The large wooden oak desk stretched across the dimly lit room as the World champion lounged back in his chair staring at the computer screen before him. Laying on the top of the desk was his World Championship. His.

“Mr. Napoli, are those the plans for the new arena?” questioned O’Dell as he stood next to the desk and viewed the computer. “Nice architecture.”

“It is. Mind you, these are outdated by a few months.”

BUZZ

“Mr. Napoli, you’re appointment is here.” Came the voice of nbW’s receptionist across the intercom.

Moments passed as O’Dell took a seat to the side and watched with Napoli as the door swung open and a well dressed man walked in. He immediately reached across the desk to shake hands with the boss.

“Evenin’ Mr. Napoli, sir. It is a pleasure. The Company sends their deepest regrets for not being able to assist you here anymore than they already have.”

“Thank you,” remarked Napoli, unsure to whom this guy was.

“My name is Thaddeus Prometheus Boyle, boss. And yes I am aware that that is an odd name for a fellow out of Greece to have; but by-gone-it that is the name I was born for. Perhaps all too true that fate has brought me here at your side.”

“Thank you, Mr. Boyle for coming at such a short notice. As I am sure you are well aware, our financial situation is most dire and everywhere I look, we are in the red margins.”

“Sir, that is why I am here. The Company sent me to flatten out the expenses and fix any loose holes in this sinking ship.” Thaddeus caught himself to late, but went for the quick correction. “In which we’ll turn it into a cruise ship of gimandeous proportions.”

“I assure you that we will cooperate with each decision the Company deems necessary in order to get out of this slump.” Stated Napoli with dissatisfaction in his voice. After all, he hated having someone else around and having to bend to their will. One day soon, that would end.

“Good to hear. I’ve been asked to start tonight by giving the fans what they paid for. That includes great matches.” Thaddeus pulled the clipboard off of the desk by Napoli's World Championship belt, and flipped across the pages. “These are your matches for tonight?” Napoli nodded but Thaddeus had already withdrew a red sharpie from his pocket and went to work. “These just won’t do. No… not at all.”

Thaddeus began scribbling out the existing lineup and writing in replacements.

“Take for instance, this Super Squad team going up against D-T. That just will not work.”

He scratched the two teams out and wrote something else in its’ place.

“And Torment versus Mat Walton or Son of Malta against O’Dell? Nuh uh. These are just not what the fans have come to expect from no brand.”

He flipped the page and looked over at Napoli.

“I don’t even see the Championships being defended. We can’t have that. The champions makes the money flow." Napoli shrugged his shoulders and slowly pulled the belt towards him. "No worries boss, I’ll get you a challenger.”

With that he headed out of the office while Napoli shouted out something along the lines of ‘at least get me someone easy to beat’.

The Final Battle

A cold chill shivered up the spines of various nbW staffers as they saw them walking down the hallway. The massive, monstrous Psycho, with his hulking physique, ghost-white facepaint and green hair, following close behind the short, slender cold-eyed bastard Dark Ninja.

"Soon, my old friend, all of this will be ours."

"I will put up a taco stand over there," Psycho replied.

They walked on like they owned the place, even though they had yet to wrestle a single match in nbW. As they approached the curtain, they were met by El Avestruz and Emo Kevin - the SuperSquad.

"Hey Ninja!" Avestruz shouted, "What makes you think you two deserve a shot at Showtime and Proteus? You just got here! You don't even have a headshot. People just think you're a nondescript blue silhouette!"

"You should go back to being spineless. It's a better look for you," Ninja replied, giving El Avestruz a hard smack to the face, sending him to the ground like a bag of sand. Kevin watched on impotently. Ninja and Psycho walked on.

Dokken began to play as they stepped out onto the ramp, soaking in the hatred of the crowd.

We're the Dream Warriors!
Don't wanna dream no more!
Dream Warriors!
Maybe tonight you'll be gone!

"They call themselves the Dream Warriors," Marc Gordon informed the audience at home, "The self-proclaimed nemeses of Showtime and Proteus, our longtime nbW Dynasty Tag Team Champions."

"I like them," Rents replied, "They're a couple of talented young go-getters."

"You would. Unfortunately for you, our fans don't share the sentiment. And I have a feeling they're going to like them less after hearing what they have to say."

Dark Ninja - standing just under 5' tall, dressed in black wrestling pants and a shirt that reads "FAH-Q," with a black facemask revealing only an eyeslit and two unwieldy yellow antennae, stepped into the ring. He grabbed a microphone.

"I'm sorry everybody. I'm sorry, I got here as fast as I could. I know you've been waiting two years," he started. "We haven't been properly introduced, and I'm really sorry about that. My name is Dark Ninja, and I'm a director. I'm also your new favourite wrestler. Just so there's not any confusion, this man is Psycho. He breaks things. He's really good at what he does."

Ninja continued, "For the past few years, you've all been watching a man called Showtime and his little buddy Proteus walking around with those shiny gold belts calling themselves tag team champions. And I've got a problem with that. See, because you all seem to like him a lot, and I... I don't get it. You think you know Showtime. But you wouldn't like him so much if you really did. Because the truth is... Showtime is a dick."

The fans booed.

"It's true! It's fucking true, I swear. Showtime is a pretty good wrestler, but he's cocky and I hate him. He thinks he's so goddamn great, like he's the second coming of Burt Reynolds, but he's not. He's on what we in the biz call 'a roll.' He's gotten into a routine where he can beat people, and he thinks it will just go on like that. But the truth is, everything he does, I do better. I'm here to end that roll of his. I'm here to take those belts and show you what a champion looks like."

More boos.

"The fact is, Showtime is worth less than the sweaty buildup I clean out from between my balls and scrotum every morning."

More boos. Gordon chimed in, "That's disgusting."

Ninja continued, "Every time I see him with those belts I pray for dysentery because I would rather shit myself to death than watch another Showtime match where I'm not beating him."

Renton said, "This guy's hilarious!" The audience really didn't seem to think so.

"And so--"

Checkmate honey, beat ya at your own damn game!

The fans cheered as Showtime and Proteus finally appeared at the entrance with microphones, wearing their official Team D-T jackets and gold championship belts. A white bandage was visible under Showtime's mask, where he was attacked last week by Psycho. The crowd was already worked up into a frenzy, chanting "D-T! D-T!" They let the chants continue for a few moments as Ninja paced in the ring visibly enraged.

Showtime began to speak. "What I want to know, Ninja, is why are you so full of hate? Everything out of your mouth is so negative and it's really... it's really bumming us all out."

"I hate you because it's my destiny to destroy you!" Ninja yelled out, "To show these drooling idiots what a fraud you are, take your belt and make you feel like the douche you truly are! And nothing is going to stop me!"

Showtime said defiantly, "I'm ready whenever you are."

"Good!" Ninja replied, "Because through a complex system of bribes and extortion, we are having our final battle TONIGHT. No more games. No more feud-building. At the end of this edition of Full Effect, I am going to beat you and take your titles, because I'm the goddamn Director, and this is my show now."

The fans booed. Showtime finally said, "What you don't understand is that it takes only one match to become a champion, but it takes years of hard work to stay a champion. In the last two years, Ninja, we've seen it all. We've grown, and we've become more powerful than you could ever imagine. I know there's only one force on this planet that can stop you. Too bad for you... it's Showtime."

Aerosmith cued up again and D-T returned to the back amidst cheers. The Dream Warriors were left stewing in the ring.

Gordon chimed in, "The final battle between good and evil tonight on nbW Full Effect! don't miss it!"

You've been rescheduled

“Fifty-four, fifty-five, fifty-six…”

Mat Walton laid on the ground rising at each number as he prepared for his match. A brief knock on the door panel alerted him to the presence of a visitor.

“Evening Mat. I hope you understand how things can change on a moments notice, yes?”

Mat reached over to his nearbye towel and wiped it across his forehead before standing up to meet the man before him.

“Yes. Did Napoli change the rules in my match with the giant?”

“Not quite. However there was a change. I need you to change your game plan kid. Tonight it isn’t the giant you are up against. Instead tonight you’ll face one half of that Ninja duo.”

The man smiled as he tipped his hat to the youngin’. “I trust you will follow this?”

“Whatever. A match is a match.” Remarked Walton as he sat back down and laid back.

“Great. See you out in that ring then Mr. Walton. We’ll make you a Great just like your uncle one day soon.”

As Thaddeus stepped out of the room Walton continue his regiment.

“Where was I? Oh well… One.. Two…”

The Son of Malta
Versus
Ravage

“Ladies and Gentlemen, the following match is scheduled for one fall with a 20 minute time limit. Introducing first…” announced Brent Williams from the ring as the lights lowered and the unmistakable music started.

"Lil din l-art helwa, l-Omm li tatna isimha,

Hares Mulej, kif dejjem Int ħarist:

Ftakar li lilha bl-oħla dawl libbist.

Aghti, kbir Alla, id-dehen lil min jaħkimha,

Rodd il-ħniena lis-sid, saħħa 'l-ħaddiem:

Seddaq il-għaqda fil-Maltin u s-sliem."

“The Son of Malta” finished Brent Williams.

The Maltese National Anthem continued as The Son of Malta stepped out from behind the curtains. The crowd has started to pick up on this superstar, appreciating his talent, but not his attitude.

A few seconds passed as the roaring of a engine played over the PA system and ‘Steam Engine’ exploded across the arena. “And his opponent, at six foot event from Watertown, South Dakota… RAVAGE!”

Ravage stepped out from the staging area and greeted the fans to a roar of approval. It wasn’t long ago that he was the top star, the World Champion. He had fought battles with the legends of nbW and even the likes of Egyptian gods to defend his championship. And tonight, he was up against the hot commodity rising from the lower level.

As the bell rung Ravage hardly had the chance to dodge the Son of Malta as he charged across the ring and attempted a raised knee to his chin. Malta attempted this a second time but Ravage grabbed his knee and used his own momentum to quickly eliminate him out of the ring.

Had this been a Battle Royal it would have been over, but it was not and Malta slid back into the ring let go with a fury of left and right punches. He grabbed Ravage by the wrist and yanked him towards the corner, in which he followed with a quick elbow to the chest.

Son of Malta hooked Ravage by the neck and executed a picture perfect bulldog to the applause of the fans. Son dropped down for the cover, but at the first slap of the mat Ravage tossed him off of him. Surely it wouldn’t be that easy to pin the former champion.

Malta grabbed Ravage by the neck and wrenched back with a chinlock. However his arms were free and Ravage grabbed the man behind him and was able to drift him over his head and down before him with his strength. Ravage rose to his feet and looked down at his challenger. One moment later he dropped a leg across the mans chest.

One…

Two…

No, not this time. Son of Malta kick his legs to get himself off of the mat to break the fall. As Ravage stood back up Malta grabbed at his ankle causing him to collapse. He swiftly scurried himself across Ravage’s backside and clutched his arms around his neck with the Cobra Clutch maneuver.

It wasn’t locked on quite tight enough at that point, and Ravage pushed forth his energy showing he was still in this. He reached his two arms back and pulled Son of malta over his head and slammed him down to the mat. Dejavu.

Ravage stood over Malta and made the V sign with his fingers. He pulled Malta up by his hair and stood him before him.

V for Victory!

… was the plan, however the Son of Malta countered and dropped RaVage like a pile of bricks with a double hook suplex having caught the leg.

Ravage was knocked out upon the impact. The next three thuds he heard meant the end for him this night.

One…

Two…

Three!

The Son of Malta had done it. The Maltese Anthem started once more as he stood and celebrated his victory at the behalf of Ravage’s lost.

What a momentum shift win for the upcoming superstar.

Winner by pinfall, the Son of Malta!

Born Talent

The Son of Malta walked up the entrance aisle and stepped through the curtain to the applause from one Thaddeus Prometheus. He slapped him hard on the back and held onto him.

“Great job kid! That was just excellent. Ravage is just a washed up marine in front of you. What you did out there excelled my expectations. Congratulations kid.”

The victor nodded his head and continued walking down the corridor, ignoring the repeat praising from Prometheus.

“Was that really necessary?” spoke the tall figure behind him. “I could have easily wiped the floor with him.”

“My dear naive person, this is what is all about. The unexpected. If you were out there, everyone would have known the outcome. Torment is supreme.”

“True.” Spoke the monster.

“Besides, you saw what happen out there with Ravage. If the kid continues to believe he has what it takes here, he’ll generate some massive revenue for us from those of Malta. It’s all about extending our horizons and fan base.”

“And for me?” questioned Torment as he sneered at the suited man. “When does Torment move ahead?”

“Patience. Tonight is all about breaking grounds… you are no different. Now if you will excuse me.”

Thaddeus continued down the hallway, in the same direction that Son of Malta had gone. This left Torment in a sour mood as he stood there and considered leveling the man with a strong arm from the back. Perhaps then he wouldn’t look past him as if he were just like everyone else.

“Patience huh…” he spoke as he turned and headed down the hallway. “Let Torment show you what patience is.”

No Partner, No Problem

“Hola Zatch. Amgio?”

Thaddeus Boyle stood at the doorway as he examined the makeshift dojo setup in one of the empty rooms of the arena. Zatch Rollins sat in the center with his eyes closed and his legs folded beneath him.

“Zatch Rollins?” he spoke again, but no response. Zatch was in a deep state of preparation. “Hello?” he spoke again and this time tapped the young ninja on his head, causing his trance-like state to be interrupted. “Zatch?”

“Yes? I was in middle of preparing.” Zatch stated as he looked at his guest. “What is it?”

