Corruption and Anarchy 16.2 Voting and Promo Thread

The large hand of Antonio reaches out from underneath his bed covers and swats at his alarm clock. The beeps are replaced with music.

I see a red door and I want it painted black

There is a spring in his step as Antonio raises from his bed. He wraps a towel around his waist, wiggling his hips to the beat of the music. He leans in to kiss the beautiful young lady in the bed gently on the forehead, his recently acquired new love, Mila.

She inhales deeply at the shock of the kiss, but greets his gaze with a smile before turning and wrapping herself further into the sheets.

Black Black Black

Antonio points his finger rhythmically in perfect synchronicity with the music, letting out a toothy grin, clearly impressed with himself. He slips his feet into a pair of, what appear to be fluffy rabbit bedroom slippers. He picks up his ridiculously small alarm clock, from which the music is continuing to play, and hoists it onto his shoulder in homage to a 1980's ghetto blaster.

Towel, slippers and tiny alarm clock - Check. Antonio moves, in a walking dance sort of manner, toward the bathroom. I hope it's for a shower and not a shi...wait hoping to watch a grown man shower isn't too much better is it?

Focusing squarely on the upper body of Antonio as he enters the bathroom, he engages in a little air xylophone with his razor before beginning to shave. #Dangerous.

Somebody that I used to know.

With a freshly soft face Antonio drops to the ground in his pre-shower routine of twenty press ups and five minutes of posing in the mirror. Once this is complete he hops in to the shower, happy that he is looking excellent post shave and press ups.

The water pours out at a frantic rate and after a few seconds Antonio realizes he can no longer hear the music. He carefully opens the shower door, as to not get too much water on the bathroom floor - because there is nothing more annoying than standing in a small puddle later in the day...no one likes wet socks - and turns up the music.

We leave him here, strumming vigorously on his air guitar and thinking to himself how wonderful it would be if he could sing along.

You got to have faith, faith faith.

Meanwhile, in the bedroom, Mila is woken up by a the loud ringing of Antonio's phone.

"Why would anyone be ringing Antonio, he can't talk!?" She thinks to herself. But reaches to answer it nonetheless.

"Hello?" She asks quizzically.

"Howdy, Antonio is it? You've got a lot more feminine voice than your picture suggests." A voice from the other end replies.

"Uh, no. This is Mila, his...girlfriend. How can I help you?" She blushes as she speaks. She slowly gets out of bed and moves toward the window. She's seen this a lot on TV, so presumes it's what you do.

"Even better! I won't lie, I was very confused when you spoke. I'd been led to believe Antonio was a mute. Truth be told, I presumed he wouldn't answer his phone and I would just leave a message. Why's he even have a phone if he can't talk?" The man asked with a small degree of arrogance in his voice.

"He can text can't he? Use the internet can't he!? Take pictures can't he!? Do you only use your phone for calls Mr? Huh?" Mila responds defiantly. "What is it you want anyway? Who are you?" She continues.

"No need to get your panties in a bunch missy, you can call me the Admiral and I'm just calling to tell Antonio who is opponents are at Corruption. Now do you think you can use that big old brain of yours to memorize this for me?" His smirk is almost visible through the phone line.

"Fuck you Admiral." Mila gives the phone the middle finger and hangs up. She nods her head triumphantly and throws the phone on the bed. She reaches down to to pick up one of Antonio's large t-shirts and puts it on. Yes she has been naked this entire time. The phone rings again, same number, she picks it up with a smile. "Hello Admiral..."

"Now listen here, all I'm doing is passing on a message, there is no need to be so damned lippy with me. Got it?!" The arrogance has disappeared from his voice, and a slight element of desperation as crept in.

"Go on." Mila replies. She has now one leg crossed over the other and is filing her nails whilst awkwardly leaning her head on her shoulder, sandwiching the phone into place. She seen that on TV too.

"Alright then. Your boy is in a fatal four way. He's fighting Dazz Andrews, Stormmaster and Kraven Whiske -"

"For what title?" She interrupts.

"For no god-damned title! He's nought for two, why in the hell would he be going for a title?" This clearly isn't going how the Admiral had planned.

"Because he just should be. He's better than all of these other wrestlers put together. What about that Sharpeado guys title? Can't he go for that?" She enquires while seamlessly filing her nails.

"He has a title match already. And I don't book the matches, I just pass on the damned message." He scowls.

"So really you're just a messaging. A messaging bitch boy?" She moves her head away from the phone to allow herself to chuckle.

"Now you listen here, I'll say this only once. If there's any more lip like that from you Ms, it's going to cost you!" Said the Admiral, with a modicum of confidence in his voice.

"I doubt it Admiral. In fact, I think I might just have to tell Antonio about this little threat. And you know how he deals with threats to the ones he loves?" She snarls down the phone. "He kills them."

"Whoa there young lady...now you know I was only joking...I...uh...I thought Antonio had put all that behind him?" The Admiral was stumbling over his words, clearly Mila's reply threw him.

"Oh he think's he has. But a leopard never changes his spots. Deep down he wants to be this good, happy go lucky, beacon of positivity. But one click of my fingers...BOOM. You're dead." Now finished filing her nails, she moves the phone away from her mouth and chuckles some more. Her shoulders bouncing with laughter.

"What sort of crazy bitch are you!? How did you even meet?"

"I'm his linguist..."

"You know that's awfully close to gimmick infringement"

"Linguistic therapist. And don't interrupt me again Admiral or it'll be the last thing you do."

"Sorry, I thought you were done...sorry...go on." He mumbles.

"I'm going to get Antonio back his voice. There's surgery now you know. All we need is a suitable donor tongue...you're quite the talker. Maybe you would do?" She moves the phone away again, unable to control her laughter.

"WHAT!?" The fear in the Admiral's voice was clear. "But I need my tongue."

"We'll take that into consideration. Thanks for the call Admiral, it was a pleasure." Before he even has the chance to reply she hangs up. Lying back on the bed, sinking into the quilt and rolling herself into it once more.

Karma Police, arrest this man.

Back in the bathroom, the half clothed Antonio mines emotionally into a hairbrush - He's bald. He drops to his knee theatrically as the song continues, thinking to himself he could probably make it as an actor if this wrestling business doesn't work out.

The song wraps up and Antonio flicks off his little music box. "Enough interpretive dance for today" he says inside his head. He makes his way back to the bedroom and gazes down on the beautiful Mila for a few moments.

"She definitely didn't have that T-shirt on when I left...man she's hot...but that T-shirt? What has she been at...wow...that smile...that ass. My phone, I didn't leave it there...Oh...I am going to do ungodly things to you." Antonio's mixed train of thought ends in him jumping back into bed with a grin measuring approximately ear to ear.

Spy on me baby, use satellite.

Fade in

Brooks: Can I haz belt now?



Fade out

As the scene fades out we hear a man yelling from a distance and the scene fades back in to the backstage area of the Bankers Life Fieldhouse arena in Indianapolis, Indiana.

Man: Excuse me!

Brooks turns around.

Man: My name is Alexander Dukov and I am the legal representative of Johnathan King.

Brooks: Ok and?

Dukov: I'm here to advise you that if you do not alter your promo, you will be charged with gimmick infringement for writing a shitty promo such as the above.

Brooks: Are you serious?

Dukov: This is a very serious matter.

Brooks: Ah alright, last thing I need right now are legal issues.

Dukov: Good day.

Dukov walks away.

