[CUT TO: BACKSTAGE near the door to EPW Owner Lindsay Troy’s office.
Kenny Lombardo is standing with a microphone. Troy comes out through the door and brushes by Lombardo, who tries to stop her.]
LOMBARDO: Ms. Troy!! I was wondering if I could have a minute!!
TROY: [not acknowledging or looking back at Lombardo at all.] No.
LOMBARDO: But I just…
TROY: Shut up, Lombardo.
[Troy keeps walking, now of earshot and turns a corner in the distance.]
LOMBARDO: Shut up?
[FADE OUT.]
[SLOW-PAN around the SOLD OUT arena; fans are jumping out of their seats to get on camera, throwing up signs and hand gestures. The camera cuts to a guy with a Flock of Seagulls haircut and purple lipstick/sparkly glitter on his lips, holding a sign that reads ‘I’VE GOT A HART-ON!’ Gross. TF [?] is already at center ring with a microphone]
TF: The following match is NOT scheduled for one fall, because it’s a FIVE WAY ELIMINATION MATCH…to determine the NUMMMMBER ONE COMPETITOR TO THE E-P-W INNNNNTERCONTINENTAL TITLE! INTRODUCING FIRST…!
[CUEUP: “Redeemer” by Marilyn Manson]
DT: Here we go!
[The lights go out as a few strobe lights circulate around the arena. The music continues as OMEGA slowly makes his way from the backstage area holding his valet ‘Barb’- a steel chair wrapped in barb-wire]
TF: …from SOMEWHERE in Missouri! He stands SIX FOOT EIGHT weighing in at…MY GOD!...TWO HUNDRED, NINETY FIVE POUNDS! Who is the craziest BASTARD in wrestling? HE…IS…OOOOOOOOOOOOMEEEEEEEEEEEEGAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!
[OMEGA cautiously looks around the place before making his way down the aisle. He slides under the bottom rope still holding ‘Barb’. As he goes to set her down in front of the turnbuckles, the referee protests]
DT: Referee Lou Helms wanting no part of any weapons tonight, instructing Omega to take Barb out of the ring.
MN: Awww, but she really LIKES it there, Lou!
DM: The thing about this five-way, is you’ve got a few guys with a reputation for taking things over the edge. With DQs being enforced, these guys have to be smart about what tactics they use.
MN: PLEASE let her stay Lou, PLEASE!
DT: Knock that off. Omega’s really giving the referee a problem over Barb; Helms is in the big man’s face, threatening DQ already!
[OMEGA finally relents, climbing out of the ring and leaning ‘Barb’ against the railing next to the announcer’s booth]
MN: Oh yeah, feel free to lay that right next to me, thanks. Always happy to sit next to murder-death-kill weapons, Omega!
[CUEUP: “Holy Mountain” by Sleep]
TF: NEXT! STEP RIIIIIIGHT UP! He hails from Indianapolis, Indiana…standing at HEIGHT UNKNOWN and weighing in at a trim TWO HUNDRED and SIXTEEN POUNDS! THAAAAAAA DOPESMOKER! ERRRRIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIK! BLAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAACK!
[ERIK BLACK runs out and stops at the top of the aisle, throwing up an arm to cheers from the thronging masses! He’s wearing loose fitting black pants and moccasins]
DT: Here comes a guy that gave the Television Champion a run for his money last week, and one who many consider a dark horse coming into this match!
DM: Never underestimate a guy who cares less about his body and well being than he does about yours.
[CUEUP: “My Way” by Butch Walker]
TF: NOW making his way to the ring! From KALAMAZOOOOOOOO, MICHIGAN!
[Smattering of BOOS as COPYCAT stops at the entrance to half-smile and look around the arena like “Who, me?”]
TF: Standing SIX FOOT FOUR…weighing in at HOLY HELL! TWO HUNDRED and EIGHTY POUNDS! REPRESENTING THE ANTHOLOGY! THE SMARTEST PLAYER IN THE GAME! COOOOOPPPPYYYYYYYYYYYY-CAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAATTTT!
DT: Talk about a guy whose come oh so close to the Television Title, on two occasions, one of them being a match of the year candidate with Layne Winters and a ladder at Russian Roulette.
