(Suddenly the lights go black, and the crowd begins to buzz. They are stunned to silence when the old Russian National Anthem queues up and the voice of a former leader of the Soviet Union, Joseph Stalin is heard. "You cannot make a revolution with silk gloves." The arena is suddenly lit with yellow and red lights from all directions as the anthem booms. Again, the voice of Stalin is heard... "Now, it begins.". Suddenly red smoke fills the entryway and after a few moments, two figures appear. One is a five and a half foot shapely red-head. She's dressed in a low-cut, black business suit and she's carrying a rather large clipboard. Wire-rim glasses are perched delicately on the end of her nose and she's sporting a scowl that would make even the toughest man do her bidding. The other is a six and a half foot man with a buzz cut of brown hair. The man is dressed in a red and yellow warm-up suit emblazoned with the Soviet hammer-and-sickle on the chest. He's carrying the old Russian flag and scowling at the crowd as well. But as the boos begin to reign down on him and his counterpart, a devilish grin appears. As they make their way to the ring, the grin grows ever larger and even more menacing. It is as if he's planning the destruction of each and every one of the people booing him at this moment. The pair reach the ring and the woman climbs up and parts the rope for the man. After the two are in the ring, the woman is given a microphone which she places to her lips.)

NATASHA: (Russian accent) "Many of you may not know this man ... and that is only due to your own stupidity and lack of knowledge about the greats of this sport. He is a man who has been scorned, ridiculed, HATED and practically run out of this country ... TWICE! He is a man that has won world titles, both here, AND in our homeland. He is a man, that has spent his days perfecting his craft, honing his skills in preparation for a return to the ring. The last time you saw him, he was FORCED into the ring by a greedy, malicious wrestling organization who PROMISED him that if he ALLOWED himself to be beaten, he would be given a permanent spot on their roster."

"Instead ... once he laid down ... one he humiliated himself, this organization sent him packing, back to Russia, back to SIBERIA because of his failure to infiltrate this Yankee vermin wrestling organization. But now ... now, he has returned. Bent on vengeance, driven by hate for not only you people in this building, not ONLY Texans (this draws a cheer from the crowd but causes Natasha to scowl even more), not ONLY AMERICANS (bigger cheer), but each and EVERY person in the WORLD who aligns WITH them. Vladamir is NOT a terrorist. MISTER Vlachinko is a RUSSIAN ... and he DEMANDS your respect."

(The crowd begins to BOO heavily as Vlachinko waves the Russian flag around, then exchanges it for the microphone.)

VLACHINKO: (Russian accent) "Greetings AMERICAN SCUM! (Boos) Yes ... YESSSSS... BOO me, YELL UNTIL YOUR THROAT ACHES! (Vlachinko pauses and let's the crowd give him a little) What you moronic sub humans fail to realize is that the more you BOO, the more it empowers me."

"And I know WHY you boo. Because you Americans always want to SILENCE those you disagree with. Freedom of SPEECH in America? HA! You've long since forgotten the FIRST Amendment to your Constitution. If someone VOICES their opinion ... they are QUICKLY silenced, or ridiculed so harshly that they must leave the country in fear of their lives! This is why I was sent back to Russia the first time. I was a WORLD Champion ... the organization I wrestled for, rather than attempting to sign talent that could actually DEFEAT me, they simply folded, and reorganized, this time, NOT offering yours truly a contract. So without a WORK visa, I was sent back to Russia."

"Then I was invited BACK by another organization holding an event in Europe. They wanted me to face an old enemy ... LINDSAY TROY. They PROMISED that if I came in, made Troy look GOOD, and took the fall ... I would be offered a contract and a work visa. But what happened after I did MY PART? I'm put back on a plane to Russia by TWO thugs what can't even SPELL Russia."

