Anarchy 3.3 - RESULTS

The scene opens to the familar red background, this time with SoL standing before it. "The New Breed" slowly takes his shades off as he looks directly into the camera

SoL: About time we got some talent and class on this show because that's what I am all about. Ladies and gentlemen, this...is...FMW ANARCHY!



The Anarchy Superstars are assembled in the backstage, area viewing the card. There are a few excited faces, but mostly pissed off scowls. Orochi points at Adema Aries, and POOF! Ninja Vanish. ‘Doc’ Derrick merely shakes his head. Drew Michaels pauses, looking over the information regarding his match again, before sighing. He adjusts the belt on his shoulder, and looks at it again, longingly. He turns to find Dreamkiller’s Cheshire cat-like grin scant inches from his face. Drew scoffs at him and heads out, as Aries looks at the card, and begins screaming.


AA: Who does this fag think he is? He can’t just come in here and turn everything on it’s head! This is complete…anarchy!

cYnical: Yeah, that’s kind of the point. Vin’s all about controlled chaos.

AA: I figured you would defend another Old-timer, wizard.

cYnical: Hardly, I just understand Vin’s motivations. He’s a different sort of animal. He views this as a rite of passage. He was never handed anything, so he wants to make all of us go through hell. If we pass, it’s safe to say we deserve it…if we fail, he’s justified in thinking we didn’t deserve the praise we’ve recieved. And besides, Although what he’s doing to Drew and Doc is wrong, I look forward to testing myself against with Dalby, and he’s giving you your FMW debut. Remember that.

With that, Dalby Sound takes off his headphones, and smiles.

Dalby: Personally, I’m excited to have a real wrestler on this show, if for one night only. Maybe we can discuss the finer points of the sport of kings, after the age of sound reason begins here on Anarchy, with a victory!

AA: Fag Lover! Who died and put that cumbucket in charge anyway.

Dalby: Well, all I’m saying is…. You should look over your shoulder before speaking ill of the boss, it’s not a Sound career move.

Showstoppa is seated at the back table, talking with Sol, smiling and laughing it up. Almost as if he senses an opening, he looks up at the assemblage of Anarchy Superstars, and flashes a devious grin.

Show: Firstly, who died and put me in charge? Listen up, rook: At Circus Maximus, the careers of two of my closest friends ended, so hold your infernal tongue. cYnical is absolutely right. This is a test of your mettle. I bestow gifts to you people, and this is the gratitude you show me? I negotiate THE NEW BREED out from under Jaro’s nose, the biggest star in wrestling history, and this is how you thank me? You think Phantom had the tact and guile to seal that deal? Fuckin’ aye. Aries, you are leaving the arena after your match. That’s the end of your night, and it’s a gift. Because now, you can focus on only your opponent, and check all other thoughts at the door. cYnical vs. Sound is a test of the one of the best superstars of my generation against the best up and comer I’ve seen in the 6 years I’ve been on this road. AND DID I MENTION SOL?

The New Breed waves to the boys, and takes his leave to go through his pre-match preparations for HOMICIDE.

Show: Now to the perceived screw jobs… Doc Derrick has the opportunity to topple the Covenant tonight. You think Black is ecstatic about War Machine’s pride costing them the services of Phantom Lord? If there’s a wedge to drive there, Derrick’s the one to do it. And if The Covenant falls, Ethan Black’s grip on that title becomes tenuous at best. This man WENT THE DISTANCE the other night on the Mount. I can’t give the Covenant a week to focus and get on the same page. They are in trouble, and it’s time to strike whilst the iron is hot. And if they curbstomp Derrick, well, I gave him a fighter’s chance, sometimes you just have a run of bad luck.

Derrick pauses to contemplate a protest, coughing a bit, before looking at the card once more, and nodding to Showstoppa and heading to his lockerrroom.

Show: As for Drew Michaels, He needs to show he can navigate a minefield. You honestly think he’ll have a fair shake against Ethan? This is preparation for the Title Shot. He should thank me. Tonight, he has the chance to prove to the whole world that Ethan Black’s tyrannical reign is at an end, showing no matter the odds, the ‘holy warrior’ will prevail.
I will however concede this: I’m out to end Syanide. And I’m not remotely apologetic about that. The rest of you should thank me for the chances you’re being given tonight!

Dalby: Thank You, Show!

The rest of the lockeroom looks at him, groaning.

Larsen: This one should be interesting Morph.

Morpheus: An Aryan Protégée against a Ninja…..yeah that’d do it.

"The Whirlpool of Transient Life" by Noriyuki Asakura plays and for a few moments nothing happens until a bright smoky flash occurs in the ring and when it clears Orochi is knelling in the middle of the mat.

Cherry: The following contest is scheduled for one fall. Introducing first, already in the ring, hailing from Japan weighting in at two hundred and twenty four pounds this is ORRRROCHI!!

Larsen: Orochi you must remember, along with his opponent tonight, were involved in that grueling Mount Vesuvius match not so long ago so I don’t know how pretty this is going to be.

Morpheus: From what I have heard about this next guy, I doubt that this will be pretty.

“Drop The Bombshell” by Powerman 3000 hits as Adema Aeries steps out to loud boos from the Belfast crowd and then begins to make his way to the ring with a focused look in his eyes.

Cherry: And his opponent, fighting out of Venice Beach, California. Standing at six foot six inches tall and weighing in at three hundred and ten pounds this is ADEMA “THE ARYAN ANTICHRIST”AERIES!

Larsen: The Aryan Antichrist is about to make his Anarchy debut. The protégée of the Sick Sadistic Skinhead Syanide has a lot to prove and hate to think what will happen if he loses seeing as Syanide has had trouble with the ninja in the past.

Morpheus: Can you say “Curb-Stomp”.

Larsen: Both men now ready the go and the bell sounds and we’re underway. Orochi straight away going for the legs of the much bigger Aeries with stiff snap kicks. Orochi working both legs now oh and a spin kick sending Aeries back into the ropes.

Morpheus: Aeries is just taking this the big oaf! Where is his mentor? Where is our Television Champion?

Larsen: If you read your notes you’d know our GM banned him from ringside.

Orochi continues to unload on Adema who is up against the ropes trying to block the barrage of kicks aimed at his legs, lower and upper body.

Larsen: Orochi with an Irish Whip sending Aeries off the ropes and Roundhouse Kick, Adema ducks and BOOM! Nearly takes the leg off the ninja with a vicious clothesline. COVER!

ONE

KICK OUT BY OROCHI!

Adema grabs Orochi and begins to pull him to his feet but is taken down with a leg sweep.

Larsen: Nice take down by the ninja, oh and followed with a double foot stomp right onto the sternum of the big man.

Morpheus: This hoss is going to struggle to keep up with the smaller, faster and more experienced Orochi.

Larsen: The fans firmly behind the ninja, I guess some of Syanide’s heat has rub of on his student…

Morpheus: And it looks like some of Orochi’s boot is going to rub off on Aeries’ face, just unloading on him with those Tajiri like kicks to the head.

Larsen: Orochi off the ropes and shinning wizard connects to the head of the Six Foot Six Three Hundred and Ten pound Aryan Antichrist. Orochi out onto the apron, Aeries down on the mat inside….OH SPRINGBOARD SOMERSAULT LEGDROP COVER!

ONE!

TWO!

TH-KICK OUT!

Morpheus: If I was The Aryan One I would be wondering what I saw in this kid who is getting his ass handed to him but the much smaller Orochi.

Orochi proceeds to pull Aeries to his feet and drags him to the corner and sits up on the top turnbuckle.

Larsen: Tornado DDT attempt here, wait, Aeries has him kept up, Aeries throwing Orochi up onto his shoulders into a Fireman’s Carry position. What power by the rookie! SAMOAN DROP BY ADEMA AERIES.

Adema is quickly on the attack again with some swift stomps before dragging Orochi to his feet.

Larsen: What’s he going for a Powerbomb or a Piledriver maybe? He’s got him up for a Powerbomb now.

Morpheus: OH HE JUST POWERBOMBED HIM INTO THE TOP TURNBUCKLE!

Larsen: Cover by Aeries, this could be it!

ONE

TWO

THRE-FOOT ON THE ROPE! OROCHI GOT HIS FOOT ON THE ROPE!

Morpheus: Well well well, it seems that the big ape has a few tricks after all.

Larsen: Adema Aeries coming oh so close to recording a victory on his debut here on the biggest stage of them all. Aeries now watching Orochi get to his feet, the referee having a few words with the ninja and HERE HE COMES!!! BOOM!

Morpheus: AERIES TOOK OUT THE REFEREE!

Larsen: ADEMA AERIES ATTEMPTING A SPEAR TACKLE OF SORTS ON OROCHI BUT THE NINJA BLOCKED THE BLOW WITH THE REFEREE! I THINK THAT HE’S BEEN BROKEN IN HALF!

Orochi after only absorbing some of the impact rolls to the outside of the ring and retrieves a steel chair.

Larsen: Orochi with a steel chair on the outside of the ring..OH NEARLY BLINDSIDED BY AERIES WITH A CHAIR SHOT OF HIS OWN BUT SAW IT COMING AND DUCKED!

Morpheus: BLAMMO! NINJA DRILLS AERIES WITH HIS CHAIR!

Larsen: What a shot by Orochi but Aeries is still standing…barely but he is still…

Morpheus: BLAMMO! DOWN GOES AERIES!

Larsen: Like a ton of bricks and this Irish crowd are loving every minute of this action, Orochi now going under the ring, what’s he looking for? A TABLE! OROCHI HAS RETRIVED A TABLE FROM UNDER THE RING!

Orochi sets up the table as fans chant “FUCK HIM UP!”, as Orochi is doing this Adema struggles to his feet but is soon drilled again with a wicked chairshot. Orochi then rolls Adema onto the table placing the chair on his chest.

Larsen: This looks bad, Orochi quick as a cat back into the ring and he’s heading up top! OROCHI ON THE TOP ROPE, ADEMA ON A TABLE OUTSIDE THE RING!

Morpheus: BLAMMO BITCHES! YOU JUST GOT BROKEN’D!

Larsen: DOUBLE THRUSTING FOOTSTOMP OFF THE TOP ROPE RIGHT THROUGH A TABLE ON THE OUTSIDE! I THINK THIS ROOKIE MONSTER HAS HAD HIS SPINE SNAPPED!

Morpheus: Stupid Ninja has hurt his leg I think, hurt his leg on the Aryan.

Larsen: Yeah Orochi favoring his left leg as he pulls Adema from the wreckage of the table and slowly rolls him into the ring. Both men back in the ring, Orochi is up and Adema is out cold. Orochi approaching the head of Adema.

Morpheus: Here we go, Orochi sinking in the Dragon Sleeper!

Larsen: OROCHI HAS THE DRAGON SLEEPER IN DEEP BUT THERE’S NO REFEREE!

Morpheus: I think he’s realized that, he’s letting go and I think he’s going to try rouse the ref.

Larsen: Orochi trying to get the referee back to his feet so he can win this thing, Adema still down…

Suddenly “Halo” by Soil hits and the arena darkens slightly for Syanide’s Anthem, Orochi immediately turns his attention to the entrance ramp. The crowd begins a deafening chorus of boos.

Larsen: SYANIDE! THAT’S SYANIDE’S MUSIC BUT HE’S BANNED FROM RINGSIDE, HE’LL BE FIRED!

Morpheus: All hail our Television Champion! This guy shouldn’t even be walking today but he’s here and listen to the hated spewing from these micks!

Larsen: Where is he?

Morpheus: I don’t know? The guy isn’t a hundred percent it probably takes his longer to leave the Gorilla position…it has been a long time though.

Larsen: Orochi has his eyes fixed firmly on the entrance ramp. Don’t think he wants anything to do with Syanide.

Morpheus: HEY LOOK AT ADEMA!

Larsen: ADEMA BACK ON HIS FEET, GOADING OROCHI TO TURN AROUND! OROCHI WITH HIS BACK TURNED!

Morpheus: WHAT THE HELL! WHERE IS SYANIDE?

Larsen: OROCHI TURNING AROUND….WHAT! ARROWHEAD SHOT! AERIES JUST NAILED OROCHI WITH THE ARROWHEAD SHOT!

Morpheus: Look at him screaming abuse down at Orochi, this guy is great value.

Larsen: Hey was this all a plan? Was Syanide’s music playing just a distraction by the Skinhead to help his protégée? Adema scooping up the lifeless Orochi WAR GOD DRIVER ’07! AERIES HITTING THE WG DRIVER THAT’S ALL SHE WROTE!

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

Larsen: IT’S ALL OVER!

Cherry: The winner of this match by pinfall…ADEMA “THE ARYAN ANTICHRIST” AERIES!

