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Chain Reaction 9: "From Which We Came" (Mystery Style)


Grandma Took Me Home
Jan 31, 2004
via The IWF Rulebook :
The other type of show will be booked and lineup announced on the posting of the card. One thread will be assigned for everyone to role play in for this type of show. Booking and lineup will be determined by the way rp shapes up in that thread for the specified card.

Chain Reaction 9 will be in the Mystery Show Style. The rules are outlined above. Although, for this card alone, I'll toss in one exception and one deviation from the IWF norm'. Details below.

Chain Reaction 9: "From Which We Came"​
1 .Extended RP Period
  • Handlers may trickle in slowly and I want to give everyone a chance to jump back in. Especially handlers who built some heat on Surge.

2. Role play Limit
  • No limit.
  • Reminder: Quality still trumps quantity.
  • Main reason for the limit lift; If handlers slowly trickle in, the rules of extending the rebuttal system are far too confusing. I tried, too much.

NOTE: Only post in this forum if you want your charecter to be booked in a match on CR9!
  • Otherwise, post in Airtime and/or submit a segment for the card.
  • All active IWF wrestlers who "appear" here will be booked.

Role play Deadline: August 10th, 2012 11:59 PM EST
Arena: Moss Bay Event Center, Seattle, WA

ALSO: Vizier ta Seti vs. Perfection will "air" on CR9, taped at Key Arena, after the Surge feed timed out.

Have fun, and lets get this going again!
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Jan 1, 2000
(It’s midday down at the Dojo of Seattle. In the back office, the ancient land-line phone sitting on the desk rings once, and a hand picks up the receiver.)

Frank Ares
You’ve reached the Dojo Fitness Center and Wrestling School... this is Frank. How can I help you?

(There’s a pause, and FRANK ARES, the incumbent manager of the Dojo, leans back in his chair as he listens to the voice on the other end.)

Frank Ares
Right... what’s up?

(He flashes his gaze briefly to KERRY KUROYAMA, standing patiently nearby.)

Frank Ares
Uh-huh... okay... got it, I’ll tell him. Goodbye.

(Frank hangs up, and Kerry steps forward.)

Kerry Kuroyama
Was that the Commissioner?

Frank Ares
No, it was his assistant... can’t remember her name.

Kerry Kuroyama
Miss Paz. What did she say?

Frank Ares
Well... they’ve decided they’re going to move forward, and pick things up with a ninth Chain Reaction. There will be no closure. Not now, anyway.

(Kerry breathes a sigh of relief.)

Kerry Kuroyama
That’s good to hear. If I had to spend another day sitting on my ass waiting for the chance to get back into the ring, I might just snap. Any word on who I’m up against?

Frank Ares
Nothing on that, I’m afraid. However... she made it clear that there’s going to be some fall-out. The bossman is apparently none too happy that his big Pay Per View investment ended on a cliffhanger ending instead of a main event, a girl getting crushed by two chairs, and a minor flopping around the ring, drunk off his ass.

(Kerry brushes off the verbal dig with a scoff.)

Kerry Kuroyama
So what are you saying... my head is on the chopping block?

Frank Ares
I wouldn’t go that far... but she made it clear that they aren’t very happy with you right now. She said you had multiple opportunities to inform them that you were below the legal drinking age.

Kerry Kuroyama
I mean, sure, but... don’t you think one of them could have just glanced at the age listed on my bio sheet?

Frank Ares
She’s aware that there was some “incompetence” on the part of the Commish for overlooking that, but still holds you at fault for willingly going through with it, especially after she personally blew the whistle and called you out.

(The young “Pacific Blitzkrieg” shrugs off the very notion of backing down from a challenge.)

Kerry Kuroyama
Those people didn’t come out to watch a Last Man Standing, Frank... and I wasn’t going to disappoint my own crowd.

Frank Ares
Yeah, I can understand that...

But you have to understand as well, you represent that company every time you step into the ring. And when you do something edgy, like willingly break the law on their dime, with all of Seattle and thousands more across the globe watching, it reflects negatively back on them.

I don’t blame you for going through with it... I probably would have done the same thing when I was your age. But there comes a time when you have to consider how your actions affect the others that make the federation what it is. The sooner you understand that, the more you’ll be able to live up to your full potential the prime years of your life

Do you get me, Kerry?

(Kuroyama ponders the message quietly for a moment, then nods once.)

Frank Ares
Good... did you need anything else?

Kerry Kuroyama
Any word on our Iemoto?

(Frank shakes his head. It’s the only answer he can give.)

Kerry Kuroyama
Right... well, I’m out of here then.

Frank Ares
See you tomorrow, kid.

(Kuroyama nods as he makes his way out of the office. Out in the gym, the place is silent and dead. It must be past the hours of operation. Kerry shuts the door to the office and turns his attention to the omnipresent camera that’s been following the action this entire time.)

Kerry Kuroyama
Seems strange... how I can hurt the company, by just giving the fans what they want. Am I selfish for doing that? The way I see it, without those fans, there IS no company... plain and simple. But I suppose even a loyal fanbase and a phenomenally talented locker room are not enough to save a company like the International Wrestling Federation from simple mismanagement.

All the same... I’m just going to do what I can... give all I can offer... pound for pound between those ropes, so those fans keep coming back, no matter how many times they get screwed out of watching a main event. IWF has chosen to move on from Surge... and I’m glad for that, because I’m ready to move on as well, to Chain Reaction Nine. Whoever waits for me in that ring, I’ll be ready and willing to withstand the punishment and overcome the challenge.

And if there’s anybody left in that locker room out there, listening to this... know that I’m bring the fury of the STORM.

(Kerry walks by the camera and goes to the exit as we go to black.)

Johnny Niles

League Member
Mar 5, 2012
[It is morning at the Silver Cloud Hotel in Seattle. At the parking zone, Johnny Niles has just got out of his Nissan 370Z Coupe, and is talking on his cellphone.]

Johnny Niles: I see. "Mystery Style"? Nobody knows who they’re facing? OK then, see ya at Chain Reaction. (Johnny turns off his cell before noticing the cameramen) ... Do you guys follow everyone else like this? Damn freedom to the media... Anyways, I'm guessing you're here to talk about the upcoming Chain Reaction. Well, I have nothing to say.

(Johnny walks past the crew to the reception, but the crew decides to follow him)

JN: You guys never give up do you? Listen I’m not in the mood to talk, okay? If you watched Surge then you know what I’m talking about.

Random Cameraman: Your loss, Johnny?

