At the same time a countdown appears on screen.
The guitar riff is playing over this countdown.
When the countdown reaches zero, there’s a pause, and then the rest of the hard hitting instruments kick in.
Rapid action shots of Keith Owens bashing people with light tubes are shown.
Caskets are flying over the edge of stages.
Dwayne Bishop and Jaime Alejandro powerbomb Keith Owens through the announce table!
Mike Lane Shadow Kicks a jobber iinto next week.
Mike Stryker has the New York Cloverleaf locked and his opponent is screams in agony.
The Wild Boys perform a double suplex on someone.
Diamond Del Carver executes the Diamond Death Drop on someone.
We cut to Keith Owens drilling David Kurresh with the Difference Maker, and then the song hits with a giant drum roll.
The intro video ends and we flash to the Annihilation logo.
ON
Cue the huge boom of the indoor pyrotechnics display.
BOOM!!
BOOM!!!
The camera cuts to the ringside announcer’s table, where JB Mann and Tom “The Bear” Kalhoun are standing by.
(JB) Ladies and gents, its that time of the month again.
(Tom) But Mannwagon, you know you can still do it during that time of the month, it’s just really messy.
(JB) I just threw up a little in my mouth Bear.
(Tom) Well you know what they say… Don’t trust anything that bleeds for five days and doesn’t die!
(JB) As inappropriate as that sounds, despite our tragically limited schedule, the NAFW isn’t going anywhere either. We have a television contract until August!
(Tom) I guess I won’t get out of my seat then.
(JB) Good, I wouldn’t want you to strain yourself. In other news, we’ve got a huge title match tonight! Let’s take a look at some footage from earlier today…
The Reaper Cometh...In Style
We cut to outside, about an hour prior to Annihilation first came on the air to see a Golden Almond Metallic 2007 Lexus ES350 pulling into the back of The Pit. Those who aren't sure of who it is, can recognize the custom plate which reads in no uncertain terms...
REAPER1
Fans pop as the driver's side door opens and the challenger for the Foundation Heavyweight Championship tonight, "The Reaper" Leonard Aarons, steps out clad with a black New York Mets jersey on with the 03 on the front and a pair of gold and black fatigues. The camera happens to catch Reaper on the back of it, as he pulls his bag out of the car. As the driver's side door closes while he slings his bag over his left shoulder, the passenger's side door opens as a woman with platinum blonde hair steps out of the car with a bag over her shoulder as well. As the door is shut, her blue eyes are cold and focused, her hands are taped and not like she needs a sign which says so in not but so many words...she's here to fight. She's got on a pair of platinum colored fatigues and an orange 1975 Philadelphia Flyers throwback jersey on. Both of them are wearing very thin black shades as they head inside.
(JB) By virtue of his performance last week, Commissioner Buchanan awarded The Reaper a shot at Trevor Cunning’s title, and those two will face off in the main event later tonight.
(Tom) But first we have to sit through a snore fest of a match…
Sebastian Hawke vs. Snake w/ Wilson
(JB) This is our opening match of Annihilation for this week. We have former Wild Boys member, Snake, taking on the upcoming superstar, Sebastian Hawke!
(Tom) *yawn*
(JB) What’s Your Problem
(Tom) I didn’t get much sleep last night. I was with your mom all night long!
(JB) Can you for once at least focus on the match?
(Tom) NO.
"I F**cking Hate You" by Godsmack hits the PA system before Snake comes out from the back to the delight of the crowd. He's got Wilson under his right arm. Snake starts to make his way down the ramp and when the first verse comes to an end, Snake sets Wilson on the ground and throws his hands up above his head allowing two large green fireworks to go off behind him. Snake then picks up Wilson and makes his way to the ring, high fiving some random fans before climbing into the ring.
(JB) There’s the traitor known as Snake. He has done an injustice with Crazy Boy, and has stabbed him completely in the back.
(Tom) It’s about time that he got rid of that piece of garbage. He was holding Snake back!
(JB) … I wish you would just shut up.
"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.
(JB) This match is about to start folks. Let’s get to the action.
(Tom) Whoppie-doo.
The referee signals for the bell and both superstars stare each other down. Tie up in the middle and Hawke gets the upper hand by pushing the much smaller Snake back. Snake tries to get back up to his feet, but Hawke is already all over him and kicking him to the mat. Hawke picks Snake up and hit’s a quick belly-to-belly suplex on him. A quick pin by Hawke, but Snake quickly kicks out.
Hawke tries a clothesline, but snake ducks under it and bounces off the ropes and hit’s a springboard moonsault on Hawke. Hawke staggers back and falls to the mat and Snake pumps his fist in the air, the fans booing him. A couple of kicks to the midsection of Hawke and snake picks him back up and starts to kick him in the shins and the knees. Hawke staggers back and as Snake continues to kick, Hawke musters up some energy and kicks Snake right in the face. Hawke with another cover.
1.
2.
Kickout by Snake.
Hawke picks up Snake and hit’s a short clothesline on him. Snake bounces back up quickly and gets his by another short clothesline. Snake bounces up one last time and gets hit by a exploder suplex. Hawke is on fire! Sebastian picks up Snake and irish whips him in the ropes and connects with a Takedown Front Tackle. As Hawke prepares to pick up Snake, Snake quickly rolls out of the way and goes straight for Wilson. The referee runs over to cut Snake off, telling him to not to do it. While Snake is arguing with the ref, the crowd reacts to what is happening out of the ring.
Sebastian turns around and gets nailed in the head by a steel chair by JEREMY LEWIS. Lewis quickly runs out of the ring and ducks down, so the ref cannot see him. Snake, noticing this, runs up to Hawke and makes a quick roll up pin.
1.
2.
3!
Snake has won the match.
(JB) DAMN JEREMY LEWIS! Sebastian Hawke had that match won, and JL had to come out there and cost him the damn match!
(Tom) JL is making a statement. He wants the world to know that he isn’t dead.
(JB) Hawke got screwed, by Gord!
(Tom) You’re just jealous because I got some last night and you didn’t, Mann-Wheel.
(JB) I hate you.
(Tom) I know.
Jeremy Lewis is now see standing on the walkway, glaring and smiling at the fallen Sebastian Hawke as Snake’s hand is held in victory. JL makes his way back up the backstage as the camera pans to the knocked out Hawke.
Crazy Boy & Andy D vs. The LAX-itives
Three Wishes Qualifying Match
Match Finish Summary: Crazy Boy and Andy D pick up the win after failed interference by Snake that saw him beg El Asso Wipo in the face with Wilson and CB score a roll up. Snake is not pleased and grabs Wilson, heading out through the crowd.
