S01E01 - Going Back to Calgi

The cut is sudden. He is now in full gear and custom trench coat, in the promo room of the gym.

Raging Dead
Minute by minute… we draw closer to the premier of Tuesday Night PrimeTime. AWF is hitting the ground running with the first round of the AWF World's Championship Tournament. Six matches between twelve of the best AWF has to offer.

Rockstar Spud may be the most famous wrestler in this tournament… other than yours truly. He's certainly the only one I've heard of… and I've been everywhere, man. For us to square off in the first round just shows how badly AWF wants to succeed right off the bat. You take your two most prominent superstars… and put them against each other right away!

This match is the draw. Plain and simple. Upwards of twenty thousand people will be packed into one of the oldest arenas in the NHL next Tuesday to see the hottest night of action packed action that Calgary has had in years. Bret Hart has searched far and wide to amass this high caliber roster… and this tournament is already proof that he's doing what's best for business.

Rockstar Spud… you seem like a nice kid. You've worked hard all of your life… overcoming adversity… fighting for what you believe in. Everything you've experienced has brought you to the pinnacle of professional wrestling. All of the blood… sweat… tears… has brought you to me. In my final year in this business… I am going to rack up as many big wins and championships as I can physically handle. You are first up on my buffet of AWF… and I will not underestimate you. You are going to set the bar for the competition I will face this year in AWF… so it is imperative that I am victorious.

I have boldly proclaimed that I will be the first to hold the AWF World’s Championship and that does not come from inflated ego… or delusions of grandeur. It is a promise I have made to myself and I’m asking all of you watching at home to hold me to it. I can’t do this without you… and I can’t do this---

His cell phone rings, interrupting his train of thought. He picks it up off of the table that the hard cam is set up on and laughs, then picks up the phone and presses the speakerphone button.

Raging Dead
You have impeccable timing, Brice. How the hell are ya?

Brice McQueen
Oh, ya know, little bit of this, little bit of that.

Raging Dead
No… I don’t know what that means. You’re still picking me up from YYC on Monday?

Brice McQueen
Sure am, pal! I’m not paying for parking, so I’ll just do a bunch-a loops until you get out.

Raging Dead
My flight should be landing at---

Brice McQueen
Nope! Don’t tell me! I like surprises!

Raging Dead
Uhh… you might be there for hours and---

Brice McQueen
It’s not about the destination. It’s about the journey, buddy.

Raging Dead
Sure… okay. Well, hey, I got you comped for the show on Tuesday. Try not to mess anything up backstage.

Brice McQueen
Listen here, pal. I’ve been making towns all over the National Highway System since before you were born, guy. I practically invented locker room etiquette.

Raging Dead
That’s… terrifying…

Brice McQueen
Yeah, sure… I’m a bit of a hoser I’m on the maple syrup, if you know what I mean… but those days are behind me. My liver can’t keep up with these kids today anyway. It’ll be nice to catch up with Bret. I haven’t seen him in twenty years or so. I spent a lot of time with Stu and the lot of ‘em.

Raging Dead
I sometimes forget that you’ve been around forever.

Brice McQueen
Darn right. Got my start in ‘73. Worked all over Canada, spent a little time in Mexico and U.S. Did I ever tell you about the time I worked your old man forty-five straight days back in the summer of ‘77?

Raging Dead
Several times… and it was ‘78.

Brice McQueen
Same thing. Hey, I caught your promo for AWF and let me tell you… you’ve got to get a better story goin’, pal. Your shoot is okay but that’s not going to give the viewers a broad enough story. Get Sara involved more. Dig up some old timer to shoot the breeze with.

Raging Dead looks at the camera and winks.

Brice McQueen
I’ve got a whole list of ways to help you out, kid. Three decades in and you’re never too old to learn something new.

Raging Dead
I look forward to it. I was actually in the middle of a promo when you called and---”

Brice McQueen
Don’t let me hold you up. I’ll get off the line and you get back to work. I’ll see you Monday, buddy.”

Before he can say goodbye, the call has already ended. He sets the phone back on the table.

Raging Dead
I’m not even going to bother editing any of that out. Brice McQueen, for those of you unaware, is the best wrestler of the 70s and 80s to never make it to the main stage. He’s a journeyman. He’s worked everyone, everywhere. He even worked on and off up until 2018. Even at 70 years old, he could lace up the boots any day and get right back to work if he wanted to. He made it all the way to where he’s at without ever sustaining a major injury. Do you know how he did that? He didn’t take chances. He didn’t step outside of his wheelhouse. He didn’t push the status quo. Those are three things that I have made a career out of… and I have paid dearly for it.

The risks I have taken for the last thirty years have brought me to a point where I can definitely say I will not be wrestling one year from now. I’ve been ready to call it a day for a while now… but there’s still so much more I need to achieve before I call it quits. Since my return in September 2019… I have held three championships: Trinity Pure Championship, Action Cruiserweight Championship, UTA World Championship. I’ve only lost one of them. It’s crazy to think that ten to fifteen years ago… I would actively hold up to a dozen titles… defending them concurrently. Now… my body can’t handle that kind of workload. My brain can’t handle that kind of… pressure.

What I CAN handle… is being AWF World’s Champion… and my road to the gold starts with you, Rockstar Spud. When that bell rings... all of the pleasantries get put on hold. In that moment... you will not see a man... but rather a monster. I apologize in advance for what HE does to you at Tuesday Night PrimeTime. HE has been known to scratch... claw... bite... maim... disfigure... and torture anyone who gets in his way. You are fresh meat to HIM and that puts you in a very dangerous predicament. Best of luck in your future endeavors.

The show crossfades back to the arena but to the backstage area near around the Gorilla position. Bret Hart can suddenly be seen from afar walking down the corridor, in his usual custom leather jacket, t-shirt, and blue jeans combination, but going in the complete opposite direction.

Christian Cage: Wait a minute! Where’s he going, Lance?! He’s got an announcement to make! Bret! Mister Hart! Hey!

The camera fades to commercial break during Christian’s spasm.

---

The Alberta Wrestling Federation is brought to in part by: Honey, I Viagra’d the Kids coming to theatres this July!

Closed captioning provided by: the Shawn Alan Steinfein Foundation

---

The scene fades into pre-taped a close up vignette shot of Matt Sydal and all the attention is his.



Matt Sydal
It is cliché but it is true that it takes the worst to get to the other side. I am so fortunate to have built up a reputation that has proved itself to be unbreakable, that I can't take for granted when some would.

I am fortunate to have that hindsight especially as someone who gets egg on their face as much as I have. Before I was reborn I had so many issues, I struggled with confidence, self esteem. I was way too modest and it was false humility really.

At 29 years old I got into a motorcycle accident on my birthday. It was embarrassing because it really was more of a scooter size . I dislocated my foot in five places and broke it in four places, it is permanently disfigured. I thought it was over, WWE aided me in healing myself and I was able to wrestle but a year later I was fired . That very weekend I took my trip to the Peruvian jungle for a spiritual retreat, the medicine legal and given in a ceremony by healer monks, the side effect was that the cacti plant makes you realize your true goal and desires in life, I could've lost my love for pro wrestling instead it had the opposite effect. My passion came back ten-fold and for 5 years I've had this resurgence.

For my first 7 years I was just an action guy and I realized If you don't have a plan , you'll just end up part of someone else's . This is not religion, it's spiritual and holistic but also based in science as well that everything invokes a reaction, if you stand for nothing, you will fall for everything. To avoid that, open your third eye.

I trust Bret Hart more than anyone, he's one of my idols, influenced and impacted what I've aspired to do for two decades. It is an honor to work for Bret.

The next scene is a live shot of Christian Cage and Lance Storm at the commentary table.

Lance Storm: The next match in our championship tournament will commence momentarily, but we wanted to contextualize tonight’s main event for those who may not follow us on Twitter --

Christian Cage: @albertafed, by the way.

Lance Storm: It all started when the Alberta Wrestling Federation posted this tweet.



Christian Cage: In no time, as any confident man would and should do, the future winner of the first main event in AWF history drew his line in the sand.



Lance Storm: That’s when -

Christian Cage: Shut up, Storm, this isn’t some readalong. I’m better at this crap anyway. Then, the should-be-retired-and-not-getting-her-nose-in-business-that-isn’t-hers Sasha Foote disrespected this young man.

Lance Storm: She hardly stuck her business in anything she didn’t have the right to, and if anyone’s been disrespectful it’s been Roderick Kross. Either way, she said the right thing before signing her contract.



The screen flashes back from the tweets to the shot of the commentators.

Lance Storm: There have since been rumors circulating about Roderick Kross trespassing into Sasha Foote’s privately owned gym, which we hope to get some word on during tonight.

Christian Cage: This one’s not gonna be about just the World’s Championship tournament with the way these two who dug into each other, from what I’ve heard, that’s for sure.

Lance Storm: We’ve also got, as we will have every week, a first hour main event here tonight, between professional wrestling legend of nearly thirty years Raging Dead and a more recently made veteran in Rockstar Spud.

Christian Cage: I think this one might be the sleeper, Storm. I’ve got love for both Raging Dead and Rockstar Spud and think it could either way. From what I’ve come to understand they’ve been trading shots back and forth in the build to tonight and tensions have gotten high. Two big main events, Lance, and you don’t want to miss either one of ‘em!

Christian grins a smug smile while Lance Storm looks like Lance Storm during the crossfade into a vignette from some unknown time before today. This scene opens up in a dark room but within this room we see one light flashing down on a religious podium. Behind it was two crosses, one facing upward and one upside down. The camera never moved. It stayed facing in one direction towards the podium. We the camera zooms closer to see two photographs and before we could see what the photos contained, Roderick Kross appeared into the frame. He wore a nice black tailor suit while wearing black shades. He walked up to the podium but stopped midway. He turned his head to stare at the two crosses. He smirked to himself. He knew that these had important meanings and they would soon be revealed. He finally made it to the podium and pulled out from under it, the holy bible. He placed the bible on top of the podium and looked on towards the camera. The camera stayed zoomed to his face as he soon opened the book. He pulled another photograph and this one showed Sasha Foote. He smiled to himself before he began speaking in a soft tone.

Roderick Kross
You want to know something, I feel pretty bad for Sasha. I mean she has a lot on her plate as of late. She has to worry about her grand opening of her gym which I don’t know how she’ll get up and running with rona going around this world. I also feel pretty bad for any investors who actually thought putting hard earned money into this shit show of a gym was a solid idea. What I’m trying to get at is this Sasha, why return to wrestling? You think you have anything else to prove? If memory serves me correctly, you don’t take loses all too well. You are always quick to point the finger when things don’t go your way. That is the mentality of a lost soul who has lost their way of living and their lack of common sense. I feel so bad for you Sasha; you get to lose to the fastest rising star in professional wrestling. You’re washed up. Just another veteran trying to take the spotlight from people who deserve it more than people like you.

It’s pretty sad when you stop to think about it. This tournament is going to decide who the first Alberta Wrestling Federation World Heavyweight champion will be. I was the first person to place his name into this hat because I’m fully confident in my abilities to succeed in this tournament. Honestly I’m not shocked that a has been can’t stay retired decided to come and ruin a good thing for everyone else. Jesus doesn’t love sinners and you are the biggest sinner there is. I’m going to show you exactly why you shouldn’t piss off the messenger of god. I love all my children as I try to lead them towards a better tomorrow but you are beyond saving. I can’t save a soul whose own child has lost faith in you.

Roderick turned to the upside down cross and took the photo off it. Within the photo contained Brittany, Sasha's own eleven year old daughter. Roderick laughed to himself before bringing the photo into the view of the camera. He continued to laugh before settling down his emotions before he continued on.

Roderick Kross
Speaking of your daughter how is she? Does she love living with a complete failure in you? How does your husband stand living with such a quitter like you? He probably goes insane doing everything while you do nothing, it’s pretty sad really. Must had been a pretty hard time trying to manage your way through that shit storm huh? If your daughter was that disappointed in you then I couldn’t imagine how much your son hates you right now.

Roderick takes the second photo down and that too contained the photo of her son. He placed both photos down as the camera caught a nice view of it.

Roderick Kross:
These are the people that you have and will continue to disappoint with your actions. You need to stop and rethink your entry into this tournament. I will not hold back any method within my power to stop you from accomplishing that title win. It’s my destiny to claim that championship and finally bring my message full circle to all the open years around the world. While you go back home, disappear for a lengthy period of time and blame others for your short comings. You want to know something that is funny, you! I know exactly what you’re going to say before you even speak in your promo. You’re going to bash me for appearing at your gym. You’ll bash me for being a fake profit or bringing up your family into this matter. Honestly you have no one but yourself to blame.

You’re an open book to any wrestler facing you today. It isn’t hard for any wrestler young or old to just look at you and realize that man this bitch just doesn’t have it anymore. My name is Roderick Kross and I’m the savior of the masses. I’m the savior of professional wrestling and also the savior to your family. I’m going to do something nice to you Sasha because that’s the type of guy I am, a nice one. I’m going to embarrass you in front of the whole world and gladly send you back to your family a more broken down woman than ever before. Your family is going to look into your eyes and realize finally for the first time in their lives that you SASHA FOOTE IS A FAILURE! You are not welcomed here and when I finally end the career of Sasha Foote, I’m going to be hailed as the true hero this world desperately needs.

Roderick extended his arms, flung his head up and yelled “Amen.” Roderick looked down, placed one hand on the bible and continued to talk.

Roderick Kross
There are no lengths I will not go to prove my greatness. There is no unspeakable horrors that I am not willing to unleash to uphold my name. You will suffer for the sake of my greatness. That is not a firm belief, it is a fucking certainty. Now listen to me carefully when I say this, bitch tits, because it's quite important...Don’t confuse my kindness for feeling sorry for you because you’re beyond saving. I realized that the moment I first saw you. Your eyes are the window into your soul and your soul was screaming for me to put an end to you once and for all.

You think I'm being presumptuous when I announce to the world that I'm going to beat you? Well it looks as if you might be a little too quick on the draw yourself when you claim that I can't give you the worst pain of your life. I will bury you alive right up to your neck and burn her photo right before your eyes, just so I can watch the walls inside you crumble. Only after I've watched that internal pain course through you will I bring the shovel down onto your head and put you out of my misery. Your physical body is only part of the equation, Sasha Foote. When I pin you in the middle of that ring and prove how powerful my message is, you’ll finally realize the mistake you made signing with this company. You think you've felt pain and THAT is why you will lose. Real pain is what comes after and I have mastered that pain to an extent that will make you crumble at my feet. There is no "Winner or loser” in this match. There is no shining, career moment to be had. There is NOTHING but agonizing pain and many more years of suffering. Your lose to me is going to eat you alive for the rest of your life. I’m really sorry that I have to be the one to end you but god wrote it and it shall be delivered by Ya Boy!

Roderick left for a moment but returned with a lighter. He smirked to himself and brought all three photos into frame.

Roderick Kross
Let this be a message to all who pose to fight against the way of Roderick Kross. Your life, your loved ones an any you hold close to your heart will feel the fiery pain of god himself. Come PrimeTime, your entire world Sasha will be set ablaze as a new utopia will amperage and set forth a new beginning in Alberta Wrestling Federation. Let it be written, let it be said and let it be enforced!

Roderick lit all three photographs on fire and laughed evilly to himself as he tosses them aside. You can see the fire getting bigger as Kross excited from the building, The camera soon caught on fire but when it fell to the side, you can see the photos of Sasha, her son and daughter becoming ash. The Scene fades to a fiery end and the show to commercial.

---

AWFMarket.com commercial promoting t-shirts and memorabilia featuring Bret Hart

30 May’s AWF Gold Rush pay-per-view commercial announces the finals of the tournament will occur there

In Calgary, Bret Hart guest stars in a local furniture store commercial and announces to the world that he bought his brother Bruce a loveseat here for like 75% off in the clearance section of the shop that he still uses thirty-two years later

---

Fade in, with a title card reading ‘Moments Ago’ in the left corner. Rockstar Spud is lay on bench with his phone held above his face. He's on Skype with his mum, Doreen.

Doreen
Oooooohhhhh, love, how exciting!!!! So how are things with the new job my little Rocker?

Spud
Great mum, absolutely great, this is the big time.

Doreen
Brilliant, just brilliant.

Spud
You'll never guess who my first match is?

Doreen
Oh my gosh, is it "Handsome" Frankie Fusion?

Spud
Mum Frank Fusion retired in 2001.

Doreen
Even so love, he was the best, in 1987, me and your auntie…

Spud
Pauline watched him in Brighthouse Theatre.

Doreen
And…

Spud
He winked at you during his entrance.

Doreen
He did, have I told you this one before? I tell ya what love, if he'd of been a bit bolder you could have had a much prettier father.

Spud
IT'S NOT HIM! He's retired, Raging Dead, I'm wrestling Raging Dead.

Doreen
ooooohhhh, he was quite a dish in the day as well, my my. I watched him absolutely batter Tim Travis on one of your uncle Bens videos you know. Wonder if he wants to be your stepdad?

Spud
Bloody hell mum! And I know, I used to love that video.

Doreen
Let him know if he's ever by Birmingham…

Spud
Jesus mum!

A stage hand comes into the room.

Stage Hand
Spud, Raging Dead's promo is on, come watch.

Doreen
Who's that she sounds pretty.

Spud
Gotta go mum.

Doreen
I love you! Make sure you tell RD.