Brooks:(while looking at camera) Alright guess I actually gotta try putting together a good promo for this. Here we go…What is a win? It’s been so long since I’ve had one I’m starting to forget the very meaning of the word. Lulz. Webster’s Dictionary has a shit ton of definitions of the word of which I haven’t experienced in a while. I ain’t complaining though, the only reason I’m wrestling is cause I love it and I want to entertain the fans.

Brooks takes his phone out of his pocket and start playing Metalingus by Alterbridge.

I've been defeated and brought down
Dropped to my knees when hope ran out
The time has come to change my ways

Brooks: Ever since I got here it seems that I just can’t seem to get a win. I’ll work my ass off for it and either its some bullshit shenanigans with Bryson and the YNG, my partner completely sucking ass or me just not being able to get the job done.

On this day I see clearly everything has come to life
A bitter place and a broken dream
And we'll leave it all, leave it all behind

Brooks: When I got to the arena and saw that I had a chance at the tag titles it’s like life in FMW just got a whole brand new meaning for me. The past is the past …

I'll never long for what might have been
Regret won't waste my life again
I won't look back
I'll fight to remain

Brooks: but today signals the beginning of a new era. A winning era. I’m thankful for the chance and I hope Damien and Nicholas are watching this right now. I’m coming out to that ring and giving it all I got no matter the case.

On this day I see clearly everything has come to life
A bitter place and a broken dream
And we'll leave it all, leave it all behind

Brooks: I got my good bud Morpheus from LPW over here now so you can bet there won’t be any YNG bullshit. My partner? shrugs I don’t really care. I’ll fight the tag champs myself if I have to.

On this day its so real to me
Everything has come to life
Another chance to chase a dream
Another chance to feel
Chance to feel alive

Brooks starts to crack and roll his wrists to loosen them up before the match later on.

Fear will kill me, all I could be
Lift these sorrows
Let me breathe, could you set me free
Could you set me free

Brooks: Nicholas Gray. Damien Inferno. Time to play the game.

On this day I see clearly everything has come to life
A bitter place and a broken dream
And we'll leave it all behind
On this day its so real to me
Everything has come to life
Another chance to chase a dream
Another chance to feel
Chance to feel alive

Fade out

The scene opens inside a local Austin, Texas gym. The place is empty except for Damien, pounding away at a sandbag hanging low from the ceiling. Clad in a pair of wrestling boots, shorts and a wife-beater, all in black, with his long hair pulled into a pony tail, he feels his pent up aggression flow through his fists and into the bag with each blow landed. Music pulsates in his ears from the ear-buds plugged in to the phone attached to his arm.

Suddenly, the music stops and the phone begins vibrating rhythmically, signalling a call coming in. He squeezes a button on the wire of his ear buds to answer.

"Yeah," he grunts, continuing his assault on the sand bag.

"Damien," the voice on the other end acknowledges. "It's Nick. You busy?"

"Not really. What's up?"

"You read your emails today?"

"No. Why?"

"Well, I've got good news and bad news. Which do you want first?"

"The good news."

"Okay. We're defending the tag belts against Paul Brooks and Callum Pullin."

"Oh fuckin' joy," Damien snorts. "More jobbers. Gods damn Devereaux and-"

"Not Devereaux," Nick interrupts. "That's the bad news. We're defending the belts on Anarchy."

"What," Damien yells, as he lands another blow on the sand bag.

Suddenly, the air fills with the smell of burning leather. Damien looks down at his hand to find it smoldering in flames, the glove he'd been wearing all but burned away. The flames dying down, he looks up at the sand bag to find a hole burned into it, sand leaking out.

"Fuck," Damien sighs.

"Damien," Gray enquires, a hint of concern in his voice. "What's going on?"

"Nothin'," Damien answers, taking the burned glove off and tossing it aside. "Just bruised my knuckles a bit."

"Alright. Anyway, we'll need to be careful. Knowing Bryson, he'll try to pull something."

"No doubt. That conniving bastard needs a kick in the ass. Morpheus had the right idea."

"Yeah. See you in Indiana."

"See ya."

Damien presses the button on his ear buds again, ending the call and causing his music to start again. He walks over to a bench, takes a pair of one hundred pound weights, and puts them on the bar. Then, he lays upon the bench, plants his feet, and grabs ahold of the bar. As he lifts it, almost effortlessly, he begins speaking, lowering and lifting the bar.

"Sort of a weak switch for me, eh? I mean, you'll see me lifting opponents over my head easily in the ring, and I decide to press two hundred pounds in a work out. Why? Is it laziness? Am I tired?

"No. It's one simple thing. Complacence. FMW has no more good tag teams to throw at me n' Gray. Neither if us has to push ourselves in our title defenses anymore. Even GSW was better than this. Dazz Andrews and Christopher Luck? Now, Paul Brooks and Callum Pullin? Where's the challenge? That's the whole point of being a champion. Proving yourself to be better than others at what you do by defending your title.

"Defending against a bunch of jobbers proves nothing. I mean, we're supposed to be the greatest tag team in Full Metal Wrestling history. Longest Tag Team Championship reign and most defenses, along with being the 2011 Tag Team of the Year. Hell! We beat MASS Caesar and Harlequin, two guys everyone thought would be unbeatable as a unit, in their first title defense. And now look at us. Jobbers, jobbers everywhere and no true challenges to be see-"

Suddenly, cutting off our hero mid-rant, a large, hulking figure appears above him, grabs hold of the bar and begins pushing it down upon the giant of a wrestler.

"You talk to much," the beast growls, its voice guttural and cold. "I will put an end to this."

Damien studies the demon while struggling to hold up the bar. Well over seven feet in height, flesh colored a dull, tarnished obsidian, and large curled horns on either side of its head. Effortlessly, it pushes the bar toward Damien's throat, smiling sadistically at the impending kill.

"Thus ends the life of Damien Inferno. Good riddance."

So, this is it, Damien thinks as the bar nears his throat. This is how things end for me.

Straining in vain to push the bar up and away, Damien closes his eyes. As it begins to push against his Adam's apple, his eyes snap back open, now a deep black. The demon's orange, goat-like eyes widen in shock as Damien finds the strength to overpower the monstrosity and toss it and the barbell away.

Damien stands and faces the now grounded demon, a new power awakened within him.

"Quite foolish, demon," he growls in a voice not quite his own. "You presume to blindside a sineater, an entity higher in the hierarchy of Hell than you could dream of being."

Damien reaches out his left hand, palm forward and fingers spread, smiling maliciously at the demon.

"Enjoy the Lake of Fire, fool, as you burn with the sinners. And tell Joseph hello when I send him down."

"No mortal sent me after you, Sineater," the demon remarks with a smile. "My master will destroy you and every thing you hold dear, you pathetic piece of-"

Damien snaps his fingers, and the demon disappears with a scream of agony and a puff of flames. Damien's eyes return to normal as his head begins to spin mildly. When his equilibrium returns, he sits on the bench, breathing heavily.

"Well," he breathes, "that's new."

He pulls out his phone phone, sorts through the contacts, and then clicks on one, initiating a call.

"Yeah, boss," comes the voice on the other end.

"Dan," Damien says, "I'm gonna need you to come in extra early. Replace a barbell and a sand bag, and get rid of tonight's security tapes. Utmost discretion."

"No problem. Weird shit again?"

"Weirder."

"Geez," says Dan with a chuckle, and then he hangs up.

Damien returns his phone to his pocket and takes one final look around the gym. Then, he walks to the door, grabs a long sleeve shirt and a pair of loose-fitting pants off of a rack set up next to it. After putting them on and retrieving an extra glove from his pocket, Damien sets out for home, exhausted after this ordeal.

