CELEBRATE, CELEBRATE

Wooooo! Sorry, that was my best Flair impersonation.

Loud techno style music plays in the background, in conjunction with some strobe lighting as a huge party is commencing backstage before the show can get underway. Boos escalate from the fans at the sight of the Alpha Generation having a huge bash in their dressing room, where many of them are making dancing gyrations, with the exception of Desolation. The former World Champion is planted in a beach chair holding a large, multi-colored drink with numerous tiny umbrellas sticking out from the top of it. The Dark Man is having trouble finding a way to take a drink of the substance though, the umbrellas jabbing him in his one good eye. The World Champion Hurse is doing a raise the roof motion with his arms while Jackson Adams holds his title belt in the air and sticks one finger upward from both hand, pivoting between feet. Streamers hang down from the ceiling and some confetti is shot into the air by Too Magnificent who is standing behind a large spinning record machine, in charge of playing the music for this huge celebration. Although they are still soar, scratched and bandaged from a night of extreme warfare at Born Again, they find themselves living it up to the fullest in celebration of their momentous victory. Strangely enough a banner hangs in the background from the plain white wall, saying “Happy Birthday.”

Jackson Adams: It was done well enough, and besides, who gives a rat ass how we sound, we’re the Alpha Generation, and this is a party biotch!

Desolation momentarily looks up from the beverage he’s forced to drink, about to respond to Adams before just shaking his head and deciding to play along for the time being, no matter how corny things maybe getting. A smiling Too Magnificent fires another confetti gun up into the air, sending numerous pieces of paper ranging from every color of the rainbow dispersing above the celebrating Alpha Generation. They forget the pain that was inflicted on their bodies at the pay-per-view long enough to continue their huge celebration. Hurse is doing the robot to the best of his abilities now, but can’t quite get down the stilted, machine like movements of his body. After a great of terrible dancing the Champion finally stops to glare in Adams’ direction.

Hurse: Man this is great, this night is already starting out just perfectly, and who knows what else we’re going to be in store for. I just wish Robin would get here already to enjoy this with us. I wonder where she is, she’s never this late.

Hurse anxiously glances at the watch about his wrist much to Adams’ annoyance.

Hurse: Oh well, I’m sure she’ll be here to celebrate right along side us. After all, now that we proven we’re the most dominate force in all of professional wrestling, that nobody in this company can stand up against us, there’s only one thing left for us to do, shake our groove things!

Again both men begin to dance while the music starts to die down in the background, Too Magnificent fishing through his record collection to find just the right song to play for this occasion. Desolation just sighs and shakes his head in the background, still trying to figure out how exactly the dynamics of this drink works. Finally he speaks up.

Desolation: Yeah, this little celebration is nice and all. But horrid techno music and fruity girly drinks aside, who picked out these decorations?

All attention is drawn towards the large banner hanging from the wall with the words “Happy Birthday” spelled in golden lettering. Every eye then turns to Jackson Adams who has stopped dancing and now rubs at the back of his head with his palm, Hurse quickly snatching his World title back from his clutches.

Hurse: Weren’t you the one in charge of the decorations?

A mild chuckle comes from Adams who shrugs his shoulders, attempting to explain to the best of his abilities.

Adams: Well see, custom made banners are kind of expensive, and by the time I got to the store this is all they really had left. It was either this or a baby shower banner.

Desolation: Okay, even though terribly implausible, I can almost buy that, but I can tell you right now, I damn sure don’t support the Republican party.

The Dark Man snatches a napkin from the top of a bundle of them positioned across the table at his side. He lifts it into the air to reveal the Republican Party Elephant symbol embroidered across it. Again Adams just lowers his head meekly while everyone stares in anger at the still aching Alpha cohort.

Hurse: What? Did you spend twenty bucks on all the decorations or something? I thought we all pitched in on this.

A general shrug of the shoulders goes up from everyone while Jackson’s face twists with uncertainty, slowly reaching behind his back for something.

Adams: Well yeah, we all did, but after filling up my gas tank, and buying this nifty hat, I didn’t have a lot left for decorations.

Jackson retrieves a hat from a small table behind his back and places it over his head, the words “World’s Greatest Lover” written across them. Another sigh goes up from those gathered in the dressing room for this big victory celebration.

Hurse: Oh well, let’s not worry about it, we’ve got so much to celebrate over right now. Not only do we have to pay homage to our victory at Born Again, but later tonight, when Jackson Adams becomes number one contender and our full plan comes to fruition, we’ll have even more reason to party.

The cheap, stingy Jackson nods his head in agreement, rubbing at his jaw with a pompous, smarmy smile coming to his face at the thought of becoming number one contender to Hurse’s World title.

Jackson: Yeah, so enough talk, let’s get another song going, come on Too Mag!

Too Magnificent: I’m looking, I’m looking, this song has got to be just right.

Stagehand: Excuse me, Mr. Parkwood….

Desolation sits a little more on edge, staring angrily at the party crasher, a pimply little red head stagehand, holding a clipboard and nervously glancing about at his surroundings. Hurse finally stops living the high life long enough to turn and face the apprehensive youngster.

Hurse: What!?! Can’t you see we’re trying to have a party here?

Through his braces the stagehand tentatively responds.

Stagehand: I know, and I hate to interrupt it sir, but I was told to come back here and tell you that there’s a special surprise waiting for you in the ring.

Hurse: A surprise, for me?

The little gentleman nods eagerly while Desolation rises to his feet, crossing his arms over one another, Hurse staring towards the Dark Man for a bit of guidance. However, his teammate looks just as confused as himself.

Stagehand: Yes, a big surprise, and the head honchos are asking for you to come to the ring in order to receive it.

Becoming even more engrossed, Hurse rubs at his jaw, nodding his head then smiling slightly before turning towards the Dark Man.

Hurse: Hmmm, this is slightly interesting. Deso, care to accompany me to the ring sir?

Desolation shrugs, unsure of rather he should or not before Too Mag’s record finally begins to play.

Listen to your heart…

The lyrics of Roxette’s classic song begins to play while all eyes, even the Stagehand’s turn towards Too Magnificent who is standing behind his spinning records with a lighter thrust upward in the air. A wide smile is plastered on the face of the Alpha enforcer before Desolation finally turns back towards Hurse urgently.

Desolation: Yes, let’s go, now!

Hurse turns towards the Stagehand.

Hurse: Okay, lead the way sir.

With that the World Champion and the Dark Man follow the pipsqueak out of the dressing room, making their way towards the ring. Desolation briefly pauses though and motions for something behind Hurse’s back, Too Magnificent leaning forward and grabbing a duffle bag. He lifts it above the record spinner and tosses it right to Desolation, who snatches it out of the air then gives the Alpha enforcer a thumbs up., as if they’ve been planning this They leave behind both Jackson Adams and Too Magnificent. The bigger of the duo continues to raise his arms in the air, swaying them back and forth with a lighter grasped in his hand while Jackson rubs at the patch of flesh between his eyes, getting a pounding headache the further this song goes on. After much hesitation he steps forward slowly, lifting one finger up to Too Magnificent to inform him to hold on a second before reaching down and smiling as he takes hold of the record that is currently playing. He lifts it into the air, still grinning at it then busts it over the side of the record spinner as Too Magnificent just glares at him in confusion. As the broken fragments fall to the floor Jackson begins to stomp on them and jump into the air, squashing them under all his weight. Too Magnificent watches this with bewildered eyes and a slightly unhinged jaw. After much squashing and breaking Jackson takes a deep breath, pushing his hair back and fixing his clothing a bit.

Too Magnificent: Was all that really necessary?

OPENING VIDEO PACKAGE

The fans are shown throwing their hands into the air in slow motion, caught in different colors, with the feed freezing every so often on a crazed spectator’s features, exhilarated by what they are witnessing. It then cuts to aerial scenes of the city streets below with cars buzzing by an arena in fast motion.

If you feel so empty
So used up so let down
If you feel so angry
So ripped off so stepped on
You're not the only one
Refusing to back down
You're not the only one
So get up

The fans are again shown going even more crazy with their fists held up high, the camera freezing on a clinched set of digits, as it turns from normal color to a black and white hue. It then switches to Bitchcakes McPhee standing on the stage with a beer in one hand a large smile plastered on his face before cutting to an aerial view with stop motion footage of hundreds of fans waiting in line to get into the building.

Let's start a riot, a riot
Let's start a riot
Let's start a riot, a riot
Let's start a riot

Scenes cut from the crazed fans in the stands to deranged mobs throwing Molotov cocktails down the street with burning rags stuck out of the back of them. It switches quickly to AWOL’s fierce face glaring forward maliciously before shifting to Aurora Rose standing on the turnbuckle, pointing out over the fans with a large smile on her face. It then cuts to Jackson Adams giving an opponent the Spectacular Ending before shifting to an explosion rocking through a building while it crumbles and collapses to the ground. Desolation is then featured jumping off the top of a cage roof with a shooting star press.

If you feel so filthy so dirty
so fucked up
If you feel so walked on
So painful so pissed off
You're not the only one
Refusing to go down
You're not the only one
So get up

Police are shown gathered in a straight line with shields held out in front of them, dressed in all riot gear while marching down the street. The video then switches to Simon Cagero disrobing in the ring. Thankfully the images transfer to Too Magnificent bashing someone over the head with a trash can before cutting to Nathan Creed maliciously glaring about his surroundings. Another image features Orlando Cruze standing on the stage and raising his arm above his head, as pyros explode on all sides of him. This image is short lived as people are featured being detained, cuffs slapped around their wrists while being forced into the back of large police vans.

Let's start a riot, a riot
Let's start a riot
Let's start a riot, a riot
Let's start a riot

If you feel so empty
So used up, so let down
If you feel so angry
Just get up

Let's start a riot, a riot
Let's start a riot
Let's start a riot, a riot
Let's start a riot

Robin Brooks takes up the screen diving off the top rope with a moonsault and coming crashing down stomach first towards the camera that was aimed upwards to catch a glimpse of her in all of her acrobatic splendor. The package then showcases Chapel delivering the Cardinal Sin while surrounded by a steel cage before shifting to a bloodied smiling face of Psycho, his dementia clear within his wide deranged eyes. Adam Riddick is featured flying through the air with a frog splash, soaring gracefully. Police are shown beating some looter with their knight sticks until Seth Owens takes over the screen, hitting a big lariat on someone. Pat Evans is then the focus of intention, ripping at a victim’s ankle with a tough, yet textbook submission. That’s before images are shown of Jon Rich delivering a missile dropkick as well as Orlando giving the Rock Bottom on Desolation. It then switches abruptly to Jon Torretto trying to force Too Magnificent’s head into a shredder. Zack Nolen is shown delivering a huge powerbomb on one of his victims before it cuts to a burning building, people running out of the flaming structure with stolen goods.

