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.
The standard fast pace hard hitting action clips are shown as the song plays on, bulding up to a giant drum roll where the intro video ends and we flash to the Annihilation logo.
ON
Cue the huge boom of the indoor pyrotechnics display.
BOOM!!
BOOM!!!
The cameras pan around the arena, showing shots of various fan signs before finallu cutting to the ringside announcer’s table, where JB Mann and Tom “The Bear” Kalhoun are standing by.
(Tom) Why don’t you tell us what’s on tap for tonight, Mann-Wheel?
(JB) Showing genuine interest, Bear? I’m impressed.
(Tom) Actually, I need to go take a leak, and figured if I got you ramblin’, then I’d have at least ten minutes to kill.
(JB) I strongly dislike everything about your personality and physical appearance.
(Tom) My soul is black as night. But the knock on my looks – that’s just hurtful.
(JB) Well – tonight we have a BIG Atlantic Championship defense as the current champ – The Big City Hit Man…
(Tom) You mean the Big City Pyromaniac?
(JB) Mike Stryker will take on former Intercontinental Champion and former X-Treme Champion – Crazy Boy!
(Tom) The schmuck couldn’t beat a volleyball – and now you expect him to beat Stryker? That chance is fatter than your wife.
(JB) Calm yourself.
(Tom) I’m just saying.
(JB) Tonight – we’ll also be revealing the first bonafide NAFW Legend!
(Tom) My money’s on Le Poncho! Ooh… or Dave F’n Kaos!
(JB) I’ve heard rumors that Mr. Entertainment himself, Paul Colard is backstage.
(Tom) What if… what if it’s Amazon?
(JB) Then you have until five to run for the hills.
(Tom) And God forbid… could it be Chronic?
(JB) I think Kramer’s head would explode!
(Tom) Which one?
(JB) The t… Shut up!
(Tom) I for one am looking forward to seeing Mr. Michael Lane!
(JB) He better have a damn good explanation for what he did last week.
(Tom) How about this? Sean Thomas is a piece of garbage!
(JB) How can you say that, Bear? After all that Spaz has accomplished?
(Tom) Easy. He doesn’t sign my checks anymore.
Happy Hour
Before Cute is What We Aim For can launch into the beginning of “Newport Living,” Tool takes over with a screeching guitar, signaling the start of “Sober.”
(JB) Gord damnit. Why must we start the beginning of every program with this miserable sack of sh…
(Tom) It’s only proper, Mann-Wheel! Haven’t you ever heard of putting your best foot forward?
(JB) Cunning’s certainly a heel, alright!
(Tom) How insider of you, Mann-hole. But seriously… why would you not want to hear from the Godfather right now? Not only is he kicking ass and drinking heavily in the ring, but backstage as well!
Former Foundation Heavyweight Champion Trevor Cunning stumbles through the curtain, bottle of Jack Daniels raised to his lips. He lowers the handle, spits a mouthful high into the air, and basks, if only for a moment, in the surrounding drunken haze.
The look in Cunning’s eyes – both blackened from a broken nose suffered only a night prior – is one of sheer indifference. In mere moments, he will go head to head with the Monster Personified: The Almighty Hush – and Cunning doesn’t seem to give a damn.
He’s got other things on his mind.
(JB) Kicking ass, Bear?
(Tom) Damn straight – Cunning’s legitimately the toughest man in the North American Foundation of Wrestling.
(JB) Then explain those two black eyes.
(Tom) Hey! I was standing backstage, Mann-Wagon! I saw Vee Why See attack Cunning when he wasn’t looking. It was an act of cowardice and you know it.
(JB) Vee Why See might be many things, Bear. But he’s no coward.
(Tom) Are you kidding, Vee Why See is a chicken personified!
When Cunning hits the ring, he strips his polo, tosses it in Troy Gilmore’s face, and rips the mic from the poor ring announcer’s hands with one meaty paw… all the while batting him towards the turnbuckle with the other.
ASS-HOLE! ASS-HOLE!
(Tom) Would you listen to these uneducated curs?
(JB) They sound perfectly educated to me, Bear! Cunning is an ass…
(Tom) Hold you horses, Mann-Child! Just because you don’t agree with Cunning’s methods doesn’t mean he isn’t a damn talented competitor!
(JB) The man can fight; I’ll give him that. That doesn’t mean I have to like him.
(Tom) Well, I guess you have a point. I mean, everyone I know hates you, even though you are a halfway decent broadcaster.
ASS-HOLE! ASS-HOLE!
(Trevor) Listen up, Meat Puppets! Trevor’s about to drop some knowledge – and he’ll be dammmmmmned if you miss these words of wisdom while you’re chanting for Vee Why See!
Vee! Why! See! Vee! Why! See!
(Trevor) C’mon Vinny! Your adorrrrrring public awaits! We wouldn’t want to disappoint them now – would we hero?
(JB) Would you listen to him, Bear? Someone needs to get this kid under control before the entire locker room turns into a war zone?
(Tom) You don’t like the chaos, Mann-equin?
(JB) People being set on fire? Backstage altercations? This isn’t wrestling!
(Tom) Have you not watched an episode of Annihilation in years, Mann-Wheel? That’s all wrestling is!
Vee! Why! See! Vee! Why! See!
(Trevor) C’mon, Vinny! I’ve got nothing else to do tonight!
(JB) I think Trevor’s forgetting about…
All of the lights at ringside and on the arena floor dim as the NAFW-Tron lights suddenly turn a sinister shade of red. The opening notes to Tool's "Hush" creep up louder and louder through the PA system, that is, until the red lights turn off, suddenly.
(Tom) Hush.
(Trevor) Oh. That’s right. The big, dumb bandaged bastard.
Then they turn right back on, along with an array of flames, errupting like a fountain all around the entry ramp, jolting the fans in the arena back in their seats. The video trailer for Hush begins to roll on the NAFW-Tron, as the monstrosity himself emerges from behind the NAFW curtains, Aliester Essex is conspicuous by his absence.
(Trevor) Get down here, you stupid monkey! If you’ve got a problem with my boy, Keith… then you’ve got a big problem with Trevor Cunning!
(Tom) Don’t taunt him, Cunning! You’ll only make him angry!
(JB) Where do you think Essex is tonight, Bear?
(Tom) I don’t know, Mann-Wheel. I just hope Melissa Hayes is all right.
(JB) Was that… heartfelt sentiment?
(Tom) What? She’s hot!
The Monster makes his way up to the top of the entry ramp, surrounded by errupting flames all around him and promptly soaks in the crowd's displeasure. The behemoth makes his way towards the ring, scales the steel ring steps, and steps over the top rope. The monster takes off his trenchcoat, allowing it to slip off his shoulders, before making his way to the middle of the ring, looking at the camera, and rubbing his hands together; his sign that he's ready for action.
Trevor Cunning vs. Hush
(JB) I never thought I’d be cheering for Hush!
(Trevor) You like picking on innocent girls, eh, retard?
Cunning steps up in Hush’s face, but immediately steps back when Hush bears his teeth.
(Trevor) I guess you’re lucky that I do too. Even so, you mongoloid freak – when you pick on my best buddy’s girl – you pick on ME!
With that, Cunning drops the mic and swings the bottle of Jack Daniels in his right hand toward Hush’s massive, football helmet sized skull. The handle explodes under the impact – showering the ring with whisky and with shards of glass.
Hush doesn’t move.
(Tom) ARE YOU FREAKIN’ KIDDING ME?
(JB) Is Hush… laughing?
Cunning just stands there, mouth agape – as Hush guffaws – big belly laughs that turn from chuckles to near hysteria. Cunning’s hand shoots to his eye.
The bell rings.
(JB) Oh… who the hell does he think he’s fooling?
(Tom) What do you mean, Mann-Hole? I think Trevor just got a shard of glass in his eye!
(JB) From when he smashed a bottle over his opponent’s skull?
(Tom) You saw that sucker explode! It was like your mom twenty minutes into a…
(JB) Alright! That’s enough!
(Tom) That’s what she says!
Cunning rolls under the bottom rope and starts heading up the ramp, clutching his right eye and screaming melodramatically. If you’ve ever seen a Paris Hilton movie – you’ve seen the level of acting talent Trevor Cunning is showing at the current moment.
Richie Howards, our official, has no choice but to count Cunning out.
(JB) What a coward!
(Tom) I think Cunning planned this all along, Mann-Wheel!
(JB) Now what makes you think that?
(Tom) Just look!
Street Clothes Style
Emerging from the audience, still in his street attire, wielding a steel chair is none other than the Difference Maker – Keith Owens.
(JB) BY GAWD! It’s the Difference Maker!
While Hush stands mid-ring, facing the entrance and laughing, Keith Owens climbs to the top rope and leaps off – smashing the chair across Hush’s skull.
The Monster Incarnate falls to one knee.
(JB) What the hell does it take to knock Hush down?
(Tom) A truck might do it.
(JB) Might being the operative word.
Owens charges at Hush – steel chair at the ready, but the Monster simply bats the weapon away. Unfazed – Owens leaps onto Hush’s back and starts laying rights into the Monster’s skull.
Hush tosses Owens over his shoulder and retreats to the corner. Keith rolls through and taps his knees, signally for the Owens Express. He charges, leaps, knees in the air, but Hush simply steps forward and pushes Owens backwards.
Owens lands on his feet, just in time for Hush to take him down with a running big boot.
Cue the signature Marty Janetty 360 sell – flip, crash and burn.
(Tom) Gord Damnit!
(JB) Why… why isn’t Hush going for the kill?
(Tom) Look up on the ramp, Mann-Wagon!
Aleister Essex emerges from the entrance, a long chain wrapped around his fist. Essex tugs on the chain – dragging Melissa Hayes through the entrance. She stumbles and falls to her knees before Essex. Hayes is still wearing the clothes she had on during last week’s Annihilation. Her hair is tattered; her face is dirty.
She looks like hell.
(Tom) Alright! That is NOT COOL!
(JB) Words fail me.
(Tom) It’s hot, but it’s not kosher!
(JB) Words. Fail. Me.
Hush pulls Owens to his feet, and waits for the Difference Maker to see Melissa Hayes. The sight of his girlfriend rejuvenates the former champ – he swings a foot back and nails Hush in the family jewels. With the big man dazed, Owens leaps backwards, connecting with a Pele-Style Enziguri to the back of Hush’s skull.
This dazes the Monster, sending him back towards the ropes. Owens hits the opposite side and charges in, only for Hush to catch him with the Echoes of Eternity.
(Tom) Somebody do something!
(JB) I don’t think the cavalry’s coming Bear! Owens has pissed off too many people – done far too many horrible things.
Maybe he deserves this.
(Tom) Even if he does – and he doesn’t! Poor Melissa certainly does not!
Essex makes his way to ringside, dragging Melissa Hayes down the ramp against her will. He instructs Hush to pull Owens through the ropes to the outside.
Hush tosses Keith over the top rope, where the former Foundation Heavyweight Champion lands with a disturbing thud. Hush steps over the top rope and to the floor, where he boots Owens in the skull. Keith rolls back toward the announce table.
