Corruption 14.3 Voting and Promo thread

Cut to the airport near the location of FMW's corruption. Trey is having difficulty with security.

Trey: I said no, and that's final.

Security officer: We need to search your bag sir, the sniffer dog seems quite adamant you have something.

Trey: The sniffer dog just likes the smell of my aftershave thats all.

A female officer sniffs Trey and looks disgusted.

Security officer: You're not wearing any aftershave sir, apparently it smells like you haven't washed in weeks.

Trey: It's a new type of aftershave? Come on, lemme through dammit!

Security Officer: Not before we search your bag.

Trey: Fine. Search my damn bag. This is an outrage, I'm a famous wrestler, a superstar! I've been on TV!

Security Officer: It's a normal procedure sir.

The security officers search through Trey's bag.

Security Officer: Wrestling tights, boots, a porn magazine, a shed load of cigarettes, gum wrapped up in a tissue and two church candles. Ok, let him through!

Trey: Finally!

Trey storms off and the scene cuts to static.

Cut to backstage at the latest Corruption arena where Trey has a church candle in his hand and a knife. He is laughing to himself.

Trey: Dumb ass customs!

Trey cuts off the bottom off the sealed church candle and out falls a large bag of marijuana.

Trey: Hey presto, it's weed!

Trey gets some rolling papers out and starts rolling a joint. While he's doing so, there is a knock at the door.

Trey: Hold on!

Trey rolls the joint and opens the door with it in his mouth. It's the doctor seen on last Corruption.

Dr: Trey, you probably shouldn't smoke that it's not good for your head. I heard you suffered more damage to it last week, I was wondering if I could take as look?

Trey: Erm, I'm kind of busy at the moment. Maybe come back later?

Dr: Ok Trey if you say so.

The doctor closes the door and walks away.

Trey: YES! Time to smoke some green.

Trey goes to a stereo in the lockeroom and starts playing some Bob Marley as he lights his joint.

Scene fades out...

“Perfection.”

The security footage reeled in front of his eyes. The grainy, black and white screen showed exactly what he dreaded most. What he had struggled to prevent. It showed him his crumbling psyche.

“I-“

The words formed in his mouth, but hung in his throat. Unable to speak he simply watched the horror unfold. On screen one the knife drove into the woman’s throat, killing her instantly. Such a shame too, Julie was a beautiful girl and for all intents and purposes a wonderful secretary.

Screen two flashed up, showing the man riding in the elevator. Hastily he scribbled a note. Where Alex aimed for perfection in his execution, this man was clearly focused on the end result, not the beauty with which he conducted it. Finishing the note he held it to the screen.


“Turn it off!” Alex Henri screamed into the darkness, his voice laden heavy with guilt and frustration. “I’ve seen it enough. I fucked up, what more do you want?”

“We want what we always have. We want what we recruited you for Alex. We want and we demand perfection. “

“Then I’ll give it to you. One more chance Mr. Sunday, give me one more chance and I’ll show you perfection.”

“You were told never to use that name Mr. Henri. And I shall give you one more chance. One last chance, and do not screw this up.”

Alex Henri had no time to react. The barrel of the gun pressed against the base of his skull as the elusive Mr. Sunday spoke. The bullet cracked through the thin base of the cranium, rattled through Henri’s brain and shattered his nasal cavity on the way through the front of his face. Blood, bone and cartilage fragments dotted the front of Henri’s chest and the ground below. The gun dropped to the ground, fulfilling its purpose, much like Alex Henri, perfectly.

“Second chances are reserved for those we deem worthy Mr. Henri. Simmons! Get in here and dispose of this garbage. I want The Harlequin brought in, dead or alive at this point. Bring me his blood.”


“Oh good, I was afraid that the sedative would keep you under for longer than expected. You’ve undergone quite the extensive last few days.”

The surroundings blurred around him. He struggled to focus, the door to his left, the light up above, the disembodied voice to his right. All of it remained just out of focus, blurred and obscured. His ears rung with the medical beeps and whirs of the room around him. His knuckle ached as he stretched his fingers.

“God, have I been asleep for a week. Fuck, my hands hurt.”

He felt the hands rest on his shoulder. Female, strong grip, though he could feel her uncomfortableness through her grip.

“Mr. Brixton...”

“It’s Detective.” The words caught in his throat. They scratched as they crawled their way out of his mouth. His pride overcame the dry and unused throat muscles.”

“Yes, right, I read that. Detective Brixton, the good news is that it looks like you’ll be making a full recovery.”

“And the bad?” He coughed as he struggled to sit up, his muscles aching and fighting Brixton every step of the way.

“The bad news Detective is that the wound you suffered will take a little longer to heal than we anticipated. Your body was already in what equates to overdrive trying to stave off exhaustion from the recent scarring suffered. The loss of your eye was a little much to take all at once.”

“My eye? What the fuck?”

The fog in the mind of Detective Brixton began to clear. Slowly it rolled away revealing the taunting and menacing laughter of the madman that had mutilated. His memory flooded as his neuron began firing en masse. He remembered the fight, the knife, the blood...his eye.

“Detective Brixton, we’d like to keep you for observation overnight, but after that you are free to return to your life. You’ve received numerous letters and well wishes while you were under. As well your brother had been here while you were under. He had to leave but left us with instructions to deliver this note to you when you woke up and pass on his apologies for not being here when you regained consciousness.”

Brixton fumbled with the tiny piece of paper as the female doctor exited the room. His left eye struggled to focus on the scribbled writing. Years of dominance by his right eye had weakened his vision, now handicapped by the Harlequin.


Brixton could feel the rage rising inside him. The sociopath had been beside him the entire time, masquerading as his brother, as family. The note crumpled in Brixton’s hand as his eye shut tight, a stream of tears rolling down one side of his face, blood the other.


Glory is a trifling little thing. We all want it, in some way or another, and would almost willing sacrifice our own lives to get obtain it.

“I don’t understand what you’re talking about. Puh—puh—please just let me go home to my wife.”

Your wife? Right. I may be deranged, but I’m no fool Mr. Morales. You see I know who you work for you vainglorious bastard. A fancy suit like that doesn’t come cheap. I would know, I’m a man of discriminating tastes.

The Harlequin flashed a wicked grin as he spun around, hoping Mr. Morales, his intended victim would stare in awe at his “fanciful” clothing.

And with my Batman like powers of deduction, I can gather by this little Glock 17, you work for an agency. Not a police officer, again I know those very well and you ain’t one. I also know my guns

I know my guns very well.

The Harlequin’s left wrist snapped back releasing a muffled click as the infamous and blood spattered Dirty Harry lept forward into his waiting palm. The gloved fingers of The Harlequin wrapped themselves around the gun’s handle, his index finger tapping gently against the protruding metal trigger.

So you’ll tell me your little secrets, and I’ll spoil the child and spare the rod. If you catch my oh-so-subtle drift Mr. Morales. Tell me what I need to know, or, well Dirty Harry will take your left eye for me.

I know you don’t want to betray the Order. I get that, it’s a misguided sense of loyalty, but I understand. What I want you to do, is think of Nancy. Your beautiful wife of 4 years. Think of Michael, your son.

Better yet, think of your mistress. I’m sure Felicia would be lost without.

So you decide Morales. Your life or the answers to my questions.

The gun cocked back. In typical dramatic form The Harlequin pressed the barrel of Dirty Harry into the left eye of Hernan Morales. With his free right eye Morales glanced around, trying to take in as much of his surroundings as possible.

The ornate window decorations high above. The sound of a nearby highway, the unloading of cargo long after sunset. The pain began to swell in his eye, as his compensating right eye fought to focus. He stared at the ground, trying to make out what he saw.

The smeared blood on the floor called to him. It danced and tormented his mind. It laughed like this son, full of joy and innocence.

It smiled like his wife, white, perfectly aligned teeth expressing love and support. And the tears began to well in his eyes. He knew exactly what he had to do, what was needed. What was best for the two women, in different beds, that he claimed to love.

The smear of blood danced and plagued his mind and he begged The Harlequin to spare his life.


The pistol caught Morales in the face, his eyes rolling up and fighting against consciousness. His eye lashes fluttered, his thought processes waved and his body embraced the enshrouding darkness.

Now Mr. Morales, you just stay quiet for a few minutes and we’ll be okay. I have a call to make.

The cellphone slipped out of The Harlequin’s pocket and immediately up to his ear. A single button pressed against his index finger as the phone began to ring in his ear.

You’d be surprised at what someone can find with just a little bit of research, dear brother.

The anger permeated through the phone, bringing the slightest wrinkles of a smile to The Harlequin’s face.

“How did you get this number you psychotic fuck?”

I believe I just explained that didn’t I?

The Harlequin waited for a response, silence filling the phone before Harlequin was satisfied no answer was coming.

Well anyway, I have you number now and that is all that matters. You see, I uncovered a member of the Order. And not just that, but a member that was sent to kill me. It’s going to be goody-good time for me, because I’m going to torture him for information in terribly gruesome ways.

“I will see you fry you psychopathic freak.”

Oh you probably will good sir. But that’s just the way life works. Though with the way our relationship is progressing, I imagine it will be me killing you.

“What are you calling me for, you fuck?”

To let you know one simple thing, I am moving faster than you. I am finding out the information I found you for.

“I am NOT working for you.”

Before you hang up the phone, realize that you do work for me. You all do. The only way to bring down the Order, to stop them all and restore the balance that is you versus I is to work together.

“The enemy of my enemy...”

Is The Harlequin. Yes I know, it’s what I’m trying to tell you. Go to 8th and 45th. Two stories down, you’ll find out where to start. And Brixton.

“What?” The voice on the other end of the line snapped back, malice beginning to drip form his words, as The Harlequin had always wanted.

Next time it’s your left eye. Remember that.

The cellphone slid back into Harlequin’s pocket.

Bright eyes and bushy tails Morales, we’re on for a show.

Morales had been willing and ready to give The Harlequin the information he required. Willing to sell his friends, family and associates up the river in order to protect himself, and yet before he could speak, madness had gripped him.

Some say The Harlequin is mad. Psychotic. Insane. Deranged. Unwell. But to see him in the act of these descriptions is something poetic. Morales sat in bewilderment and pain, watching as the blade strokes cut into his flesh. The clippers took off his finger nail, then down to his first knuckle, then second of his left index finger.

All the while he screamed. He pleaded with the madman to spare him, he would tell him the information, but to no avail. His ears were closed, he had made up his mind.

Skilfully the knife dug into his chest, carving away flesh bit by bit. It danced and sang like its owner, without a care in the world, with no regard for the life it was eviscerating.

“Please...listen...I’ll tell you.”

Hush now Mr. Morales. I already know.

The Harlequin knelt over the table beside him and retrieved the handgun he had exchanged for the hunting knife.

You see, I’ve known all along. I found out everything already, you...well.

