The screen fades to pitch black, and a guitar riff begins to be shred in the background. It’s the opening to “Assassin” by Muse which is also known as Annihilation’s official new theme song.
At the same time a countdown appears on screen.
At the same time a countdown appears on screen.
0:15… 0:14… 0:13… 0:12…
The guitar riff is playing over this countdown.
0:03… 0:02… 0:01… 0:00…
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!!
BOOM!!!
After the television introduction, we cut to the ring inside the Joe Louis Arena in Detroit, Michigan.
Tying Up Loose Ends
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.
Stryker dismounts from the ropes and catches a mic tossed to him by Troy Gilmour. He stands center ring as the crowd fires up a good old-fashioned chant.
STRYKER!
STRYKER!
STRYKER!
He soaks in the response as he waits in the ring. For someone who’s always been shorter on words than actions, there’s an awful lot he needs to say tonight. After a few seconds the crowd dies down enough that he can get going.
(Stryker) The crowd gives a cheer for The Reaper as Stryker nods along.
(Stryker) Ok, lets get something straight. I do not like Leonard Aarons, and he does NOT like me. I think he got lucky to keep his title at Redemption. I think he’s walking around with a belt that should be mine. I think that right now…he knows that I speak the truth. But it doesn’t change one thing. At redemption, that man got into the ring and beat my ass from pillar to post as well as anyone ever has in my career. He gave me the fight of my life. Win, lose, or draw, whether or not he got lucky…he still earned my respect. So Lenny, you come to Chain Reaction, and you bring that belt, and when I see you again, I’ll be coming to whip your ass and show the world that, while you may be great, you’re not great enough to stand the heat of Mike Stryker. See you at Chain Reaction.
The crowd gives a cheer to the sentiment, along with the thought of another clash between the two baddest men in the NAFW.
(Stryker) Of course, if I’m talking about Redemption…then I need to address the man that calls himself….Heatwave.
Instant boos. Hearty, passionate boos at the one man who may lay claim to be “most hated in the NAFW”.
(Stryker) From day one of your return, you’ve come out here and talked about some long standing grudge you have against Aarons. You come out here and talk about how he broke your wife’s neck and how you want to end his career. And while I’m sure that all of that is true, the fact is that everything you do around here, you keeping gumming up my plans punk. You showed up at Redemption and cost me my one shot at becoming the Foundation Heavyweight Champion. Then, you decided the best course of action was to try and light me on fire. Well son, this is very simple. You have crossed my path one time too many. You may be walking around here right now thinking you’re doing everything right, but be warned, you haven’t. I don’t know when, and I don’t know where. It may be tonight. Maybe tomorrow. Next week. Chain Reaction. Even past that. At some time, when you least expect it…
Stryker snaps his fingers.
…It’ll be over. You’ll never see it coming, but you’re gonna get your receipt for what you’ve done to me so far. You better get some eyes and have them sewn onto the back of your skull. Our issue is NOT over.
The crowd gives a cheer for Stryker, along with the idea of Heatwave on a stretcher. Stryker doesn’t miss a beat as he keeps going.
(Stryker) And if we talk about Heatwave…then we have to talk about Keith Owens.
A pop. For Keith Owens. Yes…THAT Keith Owens.
(Stryker) Once again, this is short and sweet. Keith Owens and I, we do NOT like one another. I, for the life of me, never expected to stand in the ring and owe Keith Owens any kind of gratitude, but that’s exactly what I owe him. Fact is, without Keith Owens, I’d be in this ring talking about the horrors of being lit on fire, talking about whether or not I wanted to keep on fighting. Keith Owens, for something that happened years ago, felt the need to settle an old wrong. Bottom line, Keith Owens, I owe you one. I don’t know where or when you’ll need it, and this sure as hell doesn’t mean we’re buddies, but I owe you one. And all of this leads me to one more person. One more person who I keep running into. One more guy who I’ve been around for years.
One….Mike…..Lane.
Boos. Heavy boos. Mr. Lane is none too popular in these parts these days. Stryker nods along…he knows the deal.
(Stryker) Yeah yeah….I know. Mike Lane hasn’t been the greatest guy ever recently. I know what he did to Spaz, and I can’t say that I agree with it. Fact is I can’t say I agree with a lot of what Mike Lane does these days. But it doesn’t change the past. It doesn’t change the paths that we’ve both walked. It doesn’t change the fact that every single thing Mike Lane said to me last week was gospel truth. I wouldn’t be where I am today without Mike Lane’s help. I wouldn’t be thewrestler I am, main eventing Pay Per Views, chasing the Foundation title, if Mike Lane didn’t give me my big break. The greatest success I ever had in this business, it all happened on Mike Lane’s watch.
The crowd starts to stir, a smattering of boos echo out. Could their Hitman really think of joining the darkside, the Empire?
(Stryker) Mike Lane, I heard your offer last week, and I took 7 days to sleep on it. I heard what you said, but I can’t think it through. My entire career, I dreamed of being the best in the business. I wanted that one moment where I held that Heavyweight title high in the air, knowing I earned it. I still want that Mike, and I want it more than anything on this earth. What you’re asking of me, it asks me to put that on hold, to help you win the one thing I want. Mike, I don’t know if I can do that. So your offer, my friend. Well, it’s still on the table for me. You’ll know my answer when I do.
You’ll know my answer at Chain Reaction.
Stryker tosses the mic down as “’Til I Collapse” blares through the arena to a mixed reaction.
(JB) Mike Stryker….and Mike Lane….Together again?
(Tom) If Stryker’s got half a brain he hitches the wagon to the Empire while he can.
(JB) I can’t imagine it, after all of this, all he’s been through.
(Tom) Speaking of being through things…
(JB) Excellent segway.
(Tom) Thanks, Mann-hole.
(JB) So speaking of…
(Tom) Right. Both of these next guys in the next match have been going through things as of late.
(JB) You have no clue who’s wrestling next, do you?
(Tom) Not a one.
(JB) You spent all your time before the show coming up with that awkward transitional sentence, didn’t you?
(Tom) Quite possibly, yes.
(JB) Well, Bear – despite your inability to maintain any degree of specificity – you are right.
(Tom) Woohoo!
(JB) Snake has had to deal with the loss of his best friend, Wilson – who’s been on the shelf… are you laughing?
(Tom) A volleyball… on the shelf? How is that not funny?
(JB) It’s not funny – it’s a sporting goods store.
Rimshot.
(Tom) Well, Snake might not have won a match since Wilson lost the Atlantic Championship to Andy D – but I’ve got a feeling he’s going to crush Peter Gilmour tonight!
(JB) Well – Gilmour is coming back from a knee injury – and after that chair shot he took from Psycho last week – when he rushed to Andy D’s aid – Gilmour might be suffering from a concussion as well!
>The opening riff plays as the word and name "SNAKE" flashes across the screen. As the guitars start to pick up, Snake is seen coming out from the back to a chorus of boos from the crowd in attendance. Snake throws his arms up in the air causing green pyro to go off on the stage behind him before he starts to make his way down to the ring. Snake takes his sweet time getting to the ring, showing his "appreciation" for the fans. When he does get to the ring, Snake slides under the bottom rope and climbs onto the nearest turnbuckle, throwing his arms up in the air once more to get one last rise out of the crowd before he turns to the referee and waits for him to signal for the bell.
(JB) Snake just looks lost out there.
(Tom) Betrayed by Crazy Boy… Wilson injured – wouldn’t you be someone distraught too, Mann-Wheel?
(JB) Well, in that circumstance – I’d probably be quite happy.
(Tom) Yeah – me too.
The beginning chords of Walk With me in Hell by LAMB OF GOD begins to play as the lights turn dark red… but Peter Gilmour is nowhere to be found.
(Tom) Aww… is the little man still injured?
(JB) Wait a minute! Gilmour’s coming out of the crowd.
Peter Gilmour vs. Snake
Peter Gilmour slides under the bottom rope and rushes Snake, taking him to the mat with a violent Northern Style lariat to the back of the skull. He covers right after the bell rings for two. He then pulls Snake to his feet and begins chopping the luchador’s chest.
Irish-whip is reversed, and Snake charges in to the corner, connecting with a high knee lift and a bulldog. He covers for two. Snake hits the ropes, but misses with a dropkick. Gilmour misses an elbow drop. Snake advances, but Gilmour headbutts him in the stomach. Irish-whip is reversed, and Snake takes Gilmour down with a hiptoss. Running senton misses, Gilmour again misses an elbow drop. Both men roll to their feet, to the crowd’s appreciation.
Snake is the first to advance, kicking Gilmour square in his bad knee. Gilmour responds with a European uppercut, but when Snake kicks Gilmour’s knee for the second time, Gilmour falls to his knees. Dropkick to the face puts Gilmour on the mat. Snake rushes to the outside, but before he can climb to the top rope, Gilmour strikes him in the skull. He then tries to run Snake into the turnbuckle – but Snake blocks, and runs Gilmour’s head into the buckle before springboarding in with a Poison Sting.
This gets two.
Snake locks on the Anaconda Stretch – and the crowd rallies behind Gilmour, stomping at the mat. He reaches the ropes when all hope seems lost. Snake hits a standing moonsault for two, and then steps back, ready for the Venom Sting.
Attempt is blocked and turned into a Gilmour Driver.
James Elbourn begins counting ten – with Snake reaching his feet at six, Gilmour at seven. Standing brawl is won by Gilmour, who attempts an irish-whip. Snake reverses into a Whiplash attempt, but Gilmour falls forward, using his weight to hit a Lou Thez press. End of Innocence on the rising Snake knocks the luchador for a loop,
Irish-whip attempt appears to set up the Doomsday, but Snake holds on to the ropes and falls to the outside.
(Tom) Look at the brains on Snake!
(JB) Brains? Maybe, but he has no guts! He’s leaving for the back!
(Tom) Look again, Mann-Wheel!
Snake indeed is walking, neigh, running up the ramp, but he’s doing so for a reason. While Gilmour waits, looking out at the crowd and out at the fleeing Snake - Psycho enters the ring behind him – and levels him with a tackle – crushing him in the corner beneath Psycho’s frame.
A chokeslam into the very same turnbuckle, known as the Klown, puts Gilmour on the mat out cold.
(Tom) That’s what you get for trying to play hero, Gilmour! That’s what you get!
(JB) Psycho has claimed another victim! God have mercy.
I Can Do Better
Last week on Annihilation, a man attempted to offer his managerial services to Leonard Aarons and Mike Stryker, two entrants in the Chain Reaction match. He was turned down by both. Tonight, that man is going to give it another go. His name is Aleister Essex, and when we cut backstage, we see him walking down a hallway with a purpose.
Essex turns a corner, and a figure pops out of hiding. A large piece of red fabric flies, wrapping around the manager's eyes, knocking Essex's fedora to the floor.
(Essex) Bloody Hell!
It's no ordinary piece of red fabric wrapped around Essex's head. It's a towel. And it's no ordinary towel, either. This towel has a name. And where there's Blake Bouchard, there's also...
(Twitch) Gotcha!
Essex struggles.
(Essex) Release me this instant, you impertinent knave!
Twitch, having succeeded in getting Aleister's attention, releases Blake with one hand and swings the towel back around and over his shoulders in one sweeping motion. Essex spins around to look his "captor" in the eye.
(Essex) Do I even know you?
(Twitch) Doesn't matter. Twitch knows you, Polyester Sussex.
Essex clearly doesn't like his new Twitch-name™. But rather than burst into a fit of rage, he merely clears his throat before clarifying things.
(Essex) You seem to be mistaken. My name is Essex. Aleister Essex. And you, you towel-waving lunatic, you will show me the proper respect.
Twitch pretty much ignores that whole thing. As if Essex hadn't even said a word.
(Twitch) Twitch read once that there's a place in Sussex called Titty Hill. Twitch would love to visit there one day... But Hookersville, West Virginia is definitely first on Twitch's agenda.
As is generally the case at about this point in a conversation with Twitch, Essex is getting annoyed.
(Essex) See here, you hairless little monkey... I have important business to take care of tonight. Much more important than dealing with the likes of you. Now remove your pitiful frame from my area immediately or suffer the consequences.