(JB) Bear. Move.
(Tom) Wha? Oh… Gord!
Essex’ next instruction is to place Owens on the announce table – and then to follow. What follows – sans commentary – can only be known as the Deafening Silence.
Cue the chant.
HOLY SHIT! HOLY SHIT!
HOLY SHIT! HOLY SHIT!
Keith Owens has been broken in half. Melissa Hayes, hysterical, is trying to reach her man – but is being held at bay by Aleister Essex and a length of chain. The Monster Incarnate – the creature known as Hush, simply sits, open wound on his skull seeping blood, rubbing his hands together.
He’s smiling.
COMMERCIAL
(JB) Moments ago – Keith Owens was put through our announce table – he’s in the back receiving medical attention. Right now, medical staff won’t let any cameras into the infirmary – but the moment we can get a word with Keith Owens we’ll head right to the back.
(Tom) Did you see that look on Hush’s face, Mann-Wheel? I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything so… so… sick.
(JB) I know what you mean, Bear. Hush looked so peaceful… so serene.
(Tom) Gross.
The Born Ladies Man
Our camera comes in from black to the stunningly beautiful figure of one miss Amie Carmichael. The antithesis of gross. Her sandy blonde hair looks absolutely perfect as does that nice pert rack of hers. She is a knockout by any guy’s standards and she has the unfortunate honor of interviewing thee biggest womanizing asshole in the entire North American Foundation of Wrestling (Editor’s Note: With the possible exception of Trevor Cunning, thank you very much. And Sean Thomas, I hear that guy handles more trim than an interior decorator).
Ashley Collier comes barreling through a door in the locker room and as he does a large steam cloud shoots out behind him. He is wearing nothing besides a cotton white towel and the audible whistles and cheers of the ladies in the arena can give you some semblance of how well he looks with his shirt off. Every muscle is perfectly sculpted and trained to do the job it needs to do. His washboard abs glisten with moisture and even Amie has to take a look, if just for a second.
Ashley runs his hands through his golden hair and gives a playful wink to Amie. He takes a few steps towards her and then proceeds to wrap his arm around her waist and pull her in closely. Amie is obviously very uncomfortable but she is trying to stay professional, I imagine.
(Ashley) What's your name, beautiful?
Amie shuts her eyes and then rolls them. Men are such pigs sometimes.
(Amie) My name is Amie and I'm suppose to be interviewing you.
Ashley gets a little shit eating grin on his face as Amie tries to pry herself away from Ashley. It doesn't really work to well though because Ashley just holds her tighter to himself.
(Ashley) Darling, we can do that anytime. I just want to know if you maybe want to come back to my hotel room after the show tonight.
Amie looks as if she is about to vomit, but that face turns to nothing but wide-eyed suprise as Ashley now moves his hand from her waist to her ass. Ashley gets a nice firm handful of that bubble butt and squeezes it. This pisses off Amie enough for her to muster the strength to break Collier's grasp upon her.
(Amie) You jackass, I can't believe how much of a pig you are.
Oh no, no, no, bitch. You aren't getting away that quickly. Ashley lunges his hand outward and grabs Amie by the wrist, not hard but just enough to make her feel it.
(Ashley) Com'on, Amie, you know you want to take an all-night journey to paradise with the "Born Warrior".
Amie jerks her arm away from Ashley and you can tell she is getting to her breaking point... her face has just gone through about five different shades of red.
(Amie) From the looks of it, you couldn't make it an hour, let alone all night.
Amie turns sharply and walks away from Ashley, making sure work her booty a little bit as she does. Every bitch knows that drives a guy nuts, especially when they can't have it. She exits through the door and brushes it off her shoulder. She has work to do.
(Ashley) LESBO!
Ashley's yell can be heard throughout the halls and we fade to black from here.
Soul of a Champion
Fade in on Crazy Boy in front of an NAFW Logo.
(CB) I am a former United States Champion, Intercontinental Champion and X-Treme Champion. Pretty soon, everyone around here can soon say that I am going to be Atlantic Champion. At Annihilation 13, I am going to beat Mike Stryker yet again in the NAFW and take that Atlantic Championship from him. When the dust settles and the smoke clears, I will once again have gold around my waist.
Once again, I will be a champion.
That is Tyrone "Crazy Boy" Smith and this week, he has a chance to grab the Atlantic Championship. If he is successful, it will be his 4th title reign in his illustrious history in the NAFW. This time he has a chance to beat an old adversary in Mike Stryker. He took Tyrone's IC title away from him a couple of years ago, and this time, Tyrone is going to serve the revenge by taking the Atlantic Championship.
(CB) Stryker, me and you know each other extremely well. Over our years in the NAFW, we have had some great rivalries and matches in our time. Some for titles, some for sheer pride. This time around, you have something that I want, and I am going to grab it from you. You are going to be looking at the new Atlantic Champion by time the night is over with. I'm sure the match will be a classic, like most of our others have, but I have been craving gold for a long time, since losing the X-Treme Title. I am going to fight and claw my way to take that title from you and carry it around my waist. See you in the ring, Stryker, and may the best man win....
Lets let this short, but sweet, promo fade to the ring.
(Tom) Like he has a chance against my man Stryker!
(JB) Crazy Boy’s held many titles before, Bear.
(Tom) Maybe, Mann-Wheel… but Stryker’s on fire right now!
(JB) Oh come on!
(Tom) Sorry… Reaper was the one on fire!
Why, Mike, Why?
The camera pans across the arena showing fans flashing signs. The camera moves too quickly though, to ascertain exactly what people have on their signs until James Dunn sees the one he wants to focus on. And what does it say...
Why, Mike, Why?
We linger on that sign for a moment.
(JB) Ladies and gentlemen, we witnessed a betrayal one week ago. Mike Lane turned on his friend and ally, Spaz, during a match with the Old School Empire. No one knows why, and that's really the question on everyone's mind.
(Tom) Oh hush up, that was the moment of the year. Mike Lane decided that he was through being the better half of a tag team, and so he...
(JB) What, so he could be the better third of a trio?
(Tom) That wasn't what I meant.
(JB) Don't star...
The opening chords of Metallica's "Sad But True" rock the arena as the fans are all looking around wondering who is coming out. The lights have dropped, leaving a single spotlight on the entrance way. As the intro finishes up, the lights drop completely out except for a single name on the NAFW-Tron.
Mike Lane.
(JB) Oh great.
The fans start with the jeers, and the man himself hasn't even walked out. The main riff has just now started playing.
(Tom) I think I see him!
As the lyrics come in, a figure steps out of the curtain. The intensity of the jeers increases, and we can see now that the man is Mike Lane. He is wearing an all white suit, with the top button of his shirt unbuttoned, and his jacket unbuttoned also. His hair looks neatly groomed, and he is clean shaven. The sunglasses on his head put the cap on the whole ensemble.
(Tom) Boy, does Mike Lane look good in white!
(JB) At least it's not a tunic.
(Tom) Don't bash the tunic, I mean it. He was bringing it back into fashion.
Lane stands on the stage for a moment, before walking down the aisle, with a smile on his face. He reaches out to smack a fans hand, but the fan pulls away and spits at Lane's feet. The former FHC raises up his hand, like he's going to slap the insolence out of some fan, but then he just grins again and continues his walk. He climbs into the ring, and is handed a microphone by a stage hand. The music dies, and he leans up against the camera-side ropes, looking out at the crowd, who are letting him have it.
"Asshole, Asshole, Asshole"
Lane raises his hand, as if asking for quiet. The jeering intensifies, and Lane just shakes his head, and raises the microphone to his lips.
(Lane) I know you people want to hear what I have to say.
The people actually do die down a bit. Of course they want to hear what he has to say. Everyone wants to hear what he has to say. I know you viewers certainly do. With the people sufficiently quiet, Lane merely nods before speaking.
(Lane) Thank you.
As you all know, last week I left Sean Thomas laying in the center of the ring. And for the past week, I've had to deal with people coming out of the woodwork to ask me why I did what I did. Why I turned my back on my partner. All I told those people was to tune into TNT for Annihilation, and they'd get their answers. A part of me wanted to walk out here tonight, and just walk back out. Because that's what happened to me, ladies and gentlemen.
Let's go back in time a little bit. Everybody remembers the FLF Era. Everybody remembers Mike Lane crushing everyone in his path, and everyone remembers the image of countless men left laying in the center of the ring, a victim of my wrath. Let me refresh everyone's mind a little bit. Mystic. Did anyone ever hear from that idiot after I sent him packing?
How about Cougar Clarke. Hey Cougar, you go ahead and send your punk kid on out here to wrestle, and you just remember that he used to play on my team.
Let's continue on. What about one of my personal favorites that I did... Good ole JB Mann.
He looks over to the announce position.
(Lane) You remember that, don't you, Mann? I'll never forget your screams and begging for mercy. Like a little bitch. It's a real bonding experience, you know, beating a man within an inch of his life. Oh the memories.
JB is seething in the announce position. Judging by the fact that his mouth is moving, but we can't hear it, I would assume he's been muted again.
(Lane) I did it all, I took out the head of the NAFW, and took over, creating FLF Nightmare. And then I decided to go play ball for another team for a month or so. When I came back, everyone started to cheer me. And I was always so amused at that reaction. And you little sheep cheered on my every move as I did exactly what I set out to do... Liberate the Foundation from it's leader. The very actions you hated me for just a few months prior, you chanted my name for later on.
But I was fully prepared to embrace you people, simply cause you would cheer me no matter what. As long as I came out, and slapped your hands, I was going to be cheered like none other. But then the NAFW closed down. What happened during that break is a story that may never be told. You wouldn't believe it anyway.
So I returned, and I was prepared to get back on the throne, and win the title once more, but then I saw something that made me sick. That very same leader that I liberated the Foundation from, that damn Ryan Cardinal masquerading as Sean Thomas, had returned, and he was picking on little ole Spaz. I hate to leave a job unfinished, so I walked out at Ultimate Showdown, and I beat the tar out of Ryan Cardinal and JaZon King, and I let Spaz pick up the win, so he could get rid of his little doppleganger.
And then what was I supposed to do? That piece of trailer trash Carver was the Champ, and I wasn't even on the radar for a shot at the title. So I set my sights on something simple. I'd team up with Sean, and then we'd win Three Wishes. Then I could use my Wish to secure the Foundation title. But things never seem to work out like you plan. I got my Wish, but then something very curious happened.
After all I'd done for Seany-boy, carrying his Canadian ass for months, he let me get handcuffed to the corner, and I watched as Leonard Aarons, that burnt up sorry excuse for a wrestler, much less a Champion, won the title by beating Cunning. And as I was laying there in the corner, in a daze after being beaten to a pulp, I didn't even notice what happened next. It was only when I watched the replay in the back that I was able to recall this. Roll that footage.
We cut to a clip of Death Wish sponsored by TheNAFW.com. The clip shows Sean "Spaz" Thomas walking up the aisleway while Lane screams for him, handcuffed in the corner.