“Look, I heard from Mr. Napoli that your teammate Nemo is going to be out of action for awhile. It seems that calf is going to take some time to heal. Around four months to be exact. So I had a proposal for you…”

“I am aware. I did approach to request a challenge tonight, but was told we were booked solid.”

“That was true. However, I was hired to make some changes to better benefit the company. One of those changes I have made is placing you out there in a match. I am well aware that the fans enjoy watching you perform, and wish to cash in on that.” Spoke Thaddeus as he looked at his clipboard and wrote the match down. “So, why don’t you step it up, and get your gear ready. You are up next.”

Zatch nodded his head and rose from his spot haeding out of the room. “Thank you.”

Thaddeus smiled and appreciated the kind reply. Now he needed to find himself a suitable challenger for the World Championship... but who?

Here we are, sir

Backstage a limousine pulled up, with a screech and the driver quickly burst out of his door, rounding to the back rear-passenger side door ready to open. Quickly, he ensured that his hat was on tight and his collar nicely presented before taking a breath to compose himself. He opened up the door and gave his best smile.

“Here we are, sir. No Brand Wrestling?”

With a “hmpf”, the guest exited the vehicle, never showing his face to the camera as he did.

“Shall I get your bag, sir?”

The man never replied, it was a given that his bags should be collected. The man simply walked off on the driver as his bags were collected, heading in a direction he already knew. Once at a wrestling event, they all looked the same. This man didn’t need to be told of the direction the ring was.

He would simply follow his heart.

He was born to entertain.

But who was he

Mat Walton
Versus
Zatch Rollins

Mat Walton stood in the ring awaiting his next opponent. His wait was short as the oriental music hit the PA system. As the golden spotlights shun across the arena a grey suited ninja appeared before the audience.

Zatch Rollins stood there for a moment and then started towards the ring, before changing his approach and doing front flips, four in succession, ending with him standing on the outside of the ropes. One more front flip and he was over the ropes and inside the ring, the crowd cheering him on.

Zatch quickly rushed at his opponent and caught the man around the neck to bring him down with a quick bulldog. It wasn’t enough for a pin of course and Zatch knew this, as he sprinted to the ropes and leaped off with a moonsault for a quick pinfall.

1…

2…

Kickout.

Not that it was expected, but the pinfall failed. Zatch picked Walton back up and stood to the side of him. Hooking his leg around his own, Zatch fell backwards with a reverse Russian leg drop. Once more he attempted the cover in a hurry to get the match done and over.

1…

2…

Shoulder up.

Rollins pulled Mat over to the corner and latched his arms over the ropes. Back pedaling across the ring, Zatch stood in the opposite corner and bowed his head momentarily before rushing forward with multiple front flips, ending with a splash on Walton, which he quickly recovered from and followed it up with a dropkick. Mat slunk down into the corner once more and Zatch pulled him back up by the collar.

He lifted him up so that his feet were on the second ropes and sat down on the buckle. Walton was out of it, and Zatch took the opportunity to stand up behind him, wrapping his own legs around Mat’s neck and floated forwards… his momentum flipping him and driving him down with a powerbomb of sorts.

Zatch wasn’t finished, he went back up top and turned his back to his opponent, never a good move in wrestling; but considering Mat was out of it, Zatch leaped into the air backwards, flipping in midair to bring himself down shoulders first on Walton’s midsection. Zatch quickly made the cover.

1…

2…

So close but Mat kicked out. With a second wind he pulled himself to his knee’s and grabbed the ninja’s head, yanking down with a ferocious jawbreaker. Mat followed suit by yanking his legs out from under him. He quickly grabbed the ankle and secured it with an ankle lock.

The referee checked on the progression to see if it was too much pain or if he would continue the match. Zatch however fought to drag himself to the ropes and was able to recover as the hold was forced off. Mat however was quick to follow through and tackled Zatch into the ropes. Unfortunately for him the ninja hopped the incoming challenger and planted to flat feet against his backside as he rebounded himself to the center of the ring.

Rollins bowed his head as he took a stance and Walton turned back to him.

KICK OF THE HEAVENS!

The crescent moon kick knocked him clear down to the ring floor and Zatch rushed at the ropes to spring off with a backflip for the cover attempt.

1…

2…

3!

Zatch hopped up onto the turnbuckle and bowed his head at the fans, arms raised in the air. The golden spotlight fell down on him once more as he leapt out of the ring and took his leave amongst the cheers.

Winner by pinfall, Zatch Rollins!

So far, so good

“Seems like the pace has changed around here, boss.” Spoke Michael O’dell as he stood before the large oak desk of Xander Napoli’s office. “You can hear it in the audience’s reaction.”

“So it would seem. However it will take much more than fan appreciation to turn this place around. The Company knows that. I am sure this Boyle fellow does as well.”

“About that. Who is this guy?” questioned O’Dell as he looked at the documents spread across his boss’s desk.

“A promoter. The Company considers him to be The Best at what he does. And what he does, well it is what he doesn’t do that really matters. This man knows his way around the cash flow. I have heard stories of his exploits, but never once met the man… until now.”

“And for no brand Wrestling… should this be a good thing?”

“Who knows. But with the financial crisis in the world today, it could not hurt to have someone with the expertise help things out around here. Thaddeus is the type of person that would sell his grandmother’s soul to the devil if it meant doubling his current revenue. When he was a kid, while the others were creating Lemonade stands, he was working behind the scenes creating chaos and commotion until only the Lemonade stand he was working for had crawled to the top.”

“Lemonade stands, really Xander? We’re not talking about kids here…”

“Mike, the point is… if it will make money, you can count on it being pitched by this guy.”

“I see…” O’Dell shook his head and looked at the title on the desk. That very title meant a lot to the fans. It was also a lead in the cash flow for any wrestling organization. What about nbW?

Hand-picked Challenger

“Just the man I was wanting to see.” Thaddeus Boyle stood next to the large wooden table where a few superstars were enjoying some snacks provided by the staff. Among them was Sam Potright, deeply engulfed within a large plate of Cheese Nachos.

“Yes?” he spoke as his mouth was completely filled. He reached over and grabbed his cup and drunk a large gulp before setting it back down. “What do you want?”

“Your attention for a moment, that is if you can stop eating.”

He glared at him but after considering he simply nodded his head. “Continue.”

“Listen, I know you were left off the list tonight. And that is all well and good under Napoli's ship. However... you are a legend, Mr. Potright. And legends deserve to be recognized.”

Potright grabbed one of his chips and placed it in his mouth. “And?”

“And… Sam. I have chosen you to go up against Xander Napoli. I know it is no secret how the economy has failed on you. But I also know that this is what the fans want to see. They want to see guys like you dismantle Napoli’s regime and reclaim the gold for the side of good.”

He measured him for a reaction, but it was for naught.

“What do you say. Will you give them what they paid for?”

Sam grabbed a fist full of his nachos and before taking a large bite he then answered.

“I’m in. It’s about time I had a Championship around my waist again.”

“Excellent. Show the boss who is.. uh boss. Make High Flyer proud.”

Thaddeus left towards the stage area where he had last minute preparations to take care of. However if he had remained a moment sooner, he would have witnessed his plans in motion derailed.

BANG

Sam Potright slumped forward against the table as Torment stood behind him wielding a steel chair. He cranked back and smashed his head between the wood and steel.

Unsatisfied Torment yanked the man up by the head and back between his legs. He twisted him and lifted him high above his shoulders before crashing the giant through the table down to the hard concrete floor.

Torment laughed in satisfaction as he smashed the chips around him smeared in the goeey cheese and now very essence of Potright as his blood puddle on the floor.

“How is that for Patience.” He shouted as he grabbed the chair once more and drove it down like a spike across Sam's backside. He then tossed the chair to the side, grabbed a hotdog off the next table and simply walked away as the EMT and officials arrived having heard the commotion going on.

El Avestruz
Versus
Kaliban

El Avestruz was standing in the ring, his tag partner Emo Kevin outside. Avestruz held a mic.

"I don't know exactly what I'm doing here," he admitted, "Someone just told me I had something to do. I'm not sure what."

"i'll tell you what," said a voice from the entrance. It was a man in a suit. "My name is Dane Xolotl. It's spelled how it's pronounced. And I promised last time that you would see my powerful new warrior in action this week against an opponent yet to be determined. And that, young El Avestruz, is you."

With that, Xolotl was followed by a 6'5 musclebound monster with a tan and body tattoos.

"He hails from a land so savage that even the natives dare not speak its name," Xolotl bragged as he directed his monster to the ring. "Legend has it he has lived there for hundreds of years because he is more powerful than death itself. Of course, I don't particularly believe in legends. I'm a businessman. I only believe what I can see."

The bell rang and the man-monster Kaliban immediately tore into El Avestruz with savage punches, followed by a massive running powerslam. He covered.

ONE,

TWO,

THREE.

The bell rang. Xolotl added.

"And that's all the proof I need."

He led his monster backstage.

"Good lord," Marc Gordon muttered as Brent Williams did his obligatory job and announced Kaliban as the winner. The entire sequence of events was replayed as Emo Kevin helplessly led El Avestruz to the back for medical attention.

Winner by pinfall, Kaliban!

The Brothers Creede

While the arrival of Thaddeus Boyle left a sour taste on Napoli’s tongue, the audience’s attention was switched to the nbW-Tron where the parking lot area was shown. Trent McKnight stood ready with his microphone in hand.

“Good evening folks. I am standing here ready to interview the brothers Creede. They should be here in just a moment.” Trent looked off to the side to his crew and got no confirmation so he continued in effort to stall. “Arguably the Creede Brothers stand to be the top contenders for D-T’s Dynasty Tag Team Championships. If they have any opposition prior, that would be the athletically gifted and agile team of masked warriors Zatch Rollins and Nemo – clang – who have previously given the champions a run for their money. It is in this reporters best – clang – guess that –clang – they will continue to –clang- -clang- excuse me one moment.”

McKnight was approached by one of the camera men and quickly the fans watched as they scurried down the hall to the source of the interruption. They skid to a halt at the sight before them.

“Oh my god…” murmured McKnight as they witnessed the beast Khan demolish Ace Creede, his brother already laidout headfirst in a mop bucket. Ace tried to fight him off but ultimately found himself shoved into the wall. “Someone call security!” shouted Trent as he rushed over to the group. Khan growled a warning but caught a glimpse of nbW officials and security personnel heading down from the far end of the hall. With one last kick to Ace’s chest he walked away in the opposite direction.

“Is that still rolling?” Trent questioned as he then noticed the red light “Cut the feed.”

Then darkness as the fans grew restless at the sudden darkness of the nbW Tron.

The Religious Rasslin' Experience

The arena was buzzing from watching the show. nbW was successfully making it’s return impression and this was no different. Tonight was going rather smoothly. It was almost as if the fans could sense something was about to happen and slowly but surely, everyone’s gaze turned to the backstage area when something struck the P.A. system.

A! S-S! H-O! L-E!

EVERYBODY NOW!

A! S-S! H-O! L-E!

The fans joined in, knowing full well the man the sound represented as Dennis Leary’s classic heel anthem struck over the P.A system and swaggering from the back in all his self-gratifying glory was the Human Ratings Riot…

J. Leslie Voss!

The fans boomed the vocal opinion of him in an affirmation of negativity, trying to drown out Leary and his folk-rock. The man on stage, JLV, stared around for a moment with a bring grin on his face as the song neared the chorus and right on cue, he raised his hands up with the index and middle fingers representing the letter “V” on both hands to a…

BOOM!

…of pyrotechnical wizardry bursting on the stage around him.

Well I like to drive slow
In the ultra fast lane
While people behind me
Are going in insane!

I’m an asshole-e-oooo-e-o-e-o-e-ooooo!

JLV made his way down to the ring, wearing a sleeveless gold sequined gown and on the back of it was three letters in shimmering silver: J. L. V. The Religious Rasslin’ Experience continued smugly to the ring as fans were booing him. The shit-eating grin was strewn across his face as he neared the ring steps, having given waves and unrequited high fives to the fans.

Well I like to park
In handicap spaces
While handicap people
Make handicap faces!

I’m an asshole-e-oooo-e-o-e-o-e-ooooo!

He took his time up the steps, stopping at the top of them to close his eyes and take in one long sniff of the negation the crowd offered him. He stepped through the ropes and into the center of the wrestling ring, plucking a microphone out of his pocket and cueing for his theme song to be stricken from the airwaves.

The fans continued to boo, trying to give him no opportunity to speak but the Ayatollah of Ass-a-hollah stroked his handle-bar mustache and continued nonetheless.

“Welcome to RAW is Je-” Voss stopped himself, shaking his head. “That’s not it. That’s not it. Oh!” he says, extending a finger in exclamation “…that’s right. Would you band geeks shut your pie-holes for five damn minutes? The Nielsen Spike has arrived!”

Obviously, such a mean way of asking for silence is not going to garner anything of the like and the fans give him the obligatory heat. To which, Voss continues to speak over.

“I’ve been in this biz for a while now. And I’ve been everywhere, man. I’ve been… E-VA-REE-WHEEERRRREEEE! But not once, not for one minute, not ever… have I taken step into a NoBody’s Watching wrestling ring in my life. I never thought I’d see the day. I never thought that the day would come that I, J. Leslie Voss…” (heat~!) “…would stoop down to the level of Jason Kain…” (that got him some more heat) “…and tarnish my good name in professional wrestling.”

As the fans booed, Voss placed his face into his palm as if overwhelmed with shame.

