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Mike Stryker vs. Michael Fitzpatrick-McCarthy

Atlantic Championship

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The house lights go down as "Til I Collapse" by Eminem begins to play through the arena. As the song goes through it's dark intro, various scenes from NYC come across the NAFWTron. YO LEFT, YO LEFT, YO LEFT RIGHT LEFT!! As the line repeats and the dialogue of the song starts in the background, the scene changes to a simple panoramic of the NYC Skyline. When the drums kick in, lightning fills the sky with each beat, and through the cloud cover, the word "STRYKER" can be made out with each bolt of lightning.

(JB) Stryker certainly looks determined tonight!

(Tom) What do you expect, Mann-Wagon? It’s not like the guy has anything else going for him. When the song finally kicks in, The house lights come up, with a bright white light punctuating each clap in the songs beat. Mike Stryker comes out in his black sweatshirt, hood up, hair hanging down in front of his face. He marches out, and as the crowd gives a roar of approval, he raises his right fist over his head. He gives the crowd a quick look before he begins marching himself to the ring, oblivious to the cheers.

(Troy) Making his way to the ring, weighing in at 226 pounds, he is the Big City Hitman… Mike Stryker!

Stryker Rolls under the bottom rope and gets up on the opposite turnbuckles, again raising his fist as the crowd roars once more. He crosses the ring and repeats the action to another cheer. He dismounts fom the buckles and pulls off his sweatshirt, tossing it aside and pacing the ring, waiting for the match to begin.

(Troy) And his opponent, weighing in at 250 pounds, from Toronto, Canada… “The Farmer” Michael Fitzpatrick-McCarthy!

(Tom) They have farms in Canada?

(JB) They have lots of things in Canada, Bear. Farms, cities, major league sports teams.

(Tom) Now I know you’re a liar.

Michael Fitzpatrick-McCarthy comes down to the ring while -Third Reich From The Sun by Hanzel und Gretyl plays over the PA system.

(JB) And this match is ready to get under way.

(Tom) Why do we have a wrestling farmer again?

(JB) Michael Fitzpatrick-McCarthy needs some way to make money to save his farm.

(Tom) Did he try prostitution? I heard that’s quite lucrative.

(JB) Bear. We’re on network.

(Tom) Does he have a farmer’s daughter? I’ve got a thing for…

(JB) And there’s the bell!

When the bell rings. Mikey starts things off by shoving Stryker around the ring with a few hard punches to the head, and body. Stryker falls to the matt after having his balance thrown off. Not staying down long Stryker gets to his feet, and lands a few hard chops to his opponent. Latching his arms around McCarthy Stryker lands a belly to belly suplex.

(JB) Huge belly to belly by the Big City Hitman!

(Tom) Speaking of huge bellies, how’s your mother doing, Mann-Wheel?

(JB) I knew I missed you for a reason, Bear.

(Tom) Daddy’s home, Mann. Daddy’s home.

Stryker not wasting time rolls McCarthy over to his belly, and applies an STF. McCarthy just now realizes it and starts to struggle as the Ref asks him if he wants to tap, but McCarthy says no. Showing signs of pain, and panic McCarthy manages to get the lower ropes, and forces Stryker to break the hold. Breaking the hold Stryker stands off to the side, and waits for his opponent to get back to his feet. When he does Stryker launches into another attack only to get countered with a hard chop to the chest by McCarthy. Using this time, and energy McCarthy plants Stryker to the matt with a thunderous DDT.

(JB) The Farmer strikes big here. Let’s see if he can pick up the win.

Going for a cover McCarthy only manages a two count. Forcing Stryker up to his feet McCarthy launches Stryker into an Irish Whip. Planning on getting a finish here, but misses with his Harvest move, but misses, as Stryker hits him with his own clothesline on his return trip. Both men are down as Stryker is the first to slowly get to his feet followed not far along behind McCarthy. With both men back to their feet they both exchange blow after blow. McCarthy managing a few more strikes, and countering Stryker’s. Twisting Stryker around hitting a reverse DDT on his foe. Stryker gets up slowly only to get a firm boot to the back of the head. Stryker gets up again, and manages an escape of the next attack and then launches himself into the ropes and hit’s a flying elbow and takes both men back down to the matt. The ref starts his ten count. Both men again make there way to the ropes, and slowly gets up. Standing barely as both men hold onto the ropes they both seem poised to take the win.

(JB) This match has been such a close one.

(Tom) My bet is, next person to hit a big move will put their opponent down for the count.

(JB) Wow, would you care to put money down on that?

(Tom) Twenty bucks on ambiguity!

The two charge at each other and start exchanging slow punches. The Farmer, having the size advantage, seems to be doing the most damage. He nails a quick jab to Stryker’s belly and the Hitman doubles over. McCarthy hoists Stryker onto his shoulders in a fireman’s carry and then swings him around, driving his head into the mat with a huge sit-out DDT!

(JB) That’s what’s called a Searing DDT!

(Tom) I think this is it for the Hitman!

McCarthy rolls over and very tiredly hooks the leg of Stryker. The ref slides down for the count.

1… 2…

DING DING DING

…3?

(Tom) What the heck just happened?

(JB) I’m not sure myself. The Farmer seemed to have picked up the victory but before the ref could count to three, the bell rang.

The referee gets up and sticks his head between the ropes, asking the time table what just happened. Moments later, Troy Gilmore gets on the mic with a decision.

(Troy) This match has reached it’s time limit, and therefore is a draw.

The crowd can’t believe it and begins booing. McCarthy slowly gets back onto his feet and gets in the face of the ref about what just happened, seeing how he was literally a second away from a three count. Meanwhile, Stryker begins to stir in the ring.

(JB) The Farmer isn’t happy, and there’s no reason he should be.

(Tom) This crowd isn’t happy either. They wanted to see an Atlantic Champion crowned tonight.

Suddenly, Commissioner Buchanan comes out from behind the curtain and stands on the stage.

(Buchanan) Hold on just one second. I said we’d see our first Atlantic Champion tonight, and I meant it. I order this match to be restarted, and do not stop it until one of those two men earns a victory by pin fall or submission!

The referee rings the bell and the match is restarted.

Both men are back on their feet, but Stryker is clearly still reeling from the effects of that massive DDT. McCarthy begins hammering away at the Big City Hitman once more with his massive fists. This looks to be heading down the exact same path as before until Stryker manages to duck one of those big swings. McCarthy slowly turns to find where his opponent went and Stryker surprises him with an eye gouge!

(Tom) That a boy Stryker!

(JB) That eye gouge isn’t exactly legal, but I don’t think the referee is going to disqualify him.

Indeed, the referee just gives Stryker a warning. McCarthy is still trying to get his vision straight when Stryker breaks away from the ref and kicks McCarthy hard in back of the knee. The big man buckles a bit and Stryker grabs him, putting his head between his legs. With all of his might, Stryker lifts him up and drops him on his head with a pile driver. Stryker rolls over and barely manages to drape an arm over him.

The ref counts… 1… 2… 3!

(JB) Stryker has done it! He pulled out that desperation piledriver but he has reclaimed his title and is the Atlantic Champion!

Stryker can barely stand up, but the ref raises his arms and hands him the brand new Atlantic Championship. Stryker grasps it with two hands and falls back down onto the mat holding it.

(JB) You have to give it up for Michael Fitzpatrick-McCarthy too. The Farmer nearly walked out of here with the Atlantic Championship in his debut match.

(Tom) I don’t have to give it up for anyone. Tubby lost this match and he’s going to lose his farm!

(JB) We're ready to go here, with the high flyer Andy D getting ready to take on the big man from the death pits of Singapore, David Redrum.

(Tom) Andy is going to get killed. Look at the size difference, and on top of that, Redrum just looks like a killer. He almost killed one of the fans in the front row before the match even started!

(JB) The Ace One comes out of the box flying this week! He has nailed Redrum with one high flying move after another! He knows that to beat a bigger man, he must use his speed to his advantage.

