FMW AMMUNITION 13.1 VOTING AND PROMO THREAD

Posted in: FMW
FMW Mount Vesuvius controversy? Nick Bryson’s role. MORE
By Bob Theriault
Mar. 14th 2011 - 6:39:00 PM

Late reports from an anonymous source within Full Metal Wrestling’s staff indicate that the recent Mount Vesuvius match was changed relatively recently.

Mt. V winner Nick Bryson actually wasn’t slated to come out with the win originally and was only briefly discussed as a possible victor in the creative meetings leading up to the finalization for the event.

Sources indicate that the creative team expressed some concern over Bryson’s desire to remain with the company. Bryson, 22, has been one of the bigger draws in FMW history, being a former Ultraviolent champion and the youngest Full Metal Champion ever, at 19. His recent endeavors outside FMW, most notably his co-starring role in Expendables 2: Corruption, have garnered him both outside exposure and fame. He was rumored to have made near eight figures for his role plus five percent of the box office performance.

Creative felt that they needed to show Bryson that they still had faith in his abilities in the ring and as a draw. Some also felt that they worried Bryson, who had also made up a fair part of FMW merchandise sales, would have left to pursue Hollywood full time had they not shown their obvious support for him.

Bryson is now a Mount Vesuvius torch holder among his Ultraviolent and Full Metal Championship reigns. He is set to face Hannibal Frost at FMW’s next Pay-Per-View event, Ultimatum III, which will be his second consecutive Ultimatum main event.

More as we get it.

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Fade in from black. Nick Bryson sits in a chair in front of a large vanity, his eyes closed as he sits relaxed in his directors chair. He slowly rubs his eyes and lets out a heavy sigh.

Woman’s Voice: Mister Bryson, please try to avoid smearing your makeup.

Bryson opened his eyes and turned in his chair to face the woman. She was what one might call ‘frumpy’. Her purple shirt stretched awkwardly over the rolls of her body, her clipboard digging into her side, and her earpiece lost in a sea of dark brown hair.

Bryson: Listen you bitch, I’ll do whatever the hell I please. I understand that you don’t care about yourself enough to be presentable on screen, however just because they give you a clipboard, that Im surprised you haven’t inhaled yet, it doesn’t give you the right to think that you’re someone important, Just because some embarrassed exec you gave a sloppy blowjob at that one drunken party decided to give you a producer role on some nobody show doesn’t mean you have anywhere near any authority to dictate what I fucking do.

Bryson stands, pulling the shirt guard in the collar of his shirt out and throwing it violently on the vanity counter.

Bryson: So if you’re done being a pain in my ass, I think Im ready to go on now.

The woman tries to hide her face with her hair, her cheeks a bright red. She opens the door to Bryson’s dressing room and steps out, directing Bryson to the left towards the stage. He quickly inserts his jawbone earpiece for his cell phone.

Bryson: Call shithead.

Phone automated response: Calling Isaiah Smith, SPR Marketing and Agency.

He passes many pictures of former nobody news anchors, weathermen, and personalities in dramatic poses as the phone rings. As soon as Bryson hears a click he begins speaking.

Bryson: I can not believe I am in some po-dunk sound stage in nowhere New York working some piece of shit regional show. You have a fucking job to do and you’re doing it horribly. I don’t give a shit about what Im contractually obligated to do, you can put me on a legitimate show and not this piece of crap. I don’t want to hear any excuse, I don’t want to hear about puff pieces. You learn how to do your fucking job quick or you’re done.

Bryson approaches a final photo, of local sports hero Paul “The Menace” Dennis. Local boy turned athlete turned syndicated show host. Bryson stops and stares at the picture of Paul Dennis in his jersey, shirt and tie visible underneath it. He looks at his cell phone as he takes his jawbone off. His agent can be heard speaking as Bryson hangs up on him. He pulls up his tie and straightens his suit jacket as he approaches the set of metal double doors marked Sound Stage 2.

As the handles on the doors click as they push in, Bryson enters the room currently bustling with activity and cables. He approaches a table and pulls a bottle of water out from a cooler atop it where he is approached by someone who seems to be another producer. A man in a button up shirt and jeans holding the same clipboard and wearing the same earpiece.

Male Producer: Ok, Mr. Bryson, you’ve got about forty-five seconds before we’re getting you on stage. Mr. Dennis will just be asking you a few questions about your role in your recent film as well as other work you currently do. He-

Bryson puts his hand up to silence the man. He finishes drinking his current sip of water and recaps the bottle, setting it down on the table and looking at the producer.

Bryson: Yeah, I get it. Just show me where the fuck Im supposed to sit.

The producer turns and walks, with Bryson following in step. They reach a large carpeted stage with a large screen and spotlights hanging from two iron supports. Bryson looks almost offended as he steps over the camera cables and onto the stage, looking at the chair with the piece of paper marked “GUEST”.

Bryson: Ridiculous.

Male Voice: Charming.

Bryson doesn’t bother to turn as the host approaches the stage and his chair. Quickly Bryson sees that he is now in the presence of the host of the show, Paul Dennis. The man wasn’t aging well, Bryson noticed. His hair was graying longer seemingly as the seconds moved, his gut protruded over his belt, and even the heavy makeup couldn’t hide his visible wrinkles.

Male Producer: Alright, are you ready?

Paul Dennis: Yeah, lets go.

Bryson: Just get this over with.

The lights dim as the producer steps back from the stage. He does a count down with his fingers from four until he is out of view. Some cheesy music plays for a few seconds as one can assume the intro video is being played.

Announcer: And now your host of Insiders Edge! Paul “The Menace” DENNIS!

The lights go up as Paul sits up in his chair a bit straighter. He smiles and faces the first camera as its red light goes on.

Paul Dennis: Hello ladies and Gentlemen and welcome to the Insiders Edge! I’m your host Paul “The Menace” Dennis and I’m here tonight alongside my guest, Actor and Wrestling sensation, Nick Bryson! Nick, how are you today.

The red light clicks over camera two, pulling back to show both men. Bryson sits casually in the chair.

Bryson: This is supposed to be where I say Im great and excited to be here?

Paul Dennis: Yes, but uh-

Paul looks over to his producer who gives him a thumbs up.

Paul Dennis: Yeah, we’ll edit that later. Anyway, Nick, lets get right down into it, shall we?

Bryson: Please do. I already feel like I’m losing brain cells.

Paul Dennis: Probably from all those chair shots.

Bryson: You’ve got funny jokes, Paul.

Bryson replied sarcastically.

Paul Dennis: Ha, yeah. Don’t worry though, we’re all aware those aren’t real shots anyway. Lets discuss your status as an actor though. Your performance in Expendables Two got you quite a bit of exposure. Tell us about your first foray into hollywood.

Bryson: The studio was looking to include someone a little more current into the film however they needed someone who could actually pull of acting because the stereotype around athletes such as myself-

Paul shifts as he snickers. Bryson glares at him as he continues speaking

Bryson: So naturally the studio turned to me. I’ve gained quite the following from my talents as a wrestler and the studio easily decided to pick me up for the job.

Paul Dennis: So what was different shooting a movie than working a wrestling event as far as say the treatment of the stars?

Bryson: None.

Paul waits for Bryson to respond. However, a few seconds of silence pass. Paul gets the hint when Bryson checks his phone.

Paul Dennis: And why is that?

Bryson: Have you ever seen my shows? I’m a top flight star, I get the nicest shit Paul. Christ, do some research next time.

Paul Dennis: Oh, sorry about that Nick-

Bryson: You can call me Mr. Bryson. Thanks.

Paul Dennis: Mr. Bryson. I’ll make sure we look into that right away.

Paul looks over again at his producer as the man edges him on.

Paul Dennis: And what about on screen? How was that different? Im sure shooting well into the night was more tiring than going in the ring.

Bryson: Maybe for an out of shape slob like yourself, but for me it wasn’t anything different. You see in the film world if someone messes up a take they yell cut and go with it. In wrestling you don’t get any do-overs. You don’t get another shot when you’re out there live and if you get hurt you’re supposed to finish your job. I was better trained for this than most of those involved, Paul. I didn’t need extra takes.

Paul Dennis: Wow, that’s pretty impressive. I’m sure learning how to fall right really gave you the edge over most of the other stuntmen in that movie.

Paul shoots a look over to his producer, who has a big smile and a thumbs up on his face. Realizing he’s got some support Paul reshuffles in his seat and tries to strike a commanding pose. He opens his mouth to speak but Bryson moves for the first time, leaning forward in his chair.

Bryson: Excuse me? Learn how to fall?

Paul Dennis: Well, yeah. I mean all you guys really do in that ring is ballet without the tutu’s, am I right!?

Paul smiles wide and laughs with his producer as Bryson stands removing the microphone they attached to his jacket.

Paul Dennis: Oh, come now, Nick. Its-

Bryson takes the water he was drinking next to him and opens it as Paul tries to begin his speech. Very quickly, however, Bryson turns the tables and hurls the bottle violently at the host in the chair. The host tries to cover his face but is hit square in the chest by the projectile. Paul begins to stand up and is immediately met with Bryson’s enclosed fist to his face, rocking him backwards in the chair viciously.

Crew: HEY! WOAH!

The host falls backward in his chair and off the small stage as Bryson continues his onslaught. Immediately he throws the guest chair at the downed show host. Bryson then reaches up and pulls the lighting system and its metal support off its wiring and hurls it towards the crew, effectively pushing them back. Bryson then walks over to one of the cameras and removes it from its support, throwing it as hard as he can to the giant screen on the stage, destroying the camera and shattering part of the screen. Bryson then walks over to the wreckage, the sound of glass crunching beneath the soles of his shoes, and pushes the screen, toppling it to the ground. A thunderous shattering can be heard through the sound stage as the screen erupts into a shower of glass.

Sparks fly from the cables as Bryson exit’s the stage, pushing over the last two remaining cameras.

Male Producer: SECURITY! SECURITY!

Female Producer: Paul! Paul! Are you alright!?

The camera continues to record as it lays on its side. Bryson’s legs are visible at first as he continues to walk towards the exit. He pulls the jawbone out of his pocket and pushes a button on his phone, becoming more and more visible on the screen.

Bryson: This is fucking over. Bring my car around.

Bryson then pushes open the doors to the fire exit. The alarm goes off and the sprinkler system activates as the sun pours into the room. Bryson can be seen entering a black vehicle as the doors to the studio close. The scene fades to black.




Bryson lays the smackdown!
2 Days ago by David Smith


Sometimes-Wrestler, sometimes-Actor Nick Bryson went full on rampage the other day at a local TV taping.

Bryson, promoting his film Expendables 2, was on set for “Insiders Edge”, a sports and entertainment discussion show hosted by Paul “The Menace” Dennis. When he received some insulting remarks from the former athlete turned show host, Bryson lost his cool and destroyed the set, as well as assaulting the considerably older, and probably considerably shaken, Dennis before leaving through the fire exit.

However, the six minute video has become an overnight sensation on YouTube, netting almost two million views in 24 hours. While no statement has been made official, the twitter account of InsidersEdge reported that Dennis was fine. Sources also state that there will not be charges filed publicly as of yet.

Bryson’s camp could not be reached for comment.

Follow David Smith and TMZ on twitter, facebook, and youtube!




Riiiing. Riiiiing. Riiiing.

Bryson continued to drive as he sat behind the wheel of his dodge viper. The phone attached to the dash illuminating, showing a blank picture with SPR Marketing and Agency above the number.

Riiing. Riiing. Riiing.

Bryson continued to ignore the phone as he let it go to voicemail. He slowed to a stop at a red light as he received a text message:

From: Isaiah Smith
Yo dog, answr ur phone =)

Bryson sighed as he looked again at his phone, illuminating again with SPR Marketing and Agency. Bryson takes his jawbone from its place hanging over his phone and puts it on. He pushes the green button.

Bryson: What do you want?

Isaiah: Bryson! Nick! Excellent! Look, we just wanted to talk about your career at the moment.

Brysons eyes rolled again as he continues driving. Isaiah’s voice always pissed Bryson off. That completely fake bro-man-dude relationship he tried to portray. Irritating.

Bryson: Ok are you calling to just waste my time or are you going to present something?

Isaiah: You’re right, Bryson! Ok, your video is all over on YouTube. We’ve got a lot of offers coming in. Now, I took the liberty of weeding out some of the lower budget ones, you’re clearly above those reality pieces of trash. Now, I’ve got a call from a few directors and casting agents. I think you’re going to-

Bryson: Fucking spit it out!

Isaiah: Right! To business! I always liked that about you. The director for the upcoming Mad Max sequel. They need someone to portray a surly bruiser who is one of the main villains.

Bryson: That’s a joke. Mad Max? Pass
.
Isaiah: That’s what I said too, bro. Ok, what about this one. it’s a Starship Troopers reboot. I’m talking complete remake and they want you to star man! They-

Bryson: Are you fucking kidding me? That movie barely avoided direct to video status when it first came out. You have to be joking with me right? This is obviously some prank call youre giving me to test my patience..

Isaiah: Ok, ok, you’re right. Im sorry. Look I got lots of offers. I’ve got a call from another studio. They’re filming a sequel to The Pacifier. Its big bucks, Bryson, family movies like that are huge markets and-

Bryson: Shut up.

The tires of Bryson’s Viper squeal as he immediately pulls a U-Turn in traffic. Horns blare as smoke pours from Bryson’s tires and he shoots away down the street, weaving through traffic.

Bryson: Don’t say anything. I’m hanging up now.

Isaiah: But, Bryson, I-

The phone ends the call as Bryson hangs his jawbone up again. He makes a few turns, the reflections of the skyscrapers and buildings move through his windshield. He continues to speed down the asphalt until he pulls into the driveway of a gated building. It shoots up to the sky, all of its windows reflecting the bright blue sky and sun.

The gate slowly slides open and Bryson pulls forward, parking in a spot near the door reserved for clients. Bryson exit’s the car and slams the door, moving quickly to the automatic doors. There is a cool breeze over his body as he enters the office building.

Security: How can I- Oh, hello Mr. Bryson. I’ll just need you to sign-

Bryson ignores the security as he storms past the large oak desk. He approaches a long row of elevators and presses the up button. Immediately its doors open as he enters, pushing number 54. He stands impatiently as the elevator slowly moves up.

Riiiing. Riiing. Riiing

Brysons phone again goes off. He pulls it from his pocket and pushed a button on the side, sending the caller to voicemail.

He reaches floor 35 as the elevator stops and the doors open. A group of businessmen are having a conversation as they turn to enter the elevator. However, when the first tries to step in, Bryson puts out his hand to the man’s chest and pushes him back.

Bryson: You’ll catch the next one.

Man: But-

Bryson pushes the ‘door close’ button and proceeds to continue upward.

Riiing. Riiing. Riiing.

Bryson this time just reaches in his pocket, again pressing the button to send the caller to voicemail. He begins to loosen his tie.

With a ding the door opens and slide open slowly. Bryson steps out, removing his jacket, and throws open the large glass doors. He walks right past the desk, a large gold covered SPR Marketing and Agency sign hangs on the wall. The brunette secretary stands to try and get Bryson’s attention, unsuccessfully. Bryson takes a left and walks down a large hallway, past many closed doors, to an oaken set of double doors. Angrily he pulls down on the handles and pushes both doors open, walking into the meeting room.

Many men sit around an oval wooden table. Some of their jackets slung over the chairs. Bryson walks around the table unbuttoning his cufflinks and taking off his jacket. He places it over the backs of the chair at the head of the table. He leans against it and looks at the staff.

Bryson: Everyone who knows they’re not supposed to be in my presence right now, get out.

A few of the men, most of whom are younger, stand and take their jackets exiting the room.

Bryson: And close the damn door!

The last of these men out close the door. There are only four men seated around the table now, one of them being Isaiah Smith, Bryson’s current agent.

Bryson: Let me make something very clear to you. I am a big star. A BIG star.

Isaiah: Yeah, Bryson, we-

Bryson puts his hand up to silence the representative.