More Notice
We're back in the Cougar Position, where Crazy Boy and Andy D are coming through the curtain, pleased with their victory. They stop in their tracks however, when they come face to face with the Old School Empire.
(Dustin) You guys are now On Notice!
(Shane) You'd better watch your asses!
They walk into the black tunnel leading into the arena. Andy just shrugs, but CB looks towards the direction OSE walked in, and smiles.
(Tom) It's been laid down now!
Spaz w/ Mike Lane vs. Dustin Thomas w/ Shane Thomas
A siren hits the speakers and the word "EMPIRE" appears on the video screen.
(Tom) Bow to the soon-to-be Tag Team Champions.
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. Dusty points up, and Shane comes out of the curtain, in a pair of gun metal slacks, and a loose fitting silk shirt.
(JB) If you say so, Bear.
(Tom) They want it more than any of these other guys. When it's all said and done, all of the other teams will be able to go back to singles competition. This is the Empire's livelyhood.
Dustin taunts the fans as he walks down the aisle, while Shane just follows. 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. The lights cut out. Two spotlights begins circling the arena. One is tinted red, and the other gold. They pan around the crowd, and after a few seconds a voice permeates the air.
(JB) I won't argue, but their competition might.
Are you ready...
For a Sugar Rush?
BOOOOOOOM!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Audioslave's "Cochise" hits the speakers as the wall of pyro fades down from the entrance way. Mike Lane and Spaz appear through the curtain, and the crowd goes bananas. The throwback NAFW jersey's (currently being sold at a NAFW Merchandise retailer near you) are both being sported by these two men that many are figuring to represent a bygone era of the company.
(JB) I'll tell ya what, I'm expecting a really hot match here.
(Tom) I don't know, it's kind of chilly in here.
(JB) That's not what I mean, Bear.
(Tom) Then what do you mean?
Lane and Spaz climb into the ring, and go to opposite corners, getting to their feet, and indulging in the crowd's love. Dustin stands in his corner, staring a hole through Spaz.
(JB) Dustin Thomas has been looking for this opportunity for a long time. He's always been driven to be successfuly in singles competition, and he has his chance here tonight, against Spaz.
(Tom) I agree with you here, for once, my boy Dust has the opportunity to upset yet another former Foundation Champion.
Lane drops to ringside as the official lays it down to Spaz and Dustin.
(JB) But I think that Spaz is looking to prove that he can still hang with today's Foundation Superstars.
(Tom) He's about to find out that he can't.
The ref backs away, and the two men lock up. Spaz comes out of it with the upperhand, quite literally as he applies an armbar on his opponent. Dustin elbows out, and applies his own armbar, taunting Spaz the whole way. The elder superstar reverses into an armdrag, and when Dustin lands on his feet, rolls him up into a small package. The ref counts two before Dustin rolls through into his own pinning predicament. Once again, the official is able to hit the mat twice before Spaz gets his shoulder up. Both men get to their feet, and circle one another as the crowd cheers.
(JB) I think that both men may be reevaluating their opponent now.
(Tom) I'd hope so. Where's the excitement!?
Spaz moves in for what could have been another lock up, but Dustin fires off a dropkick. Spaz, in all his veteran wisdom, just slaps the younger Thomas brother to the ground. He lifts him up, and sends Dust to the corner. Spaz charges, and Dustin throws an elbow into Spaz's face. As the former FHC staggers backwards, Dustin bulldogs him to the mat. Instead of following up, he bails to the outside, where he and Shane confer. Lane starts slapping the apron, and leading the crowd in chanting for Spaz.
(JB) What is this? Wrestling by committee?
(Tom) Come on, don't be upset that Spaz is being dominated by the younger, faster, smar...
Bear is cut off by Spaz leaping over the top rope onto the Old School Empire. Both men go crashing to the floor, and the ref is making the count. Spaz recovers first, and rolls Dustin back into the ring. Shane grabs Spaz, and they have words for a moment, before Spaz heads back into the ring. Dust used the distraction to recover enough to greet Spaz with a sunset flip, which only gets two. Spaz kicks Dustin in the head, and rolls to his feet. Thomas ducks a clotheslines, and both men hit the ropes, and go at one another.
(Tom) Collision time!
Spaz goes for a clothesline while bracing himself for some kind of leaping move, but Dustin just ducks underneath the arm, and applies a...
(Tom) ALPHA LOCK!!!
(JB) Oh Lord...
Dustin has the full nelson locked in, and is really cranking in on it. Shane is cheering his ass off, while Lane is shaking his head. However, Dustin's version isn't stout as the one his brother employs, as Spaz is able to slip out of his grasp. Both men hit the ropes, and this time Dustin tries to leap up into a frankensteiner, but Spaz powerbombs him down. The Original points to his partner, and looks around to the crowd.
(JB) Could he be getting ready for the Sugar Rush?
(Tom) Let's hope not.
The world may never know what he was going for because Shane Thomas has rolled into the ring. Dustin grabs the ref and begins to try to confer with him, as Shane picks up Spaz for an Alpha Maneuver. He doesn't get to rattle it off though because Mike Lane is now in the ring. He Shadow Kick's the Alpha out of his boots (and out of the ring), while Spaz just drops to the mat, kind of awkwardly. Shane lifts himself up using the curtain on the apron, so Lane leaps over the top rope onto Shane. The ref turns around, and sees the melee as Dustin goes for a cover. The ref ignores Dust, and goes to check on Lane and Shane as the Original lays in punches. The crowd gets to their feet and looks up the aisle.
(Tom) What the blazes?
The crowd is hyped up as Crazy Boy and Andy D both slide into the ring. CB grabs Dustin, and nails him with the Crazy Slam while Andy pulls Spaz on top of Thomas. They bail to the outside, and kneel by the apron as the ref slides back in to make the count. 1.....2......3!
(JB) There you have it! Spaz beats Dustin Thomas!
(Tom) Those two idiots beat Dustin Thomas!
(JB) They started the interference, Bear, they just couldn't keep up their end of it.
Lane slides into the ring, and he looks over to ringside, where he sees the men who made all this happen, who are walking back up the aisle. He kind of shakes his head at them before kicking Dustin out of the ring. Shane grabs his brother, and they slowly retreat back up the aisle. Lane and Spaz begin to celebrate for the crowd.
(JB) Interference or not, I think Dustin Thomas showed us that he can hang with the big boys, and Spaz showed us that he still has it. I'd love to see a contest between these guys that didn't have to end like this.
(Tom) One thing's for sure. If Crazy Boy and Andy D weren't On Notice before, they have to be now. There's going to be hell to pay for those two.