(Tom) Look how angry Redrum is now! I wouldn't want to be in Andy's shoes still. When Redrum catches him, he's going to rip him limb from limb.

The excited Andy D reaches down and places one hand around the back of the neck of Redrum, starting to pull the big man up to his feet. Redrum is having none of that, he will not be manhandled by the smaller man. Redrum sticks out his massive right arm, and clamps his hand around the neck of The Ace One in a blatant choke. As the ref yells at Redrum to release the hold, Redrum gets back to his feet, and clamps both of his hands around the throat of Andy D. Andy starts to turn red, then purple, then blue! Redrum laughs maniacally as he starts to shake the almost lifeless body of Andy D back and forth by the neck!

(JB) Somebody stop this! The referee needs to ring the bell! Redrum is killing Andy D!

(Tom) I told you! I told you it wasn't smart to mess with a big man like Redrum but Andy D was so busy being a hot shot, showboating for the fans, and now he's going to get himself killed on our return show!

(JB) Oh lord, that was close! I think if Redrum had hooked the leg he would have had Andy there! Andy is still gasping for air after being choked almost into unconsciousness by David Redrum!

(Tom) I have to admit, The Ace One showed a lot of guts there.

(JB) Wow! Both men unloading here, neither able to put the other away!

(Tom) I have to admit, this match could go either way now!

Andy D is first to his feet and Redrum is still recovering. Andy D backs up to the ropes and gets a small run. He leaps at the head of Redrum and connects with the Dragon's Bite! That’s also known as a shining wizard! He covers…

1!

2!

3!

(JB) Andy D picks up an exciting win over David Redrum this week! We’ll be back after this short commercial break!

(Troy) In the ring, from Gulfport… Charles Johnson!

"I'm The One" begins blasting out the speakers of the NAFW-Tron, as Sebastian Hawke walks out onto the stage, underneath the NAFW-Tron itself. He adjusts his wrist tape before looking out to the crowd. He slowly walks down the ramp to the ring, staring at the ring as he does. He passes by a few fans, who are waving their hands at him trying to get a high-five, but he ignores them, as he walks down to the ring. He comes up to the apron, walking over to the stairs and escalating them. He walks along the apron, facing the crowd as he stares out at them, before turning around to get into the ring.

(Troy) And his opponent, weighing in at 285 pounds, Sebastian Hawke!

(JB) I've been looking forward to this match ever since it was booked. One of the biggest names in NAFW history against one of the hottest prospects on the North American independent circuit.

(Tom) The big question that everybody is asking right now, is what kind of shape can Charles Johnson be in? He hasn't wrestled in a long, long time...and ring rust may be a big factor here.

The fans are stomping and clapping, as the bell rings, and the two men face off in the middle of the NAFW ring. Hawke extends a hand for a handshake. CJ looks at the hand dubiously, but before he can even decide what to do, Hawke changes the gesture of his extended hand into a claw shape, and rakes Charles Johnson across the eyes! The fans boo loudly as CJ doubles over, holding his eyes. Sebastian pulls Charles Johnson over to the ropes, and drags his face along the ropes, burning his eyes!

(JB) Well, I guess we don't have to waste a lot of time wondering what kind of sportsman Mr. Hawke is. He just showed us.

(Tom) Hey, this guy has a saying, that goes "We don't live forever." You know what that means? That means that there is no time to be making nice. He's going to do what he has to do to win. Think about it. A win over a legend like Tharo on our first show back would be huge for him. It would be a career maker!

As the two announcers spar back and forth over the tactics of Sebastian Hawke, Hawke drapes Charles Johnson over the top rope throat first, then drops a leg across the back of his neck, and applies pressure, choking him. The referee finally gets inbetween the two men and orders Hawke to back off. As Hawke backs off, Charles Johnson straigtens up, and turns around. He does not look happy. As soon as the referee is out of the line of fire, CJ lifts one leg, and boots Hawke right in the face, knocking the big newcomer backward to the mat! Hawke hits the mat like a ton of bricks, and Johnson lands a bone crunching elbowdrop to follow uo.

(JB) You know, Charles Johnson is 6 feet 8 inches, 230 pounds. Sebastian Hawke is 6 feet 3, and 285. That's a whole lot of weight and size in there! Look at how the ring shook when Tharo landed that elbow smash!

(Tom) Yeah, like Gorilla Monsoon used to say, I hope they renforced the ring for this one.

Charles Johnson only gets a one count on Sebastian Hawke following the big boot into the elbow drop, so he gets up and starts to pull Hawke to his feet. Hawke is ready, and he starts to hammer elbows into the midsection of Johnson. Charles Johnson keels over and Sebastian Hawke goes into a three point stance and tackles CJ to the mat. Hawke starts to hammer Charles Johnson in the head with a wicked flurry of punches.

(JB) Sebastian Hawke is really showing us his aggression here tonight!

(Tom) I don't think it's just Hawke's aggression...I think that part of it is Charles Johnson's ring rust. He got caught with an eye rake, and a spear takedown. Rookie mistakes. He's been out of the ring too long.

In an incredible show of leverage and power, Charles Johnson locks his arms around Sebastian Hawke, as Hawke has him pinned on his back on the mat. Johnson folds his knees into a sitting position, and then STANDS UP...converting Hawke's mount into a bearhug by Charles Johnson! The fans erupt in amazement! For a moment, Charles Johnson keeps the bearhug locked in, and then suddenly he spins around and plants Hawke into the mat with a SPINEBUSTER! Johnson goes for the cover...1...2...and Hawke kicks out just in time. Charles Johnson pulls Hawke to his feet and whips him into the ropes...and then takes his head off with a powerfull lariat as Hawke rebounds off the ropes. Charles Johnson drops another big elbow to the torso of Hawke, folding him up.

(JB) Now this is more the Charles Johnson that we're used to seeing!

(Tom) Tharo is shaking off the ring rust, and is in control here...but don't count Hawke out yet.

Charles Johnson pulls Sebastian Hawke to his feet by the arm, and whips him into the ropes again. Hawke comes off like a freight train, and smashes into CJ with a full on bodyblock. Hawke locks Tharo up, and hurls him through the air with a textbook Belly To Belly Suplex! Hawke goes for the cover...1...2...but Charles Johnson kicks out! Hawke pulls CJ to his feet and whips him into the ropes. Johnson rebounds off the far ropes, and extends his arm to catch Hawke with a clothesline...but Hawke had the same thought, and has his arm extended! The two men hammer each other in the middle of the ring with a double clothesline! Both go down! The fans are on their feet, as Charles Johnson and Sebastian Hawke lay on their backs in the middle of the ring, both down from the double clothesline!

(JB) All of tonight’s matches have been extremely close. Which way will this one go?

The ref begins to make a 10 count. Both men get back up to their feet by the count of 5. CJ looks winded and Hawke looks to take advantage. He charges at CJ, looking to clothesline him over the top rope. However, CJ employs a bit of ring awareness and drops to the mat, pulling the top rope down with him. This leads to the giant Sebastian Hawke tumbling over the top rope and onto the floor. CJ rolls out and begins to stomp on him. He drops a few elbows on the man who is quite larger on him. The referee has initiated a count out sequence and is already at 5. Hawke is beginning to get back to his feet now. CJ gives him a kick to the knee to slow him down, and rolls back into the ring. The referee is still counting out Hawke. He’s at 9 and Hawke barely gets his hands on the apron. The ref counts to ten just as Hawke is getting his knee onto the ring, but it’s not good enough. The ref calls for the bell.

(Troy) Your winner via count out… Charles Johnson!

Sebastian Hawke can’t believe the referee would count him out like that. He takes his knee down off the ring and walks in a circle outside of the ring in disbelief.

(Tom) Looks like Sebastian Hawke caught some bad luck tonight.

(JB) Indeed. Charles Johnson looked a little rusty but found a way to scrape by and still pick up the victory.

(Tom) We’re back live here at the MCI Center in Washington, D.C., as Annihilation continues to steamroll on.

(JB) Up next, we have our second tag match of the night.

