Ammunition 16.3 VOTING AND PROMO THREAD!

An Era of Greatness...

And now I wait my whole lifetime.
For you.
And now I wait my whole lifetime.
For you.

I ride the dirt, I ride the tide.
For you.
I search the outside, search inside.
For you.

Do take back what you left me.
You know I'll always burn to be.
Don't want to seek so I may find.
Don't wanna wait my whole lifetime.

My name... My name is John Andrews... The son of a professional wrestler... The son of a working man who never cheated or cut a corner to get the job done, also a man of fine wisdom and honors his word if he gives you it. What the punks in Gold Standard Wrestling don't understand is they don't really put any standard into anything in my domain. I have been training for weeks to get back up to par... It's funny that it takes losing something so precious so quick in order to knock the rust off the machine but this machine is back and stronger then ever. I have stood toe to toe with the great wrestlers from the Mid-Southwest Championship Indy circuits in hope of getting discovered... In hopes of one day putting my talent to use in the name of good and show my passion and love for this sport. A love that some in this business don't even hold sacred anymore, that right there is the standard of wrestling. Of course I could blame the Braxtons for losing my Television Championship so quickly... or at least having to hand it over all because of a deal; however John Andrews isn't a cry baby. While it is great to feel emotion it is even greater knowing when to cut it off and isolate it. I am the self-proclaimed All American Nightmare... The Outlaw of Houston... and i've come not to bicker or whine but to target and focus my passion for this sport into re-gaining the one major accomplishment i've had thus far with Full Metal Wrestling.

Yeah the rumor mill is blowing up... Can the Outlaw really take on Jonathon King fair and square with the Braxtons in King's corner. My answer is yes... Yes I can over come the odds stacked against me and accomplish the impossible. I had Jimmy Ice regardless of having the Braxtons on the outside they were merely more of a distraction to me than they were my opponent; however I still got the job done and will do so once more. You see... Full Metal Wrestling has entered a new age, an age where the tactician and brawler mindset must meet as one in order to overcome his adversary... An age of pure old school and greatness has now been unleashed on this company one that has a newer and more determined Outlaw stepping in between the ropes and into the square circle.
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Fair Warning

So on I wait my whole lifetime.
For you.
So on I wait my whole lifetime.
For you.

The more I search, the more my need.
For you.
The more I bless, the more I bleed.
For you.

You make me smash the clock and feel.
I'd rather die behind the wheel.
Time was never on my side.
So on I wait my whole lifetime

I often ask myself... What does it take to be a Champion? What fortitude must a person possess to climb their way to greatness? The true answer to this question is one must long for it like a big cat on the prowl in search for its prey. The logic is simple. You must outsmart your opponent if you wish to feast on its rewards. Jonathon King is nothing but a coward, pure and simple. He lacks enough self-respect to even call himself a man, in fact I think Sage Braxton may be more of a man then King ever will be because he lacks the persona a Champion should have. Look at it this way you bunch of ignorant uppity class pieces of trash with your water polo and Special Olympics, you have yours truly... "Outlaw" John Andrews... A pure thorough bred whereas you have Jonathon King... A wimp whom hides behind two, two bit prostitutes who have more personality problems than mother nature herself. You can only beat a dead horse so much before it finally begins beating itself... and by golly Jonathon King has done pet a burnin dog by crossin this here Outlaw. What Gold Standard Wrestling needs to understand is that they cannot just be shovin their noses into other peoples business without expecting consequences. What such consequences you may ask... Well that is for the members of Gold Standard Wrestling to find out... Starting with Jonathon King... Your time to face the greatness of this company has come... Take your beating like a man... Especially if you still value your career boy...
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A New Outlaw... An Outlaw Torn...

Hear me!
And if I close my mind in fear!
Please pry it open!
See me!
And if my face becomes sincere!
Beware!
Hold me!
And if I start to come undone!
Stitch me together!
See me!
And if you see me strut.
Remind me of what left this outlaw torn.

Many have come before you King and many more will come after you... Many have tried the Outlaw and while few have succeeded an even number has failed. You will go into this match and face your darkest nightmares... Your blood will decorate the canvas as I pave my way to glory and re-claim what is rightfully mine. You see King... I've waited this long... A lifetime it seems to unveil this new persona, some will call it sick and sadistic but I call it the inner hunter and its time to collect a debt that is due son. Remember King your fates already chosen its up to you to walk the path into the depths of hell. The only thing you'll remember from tonight is my name... You'll never forget the Outlaw...
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A New Dawn

I'll give you black sensations up and down your spine
If you're into evil you're a friend of mine
See my white light flashing as I split the night
'Cause if Good's on the left,
Then I'm stickin' to the right

I won't take no prisoners, won't spare no lives
Nobody's puttin' up a fight
I got my bell, I'm gonna take you to hell
I'm gonna get ya, Satan get you

Hell's Bells
Yeah, Hell's Bells
You got me ringin' Hells Bells
My temperature's high, Hell's Bells

Father Bling:What does it mean to be a free man? Well a man must experience the thrills of life in order to understand in full what it means to be free. Nothing is more chilling then realizing then feeling the hairs stand up on the back of your neck as you drift through life realizing how close you were to death but were snatched up by the wings of an angel only to be faced with the reality of facing evil. King and his group of evil doers will be swallowed by the sins of themselves and once the realities of their wrongs come to light they will soon battle each other then embrace each other in glory.

OJA: Alright... You're no longer aloud to drink the moonshine bud... You're going off on this religious stuff... I'm just going to go out there and kick their ass...

Andrews walks out of the dressing room...

Father Bling: Go with god my son...
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I have never been much of a people person, not particularly charismatic or chock-full of what some term as “game” but I have gotten my share of interaction from the opposite sex when I want it. This is primarily because I pick and choose my spots and usually, I zero in on people that, as bad as this sounds, had little to nothing else better to do than to see what I was about.

Jaime? We were in high school. I would have fucked anything that moved and she just so happened to be attractive and such.

Kylie? Well... let's face it, she's kind of promiscuous. High marks for her in carnality department.

Surrounding those two are a few instances of slump busters. And well, most were drunken one-night stands who thought I was Alex O'Rion. Piece of cake, mediocre coitus more often than not, but piece of cake nonetheless.

Point is, most of the time I tend to be in control, except that one instance where Kylie upped her crazy bitch level to over 9,000. This is not the case with Nicole Hunter and I'll be damned if it doesn't vex me.

In her defense, she does have her work, and during dinner it came up that she's not exactly boasting a superb track record in relationships, primarily due to the nature and demands of her job, followed by its subsequent prioritization over other things.

I figured it had to be something like that because I personally believe that she could nab most any guy she'd like to pursue. When you get her outside of her work environment she is quite beautiful.

As it were, I'm walking into a local (meaning, Vancouver) Starbucks, having just returned following using my extended downtime to spend it in San Jose with my kids, James and Zoey. And look who I spot, sitting and reading on a chair by the window.

She must be on break. Given that I haven't seen her in a few days, I plot what I'm going to say to her. I then take a deep breath and head on over, sitting down in the chair directly across from her. She looks up and is somewhat surprised to see me.

“H-hey... Chris, haven't seen you in a bit,” she says. Clearly she did not expect to cross paths with me so I hold up my hand to stop her from speaking again. I then pull out my phone and motion to it.

“Chris, what are you doing? I'm right here, we can talk...”

Her phone vibrates.

I don't want to cause a scene. Are you OK with conversing like this?

Fine. Only because I know you aren't a big social scene guy.

Thanks. So how have you been? Haven't seen you in days. In fact, seems like we haven't hung out since we went on a date.

I know. I guess our schedules and free time haven't been as in-sync as usual.

You've been avoiding me. Did I do something wrong?

You haven't done anything wrong.

