Twilight 2008

Twlight Preview

Hell Rushed

“Great.”

A lone man is seem rummaging about in the locker room, but his features are hidden by his sports jacket and jogging pants.

“I get here early in hopes of warming up, and what am I told? ‘You’re match is second on the list tonight.’ Bloody hell!”

The man shoved his duffle bag into the locker and his eyes caught a small object flutter to the ground.

“Huh?”

He picked the black card up and looked at both sides trying to ascertain what it is. Confused and strapped for time he shoved it back into his back pocket and slammed the locker shut.

Zatch Rollins and Nemo
Versus
Torment and Michael O'Dell

The first match up of the night was one not even announced prior to the event. The team of the high flying duo of ninjas versus Napoli’s henchmen. The lights dimmed as the sounds of the orient played over the speakers and the entrance ramp exploded in sparks. The masked ninjas Zatch Rollins and Nemo quickly ran out from the curtains and proceeded to entertain the fans with their numerous flips, somersaults all in perfect sync with each other until they hit the ring. The two bowed to the fans before making a perfect flip onto the apron and into the ring. The fans were estatic.

Nemo and Zatch only had a moment to pose for their adoring fans before the lights dimmed once more and ‘My Torniquet’ played over the sound system announcing the arrival of the monster. The nearly seven foot tall monster of a man, his face hidden behind the golden mask, known as Tepekamau but goes by Torment. And behind him was the other masked villain of the hour, the master of submissions, The Executioner Michael O’Dell.

The two were slow in pace to the ring, attempting to psych out their opponents before the match had even begun. Once the two stepped inside the bell was run and the contest was underway. Torment took the corner while O’Dell started the match against Nemo.

O’Dell and Nemo quickly went into a collar elbow tie-up, each attempting to get one over on the other. O’Dell ended up with the advantage and slapped a quick arm lock on his opponent while toying with the crowd and his partner. Nemo however was able to fight his way out of it and upon release springboarded off the nearby ropes with a moonsault that nailed The Executioner square in the face.

Nemo rolled over to their corner and tagged in Zatch whom leapt up on the turnbuckle and came off with a flipping legdrop across the shoulder blades of O’Dell. Zatch caught the leg and held the shoulders down.

One…

Two…

Kickout.

It wasn’t expected to end so quickly but Zatch still seemed a bit out of phase. He reached down and tugged O’Dell back to his feet and tossed him across the ring into the ropes, but O’Dell ducked a spinning heel kick on the rebound and put the brakes on to catch Zatch by the neck and drop him to the mat.

O’Dell readied to drop an elbow but quickly turned and shot across the ring to knock Nemo off the apron with a hard elbow to the face. O’Dell then sprinted back across the ring and laid a knee into the back of Zatch as he pulled the chin with his hands. Zatch tried to wiggle himself free, but even his agility was no match for the superior strength and submission skills of O’Dell. This is a man that could be wrestling a bear and in a split second have it on the ground wailing in pain from a single chin lock.

The referee checked on Zatch to see if he could continue and got a mumbled yes. Back on the apron Nemo was hollering to his partner and getting the crowd to cheer him on. O’Dell just wrenched back harder, driving his knee in deeper. Nemo unable to stand seeing his partner in pain any longer, ascended the turnbuckle and leapt forward at O’Dell.

CAUGHT!

Torment made the save in the split second before Nemo’s feet connected with O’Dell, having caught him in mid air and thrust him right back out of the ring with his tremendous strength. O’Dell however was taken back a moment and his hold weakened enough that Zatch was able to use his weight to roll over to the side so O’Dell was below him and he shot his own two arms up in the air and brought his elbows back into Michael’s head. The hold was released and Zatch tried to crawl to his corner while O’Dell held the side of his head in pain.

Torment let out a roar as he watched Zatch pathetically try to tag his partner that was just tossed out of the ring moments earlier. But the roar turned to shock as Nemo slapped his partners hand and springed over the ropes. The nbwTron lit up so the fans could see what had happened.

Torment caught Nemo in his clutches and held him high in the air before tossing him like a ragdoll over the ropes to the outside. Nemo however landed like a cat and snuck back to their corner sitting in wait.

Aware of how Nemo was back on his feet the monster stepped over the ropes but the referee was quick to hold him back informing him that he was not the legal man. Nemo sprung off the ropes and launched a series of punches and kicks at the Executioner leading him into the corner where the ninja landed a vicious kick to the head, knocking his opponent out cold. Nemo then ascended the second turnbuckle and locked the legs around O’Dell’s neck.

Nemo reached back and held onto the second rope as the Triangular Chokehold was held tight and O’Dell remained motionless. Torment stepped into the ring and pushed the referee to the side, accidentally causing him to fall out of the ring. With the referee down Zatch Rollins hopped the ropes and rushed the monster with a drop kick to the chest, and another to the waist, but only causing him to stagger. Zatch ran at him again but this time ducked to the side and sprung off with a spinning heel kick to the back of his head.

Torment rocked back and forth on his feet, but although dazed, he had yet to fall. Once more Zatch rushed the ropes and sprung off with a second kick to the head and caused the monster to tumble forward and down to the mat. With Torment down and Nemo squeezing the life out of The Executioner, the match was in the bag.

Well that was until Gyle The Messiah came running down the ramp with a steel chair in hand. Zatch ran at his partner and used O’Dell’s body for a stepping stone as he somersaulted out of the ring and into the body of Gyle.

Twisting Senton Splash!

Zatch rolled back to his feet and pulled Gyle up as well before sending him running towards Nemo who used his free hands to latch onto Gyle’s neck and squeeze him in a modified sleeper hold, while still putting strength in his legs to hold O’Dell down. With the three subdued, Zatch rolled the referee back into the ring and led him to the corner where he checked on O’Dell. The arm was raised.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

O’Dell was clearly out of it. Nemo released Gyle and then O’Dell as he sat on the corner and back flipped to the floor below where Zatch waited. The two celebrated for the fans before heading back up the ramp not wishing to be around when the monster and henchmen decided to wake back up.

Winners by Submission, Zatch Rollins and Nemo!

Everyone's Favorite (Original)

Following what seemed like a pretty straight forward interview with Spike Saunders, Allison Cadence watched as the dragon walked off. She was oblivious to the fact that there was someone poking their head around the corner from the back of the interview set up. Whoever this apparent stalker may be, his eyes did look a little familiar.

The right side of his hair covered his eyes. It appeared as though there was some blood trickling down from his forehead. This guy only took a brief glance at the camera before disappearing back behind the stage.

Then, there was a high pitched sound. It sort of sounded like a whimper. At the same time, the most clear audible word was, “MOOOOOOOOOO~!”

Having been startled, Cadence tried to find the source of this mysterious noise. Eventually, she made her way to the corner that had seen the stalker.

The cameras followed her every move.

“W-what are you doing here?” Cadence questioned, although the camera still hadn’t identified the man until the she had finished her statement.

“I just… like… you know… had to see you again, and stuff, dude.” The high pitched voice could only mean one thing.

Everyone favorite, (original) lunatic… Lunatic. He was sitting down, before he said the phrase afore hand, his face was buried in his crossed arms on top of his knees.

“Cause like, you know, when two souls are meaned to be from the outer regions of their pelvic region, things have got to get messy.” Lunatic said with a smile. He was wearing dark, clothes. The front of his hair still covered his right eye. There were some blotches of obviously died gray spots within it as well. This wasn’t anything like the normal attire or look that fans of yesteryear would remember him.

“So like, dude, if you wanted, I could you know, have the engagement anal-ed, or something. And then we could get back together and go down to, you know, business. Uh huh huh.”

It was like a flashback from 2005, or 2006, or something. Cadence looked at Lunatic just as confused as ever. “I’m really happy to see you again bu–”

Immediately Lunatic perked up. He looked Cadence directly in the eyes and gave her the familiar smile that everyone knew and remembered. He pulled out a pair of scissors from his pocket and cut off the hair that was covering his eye as well as a couple of other patches from various places of his head. He took his shirt off and threw it as far as he could. His pants, shoes, and socks would then follow, leaving only his ever present tight-y white-ys.

“Dude, like you have no idea, I was talking to my physic abilities and they told me that I should just keep my head looking at skies and things would get better if I stopped making the razor go down the road instead of across the street. This is amazering!” Lunatic exclaimed.

“Loony, look” Cadence cut him off, “I’m glad to see you again, but I’m still not into guys.”

“I know this, dude. You don’t even had a penis. Why would you be into them? I mean… I don’t want your fingers or anything.” Lunatic said, now with a confused look on his face.

“LUNATIC!” Cadence screamed, she was now very visibly upset. “Just… get off of my interview stage, please!”

“Uh huh huh, huh huh, huh huh, huh huh” Lunatic laughed.

“What is so funny?”

“You said, ‘get off.’”

Cadence couldn’t take it anymore. She dropped the microphone and said, “THAT’S IT! I QUIT!” She then walked off.

Lunatic watched her with a smile on his face. His disfigured teeth had a certain glisten. “Dude, the guys she’s been with are pretty fuckin’ stupid.”

Hell Burns

“What is all the commotion about?” Xander Napoli rushed into view to the location where a few of the nbW officials a nd EMT’s have gathered. He pushed his way through the group and looked down at the unconscious superstar.

“What happen?” He questioned the employees but they knew nothing having just arrived as well.

“Damnit! Fine, go tell Potright to extend his warm-up session because his match with Hell has been canceled tonight. He better bloody beat Flyer.”

One of the officials ran off while Napoli had the rest pick up Hell and carry him towards the nearby Ambulance.

Realigning the Cosmo-plantatics

Lunatic was seen backstage at a concession stand, fans were swarming around the man that was still walking around practically naked. “Alright, lemme get two orange sodas and stuff. It’s MY SODA AND I NEED IT NOW~!”

The concessionist hurried as best he could to get the drinks in a timely matter. “That would be $8.50.”

“No dude!” Lunatic yelled. “I don’t want gas, I wanted me some orange sodas.”

The concessionist nodded. “It’s gonna be $8.50.”

“Oh.” Lunatic said. “I also need some of that green stuff, you know, for the uh huh huh, wieners.”

“Relish?” The employee asked.

“Yeah.”

The man behind the stand hurried to go get some of the condiments. Lunatic grabbed the drinks and ran off, laughing the whole time, “UH HUH HUH, HUH HUH, HUH HUH~!”

He took a drink of one of the sodas and dumped one over his head. “HEY~!” He yelled out, though he wasn’t really talking to anyone, “You gotta clean that shit up before someone makes a slippings and stuff.”

He stopped at the next concession stand, “Hey dude, could I like, get that green stuff, you know… for the, uh huh huh, wieners?”