Spud quickly hangs up the phone, then awkwardly smiles at the stage hand. The stage hand leaves the room. Spud waits til the door is completely closed and presses the voice message button on his phone.

Spud
I love you too mum. I'm gonna make you proud.

Spud enters the interview area, there is a tv screen and a camera. Spud is awkwardly trying to adjust his position to best watch the TV.

Spud
(whispering to self) Body camera, head TV, body camera, head TV, Body camera, head TV.

Camera Man
Just watch the TV for fucks sakes.

Spud nods and just watches TV normally.

Raging Dead (V/O)
"You are going to set the bar for the competition I will face this year in AWF… so it is imperative that I am victorious. I have boldly proclaimed that I will be the first to hold the AWF World’s Championship”

Rockstar Spuds entire demeanour changes, as if the words lit a fire inside him. A look of pure fury comes over Rockstar Spud, Spud storms out of the interview area, turns to the camera man.

Spud
You, with me, now.

The camera man is wide eyed, stunned and follows Spud. Spud returns to the room he was in previously, sits cross legged on the bench and glares at the camera, which has a slight dutch tilt due to no tripod.

Spud
CARDINAL SIN. You call MacBeth the Scottish play, you don't play Stairway To Heaven in guitar shops and well in our industry there are plenty but the only one I swear by, the only one I truly abide was broken. Raging Dead, you quite rightly built this match up, this a final play acting as something else, this is a classic, this is the match of round one. With all due respect sir, I am not your entree, this is not a buffet, I am fucking Man V Food sized problem. You're great at battering people but I'm even better at getting battered and somehow finding the will to take the wins home, my band are struggling, I'm struggling, genuine hunger fuels me sir. Knowing all of this, as you do, you still couldn't help yourself, Cardinal Sin, you don't tug on Superman's cape, you don't piss in the wind and when you're facing someone like me in round 1, the absolute last thing you should ever do is mention winning the tournament. Cardinal Sin, beat me then think about belts, I'm not allowing myself to dream about being champion, my dreams are fuelled by wrestling Raging Dead, getting head butted till my nose breaks and smiling and asking for more. I want the war you bring, you're already thinking about Postwar Victory Parades. Cardinal Sin Raging Dead, Cardinal Sin.
I'll see you in the ring sir.

A return to the arena.



To the sound of Mama Loi, Papa Loi, the lights dim.

A spotlight illuminates the ramps and a strange silhouette grows larger until it is revealed to be all 6'10 of Big Homunculus crammed onto a mobility scooter.

Mark Beverly: The following contest, set for one fall, is a round one bout in the inaugural Alberta Wrestling Federation World’s Championship tournament. Rolling down the isle, weighing two hundred twenty pounds - a reject of the pygmy tribes of Central Africa: THE Big! Homunculusssss!

His massive frame can barely keep balance on the tiny seat and his knees poke out two feet on either side.

Once he arrives to the ring he approaches the steps, however is totally dumbfounded by the first step, which is seemingly too daunting an effort to scale. He walks back to the mobility scooter and grabs a booster step, which he uses to gradually clamber the steel stairs into the ring. Once he's on the ring apron, he is similarly challenged by the ropes. Despite the top rope coming up to just below his belly button, he elects to lie face down on the floor and gradually shimmy his body into the ring like a beached halibut -giving its last flail before death - all to the tribal throbbing of Exuma.

Once in the ring he stands to his imposing full height and reaches into thin air. A microphone falls from the sky and he catches it without looking.

Big Homounculus
All my life I've had to fight. I fought alongside my family in the pigmy tribes of unexplored central Africa when the five foot behemoths tried to wipe us out. I fought against my family when they called me an imposter for breaching the 2 foot 4 inch height limit of our tribe. I fight to get a booster seat on the bus. I fight to get disabled ramps into wrestling ring. I fight the police when they arrest me for fighting on the bus. I fight to be acknowledged as a human being equal to any fully grown adult, so to see another over grown bear crawling out of the forrest to prey on the smallest victim he can find is no strange occurrence to me.

As a dwarven youngling I looked up to Rey Mysterio as an inspiration, that despite my vertical challenges I could achieve anything. It is no coincidence that the towering inferno, Andorra, targets Rey Mysterio, the smallest WWE champion in history.  It is the most cowardly trait the lanky devil possesses. My elders taught us the more inches on a man's frame, the deeper his connection with the devil and Andorra proves this. I know what you're all thinking: "You're crazy! A dwarf such as yourself could never take down such gargantuan opposition!" But I've heard this since I was born. I was told I'd never dunk on a regulation basket. I was told I would never wear XXXL shirts and I was told I would never buy shoes from the adult section. Behold, Big Homunculus: Giant Killer.

I will pursue Andorra with a selection of my most malicious techniques. In the days preceding our match, Andorra, I shall grow out the stubble on my scalp, so that when you face The Dome of Doom, and I grind my skull against your face with an annoying level of abrasion, it will irritate your skin and possibly cause some form of mild rash. This is the brand I shall leave on you, so whenever you look in the mirror for the next 24 hours or more, you will be reminded to pick on someone your own size.

Big Homunculus heads to exit the ring then stops and spins around like Columbo.

Big Homounculus
One more thing. To the vile and putrid trolls who wile away their so called "lives" spreading rumours over demented communications platforms known as the internet, I must refute your gangrenous rumours that my phallus is considerably larger than average. Take into account my diminutive frame, and even your malfunctioning brains - deprived of oxygen due to sheer altitude - will realise that it simply looks oversized by comparison. My genitalia are, at best, of average size for an adult human.

Big Homunculus stoically stares out at the crowd, who have been in a bemused silence since the beginning of this segment, raises his arms and drops the mic. The mic, being dropped from such a great height, shatters on impact with the floor.

The lights dim. Three seconds of Barry Manilow bursts out of the speakers for no reason before the titantron begins to play a VT:

Around a table is sat a large Hispanic family of a middle aged man, Juan Carlos, and four kids. They are silently pretending to eat and chat as they are being filmed, occasionally the film crew appears, reflected in windows and mirrors.

Juan Carlos, Lieutenant Andorra himself, is being interviewed from his seat. Behind him, the family are not pretending any more, staring blankly into space.

Juan Carlos
Emm, every day we eat the food. Together. It is the important part of our day.

Cut to the family silently pretending to eat and chat with more gusto. Back to Juan Carlos.

Juan Carlos
When I do the fighting, I think of this. If I did not eat the food, I would, you know…

He makes a slashing gesture by his neck.

Juan Carlos
Die.

Cut to Juan Carlos inside a car.

Juan Carlos
Hello, my name is Juan Carlos del Bosque, but you maybe knowing me better is Lieutenant Andorra.

Cut to Juan Carlos standing next to a sign to Andorra in full costume, amazing mask, green underwear. Back inside the car.

Juan Carlos
You are here with me driving today in my car.

Cut to Juan Carlos standing next to his car in his driveway in full mask and costume. Back inside the car.

Juan Carlos
Each days I am driving from my home in Andorra to Barcelona, in ehSpain.

Cut to a map of North-East Spain, a shoddily-green-screened Juan Carlos (in full mask and costume) walks across the map. Unfortunately his green underwear is now invisible, replaced by a topographic map of the Pyrenees. Cut to a car park. Juan Carlos is getting out of his car.

Juan Carlos
Welcome to Barcelona! I will show you around this beautiful cit-

An abrupt cut to the Sagrada Familia with Juan Carlos, in a fetching red polo shirt, standing in front of it.

Juan Carlos
Gaudi was -

Another abrupt cut back to the car park with Juan Carlos mopping his brow.

Juan Carlos
What a day! I hope you have learned today with me about -

Abrupt cut back into the car. Night has fallen, Juan Carlos is driving home, no energy left.

Juan Carlos
Is a long way to drive every day y'know? A long way, long time to spend away from my family. My kids.

There's a silence as he stares out towards the road ahead. The closer he looks, the less there is to see. He's driving blindly, almost as if the hope is visibly leaving his eyes. He flicks the headlights a couple of times, not much difference.

Juan Carlos
Headlights are shit on this thing. I thought if I get a boring car it at least works, no?

The cameraman laughs politely, but Juan Carlos almost snarls.

Juan Carlos
But I gotta do it huh? For my kids, or they don't do good, or they see their daddy and they think is okay to fuck up in this world... I look at them every day, I have to be the man who shows them is okay to win, to fight. To fight dirty.

Cut back to the dinner table. His oldest daughter, Penelope (15), is just staring at her dad.

Juan Carlos (v/o)
I look at Penelope. Everythings I do, is to show her I love this family. But she only cares when I am there.

Lucas, 13, is fighting a knife with his fork.

Juan Carlos (v/o)
Already I am Lucas' hero, for him I have to look at him in his eyes and see myself as he can see him. He will copy what I do, I am so proud, but he cannot make my same mistakes.

Elena and Miranda, 9 and 8, are on their phones.

Juan Carlos (v/o)
Elena and Miranda. They were there when the worst thing in the world happens to me. My wife was murdered. She was killed by Rey Mysterio in the third most brutal act of vehicular manslaughter ever recorded in Andorra.

Cut back to Juan Carlos posing by the sign to Andorra as before.

Juan Carlos (v/o)
They were walking with their mami. I saw them first, and I held them so hard, so long.

Pan to a whole display of flowers and pictures of a woman hung on the railings to the road, Juan Carlos walks over, head bowed.

Juan Carlos (v/o)
And this, opponent, of mine. Sees Rey Mysterio as a hero. Laughs at the death of my below-ed wife.

Juan Carlos' voice cracks. Cut back into the car. With tears in his eyes, Juan Carlos turns the car to a halt off the road. He takes a moment to compose himself.

Juan Carlos
This man laughs at my tragedy and makes up his own. He talks of the struggles his had but has no feelings, no lessons learned because of them. He thinks he can annoy me, but I tell you know. You cannot annoy a desperate man, you only making him more desperate, more dangerous. I can only look this bully in his eyes when he is on the knees to beg me forgive him.

Juan Carlos reaches into his pocket, begins to search for something.

Juan Carlos
I fight for the justice for my wife and the millions more slaughtered by Rey Mysterio.

Cut to the dinner table. From behind his back, we see Juan Carlos pulling something out of his pocket. His kids slowly turn to watch.

Juan Carlos (v/o)
I fight for my kids, to live with them, to give them back their father and their better life. But most of all -

Cut back inside the car. Juan Carlos is holding his mask, he pulls it on.

Juan Carlos
I fight for Andorra.

He cranks up the radio playing the Andorran national anthem and begins to mutter along to it in Spanish. An automated translator kicks in.



He drives the winding roads of the mountain.

At the dining table, he rises to his feet, mobbed by his kids. They celebrate in many places including in Barcelona and the site of their mother's death, but end up jumping up and down together on the table - squashing food and smashing crockery as they do.

In walks Claudia, carrying a 2-year old Enrique-Arturo in her arms. Juan Carlos jumps down from the table and addresses the camera.

Juan Carlos
I forget, this is my second wife and my boy Enrique-Arturo. Hey lil' muchacho!

Enrique-Arturo
Que?

Juan Carlos
She get through a very difficult time after my wife, but my kids still hate her.

Whip pan to the other four kids, still on the table, feet in soup, staring daggers at Claudia.

Juan Carlos
There's a lot to unpack there it's... a lot. Anyway!

He rips off his clothes to reveal his full costume, kisses Claudia and runs directly at the wall.

He bursts through the wall into the backstage area of the arena. It appears that the dining room was all filmed in a set, but the crowd still whoops with amazement.

Juan Carlos runs straight for the Gorilla position. As he sprints, Big Homunculus picks back up the microphone he dropped. Homunculus looks over his shoulder at the camera. A tear rolls down his long cheek.

Big Homunculus
What a beautiful family. I wish I had one. A family to love and to love me. A family to fight for a family to feel for.

In my empty world the only solace I find is in the haze of violence. You complain of fighting to feed someone? I fight to feel something, Anything to make me feel as though I do exist externally of my own mind. If this person or that person is causing me pain then I must be real, I must matter to them on some level. More than I did to my tribe, my family.

By this point, Andorra has sprinted to half-way down the ramp but has stopped to stare a hole through Homunculus during his speech.

Big Homunculus
I never had a family dinner to look forward to, to miss. And yet your deceitful brush paints you as the victim because you have a loving home to return to. The same brush that paints Rey Mysterio as having taken two lives as opposed to only one.

When you're not fighting or training you're living the good life, so it's no wonder you're so woefully under prepared. When I’m not training or fighting I spiral down into the morbid, self loathing pit of my own mind so I just train and fight and train and fight and train and fight until I have nothing left and I have to return...to myself. So it is no wonder that, despite my small stature, I am pound for pound the most lethal combination of skills on this fledgling roster.

Let me introduce you to four friends of mine.

In the arena, on the side of the stage, walk four men, dressed as the Ghanaian pallbearers. They flamboyantly carry in a casket with a much darker rendition of the usual meme song playing. The pallbearers lay the coffin down in front of Big Homunculus and stand in a line to stare at the camera.



A close shot of Big Homunculus' face.

Big Homunculus
What a beautiful family. It must hurt them so much to see yet another loved one… destroyed.

The camera pans down to see the casket opening, to a reveal a manikin wearing a bridal gown and a Rey Mysterio mask over its face.

Andorra screams at the titantron when he sees what the suggestion is and runs into the ring toward Big Homunculus and kicks him in the shins.

Juan Carlos
Game's on bitch!

The bell rings, as Homunculus reels from the chin strike, and Lt. Andorra circles him quickly. He bolts in quickly, sending another quick kick at the shins of Homunculus, before awkwardly rolling backwards to escape the reach of the Tribal-man. Homunculus looks to be in silent awe at the agility of the man he sees as so large.

Andorra runs in again, getting off another shin kick on the little big man. Homunculus looks angered.

"Oh you want to trade shin kicks?" he speaks, before delivering a hard one of his own. Andorra's leg flies out from under him, as he hits the mat face first, whilst Homunculus clutches at his own toe, giving little whimpers of pain.

Before Homunculus can capitalise on the downed Andorra, he is back at his feet, running at his opponent. Homunculus sees him coming though, and tries to meet him with a left jab. Andorra tries to move his head back to avoid it, but the sheer reach of Homunculus sees him connect with Andorra anyway, and the family man clatters backwards to the mat.

Homunculus goes for a pin and referee Filipe Santana is right on it!

Filipe Santana: 1..




Kickout!

Homunculus follows up with a ground and pound on Andorra, somehow doing so whilst still stood on his feet. Andorra manages to guard with his arms, before delivering a double kick to the shins of Homunculus, before lifting his right boot, and connecting it with Homunculus's jaw.

Lance Storm: All jokes aside, these two men are going at it.

Andorra is back at his feet, and lands a picture perfect dropkick into the chest of Homunculus, sending him reeling backwards into the turnbuckle.

Andorra charges, and hits Homunculus with a splash, yelling out the name of his oldest daughter, "Penelope!", as he does so. He charges again, another splash, "Lucas!". Another splash, "Elena!". Another splash, "Miranda!". He charges up for another splash, uttering to himself, "And my first child to my second wife…", and he jumps in the air to hammer Homunculus with a fifth and final splash…

"Enrique-Arturo!"

But he's caught in mid air with a huge swinging left hook from Homunculus! Andorra spins through the air, crashing down to the mat back first.

Christian Cage: Those gangly arms are deadly! It looks like he's knocked him onto Dream Street!

His children in the audience, feet in soup, whilst sad to see their dad brutalised in such a way, seem content that the tribute to their baby half-sister Enrique-Arturo was left incomplete.

Another pin from Homunculus…

Felipe Santana: 1…














2- Kickout!

Andorra tries to get to his feet, but a fast double jab from Homunculus sends him toppling back down. As he tries to scramble to his feet again, it's a triple jab this time, and Andorra is sent reeling backwards, falling awkwardly through the middle rope and to the outside. Homunculus moves over to the ropes, ready to carefully dip down and follow his opponent to the outside under the bottom rope, but Andorra is up!

He hits a kick into the face of Homunculus, who tumbles backwards into the ring, and Andorra jumps up on the apron. He looks from the crowd, up to the ring post, and beckons to go to the top rope. The crowd cheer, eager to see the family man they've come to love over the course of his promo and the match itself hit a high flying maneuver.

Christian Cage: Don't listen to em - they'll lead you astray every time!

Andorra smiles, pumping his fist in the air at the warm reception he's received, but this distraction costs him, he turns around, his neck found in the gigantic and spindly hands of Big Homunculus, who lifts Andorra up over the top rope, and tosses him into the ring!

Christian Cage: I bet you Priscilla and the Prince would love a guy with arms like these.

Lance Storm: What're you suggesting, Cage?

Andorra clutches at his back, as Homunculus boots him back down to the mat, his hands back around his throat, strangling the family man. The referee begins the count, accosting Homunculus for the illegal move, the crowd boos growing heavy for the Giant Dwarf. On the count of 4, he lifts Andorra to his feet, and throws him at the ropes, clattering him with a big boot on the rebound!

Pin from Homunculus…

Filipe Santana: 1…















2..















KICKOUT!

Homunculus looks angered at the resiliency of Andorra, grabbing him again by the throat, and using it to lift him to his feet. Homunculus looks ready to prep Andorra for a chokeslam, his patented 'Dwarven Chokeslam', which in all but name, is the exact same as a normal Chokeslam, albeit, hit by a man who believes he is a dwarf.

Homunculus lifts Andorra up!

But Andorra breaks free!

He rolls Homunculus up for a pin!