The Past Catches Up With Us...Eventually
We see "The Reaper" sitting in his dressing room, boom box blaring out the sounds of brass as "Encore" by Jay-Z plays. The Reaper's getting his mind right, as his left leg rests on a stool as he laces up his boots in preparation for the main event tonight. He finishes with the left and lifts his right leg up, preparing to do the same as the door to his locker room opens. The camera catches a glimpse of Heatwave in his wrestling attire, walking in rather purposefully as he stands mere feet away from The Reaper. The Reaper, barely lifts his head up from what he's doing, simply acknowledging his guest with a simple nod of the head.
(The Reaper) What's great?
(Heatwave) What's great? That's the way you greet an old friend? Man, I'm crushed.
Sarcasm is oozing from Heatwave as he rolls his eyes slowly and shakes his head.
(The Reaper) I'd get up, but I'm busy at the moment.
(Heatwave) I can see that. But then again, you've always been -busy-, so I really shouldn't expect anything less now. But I see you've got yourself a title shot for tonight.
Without looking up, he simply answers...
(The Reaper) Yup. I see you've got yourself a battle with Charles Johnson tonight. Enjoy, that's about as close to a scrimmage as you're likely to get. Now, I'm not sure if you've noticed, but I'm not really up for catching up on old times right now. Think we can catch up later?
This is when Heatwave's stance and posture, gets just a little bit tense. There's quite a bit of history between these two, as you're about to see unfold before your eyes.
(Heatwave) I think now's as good a time as any...so I strongly suggest that you -make- the time for me. I think it's the -least- I have coming. You remember three years ago?
The Reaper simply lets out a 'eh' as he continues lacing up his boots. Heatwave, at this point is beyond words at the rather passive attitude and demeanor Aarons has and decides to take more drastic measures. This would include kicking the stool out from underneath Aarons, causing his foot to drop to the floor and with it, this gets Aarons out of his seat in a hurry. Now Heatwave smiles, just as Aarons gets that scowl of his with his taped fists clenched.
(The Reaper) Okay, you want an answer? Yeah, I remember three years ago. This what your little social call's about? Don't think I didn't catch wind of you throwing a fit about your wife a few days ago.
(Heatwave) A fit? You haven't seen a fit, Leonard. You dragged my family into something that was between you and me. You broke my wife's neck and you ended my title reign. Titles can be won again...but my wife...
Through gritted teeth, Heatwave takes a sharp inhale of breath and exhales slowly.
(Heatwave) ...you crossed a line that shouldn't have been touched in the first place.
(The Reaper) Passively Self-fulfilling prophecy, man. I told you what was going to happen the second you turned your back on me and the rest of the East Coast Connection. It's over, it's done. And I'm past that point of my life and career.
Heatwave simply looks at him and snorts, as he nods his head although his eyes never leave The Reaper's.
(Heatwave) Self-fulfilling prophecy?!
Heatwave tone of voice raises as he turns his neck slightly as a faint popping noise fills his ears. He closes his eyes for a moment and takes in a deep breath. He's been holding onto this too long to let it boil over...at least, not yet.
(Heatwave) That's all fine and dandy, I would give you a warning...but I would be telling you something you already know. I haven't forgotten about this and neither has my wife, we've -both- had three years to think about it. You might have your title shot tonight, but know this one thing for certain and two things for sure. You're gonna catch more than hell for what you did to my wife and what you did to me. I don't care if you're 15 country miles past it. I'm not. My wife's not. And rest assured knowing I...
(The Reaper) Matter of factly Look Nic, I'm trying to tell you that I'm not looking to take this back to where it was. I've already got one person running around here trying to get me to go back to what I was and that's not me anymore. Now if it's a vendetta you're after, I'm obligated to tell you that Devastation is what you're going to get.
(Heatwave) You self-righteous Mother...
It's here that a blur enters the picture, stepping in between the two just as Heatwave takes a step back ready to swing on The Reaper. It's the woman who was with L earlier in the evening, as Heatwave steps back with a slight look of shock on his face but for the most part, he's still livid.
(Woman) Niccoli. Long time.
(Heatwave) Charlene. I should've counted on you always making the save. What brings you here?
(Charlene) Personal business. As I can see you're here on as well.
His eyes narrow at The Reaper as he simply responds...
(Heatwave) You haven't got the slightest idea.
He points at Aarons with his right arm extended, backtracking as he says with little to no hesitation whatsoever...
(Heatwave) This is far from over, Leonard....far from over. I don't care who you think you are now...but sins of father, Len...sins of the father...
Almost as if it were timed, "Justify My Thug", Leonard's old theme back when he was in the National Wrestling Council starts to play as Aarons sits back down as he tries to calm himself down. The woman takes a seat on the stool that's now a few feet away from Aarons as he resumes lacing up his boots.
(Charlene) Let me guess...he's still bent out of shape over you breaking Nicole's neck with that top rope Injection of Greatness?
Aarons just nods.
(Charlene) You should've known he was going to come after you at some point. I just thought he had enough respect for you to hold off on that until...well...anytime after tonight.
(The Reaper) It's cool. He's been sitting on this for three years, I can't imagine how badly he's got it in for me considering the hell I put him and his family through. Fact is, I'm not going back on what I said. If it's a vendetta he's after, it's Devastation he's gonna get and that's as simple as I can put it.
Aarons starts to stretch after lacing up his last boot, as Charlene simply gets up to make a phone call as we head back towards the ring.
Dan Stein vs. Mike Castleberry
No Holds Barred Rematch
(JB) Next up is our No Holds Barred rematch between Dan Stein and Mike Castleberry stemming from the open challenge of Castleberry that Stein answered.
Match Finish Summary: Both men are battered and bloody from the match, but Stein manages to get the upper hand, and begins to slowly climb to the top rope again. Castleberry begins to slowly rise to his feet and notices his bat laying next to him. With a deseperate second wind he grabs the bat and sprints to the turnbuckle, hitting Stein in the stomach with it, doubling him over. Castleberry climbs to the top turnbuckle, but gets behind Stein, instead of in front of him, and turns him around. The crowd jumps to their feet as the announcers have no idea what he has planned. In a near suicidal move, Castleberry hooks Stein and superplexes him to the outside, through the announcers table. The match ends in a no contest, as both men are unable to continue after the move.
(Tom) Damn it Castleberries! Now I don’t have a table to sit at anymore!
(JB) Jeez Bear, neither man is moving, we need someone out here!
COMMERCIAL
The crowd is stark quiet, still reeling after the thrilling contest that had just been wagered, when the familliar distorted chords of Nine Inch Nails' "The Line Begins to Blur" reverb throughout the arena, causing the fans in attendance to react in ubiquiously vocal fashion.