Let's start a riot, a riot
Let's start a riot
Let's start a riot, a riot
Let's start a riot

Hurse is featured on top the shoulders of the Alpha Generation while holding the World Heavyweight title above his head. Abruptly the video switches to Psycho delivering the Psychotic Episode on one of his many victims before transitioning into an image of Roxas Knoxx taking out a large group of people with the use of her own body as a weapon. Ryan Mills takes up the screen delivering a superkick to his opponent’s jaw before cutting to Pat Evans holding onto the fujiwara. The video switches to Christian Savior standing in a hallway with light hitting him from behind, almost enveloping him as a result.

Let's start a riot, a riot Let's start a riot

RIOT!

The camera opens right inside the ring, no fancy pyrotechnics displayed, and the IWC logo overlayed on the bottom-left corner. Standing in the middle of the ring, holding a long duffel bag by its handle in his right hand and a microphone in his left, is what seems to be a generic guy in jeans, a black IWC logo t-shirt (available now from IWC Shop for $16.99 US, order now!) under a black leather jacket, with dark aviator shades and a black IWC logo baseball cap (available soon from IWC Shop for $10.99 US, pre-order now!), which shadows the rest of his face.

Dan Douglas: Ladies and gentlemen, just before we kick off another exciting night of IWC RIOT!, I'm told that there is a SPECIAL presentation to be made, by the man inside the ring right now, on behalf of our higher-ups here in the IWC.

Billy Mayne: Wait, does that mean that this guy's MET our new owners??

Douglas: I'm not exactly sure Billy, but if he HAS, I'd sure like to know MYSELF just WHO the new owners ARE!

The man in the ring slowly raises the microphone to his lips and begins to speak, his voice sounding a little odd and nerdy.

Man: Ladies and gentlemen...on behalf of the executives of the IWC's championship committee, I am here tonight to present something very SPECIAL...to the IWC's World Heavyweight Champion, Steven Parkwood, known to all of the viewing fans as HURSE.

The mention of Hurse's name prompts sudden and intense booing from the capacity crowd, as the guy in the ring seems a little surprised. Douglas and Mayne are completely taken aback.

Douglas: HURSE?!?! This guy's here to present something to HURSE?? On behalf of the CHAMPIONSHIP COMMITTEE???

Mayne: As well he SHOULD! Hurse is a FINE champion, the best we've had since his good buddy in the Alpha Generation Nation, Desolation! Hey! That rhymes!

Douglas: Careful there, Billy, they actually prefer to be called the Nation of the Alpha Generation, remember?

Mayne: So that means you're actually RECOGNIZING their sovereignty here now, Danny-boy?

Douglas: Not at all, Billy! Just any excuse to correct YOU!

The man in the ring continues talking.

Man: So if we could get Mr. Hurse out here, I could present him with this...

The lights in the arena begin to dim, the fans growing irate already, before they even feast their eyes on the World Champion.

There is a House in New Orleans
They call it the Rising Sun
And it's been the ruin of many a poor boy
And God I know I'm One...

As the opening lyrics of the Animal's "House of the Rising Sun" finally filter away, the curtains part and through them marches Hurse, the World title draped over his shoulder and wearing trendy-casual clothing, accompanied by former World Champion, Desolation, already dressed for ring battle. He anxiously glances around at the fans while flashing green strobe lights go off on both sides of him. The Champion's eyes cut back and forth to observe the screaming, intense fans before he swallows deeply, nervously, and starts to head for the ring, Desolation following right behind him. It should be noted that Desolation is carrying a duffel bag of similar size to the one being held by the man in the ring, while he inspirationally rubs down Hurse's shoulders. Meanwhile, Hurse has a look of oblivious pleasure on his face, completely ignoring the rampant booing of the fans.

Mayne: Here he is, folks! The man you've been waiting ALL YOUR LIVES for! And DOESN'T he cut a MAJESTIC figure?

Douglas: Could you BE any more of an ass-kisser than you are RIGHT AT THIS VERY MOMENT, Billy?

Mayne: (oblivious) And NO-ONE makes a better general to Hurse's Nation than DESOLATION!

Douglas: Spoke too soon...

Hurse and Desolation climb up the stairs, and Desolation graciously holds the ropes open so Hurse can enter the ring, following him immediately. Hurse and Desolation go straight to the center of the ring, and raise their arms gloriously, basking in some unseen glory, getting even MORE boos from the fans. The man with the mic meekly points to them and claps weakly.

Douglas: Hurse and Desolation seem to be COMPLETELY oblivious to the ACTUAL response they're GETTING around here! But I'm wondering...where's the REST of the AG?

Mayne: They're in the back, getting ready for THEIR matches tonight, and having a bash to end all bashes, Dan! Don't start trouble while the IWC's gods are in their heaven!

The man with the mic seems a little more excited now.

Man: Wow...I can't believe I'm actually standing here...IN FRONT OF the great Desolation...and the even GREATER Hurse! It's a VERY exciting time to be alive, isn't it?

Mayne: You got THAT right, bucko!

Man: Mr. Desolation, it's actually a very good thing you came out here, and brought that bag with you. If you could OPEN it, please?

Desolation, with a huge grin on his face, unzips his duffel, and reaches into it, pulling out the ULW Submission Title. He holds it up proudly, with Hurse looking towards it with even MORE pride. Desolation hands it to Hurse, who slings it over his right shoulder while the IWC World Heavyweight Title is still over his left. They look at the man with the mic with smug expressions on their faces, while the man's expression remains oddly enthusiastic.

Man: Excellent. As you can all see, the belt that Desolation has taken out and given to Hurse is the old ULW Submission Title, one of only TWO titles which remained on their holders through ULW's last show, PARANOIA, and the transition to the IWC. Which BRINGS me to my special presentation. Steven "Hurse" Parkwood: on behalf of the executives of the Independent Wrestling Cartel's championship committee, I present YOU...

He unzips HIS duffel, reaches in, and takes out a brand-new, never-before-seen title belt, and holds it up with one hand for the crowd to see.

Man: ...with the BRAND-NEW Submission Championship of the IWC! Wear it PROUDLY, defend it if you have to, and ENJOY your LONG reign as the IWC's KING...of Submission.

This elicits some surprise from the commentators...

Douglas: Wait...did that guy just refer to Hurse as...the KING?

Mayne: --Of Submission! Damn right he did! And may he reign for ALL TIME! WHOO!!

Hurse, seemingly overcome with emotion, gestures for the mic, and the guy hands it to him. Hurse brings the mic to his lips while the crowd has been constantly barraging boos down towards the ring.

Hurse: I...I must say...it's an unbelievable HONOR...to receive a belt as fitting for my stature here as the IWC's World Heavyweight Champion AND the Submission Champion, and the ONLY reigning champion of the ULW to have kept their title through Paranoia.

Douglas: WHAT?? The ONLY reigning champion?? What about Jon Rich?

Mayne: He said ULW, Dan! Jon Rich was the League Champion for the ULW:R! The SECOND-STRINGERS, the MINOR LEAGUES! The B TEAM! And the Alpha Generation is the A TEAM of the A Team.

Douglas: I suppose you're gonna say now that Hurse is Hannibal?

Mayne: Nonsense! DESOLATION is Hannibal, and Hurse is Templeton "Faceman" Peck! Although HERE, those two are EQUALLY the leader of our AG-Team!

Douglas: You're UNBELIEVABLE, you know that?

Back to the in-ring action... Hurse covers his eyes for a moment, rubbing at them. He now waves his hand in the direction of his face, trying to fan himself off.

Hurse: Sorry, I promised myself I wouldn’t cry. I’m just so happy that after we embarrassed AWOL and his little team at Born Again, now I get this kind of tribute.

The Dark Man hands off a small handkerchief as Hurse blows his nose.

Hurse: As your...your...

DDesolation motions for the mic to finish the statements as Hurse is too choked up to continue.

Desolation: --Double-Crown Champion. (to Hurse) You are the GREATEST champion in the HISTORY of the IWC, Hurse my friend! And it's ABOUT TIME that the suits in the back got off their asses and REALIZED that!

Desolation gestures towards the other man derisively and with disgust.

Desolation: But you'd think they would've sent someone IMPORTANT to present a man as DESERVING as Hurse...a man of such EPIC AWESOMENESS as the Master of Control...with his brand-new belt! You'd THINK they would've had AWOL himSELF out here, PROSTRATING himself at our feet, BEGGING this PARAGON of wrestling VIRTUE to accept this belt, this masterpiece of leather, metal, and paint compared to the piece of JUNK that was the ULW Submission Title.

Mayne: That's right! You'd THINK that AWOL would have been out here, BEGGING to suck their cocks or something!

Douglas: Now I KNOW you wouldn't say that if he was OUT here, now WOULD you? And you KNOW he's going to make at least one appearance tonight, right?

Mayne gulps as we return to the in-ring action.

Desolation: Let this occasion mark the GLORIOUS beginning of a NEW, glorious chapter in the glorious Nation of the Alpha Generation's glorious glory!

Douglas: The GLORY seems to be going to his head, doesn't it?

Mayne: Not at all! They ARE glorious, and the more GLORY they bestow upon THEMSELVES, the more glory they can bestow on the REST of us!

Douglas: Just HOW FAR up your ASS do you HAVE your head, Billy??

Desolation shoves the mic back at the man, who adjusts himself and speaks again.

Man: Ladies and gentlemen...YOUR IWC Double-Crown Champion, HURSE!

The crowd rains boos down on the ring as Desolation raises Hurse's arm, with Hurse raising both arms, each with a title belt being held by a single hand. "House of the Rising Sun" hits again as Desolation leaves the ring first, Hurse following behind. But right after Desolation leaves the ring, back turned toward it, and before Hurse can reach the ropes, the man drops the mic and grabs Hurse by the shoulder.

Mayne: Wait...what's he doing?

He turns Hurse around, suddenly lifting him into a Fireman's Carry, as the crowd roars in approval. He walks to the center of the ring, Hurse draped over his shoulders, desperately trying to kick out of the carry. But it proves to be futile, as he has been taken completely by surprise, and the man swings him out to an F-5, completely knocking all the wind out of him as the crowd delivers a huge cheer. Desolation, who has only just now turned around after hearing the crowd's reaction, is about to run into the ring to save Hurse, when the man angrily takes off his hat and shades, throwing them down, and revealing his roughly-shaven face and neck-length light-brown hair to an even bigger crowd cheer, prompting Desolation to stop dead in his tracks with a look of pure anger.

Mayne: Hold up a minute!! That guy looks FAMILIAR!!

Douglas: That's because he's the ORIGINAL King of Submission...AXL EVERMORE!!

Mayne: I don't care WHO he is! Get in there and help Hurse, Desolation!

Evermore motions quite angrily for Desolation to enter the ring, shouting "Come on!!" over and over, while Desolation just stands there defensively, wanting to help his good buddy, but for some seemingly unknown reason, not moving an inch. Evermore continues daring him in, however, as he picks up the mic. His voice most noticeably changes to a deeper pitch and a more menacing tone.

Evermore: That's right, Russ! You can't do a THING to me right now, and I think ALL these people deserve to know why!

Mayne: Yeah! Tell us! Why can't Desolation go in and whup the living crap out of you??