Twitch was actually paying attention to all that. He's not happy. He takes an aggressive step toward Essex, getting right in his face.
(Twitch) Twitch has some important business tonight, too. Twitch saw Sussex trying to recruit Hitch Hiker and The Weeper last week...
In case you somehow didn't figure it out on your own, "Hitch Hiker" = Mike Stryker and "The Weeper" = The Reaper.
(Twitch) Twitch knows Sussex is going after Chain Reaction qualifiers. All Twitch has to say is this: Stay the frell away from Pez. Twitch is Pez's manager. Pez doesn't want or need Sussex!
Essex takes a step back and is actually smiling, a devious smile, mind you.
(Essex) Oh ho! Seems you're a touch paranoid, doesn't it? I don't think you mean that Sean Thomas has a perfectly qualified manager in yourself... I think you're afraid that I might succeed in convincing your "Pez" of the obvious: As a manager, I can do better. Far better!
In another smooth motion, Twitch grips Blake at one end and whips the towel off of his shoulders. Twitch spins in behind Essex, and this time Blake is around Aleister's throat. Twitch pulls Essex's head back and speaks directly into his ear.
(Twitch) Twitch will say it again: Leave. Pez. Alone.
Choking a bit, Essex steps back forcefully, slamming Twitch into the wall. Twitch's grip on Blake loosens and Essex escapes. As Twitch groans, Essex picks his fedora up from the ground, dusts it off, then steps forward to get in Twitch's face.
(Essex) You needn't worry, Twitch... Anyone who would have someone as pathetic as you as a manager isn't worthy of my services. Also, make sure to tell your charge that if he survives long enough to deal with my next client, that he and anyone standing in that individual's way will suffer the unpleasentries...
Including YOU.
Essex replaces the fedora in its rightful position on his head. He turns and continues on his previous path, leaving Twitch behind. Back to ringside.
(JB) We've never seen that side of Twitch before!
(Tom) He just doesn't want to lose his job.
(JB) I think it's more than that. Could it be that Spaz is actually important to Twitch?
(Tom) The only person that's important to Twitch is Twitch himself.
(JB) I don't know Bear... But in any case, Twitch was successful. Essex isn't going to offer his services to Spaz.
(Tom) Too bad for Spaz... Essex would have been a giant leap forward.
(JB) Tell that to Essex's last client... If you can find him!
Commercial!
And You Can Take That To The Bank!
Someone has apparently rented out a large room, and converted it into a conference room of sorts. There is a large podium on the far end of the room from our camera position, and there are all kinds of seats in front of it. Various suited folk are hustling around trying to find seats. There is a large object underneath a curtain behind the podium. Finally, our host enters the room.
Mike Lane.
He is wearing his trunks, and all of his gear, but he has the Old School Hollywood t-shirt (available on TheNAFW.com) on, and he has an unmarked bottle of water in his hand. He hushes the assembled crowd and steps up to the podium.
(Lane) Welcome ladies and gentlemen. I'd like to apologize about my appearance, but I've got a match in a little while, and I'm not going to take anything for granted with the Atlantic Champion, so I hope you forgive me.
He takes a swig of the water, and swallows it with a loud gulp.
(Lane) That said, I'm glad you're here. All of you agreed to help create a partnership to provide all of the people out there with something they sorely need. Mike Lane Merchandise. With your help, my crack marketing team, and my own personal genius, we've come up with a few items to show you tonight. Let's start off with the items for all the Little Imperials out there. Shane, Dust...
He looks over to the door, and Shane and Dustin walk in. Both are wearing a strange t-shirt. It has OLD SCHOOL EMPIRE in large letters at the top, and then it has Lane dead center, with the brothers on his right, and then on his left...
Mike Stryker?
(Lane) First of all, you'll see my associates wearing the brand new Old School Empire t-shirt. It'll be up on TheNAFW.com and at vendors everywhere once we finish the production run. They're wearing the prototypes, and boy do they look good. Every kid is going to want to be the first to be wearing this t-shirt.
Anyways, in Dustin's hands you'll see an item that I particularly like...
Dustin hands over the item, a small action figure. Lane holds it up for them to see. It is sculpted with a grin on his face, and in his wrestling tights.
(Lane) This is Mike Lane: The Action Figure. This is no mere G.I.JOE toy. This action figure has sixty-four points of articulation, and was sculpted by the finest artisans this side of Lake Minnetonka. There's nothing it can't do.
Dustin hands over a figure of Spaz. Lane stands the figure up, and makes his action figure give it the Shadow Kick.
(Lane) See, it even can be true to life! This is a force of nature that will give every little Imperial the power to lay a beatdown on their brother's inferior JOE's or their sister's Barbie's.
He nods back to Shane, and Shane hands him a bag.
(Lane) But this is the one that will send the Little Imperials screaming to their parents, or parent since we don't discriminate against the bastards, begging for it.
Mike pulls out a smaller scaled replica of the Foundation Heavyweight Championship. It is gold tinted plastic, and where the name plate is, it is etched with MIKE LANE.
(Lane) This belt will be the envy of the neighborhood, because it will indicate that a Little Imperial is a Champion just like their hero. No one will be able to resist the allure of being just like me... a Champion!
He smiles, and then hands the belt back to Shane.
(Lane) Alrighty, the Junior Division is out of the way, and here are our two big sellers. The items that me and my crack staff feel like will end up in every household. Why? Because who wouldn't want either of these things. Boys?
Dustin hands Mike a shoebox. Lane puts it up on the podium, and opens it. He pulls out a shoe.
(Lane) First up, we've crafted some Old School Kicks. We have Scratching Shoes and Trading Shoes in development, but this is going to be our big seller. Shadow Lane's!
We zoom in on the shoes, and see that it is a black and white high top sneaker in the vein of Air Jordan's, except where the Jordan logo would be, we have the image of Lane doing the Shadow Kick from his Old School Hollywood t-shirt (Available on TheNAFW.com).
(Lane) When wearing this shoe, people will find that they can run faster, jump higher, and kick the tar out of anyone. Chuck Taylor who? Michael Jordan who? Everyone will be talking about Mike Lane, and his immaculate shoe! These will be on TheNAFW.com and in all of the major shoe chains worldwide very very soon.
He hands the box back to Dustin, and then the Thomas Brothers walk over to the side, while Lane walks over to the curtain-covered item that we saw earlier.
(Lane) I'm particularly proud of this one. Even if you have the Action Figure. Even if you have the replica Championship belt. Even if you wear the shoe. There is one thing that those things won't do for anyone, and that's bring Mike Lane into their home. I may bring joy and happiness to billions, but unlike Santa Claus, I can't be in every home in one night. However, with this item, every home won't be complete without Mike Lane...
He pulls off the curtain, revealing a lifesize cardboard stand up of himself. He is standing in his trademark white suit, and he has a grin on his face. Lane grins at it, and shakes his head.
(Lane) Ya know, this one makes me smile. It's an honor to be able to bring this much joy to people's lives. Now women will have a visage to stare at in awe, and men will have a standard to look up to. All in their own home. It's my great service to the world. These things are done with the production run, and will be sold worldwide. Order yours soon, because they're going to go like crazy!
He stands next to the stand-up while everyone claps for him.
(Lane) Thank you all for coming, and I believe we'll be having a great relationship... all the way to the bank!
He walks off the podium, and motions for Dustin and Shane to follow him from the room. They walk out into the hallway, and the Brothers finally speak up.
(Dustin) That was lame as hell. Maybe you could be focusing on the damn Atlantic Champion in your Chain Reaction qualifying match later tonight. You know, the important stuff.
Lane turns points his finger at Dustin's chest.
(Lane) Lame? That marketing summit is going to make sure my family won't hurt for anything for the rest of my existence. I'm going to be laughing all the way to the bank, and what are you guys going to be doing? What have you guys done?
Shane steps between Lane and his brother, and his reply is cold.
(Shane) We've been kicking ass and putting people On Notice that we're coming for those Tag Team Titles. Unlike you, we don't believe that it's going to be a cakewalk to get some gold.
Lane nods, and sighs.
(Lane) You're right, Shane. It's not going to be a cakewalk, and I'm preparing myself every day, but do you think my sponsors want to see me walk out and talk about how I'm gonna train, say my prayers, and eat my vitamins. Hell no, they want me to walk out and ensure victory, because that sells tickets and merchandise, and that keeps me on top of the heap. You kids have got a lot to learn about what really goes on in this business.
He gestures at Dustin.
(Lane) It doesn't matter how damn high he can jump, or how many flips he can turn, or hell, it doesn't even matter if you guys win the Tag Team Championship, because you guys don't get it. Dustin, you call yourself New School. Shane, you're The Alpha. Now tell me why you chose those names, and if you can do that, then we'll walk out in the crowd and find out why you guys are called that. No one out there is going to know why you call yourselves those things.
The Brothers back up, and seems to be paying attention now.
(Lane) Why does Mike Stryker call himself the Big City Hitman? Because he's a bad ass from the Big City that can take anyone, and he used to be for hire. When I ran around calling myself Chaos, people always used to ask me why I had that nickname, because I surely didn't cause Chaos. Then I became The Phoenix, and people were down with that because I had risen from the ashes of a former persona. It made sense, and they were able to understand it. I suddenly had a
personality that could be encapsulated in one nickname. I became somebody instead of nobody.
He points at both of them this time.
(Lane) It doesn't matter if you, Shane, beat Keith Owens tonight, or if you guys get a Tag Title shot and win those, because people will still make fun of you for being nobodies. You just got lucky, you didn't go out there and act like somebody, you were just jabronis that won some titles. I want to see you guys rebrand
yourselves, and emerge as the talented duo that you are. I want the two of you to walk out, and people stand up and boo or cheer because they know who you are, and they know what you stand for, instead of being the Super Thomas Brothers.
You all have spent the last year and a half trying to erase that image, but you've not given anyone anything to replace that image with. You all like to put people On Notice, so I'm putting the two of you On Notice.
They are fully focused on Lane now, and Dustin seems to be steaming.
(Lane) You all want to ride with the big dogs? Then go out there and become big dogs yourselves. Show the world, your fellow wrestlers, and more importantly me that you deserve to be in the upper echelon. You have the talent, now fill in the rest of the pieces of the puzzle.
I believe you can do it, now show me.
He walks off, leaving the Thomas Brothers alone. Shane looks down at his brother and holds out his fist.
(Shane) Let's do it, brah.
Dust slaps it away, and glares at Lane's back as he walks away.
(Dustin) He's right. I hate it, but he's right. It's time to up our game, big bro.
Shane turns to watch Lane leave, and we zoom on Dustin's steaming face.
(Dustin) We'll show the world who the big dogs are.
Interview with an Anti-Hero
We cut backstage where we are immediately greeted with the image of Rick Priestly standing with one Kyle Cole. The crowd gives an immediate eruption, which partially muffles Priestly as he tries to make his introductions
(Rick Priestly) This is Rick Priestly and I'm here with a man who is literally only moments away from making a comeback to the NAFW that has been 4 years in the making... Kyle Cole, how do you feel going into this match tonight?
Cole's eyes say it all. There is no smirking, there is no bravado here...He is all business tonight.
He shakes his head slightly, sending some of the water that he had wet his hair with flying off of him. His sculpted muscles gleam under the flourescent light of the backstage area. He looks at Priestly as he speaks.
(Kyle Cole) This is it, Rick... Do you feel it? This is where it all begins again... My road back to the top... My journey, my odyssey, if you will... It all begins tonight with this single match.
Now, you ask how I'm feeling tonight?
Cole grits his teeth as his eyes seemingly bore a hole through Priestly.
(Cole) I feel like a man who is on the brink of something great. I feel like a man who is about to change the world for himself and all those around him. In short, I feel like nothing short of being the Anti-Hero Superstar...
Rick brings the mic back to himself, and the Anti-Hero Superstar takes a step back, listening intently as Priestly asks his next question.
(Priestly) As you well know, you face a young up and comer by the name of Psycho tonight. What are your thoughts on your opponent as you prepare to make your comeback?
Cole cocks his head slightly, thinking for a moment.
(Cole) Oh yeah, I've known a lot about my opponent from minute one when I saw his name across from mine on that card.