(Lane) Take one look at that, folks. That says it all. After everything I did for him, the one time I ever asked for his damn help, he walks away from me. I guess that's what happens when you're riding out the end of a career. Always the guy on the upper level, but never the guy on all the billboards. Never the first name on the marquee. Always the guy who everyone looks at and wonders why he's still around.
The guy who helped get rid of Hector and rise to owner of the NAFW, and then he managed to see it all crumble when he got in his little situation with Cardinal. The guy who never got it done in the end. That's who Sean Thomas is. You people tagged us as the NAFW Originals. I never really figured out where that name came from until I sat down a few nights ago, and decided to brainstorm.
I've heard enough guys backstage say that Sean is The NAFW encapsulated in one person. He's been around for a long damn time, and he's been on big stages, Never really took advantage of that, but that's another story. So I guess that made me The Original. And how true that was. While Sean was running around doing the same shtick he's been doing since Tyler Hyatt was still around, there was Mike Lane, the best damn wrestler in the world kicking ass and taking names while showing everyone out there different ways every night to carry a load.
But I did it, and now that I've realized how much of an ungrateful sumbitch Sean Thomas really is, I decided to cut my losses, and get rid of his sorry ass. And all the people cried wolf, and JB Mann nearly got us kicked off of TNT.
He turns back towards the announce position.
(Lane) Now now, dear, don't use that bedroom language on television. It makes you look downright uncivilized.
But getting back to the point. I figured out where my true friends were. Two men that I made into superstars. Two men that will be your Foundation Tag Team Champions if I have anything to say about it. Shane and Dustin Thomas... the Old School Empire. One's the best physical specimen in wrestling today. He has the body of a god, and the strength of ten gods. He's a former United States Champion, he is "The Alpha" Shane Thomas.
The other is one of the best high fliers in the business, and if I have anything to say about it, he'll be one of the best technicians in the world before it's all said and done. He is Dustin Thomas. And together, they form the strongest unit in the business today. They have a bond you can't shatter, and the skill to convince anyone that trying is a bad idea.
No one will be able to stand up to the elite trio that formed one week ago. And don't even start chanting, because I have a good feeling that Sean won't be paying me a visit tonight. James?
He speaks of James Dunn, who cuts the image to the backstage area. The image is reminiscent of last week, when we saw the Old School Empire standing over a fallen Mike Lane. That attack was a sham, but the attack now in front of us, is not. Spaz is down and out on the cold concrete. Shane Thomas is laying in with kicks on him, and the steel pipe in his hand appears to have been the weapon of choice.
Dustin Thomas has Spaz's manager Twitch up against the wall, with a steel pipe up against his throat.
(Shane) Come on, the job is done. Let's roll.
Dustin nods his affirmation, but he grabs Twitch by the arm.
(Dustin) You're coming with us.
He drags Twitch after them as they walk offscreen. We cut back into the arena, where Lane is chuckling at the image of Spaz down on the NAFWTron.
(Lane) Don't cross us, or you'll end up like him. All alone in a world that's passed him by. Survival of the fittest, Sean! You're being written out of this story. I always love a happy ending.
He lets the microphone hit the ground, and he leaves the ring to a chorus of jeers. We are ready to cut, but we can still hear that chant.
"Asshole, Asshole, Asshole"
COMMERCIAL
Helping Hand
We cut backstage, returning to a scene from not long ago: Sean "Spaz" Thomas, on the floor in pain, after an attack by the Old School Empire. We have a tight shot, zoomed in to focus on his face and upper body.
As he lies there, eyes closed in pain and hands clutching his midsection, a shadow is cast over him. Not seeing, but feeling the presence of the shadow - or rather the source of it - Spaz opens his eyes, just as a large, gloved hand comes into our focused view.
And Spaz smiles.
(Spaz) Good to see you got my call.
He reaches up and takes hold of the gloved hand. As he's hauled to his feet, we cut back to ringside with JB and Tom.
(JB) For the second time in as many weeks, Spaz has been outnumbered and overpowered.
(Tom) By better men.
(JB) But Bear, could this helping hand mean a shift of power in Spaz's favour? And if so, just who is behind that hand?
(Tom) I bet it's a robot. I read something about Spaz and robots online!
(JB) Don't believe everything you read online, Bear.
(Tom) I read something about your wife online last night...
(JB) Moving on!!
(Tom) So what’s so special about this next match, Mann-Wagon?
(JB) For the first time ever, one of our… for lack of a better term… Superstars will be hung on a pole ten feet in the air.
(Tom) You’re talking about the goddamn volleyball again, aren’t you?
Speaking of the Gorddamn volleyball…
If you're feelin' it when I drop this
"Rawkfist" by Thousand Foot Krutch 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.
(Tom) Is Snake arguing with Dave Connors?
(JB) I don’t think Wilson wants to go up on the pole!
(Tom) Don’t talk about the Gorddamn volleyball like it’s human, Mann-wheel!
(JB) Do you have an official NAFW win, Bear?
(Tom) Hey! I fought Kramer on Pay Per View!
The Arena lights go down as the 'Ace' Signature logo appears on screen. A large '1' is spray panted over the top before Keep Yourself Alive II kicks in over the PA. Andy comes out and heads towards the ring, hand slapping a couple of the audience along the way. Andy climbs into the ring and heads to the ring apron…
Andy D vs. Snake
Wilson On A Pole
Where he springboards in with a missile dropkick. Snake bails to the outside, but immediately comes back in when he sees Andy go for Wilson. The pair tussle near the top turnbuckle for a bit, before Snake takes the upper hand with a pulling walk slam off of the top rope.
He immediately heads for the top, only to get dropkicked into the pole and crotched.
Wilson bounces off the pole and into the ring. By this point, both men are down. Andy is firs tto his feet. He chucks Wilson at Snake – who catches Wilson. Snake whips Wilson at Andy D, who ducks. Wilson bounces off the top turnbuckle and hits Snake in the face.
Snake falls to one knee.
Andy D hits the Dragon’s Bite!
(JB) Andy D picks up another victory over Snake!
(Tom) Great. One idiot pinned another. Can we move on?
(JB) I don’t think this is over yet, Bear!
(Tom) Is Snake… arguing with Wilson?
Indeed he is. Snake is holding Wilson mid ring, screaming at Wilson… telling Wilson that he attacked Snake on purpose.
(JB) Snake has lost his Gord damn mind!
(Tom) I’m losing my patience. Next!
An Xtreme Challenge
We open to a shot of Peter Gilmour and Ashley Marie’s locker room in the back of the Hartford Civic Center. Peter and Ashley’s clothes are hung up on the wall and we see a title belt on the bench but we can’t see what it says. The camera moves to the shower area, where Peter is taking a pre-match shower. He hangs his head down as the water hits his neck and back and he begins to breathe heavily. Ashley Marie then comes in, wearing a black top and black jeans. She stands a few feet away from the shower stall so that she cannot see Peter’s naked body.
(Ashley) You almost ready baby? We got a big match tonight with the Xtreme Champion Mike Casteleberry.
No response from Peter except the sound of him breathing very heavily. Ashley seems concerned.
(Ashley) You ok there baby? Shall I call the trainer?
(Peter) I’m fine darling. The water got cold that’s all. I’ll be right out.
Peter grabs a towel and wraps it around his lower body. He steps out and the camera shows Peter’s muscular physique. Peter goes and sits down on the bench where that strange title belt was earlier. He folds his hands together and looks down, almost as if he was meditating. Ashley sits next to her man and puts her arm around him.
(Ashley) Are you nervous about facing the Xtreme Champion tonight?
(Peter) To be honest with you, I am very nervous. I have never faced a man like Mike Castelberry before. This could the biggest challenge in my long and illustrious career. Mike is an extraordinary young man with a lot of talent. Hell, did you see what he did last week? He knocked the hell out of that moron Hawke with a stop sign. Now THAT is taking it to the Xtreme.
Ashley has a look of bewilderment but then shrugs her shoulders.
(Ashley) That’s nothing. How about that guy The Reaper getting set on fire? I guess someone is also a pyromaniac.
Ashley takes out a lighter from her pocket and begins to play with it in her hand. She then flashes a wicked grin. Peter is not amused.
(Peter): Put that thing away would ya’? Look, this guy Castleberry is a strong individual who can kill his opponent if he wanted to. But he is stepping into the ring with a former Hardcore Champion as well.
Peter picks up the title belt and we can see it says “hardcore Wrestling Champion” on it. (The name of the company is blurred for unknown reasons.)
(Peter) Remember when I won this baby? This was the greatest day in my career. Winning this hardcore belt put me on the map in the United States after winning the Deathmatch Tournament in Japan. Mike Castleberry may CLAIM that he is Xtreme, but he is not an XTREME ICON like myself. Tonight, I will go into the ring with one goal in mind, and that is to gain Mike Casteleberry’s respect as well as these stupid Connecticut fans, that Peter Gilmour is here to stay. I will show Mike that he is not the only one who can take it to the Xtreme. It should be a great match, but win or lose, I will do 2 things. One, is beat Mike Castleberry in the middle of that ring 1, 2, 3. And the second thing is gain not only his respect but that of the entire NAFW locker room and these fans. I only hope I have the strength and will to give it my all. I cannot let these fans see me as somebody I’m not. I will fight with everything in my body to show these fans why I am a Xtreme Killing Machine.
Peter looks intently at the title belt as the camera focuses on it as we fade to black.
The First Meeting
In.
Ray Buchanan sits behind a large mahogany desk fingering over some paperwork as he does so. You can hear a knock at the door, but before Ray can even respond to let the person in, they have already barged right in.
(?) Damn it, I want a match, Buchanan!
Ray Buchanan looks up at a now dressed Ashley Collier. He looks long and hard at Ashley, before setting his paperwork upon his desk and folding his arms across his chest.
(Ray) Excuse me?
(Ashley) You heard me. I want a match and I want it right now.
Ray shakes his head, Ashley must still be stuck in a time-wrap from two years ago where you could just burst in Sean Thomas' office and get practically anything you wanted... depending on how his PMS was that day.
(Ray) Alright, I'll give you a match. I'll give you a match you deserve. The Official In-Ring Return of The "Born Warrior" Ashley Collier will be two weeks from now, live at Redemption.
Ashley has begun to grin from ear to ear. He doesn't even know who he is fighting but being given his first match back on pay-per view, well that is just straight Money in the Bank. Shorty what you drank?
(Ray) You'll be going one on one with Sebastian Hawke, since you seem to fancy him so much.
Ashley chuckles pretty loudly, which has Ray all kinds of confused.
(Ashley) Oh damn, that is a good one, Ray-Ray. Am I suppose to be scared or something now? I'll run circles in the ring around that stupid ass gorilla.
(Ray) Maybe so, but I'm going to make sure that Sebastian is in prime condition for you, Ashley. See, you are not allowed to lay even a finger on Sebastian until Redemption and you'll be ejected from the building the second you leave my office. For Christ sakes, you knocked out an old man last week, with brass knuckles, you are lucky I don't suspend you. You know how much money we could lose just on insurance?
Ashley shrugs, he can live with the terms and the ejection. However, being the prick he truly is, Ashley just walks out of Ray's office... not even giving a thank you or goodbye. What a dick. I don't think he wants to be lectured either on how he treats the elderly.