No, I was talking about the lovely herbal tea I was drinking before the match. It was delicious, with a divine taste that made me think of cherry blossoms.

Really? How nice.

(Looking directly at the camera) See kids, this is what happens to people who don’t finish school. NO! I wasn’t talking about a herbal tea you simple-minded imbecile! I was talking about my loss!

Then why did you talk about that herbal tea?

(Face-palming himself) It’s called sarcasm you blockhead! You know what, I’m done dealing with you idiots. Adios.

(Johnny turns around to walk away, but the cameramen continue to follow him)

(Turning to the cameramen) Jeez, I’m beginning to feel like one of those big-shot celebs... Fine, you want my thoughts? OK then... This CR is apparently a "Mystery Style" event,and I don't know who my opponent's gonna be. Well frankly I don't give a s**t about who my opponent is. I don't need to know who my opponent is, 'cause I'mt he Best In The World and I can beat anyone on the roster on any given night of the week.

Cameraman: But if you're the Best in the World, how come you haven't won a match since you've come here?

(Johnny glares at the cameraman, motioning toward him as the cameraman cowers behind the others)

JN: It's true, I haven't won a match yet, but that's because I've been underestimating my opponents. Apparently the level of competition here in the IWF is higher than in any company I've been in.

Cameraman: Are you sure that that's the reason?

JN: (Glaring at him before continuing) But that doesn't matter now. At Chain Reaction 9, I will end my losing streak and show everyone why I am the future Emerald City Champion. I don't care who I have to face, whether it's Vizier ta Seti, SpookyDoom, Kerry Kuroyama, or anyone else! To me, they're just supporting characters, whereas I'm the star of the show! Do you know why!?

Cameraman: (Mocking Niles’ signature catchphrase) Cause you're the best in the world? (Proceeds to laugh)

(Johnny stops his speech, takes a deep breath, and grabs the cameraman by his collar, dragging him somewhere. The rest of the cameramen follow them to the pool. There, Johnny picks the cameraman up and throws him in like a ragdoll. After that Johnny wipes his hands and heads over to the rest of the cameramen who run off before he can get to them as the camera fades out...)


Main Event Caliber
Apr 16, 2012
St. Louis, MO
(Several days after Surge. Leyenda de Ocho sits on an overstuffed blue couch in the middle of a large living room area in Chicago. Behind him is a wall-sized mahogany shelving unit, stacked with hundreds upon hundreds of video game boxes. In the center sits an average sized TV with a mess of cords and gaming systems plugged into it; the closing shot of Surge is paused on the screen.

Unmasked, Ocho's dirty blonde hair rests in a scruffy mess on his head, a small tuft on his chin to match. He is wearing his trademark pastel pink hoodie with running shorts and shoes. Ocho looks up to the camera, his bright green eyes lighting up the frame.)

Ocho: "That night…man. Steve, I just want to say - thank you. You gave me exactly what I wanted: an awesome, awesome match. We both brought everything we had to the IWF, and the truth is, if we wrestled 100 times, I bet we'd have a 50-50 split. The roof was ****ing torn down.

And I LIVE for that."

(Ocho rises from his feet and begins to stretch: first his calves, followed by his thighs.)

Ocho: "If I've learned anything over the last few weeks, it's that time is short. My debut for the IWF could have also been my last night on the roster.

I need to make every match count. Every. Night. I vow to everyone in the front office and locker room of the IWF: I'm going to throw my body around in the middle of that ring as if that match were my last. Longevity be damned."

(Ocho continues stretching, this time working his core muscles. He pauses for a moment, and a light seems to gleam in his eye. He turns his full attention to the camera.)

Ocho: "You never know if your next match is your last…and I've had my eye on one man for months now...

Spooky Doom

In the ULTRATITLE tournament, we almost faced each other; I have to admit, I was really excited about that possibility. It wasn't meant to be…I was on the receiving end of Orphan's Merciless Judgment, just like you. My chance was lost in that moment…but it doesn't have to stay that way.

Spooky, you and I are a members of a unique society - the next generation of luchadors. We honor the traditions of the past, but we are not bound by them. We push the limits of what a human body is supposed to do; we do it in our own way, by our rules. And we do it because we love it.

You say you're the hardest hitting man in the sport? I need to know. I need to feel your strikes while throwing my own at you. I need to be pushed in a way that only a true modern luchador can push.

More than anyone else on the roster, you and I are capable of putting something truly special on display in the middle of that ring. I want to put on a clinic in true lucha libre fashion and tear down that ROOF."

(Ocho finishes stretching and puts in iPhone earbuds. He queues up the soundtrack to Mike Tyson's Punch Out!! and places the phone in his running armband.)

"What do you say, Spooky? Got 5 stars to spare?"

(Ocho exits his apartment and begins to jog towards Lake Michigan as the camera fades.)
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John Doe

The Anorexic Ethiopian
Feb 2, 2004
Chicago, IL
A Puppet


[A lawyers office, huge desk and some greaseball behind the desk with slick backed hair. We move closer to the desk as we see the plaque on it “Antony Stizko Attorney at Law”. He shuffles around the the desk for a single piece of paper.]

“Good evening,

As most of you know the Main Event from Surge was not aired due to television restrictions. As a courtesy to the fans and representing Perfection, I would like to say on his behalf that again the ownership, partnerships, and management has failed you.

A conspiracy to allow the view public sit in suspense and wondering if Vizier to Seti will remain holding a belt he did not earn yet robbed. And it was not robbed from Perfection yet you, the public. As such the people behind the Seti reign, the people that have manipulated each and everyone of you should be brought to justice.

Perfection battled in a steel cage on his own personal request to provide true order in this company. For that we should all thank him, and honor him. We should all purchase shirts, cups, hats, and other merchandise in support of him.

I hold here a statement from Perfection:”

[He lifts the paper up to read from it]

“My dear ignorant fans, followers of IWF and the millions that couldn't see a Perfect specimen in a cage. It is not I you should blame, It is not I that had taken away your chance weeks ago to possibly and maybe destroy Seti. No spoiler alerts.

But I promise you, the fans the ones who worship at my feet, the ones that have no doubt that I am their alpha male, their knight in shinning platinum armor, that at Chain Reaction Nine I will walk out and address each and every one of you.


Your reigning, defending, and undisputed champion...minus a stolen belt,




Mar 11, 2012
Spooky Rises

"So what about that cat Spooky Doom?"