I feel like I have. You can't feel the awkwardness between us right now? I mean, we're face to face, yet conversing through text in Starbucks.

This was your idea. Much like that date.

You had a good time, right?

Yeah.

Same here, so what am I missing?

Two-way street, Chris.

I'm not following.

Didn't think so, just don't worry about it. It's fine.

I can see it in your face, it's not fine. What's up?

Nothing except a book, some coffee and a weird texting conversation with a friend.

We're not going to work, are we?

???

I thought us dating was a good idea, I thought things went well the first time. But clearly they didn't given the situation we're in now.

I could have told you that. Still sucks, though.

Way to quit on what could have been a good thing.

It was your idea!

Why didn't you try to talk me out of it? Seems like you aren't excited about what this could be.

I told you up front that I had my reservations. You know how my work is, I barely have time for much else in that particular avenue and this is wasting time. Besides, I'm not the only one “avoiding” people.

So you admit you're avoiding me?

And you gloss over the fact that I know you're doing the same to me.

??

Seriously, Chris?


I decide against it.

“Nicole... let's just get to the point. I-”

“The point is, our respective track records in relationships aren't that strong. My career gets in the way and you... well apparently, you start doing badly on the job when you're spoken for.”

“Yeah, but...”

“Aren't you the champion or something like that? Can you really afford that to happen?”

“Nicole...”

“I mean, are you willing to risk that? All the stuff you worked for? I mean, unlike you, I knew for years I wanted to be a cop. This is a dream of mine and yeah, it's had its drawbacks but I'm happy with what I'm doing and wouldn't trade it for anything in the-”

“You wouldn't be saying that if there was something out there worth trading it for.”

“And you honestly believe you're that end all, be all?”

“I have no fucking clue, but I wouldn't make you trade anything as it is. Point is simply that we've got some issues and well, I'm thinking about trying to get past mine because well, you're really attractive.”

A momentary smile escapes before she quickly composes herself. I look on and ask her the following.

“What about you?”

“I don't know.”

For what felt like 20 minutes of silence passes. I look out of the window, check the time and realize that I have a flight to catch in a couple hours. I stand up and go to leave.

“Well, you let me know when you do, Nicole.”

With that, I walk away, even more confused than before. Suddenly, I get a text. It's from Nicole. I look back to her before reading it.

Even if I did know, would you really be ready to hear it?

And I look on, stumped. What if I'm not? Do I even really want to be? I mean, the outs are here for us to take but we're not sprinting towards them, oddly. I look to her, she looks to me. I shake my head and then shrug before leaving. That didn't go as well as I'd hoped.

In fact... that went awfully compared to what I was expecting.

Then again, how I was expecting that to go?


“Heath, do you have a moment?”

It's somewhat uncommon for the FMW Champion to have to ask for one's time as usual, he is in higher demand. But frankly, I am not the prototypical FMW Champion. And Apostasy, well, Heath, has earned my respect not only as a competitor, but as a man.

He may be a better man than I; while I would never want there to be doubt in my victory over someone... in the heat of the moment I don't know if I could have allowed myself to persuade the referee to let the match continue. Not too many people would have done that.

Because he did that, and other reasons, Heath deserves respect.

“Yeah, man. What's up?”

“I have a couple things I wanted to get your insight on before our match. Man to man, as from a wrestling standpoint I'm sure I have nothing to worry with here. But I don't find too many straight-shooters here these days so I'll just ask you.”

“Fire away.”

“So Jeff Whitt... kid's finally putting it together.”

“Looks like it, it's a shame I'll be taking his title from him but yeah, he'll be a challenge no doubt.”

“I don't think there will be much left of him come Catalyst. Not if I get my hands on him.”

“Why's that?”

“You are well aware of the one-track mind I have. I only know one speed for those who warrant taking seriously, and that's full. I'm fully prepared to cripple him if that's what it takes.”

“Hrm... well, to each his own. Strong words from someone who's supposed to be reformed.”

“I'm aware, but that's all I really know. A part of me questions whether I should hurt him or not. While I don't need to hurt the man to defeat him... I want there to be no doubt.”

“Firstly, man, this isn't just you. It's you and me. I'm sure we'll beat Jeff and Santana, no problem. But as far as you needing to hurt him. I'll say this. We all know that violence is an inherent risk. What we do, brings with it an element of danger. You let your guard down, or get caught slipping, then you'll be worse for wear. Now, this doesn't mean you have to go out there and rip his head off in the match or kill him after the fight, of course. As you said, we can beat these two and escape injuries on both sides. But what happens there, happens. He knows it, you know it, they all know it. No point of questioning it. We do what we have to do to win and we all understand the consequence.”

“Perhaps, but I wonder what place Santana has in this match. I'd understand you and Whitt, as you are future opponents. But given that defeating Seth Rotunda is in my future, you'd think that he'd be in this match.”

“You'd think... but he sucker-punched you and you cannot stand to look bad or be made a fool of. Perhaps them keeping Seth out of this match is protecting Catalyst. But honestly, it doesn't really matter. The fact is, Santana is in this match and she-...”

“Therein lies my problem. While my banter towards that annoying, vain and incorrigible woman was rather hateful, truly this is nothing that I take pride in. I want to win, more than anyone. That's a given, but she...”

“Is just like Jeff. She's a competitor, she knows the risks and trust me, she's sneaky. Not someone you should take lightly.”

“I wouldn't...”

“You're sounding like it. Perhaps you are enamored with her as she claims everyone is. Is your head in the game? This isn't the Austin I'm accustomed to seeing. Where's the hyper-competitive, machine-esque douchebag that was running roughshod over almost everyone, without looking back? Don't get me wrong, this is a fresh change of pace but still.”

I chuckle derisively at his statement, but the word enamored only brings me back to Nicole. I haven't spoken with her since yesterday. I wonder has she thought about anything we “discussed”.

“Chris?”

“Yes?”

“You seem distracted.”

“Women troubles.”

“Say no more, ha-ha.”

“... I wish I couldn't. I mean, we're clicking and all of that but neither one of us is readily willing to jump in. I'm contemplating not going for it, but this has the feeling of something big. At the same time, if you thought I was distracted now... you should look up past footage of me while I was in relationships.”

“Everyone does deserve some fun. Life's a bit too short to not enjoy it a little.”

“I wouldn't know. I have my routines.”

“Sounds like to me you're looking to change that up, and for once it's not involving your offense. What does that say to you?”

“Says I've changed.”

“If so, then perhaps you're not as weak mentally as you used to be. So maybe the issues that plagued you once, no longer do.”

The last few words from Heath connect soundly. I nod my head as things start to make sense. I look at Heath and start to leave, but before I do, I offer a compliment of sorts.

“Perhaps you should be a shrink upon retirement.”

“Nah, I think I'll leave that to the so-called experts. I'm fine just being able to understand the tricks of the trade.”

With that, I depart following a handshake and go to meditate before our match.

Striker: Can someone tell me why the hell this is taking so long?

These words come from the mouth of FMW Superstar and current C4 Champion Skyler Striker as he storms out of the elevator doors and into the third-from-top floor of FMW’s corporate headquarters. A number of confused businesspeople look up from their desks or put a hand over their phones to mask the noise.

Striker: Anyone? Just a brief explanation as to why a wrestling company isn’t putting on any wrestling shows? Seems a little strange to me!

The angered Striker is clearly asking rhetorical questions and gets no answers, although he does get plenty of stares. His walk is purposeful and it is evident he knows exactly where he is headed – towards his boss’s office, that of P. Thurston Deveraux. Coffee spills from mugs and pens fall off desks as Striker storms by every desk, awash with an impatient rage. As he approaches the doors of Deveraux’s office, he is sighted by the secretary, who decides to make an attempt to stop him.