Adema Aeries (3.53 aps + 1.3 vote = 4.83 total)
Orochi (3.07 aps + 0.3 vote + 3.37 total)

Morpheus: Aeries victorious on his debut and damn if I’m not impressed with this Rookie Monster.

Larsen: Victorious with a little help from his absent mentor I’m guessing.



As we head into break, the logo tells us it’s SHOWSTOPPA APPRECIATION NIGHT.
Phantom: What the hell is he doing?

Stone: I have no clue. He’s waving to the crowd. He must have something planned. Diabolical is staggering in the ring, you can tell he’s still sore from the shot to the head.

Showstoppa reaches down and pats the cast on his leg.

Stone: No! He’s not!

Show leaps off of the top rope and sails through the air. He swings his leg and connects with Diabolical.

Stone: My god! Shining Wizard off of the top rope!

Phantom: With a cast!

Stone: Why isn’t Show in any pain from that? He’s going for the cover! 1… 2… 3!!! My god! Show just stole the… show!

Phantom: Dats ma boy!

Cherry: Here is your winner and the first ever C-4 Division Champion! SHOOOOOOOOOWSTOPPA!!!

Showstoppa is shown lounging backstage with Johnny, having a Snickers bar as they share a story amongst each other.

Johnny: …And then I said, Silly Bitch, Don’t you know who the fuck I am?

BOTH: I’M THE JUGGERNAUT, BITCH!

The FMW’s power couple is having a gay old time, laughing it up
and all to oblivious to their surroundings as Adema Aries lumbers behind them, flanked by the walking hate crime, Syanide. Johnny is thrown to the floor and then restrained by Aries as Syanide grabs Showstoppa by the throat.

Syanide: All your games end here, faggot. Admit it, ADMIT you are no match for the Fourth Reich!

Security goobers fill the area, imploring Syanide to release the C-4 Champion, who looks like he’s struggling to breathe.

Show: You’re right, I…*gasp* I’m no match for you…but…he is!

Mass Chaos blasts Syanide with a steel chair, causing the Sadistic Skinhead to release our Queero Hero. Chaos helps Show to his feet, as Aries does with his mentor. Johnny and Show stand behind Chaos, who brandishes the chair menacingly. Syanide is clearly not 100 percent, coughing up blood.

Syanide: Your friends won’t be there to watch your back all the time, Faggot!

Show: Neither will yours. Security: REMOVE ARIES FROM THE BUILDING.

Security removes Adema Aries, as Syanide is suddenly very much alone.

Syanide: Of no consequence. Your corporate attack dog will not take my title.

Johnny: You silly, awful man. We’re not paying him to take your title. That’s his prerogative. We’re paying him to take your life.

Show: And I believe that will constitute must see Television, champ. The title change is just an added ratings bonus.

Chaos: Tonight, you pay. You’ve sought to make a career by destroying those of us who have established legacies in that lockerroom. Well, ironically enough, I will finish you, take your title, and enhance my legacy in one felt swoop.

"Spanish Castle Tango" by Del Castillo hits as Mass Chaos makes his way out of the ring.

Larsen: And here comes Vinny’s, um, friend…

Morpheus: You think he’s gay, huh?

Larsen: Well, no, but he had to have gotten this match some how. I mean, seriously what has he done! Nothing!

Morhpeus: No, he’s gay.

Larsen: You said it, not me.

SOiL by Halo hits as the people boo in anticipation, but Syanide doesn’t show.

Morpheus: Where the hell is that ass?

Larsen: Well the man was nearly dead, as evil as he is, he can’t be faulted for… oh my.

Syanide wheels out in a wheel chair and stops at the top of the ramp. He stares at his opponent before standing. His cold eyes still focused on Chaos, he hobbles down the ramp, wincing in pain each time.

Morpheus: Ha, look, the skin head’s got a bit of a fade going on there. Couldn’t get a nurse to touch you, eh you bastard?

Larsen: I hate to admit it, but this guy has some balls.

Morpheus: I might have some respect for him, if he wasn’t such an asshole.

Syanide slides in and immediately is met with boots by Mass Chaos.

Larsen: Mass Chaos right away starting off strong, he hoists Syanide and tosses him down with a BIG power slam!

Morph: Mildly impressive, Chaos looks pretty hot out there.

Larsen: I'm sure Vinny thinks so...

Morph: Don't speak of our GM like that, he'll put your emo ass back into the streets of Canadia.

Larsen: Please, stop speaking. Chaos is till on the attack, driving the boots to Syanide while he is down on the mat. Those Mt. Vesuvius injuries must be catching up to him something fierce in there tonight.

Morph: There is no way Syanide is going to keep his belt, even if Mass Chaos didn’t deserve to be in this match.

Larsen: Mass Chaos going back to work, lifting up Syanide again, but no! Syanide punches back! Left, right, no! Mass Chaos with a rake to the eyes! Chaos off the ropes, VICIOUS LARIAT!

Morph: Oh balls that looked like it hurt worse then those cuts on your forearm. Remember to keep going down the street, not across.

Larsen: Mass Chaos running forward, leg drop! Another! Chaos lifts up Syanide once more, he’s holding him in that suplex position! Mass Chaos shifts and nails Syanide with a piledriver!

Morpheus: That’s a Steiner Screwdriver for you classic fanatics. You're making me do too much work over here Larsen, you're getting sloppy.

Larsen: Syanide is done and Mass Chaos knows! Look at this! Mass chaos climbing up the top rope!

Morpheus: This is uncommon of him, lets see how it pays off.

Larsen: Mass chaos up, NO! He looses his footing! Chaos holding onto the top rope, he looks up, OH MY GOD! SYANIDE OUT OF NOWHERE WITH THAT SUPER KICK! ARROWHEAD SHOT!

Morpheus: Oh my god, this outcome doesn’t look good, it doesn't look good at all.

Larsen: CHAOS IS TEETERING! HE FALLS BACK! MASS CHAOS FOLDED LIKE AN ACCORDIAN ONTO THOSE STEEL STEPS MY GOD! MASS CHAOS HAS TO BE DEAD!

Morpheus: Both these men are done… they have to be. A human body can only stand so much abuse.

Larsen: Syanide rolls out of the ring, he can barely stand. He pulls on Mass Chaos, look at him he can barely lift him. Syanide tosses Mass Chaos in with everything in his power. He slides in, cover! One, Two, Three! Syanide wins… how did he do it!

Syanide (4.02 aps + 1.6 vote = 5.62 total)
Mass Chaos (3.72 aps + 0.5 vote = 4.22 total)

Morpheus: This ass hat is determined, I’ll give him that.

Syanide gets up slowly and stumbles a bit before giving a sinister smile to the crowd as the ref raises his hand. Syanide falls to his knees and shakes his head, as if clearing his thoughts and trying to focus enough to get out of the ring.

Larsen: I just don’t get how he pulled it off.

Morph: A little bit of...white magic.

Larsen: How long have you had that joke prepared?

Morph: Two weeks.

Larsen: Anyway, we have another of our tributes to the...do I really have to say this?

Morph: Yes.

Larsen (sighs): The most impressive superstar to ever be a general manager, the Showstoppa. God I hate this job sometimes...




In case you didn’t know, the logo reminds us once more it’s SHOWSTOPPA APPRECIATION NIGHT. We cut to a scene long ago, on commentary, THE INCOMPORABLE RAW IS SNAPPLE, and one half of one of the most criminally underrated tag teams of all time (The Silver Screen) is on color, ‘SWAMPFOX’ Kris Marion! In The Ring, The BAD MAMMA JAMMAS are waging a Tag Team Title War against the Significant Others.

Snapple: What the hell is this, Morpheus has blindsided Styxx! He’s pummeling the hardcore Champion! That Bastard!

Marion: As they tear each other apart…DIDDLY FUSION SOARS over the top with a tope con hilo both men!

Snapple: This building is going crazy….Sheepster is staggering to his feet! He’s looking at the commotion at ringside, and forgetting Showstoppa!

Marion: SHOWTUNE! He absolutely blasted him! Cover…YES! WE HAVE NEW TAG TEAM CHAMPIONS!

Snapple: And they have unseated the longest reigning tag team champions in company history, what an amazing night. Show rolls to the floor and hands a belt to a stunned Diddly Fusion! They’ve done it!

Cherry: The Winners of this match, and NEEEEEEEWWWWWWWWWWW TAG TEAM CHAMPIONS OF THE WORLD, DIDDLY FUSION AND SHOWSTOPPA, THE SIGNIFIGANT OTHERS!

As the shot fades, we are left with three words on the screen that tell the story.

[size=150]ANARCHIST OF THE WEEK[/size]

This weeks Anarchist of the Week is the FMW Ultraviolent Champion and number one contender to the FMW World title; Drew Michaels! Drew defeated not one but twenty-nine other superstars in route to capturing the Torch of Vesuvius and a title shot at the FMW Ultimatum pay-per-view. In addition, Drew is the reigning FMW Ultraviolent Champion and also defeated War Machine and Adrian in an Ultraviolent Tag Team Match at the last Anarchy show. A busy couple weeks for the Chosen One.

As a congratulation for his hard work, Anarchist of the Week would like to award Drew with Geico automobile insurance. We took the steps to cancel Drew's current policy and replace it with the Geico policy because you can save hundreds with Geico, unless you are a caveman. Geico, so easy that a talking gecko seems to be able to do it. Congratulations Drew and tune in next week for the next edition of Anarchist of the Week!

‘Personal Jesus’ by Marilyn Manson plays the Black Covenant to the ring. Ethan is casually discussing the lay of the land with his charges, pausing to hand over the Full Metal Championship to the timekeeper.

Larsen: The Covenant seem to be talking strategy amongst themselves as they prepare for a 3 on 1 handicap match with one of Anarchy's brightest stars, John "Doc" Derrick.

Morpheus: You can throw strategy out the window on this one. When you put three superstars as compotent as the members of the Black Covenant against one man, I don't care if he's Batman, Superman, Spiderman, Aquaman, or Afroman, he's gonna get his ass whipped.

Their conversation is interrupted by Metallica’s ‘Whiskey in a Jar’. They look up the ramp, but John Derrick attacks from behind with a beer bottle to the back of Styxx’s skull. Ethan and War Machine run into a double clothesline as the referee calls for the bell.

Larsen: So much for a feeling out process!

Morpheus: Derrick mounts Black, savaging the FMW Champion with haymaker after haymaker! War Machine breaks it up quickly, allowing Black to grab Derrick from behind, War Machine charges, and Doc dumps him clear out of the ring, right onto his melon. Styxx connects on a big boot as the referee attempts to gain some semblance of order!

Larsen: Styxx levels Derrick with a spinebuster, and Ethan quickly tags in as Styxx shoots him off the ropes and the cardshark walks right into a Double Chokeslam! Cover?

Morpheus: Kickout by that fool, John Doc.

Larsen: And what pretell makes him a fool, oh wise Dream Master?

Morpheus: He needs to know his role on the FMW food chain. Just lie down and get this cruel and unusual punishment over with, before he loses all feeling in his legs.

Larsen: Well War Machine may be down and out from this match. He landed directly on his head when tossed outside the ring.... let's take a look at that one more time.

The instant replay shows War Machine being heaved over the top rope, and landing squarely on the top of his noggin when connecting with the floor. Styxx ducks out of the ring to check on his comrade, while Ethan remains in the ring shouting at them.

Larsen: Oh my. This may be more serious than we first thought. He could have broken his neck there...

Morpheus: Derrick has rolled to the floor, grabbing a beer from a fan. He’s merely smiling, yucking it up during this unfortunate event! Ethan is now outside checking on War Machine as well, and this yokel is downing a beer!

Larsen: It’s like vitamin water, but with alcohol. Well as twisted and sinister as the Black Covenant is, you can't say that they don't look out for one another.

Morpheus: Of course they do. They're human beings, not the monsters that your biased babyface play-by-play makes them out to be.

Larsen: The referee is asking the Covenant if they want to stop the match...

Morpheus: And Derrick is laughing it up with these drunken savages! And the Covenant are the EVIL MONSTERS... WHY!? They're the ones showing compassion for their fallen amigo, while this fucking anti-hero is relishing in the misery of others!

Larsen: The Covenant deserves it for all of the horrible things they've done to the O'Rions and the rest of the roster.. Wait, DERRICK IS MAKING A BEE-LINE FOR THE COVENANT... THEY DON'T SEE HIM COMING! BAM! DERRICK TOSSES STYXX HEAD FIRST INTO THE RING POST!

Morpheus: That no-good, heartless, son of a bitch!

Larsen: Funny, beacause you would be lapping up Ethan Black's cock if it were Derrick being attended to by EMTs right now. There. I said it.

Morpheus: ...

Larsen: And Styxx is the legal man, now being tossed back into the ring by Derrick.