"He's fly. I dig the super-sentai outfit with the mask and the space-age crescent things on his shoulders. And that backstory: he lost his uncle- No, his hero as a kid so he rose up to take his place as the premier Grim Reaper thingy of wrestling. Learned lucha libre from forbidden Mexican texts, sold his soul to the devil to get his vengeance; now he's out to claim your soul and rock & roll!!"

"Shame he's not wrestling anywhere."

"Too true. Spooky Doom was a guy who understood how wrestling works: it's not just about the moves but about crafting an interesting character, something that can be emotionally invested in. Then you build on that, piling on awesome shit upon awesome shit."

"There was a man who wasn't afraid to stand out. So what happened? How come we don't see him no more?"

"He still makes a few appearances if you know where to look. Last I heard he was working in the American northwest for a small-time promotion; think it was the IWF but there are plenty of places called IWF so I'd have to check what it is and where they broadcast...."

Unlike other IWF talent, Spooky Doom is a former world champion essentially slumming it out on the independent scene. He's skilled, he possesses a unique look but he does have this nasty habit of burning bridges wherever he goes. The Deadkid just can't stand idiots gratuitously berating him or his claims of being the nephew to the six foot ten redneck superstar grave keeper, so he lashes out. Against fellow wrestlers, against promoters, against anyone. So he makes enemies amongst people he really shouldn't antagonize and ends up in places such as the Seattle-based promotion known as the IWF.

Spooky Doom regrets nothing. He cut down on his night time festivities, eased up on the credit cards... but even at 22 years of age, he outlasted most of his enemies. Thus goes the nature of professional wrestling in these parts. And as long as he's got his health and can hold up on his own two legs, he can fight. And thus make money. A man of his talent can enter any two-bit company and make it a nationwide attraction in an undead heartbeat. Now there were rumors that the IWF might be closing. SURGE was only broadcast after an excessive number of delays. The future show was mired in secrecy, with absolutely nothing planed as of yet!

Never mind his match against Eddie Patton and Johnny Niles. This was the time for the Spooky Doom to step the fuck up.

Then there was the issue of his showing during the ULTRATITLE. Basically, he didn't like the outcome of his match with Orphan. At a deeper level, Spooky Doom had brought everything that he had while Orphan brought a kick. The shame in being defeated by a simple kick to the head, when he delivers them by the monster-truckload. Sometimes he even throws two at a time in a typical lucha libre maneuver known as a dropkick. He threw out all the amazing shit that made him the supernatural soul reclaimer that he was today and was defeated by a self-pitying screeching emo twat. He had lost, but couldn't in good faith consider himself as ever being defeated. Spooky earnestly wondered where to go from there when he remembered...

"Why do we fall? So that we can learn to pick ourselves up."

Spooky Doom picked up his cellphone. Turns out a young luchador had challenged him to a match for the next episode of Chain Reaction. Spooky gave a satisfied smile through his flame-streaked mask. Looking around the sparsely furnished apartment he had rented upon first joining the IWF, he now knew how he'd afford the authentic Guatemalan skull set he found that would finally tie the room together. Maybe even add a skeleton by the cloakroom, something for the guests to feel welcome. If absolutely nothing else, Spooky Doom would have to defend his reputation as the hardest hitting force in the world of professional wrestling, and that would give him a chance to demonstrate his art.

Of course, Spooky Doom would have to film a rebuttal. However, on his way to the IWF's recording studios, one thought kept lingering on his mind...

"Leyenda De Ocho? Legend of Eight? The hell does that mean?"

The Minstrel

League Member
Mar 6, 2012
A Pile of Rubble

[Approximately two months ago. The UltraTitle Tournament – second round. The match between Jack Harmen and “The Aftermath” John McDonough has reached its conclusion with Harmen leaving victorious and McDonough eliminated. Backstage, McDonough sits on a bench, his body dripping in sweat and his head downward towards the ground.]

[Across the room leaning against the lockers is his protégé, Shane. Shane’s hands sit on top of his head, slowly, but repeatedly running through his jetblack hair. His eyes are transfixed on the wall across the room. The mood is tense, yet depressing. This signals the end of the road for John McDonough as a wrestler, a final attempt to achieve greatness and another failure.]

[Shane steps forward after shaking his head and clearing the cobwebs, understanding that the moment while shocking, is not as severe for him as it is the man sitting on the bench. He puts his hand on John’s shoulder, but John does not budge or flinch.]

Shane: I’m going to go load up the car – come out when you’re ready.

[He waits a moment before turning towards the door, hoping for a response. His mentor has no words. Upon reaching the door, Shane turns slowly, contemplating what he should or should not say.]

Shane: I’m proud of you.

[With this profound, yet simple statement Shane exits the room. Once the door shuts, John looks up, his icy blue eyes are exhausted and defeated, and takes a deep breath before rising to his feet.]

[He takes a couple of steps towards the locker in front of him – moving slowly, almost in a trance. As he reaches the locker, he slams his forearm against the door.]

John: [BLEEP!]

[He leans his head pressing hard against his forearm. For a moment only his breath can be heard.]

John: Wish someone would just put me out…

[Before he can finish the statement, the lights click off.]

John: What the?!

[Before he can finish the statement a loud thud is heard followed by a crash and another thud. A shaking and a hissing sound follow in the darkness then stop and start intermittently.]

[After a moment, the lights begin to flicker and come back on. John McDonough is lying lifeless on the floor – some blood leaking out from an unseen wound on his head. His body twitches slightly on the floor – convulsing. Above him on the locker where he rested his head at first, is the word “DEMON” written in black face paint with a smiley face next to it. The paint drips down the locker slowly, as if the drops of paint were tears for a fallen hero.]

[Fade out.]

[A small child’s hand cradles a police car and moves it along a carpeted floor – the child is making all the usual noises, which accompany such play, poorly imitated engines and tire screeching. The child’s dirty blonde hair sits parted to the side and he wears a bright blue New York Mets t-shirt with black shorts. He crawls along with the car as he moves it.]

[He stops a moment as something catches his ear – in the distance, there is the sound of two people yelling. A man and a woman, the child is somewhat frightened, but also unsure of what to make of it. He looks away from the door to his room, which is open.]

Child: Are they fighting again?

[He asks aloud – no one is visible, the child’s eyes are welling up with tears slowly, but surely. After a moment, he speaks again, his voice beginning to tremble.]

Child: Why do they fight?

[Suddenly, the police car, which was in his hand begins to move on its own. The child’s eyes begin to dry up as he is fascinated by its movement. He grabs another car begins to give chase.]

[We pan away and out of the room through the open door, where at the stairs we find a woman with auburn colored hair and a day dress on. She is familiar to our eyes – Maggie – the mother of Brandon, who has experienced and been tormented by strange occurrences in her home. She wears a face of anger and frustration as her cheeks are flush and a scowl crosses her face.]