(JB) I don’t think I like that Ashley Collier.
(Tom) Big surprise.
(JB) Let me guess – you think he’s hysterical?
(Tom) I’m actually kind of put off by his arrogant demeanor and obnoxious behavior.
(JB) Really?
(Tom) Nah! Gord you’re gullible. You’re like, dumber than Ripcord.
The opening chords to Sevendust’s “Driven” signify the entrance of… of… Hold on, I’ll get it eventually.
Right. The NAFW Legacy himself: Derek F’n Clarke.
The fans are uncertain how to react to the former member of Far n’ Wide, The Sickness and the FLF. Clarke was quite the dick during his last tenure – but he was also a former NAFW Tag Team Champion – is he trying to turn over a new leaf – or is he continuing down the same, winding road towards the dark side.
In the ring, Clarke stretches and adjusts his gear, methodically repeating motions like his arms, like his hands are the hands of a clock.
(JB) I have to admit, it’s kind of nice to see Cougar’s nephew.
(Tom) I’d repeat what you said the last time Clarke was on television, Mann-Wheel… if the censors wouldn’t have my ass.
(JB) The circumstances were different.
(Tom) That’s what she said.
(JB) I don’t get it.
(Tom) Oh… you said CIR-CUM-STANCES not SIR-CUM-STA…
(JB) ALRIGHT!
The next song across the public address is somewhat of a mystery. The sounds of “So Happy Together” begin blaring through the arena speakers – prompting a sing along from the crowd. Only when Tortuga Enmascarada III enters the arena, clad in lime green spandex – does the significance come clear.
This one’s by The Turtles.
Derek Clarke vs Tortuga Enmascarada III
Clarke pounces on Tortuga the moment he enters the ring, stomping left and then right and then left and then right. He pulls Tortuga to Tortuga’s feet and irish-whips him across the ringside, stepping behind and locking in a sleeper hold.
Tortuga runs towards the ropes, but Clarke falls forward, driving the back of Tortuga Enmascarada’s skull into the canvas. He pulls Tortuga up at two. “Awful Cocky, isn’t he?” asks JB… just as Clarke drives Tortuga to the mat with a powerslam.
The next step – heading to the top rope, making sure to step on each turnbuckle en route to the top. Once on the top turnbuckle – Clarke does a sign of the cross and dives with an elbow drop.
He misses.
Tortuga tries his lucha themed offense, snapping off a flying headscissors and a hurricanrana. He then irish-whips Clarke and plants him on the second rope with a drop toehold. 619 attempt leads to Clarke catching Tortuga by the legs, hoisting him up from a kneeling position on his shoulder.
Tortuga spins in the opposite direction, trying to get a Tornado DDT off. Clarke simply drops Tortuga to his feet, spins in the opposite direction, and hits a discus punch. Tortuga bounces off the ropes, Clarke ducks behind, cinches in a hammer lock, pulls Tortuga face to face, raises Tortuga’s right hand behind his head and connects with a heart punch.
Each move is calculated. Precise. Militaristic. Obsessive.
Clarke watches Tortuga clutch his chest on the mat – pauses, and moves to the opposite side of the ring. By the time Tortuga gets to his feet, Clarke is ready. One Northern Lights Suplex, with a bridge, later… and Clarke has a triumphant return.
(Tom) How’s that for a debut, Mann-Wheel?
(JB) This isn’t a debut, Bear. Derek Clarke is a former Tag Team Champion.
(Tom) I was talking about Tortuga Enmascarada III, Mann-Wagon! I haven’t seen anyone take an ass kicking like that since the Mexican Toiletries!
(JB) Derek Clarke, impressive in his return to the NAFW. We’ll be right back.
COMMERCIAL
One Eyed Jack
Take a close look at the infirmary door next time you’re at an NAFW live event or watching at home on television. The door will be different from arena to arena – obviously - but one constant remains.
A homemade needlepoint, faded from years of fluorescent lights, reads “Bless This Mess.”
Diane Clarke, Cougar’s wife, Derek’s aunt, and the hottest middle aged chief medical officer since Beverly Crusher, stitched it while she and Cougar drove from show to show way back when she started in the Wrestling business.
She had her needlepoint. Cougar had his corkboard for the nightly booking sheet.
The Foundation Liberation Front burned Bella – leaving only one token remembrance of the start of their lives together on the road; of their lives together as man and wife. It falls to the floor when the infirmary door flies open. The door hits the wall with an echoing thud and the needlepoint falls to the floor, disregarded.
Now Diane typically does not allow cameras to enter her infirmary – “Bad things happen every time I’m on television,” she always says. Tonight she was distracted – when she saw heard the door swing open she saw the needlepoint fall – and the fear that the frame would break and she would lose a piece of her past – as she nearly lost her husband months only a year ago – well… Diane never saw Trevor Cunning barge in, surrounded by cameras.
Cunning looks like a pirate raccoon – with two black eyes and a large piece of gauze taped o his right eye, “protection” for the “injury” he suffered earlier this evening.
(Trevor) Keith! Buddy! Where the hell are you?
Having gathered her prize possession, Diane moves to block Cunning
(Diane) You can’t be in here!
(Trevor) Hey! I’m injured here!
(Diane) And I already treated you. Now leave.
(Keith) Leave? And here I was, beginning to think I’d be stuck here all night!
(Trevor) Keith! There you are!
Cunning steps around Diane Clarke, sweeping one arm around to smack her in the tush as he walk by. She jumps and squeaks, before shooting Trevor a look that would set the fire water in his veins ablaze.
Cunning stumbles over to the table where Keith is still lying down. Owens’ face is slightly purpled, as if someone left a pen inside his skin while it went through the washing machine. His neck is red, raw from where the medical personnel had placed a neck brace as a precautionary method.
(Trevor) Keith! Thank Gord… I thought Hush might have killed you.
Owens sits up, albeit too quickly. His hand instinctively shoots up to his neck. He begins swinging his head from side to side, attempting to work the kinks out – attempting being the operative word.
(Keith) He nearly did – no thanks to you, Trev.
(Trevor) Keith… Buddy…
(Keith)Can it with the “buddy” stuff, Trevor. You were supposed to keep Hush busy while I found Melissa. That was the plan.
(Trevor) It’s not my fault there was glass in my eye. I could have gone blind!
(Keith) You know… whatever, Trev. I had to bail your ass out again tonight – like I’ve had to do since day one. Frankly, I’m getting sick of it.
(Trevor) I don’t have to take this, you know… I’ve had a very traumatic week. If you weren’t my best friend I’d… I’d get up and leave right now.
(Diane) And leave you shall.
Diane Clarke steps in front of Cunning, both hands pushing him out of the infirmary. Cunning doesn’t put up any protest. With the Godfather in the hall, Clarke replaces the needlepoint on the door and shuts it in his face.
(Trevor) Who the hell does he think he is anyway?
Cunning shrugs, rips his eye patch off, and tosses it in a near by trash receptacle. We head back to ringside.
(JB) I knew that jackass wasn’t injured!
(Tom) He sure was, Mann-Wagon! It’s not Trevor’s fault he has superhuman powers of recuperation!
(JB) He was faking. Face it.
(Tom) I’ll face you. Faker.
The lights in the arena go out and then a violent explosion of fire comes from the ramp. The beginning drum beat from the song PAINKILLER by Judas Priest starts to kick in. The lights on the NAFW-tron start to flicker on and off, then another explosion of fire is heard as the guitar riff begins. Out from the entranceway, comes Ashley Marie in a oh so sexy red dress and black stiletto boots. She looks to the crowd and flashes a evil grin. She then looks to the entranceway and as the main vocals start up, Peter Gilmour comes out in his traditional black cloaked jacket, with hood covering his face. He meets up with Ashley and then both of them flash an "X" symbol as red pyro goes off in the same manner. The lovely couple goes to the ring ignoring the boos and chants from the crowd. Ashley gets on the apron and does a Melina-like split in the ring for all the guys to drool over. Peter gets in the ring normally and heads to the center of the ring. He looks down as the lights dim a bit. Ashley then does a seductive crawl over to her man and grabs his inner right thigh as Peter rips his hood off as fire emits from the turnbuckles. Peter and Ashley give a sadistically evil grin to the crowd as they await their next opponent.
(Tom) Well, there goes our pyro budget for the remainder of the year.
(JB) You’re not going to make some sexist comment about Ashley Marie?
(Tom) Nah… she’s got kind of a hair lip.
The lights cut out in the arena, bathing it in darkness, the only lighting is from a few camera flashes. Suddenly, a guitar riff pierces the air over the PA, blue lights flashing at the entryway, revealing Castleberry standing, his arms foled, staring at the ring, a look of fierce determination on his face. The crowd cheers as he stands, surveying his surroundings.
(JB) Ladies and Gentlemen – your X-Treme Champion!
(Tom) Until Charles Johnson gets… well, his wallet out.
The first verse of Megadeth's "Die Dead Enough" plays, as Castleberry starts his march down to the ring as the chorus picks up.
(JB) You really think Castleberry will sell the X-Treme Championship he worked so hard to acquire, Bear?
(Tom) Everyone’s got a price, Mann-Hole! Take your mother, for example…
(JB) That’s perfectly enough.
(Tom) Ready… UHHHH… That’sWhatSheSaid!
Castleberry stands in front of the ring, stretching a bit, crackling his knuckles, then his neck, making sure everything is lose He hops into the ring, as the lights go back on in the arena, waiting is his corner for the opening bell, the chorus playing again, fading out.
Peter Gilmore vs. Mike Castleberry (XT)
Non-Title
Gilmore charges in to start, only to be taken down by a drop-toe hold. He scrambles to his feet, where Castleberry hits a fireman’s carry takedown into an armbar. This leads to a rollup for two. Gilmore kicks out, and looks for a big kick, only for Mike to catch his foot and bring him to the mat with a single leg takedown. Castleberry floats over to a headlock, spins around on Gilmore’s back, and then boots him in the skull.
Gilmore scoots back towards the corner, frustrated.
Mike moves in, but Gilmore goes to the eyes. He takes Mike over with a lariat, drops a knee across Castleberry’s throat, and holds it there, pushing down against his windpipe. When James Elbourn pushes him away, Ashley Marie heads over to gouge Castleberry’s eyes.
A pair of backbreakers leads to a camel clutch. The crowd rallies behind Mike – who starts to stand up. Gilmore lets his weight up and then sits down hard on Mike’s back. The crowd again empowers Castleberry to get up, and when Gilmore attempts a second counter counter – he lands crotch first on Mike’s knees.
Meanwhile, Ashley Marie slides a chair inside the ring, and then books around to the opposite side.
Castleberry immediately heads off the ropes, catches Gilmore in a bulldog, and runs up the ropes, coming down with the Last Breath #2. He covers Gilmore – but Ashley Marie is on the apron.
Castleberry goes over to Ashley Marie, grabs her by the hair, and begins playing up the crowd – as if he’s going to kiss her.
WHAM!