"But now ... NOW Empire Pro has seen the light. THEY have TRIED the pretenders, but they realize there is only one, TRUE Russian ASSASSIN, and his name ... is Vladamir Vlachinko. And what better place to come back, than Russian Roulette. So I have accepted their invitation for TWO reasons ... the first, is to re-establish myself as THE top wrestler in the business. To SHOW you American VERMIN that you do NOT hold the market on top professional wrestlers."

"And the second is Lindsay Troy. Troy, you ..."

HEARTBREAKER

Led Zeppelin

(Jimmy Page's wizardry on the guitar strings cued up, then John Bonham and John Paul Jones followed suit. EPW's faithful, who last week had a hard time deciding whether to cheer or boo the subject of Vlachinko's rantings, rose to their feet with cheers of rejoicement. After all, if you had the option to boo a Commie or boo a Queen, which would you pick?

That's what I thought.

Robert Plant said, "Hey fellas have you heard the news? Y'know Annie's back in town..." and from behind the curtains stepped Lindsay Troy. She did not look happy. At all. Not even one iota.

And Vlachinko knew it, evidenced by his sneer. So did Natasha, as she seductively rapped her fingers along the handle of the flag.

Troy paced, microphone gripped tightly in her hand. She glared at Natasha's fingers, then locked eyes with Vladamir. If looks could kill, the two Russians and a quarter of the audience might have been turned to vapor courtesy of hazel-eyed laser beams.

Lindsay stopped at dead-center stage and the music abruptly cut out. The audience buzzed loudly, the tension mounting, and the microphone in her hand was raised.)

TROY: "Isn't that JUST like a Ruskie ... bringing propaganda into a mic spot."

(Cheers! Natasha put her hand on her hip and shook her head disapprovingly. Vlachinko stood, unwavering.)

TROY: "Let's just get one thing perfectly straight right off the bat. In America, people voice their opinions. But in Soviet Russia, OPINIONS VOICE YOU!"

(Laughter from the audience, Seething Russians in the ring.)

TROY: "The last time I actually heard you speak Vladdy, you were pissing and moaning about how I disrupted your nice, quiet life in the FROZEN TUNDRA of NORTH BUMF(BLEEP!)K SIBERIA where you were nice and comfortable being a Russian Army BITCH. The last time I actually SAW you, I had dropped you on your fu(BLEEEP!)king head and sent you packing BACK to the pathetic existence you once knew."

"There was no work visa ... you didn't even want to come back in the first place. But I knew you too well, Vlachinko. The temptation to SHUT ME UP was too great an opportunity to pass up. That's why I proposed the match at GXW's Battleground Britain. I wanted to get my hands on you one last time, to finish what was started ... to END the VENDETTA, to FINISH what was started and that's EXACTLY what I did."

"But now you've come back to irritate me one last time, and for what? FOR WHAT?! For your petty revenge? So that red-headed SLUT (Troy points at Natasha) can try and crack me upside the head with that loaded clipboard of hers? So you can try and justify your shrinking MANHOOD..."

VLAD: "Whoa ... whoa ... WHOA! Just hold on ONE minute there MISS, if indeed you are a MISS, Troy. It may sooth your fragile ego to come an interrupt my welcome back speech, but let's be HONEST here. YOU know that I am your superior ... in EVERY way. YOU KNOW that not only didn't you get an HONEST win over me in Britian, but I outwrestled you up until the very end!"

"You speak of spewing propaganda ... yet I have never heard such outlandish citations in ALL my years. But I tell you what I do know MISS Troy. I know that you are just a scared little girl, a typical female who can not survive without a MAN to tell her what to do. You had that in the USCW.

(Troy, who had been shaking her head in disbelief, immediately perked up.)

VLAD: "Oh yes, you and your "Angel" were quite formidable foes, but he's gone away. Hasn't he, Troy? Heh ... yes, he's dumped you down the drain just like every other man you've tried to wrap your legs around!"

TROY: "BAST--!"