[Her husband, Dan, comes into view now. He is wearing a suit and carries in his hand a suit case. His short hair is neatly cropped.]

Maggie: I know you’ve got a lot going on at work, but we need to deal with this!

[Dan shakes his head at his wife.]

Dan: There’s nothing to deal with, I’ve told you a thousand times, you’re just paranoid! You have a child and you want to protect him, but there’s nothing here!

[She runs her hand from her forehead on down across her entire face. She is exacerbated with her husband’s stubborn refusal to recognize what she is experiencing.]

Maggie: Dan, I know it’s difficult to understand and I know it sounds crazy, but you have to try to believe me! You have to try to help me figure out what we’re going to do… This is not good for our son!

[Despite her frustrations Maggie is pleading with her husband at this point. Grabbing his jacket with her hands and gently shaking him to emphasize the severity and sincerity of her point. Dan, however, remains steadfast and unshaken by her efforts. He reaches up and removes her hand from his suit, eyeing her carefully.]

Dan: Maggie, dear, explain this to me… Why haven’t I experienced anything like you are talking about? In all these years, why does it only happen to you?

Maggie: Brandon…

[Dan shakes his head as he is now becoming flush with frustration.]

Dan: Maggie, Brandon is a child – children have imaginary friends, they talk to themselves. Children do all sorts of wacky things – it’s not that.

[Maggie steps away from her husband shaking her head.]

Maggie: Whatever, Dan… Just go.

[Dan takes a step towards his wife…]

Maggie: Go!

[Maggie says this pointing towards the door. Dan shrugs his shoulders and walks out the door without a second glance. He slams the door behind himself. Maggie is attempting to console herself. After a moment of holding back the tears, she walks across the hallway and picks up her phone.]

Maggie: John, please be there…

[She says this with her voice trembling much like the child’s earlier.]

[Fade out.]

[A blue, wooded fence about eight feet high acts a barrier between the outside world and what lies within. Fortunately, for us there is a door to this fence, which lies in front of the cameraman, opened to unlock the mystery within. Although this fence door is tagged with warnings signs reading “Danger” and “Area Under Construction”, the warning goes unheeded.]

[Upon entrance, there is only an open lot with a pile of debris piled across a vast stretch of the lot. A mix of concrete and metal is twisted and entangled forming a mountain, where a building once stood.]

“Controlled demolition.”

[A voice speaks out, a familiar raspy tone, as the camera pans to reveal the IWF’s most maniacal athlete, the Minstrel. He stands there wearing a hard hat, his mask grinning at the chaotic scene before him and of course, he is dressed a fine white dress shirt along with black dress pants. His outfit is completed by a pair of black suspenders and black bowtie.]

Planned, prepared and executed flawlessly…

[He turns towards the camera.]

Much like Surge. Where I single-handedly changed the complexion of the IWF in a matter of mere minutes…

Where you witnessed me HANG Go-Go Spectacular and carry her around on my back like a school-boy carrying a backpack to school.

[He sways back and forth his thumbs holding out his suspenders with a sense of pride.]

I warned her in the weeks before that I would beat her within an inch of her life. That her second heart would start to fail like the first time. That she would see little Frankie reaching out for her, trying to reach into her chest and snatch back what is rightfully his!

[He reaches out making a grasping gesture.]

And I delivered with a little help from my friends. Oh, I get by with a little help from my friends. Eh, Paz?

[He delivers this line deliberately and slowly with a menacing depth. There is no sing-songy nature to his delivery as one might expect.]

And of course, I delivered a big thank you to her. I couldn’t have been more impressed with her though than I was later in the night – she may have actually killed the Allen girl…

And she calls me a monster.

[He laughs at this statement.]

At least, Paz, I am attacking people that are actually on the roster, putting people in dangers that are actually on the roster. Not mere spectators.

[He pauses.]

Not yet anyway, but maybe, just maybe, kiddies!

[A laugh follows maniacal, as ever, and chilling with the reality that this man could actually follow through based upon his short, but destructive path.]

And then later in the night, the little attorney, who stuck her nose where did it belong. Gone in a matter of mere seconds and all I had to do was just do the same as she did to me.

Stick my nose where it didn’t belong. Unfortunately for Miss Mayweather, who will be missing in action from now on, it’s a hobby of mine and I’m quite good at it.

Maybe she can put that law degree to use and find herself a loophole – I’d love to see her loophole. Whoop!

[He laughs uncontrollably at this rather terrible innuendo, keeling over, before mock wiping away the tears from her eyes. Just as quickly as he was convulsing with laughing, he returns to his upright and controlled position.]

Or maybe not and she’s just another body laid out in the wake of destruction.

[The Minstrel’s hand slings out put on display the rubble to his left.]

And at Chain Reaction Nine, where even I do not know where I will pop up, there will be nothing controlled about what occurs. No, carefully orchestrated plan.

I prefer it that way. My mother always told me I was card. A wild card.

[He turns towards the pile of rubble again and takes a deep breath.]

See, while this is all lovely, wouldn’t some of those large pieces of concrete look better having crushed some cars or colliding with other buildings. That’s how I would’ve done it.

And that is how this will be done at Chain Reaction Nine – there is no control. Just pure, unadulterated, anonymous chaos.

And when you put a force of nature like myself into that scene.

[He points to himself.]

It is no laughing matter.

[Fade out.]


League Member
Apr 12, 2012
Re: A Pile of Rubble

[Everything is fuzzy. We hear a loud grunt and the fuzziness shakes. The screen finally begins to clear out and we hear another grunt and the picture seems to shake. The picture seems to be clear as we see a high quality, metallic-red piece of metal. Once again we hear a loud grunt, a small clumping sound, and then the metal shakes up and down. The camera pans back and we see that the piece of red metal was actually the side panel of a Dodge Ram, 3/4-ton truck. As the camera moves to the left we hear the grunt again as we see a large amount of tied-up tobacco plants come flying into the back of the truck. Then we see the tobacco land on top of other tobacco plants, which accounts for the small clumping sound we heard.]