* * *

There are few modern towns in this or any world so devoid of life as Innsmouth, Massachusettes. It was once a vibrant and prosperous place; one of the biggest fishing ports in New England. In spite of the long string of mysterious deaths in the town, business was plentiful and the locals were wealthy.

Then, Obed Marsh, the head of the local fishing company, along with several others, was arrested. The deaths stopped for a time. They resumed years later. The Federal authorities, for some reason, suspected the inhabitants of bootlegging, but found many worse crimes. Much of the population disappeared, and now it sits upon the coast, dark and rotting.

Damien and his accomplice, Jack Eastwood, flit between buildings, trying to keep out of sight. True, there are no human eyes that might catch them, but there are worse things in this universe to be wary of.

"Judas Priest is possibly one of the greatest metal bands ever," Damien says to Jack in the safety of an alley. "Without them, bands like System of a Down wouldn't fuckin' exist."

"Oh, cut that shite," replies Jack. "Those old farts can't hold a candle to Serj's brilliant songwriting and singing."

"Bullshit. Put Daron Malakian on Psycho next to K.K. Downing on Metal Meltdown, and we'll see who's better."

"Metal Meltdown? Are you fucking retarded? That's probably the most generic bullshit song I've ever heard. Psycho, alright. Granted, it's not their best song. But what about Chop Suey? BYOB? Fucking Soldier Side, man. These are the songs that they'll be playing in twenty years. Not your Judas Priest shite!"

"Yeah, because System ISN'T generic bullshit. Give me a break. Screaming For Vengeance knocks all of those songs out of the fuckin' park. Period."

Jack, somewhat perturbed by Damien's old-school metal leanings, responds by pulling out his pressing play. BYOB starts to blare through its tiny speakers, and Jack turns the volume up all the way.

"So much for trying to be covert," Damien sighs.

As Jack smirks at Damien's annoyed look, a strange creature enters the alley, attracted by the music. Mostly humanoid in shape, it has a face more on the canine side of things, complete with pointed ears and a flat noise. Its eyes are red and bloodshot, it stands over seven feet tall, hunched over, its back deformed with an off-center hump. Its hands bore long talons on each over-sized finger.

"You fuckin'moron," Damien shouts at Jack.

"What," he replies, and points at the mostrosity. "He's clearly a fan."

Suddenly, the beast roars and charges Jack, claws ready to tear him to pieces.

"Apparently not, fucktard," Damien yells as he produces a pair of wakizashis from inside his jacket.

As the ghoul charges past him toward Jack, Damien strikes out with both blades, slicing shallowly across its belly. It groans in pain and turns toward the wizard, breathing heavily. It lurches forward, trying to get its claws onto Damien. At the last second, Damien sidesteps and shoves a wakizashi into the ghoul's back where it is unable to reach it.

"Got a plan here, oh fearless leader," Jack asks sarcastically, his steel chain already in hand.

"I'm thinkin'," Damien replies. "Alright. Jump on its back and strangle it with your chain."

"Are you fucking mental," Jack asks, fixing Damien with a glare.

"First, do you really want that question answered?"

". . . Honestly, no."

"Second, you're an immortal, fucker. What do you gotta worry about?"

"It still hurts when you die! In favt, I'd say it's something I go out of my way to avoid!"

"It's fuckin' hunchbacked! It wouldn't be able to reach you!"

"Oh, so now you point out he's disabled. Smoothe move, nobhea-"

Jack is interrupted by the ghoul, who tries to blindside him, only for Damien to push him out of the way at the last moment, taking a pair of long cuts on his arm in the process.

"Fuck," he yells, the pain worse than normal. "Keep arguing. That'll surely help take it down!"

Not waiting for a response, Damien bicycle kicks the monster in the gut, bending it over, and starts swiping at its face with his remaining blade.

"Oh, for fuck's sake," groans Jack before he gets involved.

Jack takes his chain and wraps it tight around the creature's leg, trying to pull it down. Before the monster can turn its attention to Jack, Damien stabs it in the other leg, allowing Jack to bring it to the ground. Without pause, Jack takes the chain, wraps it around his fist and starts punching the ghoul in the face. As it's canine features become further deformed, it screams in agony, trying in vain to guard itself against the assault. Damien takes his blade and shoves it into the ghoul's throat, silencing its cries. Jack ceases his assault as the beast begins drowning in its own blood.

"What did you do that for," Jack asks.

"You want it attracting more of those ugly bastards?"

"Well, no. But you denied it the chance to tell us it was a System fan!"

"Moron," Damien sighs, shaking his head. "Let's get outta here before more show up."

* * *

As the duo approach Robert's mansion, the pain in the cuts on Damien's forearm begins to spread through his arm. He leans against a nearby tree, holding his arm as sweat begins to pour down his face.

"What's the problem," Jack asks. "The mansion's not much farther. You can rest there."

"I don't know," says Damien, breathing heavily. "My entire left side hurts, man. These god damn cuts-"

"Even more reason to get back to the house. Come on!"

Damien slides down the tree into a sitting position, shaking uncontrollably.

"Oh, fucking hell," sighs Jack.

Jack walks over, slings Damien's uninjured arm over his neck and picks him up.

"Help me out here," Jack grunts. " At least try to walk a little, jackass. And lay off the fucking chili dogs."

* * *

Robert opens the door to find Jack dragging Damien's lump form up the mansion's front steps. He rushes down to help, putting Damien's injured arm over his shoulder, eliciting a groan of pain.

The bring him onto the house and lay him on a couch. Robert rolls up Danien's ripped sleeve to reveal the parallel cuts on his arm. They have already begun to turn black.

"What did this," Robert asks.

"A hunch-backed, dog-faced bastard," Jack explains. "Damn near bigger than me and Damien put together."

"Shite. A ghoul."

"I thought ghouls were some kind of Arabian undead that ate corpses."

"Not according to Lovecraft," he explains, pulling open a drawer next to the couch. "Hold him still. This is gonna hurt like hell."

As Jack takes hold of Damien's shoulders to keep him steady, Robert pulls a small bottle out of the drawer and opens it.

"This potion'll kill the infection in seconds, but he's gonna thrash around the whole time. So do your best."

Robert empties the bottle onto the cuts. Immediately, Damien's eyes snap open and he yells in pain. Jack holds him as still as he can manage, Robert holds Damien's arm steady. Robert retrieves a handkerchief from his pocket as a black liquid begins to ooze out of the cuts, puts it over the muck and wipes it away. Damien settles down and lays back on the couch.

"Well, that sucked," he says, wiping some sweat from his forehead.

"Ghouls are some nasty buggers," says Robert. "Their claws are covered with a highly toxic bacteria. It only has to cut you once, then it'll track you for as long as it takes."

"Like komodo dragons," adds Damien.

"See something about that on the Discovery channel," asks Jack.

"True Blood."

"How can you watch that bullshit?"

"It's better than Being Human."

"Hey, fuck you!"

Robert merely shakes his head at them.

"You are both idiots."

"So," Jack begins, "When are we getting back home?"

"We're already back," replies Robert. "As soon as we got Damien inside, I brought us back."

"I didn't feel any turbulence. The universes are getting closer together."

"Aren't you supposed to be on top of that," Damien asks with a hint of sarcasm.

"Yeah. When I'm not doing your worthless arse favors."

Damien, in response, merely flips Jack off. He notices the pain is completely gone. He looks down to find the wound totally healed.

"I love magic."

Robert sits down in a chair near the couch.

"What did we learn?"