DM: Don’t forget he’s coming off of an important, if indecisive victory over Anarky. It may have been a DQ, but it was important that Copycat get a victory under his belt here in EPW.
MN: All ‘Nark did was save himself from a beatdown…and if he asks, I did NOT just say that!
[CUEUP: “Brain Stew” by Green Day]
TF: Also representing THE ANTHOLOGY!
[CUTTO: The first few guitar riffs of "Brain Stew" by Green Day blare over the PA system. The lights dim and fireworks shoot over the entrance to the down the ramp, creating a wall of sparkly good stuff. Through the wall of white fire steps SEAN EDMUNDS, making his way to the ring]
TF: HAILING FROM BOSTON, MASSACHUSSETS! He stands SIX FEET, TWO HUNDRED, TWENTY EIGHT POUNDS! He is simply SENSATIONAL! HE IS! SEAN! EDMUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUNDS!
DM: Take a good look, because between him and Copycat, we might be looking at an Anthology victory here tonight. The two of them make an imposing duo.
DT: And I’m sure if it did come down to the two of them, they would have no problem putting their common allegiance aside to do battle one last time, as they have so many times in the past.
MN: Screw that, we can’t call them co-winners? Hart puts the belt up against both men; whoever beats him faster gets the belt?
DT: No, we’re not doing that.
MN: Yeah?
DT: No.
[Arena lights dim; camera flashes light up sporadically like stars with short life spans]
TF: [Solemnly] And finally…from Kamloops, British Columbia…
[CUEUP: “Wherever I May Roam” by Metallica]
[The opening Indian-scale guitar riff ends…T-T-T-T-T-T-BOOOOOOM!...fireworks mark the end of the drums, as the song kicks into high gear. Shortly after, FUSENSHOFF walks out methodically, staring ahead as he makes his way to the ring, focused as ever]
TF: He stands SIX THREE! Weighs in at TWO HUNDRED, SIXTY THREE POUNDS! FAYOOOOOOOOOOOOOOSENSHOOOOOOOOOOOOOFFFFFF!
[Mostly cheers from the crowd, but the segments that do like him ROAR with approval!]
DT: This right here is a man of consequence. He’ll jaw with you now and then, but when it comes to the ring…he’s all business and nothing but.
MN: He’s kind of like a mullet: business up front, party in the back. Well, he likes to drink anyway, so my sources tell me.
DT: Oh your sources, huh? And who might they be?
MN: I don’t reveal.
DT: How about half the damn promos he cuts where he’s in front of an empty whiskey bottle? Or the fact that his signature moves are named after drinks?
MN: You’ve been talking to my sources, haven’t you?
[SFX: Bell rings]
DT: Here we go, five way elimination match to determine the number one competitor to Shawn Hart’s Intercontinental title! Edmunds sneaks up behind Omega, and quickly pulls back...not wanting to engage. Both Edmunds and Erik Black are at a significant disadvantage in terms of size, with Fusenshoff being the next smallest at over 260 pounds. Smart money's on a bigger man taking this bout, but that's why we have the matches- anything can happen!
DM: Doesn't look like Edmunds wants to do much besides use Copycat as a human shield.
DT: Omega and Copycat break the ice and lock up...Omega seeming to have the slight power advantage, but look at this! Edmunds pushes Copycat to give him more force, and they've got Omega in the corner!
MN: Size matters...which is exactly why smart guys like Edmunds need really, really big friends.
DT: Copycat and Edmunds have some history of their own, as I'm sure- LOOK OUT! Erick Black just nailed Edmunds with a dropkick, and Edmunds goes right through the ropes to the outside! Omega reverses and puts Copycat in the corner...and right away hits him with a knee to the midsection. As I was saying, Copycat and Edmunds share a competitive history which includes many memorable matches in other organizations. If it comes down to the both of them, don't expect to see two allies hesitant to lock up. As Edmunds is looking for a way back into the ring that doesn't get his teeth kicked out by Black...
DM: Look at Fusenshoff- he can't be bothered! He's got a comfortable seat against the turnbuckle watching the rest of these guys labor on.
MN: Don't give him more credit than he deserves; my bet is he's drunk.
DT: Not so fast- Fusenshoff quickly rises from his seat and lands a VICIOUS ELBOW to the face of Erik Black...and dumps both Omega and Copycat RIGHT OUT OF THE RING!