The bullet ricocheted into the ceiling, distracting Morales temporarily as The Harlequin dug the now searing barrel of Dirty Harry deep into the flesh around Morales’ right eye.

You are a pawn Mr. Morales.

A body to leave strewn by the roadside in order to prove a point.

In order to instil fear you spread my name. To ensure the rule and power of your organization, you summoned what I had been to torment others. Through your sheer stupidity and greed you willed me back into existence. You raised The Harlequin from the dead to gain power.

And now...

Harlequin placed Dirty Harry against the left eye socket of Morales. A smile creeping across his face as he fought to restrain his laugh. Slowly the hammer clicked back, a puff of smoke bursting from the barrel of the cloud enshrouded Morales face, obscuring The Harlequin’s view of the massacre, a view he very much delighted in.

...now I’m here to clean up the mess you created.

And cause a little HavOc along the way.

We go to a small, 500-seat theatre somewhere in California. On stage, a ring is set up with a few folding chairs for VIP fans. A banner is hung against the back curtain reading “California Combat Coalition”. At ringside, Edible Smith talks into a headset, sitting in front of a card table with some electric equipment propped on it.

Edible: For those of you just tuning in on Public Access, welcome to California Combat Coalition. I am your host, Edible Smith, bringing you this special event, the last ever television show for this federation. Now, as you know I’ve gone on to bigger and better things since my days in this federation, but I just had to come back and wish this place a happy farewell. So I’ll be on commentary tonight, as we close the doors nearly 40 years after my grandfather opened them.

In our main event tonight, we’ll be seeing my father, Jake Smith, defending his Pacific Coast Championship for the last time against the villainous Jake Iggy. But just as this show will be an ending of sorts for my father, it will be a great new beginning. Here tonight, the world debut of my pupil, Heath Yates.

Edible removes the headset and picks up a corded microphone.

Edible: Ladies and gentlemen, this is our first match, set for one fall. Introducing first, making his debut, weighing in a 225 pounds and hailing from Cleveland, Ohio… my trainee… HEATH… YATES!

”Fury” by Muse comes out over the PA system. A younger, skinnier Heath Yates emerges from behind the back curtain, wearing plain red trunks. He gets a slight reaction from the crowd.

Edible: And his opponent… weighing 200 lbs and hailing from Parts Unknown… THE MYSTERY OPPONENT!

”Mortal Combat” by DJ Scooter hits, as Heath’s opponent comes out wearing what appears to be a Johnny Cage costume, dancing to the delight of the crowd. Edible puts down the microphone and puts back on his headset to resume commentary.

Edible: Always a fan favorite, The Mystery Opponent comes out every show to a new song, with a new persona. The man is a high-flyer, noted for his time in World Wildzone Wrestling years ago, even making a single appearance in the PWA. But he’s made Triple-C his home the last few years.

The bell rings. TMO bows his head, as if he was starting a real-life round of Mortal Combat.

Edible: Both men lock up in the middle of the ring, and Yates manages to wrench the arm of TMO. He elbows him down, and hits a quick kick to the side. Yates slaps on a full nelson, and pulls TMO to his feet. Full nelson slam!

The Mystery Opponent rolls away and outside of the ring. Heath throws his hands up to play to the crowd, but he is booed.

Edible: TMO creates a little separation, as the crowd shows their disapproval for my trainee, Heath Yates. TMO back on the ring apron, Heath lets him in the ring. TMO strikes a pose, the crowd loves it!

The Mystery Opponent does his best impression of a Mortal Combat fighter at rest, standing at guard, swaying in a circular motion. The crowd laughs and cheers.

Edible: Yates in, and ducks a high leg kick from TMO. That looked like it came straight out of the video game! Yates off the ropes, grabs TMO… swinging half-nelson suplex! That’s a move perfected by yours truly. Yates with the cover. ONE…TWO…KICKOUT by The Mystery Opponent.

Heath questions the ref, before attempting to pull his opponent up.

Edible: TMO with a quick slide kick to the shins of Yates. TMO connects with a big uppercut! Yates has been floored!

Cheers erupt from the crowd.

Edible: Both men up, dropkick from The Mystery Opponent! Yates up, and he gets hit with a swinging neckbreaker! TMO is quickly going to the top, he’s looking to finish this off with one of his awe-inspiring Shooting Star Presses! He’s playing to the crowd!

The Mystery Opponent yells “FINISH HIM!”, to a loud cheer.

Edible: Yates hangs him up on the top rope! Great move by Heath Yates. Yates climbing up… back body drop from the top! And now Yates climbs!

Heath ducks a flying beer directed at his head, which harmlessly lands in front of Edible’s table.

Edible: Moonsault! That’s the double play! Here’s the cover! One… two…NO! I thought the kid had it! But this match will continue!

Heath nods at the referee, not bothering to question the call.

Edible: Yates right back on the offensive. Yates continues to work the head and neck area with some clubbing blows. Yates with a lifting knee, and quickly he runs to the corner. He climbs, jumps and turns… misses with a rebounding clothesline… might have been looking for a modified version of the Cereal Crunch there. Instead he gets a dropkick from The Mystery Opponent.

The Mystery Opponent crouches as Yates recovers. He goes for another Mortal Combat-style uppercut.

Edible: Yates dodges the uppercut… grabs him will a full nelson… DRAGON SUPLEX! HE ROLLS THROUGH! A SECOND DRAGON SUPLEX! HE ROLLS… NAILS THE THIRD. HE FLOATS OVER, ADJUSTS HIS GRIP… CALIFORNIA CHOKE!

Apostasy locks on what is now called the Apathetic Choke

Edible:HE’S USING MY FINISHER, AND I COULDN’T BE MORE PROUD! TMO TAPS! HEATH YATES WINS!

The crowd boos as Edible takes off his headset and picks up the corded mic. Heath releases the hold quickly and has his hand raised by the official.

Edible: Here is your winner… HEATH… YATES!

”Fury” hits, as Yates rolls out of the ring. At ringside, he ignores a handful of popcorn thrown at his back. He raises his arms to boos, but is warmly greeted by one ringside crowd member. Celeste, the wife of Jaro and a key person in FMW, shakes Yates’ hand and tells him good match. Yates looks confused, but grateful for some positive reception.

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

Heath Yates did not know then that the young woman at ringside was acting as a scout for Full Metal Wrestling. In fact, Heath’s entire debut match had come about from the negotiations to have Edible Smith appear at his father’s last show. Jaro was reluctant to let Edible work outside of FMW, even though Edible’s wrestling career was, at this point, finished. Edible was able to convince Jaro by promising the board that they could watch his trainee in action, in a sort-of tryout match for Full Metal Wrestling. His father was desperate for his estranged son to appear on the show, and was willing to allow the rookie Yates to have a match.

Edible had elected not to inform the 18 year old, who was only a month removed from his birthday and GED certification. He felt that Heath would be nervous enough about his debut match, and that the added pressure would be unnecessary, and likely detrimental to his performance. The match wasn’t just a tryout for Heath, it was also a tryout of sorts for Edible Smith. Edible had wanted to become a trainer and road agent for Full Metal Wrestling, and Heath would be his proof that he knew how to mold young men into potential superstars. After another tryout match, taking place before a taping of Anarchy, Heath Yates was signed to a 2 year contract. He debuted several months later, with a new look, new name and a few more pounds of muscle. He was defeated soundly by former FMW World Champion Alex O’Rion.

Yates never forgot the cold reception that he faced in his debut.

Yates had grown close to Edible Matthewson in the years before training with Edible Smith. He had listened to Matthewson’s rants about how the crowd didn’t like atheists, and how it was much easier for someone like Drew Michaels to get over with the crowd. Yates took this as a challenge. When he debuted, he cut his first promo about how he owned the word “Apostasy” as a label, similar to how a black person might own the word “nigger”.

At first, Apostasy was greeted with a muted, often indifferent crowd reaction. His inconsistent performance wasn’t particularly inspiring. Apostasy mostly took these losses as expected. He reasoned that someone as young and inexperienced as himself should be expected to lose here and there. His manager, Edible Smith, kept finding ways to book the young man in show after show. Apostasy gained experience and gained respect from the FMW crowds.

Through it all, Edible Smith started to question his young pupil. He began to question whether or not Apostasy had the drive to succeed. He had been partially ashamed of his own retirement, and knew that Heath’s other mentor was no beacon of effort. He began to wonder if Apostasy had the same sense of apathy in him, poisoning his potential. When Apostasy joined the Broken Saints, Edible broke off contact with Apostasy, for reasons never fully explained to Apostasy.

What happened next was a flurry of success, the likes of which neither Edible had ever seen. He defeated a former world champion in Nick Bryson on two occasions, incidentally qualifying himself for an Abandoned Championship shot…

Quote :

Boice: Leon is still unmoving! Apostasy is still unmoving and- WAIT! THE CROWD IS GOING NUTS! APOSTASY IS STARTING TO MOVE!

Flare: This spells disaster for the champion.

Boice: Apostasy stumbles over to Leon! He’s lifting the champion! What does he have planned!?

Flare: Whats the point of asking, Boice, he’s going to do it in about five seconds anyway.

Boice: Apostasy hooks Leon! He’s lifted him to the top rope! He’s got Leon on the top rope!

Flare: Wait. I know whats going to happen! We’ve seen this before!

Boice: What do you- OH! NO! APOSTASY HAS LEON ON THE TOP TURNBUCKLE! HE CLIMBS UP WITH HIM!

Flare: HERE IT COMES!

Boice: APOSTASY HOISTS LEON TO HIS SHOULDERS! HE FLIES OFF! TOP ROPE BURNING HAMMER!

Flare: The champion is dead. He has to be.

Boice: APOSTASY WITH THE PIN! ONE! TWO! THREE!

Sheila Blige: HERE IS YOUR WINNER AND NEEEEEEEW FMW ABANDONED CHAMPION! AAAAAAAPOSTASY!

Boice: HE’S DONE IT! THE KID’S DONE IT!

Flare: Good lord!

Apostasy gets to his knees as the referee hands him the Abandoned Title. He buries his face into it as he rises to his feet.

Boice: This guy has just defied the odds! He has gone above and beyond the call of duty and is now our new Abandoned Champion!

Apostasy climbs a turnbuckle, holding the title high above his head as flashbulbs go off.

Apostasy was overcome with joy. The realization that he had won, coupled with the enthusiastic reception he had earned was something he could simply not have prepared for. The glee surged through his brain, a high unlike any other. He had accomplished something big. He knew that backstage, Edible Smith was proud despite himself. He wondered if Edible Matthewson was watching him on Pay-Per-View, and was similarly enthralled by the accomplishments of his student.

Backstage, Edible Smith quietly toasted P. Thurston Devreaux, the future FMW owner, and fellow aide with television production. Suited men walked behind Edible, watching on a monitor. They stopped to pat the back of the retired star, reaffirming the good that Edible had done for the company. He would not congratulate his pupil on this night. Apostasy returned to the locker room, and had to quickly ready himself for another match – the Torch match. Apostasy would be unable to come out ahead in this match, watching as fellow Clevelander Nick Bryson would take the prestigious flame.