“I never thought I’d see the day where I’d step into the same ring where Max Hopper competed. I didn’t think my career would stoop so low.”

Voss nodded, disheartened by the sounds of his own words. He ran his hand over his chin and then shrugged.

“Well, it’s not happening. Because I don’t see it as stooping. I don’t see it as degrading myself OR lowering the bar. Because I see this here circle jerk of bottom feeders as an opportunity.”

The fans actually stopped booing to hear what Voss had to say. Was he being nice?

“An opportunity, band geeks, for THE single most entertaining man to ever step foot inside the square named after a circle to PROVE... to YOU… the FANS… that I AM your fucking God! PROVE that I am SOOOOOOO enter-fucking-taining that I can actual attract viewers to NoBody’s Watching!”

The fans were irate with the self-proclaimed Human Rating’s Riot as he paced back and forth on centre stage.

“Oh yes… it’s true. It’d be like it the Fonz were on My Three Sons or if Jigsaw were on the Bold and the Beautiful. I BRING the viewers. I BRING the thrills. I BRING a Religious Rasslin’ Experience to ANY church I preach… NoBody’s Watching… thing’s just got viewable!”

The fans once more proclaimed their negation as Voss stared to the back. He pointed an accusatory finger toward the roster’s general direction and smirked.

“I just came straight through the back there. I just saw what NoBody’s Watching has to, for lack of a better term, offer. I’ve SEEN what they expect you mongoloid rat bastards the marketing team call ‘fans’…” (Voss did the finger quotes) “…expect you to pay your hard earned government checks on. I’ve SEEN what they garble up and expect YOU, the paying customer, to enjoy. If it’s actually possible.”

Voss sighed heavily into the mic and shook his head, continuing to speak over the top of the fans.

“And that’s why when the offer arose for me to come and perform like the superstar that I am I saw it as a challenge to actually bring some… a tiny bit… an itty-bitty skerrick… just a touch… A MOTHERFUCKEN TRUCK LOAD of EN-TAAAA-FUCKING-TAAAAAAIIIIINNNN-MEEEEEEEENT to No… Body’s… WATCHIIIING!

“So tonight, for your viewing pleasure. And quite possibly, something for the ladies to store in their spank bank so they can let you toothless males plough and plunder tonight over being inundated by my testosterone… but TOOOOOO-night… J. Leslie Voss will go one-on-one, mano-et-mano… HAND TO FRIGGIN’ HAND in singles competition.”

The fans half-cheered but come to the realization that it was Voss they were listening to and the boos came once again. The idea of seeing him in the ring appealed. If only for the wanton lust of blood. His blood.

“So, without further adieu, I present to you… MY opponent… THIS GUY COMING OUT NOW!”

J. Leslie Voss
Versus
Daniel Noller

The fans cheered but their cheers soon disappeared as the skinniest man they had ever seen emerged from the back with an Olympic style wrestling costume on. He had no theme music. Nothing at all.

A referee rushed down, running by him to get into the ring to ensure that things were legit and legally ran in the proceedings. Voss stood in the ring, with a monstrous grin on his face. He urged a ring-side crew member over and removed his gown, handing it to him. He gave him some clear instructions that if the gown were damaged it would be him who suffered the consequences.

The no-name got into the ring, by rolling under it and squaring up front and center to Voss. JLV, standing at six feet and six inches, smiled down at the man who’d have been lucky to be 5’9”. Voss clearly had a weight advantage over the kid, as he stood at 286 pounds and this guy was shy of one-fifty… soaking wet!

The kid extended his hand to which Voss stared down at, insulted that he’d have to touch this foul creature before him in the centre of the ring. He shook his head at the kid as the referee explained the rules. He called for the bell and the fans were booing loudly. The kid before Voss tried to tie up with Voss but the Religious Rasslin’ Experience shoved the kid down to the canvas, with a massive mitt in his face.

The kid crashed to the canvas, clutching at his face for a moment before rising to his feet. He charged in with a running clothesline, but Voss no sold it and mimicked a yawn to the fans. He grabbed the kid by the back of the neck and drove his knee fiercely into his face. The kid was laid out flat from the stiffest knee the wrestling business might ever had seen. The kid’s face was bleeding when Voss rolled out of the ring. It was still bleeding when he rolled back in with a steel chair.

With the rules clearly stating that no foreign object was to be used, the referee warned JLV, only to be threatened with a chair shot of his own. He shrunk back and rolled out of the ring, out of striking range. He’d dealt with characters like Voss before. No point in being an unnecessary casualty.

JLV laid the chair across the kid’s face and smiled at the fans.

STOMP!

The boo was horrendously loud as Voss stomped a second AND THIRD time onto the steel chair and into the kid’s face.

STOMP! STOMP!

The bell sounded as the referee threw out the match. Voss was laughing hysterically as he called once more for a microphone.

“If you cum guzzling parasites thought that for one single iota of a moment I was going to disgust my good name by degrading myself to that greenhorn curtain jerker than I wish cancer upon you!” (CUE HEAT!) “I will NOT degrade myself to the likes of troglodytes like this Neolithic twat lying in a pool of his own stupid.

“I’M A FUCKING ENTERTAINER! There’s only three things needed for J. Leslie Voss to wrestle…

“A main event.

“A main eventer.

“And a championship that’s worth a damn.”

The fans cheered. Voss, taken aback by their reaction shrugged and continued on either way.

“And since NoBody’s Watching has only one of the three… that’s a main event for those of you keeping score at home… since they can only fulfill ONE part of the quota then let it be heard… let it be known…

“J. Leslie Voss ain’t wrestling for UNO MOMENTO, PUTOS! The Religious Rasslin’ Experience is OUT!

Winner by Disqualification, Daniel Noller!

Walking into Walls

And Voss turned and began to walk out of the ring. Except, he walked straight into a wall to an awesome roar from the nbW fans.

Slowly… Voss looked up at the wall. He looked the wall dead in the eye and gave a sheepish grin as the wall smiled back down at him. The wall then waved to the fans who roared loudly with approval.

The wall? Spike Saunders

He snatched the microphone from Voss’ hand. Voss, however, had frozen like a statue, possibly thinking back to something like when you see a bear act like you’re dead and it’ll leave you alone. Hoping that Spike was something similar.

“Vossy, I couldn’t help but notice you’ve got a whole LOT to say. And say. And say…” (with his free-hand Spike gave a talking motion) “…and I think we’ve ALL heard enough.”

POP goes the nbW fans. And Spike continued on.

“I mean, sure, you’ve got a pedigree. You’ve been around and you’ve one a championship.”

Voss, aghast with shock, rose his right hand and showed Spike three fingers to which Saunders shrugged.

“Wow. Three? Your mom must be impressed.” (POP!) “I’ve won a couple more but if we’re gonna stand here and have a measuring contest then I guess you probably lose without counting… right?”

Again with the shock. Then with teh angreh. JLV made a gesture that something was about SOOOO long, offering his hands up and shoulder width apart as an example. Saunders chuckled and kept speaking.

“I heard you talking about how you don’t think it’s worthwhile wrestling in an nbW wrestling ring, but I guess… I guess I just don’t agree with you. I guess I think the nbW ring is one of the best places to wrestle and these nbW fans…” (he extended an arm to display the fans) “…they’re probably the best wrestling fans I’VE ever wrestled in front of.”

With the cheap pop under-way, Voss pretended to stick a finger down his throat and vomit. His antics seemed only to amuse Voss.

“I guess what I’m trying to say is that… well… Vossy, do you want to have a REAL wrestling match tonight?”

The roar of the fans was astoundingly monstrous as Saunders looked to them for their answer.

However, the Human Ratings Riot’s eyes had widened to saucers and he his jaw gaped wide. He seemed frozen with shock as Saunders paced back and forth in the ring, waiting for Voss’ answer. A ring-side crew member offered a microphone to Voss, which he accepted without any thanks.

Standing still for a moment he pondered on his response as Saunders watched the cogs turning in Voss’ head. Slowly, the microphone he had in his hand rose to his lips.

“Well, uh, gee… it’s mighty nice of you… to offer and all… I just don’t think I could I mean…”

Voss began to rub the shoulder of the arm which held the mic. He rotated it in it’s socket and cringed with his best acting skills.

“You see… the thing is… Spook…”

“Spike.”

“Whatever. The thing is, Spick… I’ve got a bit of a sore shoulder. I dunno how I did it. One minute I was busy entertaining the fans. The next I’ve clobbered out this jobber. You think that guy kinda looks like High Flyer the way he’s on his back taking it?”

The fans roared with a boo as Voss looked as if he realized why it was his shoulder was hurting.

“Now I know. I know why my shoulder hurts…” (he points to the knocked out kid in the ring) “…I must’ve put it out rolling out of the ring to get that steel chair. NoBody’s Watching better have some outstanding compo insurance because if they didn’t insult me with that swine flu peddling ebola monkey doing his best Paris Hilton impersonation… my shoulder’d be FINE!”

With more booing, Voss slowly returned his attention to that of Saunders standing before him.

“So, uh, I’m sorry Spank…”

“Spike!”

“Whatever. Sorry, Sparky… my shoulder is going to need somebody to look at it so as for us having a little match-a-roonie… it ain’t happening. Now if you and your sheep here would kindly excuse me, I’ve got a physiotherapist to find.”

Voss shrugged at Spike, then acted as if shrugging his shoulders hurt him more. He dropped the mic and spun around as Saunders stood there for a moment, simmering in his own thoughts as to what to do with JLV.

Then it occurred to him.

“YOU’RE NOT EXCUSED!"

J. Lessie Voss
Versus
Spike Saunders

Spike dropped his mic and reached out, grabbing Voss and hurtling him into the ropes and on return clobbering him with a big boot to the face. The fans roared as he pointed to the referee, telling him to ring the bell.

And he did.

Ring crew dragged the knocked out victim and steel chair from the centre of the ring, putting him straight into a waiting wheel chair and straight up the runway to the back as Spike Saunders rose a fist in the air to an epic response from the nbW fans. Grabbing a handful of Voss’ hair and getting him to his feet, he wrapped his hands around the side of his head and tossed him into the corner, raining some big fists down onto Voss’ face.

Saunders stepped out of the corner with a big grin on his face and then charged back in with a big avalanche to the corner. He stepped out and so did Voss. He stepped out dazed and confused and once in the centre of the ring, Voss through his feet out comically and landed flat on his back in the centre of the ring.

With the crowd audibly behind him, Spike pulled Voss to his feet once again. He drove a knee into his opponent’s belly, expelling all breath from his lungs. Tucked his head in and drove his crown into the canvas with a snappy DDT that left Voss clutching his neck. Yet his neck was the least of his worries and Voss soon found himself eating the underside of Saunders’ thigh with a legdrop to the face and a cheer from his faithful.

Saunders made a quick cover as the fans counted in unison with the referee’s hand as it struck the canvas…

ONE!

 

TWO

 

 

THR-KICKOUT!

The fans groaned as Voss kicked out of Saunders’ cover. Spike continued to get down to business, pulling the Biggest Mouth in the Biz up onto his feet and whipping him into the corner for some more punishment. A running clothesline near toppled JLV over the top rope and to the outside. When he got back to his feet Spike nailed a European uppercut that near toppled him over again. He whipped Voss across the ring one more time, as Voss crunched into the corner Spike charged. He flew from a little out with another avalanche but this time, Voss flipped himself backwards and onto the apron.

Spike’s breath was burst out of his lungs as his sternum smashed into the turnbuckle. Voss grabbed Spike by the ears and tried to pull Spike over the top rope, but Saunders blocked it. Spike grabbed Voss by the head and threw him over the ropes and into the centre of the ring. Bounding to his feet Voss was just in time to collect a dropkick from the massive 317 pounds of the Dragon.

Laid out, flat on his back with the breathing scenario getting a little tough, Voss stared at the lights above and watched as two big hands grabbed him by the neck to pull him upright. He soon watched the world tumble over as Spike suplexed him in the centre of the ring, sending him sliding across the canvas, clutching his spine before became still again.

Spike stomped over and using the top rope for leverage, began to stomp a mudhole into J. Leslie Voss to the fan’s delight. The monstrous boot leaving ache after ache on Voss’ torso. Eventually, Spike thought it was time to move on with the proceedings and whipped Voss into the ropes. He swung with a big clothesline but Voss managed to duck under and continued to the ropes on the other side. He rebounded and came hurtling at Spike only to be caught and driven into the mat with a powerslam and a cover.

ONE!

TWO!

THREE - NO! SHOULDER UP!

The fans groaned as Voss let his defiant fist remain valiantly in the air, Saunders grabbed it and hoisted Voss to his feet and into a fireman’s carry. The 317 pounder showed his strength by easily hoisting the 286 pound Voss back over his head and slamming down on bended knee with a gutbreaker. Rolling off with a wail of pain, voss clutched his guts as Saunders rose to his feet.

He held one hand up high, in a grabbing position, ready to wrap it around the throat of the man getting to his feet. The fans were buzzing loudly as Voss rose, but their excitedness gave it away and as Spike Saunders wrapped the huge hand around Voss’ neck and lifted him into the air… Voss kicked him right in the groin.

Saunders dropped him, clutching at his prized possessions while the Human Ratings Riot rebounded himself off the ropes and delivered the New & Improved Formula. A monstrous clothesline from Hell.

But it didn’t put Saunders down on the ground.

Bewildered. Staggered. Amazed and other words of that type Voss gritted his teeth and cursed. He lifted Saunders up and…

CHA-CHING!