[Crowd pops!]
DM: That's how you take care of business!
DT: He's gonna let the other three battle their way back into the ring while he works on Erik Black. And boy does he ever, dropping a hard knee across the face of the Indiana native. Meanwhile, Omega finds himself in trouble on the outside, his arms being held back by Copycat while Edmunds takes liberties.
MN: This probably ain’t the first time Copycat had someone from behind while Edmunds took full frontal liberties.
DT: Come on Neely, there are kids watching!
MN: What? With Cruise gone, Anthology needs a new pair of Dangle Brothers.
DT: Copycat with the Irish Whip, and OMEGA REVERSES HIM INTO THE STEEL STEPS! He turns to Edmunds, who is pleading!
[EDMUNDS puts up his hands like “Come on, we can talk about this!” before turning and RUNNING!]
DT: There he goes! Omega gives chase!
DM: I’ve never seen Edmunds run so fast…
DT: Sean Edmunds just DARTING around the ring- [CROWD: OOOOOOOH!] EDMUNDS JUST GOT CRACKED! Erik Black came straight out of nowhere with a baseball slide to the head of a running Edmunds! Let’s see that again!
[SPLIT-SCREEN REPLAY: BLACK comes off the ropes and cracks EDMUNDS in the head so hard, it makes a sound effect]
MN: Jeez…that was some shot to the cranium. Edmunds is lucky he doesn’t wake up half a retard.
DT: Omega and Black are talking now, like they’re coordinating or something. Black hops up the turnbuckle…meanwhile Copycat opts to go after Fusenshoff, whom Black laid out with a tornado DDT a moment ago. Omega with Edmunds by the neck…CHOKESLAM TO THE FLOOR! BLACK OFF THE TURNBUCKLE- FLYING LEG DROP!
DM: Omega’s been focused on Anthology; no attention paid to Black, and they’ve even been working together. Interesting strategy.
DT: Anthology’s presence in this match creates an interesting dynamic- Black and Omega might have decided to counterbalance the Copycat/Edmunds tandem to avoid them dictating the order of eliminations.
MN: That’s way…waaaay too in depth. I’d rather just call them a couple of [BLEEP]holes and be done with it.
DT: Super. Omega rolls Edmunds into the ring; Copycat KNOCKS the big man off the apron though with a knee to the body! Black grabs Copycat by the ankle, attempting to pull him under the ropes, but Cat gives him a heel to the jaw.
DM: Yeah, Black’s not pulling two hundred and eighty pounds like that.
DT: Copycat turns and is met with a right fist to the gut from Fusenshoff. Fuse picks him up- that’s a big haul! And he drops him in an atomic bomb. Cat stumbling…DDT! Will this be our first elimination?
ONE!
TWO!
And he gets the shoulder up!
[Audience starts to look toward the entrance way]
MN: Look who decided to crash the party…
DT: That’s STALKER pacing at the entrance! What the hell is HE doing here?
DM: Is it me, or does bad stuff usually happen when that guy shows up?
MN: How dare you judge him. Truth be told, I’ve gotten to know the ol’ boy on a personal level, and it turns out Jason Reeves is a gentile human being with real feelings and emotions.
DT: Edmunds slow to his feet, but Fusenshoff plasters him with an elbow that sends him into the corner. Turning his attention back to Copycat…
DM: YOU’VE gotten to know Jason Reeves personally?
MN: Yes, and it turns out he does more than just point the camera- he enjoys Monster Truck rallies, Spanish dance music, and Tae Kwon Do.
DM: Who THE HELL are you talking about?
MN: I’m talking about Jason Reeves the EPW camera guy!
DM: I’m talking about Jason Reeves EPW STALKER!
MN: Oh God, Stalker, yeah, total sick maniac. Stay away from that guy.
DT: Can we get back to the match, please? Fusenshoff proving more than capable of handling both Anthology members- for now. He takes Copycat down hard with a Russian leg sweep, and goes RIGHT to the corner to deliver a knee to the face of Edmunds.
DM: Stalker’s gesturing something to either Omega or Black, I can’t tell which. Not sure what his interest is in either man…
DT: Copycat with a BIG clothesline- DUCKED by Fusenshoff; he counters with a knee! Swinging neckbreaker! Now he runs over to the corner- FRONT DROPKICK TO THE FACE OF EDMUNDS! This crowd is fired up now!