Evermore: You see folks, I'm not just here as a WRESTLER. Some of you FAMILIAR with my history would know that I resurrected a legendary federation known as the Original UWF, in response to the shitty ownership of what was PASSING for a so-called UWF last year! And since it was without the permission of said new ownership, I dubbed it UNSANCTIONED!

Mayne: What does some rival fed have to do with the IWC? And where's the rest of the Alpha Generation???

Evermore: Now I know what you must be thinking--what does some rival fed have to do with the IWC?

Mayne: How'd he know what I was thinking?

Evermore: The answer is simple. You see, in finalizing everything for UNSANCTIONED, I came across one Russell Nash-Blade...

He points the mic in Desolation's direction after saying the Dark Man's given name.

Evermore: ...And we entered into some contract negotiations of our own! And YES, it was all on the up-and-up! And in the end...I gave Desolation the ONE THING that you are NEVER...EEEVVER supposed to GIVE to that man! You know what that one thing was?

Mayne: Just TELL us, already!

Evermore: I gave Desolation...to quote Eric Cartman..."AUTHORITAH"!!

Mayne: AUTHORITAH????

Douglas: Why, that IS the one thing you're never supposed to give Desolation!!

Evermore: And according to the terms of the EXECUTIVE contract he signed with UNSANCTIONED, NEITHER ONE OF US may physically attack the other in a WRESTLING-related capacity, under penalty of imprisonment...unless I directly CHALLENGE the esteemed Mr. Dark Man over there to a MATCH.

Mayne: DAMMIT, why isn't the Alpha Generation out here STOPPING this??

Evermore: And you might be wondering, "Where's the REST of the Alpha Generation?" Well, they probably have their TVs turned off in their locker room, and I don't think any of the production assistants in the back actually want to deal with them directly, considering everything they've been pulling here over the past year, so they're probably going to be a little LATE in coming to the rescue of their Fearless Leader!

Douglas: YES!!! We can finally get some measure of retribution against the AG, and Desolation can't do a THING about it!

Desolation's still chomping at the bit to get in the ring, but now we know that if he DOES so, he would ACTUALLY go to jail as a result...

Evermore: Oooh, Deso...you want to kick my ass, don't you? You want to get in here THAT BADLY, huh?? Well GUESS WHAT?

Evermore rolls out the opposite side of the ring and hops over the barricades, allowing Desolation to finally slide into the ring under the bottom rope, and help the clutching-his-face-in-pain Hurse. Evermore still has the mic.

Evermore: I'm OFFICIALLY challenging you to a match! YOU name the time, YOU name the stipulations. And if you've got a problem with THAT, I'm sure you know where AWOL's office is! And HURSE? I'm officially putting you ON NOTICE! I'm going to take that brand-spanking-new Submission Title off your hands and show EVERYONE why I'M the ORIGINAL King of Submission, GUARANTEED! LONG LIVE THE KING...NOW, and FOR-EVER-MORE!!!

"Step Up" by Drowning Pool hits over the PA system as Evermore, tossing the mic to a nearby security guard, makes his way through the roaring crowd, slapping hands with the cheering fans, then raising his arms victoriously.

Douglas: Good lord!! What an IMPACT! Axl Evermore makes his presence FELT here in the IWC, and I MUST SAY, he certainly had us ALL fooled in the beginning with that "nerdy sycophant" act when he presented Hurse with the new belt!

Mayne: Why couldn't he just STAY that way? Why'd he have to just AMBUSH a defenseless Hurse like that??

Douglas: Yet you'd support Hurse doing the SAME thing to one of HIS opponents! Folks, it's IWC RIOT! And Hurse and Desolation are still BOTH seeing action tonight!

Weakly Cruze kicks out of the pinfall attempt, his energy drained and his body too brutalized to put up much of a defense.

Billy: Look at Orlando, you can really tell my that last kick out that his body has withstood too much for it to handle. He’s really starting to fade.

Dan: No doubt, I’m surprised that even with his massive heart and will to win that he’s still hanging in there.

Riley grabs Cruze around the chin, sitting him up then dropping down as he buries his knee into the middle of his back. Orlando starts to yell out in pain while his wrists are grabbed, both of his arms yanked in reverse, stretched out behind him. He finds himself in a modified surfboard at he hands of a smiling Addison. Stevie slaps the barricade and gives him a thumbs up from the outside of the ring while Riley really exerts some pressure on this hold. The pain in Cruze’s face is quite evident, his features twisted and contorted from the amount of anguish that flows through his mid-section. Somehow he is still hanging in there though, even if every rib in his mid-section may have been shattered by this ravenous onslaught on the behalf of his opponents. Ingelson steps in nevertheless though, asking if Cruze is willing to give into his pain, but the Icon shouts no defiantly in between brief gasps for air. This only further entices Addison to dig his knee a little deeper into the back while pulling in reverse on his arms further. In his mind either Orlando will submit or both his shoulders will be separated from the remainder of his body. Orlando lifts his foot into the air, bringing it down heel first against he canvas while the crowd starts to again build some momentum behind him. Nathan is slapping the top turnbuckle pad while again stomping his foot to the apron, leading the fans in their support for the Icon, who is starting to force his way upward once more. Outrage is present on the features of Addison, who shakes his head, spitting at the back of Orlando’s noggin.

Douglas: Cruze again showing that insatiable thirst to win.

Mayne: Is this man coocoo for crack? He doesn’t know when to throw in the towel, he’s so addicted to victory he’s become too short sided on the effects these beatings are having on his career.

Orlando unleashes a roar while still powering his way upward, Evans shaking his head in damn near disgust over what his eyes are forced to behold. Addison still keeps that knee buried well into his back even as Orlando gets his own knees behind him.

Riley: Tap you damn glory hog!

The will to win continues to sustain Orlando as he pushes himself further to his feet, getting to a standing base while beginning to turn towards Addison now, his eyes wide with bright whiteness. Just as he turns around though, Riley releases the wrist and throws a clubbing blow over his upper back, causing Orlando to be doubled over. Addison grabs hold of his wrist now and delivers a straight upward kick right into Cruze’s ribs, causing him to turn away and stagger towards the cables. He falls back first against them while Riley kisses his knuckle then charges in quickly only for Orlando to wake up, bending down and catching him against his shoulder. He tries to back drop him over the cables, but Riley grabs the top rope, floating over with grace feet first onto the apron. Orlando staggers forward before Addison grabs the top cable, realizing that Cruze thinks he was dished out to the mats, causing a creepy smile to settle on his face. Therefore he seizes the opportunity, pulling himself up onto the top rope feet first before springing off, flying through the air for a soaring forearm strike. Cruze turns in the nick of time though and jumps into the air, connecting with a flying European Uppercut to the jaw of the airborne Addison. Riley is swiped out of the air and sent crashing into the canvas beside Cruze while the crowd reacts with thunderous applause. Neither man is moving though while Stevie is desperately trying to get his communicator to work in order to beam down some assistance for Addison. He even goes around to the fans, asking them to help but there are no volunteers. Therefore Orlando and Riley are left lying side by side, barely moving in the ring and clinging to their last inklings of consciousness. Nathan has his hand thrust far over the ropes, shouting for Orlando to make the tag already, desperate to get in there on behalf of his partner.

Douglas: Orlando scores with a huge European Uppercut out of nowhere and now it’s given him that one brief shining moment to make the tag if he can just get to his corner.

Mayne: This is unacceptable, just wait till Riley tags out to a fresh Evans, then Orlando’s really going to regret not tapping earlier. Heed my words Dan, heed my words.

Dan: Consider then heeded.

The fans are again slapping the steel plated barricades to create a loud rumble on behalf of Orlando, who begins to feed off that energy, sitting up with a far off look in his eyes. Chris is motioning for everyone to sit down and shut up though, as Orlando doesn’t need any leverage. Addison has gotten to all fours, crawling towards his corner as well now while Orlando turns to his knees. He begins to drag his battered, limp body towards an overly anxious Creed, who’s palm is open and extended out as far as his arm will stretch. Both teams realize that victory hinges on whomever can make the tag first. That’s when Riley lunges at Evans, slapping his hand, Pat quickly entering the ring as a result. Orlando’s fingers are within inches of Creed’s before his ankle is grabbed by Pat. Evans steps back, forcing Orlando to begin standing up one foot, hopping on it repeatedly before turning to face Evans who has a strong gasp on the leg, not letting him go. Riley stands up and moves to his partner’s side, trying to help before Orlando jumps into the air, swinging around with his foot right at Pat’s head, only for him to duck it. But now Cruze’s foot connects with the back of Addison’s head, knocking him through a loop before he tumbles to the canvas. Orlando falls to his elbows with Pat still holding onto his ankle though, quickly pushing himself up to his free foot. Evans shoves Cruze’s leg down and causes him to stagger backwards where Pat buries his shoulder into his spine. He now heaves Orlando into the air for a back body drop only for Cruze to twist around, turning it into a crossbody that causes him to come down right on top of Pat’s chest. Both men crash into the canvas as Orlando rolls even further away from his corner.

The fans are again putting everything they have behind their cheers, overly enthusiastic in the hopes that it will motivated Orlando to get off his ass. It’s succeeding, or certainly helping as the Icon rolls to his side once again, trying to get up but finding it almost impossible. However, Riley and Pat don’t have the same affliction as they rise to their feet and turn to face the crawling Cruze. Pat steps towards Orlando first only for the Icon to crawl right between his legs, Addison jumping in his path next, but Cruze moves swiftly under him as well. He then reaches out, slapping Creed’s hand to a huge ovation as Nathan jumps over the ropes then charges up behind a still bent forward Addison who was trying to look between his legs to find Cruze. Nathan slaps his arms around his waist and drops back, German suplexing Addison spine first into the turnbuckle. Riley bounces off then flips sideways over the ropes to the outside of the ring, crashing hard to the mats while Creed gets to his feet with quickness. Pat charges forward with a double axehandle only for Creed to avoid it by ducking then standing up behind him, clasping his hands around the front of Evans’ gut then hoisting him into the air with a another German. The force of this one sends Pat flipping over backwards, crashing into the canvas across his chest and stomach then rolling under the ropes to the outside of the ring to much fan fare. He ends up dropping to his feet right beside a struggling Riley, who is desperately attempting to stand up. Right as both men reach their feet though, Creed charges across the ring then dives through the ropes with a huge suicide headbunt directly into both men, knocking all three of them down to the mats.

Douglas: Creed exploding into the ring after what happened to him a few moments ago, he’s unleashing all that pint up frustration right on his opponents.

Mayne: He’s probably got a lot of other pint up stuff in his body, I don’t think the man has been laid in years.

