaten, to Lucas, who looks at it silently for a few seconds before he reluctantly takes it. Almost immediately, the sloppy contents fall out of either side and splatter across Lucas' trousers.
Prince Albert
I'll make myself a new one.
Albert moves off, leaving Lucas with the sloppy mess in his hands. Lucas looks off to the side, through a little doorway, that leads out down a hallway. He'd been told by Albert and Priscilla not to venture down there, but upon looking at the empty room around him, he realised there was no Albert in sight. Placing the sandwich down carefully on a side table, and wiping his messy hand on the top of the velvet couch, Lucas slowly tiptoes over to the door.
Creaking it open, Lucas slowly moves into the still darkly lit hallway, the small lights just enough to illuminate the framed photographs on either side of the hall to him. Lucas' little heart skips a beat, his face turning beet red, as before him sit numerous pictures of a very nude Priscilla Kelly in multiple different positions. Lucas is frozen in place, not too sure what he's looking at, his stomach swimming around and churning with a feeling he's never before felt. He feels disgusted but, intrigued, his heart beating so fast he's scared it may burst out of his chest.
Lucas never wanted to stop looking at these pictures before him.
Prince Albert
Hey!
Lucas jumps a mile, his skeleton nearly bouncing out of his skin, before twisting to see an angry and hairy Prince Albert bounding towards him, flinging the sloppy contents of the sandwich in his hand all over the walls.
Prince Albert
We told you not to go in there boy!
Lucas
I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I was just-
Priscilla Kelly
It's alright doggy.
Albert stops in his tracks, as Lucas turns again, this time to see the door at the end of the hall opened up, with Priscilla Kelly leaning against the doorway. Messy unmade hair, dark makeup, and wearing silky black pajamas that have tiny little pink shapes on them that Lucas wasn't all too familiar with.
Priscilla Kelly
We'll let him in.
Priscilla holds out her hand for the young Lucas to take, which he does with a gulp. Albert nods, before moving off back into the other room, as Priscilla sends a warm smile Lucas' way as she pulls him through into the room ahead.
Not what Lucas expected, the same dark reds and velvets and leathers of the room are nowhere to be seen. He sees the steely blues of cabinets and drawers, folders and paperwork everywhere, as Priscilla moves over to a small desk to the side of the room and takes a seat in a very comfortable looking office chair. She spins around in it, like a child having fun, before putting her head in her hands and looking over at Lucas.
Priscilla Kelly
Everything alright baby?
Lucas
Uuhh, yeah yeah. I was just, curious.
Priscilla Kelly
Kids your age should be.
Lucas
What ughhh- what is this?
Priscilla Kelly
My office. Not just a pretty face my young friend, the ol' noggin matches up! The magic happens here! This is where I drafted the contract loophole that allows me to have Prince Albert fight my matches.
Lucas
I thought that was your lawyers?
Priscilla Kelly
That's what they think, and let's keep it that way. Rather their casual, subconscious misogyny assume it's some uppity white dudes in suits giving me everything I want than little bratty, dumb, Veruca Salt herself. You want people to underrate you Lucas, lot easier to topple them.
Priscilla spins around and folds up a piece of paper, covered in scrawlings and doodles in a crimson ink.
Lucas
What's that?
Priscilla Kelly
Letter.
Lucas
To who?
Priscilla Kelly
No one you'll care about. It's part of something a lot bigger, hard to explain. But trust me, we'll be reaping the rewards of it before long.
Priscilla looks at the letter in her hand, and kisses it, leaving her dark lipstick imprinted on it. Lucas swallows, his breath catching in his throat at this sight, being reminded of the photographs in the hallway. As Priscilla puts the letter to one side, and turns back to Lucas, the young boy tries to compose himself.
Lucas
I uuhhhh- I was uhh- watching Sax with the Facts again! He mentioned you, was talking about the Top 10.
Priscilla Kelly
I heard.
Lucas
You should be number one.
Priscilla giggles.
Priscilla Kelly
Yes, I should. But you know, not being number one, that's quite a bit more satisfying.
Lucas
Huh?
Priscilla Kelly
No matter how successful I am, no matter how much I truly destroy the competition, no matter whether I wipe out all three other competitors in my match and construct the finish myself, Bret and Booker still find a way to not highlight me as the top competitor of their federation. I mean, Best Friends at the top? Way to make your bluff obvious guys. When those guys are on screen it's like I'm watching Big Bang Theory without the laugh track. Raw footage of 9/11 has more comedic potential than either of those guys running their mouths for 10 minutes straight. I mean if you're gonna put someone above me and try to make it seem legitimate, at least put that little midget Rockstar Spud there, or that big midget Big Homunculus, at least those guys actually achieved something last week beyond getting put square on their ass and guided towards a win.
Lucas nods his head. Priscilla can feel herself getting a little carried away, so brings it back a little, taking a deep breath and returning to her initial point.
Priscilla Kelly
But you know Lucas, all of this, the Best Friends being number one? That's just confirmation to me that I am just living in Bret and Booker's heads, rent-fucking-free. It just tears them to pieces to admit I'm the best they've got. Bret's still so so hurt that I one-upped him, bested his lawyers, made a mockery of his federation, and have risen to the top of it. The longer they try and pretend I'm not ruling that federation, the better it will be when I win that World Championship, and they finally have to grit their teeth, and through sorrowful tones, admit I am the face of that company. A company that prides itself on 'real wrestling', with a world champion that defies the very existence of such. 'Real wrestling' does not exist.
Priscilla grins, as she holds up her feather ink pen.
Priscilla Kelly
You know what they say Lucas, the pen is…
There's a pause, as Lucas looks at her confused.
Lucas
Uuuhhhh- red? That one's red…
Priscilla Kelly
Uh no Lucas, no. It is red but that's not- the pen is mightier than the sword. You heard that?
Lucas
Oh! Uh- yeah! Yeah I've heard that!
Priscilla Kelly
Those are words to live by. Albert's big and strong, but you know what his last job was before this one? Head of Security for RPW, the same federation that your favourite talk show host Howell Saxon was a part of. Just a lummoxing idiot, off camera, backstage, out of the spotlight, that's where our Prince Albert was with all his size and strength. You know where Howell Saxon was? RPW World Champion. You know why?
She taps her head.
Priscilla Kelly
This. This gets you where you want to be. This got Albert from working a security job backstage to the Pay-Per-View main event, in the World Championship picture, of the hottest federation going at the moment. This got Howell Saxon the belt. And this will get me that belt.
She grins at Lucas.
Priscilla Kelly
And when I do, we'll have a little celebration party. I'll even invite Bret and Booker, if they'd be willing to come. I mean, if they didn't, it'd look mighty bad for them publicly. Cutting social ties with their World Champion and face of their own company, couldn't really ignore the claims of bias then, could they? Not sure many would be willing to join up if they thought that's the general relationship between the managers and the talent.
She gets up from her seat and over to Lucas, scruffing his hair.
Priscilla Kelly
Can even invite some of your friends around!
Lucas
I umm- don't really have many friends…
Priscilla Kelly
Oh… well, you will!
She sends another glowing smile at Lucas, whose whole world stops spinning, as he looks up into the beautiful, angelic face of Priscilla. A buzz cuts through his trance, and the pair turn to look up at the Intercom Buzzer on the wall next to Kelly's door.
]Intercom Voice
Miss Kelly, a Mr. Johnny Sins is here for you.
Priscilla Kelly
Ah! Perfect! Send him in! Lucas, maybe go watch TV for a while yeah?
Lucas
Oh umm- okay, yeah.
Priscilla pats Lucas on the shoulder, sending him out of the room. She hears him mosey down the hallway, back into the living room, before she hears him audibly gasp.
Lucas
Woah! Simon Miller!?
Priscilla sighs. Fade out and into:
Slow fade out to black.
The first two guitar chords are accompanied by a fast shot of downtown Calgary from the highway before the repeating notes flash around different angles of the Hart’s hometown, until the predominant synths cue focus onto the McMahon Stadium itself, the Gold Rush logo reappearing, before a smooth fade in on the changeup flashes us to a quick shot of the federation founder, Bret in some dark room. Steve Perry’s first utterance flashes to Booker T in the PrimeTime ring this past Tuesday, but on beat interrupts a shot of Max Ironside with Rayna in his week two entrance, then Priscilla & the Prince in their first-ever appearance and so on throughout the verse: Raging Dead’s debut entrance; Wallaby Way Sydney’s first interview; Rockstar Spud’s winning celebration; Laci Valentine from her room at home; Orange Cassidy finding the abandoned car; José donning the Hurricane mask; Phil Goode at the Toronto Blue Jays game; Barron Boneius laughing sinisterly; Big Homunculus pillaging a Central African farm in old documentary footage. The logo again into the chorus, into the arena.
Pyrotechnics hit as the chorus goes along, the cameras strategically placed and catching every piece of marvelous firework artistry that the federation has invested in for the pay-per-view debut. It all tops as soon as the chorus does, cutting around the arena to show the thousands of fans that have packed the stadium.
Christian Cage: THIS! Is the Alberta Wrestling Federation! This! Is Gold Rush!
The arena scanning continues until the second chorus, when it finally cuts to Christian Cage and Lance Storm who tonight have unusually taken up a booth next to the stage as the French announce team occupies their normal position, both wearing silk suits, Lance’s a deep mulberry, Christian’s a sleek black. As usual, Storm’s demeanor is serious and focused while Cage’s sly grin beams brighter than the duo’s dapper choices of garb.
Lance Storm: Welcome all to AWF Gold Rush, the federation’s debut pay-per-view event where every match on the card has some implication toward a championship.
Christian Cage: My partner’s right: we’ve got four catch-as-catch-can matches in round one of the Provincial Championship tournament, Big Homunculus answers Barron Boneius’ challenge for his Provincial bracket bye in a no holds barred contest, and we will finally crown the inaugural AWF World’s Champion in the main event!
Lance Storm: That’s correct, Christian; Max Ironside will have to overcome that devious duo of Priscilla Kelly and Prince Albert tonight if he wants to make history.
Christian Cage: But of course, as is only natural, we must start with the FIRST!
Gentle crossfade to the stage from the ring. From the system:
Darkness falls across McMahon (Stadium),
The main event hour is close at hand,
But there is only one man who can get the fans out of the stands,
And it is “The First” Phil Goode.
The reemergence of vibrant blood orange and neon blue lights is an indication of what’s next. Anti-Matter by N.E.R.D cues.
The distorted guitar intro drowns the arena in what feels like an eternal fire. The man known as Phil Goode appears in the spotlight at the center of the stage. This spotlight follows him as he slowly limps down the steel road, we call a ramp.
Mark Beverly: The following contest, set for one fall, is a round one bout in the AWF Provincial Championship tournament! Coming down the aisle, from Iowa City, Iowa, weighing two hundred sixty five pounds - he is THE FIRST! PHIL! GOODE!
His movements seem to be calculated, but he begins to sway towards the barricades on his right side. Almost as if it was against his will, Goode grabs the railing of the barricade for balance and gets nose to nose with one lucky fan. After receiving an ear-full of “The First” Phil Goode, the fan delivers an F.U. arm gesture and the people applaud his courage. Goode tilts his head back in disgust and strolls toward the steel steps. He muscles his way into the ring, going through the second and third rope like he’s just been tagged into a match. He briefly scans the canvas for a microphone and finds what he was looking for. Removing the AWF branded mic flag, Goode gets right to business and says…
Phil Goode
First things first (dramatic pause) from the first… (Repeatedly pressing his girthy index finger against his sternum) I would like to thank ME, MYSELF, and I for making the top 10 wrestlers of last week.
The crowd indulges and feeds into Goode’s ego for a moment.
Phil Goode
(Snobby) If you ask me, I think it was overdue… (looking around the arena for confirmation) but hey, I’m glad someone is starting to Phil in the blanks.
Goode begins to shift his attention away from his latest accolade.
Phil Goode
(Thoughtfully) I was thinking about the previous Tuesday Night Primetime and it didn’t sit well with me. (With cherry red cheeks and a tear in his eye) I realized not only did I receive an L in the loss column, but I also wasn’t properly recognized for pummeling the winner of that match. The real turmoil began after the pinfall. I lost a part of my mind searching for that little piece of eye candy. I searched the entire arena for hours and hours but to no avail.
Goode’s attempt to gain sympathy from the crowd is foiled as they start to boo. Playing off of the audience’s energy, Goode follows his dismay with a direct jab.
Phil Goode
Miss Valentine… (the crowd roars at the name drop) I’ll make it short and sweet, you lucked out. I think that you have AMAZING potential… (with the cadence of a metal-fingered supervillain) in the women’s division, and that’s about it.
Any chance that “The First” had to get the people behind him is now gone.
Phil Goode
I guess it was just her day, it must’ve been February 14th. (Obviously spiteful) Wait, what, no, actually… it wasn’t February 14th but that’s beside the point. (More stern) It’s hard not getting the credit you deserve and the fact that Matt Sydal had the nerve, (slight pause for crowd interaction) the gall, (another pause brings the crowd to their feet) and the audacity to take my attention away from the objective of the match… is irritating as well.
Taking a long deep breath, Goode changes his delivery to the AWF universe.
Phil Goode
(Soft yet strong) I noticed a few things during my time in AWF. There’s a lot of people who have something to prove but me, I’m a little bit different. In my case, I’m in a class of my own and that’s the goode, honest truth. As a multi-sport athlete, the people expect you to be human and fall short in AT LEAST one of the disciplines. I’m the exception.
Goode fumbles the microphone in both of his large paws before continuing.
Phil Goode
(Confidently) I am sure as hell the best in every sport I grace, and you can’t dispute it. You can’t dispute the work ethic and you can’t dispute results. Look at my first appearance in singles competition… I think that will confirm any doubts. (Arrogantly asking the crowd) What was the outcome of that folks, would you care to tell me? Could somebody in this building PLEASEEEE let me know?
Goode is antagonizing the first few rows of fans behind the camera.
Phil Goode
Anybody… anybody out there, could you please tell me who won the match?
Covering each side of the squared circle like an artist on the main stage, Goode points into the flock of wrestling fans.
Phil Goode
No? No? No, you can’t? Well, okay I’ll tell you. (Swiftly rising his right arm into the sky like a hardcore legend) When the three count was finished, and the bell rang, there was only one arm in the air declaring victory, and it was NOT the seasoned veterans. It was mine… of course but now fast forwarding into the future I have sights set on a new competitor.
Goode takes a glance at the stage and appears to be looking through the curtains, beyond the gorilla position.
Phil Goode
This man doesn’t conform to the ground. (Gathering his words, Goode passionately examines his next opponent) He shoots up to the stars. He looks into the eye of the storm and winks at the grey clouds. (Extending his brief analysis) He blows right past them and splits their anatomy as he ascends. There’s one problem however… I don’t think that he’s ever been THIS high.
The capacity crowd is fully aware of the situation and pops at this statement.
Phil Goode
I don’t think that he’s gone this far and looked straight down at the pavement and into the depths of hell below. He might have one advantage… and only one.
A small but important reference to a 1980s cult classic, starring “the first” Batman.
Phil Goode
(Addressing the locker room and AWF universe) As you all know, ever since I stepped into the god damn building… (dramatic pause) I’ve been dealing with this knee injury.
Goode gently rubs his right knee and exposes a small brace that was previously undetected.
Phil Goode
Over the last month or so, the healing process has been right on schedule but I’m still not 100%. Regardless of that… I’m here to WIN! (Aggressive and deliberate) So, do me a favor and bring your ASS out of that COCKPIT… where you love to spend most of your time, (a subtle grin grows) and meet me here, face to face, one on one, to show the fans and management who really belongs in AWF!
Storming off of the ropes and into the middle of the ring, Goode is swinging his massive limbs in a fit of rage and power. He’s almost ready to get the show on the road. The crowd is ecstatic.
Phil Goode
You’re looking at the cream of the crop baby. I am Alaskan Airlines, I am JetBlue and I might even be like Delta but you my friend, you’re just Spirit! You’re cheap, (pause for crowd interaction) you’re unreliable, and I refuse to join YOUR mile-high clu …
YODELEHIHOOOOOOOOOOO
Lance Storm: I feel the hex setting back in, Cage!
The yodeling intro drowns the arena in what feels like an even more eternal fire. The man known as José Figueiras appears in the spotlight at the center of the stage. This spotlight follows him as he slowly struts down the steel road we call a ramp.
Mark Beverly: And his opponent: JOSÉ! FI! GUEIRAS!
His movements seem to be calculated, but he begins to sway towards the barricades on his right side. Almost as if it was against his will, José Figueiras grabs the railing of the barricade for balance and gets nose to nose with one lucky fan. After receiving a moist kiss from José Figueiras, the fan delivers an F.U. Figueiras tilts his self back and strolls toward the steel steps. He muscles his way into the ring, going through the second and third rope like he’s just been tagged into a match. He briefly scans the canvas for a microphone because he's too polite to take Mr. Phil Goode's, and finds what he was looking for. Despite the mic not having an AWF flag, Figueiras produces one from his back pocket and puts it on the mic.
José Figueiras
I'm José Figueiras
The crowd goes absolutely ape-shit. About 65-70% of the females in the crowd have an orgasm, as well as 5-10% of the males.
José Figueiras
I shit you not. As a matter of fact, I AM José Figueiras.
The people in the crowd that hadn't had an orgasm before now have. It's insane. Some people actually die.
José Figueiras
And for starters, I have two questions for you, Mr. Phil Goode.
José Figueiras gets very close to Mr. Phil Goode.
José Figueiras
Question number one, and this is more of a correction than anything else but, do you really think my planes have a cockpit? Really?... Fun fact for you, BUDDÉH, the only pits my planes have are PUSSYPITS.
Holy shit. Somewhere at home, Matt Striker has an orgasm. The crowd is so exhausted from the incessant cheering for José Figueiras, but they cheer nonetheless.
José Figueiras
And question number two... Do you feel good, Phil Goode?
Mr. Phil Goode smirks back sarcastically, but José Figueiras gets RIGHT UP AGAINST HIS FACE. Not just until their noses touch, but nearly up to the point where it's almost officially a sloppy wet kiss. But not quite there. Not quite there. He lowers his tone of voice.
José Figueiras
I said... Do you feel good, Phil Goode?
José Figueiras rips his shirt off unveiling a t-shirt with the DX design but it says JF instead.
José Figueiras
I SAID... DO YOU FEEL GOOD...
Crowd
PHIL GOODE?[
José Figueiras
LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, BOYS AND GIRLS, CHILDREN OF ALL AGES, JOSÉ FIGUEIRAS AND THE ALBERTA WRESTLING FEDERATION PROUDLY PRESENT
TO YOU, JOSÉ FIGUEIRAS HIMSELF!
Figueiras pauses.
José Figueiras
AND IF YOU’RE NOT DOWN WITH THAT, I'VE GOT SIX WORDS FOR YOU...
Figueiras gets right back up in a confused Phil Goode's face.
José Figueiras
DO YOU FEEL GOOD, PHIL GOODE?
Most people in the audience now shit themselves. Literally.
Lance Storm: Oh golly gee I think I've just SHAT MYSELF, Christian.
Christian Cage: HAHA I LOVE IT MAGGLE
José Figueiras
Thing is right... Thing is... The thingity THING is, buddy boy. The thing is you and your puns have NO PLACE in José Figueiras's AWF. You, Batt Bydal or whatever his name was, Booker B HIMSELF! You people seem to think this is a real wrestling show. You think this is a place where you come in and use your "talents" and your "charismé" and "rise to the top" and become "part of history". Become a "legend". It isn't.
Figueiras gets uncomfortably EVEN CLOSER to Mr. Phil Goode.
José Figueiras
I'll tell you what this place is.
José Figueiras pauses.
José Figueiras
Actually, I'll tell you what it isn't!
José Figueiras's voice goes full heavy metal screamo shit right up to Mr. Phil Goode's face.
José Figueiras
A DEMOCRACY
The crowd goes so fucking insane the font changes to 18pt Times New Roman. As Figueiras calms down, sodoes the font size. Figueiras leaves the ring and gets a couple of steel chairs, sliding them into the ring. Mr. Phil Goode, now also having calmed down, clearly realises that José Figueiras is too much of a gentleman to challenge him to a steel chair duel before their match, and instantly comes to the realisation they're about to watch something together. As a show of good faith, Mr. Phil Goode sets his steel chair up first and sits down facing the titantron. Figueiras acknowledges this, and slides back into the ring, then proceeds to set up his own chair, and sit down next to Mr. Phil Goode.
José Figueiras
Now. Tonight, I meant to come out here for our match and our match alone, but then you had to go and call me out.
José Figueiras looks right toward the camera.
José Figueiras
]That's why I look so disheveled tonight.
The camera zooms out a bit showing Figueiras in a completely pristine tuxedo.
José Figueiras
Now, instead of having my vignette play whilst I take care of business backstage, I'm gonna have the monkeys backstage play it right now, and I'm gonna make you watch it with me.
Mr. Phil Goode gives his best "Fair Enough, Mate" face, and they both turn their attention to the Titantron, as the screen fades to black.
[
There is the image of a seaplane and a river. José Figueiras walks on screen wearing the same exact tuxedo as he is in the present moment, but also an absolutely GIGANTIC top hat. The crowd goes audibly fucking insane in the background because of seeing José Figueiras on screen despite him being in the ring right in front of them. They then realise he's right there in front of them and now piss themselves in shock. In the meantime on-screen, José Figueiras proceeds to speak.
José Figueiras
Hi everyone!
He pauses.
José Figueiras
There are many things you know about me, José Figueiras. For instance, you know I had absolutely nothing to do with 9/11, but then again maybe the real 9/11 was the friends we made along the way.
The crowd pops!
José Figueiras
Speaking of friends, meet my new friend and employee!
José Figueiras takes off his massive top hat and proceeds to pull Roderick Kross out of it by the ears. The crowd instantly goes into a boo frenzy but, thankfully, José Figueiras had predicted this would happen.
José Figueiras
Oh no, no no. Don't you worry your pretty little heads! He's alright now! He's a good guy! Aren't you, Roderick Kross?
Roderick Kross sullenly replies.
Roderick Kross
Yes, Mr. Figueiras.
José Figueiras corrects him:
José Figueiras
José Figueiras.
Roderick Kross
Sorry, Mr. José Figueiras.
José Figueiras corrects him:
José Figueiras.
José Figueiras.
Roderick Kross
José Figueiras.
José Figueiras smiles and proceeds to tie Roderick Kross to the seaplane and getting in the cockpit, or as he calls it, the pussypit.
José Figueiras
HI-HO SILVER
José Figueiras' seaplane instantly takes off without any need for a warm-up, and the moment they are high enough that if Roderick Kross was to drop from being tied to the plane, high up enough, José Figueiras does nothing else but exactly what you would least expect the most, and cuts the rope, dropping Roderick Kross down to the river.