MN: Buncha ingrates. Anthology losing is bad for business, especially if it’s to drunken riff-raff like Fusenshoff!
DT: Erik Black goes unnoticed as he climbs atop the turnbuckle. Hold on, here comes Omega…and he’s coming over here…?
MN: She’s all yours, sir! I didn’t touch her, didn’t even look at her- I swear!
[OMEGA gives Neely a look as he grabs ‘Barb’]
DT: Omega’s got that barb-wire wrapped chair now…
MN: That’s Barb to you…cretin.
DT: Wait a second, Black motions to Omega.
[OMEGA tosses the chair up to ERIK BLACK, who then leaps off the turnbuckle and dropkicks BARB into the face of FUSENSHOFF- followed by a SMACK sound effect and ARAHHHH from the crowd!]
DT: MY GOD! MY GOD! HE JUST INDENTED THAT BARB WIRE INTO FUSENSHOFF’S HEAD! FUSE IS OPENED UP, AND THE REF IS CALLING FOR THE BELL!
DM: And look at Stalker, he’s smiling! The man is SMILING.
DT: It’s official; Omega and Erik Black have been disqualified, and now they climb over the railing together. They must have been working as a team all along- and there’s Stalker, exiting with them.
DM: Something’s going on here between these two and Stalker, and it ain’t kosher.
MN: Just to clarify, we ARE talking about the sick maniac guy, aren’t we? Not the camera guy?
DM: THE STAL-KER! Damn you, Neely!
MN: Go to hell Matthews, if I gave my pink slip tomorrow this company wouldn’t last the weekend.
DT: Well it’s a whole new game, with Anthology in control. Edmunds has Fusenshoff’s arms tied up, and Copycat is going to town. He’s opening up Fuse even more with punches and elbows to the head. Edmunds lets him drop to his knees…
[COPYCAT places his foot on FUSENSHOFF’s head and pushes him down. EDMUNDS walks by and face washes him to a chorus of boos]
DM: Come on ref, are they trying to win or embarrass him?!
DT: The fans here telling Edmunds to sit and spin; Copycat drops a shin across Fusenshoff’s neck, choking him.
MN: If I were Fusenshoff, I’d just give up now. You’ve got Anthology kicking the crap out of you, you’re NOT gonna win, and they’re just going to rough you up more before putting you out of your misery. Just give up, save yourself the embarrassment.
DM: If Fusenshoff was Mike Neely, Fusenshoff would probably be a hundred and eighty pounds soaking wet and afraid of his dog’s shadow.
MN: I own two German-bred shepherds, big as your mother; take a walk, Matthews.
DT: Copycat lifts Fuse up by his hair…HE’S GOT HIM UP!...RELEASE GERMAN SUPLEX! WOW! He got height like a rollercoaster! Edmunds off the ropes with a quick rolling senton…hooks the leg!
ONE!
TWOOO!
NO! Fusenshoff got the shoulder up! He’s still in the game!
DM: Look at Edmunds! He’s got Fusenshoff’s blood on his hands, so he grimaces and wipes it on Copycat.
MN: I hope our drunken friend’s been using clean needles!
DT: Copycat sends Fusenshoff off the ropes...SIDEWALK SLAM!
ONE!
TWO!
THR-NO! CLOSE!
MN: He’s on his last legs, count on it!
DT: Edmunds from the top rope! FLYING ELBOW! Could THIS be it?!
ONE!
TWOOO!!
THREE! NO! NO HE DIDN’T GET HIM!
MN: Damn it, don’t say three if it ain’t three! I have a heart condition, you know.
DT: The two Anthology veterans, former champions in their own right, now conferring. Copycat gets underneath a woozy Fusenshoff and hoists him on his shoulders. Edmunds…back up to the top rope.
DM: Oh man, this is gonna be high impact. Fuse is tough as nails, but his night’s about to end.
DT: Fusenshoff’s bleeding from the head, eyes are glazed over and NO he’s not intoxicated…
MN: …or is he?