Gilmore smashes him in the face with a chair. He spits on Castleberry and then heads to the outside. He grabs Ashley Marie by the wrist forcefully and begins dragging her up the ramp.
Castleberry gets back to his feet, slowly, spits some blood out of his mouth, and takes the X-Treme Championship belt from James Elbourn, before asking for a microphone.
(Castleberry) I forgot. You’re supposed to be some kind of X-Treme Icon… right Gilmore?
On the top of the stage, Gilmore is smiling evilly, nodding his head and screaming things at Castleberry that we can’t say on television.
(Castleberry)Well… Little Miss Queen of X-Treme, I’m the one with the title belt around my waist… for now, at least… that says if you want to call yourself an X-Treme Icon – you have to go through me.
So bring your ass down here – and let’s see if you can take this belt. X-Treme rules! Right now!
Leaving Ashley Marie behind, Gilmore sprints down to the ring and slides under the bottom rope.
Peter Gilmore vs. Mike Castleberry (XT)
X-Treme Rules
Castleberry immediately meets Gilmore with a boot to the jaw. Gilmore gets to his feet, and the pair begin exchanging right hands, Gilmore coming out on top. He irish-whips Castleberry across the ring, ducks under when Castleberry returns, and attempts a leapfrog on the third pass.
I say “attempts,” because Castleberry simply stops, winds up and kicks Gilmore square in the jumblies as he’s in mid-air.
(JB) Oooohhh!
(Tom) Right in the baby maker!
Gilmore lands on his feet, clutching his groin in sheer agony. Mike leaps into the air, hits a hurricanrana, and holds on for a pinning combination. He gets three.
Gilmore rolls out of the ring, meeting Ashley Marie, who attempts to console him. Mike meanwhile, asks for a mic.
(Castleberry) Hey CJ… I hope you were watching. I hope everyone was watching, because this will, in all likelihood, be my last X-Treme Championship defense.
(JB) What on earth?
(Tom) I knew it! He’s selling out!
(Castleberry) If you want this belt, CJ… next week you can have it. But you better be prepared to pay dearly!
(Tom) Mark my word, Mann-Wheel… next week we’ll have a new X-Treme Champion! Charles Johnson!
(JB) I can’t believe Castleberry would… it’s so unlike him.
Descascar La Tortuga
The first Tortuga Enmascarada was a legend in Mexico – starring in films alongside Mil Mascaras and SANTO. Tortuga Enmascarada II engaged in a violent blood feud with el Conejo Enmascarado de la Muerte which captivated a nation and sold out coliseums across Mexico.
Tortuga Enmascarada III came to America and got his ass kicked.
If he could sink into the shell expertly crafted on the back of his costume, Tortuga would. To be defeated so handily is insulting to his heritage – to his father and grandfather – to the Tortuga name, to the Tortuga mask and to Mexico herself!
Alas, for poor Tortuga Enmascarada III, the indignity does not end with a heart punch and a northern lights suplex. His embarrassment, his degradation is only beginning.
We find Tortuga near the arena exit in street clothes, still wearing his mask. He opens the door to leave, only to find an individual blocking his exit. This individual, dressed entirely in brown and yellow, is also wearing a luchador’s mask.
(Tortuga Enmascarada III) Quien es usted?
(El Asso) Hello. My name is El Asso Wipo. You tried to take my job tonight. Prepare to die.
Tortuga turns and runs, albeit rather slowly, before he bumps into another individual, also dressed entirely in brown and yellow. He too wears a luchador’ mask.
(Tortuga Enmascarada III) Quien es usted?
(Señor Bag of Crap) Do I have to say it?
(El Asso Wipo) Yes, you have to say it.
(Señor Bag of Crap) I don’t even like the Princess Bride.
(El Asso Wipo) Would you just say it already?
(Señor Bag of Crap) Look at it this way, who’s to say we can’t have three masked luchadors in this company? He can handle singles, we can handle tags… it could work out.
(El Asso Wipo) Why do you have to be so difficult?
(Señor Bag of Crap) I’m not being difficult. All I’m trying to say is we don’t need to be so melodramatic. I’m sure if we sat down with Tortuga Enmascarada III and explained the situation, not only could we resolve things in a sensible, logical fashion, but we might even become friends, or at the very least…
(Tortuga Enmascarada III) Ahem! Quien es usted?
(Señor Bag of Crap)Sigh… fine.
Hello. My name is Señor Bag of Crap… you tried… to steal my job tonight… prepare to die.
(El Asso Wipo) Now was that really so difficult?
(Señor Bag of Crap) For me it was. I figured after all these years you’d understand that. I don’t understand why you have to be so controlling all the time.
As the Mexican Toiletries bicker, Tortuga attempts to sneak past them to the exit. He takes off in a full sprint.
(El Asso Wipo) Now he’s getting away, are you happy?
(Señor Bag of Crap)You know I’m not happy.
(El Asso) Hey you! Get back here! My name is El Asso Wipo. You tried to take my job tonight. Prepare to die!
The Toiletries take off after Tortuga, exiting the frame. We cut to the next portion of our evening.
Controversy Arrives
The camera cuts backstage to the hallway, where around a corner walks the man who’s become the most controversial figure in the NAFW over the past week. Complete with NAFW Atlantic gold on his shoulder, sunglasses on his eyes, and a scowl on his face, Mike Stryker comes center screen.
The NAFW faithful in the crowd become torn. On one side, booing venomously, are those who are either solidly in the corner of NAFW Champion and recent burn victim Leonard Aarons, or who are convinced and sickened by what they believe Stryker has done. On the other side, cheering and screaming and clapping, are those who are either die-hard Stryker supporters or convinced that he did something that was a long time coming. For his part, Stryker has been silent for a week, not answering a single question as it relates to if he really did, or did not, set the NAFW Heavyweight champion ablaze.
As Stryker walks down the corridor, searching for his dressing room, a few NAFW employees stare at him, mostly horrified, thinking that he is indeed guilty, and amazed at his unabashed arrival. As he continues, Mark Herriot stands by, mic in hand, ready to do his job.
(Herriot) Mike-
(Stryker) No Comment.
Herriot stops for a second, but not long enough to let Stryker get away.
(Herriot) You didn’t even let me ask-
(Stryker) Why? Why do I need to let you finish? Seriously, there’s only one question I know that you’re going to ask.
(Herriot) How do you know that.
Stryker stops, somewhat in disbelief, like Herriot must think he’s stupid.
(Stryker) You mean to tell me you’re not going to ask me about last week? What else would you POSSIBLY be asking me? I know you’re not going to ask me about Death Wish, or regaining my Atlantic Title. I know you’re not going to ask me about tonight, when I step into the ring for roughly the 100th time against Crazy Boy. No Mark, it’s as plain as the nose on your bulbous face what you’re going to ask me. So…I say again…no comment.
(Herriot) Ok, fine, I was going to ask you about what happened last week. I was going to ask you why you came to the ring to save Aarons, and then if you were the one who set him on fire. So, since you have no comment, now I have to ask…
Why not?
Stryker is no longer amused, he snaps off his sunglasses, burning a pair of steel blue lasers into Herriot.
(Stryker) Because it’s none of your concern. The bottom line is that nobody, and I do mean nobody, has a lick of actual evidence, and until they do, I have no reason to say a word about it. For right now, I will neither confirm, nor deny, any involvement with the incidents at the beginning of last week annihilation.
Somewhat confused by the answer, the crowd begins to boo Stryker. After all, if he didn’t do it, why didn’t he say it? Nobody likes a guy who won’t take a stance.
(Herriot) But-
(Stryker) Did I stutter?
Herriot looks down meekly, shaking his head no.
(Stryker) Then this conversation is ending. I’m not going to say anything about what happened last week. Not a single word about why I did what I did…
whatever that may have been.
Stryker flashes that sick, evil smirk that made him so famous for so long, which elicits a buzz from the crowd as he walks off, leaving Mark Herriot to try and decipher what just happened.
(JB) Stay tuned, wrestling shut-ins! We’ve got Mike Stryker…
(Tom) Woohoo!
(JB) Versus Crazy Boy…
(Tom) Ahh… damnit!
(JB) Next – only on Annihilation!
COMMERCIAL
(JB) Welcome back!
(Tom) Can we just get the beating over with? I’ve got better things to do.
(JB) Then your job? Which you get paid to do one night a week?
(Tom) Hmm… yeah.
"Fully Alive" by Flyleaf hits the PA as the lights dim and then flicker out. Strobe lights flicker on as smoke fills the entryway and the ramp. All the sudden, a figure comes out from the back and stands in the smoke, right fist pumped up in the air. The strobe lights make the figure seem like it is blinking as the figure cuts through the smoke. The crowd cheers as it is NAFW's very own psycho, Crazy Boy. CB walks down the ramp, acknowledging the crowd as he slides under the bottom ropes. The lights flicker back on as CB pumps his fist in the air, runs around off the ropes and then turns, and waits for his opponent to come.
(JB) Crazy Boy held the Intercontinental Championship – the predecessor to the Atlantic Championship.
(Tom) He can hold my jock for all I care – he ain’t beatin’ the Big City Hit Man.
(JB) Care to put some money on that?
(Tom) How about this? If Crazy Boy wins – I won’t make another joke about your mother until Redemption.
(JB) Deal.
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 dialouge 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.
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.
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.
Crazy Boy vs. Mike Stryker (AC)
Atlantic Championship
CB attempts to dazzle the Big City Hit Man with his speed, sliding between Stryker’s legs, and then using a variety of arm drags to keep Stryker off balance. After taking Stryker down with a hurricanrana, CB heads to the top.
Stryker crotches him and takes him down to the mat with a superplex. Then the Big City Hit Man goes to work. A pair of dragon screw leg whips tweak CB’s knee. He follows up with a shin breaker and then by stomping CB’s knee on the mat, hard.
Stryker brings CB over to the ropes and places his ankle on the second rope, before leaping up, using the ropes as a springboard to drop all his weight down on the knee. He cinches in a figure four, but CB grabs the ropes.
Stryker gets up, pulls CB’s leg to the outside, and slams it on the ring apron. He then pulls CB to the corner, and posts his knee. Ring post figure four leads to a five count and a near DQ. Stryker rolls inside. He argues with Walt Mason, leading to a CB roll up for two. Stryker kicks out, and puts CB on his back with a Yakuza Kick.
At this point, Vanessa Chamberlain, the Reaper’s ex-wife, shows up – appearing on the ramp. Stryker notices – and is again rolled up for two. When he comes back, looking for another Yakuza Kick, CB ducks, and backslides Stryker for two. He hobbles to his feet and makes it to the corner.
Stryker follows him in with a boot to the gut. He places CB’s bad leg, the left one, in between the middle and top ropes, steps back, and kicks the knee, hard. He then pulls CB out by his bad leg, only for CB to retaliate with an Enziguri.
Both men are down. Stryker is the first up. He irish-whips CB into the corner, where CB does a headstand on the turnbuckle. When Stryker charges in, CB mule kicks him in the chest. He then goes to pick Stryker up for the Crazy Slam, but his leg gives out. Stryker falls on top for two.
Paradigm Shift follows. CB is OUT.
