4th Hayabusa Cup Match VOTING & PROMO Thread

Our scene opens in a strange place for someone such as our beloved hero, Axel Van Osbourne, but we find ourselves here none the less. We pan around a shadow filled, room circled by a balcony with a lit fire pit in the middle and cowled, robed men looking down on the scene from the balcony. Above the pit we see a statue of a long haired young man with both hands raised in the heavy metal devil horns salute. Two more robed figures guide a figure with a sack over his head near the pit of fire and remove the sack from his head roughly. We cannot see this figure right away, but as the light from the pit flickers we see it is no other than our main character, Osbourne. A voice booms from the balcony and here is where we begin our tale.....

Disembodied Voice: "Osbourne you find yourself before the Elder for possible indoctrination into its highest ranks. You have passed the tests given to you up until this point and now you face the final test the test of FIRE!"

Upon the voice saying FIRE the pit flames to the cieling and Osbourne takes a step back shielding himself from the heat....

AVO: You are correct Lord Ozzy, I have come for the title that is rightfully mine....Lord Van Osbourne....

Lord Ozzy: *mumbles unitelligibly*.... SHARON!!!

Sharon Osbourne: .... Axel, what my husband is trying to say is You will join the likes of Lord Vince Neal

The camera pans over slightly to a fat blonde haired, man chomping on a turkey leg and belching loudly....

..... Lord Lemmy

We cut to a fierce looking man in motorcycle gear who yells...."IT'S TIME TO PLAY THE GAME!!!!", before he hobbles off pissing himself.....

...... Lord Bach

An effeminate looking man slides back his hood and flashes a gleaming white smile as he begins to sing "Music of the Night" from Phantom of the Opera....

Axel shakes his head covering his face in disgust....

...... And finally Lords Winger and Slaughter

Two men in tight bondage gear try to talk over one another and all we hear is "Stops copying me"

AVO: All right Ozzy let's do this before I change my mind.....No wonder everyone makes fun of Metal now a days .... Jeebus help me.....

Lord Ozzy: *mumbles unitelligibly* .....

Sharon: Even Jeebus can't save you now Osbourne.....

The fire's flame rises to the roof again as Axel steps into the center seemingly being burned alive....This trial of fire certifies a rocker as a true heavy Metal GOD!! One of the ELDER!!! If the rocker can survive the center of the shower of flame he can take his place amongst the greats....Axel steps out from the ring of fire and shakes off a little singed hair and lets loose a fierce Rebel Yell....

AVO: I am the God of Thunder, the Lord of the Cinder..... I AM A ROCK GOD!!!!!

Ozzy bids our hero to go out in the World and tell those who do not know of Rock's True Power just what they are missing.... As he finishes his speech he lets loose with a thunderous fart.....

Sharon: We have to head to the Sizzler now..... Ozzy needs a meal or he gets irregular....It's the early bird special you know......

The rest of the geriatric rockers nod shuffling toward the door all mumbling about double coupons and triple points....

Generic Announcer Voice: Will our hero fair as well in FMW's Ring of Fire....Tune in this weekend for the Famed Hyabusa Cup.....

Announcer #2: It better be damned good, we haven't had a F'In show for like a month now.....

Announcer #1: You again??? How's about I come over there and show you what the Ring of Fire is all about....

Announcer #2: You may walk over but you sure as hell will be limping back you fat sack of crap...bring it on....

Our scene yet again mercifully fades to black.......

Enough is enough. I’m so fucking sick and tired of random people vying for my affection.

Most of these people don’t even deserve to speak my name.

Yet, I feel so lonely. I can see to my side… my love, or the one I thought would be my love, isn’t there. She’s never there.

I miss the days where I was the end all be all. Granted, it’s never been that way. Still, that’s all a Queen really wants; someone to see her as all that truly matters, like my first love once did.

My God he was a sight to behold. A long golden mane of hair and a smile that could weaken even the strongest podiums.

No one had ever looked at me…and saw no one else. It was heaven.

Then things changed. At first it was slow. I’m not sure what happened, or how it happened.

But I knew he had become a stranger. He tried to keep my heart but he continued to fail.

What broke my heart was when he tried to use me to garner the affection of another.

I, a man’s great honor, was reduced to nothing more than bait.

His attention towards me shrank with each passing day. I began to feel that I was just a replacement and I loathed it.

He shouldn’t have treated me like that. I loved him with all my heart…in retrospect it serves him right that his attempts proved futile.

But while I could never forgive him…I knew I would never stop loving him, until HE came along.

He was young, naïve. In many ways he was a younger version of my first love. I was cautious, I was scared.

I didn’t want to put myself out there. But there was something about him. He wasn’t exactly the most attractive, or the most interesting but he cared. It intrigued me. It lowered my guard.

It aroused me. Like that, I was putty in his hands. He kissed me like I had never been kissed before. I knew he was the one.

I miss you…

The way he treated me was unlike anything I ever knew. In many ways it was the strength and weakness of our relationship.

I was his friend. Every day he touched me with affection, he let me know how I had defined his life. He placed me on a pedestal.

Whatever I gave him, it fueled him to give back to others. He amazed me at times.

The problem was that I wasn’t the only person he had that effect on and he knew it.

There were infamous times where he went into the arms of another for comfort but he always came back to me.

So I looked past it…then he stopped. He decided that pleasing others took precedence over me, the reason why he even mattered in the first place.

He dumped me because he enjoyed attention. He dumped me because I wasn’t enough for him. I’m MORE than enough for any man and no one can see it.

I see it. You changed me…You ruined me. You…complete…me.

I found that letting him go was a lot harder than I thought. But I finally got over him and men altogether.

I decided to experiment. I figured that if anyone could understand my needs…

Then I saw her. A femme fatale in every sense of the phrase. Dangerous, yet gentle.

I wanted her. Not even for that long, just a taste to see if this was worth making a long-term thing.

Her beauty was chaotically balanced by her viciousness, her dominance. Neither of my first two loves could even compare.

I laughed at them in secret. But now, I realize what I lost. I lost that affection. I lost love.

She won’t even talk to me. I’m not even sure she can. She barely looks at me as if I repulse her.

I wish this could end. I’m tired of looking for love. I’m convinced it’s not out there. I deserve to be a queen. All I want is someone to treat me as I should be.

I’m waiting for you…

What, who said that? I know that voice, but it seems different…chillingly alluring. Who are you?

You know who I am You missed me…

NO….you had your chance. You won’t break my heart again.

I should have never taken you for granted…I’m sorry…

You should be. Go to hell and die.

No. I am here for my queen. I am here for you and you will come to me.

Never again…

Let me hold you…

…no …I…

You can’t help yourself. Come to me.

Things won’t change.

Yes they will…your heart belongs to me.

but…

The King needs a Queen…I need you.

Promise me things will be different… Promise me my dreams will come true.

I promise…

Then I am yours once again…

As it always should have been…

As it always will be?

As it always will be.

The scene opens to a dawn of a new morning, a figurative clean slate. A smattering of waves impacts the jagged rocks that make up the bottom of the cliff that we overlook. As we zoom out, we see people surrounding a few bound and gagged individuals. They remain still as chatter drowns out their silent pleas for help. All of a sudden our view shifts to four men, all with horns. They raise their musical tools and begin to play the eerie melody acknowledging the arrival of the King.

Peasant: HE APPROACHES!

The lack of chatter is astounding as a man dressed in executioner’s clothing, hood and all, approaches the kneeling group of knaves. All of the surrounding people, no more than fifteen kneel out of intimidation, respect, whatever makes you sleep at night. As they all rise, the hood comes off, revealing his face, there are words written on his forehead and cheeks, but we can’t quite make them out.

King: We are gathered here today, to witness the rightful destruction of the foul pieces of trash that have soiled what was once my kingdom. I do apologize for deserting you all but it was not by my own hand that I left. I was unceremoniously usurped from my throne, and I have spent many a night looking to once again lead you all as I am destined to.

The crowd cheers, but a icy stare shuts them up quickly.

King: Oh no, do hold your tongues, lest you have them removed. None of you truly deserve to see this extravagant return to glory of mine. None of you deserve to share in my pleasures, but I feel it as my royal obligation to alert all who may oppose, what awaits them…you there, young maiden.

A young girl, no more than 13 sheepishly steps forward. The King kneels down, gently brushing the tears from her face.

King: What is the matter, young maiden?

Maiden: …

King: You have nothing to fear, I promise you. You may speak.

Maiden: I…I-I don’t want you to hurt him…

King: Who is this him that you refer to?

Maiden: My father.

King: I see how that may be troubling. But allow me this observation. Has your father fulfilled his duties to you? Has he been the shoulder for you to lean on? Has he?

Maiden: Your highness…

King: SILENCE. These questions were of a rhetorical nature, and it alarms me that someone of your intellect was unable to decipher that. Alas, I feel it your privilege that you see the demise of a man that you truly have not needed for years. Your mind is of such sharpness that the fruits of its labor will bring you a fortune to last you and your family for life. Your father’s impending doom only ensures that.

Maiden: Bu..

King: SILENCE OR YOU JOIN YOUR BASTARD FATHER IN THE DEPTHS OF HELL, YOU INSUFFERABLE HARLOT! YOU SHOULD KNOW YOUR PLACE AS YOUR MOTHER DOES, YOU UNGRATEFUL WENCH!

The tears begin to flow as the once beautiful sky darkens in hopelessness. As the King turns away, the youth tries to plead her case before her mother grabs her away. Muffled bawls tear through the air as the mother tries to comfort that which she can’t see. Meanwhile, the King unsheathes his weapons, a large sword with the sharpness of even the deadliest of razors. He called it Occam. He approaches the first man, already positioned inside a pillory and removes his blindfold and gag. This first one is a special case, once a powerful man of influence who allowed human lust and addiction to destroy everything he had built.

King: Do you have any last words, Skyler?

Skyler: I figured you’d stab me in the back again, Jade… and you, Leah. You all...

King: No one cares who did what Skyler! This is your final hour, and you WILL face it like the man you claim to be.

Skyler: I refuse to give in to your delusions. You will never be as important as you hope to be for I should be the rightful ruler. At least I know what I am, unlike-

King: Touching! You seem quite fine with the sorry state in which you are in. Answer this query: How can you rule when you yourself, are ruled by the temptation of addiction?

The King removes from his robe a small bag of indiscernible items. He tosses it to Skyler, who looks at it with longing. He tries to reach for it, but the King uses the flat end of his blade to raise up Skyler’s face.

King: I gather that one last sample before you meet your maker would suffice, yes?

Skyler: (trying to remain strong) No…

King: Come again?

Skyler: I…

King: Tell me, Skyler. How will this make your broken body, your decimated willpower, your imperfect life any better? How will you regain that which you never had? You quested for perfection and found that even it was far too wonderful to remain true. TELL ME, SKYLER! What will you do to allow this disgraceful substance, which you no doubt have polluted the village youth with, one last shrouding of life as you know it?

Skyler: Go t-

Before Skyler can even speak, the King’s eyes widen in fury as he winds up and swings downward towards Skyler’s neck. As Jade screams in horror, the tendon and bone holding Skyler’s head onto his shoulder are savagely ripped through with a ghastly whistle of the blade known as Occam. Skyler’s head flies off of his shoulders and thus the cliff, falling to an impalement from one of the spiked rocks below.

King: DO NOT DARE DISPLAY SUCH FAGGOTRY IN MY PRESENCE!