Inverted atomic drop and Saunders’ groin was feeling extraordinarily worse for wears. Again, Voss sent himself into the ropes and for the second time in the match he hit Saunders.

NEW & IMPROVED FORMULA!

COVER?!?!?

ONE!

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

THREE!!~!

The bell sounded and Voss got up to his feet, using the ring ropes to hoist him up. Spike lay flat out on the canvas, disorientated from receiving TWO monstrous New & Improved Formulas.

As the Religious Rasslin’ Experience rose to his feet he turned and stared at the fallen Spike, sneering and wild-eyed. He slipped out of the ring and lifted the ring apron, rummaging beneath until he found what it was he was looking for.

A garbage can.

He grabbed that and a steel chair, tossing them in the ring and entering immediately after it. The referee tried to snatch the garbage can away from Voss but he was already ahead of the competition. JLV tossed the steel chair to the referee, who caught it centimeters from his face and…

CRACK!

VossMan punched the steel chair with all of his might, knocking it into the face of the referee and knocking him out as a consequence. The fans booed tremendously as Voss turned his gaze to Saunders, who had sat up, clutching his head. Dazed and confused, Spike got to his feet only for the world to go into darkness.

Voss had put the garbage can over his head.

Wrapping his arms around the waist of Spike, Voss dead lifted the 317 pounds and…

vBUSTER~!

ZOMG! PEW PEW! vBUSTER~!

Voss’ patent hardcore spot; garbage can on head + spinebuster = HEEL HEAT!

Spike Saunders was completely out of it as Voss snatched his steel chair up from the floor. He called for a microphone as he stood over Spike Saunders, snarling as he spoke.

“YOU PEOPLE WANT TO BE ENTERTAINED? YOU WANT TO CHEER THIS FUCKING PUSSY? I’LL GIVE YOU NET SURFIN’ VIRGINS SOMETHING TO FUCKING CHEER ABOUT!”

Voss slammed the microphone down and raised the chair with both hands, holding it up for extended drama. Right as he was about to drive it down a team of security guards rushed the ring. One of them unfortunate enough to get between Voss and Saunders.

CRACK!

Down he went as the other three tackled Voss into the corner, managing to remove the steel chair from his grasp. Voss fought for a moment before letting himself calm down. He stepped through the ropes and grabbed his gown, pulling it on and smiling. A shit-eating grin which could raise Hell in Heaven.

Dennis Leary hit the P.A again as Voss made his way to the back, walking backwards so he could keep smiling at Spike Saunders. The Religious Rasslin’ Experience had taken Spike to church today.

He was relieving him of his sins.

Consider them washed away.

Winner by Pinfall, J. Lesslie Voss!

Disruption!

“Sir!”

Napoli’s office door flung open as an official scampered into the room, not caring about the annoyance he may be causing.

“We have a serious problem.”

“What is it Radford? Can you not see I am busy?” stated Napoli as he peered away from the monitor to ring official Chuck Radford.

“Sir It’s Torment…”

“And? I know he took out Potright; that was the plan. This way Boyle can not make me fight.”

“It’s not that sir. Torment… he’s well… he’s-” it hardly mattered what he was saying now as Napoli had turned back to the television set to see Torment held back with officials, and someone else in front of him.

Although no mask was on the other person, his ominous frame still caused fear among those around them. The beast and monster locked eyes as a squad of security personnel did their best to hold them back.

“Well,” stated Xander as he turned back to his doorway. “Go do something about that! Do not allow him to fight Khan. You hear me?” He waited no more than a second before reiterating his statement. “GO!”

Radford rushed out of the office with no clue on his mind on how to stop the two.

The Iceman Challenge

On the TV screen you see just a bold white "I"....

A voice begins to speak "So who is the Iceman you ask? Well it is simple... I am the guy who will soon be your new champion..."

The "I" turns black and a close shot of the Iceman's face appears...

"I am the Iceman... after years of taking bumps and dominating backyards around the country, I decided to go after to guys here in a real league... I am tired of not getting the recognition I deserve, so now it's time I take it... So I hear Matt Haddon, Alyx Norwood, and Simon Starks still need a match next week... well which one of you is willing to accept my challenge!! The challenge of losing to me!"....

The room then turns to black again, and all you hear is slight laughter as this spot ends.

A Champions' Defense

The arena came to a hush as ‘Headstrong’ by the artists collectively known as Trapt played over the speakers. Yes, it did mean the arrival of the World Heavyweight Champion, but nobody really cared. Their champion was still the former holder of the title.

Nonetheless Xander Napoli stepped out with Michael O’Dell and Gyle the Messiah standing to his sides. If it was his choice, he wouldn’t be defending tonight. Regardless of his opponent. But it had been decided that the best way to market the product was to market all the resources. Even if he was one this night.

Gyle and O’Dell held the ropes open for Napoli to step into the ring. He grinned a the fans as he held their precious title above his head and grabbed a microphone from O’Dell’s grasp.

“Such a wonderful evening tonight. Shame I have to spoil it by coming out here in front of you gross slobs of humanity.” That got a string of boo’s directed his way. “Sorry, I meant only the best. Hah.” He held the title above his head once more. “You really think that you will see this defended tonight? Really? Against who?”

High Flyer!

High Flyer!

High Flyer!

“Excuse me, but I do believe he has been banned, barred, and banished from competing inside the nbW ring. I do recall giving that edict.”

Napoli laughed as the fans continued to chant the former champions name.

“Screw you all. He is gone. Leave it at that. If you want to see him get his ass beat, go watch him on that federation built for you so called fans. Why someone would cater to the money grubbing slop like you, I will never know.”

He was so enjoying this.

“As much fun as it is to hear you all call me names that our whorish mother became known for in the tavern – I do have better things to do. So if you don’t mind lets just get on wi…”

BOOM!

Explosions of fire ignited from the entrance aisle as the unmistakable music of Torment played. He stepped out from behind the flames and walked down to the ring to a stunned champion.

Napoli grabbed O’Dell by the collar pulling him in close. ‘What’s going on here? This wasn’t in the script!’. O’Dell shook his head and watched as the masked monster stepped over the top rope and stared directly at them.

Xander walked up to him and peered into his mask. ‘What the hell is going on. You know that you are supposed to show up afterwards.’

Torment stepped to the side and pointed at the entrance aisle where the smug business man stood.

“My Mr. Napoli, but it seems the there fella’ took out your opponent for tonight. I had no choice but to find a replacement, and well… there he is. Goodluck.”

Thaddeus Prometheus placed the microphone into his front chest pocket and took himself a straight-shot view of the action about to take place.

Napoli stood in fright. This couldn’t happen. Not here. Not tonight… Surely he could reason with Torment before the …

Ding!

‘Oh shit.’ Voiced Napoli as the monster walked towards him.

World Heavyweight Championship
Torment
Versus
Xander Napoli

‘Well?’ yelled Napoli at O’dell and Gyle whom had started to leave the ring ‘Get to work already’.

O’Dell stepped back into the ring and approached Torment. The monster shifted his head his direction and at the moment O’Dell surely had been wishing he was wearing his hockey mask.

Torment stretched out one long arm and grabbed O’Dell by the throat before lifting him in the air and tossing him across the ring. Napoli shot his eyes to the side to look at O’dell’s motionless body, and then to the other side where Gyle was now laying prone in the corner with Torment’s huge hand around his own throat.

He had no idea what to do.

He had no where to go.

He had no hope.

Xander rushed across the ring with his fists flaring but was caught in the grip of Torment.

His life started to flash before his eyes.

The day he left The Company.

His glorious wedding.

The morning his beautiful daughter Krista was born.

His first arrival in the nbW.

Even his championship win over High Flyer.

All of these images flashed before his eyes as the Monster lifted him up off of the ring mat and held him to the heavens until finally, he was sent back down to the canvas in a heap.

Crack.

As he laid there motionless and stared up at the lights above, he knew something was broken. Some bone in his body had snapped, but with the Monster covering him, it didn’t matter.

It was over.

One..

Not even his fingers would curl.

Two...

This was never his environment. He wasn’t a wrestler.

Three.

It was all over.

The referee quickly got the World Championship away from the ring hand and held it to Torment, raising his other hand in victory. Torment roared his triumph and the referee dashed out of the ring and ran like a bat out of hell. His job was over once the boss woke; but even so, he wished to be as far away from the beast in the ring as he could get.

Clap.

Winner by pinfall, And NEW World Champion, Torment!

Monstrous Champion

Clap.

Clap. Clap.

The round about sound of applause could be centered to one person in the arena. The very man that had set this match in play: Thaddeus Boyle. He smiled and removed the mic from his pocket and placed it at the tip of his lips.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, I give you the new World Heavyweight Champion of no brand Wrestling. The monstrous TORMENT!” He continued to clap as Torment stood next to the downed body of Napoli.

“This, folks, is what is all about. I was hired by The Company to ensure the best financial route for nbW. I have gone through the books and even tied some loose ends together, but the biggest mess was still unapproachable. There were just way too many expenditures going on. Most of which were used by that man in the ring.”

Thaddeus pointed his hand at the ring to Xander Napoli, whom was now being helped up into a sitting position by O’Dell and Gyle. Torment had already left the ring and was walking past him.

“His selfish gain had set this place in financial crisis. Even recently his expenses were not spared as he hired every known obstacle he could to deter High Flyer’s rise to glory. All the hatred he has towards that giant in the back caused even more spending, and bleeding this place dry. A few more months, and no brand Wrestling wouldn’t even afford to be in a arena such as this.”

Napoli had started to come through, and this easily caught Thaddeus’s attention.

“I see you can still move. That’s good.”

“Boyle, what the fuck is going on here. You were hired to make this place more of a cashcow than it already is. What the hell just happened?” screamed Napoli into the mic piece held by O’Dell.

“Progress. Napoli. Progress. You see my namesake is much more than just that. It is a omen of the future. Just as Prometheus stole Fire from the Gods and gave it to the humans; I too have took the fire from this industry and will give it back to the people in full force. You see, tonight… is the start.”

By this point Napoli had already heard enough and gave orders to O’Dell and Gyle to rush Thaddeus.

O’dell stepped out of the ropes and readied to hop down until he was hit from behind with a stiff elbow to his skull. O’Dell collapsed on the apron and fell to the floor below. Xander sat in shock as he witnessed his personal guard turn on him.

“It is too late to do anything Xander. Like I had scheduled it, everything has proceeded as planned. I do apologize though Xander. I would have much liked to work with you some more, but alas some wishes just can’t be granted. In order for this ship to rise again, the Captain has to go down with the ship. Pitty.” Thaddeus shook his head in disgust. “Oh well. Finish it… my son.”

Napoli turned around to face Gyle before being lifted into the air and slammed back down with sheer velocity from him. Then it all went black for him. Only the echoing statements from Boyle still filled the eardrums.

“Now before I go, there is one more pressing business. As I stated earlier, tonight is the end. Due to the cost rising, the lack of any support from the government to bail out the pro wrestling circuit, I have had no choice but to cut one of the biggest expenditures. This.” He pointed all around him as the EMT’s rushed down to the ring and focused on Napoli and O’Dell. “These live taped events. Are done and over. I do apologize but there has to be some cuts, and that is the most impacting.”

A round of boo’s filled the arena but Thaddeus shook his head in response as Napoli was carted up the aisle, and O’Dell glared at Thaddeus but continued with the boss.

“Do not worry. No brand Wrestling will continue forward via exclusive online Webstreams. This will greatly reduce the cost to run the show, while providing you with the entertainment you enjoy." A chorus of boos and cheers followed. "Now without further delay, I present to you our star-studded Main Event featuring the Dynasty Tag team Champions, Showtime and Proteus, D-T against their challengers, the Dream Warriors! Enjoy.”

Thaddeus waived his hand to the audience and headed through the curtain where his son Gyle already stood in wait.

Coming Soon

The nbW-tron lit up with the no brand Wrestling logo in center sight.

Voiceover: Coming soon to no brand Wrestling, exclusively online.

You loved to see them in the ring performing as the best. You’ve witnessed them excel the odds and defeat their foes.

They have vanquished countless challengers week in and week out. Some have retired; others have simply disappeared from the industry.

But no brand Wrestling is bringing them back, to you The Fans.

Every week we will dive into the vault and showcase one of the classic matches of nbW’s past. You are guaranteed to see your old favorites in action once again, and relive some of their greatest moments.

No brand Wrestling will bring the Past back to you.

The tron faded out with the url to the website in place. Nobrandwrestling.com

Twice in the Same Night

It had already been an eventful evening for no brand Wrestling. Xander Napoli, the all-conquering emperor, had relinquished some of his control to the enigmatic yet highly successful Thaddeus Boyle, who instantly forced his new partner to give the fans their money’s worth, well to an extent, and defend the World Championship.

In a surprising turn of events, Torment didn’t read Napoli’s script and instead took the title himself. Standing at 6’9, the gargantuan was the complete opposite of his employer. While Xander in a straight-up bout was easy pickings for any trained professional, Torment was a match for virtually anyone in the industry and blessed with frightening strength, a will to do what he wanted, when he wanted and to whomever he pleased.

Suddenly, the silence of the crowd turned into a commotion. They didn’t know how to react to the sight of Thaddeus Boyle, a brilliant businessman who was brought on board to save the ship from sinking, but he’d already committed one masterstroke this evening. Xander Napoli was no longer in the hotseat in more ways than one and nbW finally had a wrestler back on top again, something the highly reputable High Flyer, who until very recently wore the fWo Championship, had taken away from by the cunning Napoli.

