DT: Layne Winters stepped into EPW and before the ink was dry on his contract he knocked off one of the heavyweights here, beating Olvir Arsvinnar. Last week Shawn Hart barely escaped and had to strip the turnbuckle to take this guy out. Now he’s facing one of the best EPW has to offer in Larry Tact.

DM: There’s no doubt Layne’s been running the gauntlet right from the get-go here. A win over Olvir is no small feat. He started things off with a bang too this week, attacking Tact right away in their verbal joust and going after Larry’s fanbase.

MN: Like Tact gives a crap about those losers. Winters damn near killed one of those wusses and Larry didn’t even bat a lash.

DM: Either way Winters got his attention. These two went jugular hunting all week. Expect this to be an intense one. Both guys want a win here.

DT: Let’s leave it to the ever-eloquent Tony Fatora to start things off.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hc2Gn...eature=related

CUE UP: “I Don’t Know Anything” by Mad Season blares over the PA as Winters’ video lights up the arena. The capacity crowd is booing and screaming obscenities as “New School” Layne Winters walks to the ring sporting a mocking grin. He holds up his hands and motions for more, which stirs the crowd’s collective temper further. Right behind him is Pamela Eurice. The tall manager has a look on her face like she’d be willing to take on the crowd. The censors would do well to blur her lips as she curses like a sailor, but their attention is too focused on her exposed and recently enhanced midriff. 

Sauntering down to the ring, Layne ignores the folks in the front row and makes his way to the steps. He directs Pamela to his corner, then gives her a pat on the ass. He stands right next to Tony Fatora, holding his nose up to the rafters and chest bulged.

TF: THEEEEEE CHALLLENGERRRR, hailing from Seattle, Washington… standing six feet, three inches tall and weighing just over two-hundred fifty pounds… HEEEE ISSSS…. NEWWWWWWW SCHOOOOOOOLL…. LAAYYYYYYYYYNNNEEEE WIIINNNNNNNNTTTERRRRRRRRRSSSSSS!!!!!!

MN: Layne looks on his game right now. It’s a shame he’s such an Anthology hater Dean. He’d make a fine addition to the most dominant collection of individuals in professional wrestling.

DM: I won’t argue with you on that Mike. He’s been very impressive since starting here in EPW. He may have bit off more than he can chew here against the formidable Larry Tact though.

DT: Who’s making his way to the stage now…

(The lights begin flickering WILDLY as the opening beats of "Pieces" by Hoobastank sound throughout the arena.)

"TURN AROUND AND PICK UP THE PIECES!"

(A BURST of black and gold pyro goes off as Larry Tact steps through the entrance, observing momentarily before heading down the ramp. He’s carrying his tag strap on his shoulder while listening to the fans hungrily jeer. Seeing a couple fans mouthing off along his way, he takes a moment to spit on his own hand before attempting to SLAP a couple fans across the face. Tact smirks, then proceeds to the ring steps and ascends them. He enters the ring and climbs a turnbuckle, pointing to himself and opening his arms to receive their reaction. Coming back down to the canvas, he stretches using the ropes, and hands his new gold to the referee. Smirking as he turns around, he changes his expression, now focused on his opponent.)

TF: And his opponent… he’s six foot six and two-hundred sixty pounds… from Manhattan, New York… One half of the current EPW TAGGG TEAAMMM CHAMMMPIONNNSSSS…. A veteran member of ANNNTTHHHHOLOGYYYY…. LAARRRRRRRRRRYYY TAAAAAAAAACCCCTTTTT!!!!!

DM: Look at these guys Mike. They look like they’re ready to kill each other. There’s no question things got heated earlier in the week. I think we’re in for a real treat here.

MN: A real treat. Like the ice cream sundae your mother spoon-fed me while we were laying in bed last night, Dean.

DM: Alright, why don’t we get off mothers Mike. I just got off yours.

DT: Ha ha. That one never gets old. Well if you’re done ripping off lines from Good Will Hunting, I’ll take it from here. As the bell rings these two start this one off fast. Winters rushes Tact. He dodges a clothesline and lands a knee to Winters’ midsection. Right away Tact has the upper hand. 