The crowd looks on shocked at their King’s willingness to be the judge, jury, AND executioner, especially given that Skyler has been vilified for nothing except being himself (That comes up a lot around here). The last judge, jury and executioner Christian Gregory Smitten, sorely lacked on the latter part, as evidenced by his failures to keep the still uncrowned King from notoriety and success. Skyler’s lifeless body falls out and the remains of his neck hangs onto a steel cauldron filled with bits of rotting flesh and blood. If you look closely you can see the now rusted yellow eye of Abel, a former yet failed opposition to the King.

King: Bring me Seth Omega!

The crowd cheers as a rather rotund individual is pulled to the pillory by the King’s henchmen. They strap him in quickly as the crowd anticipates another gruesome demise. The awfully odious stench of the cauldron begins permeating the air. It could best be described as rotting meat, a cloth soiled by an infant and then heated, and backwoods dead animal.

King: Any last words, you corpulent hemorrhoid?

Seth: Actually yeah. You don’t have the balls to kill me.

There is a silence of pity. Did he really just say that the King lacked the testicular fortitude to execute the sorriest example of human excrement that has ever seen the light of day?

King: ..Are you quite done, ignoramus?

Seth: No, in fact-

He never did finish that statement. I’ll let you guess what happened to him.

King: Now you are done, you incompetent blubber-faced clump of donkey waste.

He turns his head snidely to the crowd, which quickly is starting to turn on him. He smirks as the fumes of the vile liquid begins to eat away at the face of Omega’s head.

King: Bring me David GS!

A young fresh-faced lad; a true knight in the making with the talent of even the finest generals is brought in next. David’s senses were so overwhelmed at the stench of death that the acidic burn of vomit rained down onto Seth’s head and the bloody, rotting mixture of bile, bone and flesh.

King: Young David, I want to like you. But I ask. Do you think that you will get to heaven when the claw of Death embraces you?

DGS: I…I would hope so, my Lord. I have tried to be a good person, but I truly am not confident in it at any case, for a situation can turn for the worst. But I am happy with what I have now.

King: The lack of confidence and the significant complacency has sealed your fate.

The King lopped off David’s head with the killer instinct and confidence to truly be the cut-throat general that society was accustomed to that David lacked. His head tumbled down and shattered against nature’s spikes as one woman fainted in shock.

King: Bring me my next victim!

Out next was the former pope who denounced Christ, the namesake of our ruthless superior. The King had heard his name was ‘Heath Yates’ but as Yates tried to appeal to the King already strong mind with his unique school of thought, the King realized that Yates unintentional patronizing would only make him even more insufferable especially with the backing of the old ruler. So the King aimed and thrust Occam into the back of his head and with a mighty rip, popped brain matter and cranium all over his hooded robe.

King: Who else shall taste my wrath!

Next up for slaughter was a weary, battle-tested soldier who had once tasted supreme authority. His name was Alexander O’Rion. O’Rion lay on the pillory, seemingly accepting his farewell. The King closed his eyes, as the constant betrayals weighed on his mind. He remembered how O’Rion had left him to lead a depleted army in the War of Catalyst. With that, O’Rion mouthed to himself ‘See you soon, Theresa’ before the sickening slice separated his mind from the body that had failed the King. This brought about an uproar of disapproval from the crowd, those who were still conscious that is.

Following this, a young man with all to live for was brought to his fate. He constantly called on God to save him from the punishment that He had created for the world. The locals called him Leon Caprice and that, if nothing else made his impression that of an inferior, more so than usual to his highness. The King took great pride in introducing him to his Lord and Savior.

Following him was the court jester. His name was Harley Quint and while good for a laugh, he took his jokes a bit too far when his action brought about the usurping of the King and the subsequent rise of the Queen that ruled terribly. He laughed and laughed maniacally before the laughter was grotesquely silenced. A piece of his spine remained on the broadside of Occam.

The crowd showed a faint glimmer of hope as the King motioned for his next victim. They brought out the town physician, and quite the maiden’s toy of choice. His name was John Derrick and his legend preceded him. But to a King, he was largely worthless at this point and time. As soon as Derrick was brought within striking range, the King threw all of his might behind a vicious swipe towards the mouth of Derrick, instantly killing him as Derrick’s head and upper jaw eventually landed in pieces. The crowd was stunned at the King’s refusal to allow their favorite son to speak. There were two more victims left, and one, she, was saved for last. She was gently brought to face the King as her careful treatment was the least that could be done for a queen.

King: Ah yes, the defiant Queen. You have served your people well, if you could call them that. They were swine in my estimation; unethical, dirty, meek, crippled and timid. You do not possess the ability to even verbalize your request and thus you are unfit to rule. As beautiful as you are, I must regret to inform you that your life must taint my sword. Do you have any last words, or anything you would like to offer me in exchange for your life?

Queen: … Go to hell. You don’t deserve the crown and your head will be had for this.

King: Is there anything, anything at all? I can always use a concubine to practice grappling with, if you comprehend that.

Queen: … I would never bend to your will.

King: Silence. With your death, the rise of a true tyrant will take place. I am so sorry for this, as this is a beautiful position for you. But sadly, this is how you want things.

Queen: … You leave my father out of this…

The King leans in, strokes her raven-hair from her face. The King kisses her passionately. She tries to fight away but it was no go. As the King releases her…she spits in his face. He smiles.

King: Defiant until the end. Alas, the Queen is dead.

This was the sweetest of kills for the King. He could almost taste her allure as a gentle breeze of wind sent droplets of her blood sprinkling in the air. In the King’s bloodlust he had found himself with one last victim to attend to.



As the entire village had reached a fever pitch, the King removes the blind and gag from his last victim. The King hesitated, having seen this face before.

King: You…

Man: Yes, me. We’ve been over this, you will never rid yourself of me.

King: BEAR WITNESS TO YOUR DEMISE!

The King goes to swing, but with a raise of the hand, the would-be victim stops him in his tracks as all of the witnesses vanish mysteriously. The King’s eyes widen as the victim rises, they the only signs of life present.

King: How are you doing this?!?!?

Man: Because I am you, Christopher. I am your very essence, your conscience if you will. If you want to hang on to the crown, you need me.

King: LIAR! Because of you I lost the crown in the first place, and now you possess the gall to tell me that you, merely flesh and blood, are my essence? POPPYCOCK!

RCA: Christopher Austin… Look at me. Don’t you remember the battles we had? Don’t you remember my triumph over Lord Drew Michaels, Duke Harley Quint, and Sir Bobino?

Austin: As clear as day, but despite the good fortune you brought me, you have done much worse! It is because of you I stand in a pool of my victims’ blood! I enjoy this, yes, but I will never care for the well-being of these swine again.

RCA: You can’t help yourself. You will always care. It’s what you are. It’s what you were born and bred to be. You are a man of VALOR, Christopher. Accept it.

The sky darkens threateningly. The roar of thunder echoes off the mountainside. RCA rises to face his longer-haired counterpart.

Austin: There is no valor in catering to lesser beings as you once did. You have weakened me. You have made me one of these peasants and I refuse to repeat the same mistakes that tainted my reign. I don’t need you to succeed. You have only held me back!

RCA: You can’t do this without me. I am your soul. I am your fuel. You are NOTHING without me. YOU WILL ALWAYS BE NOTHING WITHOUT ME!

Austin: THE GATES OF HELL AWAIT YOUR BLASPHEMOUS CARCASS! BE GONE!

Shockingly, with a wave of Austin’s hand, RCA is sent flying into a large wall of granite mountainside. RCA looks stunned at being overpowered. Austin approaches RCA, readying his blade.

Austin: I warned you to stay away from me. I warned you what would happen. You will never ever serve a purpose here again, as long as I live. You have long outlived your destiny, and I am powerful enough to change it. Your blood will stain Occam, just like all the others! I vow to God Himself that I will prove you wrong and you will learn that I am His weapon of choice and you are merely a puppet I allow to entertain these maggots.

RCA: Your incompetence knows no bounds…

Austin: It may be your perception, but my wrath is without opposition.

RCA: Only because I never fought you…

And with that Austin is raised in the air merely with a twitch of RCA’s head. Austin looks frightened as rain begins to pour down. Austin then grits his teeth and somehow breaks the hold of RCA, who looks completely dumbfounded.

Austin: Your sorcery is no match for me, ‘soul’!

RCA: Hmm…that’s surprising.

Austin: To those of lesser intellect, the claw of Death awaits!

RCA: Swing.

Austin maliciously smiles and swings for the head, but as his blade passes through RCA’s neck, the flesh is replaced with smoke and dust as RCA vanishes in thin air. Austin’s eyes dart all over as the rain and darkened sky clouds his vision. A bolt of lightning strikes, illuminating RCA standing behind him, his right arm shaped into a scythe.

RCA: Class Dismissed.

He swings and just as the blade touches Austin’s neck, Austin wakes up in a fright. He looks around, and a chilling feeling of emptiness fills his body. He stands up, somewhat weary as he looks around. He stands up, already dressed to compete as he slowly sits back down, mentally exhausted. A camera invades his personal space and Austin glares into the lens before smirking and beginning to talk.


RCA: Class… I would apologize for this promo not being the marathon epic that people want but, understand something: THIS IS NOT ABOUT WHAT YOU WANT. This is about what the King of FMW wants and not what you people want. You see, now that I’ve been here able to observe you, I realize that you are too naïve and easily fooled to truly benefit from a fair and just king. As a result, I will win the Hayabusa Cup and be crowned for the weakness I once had, lives with me no longer.

I am smarter, more talented, and all around better. There is no equal to the hand of God, the Student of the Game named Chris Austin. I will make your lives a living hell, for deep down it is what you want, class. You crave discipline and sad to say it, FMW is a dark and disturbed abyss that needs the status quo to follow it temporarily. I don’t care much for it but the pattern must continue. I have that sort of VALOR to continue the path laid out for FMW as long as needed.

A King must be reliable, consistent. A King must be confident, he must care. A King must be self sufficient. Tell me, FMW. Who should be your king?

Doc and O’Rion aren’t reliable enough. David GS isn’t confident enough.

Skyler doesn’t care enough. Dunnwood isn’t good enough.

Seth isn’t smart enough. Apostasy isn’t self-reliant enough.

Storm isn’t anything enough. Smitten isn’t fresh enough.

Butters isn’t worth enough. Harley Quint isn’t Chris Austin enough.

Carson and Ripper aren’t experienced enough.

Matt Dunn isn’t hetero enough. Leon and Jeff aren’t proven enough.

However… I am the Student of the Game, and intelligence is my weapon of choice. I am at my best when I am on my own. You’ve seen my promos, I’m plenty hetero. I’ve been in this match twice before. I’ve won it once. I care more about making FMW mine more than most.

I have proven my worth. I have taken down your heroes, your great hopes, your spot-monkeys, and your commissioner and I’m in my prime. I don’t lack confidence in my abilities and you all know that I don’t take nights off.

Isn’t that what a King should be? Everything his opponents are not? Their weaknesses, my strengths and their strengths my stronger weapons?

RCA: I have quite the plans for you, and yet…while I know your instinct says to deny me, I know that your curiosity, as molested by what you have seen in FMW, is so perverse that you can’t help but to want me to divulge my plans. The truth that engorges your body will choose me as the true king I’ve always known myself to be, and you have no choice in the matter. I am not here to serve you, for the King does not serve the people not on his level. I have ravaged my body for three years, and it is time that I take back control from that bitch who was better off sucking my dick as I say this. You will bow down and serve me as the King. THERE IS NO ALTERNATIVE. Any detractors? OFF WITH THEIR HEADS.