Morpheus: Why can't he just let Styxx look after his friend?! War Machine is ready to be carted up the ramp on a FUCKING STRETCHER and Derrick is worried about winning a damn match! THE NERVE OF THESE PEOPLE!

Larsen: This is an opening for Derrick! He was unfairly booked into a three-on-one handicap match with three devious human beings and you expect him to fall down to his knees and sob when one of them gets hurt?

Morpheus: Yes.

Larsen: Doc now hits a tremendous vertical suplex on Styxx! He’s isolating the back for his finisher, I’ve seen him do it dozens of times. He grinds a headlock, asserting his in ring prowess. Styxx slowly builds to a vertical base, but Derrick wrenches the neck and brings him abruptly back down. He’s working that neck to perfection!

Morpheus: Ethan Black is staying right at the side of his friend. You see, he's a human being. He has a conscience. He's more worried about War Machine that one stupid match with John Derrick.

Larsen: Good, Styxx versus Doc is a lot more fair, don't you think? Besides, Ethan looks scared to me. Scared of John Derrick. Not concerned for War Machine.

Morpheus: RUBBISH!

Morpheus: Styxx again to his feet, and this time he takes Doc over with a back body drop! Doc up and then down via a sidewalk slam.

Larsen: The Aussie Assailant is back in charge here delivering a chop, and another, and a third, sending Doc staggering back into the corner. Styxx begins to rain closed fist after closed fist down on the hapless Derrick who is still in a bad way from the effects of Mt. Vesuvius.

Morpheus: The ex-BMJ positions Derrick atop the turnbuckle, but gets a facewash to the mush…and Doc dives down with a scintillating tornado DDT off the top! COVER….HIS FOOT IS ON THE ROPES!

Larsen: Doc drags the slain giant to the middle of the ring and delivers a leg drop. He takes his measure and drops another on the throat of the man from down under. He’s isolating the massive neck of Styxx… and He Hotshots him up, dropping him throat first into the second rope!

Morpheus: Doc bounces off the far ropes and on the near side drops his weight across the back of the neck! Styxx staggers up and into a well executed inverted neckbreaker. DERRICK HAS LOCKED IN THE HUCKLEBERRY SPECIAL IN THE MIDDLE OF THE RING!

Larsen: Styxx is tapping, Styxx is tapping…IT’S OVER, DERRICK HAS DONE THE IMPOSSIBLE!

Morpheus: Or has he? There’s no referee! Ethan Black has returned and pulled the referee hard to the floor. Ethan has returned for his wayward soldier! Hooray! See! The Covenant stay loyal to each other! They are a stable for the ages!

Larsen: But just a few moments ago you were talking about how wonderful it was that Ethan was looking after the injured War Mach--

Morpheus: STFU.

Larsen: With Ethan back now, Doc might have to know when to hold em here.

Morpheus: Ethan sure knows when to fold em. Chairs, that is. He’s going to take him apart.

Larsen: Doc needs to know that he needs to walk away.

Morpheus: Actually, I’d say he needs to run. Black gets up on the apron…

Larsen: Doc is counting his money over the broken body of Styxx!

Morpheus: But they’ll be time enough for countin’ when the dealings done… And Ethan is NOT done dealing.

Larsen: The preceeding exchange will not be on the BEST OF FMW KARAOKE DVD.

Morpheus: My part will, you sucked. Kenny Rogers is rolling over in his chicken restaurants. And Ethan is face to face with Doc as Styxx crawls to the corner.

Larsen: Are we finally going to get to see these two go?

Morpheus: Ethan swings and misses with the chair, Derrick drops him with a duckunder spinning elbow to the jaw! Ethan on all fours, catches a dropkick in the face! Doc’s got the chair, and he’s poised to smash Ethan!

Larsen: The referee is back in the ring, and he informs Doc the chair will get him disqualified. He tosses it aside and fires Ethan into the ropes, duck under, DRAGON SUPLEX! BRIDGE! PIN…..NO! ETHAN KICKED FREE!

Morpheus: Ethan gets caught again, AND A MASSIVE RELEASE BELLY TO BELLY causes the Champion to roll to the floor. He’s packing it in, Robb. He’s walking away! To check on War Machine once again no doubt!

Larsen: This has nothing to do with War Machine, Ethan Black wants nothing to do with John Derrick! And I don't blame him, Doc appears to have the champ's number on this occassion!

Morpheus: Perhaps on this occassion... but not any other occassion or ever again.

Larsen: Meanwhile, Styxx chopblocked Doc from behind. Derrick is then flattened with a BIG BOOT to the face From Styxx.

Morpheus: What a win this would be for Styxx. To pin the Number 2 man from Mount V, by his lonesome, despite the night the Covenant had?

Larsen: Could indeed be a momentum builder, as Styxx signals for the Ganzo Bomb! He’s going to Ganzo bomb him to the floor as Ethan somberly walks up the ramp…

The lights go out as the crowd oohs with anticipation

Morpheus: Did Showstoppa not pay the electricity bill in this dump?

A wall of flame stops Ethan’s exit on the ramp, when it subsides, Ethan retreats to the safety of the ring.

Larsen: CYNICAL! CYNICAL WANTS ETHAN BLACK!

Morpheus: Styxx still tries to get Doc up, Bvt Derrick with a backslide!!!! IT'S OVER! WAIT... the crowd has counted to 3, but the referee is busy trying to separate the Wizard and the Dark Lord!

Larsen: cYnical flattens Ethan with a chair! The referee calls for the bell!

Cherry: Here are your winners, as a result of a disqualification... THE BLACK COVENANT!

Ethan Black, War Machine, and Styxx (3.7 aps + 0.0 aps + 3.68 aps + 0.6 vote = 7.98 total)
John “Doc” Derrick (4.4 aps + 1.0 vote = 5.4 total)

Larsen: He pinned Styxx, at one point he had almost made Styxx tap out, and he absolutely dominated Ethan Black every time they were in the ring... but he’s lost via DQ? ARE YOU KIDDING ME?

Morpheus: HA! And Doc just shoved cYnical right on his ass! That's what I like to see!

Larsen: You are so predictable, it's ridiculous. Of course you'd love that.

Morpheus: cYnical just cost John Derrick the match, what the fuck do you expect him to do? Shake his hand and tell him everything's alright? NO! You put him in his place!

Larsen: Well, cYnical may have just made himself a powerful enemy. Judging by the look on Derrick's face, he's not going to let this one slide.

Morpheus: Nope. Beating all three Covenant members could have been the biggest upset of the century, and cYnical thought it his place to RUIN IT! I hope Derrick tears his heart out. That'd be good TV.

Larsen: Well folks, we'll be right back after a quick commercial break, and we hope to give you an update on the condition of War Machine as soon as we receive one.



The screen fades as the logo once again reminds us that it’s Showstoppa Appreciation Night. This time, we cut to a shot of the Pontiff of the Promo in the ring at Alchemy 3.1 .

Show: This Wolf will feast tonight, Jason. And you will know who to call your fucking god once again. You’ve been throwing sacrifices to the altars of these two bit villains like Black and Diabolical, and I’ve starved. Well, the big bad wolf is here, and he’s fucking hungry, and that snake is on the menu. But you people don’t like it because this wolf doesn’t hunt for you, he hunts for himself. Unlike Diddly, I’m my own master. I will smite this pretender to the throne.

Jaro: Vincent, I'm going..

Show: What you’re going to do….is go back there and take a hint. Go get the C-4 Title from that pretender to the throne, and put a new shine on it. Get our fucking engraver on the horn and get another ‘SHOWSTOPPA’ nameplate. Tonight, David and all of you are reminded once again that I have no heart, No Soul, and My blood is the very thing that flows throw this company. I created it. I destroyed what came before to build this empire. My blood fuels it. Pretenders like David and Ethan Black seek to rule over Full Metal Wrestling. I….am Full Metal Wrestling.

There’s steam emanating from the bathroom shower in Show’s locker room as Showstoppa and Johnny are nowhere to be seen.

Show: Johnnykins, I hear thunder.

Johnny: You are batshitcrazy, Vin. It’s sunny out!

Show: You don’t hear that?

Johnny: No…You sure that awful Nazi didn’t cause brain damage?

As if on cue, the ‘thunderclap’ grows louder and closer.

Show: I FUCKING TOLD YOU!

And lo, there is a knock-knock-knocking at The General Manager’s door.

Johnny: Are you going to get it?

Show: No, I’m not answering with Zeus at the door! Besides, I’m batshitcrazy, remember?

Johnny: Fine, you’re such a bitch.

Show: ‘Mr. General Manager bitch’ to you.

Johnny emerges from the bathroom in rubber ducky slippers, clad in a purple bath towel. He opens the door, and hurriedly closes it. He looks at the camera with a blank stare of disbelief and goes into the bathroom, at which point Showstoppa (wearing pink bunny slippers and a pink towel) emerges alongside him, dragged by the arm.

Show: Who is it, Johnny?

The door and adjoining wall then shatter, as KING GUIOMAR and SERVANTE enter via horse drawn chariot.

Show: I thought we were saving the toga wearing gogo boys for later, dear?

Johnny: Um….I ordered the ninjas, not the Greco-roman ones this week.

Show: Oh goody! I love ninjas! They’re so…ASIAN! And Mysterious!

Servante: Silence! You stand in the presence of the great King Guiomar, prepare for his majesty’s address!

Johnny: King Who?

Show: I think I know that name…Sounds vaguely familiar.

Johnny: Wait, is that the guy you kicked the shit out of and threw off Mount Vesuvius?

Show: YES! Yes it is!

Guiomar: Are you two done?

Johnny: Probably not. But begin, We’ll just interrupt your rant with witty banter.

Servante exits the carriage, and stares down the duo. He sneers at Johnny.

Servante: You will hush now! His Majesty…

Johnny proceeds to snap his fingers at Servante in ‘talk to the hand’ fashion, and Servante loses his mind.

Servante: That. Was. So….GAY!

Show: My, he’s a quick one!

Guiomar: ENOUGH! Showstoppa, I have words with thee!

Show: Well to-to-t-TODAY, junior! Spit it out.

Guiomar: I must know, Vincent, why did you do what you did at Mount Vesuvius? You greatly diminished your own chances of winning for the satisfaction of driving me through a table.

Show: Because, your highness, I had to answer a question in my own mind.

Guiomar: Would you mind sharing this query with me?

Johnny: Did he just call us queeries? More importantly, did he just ask for a three way with us? I mean, he’s sorta cu..

Servante: YOU KNOW FULL WELL WHAT HE MEANT, insolent whelp!

To which, naturally, Johnny backhand bitchslaps Servante across the jaw. Showstoppa and Guiomar move in between their respective charges as Johnny sticks his tongue out at an enraged Servante.

Show: Your highness, I’m afraid that we’ll have to continue this scintillating discussion another day.

Guiomar: It would seem so. I will say this, Vincent. I look forward to seeing you against opponents you bear no ill will towards, and are just fighting for the spirit of competition.

Johnny: AND I LOOK FORWARD TO KICKING YOUR MANBITCH’S ASS AGIN!

Servante: Oh, it’s on, girlfriend!

Johnny: Bring it, chump!

Servante: It's just been brought, BITCH!

The camera pans around the audience as Veronica Cherrywood, with the assistance of backstage crew members, is launching Anarchy crew t-shirts into the rowdy Belfast crowd. Beer a plenty sloshes amongst the fans who look nary more than inebriated and a guy in the front row gets punched into the stands. Truly a picture of its namesake, the crowd is in absolute ‘Anarchy’. The camera returns to Robb Larsen and Morpheus. Robb himself looks awkward as he tries to avoid the torrent of cheap beer from getting his headset wet while Morph appears positively malevolent.

Larsen: And we’re back here on Anarchy Live from Belfast, Ireland..

Morph: Don’t you mean ‘Northern Ireland’, cock-jockey?

Larsen: Since when did you get all PC?

Morph: Since we came to a country that has a history of open violence against pretty much everybody.

Larsen: Touché. What do we have next on the card?

Morph: …Eww.

Larsen: Eww?

Morph: SoL versus Homicide.

Larsen: Oh right. Eww. Didn’t we get enough of that New Breed bullshit back in the Old Company?

Morph: Apparently not. God please tell me what I’ve done to earn this torture?

Larsen: …I could say something but I still have a disgusting taste in my mouth.

Morph: Fuck you too, Larsen.

As the two bicker like an old married couple, the arena lights go dark as a fog bank rolls through the arena. The crowd is still buzzing with life as ethereal blue lights switch on. Foreboding organ music relays over the PA system as a search light flicks through the sea of people, probing for a designated target. “Go to Sleep” by Eminem, Obie Trice, & DMX finally begins, causing an uproar from the fans when at last, the search light stops on a figure dressed head to toe in black jogging apparel, a hood thrown over his head with a taped fist raised in the air.