He takes advantage with a lightning-fast hip toss which surprises Winters. On his back in a flash, Layne makes it to his feet just in time to catch several rights to the face which leave him with his back to the turnbuckle in Tact’s corner. Tact wastes no time with backhands to the chest of Winters, which leaves several red marks and the fans going wild…

WHOOOOO!!!

WHOOOOOO!!!!!

WHOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!

Grabbing Layne’s left arm, Larry whips Winters into the ropes and runs at him, catching him off-guard. Meeting his opponent near the ropes, Tact lands a running knee-lift that sends Winters through the ropes. The EPW newcomer gets a hand on a rope and ends up lying on the apron, saving himself from a fall to the mats below. Rolling back in, he takes some vicious stomps from the tag champion before Tact picks him up. Larry lifts Layne up once again and executes a picture-perfect swinging neckbreaker. As is his custom, Tact leaves himself in perfect position to apply the quick pin.

ONE…..

TWO…..

KICKOUT.

DM: Larry has firm control of this one so far. Maybe all those attacks on innocent bystanders this week tired Winters out.

MN: The guy’s an animal Dean. Just wait, he’ll be everything we’ve seen so far and more tonight.

DM: Yeah? He looks like a stuffed animal at the moment. A Care Bear, or maybe Tickle Me Elmo.

DT: All jokes aside, Tact is putting on a show here and Winters is successfully enduring it. Both men reach their feet at approximately the same time, but it’s the Anthology vet that has the momentum. He lands a few more right hands to the dome of Winters before setting up the Kickswing DDT. In the process, Winters surprises Tact with a knee to the stomach. Before Larry can react, he’s floored by a snap suplex. Winters pounced on the downed Tact with incredible speed and drops haymakers from the mounted position above his opponent.

MN: Look at that ferocity from Winters, Dean. This guy has been a real force so far.

DM: He’s once again shocking everyone with his talent. It’s impossible to come fully prepared for this guy. You just don’t know what he’s gonna do next.

DT: We’ve only seen him twice and he’s using that unfamiliarity better than anyone I’ve seen in a long time. 

MN: But Tact’s one of EPW’s very best. There’s no doubt Winters has his hands full.

DT: Some surprisingly sound commentary Mike. Meanwhile Winters just landed a belly-to-belly, a piledriver and just hit a flawless German suplex. Carrying his momentum over, he whips Tact, and bouncing off the opposite ropes, manages a Diving Crossbody into a pin. This could be it for Tact.

ONE…

TWO…

THRE….

Wow, that was CLOSE! Winters almost stunned Tact here. Both men are up fast as this is turning out to be everything we hoped for. Rights and lefts are exchanged by both men. Finally Tact gains the advantage from his technical expertise, gaining a clinch grapple and planting a jumping knee-lift in Winters’ midsection. He takes the split-second advantage and turns it into a crushing Spinebuster. The crowd sighs all-together at the vicious maneuver.

DM: Winters is reeling here. 

MN: Tact is pouring it on full-force now.

DT: And just as he’s pulled up, Winters is knocked down again. This time it’s a crushing Fireman’s Carry into a Stomach Buster. This could be all she wrote.

ONE….

TWO….

TH….

And a last-second kickout by Layne. It’s going to take a lot of grit from the reservoir to turn this one around and Pamela seems to sense it. She’s pacing in her corner and just grabbed the belt from the scorer’s table.

MN: Here we go. That woman is a firecracker.

DM: What’s she up to here?

DT: Pamela has the belt now and she’s up on the apron, within reach of Larry. Always the sound tactician, he has no choice but to confront Pamela. She swings Tact’s tag belt at his head and he catches it; meanwhile the referee is trying to intercede. She has a strong grip on the gold-plated trinket and within a second Tact is wrapped up by Winters. Pamela is off the apron after dropping the belt and the referee drops for the count.

ONE…

TWO…

THREE!

MN: Classic! It’s a shame Tact had to lose this one, but what a finish! Winters proves again he’s a force right out of the gate.