The lights flash red and blue, as the camera pans around the arena. Lil' Wayne's "Fireman" starts playing. As the intro continues, the lights flash red to black to blue and back to black as a spot light is focused on the curtain. The song kicks in and Dustin Thomas blows through the entry way, his hand pointed towards the stage. New School points up, and Shane comes out of the curtain, all oiled up and ready to go. Dustin taunts the fans as he walks down the aisle, while Shane takes every opportunity to get in his bodybuilder poses. When he reaches the bottom of the ramp, the Alpha flexes his biceps and points his toe, much to the hatred of the fans. Dustin slides into the ring, and leaps up to the turnbuckle to soak in the jeers. The Alpha hops up the steps, and climbs into the ring. He looks around the arena before stepping between the ropes. Dustin pats him on the back one more time before Shane makes his final pose in the middle of the ring.

(JB) This match should be a good one as we look for possible contenders for the NAFW Tag Team Championships.

(Tom) I bet Mr. Buchanan has a close eye on this one. Maybe even the boss himself is tuning in too.

The Match starts off with Shane Thomas and Crazy Boy tangling up in the center of the ring. Shane gets the upper hand and starts to whip CB into the ropes. CB catches the ropes and forces Shane to go after him. The second Shane gets close CB falls down; pulling the top rope down and making Shane go over the top. Dustin Thomas comes in and gets a sneak shot in before Snake comes to make the save. Shane makes his way back into the ring and cheap shots CB on the back of the head. He then proceeds to stomp away at CB before Snake gets up and grabs Shane, giving him a springboard bulldog. Snake then knocks Dustin off of the apron with a forearm smash as CB goes for a pin. One… Two.. Shane kicks out sending CB off of him a bit. Shane gets up and CB quickly gets up and attempts to drop kick Shane in the face. Shane barely had time to roll out of the way, getting to his feet quickly and stalking CB from behind as he staggers to his feet. CB doesn't waste any time in noticing Shane isn't there anymore, but as he turns to check where he went he is caught by a boot to the mid-section that doubles him over. Shane scoops him up into a body slam, repeating the process three more times.

(Tom) Three big body slams there by Shane Thomas!

Snake and Dustin are battling on the outside when you hear a sickening thud. Snake is laid out next to the dislodged steel steps, and that gives Dustin a chance to get back up to the apron and tag himself in. After the tag, Shane turns to find his brother scaling the turnbuckle. Dustin waves his arm for Shane to step aside, and barely misses his brother as he leaps off with a 450 Splash. The problem with that is, he also missed Crazy boy. Crazy Boy manages to lift himself up to one knee, grabbing Dustin from behind and rolling him up with schoolboy roll-up. Shane springs through the ropes, stomping CB in the head to break up the pin attempt. Shane then picks up CB and power bombs him down to the mat hard. Shane then drags Dustin over to get a pin, but Snake comes in and makes the save for his partner. Shane rushes and takes down Snake, but the ref manages to get between them and tells them both to return to their corner. Shane nods, and Snake does the same thing. CB and Dustin are still down as Rick starts his ten count.

(JB) Could we see our second count out of the night right now?

(Tom) I hope so. The Wild Boys are starting to bore me. If the Old School Empire won’t put them away, I hope the ref puts this match away!

The screen fades to black, inviting you, the viewer, into the abyss of nothingness, only to be pierced by the voice of an innocent, little girl.

Hush little baby mama's near,
To wipe your brow and calm your fears.
To kiss your cheek and hold your hand,
'Til you drift off to sleepyland.

As the song goes on, the cutesy, whimsical voice of the little girl, begins to warp into a hidious sounding beast's voice as she continues to recite the nursery rhyme;

Then, suddenly, a gut-wrenching scream emerged from the background, as though the very life of the childish voice itself had been struck down by some unknown power. But then, shortly but surely, flashes of lightning began to rain down on the darkness, exposing two figures; One, a wirey man dressed in light-colored clothing, sporting a bowler hat, and who's eerily ruby red eyes shone through the darkness. The other, a hulking behemoth who's masked face concealed any sign of compassion, caring or life from within. An individual who looked as if he had been brought forth for one purpose... To destroy. And as the flashing lightning continued to barely luminate the sinister-looking pair, the smaller man, leaning on what appeared to be a black cane, spoke in a blunt manner;

"Beware... Of HUSH."

(JB) Hush? This looks interesting

(Tom) This guy sounds creepy. But if his name is Hush, maybe he’ll keep you quiet.

(JB) You wish. But what a night we’ve had so far, Bear! Not only have we seen all our old favorite superstars…

(Tom) Are you kidding me, Mann-wheel? If it weren’t for the Trust Fund Kids coming up, and, well, my brilliant commentary, there’d be no reason to watch this show. Mike Stryker? Charles Johnson? What is this, the FLF reject hour? And don’t get me started on the Wild Boys.

(JB) Well, how about all the debuting wrestlers? Surely there must be someone you can get behind?

(Tom) I don’t swing that way.

(JB) Be serious, Bear!

(Tom) I am. We’ve had a farmer and some schmuck that makes me dream of the glory days of 2Guys. Give me Keith Owens or give me death. (JB) That can be arranged, you know. Kramer’s right in the back.

(Tom) And Twitch is still looking for a job. Besides, She-Mann… I’m pretty sure that in a fight to the death, I’d whoop your ass, Norris Style.

(JB) Don’t tell me you’re going to hop on that bandwagon now!

(Tom) Bear Kalhoun doesn’t sleep… unless it’s with your mother.

(JB) Let’s take it to the ring… and a pair of debuting NAFW Superstars!

The arena dims, green and yellow lights flash around as pyros go off. "Break Stuff" starts through the arena and Fox Strife walks from the back, with his valet Nikki Cooley, and they head down toward the ring.

(Tom) Hey Mann-Wagon, I finally found someone else I like.

(JB) Ah, the AWL’s Fox Strife!

(Tom) Who?

(JB) Fox Strife; you know, the man walking to the ring?

(Tom) I was talking about that chick he’s with. I could really get behind her, if you know what I mean!

They stop at the top of the aisle and Fox puts both of his fists in the air, then pulls them back down as more pyros go off. Fox and Nikki walk down to the ring, slapping a few hands along the way. They get into the ring and Fox jumps on one of the turnbuckles and puts both fist in the air shouting into the crowd, whilst Nikki poses for the cameras. As Nikki goes to ringside, Fox jumps down and tests the ropes, getting warmed up for his opponent.

(JB) Strife might be new to the NAFW, but he’s got years of experience!

(Tom) And what do you know about his opponent?

(JB) Well… his name is Derelict.

(Tom) And?

(JB) And he’s debuting tonight?

(Tom) And… Littering and…

(JB) And we’ve yet to hear from him, but I’m sure he’ll let his actions speak for himself inside the ring!

As the fans wait for something to happen "Animal I Have Become" by Three Days Grace hits the speakers, and there is a small crowd pop.

(Tom) Alright… so where the hell is this Miles Morton?

(JB) I believe you mean the Derelict, Bear.

(Tom) Derelict, Mann-Wagon? You can Der-re-lick my…

The cameras look all around the arena, trying to find Derelict. It doesn't take long to find him, as he is standing on a flight of stairs, not too far into the crowd.

(JB) There’s the Derelict! He’s among the fans, a man of the people!

(Tom) Are you sure that’s Morton? I mean, he’s not wearing tights, or pads, and he’s only slightly more ugly than the rest of the mongoloids in the stands. I mean, the wife beater makes him look like Kevin Federline for Gord’s sake.

(JB) C’mon Bear, is that any way to put over new talent?

(Tom) Oh… wait… he’s got wrist tape. He must be a wrestler…

(JB) He’s just alternative, Bear.

(Tom) Just like all the other rejects from the independents. If I told you I had a spare personality Morton, would that be something you’d be interested in?

