CORRUPTION 13.2 RESULTS!

”Superstar” by Saliva plays as a grand barrage of red and white pyro open the show with a literal bang.

Boice: Good evening, Nashville, Tennessee! This is Corruption 13.2 live from the Bridgeport Arena, and we are only one show removed from the grandest stage of them all, Ultimatum 3! My name is Jack Boice, and beside me tonight is my usual partner, Janus Flare!

Flare: Thank you, thank you, Jacky. Can’t believe it’s Ultimatum season again!

Boice: …Remember what happened last time?

Flare: Please, Jack, don’t remind me or I will show up on the next Ammunition and do a number on Alex O’Rion.

Boice: …You’re going to murder him?

Flare: No, I’m going to perform an actual song and dance number in front of him… then I’m going to ambush him.

Boice: That’s my partner, ladies and gentlemen… always classy. In the meantime we’ve got an action-packed show lined up for all of you tonight! Both Corruption championships are on the line as Abandoned Champion Apostasy takes on Pack member Seth Rotunda!


Flare: Wouldn’t it be funny if the Pack kid won this one?

Boice: It would be quite the shocking upset indeed, and I think it’s gonna be a close one. Speaking of the Pack, another Pack member is going for the other title tonight! The Ultraviolent Championship is also on the line in a sort of Mt. V rematch as the Celt defends his title against Jack Eastwood!


Flare: Okay, I honestly hope Eastwood beats Celt here. It’s the lesser evil, but I’d rather have anyone but the leprecan’t be champion of our noble brand.

Boice: It’s gonna be a brutal fight, that’s for sure – Eastwood still remembers his failed attempt at the Mt. Vesuvius PPV.

Flare: But now he’s got a band of merry men. Surely that should count for something.

Boice: And while we’re at the Pack, they’re all in action as Leon Caprice continues his Contract on the Line match series, this time against Blake Vendetta!


Flare: Man, the Pack have it great tonight, huh? They’re positioned to humiliate the Sons of Asstrition!

Boice: The… what?

Flare: The Sons of Asstrition.

Boice: Did you make that up just now?

Flare: …Yeah, so?

Boice: Never mind. Let’s just get on with the show! It's time to get things kicked off Corruption style with some fresh meat action!

Flare: And they still don't look as pretty as I do.

Sheila Blige: Ladies and gentlemen, the following contest is scheduled for one fall, and it is a triple threat match!


The lights in the arena turn to ocean blue as "Destiny’s Play" by TETRA-FANG plays throughout the arena. As the song transitions into a rock style Son of Sharkboy comes running out on stage followed by The Linguist. As he is walking down the stage he does his fin salute as the silver pyro goes off behind him. He continues on the ring and slides in before posing for the crowd.

Flare: Wait, why the hell does a curtain jerker get pyro?

Boice: Shh, you'll ruin the introduction.

Blige: Introducing first, accompanied to the ring by The Linguist, he is the Deep Sea Sensation...this is… Son of Sharkboy!

The crowd pops a little for the new star.

“Bad Reputation” by Thin Lizzy comes on shortly afterward as Mick O’Connell comes out on the ramp to a lukewarm reception. He starts to walk slowly towards the ring, keeping his eyes on his opponent.

Boice: Last outing for Mick didn't turn out so well, he fought in a loss to Kiyoshi Ryu.

Flare: Not only does he lose, but he's ugly as sin to go along with that.

Blige: And one of his opponents, hailing from Galway, Ireland...this is “The Irish” Mick O’Connell!

The crowd cheers a bit louder for the former boxer.

Composure by August Burns Red plays throughout the PA as Dallas Roland runs out onto the ramp and pumps his fists in excitement. He's starts high fiving and talking to the fans on his way to the ring.

Boice: Interesting note, Dallas Roland is actually a veteran of FMW that was recently resigned. He's a graduate of the School of Hard Knox as ran by former FMW Abandoned Champion Seth Omega, and he's got an impressive resume in Brazilian Jujitsu.

Flare: All that boring shit and the hat still makes him look like a douche.

Blige: And our final competitor for the evening, coming to us from Dallas, Texas...this is “Double Barrel” Dallas Roland!

The crowd claps as Blidge exits the ring and the bell rings for the match to start.

Boice: All three men circling the ring now, looks like Roland and O’Connell are going to start things up with a tie up.

Flare: Ouch, what an uppercut thrown by the former boxer. That won't make him any prettier.

Boice: Mick drives him into the corner and starts hammering away at his midsection with lefts and rights right to the body.

Flare: What is this fight night? Do a wrestling hold jerk.

Boice: Son of Sharkboy sees his chance as he delivers a running dropkick, nailing Mick in the back of the head. O’Connell is looking a bit dazed right about now, but Son of Sharkboy goes on the attack again! This time he took out of the ring with yet another dropkick!

Flare: Doesn't this jackass know any other moves?

Boice: Son of Sharkboy is focusing on Dallas Roland now as both men circle around the ring. They lock up, and right away Roland tries to pull SoSB down onto the mat where he is more comfortable. Looks like Sharkboy didn't fall for it though as Dallas starts to get back up.

Flare: Maybe we should send Roland to Ammunition, they seem to need more stars since I am no longer rocking the blue colors.

Boice: Roland goes for a lockup again and SoSB uses his speed to his advantage before kicking the unholy shit out of the right kneecap of Dallas. Now Sharkboy is just going to town on that knee with those kicks before Roland finally falls to the ground. The ref is calling SoSB off as he checks to see if Roland can continue.

Flare: And look at Sharkboy posing to the crowd as if he's done something amazing. I'm glad he doesn't realize Mick O’Connell is behind him right about now.

Boice: He realizes it now! He just turned around right into that hay maker punch that knocked him square on his ass.

Flare: Roland has managed to get to his feet now, using the ropes to his advantage of course.

Boice: Mick and Dallas are staring each other down now, as O’Connell swings and misses with that punch. Dallas sidestepped it and gave Mick a nice kick in the ribs for his troubles. O’Connell is swinging again at Roland and again he's sidestepped, except this time he got hooked in the ribs.

Flare: Someone might want to tell these two cumstains that this wrestling and not boxing or MMA, this shit is boring the crap out of me.

Boice: Roland is locked up with Mick and slings him across the ring with a powerful arm drag! But O’Connell is back up and again he gets slung with an arm drag! Here he comes once again and this time Dallas gives him a drop toe hold directly into the turnbuckle padding!

Flare: Looks like Son of Sharkbait is starting to recover from the punch he took from that old guy.

Boice: Indeed he is, and here he comes with a running forearm smash that catches Roland on the chin. He's bouncing off the ropes and he leaps onto Dallas' shoulders, then he follows it with a hurricanrana! For the first time in a while Roland looks like he isn't in charge. Just in the nick of time too, looks like O'Connell is starting to stir.

Flare: Oh look at this, Sharkbait is going up to the top rope...I wonder what he'll do up there.

Boice: Oh my, he just hit a picture perfect missile dropkick that caught Mick on the kisser! And now he is bouncing off the ropes and he hits it! He hits it! HE HIT THE SUICIDE DIVE ON O’CONNELL AND NOW BOTH MEN ARE DOWN! HE JUST DIVED RIGHT INTO MICK RIGHT IN FRONT OF US!

Flare: Fantastic, all three men are down somewhere either outside the ring or inside the ring and we're wasting valuable TV time on it. Wonderful, absolutely wonderful.

Boice: My god, I think all men are out...the referee is slowly beginning to count. Which one of these men with be the first one to respond?

Flare: Who cares? Maybe we'll get lucky and have a three way count out.

Boice: It looks like all three men are starting to stir at once...Roland is using the ropes to get up as both O’Connell and SoSB are using our announce table.

Flare: I swear to god if either of you touch my shoes I'll kill you.

Boice: That weak knee of Roland's just gave out, those kicks must have really done some damage!

Flare: That's okay, we've still got Sharkbait and O’Connell duking it out in front of us.

Boice: I'm fairly sure O’Connell isn't the type of man you'd want to get into fisticuffs with, as a former boxer he knows a thing or two about throwing punches. Left, right, and then another left!

Flare: Look out, Mick's got Sharkbait by the fin!

Boice: And he just smashes Son of Sharkboy’s – no, Son of Sharkboy counters with a forearm, and a dropkick sending Mick O’Connell back-first into the edge of the apron!

Flare: …Sharkbait smells blood?

Boice: You’re quite clever! Son of Sharkboy rolls Mick O’Connell back into the ring and goes for a cover, the ref counts – one, two, thre- no, Mick O’Connell kicks out!

Flare: Irish boxer guy still in the game! Come on, cook me some shark’s fin soup!

Boice: O’Connell gets to his feet and Sharkboy charges, O’Connell ducks, tries to go for a knockout blow but Sharkboy ducks as well AND HITS THE DOUBLE KNEE FACEBREAKER! HE CALLS THAT THE BOAT-BREAKER!

Flare: “Boat-Breaker”? Really?

Boice: Roland rolls into the ring to engage Sharkboy but he also eats a Boat-Breaker! Son of Sharkboy is on fire!

Flare: That’s not even possible! He’s a fish!

Boice: Son of Sharkboy covers O’Connell! One! Two! Three! Son of Sharkboy wins!

The bell rings and Son of Sharkboy stands to his feet as the referee raises his hand. Sheila Blige steps back into the ring and announcers the winner.

Blige: And here is your winner... SON OF SHARKBOY!!!

Son of Sharkboy (3.22 aps + 1.1 avs = 4.32 total)
Dallas Roland (3.27 aps + 0.6 avs = 3.87 total)
Mick O’Connell (0 aps + 0 avs = 0 total)

Flare: I… can’t believe it. Sharkbait won?

Boice: Yes he did, and what a fast paced match we’ve just seen with a bunch of different styles, Roland was damn lucky to pull out the victory here tonight!

Flare: I'm still bored out of my mind, I think I'm going to go get something from the snack stand...I'll be back.

Boice: And we will be back after this!

Shelia Blige: The following contest is the TAG TEAM MATCH scheduled for one fall.

Boice: In our next match-up and you should be excited Flare, we have the teams of Trey Spruance and Axel van Osbourne facing Kiyoshi Ryu and Xander Kross!

Flare: Meh.

Boice: “Meh”? All you can say is “meh”? I thought you liked Xander Kross? You were all but singing his praises on the last Corruption.

“Walk” by Pantera blares over the sound system to a modest reaction from the Nashville crowd. The arena lights are dimmed and a green filter is placed over the stage lights as thick clouds of smoke usher from the stage area. Trey Spruance and Axel van Osbourne navigate through the haze from behind the stage curtains; Osbourne air guitaring the riffs of the song and Spruance appearing to be in his usual ‘medicated’ state though still able to play to the crowd.

Sheila Blige: Weighing in at a combined weight of 435 lbs…”THE DUDE” TREY SPRUANCE” and ”THE ONCE AND FUTURE KING” AXEL VAAAAAAAAN OSBOURNEEE!

Flare: I’m over him.

Boice: Why the sudden change of heart?

Flare: He’s too conceited. And the guy references his dick way too much for my liking.

Boice: Conceited? That’s a tad hypocritical of you.

Flare: Yes but..I hate him. Mostly because when he refers to his dick, it reminds me of how much I hate you. Furthermore, he’s a darkie. Which means he’s genetically imperfect and thus not worthy of the Prince of Pretty’s time.

Boice: How does that remind you of..you know what? Nevermind.

Flare: This act of you not remembering things is getting really tiresome.

Boice: And so is this act of you thinking you’re God’s Gift to humanity. You’re only about a solid six.

Flare: *gasp* A SIX?!? HOW DARE YOU?!?!

Flare shoots an incredulous stare at Boice while Boice ignores him. Meanwhile, Osbourne and Spruance make their way down the entrance ramp to make a lap around the ring, high-fiving other metal heads that appear to have been trapped in the 1980’s complete with bad, teased mullets and bandanas. Passing by the announce booth, Janus’ nostrils flare and he appears disgusted by the odoriferous scent that reaches his senses.

Boice: Excuse my partner, folks. He isn’t well in the head. Getting back to the proceedings at hand, this match-up should be a nice rebound for Spruance and Osbourne who have been on somewhat of a decline as of late. I’d given them the edge due to the experience factor as neither of their opponents have the tenure nor experience that Trey Spruance has.

Flare: *sniff* Don’t we have some sort of..Wellness Program to test these cock-jockies? Trey Spruance’s eyes are redder than the Devil’s dick. But I guess Osbourne always just has that dopey look on his face. As for them being on a decline? Experience? The only ‘experience’ these two have is a bad trip while listening to Jefferson Starship and ingesting too many shrooms. The ‘decline’ comes from the come down when they’re both twitching in a corner, mumbling something about seeing God’s vagina and Green Smurfs in the stack of junk food they compiled from their munchie binge.

Boice: Must you always be so negative?

Flare: Janus Flare equals ratings. I have to keep the people awake while you bore them to death.

Spruance and Osbourne enter the ring as the lights dim. The voice of B.o.B. plays over the loud speaker urges everyone to put their hands up. The crowd obliges and begins to cheer to another modest reaction. The instrumental of "Beast Mode" slowly builds from a whisper. As the sound levels peak, the MetalTron blinks to life, showing the backstage area to reveal a stage hand tugging on the sleeve of a figured garbed in a Tennessee Titans jersey with the number 1 and a matching snap-back ball cap. The back of his apparel reads in bold lettering the phrase "B E A S T M O D E" eliciting a bigger pop from the crowd. The figure's arms curl and flex upward with each hand flatly extended .