Miss Mills: Uh, excuse me sir, you’ll have to be a little quieter – Mr. Deveraux is in a meeting at the present and isn’t seeing any-

Striker: He’ll see me, or he’ll see another lawsuit on his desk. Got that?

Miss Mills: I understand that your time is important, sir, but-

Striker: NO. No ifs, no buts, no company lines that they asked you to rehearse in front of a mirror every day to make everyone you refuse entry to just that little bit easier to deal with. I’m here to see Deveraux and mark my words, he’ll see me.

Miss Mills: SIR, you CAN NOT ENTER-

Striker enters.

The double doors push open to a gasp from Miss Mills, and then to a pause from Skyler. P. Thurston Deveraux is in absentia, and two people inhabit the glisteningly modern office and slash or boardroom, whichever you would describe it as. Marble, carbon fibre and innumerable other materials fill the eclectic office, and at the centre of it – in front of a large opaque window that reveals the bright blue sky of the day outside – sit two men at two desks, one frantically typing away on a computer and the other opening letters, processing the contents with speedy eyes. Neither of the men look up upon Skyler’s entrance, instead one of them preferring to speak up while keeping his focus upon the keyboard.

Sutton: Miss Mills, I asked specifically for you to use the intercom to talk to us. We’re incredibly busy.

Miss Mills: I know, sir – it wasn’t my fault, I tried to stop him entering-

Striker: What the hell is this? Where’s Deveraux?

At this point the two men stop their work and look up to see who has barged in so unceremoniously. The man at the computer takes one look at Striker before returning to his work, but Striker does get some attention from the letter-man.

Argyle: Can I help you?

Striker: Not unless you’re Deveraux’s alter ego. Where is he?

Argyle: Mr. Deveraux isn’t here. He’s away on other company business. Can I help you?

Striker: I’m sure I just answered that question, but all you told me was where I CAN’T find Deveraux, so I’ll ask again – Where. Is. He?

The letter-man looks over Striker’s shoulder to see a number of curious employees peering through the double doors, trying to see what has caused such a commotion at 4pm on a Friday. The man nods to Miss Mills.

Argyle: You may leave us, Miss Mills. We’ll be fine. Close the doors as you leave, please.

Striker: Who are you?

Argyle: My name is Jack Argyle. This is my colleague, Daniel Sutton. My apologies for his impatience, and my own, but as you can see we’re incredibly busy. I must apologise again in that I don’t know where Mr. Deveraux is currently located; rarely are we kept up to date on his movements. He’s also a busy man.

Striker: Well the three of you must be the only busy people in this company, because we haven’t been on the air for almost two months, and haven’t even been on the road during that time! No world tours, no house shows, nothing – not only are we not competing, we’re also not getting paid!

Jack Argyle pulls up a seat from the side of the room and presents it to Striker.

Argyle: Sit, please. I know you’re angry. There’s a water cooler just to your left, if you’d like.

Striker: Do I look like I came here for a glass of water? Why aren’t we competing?

Argyle: Well, it’s complicated, Mr…

Striker: Striker. Skyler Striker. You don’t even know your own talent?

Argyle: Not each and every one, name and face, off by heart – no. I’m rather new here, you see, although Daniel has been around longer than I.

Daniel Sutton speaks with a gruff voice, once again not taking his eyes off the computer screen.

Sutton: I know who you are, Skyler Striker. Started here around the same time you did. A few people called you the next big thing, but then that gets rattled off a lot around here. And lo and behold, you went and drugged yourself to high hell and caused a shit-ton of trouble for Full Metal.

Argyle: Daniel, come on. You can’t talk about that kind of stuff so out-of-hand.

Sutton: I think you’ll find I can. My son was stupid enough to throw away his own life to steroids and what came after; no-one is excused for wasting their life with that kind of garbage.

Striker: Everyone makes mistakes. I’m clean.

Sutton: How about that.

Striker: Who are you two, anyway? Why are you in Deveraux’s office?

Argyle: As I said, it’s complicated. Essentially, we’re the Fixers. A company like this has its share of problems. Public image, opposing companies, steroid usage – we co-ordinate with whomever we need to in order to maintain as much of a sense as normalcy as possible.

Sutton: If it weren’t for Fixers, Full Metal couldn’t exist.

Argyle: In a sense, anyway. Making sure that there was no public fiasco after your addiction was one of our jobs.

Sutton: Not that Deveraux made our jobs any easier by giving you back yours.

Argyle: That took almost no effort at all, Daniel.

Sutton: How much work it causes us is irrelevant.

Striker: Hold your grudges, I don’t care. I regret what I did but can’t change it now.

There is a heated silence. Sutton has not looked at Striker since the superstar’s entrance into the room, although one of his fists is clenched and he is clearly unhappy with Striker’s presence. Argyle scratches the back of his head and offers Striker a cup of water, which he takes this time.

Striker: If you’re ‘fixers’, then surely you know what’s going on. Why aren’t we working?

Argyle: Because of the problems we’re going through at the moment. There were a number of high-profile meetings, top board members, executives and whatnot. It was agreed that with the issues facing the company at the moment, we should take a small hiatus in order to allow us to try and solve as many of those issues as we could.

Striker: And yet in a whole month and a half, you’ve still achieved nothing? What the hell is causing so much trouble?

Argyle: Would you like to have our jobs instead? It’s not easy trying to do what we do, you know!

Sutton: He doesn’t understand, Jack. His kind never do.

Striker: What, addicts?

Sutton: No, wrestlers. How could you ever hope to comprehend what goes on through every square inch of this company and this industry? You’ve all taken too many knocks on the head to GET it. In the past month we’ve been trying to deal with a global financial crisis, keeping this company on its feet, a spate of bad PR situations, the entirety of GSW waging war against Full Metal, not to mention a very persistent and very skilled hacker who’s been single-handedly messing with our servers and mainframe from a location we still can’t track. But no, you just want to get back to work and punch someone in the head to earn a buck. Well, you know what? You can get fucked, pal. My youngest son looked up to you once, and while you indulged yourself in drugs, my eldest died and you lived. My wife left me and my son, and in today’s job market the only place I can work to feed him is one where bastards like you serve as a constant reminder of what I lost. So don’t come in here expecting to order me around or get all the answers you’re looking for, Skyler Striker, because people like you don’t deserve the time of day, let alone anything more.

Argyle’s eyes flicker nervously to Striker, expecting a violent reaction from the superstar. There is none immediately forthcoming, however. When there is a pause, Sutton looks up, perhaps also expecting more of a reaction from Striker. Skyler looks lost in thought, his eyes staring through the windows to the sky outside, speaking with sincerity in his voice.

Striker: I’m sorry, Jack. I apologise for the extra work I caused with my addiction, sorry for all the crap that’s coming your way here. And I’m sorry that your son lost his life to addiction. I truly am.

Sutton: What motivates you, Skyler Striker?

The question catches Striker a little off guard, and brings his gaze back towards Sutton.

Striker: Hmmm?

Sutton: What drives you? You’ve got a family, right? Is it them? Do you want to impress them, or be a hero to kids around the world, or just earn a few bucks? Why are you a wrestler? Is your answer any different now than it was before you left for rehab?

Striker: Why do you ask?

Sutton: Just answer the question.

Striker: I wrestle… because it’s the only thing I think I’m any good at. And that’s why I have to keep doing it. I’m not the best dad in the world, although I try. I’m not a great guitar player, although I try and practice when I can. I try hard at everything. But this… this, wrestling, I have a talent for. It’s why I find success. Because I have a gift, and if I don’t use it, then I’m wasting my life. And my answer will always be the same. When I wasn’t wrestling, after rehab… I became lazy, and scared. I wrestle because I’ve got to be good at something, and this is what I think I’m good at.

A brief silence. Striker even smiles, somewhat satisfied with his answer. Sutton is not quite as impressed.