He begins to come down to ringside, as the pulsating part of the song begins, and red lights flash at the same rhythm. Once at ringside, Derelict stands on the barricade for a second, before walking along it, to the announce tables. He then stands on the commentary table, and points out into the crowd. With the lights still pulsating, he moves his hand, sweeping across the crowd. Then Derelict hops down, before sliding into the ring as the song fades. Strife immediately goes on the offensive, laying stomps into Derelict before he can get to his feet, kicking him into the corner and pushing him into the bottom turnbuckle. Strife takes a second to get the crowd behind him, before charging towards the opposite side of the ring. Whence he returns, Fox Strife hits Derelict with a face wash.

(Tom) If Morton wasn’t a toothless hobo before, he’s damn sure a Derelict now.

Strife pulls Derelict to his feet and rips his wife beater down the center. His bare chest now exposed, Strife begins laying thick knife-edge chops, raising red welts on the Derelict’s sternum. The referee steps between the two; pushing Strife back towards the center of the ring and causing Derelict to stumble forward, clutching his chest in pain. Strife boots Derelict in the midsection and pulls him into a powerbomb position, walking back towards the turnbuckle.

(JB) He’s not going to do what I think he is, is he?

(Tom) You mean use a set of ambiguous pronouns?

Before Strife can powerbomb Derelict into the turnbuckle, Derelict begins punching Fox in the skull. As Strife walks back and forth, trying to regain control, the Derelict snaps him over with a hurricanrana, and holds on for a two-count. Strife powers out and scrambles back to his feet, knocking Derelict over with a lariat before he can regain his composure. Strife bounces off the ropes and first hits one fist drop and then a second. Strife pulls Derelict to his feet and attempts an irish-whip, but Derelict reverses. Derelict lowers his head, looking for a back-body drop, but Strife kicks him in the chest. Strife takes the opportunity to hit the dazed Derelict with a side Russian leg sweep, but doesn’t let go when they hit the ground. Instead, Strife powers the Derelict up and, stepping behind him, drops him right on his head with a high angle belly to back suplex. The following cover gets two. Strife turns to argue with the referee, feeling that the count is a bit slow tonight. While he’s occupied, Derelict grabs him from behind and rolls him up for a quick two count. When both men return to their feet, Strife attempts to knock Derelict down with another stiff lariat, but the man known as Miles Morton ducks, and on the return, hits an inverted atomic drop, and follows with a snap suplex. Morton crawls to the ropes and pulls himself to his feet. Over in the corner, Nikki Cooley begins pounding the mat, encouraging the fans to rally behind Fox. Morton looks at her and spits in her direction, sending her away from the mat and stopping her cheering. The fans however, have begun to stomp and clap. Morton quickly silences that rally however, by tossing Fox into the steel ring post, shoulder first. He waits for Strife to pull himself out of the ropes, and hits a German suplex, before covering for two. Frustrated, Morton pulls Strife to his feet and irish-whips him into the corner. He charges in, burying a shoulder in Strife’s midsection. With his opponent doubled over, Derelict drops him with a DDT. Derelict hops to the top rope.

(JB) Morton likes to utilize a Swanton Bomb that he calls the Final Farewell to incapacitate his opponent.

(Tom) I don’t believe in high-risk moves. It’s like sleeping with a hooker and not using protection.

(JB) That was rather clean for you.

(Tom) Network television. Get me on cable, and I’ll start working blue again.

Derelict signals for the Final Farewell, but before he can leap towards certain victory, Nikki Cooley hops up onto the apron. Derelict steps down, pushing the referee aside, and grabs Cooley by the hair. He pulls her into the ring by the hair and into the center of the ring.

(JB) What the hell is Miles Morton doing?

(Tom) You know, Mann-Wagon… I might start liking this Derelict character!

(JB) How can you say that, Bear? You don’t put your hands on a woman!

(Tom) She got involved in the match, Mann-o-pause! It’s her own damn fault.

Derelict places Cooley’s head in between his legs and places her in a piledriver position. Before he can sit down, however, Fox Strife rushes in and hits a superkick, snapping Morton’s head back at a nearly ninety degree angle.

(JB) Lights out for Derelict! He gets what he deserves.

(Tom) Eh, I knew I didn’t like the guy anyway.

Morton falls backwards, Cooley landing safely on his chest. She rolls out of the ring and Fox jumps on top, hooking both of Derelict’s legs. The three is academic.

(Troy) And your winner is… Fox Strife!

(JB) What an impressive debut for Fox!

(Tom) You have to, however give the assist to Cooley for the distraction. Fox Strife would’ve seen his final farewell.

Cooley runs back into the ring, wrapping her arms around Strife’s neck. Strife stands and places her in the corner, waiting for Morton to get back to his feet. He hits a second Lights Out superkick, knocking Morton out of the ring, and goes back to check on Nikki.

(Tom) Another vicious kick, and we’re heading to another vicious commercial.

Earlier tonight, we saw the Old School Empire lose to the Wild Boys. Dustin Thomas took the pin, after Shane had taken both of the Wild Boys to school. We come into the OSE locker room, where Shane is tossing benches and monitors all over the place.

(Shane) What the hell was that? Dustin is seated on the other side of the room, sprawled out, and shaking his head.

(Dustin) What the hell do you mean "what the hell was that?" If I'd have had some help from my partner, then I could have won the damn match.

The Alpha hoists up a small television that seems to have survived his onslaught. He heaves it across the room, and it explodes with authority just a few feet from Dustin's head. The veins in Shane's head bulge out as he gets in Dustin's face, his voice raised.

(Shane) I? If I would have helped you... you would have won the match?

His hand slams into the concrete wall with a clap.

(Shane) I did all the work, and you just jumped around like some kind of meth addict. I kicked both of those guy's asses, both of them former singles champions mind you, and then you were the one who couldn't hang.

(Dustin) I couldn't hang? I can hang better than anyone. I'm one of the best Silverweights that this company has every seen. I even entered the Total J... (Shane) Total J Cup. Yeah yeah, and I helped you beat Jun Kenshin in the first round. Easy victory, anyways. But when I wasn't there to save your ass you lost. This isn't about any stupid tournaments, this is about the NAFW. I have been around here for two years now, and I'm sick and tired of being held back by your damn scrawny ass. When I was here alone, I...

Dustin stands up, and pushes his brother back.

(Dustin) You were the United States Champion. You were the hottest rising star in the company.

He snorts.

(Dustin) Yeah, you may have been, but then you ran right into the Tharodund Express, and what the hell did you do after that?

A seething Alpha says nothing.

(Dustin) Oh yeah, then you got made into a little bitch by AiR, and no one expected to hear from you again. Until I got your ass back on TV with me.

Shane pushes Dusty back down to a seated position on the bench.

(Shane) No! Mike got us back on TV, because he needed back-up.

He's correct, folks. Dustin made his debut on TV alongside a returning Shane when they aided Mike Lane in fighting Social Disorder, Vin Yun Chang, and others.

(Dustin) Yeah, he only got us so that we could do his grunt work while he walked around in a tunic and talked to himself. Once he got the FLF, he didn't give a crap about us. I was talking about us coming back last fall. I was the one who got Sean Thomas to bring us back as his back-up.

Shane stops in his tracks and thinks for a moment.

(Shane) So wait a second... for all of our time here as a tag team, we've just been bitches for other people?

(Dustin) Uh yeah... pretty much. Did all of those supplements go to your brain or something, bro? There's no such thing as tag team wrestling in the States anymore. All of the good tag teams are singles guys teaming up. Think about it. We faced the Wild Boys tonight, and who are they? Snake, a former Quicksilver Champion, and Crazy Boy, a former US and Intercontinental Champion. And what about The l33t? They have Dave Richmond, who holds some belt in another organization, and Rurik Krychek, the last OSW Champ, and the last guy to hold the X-Treme title before that bitch Destiny got the fed closed down.

The two brothers stand in silence for a beat before Shane speaks.

(Shane) But I was a singles star. And you have done singles work before. We can be singles guys teaming up too!

(Dustin) Yeah, but when was the last time we had a singles career going on?