"Looks like Robert has at least some ghouls in his thrall. Who knows what else."

"Shite. Anything else?"

"Yeah. Jack has shitty taste in music."

"You pushed me out of the way of that thing's attack," says Jack, ignoring the jab. "Why?"

"That's what I do, Jack," Damien replies. "I help others. It's second nature to me. After the things I've done in the past, it's all I can do to make things right."

"But, I'm immortal. You could have just let me take the hit and saved yourself the pain."

"Never occured to me, Jack. When one of my friends is in danger, if I have the power to prevent it, I do it. Period."

"So we're friends, then?"

Damien closes his eyes and ignores Jack.

"How sweet," Jack says sarcastically. "Wanna hang out at my place later and play with my x-box?"

Damien swings his fist out and connects with Jack's stomach, just hard enough to be annoying. Jack laughs.

"Whatever. I suppose it's better than being on your bad side. That was one hell of a headache."

"That's the point. Me n' Gray are the champs for a reason. Can't be takin' it easy on ya because we're friends."

"True enough."

"Yeah. Now if they'd just quit booking us against jobbers!"

Dazz Andrews FMW Promo 3: Who needs Education?

Dazz: Green
School Teachers: Yellow
Lily Andrews: Brown

*We notice nothing immediately, except Dazz sat in a chair watching a TV that isn’t on. The room itself is small and square with nothing much else in it but a stack of about 120 Combat Sports DVD’s. He slides out the third one from the top, on closer inspection we found out it is The Judgement Day 2008 Pay-Per-View event by WWE. Dazz enters it in to the top of the telly. We hear, but don’t see the first moments of it, as the man with the low voice promotes the fall of The Age of Orton. Dazz grabs the remote and switches it off, then stands to face the camera.*

Not watching that. Awful Event anyway. Feel sorry for the poor people that paid to see that. Then again, I feel sorry for the poor people that have paid to watch me in my last two matches. I have been a joke. I can explain. First one, well, that was the anniversary of my college drop out. I had my mind on other things. My Dad was taken into hospital, and there were numerous other things. I still had a second chance, a shot at the tag team gold, but with a partner like that, why should I put the effort in? Still, the resurgence begins here. I have momentum. Our Football clubs firm has just done over another clubs, and I took 3 guys on at once and had all of them.

*Dazz pauses, he seems to be regretting something.*

Look, anybody looking at this would think I’ve been like this all my life. Drinking, Smoking, Beating people up and being disorderly. It wasn’t like that when I was at school, even if you think it.

*Several teachers fade in and out.*

“Wow, Dazz excellent!"

“The top scorer for the under 15’s, Dazz Andrews”!

“You’ve done well, I’m grading this a B”!

“If you keep this up, you will get a high standard of GCSE”.

Yeah, that was it. Not right at the top, but well enough to do good in life. I remember what my Mam used to say when I did well.

“Mr Carter called today to say how well you are doing, I’m so proud.”

“Extra chips for you tonight Dazz my clever little boy.”

“Well, now you’ve got a B, I guess I better let you go to the Pools match.”

“Stay out an extra half hour Dazz, you’ve earned it.”

Briggy and Johnboy were the same, it was great. I was thinking at the time that this would shape my life. Now I just think who needs Education? At school, We were all Prefects, and doing Ok. Then, just before Year 11 started in the summer holidays, we applied, and received a Sunday job. It was great; we worked from 8am to 5pm every Sunday in KFC. £1.60 return on the train, and we’d come away with £40 and a free KFC meal. That sparked a problem, what were we to do with it? We decided to set up our own business. We’d buy loads of random stuff and sell it on, and then we had an offer. An offer that we couldn’t refuse. Some legit Call of Duty games, the first Modern Warfare to be precise. We were offered 100 games for one thousand pounds. This was unbelievable, but there was one problem. The dealer at the time said all or none. We pooled together our resources, and it came to £400. He could wait one week. We only had one option to do this. If all 3 of us worked 5 days in KFC, we would gain the exact £600 required to make up to the thousand. So we did. Well, the games are another story, but then it struck me. If I want some money to get more deals like the games one, why don’t I skip school now and then work? So I did. Looking back it seems like a stupid decision. All I would spend my money on is going to Hartlepool away games, and cans of lager and cigarettes. Thinking about it though, my parents didn’t have much money; we wouldn’t have been living in Port if they had. My skiving got out of control. The odd day a week in November turned into 4 days a Week in March. Teachers went on about this, they spotted a difference.

“This is a Grade E, you’ve dropped 3 grades, why”?

“Oh, nice to see you Dazz, haven’t seen you in 3 days”.

“What is up with you, you’re never here anymore”?

“Your GCSE Examinations are 2 months away, buckle up”!

My Mam spotted it, and it upset her.

“Days attended 100/180, unauthorized absences 73, what’s this all about?”

“An E, but your last was a B?”

“That’s it, you’re revising, no going out for you.”

“If you think you’re going to that match, you have got another thing coming young man.”

So I just thought sack it. What’s the point? Dropped out of school and signed some form with a forged signature on it. Started training, and well here I am. One of my jobs I wanted to do was a Lawyer, that was my dream job, but my ultimate job that I’d love to do was a Wrestler. I got laughed at when I was at school, but who is laughing now? That’s right. Me. So I pose you the question again. Who needs education? I didn’t grasp it, and now I’m facing some of the world’s greatest athletes. When I say greatest, of course they are not better than me. And that’s what I’ll prove on my new home, Corruption, which is where I’m going now.

*Briggy and Johnboy walk in, Briggy holding 4 cans of Carlsberg, Johnboy bringing a suitcase in. Briggy gives 2 cans to Dazz and 1 to Johnboy, keeping one for his self.*

So, Kraven, STORMASTER and Antonio I decimate all three of you in this match, because I’m Dazz Andrews and I do what I want.

*Dazz cracks open one of his cans, he then tears up a photo of Whiskeyjack, before pouring some Carlsberg on it, before doing the same for Antonio and STORMASTER. He drains the little bit left in that can, before opening his second, and Dazz, Briggy and Johnboy bump their cans together before draining them.*

Canberra, Australia
03/11/2004
"They Told Me I Would Rule The World."



To me, Canberra was a sleeping city - and I could see no reason to set an alarm.



Not a day had gone by that I hadn't seen Matilda cry over the death of our Mother and Brother, her face buried into the now permanently tear-stained and thin pillows the Orphanage provided for us. As a socially awkward fourteen year old boy, I didn't know whether to comfort her or not, even though she was my sister.

Since the day we both realised we were the only two free and living members of our family left, we had been inseperable. Those days in the Orphanage, a grisly, god forsaken place, taught me the true meaning of 'blood is thicker than water,' a motto that I live by to this day. Answer me this - who needs friends or allies when you have family that can act as both?



However, as any kid will know, you simply can't get through your High School years without attempting to make even a few friends - no matter how antique and cheap my school was, and despite Matilda's best efforts to steer me away from them, I found myself falling in with the wrong crowd far too quickly.



I like to think it was something far deeper than my desire to lead a popular and well-rounded life that drew me to them. In my head, I tell myself it was the smell - the smell that circulated throughout my childhood, that sickly, distinctive tang that nestled in the air and up your nostrils. Those lads most definitely smelled of my Father's special powder.