Bryson: I am above these shitty remakes and low budget sequels that you have decided to present to me. I have worked in the biggest fucking stadiums in front of some of the largest crowds in the world. I am a box office sensation now and this is what you present me?

Bryson looks over the men, whom are busy trying to avert their eyes.

Bryson: Yeah, that’s what I thought. Lets get one thing right. I am a charisma machine. I am the largest charismatic force of nature this world has ever seen. I am above and beyond anything you all have ever seen, let alone managed. I give you a task and you all failed with such flare that it literally stunned me.

Bryson grips into the large leather chair he is standing behind with fury.

Bryson: You all have gotten rich, very rich, off of my accolades. You have a high rise office. Yes?

Silence

Bryson: FUCKING ANSWER ME!

Agents: Yes.

Bryson: Yes what?

Agents: Yes sir.

Bryson: You have nice cars?

Agents: Yes.

Bryson: You have large homes?

Agents: Yes.

Bryson: You have trophy wives and hooker secretaries? Drug fueled parties? Yes?

Agents:…yes.

Bryson: Newsflash, mother fuckers. Not anymore. None of you idiots are on my tab anymore. This office? Your clothes? All off the sweat of my brow. Not. Any. More. All of you are fired.

Bryson walks towards the men, staring lasers into them. He stops at his agent, Isaiah Smith, and leans towards him. Bryson stares right into his face as Isaiah closes his eyes tightly, almost bracing for impact.

Bryson: Fired.

Bryson stands upright and stares at the men for a few moments. Silence fills the room until Bryson walks over to his jacket again and folds it over his arm. He glares again at the agents at the table as he walks back around the large oval table and out the doors. The scene fades to black.





For post on Yahoo! Entertainment
Wrestler, Actor Nick Bryson makes headlines again
By Aidan Browne


Expendables 2 star and Full Metal Wrestling performer Nick Bryson is back in the headlines again.

Bryson, who has caused quite the stir in the news and online with his outburst on Insiders Edge, has reportedly fired his entire creative team and agents. Bryson, 22, reportedly cited increasing frustration with his teams inability to create legitimate opportunities and mismanagement of his talents and funds.

Bryson, who is the subject of one of the most viewed YouTube videos trending, is now possibly one of the hottest free agents on the market. It isn’t unusual for a star to change agents or firms, but it is very rare for one to change when one is considered in his prime, even rarer when one fires his complete team.

“It was a complete shock.” Former Bryson agent Isaiah Smith said. “We’re going over offers he had from agencies and he just comes into the board room and fires the entire team.”

Other sources have said that they realize Bryson is a free agent, and obviously a boost for any agency, but they wonder what his marketability is for someone unwilling to work with a team, supposedly.

Nobody knows what Bryson will be doing next. His previously mentioned YouTube video has already reached eight million views in just under a week.

Nick Bryson could not be reached for comment.

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Fade in from black. Bryson lays sprawled out among his oversized bed. His automatic blinds open and the sun pours over his face. He stretches and moves the sheets off his body, revealing a nude woman snuggled tight to his torso.

He looks up at the girl and throws his head back into the pillow again, rubbing his eyes in an attempt to wake up.


BZZZT! BZZZT! BZZZT!


Bryson sits up in the bed and looks over at his dresser. His phone is illuminated and vibrating. Bryson looks at his clock:

11:03

Bryson groans as he swings his legs out from the side of the bed. As he stands, Bryson throws the blankets towards the foot of the bed, revealing another nude woman. Bryson groggily walks over to his dresser lifting the device and examining it.

Unkown Caller

Bryson reluctantly taps the green image and places the phone to his ear.

Bryson: Yeah…hello?

A heavy british accent answered Bryson back.

Caller: Good morning, Mister Bryson. I realize that you don’t know me but I obviously know you. My name is Reginald Collins, I’m a casting agent with a UK Division of a major film studio.

Bryson: Yes. Great. What can I do you for.

Reginald: Well, Mister Bryson, Im sure youre aware of the fact that your YouTube video is one of the top trending video right now, and actually it’s the most popular video here in the UK. You’ve got sort of a resurging popularity over here and, well, I don’t think I’m rightly the person to continue this conversation. Please hold on a second while I put you on speaker-

Bryson: Yeah sure.

Bryson turns and leans back against his dresser, a puzzled look on his face.

Reginald: Bryson, you still there?

Bryson: Yes.

Reginald: Excellent. Go ahead sir.

Another voice with a thick British accent is now heard. This one is softer though, more like a grandfather.

Voice: Hello, Nick. I know you may not know who I am but my name is Henry Cooper.

Bryson: SIR Henry Cooper?

Henry Cooper: Aye, that’s me.

Bryson: Wow, an honor sir.

Henry Cooper: Alright, Nick, lets cut the small talk. I saw that video of you and that host. You showed brass there, Nick. That man was trying to make you look like a fool and you turned that situation around right on him!

Bryson: Yeah, yeah. I know I'm great, but I don’t think you wanted to call just to congratulate me.

Henry Cooper: Ha ha, haha. You’re right, Nick, quite right. Well, cutting to the chase, I’ve been contacted by this studio to create a biopic about myself. Every now and then they like to tell these stories of import in history and they’ve asked if I’d give my permission to film one about myself. I told them yes, but on one condition-

Bryson continues to stand, almost stunned.

Henry Cooper: That I get to decide who plays me. Its against some peoples suggestions, but with what Ive seen from yourself, I’d like to pick you.

Bryson is silent for a moment.

Bryson: I'm glad you've recognized my talents, Sir Henry. To hear a man of your stature show me the respect I deserve its-

Henry Cooper: Now, don’t start that on me, Nick. Its really my pleasure.

Bryson: No, its all mine.

Reginald: Uh, Mister Bryson?

Bryson is almost shaken out of a state of euphoria

Bryson: Yes, you. What?

Reginald: Its my understanding you fired your agent and marketing team?

Bryson: Yeah, that’s true.

Henry Cooper: Ah-ha ha ha, I love this guy.

Reginald: Oh, good, no worries. I hate dealing with those types anyway. We’re sending a car to your home now to pick you up and bring you here for negotiations and such.

Bryson: Fantastic.

Henry Cooper: Looking forward to shaking your hand in person, Nick.

Bryson: As am I.

Reginald: Well, we’ll be talking to you soon enough then. Cheers, Mister Bryson.

They can be heard hanging up. Bryson puts the phone back down on his dresser. He walks past the bed to his floor-to-ceiling windows. He stands in the sunlight, his eyes closed. The women on Bryson’s bed begin to stir and sit up as he puts his palms to the windows, soaking in the sunlight with a smile. He breathes in deep and opens his eyes.

The scene cuts to black

The last time we saw Anwyl he was escaping the hell he knew as Chicago for greener pastures. Anwyl was bound for Italy, in which he stamped his name firmly into FMW’s little black book of people to watch. Anwyl ran head to head with the most outstanding wrestler of 2010, Chris Austin. And also was outstanding for the first half of the Mount Vesuvius match. Anwyl proved with the right training he could become a major player. This is his story...

“...We all die alone, he shouted as he passed
We no sense of regret, see he never looked back
Though his pride was wounded, his ego was strong
Yeah that was his problem, and here is his song...”

The current scene is set in London, England. Anwyl is standing outside a small English pub smoking a cigarette with a few bar patrons standing out and around the street. Anwyl takes one last drag and drops the smoke straight to the ground stamping it out as he makes his way to the door. As Anwyl opens the door he can hear loud shouts and two men are brawling over towards far side of the bar. A group of drunken fools has surrounded the men chanting and celebrating each haymaker that is thrown. Anwyl sits on a worn out bar stool and calls for a drink

Anwyl (Shouting) - Oi, barmaid... Yep, Over here

Anwyl having to raise his voice over the loud chanting and yelling going on behind him.

Barmaid- What will it be sir?

Anwyl leans over the bar

Anwyl- Jack Daniels with cola, Cheers.

The barmaid rushes off to get the drink as Anwyl swivels to face the large screen. Sky Sports is on showing the last half of the Mount Vesuvius match before the boxing starts. Anwyl watches closely as he sees himself fly straight into the FMW Commissioner Christian G. Smitten. As Anwyl and Smitten hit the ground in the Mount V match Anwyl grabs his ribs and gives them a rub. Anwyl leans back for his drink which the barmaid just put down.

Anwyl- Ahhhh...

An old man sits down on the stool next to Anwyl.

Old Man (Chuckling) - Beautiful isn’t it

Anwyl turns towards the old man, who is looking directly at him

Anwyl- Sorry I don’t understand.

The Old Man reaches towards his pocket and continues to talk

Old Man- That massive metal structure they call Mount Vesuvius.

Anwyl is dumbfounded, when people usually refer to Mount Vesuvius they often refer to it was demonic, demented, destructive, death defying and plain old FUCKED UP. But this Old Man took pleasure on the pain involved. Anwyl reaches for his drink and takes another sip from his glass. The Old Man pulls out watch and quickly checks the time.

Old Man- I know what you do, I have seen ye’ before!

Anwyl- Yeah, I was just on TV, mate. I just got eliminated

Old Man- I know you wrestle, but that’s not what you do; you are an ungrateful son of a bitch.

The Old Man stops moving the pendant around in his hands and stares Anwyl right in the face. Anwyl doesn’t know what to say he is angry but cannot understand why the Old Man would say that. Anwyl keeps a close eye on the cane in the old blokes’ hands.

Old Man- I know who you are, I know what you have done.

Anwyl starts to feel threatened, and climbs to his feet and turns towards the door, thinking it would be the right thing to do. The Old Man rises to his feet, putting all his weight upon the cane assisting him.

Old Man- I think you should listen to me...

Anwyl anger starts to pour out; he turns towards the old man.

Anwyl- I don’t have to old man, I don’t have to listen to what you have to say. Seriously mate fuck off!

Old Man- Just listen to me, think about why you’re here then tell me is it the right thing to do...?

Anwyl looks at the frail old man. The deep heavy wrinkles, his skin drooping and sagging like an egg hanging from a hook. Anwyl glances up and down the old man before answering

Anwyl- Yes! Fate brought me here, I know what I am doing, and I understand why I’m here. I am in England to win the TV Title over David GS.

Old Man- You’re in grave danger you fool, go back! NOW! WHILE YOU HAVE A CHANCE!!! LEAVE FMW...

Anwyl turns and walks away from the old man. He pushes the door open to the outside world as Anwyl takes one extra step the Old Man calls out.

Old Man- You is destined for greatness Anwyl, but being an Anarchist is not the way to go about it. Don’t follow a new god. Don’t be drawn to the flame. Do your own thing Anwyl.

The words are lost in the yelling and chanting still continuing in the bar. Anwyl begins to walk down the street eventually passing the O2 Arena on the way to his hotel. Anwyl looks up at the billboard.

AMMUNITION 13.1

TELEVISON CHAMPIONSHIP TITLE MATCH

One of the most outstanding rookies of 2010 will go head to head with the newest rising star of 2011.

Or will Anwyl spirit be broken in half by the hard-hitting David GS

Will the David GS hot streak end with “Third Degree” burns courtesy of the never say never say never attitude of Anwyl

David GS vs. Anwyl

Live at the O2 Arena

Anwyl gives a small chuckle and heads towards the hotel. As Anwyl continues walking his phone begins to vibrate in his pocket. Anwyl pulls it out checking to see the number.

“Unknown Number”

Anwyl presses the little green button.

Anwyl- G’day, Jacob Anwar here, better known as Anwyl.

Unknown Caller- Hello, Mr. Anwyl. I am Tony Ladd from the Sunrise early morning show in Australia. I was wondering if you would be interested in doing an interview after your Ammunition match at the 13.1. We would like you to be in studio, can that be arranged?

Anwyl - ...

Tony Ladd- Hello, Mr. Anwyl.

Anwyl- I suppose we can arrange an interview.

Tony Ladd- Great, I’ll have all the information forwarded to your email address.

Anwyl- Okay then mate, I will see you later.

Anwyl hands up the phone and continues his paced walk. As Anwyl gets closer to his hotel he notices a large group of paparazzi waiting at the door. Anwyl notices David GS breaking through them towards a black limousine. There are white flashes everywhere, people are yelling. Anwyl distinctly hears

NO MORE PHOTOS PLEASE!!!

Anwyl brushes through the crowd of people unnoticed. Nobody knew who Anwyl was yet; he walked right to receptionist’s desk and grabbed the keys to his room.

Receptionist- Room 964, your girlfriend is waiting for you upstairs.

Anwyl isn’t really taking notice of what the receptionist says gives a small nod. Anwyl grabs the keys and heads to the elevator. Anwyl is reading the e-mail sent to him, giving him information for his up coming interview. Anwyl stops at the elevator door waiting for it to open.

Anwyl- GIRLFRIEND!!! SINCE WHEN DID THAT HAPPEN???

Anwyl rushes into the elevator and towards his room, as he reaches the final hallway there was a beautiful woman standing in front of the door.

Anwyl- And who might you be?

Beautiful Woman- Whoever you want me to be!

The beautiful woman winks at Anwyl while he stands there puzzled; he is looking up and down the woman. Trying to figure out where she came from. The lady hands Anwyl a note.

To Anwyl,
Nice work at Mt. V
Here is a celebration
On getting a title match
Have a good one
From Wes

Anwyl looks at the woman, then the note. Then back at the woman.

Anwyl- Please, come inside...

Anwyl opens the door letting the woman stroll in, Anwyl looks around the hallway before shutting the door behind him.


Voiceover Man- Good afternoon all, this is voice over man. Anwyl, our favourite anti-hero is ready to present his side of the argument. Pay attention because this will only be recited once.

Anwyl is sitting at the same large oak desk; he is wearing a beautiful grey suit with a black shirt and no tie. Anwyl is surrounded by small sketches and a laptop; he is happily using an Xbox controller that has been plugged into the computer as he stops with the rapid finger movements and turns toward the camera, who is sitting directly in front of Anwyl. With a cheesy attempt at sounding elegant Anwyl begins to talk

Anwyl- Good morning all...

Voiceover Man- It’s the afternoon Anwyl

Anwyl- ...meh... Whatever! Now David GS, we will face each other at Ammunition 13.1 and I know for a matter of a fact, you will not go down without a fight. Yes?

Anwyl listens for an answer, cupping his ear with his right hand.

Anwyl- And I respect that, I enjoy a good old brawl. But you will not win, nope, never!

Anwyl pauses for a second turning his attention to the laptop, he presses a few buttons on the Xbox controller before the words “FATALITY” can be heard through the laptop speakers. Anwyl’s fist punches the air.

Anwyl- YEAH!!! WoOHoO!!! See the reason is I wasn’t eliminated for a while. You all underestimated me, everyone. I held my own weight, as well as Chris Austin’s just to stay in that match. I have bandaged hands after falling down the side of the cage, only to catch myself inches from the ground. I feel as though I have been to hell and back to prove that I am a contender. I will prevail. I will win. I will be the FMW TELEVISION CHAMPION!!!

Anwyl stands to his feet and raises his hands above his head before reaching down to close the lid of the laptop. Anwyl walks towards the door, switching the lights off.

Voiceover Man- So folks there we have it. Anwyl verses David GS. Both men will walk in heads held high, both men with nothing to lose and everything to prove. David GS will not make it easy for Anwyl and Anwyl won’t make it any easier for David GS. May the best man win!

Camera turns towards John Andrews whom is turning the pages of a photo album:

Nothing like looking at still memories of the past. Memories that haunt my dreams. Yes I can still feel the pain of the knife slowly puncturing my flesh...[Andrews rubs his right arm slowly] I have sense moved on from that point in my life where I was entrapped in the shadows of my own nightmares, damaging other peoples careers for my own gain and enjoyment. Now I begin a new chapter in my career of professional wrestling, although I am starting a new path I still not have forgotten about David Ravish. One of the five other men in last months "Rookie Battle Royal", a man whom has said countless times that he was going to teach me a lesson and kick my ass. Well he found out as well as the rest of FMW, exactly what the Outlaw can bring to the table and that is just a small percentage of what I have to show.