(JB) Oh no, what're they doing here!?
(Tom) Hey, Mann-wich, show some respect for the Atlantic Champion!
(JB) How can you even call Hush a true champion!? Essex screwed Stryker out of the belt at Last Rites! And even at that, what in the world is Hush doing here tonight!? He's not scheduled for action!!
(Tom) Is he ever? No. And I'll tell you why; it's because Hush doesn't NEED to massacre some nameless nobody week after week to prove his point, he just needs to raise that belt to show the world what he's worth!
(JB) ...You don't know how wrong you are, and anyway, it seems as though we only have to deal with that snake in the grass for the moment.
What snake in the grass, you say? Well, the one and only Aleister Essex, of course! Striding down to the ring like a grinning undertaker with stereotypical Brittish teeth, Essex, decked out in a devil-red suit, and an equally devious red fedora with black trim, comes to ringside accompanied by something rather than the usual someone:
The Atlantic Championship.
(JB) I don't get it... We don't hear from Hush last week, and yet this week all we get is Essex out here with the belt. What kind of Champion doesn't promote himself with the belt!?
(Tom) That's because we weren't allowed to air Mark Herriot's interview with Hush last week because the network censored it! That, and it was pulled from the website after only being up for 30 minutes!
(JB) That's what all that violence will get Hush-...
(Tom) You're forgetting all the ladies he must get.
(JB) ...Hush is a 7 foot tall, retarded behemoth, how in the world does he get chicks!?!?
(Tom) He's big ALL around.
(JB) ...Besides that being an image I NEVER EVER want to conjure up as long as I live, just how the hell do YOU know!?
(Tom) Word of the mouth.
(JB) Word of who's mouth?
(Tom) The mouths that've been there.
(JB) ...
(Tom) Yeeeeeeahhhh...
Moving away from the definitely disturbing commentary of our Annihilation bedfellows, the camera's attention turns towards Aleister Essex who, slinging the Atlantic Championship like a trophy over his left shoulder, has taken a mic from one ofthe off-camera stagehands, and returned to the middle of the ring to deliver the captive audience a message.
(Essex) Sinners, saints, plebians and imbeciles alike, I give you the Atlantic Championship!!!
The crowd collectively boos as the camera zooms in on the Championship belt, held in the air for grand effect by Essex's left arm.
(Essex) Yes, children, your errant choreboy Mike Stryker is no longer in possession of this hallowed belt. His words of strength, violence, valor and courage proving to be as empty as any mere charlatan!
No, no, no, my children... Boo me not, for I have proven you all WRONG. All of you doubters, both snide in nature and ignorant in thought, all of you believed that Mike Stryker's spotless and clean record would surely prevail in a contest of strength concerning his baby, the Atlantic Championship. But I proved the nay-sayers wrong, I proved you ALL wrong, all of you incompetent, illiterate, illogical ignoramuses!
(JB) Ignoramuses?
(Tom) Yes... It's the correct plural form of "ignoramus", fool. What else could it be?
(JB) ...Ignorami?
(Tom) That's it, you don't get a Chrismas this year!
(JB) Aw.
(Essex) Yes... Allow your vocal hatred of this unfortunate turn of events echo through the concrete walls of this fool's asylum, for it pleases me to know that having proved EACH and EVERY ONE of you fools wrong has angered you all so greatly! And it pleases Hush as well.
Fear not, for my monster is quietly biding his time until he is... useful once again. The time for Hush is not now, but rather, soon. Yes, soon, and not because I fear that you rawkus plebians will stampede the ring to get a piece of me, but rather the usual discourse when it comes to trophies like such.
(JB) ...What the hell did he just say? I'm serious, this time.
(Tom) Let the man speak, Mann-burger.
(JB) Mann-burger?
(Tom) Bite me, I'm hungry!
(Essex) Everyone and their mother knows that once a champion loses his or her title, he or she is contractually obligated to a rematch. It's something we intellectuals would call a "rematch clause" and it introduces the concept that legal law could be utilized in an arena as savage and unscrupulous as professional wrestling, but oxymorons aside, there is a point to all of this tongue-tying verbiage...
Stryker. You're probably still in that disgusting, moldy hospital bed, soaking up the caked piss that the geriatric invalid who possessed the bed before you disposed long before his expiration, just wishing you could escape the rank, destitute smell of that hospital room. Well, Michael, prick up your ears, if you're conscious enough to muster up enough effort to do so, because I have something to tell you:
I know damn well what you want. Hush knows damn well what you want. These fans, as guillable and desensitized as they may be, know EXACTLY what you want.
What you want is this...
Essex raises the Atlantic Championship up to the camera's lens.
(Essex) And all I need to tell you, Stryker, is that if you so dare as to wag a finger in direction of this belt, or indicate in the very least that you want it back, I will make you suffer an insurmountable amount of pain, so much so, that you will flinch everytime you see the image of this belt, wherever you go, for the rest of your pitiable life!
Essex doesn’t get the chance to continue his diatribe as “Til I Collapse” by Eminem fires up throughout the arena. The lights go dark as Mike Stryker’s NAFWTron video rolls, and the crowd goes absolutely ballistic.
(JB) STRYKER IS HERE!!
(Tom) He has no business here!! He was sent home!! He’s lucky to not be breathing from a machine these days, after the beatings he’s taken!!
(JB) Stryker’s not going to sit at home forever waiting, not when he was robbed of the Atlantic title by Hush and Aleister Essex.
As the music hits it’s beat, The lights come back on, and Mike Stryker stands tall at the top of the ramp, in his familiar pose, one fist in the air. What is unfamiliar about the pose is the lack of a belt in that fist. Stryker loers his fist and raises his head, staring daggers across an entire arena into the eys on Exxes, who’s frozen. Stryker puts his thumb to his throat and pulls it across, then points at Essex as the crowd takes it’s cheering to another level. Stryker doesn’t stop staring…
But he does start moving forward.
(Tom) Essex, run!!
(JB) He’s not moving a muscle. I don’t think he knew Stryker was here. I don’t think anyone knew!!
Stryker slowly stalks his way to the ring, as Essex starts looking side to side for a way out. Stryker arrives at the apron of the ring, and a slight smirk creeps across his face as he realizes that Essex is cornered. Stryker slowly slides himself under the bottom rope. As he gets into the ring, his music stops and the crowd lets out another cheer as Essex has no way out.
(JB) Stryker wants revenge, he wants the title he never should have lost back, but first, he wants to hand Essex his receipt for that chair shot.
(Tom) RUN!!