Like many winter days in Canberra, the weather was delightful. The evening sun was dimming into the horizon, and our little gang sat in a discreet warehouse, dressed in T-shirts and flat peaks, a single crate of beer tucked in between my legs. The world smelled of my teenage years... Barbeque smoke, Cigarette smoke, Body Odour 'smoke' - but I loved it. I was in a good place, bearing in mind that eight years ago my Father had been sentenced to life and both my Mother and Brother had been shot dead through the heart. 'You did good, kid, you did good.' I could just hear my Brother saying it in my head.



"Chuck us another, Blake."



Several accented tongues mumbled their agreement, and I handed out the third round of drinks, neglecting to take one myself. I had learnt from my mistakes the hard way when it came to going home drunk and after curfew at the orphanage. My ass hasn't been the same since.



"Not drinking, Blake?" Drew, second-in-command, laughed at me.



"Not tonight."



"Pussy."



Peer pressure was a dreadful thing, and as such a weak teen, I had little defence against it. I found myself rapidly reaching for another bottle as the group burst into appreciative laughter around me. I was the whipping boy.

It's a problem many kids go through - especially a kid like I was, unstable as fuck. Don't judge me.


It didn't really take very long until I started doing weed, and getting out of it drunk at least twice a week. I was 14, respected and seen by many outside the little gang as hard as nails.


But when it comes to peer pressure, it's never a small thing. It stretches, and the victim weakens and weakens until they eventually give in - often just to shut them up.

'Go on Blake, just one little puff mate.'


'No.'


'Do it you pussy.'


'No.'


'Dooo it, doooo it.'


'Fucks sake.'


Oh, the high was fucking incredible don't get me wrong - but for some reason parades can never seem to pass without being rained on.



'Bollocks lads.' My heart skipped a beat. I can remember it vividly - a kid in the wrong will never enjoy the sound of police sirens, but this was different: we could see the cop's face.


Special Constable Martins, an absolutely stacked officer, had a reputation around town. Whenever he found kids in the wrong, but not wrong enough to send them down, he'd administer a good, hard beating.


I was young, free and high.



'Come on Martins you prick!' I screamed, my pubescent voice cracking on the curse word and giving away our hiding place.


'Blake, you twat.'


There was a scuffle and the patter of feet on soil as the gang emerged from the bushes, a trail of smoke and weed-scented air following them. I giggled to myself, and pattered after them, at nowhere near the pace I should have been.




Smack.

***

'Code 66 is nearly complete, my lord.'




Blake pressed a finger to his lips, indicating that his companions should be silent.

The four had their backs to a large metallic structure, alight with levers, nozzles and lights - not to mention small screens which showed footage of their various Jedi colleagues around the worlds, meeting their ends, and the sight nearly brought tears to Blake's eyes.


Bobino, on the other hand, could not stop the tears, and Brooks was only just able to console the man quick enough to prevent a great, wracking sob.


'This is it, Lord Bryson. The Jedi are done - we are their new Gods.' A muttering of approval followed the voice of David Smith.


'Hush.'


Bryson had a croaky tone. He almost sounded like he'd been heavily smoking for the past fifty years of his life, but in actual fact his voice was so due to his near-arrest recently, during which he had brutally killed several Jedi and turned away from the senate, declaring himself dictator and chancellor.


'My Lord?'




'I can sense them.'



'Here? Now?'


Bobino couldn't contain himself anymore. With an ear-splitting screech, he leapt into the air, his lightsaber illuminating the dimly light pod.

But Johanssen was equal to the task, and as quickly as he had risen, Bobino came crashing backdown.


'Fucksake Butters,' hissed Vendetta and Callum Pullin in unison, before getting to their feet.


'You know,' grinned Matt Ashburn, with malicious intent, twirling his weapon around in circles, 'there really isn't much point putting up a fight.'


Vendetta rushed in, a yell which he hoped to God carried some sort of viciously intimidating power - but Bryson was there, and he hooked an arm around Vendetta's leg before bringing him crashing to the floor.


But the scene had changed - a new area swimming into view as Blake hit the ground, and now he was running - Paul Brooks by his side as they raced through woodland, an incredibly bright ball of flame inexplicably charging after him.

As they ran, a cannon boomed thrice, and Brooks uttered, 'three dead,' in a shallow voice - completely out of breath but unable to stop running.


Blake whipped his head around, looking for their pursuers but unable to locate them. No flick of blonde hair or any sign of a tall, built man chasing after them.




Bam.




He hit the ground, the shock of the blow dropping him into near unconsciousness almost immediately, and it was only after Brooks voice screeched 'BLAKE.' A reluctant sign of concern, that Blake saw the blurry face of Claudius Templeman swimming in the night sky.


'Good luck, and may the odds be ever in your favour.'


Blake awoke in his bed, his arm aching angrily. The room was bright, but he recognised it as his Father's. He was safe, home in Maycomb.


The voice of Atticus Finch drove home into his mind. 'Thank you Doctor. Scout honey, could you take Mr Radley home? I need to talk to Heck.'


'Of course, Atticus. Come on Boo.'


Blake groggily looked up, lifting his neck ever so slightly to observe the figure of Boo Radley, a man who he felt he'd been looking for his whole life.


But instead of Boo, he saw a slightly more familiar figure.




Morpheus had indeed saved himself, Brooks and Bobino from what could have been an embarrassing fate - and Blake felt he owed both Morpheus, and the FMW, a debt.

***

03/11/1998
Canberra, Australia
"Is This What Family Is For?"





Even at his last, he still smelt of that sickly powder he always had. My father, the cocaine king of Australia and perhaps the world - weakened incredibly in my eyes by the state (jail) he was in. For the first time in my so far relatively short life I began to question everything my father had told me. How could you trust a villain sent down?

My sister, Matilda and I nonetheless had tears in our eyes, and I could see that unlike me Matilda still had unwavering faith in our Father, sure that somehow he would get out of this and we'd be outside in the yard tonight dining like kings. Oh, how I wished I could have been like her - so sure of the future, even at the stage we were.

'Five minutes,' mumbled the guard, giving my Father a light shove before leaving the room. It was no secret that the guards here were rough and unrelenting, unfair and violent. I didn't stop and think about it, but it was almost definitely something to do with boredom. Who want ever treat my Father so if it wasn't?!

'Kids..' he began, before tailing off as Matilda leapt at him, burying her face in his thin shirt and inhaling his scent, for the last time in who knows how long.

They stayed there for about a minute of our precious time, my Father occasionally glancing at me - reproachful and hurt, I think, that I hadn't joined in the moment. I don't know, maybe it's something about hearing the gunfire that kills your Mother that twists the heart and fibre of a guy.

'Kids..' he continued at last, still clutching Matilda, and reaching out to take my hand. 'You have to look after each other now. When you're sixteen Matilda, you'll be able to get into my trust fund. You'll never have to work!' He said it to liven us up, but the way his voice cracked just made the whole sage even more emotional for Matilda, who broke into a fresh wave of sobs. But I felt better for it - the fact that my Father was still with us, helping in at least one little way reassured me to no end.

He lifted his fist to me - 'Bump it.' My Father grinned, and I obliged, our last contact before the door was flung open and I wondered where our five minutes had gone. Glancing up at the clock, I realized they'd only given us three.. the bastards.

'Time's up, move along.'

'Please.' Only when I heard Matilda's squeak, did I understand exactly how hard this would be for her.

'No sob stories, kids. Your Daddy's a bad man, and I think it's time you left. Believe me - you're better off without him.'

***

05/28/2012
Indianopolis, Indiana
"I don't think you can possibly understand, Helena."



"I think you should go see him.'


Helena Barakat, my therapist, had given me several long moments to mull over and reflect on my thoughts after telling her that story. As grateful as I was to her for those moments, that was soon swept away at that idea.