While Ravish thought he had the drop on me. Thought he had the big W sealed away and smelled sweet victory he quickly discovered that he had made a rookie mistake that cost him his debut match and sent him on a last ride all the way to the outside of the ring. So far all he has done is run his mouth and has failed to rise up to the challenge when the time called for it. Instead that city slicker sank like the titanic and swallowed his words and his pride. Once again we will meet in the ring and once again he will fail to arise to the occasion. Last and certainly not least, it will be me...Once again standing over his limp beaten body as the referee raises my hand and the announcer declares my victory. It will be the last thing you hear before you fall unconscious. I may be changing my style just a bit, but I still have a small amount of the old Outlaw stored up just for you junior!
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Andrews is on his parent's ranch throwing a baseball at a chain link fence and his father walks up:

Andrew's Father: I knew i'd find ya out here. Glad to see you still got that glove your mom and I bought you many years back. You alright though Johnny I haven't seen you pick up a baseball for awhile.

Andrews: Yeah Pop just have a lot on my mind lately. I am trying to figure out how to make things right with Bethany.

Andrew's Father: Your mother liked her a lot, me too. Have you and Bethany talked about what happened in California yet?

Andrews: No. We haven't talked about that yet. I am still trying to figure out how to explain it to here. It's hard for a guy to just disappear out of someones life and not be able to directly tell that person where they were and why they were gone ya know.

Andrew's Father: That's true Johnny but if you love her you should be able to tell her about it I am sure she will understand what you did over there and why you were afraid to tell her about it. If you ask me I think you should call her right now and tell her boy.

Andrews: Easy for you to say Pop. You're not the one having to explain it all to her, it isn't as simple as you make it sound. I was out of her life for six months.

Andrew's Father: Indeed you were son. Indeed you were. But she waited for you didn't she?

Andrews: What does that have to do with it? You ask me she should of moved on after what I did.

Andrew's Father: Jesus boy didn't I teach you anything? If the woman waited for you she must love ya and still wants you, call her Johnny.

Andrews: I Guess you're right Pop. I'll call her after dinner. Did you watch the pay per view?

Andrew's Father: Of course we did! You looked good in there. I noticed you seemed a bit more tame then usual, is that something you're doing to try and smooth things over with Bethany?

Andrews: I am trying to change. As much as I enjoyed being the bad guy it just gets old after doing it for half your career, it's time for a change I think. I met with Sammy (Anti-Mime) when I got back from Europe and apologized to him for what I did. Although it doesn't take back what happened it helped him a little though...and me.

Andrew's Father: Finally you're understanding something I have been telling you and your brothers for years. A man that is at peace with his past and can admit his faults has a grateful future. And don't you forget that son... [Andrew's Father Stands]With that said what do you say we go see what your mother cooked for dinner. [Andrew's Father turns around]And don't forget to call Bethany.

Andrews: Sounds good Pop. And I won't forget to call her I promise. I will be inside shortly.

[Andrew's steps outside onto his parent's front porch after dinner and makes a phone call after several rings a voice finally picks up on the other end]

Andrews: Hey...I didn't wake you did I?

Bethany: Johnny it's only 4:30 in the afternoon in L.A. and you know that. What do you want?

Andrews: I...I just want to talk Bethany. I know I screwed up and pissed you off but I want to set the record straight.

Bethany: Wow Johnny did you take one too many chair shots to the head...If I am not mistaken I think that is the first time I ever heard you admit to screwing something up or is this just some ploy to make me think you love me and you're just going to walk out on me like last time?

Andrews: That's real funny Bethany... But no. I screwed up and I know it. I did not plan for any of this to happen to you...to us for that matter. You know I would never hurt you deliberately... Just..Just let me explain, please.

Bethany: Why should I Johnny? Why should I listen to you at all after what you did to me. You walked out on me at our wedding! Our wedding John. For what? You never told me what was more important then our wedding. The very last phone call I got from you...You said you were in Germany and would be on your way back from your business trip. I already hadn't seen you in two months and yet you sit there and disappear for four more months without any explanation. Then after you came back you became Mr. Big Bad Wrestler hurting people and destroying their lives, you turned into someone I didn't know Johnny and on top of all that you...YOU! Johnny...pushed me out of your life.

Andrews: That was in the past Bethany. I am trying to change. I am trying to go back to being the man you loved. It won't happen over night but you just have to believe me Beth...I know I was supposed to come back on time for the wedding I had every intention to do so. They needed man power and couldn't wait for the new team to come over from North Carolina.

Bethany: Who Johnny?!?! Who or what was more important than your fiancee. The one you promised you'd be there no matter what and would go through hell and back just to get to. So tell me who was more important then me!

Andrews: Look I want to explain everything to you. I will tell you the whole truth and nothing but the truth baby I promise. I can come out there and we can sit down over dinner or something and I will spill my guts to you and show you everything to back it up dear. Just please let me do this.

Bethany: Begging now Johnny? Really? And don't call me that. That all stopped eight months ago thanks to your other plans. Answer me one thing though John. Why now? Why wait until now to patch things up between us when you've had all this time to do it?

Andrews: I've realized my mistakes Beth...I had to build up the courage to admit it and go through with deciding what to tell you and how to accurately explain everything to you. Just give me the time to sit down and show you everything.

Bethany: Well what about you're match in London Johnny? You going to no show them like you no showed me at our wedding??

Andrews: I will be in London for my match. But first things first I want to get everything squared away between us. This is something you can't do over a phone and you know it..

Bethany: Alright John. But you have one day. One day to explain yourself. That is all I will say about that and you better not miss your next match over me...
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Los Angeles, California

Andrews: Bethany! you haven't changed a bit... You have a very nice place.

Bethany: Don't try to sweet talk your way in here Johnny, it won't work I know your tactics. First tell me who they are then maybe, just maybe I will let you inside.

Andrews: Yep. Same Bethany straight and to the point. Alright if that's what you want then I guess I will tell you everything starting with that.

Bethany: No lies John. Remember I know when you're lying. Start talking...

Andrews: Alright..alright keep your skirt on woman. The answer you're wanting is Blackwater.

Bethany: Really Johnny. Blackwater? Really?? You couldn't of thought up of some better excuse then to try and tell me that. I know you. You are no mercenary or soldier of fortune. Tell me the truth god damn it!

Andrews: Look into my eyes Beth. It is the truth. I would not lie to you. I wanted nothing more in this world then to be with you. But other things got in the way. I had to do what I had to do.

Bethany smacks Andrews in the face

Bethany: How dare you! You're still lying to me aren't you, you bastard.

Andrews: God damn it Bethany get off your damn high horse and look at these! Look! They're legit and one hundred percent real! I have the scars to back them...I have the memories...

Andrews hands Bethany a photo album

Bethany: Fine. But tell me one thing Mr. Soldier of Fortune. How does a country boy, star pitcher, deputy sheriff turn into a Mercenary...Without his fiancee knowing?

Andrews: I figured you would of caught on...All the trips to North Carolina and what not, hell you saw some of the letters from the company so I thought you knew.

Bethany: I thought you were training with the Sheriff's Department! I knew you were on the Department's Emergency Response Team, I figured you were doing training with another department, I didn't know you were off getting ready to be someones gun for hire. I didn't...Oh my...Johnny!

Dropping the album she opens the door fully and runs to his arms

Andrews: I am sorry I didn't show you all this sooner. I really am. You have no idea what it's been like the past eight months. I have done a lot of soul searching and have done a lot to try and get back to who I was before all this. I have a lot of regrets in my past, one of them being hurting and losing you. I can't win this match by myself Bethany... I need you back at my side.

Bethany squeezes Andrews tighter before letting go and looking into his eyes

Bethany: You know I still love you John. You know I will always be in your corner. I just want to take everything slow right now...and not just run into things and get hurt again you know.

Andrews: I understand. I want to take things slow too...just like last time, except this time I am not going to choose anything over you. I have a surprise for you...

Andrews holds up two tickets booked for London, England

Andrews: So what do you say? Give us a shot again?

Bethany: When do we leave? I am not packed..I..I..

Andrews: Relax. The flight doesn't leave until tonight at nine, you have enough time to pack and we will make it there in time for the show. How about we get some grub?

Bethany: Come on in so I can get changed. And Johnny... For your sakes you better be done being that asshole persona you created for wrestling. I expect to witness these changes for myself. And if you ever stand me up on a date or if we ever make it to the alter again you better hope whomever you're fighting that night puts your Texan ass six feet under, otherwise I will.

Andrews: Yes ma'am!
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
[Camera pans to Andrews in a wrestling ring leaning over the ropes looking at the camera]
Here I am Ravish... Here I am... Waiting for you to show me what you have to offer. The only question is junior, will you bring your "A" game? Will you be able to handle a newer...much bolder Outlaw? Ya see, ya'll are about to see a legend in the making in action, a future icon. Yes Ravish. You are fixing to go to battle against a future hall of famer. I've got my list of goals here Davey Boy and you're at the top of it. Don't think I haven't forgotten what you did at Mount V.... Don't think that you will get off easy and not have to put in any work at all to TRY...TRY! and win. You're going to need everything you have in your heart and soul to beat me and I don't think you can muster enough of it.

If you had enough heart and soul you would of won that damn Battle Royal and would of outlasted the rest of us. Instead you gave out and accepted failure into your life. Your goals diminishing as you easily accepted defeat. You are no "Widow maker", you're no where close. I know you Ravish. I know you damn well. You're the kind of man that will talk and talk and talk but when the time to collect..the time for action..the time to step up to the plate and hit the home run is there, you strike out and become the laughing stock of the locker room. The clock is ticking Ravish.. Your demise is imminent! [Camera fades]

Our scene opens on Leviticus standing in front of a Gold Standard Wrestling banner. His hair is pulled back and he has a confident smile on his face.

Leviticus: Good evening ladies and gentlemen. My name is Leviticus and I am a proud member of Gold Standard Wrestling. As I am sure most of you watching this are aware Gold Standard Wrestling has launched a sort of promotional tour that has taken us to the battlefield that is Full Metal Wrestling.

Leviticus smiles broadly as the camera zooms in on him.

Leviticus: Now since we have been in Full Metal Wrestling we have been met with a startling degree of hostility from their employees. Ladies and gentlemen this is only one of the many signs of what I would like to speak to you about tonight. You see since I have been in Full Metal Wrestling I have discovered that while they may be a global organization they are still a threat to you and your family.

A brief montage of some of the more brutal moments in the history of FMW is shown as Leviticus continues to speak.

Leviticus: You see Full Metal Wrestling is filled with men and women who want to poison your mind and desensitize you to the things they are really airing on their shows. Corruption is just what the name says it is. From light tubes, to flaming tables, staple guns, and even barbed wire Corruption is nothing less than a sickening parade of violence. Ammunition is supposed to be the pure wrestling show of Full Metal Wrestling, if you watch it though you will find out nothing could be further from the truth. Ammunition is filled with liars, hypocrites, backstabbers, and hate mongers.

The montage ends and Leviticus returns to our screen.

Leviticus: While I am sure there are those people out there who enjoy this sort of barbaric chaos, I know that there are those of you out there watching this now that are merely looking to enjoy wrestling. For those of you who simply want to watch wrestling not programming that borders on snuff films I offer an alternative, Gold Standard Wrestling.

This time we are treated to a montage of the wrestling action that Gold Standard Wrestling presents while Leviticus continues.

Leviticus: You see Gold Standard Wrestling is an alternative to the filth that is Full Metal Wrestling. Gold Standard Wrestling proudly presents a wrestling show that you can feel safe watching with your family. Gold Standard Wrestling is a company made on more solid traditional concepts such as respecting our audience.

The montage ends and Leviticus returns to the screen smiling even bigger than before.

Leviticus: You see in Gold Standard Wrestling each and every competitor that enters the ring is given the chance to shine based on their athletic prowess as opposed to who they know in management. In Gold Standard Wrestling each one of our marquee super stars deserves to be there. In Full Metal Wrestling they manufacture stars and force them on you.

The screen goes to static for a moment before becoming a photo of the FMW Television Champion David GS.

Leviticus: In Gold Standard Wrestling each person has earned their spot by performing to the best of their ability as opposed to Full Metal Wrestling who advocates the use of brutality to rise up the card.

The screen goes to static again. This time the picture we see is the Ultraviolent Champion Celt.

Leviticus: In Gold Standard Wrestling tag teams are bound by trust and respect. Full Metal Wrestling tag teams can’t even coexist if they are champions. They stab each other in the back and seek to destroy their partner to further their own agendas.

We see static again. This time the picture we see is Chris Austin standing above a fallen Alex O’Rion.

Leviticus: In Gold Standard Wrestling our management respects us and we respect them. They are concerned about our well being. They know our families; they even send us Christmas and birthday cards. Full Metal Wrestling management is nothing short of a group of sociopaths. From Christian G. Smitten who would gladly attempt to cripple someone on the Full Metal Wrestling roster to placate his own ego to Jaro who proudly bragged on global television that he had murder his wife and then dared someone to do something about it, each and every member of Full Metal Wrestling’s managerial staff is nothing less than a group of monsters.

We see Leviticus on our screen again. His expression is more somber this time and his eyes are filled with concern.

Leviticus: Yes, we initially came to Full Metal Wrestling to help promote our product, but the more time we spend there the more sickening it becomes. The more time we spend there the more it becomes not only about promoting our product but defending decency. Yes we appear on Full Metal Wrestling, but we do so as people who will stand against the demented practices that the company promotes. We are warriors of decency taking a stand against madmen who would dare to enter your homes and attempt to poison your families. So for those of you out there that feel like we do and have become sick of the Full Metal Wickedness I urge you to tune into Gold Standard Wrestling. A company that respects you. A company that stands for what is right. A company that wants to put on a quality wrestling show for you not warp your mind. A company you can be proud of.

Our screen fades to the Gold Standard Wrestling logo before going black.

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

Tyrell sat on the plane with his eyes closed. In his mind visions of what he intended to do to Leviticus as soon as he got to London. A smile came across his face as he thought about how everything had played out. B. Lyle had not only helped him engineer his escape from jail but had also arranged a private flight to London so that he could handle his business with Leviticus without being caught by the cops. Tyrell’s hand went down to his side. He felt the knife in his pocket and his smile grew even bigger. Things were good, but when he jammed a sharpened piece of steel into Leviticus things were going to get even better.

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

Leviticus sat there in the offices of Gold Standard Wrestling in Miami, Florida waiting to talk to the company’s owner, J. Wroland Williams. As he sat there his mind went back to the nightmare he had the night before. He had several nightmares about Tyrell since he had been told that he had escaped from jail, so many in fact that his sleep schedule was a bit off. As snippets of the dream played out in his mind he closed his eyes and shook his head.

Leviticus: Tyrell, man, you’ve got to get out of my head.

The sound of a door opening caused Leviticus to open his eyes. Williams stood there in the doorway of his office smiling. Once Leviticus looked up at him Williams waved him inside. A few moments later Leviticus was standing inside Williams’s office and shut the door behind him.

Leviticus: You wanted to see me boss?

Williams was already heading back around his desk, but he stopped when he heard Leviticus’s question.

Williams: Yes I did Levi. Please sit.

Leviticus did as he was asked and waited for Williams to do the same. As soon as Williams was seated he looked at Leviticus and smiled.

Williams: I just want you to know that I am very proud of you Levi. You have not only gone out on FMW television and done GSW proud but you have continued to give top notch performances on Slaughter.

Leviticus grinned a little bit and shook his head.

Leviticus: Thank you sir, just doing my job.

Williams smiled and nodded.

Williams: You have always done very well and the GSW crowds love you. Now it has come to my attention that you are going to be in the main event of Ammunition against the winner of the Mount Vesuvius match, Nick Bryson.

Leviticus’s smile quickly faded. He knew he was facing Bryson at Ammunition, and he also knew that meant he was in for a fight.

Leviticus: Yes sir. I will do my best.