(Priestly) How so?
(Cole) Rick, since day one that I stepped into the ring in the NAFW, I've had every punk in the business telling me that I wasn't what I said I was. I wasn't that great, and I couldn't cut it at the top in this company.
Cole smile slightly now...
(Cole) And every single time, EVERY TIME, I proved them wrong. What makes this punk different than any other that I've ever faced?
(Priestly) What abou....
Cole holds a finger up to silence Priestly.
(Cole) It was a rhetorical question, clown!
The crowd pops again. There's the Cole that we know and love!
(Cole)Now, it's unfortunate for you, Psycho, that you happen to be the one who has to face me. I understand that you just made your debut last week... Well, welcome to the jungle, kid. You're about to fall victim to one of the biggest predators in NAFW history.
You send in all the clowns you want, Psycho. Nothing is going to keep you from becoming just another punk on the laundry list of competitors that fell victim to the king of the jungle...
The Anti-Hero Superstar...Kyle...Cole!
With that, Cole just turns and walks out of the camera view, leaving Rick Priestly to pick up the peices of this interview
(Priestly) Well, there you have it... One confident Anti-Hero...
Commercial
(JB) Next up is a match that's been years in the making!
(Tom) Really? I thought it took Buchanan five seconds to write down two names.
(JB) Come on, Bear! This is Kyle Cole's first official match back in the Foundation after a long hiatus.
(Tom) OK, maybe ten seconds.
GENTLEMEN, THE EGO HAS LANDED...
The crowd explodes 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. Cole hits the ring and climbs up onto the top rope – happy to be back in action - for real this time.
(JB) Well, I for one am excited to see how Cole fares. We saw at Redemption that The Dreamweaver Deluxe is as devastating as ever, but will Cole be able to pull it off without the striped shirt?
The arena goes black as Terrible by the Insane Clown Posse comes over the PA and neon green strobe lights start. Carlos Smith's face appears on the tron with red eyes. A figure comes out wearing a straitjacket followed by Carlos himself. The two make their way to the ring and Carlos releases the straitjacket immediately running to the outside of the ring as Psycho stands in the middle of the ring screaming...
(JB) That scream has to be intimidating.
(Tom) My ears hurt.
(JB) Thanks for that deep insight.
(Tom) Just doing my job.
(JB) Right.
Referee Dave Connors calls for the bell, and this thing is on. The other thing that's on, for the record, is the Commentary Filter.
The sound of the bell has an almost Pavlovian effect on Psycho, spurring the Klown not into salivation, but action... He charges full-speed across the ring at Cole. The Anti-Hero deftly dodges the attack and slams a clubbing blow across young Tommy Smith's back.
Psycho is barely phased by the blow. He spins around and charges Cole again. This time Cole catches Psycho and nails a vertical suplex. Cole follows up with a basic headlock, keeping the thrashing Psycho grounded for a time. The Anti-Hero pulls Psycho up again and goes for another suplex.
This time, Psycho flips down out of the suplex landing on his feet. Psycho nails Cole in the back with a dropkick and keeps on the Anti-Hero with a flurry of blows across the back.
Dave Connors thinks to intervene, but quickly backs away at a vicious glare from Tommy Smith. Only at urging from Carlos on the outside does Tommy let up his assault. Psycho bolts across the ring to the corner and scales to the top rope. He flies into a Frog splash... But Cole rolls out of the way!
The Anti-Hero gets to his feet and pulls Psycho back up along with him. Cole gets that suplex he was looking for earlier. He keeps hold of Psycho and follows the suplex up with a hard DDT. Cole goes for the cover and gets a two count.
Cole keeps control of the situation, Irish whipping Psycho into the far corner. Cole charges and lands a clothesline in the corner, then tosses Psycho to the outside. Kyle steps through the ropes himself and measures Psycho's position. When Psycho reaches his feet, Cole springs onto the second rope and flips backward, landing a moonsault to put Psycho right back to the ground.
This is where JB starts yelling about Cole still having it, the years off taking nothing from his ability, and a bit about Cole being in his prime. You can't hear any of it, but it's less inane than the usual commentary so I thought I'd fill you in. Anyway...
Cole is up first, and he tosses his opponent back into the ring. Once back in himself, Cole whips Psycho to the ropes and catches him with a powerslam into a pin fall attempt. Again, Psycho pulls out at two.
Cole steps back, once again measuring Psycho's position. This time though, he's in a semi-crouch in the corner, ready to spring. Classic prelude to the Dreamweaver Deluxe. Psycho gets up and as expected, Cole does spring his superkick... Just before impact, Psycho ducks it!
Psycho quickly pounces, landing a bulldog and following it up with a pair of leg drops. Now it's Psycho's turn to go for a pin fall... But Cole gets out just after Connors' hand hits the mat a second time. Psycho drops a couple of elbows, and lands a couple more leg drops, not giving Cole any time to recover.
Again, Psycho goes to the top, and again he flies with a Frog Splash. This time, Cole doesn't roll out of the way and all two-hundred pounds of Tommy Smith land square across The Anti-Hero's chest. Psycho goes for another cover and this time, for a little more suspense, we'll do the count.
1...
2...
NO! Cole kicks out and Psycho is not pleased (as if he's ever particularly pleased in general). He pulls Cole up again, and slaps on a facelock, the prelude to a Twist of Fate... But Cole grabs hold of Psycho and arches back with a Northern Lights suplex. Cole holds the bridge for a short two count.
Both men get to their feet at about the same time, and go into a collar-and-elbow tie-up. Psycho takes a couple of knees to the gut from Cole, then gets Irish whipped across the ring again. Cole waits for Psycho's inevitable return, then catches the Klown in a flapjack. Psycho's throat connects with the top rope.
As Psycho stumbles, Cole takes a few steps back and gets into that familiar semi-crouch... When the Klown turns toward Cole, the Anti-Hero springs once again, this time connecting with the Dreamweaver Deluxe. Psycho falls to the mat and Cole hooks the leg.
1...
2...
3!
We'll let JB and Tom come back now.
(JB) Cole has done it! An impressive return to the Foundation's ring!
(Tom) He was in the ring at Redemption.
(JB) You know what I mean, Bear.
(Tom) If you just said what you meant, we'd save some time.
(JB) Regardless of Redemption, this was Kyle Cole's true test, and it's clear to me that he passed!
(Tom) Let me see him beat someone good like Trevor Cunning, then I'll give him a pass. Of course since that'll never happen, it's a failing grade from me!
(JB) Uh, Bear... Cole pinned Cunning at Redemption.
(Tom) My records say that Trevor won that match.
(JB) Only after Cole took out both Cunning AND his opponent.
(Tom) Whatev.
(JB) Well folks, it seems to me that Kyle Cole has made a hell of an impact here tonight, and if I were the folks in the Chain Reaction match, I'd be looking out for the Anti-Hero Superstar!
Rivals on the next Level
This portion of the NAFW is opened up with Tyrone Smith leaning on a wall, staring out in the NAFW arena, listening to a match going on, most likely the Cunning/Slush match that is going on. He leans back, sighs and looks around, not noticing really anyone around him. Just the usual rustle and bustle that usually goes on backstage.
(Tyrone) Preparing for a match is not only physical, but mental. I have an important match coming up, and I am sitting here, away from everyone, trying to psych myself up for Krystian. This is an important match for me, as Krystian has done something that I haven't really been able to do, and that is to beat my former tag team partner, Snake. I have to win this match to continue my momentum going into Chain Reaction.
Tyrone turns back around from the camera and closes his eyes, trying to mentally get prepared for the match as a voice is heard from behind him.
(???) Hey Tyrone. Or Should I say "Crazy Boy"?
(Tyrone) Crazy Boy is dead! You should know that by now. I am but just Tyrone Smith now.
Tyrone opens his eyes and turns around to meet the voice and sees that it is his arch rival, Mike Stryker, standing there, arms folded with a sly smile on his face. Tyrone shakes his head and walks up to Stryker, but keeping enough distance from him to not be quite face to face with the "Hitman".
(Tyrone) What do you want, Mike? Want me to ruin your chances at the Foundation Heavyweight Championship, just like I took your Atlantic Championship from you?
(Stryker) Excuse me? I think you'd better rethink what you're saying to me, punk. After all, you had that Atlantic title giftwrapped and handed to you by one Leonard Aarons...and then you did the belt proud...you know, the belt that I held and built up from the day this company reopened all the way through my wars with Hush...you did MY belt proud by getting in the ring and losing it to a VOLLEYBALL!!
Tyrone takes a step back, but continues to listen to what Stryker has to say.
(Stryker) The fact is that for years now, you and I have gone back and forth, but in the end, time after time, match after match, all that happened was me proving that I'm in a higher order than you are. Tyrone....Crazy Boy....whatever you call yourself, it's not enough to stand up with Mike Stryker and you KNOW IT.
Tyrone mumbles to himself a little bit then looks up at Stryker.
(Tyrone) Crazy Boy is dead, don't you get it? I am not the same person you knew back in the day, Mike. I am more aggressive, more ruthless, and more focused than ever before.
(Stryker) Whatever kid. Bottom line, you can change the packaging all you want. Call yourself a new name, tell the world how ruthless and focused you are now, blah blah blah. In the end, Tyrone Smith and Crazy Boy will be linked by one common quality...they're both completely and totally mediocre. Do yourself a favor, stick to tousling with sporting goods kid, because at Chain Reaction, you're in for a serious reality check.
Tyrone growls and pushes Stryker back, almost knocking the Hitman to the ground. Tyrone stares at his nemesis precautiously and shakes his head.
(Tyrone) CRAZY BOY IS DEAD! Can't you get that through your thick skull of yours?! I am just Tyrone Smith. I will show you how much I have changed when I beat Krystian in a little bit. All I have to say is watch your back Stryker, because I could pop up when you least expect it.
Tyrone gets up to the face of Stryker and a shouting contest ensues before Stryker pushes Tyrone back. Tyrone just stares at him before just turning around and walk away.
(Tyrone) You are going to regret that Mike. You may just not even MAKE it to Chain Reaction before all is said and done.
Tyrone walks away from Stryker and the camera as the show fades to black.
Disgrace
We open to a dark room and Carlos Smith stands pacing and muttering to himself furiously.
(Carlos)Well now...what to do about this issue we seem to be having.
The camera turns to show the masked psychosis that is Psycho, screaming in his usual corner.
(Carlos)Don't glare and yell either because you did after all...LOSE!! You can't demolish Tyrone if you lose!
Carlos swings at Psycho but this time, is blocked by the monster, who is now in tears.
(Psycho)No! I don't want to do this to Tyrone. This is not what I asked you for... I hate you br----
Carlos punches him hard in the face and Psycho goes once again, to his corner.
(Carlos) Don't call me that...you'll give away our little secret and I can't have you doing that.
The camera fades out.
Commercial
Get Him in the Room
Cut.
We come up in the back, next to the craft services table, the place where wrestlers who aren't booked or are done for the night come for food, for a snack while they watch the show. Ken Harris is here, dressed in blue jeans and a black polo shirt. He's at the table, fixing up what appears to be—based on the presence of two stocked plates—his third plate of the visit.
As Ken finishes making the third plate Rex Michaels appears. He walks up to Ken and stops behind him, just over Ken's shoulder. He waits, smiling big, the way someone does when they have a great idea. Ken turns and nearly drops the plates.
(Rex) Well if ain’t a pig in hog’s clothing Ah sure as Sunday blue laws don’t know what is… Kenny Harris!
(Ken) Rex.
Ken's shoulders come up and he blanks his face, as if he's trying to avoid showing an emotion. Like irritation. As if he's trying not to show that he's irritated.
(Ken) How's it going?
(Rex) Things’ve been better. G.N.R.’s forgot to take her rings off last… well, that ain’t none of y’all’s problems!
Rex throws an arm around Ken, knocking a chicken wing to the floor. Ken watches it falling and shudders slightly.
(Rex) Listen, Kenny… Ah hate tuh ask, but Ah need a big, big favor from y’all and Nikki!
Ken stares forward, skepticism clearly evident if you're paying attention. Fortunately Rex isn't.