Roderick Kross
AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH
WA-PISCH
The screen fades to black as the crowd cheers for Roderick Kross's apparent death. He obviously deserves to die for being a bit of a cunt on twitter, at least more so than Vince McMahon. But definitely less than Bruiser Brody. Bruiser Brody definitely deserved it, probably. You can hear José Figueiras screaming in the distance, in a Scottish accent.
José Figueiras
TOTALLY REFRESHED
The scene fades to black and the word FIN shows up on screen. Meanwhile in the ring the lights come back on, and Mr. Phil Goode is visibly very confused. However, more confused even is the crowd, as José Figueiras is seen sitting down right next to Mr. Phil Goode but without an actual chair underneath him. José Figueiras is literally using the pure, raw, unadulterated strength of his calves to sit down without a chair. But where is his chair?
...
ACROSS MR. PHIL GOODE'S BACK
José Figueiras stands up and shouts at none other than Roderick Kross.
Lance Storm: OH MY GOD JOSÉ FIGUEIRAS JUST PULLED THE MOST INCREDIBLE MAGIC TRICK!
That's right. Roderick Kross.
Roderick.
Kross.
José Figueiras's employee is not only very much alive, but also beating the shit out of Mr. Phil Goode with a steel chair, AND RIGHT BEFORE THEIR MATCH NO LEFT! The crowd cheers, nonetheless, and Charles Robinson runs to the ring because he's a referee. Roderick Kross tosses the weapon to his boss before departing through the crowd, his chair shots landing on Phil Goode’s bad knee, successfully striking it four times before Robinson has slid into the ring. A resounding chairshot from Figueiras over Robinson’s head is applauded extensively, the blow dropping him, his body rolling out of the ring slow and limp. Three more chair shots hit Goode’s knee before rookie referee Emerson Fofão arrives in the ring with his hands up in a plea. Noticing his fellow Portuguese brethren, it seems he comes to a calm, that grin of his reappearing.
Christian Cage: Nothing like a fellow countryman, Storm.
In Portuguese they speak, Emerson trying to reach some deal that eventually leads to José allowing for the signal, chair still in hand.
Ding!
Walking past his writhing opponent, José finally drops the chair while putting his hands out. From out of nowhere, two bottles of Super Bock beer land in his palms and he tosses one right to the referee who has a natural proclivity to catch the cervejas. The Portuguese within them allows them to screw off the non-screw caps with swift fingers. They go to toast and engage in the manly duties of their nation. No -- José halts the proceedings just before glasses can touch, to beg for the second to remove what is revealed to be a toupee from his shiny bald head. Satisfied, they toast at last and enjoy, utilizing with skill the Steve Austin-pour.
Their heads to the sky, neither Tuga notice Goode on his knees, grabbing both their belts and pulling them into each other. Heads bang together, Emerson flopping to the ground while Figueiras staggers. Goode grabs and throws the toupee from the floor into the pilot’s face, stumbles to his feet while reaching for the steel chair, and swinging it into his foe’s face - the hex seems to simmer. He decides one more would be goode, before dropping it and using the last effort in his assailed joint to boost him over for a Cactus clothesline!
Lance Storm: Looks like Phil Goode landed right on that knee, too! But after those two chair shots, José isn’t moving, either.
Calgary is unsettled at all the nonsense happening to kick the show off, rumbling as the men stir on the arena floor. Goode uses the apron to pull himself up while Figueiras rolls and crawls toward the steel steps. Hobbling with a face full of agony, Phil finds something within himself to kick Figueiras’ head into the steps. The body not moving, Goode sits on the steps to rest his knee while forcing the tuxedo jacket off, ripping his dress shirt in the process.
Christian Cage: At this point he’s just getting even!
From inside the ring, Phil is able to reach for the steel chair and pull it close to him, before pulling Figueiras to look up at him. Target locked and set, Goode screams behind the strength he uses to splatter brains once more. The chair is tossed back across the ring, the dress shirt ripped off to leave just the DX-style shirt, and Figueiras hoisted onto the former tight-end’s shoulders. He has to hop to get his speed but plants him with a powerslam on the outside nonetheless!
Lance Storm: Goode’s knee has obviously beaten to bits and he’s feeling every bit of it. That football background has prepared him well with this apparent resilience, however, because he’s not let up.
The Portuguese Charm is stripped of his t-shirt to reveal that he’s got on yet another layer: the Hurricane attire sported on PrimeTime II. Such a sight seems to infuriate Goode, who throws Figueiras into the ring and follows him in, the leg slowing his usual pace of action. The roll-in helps Figueiras to all fours, but he’s back down after another boot flies in. Calgary’s booes are ignored while Goode limps over to drag Figueiras to his feet, into his arms, and back down with a spinebuster.
Lance Storm: Did you see the way his head came off the mat? He’s hooking the leg now but there’s no referee.
Even more frustration comes across Phil Goode, who begins throwing a temper tantrum against the apron. Hopping to Emerson, he easily drags the referee to his feet, but Fofão is clearly still groggy. In the time, Figueiras is able to charge for a shoulder tackle, but Goode sees it coming and leaves the official to eat the move, into the corner. Using the ropes for balance, Goode kicks José below the belt before grappling him into crucifix position into the inverted release powerbomb!
Christian Cage: This is why he was the first signed! Figueiras’ body went flying across that ring!
Trying to pull himself to some sort of composure, Goode comes FIRST with a senton into the corner, clobbering the pilot between the big man and the turnbuckle. Taking advantage of how the body limps underneath the bottom rope, Goode helps its positioning before taking to the other side of the apron and dropping down with his good knee across the face of his opponent.
Lance Storm: I think Goode’s bad knee felt some of that landing! He’s grabbing at it now, and he’s slow to get up.
Charles Robinson begins to stir on the outside, the crowd splitting support for Lil Naitch and José Figueiras both. Being one of the best refs to ever do it, he’s back to task as soon as he’s to his feet, checking on and helping Phil Goode on the outside. In that time, José recovers enough to rebound off the ropes and slide a baseball kick into Phil Goode — but Robinson is pulled into the way! Robinson’s body hurtles into the French announce desk while Goode is unable to counter Figueiras’ over-and-out cannonball!
Lance Storm: Both men are down again, and both referees are out as well.
Goode tries to crawl away from the situation, but Figueiras is on the attack with a shotgun dropkick -- that is dodge as Goode sits on the apron. Air usurped from his body, José stays prone as Phil stands as quickly as he can and sends his elbow down, landing flush.
Lance Storm: I don’t know how well-advised that was, because Goode’s clutching at that knee again as he’s pulling Figueiras up and into the ring.
In a bad sign, Goode has to take the time to sit on the apron outside, trying to get blood or really any sort of function out of his bum knee. In this time, he does not notice Figueiras’ clutching for the steel chair inside the ring. The crowd begins to rumble, and for some reason Goode thinks it’s in support of his affliction and his potential overcoming it. A smug grin begins to come across his face as he pulls up using the top rope. Posing like Christ at Rapture, Goode embraces the cheers that grow as Figueiras takes aim.
Christian Cage: Wait! Look! Referee Fofão’s moving! He’s got to be careful not to get disqualified!
Just in time, José makes batting practice out of the back of Phil’s head and tosses the chair outside the ring. Goode’s body sandbags backward between the middle and top ropes into the ring, with Figueiras beginning to position into the Vertebreaker as he notices Emerson’s crawling.
Lance Storm: Referee Fofão didn’t see! That surely knocked Phil Goode out of his days and he’s in position!
Facing the hard camera, then giving his incomparable smile, José Figueiras crumbles the shoulders and neck with the Vertebreaker and keeps hold of the awkward, shoulders-down situation.
Emerson Fofão: (with slow, strained arm movements, accompanied by an electric crowd) ONE!................
TWO!...............
THREE!
DING DING DING
The call for the bell saps the referee, so José Figueiras must celebrate by his own, which he has no issue doing. Two Super Bock fly into his palms, but him being the only person still on his feet in the ring, he has to indulge solo. Rising to the turnbuckle closest, he raises one beer toward the crowd while swearing in Portuguese before cracking the bottles together, apparently not predicting them to shatter as they do on impact, the glass dropping down toward his face. Each piece is dodged as if it were The Matrix because he has the reflexes of José Figueiras. Two more Super Bock come into his palms as we crossfade to the commentary booth.
José Figueiras d. Phil Goode in 11:46
Gold Rush’s alternate theme smoothly transitions into the background. Christian is asking for a Super Bock of his own until he realizes on the monitor that there’s been a change, getting back to business but only after flipping off whatever stagehand rejected his requests.
Lance Storm: Interesting that José Figueiras beckoned to that ‘Stone Cold’ Steve Austin way of life in a few ways here tonight of all nights, considering the state of things. As we saw last week on PrimeTime, Steve Austin’s presence and words on the federation’s debut have come to bother the commissioner, who is in the back with Kevin Kelly as we speak.
A gentle fade from the booth to the backstage area, where Commissioner Booker towers over Kevin Kelly, both adorn in black tuxedos. Kevin Kelly looks as happy as ever, but the former multi-time world champion’s expression contains more focus.
Kevin Kelly
Ladies and gentlemen, I hope you all are enjoying AWF Gold Rush so far. I am Kevin Kelly and the man beside me needs no introduction. Even so, he is the five-time WCW Champion, ten time WCW tag team champion, and that's only the first seven years of his career! The commissioner of the Alberta Wrestling Federation: Booker T!
The commissioner allows a brief smile and wave toward the camera as the crowd responds warmly.
Kevin Kelly
On the first episode of PrimeTime, Steve Austin was attending alongside two dozen other wrestling legends in skyboxes, but was rather unsatisfied when you were announced as commissioner over him. By his own theory, all the signs pointed to him and it seems as though he’s got vengeance on the mind. This past Tuesday, you announced to the world that you would get to the bottom of all this, and through yours truly sent a junior reporter to Texas and California in search of Steve Austin. Before we get your thoughts, we wanted to show the footage we obtained this past week.
Another crossfade, this time to the words ‘EARLIER THIS WEEK,’ then another into a shaky, adjusting shot of an American Whole Foods market from afar. As the camera finds its balance, a slim white man of about five foot seven man adorns his slate grey blazer and turns to face the camera, an AWF-branded microphone in his grasp.
Reporter
Good Gold Rush to you, all --
A sudden spit on the floor, remessing of his blonde and a self-smack across the face.
Reporter
God, what the fuck is that: ‘Good Gold Rush’? Really hope they edit this shit before they edit. Alright, c’mon, Damien, one more time.
Tie adjustment. Million dollar smirk.
Reporter
I’m Stone Rivers for the Alberta Wrestling Federation here at a Whole Foods in Los Angeles, California. We have confirmed to have finally spotted one ‘Stone Cold’ Steve Austin after a weeks’ search, pulling here into the parking lot, and wanted to get the entire interaction on camera for all of you in Calgary and around the world! Join us!
The confident smirk remains as he turns and leads the way as they begin to walk some forty feet across the parking lot, through cars and interrupting the flow of traffic without any care. A black, four-door Ford pickup with a gaudy blue smoking skull decal on the tailgate is approached and the camera view allows the site of a bald well-built man in a black t-shirt tucked into his jean shorts, with an odd choice for footwear in his tan colored flip flops, throwing off the whole situation. His back is to the camera and a familiar angry southern drawl is heard as he pulls as someone in the passenger seat, its door ajar.
Man
.... ‘Cause I’m a Global Icon And a National Treasure! And you’re my wife!
He grabs the woman inside by the arm, but is shooed off and smushed in the face with her palm.
Woman
I don’t give a damn who you are but you must have me mistaken for Debra! Go get your own damn ointment, you miserable bald bastard! Take your hat too!
A truckers’ cap suddenly flies into his face, frantic swaying away as his reaction. The door is slammed shut by his wife as he picks up the cap and puts it over his head.
Man
(yelling through the closed window) It’s only ‘cause I’m saying so that you get to stay out here! You’re my wife!
The man turns, ignored, then stumbles back when he sees the two men and television camera facing him. An aggressive finger comes up.
Steve Austin
Hey!
A look to the microphone in Rivers’ hand as he tries to speak is followed by a scowl and condescending sucking of the teeth.
Stone Rivers
... a few questions regarding why--
Austin mushes the reporter in his face like his wife did, before walking off toward the entrance of the Whole Foods, those flip flops sloop-slooshing down the way in the usual angry Texas cadence. Rivers jogs to catch up, the cameraman not trying as hard. His strides are long, with Rivers’ slacks being tighter than he’d care to admit, so it takes until Austin is nearly hit by an SUV in crossing from the parking lot to the store curb from not looking before proceeding for him to turn back - in the middle of the street with the fast broken SUV as it stopped - with a finger that nearly pokes Stone’s eye out.
Words growing louder inspires the cameraman to pick up the speed but not before Austin has begun walking away from the Whole Foods towards the Home Depot on the other side of the parking lot. Both reporter and cinematographer follow, with no cuts being made, further proving the Bruce Hart-headed production truck did nothing to review or clear this footage before launching it on international television.
They look like an episode of POP Squad going through the aisles of Home Depot, but it doesn’t stop Austin from evading and the journalists from stalking, Rivers constantly conjuring up a new way to ask the same five questions. Austin explores the gardening area, purchasing tomato seeds and a potted plant half his height, with Stone Rivers continuing to inquire away. The wrestling legend leads them out of the Home Depot and begins walking down the sidewalk toward his truck.
Stone Rivers
... maybe we just got off on the wrong foot. Look, I’m Stone Rivers for the Alberta Wrestling F--
Another quick turn and stop, but the potted plant in his hands prevents the usual stern finger.
Stone Cold
What?
Stone Rivers
I’m Stone Rivers with the Alberta Wrestling Federation, reporting on behalf of Commissioner Booker T. We only wanted to ask about your appearance on the pilot episode of PrimeTime, and really get more of your perspective.
Stone Cold’s eyes narrow and a quick Kane-like head tilt.
Stone Cold
What?
Stone Rivers looks back incredulously.
Stone Rivers
I said I’m Stone Rivers with the Alberta Wrestling F--
Stone Cold
What?
Stone Rivers
I SAID I’m Stone Rivers with the Al-
Stone Cold
WHAT?!
Stone Rivers
I SAID I’M STONE RIVERS W---
Stone Cold
DO YOU THINK THAT’S FUNNY?!
Stone Rivers
What?
Stone Cold
What?
Stone Rivers
Wh…. What?!
A head bob on every word:
Stone Cold
You-mealy-mouthed-son-of-a-bitch!
Another head tilt and close examination leaves Stone Rivers obviously unsettled.
Stone Cold
Maybe you didn’t hear me.
Stone Rivers
What?
Stone Cold
Maybe it’s just a little too loud with all this traffic.
Another sudden turn and he’s walking off again, but turns the bend between the two megastores rather than continuing on the sidewalk. Rivers looks back at the cameraman confused then decides to follow along. As he turns the bend, Rivers is struck with the potted plant, dirt exploding everywhere like an atom bomb.
Damien the Cameraman
My fuckin’ Yeezy’s!
Blood is pouring from Rivers’ hairline and stiff fists from Steve Austin come flying down to worsen the gash. His flip-flopped right foot meets Rivers’ jaw and proves the footwear doesn’t really make much different, and before long there’s a mudhole being stomped that Damien follows along with in such a way that Kevin Dunn would be proud of. The attack stops without another movement when Austin stands over the reporter, a total mess on the pavement.
Stone Cold
Do you think it’s funny? Do they think it’s funny? You are pathetic!
A flip flop to the gut.
Stone Cold
I’m out with my WIFE! I got to get some damn mutli-vitamins but I got to be worried about some damn AWF and their little beady eyed journalizin’ bastard!
A flip flop to the groin.
Stone Cold
Look atcha! I mean -- look! You make me sick! And ‘Stone Rivers’?! Is that supposed to be funny?!
Two more stiff, well landed groin blows.
Stone Cold
You tell Booker T he can pay me to be on his show, but until then…
His finger gets close to Rivers’ face and so too does the cinematography. Just then, the camera drops and the lens cracks on the pavement, as Austin clearly attacks Damien. Only Stone Rivers grabbing at his groin can be seen as the many shots and blows Stone Cold lands are picked up audibly by the feed. When it seems he’s done he can be heard saying one last thing:
Stone Cold
Don’t trust anybody!
Sloop-slush
Sloop-slush
Sloop-slush
The oh-so angry flip flop walk away. A fade out and back into Commissioner Booker clearly livid and Kevin Kelly distressed. AWF’s lead reporter puts the microphone to his boss’ mouth.
Commissioner Booker
What you did right there, Steve, is you put your hands on one of mine. When Bret made me commissioner of this place, everything and everyone became mine. And with that being said, I’ma say this: any PrimeTime, any where, any time.
Booker looks deep into the camera.
Commissioner Booker
Now can you dig that, sucka?
Approving roar from the crowd as we cross to a vignette from security feed footage. Laci has flashbacks the instant she walks into Olympia gym.
She sees herself hitting the bag and Jeremy Fischer goading her to hit harder, be fiercer. She looks at the empty ring and sees her squaring off against some chick Jerry's sister, Bliss had trained, and being knocked on her ass. A quick look at the reception has her remembering smoke breaks with Jules Fischer while they talked about guys. Jules always went on and on about these boys from California she liked.
But now, Olympia was quiet. Membership had dropped and the Toronto branch was closing its doors. Jerry had gotten married last fall, his new wife was expecting and he was building a relationship with his teenage step-son. He had even gone back to school, finishing up his teaching degree. Justin, the middle brother had gone back to working IT, wrestling just wasn't enough to support a family of five. Jules had moved to Seattle, married one of those Cali boys and had a kid too. Things were changing a lot and Laci wasn't good with change.
Evie Taylor
Come to say goodbye?
Laci turns to see one of her instructors, a woman named Evie Taylor. Laci rushes to hug the woman tightly. Despite the fact that Laci had a few inches on the older woman, hugging Evie all you felt was the hard sinewy muscles. Evie says with a chuckle.
Evie Taylor
There's our heart breaker.
Laci says with a smile.
Laci Valentine
I haven't seen you in forever.
"I know. Got out of this biz a long time ago but when Jules told me Jer & Justin were closing it up I had to come see for myself."
Evie, in Laci's opinion, was beautiful and amazing. Her hero maybe besides the great Bill Nye. Although she was in her late thirties now, she still looked amazing.
Laci Valentine
It's sad. I heard that Peter is selling his gym too.
Evie nods.
Evie Taylor
Yup. To you know who.
Laci closes her eyes. Her infamous ex. The one who was with some blonde tart now.
Laci Valentine
It's fine. As long as he stays over there. I know our relationship was short lived, but he still cheated on me with V.
Her one and only relationship. The infamous Violet was also connected to Jules through her brother in law. It was all way too convoluted to explain.
Evie Taylor
Have you met anyone new?
Laci brushes off her comment.
Laci Valentine
Naw. Dating is weird AF now. All guys want is a quicky but nothing substantial. Maybe I'll just swear off men entirely.
Evie Taylor
Don't I know it. All I've had are duds.
Laci Valentine
I had my first win, although it's weird. Like there's this chick that seemed to hate me but now is sort cool with me. She let me get the win. She could have broken up the pin but let me have it. Now I have a spot back in the title tournament. She asked me to be part of her group.
Evie raises a dark eyebrow.
Evie Taylor
And?
Laci Valentine
She made mention of money being had. I guess I'm a money whore cuz I said ya.
Evie Taylor
It's never a bad thing to have connections, Lace. Maybe it's better to be on her good side than her bad side?
Laci shrugs.
Laci Valentine
That's what I was thinking.
Evie Taylor
Besides, first impressions are usually killer. Obviously, you impressed her.
Laci nods and once again looks around the empty gym.
Laci Valentine
The dude I'm facing calls himself Rockstar Spud.
She smirks.
Laci Valentine
Not that I'm judging on quirky ring names.
Evie Taylor
Your ring name is a play on your last name.
Laci turns, looking at her mentor with so much behind her eyes. Other than what she had told Lucy, she had confided everything to Evie in those first months.
Laci Valentine
I think I'm going to legally change it to Valentine. I want nothing more to do with that bastard.
She clenches her fists.
Evie Taylor
What about your mum? Has she…
Laci Valentine
Nope. Not even a hint of a want to leave him, despite him getting worse since I left.
Evie puts a hand on her shoulder.
Evie Taylor
It's hard to get people out of bad situations when they don't want to recognize they are bad.
Evie of course being someone who was in an abusive relationship. Stockholm Syndrome. Her ex was mentally abusive though. Evie had suffered and changed a lot since then.
Laci Valentine
I'll find a way.
Evie grabs Laci's face and looks at her, straight in her eye.
Evie Taylor
Just be careful Lace.
Laci nods. After a few moments of silence, Evie speaks again.
Evie Taylor
So this Spud guy? What's he about?
Laci Valentine
Part of a shitty band, huge mama's boy and apparently is good at winning when everyone has counted him out.
Evie Taylor
Are you counting him out?
Laci looks back to the ring where she had learned everything she knew.
Laci Valentine
That would be colossally stupid. I never underestimate anyone I face. However, he's never faced me. Hey,...
She looks at her mentor.
Laci Valentine
Do you think you could show me how to do Faint of Heart?
Evie raises an eyebrow.
Evie Taylor
You sure you're ready for that?
Laci Valentine
Feel this.
Laci flexes her arm. The hard sinewy muscle is distinct in her small arm. Evie grabs it, squeezing while she does.
Evie Taylor
You've been working on these.
Laci nods, giving a hint of a smile.
Laci Valentine
I would be honoured to be able to learn and use your finisher Eves. You taught me everything I know.
Evie shakes her head.
Evie Taylor
Not everything. I didn't teach you to climb the ropes.
Heights were not Evie's thing.
Laci Valentine
Well, you supported me when no one else did. And I'm good at it.
Evie Taylor
Yes, you are. But we can't practice here. I know a place downtown.
The women continue chatting as they leave the facility. The camera continues to record afterwards, showing a hooded figure sneaking out from the locker room and out the back door. Fade to a word from one of our pay-per-view sponsors.
A return from the sponsor feature to another vignette, pretitled ‘The Wonderful World of Rockstar Spud.’
EXT: NEW YORK CITY - MORNING
The sun rises over the Iconic New York City Skyline, as it does this song starts:
INT: APARTMENT - MORNING
On beat the sun beams through the massive windows of the perfect upmarket New York loft apartment.
"Imagine me and you, I do"
Rockstar Spud wakes up in a massive bed, dwarfing his already small frame.
"I think about you day and night, it's only right"
Spud yawns with a massive cheesy grim on his face.
"To think about the girl you love and hold her tight"
Spud smirks flirtily and looks over to the corner of his room and sat on the mantlepiece is the AWF Provincial Championship (or how he imagines it will look, tasteful design on black leather).
"So happy together"
Spud leaps from the bed, he's wearing leather pyjamas with the word "CHAMP" embodied on the collar.
"If I should call you up, invest a dime"
Spuds now sat at the table eating cereal, he also has a bowl placed in front of the belt which is sat facing him.