RCA: I have given you people epics, I have built everything around what you wanted, and it didn’t work. I will abuse my power like a true King, a true Judge and TyranT and you WILL enjoy every minute of it. It is better that the enemy is the one you know, than one you don’t. But trust me, when I return to my throne, it won’t be the same.


RCA: It is time for the Uncrowned King to take his crown. No one will be safe unless you obey willingly. So if you wish to benefit from my rule, I suggest you support me. Otherwise I will make your lives even more of a living hell. It shall pass as my decree when I reign supreme over all opposition. Class Dismissed.



Austin stands up, placing his hoodie on as he leaves. Right before he places the hood on his head, he passes by a mirror, and unbeknownst to him…A curved scar is on his neck, right where he was cut in his dream. Has his soul perished, was it all too real?

The answer comes at the Return of the King…

Not a bad place to start, don't you think?

Some would call it a bit extreme, for a first timer.

I call it a gift.

I call it a challenge.

I call it my shot.


A blurry segment comes to life on the screen, zooming in on a giant gray steel structure, slowly falling into place around the ring. As the metal connects to the ground, the blur disappears, revealing the cage in all its glory. The heavy fences engulfing the walls shine in contrast to the spotlights, all directed towards the ring. After a few seconds, the screen quickly blurs again, fading to black immediately afterwards.
Four will fight, one will escape.


The screen returns again, revealing a sharply dressed man, looking in the mid-twenties turned towards the screen. With a slight smirk on his face, he opens his mouth to initiate his speech.

"I'm Cliff Carson, danish-american wrestler currently serving 8 years and counting in this industry. I'm here to take a spot on the Full Metal Wrestling roster as a fighter you won't forget soon. Now you may be wondering: "What's a complete nobody like him doing around here talking shit like that?". And to cut it short, I'll answer that with three words.
Because. I. Can.
At this point you probably come up with words like "idiot, moron, incompetent retard with a salary of two dollars plus rabies a month" inside your head, and that's up to you, I don't give a fuck."

The screen then fades over to an idle FMW logo with a medium sized text in the bottom:

Christian Moore: This is so retarded, Slegna. You've got everyone believing your stupid story.

We cut to Slegna who can be seen arming a trap fashioned out of twigs and rope.

Slegna: It isn't a story; it's true! I saw Smoochy the Frog. I've seen him come through here three days in a row now.

Slegna finishes his trap, and then pulls a walkie-talkie from his back pocket.

Slegna: Hawk Eyes, this is Second Wind. Do you copy?

Butters: This is Hawk Eyes. We've set up the net and we're standing by.

Butters, Axel Van Osbourne, and Leon Caprice can be seen hanging an overly complicated net between two trees.

Slegna: Copy that, Hawk Eyes. Keep surveillance tag Alpha Niner. Second Wind out.

Christian Moore: Just admit you were lying, Slegna, so that everyone can go home!

Slegna: I don‘t think so! We have a deal, Moore! If I can prove Smoochy‘s real, you have to suck my balls, remember?

Slegna ignores Christian’s comments and squaks into his walkie-talkie again.

Slegna: Second Wind to Blackie. What's your six, Blackie?

De: [rather pissed off] I don't want the code name "Blackie."

Slegna: Code names are what they are, Blackie! Check your six and alert when in position! 

Slegna puts the walkie-talkie down and begins to cover his trap with foliage, as to hide it from Smoochy

Christian Moore: This is fucking retarded!

Slegna: Hahaha, getting nervous, Moore? When Smoochy shows up, you must suck my balls. Don't forget I have a signed contract from you. 

Slegna turns and pulls out a folded piece of paper. Sure enough, at the bottom both Slegna and Christian moore’s signatures can be seen.

Christian Moore: Yeah, and if you couldn't prove that Smoochy is real, you have to give me $10! Now just pay up and stop being stupid!

Slegna: [whispering loudly] Goddammit, why hasn't it shown up yet? 

Slegna picks the walkie-talkie back up, frustrated.

Slegna: Second Wind to Faggot! Come in, Faggot!

Cole Dragos can be seen sitting on a platform a good fifteen feet up a tree with a telescope.

Cole Dragos: [sounding defeated] This is Faggot. Go ahead.

Slegna: Faggot, I need you to keep surveillance north to northeast. Check back in five.

Cole Dragos: Okay, will do. Faggot out. 

Christian Moore: Okay, that's enough. Everybody! Slegna’s a douche. He’s just pulling one of his stupid tricks on everyone, because he's trying to get out of a deal he made!

Slegna: It was here, I swear it! I don't know why it's not showin' up this time!

Christian Moore: You didn't see Smoochy the Frog, douchenugget! If you could prove it, I had to suck your balls, but if you couldn't, you had to pay me ten dollars! Pay up!

Cole Dragos: Uh, I got somethin'! I got it! It's, uh, oh, jeez, I think it's a little green frog-man!

Slegna: Set off all traps… do not let him escape!

A small explosion can be heard as the men pull different ropes, causing nets and traps to go flying in all directions. Smmochy da Frog can be seen dodging net after net, but finally gets tricked as it rolls into the very cage-trap Slegna had camouflaged.

Butters: Dude.

Christian Moore: F-Fuck me, it's Smoochy the Frog.

Axel Van Osbourne: Wow.

Leon Caprice: Cool.

De: No way.

Slegna: [making his way through, out of breath] Agh. Uh, move aside! Move aside! All right, butthole, what‘re you trying to pull?!

Smoochy: You guys don't know what you're doin'. I need to deliver an important message! There's goin' to be an attack!

Slegna pulls out a rather large bowie knife. He looks pissed off.

Slegna: Tell me what you are doing back here or you die! 

Smoochy backs up in the cage, then slips out the unfinished back. Slegna sighs as he relises Christian’s whining prevented him from finishing his trap.

Butters: Where'd he go?

Smoochy peaks his head out from under some brush, just out of any of the men’s reach.

Smoochy: I was sent to warn of a terrorist attack, but you boys have made me late. Now the terrorists will prevail! The end is near!

Smoochy darts into the woods, and is quickly too far to be seen.

Cole Dragos: Dude…

Slegna slowly walks up to Christian Moore, just a few inches from his ear.

Slegna: Moore, suck my balls.

Slegna holds up the contract both men signed as Christian just stand motionless.

~*~

Christian Moore, Cole Dragos, Axel Van Osbourne, and Butters are all standing outside discussing what happened just the prior day.

Christian Moore: Dude, why would Smoochy the Frog be warning of a terrorist attack? It makes no God damn sense.

Cole Dragos: Yeah, this has to be another prank by Slegna to try and embarrass Christian.

Butters: I don’t know guys, that all seemed pretty legit. Cole was even the one to point him out at first. So unless your own partner wants you to suck Slegna’s balls…

The men are interrupted by a strange looking man wearing a tall hat and bearing a large moustache. He looks very out of place.

Blackwell: Excuse me, have any of you seen… and I know this sounds strange… Smoochy the Frog?

Christian Moore: GOD DAMN IT!! Smoochy the Frog isn’t real! He’s an imaginary character!

Blackwell: Just because something is imaginary, doesn’t mean it’s not real… In fact, I can show you. Come with me.

Cole Dragos: I don’t know, you look kinda sketchy…

Butters: Don’t be a wuss, let’s go.

The group follows Blackwell to a large, weird looking ship. The side bears the name “S.S. Carnival” They shrug it off and board as Blackwell begins to sing very off key and loudly…

Blackwell: IMAGINAAAAAATION…. IIIIIIIIMAGINAAAAATION….. IMAAAAGINATIOOOOOOON!!!!!!!

Butters: Dude, is he just saying imagination over and over again?

Axel Van Osbourne: Yeah, I think so…

Cole Dragos: Remember Butters, this is all your fault.

As they all start to feel skeptical, the ship lands in a very strange, blackish and purplish place. There are many people around, and none of them look the least bit normal.

Blackwell: Boys, welcome to Imaginationland.

They look around as the get off the ship. So many people can be seen. Luke Skywalker, Dick Tracy, Tromboner Man, The Rik, Bigfoot, Super Mario, The Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, Majin. They are all in shock as they walk around.

Blackwell: You see, my skills of running a dark carnival translate very well once I left Full Metal Wrestling. This is where all of our personas that become the stuff of legend go. This is also where all the characters and things people think of live. This is Imaginationland… and I have become the mayor.

Tromboner Man: Wow, Blackwell, did you bring us new friends?

The Rik: Butters is here already? I would’ve thought you had a few years left in ya at the ole FMW. Sorry to see you here so soon.

Blackwell: No, no. These guys aren’t here to stay… I had to show them that imaginary doesn’t mean fake. They saw Smoochy in the real world, and thought that he was fake.

Butters: Wow, this is amazing. I’m glad Smoochy stumbled into us, too bad he might not get that message to wherever he was going in time.

Christian Moore: Yeah, Smoochy was supposed to warn somebody about som sort of terrorist attack.

Blackwell: … but Smoochy was headed here… how can there be a terrorist attack in Imaginationland?

Almost as if on cue, everyone is interrupted by the yelling and screaming of several men wearing turbans and yielding automatic rifles. Luke Skywalker takes a shot to the face as The Rik gets clipped by some flying shrapnel. Tromboner man tries to run, to no avail as he’s caught by pipe bomb thrown directly at his feet. Meanwhile the Ninja Turtles are caught one-by-one and tied up. The group of active FMW Superstars are scrambling as a magical Scotish Dragon swoops down at their feet.

Dragon: Hop on guys. I can get you to safety!

The four climb onto his back as he starts to fly off. Just as they are about to fly back in the direction they came, a terrorist fires an RPG at the Dragon. It hits his tail, causing him serve pain as he bucks from the explosion. Everyone is able to hang on…. Except Butters as he falls to the ground. With little time left, the Dragon cannot turn around, and leaves Butters trapped in Imaginationland.

~*~

Christian Moore jolts out of bed, startled awake by his horrible dream. He looks around and sees his familiar room, and a strange sense of relief washes over him. He chuckles a bit as he grabs his cell phone and calls Cole Dragos. After a few rings, Cole can be heard on the other end.

Christian Moore: Cole… you’re not going to believe this strange dream I had.

Cole Dragos: I doubt it can top mine… I had Tromboner Man in mine.

Christian Moore: Wait… what about Luke Skywalker?

Cole Dragos: …and the song?

The pair freeze for a moment, then in unison, sing the Imagination Song.

Moore and Dragos: IMAGINAAAAAATION…. IIIIIIIIMAGINAAAAATION….. IMAAAAGINATIOOOOOOON!!!!!!!

Christian Moore: We gotta go check on Butters.

~*~

Back in Imaginationland, Butters is bound and gagged, as one of the terrorists watches over hi m and the other hostages, a very injured Tromboner Man, Bigfoot, Mario, and Majin. He looks around, panicked and trying to figure out how to escape.

Terrorist: Abhuahd hatah jubigad!

Butters: I- I don’t know what you’re saying…

The terrorist hands Butters a slip of paper and points at the camera in front of them. He then presses the tip of his assualt rifle to Butters’ temple.

Butters: Oh… I get it now.

~*~

We cut back to a court room where Slegna and Christian Moore stand opposite each other. The judge looking a them both curiously.