Stryker covers.
Vanessa’s on the apron. Before Stryker can tell her to, for lack of a better term, go screw off… the Reaper pops out of the crowd. He slides in, scoops up Stryker, and drops him with the Reaper’s Wrath. Before leaving, he pulls Crazy Boy on top of Mike Stryker an exits through the crowd.
Vanessa turns and heads up the ramp.
Walt Mason turns around to see CB, out cold, on top of Stryker, also out cold. He shrugs, and counts three.
(Tom) Damnit!
(JB) Looks like you lost, Bear.
(Tom) At least I have your mother to go home to, tonight, Mann-Wheel.
(JB) But you said.
(Tom) I lied.
(JB) Sigh…
(Tom) You’re almost as bad a sport as the Reaper is.
(JB) If you were set on fire, wouldn’t you be a bit angry?
(Tom) Touché.
(JB) I’m just surprised the Reaper is even walking, let alone stepping anywhere near a wrestling ring! How he isn’t scarred for life – either mentally or physically – is beyond me.
(Tom) There’s a lot beyond you, Mann-Wheel, you self-centered jerk.
Evening the Odds
We're backstage once again, as we so often are. This time, we've found ourselves outside of a door marked "Ray Buchanan - Commissioner." Standing outside of the boss's office is good old Rick Priestly.
(JB) What do you have for us, Rick?
After a brief pause, Rick answer's JB's question.
(Rick) Word has it that Spaz has been in conference with Commissioner Buchanan, and I'm here to find out what they've been discussing.
(Tom) Robots!
(JB) Enough with the robots, Bear!
Mercifully, the door behind Priestly opens up, and as expected, Spaz emerges. He holds what seems to be a stack of papers in his right hand, and is clearly focused on something. So focused, in fact, that he somehow doesn't see Priestly (quite a feat, given Rick's girth) and walks right by.
(Rick) Spaz!
Spaz turns, and finally notices Priestly's presence. He takes a step back toward the interviewer.
(Spaz) What can I do for you, Rick?
(Rick) I'm here to ask you what you were discussing with the Commissioner.
(Spaz) Actually I'm on my way out to the ring to answer just that question.
(Rick) Oh. OK then. I guess I'll let you go?
Spaz is already on his way.
(Spaz) Thanks Rick. I'd invite you to come along, but I don't think you'd be able to keep up the pace.
Priestly frowns, not in disappointment, but resigned agreement. Rick Priestly keeping up with a hurried Spaz - even if Spaz is still hurting from the earlier assault - is like pigs flying, or hell freezing over... When it happens, something's seriously wrong in the world.
So, we follow Spaz out toward the ring. Since describing someone walking is kind of boring, let's see what JB and Tom have to say.
(JB) So, what do you think Spaz and Mr. Buchanan were talking about, Bear?
(Tom) Ro...
(JB) Don't say robots!
(Tom) Fine then... Mechanical men!
Thankfully, the Commissioner's office is strategically located within a short walk from the staging area - also known in these parts as the Cougar Position. So it is, then, that JB and Tom are interrupted by music, as we cut back into the arena.
What we have coming into our ears is a steady tap on a high hat, behind rapid bass for close to ten seconds, before heavy and rapid guitar chords and full drums kick in. This is "There and Back Again" by Daughtry. It's a far cry from the Barenaked Ladies you may have expected, but from here on it means the same thing that "Alcohol" has for so long. As the lyrics begin, Spaz emerges from behind the curtain to a chorus of cheers from the fans in attendance.
When Daughtry hits the word "shine," Spaz takes off, running (as best he can with whatever pain remains from the attack by OSE) down the ramp. He slides into the ring and as soon as he's up, he signals for the music to be cut. Not waiting for the buzz of the crowd to pass, Spaz gets right down to business.
(Spaz) I'm not going to waste my time, or yours, ranting or rambling about what happened last week and earlier tonight. You saw it. You heard what Mike Lane had to say about it. And I... Well, it seems I got my ass kicked. Twice.
Spaz pauses, looking down at the papers in his hand, then holding them up. He slowly circles the ring as he speaks, showing the papers off to the crowd.
(Spaz) These papers in my hand are going to prevent it from happening a third time. Last week, I was outnumbered. Earlier tonight, the odds were against me. But starting a few minutes ago, I'm evening those odds.
(Tom) Here come the robots!
(Spaz) What I hold in my hand are a pair of talent contracts, signed and approved by Commissioner Ray Buchanan. After last week, I told Kramer that I don't really have any allies in the Foundation right now. That was the truth. But that doesn't mean I don't have allies outside of this company... Or allies that used to be with the Foundation.
(JB) That's a clue, Bear! Could we be seeing returning superstars in Spaz's corner tonight?
(Tom) Whoever they are, Spaz better have them close by... Look who's coming!
The fans, Spaz, and Tom have all noticed the same thing. We've just heard Tom's response. The fans erupt in a combination of warnings to Spaz, and boos toward the new arrivals on the scene. And Spaz simply drops the microphone and slides out to the side of the ring, as Mike Lane, flanked by Shane and Dustin Thomas, race down the ramp.
Spaz hops over the guardrail and works his way into the crowd. Lane and the OSE give chase, but Spaz keeps ahead of them, until all four disappear in the mass of humanity.
(JB) Well Bear, it sounds to me like your robot theory has been debunked! I believe Spaz's backup here tonight is in the form of familiar faces.
(Tom) He could have put familiar faces on the robots, Mannequin! I say bring on Mystic-bot and Robo-Duck!
(JB) Can you forget about robots and be serious, please?
(Tom) At best, you're getting one of those. Your choice.
(JB) No more robots!
(Tom) Fine. Then my money's on X-Squared.
(JB) Wonderful.
We cut to the back where a very angry Foundation Heavyweight Champion is walking out of the building with a look on his face that could chip paint and melt ice all at once. John Mills, not the hotter than hot Amie Carmichael is the person who's attempting to run down The Reaper. It should be noted that he takes fairly long strides on the regular, with a more deliberate pep in his step it's like he's running.
(John) Leonard! Leonard, can we get a moment of your...
He continues out the door, heading to his car, a nice and shiny 1968 Supercharger that's gold and black with his trademark Reaper insignia on the hood. He stops, not looking into the camera as John finally catches up.
(John) Leonard, I'm curious as to what would compel you to cost Mike Stryker the Atlantic Championship out of the clear blue.
(Leonard) Is that a question that really requires an answer, Mister Mills?
(John) Well I'm sure...
(Leonard) Save it. Let me lay it out real plainlike. Mikey was at the wrong place, at the wrong time, holding the wrong (bleep)ing thing. I got burned – literally - and ya know what? I've been rundown, run over, choked out and everything under the sun...but to have someone try to burn me...
You can hear a very audible snarl, almost gutteral in its tone as he turns to look over his right shoulder.
(Leonard) It's something that...simply put, I've never had done to me before and I've pissed off more than enough people over my career ya dig? But I'm gonna tell you what, actually, I'm gonna tell you Buchanan.
It's here that he turns to face the camera, the hood hiding his face although he's far from happy and it doesn't take a rocket scientist to figure that out.
(Leonard) You've got a week to get your ducks in a row and find out who tried to make a Roman Candle out of this Catholic. I don't care how you do it, or who you need to hire to do it, but when I arrive next week...either I get a name for you or I'm gonna start adding names one by one and trust me when I tell you this. This is far past my title, it's about careers. You want to have a roster to rule over, either you're gonna give me a name or starting next week I start devastating people and bodies start piling up. You want it stopped?
Give me a name, Bucky.
Tonight was merely the prelude before the Lenpocalypse.
The Gospel has been spoken. None will be spared my Devastation.
John doesn't get to ask another question, as Aarons gets in his car and starts it up. And even that doesn't stop him from asking one final question.
(John) What about Vanessa?
Just as he starts to put the car in gear, he stops it in neutral most fittingly.
(Leonard) What about her?
(John) I think it's awfully coincidental that she comes out to distract the ref allowing you to come in and drop Stryker with the Reaper's Wrath. Aren't you worried about retribution from the Big City Hit Man?
(Leonard) Personally, I could care less what he wants or tries to get. He can tango with the Devil in a black lit room for all I'm concerned, he'll know better than to be in the wrong place at the wrong time holding the wrong thing.
(John) As for Vanessa?
(Leonard) Apparently I wasn't clear enough the last time she and I spoke face to face...but no matter. As long as she stays out of my way, she won't be devastated.
(John) But that's not an answer.
(Leonard) Then I guess you don't get one.
The car roars to life as Aarons puts it in drive and speeds off in a hurry as we cut back to commercial.
COMMERCIAL
Quick Challenge
The camera fades in on Crazy Boy sitting backstage in shock of his new Atlantic Championship. Snake, with Wilson under his arm, approaches and the two get into each others’ faces just inches apart. No one throws a blow though, they’re both too tired from their matches this evening and know it would surely end in a stalemate. Snake tells Crazy Boy that Wilson has a challenge for him. Next week, Wilson versus Crazy Boy, one on one for the Atlantic Championship. Crazy Boy laughs hysterically before suddenly getting serious and tells Snake to tell Wilson that they’re on. The two and a half competitors part ways when the camera pans to Andy D approaching the scene with a look of “wtf-mate” on his face for Crazy Boy giving a sports ball a shot at the title and not the man who has fought Snake so many times. Then the shot cuts back to the announce table.
(Tom) We’re back, Mann-Wagon – put down the skin mag.
(JB) I’m not looking at a…
(Tom) I didn’t know you had a subscription to Chubby Chasers!
(JB) Would you stop?
(Tom) There’s nothing wrong with a little cushion for the pushin’
(JB) You make me angry in ways that can only be described by deep philosophical explication.
(Tom) Eh, big words make my head hurt. Rydell’s already in the ring, so let’s get this show started.
"The Earth Will Shake" by Thrice, begins blasting out the speakers of the NAFW-Tron, as Sebastian Hawke walks out onto the stage. His eyes scan the capacity crowd of the arena, before throwing his arms out to the side, pointing in either direction.
As his arms swing down, his body lunges down as well, to one knee. Pyros fly up directly on either side of him, raining their brilliance of red and gold into the air. He holds his head down, looking to the stage until the pyros end. He then returns to his feet.
Sebastian begins his slow walk down the ramp to the ring, eyes fixated intently on the ring he is about to enter. He passes by a few fans, who are waving their hands in an excited frenzy, but he instead ignores them, continuing to the ring. Approaching the apron, Hawke walks over to the stairs and climbs onto the apron. He walks along the apron, facing the crowd as he stares out at them, before turning around to get into the ring.
Jake Rydell vs. Sebastian Hawke
Hawke uses his power to dominate in the early going, before some well timed cheating tactics allow Rydell to take over. Rest hold, and Hawke “HULKS UP!!!!!!1!!!ONE!” again utilizing his power to take control.
The details aren’t important really – you all just want the finish.
Two Birds
(JB) Sebastian Hawke just about has this match in the bag, Bear.
(Tom) Yea, Mann-wagon, Hawke is making short work of the newcomer ole what’s his name.