"And you say you belong to me and ease my mind"
Spud giggles as if the belt just told him a joke over the dinner table. He then takes a second to give the belt a longing look.
"Imagine how the world could be, so very fine"
Spud's sat on his couch now with a guitar draped over him and the championship belt draped across his shoulder, the strap resting on the strings.
"So happy together"
He seems to be teaching the inanimate object to play (Spud himself can't play the guitar). Spud is bobbing his head whilst changing his finger position for the chords as if the belt is strumming.
EXT: MEADOW - DAYTIME
"I can't see me lovin' nobody but you, for all my life"
Spud is giddily bounding through the perfect meadow with AWF Provincial Championship around his waist.
"When you're with me, baby the skies'll be blue, for all my life"
Spud unhooks the belt and throws it high into the air. As he catches it hugs the belt, tightly to his chest.
INT: APARTMENT - DAYTIME
"Me and you and you and me"
Spud is sat in front of a mirror, his hair uncharacteristically combed and gelled perfectly. In the reflection of the mirror a proud looking Local Leather stand all dressed in suits.
"No matter how they toss the dice, it had to be"
Spud stands up from the desk and turns to face his friends, it's now visible that he's wearing a brown leather 3 piece suit. Spud smiles and nods at his bandmates.
"The only one for me is you and you is me, so happy together"
Spud exits the room with room arm in arm with his friends.
"I can't see me lovin' nobody but you
For all my life
When you're with me, baby the skies'll be blue
For all my life"
THE MEADOW SCENE REPEATS
"Me and you and you and me"
Spud is stood at an altar, by his side the rest of Local Leather, in the middle the impossibly tall officiant. On the brides side is a shelf with various iconic championships: The AWA Tag Team Championships, Stampede North American Heavyweight Championship, The Jeff Hardy TNA Face Championship, The Pink WWF Women's Championship (The one Alundra put in the bin).
"No matter how they toss the dice, it had to be"
Spud looks nervous, he glances upwards, we see the face of the officiant, Big Homunculus in an ill fitting suit and traditional African Headress. Spud then glances down the aisle and right by the entrance way is Spuds mum Doreen carrying the AWF Provincial Championship but the strap is now white not black.
"The only one for me is you, and you for me"
Spud lip syncs along with the lyrics as his vows to the championship which is propped up on a table.
"So happy together"
Homunculus declares them "man and belt". Spud hoists the Provincial Championship overhead and marches out to rapturous applause from the crowd, in the crowd we see various AWF roster members and every man that has been claimed as being Spud's father so far.
EXT: MEADOW - DAYTIME
"Ba-ba-ba-ba ba-ba-ba-ba ba-ba-ba ba-ba-ba-ba, ba-ba-ba-ba ba-ba-ba-ba ba-ba-ba ba-ba-ba-ba"
Back in the meadow Spud but in his leather suit, is now rolling down a hill with the white strapped AWF Provincial Championship over his shoulder. Spud is overjoyed. As the pair reach the bottom of the hill Spud stares longingly at his belt.
BEAT.
Spud leans in and kisses the Championship belt.
The song slowly fades out.
INT: LOCAL LEATHER TOUR BUS - MORNING
Spud awakens in the foetal position on top of a lay flat bass drum, cuddled up to a battered old guitar strap. Spud sits up and throws the guitar strap to the ground. Panda sees him waking up in the van mirror, Fringe and Ziggy are both flat out, lay awkwardly around equipment.
Panda
Mornin' sunshine.
Spud
I just had the nicest dream mate.
Panda
Oh yeah, bout a girl and that.
Spud
(Embarrassed and flustered) Yeah, yeah, mate, it was like me, four girls and loads of whipped cream.
Panda
(Throws up a hang loose sign) Sick lad!!!!!
Spud coyly smiles and throws up a hang loose of his own. Spud glances at the guitar strap on the ground, imagining it to be the Provincial Title and mouths "soon".
Fade out and into the commentary booth yet again.
Christian Cage: I’ll tell you, Lance Storm, I think that little dude’s gonna be the first AWF Provincial Champion. And hell, if it wasn’t before, they oughta put a white strap on it.
Lance Storm: Rockstar Spud meets Laci Valentine in our next round one match here tonight, the young woman of course who we saw before our sponsor spot. As she mentioned, over the time between last PrimeTime and now, she has aligned with the legendary wrestling MadClan, here in their newly formed Canadian sect. She has aligned herself with two people you, quite honestly, want to align yourself with: Christina King and Raging Dead - both who have their own matches tonight.
Christian Cage: I heard we were going to get some form of address tonight?
Lance Storm: You heard right - but first, we were inundated with messages regarding Orange Cassidy following last week and the heinous actions he had to endure involving Dyno-Mike and his cigar. Now, a look on the orange side.
Cross away.
*Shortly after the Toronto Tornado Turmoil match*
Orange Cassidy is on his knees, leaning on a chair. Dyno-Mike is being stretchered out by the marvelous AWF medical staff, who are trying to stop the bleeding of his face. Orange uses the chair as a support to get himself to his feet, albeit very slowly. He is moving much slower than usually and that is saying something for a man of his speed. As he is walking towards the barricade to get towards the back, a fan dumps something on his head. He doesn't know what it was, it didn’t matter to him. The rage that flooded his body when Dyno-Mike burned him returned, he turned around quickly to enact revenge on the man. As he turned to face the fan, his body gave way. The arena turns to black as his body hits the floor, cries for a medic can be heard before he fully loses consciousness.
Orange begins to see a scene of a kitchen. The same blonde haired child is standing in the middle of the room, now with disheveled hair sniffling as if he were upset by something. In front of him was a female figure, with her back turned to him. She was doing something on the counter, cooking maybe, whatever that’s not important. The female figure is like the male one, can’t make out much of the face or any specifics, but unlike the other figure this one is brighter. This figure is not as harsh as the one seen before and sports one noticeable feature, long orange hair.
The Female Figure notices the sniffles and turns to face him. The figure gets down on one knee and puts her hand on the shoulder of the young blonde boy.
Soft Female Voice
Oh no, what happened this time?
The blonde boy just looked down and kept sniffling. The female figure stood up.
Soft Female Voice
Why don’t you have a seat at the table, I know what will cheer you up.
Orange watched as the blonde boy walked towards the table and the female figure went to the fridge. The figure opened it up and grabbed a carton of orange juice, pouring some into a large glass. She walks it over to the table and places it in front of the boy. She watches as the boy reaches for the glass and takes a drink.
Orange closes his eyes and when he opens them he has now taken the place of the blonde boy. Orange is shocked as he sits there staring at the glass in front of him and now the Female Figure.
Soft Female Voice
So, tell me what happened.
Orange just sits there, still in awe of the situation. The Female Figure notices his disheveled hair, she brushes it to the side to reveal the burn mark from the cigar. The Figure gets closer to inspect the damage.
Soft Female Voice
Who did this to you?
Orange Cassidy[
One of my opponents, guess he was mad that I beat him last week.
The female figure has now gone to a cabinet and retrieves a first-aid kit. The Figure begins to bandage up the wound on OC’s forehead.
Soft Female Voice
What happened after that?
Orange is now just looking straight ahead at the glass of OJ. His voice sounds shameful.
Orange Cassidy
I got him to stop. Then I picked up a chair and...I...I
Orange picked up the glass, took a drink and placed it back on the table with force.
Orange Cassidy
...I lost control. I’m sorry.
Like the blonde boy had earlier, Orange hangs his head in shame. The Female Figure puts her thumb under his chin, to raise his head and look at his face. She then gently caresses his face with her hand.
Soft Female Voice
You don’t have to apologize for defending yourself.
Orange Cassidy
But it went beyond defending myself, I’m pretty sure I was trying to kill him.
Soft Female Voice
Be real with yourself sweetheart, you weren’t gonna kill him. You just let it get the best of you. You’re allowed to lose control if you need to defend yourself, just don’t let it go too far.
The Female Figure plants a soft kiss on his cheek.
Soft Female Voice
You’re ok.
As she says that, the figure gets brighter and brighter until Orange opens his eyes. Orange has come to in the trainer's room, where bright light is directly above. Orange is lying on table, with a headdress eerily similar to the one the female figure had put on him.
Orange Cassidy’s Internal Monologue
What the hell is going on?
Orange tries to get up, but the trainer, Reginald Nowinski, stops him.
Reginald Nowinski
Relax man, you passed out. No need to rush the show is over, just relax.
Orange Cassidy’s Internal Monologue
Oh shit the show’s over.
Orange shoves Reginald away and notices his jacket and glasses on the counter. He walks towards the counter and takes his belongings, as well as some bottles labeled generic brand ibuprofen. He throws on his glasses and jacket, before turning to the door.
He leaves the trainer’s room and begins to head towards the locker room. He begins to feel weak, so on the way to the locker room he stops at catering. He grabs a bottle of OJ and damn near chugs the thing. He grabs a couple more and shoves them into his jacket, as he overhears some people talking at a table.
Unspecified Voice
Did you see the main event, I can’t believe how the Best Friends got mangled like that near the end.
Orange Cassidy’s Internal Monologue
Fuck.
Orange runs, ok he doesn’t really run, he’s much too weak for that right now. He walks at a slightly faster speed to the locker room. Upon entering he sees the Best Friends sitting down with bags of ice all over them. As soon as the Best Friends see him they, their eyes immediately grow wider.
Chuck Taylor
Holy shit Orange! Are you ok?!
Trent Beretta
Yeah we heard you passed out! We would have stayed with you, but we only found out after our match.
Orange breathes a sigh of relief that his friends are not mad at him.
Orange Cassidy
Sor…
Chuck immediately cuts him off.
Chuck Taylor
You don’t need to say anything man, we know that if you had been conscious you would have been there. We just hoped you were alright.
Orange reaches into his pockets and grabs two bottles of oj and hands it to each best friend. They look at them quizzically.
Trent Beretta
Thanks man, but I think we’ll need something stronger than this.
Orange reaches into his pockets once again and tosses each a bottle of generic brand ibuprofen.
Chuck Taylor
Well it’s a start.
The best friends pop a tablet and begin chugging as OC takes a seat next to them. Fade out and back into a wild, near hysteric crowd. The reason for this becomes apparent very quickly as the camera zooms in on the ring. Standing there are the three members of MadClan Canada. Laci Valentine, Raging Dead, and The Madwoman herself. A table is set up in the middle of the ring. On this table are various pieces of merchandise.
Christina King
Welcome to the madhouse.
Laci steps up beside Christina, mic in hand.
Laci Valentine
Two weeks ago, Christina and I faced off in this ring and honestly, the odds were not in my favour. I might have found myself pinned to the mat, but I gained something else. See she saw that I had the drive and determination to represent her vision here. Having allies is a smart move, especially when you're fresh meat. I know that not only am I going to get the boost I need to succeed, but also be able to eat like a queen.
She looks down at the table and picks up a T-Shirt. It's lemon yellow and across the front is a heart with a crown hanging off the top. The bottom has a hashtag with the word 'QueenOfHearts'
Laci Valentine
I think it's pretty clever.
She gives a sly smirk before looking at Christina.
Christina King
Queen of Hearts and The Madwoman, riding together like two bad asses. We've got the zombie himself behind us with eyes full of anger. And on his chest…
Christina reveals a MadClan Canada t-shirt.
Christina King
This beautiful MadClan shirt available on Shop AWF for only nineteen dollars.
Laci smirks again.
Laci Valentine
But that's not all. If you use the special coupon code 'we're all a little mad' you can get free shipping on orders over fifty dollars. It's an excellent excuse to.... go crazy…
She gives a bit of a chuckle.
Christina King
Enough of that stuff. Tonight your favorite family of misfits are taking part in the tournament to crown a new champion and I couldn't be happier. Tonight you will see Orange Cassidy fall before the MADWOMAN.
Laci Valentine: and I'll offer a side of fries after I dice up some Rockstar Spud
Christina King
It's real simple. The MadClan is going to have a clean sweep tonight. Then one of us is going to take a piece of gold. We're your new heroes.
Raging Dead
Like my niece says… let madness… reign.
Raging Dead drops the microphone. Christina and Laci begin tossing t-shirts into the crowd as we cut right to what appears on the titantron during this process.
Kevin Kelly
Hey Spud can we get a quick word about your AWF PPV debut?
Spud shrugs and nods, composes himself and stares directly into the camera.
Spud
So I’m wrestling Laci, she’s gonna make every day Valentine’s day, well I’m sorry sweetheart but you’re in my world now and every day can be whatever, ‘cause every hour is Spud O’ Clock. Laci is impressive as hell, from the limited tape I’ve seen, I’m a fan, she reminds me of myself, an underdog, somebody who fights from the bottom and snatches her wins from the brink of defeat, she’s all heart, it’s great. Then Laci brought up my name, like it’s some kind of slight. It’s not, you see when you come from a place like I come from and you’re picked on and bullied because you’re small and you look different there are 2 ways you can go; you internalise, take it and fall deeper and deeper or you can bounce back swing for the fences and take every mean thing, every time you got beat up, every time they humiliated you and you make it your fuel, they called me Spud and I’ll always be Spud but I own it now, not them, it can’t hurt me anymore, I’m proud to be Spud. Then there’s Rockstar well (Spud slowly rotates having the camera look up and down his leather jacket, jeans and boots) look at this drip. Beyond that, kids in glass houses should not throw stones, Laci Valentine, Laci Valentine, come on, that could be any girl, in any company, in any country or explicit website for that matter, so maybe think before mouthing off.
Laci didn’t stop at names though “part of a shitty band, huge mama's boy” massive error in judgement Laci. What you said was meant as another slight but all it actually says is that I help put food on 2 tables, well 1 is a crash cymbal turned upside down but still, I put food on 2 tables and you better believe my people are gonna eat Laci. What about you, what do you stand for? Nobody really knows, that’s why when I come out it’s rapturous applause and for you, a certain standoffishness, once you wrestle you get them on side, you're on your way, you're a star, but even then, you don’t connect like I connect, and you know that. We all harness the crowd, use their energy, FEEL IT and if they’re giving me more than you, how can you win, honestly, I’d like to know where this ill placed confidence comes from.
You’re a great competitor Laci, we’ll see each other again down the road no doubt and under no circumstances will I be taking you lightly, ever, but at this time, on this night, in front of that crowd, it’s gonna be me, not you, I’m sorry.
Kevin Kelly
And Spud before you go any thoughts on the main event?
Spud
Main event? Rockstar Spuds match is always a main event my friend. 3 Weeks of Tuesday Night Prime Time, 2 Rockstar Spud match of the weeks. Last week I saw a sign with my logo and in front it said the Tuesday Night Delight, another sign held up high had me lay along the bottom with Mr Match of the Week above it, so It doesn’t matter where I am on the card, opener, mid-point, second last, it’s irrelevant, it’s a main event match. Look at the AWF Faithful, our live show is long but when ‘Livin’ on a Prayer’ hits and the lights go down not one of them is getting up to head for the bar, no smoke breaks, not one person goes anywhere, they’d rather soil themselves than miss a second of it and I love them for that, AWF is my home and they are my people.
And When it comes to Albert VS Max….
Kevin Kelly
Priscilla….
Spud
No, I don’t abide that, Priscilla Kelly is a manager primarily, Albert’s a wrestler, Pricilla can wrestle, she is talented but there’s no way she’s in the ring for that match. Albert and Max is gonna be war, too close to call but if you put a gun to my head, I think the tournament has done much more damage to Max than Albert… Buuuutttt a wounded animal can be much more dangerous than a healthy one, hmmmmm….
Before Spud can answer the opening salvo to ‘Livin’ On A Prayer’ hits.
Spud
(Spud pops the collar on his leather jacket and puts on his sunglasses) Sorry dude I gotta go to work.
Kevin Kelly smiles and waves as Spud struts towards the entrance ramp. We cut back to the arena where the merchandise promoting has ended, the MadClan occupying the ring with much more focus.
Rockstar Spud’s confidence is undeterred, despite his noticing the three-to-one scenario he has just entered. Almost as if to show defiance in the face of their attempted intimidation, he poses for the crowd to a deafening pop that does more to stun him than the MadClan, on this day.
Mark Beverly: The following round one bout in the AWF Provincial Championship tournament is set for one fall. Coming to the ring, from the Back Seat of the Tour Bus, weighing one hundred forty one pounds: this is the ROCKSTAR! SPUD!
Although all three will be involved in some sort of Provincial Championship tournament affair on the night, the veteran two exit the ring and flank the man on either side, as he nears the ring apron. Now more uneasy, he carefully removes his sunglasses, folds them, and sets them on the apron while keeping his eyes darted between the woman outside of the ring and the one inside. While removing his leather jacket, he notices a familiar, grizzled face and the two share some sort of telepathic moment, before King begins to walk up the ramp, her uncle following the lead.
Lance Storm: A few things to ponder here: is there something unfinished between those two men from their legendary match on PrimeTime I? And, is the MadClan not staying ringside a choice of the family’s, or is that Laci’s decision?
When it seems as though the coast is clear, Spud hands his accessories to a photographer ringside who has no clue what to do with any of it. Instead of entering right into the ring, he instead climbs up to have one foot on the top rope and poses to the eager Calgarians. From that stance, he jumps over the top into the ring and Sandra Yandel is there and ready to ring the bell.
Ding!
A fast collar-and-elbow that’s shedded away by both quicker than it started, pacing around the ring by both with watching eyes, a remeasuring before an apparent tie up -- roll out of the situation from Spud behind Laci catching her with the sleeper, but she gets right and lifts him for a back suplex.
Christian Cage: Look at these two - Spud rolls out and lands on his feet, ducks her spinning back kick - Spud off the ropes and back: Laci caught him with the armdrag!
He shoos away from her attempted armbar only to suffer a second armdrag, then a third, before she suddenly changes the scenario into a tilt-a-whirl hurricanrana!
Lance Storm: Fair to say Laci Valentine wins the first feeling out section, here.
The Frontman doesn’t stay down long, sensing the crowd on their feet and as energetic as the competitors, for the show must go on. He anticipates her reaction when he runs toward her: the armdrag, turning with it, taking hold of her own arm, and sending her across the ring. His drag bobbles her into the corner, where she quickly uses the ropes to help recover.
Lance Storm: Spud’s not letting up, he’s right behind her: running dropkick to the jaw!
Valentine’s body slinks to a sit, and Spud’s measuring his next charge: cannonball -- Laci rolls under the ring and away! As his body crashes awkwardly and rebounds nastily, Valentine is already beginning the process of scaling the top rope. Soon as he’s to his feet, she’s to her impressive vertical leap, aiding in the velocity behind her diving bulldog! She hooks the leg!
Sandra Yandel: ONE!............
TWO!..............
KICKOUT
Spud is forcing his way to a single knee but that seems all he can manage before Valentine has springboard and come back with a double foot stomp to the back of his that drives his face back into the apron!
Christian Cage: Good Lord! That was brutal, that was beautiful! Madness reigns, and she’s taking the cover!
Sandra Yandel: ONE!.............
TWO!..........
KICKOUT
Lance Storm: You mentioned the MadClan motto, and with good reason as their freshest meat is looking more aggressive with these mounted punches now. Referee Sandra Yandel is having to get involved; you certainly do become the company you keep, don’t you?
Sandra Yandel: THREE! FOUR! Hey break it, I’ll disqualify!
Laci listens, letting and getting up, but only as if to interrupt the count, getting right back to the same thing.
Sandra Yandel: ONE! TWO!
Despite Spud’s guard, once right-handed shot clears his jaw.
Sandral Yandel: THREE!
A few unexpected blows to the gut alters his block, allowing for a left jab to the face. She smushes his face into the mat with the half-shoot cover.
Sandral Yandel: ONE!...........
TWO!...
SHOULDER UP
Lance Storm: That last one felt more about mind games than actually figuring it was over.
Valentine allows for her opponent to crawl to the ropes, but lays in kicks to his kidneys as he tries to use them to rise. Yandel gets involved again by pushing her away with reprimands, and the restless crowd begins to give off a mixed reaction in the Heartbreaker’s direction. Spud manages a crawl to the center of the ring, where Laci is finally let free again -- PELÉ KICK! Possum Spud - two, MadClan - zero.
Christian Cage: She fell like a ton of bricks after that one, must’ve caught her right in the temple.
The Pint-Sized Pariah is speedy in the split-legged moonsault he delivers, right into his first attempt to call the end.
Sandra Yandel: ONE!................
TWO!..............
KICKOUT
The Pelé kick was incredibly crisp and the moonsault flawless, so it’s of no surprise that her eyes seem slightly glazed over as she gets to her knees and the Sweet Potato Music doesn’t help! Swooping into the leg hook like the Heartbreak Kid!
Sandra Yandel: ONE!................
TWO!..............
KICKOUT
Spud decides to sit back and measure his opponent rising to her feet, launching into his tilt-a-whirl DDT just at the right time -- no, she gets him on the come up and turns him back for the northern lights suplex! She keeps a bridge!
Sandra Yandel: ONE!................
TWO!..............
BOTH SHOULDERS FLY UP
But her grip stays, and with surprising athleticism and strength, Valentine draws over and pulls up Spud with her, her head still tucked under his arm. An attempt is made to chain into a second northern lights but Rockstar has the wherewithal to wrap his leg around hers to stop the possibility. One swift gut punch loosens the leg grip so she tries again, but he tights his arm around her neck instead, the woman lucky that her positioning otherwise has him stuck.
Lance Storm: Bit of a stalemate here - oh what -- Laci shoos off and enziguri! What a change-up, and now Spud looks out of it on one knee.
Double knees after a rope rebound send Spud’s body into a spiral before landing on his back. She covers without wasting a second.
Sandra Yandel: ONE!................
TWO!..............
KICKOUT
Lance Storm: We’ve just seen these two pull out half of their movesets, back and forth, and I couldn’t begin to tell you who has the actual edge. Both are gassed, Laci taking the time to breathe.
Christian Cage: If she watched PrimeTime I, her own new mentor Raging Dead almost fell victim to giving this little Tour Bus Terror too much time to recoup. She’s got to stay on him!
As if she can hear Christian from the stage, Laci turns to a type of focus and grabs from behind Spud away from the ropes being used to drag himself up. Using his hair against him, she pulls his back perfectly into a backstabber that leaves him stiff over her legs for a split second before popping into the air three feet and back down to the mat beside her! She covers!
Sandra Yandel: ONE!................
TWO!..............
KICKOUT
Christian Cage: Oh, no, Storm, she looks frustrated and with this guy you’re gonna wanna keep your composure if you want a shot at winning.
Lance Storm: You’re right, Cage; he’ll use that anger against you in an instant. It looks like she’s calling for the ending moments.
Lance Storm is referring to the way she had been signalling to the crowd just before now: rebounding off the ropes and returning with a knee trembler-neckbreaker combination that leaves Rockstar Spud looking like a GTA ragdoll corpse. Seeing her opportunity is coming together as she intended, she begins to scale the ropes. Once there, she takes the time to measure her shot carefully.