Shane looks around, and waits for Dustin to continue.

(Dustin) If we're going to compete here, then we'll need to be on a level playing field as the other teams here. We need some singles matches.

Shane nods as Dustin stands up and walks out of the locker room with a smile on his face. The camera zooms in on The Alpha, who speaks at a low volume.

(Shane) I'm not the one who needs the experience, kid.

Cut.

(JB) Uh oh, looks like there might be trouble in the Empire.

(Tom) No… You think?

(JB) Why do you always have to be so sarcastic with me?

(Tom) Why do I have to be with you period?

(JB) Maybe it’s that little thing called a paycheck?

(Tom) Oh yeah, that’s right. So let’s cut the chit chat and let me get back to earning mine for my expert color commentary.

(JB) Fine. We’re finally at our main event for the night, and it’s a big one with Mike Lane taking on newcomer Henry Douglas.

Melissa Hayes has a microphone in her hand and she passes it to Keith Owens.

(Keith) Let’s get one thing straight Lane… This is my ring, and right now, you’re on my time. So if you want to sit around here, you’re more than welcome to have a front row seat as I re-crown myself as the NAFW Foundation Heavyweight Champion. Otherwise, get the hell out of my ring!

A ringside attendant hands Mike Lane a microphone through the ropes. Lane cautiously looks at all of the Trust Fund Kids before raising the mic to his lips.

(Lane) Your ring? Did you not witness the beating that I just gave “Dark Rage” a minute ago?

This is where Trevor Cunning chimes in.

(Trevor) That’s something to be proud of, Mikey. Beating Hank here is like losing your virginity to a prostitute. You might be a man, technically, but until you take the prom queen behind the bleachers while her parents sit only three feet above, watching her quarterback boyfriend win the big game, you’ll never be a legend.

(JB) What the hell does Trevor Cunning known about being a legend?

(Tom) C’mon, Bear. The man’s the Godfather! A fraternity legend!

(JB) Maybe in his own mind.

(Trevor) When you were playing pattycakes with the Points of Authority, Keith was establishing himself as a backyard legend… and I was sleeping with Jaime Alejandro’s wife. While you were Alex Roberts’ bitch, Keith was setting the record for the most successful X-Treme Title defenses… and I was winning the Intercontinental Championship and sleeping with Jaime Alejandro’s wife.

Lane laughs, then turns his attention back to Owens.

(Lane) So is that how it’s going to be Owens? Just going to have your alcoholic buddy here do all of your talking for you? Or should I call out Mike Stryker again and have him beat Cunning’s ass one more time?

(JB) Oooh. Sick burn!

(Tom) Shut up, Elias.

Owens holds his arm out to hold Trevor back from jumping at Lane.

(Keith) No, but if you want, I’ll let my fists do the talking like all those other time’s I’ve kicked your ass.

(Lane) Says the man who got disqualified against me in his last NAFW title defense.

Burn!

(Keith) Whatever Mikey, I retained my title, didn’t I? Sounds like a successful defense to me. And because I retained that title, I have the right to declare myself the Foundation Heavyweight Champion once again.

(Lane) Do you even have any idea the kind of shit I’ve been through in the past four months since you ran away from our match?

(Keith) Oh yeah? Like what? Another box office bomb?

(Lane) You know what Keith, screw the talk. How about before you make a jackass out of yourself trying to declare yourself a champion, you put that title on the line, and we have our Revolution rematch, right here, and right now, and we’ll see who the true champion is then!

The crowd pops massively for this idea, and Keith as well as the rest of his crew, look around in shock. Cunning has an answer for Lane.

(JB) The fans want to see it, so let’s have it right here, right now!

(Tom) So Lane can lose again? Please, Mann-Wagon. You don’t want to see another massacre, do you?

(Trevor) That’s cute Mikey, real cute. Tell me why the Trust Fund Kids should deign to recognize your existence? Hector, and by association, Mr. Buchanan, are our close personal friends. Why should either of them sign off on this match when Keith is the uncrowned, undefeated champion?

(Keith) I’m not putting mytitle on the line tonight against you Mike. You had your shot. Move on. I’m not going to carry your ass through another match. You’re still just a pathetic washed up actor, and I am a legend in the making.

A voice answers back, and it’s not from anyone in the ring.

(???) Shut...the hell...up.

All four of them look around in a bit of confusion.

(???) What, you think I'd let you stand out here and tell the fans that the champ they're going to be getting is a self-absorbed weasel who wouldn't even have a tenth of his supposed draw if I hadn't been there to carry him?

(Tom) Who the hell is this schmuck? Some other wanna-be or never-was that Buchanan brought in to fill up the roster?

(JB) It can’t be him! Can it?

The booming, heavily-accented voice pauses for a moment, invoking an ages-old law of theater. Dramatic timing.

The crowd pops for this mystery man.

(???) You should know me better than that, /bleep/tard. You should know that I wouldn't let a dick like you take that strap away from the millions...

Tell me he's not going to do this.

(???) And there are millions watching at home...I know you're out there...

Oh, good.

(???) ...Of Foundation fans tuning in to get what they've wanted for so long. That just ain't me, Keith. That ain't Vincent /bleep/ing Yun Chang.

Cue a pretty significant pop for an NAFW superstar that these fans have not seen in quite some time.

(JB) Good MOTHER OF GOD!

(Tom) What in the holy hell is VYC doing here?

(JB) Showing Keith Owens up, that’s what! Everyone knows he carried the Difference Maker in the Last Rites Lottery!

Casually, he darts from behind the curtain at the top of the ramp, dressed to the nines in a three-piece suit and chomping on a cigar. Never let it be said that Vincent Yun Chang hadn't any class, nor does he ever do anything small. Speaking of big, an decent portion of the crowd immediately jumps to their feet, all female and wearing the same ripped mock and silver vinyl pants VYC wore during his last televised match with the NAFW, hoisting a large single sign with a phrase that is nigh unprintable. For those viewers at home, unable to read thanks to the real time mosaic and crafty camera cuts, it seems to insinuate that this portion of the crowd desperately wants to wrap their lips around a certain portion of his anatomy. How they knew he'd be appearing is anyone's guess. He must have leaked it on his livejournal.

(VYC) Keith...we used to be friends, man. A /bleep/ing team. You must have forgotten how I backed you up against the Dehmers and helped you to get that X-treme Title -- which you carried for a pretty long time, if I remember.

Vince, as calm and collected as ever, sidles up to ringside and takes a seat on top of the commentary table, folding one leg over the other and taking a long puff of his cigar.

(VYC) But you forgot about all that and sold out like the little p/bleep/ you really are. I carried your ass. I got you into all the right circles, put you in front of the fans so they could see, hey, this guy has talent...and you do. Really. But /bleep/ damn, was that a waste of my time. It was enough that you /bleep/ all over me...but you had to /bleep/ all over these fans, too. And that don't settle with me.

(JB) That don’t settle with me, either, Bear!

(Tom) Goddamn you’re a bandwagon jumper. First you want Lane to kick Keith’s ass, now you want VYC to do it. Make up your damn mind!

(JB) I don’t care who kicks Keith Owen’s ass, as long as someone does.

Keith speaks up, looking pretty tired of hearing VYC talk.

(Keith) Excuse me? Who carried who? If it wasn’t for me, we never would have made it that far in the Last Rites Lottery Tournament. You were a no one, doing nothing with your career. You’re lucky the NAFW decided to take your sorry ass in. NWC what? That’s right Vin. You should thank your lucky stars you got paired with a superstar in the making like me. Just face the facts. You were always second rate to me, and now you’re jealous. You’re jealous you couldn’t do /bleep/ with my X-Treme Championship after I didn’t want it anymore, and you’re jealous that I’m moments away from being declared a two time NAFW Foundation Heavyweight Champion.

(VYC) You know Keith, if you wanna stop being a baby about everything, if you wanna show that you've still got balls, you'd /bleep/ing earn that title instead of demanding that you get it just because you're...well, you. You'd put your shot up against any guy in the locker room and fight for that strap, because kid...you ain't going to get that gold unless you win it.