Morph: Well what do you know? Cap’n Chokejob showed up afterall.

Larsen: For those of you just tuning in, RAMPAGE!, as promised, has made his way to Anarchy!

Morph (sarcastically): Oh goody goody gumdrops! As I live and breathe! FMW’s Dark Horse has come to…’grace’ us with his glowing personality and infinite wisdom! Give me a fucking break. Who the hell does this guy think he is just showing up whenever he so pleases?

Larsen: Obviously someone important as RAMPAGE! is making his way down to the announce booth.

Morph: Someone’s getting fired for this lax security.

‘Page is greeted with the support of the crowd who pats his shoulders and accepts him as one of their own. Despite attempts for event staff to barricade him off, he stops them, allowing for the Belfast natives to have their fun and going as far as to slap hands with a few of them. Stopping beside a young boy with a ‘No love. No fear. No Apologies’ sweatshirt, ‘Page fishes in his pocket to reveal a set of dog tags with a lightning bolt etched into the metal. He’d place it around the kids neck who, in turn, had a wide smile upon his face. This was reflected by Dante who kneeled beside him, holding up a hand to receive a high-five before saying something to the effect of “nice shirt” before continuing on his trek to the ringside announce table, leaping over the barricade with a degree of alacrity to give Larsen and Morpheus the once over with malevolent, punitive eyes. This seems to cause Morph some discomfort who shifts awkwardly in his seat as RAMPAGE! lifts his headset and places it carefully over his head, snorting a chuckle as his music faded from the loudspeaker.

’Page: Don’t trip, old man. I ain’t here to fight - yet.

Morph: Trip? What is this…‘trip’ you speak of? I’m not walking. I’m not going on a cruise. Speak English! Or did they not teach you that in your hood?

’Page: Ha! That’s funny, Morph. Tell me…is it difficult to watch wrestling?

Morph: Is it difficult to lose high-profile matches?

‘Page: I’ll take that as “without question”. It must be difficult watching me carry matches, though, considering that you can’t even carry your colostomy bag without getting winded. What are you sick with today, you sad sack of shit? The clap? Cancer? HPV? And while we’re talking about losing high profile matches, who was the last guy you lost to? Oh yeah..that’s right. Zuma. Considering the lack of talent in that borefest, that’s about as high profile as you’re ever going to get.

Larsen: Owned.

Morph: …

With another confident smile, Dante merely seats himself beside Robb Larsen and gives him a handshake, pulling up the chair closer to the table as Morph drums his fingers against his temple in angst and impatience.

Larsen: We are now being joined by Alchemy’s own RAMPAGE!. Now ‘Page…people are wondering; why did you come to Anarchy tonight?

’Page: Three reasons, Robb. For one, my index fingers are broken. To be blunt with you, Syanide just straight fucked them up with that bat shot. I wasn’t medically cleared to compete tonight but I’m trying to rectify that as soon as possible. I want to fight, bruh. It’s all I was born to do.

Larsen: Of course of course. And the other reasons?

’Page: As you know, Peter..

Morph: Who?

’Page: Homicide. He has a real name. It is Peter. Try to keep up, tubby.

Larsen: ‘Page – 2; Morph - 0

Morph (grumbling): ….

Larsen: Nevermind him. Please continue.

’Page: Well as you know, Peter was a student of mine. I’m just checking on his progress personally since he turned up missing for the past couple of days. And finally, I’m here to scout out the New Breed.

Larsen: SoL?

Morph: No, douche tard, Buster Cherry.

’Page: Yeah. SoL. Aight for those of you at home and who don’t know…and I don’t see how you can’t…SoL comes from a little circle of hell now known as eel pee dubaya.

Morph: What the hell was that about?

‘Page: We nearly got sued last time the transcripts of the broadcast came out. Sounding it out phonetically works just fine. People know what I’m talking about. Anywho, SoL was something of a big shot back in the day. In fact, if memory serves, he was the longest reigning World Heavyweight Champion in said company. Am I right, boys?

Morph: Unfortunately.

Larsen: Spot on so far.

’Page: Aight. Well since said title reign, SoL has-

RAMPAGE! is interrupted by the sounds of N.E.R.D. – “Rock Star” to be exact as with a brazen stride, SoL emerges from the backstage area to a mixed reaction. A few fans in the front row are bowing in sign of respect of the New Breed who merely flashes them a cocky smile, toying with the Versace shades that hug the bridge of his nose. Buster Cherry scrambles into the ring, fumbling with the mic as a deafening chant of ‘SoL sucks dick’ breaks out just behind the announcer’s table to the pleasure of ‘Page who stands to watch as SoL makes his way down the entrance aisle.

’Page: Speak of the devil himself.

Cherry: The following match-up is for one fall! Introducing first – from Hollywood, California; weighing in at 245 pounds. He is the New Breed and the longest reigning World Champion in FMW history…he is SOL!

The ‘SoL sucks dick’ chant begins to fill the capacity of the arena as he makes it past the second rope, walking across the ring to stand on the turnbuckle closest to the announcers table. He raises his hands in a welcoming manner, smelling the air as though he is accepting the warm embrace of a close friend of confidant. Meanwhile, Dante merely folds his arms over his chest, smirking at the amusing appearance of the New Breed who removes his glasses to stare at the Blue Lightning as though his is something sub-human and filthy. RAMPAGE! himself merely sits down as SoL turns to give his glasses to the ref.

’Page: I wonder how much he paid Cherry to fellate him?

Larsen: I take it you’ve studied SoL before? You seem to know quite a bit about him.

’Page: His reputation precedes him. But yeah. I used to be a fan of Solomon’s. Back while I was in the indy circuit. He was always an entertaining talent to watch.

Larsen: Most men wouldn’t admit that.

Morph: That’s because most men are straight.

’Page: Ha! Good one, Mr. Chubs. But will get to that subject in a minute.

No sooner then he stopped speaking, “Tank!” by the Seatbelts began to play to little reaction. However, when it was seen that it was Homicide exiting from the curtain, the cheers began to replace the noiselessness. However, ‘Homicide’ appeared different. Instead of his usual flamboyant entrance that was fun-loving and whimsical, he strolled out to a crawling pace with a woman exuberantly trailing in his wake. Whilst she dealt out the fan appreciation, ‘Homicide’ stared down SoL with a fierce intensity.

Cherry: And his opponent – from Sydney, Australia. Weighing in at 210 lbs…PETER SAAAAAINT!

Before Cherry could spit out the last syllable, Saint flew between the ropes to deliver a spine-shattering Spear, mowing SoL down in one fluid movement and following it up with a mount, delivering calculated strikes to his head as the ring bell sounded.

Larsen: Homicide, or Peter Saint as he’s now wanting to be called , gives SoL something to think about with a quick take-down and a vicious barrage of haymakers as this match commences! That was some impressive speed on Saint’s part.

Morph: Firstly…what kind of name is Peter Saint? Secondly..who is that piece of ass he brought along with him?

’Page: One reflective of Peter’s personality, of course. And the SWB? That’s Sara, I think.

Morph: The one that got stapled by the SoCal Connection?

’Page: I’m pretty sure the very same unless Saint has a thing for chicks named Sara.

Morph: But..but..she’s hot! Why the fuck would you staple the face of something that pretty?!

‘Page: Who knows what motivates the SoCal Connection? By the looks of it, I'm guessing championship gold may not be on that list much longer if some rooks have a say. Anywho..can you do your job and call the match? I think that Saint’s setting SoL up for his Guttermouth.

Morph: What?

It is indeed the Guttermouth as Saint looks around the cheering arena who want to see SoL get what’s coming to him. Saint locks his hands around SoL’s wrists, placing him on his stomach like vermin and lifting him at an angle only to stop his face back down into the mat. This causes some of the audience to cringe including Sara.

Larsen: A nasty shot to the back of the head from Saint as he quickly goes for the cover.

One…
Two…

Shoulder up after a two-count. Saint wastes little time, however, locking in a quick headlock to keep the pressure on the debuting New Breed.

Morph: That was pretty creative I must say.

‘Page: Peter doesn’t lack creativity nor talent. What he lacks is a mean-streak. He’s too overly concerned with being everyone’s buddy.

Whilst the headlock is still clasped, Saint gives SoL shots to the head, driving his knees into the top of his crown with a heartlessness in his demeanor.

Morph: How can you say that when he dropped McDaygo like a bad-habit?

‘Page: Even then, he seemed apologetic. Sure it was shady but if you’re going to do something, commit whole-heartedly to it. Just don’t renig on what you believe to be right because other people are telling you otherwise. Make that mistake for yourself and learn from it. Unfortunately, Saint just made another mistake and underestimated the craftiness that Solomon is renowned for.

SoL escapes from Saint’s clutches with a thumb to eye, being reprimanded by the referee as he slid out of the ring to recover. Continuing to vainly check his face for any signs of damage, SoL spits in disgust as the ref continues to urge him to return the ring before he initiates a ten-count.

Larsen: The cheap shot gives SoL a chance to catch a breather. Wise as this could change the momentum of the match.

Morph: No one ever said that SoL wasn’t smart.

‘Page: I have. Plenty of times.

Morph: In any case, he’s going to use his ring experience to command the ring and defeat your prized pupil. Don’t the words “Longest Reigning World Champion in LPW History” register with you?

SoL rolls beneath the bottom rope and quickly begins to put the boot to Saint who is begged by Sara to avoid the crushing blows. SoL, however, is a man incensed, shoving his boot into Peter’s face and grinding it against his jaw while using the ring ropes for leverage. A quick knee-drop would break the five-count that the ref was establishing before he repeated the cycle.

‘Page: It would if Solomon didn’t treat everyone like a plebian. I could give a damn what he did in some other place, Morpheus. Or what you’ve done. Or what Robb’s done. Or what Dalby Sound’s done. Or Showstoppa. Or even fuckin’ Jaro for that matter! None of those guys can take the credit for single-handedly building this company. It was built on our backs and we still carry that mantle to this day very proudly. I’ll be damned if I show respect to someone who is merely here because he can’t use his leverage in his own company to get over. That ain’t how it works where I’m from. You come to someone else’s territory, you have to earn your respect and your claim to fame.

Larsen: SoL seems to be taking this message to heart as I’ve never seen him this wild or angered. He’s just wailing on Saint with rights and lefts…not even allowing him the chance to cover up. And when he does, he gets a sharp jab to the pelvic region for his troubles beyond the ref’s line of vision!

Morph: SoL’s just doing what he does best…entertaining the masses. He doesn’t necessarily have to be pretty while doing it.

Larsen: Think of who you’re talking about here, Morph.

Morph: True enough. But I see what you’re talking about, Larsen. He seems..different. Like something isn’t right.

‘Page: Maybe that ugly look on his face is from him finally smelling all the shit he’s full of.

SoL lifts Saint to his feet, striking him with a fervent veracity across his chin. Throwing him across the adjacent ropes and catching him on the rebound, SoL hits Saint with a stiff clothesline that causes Saint’s body to contort awkwardly, crashing to the ground as SoL looked upon his victim with a callous sneer.

Larsen: What a hit taken by Saint! SoL just leveled him with that strong clothesline!

Morph: Did someone get the number of that bus? That was just nasty. What do you have to say about that, Mr. Jones?

‘Page: Oh we’re formal now? I didn’t take anything away from SoL’s ability. He’s a helluve a competitor. But he’s a smile in your face – the SoL you see isn’t the real SoL. The real SoL is insecure with what he’s become and he needs to feed that insatiable hunger to keep up appearances. He’s a vain bastard condemned to live out his life unfulfilled and idle. The idle mind is a dangerous thing, Morph. Innocent people get hurt in the process of idle mind’s quest for fulfillment. To hell with SoL’s ego and..shit. That had to hurt.

As ‘Page was sermonizing, SoL quickly ran and bounced off the ropes, getting big air. Seemingly hanging mid-air, SoL would plummet across Saint’s upper torso with a leg drop, sending him into violent convulsions as he clutched his neck, coking in agony. A look of concern flitted across Dante’s face momentarily which was echoed by Sara who appeared simply horrified. An uncaring SoL lazily covered Peter.

Larsen: After Air SoL took off and damn near tore a hole in the sky, he goes confidently for the cover!

One!
Two!!
Thr-

Kick out at the last millisecond by a resilient Peter Saint! The look of disgust is evident on SoL’s face who brings himself and the battered Peter Saint to a vertical base.

Morph: Maybe he’s going to slap some sense into him. That name is totally lame.

‘Page: And Morpheus isn’t?

Morph: …Why can’t you just go back to Alchemy?