Thaddeus had a smile on his face and a microphone in his hand. He held his hand up to stop the crowd from giving him generous applause for his earlier actions: “Torment took the title away from Xander like taking chocolate from a baby. I know you people are happy that at least we’ve got a real champion at long last but I think you deserve even more.”

The fans liked the sound of that and responded by voicing their appreciation. Boyle proceeded: “It’s Memorial Day and I want to give you all a day to remember. Torment, if you will, please come out here. I have a message for you.”

A second set of fireworks signalled that the giant either hadn’t had enough or was going to gloat about his victory. The latter was seriously unlikely. Regardless, we were about to find out as the hideous yet impressive creature emerged with the strap held high above his head. As subtle as a nuclear bomb in the ring, he possessed zero grace and in fact resembled a 1980s horror film villain as opposed to a main event performer in a proud promotion.

He looked town on Thaddeus. Then again, he looked down on virtually everyone both in terms of height and standing in the wrestling world. He was now the number one man in no brand Wrestling.

“Torment, thank you for giving the title some much-needed credibility. It needed it. But, you know I was thinking that because your victory over Xander was so short and sweet, we could give the fans Round Two… What do you say?”

Predictably, he didn’t say anything. The audience on the other hand weren’t so quiet.

“I told Xander that his original opponent wasn’t able to perform. It seems I was wrong,” he sarcastically added, shrugging his shoulders.

He pointed to the screen, almost mocking the muted monster, a characteristic you’d come to expect from him, as ‘Lake of Fire’ by Lordz of Brooklyn echoed around the arena. As the lights dimmed, 6 big, bright white letters stood out…

K-E-E-G-A-N.

The former nbW member and first man to ever win 25 to Life was back but why? Once again, nobody knew how to react but it was generally positive as Special K, a little trimmer than when we last laid eyes on him, literally gleamed with a beautiful bronze physique and an equally expensive gold chain around his neck to match. The accompanying white jeans divided some but reminded them that while he was man’s man in some senses, he’s always had eccentricity and an equal abundance of wealth. Uncharacteristically, he rolled underneath the ring and suddenly popped up, taking the microphone from a grinning Greek, and waved his index finger in the way. The Walking Promo was about to cut one on a defenceless talker but ruthless animal.

“Aw, it’s good to be back in America on Memorial Day. What a way to return.”

The crowd cheered. Seemingly, the Englishman was onside, though you could never tell with Keegan. He was, after all, the brains behind an outfit dubbed ‘Mercenaries.’

“Thaddeus, thank you very much for calling me. I never thought I’d miss America so much but after two years of wiping my arse with sandpaper with all of those scruffy Mexican, I’m pleased to say I’m home.”

Typical. He’d already insulted the largest Spanish-speaking nation on earth. Was he about to split and do the same to the most powerful English-speaking or any language-speaking country on the face of the planet in the same way, like he was known to once upon a time, particularly on Memorial Day?

“nbW is my home.”

Maybe not.

He soaked up the round of applause but decided to move things along: “I’ve been gone three or four years. To be honest, I didn’t do anything for half of that time. The rest, I’ve had a ball down south despite what I said earlier. It seems that nbW is pretty much the same. No, wait. I’d go as far to say it’s worse.”

That prompted a few boos. Thaddeus nodded and Keegan held up his right hand to ask for redemption from the masses: “I hate to say it but it has. It’s true. I tell the truth. Let’s shame the devil. Xander Napoli has brought this place down to the depths of the crooked organisation known as the Camorra itself, one he’s probably connected to himself.

“I’m not here for the money. I don’t need it. I’m not a mercenary anymore. I’m here to be the knight in shining armour or, maybe, his horse.”

Torment seemed to be unimpressed by all of this pointless patter. Then again, the feeling was mutual: “Believe me, I’d love nothing more than to take off your jockstrap and take a shit in it like I used to down in the Mexican bars when I’d had ten too many but I come here as the Melinda Messenger, merely to shoot you down with words, not with my fists."

“That, fortunately for you, is someone else’s responsibility.”

The commentators speculated on air. Fans thought they knew what he meant, some were clueless, particularly the newcomers. For those with any knowledge of nbW’s past, ‘That’s Amore’ enabled them to say ‘Told you so’ to the idiots in the seat next to them.

Keegan’s protégé and most successful student, Ali Amore, emerged to an excellent ovation. Sporting blue and yellow tights with a red trim, the colours of his native Colombian flag, the potential poster boy looked better than ever. However, after three years away, could he compete in the same manner?

Thaddeus high-fived Special K and everyone was buzzing about a second impromptu match for the Heavyweight belt. As Amore flipped over the top rope in customary style, a cheeky smile was etched on his face as he almost landed perfectly in his teacher’s waiting arms, welcoming him back to the fold officially…

Oh, spare me the soppy romantic rubbish and pass the sick bucket.

He didn’t speak but I’ll do it for him…

Torment didn’t give a shit.

Keegan ran with the exclusive but everyone knew who he was by now: “Here he is, my brother from another mother, the Superstar of Bogota, a man almost as handsome as myself and the future of this company… ALI A-MOOOORRREEE!”

K, don’t give up the dayjob. Leave it to Buffer.

Amongst all of the hysteria, Keegan passed the stick to his new boss: “Torment, I have accepted this challenge on your behalf. Ring the bell.”

We were officially underway…

World Heavyweight Championship
Ali Amore
Versus
Torment

Yes, this was going to happen. Written on the back of a tabloid newspaper, Torment and Ali had been hastily arranged to say the least. But, that meant nothing now. Could they deliver when it mattered? Torment was one-dimensional but very good in that role. Ali, a popular showman inside of the ring, a shy and reserved character outside of it, had a reputation as a spot monkey with no grasp of rest holds or letting up. Surely, his hiatus had smartened him up. He couldn’t maintain a breakneck pace all of the time, particularly against the freak who stood before him, but it was still important to increase the tempo. Very few could live with Ali at full-speed. He just had to pick his moments, like most, against the fearsome champion, who threw the title down. A referee, who entered the fray moments ago among the excitement, picked it up and tossed it outside. That’s what they were fighting for.

Keegan shouted encouragement to his accomplice: “Come on Ali, you can do it.” Thaddeus was irrelevant now and had scampered off behind the curtain, where he would safely watch his creation and his ‘place’ if you will. He wanted to let the talent shine at long last.

Meanwhile, Ali committed a schoolboy mistake and darted towards Torment, attempting to take down the titanic figure via the left leg but the masked man merely moved a matter of millimetres and pissed on Amore’s parade with a clubbing blow, powerful enough to pull down a tree. The 23-year-old fresh-faced flyer was just seconds into his 2nd debut with nbW and already on the floor in a whole world of trouble.

Torment helped Amore back up to one leg and was destined to give the South American another hammer blow but Ali read it sometime last year and blocked it, giving the giant a right hand of his own. A second sharply followed. A third stung him. A fourth and fifth followed. He was making headway. While notorious for being a consummate aerial-based artist, the Colombia had some measured success with gloves as a young kid trying to ear money any way he could. In other words, he could punch.

So could Torment.

In one swoop, Torment responded as Ali’s combination became routine and hoisted the challenger up before bringing him back down to earth with just as much contempt courtesy of a basic but effective bodyslam.

Three years away, not from wrestling altogether, from an nbW ring was already taking its toll. He was slightly sluggish and the body was not in perfect harmony with hitting the canvas on a regular basis. The South American was sore so soon and in the wrong place with the wrong man. Thanks for the memories on Memorial Day. You tried…

Things were fixed to get a whole lot worse before they got any better as Torment took a handful of the Colombian’s long locks to drag him up and then drilled him with a DDT.

There was no cover in that instance either.

Torment was toying with the breakout star.

To emphasise his strength and dominance, he hauled Ali back up again, who was already breathing hard and heavily, and with one grab of the tights effortlessly elevated the challenger into the air, an awesome exhibition of power and a signal that he could do whatever he wanted to this boy, who was nowhere near him in terms of physical or professional stature, and after ten seconds of showing off, not an act you’d associate with Torment, he put the promising prospect out of his misery with a sound vertical suplex.

Still, he opted against making a cover.

However, after a simple step back and bouncing off the ropes, Torment took the piss by demonstrating that he also has agility in his arsenal with a Legdrop that had more height than the last ten Hulk Hogan efforts combined, which finally resulted in a cover.

1
2…

Already, Amore was up against it. Torment was walking this one and well ahead on the metaphorical scorecards. Ali had looked quick and prosperous when dazzling the near 7-footer with a flurry of fists but that seemed a long time ago, even if in reality it was a matter of minutes.

Torment allowed Ali to get to his feet, though the starlet was clearly having difficult and the skyscraper was becoming impatient. He could sense the end and was about to blow the Bogota native’s brains out…

Tombstone Piledriver.

Well, that was the intention.

You see, Ali was either playing possum or just relying on instinct or a second wind and managed to slip out of the back door…

A bewildered behemoth turned around to learn where the Colombian Copperfield had gone only to be winded himself with two swift kicks that keeled the colossus over, as if he wanted to puke, and gave Ali license to tag in his favourite partner, the ropes, for some double-team action by leaning against them and propelling himself, in less than a heartbeat, back with interest…

Scissors Kick across the point of the spine.

Ali went for a quick pinfall but the official was out of position and didn’t even register a one-count.

That must have been psychologically damning for the comeback kid. It was a reminder that while Torment could dish it out better than anyone on the roster, you also had to pile it on for him to stay down for three seconds.

Amore had a spring in his step though, an injection of enthusiasm and a teaspoon of confidence were making him tick right now and as Torment stood up, he went to the well for a second Scissors Kick…

Which Torment saw coming and incredibly caught the Colombian and sloppily but emphatically drove the 212-pound talent with a modified Gutwrench…

1…
2…

Ali assertively and instinctively raised his shoulder at the last second but the gesture wasn’t fooling anyone. His offence hadn’t lasted long and he was hurting again. Torment was too big, too strong and too much for the fan favourite, certainly on the showing so far.

Keegan thumped the canvas a couple of times and The Yardstick yelled encouragement and instructions, inaudibly, to his handsome protégé. Deep down, he was distraught and beginning to regret the decision to come back to the company and he hadn’t even had another 15 minutes of fame yet.

As Amore came up for air, Torment tormented him with three jabs and a beautiful haymaker, insulting Ali in the process with an ample example of ‘anything you can do, I can do better’ and with the force of the hits, which were considerable, you couldn’t argue with Torment, nor should you want to really.

While everyone was watching a one-sided encounter that could be ended at any moment, the masked man elected against another high-impact manoeuvre and instead opted to slap on a basic sleeper. So far, the match had almost succeeded in doing that to its fans, given the champion’s stranglehold over the fixture and his enormous arms were powerful enough to hand Amore an insight into what a snake strangling you would be like. That’s how it felt.

Keegan repeatedly played the drums on the canvas on the opposite side, underneath the bottom rope, trying to roar encouragement to his friend, who was a friend in need at this point, and achieving his clear objective of beginning a series of constant clapping from the fans.

Usually, the aggressor shakes his head when the crowd gets into and the face begins to summon up some energy but Torment was expressionless, which had a lot to do with the disguise, but one got the impression he’d be that way regardless, chilling to the bone.

Up to a vertical base, Ali fired in some stiff elbows, five in total which broke the giant’s grip and rebounded off the ropes, ducking underneath the champion’s clothesline attempt and from the other set of ropes he elevated himself up into the air and came back with a beautiful moonsault…

Or would have except Torment caught him and this time connected…

Tombstone Piledriver.

How could he see Wrestlemania 25 through that mask, you wonder?

ONE…

TWO…

THREE?!

Not enough, I’m afraid.

How not?

Well, we weren’t half an hour into proceedings, Ali Amore isn’t Shawn Michaels and Torment isn’t The Undertaker to sum it up.

Where now then?

You may wonder, but the other four people reading this match probably don’t care, and even you probably don’t but I’ll tell you anyway because that’s why I’m writing this match. While Torment may appear to be a dumb fuck, he’s very resourceful and imaginative regarding the delivery of damage, decimation, destruction and devastation.

Phew. Try saying that when you’re drunk.

Torment took time out to look down at Keegan and pointed. Mockingly, K pointed at himself as if to say ‘Me?’ and he knew fine well. What he didn’t know was Torment’s intention, which he was poised to find out in a split-second. Amazingly, Death Himself lifted his opponent into the air with absolute ease in a Gorilla Slam position and deposited him onto the onlooking Englishman on the outside…

Thankfully, K read it and caught his student in his arms. Less of that shit, I had enough of it in the previous segment. Fuck all of this romance, I want wrestling.

Keegan put the prospect down on the floor and got up onto the apron to confront Torment, who walked towards him slowly. Typically, the gobby Geordie had plenty to say: “A mate of mine told me that there’s fuck all wrong with you, except for the fact that you’re ginger, so that’s why you wear the mask. Mind you, I don’t blame you…”

He was cut off…

But he also cut the champion off with a block and hung him out to dry on the top rope, throat-first, coming down on the apron with all 273 pounds of his fantastic frame, sufficient to send Torment to one knee, a rarity in itself. The official let it go, deeming that Torment had initiated the whole exchange and he had in actual fact by goading Keegan via using his protégé as a human javelin and then by trying to deck him.

The Tynesider then turned to Ali and helped him up: “Come on son, you can do this. It’s tough, I know, but you’re still in it. Go up top,” he advised even using his index finger to hint at the top turnbuckle. Ali impersonated HBK again with a nip-up which excited the observers, especially those with breasts, and the next thing you knew, quicker than a cat threatened with the thought of hot water touching its fur suddenly found himself on that aforementioned top turnbuckle. His dream was to fly on a rainbow so high…

Well, it wasn’t but his vision worked as he landed, body on body, with a sumptuous Crossbody Block…

Two count.