The crowd pops in agreement with VYC’s words, just as they popped for the challenge Mike Lane has already laid down.

(VYC) And if it comes down to it, if there ain't a single worker back there who isn't willing to take back that gold for all of these people out here -- these people who write your /bleep/ing paycheck -- then /bleep/ damn it, it ain't my place to do it, but I will. And I'll sure as hell take your slimy little ass down.

Keith smiles and leans over the top rope while VYC sits on top of the announcer’s table, still smoking his cigar.

(Keith) You know what? Do everyone including yourself a favor and keep sitting there on that table. You know that you don’t want to get in this ring with me. You know that if you do get in this ring with me, you’re going to fail like all the rest. You talk a lot of talk, but your mediocre career speaks the rest for you. You’re not a world championship caliber athlete. I am. So you can make all the threats that you want that you’ll come in here and kick my ass if no one will, but the truth is, no one else will, so what the hell are you going to do about tha…

As the fun commences along, we hear something unfamiliar as Nonpoint starts screeching the start of "Alive and Kicking (Saint Mix)", interrupting Keith Owens as he speaks.

I'm stronger now, even after everything that you did.
I'm still alive and kicking.
I'm better now.
I'm awake now.
I can see everything in front of me, now.

We see a video with two words on it in giant letters, "The Saint." The crowd around this time starts a giant pop.

I'm getting over it pusing past all the b*******,
and getting right to the root of what the problem really is.
All the reasons for the misunderstandings,
the emergency landings on a plane headed for home.

The blue lights start flasing on the top of the screen as we see the big man pop out in a brown shirt labeled with "Texican Chop Shop" which is unbuttoned with a wifebeater under it. He's wearing leather pants and cowboy boots. His long hair is tied off as is his long goatee which is now down to the middle of his chest. He turns around and raises his huge fist in the air to the tune to a loud pyro shot.

It's where the heart was living till it was without feeling,
and started revealing itself to everyone else.
By just packing up and moving out.
Saying it could do with out a barely
able, unstable, running off at the mouth.

He then turns back around as the folks put out the hands. He reaches out and smacks a few on his way to the ring. He bumps a few fists with the military faithful in the crowd. He then sees a high ranking officer among them and salutes him and gets one in return. He then makes his way up the stairs into the ring.

Jaime looks in the ring and he pulls up a mic while staring and burning a hole right through Keith Owens.

(Tom) Not this lunatic!

(JB) Now the numbers look a little bit more even. Let’s see the Trust Fund Kids try their gang tactics now!

(Jaime) I was in the back and I heard you talking an awful lot of shit to my friend and cousin over there. Did you really think you would get this party started without me? One of the Kings of the NAFW's last era. C'mon, Golden Boy. Get real. The fact you got Vin to come out here is some pretty good reasoning why your claim to the title is complete and utter b******.

The crowd pops on this note as he looks around.

(Jaime) Hell, before I became more of a medical chart than half of the NAFW on a bad day, I was THE MAN, boy. In fact, if I come to think of it, congratulations drinking age Keith, considering that half of the old boys thought you wouldn't make it there. Gain chest hair next and you might be on to manhood... Yet, we have to get back to my point, even if I was healthy, you would have and pretty much have been ducking me for all this time.

The crowd starts to subside from laughter at the chest hair comment as Jaime gets back into his groove.

(Jaime) Come to think of it, you said some pretty mean things about me. Broke my damn heart really. Alejandro the drunk. Alejandro the coward. Alejandro the juiced up freak. Alejandro the loser. Say that s*** now, you p****! I'm begging you to, you rich punk!

The crowd comes alive on this one. This is the real Jaime Alejandro back in living color. However, Cunning answers Jaime’s plea.

(Trevor) Remember me, buddy? The guy who diddled your beloved Rikki and single-handedly ruined your marriage? We don’t need to call you out, Alejjjjjandro, nor do we need to talk any /bleep/. I was running train on your woman in my frat house before anyone else got their dirty paws on her. And hell, if I was interested in opening my own sweatshop, I would have taken your daughter, if I didn’t think there was a chance she might be mine, and thrown her right in there.

Face it Jaime, you are a loser, a drunk and a roided out freak. Hell, judging by your ability to please a woman, I’d say you’re even fruitier than your little panty-wearing, salad tossing cousin out on the announce table.

And you can put thatin the trust, mariçon.

(JB) I’m not sure I like this. This is getting too personal.

(Tom) I just wish I had some popcorn.

This is Mike Lane’s turn to hold Jaime back from pouncing on the impeccable timing of Trevor Cunning. Jamie takes a moment to gather himself and to get refocused.

(Jaime) Hey Cunning, why don’t you keep your trap shut? This isn’t your battle, not unless you want to stake a claim at your buddy Keith’s title. Which reminds me Keith, what gives you the right to be champion? You've pretty much dodged me since the last Chain Reaction. You remember the last time I took you on mano a mano. I... destroyed... YOU.

Alejandro just stands there and drops the mic on that note now just staring at Owens oblivious to the scene around him now.

(Keith) What alternate reality are you living in Alejandro? I didn’t duck anyone after I absolutely owned everyone at Chain Reaction, taking this title from you. You’re the one who got his ass handed to him by some jobber after Chain Reaction then fell off the map thanks to a botched move by that Keith-Owens-Wanna-Be Buddy Harbor. So you know what, go take that last match we had that you won, nearly two years ago, hold onto it real tight, and stick it in your pocket, and sit on it because that’s probably the highlight of your pathetic life. Again, you’ve shown me no compelling interest why I should put the title on the line against the likes of you. It’s not like I’ve never even faced you before. Everyone already knows who the better m…

The opening riffs of Mudvayne's “Determined”begin to play over the Public Address System as the arena lights dim slightly, followed by blue and white pyrotechnics showering down over the entrance curtain.

The curtain is pulled back, as everyone inside the ring turns their attention to the next wrestler that has decided to weigh in his two cents on who should be the Foundation Champion. Only, not many people would have been expecting this.

(JB) I can’t take this anymore! I think I’m going to have a stroke!

(Tom) MY MAN! Here comes the pain, Mann-Wagon!

Dwayne Bishop stands atop the ramp, as he receives a combination of cheers and jeers from the Foundation Fans that have filled the MCI Center to it's capacity. There are a few people inside of the ring who don't look too happy to see him either, and the glares coming from those people would be enough to drop an elephant if they were lethal. After his descent down the ramp, he stares into the ring before ascending the steps and lifting his leg over the top rope to climb in. And of course, he just so happens to have a microphone in his hand. One that he pulls close to the very large smile on his lips.

(Bishop) And here I thought I was the only person who had a problem with this.

Bishop shakes his head as he stares at everyone else in the ring, more importantly, he focuses his attention on the man with the Foundation strap held tight to his chest.

(Bishop) Then again, Owens, it's not like you're a very popular man. Which brings me to why I'm here. I, like all of these other guys...

Bishop pauses slightly to motion toward everyone else.

(Bishop) ...believe that you are hardly the man anyone should ever need to carry their top prize. Sure, you may have been able to contend with the likes of Jack Flint, Mike Lane, and David Kurresh right up until the end there.

Bishop walks up closer to Owens, almost inches away from intimately finding out what he had for dinner.

(Bishop) But I was the one on his way to bring you back down to Earth. Hard. With my so called brother out of the picture, you know I was the only man capable of making you look like the backyard hack everyone knew you were. You’ve never had to face me before Keith. Are you ready to put your money where your mouth it? If anyone should be walking around here claiming to be the next Foundation Champion...

The shit eating grin returned.

(Bishop) It should be me.

Keith backs away from Dwayne Bishop, not wanting to be too close to the angry beast. But that doesn’t stop him from being a cocky asshole.

(Keith) What is this? The bread line?

(Trevor) Seriously! We don’t do charity work!