Essex is looking at Stryker, pleading for Mercy. Stryker just revels in his prey’s groveling as he slowly stalks his way forward. He’s been waiting for weeks for a moment like this, where he can set things straight. He inches closer and closer, mere feet away from exacting the first steps of revenge.
(Buchanan) HOLD IT RIGHT THERE STRYKER!!!
Ray Buchanan comes flying out of the back, as security members springs ahead of him and hit the ring in a flash. The crowd rains down boos and jeers at the interruption, and Stryker turns his attention from Essex, which allows Essex to scurry under the bottom rope, as Security gets to the ring and surrounds Stryker. Stryker, for his part, hasn’t moved a muscle, equal parts rage and shock keep him in his place as Buchanan gets to the ring.
(Buchanan) Mike, I’m sorry it had to be like this, but you know the situation. You’re not medically fit to wrestle, and we can’t take the chance of you being here.
The crowd boos as Stryker looks at Buchanan with amazement.
(Buchanan) These men are out here, Mike, to make sure that nothing happens that shouldn’t happen. I’m sorry, but you have to leave the building. You have no right to be here.
Stryker hasn’t taken his eyes off of Buchanan, but he does give him a look that says “you have got to be kidding me” as Buchanan shoots one right back that reads “nope, I’m not”. Stryker sneers as he looks down, contemplating his next move.
(Buchanan) Mike, these men will escort you out of here and off of the property. When you’re fit to wrestle, when you’re medically clear to compete, I swear to you, you’ll have your match. But until then, I can’t take a chance on you being injured further. Mike, please, I’m asking you, for your own good, don’t make this worse than it needs to be. Go back home, heal, and come back.
Stryker looks up, a man who doesn’t want to admit the facts that stare him in the face.
(Buchanan) You won’t change my mind tonight. I wish you could, but this is not a topic for discussion. You’re hurt. You can’t be here as it stands.
The crowd gets riled as Stryker looks up , as if he may just show Buchanan what it means to be hurt. However, to the shock and dismay of many an NAFW fan, Stryker shakes his head, looks down…..and nods. He knows Buchanan is right.
(Buchanan) Mike, understand, anything I can do to help you through this, just let me know. Once you’re cleared, I can’t wait, just like all these people can’t wait, to see you back in the ring.
The crowd cheers the sentiment as Stryker nods again. Stryker looks up, looks around at security, and leaves the ring. Security follows, but they don’t need to drag him out. Buchanan leaves after the group, as the crowd boos the proceedings.
(Tom) Mike Stryker just walked out of here. I can’t believe it.
(JB) Stryker’ no fool Tom, he saw the situation and realized that it was pointless to fight about this tonight.
(Tom) Maybe Hush knocked the fight out of him.
(JB) Oh Stop. Stryker will have his day, he got Buchanan’s word. Until then, he’ll have to wait.
(Tom) You’re gonna tell me that you weren’t shocked to see Stryker give in like that?
(JB) Well…….it was a little unlike him.
(Tom) Somethings not right with him, I may knock him, but I’ve never seen him give in to someone else like that. I’m telling you, he’s lost something.
(JB) I hope you’re wrong.
Heatwave vs. Charles Johnson
“Miseria Cantare” by AFI slowly fades onto the arena’s sound system. The low music continues to play as various pictures, and small clips of Johnson’s career flashes over the Tron. When the first bit of vocals are heard, Charles walks out on the ramp looking down at the ring. Making his way down to the ring he walks up the ring steps, and into the ring. Bouncing around the ring before focusing in on the match ahead. The last big of the song fades as he awaits the bell.
(JB) Well, Johnson's looking to bounce back after his loss in a Last Rites rematch to Sebastian Hawke, as he'll be going one on one with Heatwave.
(Tom) Cold Front is it, Mann-wheel? Ah it doesn't matter. The former United States, IC and Tag Team Champion's got this one in the bag. Besides that, ole Cold Front's got his mind on other things if what we can take from his encounter with The Crapper...
(JB) Reaper.
(Tom) Whatever, Mann-wagon. Fact is, distractions in this business result in you getting put down by your opponent.
GANSTA' GRILLZ!
A red spotlight appears at the top of the ramp and the lights dim slightly. "Air Force Ones" by Young Jeezy is pushed through the speakers. Through the curtain the Madman from Miami known as Heatwave step out in a pair of Nike jogging pants and gloved fists. to a cheering oviation as he makes his way towards the ring with the red spotlight following his trail. Making his way inside of the ring, the light are brought back up as Heatwave hops onto the nearby turnbuckle, throwing his gloved fists into the air. He hops down heading towards the opposite turnbuckle as a wave of flash bulbs come over him. He hops down, taking a post on the turnbuckle waiting for his rival to make his way down the ring.
(JB) And here comes the "Madman From Miami", fresh off his victory a week ago against Scott Rocker. He doesn't appear to be fooling around as...WHOA!!! Charles Johnson with a sliding dropkick under the bottom rope catching Heatwave off guard and it looks like we're underway here.
The bell rings and Charles is already pounding away on Heatwave, who's still a bit shocked after catching a face full of boots from Johnson. Charles is kicking away at Heatwave, before sending him for a ride to the other side as Heatwave hits the guard railing hard. Charles isn't too far behind as he catches him with a forearm right to the face, before stomping Heatwave down to the ground in vicious fashion.
(JB) Not really used to seeing this type of brutality from The Businessman in the early going, but he appears to be all about business this week.
(Tom) That's because he's sick of clowns like Heatwave treating him like a joke. I talked with him earlier today and he said he was going to start making examples out of those who disrespect Da Business.
(JB) Da Business?
(Tom) That's my new name for him. Da Business. Now shut up Mann-hole, I'm trying to enjoy the beatdown.
Johnson now lifts Heatwave up and drops him down throat first across the railing, as he follows that up with a quick clothesline dropping the former Cornhusker to the ground. It should be stated that since Johnson entered the ring, nobody's officially entered the ring yet. Johnson picks up a cable on the outside and starts choking away at Heatwave, drawing a 5 count from the referee. Johnson just smirks at him, as he continues the onslaught on Heatwave as he starts to pull back the protective padding making the traditional piledriver signal as he drags Heatwave to the exposed area. He stuffs Heatwave and starts to lift, only Heatwave blocks it. Charles starts to pound away on Heatwave's back and give it another go, only to have Heatwave block it once again. He lifts Johnson off of his feet and while holding on to the back of Johnson's feet, he flings Johnson forward bringing The Businessman down onto the floor back and neck first.
(JB) What a reversal by Heatwave to stem the momentum that Johnson had going in the early portion of this match.