Filipe Santana: 1…














2…
















KICKOUT!

A shocked Homunculus is back at his feet, and turns around just in time to see Andorra spring off the ropes, and deliver a huge spinning kick to the face of the Giant Dwarf. Homunculus tumbles backwards, falling face first into the middle rope, where he gets hung up.

Andorra looks at the new position of Homunculus, set up perfectly for a 619, and he looks up at the crowd in anticipation, as they get louder and louder as their excitement grows for it!

Andorra bounds off the ropes, charging at the prepped Homunculus. He spins on the ropes, ready to deliver the 619… but Homunculus has moved just in time! Andorra spins wildly on the ropes, before tumbling awkwardly back into the ring. He gets to his feet as quickly as he can, only to be met with a hand on his throat…

He's lifted into the air before he can react! DWARVEN CHOKESLAM!!!

Christian Cage: He's out!

Homunculus pins Andorra!

Filipe Santana: 1…



















2…















KICKOUT!

Andorra is still in it. Homunculus looks furious, as he readies himself to polish off Andorra. The family man is back at his feet, and Homunculus charges off the ropes, his spindly figure leaping through the air for a RUNNING HEADBUTT!



BUT NO! Andorra ducks! Homunculus soars right over his head, clattering into the middle rope yet again! Andorra is quicker this time, he's already sprinting off the ropes, and Homunculus can't react in time…


619!!!


Homunculus's head flings backwards as he topples backwards through the ring, coming to a stop as his back hits the turnbuckle. Dazed, he's helpless as Andorra is upon him, lifting his long legs up and locking them in place with the ropes on either side of the Giant Dwarf. Andorra grins at the crowd, who are surging with anticipation for what's coming.

Andorra looks at the ref, and points at something behind him. The referee turns, curious as to what it is, before Andorra charges at Big Homunculus! "Enrique-Arturo!" he yells, before landing a huge kick into the balls of Homunculus. The Giant Dwarf lets out a wail of pain, as he flops forwards into the ring, the referee only now turning back around having missed the illegal act.

Homunculus is still on his feet, clutching at his nether regions in pain, keeled over slightly, and Andorra takes this opportunity. He bolts at the ropes once more, before using the momentum to spring over Homunculus's head, his hairy belly scraping his cranium, before he locks him up with a SUNSET FLIP PIN!

Filipe Santana: 1…











2…















3!

DING DING DING!

Homunculus's testicles are in too much pain for him to kick out, and the crowd burst into cheer as Andorra jumps to his feet, having secured the pin, and in turn, the win!

Mark Beverly: The winner of this match, advancing to the next match: Lieutenant! Andorra!

He points right over to his family in the crowd, a big wide smile on his face, as they clap and support him, but with a varied level of emotions. Andorra jumps to the nearest turnbuckle, and raises his arms in victory, showered by love and approval from the fans, as the broadcast fades to another commercial break.

Lt. Andorra d. B. Homunculus in 6:36

---

---

The broadcast returns to a wide shot of the entire arena lying in wait.



There is no emergence until the rock classic’s first drum roll has played. On cue, Rockstar Spud reveals himself to Calgary and the Alberta Wrestling Federation for the first time via live feed.

Mark Beverly: The following contest, set for one fall, is the your first-hour main event and a round one bout in the inaugural AWF World’s Championship tournament. Introducing first, from the Back Seat of the Tour Bus and weighing one hundred forty one pounds: Rockstar! Spud!

As the specifics are recited, both sides of the stage are pandered to before he begins to make his way down the aisle. His hands are spread out the whole time and as he stops at the mid of the ramp to soak in the warm response, the song, and the atmosphere as a whole. His nameplate flashes across the screen.

Lance Storm: Rockstar Spud had just a little more to say before this one.

The screen splits into two: the top right continuing the live feed of Rockstar Spud’s entrance and the bottom left of the promo tape.

Spud
AWF my name is Rockstar Spud and tonight is the biggest match of my life. You see for Raging Dead I’m just a name, of 1000 names, but I am wrestling THE Raging Dead. Some of you will look at him and leer, say he’s too old, too battered, too bruised, washed up. Raging Dead I’ve been dealing with toos, all my life, too small, too ugly, too cheesy and I prove every single one wrong, every single day, I expect no less from you. Tonight I’ll be wrestling the best Raging Dead, a wily Raging Dead who has more tricks than any person on the roster and it will require every ounce of me to beat him and whether I do or I don’t I will leave that ring as more than just a name on his list, I will leave the ring with the respect of a true legend.

Oh yeah and be sure to check out my band Local Leather at the West Nova Scotia retirement village, Friday afternoon.

The presentation returns to normal to find Rockstar Spud stood atop one of second of one of the turnbuckles as the arena fades into darkness. Upon the titantron appears a video and the camera cuts to show the view from the ring before crossfading into the full scene. The drone camera reveals the gateway to Bayside Cemetery in Ozone Park, New York. It flies in and stops in front of an open grave. The tombstone reads:

Nathan Ned Gust
Feb 25 1975 -
Father / Husband / Legend

A man creeps out from the shadows and places his hand on the tombstone. He lets out a sigh.

Raging Dead:
My time is almost up. I've done more in this life than I could have imagined. My wildest dreams fulfilled. Expectations met and exceeded. It's almost time… to rest. My year in this business also serves as my final year… period. I might as well make the most of my remaining time… and leave a lasting impression on the world.

The moonlight shines down on the pro wrestling legend known now as The Raging Dead. After nearly thirty years in this business… he is making one last go of it before hanging up his boots… for good.

Raging Dead:
Good evening, Rockstar Spud. You are looking at a weathered and worn warrior… with a new lease on life. You are the first and foremost obstacle between me and the AWF World's Championship. You chose your words wisely by saying some look at me as old, battered, bruised, washed up. Keyword: some. They're not totally false views… but those who utter such words pay dearly. You took a higher road and it's… refreshing. I come from a time when everyone was out for blood and everyone was angry all the time.

Don't get it twisted. I will be out for blood and I will be angry… just as soon as that opening bell sounds. I've put too many miles on this old body to just roll over and play dead now. When I return to Calgary for the first time in over ten years… it is for the sole purpose of dominating you and moving on in the AWF World's Championship Tournament. Not even a global pandemic will stand in my way of adding that title to my list of achievements.

I have been in this business for nearly three decades. In that time I have accumulated more titles and trophies that I can even remember. My memory isn't what it once was… but I don't recall ever winning a title in Canada. This one will likely be my first. What an honor it will be for you, Rockstar Spud… to be the first to fall on my path toward the top of the AWF mountain. If you survive our encounter… you will be a stronger man than anyone expected. Even in defeat… you will be more than you were. Keep your chin up, Rockstar Spud. Brighter days are on the horizon.

To you... and to everyone in this tournament... you are all about to witness the beginning of the end of The Raging Dead, the first man to hold the AWF World's Championship. Thousands of matches behind me... with only dozens ahead of me. What an exciting time... to be alive…



The arena flashes in strobes as Raging Dead in the same ring gear as his first promo on the night makes a deliberate and unextraordinary march down the ramp, the nameplate flashes across the screen at the first point he slows his pace.

Mark Beverly: And his opponent, from Ozone Park, New York, weighing in at two hundred eighteen pounds: Ra-ging! Dead!

Raging Dead’s eyes never move from Rockstar Spud who seems to be in his own world inside the ring. The decades-long pro rolls into the ring and once on his feet quickly disrobes from his trench coat, the music fading and the lighting returning to normal.

Rockstar Spud finishes his stretching with the ring rope to see Raging Dead having walked up to just feet away. Spud straightens his back and begins to engage in the natural staredown that begins building. He begins to walk to the right, not expecting to be able to punk his grizzled opposition enough to retreat back yet still wanting to find himself some room. Referee Wilford Daniels keeps careful, between the competitors as Raging Dead doesn’t let his eyes wander nor his body drift from keeping square with Spud’s. The signal for the bell.

Ding!

Immediately, Raging Dead lifts a leg and plants his heel in the mouth of Rockstar Spud, sending the man flatback on the mat.

Lance Storm: A ferocious start. He’s shooting the half; this could be a short first hour main event on the debut episode.

Wilford Daniels: 1!.......










2!........











3!-KICKOUT

Raging Dead grabs Spud’s hair as his head pops up with the kickout.

Christian Cage: This is aggression I can get behind, Lance. This is a veteran at work. Aggressive start and no letting up!

Dead is to his feet and has dragged Spud to his, before forcing his head into the top turnbuckle of the nearest corner. As Spud’s head reverberates, Dead aggressively pushes him back first into the corner and lays into his chest with a textbook knife-edge chop. Spud’s body curls in natural defense to the hit, but Dead’s gouge to the eyes causes Spud to send himself back into the corner in reaction.

Wilford Daniels: Hey, watch it, buddy! I’ll throw you outta here, don’t test it. Matter of fact, get him out the corner, let’s go!

Another knife-edge chop to the chest begins to deeply redden Rockstar Spud’s chest. An elbow to the top of the dome forces Spud to reveal his chest yet again and once more does a knife-edge chop find its mark.

Wilford Daniels: 1!

Like Scott Stenier himself, Raging Dead begins a sudden flurry: club to the back, knife-edge chop, club to the back.

Wilford Daniels: 2!

Knife-edge chop, club to the back, knife-edge chop.

3!

Kick to the gut. Knee to the face. Knife-edge chop.

4!

Club to the back. Wilford Daniels pulls at Raging Dead’s nearest arm. The glare in response causes Daniels to take a quick three steps back. It was just enough time for Rockstar Spud to compose enough energy to surprise Raging Dead with an efficient gutpunch, and in very quick succession: a quick kick to the calf, kick to the mid-abdominal region and then - with all the force he could muster - a headbutt to the windbarren midsection. Raging Dead staggers back before tripping on his own feet to the mat.

Christian Cage: Rockstar Spud’s standing on that middle rope now! Not to sound biased or anything, but I have a feeling a spinning diving elbow would be extremely effective.

Raging Dead gets to his feet huffing for air but is taken immediately back down with a spinning diving elbow.

Christian Cage: What I tell ya, Storm?

Lance Storm: Hook of the leg here.

Wilford Daniels: 1!.......












2!








KICKOUT!

Spud is back up as soon as Dead gets the shoulder up. Already having dealt with some of what comes when the more-experienced of the two is focused and in possession of the upper hand, he quickly stomps on Dead to keep him shaken. He returns to the middle rope from which he had just descended. Crossbody - the same leg is hooked.

Wilford Daniels: 1!......









2!.......



KICKOUT!

Lance Storm: Rockstar Spud is very smartly trying to go for the win as quickly as he can get it.

Christian Cage: Of course he is, Storm - do you know who he’s in there with? You don’t dominate the wrestling industry for decades by being a nobody.

Rockstar Spud has at this point returned to the corner, but this time he has scaled to the top rope.

Lance Storm: Third time up on that corner, now.

Christian Cage: They say the third time’s the charm.

The charm it is indeed, for Raging Dead’s sake, who rolls out of the way and the ring just in enough time during Rockstar Spud’s flying elbow drop descent. Spud grabs at his elbow and tries to get back to his feet while Raging Dead runs around the ring to the side opposite Rockstar’s view before sliding into the ring.

Christian Cage: Would you look at that - Raging Dead from behind with that double-handed bulldog!

The force of the maneuver forces Rockstar Spud’s body to spring back up and flip him over to his back. Dead is already off for the ropes by then, before landing a neck-crushing leg drop - the outside leg gets grabbed and body is on body.

Wilford Daniels: 1!........










2!........




KICKOUT!

“Alright, kid,” the near twenty-year pro can be heard uttering before forcing Spud to sit up, tucking his bicep under his opposition’s chin, rattling the younger head. His grip is expert, and the way he wrenches on the neck causes grunts and pulls from the prone one.

Lance Storm: Many can’t understand why the headlock is utilized. It is not expected, Cage, to win a match for anybody, but a well-applied version like this one will certainly wear the smaller Spud down immensely. Look at the way Raging Dead leans in with his weight to truly get the neck sore.

Christian Cage: Thanks for the history lesson, smark.

Raging Dead: How’s he feelin’, ref, huh?

Another wrench and a deeper lean in.

Raging Dead: Breaking ya down, kid.

Spud has not stopped squirming, just looking and dying to find a way out.

Raging Dead: Piece by piece.

The hold is broken and another elbow shot to the top of the head leaves Spud grabbing his head and flat on his stomach. Raging Dead gets to his feet and kicks Spud in the kidney. A knee follows in the exact same place, then a delayed elbow drop. He gets up one more time before laying in three quicker versions of the knees from before, Spud shouting and gasping for air with every blow. The third knee stays, before being grinded into the small of the back and Raging Dead’s angry hands pulling up under the chin. Here, Rockstar Spud finds himself yet again prone and in the unbreaking grasp of Raging Dead.

Lance Storm: Another highly effective and purposeful submission maneuver here, but this one is more likely to cause a submission.

Raging Dead: C’mon, ref, ask the kid. Ask him dammit!

Wilford Daniels: Whataya say, Spud, huh?! Whataya say?! You can call it off right now, whataya say?!

Rockstar Spud: N….

Raging Dead’s knee grinds in deeper and his hands pull the chin back more aggressively.

Wilford Daniels: Tell me, Spud: do you give up?! Whataya say?!

Rockstar Spud: No! Never - no!

The crowd holds no particular contempt against Raging Dead but they suddenly surely begin to rally behind Rockstar Spud, who tries pulling and squirming for anything. As the crowd’s rally grows, it seems as if he begins to use some previously unforeseen strength to pull himself up from the ground in a type of push-up, but Raging Dead can seemingly shift the slowly changing moment and shoves his face into the mat.

Raging Dead: Naw, we’re not doing that tonight, twerp.

He rolls Spud to his back and gets body-on-body.

Wilford Daniels: 1!.......










2!..........






KICKOUT

The quickest kickout from the Rockstar yet, and Raging Dead seems to nod his head briefly. He gets to one knee as Spud stirs himself just prior to consulting his options. Once decided, the ropes are his direction. He returns looking for a clothesline, but it’s ducked by Spud who runs for the ropes just left - Dead forced by momentum to the opposite set.

Lance Storm: They’ve got the same idea in mind, they’re coming back - another crossbody from Rockstar Spud. Both men are back to their feet almost immediately. A dropkick to the thigh from Spud - and then another to the jaw and Raging Dead is groggy against the ropes.

Spud hastily jumps from the middle rope of the nearest set of them and clock Dead clean in the mush with a perfect triangle dropkick - just nearly sending the bigger man to the outside. It is not until Rockstar Spud bounds off another set of ropes and leaps with a third crossbody that both men tumble over the top rope and crash recklessly on the mat closest to the entrance ramp.

Christian Cage: Jon Bon Jovi wishes he could do something like that!

Lance Storm: “Caution to the wind,” as they say.

Spud had taken the best out of the collision and as such is the first to his feet, although not without gripping at his midsection and straining with each step. He sets himself up in front of Raging Dead as the older man uses the ring apron to help himself.

Wilford Daniels: 4!

Lance Storm: Referee Wilford Daniels is at a count of four as Raging Dead is to his feet; they have until ten.

Rockstar Spud: C’mon, then, ‘kid.’ What more do you have for me?

Raging Dead charges the taunting Spud, who craftily catches his knee with a low dropkick, sending the former world champion face first into the crowd barricade. Without delay, Spud finds himself on the apron and measuring his opponent.

Christian Cage: Don’t be an idiot, Spud - you got your chance. Don’t waste it! Wait look at this!

As soon as he’s at his feet again, Raging Dead finds himself being sent upside down into the set of steel steps just only about ten feet away.

Lance Storm: A flawless hurricanrana after jumping off the apron by Rockstar Spud, and I think that’s the most pain-inducing move we’ve seen yet tonight.

The hurricanrana-into-the-steel-steps is replayed from three different camera angles, the last one being shown in slow-motion and showing how badly Raging Dead’s left knee bent over the top set of steps before they went flying nearly into the barricade.

Wilford Daniels: 8!

Having recovered during the replays, Rockstar Spud quickly rolls in and then back out of the ring to break the count. He pulls up the wobbly legged Raging Dead before rolling him into the ring. Spud follows Dead, who rolls nearly to the center.

Lance Storm: It seems like Raging Dead’s still out after that one, and Rockstar Spud is going for the pin right here.

Wilford Daniels: 1!........










2!...........











3!--KICKOUT

Christian Cage: It looked like Raging Dead barely kicked out. He’s gotta watch out, because this Pint-Sized Pariah is coming back!

The kickout leaves Raging Dead on his belly, attempting to pull himself up. Measuring and waiting, Spud keeps his legs moving until the perfect time comes for him to execute a springboard back elbow - before kipping right up and springboarding once more, coming down on Raging Dead’s neck with an athletic leg drop. The cover, after the combination.

Wilford Daniels: 1!........




2!........







3!-KICKOUT

Lance Storm: How is he still surviving?

Christian Cage: Thirty years.

Rockstar Spud does not allow frustration to creep in, but instead stays focused and determined. He measures Raging Dead as he gets to all fours and does so well, with the rope-rebounded knee strike putting the bigger man back down to the mat. The ropes that they tumbled out of he returns to, going through the top and middle ropes.

Lance Storm: I wonder what he’s planning here - he’s on the apron stalking. I do know something about that, Christian.

Once Raging Dead has made it to his feet, in a seamless swoop even despite the match’s wear so far, Spud puts it all on the line with the outside-to-in springboard attack.