“You mean relish?” The lady behind the stand questioned.

“Yeah.”

“It’s located at the end of the counter.” She responded.

“Oh.” Lunatic stood there looking at her for a moment before he said, “What about the yellow stuff?”

“Mustard?”

“Yeah.”

“That’ll be located at the end of the counter, too.”

“Oh.” Again, Lunatic just stood there looking at her. He ran off, laughing the whole way. “UH HUH HUH, HUH HUH, HUH HUH, HUH HUH~!”

Eventually, he found himself in a more conventional area of the backstage for a wrestler. He walked around a corridor, taking drinks of his soda along the way. “Alright,” he said. “Time to refuel the captain.” He stopped.

He opened up the front of his undergarments and dumped the remaining amount of his drink inside. Off in the distance, Max Hopper had been watching the entire ordeal take place. “There. That’s much better.” Lunatic said as Hopper walked closer.

“What’s this I’m detecting?!” Hopper said while looking at the dumb ass with a confused look. “It seems as though my theory of time travel was correct, we’ve gone all the way back to 2005! This is one of the more popular stars in nbW, Lunatic.”

“Dude, I’m no alien. I just like me some orange soda, and I gotta give it up for the captain, and everything.” Lunatic said.

"Captain?What does Captain Crunch have to do with this? Wait! Is he involved in the Ecto Cooler Mystery?"

“No, dude, I just needed to realign the cosmo-plantatics. It should be all good now.” Lunatic said.

"OH. I do that to, but not Orange Soda. That just is not enough to keep the goverment from detecting you."

“Uh Yeah.” Lunatic responded.

Without any other words being shared, Lunatic walked away. He dropped the cup that once contained his orange soda on the ground.

The Answer to your Question

It was a very simple job Trent McKnight had. Get D-T talking. They loved to talk and as he waited for them to leave the dressing room where they had been meditating and strategizing for their match against Max Hopper and Zion and get them jabbering on the microphone to fill some time. And as soon as they did, that's exactly what he tried to do.

"Showtime, Proteus, a quick interview, please? You've been unable to defeat Max and Zion already, and it's looking more and more like you're part of the Ecto Cooler conspiracy. Will you be able to accomplish a clean win over your former friend tonight or will the bad blood boil over and cost you the match? Furthermore, will you use underhanded techniques like the ones you used to subvert Minute Maid?"

Showtime merely looked at Trent and gave the following response.

"The answer to your question... is shaddap."

And with that, the champs were on their way.

Max Hopper and Zion
Versus
Showtime and Proteus, D-T

"For months," said the comforting commentary voice of Marc Gordon, "Max Hopper has been a man possessed. Possessed, that is, by the desire to know the truth. The truth about why his favourite beverage, Ecto Cooler, is no longer available on the shelves, and how, if at all, D-T fits into the equation."

"The truth," snorted his colleague Terry Renton "Is that Max Hopper is a certifiable maniac, but the fact remains that D-T are dangerous and not to be trusted."

"And yet," Gordon pointed out, "The fans continue to support them?"

"Sheep! They push the D-T hats and wristbands and the little kids buy them like they're going out of style!"

"Well, without those title belts around their waists, D-T might just go out of style," Gordon remarked.

"Clever," Renton rolled his eyes.

I always feel like
Somebody's WATCHING me!

Rockwell's 1980's synth-r&b hit blared as fans started to get riled up as an intensely-focussed Max Hopper made his way to the ring, followed not far behind by the Epitome of Binary, That Which Has Yet To Be, Zion.

"This bout is scheduled for one fall, and is for the nbW Dynasty Tag Team Championships! Introducing first the challengers, MaX-Files Max Hopper, and Zion!"

They got into the ring and began to chat, with Max laying out his complex plans for the match and Zion nodding along in quiet agreement.

The lights went out. The fans cheered in anticipation, but no music cued up to announce the champions' arrivals.

Draw the Line by Aerosmith cued up, accompanied by a veritable eruption of pyrotechnics!

"And their opponents, the nbW Dynasty Tag Champions, Showtime and Proteus... D-T!"

To wild reception, the champions appeared at the top of the ramp brandishing their belts and unzipping their Team D-T jackets, tossing them to a hungry audience. I mean, $8 for popcorn? Come on.

"This promises to be epic," Gordon speculated, "Two of the finest teams nbW has ever seen fighting for pride and dignity."

"And juice," Renton added.

"It's as personal as an issue gets, as D-T's and Max Hopper's very friendship has been suspended until Max Hopper uncovers the possibly deadly secret behind the missing Ecto Cooler."

"I like Max and Zion here, Marc," Renton said, "They've beaten D-T in non-title competition and seem to have zero flaws in their gameplan, which consists mostly of beating the hell out of their opponents at a rapid pace."

"A very effective strategy indeed," Gordon agreed.

The bell rang and the match began. Proteus started against Max Hopper, the two skilled technichians staring each other down in the middle of the ring. They inched closer and closer and you could hear Max's sneered comments and conspiracy theories. Things looked intense.

Finally, Max unleashed the first blow, a back-hand chop otherwise known as a smack to the face. Proteus returned with a blow of his own and it was on bee-yatch! Proteus whipped Max. Max ducked a clothesline and sunset-flipped a back body drop attempt. Proteus rolled through and delivered a low dropkick to Max's face. Proteus attempted to drop an elbow but Max got up in short order and threw Proteus with an armdrag. Proteus scrambled up and locked horns, tossing Max with a hiptoss. Max landed on his feet and reversed that into a swinging neckbreaker. He gave a couple stomps.

"Max coming out ahead early in the competition!" Gordon proclaimed.

"As well he should," grinned Renton.

Max picked up Proteus, but Proteus broke free with a european uppercut. With Max reeling, Proteus delivered a spinning back kick sending him into the turnbuckle. Proteus then rushed in for a shining wizard - but was ducked! Max surprised Proteus with a standing enzuigiri! The fans roared!

"The fans are with me, Gordo!" Renton said.

"It's hard for them - they love D-T, but they're fighting their best friend!"

"And their best friend's sentient fighting computer program."

Proteus prone on the mat and unawares, MaX-Files ascended the ropes and delivered a flying elbow drop! Max covered.

ONE...





TWO...





No, Proteus kicked out.

Max went for a lift-up, but Proteus caught him off guard with a judo-throw. Of course, that throw happened to send him into his own corner, where he was free to tag in Zion, a computer program given physicality (you know, like the genie in "Weird Science.")

Proteus, however, always a scrapper, stepped up to the comparatively towering Zion, who unlike the Canadian Iron Fist stood comfortably over 6' tall. However, if they were to measure, pugnaciousness, Proteus might take the duke there. He took down Zion immediately with an armdrag and wrestled him into a modified camel clutch. Modified in that it was not Proteus' attempt to break Zion's back and humble him.

Zion, however, powered out of the hold in short order and managted to slam Proteus to the ground devastatingly. He dropped a knee or two across Proteus' sternum and then got him up for a massive gorrilla press slam. Proteus held his ribs, probably a bad idea since Zion targeted that as an easy vulnerable spot and began to stomp. Proteus looked anguished as Showtime leaned in begging for a tag.

"This is your champion, folks," Renton mocked, "Must suffer vertigo, since he's spent most of this match on the mat."

Zion lifted Proteus to his feet and got him in a front face lock. Zion lifted Proteus up for a suplex... but Proteus struggle and kicked his feet and managed to stop it! Zion tried again, but this time Proteus' resistence drove Zion into the turnbuckles at D-T corner, leading to Showtime tagging in!

Showtime hopped to the top turnbuckle behind Zion and performed a top-rope snap mare, a move I'd never heard of until just now describing. With Zion on the mat, Showtime reclaimed his top rope position and came off with a moonsault...

"Nobody home!" remarked Gordon as Showtime found nothing but a splat at the bottom of his trip. Zion was on his feet. As soon as Showtime regained verticality, Zion rushed in and nearly took Showtime apart with a powerful clothesline!

Showtime staggered back to his feet. Zion rushed back in for the kill but was caught off guard with a standing dropkick. Showtime followed this up with a rolling senton splash. He covered.

ONE...





TWO... No, barely a two.

Zion kicked out with authority and charged back in to Showtime, slinging him over his shoulder in a tight bearhug position. Showtime, was trapped, but frantically struggling to get free. Sensing his grip slipping, Zion dropped backward witha flapjack.

Zion tagged Max back in. Max grabbed the downed Showtime's legs and flung him into the turnbuckle, met with a fish by Zion. The referee cautioned that the closed fists are illegal unless he's not watching. Max Hopper attempted to apply a boston crab on Showtime to no avail as the champion wriggled free. The two started to trade blows.

Showtime nailed Max with a knife-edge chop.

"HUSS!" was the chant this elicited from the crowd.

Max fired off with one of his own.

"HUSS!"

Showtime delivered a return in the form of another chop.

"HUSS!"

So Max chopped again.

"HUSS!"

Showtime was back on the ropes, and he sprung off. He dodged a Max Hopper back elbow and rebounded with a frankensteiner! Showtime hooked the leg..


ONE...





TWO...






No, so close!



Suddenly, the Haunting Torgo Theme cued up. Showtime and Proteus glanced around in confusion. Max, dazed, rolled out of the ring. That's when things got a little strange as a strange red light filled the arena and a small, big-kneed gentleman in a cowboy hat stumbled down to the ring carrying a briefcase. Showtime followed Max and tried to force him back into the ring, but was vigorously fought off. The big-kneed man - evidently a satyr - having gotten Max's attentions, slowly made his way back to the backstage area, leaving his briefcase behind. Showtime and Max, trading blows, went off in the same direction.

"This is highly unconventional," mused Gordon, "But the referee is giving the green light to Proteus and Zion to continue the match!"

"You're saying that, rather than ocunt out both Max Hopper and Showtime, the referee is switching the legal men pending their return?"

"That is correct!"

"Seems reasonable enough for me!" Renton exclaimed as the match continued.

Zion proceeded to take the exhausted Proteus on the tour of the ring, introducing him on a face-to-face basis to each of the turnbuckles.

"Proteus has really been having a Hard Day's Night in there," Gordon sympathized.

"Who was that mysterious stranger, though, I wonder?" Renton asked aloud.

"Probably just Torgo," Gordon replied, "That's all we'll ever know."

Proteus could barely keep on his feet. He was drenched with sweat. Zion slammed him effortlessly and covered.

ONE...




TWO...





No, Proteus kicked out at the last second!