'Fuck off.'

'Honestly, Blake. It'll do you good, the chance to get some stability back into your life - you aren't an orphan, you know, you have a family.' She placed what was meant to be a friendly hand on my forearm, but I shrugged it away quickly. It was something about this room, a room that was supposed to be calming and therapeutic, that set me on edge. Huge windows, lots of open space, white walls. It was too.. too clean. Too open.

'I don't need stability. I've got by fine with just Matilda.'


'You have a good, LOVING famil-'


'Loving family?! Really loving thing to do, leaving my sister and I to rot, wasn't it. He lied to us, Doc.'


'You were young, you think you could have understood that your Father was an underworld drug lord?'



'I could have tried.'


'You of all people should understand how hard it is to tell people things. You're finding it overly difficult here, and I'm your bloody therapist.'

There was a pause in the conversation, one of many breaks that often occured. 'What if I did see him then? What if, and he didn't want me? You'd feel great then wouldn't you.'


'I honestly wouldn't care. I'd have done my job.'


For some incomprehensible reason, her blunt outburst calmed me, relaxed me. I waved away her rapid apology, placing two forefingers on my temples and massaging them deeply.


'Listen, what have you got to lose? If you speak to him it could be brilliant, you'll have the Father that you love back. If it's not brilliant, what's the worst that could happen? You'll have to continue on your own again. Like you said, you've been getting by fine like that for the majority of your life, and at least you have FMW to go to now, to vent and do something with yourself. Go on Blake, you won't regret it, I promise.'

'I can't believe I've let you talk me into this.'

***

I think I've been here long enough to get how things work. Right. Group of nice kids puts up a fight against monster group of bad boys. Bad boys beat them shitless for what feels like an eternity, until one man comes in and absolutely batters the monster group and steals some crazy limelight. But no, I honestly don't think FMW is like that.


You know why I think that? Because the man hasn't been given the limelight. This week, Bobino - The wrestling worlds equivalent of Tenacious D (Bit of a joke, but somehow great,) and Paul Brooks have got a chance to steal Gray Inferno's crown - something that seems to have become impossible over recent weeks. At least where The Pack are concerned, but we don't talk about them.


Then me. And Goldilocks.


I think it's safe to say I've got YNG's attention. I wouldn't yet go so far as to say I have their reluctant respect, but I'm sure that will change this week.


They can't ignore me now - because last week, despite taking a loss, Butters and I took it to them tooth and nail, and damn near won it. Two men that have billed as the next two greatest superstars of the company, backed by dirty cheats that employed their filthy tactics to a great extent, very nearly fell to us last week.


But you want to know why I'm almost sure I'm not the underdog about to be crushed?

Whilst David is a great wrestler,it's certain that he's become far too dependant on YNG and their help recently. Understandaby, we all would if we were in his position. But while Mark, Matt and Bry-Bry pose a very dangerous threat to my title challenge, Callum, Brooks and Butters counteract that perfectly, and I'm certain that even if they aren't at ringside to help me clinch my first title, they WILL be there to stop YNG preventing me.

Oh, yeah.

I forgot that we actually outnumber YNG now.

Cheers, Morphy baby.

We'll bring an arsenal and all that.

Good luck, golden boy.

Butters, when will you learn?

The fact is Your New Gods are on another level, one you cannot hope to compete on. Time and time again, we have left you broken and bloody, begging for mercy like a helpless emasculated little bitch. Since Anarchy's rebirth, you have spent more time staring at the arena ceiling than on your feet. Hell, even more time than Blake Vendetta spends on his knees. Yeah, I've heard the rumors, and you're making it pretty bait with that "Morphy baby" shit. I hope the Dream King slaps you up your head for that one, you little faggot.

See, Your New Gods are of the highest caliber imaginable. The likes of Paul Brooks and friends should really just pack it in and walk away, because every single time they show their ugly faces on Anarchy, Your New Gods makes a mockery out of every bullshit claim that comes out their dick-sucking lips. You clowns need to stop making empty promises. Nobody believes you anymore. Nobody takes any of you seriously.

Yes, that includes you too, Butters. You're just as pathetic as the rest of your little jobber crew. Instead of trying to play the hero and stand up the big bad oppressive regime, why didn't you just accept your place? Lets face it, you're probably the best of a bad bunch. You're the most experienced - and dare I say it - respected of your gang of hopeless rejects. If you weren't so fucking retarded and stopped trying to stand up to your obvious superiors, maybe you could have a solid career as the resident curtain jerker on Anarchy. Maybe.

But it's too late now. You've pushed our buttons for the last time. I'm done wasting my time putting you to sleep in tag team matches. The time has come for me to END this farce once and for all. It's gone on long enough. You've been allowed to walk around freely backstage and spew your slick shit in interviews about how YNG isn't fair and some other tedious trash - but not anymore. You won't be walking anywhere and you won't be saying anything, because I'm ensuring your next six months are spent lifeless in a coma.

Time to learn your lesson the hard way...

Matt Ashburn ain't nothin' to fuck with.

It looks as though I’ve finally arrived. In my last encounter, I competed for the supreme: the Full Metal Championship. My odds, however, were slim, as there were many in that match. Now, I will fight one-on-one. But what type of fight will it be? My opponent and I don’t know and will not know until the fight comes upon us. However, I must bring down a high-flying shark. It will be a challenge, but I have never been given an opportunity like this before.

I am the warrior. I am the bear. I am Kuruk.

--------------------------------

The scene opens with a tall, thin, tan-skinned man walking across a rocky path, with the sounds of waves being heard nearby. His pale brown eyes stare purposefully ahead, not wincing in pain at all. This is quite impressive, as he is treading barefoot across the path, wearing only tight briefs and dirty bandages wrapping his abdomen and arms. His head is topped by a head of thick black hair and his face covered by a thin, long beard, which is braided and descends to his waist. After several moments, a new landscape opens before him. The rocks like the back of a small deserted beach, the waves in the water of the ocean slopping beautifully against it. On the beach, leaning on a rock, is a dark, muscular man wearing nothing but blue shorts. Holding his signature gleaming silver tomahawk, his deep, dark eyes seem unfocused, staring into the ocean’s waves. The bearded man takes a seat beside the man known as Kuruk. The man speaks in a light voice, sounding as if it might be carried off into the wind. It has deep power, but is kind.

Man: Hello, Kuruk.

Kuruk does not turn, but merely nods. He responds in a deep, smooth voice, that sounds like he has not used it for days. It also sounds like it has changed since the last time he spoke; no longer a pure, proper Native American accent.

Kuruk: Tomko.

Tomko: I was told you were here. Word has reached me that you have been here for a long time, only leaving for meals. Why are you—

Kuruk: I have an upcoming match, my friend. It’s unbelievably important.

Tomko: Match? Oh, one of those battles, yes?

Kuruk nods and gives a small chuckle.

Kuruk: Yes, Tomko, one of those battles. If I win, I’ll be one of the top and most respected members of the federation.

Tomko: Then why are you not training excitedly, Kuruk? This is not like you. Is something the matter?

Kuruk: My opponent. He’s just… very strange.

Tomko: Who is he?

Kuruk: He once called himself “Son of Shark Boy”, but now he goes by “Sharpedo King”. He wears a shark-like mask and only speaks the word “Sharpedo”. His translator somehow understands him…

Tomko: What is he? The child of a human and a shark?

Kuruk: Heh. No, Tomko. He is definitely a human in a mask. I’m just not sure what he’s thinking.