DM: Ohhhhh! Here we go!

DT: Tact has his belt, left right at his feet from the struggle, and wails Winters with it. He’s viciously beating Layne with the belt before tossing it aside and using his fists. He leaves his fallen opponent with one last kick to the ribs before leaving, fully satiated, his gold over his shoulder.

In the backstage area, a young man maybe in his late-20s is walking with a mic in hand. He addresses the camera as it follows him, trying to sound as professional as possible, and somewhat failing.)

"Fans, Arnold Timbs here, trying to get into the locker room of Anthology, so I can get a word with the members. It seems we've heard Copycat's thoughts of late, but not from the group as a whole. Maybe I can... oh, wait! Here it is..."

(He slows up in front of a door clearly marked "ANTHOLOGY" and makes as if trying to be super quiet... and failing again, given his lack of indoor voice.)

"Let's see if I can get inside..."

(He puts a hand on the doorknob and turns it. To his surprise, he finds it open, and slowly pushes it further. Suddenly, LARRY TACT swings the door open and pulls Timbs inside, the camera rushing in behind as Tact almost tosses Timbs into the glass table in the room, before poor Arnie grabs onto the arm of a couch, bracing his fall. Cameron Cruise pushes the door closed with his boot.)

TACT: "And here I thought it might be Layne Winters coming to greet us with some more big talk."

CRUISE: "No such luck."

(Panning around, the camera reveals all of Anthology gathered in the room. Jared Wells has a towel around his waist, apparently just out of the shower, while the rest are sporting "Anthology" t-shirts in addition to casual attire. Felicia Hart is admiring Shawn Hart admiring himself in front of a full-length mirror; Copycat is sitting in a recliner with headphones, and iPod on an arm; Cameron Cruise sits next to Copycat on a short bench, with his feet propped up on a stool, occasionally taking a swipe at the EPW Intercontinental title to rub out a smudge. Arnold Timbs looks up at Tact, holding the mic up, and speaking with uncalled for enthusiasm.)

AT: "Fans, it seems I'm in! Larry Tact.... Copycat... Shawn Hart... Jared Wells.... Cameron Cruise! Yes, it seems all of Anthology is present."

LT: "Yeah, and you're about to find out just how bad that is for you, if you don't tell us what the hell you're doing here. Who are you, anyway, some internet reporter?"

AT: "Why, I'm new EPW reporter, Arnold Timbs! I'm here to get a word from all of you, from Anthology..."

(Jared Wells places his arm around Arnold Timbs just wearing his white towel.)

JARED WELLS: "Young man, your mother knows who Jared Wells is." 

(All those present begin laughing. Tact claps him on the shoulder, too hard, and hoists him up to his feet.)

LT: "That's just swell, Arnie. Real swell. What exactly is it you want to know?"

AT: "Oh, well for starters, since you're all here in the arena, I think the fans deserve to know where Anthology was during the attack earlier, on Marcus Westcott? I say you could have overwhelmed him with your assembled numbers!"

(Tact laughs.)

LT: "Marcus Westcott? You come here, are granted access to our locker room... and you're asking about the token Canadian?"

AT: "I think Marcus Westcott is anything but--"

LT: "Of course, you want to make a big deal out of this, Arnie. Marcus is hot **** to you, to all those pot-bellied, beer swilling toads in the seats. But YOU wouldn't stand a chance against Westcott... maybe, even, like most of the roster. But that's where the line is drawn between all of YOU..."

JARED WELLS: "I have no clue on who this Westcott guy is. Seriously. Did daddy miss something?"

(Tact motions around the room with an arm.)

"And all of US. As for our whereabouts, just look where we're standing. We were arriving at the arena, getting ourselves prepared for respective matches, and finding out whether or not Troy was actually going to give us free reign to do what we do each and every week: run roughshod over EPW."

AT: I see. Speaking of Layne Winters-- "New School," as he is called-- what do you think about his actions of the past week? Going around and attacking those we believe were your own fans, and especially....his win over Larry Tact tonight! Any comment?"