(Rex) Just go get yer buddy Troy – and meet me in our locker room - we gone have ourselves one of them there boys nights. A’ight?
(Ken) What, exactly, are you planning?
Rex smiles. He's beaming, like he thinks he's a genius.
(Rex) Ah’m tellin’ y’all, Kenny… just put yer faith in old Sexy Rexy like Ah do in our lord an’ savior – and we gone get all of our problems taken care of.
C’ept fer that one with the rings – say… y’all know where I can get a good antiseptic cream?
Ken just stares at Rex, blinking in disbelief.
(Rex) Eh, ferget it – Ah’ll jus head tuh medical! Thanks Kenny!
Remember! Mah locker room in twenty! Bring Troy! Just get ‘im in the room!
Rex steps around Ken and walks off, presumably to find his own partner. Ken shakes his head and leaves.
Cut.
Cut A Deal
Oddly reminiscent of last week’s show, Trevor Cunning exits his locker room and heads out into the hallway. This time though, he’ll legally be bashing in Slush’s head.
Of course, just like last week, the Old School Empire is standing right outside Trevor’s door. This time they decide to speak to him.
(Dustin) You know Trevor, the Empire and yourself have a lot in common.
Trevor stops and stares at the brotherly tag team.
(Shane) All of us are young, successful, and hungry to destroy the competition.
Cunning interrupts.
(Trevor) Don't flatter yourselves.
The Thomas Brothers are here for a purpose – to talk to Trevor, not to bicker with him.
(Shane) …but perhaps more importantly, we have the same problem on our hands.
(Dustin) The Goods.
(Trevor) Your point?
(Shane) Perhaps the three of us can cut some kind of deal. It'll only take a couple of minutes.
Cunning strokes his invisible beard briefly, then gives them his answer.
(Trevor) Go on, I'm listening…
And wouldn’t we like to know what they’re talking about? Oopps too bad, because something is going on in the parking lot!
Welcome Back to Illtown
We open in the parking lot where a blue Plymouth TC Mazarati is pulling in. The license plate is fairly unrecognizable, but with the top down the camera can see that the driver is none other than Vanessa Chamberlain who has her hair tied back in a ponytail and a Bluetooth visible in her ear as she's seen talking with someone. The car comes to a stop and Vanessa's seen leaned back a little in her leather seat, smiling as she ends the call. She steps out of the car and shuts the door, but as she turns around she's halted by something fairly big, fairly imposing and incredibly angry. If you guessed O.J. Simpson, shame on you.
As the camera pans back, we see the figure that has Vanessa stopped in her tracks. He's wielding a platinum colored wooden bat and even though he hasn't thrown a single punch, yet, he's sweating as if he just ran the 50M dash in a 25 meter gym. He is Lorenzo Richards and tonight, he gets his hands on the man who broke his wife's neck, namely Heatwave.
(Vanessa) Lorenzo, hi. How are...
Lorenzo doesn't waste much time or movement, advancing on Vanessa as she is forced to backpedal towards her car. His eyes are narrowed, his hand is practically crushing the barrel of the bat as he takes slow menacing strides.
(Vanessa) You? I'm sorry about Charlene,
it's great to hear that...
In an almost robotic tone, Lorenzo asks one question.
(Lorenzo) Where is he?
(Vanessa) I...I dunno?
(Lorenzo) Where is Illtown?
Illtown is what Leonard used to be, some three years ago before he came to the NAFW. Back when he was a vile, ruthless individual that ended careers and crushed people's lives just cause he could. He didn't need any particular reason to do it, he just did it because it humored him to see the pain and anguish it'd cause others.
(Vanessa) Illtown? Lorenzo you know that L hasn't...
It's here that Lorenzo snaps, grabbing Vanessa by her shirt and holding her up off the ground as her feet dangle.
(Lorenzo) Ya know something, I've been incredibly lenient with Lenny boy, probably moreso than even you have over the years. He has interfered with my marriage, he left me to get my ankle broken and through it all...I haven't held anything against him. But last week, for him to sit back and let my wife get her neck SNAPPED by someone HE pissed off...that's the final straw. So I ask you one more time Vanessa, where is he? WHERE'S ILLTOWN?!!!
(Vanessa) I don't know damnit! He's not that anymore!!! Now please, put me down Lorenzo. I know you're hurting, I know...
Lorenzo doesn't let Vanessa finish her sentence, as he drops her rather abruptly, only to take the bat lengthwise, pressing it against her as she struggles in vain to keep him from choking the life out of her. He's practically frothing at the mouth as he all but barks in an irate tone.
(Lorenzo) You tell Illtown, that when he gets here, tell him to come out and watch what I do to our former mutual friend tonight. Then you tell him, that after Heatwave catches his, he's going to get his for what he didn't do a few weeks ago.
He lets go and storms off in a fit of rage, slamming the bat into the side of Vanessa's car before pointing it at her and heading off. Vanessa's struggling to regain her breath as there's a rather ominous shadowy figure seen lurking in the background out of the immediate sight of Vanessa and just barely able to be seen by the camera. The silhouette of the person disappears just as quickly as it arrived as Vanessa turns to where it was only to see nothing as we cut to elsewhere.
Trevor Cunning vs. Slush
(Tom) I don’t have the slightest clue what’s going on between The Reaper, his cousin, and Vanessa, but I’m being told in my headset that there’s been a change to this next match between Trevor Cunning and Slush, and it’s going to be announced right now by ring announcer Troy Gilmour.
(Troy) Ladies and gentlemen, for the safety of all involved in this match, Ammo and Twitch have been barred from ringside for the duration of this contest.
The crowd boos, but what do you really expect?
(JB) This has got to be something Cunning and the Thomas Brothers set up!
(Tom) Don’t assume things, Sherlock. It just makes an ass out of you and me!
(JB) You do that constantly on your own.
The lights cut out and the rapid chords and drums of "Riot" by Three Days Grace ring through the arena. A red spotlight shines on the top of the stage, and three figures step out. In front is Slush flying solo, in his dark red tights, wearing fingerless gloves and black sunglasses. As the music goes into the chorus, one half of the Goods stalks down to the ring. Slush slides under the bottom rope and has a very upset look on his face as he argues with the official about the announcement made by Gilmour. The referee might as well be named Pontius Pilot because he washes his hands of that decision.
Trevor Cunning steps through the curtain the moment “Sober” by Tool hits the public address. He’s wearing three popped, pastel polo shirts (pink atop yellow atop green) over of his ring singlet and holds a bottle of Jack Daniels in his left hand. As the lighting frames his face in shadow, he takes a drag of Jack and swallows hard.
When Cunning hits the ringside area, he takes another pull and steps onto the ring apron. He leans back across the top rope, ready to spit Jack Daniels into the first few rows.
The crowd is less than thrilled and so is Slush who attacks as soon as Cunning enters the ring. The two exchange pleasantries in a quick match that lasts about 3 minutes, but as you might expect from the dirtiest Foundation Heavyweight Champion in history, he’s got the skill advantage, size advantage, as well as extra leverage from his cheating – eye gouges, back rakes, and to top it off, Jack Daniels to mist the eyes of Slush allowing Cunning to hit the Sobriety Test for the three count.
As Cunning does so, conveniently, OSE pops out of the crowd, both from different sides, and wastes no time in capitalizing on the beat down of a prone Slush while Cunning sits back and enjoys the show.
It’s not long before Ammo makes the save and Cunning has to get off his ass to fight, but the Empire and Cunning still have a numbers advantage on The Goods, that is, until Keith Owens decides to screw with our heads a little more.
The Difference Maker charges out from the back with a steel chair in tow and hits the ring. He drills Dustin in the back with the chair. This gets Trevor’s attention who stops his brawl with Ammo. Keith tosses the chair to Shane, then tosses him a drop kick to the face – sending him toppling over the top rope.
Before the situation can get any more bizarre or chaotic, Ammo grabs Slush and pulls him out to safety, while Cunning and Owens stare down face to face in the ring.
(JB) First Mike Stryker, now Owens comes to the rescue of The Goods?
(Tom) Where’s Doctor Steve-O? Someone is a giant wussie!
(JB) Wrong network Tom.
(Tom) Right… where’s… Kyra Sedgwick then?
(JB) Oi…
Commercial
So That’s How It’s Gonna Be?
And we’re back from commercial break, cutting to an area backstage where Keith Owens and Trevor Cunning are still arguing following the post-match antics that occurred only minutes ago.
(Trevor) What the hell was that all about? I had The Goods right where I wanted them.
(Keith) That was me getting a small measure of revenge for what the Empire tried to do to me last week. The Thomas Brothers think they can just waltz out during my Chain Reaction Qualifying match and attempt to distract me? Not a chance in hell. No one tries to play Keith Owens like that.
Cunning scoffs at that notion.
(Trevor) So that’s how its gonna be then? You get all the backup and support you want and I get Jack? I don’t need to put up with this shit.
(Keith) Trev, wait…
It does him no good. Cunning walks away in utter disgust at his partner.
(Tom) Cunning has a point. Where was Owens when The Goods were screwing Cunning?
(JB) There’s a difference Tom. Cunning chose to provoke the Goods. Owens didn’t provoke the Old School Empire.
(Tom) Meh. Try using that reasoning in a court of law!
The Lord's Champion
The lights of the arena go out, pitch black except for the dim lights along the aisles that illuminate the crowds walkways. Suddenly, a deep voice bellows out three words.
A golden light shines down on the entrance ramp as the curtains part. Golden pyro showers down from above Krystian as he walks out in a white robe with golden trimming. He stands there with his arms outstretched as the pyro falls all around him, as the lyrics of Skillet's 'Rebirthing' kick in and he begins to walk toward the ring.
He stops short and takes a moment to pull his hood back and reveal the pure white mask that conceals his identity. He continues his way to the ring, grinning as he steps into the ring and moves to the center. He stretches his arms out to his side and tilts his head back, as the music fades away and the lights come back up. He takes a moment to stare out at the capacity crowd, shaking his head as he brings a microphone to his lips.
(Krystian) Hippies, ethnic sinners, and the few, the proud, the Witnesses of the Truth... Praise me, for I have come to deliver you from your transgressions.
The boos of the crowd continue, and yet Krystian continues as if there is complete silence.
(Krystian) I know that I have been rather quiet these past few weeks, but I assure you now that I have never stopped praying for all of you. There has been much for me to do here in the Foundation, but that is not all that has kept me from coming out here and gracing you with my presence. First of all, I have little time for speaking, and in the second place; I believe that this is a time for action rather than speech. We are involved in a conflict in which more than the victory of one religion or the other is at stake; it is rather a war of two opposing worlds. I shall try to give you, as far as possible in the time at my disposal, an insight into the essential reasons underlying this conflict. I shall, however, confine myself to the Foundation if you will. The people who are primarily affected - hellions like Heatwave , false prophets like Aarons, unworthy favorites like Tyrone Smith, Andy D, and Storm Johnson, and especially wastes of space like Snake! These people are the core of insanity that is the devils playground known as NAFW. They must not be simply tolerated like an odor on a bus, they must be eliminated. They must be destroyed. They must be ran out of the Foundation, the devil following them with his tail tucked between his legs. I will make the Foundation pure and safe for followers everywhere, to watch and learn about God and the pending Armageddon.
Krystian continues on his rant, his words echoing out over the boos and jeers from the crowd.
(Krystian) 2007 is the year of the Lord's champion, and I will make those who follow proud. I will wash the mouths of those who speak with a forked tongue, the ones who use the words of Satan's MTV to speak to the youth will be eliminated with pain and malice. Women who are to be used for reproduction and cleaning will remember their Godly roles as women. They will not dance around the ring, but rather work the concession stands and the bedrooms. God did not build women to wrestle, he built them to clean!! That is what they will do once I have all the power and the truth has been spread throughout the world. Those who disagree will be thrown in a shower of spiritual cleansing and will not see heaven. The Lord has sent me down here, not as a pacifist, but as the warrior that He is. The Great Flood, The Plagues, The Success of Carrot Top. We are not going to let this world turn into another Babylon, for if it does, the world will end. I am your last chance, your Savior. Follow me, or feel the wrath of God handed to you by His chosen champion, Krystian.