Williams held up his hand and shook his head.

Williams: I know you will Levi. In fact despite all of Bryson’s ruthlessness I think you can win. That isn’t what I called you here for though. We both know that Jeff is a champion because of all the hard work he has put into GSW.

Leviticus nodded.

Leviticus: And he deserves it to.

Williams smiled.

Williams: Yes he does. I’ve been thinking though, and I feel as though you deserve that chance as well. Now I know that FMW doesn’t feel that way, but it doesn’t matter. I want to make up for their mistake. Since you are no longer the FMW Light Heavyweight Champion how would you like to be put into a program with Shadow Angel for the Lightweight title?

Leviticus’s eyes widened.

Leviticus: Seriously?

Williams nodded.

Williams: Seriously. Unless you have a different idea.

Leviticus thought about Williams’s offer for a moment. A championship would be a symbol of everything he had fought for in his time in GSW. At the same time though he felt as though there were other individuals on the roster who deserved that chance as well.

Leviticus: I don’t know sir. Part of me wants to say yes but part of me thinks that there are others who deserve the chance to.

Williams smiled.

Williams: That is why I like you Levi, you are always thinking about others. Since you think someone else deserves a chance to be Lightweight champion I will let you pick who gets that chance.

Leviticus didn’t even have to think about his choice.

Leviticus: Max. I know he is still a little bit from returning but the fans love him and he is a hard worker.

Williams laughed.

Williams: Good call Levi. However I insist you have your moment in the sun, so I want you to do me a favor.

Leviticus looked at Williams quizzically.

Leviticus: What is that sir?

Williams face went dead serious.

Williams: When you beat Bryson on Ammunition I want you take the GSW agenda to the next level. Once you beat Bryson that will put you on par with their number one contender, so once you beat him I want you to make all of FMW aware that a GSW guy is that good. Then I want you to challenge Hannibal Frost for the Full Metal Championship.

Leviticus’s eyes widened again. He could hardly believe what he was hearing.

Leviticus: You want me to challenge Frost?

Williams nodded.

Williams: Yes. It doesn’t matter if it is for a triple threat at Ultimatum or a one on one match with Frost at No Holds Barred. FMW won’t be able to deny your talent, GSW guy or not, once you beat Bryson. If they don’t give you the shot it will only prove to everyone watching at home just what FMW is really like.

Leviticus sat there for a moment taking in Williams’s idea. It all seemed so much and he wasn’t sure what to say, so he said the first thing that came to mind.

Leviticus: Wow.

Williams chuckled.

Williams: I figured you would see it my way. Now sit back and relax, the others will be here shortly.

Leviticus sat back in the chair and thought about the possibility of what Williams was talking about. Now all he had to do was win.

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

The meeting had finished and Leviticus was wandering the halls of the Gold Standard Wrestling offices. He couldn’t help but think about how much faith Williams had placed in him before the meeting, yet how angry he seemed when everyone else was there. He was glad Williams had so much faith in him, but wished he felt the same about everyone else who stood by his side in FMW. All he could do was continue what he was doing and try his best to help the others step up their game. The show in London was a big one for GSW on several fronts, it was not only Leviticus’s chance to really show people what GSW was all about and that he deserved a spot in the main event but it was also a homecoming of sorts for Dunn. He smiled as he thought about Dunn. He had proved to be a great addition to the GSW roster and the two had bonded almost instantly. Truth be told he knew of Dunn’s legacy as a tag team wrestler and had considered teaming with him in FMW for a run at their Tag titles. He knew that they would do well and posed a real threat to the titles, and while doing so they could show FMW that GSW stood on the same page and that they could do great things in their unity. Dunn had gone off to film a segment so he wasn’t around to ask, but he would be sure to get to doing that as soon as possible. As he sat there and waited he pulled his pocket Bible out and opened it in search of guidance for what to do in his current situation. He flipped through the pages. When he stopped a verse stuck out above the rest.

1 Corinthians 9:24
Know ye not that they which run in a race run all, but one receiveth the prize? So run, that ye may obtain.

He smiled as he read the verse. The only way to accomplish all he had been trying to do, be it promote GSW and help pull them out of their financial troubles or to show the whole world that their were still good and decent who would stand against evil by beating Nick Bryson, was to press on and never give up. He closed his Bible and let the verse really sink in. As he did he saw Jeff Whitt walk around the corner.

Whitt: Hey man. How’s it going?

Leviticus looked at Jeff and smiled.

Leviticus: Pretty good actually. I was just reading something and I want to share it with you.

Whitt nodded. Leviticus told him the verse and Whitt narrowed his eyes.

Whitt: Meaning?

Leviticus patted his friend on the shoulder.

Leviticus: In short, if we want to obtain the goal we have to keep going. We can’t let anyone get in our way. No more holding back, let’s show them what we’ve really got.

Whitt smirked.

Whitt: Oh trust me, I plan on it.

The two men shared a chuckle and then went off to talk to the other members of GSW.

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

AFTER AMMUNITION

Leviticus walked out of the back of the O2 Arena with a smile on his face. He had gone out there and shown everyone what GSW was all about. He had no doubt that he had turned a few heads and he looked forward to what the future held. He had waited around after everyone had left to really soak in the excitement of the night, but eventually the building staff informed him he had to leave. As he exited the arena all he could think about besides the future was meeting up with his GSW brothers and celebrating the night’s accomplishments. As he thought about how Ammunition had played out for him he looked back at the arena and smiled. As he turned back toward the alley way he saw something that filled him with dread. Tyrell was standing there in front of him. He closed his eyes and shook his head.

Leviticus: It’s just a daydream.

As he opened his eyes he saw that Tyrell was still standing there.

Tyrell: More like a nightmare.

Before Leviticus had time to react Tyrell lunged forward and stabbed the small dagger B. Lyle had given him into Leviticus’s stomach.

Leviticus’s eyes widened as a burning pain shot across his stomach. He felt the steel slide out and penetrate again in a different spot. He felt the warm sticky blood pouring out of the wound. He felt it rushing up toward his throat. He felt it begin to pour out of his mouth. As his mind tried it’s best to react to what was happening, his body refused to cooperate. He felt the knife drive in again, and again. As he stood there he felt his body begin to grow heavy, and the corners of his vision began to cloud up. He reached out toward Tyrell and tried to reason with him. All that came out was a sputter of blood.

Tyrell smirked before pushing Leviticus to the ground. Leviticus hit the ground with a sickening thud that turned Tyrell’s smirk into a full blown smile.

Leviticus lie there still trying to reach out to the man who had stabbed him, but his words continued to come out in blood filled coughs. He lie there unable to do anything as he watched Tyrell start to walk away.

Tyrell stopped at the edge of the alleyway. He was still smiling. After all the waiting it felt good to do what he just did. He shook his head and turned back toward Leviticus. The only thing that would be sweeter than doing what he just did was watching it end.

Leviticus watched with blurred vision as Tyrell began to walk back toward him.

Tyrell: Naw dawg. Imma watch you die.

Leviticus could feel tears forming up in the corners of his eyes as his body started to grow cold. He still tried to reach out toward Tyrell, still tried to reason with him, but his reaches became shorter and it became harder to move. Blood pooled around him as he lie there unable to do anything but watch as Tyrell stood there smiling. He wouldn’t have to watch it long though, because before long everything went black.

TO BE CONTINUED

The scene opens in a GSW locker room. Several men wearing gold masks are sat around the edges of the room, talking amongst themselves, while Leviticus, Jeff Whitt, Storm and Matt Dunn, as well as Gold Standard Wrestling owner J. Wroland Williams, head trainer Crusoe, and colour commentator Scott Oliver Steele discuss the game plan for Ammunition 13.1, and where GSW fell short at Ultimatum.

Williams: I must say, I'm disappointed with your performances in the Mount Vesuvius match.

S.O.S: Yeah bros, y'all really dropped the fuckin' ball on that one, yo.

Levi: In my defense sir, team GSW did score the most eliminations in that match by any one person. And a lot of people were talking about Dunn after he the night too.

S.O.S: What did I tell ya boss man, 'nuva great idea from y'alls truely Es Oh fuckin' Es baby.

Crusoe and Whitt keep quiet, out of a mixture of shame and irritance, perhaps. Matt however, not being one to be humbled in the presence of his employer, speaks up.

Dunn: Ok, we didn't quite achieve what we would have liked, but it's done. Storm and Whitt will get other chances to make up for a slip in a match you really can't prepare for. There's no point in dwelling on the past if by doing so we fail to prepare for he future, and as such repeat the same mistakes.

Crusoe: Aye 'e's right sir. Dunn, Storm, I'd like ya to come along ta one of mah trainin' sessions with Jeff. We can get yer all on the same page an' then Buttas an' Damien ain't gonna be a problem.

Whitt: Yeah, we can do it. You've got someone truly talented in your corner, we've got the numbers, and we want it more and have prepared more. We'll be unstoppable.

Storm: Sure thi...

The luchadore however, is interupted by Matt.

Dunn: Though the offer is appreciated, Crusoe, I will have to decline. I would also like to see to Storm's pre-match training personally.

Williams: It would be unwise to not use the talents at your disposal, Matthew.

Dunn: I could agree more. Now, tell me, who is one of the best tag team wrestlers FMW has ever seen? Even the current Tag Team champion has admitted that this man is up there amongst the greats?

Levi: That'd be yourself, Matt.

S.O.S: The mutha fucka is good at what he does, yo. Da Cancer was a sick team and Dunn was da mastamind behind it.

Dunn: Quite. I know what to do. I know both opponents well enough. I feel I may be better suited to preparing the team for this match.

Crusoe: Ya know, 'e' might 'ave a point there, sir.

Williams: Perhaps. Well it can't be said I won't give people a chance; I'm already doing that with this whole invasion thing anyway. Don't let me down, Dunn.

The scene fades out, leaving the rest of team GSW's conversation a mystery.


A once popular FMW fansite and forum dedicated to the former team of one Nick Rijkaard and one Matt P. Dunn has recently moved to a rebranded url to keep relevent with the current proceedings within FMW. A debate on the sites java chat client thrives.

Mrsrijkaard: so who thinks damnien + butters r going 2 beat gsw @ ammo?
Mrsrijkaard: damien*
SIDBot: ENGLISH MOTHERFUCKER DO YOU TYPE IT?
FearIncarnate: Nah man. Butters, are you being serious?
Goldstandardfan: lol
Nickloin: I don't know Damien is pretty popular right now with the fans and Matt deserves it after what he did to Nick.
WHOIS?: u still hung up on that groinboi?
SIDBot: ENGLISH MOTHERFUCKER DO YOU TYPE IT?
OderintDUNN: Let's not forget Matt is *THE* tag team wrestler FMW has.
Teacherspet: What about Chris Austin?
Matteastwood: Fuck RCA.
Mrsrijkaard: mmmmm i wud
SIDBot: ENGLISH MOTHERFUCKER DO YOU TYPE IT?
WHOIS?: u sum sort of fangurl slut???
SIDBot: ENGLISH MOTHERFUCKER DO YOU TYPE IT?
Mrsrijkaard has left the channel: (Fuk u guys)
WHOIS?: lol
FearIncarnate: Seriously though, Dunn and Storm are gonna win this or I'll eat my fucking nuts.
Goldstandardfan: fuck yeah
Goldstandardfan: GSW
Goldstandardfan: GSW
Goldstandardfan: GSW
Goldstandardfan: GSW
Goldstandardfan: GSW
SIDBot: I HAVE HAD IT WITH THIS MOTHER FUCKING SPAM IN THIS MOTHER FUCKING CHAT!
Goldstandardfan has been kicked from the channel: (Spam)
Matteastwood: The Samuel Jackson channeling bot strikes again.
GSMark: And this is the short coming of the GSW invasion of FMW. We start getting 11 year old spamming fucks deciding it's all cool to spout shit with GSW usernames. IMO you can keep them FMW.
wrestlinisreel32: lolthats wut u get. mayb dunn will save them 2?
GSMark: At this point, I can only hope.

I couldn't wait to leave Rome, considering what awaited me in London. Not only do i get a chance to beat the shit out of two or possibly three members of GSW. The girl of my dreams was waiting for me at the hotel.

Jess.

My one and only.

The flight from Italy was less than uneventful. Minor turbulence, stale peanuts, and a nasty-looking salisbury steak you'd think would jump at your face and eat your flesh as soon as you look away.

And yet, I was as giddy as a high schooler awaiting the the final bell before spring break. This girl had that effect on me.

The plane landed at about ten a.m. I took an early flight to surprise Jess. At one of the stores in the airport, I grabbed some of the most expensive flowers I could find, a box of assorted chocolates, and one of those stuffed bears that talks. Bad cliche, I know, but to hell with it. She's more than worth it.

Once I found my luggage and exited the airport, I got a car from a rental place not far away. As the distance between she and I closed, I felt my excitement grow with each passing mile.

The hotel, one of those chain establishments a step or three down the ladder from the Hilton in terms of class, was across the city from the arena. London's a big place; romantic, in its own way.

As I walked into the lobby, I sure turned a lot of heads. The inhabitants of the benches, chairs, and couches around the lobby looked down on me (however impossible that may seem) with distaste, dismay, and (dare I say it) contempt. Not that I blame them. The sight of a damn near seven foot tall, better than two-fifty pound goth guy wearing a black leather jacket, blue jeans, black army boots, and a Children of Bodom t-shirt was no doubt a bit unsettling to these conservative types, most of them here for business ventures or, I don't know, under the radar meetings with prostitutes.

Underneath all of that light malice, however, the predator in me could sense a healthy dose of urine-yellow fear; something the old me would have exploited with a sadistic smile.

I, however, ignored it and walked straight to the front desk. The girl sitting behind it had black hair with blonde highlights, and empty peircing holes on either side of her bottom lip and in both ears. She was definitely pretty, but nowhere near Jess' level. Her name tage read "ELIZA".

I cleared my throat to get her attention. She looked up from her book, an old paperback of Stephen King's "'Salem's Lot", and started to welcome me. Mid-word, she froze up, her mouth agape with surprise.

"You--you're Damien Inferno, the wrestler," she exclaimed. "WOW!"

I smiled politely. "It's always a pleasure to meet a fan."

"Oh, I'm far beyond a fan, sir. I'm more what you'd call--," she paused for a moment, and a smirk crossed the right side of her lips as she finished, "--a groupie."

My smile grew a shade more brittle.

"Whattaya say I get you a room on the house so you and me can get a bit more private." She winked and licked her lips seductively to emphasize that last word. At least, it would've been seductive, I mean had I been single. As it stood then, I didn't even feel a slight pang of desire for her. This just made me miss Jess even more.

"Listen. I'm flattered, but I already--"

"Oh, come on," she groaned, half in annoyrance, half in desire. "You know you wanna. It'll be a blast."

I sighed. "I was fixin' to say I've already got a room. My girlfriend should've left a key for me under my name."

"Oh," she said, drawing out the word in disappointment and embarassment.

She turned to sort through some things behind the desk and found an envelope with my name written on it in smooth, flowing letters across the surface. I smiled adoringly at Jess' handwriting. The girl handed it to me across the counter. I opened the envelope and pulled out the key card inside. The number "1332" was displayed upon it in large stylized digits on the front.

"Thank you," I said, and turned to walk away.

She reached out and grabbed my hand. I turned back to her. Her embarassment overwhelmed her cuteness. "Ummm, listen. Sorry I came on so strong. I'm just a really big fan."

I smiled sympathetically, but she looked away.

"It's perfectly fine," I said. " Sometimes an ego boost can be just as good for the soul as its deflation."

She smiled hopefully. The desire was still there, behind her eyes, but at the moment, it wasn't overwhelming her.

"Umm, can i get your autograph?"

I shook my head, eyes closed. Fans are all the same in the end.