Creed grabs Evans by the hair, dragging him to his feet then rolling him under the ropes to the inside of the ring. Creed begins to slide in himself when Pat gets to his feet, immediately stomping away at the back of his opponent’s head, then drops an elbow into it. Nathan is taken down before he starts to push himself to his feet again before Evans steps in, slapping a front chancery on his opponent once more. He drags him up to his feet and now lifts him into the air for a vertical suplex. Creed floats over though, landing straight on his feet behind Evans’ back, wrapping his arms around his waist. Evans quickly charges forward into the cables though, dragging Nathan with him. He hits the ropes and wraps his arms around them while Creed drops down, trying to roll Pat up into a pinfall. Nathan can’t get hold of Evans though especially as Riley jumps up onto the apron, grabbing his partner by the wrists, keeping him upright. A tired Creed rolls over onto his knees then reaches his feet before charging forward right at Evans who turns around just in time to duck a big boot. Instead the sole of Creed’s foot slaps hard into Addison’s face, causing his eyes to roll to the back of his head before he turns and tumbles off the apron, right into the arms of Stevie James who ran to catch him. Riley is too heavy though, knocking both men down to the mats as Evans steps up behind Nathan and now locks his arms, placing him in a full nelson. He steps back and attempts to lift Creed now only for Nathan to reach back, wrapping his leg around the dangerous submission expert’s. He then performs a standing switch, getting behind Pat and wrapping his arms around his waist before dropping in reverse with a brutal German suplex. Evans is sent flying backwards, slamming into the canvas across his head and shoulders, rolling over onto his front side. Nathan turns and quickly crawls towards him, pushing him over onto his back and hooks his leg.

1

2

Evans kicks out, getting his shoulder up in the nick of time. The Future sits up on the canvas, his teeth flashing and his eyes glaring with anger. He rises to his while Pat begins to roll over only for Nathan to grab him by the hair, dragging him to a standing base then swiping his legs out from under him. Creed turns him over immediately into the liontamer, Evans getting to his elbows and roaring in pain through the process before Orlando enters the ring and drops down beside him. He grabs hold of Pat’s arm while interlocking his hands around his jaw, placing him in the crossface. The crowd is going nuts as both Nathan and Orlando have a double submission locked in on Evans, who appears on the verge of tapping out as a result.

Douglas: It’s going to take a combined effort from both Orlando and Nathan, but Pat looks on the verge of tapping out for the first time in his IWC career.

Mayne: He can’t, he won’t, he musn’t it! Pat Evans doesn’t tap, he makes others tap. Get in there Riley, stop this, stop this!

Addison is still lying on top of Stevie on the outside of the ring who is struggling to get out from under his brother while in the ring Pat is lingering with his resistance to submission. He balls up his fist even while being locked in both these submissions, both men on the verge of earning the submission when the lights in the building dim down without warning and static appears on the big screen. Creed glances upward immediately, Orlando unable to turn around while still having his submission locked in. The sound of static is replaced by the eerily familiar rhythm of a heart beating slowly, steadily. The beat begins to grow slower, and slower before a pulsating heart appears on the screen now, blood dribbling down from its surface and spilling across the blackness below.

Douglas: Oh no, not this, not now!

Mayne: It’s another of these ominous warnings directed at Orlando from whomever this S.K individual is.

The sound of slicing can be heard while letters are carved into the still beating heart. The letters materialize with each slice that sends bloods streaming into the pool below. The pool widens while the letters S.K are written in its surface. However, these letters quickly rip away as a large chunk of the heart is removed, revealing images beneath the muscle. The center of the heart is now a screen showcasing Nathan Creed in the ring competing against Hellkat in a title unification match, with his Annihilation World Championship on the line within the confines of a hell in a cell. The two are bloodied, battered, barely clinging to their last bits of energy but Creed seems to have victory within his grasp, holding Hellkat in the Courtesy Call now before Orlando Cruze enters the cell, trying to stop Bruce Lomond from caving in his friend’s skull with a chair. He snatches the steel from Lomond then swings it right at his head only for the chair to collide with Creed’s skull. The images rewind and reshow Orlando hitting Nathan with the chair again. They rewind and replay this image several times, each scene ending with Creed crumbling to the canvas below. Finally the image freezes with Nathan dangling over the canvas, right before he can hit the ring with blood dribbling down his face. The sound of typing fingers can be heard as words materialize over Nathan’s tumbling frame.

He’ll never let you have your glory Creed….

The image fast forwards abruptly through black and white scenes of Orlando rock bottoming Creed to the canvas and slapping him to the face as well. It then shows the Icon sitting on a chair that is positioned right over a gagging Nathan’s throat. This image is frozen before the typing commences again, Creed in live action watching on from the center of the ring, still holding Evans in the Courtesy Call with bewilderment setting into his twisted features.

Don’t trust those who long to steal your glory, don’t be a child led astray….

The beating heart dwindles into a flatline, the high pitched screech of the machine heard all throughout the building. Creed begins to stand up in the ring, watching with renewed interest as the heart on the screen is suddenly squeezed within a massive palm. The nails dig into the muscle and crunch it until it bursts within their palm, the blood spilling through the cracks of their fingers and forming a rose on the ground below. All is reduced to static once more, leaving an entirely perplexed Creed standing in the ring, weakening his grip on Pat’s legs throughout the process. Orlando is entirely oblivious to what just happened before Riley steps in and superkicks Creed right to the side of the face. The crowd screams at the sight of the CHBK style superkick that takes Nathan down to the canvas across his side.

Mayne: Whatever that message just meant is pretty clear to me, but thankfully it distracted Nathan long enough to receive a blistering superkick to his jaw, taking him completely out of this match perhaps. God bless you S.K.

Douglas: These messages just keep getting more disturbing, who is this playing with Nathan’s head now? Why are they trying to break up Creed and Cruze?

Orlando doesn’t realize that Nathan has been removed before Addison rushes across the ring into the ropes. He bounces off, coming back at Evans and flipping over him, catching Cruze around the head with a flip over neckbreaker from the crossface position. The Icon begins to flop on the canvas as a result, gripping his head in pain while Pat rolls onto his back, appearing to be in a great deal of agony from head to toe. Riley gets to his knees and crawls quickly into a hook of the leg. The official, who seems puzzled, already forgetting who the legal man is, drops down to make a quick count.

1

2

Wait, no, Cruze shoots his shoulder from the canvas at the last possible moment. An irate Addison rises to his knees, taking several deep breaths as if he cannot believe that he was incapable of getting the pinfall there. Pat has rolled to the center of the ring, trying his best force his battered torso up to a standing base. As soon as he gets his feet beneath him, Riley steps in, grabbing him by the shoulder and spinning him around so that they are face to face. Riley appears rather flabbergasted, nay irate with his partner while digging his finger into his chest, pushing him backwards as a result.

Riley: I am getting sick and tired of carrying your ass tonight. Do something worthwhile you son of a bitch!

With that Addison slaps Pat to the side of the face and begins to point towards the down Cruze and Creed.

Addison: Finish them off, and finish them off right fucking now!

Again Evans’ eyes fill with a chilling glare centered and focused on Addison, who isn’t backing down or looking whatsoever fearful. After a moment or two of deep breathing a bit of sanity creeps back into Pat’s features, taking a long breath then turning his attention to his down opponents, Addison spinning away from him with his hands on his hips and disgust in his face. That’s when Pat spins around, clamping the Time To Let Go (Million Dollar Dream) right around his own partner’s throat. Addison begins to kick his legs and flail his one free arm, trying to escape this submission hold to the best of his abilities. However, Evans won’t let him go, he keeps wrenching back and forth, trying to almost break Riley’s neck in the process. A gagging gurgle emanates from Riley’s throat while he lowers to a knee, fading quickly, especially after all he’s endured in this match thus far. All life and energy seems to be fading from Addison the longer he’s in this hold.

Mayne: No, what the hell do you think your doing Evans, he’s your tag team partner!

Douglas: And perhaps the biggest annoyance that Evans has ever had to put up with.

Stevie is shouting into the ring, demanding that Evans let his brother go, but he’s too tired and battered to enter himself and stop this from happening. That’s when Pat releases an unconscious Riley, allowing him to spill to the canvas then spitting at him before turning and vacating the ring. He swipes his arms through the air, insisting that he’s done, that he’s simply put up with all he’s going to deal with. He leaves Addison spread across the canvas, not moving an inch while slipping through the ropes and onto the apron, vacating the ring. The cold Evans doesn’t even look back while marching straight up the ramp towards the curtains. Nathan gets to his elbows and knees, taking several deep breaths while crawling in his opponent’s direction. After expending much energy he falls into the cover, thrusting his arm over Riley’s chest. The official drops and makes the count, having no other alternative at this point, even if Addison isn’t the legal man.

1

2

3

The crowd reacts with cheers at the sight of Nathan Creed and Orlando Cruze picking up the victory here tonight in an intense tag team challenge. The Icon rolls over onto his side, spotting his partner getting the pinfall while gripping at the back of his neck, not quite sure how he got the victory but certainly not complaining.

Mayne: I am morally outraged, morally, morally outraged I say. I might write standards and practices about this, or contact former President Reagan to start a protest or something.

Douglas: Um, you do realize Ronald Reagan has been dead for like years now don’t you?

Billy: Then I’ll use a damn Ouija Board to talk to him or something, the point is I’m outraged over this jaded victory Cruze and Creed got here tonight.

Douglas: Well, regardless of rather it was with the assistance of Evans or not, the Icon and the Future are back on their winning ways as a tag team.

A gruff Creed rises to his knees, his intense eyes settling on his tag team partner, who is glaring at him as well. They rise to their feet sluggishly then approach one another, beginning to argue all over again while Stevie James slides in, scooting across his knees to Riley’s side. He begins to use the bottom of his Star Trek shirt to fan off Addison’s face, trying his best to wake him up.

INJECTION OF POISION

Groans and gurgles of anguish emanate from a damaged, bloodied Robin Brooks. She tries to sit up on a stretcher located in the backstage corridor, but is having a great deal of trouble doing so. EMTs are located all around her, shining lights into her eyes as they hold her bloodied lids open, trying to gauge just how bad her injures are. The camera pans back a bit to reveal Killjoy pacing back and forth in anger, his rage building more and more with each passing second. One EMT swipes his finger back and forth in front of Robin’s eyes, trying to see if she can follow them, but can’t even hold her head up long enough to do so. Finally Killjoy steps forward, grabbing him by the shoulder, spinning around the young man, who is clearly inexperienced.

Killjoy: What the fuck are you doing? She’s hurt, get her to the hospital already before she bleeds to death you stupid son of a bitch.

Defensively the EMT puts his palms up, frightened that Killjoy may physically assault him for not doing as he instructs. But Killjoy stays his anger, at least long enough for the EMT to explain, realizing he’s one of few trying to assist the Black Widow.

EMT: I’m sorry sir, but before we get her to the hospital we need to check vitals and make sure we can transport her with no problems.

Killjoy closes his eyes and shakes his head before motioning with both extended palms towards her former lover.

Killjoy: Just do your damn job and help her.

With quickness the EMT returns to Robin, checking on her alongside the other three individuals on staff for just this occasion. Killjoy remains behind them, realizing he can’t get in their way any longer if she wants to get any help.

Hurse: WHAT THE HELL IS THIS!?!