[The camera continues to move to the left and we see the source of the grunts and flying tobacco plants. The man is new IWF wrestler, Jake Evans. Evans stands roughly 6'4" and has very short brown hair, which is receding badly and very thin on the front above the forehead. He has a thin brown beard and blue eyes. He is very strong, but not terribly muscular. His strength has a more "farm boy" look to it. His arms are stocky, but very firm and strong. He is wearing blue jeans and work boots, but isn't wearing a shirt. He has a moderately hairy chest and arms. He has a few minor scars that are visible (a half inch scar over his left eye, 3 inch scar on his right shoulder just above the bicep, and a 2 inch scar on his left side right in the middle of his ribcage). We watch him heave another tobacco plant into the back of the truck and he finally notices the camera. He is breathing sort of heavy, but not wheezing as much as one might expect.]

"It's been awhile since I've seen someone with one of them."

[Evans takes out a small cloth from his jeans pocket and wipes his forehead with it.]

"Well I reckon I should give ya'll a taste of what I'm about."

[Evans walks to the cab of his truck and opens the door. The bell begins ringing, letting us know his keys are still in the ignition. Evans grabs a bottle of water and takes a big gulp. He takes another swig and then wipes his forehead off again. Finally he shuts the door of the truck and turns back toward the camera; the bottle of water in one hand and the cloth in the other.]

"Well here goes......I'm Jake Evans. I'm a wrassler...."

[Evans pauses for a second, as if thinking what exactly he wants to say. Finally he shrugs and slightly shakes his head.]

"That about sums it up."

[Evans turns to walk away and we hear the camera guy actually speak.]

"Uh....Mr. Evans.....sir. You HAVE to say more than that sir. You can't just leave it at that."

[Evans stops in his tracks. He takes a swig of water and turns back around very slowly with a sinister grin on his face.]

"Boy, I can do just about whatever the Hell I wanna do. I'm not some spring chicken that just came through the ranks. I've been round the block a few times and proven myself time and time again. I don't have to stand out here when there's work to be done and yap about who I am and what I can do. I leave the yappin' to those young bucks who get by simply with their mouth. So take your camera and get the Hell off my land before I get upset."

[Evans once again begins to walk away. He sets the bottle of water on the top of the truck hood and stuffs the cloth back into his jeans pocket. He walks back to where he was working and begins to reach down for more tobacco plants. The Camera Guy again opens his mouth.]

"But.....Mr. Evans......I need to talk about Chain Reaction Nine, the mystery card and your debut in IWF...

[Jake is obviously annoyed, dropping the plants and turning to face the youngster.]

"You got some balls on ya kiddo, stickin' round here after I told ya to leave."

[He taks his gloves off, the callouses on his hands visible from several feet away, signs of hard labor and years of using his fists to earn a living.]

"Truth be told, that is a bigger set of balls than some of the guys in IWF have ever shown."

[Jake makes a hand gesture showing something small and we hear his graveled voice chuckle yet again. The man operating the camera presses for more.]

"So you aren't concerned with the roster as you come into the league?"

[Jake chuckles before answering.]

"Why? They do somethin' special?

[Jake's face has a matter of fact look on it.]

"Last I knew, I had been around along time and most of those young 'uns like to bull straight ahead. I'm a lil' smarter than that. I take my time, see the lay of the land and then pick my spots. I've always been that way and left a path of pain in my wake."

[Jake takes a breath, seemingly resigned to not share much in this exchange.]

"I supposed IWF won't be no diff'rent."

[Jake laughs out loud before moving forward.]

"Times really have changed, ain't they? Used to be they told ya who yer match was against and you prepared. Now they throw ya out there and its sink or swim."

[Jake shakes his head.]

"I hope yer listenin' kid, because I'm about to drop a little knowledge to ya."

[A pause for effect.]

"I'm gonna be at Chain Reaction Nine. I'm gonna show exactly why they reached out to bring me in here. They want me because I give this place more credibility. It sure as hell ain't because I'm pretty. It ain't because I'm the greatest technician ever to grace God's squared circle.

"It is for one simple fact.

"I hurt people."

[Jakes wrenches his hands in front of him as if grasping onto something and breaking it.]

"I get them inside that hurt locker and beat them to within an inch of their life and don't give a good ******* about anythin' else. I don't let go, I don't quit and I don't care.

"Ligaments rip? Don't care.

"Bones break? **** you.

"You cry for the referee to save yer sorry little ass? That's me laughing as I hear it."

[Jake's confidence is obvious.]

"I used to have a sayin' when I stepped in the ring. I used to talk about how people would learn to fear Jake Evans to a terrible degree. That the very fear of what I could and probably would be doing in that squared circle would keep people up at night.

Come Chain Reaction Nine, one lucky wrassler will be the first example of what I can do. Then the entire IWF will see why they will ALL...."

[The camera zooms in to just Jake's face. He has a serious, cold stare.]

"...feel the fear."

[The screen goes black.]


Mar 11, 2012
For love and lucha libre

"You want to honor la lucha libre? Have it matter."

Thus spoke an incensed Spooky Doom as he answered Leyenda de Ocho's challenge. Did something disagree with him as he had breakfast? For as he appeared inside IWF studios, the Deadkid brought a special intensity for the camera, the green trim around his eyes amplifying the frustration within his voice. Not anger, just the ferociousness of someone speaking out on a subject which he dearly adores.

"For those of you who couldn't recognize the mask or the flashy outfit, the name's Spooky Doom. I'm a luchador and an extremely specialized Grim Reaper working strictly in the field of professional wrestling and professional wrestling accessories. Now one thing people tend to forget about me is that I used to be quite the big deal, a legitimate world champion caliber fighter earning heavyweight titles in more than one wrestling federation."

"And I owe it all to lucha libre."

"What's flippy shit to some is a way of life for me. I call myself the hardest hitting force in the world because every time that I fly, I discover a new way to add additional momentum to my moves. In the quest towards finding greater impact, I'll do whatever it takes to turn the arena floor into a smoldering crater, because what's a suicida divebomb to an undead tomb destroyer? It's like, "I'm the Juggernaut, bitch", except with flying powers OF DOOM. Now de Ocho, I'm glad that you respect the most beautiful of the wrestling arts... But if you want to honor it, I say make lucha libre something to be feared. Become a champion. At the very least, become a force to be reckoned with."

Eyes narrow within the trimmed confines of his mask.

"Here's the deal: respect we've already got. Well, somewhat. We certainly don't suffer from lack of talent or enthusiasm: Go-Go Spectacular wished to bring a renaissance to the lucha arts and I've seen a few luchadors out of the InterGalactic Championship league... but notice we don't win the big ones. There's like this credibility problem going on around here, which I can only solve by hitting people harder than ever before. It's all a crying shame, because I don't see anyone still participating in the ULTRATITLE as being better than I."