The young Apostasy now faced an even tougher challenge to his apathy. He had accomplished his goals, but now what? Apostasy had to ready himself for new challenges and challengers, as well as set himself new goals. Cynically he thought to himself that his new title was about as prestigious as a kid’s belt at Toys R Us. So Apostasy thought that his new goal was simply respect. Respect for himself, and perhaps respect for the Abandoned Championship. A title could always seem more prestigious if it had a prestigious champion.

Much as he had reasoned with his first goal, he felt the first step would be to own the problem at hand. Just as he had embraced his atheism in his first promo, he would own the belt’s lack of prestige. He would emphasize it, and then make the belt mean more by defending it often. In time, he reasoned that the belt would seem more important if people fought for it. If he was up to the task of defending it, he would also benefit from a boost to his standing.

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

Apostasy, wearing the Abandoned Title around his waist, enters the office of FMW Owner P. Thurston Devreaux. Apostasy wears jeans and his homemade “The Abandoned Champion” t-shirt.

Apostasy: Mr. Devreaux, thank you for seeing me.

P. Thurston Devreaux: That’s no problem, Heath. Good to have you.

Apostasy removes his belt and sits, moving the title to his shoulder.

Apostasy: Now, the reason I asked to see you is simple. When I won this belt, I wanted to make it into something respectable. And, as I see it, the way to do that is by facing people pretty constantly.

PTD: Right. And you do.

Apostasy: You see, I actually disagree. You see, I want to defend this title at least 3 times each cycle.

PTD: Heath, this isn’t the television title, we can’t do that.

Apostasy: Hear me out. Listen, I want everybody desiring this title. I want the fans to know that this thing… is coveted.

PTD: That’s interesting, but we can’t book you that often.

Apostasy: Who is this we? You book the cards. It’s not like these shows are happening every couple of days.

PTD: I don’t book the cards. Right now, Edible Smith is handling that.

Apostasy: Edible? Why him?

PTD: He’s agreed to take it on for a little while, but he’s going to be moved elsewhere in a few shows. We’re trying a few people at that position.

Apostasy: Why? Are you really that carefree? Do you just sit here and count your damn money?

PTD: Hey, listen, I’m a hands-off kind of guy. This company is filled with guys who know and love this business. They know how to run the ship. Edible has experience in just about every facet of the business, stemming from his days out in California.

Apostasy: Listen, I guarantee that if you tell him that you’re allowing it, it will happen. That guy… he just caves to any sort of authority.

PTD: Why don’t you just ask him directly?

Apostasy: We’re not on the best of terms.

PTD: Listen, I’ll tell you what. I’ll let you decide, as long as you’re champion, who you face and when. But we can’t let you start until Death Row. We’ve got matches for you until then. In exchange, you don’t get to exercise a rematch clause if you lose.

Apostasy: Why’s that?

PTD: Listen, I know you’ve been asked before about moving up. But you’re stuck in this terrible Abandoned Title division, when we should be moving you into either the C4 or Ultraviolent ranks.

Apostasy: So, basically you’re hoping that I lose soon so you can get me away from this title?

PTD: I’m not hoping anything. It’s win-win for me. Either I have a dominant Abandoned Champion making a name for himself and the title, or… I get to move you on. That’s why I like it.

Apostasy: Alright. I’ll do it.

PTD: Good. And one last thing… lose that shirt. We have a new jacket for you, with that stylized crimson A, from that atheist awareness group. They would really appreciate it if you advertised for them some more.

Apostasy: And because you don’t want my identity to just be that of the Abandoned Champion.

Devreaux smiles and nods.

PTD: Something like that.

Apostasy: On that note, can I get the announcers to stop referring to me as the Family Friendly Anti-Christ. I know I suggested it, but it’s really lame.

PTD: I don’t know, can you?

Apostasy tilts his head quizzically.

PTD: Just go and ask Cherry and Bilge, or the guys in marketing. I’m not behind every damned decision here! You’ve got a strong will… make it happen!

Apostasy nods.

Apostasy: Alright then. Thank you for your time.

Apostasy rises from his chair.

PTD: No problem, champ.

Apostasy exits, and Devreaux grabs a coffee from his desk. Apostasy smiles as he exits, soaking in the respect he had just received from the owner of FMW.

2 days to go and only 3 promos? Sheesh....

We fade in from black as Nick Bryson is yelling at a construction foreman, pointing to a set of papers on a makeshift table at a construction site.

Bryson: I swear to Christ if one fucking angle of this thing is off I will crush your very existance, do you understand?

Foreman: Yes, sir.

Bryson: I dont think you really understand. This is a big deal, is it not? This is money for your pockets, is it not?

Foreman: Yes, sir, I-

Bryson: I dont have time for your bullshit. Just do it right or its your ass.

Bryson turns as his phone begins to go off. He ignores the foreman as he lifts the device to his ear.

Bryson: How did it go?

He pauses to listen

Bryson: What do you mean technicalities? No- don't give me that contract garbage because I know how things go, I'm not a fucking idiot, unlike yourself. The way I see it if I want it done right Im gonna have to do it myself because of your inc- No, I am going to make it happen, I don't care about legality.

Bryson pushes a button on the phone and slides it into his pocket. He pulls a walkie talkie off of his belt and radios his driver who pulls around in a black car and opens the door. Bryson enters and disappears behind the tinted window, the image of a giant building reflecting in the window, a crane lifting steel beams to the top of the nearly completed tower.

Posted in: FMW
More Nick Bryson News. Title run, YNG, contract issues? MORE
By Bob Theriault
Oct. 7th 2011 - 4:39:00 PM

Sir Nick Bryson, current Full Metal Champion, has been making many splashes since his return to the ring from his hollywood endeavor. His Mt. Vesuvius win, his championship victory putting him in the record books once again, and the debut of his controversial stable YNG.

However, where Bryson's biggest battle may be is backstage. After Bryson fired his management team a clause in his contract went into effect, nullifying Bryson's current contract and leaving him without one, though he is contractually obligated to appear at any events he has been advertised for, which are currently Corruption's next show and the PPV Event Death Row, where he and his stable are slated to face off against the Sons of Attrition, due to a term in the clause.

Nick Bryson's firing of his management team was controversial enough, but this puts the Champion in a strong position, where he is now representing himself in negotiations with the company. Bryson is apparently seeking more money, among other things, according to one anonymous source. Apparently this is not going to be an issue in the future with superstars, as Nick Bryson was the only person who had this change of management clause in his contract.

Expect to hear more about YNG members Matt Ashburn and Mark Johansson as Bryson's situation develops, as their current position does rely heavily on Bryson's involvement.

BIG STORYLINE NEWS ON CHAMPIONSHIP BELT! IS JONATHAN KING POISED FOR A FMC RUN? MORE!
Be the first of your friends to like LOP on facebook. Click HERE!



Bryson: Hello, Matt.

Matt Ashburn looks surprised as he exits the door from his plane. He removes his ear bud headphones and pauses as he stands face to face with Nick Bryson.

Ashburn: Bryson.

Bryson: I'd like to have a conversation with you about your future here. Take a walk with me.

Ashburn: Yeah, lets do that. Im intrigued.

Ashburn pockets his headphones and picks up his bags.

Bryson: Oh, you don't need to do that. Here.

Bryson points to a Security guard who picks up Ashburn's bag.

Ashburn: I'm very intrigued.

Bryson smiles as he pats Ashburn on the back and leads him forward through the terminal.

Bryson: Matt, I've seen you out there in the ring. You're good, really

Ashburn: Thanks, I-

Bryson: But you're not there yet. Not even close and let me tell you, Matt, you're going about this thing completely wrong.

Ashburn: How so?

Bryson: Do you see these people staring at me? Notice how they're looking at me and looking right past you. Thats whats happening in our world right now, Matt. All eyes on someone else, when I think that should change.

Ashburn continues to listen.

Bryson: Im going to assume your silence is your agreeing. Let me tell you, Matt, where other people overlook, I do not. I don't just see potential in you, I see you for what you are. A caged animal. A violent beast.

Ashburn: Go on.

Bryson: I also know that equals dollar signs, Matt. You have been horribly mismanaged by the people that brought you to the table. I wanted to have you walk with me because I know where you have been. You're new to the place, fresh to the game, and you seem to think the sky is the limit, but the hard fact is that its not. There is a ceiling you will hit and when you do it will hit you hard and you will be shaken and you will be angry at the world, well, angrier, and you will flounder all of this potential and go down in history as another could have been and thats exactly where I was when I first came in.

Ashburn: While I appreciate the insight, I'm wondering what you're trying to lead to here.

Bryson: This is where I've been leading you to. Look out this window.

Ashburn looks out of the large window of the terminal as people walk past them. He walks up to the glass and looks out at a sleek new jet, its white paint and gold trim shining in the sun.

Bryson: As I said, Matt, I've been where you are. I also broke the ceiling, and look where I am now. That is mine. This security holding your bag? Mine too. I'm willing to take you out to lunch at the restaraunt I've rented out to talk details. I'm willing to take you out tonight to the club I'm being paid to visit, where I will be seated in the VIP section with whatever I want at my fingertips. However, should you decide that life isn't for you, I'm even willing to drive you to your economy hotel room, that you're probably going to share, in the Jaguar waiting for me outside, but I don't think you want that anymore.

Ashburn continues to look at Bryson's private jet.

Bryson: You are going to be something big, Matt, but you need someone who's talent will accompany yours and not hold it back. All that I need you to do is shake my hand.

Ashburn stares at the jet, images of the car, the women, and the money flashing through his head. Without anymore hesitation he turns to Bryson to shake his hand, looking confused as he looked down.

Bryson: That is your new room key. You're going to be down the hall from me at the Renaissance. I rented out the floor, by the way. Also, thats your new phone. There are three numbers in there. The first one is for your driver, the second one is mine, and the third one is your old management team. Tell them you've got a better deal and that I will be contacting them in the near future. When you arrive to the hotel tell the clerk you're with me and they will send the tailor up to your room, I don't want to go out and bring a hobo with me. Im looking forward to working with you, Matt. I really am.

Ashburn smiles as he looks at the iPhone and key card. He turns as Bryson calls out for him.

Bryson: By the way, security is going to follow you now so don't be freaked out about that. Hello?

Bryson lifts his phone to his ear as he walks away and another security guard walks out of a terminal to accompany Bryson. The first security steps up to Ashburn, holding his bag.

Security Guard: Where to, sir?

Ashburn smirks.


Posted in: FMW
Insider News on Nick Bryson's Contract Negotiations
By Bob Theriault
Oct. 12th 2011 - 8:17:35 PM

Contract negotiations between FMW and Nick Bryson continue to be the companies top priority as the company continues to try and work specifics out with Bryson, who some say has been less than cooperative.