(The rest of the curse was cut off by a thud from Troy's mic. The feedback echoed over the arena speakers as she bolted to the ring. Vlachinko pushed Natasha at Troy giving him enough time to escape. Troy, now alone in the ring with Natasha, RIPPED the Russian flag from Natasha's grasp, and began to swing wildly like Jose Canseco on 'roids. The Russian beauty dove out of the way as the pointed metal end made a beeline for her temple, and Vlachinko pulled her out of the ring by her ankles.

Troy paced the ring like a caged animal, then broke the flagpole over her knee and tossed the two halves at Vlachinko and Natasha. The pair ducked in the knick of time, and Vlachinko held Natasha close. He swiped another mic from a production assistant as they made their way up the ramp.)

VLAD: "Not now my fair lady, not now. No ma'am, you will deal with the Russian Assasin when you LEAST expect it."

(The two disappeared behind the curtain, leaving Troy in the ring, screaming in their wake.)

TROY: "You don't have the BALLS to talk about Him when I'm in your face, Vlachinko! You've NEVER had the balls!"

(Troy fumes for a moment more, then discards the mic in anger and storms backstage.)

DT: Well, I don’t know what to even make of that fellas.

MN: Russians – great.

DM: All I know is, Eric Davis vs. Karl Brown is up next.

DT: Well, this match should be interesting.

DM: Yeah, if just for Davis’ intro alone.

DT: Yeah, it’s a pretty impressive introduction, but I was talking more about the technical prowess here. Karl Brown is among the best technical wrestlers in the world, and he proved it in that Natural Selection tournament…

MN: Oh please, that was like, what eight years ago? Get over it already.

DM: Hey Neels, how about Dodd’s Intercontinental Title win?

MN: It was fantastic! Timeless! Ageless!

DM: Sigh…

DT: Well, anyway, Brown’s got the goods, and Davis, although a little on the cocky side, is pretty proficient.

DM: A little on the cocky side? That’s like saying Big Macs are just a little tasty. Davis is plain arrogant, just like a Big Mac is a flavor explosion!

MN: Jeez Dean, why the hell do you get all the endorsement deals?

DM: Because I’m… sexified!

MN: Brother…

DT: Oh, there go the arena lights…

The lights in the arena dim to blackness. Several lighters flicker on in the crowd as a low buzz is heard through the audio equipment. On the video screen, a computer generated animation of the Earth as seen from space cues up. The globe rotates amidst the stars as the low vocals of "O Fortuna" cue up. The camera slowly zooms in towards the globe with increasingly sharp resolution. Suddenly, a giant hand appears, grasping the globe. The muscles in the hand tense up as "O Fortuna" fades out and "Sandblasted Skin (Reprise)" blares into the arena. The Earth shatters and the broken pieces fall between the fingers of the hand. The sound of marching in time with the music soon gives way to a close up of boots on concrete on the Empiretron. A deep voice bursts forth...)

Voice: BOW.... BEFORE YOUR MASTER.

(The lights come up and the first legion comes out of the back, men wearing Davis embroidered track suits, followed by a gaggle of attractive and busty women wearing Davis jogging suits themselves. As the horde of Davis’ followers stops at their assigned places, the Empiretron now stops on a recreation of Michaelangelo’s Creation of Adam, only with Eric Davis in Adam’s position. The spotlight shines on the ring as Davis descends from the ceiling via carefully engineered cables. As Davis lands in the ring, his servants enter and unhook him, as pyrotechnics blast from each ring corner.)

MN: That was even better the second time I saw it.

DM: I thought it seemed longer. Did he add more servants marching down? Dave? Dave?

MN: I think he’s still looking at the chicks with big knockers.

DM: DAVE! (Snaps fingers in front of Dave Thomas’ face.)

DT: Oh, my, well, yes that was a good match between the Road Warriors and the Rock ‘n Roll Express. We’ll be right back on Saturday Night Main Event, sponsored by Surge…

DM: Thomas! Snap out of it! Get those titties out your mind!