Boos rain out from the crowd as an irate World Champion storms into the scene, having finally been permitted to vacate his dressing room. In a fit of anger Hurse pushes past Killjoy, not even noticing him at first while scooping his arms around the EMTs attending to Robin, shoving them out of his path, creating a much unneeded commotion. He bends forward, checking on Robin in an almost hysterical manner. He wraps his arms around the sides of her bloodied face, staring into her eyes. Killjoy hangs back, even after being shoved, showing remarkable restraint as the Champion attends to his love. Breathing uneasily and under much duress, Hurse wraps his arms around Robin’s neck, pulling her in close to his chest, rubbing her blood off on his chest.

Hurse: Why is this happening? Who could be such a monster to do this to a helpless woman? I’ll kill him, I’ll kill that mother fucker Psycho!

Anger emanates from every inch of the Champion’s reddened flesh while he holds Robin closely, EMTs attempting to step in between them, desperately trying to come to the Black Widow’s aid. She’s completely incoherent, unable to even register the fact that Hurse is standing there before her, allowing her blood to carelessly spill onto his frame. Suddenly the Champion stares over his shoulder at Killjoy, who is watching all of this with a roll of his eyes.

Hurse: You….

His finger uncurls and points in the direction of Killjoy’s face, who’s well controlled anger becomes unfurled.

Hurse: You’re the one responsible for all of this. If it wouldn’t have been for you none of this would have happened.

Hurse rises to his feet and steps towards Killjoy, both men getting eye to eye as they fume with animosity.

Killjoy: My fault, was I the one hiding behind my girlfriend? Using her to do what I couldn’t accomplish?

Growing in anger Hurse extends his finger and jabs it straight in Killjoy’s chest. The former Anni Champion becomes twisted as Hurse physically puts his hands on him.

Hurse: You don’t understand, you don’t understand the love we have for one another! You don’t care about Robin’s happiness, all you care about is yourself, your own happiness! Your trying to ruin everything, everything just like you always do. And then what, when you get her back do you think you’ll actually stick around long enough for the two of you to have a long pleasant life together? No, you’ll flake on her just like you always do you piece of shit! You’ll ruin her happiness!

Killjoy: Yeah, she looks real happy, doesn’t she?

Killjoy motions towards the bleeding Robin before Hurse’s face contorts with anger and then he roars as he rushes forward. He charges shoulder first into Killjoy’s gut, pushing Robin’s former lover backwards into the wall right at Robin’s side. Brooks is almost knocked off the stretcher while Killjoy forearms the Champion over the spine repeatedly, as well as kneeing him to the face. Hurse gets up and grabs Killjoy around the throat, trying to strangle him. However, Killjoy places both hands around the Champion’s throat and throws him against the wall now, both men trying to choke one another, knocking Brooks around in the process. That’s when security charges in, trying to separate both men from one another while they attempt to do nothing short of murder one another, still lunging in one another’s directions. Robin wakes up from her daze just long enough to watch her current lover and former lover fighting it out, she then passes into darkness once more. An EMT is there to catch her, holding her up on the edge of the stretcher as the violence ensues. Both Killjoy and Hurse’s faces are twisted with rage as the Master of Control continues to be forced in reverse, away from the Master of the Mind Games.

Hurse: This isn’t over Killjoy, your plans aren’t going to work, they’re not going to work. After I get done killing Hawn in that ring tonight, your next, your next you son of a bitch! The whole roster couldn’t beat the Alpha Generation, just wait till we set our sights on you!

The mere notion of the Alpha Generation coming after him brings a slight smile to Killjoy’s face while those EMTs gathered around Robin begin to lay her down on the stretcher. Hurse is dragged backwards out of the fray and towards the ring, security realizing his match is up next, since they’re so incredibly insightful.

EMT: We got to get her on the ambulance now before she bleeds out anymore, let’s go people.

Robin looks really out of it as Killjoy glances back and forth between Brooks and the World Champion. Finally his attention locks fully on the Black Widow being carted away.

Killjoy: I’m riding with her.

The Master of the Mind Games rushes off right after Robin who continues to be wheeled away on the stretcher, still very groggy.

COMMERCIAL BREAK

BIG CRAZY WAR ANGEL

The Livewire Championship sparkles like a jewel encased in gold, since, well, that’s exactly what it is. Nevertheless, it is present in the forefront of the camera, draped over a chair as the camera pans out to reveal its owner, the man who covets the gold, the “War Angel” Chapel. The massive frame of the champion is positioned on a bench a few inches away from the chair, sliding a pad around his knee, in obvious preparations for the gauntlet match tonight, a sure to be excruciating, difficult challenge unlike any other. Especially after the grueling encounter he just endured at Born Again, wounds still littering his body, barely concealed behind thin bandages. He mumbles under his breath while preparing for the contest, one he’s not to happy to compete it, but realizing what kind of big opportunity rests over the horizon. Right as he’s getting ready a grunt comes from above him, trying to get his attention. Chapel slowly looks upward from his knee and spots the Big Crazy Bastard AWOL strolling into the camera’s frame. The General Manager has a very serious, somewhat disturbing expression on his face as he overlooks the monstrous Chapel, the other member of the Holy War. A slight smirk comes to his face while AWOL stands there, duffle bag hanging from the palm of his massive arm, swaying at his side.

Chapel: Well hello there AWOL, come to lecture me about letting you down at Born Again, about our whole reunion ending in shame? Just go ahead, do it, shame me AWOL, shame me as only you can.

AWOL doesn’t smile or show the slightest sign of emotion. With the exception of standing outside the Alpha Generation’s barred doorway earlier in the evening with a maniacal grin plastered on his features, he’s shown no emotion at all throughout the evening. He just stands there looking forward before he extends the duffle bag outward in the direction of Chapel.

AWOL: I’m through wasting my time with our generic banter, Chapel. It didn’t help us at Born Again, and it damn sure won’t help us now. All I can say is that we were embarrassed at the pay-per-view, something that never would have happened to the Holy War in the past. So standing here, chatting away with you, exchanging childish insults for a good twenty minutes, just isn’t worth it anymore. Here, apparently the mystery bosses who have dubbed me too unimportant to even know who they are, dropped this off for you.

The bag continues to dangle in front of the King of Monster’s face, who appears rather solemn while gazing at the black sack. There actually seems to be disappointment on his part since he and AWOL didn’t exchange their usual witty remarks. He reaches out, taking the sack from AWOL’s hands, not even rising to properly greet him. He unzips the bag and reaches inside, slowly removing a championship belt, much like Hurse did earlier but hopefully not meeting with the same result. The gold glistens while he gazes into it, reading the words on it out loud.

Chapel: Hmmm, the Cartel Championship? Oh well, always nice to have more than one title belt.

AWOL: Yeah, although I don’t think the trend will continue. Actually, the Livewire Championship has now been re-branded the Cartel title, and here I thought the name couldn’t possibly get anymore corny.

Chapel continues to observe the belt, realizing he’s the very first person, and hopefully the last who will ever clutch the championship in the palms of his hands. Slowly he reaches out, taking hold of the old Livewire title, lifting it into the air and examining his reflection in the polished surface. He then shrugs and extends the championship out in the General Manager’s direction.

Chapel: See that you throw this out with the garbage then..

AWOL: Nah, should make a good mantle piece in my crapper.

Slowly taking the Livewire Championship, AWOL dispatches it into his duffle bag then tosses it over his shoulder.

AWOL: Well, bye.

The GM decides that will be the end of it, turning away and making this as short as possible. Just as he begins to march from the dressing room Chapel rises, reaching out and taking him by the arm, keeping him from leaving that easily. He thrusts the Cartel title over his shoulder in the process, as AWOL turns to eye the hand that is touching the sleeve of his fine jacket.

War Angel: I’m hurt, I really am. Where are the cynical words of encouragement? Where’s your ra-ra speech where you try to motivate me to go out there and slaughter everyone in the ring until I walk out of the gauntlet match the new number one contender? Come on AWOL, are you trying to be unpredictable for once?

AWOL frees his arm and gives Chapel a cold stare before finally turning towards him, fixing his suit a bit in the process.

AWOL: I could give a rat’s ass if I’m predictable, or unpredictable, and I’m damn sure not going to waste my breath trying to live up to being an idolized version of what you want me to be. That’s almost as pointlessly as trying to motivate you to do something you’ll never accomplish. If Born Again showed me anything it’s that trying to motivate you second rate sons of bitches is pointless, completely, and utterly pointless. None of you have what it takes to beat the Alpha Generation, and Chapel, you for damn sure don’t have what it takes to become the World Heavyweight Champion.

Although a bit outraged a smile creeps to Chapel’s face, adjusting the title over his shoulder and tilting his head.

Chapel: Is that so?

AWOL: What? Me carrying you in the Holy War for all those years wasn’t enough to prove that already? How about the fact that every time you’ve even gotten close to the World title you’ve self destructed, you’ve failed miserably. Face it Chapel, you just don’t have what it takes to be a World Champion. If by some miracle you win the gauntlet match tonight, you’ll fail against Hurse, just like you did the Alpha Generation at Born Again. And don’t take this as reverse psychology, as I’m quite sure you’re too fucking stupid to read between the lines. You can’t win the big one Chapel, you just can’t, it’s a simple truth you unable to accept. Hell, the man you’ve pushed around and refuse to allow to be your partner, Psycho, has gotten closer to the title than you’ve ever been.

AWOL glances at his watch for a moment impatiently and then looks back up at Chapel, who seems to be in deep contemplation.

AWOL: Well thanks Chapel, you just wasted a whole five minutes of my life. I got slightly more pressing issues to deal with. For example, making the final preparations for the newest member of the IWC roster to debut next week and start providing some payback for your guys’ lack of talent. Or I could be announcing the tag team tournament starting next week for the vacant straps.

Suddenly a slight grin comes to AWOL’s face and he shrugs his shoulders.

AWOL: Hey, there you go, I just made the announcement, now I can knock off early, sit on my ass and eat waffles all night. Bye. Have fun embarrassing yourself again.

The General Manager spins around and storms out of the dressing room, still irate over everything that has transpired these past few months. He leaves Chapel standing there in deep though, lifting his hands to the back of his head, rubbing at his skull. He takes a deep breath before his eyes turn towards the Cartel Championship glistening over his shoulder. Finally he looks up with a very determined, focused glint captured in his straightforward face.

Chapel: We’ll see who can win the big one, we’ll see.

An almost chilling grin comes to his face at the mere thought of what will happen tonight.

WARD HAWN VS. HURSE

The show comes back to the ring as Riot by Three Days Grace, ironically the same tunes played at the beginning of the show are cutting through the PA system, Ward Hawn already standing in the ring. He is marching back and forth across it impatiently and somewhat tentatively as he awaits the arrival of the World Champion Hurse for their one on one match.

Douglas: Some unusual banter between Chapel and AWOL backstage, the GM appearing rather bitter.

Mayne: When isn’t AWOL bitter about something? But on this occasion, he does have justification for being pissed off. His roster failed him, completely, and utterly failed him, just like Ward Hawn is going to in the next few moments.

Dan: Hawn making his way out here for a huge opportunity against the World Champion Hurse.

Billy: A misplaced opportunity if I’ve ever seen one.