Bryson is apparently asking for a sizeable pay increase on top of a larger percentage of merchandise sales and is also, apparently, asking for a percentage of PPV buyrates on top of standard bonuses the company issues. This would be a first.

In a note just coming to light, YNG members Matt Ashburn and Mark Johansson have both fired their representative teams as well and have signed onto the new marketing and management team helmed by Nick Bryson, effectively making Nick Bryson their agent who will represent them in future contract negotiations.

BIG STORYLINE NEWS! JONATHAN KING TITLE RUN CANCELED DUE TO ARREST AND DRUG ALLEGATIONS? MORE!
Be the first of your friends to like LOP on facebook. Click HERE!




Bryson: Hello, Mark.

Mark Johansson sits up in his seat, phone to his ear

Johansson: What do you want, Bryson? I'm not in the mood right now.

Bryson: So I've heard. I heard about the call you placed today and I know how frustrated you are. Anyway, I'd rather not have this conversation on the phone, so let me in.

Johansson: What?

Bryson: Im at your door and its windy, let me in.

Mark walks through his kitchen and looks down the hallway towards his front door, where he sees Nick Bryson standing through the glass. Bryson taps on the glass as Mark hangs up the phone. Bryson puts his in his pocket as Mark opens the door and Bryson lets himself in, wiping his feet and looking around the house.

Bryson: Don't be naieve and ask me how I found your residence, I'm not a simpleton and neither are you.

Johansson: Fair. What do you want, Bryson?

Bryson: I heard you were looking to be utilized, Mark. I heard you called the office, today, and they told you to stay home. Looking around I can see how you would be mad about that.

Johansson: If this is how the conversation is going to go, Bryson, you can just leave. I'm already pissed as it is.

Bryson: Yes, well sorry to say that this is how the conversation is going to go and you're just going to have to deal. I see you have a couch at least, I'm taking a seat.

Bryson walks to the next room and sits on the couch. He looks at Mark and points to a chair across the table and Mark, reluctantly, sits down.

Bryson: You see, Mark, this is the position you are in. You are waiting for someone to tell you what to do and you're hoping that they'll find some good grace in their hearts to put you to work. However you've done next to nothing of note and at the end of the day youre a veteran that the current team doesn't think will bring them money. You might luck out and get some road agent contract when this one is up after they bring you in for some generic run where you play fodder to someone who flames out as fast as expected and you continue going along wishing you had that last opportunity while they continue to tell you to try and let it go.

Mark's knuckles turn white as the look on his face grows angrier.

Bryson: I see you understand the positon I'm coming from and I've come to tell you that I'd like to change that. Here is the thing, Mark. Where they see just a veteran I see something else, because you and I have been in the ring together. I know what you can do, Mark. They see age, I see experience. They see nothing of note, I see a space to fill. I can tell you're ready. Its obvious that you're not just a talent, but you're in your prime.

Johansson: What do you mean?

Bryson: Mark, you're not someone whos ready to be tossed off to the wayside like this business loves to do. You've got that killer instinct and I think thats something that needs to be utilized to the fullest.

Johansson: What are you saying here?

Bryson: Mark, let me ask you this, ok? What position is Drew in?

Johansson: He's a main eventer, as always.

Bryson: How about Apostasy?

Johansson: He's a champion, obviously.

Bryson: What about Gray?

Johansson: He's a champion too, Bryson. What the fuck are you getting at besides insulting me?

Bryson: No, Im pointing out fact. Those guys were just like you, but where did your push go? Where is your reward? I was in the same boat, Mark. I was working with Drew, I was doing alright for myself, but when it was time we broke away, I took my opportunity and shocked the world with it. When it was time for FMW to compensate me they tried to force my hand and I showed them that I was in control and I left. I came back worth more than ever and now they're begging me to stay. Im setting records, Mark. I'm about to main event a second consecutive Ultimatum.

Johansson: I see.

Bryson: You don't see, Mark. I'm telling you how we're different because I've succeeded where you did not, but I want that to change.

Johansson is startled as he looks at Bryson.

Bryson: I want you to take prominence, like me. I want to get you to the position where you are a champion, where you are a threat. Where people pay to see you because you scare them. I want you to have the money, I want you to fly first class, I want you to get picked up at the airport in that black limo. I want you to take your rightful place in the scheme of things. I want the world to see that you're a killer. I want them to see the passion you still have the way I do and I know exactly how to show them and its going to require you to walk with me to do it.

Johansson: With you? You do realize what youre asking right?

Bryson: I'm asking a man who deserves his due to finally step up to the plate and take it for once.

Johansson is silent as he looks at Bryson.

Bryson: And the first step is to shake my hand.

Bryson puts his hand out over the table as Mark stares at it. He thinks of the fights he had with Bryson, the battles and wars. The man across from him, asking him to trust him, was the man who stitched his mouth shut.

But then he thought of what Bryson said. Of Drew's rewards. Grays and Apostasy's. He thought of FMW Management turning him down and he thought of where his career was headed and the more he thought about it the more he realized one thing.

Bryson was right.

Mark leaned forward and extended his arm, grabbing Bryson's hand firmly and shaking it. When they let go, Bryson smirked and leaned back, reaching into his jacket and putting an iPhone and a large white envelope on the table.

Bryson: This is your new phone. Its got three numbers in it. The first is my driver, he will pick you up when you're ready. The second is mine. The third is your former management team. Call them and tell them I will be contacting them in the near future. This envelope is your plane ticket to Ultimatum three as well as a hotel room key and a thousand dollars in cash. You have a match for the Television title number one contendership there, so bring your gear.

Johansson: What? How? I just-

Bryson: I know you just. Then after you 'just' I 'just' and they pay attention.

They both stand as Bryson buttons his overcoat.

Bryson: I remember where the door is. I can see myself out. Looking forward to talking to you soon, Mark.

Mark still looked on perplexed as Bryson's phone rang.

Bryson: Excuse me, horrible manners, sorry Mark.

Bryson pulled his phone out and answered it.

Bryson: He wanted to what? Buy a panda? What do I care if- they wouldn't let him buy it? Why not? Look, call the governor. Yes, the governor. Tell them you're calling on behalf of Nick Bryson. Yes, tell them its me and that my associate needs that panda. Tell him its of dire importance. Great.

Bryson turns and exits the room. The door clicks open then closes firmly. Mark sits back down, the past few minutes flashing through his head. He seems confused at first, but that quickly fades and a smirk going over his face.


Posted in: FMW
New News on all Three Current YNG Members
By Bob Theriault
Oct. 13th 2011 - 3:10:55 PM

As current contract negotiations continue with FMW and champion Sir Nick Bryson, YNG continues to make moves.

Bryson announced the completion of an office tower in his new hometown of Cleveland, England that is officially the base of operations for his Management company. Bryson currently represents himself, Matt Ashburn, and Mark Johansson.

'This is the culmination of a lot of effort.' Bryson said in an interview with the BBC. 'I love my new home and this is just another investment Im making to show that I'm interested in generating news and profits here.'

Also of note is that with Nick Bryson, both Mark Johansson and Matt Ashburn have officially filed for UK Citizenship and have relocated to the village of Cleveland, England, bringing the towns total population to 200 even.

JONATHAN KING NOT FIRED? BIG NEWS ON FUTURE PLANS FOR THE UV, C4, AND FMC TITLES! MORE!
Be the first of your friends to like LOP on facebook. Click HERE!




The tires of the black limo pushed small pieces of gravel into the dirt road as it turned the corner into Cleveland. The car pulled through the center of town and into a half circle driveway. The completed tower soared high into the skyline as the driver opened the back door and let Matt Ashburn and Mark Johansson out of the backseat. Ashburn smiled as Mark sheilded his eyes from the sun, both men looking at the building with awe.

Bryson: Gentlemen.

They both looked at Nick Bryson, shaking his hand as he approached them.

Bryson: Welcome home.

The shot focuses on the building once more.

Fade to black.

Tag Team Match
Nick Bryson and Matt Ashburn vs Christian Parkes and Ripper

Singles Match
MASS Caesar vs Trey Spruance

Television Title Match
Mark Johansson vs Callum Pullin

Singles Match
The Celt vs Killswitch

Falls Count Anywhere Match
David GS vs Harlequin

Main Event
Six Man Tag
Apostasy, Ryu Quinn, and Ryder Strong vs Jack Eastwood, Daniel Prideman, Seth Rotunda

Tag Team Match
Nick Bryson and Matt Ashburn vs Christian Parkes and Ripper

Singles Match
MASS Caesar vs Trey Spruance

Television Title Match
Mark Johansson vs Callum Pullin

Singles Match
The Celt vs Killswitch

Falls Count Anywhere Match
David GS vs Harlequin

Main Event
Six Man Tag
Apostasy, Ryu Quinn, and Ryder Strong vs Jack Eastwood, Daniel Prideman, Seth Rotunda

Ripper hummed softly as he walked down the sidewalk with one hand swinging slowly beside him and the other inside his jacket pocket. The hand inside his jacket was lightly clenched around a single die. He smiled as he reached the street corner, then he turned back to face the way he had come. His eyes delighted in the soft way the street light illuminated the houses of the sleepy suburban neighborhood.

Ripper: Time to pick.

The hand in his jacket moved out and unclenched letting the die fall to the pavement and clatter out into the street. Ripper walked over to it and looked down, smiling.

Ripper: Number five, ready or not, here I come.

He left the die lying in the street as he walked up to the fifth house back the way he had come. As he approached the front door he passed the single sedan parked in the driveway and his smile faltered.

Ripper: Just one? Damn it. I was hoping for a family. Oh well.

Ripper knocked five times then waited silently, his hands by his sides loose but impatient. After what seemed like several minutes to him he heard the lock being pulled back and smiled again. A small, bespectacled man opened the door but didn’t have time to talk before Ripper’s huge fist made contact with his jaw. He fell to the floor with a small thump.

Ripper: Sorry, Friend, you lost the game tonight. Hahahaha!

Ripper stopped laughing as he noticed the man was out cold.

Ripper: What? Already? Fine. I’ll just go get things ready for when you decide to wake up. Don’t wander off.

An hour later the man woke slowly. He was tied to a chair in his garage with one hand behind his back and the other on his work table directly in front of him.

Friend: Wha . . . what? How did I get here? Hello?

The realization that he was tied down slowly sunk into him and his face contorted with panic.

Friend: Oh god! Somebody help me! Please! Why am I here?!?

Ripper slowly emerged from the shadows to sit in a chair across the table from the man with a warm smile on his face. The panic in the man’s eyes only grew as he watched Ripper’s giant form settle in. The smile didn’t help to reassure him of his safety. It never did.

Ripper: You are here because I needed a way to blow off some steam before tomorrow. I’m going to play with you for a little while, and then I’m going to let you go.

The man’s eyes grew wide with hope at the mention of freedom.

Friend: You . . . you will?