DT: What? Who, oh, I’m sorry for that, now, let’s get back to the boobies in the ring.

DM: Christ, you act like you’ve never seen breasts before…

DT: I have, I have, one time at…

DM: You know what, nevermind, we pay Neels to make an ass out of himself.

MN: Hey!

(Cue up “Rainmaker”)

DT: And here comes Karl Brown. He’s looking determined, looking to get some revenge and to take that Dragon moniker without any doubt.

MN: Well, his entrance sucks. We want more Davis! More breasts!

DM: Please, do you want to send Thomas into convulsions?

DT: Hey! Anyway, Brown’s circling the ring, he’s staring a hole right through Davis.

DM: Well, I would too if the guy jumped me the last time we was on the tee-vee.

MN: He deserved it. Stealing Davis’ nickname and all.

DM: Dude, Brown was here first.

MN: Well, he knew Davis was going to show up sooner or later. He should have chosen a more fitting nickname like Karl “The Limey” Brown or Karl “The Homo…

DT: FAMILY SHOW!

MN: …Sapiens” Brown.

DM: Oh Neels, you’re such a lovable idiot.

DT: Brown enters the ring…

(SFX: Ding ding ding)

DT: They’re circling each other in the ring, Brown goes in for the collar and elbow… no! Davis just sidestepped him! Brown goes chest-first into the turnbuckles. And now Davis is laughing at him!

MN: Haha, I’m laughing at him too. Dummy.

DT: Brown stumbles back, shakes the cobwebs out, turns back around. Now Davis wants the collar and elbow tie up. Brown is having none of it, and now Davis looks offended.

MN: I would too if I just got snubbed like that. Bad sportsmanship on Brown’s part.

DM: Hey, remember when Charlie Brown kept trying to kick that football and Lucy kept pulling it away?

MN: Yeah, I loved that.

DM: Well, Karl Brown just smartened up in ways that other Brown never did.

MN: Oh shut up…

DT: And Davis just slapped the taste right out of Brown’s mouth!

DM: Talk about disrespect.

DT: Brown’s livid! He’s charging after Davis, but Davis counters it with a Fujiwara armbar!

MN: That’s what the limey gets for letting his anger get the best of him.

DM: Yeah, he can’t go on emotion if he wants to win this match.

DT: Brown in the ropes, but Davis is reluctant to release the hold. Ref gives one, two, Davis breaks. He stomps on that right shoulder of Brown now.

DM: Psychology~!

DT: Indeed Dean, Davis stomping away at that shoulder… Brown rolls out of the ring.

MN: Coward.

DM: Hey Neels, is that Adam Benjamin?

MN: Big Daddy English? Where!?!

(Dean slaps Neels upside his head.)

MN: Ouch! You bastard!

DM: Maybe that will teach you to stop being stupid.

DT: Brown rubs his shoulder a bit and he’s back in the ring. Collar and elbow tie up, this time, Davis bites, and now Davis has him in the hammerlock. Brown’s trying to fight out of it, elbow, misses the mark. Another one, barely grazed Davis’ eye. Davis now has arm up and CLOCKS Brown right in the face from behind. Davis up and… back body drop on that right shoulder, all while keeping the hammerlock in!

MN: The Real Dragon shows ‘em how it’s done!

DT: Davis taking his sweet time, covers…

…one…

…but Brown kicks out. Davis yells at the ref.

MN: It was a slow count.

DM: Quiet Neels.

DT: Davis back up, Brown up on all fours… and Davis puts the boot to his shoulder again.

DM: Davis is relentless. I guess he really, really, re-he-heealy likes his nick.

DT: I would say so. Davis down to the canvas, side armbar on Brown now.

MN: Rip his arm out! Woo!

DM: I think he’s doing just that. In other news, I hate you, Neels.

MN: Aww, thanks.

DT: Davis breaks the hold, Brown rolls over… Davis with another stomp on that shoulder. He scoops Brown up… shoulderbreaker! Cover…

…one…

…two…

…but Brown kicks out. Davis once again yells at the ref

MN: Well, I would too if I was in there with a crooked referee.