***

The elevator ride to my floor was excruciatingly slow. Seconds felt like hours. When the elevator doors finally opened, I could hardly stop myself from running to my door. Once I reached it, I smoothed ot the wrinkles in my clothes and combed my hair a bit. I held Jess' gifts in my left hand while I carefully and quietly worked the key card into the lock. As I slowly I wondered how I'd find her. Watching television, reading a book-

-or totally nude bouncing on top of some ugly douche bag in what was supposed to be our shared bed.

The gifts I bought her clattered to the floor, alerting her and her little friend to my presence. The bear let out a gasp of, "I love you," before I turned and stepped on it as I left the room and made my way slowly back to the elevator.

She ran after with out putting as much as a towel around herself.
"Damien! Damien, wait!"

I ignored her and continued on. She finally stepped in front of me. To say that she is altogether striking, beautiful, and sexy would be an understatement. Her hair is somehow naturally peroxide blonde, her eyes a pale blue-green. She's one of those women that the imperfections make her even sexier. She's not too skinny, not too chubby. A little meat on her; perfect. Her ass sticks out slightly, just enough to draw your eye to it. As for her breasts, "ample" just won't cover it.

And she was standing there in front of me in all her majestic beauty, completely exposed.

And I didn't give a shit. I was blinded by my rage.

"Get the fuck out of my way, ya traitorous bitch."

Her eyes told a tale of the supposed pain I caused her by calling her that.

"Why would you say that? It's not what it looks like! Please, let me explain!"

She reached out to grab hold of my hand, but I jerked away.

"Don't fuckin' touch me. Get out of my way, or I swear that both you and your little boyfriend'll end up in the hosptal."

For a moment, there was true conflict in her eyes. She seemed to be weighing her options. Finally, she looked down, sniffed, and wiped her eyes. When she looked up, uncertainty disappeared into malice.

"Well, looks like you just won't listen. Time for plan b."

Before I could offer a reply, one came abruptly from behind me.

"Aye. I love plan b, sweet heart."

I turned to see her new lover standing a few yards away. He'd taken the time to throw on a pair of jean shorts and a wife beater. Taking advantage of my confusion, he pointed his indext finger at me and yelled, "Pyrius!"

Flames of a deep sewage green spewed forth from his outstretched finger. Without thinking, I threw Jess, my former dream girl, in the way of the fire and ran back down the hall. I heard her scream in agony, and instinctively, I looked back. Her entire body was burned black by the searing hot wizard's fire, but within seconds, every inch of her flesh returned to its alabaster white silk norm. Being an immortal has its perks.

Her douche bag kneeled before her to check on her. She slapped him across the face and ordered him to follow me and kill me. Without hesitation, he jumped up and gave chase after me. He started throwing all sorts of foul smelling magic at me, causing fires all over the hall at this rate, everyone in the hotel would die because of him. I couldn't let that happen.

As I turned to confront him, thunder crashed and, from nowhere, lightning struck between us. When the light disappeared, a man of roughly twice my age, my same height, more or less, and infinitely more burly and buff stood between us, facing me.

"Don't try it, boy," he yelled over the crackling flames, his voice bellowing with a Scottish accent. "He's at least five times your match in terms of power, and infinitely more skilled!"

My eyes widened with my increasing rage. "I don't care! I will not allow him to kill these innocent people!"

He smiled. The bastard smiled! "So that's the problem, is it? Easily remedied."

He snapped his fingers, another crash of deafening thunder and white lightning, a momentary feeling of absolute weightlessness....

....And then he and I were both in the parking lot, along with everyone who had been in the building aside from Jess and the douche wizard. The flame had already started to engulf the building. Green light filled the sky.

I turned to look at the man who had just saved the lives of just about two hundred people, including myself, with a nap of his fingers. He just stood there, surveying the crowd of of dazed and confused former patrons of the hotel, seemingly to be sure he'd gotten everyone out unharmed. Satisfied, he turned to me.

"Alright, boy. Everyone's out and unhurt to boot. Now, lets get the hell out of here before that shit-stained reject and that slut find a way out."

I looked past him for just a moment at the burning building and noticed the abysmal smell of sulfur being cast off by the flames. Needless to say, I was beyond confused.

"Who are the hell are you," I asked as I turned back to him.

"This is not the time for introductions, god damn it, boy!" Frustration transformed his voice into a near guttural growl. "We must get to my house and behind my wards and defenses before our pursuers catch up to us!"

"Alright! Shit!" I paused to think for a second. "Can't you just zap us there like you did a minute ago?"

"Alas, no. Teleporting all those people has exhausted much of my magicks. I'll be useless until I get a meal and some rest."

"Fuck!" I paused again, and then I remembered something that should have been blatantly obvious. "Follow me," I yelled, and we sprinted to the side of the building where I'd parked. I dug in my pocket for the key and fumbled it into the lock, almost dropping it in my haste.

I jumped into the driver's seat and let the other man in the passenger side. As I jammed the key into the ignition, a form appeared in the rear-view mirror and emitted an ear drum shattering scream.

I quickly turned to investigate, and immediately recognized the intruder.

"Eliza?"

When she heard my voice, she nearly decapitated me with what must havebeen the strongest hug ever given by such a small person. "Thank god it's you! What's happening?"

I pushed her off of me as gently as I could manage, given the circumstances. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you. What happened to you? And why are you in my car?"

She paused and closed her eyes, reliving the last ten minutes in her mind. "Umm, I was at the counter in the lobby, when all of a sudden, everything started bursting into these weird green flames. They just smelled so bad and felt so...so evil. Just as I'd convinced myself I was gonne be burned to death, there was this blindin' light with what sounded like thunder, and I was suddenly outside. Without thinking, I jumped into the first unlocked car I found."

She panted through the story like a dog with hyperthermia, and then laid down in the back seat.

"Fire's not green," she mumbled a few times, tears running from her eyes.

I turned to the other passenger and raised an inquisitive eyebrow.

"Shes a bit of a sensitive," he began. "It's a pretty rare ability. She sensed the pure malice behind that little shit's fire spell and it's still effecting her."

I squinted at him, my confusion growing with each passing moment.

"How do you know that?"

He smiled. "She's got all the tell-tale signs of it. Have you figured out how to use your Sight yet?"

I grunted my affirmation.

"Look upon her with it."

I gave him a skeptical glance before I turned back to the rear seat. I closed my left eye, and concentrated for a moment, and when I opened it again, I'd opened my metaphorical Third Eye right behind it.

All at once, I saaw her as she was in the Physical Realm, cute, short, with her make up smeared by sweat and tears, and in the Spirit Realm. There, she was infinitely more beautiful, eclipsing Jess by leaps and bounds. She gave off a glow of a bright, clear white, and here eyes held an unnaturally blue luster. There was no make up on her face, but the scred face paint of an ancient Egyptian or Mesopotamian princess.

And surrounding the top of her head, situated like a regal crown, was a golden halo.

I shut my eyes and pushed the Sight away before I Saw too much. Once When I opened my eyes again, my other companion was staring at me.

"What?"

"Your Sight," he said. "You only opened it in one eye."

I shrugged. "So?"

"That is impossible. Opening the Sight leaves a man as a nearly spectral wraith. With almost no presence in our world until he shuts it away. You've found a way to exist in both our Realm and the Realm of Spirits." He paused, still staring. "That is not possible."

I leaned back in my seat and rubbed my eyes with my thumb and forefinger. "It wasn't easy to figure out. It took over six months of study, meditation, and practice to perfect it. And it still causes a slight strain. My eyes ache for a bit afterward."

He looked out the windshield at the building, nearly half of it collapsed by the instability brought on by the fire. "Interesting. Very damned interesting. Something tells me we're going to be spending qite a bit of time together, Damien."

My head snapped to him as if of its own accord. "How do you know my name?"

He shook his head. "Not the time. I'll answer your questions when we get to my house. I promise. Now let's get going!"

I stared at him for a moment without replying, then turned the key to start the car, and drove like a bat flying out of hell.

***
At his direction, we arrived at the Scotsman's house. It was enormous, bigger even than Jess' father's house had been back in Canada.

I stepped out of the car and pulled eliza out of the back seat, carrying her like a wounded child into the house. As I laid her onto a rather large and fluffy couch, our host closed the door and whispered a few words. There were strange creaking sounds that emanated from all over the house at once, only to be silenced seconds later.

He strode into the living room like a king about to hold court. He took a seat in a gigantic chair against a wall, and steepled his arms on its sides, fingers meeting in the middle in front of his face.
"Have a seat, boy. I have some things to tell you."

I took a seat across from him in a noticeably smaller, but damned comfortable, chair sitting about six feet in front of him.

"First things first. My name's Robert Ferguson. I'm a wizard, like you. Only I've been at it for about two hundred and fifty years."

My jaw dropped. This guy barely looked fifty, let alone better than 250. "But--"

"Later. Let me go on. I'm a member of a group known as the Council of Fire. We are a force that has existed in many forms for over two thousand years, that polices the use of human magic in Europe, Australia, and some parts of Africa. We are one of five smaller Councils that make up one larger, unified group known as the Council of the White Star. The other four are the Councils of Water, Earth, Air, and Spirit. Each one, if you haven't noticed, is named for a point of the pentacle, which gives the united Councils their bonded name. Each Council polices over different areas of the world. That man with your woman has been causing a lot of trouble for us for quite some time. When the Councils became aware of your talent, and his interest in you, we decided we needed to intervene. Since you were in England, I was sent to either recruit you, or kill you."

My mind was racing with all of this new information. Secret societies, people, including the girl I was in love with, trying to kill me, a guy who can teleport 200 people out of a burning building saving my ass.

"Well, what made you not want to kill me?"

He smiled, as if proud. "Your character. You would have preferred to die than let all of those innocents burn to death. That convinced me that you would make an excellent recruit."

I looked at the floor, unable to look the man in the eyes anymore. "You don't know all the things I've done, all the people I've hurt. Killed."

He stood up, walked over to me and put his hand on my shoulder. I looked up at him and saw that he was smiling warmly at me. " I know, Damien. But that wasn't you. That was the demon of violence, Sonneillon, holding sway over your actions. It wasn't your fault."

Before I could think of a response, he was half way up the stairs leading up the far wall of the room to the up stairs.

"Wait!"

He stopped and turned back to me, his eyes conveying a vague impatience mixed with obvious exhaustion.

"What'd you mean when you said we'd be spending a lot of time together?"

"I'll be travelin' with you. Training you to do more with your magick than simple tricks like telekinesis and aeromancy. Making you ready to join one of the councils."

I let that sink in for a moment, and decided I was fine with it. I needed to learn more about using my power. This would work well.

"Alright. How do you know so much about me?"

Robert shook his head. "Sorry. Only enough time to answer that first question." He yawned and stretched. "For now, I need some rest. Good night,boy."

He didn't wait for a response. He walked up another quarter of the stairs and then turned back.

"By the by, your friend can sleep on the couch for now. You can have the first room up here on the left."

Finally, he disappeared into the next floor.

I looked around to get some measure of this man, my new teacher, by his furnishings. Spears, swords, axes, guns, and many other weapons, from ancient to recent, were displayed in glass cases hanging from the walls. Between them hung paintings and portraits in different styles. Pointilism, cubism, realism, surrealism, impressionism. There were even a few charcoal paintings on the wall.

It's hard to judge a man who values war and art in equal regard.

I let out a breath that turned into a yawn of its own free will. I hadn't slept in about twenty hours. The plane wasn't exactly a good place to try to sleep, and then this whole ordeal just sapped the energy out of me.

I made my way up the stairs, entered the room Robert had offered me, and sat onthe bed. Before I fell asleep, I made a call to a friend and left a voice mail. That done, I collapsed on the bed and passed out.

***

I woke up to the large flat screen plasma television on the wall in fron of the bed changing channels, repeatedly, accompanied by a familiar voice.

"Soccer."

Click.

"Tennis."

Click.

"Badminton?" He scoffs in disgust.

Click.

"Snooker? What the hell is wrong with this country's sports?"

I looked up just in time to see the remote collide with the tv, shattering the screen. I turned to the corner of the room to see Slegnadamus, a friend, and the man who had lured me back to wrestling, sitting in a rocking chair with his injured leg propped up on an ottoman. His crutches leaned against the wall next to him.

I sat up on the edge of the bed, rubbed the sleep from my eyes, and said, "You know, those things tend to be pretty expensive."

He rolled his eyes. "Have you seen this house? I think a five or six hundred buck t.v. won't be a problem. Motherfucker's loaded."

I shook my head, smiling. "You're an obnoxious piece of shit. You know that, Sleg?"

"All a part of the package, buddy," he retorted, a laugh hiding behind the words. "You can't be this damn awesome without being obnoxious."

"One of these days," I said, "it's going to get you hurt." After a pause, and an exaggerated expression of realization, I added, "Oh, wait a second."

He stared daggers at me from across the room. "At least I don't let some chick drag me around by my bal--"

Before I knew what I was doing, I'd gotten up, walked to a desk next to my bed, grabbed a vase and thrown it in Slegna's general direction. He ducked on instinct, but it proved an exercise in futility, as the glass collided with the wall six feet away from him, leaving him unharmed.

He nearly jumped from the chair to lunge at me, but, remembering his knee, settled for quickly limping around the bed towards me on his crutches.

"You son of a fucking bitch," he yelled at me. "What the fuck is wrong with you?"

I told him. In detail. His anger disappeared for the most part by the end of the story.

"Hold up. You're telling me that Jess, one of the nicest, most innocent girls I've ever met, tried to have you killed? That's pretty unbelievable, dude. Even for your fucked up life."

I shook my head as a lone tear slid down my cheek. " It's all true, man. The dude would've set me on fire like a pile of dried wood if Robert hadn't intervened. I guess she was more like her father than she'd let on."

He only looked at me, not saying a word for almost a full minute.

"...Are you...crying?"

I turned away quickly and wiped my face with my shirt. "No. It's this fuckin' British pollen or somethin'. It's fuckin' with my allergies."

For once, he didn't protest with any cross or sarcastic comments. "Yeah. It's getting to all of us." He sniffed. "Not to push, but are you going to be able to focus on the match with Butters against those Gold Standard pricks?"

I took a deep, deep breath, and a sadistic grin reminiscent of times long gone slid across my face as I turned back to face my injured colleague.

"On the contrary. The match will be the perfect place to quell some of my anger. I promise you this much, Sleg. That bastard, Dunn, will pay for his betrayal and for taking you out. And his little buddy, Storm, may just find himself meeting with the heat of a flaming table if I have my way!"

“The truth is like the reflection in a carnival mirror: Twisted. A mirror full of lies. You could feign ignorance and believe what you wanted to believe by staring at it from a different angle. A smart man would realize that the only true choice was smashing the mirror of lies. Most men aren’t that smart.”
Craig Ryans


SCENE 1:
MEET THE RYANS
FROM THE MIND OF CRAIG

Hello kids. Today I’ll be telling you a story. It stars two heroic characters, fighting off the evilness of two guys who had the misfortune of trying to defeat them. But… like every story… There is always a beginning. Let’s back up to that.

The year? 1983. The place? Green Bay, Wisconsin. The setting? The home of the Ryans family. They’re a pretty normal family of 5. The father, Duncan Ryans, tries to provide for his family as a police officer. The mother, Julia Ryans, cares for her children in the best way she can. Then there are the children… An amazingly good looking kid with the name Craig Ryans; his sister Jennifer Ryans; and lastly – The scum of the family: Ken Ryans.

You see, daddy Ryans has it tough. Each day, he puts his life on the line as a police officer. What does he get when he comes home? Mother Ryans nags him constantly. Then, he has to deal with his idiotic soldier boy of a son, Ken, who taunts him. Some of the arguments get considerably heated. It’s OK, though… I’ve seen that Daddy Ryans could hold his own. More than once, I noticed a blue-eyed Ken the next day. Serves the prick right.

Then, there’s a day that I was born… so to speak.

It had been a pretty normal day up until that point. I remember waking up to the sound of a scuffle downstairs. So, being the good old 12 year old that I was, I got up and investigated. I couldn’t prepare myself for the scene that waited in the kitchen. There was mother Ryans, lying in a pool of her own blood. There was my father, looking distraught and worrying. And there was Ken… who didn’t seem to worry. He was staring at my father with hatred.