Ripper: Of course not. Hahahaha! You won’t be leaving this room tonight. Now, with that in mind, can I trust you to behave yourself and keep quiet or do I need to gag you? Judging from your screams, gag it is then.

Ripper picked some rope up from the floor and began to wind it around the man’s head, the rope inside his open, screaming mouth as Ripper tightened it and tied it of so he could make some loud noises if he really tried but nothing that would wake the neighbors.

Ripper: Alright, let’s see what you have in these tool chests. Tools! How boring. Hmm. Except for these. I love clamps. My guess is you’ll be sorry you ever bought them before the night is up.

Ripper walked back to the table and placed the clamp on either side of the man’s hand. The gleeful look in his eyes grew as he slowly turned the knob. The man began to jerk and twist against his restraints as the clamp pressed against the bones on both sides of his hand and tears streamed down his face.

Ripper: You see? This is the best part. Right now. This hurts. I know it does. I can tell. Don’t ask me how.
But we are about to enter the realm of pain you have never even imagined in your stupid, pathetic little life. See? When this clamp rips your bones out of their sockets and starts grinding them together? That’s when you are allowed to complain. For now, STOP. FUCKING. TWITCHING.

Ripper’s hand flew over the table as he bitch-slapped the man with all his might. Then he chuckled softly at the rope burn he had just given himself as the man coughed and whimpered around his gag. Ripper began to turn the knob again, the smile slowly returning to his face as he heard a small squelching pop and spied the first bone leading to his pinky pop out of its socket. He began to turn the knob faster pushing the bones against each other as they one by one popped and moved together. The cheerful light in Ripper’s eyes grew as he watched the expressions the man made while he shook and panted, obviously in too much pain to scream or even breathe properly.

Ripper: See? This is what it’s all about. Pure, uncut, pain. Nothing else really matters. It’s all just bullshit that surrounds these little moments where you really know you have impacted someone’s life. You are having revelations and I haven’t even made you bleed yet. Which reminds me.

Quick as a flash Ripper’s hand came down on the man’s forearm stabbing a screwdriver directly through his bone and pinning him to the table. Blood began to pool and drip off the table as Ripper walked happily back to the tool chest to find more toys . . .

Three hours later Ripper was happily rinsing the blood off his hands as he surveyed his handiwork.

Ripper: I hope you enjoyed our time together as much as I did. Hey, maybe after my match I can come back and we can play some more.

He walked over to stand next to the man and chuckled in the silence.

Ripper: Oh well. You don’t look too excited, but I guess few people ever are. Hahahaha! Any who, I need to go get changed for my match, so I’ll see you later Friend!

Ripper walked past the man in his chair, pausing briefly to yank the screwdriver out of his skull with a sickening scrape of metal against bone before stowing it away in his jacket pocket.

Ripper: Just a memento. Goodbyes are always so hard.

OOC: At the moment this is a work in progress, for some reason my computer is refusing to save...anything at all.

Dear diary, today I embark on what I hope to be a great expedition! I have signed up for a wrestling company called “Full Metal Wrestling”, not for the sport, because hurting people for fun or money is worng, but for the community! Through this, we hope to raise money for charities and those in need. And of course, through this, I'll be having fun!


-----

We find ourselves in a busy office type building, overlooking the traffic of the city. Peering through it, is Callum Pullin

Dryden: Callum Pullin? Mr. Pullin? Callum!

Pullin: Yes sir!

A man dressed in a suit known as Tom Dryden stares at the overly upbeat Callum for a period of time while running his tongue over his teeth, suppressing a smile.

Dryden: ....Come this way if you will, you've got a busy day ahead of you.

He leads young Callum down a hall way, finally opening a door revealing a conference room with a large oak table in the center, overlooking a nearby lake. Inside are four other men and a woman

Pullin: Wowee!

Myers: Impressed I see? Hi, I'm Tiffany Myers. I'll be helping you get used to things around here.

She puts on a gleaming smile, and extends a hand which Callum cheerfully accepts.

Robertson: Would you mind if we could get this started? Some of us have things to do, Mr. Pullin.

The door slams shut in front of the room as we fade to black

-----

Fade in to the changing rooms of Callum Pullin, backstage at Corruption, he is sitting nervously, constantly twitching. Around him are a number of people dressed in suits, discussing things in a low tone.

Myers: You ready kid?

Callum: As ready as I'll ever be.

Myers: You're nervous, aren't you?

We fail to hear his reply as a stage assistant lets herself in to talk to Callum.[i]

Stage Assistant: Callum Pullin?

Callum: Yes?

Stage Assistant: You're due for a promo now, come with me please.

[i]She leads him down a narrow hallway to an area which is fitted out with a green screen, a stool and a camera.

Stage Assistant: Do your stuff.

Callum stares at the stool for a while before slowly approaching it.

Camera man: Just sit on it mate, it's not electrified.

Reluctantly, he sits upon it.

Camera Man: Alright, starting in three, two...

He gives him the signal for one, and Callum nods.

Callum: Hai guys! I'm Callum Pullin, from the community looking to better things for all of those who aren't as well off as others!

A picture of Callum helping two little girls play jump rope is shown behind him.

Callum: Tonight, I'm going to be competing against a man named Mark Johansson, who from what I understand, was like me! Helping the community through his policing work.

Tag Team Match
Nick Bryson and Matt Ashburn vs Christian Parkes and Ripper

Singles Match
MASS Caesar vs Trey Spruance

Television Title Match
Mark Johansson vs Callum Pullin

Singles Match
The Celt vs Killswitch

Falls Count Anywhere Match
David GS vs Harlequin

Main Event
Six Man Tag
Apostasy, Ryu Quinn, and Ryder Strong vs Jack Eastwood, Daniel Prideman, Seth Rotunda

Mark Johansson is standing outside a restaurant having a quick cigarette before he joins his fellow stable mates in Nick Bryson and Matt Ashburn. Mark looks down at his phone, having upgraded from the brick that he had to a smart phone, just one of the many ways that Mark’s life has improved. Entering the restaurant Mark is confronted by the maitre d’.

Maitre d’: Welcome in, joining us for dinner?

Mark: Yes, booking under the name of Nick Bryson.

Maitre d’: Ahh please come with me one of your party has already arrived.

The maitre d’ leads Mark through the tables on the way to the back exclusive dining rooms, glancing over the tables he sees expensive bottles of champagne and burgundy being poured into beautiful crystal glassware. The other patrons were impeccably dressed, with every woman wearing at least one diamond and the men seemingly wearing nothing but the finest of suits.

Mark was no different though, there was a time when he did not want this life, when it disgusted him. People paying way too much for too little food was never his style but the difference is now he doesn’t feel out of place.

People are not giving him looks of disgust, they see him as one of them and a little bit more. He is being noticed by strangers for who he is and what he has done. This is just one of the perks of being friends with a knighted actor.

The maitre d’ slides open a door to reveal a table set up with Nick Bryson sitting comfortably staring at the magnificent view of the waterfront.

Bryson: Thankyou Jackson, how are you Mark?

The two shake hands like old friends even though that it has only be a few months since the aligned with each other.

Mark: Ready to retain.

Mark takes his seat as the maitre d’ hands him the menu, taking a glance at the food prices doesn’t even cause Mark to bat an eyelid, those days seemed behind him. Bryson also takes a menu but quickly puts it down.

Bryson: Bottle of Krug please Jackson.

The maitre d’ now turns tail and walks out of the private room, Bryson waits for the door to gently close behind him before continuing.

Bryson: Unfortunately Matt has been held up and can’t join us. Nevertheless we still have things we need to discuss.

Mark glances up at the sommelier as he pours him a glass of champagne.

Bryson: How are we going to dominate FMW.

Mark: Simple, get rid of the Sons of Attrition.

Bryson: Simple in concept yes, but in practice…

Mark: We can do it.

Bryson: It’s like you have been reborn sir, no longer Marky Mark rapping in his entrance.

Mark: One of the worst creative decisions, it sounded good on paper and still got the victory.

Bryson: Can you defeat Caprice?

Mark: He is my white whale, but I know that in my current frame of mind I have the ability to beat him. It is one of my regrets of my career that I have never been able to beat him in one on one competition.

Bryson: Now, do you fully understand your role?

Mark: Yes, I am the veteran of the group.

Bryson: It is a bit more expanded than that, you need to help everyone else in a more no wrestling role, you have ten years on us. You have been through more in your life than me.

Mark: But you have been through more in a wrestling sense.

Bryson: Yes, I am the mentor of wrestling, you will mentor in life.

Mark: I haven’t gotten as close to Matt but he seems to be a loose cannon.

Bryson: He is twisted but only because he is young, you can help ground him and make us a more cohesive unit.

Mark: And help him reach his full potential.

Bryson: Yes.

The conversation is interrupted by

Nick Bryson and Matt Ashburn vs Christian Parkes and Ripper

Singles Match
MASS Caesar vs Trey Spruance

Television Title Match
Mark Johansson vs Callum Pullin

Singles Match
The Celt vs Killswitch

Falls Count Anywhere Match
David GS vs Harlequin

Main Event
Six Man Tag
Apostasy, Ryu Quinn, and Ryder Strong vs Jack Eastwood, Daniel Prideman, Seth Rotunda

https://www.facebook.com
*CLICK*
Enter Username
Enter Password
*CLICK*
Messages

Janet Lane:
The scene in the Financial District is CRAZY!! Hundreds of people standing strong to fight against the so called “minority”. Wish you were here to Occupy Providence with us. :-)

*CLICK*

Forest Allmylove Carney:
DUDE! I can barely typ this mesge!1 So many peeps here. We need ur loudmouth to be here wit us. U dnt ever need a megaphone LOL. Keep up the good fight bro! See? We r making our own national statement too!

*CLICK*

Timber Wulf:
May God continue to bless your crusade. We love everything we are seeing on TV. The CULT! Is growing in number. Hey, there’s even a number of CULT members in this Occupy Providence rally. You would be so proud. It’s amazing how many people have finally banded together for one common cause. We would like to keep this movement as peaceful as possible but like you said: “never hesitate to shove your proverbial penis down the throat of “the man” when needed. Well, it’s time he work out that esophagus because his time is coming! Or cumming. However way you’d like to put it.

Be safe out there. Don’t forget the fight!

*CLICK*

Nicky Simpson:
OMG! I smell so much B.O. in the air! Seriously, Ryder, I love us hippies fighting for the common man but DAMN! We gotta instill some basic hygienic rules into these people. All of this raising our hands to “the man” is burning my nose hairs. LOL

Anyway, we hope you’re doing fine in your wrestling world. We see you on television when we get the chance and we love what you’re doing. Your fun-loving attitude and care free ways will when over the nation and once it does, everyone will have no choice but to listen to us. Thank you for representing everyone of us. We appreciate it. Just…come visit us sometime soon, love. We miss you.