(Tom) He can't do that! That should be a...
(JB) Be a what? He tried to break Heatwave's neck with a piledriver onto that exposed concrete. He gets his just desserts and all of a sudden that's illegal in your book?
(Tom) Uh...yeah. It is. And it's wrong for such a great man like Johnson to be treated with such disrespect by this nobody named Heatwave.
Heatwave, is slow to his feet, still feeling the effects of Johnson's early surge at the start of this match. Johnson's reeling as he gets to his knees, his right hand on the back of his neck and his left on the top of the guardrail. Heatwave rolls himself into the ring, as the fans continue to rally behind the Madman From Miami. Johnson is on his feet and stumbles forward a bit, as he heads for the apron. As he does so, Heatwave's taken a running start and is heading straight for Johnson. Charles is snapped out of his funk by the crowd and when he looks up, Heatwave's already in mid-air.
(JB) Moonsault by Heatwave and Johnson is down!
(Tom) Gaaahhhhh!!! NOOOOOO!!!! Get up Chuck!!!
(JB) Chuck?
(Tom) Shut up, Mann-wheel. He said it's cool if I call him Chuck.
(JB) Heatwave's starting to rally behind this crowd, as he gets Johnson up...there's a swing by Charles which is ducked under by Heatwave and there's a German Suplex onto the floor by Heatwave. Heatwave's up and he's fired up...
(Tom) Pun alert.
(JB) In goes Johnson and Heatwave's right after him. Heatwave with a few stomps to the back and Johnson's now trying to get himself some breathing room, but he's not having any of it. Heatwave now kicking away at Johnson, as he pulls Charles to his feet and lands some haymakers to the mush of Johnson.
(Tom) Closed fists!!! He's using closed fists!
(JB) I'm sure he is.
(Tom) Unlike Heatwave, Charles has business ventures he's tied up into. Looks are everything in his line of work.
JB sighs as Heatwave hooks Charles in and catches him with a picture perfect Fisherman's Suplex. He floats over for the cover, but only gets two and a quarter. Heatwave stays on the attack, dropping knee after knee on the fallen Johnson as he tries to keep the big man grounded. He slaps on a sleeper to try and take some of the wind out of Johnson's sails, as The Businessman struggles to get to the ropes from his grounded position to no avail.
(JB) Smart move by Heatwave, trying to keep the much bigger Johnson on the ground.
(Tom) He'd best do that, because he's just a Corporate Coup away from being left flat broken and...bah. Why do I bother with you?
(JB) I don't know why you bother either. But anyway, looks like Johnson's starting to get to his feet and...there's a drop out of that sleeper by Heatwave as he continues to keep the pressure on Johnson. Heatwave's looking very impressive after the early pre-emptive strike by Johnson out of the gate.
(Tom) Heatwave's a thug, plain and simple. The mere fact that he's had dealings with that glorified wife-beater Aarons gives further credence to that. Johnson was well within his right for trying to take this punk out early. Come on Chuckster! Get this bum.
(JB) Heatwave's going to the top now, looks like he's gonna try something from the high rent district...
(Tom) He wouldn't know high rent district if...
(JB) I don't think you want to finish that statement.
(Tom) I ain't afraid of him. Or you for that matter Mann-hole. I know people who know people. Southside!
JB's laughing too hard to call what's about to happen, so here's where we'll take over. Heatwave is perched up top, waiting on Johnson to get to his feet. He does and when he turns, Heatwave's in mid-flight. Charles does the only thing he can do to defend himself, namely extend that massive boot of his which connects right on the button with Heatwave's jaw staggering the Madman in his tracks. Heatwave hasn't fallen just yet, but a big boot to the face by Johnson does that almost immediately as Heatwave drops like a pile of bricks.
(Tom) Ha-ha! See that? Big bank takes little bank.
(JB) Big who takes little what?
(Tom) Big Business taking over on the little clown known as Heatwave. Keep up Mann-mooch.
(JB) Well, Johnson appears to be back in control after the Straight To The Top and boot to the face. He's got Heatwave up and there's a backbreaker followed by a quick cover. He just lifted his shoulder up before the ref's hand hit two.
(Tom) He's not done teaching this whippersnapper a lesson yet. You don't mess with The Businessman.
(JB) Charles now with Heatwave for the ride, spinebuster on the comeback and I think this might be all she wrote for Heatwave. Charles, starting to strut a bit as he picks Heatwave up and I think it's Corporate Coup time.
(Tom) Yup. And up he goes...NO!
(JB) He just floated over and Charles charges...RIGHT INTO THE INFERNO!!! Heatwave just caught Johnson with that snap T-Bone and I think it's all over but the crying.
Just as Johnson tried to steady Heatwave, Heatwave kicked his legs out in the opposite direction and landed a short distance away from Johnson. Johnson, aggrevated at Heatwave's petulance charged in and was snapped off of his feet rather quickly with Heatwave's patented finisher known as The Inferno. Three seconds later, it's a done deal as "Air Force Ones" by Young Jeezy hits the speakers.
The Obligatory Pre-Match 'I'm Gonna Kick Your Ass And Take Your Title' Smiel
The fans erupt as we see the back of The Reaper, clad in his sleeveless hoodie with the hood thrown up over that head of his as he stands with his back to the camera. He's not saying a word, yet, he's merely standing with his Lendo Stick behind the back of his neck with both hands gripping the respective ends of it. The woman, with her flowing platinum blonde locks stands to his left wearing platinum colored fatigues and a black Reaper sweatshirt...available at all fine retailers and NAFW.com is another story altogether. She's got the overall shape of a beauty queen, or a virtual Coke bottle with arms, legs and a nice rack to boot. She stands next to The Reaper, a rather determined look on that pretty face of hers as she speaks for the first time. If you're really thinking of who she most resembles, think Nikita of independent wrestling fame. Spank you very much. Cool
(Woman) For those of you who don't know or might have forgotten, my name is Charlene Richards. For those of you who do know, I'm still married and my uh, presence here tonight is in nothing other than a professional capacity. In any event, I'm here to address one person and that's you, Vanessa. Vanessa, for years you and I haven't exactly been the best of friends. While I can't say I flat out despise you, you're not exactly at the top of my Christmas card list either. Regardless, you've got someone who should be with me running around doing your dirty work and I'm here to tell you this right now.
Brief pause.
(Charlene) It's over. I don't care whatever vendetta you might have against this man, but tonight, this comes to a screeching halt. You won't interfere in my life anymore and since I'm of the believing that you're the type which doesn't respond well to threats, I'll make this real simple for ya. The SECOND, you appear tonight with that 'Ace' of yours by your side, you're mine. And trust me when I tell you, this won't be the least bit pretty. Now, without further adue, I give you the man who will be the next Foundation Heavyweight Champion..."The Reaper" Leonard....Aarons.