Shelia Blige: And their opponents. Introducing first; hailing from Los Angeles, California by way of Huntington Beach, California and weighing in at 219 lbs. He is “Doctor Beast Mode” XAAAAAAANDER KROSSSSSSSSS!

Blue and gold pyro erupts and Xander swings around, playing to the crowd and urging them to get off of their feet before he tosses his Titans cap into the crowd to a gaggle of screaming girls. He runs down the entrance ramp and slides beneath the lowest ring rope, swaggering forth right past Spruance and Osbourne with confidence and poise before scaling the ring post and looking into the sea of Corruption fans. He removes his jersey to the shrill approval of teenage girls before throwing it into the crowd, a big grin splashed across his face.

Flare: See what I mean? Conceited. Who the hell signed off on all of the pomp and circumstance for this ass-knave? The expenses for the music license alone must be draining. We're going through a global recession, damnit! If they ask me to take a paycut so that this clown can prance around and play wrestler, I'll quit.

Boice: It's probably the same guy who signs off on all of the expensive, drawn out promos that people cut.

Flare: Promos? What promos?

Boice: You know. The promos that everyone cuts and has some kind of fantastical journey or that has flashbacks cutting to a time prior to their employment of Full Metal Wrestling.

Flare: ..Those exist?! Where? I've never even seen nor heard of these things!

Boice: Some people say you can find 'em on YouTube or FMW.com. Others say they don't exist at all in real time. It has a bunch of cheesy shit, apparently. Like the talent committing acts of murder, casting magic spells, ect. One guy even got raped by some chick in his. Same guy paid a narrator to describe intercourse and liken them to wrestling holds.

Flare: Kinky. And sad...he must not get out much. Though it reminds of this story where yours truly, the Prince of Pretty, had a harem of women locked in a Grapevine Ankelock transitioned into the Missionary Position hold transitioned into a three-quarters 540 degree plancha piledriver manuever. Shit was sauce.

Boice:...How does that even work?

Flare: *Kanye shrug* Because..I'm..awesome?

Boice: Gimmick infringement.

Xander warms up while Spruance and AVO talk strategy. Sheila Blige takes to the left corner of the ring while the arena blackens once again. Five Finger Death Punch's "Death Before Dishonor" blares to life and the crowd begins to cheer as Blige takes over her announcing duties once more.

Sheila Blige: Introducing his partner. From Truth or Consequences, New Mexico by way of Tokyo, Japan. He is "the Ronin". He is KIYOSHI RYYYUUUUU!

The audience cheers for this announcement, pleased with Ryu's faring in the previous First Blood Match. After five seconds of this, a strobe begins to emit a blue pulsating light to the tempo of the song while smoke clouds the room. Strangely, however, there is no Kiyoshi Ryu in sight.

Flare: The fat sack of crap is slow-moing himself to the ring it looks like. How considerate of him. He's taking up valuable air time trying to make a dramatic entrance.

Boice: It's part of the mystique of Kiyoshi Ryu. Intimidating one's opponents is half the battle. I think it's a smart move to take advantage of the confusion on Ryu's part.

Flare: You sound like a G.I. Joe PSA. Or a bad fortune cookie attempting to sound vaguely Oriental.

More time passes and still no Kiyoshi Ryu. Xander continues to pace the ring appearing slightly put off by his partner's lack of an appearance and Spruance/AVO appear similarly unnerved. A confused Sheila Blige introduces Ryu once again.

Sheila Blige: ...KIYOSHI RYU!

Kiyoshi still does not respond to his name, causing a murmur of disquiet from the assemblage.

Boice: Something must be wrong. This isn't like Kiyoshi Ryu to not just show up.

Flare: Yes. Because you know him so well personally.

Boice: The man is about honor and in-ring tradition. His personality thus far leads me to give him the benefit of the doubt.

Flare: Boice the..


Whatever retort Flare had for Boice is interrupted by snow and audio/video feed has been cut. Soon if not immediately after, the visual returns of a poorly lit boiler room using what appears to be a hijacked camera. A figure cloaked in shadow is the only just barely visible, his facial features unrecognizable as they are intrenched in shade. The sound soon bleeds in as the figure appears to be pummeling something with a tire iron, flashes of the metal object whizzing with malevolence and fury as they struck. The muffled thuds against whatever this figure was attacking were accompanied by occasional grunts and groans and eventual screams of agony. That whatever could now be identified as a whomever; a person was being bludgeoned to death. The figure took precarious care as he slowed his maddening assault to wipe the tire iron clean with a gloved hand, smearing it across his waist coat with a carnal, delighted glee. Soon, the figure spoke with an unnerving, chilling voice.

???: Ladies and gentlemen, lads and lassies. Do not adjust your television sets. There is nothing wrong with your picture. Only your perceptions. Uncle Smiles is here with a bit of a brain teaser for you. Why..do men..wear masks? It's truthfully a vexing question if I do say so myself. There are a myriad of answers that are each more disturbing and depraved than the last.

The assault recommences, each punishing blow met with more feverish chaos than the next. No rhyme or reason is given to it. It quite simply is utter havoc reigning down on the unsuspecting and immobile victim who continues to yell gutturally like a wounded animal. A final, penultimate blow to what appears to be the victims throat causes the yelling to cease and to replace it gurgling. The assailant comes to a state of rest.

???: Masks hide things is the most obvious answer to a rhetorical question. They hide fear. They hide secrets. They forbid knowledge to the seeker and cloak the beholder in perpetual darkness. They represent clandestine order and in the case of our masked friend here, represent a tradition bound in neat, orderly subterfuge. Men like our friend here would have you believe that they hide their face out of respect to their ancestors. Or that they are honor bound by some code of twisted morality that humanity places on itself in order to feel safe and in control. Control? DO YOU STILL FEEL IN CONTROL?!!! DO YOU STILL FEEL SAFE?!!!! HOW DOES YOUR MASK PROTECT YOU NOW???!

Another flurry of blows accompanied by kicks. The immobile husk remains otherwise non-responsive to the heinous beating. The attacker gasses himself, worn out from the exertion and he topples over to caress the fallen foe's carcass that begins to twitch violently in a seizing motion. The figure begins to chuckle to himself as he careens gloved fingertips along the victim's body. It can now be seen that the victim is tied by steel chains, rope, duct tape, and bungie cord; a haphazard amalgamation of any resource readily available to subdue the captive. Attached to both the body and the various restraints is a steel folding chair the victim appears to have been sitting on at one point until the chair, victim and all, was kicked over.

???: Hehe..there is nothing that is safe and sacred behind a mask whilst I am afoot. You see, I enjoy seeing people's insides on their outside. I enjoy the freedom of absolute madness and terror. The liberating feeling of watching a man slowly go cold as the blood rushes from his wounds. The absolute chaos of the struggle that comes before the glorious ending. If we take a peek inside of all of ourselves, there is no efficiency, order, and neatness. There is only one absolute truth - anarchy. And they construct a superb symphony of discord and entropy.

The figure, with some struggle, lifts the victim to a vertical base before moving off camera with a merry skip, revealing the victim to appear to be Kiyoshi Ryu. His mask is torn in places and yet any distinguishing features beneath the rips are maimed beyond any form of recognition. His jaw appears to be broken in several difference places and his exposed eye-socket is swollen shut, seeping blood. A crudely drawn smiley face from what seems to be "Ryu's" blood is drawn over the decals of his mask while his body is exposed, lacerated and bare naked.

???: There is only only one absolute knowledge - power. And if knowledge is power, then know..this..Tyranny.

The last portion of this monologue is growled with a psychotic fury as a ghastly white face with mad gleaming eyes and a crimson Cheshire's Grin blooms from the darkness with sanguine jubilation.


The haunting, psychotic laughter shakes the stunned crowd as the camera re-establishes its feed to the live audience. Several images of crying children are shown on screen with their disapproving parents trying to cajole them. They too are aghast with horror at the events that presumably just unfolded on the MetalTron HD. The camera cuts to Xander Kross, Trey Spruance, Axel Van Osbourne, Sheila Bilge, and the referee who all similarly look horrified before the camera cuts back to Flare and Boice. Boice appears visibly shaken where as Flare appears emotionally and almost erotically stirred.

Boice:...What the hell was that?!

Flare: I'm..so turned on right now.

Boice: We're going to have to cut to commercial, folks. But stay tuned so that we can update you on the details as they come about.

Flare: I think I just came a little...

Corruption returns from the commercial break with the audience and talent still in a state of shock. Xander Kross is seen conversing with the official, apparently trying to negotiate with him to check on the state of his would-be partner Kiyoshi Ryu. The shot returns to the announce booth with Flare amused and giddy while Boice is morose and somber.

Boice: Welcome back to Corruption. For those of you just tuning in, we have a situation on our hands that has left the program in a state of flux. We have received official confirmation that Kiyoshi Ryu has been viciously beaten and tortured by who appears to be a returning Harlequin..excuse me, Harley Quint. Local police have been notified and are aggressively scouring the arena but Harley Quint is nowhere to be found. Kiyoshi Ryu is said to be in critical condition and has been carted from the arena by emergency technicians.

Flare: Allegedly.

Boice: How can you say that, Flare?! The psycho clearly did it!

Flare: For all we know, someone beat that lump of useless dog shit to a pulp. Good riddance to dead weight. But we never saw the assailant’s face. And my reliable sources backstage tell me that Harley Quint is neither here nor has he checked in to the arena at any point in time today. The only proof we have is a circumstantial video clip done with superior editing and sophistication. I say Quint is being framed.

Boice: FRAMED?! ARE YOU HIGH?!

Flare: No. But Trey and Van Osbourne certainly are. The Lord of Pretty doesn’t define himself with cheap highs. It’s a high just looking in the mirror and being me every morning. Look at the facts, Boice. Ryu is a Gook. A gook in a mask. Any time we’ve ever employed one of those slanty-eyed, waxy yellow skinned cretins, they’ve been criminals. Kaoru Hanayama ring any bells? He’s probably one of them Japanese Mafia types..that’s why he hid is face and ran away to America. His friends probably didn’t take too kindly to him jumping the fence like a common wet back. IT DISHONOR MY FADDA. Or whatever those people say.

Boice: That’s the flimsiest, shittiest piece of logic I’ve ever heard. And disgustingly intolerant of Asian people.

Flare: I don’t tolerate hideousness. The filthy Mongoloids deserve every bit of bad karma that comes to them. That tsunami was God’s payback for Pearl Harbor. Let the rest of the animals tear one another apart and sink to the bottom of the Pacific Ocean.

Boice has to stop himself from throttling Flare for his foul remarks. He maintains his composure and redirects his teeth grinding anger towards the situation in the ring as Sheila Blige re-enters the ring while conferring with a production assistant with a headset near the timekeeper’s table. After a brief conversation with both Spruance and Axel Van Osbourne who suddenly look elated, Blige sashays to the official and Xander Kross whose mood quickly worsens from worry to absolute anger.

Boice: Well it looks like we’re going to get some clarification as to how this match is going to go down. And this doesn’t look like it benefits Doctor Beast Mode one bit.

Sheila Blige: Due to circumstances beyond our control, Kiyoshi Ryu is unable to compete in the following tag-team match up.

The crowd already begins to react negatively, garbage and debris pelting the ring. The same production assistant appears to be getting more instructions from the back.

Flare: Good. I didn’t want to watch this shitty match anyway.

Boice: It’s unfortunate for these fans first and foremost and Xander Kross who seems to have a bit of a dark cloud looming over his start here in FMW.

Sheila Blige: Therefore, via forfeit, the winners of this match-up are the team of Tre-

The audience boos louder at this while the production assistant quickly shuffles and stumbles his way into the ring, quickly stopping Blige from announcing the winners of the contest. Blige appears slightly confused but nods slowly.

Sheila Blige: Introducing Xander Kross’ partner. Right here from Nashville, Tennessee!

The crowd reaction changes almost instantly to pop the hometown mystery entrant. Xander quizzically looks towards the entrance ramp as do AVO and Spruance whose grins slacken gradually. The lights go out and green spot lights flash around the arena. Over the PA System, Avenged Sevenfold’s “Nightmare” blares to life, raising the sound levels of the arena to a dull roar as Seth Omega steps from behind the stage curtain garbed in a Nashville Predators jersey and face covered in a half-mask with a sabertooth cat as its design.

Boice: OMEGA?!

Flare: …Ew.

Sheila Blige: Weighing in at 315 lbs. He is the Epitome of Ultraviolence - SETTTTTTTTTH OMMMMMMMMMMEGGGGGGAAAA!

Crowd: WEL-COME HO-OME! *clap clap clap-clap-clap* WEL-COME HO-OME! *clap clap clap-clap-clap*

Seth lifts a single taped fist in the air slowly before violently punching the air, lumbering down the aisle and slapping hands with his fellow Nashvillians. Xander Kross appears bemused in ring, pacing and eying daggers at Seth. Axel and Trey confine themselves to their corner to strategize. In the crowd, there are still some of those who remember Seth when he left and react accordingly with a small smattering of boos.

Boice: HUGE hometown ovation for a returning Seth Omega whom we last seen competing in the Ultraviolent Triple Threat against Jack Eastwood and The Celt! As unfortunate as this business is with Kiyoshi Ryu, the show has to go on. These people paid to see action.

Flare: It figures. Their southerners. And so generally, they’re stupid.

Seth makes his way up the steel ring steps and scales to the top most turnbuckle, lifting both taped fists clutched together above his head. At the words “It’s your fucking nightmare”, he leaps with surprising agility for a man of his girth with a double-axe handle, ripping the half mask from his face to the delight of the crowd. Eying Spruance and Osbourne grimly, he turns to find himself face to face with Xander Kross.