Ward is psyching himself up for the physicality that surely lies ahead before the lights in the building dim, the fans in the Chicago Ridge area rising as they bombard the entry way with a flurry of boos and other derogatory comments. The House of the Rising Sun by the Animals plays through the speakers.

There is a House in New Orleans
They call it the Rising Sun
And it’s been the ruin of many a poor boy
And God I know I’m One...

That’s when some green strobe lighting goes off on both sides of the stage and through the curtains marches the World Champion himself, Hurse stopping on the stage. He only does so momentarily, his eyes shadowed in a bit of darkness, giving them a brooding, menacing aura. He is not about fun and games tonight, his celebration earlier in the evening having been cut short. The Champion takes a deep breath and starts towards the ring. He doesn’t stop at all to exchange wits with the fans, instead heading straight for the ring, throwing down his World title then sliding in. As soon as he gets to his feet Ward steps in, springing into the air and dropkicking Hurse to the chest. The impact knocks him backwards into the turnbuckle but doesn’t take him off of his feet, his arms falling over the cables while shock is present on his features.

Douglas: Look at this, Ward Hawn showing no fear and going right at the World Heavyweight Champion!

Mayne: This roster has been way to uppity lately, hopefully Hurse puts this little bastard in his place.

Dan: Looking at Ward there’s nothing I can see on the man that’s small.

Billy: That comment just disturbed me on so many levels.

The Champion leans against the corner before Ward steps in and begins to boot him repeatedly to the gut. He then grabs the hair of Hurse, pulling him forward and hitting him with a hard European Uppercut to the jaw. The impact sends him flying back first against the corner, bouncing off of it and landing on his feet once more only to receive a hard chop directly to the chest. Hurse covers his sternum and yells out in pain before Ward begins to climb the corner in front of him, standing up above his opponent and beginning to launch right hands downward into his face. The fans count along with each shot, reaching five before Hurse steps out of the corner, catching his opponent around the legs. He falls back and flapjacks Ward face first into the top turnbuckle pad as he now leans chest first against the corner, dazed by the impact. Hurse stands up and rushes across the ring now until he turns, bolting at Ward, jumping into the air with a heat seeking dropkick directly to the back of his head while he is perched against the corner. Hawn grabs his head and staggers out of the corner in reverse while Hurse slips through the ropes onto the apron, taking hold of the top rope. While stumbling around he braces himself and spins to face the Champion who springs onto the top rope, flying off and spinning around into a reverse elbow directly into the chest of Hawn. Both men are taken down to the mats with Hurse rolling to his feet, motioning for Ward to get his ass up in a vile manner. The Champion then turns towards one of the corners, moving in its direction as he grabs hold of one of the pads, beginning to untie it. Referee Fitzpatrick steps in admonishing him, demanding that he stops before Hurse rips the turnbuckle pad off, throwing it across the ring. He spins around to face Ward who launches a desperate right hand right into his gut. The shot causes him to bend forward before Hawn stands and connects with a European Uppercut directly to his jaw.

Hurse is almost taken off of his feet as a result of the collision as Hawn turns, rushing into the ropes with great haste. He bounces off, coming back in at Hurse who steps forward jumping into the air and connecting with a huge spinning heel kick. The collision knocks Ward off of his feet, sending him crashing to the canvas across his back with Hurse landing beside him, rolling to his elbows and knees. He gets up and again motions for Ward to rise as the young star pushes himself to a crawling base. Just as he does Hurse charges in with a boot directly to the side of his face, knocking him down to the canvas all over again.

Douglas: Hurse just unloading on Ward Hawn right from the start of this match. He’s much more aggressive than we’ve seen him as of late.

Mayne: Of course he would be. He came her to have a big party but instead he gets jumped by this Axl Evermore son of a bitch, and then Killjoy is fondling Robin backstage. Anyone would be irate given those circumstances.

Hurse approaches Ward with quickness as he tries to push himself up again. Before he can get up Hurse wraps his arms around his mid-section, hoisting him off the canvas then dropping him down ribs first directly into his knee. Ward falls to the canvas, rolling across it and reaching for his ribs then sitting up while Hurse comes charging up behind him, delivering a vicious kick directly to his kidneys. Ward arches his back, shouting in pain while Hurse grabs him around the jaw, dragging him up to his feet from behind, then bending him forward. He immediately drops back, throwing Ward over in reverse into the shell shock, Hawn landing right on top of his face, bouncing off the canvas then flipping over onto his back. Hurse sits up with a maniacal expression on his face, turning it to stare at the down youngster, who isn’t moving an inch after that last impact. The Champion rises to his feet and swipes his arms through the air, approaching the down Ward. He bends forward, grabbing hold of his legs, lifting them into the air as he begins to throw them over his shoulders, setting up for his Sanitizer (Styles Clash). He starts to step in front of Ward’s shoulders when the crowd starts to scream, Psycho once again sliding into the ring with the X-Class title in hand.

Mayne: Oh no, it’s that crazy son of a bitch again. What is Psycho doing out here?

Douglas: I don’t know, I thought maybe he did enough after attacking Robin, but I must have been mistaken, as apparently he’s after long time rival Hurse as well.

Billy: Why is everyone after Hurse tonight? He’s such a likeable guy.

The Champion spots Psycho out of the corner of his eye and quickly drops Ward, vacating the ring as fast as he can to avoid this demented sadistic savage. Referee Fitzpatrick abandons the ring as well while Psycho stands up in the squared circle, glaring menacingly in the direction of Hurse. The Master of Control glares with fear into the ring while Psycho stares at him with twisted features. Almost immediately, due to the sheer presence of Psycho, still coveting the stolen title belt of Robin Brooks, Fitzpatrick turns and calls for the bell, throwing this match out. Some of the fans boo while Hurse just shakes his head and glare into the ring at the man who attacked Robin so viciously earlier in the night, unsure of what he should do. Psycho holds the X-Class title belt up slowly and rubs some of Robin’s blood that had gathered on his fingers across the surface of the gold. Hurse looks to be growing sick at the thought of this while Psycho lifts his finger into the air, motioning for the Champion to come in and avenge the beating he put on his woman. It appears that Hurse wants nothing to do with him though, shaking his head and backing away from the ring, making his way towards the ramp. Terror is depicted on his features while Psycho just grins before he turns his attention towards a struggling Ward Hawn, who is trying to pull himself to his feet.

Mayne: Leave it to Psycho to ruin something good once again.

Douglas: Just look at this coward Hurse, he’s running away from the ring like a scolded child. Shouldn’t he be trying to get in there and avenge the brutality that was inflicted on Robin?

Billy: Brooks wouldn’t want Hurse to chance an injury, especially with him holding the World Championship. Besides, Psycho looks like he’s found someone else to play with in the ring.

Ward forces himself up to his feet, getting his unstable legs beneath him before he turns towards Psycho who rushes forward, cracking the X-Class title right over his face. Hawn is knocked down to the canvas across his back with the crowd screaming in shock over what they are witnessing. Psycho now thrusts the title over his shoulder and grabs hold of Ward’s hair, dragging him up to his feet with his forehead already busted open. As he gets his legs beneath him, Psycho charges Ward at the exposed turnbuckle and slams him face first into it. Ward bounces off and spills through the cables to the outside of the ring, Fitzpatrick calling for security, for EMTs to come out and help him. They barge past Hurse who is still backing up the ramp in a frightful manner, a large gulp forming in his throat before he finally vanishes through the curtains. Psycho now demands the use of a microphone while a split open Hawn is helped to his feet by EMTs and assisted towards the backstage area.

Douglas: Psycho just decimated Ward Hawn, and now he’s asking for a microphone. We may never get this blood thirsty savage out of the ring.

Mayne: Eh, the whole show has been shit anyway, who so cares?

The Psychotic One is in a particularly foul mood, marching back and forth with the X-Class title still hanging from his grasp while his features are twisted with malice. He seems to be uncaring over what he did to Robin, still mumbling to himself about it throughout the process while blood is present on his fingers. He trembles at the prospect of what was done while her title belt glistens over his shoulder. He has a microphone gripped in his hand, about to speak into it while the crowd bombards him with a very mixed reaction. The confused, twisted, and clearly fragile minded Psycho tries to pay them little attention though while his eyes scan the many faces of the fans who are heckling him in outrage over his previous actions. He draws the microphone close to his lips while still shaking, trying to formulate some words but having trouble doing so, too wrapped up in his own anger to properly vocalize it.

Psycho: Don’t you judge me, don’t any of you sit out there ridiculing me for what I did!

His lips are still shaking due to the overwhelming fury rushing through his tensed frame. The demands he issued are only met with more boos from the crowd, which further aggravates him although he tries to pay them little attention.

Psycho: You don’t know me, you don’t know me God damnit! I’m not happy like all of you, I’m not sitting out there with my loved ones or my friends, I have no one, I got nobody! No one cares about me, no one understands me. Wait, no, no, there is one person who knows what it’s like, who can understand and share my pain, and his name is Chapel. He reawakened, yes, he woke up the anger that was festering deep within me. He spilt Robin’s blood just like me, he too enjoyed watching the claret flow down her face just like I did. He loved it, and so did I. He made her feel pain for what she did to him, and that’s exactly what I did to her. She only got what she deserved. Yes, what she fucking deserved!

Foam is almost spewing forth out of Psycho’s mouth while he still steps around the ring, explaining what he did earlier in the night to Robin. Physically shivering his body moves back and forth with his eyes staring down at the canvas, caressing the title belt over his shoulder all the while.

Douglas: Psycho has snapped after what happened to him at Born Again.

Mayne: Snapped? Your trying to imply that a man who is named Psycho, has the ability to snap? For him to call himself that in the first place clearly shows that the man is far beyond simply snapping. I don’t think there’s a medical term for the level of dementia that inhabits his crusty old brain.

Dan: Regardless, I don’t think we’ve ever seen Psycho this lost before, especially after what he did to Robin Brooks earlier in the night with no remorse whatsoever.

The shaking Psycho moves slowly across the canvas in a distraught manner, gripping his microphone so tightly it almost implodes in his grasp.

Psycho: She only got what she was begging for. Not only because she came out at Born Again and cost me the match, but because she’s been rubbing her affections, and her friendships in all our faces for far too long. She acts like she’s a victim because she has all these lovers fighting over her, because her friends don’t get along? At least she has love, at least she has friendship! I have nothing! I’ve not got a damn thing! She acts like she’s cursed, when she’s blessed, and I can’t take her sobbing anymore. Something had to be done, and that’s what I just did. She took my victory away, she split up Project Lost Cause and left me on my own again, she’s been sobbing about all her problems but secretly gloating about them to get under my skin. So what I did was took away her looks, I took away what means most to her, this stupid fucking belt. And if Killjoy, or Hurse show up in this ring tonight, I’ll take them away from her too.

Psycho steps towards the camera, sweating even though he hasn’t even competed in a match yet, his eyes wide like saucers and filled with paranoia. He breaths uneasily, trying to calm himself down but being incapable of doing so. The lens zooms in on his twisted, deformed features.