Larsen: Well funny names or not, the two are now battling each other; rights and lefts in an exchange of pure striking. However, Saint gains the advantage, leveling SoL with precise strikes reminiscent of his teacher – the Blue Lightning. This bevy of rage issuing forth from the Young Saint is strangely familiar as he continues to unleash his fury! And the crowd loves it! Kick to the mid-section and a hooking of the back-leg in a technical sweep. And out of nowhere, Saint hits a Standing SSP! Saint with the cover –

One..
Two..

Kick out from SoL! So close there that even the crowd can taste Peter’s disappointment. Is this the training of RAMPAGE! we’re seeing?

Morph: Don’t boost his ego anymore, Larsen. Please. If that little shit wins this match, I swear I’ll go on a diet.

‘Page: I’ll hold you to that. But no..this isn’t my training. This is Peter finally beginning to understand what he must do to win a match on his own merit and make his own path. See unlike SoL who had to cock-fondle Stone to get into the limelight, Saint is adamant about being his own man with his own image. You’d know all about cock-fondling someone to get an undeserved spot wouldn’t you, Morph? It’s how you got this job, after all.

Morph: …

‘Page: The King of Comebacks and Put-downs is at a loss for words. Someone break out the Slim Fast and the Jenny Craig chicken.

With Larsen snickering, the camera returns to the ring. Saint strong Irish Whip’s SoL into an isolated corner of the ring. His head jarringly snaps backward from impact, SoL appearing dazed and unaware of his surroundings. Carefully, Saint extracts any remaining energy out of the New Breed with pulsating blows to the body, winding SoL who gasps for breath like a dying man.

Larsen: With RAMPAGE! firmly taking control of Morpheus and his mouth..wow someone shut him up. And with Peter Saint taking control of his match-up in similar fashion, it seems as though we might have an upset victory on our hands.

Morph: Well, numb nuts, as Kunta here can probably agree with, guys like SoL in a corner don’t mean they’re defeated. It means they’re more dangerous then ever.

‘Page: And for once, I agree with Boss Hog here completely. Saint needs to not get sloppy and put this one away to show SoL that all the whining for your Chlamydia laced ex-dime piece won’t gain any sympathy after you got chumped worse then the Orlando Magic in the playoffs.

Support abound from the crowd and from his girlfriend, Saint points to ‘Page who reciprocates with a nod of endearment. Patting his knee, Saint signifies that he is going for a high-knee lift, running to the corner full steam to lift into the air. SoL has other plans as he coyly avoids the knee-lift and watches as Saint gets tangled into the top rope. Quickly, SoL leaps at this chance, both figuratively and literally, and gives Saint a Neck Breaker across the top turnbuckle that sends him tumbling down into the steel steps. The crowd and the air around the arena seems to stiffen as a winded SoL, wincing in pain, gets to a knee. Saint remains on the floor stilled by the knock-out blow.

Morph: And just like that, SoL proves that you can’t train for experience.

Larsen: After executing a picture perfect cutter, Peter Saint appears to be all but dead! Jesus can we get someone to check him out down he-

‘Page: No.

Larsen: Are you insane?! The man could be paralyzed for all we know!

‘Page: This is Peter’s fight and he won’t give up until he’s won it. He needs to prove to himself that he isn’t a pushover that can be underestimated by the stuck-up upper crust like SoL. He’ll get up on his own.

The crowd begins to chant “Saint! Saint! Saint!” as Peter begins to stir, pressing his knuckles into the ground and slowly pushing himself to an erect stature. The crowd grows louder as slowly but surely, Saint climbs to his feet much to this utter disbelief and malign of SoL who begins to urge the ref to start the ten-count. Bound by rules, the ref initiates the count with a minor spat of hesitance. Saint reaches the crest of his climb with a bleary, concussed look in his eyes. Stumbling about in a stupor, he uses the ring post to steady himself along with assistance from Sara whom he reassures that he’s fine. Larsen appears to nearly have defecated on himself.

1!

Morph: I don’t fucking believe it. The little shit has guts I’ll give him that.
2!

Larsen: This is amazing, ladies and gentlemen! Just mere moments after suffering a huge neck-breaker that damn well could have ended his career, Peter Saint is back on his feet and standing tall! Whosoever questions the temerity of this kid needs to sit down and drink a nice big cup of shut the fuck up. Color myself a Peter Saint mark.

3!

‘Page: You’ll be marking in vain if he doesn’t answer this ten-count quicker. Get off your ass and go, dipshit!

4!

Morph: The lights are on but nobody’s home. Call this one done already, ref. He’s too afraid to get back into the ring with the New Breed. You two keep jacking him off about his heart but what I see is Saint having an epiphany. He knows he isn’t cut out for this business and he’s contemplating walking out here and now.

5!

Larsen: Epiphany or no epiphany, Saint appears to be in a daze and unaware of his surroundings. Perhaps he should have stayed on the floor and waited for the EMTs to check him out because he doesn’t seem to be all there.

6!

‘Page: He isn’t ready to give up. Not just yet. And if he does, I’mma beat that ass like my name was Ike Turner.

7!

Morph: Get ready for Peter Saint to legally change his name to ‘Tina Turner’ then, Chocolate Face. Make sure he doesn’t bruise too easy like a Georgia Peach.

8!

Larsen: This is make or break time. Saint needs to make a crucial decision here and now.

9!

‘Page: Peter – if you don’t get your ass into that ring I swear to God Almighty himself I will break my foot so far off into your ass, you’ll sweat shoe polish for the next week and a half. Get the fuck up!

The blank, vacant expression that was on Saint’s face seems to evaporates as his conviction is re-affirmed. He rolls beneath the bottom rope, weary and worsted by the machinations of the uncompassionate SoL. The throngs of cheers and support for Saint’s glorious return are quickly overrun with boos and threats of riot as SoL quickly applies a rabid boot to Saint’s sternum, repeatedly stabbing into him before moving onto the head to exasperate the injury suffered by the neck breaker. RAMPAGE! himself, however, issues a sigh of relief.

Larsen: Saint quickly makes it back to the ring only to be met with the disgusting disregard of one SoL who has a reputation of being an opportunist.

‘Page: That reputation earned him my discontent. He’s stomping a downed man like he’s a goddamn doormat. Y’all see this as SoL trying to win a match. I see this as what SoL wants to do to FMW. SoL is a cancer – a malignant growth that will continue to spread unless someone who has a pair decides to do something about it.

Morph: So why do you keep talking and why don’t you do something about it?

‘Page: I’m a man of principle, Morph. I don’t just go jumpin’ niggas to be jumpin’ niggas. That’s a fucked up mentality to have. If and when I fight SoL, it will be one on one. I don’t need leverage to beat down something that’s a shell of a man.

Larsen: Shell or no shell, SoL is taking Saint through the woodshed. The ref is trying to call this one down the middle but its only a matter of time before someone snaps and all hell breaks loose. But the ref does the right thing by getting in the face of SoL for being too aggressive.

Morph: ‘Too aggressive’? Since when did you become a pansy ass, feminized, liberal cock jocker, Larsen? Wait. Don’t answer that. This is wrestling. It is supposed to be smash mouth, in-your-face, no courtesy, no pussy-footing fighting.

‘Page: And once again, Morph is right. Peter knew what he was getting into when he got into this business. He doesn’t need some ref who is on explicit orders to prevent lawsuits from happening to baby him.

The babying, however, had gotten Saint the chance to get to a knee while SoL jaws at the ref, complaining that he is being treated unfairly. The crowd, sensing SoL’s whining, break out into a ‘Satisfaction’ chant to further aggravated the already perturbed New Breed. Getting impatient with the ref, SoL would shove him out of the way, walking towards Saint with vindictive intent. Suddenly, however, Saint gives SoL a Pele Kick square into the head completely stunning the crowd as well as SoL who crumples to the ground in a heap.

Larsen: Out of no where, Saint lands a Pele Kick with an amount of aerial pliancy that can’t and shouldn’t be expected of him! Saint with the cover!

One!
TWO!!
THRE-

No! Kick out by SoL! Kick out by SoL! Somehow, SoL fought off the shock of the Pele Kick and mustered enough strength to get his shoulder off the canvas! That looks like the last reserve of energy that either of these men had as both are clearly wounded.

Morph: These men have taken one another to the limit and beyond. Neither one seems to have any gas left. I’m still surprised no one has gone for their finisher, yet. You’d think that SoL would want to end this as quickly as possible.

‘Page: Two reasons why he hasn’t tried his finisher yet, Morph. He thinks Peter is beneath him and that he shouldn’t have to use his finisher to defeat him. Secondly, he’s too concerned with making himself look good. All and all, he’s shooting himself in the foot.

Larsen: SoL using the ring ropes to get himself back to his feet and avoid the double ten count. He looks absolutely pissed it’s taken this long to defeat Saint.

Morph: It shouldn’t take this long to defeat him. He’s nothing special. I don’t see why you even took the time to train him when so far, he’s been as big a joke as you have in title situations. Or maybe that’s why you chose him? Because he’s as big a fuck up as you are.

‘Page: Your partner has a big mouth, Larsen. For his sake, I’d suggest he’d shut it. I’m starting to get-

Morph: What? Angry? Next you’re going to remind everyone that we wouldn’t like you when you’re angry? Who gives a shit, kid? I certainly don’t. If you relish the thought of getting your ass handed to you by the Lord of the Dream Realm, I’d be delighted to acquiesce your request. Don’t turn all green on me in the process there, Hood Hogan.

‘Page: Actually. I was going to tell everyone that I’m starting to get gassy. I didn’t want you to breathe in the foul smell. Anything extra pumped into that bulbous body of yours might cause you to keel over and die. You might wanna check that anger problem. At your weight, it’s bad for your heart.

Meanwhile, SoL sets up for what appears to be the Jungle Kick, relishing in the opportunity to finally put this one away. He lays in wait as Saint slowly stirs, shaking his head to free out any of the cobwebs as the cries from the crowd and Sara don’t properly warn him of the foreboding fate that awaits him. SoL looks positively possessed, clutching his head while supporting himself on the ropes as he stalks the downed Saint who finally gets to his feet.

Morph: If SoL lands this, this little fantasy realm you live in where the good guys win is going to be shattered, Jones. And I will gladly trample on anything that you hold dear including your little life partner as well as any idealisms you hold close to your heart. SoL – knock his fucking block off.

Larsen: SoL ..readying for the YES! The Jungle Kick! That shot took Saint’s head clean off his shoulders! This one is over, folks! Write down a W in the wins column for SoL because this is just a matter of a three count. SoL with the cover!

ONE!
TWO!!
THRE-

WHAT?! SAINT KICKED OUT! SAINT KICKED OUT! This Belfast crowd is going nuts but Saint Kicked out of the Jungle Kick! What the hell does SoL have to do to put this kid away?!

Morph: That was a slow-ass count. My dead grams could count faster then that.

Larsen: SoL seems to agree with you as for the second time during this match, he’s getting into the face of the official.

After a few moments of bickering, SoL becomes flustered and shoves the ref into a corner. The ref, in turn, shoves him back, threatening to disqualify him should he do it again. Pondering this momentarily, SoL shoves the ref once more…except this time, the referee’s head bounces off of the steel ring post, rendering him unconscious. Blessed by this new lawless state, SoL rolls beneath the bottom rope to make his way over to the time keeper.

‘Page: Son of a bitch. I knew this would come up sooner or later.

Morph: I wish it would have been sooner. I’m missing my soaps.

Larsen: SoL intentionally knocked out the referee and now is making his way to the time keeper. You know what I hate? When commentators pretend like they don’t know what is about to happen. But I’ll tell everyone what’s about to happen. SoL is going to get a chair and try to pummel Peter Saint’s brains into the side of the canvas. And once he’s satisfied with how fucked up Saint is, he’s going to rouse the delirious ref and go for the pin.

‘Page: And as entertaining as that might be for some people, it just don’t sit right with me. ‘Scuse me bruh. I have some business to attend to.

With SoL finally wresting the chair from the time keeper and threatening to slap him for his impudence, he slowly begins to turn to find himself facing RAMPAGE!. This meeting excites the crowd who become electric as ‘Page gives SoL a mocking wave and a confident smirk. SoL, already frustrated from the lack of results during the match, takes an errant swing towards Jones’ head. Ducking, ‘Page kicks SoL in the mid-section and hoists him on his shoulders with apparent ease, setting up for the Go II Sleep. The crowd gets exponentially louder at this prospect.

Larsen: And RAMPAGE! now has stopped SoL dead in his tracks, locking him in for the Go II SLEEP!

Morph: What happened to all that self-righteous bullshit about it being Saint’s fight?

Larsen: SoL was the one who felt he had to cheat to win, Morph! He has no one to blame but himself! Kick his ass, C-Bass!