Boice: One senses a little animosity between these two.

Flare: Or homoeroticism. I can’t quite tell which.

Boice: It probably doesn’t help matters that Kross is already unnerved that his partner for the evening was viciously beaten. But these two have a bit of history. Both received training from FMW Alumni Dante “RAMPAGE!” Jones.

Flare: No wonder both these cock-jockies are so ranty and preachy. I should’ve smelled Nigger Charlie’s stink all over them. I’m not worried. Most if not all of his little students have been failures. These two won’t be any different.

Without a word, Seth removes his Predators jersey and tosses it into the crowd, his gaze never breaking from Kross. Silently, he climbs on the other side of the ropes and wraps his hand in the tag rope. The ring bell is tolled with Kross still staring at Omega vacantly.

Boice: Flare, Seth is a former Abandoned Champion. The bastard, like him or not for how mouthy he is, is tough as nails and a good compliment to Kross’ flashy, speed based moveset.

Flare: If the dumb nig can stop staring at Omega. Guy acts like he’s never seen a pair of bitch tits before.

Sneakily, Axel Van Osbourne takes advantage and clubs Kross from behind with a clothesline.

Boice: Despite your need to insult everyone, you’re sadly right. Either inexperience or by arrogance, Xander paid for that as this match up gets underway. Osbourne quick to take advantage of his opponent’s distraction with a clothesline into the opposing corner. He’d be wise to segregate Kross to his side of the ring.

Flare: And I’m the bigot? Very poor choice of words.

Boice: Axel with a quick flurry of kicks and strikes attributed to his parkour training. Those are some educated feet he has. Omega seems to be restraining himself from involving himself in the fracas. Perhaps he’s had a change at heart? Irish Whip from the corner..reversal from Xander Kross who parries with a Float-Over DDT and a kip up to follow!

Flare: This flashy shit’s going to get him caught and quickly. These are crack heads. They’d shank you for a QP. Don’t let up on them, you dolt!

Boice: Kross with stomps to the mid-section and off the ropes he goes, rebounding to LEAP FROG over the downed AVO who rolls to execute a legsweep! The momentum sends Xander to the outer ring canvas. It appears Xander’s too quick even for AVO.

AVO, now at a vertical base, advances on Xander who attempts to steady himself using the ring ropes AVO gesticulates a grapple but Xander dodges and counters with a pendulum kick that hits with a loud smack across AVO’s jaw. The crowd ‘ooos’ from the whiplash of AVO’s head, the weight causing him to fall down with a slump. Kross quickly transitions this into Slingshot Springboard Leg Drop to Osbourne’s midsection.

Boice: Sick kick/ leg drop combination by the athletic wunderkind Kross! Kross scrambles for the cover!

One

TWO..

Kick out by Axel!

Flare: Hey Boice. I’ve got a joke for you. Why are black people so tall?

Boice: *eye roll* I dunno Flare, why are black people so tall?

Flare: *snigger* BECAUSE THEY’RE NE-GROS! HA!

Boice ignores Flare once again.

Boice: Both competitors to their feet and they lock-up. Look at how AVO’s trying to slow down the pace of this match, wrenching Xander’s shoulder right out of his socket with that hammerlock. Another Irish Whip..this time successful into the opposing team’s corner. AVO with a head of steam! He’s taking flight!

Osbourne charges the corner to deliver a flying knee to the face of Kross, landing on the second rope and flipping back his hair before smiling and playing to crowd. Osbourne then tags Trey’s outstretched hand who quickly goes in for the cover.

One!

TWO!!

Kick out by Kross. But Trey is quick to return on the offensive, mounting Kross and pummeling him with vicious hands.

Trey continues to throw haymakers while atop Kross, elbows snaking in to further damage Kross’ head area. Trey attempts another cover. Omega, in the opposite corner pumps a fist, cheering his partner on.

One!

Kick Out

Flare: The scrappy little druggie has it right. Don’t let up on this green as goose shit rookie. He’s bound to make a mistake. And let tubby over there continue to play cheerleader.

Boice: Trey locks in a side-headlock, keeping Kross grounded and slowing him down.

Flare: Smart move. Gee. There might still be some brain cells in there. They can’t outpace the nigglet. Best to out-wrestle him. Use his inexperience to your advantage. It’s what myself and my compadre Jose would do.

Trey returns Xander to the corner using the side-headlock as AVO raises his arms to assure the ref he isn’t going to interfere. Trey delivers a knife edge chop to Kross’ sternum.

Boice: That has to sting. And SPRU-ance with another chop, turning Kross’ chest to a bright red.

Flare: Who would of thought that a black man can blush.

Trey continues to chop Kross, Xander responding with a wince and clutch of his chest. After this, Trey tags in AVO, wrapping up Kross in the corner as the official establishes the five-count. Both AVO and Trey situate themselves on either side of Kross, lifting his skinny frame vertically.

Boice: Excellent team strategy by Spruance and Osbourne who set up for – YES a double vertical suplex to Kross! Kross in danger here! AVO with the cover!

One!

TWO!!

THR-

Kross has the wherewithal to place a boot on the bottom most ring rope, causing the fans to cheer a bit. One particularly drunk patron begins a chant.

Fan: SETH’S GONNA KILL YOU *clap clap clap-clap-clap*

Crowd: SETH’S GONNA KILL YOU *clap clap clap-clap-clap*

Boice: This crowd is hungry for Omega to enter the contest who has been all but non-existent due to the great tactics by Team…Osuance?

Flare: Never try portmanteau again. Especially with these lames.

Axel lays boots out of apparent frustration before again, flicking his hair back. He suddenly rushes Seth Omega and pops him in the mouth with a forearm, sending Seth to the floor who clutches his jowels yet lands on his feet. The crowd boos at this maneuver yet Axel continues to play to the crowd, strutting around confidently and oblivious to the refs protests.

Boice: AVO is just goading Seth Omega into action here. That was totally uncalled for. He should’ve just continued to lay into Xander.

Flare: Let the loser celebrate. It’s the little light at the end of his very narrow tunnel.

Axel saunters his way slowly over to roughly mid-ring where Xander lies before placing the heel of his boot to press into the stirring Kross’ face to push him back down.

Boice: All this posturing is unnecessary. Just hit a move and make the cover, Osbourne.

Flare: The goof is over-doing it. I think I’ll call him Skidmark from now on and call it a day.

Axel does this again and the crowd begins to boo as Seth makes his way back up the canvas, willing his arm to stretch out and tag his partner. Axel tries a third time but is met with Kross using his last remaining leg strength and leaping from a prone position to a Complete Shot, rendering both inert and sending the crowd into a flurry.

Boice: Holy hell! I’ve never seen anything like that before! Doctor Beast Mode may have just turned the tide of this contest!

Flare: That’s what happens when you get too cocky and too complacent. Some hungry, petty, long haired pretty-boy Canadian bastard bitches about putting you over and won’t job because his feelings will get hurt so he threatens to quit!

Boice: ..What?

Flare: Nothing..just..nothing.

Omega begins to stomp, partially to get the crowd pumped and partially to let the dazed Kross know where he is. Kross twitches while AVO groggily lumbers around. The crowd begins to clap in unison with Omega’s stomping, willing Kross to awaken and make the tag. Trey desperately reaches out, yelling quite audibly for AVO to get up.

Boice: Both men are down and if Kross can make the tag and get Seth involved in this match, there may be a chance that they can win this thing.

Flare: ..if I had feelings, I’d cry with how cliché sounding that was. How very John Madden of you.

Boice: Come on Kross! Make the tag! AND YES! BUSINESS JUST PICKED UP!

Kross, with a last gasp of energy, leaps to make the tag to Omega who quickly enters the ring like a raging bull. The crowd explodes as he gazes down at AVO who comes to the realization that Omega is the fresh man. Quickly stumbling to his feet, AVO clumsily makes his way to Omega who merely connects with a stiff left uppercut followed by a cross between a biel toss and an arm drag. AVO clutches his back in pain but springs right back up to bounce off the ropes and be met with a sundering shoulder block that spins him into oblivion. The resilient Osbourne doesn’t learn from this exchange as he bounces up once again, woozily stumbling about only to find a shuffling side Savate Kick for his troubles.

Flare: During this entire match, I can’t help but just watch Seth’s man tits jiggle all over the place.

Boice: Omega bringing down a house of fire on AVO! And here comes Trey to save his partner!

Trey attempts to rush Omega who ducks beneath his clothesline, countering with a quick grapple and lifting the much smaller Spruance from his feet with ease, attaching his hand to Spruance’s wrist and executing a picturesque release exploder suplex, tossing Spruance halfway across the ring like a rag doll. Unrelenting and savage, Omega lets out a fierce roar, barreling towards Trey and leaping to connect with a low drop-kick, sending Trey spiraling out of the ring with a spinning motion and smacking against the padded concrete floor.

Boice: Omega is a machine! He can’t be stopped!

Flare: You act like he just beat the crap out of forty men. It’s only Trey and Axel.

Omega takes this time to do his signature taunt, exploding with rage and adrenaline while his wild eyes and damp face appear feral. Axel, by this point, has recovered while both Trey and Xander get to their feet slowly. Eying Osbourne, he delivers a toe kick to his stomach, signaling to the crowd “it’s done” wrenching his body and executing the Heart Shaped Box, Osbourne’s body folding like an accordion from the impact of the variant Psycho Driver.

Boice: Heart Shaped Box! Heart Shaped Box! OMEGA just toying with his opponents here!

Flare: Good. Now put me and this crowd out of our misery. You’re boring me.

Seth spots that Xander has finally made his way to a semblance of cognizance. Nodding solemnly, he tags his partner in, sliding out of the ring to be met with another attempted assault by Trey Spruance who leaps from the ring canvas. Omega counters, catching Trey midair and transitioning to a powerslam, Spruance’s back and spine landing on the outer ring barrier where he hangs limply – completely out cold - before sliding into the laps of the unsuspecting first row patrons. The crowd breaks into chants once again.

Crowd: HO-LY SHIT! HO-LY SHIT! HO-LY SHIT!

Boice: Holy shit is right! Seth Omega absolutely obliterated both Osbourne and Trey Spruance! Xander Kross to the top to add insult to injury! No..he can’t hit it that far into the ring can he? YES! YES HE CAN! R.O.T.Y.!! Jesus did you see the elevation he got on that jump?! Kross with the cover!

ONE!

TWO!!

THREE!!!

Sheila Blige: Here are your winners - Xander Kross and Seth Omega!

Xander Kross & Seth Omega (4.2 aps + 3.36 aps + 1.0 avs = 8.56 total)
Trey Spruance & Axel van Osbourne (2.54 aps + 0 aps + 0.6 avs = 3.14 total)

With the sound of the ring bell, Xander Kross throws up his hands in triumph. The crowd explodes as well, "Beast Mode" supplying the background noise to their cheers. The ref makes his way over to Kross only to be shoved out of the way by Seth. Clutching his head, Kross appears ready to fight. Seth, however, playfully thumps Kross on the chest, raising his and Kross' arms to celebrate their victory. Kross, however, still seems unsure of this change in character.

Flare: …Pause.

Boice: That looks… awkward. Seth and Xander have done it, but at what cost to Kiyoshi Ryu’s wellbeing?

Flare: I don’t miss him. He didn’t talk much.

Boice: I just hope he’s all right.

Flare: He’s a ninja. Ninjas don’t get hurt.

Boice: It was still uncalled for, and you know it. But we’re just wasting time arguing. We’ll be right back, ladies and gentlemen.

We return to the show from backstage.

”Action” Jackson: Ay, yo, yo, yo, what’s poppin’, it’s Corruption 13.2 baby, you know what it is! Nah, it ain’t black and yellow, but it still black and green, yo, it’s time to spin the Wheel, baby! Yo, be nice and holla to my guest at this time, Seth Rotunda!

Rotunda: …

”Action” Jackson: Not quite the talker, dawg. Cool, cool, that’s aight. Y’been here a while, right? All you gotta do is spin the wheel, man, and… you know the rest, right?

Rotunda: …

”Action” Jackson: You know what, just spin it, homie.

”Action” Jackson: Check that out! Bar Room Brawl!

Rotunda smiles, and begins massaging his knuckles in anticipation, and walks off.

Rotunda: …That’s my kind of match.

”Action” Jackson: Aight then, good luck, kid! This match, for your information, will be taking place at that joint called Full Moon Saloon. It’s right over there, man, across the street from us here at the Bridgestone Arena. Later, foo’s!

Boice: You’re back live with us on Corruption 13.2, live from Nashville, and before the break our Wheel has determined that tonight’s Abandoned Championship match is a Bar Room Brawl!

Flare: Are we going down there? I want a beer, man. Or a martini. Stirred, not shaken, because I do it better than James Bond.

Boice: No we are not going down to the bar.

Flare: But it’s just right next door!

Boice: We can go later.

Flare: I hate you!

Boice: …Right. Speaking of the Abandoned Championship, our next match is going to be for a shot at the Abandoned Championship after Ultimatum 3!

Flare: See, this title is why I want to drink my sorrows away!

Sheila Blige: This match is set for one fall, and it is for a future opportunity at the FMW Abandoned Championship! Introducing first!

“The Might of Rome” by Hans Zimmer pumps into the arena. Caesar slowly walks out, decorated in a Roman breastplate and cape. He is... decidedly angry. He walks at a moderate pace towards the ring, ignoring the mixture of boos, and, taunts from the crowd. He eventually makes his way into the ring, unclips his armor and readies himself for the call of his opponent.