(Tact smirks, and nods, keeping his hand on Timbs' shoulder.)

LT: "You know, Arnie.... I'll do you one better. Since you brought this camera, this mic, and did all the work of coming to us... I'm going to SHOW you just what I think of Layne Winters actions. Let's call it.... my impersonation of Layne, shall we?"

AT: "Oh, well, sure! What does that--"

(Before he can finish his sentence, Tact takes Timbs by the shoulders and whirls him around, sending him flying into the wall! The mic hits the ground with a *THUD* as Timbs yells out momentarily and goes crashing down. Tact snatches the mic up and gets in the face of the cameraman, dragging him around and sending the camera shaking briefly. When it is still again, the focus is on all of Anthology, sitting or standing around on one side of the room, and Tact standing front and center with the mic.)

LT: "Now, you stand there, and keep your mouth shut! Anthology is about to give everyone a little update on what you all SHOULD be paying attention to around here."

(He cracks open a bottle of Lurisia water and takes a sip.)

"I shouldn't have to tell anyone that, to this point, it's been an absolute joke to see the few feeble attempts of those who have stood in the way of Anthology. It's been about as much of a joke as what Arnie Timbs here just tried to do, and that's catch Anthology at a moment of ease. It just doesn't happen."

"We're always on, always ready to fire off another stellar performance. So far, the opposition goes to the back with nothing to show for their efforrts against us, except black and blue spots all over, and their pride dragging limp between their legs, shriveled and ineffective. Meanwhile, Anthology continues to swell and produce."

(He reaches off camera and grabs his half of the EPW Tag Team Championship, holding it in front of him.)

"EPW Tag Team Championship. EPW Intercontinental Championship. Just symbols of our progress thus far. Then again, what with the likes of Sean Stevens and The First running around, you could beat them in the 7 game series and they STILL wouldn't acknowledge you were the better man, or team. But if you wave something shiny in front of them, they're all over it."

(He slings the belt over a shoulder.)

"Stevens and First aren't the exception, either. That's just the sad state of wrestling, these days. It's a sign of the times; people don't respect effort and ethic. Not too long ago, though, it wasn't so cut-and-dry. Talent wasn't so simply recognized. Title holders weren't the end-all-be-all of who could be called dominant in the ranks. People cared more about their matches."

"Oviously, titles are held by the cream of the crop. Anthology already holds half the gold in EPW, so that's clear. But some guys I saw over time... people like Golem, Minion, King Krusher, Nemesis... they didn't need just titles to motivate them. They didn't just show up during title matches, or act complacent or arrogant once they won them. They would go out there and give you all they had, putting each and every opponent to the test of THEIR will... THEIR standard of excellence. And more times than not, those who stepped up to face them, they FAILED to meet the standard. Even myself included, here or there."

"I can understand making a mistake against that caliber, and paying for it. But I've learned from it, and anyone in EPW is welcome to challenge. Even a guy like Layne Winters, who couldn't understand the concept of giving an honest shot to someone who was clearly inferior to me."

"To his credit, maybe Layne was onto something. Maybe I have been affected by the changes to the state of wrestling. Maybe I've been too relaxed, and not making it obvious where I should be, at the top, and alongside Anthology. Maybe... but probably not. Just in case, though, I'm more than capable of showing Troy, and the rest of EPW, just why Larry Tact is synonymous with, "elite."

"And that fire isn't lacking in any of us, here. It doesn't matter if we're in a title match, or not. It doesn't matter if we're holding a title, or not. We're going to put you in your place, regardless, because we are the quality standard of EPW. And tonight, that goes for 'Triple X,' The First, Anarky, and Layne Winters. But really, no one in EPW should count themselves exceptions to Anthology's Quality Check. Winters can have his little rollup win on a meaningless TV show. Last I checked, he was laid out cold in the middle of the ring. So you tell me who won."

(Tact takes another drink of his Lurisia as Arnold Timbs comes back onto the screen, holding his head. Tact walks over to the wall and props a leg on it, leaning back, and hands off the mic to Copycat.)[/i]

(Jared Wells standing still in his white towel, holds one half of the EPW tag team title over his shoulder, and a glass of Captain and Coke in the other.)