Sutton: That’s a selfish answer.

Striker: Maybe. I don’t know. But it’s an honest answer, unlike yours.

Sutton: Come again?

Striker: You’re not here because you’re stuck here. There are plenty of jobs for people like you. That’s just what you tell yourself. I think you’re here because you want to be proven wrong about your son. That not everyone has to follow his path. That’s what you want to teach your other son, anyway.

Sutton: Keep telling yourself that.

Striker: I don’t have to. I’ve got doubters to prove wrong as well.

Sutton: If you say so.

Striker: It’s true. I do this because I have to convince myself every day that I can succeed. I’m my own worst enemy. But as long as I’m wrestling, and not letting time slip by, then I can be the best in the world. That’s why I came here to see Deveraux, to get things moving as quickly as possible. And speaking of which… Jack, was it?

Argyle: Jack Argyle, sir. That’s me.

Striker: Jack. Send an email to greenstone@brawler.com - you got that? – and write just these words: ‘Your father wants to see you at the Morbid Café; the usual’. I’ll get your hacker sorted out as soon as possible.

Jack quickly swivels his chair towards his own computer and types up the email, giving a curious look towards Striker as he sends it.

Argyle: You know them?

Striker: Know her? I’m her father. Talk soon, gentlemen.

Both men watch Striker as he leaves through the double doors, tipping an invisible hat to Miss Mills on his way.

Miss Mills: Uh, thankyou, sir…

The marble hallway was cold, and even more unwelcoming. Snapshots from the past lined the milky white walls, illuminated by single lights that shone downwards. Meanwhile, two men walked down the centre of the hallway. One just broke the six foot mark, but had the physique of an athlete, and was dressed in a jet black robe that sparkled with the gold intertwined with the thread. This one walked with confidence, with a slight grin that made everyone acknowledge that he knew he was the centre of attention, and mattered to all those that laid their eyes on him.

His companion shared the same view, except about himself. The companion was slightly shorter, had slicked back hair and dressed in an extravagant suit. He was one of the world’s most wanted agents.

The man who also flanked him was one of his highest rising stars.

'The Dream Killer' Seth Rotunda.

“You took me away from the cameras for this?” Rotunda said glumly.

“My my, you’ve become quite accustomed to the media attention,” Aldridge Clarke said lovingly.

“A man can only be in the spotlight as a successful man for a very limited time,” Rotunda muttered.

“The spotlight is nowhere near fading.”

“I don’t know mate, I can feel it.”

“Mate?”

“Sorry, slip of the tongue.”

“Feelings mean nothing to an athlete, Rotunda, why do you think I’m in control? You go out there in an emotionless state, rise your stock and fight your way to the top, whilst I get emotionally involved in situations and direct you in the right direction,” Clarke.

“Sure,” Rotunda said.

“Always listen to the educated one,” Clarke chimed in.

Rotunda had grown accustomed to Clarke’s insulting barbs. Each barb just made him closer to becoming a winner, well, Rotunda thought that.

“Listen, you’re making money, you’re in advertisements and there’s people paying to see you knockout Mr Austin.”

“I do my best to entertain,” Rotunda chuckled.

“You could do with some facial reconstruction however, something to bring in the female fans,” came Clarke with another jab.

“Make a note of it,” Rotunda muttered.

“With me, Rotunda, your spotlight is like the sun, won’t burn out for billions of years and that’s only if you listen and obey my orders,” Clarke grinned.

“Right,” Rotunda muttered.

“But enough of discussing your facial flaws, there is a reason why we are here,” Clarke said.

“And why is that?”

“I’ve documented your past, and every life altering moment is on these walls in a picture frame, I thought it could be inspiring,” Clarke smiled as he made a grand gesture with his hand.

Clarke made his way to the first frame. Behind the glass was a messy haired excuse for an athlete, surrounded by several men, whilst stood in front of a boxing ring, in which was a fellow defeated boxer, made evident by the tears rolling down his face. It was clear that Rotunda always basked in victory, whether in front of ten people or ten thousand. The Dream Killer wasn’t inspired, a yawn replaced any sense of enthusiasm.

“Sixty two victories in an amateur boxing ring, impressive, could be better,” Clarke nodded.

“I could have gotten one hundred wins if I had dumped Ap Gruff earlier,” Rotunda said.

“You did as much as you could have done in ending his boxing career.”

“Felt good.”

“Did they say you could be a world champion?”

“No, everyone held me back.”

“Not anymore,” Clarke muttered.

“No, not anymore,” Rotunda agreed.

“And who are the unwashed posing next to you?”

“They were Team Rotunda, a short lived corner group, who I tried to get into FMW, but were never approved,” Rotunda said.

“Good, you were better off without them,” Clarke concluded.

The two continued to another picture. The same messy haired competitor, although with a greater build, stood facing five other men, in an extravagant arena. The competitors: The Gold Card Holder, Seth Rotunda, the Television Champion, Outlaw John Andrews and four failures that go by the names of David Ravish, Dussy, Nate Stone and Shaker Jones.

“Mount Vesuvius, your debut in FMW, if I recall,” Clarke announced.

“I knew I made the big time, the only thing in my way was these pathetic excuses,” Rotunda spat.

“You lost,” Clarke chuckled.

“This was my first wrestling match since becoming a boxer, I may have lost, but I eliminated half of the competitors and all the magic came from my right hand.”

“I suppose you are the real winner here, the rest are unemployed or arguing with the Braxton twi-“

“Thomas Ap Gruff sabotaged me, put me into a match before I was ready, filthy ingrate,” Rotunda interrupted.

“You have a new and improved agent, Rotunda, not a two bit agent from Swansea, home of heroin dealers and whores,” Clarke laughed.

“Cut it out,” Rotunda snarled.

“What? You’ve become the defender of poor people again?”

“All I’m saying-“

“If you don’t be quiet, I’ll void the contract and take your little card away Sethy Wethy,” Clarke taunted.

“Let’s move on,” Rotunda said glumly.

The next picture showed Rotunda and Thomas Ap Gruff dwarfed by two alcohol-swilling, hard faced, muscular men. The surroundings were dirty and decrepit, bottles smashed against the wall and floor, whilst several cigars were still extinguishing on the floor.

“And these two scabs are?” Clarke asked.

“This was my first meeting with Jack Eastwood and Prideman,” Rotunda beemed.

“Shortly after your debut, they approached you,” Clarke said.

“Yeah, Eastwood is a surprisingly good mentor, and if anything, he’s taught me how to bash in a guy’s head with a weapon in one hundred different ways,” Rotunda said.

“And Prideman?”

“Well he’s finally won a match.”

“I never see why you need those two, Eastwood is the rudest man alive and Prideman is too crazy,” Clarke whined.

“I’m still young in my career, I need a helping hand and if it wasn’t for them, I wouldn’t have the Gold Card and they gave me my first victory in FMW.”

“And when you’re the World Champion, what will happen to them?”

“I don’t know,” Rotunda shrugged.

“How about we move on again?”

The two continued to the grandest frame. An oil painting laid behind the glass, on one side was Rotunda and the other, a smaller man with slicked back hair and a shining light emitting from all around him. It was obviously Clarke.

“Our first meeting,” Clarke said lovingly.

“The one where I had to get on my knees to beg?”

“Yep and look where you are now, patrolling through a marble hallway with your world-class agent,” Clarke bragged.

Rotunda whisked himself away to another picture, this once showed a once proud, aloof man, successful in his craft and highly thought of by many…and he was being knocked out by Rotunda with a right hook.

“It’s good to see Chris Austin fall,” Clarke said.

“It’s certainly entertaining.”

“Think you can take him?”

“Of course.”

“I admire the confidence.”

“And I admire myself,” Rotunda said.