Lance Storm: We saw her hit that Head Over Heels maneuver last PrimeTime, but she’s not exactly in that position now?
Still measuring, she takes one last look at her opponent then she’s off. Her form is immaculate: the shooting star press that so slickly transitions into the double knee collision!
BUT HE MOVES!
The knees land stiff on the mat and she pops right back up, then back down in pain, then back up, just trying to recover something and fast. But she can’t - not before Spud has found it to jump from behind and roll her into an Xtra Small Package!
Sandra Yandel: ONE!................
TWO!..............
THREE!
DING DING DING
Lance Storm: He caught her!
Spud rolls out of the ring immediately, and Laci pops up with a look of disbelief. The crowd is on their feet at the unexpected pinfall, and Rockstar’s tired but wide grin on the outside shows that he’s well satisfied with his work.
Mark Beverly: The winner of this match, advancing to the next round: ROCKSTAR! SPUD!
Laci Valentine can’t help but look distraught with her hands through her hair, before it seems a spirit of anger comes over her and she exits the ring to leave the arena, ignoring the man who felled her. He watches carefully as she walks by, rolling into the ring afterwards to finally accept Sandra Yandel’s hand raise in the center, toward the hard camera. A ‘Tuesday Night Delight’ sign can be seen on the left side of his body in that shot, before he takes to the turnbuckle to celebrate.
Rockstar Spud d. Laci Valentine in 11:07
Cross into a vignette. In the middle of the parking lot of the McMahon Arena in Calgary is a little makeshift stage that looks to be made of loading pallets. There's a dusty velvet curtain strung up on what looks like the rusted poles of some old, discarded swing set. The curtain rustles and parts slightly, showing a masked face. His expression isn't really clear but he sounds angry when he speaks as an aside to someone who is clearly behind the curtain with him.
?
There's nobody here. I thought you were going to invite the press?
Another voice replies to him, speaking in what sounds like Russian. Thankfully, there are handy subtitles on this show that translate it for us.
??
YA dumal, ty skazal, chto spravish'sya s etim?
(You said you were going to handle that?)
?
I think I would remember that.
Stepping further through the curtain to reveal his barrel chest that looks like it wants to burst free from the suit he's wearing, the masked man pulls a small Hello Kitty notepad from his pocket and checks the chicken scratch filling the page.
?
It's not on my list, Slava.
??
Chert! Itak, seychas my provodim konferentsiyu bez pressy?
(Damn! So now we are doing a conference with no press?)
Sighing, Pyro steps out fully from behind the curtain, revealing himself to be dressed in a very nice black suit with flame details on the cuffs and bottom hem of the jacket.
?
We'll make do. See, there's a camera here to record us – you seem to have managed that one. I'm sure these inbred, knuckle-dragging…
He checks his notes again.
?
Canadians….
He pauses, expecting some heat only to get answered with silence.
??
Seychas vremya?
(Is it time now?)
Pyro
No, dummy. Stay back there until I introduce you. Hello, friends. My name is Pyro. I am here tonight to witness history and to make a proclamation…
He pauses again, taking a giant breath.
Pyro
THE MOMENT OF RECKONING ON YOUR TAG TEAM DIVISION IS HERE! IT WAS FORETOLD LONG AGO THAT A TEAM-
The curtain rustles and there's a grunt that draws his attention for a moment.
Pyro
Not yet, you idiot.
The curtain flaps a little more wildly but Pyro turns his back on it.
Pyro
TREMBLE IN AWE AS YOU ARE ABOUT TO WITNESS THE GLORIOUS ARRIVAL OF THE-
The support beams topple, the curtain falling over and completely enveloping Pyro. He falls off the makeshift stage, cursing in a mix of Russian and English. A hulking giant of a man is now revealed, dressed in a black leather trench coat. His bald head gleams in the afternoon sunshine and when he turns, still flailing at the bumblebee buzzing around his head, his eyes go wide inside the black paint that surrounds them.
??
Hello.
He lifts his hand and waves to the camera. Pyro manages to blunder free from the velvet, glaring daggers up at the monster on stage.
Pyro
You idiot!
??
Hello, Calgary. We are here.
He speaks very slowly, taking care to enunciate his words so they're understood through his accent.
??
We do not need curtains or stages. We do not need fanfare. We will destroy all who stand in our way.
Looking shocked, Pyro climbs back up on stage to join his partner, gesturing to him.
Pyro
This is Enigma. Together we are The Ring Crew. And those tag team championship belts will be ours.
Enigma
They will? Oooooo yay! I will call mine George and I will wear it all the time, except in the shower.
Enigma claps and bounces, a sight that is wholly disturbing when he's a very big boy. Pyro facepalms and mutters to himself as the scene mercifully fades out. On the screen: “THE RING CREW -- PRIMETIME IV”
Sponsor spot.
Christina King
My first memory is of a wrestling ring filled with masked wrestlers. It was Mexico City, the graduation ceremony for the temple of lucha, a school that birthed many of the greatest masked wrestlers of all time. My father was in Mexico City to present masks to the graduates, all of whom displayed excitement at such a prospect. A legend who had graduated from their school decades ago, a man with more titles on his resume than a leather worker.
Years later I was shipped off to boarding school and those dreams faded. They never went away, but they began to hide themselves in the back of my mind, only coming out on especially bright mornings and especially dark nights. When stress hit or when my happiness was overwhelming, I could see the masks again and the dream was reborn. But then, life would go on. I would return to ballet class and those dreams would once more hide themselves.
The stench of a wild animal fills the air. We see a large chain link cage. Within this cage is what appears to be a large bear like creature, clearly up there in years. Sitting next to this creature, dressed in a pair of jeans and a Misfits shirt, is the hero of our story. Christina King. her hair is tied up in a pony tail. Her left hand is gently petting the bear upon its forehead. The bear seems docile, maybe even a little bored.
Christina King
This is my friend Boris. My second memory is seeing my father wrestling alongside Boris. In those years Boris was much younger and seemingly invincible. He and my father were quite an act. Together they made my family quite a bit of money. Then, as things usually happen in wrestling, Boris grew old. Wrestling bears went out of style. So Boris spend the rest of his days here, in a chain link cage away from my family. The family he served for most of his years. I feel his pain.
I feel his pain because his story mirrors mine in many ways. In 2019 I was undefeated. I was a world champion. Then, due to an act of violence by an opponent who hated me, I was put on the injured list. Just like Boris the world left me behind. I was quickly forgotten. In my days of recovery I would think back to my first memory, of the temple of lucha. My dream was always to live up to the legends I watched that day but professional wrestling had a different plan for me. If things had continued the way they were going I would have been nothing but a forgotten face in a crowd of ever changing wrestlers and talents.
Christina buries his face in the side of Boris. She takes in his scent. This has a comforting effect on the madwoman of Manchester. Boris sighs and lifts his head to look towards the camera with tired, worn out eyes.
Christina King
My anger has been rising for five months. I don’t want to be like Boris, I don’t want to be thrown away and forgotten. This is why my upcoming match with Orange Cassidy means so much to me. This is a chance to remind the world who I am and what I can do. I’m MADWOMAN. I cause riots and I strike like a demon. Maybe you forgot in the months I was injured but I’m here to open your eyes and remind you just how violent I am. Madness becomes me and Madness will takes over Canada.
Maybe it doesn’t mean so much to you, Cassidy, but it means life or death to me. Glory and gold. Gold means money with which I can provide for my newly formed Canadian division of the MadClan. Glory means my legacy will only grow stronger and fiercer. It’s for these two reasons that I can’t allow you to take a foothold in this tournament. If I am to once again reign from the top of the mountain I have no choice but to defeat you in definitive fashion. I am not a tired, worn down animal.
Christina lifts her head and looks directly into the camera. Her face is deadly serious. Something inside of the Madwoman has snapped. This isn’t a happy young girl. What we see is a violent force of nature waiting to erupt and destroy anything put before her.
Christina King
Orange Cassidy! You come off to me as little more than a parody of a professional wrestler but I am something else. I am a true professional wrestler and the strongest striker in AWF. While you parody the sport of professional wrestling I embrace it, I become it. I will never be forgotten while you will eventually fade away into the night. By the time this is all said and done they will erect statues in my honor and you…. You will be engulfed by my madness.
Standing to her feet, Christina points to the camera and lets out a heavy laugh. The beast next to her lets out a loud roar.
Christina King
LET MADNESS REIGN!
Christina continues to laugh as the scene fades tonight’s commentary booth beside the stage. Christian Cage looks impressed.
Christian Cage: I’m going to say it here and now. Beware MadClan Canada.
Lance Storm: Just before that closer look into the psyche of the Madwoman, we saw the first look at AWF’s newest tag team, Pyro and Enigma of the Ring Crew, who will debut on our next PrimeTime, on June 9th. Next, however, is perhaps the second main event on tonight if there is one. It is time for the no holds barred showdown between Big Homunculus and Barron Boneius. We, first, wanted to take you into their lives in preparation for this historic event.
The screen flickers onto a video recording. We see a blank casting room with a sofa in shot. Two people can be heard speaking off camera.
Male Voice
Thank you for seeing me at such short notice.
Female Voice
Please take a seat and we can get started.
A tall ripped blonde man walks into frame and slowly sits down on the couch. He wears tight white trousers that connect to tall silver boots and on top a white turtle neck with no sleeves. On each hand a white glove with a silver fur rim. His hair, despite a lack of wind in the room seems to contentiously billow. He is gorgeous, almost painfully so.
Female Voice
So this is going to be pretty typical audition process, we just want to know a bit about you and why you think you'd be a good fit here.
Male Voice
Perfect.
The man speaks with a certain smoothness, a natural charisma.
Female Voice
Lets start with your name.
Male Voice
Starting with a tricky one huh, well, technically my full title is Hero of the Realms and Holy Prince of the Kingdom of Foreverton, but, you can call me, Admiral Action.
Female Voice
Well, Mr, Action, why do you want to be part of the AWF.
Admiral Action
Well, I understand you have a bit a problem.
Female Voice
If you're referring to the Kross incident we have no official statement on -
Admiral Action
Much worse than that I'm afraid. I received word that a villain most foul has come to your world. A creature of purest darkness, my greatest foe, the cackling chaos that haunts my kingdom and people. Barron Boneius
Female Voice
Yeah, we work with him.
Admiral Action
Then you, like I, know the danger he poses. I came here, against my peoples wishes, to stop him, because I believe, no one should have to live in fear, especially not of him.
Female Voice
We try not to hear auditions based purely on other fighters, could you speak a little more about yourself.
Admiral Action
Oh, god, sorry, I forgot the most important part, I'm a hero, some, might say the greatest hero. You have to understand, I have a history with the Barron. Where I'm from I've saved our kingdom from his schemes hundreds of times,
I'm the only chance you have against that monster's evil.
Female Voice
Ok, I'm gonna end this here, thanks for coming in, but I think we're going to keep looking.
Admiral Action
Oh right, I don't wanna be rude, but could I speak to your boss.
Female Voice
I'm the head of recruitment.
Admiral Action
Just wanna make sure you heard what I said, a villain is here, threatening you, so I, a hero, have come to stop him.
Female Voice
We have plenty of heroes here already.
Admiral Action
I mean that's great, um, but, the Barron isn't just any villain, trust me, only I can stop him.
Female Voice
Several of our people have already beaten him in the ring.
The Admiral freezes in place and stutters a little before loudly patting his knees.
Admiral Action
No
Female Voice
Yes
Admiral Action
No, um, see that's the danger, he's probably pretending to lose, building up to some grand evil scheme, gotta be.
Female Voice
He isn't, now this is audition is over please -
The Admiral laughs loudly cutting her off.
Admiral Action
I get it, you don't know me, what am I doing, let's start over.
Female Voice
We won't be doing that, please leave.
Admiral Action
I really don't think you're understanding me here.
Female Voice
Sir please leave or I will call security
Admiral Action
If you don't take me on he will destroy this world, he's unstoppable.
The video clicks off as we cut to -
Admiral Action sitting on a large balcony over looking a city. The room behind him is garish in its extravagance. Golden furniture and expensive paintings on the walls and a chandelier above it all. The Admiral is sitting with a cocktail in one hand and a phone in the other. On his lap rests a laptop with Wikipedia open on it. On the screen he watches the Boneius vs Ironside fight. When Boneius loses he drops his arm in disbelief.
Admiral Action
I don't get it. Is he trying to annoy me, is this his new evil scheme?
A tall old blue man in red robes walks up beside him and puts another drink down next to him.
Warble Wizard
This world is a confusing place my prince.
Admiral Action
No, no it's not, it's like our's just, heightened.
He gestures to the laptop open on his knees.
Admiral Action
And like ours, what this world needs more than anything, is a hero. It needs me. But how can I show them that, if I don't have a villain who shows then why they need me. This should be so easy for him. You know how easy it'd be to be a villain here. He's got ambition, if he just applied it, he could topple this place in a day, but for some reason, he's holding back, he hasn't scaled up for this place.
He takes a large swig from his drink.
Admiral Action
Can we call him. Is that weird?
Warble Wizard
I can look into contacting him sire, I hear he's in hospital at the moment.
Admiral Action
So he's not even fighting?
Warble Wizard
No prince.
Admiral Action
The herald of evil is sitting out a fight, this is pathetic, he should be out there, drumming up fear, scheming, so when I swing in and beat him, it actually means something to these people.
Warble Wizard
He does have another fight coming up though prince. In a larger event. Against a collection of this world's finest heroes.
Admiral Action drums his fingers on the chair. He takes another swig of his drink then stands up.
Admiral Action
Interesting. Will he win?
Warble Wizard
I'm not sure prince.
Admiral Action
I wanna get in contact with him. We need to make sure he wins.
Warble Wizard
Prince, this is the Barron, you can't seek to help him.
Admiral Action
God Warble no, I wanna help these people, but they won't accept me, love me, if they don't see why they need me. We help him, to help me. That starts with a meeting, oh and when's this first match, the one he's missing.
Warble Wizard
Tonight I believe.
Admiral Action
He needs to show up. Hype up the fight, play a little dirty.
Warble Wizard
He's in the hospital prince
Admiral Action
You focus on reaching out. Let me handle the match entertainment.
Inside the penthouse the Admiral is stood looking in a full body mirror. He smiles as he pulls a perfect Barron Boneius mask down over his face. Cut. Big Homunculus' finger strokes his phone which is on Hayley the dwarf's facebook profile
His arms are so long that the profile appears small and blurred, but it contains reference to her preference for taller, bigger dwarves who eschew cleverness. A recent status reads "Really good day illegally selling tren at the little person's powerlifter gym. Now hopefully one day Canada finally gets the most recent facebook update. I speak the French"
Big H looks forlorn, for he knows he'll never be big enough to match the muscular midgets Hayley clearly lusts for. He's too big for his tribe but too small for his waifu.
He looks up and he's in a gym with Big Snivley between sets.
Big Snivley
You're not focussed.
Big Homunculus
I know. I'm cursed with having met this beautiful vixen, with falling for a woman who lusts after everything I'm not. She wants the tall trees of the dwarven community. She wants the borderline 5 footers who can shop in regular person shops and LOOK how shredded these guys are!
Homunculus thrusts his phone in Big Snivley's face.
Big Homunculus
Look at this adonis. He's got mass, he's got definition. How can I compete with that? What am I gonna do, tie his shoes for him while he makes out with Hayley and rides around on rollercoasters I'm not allowed on?
Big Snivley
I think the rollercoaster situation is more about being too tall to fit-
Big Homunculus
You sound just like that toothless, dwarfist carnie. Mocking me. I have rights.
Big Snivley
You do need to get stronger. You do need to get more powerful. But no matter how strong and powerful you get it won't make a difference if you're doing it for the wrong reasons. Talk about mass and definition? Baron Boneius is the one you need to train for. Not Hayley or this impressively jacked little fella on your phone. At this rate you're going to be destroyed.
Big Homunculus
This is not the pep talk I was hoping for when I freed you from the baron's sex dungeon.
Big Snivley
It was a normal dungeon, there was no sex.
Big Homunculus
When I freed you from his sex dungeon I needed a strong motivational figure to start completing my family. Every man needs three people in his life before he can say he has a family: He needs a lawyer, a personal trainer, and a good woman with whom he can breed the greatest pygmies the world has ever known. You're the second part of that puzzle and you're telling me I'll be destroyed!?
Big Snivley
It's hard for me to train you against him because...because he made me. There was no such man as Big Snivley before Baron got his cold talons on my mind.
Big Homunculus
You mean your birth name isn't Big Snivley?
Big Snivley
No. Snivley is a name for the pathetic slave of Baron Boneius. I wasn't born like this but it's what I am now. Another Snivley. How can I train you against him when he still controls me?
Big Homunculus
I know the real you is in there somewhere.
Big Snivley
Perhaps you're right. But after the things that creature did to me, I think it will take years to recover my true self. Please, take my mind off this pain. Tell me about this woman who has stolen your tribal heart.
Big Homunculus
Well she illegally sells trenbolone to achondraplaysiac powerlifters.
Big Snivley
Tren....
In Snivley's eyes we see biceps pumping, weights being thrown around, sprinters tearing it up on a track. We see a younger, smiling version of him passionately counting reps, guzzling protein shakes and crushing weight plates with his hands.
Back in reality and Big Snivley roars, his face a pulsing, sweating, throbbing mask of sheer euphoric emotion
Big Snivley
I am a tall and handsome man!!! and my name is not Big Snivley, medium Snivley, little Snivley or any other form of snivelling slave. My name....my name is....
The artist formerly known as Big Snivley breathes heavily and and raises his muscular arms in the air before ripping them back down like Kane in his prime.
?.?
CLYDE!!!
Big Homunculus:
Clyde? What's your second name, Clyde?
?.?
Clyde is my second name. My first name is Black. I am BLACK CLYDE.
Big Homunculus
Black Clyde, it's an honour to meet you. Welcome to the team.
Black Clyde
Do we have a name?
Big Homunculus
I think Ruxx has some ideas on that. Last I saw him he picked up a live pigeon in his hands as if he were its mother, and walked into the ocean. Several seconds later there was a booming sound that I instinctively knew came from the depths so deep they are yet to be explored by man and a tidal wave erupted from the blue and hit the coast. Right now we have to get to work.
Black Clyde
Yes. We must destroy the vile Baron who made me.
Big Homunculus
No. Baron Boneius did not make Black Clyde. Nobody did.
Black Clyde
Black Clyde is a self made man.
Big Homunculus
Baron may not have made you, but what was he when you found him?
Black Clyde
A pathetic, sad slob who could barely swipe right on literally everyone he saw on that silly app. Barely recognisable compared to the beast he became. The monster I...
Big Homunculus
The monster you created. He didn't make you, you made him.
Black Clyde
It is my life's sin and I will dedicate my soul to eradicating this sin from the face of the earth.
Big Homunculus
As the old saying goes, nothing can beat a monster but a....
Black Clyde
Black guy.
Big Homunculus
The answer is actually midget but that works for me too.
Black Clyde
Drop and give me 200 pushups, 400 squats and 1,000 bicycle crunches. And when the warm up is over we can get to work. When I'm done with you that supposed monster is gonna look like an osteoporosis ridden ectomorph with hollow bird bones. He didn't lock me away to punish me. He locked me away to protect himself from me and it's the only smart decision that pathetic, baton-waving, bitch-ass bully and his autistic alliteration addiction ever made.
Cut. Ruxx is sat with Big Homunculus and the newly named Black Clyde cross legged. The trio sit, eyes closed, on top of a large mattress sitting on a pile of rubbish. They are humming a hymn, I don't know which one. Ruxx speaks in a soft, solemn voice, directed towards Homunculus.
Ruxx Rampede
You need to let that anger outta you my man. Repeat after me, I am a good dwarf.
Big Homunculus
I am a good dwarf.
Black Clyde
I am a good dwarf.
Ruxx Rampede
Not you Black Clyde. This is just for Big H.
Black Clyde nods. He is embarrassed.
Ruxx Rampede
I am a pleasant dwarf.
Big Homunculus
I am a pleasant dwarf.
Black Clyde
I-
Clyde stops. He pretends he never started speaking. Ruxx lets it slide, he doesn't want to embarass his friend.
Ruxx Rampede
I am going to stop blowing shit up.
There is a long pause.
Big Homunculus
I cannot promise that.
Ruxx Rampede
Brother, I'm gonna need that promise from you.
Big Homunculus
Would you ask a sheep to give you it's wool? A bear to give you it's wool? Roderick Kross to give you back that young child he has stuffed into his white van?
Ruxx Rampede
Look, being your lawyer is a fine ass tight ass job, and I'm happy to be there for you… but I need you to stop getting into shit. You're still not off the case for blowing up Roderick Kross' momma's house, and then you go blow up Bret Hart's car!
Ruxx turns to the camera.
Ruxx Rampede
This is all alleged as fuck by the way.
Ruxx turns back to Homunculus.
Big Homunculus
It is my calling!
Ruxx Rampede
And it's my calling to get you a better calling! Here's your new calling, you need to pump those nuts into that little feisty ass bitch you been talking about all the time! Fill her with that big Homuncu-milk!
The three start chanting 'HOMUNCU-MILK!' 'HOMUNCU-MILK!' HOMUNCU-MILK!'
Ruxx Rampede
But at the moment brother, she don't seem all that interested.
Big Homunculus
It is because of my small stature. She is only into much bigger and more muscular dwarves.
Ruxx Rampede
Nigga shut the fuck up. You're the biggest, most muscular, sweet chocolate ass looking dwarf ass handsome midget ass bitch I ever seen bitch! The only thing needs changing, is that attitude! That Hayley bitch, she doesn't know you too well yet, she sees the clumsy ass foot in his mouth nigga we all see at first. You need to work on your PR skills my man, and I'm the best you got for that.
Big Homunculus
You want to help me work on my PR?
Ruxx Rampede
Sure do. And when I'm done, people are gonna say, Big Homunculus? Aint that that real nice bitch who we all love? With his nice ass Homuncu-MILK! But to get to that point, we got a busy day ahead of us.
Rampede puts his hand out, and Homunculus and Black Clyde both put their hands in.
All three together
THREE BIG NIGGAS! ASSEMBLE!
The scene changes to show the Three Big Niggas all in those flashy green jackets that bin men and shit wear, forgot what they're called. High vis. They're all in high vis, and they're doing bin rounds down a local American street. They're all smiles, as with sheer strength, they throw whole wheelie bins into the back of Ruxx Rampede's garbage truck. Old women and shit are all smiles as they wave at the three huge bin men. Ruxx and Clyde smile back, but Homunculus looks too serious. Ruxx starts to give him a massage, and points over to one of the old women. She's ugly and old.
Ruxx Rampede
Give her a wave and a smile my man, they appreciate that shit.
Homunculus waves and smiles at the ugly old woman. She appreciates it.
Ruxx Rampede
See! Shits as simple as that my man!
Ruxx grabs Homunculus and pulls him in, as they are snapped by Paparazzi. Cut from this scene, to a hospital room. More paparazzi take pictures of the three, as they are all giving blood.