Blige: Weighing in at 235 pounds, from Rome , Italy, he is MASS CAESAR!!

Boice: And there, ladies and gentlemen, is your future Abandoned Champion, Recently returning to FMW and boy is it good to have him back.

Flare: Amazed that he wasn’t accompanied by anyone tonight, not even the lion has made an appearance. Cheap!

Boice: Maybe it’s the amount of respect he has for his opponent tonight. Both Veterans of this ring and have been in and out of FMW for many years. But tonight they find themselves both in FMW let alone against each other. Sparks are sure to fly.

Blige: And his opponent, weighing in at 295 pounds, from Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, he is WAR MACHINE!!!!

As Caesar poses on the turnbuckles for the fans, showing off his might, the music changes to “indestructible” by Disturbed. As it hits the PA, the lights go out in the arena, The lights go out in the arena and searchlights sweep the crowd as air raid sirens hit the speakers. When the music kicks in, there's an explosion of flame from the entrance stage and the lights come on. War Machine makes his way out onto the stage, looks at the stage for a few seconds, then raises his head and lets out a primal roar before walking to the ring. As he nears the ring, the fans pelt him with cups and ice, which he ignores, then slides into the ring under the bottom rope.

Boice: Both men ready to lock up, both staring away and if this doesn’t look like the start of a great contest I don’t know what is, the referee rings the bell, and we are off!

Flare: Predicting Caesar with the win tonight.

Boice: Well Caesar starting off Caesar catches War Machine off guard and takes him down, mounting him and throwing massive punches to his head.

Flare: War Machine reverses. Left. Right. Left. Right. This looks fun!

Boice: I don’t think Caesar believes so, and he throws off War Machine. He rolls away, and we might actually have a wrestling match now! Remember folks, this match is to decide who gets the next shot at Apostasy for the Abandoned Championship.

Flare: Wow, you serious, I didn’t know that until you said it… Dumbass!

Boice: That’s it, I’m going to ignore you. Anyways, these two wrestlers have had solid careers in FMW, they’ve seen it all and had their fair share of championships, but now it’s all coming to a head, someone will walk out with their head held high.

Flare: And after that brief lesson brought to you by Stone, Caesar and War Machine tie up. Mass twists the arm, and War Machine counters with a Russian Leg Sweep and rolling through and dropping it into a Cross Armbar

Boice: Caesar feeling the pinch, but he is in the corner of the ring, which rope to grab…He’s got one, War Machine breaks the hold and quickly rises

Flare: Into a Reverse DDT! Cover! One… Kick-out!

Boice: Caesar is going to have to show more resiliency that usual here, making sure that he doesn’t get tricked by one of War Machine’s technical moves.

Flare: But War Machine would love to get that title, it’s been awhile since gold has been around his waist.

Boice: Still not listening.

Flare: Fine. War Machine trying to apply an ankle lock on Caesar, but Caesar kicks WM away! The two are slowly back onto their feet now, and another tie up between the two. Caesar once again gets the arm, and backs WM up into the ropes. An Irish whip across the ring, and Mass knocks War Machine down with a big shoulder block!

Boice: Mass runs off the ropes, and War Machine lays low. Caesar jumps over him and he’s off the other side again, but he’s met with a huge clothesline from the War Machine!!!

Flare: Cover, and Caesar is up before the ref can slap his hand down once. Caesar not willing to show any weakness, he can’t let this guy take control or build momentum! War Machine goes to pick him up by the hair, and is met with a huge shot to the throat from Caesar. The referee goes to scold Mass, but Caesar doesn’t care!

Boice: War Machine still clutching his throat, as Mass leaps upon it and greets him with a sweet German Suplex! Hooks the leg…

Flare: One… Two… Kickout. There was no way War Machine was going down after that! Mass picks up War Machine and Irish whips him across, War Machine rebounds, and is caught and put down into a massive Brainbuster, which puts WM down and out! Caesar swivels around and hooks the leg! One… Two… Kickout by War Machine. Caesar is breaking out all of the power moves and War Machine is feeling the pain!

Boice: Not giving War Machine any free time, Caesar has a groggy War Machine up for a stalling suplex, and the crowds counting out the seconds.

Crowd: Nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen…

Flare: War Machine needs to do something here, all the blood’s rushing to his head! Bloody hell, he’s lifting more than his own weight above his head.

Crowd: Sixteen, seventeen, eighteen, nine…oh.

Boice: Amazing!, War Machine manages to work his arms around Caesar’s and counter with a massive DDT!!

Flare: And now he swiftly kicks the ribs of Caesar. Caesar unable to do anything.

Boice: And again. And again! Caesar up on his knees, almost rising above the pain!

Flare: And War Machine gives a swift kick to the temple! Ouch.

Boice: That put him back down.

Flare: And he drags Caesar by the ankle towards the near turnbuckle. War Machine up top…

Boice: …Elbow Drop!! connects…

Flare: …NO, IT MISSES! Caesar rolled out of the ring just in time, and now he’s got a break! War Machine nursing his elbow and lower back, Caesar runs, going for a clothesline, and War Machine in desperation move quickly and executes a massive big boot. Taking Caesar down!

Boice: Both men looking competitive so far, however War Machine seems to have the momentum. Speaking of War Machine, he rolls over and drapes his arm over Mass!

Flare: One… Two… ThrKICKOUT!

Boice: Mass doesn’t want to let go of the chance at that championship yet! And War Machine’s up, trying to figure out a way to take advantage of Caesar’s battered body, but he seems stumped. What next?

Flare: War Machine assessing his options, here we go!

Boice: He’s got Caesar over his shoulder, now Vertebreaker.

Flare: It’s IED!!

Boice: That’s got to have it, the flame from Caesar’s eyes has disappeared.

Flare: War Machine goes for a pin, ONE…TWO…THRE-KICKOUT!!

Boice: Caesar narrowly responding in time. However War Machine can smell the win, he’s got something in mind as he groggily makes his way up the closest turnbuckle trying to pull Caesar behind him, what’s he planning now…

Flare: War Machine is encouraging Caesar to stand, he’s pushing him up the turnbuckle and shoving his own body behind to hold him there.

Boice: War Machine wraps his arms around the waist of Caesar, someone’s going to go Splat. War Machine with a German Suplex. But wait…somehow Caesar flipped through the Suplex, he’s on his feet and staring into War Machine who’s lifting himself for a dropkick…What’s Caesar going to do?

Flare: War Machine jumps! CAESAR COUNTERS WITH A HUGE UPPERCUT TO THE JAW!!!

Boice: WAR MACHINE JUST FLEW!!!

Flare: The impact sending War Machine sideways over the ropes and harshly down to the outside mat, falling solidly onto the side of his neck and following through with his back hitting the mat, what an awful landing!

Boice: The crowd on their feet, trying to see the motionless War Machine, Caesar in the ring regaining his composure and smiling away and the broken War Machine.

Flare: From having the title shot almost secured to being broken on the outside, this vet is just bad luck… but it all started with being up against Caesar, he didn’t stand a chance with our decorated King, and our current circumstance shows this.

Boice: So your saying that even though he has had control for numerous times in this match, he never stood a chance from the start?

Flare: Bingo! But back to the wrestling…Caesar lifting and pushing War Machine’s body into the ring.

Boice: Just pin him and let the EMT’s get to War Machine, he’s probably broken.

Flare: If only Caesar was so nice, Caesar slides in after War Machine and DOESN’T GO FOR THE PIN!

Boice:What the F….

Flare: Caesar was never a nice man, so what’s the worst move he could pull right now…

Boice: OH MY GODDD!!! HE JUST HIT NERO’S LAST WISH!!

Flare: That’s it folks, Caesar in for the pin. ONE….TWO….THREEE!!

Blige: Ladies and gentlemen, the winner of this match and the NUMBER ONE CONTENDER TO THE ABANDONED CHAMPIONSHIP MASSSS CAAEEESSSSSSAAAARRRRRRRRRRR!!!!

MASS Caesar (3.9 aps + 1.4 avs = 5.3 total)
War Machine (3.48 aps + 0.4 avs = 3.88 total)

Boice: And Caesar stands proud in the center of the ring as War Machine is pulled out from the ring by the EMT’s, Mass looking on with a smile on his face.

Caesar looks down to War Machine being helped up the ramp by the EMT’s as he moves forward to the ropes facing the ramp and yells “I was born to be the king, All Hail CAESAR!”.

Boice: What does he want?

Flare: He wants everyone to know that Caesar is officially back and ready for more action. It was War Machine tonight, but what happens when it’s the Abandoned Champion?

Boice: Well that will be an interesting day, won’t it?

We go backstage with Hyde in the interview area.

Hyde: Helloooooooooooo ladies and gentlemen tonight I am here with the number one contender to the FMW Ultraviolent Championshipppp, this is Jack Eastwood! Say hi to the kids, Jack!

Eastwood: No.

Hyde: …Meanie. So what is your mindset going into the title match tonight?

Eastwood: Nothing too complicated. It’s my chance to win what I should’ve won at Mt. Vesuvius. I’m going to leave Celt for dead.

Hyde: Oh, I’ve had a couple of experiences with being left for dead.

Eastwood: I’m sure you have, but I don’t care. All I’m gonna say is this: Celt, you better get ready, because tonight you’re going to be the shortest-reigining Ultraviolent Champion in history after I’m done with you.

Hyde: And what does that make you?

Eastwood: I guess that makes me the champ, you dumb bitch.

Eastwood walks away.

Boice: Welcome back to Corruption live from Nashville, ladies and gentlemen, and the next match, well, let’s say it’s gonna be a night out on the town.

Flare: I might just go over to the bar and leave you here, Jack. I don’t care what you say – I need a drink!

Boice: Be my guest, Flare. That’s right, our Abandoned Championship match is a Bar Room Brawl, and we’re going live over there right now! No need to waste time, so take it away, Sheila!

Apostasy and Seth Rotunda are staring at each other in a bar, the match plays on the MetalTron for the fans

Sheila Blige: The following contest is scheduled for one fall, and is a Bar Room Brawl for the FMW Abandoned Championship! Introducing the challenger, from Swansea, Wales, he is SETH… ROTUNDA!!!

The crowd boos, Rotunda cracks his knuckles.

Blige: And his opponent, from Cleveland, Ohio, he is the current FMW Abandoned Champion, this is… APOSTASY!!!

The crowd cheers as Apostasy points to his new, shitty-looking “The Abandoned Champion” t-shirt. After this taunt, he hands the belt to the ref, and the bell rings. The competitors are signaled by the ref, who yells “let’s go!”

Boice: This one has to favor the former boxer with a mean right hook, Rotunda.

Flare: Apostasy no stranger to hardcore matches, but he’s more of a technically sound wrestler.

Boice: Apostasy tries for a tie up, but gets a knee to the gut from Rotunda. Rotunda with a haymaker to the gut, he calls that one the gasper.

Flare: Apostasy has to keep an eye out for that knockout punch, the Dream Killer

Boice: Rotunda with a few jabs, Apostasy trying to block as many as he can, but he’s not a trained boxer like Rotunda.

Flare: The abandoned champion looking bad early, we could see yet another one-and-done champion tonight!

Boice: Apostasy grabs a punch and attempts the armbar, but gets another knee to the face from Rotunda. Rotunda quickly grabs him, and nails a snap suplex onto the floor of the bar. Quick cover. 1..2… kickout by Apostasy.

Flare: They’ve cleared the tables and riff-raff out of the way for this fight, but that tile floor is unforgiving all by itself.

Boice: Rotunda picks up Apostasy, looking for a DDT, but Apostasy runs and slams him into the bar. Apostasy creating some separation, trying to buy some time to mount an offensive.

Flare: But Rotunda is right back on him!

Boice: Rotunda attempts a lariat, but Apostasy counters, he’s jumped on his back and is looking for the Apathetic Choke!

Flare: Woah!

Boice: Apostasy trying to lock it in, but Rotunda is fighting it off expertly. He’s been prepared for this, blocking the arms of Apostasy with his own. Now he’s running, Apostasy jumps off… REEL DEAL!

Flare: Great counter into the half-nelson suplex by Apostasy. That’s quick thinking right there.

Boice: Apostasy dealing a huge blow, and now he’s looking for the burning hammer!

Flare: His other finisher! I was a little confused as to how the Choke would work here anyway, since there aren’t ring ropes.

Boice: Kick to the gut by Apostasy, he lifts Rotunda up, but Rotunda flips out and lands on his feet!

Flare: Both men looking to make this one end quickly!

Boice: Apostasy turns and charges… backdrop over the bar! Liquor falling off the shelves! Glass everywhere!

Flare: That’s no good for Apostasy.

Boice: Apostasy is slow to get up, and Rotunda is amped now! He’s picking up Apostasy… reverse STO onto the glass!

Flare: Apostasy may be tough as nails. He’s been through the house of 1000 Shards of Glass, he’s been Through Hell and Back at last year’s No Holds Barred. But the no man is immune to that kind of pain!

Boice: Blood and liquor behind the bar. Rotunda picks up Apostasy, and flings him over the bar onto the ground.

Flare: Nice feat of strength there!

Boice: Rotunda on top of the bar, and nails a flying axe handle smash to Apostasy!

Flare: He’s not a technical wrestler by any stretch, but that stuff does its damage!

Boice: Rotunda measures Apostasy, and nails a spear! Here’s the cover! 1…2… no! Apostasy kicks out!

Flare: These quick covers, they’re going to tire out Apostasy, make him work… something he’s not a fan of.