DT: He looks to be a step or a half step from death’s door. Edmunds sizes him up! HERE HE GOES! WAIT! FUSENSHOFF WITH THE FORWARD VICTORY ROLL! EDMUNDS MISSED A FRONT FLIP NECKBREAKER AND LANDS HARD!
ONE!
TWOOOO!
THREE HE GOT HIM! HE GOT HIM! COPYCAT CAN’T BELIEVE IT, THESE FANS CAN’T BELIEVE IT, AND NOW IT’S DOWN TO EDMUNDS AND FUSENSHOFF!
DM: From the jaws of defeat…unbelievable!
MN: What a lucky move…it should be illegal!
DT: Cat’s trying to get at Fusenshoff, but the ref is holding him back, trying to get him out of the ring. Edmunds, slow to his feet! Fusenshoff, slow to his feet! He gets there first- HE HAS EDMUNDS! IS IT?! YES! WHISKEY BOMB! THE COVER!
ONE!
TWO!
THREE IS THE COUNT FROM FUSENSHOFF! TURN AROUND REF!
MN: Hey, you guys want him to do his job. Well, he’s trying to get rid of Copycat. That’s a near three hundred pound man we’re talking about.
DT: Fuse gets right up, tosses the ref aside, and now we have a brawl on our hands! Rights and lefts to the face of Copycat- Cat returns the favor! Three more refs storm out to the ring to separate these two…IT’S PANDEMONIUM!
DM: What the hell is Edmunds reaching for in his tights?
MN: Isn’t it obvious, Matthews? He’s fixing his manhood. You really need this stuff explained to you?
DT: Copycat finally acquiesces…OH NO! FUSENSHOFF WENT TO EDMUNDS, AND EDMUNDS JUST BLEW SOME DUST OR POWDER FROM HIS HANDS INTO FUSENSHOFF’S FACE! FUSE STORMS FORWARD AND GETS LEVELED WITH A MEXICAN UPPERCUT! HE MAY NEVER REPRODUCE AFTER THAT SHOT!
DM: And he still ain’t as blind as these refs!
MN: Stick to your day job Chief, there’s a reason they pay me for the one-liners.
DT: Edmunds has the leg hooked…FISHERMAN SUPLEX! Will it be enough?!
ONE!
TWO!
THREE! EDMUNDS WINS! AND FUSENSHOFF STILL CAN’T SEE!
[SFX: Bell rings]
TF: Here is your winner…representing the ANTHOLOGY! SIMPLY SENSATIONAL! SEAAAAAN EDMUUUUUUUUUUUUUNDS!
DM: Boy did Fusenshoff ever get the raw deal here, tonight. First he gets a barb-wire wrapped chair kicked into his head, then he’s forced to fight Anthology handi-capped…has Edmunds BEAT, and then this happens.
MN: Look you’re talking about Copycat and Edmunds. There’s a reason Anthology kicked out Cruise and kept these two; they’re IQ’s getting higher all the time! You’re looking at the smartest player in the game and hell, maybe the second smartest right next to him with his hands raised.
DT: “Simply Sensational” Sean Edmunds moves on with a victory tonight and earns himself a shot at the former Anthology member Shawn Hart’s Intercontinental Title!
MN: But why’s Fuse still in the ring? The match is over, why doesn’t he go backstage and do whatever it is he does after matches?
DT: Don’t you remember? he got called out by someone earlier tonight.
MN: If he’s on camera I don’t pay attention.
DM: Unless there’s half-naked women involved you don’t pay any attention, Mike.
MN: True.
DT: Fusenshoff’s got a mic, let’s hear what he’s got to say.
Fusenshoff: [breathing heavily still after his match] Well here I am. Whoever sent me that letter, I’ll listen to your proposition, so whatever you’ve got to say, get out here and say it. After what just happened in the ring, I'm ready for anything.
[There’s some static on the big screen, and as it clears, we see a man wearing a cowboy-style hat, a dark green leather coat, white T-shirt and dark blue jeans, sitting on a stool with his head bowed and arms folded across his chest. As he speaks, he reaches for the top of his hat, gripping it gently]
Man: Well, me coming out there right now might be a little tricky, since it’s past five in the morning here.
[The man removes his hat, lifting his face to the camera with a gleam in his eye and a smile on his lips as the crowd EXPLODES in a huge cheer. The sound is so loud, the commentators are barely audible]
DT: OH MY GOD!!