Proteus was back up to his feet, and Zion was behind him. It wasn't long before he had him ensnared in his mighty full nelson... but before he could execute the slam that made him the most effective version of Zion since Zion 2.0 upgraded to user-friendly menus, Proteus wriggled loose and rolled Zion up in a schoolboy pin! Hope-spot! Hope-spot!

ONE...


Naw, man! Zion's comparatively fresh! Proteus has been pummeled all night!

Meanwhile backstage, Max and Showtime were racing in the direction of the parking lot, as if drawn by some unseen force. Along they way they continued their brawl, utilizing nearby props. Showtime swung at Max wildly with a lighting stand, and Max threw discarded cotton candy at Showtime. It was a less-than-totally effective tactic, to be sure.

In the ring, Proteus was hunched over in the corner, gasping for air. Zion was buffering his program, which is to say he was taking a breather too. Zion got to his feet before Proteus and resumed thrashing the champion. He picked him up and flung him into the corner... knocking over the briefcase and conveniently opening it!

And, well what do you think was inside?

Fucking Ecto Cooler.

"No way!" Renton cried out, "He had it all along!"

"Proteus looks just as shocked as we are, Terry!"

Just as Zion was going in for the kill, Proteus kipped up to his feet, ready for the next round.

Backstage, Max and Showtime were grappling closer and closer to the parking lot, where they found the Phantom Ecto Cooler truck that had appeared to Max Hopper days before!

Max and Showtime stopped brawling for a moment and looked in awe and reverence.

"I didn't believe you, Max," Showtime admitted, "I want to believe."

"The truth..." Max said, "Is in there."

Max and Showtime then pried open the back of the truck. Standing inside was a man in a red suit with a black shirt and red tie. He looked like the devil, but his moustache was more sinister.

"I've been expecting you, gentlemen," the man said.

Just then, the truck pulled out of the parking lot with Showtime, Max, the man and a cameraman inside!

The feed cut back to the ring, where Proteus was standing tall and facing down Zion.

"What the--" remarked Marc Gordon, "Whatever that was, we'll try to update you on it later, but for now we've still got a match going."

Zion started to really fire up, peppering Proteus with blows to the head, but Proteus seemed unphased. Even after being dropped to a knee he seemed to be begging for more. Zion charged in for a running knee lift, but Proteus cartwheeled out of the way. Proteus attacked from behind, dropping Zion with a bulldog and climbing on back to nail him with reverse crossface forearm blows.

"Proteus fighting back with everything he's got!"

But Zion staggered to his feet - with Proteus still on his back! Proteus climbed up - Victory Roll!

ONE...




TWO...

"Oh, and a devastating kickout sends Proteus across the ring!"

Zion followed up by tossing Proteus into the corner. with nobody there for him to tag, Proteus was quite vulnerable, with Zion delivering massive shoulder thrusts, and then setting him up on the top rope...

Vertical Superplex v3.0 Beta!!

Proteus came down to the mat with a crashing thud. It was like the sound of six ribs shattering all at once. Zion sat up ascended the turnbuckle.

"The challenger is gonna fly..." Gordon noted as Zion came off for a splash...

But the instant Zion got airborne, Proteus in a deperation move used his momentum against him to drop Zion with a northern lights suplex!

"How's that for Aurora Borealis!" Gordon commented, a treat for all the science fans present.

Proteus hooked the leg...

ONE...





TWO...





THR--no, Zion kicked out! He could not be stopped!

Zion got back to his feet. Proteus threw a kick, but Zion caught it and tossed Proteus over the top rope! Proteus was down on the mat on the outside, and Zion followed.

Zion brought Proteus to the turnbuckle and started ramming the challenger's head into it repeatedly...

ONE, TWO, THREE, FOUR, FIVE, SI-- five times before Proteus ducked out, and Zion himself caught his shoulder rammed into the turnbuckle.

Proteus held the wrist and used it for leverage to unload a two-kick attack on Zion's head.

"I suspect the bulk of his programming is located there," Gordon speculated. Since the Zion technology is fairly futuristic, we may never know for sure.

Zion was staggered but not down. Proteus swung again but Zion evaded the blow and grabbed Proteus to send him into the ring. He followed and charged again, this time whipping Proteus off the ropes. Zion lifted Proteus for a back body drop, but Proteus held on and reversed it into a swinging DDT!

He covered... ONE...




TWO...



No, Zion was still not done!

Infact, he was far from done, as he started tossing Proteus around pretty harshly with suplexes and throws. And then he slammed him a little to hard or a little to far, because Proteus suddenly found himself within reach of the briefcase of Ecto Cooler. As Zion charged in, Proteus slipped away, taking him down him with a drop toe hold. And with Zion down, Proteus did the only reasonable thing.

He put the straw in the Ecto Cooler, and gulped it down.

Zion recovered quickly, but was unaware of this occurrence. When he went to resume his offense, he was suddenly trapped. Trapped by a mere armbar. But that armbar, when combined with two kicks to the midsection leads to only one thing...

SWITCH-PRESS DDT!

"That's it! The trademark finishing move of Proteus!"

ONE...





TWO...






NO! NO! Zion kicked out!

Proteus merely stared in disbelief. Zion had adapted his programming to defend against the Switch-Press. Proteus had wasted valuable effort and precious Ecto Cooler for naught.

Zion sat up. Proteus knew he would only get one shot at this.

Shining Wizarrrd!

Proteus covered!

ONE...






TWO...






THREE!

The bell rang. Brent Williams announced, "Here are your winners and still champions... D-T!"

The crowd went bananas.

"When you took Showtime and Max Hopper out of the equation, it became a fight to the finish between an unorthodox, unnaturally-gifted man and a supreme fighting machine," said Gordon. "On this day, man has triumphed, thanks in large part to Vitamin C but the question remains, what became of Max and Showtime?"

Winners by Pinfall, and still Champions, D-T!

Change in the Match, again.

“You wanted to speak to me?”

Xander Napoli sat back in his chair from the safety of his desk and grinned.

“Ah, Spike. To what do I owe the displeasure?”

“You’re goons requested my presence here. So, what do you want?”

“My my, a bit touchy tonight? Are you that afraid of losing your job here for your buddy Cameron Cage? Heh, I gotta say my daughter’s idea for you and Hart’s match tonight was a swell one.”

“My patience is growing thin Napoli.”

“Right. Well I just had you called in here so I can inform you that your match tonight is a cage match… of sorts.”

“Of sorts? What do I have to go through your entire Regime? Again? This is growing old and tiresome, boss.” Saunders leans across the desk.

“Oh don’t worry, you won’t be in a cage. No no. Your buddy Cameron has already been flown here and he’s going to be at the ringside for your match. Locked inside a steel cage like an animal.”

“You can’t lock a human being in a cage like that!”

“I can. I will. And hey, no humanitarian activist will give me crap about this either! Now that is all. Go!”

Saunders looks to reach across the desk and throttle him some Napoli-sized chicken but catches himself and walks out of the room.

Reaction to change

The nbW Tron showed the outside coridor by Napoli's office, where Allison Cadence stood with microphone in hand.

“What a night so far. And I am now joined here by the man that just previously defeated his long time friend, enemy and partner; Spike Saunders.” Cheers rose as the seven foot three frame of a man stepped into view having just exited the office.

“That is a mouthful isn’t it? But when you have been in this business for as long as I have, and look back to where you got started and where things had first begun, I can’t honestly say I had too many friends back then. There was one man back then that looked up to me, even at my young age.”

“Mr. Martin I assume?” questioned Allison.

“Yes. That man was in a terrible financial situation, to the point he had no money. So I offered him a job as a butler to the Saunders estate. Sounded like a good idea at the time, but he ended up using it to his advantage and turned on me using my Wife whom had been living with me. But I will spare you those details. If you are truly curious however…”

Spike reached off camera and brought back a DVD casing with a photo of him on it.

“That’s right. Those details, my first championship wins, my career from WWO and IWO to WWR and nbW. Over a Decade of my career covered in this Three disc DVD set. Available only on nbW’s website.” He looked at the DVD and muttered “I can’t believe I just did that.”

He then handed the DVD to Allison and looked back at the camera.

“Tonight we’re going to see history again. But not mine. We’re all going to witness the crowning of a new World Heavyweight champion. Best of luck to you Flyer, we’ll be cheering you on in the back.”

The camera was lowered and watched as Saunders headed towards the ring.

Spike Saunders
Versus
Shawn Jessica Hart

The arena turned their attention to the entrance ramp where a small truck of sorts pulled out and down to the ring. On it’s trailer was a small steel cage, large enough to hold a gorilla in containment. Instead, one lone wrestler sat inside, looking out at the fans.

“Anybody got a Banana?” Cameron Cage quirked as he waived to his audience and wondered WHY THE BLOODY HELL AM I IN A CAGE! Of course, it was the bosses orders. And evident by the bruise marks and bloody spots on his lip and chin, he did try to fight against it.

‘Spike-It-UP!!’ exploded over the PA system as the curtain slid to the side and the seven foot three giant stepped out on the stage. He smiled to his fans and gradually removed his sunglasses as he walked towards the ring. Stopping he looked at the cage where Cage sat.

“I… thought he was just joking, seriously.” Saunders smacked his forehead and assured Cage he’d get the match over with as soon as he can.

*WHACK*

Shawn Hart hopped the barricade and wailed on the backside of Saunders with a steel chair. He then followed up with a shot to the head. Hart smiled as he held the chair high.

Grabbing Saunders, he pulled him towards the ring and rolled him inside. Napoli gave him the orders to pick the thorn out of his side once and for all, so he was wasting little time.

Hart laid the chair down in the ring and yelled at the referee to start the match, which caused the bells to ding. Hart then grabbed Spike’s hair and set him up for what everyone knew was next.

Hart On on a Steel Chair!

Denied!

Saunders powered out and used his strength to send Hart head first into the apron. Spike bent down and picked him back up to his feet where he sent a spine tingling chop to the chest.

‘Woo!’

The fans hollered as the knife edge chop’s echoed through out the arena.

‘Woo!’

A few more chops in succession before Hart found himself in the corner with no where to go. Spike brought down his fist to Hart’s face, once, twice, three times… and a fourth as well. A fifth attempt was blocked by SJH, only to be swatted away and slammed down on his face once more. Saunders stood up on the second turnbuckle and rested his knee down into Hart’s chest.

That was a good 350 + pounds pushing down on his chest cavity. Hart could almost hear the bone breaking below him. He did the only thing he could think of at the time.

Thumb to the Eye

Saunders dropped back to the ring and tended to his eye, which gave Shawn the chance to prop himself up on the second turnbuckle and leap off with a bulldog as the man’s back turned from him.

Hart quickly scrounged for the cover.

One!

Two!

Kickout!