Just as it appears as though SoL is going to get his come-uppance, the New Breed rakes ‘Page in the eye who recoils and releases his hold on SoL, swinging blinding with one hand while consoling his wound with the other. SoL backs his way into the ring, unaware that Peter Saint is now on his feet, awaiting his foe to turn around. A rapid strike to the face and a lock-up provide him with the means of interlocking their limbs, raising SoL over his shoulder.

Larsen: SoL thought he got away scott-free but was caught by Saint! Saint with what appears to be a pump-handle slam but..NO! That combination between a piledriver and a pump-handle was just vicious! I’m just receiving word that Saint refers to it as the Stray Dog Strut! Saint with the cover!!

ONE!
TWO!!
THREE!!!

The ring bell tolls and “Tank!” by the Seatbelts is mixed in with the cheers of the crowd as Saint raises from a kneeling position. He clutches at the back of his head, grimacing in pain as SoL rolls out of the ring in shameful defeat. Sara quickly and happily rushes into the ring to hug Saint who reciprocates the show of affection.

Cherry: Here is your winner – Peter Saint!

Peter Saint (4.08 aps + 1.2 vote = 5.28 total)
SoL (4.06 aps + 0.8 vote = 4.86 total)

Larsen: This is an upset, folks. Peter Saint has just defeated SoL in one of the most exciting live television matches to date. And you can just sense the relief that has washed over Saint who is now hugging Sara as if his life depended on it.

Morph: But this just goes to question how much did RAMPAGE! just piss off the New Breed? He can’t be happy that the street urchin is mixing it up in his business.

SoL himself struggles to get up, using the ring apron to prop himself against the ring. However, a hand offers its help to the New Breed which he gladly accepts. The cheers of the crowd, however, show that SoL was unwise in accepting this form of help. RAMPAGE! leers over the New Breed who tries to escape his firm grasp over his hand. ‘Page pulls him close, smirking gauntly as he uttered a simple statement:

‘Page: Welcome to FMW.

And with that gives SoL a Super-Kick to the jaw, spitting at the ground SoL now lays upon as the crowd chants “FM Dub! FM Dub!”. With a smile still on his mouth and a pounding of the chest given to show respect to his pupil, RAMPAGE! makes his way up the entrance ramp with a single fist raised in the air as the camera shot fades to another of Vinny's tributes.




The screen fades to the logo that once again reminds us that it’s Showstoppa Appreciation Night.

Stone:…DIABOLICAL SEEMS TO BE SETTING SHOW UP FOR THE LETHAL INJECTION! HE WANTS TO MAKE SURE SHOW IS NEVER A THREAT TO HIM AGAIN!

Foxx:HE”S GOT HIM UP…

Stone:BUT SHOW COUNTERS!! SHOW’S ROLLED HIM UP!! THE REF IS COUNTING!!!

ONE!!!!!!!
TWO!!!!!
THREEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!!!!

SHOWSTOPPA HAS JUST PINNED DIABOLICAL!! HE’S REGAINED THE C4 CHAMPIONSHIP!!!!

Cherry:THE WINNER OF THIS MATCH AND THE NEW C4 CHAMPION….SHHHHOOOWWWSTTTTOPPPAAAAAAAA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Our scene cuts backstage to Dalby Sound putting his wrist tape on, talking with Showstoppa and Johnny.

Show: Believe it or not, I don’t watch much of this hardcore barbarity. It was Johnny who saw your work elsewhere, and said ‘I like this kid, he marches to his own drummer’.

Johnny curtsies at Dalby and steps off to answer his cellphone.

Dalby: Well, I thank you gentlemen for the chance you're giving me tonight to showcase my skill against a main event caliber opponent.

Show: Well, it will be a good match up. cYn needed a worthy opponent to ready himself for the Paper Tiger, Ethan Black, and you need to gauge yourself against a top dog. Perfect fit.

Dalby: Agreed sir. I’ve followed your career since you debuted as Pyro: The Showstoppa, if you can believe that. Can you do me one last favor?

Show: Absolutely, young man.

Dalby Sound goes into his gearbag and removes a SIGNIFIGANT OTHERS: GREATER SIGNIFIGANCE DVD, which has already been signed by Diddly Fusion. Showstoppa is handed a sharpie as he looks at it with hesitation and regret.

Dalby: Something wrong, Vin?

Show: Sometimes, Dalby, you need to weigh your successes against their cost, is all. Where’d you get Diddly to sign this?

Dalby: I met him at a Sci-Fi convention last year, if you can believe it.


The Showman sighs, and writes the following on the DVD cover, above his signature: “You are as the future of this industry, and the future is in good hands.”

Dalby looks at it and smiles.

Dalby: Thanks, Show.

Show: Not a problem, Dalby, but I need you to reciprocate my good will.

Dalby: Sure.

Show hands him 2 large envelopes, removing a third from the bag and asking Johnny to hold it.

Show: Take these two envelopes and fax their contents to the corporate office. King Guiomar messed up my fax connection by destroying my wall.

Dalby: Not a problem, mind if I ask what’s in them?

Show: Well, as you said earlier about proving your skills, that’s my driving motivation. In exchange for some favorable booking tonight, two Anarchists agreed to matches with me at a later date. These are now notarized and legally binding. So, combine that with the contract over there Johnny’s holding that I’m bestowing on my friend and arch-nemeses later, and I’ve gotten more out of this one night as GM then Phantom did in nearly a year.

Dalby: Ingenious. Title Shots, I assume?

Show: Of course not. I have the only title that matters. This is merely to see who is the best, my honor dictates that I know.

Dalby: Before I go, I just want to know… what’s your favorite memory of 6 years on the road?

Show: Hrm.

Dalby: Selling out the Garden against Phantom Lord and Baseballz? Beating Sheepster in his town? Barbed Wire Warefare against Villiano? Slapping the taste right out of 2TX’s mouth?

Show: All good memories, but not the best. Not by a mile. You'll see soon, I promise. In fact, check the the monitor if you can win this match of yours.

Cherry: The following match is scheduled for one fall!!!

“The Pot” by Tool hits across the arena, as through the curtain walks Dalby Sound, where he is greeted by a chorus of boos…

Cherry: Introducing first, from Edmonton, Alberta Canada, weighing in at 225 pounds….DAAAALLLBBBYYYY SOOOUUUNNDDDD!!!!!!!!

Larsen: Here’s a guy that’s coming off a great showing in the Mount Vesuvius Match!

Morph: I’m sure he’s still quite banged up from that match though!

Larsen: I’m sure his opponent will be pretty banged up himself! Keep in mind Cynical was one of the final 10 competitors in that match!

“Cult of Personality” by Living Color hits into the area, resulting in a huge pop for Cynical as he exits the curtain and begins to make his way down towards the ring, accompanied by Smoochy…

Cherry: Introducing next, hailing from the “Dark Side of Your Subconscious,” weighing in at 190 pounds, being accompanied to the ring by Smoochy, he is CCCYYYNNICCCAAALLL!!!!!!!

Larsen: This should be a great matchup here tonight Morph!

Morph: Yes it should!

Larsen: That’s all you got?

Morph: Yep!

Both men have now entered the ring and are ordered into there separate corners by the ref. He calls for the bell and this match gets underway! Neither man is quick to engage the other, until Dalby lunges towards Cyn, looking for a single leg takedown. Cyn however dodges his attempt and delivers a stiff kick right to the head of Dalby!

Larsen: What a kick by Cyn! Dalby must be seeing stars!

Morph: You could hear the sound of that kick all the way across the arena!

Larsen: Cyn now looking to press his early advantage, pulling Dalby off the mat! He greets him with a knee to the stomach, puts him in position for a vertical suplex…

Morph: But Dalby counters, sending Cyn towards the ropes!

Larsen: Cynical with a Lariat…

Morph: BUT DALBY DUCKS. Dalby off the ropes…

Larsen: Bulldog on Cynical from Dalby!!

Morph: Dalby now locking on a front face lock, but Cynical powers out! Nice exchange there by both men! Neither able to get much going for very long!

Larsen: The two now locking up in a high collar and elbow tie-up, Dalby with a knee to Cynical’s, midsection, and he sends him running with an irish whip… and greats him with a beautiful arm drag upon his return!

Morph: Cynical up quickly, charges at Dalby…

Larsen: and Dalby again sends him flying with an arm drag! Dalby now looking to press his advantage, stomping away at the chest of Cynical…

Morph: Before dropping a big knee right onto Cynicals’ forehead!

Larsen: Dalby’s going for the first cover of the match! Here’s the count! ONE!! TW.. And Cynical kicks out!

Morph: Dalby now pulling Cynical up of the canvas..and hits him with a Fisherman’s Suplex!

Larsen: He’s going for another cover….ONE!! TWO!!!

Morph: AND CYNICAL KICKS OUT AT TWO!!!!

Larsen: Dalby now looking for another suplex, but Cyn blocked his attempt! Cynical with a forearm shot to Dalby’s chest… which he follows up with a DDT!!

Morph: Dalby’s head just got spiked into that mat! That Sounded painful!

Larsen: Cynical going for the cover…but Dalby kicks out at ONE! Nice job by Sound to kick out at one Morph!

Cynical is quick to press his advantage on Dalby, mounting him and raining down punches on his forehead, until told to stop by the ref. He then pulls Dalby up off the mat and attempts a kick to his midsection. Dalby however anticipates his kick and catches his foot, only to be met with an enziguiri!

Larsen: Beautiful kick there by Cynical! Dalby’s ears must be ringing!

Morph: Dalby is slow to sit up…

Larsen: And CYNICAL NAILS HIM WITH A SHINING WIZARD!!!

Morph: He hit Dalby with himself?

Larsen: CYN NOW GOING FOR THE COVER!!! ONE!!!!! TWO!!!!!. TH.

Morph: DALBY KICKED OUT!!!

Larsen: Cynical now locking on a Sleeper hold! Dalby looks like he might be fading!

Morph: He’s still got some fight left in him! Hard elbows from Dalby to Cynical, forcing him to break the hold!

Larsen: Both men now back up to there feet, and Cynical makes the first move with a hard chop to the chest of Dalby! He follows that up with another, and another, and finally whips Dalby towards the turnbuckle! Cynical now charging at Dalby, looking for the splash…


Morph: BUT DALBY MOVED!!!! CYNICAL JUST ATE A MOUTH FULL OF TURNBUCKLE!!!

Larsen: DALBY WITH A ROLE-UP ON CYNICAL!! THE REF’S MAKING THE COUNT!!!! ONE!!!! TWO!!!!

Morph: AND CYNICAL KICKED OUT!

Larsen: Dalby now pulling Cynical up to his feet. He slips in behind him! Looks like he’s going for a German Suplex!

Morph: Dalby’s turning though! He’s going to suplex Cynical right into the turnbuckle!

Larsen:AND HE DOES! DALBY JUST HIT A GERMAN SUPELX THAT SENT CYNICAL CRASHING INTO THE TURNBUCKLE! AND HE FOLLOWS THAT WITH A KNEE DROP FROM THE SECOND ROPE!

Morph: DALBY AGAIN WITH THE COVER!!! ONE!!!! TWO!!! TH..

Larsen: BUT CYNICAL KICKS OUT ONCE MORE!!!

Everyone in the arena can see that Dalby is clearly getting frustrated as he pounds the mat in frustration. He pulls Cynical up off the canvas and begins going at him with hard chops to the chest. He follows those up with a stiff kick to Cynicals’ midsection, which causes the Wizard to double over. Dalby then sends him crashing to the mat again with a beautiful swinging neckbreaker!

Larsen: Picture perfect neckbreaker there by Dalby! I think he’s trying to lock in the ITAP on Cynical Morph!

Morph: He is Larsen! But Cynical is fighting it with everything he’s got!

Larsen: Dalby trying to lock in Cynical’s arm, but Cynical is just raining punches with his other hand, forcing Dalby to forgo his attempts!

Morph: Hard rights still being thrown by the wizard who is up to his feet, with Dalby reeling from those punches.

Larsen: Dalby now trying to get to his feet, but HE’S DRILLED WITH A THRUST KICK FROM CYNICAL! THAT ALMOST TOOK DALBY’S HEAD OFF!

Morph: That would have been damn cool to see.

Larsen: Cynical now going for the cover…ONE!...TWO!!!...TH..

Morph: DALBY KICKED OUT!!!

Larsen: CYNICAL LOOKING TO PRESS HIS ADVANTAGE, LOOKS LIKE HE’S SETTING HIM UP FOR THE NEGATIVE OUTLOOK!

Morph: BUT DALBY COUNTERS, SENDING CYNICAL CRASHING INTO THE REF, WHO GOT CAUGHT BETWEEN CYNICAL AND THE TURNBUCKLE! HE MAY BE OUT!!!

Larsen: AND DALBY TAKES ADVANTAGE WITH A LOW BLOW!