Tomko: Have you ever considered that he might be psychopathic, Kuruk?

Kuruk opens his mouth slightly as if to say something, and then closes it again. He ponders this for a moment. When he continues in silence, Tomko goes on.

Tomko: I mean, what if—

Kuruk: He’s truly believes he’s a shark?

Tomko: Well… yes. Kuruk, our people catch sharks. We use each part of them for tools and weapons. But… sharks are ferocious. What if he’s willing to be that ferocious?

Kuruk: I suppose it’s an idea, Tomko, but he’s a small man. He’s a high-flying wrestler. I’m not sure he could produce the strength of a shark…

Tomko: Think about it. How terrifying would it be if a shark had wings?

Another moment of silence passes. Kuruk points out to the water at a small, dark wooden canoe.

Kuruk: Is that yours, Tomko?

Tomko: It is. Why do you… no. You are not thinking of—

Kuruk: Let’s go. We need to get moving if we want to get far out enough to the depths before nightfall.

Tomko: But… Kuruk!

But Kuruk ignores him as he makes his way to the small boat. He climbs in, setting down his tomahawk and grabbing two oars. He looks back at Tomko.

Kuruk: Are you coming?

Tomko: I… yes…

Tomko clambers into the boat as well, bends down, and comes back up clutching another pair of oars. The two men begin to row into the sea in silence, the sound of the waves hitting the canoe the only audible sound. After about ten minutes of hard rowing, the men stop rowing, slowly bringing the boat to a halt. The man sit and pant for moment, and then Kuruk swiftly stands up, setting down his oars and picking up his tomahawk. Tomko does not stand, but places down his own oars and looks curiously up at Kuruk. Tomko sighs.

Tomko: Kuruk… this is not a good idea. Are you sure you are going to do this?

Kuruk: I’m absolutely sure.

Tomko: It will rip you apart, I am sure of it! Don’t do it!

Kuruk: I’m doing it.

Tomko: Kuruk, don’t—

Kuruk: Tomko! Shut your mouth and keep the boat steady.

A second of silence. Tomko then speaks in a slow, slightly depressed voice.

Tomko: You have changed, Kuruk.

Kuruk: Tomko. If this man believes himself to be a shark, to be an animal: I must be an animal myself. This is not a battle between two men. This is a battle between the bear and shark.

Suddenly, Kuruk lets out a roar. Not a human scream, but a deep, angry, bear-like roar. A ferocious roar that shakes the sea. Tomko flinches, and Kuruk turns to him, growls, and speaks in a darker voice.

Kuruk: Now keep the boat steady and make sure nothing happens.

Kuruk now turns his back on Tomko, looking off of the side of the canoe into the depths of the ocean. He then proceeds to hold out his left arm over the water and raises his tomahawk in his right. In one swift motion, he makes a gash in his own left arm, without so much as a twitch or a flinch or a blink. He allows the blood to cascade into the ocean depths, and watches it for a moment. He kneels and picks up a bandage from the inside of the boat. After wrapping his newly formed gash with it, he stands back up, bloody tomahawk still in hand, and stares at the pool of blood in the water.

He waits.

And he waits.

And he waits a little longer.

Suddenly, something makes the water ripple in a massively quick line a ways away from the blood pool. Kuruk snarls slightly as his eyes stare unblinkingly at the mass. The thing rises out of the water, its massive teeth ripping through the water: a shark. It finds the pool of blood and speeds to it, not knowing that it will not find amphibious prey there. As he is about to reach the boat, Kuruk puts a foot on the side.

Then, suddenly, Kuruk roars even loader, taking a wild leap off the side of the boat at the shark, brandishing his tomahawk. He lands on the creature, fiercely digging his tomahawk into the body of it as it thrashes like mad. He pulls it out and repeatedly chops at the shark’s side, the silver object brutally hacking through its rough skin. After several times, Kuruk leaves the tomahawk in the shark’s back.

Holding the shark in place in the bloody water, he draws back and sinks his teeth into its side, ripping away pieces of its sandpaper-like skin and soft flesh, his mouth now covered in the beast’s blood. After five chomps, Kuruk stops, breathing heavily, the shark now immobile, just floating on the surface of the ocean. As Kuruk pulls his weapon back out of the shark, he lets out another massive, animalistic roar.

He climbs back into the boat and nods to Tomko, his mouth, arms, and weapon still smeared in both his and the monster’s blood. Tomko picks up his oars and begins to row the two back to the mainland, not a word being spoken between them.

--------------------------------

I have done it. I have conquered the shark by being more of a bear than I have ever been. My bite is more ferocious. My will is more domineering. My weapons are more effective. I am ready for the gold. I am ready for the prize. It is my turn. It is my chance. I will win.

I am the warrior. I am the bear. I am Kuruk.

An afterthought.

That is how Your New Gods see me.

Their problems right now involve Morpheus... and then Bobino is just an afterthought.

You see, a lot of people would be upset at this. A lot of people would fight and make a statement. A lot of people would take that target from Morpheus, and put it square on their chest.

I'm not like a lot of people.

I'm come out in front of everyone this week, and I'm doing my job. I will meet Ashburn in that ring... and I'll put on a show. I'll fight and compete, and show Ashburn exactly how I match up. Will I make an example of him? Will I try to injure or harm YNG? No. I'm not that kind of guy. I'm not their focus, I'm not their problem, I'm not their target.

You see, I thrive under the radar. I have mastered the art of being overlooked. I am the threat that goes unanswered. If the need arises, if Your New Gods feel they need to torment me... I'll have worked myself to where I need to be. I'll be in position to survive. You see Ashburn, that's the difference, I'm here for the long haul. I don't need to burn my fuse at both ends to be noticed. I don't need to make noise to be heard. People notice me. Nobody notices a nobody.

Here's where I stop trying to undersell myself.

I -AM- Number One on this Show. I am the most sought after and first chosen representative of this place. You Ashburn... in this war, in this era of Your New Gods, you are the afterthought. I've earned this time, I've put the work in, I've paid the dues. You... you've done nothing to make your name. Regardless of who stands at the top of the carnage at the end of this war... Bobino will be remembered... and Ashburn will be an afterthought.

You cannot stop that, Matthew. You cannot stop my legacy. You... you come into this fight with so much anger and rage... Me...


Well, I'm just happy to be here.

Corruption
Live from the Bankers Life Fieldhouse in Indianapolis, Indana

Fatal Four Way Match
Dazz Andrews vs Antonio Grimelli vs STORMMASTER vs Kraven Whiskeyjack

Main Event
Abandoned Championship Match
Sharpedo King (c) vs Kuruk

Anarchy

FMW Tag Team Championship Match
Nicholas Gray and Damien Inferno(c) vs Paul Brooks and Callum Pullin

Singles Match
Matt Ashburn vs Bobino

Main Event
Anarchy Ultraviolent Championship Match
David GS(c) vs Blake Vendetta

Corruption
Live from the Bankers Life Fieldhouse in Indianapolis, Indana

Fatal Four Way Match
Dazz Andrews vs Antonio Grimelli vs STORMMASTER vs Kraven Whiskeyjack

Main Event
Abandoned Championship Match
Sharpedo King (c) vs Kuruk

Anarchy

FMW Tag Team Championship Match
Nicholas Gray and Damien Inferno(c) vs Paul Brooks and Callum Pullin

Singles Match
Matt Ashburn vs Bobino

Main Event
Anarchy Ultraviolent Championship Match
David GS(c) vs Blake Vendetta

Corruption

Fatal Four Way Match
Dazz Andrews vs Antonio Grimelli vs STORMMASTER vs Kraven Whiskeyjack

Main Event
Abandoned Championship Match
Sharpedo King (c) vs Kuruk

Anarchy

FMW Tag Team Championship Match
Nicholas Gray and Damien Inferno(c) vs Paul Brooks and Callum Pullin

Singles Match
Matt Ashburn vs Bobino

Main Event
Anarchy Ultraviolent Championship Match
David GS(c) vs Blake Vendetta

Corruption
Live from the Bankers Life Fieldhouse in Indianapolis, Indana

Fatal Four Way Match
Dazz Andrews vs Antonio Grimelli vs STORMMASTER vs Kraven Whiskeyjack

Main Event
Abandoned Championship Match
Sharpedo King (c) vs Kuruk

Anarchy

FMW Tag Team Championship Match
Nicholas Gray and Damien Inferno(c) vs Paul Brooks and Callum Pullin

Singles Match
Matt Ashburn vs Bobino

Main Event
Anarchy Ultraviolent Championship Match
David GS(c) vs Blake Vendetta

I'm really in a wonderful mood at this point in life.