This just wasn’t going his way. Hart locked on a Arm bar and held the giant down to the ground.

Well that was his intention, but the legs were free and Saunders pushed himself up with his other arm nearly getting himself to his knees before Hart released the hold and sent a quick boot to his face.

It wasn’t enough to knock him out or even down for that matter. So he followed it up with another kick and when that failed he sent both feet forward with a drop kick that caused the giant to stagger but instead of falling he begun to rise.

Confused and wanting to hurry things up, Hart got behind Spike and locked on a headlock submission hold. Saunders slowly fell back down to his knee, and then his other, all the while swinging his massive arms around to swat Hart off of him.

‘Lets go Saunders!’

Clap clap clap

;Let’s go Saunders!’

Clap clap clap

The fans cheered their hero back to his feet, and it slowly worked, giving him another boost of energy, to stand high once again, but Hart would have none of it and clamped his legs around his waist from behind. Not really a good move.

Spike realized he was still holding on and just smiled at the fans as he through his own arms out and fell backwards, squashing Hart beneath him.

It was at that moment that the ever fearing having no fear take charge kind of man, aka Xander Napoli, ran down to the ring and shouted at his cohort to get up and take care of business.

“Get that imbecile!”

Saunders sat back up and locked eyes with the boss as he strolled over to the ropes and stepped out by the ring. Saunders stalked the boss’ every move as he neared closer to the cage.

“Stay away from me, or… or… or I’ll have you fired!”

Empty threats and Napoli found himself backed up to the cage, where Cameron shot his hands out and pulled on his jacket to hold him there. Spike smiled and stood in front of the chairman as he put his hand around the owner’s neck, and retrieved the key necklace.

As Spike lifted the key off of his neck he should have been looking behind him.

Suicide Plancha!
… right into side of the cage.

As the fans chanted out holy shit and bore witness to the flying body of Shawn Hart impacting the backside of Spike Saunders, they could only frown as Napoli had been bumped to the side a moment before instead of being part of the human sandwich. Even Cameron Cage had been knocked back and out.

The cage key had fallen by the cage in all the commotion, but it really did not matter anymore. Napoli pulled himself back to his feet and shook off the dirt on his clothes, and then walked over to Hart, trying to pull him back together.

Saunders however started to stir and Napoli continued in a faster rate to wake Hart up. However the sound of the fans cheering meant ill tidings to the boss as he turned to see the giant cricking his head to the side and glaring down at him.

*WHACK*

For the second time in the night Saunders was nailed on the back with a steel chair, this time by Michael O’Dell, The Executioner. O’Dell shoved Saunders back into the ring and followed suit with the steel chair. Napoli finally got the number one contender up to his feet and ushered him into the ring where Executioner held Saunders on his knee’s with a cobra clutch like hold.

Hart called for him to be stood back up. He reached forward and put his hands on Saunders chest.

Purple Nurple!

…followed by

Super Kick!

Saunders dropped like a boulder.

Hart dropped down and covered Saunders.

One!

Two!

Shoulder up!

How he had managed to still put strength in his upper body after those blows were a feat among feats. But he was still alive, and that was all that it would take to turn the tide.

Both O’Dell and Hart sent rapid succession of kicks to the giant’s chest while Napoli stood on the ring apron and cheered them on. Cameron Cage shook off the blow from earlier and stared out in horror as he watched his job being beaten away. Then his eyes spied the key outside the ring, which was just out of his arms grasp.

Spike was pulled back up to his knee so Hart could swing another chair into the back of his skull, sending him back down to the mat. Cameron reached out and got his finger to graze the key. One more reach and it was in his grasp. The fans cheered as he pulled it back into the cage.

Napoli stood on the ring apron unaware of Cameron’s actions at the moment, and watched as Saunders was drilled with the chair repeatively. Hart yelled at O’Dell to lift Saunders up again.

Hart On!

Not quite satisfied SJH lifted Spike up once more to his knee’s and O’Dell stood behind Hart with the chair in hand. Hart smacked Spike’s face which then caused Napoli to enter the ring and get some of his own smacks in.

“You should have let me fire you!”

Cameron slid into the ring and dropped O’Dell down to the mat with a reverse DDT. He quickly grabbed the chair and stood behind Hart.

“One more should do it, and then we’ll never see this man again.”

Napoli continued to smack around Saunders’s face, while Hart turned around and was caught in the grip of Cameron and tossed out of the ring. Napoli turned his head slightly and quickly dived off to the side to avoid being hit.

Cage wielded the chair to attack any who dared to enter. He knelt down and helped pull the giant to his knee's and get him standing again. Napoli looked on from the ramp yelling out profanities at the two, he had been so close...

He then smiled again as Andrew Martin and Mat Walton emerged from the curtain. They ran past him and slid into the ring. Walton went for Cage but found a chair nearly taking his head off so he slipped out of the ring.

Martin bounced off the ropes toward Spike but was caught in his grasp. Saunders held him steady...

BAM!

Cameron blasted Spike across the back of his head. He then quickly dropped the chair to the mat and hit another DDT right onto it.

Napoli smiled from the ramp as EMT's made their way towards the ring while Cage, Martin and Walton slipped out, leaving many to question what had just happened.

Winner by Disqualification, Spike Saunders!

The Returns

"I'm back." Was all that could be heard in a dark room. There was no movement, really no sound other then the spoken words. The camera frantically moved from side to side trying to find the person to focus on, but there was nothing in sight.

"After a long time away, I couldn't stand not being here anymore. I couldn't stand being away from this industry, being away from the ring, being away from the stardom." The voice was still at the very low pitch that it started. Still no movement, still no sight of who was speaking.

"One of the things that has alluded me my entire career has been championship gold but that's about to end. Right here in No Brand Wrestling that will change. For I will be a champion." The voice continued to speak as the camera man moved towards the door of the room and found the light switch. With a flick of his wrist the room was illuminated as if god had just said 'let there be light.'

"Hey what the hell." Brock Metzer said as he sat on a stool in nothing but his underwear. "What the hell did you turn that on for? I'm not dressed yet, but you just had to come in here and do this interview. You couldn't wait five minutes, and now you want to turn the light on so you can show me in my G.I. Joe underwear?" Metzer said as he looked a bit upset.

Just then Austin Advent popped out of the bathroom; "GO JOE!"

He's coming...

"My Destruction was but a ruse," spoke a voice in the darkness. "A ruse carefully planned out."

The voice grew louder but remained unidentifiable.

"And now, that ruse has come fullcircle. My time to shine is upon us again. There is no SaveUS here. I am not out to SAVE nbW or you fans. I am here for one reason, and that reason is the gold."

A lit cherry from a cigar shows as it is broken off and slowly falls to the ground.

"Save Us. Save You. Save nbW. Save whatever you wish. Destruction can not be Saved."

Later...

Max Hopper and Showtime were held prisoner in the back of a Minute Maid delivery truck bound for Goodness-knows-where, having left their own title match to find the true answer to the mystery. What they had found was a slightly effemminate man in a red suit.

"Who are you?" Showtime asked.

"I am the Master," the man replied, "And I keep the secrets of the legendary Ecto Cooler."

"What have you done with our Cooler, you monster-guy?" Max demanded, looking quizican and not as perturbed as he ought to have. He did still have, after all, his model-quality looks and attitude.

"It is not for you to know." The Master said. "We grow weary of you insinuating yourself into our affairs. The incredible truth about Ecto Cooler is one you could never fathom and you should leave it be while you still can."

"As long as I draw breath, I shall uncover your dastardly secret," Max declared.

"Very well," sneered the so-called Master. "You leave me no choice."

With that, the truck came to an abrupt stop. The back fell out and Showtime and Max tumbled to the ground. As the truck sped away again, Our heroes observed their surroundings. They were in the middle of a desert. Which is strange, because the arena was nowhere near a desert at all.

"I'm sorry I thought you were evil, guy," Max admitted.

"That's okay, we all make mistakes," Showtime forgave his friend and they shook hands in a very masculine, dramatic way.

"How are we gonna get home, guy?" Max wondered.

"I'm always prepared for this," Showtime said, producing from behind his mask a small remote. He pushed the button and an invisible beacon summoned the only vessel in nbW history capable of interdimensional travel... the official D-T van. She's got a few miles on her, and isn't that fuel-efficient, but she'll get you from Point-A to Dimension X in a matter of minutes, provided traffic's light.

"Hey," Max added, "What do you think happened in our match?"

Sam Potright
Versus
High Flyer

"Ladies and gentlemen, the following is the last match in the World Title Gauntlet! The winner of this match will move on into the World Heavyweight Championship match later tonight, against Shawn Jessica Hart!"

Brent Williams lowered the microphone as the lights around the arena dimmed. Blue spotlights darted over the capacity crowd.

"McFearless" by Kings of Leon hit. That same capacity crowd began to rile up.

Sam Potright parted the curtains, and headed to the ring, adjusting his elbowpads, running one final good-luck stroke of his hand through his hair. He tapped the knee brace wrapped around him, climbed onto the apron, and got into the ring. He moved Brent Williams aside, and stood in center stage, holding his arms out, embracing the glory of cheers as the noise of "McFearless" faded away.

Flick.

The spotlights went to purple, to red, to green, faster and faster.

And "Violent Pornography", from System of A Down, hit.

The crowd began to chant.

Flyer... Flyer... Flyer...

The music continued...

Flyer... Flyer... Flyer...

"Here he is! The living legend," Marc Gordon proclaimed as High Flyer tossed the satin drapes aside, "And that is a moniker you CAN believe he deserves!"

The amount of applause, of screams, of chants that Flyer got - it all mixed together into a white noise. He walked down the aisle, clad in a pair of tights that probably shouldn't have fit him anymore.

"If you'll remember, folks, these two have only met twice in head-to-head competition. In Mexico City back in the late 90's, both of these competitors had a fabled contest. Their last match one-on-one was in 2002, during the dying days of the IWO - an organization both are given credit for helping build into a worldwide phenomenon. Both of those times, High Flyer came out on top - will this third time be the charm for Potright? Or can the Flyer complete his arduous path to compete for the nbW title?"

"I'm putting my money on Potright!" Terry Renton declared, cutting off his broadcast colleague.

"Why's that?" Gordon asked.

"Because he looks like he could be a Hollywood star!" Renton explained.

"You mean, you think this is going to work like - " Gordon began to say. He clipped his words short, took a moment to think, and let out a low, baleful sigh. "You would think that, wouldn't you."

"Well, yeah! Only problem is that Potright's a little too white to have that Samo -"

"Just stop right there," Gordon said.

In the middle of the ring, senior referee William 'Ol Willy' Oldenson brought the two competitors together.