“You have the complete backing of the entire locker room, I’m sure Rotunda, It is about time somebody with flare possesses the greatest title in FMW, without an ego or claiming to be a ‘Student of the Game’, somebody that represents the FMW locker room and you are that man,” Clarke grinned.

“Can’t wait to see the cameras light up at Catalyst when I land that famous punch,” Rotunda cackled.

“And ding ding, new champion.”

I look around at this place, and I see my own failings. I see something once beautiful wilting away slowly, painfully. But it's the sort of slow, deadly spiral that you can't decide whether or not it's salvageable. I know that I could have done somethings differently. I know that it's partially, but not entirely, my fault that things have gotten this bad. I wonder if there's anything left to do to save it, a herculean effort perhaps that would restore everything and put it back as it once was. But perhaps some changes can't be undone. Perhaps the damage is done, and trying to hold up this place by myself would be like tying myself to a tree to stop deforestation. A feel-good gesture, ultimately ending up meaningless in consequence.

I'm a utilitarian by nature. For those of you that aren't philosophy minors like me, that means that I believe that what is right is dependent on what the consequences of the available choices are. The end goal of life is to be as happy as possible, while doing your best to create as much happiness and as little unhappiness in the world as possible. Pleasure, happiness, utility - all used somewhat loosely and interchangeably - are the currency of utilitarians. So it doesn't matter to me what the intention is behind any given actions. Intentions can be important, as people who intend to do well will generally do better. But they aren't the most important thing. In the end, what's important is getting it right.

So if you're looking at a crumbling structure, there are generally three options. Leave it to crumble, opt to demolish it, or attempt the restoration. Any of them could be the right action, but unless you really understand architecture, you probably have no idea which one is actually the right option. You don't know if the restoration will be a wild success or a doomed money pit. You don't know if letting the structure decay will be a slow, infesting death that will slowly torture everyone who's associated with it. You don't know how much people would truly miss it if it was gone entirely.

We see Apostasy, surveying the remains of an old gymnasium. The bare concrete is sunbleached from the overhead windows, but squares of unbleached pavement remain, indicating where a ring used to be, where a weight bench might have once been, where other fitness equipment once took up space. The doors on each side, save for one open door, are all sealed with long-rusted chains.

Memories are such a painful thing sometimes. Even the good ones. Some memories are so good that they become painful to relive, because it reminds you of how things have gotten worse in some ways. In some ways, the bad times can be better to relive. Because when you remember the bad parts of life, you subconsciously are telling yourself that things are better now. It's a little trick of the human mind that's been noted for centuries. Shakespeare once famously noted that "The evil that men do lives after them; The good is oft interred with their bones". It's one of a handful of his quotes that even those who only read the Cliffnotes version of their mandated Shakespeare reading assignments in school remember. It captures something so striking about human interaction... just how focused we are on the negative.

There are certainly some positives to it. Most standard conversations about work, kids, school and everything else are dialogues about struggle. A woman comes home after work and complains about her day to her boyfriend. A man sits at a computer and tells his friend through instant messenger that he's feeling overwhelmed with schoolwork (while simultaneously procrastinating on it). A parent talks to a fellow parent about her lack of sleep, or their distress over their child's grades in school. These are the standard scripts that make up a good majority of human interaction. On face, perhaps they could be discounted as useless. As people yapping, signifying nothing and wasting their energy. But perhaps not.

The camera focuses on a single sign, made of pressed and rusting metal. The sign reads "The Sparring Station" in orange script on brown background. The sign hangs from an exposed air duct, which is coated in a thick layer of dust.

Perhaps that complaining isn't wasted energy. Perhaps all of that negativity allows us to refocus our worldview into something positive, to allow us to keep soldiering on. It's easy to see where complaining goes to far... when it simply leads to apathy and disillusionment. Apathy is a notorious poison for all things ambitious, crumbling structures and foundations otherwise thought to be solid. Negativity can make you take things for granted, forgetting to cherish and maintain the things that make life good in the first place. Apathy in this way is a virus, infecting the minds of those who would otherwise maintain what is beautiful. It's a disease that can crumble even the biggest statues and monuments.

But at some point, a disease is no longer treatable. Sickness will eventually overtake everything. People all die at some point. Buildings only stand up for so long. Every empire in the history of man has eventually crumbled. Species generally tend to die out at some point. The sun will eventually burst and consume this rock. The universe will eventually experience heat death. Everything has an end, everything eventually succumbs to the laws of entropy.

The camera pans to a wall. The wall was apparently wood-paneled, but all but a few planks are now missing. One one of the remaining planks, a picture of the Cleveland Flats is seen. Apostasy takes the picture off the wall and examines it.



The thing about entropy is that it only applies to a closed system. The tides are a sort of perpetual motion machine, because they are not a closed system. They are constantly being acted upon by an outside force - gravity. As is the case with any system - new life can always be breathed into it by an outsider. Enough of an outside force can restore any system to working order. The question is always whether or not it's worthwhile to do so. Because there's only so much time in life. So much energy to expend. And the question is where that energy can best be put to use.

Atlas was thought to have put the whole world on his back, and has become something of a metaphor for various martyrs everywhere. They believe that their struggle to hold up some system, a struggle which often consumes them entirely, is ultimately justified by the amount of utility that is gained by others long-term. If happiness is a currency, then martyrdom is an investment opportunity. An investment opportunity that only pays off if others truly capitalize on the opportunities for happiness afforded to them by the investor. But it is not risk-free. While we hold up those whose investments have succeeded, we all are too aware of those that have failed and ended up on the wrong side of history. Revolutions have failed, rendering all of the investments made by those people worthless. Systems will sometimes fall anyway.

Apostasy examines the picture. He looks outside of the open door, to the current day Cleveland Flats.



I look around this building, what used to be my home away from home. I remember learning the Cereal Crunch in a ring that used to stand in the center right there. I remember doing sprints for what seemed like hours from wall to wall. I remember looking up and seeing those lights at full power, with Cleveland sports banners hanging from the ceiling. I remember seeing the banner of The Misfits hanging on a wall, inspiring me, in hopes that one day I'd be one of them. And for awhile I thought I was. I thought I was joining a group that would become a sister group to The Misfits... the Broken Saints. I thought maybe that all of the energy put into me would lead to some more boastful banners being placed here.

But this place died with its founder and owner, Edible Matthewson. This place died when he fell out with Drew Michaels. This place was dependent on the vision and guidance of one man. One man who, as the laws of the universe will tell you, was bound to leave it at some point. One man is an isolated system, doomed to die by the laws of entropy. One man cannot sustain a system, he can only allow others their opportunity to continue to maintain it.

So I will fight. Not for this dilapidated old building in the middle of a Scooby-Doo ghost town. This place can whither away and die, as everyone else can move on now. But I will fight for Full Metal Wrestling. I will sustain it, against those who would either seek to destroy it like Gold Standard Wrestling, or who would gleefully laugh as they watch it wither. But I can only do so much. I can only beat one competitor at a time. I can only help Full Metal Wrestling as much as my body allows. It will be up to the rest of this company to maintain it the rest of the way. It will be up to Chris Austin to keep the Full Metal Championship held in high regard. It will be up to Outlaw John Andrews to restore honor to that television championship... or whatever it will be now. It will be up to Skyler Striker to keep the C4 title away from those goons in GSW.

Because ultimately, I have so much happiness left to give. To live, or to sacrifice. This currency in my pocket cannot afford to go unspent. So even if the investment has the potential to bust, it's a worthwhile risk. The reward... a great wrestling federation that entertains many and provides a place for the best to compete... is far too tantalizing to pass up.