Big Homunculus
My pygmy blood will make many strong children, but beware, they will be cursed with the dwarfism that curses me.
Nurse
This isn't to make children. Do you know what this is? It's just a blood drive.
Ruxx Rampede
It don't matter. Big H, smile my man.
More paparazzi takes snapshots of Big Homunculus. Cut to a high school, and Black Clyde is giving a speech about the dangers of drugs to a hall of children. At the front of the hall, it says 'special guest speaker: AWF's Big Homunculus'. Ruxx massages Homunculus's shoulders and pats him.
Ruxx Rampede
You can do this brother, just stick to the script. We've had a great day of good PR work, you're on your way to being an incredibly well respected nigga. This is the last hurdle, succeed here, and it's plain sailing, you'll be ramming the ass of that Hayley bitch in no time! Just stick to the script my man, stick to the script!
Homunculus nods, as Black Clyde finishes up his graceful, heartfelt speech about the dangers of drugs. He turns to point in the direction of Homunculus off stage.
Black Clyde
And now over to my fellow big nigga! Big Homunculus!
The high school kids cheer and roar, as Big Homunculus steps out onto stage, he moves over to the mic, breathing heavily into it, before clearing his throat. Big Homunculus looks out at all the children. These are the happy kind of children not the asshole kind. They stare back at their hero in anticipation. Big H looks at Ruxx who nods encouragement. Black Clyde flexes his biceps which isn't helpful but he's trying his best.
Big Homunculus
(under his breath) I am a good dwarf. I am a pleasant dwarf.
The mic is directly under his mouth and his vulnerable moment of self affirmation is heard by all. Big H remembers how happy it made the ugly old woman when he smiled and waved so he tries to win back the children by smiling and waving. A few giggles from the crowd. Ruxx mouths "THE SCRIPT". Big Homunculus looks at his forearm on which several prompts are written in Wite Out. "BITCH ASS, DRUG USING ASS BITCH, NO ASS HAVING-ASS SKELETOR LOOKIN MOTHERFUCKING BITCH-ASS JUNKIE-ASS BITCH". Homunculus looks a little confused but presses his forearm into his face and inhales the solvent. Now he's calm. Now everything makes sense.
Big Homunculus
Children, judge me not on my comically small stature, I face many of the same obstacles you do. For example, tomorrow night - in a kerfuffle relatable to many of the youth of today - I will fist fight a villainous skeletal monster who has become more powerful than any of us could have predicted through nefarious means. He's a drug user, and I'm not. To be sincere, I think maybe if I were a drug user I'd be less afraid. Maybe if I were a drug user I could train ever harder than I am now, I could level the playing field and vanquish this fiendish creature. And if I lost anyway I could turn to one of the many other kinds of drugs to soothe the pain in my body and mind and whenever negative thoughts or physical pain returned I could take more drugs until it went away.
The school hall is eerily silent.
Big Homunculus
But did I need to fill myself with chemicals to explode a house and chase a confirmed racist pedophile out of my industry? No. Did I need to inject my ass with glowing green fluid to throw Baron Boneius over the top rope? No. Did I need to huff solvents to destroy two potentially mentally disabled young men who think they are vampires? NO!
The children are starting to get hyped, they like the gist of his jive.
Big Homunculus
And when all is said and done, steroids make your cock small and impotent, so once I've done crushing the marrow out of Boneius, will I need viagra to get the kind of erection that goes into Hayley Littleton's ass and comes out of her mouth!!!? NO! AND NEITHER DO ANY OF YOU! I'm living proof you can all commit arson and sodomy to your hearts content and never need to pierce your skin with a needle or suck cock for meth behind a juvenile detention centre on a Wednesday afternoon.
A member of staff attempts to get on stage to stop Homunculus' rousing speech but Black Clyde calmly, gently, chokes the staff member out and covers them with a blanket while they snooze.
Big Homunculus
Before you applaud, I can't take all the credit for these beautiful words, so please show some appreciation to my lawyer/tag team partner/head of PR/bin man Ruxx Rampede. And, uh, say not to drugs.
A beat.
The children erupt in applause. Some produce lighters because they're so wholesome and excited while others grab cutlery that was waiting for lunch break. The children start screaming: "FUCK DRUGS! BURN SHIT! FUCK DRUGS! BURN SHIT!" Knives start flying around the room and a smoke alarm goes off. Homunculus looks at Ruxx who nods. A job well done.
Fade to black.
Fade in. Black Clyde, Ruxx Rampede and Bog Homunculus skip towards their replica A Team van, except the black parts are purple and the red parts are purple. It's a purple van. In the background, a couple of windows in the school explode and thick black smoke starts pouring out. As they get in the van, Homunculus looks over his shoulder and smiles
Big Homunculus
Well, it's better the smoke is coming out of the school than going into their lungs.
Ruxx Rampede
You're finally getting the hang of this bitch-ass PR shit you beautiful-ass midget.
Fade out.
Fade in. We are at the opening to Barron Boneius's cave. Snivley is out the front ironing capes then hanging them up on a washing line.
Snivley
Does my liege prefer the red or blue?
Boneius emerges from the cave entrance. His eyes are fixed on a small piece of card in his hands, he hardly looks up at Snivley.
Barron Boneius
Snivley you pudgy pig, the red I say.
Snivley starts to fold up the blue cape. Boneius looks up from the card for a moment.
Barron Boneius
Wait, the blue instead, or the red.
He pauses for a long moment.
Barron Boneius
Curse this curvaceous cutie.
We see the card in Boneius's hand is a card from the hospital, written across it is a phone number and the name 'Annie'
Snivley
My lord the match is soon, we must focus.
Barron Boneius
I'm trying to you brain dead bump.
His eyes remain fixed on the card. Slowly he pulls out his phone.
Snivley
MASTER!
Barron Boneius
Never question me Snivley! I'll call this gorgeous gazelle and tell her to gallop away so I can focus on the game at play.
Snivley look anxious as Boneius dials the number. The line connects and we hear Annie's voice.
Annie
Hello, who is this?
There's a long pause, Snivley stares at Boneius, Boneius turns away from him, avoiding his gaze.
Barron Boneius
It is I, the arbitrator of anger, destroyer of do-gooders, Barron Boneius.
Annie
Took you long enough.
Barron Boneius
I've been super busy.
Annie
I know, you've got that big match coming up, Leslie and I have our tickets booked already.
Boneius gulps.
Barron Boneius
Oh, you see, I was just calling to say.
Snivley plods back round into Boneius's view. Boneius tries to shoo him away.
Barron Boneius
(Very slowly, as if choosing each word extra carefully) Do you, I get hungry before fights, I can't bash boobs on an empty stomach and, do you, maybe want to -
Annie
Do I wanna bash boobs with you?
Barron Boneius
NO, NO, I DID NOT MEAN -
Annie
I'd love to get dinner.
Boneius blushes. Snivley looks annoyed.
Annie
I have to go, but send me the details ok?
Barron Boneius
I can do that.
Annie
See you later then Boneius.
She hangs up as Boneius lowers the phone with a big grin on his face. Snivley still looks up at him angrily.
Barron Boneius
Not a word! Go find those terrible twins and get them match ready.
Snivley doesn't move.
Barron Boneius
NOW!
Snivley walks away.
Cut to. Alaric and Kolotov riding in a fancy elevator. Kolotov looks nervous while Alaric just angry. The doors open onto the luxurious penthouse of Admiral Action. The man himself is stood at the far side of the room looking out a large window, his figure a silhouette in the sun. Between them is a small table.
Alaric
You have some nerve! You lie to us, trick us into helping you, then call us up for drinks. We should destroy you.
Admiral Action remains looking out the window.
Admiral Action
Gentlemen please, I'm here as a friend.
Kolotov
We don't want any trouble.
Alaric slaps his brothers arm.
Alaric
Oh yes we do!
Admiral Action turns to look at the pair
Admiral Action
You both want fame, right?
Kolotov
Yes.
Alaric
The Barron already offered us that.
Admiral Action
And I want to help him deliver on that promise, that's all.
The two look at each other cautiously.
Admiral Action
You've seen who you're up against right? If you honestly believe you can take them, then by all means, leave.
Neither of the pair move.
Alaric
Who are you?
Admiral Action
A fan.
Admiral Action snaps his fingers. Warble Wizard enters from the side and places two boxes on the table.
Admiral Action
I wanna offer you some tools, and a day of training in how to use them, from the greatest fighter this world has yet to see.
He points to himself. The two hesitantly approach the boxes. Kolotov seems more intrigued by the offer, he places his hand on the box in front of him.
Admiral Action
Go ahead
Kolotov opens his box to see the Bone Baton, reforged and now with a golden coating.
Admiral Action
I, more than most know the damage that weapon can deal. When I heard it had broken, I can't say I was that surprised, the Barron is hardly a master craftsman, thankfully however, I have people on hand who are. The next time someone punches that baton, it won't break, but their hand might.
Kolotov admires the baton. He looks overjoyed. Alaric seems almost annoyed at his joy. Alaric opens the box in front of him to reveal a new outfit. Similar in colour to his own, but with golden lining. It looks to be a tighter fit with shorter, slightly studded gloves.
Admiral Action
Those same men I had on hand had some ideas on how to improve your suit design, through only enough time to put together one. You'll hit harder and be able to stand more. And it looks better, you'll be the best looking henchman around, not that that's saying much.
The two men are in awe. Both examining the objects given to them.
Alaric
Gifts, training, what's the catch?
Admiral Action
Like I said, I'm a fan, seeing you win is reward enough.
Alaric looks and Kolotov who nods. Admiral Action smiles.
Cut to the outside of an Italian restaurant "Pizza d'ossa'. Boneius and Annie emerge from the door. Boneius is dressed in his usual wear but with a black shirt on top, while Annie has come in a very casual jeans and top. As they exit Annie is laughing.
Annie
That didn't happen!
Barron Boneius
It did!
Annie
(Still laughing) Rabbits?!
Barron Boneius
The grass around my castle was getting too long! So I turned those pesky peasants into rabid rodents!
Annie tries to say something but is laughing too hard to get a line out. Boneius watches her laugh and smiles. After a while Annie calms herself.
Annie
Leslie's gonna have a field day when I tell her that one.
The two stop outside the restaurant.
Annie
That was nice.
Barron Boneius
Thank you, for coming
Annie
My pleasure.
The two are close to each other, in the pause they both look each other in the eyes before Annie breaks the gaze.
Annie
So, you gonna let me in on your big master plan to win the match. What's your secret weapon, what card have you got hidden up your sleeve?
Barron Boneius
I was planning to bash him.
Annie
(with a smile) Really, the great Barron is going into a fight without a plan, how bold.
Admiral Action
Sounds risky if you ask me.
From the corner of the street emerges Admiral Action. He casually strolls up to the two of them. Boneius immediately gets in front of Annie and tenses his fists.
Admiral Action
Easy, easy, I'm not here to fight. Unless you need saving gorgeous.
He looks Annie up and down.
Annie
(Clearly annoyed by the line) I'm good, who is this Boneius?
Boneius is caught in a mix of anger and confusion, he can't take his eyes of the Admiral.
Admiral Action
He went a whole date without mentioning me, that really is evil. We're colleagues.
Barron Boneius
I'll crush you Admiral.
Admiral Action
Careful, wouldn't wanna waste your energy before the big fight.
Barron Boneius
Of course you'd team up with them!
Admiral Action
On the contrary, I'm team Boneius all the way. And I'd never be seen dead with 'Heroes' who look like that.
Annie
I'm sorry?
Admiral Action
I'm just saying, they don't look like heroes, they just look like, bad guys, you know, criminals.
Annie
(Aggressive) I'd love to hear why you think that.
Admiral Action
Jesus Boneius, get her a leash would you, I'm just saying, where I'm from, heroes don't look like that.
Boneius grabs him by his polo neck and pulls him close.
Barron Boneius
I will torch your towns for this!
Admiral Action
Will you? Kinda seems like you've been going soft lately.
Boneius lets go of his grip and pushes him away.
Admiral Action
I wanna help Barron.
Barron Boneius
Never!
Admiral Action
Might be a bit late for that.
Barron Boneius
What have you done!
Admiral Action
You didn't watch the twins match did you?
Annie frantically pulls the match up on her phone. She clicks through it before getting to the end. She shows the screen to Boneius, who takes it from her and watches the fake crew reek havoc.
Admiral Action
It's amazing what you can do with some cheap stand ins and a bit of make up.
Annie
Why?
Admiral Action
To build him up a little, add a little flair to the fight.
Barron Boneius
My minions?!
Admiral Action
Don't worry, the twins are fine, better than fine actually. Which reminds me, I need to get back, a little more training to do. I just wanted to drop by and let you know I'm routing for you, got my tickets and everything.
He turns to Annie.
Admiral Action
Come find me if you wanna hear some really juicy stories about the Barron.
Admiral Action turns and walks away.
Annie
Jesus, what the fuck is his problem
Barron Boneius
Always the hero, even trying to help his mortal enemy, what a dastardly do gooder.
Annie
I'm sorry, did we both have the same conversation, he's clearly got some ulterior motive, oh and he's a monster.
Annie takes a deep breath.
Annie
What a way to end the night.
Boneius still looks furious. He turns to look at Annie and his fists slowly un-clench.
Barron Boneius
So maybe I should lose the fight, to destroy his scheme and -
Annie
No, god no. Screw him, just ignore him. You deserve a victory. You're up against a man who doesn't know his own height, a bin man and a D rate personal trainer, you can do this Boneius.
The Barron smiles.
Annie
And if you do, maybe as a reward we could do this again.
Barron Boneius
I'd like that
Annie
Then get out there and show the world who Barron Boneius really is.
Cut to the Boneius cave entrance. Snivley runs up to Boneius with a large chest.
Snivley
Master thank god! The match is soon. I brought your chest of tricks.
Snivley lays it down in front of him and opens it. Inside is a collection of items. A hair comb that doubles as a knife. Nerf bullets with explosives on the end, the Snyder Cut, A boxing glove wrapped in barbed wire, a teddy bear with a gun taped to it and a golden ticket that reads 'N-word pass'. Boneius examines the chest.
Barron Bonieus
Snivley you rube, you worry to much. We've beaten Big Snivley before, the binman is a binman and the midget is a mongoloid. It's long past time to end this half sized hero for good. Besides I the priest of problems already have my secret weapon.
Boneius turns away from Snivley. He takes out the card with Annie's number on it and tucks it into his sleeve. The Barron then pulls the red cape from the washing line and attaches it as he walks down the hill, towards the match.
We return to the ring, with Mark Beverly centerstage.
Mark Beverly: The following contest is a No Holds Barred Match, and it is for-
Suddenly an official jumps up onto the apron, getting the attention of Mark Beverly. He ushers him over, and upon listening to what the official has to say, clears his throat and moves back to the centre of the ring.
Mark Beverly: I have just been informed of a change to this match from the Commissioner, Booker T. The winner of this match, will now get a bye straight into the three-way dance FINAL of the AWF Provincial Championship Tournament!
The crowd pop, the stakes have really been pumped up.
The crowd are on their feet, cheering their recent, unusual hero, or rather, heroes. A garbage truck drives through into the arena, parking up next to the stage, before out of a sunroof on the top of it, climbs the members of one of the newest trios in the AWF. Ruxx Rampede, Black Clyde, and finally, the competitor of the match, Big Homunculus, making up the now infamous Three Big Niggas. They stand atop the garbage truck, looking out across the sea of cheering fans, and smile.
Mark Beverly: Entering in first, accompanied by Ruxx Rampede and Black Clyde, one third of the Three Big… *ahem*... N words… BIG! HOMUNCULUS!
One by one, the trio slide down the front of the garbage truck until they're onto the stage, making their way down the ramp to the ring, hyping each other up as they do so. Ruxx Rampede massages Homunculus' shoulders as they walk, with Black Clyde giving him words of motivation. Homunculus nods, getting amped up. He's ready.
Once the trio are in the ring, and have turned their attention back up to the stage, the Exuma quietly fades out.
Before being replaced by the sinister orchestra of one Barron Boneius.
Smoke rises and fills the stage, with purple and blue lights streaking through this thick fog. A rather large silhouette is seen through the smoke, a daunting, intimidating figure, until flanking him on either side, are three more silhouetted figures. They all move forward, out of the fog, to reveal them to be Snivley, Alaric, Kolotov, and of course, at the forefront of the group… Barron Boneius.
Mark Beverly: And his opponent, accompanied by Snivley and Alaric and Kolotov, the Dracislav Twins… the Sworn Enemy of Good… BARRON! BONEIUS!
The foursome move down the ramp, big red cape billowing behind Barron Boneius. Kolotov holds the repaired Golden Bone Batton close to his face, as Alaric wears the new attire with golden lining, pressing his studded fists together as he grins menacingly. Snivley runs circles around the group, cackling and snorting, spit dribbling down his front, as the trio all slowly stride towards their opponents, boos raining upon them.
They stop as they get to the ring, with Barron looking over to the crowd, to see sat there, in the front row, is Annie and Leslie Jones. Annie waves at him, and he blushes, giving a small smile back, before snapping his head back to look at his opponents.
Barron Boneius: POSITIONS YOU BLUBBERING BOOBS!
At that, Snivley and the Twins set off in different directions around the ring, until all four of them are covering a different side of it. The Three Big Niggas realise suddenly they're surrounded, going back to back, as they twist and turn and try to keep their eyes on all four of their opponents at the same time.
With a cackle from Boneius, all four men jump up onto the apron, sending the Three Big Niggas into a spinning frenzy, trying their best to avoid this ambush. 'FIENDS!' Bonieus cries out, 'ATTACK THESE DOLTS AT ONCE!'
And with that, all four men jump through the ropes into the ring. The bell rings, and in an instant, the Three Big Niggas all run off and start firing at the four men. Ruxx Rampede is straight at Snivley, crashing a lariat into him and sending Snivley right over the top rope and back out of the ring.
Black Clyde meanwhile runs at Kolotov, sending a swiping blow at him that Kolotov protects himself from with his forearms, before raising his Golden Bone Batton above his head. He swings it down hard and crashes it down on Clyde's shoulder, who holds it in pain as he drops down to the mat.
Rampede meanwhile turns around to come face to face with Alaric, and sends a fist right into his gut. Expecting it to knock Alaric to the floor winded, Rampede is shocked when the Vampire only stumbles back a few steps, before smiling. Alaric returns a huge jab of his own, right into Ruxx's stomach, winding him and sending him face first to the mat.
Homunculus meanwhile is face to face with Barron Boneius, the two glaring at one another. Boneius spits at him.
Barron Boneius: You will pay for what you did in the Redemption Royale, you gangly cretin.
Alaric is upon Homunculus, who shoves him away quickly. Homunculus turns to see Kolotov coming at him, swinging the Golden Bone Batton, and decides it's time for Round 2 between his fist and that Batton. Swinging a left hook through the air, ready to shatter the Batton a second time with his punching power, Homunculus screams, as the only thing that shatters are his knuckles. Holding his hand in pain, Homunculus turns as Boneius sends a huge boot into his face, knocking the Giant Dwarf to the mat, where he joins his brethren.
The Three Big Niggas lay on the mat, clutching their already existing wounds and looking up at the Legion of Evil, the three faces of terror looming above them. Homunculus bows his head.
Big Homunculus: We have lost. My tournament final bye is gone.
'No!' Rampede turns to face Homunculus, 'We can do this H! Think about those ugly old bitches we helped! Think of the blood drive! Think of those kids you inspired! You can do this!'
Rampede puts out his hand, and Black Clyde nods as he puts his hand on top of Rampede's. The pair look up at Homunculus.
Ruxx Rampede: Come on brother.
Homunculus nods, before putting his hand in too, the three chant together, 'THREE! BIG! NIGGAS!' before jumping to their feet, and storming at their three opponents.
Kolotov goes to swing his Bone Batton again, but Ruxx Rampede is expecting it, ducking it, before lifting up into him with a huge uppercut! Kolotov clatters into the ropes, as Ruxx dives at him, landing into him with a crossbody that sends both men over the top rope and out of the ring.
Alaric comes face to face with Black Clyde, sending two jabs into Clyde's stomach, who soaks them up, studs and all, before planting a headbutt into Alaric's nose. The vampire roars in pain, his head being one of the few things unprotected by his new special gear, as he stumbles out of the ring, with Clyde following him.
It's just Homunculus and Boneius now. Boneius is shoved backwards into the ropes, where Homunculus sends him off, before bowling him over with a huge clothesline on the rebound! Boneius is back up, and another clothesline puts him back down! Boneius is up, before a back kick to the stomach sends him tumbling into the turnbuckle.
Homunculus charges at him, and billows into him with a huge splash! He charges up, and hits another! Third splash time, but as Homunculus charges, Snivley is on the apron! He pushes Boneius out of the way of the turnbuckle, and soaks up the splash himself, crushing his head against the top turnbuckle. Snivley plummets off of the apron, as a distracted Homunculus turns around…
Boneius has him up! BACKBREAKER! He lifts Homunculus onto his shoulders… right into a POWERSLAM! Devastating manoeuvre!
Boneius covers Homunculus!
Cal Elton: ONE!……...
TW-
KICKOUT!
Boneius wastes no time, picking Homunculus straight back up, and putting his head between his legs. He looks ready for a Powerbomb… but NO! BACK BODY DROP! Boneius sails over Homunculus' head, crashing back first, before using the ropes to pull himself to his feet. Homunculus waits for the Evil Doer to get to his feet, then bolts at him!
But Boneius ducks, pulling down the ropes, and Homunculus is sent straight over the ropes and to the outside, where he crashes into the barricade!
Boneius cackles to himself, giving himself a bit of time to recuperate, until suddenly he's spun around! Black Clyde is there, and lifts up Boneius, before tossing him down to the mat with a huge Scoop Slam! The crowd pop, as Clyde flexes his muscles in celebration, before lifting Boneius to his knees and glaring him in his eyes, hand around his throat.
Black Clyde: You wanna put me in a cage for 2 weeks!? Huh!?
Clyde wrenches Boneius to his feet, before putting his arms underneath his legs, and planting him head first to the mat with a Teardrop Suplex! Clyde starts following up with a few stomps, until suddenly, the Vampire Twins are upon him. Clyde sends a hook at Alaric which knocks him back, but a club to the leg from the Bone Batton sends him to the floor. In seconds, the Dracislav's have grabbed him by either arm, and are wrestling him to the mat, holding him in place.
Boneius cackles, as Snivley moves over to the ring, and hands Boneius something.
Barron Boneius: Very anti-steroids, aren't you Big Snivley.
Black Clyde: That's not my name!
Barron Boneius: Oh but it is! I created you by putting you in that cage! I changed your life…
And Boneius unveils what he is holding, a steroid syringe.
Barron Boneius: And it's time to change it again.
Black Clyde screams, as he starts struggling at the two Vampires holding him in place, as Boneius gets closer and closer to him with the needle, ready to inject him with the substance he's spent his whole life fighting against. Clyde roars with terror, as the syringe is about to break into his skin.