Torment was up again and looking to make Ali pay for his audacity but an Irish Whip into the corner wasn’t followed up in the manner it should have been as Torment stuttered towards Ali Amore and you couldn’t do that, missing with a big boot badly, and by the time he turned around Torment realised the one move that could take anyone down, regardless of size, at any given moment as long as it was executed properly…

CHOP BLOCK!

What a tide-turner. Two count. William could not get up any quicker, incensed by Ali’s audacity, but his anger clouded his judgement as a lazy Lariat attempt went astray and Keegan applauded his ally, pardon the pun. He knew that he’d made a smart decision and changed the course of the confrontation, perhaps temporarily, though he also knew all Ali needed was a break to show what he was capable of and the 2 count represented progress, albeit psychologically. He repaid Christie’s trust by dropping a knee onto his opponent’s and dragging the cut-down combatant over to the ropes where he brought his body down onto the left leg of Torment, who was doing what he could to try and stop the speedy South American from taking the limb apart. It was unusual for the renowned risk-taker to adopt a strategic stance, a tried and trusted formula over time that helped wrestlers win at the expense of bigger men than themselves, but maybe he had listened to his experienced mentor after all.

Then, while looking lost and towards Keegan for advice, Ali neglected to hook or trap Torment…


Any aspirations Amore had of building any momentum were again as Torment, even from a few yards away and a sitting position, stuck his size fuck-knows-what into Ali’s temple twice, leaving the livewire performer in a heap and depraved of energy and oxygen.

Torment had taken his toll on him.

But he wouldn’t surrender.

Not that it was a serious option as he was getting the tar kicked out of him.

A frantic Keegan couldn’t believe his eyes when he saw what Torment had in store for the South America starlet next…

He, at 6’9, was going airborne himself, first-class, one-way.

It took Torment twice as long to get to the second rope as it would for Ali to ascend to the top level, which isn’t an insult incidentally but a testament to the Colombian’s quickness and let’s face it, I need to big him up in some way and hand him the occasional compliment because he hasn’t done much in this match…

Keegan couldn’t watch and turned away. He had good reason to.

Torment’s attempt at a Flying Elbow was simply terrible and missed by a long way as Ali moved ever so slightly at the last moment.

As soon as K put 9 and 9 together to make 18 via the crowd and seeing Torment holding his funny bone, he began to screech and clap relentlessly, his brush-daft passion and commitment to the Colombian’s cause infected the crowd, who joined in and dared to believe, somehow, some way, there was hope for their brightest hope, Ali Amore, and give them a great memory here on Memorial Day.

Predictably, Torment got to his feet before Ali, who had his head between his legs (don’t ask) as if he was looking where his shot had gone on a bowling alley after trying the most basic trick shot and before you knew it…

Torment had Amore in a Powerbomb position, seven feet in the air.

Ali fought like mad, scrambling and constantly punching Torment in the head, delivering four or five shots but still this freak of nature couldn’t be budged. Just when it seemed Torment had ridden the storm and was about to turn out his plucky opposition’s lights…

A ray of light in the form of a sensational Headscissors counter.

The Newcastle native on the outside nodded his head and repeatedly shouted ‘YES, GET IN’ to nobody in particular but he certainly wasn’t referring to his favourite football team, who had disgraced him yesterday so much that he nearly refused to partake in this event out of protest towards their shit season.

As usual, Amore’s objective was to go upstairs and that’s what he did. The youngster was resourceful up there, a claim that even he didn’t know what he was going to do until he got up there himself, let alone anyone else having an idea of what was going to happen. On this occasion, while patiently perched on the summit, he allowed Torment to locate his whereabouts and as soon as his radar did find Amore, the Whole Article let fly with a delightful Missile Dropkick that was on the money…

1
2
3?


Ali wasn’t the strongest employee on the roster to begin with but while he wasn’t at 100% and running on instinct, he found it difficult to shift the near 300-pound stumbling block at all and thankfully the titan helped out a little bit by getting off his carcass. By doing so, he didn’t do it to play ball and denied Ali the freedom to do whatever he wanted with a nasty, and I mean nasty, knee to the ribcage before taking over with a tirade of thumps to the head and neck area, punishing the promising prospect prior to do piling more on as he slowed the tempo down at a time when Amore could do without it by squeezing the life out of the South American starlet – and the spectacle in the process – with a Bearhug.

You could imagine – well you probably couldn’t actually – the anguish Ali was enduring right now. He was masterfully manipulating his substantial size and considerable weight to squeeze the life out of the young upstart. Torment was content to merely drain Amore’s reserves of energy away. He was certainly on the right track to achieving just that.

To reaffirm his strength, Torment swung him from side to side like a rag doll giving the Colombian a headache in addition to everything else. The champion was in the ascendancy and aggressively constricting the glorified cruiserweight, compressing his toned yet slender frame and making life generally difficult for the 23-year-old.

Amore’s expression was one of distress, which increased as Torment tightened his vice-like grip. Spectators tried to aid Amore and the building started to shake, Amore’s support greater than ever and his legs started to move, his hips swayed as the audience became his tag team partner temporarily, vigorous applause proving to be the import’s drug, not the incredible resources that his home country possessed for that particular recreational activity, and he practiced his Salsa routine prior to using an old-fashioned escape route to say the least –using both hands in a clapping fashion to slap the giant’s head, which was more than enough to eradicate the pickle he had found himself in.

With Torment now nursing a headache as well, Ali had to make it count now and he did so with a Hurricanrana as well as rolling through…

1
2
3?

Not quite.


Torment cut the Colombian off as they both dragged themselves up simultaneously with a solid knee to the abdomen area and set him up with an Irish Whip sent the South American into the corner where he awaited more misery. However, as Torment was slightly slower than expected, he leapfrogged the masked man and then waylaid him with a sudden and sensational Tornado DDT that knocked him for six and also made some supporters very happy in the process, particularly when his next destination was the summit, which he seemed to ascend even faster than usual, and composed himself, ready to write in his first win back…

Ali, perched up top like a parrot, was gaining confidence. Maybe he was too confident but he had to try. Keegan had warned him to slow down in order to prolong his career, a ridiculous sentiment at 23 surely, though one that should be considered. However, that could all wait. Sure, he may get more cracks at the championship in the future. That’s all they were at this time. Maybes. Today could also be maybe. Maybe yes. In order to climb the mountain, he had to go with what he knows and that was the unknown…

Which resulted into him crashing straight into a size 167 boot that almost beheaded him.

Torment dropped down, weary himself, and nonchalantly laid on top of the motionless pretender.

One…

Give it up for him.

Two…

He had done well.

Three.

But he was going home with the booby prize.

Wasn’t he?

Uh-uh.

Amore HAD kicked out.

Torment was mightily annoyed and momentarily vacated the ring with evil thoughts rife throughout his mind. He went in search of something, anything, to hold Ali down long enough. He was frustrated and still certainly capable of handing the Colombian his carcass within the legal parameters. However, he didn’t want to do that, why would we? He was a monster, nobody could stop him and so it proved as he easily brushed the timekeeper aside and helped himself to the skinny runt’s seat.

Keegan couldn’t help himself. He saw a blatant opening, a glaring opportunity and he was unquestionably an exceptional opportunist. As Ali lay writhing on pain in the floor and Torment made a conscious decision to inflict more damage on the hapless youngster, probably with the assistance of the old trustworthy steel chair, K took it upon himself to interject, turning Torment around and rocking him with a right, another right…

The big bastard felt nothing. He tilted his head a little and returned the compliment with interest, sending Special K a few feet further back. Amazingly, Keegan was still on his feet and, astonishingly, primed to take his father’s playground advice regarding bullies…

If they hit you, hit them back twice as hard…

So determined and passionate, protective over Ali, Keegan mustered every ounce of energy he had into a bone-crunching spear that catapulted the colossal figure into the ring steps. His head bounced off the unforgiving steel and his ribs were racked with agony upon impact. The former tA fighter considered past it in terms of combat had served up a special shoot-like takedown that appeared ultra-realistic, probably because it fucking well was.

Not content with nearly splattering the champion’s spleen all over the protective padding, he also stole his idea by making a beeline for the steel chair reserved for the timekeeper and told the little upstart in no uncertain terms to remove his worthless rectum from the seat because he had found its true purpose and calling in life – three stiff shots from a standing position, jammed into the midsection of the masked monster, and then thrown away with utter disregard. It was rendered a ten-cent slut in that very moment.

He pondered rolling him in and enabling Amore to complete the job. He’d done his share and contributed to what was a miraculous comeback for the pair of them. However, with the crowd hotting up, he couldn’t resist. He did toss Torment underneath the bottom rope but rolled in just behind him. Well, with the referee dreaming about leprechauns, why not take advantage of the situation?

He certainly did that. In a tribute to his countryman, the late and great Davey Boy Smith, who paved the way for Keegan to ply his trade in the country he loved to hate, Special K showed sensational strength to plant Torment perfectly with an earth-shuddering running powerslam!

Fans were frantic and the referee’s hand-eye coordination was somewhere over the Atlantic. Keegan screamed at Ali that this was his chance but was more worried about reviving the unconscious official just long enough to slap the canvas three times and announce the third World Champion this evening alone.

It stirred him a little. K sprinted out of the ring. He didn’t want to give anyone enough ammunition to disqualify Ali and he’d played a significant role in handing Torment an almighty fall. Could the Colombian capitalise?

Amore was moving, albeit slowly, and egged on by the fans, clutching his neck decided it had to be all or nothing. Keegan had taught him that shy boys get no toys in life and if he wanted this, which he did more than anything, he had to be direct and take it any way he could.

He eventually ascended the top turnbuckle and steadied himself. In doing so, he asked God for ‘this to be it’ and took a huge risk, practically causing some sort of internal damage with a drop dead gorgeous…

FROGSPLASH!

He yelled in agony and writhed around like he was ravaged with parasites, turning away from Torment, and giving the fallen redwood a few extra seconds to recuperate. 15-20 seconds passed before the Bogota-born babyface managed to drape an arm across the covered chest of the champion…

1…

2….

KICKOUT!

Barely, and I mean barely, Torment got the shoulder off the canvas. It wasn’t the authoritative denials in the opening moments where he matched Ali’s speed by repelling the referee’s count at 1, sometimes even before, but a sign that he was there for the taking.

The question…

Did Ali have enough ambition and determination to decide this?

Damn right, he did.

Again, Amore returned to the skies. He was comfortable there. The Frogsplash had people on the edge of their seats. What was coming next, whatever it was, had them out of their seats.

He always thinks big and gambles even bigger. The stakes had never been higher. If you thought the last manoeuvre was all or nothing, the next roll of the dice was life or death. Ali chose life, but with the possibility of killing himself in the process.

The young man blessed himself and almost like a Hollywood actress kissing the dice before rolling it for her equally attractive male co-star, Amore decided to put all of his chips on this one…

THAT’S AMORE!

No, not the Dean Martin song, which doubled up as his entrance theme. He hadn’t won anything yet.

But he might have.

His shooting star press was 21.

Perfect.

He was 23 years old.

For the umpteenth time tonight, speculation was rife.

Was Ali capable on this night of becoming champion?

As the official, still struggling and groggy, moved into place and Ali summoned enough strength to hook the large left leg of the obstacle in his way of greatness, we were fixed to find out…

ONE….

TWO…

THREE?

Three or not?

Not even Torment could handle that, surely?

You’re right…

He couldn’t.

THREE!

Time stood still. In his first match back after a long layoff, four months in total and four years away from no brand Wrestling, Ali had fulfilled his promised and realised a dream in three terrific seconds.

The boy was now the man in nbW.

Winner by pinfall, and NEW World Heavyweight Champion, Ali Amore!

 

Keegan jumped up and down on the spot, screaming ‘YES!’ which he hasn’t had the chance to do in recent times due to Newcastle United’s uncanny ability of missing the target these days. Ali hadn’t missed his however. The Geordie Genius graciously picked up the awaiting belt from ringside, so delighted you’d think he’d won it, and stared down at the pattern. It meant so much to them and, remarkably, they’d done it in the first match. It was a team effort and the teacher wanted to present his student with the equivalent of a degree. His graduation ceremony was about to take place.

It’s doubtful whether Amore knew what was going on. He was up, but only on his knees and crawling around like a toddler when K crouched down and placed the strap on his shoulder, proudly smiling at him in the process.

Eventually, it dawned on him and he accepted the strap, still on his knees, from Keegan and stared at it like a father with his newborn baby. He’d do that in the future, he was too good-looking not to, but this was tremendous practise in the meantime.

His own father figure, who had never won a world title in wrestling or had the privilege of being a father at the age of thirty-six, was now living his life via his student. He cradled the Colombian’s head in his hands and kissed him on the forehead. Ali responded by giving him a huge hug, one which startled Special K, but nevertheless appreciated. It was a real moment for them both. In character, they were ecstatic but in reality, the acting resembled authenticity because it was.

Fireworks and confetti added to an emotional atmosphere inside the arena. In spite of the limitations, many marks ignored the prohibition of camera use and several hundred simultaneous flashes captured a magnificent moment between two true friends, bound by the love of professional wrestling.

Keegan held Amore’s hand up high. In the other, Ali clasped the championship belt. It wasn’t going anywhere. Not yet at least.