Judge: So let me get this straight… You signed a contract stating that if you lost this bet… you would suck Slegnadamous’s balls… Is this correct?

Christian Moore: Well, yeah… but-

Judge: No buts… he not only caught Smoochy the Frog, but the news of the terrorist attack on Imaginationland this morning proves that he is real. My final judgement is for Christian Moore to suck Slegna’s balls within twenty-four hours, or serve a federal prison sentence.

The judge bangs her gavel, making the ruling official, as Slegna walks over to Christian Moore.

Slegna:  Nyah nyah nyah nyah nyah nyah! You have to suck my ba-alls! Nyah nyah nyah nyah nyah nyah!

Christian Moore: This is retarded…

Slegna: Meet me at my locker room in twelve hours… everything will be ready…

Christian Moore: Weak…

~*~

We cut to the interior of a War Room with multiple high ranking American Officers gathered around, viewing a giant screen. On the screen is a video of Butters reading at gunpoint.

Butters: …and if you do not meet these demands within seventy-two hours, we will destroy and kill every last one of your imaginary beings. Death to America!

After he finishes, the terrorists move to turn off the camera. Butters shouts out in the final seconds of the tape.

Butters: Christian! Cole! You need to tell Sle--

The video is cutoff. The officers in the room all start to mumble. They are interrupted by the General.

General: Men, we have confirmed this video has been sent to us by the Taliban. We have confirmed they’ve found a way into Imaginationland and have indeed murder and destroyed a massive amount of that place already. This is a very real threat, and we need to figure out how to stop them.

Major: Sir, What I don’t understand is… if that is Imagination land.. Who was the hostage reading the note? He’s not any character I’ve heard of or seen.

General: The CIA has already been looking into the hostage. His name is Butters, he’s a small time wrestler in a major company called Full Metal Wrestling.

Major: Did we find out who he was yelling for at the end?

General: That is being taken care of as we speak…

~*~

In the Comeback Kids locker room, Slegna sits on a throne wearing a long flowing robe and sultans crown. A wide grin is on his face as people gather around. Christian Moore walks into the room, seeing the banners reading “Watch Christian Moore Suck Balls” cause him to flash with anger.

Christian Moore: This is retarded… I can’t say it enough.

Slegna: Now Now, Moore. Save your breath… you’re going to need it in just a few moments.

Cole Dragos: Slegna, is this really needed? You proved your point, Christian was a dumbass, sorry Christian. Do you really need to embarrass him like this?

Slegna: A judge of the United States of America told me I must have my balls sucked within the next twenty-four hours. I love America, Moore. I am not going to spit in the face of the judicial system, dammit!

Christian Moore: … Let’s get this over with…

Suddenly everyone is interrupted by a SWAT team moving in on the locker room. The group of soldiers grab Christian Moore and Cole Dragos and take them away. The whole scene lasts only a matter of seconds, leaving Slegna stunned.

Slegna: No… NO… NO!!!

Slegna tries to follow behind, but cannot even see the SWAT team anymore. Stunned, he throws his sultan crown on the ground, and makes a pledge to himself and to anyone within ear shot.

Slegna: I swear this, Christian Moore… by the time this thing is over… You -WILL- suck my balls…

~*~

In Imaginationland, the terrorists are untying Blackwell, and forcing him to follow. He suddenly runs back and dives at Butters feet.

Blackwell: Butters, listen to me. You are the key. You are a creator… you are the only one that can fight them off. Escape from here… go to the top of Mt. Vesuvius, and find the elders. They will help you figure out how to save us. They’re about to kill me… so everything lies on you…

The terrorists bash Blackwell in the back of the head and drag him off, leaving Butters stunned.

Butters: I… I’m the key?!

RING OF VALOR:
Alex O'Rion vs. Chris Austin vs.David GS vs. Jeff Whitt

RING OF WIRE:
Apostasy vs. Harley Quint vs. Storm vs. Skyler Striker

RING OF FIRE:
Axel Van Osbourne vs. Butters vs. Christian G. Smitten vs. Leon Caprice vs. Ripper

RING OF STEEL:
Cliff Carson vs. Dunnwood vs. John "Doc" Derrick vs. Seth Omega

Final: David GS

"Ladies and gentlemen, here is your winner, winning 3 points for Ammunition, and your NEW GOLD CARD HOLDER, KAORU! HANAYAAAAAAAAAAAAMAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!"

David staggered down the backstage corridor, his ears still ringing with the echo of Ella Vader's post-match announcement. Actually, that statement wasn't entirely correct; his ears had started ringing a few seconds before Vader had opened her mouth, courtesy of the newest de facto contender to the World Championship and his weapon of mass destruction. David reached the door to his locker room and rested his forehead against it, taking a few deep breaths and cursing his inability to fully regain his sense of balance.

GodDAMN that Goliath Lariat...

He was nauseous. Kaoru had been the wrecking ball to his no-longer-needed building, and he was gonna see his last three meals again because of it.

David quickly turned the handle and pushed the door open. He stumbled over the threshold and towards the nearest trashcan, right past the folding chair Steven was sitting in to watch the pay per view. The younger Smith did and said nothing, merely watching as his older brother fell to his knees, took hold of the can's rim with both hands, and was violently sick.

"I'm surprised," he said when David finished. "All those head drops you took, I thought you'd spill it all over the hallway."

David turned around, sitting down on his ass and leaning back against the trashcan. Gasping too hard to respond, he wiped at his mouth at the back of his hand. He tucked his head between his knees and just sat there silently.



That's it.

That's it. It's all over.

You don't understand.

That...the Streak, it was all I had. It was the only thing that made me stand out.

In this business, everyone has something that makes them stand out, a defining characteristic that sets them apart from everyone else. Chris Austin's the guy who rapes and teaches; Skyler Striker's the drugged-up family man; TyranT's the guy who's willing to throw his own daughter under one bus after another to remain champion. Me? I'm the guy...I WAS the guy who didn't lose. But I just lost, so...

...what?

.........

.........

Maybe...




Somewhere in Iowa. That was the extent of David's knowledge on the matter.

They were at a roadside diner somewhere in Iowa, and they weren't going elsewhere anytime soon.

David swiveled around on his barstool and looked out through the glass front of the diner, into the parking lot. Steve's Mustang sat just inside the entrance from the interstate, smoke trailing up from beneath it's slightly raised hood in black, wispy tendrils. It had started smoking when they were a few miles up the road, just barely in sight of the diner, and the two brothers had been forced to push it the rest of the way to the diner, a brick-and-mortar oasis in the middle of the barren wasteland that was the American Midwest.

He didn't know enough about cars to understand what had gone wrong, but Steve had been uncharacteristically silent as they'd wheeled the 'Stang into the parking lot, his facial expression grim.

Needless to say, that didn't bode well for David's mood. Coupled with his recent loss to Kaoru and his impending loss to either Chris Austin or Alex O'Rion (Jeff Whitt was a piece of shit and didn't matter), this had his temperament hovering dangerously close to 'Murder'.

"That your car out there?"

David swiveled back around to find the short order cook, a portly black man with the slightest hint of gray beginning to show at his hairline, staring at him curiously. "Uh, no," he replied, hooking a thumb over at his brother, who was sullenly munching on a plate of cheese fries. "It's his."

The cook nodded and turned to Steve, who had by now looked up from his food. "What'd ya do to it?"

Steve frowned, a comical sight that was almost - ALMOST - enough to pull a laugh out of David. "Man," he snapped, clearly annoyed, "how the hell should I know?"

"All right, all right," the cook said quickly, holding his hands up defensively. "Just curious, is all. No need to get angry." He turned and went down to the far end of the counter, where a slender blonde waitress was counting money. David watched him go and then turned so that he was facing Steve.

"Was that really necessary?" he asked.

Steven popped another fry into his mouth. "Was what necessary?"

"Snapping at him like that. I get that you're pissed about the car, but it won't do us much good if you make him mad and he doesn't let us use this place's phone to call a towtruck."

Steven cast a furtive glance down at the cook and the waitress, who were conversing in hushed tones and shooting the two brothers the occasional cautious glance. "Shit, you're right," he said, turning back to David. "You think I oughta go apologize or something?"

"Nah." David snagged a fry from his brother's plate. "Damage done; he's probably not that mad, anyway." He swiveled back around to face the front of the diner; storm clouds had begun to gather outside, blotting out the sun and casting shadows over the Great Plains. "We'll have to get outta here soon, though," he mused. "Won't make the Hayabusa Cup if we don't."

"Okay," Steve said, swiveling around to stare out into the growing darkness alongside his brother. "You STILL haven't told me what this thing is. Is it a tournament? Does it get you a championship? What?"

David didn't answer right away; rather, he smiled to himself and continued to stare out through the plate glass windows. For whatever reason (damned if he knew), Steve was growing more and more enamored with the sport of professional wrestling. While this newfound fascination manifested itself in many forms, it consisted mostly of him questioning David about it at every conceivable opportunity; the questions he presented his older brother with ranged from the ins and outs of different match types to the effectiveness of one move versus another.

"Well?" Steve asked. "You gonna tell me?"

David swiveled back around to the counter, the smile still hovering faintly about his lips. "Sure," he replied amicably, his mood lightened considerably by the opportunity to educate his younger sibling. "Now pay attention."

Steven turned with him and leaned in, ears open.

"Okay," David started. "First of all, it's called the Hayabusa Cup for a reason; they named it that in honor of Eiji Ezaki, a japanese wrestler who used Hayabusa as his ringname."

"Ooohhh," Steve replied, appearing to be genuinely intrigued. "Cool."

"Anyway," David continued, "there are four rings, each with a different group of wrestlers and a different set of rules. The winners of all four rings go on to a final Fatal-Four-Way Match, and the guy who wins that wins the whole shebang."

"And what's that getcha?" Steve asked. "World Title shot?"

David shook his head. "Nah. The winner becomes King of FMW."

His brother's eyebrows shot up. "What the hell does that mean?"

"Fuck if I know." David shrugged his shoulders. "Still...given all the fanfare it's receiving, it sounds like something worth pursuing."

"Yeah. What're the rules for your ring?"

David grinned sideways at his brother. "I got really lucky. I'm in the Ring of Valor - standard rules, which means no wire, no steel, and no fire."

Steven tossed his head back and laughed at the absurdity of what his brother just said. "Nice, dude - who's in there with you?"

This question seemed to kill something inside David. His expression clouded, his shoulders slumped, and he said, in a voice almost depressingly dull, "Well, there's this no-nothing named Jeff Whit...he's some podunk from another fed who's trying to invade FMW, but he won't be much of a problem."

"Yeah?" Steve pressed, his brow furrowing as he noticed the striking change in his brother's mood. "Who else?"

David took a deep, depressed sigh. "Chris Austin and Alex O'Rion."

"HOLY SH--" The younger Smith caught himself at the last moment and glanced down at the end of the counter to see both the cook and the waitress staring at them. "The Tag Champs?" He whispered, turning back to David. "BOTH of 'em?!" When David nodded, Steven shook his head and whistled softly. "Shit, dude. That's heavy. You think you can beat 'em?"

David snorted. "Austin and O'Rion? Are you serious?"

Steven leaned back, perhaps caught a bit off-guard. "Well...I..."

"That'd be a 'no', Steve. I couldn't beat Kaoru - what makes you think I stand a chance against either of these guys?"