JARED WELLS: If your not in this elite fraternity we call Anthology then your just another victim of the EPW. Crash and burn, then run away just like everybody else. You see, this morning while daddy was rearranging his sock drawer the name Layne Winters, The First, Anarky, Sean Stevens popped into my head. They are all what daddy calls a failure, but more than that, an epic failure. Gather up little children, daddy is speaking. I compare the entire EPW like a female thinking there is nothing wrong with a simple Coca Cola. Until daddy puts a roofie in it, losing consciousness, you all will be raped." 

(As Timbs dusts himself off, Copycat takes out his earbuds and slowly stands up. He walks over to a nervous Timbs and claps him on the back – not hard enough to hurt him, but certainly enough to startle him. He puts his arm around Timbs’ shoulder, making him even more unnerved)

Copycat: Y’see, Arnie, we allowed you into the Anthology locker room for a reason. Take a look around you.

(After a second of hesitation, thinking this could be a trick, Timbs quickly glances around the room)

Copycat: Now, what you saw in that twitchy, terrified glimpse was five men who, by all rights, shouldn’t be in the same locker room. I’m sure you did your homework before starting this job, so you know all about Larry Tact, Shawn Hart, Cameron Cruise, Jared Wells and myself. And you know that while we are all formidable competitors in the ring, we’ve all shown moments of weakness. And sometimes, in this business, there’s no greater weakness than a rampant ego.

(Copycat motions to the people around him)

Copycat: We’re all men with egos, Arnie. And all other things being equal, you’d never be able to fit all five of our egos in a room this size. Shoot, you’d be lucky to have enough room for just two of us. And yet, here we all are. Now, aside from your willingness to fumble into rooms full of people who might harm you, you seem a pretty bright kid. So tell me, why do YOU think the five members of the Anthology are able to coexist, given our egos?

Timbs: Um … uh … I … don’t know?

(Copycat makes a “tsk tsk tsk” sound)

Copycat: Come on, Arnie, I expected better of you. The reason the five of us are able to share one locker room without any fights to the death over who gets stuck with the locker that smells like feet is because when official Anthology business is being conducted, against all our natural instincts, we check our egos at the door. Not because we somehow believe that it’s bad to take a little pride in one’s work, but because the problems facing the wrestling industry are too great for us to waste our time arguing amongst ourselves about who’s the best. We all realize the importance of our role in restoring the luster that has faded from this business, and we are willing to go to lengths we might once have avoided for the sake of that goal.

(Copycat leans in close and glares at Timbs, frightening the poor guy even more)

Copycat: That’s what Anarky, Layne Winters, the First and Sean Stevens are all going to learn tonight, if they haven’t already. They can try to deride the mission of the Anthology, they can accuse us of blindly following Cameron Cruise, they can tell us we’re trying to solve a problem that doesn’t exist. But those words won’t get to us. We are too invested in the critically important work we have to do to let them get in our way. At the end of the night, the Anthology will stand tall, just as we will do night after night after night until the sickness that has infected this business has been eradicated.

(Copycat lets a shaking Timbs go and sits back down in his recliner, in the process passing the mic off to Cameron Cruise.) 

CRUISE: Now...normally, people might get the idea by now that what my friends here have tried to explain the first time out, but let's face it: we're not exactly living in normal times. You people seem to have the idea that I'm the so-called "leader" of this group, even though we never took a single vote.

This isn't a dictatorship people, this is a DEMOCRACY, all of us are in this for the same thing:

Change.

And we're going to do so by any means necessary, why?? Because it's a REALITY CHECK that those who don't believe us just...won't like.