Boice: Rotunda drags Apostasy towards the bar, smashing his head on the wooden surface. Apostasy is thrown on top, and Rotunda follows. Rotunda looking for an exclamation point here.

Flare: I think he’s setting up for that spinebuster of his, the Rotunda Wreckage. This could be the match right here!

Boice: He drags Apostasy to his feet… but Apostasy backdrops him to the floor!

Flare: That right there is a wrestler’s instinct!

Boice: Apostasy looks at the downed Rotunda… moonsault… NO! Rotunda got the knees up!

Flare: Apostasy tries for the double play, but I think he gets an error on that try

Boice: That pun was brutal. And Rotunda is back up, and nails Apostasy with a running DDT. Now Rotunda is pissed off!

Flare: He wants to put down Apostasy now, and become the new Abandoned Champion. He’s so close, it’s practically in his grasp!

Boice: Rotunda massages his knuckles, he’s looking for that punch. He’s measuring the dazed Apostasy with murderous intent. Here it comes… REVERSAL! DRAGON SUPLEX!

Flare: What? Where did… how!?!

Boice: Apostasy rolls through, and nails another dragon suplex. He rolls through again… HAT TRICK!

Flare: Bloody and beaten, he pulls this kind of shit? Where did this come from?

Boice: Apostasy rolls through, clutching that full-nelson hold, and… HE DROPS INTO THE APATHETIC CHOKE!

Flare: There’s no ropes! Rotunda can’t escape! Nobody has escaped this hold!

Boice: Rotunda is locked in. He can’t resist…. HE TAPS! APOSTASY RETAINS!

Apostasy (3.83 aps + 1.3 avs = 5.13 total)
Seth Rotunda (3.42 aps + 0.4 avs = 3.82 total)

”I’m Made of Wax, Larry, What Are You Made Of?” by A Day to Remember hits, as the fans in the arena cheer the victorious Apostasy. Apostasy clutches his belt, from the ref, grabs a bottle of Maker’s Mark from behind the bar, and stumbles out into the street where many fans in FMW gear sit outside the bar, cheering for him.

Blige: Here is your winner, and STILL FWM Abandoned Champion… APOSTASY!

Boice: Apostasy retains, and actually has a successful defense as Abandoned Champion, unlike the last… 4 champions?

Flare: Something like that.

Boice: This champion is tough as nails, and I can’t wait to see him defend that belt… at Ultimatum!

We immediately cut backstage where Leon is watching the Abandoned title match on a monitor. All of a sudden, Jacqueline Hyde pops up beside him unnoticed.

Hyde: LEEEEEEOOOOOOONNNNN!

Leon jumps back, surprised. He clutches his chest as he gasps for breath.

Leon: Don’t… don’t you ever do that again!

Hyde: Sorrysorrysorry!

Leon: What the hell do you want?

Hyde: Just your thoughts on Apostasy now. And probably your thoughts about the whole Contract on the Line thing.

Leon: I’m not gonna say much, other than this: Like Apostasy, I have no intentions of losing tonight. Congratulations on the defense, but soon you’ll have to worry about me.

Hyde: One more thing, if you win tonight, you’re going to be tagging with him at No Holds Barred in the last Contract on the Line match. Your thoughts?

Leon: I don’t think we both have any problems with each other, so I think we can work as a team. I respect Apostasy, and I don’t think he’s going to double-cross me.

Hyde: That’s what you thiiink...

Leon: What the hell do you know? Stop stirring this up. We’re done here.

Leon walks out of frame, leaving Hyde.

The show returns from commercial to Drew Michaels, the Ammunition superstar and general FMW legend, standing tall with a microphone in hand.

Michaels: Ladies and gentlemen, I have been given the time by the Corruption brand in order to address a member of this brand and general evil bastard, William “TyranT” McKenzie. Now, most of you probably know I have challenged William to a match at the Ultimatum III event. What you do not know is why.

Drew takes a deep breath before continuing.

Michaels: My problem with William McKenzie is personal, it is visceral, and it shall be solved. It has nothing to do with him being a former World Champion. It has nothing to do with his recent failure or success. It has nothing to do with his treatment of his daughter, as atrocious as it is.

It, however, has everything to do with his old associations. More specifically, Original Sin.

Drew smiles wide as the audience in the arena boos loudly at the mere mention of the old stable.

Michaels: You see, TyranT was a small part of the giant monster who tried to destroy my career and my company, the Full Metal Wrestling we all love. However, after everything fell apart; TyranT was ignored when the retributions were handed out and thus he slipped through the cracks to be able to sneak back in and steal a Full Metal Championship shot from his daughter.

Again, the crowd boos loudly.

Michaels: Since Original Sin fell apart; many have paid. Hostyle is gone. Dr. David Diabolical is gone. Ethan Black is gone. St. Michael Dreamkiller is gone. The SoCal Connection is gone. Eric Scorpio is gone. So many of them have been removed from the company forever yet TyranT remains.

And now it is time for that to end.

At U3, I will end his long and storied career. I will do it not by pinfall, not by submission, and not by disqualification. Instead, I will knock him out in the middle of the ring. No questions asked, I will shame the last Sinner standing and end this once and for all. I will do it for you, for me, and for FMW...

This I promise.

Drew just smiles wide again as he drops the microphone and walks away as we return the the ring...

Boice: Strong words from the legend himself, ladies and gentlemen.

Flare: Who does he think he is, barging into our show? This is Corruption! Red, not blue! Are you colorblind, Drew Michaels?

Boice: Leave him alone, he said he was allowed airtime.

Flare: Who cares?

Boice: Well, yeah. Anyway, ladies and gentlemen, our next match determines Leon Caprice’s fate!

Flare: Translation: I hope he loses!

Boice: Of course. Take it away, Sheila!

Ed Kowalczyk’s "Grace" hits, as Leon Caprice comes out to a decent pop. Leon gives props to the crowd before posing for his pyro.

Sheila Blige: The following contest is scheduled for one fall, and it is a Contract on the Line Match! If Leon Caprice loses this match, he will no longer be employed by Full Metal Wrestling! Introducing first, weighing two hundred and twenty pounds, from Perth, Australia… LEON… CAPRICE!!!

Boice: It’s do or die for Leon Caprice. Match two of his “win or be fired” series of matches for this cycle.

Flare: Perish the thought!

Boice: If Caprice can pull it out here, he’ll have one more match before he earns his contract back, and a shot at the Abandoned Title at Ultimatum!

“Vox Populi" by 30 Seconds to Mars hits, as Vendetta comes out to a dimly lit arena. He pulls his hood off himself at the end of the ramp, ignoring the crowd.

Blige: And his opponent, representing The Pack, he is the Mockingjay… BLAKE… VENDETTA!!!

Boice: We’ve got an exciting match up here, between two technical high flyers.

Flare: It’s a match that Hostyle would cream himself over.

Boice: Baseball slide by Caprice on the entering Vendetta, and away we go!

Flare: Technically, the match hasn’t started yet…

Boice: Both men on the outside of the ring. Caprice charges, but Vendetta backdrops him… Caprice catches the guardrail. He rebounds… moonsault press!

Flare: What athleticism from Caprice!

Boice: Caprice picks up Vendetta, and rolls him into the ring.

Flare: NOW we can ring the bell.

Boice: Caprice up to the apron, but he’s met with a dropkick to the midsection by Vendetta. Vendetta grabs Caprice, vertical suplex attempt, Caprice flips out. German suplex, but Vendetta flips and lands on his feet!

Flare: Woah!

Boice: Vendetta off the ropes, drop toe hold by Caprice. He tries to pick the ankle, but Vendetta turns around and kicks him right in the face.

Flare: This is what you get when you put two guys this good in the same ring.

Boice: Vendetta to his feet, and he’s immediately dropped with a swinging neckbreaker.

Flare: Both of these men, so quick with each move. Leon was just a bit quicker there, catching Blake resting for just a second.

Boice: Leon heads to the top rope as Vendetta gets back to his feet. Vendetta dives, and racks Leon up on the top rope!

Flare: Leon getting a tad careless, it’s too early to be trying any of that!

Boice: Vendetta to the top rope, looking for a hurricanrana, but Leon holds on!

Flare: Leon is holding 230 pounds of dead weight!

Boice: Leon drapes his leg over… that’s God’s Judgement! He’s holding him in a damn sharpshooter on the top rope!

Flare: I don’t know why, it’s not like he can get him to tap from there!

Boice: Leon tosses out the legs of Vendetta, who goes crashing to the mat. Leg drop from the second rope connects to the back of his head.

Flare: That wasn’t pretty, and I know pretty!

Boice: And Leon wants to end this one NOW. He’s behind the staggered Vendetta. He’s looking for God’s Wrath!

Flare: This is a man who desperately wants to be keep his job. This is a man motivated…

Boice: Vendetta is hooked, but he’s clutching the ropes with his legs!

Flare: Holding on for dear life!

Boice: Leon pulls hard, and Vendetta flips over him! He pulls Leon in… BACKBUSTER!

Flare: Nice counter!

Boice: He’s got that submission locked in on Leon. Leon is in a world of pain!

Flare: This is bad for Leon. He can’t lift Vendetta up into position if his back is all screwed up.

Boice: Even more pressing, Leon can’t tap here. Not if he wants to keep his job.

Flare: That too.

Boice: Leon flails for the rope, but his torso is well placed over the knee of Vendetta. Leon flailing… and knees Vendetta in the head!

Flare: He’s still clutching on!

Boice: Great flexibility on display here, as he gives him another knee, and Vendetta rolls to the side… Caprice catches the rope!

Flare: Well… it’s hard to keep your balance when you’re stretching a guy over your knee.

Boice: Caprice rolls to the outside, he needs to regroup.

Flare: Vendetta with a great move there to put Leon on the ropes. I tell you what, The Pack is becoming a real threat here in FMW. You have to wonder what we’ll see from them at No Holds Barred.

Boice: Right you are. Vendetta runs off the ropes he leaps, corkscrew plancha to the outside!

Flare: Nice move, but they’re both on the outside now, and they’re both down.

Boice: The ref starts the ten count. Both men are down, both men are giving it absolutely everything. The count is to 4!

Flare: Vendetta up, Leon stirring…

Boice: The count at 7, Vendetta rolls into the ring. Caprice with an arm on the apron. The count at 9… but Caprice has pulled himself up to stop it!

Flare: Good, because countout endings suck

Boice: Vendetta pulls Caprice through the ropes… DDT onto the mat!

Flare: Night-night Leon Caprice. And here comes the final chapter on Leon Caprice!

Boice: Vendetta positions himself against the groggy Caprice. He’s looking for that devastating kick of his, Lithium! Caprice is dazed, he doesn’t see it…

Flare: No!

Boice: Caprice drops to the mat and ducks it! He grabs Vendetta by the back of the neck…

Flare: Was he playing possum? Where did this come from?

Boice: He pulls Vendetta up to his feet, arms behind the head. He spins under… he’s got him up!

Flare: Vendetta struggling, but Leon won’t let go!

Boice: GOD’S WRATH! HE HIT IT! LEON WITH THE COVER! 1..2..3…YES! LEON LIVES!

Blige: Here is your winner, LEON CAPRICE!!!

Leon Caprice (3.96 aps + 0.9 avs = 4.56 total)
Blake Vendetta (0 aps + 0.4 avs = 0.4 total)

Boice: What an effort from The Mockingjay, but Leon slapped on that grip, and there was no way he was letting him go until he had swung him around and delivered that finisher!

Flare: And now we ask… what’s next for Leon Caprice? …Wait, I don’t even give a damn. Why am I asking?

Boice: Hah. Caught you there. We’ll be right back, folks.

The camera feed fades in to find Hannibal Frost, removed from his usual aesthetic trappings, nursing his wounds from Ammunition. Both his shades and cowboy hat are off to the side, resting atop an end table. The couch next to it, the one Frost is currently occupying, creaks as Frost shifts his weight to sit up.

Frost doesn't even acknowledge the camera as he places an icepack against his brow, and begins to speak.

Frost: Nick Bryson...

Frost shakes his head in disbelief.

Frost: You tried to hurt me.

If the icepack wasn't evidence enough, Frost traces the bruises along the left side of his face.

Frost: I'm not gonna' say you're scared, but you just went through a lotta' trouble to break me down.

A glint of annoyance passes just under the surface of Frost's eyes.

Frost: And c'mon, man. Tigers? Confetti? Jugglers? I can see what you're doing. By trying to make me into a more "entertaining product", you're really just putting all the focus onto yourself.

A smile breaks at the edges of Frost's lips.

Frost: You can't stand it, can you? That an insignificant little peon like me... is the Full Metal Wrestling World Heavyweight Champion.

Frost finally looks up at the camera.

Frost: Yeah, that's right. I spelled the whole damn thing out for you. And why, you so silently ask? Because I'd hate for you to forget.

A pain strikes Frost in the jaw, dragging his gaze back to the floor.

Frost: At Ultimatum, I will not fall.

A light pause, a moment of shallow breathing, and then Frost is speaking again.

Frost: While you may not be the prick that Tyrant is, I'm going to put you down all the same. I don't take kindly to being mocked, and I certainly don't like the person you've become. Sparta has fallen, and if you think for two fucking seconds that winning the torch will put you back on top...

A laugh falls from Frost's swollen lips.

Frost: Mistakes, buddy. Everybody makes 'em.

Frost finally tosses the ice pack aside.

Frost: So, for everyone that has to put up with your asinine bullshit, I will leave Ultimatum with the Full Metal Championship. And I will break you down...