The fans roar as the camera slowly pans to the back of L's hoodie. The Lendo Stick is still in place, as his back remains turned towards the camera. The smooth, almost delicate sound of Charlene's voice is about to be replaced by that of a man who's right now, the exact opposite.
(The Reaper) Ya know, I gave you too much credit Travis. I thought someone like you wouldn't be dumb enough to go into that whole 'twisting my name to mean something it's not' pool. But since you're gonna go that route, allow me to pitch you a lifeline before I toss your lifeless body under for the count.
He hasn't turned around at all. The camera's still locked in on the Reaper symbol on the back of his hoodie.
(The Reaper) My name represents something far greater than your comprehension, or BAC which I hear is right on line with your IQ as a whole. I am the Harvester Of Careers or for the intellectually deficient like yourself, a Career Devastator. People step in front of me and I make their careers or pathetic excuses of them, come to a crashing halt. Or in your specific case...
He stops briefly, removing the Stick from its resting place as he points it at the camera.
(The Reaper) Title reigns come to an abrupt and ever so brutal halt. You see, you're not the first who tried to downplay the meaning of my name or myself for that matter in the hopes of trying to diminish the severity of the situation you've gotten yourself in. Hoping that if you close your eyes, the bad man will just vanish. Well little Travis, I'm still here and you're still about to catch yours as I predicted at Ultimate Showdown. Tonight, I show you what you have to look forward to as long as that title remains on your shoulder. A brutal beating at the hands of the man who for the better part of the past two years, has dominated and devastated every last soul that has crossed his path. You're not ready for what I'm bringing, because very few are. You see, I call myself "The Reaper" because much like the real thing which takes lives indiscriminantly...
It's here that Aarons turns around, revealing the rest of his attire. There is a hood, only the hood has a zipper on it and there's a face in front. The left half is that of an actual Reaper, the other half is that of L's signature logo so to speak.
(The Reaper) I take careers and titles just the same. Don't believe me, feel free to ask Heatwave why he's still peeved at me for breaking his wife's neck and taking his title a few years back. Still care to doubt? Ask Charles Johnson why that record breaking reign of his ended the minute he crossed my path? Champions face me and become EX-champs in the blink of an eye. You won't be the first, but rest assured when I tell you that you're the next up.
The crowd starts a Reaper chant, as Aarons cracks his neck from side to side, taking a rather deep, deliberate breath.
(The Reaper) You can't be rid of me, no matter how hard you try. The Len-evitable fact of the matter is this. Matter of fact-like I win. You lose. I become the Foundation Heavyweight Champion, you go back to being Keith's lap dog as he takes his turn and gets the same thing you just got. He fails, just as you will. That's how this ends. Everyone who's laughed at the Reaper, in one way or the other, has caught theirs in the end... or haven't you seen Final Destination? Sinister smirk Because that, my dear boy, is The Reaper I most identify myself with. I don't play. When I set my sights on you, you're a done deal one way or the other. The only question becomes when and how horribly repugnant will it be for you and yours that are subjected to watching it unfold. Because just like those kids found out in that horror trilogy, you don't cheat Death. You don't BEAT Death. And in wrestling, you're about to find out, you don't...cheat...ME. You won't BEAT...ME. I will make life an unbearable hell for you and anyone else who thinks they can interfere with my plan. The Gospel has been spoken and you have been marked for Devastation.
It's here that he zips his hood back up, just as the camera catches a glare of that sneer of his, which could chip the metal off of a rusted wall. The Reaper's face or at least the hood is now showing as Aarons points his Lendo Stick directly at the lens of the camera as he utters that trademark phrase of his...
(The Reaper) Time for you to FEEL...MY...WWWRRRAAATTTHHH!!!
He starts off, but stops, snapping his fingers as if he forgot something.
(The Reaper) Oh and Travis, since you don't like my whole "Trust Fund Bitches" thing, I've got a greater one that's more befitting of you and your partner as it were. Think of it as something that will make you more easily identifiable to those who so happen to look upon your broken body when this is all said and done.
(Charlene) Bluntly Two. F[bleep]ing. Bitches.
(The Reaper) Smirking And that's not funny, that's just the damn truth, Ruth. Church. Bitch.
The crowd marks out for The Reaper as he and Charlene head towards the ring.
The camera cuts backstage, where Mike Stryker is being escorted out by security. A couple crew members make way, as Stryker has a look of determination on his face that implores such action. He’s silent, and while he’s not bee-lining his way around, he certainly is moving with a little purpose. He suddenly stops, and looks to his right, at a door that is closed. The front of the door makes the sudden stop clear:
Ray Buchanan.
A security member steps forward as if to block Stryker’s path to the door.
“Mr. Stryker, you need to leave, now”.
Stryker looks at the guard in disbelief. This young whippersnapper has the audacity to boss around the Big City Hitman? However, amazement gives way to a chuckle…and a smirk.
(Stryker) Ok, I understand you’re doing your job, and really, it’s a fine job you’re all doing. But here’s what’s going to happen. I need two minutes to speak with the man behind this door right here. Now, either you stand aside, and allow me a two minute conversation…or you don’t. However, here’s the catch. If you give me my two minutes of peaceful, pleasant conversation, I’ll leave here quietly, without a hint of trouble. If, on the other hand…you DON’T allow me my two minutes…
Stryker’s look darkens as he steps right in the guards face, nose to nose.
(Stryker) …I won’t be leaving peacefully. And yeah, maybe you got enough guys to get me out of here against my will. Maybe you could even do a little damage to me on the way out. But I guarantee you that I’ll be sending at least a few of you to the emergency room. So, The choice is yours….either you give me two minutes, or you get an ambulance ride. Choice is yours, son.
The guard thinks about bowing up and resisting Stryker, but an extra bit of hard gaze makes him think twice. The guard looks at his cohorts, and with a nod of approval, knocks on the door.
“Mr. Buchanan, you have a visitor”.
(Buchanan) Send them in.
Stryker smiles and pats the guard on the shoulder as he opens the door to reveal Ray Buchanan behind his desk. The sight of the Hitman makes Buchanan raise up from his seat and glare at the security team.
(Buchanan) I believe I was clear that you were to REMOVE this man from the building-
(Stryker) Calm down Ray. I needed to see you before I left, and I assure you, had they not let me in here, your night would have been a whole lot worse.
(Buchanan) Is that some kind of threat?