Steve frowned, sympathetic to what his brother was feeling and yet put off by his extreme lack of self-confidence. "Aw, c'mon, Dave. Geez, one would think you'd have grown out of this by now--" He paused, distracted by a new presence among them, and looked up to see the short order cook staring over the counter at them.

David glanced up as well, looking at the cook in confusion. "Can we help you?" he asked, noting his odd choice of words given the man's place of work.

"You said that black Mustang was your car, right?"

David and Steven shared a look, and the latter nodded in confirmation. "Yeah," Steven said slowly. "Why?"

"Well," the cook elaborated, "if that's your car, then what're those guys doin' out there?"

The Smith Brothers turned in unison, following the cook's finger as he pointed out the front of the diner. It had begun pouring rain, making it nearly impossible to see outside, but in the dim, neon-green light of the diner's sign, they could see three men poking around Steve's Mustang.

"What the FUCK...?" Steve trailed off, getting down from his barstool and heading for the door. David followed after him, and the two of them stepped out into the downpour and began crossing the parking lot at a brisk clip. "Hey!" the younger Smith called out through the rain. "What the hell are you guys...!"

When they drew close, Steve's voice caught in his throat. David didn't immediately see the reason why; to him, they just looked like three guys. Three guys in black boots, black jeans, and black jackets with green symbols on the--

David saw it. He saw it and was instantly, profoundly afraid.

On the upper arm.

A green symbol.

A Locust.

Shit.

The brothers slowly began to back away from the men who had been sent to either capture or kill them. When the three began to advance, they sped up a bit. When the one in the lead reached into his jacket, they sped up a bit more.

When the leader pulled out something slim and shiny, they turned tail and ran.

Nearly a half-inch of standing water had collected on the asphalt of the parking lot; David's and Steven's feet pounded it, sending up an iridescent spray that turned green in the light of the diner's sign with each step. With the three Locusts hot on their heels, they forsook the seeming safety of the diner and instead veered off to the right, along the building's outer wall.

Behind the diner, there was a trash compactor, an open, rank-smelling dumpster, a small, square of concrete that had been put there for God-knows-what, and then nothing - open field for as far as the eye could see, which wasn't very far in the rain-aided darkness of night.

It was here, with an abundance of room to run in, that David took the lead. His powerful leg muscles, muscles that had enabled him to Spear a man who weighed in excess of three hundred pounds down to the mat, carried him past his brother and beyond. He could feel the wind and rain beating at his face and the front of his torso; air shrieked past his ears, and the labored breathing of his brother and the riotous, bloodthirsty yells of the Locusts gradually faded behind him.

Then he took a step, and the ground fell away.

It was a small dip in the earth, dropping down maybe three or four feet before rising up again and continuing on. David pitched forwards and landed flat on his face; though the pain was relatively minor, he saw stars and tasted a rather unsettling amount of blood.

Thinking quickly, he rolled over onto his back and stared skywards, shielding his face from the rain with his hand as the sounds of Steven and the Locusts drew closer.

Something passed over him. David's arm lashed out and grabbed on, dragging his brother down into the small gulley by his ankle. He then combat-crawled up alongside his brother, who was trying to scramble back to his feet, and held him down. "Shut up. Stay down and stay quiet." Steve's struggles immediately ceased, and the two of them just lay there, motionless.

The Locusts leapt the ditch as Steve had tried to do and continued running, their footsteps rapidly fading into the distance.

After several more seconds, David released his hold on his brother and got to his feet. Steven followed soon after and they both stood there in the gulley, wiping mud from their clothes and faces.

"That..." Steve said, clearly winded. "That was a...good idea."

"Thanks," David replied, not bothering to point out that he had literally faceplanted on the ingenious hiding place. He stepped up out of the gulley and headed back towards the diner, Steven at his heels. The rain refused to let up; both brothers were soaked to the marrow, water literally running from their long locks of hair and down their backs.

They reached the diner, walking over the concrete platform and up to the backdoor. David jiggled the handle.

"It's...it's open," he said, surprised.

Steven shrugged. "Well, if it's open, then let's go in."

David shrugged himself and opened the door for his brother, allowing him inside first. The door was metallic; thick and heavy, it required David to pull it open with both hands. His view of Steven was obstructed by the door as the younger Smith stepped inside; that's why he couldn't place the heavy THUD that he heard.

"Steve?" He stepped around the door to find his brother facedown just inside the door, unconscious.

"Idiots."

It was a simple word, but it was spoken from a mouth that David didn't recognize. He looked up just in time to receive a segment of lead pipe right between the guys, and was unconscious himself before he even hit the ground.



"So? You gonna do it, or what?"

The sun was bright; a bit TOO bright, if you asked David. He stood at the edge of the basketball court, feet tense inside his Nike tennis shoes, hands curled into fists inside the baggy pockets of his basketball shorts. Tyler Wair stood across from him, near center-court. He wore a cocky grin on his face, and for damn good reason - he was eleven years old, a full three older than David, and a comparable degree larger.

"Well?" Tyler asked, leering at him. "You gonna fight me?"

"FIGHT! FIGHT! FIGHT! FIGHT!"

David felt the muscles in his face begin to twitch and pull, as if stuck by invisible needles. The August sun and its heat were bad; the ring of kids that had surrounded him, closing him in with the eleven-year old Tyler and calling for blood, was infinitely worse.

He felt his fists tighten inside his pockets. He didn't want to fight Tyler; Tyler was bigger, and stronger, and a lot meaner than David could ever hope to be. David knew full-well WHY he should fight Tyler - the evidence of that was standing right behind him, blood from his nose mixing with tears from his eyes as both ran down his face.

"C'mon, David," he heard Steven say, still sniveling a little. "You can beat him."

David felt his heart sink into his belly. He couldn't - that was the thing.

He couldn't get back at Tyler for making fun of him and his little brother for weeks and weeks and weeks; he couldn't get back at Tyler for chasing them home after school every day and then lying to both his parents and the school staff about it; worst of all, he couldn't get back at Tyler for punching his six-year-old brother in the face and making him cry.

Granted, he could TRY...but then he'd get hurt just as bad as Steven had, or worse.

He didn't want that. No matter what Tyler Wair or anyone else had done, he didn't want that.

"Come on, you pussy!" Tyler yelled. "Let's do this!"

In spite of his curiosity as to the meaning of the word 'pussy' (he assumed it meant something similar to 'frady-cat'), David turned, grabbed his brother by the hand, and shouldered his way out of the circle of kids.

"Wh...where are we going?" Steven asked.

"Home," David replied coldly, trying his best to ignore the jeers of Tyler and the rest of his classmates.

"But why?" Steven asked. "You can beat him!"

"No," David said as they left the schoolyard, tears of shame and fury gathering behind his eyes. "I can't."

Pussy.



David awoke to a stabbing pain in the center of his forehead. He tried to reach up and massage it with his hands, but this effort was halted by the unpleasant revelation that his hands were bound behind his back. He opened his eyes a crack and saw that he was sitting on white-tile floor that he had glimpsed while opening the back door of the diner.

Steven sat across from him in a similar state; blood trickled from a wound on his forehead, most of it having scabbed over on his face, and his hands were bound behind his back. He was still out; the Locust who had busted open the back door of the diner and had been lying in wait for the Smith brothers to return had clocked him a lot harder than he had clocked David.

"What do we do with the other two?"

David perked up at the sound of a man's voice, one of the one's he'd heard screaming like a hyena as he'd chased them across the field out back. He looked around, searching for the source of the voice, and spied a door that he suspected led out into the main area of the diner. He also spied the short order cook and the waitress, bound and gagged, staring at him from further down the wall.

"I dunno," another Locust answered.

"We could just off 'em," a third suggested. This caused the waitress' eyes to shoot open wider, and a small squeak trickled out through her gag.

"Nah," the first Locust said. "Too messy."

"Doesn't have to be," Number Two replied. "And who'd find 'em? This place is in the middle of frickin' nowhere."

There was silence for a second, and them Number One said, "Good point..."

David felt his pulse quicken.

Shit. Okay...think, Dave, think. How do we get outta here? Our car's busted...we can take theirs. We're tied up...find something to cut the bonds. Something to...there. That.

David sidled along the wall, up to the edge of a large, cubular, stainless-steel machine that he guessed was the stove. The material binding him was packing twine; it took little more than rubbing it up against the corner of the stove to cut it. The cook and the waitress watched as he withdrew his hands from behind his back, rubbing at the places where the twine had rubbed through the skin. David thought they looked genuinely surprised.

Okay, now what? Free the cook and the girl.

David went over to the two of them and knelt down. "Gonna untie you and take out your gags," he murmured, casting repeated glances over at the door that led out front. "Butcha gotta keep quiet, okay?" They both nodded in consent, and he removed their gags. "Now," he said, circling around behind the waitress and going to work on her bonds, "I want you both to take him," he nodded over at Steve's unconscious form, "and go out back."

"What are you gonna do?" the waitress asked, her eyes huge with fright.

He knew what he was going to do, of course. The plan was to escape in the car that the Locusts had come in, but to do that, they would need the keys. From the Locusts. Yes, David knew what he had to do, but that didn't mean he liked it.

"Don't worry about me," he said softly as he moved to the cook. "Just go out back and wait for me. Stay out of sight of the door; if either of those three come out instead of me, you pick him up--" Another nod at Steve. "--and take off running."

He looked hard at them both. "Understand?"

When they nodded, he pointed at the slightly-ajar back door. "Then hop to it."

And hop they did, being especially careful not to harm Steven any further, as well as to keep completely silent as they exited out the back door and pulled it shut behind them. Then David was alone, crouched down next to the back counter, opposite the door that led into the front of the diner. He listened to the incessant chatter of the three Locusts; they talked about how easy it had been to track the Smith Brothers down, about how easy it had been to subdue and detain them both, a feat that had been considered exceptionally dangerous after they'd managed to infiltrate the Locusts' HQ in Omaha, about the massive reward they'd get for delivering them to the Nebraska boss, and, perhaps more commonly than anything else, about how tight the waitress would be.

David didn't lie to himself, couldn't lie to himself: he was scared. Terrified, in fact.

There were three of them, and one of him. Neither the cook nor the girl were fighters, and Steve was in no condition to even stand, much less fight a man armed with a switchblade.

That just left him.

All of a sudden, the chatter stopped, punctuated by a final statement by the first Locust to have spoken: "Well, let's go take care of 'em."

Then there were footsteps, starting near the front door and coming back. David listened, his blood rushing through his veins faster with every step, as they went down to the very far end of the counter, circled around, and started back.

Gotta be quick; gotta catch 'em by surprise. Gotta drive my feet, keep my shoulder forward.

It seemed like a solid plan, but the first shreds of confidence David had felt that day were torn apart by the cold, metallic SNIK of three switchblades being extended. He looked down at his fingers and saw that they were shaking; he had to fight to keep his teeth from chattering.

No.

Pussy.

No!

PUSSY.

NO!

The footsteps stopped. The door swung open.



It was like a scene from a silent movie, save for the steady background track - the pitter-patter of millions of raindrops, pounding the barren earth of the American Midwest, pulping it into mud. The girl and the man crouch in the darkness behind the diner, just outside the corona of light cast by the lightbulb on the rear of the building, each resting a hand on the unconscious one between them.