Snivley laughs a disgusting laugh on the outside, until it's cut off as he's smashed flying through the air, crumpling down hard into the concrete floor. Ruxx Rampede is there, having delivered one of his patented Rampede Stampede's to Snivley, before showcasing the steel chair in his hand to Black Clyde.
Ruxx Rampede: HEY VAMPIRE BITCH!
As Alaric snaps his head to look at where that voice came from, Ruxx hurls the steel chair, spinning and careening through the air. Alaric's eyes focus on the flying object just a tad too late, as the hard metal side of it clangs right onto the top of his head. Alaric pauses in shock for a second, before out of the huge slice in his noggin, blood starts to spray out like a geyser.
Kolotov screams at this sight, and feeling Alaric's grip on his arm slip, Clyde takes advantage, and clocks Kolotov with a fist, before shoving him into Boneius. The two collapse to the mat, but Kolotov is up quite quickly, turning back quickly to face Black Clyde… until he feels a sharp pain in his chest. He looks down, and there, protruding out of him, is the syringe.
He looks from the syringe, up to Black Clyde, before screaming. Only a second into the scream though, Clyde hushes him with another huge hook to the jaw, and Kolotov is out cold. Clyde twists to Alaric, who still stays standing, blood shooting out of the top of his head. He rears back his arm, ready to flatten him with a punch, but before he can, Alaric goes cross-eyed, and plummets down to the mat all on his own.
'Huh.' Clyde murmers, before turning around, just to have the Bone Batton crumple against his skull. Boneius has it now, and he sends stomps and kicks into Clyde until he rolls out of the ring. Boneius turns to glare at the two vampires, both layed on their arses on the mat, and starts roaring at them angrily.
Barron Boneius: ALARIC! KOLOTOV! UP AT ONCE YOU HELLISHLY HELPLESS HALF-WITS!
But neither man answers this call, remaining unconscious and still on the mat. On the outside, Clyde is helped to his feet by Homunculus, nursing the mark on the side of his head, as Ruxx moves over to join the pair. He suggests orders to them, and the other two nod, before suddenly, the three do the same tactics as Boneius had his men do earlier, and surround the ring.
Boneius gulps, as the Three Big Niggas jump up onto the apron, covering three different sides of the ring to him. He twists and turns to face all three, worried who may strike first, before looking around to see if he can find Snivley.
Barron Boneius: SNIVLEY! AID ME SNIVLEY!
But Snivley is found still laying motionless on the concrete floor outside. Boneius' breath catches in his throat, as the Three Big Niggas climb into the ring, leaving Boneius only one option…
Run.
He bolts towards the ropes leading towards the ramp, and the other three aren't quick enough to grab a hold of him before he's thrown himself out of the ring and is collecting himself as he backs up the ramp. The Three Big Niggas watch him retreat, before nodding at one another, climbing out the ring, and following after him.
'You've lost your army now brother.' Ruxx speaks, 'What you gonna do?'
Boneius looks at the three helplessly, before his eye catches something behind them. Over by Annie, his precious Annie, the seat next to her, once occupied, is now empty. Boneius cackles. 'Get ready folks… it's Saturday Nightmare Live!'
The three look confused for a second, before suddenly Clyde is thrown off of his feet. He clatters shoulder first with the barricade next to him, as the other two turn too, just in time for Ruxx to be lifted through the air, and delivered spine first to the ramp with a picture perfect Spinebuster from none other than Leslie Jones.
Homunculus gulps, as he is now the one surrounded, flanked on both sides by the Dark Overlord of Evil, and one of SNL's Greats. It would be an honour, if his position wasn't so precarious.
Suddenly, Leslie and Boneius strike at once, sending punches and fists into Homunculus who tries but fails to protect himself against the onslaught. They throw him head first into the barricade, before Leslie holds Homunculus' arms behind his back, allowing Boneius to take shot after shot at his head. Leslie lifts Homunculus up into her arms like a toddler and delivers him back first to the stage with a nasty, snapping World’s Strongest Slam!
Hope seems lost for the heroes. Clyde grits his teeth as he clutches his agonising shoulder, Ruxx can barely stand from the damage done to his back, and Homunculus writhes around on stage, crawling away from any other onslaught that can be brought to him by the ever-nearing Leslie Jones and Barron Boneius.
They stop in their tracks though, as they hear laughing behind them. The pair turn, to see Ruxx on his knees, looking up at the pair.
Ruxx Rampede: Leslie Jones huh? That's cute Boneius. But you 'aint the only one with something, or someone, up your sleeve brother.
Boneius raises his eyebrow, as Ruxx continues.
Ruxx Rampede: It's about to be Clobberin' Time… and I 'aint talking about CM Punk!'
The theme for TV Show The Shield hits, as Boneius and Leslie look towards the stage, and both look petrified to see an emerging Michael Chiklis. The crowd pop, as Chiklis plows through Boneius with a lariat, before scrapping with Leslie Jones, the two sending fists at each other as they tumble down the ramp towards the ring.
'CHIKLIS!' 'CHIKLIS!' 'CHIKLIS!'
Chiklis sends Leslie Jones face first into the ring apron, before a jab to her skull sends her back into the barricade. Chiklis roars, taking a big run up, before charging with all his might at Leslie. He POWERS into her with a HUGE SPEAR, and the two fly through the air, obliterating the barricade, sending both of them crashing brutally to the floor, where they each lay unconscious.
Boneius is at his feet, and looks down the ramp to see Leslie Jones has been incapacitated, grunting nastily, but all hope is not lost. Taking advantage of the havoc she left in her wake, Boneius jumps to his feet, and starts wailing on his opponents with his Bone Batton. First Ruxx, sending him back down hard to the ramp, and then Black Clyde, right into the shoulder again, forcing Black Clyde into even more agonised writhing.
Homunculus is starting to get to his feet, but a boot to the head sends him back down. Boneius pulls Homunculus up slowly, before setting him up for a Piledriver! Homunculus gulps, as his head dangles precariously, ready to be driven into the metal flooring of the stage. Boneius is ready to deliver it…
Christian Cage: This could be it. If Boneius hits this, it's all over.
Lance Storm: There's no coming back from this.
Homunculus is helpless in Boneius' grasp, until he looks out into the crowd, and sees sat there, quite the ways back towards the cheap seats, is none other than Hayley Littleton. She sits there with that bastard Gordon, and doesn't look especially entertained, but nonetheless, she's there.
Homunculus gasps, and suddenly, a surge of motivation hits him that he hadn't before felt. He starts to chant out loud to himself 'HOMUNCU-MILK!' 'HOMUNCU-MILK!' 'HOMUNCU-MILK!', confusing the Barron, who's all too ready to drop Homunculus on his skull and finish him off...
...but with all his might, Homunculus lifts himself up, a huge sit up that puts him legs first onto the Barron's shoulders. Then, with a huge heave, and with quickness yet to be seen by the Little Big Man, he hits Boneius with a HUGE HURRICANRANA!!!
The crowd go wild, as Boneius crashes head first to the metal. He tries to sit up, but he's dazed, stars spinning around his noggin, and all he's greeted to, his a hand around his throat. He's lifted back up again…
DWARVEN CHOKESLAM! RIGHT ONTO THE STEEL!!!
Lance Storm: THAT'S IT! HE'S DONE! NO WAY BONEIUS IS GETTING UP FROM THAT!!!
Christian Cage: But he has to get him into the ring Lance! That's the only place he can pin him!
Nonetheless, Homunculus attempts to pin Boneius on the stage, but referee Cal Elton shakes his head at him, telling him no, urging him to bring Boneius down to the ring and pin him there. A rather irritated Homunculus takes heed, lifting Boneius up and moving down to the ring with him.
Until he stops.
Because stood in the middle of the ramp, blocking his path, is a now marginally bigger Kolotov Dracislav, eyes wide with hunger, fangs bared, looking aggressive and incredibly terrifying. Boneius looks up and sees this, cackling, as Kolotov reaches down, and pulls the now empty syringe out of him.
'Those were more than steroids.' Boneius comments, before Kolotov runs at Homunculus. The Giant Dwarf crashes a hook across Kolotov's mouth, but it does nothing, as Kolotov lifts Homunculus into the air, and tosses him flying over onto the stage. Ruxx is at his feet too now, but a hook from Kolotov sends him spinning through the air, and he slides next to Homunculus, where the two lay in pain.
'I feel so powerful!' Kolotov remarks, flexing his newly acquired muscles.
'Don't let it control you, son.' remarks Black Clyde, who is at his feet now, 'It's a bad road to go down, I'm telling you, let me help you and we'll-'
But he's cut off, as Kolotov tackles him to the floor, and smashes elbow after elbow into the head of Black Clyde, until he's a bloody, viciously unconscious mess. Blood pours from his opened skull, and the crowd cry out in horror, as Kolotov scoops up the blood in his hand, and pours into his mouth.
He snaps his head to look at Ruxx and Homunculus, huge muscled frame, eyes venomous and red, fangs bared and dripping with blood. For the first time, Kolotov Dracislav looks absolutely petrifying.
'Aw shit.' remarks Ruxx, as he and a very intimidated Homunculus get to their feet, readying themselves for a fight. Kolotov is at his feet, a huge smile on his face, and shrieks before charging at the pair. Ruxx and Homunculus almost jump, before they both swing at Kolotov, only for this attempt to phase him in no way at all. He pushes Ruxx away from him, causing the Bin Man to slip and fall down the ramp, before turning his attention to Homunculus.
He backhands Homunculus, and sends him careening across the stage. Homunculus is hurt, trying his hardest to get to his feet, crawling towards the garbage truck to the side of the stage, in hopes to use it for leverage. Until suddenly, he feels himself being lifted again.
He's being held in the air, above the head of Kolotov, like he weighs absolutely nothing. He's tossed through the air once more, and lands nastily on top of the garbage truck, the hard metal making another dint into his back. Homunculus sees Kolotov readying to chase after him, and tries to put distance between himself and the Vampire, by climbing further onto the garbage truck.
Suddenly, Kolotov flinches, as Ruxx is upon him again, this time with the Golden Bone Batton, slamming it repeatedly into Kolotov's back. Whilst doing damage, it's clearly not enough, and in his Roid Rage state, Kolotov bats the Batton out of Ruxx's hand, before clutching him around the neck. Before Ruxx can fight his way out, Kolotov has him aimed at the garbage truck, and with a huge run up, sends him flying through the air…
...AND STRAIGHT THROUGH THE GARBAGE TRUCK WINDSHIELD!!!
The glass shatters and sprays everywhere, as Ruxx collapses over the front seats, smearing blood everywhere. The crowd boo and cry out, as Kolotov only laughs, before setting his eyes once more onto Homunculus on the top of the garbage truck, and begins to climb.
Homunculus looks behind him, seeing Kolotov making his way onto the roof of the garbage truck, and realises he needs to fight. He pushes himself to his feet, his legs not especially sturdy, as he readies his fists. Kolotov just storms towards him.
Homunculus reaches down deep, and pulls out a quick and brutal flurry of punches, hitting hard against the ribs and head of Kolotov, staggering the roided up Vampire, but not knocking him down. Homunculus rears his arm, and sends a huge left hook across Kolotov's face, before following up with another, causing the blood of Black Clyde to spatter out of his mouth as he does so.
As Kolotov stumbles, looking slightly dazed, Homunculus knows it's his time to capitalise. He stretches his long fingers around Kolotov's throat, and readies him for that Dwarven Chokeslam of his…
But he's too weak… he can't lift Kolotov…
Kolotov takes advantage, clubbing at Homunculus' arm and causing him to let go. He follows up by squeezing Homunculus' own throat with a choke of his own, before lifting him into the air with ease…
CHOKESLAM!!! Homunculus hits down hard onto the roof of the Garbage Truck, his head meeting the steel nastily!
Homunculus coughs up blood, his spine almost in tatters from that last move. Kolotov is above him, laughing, as he lands a nasty boot into the ribs of Homunculus. The Giant Dwarf rolls across the roof of the garbage truck, almost flying right off the edge of it, but he holds himself onto the top of it.
Kolotov is upon him again, sending a nasty stomp down into Homunculus' spine, and then another, and another. Homunculus can barely breathe, as Kolotov looks ready to throw him straight off of the roof of the garbage truck. He gets ready to bend down, to grab Homunculus by the scruff of the neck, and toss him…
...Until the engine of the Garbage Truck starts.
The pair both look slightly confused, Kolotov especially. Suddenly, Ruxx's bloody and battered face peers out of the drivers window, looking up at Homunculus.
Ruxx Rampede: Hold on Nigga!
And Homunculus does so, as suddenly, the Garbage Truck starts aggressively reversing. Kolotov tumbles backwards, barely able to stay on his feet on top of the moving garbage truck. He looks down at Homunculus, and snarls nastily, 'I'LL KILL YOU COCONU-'
Ruxx slams his foot on the brakes! The whole garbage truck comes to a sudden halt, cutting Kolotov off as he flies straight off of it! He careens through the air, before smacking against the wall and slowly cascading from it like an old Looney Tunes villain defeated.
The crowd goes nuts!
'HOLY SHIT!' 'HOLY SHIT!' 'HOLY SHIT!' 'HOLY SHIT!' 'HOLY SHIT!'
It's safe to say, Kolotov won't be coming back from that one. Homunculus lets himself rest on his back for a few seconds, collecting himself as the whole arena continues to chant and go wild. He looks up through the stands, and sees Gordon fist bumping the air, getting in on the chants, and next to him, even Hayley looks impressed by what just happened. Homunculus lets a small smile rest on his face, as his energy returns to him.
Finally, he lets himself slide off of the roof of the Garbage Truck, landing on his feet on the floor, and moving over to the Driver's seat. Inside, is Ruxx Rampede, bleeding all over his body from shards of glass stuck into his skin. He looks down through the window at Homunculus, and gives him a small, triumphant smile.
Ruxx Rampede: Repeat after me. I am a good dwarf.
Big Homunculus: I am a good dwarf.
Ruxx Rampede: I am a pleasant dwarf.
Big Homunculus: I am a pleasant dwarf.
Ruxx Rampede: I am gonna fuck up Barron Boneius.
Big Homunculus: I am gonna fuck up Barron Boneius.
Ruxx Rampede: And I'm gonna fill Hayley Littlewood with that Homuncu-Milk!
Big Homunculus: I'm gonna fill Hayley Littlewood with that Homuncu-Milk!
The crowd pop at this, Hayley herself looks a little put off about it. Ruxx smiles.
Ruxx Rampede: You go get him brother.
And with that, Ruxx falls silent, his wounds sending him unconscious. Homunculus nods his head, turning slowly until he locks eyes with Barron Boneius on the ramp. He's determined now, and with the whole crowd behind him, chanting 'HOMUNCU-MILK!', he gives chase after Barron Boneius, who himself is retreating back to the ring.
Boneius clambers back into the ring, as he spots Snivley stirring at his feet now. He yells at his oafish grey minion, 'SNIVLEY! DEAL WITH THE GIRAFFE MAN!' Snivley nods, and runs right towards the ever-nearing Homunculus.
Snivley gets in his face, pulling a card out of his shorts that says 'N-Word Pass'.
'Look at this!' says Snivley, 'I have a pass! I can say it! You n-'
Homunculus wraps Snivley's hand in his own, and crushes it, the card being crushed along with it. Snivley squeals and flops like a fish, as fresh blood from his now ruined hand dribbles through Homunculus' fingers. Homunculus grabs Snivley by the head, and slams it hard into the barricade. Snivley is unconscious before he even hits the floor, and Homunculus carries on towards the ring.
Boneius grunts impatiently, as he looks down at the mat, and sees Alaric still stood there, blood spraying from his opened head. He wrenches him to his feet, and puts him in front of him as a shield, as Homunculus climbs into the ring.
'ALARIC! DO SOMETHING!'
He pushes Alaric at Homunculus, who still stands there, cross-eyed and dazed, not knowing what anything is. He looks up at Homunculus with a dizzy smile, and suddenly speaks in a posh English voice, 'I think I spilled some ketchup mummy!'
A left hook from Homunculus shuts him up, sending him pirouetting on the spot until he flops out of the ring. It's just between Big Homunculus and Barron Boneius now, and Boneius doesn't even have his Bone Batton.
He roars, 'YOU MEDDLER!' before charging at Homunculus with a lariat, but it's ducked. Boneius spins around, and is laid into with a series of jabs and hooks…
A RANDOM LEFT HOOK CONNECTS WITH HIS JAW!
Lance Storm: The Tornado!
Boneius clatters back into the ropes, as Homunculus bounds off the ropes himself…
...On the rebound…
RUNNING HEADBUTT!!!
Homunculus skull collides with Boneius', and Boneius hurtles through the air, before crashing to the mat! The crowd pop, as Homunculus moves over and covers his opponent…
Cal Elton: ONE…….
TWO……...
THRE- NO!!!
A steel chair crashes over Homunculus' back! The Pygmian roars in pain as he looks up, into the eyes of a white turtle neck-wearing man, wearing a blue ski-mask. The ski-mask wearing man lifts the chair up once more, and brings it down hard against Homunculus' skull again.
The crowd are in a frenzy of boos now, screaming helplessly, as Homunculus remains on his knees, blood dribbling from his nose and mouth. He looks up once more, at the face of the man in the ski-mask, who looks confused and bewildered at the resiliency from Homunculus.
Homunculus looks into the crowd once more, at the faces of Gordon and Hayley. Both look shocked, disturbed, horrified. Homunculus bows his head…
...he's let them down.
A third and final chairshot crashes over his skull, the metal bending around his head. Homunculus goes still, falling to the mat almost in slow motion. The assailant moves over to Boneius and starts yelling at him.
Ski-Masked Sanctifier: COVER HIM! COVER HIM!
Boneius, still dazed himself, follows the instructions given to him. He slowly crawls over to Homunculus, and puts an arm over him for the cover…
Cal Elton: ONE!…….
TWO!……..
THREE!
The bell rings.
McMahon Stadium is shook with anger and disappointment. The ski-mask wearing fellow smiles, before saluting to Boneius, and clearing the ring, before running through the crowd to the back, dodging at swipes the crowd are trying to make at him.
Mark Beverly: The winner of this match, advancing to the finals of the AWF Provincial Championship tournament: BARRON! BONEIUS!
Boneius watches him go, before looking down at a smiling Annie. He's won. Finally he's won. He smiles back at her, before falling unconscious himself. The two men just lay there, one on top of the other, two more unconscious body in an arena full of them.
The crowd still boo, but none of them will forget the carnage they just witnessed.
Barron Boneius defeats Big Homunculus in 20:03
A fade to our last sponsor spot of the night.
When we fade back, Raging Dead has made his second appearance inside the ring, his trench coat on but his focus on the entrance ramp, where he knows his opponent will be emerging soon. The crowd has taken to a mixed sort of reaction to the man, this past May being an interesting month for him and his choice of actions and company.
Mark Beverly: The following round one bout in the AWF Provincial Championship tournament is set for one fall. In the ring, from Ozone Park, New York, weighing two hundred eighteen pounds: RAGING! DEAD!
The cheers are without question for Wallaby Way Sydney when she emerges from the curtain, both hands up in waves to the crowd. Lovely smile never leaving, she slaps hands with as many fans as she can both down the ramp and around the entirety of the ring, Raging Dead keeping track of her every move from inside the ring.
Mark Beverly: The opponent, from the Australian Wild, weighing one hundred forty two pounds - the Babe of Beasts: WALLABY! WAY! SYDNEY!
She rolls underneath the bottom rope and hops right up with waves and smiles for the crowd.
Ding!
Wallaby Way Sydney’s expression is determined but her slight smirk stays around as they lock into Raging Dead’s first-ever collar-and-elbow tie up in AWF history, initiated by a sudden unexpected step he takes before she can ask for any handshake like she’d prefer. Size makes the difference as the pressure of the hold turning against her forces Wallaby Way to fall to one knee, her back bending backwards. She explodes out and staggers Dead back toward the ropes, but he swings the lock around right which destroys the base she had established, permitting Dead to quickly reclaim the advantage.
Referee Wilford Daniels is paying close attention and sees clearly when Dead exchanges his shoulder grip for a slick eye rake that causes Sydney to break her hold and recoil backwards in pain, feeling to cover her eye. Daniels’ reprimands are ignored as his boot cracks her knee from under her, straight into his snap DDT! He covers her.
Christian Cage: These are wily veteran tactics on display - this is what makes champions!
Wilford Daniels: ONE!..........
KICKOUT
Dead cocks his head back in surprise at the quick and strong kickout, as well as her getting right to her feet but is there and ready to meet her and another lockup initiates. Daniels watches the hold backing into the corner by Sydney’s force but doesn’t have to call for a break, as she cleanly does it herself as soon as Dead’s back touches the turnbuckle. She tries to steady back, perhaps presuming to be allowed the readjustment, but her opponent charges immediately with a running lariat that sends her to her back! He’s on top and hooks the leg.
Wilford Daniels: ONE!.........
KICKOUT
Lance Storm: Two very quick kick-outs by Wallaby Way, and Dead looks surprised by that.
He’s got a handful of her hair as he stands, bringing her in tow, and sends her bounding off the ropes. She attempts a quick lariat that’s ducked but she’s able to drop down after her second rope rebound as Dead goes for an unsuccessful crossbody; the exchange is ended on his rebound when she uses his momentum against him in throwing her foot in nicely for a single-boot dropkick. Dead’s on his back but then to his feet in a charge, only to be caught with a back body drop. Up again, but down he goes after Wallaby shows impressive explosive strength in shooting her opponent into the air and letting him fall face flat onto the apron! The force bounces his body up but his mind isn’t there, the rope rebounded knee strike she sends not helping his predicament. She goes for her first cover.
Wilford Daniels: ONE!........
TWO!....
KICKOUT
She stalks in wait for his rise then whips him into the ropes, only to need to duck a clothesline before grabbing his head in a neckbreaker position. He turns her swing around into a discus right hand, taking advantage of the stun to then slip her into a crucifix-backslide to get her shoulders down.
Wilford Daniels: ONE!..................
TWO!.....
KICKOUT
Both are back up but Sydney takes Dead’s legs out from under him and bridges over into a pin scenario of her own.
Wilford Daniels: ONE!...................
TWO!...........................
KICKOUT
Wallaby is up but Dead walks on all fours towards the ropes. Sydney bounds off the ropes again and charges, but Dead sidesteps, tossing her over the top. The shoulder block following stuns Wallaby but the headbutt after that staggers her to nearly fall off the ropes, and Dead takes her recovery time to bound off the ropes. Another shoulder block is predicted successfully and a trembling knee strike sends Dead on his back in the ring.
Forcing himself to rise, he is clearly in no proper headspace as he wobbles with his back toward Sydney, who has reentered the ring and grappled him into belly-to-back grip, sent him into the air and sat out when driving his head into the canvas. She turns his body with a grip on the leg, sitting on his body in the pinfall attempt.