Christian Cage: He caught him! How did he manage?! He’s got him slung over his shoulder! What the hell is this?

Lance Storm: I’ve seen this set up before, Cage - shades of Fit Finlay here.

The mat thuds the loudest it has all match with Raging Dead’s quick execution of a back-to-belly piledriver. He just leaves his body laid on top of the man.

Wilford Daniels: 1!........







2!.......









3!--KICKOUT!

Christian Cage: No! I don’t believe he did!

A brief and low chuckle utters out of Raging Dead who bows his head as the referee confirms “It was two!” to his face. He begins nodding with a devilish smirk as he gets to his feet. He drags Spud up by his hair yet again and guides him to the center of the ring.

Lance Storm: Oh what is this - a martial arts legsweep by Rockstar Spud from nowhere, and he’s putting all his weight on Dead’s legs. He’s folded all the way up.

Wilford Daniels: 1!........











2!










3--KICKOUT

Just barely, Dead is able to push Spud off and send him flying.

Lance Storm: Both men to their feet and it looks like a sudden flash of adrenaline. Spud ducks the clothesline and he’s off the ropes. Back he comes: frankensteiner - no Raging Dead holds onto the legs and begins pulling him back up. Spud’s just used the momentum to sunset flip over his opponent - he’s got another quick pin.

Wilford Daniels: 1!.......














2!










KICKOUT!

Lance Storm: And they’re both back to their feet again. Dead with the kick to the gut, stopping all the momentum, and now he’s picking Rockstar up.

Christian Cage: Christ, he’s slipped out of his grasps’ again!

Spud clubs at the back twice before pushing Raging Dead into the ropes. Dead returns and quickly attempts a flying forearm, only for Spud to roll under the attempt and running himself into the other ropes. By the time Dead’s recovered from the failed move, Spud has come to meet him with a dropkick dropping him. They’re both back up and Spud’s attempt at an Irish whip gets turned around, Raging Dead sending the smaller man flying over the top rope.

Lance Storm: Rockstar Spud is cagey: he’s held onto that top rope and is on the apron yet again.

Raging Dead thwarts that plan once more, this time with a stiff clothesline that drops Spud to the apron backfirst. Fifteen seconds go by before he even stirs again, Dead taking the time to recover on his knees in the center of the ring. Back to his feet, he notices Spud pulling himself up backwards - superkick to the back of the head! And his opponent falls like a ton of bricks to the mat outside.

Christian Cage: Did ya see the way his body bounced off the ground? Hell, did you hear it? That’s it.

Raging Dead seems to agree, as he crosses his arms and brings them down back as to signify ‘he’s done.’

Wilford Daniels: 3!

Lance Storm: If you’re Raging Dead, do you take this countout even though Spud wouldn’t take his own earlier?

Christian Cage: Just because Spud wanted to be a dumbass doesn’t mean a consummate professional like Raging Dead is gonna pull the same thing. You’ve been in there, you know you’ve got to do whatever it takes to get the win. That’s doubly-so in a World’s Championship tournament.

Wilford Daniels: 7!

Spud has not yet moved, and Raging Dead stares from above. The camera’s angle is perfect to see a sudden change in his facial expression.

Wilford Daniels: 8!

Raging Dead shakes his head and pulls at his own locks. A very frustrated “Dammit!” is hollered seemingly impulsively and suddenly Dead’s outside the ring.

Christian Cage: The hell is he doing?!

He pulls Spud up and rolls him into the ring. He follows and shakes his head before pulling the opponent he’s just saved up.

Christian Cage: Pele kick from nowhere! He’s brought Raging Dead down yet again! Was he playing possum?

Lance Storm: Perhaps it was the work of nemesis, Cage.

Christian Cage: … What the hell are you talking about?

Rockstar Spud begins to ascend to the top rope with as much haste as his beat-up body can muster. One last deep breath is taken as he assures his balance. There it is!

Christian Cage: The Five-Stone Spud Splash!

Lance Storm: Wait - last second! Even I’m screaming - last second, knees up, he’s hooked him in a small package!

Wilford Daniels: 1!........











2!..........















3!

DING DING DING!

Raging Dead lets go of the winning hold as soon as the bell rings the first time. Spud’s body seems to have gone its distance for the night as it only barely limps up before accepting being down on its back. Raging Dead sits and collects himself, nodding slowly and similarly as earlier, although it seems he can’t stop.

Mark Beverly: The winner of this match, advancing to the next round: Ra-ging!.... Dead!

Replays of the many hard hits play, both men being put over by the commentary team for the stellar performance. The finish gets replayed twice, the second showing in slow motion how Raging Dead was able to use his thirty-year ring presence to not only get his knees up in time, but get a quick enough grab to take his opponent into the pinfall just after.

The shot returns to the victor after the graphic flashes us back. His nods continue as he groggily pulls himself up with the ropes. His get up is shaky and he continues to use the ropes to his advantage as he stares down at the fallen Rockstar Spud, still nodding. He drops his body onto the middle rope and smoothly exits to the outside, but his eyes return to Rockstar Spud as he walks around the ring and up the ramp. All the while, nodding.

Raging Dead d. Rockstar Spud in 13:09

The first hour fades out.

---

The Rock stars in ‘Tooth Fairy 2’ premiering this October!

’Surviving Val Venis’ reruns starting this Thursday on VH1.

---

Sweeping shots of a forest. A small grey figure (SNIVLEY) runs down a very faint forest path. Snivley dressed in a grey vest, torn grey pants and dirty fabric shoes zooms down the path.


Snivley
(Panting) MASTER! MASTER!

Snivley arrives at the mouth of a large cave.

Snivley
MASTER! I bring news! From the AWF!

From the darkness of the cave a high pitched evil cackle is heard. Out of the darkness comes an evil sounding voice.

Boneius
What news Snivley?

Snivley
A match lord, a match has been set, and your opponent chosen.

Boneius
Good, tell me Snivley. Who has dared to enter the ring against me, the overlord of evil.

Out of the darkness of the cave comes a blue leg.

Boneius
The champion of chaos.

Next a blue torso with purple armour.

Boneius
Soon to be ruler of the kingdom of Foreverton.

The skull shaped head of BARRON BONEIUS emerges from the cave. He stands over Snivley. His cape billowing in the wind.

Boneius
Who challenges I, Barron Boneius!

The Barron cackles once more. Despite it being day, lighting flashes behind him.

Snivley
A do gooder sire, by the name Max Ironside!

Snivley gets down on his knees and presents an open laptop to Boneius. The page open shows a picture of Max Ironside. Boneius whips a cane round in front of him. Knocking the laptop to the ground.

Boneius
WHAT! I CAME TO THIS WORLD TO DESTROY GOOD, NOT ONE HANDED CRIPPLES!

Snivley
My liege I –

Boneius
IF I WANTED TO HIT SOMETHING REPULSIVE THAT’S COVERED IN DROOL I’D JUST HIT YOU!

Snivley
Sire, I believe it could be considered discrimination to call him that these -

Boneius kicks Snivley sending him rolling backwards.

Boneius
Considered?! Evil always discriminates!

Boneius cackles loudly. The laptop screen is lying on the forest floor. The image of Max flickering on it. Boneius walks over to it stroking his cane while looking at the screen.

Boneius
I'll flatten this freak, once I'm through with Max Ironside, the only IRON in-SIDE him, will be my precious BONE BATTON.

Boneius pumps both fists in the air repeatedly cackling with his cane (The Bone Batton) in one hand. Lightening flickers behind him once more. Snivley crawls to his side, gets up and starts cackling as well. The image of Max flickers one more time on the screen before Boneius crushes the screen beneath his foot.

The fade in is a return to the arena.



The crowd erupts and every single participant rises to their feet. A plethora of signs pop into the air almost all at once as the lighting in the arena reaches a deep pink hue, one brighter than all the rest that constantly travels around the capacity crowd.

Out of the curtain emerges the founder and owner of the Alberta Wrestling Federation looking the healthiest he has in the last couple years, sporting comfortably a custom leather jacket similar to the days of old with the first official ‘AWF’ logo shirt under it, tucked into his blue jeans. His decision to rock combat boots may send some fans to a place of nostalgia of 1997 RAW is WAR and confrontations with unforgettable names like Shawn Michaels and Farooq, but today is about the future and so seems the mindset of the owner who doesn’t overindulge in the heat of the moment. His nameplate flashes across the screen with the addition of ‘AWF Founder’ over the top.

Mark Beverly: Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome the owner and founder of the Alberta Wrestling Federation: Bret! Hitman! Hart!

The crowd pops yet again at the name, and Hart finally stops while ascending the steel steps to take it all in. He slowly finishes his ascension and walks to the center of the apron. His back to the hard camera making little difference, the natural showman can’t help but give the crowd what the want: his signature pose there on the apron to the sound of another surge of cheers - the lighting suddenly then changing in the center of the ring as it always used it. He enters the ring between the top and middle ropes and gives the hard camera that same pose and the cheers seem to be ready to come as he commands. He takes a ‘PrimeTime’-labeled microphone and allows the crowd to tire out before beginning his speech.

Bret Hart
Y’know something….

One more pop destroys the chance for the sentence to be completed and Bret allows the cheers to subside naturally.

Bret Hart
Y’know something - for a minute here, it might not sound like it, but I’m not gonna waste too much time here because to be quite frank this whole thing isn’t about me.

The crowd cheers again out of reverence but Bret is more speedy in his attempt to continue his point this time.

Bret Hart
I made my name in the 1990s because I was a young man in this industry who busted his ass every damn night. I became known as the ‘Best There Is, the Best There Was, and the Best There Ever Will Be’ in those same nights by kicking everyone else’s ass along the way.

With each word, Bret seems to gain back an ounce of that heat that made him a multi-time world and tag champion in his incomparable career.

Bret Hart
And the way I did that is by understanding why the legends before me were so great and showing them and the world why that just wasn’t gonna cut the mustard anymore. In the ring, on this microphone, in the back - every part of this business, I just got it.

He breaks as the crowd drowns him out yet again anyway.

Bret Hart
I’ve founded the Alberta Wrestling Federation to allow the platform for the next generation of stars to find their path, create new histories in front of your eyes, and get it. So here we are. Unfortunately, life happens - and don’t get me wrong: life is good...

He pauses and walks around the center of the ring.

Bret Hart
But life has come by in a form or two and I’ve had some health problems we’ve all heard about by now. And the tasks that need to to be done to give the right platform to the wonderful talent of the AWF, like those you’ve seen tonight already, just can’t be done by a man in my condition.

The crowd’s response turns negative at the hint that Bret’s appearances may not be frequent.

Bret Hart
That’s why I picked a commissioner. Making sure I picked the right man for the job that represented the same things I did and was going to give it all to the wrestlers and you, and that’s why I needed the extra time. But I now know, in my gut, that I’ve done it right. Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome your commissioner - Texas-born and Texas-royal…



















……..
















…………









Bret Hart
BOOKER T!



The crowd erupts again and once more they’re all to their seats. The lighting turns to a slow, deep orange strobe and before long the man himself makes it all official coming from behind the curtain. His maroon three-piece suit with a white button up and silk maroon tie looks like an expensive combination, but the shined dark brown Oxfords surely ran a pretty penny in its own right. Those long dreadlocks of his are tied together in the back, his whole get-up embellished by the glistening large-faced watch and dual-Hall-of-Fame-ring combination on his left hand.

He panders to the crowd on both sides of the stage with his signature chest pats and arm point of acknowledgement. With each step it seems the crowd’s excitement for the former six-time world champion grows, but no pop for the man is louder than when he stops at the midpoint of the ramp: he removes the hairtie from his dreadlocks, shakes them free, becomes entranced in his five-fingered palm, and pops up to the accompaniment of large spouts of fire behind him. A nameplate flashes across the screen reaffirming his new position as AWF Commissioner.

Many fans along the stage that put out for a front row seat are rewarded with hand slaps from the newly appointed authority figure until he reaches and makes his way up the steel steps. He pats his chest and points one more time before his swaggered entry into the ring and as if through muscle memory, his stride is steady toward his usual corners where he performs his pose. Once a microphone is in his hand, he meets Bret Hart in the center of the ring and the two men shake hands. Bret allows the time to Booker.

Commissioner Booker
Gotta tell you, dawg, you had me sitting in the back on the edge of my seat for a minute there. Wasn’t sure if I actually had a job for a good hour. But you came around. And you did what you had to do - you did what was right. Now the Booker Man is officially here, in the Alberta Wrestling Federation, as your commish!

The crowd lets both men know of their approval of the decision as Booker smiles at the crowd.

Commissioner Booker
First order of business for Commissioner T is gonna make history. Because one thing I’ve always been about is that gold, sucka. The AWF World’s Championship will be the new standard in time but there’s always room for more!

Satisfaction is audible at the idea of another championship.

Commissioner Booker
We can’t forget where we come from no matter how big we get, and that’s why we are introducing the honor of Alberta: the AWF Provincial Championship.

The arena seems to rumble in its excitement. Booker can barely get his next bit through.

Commissioner Booker
The qualifying matches begin next week. Now can you dig that, sucka?!



Christian Cage: What the hell is going on here?!

The crowd is taken aback this time but a large pop quickly follows. The cameras snap to the stage where not long after ‘Stone Cold’ Steve Austin himself has come. Some sort of rant is on his lips as he walks to the ring with purpose and a snarl, totally uninterested in anything aside from the ring and the Hall of Famers inside of it.

Lance Storm: The fans may not know, but Bret Hart did host an Icons’ Dinner and had many legends in the back for tonight’s premiere. We weren’t expecting any aside from whoever the commissioner was going to be, though. Steve Austin doesn’t look very happy to be here, either.

Christian Cage: It’s never been a good day for me around an angry Rattlesnake - Bret and Booker better watch their backs!

When he walks into the ring, his only focus is grabbing a microphone and he’s suddenly the center of all the attention. Having taken note to his more hostile demeanor, Booker T has straightened his back and kept his feet well planted.

Steve Austin
Three weeks ago when I was reading my paper, because a Global Icon and a National Treasure like ‘Stone Cold’ Steve Austin reads his damn paper every morning, I went to the sports section to read about the damn XFL Renegades and what do I see? Well whatdoya know. A brand new federation. A new stomping ground. A new cooler full of cans of whoop ass, just waitin’ to be cracked open.

Austin begins pacing around as the crowd approves the prospects of the crowd before generally returning to his post, except this time just a little closer to the Hitman.

Steve Austin
And Stone Cold being Stone Cold, I figure it’s just gotta be a matter of time before Bret Hart, my friend, is calling me asking me to get involved. Then a week goes by and I hear you’re in Texas, looking for the next commissioner. And I think, hell, Texas is Steve Austin Country - he gotta be coming to get a hold of me. Then next thing I hear you’re back here in Calgary. And I say to myself: ‘Well shit, son, maybe he just got a bit busy. It’s Bret Hart, don’t work yourself into a shoot kid, he’s a busy man.’ I hear all this Bret Hart talk to reporters about the future this, the future that. I brought the World Wrestling Federation into the future - dammit they’re still looking for the ‘next Stone Cold.’

His eyes go wide and he begins to stalk closer and closer to Bret. Booker steps closer to Austin with each, putting us into a sort of Mexican standoff.

Steve Austin
Then I get an invite to your icons’ welcome party for tonight and think, well hey maybe he’s gonna announce it as a surprise. Y’know, maybe he’s just been ribbing us all a bit. Then you go on and wanna talk about Texas royalty all your twitter and I think, ‘Well damn there it is, it’s official, he’s making the right call.’

Austin looks over at Booker before looking back at Bret, the microphone dropping slow. Their staredown is reminiscent of Survivor Series 1996, and noses begin to touch.

Commissioner Booker
Hey, look, man. Ion know what you’re getting at or what your angle is here but I know the kinda man you are and you know the kinda brother I am. If you gotta problem with today’s breaking news, then ain’t no thang…

The sudden snap of Booker to pull the left side of his blazer off causes a large stir of excitement that only builds as the whole thing is stripped and left on the top rope. Austin does not move but simply stares in Booker’s eyes the whole time and the microphone returns to his lips.

Steve Austin
As I was trying to say before I was so rudely interrupted.

Booker only stares back and begins to walk closer as he undoes his cufflinks. Austin’s eyes don’t move from the commissioner’s.

Steve Austin
We were supposed to be friends, Bret. I didn’t ask you about it even up until fifteen minutes ago, Bret, cause I trusted you, Bret. Bret, I trusted you. But you wasted my time, Bret. You’ve disrespected me, Bret. ‘Cause you know as well as everyone else, ain’t no man was better for the job. So it don’t feel very friendly no more. And I’m having a hard time keeping my composure.

The sleeves are rolled up and Booker is ready to go. Austin suddenly backs away from them both and points an aggressive finger at Bret.

Steve Austin
The only advice I got for you, son, is don’t trust anybody.

He drops the microphone and suddenly gets into a tense nose-to-nose staredown with Commissioner Booker. Before long, he’s backed away to exit the ring, accepting the chorus of booes that have replaced the admiration he received earlier. The awkward feeling in the room is attempted to be eased once the Rattlesnake has returned halfway up the ramp with the production crew playing the classic Austin theme once more, but the glares amongst the three men are broken only by the fade to commercial.

---

---

The camera opens to a shot from earlier in the week in an empty gym with the exception of one person; that one person of course was former World Champion, Sasha Foote. She was standing in the middle of an empty wrestling ring.