The crowd is outraged by the speech given by Krystian. They praise him with middle fingers and beer cups.
(Krystian) I have already struck down the unworthy Storm Johnson, and just last week I cast the serpent away on his belly like a common beast. This week... This week the confused and-
“Will you please shut the hell up.”
The crowd cheers. Not because they really like the guy that walked out onto the stage, but because he actually got Krystian to shut up for a moment.
(Krystian) How dare you come out here and-
(Snake) Has anyone ever told you that you talk too damn much? I mean, it felt like Leonard Aarons was out here giving another eulogy over his pathetic career. These people have far more important things to be doing, like taking a piss or getting a beer, than to be forced to sit there and listen to you whine and moan about what you're here to do.
This gets the crowd riled up, and a Snake chant starts as they are grateful for his interference.
(Snake) Not to mention, I think you have things all mixed up. In case you forgot, I was the one who left you laid out in the center of that ring last week. And I suggest, unless you want to have more of the same, that you keep my name out of your mouth.
(Krystian) You dare speak to the Lord's champion like-
(Snake) Blah, blah, blah, blah, blah! Look, I know you think you're someone special, but around here you aren't nothing more than a wet behind the ears punk that got lucky these last few weeks. So, before you say something that you'll regret. I have a few things I want you to know...
Snake extends his finger as he lifts his arm into the air.
(Snake) You aren't half the man Wilson was.
A chant of Wilson spreads through the arena like a wildfire in California, as Snake extends his middle finger to join the other.
(Snake) And if I ever hear you saying anything about me again, next time you won't be getting up.
Snake drops the microphone onto the stage, as he throws up his arms and heads to the back. Krystian is speechless as he shakes his head and slides out of the ring, stomping up the ramp as he heads to the back as well.
Sk8er Boi
Cut backstage to the catering room. Twitch, having survived his most recent adventure backstage, is hungry. With Blake safely draped over his shoulders, Twitch peruses the options. He picks up a grape from a fruit tray and pops it into his mouth. He looks down and sees a lone sandwich sitting on another tray. The last one. He grabs for it.
(Twitch) Gotcha!
Ah, but he doesn't. See, someone else was just out of the frame, and they too saw the last sandwich. Now, both of them have a hand on it. Twitch looks up to see his competition for this sandwich. He smiles.
(Twitch) Sk8er Boi!
It is, in fact the grappler once known as Crazy Boy, now going exclusively by his real name, Tyrone Smith.
Let's just say that if the impromptu battle for the last sandwich isn't annoying him already, the fact that his Twitch-name™ is based on "Crazy Boy" will certainly do the trick. Smith's face begins to redden.
(Twitch) Twitch really needs this sandwich right now. Twitch had a bit of a scuffle with Polyester Sussex and would really appreciate it if Sk8er Boi w-AAAH!!
Twitch doesn't get to finish his sentence. The second uttering of "Sk8er Boi" is enough to set Smith off. Tyrone lets go of the sandwich and grabs Twitch by the back of the neck, driving the manager's head down to the table, onto the now empty tray. For his part, Twitch doesn't give up on the sandwich, keeping it in his hand.
(Tyrone) Crazy Boy is dead! Gone!
Twitch looks up at Smith. The tables have turned, and now it's Twitch who is confused by what someone else is saying.
(Twitch) So what!? Let Twitch go!
Smith reaches out with his free hand and grabs another tray, tossing its contents across the room. He makes Twitch's head into the meat of a sandwich between the two trays, putting pressure on with both hands.
(Tyrone) I'll tell you what! Last week Trevor Cunning kept calling me Crazy Boy. So did Tom Kalhoun. This week it was Krystian... And now you! It's time people around here start getting the message! I'm Tyrone Smith! Crazy Boy is DEAD!
Twitch's voice is somewhat muffled by the fact that his head is between two trays, but it's still audible.
(Twitch) OK! OK!! Twitch gets the message!
(Tryone) Are you sure?
(Twitch) Twitch swears! Sk8er Boi is gone! No more!
(Tyrone) Good!
Tyrone snatches the sandwich out of Twitch's hand, then releases the pressure on the top tray. Smith bites into the sandwich and walks away. It's only after Tyrone is safely out of the room that Twitch speaks.
(Twitch) Trombone needs to lighten up!
The door to the room opens again and Twitch jumps a bit, wondering if Smith might be coming back for another round... He frowns when he sees that it's only a staffer, carrying a tray of sandwiches to replenish the supply.
(Twitch) Where was that two minutes ago!?
And with that, we're done here. Back to JB and Tom.
(JB) Twitch is really getting himself into hot water tonight! First Essex, now Tyrone Smith!
(Tom) Who?
(JB) Tyrone Smith! The man who just assaulted Twitch!
(Tom) Oh! You mean Crazy Boy!
(JB) Were you even paying attention? His name is Tyrone Smith. Crazy Boy is no more!
(Tom) Still seems pretty crazy to me.
JB doesn't reply to Tom's comment, instead continuing his previous train of thought.
(JB) And if you don't start calling him Tyrone Smith, you're going to be the one he attacks next!
(Tom) Do I look like I'm scared of Crazy Boy? The guy lost to a volleyball.
(JB) You may not be afraid of Crazy Boy Bear, but that's just my point! This isn't Crazy Boy! Based on what we just saw, Tyrone Smith is clearly more aggressive than Crazy Boy ever was!
(Tom) Bah. Everyone wants to beat Twitch up. Doesn't mean anything.
(JB) Well Bear, I just hope I'm not nearby when Tyrone Smith drives his message home with you!
Commercial
The lights of the arena go out, pitch black except for the dim lights along the aisles that illuminate the crowds walkways. Suddenly, a deep voice bellows out three words.
(Tom) Krystian! Krystian! You are now on your own!
(JB) Do you have to start another damn lawsuit?!
(Tom) I don't start lawsuits, JB… I finish 'em!
A golden light shines down on the entrance ramp as the curtains part. Golden pyro showers down from above Krystian as he walks out in a white robe with golden trimming. He stands there with his arms outstretched as the pyro falls all around him, as the lyrics of Skillet's 'Rebirthing' kick in and he begins to walk toward the ring.
He stops short and takes a moment to pull his hood back and reveal the pure white mask that conceals his identity. He continues his way to the ring, grinning as he steps into the ring and moves to the center. He stretches his arms out to his side and tilts his head back as the music fades away and the lights come back up.
(JB) No doubt, Bear… This next match is for pride, and a shot at making a good impression on the NAFW booking committee! We've got newcomer Krystian and the new-look Tyrone Smith, both looking to make waves!
(Tom) Speaking of waves, Mann-gelina Jolie, I got one Heck of a story to tell you about your ex-wife!
"Lip Gloss and Black" by Atreyu 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 Tyrone Smith. Tyrone walks down the ramp, acknowledging the crowd as he slides under the bottom ropes. The lights flicker back on as Tyrone pumps his fist in the air, runs around off the ropes and then turns, and waits for his opponent to come.
(JB) Bite your tongue, Tom Kalhoun… We've got a match to call!
Tyrone Smith vs. Krystian
Two pretty evenly matches competitors. Tyrone Smith has a small weight advantage, but not enough to make a difference. They circle one another, and begin a brawling trade full of closed-fist punches and ineffective admonishment from the referee. Krystian Irish Whips Smith into the turnbuckle, and races in after him. Tyrone throws up an elbow and makes Krystian pay for thinking he can zoom around the ring so early and not pay for it. Krystian goes stumbling out and turns back to his foe just in time to get taken down by a Swinging Neckbreaker.
Both men quickly back to their feet, jockeying for position in a Collar and Elbow tie-up. Smith forces Krystian to his knees, but Krystian powers back and eventually wins the exchange by sliding over into a Devastating Headlock. Smith throws elbows into Krystian's midsection, breaking the hold, before running and taking a bounce off the ropes; his intention was to come back and drop Krystian with a Big Boot… But Krystian ducks. Smith spins around and gets leveled by a Clothesline.
Krystian pulls Smith back to his feet and whips him into the turnbuckle. Corner Splash! Krystian then whips Smith into the opposite turnbuckle. Corner Splash! Krystian tries to throw Tyrone Smith into yet another corner, but the NAFW veteran reverses and sends Krystian flying instead! Krystian hits the post with an enthusiast THUD, while Smith follows in with a Running Clothesline. Smith up for a Ten Punch Combo but Krystian throws him off and looks to have injured the back of his head. Tyrone rolls around a bit as Krystian, the crazy high flyer that he is, attempts to nail that flippy mid-air finisher thing he does… The Leap of Faith!
But apparently God doesn't love him, and Tyrone rolls out of the way! Krystian busts his face against the canvas, leaving ample time and opportunity for Tyrone Smith to lock up a victory with his new finisher, the Ruthless Aggession! I have no idea whether the move is impact or submission because Tyrone's bio isn't very descriptive, but he picks up the win nonetheless! NONE-THE-LESS!!!!!!
(JB) That Ruthless Aggression is an amazing maneuver!
(Tom) I'd like to disagree, JB, but I have no idea what it is!
Mobile
Welcome, friends, to the office of the Commissioner. "Big Ray" (as Trevor Cunning referred to him last week) is sitting behind a desk, holding a phone to his ear.
(Buchanan) Listen, Sean... I'm sorry about the confusion last week.
Around these parts, there's only one Sean. (Unless Sean somehow turns out to be Snake's unknown real name... But for the moment let's assume that's not the case.) That lone Sean has the last name Thomas. You'll know him better as Spaz.
And in case you missed it, what Buchanan is referring to is Spaz being barred from the arena last week, thanks to a plot hatched by the Old School Empire.
(Buchanan) But to be perfectly honest, I don't think your taking a couple of weeks off is that bad of an idea. Let the leg heal up. Go into next week's Battle Royal at full strength.
Pause. Spaz is evidently talking, but we're only going to get one side of the conversation at this point.
(Buchanan) I assure you, there will be no such confusion next week. All security staff have already been informed that you are free to enter all NAFW venues, unless given verbal instruction from Ryan McJohnson or myself.
This is the part where you're probably expecting another pause, followed by Ray saying goodbye and hanging up the phone, and finally a cut back to ringside. That's not what we get though.
First, there is a cut... But it's not to ringside. It's to the parking lot, where Spaz stands with a cellular phone in his hand. At the sight of Spaz on the NAFWTron, the fans in the arena go nuts.
(Spaz) That's perfect. Thanks.
Now we get the pause. This is where Ray says something along the lines of "See you next week."
(Spaz) Not if I see you first.
Spaz flips the phone closed and puts it in his pocket, then makes his way into the arena. Back to ringside.
(Tom) Spaz should have stayed home like he was told.
(JB) Told by a fake note!
(Tom) Fake or not, I don't see any reason for Spaz to be here tonight.
(JB) Well, like it or not, Spaz is in the building... Maybe he'll be able to get Twitch under control?
(Tom) I doubt it.
Talking with Troy
Cut.
We're in the back, in one of those white hallways we seem to see in every arena in every city we visit. This one is far from the stage, far from the more trafficked areas. At the back of the shot is a door, marking "Parking." In front of this door is Ken Harris. He is leaning on a wall, waiting.
After a moment the door opens and Troy Clark enters, followed by Nicole. The pair spot Ken, who signals them. He earns a smile from Nicole as she and Troy approach/
(Ken) Hey Nic. You guys need to come with me.
(Troy) Hell, Ken-doll. Nice to see you.
(Ken) Eat me. Let's go.
(Troy) Where?
(Ken) Rex has-
Troy jumps a little and brings his hands up, the way little kids do when they're really excited.
(Troy) You're in the game! Yes! What are we gonna do?
(Ken) T-
(Troy) Wait! I know! Let's put some rotting pastrami on a bicycle wheel and hold his nose…no, not funny.
Ken tries to speak, but Troy prattles on.
(Troy) Let's lock him up with a moose eating walnuts! No, we've done that too much.
(Ken) Troy.
(Troy) We'll get a cat and some Almond Roca…what?
Nicole touches Troy's arm, grabbing his attention, the points at Ken. Troy waits, chastised.
(Ken) Rex has something planned and you're going.
(Troy) No I'm not.