Ammunition 16.3[/color]
LIVE from the Colisee Pepsi in Quebec, Canada

Singles Match
Jonathan King (w/ Sage Braxton vs. 'Outlaw' John Andrews

Tag Match Match
Guest Referee: Hostyle
Leviticus and Matt Dunn vs. Skyler Striker and Hannibal Frost

Tag Match*
P Thurston Devreaux and ??? vs. Abel Steele and Alan Scott, Attorney at Law

Doppleganger Match
Sean Jensen vs. Sean Jensen

Singles Match
Seth Rotunda vs. Steve Monroe

Main Event
Tag Match
Apostasy and Full Metal Champion Chris Austin vs. Ultraviolent Champion Jeff Whitt and Santana Braxton

"No Church in the Wild" by Jay-Z and Kanye West plays as Jonathon King makes his way down to the ring with a bag of popcorn in his hand. The crowd boos as King grabs a microphone and a chair, and they don't let up until King has set up the chair and sat down to wait. Finally they die down enough for him to speak.

King: Let's get this straight. I'm not asking for your sympathy, I'm a cheating fuck and I know it. I won and defended my Television title through any and all underhanded methods available to me. It worked, but then P. Thurston Devearux stuck his big nose where it doesn't belong and stole it from me. Whatever, turnabout it fair play, right? So I mostly ignore it and move on, and then I cheat my way to a victory over Hannibal Frost, and then back to my title. It's good to be me, you know? Then I get sneak attacked, by the supposed "Good Guy", John Andrews and have my new title stripped by Deveraux. This leaves me asking one question.

Aren't I supposed to be the bad guy?

I mean, Eddie Guerrero would be proud of me, I lie, I cheat, I steal, and you dumb fucks boo me, yet everyone does the same thing. I cheated to beat Jimmy Ice, but then he cheats to beat me. I steal Andrews' title, he attacks me while my back is turned. It seems to me that the biggest difference between us is that management likes those two, and they hate me. I'm the villain because Deveraux doesn't like me very much, and god damn do I have to try hard to keep the boos coming when my opponents are as big of pricks as I am. I can't just steal someones title from them, I have to steal the title, cheat to win my match and then join in a five on one beatdown of FMW's beloved announcer Hostyle.

Deveraux's name has come up a lot in my ranting, because the doozy fuck can't seem to leave me alone. You'd think with the pending lawsuit from Abel and the threat of actually getting into the ring himself, he'd have less time to screw me but it doesn't look like I have that much luck. After killing my debut momentum and trying to use me as cannon fodder for people he likes, I finally won out over his political maneuvering and won my title. It looked like he'd left me alone for a while, but then Jimmy Ice came in and you all know how Deveraux screwed me there. To sum up my feelings for Deveraux right now, I hope no one stands up to be on his team. I hope everyone in the roster sits there and watches as Abel snaps Deveraux's fucking neck, so we can get someone less incompetent running the place. I nominate myself, obviously.

Now that you're all thoroughly bored of me rambling, it's time for me to... well, ramble some more. Shut the fuck up and stay seated. Mr. "Outlaw" John Andrews, it's time for you to be the subject to my scathing words. I'm going to say this right up front, I'm not scared of you. You're a thick brute who tries so hard to be clever, but fails. Horribly. Every time. I could rant some more, but I prefer a more sophisticated approach. I'm going to allow you to destroy yourself. For those of you who wondered why I brought along popcorn, this is it.

King pulls out a remote and points to the Metal-tron, where John Andrews' video promo starts playing.

John Andrews wrote:

My name... My name is John Andrews...

King: Thank you, Alberto. Repetition does make for an impressive statement, doesn't it? Doesn't it?

John Andrews wrote:

The son of a professional wrestler... The son of a working man who never cheated or cut a corner to get the job done, also a man of fine wisdom and honors his word if he gives you it.

King: I love that you have to talk about your Dad, since you're a massive disappointment to him. Also, your Dad sounds incredibly boring. If you want to play "My Dad rocked, so I'm better", then my old man cut corners and cheated all the time, which is why he was a billionare when he died. Yours still has a three hundred dollar tab at the local bar. I think my Dad had the right idea.

John Andrews wrote:

What the punks in Gold Standard Wrestling don't understand is they don't really put any standard into anything in my domain.

King: FMW is anything but your domain. The janitor has more claim to this place then you do, and he'd be less embarrassing for it. Besides, we're more successful than you to a man, so if you don't think we set a standard then you're delusional.

John Andrews wrote:

I have been training for weeks to get back up to par.

King: Oh no, you've been training for weeks. How will I ever surpass that level of dedication? It's not like I train at all, the months of wrestling school didn't happen and the physical trainers I hired spend all their time playing video games and masturbating. The next bit is a bit boring, so I'm going to fast forward.

A few moments flash past on the screen before King hits play again.

John Andrews wrote:

A love that some in this business don't even hold sacred anymore, that right there is the standard of wrestling.

King: I had to take issue with this bit, because if I didn't love the business why would I be here? I don't need the money, I don't need the fame. I could have become an actor or a model or even just been a shiftless socialite like most of my family. I'm here because I love the business, and no other reasons.

John Andrews wrote:

Of course I could blame the Braxtons for losing my Television Championship so quickly... or at least having to hand it over all because of a deal; however John Andrews isn't a cry baby.

King: Oh thank god, if you were going to whine about holding to a match stipulation that you agreed to even I'd have a hard time keeping these brainless sheep booing me.

John Andrews wrote:

While it is great to feel emotion it is even greater knowing when to cut it off and isolate it. I am the self-proclaimed All American Nightmare... The Outlaw of Houston... and i've come not to bicker or whine but to target and focus my passion for this sport into re-gaining the one major accomplishment i've had thus far with Full Metal Wrestling.

King: So you're named after a Hinder song, and you're able to cut off your emotions like every grown man and their dog. With these important facts establsihed, I'm sorry to tell you that you can't regain your one accomplishment since Deveraux terminated the belt. You can try for revenge, but that won't work very well, and you won't get your belt back.

John Andrews wrote:

Yeah the rumor mill is blowing up... Can the Outlaw really take on Jonathon King fair and square with the Braxtons in King's corner.

King: I think that was a question, and if it was, the answer is no. You really can't, and even if you could, you wouldn't get the chance. If you want to try and play fair then more power to you, but you're basically handing me the win on a silver platter.

John Andrews wrote:

My answer is yes... Yes I can over come the odds stacked against me and accomplish the impossible.

King: Oh damn, you answered yourself. Makes me wonder why you asked the question.

John Andrews wrote:

I had Jimmy Ice regardless of having the Braxtons on the outside they were merely more of a distraction to me than they were my opponent; however I still got the job done and will do so once more.

King: That's because Jimmy Ice is a bitch who needed Deveraux to hold his hand to do anything even remotely impressive.

John Andrews wrote:

You see... Full Metal Wrestling has entered a new age, an age where the tactician and brawler mindset must meet as one in order to overcome his adversary... An age of pure old school and greatness has now been unleashed on this company one that has a newer and more determined Outlaw stepping in between the ropes and into the square circle.

King: I'll agree with the first part of this. It's why Chris Austin is probably the best in the company right now. You, on the other hand, aren't a tactician. Nor are you that good of a brawler. I actually wouldn't mind seeing an age of old school come over the company, Old School is awesome. You're just not it. You think you're old school because you're from Texas, but there's a lot more to it than that.

John Andrews wrote:

I often ask myself... What does it take to be a Champion? What fortitude must a person possess to climb their way to greatness? The true answer to this question is one must long for it like a big cat on the prowl in search for its prey. The logic is simple.

King: As someone that actually had a title reign, I can say that's actually pretty accurate. Or you could just do what I did and be better than the other guys. Or cheat. Cheating works too.

John Andrews wrote:

You must outsmart your opponent if you wish to feast on its rewards.

King: Oh. Well that makes things a lot easier for me. As long as you're trying to outsmart me, you've signed your death warrant.