(Stryker) It doesn’t have to be. But I’ll make you the same offer. Hear me out, I leave here, real civil-like. If you refuse, I’ll leave here causing more chaos than a man like you would care to deal with. You said you’d help me…well, start by allowing me a couple minutes.
Buchanan looks down, thinking for a second, and then nods to Stryker to go ahead.
(Stryker) Ok, here’s the thing Ray. I know you can’t have me here because it’s a major liability, because you can’t “afford the risk” or whatever, but to me, that’s a load of crap. I know when I’m hurt, and I know when I’m just beat up, and I’ll tell you right now, I’m just a little beat up.
(Buchanan) Not according to every sane doctor we spoke to.
(Stryker) Yeah, well, they can all kiss my ass. I’m fine.
(Buchanan) Apparently you’re not near 100%
(Stryker) I haven’t been at 100% in years anyway Ray. It hasn’t changed now because of a bump to the head. Either way, all the doctors in the world won’t change the fact that I’m going to get Hush and Essex for what they’ve done. I owe them in spades.
(Buchanan) It’ll wait until you’re cleared.
(Stryker) Bulls***, it won’t wait another second longer than necessary. I got what I needed for the night, I saw Essex’s eyes, and I know that he knows that in his near future is the beating of a lifetime for him and his boy. So for tonight, I’m ok, I got what I wanted. But next week….I’ll want more. If you ban me, I’ll buy a ticket, and I’ll cause all the chaos I can until you throw me out. And the week after, I’ll do it again. And I’ll keep doing it until I’m satisfied.
(Buchanan) Mike, be reasonable.
(Stryker) Forget reasonable Ray, I’m not like that. The bottom line is you don’t want me here because I’m hurt. You’re pawning it off that you’re concerned for my well being, but we both know the deal. You can’t be held liable if I get hurt after you knew I couldn’t be here. You can’t afford a lawsuit, and you can’t take the chance that I wouldn’t be the guy to sue you….if it came to that.
Buchanan looks down. He knows it’s a cold fact, but it’s still fact. Stryker gets hurt, the NAFW stands to lose a lot of money in legal proceedings.
(Stryker) Well, Ray, I have a solution to all your problems.
Buchanan looks up, suspicious, but intrigued.
(Stryker) It’s simple. I’ll do whatever I need to do to get myself into that ring, to get myself into this building, to get myself a shot at Hush one more time. I’ll let you off the hook legally, if that’s what it takes. I’ll sign my LIFE away for what I want here.
(Buchanan) What…like a waiver.
(Stryker) Whatever you suits want to call it, I’ll do it right now.
(Buchanan) Mike, you might think this is all about legal issues and money, and yeah, some of it is. But Genuinely, I don’t want you or anyone to get hurt because they were foolish. You may not believe it, but it’s the truth. Neither me or the NAFW fans want to see you have some career-threatening injury, we want you active and healthy for a long time.
A cheer comes from the echoing crowd in the arena as Stryker smiles.
(Stryker) Your sentiment is heartwarming…it also means dick to me. I don’t care if you’re worried about me being hurt or not, because I’m not worried about it. Whatever I gotta do to get myself back here, I’ll do it. Put yourself in my shoes Ray. Those bastards ROBBED me of my Atlantic title, and my pride. Now you want me to hang back and watch them parade around like they earned it? What would You do?
Buchanan looks up, sighs, and thinks about the answer to that very question. He nods after a second, and looks at Stryker eye to eye.
(Buchanan) Mike, you know what…maybe you’re right. But that doesn’t make me wrong. However…here’s what I’ll do. I’ll be here next week, with a waiver in my hands. If you want to sign it, and forego the advice of every doctor who’s seen you….then you can do it next week.
Stryker grins a mile wide, but Buchanan isn’t done.
(Buchanan) But…I want you to take this week and think long and hard about if you really want to do this. If it’s worth risking your career, or your permanent health over. You got 7 days to figure it out. For now, though-
(Stryker) I’m already gone. See you next week.
Stryker smiles again as he backpedals and walks out. The camera zooms in on Buchanan, who’s shaking his head. He doesn’t think this is a good idea, even if he’s going to do it.
Cut.
COMMERCIAL
"The Reaper" Leonard Aarons vs. Trevor Cunning (FH)
Foundation Heavyweight Championship
As we cut back from commercial, Trevor Cunning stands by the ring with cohorts Keith Owens and Melissa Cunning as he awaits the arrival of his challenger.
(JB) We’ve just been informed by the champion himself during the commercial break that this match will be under a ten minute time limit!
(Tom) Ten minutes? Cunning only needs one!
(JB) He would be a minute man…
Feel...My...WRRRAATTTHHH!!!
The beat drops as "Tha Realist Killaz" by 2Pac w/50 Cent blares throughout The Pit. Dry fog starts to emanate from the arena as the arena is flooded in flashing crimson as the NAFWtron continues to flash its usual montage. The Reaper steps out amidst a wall of golden pyro as he strolls down towards the ring in a black sleeveless hoodie only the hoodie is completely covering his face with Charlene Richards by his side. The image on the hood is that of a Lion and his right hand is wielding his trademark Lendo Stick. He doesn't stop midway down the aisle as he usually does, he simply continues toward the ring uninterrupted before he stops just short of the apron. He hops onto the apron and enters the ring through the top and middle ropes as Charlene waits on the outside. He walks towards the middle of the ring as he looks to his left and then his right before he takes his left hand and unzips the hood. He lowers his head and then flips his head back up removing the hood from his head as he strikes his signature Reaper pose as pyro erupts from all four corners bringing the lights back up full blast. He heads over to the turnbuckle, hopping on the second one getting the crowd fired up as he strikes his signature pose once more before motioning for the title to go around his right shoulder. He removes his hoodie, slinging it out to the crowd as he hands his Lendo Stick to Charlene.
Match Finish Summary: Towards the end, Aarons wiggles free of the Sobriety Test and spins Cunning around goozling him for the Chokeslam From Illtown. Once he drops him with it, he keeps his hand around Cunning's throat and get him to his feet for The Reaper's Wrath. Aarons hits The Reaper's Wrath on Cunning and just before the ref counts to 3, time expires.
(JB) …That’s it? No!
(Tom) Close but no cigar! Cunning survives his first title defense!
(JB) But barely! Reaper is livid!
Keith rolls underneath the ropes and drags Cunning out of the ring. Melissa Hayes grabs the championship belt and Keith starts walking a dazed Cunning up the ramp as The Reaper and his crew look on in frustration after being so close to winning the title. At the top of the ramp, the Trust Fund Kids hold their arms up in victory as those left in the ring tell them its not over. Fade out!