"Gentlemen, I explained the rules to the both of you in the back. If you go outside of the ring, I will give you a ten count to get back in. If you use a foreign object, if you place your hands on me, if you do not break a hold or step back when I order you to - I will disqualify you. Pinfalls are a three count, and if you are trapped in a submission hold, I will respond to a verbal signal, or a physical symbol - if you nod in response to my asking you if you give up, or if you slap the mat repeatedly in quick succession. Do you understand the rules?"

Flyer nodded. Potright nodded.

"Raise your leg, Sam," Oldenson commanded. Potright did as he said. He looked Flyer in the eye as Oldenson tapped his hands on his thigh, his calf, rubbed down his boot, checking the knee brace. Oldenson turned to Flyer, and asked him to do the same.

"Those tights seem familiar," Sam noted. Flyer looked down at the wild, tie-dye colors his legs were covered in, and then looked back to his friend - and tonight, opponent.

"You'll recognize 'em soon enough," the man known to his friends as Jack said, a smile on his face. Oldenson finished his inspection, and pointed the two of them into opposite corners. When they reached their corners - he signalled for the bell, the white hairs up his forearm glistening under the bright lights.

DING. DING. DING.

"And here we go!" Gordon said, as both Flyer and Potright stepped forward and began to circle each other. "We can expect a feeling out process here - these two have travelled up and down a lot of roads, seen each other's highs and each other's lows."

Potright took a dive for Flyer's knee - Flyer threw his leg up, and Sam went rolling, springing onto his hands and haunches. He readjusted his knee brace a bit - it had twisted slightly as he'd hit the mat - and stood up again. Flyer waited. The two faced each other once more, and continued circling each other.

"Has Potright beaten Flyer?" Renton asked.

"The only recorded win Potright has over Flyer is in 2003, during a Cruiserweight Open Invitational for the IWO Cruiserweight championship - but to be fair, Potright had worked Flyer over prior to the actual invitational beginning." Gordon explained.

"So there's precedent, you say," Renton said.

"Yes, but not much - and Potright goes for the leg, he's got Flyer's knee, and OH!" Gordon suddenly exclaimed. "An enziguri from Flyer sends Potright falling into the second rope!"

Indeed, Potright had tried to force Flyer off his feet, and Flyer had responded by leaving his feet - in a way of his own accord. Sam stared at the Neighborhood Lunatic, synapses firing a series of new plans into his brain. He rubbed the back of his head as he rose back up to his feet. Flyer was now bent over, hands squeezing the area just above his knees, his look expectant, with a tinge of childish glee. Sam walked about the outer rim of the ring's interior - running a foot against the steel fibers of the bottom rope, his hand buzzing along the top one.

He walked to the center of the ring. High Flyer walked right up to him.

"Collar and elbow tie-up," Gordon called. "Potright has the slightest height and weight advantage over Flyer - two inches and two and three-quarter pounds, but when you're this close of talent - every little advantage counts, folks."

"So he's bigger, heavier, and just as good! Potright's got this in the bag!" Renton exclaimed.

Potright gripped Flyer by the wrist and brought a hammerlock on his friend, slipping up behind his back. He pushed Flyer off, towards the corner. Flyer turned around - ducked a lariat. Potright went into the corner instead, Flyer went at him, and Potright catapaulted onto the middle turnbuckle and -

"MOONSAULT! From the second rope!" Gordon yelled. "WOW! Potright opens up the first high-risk manuever in the match, and beautifully executed!"

Potright's body had rolled through following impact. He now found himself getting back to his feet, High Flyer still stunned and shaking off the crash of bodies and canvas. Potright ran up, hooked an arm underneath Flyer's, hooked a leg, and rolled him over for a pinning combination -

"First pinfall attempt - NO - Flyer stopped him mid-roll! Goes for a bridge, Potright lets go of his arm with his leg - headscissors!"

"What the - ?" Renton suddenly said.

"Yes, headscissors!" Gordon continued. "But - wait -"

Flyer's head was currently being squeezed between a kneecap, and he could feel the cool steel of Potright's knee brace against his temple on one side, while Potright's body heat pounded on his other side. Still, though, the crowd watched on as Flyer forced his way up to his feet, with Potright still hooking his legs about his cranium.

With the ease of a yoga instructor, Flyer pushed himself up, and over, his feet splayed apart on either side of Potright's torso, right under his armpits, sending Potright's legs up with his head.

Flyer dropped to his knees. He couldn't see, but he could hear - muffled through the legs of his old friend - the body of 60-something William Oldenson getting to the mat.

One slap.

Two slap.

Freedom! Voices and buzzes and electrical sounds filling Flyer's ears again. It felt so, so good.

And then Flyer realized what being free meant. He hadn't heard a third slap, had -

Uh oh.

He hit the mat, the legs having been his lean-to shelter, keeping his body afloat. He felt Sam's legs cut over his arms, felt his own legs get pushed so the boots were parallel to the lights. Oldenson didn't even have time to get up.

"Reversal! Reversal!" Gordon cried.

One slap.

Two slap.

Flyer heaved up with all his strength, and - shit - Potright rolled with him, and landed on his feet. Before Flyer could react, Sam had thrown his leg between Flyer's and grapevined his friend's extremities around his own. He began to turn him over, and Flyer rolled along, sending Sam back down to the mat, and Flyer now had Sam in the predicament. All it would take is some adjusting, and...

"Anklelock! He's got an anklelock on Potright!"

"How the hell'd he manage that?" Renton asked, incredulous. Oldenson was now standing, old body hunched over Potright.

"Do you give up?" he asked. Potright felt the winch of Flyer's arms around his ankle, felt his foot being twisted halfway clear around. He let out a long, low yell, his arms reaching to either side of him, searching, finding, his palms rubbing raw against the contrasting texture of the ring canvas. He lunged forward, feeling Flyer's body drag that single inch with him, to which the former luchadore responded by giving an extra twist to the tendons in his feet.

"Do you give up?" came Oldenson's voice again. Sam shook his head, and forced his body up - it felt like doing a push up with one leg wrapped in live electrical wire - and made another frantic crawl forward, his hands still coming just short of the bottom rope. He closed his eyes, and concentrated.

"He's almost there!" Renton was yelling. "Almost there!"

"And... Potright goes for it again - and he makes it!" Gordon announced to a worldwide audience.

Potright had indeed made it; his fingers were rubbing along the curvature of the bottom rope, the thin creases bumping along the tips of them. Oldenson wasted no time, kneeling down beside Flyer, waving his arms like a football official who just declared the winning field goal to be no good. High Flyer relinquished the hold, and backed away as Potright got his composure and pulled himself to his feet.

He made a step towards Flyer.

"It looks like he's favoring that leg overall now," Gordon noted. "This could make a difference."

"Of course it makes a difference!" Renton claimed. "He's going to beat the hell out of Flyer for doing that!"

"Why are you so interested in Potright winning this match? I thought you hated people like him!" Gordon asked, his voice sharp.

"Whomever the boss doesn't like, I don't like."

"So the enemy of my employer is my enemy? What are you, going for employee of the month?"

Before these two could derail their conversation any longer, the action snapped their thoughts back to the ring. Another collar-and-elbow tieup between Flyer and Potright - and now Flyer had the distinct advantage. He pushed Potright into the corner; Oldenson stepped between them, and Flyer backed away.

Then, of course, he kicked Potright's knee between the twin bars above and below his kneecap. As the slap of boot against skin, bone and spandex reverberated, Potright howled in pain, grabbing his knee. Oldenson read Flyer the riot act. "Don't you pull that shit again, you hear me? Or that'll be it!"

Flyer raised his arms in mock innocence. For too long, people had forgotten that Jack Harmen had nothing. Nothing but the hopes and dreams of being a wrestling champion.

Oldenson turned to check on Potright, who waved him away, hobbling away from the corner. Flyer snuck up behind him, and chop-blocked the knee, rolling onto the apron while Potright fell to the mat, rolling away, towards the center of the ring. He laid his braced leg out, checking for damage.

Little did he know...

"SPRINGBOARD STOMP!" Marc Gordon cried. "Flyer just shot across the ring and blasted Potright's knee - LIONSAULT! LIONSAULT!"

1!

2!

2... and a half!

"THANK GOD!" Renton exclaimed. "Somewhere Mr. Napoli just had a heart attack!"

Flyer looked down at Potright, who, upon kicking out, had basically rolled into a semi-fetal position, holding his leg. He looked around - and had an idea.

"High Flyer dragging Sam Potright towards a corner..." Gordon relayed. "Up to the top - he's looking around, the crowd is buzzing... it looks like... BIG ELEVATION, FIVE AND A HALF STAR FROG - NO! NO! GOOD GOD!"

Flyer's body connected with the knees of Sam Potright, his sternum smacking hard against the knee brace. The momentum of the moment caused some basic law of gravity to be defied, as Flyer's body shot off like he'd just jumped in front of a speeding artillery shell, flipping onto his back with some English put on it.

"OW!" was all Terry Renton could say. "OW!"

"Both men are down, Sam Potright has just sacrificed his knee entirely to take out - wait - wait - what is he doing?"

Potright was busy reaching around to the sides and back of his brace. He unlatched the thing finally, and tore it free, tossing it outside.

"Are... ARE YOU KIDDING ME?" Marc Gordon said, his mouth a gaping hole of astonishment. "That..."

Potright got to his feet - and while he was limping, it was not nearly as bad as it had been earlier in the match. He walked over to High Flyer, and looked out to the crowd. He put one finger to his temple, and tapped it.

"Flyer may have broken his ribcage!" Gordon said.

"What a lying, sneaky, son of a bitch - I love it!" Renton exclaimed. "I could get to like Potright!"

And with that, Sam picked up Flyer, hoisting him up by the hair. He held up two fingers on one hand, and it appeared to the crowd that he was giving him the 'peace' symbol.

Instead, he threw Flyer into the ropes, hit the opposite side himself, and slammed into Flyer's fibula with a low-level dropkick, sending Flyer onto his side. Getting to his feet, Potright looked down at his fallen friend, and picked up his legs, holding one in either hand. He grapevined them around one of his own by stepping over one and wrapping them together. Then, he turned Flyer over, and using his other leg, his free one, he knelt down onto Flyer's lower back.

And then he wrenched back. Hard.

The pain burned through Flyer's lower half. Throwing his hair out of his face, he saw his options were slim: the ring ropes on either side of him were just out of reach, and Potright's knee was firmly keeping him set where he was. His knees were bad enough as they were; this was not helping matters whatsoever.