Psycho: But when I see you again Robin, when you come back for your belt, when you get over your pain, and your tears, and your pathetic emotions, I’ll be waiting. We’re not through yet Robin, tonight was but a love tap compared to what I have in store for you! Robin, you may claim to be a victim, but I’ll make sure that’s exactly what you become for all that you’ve done to me. And now that I’ve taken your title away from you, you’ll have to come back to me to get it....

"Metalingus" plays over the PA as the lights go out. The crowds cheer as smoke fills the stage.

You think you know me?

On this day I see clearly everything has come to life
A bitter place and a broken dream
And we'll leave it all behind

On this day it's so real to me
Everything has come to life
Another chance to chase a dream
Another chance to feel
Chance to feel alive

As the chorus plays, a standing Savior is expected to appear behind the fog in order for this match to get started, but he does materialize. Instead the ramp is left empty, no sign of Savior anywhere, with the exception of his entrance music continuing to play over the PA system. Psycho turns with a quivering upper lip to stare up the ramp, he appears greatly confused by the lack of Christian’s arrival, tilting his head back and forth with his frustration only continuing to develop.

Douglas: Well, this is the music of Christian Savior but there’s no sight of him on the ramp.

Mayne: Maybe it’s a technical error, that really is possible considering the amount of college dropouts we employ in the backstage area.

Dan: And sitting beside me at ringside as well.

Psycho is still confused, but more so angered by this interruption and the lack of the arrival of his opponent. That’s when Christian Savior slips into the ring behind the distracted Sadistic One, rising to his feet then stepping up behind Psycho who is completely unaware of his arrival. Savior grabs hold of the X-Class title and slips it off Psycho’s shoulder before gathering it in his palms. A confused Psycho spins around when Christian cracks him right in the face with the X-Class title belt, knocking him out completely.

PSYCHO VS. CHRISTIAN SAVIOR

Douglas: Wait a minute, Christian Savior just came out of the crowd and has cracked Psycho right in the face with the X-Class Championship belt before he was even ready for a match to begin.

Mayne: Hey, I’m starting to like this Christian Savior guy more and more every time I see him. He reminds me of a young Jackson Adams.

Douglas: Was that an insult or a compliment?

Psycho is now laid out across the canvas as Christian quickly pitches the championship across the ring, official Fitzpatrick who was out here a few moments ago to officiate the last match looks confused before he slides into the ring at the behest of Savior. Christian has dropped into a cover, burying his forearm against the mangled features of Psycho as Fitzpatrick slides up beside him, slapping the canvas to make a three count.

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3!

But wait, somehow Psycho has kicked out before the pinfall could be made, Christian rising to a single knee becomes flustered that the count wasn’t made to his liking.

Billy: What the!?! How did Psycho just kick out of that belt shot right between the eyes!?!

Douglas: The man has an uncanny tolerance for pain.

Psycho shakes his head while rolling to his side, trying to get back to all fours before Savior slips around in front of him and begins to drop knees into the top of his head. Each impact almost knocks Psycho out while Christian grabs him around the jaw, pulling him to his knees and beginning to deck him hard across the sides of the face. He then spins around, hitting one more hard right hand to his jaw. The impact knocks Psycho onto his back once more before Christian falls into a quick cover, hooking his leg.

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Psycho powers out of a pin once more, starting to sit up throughout the process while Christian gets to his feet behind him, delivering a hard boot shot square to the back of his head. Psycho grimaces and tries to cover his noggin but is grabbed by his hair, Christian using it to dragging him to his feet before delivering a double palm thrust directly to his sternum. The strike staggers Psycho and results in a “woo” from the fans before Savior grabs him by the back of the head, bending him forward in order to connect with a hard European style uppercut straight to his jaw. The collision again staggers Psycho who is now pushed backwards into the ropes by Savior, gripping hold of his wrist throughout the process. He begins to whip him across the ring only for the much bigger and heftier Psycho to reach back, grabbing hold of the top cable, finally starting to regain some of his senses, coming out of that strike to his head from the X-Class title. Savior attempts to whip him across the ring again only for Psycho to plant his feet, keeping from being sent charging across the ring. Instead he now pulls Savior towards himself reaching out and catching him against his chest and stomach before hoisting him into the air with a gorilla press. Savior’s eyes widen as Psycho turns around to face the ropes, preparing to throw his opponent over the cables and send him crashing to the outside mats. Christian reaches down though, digging his fingers into Psycho’s eyes then slipping off his palms. The quick thinking Savior lands on his feet behind the Psycho then jumps into the air, wrapping his arms around his neck. His legs interlock about the waist of the Sadistic One, quickly placing him in a sleeper in order to weaken his already targeted, bashed head. A look of determination fills the slightly demented eyes of Psycho who refuses to give up or even go down as he reaches back with his hands, wrapping them around the back of Christian’s knees. He then pulls the legs of Savior apart and thrusts them around behind his back so that they end up one side of his body. Psycho hooks his arm around his waist now and drops down to a side buster slam almost while Christian was trying to hold onto the sleeper still. Savior bashes off the ring hard, turning to his side and arching his spine from the canvas while Psycho sits there, a bitter, deranged expression inhabiting his face.

Douglas: Psycho getting in some offense and shaking off the effects of that strike to his head all at the same time.

Mayne: Damn his thick durable skull, it’s the one good thing about him being an idiot, the lack of pain that he feels.

A flustered Psycho, who’s previously lacerated forehead has now been opened again, rolls to his knees then rises to his feet, a bit of blood dribbling from the area Christian cracked with the title. Speaking of Savior he’s started to roll to his knees in order to get up before Psycho grabs him by the hair and delivers a hard forearm shiver to the side of his face that takes him right back down to the canvas. Christian rolls across the ring and starts to crawl into one of the turnbuckles, spinning around to place his back against it. A livid Psycho is right after him though, grabbing the top rope and beginning to stomp him repeatedly to the chest with hard boot strikes. Official Fitzpatrick steps in, demanding that Psycho stop this before he spins around and shoves the referee down hard to the canvas, he then returns to stomping at Christian’s chest repeatedly. Savior is almost laid out across the canvas now with these boot strikes before the Psycho backs up, turning away from Christian and hunching over forward, preparing himself for some vicious move. He steps to the center of the ring then barrels forward, going for a huge running knee only for Savior to pull himself up to his feet at the last second and then drag himself to a standing base on the second rope. As Psycho comes rushing in, Christian jumps over him and double stomps the back of his head and shoulders, causing the former Livewire Champion to fall to all knees chest first against the second turnbuckle. Christian bends forward, rolling across the canvas then spinning around before he charges right at Psycho kneeling in the corner, springing into the air then delivering a hard front dropkick right to his face. Psycho is almost knocked out while Christian rolls over backwards onto his feet then rushes forward again. This time he sticks his hands out, catching the top rope and pushing his lower body high up into the air then using his grip on the cables to drag himself downward into a knee directly to the side of Psycho’s face. The crowd claps somewhat, while others boo at the sight of these moves by the ever opportunistic Savior.

Christian turns away from Psycho while bending forward, acting all brooding and maniacal like the Sadistic One. He then puts on a rather pompous expression while standing and spinning around, bolting straight at Psycho who somehow has risen to his feet in the corner. As soon as he does though, Christian jumps into the air, being caught across the chest then having his legs swept out from under him. Psycho hits him with a hard standing STO, Christian being driven with great force into the canvas before flipping over backwards, holding his neck in serious pain. He gets to all fours before trying to push himself up to his feet. As soon as he reaches a standing base though, Psycho comes barreling out of the corner, catching him around the neck and dragging him around into a huge swinging neckbreaker. Savior is planted hard into the canvas then rolls across the ring quickly, Psycho getting to all fours with a malicious, deviant glare captured within his eyes.

Douglas: Christian Savior being forced to pay for his mockery of Psycho. He showboated, wait, does Christian ever really showboat?

Mayne: He’s got a right to here tonight as he was just owning Psycho’s ass throughout this match before that brief little offensive comeback. Hmmm, I didn’t think I’d care for Christian that much seeing as he use to be a part of SCW, but he’s starting to grow on me.

Dan: Like a pimple, which I’m sure you have plenty of to begin with.

Christian starts to get up, crawling towards the ropes in the process and grabbing the cables to drag himself to a standing base. That’s when Psycho steps up behind him, grabbing him around the waist, trying to pull him over into a huge German suplex but Christian wraps his arms around the top rope, keeping himself from being dragged over in reverse. He is holding on for dear life while Psycho is still attempting to pull him over with all of his strength. Suddenly he mule kicks backwards right into Psycho’s testicles, causing him to bend forward and back away, holding his genitals in a great deal of pain. He shakes his head, trying to fight off the effects of that blow to his mommy daddy button, yes that’s ripping off Austin Powers, while Savior spins around and then charges forward. But wait, Psycho catches his knees against his shoulder and stands up, sending Savior flipping high into the air. Christian is able to flail his arms and his legs while catching tremendous height and then finally crashing down to the canvas with a big back drop. The impact is devastating as Savior sits up, reaching for his spine in tremendous pain, Psycho stepping in quickly, swiping the blood away from his face and then pushing Christian’s head forward, clubbing him hard over the back of the neck. Christian tries to cover up as Psycho grabs him around the neck, dragging him over onto his knees. He hits him hard over the upper back with another clubbing blow then takes him in a front chancery, pulling him up to a standing base. A flustered Psycho is about to hoist Christian into the air for a vertical suplex before Savior twists his body, getting his free from the front chancery position and grabbing hold of his opposition’s wrist in the process. He pulls Psycho forward into him only for the Sadistic One to lob a lariat at his throat. Savior ducks it though, stepping behind Psycho’s back and laying in wait with his spine facing him as the former Annihilation World Champion spins around Christian starts to jump into the air to hit the diamond cutter. But Psycho stops it abruptly, pushing Savior forward a bit then grabbing hold of his arms, locking them around his neck in a cobra clutch then dropping backwards with a release Psychotic Episode. Somehow though, Christian flips out of it, landing right on his feet behind the psychotic savage who turns onto his knees, appearing stunned. He reaches a standing base and charges forward only for Christian to jump into the air, catching him around the neck and delivering a huge RKO. The twisted, burnt, and now slightly bloodied flesh of Psycho bashes off the canvas before he flips over sideways onto his back, completely laid out.

Mayne: A nice series of counters there but Christian Savior ended up on top, hitting his patented version of the diamond cutter, and taking Psycho out in the process.

Douglas: This match not slowing down one bit, both of these men are just going at it full force right from the get go, but now I’m afraid it might be over early as a result.

Savior quickly crawls into the cover, hooking the leg of his downed opponent, Psycho seeming incapable of putting up much of a fight.

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No! Somehow Psycho shot his shoulder off the canvas at the last second, turning away from Savior who sits up on the canvas, becoming rather frustrated by his opponent’s persistence in this contest thus far.

Mayne: Ugh, come on already Psycho, just give up and quit prolonging the beat down.

Douglas: I think Psycho actually enjoys having this type of pain inflicted on him Billy, he likes it.