(Cruise tosses the mic back at Timbs who still shakes but with Tact's hand on his shoulder slowly backs up toward the door, taking one last look at each member of Anthology before going back the same way he came in. Trembling, he starts to stammer abit as to try to sign off back to ringside before Felicia turns toward him and waves. Not seeing Shawn Hart slip out while Cruise spoke, Hart slips right in behind Timbs and after two minutes of silence goes by Hart lets out a bark so loud and sudden that it causes Timbs to spin around right into a cherry-pie planted right in his face. Stepping away from Hart, Timbs loses his footing and slips banana-peel style right on his backside. Yelping in pain, all the members of Anthology bursts out laughing as Hart walks back in and leaves Timbs out in the hallway by himself.

AT: Owww....I think I just went poo-poo in my Underroos....

CUT TO: Broadcast booth.

DT: Hold the phone one minute guys... I'm getting word from the back that ROCKO DAYMON is on a rampage in search of Stalker and Fusenshoff!

MN: HA, that's great!

DM: Let's go back there now with a camera...

[Cut to backstage as a camera comes dashing around the corner, spotting Rocko Daymon just in time for him to shake off another official trying to hold him back.]

Official: Mr. Daymon, if you'll just return to the infirmary --

Daymon: WHERE IS THAT PIECE OF ****!?

[Daymon is still holding his head in slight pain, but it seems to have no effect on his current state of rage. The camera quickly steps to the side as he storms down the hallway, going straight for the door to the secondary locker room. A solid kick sends it swinging open.]

Daymon: STALKER!! Fight me, you ****ING COWARD!!

[To his dismay, the locker room is empty... save for a short young man with a stupid grin in a suit so tacky and cheap, you'd think he pulled it out of a dumpster.]

Young Man: Ah, Mr. Daymon, is it? I'm afraid Mr. Reeves is gone for the evening.

[At once, a pair of hands fall upon his collar, and he's yanked off his feet and slammed against the row of lockers, knocking the smirk right off his face. Daymon leans within inches of his face.]

Daymon: WHERE IS HE?!

Young Man: Uh-uhh... Mr. Daymon... he's GONE! Now, could you please unhand me? I wouldn't want to set you under any more legal hot water than you already are...

[Daymon releases him and backs off. The young man readjusts his suit, although it was wrinkled long before Rocko laid a hand on him.]

Daymon: Who are you? And what do you mean by "legal hot water?"

[The smirk again forms on the stranger's face.]

Young Man: Oh... I'm a professional wrestling legal consultant and Mr. Reeves' attorney... Danny Anderson! And I have THIS... for you.

[Upon saying the accentuated word, Danny Anderson, likely related to Terry "The Idol" Anderson, pulls out an envelope. Daymon retrieves it, rips it open, and begins reading the letter within.]

Daymon: What is this...?

Anderson: It's a legal notice. You see, because my client was closely affected by Sean Stevens' attack directed on YOU last year -- something that he claims he was involved in only as an INNOCENT BYSTANDER -- he is afraid that you may redirect some of your aggression back on him. As a result, you're being served a legal notice of a RESTRAINING ORDER. Starting immediately, you are no longer allowed to come within 100 feet of Mr. Jason "Stalker" Reeves, or you'll be arrested on the spot.

[Daymon looks up from the paper in his hand into the smirking face of Danny Anderson, now quickly growing more angry than he was before.]

Anderson: You have a GREAT day now!

[Cheerfully beaming in a way not unlike his own slimeball uncle of a TEAM reporter, Danny Anderson leaves the locker room. Rocko, now FURIOUS, crumbles up the letter and throws it across the room. We cut back to the guys at commentary.]

DT: Wow... as if Stalker wasn't already under Rocko Daymon's skin! First he orchestrates that blatant attack earlier this evening, and now he sets a RESTRAINING ORDER against him!

MN: Beautiful, isn't? Stalker made Rocko Daymon look like a PUNK, and just to add insult to injury, he can't lay a finger on him! Hell, he can't even get close enough to LOOK at him!

DM: Stalker has definitely made a crucial move in the chess game he's playing with Rocko Daymon. He's set Fusenshoff on the former champion's scent with his freedom at stake, and now Daymon may have no choice but to meet the Television Champion head on!

DT: Speaking of the Television Title... Fusenshoff is set to defend the belt against "Phenomenal" Frankie Scott here in just a few moments!!