John Andrews wrote:

Jonathon King is nothing but a coward, pure and simple. He lacks enough self-respect to even call himself a man, in fact I think Sage Braxton may be more of a man then King ever will be because he lacks the persona a Champion should have.

King: Hold on a second.

King makes an exaggerated show of pulling the front of his trunks out.

King: Yup, I'm a man. Sorry, but I had to check, sometimes you get drunk in Tijuana and wake up with bits missing. Anyway, you want to call me a coward, but... uhhh.... fuck. I guess I am a coward, but as long as it works.

John Andrews wrote:

Look at it this way you bunch of ignorant uppity class pieces of trash with your water polo and Special Olympics, you have yours truly... "Outlaw" John Andrews... A pure thorough bred whereas you have Jonathon King... A wimp whom hides behind two, two bit prostitutes who have more personality problems than mother nature herself.

King: This didn't actually make any sense to me, but I'm going to respond as best I can. We're Upper Class, not uppity class. Water polo sucks and Special Olympics are for the handicapped, not the wealthy. You claim to be a thorough-breed, but I don't know what being a horse has to do with wrestling. Also, I'm not a wimp, I'm a pretty-boy. There's a difference. I'm also not hiding behind prostitutes, I'm assisted by models. I can see why there'd be confusion to a thick-skulled "Everyman" like you, but please try to operate at my level.

John Andrews wrote:

You can only beat a dead horse so much before it finally begins beating itself... and by golly Jonathon King has done pet a burnin dog by crossin this here Outlaw. What Gold Standard Wrestling needs to understand is that they cannot just be shovin their noses into other peoples business without expecting consequences. What such consequences you may ask... Well that is for the members of Gold Standard Wrestling to find out... Starting with Jonathon King...

King: So, who's the dead horse? Why are we setting dogs on fire? We totally can shove our noses in other people's business, and we expect retaliation. We just don't care, since we're going to win anyway.

John Andrews wrote:

Your time to face the greatness of this company has come... Take your beating like a man... Especially if you still value your career boy.

King: Ooooh, I get to face Chris Austin? When!? ..... Oh. Fuck. You were talking about yourself. Well, now I'm disappointed, I thought I'd actually have a challenge. Now I'm bored, so let's just watch the rest and then I'll finish up.

This news is met by cheers from the parts of the crowd still in their seats. On hearing it, some people wander back to their seats from the concession stands.

John Andrews wrote:

Many have come before you King and many more will come after you... Many have tried the Outlaw and while few have succeeded an even number has failed. You will go into this match and face your darkest nightmares... Your blood will decorate the canvas as I pave my way to glory and re-claim what is rightfully mine. You see King... I've waited this long... A lifetime it seems to unveil this new persona, some will call it sick and sadistic but I call it the inner hunter and its time to collect a debt that is due son. Remember King your fates already chosen its up to you to walk the path into the depths of hell. The only thing you'll remember from tonight is my name... You'll never forget the Outlaw...

King: Well that's... dark. Almost intimidating. I like it! You should do it more often. So, time to move on.

King throws the rest of his popcorn at the crowd and kicks his chair out of the ring.

King: John, let me get this across to you, right here and now. You are going to lose. When you're sitting on the mat, wondering what happened as my hand is raised in victory I want you to know exactly why you lost. It's because I'm just that much better than you. Welcome to my Kingdom, bitch.

Ammunition 16.3
LIVE from the Colisee Pepsi in Quebec, Canada

Singles Match
Jonathan King (w/ Sage Braxton vs. 'Outlaw' John Andrews

Tag Match Match
Guest Referee: Hostyle
Leviticus and Matt Dunn vs. Skyler Striker and Hannibal Frost

Tag Match*
P Thurston Devreaux and ??? vs. Abel Steele and Alan Scott, Attorney at Law

Doppleganger Match
Sean Jensen vs. Sean Jensen

Singles Match
Seth Rotunda vs. Steve Monroe

Main Event
Tag Match
Apostasy and Full Metal Champion Chris Austin vs. Ultraviolent Champion Jeff Whitt and Santana Braxton

Ammunition 16.3
LIVE from the Colisee Pepsi in Quebec, Canada

Singles Match
Jonathan King (w/ Sage Braxton vs. 'Outlaw' John Andrews

Tag Match Match
Guest Referee: Hostyle
Leviticus and Matt Dunn vs. Skyler Striker and Hannibal Frost

Tag Match*
P Thurston Devreaux and ??? vs. Abel Steele and Alan Scott, Attorney at Law

Doppleganger Match
Sean Jensen vs. Sean Jensen

Singles Match
Seth Rotunda vs. Steve Monroe

Main Event
Tag Match
Apostasy and Full Metal Champion Chris Austin vs. Ultraviolent Champion Jeff Whitt and Santana Braxton

Ammunition 16.3
LIVE from the Colisee Pepsi in Quebec, Canada

Singles Match
Jonathan King (w/ Sage Braxton) vs. 'Outlaw' John Andrews

Tag Match Match
Guest Referee: Hostyle
Leviticus and Matt Dunn vs. Skyler Striker and Hannibal Frost

Tag Match*
P Thurston Devreaux and ??? vs. Abel Steele and Alan Scott, Attorney at Law

Doppleganger Match
Sean Jensen vs. Sean Jensen

Singles Match
Seth Rotunda vs. Steve Monroe

Main Event
Tag Match
Apostasy and Full Metal Champion Chris Austin vs. Ultraviolent Champion Jeff Whitt and Santana Braxton

Ammunition 16.3[/color]
LIVE from the Colisee Pepsi in Quebec, Canada

Singles Match
Jonathan King (w/ Sage Braxton vs. 'Outlaw' John Andrews

Tag Match Match
Guest Referee: Hostyle
Leviticus and Matt Dunn vs. Skyler Striker and Hannibal Frost

Tag Match*
P Thurston Devreaux and ??? vs. Abel Steele and Alan Scott, Attorney at Law

Doppleganger Match
Sean Jensen vs. Sean Jensen

Singles Match
Seth Rotunda vs. Steve Monroe

Main Event
Tag Match
Apostasy and Full Metal Champion Chris Austin vs. Ultraviolent Champion Jeff Whitt and Santana Braxton

The words of the announcer rang in Leviticus's ears as he sat there in the middle of the ring staring down at his newly won C-4 Championship. He could see the reflection of his bruised face in the gold plate in the center of the belt. As he examined the reflection he couldn't help but smile. He had every intention of coming into this match and waging absolute war against two of the very best FMW had to offer in Skyler Striker and Hannibal Frost, and that was exactly what he had done. He had come in and pulled out a great deal of his technical arsenal and put down the two titans and was now going to walk away with the spoils of war. As he continued to sit there staring down at his newly acquired prize he heard his music continue to play. He looked up toward the ramp where he saw the rest of his GSW family coming down to congratulate him on his victory. Slowly he forced his aching body to stand as his friends entered the ring. They quickly swarmed around him and spoke words of congratulations to him. Before he could say too much Jeff Whitt and Jonathan King hoisted him up on their shoulders. There they were, the three kings of GSW, each of them holding some of the top prizes FMW had to offer. Things could only go up from here. Right now though it was time to enjoy the bright lights of victory.

Suddenly, the music stopped and was replaced by the familiar sound of static. As everyone looked toward the screen the arena lights cut out and all that was left was darkness. Darkness and hissing.

***************************************************************************************

The hissing of the television brought Leviticus out of his slumber. He had been having the same dream ever since he had defeated Skyler in a one on one encounter. He knew that dreams didn't come true without work though. That was why for the last several nights he had been watching these tapes of Skyler and Frost's matches. Both of them were incredible athletes beyond any shadow of a doubt. Both of them had proven their worth amidst the elite of FMW. He knew that beating them was not going to be an easy task by any means. However he had something going for him that neither one of them knew about. His train regimen had become.... unique to say the least.