(Ken) Yes you are.
(Troy) No I'm not
(Ken) Yes you-I'm not doing this. You're going.
Troy steps forward and speaks quietly.
(Troy) It's a bad idea.
(Ken) Why the hell; are you so worried?
(Troy) Hello? A trap?
(Ken) I think we can take them.
(Troy) I will kick that moonlighting, lipsyncing mother-
(Ken) Troy, you started this.
(Troy) No, Mr. Moonlighting Legend in his Own Moonlighting Mind started this. Christ, Kenny, you used to kill guys like this.
(Ken) I don't care. I didn't want this fight. We didn't need this fight. Now Rex has some idea to fix things and since he seems to have some sense…
Ken trails off. He looks away from Troy and up at the ceiling. It's a look of exasperated shock and horror. It comes because he was about to say Rex Michaels is a sensible person. He is, needless to say, unhappy with himself.
After a moment, Ken looks back at Troy.
(Ken) Just come with me.
Cut.
Nothing to Say
Our screens change to a standard backstage shot. In fact, one would go so far as to say that this was a Generic Promotional Background if it was but for one reason, that the wrestler in front of it wants to stay as far away from the 2Guys material as possible (and let’s face it, who doesn’t). It’s not a complicated picture to explain, as on the left is NAFW interviewer Mark Herriot and on the right, the Atlantic Champion, Andy D.
(Mark) Andy, since winning the Atlantic Championship a couple of weeks ago at Redemption you’ve been remarkably quite about the win. Anything to say about how you feel right now?
Andy thinks about it for a moment before shrugging his shoulders. Mark looks at him with an awkward silence between them for a moment before going on.
(Mark) Well do you have any plans for where you’ll go now that you are the champion?
Again Andy takes a couple of moments, almost over emphasising the thinking look he’s using before he shakes his head in a no response. Mark looks on with that awkward silence again
(Mark) Well… Tonight you face Mike Lane in a Chain Reaction qualifying match. Do you have anything to say about your opponent? Any hopes about winning and heading on to a world heavyweight title match? …Do you have anything to say at all? Anything?
Andy takes longer to think this time, but in the end he just shrugs his shoulders and shakes his head. The irritation in Mark Herriot is starting to show, but his professional composure manages to keep it in check. He starts to ask another question
(Mark) Well…
(Lucy) Andy, you’ve got to go for your match
Interrupting the interview, Andy D’s manager, Lucy Hunt makes her first (and most likely last) appearance on a TV show walking in and telling Andy to get going for his match. Andy holds up his hand as both an ‘OK’ to Lucy and a ‘Bye’ to Mark as he walks away from the scene. Lucy goes to follow, but turns back at the last minute.
(Lucy) And you, Mr. Herriot, should be ashamed of yourself by not letting Andy get a word in at all during that interview. I bet you don’t even have your Interviewers licence.
And with that, Lucy walks off, Mark looks stunned and we go to wherever it is we need to go next.
(JB) Up next, ladies and gentlemen… Another Chain Reaction qualifier!
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 his turnbuckle, flipping his bucket hat off his head and placing on the metal part of the turnbuckle. He takes off his shades and places them on the hat before turning around ready for the match.
(Tom) Yet another non-title defense for Andy D, JB! The Atlantic Champion is coming up roses in the defense department! How great would it be to own a title and never defend it?!
(JB) Not great at all, Tom. Rumor has it that Andy D is very unhappy with NAFW management. He wants to be a fighting champion. He wants to bring some prestige back to the Atlantic Championship, and he feels like Buchanan's been hamstringing the process by booking him into non-title situations!
The opening chords of Metallica's "Sad But True" rock the arena as the fans come to their feet, and the booing has already begun. 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) Andy D's got a big hill to climb here, fans. Mike Lane is on a roll, and nothing's going to get in his way!
(Tom) Not only that, Mann-hole, but do you see the size difference?!
(JB) No doubt about it, Tom. Mike Lane is almost a hundred pounds heavier and eight inches taller than Andy D! The Atlantic Champion is going to have to be quick and keep Lane off his feet if he's got any chance in this contest!
As the lyrics come in, Lane steps out of the curtain. The intensity of the jeers increases, and we can see that he is soaking it all in. He stands on the stage for a moment before hitting the crucifix pose, complete with Mike Lane Grin. Pyro explodes behind him. Lane reaches out to smack a fans hand, but the fan pulls away. Mr. Old School Hollywood raises up his hand, like he's going to slap the insolence out of the poor kid, but then he just grins again and continues his walk. He climbs into the ring, and holds up his arm, allowing the fans to let him have it.
(Tom) Let's get this party started!
Andy D (AC) vs. Mike Lane
Non-Title
Chain Reaction Qualifier
Lane lunges at Andy D, but the Atlantic Champion quickly side-steps out of the way. Lane lunges again to the same result. Lane finally catches Andy D with a Collar and Elbow Tie-Up, and easily overpowers his much smaller foe. Lane uses his leverage to take his opponent sky-high with a Vertical Suplex, and Andy D lands with a hard thud on the mat. The Atlantic Champion makes a swift rebound, however, and ducks what would have been a pretty vicious Clothesline. Andy D uses this opportunity to Dropkick Mike Lane, and the former Foundation Champion goes tumbling out over the top rope.
On the outside, Lane collects himself just in time to get slammed into the barricade by a flying Andy D, vaulting up and over the top rope and nailing his foe with a Body Press. The fans are going nuts as Mike Lane is a little slow to get up; Andy D, meanwhile, celebrates a little and the front row is eating it up. High-fives all around. Unfortunately, Andy's celebration takes a little too long and Lane grabs the high flyer by his hair and hurls him into the nearby ring-steps. A massive THUD! echoes throughout the arena and the sound of Andy's bruised thigh causes more than one audience member to mouth the words, "yee-ow!"
Lane rolls back in and out to break the referee's count, and then goes back to work on Andy D, walking a couple miles on the smaller man's ribcage. Lane taunts the crowd, who are ready to devour his firstborn, before rolling back in, breaking the referee's count, and then rolling back out again to continue exploiting Andy D's current state of "I think those ring-steps broke my femur… But where's my femur?!"
Lane pulls Andy D up by his hair… Only to get a shot to the jewels! Ding! "You wanna throw me into the ring-steps… I'm not above cheating, either!" says Andy D's nut-shot! The referee has obviously lost control of this match, but it's a Chain Reaction qualifier and thus important, so he lets it go. There's not a lot else he can do, watching as the Atlantic Champion gives Mike Lane a bit of his good, old fashioned stompy-stomp medicine.
Andy D rolls Lane back into the ring, and hops up onto the apron. Mike Lane gets to his feet, facing away from Andy on the apron and still nursing those sore testicles, when he finally turns around and… Springboard Hurricanrana! Andy D's high flying acrobatics flips his much larger foe end-over-end and Andy goes for a quick, futile cover. Lane powers out, and the two begin trading punches. Irish Whip by Lane sends Andy D bouncing off the far-side ropes… Lane ducks for an Old School Back Body Drop, but the Atlantic Champion leapfrogs him and again hits the cables. Lane drops to his belly and Andy D hops over him, gaining even more momentum as he takes a third bounce and… Spinebuster! Mike Lane drops Andy D with a wicked Spinebuster, made even more dangerous by the extra momentum of the Whip!
Lane soaks it in for a minute, again taunting the crowd before dragging Andy D back to his feet and Irish Whipping him into the corner. The Atlantic Champion holds his back after an impact with the turnbuckle, and stumbles out; mercifully, he's almost unaware of what's happening when Lane nails him with a Shhhhhaaaaaaaaaaadooooooow Kiiiiiiiiiiiiiiick and puts this one to bed!
(JB) Good God Almighty! What a match! Mike Lane earns a hard-fought victory over Atlantic Champion Andy D, in a match that could have gone either way! Well-met for Mike Lane, who's moving on to compete in this year's Chain Reaction!
(Tom) Pfft! I could beat Andy D, too, if I threw him into a set of steel steps!
(JB) And you were almost twice his size…!
(Tom) That, too!
Commercial
Non-Violent Conflict Resolution with Mediator Rex Michaels
Cut.
We're in the hallways, the ones we see every week on every wrestling show on the planet. Ken, Troy, and Nicole are making their way through the arena at a brisk, business-like pace. Ken leads the way, still shaking his head that he has somehow come to believe Rex Michaels is sensible. After a moment they come to a door, open it, and go inside.
The door leads to a conference room, one of the many stashed in arenas around the world. At the center of the table is Rex Michaels, dressed in business attire, which means a suit. With no sleeves on the jacket. At the other end of the room is Scott Rocker. Rocker rises when Troy enters and starts to charge.
(Rex) Goddamn Scotty would you sit down! Yer as ornery as welfare mother on free cheese day! Ah’m tryin’ tuh help y’all!
Rocker stops in his tracks and looks back at Rex, chastised and betrayed. Rocker sits.
When he does, Troy looks over his shoulder at Ken, who has not quite managed to hide his aggravation at the whole business. His face has dropped, his shoulders have fallen and he sighs, feeling all the more stupid about thinking for even a second that Rex Michaels was not an idiot.
Rex looks over at Ken and grins. He mouths "I got it."
Troy, seeing Ken, smiles like he's getting the first blowjob of his life and sits at the table. Nicole goes to Ken and leans on the wall next to him. He turns to her and quietly says he's sorry.
(Rex) Ah’d like to welcome Scotty and Kenny and Troy tuh mah seminar entitled “Believe in yerself an y’all won’t be uh bitch no more!”
Ken runs a hand down his face – shaking his head the entire time Rex speaks.
(Rex) Now, Ah want y’all tuh know Ah ain’t no licensed therapist ‘er nuthin’ but Ah do watch Doctor Phil e’ery day… and… Scotty would y’all stop laughin’ damnit! G.N.R. likes it!
Ah’ve also seen Tony Little speak twice.
Now, Ah assume y’all wanna settle this situation through non-violence and mediation an’ sh(beep).
Rex turns to Rocker.
(Rocker) Is John Bonham not the best drummer of all time?
The room looks at Rocker in collective confusion.
(Rocker)Sigh… You have no respect for the Gods of Rock. Yes.
Rocker turns to Troy.
(Troy) Aboso-friggin-lutely.
Troy turns around and grins at Ken, making Ken shake his head again. Nicole chuckles a little and pats Ken on the shoulder.
(Rex) Now Scotty – look Troy in the eyes in a non-gay way – and tell him what’s wrong.
(Rocker) Ahem… Well, I have a hard time being taking seriously around here – and when Troy insulted the one thing that makes me special an unique: my superior rocking skills – I was genuinely and insanely hurt.
Each person in the room looks at Rocker in disbelief, amazed he was able to pull such a cogent, clear thought together.
(Rocker) My head hurts – where the hell am I? Oh – right – this ass.
Rex turns to Troy.
(Rex) Now Troy - would you agree with this assessment.
(Troy) No, Mediator Rex. I would not.
(Rex) Well then why don’t you gimme yer side uh the story?
(Troy) Well…
Troy takes a breath, big and deep, like he's building strength to get something deep off his chest.
(Troy) Your partner's a douche.
(Rex) Ah beg yer pardon?
Troy's phony emotionality vanishes and for the first time all night he's himself. He glares at Rex, at Rocker, with that "I'm so much better than you" look of his.
(Troy) He's a world class, brown, peppermint schnapps flavored, made for women over the age of fifty douche. And that's all he is.
Rocker leaps up and speaks, not bothering to wait for Troy. Troy ignores him and goes on.
(Rocker) Well you… you’re a limp-wristed, over-compensating, self-loathing sissy-boy who’s always acting like a jackass because he’s got the smallest drum-kit on the tour bus, if you Catch. My. Drift.
(Troy) A nice little bag of the nasty juice women use to clean their bleeps. That's it. He came up to me, to me, at the bleeping catering table and tries to do what? I smacked him. I smacked him like the little douche he is an he went off and cried about it. So now, now he's a whiny, crybaby douche who's never gonna get laid. Right, Nicky?
The camera pans to Nicole and everyone at the table looks her way. Next to her, Ken holds the bridge of his nose and shakes his head.