"Potright has won world titles with this move! He calls it the Wall Breaker, and he just might be grapevining his way one step closer to the championship!" Gordon explained. Flyer was busy trying to loosen the torment running up and down his legs. He tried to roll, trying to lift Sam over, even slightly - to no visible success. He tried to roll the other way - maybe he'd just chosen the wrong side - with the same result.

For this trespass, Potright leaned back just a little bit farther back. Flyer clenched his teeth and squeezed his eyes shut.

"Just tap, dammit!" Renton yelled. "Forget it, you done good, just tap!"

"High Flyer will not tap out!" Gordon shot back.

"He's done it before!"

"But this is the last step before he's dancing on the big stage!"

The two of them continued bickering. Flyer could hear key words here and there - some flattering, some not - but was, at the same time, in a whole different world. As his legs continued their awkward bend, he went for broke.

He pushed up, and forced as much of his weight and his strength towards his lower back and upper legs. For a second, it seemed like, indeed, High Flyer had been broken in half.

And then: success. Potright didn't see the sudden adrenaline rush coming, and felt his knee pop up off the sweat-peeled back of Flyer, while his steadying foot became suddenly and decidedly unsteady. He faceplanted the canvas, black hair spooling out like paint from a tipped can.

Flyer fell back onto his stomach, catching breath, registering every single inch of muscular pain in his body at the moment. His legs still interlocked at the ankles, he turned over onto his back, and looked up at the bright lights. He thought of life up to this point.

He thought of Tammy, his sister, as a child, looking to him for reassurance. As a role model - and he had run away and joined the one-ring circus, just like their father, who abandoned them without even realizing it when he had hit that table.

He thought of Tony, his best friend, the only person on the planet he'd forgiven for slaughtering a puppy. That takes a lot of true brotherhood to forgive. How, in all of this, he'd somehow managed to leave him behind. He'd abandoned him for that glint of recognition.

He thought of Deacon, the man he had crippled just to get a glint of recognition in an organization that died, R.I.P., almost two years prior to this moment.

He thought of Poison Ivy, how he had blinded her. Back then.

He thought of Vince Jacobs, who he'd forced to stop performing in the one place he was happy to perform in.

He thought of Kate... his one-time wife. How he'd taken the single thing in his life that had meant more to him than doing this, than being here... and he'd put her behind all of that. For a fucking bunch of leather, jewelry, and a heavy mineral that, in the end, would fade away and just be some short blurb in a record book sold by a small, independent publishing house, barely sold in the back shelves of a Barnes & Noble in Des Moines.

He thought of Allocca. His son. All of six. The whole world in front of him. He'd missed enough of his life already - five years too many. One hundred fifty-seven million, six-hundred and eighty thousand too many seconds. He thought of how... whole he felt when he had seen him.

And... her. He hadn't even known, but she was a whole chance to do something right with his life. His name would go on with his son, but his daughter... she would be the future, if he played his cards right. She could cure cancer. She could invent a longer-lasting, better-tasting non-alcoholic beer. But she needed a daddy, first and foremost. She needed her daddy.

Why was he doing this? Why? Why why why?

He looked down, past his grapevined legs - which he unhooked - to his opponent. To Sam. The two had been down the same road, really. Why was Sam doing this? Were they both really this insane? He could understand why Sam had gone after Hell; he'd seen Beth's face and body in that locker room after the attack. But Sam had already taken his ball and gone home years before, in order to be the good dad. To be the loving husband. He'd kept his life stable, but here he was - a long way from home - his body half-conscious inside what amounted to a bunch of plywood, steel, and miscellaneous materials. High Flyer - Jack Harmen, father, brother, son - looked at Sam Potright, a father, a husband, and a son.

And, then - epiphany - he realized why he kept on doing this, against the creak of joints and the crack of bones and the squeeze of discs; he figured out why Sam was doing it, against the same pains and limitations. He understood.

Deep down inside every man, there's that feeling that you have to rise above your station in life. That you've got to be Gatsby, that you've got to be Lear, that you've got to be Murrow, that you've got to be Bono. You have to strive farther.

For some - Flyer smirked as he thought of it - this feeling was much, much stronger.

Sam raised his head from the mat, the stalks of hair looking as though they were holding him to the mat. He whipped his head around, and fell, sideways, his eyes meeting Flyer's.

"So, do you recognize the tights?" Flyer asked. Sam nodded.

"They're the ones you wore in Mexico City." Sam answered.

"My lucky ones," Flyer said. "my seven-leaf clover."

"You're a weird guy, you know that, right?" Sam asked.

"I know." Flyer pushed himself away, and began to pull himself to his feet. "That's the point."

The crowd was buzzing as both men seemed to be coming around. They'd been trapped in a bubble over the past several seconds, and thus, hadn't heard Oldenson as his count had risen to eight. Sam was hooking his hands around the bottom and middle ropes, and pulled himself up on the opposite side of the ring.

The two looked to one another. They nodded, silently verifying that this was it.

And with that in mind, the two walked towards each other, and began to throw punches. Back and forth they went, sweatdrops flying outward, upward, arcing onto the black mats surrounding the ring perimeter. Flyer got the advantage, driving two shots into Potright's temple, sending him into a woozy dance before Flyer went and connected with a short-arm lariat. He held onto Sam's arm and pulled him up to his feet, and whipped him into the ropes. A drop-toe hold, and immediately afterwards, a short dive with a forearm hitting the back of his opponent's head. He locked on a headlock - and from there, Flyer took Potright back to his feet once more. The two of them went into a corner, and from there, Flyer went and delivered a bulldog.

Unfortunately, Sam Potright was not under his arm when he delivered said bulldog. Flyer hit the mat, sliding his elbow across the rough canvas - and within seconds, suffered a stiff kick from Potright's good leg into the small of his back. The next thing he knew, he saw Sam move past him, into the ropes, and come back at him - and he narrowly missed a kneecap going into his face. As Potright placed his foot down, he stumbled a bit.

Flyer saw the moment - the window was open wide. He rolled in a backwards somersault, and as he came up to his feet, just behind Potright, he snatched Potright's biceps with each hand and hoisted him up, bringing him down with a crucifix powerbomb.

"Cover!" Gordon screamed. "Cover!"

Oldenson slapped his hand once.

He slapped his hand twice.

And he slapped his hand a third time -

Or not. Sam Potright threw his all into pushing his shoulder off the mat. Flyer ran a hand through his hair, grabbed Sam's hair, and brought the both of them to a standing position.

CHOP.

Flyer had been thinking of what do when Sam had wrenched himself free and knife-edged Flyer across the pectorals. Flyer was taken aback a step, and rubbed the spot where skin had met skin.

So he chopped Potright back.

CHOP.

CHOP.

CHOP.

CHOP.

Back and forth they went. Center of the ring, with a crowd screaming "WOO!" on every impact. Blood vessels were bleeding under the thin layer of skin, red spots forming on both men's chests.

Flyer cracked Potright twice with two quick ones; he grabbed Potright by the hair again, and began to drag him towards the corner - only to find Potright moving ahead of him suddenly just as they were in jumping distance of it - Sam, on one good leg, hoisted his legs up onto the top turnbuckle, and simply let his body weight fall. Flyer, not expecting it, got dragged forward and down with Sam, whose legs were suddenly over his head... over his back... and as he let go of Potright's hair, a jester's smile was on Potright's face.

Before High Flyer knew it, Sam Potright was behind him. A steel grip buckled around Flyer's midsection.

"German suplex!" Marc Gordon declared, spittle flying loose past the fuzzed microphone of his headset. "German suplex!"

Oldenson was in just the right spot.

"One! Two!"

Flyer threw his legs over his head, escaping just in the nick of time. The two men got to their feet, charged one another, and Flyer went for a lariat - Potright ducked, hit the opposite ropes - and ran right into a superkick.

"HE TOOK HIS HEAD OFF!" Gordon exclaimed. "And he covers!"

One!

"No!" Renton cried.

Two!

"Please, no! Mr. Napoli will have a heart attack!" Renton continued.

No mas!

"OH THANK GOD!" Renton sighed.

Flyer sat up, off of Potright's body. He crawled over to the ropes, and pulled himself up. He looked to his left - to the right - deep into the crowd. He walked over to the corner, and hunched down into a position not unlike that of a spider waiting to strike on the fly so close to its web. Potright was rolling around, trying to find his marbles, somewhere scattered around his throbbing head.

He was getting up. Flyer's feet were tapping the mat excitedly. He was ready to pop. The crowd was on the collective edge of their seats.

Potright was up.

Flyer sprang forth.

LOCOMOTIVE.

NO.

DENIED.

Potright did the simplest thing - he ducked the Yakuza Kick that had waylaid so many before him. Flyer was spinning around when Sam kicked him in the gut and hooked his head under his arm.

WAR WITHIN A BREATH.

NO.

"NORTHERN LIGHTS SUPLEX!" Gordon practically had an anuerysm. You could hear the blood vessels pop.

"KICK OUT!" Renton screamed. "KICK OUT FOR NAPOLI!"

1.

2.

3.

The bell rang. The crowd exploded.

Winner By Pinfall, High Flyer!

"He did it!" Gordon jumped out of his seat, nearly - while Renton almost sobbed openly at his desk. Somewhere backstage, Xander Napoli had to be throwing a fit. Against all odds, High Flyer had...

"The Imperial March". John Williams, plus the London Symphony Orchestra. The drumrolls and violins split the electrified air. High Flyer, slapping the shoulder of his friend, the man who he'd just barely managed to overcome, looked to the curtains at the entrance.

But his opponent, that last brick wall, didn't come from there.

Shawn Jessica Hart bobbed and weaved through the crowd, hopped over the guardrail, and slid inside the ring, whacking Flyer with a forearm to the back of his head.

It was on. No Brand Wrestling's World Heavyweight Championship belt was going to be worn by one of these two men. Xander Napoli's chosen one... or the people's.

Oldenson called for the bell.

DING DING DING.

Shawn Jessica Hart
Versus
High Flyer

“Oh Come on Officials! Do your job!” Gordon shouted.

“He is. He’s letting these two fine athletes go at it in a Heavyweight title match. What more could you ask for!” Renton quipped.

“How about a little sportsmanship?”

Hart let loose with a furry of forearms to the back of Flyer’s skull. Flyer fell forward to his knees, as SJH yanked him back to his feet by his mohawked hair. He even let go for a moment, making a disgusting face as he looked at his hand in horror. Quickly, he recovered, and SJH whipped Flyer off the other side.

Potright fought his way to his feet inside the ring, and jumped into the face of Hart for attacking before the bell began. The official tried to pry Potright away, but it was no use. As Flyer came charging off the other side, he put up his big boot.

LOCOMOTIVE!