(Keith) Does everyone and their mother want a shot at me these days? Jesus. I’m not giving handouts. Why don’t you do something like beat someone without me psychologically breaking them down first Dwayne, and then we’ll talk. Because as far as I’m concerned, your only big win has been over the legend I retired, and if it wasn’t for me softening up David Kurresh for you, you never would have gained an ounce of notoriety.

Keith pauses for a moment while the crowd boos him. He looks around VYC who has joined his cousin Jaime in the ring. They’re on one side. Mike Lane is on another. And now Bishop is on a third side. The Trust Fund Kids are practically surrounded.

(Keith) So I think it’s settled. Mike Lane? Beating “Dark Rage” doesn’t make you the number one contender. No shot. VYC? Blow me. No shot. Jaime? Stop sucking at life first. No shot. Bishop? Do something other than look ugly and mean. No shot. Now that I’ve settled that, is there anyone else in the back that would like to try and challenge me before I crown myself champion once more?

Anyone?

Anyone?

Bueller? Bueller?

(Keith) Good. That’s what I thought. Now, Melissa, if you’ll do the honors, lets crown me th…

There go the lights.

(Tom) What now?!

(JB) Or perhaps the question is "Who?"

Indeed, that's some good thinking there JB. You haven't lost a step, my friend. Those of you who in TNT-land who thought this little party in the ring was over: Think again. And toss yourself backward through a plate glass window, just for the memories. The question is "Who?" And the answer is standing on the top of the ramp in the dark. Nobody in the crowd can see who it is yet, but they're all screaming and snapping pictures nonetheless. After everything and everyone they've seen tonight, this is what you could call pre-emptive excitement. Let's hope they're not disappointed, as the screech of a guitar breaks through the cheers. Next comes the drums, and opening riff of Hoobastank's "Just One." Many of the cheers start to turn into jeers, as a single spotlight shines on the stage where the man who last used this music in NAFW stands, wearing a pair of black jeans, an NAFW Throwback t-shirt and a pair of Ruby Oakley sunglasses.

(JB) Good Gord!!

(Tom) Sweet merciful crap!!

(JB) It can't be...

Yes it can. And it is.

(Tom) SEAN THOMAS IS BACK!!

Thank you Tom, for stating what - to anyone with any idea of Foundation history - would fall firmly into the "obvious" category. And for anyone without an idea of Foundation history, you're looking at the man for whom Ruby Oakleys have been a trademark for the better part of six years. The man who, in that time, held just about every major championship and won numerous awards in the Foundation. The man who falls on lists alongside NAFW greats like Tyler Hyatt, James Batty and the Kurreshes. The man who quite literally owned the place. But this isn't the time for a history lesson. This is the time for action. And right now, he's the man walking down the ramp toward the ring with a purpose... And a microphone.

(JB) After everything this man has done, he's got a lot of nerve showing up here tonight!

(Tom) Oh, shut up Mannwheel. He deserves to be here just as much as anyone else!

(JB) Are you serious?! This man made it his mission to destroy the Foundation, and by Gord he damn near did it!

(Tom) Damn near only counts in horseshoes and hand grenades.

Sorry to interrupt, guys, but the man of the moment has made it into the ring. He looks around at the others already assembled with contempt in his face, before turning to the corner. He climbs up and sits on the top turnbuckle, with his feet on the second rope - his classic perch. As he raises the microphone, good old Chuck in the truck takes the cue and kills the music.

(Sean) Washington DC...

Cheap pop. But Sean raises a hand, as if to say "not so fast!"

(Sean) I'm with Stephen Colbert: This hole isn't part of the United States.

And now we meet cheap pop's bastard cousin, cheap heat. There's a smug grin on Sean's face.

(Sean) But what do I care? I'm not American anyway! Give me the Maple Leaf over the Stars and Stripes any day...

And more cheap heat. Too easy, if you ask me. But you didn't. Nobody ever asks me...

(Sean) Anyway. I'm not here to berate the locals, or to extoll the virtues of Canada. Or even to tell you just how it is that I'm back in this ring - which I'm sure you're wondering...

(JB) You're damn right we are!

(Sean) No sir, I'm here for one reason and one reason only... The Foundation Heavyweight Championship. It's really simple. The last thing I said to Keith Owens before my ejection from this Foundation was an enduring truth of this business. I told him that no matter who is "in charge" or "calling the shots," there is one undeniable fact. The true power lies in one place: That belt!

Please note that "in charge" and "calling the shots" were in a clearly sarcastic tone, and accompanied by the equally sarcastic "finger quotes" gesture. Also: That same gesture will be used again in a moment, so keep your eyes peeled.

(Sean) I also told "The Difference Maker" that if he knew what was good for him, he'd hold onto that belt for dear life. He may have it in his hands now, but four months ago, he willingly handed it off to Hector Gonzales. The kid didn't take my advice... And now he's going to pay for it.

Sean jumps down now, pulls off his shades, and gives another look around.

(Sean) I've had a taste of power... And I liked it. I want to taste it again, and that's what I'm here to do. But this time I won't be using money or politics. I'm going to go the direct route: Destroying whoever stands in my way. Mike Lane, I’m looking at you too if you want to go at it again. You see, it’s just that simple. I’ll take anyone, any time, anywhere.

With that, Sean drops the mic. He's said his piece. Jaime takes his turn and restrains Lane from jumping Thomas right there where he stands.

(Keith) Now this is an absolute joke. Now you want a shot at this Sean? Don’t you realize how miserable of a champion you were the first time around? Regardless, the power is mine. You need to check yourself into rehab or something, Spazzy, because you’ve got an addiction you’re simply not going to get your fix of. The belt, the power, and the glory, are all mine, and there’s not a damn thing any one of you can do about it. Hector might have taken pity on all of you and resigned you to wrestling contracts, but none of them stipulated that you could have a crack at my title. It’s as simple as the fact that no one from this company is deserving enough for a title shot, and even if one of you got one, you still wouldn’t beat me!

Before the crowd even has time to react to that last comment, "Any Fule Kno That" by Deep Purple starts to play. The fans and the wrestlers in the ring look around in confusion...this song is not the entrance music for any past or present NAFW Superstar that they can think of. A spotlight starts to scan the crowd in the MCI Center, and the camera follows. The light comes to a sudden stop on the second deck, where standing in the middle of a crowd of cheering fans, we see... Diamond Del Carver?!?

(Tom) What the hell is HE doing here?

The former SHOOT Project and OPW superstar is standing calmly amidst a hoard of cheering fans, who are slapping him on the back. Carver is decked out in his usual black biker boots, faded jeans, and he is wearing a sleeveless T-shirt with the new NAFW logo across the chest! As always, Carver has a black leather eyepatch covering his left eye. The man known as "The Hardcore Outlaw" also has a small brown mini-cigar clenched between his teeth, and a calm expression on his face. Finally, as the music continues to play and the camera follows him, Diamond Del Carver starts to stride through the crowd. He descends the stairs from the upper level to the floor level seats in the arena, and then he starts to weave his way through the fans, to the ringside area. Carver is slapping "high fives" with many of the fans as he works his way through the crowd. Finally, he makes it to the ringside area, where he climbs over the crowd barricade, and casually rolls into the ring. Ignoring the other wrestlers, Diamond Del Carver walks across the ring, climbs to the top turnbuckle, and holds his arms out to the fans. The crowd roars in recognition and appreciation. Diamond Del hops down as his music fades, and he picks up a cordless microphone and starts to speak...

(Del Carver) Somebody told me that they were putting the band back together, Washington!

A roar goes up from the crowd.

(Del Carver) Now I know what you're thinking. Last time anybody saw me, I was sticking my nose into a situation that didn't have nothing to do with me down in OPW. Before that, I was over in SHOOT Project. So of course, the question is...what the HELL is Diamond Del Carver doing crashing the party in NAFW?

(Trevor) Especially when the last two times he tried, Del Carver couldn’t hack it. Or is that something you forgot in your old age, grandpa?

(JB) Let the man speak!

(Tom) I was about to make that point myself!