On that note, the show could have closed. But it was just the beginning. The beginning of the card, the beginning of another championship reign at the expense of Torment’s mini reign at the top of the mountain and maybe the beginning of a new age for no brand Wrestling. Let’s hope so.

On Memorial Day, it wasn’t an American but a South American who had made it a day to remember for nbW fans. The promising prodigy Ali Amore had made an astonishing return to in-ring action and at the tender age of twenty-three, the good-looking Colombian with the Mexican mother was ready to embark on the adventure of his life.

In its hour of need…

Ali Amore truly was the nbW’s 4th Emergency Service.

Have we ever disappointed?

Showtime and Proteus were putting the finishing touches on their ring gear - tightening gloves, lacing boots, et cetera. Gabriella Healy, Proteus' girlfriend and sometimes nbW Makeup Gal, was rubbing her man's shoulders.

"So this is the big night, huh?" She asked, nervously. "I mean, it was just announced that this would be the last Full Effect until 2009. If you guys lose, you won't get a chance to wear those title belts for months!"

Proteus turned to face her. "Gold things don't concern me. They never have." He held her close. "All that matters is the honor that they symbolize, and knowing that we do our best to defend them... and that win or lose, when I come home at night, I get to touch your boobies."

She giggled. "Take it easy, stud. Save it for later." Showtime rolled his eyes.

Trent McKnight approached the two, microphone in hand.

"Showtime! Proteus! Do you two have any last words before facing off against The Dream Warriors?"

Showtime glared at Trent suspiciously. "Trent. Trust me when I say I have breathed my final word tonight on Dark Ninja and Psycho. There's nothing left to say. You will just have to judge for yourself once we get out there."

"Well, what do you think of Ninja's guarantee that he will take your belts tonight? that he will end the reign of Showtime and Proteus in nbW for good? Do you think you can withstand the threat he poses? You've already admitted he is a formidable opponent."

Showtime moved toward the door before turning back. "Trent..." he said, a gleam in his eye, "Have we ever disappointed?"

He led his tag team partner and their valet out to the hallway. It was time. The man with the microphone was left standing alone.

Dynasty Tag Team Championships
Dream Warriors
Versus
D-T

We're the DREAM WARRIORS
Don't wanna dream no more!
DREAM WARRIORS!
Maybe tonight -- MAybe tonight you'll be GOOOOOONE!

A fiery explosion paved the way for the brash newcomers to nbW, but longtime foes of D-T - Dark Ninja strutting confidently past the booing fans, and Psycho lumbering large behind him.

"Words can scarcely encapsulate the enormity of the event we are about to behold," Marc Gordon told the fans at home.

"Well you're clearly giving it your best, Gordo. $10 words much?" Terry Renton replied.

"Even so," Gordon admitted, "I can't articulate exactly how deep the hate between these two teams runs, particularly between Showtime and Dark Ninja. It goes back far beyond the nbW, before the Global Tournament of Champions incident two years ago, to the very start of these men's careers in 1999, to a pattern of distrust, hatred, jealousy and one-upmanship that continues to this very day, both in words and in the ring. Simply put, more than any two wrestlers I have ever seen, Dark Ninja and Showtime are two sides of the same coin. Yin and Yang."

"Peanut Butter and Spam," Renton added.

"Not really," Gordon said.

"Explain to me how Peanut Butter and spam are not opposites," Rents protested. "Anyway. Have you seen Ninja and Psycho in the ring yet?"

"Not in any official capacity," Gordon admitted, "But word of mouth is that they impress even Showtime. Psycho's brute strength we saw on our last edition of Full Effect, when he left one half of the champions laying in a pool of blood."

"While Proteus, who has the attention span of a gnat, was off with his little chippie," Renton sneered. "Well I saw the official DW exhibition earlier today, and let me tell you, there's nothing D-T can do that these two can't do better."

"That remains to be seen," Gordon re-affirmed as the pair stepped into the ring and soaked in the hatred of the fans.

Heads I win, tails you lose, to the never mind
where to draw the line!

All attentions turned to the entrance where a might blast of pyro heralded the entrance of the nbW Dynasty Tag Team Championships, Showtime and Proteus, ready for combat, with the lovely Ms. Healy, dressed alluringly but not like a tramp. Classy lady.

"Let's not forget the stakes here, Gordo," Renton noted. "nbW is going on hiatus, and win or lose this will be the last tag team title match for a long time. There can be no disqualifications, no count-outs, no way out, because after all, that'd be totally anti-climactic."

"How fitting indeed," Gordon agreed, "Since their arrival in nbW, D-T has shone brightly in the spotlight as tag team champions, outlasting several world champions, and even company heads. They have been the constant of the nbW World and mega-stars in their own right."

"And their merchandise sells like friggin' gangbusters," Rents added.

"True enough," Gordon admitted, "And they will be the last we see of this series of Full Effect. Will they emerge triumphant? We will see tonight."

The bell rang. Showtime and Dark Ninja stood in the ring in opposing corners while their partners stood on the apron. Brent Williams announced.

"This bout is scheduled for one fall, and is for the nbW Dynasty Tag Team Championships! In this corner, at a combined weight of 515 lbs, the team of Dark Ninja and Psycho... the Dream Warriors!"

The crowd booed loudly. Ninja made threatening gestures toward the crowd.

"And their opponents, at a combined weight of 429 lbs, your reigning and defending Dynasty Tag Team Champions, Showtime and Proteus - D-T!"

The place erupted in cheers, which Showtime appeared far too focused on his opponent to acknowledge, although Proteus did wave to the crowd.

"Fans, you will notice a size-disparity in that announcement. That would be due to the 300-pounder Psycho, a physically dominant presence whose brutality offsets Proteus' technical expertise, as much as Ninja and Showtime are matched in raw talent and showmanship."

Williams left the ring and the bell rang again. The crowd frenzy was immediately intensified with anticipation. The two opponents circled each other, mentally deconstructing what they already knew about each other. the anticipation built.

"Reputations. Titles. Legacies," Gordon said, "Rarely has an nbW ring seen a match with stakes as high as this. The crowd is on the edge."

Finally, the tension was broken as the two locked up. They grappled for a moment before breaking, neither gaining favorable position. Showtime went for another lock-up but Ninja countered with a straight punch, which Showtime just narrowly dodged. Showtime threw a high fast kick, which Ninja ducked, countering with a leg-sweep attempt that Showtime narrowly dodged by leaping up - only to be caught with a monkey flip. Showtime landed on his feet and ran to the ropes, rebounding with a clothesline, knocking Dark Ninja down. The champion had made the first impact. The crowd cheered. Ninja stood and shook it off.

Showtime went to whip Ninja, but was reversed. Ninja low-bridged for Showtime to leapfrog, only to catch him with a reverse kick, sending him to the ropes, neck-first. Ninja went for a follow-up knee to the back, but Showtime got away in time. Ninja stopped short, did a back hand spring and landed in a crouch position as Showtime followed in, only to be caught with a spinning European uppercut. Showtime seemed taken off-guard and got into a defensive position, but Ninja did not go for the follow-up. He simply stood in place, grinning under his mask at Showtime. he held out his hand and tagged in his partner, Psycho. Boos.

"As much focus as we've laid on the history of Dark Ninja and Showtime, we can't forget the fact that this is, after all, a tag team competition, and that all four men in the ring have an effect on its outcome. Psycho proved this to us by launching a deadly sneak-attack on Showtime just last week, and he may prove to be the ace in the hole for team DW."

The giant Psycho stood down Showtime. He rattled him with a massive forearm. He went for a second, but Showtime rolled out of the way. Showtime slipped repeatedly out of the big man's grasp, zipping around with quick strikes and low kicks.

"Showtime using speed to his advantage, an obvious strategy," Gordon noted.

"Yeah, but it's having about as much effect as a Diet Coke on Kirstie Allie!" Rents laughed.

"Even the mightiest redwood can be chopped down by a small hatchet, given enough chops!" Gordon said as Showtime continued to pepper Psycho with quick blows.

"You don't know anything about lumberjacking, Gordo," Rents replied.

Finally, Psycho caught Showtime snapping him up with a massive spinning side slam.

"Oh, this is exactly what Showtime did not want!" Gordon remarked, "Clearly Showtime does not have the physical presence to match strength with this monster."

"Clearly!" Renton agreed as Psycho hefted the champ over his head for a gorilla press slam.

"But it was two years ago, at 25 to Life that Showtime and Proteus won those belts from the monstrous Torment, two of the largest physical competitors we'd ever seen!" Gordon reminded his partner.

"True, but they were a different type of monster," Renton reasoned as Psycho smashed Showtime's head repeatedly into the turnbuckle. "Psycho is reckless, he's ruthless, and judging by the scars all over his body he clearly does not care a damn bit about his own physical well-being! So imagine what he thinks about Showtime's!"

Psycho had Showtime in the corner, pummeling him with fists. The referee told him to stop using the closed fists, so he switched to hard stomps. Finally, he started using shoulder thrusts, which appeared to really tear Showtime apart. He sunk down to the mat, but Psycho picked him back up. Ninja started to choke Showtime from behind, but the referee made him let up.

"Dark Ninja, quite the opportunist," Gordon scowled.

Showtime finally got a surprise elbow strike on Psycho, distracting him long enough for Showtime to attempt a sunset flip. However, instead of getting a full rotation, Psycho merely sat right down on his foe for the cover.

ONE...


Proteus flew across the ring to break the pin. While the ref was distracted putting him back in his place, Ninja jumped in with a springboard legdrop. Psycho hefted his for up in a surfboard, which Ninja made worse with a flying elbow to Showtime's sternum. Finally, the ref caught sight of this and Ninja back in his place. Proteus attempted to come to his partner's aid while the ref was once again distracted, but Psycho had cut the ring off and that option was not viable. Proteus was helpless to watch the domination of his partner.

"If you're Showtime," Gordon told the audience, "The strategy of course would be to outwrestle your opponent, to outwit them and pull impressive stunts they can't anticipate. But for that strategy to work, of course, you have to regain control of the match, which Psycho is not going to let up easily." This, while Psycho pummeled Showtime in the corner.

"And if you're Psycho," Renton noted, "You get on Showtime and you stay on him! Don't even let him get within an inch of Proteus. Beat him and beat him down and beat him even more. Showtime's great strength is just the fact that he is Showtime. By not letting him by Showtime, Psycho can get this one well in hand for his team."

Psycho grabbed Showtime by the wrist and propelled him into a snap powerslam. he covered.

ONE...




TWO...



No, Showtime managed to kick out.

with his shoulders barely off the mat, Psycho looked unfazed at his opponent. Only more chance for mayhem. He began to move over to Dark Ninja, signaling a tag.

"You know this one isn't ending until Dark Ninja gets a chance to take out Showtime," Renton said.

"Or vice versa." Gordon added.

"We'll see."

Psycho did not, in fact, tag out. He grabbed Showtime's legs and catapulted him into the turnbuckle, where Ninja was ready with a leaping kick. Crack. That one was heard throughout the arena. More loud boos.

Ninja returned to his corner. Psycho kept a hold of Showtime's leg. He dropped an elbow onto his knee. He dropped another. He went for a third, but Showtime was ready with a boot to the face! The giant was momentarily stunned! He kicked him again! He fought his way to his feet! The fans began to roar with excitement! Showtime hit an enzuigiri, dropping Psycho to the mat!

He leaped for his corner - no go! Psycho grabbed his leg and pulled him back. The loud cheers turned to boos really quickly.

Psycho snapped a full nelson on Showtime, and slammed him down with a full nelson bomb. He lifted him again and wrenched his back with a torture rack. He walked slowly and steadily around the ring, carrying Showtime on his back like a trophy. From the corner, Ninja heckled, There's your champion, there's your hero! Psycho dropped back with a samoan drop. He covered again.

ONE...






TWO... no, not yet.

Psycho huffed with anger, but went back to work stomping Showtime's legs and back. He lifted him again. Showtime threw an ill-fated spinning kick but was caught and held up in a high power bomb position. The crowd gasped. Showtime began to wriggle.

"Up for the ride--!" Renton exclaimed.

Showtime managed to get free and finagle his way back to his feet, snapping Psycho in a Russian legsweep, momentarily grounding the mountainous man. The crowd roared!

"Here's Showtime's chance--" Gordon said, while the champion dove into the corner, "The tag is made!"

Proteus hopped in and, like a house of fire, took advantage of his position over Psycho by terrorizing him with quick, deadly knee stripes to the cranium. Psycho was felled! He covered.

ONE...



TW-- no, of course not. He kicked out with authority, sending the champion Proteus flying across the ring.

"Not that easy!" Renton laughed.

Psycho went in to grab Proteus but he got only a roundhouse kick for his trouble. Barely fazed, he went in again and this time was met with a leaping spin kick. Psycho caught that one, but it was a decoy as Proteus came in close and stole the dominant position with a neckbreaker! The crowd began to chant - "Pro-te-us! Pro-te-us!"

"Proteus is the underrated element of D-T," Gordon pointed out while Proteus applied a reverse chinlock. "Although it is Showtime's bravado and flash that gets the majority of the attention, Proteus' skill and technique is what backs it up. He is an extraordinarily capable technician in his own right and may be the true reason for D-T's continued success."

"Makes you wonder why he still hangs around with Showtime," Renton scoffed as Psycho fought his way out of Proteus' rest hold. He lifted the much smaller Proteus over his head, but Proteus took him down with an armdrag, which he transitioned into a Fujiwara Armbar. Psycho gritted his teeth as his fists flailed wildly to try to escape the hold.