Frost pulls his gaze to the camera, a stone cold seriousness permeating the depths of his eyes.

Frost: Before we're all up to our balls in jugglers.

Boice: Ladies and gentlemen, welcome back to Corruption! After a long night at the office, we have FINALLY reached out main event of the evening!

Flare: Ultraviolent Championship on the line, in Celt’s first official defense. It’s almost a rematch of how he won the title at Mount Vesuvius, as he faces Eastwood.

Police Sirens begin to sound, accompanied by red and blue flashing lights over the darkened stadium. The crowd are on their feet as “The Warrior’s Code” by Drop Kick Murphy’s hits the speakers. This drags out one of the fastest rising stars in FMW today, The Celt who poses on the stage for the fans with his Ultraviolent Championship.

Blige: The Following contest is scheduled for one fall and is for the FMW Ultraviolent Championship. Introducing first, the champion, weighing in at 214 pounds, from Castlebar, Ireland, THEEE CEEEEEEEEEEELT!!!!!!!!!!!!

The Celt is barely in the ring as the speakers change their tune, now blasting “Sound of Madness” by Shinedown. Brandishing a baseball bat, Jack Eastwood walks out calmly from backstage, as soon as he hits the ramp though, he sprints down to the ring, ready to try and take advantage of an early match attack.

Blige: And the challenger, weighing 280 pounds, from Blackpool, England, The Animal JACK EAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAASTWOOD!!!

Boice: And Eastwood is quick to come down...

Flare: Man needs to learn some tantric...

Boice: Not that... he’s slid under the ropes, he’s got that baseball bat, but the Celt’s ready for him, a couple of stomps to the back. There’s the bell we’re underway.

Flare: Eastwood powering up through the stomps of the Celt, he’s just absorbing the impact from his smaller foe. He catches Celts foot and DRIVES that baseball bat into the gut of the Celt.

Boice: Eastwood wastes no time in getting the heavy hits in, as he BUNTS the end of the bat right into the skull of Celt. Cover by Eastwood, 1...2... KICK OUT!!! Two move in, and I thought we had a new champion.

Flare: Celt kicked out on nothing but instinct there Jack, but the other Jack is very much aware of that. He wants to put the stamp on this early.

Eastwood goes to pick Celt up, but is caught by surprise as he drives his forearm right between the legs. He then rolls though into an inside cradle.

Boice: LOW BLOW FROM CELT!!! INSIDE CRADLE, HE’S GOT THE ROPES, 1...2...KICK OUT!!!

Flare: I saw you stir Jack. I know what you were thinking. You had a flashback to when you used to do that self imposed with baby.

Boice: I got no idea what you’re talking about Flare.

Flare: You can’t keep ignoring the issue forever Jack!

Boice: What Issue? The issue that The Celt has stood up, and Eastwood is rising too? I’m not ignoring it, I’m trying to embrace that face.

Flare: This is more awkward than when my parent do the Dishes... Lovely people, the Dishes. Hi Mary and Joe if you’re watching.

Boice: Celt runs at Eastwood, knocks him down with a big shoulder block, Eastwood’s getting back to his feet, but Celt’s running at him...

Flare: RUN AT HIM BRO!!

Boice: AND CONNECTS with a Torndao DDT. Quick cover by the champion, 1...2... KICK OUT!!!

Flare: Eastwood’s kept his championship hopes alive like a fatty watching a porno. Celt though is the one in that porno though, and Eastwood’s just watching him go about his business.

Boice: I’m not even going to comment on that analogy. Celt’s just stalking Eastwood as he forces his way to his feet. He’s on his hands and knees, AND CELT COMES IN WITH A BIG KICK TO THE RIBS! Eastwood goes back down hard.

Flare: Celt’s yelling at Jack to get back up, and it’s something he’s trying to do. In comes the Celt, looking for another rib shot, but quick thinking from Eastwood, he swings his body around, and traps him in a drop toe hold!

Boice: Celt kisses the canvas, so to speak, and Eastwood rolls out of the ring... and he’s quick to find a chair. He’s grabbing it... grab... grabbing it... uh, and is heading back to the ring.

Flare: You do know!

Boice: Know what? That Eastwood’s intending to use that chair as a weapon. Celt’s rising back to his feet, in comes Eastwood. He swings, CELT CATCHES THE HEADSHOT!

Flare: Not over yet. HEADBUTT TO THE STEEL CHAIR by Eastwood, forces it right onto the skull of the champion. Cover by Jack Eastwood. 1...2... KICK OUT!! Celt’s still the champ.

Boice: For now. I know from experience how a sturdy, steel chair can hurt you. Eastwood’s looking dangerous with the chair in his hands, so this is not over.

Flare: Celt’s trying to rise to his feet again, but Eastwood drives him back down with a chair shot. He’s hit that, and done it right across his back! A second on the fallen Celt, as he continues to blast away.

Boice: Eastwood seems like he’s done playing around, he’s grabbed the Celt by the head, and is dragging him across the mat over to the ropes. He’s placed Celt’s neck right on the bottom rope. This could be... murderous...

Eastwood, happy with the position The Celt has been left in, picks up the baseball bat he brought down to the ring with him. He then stands over the body of the Celt.

Flare: Not murderous. He’s just going to introduce a baseball bat to the back of the skull of the Celt. If that’s murderous, then Celt had no business of ever being in FMW.

Boice: Eastwood swings AND MISSES! Celt’s bent the bottom rope to drop out of the way. He rolls over. Upward stomp to the stomach of Eastwood, Celt rises quickly, AND NAILS A NECKBREAKER OVER THE TOP ROPE!!

Flare: He stays on his feet, but Eastwood’s in real trouble, another kick to the gut by the Celt, who picks him up HIGH above his head. He can’t hold on much longer though, AND COMPLETES the Suplex. A HUGE display of pure strength from The Celt to do that to a man MUCH bigger than he is.

Boice: Cover by Celt, 1...2... KICK OUT!!! The Celt is Exhausted after that effort, and consequently, couldn’t put the full power into the pin. What is it going to take for The Celt to keep Eastwood down?

Flare: He needs to get behind him, and just pound away. Keep pounding, until Eastwood can’t take it any more.

Boice: I don’t know what’s more alarming, the fact that you’ve been able to make a sex joke relevant to commentary, or the fact that I could see a strategy like that working effectively.

Flare: Celt rises... to his feet. He’s just stalking Eastwood now. He’s lining up the shot.

Boice: Eastwood’s on his hands and knees now. He has no idea where Celt is, but the Celt knows. In he comes, AND CONNECTS WITH THE CASTLEBAR KISS!!!! RIGHT TO THE TEMPLE!!!

Flare: Eastwood is down, The Celt’s not going for the pinfall though. This is an odd strategy. He couldn’t have a stronger win in front of him if he used chloroform right now.

Boice: I tried that once with Bab... err... my partner. It didn’t really effect her.

Flare: The Celt’s looking for the top rope. He’s climbing the turnbuckle, looking to put the final exclamation point on this matchup.

Boice: The crowd are certainly egging him on. Eastwood is still out in the middle of the ring, not moving.

Flare: Here comes the chloroform, AIR CELT!!! NO!!! EASTWOOD ROLLS OUT OF THE WAY!!!

Boice: A last moment roll saved Eastwood’s championship aspirations, while it’s caused the Celt a great deal of pain, MISSING with that tope rope moonsault.

Flare: Did I, or did I not say that The Celt should have taken the pinfall when he had the chance? Did I not display knowledge of something OTHER than the Adult industry to say that?

Boice: No one’s disputing your knowledge of wrestling Flare. I’m just wishing you’d chose that knowledge base a little more often. Eastwood’s slow, but he’s getting to his feet. This is a pivotal moment in the match. Both men have no momentum anymore. The Celt’s forcing his way back to his feet as well.

Flare: Eastwood’s up to his feet first, and his able to take advantage of that. Kick to the mid section, followed up by a spike DDT to the champion.

Boice: Strong moves all round, cover by the challenger, 1...2... KICK OUT!!

Flare: Eastwood’s frustrated, he thought he’d have him there. Eastwood pulls the Celt to his feet, grabs him by the face, AND CONNECTS WITH THE T2FC!!!

Boice: He’s not quite done yet either. He’s picked The Celt up one more time, CONNECTS WITH THE STREAMLINE, RIGHT INTO THE TURNBUCKLES!!! THE CELT IS DOWN!!!

Flare: Eastwood, covers, this should be it, 1...2... KICKOUT!!! OH MY GOD!!! How did the Celt find the strength to kick out of that?

Boice: I don’t know, but Eastwood is NOT happy with that at all, as he slams the mat hard. He’s rolling out of the ring, and he’s grabbing yet another steel chair. Don’t grab it there Jack.

Flare: I swear, you’re either an expert of where to grab steel chairs, or you really are the Jack Boice I’m thinking of.

Boice: Eastwood ... he’s THROWN the steel chair into the ring. He’s back in himself. There’s two chairs and a baseball bat in the ring now. Eastwood’s taken a steel chair and placed it under the head of The Celt, who’s still just lying there.

Flare: If I didn’t know better, I’d think he’s looking for the Conchairto. He’s picking up the spare chair, so I think I’m right.

Eastwood stands over the still Celt, grinning wickedly. With one steel chair under The Celt’s head, and the steel chair in Eastwood’s hand, Eastwood looks ready to put The Celt away, when “Friend Like Me” by Wayne Bergeron hits the speakers. Furiously, Eastwood turns around as the crowd starts to boo. Coming down the ramp to watch the final moments of the match is...

Boice: SMITTEN!!! SMITTEN’S HERE!!! WHAT THE HELL IS HE DOING HERE?

Flare: If I remember rightly, Eastwood cost Smitten his match with Mass Caesar at 13.1. I know I don’t normally have this much blood rushing to my brain, and not to other parts of my body, but I think he’s here for a little payback.

Boice: It seems like it’s worked. Celt played possum!! Inside cradle, he’s got the ropes, 1...2...3!!!!! CELT’S WON!!

Flare: He’s erupted victory all over the mouth of defeat.

Blige: Here is your winner, and STILL FMW Ultraviolent Champion... THE CELT!!!

The Celt (3.87 aps + 1.0 avs = 4.87 total)
Jack Eastwood (4.03 aps + 0.6 avs = 4.63 total)

The crowd boos the actions of Smitten, who still walks calmly and slowly down the ramp, wearing a grin that’s only ever seen when there’s something vicious going on in his mind. Meanwhile, The Celt is quick to release Eastwood from the pin, as he jumps up and rests on the ropes. Eastwood, fuming, refuses to take his eyes off Smitten as he walks down the ramp. As the referee hands over the Ultraviolent Championship to the Celt, all of a sudden, the lights go black.

Boice: Woah!!!

Flare: Are we off the air?

Boice: I don’t think so... but we’ve lost all the lights.

Flare: So I should put it away then?

Boice: For God sake, yes. Ladies and Gentlemen, I’d like to apologise for...


The laugh track cuts of Boice, and sends a chill down the spine of every single member of the audience in attendance. A split second later, the lights turn back on. The entire FMW community is in absolute shock as they witness the man standing in the ring, right infront of The Celt.

Boice: Oh.... my God...

Flare: I don’t believe this...

Boice: HARLEQUIN!!! HARLEQUIN IS BACK!!!

Flare: Look at him... he’s just smiling at The Celt. Either kiss him or stop teasing us.

Boice: BIG RIGHT HAND BY HARLEQUIN HAS KNOCKED A STUNNED CELT RIGHT OVER THE TOP ROPE!!! HE’S GOING AFTER HIM, BUT THE CELT’S BACK ON HIS FEET, READY TO MEET HIM!!!

Flare: Celt charges at Harly, but harly first back with an elbow, he’s pushing Celt back up the ramp.

Boice: Celt’s trying to fight back, he’s firing off lefts and rights as hard as he can. Harly fires back with exactly the same. Celt breaks it up, big boot to Harlequin! He goes to pick him up, but Harlequin DRILLS him in the stomach.

The pair continue to brawl, while at the same time, Smitten continues to walk down the ramp, walking straight past the pair.

Flare: Smitten’s still coming, he doesn’t seem to care about the hell that’s breaking lose right before him.

Boice: Harlequin looks like he wants to throw the Celt into the security barricade, but Celt fires back, he fights out, and WHIPS Harlequin back up the ramp. He charges , Harlequin catches the clothesline from Celt, counters into a hip toss.

Flare: This brawl is getting vicious. Harlequin, stomping the face of the ultraviolent champ. He’s standing over the man, and he’s motioning to his waist! He’s either making innuendo, or staking his claim to the Ultraviolent Championship.

Boice: The Celt doesn’t look impressed, as he tries to get up. Harlequin goes for another headkick, but Celt dodges it. He’s back to his feet, and is punching for dear life, he’s forcing Harlequin back and back.

Flare: Harlequin catches a punch though, and he delivers a MASSIVE Irish Whip into the bottom of the titantron. This is heading backstage, but we’ve still got a matter to attend to here... Smitten’s finally rolled into the ring.

As the Celt and Harlequin brawl to the back, Eastwood struggles to contain himself, sharing the same ring as the man who distracted him from winning the Ultraviolent Championship. Smitten removes a microphone from his jacket and waits for the crowd to calm down for a moment, before continuing.

Smitten: Ladies and Gentlemen, as you all know, recently, I formally announced my resignation. As of a few weeks ago, I revoked all powers bestowed upon me by one Jason “Jaro” Roy, which includes and is extended to, my former position as the Commissioner of Full Metal Wrestling.