DM: Neels, did it ever occur to you that maybe Davis is, ya know, egotistical?

MN: No.

DT: Not surprising. Anyway, Davis back up, he picks Brown to his feet, and Davis is just taking his grand old time again.

DM: I wouldn’t do that with Karl Brown. He isn’t the number one contender to Doddler’s title for nothing.

MN: I would. C’mon, Brown’s overmatched. Davis can lighten up a bit.

DT: Well, we shall see. Davis, mocking Brown, now off the ropes and… Brown counters with a drop toehold!

DM: Arrogance gets you nowhere.

MN: Lucky shot.

DT: Davis up, Brown… kick to the gut and snap suplex! Brown down to the canvas, applies the Dragon sleeper!

MN: Infringement! Infringement!

DM: Yeah, I’m sure Ultimo Dragon really cares.

MN: No you dolt, I mean of Eric Davis!

DM: Sigh.

DT: Davis is getting up, Brown’s still got the hold locked in though. Davis powers out of the hold…

MN: See? Bask in Davis’ greatness…

DT: Davis turns around and… no hold enziguiri from Brown! Davis goes down to the canvas! Cover…

…one…

…two…

…but Davis kicks out.

DM: Great aerial move by Karl Brown there.

DT: Brown’s up, he’s got Davis by the rear, and… big German suplex! Release too…

DM: Gets more pure impact on the move there.

DT: Davis has to be feeling that. Brown up, he grabs Davis, and Davis shoves Brown back a few steps! Brown steps in, Davis whips him off the ropes and… oh my! Karl Brown with the flying forearm!

DM: Brown is on fire!

MN: I hope you mean literally, just so I can say that I wouldn’t urinate on him if he were on fire.

DM: Lame, Neels. Lame.

DT: Brown up, he’s got Davis… T-bone suplex! Cover…

…one…

…two…

…but Davis kicks out.

DM: Karl Brown’s ba-zingin’ and ba-blammin’!

MN: You are a weirdo, Dean.

DT: That notwithstanding, Brown’s got Davis up. We may see the Dragon’s Bite here. Dragon sleeper position, and… no! Davis escapes from the hold and… stunner drop! Davis escapes that predicament.

MN: See, now the Real Dragon is going to take control.

DT: Brown up, Davis meets him with a clothesline. Davis is now laughing at Brown.

DM: Not a smart move.

MN: It is when you’re the best Dragon ever.

DT: Davis grabs Brown, picks him up… hurricanrana into a pin…

…one…

…two…

…Brown kicks out. Davis again yells at the ref.

DM: If he spent as much time following up on Brown as he did yelling at the refs or mocking him, Davis would have won already.

DT: Davis grabs Brown and whips him into the corner. Davis jaw-jacking, now puts Brown on the top rope. Davis climbing… Brown just nailed him with a right! Another right! A left! Davis is stalled on the second rope!

MN: Disqualify him! Closed fist!

DT: Brown about ready to make his… SUNSET FLIP INTO A POWERBOMB OFF THE TOP ROPE!

DM: Dizzamn!

DT: Karl Brown covers…

…one…

…two…

…three!

(SFX: Ding ding ding)

Tony Fatora: Here is your winner, and the rightful holder of the Dragon nickname… KARL “THE DRAGON” BROWN!

DT: Karl Brown has done it! He’s defeated Eric Davis and claimed the Dragon nick all for himself.

MN: Get some smelling salts! Or at least some of those large-breasted ladies for Davis. He needs assistance!

DM: He’s stirring. I don’t think he’s hurt at all, aside from his ego.

DT: Yeah, you’re telling me. He’s throwing a temper tantrum fit for a three year old in there. He can’t believe he lost.

MN: Well, I wouldn’t either if I lost to a dirty cheater.

DM: Oh shove it Neels.