"Part of being a small competitor is learning how to fight opponents much larger than yourself. Proteus has never been the largest man in the ring, but there's a reason he's still champion."

As it appeared Psycho would escape, Proteus released the hold and rushed over to the far corner. Psycho rushed after him, only for Proteus to spring back with a sharp elbow strike.

"Psycho walked right into it - and his jaw has paid the price!"

His opponent dazed, Proteus hit Psycho with a drop toe hold, then dropped elbows on the giant. He climbed the top rope and waited for Psycho to regain verticality.

Gordon commented "Proteus making the first visit of the night to the skies--"

As Psycho stood, Psycho came off with a high cross body, but was caught, and was felled by a fallaway slam!

"Underestimated Psycho's recuperative abilities," Renton said smugly.

Psycho covered Proteus.

ONE...




TWO...



No, Proteus still had plenty of life in him. Psycho grabbed Proteus by the throat and held him high overhead, but was met with a dropkick. With Psycho down on one knee, Proteus rebounded off the ropes and came back with a Shining Wizard!

Proteus covered.

ONE...




TWO...


No, Psycho was still in it to win it. Proteus tried to pull Psycho up by the hair, but Psycho whipped Proteus into the turnbuckle. Proteus reacted to the momentum by flipping over the turnbuckle and falling to the apron below!

Psycho stared down at his fallen opponent and then did the near-unthinkable. The near-7-footer, the 300-pounder, climbed to the top rope, and and jumped with an elbow drop...

"You will believe a Psycho can fly!" Renton cheered.

Nobody home! Proteus had gotten to safety, leaving Psycho to crash and burn. The fans cheered. Proteus, face reddening from exhaustion, somehow managed to get the now-limp Psycho to his feet and roll him into the ring. He followed up with a springboard elbow. Showtime began a clap that the crowd picked up on.

"Psycho invested, and it did not pay off," Gordon commented, being ever-so-topical.

Proteus covered again.

ONE...



TWO...



No, of course not. But Psycho was still dazed and out of it. He rolled onto his stomach. Proteus seized the opportunity by attempting to snap on an STF, but Ninja, quick on the draw, broke the hold. With the ref showing Ninja back to his place, Psycho down, and Proteus somewhat rattled, Showtime began to lean eagerly in for a tag. The fans clapped and stomped their feet for Proteus to regain his presence of mind. He saw the hand. He lurched for it...

Psycho snapped him with a german suplex!

"Boo!" The sound of several thousand fans' worth of exasperation and disappointment.

Psycho brought Proteus over to the corner. He stood on the top rope...

Super-Psychobomb!!

A spinning powerbomb off the top rope. The crowd went mad, Proteus looked devastated. Psycho covered.

ONE...





TWO...







No, Proteus got the shoulder up. but still the champ looked weak. Psycho stood and stared over at his partner. Ninja nodded - yes, yes! He held out his hand. Psycho stumbled over. The tag was made. Proteus crawled toward his own partner. The fans cheered him on...

No, of course, Ninja got there first, cutting the ring off, dragging Proteus back to the middle of the ring and covering him.

ONE...


No, he got back up in a hurry.

"It's almost not fair," Gordon noted, "Ninja has hardly seen any action, and Proteus is exhausted. Showtime is recuperating in the corner and ready for the next round, but Psycho had to have taken so much out of him!"

"That's tag teams, Gordo!" Renton cried out with glee, "Welcome to wrestling!"

Dark Ninja held Proteus in place with restholds, eliciting great boos from the crowd. Hammerlock, chinlock, armbar, chinlock, hammerlock, chinlock, armbar. Proteus was exhausted and barely seemed to know who or what he was fighting. Showtime leaned over the ropes.

"Proteus was able to out-quick Psycho," Renton said, "But here he's got someone of equal size and speed, and way up on the stamina meter."

Ninja demonstrated his superiority by taking Proteus out with takedowns and suplexes that he would've ably reversed earlier in the night. He was truly worn down. Ninja ran the ropes, and Proteus telegraphed ducking, leading to a running knee lift and a spinning backbreaker. He covered.

ONE...



TWO...





No, Proteus kicked out.

"That's the stuff!" Gordon cheered.

"He'll get him later," Renton affirmed.

"Hey Terry, you're a big DW fan right?"

"Sure, ever since they started getting under D-T's skin."

"Well, this Dark ninja claims to be a Director. Explain to me what that has to do with being a Ninja."

"It's complicated, Gordo. You wouldn't understand."

Dark Ninja whipped Proteus against the ropes. He held his arm out for a clothesline, but was snapped in an armbar, followed by two kicks to the midsection...

SWITCH-PRESS DDT!

"A critical hit!" Gordon said, noticing how much it seemed to take out of Ninja. "It's super-effective!"

Proteus slowly got to his feet. He looked down at The fallen Ninja. He looked over at his partner eager to step in. He looked back down at Ninja. The crowd cheered. He looked back over at Showtime. The crowd cheered louder. He pointed at Ninja - boos. He pointed at Showtime - cheers. He agreed with the fans. He was pooped, and tagged in his partner. Showtime hopped on top of the ropes.

"Showtime going for his patented move! This is vintage D-T!" Gordon cried out, channeling Michael Cole.

"Not this way!" Renton yelped, channeling the same announcer.

"Here it comes..." Gordon said with awe and wonderment.

THE FINAL CURTAIN -- NOBODY HOME!

Dark Ninja re-couperated ad rolled out of the way!

Ninja went to bring Showtime to his feet but was fought off. Both men stood their ground in the unoccupied corners. This was it, and they could both feel it. Just as the match had began, a magnetism, an electricity shot between their eyes. It had come down to this.

The crowd began to go wild for this final showdown. The two locked up again. Showtime threw Ninja with an arm drag. Ninja rebounded and threw one of his own. Showtime scrambled to his feet and ducked a dropkick from Ninja, spun around and took Ninja down with a headscissors. ninja used his momentum to hit the ropes and come back, leapfrogging Showtime, rebounding with an Asai moonsault into a neckbreaker. Ninja won out that round. He covered.

ONE...



No, not even two. Showtime back to his feet, they locked up again. Showtime whipped Ninja into the turnbuckle. Ninja ducked through to the apron as Showtime rushed to follow. Ninja guillotined Showtime on the ropes, then springboarded, only to be caught with a bodyslam. Showtime covered.

ONE...




TWO... barely two. Showtime placed Ninja in the corner, setting him up on the top rope. The champion hopped up to the top, using his momentum to dropkick Ninja to the outside! The crowd began to chant. "SHOW-TIME! SHOW-TIME!" Showtime got to his feet and soaked it in. He rolled out of the ring.

Playtime was over as he started bashing ninja's face into everything he could. The ringpost, the steps, the guardrail. As they got the the commentator's table, Ninja reversed with a DDT onto the hard floor. He rolled Showtime onto the table.

"Oh, no, I don't like where this is going!" Gordon gasped.

"You're telling me - I like this table!" Renton agreed.

Ninja slid back in the ring, then from a running start, bounced off the top rope to the outside with a corkscrew dive -- driving Showtime through the table!

ONE...

The referee counted. TWO...

Both men were still. THREE... FOUR...

Ninja began to show signs of life.

"Good lord," Gordon sighed, "Who could come back from this?"

FIVE...

SIX...

Ninja was on his elbows and knees.

SEVEN...

Ninja, on spaghetti legs, pulled Showtime up.

EIGHT...

NINE...


Ninja rolled his opponent in and followed. The count broken, Ninja covered.

ONE..





TWO...





THR-Shoulder up! The crowd went insane!

Ninja bolted upright, as if to cry out, "How could this be?!" He covered him again.

ONE...



TWO...


Still no! Showtime got the shoulder up!

Ninja pounded the mat in frustration. He stood and began to stomp Showtime's body recklessly. He covered again.

ONE...



Showtime kicked out, this time with authority. The crowd began to go bezerk.

Showtime got to his feet, but seemed unsteady. Ninja charged at him, but he took him over with a back body drop, followed by a standing moonsault. Ninja rolled through a submission attempt and threw a high kick that missed. They exchanged holds a while, ending with Showtime holding Ninja up in a suplex, but walking up the turnbuckles and setting Ninja up on top. Showtime jumped up and took him down with a huracanrana!

"What a feat!"

ONE...






TWO...





No, Ninja kicked out.

The weary Showtime whipped the exhausted Ninja. Ninja ducked a high lariat and rebounded with a crucifix pin attempt.

ONE...




TWO...




No, Showtime kicked out. The fans were on their feet.

Showtime and Ninja began to trade blows. No more showmanship for either, it was time to end this. A left from Ninja. A left from Showtime. A right from Showtime. A right from Ninja. A knife-edge chop form Showtime.

HUSS!

A knife-edge chop from Ninja.

HUSS!

Dark Ninja fell to his knees and gave Showtime sack-tap. The male fans groaned in sympathy pain. Showtime recoiled, and Ninja capitalized with a running bulldog. Showtime was down. The fans booed. Proteus began stomping along with them. Ninja ascended the ropes. The boos grew louder.

NINJA STAR PRESS!

The arena flooded with boos as Ninja covered.

ONE...



TWO...



NO! Showtime kicked out of Dark Ninja's finishing move! Ninja cried out in anguish, wondering what in God's name he would have to do to finally put his enemy away.

It was right around this time the others started to appear on the stage to watch the outcome. First the SuperSquad, with El Avestruz on crutches after his earlier encounter. Then the Myth & Legend, the Creedes, and all the other members of the tag division. Finally, the rest fo the nbW roster came out to watch. They had seen Showtime and Proteus ascend over the last two years. Not all of them liked them, but they respected D-T's accomplishments and needed to observe this battle.

Ninja was momentarily distracted by this gathering. Showtime snuck up behind with a reverse DDT, but Ninja flipped over and reversed it into an "Eye of the Hurricane" position -- the set-up for the Director's Cut. Showtime managed to wriggle out of this position quickly, and get into position for the Standing Ovation superkick, but Ninja dodged it and hit a tiger suplex!

He lifted Showtime by the arm, ran over to the turnbuckle and flipped over, armdragging Showtime in spectacular fashion. He went in to capitalize, but Showtime kicked him away and proceeded to brawl with his foe. He executed a Manhattan Inverted Atomic Drop. Ninja, stunned, was susceptible to Showtime's Northern Lights Suplex!

ONE...



TWO...


NO! Ninja escaped. More boos!

"This is intense!" Gordon remarked, "But only one team can emerge victorious, and I'm starting to wonder who will give first!"

Showtime whipped Ninja into the turnbuckle. He followed in with a running knee strike. As Ninja wandered, dazed, from the corner, Showtime climbed to the top rope and executed a blockbuster neckbreaker! He covered!

ONE...




TWO...




No, Ninja still kicked out!

Ninja began to strike back at Showtime with abdominal punches, but Showtime, backed into a corner, struck with the last resort weapon... the STANDING OVATION!

The fans cheered, Showtime's superkick finisher!

He climbed the ropes and indicated his move. THE FINAL CURTIAN!

He covered!

ONE...




TWO...




NO!! Ninja still kicked out! the fans roared with outrage! Unbelievable!

Showtime stood frustrated but still in control. Ninja was barely capable of getting to his feet, and Showtime was waiting for his spot. Out of the corner of his eye, Proteus spotted Psycho on the outside, going got a chair! He began to stalk Gabriella Healy, who backed away fearfully. Proteus ran across the ring and leaped over the top rope, executing a daring plancha to take the villain out!

Dark Ninja went for a last-ditch effort and swept Showtime with a double-leg takedown, flipping over for the cover.

ONE...



TWO...




No, Showtime got away. The crowd began to go crazy. Showtime threw a Pele kick, sending Ninja momentarily to the corner. He rushed in and hit a tornado DDT! Showtime began to look for his spot again as Ninja stumbled around the ring...

He went for another Standing Ovation -- but Ninja ducked it, and set it up...

THE DIRECTOR'S CUT!

He covered the champion...

ONE...





TWO...




THREE!

The crowd exploded in a volcanic eruption of hatred for Ninja, as he sprung up, holding his hands up in triumph as the ring announcer Brent Williams declared, "Here are your winners... and NEW nbW Dynasty Tag Team Champions... Dark Ninja and Psycho... The Dream Warriors!"

"I can't believe it..." Gordon said in shock as Ninja celebrated and Psycho slowly came to. "In two years we've seen many teams come close, but in one fell swoop, after one of the closest contests I've ever seen, The Dream Warriors have dethroned Showtime and Proteus. These men are your new tag team champions."

"It's amazing, Gordo!" Renton cheered, "I've never seen anything like it!"

The former champions were left laying as Dark ninja wearily mounted all the ropes and the rage in the crowd grew. Gabriella Healy tried to revive her boyfriend on the outside. Ninja and Psycho posed on the inside.

"This, ladies and gentlemen, is the end," Gordon said, "This is the image nbW will be leaving you with and the end of this edition of Full Effect. Your new tag team champions."

As Ninja and Psycho basked in the glory of their new belts, the crowd grew more furious. Garbage flew from the stands to the ring. The crowd began to pry chairs from their fixtures. Fires broke out. Fistfights. Bloodshed in the stands.

"Good lord - it's a riot!" Gordon cried out, "These fans are tearing the arena apart!"

And as the Nationwide Arena crumbled and the Dream Warriors celebrated their victory, the scene faded out. Goodnight, fans.

Winners by Pinfall, and NEW Dynasty Tag Team Champions, Dream Warriors!