Sasha Foote
This is where it all escalated. Everything started between Roderick Kross and I on Twitter. He claimed he would be the first world champion in Alberta, and I let him know that I was throwing my name in the hat as well, and that his path may not be as simple as he thinks. Nothing wrong with that, right? Competition is always a good thing. But what happened? Mr. Kross took it upon himself to come to this very gym, uninvited, and make things personal. You might have thought you were getting into my head and that the mind games were going to help you at the debut episode of Tuesday Night PrimeTime on May 5th, but you actually accomplished the exact opposite. You got my attention and focus in all of the wrong ways for you.

The camera flashes a match graphic for Sasha vs Roderick that says "AWF World’s Championship Round One" before quickly flashing back to Foote standing in the middle of the ring.

Sasha Foote
Speaking of focus, you know where mine is. Where is yours? One look at your Twitter page shows that it's not on the match as much as mine is. On April 26th, at 12:02 pm you quote tweeted someone named Peyton Jackson quote 'showing off her ass' and put praying hand emojis. Really? Today you're tweeting about Oreos. Don't get me wrong, it's okay to have a regular existence outside of the ring, but for someone who claims to be some dark, spooky tough guy, tweeting about Oreos with heart emojis and women's backsides shows me that your priorities aren't where they should be.

Sasha walks to the ropes and steps through them, moving to a boxing bag just outside of the ring. She takes her shoes off and begins kicking away at the bag with ferocity. After about twenty kicks, the mother of two stops and holds the bag still.

Sasha Foote
There are two sides to every story. For you, this is your chance to make a name for yourself and to become a star. All it takes is one match. A win over me does so much more for you than you will probably admit, but then there's my side. And I'm not here to be a stepping stone. I'm here to be a champion.

The video feed cuts once more to highlights from Sasha's previous world championship win in Chicago. As she hoists that company's world title into the air, we cut back to present time as she lets go of the bag.

Sasha Foote
I stepped away from the ring so that I could be there for my daughter and my newborn son. That's it. They will always be the most important people in my life, and my motivation. Speaking of...my daughter wants to follow in my footsteps, and she wants to see me back in the ring doing what I love, which is why I'm here. What motivates you, Roderick? What happens if you lose? I've been at the top and the bottom. I've thrived in the top spot, and I picked myself back up when I lost some of the biggest matches of my career. All of those emotions are difficult to deal with, but with experience...you learn to grow from all of the possible scenarios.

At the Scotiabank Saddledome we both get a chance to back up our claims of becoming the first champion in AWF history. Not only were we given the chance to face each other, but Bret Hart believes in us so much that he put us in the main event. Ask yourself, are we only here because of you? Or does he also see the potential of a Sasha Foote return to prominence? You're so caught up in everything being about you, that you haven't even realized it takes two of us to get this main event.

The feed cuts again to a screaming crowd before flashing back and showing Sasha who was now back in the ring.

Sasha Foote
Imagine on the night of May 5th, what we have the opportunity to do? We get to perform in some of the best wrestling fans in the world in Canada, a place with a rich wrestling history. We also have a chance to pave our own path to championship gold. And it all begins here...in a ring just like this. This is where I was born to be, and what I was destined to do. Wrestle. Inspire not only my daughter, but millions of little girls around the world. I want to show little girls that they can grow up and compete against and even beat the boys.

Sasha walks around the ring before moving her foot along the canvas and taking a deep breath.

Sasha Foote
Where I have the advantage is experience. I'm far from washed up or past my prime, I've never been in better shape. All you have to do is do what you're best at: Go to Twitter and pull up some of my pictures. Physically, this is the peak. And despite being away from active competition for the better part of two years, I've been running these gyms and I've maintained my cardio and ability to wrestle as long as I have to in order to get the job done.

Where you have an advantage is unpredictability. You're the new kid on the block, and you probably have some things up your sleeve that I haven't seen before. So what will win out? Experience or unpredictability? The hunger to get back to the top, or the starving newcomer ready for his chance at the big time? Woman or man?

There are so many questions...but remember, I've proven I can be a world champion. I can handle everything that comes with it. Are you sure you're up for competing against a champion not only in wrestling, but kickboxing? You get your chance love...don't mess up.

The camera crossfades to a view of Christian Cage and Lance Storm where they have been all night long.

Lance Storm: Welcome all to the second hour of the AWF PrimeTime premiere. You just saw another taste of the main event that has turned personal and gotten heated fast.

Christian Cage: Are we gonna ignore what just happened at the top of the hour?

Lance Storm: Christian is, of course, referring to the announcement of Booker T as AWF Commissioner by Bret Hart that was quickly interrupted by a disgruntled ‘Stone Cold’ Steve Austin. He’s made threats, and it’s fair to say there’s been a tension in the arena since.

Christian Cage: It’s not tension you’re feeling, Lance; it’s justice on the horizon. Nothing against Commissioner Booker, but let’s think about it: do the two compare?

Lance Storm: I’ll let your new boss answer that for you when he sees fit, Christian. It’s now time for our next round one match in the tournament.



A garbage truck appears from the side of the arena, and out of it steps a smiling and dancing Ruxx Rampede, bin bag slung over his shoulder.

Mark Beverly: The following contest, set for one fall, is a round one bout in the inaugural Alberta Wrestling Federation World’s Championship tournament. Now coming the ramp, from Boynton Beach, Florida, weighing two hundred seventy pounds: RUXX! Rampede!

He moves down the ramp, high fiving the fans, before he gets into the ring. He has a mic in hand.

Ruxx Rampede
Ladies and gents, it's ya boy, the Binman of Boyton Beach, Ruxx Rampede, ready to hit AWF with that Ruxx Stampede!

The crowd cheer, and start chanting 'BINMAN OF BOYNTON BEACH!' over and over.

Ruxx Rampede
Now tonight, I have a got a match with Priscilla Kelly... and let me tell ya, dealing with bin bags full of waste all my life has trained me for opponents like her. Her and her big boy toy Albert, that big bald freak, are gonna take a trip to the nearest landfill once they come up against me in round one of that tournament, because let me tell you ladies and gents, tonight... I will be TAKING OUT THE TRASH!!!

The crowd cheer once more, as Ruxx starts to dance and jig.

Ruxx Rampede
Ruxx Rampede will be your first ever AWF World Champion! Proving to everyone that garbage men CAN be heroes!!!

Ruxx starts swinging the bin bag over his head proudly.



The crowd seem unsure of how to react as ‘Oh Bondage! Up Yours!’ hits the PA system, causing Rampede to stop during his binbag swinging, and join the crowd in looking up at the stage. The colossal and hairy Prince Albert slowly emerges onto the stage, wrapped in tight leather bondage gear that sees folds of hairy flab stick out in awkward places, a ball-gag fit tightly into his mouth, and a chastity belt secured onto him tightly. Despite the discomfort of the audience, the heavily pierced Prince Albert seems all too pleased with his predicament.

Audience eyes rest on Albert only briefly though, before they wander up to rest on the girl sat on one of his huge hulking shoulders. Pale white skin, hair of crimson and jet black, dark and sensual wardrobe, and a crown of blood red roses sat on her head, it is the grinning Gypsy Princess, the Succubus, Hell's Favourite Harlot… Priscilla Kelly.

Mark Beverly: And his opponent, being accompanied to the ring by Prince Albert, from Moon Creek, Georgia, weighing one hundred fourteen pounds: Priscilla! KEL-LY!

She lets herself slide from the shoulders of Albert, and walks slightly ahead of him, before tugging at a leash in her hand that connects to Albert's neck. The big man whimpers in pleasure, before falling to his hands and knees, and crawls like a dog behind Priscilla Kelly as she skips down to the ring. A grin is still plastered on her face despite the slowly building boos from the crowd at the sight before them.

Upon reaching the ring, Priscilla tugs nastily at Albert's neck with the leash, prompting him to get to his feet, and lift Priscilla delicately onto the ring apron. With Albert clambering behind her, Priscilla gets into the ring, and moves over to a rather disgusted looking Ruxx Rampede. Priscilla eyes up and down his body, before biting her lip at him sensually. Rampede looks flustered, as Priscilla starts to move away from the binman, back into the centre of the ring.

She reaches into the front of her trunks, and to the shock of the crowd, her hand returns holding a full microphone. Ruxx raises his eyebrows and shakes his head in disbelief, like that meme of that one dude.

Priscilla Kelly
Some people think that little girl's should be seen and not heard, but let me make it clear to everyone of that particular mindset right now… you will see me, you will hear me, and you'll love every second of it.

Albert nods enthusiastically, making gutteral and uncomfortable noises as he gyrates.

Priscilla Kelly
And myself and my plaything here, my equally fun loving Prince Albert, will be ensuring that you will be seeing and hearing me plenty.

Priscilla starts to take notes of the ever-rising boos. She raises an eyebrow, and then sighs expectedly.

Priscilla Kelly
Of course, how hopeful I was to think I might not meet resistance… in a company run by Bret Hart. Of course this is a crowd full of pretentious, know-it-all fucking smarks. I bet you all know what 'real wrestling' should be, right? I bet my style is a bane on the existence of wrestling, yeah?

The rising boos confirm this.

PRISCILLA KELLY
All of you, all too ready to tell me what real wrestling is, what I should strive to be… then how come I've just been signed to a company run by Bret 'The Hitman' Hart, and you fat repulsive gimps have paid to be sat watching me. Who's come out on top in that situation huh? Certainly not the lot of you… I'm sure most of you have never topped in your lives!

More boos. Priscilla runs over to the ropes, and spits into the crowd.

Priscilla Kelly
I hope that hit a child.

The boos are even heavier now. Priscilla shares a look with Albert, the pair shrug at one another, and then burst out laughing.

Priscilla Kelly
Depravity, and sadism, and playing to win… is what succeeds in this business. I can play by the rules, and utilise 'real wrestling', but why? Being like I am has got me where I am now, and I fucking love it. I love my life right now. If it had a dick, I'd suck it. 'Real wrestling' is a myth perpetuated by you losers to feel some sense of pride about yourselves as you watch this sport, but you really are so unimportant. You and your thoughts on whether I'm a 'real wrestler' don't make a dint on whether I succeed or not, and I'll prove it.

She beckons to Albert, who reaches into his tight leather jocks, and pulls out a stained scroll of paper. The crowd and Rampede look disgusted, but Kelly doesn't bat an eye as she takes the scroll and unravels it.

Priscilla Kelly
This right here, is my personal contract, drafted up by my lawyers, for how I'll be doing business in this company. You! READ THIS!

She glares over at ring announcer Mark Beverly, who looking red in face, moves over to her quickly as she holds the scroll in front of him and demands he read it. He clears his throat.

Mark Beverly: It states here, and I quote, 'At any point until the bell rings to signify her match has started, Priscilla Kelly may choose to have Prince Albert act as her substitute, and wrestle the match for her. Albert's wins count as Priscilla's wins, if Albert wins a Championship, it is Priscilla who is officially seen as Champion.'

Priscilla Kelly
Thank you dear, now sit back down. So you all got that I'm sure! But if not, let me make it simple! My Prince Albert here is more than just a packing hunk of meat, any time until that bell rings, I can choose to have him do my fighting for me.

The crowd boo even more now, as Ruxx shakes his head incredulously, hands on his hips.

Priscilla Kelly
You people don't deserve to see me fight, you don't deserve my effort. I'll succeed in the company this way and you'll all have to admit, through gritted teeth I'm sure, that I am right. 'Real wrestling' doesn't make a difference to success!

She turns to Rampede.

Priscilla Kelly
So my darling, as much as I'm sure you thought you might've had it easy kicking the head off of a 5 foot 5 woman with your size 13 boot, you won't even get the chance to see how wrong you'd be. You're not losing to me tonight… you're losing to Prince Albert.

Priscilla scrunches her nose at Rampede, before turning to Albert, and pulling the ball gag out of his mouth. She leans in and kisses him sloppily and passionately, causing Rampede to back away disgusted, especially so as Priscilla clasps around Albert's tongue with her teeth, and starts to yank it, stretching it a painful looking length out of his mouth. Albert squeals orgasmically, as Priscilla lets go, his tongue snapping back into his mouth as he lets out an excited roar.

Priscilla Kelly
Have fun baby.

Kelly grins to herself as she moves over to the ropes, and lets herself slide back out of the ring. Albert jumps around giddily and hornily on the spot, slather dripping from his mouth, as he sizes up Ruxx Rampede.

The two behemoths glare from across the ring in opposite turnbuckles, as Priscilla Kelly begins to holler and shout in the direction of Ruxx Rampede, billowing out just whatever disparaging phrase she can think of. As the two men step at the same time, referee Cal Elton signals for the bell.

Ding!

Lance Storm: Looks like a lock - no, Prince Albert surprising with the bicycle kick but it’s ducked.

As Prince Albert reacts to the dodge, Ruxx is gearing up for his turn around, landing a deep-swung uppercut staggering the taller man back. A kick to the gut follows and Ruxx begins an Irish whip, before Albert quickly steps it around and sends Ruxx into the turnbuckle.

Christian Cage: Prince Albert’s gonna steamroll ‘im and end it right here!

Ruxx gets away from an attempted corner splash, with Albert getting more angry than registering his head’s smacking into the top buckle. He composes himself as quickly as possible and ferociously charges Rampede, leading the two into a stiff lockup that gets thrown around the ring and against the ropes.

Lance Storm: I wouldn’t want to be referee Cal Elton in this position.

Christian Cage: Yeah, you’d want Superman in between those two.

Prince Albert eventually gets the upperhand and has Ruxx Rampede backed into the right corner nearest the hard camera. Elton sneaks in between the two men (bet that’s not the first time that sentence’s been uttered) and attempts to pull them apart. Naturally, this is to no avail and he backs away.

Cal Elton: Okay, fellas, we gotta break this one up. C’mon. 1!

He motions for them to get out of the corner and Prince Albert only pushes the pile of them.

Cal Elton: 2! 3!

Prince Albert begins to back up and it seems as though he’s going to allow the clean break. At that very same moment, from his mouth flies a large wad of quickly hacked-up saliva that lands square in Ruxx Rampede’s face. The crowd erupts in the loudest chorus of boos so far in the night.

Christian Cage: Ha! Looks like Al’s a spitter!

After the shock dissipates, the previously well-spirited Ruxx Rampede charges past the referee attempting to keep him relatively calm and begins to chase after Prince Albert, who quickly slides out of the ring. Ruxx is right behind him (Elton the caboose) and the chase begins, around the corner and past Priscilla, and around the next corner before Prince Albert slides back in the ring. In the commotion as Ruxx passes her, Priscilla seems to get a piece of his shoulder and drops dramatically. Just as Ruxx slides under the ropes to meet the opposition, the leathered freak kicks the man in the forehead, dazing him and leaving him on the mat.

Lance Storm: It seems as though Priscilla Kelly might have been seriously hurt in that mayhem, as Cal Elton has not yet left her side. He needs to make sure and fast if we need to get the EMS out here for this young woman.

Christian Cage: She’ll be fine, she’s a wrestler, dammit. Look in the ring and watch art at work.

The art referred to at this point is Prince Albert’s repeated stomping on any and every part of Ruxx’s torso, the kicks steady and firm. He pulls Ruxx up and gets met with two defensive fists to the gut. A swift knee to Ruxx’s groin stops the fighting right then, and an unsatisfied Prince Albert decides a second one might do the trick. A swift scoop of Ruxx is a simple task from there and a running powerslam to the center of the ring sends the sounds of a gunshot up to the cheap seats.

Christian Cage: Art. At. Work.

As Prince Albert hooks Ruxx’s leg, Priscilla Kelly suddenly begins pushing the referee off her and pointing towards the action in the ring. Cal Elton quickly rolls in.

Cal Elton: 1!...........












2!..........







KICKOUT!

Prince Albert is immediately back on the attack and pulls Rampede to all fours. All his might is put behind a double-axe handle club straight to the square of the back, planting Ruxx to his stomach - just perfect for the delayed and deliberately aimed size fifteen to the same location.

Lance Storm: Prince Albert taking the time to aggravate this crowd even more, as Cal Elton is now checking in on Rampede’s condition. They’ve taken to the jovial Ruxx fast and they could do without the abuse.

Rampede manages back up to his knees but another boot from Prince Albert is thrown, this one landing in the middle of his chest. Before Rampede could fully collapse, Albert is on him, grabbing him, and with a momentum-building-spin sends the binman over the top rope and back first onto the mat outside, next to Priscilla still sat on the outside in pain. In the same motion it seems like now Albert too has come under injury as he suddenly grabs at his ankle and falls to the center of the ring shouting cries of despair. Cal Elton’s attention is immediately drawn there.

As if nothing at all happened at all, Priscilla is immediately to her feet at this, and kicking away at Ruxx Rampede’s downed body. She jumps to the top step of the steel ones and awaits Rexx to get up and face her, jumping on his head with a double-knee drop. As he lays on his back, she returns to her act. Prince Albert tells the referee to stop worrying about him and start the countout.


Christian Cage: Priscilla Kelly and Prince Albert are so far and by far the smartest the Alberta Wrestling Federation has had yet. They get it: win by any means necessary.

Lance Storm: Ruxx Rampede is finally stirring and Cal Elton is up to a count of six.

Cal Elton: 8!

Just barely, the roll in is accomplished, but Prince Albert stops him in his tracks with a familiar boot to the head, utilizing the ‘injured’ foot. He pulls Ruxx up by his neck as efficiently as he can before laying in a headbutt that puts Ruxx back on the mat and staggers Albert himself for a second. An attempt by Rampede to pull himself up is put to an abrupt end by a cracking left.