*CLICK*


http://www.Wrestlingobserver.com
*CLICK*
“Apostasy, Ryu Quinn, and Ryder Strong vs Jack Eastwood, Daniel Prideman, Seth Rotunda”
*CLICK*

By
Dave Felcher

FMW’s Corruption main event this week will be Apostasy, Ryu Quinn, and Ryder Strong vs Jack Eastwood, Daniel Prideman, Seth Rotunda. This match should be a competitive encounter with R Squared (as they so lovingly coin themselves out of sheer coincidence) hoping to prove they belong in the ring with some of FMW’s mainstays.

While I would love to believe this match will be as back and forth as it should, I am confident we will see Apostasy and R Squared soundly defeat Jack, Daniel and Seth. To be quite frank with you, these three men “have been”, “should be” and “will be” FMW; but the momentum is not in their favor. Had these men continued honing their craft and winning matches instead of being your run of the mill “wrestler”, they would be favorites. Hell, they would be stars. But as they stand at the moment, they are just fodder for the new FMW NEW-th Movement. I expect FMW’s rebound to be on the backs of these men.


*CLICK*
http://www. Blurty.com
*CLICK*
Enter Username
Enter Password
*CLICK*
New Entry
*CLICK*


I don’t have to be so “on” in this blog since I’m keeping this one to myself.

First off, I have to say I am enjoying my time in FMW. All of the people I have met thus far have been super duper nice and I’m sure that will change as the months roll on but for now, I’m going to soak up all of this goodness. I’ve done qute well for myself in such a short period of time but I always kept in my mind my goal: to spread enough love and joy to the masses while providing all of the “smaller” people with a platform to speak their mind. I am no trendsetter but it seems as though my small CULT has taken my words and are spreading it around downtown Providence.

I support them fully. It is about time that the majority rally against the minority. I am for a peaceful movement however, if any of my bretheren choose to forcefully get their message across to “the man”, then kudos to them. Let’s not rest on our laurels here – and they are not. I really wish I could be there with them right now just to soak in the democracy…and the bad B.O. LOL. I just…feel like…I’m missing out on what…I may have started…

But I can’t get down on myself now. I’m doing the exact same thing as my CULT…it’s just on a more national stage…more low-key…more under the radar…

…

…hmmm…

…that’s not exactly how…

…I would do things…

…but with…

…nevermind. I just feel as though…something is missing from me. These Facebook messages are great and they are encouraging but everyone seems to end their message with a “don’t forget the fight” type of stance…it’s almost as if they’re insinuating that I have somehow lost a step. The sad part is: I may be seeing it myself.

Now, don’t get me wrong, I love a good social media binge just as much as the next cat. But, maybe I should do less winking and more for the “cause”.

…
…
…
…but I like to inject some humor in what I’m doing. What’s wrong with making a few humorous jokes on the way to helping the cause? Maybe I’m thinking outside the box a little more than my counterparts.

Be that as it may, I will find my happy medium to satisfy everyone.
I hope.
Yeah, I will.
Maybe.
Gosh I hope so.
No, it’ll all be fine.
Yes, happy thoughts.
Winky face, Ryder. WINKY FACE!







*CLICK*
http://www. Youtube.com
*CLICK*
Search: Jenna Marbles
*CLICK*
“How To Avoid Talking To People You Don't Want To Talk To”
*CLICK*


Ryder Strong: HAHAHAHA! “Just throw them the face”.

Hmmm…I could use this in my everyday…

*”It’s Hard Out There For A Pimp”* rings from Ryder’s cell phone. It’s a text message.

Ryu: Hey, you ready for our match?
Ryder: Yeah, I guess. What do you think about Apostasy?
Ryu: I’m not sure what to really think about him besides he has gold
Ryder: I know right? :-) It’s like, who is this guy we’re teaming with?
Ryu: Well…he has a belt
Ryder: Well, so do I. It has a Herro Kitty belt buckle on it
Ryu: Hello
Ryder: HI!
Ryu: No, it’s Hello Kitty.
Ryder: That’s what I said.
Ryu: You said Herro
Ryder: Herro!
Ryu: No, it’s…ugh
Ryder:
Ryder: LOL
Ryder: Come on man. That was just…too easy.
Ryu: Are you always this jovial? Serious would look good too.
Ryder: I am serious. You’re super serious. You need to chill.
Ryder: We can dominate these guys just like our last match.
Ryder: If Jesus would like to play nice with us, so be it.
Ryder: If not, then Apostasy can just watch from the sidelines.
Ryder: This is our opportunity. The NEWth Movement is upon us.
Ryder: We’re at the forefront, dude! We will stay there.
Ryu: That was…moving. Serious. I believe it.
Ryder:
Ryu: …and you just messed it up.
Ryder: Lighten up. Just send one smiley. Just one.
Ryu: No
Ryder: Oh come on, just do it. It will make you feel better
Ryu: No
Ryder: Please?
Ryder: Pretty please?
Ryder: Ryu?
Ryder: Are you still there?
Ryder: You probably are, you’re just ignoring me
Ryder: So I’ll just send you some smilies!
Ryder:
Ryder:
Ryder:
Ryder:
Ryu: I GET IT!
Ryder: LOL. Bye!!!

Tag Team Match
Nick Bryson and Matt Ashburn

Singles Match
MASS Caesar

Television Title Match
Mark Johansson

Singles Match
The Celt

Falls Count Anywhere Match
Harlequin

Main Event
Six Man Tag
Apostasy, Ryu Quinn, and Ryder Strong

Tag Team Match
Nick Bryson and Matt Ashburn vs Christian Parkes and Ripper
Very hard to vote for this one... Though I hope Parkes doesn't disappoint me.

Singles Match
MASS Caesar vs Trey Spruance

Television Title Match
Mark Johansson vs Callum Pullin

Singles Match
The Celt vs Killswitch

Falls Count Anywhere Match
David GS vs Harlequin

Main Event
Six Man Tag
Apostasy, Ryu Quinn, and Ryder Strong vs Jack Eastwood, Daniel Prideman, Seth Rotunda

Gruff: Oh for fuck sake.

Gruff held his head in his hands, sat in Rotunda’s rarely used locker room. Another loss for Rotunda, and it made Gruff’s job even harder. There is nothing worse than a whiny, angry pre-Madonna with a lust for glory. As Gruff began to gather his thoughts, an irritated Seth Rotunda barged his way into the room and manhandles Gruff, holding him against the nearest wall.

Rotunda: When I came here, what did you promise me?

Gruff’s eyed lit up with horror; usually Seth wouldn’t put his hands on his agent, then again, ever since joining The Pack, Rotunda was unpredictable. Rotunda kept his gaze on Gruff, who struggled in Rotunda’s grip. Rage flowed through Rotunda’s eyes as he began slowly to foam at the mouth and his knuckles turning white from holding onto Gruff so tightly.

Rotunda: Answer me, you piece of shit!

Gruff looked at Rotunda with a worried expression, which didn’t sooth Rotunda’s anger, after all, The Dream Killer normally relied on Gruff for guidance.

Gruff: That you would be known worldwide?

Rotunda: What else?

Rotunda jerked Gruff forward, only to slam him lightly back into the wall. Rotunda was getting angrier, a twitch in his eye became to develop and his breathing was snorts from his nostrils.

Gruff: I don’t know. I swear so, Seth.

Rotunda: You said I would be successful.

Gruff: I did? I mean yes, yes, of course you would, you’re The Dream Killer after all aren’t you?

Gruff’s speech began to quicken, the agent was eager to hurry the conversation in an effort to get away from the angry former boxer.

Rotunda: And you were wrong!

Gruff: But you are, aren’t you? You’re in the public eye and you’re in the main event and don’t kill me, Seth, I’m trying my best.

Rotunda: More bullshit spewing from your mouth. I haven’t won my last few matches and it’s due to your crappy agent skills.

Gruff: What have I done?

Rotunda: I am a prodigy and should be treated as such! Nobody wants to see Thomas Ap Gruff, snivelling agent, they want to see “The Dream Killer”, Seth Rotunda shining his belt and laughing heartily.
The only problem is that I’ve not laughing heartily, instead I’m pissing angry and instead of shining belts, I’m shining cutlery in a shitty apartment.

Gruff: I can fix that.

Rotunda: Prove it!

Gruff: Fuck…

Rotunda: I knew it, you little shit!

Rotunda pulls back his fist to strike Gruff in the face. Gruff flinches and squeals in terror.

Rotunda: Who am I facing and where on the card?

Gruff: Why, why aren’t you going to hit me?

Rotunda: I figured I should give you one more chance, but hey, if I lose, you’ll end up in A&E.

Gruff: Hey, Seth, remember when we used to be friends?

Rotunda: Yeah, unfortunately though, my future in wrestling matters a bit more than the fact we befriended each other when I broke you in a boxing ring all those years ago.

Gruff: Bastard.

Rotunda drops Gruff to the floor, who’s feet upon meeting the floor, stumbles, not used to being grounded.

Rotunda: So, who have I got then?

Gruff: Apostasy, Ryder Strong and Ryu Quinn.

Rotunda: In English?

Gruff: Atheist, blogger and cop.

Rotunda: Does anyone just have the gimmick of wrestler anymore?

Gruff: The way I see it, you sit back and let Prideman and Eastwood do the work.

Rotunda: Go on.

Gruff: Simple. You let the angry Prideman run ragged over everyone, Eastwood dissects his opponent and then you come in, look pretty and smile for the cameras and nail Apostasy with your right hook and pin him for the plaudits.

Rotunda: Sounds good.

Gruff: I mean, there’s a chance you could become the Abandoned Champion. Imagine the names they’ll give you:


Another day with The Pack

Another card with me in the main event.

Another day with nothing to show.

This is all going to change of course, soon enough.

Apostasy, the man respects me, I’ve fought him before, and he thought I gave a good effort. Unfortunately, this guy seems more of a twat than I do and deserves to lie on his back, pinned.

When people are in times of trouble, they often talk to God for guidance. But Apo doesn’t have that pleasure, sure, he’ll talk it out with close ones, but he won’t have the feeling of somebody with a higher presence watching over him. Nothing turns a man more crazed when he feels like he’s isolated which hopefully, Apo will be both mentally and in the tag match where he’s inches away from the tag, only to be dragged back and destroyed.

Ryder Strong, the man seems to be in a fantasy world. It’s as if his eyes are dusted with honey, everything he sees is sweet, well for Ryder, it’s time to snap out of that world, especially when my right hook makes his dream a living nightmare. Doesn’t matter how positive, peppy, powerful you are, at the end of the day, you just can’t avoid me knocking each of your teeth out.

Ryu Quinn, you’re quite interesting aren’t you? You’re a former detective, who quit after a family was murdered and instead of tracking the bastard down, you instead went: “waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa I’m going to wrestling.” Suck it up, you failed, wrestling and hurting yourself mentally and physically isn’t good for you. You’ll be broken down over time and probably spiral out of control, all because you couldn’t confront your past. Enjoy.