Wilford Daniels: ONE!...........
TWO!...........
SHOULDER’S UP
Lance Storm: No kickout was made there, Cage; he only managed his shoulder up.
Christian Cage: But look at this tomfoolery again, Storm! Does she not watch our program? She just lets the man get up!
Lance Storm: I believe it’s a matter of sportsmanship, Christian. A fair get up is not unheard of.
Wallaby decides on the ropes again but Dead thinks bait her in and pull the top rope down just at the right time for her momentum to send her flying out of the ring and hitting the barricade outside. The crowd gasps at the ghastly look of the crash, but Dead looks a savage beast in his sudden seething expression as he bides his time on the apron. Wilford Daniels has gone outside to check on Sydney and ensure the fall didn’t end her chances, but she’s using the barricade that hurt her to drag herself back up before he can ask much.
Christian Cage: Don’t let up, Dead!
As usual, he wouldn’t dare: a senton from the apron onto Wallaby’s shoulder leaves her looking unconscious on the arena floor. He needs to recover from the maneuver himself…
Wilford Daniels: (in the ring) FOUR!
… but when he does, a low dropkick driving Sydney’s head/neck into the barricade!
Wilford Daniels: FIVE!
She’s been thrown face first into the ringpost and falls back to the floor from the impact.
Wilford Daniels: SIX!
Dead’s got her head under his arm - and drives her head first into the barricade! Doesn’t let up - planting her with a DDT on the outside!
Wilford Daniels: EIGHT!
Dead’s back aches from the force of the arena floor and he has to catch his air.
Wilford Daniels: NINE!
He rolls into the ring, but then immediately back out, using the apron to help him get to his feet.
Lance Storm: Sydney has not moved since that combination.
Dropping to his knees, Raging Dead makes true on his name with the repeated double-axed strikes he plants into Wallaby’s seemingly unconscious neck!
Wilford Daniels: THREE!
After the seventh strike, the referee has had enough but more shots land before there can be a split. Dead is right in Daniels’ face, with the official pointing to the federation logo on his shirt. The crowd seems to have taken to a barrage of boos for Dead at this point, who ignores the reception and his opponent’s wellbeing with how he tugs her by the hair to pull her into the ring. He’s behind her and covers her, staring down Daniels as the count is called.
Wilford Daniels: ONE!.........
TWO!........
KICKOUT
Dead continues to stare down the referee as he pulls Sydney to her feet, tucks her under his arm, and drops her down with another DDT! Dead doesn’t bother with a pin, instead jumping into camel clutch position. Staring at the referee again, he has disregard when dragging Sydney’s head back up hair first, before snapping her into a dreadfully painful looking dragon clutch! The referee gets into position and asks her condition, but she only barely utters gurgles and sounds, her arms swaying in trying to find strength.
Lance Storm: He’s been working on her neck since this one kicked off.
Christian Cage: It makes sense, Storm. We saw him put away Athena last week on PrimeTime with that cradle piledriver move for the first time in AWF.
It takes about fifteen seconds for the referee’s inspection to assure that the hold isn’t an illegal choke and when he returns to asking her condition, Dead manages to pull back on the hold deeper, cranking her neck in such a way it should never bend. He holds the hold for as long as it takes him to get the referee’s concern. After seventy seconds, it seems the audience has had enough of the display and begins to rumble into a furor. Clapping comes as it should.
LET’S GO SYDNEY! LET’S GO SYDNEY! LET’S GO SYDNEY!
Raging Dead’s attention doesn’t seem to wane even despite the growing support, but it seems as if the noise is a sort of a fueling force, as her arms begin to swing more vigorously!
LET’S GO SYDNEY!
Her left knee shifts in positioning, attempting to use that for a base, despite Dead’s adjusting grip to lock back, eventually Calgary’s cheers proving enough to encourage her rise to her knees and further! Carrying her much taller opponent on her back, his legs grapple around her waist as his original submission is destroyed. He lets go of her neck and immediately, with both feet planted as base, she swings back, sandwiching Raging Dead between herself and the mat.
WALLABY! WALLABY! WALLABY!
It takes her time to realize her situation and roll slowly into a leg hook.
Wilford Daniels: ONE!.............
TWO!.........
KICKOUT
Lance Storm: I don’t know how she’s on her feet at all so soon, whether she’s swaying about or n-- oh she’s losing herself but she’s got the ropes for support. Caught Raging Dead with a powerslam! Dead must’ve thought she was still prone, but she’s slow to make the cover… the leg finally hooked.
Wilford Daniels: ONE!............
TWO!.........
KICKOUT
Dead is still faster to his feet than Sydney, who stays on her side following the escaped pin maneuver. He kicks her in the back of the neck and begins dragging her back up from the hair, running then pushing her face down with a bulldog - the cover!
Wilford Daniels: ONE!..............
TWO!............
KICKOUT
Christian Cage: Keep up! Look at that! Slamming her head and neck on the mat! He won’t stop and he shouldn’t!
Lance Storm: Referee Daniels has something to say about that.
Wilford Daniels: Break it up, get off her! GET OFF! ONE! TWO! THREE! FOUR!
The let up is only brief enough to avoid the disqualification, soon both on their feet.
Lance Storm: He’s winding up - Wallaby Way clutches him! Fallaway slam across the ring! Scott Hall himself would be proud!
Momentum bounces Raging Dead’s body up into the nearest set of ropes and he instinctively pulls himself up, only to turn into Wallaby’s belly-to-belly grip - spinning them around in two quick 360° repositions away from the ropes into the suplex! She grabs one leg, attempting to get both.
Wilford Daniels: ONE!.........
TWO!............
TH-
KICKOUT
The rush newly come across the Babe of Beasts doesn’t stop her from having a clearly stiff way about her head movements as she rebounds off the ropes and plants the whole weight of her body in Raging Dead’s downed midsection - a better double leg-hooked pin.
Wilford Daniels: ONE!............
TWO!...............
THRE--
KICKOUT
Strained and effectively targeted, her regard for her neck slows her back down and Dead notices the rush fading, taking to another charge - but she telegraphs this one as well, elevating the veteran onto her shoulders with surprising ease in a fireman’s carry - slam to the center of the ring! Another pin attempt!
Wilford Daniels: ONE!...........
TWO!...........
THRE---
SHOULDER UP, BARELY
All adrenaline saps from Wallaby in that moment and she takes to her back with a concerned hand on the back of her neck.
Christian Cage: I can’t lie to you, Lance, because there was no funny business there: she just came back and evened things out in a snap. Raging Dead looks nearly out of this one, and hell, maybe I would be too.
Lance Storm: It’s astonishing how both of these competitors are able to get back to their feet, but Sydney’s up to meet Dead first - kick to the gut - right into the snap vertical suplex! She’s holding on in her slow rise, shades of Eddie Guerrero--
In a surprise changeup, she looses her grip to spin him around, hook up belly-to-back, and release Dead into the turnbuckle in such a way that his body bends and collapses! The whiplash of the last two maneuvers don’t mesh well with the state of her neck, her own collapse face flat on the apron making that evident. At first unsure what to do, Wilford Daniels checks on both participants before beginning his count.
Wilford Daniels: ONE!
The holler seems to stir Wallaby, who begins to push herself...
Wilford Daniels: TWO!
… back to all fours, grabbing at her neck after straining to do so.
Wilford Daniels: THREE!
On one knee, her push up sends her stumbling into the ropes, but returns her to both feet and stops the count. Eyes glazed, Raging Dead still manages some sort of resilience and is pulling himself up, with help from the ropes above him.
Christian Cage: She can’t let him recover this time!
And she doesn’t, helping Dead’s rise before bringing him even further up than he expected, sitting him on the top rope and stepping with both feet on the second one to follow. Audience members rise to their feet as a hand-to-hand fight ensues between both competitors.
Lance Storm: I could only wonder what she’s got planned!
Under her arm his head goes but Dead punches her in the gut before she can do anything more. Pulling his head out of her grasp, he swings it right back into her face and it sends her flying on her upper shoulders and neck to the canvas! An audible, collective ‘ooooooooo’ from the crowd! But Dead isn’t leaving where he’s stooped, instead taking better positioning up top as Wallaby tries to get herself up!
Christian Cage: He never stops! He just never stops fighting! Never stops thinking!
Jump -- leg drop across her neck bringing her down mercilessly! But like Old Yeller at his last supper, he’s ravaging rather than pinning, dragging Sydney’s near dead-weighted body into his standing grasp.
Lance Storm: He’s getting into position to end this one now.
With no hesitation, he pulls her legs up, tucks a grip between her legs and around her side and sends her neck careening and compressing nearly through the apron with his deadly cradle piledriver - definitive Dead Weight!
Like her consciousness, it seems the energy in the arena has gone in an instant and his leg hook is sure.
Wilford Daniels: ONE!..........
TWO!.............
THREE!
DING DING DING
Like freed from a burden, the frustration in Raging Dead’s face dissipates as his music returns, a mixed response along with it. Wilford Daniels grabs his wrist once he’s established himself and raises it toward the hard camera, to an outpouring of more boos than cheers.
Mark Beverly: The winner of this match, advancing to the next round: RAGING! DEAD!
Raging Dead d. Wallaby Way Sydney in 13:34
Dead allows the referee to raise his arm around all four sides of the ring, boos building on each display but something draws the attention away from the fans. Corresponding to the turning heads, the camera cuts to show the stage where Christina King has emerged to louder boos, a seething face drawing similarity with her uncle’s written well, Laci Valentine’s presence lagging behind being welcomed more graciously.
Lance Storm: What business do these two have out here?
Valentine’s clutching at her gut doesn’t stop her from following orders when King signals her to follow her sprint down toward and into the ring.
Uncle Nathan watches as Christina immediately takes to stomping the head and neck of Wallaby Way Sydney.
DING DING DING DING DING DING!
Laci Valentine keeps distance herself, but only until Dead begins to match the blows, deciding that if she’s going to be in, she’s going to be in. Leaving her comrades to her idea, King detaches to leave the ring, marching to take the timekeeper’s steel chair and bring it back to the situation.
DING DING DING DING DING DING!
Without a wasted move, her chair swing wallops Sydney in the gut and a second hits her back.
DING DING DING DING DING DING!
Lance Storm: What the hell is the purpose behind this?!
Wilford Daniels’ pleas are as well-received as the bell ringing. Dead detaches, leaving the women to their work as he takes a steel chair from a ringside photographer. Like a corporal, Dead calls for a stop and all ceases.
Raging Dead: (Rabid spittle flying from his mouth in a crazed stare at Laci) Pick her up!
Perhaps morality is what flashes before Valentine in the split second it seems like she won’t follow through, but any of that is foregone when she drags Wallaby up to her knees, the more experienced teammates aiming with both chairs.
Lance Storm: Oh God, no, what are they thinking here?! What’s Wallaby done for this?!
Christian Cage: She was in the wrong place, at the wrong time, Storm!
Just then, Charles Robinson and Filipe Santana have come to assist Wilford Daniels in calming the situation, only for Dead give Lil Naitch his second chairshot of the evening, his body rolling outwards in a mirror of earlier. Sandra and Wilford exit the ring without another warning being needed.
Crowd Member: HEY LOOK AT THE RAMP!
Heads turn as the chairs are releveled. Camera cut. Trent Beretta has just one step ahead of Chuck Taylor, both in street clothes.
Christian Cage: Hey they’ve got no business out here!
Cut. Wallaby’s head is sandwiched between the two chairs!
DING DING DING DING DING DING!
Hard camera view: Trent Beretta jumps in between the bottom and middle ropes and Chuck Taylor rolls in as normal. Trent ducks King’s chair swing while Taylor manages to land blows in both Dead and Laci’s faces. Another camera cut and burst in applause shows Orange Cassidy making his fashionably late arrival to the affair.
Cut back to the ring to see Beretta getting cleared over the top rope with a clothesline and Christina King sending Taylor out of the ring with a rope-leaning back body drop. All three MadClan members follow while EMS run from down the ramp into the ring to care for Wallaby.
Christian Cage: They’re bringing out a stretcher after all that’s happened. Now that’s how you make an impact!
A congestive fight between the three MadClanners and two Best Friends is a hell of a distraction for what’s happening just above them, the television audience being made privy as the camera begins to pan out to show Orange Cassidy having scaled the top rope with shades on and hands in his pocket. Both Raging Dead and Laci Valentine end up as what break his fall, the two unsuspecting landing uncomfortably.
Wallaby Way has been successfully placed on the stretcher by the time Christina King has gotten away with two opportunistic kicks to the original the Best Friends. Cassidy’s maneuver never got him to remove his hands from his pockets, but did leave him on the arena floor long enough for King’s grabbing and throwing him into the ring. He rolls, with both hands still pocketed, to the center of the ring as King jumps on the apron to follow up on her attack, Filipe Santana following suit.
Christian Cage: Wait, they’re next on aren’t they?!
Ding!
Raging Dead has since recovered and taken to mudhole stomping Trent Beretta in the corner of the barricade while Laci and Chuck have been engaging in a fist brawl through the hole created in the no holds barred match, toward the back. Soon enough, Dead has pulled Beretta up and Cactus clotheslined the two of them over into the crowd, and the camera cuts to the hard one, to show Christina King inside the ring shoving a boot into Cassidy’s throat in the corner, referee Filipe Santana calling for the break.
Filipe Santana: I’ve had enough of you three tonight, I’ll call it right now! ONE! TWO! THREE!
Christina King spooks the referee with one of the middle school type of ‘got ya’ flinch-triggers. Then she smacks Orange Cassidy in the face with the top of her foot, drags him up, and roundhouse kicks him in the face. The hands won’t leave his pockets, even still, and he flops to the mat face first. Seeing her opportunity, King bounds off the ropes only to return with a knee to the small of the back. She keeps it there, before using her left hand clawing the man over his nose and by the roof of his mouth. This, finally causes, a belch of pain from the denim-clad one, that is worsened by the right-handed pull of the hair for no more cause than to instigate more agony.
Filipe Santana: I’m not kiddin’! ONE! TWO! THREE! FOUR!
Slam of the face into the mat, then another claw just the same way. Her other hand doesn’t grab at the hair this time, saving any digression from the referee -- until her right hand suddenly swings in and strikes Cassidy right over the healing mark where Dyno-Mike pressed a lit cigar on the last PrimeTime. She keeps striking repeatedly at a remarkable speed, almost immediately causing a laceration at the weakened skin, each shot causing another holler! Pocketed hands are no more, instead trying to reach and pull for anything, and the referee has no choice but to count.
Filipe Santana: ONE! TWO! THREE! FOUR!
Santana pulls and pushes at King to get her off and ruin her grip of the situation. This interference infuriates the Madwoman, who gets nose to nose with the referee to his feared retreating into the corner. Meanwhile, Cassidy has moved with the most speed seen yet tonight in a crawl towards the ropes and use of them as some sort of solace. He rises to his feet and attempts to put a hand in his pocket, only for his knee to suddenly give and crash into his other from a pinpoint baseball kick from King. As he falls, she grabs him under her arm and plants him with a double-hooked DDT!
Lance Storm: Oh goodness, you know what she’s doing there, don’t you? Taking away any chance of a hand blocking out that fall, so Orange landed right on that wound. The cover now, after she’s taken a good look at her work.
Filipe Santana: ONE!................
TWO!......
KICKOUT
She measures Cassidy, not expecting him to be able to recover enough for her rope rebound, but she’s wrong as he just moves out of the way of her shining wizard, sending the woman crashing to the outside awkwardly! The crowd begins to rumble as Orange Cassidy is finally able to get off his denim jacket and make himself more comfortable in just his AWF official Best Friends t-shirt. Filipe Santana comes to check in on him.
Lance Storm: Everyone here in the McMahon Stadium is behind Cassidy right now, filling in for the O.J. as he pulls himself up.
He shoos off the referee, already in his gear after the early unbridled offensive perhaps remembering the advice from his dream, and gets on the other side of the apron: Asai moonsault to the outside with some of the best form any dive has had yet in federation history. Graceful, he lands on his feet and is off the steel steps as if they were ropes to rebound off of, originally back to King before spinning into a ball in the air and dropping back down across her neck with a crushing leg drop that harms his own backside!
Christian Cage: Geez, Storm, I’d be scared to even accidentally paper cut this guy.
Filipe Santana: THREE!
Even with the slight limp due to a now-bum right ass cheek, Orange is up and moving quickly to climb on top of the edge of the crowd barricade, audience members already stood up but gathering even closer together in an effort to get as close to the action as the can, without tripping the man up in his move. From nowhere, the most gorgeous 450 splash you have ever witnessed is pulled out, flickers of his blood tossing about with his revolutions, until he’s there for the hit!
BUT SHE MOVES! Immediately, he’s clutching as his gut, but laid to his side, all air clearly gone. To her feet and cranking her neck, she lands a stiff kick in the kidney to worsen his predicament.
Filipe Santana: SIX!
A half-body’s roll into the ring by the Madwoman, just enough. Santana shakes his head.
Filipe Santana: ONE!
Cassidy is in her clutches - sitout facebreaker on the arena floor!
Christian Cage: That’s it! Beat him to a pulp! See, like… get it?!
Orange attempts to look up on his knees after being rolled into the ring, but he’s clearly in another province, his attempted guard making him look like a high Scrappy Doo. Finally, the shining wizard she was looking for before lands flush and she’s got the cover.
Filipe Santana: ONE!.......
TWO!..........
KICKOUT
King looks disgruntled, but quite honestly she’s looked that way since Boris let loose her warhorn. Immediately, his hair is back in her grasp and she’s got him set up for a familiar move - another double-hook DDT!
Lance Storm: She didn’t let go this time, she kept him in a hold! He’s already bleeding, and she’s gonna make it all harder for any sensibility to get there. If he can’t get out of this, Cage, this is over.
Orange’s groans and weak left leg movements for a while are the only sign that he’s got any energy left after the expert grasp. Christina embrasses the barrage of boos with a wrench of the hold, that causes Orange to try and stand up and out of the hold, but the knees drop before he can make any progress. After a while, even the knees begin to lose themselves, and the crowd begins a chant of the man’s name to try and encourage him.
‘ORANGE! ORANGE! ORANGE! ORANGE!’
Christina wrenches and wrenches, before suddenly Cassidy’s adrenaline pops him up and over into a bridge over her body!
Filipe Santana: ONE!............
TWO!........
KICKOUT
Cassidy has enough energy out of that rush to get back to his feet fast, but not enough to do anything about her headscissors takedown. The move rolls him to all fours through momentum, but she’s rebounding off the ropes and landing a baseball kick to the wound. Ravenous in her steps, she takes to the corner and begins removing the turnbuckle pad. Filipe Santana interferes in her actions again and the two begin bickering.
Lance Storm: Orange is pulling himself up, she had better pay attention!
Finally removing the turnbuckle pad, she turns, but surely wasn’t expecting the dropkick to the forehead that sends her flying neck first into the exposed steel! She sickly bounces from the force but Cassidy is already triangle springboarding to grab her head and drive the back of her head into the steel again!
Lance Storm: She might never be the same after that!
He has another hold of her head but this time he tucks her under his legs and with his hastiest move yet, successfully lands a Canadian Destroyer! He wraps around her legs as they fold over after the move, stepping back to get a deep bend in the cover!
Filipe Santana: ONE!...........
TWO!..........
THREE!
DING DING DING
Almost immediately the camera cuts to show Raging Dead running from the corner of the arena that was broken earlier in the night, a bent steel chair in hand! Cassidy has no clue, all of his second gear expended in managing that win, but he soon becomes familiar: the chair is the first thing to greet Orange once he’s finally to his feet and turns around! The crowd’s boos have never amounted to more before in the AWF before this moment!
Lance Storm: That was uncalled for! What more does the MadClan have to say?!
Dead drops the chair and begins rolling his niece toward the edge of the ring. The crowd’s boos turn to cheers for some reason and he turns to realize it’s the second appearance of the Best Friends, sprinting together once more albeit much more disheveled this time around. Christina King is in Raging Dead’s arms as he leaves through the broken barricade before the Best Friends can slide in for revenge. Instead, when inside the ring, they turn their attention to their winning, but fallen brother in arms.
Orange Cassidy d. Christina King in 13:23
A fade to our last vignette of the night. It's an empty room. Nothing on the plain white walls. Nothing on the bare concrete floor. It's too bright, almost oppressively so as the stark three walls fill the screen, end to end. A door opens in the far wall, one that was almost invisible before that dark square appeared in the blinding white. Max Ironside walks through, crossing the room with a metal folding chair in his hand. He takes his time to unfold it, turning it around and straddling it so that his arms dangle over the dented backrest. He doesn't bother to hide his bad hand. Doesn't seem ashamed whatsoever as his blue eyes meet the camera, unflinching.
Max Ironside
No distractions, Priscilla. No games. No musical interludes or clever jokes – just me being sincere. I know that's not expected or even really welcome but I can't bring myself to make light of things this time. So kudos to you, I guess. You got under my skin. That's what you wanted though, wasn't it? To crawl inside my ear, burrow deep into my head and lay some poisonous eggs…
He breaks off, shaking his head with a look of disgust.
Max Ironside
And now I have images of spiders crawling around in my skull. So that's fun.
Rolling his eyes, he sighs. In the pause, the microphone picks up something clearly said in the background.
Rayna
Trashy dumpster fire, should just do us all a favor and walk into oncoming traffic.
Max pretends not to hear it although there's a smile tugging at the corners of his lips.
Max Ironside
Everyone has a ritual in this business. We all have things we do to prepare, the ways we have to trick ourselves into downplaying the reality of the situation at hand. I don't want to even guess what Miss Kelly is doing now, if she's even preparing herself for our inevitable confrontation or-
Rayna
She inevitably needs to get punched in the face. Repeatedly.
This time Max lets that smile grow, nodding.
Max Ironside
I debating staying silent, keeping my cards close to my vest on this one. I debated hanging the vacancy sign in the hopes that I could let my actions in the ring speak for themselves. Had nearly convinced myself that it was a viable option, too. I slept on it, though. Thought long and hard and-
Again, that grumbling off camera cuts though as Max takes a breath. It's clear that his wife isn't impressed in the least.
Rayna
Like not even with a fist. I can use the taser in my purse.
Max Ironside
If she doesn't wrestle me, if she sends Prince Albert out to face me… yeah. Go for it. If she can't bring herself to even give me, give the fans or the company or THE DAMN GOLD the respect it deserves to show up and fight fairly, then why should we stay above-board? I'm sick to death of being the doormat. Of only getting so close only to have the carpet yanked out from under me.
Rayna
Yanno? Like punch and zap! Bam, the bitch goes down.
He nods, clearly liking the sound of that.