Crowd: Lets go Binman! clap, clap, clap clap clap

Christian Cage: What the hell is this bullshit?!

Crowd: Lets go Binman! clap, clap, clap clap clap

The crowd’s support is echoed on and on, as Ruxx takes every blow as a sacrifice to slowly get himself to his feet. For each step Prince Albert takes away with a shot, Ruxx Rampede gains two from the roar of the crowd. On his knees, he blocks the right blow and grabs Albert’s legs to bring him to the mat.

Christian Cage: No, c’mon, what is this bullshit?!

Ruxx is on his feet and awaiting Prince Albert’s return to his. A gorgeous running clothesline brings Albert back down but he springs back up, only to run into a big boot that keeps him down longer. The monster of a human still is up to his feet in a faster time than most others would be, but only until Rampede sends him to the other side of the ring with a belly-to-belly suplex.

Lance Storm: This Prince Albert is a freak in a few ways, and he will not stay on his back.

Christian Cage: From what I’ve heard from Priscilla, that’s a first.

Rampede awaits Albert in the center of the ring and sort of punks him out before turning through with a discus clothesline that this time keeps the gimp down.

Cal Elton: 1!..........














2!.........










KICKOUT

Rampede is back to his feet fast and backs himself into the corner, his eyes unmoving from his leather clad foe on his rise.

Christian Cage: What’s he -- THE RAMPEDE STAMPEDE! They went flying across that ring!

Lance Storm: Looks like that took everything left out of Ruxx Rampede himself for the moment. Both men are still down after that.

Cal Elton: 1!

Ruxx begins to stir and crawl over to his opponent.

Cal Elton: 2!

Ruxx is able to just barely grab Albert’s leg.

Cal Elton: 1!........











2!........












Lance Storm: The referee’s been pulled out of the ring. It was Priscilla Kelly and now they’re bickering.

Christian Cage: That ref needs to back off and show the lady some respect!

Lance Storm: Lady?

In one motion, Priscilla Kelly abruptly ends the argument with a disgustingly sloppy French kiss and a rather firm grope of the man’s crotch. Meanwhile, Ruxx is yelling from inside the ring for their attention when Prince Albert kicks him in between the legs. Albert uses the ropes as a starting slingshot to send Rampede to the opposite set.

Christian Cage: Bicycle kick! Ruxx Rampede looks completely out of his wits now!

Priscilla uses her vice grips on the ref’s crotch and neck to force his roll into the ring at just the correct time.

Cal Elton: 1!........










2!
















3!

DING DING DING!

As her music plays again, Priscilla Kelly slides into the ring and begins hopping around the ring as if she had done the work all herself.

Mark Beverly: The winner of this match, advancing to the next round: Priscilla! Kelly!

Referee Cal Elton stays on the mat, seemingly stunned and taken aback by all the events. He stares almost obsessively at her as she celebrates and engages in similar tongue-biting fiasco with Prince Albert as before.

Priscilla Kelly w/ Prince Albert d. Ruxx Rampede in 7:32

Crossfade. José Figueiras shows up on screen wearing a pilot's uniform.


José Figueiras
I'm José Figueiras.



The image fades us out to commercial.

---

In the United States, a commercial plays for recruitment into the military.

After that, in the United States, a commercial plays for starving children afflicted probably by some shit the U.S. military caused in the last century.

---

We return to a backstage segment. The camera comes up upon the back of what is assumed to be a woman. Long, strawberry blonde hair was straight over her shoulders. She looks over her shoulder and almost seems startled but her expression changes immediately to one of what one might call confidence. She turns fully to face the camera. She's in a white t-shirt, the collar and sleeves modified to seem more feminine. The graphic on the front is a pink heart with a jagged line through the center with lettering spelling out, 'heartbreaker'. Her jeans are unremarkable, skinny jeans that hug her thighs. One might even say she looks like a young fan that's gotten loose backstage. Which is exactly what the man behind the camera assumes.

Cameraman
Excuse me, miss, but you can't be back here.

The woman smirks, as she listens to the voice of the man that no-one can see

Woman
Oh I can't?

She bats her eyes at the camera.

Cameraman
No. Umm, fans gotta go out the other way.

Woman
I wasn't aware. Sorry. I was waiting for someone.

Cameraman
Well, I came here to talk to a new sign up. But still, you gotta scoot 'cuz if security catches you back here you'll get in some trouble.

As if his words predicted the future, a security guard knocked at the door and entered.

Guard
Good, you found the room alright, Miss Valentine.

Cameraman
Miss Valentine, oh my god... I'm so sor-

The guard turns to stare menacingly at the dude behind the camera

Guard
You should be. This is Laci Valentine. One of the new talents. Don't you read the memos?

Cameraman
I-I-I-I Do, I swear, I'm just…

Laci smiles, puts a hand on the arm of the security guard.

Laci Valentine
It's okay John, I was playing with him a little. It was sort of mean. It's really alright.

John, the security guard nods and then leaves as quickly as he entered

Laci Valentine
You're here to give me some screen time right? That's good. We should just get to it then.

She refocuses herself and stares directly into the camera.

Laci Valentine
I suppose I don't need to introduce myself after all. But a salutation of sorts is in order. I hail all the way from the heart of Toronto. I grew up there. I am a proud Canadian and am honored to be signed to a Canadian company, run by a legend in the wrestling business, and no, that's not just me sucking up either.

She smirks again before continuing.

Laci Valentine
I am not going to stand here and tell you everything I am, instead, I'm going to tell you what I'm not. I am not going to be intimidated, made to feel inferior or be demoralized by anyone who thinks they are better than me simply by the number of years they have done this or the number of titles and awards they've held. I am not a kid, I am not a bubbly sweetheart. I will be brutally honest if I have to be.

I am here to work hard and prove myself, so yeah, I know that I'm not going to be at the top of the heap for things and I know that it's definitely not easy. I am far from naive. I am not typical.

She keeps her composure well, not breaking even a hint of a smile now.

Laci Valentine
I am also not scared of a challenge. I'm not going to run and I am not going to stay down for long when I fall. Because I know I will fall at certain points. It's not the fall that shows character though, it's how many times you get up and keep fighting.

She takes just a moment before finishing.

Laci Valentine
I am not here to make friends or find a boyfriend. The only hearts I break are with my finisher. I am not here to show anybody up or claim things that aren't true. I am Laci Valentine, and I am here to be a wrestler.

She then gives that smirk again before the camera crossfades into yet another shot of Lance Storm and Christian Cage.

Christian Cage: Where’s Tazz, ‘cause that was a tamata!

Lance Storm: You’ve just got a glimpse at Laci Valentine, one of the few stars you’ll see tonight in some capacity that won’t actually be competing. The World’s Championship tournament bracket was comprised of the first twelve signees under the AWF tag - aside from Phil Goode as we learn at the top of the program.

Christian Cage: Laci was a great sight and all, but I’ve got to be honest with you, Storm - there’s something about this Tony Savage guy we’re about to meet that’s really drawing me in.

Lance Storm: That’s right: the 14th signee to AWF, and the first to miss the brackets, Tony Savage sat down this morning with Alberta Wrestling Federation lead field reporter Kevin Kelly.

With that, the scene fades to black before quickly fading back into a black screen with the following white text: ‘EARLIER TODAY’.

Kevin Kelly
Ladies and Gentlemen, wrestling fans all across Canada and worldwide, tonight, we’ve got an exclusive interview with one of the biggest names not just in AWF, but in the entire industry as a whole. A name that’s been on marquees from Toronto to Tokyo, Miami to Malaysia, all around the world. If you follow the sport, chances are, you’ve followed his exploits over the years. Folks…

Making his first ever AWF appearance….Tony Savage!

Tony is backstage in the waiting lounge near the Gorilla position of the Scotiabank Saddledome, enjoying his dinner and watching the event on the television across from his table. Tony’s suited up as if he was attending a board meeting or a court date instead of a wrestling interview; gunmetal gray three piece suit that’s definitely not an off the rack clearance job, Gucci shades, and on his right hand, competing for shiniest trinket adorning said hand with his wedding band is a Rolex Daytona wrapped around his wrist. Tony is currently eating a porterhouse steak with all the fixings, wiping his lips off with the napkin tucked over his dress shirt.

Kevin Kelly
Tony, first off, what is plan for your career here in Alberta? What can we expect to see you bring to the table?

Tony smirks upon hearing the question. He finishes chewing his food, washes it down with a sip of rye on ice…

Tony Savage
Funny, you should mention bringing things to the table. *pints at his dinner* I had a local steakhouse deliver that to me personally. Waygu-Kobe beef sitting on that plate right here. The most expensive, sought out meat on the planet. That cut right there; $220. For one steak. That’s more than a lot of people spend on their entire grocery bill for a payday. But, besides the taste and texture alone making it worth every damn penny, you should have seen the heads turn when the look and smell hit their senses.

Everybody stopped to see what was about to be served up.

Everywhere I go, Kevin, every venue I wrestle, I see the same thing over and over again; people showing up to work not looking, acting, even eating the part. I see grapplers coming to work dressed like they missed laundry day for two weeks straight, eating garbage, talking straight nonsense. A lot of wrestlers treat this sport like a joke. Me, when I come into work, I go out of my way to ensure when they see me, from the promos to the fighting to the lifestyle, that “professional” aspect in professional wrestling is front and center.

No stupid nicknames, no cheesy carny gimmicks, no bulls**t! All Killer, No Filler. Just one of the best trained, best looking, best dressed, and savviest fighters the game’s seen in years. That is what turns the heads, plants the asses in seats, and puts those shiny gold belts everybody loves around waists.

When everybody else is serving up McNuggets, I’m bringing the beef. And it’s a damn fine cut.

Kevin Kelly
Since you came after the sign up period for the World Title Tournament, does it disappoint you you won’t be able to compete for the big belt right away?

Tony Savage
Not gonna lie; it would have been nice to gun for the brass ring right off the bat. Then again, I’ve seen time after time, people using these things as a shortcut to get to instant gratification. A quick buck, a fast title. Instant celeb. Then, I’ve seen a lot of those people crash and burn because they come in with the mentality because they won a big battle, the war ends. But once the real action starts, they often fold like towels under the strain.

My goal is not instant gratification. I’m here to continue a legacy in the making. Real superstars of the sport don’t just grind for belts. They make moments.

Turning piss break matches into Match of the Month Candidates, and MOTM’s into MOTY’s! Destroying or creating careers. Building feds and fan bases. I’ve done all of that my career, win or lose, up or down. Give me a midcard throw away belt, I’ll polish it into a jewel of the industry. Put me in a match nobody says will work, I’ll make it work. Even coming in, right off the bat, and making the focus, the hype switch from the tournament to one man…

Those things are the true signs of greatness in the game. Things I see sorely missing from the industry at large, and this roster. That’s why I’m here; to show you the right way to eat.

When they serve up the same crap on people’s plates, Chef Tony’ll bring in the Michelin Star rated cuisine. When the Brand X wrestlers start poppin’ off about their chops, Chef Tony shows up with the cutlery and cuts them up for lunch.

These wrestlers think they know how to do the thing, they’ll about to get the master class. Then, they get served up on a platter to the resume.

Gold, dollars, glory, competition; I eat it all up. Come Fight Night, when they come at me thinking they’re hungry, I make them learn a lesson Childish Gambino rhymed about.

He reaches down, grabs another forkful of that decadent beef, and relishes every chew.

Tony Savage
Breakfast, lunch, and dinner’s for beginners; you don’t even know!

The last bite is savored slowly, his eyes wandering the area before he stands and begins to walk away.

Kevin Kelly
Well, where ya goin’?

Tony Savage
What you should be asking, Kelly: isn’t he supposed to be sitting at home?

From his pen pocket he pulls out a toothpick with which he uses to point out Phil Goode prowling rather suspiciously near the Gorilla position. The camera zooms in to ‘the First’ as Savage plops the pick in his mouth.

We cut to another scene of Dublin from earlier in the buildup to this episode, as indicated by the small graphic that pops in the bottom left. This scene opens up to see Roderick Kross sitting in his chair inside his decent sized apartment building. He was clapping along with the biggest smile on his face. How can Roderick be this happy knowing just in a few days time, he is going to face off against the returning Sasha Foote? Is Roderick letting his overconfidence get into his own head? It couldn’t be, Roderick knows better. Roderick proceeded to stop clapping and leaned forward staring into the camera with an intense look on his face. This was his moment and he wasn’t going to let some washed up veteran take it away from him.

Roderick Kross
Before I address my first round opponent Sasha Foote, there is something I want to address. There was a person who questioned me not knowing some fucking Dublin meaning. Let it be known right here and now, I moved to this country when I was a small child. My parents didn’t care about the culture or anything for that matter. We were escaping from a terrible situation and Dublin, Ireland fell right onto out lap. So with that being said, you all can fuck off and out of sight.

Roderick like someone flipped on a switch, he leaned back smiled and continued on with now a serious tone coming from within his voice.

Roderick Kross
So my opponent decided to go off and honestly I’m not going to respond to anything she says because in all honesty, nothing she said really warrants a response. During that entire promo, she never convinced me to be afraid or be worried that she is the real deal in professional wrestling. Like take Alicia Lukas for example. That woman went through months upon months of rehabbing her injury to return to the ring. She showed determination, the will to not give up with all that against her. She is a true example of what wrestlers like me want to become. What do you honestly have to show for your efforts besides popping out a few little shit heads? You continue to brag and brag about how you’re a former champion and blah whatever comes to mind from you. Honestly I don’t think your mind is all in this tournament. I truly believe your heart is just not meant for today’s generation of wrestlers. You need to get that through your think skull before really coming back to the ring.

I’m not going to go on an entire rant about how I’m better than you or you’re better than me. That would keep us here all day and I know no one wants that to happen so I’ll tell you this. This match up between you and I is one that people are going to remember. It’s the first main event in this companies’s history. You and I can honestly tell people that we were apart of history in the making. I mean we could say that but you’re more concerned about what I say on a fucking social media platform that worrying about the match itself.

Roderick takes his shades off and stops for a brief moment. He could explain how he got his hands on her children’s photographs but he decided to leave that a mystery. He continued to remain still like in a deep trance, thinking to himself about the next course of action. The path was right there in front of him the path to the Alberta Wrestling Federation World Championship. This was his moment and a win against Sasha would really spread his influence across the world and make a believer of many who watch. Roderick snapped out of his deep trance before he looked back at the camera before continuing on.

Roderick Kross
Do you really want to become world champion? I mean it Sasha, is this really want you want? Tell me if I’m wrong but you were event interested in this company before I posted I had signed with them. You just couldn’t help yourself now could you? You just had to barge in, push a young talent aside and be like “Oh really now? Maybe I should sign there as well and fight you.” Again Sasha, I never back down from a fight no matter how tall the task is before me but you need to get a life. You should really consider just remain a stay at home mother, take care of your old man husband and those bastard kids of yours. Wrestling just isn’t for you anymore but as for someone like me who is young, fresh and ready to fight anyone who stands in my way. Let’s say you do beat me and go on to win this title? What is that championship win going to really mean for your legacy? Like you said, you’ve already become a champion before.

Yes the thought of becoming a first time champion in a brand new company is appealing to any person in a tournament but that won’t mean much to you as it would for me. I have 2 career matches in professional wrestling outside my Indy scene days, winning that title would mean the world to me. I can win that championship under 10 career matches and cement my standing among my wrestling peers. There is going to be some fucking changes around her. I will not let the wicked run through this federation without punishment. Blood will fall from the heavens, angles will praise the swing of my fists and kicks. God himself will applaud the audience's reactions of what I do to every single one of my opponents. Look into my eyes Sasha and know what I say is true. The path to enlightenment is still revealing itself to me with every passing day. My message will break through all the minds and show them that the unknown isn’t something to be afraid of but something to embrace and love. I will become the judge, jury and executioner of Alberta Wrestling Federation.

Roderick smirked to himself as he was very proud of what he explained to his main event opponent but he knew he wasn’t done yet. He had many more things to say and he wasn’t going to hold back anymore.

Roderick Kross
PrimeTime is going to be my beginning and your end Sasha and I hope you’re ready because if you thought I pulled a wool before with those photos of your kids than you have no idea what the type of man I really am. You’ve no idea the type of dept I’ll sink too to defeat you at PrimeTime. I know someone as talented as you won’t take me lightly and I appreciate that. You pride yourself in being respectful towards every single opponent you face? You showing respect towards me is something to look forward to in this match. But enough of the kissy face bullshit because we all know that all my children around the world don’t want this ass kissing shit between one another. They want hard hitting action and one of us getting really hurt and I’m sorry but that person is going to be you Sasha. I am going end your career because you never really should have came back in the first place.

People are probably already saying this your victory without the sound of the bell going off. That ring is my sanctuary. That ring brings me inner peace and a self-sense of what I must do every time I enter through its ropes. I always come to the problem every time I do step through those ropes. What if the opponent I stare across from me is exactly like me but better? What can I do against a wrestler who can counter every move, be ready for every situation and make me pay at every corner? Who knows honestly? I do know is that wrestler isn’t you. You’ve been away from this business for years now and honestly I don’t think randomly signing with a company is going to get your fighting spirit back.

Roderick pauses one last time before knowing exactly what to say as he proceeds to finish off his last promo of the week.