Tag Team Match
Nick Bryson and Matt Ashburn

Singles Match
MASS Caesar

Television Title Match
Mark Johansson

Singles Match
The Celt

Falls Count Anywhere Match
Harlequin

Main Event
Six Man Tag
Apostasy, Ryu Quinn, and Ryder Strong

Corruption 14.3
From the New Orleans Arena in New Orleans, Louisiana


Tag Team Match
Nick Bryson and Matt Ashburnvs Christian Parkes and Ripper

Singles Match
MASS Caesar vs Trey Spruance

Television Title Match
Mark Johansson vs Callum Pullin

Singles Match
The Celt vs Killswitch

Falls Count Anywhere Match
David GS vs Harlequin

Main Event
Six Man Tag
Apostasy, Ryu Quinn, and Ryder Strong vs Jack Eastwood, Daniel Prideman, Seth Rotunda

Tag Team Match
Nick Bryson and Matt Ashburn

Singles Match
Trey Spruance

Television Title Match
Mark Johansson

Singles Match
The Celt

Falls Count Anywhere Match
Harlequin

Main Event
Six Man Tag
Apostasy, Ryu Quinn, and Ryder Strong

Tag Team Match
Nick Bryson and Matt Ashburn vs Christian Parkes and Ripper

Singles Match
MASS Caesar vs Trey Spruance

Television Title Match
Mark Johansson vs Callum Pullin

Singles Match
The Celt vs Killswitch

Falls Count Anywhere Match
David GS vs Harlequin

Main Event
Six Man Tag
Apostasy, Ryu Quinn, and Ryder Strong vs Jack Eastwood, Daniel Prideman, Seth Rotunda

Since the inception of recorded history, Man has hidden his true face.

It can be seen in all walks of life - men who don helmets and hats before marching to war, women who apply clays and dyes and muds to their faces in an effort to conceal all blemishes, and children who believe that placing a mask on their face transforms them into someone (or something) else entirely. Man's methodology has changed throughout the years, no doubt, but even now, with all of the knowledge of the world and the things within it he has gained, his quest to conceal his face from the world remains constant.

Why, though?

What reason should Man, in his ever-growing wisdom and skill, have for wanting to keep his face hidden from the world? Why should he want to cover it with the mask and the veil, to obscure it with various clays and dyes, to entomb it within the helm?

Protection, perhaps? A whimsical sense of humor?

No.

Man keeps his face, his true face, hidden not for his sake, but for the sake of the world in which he lives. It is an ugly thing, wretched beyond all comprehension, and he keeps it locked safely away for fear of what would be said of him were he to release it. He hates it; he hates it because society would hate it. But he cannot change it, cannot alter it, and thusly is left with no recourse but to keep it secret, keep it hidden, all the while donning a more pleasant mask, one far kinder to the eye.

Indeed, Man hides his face because his face is that of a monster.





CLICK

Urm...hello?

"Hey, Steve."

...Dave?

"Yeah, man. How's it going? Morganne and Connor doin' all right?"

.....

"Steve?"

...Dave, it's four in the morning. What do you want?

"All right, all right, just listen for a minute. A, um...a friend of mine disappeared recently. The cops haven't been able to find her, and no one has any leads on where she might've gone."

...okay.

"So then the other day, a friend of hers tracked me down, right? She said that she needed help finding her, and that I was the right guy to come to. So...we went back to this missing girl's apartment and searched it, and you know what we found?"

*Sigh*...I give up, Dave. What'd you find?

"A Locust patch."

.....

"They took her, Steve. She'd been working as a stripper and they took her, and you know full-well that they're gonna do with her."

Did they do it to get to you?

"Wait, what?"

You said she was a friend of yours, right? Are you sure they didn't take her in order to get to you? Maybe Marlon's gone back on our deal.

"I...I don't know. I hadn't thought of that."

I think we need to meet up somewhere, talk this out. If they're trying to get to you, then they're trying to get to me, too. When's the soonest you can meet up with me? Should I come over to Omaha, or do you want to come over here?

"I can come over to Des Moines tomorrow."

All right. Shit...this is serious, man.

"Believe me, I know."

CLICK





The sky was unflappably gray as David turned onto his brother's street, a smooth, featureless ceiling of cloud blocking out any hint of blue, any ray of sun, that might've shone through. He took one hand off the wheel and rubbed his eyes tiredly. He hadn't slept at all the night before; if anything, his brief phone conversation with Steven had left him even more amped up than he already had been.

It took him a second to remember which was the right house - a second longer than it should have, given what he'd done the last time he was inside it.

Murder nonwithstanding, David pulled his white Mustang into the driveway, shut it down, and stepped out onto the pavement. He went briskly up the front walk, stepped up onto the porch, and pressed the doorbell once. The long series of chimes that rang through the house brought a smile to his face - Steve was living the good life, that much was for sure.

It wasn't long before Steven opened the door. The two brothers stared at each other for a moment, with naught but a pane of glass between them. It had been months since they'd last seen each other - they'd been different men then.

"Hey," Steven said.

"Hey."

"Come in, come in." Steven opened the screen door.

"Thanks." David stepped over the threshold and looked around, careful to keep his shoes on the 'Welcome' mat they'd put out in the foyer.

They'd done a good job of fixing the place up. Steve had managed to get the front door back onto its hinges and working, and it looked like he and Morganne had been successful in repairing and painting over a lot of the damage that had been done to the walls. The door and the walls hadn't been the important things, though - they were easily repaired, easily replaced. The important things had been the pictures, the memories. David noted that the table in the front room, the one that had been littered with framed pictures of Steven and Morganne, Steven and Connor, and the three of them together, was still conspicuously bare.

"You make it out here okay?" Steve asked, rubbing his eyes.

David nodded, still looking at the empty table. "Yeah," he answered, neglecting to mention the fact that he and Rachel had gotten into an argument about it the night before, with her not wanting him to go to Steven, not wanting him to stir up the Locusts again, begging him to just leave well-enough alone.

"Great. Well, c'mon - Morganne's making breakfast." Steven turned and headed back towards the kitchen, from which emanated the sounds of food being prepared. David followed him, pausing to take his shoes off and set them on the 'Welcome' mat.

Both Morganne and Connor looked up as they entered the kitchen - he was sitting at the table, one arm crossed over the other, and she was standing at the stove. Both of them smiled upon seeing David, and Connor jumped down from his chair and ran over to them, ecstatic to see the man who was both his mom's boyfriend's brother and one of his favorite professional wrestlers.

"David!" he exclaimed.

"Hey, bud!" David said, going down onto one knee and assuming a mask of joviality. "How've you been doing?"

"Awesome!"

David smiled at the kid's enthusiastic answer. He glanced at Steve and Morganne in turn - they were both smiling as well. "You been watching me wrestle?" he asked.

Connor nodded. "Yeah, I saw you kick the Pack's butt last week on Corruption."

Chuckling a bit, David shrugged his shoulders in a feeble attempt to appear modest. "Come on, it wasn't that bad," he said. "I did have help, after all."

"Whatever," Connor said dismissively, making David chuckle again. "You're facing Harlequin this week, right? Can you beat him?"

"Can I beat him?" David mock-scoffed. "Can I beat him? Come on, Connor - you know me better than that. Of course I can beat him!"

"I know that!" Connor said defensively, a sheepish grin spreading over his face.

David smiled, and ruffled the kid's hair a little. "I know you do. And I expect you to be watching when I beat him - understood?" When Connor nodded, David got to his feet and turned to Morganne, who was still smiling at him. "Morning, Miss Morganne. I hope you don't mind, but I need to borrow my brother for a little bit."

"Of course," Morganne said, briefly glancing down at the pan of eggs on the stove before smiling back up at him. "He told me all about it."

David's eyebrows shot up, and he glanced over at Steven. "Oh, did he?"

Morganne nodded. "Yep. You guys take as much time as you need, okay?"

"Um...all right." David turned and headed back towards the front foyer, leaning in close to Steve as he passed by. "You told her?" he hissed under his breath.

"Relax, I'll explain in the car."

David paused briefly, watching as his younger brother went over to his girlfriend and her son to tell them goodbye. He then went back out into the main entryway and put his shoes back on; Steven came out after him soon enough, and the two of them went out to the car.





"Okay," David said once they had gotten out onto one of the main roads. "Talk. What did you tell Morganne? Did you tell her about Anna? The Locusts? What?"

"No, no, no," Steve said, holding his hands up defensively. "Nothing like that."

"What, then?"

"She, uh..." Steve grinned at him for a moment, and had to work to contain a laugh. "She thinks you and I are going to the doctor's office."

David glanced over at him. "The doctor's...for what?"

"Um..." He struggled to keep from laughing again, with markedly less success. "I told her you need to go in for a prostate exam."

"You..." It took a moment to register. When it finally did, David had to exert all of his self-restraint to keep from reaching over and knocking his brother silly. It was amazing, really - the guy was twenty-three years old, but he still acted like a middle-schooler. David found himself wondering how Morganne put up with it, living with this child in a man's body.

Steven was still chuckling to himself in the passenger seat. Making up his mind, David did reach over and punch him, high on the arm.

"Ow!" the younger Smith exclaimed, recoiling and holding his arm while still laughing a little.

"Jackass." David returned to the driver's seat and abruptly swung off the road, pulling into a mostly-empty parking lot and effortlessly sliding the Mustang into a spot in the far corner. He shut the car down and just sat there for a minute, staring out through the windshield at the gray sky; it seemed to cover everything, almost like a pall.

"Dave?"

He turned. Steve was looking at him, all of the good humor having departed from his face. That was something else that never ceased to amaze David - how easy it was for his brother to switch between these two facets, these two fundamentally different versions of himself. On the one hand there was happy Steven - the one who was in love with Morganne and who loved Connor like a son, the one who could and would settle down with them and form a fantastic life together; on the other hand was serious Steven, the one David had personally seen lie, steal, and kill without any visible remorse.

David sometimes wondered which one was the real Steve and which one was the mask that he put on.

"Dave," Steven said again, this time a bit more forcefully. "Come on, man, this is serious - if the Locusts really are back onto us, then we need to talk this out."

He was right, of course. Both David and Steven were intimately familiar with the organized crime syndicate that called itself the Locust Horde; their area of operations covered the vast majority of the Midwestern United States, and they worked with scary efficiency and secrecy in a myriad of undercover operations that included arms dealing, drug smuggling, and - much to David's chagrin - human trafficking.

"Okay," he said slowly. "I think...I don't know. I don't feel like they took her in order to get to you and I."

"No?"

David shook his head. "No. I'm just not getting that vibe. I mean, you said they took girls and sold them, right?"

Steven nodded, his face grave. "Yeah."

"Well, I think that's what's going on here. I think one of their guys just saw Anna performing one night, and they took her."

Steven was silent for a few moments. Then, he said: "Do you have a picture of her?"

"What?" David asked, caught off-guard.