(JB) Jake Rydell?
(Tom) Yea, whoever.
(JB) You are a disgrace.
(Tom) In your opinion.
Sebastian is all pumped up but remaining so emotionally bland it almost hurts the eyes. For someone who is "raging" angry, he looks awfully calm. Oh wait, now here comes some real emotion... not that forced stuff Bobby Lashley... I mean Sebastian Hawke generally uses.
(JB) What in the name of Gord?
(Tom) Oh my Gord, JB, Ashley Collier is back in the building?
(JB) How in the hell did that happen? Buchanan ejected him for the night.
(Tom) Maybe he bought a ticket?
(JB) That doesn't mean he is allowed to jump the barricade!
Ashley has indeed jumped the barricade and is now standing upon the ring apron, glaring into the eyes of Sebastian Hawke. Hawke is jawing some trash talk in Collier's direction but he forgets about Jake Rydell and the newcomer takes advantage by drilling Sebastian's head hard into the mat with a reverse DDT.
(JB) Damn that Collier, he can't touch Hawke, but he can distract him!
(Tom) Oh quit your whining, JB.
Rydell kips up off the mat feeling really good and excited. This is when Ashley motions for Rydell to come to him. Jake is a little cautious at first, but he makes his way over to the ropes where Ashley is standing and they begin to exchange some words.
(JB) Are these two in cahoots?
I'm afraid not, JB Mann. See, Ashley has reached into the back pocket of his jeans and slipped something onto his fist. Guess what that is. Meanwhile, he extends his free hand to Rydell for a handshake. Jake meets and greets and all seems dandy till he decides to pull away and Ashley decides to not let go. Rydell jerks his hand hard but Ashley doesn't release. He yells something, but Collier cuts him off half-way as he drives his brass knuckled fist right into Rydell's jaw, knocking him the fuck out. The referee has no choice but to disqualify Sebastian Hawke.
(JB) Aw what the hell, Collier just cost Sebastian another match!
(Tom) Watch out, Ashley!
Sebastian is up and he is pissed. He makes a bee-line straight for Ashley. Collier knows it is time to get the fuck out of dodge and he jumps back over the barricade and begins to run away into the fans towards one of the exits. Sebastian is in hot pursuit.
(Tom) Run Ash, run!
(JB) I hope Hawke beats him until he is crazier than a pet coon.
(Tom) What in the hell is a pet coon?
Ashley is running over and pushing a variety of people out of his way. He isn't being biased either. He knocks over a couple small children, a fat guy, a lesbian, and some fourteen year old girls. Ashley doesn't really give a fuck though, because once he barges through the doors of the main gate he immediately hops into the backseat of an already waiting vehicle. Hawke is right behind him, but he isn't fast enough and the car begins to take off. That is when Ashley peeks his head out of the moon roof and decides to flip two birds at Sebastian Hawke.
(Tom) What a hero.
(JB) What a self-loving arrogant pri--
Looking, But Not Finding
Cut backstage. That's how these things always start, but if it ain't broke, don't fix it, right? So then: Backstage. And we've got Spaz. He's wandering down the hall, looking around. He passes by a nameless techie, and speaks to him.
(Spaz) Have you seen Twitch around?
The nameless techie, who doesn't get paid enough to speak on national television, simply shakes his head.
(Spaz) Thanks.
Spaz continues on his way, still looking around. But the looking isn't just for the purpose of finding his manager... Even with his backup presumably in the building tonight, Spaz is still making sure to keep his eye out for another sneak attack by Mike Lane and the Old School Empire.
Spaz turns a corner, and bumps into a familiar face. Not the one he's looking for - but close, in a way.
(Kramer) Spaz! Just the man I was looking for!
(Spaz) Oh, hey Kramer. Have you seen Twitch?
Kramer frowns. He and Twitch are kind of like oil and water.
(Kramer) Twitch? No. Haven't seen him. Try not to see him, actually.
(Spaz) Right. So, why were you looking for me?
Kramer shifts back to his usual jovial demeanor. In fact, he's even more jovial then usual. He's positively beaming.
(Kramer) I need to know about those contracts...
(Spaz) What about them?
(Kramer) Please, please tell me what I want to hear...
Kramer is almost shaking with excitement. Spaz looks at him, momentarily confused, then it dawns on him. He sighs, and shakes his head.
(Spaz) Sorry Kramer. No Chronic. I really don't think he's ever coming back.
For a moment, Kramer looks like he's about to cry. Then he too sighs.
(Kramer) I know. Always have, really. It would have been pretty cool though, right?
Spaz smiles, and pats his old friend on the shoulder.
(Spaz) It would have.
Without needing any further words, Spaz leaves Kramer alone with his memories. He turns and heads off in search of his manager.
Back to Back
Cut to Twitch's face. The manager/announcer has the look of a man who is tired of people who he feels are beneath him.
(Twitch) Twitch has no idea!
And as we pull back, we can see exactly why. On one side of him is Shane Thomas, and on the other is Dustin Thomas. Shane is leaning up against the cold walls, rolling his eyes, while Dustin appears to be asking the questions.
(Dustin) Come on, you had to have seen something.
Twitch looks at Dustin as if he was talking to a child.
(Twitch) Maaaaaybe, if you hadn't have pulled Twitch away, he would have seen who Pez found for back up!
We hear an offscreen door open and shut, and Dustin and Shane both step away. As you probably assumed, Mike Lane has entered the room. He ignores his cohorts, and walks over to Twitch, putting his arm around the manager. He locks eyes with Dustin for a brief moment, and the young man shakes his head in the negative.
(Lane) Alright buddy, I see you haven't given my partners here any good information. Do you know anything about Sean's back-up?
(Twitch) Twitch don't know anything about it, Micky.
A sigh escapes Lane's lips, but he grins, and pats Twitch on the shoulder.
(Lane) Okay, you can hit the bricks. Just remember, when we go out after the show and all the ladies surround us... I'm married, and the Thomas Brothers, physical specimens they are, can't handle all the ladies that come a knocking. Twitch might get to do some rocking when he rolls with the big boys. We scratch your back, and you scratch ours. But tonight, you don't seem to have your scratching shoes on.
Twitch looks at Lane like he's crazy, and he leaves the locker room. Dustin and Shane exchange a glance, and then they both look towards Lane.
(Dustin) Scratching Shoes?
The Alpha snickers, and Lane just shakes his head. He straightens his jacket, and motions to Dustin.
(Lane) Knock it off. We've got work to do, boys.
And this is where we cut.
COMMERCIAL
Highlander or The First NAFW Legend
(JB) Ladies and Gentlemen… it’s time for the announcement of our first NAFW Legend! Let’s kick it to the ring where…
(Kramer) HELLOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
(Tom) This guy? I hate this guy! I hate everything about him and the way he chooses to be and makes me feel and… GAH! HATE!
(JB) Kramer, it’s all on you!
Kramer’s looking rather dapper in his tuxedo. The ring apron has been covered by red felt, and the turnbuckles have black cloth draped over them – giving the ring an elegant appearance.
(Kramer) Thanks, JB… Kalhoun….
(Tom) I’ll end you.
(Kramer) Anyways, speculation has been running rampant as to who the first NAFW Legend would be – who would be the first Superstar to come home – to be the subject of DVDs, be immortalized in action figures, be emblazoned across t-shirts, lunch boxes and posters – and to be the subject of short fiction in the New Yorker Magazine!
(JB) What?
(Tom) You’re not funny, Kramer!
(Kramer) Well, maybe not the New Yorker thing. But nonetheless – the guy about to come to the ring – who hasn’t been heard from in years – he’s just hit the mother load.
(Tom) Hey Mann-Wagon… speaking of…
(JB) Sigh…
(Kramer) He is a former two-time Intercontinental Champion!
(Tom) Great… Jaime freakin’ Alejandro.
(Kramer) He is a former Foundation Heavyweight Champion!
(JB) Maybe it’s TomWorth?
(Tom) As long as he leaves the rest of his family at home – whatever.
(Kramer) His new DVD – Real American Anti-Hero will be available in stores and on NAFWShopZone.com next Tuesday!
(Tom) No… it couldn’t be.
(JB) Could it?
(Kramer) Ladies and Gentlemen! I give you…
The lights go out in the arena and the crowd goes crazy with anticipation of this much awaited event.
Just when the crowd begins to quiet down again from the initial darkening of the arena, five words appear on the NAFWtron which bring them to their feet…
GENTLEMEN, THE EGO HAS LANDED…
The crowd explodes again as “Bullet with a Name” by Nonpoint begins blaring through the PA speakers throughout the arena. Just as the lyrics kick in, the Anti-Hero Superstar himself steps through the curtain, bringing a storm of flashbulbs with him.
He’s dressed for the occasion, wearing a black suit with no tie and a blue shirt that’s unbuttoned at the collar. His long black hair is loose and hangs just past his shoulders…
(Tom) That’s! That’s…
(JB) Bear, can you feel the electricity!?! One of the major players in the NAFW’s golden era has returned as an NAFW Legend!
(Tom) Impossible!
(JB) This moment has been four years in the making, Bear! KYLE COLE! KYLE COLE! KYLE COLE!
(Kramer) KYLE COLLLLLLLLLLLLEEEEE!
(Tom) How old is this guy??? He’s a legend???
(JB) At 32 years old, Kyle Cole is about to become the first ever NAFW Legend!
Cole strolls out on to the ramp, soaking in the ovation that he’s receiving. He looks up at the ceiling of the arena and holds his arms straight out to his sides as a run of fireworks explodes straight down the aisle, past him and then back up towards the ramp. Cole then steps through the smoke and finishes the short walk to the ring.
(JB) I never thought I would see this again! Kyle Cole is about to step back into an NAFW ring! And just listen to these people!
Listen indeed.
The former NAFW champ ascends the steps and steps through the ropes in to the ring where Kramer awaits to begin the ceremony. As Rick reaches out his hand for a firm shake, Cole walks directly past him as though he weren’t there, causing a slight ripple of laughter in the crowd.
Cole hoists himself onto the second turnbuckle and pounds his chest, raising one arm into the air amongst a torrent of flashbulbs. He jumps back down and looks a Priestly for the first time since getting to the ring. This time he smiles and gives Rick a hearty handshake.
(Kramer) Kyle Cole…
Kramer is briefly drowned out by the crowd chanting “Welcome back!”, but it soon subsides.
(Kramer) Welcome home!
The Anti-Hero Superstar steps toward the microphone and flashes his trademark sneer.
(Cole) It’s been awhile…
More cheering, but Kyle tries to talk over them.
(Cole) After many trials and tribulations, the Anti-Hero Superstar has finally come back to where he belongs. Right here in the NAFW!
(Tom) Boring!
(JB) Hush.
(Tom) He’s not boring. This is.
(JB) Quiet!
(Kramer) Kyle, before we get started with the formal ceremony… What are your plans now that you and the NAFW are on good terms again and you’ve been signed to a Legends contract?
(Cole) Rick, the first thing I intend to do here is…
(Tom) Looks like bizness is about to pick up!