MN: NO FREAKING WAY!! IT CAN’T BE!
DT: THE DRAGON! THE DRAGON CALLED OUT FUSENSHOFF!
DM: WE HAVEN’T SEEN HIM IN OVER TWO YEARS, LISTEN TO THESE PEOPLE!!
Crowd: DRA-GON! DRA-GON! DRA-GON!
[As the crowd chants, Brown waits, letting the moment sink in for them. In the ring, Fusenshoff is slightly taken aback, but quickly regains his composure, watching the screen carefully. After almost thirty seconds of being on screen, The Dragon starts to speak, the crowd quieting down to listen]
Karl: I’ve missed you guys, too. It’s been a while since I was in California, but you guys are just as loud, just as vocal, and just as great as ever!
Crowd: *pop*
Karl: Now, I know some people have questions about what I’ve been up to the last couple of years since I last wrestled in front of an EPW crowd, and someday I’ll let you know. But one thing I will say is that I’ve kept up-to-date with what’s been going on, and that’s led me to this.
You see, a lot of people have been asking me about something to do with the current state of wrestling. After I left, when I started doing radio work, I’d get asked nearly every single day for my thoughts on this or that, what I thought about matches, match-ups, everything. But the one question I was asked the most, was: what do I think about Fusenshoff?
At first, I admit, I just kind of shrugged it off. I’d just gotten out of wrestling and didn’t keep that close an eye on things. I said that I thought you had potential, but left it at that. Yet time after time, whenever someone spoke to me about wrestling, your name came up. When you were TV champ, facing all comers, people were asking if I felt you were taking the same path I had. When you were in the Tournament of Champions, people asked if that was like me winning the Invitational in two thousand six. When people saw your matches, they wanted to know what I thought. So, I started watching your matches. I didn’t have any expectations, just in case you were the recipient of really good PR like some people in this business.
But you know something, Fusenshoff? You impressed me. In the ring, you’re one of the best today. Your victories – hell, even your losses – you’ve shown me something that I’ve only seen in a couple of people in this industry. But what impressed me the most, and set you above everybody else in Empire Pro?
It’s your attitude. You want to win, like everyone does. I can’t think of anyone who enjoys losing. But winning isn’t everything to you. When you lost the TV title you didn’t go whining and crying, you stood tall and moved on knowing that it wasn’t your night. You – more than anyone on this roster – understand what professional wrestling is about. It’s not about the money, the fast cars, the women chasing after you, or the titles.
It’s about self-respect. It’s about testing yourself, going beyond your limits, always striving for that next peak, and staying true to yourself.
And the more I watched you, the more impressed I got, and yet… I still can’t answer the question that everyone’s been asking.
What do I think of Fusenshoff?
DT: Why not?
MN: Because he’s bored himself to sleep talking! He’s always been overly verbose.
DM: Stop looking at your word-a-day calendar, Mike.
MN: Yessir.
Karl: And that’s why I’m doing this right now. I can’t honestly answer what I think about you, because so far all I’ve done is watched. I’ve seen you with Stalker and Rocko and Layne Winters, I’ve seen you in tag matches, singles matches, and full on fights. All of that’s given me an idea, but a spectator can’t say for sure what they think of someone.
That’s why I’ve been speaking with the front office about finding out for myself just what you’re all about.
DT: No way!
Karl: At Aggression fifty, Fusenshoff… I want to find out for myself what you can do, and give Aggression a treat as well.
The man who won the very first match in Empire Pro Wrestling… against the best damn wrestler on the roster!
Crowd: *huge pop*
Karl: What do you say, Fusenshoff? You and me, one on one. Deal or no deal?
[The crowd are buzzing loudly as Fusenshoff steps back into the ring, the mic raised to his lips. You can sense he knows the answer, but like an expert holds the audience until one word sends them into an explosion]
Fusenshoff: Deal.
Crowd: *MEGAPOP*
DT: FUSENSHOFF! THE DRAGON! OH MY GOD!
MN: HARDCORE DRAGON’S BACK!
DT: AND WHAT A MATCH IT’S GOING TO BE! THE DRAGON, FUSENSHOFF, AT THE FIFTIETH EDITION OF AGGRESSION!!