Roderick Kross
I honestly think that you’re an overrated piece of shit from way back in the day or whatever that company you were in because no one cares what company Sasha Foote wrestled in. Before you jump the gun of by saying; You should show more respect towards the people who’ve paved the way for you to get into this business. Yes you’re right and I have but for you I will not. You randomly signed with this company to screw me over and I will not stand for it. This is my moment and I will take it as such. When my arm gets raised in victory, I want you to remember something. I want you to remember the sting of this defeat because losing in your return match is really going to fuck up that pretty little mind of yours now won’t it? You wouldn’t want to let down your children now do you?

Roderick smirks and walks away from the camera as the scene fades to black. Soon after, we come back to the arena.



Those first eight synth hits each trigger a different shade of purple or blue to flash throughout the arena. Immediately after, a small grey bursts from behind the curtain walking with a limp and a purveying a wary look around the arena. Closely behind him is the Dark Overlord of Evil himself, Barron Boneius. His helmet is adorned and his Bone Batton proudly held in his right hand, with his cape draping in an ever so unholy manner fitting for only him. A spotlight shines on him and his servant-thing as his nameplate flashes across the screen.

Mark Beverly: The following contest, set for one fall, is a round one bout in the inaugural Alberta Wrestling Federation World’s Championship tournament. On the stage, being accompanied by Snivley, from the Kingdom of Foreverton, weighing two hundred ten pounds: BARRON! Boneius!

His walk down the ring is the slowest of the night and the fans hate it.

Barron Boneius: Yes, aha! Distress at the extraordinary length of my ring arrival! For I relish this! Complain! Yes! I bask!

The boos seem to build at his command. He swings around his Bone Batton as he sees fit before finally walking up the steel steps and entering the ring. It seems as though he plans to take up even more of the crowd’s time as he parades around the ring with both arms raised.

Lance Storm: This match will happen live - next.

---

A new AWF Gold Rush TV spot.

Convenient Mattel announcement of a new ‘Masters of the Universe’ toy and animated series line.

---

The crowd fades into the arena where Boneius is still commanding the ring with Snivley, his music now starting to fade out.

Christian Cage: What a way to come back to the broadcast! Perfect!

We’re quickly into the scene. The screen comes to life, showing a guy a little on the smaller side sitting on a very dented black metal folding chair. He's against a plain cinder block wall and the lighting is terrible, as though this is in some dank basement with a single light-bulb on a wire. He looks off camera for a moment, and if it wasn't for the beard on his cheeks and chin, he might look like he's barely out of puberty. The silver hairs that stand out against the darker blond tell a different story, though – one that's far less kind. He fidgets slightly, clasping his left hand over his right as though he wants to hide it before letting out a soft sigh. He lifts his left hand up and scratches idly at his cheek before finally breaking the silence.

Max Ironside
It's been a minute since I had to do one of these things. Oblige me while I scrape off a little rust?

There's a piped in sound of a restless and roaring crowd but he speaks over the noise.

Max Ironside
Hello. My name is Max Ironside–

The crowd noise cuts off immediately into silence and crickets. He chuckles softly, shaking his head.

Max Ironside
–you might remember me from such spectacular failures as the OCW Block Party Tournament finals of 2019 and/or Defiant Wrestling in 2017.

He looks down at his feet as the camera pans out slightly, showing a tumbleweed blowing past as the crickets grow just a teensy bit louder.

Max Ironside
Right. Well. I don't actually expect any sort of reputation to precede me. I've spent a lot of time toiling away in the shadows, doing my best to fight the good fight and find my way into the bigger spotlight. I thought I'd finally managed to pull that off. I thought that this, here and now in 2020, could be a fresh start for me. A moment to leave the past few years of dismal disappointments behind me. I'm not actually trying to inspire anyone with the sad tale of my journey here. Not really. My personal victory, my struggle to even make it into the ring – into living rooms across the world – is more what this journey is about. Well, rather, it was.

He has a bitter smile on his face and the lights grow brighter, revealing more of the surroundings. The wall looks beige now. More stone-like. Almost like a castle?

Max Ironside
Heroes and villains alike, we all have our own origin stories. And some of us…

Again, he glances off camera, obviously talking to someone else when he says:

Max Ironside
I know. I'm getting to it. There's a finesse to storytelling. Geez.

Flashing a sheepish smile, he lifts his good hand up, cupping it over the back of his neck for a moment as his head bows. He takes a few slow breaths, remaining still. His other hand in his lap looks awkward, almost painful with the way his wrist is bent and fingers are splayed. The crickets are gone. Music starts to play, something inspiring, letting you know this part is important and stuff.

Max Ironside
I've faced hardships for my whole wrestling career – my entire life – but none are more daunting than what the universe has presented me with this week. I was the second-to-last to sign with the company for this championship tournament. Patiently, I awaited my opponent, never dreaming it would be a face... or, rather, the lack thereof... that's haunted my nightmares – and those of my family – for years. You see, Boneius, I'm not really Max Ironside, the 'Handicapped Hero' from Battle Creek, Michigan. I'm actually from Figmentia, the sister-kingdom of Foreverton. My true name is Shit Hawk. I was once a swashbuckling and sea shanty-loving pirate, captain of the Good Ship Lollypop, plundering the high seas of Figmentia. That is, until I met and fell in love with her...

He holds his hand out and a gorgeous blonde walks into frame as he stands – she's dressed in a very revealing white skirt and matching corset top that’s adorned with gold and jewels. There's a golden tiara atop her hair and she's carrying a large sword strapped to her back.

Shit Hawk
This is Ray-Na, the long-lost twin sister of Man-He, whom we all know is the true ruler and resident badass of the Kingdom of Foreverton. That's right, Boneius. Of all the alternate dimensions you could have chosen to conquer in your latest quest for power, you chose the one being protected by The Princess of Power and her trusty husband-slash-sidekick! We may be in witness pro... errr, I mean on vacation in this realm, but that doesn't mean we won't take a moment to ERADICATE EVIL!

Max strikes a heroic pose and Ray-Na rests her hand on his shoulder, looking smug. She turns her head and looks at the camera, eyes narrowed.

Ray-Na
You are nothing more than an old bag of bones and I cannot wait to join my husband at ringside to watch your inevitable demise! He will destroy you. FOR THE HONOR OF…

The two exchange a triumphant look before shouting in unison as Ray-Na holds her sword aloft:

Both
BEIGESKULL!

Lightning flashes. Super-heroic music plays as the pair continue to pose before the image star-wipes out to chartreuse. The fade turns into a transition.

Humility is like underwear, essential, but indecent if it shows.
- Helen Nielsen

Soft piano music filters through hidden speakers as the camera feed fades in slowly, slightly fuzzed around the edges. The music is a melodic instrumental piece and coupled with that Gaussian blur seems to add a dream-like quality to the film. The camera finds Max Ironside on his back in a pool of his own sweat. There's a lift strap wrapped around his bad wrist, looped around the bar just in case his hand decides to rebel. He appears calm even though his arms are trembling – it looks like he's been at this for a whole.

A voice-over comes across the image as our Handicapped Hero draws in a breath and forces his arms straight one more time.

Max Ironside
I feel as though I've put myself at a disadvantage here – I'm really not as funny as I may have led you to believe. Granted, my spectacular failings when gold is on the line may be the subject of a few scattered jokes and memes, but I digress. I've never been the type to brag about my accomplishments or make absurd claims about being the best there is, was or ever will be – no offense intended to Bret Hart, of course. If I could boast even a third of his talent, I'd be over the moon. If I had as many championships as him…

There's a soft clearing of a throat.

Max Ironside
I keep telling myself that gold is not a definition of greatness any more than height is an indicator of strength. Maybe someday I'll actually believe it.

He pauses for a beat, arms trembling as his hands nearly slip.

Max Ironside
I used to think that everyone in this business could be reasoned with if you just found the right words. I used to believe that we all lived in the same reality where things made sense. I gave up on that delusion years ago because it was as futile as smashing my head against a brick wall. Now I don't bother to try and educate. Arguing with fools just makes you look silly. And the more you stand on that soap-box, the more you come off preachy and pompous and that's the last thing I'd ever want to do. I prefer to stay in my lane, work my hardest and hope for the best. It almost paid off in Defiant Wrestling. I might have eventually realized that dream if the place hadn't crumbled. I needed a little more time, that's all.

There's sweat dripping down from Max's hair, making it appear more brown than blond. He squints his eyes and bobs his head slightly, as though mentally counting down before he lets the bar drop again.

Max Ironside
I guess I'm a bit of a throwback here, since I prefer to talk out my differences rationally as opposed to going off on some ludicrous tangent in cyberspace. I'm also not the type of person to stand back and idly watch while someone attempts to run roughshod over the roster by waffling people over the head with lead pipes or chairs or title belts or whatever the going object of the moment is – there won't be any metal baton insertion, Boneius. Sorry. Last time I checked, matches were to be won with a three count, not sodomy by foreign object. Oof.

Eyes closing, Max pulls in another breath and pushes the bar up, muscles straining.

Max Ironside
As the proverbial outsider, coming into this from high school gyms and the local Eagles club where the ceiling's too low to even get up on the top rope, let alone jump off… maybe I've got a unique perspective. Maybe I feel a little like I don't belong with talented and celebrated veterans like Raging Dead and Christina King and Sasha Foote. Maybe I feel a little like I've got an awful lot to prove from the get-go. I know we're in a shark tank, swimming around with blood already in the water. We're all here because we want to work for a legend. We want to be a part of history.

The bar drops again.

Max Ironside
So maybe you're just crazy. Maybe you just hate on principle. I guess I'll be forced to fill in the blanks for you since I really have nothing else to go on than that brief little snippet. The intent was clear enough and I like to think I am clever enough to read between the lines to the underlying theme of a coward lurking behind bravado. I've been doing this long enough that I usually hear the subtext first. Not that you care, or even want to hear about it, since you apparently have this misconception that I'm going to allow you to beat the heck out of me without fighting back.

He pauses, sprinkling baby powder on his palms for better grip.

Max Ironside
Here's the difference between us, Boneius: I don't make light of this business or what it means to compete in a place like this. Oh, I know. You're as bad as they come. I get that. If you want to survive long enough to make an impact in a place like this, you need to have some bad in you. You need to know the things the bad guys know on an intimate level – it's acting on those impulses that's a no-no. That's where I draw the line and while greater competitors than you have threatened to end my career, I'm still here. What does that say about the villains? Are they stupid? Are they weak?

Hands grip the bar yet again, and those denim blue eyes close.

Max Ironside
I'm not asking for you to care about me as a person. I'm simply trying to explain why I feel obligated to loathe you before we even meet up in the ring. All jokes aside, I don't like you. I don't like what you represent and I'm going to make damned sure that I advance in this tournament for the gold, come hell or high water.

Another rep completed; Max lets the bar drop as he continues to lay there. Sometimes it's just easier to do that. He closes his eyes and takes a slow breath, unwrapping that lift strap without looking.

Max Ironside
I'm not a gunslinger or a light-bringer. I'm just a guy who gets far too riled up over injustice. Do you understand me? Verizon used to have those commercials. Do you remember their tag line: 'can you hear me now'? And that's what I'm asking. Can you hear me? I'm not telling you this for my own good... I want you to know this. I need for you to understand this because you've put me in this position. You've forced me to have to... no, that's not right. You didn't force me. This is my lot in life. This is who I am, who I was always destined to be. This is what I wanted all along: to strike a blow against you and your kind, the oppressors. I wouldn't want it any other way because this is what I know best. I can be their hero, if they want me to be. Brave hero, bound for zero. It has a certain ring to it, you know? I like that.

He reaches up, rubbing his hand over his jawline.

Max Ironside
I have no idea how this will play out, but I want you to know that these villainous actions will no longer be tolerated. Full stop. Periodt.

Sitting up slowly, he leans forward and rests his elbow on his knee and his forehead on the palm of his good hand.

Max Ironside
Eventually the wrongs far outweigh the rights and guys like me end up coming to rectify that balance. You're going to fall hard and fast. You'll end up like an egg dropped from a rooftop, a Humpty Dumpty casualty. Nobody will mourn you. No. They'll wait until you crash on the rocks and then pick your bones while they laugh and laugh. I'm not a psychic but I know that's your future. That's why I'm here, Boneius: to make sure evil never prospers. I'm here to be the end of you.



After the cinematic presentation, the high-intensity tune only helps the crowd get into it as Max Ironside’s graphics flash. Their cheers grow when he actually appears from the back. He’s jovial and excited to be there, rushing to his right side of the stage to pump up the crowd as his wife, Rayna, enters the arena with a steel briefcase in her grasp. They meet at the center of the stage and a nameplate flashes accrediting them both.

Mark Beverly: And his opponent, being accompanied to the ring by his wife Rayna, from Battle Creek, Michigan, weighing one hundred fifty five pounds - the Handicapped Hero: MAAAX! Iron! Side!

Rayna holds the briefcase and opens it, where the same cape he wore in the vignette is sat, the crowd’s laughter. Max adorns the piece before leading the way down the ramp. From nowhere, he finds the back of his head smacking against the ramp, Snivley having come from the gallows and tugging aggressively at the cape as he ran by. Dazed, Ironside can only lay there as Boneius lets out a great evil chuckle from the center of the ring, now without his own cape or helmet and his hands planted devilishly on his waist.

Snivley: Ooooooooh, yes!

The phrase is repeated creepily as the 4’5” little pale reject stalks Ironside using the barricade as support. Rayna keeps far and away from the small unnatural creature, petrified out of her mind at the thing up close.

Christian Cage: C’mon Snivley, give’im a little more!

If on cue, Snivley charges Ironside, only to get a sidekick planted in the nose.

Christian Cage: Is he alive?

Adrenaline surges through Ironside and he rushes the ring, Boneius not yet moved from his post. He slides under the bottom rope and has to duck a lariat -

Ding!

- and fools Boneius with a sudden springboard back elbow. The boneman is back up before Max could think to find a cover, and attempts one more lariat that is this time caught and turned into a snapping over-the-shoulder arm drag.

Lance Storm: Ironside has kept hold of the arm and now we’ve got a submission maneuver locked in here.

Christian Cage: Look how brilliant Boneius is, using the cape just now to send Ironside to his back.

Like an angry pitbull, Boneius is on Ironside with a sudden flurry of punches, kicks, knees, and elbows however and wherever they will land. He kicks Max in the gut forcing the man to sit up, only to gouge the man deeply in his eyes - uttering a low, wicked ‘AHAHA!’ as it affects. The follow-up is a rope-rebounded boot to the face and then a deliberate stomp on Ironside’s right hand - the worst afflicted. Boneius takes back to the center of the ring and faces the hard camera.

Barron Boneius: Behold! The EVIL power of: DISCRIMINATION!

Snivley pops up on the apron as if from the gallows yet again, his nose obviously broken and the bottom of his face covered in blood.

Snivley: Discrimination, sire! Yes!

As the two wrongdoers share more laughs of evilocity, Ironside dropkicks Boneius in the back, sending him to his knees. There’s an attempt to head for the ropes, but a strong pull of the cape becomes Ironside’s downside yet again.

Barron Boneius: I have you now, you deformed derelict!

Lance Storm: Max Ironside is now being choked with his own cape. Insult to injury, if I’ve ever seen it and referee Sandra Yandel is no fan of it.

Christian Cage: Max Ironside is getting what Max Ironside deserves. He wanted to make a joke? Out of Barron Boneius? The Sworn Enemy of Good?

Sandra Yandel: 4!

Boneius just barely breaks the choke at the referee’s last warning. He removes the cape from his opponent’s neck and stares at the ‘S H’.

Barron Boneius: I now see why you call yourself SHIT Hawk. HA!

A stomp to the bad hand and then a clubbing punch to the jaw. He walks over toward the entrance ramp, where Rayna has kept her distance. He throws the cape at her - from behind is a crucifix roll up from nowhere and the Barron’s caught off guard.

Sandra Yandel: 1!.....









2!.....











KICKOUT!

Lance Storm: That right there almost caught Boneius.

Boneius rolls out of if it and is back on is feet, but Ironside now free of his cape is seemingly unstoppable with how quickly the combination goes off: a ducked clothesline gets returned with a side kick to the gut before being followed up with a tilt-a-whirl-DDT. The pin immediately.

Sandra Yandel: 1!.....











2!.....









KICKOUT!

Ironside is not bothered but stays like a hound on the attack, grounding Boneius with a front facelock. The superior size of the Barron becomes apparent as he begins to gain ground, forcing both men to rise from the mat. He swings his arms wildly before suddenly grabbing the referee at the same time that his other hand perfectly lands in his opponent’s groin. The grip is loosed immediately and Max grabs at his freshly afflicted area as he falls to the ground. The Barron looks at the referee.

Barron Boneius: Aha! Yes! Indeed! There was subterfuge at play, although you cannot penalize my actions thanks to my wit and cunning, for you could not see such acts of injustice! Perhaps the most evil of wrestling’s deceptions!

He laughs at his incredible acts of treachery and soon enough Max is kicked in the face, causing even more laughs. Snivley joins with him again and before long he’s exited the ring for some reason.

Barron Boneius: And now for the night’s greatest act of EVIL! I shall, posthaste, show that withered weasel that his wench will be wary after my whippings! Alliteration in order to speak upon brutal and morbid actions! Yes! Aha!

The devious duo begin to stalk slowly toward Rayna. Terrified, she doesn’t know what more do but slowly back up and hope she might be able to make the right move. From behind her, for some reason the man who breached the beginning of the show, Phil Goode, is coming from behind her. A crazy look is in his eye as all three men seem to have the same sick idea.