Morph: The Ref gets knocked out and Dalby takes advantage with a low blow! How often does that happen!

Larsen: Dalby now heading towards the outside! And look what he’s found! A nice shiny steel chair!

Morph: AND HE DRILLS CYNICAL WITH IT! RIGHT IN THE FOREHEAD! CYNICAL MAY BE OUT!

Larsen: DALBY NOW LOCKING ON THE ITAP!!! HE’S GOT IT LOCKED IN!!

Morph: CYNICAL’S TAPPING!!

Larsen: BUT THE REF IS STILL DOWN!! CYNICAL’S TAPPING OUT BUT THE REF IS DOWN!

Dalby keeps the hold locked in for a few more seconds before angrily breaking it. He then grabs the steel chair, and places it on the mat in the middle of the ring!

Morph: What’s he got in mind Larsen!

Larsen: HE’S GOING TO SPIKE CYNICAL RIGHT ON THAT CHAIR!

Morph: BUT CYNICAL COUNTERS WITH A BACKBODY DROP! AND HE’S TAKING THE FIGHT TO DALBY NOW! STOMPING AWAY AT HIM!

Larsen: LOOKS LIKE HE’S SIGNALLING FOR THE CYNABURST!

Morph: HE IS!

Larsen: CYNABURST ON THE STEEL CHAIR!!! CYN JUST HIT DALBY WITH THE CYNABURST ON THE STEEL!!

Morph: CYNICAL KICKS THE CHAIR OUT OF THE RING AND IS DRAGGING THE REFEREE OVER, TRYING TO REVIVE HIM ALONG THE WAY!

Larsen: CYNICAL GOES FOR THE COVER! THE REF’S MAKING THE COUNT!!!

ONE!!!!.....TWO!!!!! THREE!!!!!!!

Larsen: CYNICAL HAS JUST PINNED DALBY SOUND!!!!

cYnical (3.94 aps + 1.1 vote = 5.04 total)
Dalby Sound (3.98 aps + 0.8 vote = 4.78 total)

Cherry: Ladies and Gentleman, the winner of this match….CYNNNICCAAALLLL!!!!!

Larsen: Morph, wouldn’t you have to say that Cynical’s experience one him that match?

Morph: No I’d say that The Cynaburst on a steel chair won him that match.

In the ring stands Cynical, along with Smoochy, celebrating his hard fought win, as the crowd showers him with applause. Suddenly a figure is seen rushing through the crowd, a figure who hops over the barricade and into the ring, were he spears Cynical to the mat!

Larsen: IT”s JOHN DERRICK! JOHN DERRICK IS IN THE RING GOING TO TOWN ON CYNICAL!! HE’S RAINING DOWN PUNCHES ONTO CYNICAL!!

Morph: PAYBACK’S A BITCH LARSEN!!

Larsen: LOOK UP ON THE RAMP MORPH! IT’S ETHAN BLACK!!

Morph: WHAT THE HELL IS HE DOING OUT HERE!

As Derrick continues to beat on Cynical in the ring Black stands at the top of the ramp laughing Maniacally! His Laugher increases even moreso as John Derrick hits the “Whiskey Blackout #7 on Cynical in the middle of the ring, a move that leaves Cynical seemingly blacked out!

Larsen: DERRICK WITH THE OL’ NUMBER 7!” ON CYNICAL! LOOK AT HIM NOW! HE’S JUST STANDING OVER CYNICAL’S LIMP BODY, SMILING DOWN AT HIM!

Morph: I’m at a loss for words Morph! Will someone tell me what the hell is going on? What is the deal with Derrick and Cynical? And what the hell is Ethan Black doing out here?

Larsen: It certainly makes me wonder if the Black Covenant has just gained a new recruit!

Morph: I hope not, but I guess we will have to wait and see…



Yes, It’s still SHOWSTOPPA APPRECIATION NIGHT. This time, we cut to Yankee Stadium where a sold out 56,000 plus are ready to explode for RUMBLE IN THE BRONX. In the ring stand Animal and Snowman, the second incarnation of Vigilante Justice, later known as the Radicalz. The babyface challengers pace back and forth, taken aback by the nasty reception they received from the New York crowd. And then, their reception gets worse. Then ‘Duel of the Fates’ plays Diddly Fusion to the ring and the House That Ruth Built goes nuts.

Cherry: Weighing in at a crisp 217 pounds, hailing from Austin, Texas, the hardcore legend, ONE HALF OF THE WORLD TAG TEAM CHAMPIONS, …..S F S!!!!!!!

The crowd pelts Vigilante Justice with debris and Fusion with streamers, and chants of ‘DIDD-LY FUS-ION clap clap clap-clap-clap, DIDD-LY FUS-ION clap clap clap-clap-clap’. Diddly is floored by the reaction, not used to a welcome quite like this. And then the lights go out, and if possible, it gets louder. Three wise men from Bensonhurst appear on stage, and Mario D. works the building into a lather.

Beastie Boys: NO SLEEP ‘TIL….BROOKLYN!

The Beastie Boys rap the Homo Heartthrob to the ring as streamers greet him as well as more than a standing ovation for the hometown hero.

Cherry: AND FROM BROOKLYN NEW YORK, THE FUCKING GOD OF PROFESSIONAL WRESTLING, THIS…IS…SHOWSTOPPA!

With that, the scene cuts to the end of the match. Diddly delivers an Honor Roll on Snowman as Showstoppa cuts Animal down with a Showtune. Stereo pinfalls seal the deal as the building roars and we fade to commercial.

Referee, General Manager, C-4 Champion and Wrestling Deity Showstoppa pauses on his way to the guerrilla position, at the lockerroom of The Legendary cYnical. He opens the door to find cYnical sitting in complete blackness, sans his TV, which is showing a tape of Ethan Black vs. Alex O’Rion.

cYnical: Don’t you have a match to referee?

Show: Momentarily. Studying?

cYnical: Yes. He’s going to be tough, but I think I’ve found a chink in the armor.

Show: You looked good out there tonight, bro. Best of luck against, Black. Can you do me a favor?

cYnical: Sure.

Show: See to it Sheepster gets this.

Showstoppa hands cYn a large mailing envelope.

cYnical: If you don’t mind me asking, what is it?

Show: Well, it’s a show of my gratitude for him picking up my scraps and taking care of what I couldn’t at Mount Vesuvius, Syanide. Furthermore: It’s the answer to the question we’ve all had for years. He and Styxx went 1 and 1 against SFS and Myself. I went 1 and 2 against him in singles matches. We’ve had some other skirmishes too, decided by insignificants like BD Barlow, but essentially it’s 2-3. One of the great rivalries of all time, and it’s winner is still very much undecided. Last time, I beat him in a streetfight, in his country. Before we could finish things, I was fired. This will settle it, it’s a guaranteed contract. Whenever we can clear our schedules. Regardless of if I’m still Champion, which, I intend to be, but I’m as good at defending titles as you are, this match needs to happen. This contract seals it, Showstoppa, Sheepster, Maximum C-4. Have your people call my people.

cYnical smiles to himself and sets the envelope aside as Showstoppa exits.

cYnical: The more things change, the more they stay the same. As good as you at defending titles, he says. Homo.

As we return from commercial, Saint Michael Dreamkiller has joined Larsen and Morpheus at the commentary table. At the timekeepers table sits Styxx, in the ring are Dalby Sound and Dreamkiller’s Pet, X.

Sound: And in this corner, the challenger, he is the monster simply known as…X!

The Crowd greets X with a shower of boos as ‘We Run This’ by Missy Elliot comes over the PA and Showstoppa and Johnny appear on stage. Johnny carries the C-4 Title, having a seat besides Styxx as Showstoppa slides into the ring, high fiving Sound and making a ‘keep an eye on him’ gesture to Styxx regarding Johnny. The Aussie gives him a thumbs up, as Showstoppa attempts to go over match instructions with X, who responds with grunts. ‘My Assassin’ by The Bled hits as The Ultraviolent Champion, Drew Michaels sprints down the ramp, and immediately delivers a lariat which rocks X. He fires off a second, which causes X to scream back, still unbowed, before Drew fires off the ropes with a swinging polish hammer, which knocks X over the rope to the floor. The monster lands upright and slams the mat in frustration as Showstoppa successfully gets Michaels back to his corner.

Larsen: Showstoppa interjecting himself early here, not letting Michaels take to the air!

Morpheus: He goes outside, the possibility he’d get himself DQ’d or counted out goes up exponentially, so he’s really doing Michaels a favor.

Dreamkiller: Exactly. Why is he doing that now? X, get your Neanderthal ass in the ring!

Larsen: Why is Johnny out here anyhow? As if there’s not enough manpower or ‘womanpower’ to stack the deck?

Morpheus: Simply put, a number of people are jealous of Show, so he’s leaving his lover in Styxx’s care.

Sound: And, As I was saying before I was rudely interrupted…this is the UV Champion, The winner of Mount Vesuvius, The Wrath of God himself, Drew Michaels!

Showstoppa checks Drew for weapons, and sneaks in a grope of his ass which causes Drew to snap before Show reminds him he’s the referee. Drew shakes his head in disgust as Showstoppa holds the title up. X re-enters the ring as Show hands the belt to Sound who exits, allowing Show to signal Styxx to ring the bell.

Larsen: Never saw the referee provide a full cavity search before.

Dreamkiller: He’s merely showing due diligence. Those zealots always have a stick up their ass.

Morpheus: They tie up, and X shows off his power, tossing Michaels ass over tea kettle to the corner.

Larsen: The Champion tries another tie up which nets the same result, he needs to develop a new strategy, because he WILL NOT be able to over power X.

Dreamkiller: No, he will not. Tonight, revenge is taken for Mount Vesuvius. And revenge is a dish best served with ten pounds of championship gold.

Larsen: I thought revenge was best served cold, not with gold?

Morpheus: You went to public school. In Canada.

Larsen: And Michaels circles and dropkicks the knee! X falls to a knee, running knee lift rocks the big man, and Drew is taking his measure! He’s absolutely teeing off with bombs to either side of the head, and X catches one and tosses him aside as he gets back to his feet!

Morpheus: X catches Michaels attempt at a cross body, and deposits him with a sidewalk slam, but his follow of a big splash only nets him a matching set of knees to the ribs!

Dreamkiller: He’s still too slow. I’ve tought him so much, but you can’t teach speed.

Larsen: Drew immediately capitalizes with a Oklahoma roll, shoulders down and X BARELY kicks out at 2!

Morpheus: Showstoppa was going to count the fall… HE WAS GOING TO COUNT IT!

Dreamkiller: That…was not part of the arrangement.

Larsen: Drew asks Show, and Show verifies that X shot his shoulder free at 2, which Drew begrudgingly accepts, and begins dropping haymakers to X’s noggin…

Morpheus: And show quickly steps in, pointing out those are closed fists! Drew fires off a throat thrust, which angers X, who again gets to his feet as Michaels bounces off the ropes looking for a Thesz Press and being given a massive spinebuster instead.

Larsen: The monsterous X begins raining down closed fists, and Showstoppa steps in again, but X shoves him clean through the ropes to the floor!

Morpheus: And the C-4 Champion just told Dreamkiller to ‘leash your dog, before I put him down’. Oh my.

Larsen: And Dreamkiller leans over the top to calm X, but Drew shoves X into Dreamkiller which spills the demonic Saint Michael off the apron!

Morpheus: And…Showstoppa is joining us on commentary?

Showstoppa: That a problem, Morpheus?

Morpheus: No sir, by the way, nice footage of me in action earlier tonight!

Showstoppa: I think it was from the dark ages, but hey, the film passed the test of time.

Larsen: Show, I’ve got to be honest, I’m surprised you’ve been impartial to this point. But shouldn’t you be in the ring?

Show: Nah, I saw you guys were down a man on commentary, so I figured I’d help you out. As far as the referee thing, I have absolutely no interest in who wins this. Dreamkiller took care of me for booking this, not for who wins. Frankly, if he wanted to buy me, he couldn’t afford it!

Larsen: X has rolled to the floor to check on Dreamkiller, clearly concerned…and MICHAELS SOARS WITH AN ASSAI MOONSAULT TO THE FLOOR! X is down!

Show: $#*t, that was mildly impressive! These Irish bastards sure loved it!

Morpheus: And Dalby goes over to help Dreamkiller up with Styxx, as noone even checks on X or Michaels, who scampers back onto the apron, and delivers a springboard crossbody onto X, Sound, Dreamkiller and Styxx!

Larsen: And the Champion has brought the crowd to their feet with two high risk maneuvers in a row!

Show: Michaels deserves that title. It symbolizes a complete lack of regard for one’s well being and a willingness to do ANYTHING to entertain these peons. Such Heroic Nonsense. By the way Drew, The count is at 2!