Max Ironside
I've had people tell me I'm in this business for the wrong reasons, that chasing a dream to prove that I'm as able as anyone else is stupid. I've been called a 'short bus reject'. I've been called slurs that I'm not going to repeat here. I've been passed over by promotions. My own father, my own flesh and blood laughed in my face when I told him that I was going to Phoenix, that I'd quit my dead-end, minimum wage job to go train to be a professional wrestler. He gave me six months to give up, to come crawling back looking for a handout. I haven't been back to Battle Creek since. It's been eleven years since I graduated from Wild Ones. I'm still reaching. I'm still trying. And for what? I've wrestled every week since this company opened its doors. The only thing she's done is bow out and let someone else do the dirty work. You know what I call that? It isn't being smart. It isn't about having good business sense. It's being lazy. It's called being a coward.
Rayna
I swear to God, Max, if she tries anything stupid, I'm going to rip her cheap extensions out and feed them to her.
Max Ironside
The fact that she made it this far without really lifting a finger irks me more than I want to admit – I'm sure you can tell. I fought Raging Dead. I fought Athena. I fought The Best Friends. While you're over there madly refreshing the website to see where you landed in the rankings, I was preparing myself. I was nursing wounds. I was finding a way to adapt, to make sure I learned from every blip and yip and flaw out there so that next time my game is even tighter. While you stood on the apron and watched Prince Albert run roughshod last week, while you clapped and soaked up the glory, none of it was meant for you. You were a DECORATION. You were largely ornamental and you think you've earned the right to compare yourself to me? To belittle my dedication? To act like I'm nothing and nobody? No. Hell no. This isn't going to be another Defiant Wrestling. This isn't going to be another Aidan Carlisle situation, where I let someone tear me down until I'm nothing more than a grain of sand to be brushed aside lightly.
He closes his eyes, taking a deep breath as he tries to calm himself.
Rayna
She's got nothing on you, Love. You're going to do great.
Max Ironside
I don't want to live my life waiting on validation from someone else. I don't need their adoration, their praise and applause. I don't need someone like Booker T to look me in the eyes like an equal and tell me I earned this moment only to have the crowd echo him. Don't get me wrong – I loved it. It made me feel a hell of a lot better about the whole thing. It still didn't serve to sweeten what I've got to choke down now as I go back and try to properly scout my opponent only to realize just how LITTLE she's done the entire time she's been employed here. I know how that sounds. Quality over quantity, right? That's the party line. That's what matters. Seventeen two-star matches aren't better than three four-stars, right? Of course not. That's silly to even think that exposure matters. That effort counts for much more than cementing myself as a contender in their eyes while you go door-to-door, town-to-town trying to collect power through sheer manipulation. That's not how this works, Priscilla. Not at all.
Rayna
You've got this, Max. Don't ever doubt that for one second.
Max Ironside
Heart and soul. Blood. Sweat. Tears. Ten damn years of my life, I've given to this business. I never expected a clap-back. I never obsessed over my name in lights, my face on a poster, my name coming from someone else's lips. I always saw that as shallow, as so damned insecure. I am not the sum of what you think of me, of what some asshole behind a keyboard wants to write about one of my matches when they weren't there in the heat of the moment, there between the ropes living and breathing. I earned my stripes the hard way. With effort. With hard work. With passion. With every last ounce of myself and their praise… it's secondary right now. It's not what I want.
He lifts his good hand up to his face, rubbing it across his lips as he stalls, trying to rein in that anger.
Max Ironside
I've kept my mouth shut long enough. I've turned the other cheek so many times I could be deified at this point – at the very least canonized. I am not the sum of what you think of me, Priscilla. I am not a joke. I am your downfall. I am the windshield and you are the bug, coming in oblivious at terminal velocity. You have ten, maybe twenty seconds to reconsider every last disgusting choice you've made in your life, every last mistake before you're completely obliterated. I want you to ask yourself if it was worth it. I want that to be the thing weighing on your mind when you step between the ropes with me in just a few hours.
He stares into the camera for a good twenty seconds, saying nothing. His blue eyes are intense, almost incandescent glowing with anger.
Max Ironside
I can answer that… for myself. For me. I don't even have to think about it, either. Yes. A thousand times yes. And the more you try to brush me aside, the more you try to slap me down, the harder I come back. The more determined I become. I've heard tens of thousands of noes in my career. I've been laughed at. Had doors slammed in my face. I've been denied too many times. It ends here. Tonight. I'm taking what I've earned, Priscilla. And you? You'll get what you deserve…
He closes his eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath. When he speaks again, his voice is calm, perfectly level as he finishes off with one word only.
Max Ironside
Nothing.
The slow fade back into the arena is to an immediate scene for all the newspapers: just to the right of the French announce booth ringside, a draped podium hiding something underneath with Bret Hart and Booker T smiling in tuxedos on either side. From there, a dramatic crossfade to a smiling Mark Beverly in the ring.
Mark Beverly:The following contest, set for one fall, is to crown the inaugural Alberta Wrestling Federation World’s Champion!
Crossfade back to ringside where Bret Hart now has a grasp of the draping and pulls it free to reveal: a gorgeous wrestling world champion of gold centerface, the AWF logo inlaid strategically but subtly, with a round plate of lapis lazuli and gilded linings showcasing the world from the middle of the Atlantic Ocean, a much more obvious ‘CHAMPION’ wrapping along the bottom of the circle, and the sideplates beautiful gold maple leaves. Both Bret and Booker look proud as the crowd hoops and hollers at finally the championship being on display and shake hands for the photograph that is snapped as we transition to a view of the stage.
The hoops and hollers are even louder as Rayna leads her husband Max Ironside out into the McMahon Stadium for all the world to see. Tears have seem to have already flowed from the young woman’s eyes tonight, but considering her trillion dollar grin, they were likely tears of pride of joy. Such a delighted look from his wife causes Ironside to smile himself before warmingly taking her hand and raising their arms together on the stage.
A cut shows Bret Hart and Booker T on their feet, both clapping along with enthusiastic smirks. A cut back shows Rayna having let Max Ironside take the lead, clapping hands with a few final fans before climbing the steel steps and entering the ring. In that moment, it seems something comes over him as he has to blink a few times, gander around the arena, and take a nice tug at his entrance vest, taking the moment in.
Realizing his company, he rolls out of the ring to shake hands with both men, Rayna having said her hello’s already. Before he can return to the ring and anymore taunting could be thought to be done, the interruption.
Priscilla Kelly doesn’t wait for any particular music cue, entering the arena in a leather jacket. The crowd has a mixed response, in truth, but the negative response is undoubtedly the more prevalent reaction. Towards jeering fans on the left side of the stage, she walks over and grabs at her crotch. Walking back to the center of the ring, she smiles toward Max Ironside who has returned to the ring. Clearly, he sees what’s off when the camera cuts to his expression. Do you?
Lance Storm: Say, where’s Prince Albert?
Priscilla’s smile never goes away as she turns around to look at the Gorilla position: nothing. Turn back the opposite way, the shit-eating look still there, with a skinny middle finger to all four people down the way, making sure they all realize it’s for them.
Lance Storm: Conspicuous by his absence, indeed.
The cut to the front office shows a less enthusiastic response than before, the previously clapping Booker T having stopped once seeing her gesture. A cut back shows Priscilla in her deliberately obnoxious walk to the ring, seemingly slowing with each step. Eventually she reaches the ring, letting her entrance music play on and on while she bops along with, entering the bottom rope with an arrogant shoulder shimmy that very smoothly leads to her spitting a Prince Albert-like-lugey into Ironside’s face. Rayna screams from outside the ring only to get a sharp look.
Priscilla Kelly: Bitch, I’ll kill you.
Max Ironside decides cooler heads prevail, only removing his vest to use as a towel to remove the spit from his face.
Mark Beverly: Introducing first, from Battle Creek, Michigan, weighing one hundred fifty five pounds - the Handicapped Hero: MAAAAX! IRON! SIIIIIIIIIIIDE!
The crowd pops again, but he only throws his vest, lowers his head and glares a look that could kill through Priscilla’s very fiber.
Mark Beverly: And from Moon Creek, Georgia, weighing one hundred fourteen pounds, this is Hell’s Favorite Harlot: PRISCILLA! KELLY!
She smiles right back at toward his glare prior to starting to remove her leather jacket and walk it to ringside.
Lance Storm: Wait a minute stop this, are you telling me she’s wrestling for herself? In this match of all of them?
Christian Cage: Yeah. Yeah she is, Storm! What, do you doubt her? You don’t think she can be World’s Champion on her own?
Lance Storm: It’s not that, it’s just that...
Before she can get back from between the ropes…
Ding!
… Ironside has charged her in the corner with a kick to the jaw that dazed her and left her prone for his clubbing blows to the back. Senior official Don Quintillis is pulling Ironside back with surprising strength of his own.
Lance Storm: Surprising start by Ironside, she’s gone a step or two too far and he’s right back after her in the corner.
Christian Cage: I can’t stand this twerp but I can’t deny I like this aggression. That’s what the championship is all about!
The referee has pushed Ironside back again but this time Kelly is waiting for a return, charging for a spear that Ironside reads and turns into a sunset flip of his own -- both feet pin each shoulder down!
Don Quintillis: ONE!..............
KICKOUT
Priscilla’s pushed up and sat on his face (doubt that’s the first time she’s been in that trouble), sticking a tongue toward Rayna just in her line of site!
Don Quintillis: ONE!...........
KICKOUT
Ironside manages to roll back into his original pin attempt!
Don Quintills: O---
She rolls with the same thought!
Don Quintills: ONE!.......
KICKOUT
Both are back up and immediately think collar-and-elbow, Priscilla quickly snapping into a headlock, the grip caught by Ironside who pushes it up and over his head and then her to her back - finally at a size advantage in a contest. She’s to her feet face after the roll back but he meets her return with a shotgun drop that bobbles her back up right into his springboard back elbow! Another pinfall attempt!
Don Quintillis: ONE!........
T-- KICKOUT
Priscilla is impressively already pulling herself back up but Ironside helps her finish the process, using the ropes to help with his whip. On the return, he pulls out a tilt-a-whirl, faking a hurricanrana on the second-to-last rotation before faking a DDT then turning it into a snapping neckbreaker! Right into a leg hook!
Don Quintillis: ONE!.............
TWO!..........
KICKOUT
The get up is not so quick this time, so Ironside decides it might be time to go for broke.
Christian Cage: This isn’t smart so soon, Storm, he should’ve rethought.
Christian proves wise, as Kelly uses the referee as a standing post before ‘slipping’ and pushing him into the ropes, causing Max to land terribly brutally across the poorly covered steel bar connecting the post to the turnbuckle.
Christian Cage: I just know he’s nauseous right now.
Laying over the top rope perhaps to alleviate pressure, he still sees Kelly in his peripheral and blocks the right hand she throws. Unfortunate for him, she still connects with a left, comes back with her the fresh free right, then uses the second rope to help drive her knee into his nose, sending his body flying back and nearly off the roost. She catches his head in a sway and tucks it under her arm before pulling him.
Christian Cage: I said it, and no he’s about to get spiked on his head!
Either an obvious student of the game, a very astute viewer of the brand she wrestles for, or both, Priscilla stops in thought before adjusting her grip to double-underhook before drawing him even further from the ropes with his feet stuck -- HANGING DOUBLE-UNDERHOOK! Ironside’s body goes still! Rayna seems already worried as she watches the pushover for the cover.
Don Quintillis: ONE!..........
TWO!...........
KICKOUT
She plants a kick to the side of the head before bringing him to rise again. She double-underhook grips again, but this time she smartly uses the velocity of her knees to commit to a snap suplex with the grip. Another cover.
Don Quintillis: ONE!..........
TWO!........
KICKOUT
When he pops up, she quickly takes hold of his head in a headscissor and locks perfectly around the neck. Wrenching, he can’t do much but squirm to try to think of a way out while the referee questions his continuation and his wife suffers taunts. The camera cuts to show Bret Hart and Booker T, two men who have been in the thick of this sort of environment time and time before, not as worried but still watching on closely from seats they have taken.
A cut back shows Ironside attempting to get air by pushing his palm between Priscilla’s thigh and her neck but she only squeezes harder, ruining any shot. Rayna can’t be seen but can be heard when she starts banging on the apron in support. His legs begin kicking and before long we see form - kip… no Priscilla tightens the grip one more time and the legs go stiff.
Christian Cage: Being in this hold for nearly two minutes, Ironside’s got to get out now or his tournament dreams are over!
The legs going again, Kelly can’t stop him when he cocks back with everything and kips out, breaking the hold! Soon as his soles land, however, he’s stumbling dazed toward the ropes and she comes with a schoolboy from behind!
Don Quintills: ONE!................
TWO!..........
KICKOUT
The roll from the leg push out helps Max get right to his feet but a swift sidekick to the side of the face stumbles him back against the second rope, which he uses as rebound into a shoulder block into her gut. He bounces back from the second rope and does it again before turning to -- get caught by the hair and dragged down neck first by Priscilla Kelly! She takes part of what was going to be his next idea, jumping over the top rope before jumping back over and down with a beautiful elbow drop into the pinfall!
Don Quintillis: ONE!..............
TWO!......
KICKOUT
Ironside pops out right into her side headlock, which she gets just the right angle to set him back into a submission, wearing the man down further. This time, Rayna can be seen in her cheers which riles him quicker. Kelly buries her shoulder into the hold to slow the blood flow and his eyes glaze for seconds before his legs suddenly swing around and take him to a single knee. He feins an elbow drop before instead hooking his arm under Kelly’s knee, exploding up in a hop, and taking the full brunt of an escaping back suplex along with her! He can’t make the cover, but he’s stirring and rolling slowly toward the ropes.
A cut shows Booker T watching with wider eyes, before the handler moves to show an interesting shot behind him and Bret. On their side is where Ironside rolls underneath the bottom rope and rising on the outside. A cut back inside is perfect for the next move: a springboard back into the ring on a groggy, standing Priscilla, turning it into a reverse DDT along the way! He grabs at her quickly for another cover!
Don Quintillis: ONE!........
TWO!..........
KICKOUT
Lance Storm: Ironside’s backing up now. He’s taking a second, but he hasn’t taken his eyes off of Priscilla. Look at the way he’s stalking, those hands on his knees, poised and ready to go.
Kelly must not sense it, because she fights it off too late when she’s back down after having just got up, Max Ironside hooking her arm between his and pulling at her face!
Lance Storm: The Crippled Crossface!
Screams probably only Prince Albert had heard previously and frantic arm and leg movements are all that she can muster in the midst of his trap in the center of the ring.
Lance Storm: It’s been thirty seconds and the only other time we’ve seen him apply this, Athena had to tap at the fifty second mark!
Her hand begins to rise at forty seconds, Don Quintillis getting in close. Cut to Booker T and Bret Hart who have risen to their feet.
Forty two seconds, the hand is swaying around. Cut to Rayna who is pounding on the mat, yelling for Priscilla to do the same.
Forty four seconds in and there has been no movement from the center of the ring aside from Priscilla’s palm getting closer and closer to the apron - is this it?!
Five.
Four.
Three.
Two.
One.
Fifty seconds and the hand goes down.
In order to pull and push Priscilla in a flurry from nowhere toward the ropes, Max Ironside now having to turn about his body and twist about the ring for the hold to stay in! He keeps her from the ropes but she keeps pulling and tugging, the crowd cheering Max’s name! All the sudden, she grabs the man by the waist and pulls him down in a roll up the hold still locked!
Don Quintillis: ONE!................
TWO!..........
THREE
--KICKOUT AT THE LAST SECOND
Right back into the crossface! The hold is wrenched harder and it’s been at least a minute forty five seconds since the hold first dropped in!
Lance Storm: Her hand is swaying again!
Lance Storm: Will this be it?!
Lance Storm: She’s got the tights again, another one of the those roll-ups!
Don Quintillis: ONE!.......................
TWO!..........
THR--KICKOUT!
Back into the hold! But this time, her leg is close enough to the rope and her knee wraps around it! Ironside won’t break as the crowd’s energy is drained immediately, disappointed faces sitting down. A cut to ringside shows this doesn’t only include crowd participants.
Don Quintillis: FOUR!
Ironside breaks the hold, exhausted but like a determined wolverine begins to scale the ropes.
Christian Cage: Kelly’s pulling at the referee, just like last time!
Ironside won’t be fooled twice, noticing what’s occurring and decides and send for his missile dropkick early! Poor Don Quintillis, who Priscilla still uses as a pawn in her fake stumbles, pulling the kick right into the referee’s face!
Christian Cage: Another ref bump!
Max begins to check on the referee but then thinks the better of it. Too late for a second guess, because the Harlot is a step head with the kick to the groin! He bowls over, right into her arms, and she hooks up a jumping fisherman suplex! With no conscious referee to count, she doesn’t hold it, instead accepting the fall herself and staying as she lays.
A cut shows Bret Hart shaking his head while Booker T has gone over to check on the referee from afar. In the far right corner a burgeoning figure can be seen running.
Christian Cage: Who in the hell is… It’s… It’s gotta Albert!
Lucky that Bret hears the fan commotion behind him as well as the heavy running steps, otherwise there’s doubts Prince Albert wouldn’t have made a pancake of AWF’s owner, coming in from the broken barricade corner at a top sprint. Booker notices things at the same time, and both men clear the area as she storms in like an angry rhino.
Horrified, Rayna screams, Ironside too dazed in his attempts to pull himself back up to hear her warnings. He turns to get caught in the side of the face with a bicycle kick that makes his body flop around like a fish out of water! Priscilla pulls herself into the corner to watch from a seated position as the Prince pulls Ironside up over his into a military press, and back down the Michinoku driver! Kelly crawls over sensually on all fours, Ironside’s unconscious arrogant as Prince Albert picks up Quintillis with ease by his shirt and belt, drops him into perfect position, and clears the ring.
Quintillis’ eyes rise as Booker and the security that has arrived begin trying to get Albert out of the arena.
Don Quintillis: ONE!.............
TWO!................
THREE!
DING DING DING
Priscilla rises to her feet in joy we’ve never seen before, jumping up and down like a giddy little girl. Prince Albert can be heard laughing from afar, but when we cut to him, he’s being pushed up the ramp by the dozen guards.
Mark Beverly: The win--
Cut to ringside, with Bret Hart ripping the microphone out of Mark Beverly’s hand, fuming. He looks right up at Priscilla with a finger.
Bret Hart
No! No, there’s no goddamn way!
Priscilla looks back and mouths quite clearly: “Yes way, honey.”
Bret Hart
No, dammit! This may be McMahon Stadium, but I sure as hell not Vince! There’s no way the Alberta Wrestling Federation is starting out its championship history with something like that! No, I’ll give you that, you wanna talk about a game?! Play this one: two out of three falls. No managers, no interference from here on out or nobody gets the damn belt! Ring the bell -- actually, this match never ended!
Priscilla looks incredulously over at Bret, but not for long, as Ironside has managed to get back up in the time elapsed, grab hold of her in a chicken wing into the air, pull her centerstage, and drop her between his legs with the release facebuster! Where that came from, we’ll never know, as Ironside can’t even capitalize, and only flop back to his back, exhausted.
Christian Cage: This shouldn’t even be happening! What the hell is this, Bret?! Do you KNOW what Howell Saxon’s gonna say now?!
Referee Wilford Daniels was amongst the security and rolls into the ring to take over, where it looks as if neither competitor is getting up. Booker T can be seen in the hard camera escorting Rayna away from the ring, as she can’t be here for the rest of this either.
Wilford Daniels: ONE!
TWO!
THREE!
Ironside’s head comes up and he swings his arm around to force his body to his stomach.
Wilford Daniels: FOUR!
FIVE!
Ironside has crawled near to the ropes, with Priscilla Kelly finally rolling away and toward a set herself.
Wilford Daniels: SIX!
SEVEN!
Ironside is nearly up, one knee left to go. Priscilla has gotten herself up quicker, stunned but not having just felt Prince Albert’s wrath.
Wilford Daniels: EIGHT!
Ironside is to his feet finally and uses a slight jog to meet Priscilla in the middle of the ring with a right that stops her in her tracks. A headbutt to her dome both dazes him for the moment and sends her back toward the ropes. Another right is attempted, but the headbutt causes the swing to be off and for him to lay right in the way of Kelly’s swinging left, staggering him back toward the middle of the ring. Priscilla Kelly is off with a springboard clothesline -- HE CAUGHT HER ARM!
HE CAUGHT HER ARM!
HE’S GRABBING IT!
TUCKING IT BETWEEN HIS LEGS!
Christian Cage: He managed the Crippled Crossface again!
In the center of the ring, thirty seconds pass but there’s no sign of a potential roll-up. It appears as though this is it, as her hand rises seemingly to fall.
And it does.
IN SUBMISSION! She taps!
Mark Beverly: Max Ironside has scored a fall! It is now 1-1; next fall to the finish!
Ironside separates immediately and composes himself in the turnbuckle, the crowd chanting his first name faithfully. He taps at his knee, signalling for the Han-decapitation, stalking like did earlier with the first crossface.
Wilford Daniels helps her rise and Ironside sprints towards her with a clothesline that’s ducked -- she gets her feet around his shoulders in sunset flip pin form!
Wilford Daniels: ONE!.................
TWO!.............
HIS ANKLES IN HER FACE
The both roll out, in a flurry for the next fall and he tilt-a-whirl confuses her again -- into the crucifix pin!
Wilford Daniels: ONE!.............
TWO!........
KICKOUT!
They boost back up and Ironside is trying to tilt-a-whirl again -- but as he tries for a DDT this time, she seems to predict correctly, drops her knees, and swings around, bringing him down into a schoolboy! She notices the ref’s position so decides to add a handful of tights and two feet on the ropes!
Wilford Daniels: ONE!...............
TWO!.........
THREE!
DING DING DING
Her music starts, but Calgary stops: in a heartbeat. She rolls out of the ring under the rope set she used to her advantage to drop on her ass on the outside, ironically on the side with the championship and her superiors. Processing what happened, a hysterical laugh comes across her as she first darts a look at the championship, then at Bret and Booker.
Mark Beverly: The winner of this match, and FIRST Alberta Wrestling Federation World’s Champion: PRISCILLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLA! KELLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLY!
On the drawn out name, she begins to rise to her feet while Bret looks away, combing his hands through his hair in the same sort of disbelief we saw in the Montreal in ‘97. Booker attempts to console him as Priscilla blows a kiss and another middle finger towards the pair, walking toward what has just officially become her trophy. With care, she takes the championship in hand and holds it carefully, interrupted only by Prince Albert who surprises her with a run and hold up in the air.
Bret Hart pats Booker on the back and begins to just walk away from the situation, the ring, up the ramp, and out of the arena. Inside the ring, Priscilla Kelly is on Prince Albert’s shoulders in electric chair position, parading her around to show off the belt and get as many videos and photographs the crowd may want. Exactly the sight Bret dreamt to never see.
A cut to Booker T, who has remained ringside, playing the good sport with an ingenuine round of applause. Priscilla notices him and flips him off, stopping the clapping.
Cut to the zoomed in hard camera for the last shot of the night: Priscilla Kelly from the belly up, the title over her shoulder; a kiss to the gold, then a kiss to the camera. Fade to black.
Priscilla Kelly d. Max Ironside in 28:52
END