(JB) Here we are – celebrating the launch of a new promotion – celebrating the career of the Anti-Hero Superstar! What good can come from Trevor Cunning showing up?
(Tom) I don’t think Trevor’s concerned with doing good, Mann-Hole!
Cunning steps out on the ramp just as Tool’s “Sober” kicks in over the public address. From the look on his face – someone just shit in Trevor Cunning’s cornflakes.
Cunning makes his way to ringside, climbing in the ring and stepping up in Kyle Cole’s face. He heads to the turnbuckle, raises his half of the Tag Team Championships in the air, and then drops back to the mat, when the music cuts.
(Kramer) You weren’t invited to this party, Cunn---
Cunning rips the microphone from Kramer’s hand.
(Trevor) Can it, Kramer.
Again, Cunning gets right up in Cole’s face. The Anti-Hero Superstar cracks his neck, never breaking Cunning’s gaze.
(Trevor) And as for you – who the hell do you think you are and how in Gord’s good name are you relevant?
Cole raises the microphone to his lips, only for Cunning to cut him off.
(Trevor) You know what? I’m going to withdraw my question because, quite frankly, I don’t give a crap.
This is my ring. This is my home town. And yet – I don’t see a party for Trevor Cunning.
No. Trevor sees a party for a has-been in a bad suit – a washed up nobody who’s going to stand here and collect a paycheck for waving at these people and flinging his crap around like some monkey at the zoo while Trevor’s busting his ass day in and day out doing what this greaser wishes he could do: fight.
So listen up, Cole – why don’t you head to the back where the rest of the Master’s Circuit is waiting – so we can celebrate a Living Legend: The Godfather, Trevor Cunning.
The fans don’t like this. They don’t like this one bit! Voicing their disapproval, they start pelting the Godfather with cups and bits of paper. A hot dog hits Cunning in the chest.
Cole, meanwhile, hasn’t budged. A sly smirk forms on the Anti-Hero Superstar’s face.
(Cole) So let me get this straight – Trevor is it?
(Trevor) You better be…
(Cole) Listen up, you wretched little puke. I couldn’t give two squirts of piss who you are and what you think it is that you deserve. No little punk waiting to grow some pubes so his testicle can drop is going to walk into MY ring on MY night.
I defined excellence. I made arrogance a desirable trait - made being an egocentric, obnoxious, son of a bitch cool! Guys like me – are the reason guys like you even have a job to begin with.
Big pop for that one.
(Cole) So once you leave my ring, walking back home in the Anti-Hero Superstar’s shadow – remember one thing: Kyle Cole will always be. Better. Than…
The crowd goes quiet – save for the sound of a single slap - of Trevor Cunning’s hand meeting Kyle Cole’s face.
Cole takes one step back, rubs his jaw, and cracks his neck.
(Cole) Kyle Cole will always be. Better. Than…
Cunning slaps Cole for the second time.
(Cole) Kyle Cole will always be. Better. Than…
Cunning winds up to blast Cole in the face for a third time – but the Anti-Hero Superstar blocks his hand. Cunning steps back, out of Cole’s reach.
(Trevor) You wouldn’t dare, old man. You wouldn’t…
The crowd erupts as Cole launches forward, the bottom of his heel connecting square with the corner of Cunning’s jaw. This superkick – known the NAFW fans everywhere as the Dreamweaver Deluxe – puts Cunning on his back – on the mat – out f’n cold.
(Cole) Just remember one thing: Kyle Cole will always be. Better. Than. You.
(JB) Can you believe what we just saw?
(Tom) I… I’m speechless!
(Kramer) Ladies and Gentlemen: The Anti-Hero Superstar! Kyle Cole!
(JB) We’ll… we’ll be right back.
(Tom) Kyle Cole is going to pay for this. When or where… I don’t know. But he’ll pay sooner or later!
He will pay!
Replacement
We come back from commercial to the strains of Metallica's "Sad but True."
(Tom) Think you can be civil, Mannwich.
(JB) I know how to do my job.
Mike Lane is walking down to the ring, still in his white suit, with Shane and Dustin in tow. Dustin is in a pair of brand new tights. Black with a navy design down the sides, and "Thomas" on the rear.
(JB) What's going on?
Lane and company get in the ring, and Lane takes the microphone from Gilmore.
(Lane) Alright Sean, you want to play ball! We can dance. But not tonight. I think I have a muscle pull in my back from carrying your ass for all those months. So I am designating Dustin Thomas as my official replacement in this match. He lost to Sean a few weeks ago, and I think he's seeking revenge.
Shane reaches in and takes the mic.
(Shane) But wait, there ain't no way that Spaz even gets down here. He's too busy in the back talking to shadows, thinking he actually has back-up.
(Dustin) Maybe he called up Kaleb and X-Cold, Shane! We can get hit with dual Pizza Cutterz!
(Shane) Or maybe he called in a favor at the retirement home, and he's gonna drag Carver and Barker out here.
(Dustin) Hell, maybe he went to the unemployment line, and rescued Jaime Alejandro and Dwayne Bishop.
(Shane) Maybe he's bring back Rex Michaels.
Lane steps in, and cuts them off.
(Lane) Don't bash Rex. That guy rocked. But down to business here. Sean! Dustin's waiting, and I believe our friendly official here is going to ring the bell in just a moment.
Clock's a tickin!
Ring the damn bell!
And ring it does.
Spaz vs. Dustin Thomas
In the ring, Jason Martin has no choice but to begin counting. The fans join him.
ONE!
(Tom) I always knew Spaz was a coward!
(JB) The damn Old School Empire probably attacked him again!
TWO!
(JB) Spaz is probably lying somewhere in the back, bleeding!
(Tom) Well, he isn’t going to win a match that way.
THREE!
(Tom) So tell me, Mann-Hole, how exactly do you think that Trevor Cunning is going to take revenge upon Kyle Cole?
(JB) Bear, be quiet. I’m offering genuine concern for Spaz here – and you’re still talking about a man I wish had never existed?
FOUR!
(Tom) I wasn’t talking about your father, Mann-Wheel!
(JB) Why are you so obsessed with my family?
FIVE!
(Tom) Do you really want an answer to that question?
SIX!
(JB) That depends on how vulgar it is.
At the count of seven, the fans start screaming – a shrill, high piercing cry signaling the joy and approval of young women and small children. The reason?
Sean Thomas has not only popped out of the crowd, but he’s taking it to Dustin Thomas. Spaz takes Dustin off balance with some rights and a spin kick to the gut, before backing him up to the ropes and irish-whipping him. Dustin reverses, Spaz ducks a lariat on the return, and takes Dustin down with a Sweets Kick.
Dustin rolls out of the ring, prompting the Alpha to enter.
(Tom) Lucha-Tag!
(JB) This not a handicap match!
Spaz, noticing Shane, dropkicks him into the ropes. He climbs back to his feet as Shane bounces off, before somersaulting into the corner. Mike Lane snuck up from behind, looking for a Shadow Kick. He hit the wrong S. Thomas.
With Lane stunned by his mistake, Spaz looks for his version of Sliced Bread #2, known as the Sweet Revenge! He runs forward, straight into Dustin Thomas – where Sean kicks up Dustin’s chest, flips backwards, and completes the move on Lane.
Dustin charges – walking straight into the Sugar Rush. He covers, hooking the leg tightly – and gets three right before the Alpha can break up the pin.
Here Comes the Cavalry
(JB) Spaz pulls out what has to be considered an upset victory!
(Tom) Of course it's an upset! He was facing a better man.
(JB) I was referring to the odds against him with Mike Lane and Shane Thomas at ringside.
(Tom) Whatev.
Spaz, knowing the right time to run, is already out of the ring, and on his way up the ramp, as three men stand in the ring, gathering themselves together, none too pleased at the result of the match. Somewhere along the way, Spaz has procured a microphone. He continues to back up the ramp as he speaks.
(Spaz) So, all night, everyone's been trying to figure out just who it is I've brought back to the Foundation.
(Tom) Ripcord and Demonfire!
(Spaz) But before I introduce them, someone else has something to say.
(Tom) Just bring Rage and Chaos out already!
Spaz turns to the curtain, where the man known as Twitch steps through, holding a microphone in his hand. The look on Mike Lane's face is one of mild amusement. What could Twitch possibly have to say? And besides, Lane is fairly confident that Twitch is on his team.
(Twitch) Hey Micky! Remember how Twitch had no idea who Pez brought in for back-up?
Now Lane's amusement and confidence are starting to fade, and seems to be transferring to Spaz, who actually laughs.
(Spaz) Twitch lied.
(Twitch) Twitch lies a lot. Micky should know this by now.
(Tom) What an idiot!
(JB) Excuse me, Bear?
(Tom) Twitch! He had it made with the Old School... And he's siding with Spaz!? I say again: What an idiot!
As Twitch's duplicity sinks in on Mike Lane and the Thomas brothers, Spaz takes charge.
(Spaz) So, now that it's clear that you can't buy my manager with the promise of women who'd probably end up giving him some kind of rash anyway... How about we bring in the Cavalry?
Spaz turns toward his manager.
(Spaz) Twitch, would you care to do the honors?
(Twitch) You're damn right Twitch would, Pez! Hit the music!
Obediently, the music begins - rapid guitar and a steady drum beat. This is "Riot" by Three Days Grace. We come into the lyrics at the chorus lead-in.
Refusing to back down
You're not the only one
So get up
As the word "up" reaches its peak, bright red pyro explodes from the NAFWTron, and we hit the chorus.
Two figures emerge from behind the curtain. Both are clad in black jeans and dark red t-shirts. Both wear black sunglasses. But that's where the similarities end.
(JB) Yes!
(Tom) No! This is bad!
(JB) This is Good! Very, very Good!
One is a white man, a little over six feet tall, with a thick, stocky build. His shoulder length black hair hangs loose, and a layer of stubble covers his face.
The other is a black man, who towers over everyone on the ramp by more than half a foot. His build can only be described with the word "massive," and even that doesn't truly do him justice. His head is covered by short, blond hair and his face is clean-shaven.
As the music breaks back down the the opening chords, Spaz makes the introduction, but the die-hard NAFW fans in the crowd already know who these returning superstars are.
(Spaz) Mike, Shane, Dustin... My old friends... Now partners once again... THE GOODS!!
(JB) Slush and Ammo are back Bear! Spaz has damn sure evened the odds, in a big way!
Slush takes up position to Spaz's right, with Twitch a few steps to the left. Ammo stands behind Slush and Spaz, folding his tree-like arms across his chest.
In the ring Mike Lane, along with Shane and Dustin Thomas, are even less pleased than they were before. Their nice 3-on-1 scenario is now 3-on-3 and distinctly not so nice.
(JB) I wouldn't want to be any of those three men!
(Tom) Spaz and his little clown college? I’m with you! Lane and the Old School Empire will eat them all for breakfast like they’re sugary snacks! Rest my words – the Goods will be NO GOOD!
(JB) For Tom Kalhoun, Kramer, and the rest of the NAFW Family, I’m JB Mann!
(Tom) NO GOOD!
(JB) See you next week!
Roll the credits, cue the logo, and Fade. To. Black.