Larsen: You can’t seriously be administering the 10 count from the announcers table!

Show: 3!

Larsen: Drew Michaels rolls X into the ring to break the count, as Sound slides in behind them and brings the hammer down with a steel chair to Drew’s unsuspecting back! DO SOMETHING, VIN!

Show: Well, to be fair, Drew hit Dalby first, and X, as per the stipulations, cannot be disqualified.

Morpheus: Drew rolls away from a second shot, and delivers a shining wizard back to the steel, busting Dalby right open! He’s OUT! DQ Michaels, Showstoppa!

Show: Listen, I don’t tell you two how shitty a job you do week after week, don’t tell me how to do mine, eh? He didn’t hit X, that’s not a DQ, since Dalby isn’t a participant in the match.

Larsen: Showstoppa finally heads back towards the ring as he slides Dalby to the floor. Dalby might be concussed. Meanwhile, in the ring, X is relieved to see Dreamkiller back to his feet, but he steps right into a backcracker from the UV Champion!

Morpheus: Michaels up top, FROG SPLASH CONNECTS! 1…2….AND DREAMKILLER PULLS SHOWSTOPPA FROM THE RING AND LOW BLOWS HIM!

Larsen: I swear to God, he was going to count him down, again! And X is crotched atop the rope by Michaels, who bounces off the farside and delivers a step up enzeguri!

Morpheus: Johnny goes to check on Show as X is down, Michaels is building a head of steam….and STYXX! STYXX FROM NOWHERE with a HUGE BIGBOOT ON MICHAELS!

Larsen: The Attack Dog of Ethan Black is there to soften up Michaels for Black’s Ultimatum, and he’s setting up that steel chair… GANZO BOMB THROUGH THE CHAIR!

Morpheus: Showstoppa is rolled back into the ring, clearly smarting from that roshambo shot, and MICHAELS KICKS OUT AT 2!

Larsen: X is slow to get to his feet, Styxx props that mangled chair into a corner and Showstoppa indicates that Michaels did get the shoulder up. Dreamkiller on the apron, berating Showstoppa and Johnny pulls him down to the floor!

Morpheus: Trouble in paradise!

Larsen: Big time, this is not what Dreamkiller envisioned when he signed this contract, that’s for sure! Dreamkiller and Johnny are screaming at each other as Styxx shoots Drew into that corner and chair, hard! He pulls X up, and points, to which X nods! Styxx irish whips the gargantuan X toward Drew, but Michaels dropped down and X ATE THE CHAIR!

Morpheus: Styxx charges right into an STO from Drew!

Larsen: X is bleeding, and Michaels delivers a missile dropkick, flooring him! Styxx leans right into a superkick, Michaels has cleared the gauntlet! X back up, looking for a lariat, duck under by Michaels, FLOAT OVER DDT! He gets to the top and delivers THE EXECUTION! X is done! X IS DONE! MICHAELS HAS BEATEN the odds! 1..2… WHAT THE HELL?

Morpheus: Dreamkiller grabbed X’s arm and drapped it across the ropes! And Michaels has snapped! He’s chasing Dreamkiller who runs around ringside like a chicken without a head…WHAT A LARIAT BY SOUND! Dalby was laying in wait! Dalby rolls Drew into the ring, and pulls him crotch first into the ringpost! FIGURE 4 around the ringpost as X and Styxx rain boots to the small of Michaels back!

Larsen: All to the sickening sound of Dreamkiller’s laughter!

Morpheus: Dalby wants Drew to tap but the champ refuses to die even here, when the whole world is righfully against him.

Larsen: And Showstoppa has pointed out that Dalby cannot secure the fall. X and Styxx drag the broken UV Champ back from the turnbuckle and deposit him with a double powerbomb!

Morpheus: a 2 count only, as it’s now Drew who uses the rope break. They’ve both exhausted their rope breaks!

Larsen: Dreamkiller, that presumptuous son of a bitch, was there middle of the ring, title already in hand!

Morpheus: Johnny is laughing like a hyena at the shocked Dreamkiller, who spits at him! And Showstoppa saw it. Cover your face Michael, never let them hit you in the face!

Larsen: Dreamkiller turned away to shield himself as Drew rolled up X! Showstoppa noticed out of the corner of his eye and quickly counted…but disaster was averted for team Ne’er do well as Styxx broke up the pin. Dalby back in the ring, helping Styxx work over Drew Michaels…. Styxx positions him for a German Suplex as Dalby delivers a Superkick to Drew’s Jaw!

Morpheus: Get the spatula, The UV Champion is cooked. DAMMIT! He instinctively rolled to the floor before X could secure the cover.

Larsen: The ring presence, coupled with the determination of a champion, has kept Drew alive against impossible odds. X follows him to the floor, as Dreamkiller shows off the title belt as if it’s a foregone conclusion to Sound and Styxx.

Morpheus: ‘As if’? What are you watching? This party is over! X manhandles Drew into the steel steps As Showstoppa’s count reaches 4.

Larsen: And Dreamkiller is telling Showstoppa to count faster, and the Showman actually slows his count in response. Remember fans, only as per the stipulations, only Drew Michaels can be counted out here…but Showstoppa’s reached 6!

Morpheus: A long 6, now finally 7, as X charges the prone Drew…

Larsen: X CATCHES A DROP TOE HOLD INTO THE RING STEPS! Can Drew get back in to break the count which is now at 8?

Morpheus: 9…the 100 years war went quicker, SEAL THE DEAL, SHOW!

Larsen: Drew breaks the count, and an incensed Dreamkiller shoves Showstoppa. That may have been very stupid. Styxx and Dalby charge Drew… who ducks the double lariat and connects on a stereo DDT COMPLETE SHOT combo! Both men roll to the floor as Dreamkiller has nowhere to run…SHOWSTOPPA HAS HAD ENOUGH. He pulls Dreamkiller in and OBLITERATES HIM with that pumphandle kneelift, THE BROADWAY EXPRESS. Dreamkiller staggers around eyes glazed, right into a Dragon Suplex from Drew Michaels!

Morpheus: Try not to sound so gleeful. A noncombatant was just assaulted, and heinously, by the two top champions from each respective show. This is a mugging.

Larsen: Couldn’t happen to a nicer guy. Dreamkiller is pulled unceremoniously to the floor by Johnny, and we’re down to Drew Michaels and a badly busted open X, who is only just now making it back to the ring!

Morpheus: this monster as you call him still isn’t recovered from his injuries from Mount Vesuvius… and Drew is without mercy. Wait….X just noticed the fallen body of his master, and he’s enraged! He nearly beheads Michaels with a clothesline, and begins choking him…

Larsen: Michaels has no recourse but to go to the eyes, but X keeps the hold applied! Michaels went to the eyes again, to no avail! Finally, The Champion sends a chop to the throat, which releases him from X’s vice like grip. X lunges right into an arm drag. Once more, another arm drag! Drew leapfrogs another charge, and catches X on the rebound with a monkey flip! The livid big man lumbers right into a shining wizard, which staggers him but does not put him down! Drew bounces off the rope and chop blocks the knee. He locks in an STF in the center of the ring, and this crowd is sensing that finally, he’s on the verge of pulling off a miracle!

The Northern Ireland faithful are screaming chants of ‘TAP’ to a nigh deafening level.

Morpheus: Dreamkiller Lives! He holds the title up, locking eyes with Showstoppa for a moment, and deciding to keep his distance. He looks to his charge, X, and is screaming at him!

Dreamkiller: DO IT X, You’re this close! Do it for the title!

Larsen: I don’t think it’s clicked. X is still looking anguished, much to Dreamkiller’s dismay.

Dreamkiller: DAMMIT, FORGET THE TITLE THEN! Do it for ME. DON’T YOU FAIL ME AGAIN!

And suddenly, X’s massive leg springs free. The crossface grip by Drew remains intact, but the will of the monster, and the twin engines of destruction mortals call legs have allowed him to stand up with Drew still hanging on his shoulders, clinging to that crossface.

Larsen: My god in heaven, the power of X is off the charts! Michaels rains elbow after elbow to the side of the monster’s head, but X shrugs his shoulders and takes him over…Drew Michaels has been dropped with the X’D OUT.

Morpheus: That stunner variant has fallen many a wrestler, and Showstoppa counts the fall!

Larsen: Only 2! 2 COUNT! DREW WILL NOT DIE!

Dreamkiller ( throwing his hands skyward in disgust ): Didn’t they teach you to count to three in fag school?

Larsen: And Dreamkiller tosses the title belt and a bag toward X, but Showstoppa catches the underthrown title. X pours the contents of the bag onto the mat…

Morpheus: TACKS!!!!

Larsen: The shiney pile of shards will most assuredly hurt. X yanks the title from the hands of Showstoppa and turns right into a HUGE leg lariat. He took the title to the face! Showstoppa using his discretion here, saying that was unintentional, and counts the fall! X KICKS OUT! The blood flows from his face, but still pumps from his heart!

Morpheus: Bro, that was uber lame.

Larsen: I’m building drama.

Morpheus: If that’s what you call it. Meanwhile, Styxx and Dalby have had enough. They just slid a table into the ring! Drew and Dalby trade shots as Styxx helps a bloody X to his feet. X thought it was Drew! The blood in his eyes led to him chokeslamming Styxx! Showstoppa tries to wipe the big man’s eyes clean for him and gets a big boot to the jaw for his trouble! Is Show bleeding from the lip or is that X’s blood? Johnny is in to check on his lover as Dalby is shown to the floor by Michaels… once more, a one on one! X charges Drew, Drew sidesteps, X takes a boot to the midsection, and a BELLY TO BELLY SUPLEX on the massive X, right through the table! Where did Michaels find the strength?

Larsen: But Drew is spent, he can’t muster a cover… X, who just got a free ride to table city…sits up! Drew nips up as X gets to his feet, Drew springs forward with a yakuza kick that X ducks under. HE NAILED JOHNNY! HE NAILED JOHNNY! X moved, and Drew blasted Johnny! Drew Michaels realizes he may have just earned Show’s rage, sitting there with a stunned look on his..SHOWTUNE! SHOWTUNE! Dear God, Showstoppa rocked him, without hesitation!

Morpheus: Drew staggers right into the ABYSS! Drew right on is head into the tacks and X goes for the cover, and Dalby, Styxx and Dreamkiller dogpile on him! 4 men pin down Drew Michaels, Showstoppa counts the 3! THAT’S IT!

Larsen: WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT? 4 MEN JUST PINNED THE ULTRAVIOLENT CHAMPION, and Showstoppa hocks a bloody loogie right on the UV title before tossing it at the victorious pile atop Drew Michaels, and picking up his dazed boyfriend. What a piece of crap.

Morpheus: Are you kidding me? Take off your rose colored glasses! Show did it all by the book, he merely told Drew earlier in the week, touch Johnny, and I will strike you down. It’s Drew’s fault for not heeding the warning of the C-4 Champion!

Larsen: This issue is not over. X may have extracted revenge for Vesuvius tonight, but tonight’s victor will face both John Derrick and a motivated and agitated Drew Michaels at Ground Zero!

Dalby: YOUR WINNER, AND NEEEEEWWWWWWWWWWWW ULTRAVIOLENT CHAMPION, X!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

X (4.43 aps + 0.8 vote = 5.23 total)
Drew Michaels (4.4 aps + 0.7 vote = 5.1 total)

Debris begin pelting the ring as a delirious Dreamkiller scoops up the Ultraviolent title. The four heels stand over Drew Michaels tack pierced bloody carcass as Showstoppa grabs a mic, Johnny grabs the C-4 title from ringside and hops the rail. Before speaking the Showman tosses down his referee shirt.

Show: Fuck this popcorn stand. You people and your tables, chairs, your warm beer and barbarity. We’re going back to civilization. Fuck this place, Fuck these fans, Fuck Drew Michaels, Fuck Saint Michael Dreamkiller, Fuck X, Fuck the entire concept of ultraviolence. MOST OF ALL: Fuck Anarchy. Now hit my fucking music. We’re outta here.

With that, ‘Halo’ by Soil strikes up as Adema Aries flanks the Walking Hate Crime, the Television Champion, Syanide. Showstoppa shoots Johnny a worried ‘that’s not what I had in mind’ look as they scurry up the aisle and out of view.

Syanide: Good. The only thing I appreciate about Showstoppa Appreciation Night is that it’s over. There will be no faggotry next week in the homeland of the first three reichs. For I, the personification of the Forth Reich, am the General Manager next week! Next Week, ANARCHY IS ARYAN!

Our shot zooms in on a bloody Drew Michaels lying unconscious on the FMW logo, with Dreamkiller holding the title for all to see and a foot on the fallen superstar’s chest as X, Dalby and Styxx smirk alongside him. We fade to a giant swastika as the credits come up.