The handle of the back door turns; they both tense their shoulders, ready to take their companion and flee into the night. However, they relax when they see that it's not him, or him, or even him, but Him. The man, whose hair has grown just a little whiter on this night, bows his head in a prayer of thanks; the girl breaks down crying, tears and raindrops becoming one on her face.

He steps over the theshold, the massive splatters of arterial red briefly visible on his shirt, hands, and face before being lost to the rain and the dark. He spies them almost immediately and goes over to them.

The girl pulls him into a close, thankful embrace. He seems surprised for a moment, and then hugs her back. He kneels and picks up the fallen third, carrying him effortlessly in his arms. He then leads them around to the front of the diner, where four vehicles sit idle - a black Mustang with its hood slightly up, an old, beat-up sedan, a minivan, and an indigo SUV.

He makes a beeline for the SUV, produces the keys as if by magic, and unlocks the doors. The man and the girl pile into the back and accept the fallen third, while He gets into the driver's seat. The blood on his shirt, face, and hands is again briefly visible in the light inside the car, signs of what he has done and the change he has undergone on this night.

However, they are once again lost to the dark as the lights inside the SUV wink out and it pulls out of the parking lot, roaring west down the interstate and disappearing into the night.



It was his freshman year of high school, and he had had enough.

It was May of 2005, mere days before Tyler Wair's class was set to graduate. David had caught him off-guard coming out of school that day; he had been headed across the parking lot, alone, with most of his buddies either in detention or suspended or expelled. He'd picked his spot well, hiding between two large Suburbans and barreling out the very second he saw Wair's smug face.

On that day, in the parking lot of that high school, almost a decade's worth of mockery, insults, and physical abuse met its retribution.

Had he not been blinded by bloodthirsty rage, the irony of the scene would not have been lost on David Smith.

He would've noticed that the circle around the two of them contained many of the same kids who had surrounded them on the playground all those years ago; only this time, instead of chanting 'FIGHT! FIGHT! FIGHT!' and calling for blood to be spilled, they looked on in horror as it actually was.

He would've noticed across the street, in the process of coming over from the middle school to walk home with his big brother, the boy for whom David had gone to battle watched with a kind of sick satisfaction that seemed out of place on a face so young.

He would've noticed that instead of him leaving the circle, hurt, humiliated, and ashamed, it was Tyler Wair, the man who had made the majority of his public school career a living hell.

Had he not been blinded by hatred, he would've noticed these things. Alas, he did not, for he was too caught up in manifesting something he did far too infrequently, a trait that he would not display again for nearly ten years. It was a trait that allowed him to triumph over a man much larger than he on that day, and would've allowed him to do the same at Catalyst; a trait that allowed him to take on not one man, nor two, but three at the same time and not only survive, but win.

David did not notice these things; he was too caught up in how good valor felt.

Happy birthday to you...

Happy birthday to you...

Happy birthday dear FMW...

Happy birthday to you...

Just last year, everyone was wondering who Seth Omega was. Everyone wanted to know who this guy was, and what was his claim to fame in this large and talented fed. Everyone wanted to see me prove myself, and to do it I won the Ring of Steel and then I tied to finish second in the match.

So so close...yet so so far away. This blood, sweat, tears...the lack of fear, the lack of caring if I get hurt. Just to have a shot to hold the Hayabusa Cup high above my head. Then I’ll be the King...the King of FMW and then I’ll cement my place in the FMW Hall of Fame, just like Jaro, just like Andrew O’Rion, and just like the future John Doc Derrick.

The “give me one last run” John Derrick. John “I can’t live without the spotlight” Derrick. John “Let me shit on everything you’ve done” Derrick.

Add in Jack Eastwood and you’ve got one hell of a reason to lock me in a cage.

Now the real question is, am I going to make it to the Hayabusa Cup.

I look below me and all I see are cars moving about at 40 miles an hour if not more. Around me and I see nothing but the dull gray of the city, I smell the sulfer burning off the mill and it has come to this.

Tupac once said, “My mama told me if you can’t find anything to live for, you damn sure better find something to die for”, I guess those words hold true today. I have only had wrestling to live for, and now even the passion for that is gone. The burnouts, the politics, the constant being told by the fans you don’t belong here, it effects your psyche, it makes you think more about who you really are and what are you really doing here?

Do I belong in a Wrestling Fed in Canada?

Probably not.

Yet here I am, the Abandoned Champion. The current Ring of Steel winner. Yet I’m told I am overrated on a daily basis, I am told I don’t deserve anything I have, I am told that I’m worthless to this place.

Day in. Day out.

Part of me right now just wants to get in that Cage with John Derrick. I want to feel his flesh ripping against the steel mesh...but another part of me wants to jump and pass out, never to wake up after being ripped to shreds by cars, being torn to bits by the rubber tires, to finally finish this life that has been one roller coaster ride after another.

I have never been wanted, and the one person who did want me is dead. Some say I have changed, but in theory I have just become more of an asshole. Let me take everything away from you, let me see how you react. Some cure it with God, some cure it with pills, some cure it with other various activities. Personally I cure it with a bottle of Jack Daniels, a blunt full of weed, and another night with skanks who I pretend are her.

Nobody wants to understand that I did care, everyone wants to see this hard rock, this violent man, this total asshole...but nobody wants to see at one point and time I was human. And now? Well now I am more human than human...time to take the next step to prove if my theory is right.

With that Seth Omega steps off the ledge he was standing on, half expecting to hear crashing cars and wreckage, instead you hear nothing...except the sound of laughter.

Omega: Do you think it is that easy to get rid of me?

Seth stands on a patio down below where he just jumped off.

Omega: Did you honestly think I was going to leave this world? Leave my titles behind? Leave a chance to destroy two men I hate the most? You are one dumb sack of shit if you think that.

Seth pulls himself back up onto the ledge and stands firmly on the solid building.

Omega: What? Were you expecting some kind of parody or something? Fine god dammit, here is your fucking parody.


In a Galaxy still really far away, yet not so far away we couldn't magically get a camera there, we join young Chris Austinwalker. A young man who wants to join the Rebel forces to try and win the title of Hayabusa Jedi, however his stubborn Uncle Alex O'Rion, and his stubborn Aunt Romeo are firmly against the young man joining the forces. Meanwhile Prince Skyler has the plans to become the Hayabusa Jedi that Darth Omega so desperately wants, little known to him that his ship is about to be boarded by Darth Omega and the Empire.

Prince Skyler: Alright R2-GRAY2, what button do I push to insert this file into your Hard Drive?

R2-GRAY2: Bee boop Beep boo (translation: I’ll give you a Hard Drive...)

Prince Skyler: Say what?

R2-GRAY2: Bee boop Bop beep (translation: Oh fuck, aren’t you suppose to be a chick?)

Slegna-3P0: You dumbass, don’t you know the wide world of FMW doesn’t have that many females? And at that none of the females are in the Hayabusa Cup!

Prince Skyler: Just shut up and take these files and find the quickest way out of here!

Slegna-3P0: We can use the escape pods before we get boarded by the Empire.

R2-GRAY2: Bee boop Bop beep boop (translation: Good job captain clique)

Just then a giant explosion comes from the other room as several Storm Troopers come in and begin firing away on Rebel Forces. The droids quickly scatter as the plasma shots begin. Suddenly all the Rebel Forces are swept away by a giant magical force, with that in walks in a giant man wearing a black costume he walks slowly but his foot steps carry a strong thud against the steel flooring.

Darth Omega: Bring me Prince Skyler...

Prince Skyler: I am right here Darth Omega, what do you want?

Darth Omega: I want the plans to become the Hayabusa Jedi, and you shall give them to me or suf...hey wait aren’t you suppose to be a chick?

Prince Skyler: Where is Slegna-3P0 when you need him...

Darth Omega: Enough senseless banter! Give the plans to me or suffer!

Prince Skyler: I don’t have them any longer.

With that a giant red force hand comes out of nowhere and falcon slaps Prince Skyler.

Darth Omega: Now see, you made me have to go smack a bitch. I hope you’re happy...Troopers go search the ship for any clues of where those plans might be. I have bigger fish to fry....

Meanwhile...

A giant pod lands on the Sandy Dunes of Tatooine, where the young Chris Austinwalker stumbles upon them.

Austinwalker: Uncle O’Rion, Uncle O’Rion...come quick I’ve found something we can sell!

O’Rion(under his breath): God damn kid, his mother should of had him space aborted...can’t get drunk for nothing around here.

Austinwalker: Look Uncle, I believe those are two droids.

O’Rion: Sure enough, I bet some of those little creatures wearing the hooded caps would buy these in a heartbeat.

Austinwalker: You mean the Caprice People?

O’Rion: Those are the ones, take these Droids to the shop and work on them...I’m going to go try and get sauced and sleep with your god awful ugly ass aunt.

With that O’Rion walks off leaving Chris Austinwalker to carry the droids up to the shop.

Meanwhile...

Darth Omega: Since you won’t talk to me Prince Skyler and tell me where the plans to become the Hayabusa Jedi are you leave me with no choice but to destroy your home planet of Aussiederon.

Prince Skyler: NNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Darth Omega pulls the switch that sends a giant beam flying towards the planet of Aussiederon, when it hits it blows the planet up into a million pieces and sends several Kangaroos flying all over the galaxy.

Prince Skyler: Why did you do that?

Darth Omega: Because you didn’t give me the plans you idiot!

Prince Skyler: So many innocent lives...

Darth Omega: Nobody cared about Aussiederon anyways, we stuck a bunch of convict jedi there to make them feel wanted.

Prince Skyler: NNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!

Meanwhile...

Chris is still in the shop working on the droids, when a message pops up about becoming the next Hayabusa Jedi, the message is apparently for a man named Obi Doc Kenobi.

Austinwalker: Hmm...I wonder if this message is for old John Doc Derrick Kenobi.

Slegna-3P0: God damn you’re thick, yes it is for old John Doc Derrick Kenobi.

Austinwalker: You a smartass for someone that just had his robot penis removed and put in a bucket and not reattached yet.

R2-GRAY2: Boop bee Bop boo (translation: It’s okay, he doesn’t use it anyways)

Austinwalker: I don’t speak robot, but I am pretty sure he just owned you. Now let’s get in this hovercraft and go to find old John Doc Derrick Kenobi.

Slegna-3P0: Can we reattach my robot penis first?

Austinwalker: Fine, but then we will go.

As Austinwalker is fixing the Slegna-3P0 droid R2-GRAY2 slips off into the wild sandy dunes of Tatooine.

3 hours later...

Austinwalker: There, I’ve finally got it reattached.

Slegna-3P0: What took you so long to get it back on?

Austinwalker: Have you ever tried reattaching something that small?

Slegna-3P0 and Chris Austinwalker realize that R2-GRAY2 isn’t there when he doesn’t ZING the joke, the both of them quickly hurry to the hovercraft to go and look for R2-GRAY2.

An hour later...

The large hovercraft pulls up next to the small robot which is slowly gliding down the sand, Chris Austinwalker cuts off the small robot and jumps out of the hovercraft.

Austinwalker: What the fuck is wrong with you?

R2-GRAY2: Beep Beep Beep Beep Beep (translation: Fap Fap Fap Fap Fap)

Austinwalker: Whatever, get your ass in the hovercraft we have to go see John Derrick Kenobi.

R2-GRAY2: Bop Beep Boop bap (translation: Can’t I just go on 4chan while you go?)