But SJH instinctually ducked, and Potright got knocked SQUARE in the jaw. He tumbled over the top rope, and landed awkwardly on his feet, before slamming back first into our announce table.

“HA! Take that weedright!” Renton shouted. “Oh, and look, Flyer’s gonna cry cause he hurt his friend.”

Flyer stares over the top rope, attempting to apologize. Quickly, EMT's check on the down Potright, who smacked his head hard against the very corner of the announce table. Flyer extended his hands in sorrow, and because of this, can’t see Hart sneak up behind him.

“ ROLL UP! HOOK THE TIGHTS! Where’s the sportsmanship!” Gordon screamed.

“Count quickly. I’m losing my erection.” SJH quipped, as the official swung in to make the count.

1.
2.
SHOULDER UP!

SJH and Flyer roll away from one another, and recover to their feet. Hart pointed to his temple, in a “I’m so smart” manner, before Flyer let out a ROAR and charged forward, looking for a shinning wizard which missed its mark completely. Hart wrapped Flyer from behind, and GERMAN SUPLEX causes what I can only guess to be a concussion.

Hart stood to his feet, and smiled. He swatted the recovering Flyer’s face and then locked him in a front face lock. Grinding in it, he casually controlled the match as he regained his strength.

“Hart’s playing this smart. He’s grounding the Lunatic. He’s frustrating him.” Gordon said. “He’s doing everything he should right now.”

“Can’t hurt that Flyer just almost got his brains kicked out of him by his good friend. GO SJH!”

“Have you even heard of the term impartiality?” Gordon said.

“Yes, but have you heard the term “Root for SJH or you’re fired? Cause I have.”

Flyer began to punch at Hart’s midsection, slamming fist after fist into SJH’s rib cage. After the fourth fist, Hart wrenched his headlock in tighter, and then reached over and hooked Flyer’s tights, bringing him over in a picture perfect suplex. Flyer slammed the lower part of his back into the mat, and sat up from the momentum, clutching at his enflamed spine.

Quick to his feet, Hart kicked FIyer right in his spine, and deflated the Lunatic. Hart dives on top for a quick cover, hooking the leg.

1…
2…

Shoulder up. Flyer winced to get the stars out of his eyes. SJH took this time to lift Flyer to his feet by his snowhawk and toss him off the ropes. Off the other side, Flyer ducked a clothesline, and returned back with a spinning leg lariot, taking Napoli’s golden child off of his feet with a resounding CRACK.

Flyer rolled onto his knees and shook his head further clear of the cobwebs. As Hart slowly recovered, Flyer sized him up, and double underhooked the Phenom.

The Lunatic lifted Hart for the Hypothermia, but Hart blocked it like you would any suplex. By lightly rubbing your thigh against your opponents. As if that somehow magically blocks it. Regardless, Flyer tried again, and Hart used this tactic to block it once more. And so Flyer wiped out his own feet and used his falling body to drive SJH face first into the mat with a double underhook ddt.

Flyer rolled Hart over onto his back and climbed on top, foregoing the pin to strike him repeatedly with forearms and fists to his winking pretty boy face.

“Closed fist referee! That’s a disqualification!” Renton shouted. “Didn’t you read Napoli’s guide for keeping your job, circa Twilight edition?!” Renton sighed. “No one reads these days. IT’LL BE YOUR DOOM SIR!”

Suddenly, Ernie appeared out of nowhere at the announce table with a hand-held microphone and a tape deck, circa 1985.

“Was that a roleclaim good sir? ARE YOU INDEED DOCTOR DOOM!? EH!? EH!” Ernie said, shoving the microphone into Renton’s face.

“Okay. Security at the asylum is a god damn joke!” Renton screamed. “Would someone drag him away kicking and screaming?!”

Hart shoved the Lunatic off of him after numerous repeated blows, and they both recover to their feet. Collar and elbow tie up. Lock up, Hart with a side headlock. Flyer backed him into the ropes and shot him off the other side. Returning, Hart DUCKED THE STEAMING LOCOMOTIVE. Back off the other side, tilt-a-whirl, NO! Headscissors counter from the Lunatic, sends Hart flying underneath the bottom turnbuckle and out the other side.

Quickly, Flyer spun around to see Potright, being attended to by EMT’s. He seems to be walking with a noticeable limp, and medics are helping him to the backstage area. The Lunatic began to get distracted, yelling to Potright. Which allowed SJH to slide in undetected, and INVERTED atomic drop.

Flyer bounced around the ring, clutching his spine, as he spun to meet a charging Hart, who caught him with a rushing superkick. A resounding smack echoed through the arena.

Hart fell back first on top for the pin.

1…

He tossed his arm in the air high to count.

2…

And quickly, Flyer hooked Hart in a cradle, and rolled him onto his back in a crucifix position.

1…

2…

Hart barely tossed a shoulder out, shocked at the quickness of the pin. He quickly rolled to his feet and began to put boots to the unrecovered Flyer’s skull and body, picking him up by his hair once more.

“Oh, look, it’s the crazy man. Listen here crazy, I don’t know you and I don’t want to know you. After today, you’re dead to me…” Hart angrily growled, before twisting his eyes in confusion. "Yeah, ALL the fine ladies want a date with me, and you're no dif-"

KICK!

“CHEATER! HE CHEATED AGAIN! Closed fists! Shots to the testicles. What are we, barbaric? Are we the remnants of an underground fight club! Or are we God damn professional wrestlers!” Renton screamed.

“I get your point Ter, but Napoli’s got the odds stacked against Flyer. Hart/Saunders happened at the middle of the show. The Phenom had time to rest. There was no rest…”

“FOR THE WICKED! THERE! RIGHT! SAY IT! SAY HE’S WICKED!” Renton shouted. “Say he’s worse than DAVROS or Widmore or the CYLONS. DO IT! SAY HE’S WORSE THAN REALITY TV!”

“JEEZ! Calm yourself! It’s one little nut shot.”

“OH! BUT IT IS!” Shouted a voice.

“Renton. You can stop shouting.” Gordon said.

“It wasn’t me. Honest! If I could kill a boy scout I could prove it to you.” Renton quipped.

“Uhm. Hello people? It’s my promotion here.” The voice came from Xander Napoli, but he was not on the big tron. In fact, no one could find him. All that could be seen was… Torment? On the entrance rampway? “Hello! On the rampway. Yes. Over here. Direct the cameras here. God, this is the last time I hire inbred locals to run my cameras.” Napoli shouted, waving his hands behind Torment, and stepping out from the beast’s shadows. “Now, I’ve been listening to the commentary, wireless earpiece, and I must say, Renton, you’re looking to get a raise. Because you are SO right.”

“See. Raise.” Renton said, elbowing his partner in crime.

“He said looking. You aren’t getting one.”

“I’m not?”

“SILENCE! I can hear you in my ear piece and it’s distracting.” Napoli sighed. “So, Flyer, you want to go all kicking-people-in-the-crotch like, well, I just can’t stand for it. Because I can’t possibly have a disqualification OR a count out RUIN our chances of crowning the TRUE, no brand Wrestling champion, I figure, why not do away with those? And Jack? You should really pay more attention to your surroundings.”

Inside the ring, Flyer turned, and BAM! SMACK! Steel chair to the face absolutely WHIPS out the Lunatic. Flyer fell, crumpled to the mat, as Napoli’s sickening laugh echoed out.

“I should have done this MONTHS AGO!” Xander shouted, giddy as a school girl. Gyle “The Messiah” stepped out from behind the corner, asking if it was safe.

He promptly saw SJH slam a steel chair into the fallen Lunatic’s face.

Jonathan Munroe sighed heavily. He wasn’t exactly appreciating having his job as senior official taken away from him by Napoli. He stared on as Hart laid in the third swift chair shot to Flyer’s spine. Hart tossed the chair away like a cheap whore, and kicked a crawling Flyer onto the bottom rope, throat first. The Phenom dropped down and pressed his knee into Flyer’s back, and Flyer spat out in desperation, clawing at the air.

From the entrance way, a red blur flies out, passing Gyle and Xander before being caught in the palm of Torment’s hand.

It’s Mary-Lynn Mayweather, desperately rushing to the ring.

“Little red head,” Xander smiled, doing the Monty Burns type finger roll as he crept closer. “You know if you interfere in this match, your life is forfeit, yes?”

“Life?” Mary-Lynn quizzed. “That’s not legal.”

“You should have read your contract. Torment. Drop her. Let her crawl to her failure.” Torment released Mary-Lynn’s skull, and Mary fell to her knees. She rose up, and sprinted to the ringside area, as Xander and Gyle watched her fly. Xander rose his eyebrows. “I hate and love that girl at the same time.”

Gyle smiled, nodding. “It’s like me and Bjork.”

“Huh…. Bjork?”

Ringside, Mary-Lynn Mayweather reached the Lunatic, and grabbed his hand. Hart released from his choke, and the Lunatic hung on the bottom rope, completely unconscious. Mary-Lynn smacked Flyer twice in his face, and received no response, before taking a water bottle and splashing it in his face. Nothing. Finally, she grabs a necklace from underneath her shirt, and pulled out a small pouch. Smelling salts. She untapped the top and whiffed it under his nose, as the Lunatic sprung back to life.

“Wha-Wh-Where am I? Mary? Mary?” Flyer blinked, shaking his head from side to side. “What. Oh shit. MOVE!” Flyer dove out of the ring, tackling Mary out of the way of a charging SJH’s chair shot. Flyer twisted his body so that his back would strike the set up steel cage from earlier in the evening. The very house that contained Cage would later disrupt the snowman’s attempt at championship glory.

“Jack. We gotta get you up. It’s no DQ. We prepared for this. Remember?” Mayweather slowly helped Flyer to his feet, as he tried to shake the cobwebs. “Are you in there?”

“I’m fine May. Jeez. You make it sound like I’ve look like hell.” Flyer said, falling to his knees when completing his sentence.

That’s when SJH slid out of the ring, and grabbed Mary-Lynn from behind in surprise. Quickly, he opened the cage that housed Cage, oddly enough, and tossed Mayweather in. “There. Now dance bitch.” He said, before slamming the door into Mayweather and closing it shut in the process.

Flyer charged into SJH, lifting him off his feet and PLANTING him on the outside of the ring with a spear like spinebuster. Follow that up with a flurry of punches, and you have one pissed off Lunatic. Flyer hopped off Hart, lifting the Phenom to his feet before slamming his pretty boy visage into the steel ringpost. Hart bounced off, and Flyer repeated the process. As Hart stumbled, Flyer let loose with his own superkick, knocking Hart clear off his feet and onto the concrete.