Lance Storm: What business has he got being out here? I thought he was too good for tournaments? Aren’t those the same clothes he was wearing at “home”?

Christian Cage: After what we saw with Andorra, you’re questioning him being here?

As Phil Goode gets just about ten feet away from the poor woman and Boneius just slightly closer, a figure suddenly strikes ‘the First’ and sends him down and rolling down the ramp, around the woman.

Lance Storm: Isn’t that Tony Savage?!

Barron Boneius minds his business as Tony Savage follows Phil Goode who is pulling himself up and attempting to flee somehow around the ring. Savage strikes Goode in the back and the former tight-end snaps back with a fist to the jaw. He begins to retreat toward the corner part of the barricade and tries to jump over but Tony Savage is right back behind him. He clotheslines him over the barricade and into the crowd and the whole arena goes wild.

Barron Boneius: Snivley! No! Help our accosted ally!

Snivley charges Tony Savage but is met with a soccer kick that sends him flying into the nearest barricade and flopping onto the floor. It doesn’t look like he’s getting back up this time as Savage carries on immediately over the barricade. Phil Goode has gotten enough recovery time to lay in a hard swing that staggers Savage and Goode is running off.

Lance Storm: So much for that knee injury.

The crowd cheers as Tony comes back to and chases Phil out of the arena, this time for good. Boneius is stomping angrily at Snivley who has been knocked out cold.

Barron Boneius: You foolish filibustering fatty! You’re useless, I say! Dammit, just useless!

Lance Storm: Plancha from inside the ring to out by Max Ironside that’s even caught me off guard! Shades of my broadcast partner.

Both men are down a while, but it’s Ironside who stirs first, using the apron to get himself together.

Sandral Yandel: 4!

He pulls Boneius to his feet and rolls him into the ring. The Barron is able to reach his feet by the time Max has gotten back into the ring.

Barron Boneius: Hazah! A sudden charge!

The sudden charge is spoiled by the announcement and ducked. Quickly, Ironside links up and trips him up with a successful execution of the Special Needs. Body-on-body.

Sandra Yandel: 1!....




















2!











KICKOUT!

Ironside is immediately back up and he notices Rayna who has found it safe enough to reach ringside. Her cheers and those of the crowd work in tandem as he stares at Boneius as he uses the ropes to pull himself to his feet.

Christian Cage: Han-decapitation! Did you see how the head whipped back?!

Barron Boneius is out. Max Ironside hooks the outside leg.

Sandra Yandel: 1!.....
















2!.....
















3!

DING DING DING!

Rayna climbs the steps and enters the ring to celebrate with her husband as the crowd gets to their feet. He’s on his knees with his left hand in the air.

Mark Beverly: The winner of this match, advancing to the next round: Max! Iron! Side!

She helps her man to his feet and Max Ironside gets one last pop as he walks around the ring. After his celebrations, he holds the bottom rope open with his foot for his wife to exit the ring as the camera fades to commercial.

Lance Storm: Ladies and gentlemen, our main event is next.

Max Ironside d. Barron Boneius in 7:22

---

Bruce Hart’s wrestling school in Edmonton opening in 6 months!

Merchandise commercial promoting replica Booker T dreadlocks.

---

The show returns to a shot of the Scotiabank Saddledome with the quick graphic tag, ‘YESTERDAY.’

Brittany Foote
Are you ready for tomorrow?

The eleven year old daughter of Sasha Foote asks her mother as the camera documents the moment in real time. Sasha stops her push ups and sits back onto her backside in the middle of a ring as Brit stood in the corner. Both were in training clothes with their hair pulled up in matching buns on top of their head. To say she was Sasha's 'Mini-Me' would be an understatement as she looked just like her mother.

Sasha Foote
I am. I've had so much time to think about this, and if you and your little brother support me, that's the only blessing I need.

Brit
Are you kidding me!?

The little girl responds in an excited tone of voice.

Brit
Mom, that's all I've wanted. To watch Papa Jan AND you in the ring. I think the first time I thought about being a wrestler was when I was six and saw your debut against Al Envy. I remember watching, even when I probably shouldn't have, and being so into the match and what was happening in front of me even when I didn't understand it. I just saw my mom, and you were like a real life superhero to me. Whether you won or you lost, it didn't matter. In that moment I knew exactly what I wanted to do when I got older.

Sasha stares up at her daughter with watery eyes and a sincere smile on her face.

Brit
You will always have my blessing and I will always believe in you. All that's left is for you to step in the ring tomorrow and kick that mean man's head off!

Sasha stands up as Brit jumps up after saying the last part. She hurries to the corner and picks her daughter up, spinning her around as she hugs her. She sits the little girl's feet back onto the canvas and looks down at her.

Sasha
Thanks baby. We've had a pretty intense workout, why don't you go sit down on the bench and have lunch while I say a few things to Mister Kross?

Brittany grins, knowing mommy was about to go into 'work mode' as the little girl exits the ring and Sasha turns around and lets her hair out of the bun.

Sasha
We are just a day away from PrimeTime and the debut of the AWF, and I have to admit, it's been an exhausting week and some change since I challenged you Roderick. We've went back and forth on social media, on video, and tomorrow, we stand toe to toe and settle things once and for all. To say I'm excited would be an understatement, but to say I'm ready? That's a fact.

Sasha's eyes trail off to the bench where her daughter is sitting, eating a sandwich and snack pack of crackers and cheese.

Sasha
You have said a lot, and contradicted yourself quite a bit, Roderick, but the one thing you kept repeating and wondering was why return to wrestling? You continue to call me a washed up wrestler who tries to steal the spotlight, but I'm far from it. I signed here to help shine a spotlight on a new federation opened by a wrestling legend because while I respect the past and history, I also want to help create it in Alberta. You've been concerned with the spotlight, and I understand it, but it isn't just about what the company can do for you, it's about what you can do for the company.

I would be lying if I said I didn't want to be champion. That's my number one professional goal, is to make it back to the top, but this journey back is about so much more than that. It's about family.

She again gazes off at her daughter who was off camera now.

Sasha
You've said I would let them down, but they would never ever be let down as long as I give my all, and trust me, my all is more than you're prepared to deal with, Kross. Physically? I have knockout power with my kicks. Technically? I'm married to Jan van der Roost, a twenty two year plus veteran of the sport who has taught me everything he knows, so I can go hold for hold with anyone. Heart? It's been what has pushed me further than any of my physical attributes. How are you going to stop a heart that beats and bleeds for this business?

You've said a lot, but most of it was complete and utter BS. I have never disappointed my family, I'm not washed up, and how can I be a failure when I've proven I have championship pedigree? You've been grasping at straws, hoping that the lies you create somehow become reality and erase what I've accomplished. You've had two matches. TWO. Trust me, I was just like you when I first entered the sport. I came in as an undefeated kickboxer, and thought I was going to win every match, but I didn't. I lost quite a bit early on, and it was those losses that really molded me into the champion I eventually became. You're confident, and that confidence is a double edged sword because sometimes it makes us do crazy things. The craziest thing you have done is played mind games, and brought my family into it. But now that you did? I'll end the games for good.

She hears the familiar voice of her daughter over on the bench.

Brit
Mom! Come here!

Brittany leaves the rest of her lunch and hurries over to the gym entrance door. She grabs the handle as Sasha shouts out to her.

Sasha
No, you can't go outside alone!

Sasha slides out of the ring and sprints over to catch up to her daughter who has pulled the door open and run outside. As Sasha was just a step behind her, she freezes as the camera peers over her shoulder to show a crowd of people with Brittany and Sasha's husband Jan at the front of the gathering. Jan was holding their son Sebastian in his arms and behind the three family members were a group of at least fifty fans all wearing pink #3PS shirts and holding up a giant sign that read 'Beat Roderick Kross'. In unison they all shout "SURPRISE!"

Brit
We wanted to do something to show you that it isn't just your family who believes in you, but you have fans from all around the world that believe in you.

Jan
As a matter of fact, there is at least one fan from each state in the United States that we flew out here after being contacted on social media. There is also a local Canadian in this mix, and they will all be ringside tomorrow to watch you take on Mr.Kross. We all believe in you, Sash.

Foote is shown to be teary eyed as she runs over and hugs her family as the entire crowd cheers and the camera fades out. After a brief black screen, a match graphic for the main event of Prime Time is once again shown as Sasha's voice is heard speaking over it.

Sasha Voice Over
May 5th is a day that will forever be etched in the history books as Roderick Kross and Sasha Foote close out what will undoubtedly be a debut episode to remember. This means the world to me, and as badly as the newcomer wants it, so does this veteran. It's an honor to be in the first ever main event of Primetime, a show that features stars that have also accomplished so much.

If I'm washed up, are they? Kendrick Kross is an 8 time champion around the world, does that make him washed up because he isn't a champion now? Priscilla Kelly has been a champion, and there are countless other 'former champions' signed to AWF. The fact that you can't come up with anything to say, other than call someone washed up due to them taking time off for family shows that you lack the creativity to inspire, and it also makes me question if you will be able to come up with a creative way to put me away in the ring. I don't see it happening.

My entire career has been dedicated to showing the world that women can compete with, and beat men, and tomorrow night as the show comes to a close, it will be my hand raised, and me moving on to round two. I hope that in a moment of defeat, you're able to be humble, show growth, and maybe even show respect not only to me, but to the other members of the AWF roster. We all have the same goal, and we all have different paths towards that goal, but getting ahead of yourself...it just might be you who Krosses over your own Foote...and falls flat on your face. See you tomorrow night, love.



The first shot back to the arena is that of the crowd of people that have come just to see Sasha Foote, as the song cued to her point of entry. When she enters the arena, the response is warm and the people are ready to begin the main event. She shakes hands with several members of the crowd the minute she can, before finding her section and embracing all of her loved ones there.

Mark Beverly: The following contest, set for one fall, is a round one bout for the inaugural Alberta Wrestling Federation World’s Championship tournament, weighing one hundred thirty two pounds: Sasha! Foote!

After her meeting with her family and fans, she enters the ring and takes to posing gracefully inside of it.



Her poses stop and her focus shifts immediately to the ramp. Roderick Kross’ theme plays for an extended period of time but to no arrival, boos beginning to ramp up at the wait.

Lance Storm: Where is he? We’ve got a match to have here.

Christian Cage: When you’re young and talented like this kid - you’ve got to know your worth. Roderick Kross is making not only these people wait, but making this spotlight hog wait on top of that.

Sasha Foote will not move from her position but her eyes begin to get wary. The hard camera widens and in the far right Roderick Kross can be seen creeping over the barricade and sliding into the ring, behind Foote.

Lance Storm: He’s trying to get that pre-match advantage.

At the right moment, however, Sasha turns around and looks Roderick Kross right in the face. It seems as though her veteran instincts have won out and a shocked face turns into a smug smile on Roderick’s face as he has little choice but to be now stuck in a staredown. Disparaging remarks begin to be literally spat in Sasha’s face but she’s unflinching. Senior referee Don Quintillis separates the staredown that has grown, but Roderick Kross’ mouth can continue to be heard yelling out insults and making arrogant claims on the result of the match.

Lance Storm: As we’ve seen for a couple of weeks now, as we covered earlier in the show, Roderick Kross has shown no respect.

Christian Cage: And why should he, Storm? There’s nothing worse than a spotlight hog. She comes out of retirement just to try and crush this kid’s dreams and she deserves respect?

A collar-and-elbow tie up begins AWF PrimeTime’s first main event that gets quickly broken up after a stalemate. They square up once more and seem to be ready for another go, but Kross rolls under the grapple, pops quickly back up, and engages a second lock-up this time from more advantageous positioning as before.

Christian Cage: This kid’s a student of the game, did you see that adjustment?

When it seems Kross has won that exchange, Sasha drops, simultaneously using the grapple to throw over and send the man to his back. Both are back up immediately and into a third collar-and-elbow. Kross suddenly sends a knee to the midsection.

Lance Storm: There goes that one.

Kross spins for a discus clothesline attempt but Foote dodges under it. She tries a backwards sidekick but Kross rolls out once more and runs into the ropes, coming back with a flying forearm smash that drops Sasha. A quick cover.

Don Quintillis: 1!


KICKOUT

The recovery for both takes no time, but Kross just sidesteps a charge from Foote and lands a pendulum backbreaker. He keeps the woman over his knee before forcing his left hand under her chin, his right on her knee: thus engaging in a textbook submission.

Christian Cage: You and I both are familiar with this one.

The free knee swiftly flies into Roderick Kross’ temple and he’s on his back.

Don Quintillis: 1!.........






2!.......



KICKOUT

Kross is getting to his feet when Foote lays a well placed kick to the small of the back. Another one from the opposite leg to the same place leaves him unable to move while she sets up a misleading third, that reddens his chest as soon as it hits. She bounds off the ropes and goes for a shining wizard that’s quickly sidestepped. She lands awkwardly on her posterior due to the unexpected change in momentum and seems to feel it in her lower spine with how she holds her back standing up. A dropkick to the spot she holds sends her flying out between the top and middle ropes and to the outside. He drops into an arrogant seated position in the middle of the ring to a chorus of boos.

Roderick Kross: Count her, ref!

Don Quintillis: 1!

Foote stirs but remains on the ground.

Don Quintillis: 2!

She holds onto her back as she begins to crawl toward the barricade to pull herself up.

Don Quintillis: 3!

Roderick Kross gets to a knee as Sasha Foote pulls herself up further.

Don Quintillis: 4!

Kross is off the ropes.

Christian Cage: That’s it, do what you have to! Suicide dive!

Lance Storm: But stepped out the way.

Roderick’s upper neck and spine collide horrifically with the barricade and he’s left laying face flat and his legs mindlessly waving up and down.

Don Quintillis: 1!

Sasha allows herself the-now affordable extra time to rest.

Don Quintillis: 2!

She combs her hair back and begins toward Kross who now lays essentially still.

Don Quintillis: 3!

Kross is pulled back up and dragged to under the bottom rope. His head pokes out from underneath it, exposed.

Don Quintillis: 4!

Lance Storm: This position and his condition doesn’t bode well for him.

Christian Cage: (bad Translyvanian accent) That rhymed!

An elbow to the face leaves Roderick looking as unconscious as he already did before, but rather safe than sorry. Sasha Foote on the apron and her knee careening down fast on his dome is within seconds of each other and the crowd oooooooo’s at the devastation.

Lance Storm: That was nothing short of punishment. Each hit tonight has to be not only for the tournament but for everything Roderick Kross chose to bring up.

Foote is back in the ring and going for the cover.

Don Quintillis: 1……

















2!.......












3--foot on the rope!

Sasha doesn’t let the resourcefulness rattle her and instead attempts to pull up Kross. When he’s to his feet but still tucked under her arm, he grabs her by the waist and begins thrashing her around the ring as he can manage with his base, with one charge in particular clobbering Quintillis in the corner like a sandwich. She stops the staggering around with six good clubs to the back, but as she attempts a DDT he recovers his positioning and manages her over his shoulder with a deadlifted backdrop. He falls to his knees.

Lance Storm: This match escalated quickly with all three people down, but with how it’s built the past few weeks and the way Kross tried to start it off, you can’t be too surprised by that.

Foote is to her feet but not before Kross has already begun awaiting such. A firm grip comes around her waist and he throws her for a belly-to-back, only for her to spin out of, barely landing on her feet and actually falling to one knee after impact. He takes advantage, bouncing off the ropes and returning with an electrifying one-armed swinging neckbreaker. A fast pin.

But the referee is still down. When he notices this, rather than frustration, a chuckle is let loose. He rolls out of the ring with great haste and is immediately pacing towards the timekeeper’s area. Not allowing any time, he grabs Mark Beverly by his tie and pulls him to the ground, taking the sand-colored foldable steel chair he sat into his position. He makes it swingable and rolls back into the ring.

The referee begins to stir as Sasha Foote is to her feet and her head made a target. Somehow, she’s able to duck and chop block Kross in the front of his knee, sending him flying toward the ropes and the chair flying to the outside. She tries to roll him up but Don Quintillis is still not ready to make the call. She pops off it, only to be caught with a discus clothesline when Kross can prove the quicker.

Roderick is immediately back on his prey like a vulture, taking her into the corner. It seems as though a superplex is being set up, with the crowd standing to their feet in anticipation. With Foote’s head under his arm, Kross begins taunting the Sasha Foote section of fans. Almost as though this gave her a resurgence of energy, her fists begin flying into his midsection and before long one headbutt sends the man to the apron, backflat.

It takes about ten seconds for her to recover her bearings but it doesn’t seem like Kross is moving. She measures the first man in her way toward the World’s Championship and descends with the Footeprint! Don Quintillis is barely conscious but he sees the whole thing.

Don Quintillis: 1!





















2!















3!

DING DING DING!

The crowd is on their feet as the first main event concludes. Sasha’s adrenaline allows her to pop up immediately and rush to a turnbuckle.

Mark Beverly: Here is your winner, advancing to the next round: Sasha! Foote!

She rolls out the ring to return to her fans and family, having avenged them all.

Lance Storm: And with that, ladies and gentlemen, the first installment of AWF PrimeTime is finished! Tune in next week for the beginning of the Provincial Championship tournament and the semi-finals for the bouts you saw tonight. Goodnight!

Sasha Foote celebrating with an embrace from her daughter is the last shot as the show fades out.

Sasha Foote d. Roderick Kross in 10:37

END