(Nicole) Leave me out of this.
Everyone goes back to what they were doing. Rocker and Troy talk over each other, so much we can't understand it. Rex, watching his plan go down the tubes, starts rubbing the bring of his nose and staring at the desk
(Troy) His bleep is shriveling, he's getting shorter and even if there was a woman who wanted to bleep him he couldn't get it up to do it. This is ridiculous. This whole bleeping thing is ridiculous. You guys, both of you are big, douchey morons. Like Axel "Douchey little Nugget Rose!"
(Rocker) You can insult me, sir – but you do NOT insult Axel (beep)-ing Rose without paying some severe penalty! You sit there, on your throne of testosterone – thinking yer some alpha male when really – the only reason you’re even on this planet is your crack addled mother was too high to find the goddamn abortion clinic!
Rocker and Rex stop and stare at Troy.
(Rocker) Apologize.
(Troy) No.
(Rex) Settle down – both of y’all! Yer fergettin’ that this here is mah meaty-ay-shun! Now Troy – what Scotty said weren’t right – but neither was what y’all said – you violated the sanctity of this here trust circle an’ Ah can’t be havin’ that.
Apologize.
Troy smiles the smile of a man getting exactly what he wanted. He turns to Rex.
(Troy) Come try to make me nugget.
For the first time Ken moves, as if to back up Troy.
(Rex) If that’s how it’s gone be – it’s how it’s gone be. Since we cain’t settle this like gentlemen – next week we need to have some kind of challenge – some competition to see who the better man is – Scotty Rocker or Troy Clark.
Sound good to y’all?
(Troy) Abso-friggin-lutely.
(Rex) Scotty?
(Rocker) Rock on, Rex. Rock on.
Rocker and Clark stand – neither man breaking eye contact. In the back of the room, Ken Harris massages his temples, trying to calm the throbbing vein in his temple. We cut.
Chronicles Of The Reaper
The lights in the arena start to flicker in the arena before JB can begin his next sentence – and then they go out completely. A rather ominous crimson hue floods the arena as we see the NAFWtron flicker and flash, showing a flood of events from the latter half of this summer going all the way back to the end of Death Wish and the Three Wishes match.
It began with a Wish...
We see Aarons cashing in his Wish to face Trevor Cunning for the Foundation Heavyweight Championship the same night he went through a grueling Three Wishes match. We flash forward to see Lane still handcuffed in the corner, watching as Cunning is dropped with The Reaper's Wrath and covered.
The reign had a bloody yet joyous beginning...
Cut to Aarons holding the belt in his hands with his face a proverbial crimson mask. Symbolic of his Reaper logo, with the bloody Lion's head.
That would be cut short by vengeful foes...
Cue Cunning beating Aarons to a pulp and preparing to set him on fire before Stryker runs into the mix.
Unexpected rescues...
Stryker beating off Cunning before holding the belt and the lighter which Cunning was set to use to set Aarons on fire when...
And fiery retribution.
The music picks up as we see the darkness set in before a bright flash illuminates the TD BankNorth Arena as Aarons is set on fire. It shows in slow motion a few times, as we see the reigning Foundation Heavyweight Champion carted out and treated for burns.
His Wrath was going to be felt by all with no remorse until the perpetrator was found...
Quick shots of Aarons dropping Stryker with the Reaper's Wrath, then beating Zangief senseless the week after in his hometown in his first in-ring action.
All the while fending off those who would dare lay claim to his throne...
Flash forward to Redemption where Aarons and Stryker are locked up in battle for the Foundation Heavyweight Championship.
Through intense pain, nothing would stop The Reaper from relinquishing his hold on his crown...
Cue Mr. Black running in with a knee to Stryker's face as he breaks the New York Cloverleaf.
Nothing...but a face from his past set on revenge for crimes from long ago...
Cue the unmasking of Mr. Black as Heatwave, L's former lieutenant of the East Coast Connection from their NWC days turned bitter rival.
Haunted by demons from a past long ago, he showed legitimate weakness for the first time as his past continued to haunt him...
Cue Heatwave terrorizing Aarons with an attack in the locker room and then attacking Lorenzo before breaking Charlene's neck with a top rope Black Furnace Driver. Followed by the words of Heatwave shortly after...
"I want Leonard Aarons…the Leonard Aarons -I- know…not this watered down version where the fans love him and will probably drink his bath water if you let him. I want the Leonard Aarons that wouldn’t piss on Vanessa even if she was fire…no pun intend. I want the Leonard Aarons that everyone hated…The True Reaper. The bastard that broke my ladies neck in the middle of the ring all those years ago. And I’m telling you…John Mills…the entire NAFW roster…Leonard Aarons…Vanessa…and anyone else who gets in the way, this will not end until I get what I want."
Faced with a match that has spelled the end of many champions who have entered…
Cue the two previous Chain Reaction matches, both of which had champions walk in but none have walked out.
The Reaper…will reign dominant.
Cue the sound of the Lion roaring as we see Aarons training in grainy black and white.
The Reaper will rise above his foes.
Cue Aarons dropping his many adversaries over the years with The Reaper’s Wrath.
In one week, The Reaper will speak the Gospel to his foes before Chain Reaction…
A speed cut to all of those who have qualified for Chain Reaction before the screen flatlines as we hear the trademark line from A Nightmare on Elm Street, the very end of the infamous Jump Rope Song…
Nine…ten…he’s back again.
It’s here that we see a shot of Aarons with a bloody Lendo Stick in his right hand, the Foundation Heavyweight Championship in his left and a pile of fallen victims at his feet as he looks over his right shoulder with a smirk on his face. We close with something Aarons said in the very beginning, moments before he was lit ablaze by Heatwave as a matter of fact.
“ What you won’t have is around my shoulder…and who you won’t beat…is ME.”
(JB) Well, one man who won’t be beating The Reaper at Chain Reaction is of course, Keith Owens.
(Tom) Why isn’t Keith attacking “The Reaper” for the result of his match last week? After all, it was the Reaper who attacked Heatwave to draw the disqualification of Owens.
(JB) Sometimes you have to pick your battles one at a time Bear, and tonight, Keith Owens is battling one half of the Old School Empire.
Shane Thomas vs. Keith Owens
A siren hits the speakers and the word "EMPIRE" appears on the video screen.
The lights flash red and blue, as the camera pans around the arena. Lil' Wayne's "Fireman" starts playing. As the intro continues, the lights flash red to black to blue and back to black as a spot light is focused on the curtain. The song kicks in and Shane Thomas comes out of the curtain, all oiled up and ready to go. He lets his feathered robe drop to the ground as he flexes.
When he reaches the bottom of the ramp, the Alpha flexes his biceps and points his toe, much to the hatred of the fans. He hops up the steps, and climbs into the ring. He looks around the arena before stepping between the ropes. In the middle of the ring, Shane does his best "gross, veiny, bulging muscles" bodybuilder pose facing the camera with an orgasmic smile on his face.
(JB) I wonder why there was no special announcement barring Dustin Thomas from ringside?
(Tom) I don’t see him out here, do you?
(JB) I’ve been in this business many years, and if I had to take a stab in the dark, we’ll be hearing from Dustin in ten minutes or less!
The lights go out completely in the arena. After about one second, the opening riff of Spineshank’s “Fallback” are heard. The riff is quickly joined by the rest of the band as some small white lights around the balcony edges turn on. As the drums rapidly crescendo, the entrance ramp lights up with white lights starting from the bottom and working their way up to the very top.
Keith Owens stands at the top of the ramp with the Tag Team Championship strapped firmly around his waist. As Spineshank continues to shred the intro of this song, stands still with his hands around his waist, staring dead ahead at the ring. White and gold fireworks are shot straight up in the air to the left and right of him on the ramp with the pounding of the drums, ending with the fireworks doing a shower effect.
Keith ignores the crowd, like usual, only this time it's not all jeers for the former Foundation Heavyweight Champion. He begins to walk down the ramp, unstrapping his belt along that way.
(Troy) Making his way to the ring, from Springfield, Illinois, weighing in at two hundred and twenty three pounds, he is one half of the NAFW Tag Team Champions… The Difference Maker... KEITH OWENS!
Upon hearing his introduction, Keith places the title belt on the apron under the bottom rope. He then puts a knee on the apron and pulls himself to a standing position and enters over the middle rope. He doesn't show any flash or bravado in the ring as he hands the referee his title belt and prepares to start the match.
(JB) And this match is under way!
Shane is still feeling the effects of the attack by Owens earlier in the night. Owens is pissed that the Old School Empire have targeted him. It’s a standard affair for what you’re going to get out of six minutes on television, but it wouldn’t be complete without some shenanigans. Shane, being P.O.’ed about not being able to put down Owens following an Alpha Lock, rolls outside of the ring towards the end of the match and takes Troy Gilmour’s steel chair. He rolls back into the ring and the referee tries to pull it away from him. While the two of them are trying to gain control of the chair, Dustin Thomas saunters out and casually nails Owens with another steel chair while Owens is still prone. Shane shoves the referee away so he too can join in the beat down fun. Owens is getting hammered left and right by the chairs until… that’s right… the Goods run down for the save, perhaps returning the favor Owens bestowed upon them earlier in the night!
Slush and Ammo both dodge chair attacks and turn the tables on the Empire, running them off after giving them a taste of their own medicine.
Shane and Dustin flee up the ramp with a sour taste in their mouths thanks to The Goods, and Owens is helped to his feet by the Goods, only to be skeptical of their help.
(JB) Owens is skeptical of receiving help from the Goods, but by gawd did he need it.
(Tom) You notice anything peculiar about what just happened?
(JB) What Bear?
(Tom) Trevor Cunning finally made the right decision and didn’t help his partner!
(JB) Well, Cunning was absent, but as you alluded to earlier Tom, we shouldn’t assume anything.
Commercial!
Losing Grip
Cut backstage. For the third time this evening, our focus is on a shortish, baldish man with a red towel named Blake over his shoulders. He is Twitch, and he's about to get himself into trouble again.
(JB) What's he up to now?
(Tom) I don't care.
You might in a second, Bear. While his last two encounters this evening were with a manager and a guy who lost to a volleyball, Twitch has set his sights a lot higher this time. As high as it gets: He's looking for The Champ.
Thanks to our impeccable timing, he's about to find him! Twitch walks around a corner, and there stands Leonard Aarons, the Foundation Heavyweight Championship title belt draped over his shoulder.
(Twitch) Gotcha!
Aarons simply stares at Twitch. No response.
(Twitch) Twitch has a bone to pick with The Weeper!
Still nothing but a blank stare. Not that Twitch notices, or cares. He's about to rant.
(Twitch) The Weeper thinks he's all cool making up names for people... Thinks he's all original. Well Twitch has news for The Weeper. Twitch is the name-making master around here. Twitch-names are Trademarked, pal! This is classic gimmick infringement! Weeper's lucky Twitch doesn't sue!
No reaction. Aarons is simply letting Twitch go on and on. Usually by this point someone will have jumped in to stop the flow of ridiculousness. But not Aarons.
(JB) Why is the Champ taking this?
(Tom) Maybe he's learned how to tune Twitch out. I'd like to know his secret!
And since Aarons isn't stopping him, Twitch is going to keep going.
(Twitch) And another thing! Your precious "fifteen pounds" there?
Twitch reaches out and taps on the belt. Still nothing from Aarons.
(Twitch) Twitch thinks The Weeper should go ahead and get some pictures with it over the next few weeks, because come Chain Reaction that Gold's going to belong to Twitch's man, Pez!
Weeper's going to end up just like every other Champ coming out of Chain Reaction: A Loser! Then he'll really have a reason to Weep! Heck, The Weeper might as well just hand the belt over to Twitch right now and save some time!
Twitch reaches out to grab the belt. Finally, after much longer than any sane man would have tolerated Twitch's rant, Aarons reacts. Not to Twitch reaching for his Championship, or anything else in particular. It's simply the time to act. And act he does...
In a flash of movement, Aarons' right arm is up and his hand is wrapped around Twitch's throat. Aarons steps forward, forcing Twitch into the wall, then lifts Twitch a few inches off the ground, with little effort... And not a single word.