Flyer exchanged a look with Mary, and then smiled. He ran to the ring, and pulled up the “Twilight” tarp. Below, there rested a snow shovel, a sledgehammer, four tables, two ladders, and enough barbed wire to keep all of Mexico out of America.

With a clatter, Flyer yanked out the snow shovel first, and smacked it across his body, into the palm of his other hand. “Christmas in July.”

SMACK.

Hart stared, googlie-eyed, before falling to his knees. He reached to his forehead… blood. And then fell to the concrete in a heap.

On the entrance rampway, Napoli began to pull out his own hair.

Flyer yelled to the ring to Munroe. “Get back in charge of things already!” And quickly, Munroe jumped out of the ring and Flyer dropped on top of Hart for the pin.

1…

2…

No! Hart barely tossed his shoulder up at the last moment.

“Hey! Hey! I didn’t say falls can count anywhere! What are you doing!” Napoli shouted from the rampway. “Well, if we’re going to play games Jack, let’s play hardball. TORMENT! GYLE!” Napoli waited, tapping his feet in impatience. “Y’know, If you were pokemon this is where I would toss red balls, so… y’know… GO ALREADY!”

Torment lumbered down to the ring, Gyle bringing up the rear. From the back, the Executioner stood over Napoli’s shoulder, replacing Torment as Xander’s guard. Torment hit ringside first, and stared down the Lunatic. He had a good foot on the snowman, and Flyer scrambled for a defense. Torment roared, and swung wildly, as Flyer swatted his fist with the snow shovel.

These must be the cheap kind. How else can the fist sized imprint be explained? Flyer tossed the now useless snow shovel aside, and began to back off from the behemoth. Mary-Lynn screamed in her cage as Torment passed, and Torment quickly twisted his head to see her. He tilted his head to its side, as if studying an animal at the zoo.

And was promptly mowed down by the 7:40 local locomotive. POW. Torment flew back, landing into the cage wall, causing it to buckle inward. Mary-Lynn leapt back in fright.

Enter Gyle the Messiah, bringing up the rear.

“Woah. Girl in a cage. Pretty hot. Hey. Listen. I dunno about you guys, but I’m pretty hungry. How about we just let go of this whole heavyweight title nonsense, go out, get some chuckie cheese, get some Denny’s or some Jack Creak or something. You know, live a little?” Gyle shrugged his shoulders. “No? Eh, worth a shot.” And quickly, Gyle charged forward, catching Flyer with a stiff forearm. Only it wasn’t a regular forearm. Gyle quickly swiped his right arm in a downward arc, revealing a police baton hiding in his sleeve.

Flyer’s jaw jerked to the side, spit splattering blood across Munroe. Gyle smiled. “The mighty Lunatic. Alone. Who do you have now?” Gyle raised his right arm high for the end blow.

And swung.

Only for Flyer to catch it above his head with both palms held out. “Ow.” Flyer pushed Gyle away, and then quickly superkicked him off his feet.

Turning, Flyer met a recovered Hart, who checked his head wound. He was bleeding on a 4 on the ol’ Muta scale, if there is such a thing. Regardless, the Snowman charged, and let loose with a superkick, but Hart dodged to the side, and grabbed Flyer’s leg as he passed, spinning him into Mary-Lynn’s cage wall. She screamed as the cage crinkled inward on her, her feet with very little room to maneuver anymore.

“So, what now?” Hart smiled, as Torment slowly helped Gyle recover to his feet. “No d-q. What can you do?” Hart dropped to his knee, and grabbed Flyer by his jaw, lifting him into an uncomfortable position. Suddenly, a beeping sound repeated in the background. “What exactly did you expect?”

Flyer, coughing and gurgling up blood, raised his hand, which oddly contained a wrist watch. Hart swatted it away, thinking it was an attempted blow, but Flyer then pulled his hand into his body, and checked his watch. Hart stared, tilting his head. “What, got a Nambla meeting you’re missing?” Flyer turned off the alarm, and coughed again.

That’s when a light snowflake fell onto the cheek of Shawn Jessica Hart.

“What is this sorcerery!?!” Gyle shouted, clutching his arms to his chest and shaking. “Snowing indoors?! I should have become a Priest!”

“This ain’t global warming. This is the work of Super Crazy over here.” Hart said. “No matter. It’s just snow. How much harm could it do?”

And with that, a large white snow like powder fell in a heap over the ring, splashing outside of the ring in the process, and catching the first three rows like its sea world. Hart, Gyle, and Torment cough heavily, as does Mary-Lynn, trying to fight through the fog of snow. But Flyer, he seemed to have come prepared, wearing a hospital surgery mask. Perhaps, something left behind by the EMT’s working on Potright just moments earlier. Perhaps hiding in his tights all along. Regardless, Flyer sprung into action, leaping onto the guardrail and springboarding into a coughing Hart, Lou Thesz pressing him on the outside, and pounding him with right hand after left hand.

Gyle fell to his knees coughing, by ringside. And suddenly, he was dragged underneath the ring.

Large pounding sounds were heard underneath the ring, when with quite a force, Gyle the Messiah was shot out from under the ring, cracking his skull against the guardrail.

Tony Davis stepped out from underneath the ring, holding a steel chair, wrapped in barbed wire and gasoline soaked rags. His eyes are crazy. His expression blank and vacant. He takes a Zippo lighter, and sets it ablaze, before cackling, and charging toward Torment.

CRACK.

Nothing.

Tony Davis stared down at his flaming chair in astonishment. Pieces of Torment’s forehead remained lodged in the barbwire, but the behemoth continued to stand tall. Tony swung again, and Torment raised his hands, grabbing the chair as it smacked. Digging the barbs into his hands, Torment wrenches the flaming chair out of Tony’s hands and tossed it into a snow pile.

On the entrance rampway, the Executioner had stepped out and replaced Torment as Xander’s main body guard. Xander was fretting, pacing back and forth. He said a few words to the Executioner, and quickly he raced down toward the ring.

Ring crew officials quickly began to sweep the ring clear of the snow debris. Tony Davis stood to the monster and shouted racial slurs. Bad move. Quickly, Davis was lifted by his throat. Torment waded through the snow, holding Davis high, before reaching the clear part of the entrance rampway and chokeslamming him stiffly on the concrete. Torment looked over and saw the Lunatic, still punching away at SJH. Torment grabbed Flyer by his hair, lifting him off his feet in one stroke and tossing him clear behind. The Lunatic landed stiffly against the ring post, before sliding down into a pile of snow.

The Executioner reached ringside and helped Hart to his feet. Three on one, and Napoli finally deemed those odds in his favor.

And now, we may cue “Spike it Up.”

Xander began to pull out his hair on the rampway. Torment and the Executioner stepped forward and blocked anyone from coming to attack Hart. As officials swept the rest of the snow mound outside of the ring, Hart walked through the piles and lifted the Lunatic, tossing him inside.

Spike Saunders quickly stepped out from the backstage area. He smiled, cracking his knuckles. Napoli shook his head, demanding Spike to stay away from him, worried for vengeance from Napoli’s earlier actions. Saunders shrugged, and disregarded Napoli as if he was worthless, charging the ring.

Spike hit ringside, leaping with a freaking DROPKICK, taking the Executioner clear off the rampway. Torment however, was right there to act, and began to pound away at the back of Spike’s injured skull. Multiple forearms, as the wind of Spike’s sails was seemingly cut before it could begin.

Napoli breathed a sigh of relief.

“I want my job you shit!”

It was Troy Adams, screaming. He stalked down Napoli on the entrance rampway. Holding out a barbed wire baseball bat, placing it between him and his former boss. “So. Do it! Say I’m hired. SAY IT!”

“Alright! Alright! Just don’t hurt me! Just don’t!”

And with that, Troy Adams faked as if he was going to strike Napoli, as Xander shrunk in fright. Troy smiled, and then charged toward the ring.

And met the large monster Torment with a Mark McGuire steroid baseball strike to his SKULL.

The bat cracks, and the monster FINALLY falls.

Inside the ring, Shawn Jessica Hart stalked his prey. High Flyer was stumbling to his feet, having been destroyed by Torment moments earlier. Flyer regained his footing, wobbling around, as Hart rushed forward.

HART ON~!

NO! Hart fell from trying to perform the move, and Flyer blocked the hold, before landing RIGHT on top of him.

1…

Hart was stunned. He didn’t have time before Flyer hooked his leg strong.

2…

And grabbed a little bit of tights for good measure.

3.

Hart powered out shortly after that, but it was use. Flyer rose to his feet to a ROAR of cheers, tossing his arms into the air.

Napoli CURSED and screamed on the entrance ramp, stomping up a storm. For everything he did to keep the Heavyweight Championship off of the Lunatic, the gauntlet of foes, the year long trek through deserted terrain. Keeping shows so sporadic that even the Lunatic couldn’t keep in shape. Even with all that, High Flyer had prevailed. Through Max Hopper, through Torment, through Potright to Hart, all fell.

Inside the ring, High Flyer was handed the Heavyweight Championship. SJH stood to his feet, beat red. As Flyer looked at the Heavyweight title, Hart stepped up to him, looking to continue their brawl.

However, Troy Adams barbed wire baseball bat made him think quite differently as it lightly graced his shoulder. Spike Saunders held the ring ropes open for Hart, as Hart wisely, but annoyingly, left the ring.

High Flyer smiled. Saunders walked over and lifted the Lunatic onto his shoulders. Adams followed suit, helping support an end. The fans rose in ovation as High Flyer held the nbW World Heavyweight Championship high. He pointed to Napoli, and then to his newly won championship, and quickly, stuck his tongue out at his boss.

For everything, nbW had a champion, and for the next few months, I can guarantee one hell of a Crazy time will be had by all.

As nbW started to fade out, the last thing that could be heard was Mary-Lynn Mayweather, politely asking not to be forgotten and to be let out of her cage.

Winner by Pinfall and NEW World Champion, HIGH FLYER!

Bailing Early

A grainy brownish hue covered the screen, resembling that of old time photographs and film clips. The backstage area was faded in over High Flyer celebrating in the ring.

“Hey man, we’re bailing out of here. You want to come hit the clubs with us?”

Two individuals stood at the doorway of one of the locker rooms while another sat inside tucking his boots into his locker.

“Sure. Let me finish putting this stuff up and I’ll meet you in the lot.”

The two leave as the individual pulled his duffle bag off the top shelf and spotted a envelope sticking out by the zipper. He slipped his finger in the fold to tear it open and withdrew a black card.

“What’s this?”

Other than a small imprint he could see nothing on it and slipped the black card back in the duffle before slamming the locker shut. He then headed off to meet up with his friends as the nbW logo appeared.

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