"So never mind the star ratings. You wanna challenge the Doomster, don't step up until you're ready to destroy everyone else in the name of your love. Because that's what I would do for la lucha. That's what it means to be the hardest hitting force in the world."

Then there was silence, momentary as it was. Spooky Doom never took his eyes off the camera. Despondent over the current state of lucha libre, Spooky let it all out for this video.

"Now here comes the embarrassing part of the promo. I checked my files at the Underworld Registry and apparently... nobody wants your soul in Hell, de Ocho. Guess that's the mark of a good life filled with good deeds but bear in mind I'm an undead Grim Reaper thingy and sending my opponents down to the deepest bowels of Hell is pretty much all that I ever do. I guess what I'm trying to say is, don't expect any mercy just cuz you're not my usual target for a fight. I will claim your soul, regardless of who you are or what you do in life."

"Just don't ever let that stop you from being a devil in the ring. Give 'em Hell, kid."

Fade to black.


Main Event Caliber
Apr 16, 2012
St. Louis, MO
Re: For love and lucha libre

(Back in Leyenda de Ocho's Rogers Park apartment. The camera approaches from behind as Ocho sits on his overstuffed couch, controller in hand. Def Jam Vendetta, a high-quality yet moderately obscure hip hop wrestling video game, plays on the screen. Ocho is controlling Proof, the game's small and fast character.

After Proof gains victory over Disc Jockey Spider, a slow and uncharismatic character, the game is paused and the camera quickly pans in front of Ocho. He is wearing a pitch-black luchador mask with a pastel pink bandana covered in black "8"s covering his face from the nose down.)

Ocho: "Spooky Doom wants to know what the hell Leyenda de Ocho means?

...OK. Drop the beat."

(Quick cut to Ocho on the roof of a northside-Chicago highrise at night, wearing the same mask and bandana. The bright lights of the buildings act as perfect reflections of the stars in the dark sky. Spontaneous Devotion by Random plays in the background as Leyenda de Ocho, for the first time on camera, raps.

You heard me.)


"Watch out, the 8-Bit Legend's on the mic,
Ready to go, ready to flow, I'm gonna strike

I bring 8 bits of pain like it's my job
Pac Man did his work, took out the blob

And it's wakka-wakka-wakka on these fools all day
Put two coins over your eyes and press Play

You're sayin' you don't get me? I understand, for serious
If I was a Grim Reaper thingy I'd be delirious

So mysterious,
You're lookin' at de Ocho and all of his inexperience

The problem is, you don't really know the Man Of Eight
He's no lightweight, you best not underestimate

I'm the eighth element, breathe me in all day
Got that Roc's Feather, jumps so high, the bird of prey

Brother, 8 days a week I be goin'
Give me 8 frames, I'll still beat your ass at Wii Bowling

You think you got me scared? Find another dude to haunt
I'll dump 8 gallons of holy water on you like Simon Belmont

So watch out
'cause 8 bit down,
8 bit hard,
8 bit til you bleed
Spooks, it's time to feed the Luchador Kirby.
I'll make sure all of y'all heard of me.


(Ocho walks away from the camera as it fades to black.)

The Minstrel

League Member
Mar 6, 2012

[Natural light has crept in through various rooms and doors to create a dark blue hue in a dark hallway. The room is just barely lit enough to make out the white door at the end of the hallway. Shuffling can be heard from a room adjacent to the hallway and light shines out from underneath the doorway.]

A mother’s intuition always knows…

[A static, but deep whisper emerges unannounced and out of view.]

[The door creaks slowly open and emerging is Maggie – her auburn hair pulled back into a ponytail. She has on a tank-top and pajama bottoms. She peeps her head out into the hallway cautiously then tiptoes out of the room, slowly pulling the door behind her, but failing to close it.]

When trouble is abound…

[The whisper speaks again, slowly, even through the underlying static. Maggie seems unfazed by it, as though she is deaf to its words.]

[The light from her room lightens up the familiar-looking hallway as she walks down the hall, stepping carefully, but unable to fully avoid the creakiness of the wood floors beneath her feet. A few feet from the stairs she stops at a door. She leans in onto the door, pressing her ear against to see if she can hear a sound.]

Do not make a sound….

[She takes a breath and shakes her head either frustrated with the lack of sound or with herself. Maggie reaches for the doorknob and twists it slowly while applying just enough force for the door to crack open the door. Behind her, the door she came out of is moving slightly although it does not make a sound.]

Do not whisper a word…

[As the door opens she slivers through the slight opening, not wanting the door to creak. She steps onto the carpet and lets out a breath of relief as she no longer has to be concerned with the wooden floors. Maggie, however, does not change her pace despite the comfort of the carpet beneath her feet. She makes her way delicately towards the occupied bed.]

You do not want to wake the monster…

[As she reaches her sleeping child, Brandon, she stares enjoying the moment and his peacefulness. The little boys face is pressed against his pillow and facing her, but he is off in another world – a dream world. Her hand rubs his hair over so softly and makes its way to his face.]

[She let’s out a breath of relief…]


[The voice states bluntly.]


[Suddenly, as though something grabbed her legs, Maggie falls face-first to the floor, screaming. She is being pulled out of the room with her hands digging into the carpet, attempting to fight the unseen force pulling her.]

I’ll be you…


[Sheer horror is on her face as she grasps a desperate hold of the molding on the doorway. Maggie makes some progress as she is able to pull herself slightly forward only to see the door close violently on her face and hands. A sickening thud and cracking sound is audible. Darkness envelopes her.]


[Another scream and we are in a different room – Maggie sitting up in a cold sweat. Her bed is messed as though she’s been struggling in her sleep. Her eyes are wide and breathing is heavy as she attempts to recover. After a moment, she flips on the light to her right and steps carefully out of the bed.]

[She walks towards the door and creaks it open ever so slightly…]

“I need to check on him.”

[She says to herself as she steps gingerly out into the hallway.]

[Fade out.]

[John McDonough, with his light brown hair neatly pushed back on his head, sits in a white room with tile floors and a window, which is barred inside and out. He peers out the window with his icy blue eyes, as the rain is falling lightly against the window.]

[John is dressed in a white t-shirt and a pair of jeans. He appears distant and his mind is elsewhere, although given the surroundings, it is understandable how such distance would occur.]

[He is startled by a buzzing sound behind, which causes him to turn in his chair to see a familiar, yet much different face greet him with just a nod of the head. Maggie enters the room dressed in light blue scrubs, her eyes somewhat sunken into her head and the life drained from her face. Behind, a large man dressed in white enters the room, as well, taking a step to the right after hearing the door close behind them.]