*FLASHBACK*

Craig Ryans: What… what happened?

Duncan Ryans: Craig… I… It….

Ken Ryans: Tell him, dad. Tell him precisely what fucking happened.

I hated Ken at that moment. Hated him, hated him… Fucking HATED him. Throwing attitude towards my father at such an inopportune time.

Duncan Ryans: Craig… There was a break-in. Your mom fell the victim to a criminal.

Ken Ryans (voice laced with venom): Yes, she did. A pathetic criminal.

Craig Ryans: Mommy…

I went and sat next to my mother, taking her head into my lap. Ken slowly walked over, and put his hand on my shoulder. That’s when I snapped a little.

Craig Ryans: Get your fucking hand off of me!

Ken Ryans: Craig…

Craig Ryans: I said GET YOUR FUCKING HAND OFF ME. I have nothing to say to you!

I killed him in that instant. At least, I tried to. The stare I gave was both an affirmation of my need to be left alone and my wish that his head would explode into thousands of pieces. Sadly, only the first part came true.

Ken Ryans: Ok, Craig… (Ken turned his head sideways to listen)… The police are here.

Duncan Ryans: I’ll handle this.

I don’t know how long I sat there, rocking back and forth. I was covered in her blood. My blood. Ryans’ family blood. Eventually, someone came and led me away. But it was a turning point for me. The old Craig Ryans would never come back. The old Craig Ryans was dead. There was only this new person… It’s when I developed my fascination for blood.

So they led me upstairs. Told me to wash my hands. When I looked down, something stirred inside me. I was absolutely coated with blood at that point. Inside the bathroom I turned on the sink and held my hands under it… Watching as the blood slowly dripped off and flowed away. Looking up, I realized that it wasn’t only the blood that was washed away. My innocence and childhood had gone with it.

Eventually the police were gone. The house started growing quiet. My father came up to my room, sat on the edge of the bed and told me that things were going to change. Me and Jennifer were going to go live with our grandfather. Ken was enlisting into the army. Everything was going to change.

I wanted to shout ‘No’ a thousand times during that conversation, but I just couldn’t summon the strength. At least I wouldn’t have to see Ken again. He should have protected her… I remember those thoughts being the last going through my mind as I drifted off to sleep.


SCENE 1 EPILOGUE:
THE TRUE STORY

The police were gone. Ken Ryans walked into the living room, staring at Duncan Ryans with a malevolence beyond his years. Duncan looked up at him, shaking his head sadly.

Duncan Ryans: Ken, I…

Ken Ryans: Save it. You KILLED her. Every day as a drunk… You beat her up many times… You beat me up many times… But this time… You’ve gone too fucking far…

Duncan Ryans: I didn’t mean to…

Ken Ryans: Save it! The worst part is… Being on the force… You fucking weaseled your way out of it. They covered for you. Bought your fucking story of a “burglary gone wrong”. At least you’ve accepted the fact that this is not a stable environment for Craig and Jennifer. If you EVER try to see them again, I will come forward with this story.

Duncan Ryans: I understand.

Ken Ryans: We won’t tell Craig what really happened. It’s better he remember his father as a good man, than this drunken fucking animal sitting before me.

The two Ryans grew silent, as they stared at each other… The one in defeat, the other one in anger… While the young Craig Ryans slept upstairs.

***

SCENE 2
VENDETTA CHAMPIONSHIP WRESTLING

Years had passed since those events. I had grown up living with my grandfather. When he eventually died… I inherited a lot of money. Grand-pa was pretty packed in that aspect. Ken forfeited his amount of the inheritance as well, opting instead that it be split equally between me and Jennifer. Least the prick could do.

So, what did I do with my share? I saw that Ken Ryans had become a wrestler… And I didn’t want him to hog the spotlight. So, I bought out a sizable share in a new startup company called Vendetta Championship Wrestling. I became their General Manager.

We did pretty well during those early shows… For a while I thought we were actually going to be the next big thing. But… Our roster didn’t have the depth, and the production quality we strived for required a budget that LPW and FMW could afford, but a startup couldn’t. Hell, we thought we were going to revolutionize the industry… Instead we were just a stark reminder of the harsh nature of this business we’re in.

About a week or two before the company went under completely, I remember having a meeting with Lous Westwood, who was my financial adviser, and pretty much the only accountant I knew who could run circles around the IRA, bullshit them to the point where he didn’t have to pay, and to crown it all… Still CLAIMED from them.

Lous Westwood: The company is going under, Craig.

Craig Ryans: Fuck it, Lous. You’re my best financial advisor. What the fuck do we do?

Lous stared out the window and paused before replying. I remember that, from that angle, he made me think of a jackal that was sizing up it’s prey.

Lous Westwood: Can I ask you something? Do you believe in the justice system, Craig?

I remember pausing. Lous obviously had something pretty intense planned. He wasn’t normally one to approach a subject cautiously. I leaned forward in my chair, instantly interested.

Craig Ryans: I believe the law is a means to an end. There are certain things that are above the law.

Lous Westwood (laughing): I hoped you’d say that. You see, Craig, I knew VCW would fail from the start. I knew it since day one. So, what I did was, I invested about half of your financial assets into bankruptcy insurance. If VCW fails, you will make about treble what you put in. The other shareholders are all losing out though… Every policy is in your name.

Craig Ryans: I am impressed, Lous. Very impressed.

Lous Westwood: Yeah, but, like in the movies… Wait, there’s more. I’m not sure you are realizing the precise financial implications here… You’ll be a BILLIONAIRE, Craig.

I stood up at that point, walking towards the wall, and opened the dart-board there. I still laugh when I think of that dart-board. A cut-out poster of Ken Ryans was planted on there… I liked practicing on it. Grabbing 3 darts, I gave ‘old Soldier boy two darts to both eyes, and one to the forehead.

Craig Ryans: A billionaire? I like that.

Lous Westwood: I knew you would. It’s what you’re paying me for.

Craig Ryans: You’re sure no-one will suspect anything.

I remember Lous giving me that ‘Oh please’ look and remember his next words precisely.

Lous Westwood: Remember who you’re talking to, kid. I know how to work the system.

Lous did know how to work the system. But somebody else had noticed our plan.

***

SCENE 3:
KYRIAN SECURITY

One year had passed since VCW went under. Lous, true to his word, had managed to wrangle the biggest return in the history of the black market, making me a billionaire. The money was great. I had put it all in the bank… and the interest was pretty much enough to buy me the most expensive cars I desired… The biggest houses I wanted.

But, like with any story that’s too good to be true, it was. When you deal with sharks, you shouldn’t be surprised when you get bitten. That’s precisely what happened. Lous, my financial manager, the shark he was, had smelt the blood in the water. He didn’t like that I had gotten all that money. He wanted in on the deal. The thing is – I had already paid him… handsomely at that. I mean the guy had gotten 50 million out of me.

But that wasn’t enough for him. He wanted more. The little prick had come back now and demanded HALF of my assets… or else. I knew he wasn’t bluffing. Lous wasn’t the bluffing type – He wouldn’t hesitate to rat me out.

So… in the end I agreed. Lous wans’t dumb… He didn’t want anything with a paper-trail. So we arranged a meeting in an abandoned parking lot. I still remember the conversation vividly.

Lous Westwood: Hello, Craig.

Craig Ryans: Lous.

The pompous prick. Wanting to exchange pleasantries.

Lous Westwood: You got my money there, kid?

Craig Ryans: Look, Lous, let’s talk about this.

Lous Westwood: Ain’t nothing to talk about. I did all the work to get you that compensation, Craig. I did all the fucking work. What did you do? Nothing. So, the fact that you’re going to give me half shouldn’t be that worrying to you.

Craig Ryans: Lous… I gave you 50 million. I’m prepared to give you another 50 million and…

Lous Westwood (laughing): 50 Million? Are you crazy, man? Try 500! There’s no way I’m settling for a small piece of the pie. So… what’s it going to be, Craig? 500 million… or else you’ll be visited by a very special branch of the IRA, and they don’t play nice.

I had sighed. Part of me actually liked the guy. I didn’t want it to go down like this… but then again… There wasn’t much of a choice at that point. He had challenged me to a power-play… and would find that Craig Ryans always delivered.

Craig Ryans: I was hoping it wouldn’t come to this. But fine.

I snapped my fingers. Then they came out of the shadows. There were about five of them, their leader clearly evident as the tallest and biggest one among them. His name was Kyrian Hunter and he ran a security firm called Kyrian Industries. I had hired them because I knew that they employed people who were… less than reputable. People who wouldn’t talk.

As they walked towards Lous, his eyes darted between them, taking a step back. I could see the nervousness in him. The fear was practically eminating off of the guy.

Lous Westwood: What the fuck is this?

Kyrian Hunter: Craig contacted me about you. Said that you were going back on your word. That… after an agreement you were looking to blackmail him to get more out of it. You know… I don’t really like that.

Lous Westwood: Shit… Listen… Kyrian, is it? Whatever Craig is paying you, I’ll pay you double.

I remember Kyrian laughing at this. His next words impressed me.

Kyrian Hunter: It’s not about the money… Well… A lot of it is about the money, but it’s not ALL about the money. Me and my boys… We don’t like snitches.

They were circling him now. One shark about to be devoured by others. Kyrian had looked at me for confirmation. I remember nodding, and feeling this strange sense of power. The punches came out of nowhere. The first punch knocked Lous over completely. The second punch kept him down. After a while, the kicking started.

We had left Lous there, in a pool of his own blood. Last I heard the guy was still in a coma. We didn’t kill him, because that’s not what we were about. God forbid he should ever wake up from that coma, though. I guess I’ll cross that bridge when I get to it.

***

SCENE 4:
FULL METAL WRESTLING

That’s how I arrived at my present day scenario. I had been happy with all that money and content in the fact that Ken Ryans had crashed and burned in his LPW run in the end. He had won a IHC title shot, but never taken it. Then it happened. The guy returned to LPW, and won the International Heavyweight Championship. I was not impressed.

I was rich, but I certainly wasn’t the most successful Ryans. Somehow, he had a found a way to take that away from me as well. So I called up my contacts at FMW. A little bribe money here and there did wonders for the signup process – Until the point where I got myself a contract. Of course, my bodyguard Kyrian had come with me.

I have one goal and one goal only in FMW: To be more successful in the wrestling business than my idiotic brother. Today is that day. Today is My First Day.

Kyrian Hunter: What are you thinking so heavily about, Craig?

I had insisted that he called me Craig. Being called Mr. Ryans… It made me feel too close to Ken. Craig was the only differing factor between us.

Craig Ryans: About our debut.

Kyrian Hunter: We’re going to win. I’ve heard that my team will not be allowed at ringside… At least not yet… But still, I’ll be there. And I won’t allow us to lose.

Craig Ryans: Perfect attitude, Hunter. Perfect attitude. However, I like to be prepared. So… I pay your security team for Intel, after all. Tell me about these opponents. We need match relevance.

Kyrian Hunter: Lucian Celona – His story is like something out of The Godfather.

Craig Ryans: Actually, that sounds pretty awesome.

Kyrian Hunter (smirking): I never said the first two. His is like something out of Godfather 3.

Craig Ryans: Fuck. Nevermind, then.

Kyrian Hunter: So… He’s from an Italian family… The guys father was rotten… He tried following in his footsteps and managed to end up in juvy for a few years. He had an unsuccessfull jab at the MMO scene, until ending up in FMW.

Craig Ryans: Smashing. Next?

Kyrian Hunter: Nick Dream. We couldn’t find that much information on the guy. He’s wrestled in a few federations, mostly indies. Never really shined all that much in any of them.

Craig Ryans: Great. Tonight, we need to prove something, Kyrian. There’s something else, though. After the match, after we WIN, there’s something I want to do.

Kyrian Hunter: Yeah, what’s that?

I smiled and beckoned him to come closer.

Craig Ryans: Let me tell you… There will be blood...

Tag Team Match
The Craig Ryans & Kyrian Hunter vs. Nick Dream & Lucian Celona

Singles Match
"Outlaw" John Andrews vs. David Ravish

Tag Team Match
GSW (Matt Dunn & Storm, with Jeff Whitt) vs. Damien Inferno & Butters (with Slegnadamus)

Singles Match
Eddie Chamberlain vs. Abel Steele

Television Championship Match
David GS (c) vs. J.L. Anwyl

Main Event
Leviticus vs. Nick Bryson

Inside a penthouse somewhere in new York City, we see a cameraman moving towards Storm who has his back against himself (or her for that matter). With his mask off placed carefully next to him on the right hand side of the desk, we see Storm's head raising up slightly, noticing the presence of the cameraman right behind him. He grunts then continues writing.

Furthermore I am honoured and surprised that you would like me to team up with Matt Dunn in tag team action. To be honest with you I'll give it my all and show to you how much golden talent I have in your stable.

Storm paused for a few moment to find his butler who appears from the shadow just next to him.

Calmly Storm notices him then asks “Can you get me a Whiskey? This letter might take some time to finish.”

Storm's butler nods with approval then disappears, hopefully to get himself some Baileys himself. For some strange reasons, he prefers Irish Whiskey sometimes compared to local shit. Obvious to the cameraman pointing a camera right behind him, Storm picks up his pen and continues to write.


The butler returned with a tray that included a scroll and Storm's Whiskey, Baileys as ordered by Storm himself. Storm takes the whiskey and the scroll then places it right next to his letter. He nods towards his butler to say thank you and continues to write.

However there seems to be a far more deadly problem than we can possibly imagine. You see, we need creative to start this shit. Without live tapings and a suitable network to show it, we're still virtually unknown towards this point...

All of the sudden the phone rings. As Storm gets up, he curses to himself for the unnecessary interruption caused by this phone call. With his face mostly covered up in the dark, we only see his mouth. It seems that Storm hasn't put lipstick on his face, maybe that's only for his wrestling matches, who knows? Without any hesitation, Storm picks up the phone.

“Yes?”
“It's Dunn.”
“Yes I know who you are now what the fuck do you want?”
“Well hello to you too. I was just phoning to check if you got that package?”
“I don't know what your talking about Matt. We received no package today.”

From the background, Storm's butler walks up then whispers into his ear. At this exact point we do not know what he is saying. Storm turns away from his butler then continues his conversation with Dunn.

“It appears that I was wrong. We do have a parcel under your name however I have no idea what content is inside this parcel you appear to give to me.”
“Just open it up when you get the chance.” replied Dunn “We will meet in London, I also supplied to you plane tickets for the trip to Gatwick. I will be waiting.”
“Gatwick? Isn't that in London?”
“Yes however I couldn't get tickets for Heathrow. The government was being cunts as always plus Smitten wouldn't allow us to fly on British Airways the douche bag. Instead we're flying on Richard Branston's piece of trash.”
“Fucking typical. Shall me meet at arrivals?”
“Yes.”

At this point, Dunn hangs up. Storm looks at the phone in confusion then places it back down. He grunts then grins towards the camera, as he turns to head back towards his desk his butler asks “Would you like me to get your parcel sir?”

As Storm sat back down on his chair, he replies “Yes and be quick about it, I got a flight to catch.” then got back to finishing off writing his letter.

When you retrieve this letter, we hope to continue saving Full Metal Wrestling one step at a time...

“Of course.” said his butler then turns away to fetch Storm's parcel.

However if Butters or Bobino interfere one more time, I will personally hunt them down and end their careers swiftly. If you guys want to help me pursue them in anyway shape or form then go ahead.

This letter will be sent via first class and signed for by recorded delivery. My letters will be like this from now on as I feel that I am being watched.

I will see you in England for Ammunition 13.1.

This letter has been Signed, Sealed and Delivered to Gold Standard Wrestling.

Storm

PS: Leviticus...

You did us proud boy.