"A picture," Steven pressed. "I need to see if - you said her name was Anna? - I need to see...you know, how she looks."

After looking at him strangely for a moment, David consented and fished his phone out of his pocket. Cycling through the pictures he'd taken with it, he finally happened upon one that summed Anna up perfectly - she was standing in front of a fountain in a park back in Omaha, backlit by the sun as it had just begun to set. She'd asked him to take it, and he'd done so more than willingly. Thinking back, David realized that was the day that he'd first realized he'd been developing feelings for Anna that went beyond a mere physical attraction - feelings he couldn't get rid of.

Feelings he harbored to this day.

"Here," he said, and handed the phone over.

Steven took it and looked at it for a few seconds, his eyes getting just a bit wider. "Wow," he breathed. "She's beautiful."

"Yeah," David affirmed, nodding.

"That's a bad thing."

David blinked. "What?"

"It's bad," Steven repeated. "I hate to say it, but I have some limited knowledge of what the Locusts look for when they acquire...inventory for this particular trade. A lot of times they auction the girls off to foreign nobility, mostly Middle-Eastern or Eastern European. Those guys have pretty well-defined tastes - they like 'em tall, lithe, and pretty in the face, and Dave, this Anna chick fits that description to a tee."

David put his hands to his head in despair. "No," he said quietly. It was too much, too much to bear. "We have to do something," he said. "We have to find her, have to save her, have to stop them, have to -"

"Hold on a sec."

David stopped. Steven was looking at him, his eyes narrowed curiously.

"You said this chick was a friend of yours?" he asked.

David's blood ran cold. "I..." he stammered, "I mean..."

That was all Steve needed to hear. His face fell, and when he spoke, his voice dripped with sorrow and shame for his older brother. "Dave...you didn't..."

"No!" David said suddenly, the word coming out far louder than he'd intended. "I didn't cheat on Rachel. Steve," he asserted when he saw his brother didn't believe him, "I didn't. I give you my word, I would never do that to her."

"Then what's the deal, man?"

"I..." David faced forward and bowed his head. "I don't know. We met at the gym and started spending time together while Rachel was at work during the day. Nothing bad, just...just as friends. And after a while, something just...it just happened, Steve. I don't know how else to explain it." He found his eyes drawn to his phone, which still displayed Anna's picture from his brother's hand. "I looked at her one day and was attracted to her."

Steve looked back down at the picture, and then back up at David. "Are you and Rachel having...y'know, problems?"

"No." David shook his head firmly. "That's the worst part. I still love Rachel, just as much as I always have." He took a brief pause, and then looked up beseechingly at his brother. "But we have to help her, Steve - just because you don't like that I have feelings for her, that doesn't mean that we can't -"

"Stop," Steve said. "Fucking stop."

David did.

"I never said we wouldn't help her," Steven said venemously, insulted by his brother's words. "Don't you dare assume that I'd let something so petty keep me from helping her."

"I...you're right," David said lowly, looking back down at his lap. "I'm sorry. And...and thanks."

"Yeah. Tell you what - you go home, get ready for that match you have against the Joker or whatever his name is, and I'll do a bit of digging, see what I can find out about how the Locusts handle girls they've kidnapped. But you listen to me." He leaned across the gap between the driver's and passenger's seats, getting in David's face. "You'd better get over this little crush, and you'd better do it quick. Because I am not letting you hurt Rachel...not after all you did to save her. Understand me?"

David nodded, quickly and dumbly, and Steven returned to his seat.

The older Smith started the car and pulled out of the parking lot, heading back in the direction from whence it had come.





Harley Quint. The Harlequin. Like many - like me - you choose to hide your face.

On the one hand, we have the Good Doctor, Mister Quint. Not without his flaws, true, but in general a good man. On the other hand, we have the man I'm set to battle at 14.3 - a twisted, unreconcilable lunatic who lives only for the breaking of bone, the rending of flesh, the spilling of blood.

Bit of a discrepancy, there.

At any rate, there's a part of me that's upset, a part of me that really wanted to face Mister Quint in a one-on-one match. He's one of the best, you know - Ultraviolent Champion and Tag Champion to boot. The part of me that wants to face him is the same part of me that enjoys the thrill of a legitimate contest, of valiant, organized test of skill between two masters of this craft.

Another part of me is happy, glad to be facing the convicted murder. That part of me can best be described as my inner-animal, the one that comes out right before I Spear someone, the one that delights in every slam and blow and impact I dish out. It may even be the same part of me that lusts after a woman who isn't my wife, the part of me that wishes it could be with both of them without fear of repurcussion.

I'd like to think that part of me will be right at home competing against you, Harlequin.

Alls I have to do is learn to let it out, to show my true face to the world.

Shouldn't be too hard, right?

Corruption 14.3
From the New Orleans Arena in New Orleans, Louisiana


Tag Team Match
Nick Bryson and Matt Ashburn vs Christian Parkes and Ripper

Singles Match
MASS Caesar vs Trey Spruance

Television Title Match
Mark Johansson vs Callum Pullin

Singles Match
The Celt vs Killswitch

Falls Count Anywhere Match
David GS vs Harlequin

Main Event
Six Man Tag
Apostasy, Ryu Quinn, and Ryder Strong vs Jack Eastwood, Daniel Prideman, Seth Rotunda

The scene opens with Mercury waiting in his room. He is expecting a visit from his brother Mars, God of War, hoping to talk some sense into him. Well...reason with him without getting thrown 100ft in the air or spend a day with the Kraken. On the floor of Mercury's room, we see MASS Caesar sleeping in a drunken stupor, after having many bottles of Absolut Vodka and doing fun things with call girls. As Mercury shakes his head in disgust, in walks Judas de Dios. Judas has his bag packed and wants to say goodbye.

Judas: I came here before I left to say goodbye to you, Mr. Mercury. Thank you for your kindness and always looking out for me.

Mercury: I would say the same thing to you. You kept Caesar from pinning me to the wall many times. I will miss your calm demeanor and innocence. But I am happy you get to go home and live the life you wanted to live.

Judas: I missed the opportunity to get after Craig Ryans. But it is perspective. I wasn't meant to exact my revenge upon him. Maybe in the end, that was better. I would have had to degrade myself to his level to gain my vengence. And how would I live with myself? But I should be happy. I get to work with the poor in a local parish close to my hometown while also getting a chance in CMLL. I can't turn that down.

Mercury: Nor would I want you to, good friend. Caesar...while I am sure he will miss you as his sparring partner and your humble submission, he will be happy you are gone because now he can draw and quarter me. But it is my lot in life to be here with him. Like it is for you to return to Mexico. Be safe, friend. I hope to see you soon.

Judas: As with you, Mercury.


The gentle giant walks out of the room and out of both Caesar and Mercury's life. Mercury is saddened at the loss of the young man, as he brought a naïve perspective to the group. Mercury turns around after a few minutes staring at the door, only to bump right into Mars.


Mars: I have found it strange your attachment to that giant, but I can see where he was useful to your cause. He kept you alive.

Mercury: I will miss him.

Mars: Honestly, I might too. The first three months you and Caesar lived together I had to resurrect you seven times.

Mercury: Six times.

Mars: Caesar killed you twice in one day, so that is seven! Anyway, what was the purpose of bringing me here? It wasn't to console you after losing Mr. de Dios was it?

Mercury: No. It is a request.

Mars: It better not be one of those give me an army of hosts to takeover the world crap!

Mercury: No! I want Caesar to either hold up his end of the agreement with Manny Gallego or we must end him! Return him to the spirit realm as your entertainment or destroy the thought of him! It must be done!

Mars: How interesting!

Mercury: What is so interesting? You have seen for yourself what he has done since he has possessed that young man! He has not helped him but hurt and destroyed everything he stood for! And I have stood too long to deal with this! I thought leading the revolt against Caesar would make him see the light! I thought sending him to the insane asylum would make him see the light and honor his agreement! He just wants to maim and whore! This man can't be a person who was mentored by Marcus Aurelius!

Mars: You see, he was mentored by Aurelius. From an early age. He was a friend of Commodus! But unlike that sad Hollywood tale, Caesar, after Aurelius' death, became Commodus' right hand man in the army. That is where the evil Caesar you see came from. The good side of Caesar, the side that usually allows himself NOT to kill you, is the one that was of Aurelius. The dark Caesar, the one that killed slaves with a disregard, was the Caesar molded by Commodus.

Mercury: That doesn't excuse the fact that the dark side of Caesar is the most prevalent!

Mars: And you have lasted far longer than any of us thought!

Mercury: WHAT?

Mars: This was all a test, Mercury!

Mercury: A test?

Mars: You had always wanted to be out of the lower tier of the Gods and hang out with us more in the spirit realm. You wanted the affection of our father Jupiter. I came up with a way to do so. We all wanted to see how long you could deal living on earth and dealing with this human here. We had hoped and thought that the good side of Caesar would shone forth, but the Darkside was too strong.

Knock-knock

Mercury opens the door of his room and sees a person with the initials 'LCA' at the door.


LCA Agent: I am Agent Starkiller of the Lucas Copyright Agency! Your buddy over there is allowed a freebie, but if we see one more type of dialogue stolen from the Great Lucas, we will burn your house down and let Lucas and his friend reenact a scene from Deliverance on your person!

Mercury: Didn't you steal that last line from a South Park episode? And didn't Lucas steal the Idea of Star Wars from a Kurosawa movie?

LCA Agent: The Great Lucas doesn't steal material from the Japs. He makes it better! Don't trifle with us. I can hear the banjos tuning up!


The LCA Agent walks away as Mercury has an amused and puzzled expression on his face.

Mercury: Continue, Mars. What was the point of this test?

Mars: You dealt with the type of things that myself and Jupiter have had to deal with for centuries. But you had to focus on one person, which would seem easier, but is much harder. And you survived much longer than anyone thought! Welcome to the club!

Mercury: I have finally been accepted?

Mars: Accepted in the group? Yes! But you are now the newbie, so expect some pranks. Father Jupiter really likes to play some mean jokes, so beware. Come, let us go home!

Mercury: Wait! What happens to Caesar? To Gallego?

Mars: For Mr. Gallego, after Caesar's little match up with Gallego's buddy Trey, Mr. Gallego's life will return to normal once he goes to sleep at night. He will have no knowledge of the last few years. From his perspective, any match with Caesar on it will be viewed in his eyes as “him” in the ring. When people mention “Caesar” he will here “during his heel days”. Insider shit for those wrestling nerds!

Mercury: And for Caesar himself?

Mars: Let's just say he will be entertaining us in the Spirit Realm instead of torturing you on Earth. Come on, let's go.

Mercury: Let me write something. Just to let Caesar think I am getting something.

Mars: Fine.




Mercury: Let's go, big brother.


Both men disappear from the scene as Caesar gets up, still in a drunken haze. He sees Mercury's note and inspects it before blowing his nose with it and throwing it on the floor.

Caesar: Some peace and quiet finally!

Lock 'em up!