(JB) Aarons has finally snapped!
Before Twitch dies of asphyxiation - which is a distinct possibility at this point - a voice comes from off camera. The familiar voice of a man who only arrived a little while ago. The camera pulls back to bring Spaz into the shot.
(Spaz) Way to make trouble for me with the Champ, Twitch. Thanks a lot.
Twitch isn't exactly in a position to reply to his client's sarcasm at the moment. He simply groans.
(Spaz) How about letting my misguided manager go, Champ?
Aarons snaps his head around to look at Spaz. The Reaper flashes his Trillion Dollar Smirk. Keeping his eyes and smirk locked in Spaz's direction, The Champ drops the sputtering Twitch back to the ground.
Still without a word, Aarons stalks off. Spaz goes to his manager, and we go back to ringside.
(JB) This has not been Twitch's night, Bear!
(Tom) About damn time that guy got what was coming to him!
(JB) He certainly had a lot of guts to go at The Champ like that.
(Tom) He's lucky Spaz showed up when he did. I think The Reaper would have killed him without a second thought.
(JB) Aarons is definitely not the most stable individual at the moment.
Dark Statements From The Big Chair
The camera starts in blackness. There's an ambient light, just enough to throw your night vision entirely out of whack. You think you see outlines of objects; silhouettes just inside the veil of darkness. It's an eerie sensation that sends a shiver down your back. In this place, sight is not a sight; it's a luxury.
The camera adjusts momentarily and you are able to see floorboards moving through the inky black, giving the sensation of movement. You'd feel queasy from this sudden sensory input if you weren't so on edge about what is yet to come.
(???) I never meant to hurt anyone.
We've heard this electronic distortion before. It doesn't make it any less disturbing.
(???) I never meant to hurt anyone but especially her.
An upward motion of the camera and the source of the muted light is obvious. A small window with white lace curtains billowing lightly in a gentle breeze. Perpetual twilight filters through the curtains like gossamer.
(???) When she left, she took everything from me.
Next to the window stands an oversized easy chair. The color appears to be grey but it could just as easily be any color in this somber lighting. The plushness of the material is very inviting but the outline of a male figure seated in the chair offers anything but a warm reception.
He drums his fingers in a rhythmic sequence on the visible arm of the chair.
(???) Everything good. Everything decent.
The hand clenches and the drumming stops.
(???) For those about to suffer, prepare yourselves well.
The figure leans forward in the chair, illuminating his face in the eerie lighting. The mask covering the face is glittered with a unique tribal pattern adorning each eyehole. In this light, no eyes are visible inside the mask.
(???) Sorrow is upon you.
The figure stands with his back to the camera. Solemnly, he bows his head and stands perfectly still.
(???) I'm sorry.
Fade to black.
Breakthrough
Cut.
We're back in the hallways, those boring, white, messed up hallways. Rex Michaels is sitting on the floor outside his team's locker room with his head in his hands. It's a posture of shame, of defeat, of utter misery at the thought that his brilliant idea, his mediation had failed. And not only had it failed, but he, the mediator, the cool head, the pride of everyone below the Mason-Dixon had lost his cool.
He was angry with himself, with the whole business.
After a moment a pair of legs in dark blue jeans appear next to Rex. The camera pans up, revealing Ken Harris.
(Ken) Hey Rex.
Rex looks up at Ken and smiles a bit.
(Rex) Kenny – I just wanted to apologize fer that donkey show back in there. If Ah’d a known it were gonna go so badly – Ah never would’a suggested meaty-ay-shun.
(Ken) It's all right, you know? I mean that's Troy.
Ken leans against the wall and slides down next to Rex. His tone of voice, his posture, the look on Ken's face: it all mirrors that of a father whose son has screwed up and is beating himself up so much that a lecture is unnecessary.
(Ken) That kind of thing, the touchy, feely…
Ken looks at Rex who is still wallowing in a deep and powerful misery. Ken can't quite suppress the chuckle.
(Ken) I coulda warned you man.
(Rex) Ah know, Kenny – but we’re always solvin’ problems with the punchin’ and the suplexin’ and the swingin’ steel chairs and the bleedin’ and the cussin’ an’ Ah… Ah just wanted to make a difference fer once.
Ah mean – after all y’all’ve done fer good ol’ Rex – Ah owe y’all, Kenny!
(Ken) Don't worry about it.
Ken picks himself up, slowly. There's a springyness to him, a bounce, a slight confidence that wasn't there when the show started. It's as if a weight has been lifted.
(Ken) Hey listen, I got some stuff this week, but what do you say we get that beer after the next show?
(Rex) You better believe it, Kenny! Ah’m gone show you the time uh yer life!
Harris walks off frame, leaving a newly buoyant Rex behind. We cut.
Time For A New Bottle
We’re almost back to ringside, but not quite yet. We have one last stop, and that’s at the locker room of the Trust Fund Kids. Why, you might ask?
Because Keith Owens is lying face down on the floor. He’s bleeding from shards of glass from an unmistakable object that has been broken over his head:
A bottle of Jack Daniels.
Cut.
(Tom) Finally! Trevor Cunning has had enough of Keith Owens and his loserish ways!
(JB) I’m at a loss for words. Every tag team goes through their ups and their downs, but Trevor Cunning appears to have finally had enough of Owens and his new attitude.
Lorenzo Richards vs. Heatwave
No Disqualification Match
(JB) We need no reminder of how brutal Heatwave was last week. First he handcuffed Richards to the bottom rope, then he viciously broke the neck of Richards’ wife Nicole…
(Tom)… all while The Reaper was no where to be found to help his cousin!
(JB) Richards seems out for blood – but whose?
"Genesis" by Busta Rhymes hits the P.A. and that signals the arrival of Heatwave to the ringside area. The Mad Man From Miami steps out to his usual reaction of utter disgust and revile from the fans as he saunters down to the ring with his usual swagger. Halfway down the ramp though, Lorenzo Richards has enough and comes barreling out from the back with his platinum colored baseball bat in tow.
As he storms down the ramp he nails Heatwave in the back, sending Heatwave rolling the rest of the way down the ramp. At the bottom of the ramp, Richards lays into him with some big stomps as Heatwave squirms to try and get away. Richards lets him get up, but only so he can swing his bat at him better. Heatwave manages to duck away at a swing to the head. Instead, Richards hits the ring post and his bat shatters into the crowd.
(Tom) I bet the crowd wasn’t expecting to go home with any souvenirs tonight!
(JB) Heatwave was going to take home a concussion if that swing had connected!
Richards doesn’t fret over his destroyed weapon as he turns to using his pure physical strength to attack Heatwave. He grabs Heatwave by the arm and pulls him in quick with no time for a reaction and knees him several times in the ribs. Then, still holding onto Heatwave’s arm, he whips him into the steel steps. Heatwave grabs his shoulder in pain, but there’s no rest for the weary and Richards charges right away and drives his boot into that very shoulder that Heatwave was favoring.
The referee, mind you, is begging for Richards to get Heatwave into the ring so he can officially begin this match. It is No Disqualification, but you can’t just start the match anywhere. Richards has other ideas, however, and shoves the referee back. Richards rummages under the ring, but finds nothing there that suits his fancy for practically murdering Heatwave. Richards walks over to the time keeper’s table and grabs the ring bell.
For those of you keeping track at home, that’s heavy.
Richards approaches Heatwave, still writhing in pain, and the referee tries to motion for him to get in the ring. Richards’ response? Ringing the ring bell himself in the referee’s face, then turning around and hurling it at the shoulder Heatwave was favoring pinned against the steel steps!
(JB) My gawd! Richards has beat Heatwave from pillar to post and they’re not even in the ring!
(Tom) Heatwave has got to be feeling that in his shoulder right now!
(JB) That’s the price you pay for endangering and injuring another man’s wife Tom.
(Tom) If your dad ever saw the size of my trouser snake, he’d never let your mother near it again out of concern for her safety!
Heatwave is rolling around on the mat on the outside while Richards paces back and forth contemplating his next vicious move. The crowd seems to be in support of Richards, who motions for one of the fans to rise up out of his seat so he can use the chair, presumably against Heatwave. Meanwhile, Heatwave continues to roll in pain and agony and finds himself almost under the ring. The fan eventually complies and Richards folds up the chair, raises it in the air, and pounds it with his hand to the delight of the crowd. He walks over to Heatwave and drags him into the clear. As he’s bending over to drag out Heatwave by the leg, the Mad Man From Miami uses his good arm and chucks a fistful of powder into Richards’ eyes!
(JB) Richards is blinded!
Heatwave finds the strength to get back up onto his feet and he pries the steel chair out of Richard’s hands and swings with his one good arm, clocking Richards upside the head three times. Richards collapses up against the guard rail. Heatwave swings the chair again and makes a Richards Sandwich with a chair and a guardrail!
Heatwave tosses the chair into the ring and then paces around, trying to regain some semblance of normal feeling in that one shoulder that Richards began to tear into. After a few moments, Heatwave heads back to Richards and grabs Big Daddy by the hair, rolling him into the ring.
He follows in underneath the bottom rope and locates that steel chair again.
(JB) I don’t even have to say it, but this can’t be good!
He lays the chair out and pulls Richards up to his feet. Heatwave shakes off the pain in his shoulder once again, and then proceeds to set Richards up for the Black Furnace Driver – a sit-out double underhook piledriver. It takes him a moment, but he nails it, even if barely, and plants Richards head firmly into the chair.
This isn’t where Heatwave stops though. Oh no. After enjoying the raucous booing from the crowd, Heatwave grabs the steel chair once more. Richards is barely conscious due to the attacks clearly targeting his head, but this time Heatwave has a different target with the chair: Richards’ ankle. He starts by stabbing the ankle with the top of the chair repeatedly, but Richards isn’t conscious enough to even cry out in pain.
Watching this is like watching someone beat a dead horse, but that’s precisely what Heatwave wants: Richards dead. He keeps pounding away at the ankle of Richards. He pauses for a moment to grab a microphone.
(Heatwave) C’mon Aarons. Just come out here and I’ll let your cousin walk out of here on his own two feet.
There’s no response from the back.
Heatwave continues to pound away at the ankle to the amusement of only himself.
(Heatwave) Really Reaper, I’m not interested in playing any more games. I don’t care about your cousin. I didn’t care about his wife. You wanted a piece of me last week? You wanted to show me what you got? Well let’s go Reaper. Right here, right now. You just have to get your ass out here and spare your cousin.
Heatwave pounds away at the ankle some more, but again nothing.
(Heatwave) Alright then Reaper, you’ve sealed your cousin’s fate.
Heatwave opens the steel chair and folds it over the previously injured ankle of Richards. The Mad Man From Miami then ascends to the top rope. He takes an extra moment to compose his balance on the top rope, and then flies off the top, stomping the chair shut around the ankle of Lorenzo Richards, undoubtedly shattering it!
(JB) No! Heatwave does it again!
(Tom) Another life destroyed! I hope Lorenzo Richards never walks again!
(JB) That’s terrible! He won’t even know he can’t walk until he comes to! Why wouldn’t The Reaper help his cousin out for the second week in a row?
(Tom) I think you’re about to get your answer!
The Reaper emerges from the back and stands at the top of the ramp as Heatwave stands over the destroyed body of Reaper’s cousin in the ring. He stands coldly and expressionless.
(Heatwave) C’mon Aarons. I’ve destroyed your flesh and your blood. What more is it going to take to get “The Reaper” in this ring? Tell me Aarons. Do I have to light you on fire again? Come down here and suffer the same fate as poor ‘Zo!
Reaper takes one step forward on the stage, but the stops dead in his tracks. Heatwave looks confused, until Aarons flashes him a smirk.
Heatwave’s reaction is that of surprise, and the Foundation Heavyweight Champion simply turns away and walks off, leaving Heatwave speechless in the ring!
(Tom) What was that all about?
(JB) I don’t know, but clearly Heatwave understood what that smirk meant.
(Tom) There’s so many unanswered questions.
(JB) And no more time to try and answer them tonight. Be sure to join us next week as we have the Battle Royal to determine the entry order into Chain Reaction! Good night!
With the camera zooming in on Heatwave, fade out to the NAFW logo.