[John rises from his seat with a smile on his face, as Maggie approaches she manages a small grin. The two hug for a moment while the large man looks on cautiously.]

“How you holding up Mags?”

[Maggie taps John between his shoulderblades.]

Maggie: “I am getting there.”

[John takes his sister by the shoulders and holds her away from him, she smiles for the first time. The two of them take their seats at the table.]

John: “Any further word from the doc?”

[Maggie nods her head, a little more comfortable and lively then before.]

Maggie: “He said that I’m up for review next month and if all goes well, I could be released.”

[John nods and smiles widely with satisfaction.]

John: “That’s great, sis.”

[Maggie nods her head in response although unenthusiastically. She tilts her head downward for a moment before peering up.]

Maggie: “How’s Brandon doing?”

John: “He’s great! Working at the gym, practicing and going to school – all you could want from him. He’s got the bug bad…”


[Maggie reaches her hand across the table and places it on John’s. The move was rather sudden and causes a slight rise from the orderly overseeing things, but seeing there’s no threat, he returns to his more relaxed position.]

Maggie: “I knew he would, he always looked up to you as a kid… John…”

[John averts his eyes for a minute, uncomfortably, and then returns. He knows what question comes next.]

John: “Yeah, Mags.”

Maggie: “Why doesn’t he come up here with you?”

[John gazing right into his sister’s eyes, responds promptly and with a well-rehearsed answer.]

John: “How many times are you going to ask me this, Mags? He loves you and he wants to see you, but this…”

[He eyes the room around him and puts arm out toward the orderly. His eyes return to his sister to say the one truth in his statement.]

John: “Is just too much for the kid…”

[Maggie nods understandingly – satisfied in believing the lie.]

Maggie: Okay. After all he’s been through with this, we’ve been through… I can understand that. I just hope this is it. That is all over with next month – the hospital, the house, Dan… A fresh start.

[John smiles at the ambition in his sister’s eyes even if it sounds much easier than it actually will be.]

John: “Absolutely. I have money left over from the sale and some saved up for you to make that fresh start – you can come work for me for as long as you want or need and… Things will get back to normal.”

[His sister shakes her head.]

Maggie: “Things were never normal. They will finally be normal.”

[John nods.]

John: “Yeah, it’ll be good. So what else is going on here?”

[Fade out as the conversation continues.]

[The view of a narrow stretch of the city bustling below is overtaken by the oceanic respite in the distance, where the sun hangs above and reflects in its wonderful color. Panning out the white gate on the balcony becomes visible, but it is not the focus, as much like the city below, it is pittance compared to the ocean view.]

[A sliding door is audible opening and then closing, panning around the evil enigma of the IWF, the Minstrel with his grinning mask is standing there with a cigar in one hand and a glass in the other. He is dressed a white dress shirt with a complimentary pink polka-dotted bowtie, black vest and dress pants.]

[He tips the glass towards the camera directing it turn around.]

Time to celebrate the victory and rebirth…

[He chuckles to himself off-screen.]

I sound like a damn preacher don’t I? Can I get an AMEN!?

[The sound of shifting furniture is audible and drowns the noise of the city below.]

Rebirth, I say, reborn with the power from above!

[There is a moment of silence, which followed this rather enthusiastic statement.]

Please, spare me.

Alright Mr. Cameraman, I think we are ready to roll – remember my friend, focus on the mask, or you’ll be knocked into a deeper coma than Courtney Allen.

[This menacing threat is made in an equally menacing tone. The camera pans slowly to the table beside the chair where the Minstrel sits, there his mask sits leaning against something not visible causing it to face the camera. Just in front of the mask is an ashtray and the Minstrel’s drink.]

[To the right of the drink table, we can see the Minstrel sprawled out on a chair, up to his bowtie. None of his face shows in the peripherals.]

See, my friends, I view this little federation as my own personal playground. I invite some kiddies to play, we have some fun and send them home to whichever whore they call their mother.

[There is the sound of clicking reminiscent to a lighter, the puffing sound that follows and the smoke filling the screen indicates the cigar has been lit. A moment later it is confirmed.]

I have left sufficient scars around the soul, neck and surrogate heart of Go Go Spectacular. I have thrown her into a concrete wall, ravaged the name of her savior, insulted her heritage and hung her publicly.

It was fun while it lasted, my dear, but I was already pushing the envelope. I don’t think I could get away with killing you and frankly, I just couldn’t foresee getting any enjoyment from tormenting your loved ones.

[After taking a few puffs, the Minstrel places the cigar in his hand and allows the ashes to fall off into the ashtray, which obscured the mask.]

Actually being able to understand the begging for mercy is part of the fun and my Spanish is only asi-asi. So they’re safe for now until my Rosetta Stone software kicks in.

[He chuckles as he takes the cigar in his hand back off-screen up to his lips, the smoke bellows a short moment later.]

And then we come to Mary Lynn Mayweather, who joined the party at the playground unexpectedly, an uninvited guest of my favorite, bestest friend Courtney Paz.

I did not even give her the displeasure of taking time – she was not chosen – I decide, who I play with.

Now she’s gone, a distant memory, off practicing bird law in North Dakota, I presume.

[He laughs and places his cigar down in the ashtray and afterwards, scoops up his drink from the table.]

So now it’s just myself and Paz in the playground… Imagine the possibilities…

[The sick undertone makes the innuendo more disturbing than comical.]

But come Chain Reaction, good ole’ Art and Paz will throw someone else into this mix, a new playmate. A new body to break and soul to torment. I get to begin all over again.

Whoever it is, they better pray I see them more like Mayweather and less like Go-Go because that was child’s play compared to what I can really do…

Better pray they’re more like a waste of time and less like a fun project… More like a career-ender and less like a Courtney Allen!

[He lets out a guttural, chilling laugh including movement from his body. As soon as it started though, it stops and there is sudden, cold silence.]

And for them… It will be no laughing matter.

[Fade out.]


The best handler ever since 2012: He is a gem
Jul 12, 2007
Re: Playground

(We find ourselves in the company of a young man with immaculate hair, not a single one out of place and indeed he wears a suit to . Certainly he is a man who spends a lot of time on his appearance. That man is one of IWF's newest signee's, son of LORD FARTHINGTON and exhiled from the family estate in his own right CECILWORTH FARTHINGTON. CECILWORTH stands in front of an IWF banner with mobile phone in hand)

C-WORTH: Yah, yah, no, you and the guys should totally swing by this little pad I set up in America. I mean this place... out of this world. You got to see it for yourself. The people here don't so much walk as waddle, it's HIlarious. Yeah, you and the Iggy Monster should yacht on over here. Tell the Igster he still owes me that bottle of port over the Dressage bet. Either that or I have a wonder with a certain Captain Spicyballs to take him out of the Polo tournament. Nah, I'm just joshing you. Spicyballs would never let a ****ing prole into the league. Don't tell him that though, I want that bottle of port, I don't want to have to send Barmy Barney after him...