Austinwalker picks up R2-GRAY2 and throws him into the hovercraft before hoping into the vehicle. Just was Chris Austinwalker hops in the craft gets jumped by several Caprice people. Just when it looks like Chris Austinwalker is about to get gangraped a green lightsaber soars through the air and decapitates the Caprice People.

Slegna-3P0: There for a second I thought one of those Caprice People was named Kris.

Austinwalker: Who in the hell is that?

Slegna-3P0: That would be the girl who raped you in your promo.

Austinwalker: Not her smartass, the person who sent that lightsaber.

Slegna-3P0: Well I’m not a rocket scientist, but judging that this promo is a parody and it is suppose to wrap up quickly, I would assume it is John Derrick Kenobi.

The man removes his hood and it is indeed John Derrick Kenobi. He walks over to the hovercraft and picks up his lightsaber before tipping his cowboy hat at Chris Austinwalker.

Austinwalker: Just fucking great, now we have a damn cowboy in this parody too?

Slegna-3P0: To be fair, we are surrounded by tons of sand.

Austinwalker: Shut it you...

Doc Kenobi: You have a message for me yes, young Austinwalker?

Austinwalker: How did you know? Was it the force?

Doc Kenobi: No actually Prince Skyler called me and left a message on my answering machine.

Austinwalker: Prince Skyler? Isn’t it suppose to be a woman?

Slegna-3P0: Thank you captain obvious.

Doc Kenobi listens to the message on the droid before looking at Austinwalker.

Doc Kenobi: Young Chris Austinwalker, it is time for you to learn the ways of the force...I need your help in rescuing Prince Skyler.

Austinwalker: I would, but I have to get home to help my Uncle with some farm work.

Doc Kenobi: Oh for fucks sake, the Empire probably killed your Aunt and Uncle looking for these droids.

Slegna-3P0: Isn’t he suppose to go back and find that out on his own?

Doc Kenobi: Traditionally yes, but considering the writer of this promo can’t be fucked to go past 10 pages it isn’t looking very likely.

Slegna-3P0: Fair enough.

With that Doc Kenobi, Chris Austinwalker, and the two droids get inside the hovercraft go into the city to look for a ship.

Meanwhile...

Hannibal Frost and his band are up on the stage playing the same song over and over again as chatter is heard among the crowd.

Doc Kenobi: You go up to the bar and get a drink, I’ll find a ship trader and we can get going.

Austinwalker: Fine by me...

Doc Kenobi goes towards the back corner of the room where most of the ship traders are as Luke and the Droids go towards the bar. As he orders his drink and waits patiently someone taps him on the shoulder. As he turns around he sees a long haired old guy standing in front of him.

Austinwalker: Can I help you?

Jaro: Just wanted to say I don’t like you.

Austinwalker: Why?

Jaro: I don’t like anyone.

Austinwalker: Okay then?

Jaro: Hey, don’t blame me. It isn’t my fault everyone insists on putting at least one Jaro theme’d character into there parody promos.

Just as Austin Skywalker goes to turn around Doc Kenobi yells at him from across the room.

Doc Kenobi: Chris, I found someone that can take us to the Prince.

Austinwalker: Sweet, where is he?

Doc Kenobi points over to the corner where a man and a giant wookie are sitting, when Austinwalker finally sees them he begins walking over towards the table.

Doc Kenobi: This here is Drew Solo and his faithful Wookie Bobbacca.

Solo: Charmed to meet you.

Austinwalker: Do you have a ship that can get us to this location?

Solo: Do I, yes. Should we leave soon, yes.

Doc Kenobi: What’s the rush?

Kaorutrooper: There they are after them!

Lasers begin to shoot off into the air as the crew begins to run out of the bar and into the ship. Drew Solo fires up the ship and the lift up into the air, as the troopers begin to flank outside the lasers began firing at the ship, Drew Solo hits the thrust. As the ship speeds off into the distance you can hear Bobbacca screaming.

Bobbacca: RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAWWWWWWWWR (translation: Can’t a wookie take a piss?)

To be continued at 12.1

Austin
Striker
Butters
Carson (nothing against Omega, purely strategy)

Final: Striker

DGS
Striker
Butters
Omega

Final: Butters

RING OF VALOR:
Alex O'Rion vs. Chris Austin vs. David GS vs. Jeff Whitt

RING OF WIRE:
Apostasy vs. Harley Quint vs. Storm vs. Skyler Striker

RING OF FIRE:
Axel Van Osbourne vs. Butters vs. Christian G. Smitten vs. Leon Caprice vs. Ripper

RING OF STEEL:
Cliff Carson vs. Dunnwood vs. John "Doc" Derrick vs. Seth Omega

Final: Omega

Happy Birthday FMW, you’re a home to us all and a stage for so much more.

We can pause the image of this wonderful year in which we’ve all been apart of.

Whether it’s remembering the lawsuit with Robb Co

The multiple retirement angles of Jaro

The forming of Divisions

The all too quick collapse of Ignition

The appointing of our own Commish

But most importantly the people who have come through your open doors to fresh pasture, and those who have left your hallowed building and closed the door behind them.

This is your birthday FMW, its time to celebrate. Let your halls be filled with your glory, your passion, and your superstars battling it out once again.


The In’s & Out’s

In any corporate sense, a positive turnover is vital to success, that if one asset of a company becomes obsolete, that another would quickly be positioned to pick up the slack.

So whether it was long term wrestlers like Harley Quint, Hannibal Frost, Jaro, Syanide or even Eric Scorpio the business would be seen to have a negative turnover. But with days following we soon saw that when one door is shut behind the shadow of a great its reopened by a buzzing rookie wanting to reach their height.

So there is no worry of debt or insolvency, as FMW then welcomed the likes of Kaoru, DGS, Christian Moore, Cole Dragos, Axel, Levitius and so many more. Truly FMW is growing and the turnover was one of potential.

So it may be quick to say or unrealized yet, but in these new faces FMW is still alive. So join me in charging our glasses, for the memories of old and the future untold.

TO FMW, MAY YOU CONTINUE TO BE HOME TO US ALL

DGS
Striker
Caprice
Carson

Final: DGS

A note from the Commissioner of Full Metal Wrestling - The Honorable, Judge Christian Gregory Smitten.

Dear members of the FMW Publicity Team

It is an offense under United States Law to advertise events which will not happen. Currently, the advertisement for the Hayabusa Cup states extremely clearly, in black and white, using perfect English, that I, your Commissioner and highest being within the federation, is to compete in the cup, starting in the Ring of Valor.

I never agreed to compete in the match, and thus refuse to compete, despite what the card says. I just spoke words at the announcement of the match as to remind everyone that no matter who becomes the "King" of FMW, I will always be the highest power in FMW, having the power to issue and strip people of their regal status. And without the notice that the card is subject to change, we are extremely vulnerable to legal action.

I am not in the mood for organizing a team of lawyers to fudge a defense against this, should we come under a law suit. Thus, every single one of you is fired, in an attempt to defuse any potential legal action before it begins. Your final tasking is to advertise through proper channels for your replacements. If you do not undertake this task professionally, I will sue you for every dollar you have.

I wish every man competing in traditional, burning, ripping and enclosed rings in their efforts to take home a meaningless portfolio within our great federation.

Christian G. Smitten
C.G.Smitten
Commissioner
Full Metal Wrestling.

RING OF VALOR:
Chris Austin

RING OF WIRE:
Skyler Striker

RING OF FIRE:
Axel Van Osbourn

RING OF STEEL:
Seth Omega


FINAL: Chris Austin, by the length of Australia

RING OF VALOR:
Alex O'Rion vs. Chris Austin vs. David GS vs. Jeff Whitt

RING OF WIRE:
Apostasy vs. Harley Quint vs. Storm vs. Skyler Striker

RING OF FIRE:
Axel Van Osbourne vs. Butters vs. Christian G. Smitten vs. Leon Caprice vs. Ripper

RING OF STEEL:
Cliff Carson vs. Dunnwood vs. John "Doc" Derrick vs. Seth Omega

Final: Omega

I will extend voting & promo for this bitch until Tuesday 11:59 PM EST.

So if you want to get a promo up or add to your current promo (some of them are quite short) feel free. Tuesday night will be the final deadline, no exceptions.


YOU CANNOT VOTE FOR YOURSELF IN THE FINAL RING. YOU MAY VOTE FOR YOURSELF IN YOUR INDIVIDUAL RING.

RING OF VALOR:
Alex O'Rion vs. Chris Austin vs. David GS vs. Jeff Whitt

RING OF WIRE:
Apostasy vs. Harley Quint vs. Storm vs. Skyler Striker

RING OF FIRE:
Axel Van Osbourne vs. Butters vs. Christian G. Smitten vs. Leon Caprice vs. Ripper

RING OF STEEL:
Cliff Carson vs. Dunnwood vs. John "Doc" Derrick vs. Seth Omega

Final: Chris Austin

Chris Austin

Skyler Striker

Axel Van Osbourne

Seth Omega

Promo

The scene begins with a hooded figure sitting down in a dark room with only a headlamp swinging from side to side above him. He looks down and notices that he holds the mask similar to the one of Storm.

Hooded Figure: This mask looks familiar to me. It symbolises the fact that he cannot be known to you. His identity must remain secretive. This mask has the colour of pure hardcore blood. Somehow I have seen this before.

The hooded figure gets up and places the mask onto the chair. He then paces up and down the room with his hand on his chin.

Hooded Figure: I have seen him somewhere. Lurking in the shadows waiting for his opportunity to be taken. He spoke to me a few nights ago, saying that he was going to compete in FMW's fourth Hayabusa Cup in the promotion's history. I ask him if he was crazy then he just simply vanished.

The hooded figure stops briefly to admire the mask that he purposely placed on the chair.

Hooded Figure: I wonder who this guy really is? He seems to wear his mask to hide something, maybe to hide the fact that he lost someone close to him. Maybe he uses this mask to intimidate his opponents. I must be well obsessed with this motherfucker. I need to know who he is.

Suddenly a flash of light blinds us and more importantly this hooded figure as the scene swiftly changes to a forest somewhere near the outskirts of a city somewhere in the United States of America. The hooded figure looks around cautiously, noticing the fact that the chair and Storm's mask has suddenly disappeared.

Voice: You were looking for me?

The hooded figure turns to see Storm just standing there without any purpose.

Storm: Your fascination with me is intriguing. Tell me, what makes you want to know my true identity? Is it merely for power or greed?

Hooded Figure: Where am I?

Storm: That's besides the point, answer my question.

Hooded Figure: How would you know? I have only just met you.

Storm: ...but you are fascinated by my mask are you not?

Both men (or women if you can't figure out this hooded figure's gender is already) stare off in silence.

Hooded Figure: This is getting pathetic.

Storm: Your pathetic. You haven't even answered my questions yet. Who are you anyway?

Hooded Figure: That's none of your business

Storm: Well that was not the answer I was expecting.

The hooded figure immediately runs towards Storm and starts giving fist shots to the chest, Storm tries to counters but fails. The hooded figure tries to go for Storm's finisher mainly known as the Lightning Bomb but Storm counters by doing the exact same move. Both of them remain on the ground for a few minutes before Storm slowly stands up, clutching his stomach at the same time.

Storm: You know my moves, how?

The hooded figure still remains on the floor, knocked out.

Hooded Figure: …...........I..................AM..................YOU!!!

Storm: Impossible.

Hooded Figure:......ugh......

A sudden burst of white light suddenly changes the scene changes to back where we began as we see the hooded figure suddenly standing up without any problems. The figure looks around and notices that the chair is still there but Storm's mask isn't.