Storm placed his pen down next towards the letter then leaned back onto his chair with relief on his face. He wanted to get this letter written for quite some time now. Suddenly we hear a loud thud coming from a corridor, Storm notices this, takes his mask and gets up leaving the letter and the envelope on the desk. We then see Storm and his butler both moving a large crate inside his room as we end this scene. In the end Storm did seal up that letter to Gold Standard Wrestling and managed to send it out on time.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

“So what do you want me to do?”

Inside a taxi heading towards the O2 arena, Matt Dunn is sitting next to Storm day dreaming right out of the window pondering a game plan for their tag team match later on tonight. Storm continues to stare at Dunn until a suitable answer is required from him.

“We simply have to win this match in order to progress GSW as a stable.” replied Dunn “Simply losing this will be extremely disastrous.”

“So you two work for FMW or GSW?” shouted the taxi driver from the front.

An awkward silence suddenly followed soon afterwards.

“Good question.” replied Storm “We work for both.”

“I see.” The taxi driver nodded slowly towards himself, interested in what both Storm and Dunn were saying. “To me it sounds like you two are plotting something big that will shake the wrestling world inside and out...”

Dunn interrupted “I think it's best that you fucking shut up and take us to the arena, we're already late as it is.”

“As you wish.”

The taxi driver closed his window behind him to allow Storm and Dunn to carry on with their conversation without any interruptions. We cannot seem to hear what there saying at this moment in time so I think it's best that we ultimately end this scene with the taxi driving straight to the arena with barely any traffic at all on the roads. Strange huh? I think the driver didn't realise that the M25 was shut tonight.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Tag Team Match
The Craig Ryans & Kyrian Hunter vs. Nick Dream & Lucian Celona

Singles Match
"Outlaw" John Andrews vs. David Ravish

Tag Team Match
GSW (Matt Dunn & Storm, with Jeff Whitt) vs. Damien Inferno & Butters (with Slegnadamus)

Singles Match
Eddie Chamberlain vs. Abel Steele

Television Championship Match
David GS (c) vs. J.L. Anwyl

Main Event
Leviticus vs. Nick Bryson

Tag Team Match
The Craig Ryans & Kyrian Hunter vs. Nick Dream & Lucian Celona

Singles Match
"Outlaw" John Andrews vs. David Ravish

Tag Team Match
GSW (Matt Dunn & Storm, with Jeff Whitt) vs. Damien Inferno & Butters (with Slegnadamus)

Singles Match
Eddie Chamberlain vs. Abel Steele

Television Championship Match
David GS (c) vs. J.L. Anwyl

Main Event
Leviticus vs. Nick Bryson

more votes later.

Tag Team Match
The Craig Ryans & Kyrian Hunter vs. Nick Dream & Lucian Celona

Singles Match
"Outlaw" John Andrews vs. David Ravish

Tag Team Match
GSW (Matt Dunn & Storm, with Jeff Whitt) vs. Damien Inferno & Butters (with Slegnadamus)

Singles Match
Eddie Chamberlain vs. Abel Steele

Television Championship Match
David GS (c) vs. J.L. Anwyl

Main Event
Leviticus vs. Nick Bryson

Votes possible to change.

Tag Team Match
The Craig Ryans & Kyrian Hunter

Singles Match
"Outlaw" John Andrews

Tag Team Match
GSW (Matt Dunn & Storm, with Jeff Whitt)

Singles Match
Abel Steele

Television Championship Match
David GS

Main Event
Leviticus

Tag Team Match
The Craig Ryans & Kyrian Hunter vs. Nick Dream & Lucian Celona

Singles Match
"Outlaw" John Andrews vs. David Ravish

Tag Team Match
GSW (Matt Dunn & Storm, with Jeff Whitt) vs. Damien Inferno & Butters (with Slegnadamus)

Singles Match
Eddie Chamberlain vs. Abel Steele

Television Championship Match
David GS (c) vs. J.L. Anwyl

Main Event
Leviticus vs. Nick Bryson

Subject to change.

The bathroom tiles were cold underfoot, despite the curtain of hot steam rolling over them like a cloud breaking over the sunset. In the last of three stalls, leaning into the corner, stood Abel Steele.

He stood like a statue as the water washed over him, not even blinking away the water that ran over his brow and into his eyes, before falling away to the floor and disappearing down the drain.

So BLOODY close….

The first thing he had wanted to do after being kicked from that hellacious structure was rush back to the showers and get the hell out of the place. But he hadn’t.

Instead Abel had stood, just out of sight, underneath the Metaltron and watched the brutal finish. He had felt every blow that Drew Michaels landed as if it were a strike at his own body

Drew Michaels had screwed with Abel at Ammunition 12.3 and when Abel had been sure that the man was going to claim the torch it had been almost too much to bear. He had finally turned his back on the ring in disgust and trudged glumly down to the depths of the stadium.

He trudged all the way down to the locker room, slumped dejectedly against the wall like a bag of bones and prayed that the water would wash him down the drain with it.

BLOODY Drew Michaels.

Abel replayed the Mount Vesuvius match over and over again in his head, assessing his performance, looking for a critical mistake, looking for someone to blame.

There is no one to blame but my bloody self.

Abel knew it was the truth and, surprisingly, it comforted him. For so long the actions of others had ruled his fate. Like the hands of puppeteers pulling the strings of his destiny Abel had been shover from pillar to post since he won the Gold Card way back when.

The only thing that remained under his skin was the fact that the man who had last played with his fortune was going to claim the ultimate prize. It stuck in his throat like a kitten in a Velcro store.[color=#56A5EC]

Beep, beep….. Beep, beep.

Piss off Doc

Maybe it wasn’t the only thing sticking in his throat. His phone had been beeping away like a metal detector at a World War II Veteran’s Parade. Abel had not responded to a single one of what must be nearly thirty five text messages. He wasn’t in the mood for the “What the hell happened??” discussion that would inevitably follow up his accidental elimination of Doc.

Besides

Abel thought to himself

If anyone has some answering to do it’s bloody well Doc, not me!

Doc was supposed to be his ace in the hole. Doc was meant to play Judy so that Abel could Punch his way to the top of the mountain.

Nearly did it without the old bastard anyway….

Abel put Doc from his mind, he knew that he had done all he could in that match and he had gone bloody close to winning it all. He just wished it could have been anyone other than Drew Michaels who won the damn thing.

With an effort Abel stood upright and turned off the water. He stood there for half a minute or so as the last of the water dripped from his body and down the drain.

As he stepped out of the shower and into the dressing room the impatient tapping of one foot on the tiles told him that he was not alone.

Steele: I though you had your own private change room.

The tapping stopped and Abel waited for the response, but it never came.

Abel grabbed up a fresh towel from the pile by the showers and wrapped it tightly around his waist

As Abel reached to grab his clothes from his locker a hand shot out like a viper grabbing him by the wrist and pushing it back down.

Smitten: Fourth place at Mount Vesuvius……. Not bad for a useless waste of space.

Abel simply stared at the hand grasping his wrist as if trying to burn a hole in it with his eyes.

Smitten: Even a whiny shit like you can earn a shot after a performance like that. No doubt –

Abel tried to wrench away his arm but the Commissioner would not release his grip at all.

Smitten: As I was saying, no doubt you think I should make you the number one contender for the C-4 Championship.

Steele: Not before bloody time.

Smitten: Yes I probably should to put you into a number one contenders match or something. Unfortunately I had a particularly shitty night tonight myself.

Abel gave nothing away but he was chuckling on the inside. Seeing the Commissioner flat on his back before even making it onto the Mountain was near on his favourite part of the evening.

Steele: That’s no reason not to do your damn job.

Smitten droned on as if Abel had never spoken.

Smitten: And now my plans for you have changed.

Abel flexed the muscles in his arm several times. He stretched the fingers out on his free hand, balled them into a fist and then stretched them out again.

Smitten: Drew Michaels performance tonight means he can’t be the number one contender.

Abel tensed all over.

Fucking Drew Michaels! He's been in Smitten's ear again....

Steele: Now hold on a damn minute. Just ‘cos he won Mount Vesuvius doesn’t mean he should be number 1 contender for the C-4 belt as well.

As he spoke Abel’s free hand had clenched tightly into a fist and it was now raised up to his waist.

Smitten: Ha..ha..ha. You’d like to hit me wouldn’t you Steele? Do it! I’ll end your pathetic career here and now you insignificant piss ant.

The sound of the Commissioner’s laughter grated him to the bone but Abel knew he had the power to do as he threatened

If I beat him into a bloody coma he won’t be doing anything.

With an effort Abel forced his hand down by his side. He did not unclench his fist but held it tightly down by his thigh.

Smitten: Pity. Now as I was saying, Drew Michael’s is no longer fit to compete after Nick Bryson carved his leg up like a Christmas ham.

Abel couldn’t help himself, as much as he knew he should be sympathetic to anyone getting injured in a match, he also knew that a smile was now sat smugly on his face.

Steele: So I’m the number 1 contend…

Smitten: So you will face Eddie Chamberlain at Ammunition 13.1 until I can find someone worthy of facing Chris Austin at Ultimatum.

With that Smitten released Abel’s wrist as quickly as he had grabbed it, stood, turned and began to walk purposefully out of the room.

Smitten: Oh and one other thing…

Abel raised one eyebrow quizzically

Smitten: For Christ’s sake put some damn clothes on.

Abel looked down and was surprised to see his towel in a heap on the floor by his feet.

Hmmph, must have fallen down when I tried to jerk my arm free.

As the FMW Commissioner walked out of the room Abel quickly dressed himself. Things were going almost perfectly.

He had competed well in the Main Event, Drew was out of commission and he was going to kick some rookie’s ass all round the ring next up.

Beep, beep……..Beep, beep.

Abel looked down at his mobile phone

1 NEW SMS

Almost perfectly

Tag Team Match
The Craig Ryans & Kyrian Hunter vs. Nick Dream & Lucian Celona

Singles Match
"Outlaw" John Andrews vs. David Ravish

Tag Team Match
GSW (Matt Dunn & Storm, with Jeff Whitt) vs. Damien Inferno & Butters (with Slegnadamus)

Singles Match
Eddie Chamberlain vs. Abel Steele

Television Championship Match
David GS (c) vs. J.L. Anwyl

Main Event
Leviticus vs. Nick Bryson

I've come to what you might call a crossroads.

I lost at Mount Vesuvius. Other guys will cling to straws like "I got the most eliminations," or "I eliminated so-and-so," or "Golly-gee, I did really good considering I was the first entrant," but doing that seems kinda pointless to me. There was one winner and twenty-nine losers, one guy who grabbed the Torch and twenty-nine who didn't, and if you aren't Nick Bryson, then no amount of eliminations, or duration lasted, or who's-who of eliminations will cover up the fact that on that night, you were a loser.

So where does this leave me? I'm still the Television Champion. I'm still undefeated in singles competition (and will be for a while, if management keeps throwing me bones like Anwyl). I'm also a part of a stable that includes the former and future Abandoned Champion (get dat rematch, Leon), the new Ultraviolent Champion, and the New Full Metal Champion.

There's them, all over on Corruption, and then there's me, here on Ammunition - the TV Champion, who has just emerged from a months-long personal hell with his brotherhood, his marriage, and his personal health all (relatively) unscathed.

So, I guess the question is...what now?



"Can we go?"

David blinked, looking sidelong at Rachel as he took a long, slow sip from the beer in his hand. Sam Adams - he'd always liked it, and the SoA's new base of operations maintained a decent supply of the stuff. He didn't doubt that most of it would be gone by morning, though - Hannibal's FMC Party had, for the most part, degenerated into a drunken dry-humping clinic, and every now and then, from his spot on the couch, David caught a whiff of something that definitely wasn't alcohol.

Rachel grabbed his shoulder and gave it a light shake. "Can we go?" she asked again. "Please?"

He nodded slightly, and when he looked over and saw the Champ himself dancing with a couple topless chicks, he did it again, this time more firmly. "Yeah," he said, setting his beer down on the table next to the sofa and getting to his feet. "Let's go."

Rachel had been sitting with her legs on his lap; David offered a hand to her and helped her up to her feet, and the two of them made their way to the Clubhouse's back door as quickly and quietly as possible, the bass from Frost's newly-acquired stereo system beating at their eardrums like a fist on a wooden door. The place was packed, mostly with scantily-clad women; David could tell that Rachel was WAY out of her element, threading her way through the throng of dancing, gyrating people that seemed to fill every one of the large house's rooms, and he felt for her.

They finally arrived at the back door - a large, ornate thing of wood and glass - and stepped out onto the expansive back porch.

The night was still and cool; out here, the rhythmic thumping of music from within the house was reduced to a dull heartbeat that was easily challenged by the first spring chirpings of crickets, and the full moon hung low in the sky, casting its silvery reflection on the surface of the massive in-ground pool that sat directly behind the Clubhouse.

David and Rachel descended the deck steps and walked slowly along the edge of the pool, their fingers intertwined together. She leaned her head on his shoulder as they went. The weight was comforting to David; after spending the better part of a year without her, he was loathe to let Rachel leave his sight for even the smallest of intervals.

"Those guys sure can throw a party," Rachel said after a time. "Can't they?"

David didn't respond right away, instead smiling at her thinly-veiled attempt to hide her disdain for the whole event. "Eh," he said dismissively. "Bit too crazy for my tastes - I betcha Hannibal gets at least three of those girls in the sack tonight, though."

His wife cried out in playful surprise, turned, and slapped him lightly on the upper-arm. "That's terrible," she said, mildly disgusted.

"Eh," David said again, shrugging his shoulders and flashing a rueful smile at her. "Truth's terrible sometimes."

She just rolled her eyes and shook her head, but allowed his arm to encircle her slender waist all the same. As they resumed walking, however, she suddenly turned to look up at him and said, with surprising conviction and worry in her voice, "I don't like this."

"Hm?" David looked down at her, and upon seeing the look of genuine concern on her face, his eyebrows shot up. "Don't like what?"

They had reached the far side of the pool. Rachel turned, breaking away from his comforting hands as she did so, and gestured back at the Clubhouse, standing in all its rich, wealthy grandeur against the thick black velvet of the night sky.

"This," she said flatly. "All of this - what it could do to you."

David frowned at her, not understanding. "What do you mean?"

"The house," Rachel said, turning and looking hard at him. "The pool. The cars, the jets, the golf courses, the publicity, the photo shoots, the liquor, the drugs, the women...all of it. David...baby, you're a good man. The four of you - you're all good men. But when you give good men a lifestyle like this...when you give them a house, and nice cars, and all the liquor, drugs, and women they could possibly want, it..." She trailed off; her face fell, and her shoulders seemed to sag just a bit. "...it turns them into bad men," she finished quietly.

David was stricken by this burst of insight, and pulled her into an embrace. As he held her, he couldn't help but look around the Clubhouse grounds.

Off to the side of the house, he could see the long driveway - it was filled with limos and Lambos and Lincolns, Mustangs and Maseratis and McLarens, and a greater plethora of nice cars than he, a kid from Omaha, Nebraska with a penchant for Shoulder Block Takedowns, could've ever imagined. It was fantastic, but at the same time a little frightening.

"You think," he started, looking down at Rachel as she pulled her head away from his chest to meet his gaze, "that being a Son of Attrition is going to corrupt me?" There was no sarcasm in the question, no biting edge; he merely wanted to know.

Rachel turned and looked back at the house. "It's already gotten Frost," she said matter-of-factly. "Who's to say it won't get you, too?"

The bass beat emanating from the house seemed to get suddenly louder in David's ears. He found himself wondering about Leon and the Celt and how they were faring in there.

It was an interesting notion - was the kind of person you turned out to be directly dependent on the lifestyle you were privy to? Throughout his life, David had always considered himself to be a good-hearted, stand-up guy; it was what had gotten him Rachel, as well as the overwhelming fan support he received whenever he was in an FMW ring. But could it all be attributed to his upbringing? Did he owe it all to having spent his childhood in a well-valued, middle-class home in suburban Omaha, Nebraska?

If that were the case, then Rachel was no doubt spot-on, and the opposite held true as well: wealth and money and power corrupted, and if the Sons of Attrition were to make Frost's antics of the night commonplace, then they would no doubt look in the mirror one day down the road and find that they had become the very evil they swore to purge from Full Metal Wrestling.