As Leviticus thought about his training he couldn't help but smile. At first it had seemed awkward, and even wrong. The more he did it though the more right it felt. As the memories of his training rushed through his mind he couldn't help but smile. He felt himself begin to walk across the room toward his bedroom. As soon as he was in his bedroom he didn't even need to turn on the light, he knew where he was going. He gripped the knob on the top drawer of his dresser and reached inside. As soon as his hand touched the cold form of what he was looking for he felt a chill run up his spine. Slowly he pulled the object out and looked at it.

Leviticus: Time to go to work.

****************************************************************************************

Billy Jackson didn't have much. His family had disowned him, his girlfriend had left him, his boss had fired him, and his landlord had evicted him. What he did have though was an escape. His escape was a collection of small white pills in a little plastic bag. He pulled the bag open and snatched one of the pills out of the bag and stuck out his tongue. With precision that only an addict can have Billy placed the pill on his outstretched tongue. The pill began to dissolve before Billy could even get his tongue back in his mouth. As soon as he got his tongue back inside his mouth he closed his mouth and let the oncoming wave of warmth was over him. This was his escape, and it never failed.

He closed his eyes and instead of blackness he was greeted with a series of swirling colors. The colors were somewhere between a kaleidoscope and a demented tie dye pattern. The colors were just the beginning though. As the colors splashed around and merged together the slight sound of a humming began to fill his ears. The humming steadily grew louder as the colors grew more erratic. Billy just sat back and let the pill continue to do it's stuff. This was his escape and nothing was going to take him out of it.

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The word hissed in Leviticus's ears as he stood in the shadows watching the homeless man be carried away by the drug he had just taken. Leviticus was no stranger to junkies. In fact he used to sell them the very vices they seemed to desire. Things were different now though. Now he stood firmly against those things. He did everything he could to combat them, from “adopting” street kids to volunteering time down at the local rehab centers. For all his trying though, Leviticus felt his efforts weren't working. In fact, to his thinking, he had failed on such a level that it cost a friend of his his life. No matter how hard he tried to turn the tide against the streets, the streets just seemed to swallow up more and more lives.


The word hissed in his ears again as he watched the junkie settle back against a pile of garbage. The streets were still pushing out death just as fast as people would take it. The cockroaches that consumed such garbage were only continuing to feed off the pain and misery of other people in order to feed their addictions. The streets were playing for keeps. That was why Leviticus was going to fight back.

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Billy was completely emerged in his psychedelic experience and nothing was going to bring him out. The colors were still moving and forming random patterns and the humming had transformed into a bizarre sort of music. As he continued to let the pill alter his mind the music grew louder and the colors grew more intense. Somewhere though, just beyond the music, Billy though he heard a word.


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Leviticus placed the object he had retrieved from his dresser over his face and began to walk toward the junkie who was now sprawled out over the pile of garbage he had taken rest in. Leviticus stood there for a moment and watched as the chemical the junkie had poisoned his body with began to make his slovenly form begin to twitch erratically. Leviticus felt anger rise up in him as he looked down at the bum and as the anger rose the word came again.


Filled with anger Leviticus reached down and snatched the man out of the pile of garbage. The man didn't even respond. With the bum now upright before him Leviticus could see how far gone the man was and this only served to anger him further.


Leviticus pulled his right hand away from the bum and held him upright with his left arm alone. His right hand balled up into a fist, a fist that very quickly came toward the bum's jaw.

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The music in Billy's mind suddenly became a chaotic symphony of destruction and the colors became a holocaust of vibrancy as the pain shot through his head. His eyes snapped open but the colors and the music didn't leave. Instead the twisted and warped everything around him. One thing was unaffected though.

In front of him was the stark white face of death.

Billy's eyes widened and his heart began to race as he stared in to black void that were supposed to be the face's eyes.

Billy: Please, I don't want to die...

Billy barely stammered the words out before the face spoke a word through unmoving lips.


Billy felt himself lifting up into the air. He wasn't sure if it was the drugs or not, but he knew one thing for sure: he was terrified.

Billy wanted to scream, but before he could he felt himself coming back down toward the earth. As he collided with the ground though he found that it wasn't hard and cold like it was supposed to be. Instead it was soft and warm, almost squishy and the rotting smell of death surrounded him. Billy looked up and saw the white face staring down at him. Billy tried to scramble to his feet but the warm, squishy ground just seemed to suck him down into it. Billy saw a black hand rise up next to the white face.


The word from the white face was a harsh whisper but it had served it's purpose as Billy was even more terrified then he had been a few moments ago. Suddenly Billy saw the black hand come down toward him. Then everything was black.

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Ammunition 16.3
LIVE from the Colisee Pepsi in Quebec, Canada

Singles Match
Jonathan King (w/ Sage Braxton) vs. 'Outlaw' John Andrews

Tag Match Match
Guest Referee: Hostyle
Leviticus and Matt Dunn vs. Skyler Striker and Hannibal Frost

Tag Match*
P Thurston Devreaux and ??? vs. Abel Steele and Alan Scott, Attorney at Law

Doppleganger Match
Sean Jensen vs. Sean Jensen (JustJensen)

Singles Match
Seth Rotunda vs. Steve Monroe

Main Event
Tag Match
Apostasy and Full Metal Champion Chris Austin vs. Ultraviolent Champion Jeff Whitt and Santana Braxton

Ammunition 16.3
LIVE from the Colisee Pepsi in Quebec, Canada

Singles Match
Jonathan King (w/ Sage Braxton) vs. 'Outlaw' John Andrews
Stable vote.

Tag Match Match
Guest Referee: Hostyle
Leviticus and Matt Dunn vs. Skyler Striker and Hannibal Frost
Stable vote.

Tag Match*
P Thurston Devreaux and ??? vs. Abel Steele and Alan Scott, Attorney at Law
Because.

Doppleganger Match
Sean Jensen vs. Sean Jensen
If this is the one Leviticus promo'd for, then yes, this one.

Singles Match
Seth Rotunda vs. Steve Monroe
Promo.

Main Event
Tag Match
Apostasy and Full Metal Champion Chris Austin vs. Ultraviolent Champion Jeff Whitt and Santana Braxton
I'm going to need all the points I can get, silly Jeff.

Ammunition 16.3
LIVE from the Colisee Pepsi in Quebec, Canada

Singles Match
Jonathan King (w/ Sage Braxton vs. 'Outlaw' John Andrews

Tag Match Match
Guest Referee: Hostyle
Leviticus and Matt Dunn vs. Skyler Striker and Hannibal Frost

Tag Match*
P Thurston Devreaux and ??? vs. Abel Steele and Alan Scott, Attorney at Law

Doppleganger Match
Sean Jensen vs. Fake Sean Jensen

Singles Match
Seth Rotunda vs. Steve Monroe

Main Event
Tag Match
Apostasy and Full Metal Champion Chris Austin vs. Ultraviolent Champion Jeff Whitt and Santana Braxton

Ammunition 16.3
LIVE from the Colisee Pepsi in Quebec, Canada

Singles Match
Jonathan King (w/ Sage Braxton) vs. 'Outlaw' John Andrews

Tag Match Match
Guest Referee: Hostyle
Leviticus and Matt Dunn vs. Skyler Striker and Hannibal Frost

Tag Match*
P Thurston Devreaux and ??? vs. Abel Steele and Alan Scott, Attorney at Law

Doppleganger Match
Sean Jensen vs. Fake Sean Jensen

Singles Match
Seth Rotunda vs. Steve Monroe

Main Event
Tag Match
Apostasy and Full Metal Champion Chris Austin vs. Ultraviolent Champion Jeff Whitt and Santana Braxton