We're still champions. And we're doing really important, title prestige improving matches. Like facing Dazz Andrews and Chris Luck. Or this show, we face Paul “I'm not Triple H, honest” Brooks and some guy with a dumb name that I'm in too little of a shit giving mood to remember.

If things keep going like this the titles will somehow matter LESS than when we won them. And it won't matter we have the most defenses, or at the very gate of being the longest reigning, because all everyone will remember is “hah all they could get to face them were jobbers!”

The only difference is that we're on Anarchy this time! OoooOOOoooh special! This difference is major enough to make me care, clearly.

If you haven't picked up on it yet, I really don't give much of a shit now. Jobber after jobber, and people expect me to be all peppy and ready? No. There's no room for advancement in my division. There's apparently no one fucking left for us to actually challenge us except for ONE who...I dunno is trying to kill us with boredom by making us wait? Good strategy, I guess. Shrug. Of course this is what I talked about last time, and I wasn't nearly as belligerent about it!

Well, last time I hadn't been stabbed through the back with a blade!

Yeah. Probably six inches wide? Right through my back, out the chest. Fell right into the dirt and bled out. I died, about two days ago now.

I guess you could say “I got better,” but I'd probably disagree. Just me, though.

So, given the turn my personal life inside the confines of Eternity City has taken, and the utter boredom my wrestling career is turning into...which is suppose to be separate and I'm suppose to be unaware of one while in the other but apparently I guess I'm in some kind of beyond dimension right now to talk about this to cover up for the failings of some ethereal being....what? Oh, right, this thing.

I'll sum my thoughts on this match or whatever real easy.

“Meh.”

Corruption
Live from the Bankers Life Fieldhouse in Indianapolis, Indana

Fatal Four Way Match
Dazz Andrews vs Antonio Grimelli vs STORMMASTER vs Kraven Whiskeyjack

Main Event
Abandoned Championship Match
Sharpedo King (c) vs Kuruk
Why is your promo text so big?! 0/10 would not vote

Anarchy

FMW Tag Team Championship Match
Nicholas Gray and Damien Inferno(c) vs Paul Brooks and Callum Pullin

Singles Match
Matt Ashburn vs Bobino

Main Event
Anarchy Ultraviolent Championship Match
David GS(c) vs Blake Vendetta

Corruption

Fatal Four-Way
Kraven Whiskeyjack

Main Event
Abandoned Championship Match
Kuruk

Anarchy

FMW Tag Team Championship Match
Nicholas Gray and Damien Inferno

Singles Match
Bobino

Main Event
Anarchy Ultraviolent Championship Match
Blake Vendetta

Corruption
Live from the Bankers Life Fieldhouse in Indianapolis, Indana

Fatal Four Way Match
Dazz Andrews vs Antonio Grimelli vs STORMMASTER vs Kraven Whiskeyjack

Main Event
Abandoned Championship Match
Sharpedo King (c) vs Kuruk

Anarchy

FMW Tag Team Championship Match
Nicholas Gray and Damien Inferno(c) vs Paul Brooks and Callum Pullin
Despite Brooks' stellar promo...

Singles Match
Matt Ashburn vs Bobino

Main Event
Anarchy Ultraviolent Championship Match
David GS(c) vs Blake Vendetta

Antonio Grimelli
Sharpedo King (c)
Nicholas Gray and Damien Inferno(c)
Matt Ashburn
David GS(c)

There is a sudden burst of energy as everyone on the Corruption and Anarchy roster eagerly awaits the ever so popular STORMMASTER to make his appearance. With Reggie, Peyton, the Paper Bag Man and The Linguist all making a fool off themselves in an earlier promo, all STORMMASTER has to do is stand there looking like a boss. Suddenly from out of nowhere, a burst of electricity shakes the entire SMUT headquarters which is then followed up by a huge lightning bolt onto STORMMASTER's helmet. Suddenly the eyes of STORMMASTER lid up bright red, blinding everyone in the room. Suddenly a voice bellows...


With normality resuming inside SMUT Headquarters, STORMMASTER makes a dash towards the front door while at the same time forgetting to open the door. With the door swinging aimlessly off the hinges, we see Reggie and Peyton look completely confused as normal.

Reggie: Nigger, did you just see that?

Peyton: What?

Reggie: You saw that right?

Peyton: No.

Reggie and Peyton continue to look at each other then turn their attention to the door where we see numourous holes shaped like STORMMASTER who continues to cause a rampage inside SMUT Headquarters (don't ask but Reggie thought that it would be a good idea to have numourous brick walls to stop STORMMASTER from escaping). In the distance, we see Sharpedo King and Paper Bag Man having a fight in preparation for Sharpedo King's title defense later on in the show. We fade out of this short promo with Reggie and Peyton looking on with interest as STORMMASTER continues to cause more holes in SMUT Headquarters.

Dazz Andrews

Sharpedo King

Gray and Inferno

Bobino

Vendetta

Corruption
Live from the Bankers Life Fieldhouse in Indianapolis, Indana

Fatal Four Way Match
Dazz Andrews vs Antonio Grimelli vs STORMMASTER[ vs Kraven Whiskeyjack

Main Event
Abandoned Championship Match
Sharpedo King (c) vs Kuruk

Anarchy

FMW Tag Team Championship Match
Nicholas Gray and Damien Inferno(c) vs Paul Brooks and Callum Pullin

Singles Match
Matt Ashburn vs Bobino

Main Event
Anarchy Ultraviolent Championship Match
David GS(c) vs Blake Vendetta

Fatal Four Way Match
Antonio Grimelli

Main Event
Abandoned Championship Match
Kuruk

Anarchy

FMW Tag Team Championship Match
Nicholas Gray and Damien Inferno(c)

Singles Match
Matt Ashburn

Main Event
Anarchy Ultraviolent Championship Match
Blake Vendetta

Corruption
Live from the Bankers Life Fieldhouse in Indianapolis, Indana

Fatal Four Way Match
Dazz Andrews vs Antonio Grimelli vs STORMMASTER[ vs Kraven Whiskeyjack

Main Event
Abandoned Championship Match
Sharpedo King (c) vs Kuruk

Anarchy

FMW Tag Team Championship Match
Nicholas Gray and Damien Inferno(c) vs Paul Brooks and Callum Pullin

Singles Match
Matt Ashburn vs Bobino

Main Event
Anarchy Ultraviolent Championship Match
David GS(c) vs Blake Vendetta