The crowd goes up in a roar of applause. Cheers break out over the stadium at the news that Smitten is no longer the Commissioner. Eastwood himself grins a little, and sarcastically applauds.

Smitten: Yes, thank you. This is very exciting news. I am very much aware of that.

Eastwood: Exciting news? Hardly.

Smitten: Excuse me?

Eastwood: I knew something was wrong with you Smitten. I knew that once you had power, it was only a matter of time before you blew it.

Smitten: Ladies and Gentlemen, I’d like to thank Mr. Eastwood for his vivid and accurate demonstration of the attitude displayed towards me which pushed me to this decision.

Eastwood: There ain’t any demonstration about it. You blew it. Again.

Smitten: I hardly blew it, and I can tell you, this wasn’t a hastily made decision either. This decision comes from the fact that for TOO LONG, the members of the Full Metal Wrestling roster have treated me like a door mat and a push over, trying to throw their weight around with me, and walk all over me.

Eastwood: And why do you think that was Smitten? It’s because you were a weak leader. Nobody respects weakness in a leader. It doesn’t matter if you’re the Commissioner, the CEO, the FMW Champion or nothing. While you’re weak, you’ll always have every man and their dog wiping their feet on you.

Smitten: So... I take it that this is you speaking from experience?

Eastwood: Hardly. This is me speaking from watching you’re feeble attempts to garner respect.

Smitten: This is rich coming from a failure.

Eastwood: A failure?

Smitten: That’s right. A mindless lackey, who didn’t have the brains, the brawn or the balls to do what needed to be done. You failed everyone and everything you were ever associated with, and while I worked so closely with Jaro, a majority of my time was spent cleaning up the mess that you seemed to be able to make in your sleep.

Before Smitten goes on, “Mother” by Danzig hits the speakers. The arena is almosted overawed by the boos as Jaro, banhammer in hand, struts cockily down the entrance ramp. He doesn’t look impressed, but makes his way down to the ring with his overt confidence in full view.

Boice: Well, no surprises here. If it’s about the CEO of FMW, he’ll come out here and make sure we know what he wants.

Flare: I have a feeling what he wants is nothing like what Smitten or Eastwood want, so I’m doubting there’s going to be a happy ending here.

Jaro steps through the ring ropes and into the ring, already with a microphone in his hand.

Jaro: Ahh, my goon squad is all assembled.

Smitten: Jaro... the most vile man I’ve had the displeasure to personally know.

Jaro: Smitten, you’re just too kind with your words. Perhaps I should have brought a rolled up newspaper instead to bash my lap-dog over the nose with instead of my epic hammer. Maybe then you'll get the hint. You're nothing if I don't make you relevent again. You've made a grave mistake, though I think we may be willing to let by-gone's be by-gone's and put this all behind us if-

Smitten: It’s not going to happen. It’s taken me this long to realise how much better off I am without you.

Jaro: Excuse me? Are you high? Drunk? Maybe you should sober up a little before you make a decision you’ll regret.

Smitten: And here’s the over confidence. Always shown in the face of certain demise. I have dirt on you Jaro. More dirt than you can handle. And you know what...

Jaro: What’s that Smitten? I’m tired of your game.

Smitten: I’m feeling generous. I feel like... sharing the dirt. Eastwood, would you like to hear a secret about our esteemed CEO?

Eastwood: Apart from tearing both of your heads off, there’s nothing I’d like more right now.

Smitten: You see... when Jaro ordered for Celeste to be murdered... the contract he signed... wasn’t actually an ancient law being brought into action. You see, Jaro thought his loop hole was clever, what he failed to realize is that his comprehension skills lack. Jaro did have the contract for a law that expired in 1876! Jaro murdered Celeste, and commited a crime in doing so!

Jaro: Oh... now I see the threat Smitten. Thank Christ, you finally reached the point, although it wasn’t an especially good one. You think you can get rid of ME?! ME!?

Jaro lifts the Banhammer to swing. Smitten gets the jump on him, however, and tries to wrestle the weapon from Jaro's hands. Jaro headbutts Smitten, however, getting over on his opponent. He jabs Smitten in the gut with the Banhammer, but didn't account for Eastwood, who charges over a ducked Smitten and lands a clothesline that sends the boss to the mat.

Smitten staggers forward and grabs the Banhammer, thrusting it into the gut of Eastwood and placing it over the mans neck, using the shaft to force his opponent to the ground. Smitten then throws the hammer at Jaro as he tries to get to his feet, sending him down to a knee. The former comissioner charges forward and lunges at Jaro, sending both men toppling through the ropes.

Boice: This has erupted into an all out war!

Flare: How can someone like Smitten do this to a FMW official! What lack of respect!

Boice: Smitten’s turned him around, punch to the face, and a second, AND A THIRD. HE’S BUSTED JARO OPEN AND IT’S ONLY TAKEN 3 PUNCHES!!!

Flare: His nose could be broken. He’s leaking as much as I am on a slow Tuesday night.

Boice:: Eastwood is to his feet now! He's leaping over the ropes! He takes out both men!

Flare:: Air Eastwood!

Boice:: What a generic statement! Eastwood is slow to his feet! He moves towards Smitten, No! Jaro with a low blow now! Jaro slides in the ring! He's grabbing the Banhammer!

Flare:: Look! Up at the ramp!

Boice:: Thats P. Thurston Deveraux! He's got a mic in hand!

Deveraux: Thats enough! Enough! You hold it right there!

Jaro stops and glares at the FMW Representative as he walks down the ramp.

Deveraux: Since its up to me to bring order to this chaotic world you seem to enjoy creating, Jason, let me point out to you that contrary to your wishes, there are still rules. Rules in which YOU have broken!

Jaro shrugs and moves towards the ropes again when Deveraux begins to speak once more.

Deveraux: You think you can do whatever youd like, huh? That you're just top dollar.

Jaro yells 'I am' to Deveraux.

Deveraux: Well, since you're such the boss, you might have thought to take a moment to look over our guidelines! FMW Code of Conduct Section 113, bylaw A. If a Full Metal Wrestling Official or Head attacks a contracted Full Metal Wrestling talent, he or she thereby FORFEITS THEIR POSITION, RANK, AND AUTHORITY ON THE SPOT.

Boice:: WOAH!

Deveraux: So, you are hereby REMOVED from your position as FMW CEO! Now, REMOVE HIM FROM THIS BUILDING!

A team of local police come out from the back and surround the ring. Jaro clutches the Banhammer tightly as he stares them down. Smitten slides into the ring behind Jaro's back and spins the now former CEO, and dropping him in a courtroom assault. The officers then enter the ring and handcuff Jaro, escorting him from the ring and up the ramp.

Boice:: AND JUSTICE HAS BEEN SERVED!

Flare:: Here comes Eastwood!

Eastwood is also up now and he slides into the ring. The crowd begins to roar as he and Smitten face-off center ring, both men with their fists raised.

Deveraux: WAIT, WAIT, WAIT! It seems you two still have a grudge to bear! Well, we're doing things properly now! So, I hereby use my authority to book, at Ultimatum Three, Christian G. Smitten and Jack Eastwood in a match to finally put an end to their war!

Boice: WOW! Smitten and Eastwood will finally meet in the center of the ring to settle their differences! What a Grudge match!

Smitten glares at Eastwood, who reciprocates. Smitten looks up to see the crowd cheering as they begin calling his name, something that hasn’t happened in a very, very long time. Smitten smiles, as he raises his arms up high, posing to the audience. He turns once more and stares at Eastwood who decides to exit the ring on his own terms, telling Smitten Ultimatum Three will be his time.

Boice: What a HUGE moment we’ve just witnessed. Not only has Harlequin returned, and staked his claim to the Ultraviolent Championship, but Smitten’s taken out the FMW CEO in Jaro, with an assist to FMW Board Representative P. Thurston Deveraux, and we’ve heard one of the most anticipated matches in recent history announced!

Flare: What a way to cap off a night! In fact, the only way this night can be any better by doing what I’m getting ready to do in the changerooms in about 10 minutes.

Boice: And on that note, I’m Jack Boice, on behalf of Janus Flare and everyone at Corruption, thank you, and look forward to your company at No Holds Barred!

OOC: Here is the show. Read it, weep, or enjoy.

First of all, thank you to everyone who did work for this show. You know who you are, and this show could not have made it without you.

Second of all, I apologize for the two-week gap between this and Ammunition. Nick Bryson's raw animal drive should be respected, commended and appreciated.

Third of all, effective immediately, I am stepping down as Corruption Head Writer for the time being. I have realized that I am no longer efficient at my job, and a big reason for that is that I no longer have both the energy and the motivation to do it. That said, Corruption, or any show for that matter, does not deserve a boss who has lost his heart for the job, so I am stepping down for all of our own sanities.

Beginning 14.1, Mr. Leon Caprice will be taking over for me in an interim (for now) role, under the watch of our own Nick and Drew. I'm sure those combined factors will lead to Corruption's continued solidness.

Lastly, cooperation really is the name of the game here, gentlemen, and it really does not do well if we can't all get along and be professional. There is no FMW without teamwork, so please, no more drama.

That's it for now, friends. Thank you and good night.

OOC: Piggybacking on what Ro said, Apo deserves some huge props as he carried a good portion of the show, and the others such as Leon, De, and TBM contributed huge for this show. So props to them as well.

Now on a personal level.

Ro has donated a lot of time into making Corruption run smoothly, I was happy to work with him for most of the ride, even occasionally when his jungle internet went out I helped him steer. It was nice working with Ro, who sometimes was an asshole but was always straight and honest with you. Many nights were spent on The Wave doing editing with Ro, Slegna, Harley, and sometimes PX. And Corruption has always had a high presentation standard, sometimes we couldn't get the show out as quickly as we liked but it always looked fantastic.

That being said, I'd like to thank Ro for donating his time and making Corruption special. And for trusting me enough to let me be his Assistant Head for most of the journey. Since there is a changing of the guard with Leon I have decided I am not going to be part of the Corruption staff going forward as I feel it is important for Leon to import his own Assistant HW as well as staff mates.

But that's enough about this, the show looks good for all the things surrounding it and the only way I can sum things up is by saying thank you Romeo, you've done a hell of job with Corruption.


P.S. Corruption > Ammunition, Distortion, and Ignition.

IC:

I was suppose to be retired from FMW, I was suppose to be medically unfit to wrestle for FMW, I wasn't suppose to be here...I was suppose to be inside the fire burning away like the ash on a smoking cigarette. But someone pulled me out of the flame...and I just wanna say thank you old friend.

OOC: Visually stunning outing this time. New graphics and all that are epic. Matches were well done, I particularly enjoy seeing MASS Caesar win so that was a good read. The Frost segment started very strong, but kinda tailed off in the end. And it looks like Mr. Smitten is a face.

How's about that. Well, TBM, I can't wait for NHB, I'm sure we'll likely have the match of the night.

Also, I enjoyed seeing Vendetta and Rotunda in higher-profile instances. Giving the younger crop a chance is a good thing. The promo scores were close too so the people had a chance to slay goliath if you will.

And of course, Eastwood...dammit man, you keep coming so close. Stop being late. Also, I wouldn't be opposed to Eastwood/Celt II. It offers some fresh blood in the UV title scene and I think his APS has earned a rematch. However I do feel kinda bad for the poor soul that gets to face Harlequin (I may be a Harley fan-boy but I think every segment involving him was well done and very much representative of the character. Kudos on that.)

I'll try to get more in-depth later but I was coerced into looking at this show AGAIN so I figure that this time I should say something about it, a general statement you know?

Also, STFU Omega, with your filthy lies.

OOC: I'd like to thank God all mightly, Jesus Christ my lord and saviour and the Virgin Mary for saving my UV title reign and preventing me Showstoppin' the title, because it's a fucking miracle Eastwood didn't take it from me.

Really good show with alot of amazing matches; WM/Caesar was pretty sweet, so incredibly close. The new graphics all look great; I'm assuming DeAndes deserves the credit.

I'm sad to see Romeo leave the job; he always put massive energy into the position that I'm not sure even the most competent replacement could ever match. That said, good luck to Leon and I hope it works out for you. Romeo, I hope you're sticking around FMW and might even get back into active competition.

IC:

Eastwood, let me be straight with you: You got screwed in that match. I never asked Smitten to come out, nor did I even know he was at ringside at the time. As a matter of fact, you'd knocked my ass so loopy that I didn't even rightly know where the fuck I was.

People are calling me smart for playing possum...shhhiiitt, I just looked up at you and rolled you up on instinct looking to catch you off guard since you weren't looked at me.

Bottom line is: If you want a rematch, it's yours.

And Quint...ha, you looked pretty confused when I still had the energy to brawl it out with you after my match. Yeah, well you'll be finding out quite quickly I've a hell of energy these days since winning the UV title recharged the batteries, it's not going to be like fighting a walking zombie no more asshole

Confused? No.

Overjoyed? Yes.

Enthralled? Oh Yes.

Perhaps that pee size Mick brain of yours has trouble understanding. I'm only getting started. That ninja lad, I don't even know his name, was just a little foreplay for me. Some blood to grease the old squeaky wheels.

Visceral onslaughts never bring about surprised Celty-poo, just joy. And I love it when you fight back, no one likes prey that doesn't kick back a little, makes things a lot more...pleasant.

Frankly I would have been surprised if you just lay down and take the beating. But I know you better than Celt, I know you're a little spitfire who thinks he's doing the right thing and somehow that invigorates you.

Like Brothers we are. Which is a fair assessment considering how you treat your own brother.