(CECILWORTH slowly turns towards the camera, giving a little winning smile as he does so.)

C-WORTH: Sorry man, I'll totes call you back but I got this little wrestling hobby thing of mine to talk about. Yah, I know. It's zany! The guys back at the rugby club got a total kick out of seeing me on their poxy little show last week, Big Gideon called it amazeballs! Can't believe I've reached amazeball status so soon. I'm really slumming it these days, seriously dude, you have go to see this place to believe it. Got to go, they're looking Yah, talk to you soon.

(CECILWORTH casually shoves his extravagantly expense mobile phone that costs a lot of money (you probably couldn't afford it) back in the inside of his jacket pocket and turns his full attention the camera)

C-WORTH: Oh sorry! I didn't see you there with that little camera of yours. Is that seriously the best this company can afford? I mean if you're short of cash I know a guy who could totally hook you up. Yah, I'm really ingrained in the media industry. So many people are well jel of that. I was just on the phone to a member of the upper echelon of the upper class to arrange a little visit to this Satan's pit of despair. It's enough to make a man weep if it wasn't a reflection of the sad state of America today. I mean I could open this little wallet of mine and make everything better but as Ayn Rand once said... BOOTSTRAP *****ES!

So I suppose all being fair in the world I should spend just a little bit of time discussing this piddily little Chain Reaction 9 show, coming to you live from god knows where featuring a stacked card of god knows what. Seriously IWF, is that the best you can do? I mean if you have a serious dearth of talent, I also know a wrestling guy. He's like, totally a mover and shaker. You should see his office. It actually has a window. You know, unlike this dank and damp interview space. Still, I made to the decision to come here to America, I made the decision to feel like a little person, see what it feels like to be a prole for a while. Not a fan of it so far but as the great band D:REAM once sang as the great United Kingdom fell to the communist Labour Party and their union buddies... things can only get better.

Getting a little bit off base here. Let me tie this back up in a neat little package. My name is Cecilworth Farthington, I am the son of Lord Farthington one of the Prime Minster of Great Britain's closest advisors and allies and I'm ready to show you all what a man of my destinction can do. I don't know who IWF plan to toss at me at this little show of theirs, some buck toothed yokel they picked up on a truck while he was trying to sell corn on the road side would be my guess. It doesn't matter, as I showed at Surge, I have the best trainers that money could buy and some that money couldn't. They are the best of the best and they have me primed and ready to show the wrestling industry the facts of nature, the correct social order – no matter how much natural talent you filthy little prole upstarts may have it doesn't matter. A man of landed gentry like myself will always win. Wealth and immaculate breeding will outrank whatever crank addled womb any of you crawled out of.

If you doubt me, tune in your little CRT television that you worked the back shift at Walmart to buy to Chain Reaction 9 because it's time to show the IWF what a real thoroughbred looks like.

(CECILWORTH grabs his phone back out of his pocket and begins to dial away once more as the screen fades to black)


Mar 11, 2012
On FOOTDIVE spam, because why not?

How YOU thought that promo went: (awesome battle rap with video games)

How Spooky Doom saw your promo: "Oh shit it's skinny John Cena in a mask. Skinny Juan Cena."


The Deadkid knew he had to do something or fall to Leyenda de Ocho's special blend of Hustle, Loyalty and NES-pect. Would he rap back in response? Invite him to a game of UMvC and school him with repeated buckloops and endless FOOTDIVES?

Spooky Doom: "Hey, I can be old school too ya know. No really, check the old school team: Doom (duh), Strider and Sentinel. Nerf him all you want, I'll never leggo of the New York Knicks! Where your curly mustache at?"

Life's hard for a young Grim Reaper raised on lucha libre. One moment you're tasked with explaining the value of your wrestling style in front of the camera, the next you're asked to battle rap using your knowledge of old video games. An undead for the new millennium, Spooky Doom only got down with the gaming scene some time during its internet age. This is someone who as a youth had to see his uncle get squashed by a fat Hawaiian sumo wrestler and stuffed inside an inexplicably inescapable casket.

Spooky Doom: "Suck an egg, de Ocho. I'm coming to kick ass, take your soul, rock & roll."

Then came the journey to Mexico, the quest for the lost secrets of lucha libre and yadda yadda yadda. Needless to say, Spooky Doom never had much time to play the classics. Spooky Doom spent his youth avenging his undead uncle and learning how to pull off sweet huracanranas. They're so spooky good, you might even call 'em eeriecanranas.

Spooky Doom: "So what's the difference between a skinny white gamer kid and the would-be top luchador talent of the IWF? Better have a good answer for me, cuz otherwise I'll run right through you as soon as I step inside that ring at Chain Reaction numba 9."

As much as Spooky Doom sympathised with Leyenda de Ocho ideals, the worst thing that could happen to the 22 year old Grim Reaper thingy was to feel sorry for him. This was the cruel reality of having two luchadors in the IWF; Spooky had to excel at his stuff if he'd want to lead the company as its star player.

Spooky Doom: "See, when you challenge me you challenge my art as an aerial steamroller; so if you want my spot in the IWF, better bring something to the table that's better than button mashing and fancy rhymes."

Inwardly, Spooky Doom admired Leyenda De Ocho's guts. His commitment to wrestling, on the other hand...

Spooky Doom: "Currently, the power is mine. That of the strongest hitting force in the world. A notoriety I gained by pushing myself against the giants and figuring out how to give this 200 pound frame more impact than those gargantuan's punches. So excuse the irony in my unwillingness to roll over and die just yet; the Deadkid joined the IWF to redefine the luchador from a comedic prospect to a percussive one."

"So a 5 star match of the night? I certainly hope so, cuz I ain't aiming for nothing less than the Emerald City Championship. I want Seattle to see me as the rightful challenger to the throne. It's why I'm honored by your challenge, de Ocho, but I can't afford to be rapping at Death's door just yet. Those beats I'll deliver will have to be saved for battle. The flow must spice... up my match rather than be used for spoken word purpose."

"God this is getting forced."

"Oh, what's a FOOTDIVE other than a dropkick by a different name? Time for Spooks to bring his game on."

Fade to black.

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