Hooded Figure: I know your here Storm. Haven't you got a couple of matches to focus on? Wouldn't you be pissed if either Apostasy, Harley Quint and Skyler Striker throwed your sorry little ass over a barbed wire. I know I would be.

Booming voice All of them have nothing to prove. All of them aren't worthy to win such a tournament.

Hooded Figure: But surely your the underdog for these matches?

There is a hush silence hovering over the room. The hooded figure waits in anticipation for the answer. The camera pans back towards the figure as we see Storm standing behind this mysterious hooded figure, a big kick to the back knocks him or her down onto the floor. Storm kneels down and whispers into the hooded figure's ear.

Storm: The Hayabusa Cup is unique for me to even consider the possibility of failure. Each of the 17 men including myself may I add have a chance of being immortal. I have a chance to prove these shitheads that we call fans and the media wrong. My debut according to them was a fluke. Now I could remove my mask but that would ruin the element of surprise, I could remove your hood but again that would remove the element of surprise. In fact, I am just going to leave you here flat faced while I single handily win what is rightly mine. Your obsession with this mask of mine will slowly kill you. Just follow my advice and give up.

Storm raises his head up and notices the camera still recording. He grins then stands up.

Storm: Apostasy, Harley Quint, Skyler Striker. Am I quaking in your boots yet? You better be. The Hayabusa Cup is the start of something special from me. It would even be the death of you. So whoever wins the Ring Of Wire gets to be in a Fatal Four Way elimination match to determine the true king of FMW. I'll tell you who I want to face if I win. Alex O'Rion, Butters and Seth Omega. Who should win it? I'll leave that to fate.

Storm turns and immediately exits leaving the hooded figure still on the floor as we end this scene and ultimately the promo.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Votes:

Alex O'Rion
Storm
Butters
Seth Omega

Circle IX, Chord I

A younger, pre-FMW Jack Eastwood sits sobbing in the corner of a prison cell. Gouges across his clean-shaven face seep blood, claw marks from an unknown attacker. His jeans and band t-shirt are beaten and torn in several places. Legs pressed up to his face, arms cradling the lower half, he slowly wipes the tears onto his mud-stained knees, looking up to the concrete above him as if praying to a god, wondering exactly how this happened.

Circle IX, Chord II

“For once, I am so glad the cake isn't a lie.”

Sitting at a round table that may have been harvested from the smouldering remains of a dilapidated theatre are the collective personalities of Dunnwood. The centre of the table – slightly burnt at the edges – is a gargantuan purple cake, fit to feed an entire plague of starving Africans. A cartoon number four adorns the top, the wick at its peak flickering and casting threatening shadows in the darkness of the Church.

Each member of the psyche has their own slice of cake – and their preferred method of eating. Dunn eats casually, like someone who isn't particularly interested but enjoys the flavour. Dunnwood picks, wondering just what can make a cake purple. Jack ravages his noticeably larger portion, scooping up pieces with his hands and wolfing them down, preventing choking by taking long quaffs from his hip-flask.

“Happy fucking birthday, Full Metal Wrestling.”
“What's there to celebrate?”
“Hear, hear.”
“We work in a company of murderers and scum.”
“...”
“Yippee-kai-ey, motherfuckers. Gods.”
“Do you not agree, Jack?”
“Oh, thanks for noticing.”
“I' ea'yin' ca'e, an I?”
“Too right you are. How did I let myself get like this?”
“And I thought you were hard to understand normally.”
“Fuck off.”
“Fug off.”
“Same to you.”
“Careful now lard-arse, you don't want to end up like Seth Omega, do you?”
“Frankly I can see an upside.”
“Though capturing Mr Omega's title would be something.”
“That, and I wouldn't have to put up with you three taking space inside my head.”
“And by becoming King of FMW, we can do what we want. Hee hee.”
“Can I get rid of you?”
“Summa' funny?”
“How about your accent? I mean, I speak with an inflection, but nothing that drastic.”
“We could have Seth drop the title to us for reasons pertaining to his health... because he's a chubby fuck.”
“Moron. If I were there...”
“Amusing though that notion is, I doubt we would actually be allowed by the... Board... of Control.”
“Aaaaand we're back to the megalomaniac. Super.”
“Talkin' as such... did ye sor' ou' the weddin' details?”
“You mean the ones that benefit Jaro entirely?”
“They are complete, and safely locked away until such time as they are necessary.”
“Fuckers, the lot of you. You're all sick.”
“Wait. You hear that?”
“I heard nothing.”
“...”
“...”
“...”
“Must have been the wind. Or rats. Or somebody's true soul trying to escape his prison.”
“Could have been Ten-chan. I'll go and... check... on her.”
“Sick cunt. You won't like what you find.”

Circle IX, Chord III

“Hey babe,” the young, cocky Jack Eastwood says with a smirk, black rings around his eyes not yet in their full offset. A girl of similar age, with blonde, flowing hair and a toned body, turns around, a noticeable smile lighting up her heart-shaped face.

“Hello you,” she says, eyes sparkling. “Where've you been?”

“Training... down the gym,” Jack replies, eyes twitching in the ghost of a lie. He knows where he has been, but he cannot fully comprehend it in his youth. Strange, ghoulish visions, screaming nightmares, bloodlust and temperament and howling rage. The great plague, the disease, that ravages his body, has taken ahold.

“Getting all... hot?” the girl whispers, stepping in, pressing her lips against his youthful, shaven neck, not registering her lover's torment. “All sweaty? Maybe you should come back to mine and we – you... can shower. My parents are out...”

Jack smiles, wrapping one large hand around the back of the girl's head and kissing her crown. “Sounds like fun,” he mutters in between his lips brushing her silken hair, the chance of a tussle under the covers blinding him from the demon on his shoulder.

Circle IX, Chord IV

Wasting to skin and bone, gaunt joints hanging limply from their shackles, Ten-chan puts a tremendous effort into lifting her head up to the sound of boots stomping against metal stairs. A racking cough throws her head back, and she sobs, eyes too tired to produce any tears. Dunn kicks open the door to her prison, giggling.

“Is somebody making noise? Being a naughty girl? Are you – holy shit. You look terrible. What happened?”

Ten-chan raises her head again, weaker this time. Her vision is spaced out, almost as if looking beyond Dunn.
“Sssh.”
“I guess... the nutrients... fell out.”
“Buy it, you son of a bitch. Buy it!”
Dunn walks over to where the drip feed hangs, the pale liquid sealed inside the sustenance provider with hazard tape. He peers at it in curiosity, then snickers softly.

“I don't think so,” he murmurs. “This was designed to not be allowed to be removed. Somebody has tampered with this. And seeing as how the Congregation aren't allowed down here... it must have been one of those two.”
“Ooook then. Believe what you want, pedotard.”
Dunn starts reattaching the machine, fixing it in place with a steel bar.
“Shit. That's not good. Ten, I'm sorry. I can't help you any more for now.”
“That should do it. Now then, to fix this little Eastwood problem...”

Circle IX, Chord V

“Ooh, oh, oh, oh Jack, oh yes, oh yes, oh yes!” White-hot pleasure fills her up as Jack unleashes his seed inside of her, snarling as he does so, teeth sinking into her neck. He flops down onto her chest, breathing heavily. With a warm smile, she runs a hand through his hair, motioning for him to lift his head.

“Was it good for you, baby?”

“...like you wouldn't believe.” He sits up then, and frowns. Another wave of madness overcomes him and he clutches his forehead in an angry, vicious vice.

“What's wrong, Jack?” She wraps soft, cooling arms around his torso. “Come on. You know you can tell me anything.”

“I... I... it's nothing, I just... maybe it's a side-effect of the insomnia, but... lately I've been having bad dreams. Not just when I sleep; when I'm awake, I see things I shouldn't. These things, these... creatures...”

“Sssh sssh sssh. It's ok. You're probably just a little mentally unstable right now. Your mum said this might happen, remember?”

“I know, I just... didn't think it'd be this bad.”

“I'm here for you, hun.”

“I know.” He kisses her, and they lie back down to cuddle.

“What is it that you see, anyway?” she asks.

“I... really don't want to remember it.”

“Please?” she pouts, and Jack cannot help but smile at her affection.

“Alright... I see... fire, and screaming... skeletons and demons... people burning, crucified, hung... I see this.”

He bites her savagely, eyes blazing. She screams.

Circle IX, Chord VI

“We won!” Jack says as he pounces through the doors. Matt rises from the basement, blood on his hands, looking largely unimpressed.

“Won what?” Dunnwood follows Jack, tired but, surprisingly, smiling.

“War Games,” he manages to rasp out, “and FMW Games with it. Where were you, anyway? Had we had your presence out there with us, we would have trounced the competition moreso than we did.”

“Yes, about that,” Dunn says with a sickening grin, “I've slaughtered all your followers. Now the only ones left are neutral to all three of us. I've also made sure that I am the only one with access to Ten-chan's chambers; the electronic lock mechanism I've fitted to the door should take care of that. And with that settled, I bid you a good night, gentlemen.”

He makes to go, but Jack puts an arm out to stop him. “Wait'... wha' exac'ly are we bein' accused of?” Matt sneers.

“I think you're well aware, Jacky boy. I know neither of you approved of my pet project from the start, but to wilfully desecrate my research? That's low, even for a snake like me.”

“I can understand your anger, Matt. Do you know why?”

“No. Do tell, Dunnwood.”

“Because we share the same mind. I know what both of you do. And I know Jack hasn't done it. And to destroy your research would be to anger a part of myself as well, for I am part of you. I assure you we are guiltless.”

“Bu' if no' us, then who?” Dunnwood starts to press a hand against his facial hair.

“I have a theory...”

Circle IX, Chord VII

A younger, pre-FMW Jack Eastwood sits sobbing in the corner of a prison cell. Gouges across his clean-shaven face seep blood, claw marks from an unknown attacker. His jeans and band t-shirt are beaten and torn in several places. Legs pressed up to his face, arms cradling the lower half, he slowly wipes the tears onto his mud-stained knees, looking up to the concrete above him as if praying to a god, wondering exactly how this happened.

He hears the rattling of bars, and turns his head sharply to the left. A police officer stands in the open doorway and Jack scrambles to his feet. With a snort, the uniformed man grunts, “You're out on bail.” Jack swallows in relief, and starts to make his way out, grateful to his mum and or dad. He is stopped by a hand held in front of his face.

“There's a catch,” the policeman mutters angrily. “You have to sign this contract.” He holds up a clipboard and Jack's eyes widen at the mere glance of the name.

“F-full Metal Wrestling?” Jack wheezes. The officer nods, a dark glint in his eyes.

“If it were up to me, you'd be tossed in the cells for fifteen years where you belong, you piece of filth. But, apparently this Mr Roy has pulled some strings and not only got you released, but a paying job as well. He must have some big plans for you, kid.”

RING OF VALOR:
Alex O'Rion vs. Chris Austin vs. David GS vs. Jeff Whitt

RING OF WIRE:
Apostasy vs. Harley Quint vs. Storm vs. Skyler Striker

RING OF FIRE:
Axel Van Osbourne vs. Butters vs. Christian G. Smitten vs. Leon Caprice vs. Ripper

RING OF STEEL:
Cliff Carson vs. Dunnwood vs. John "Doc" Derrick vs. Seth Omega

Overall: Chris Austin