OOC: Good show, I'm a bit bummed that AVO didn't promo for the match because it was a good one but nevermind. I'm looking forward to seeing what Leon has to offer for corruption!

IC:

Trey: We lost. Damn.

AVO: Dammit to hell, why did Seth Omega have to get involved!?

Trey: My thoughts exactly. I guess we better do better in the future.

Harlequin wrote:

Surprised? No.

Overjoyed? Yes.

Enthralled? Oh Yes.

Perhaps that pee size Mick brain of yours has trouble understanding. I'm only getting started. That ninja lad, I don't even know his name, was just a little foreplay for me. Some blood to grease the old squeaky wheels.

Visceral onslaughts never bring about surprised Celty-poo, just joy. And I love it when you fight back, no one likes prey that doesn't kick back a little, makes things a lot more...pleasant.

Frankly I would have been surprised if you just lay down and take the beating. But I know you better than Celt, I know you're a little spitfire who thinks he's doing the right thing and somehow that invigorates you.

Like Brothers we are. Which is a fair assessment considering how you treat your own brother.

Xander: Oh hell nah. See cuddy you ran roughshod wit ya lil' group a long time ago. Shit's changed. You can't just get away with beatin' the fuck out of someone until they can't walk no more. That's right, Quint. You left Ryu paralyzed. Nigga's legs don't work no more. I know how people like you operate. Through fear, through mis-direction. You ain't got a healthy fear of God.

To coin a phrase from a good patna of mine, I'm going to beat it into you.

Which leads me to my next order of business. I hear you and MASS Caesar have put y'all names into the tag team scramble at NHB. I'll be there. And for every nick, every contusion, every abrasion, every piece of flesh that was taken off of Ryu's body, I'm going to take it out of yo' ass.

Even if that means I have to tag wit Seth Omega. Let's get one thing straight, King Hippo. I don't give a shit about yo' demons. You's a knock. But I've been..asked to give yo' ass a shot by you know who. So if you really want to prove yo'self (and I can't believe I'm sayin' this)...I'mma need some help.

You down to scwab (OOC: fight)?

Hey Damien, at least we can be third.

iDeAndes wrote:

Xander: Oh hell nah. See cuddy you ran roughshod wit ya lil' group a long time ago. Shit's changed. You can't just get away with beatin' the fuck out of someone until they can't walk no more. That's right, Quint. You left Ryu paralyzed. Nigga's legs don't work no more. I know how people like you operate. Through fear, through mis-direction. You ain't got a healthy fear of God.

To coin a phrase from a good patna of mine, I'm going to beat it into you.

Which leads me to my next order of business. I hear you and MASS Caesar have put y'all names into the tag team scramble at NHB. I'll be there. And for every nick, every contusion, every abrasion, every piece of flesh that was taken off of Ryu's body, I'm going to take it out of yo' ass.

Even if that means I have to tag wit Seth Omega. Let's get one thing straight, King Hippo. I don't give a shit about yo' demons. You's a knock. But I've been..asked to give yo' ass a shot by you know who. So if you really want to prove yo'self (and I can't believe I'm sayin' this)...I'mma need some help.

You down to scwab (OOC: fight)?

English motherfucker, do you speak it?

I don't have a fucking clue what you just said, and to be brutally honest I don't really give a fuck what you said. I'm not going to sit here and say you're my first choice for a tag team partner, as a matter of fact you're probably closer to my last choice for a tag team partner. But I'm not as stupid as people like to think I am, you've obviously got some talent inside of you so I'm willing to give it a shot. But I swear to all things holy if you fuck me over I will hit you with The Heart Shaped Box so fast you'll think you're from New York.

To put it in terms you'd understand...

I'm down, ya digg?

Fun fact: Now that Omega's back, FMW's average IQ has dropped approximately 15 points.

OOC: It turned out to be a really good show, nonetheless... I thought the Harlequin segment to be deliciously evil, mind the Stewie reference. The matches were written well, too.

SoSB raises a hand in the air, before jumping for joy.

The Linguist: Bullies beware, because SoSB is here to stay. He's demonstrated his ability well, and is ready to take on those that dare to treat those weaker than them like cockroaches.

Omega wrote:

iDeAndes wrote:

Xander: Oh hell nah. See cuddy you ran roughshod wit ya lil' group a long time ago. Shit's changed. You can't just get away with beatin' the fuck out of someone until they can't walk no more. That's right, Quint. You left Ryu paralyzed. Nigga's legs don't work no more. I know how people like you operate. Through fear, through mis-direction. You ain't got a healthy fear of God.

To coin a phrase from a good patna of mine, I'm going to beat it into you.

Which leads me to my next order of business. I hear you and MASS Caesar have put y'all names into the tag team scramble at NHB. I'll be there. And for every nick, every contusion, every abrasion, every piece of flesh that was taken off of Ryu's body, I'm going to take it out of yo' ass.

Even if that means I have to tag wit Seth Omega. Let's get one thing straight, King Hippo. I don't give a shit about yo' demons. You's a knock. But I've been..asked to give yo' ass a shot by you know who. So if you really want to prove yo'self (and I can't believe I'm sayin' this)...I'mma need some help.

You down to scwab (OOC: fight)?

English motherfucker, do you speak it?

I don't have a fucking clue what you just said, and to be brutally honest I don't really give a fuck what you said. I'm not going to sit here and say you're my first choice for a tag team partner, as a matter of fact you're probably closer to my last choice for a tag team partner. But I'm not as stupid as people like to think I am, you've obviously got some talent inside of you so I'm willing to give it a shot. But I swear to all things holy if you fuck me over I will hit you with The Heart Shaped Box so fast you'll think you're from New York.

To put it in terms you'd understand...

I'm down, ya digg?

Xander: The fat, sloppy, semi-coherent redneck is talkin' mess about speakin' English. Ironic troll is ironic. I ain't never fucked no one over a day in my life, Seth. Much more then I can say for you when you left Marky Mark hangin' and turned yo' back on the Broken Saints for a shitty title that has changed hands more than Dick Dynamo gives hand jobs to Sean Jensen. Just ask Apostasy. He don't even like the belt.

So let me put this in somethin' you can understand. You leave me high and dry, I'll roast yo' ass. You'll go up in smoke quicker than you was soakin' in a jetfuel covered snuggie and ridin' reverse cowgirl on cYnical's cancerous dick (#pause). If an' when you leave me out to pasture, I'll drop you with a Trey Shot. It'll be good for ya, blud. You'll save a shit ton of money that would otherwise go towards lipo and stomach staples when it sends you into a comatose.

None of that Anarchist shit neither. We do shit? We do shit by the book.

I already feel dirty taggin' you in. Is fat and stupid a communicable disease?

Dick move, Harley.

Dick move.

You know, I hit only like... 4 moves that match. And you know what... that's awesome.

My moves are high impact. They end matches quickly, and with the least amount of effort. It turns out, nobody has been able to break the Apathetic Choke, formally known as the California Choke for Edible Smith and the Arsenide Choke by Edible Matthewson. It doesn't take much to find yourself unable to escape, forced to tap out. Here's the weird thing with the Abandoned title. It's always these gimmick matches, and you'd think that wouldn't suit a guy that's so adept at getting guys to tap like I am. You'd be wrong. Because I just proved that, if anything, taking matches outside the ring is an advantage FOR ME. When there's no ropes, there's no escape from my hold. You might have thought that Rotunda had the advantage in this one, given his training as a boxer. Turns out, it was me that had the upper hand the whole time.

Seth Rotunda, that was a fantastic match. Kudos to you, sir. Now you can get to the back of the line. Next up, if I'm not mistaken, is the great Leon Caprice... assuming he can win at No Holds Barred. Funny thing is, I've been barred from making challenges of my own, they say I have a match with Leon. Funny thing is, I've heard a little rumor that I'll actually be having to tag with him. If we win, we've got a match at Ultimatum. If we lose... I don't know what happens. Maybe I won't get a match at Ultimatum, which would blow. So Leon, don't worry. I'm not going to screw you over. I'm going to make damn sure we win that match, because I've earned my spot at Ultimatum. I've earned the right to rematch you. And I'll be damned if I let that match disappear.

Leon... I said I wanted to give you this rematch. I am going to prove to you that this title BELONGS around this waist. There is nobody more fit to wear this belt than me. And after I beat you, I'm going to face Mass Caesar, who I believe I have a bit of history with. And after I've beaten both of you... who knows? Maybe I'll get revenge on Seth Omega. Maybe I'll take on Son of Sharkboy... he seems like an interesting fellow. And maybe somewhere along the line I'll lose this pointless scrap of metal, and go on to bigger and better things.

For right now though, I'd like you to think about one thing. I want you to think about tapping out. I want you to put yourself in the shoes of Seth Rotunda. Imagine, no escape in sight. You're losing oxygen, your shoulder feels like it's about to come out of its socket. There's only one way for it to end for you, tapping out and losing. That, Leon, is your Ultimatum.

iDeAndes wrote:

Xander: The fat, sloppy, semi-coherent redneck is talkin' mess about speakin' English. Ironic troll is ironic. I ain't never fucked no one over a day in my life, Seth. Much more then I can say for you when you left Marky Mark hangin' and turned yo' back on the Broken Saints for a shitty title that has changed hands more than Dick Dynamo gives hand jobs to Sean Jensen. Just ask Apostasy. He don't even like the belt.

So let me put this in somethin' you can understand. You leave me high and dry, I'll roast yo' ass. You'll go up in smoke quicker than you was soakin' in a jetfuel covered snuggie and ridin' reverse cowgirl on cYnical's cancerous dick (#pause). If an' when you leave me out to pasture, I'll drop you with a Trey Shot. It'll be good for ya, blud. You'll save a shit ton of money that would otherwise go towards lipo and stomach staples when it sends you into a comatose.

None of that Anarchist shit neither. We do shit? We do shit by the book.

I already feel dirty taggin' you in. Is fat and stupid a communicable disease?

1) Don't talk about shit you know nothing about.
2) I do things one way, and that's my way. So either you can either sit down, shut up, and win these belts with me or you can go back to jobbing to ninjas. Your choice blud.
3) You don't have to tag me in, you can sit on the apron and I'll do all the work and let you pick the scraps...again.

Omega wrote:

iDeAndes wrote:

Xander: The fat, sloppy, semi-coherent redneck is talkin' mess about speakin' English. Ironic troll is ironic. I ain't never fucked no one over a day in my life, Seth. Much more then I can say for you when you left Marky Mark hangin' and turned yo' back on the Broken Saints for a shitty title that has changed hands more than Dick Dynamo gives hand jobs to Sean Jensen. Just ask Apostasy. He don't even like the belt.

So let me put this in somethin' you can understand. You leave me high and dry, I'll roast yo' ass. You'll go up in smoke quicker than you was soakin' in a jetfuel covered snuggie and ridin' reverse cowgirl on cYnical's cancerous dick (#pause). If an' when you leave me out to pasture, I'll drop you with a Trey Shot. It'll be good for ya, blud. You'll save a shit ton of money that would otherwise go towards lipo and stomach staples when it sends you into a comatose.

None of that Anarchist shit neither. We do shit? We do shit by the book.

I already feel dirty taggin' you in. Is fat and stupid a communicable disease?

1) Don't talk about shit you know nothing about.
2) I do things one way, and that's my way. So either you can either sit down, shut up, and win these belts with me or you can go back to jobbing to ninjas. Your choice blud.
3) You don't have to tag me in, you can sit on the apron and I'll do all the work and let you pick the scraps...again.

Xander: In that scenario, I'd still have to tag you, genius. Let's get one thing straight. I said I needed help. Not that you were my only option.

That said, you and I got shit in common. Our styles compliment one another well. I bring the flash, you bring the thunder. I ain't, however, compromisin' myself or my values just to win. I ain't jumpin' niggas from behind - I get in their face. I ain't settin' small fires or taggin' or doin' any of that gay shit you consider edgy and revolutionary.

As for shit I don't know? Enlighten me or force me to shut up, patna. You aren't threatenin' to me in the slightest. I know for a fact I'd beat you like you stole somethin'.

You're right, our styles do compliment one another well.

You're the little barking chihuahua that gets us into a world of shit, and I'm the big pit bull that saves your ass when you piss off bigger dogs.

Perfect relationship...

That being said, I'm not going to say I am your only option but I am going to say I am your best chance to win.

You want to win, I want to win, and we both have different motives for doing this team.

Awwww, you two are so cute together.

Nicholas Gray wrote:

Hey Damien, at least we can be third.

Fuck third. We're takin' those fuckin' belts. There's no maybe about it.

Damien wrote:

Nicholas Gray wrote:

Hey Damien, at least we can be third.

Fuck third. We're takin' those fuckin' belts. There's no maybe about it.

How about you take my elbow to your mush and I'll take those belts for you?

How about I break your nose with my knee at NHB and finally make you shut the fuck up.

Xander: That was an original threat. I'm sure Slow-mega is real scared of the big, bad Eric Scorpio stooge turned singles wrestler who decided to tag with the least liked or relevant member of the Broken Saints and thought it was a way of gainin' the tag straps.

Nah. The only person breakin' this nigga's already ugly ass face is me. S'alright, Sasquatch. You gon' get it too. I can draw it out or you can get it quick. No need to thank me. I take pleasure in smackin' the piss out of fuck faces like yourself.

And don't get mushy, Seth. I'm only comin' to yo' aid because that's what a good teammate does.

iDeAndes wrote:

Xander: the least liked or relevant member of the Broken Saints.

Not gonna argue least relevant, but least liked? Even compared to Seth?

That just hurts, bro.