(Del Carver) There are adults speaking here, son. Go back to sucking on your bottle and let us talk. Here's the deal. For those of you who know me, you know one plain and simple fact. I do what I want to do, when I want to do it. Now I got nothing bad to say about SHOOT Project. Them boys got some good fighters over there. Here's the thing, though. They say that if you work for SHOOT Project, you can't work for nobody else but SHOOT Project. Like say I work in SHOOT, and I want to go smack somebody in the mouth in OPW? They won't let me. Let's say I want to fly over to Japan and kick somebody in the teeth? They won't let me. Let's say I wanted to come over to the NAFW, and tell Keith Owens that he's full of /beep/, SHOOT Project wouldn't let me!

The fans continue to cheer, and laugh.

(Del Carver) I called Jason Johnson, and I told him I wanted to work on his last Pay Per View. I told him I would wrestle in the opening match, whatever...I didn't care. Well I guess unless I am willing to take all of my orders from SHOOT Project, then I can't work there. So I guess that part of my life is over. You know why? I wanted to go to OPW and smack somebody in the mouth. I wanted to go to Japan and kick somebody in the teeth...and I wanted to come to the NAFW and tell Keith Owens to his face...YOU'RE FULL OF /BLEEP/.

(JB) Them’s are fightin’ words!!

The crowd buzzes in anticipation, as Keith Owens gives Diamond Del Carver a look that could easily kill.

(Keith) Better to be full of /beep/ than a piece of /beep/.

(Tom) He has a point.

(JB) Shut the hell up.

(Del Carver) OPW? Been there, done that. SHOOT? Been there, done that. Japan, been there, done that. But I figured that if I came here, I just might get me a shot at the big belt, the grandpappy…

(Trevor) Speaking of grandpappies…

(Del Carver) What did I tell you, boy? Respect your elders.

(Tom) No one talks to Trevor Cunning that way!

(JB) Del Carver just did!

(Del Carver) But I figured that if I came here, I just might get me a shot at the big belt, the grandpappy of them all, the Foundation Heavyweight Championship. Keith Owens? From where I sit, you ain't got a claim to NOTHING, son. So I am here, and I ain't going nowhere. I got TWO things I'm going to do. The first thing I want to do is a secret for now. I'll get around to that in my own good time, and when I do, you'll all know. The second thing I want to do is I want to win that Foundation Heavyweight Championship!

Crowd pop!

(Del Carver) Diamond Del Carver is HERE, Diamond Del Carver is NAFW, and Diamond Del Carver ain't going nowhere til I do what I want, and NOBODY...and I mean NOBODY tells Diamond Del Carver what he CAN and CAN'T DO!

(Keith) I’ll tell you something you can do, Carver. You can step to the back of the line; behind the Crazy Boys and the Dark Rages, the Andy D’s and the Mexican Toiletries, because you’ve never proven a goddamn thing to the NAFW.

You show up, every time the /beep/ Project doesn’t want to give you a handy in the parking lot and tell you your special, and each and every time, we send you back down to where you belong: the minor leagues.

I will give you credit for one thing, though. You’re the only miserable /beep/ brave enough to stop playing around with has-beens like the Intruder, the Judge and never weres like David Graves and Jack Flint.

You still suck, but I have to give you some kind of credit. But a title shot? Del Carver, you CAN’T have a title shot and you CAN kiss my ass.

(Del Carver) Didn’t you hear me, boy? NOBODY...and I mean NOBODY tells Diamond Del Carver what he CAN and CAN'T DO!

Keith is about to raise the mic to his mouth to answer back to yet another interruption of his re-crowning ceremony, but someone else beats him to it.

(???) Except for me.

(JB) I thought he wasn’t here tonight!

(Tom) Then again, there were about eleven or thirty-seven other people we didn’t think were here tonight either.

Everyone’s attention in the arena shifts from the Trust Fund Kids being surrounded to the stage area, where the boss himself, Hector Gonzales has decided to step out.

(Hector) Now look here. I resigned ya’ll to new contracts, or in the case of Mistah Carver, a new contract, and that includes you Keith. And no where did it say that any of ya’ll were getting world title shots, nah were any of y’all the Foundation Heavyweight Champion. But I was sittin’ in the back, hearin’ y’all interrupt Keith, givin’ him a piece of y’alls minds. An’ I also heard Keith fire back about why he thinks he should still be the Foundation Heavyweight Champion. So ta make matta’s simple, I’m gunna render a decision, right here, and right now.

The crowd eagerly waits in anticipation for what Hector’s decision regarding the Foundation Heavyweight Championship will be.

(Hector) Keith… You ain’t the champion no more, and that’s final.

There’s a massive crowd pop, whether or not that was intentional by Hector.

(Hector) And the rest of y’all… You ain’t in line for a shot at that there title just yet. You see, we’re going to have ourselves a good old fashion tournament to decide who the new Foundation Heavyweight Champion is!

The crowd pops once more, because who doesn’t love a good tournament?

(Hector) Next week will be the beginning of what I like ta call an N-A-F-Dubya classic: Ultimate Showdown. Y’all will compete week after week, and then at the Pay Per View Ultimate Showdown, one of y’all lucky people will be the new champion of the world!

(JB) Ultimate Showdown?

(Tom) We haven’t seen Ultimate Showdown in over a year!

Everyone in the ring begins to stare down everyone else, because anyone could end up being a potential opponent on one’s path to the Foundation Heavyweight Championship.

(Hector) Hold on one sec there… I forgot to mention one important detail… You see, I’m gonna recognize the fact that Keith was the last, and unbeaten Foundation Heavyweight Champion. Therefore he’s gonna get a special privilege. The winner of the Ultimate Showdown Tournament at the Pay Per View will face Keith Owens later that night in the Super Finals of the Tournament, and the winna of that match will be your new Foundation Heavyweight Champion. Now, y’all have a good night.

The crowd boos Hector’s special spot for Keith in the tournament.

Meanwhile, in the ring, Keith and Trevor are utterly surrounded by VYC, Jaime Alejandro, Dwayne Bishop, Sean Thomas, and “Diamond” Del Carver. Melissa Hayes has gone to the outside of the ring for her safety. All the men look at Keith with hungry eyes, because all of them seem to be willing to do whatever it takes to take him down and win his title. A sense of panic seems to be setting in for the Trust Fund Kids, and it reaches a head when Keith and Trevor look at each other, then instantly turn and attack everyone else!

Cunning nails Carver and Keith chops Bishop!

All the other men jump into the fray!

(JB) It’s bedlam! Keith knows he's a wanted man, even if he's not the champion officially!

(Tom) Run Keith! Run for your life!

Mike Lane immediately jumps for Sean Thomas and the two of them spill to the outside in a brawl! They’re going at it like Mike Lane brutalized his opponent earlier in the night.

People are swinging at anyone who gets close to them! It’s absolute chaos!

Del Carver and Trevor Cunning are locking horns, with Cunning trying to use his size and his youth to deliver some vicious knees to the midsection of Carver.

Meanwhile, Jaime Alejandro has teamed up with Dwayne Bishop, and Keith Owens is in a lot of trouble.

(JB) Tom, I think you better stand up now!

(Tom) What? Why… Oh holy shit!...

Alejandro and Bishop have hoisted Keith on their shoulders and drill him through the announce table with a huge double powerbomb! The crowd is going absolutely nuts while Melissa Hayes is screaming in horror! Mixed chants of “Holy shit! Holy shit!” and “NAF-Dub! NAFW-Dub!” are ringing out in the arena. JB Mann and Tom Kalhoun can only look on at the comeuppance of the former Foundation Heavyweight Champion!

(JB) This is absolute carnage out here! I’m JB Mann, and on behalf of Tom Kalhoun, thank you for joining us tonight from Washington, D.C. Tune in next week for the beginning of the Ultimate Showdown Tournament!

Bishop picks up the Foundation Heavyweight Championship, holds it up to look at it, and then throws it down on the prone body of Keith Owens. The camera zooms in on the bloodied and battered former champion as the show fades out.