"I..." David said, unsure of how to proceed.

Rachel looked up at him, expectant.

"I..." he stumbled over his words, "I...won't let that happen to me."

The meek declaration wasn't enough for her - David could see it in her face. Nevertheless, she returned her head to his chest and let him hold her there, on the edge of the pool with the full moon overhead, rocking gently back and forth against the dull thudding of music from the Clubhouse.

"You fought evil for my sake," she said softly. "I don't know what I'd do if I had to watch you become it."

The comparison to the Locusts drove a stake into David's heart. Would this turn him into something like them?

Could it?



Weight lifting. God, how he'd missed it.

The gym was all but dead on weekdays: the middle-aged people trying to regain their youth were at work, and the high school jocks were still sitting in class. This left David and a select few like him - those poor, pitiable members of society whose entire existences depended on remaining in top physical condition - to occupy the fitness center's many facilities.

David hadn't been to the gym in months - during the Locust saga, his workout regimen had consisted of multiple variations of pushups, situps, and any other exercises he could do in the hotel rooms he and Steven had stayed in. It hadn't been ideal, not by any stretch of the imagination, but he'd thankfully been able to remain in good enough shape to keep his Streak and TV Title reign intact.

Now that all that was over, however, he was looking forward to getting some definition back - he was, after all, the FMW Television Champion, and him looking flabby on International TV just wouldn't do, especially now that he was running with the SoA.

Getting up from the bench press - his max without a spotter was 225 - he took a step backwards and inadvertently bumped into someone.

"Shit!" he exclaimed, quickly turning around to excuse himself. "I'm sorry, I didn't see you th - "

He then stopped, looking at who he'd bumped into, and said, "Wait a sec...I know you, don't I?"

The lithe, slender Latina stared at him curiously; she apparently knew him as well but was experiencing a similar memory blank. "I...I think so," she replied, unsure. She laughed nervously, and said, "I feel bad - I'm sorry, but I can't remember who you are."

"No, no," David replied, laughing a little himself. "It's fine - I'm having some trouble placing you myself."

It was clear that, like David, she had just finished a workout: the skin that wasn't covered by tight black sweatpants and a sky-blue midriff top glistened with sweat, and her ample chest gave a slight heave with every breath, indicating that she'd put an emphasis on cardio. David found his eyes drawn to it, and had to force himself to focus on the woman's eyes.

"Oh!" she said suddenly, the light of realization coming to life behind her eyes. "That's it! We live in the same building!"

David snapped his fingers, mentally slapping himself for not making the connection sooner. "That's where I've seen you!"

"Yeah," she said, smiling beautifully and nodding. "You're...you're David. The wrestler. God, I don't know why it took me so long to place your face, I've seen you around the building and on TV before." She extended her hand. "I'm Anna, Anna Ortega."

David shrugged, casually dismissing both their lapses in memory, and shook her hand politely. "David Smith," he said cordially, returning her smile. "It's a pleasure to meet you." The introduction was followed by an awkward silence, one that saw both of them shift and fidget uncomfortably.

"...so," David said, "are you just...um, finishing up here?" He gestured around the sparsely-populated weight-lifting area.

Anna nodded, hooking her thumb over at a nearby water fountain. "Yeah, I was just going to get a drink and head for the locker room. What about you?"

"Same," David replied, shoving his hands into the pockets of his basketball shorts.

Another silence followed, but this time it was Anna who broke it. "Well..."

David looked up from staring at his shoes, and saw that she'd begun toying with a lock of her long, blond-highlighted hair. "What?" he asked.

"I was just gonna say that if you aren't too busy," she said, eyeing him through a thin veil of hair that hung in front of her eyes, "maybe you'd like to join me for lunch? I know a place over on Maple - great pasta, if you're interested." She offered up another smile; this was a shy one, oddly innocent and yet, to David, still exceedingly beautiful. Her teeth were snow-white, and her emerald-green eyes glittered.

David glanced over at a clock on the wall. It was only 1:15 - Rachel didn't get off work until 4:30, so he had some time to kill.

"Sure," he said, turning back to her. "That'd be great."

Anna's smile brightened considerably. "Great!" she said. "I'll meet you out front, and then we'll walk over there, okay?"

David nodded, still smiling. "Sounds good." They then went their separate ways, David to the men's locker room and Anna to the women's. As he went, David turned and looked back over his shoulder.

She had a nice ass, Anna Ortega did.



"Hoo-boy!" David exclaimed, leaning back in his chair and letting his silverware clatter to the now-empty plate in front of him. "Now that...that was somethin' else, I gotta say."

Anna grinned across the small at him and finished chewing the bite that was in her mouth before speaking. "You liked it?" she asked.

"Uh, YEAH," David replied, nodding earnestly. "Best alfredo sauce I've ever had, hands-down."

The restaurant was called Il Giardino delle Rose, and it was no stretch of the imagination to say that it was some of the greatest food David had ever tasted. A small eatery situated on a street corner in Omaha's Old Market District, it exuded an aura of old-country Italia that seemed to permeate the food, drink, and even the atmosphere that one enjoyed while eating there. David and Anna had been lucky enough to score a table in the open-air seating area in front of the establishment; enclosed by a waist-high wrought-iron fence, hung with strings of wildflowers and adorned with torches, it made for a truly unique dining experience.

Of course, one's experience is also reflective upon the company one keeps.

Anna Ortega, David found, was a joy to talk to, and talk they did. She'd moved into his apartment building about six months after he and Rachel had, and lived two floors below them. She was an aspiring dancer, and had attended a local performing arts school until about five months prior, when she'd been forced to drop out for lack of the financial means to continue.

They'd talked about an absurd variety of things - from her dancing career to his wrestling career, from Swan Lake to Wrestlemania, and had even compared and contrasted their two professions (Anna had advanced the claim that both were similar due to, as she'd put it, their 'choreographed' nature - David had quickly refuted this).

"I still can't believe I've never heard of this place," David mused as he watched Anna finish her food. "My wife would love it here."

"You should bring her," Anna said. "I've talked to her once or twice in the elevator - she's really nice."

"Yeah," David said distractedly, pushing a stray noodle around his place with his fork. "She is."

Anna took a sip from her glass of wine. As she lowered the glass, David saw a few drops lingering on her bottom lip; she must've noticed as well, because she slowly ran her tongue along the length of her bottom lip. David watched as she did so, his eyes widening just a bit.

"You said she was working," she said, snapping David out of it. "What does she do?"

"She's a, uh, assistant teacher," he replied, stumbling over his words.

"Really?" Anna asked, interested. "What grade?"

"Eleventh," David said, his composure returning. "Over at Omaha North - she really likes it, I think, but I don't think I'd be able to handle kids that age five days a week."

Anna laughed - it was a high sound, sweet and harmonious, like a harp being played by a master of its art form. "No?" she said, still giggling. "You seem like you'd be good with kids that age."

"Nah," David said, shaking his head. "Nine hours a day, five days a week, plus all the time she spends writing up lesson plans and grading work and stuff? No thank you. I'm content getting my ass handed to me on a weekly basis."

"That's a lot of time spent on the job," Anna observed. "Does she ever have time to come see you wrestle?"

David shook his head again. "No," he said, suddenly saddened. "No, she hasn't been to any of my shows yet." He looked up to see that she was looking at him intently, her eyebrows arched upwards sympathetically. "She still watches on TV though," he added quickly.

"Well, still," Anna said, leaning back in her chair and pushing her finished plate away from her. "She's your wife - doesn't it bother you that throughout all the time you've been married to her, she hasn't come to watch you wrestle even just once?"

David didn't say anything; he just stared at his plate.

"If it were me," Anna continued, "I'd be there to cheer you on every week. It's the least you deserve for putting your physical and mental well-being on the line like you do."

"Well...thank you," David said meekly, offering up a grateful smile. "Means a lot."

She smiled at him. "It's no problem - really."



He lay in bed that night, staring at the ceiling as Rachel got dressed for bed. His conversation with Anna had been largely forgotten by the time he'd gotten home that afternoon, and his beloved arriving home from work had all but banished it from his mind completely. Now, though, as it came time for them both to turn in for the night, memories of what the beautiful Latina with the glittering eyes said came creeping back, nibbling at the edges of his mind with steel teeth.

"Ammunition's in London this week," he said casually. Although he didn't take his eyes off the ceiling, he heard the rustling of fabric that indicated Rachel had glanced at him.

"Really?" she asked. "That's nice."

"Didn't you say you always wanted to go to London?" David pressed. "You could come with me - we could spend a few days there after the show, just sight-seeing and experiencing the city and stuff like that." Then he waited, far more anxiously than he should've been, for what her answer would be.

"I'd love to..."

A smile broke out on David's face.

"...but I can't."

And disappeared in the blink of an eye.

"Baby," Rachel said, going over to her side of the bed and sitting down on the edge of it, "you know I'd love to go with you to all your shows, but my job just doesn't let me - we've been over this. Plus, considering all the vacation time I had to take when you sent me to Seattle, I just..." Her voice trailed off. "It just won't work right now - some other time, okay, David?"

He took a deep breath and let it out. What she said made sense - it was because of him and his family and his problems that she had so much work to catch up on, right? So it only made sense that he shouldn't be pressuring her into going to London wtih him, right?

"Okay," he said, feeling like a slowly-deflating balloon as he said it.

Rachel leaned over and kissed him on the forehead. "I love you," she said, sounding as sincere as he'd ever heard.

"Love you too."

She turned off the light and rolled over, and within twenty minutes her breathing had settled into the slow, lulling rhythm that indicated sleep. David wasn't so lucky - he stayed awake for hours, in that same position, staring up into the darkness at the ceiling he could no longer see.

What she'd said made sense.

So why did it bother him so much?



I'm at what you might call a crossroads.

At this point in my existence career, there are any number of pathways I could choose to travel down. The most obvious choice would be the path I started out on - I am a Son of Attrition, and I have been ordained, both by myself and my brothers, to cleanse all I see before me of evil and corruption. My brothers and I are lucky in that we have a great amount of resources at our disposal that will go towards accomplishing our goal - we have money, we have power, and we have fame, all of which can be instrumental towards the ends we hope to reach.

But money, and power, and fame...they corrupt. They darken. They take good men and make them do terrible, horrible things, all for the sake of acquiring more of the same three.

Paradoxical, isn't it? These things have the potential to lead us down our chosen path, but at the same time, their use and indulgence could cause to go schewing off down some dark, winding road that we did not wish to travel.

But what if we went down that road willingly? What if we got a good look down the way we'd originally chosen, didn't like what we saw, and let the money, power, fame, alcohol, women, notoriety...all of it, consume us?

What if, somewhere down the line, the medium overcomes the message?

What if?

Tag Team Match
The Craig Ryans & Kyrian Hunter vs. Nick Dream & Lucian Celona

Singles Match
"Outlaw" John Andrews vs. David Ravish

Tag Team Match
GSW (Matt Dunn & Storm, with Jeff Whitt) vs. Damien Inferno & Butters (with Slegnadamus)

Singles Match
Eddie Chamberlain vs. Abel Steele

Television Championship Match
David GS (c) vs. J.L. Anwyl
You remind me a lot of myself when I tried to be a face, but you were more interesting than I, LOL

Main Event
Leviticus vs. Nick Bryson

Tag Team Match
The Craig Ryans & Kyrian Hunter vs. Nick Dream & Lucian Celona

Singles Match
"Outlaw" John Andrews vs. David Ravish

Tag Team Match
GSW (Matt Dunn & Storm, with Jeff Whitt) vs. Damien Inferno & Butters (with Slegnadamus)

Singles Match
Eddie Chamberlain vs. Abel Steele

Television Championship Match
David GS (c) vs. J.L. Anwyl

Main Event
Leviticus vs. Nick Bryson

Tag Team Match
[colo#FF8000]The Craig Ryans & Kyrian Hunter vs. Nick Dream & Lucian Celona

Singles Match
[color=#FF8000]"Outlaw" John Andrews vs. David Ravish

Tag Team Match
GSW (Matt Dunn & Storm, with Jeff Whitt) vs. Damien Inferno & Butters (with Slegnadamus)
Butters I know you must be busy, but please show here. For Damien’s return this isn’t the nicest way to earn his first defeat once back.

Singles Match
Eddie Chamberlain vs. Abel Steele

Television Championship Match
David GS (c) vs. J.L. Anwyl
I OFFICIALLY MARK THIS PROMO!! It wasn’t the complexity of it, rather its simplicity, mixed with the seeming annoying ability of making it flow so well it read like a 5 page promo. But mucho kudos to you sir for this, you hit some really strong points that no SoA promo has really touched so far and you really put DGS into the SoA atmosphere nicely. Also I hope you have plans to push what you started here a little bit further. If you want feedback for it, I’m there!!

Main Event
Leviticus vs. Nick Bryson
The edits helped a lot, good work.

Tag Team Match
The Craig Ryans & Kyrian Hunter vs. Nick Dream & Lucian Celona

Singles Match
"Outlaw" John Andrews vs. David Ravish

Tag Team Match
GSW (Matt Dunn & Storm, with Jeff Whitt) vs. Damien Inferno & Butters (with Slegnadamus)
Singles Match
Eddie Chamberlain vs. Abel Steele

Television Championship Match
David GS (c) vs. Anwyl
I am actually not a fan of my promo, but I am building up till the end of this cycle. I am not really interested in winning a championship as of yet.
Main Event
Leviticus vs. Nick Bryson

Tag Team Match
The Craig Ryans & Kyrian Hunter vs. Nick Dream & Lucian Celona

Singles Match
"Outlaw" John Andrews vs. David Ravish

Tag Team Match
GSW (Matt Dunn & Storm, with Jeff Whitt) vs. Damien Inferno & Butters (with Slegnadamus)

Singles Match
Eddie Chamberlain vs. Abel Steele

Television Championship Match
David GS (c) vs. J.L. Anwyl

Main Event
Leviticus vs. Nick Bryson

Tag Team Match
The Craig Ryans & Kyrian Hunter vs. Nick Dream & Lucian Celona

Singles Match
"Outlaw" John Andrews vs. David Ravish

Tag Team Match
GSW (Matt Dunn & Storm, with Jeff Whitt) vs. Damien Inferno & Butters (with Slegnadamus)

Singles Match
Eddie Chamberlain vs. Abel Steele

Television Championship Match
David GS (c) vs. J.L. Anwyl

Main Event
Leviticus vs. Nick Bryson

Tag Team Match
The Craig Ryans & Kyrian Hunter vs. Nick Dream & Lucian Celona

Singles Match
"Outlaw" John Andrews vs. David Ravish

Tag Team Match
GSW (Matt Dunn & Storm, with Jeff Whitt) vs. Damien Inferno & Butters (with Slegnadamus)

Singles Match
Eddie Chamberlain vs. Abel Steele

Television Championship Match
David GS (c) vs. J.L. Anwyl

Main Event
Leviticus vs. Nick Bryson

Tag Team Match
The Craig Ryans & Kyrian Hunter vs. Nick Dream & Lucian Celona

Singles Match
"Outlaw" John Andrews vs. David Ravish

Tag Team Match
GSW (Matt Dunn & Storm, with Jeff Whitt) vs. Damien Inferno & Butters (with Slegnadamus)

Singles Match
Eddie Chamberlain vs. Abel Steele

Television Championship Match
David GS (c) vs. J.L. Anwyl

Main Event
Leviticus vs. Nick Bryson

Tag Team Match
The Craig Ryans & Kyrian Hunter

Singles Match
"Outlaw" John Andrews

Tag Team Match
GSW

Singles Match
Abel Steele

Television Championship Match
J.L. Anwyl
Whilst I think ye showing was weaker then your Mt. V promo, I thought you were seriously overlooked in Mt. V and I think you have a hell of a lot of potential here. I think DGS will haz this, but I think you deserve a strong showing.

Main Event
Nick Bryson