With a roll of his eyes, Savior returns to his opponent, now straddling is chest and beginning to fire right hand after right hand directly into his already lacerated forehead. He seems to be trying to incur as much blood flow as possible to further weaken Psycho before he rises to his feet and drops a quick elbow directly into his opponent’s sternum. He rolls quickly to his feet then jumps high into the air, folding up his leg in the process then uncoiling it when he’s caught enough height in order to drop straight across Psycho’s throat. A very intense Psycho turns onto his elbow, trying to fight through the pain that has been inflicted on him thus far, more claret flowing down his features while Christian gets to his feet behind him. He drops a quick knee right to the back of Psycho’s head, causing him to roll across the canvas in pain but trying his best to get to his feet. He can’t do it however as Savior steps over his back, reaching down and grabbing his legs. He folds one over the other and then leans back, placing his sadistic opposition in the Texas Cloverleaf much to Psycho’s chagrin. The multi timed champion shakes his head, more blood flowing down his face in the process as Christian continues to lean back as far as he can go with the submission hold, attempting to inflict as much damage as humanly possible on the withered spine of his opposition and perhaps earn that ever allusive submission. However, Psycho refuses to tap out or even allow his brain to house the thought of giving in.

Using his remaining strength and energy, Psycho pushes himself up onto his elbows, glaring straight at the cables which seem so very far away, well outside his range of reaching. Nevertheless, with what is left of his upper body strength he begins to drag himself in the direction of the cables, pulling Christian along with throughout the process. Savior is still trying to hold onto those legs and lean further back into the submission, but Psycho is too staunch in his devotion to reach those cables and escape the pain that courses through his body. His hand finally reaches out and grasps the bottom cable, the official stepping in and demanding that Savior break the submission hold. He reaches four before Christian lets go of the legs and turns, immediately beginning to stomp at the back of Psycho’s head while clutching the top rope for added leverage. Psycho tries to use the ropes to pull himself to his feet though, sticking his head out and over the middle cable while Christian places his knee to the back of his skull, as a result forcing his throat into the middle rope, choking him violently. Again the official is forced to step in, starting another five count to DQ Savior, who promptly takes his knee away. But now he steps up onto the back of Psycho’s neck, standing on top of it and forcing his throat down into the middle cable. Psycho gasps for air while Savior grabs the top rope to balance himself, forcing all his weight into Psycho’s neck, choking him even more. The official is starting another five count before Christian springs off the back of Psycho’s neck, pulling himself up and over the top rope before extending his leg and dropping it across the rear of his opponent’s cranium. Savior lands seat first on the apron as a result while Psycho grabs his neck, rolling across the ring in a great deal of pain.

Mayne: Savior making full use of the official’s slow counting abilities. Do they get these referees like Fitzpatrick straight out of preschool or something?

Douglas: Erm, I don’t know, but Fitzpatrick tentative to disqualify anyone it appears, especially considering the lashing he got from McPhee at Born Again for his officiating ability.

Billy: I wonder if Fitzpatrick has to walk around with a hemroid cushion under his pants from now on thanks to Bitchcakes.

Psycho gets to all fours, trying to stand up before Savior gets to his feet on the apron, laying in wait for his opponent to reach his feet. Right as Psycho achieves a standing balance, Christian takes hold of the top rope, springing up on top of it and then launching himself off. He opens his legs and falls right on top of Psycho’s chest, knocking him off his feet back first onto the canvas with Christian coming down seated on top of him. As soon as they hit the ring though Christian jumps into the air and double stomps Psycho directly to his chest, before bouncing off and coming down with an elbow right to the sternum of his opponent as well. Psycho begins to convulse on the canvas a result before Christian turns, diving into a quick cover.

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Again Psycho kicks out with vigilance and determination. An unsettled Savior gets to his feet and places his boot to the top of the Sadistic One’s forehead, scraping his heel across his lacerated skin. Psycho kicks but now smiles from the pain that courses through his body, but obviously Christian finds this to be no laughing matter as he steps around in front of the psychotic savage and boots him right to the face. Psycho is knocked onto his back once again while Christian starts to step toward sone of the turnbuckles to finish his opposition off once and for all. He starts to climb up the turnbuckle with his back aimed in the down Psycho’s direction, scaling the ropes patiently and slowly, realizing he’s got more than enough time with the condition he left his dazed opponent in. Psycho tries to get up though, beginning to stir suddenly, kicking his legs while rolling back and forth to get off his spine then seeing Savior making his way up the turnbuckle, already having reached the second rope. Christian stops only for a second to respond to a heckler in the crowd which allows Psycho time to step up behind him, delivering a hard clubbing blow of his lower back. Christian is almost knocked off the turnbuckle to the outside of the ring as a result before Psycho sticks his head under Savior’s posterior, dragging him out of the corner in an electric chair drop position. He is about to fall over in reverse in order to hit the move before Savior begins to deck him to the back of the head repeatedly to save himself. Each shot causes Psycho to be staggered some more, yet he keeps his balance before Savior places his hands to the top of his opposition’s thick skull and forces himself over it. He lands on his feet right in front of Psycho, successfully avoiding the electric chair drop only to have his arms grabbed now and placed around his throat in a cobra clutch. Psycho drops back, flipping Savior over with a release Psychotic Episode that slams Christian hard face first against the canvas. He rolls onto his back as a result, laid out completely.

Douglas: Psycho scores with the Psychotic Episode! He may have Christian Savior beat here.

Mayne: What a crock of shit, Savior had this match one if it hadn’t been for that fat ass fan in the front row distracting him.

A groggy, battered Psycho turns, crawling as quickly as his body will allow into the cover. He drops down on top of Savior and hooks the leg.

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3!

The fans rejoice before they realize that Christian got his shoulder up in time. Some of the fans now boo, and others cheer, unsure of who they should be supporting right now in this contest. Psycho sits up, gritting his teeth against one another, his eyes flaming with hatred and animosity.

Douglas: Now Christian’s kicked out of the Psychotic Episode!

Mayne: This has turned into quite the intense match thus far, Dan, and thankfully Christian is hanging in there, he’s proving that he wasn’t a one hit wonder like those Rastafarian dudes who sung about letting one’s canine out.

The reaction from the sold out fan base is still mixed while Psycho breathes uneasily, then finally forces himself up to his feet, taking hold of Savior’s hair. He drags him up to a standing base and begins to back towards one of the turnbuckles, starting to step up it in reverse. He’s obviously got something big planned here while moving up the corner in reverse, reaching the top rope which he sits up before dragging Christian’s head under his seat. He now reaches down, wrapping his arms around his waist and hoisting him up into the air, trying to turn him upside down so he can jump off the turnbuckle and hit his piledriver. Christian has other ideas though as he uses the momentum of the lift to carry him up into a seated position on Psycho’s shoulders then drop over in reverse, flipping his opposition off the turnbuckle with a huge hurricarana. Psycho flies through the air then plummets into the canvas, but now rolls across it onto his feet before Savior stands and turns around to spot this. He rushes in quickly right at Psycho and throws a roaring elbow at his head that the former Livewire Champion ducks under. As Christian turns, hitting the cables then coming back in Psycho catches him to the chest and stomach with his hands, throwing him up into the air. Savior is launched upwards before he comes down at Psycho who turns and catches him around the neck on the way down, turning it into a huge diamond cutter style move. Christian is pulled down out of the air face first into Psycho’s shoulder and the canvas before he bounces off, flipping over onto his back. Again the bloodied Psycho turns and crawls into the cover with quickness, hooking Savior’s leg for the pin.

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Christian lobs his shoulder from the canvas and narrowly avoids defeat at the hands of an increasingly unstable Psycho. The Sadistic One slips his hands across his face and brushes some of his claret into his hair, trembling at the thought of Savior kicking out of that last move. Psycho now reaches down, grabbing Christian around the neck and dragging him up to his feet in a bridging position, briefly holding him in a reverse DDT placement. But now he flips over sideways and drags Christian with him into the hero’s welcome, or a spinning diamond cutter. Psycho flips over onto his back and drags Christian down into his shoulder, his skull again hitting his shoulder and the canvas before he flops over onto his back. As soon as he hits the ring, Psycho again crawls into the cover.

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The fans are shocked as Christian gets his shoulder up once more. An irate Psycho, desperate to get the pinfall at this point, rises to his feet and grabs Savior by the hair, sitting him up. He takes hold of his arms now and places them around his neck in a cobra clutch before jumping over top of him, dragging Savior over onto his chest and stomach while Psycho sits down beside him. He now rears back on the arms, pulling Christian’s upper half into the air with a cobra clutch stretch. Savior is yelling out in pain but refusing to tap out as Psycho really exerts as much force on this submission as humanly possible, to the point where he’s almost choking the very life from Christian’s body. Psycho shakes his bloodied head, sending claret flying through the air while Savior hangs in there desperately, trying his best not to tap out even as Fitzpatrick drops down in front of him, inquiring as to rather or not he’ll do so. An impatient Psycho doesn’t wait though, releasing the cobra clutch and then slipping around so that he’s laid out across the back of Savior’s shoulders. He hooks one arm with his own, and wraps his legs around the other shoulder before ducking his head and rolling forward. He ends up on his side, pulling Christian over onto the back of his shoulders in a crucifix pin.

1

2

Christian kicks out once more, the crowd and Psycho stunned that he can’t obtain the pinfall.

Mayne: Hahaha, Psycho throwing everything at Christian that he can but it just isn’t enough to get the pinfall.

Douglas: That last hurricarana off the turnbuckle has only seemed to awaken Psycho’s fighting spirit, and his hunger for victory.

Billy: And given Psycho’s size and weight, I daresay he’s worked up quite the appetite in this contest thus far.

Christian drops over onto his knees, shaking his head and trying to get to his feet only for Psycho to quickly put him in a front chancery, angrily dragging him up to his feet. He reaches up, hooking his leg now and lifting him up into the air with a dead lift off the canvas, placing him on top of his shoulder in position for what looks like a fisherman buster. Instead of hitting it though he begins to twist Christian around, perhaps going for a big ki crusher. Before he can hit it though, Savior squirms free and slips off Psycho’s shoulders, turning his back to face him and catching him around the neck in the process. He drags Psycho down chin first right into his shoulder with an ace crusher counter. The Sadistic One bounces off and staggers in reverse, looking very dazed before Savior rolls over backwards and extends his legs, placing them around the neck of his much larger opponent. He twists his body around then rolls forward, connecting with a leg scissors that flips Psycho over across the canvas. He hits the ring hard across the back of his head and now rolls over onto his knees, appearing dazed while Savior drops back from a seated position on the canvas. He rolls right over onto his feet then bends forward, motioning, nay signaling that it’s time to hit the Soul Survivor, his hard hitting spear. Psycho starts to get up, still holding his jaw before he starts to turn towards Savior who comes charging in with a full burst of momentum. Right as he’s about to hit the spear though, Psycho side steps him and pushes him forward into the turnbuckle. But Christian turns and jumps into the air, landing feet first on the second rope of the corner as Psycho spins around to face him, Savior jumping off and catching him around the neck. He pulls him around into a huge tornado downward spiral. Psycho’s face is planted with force against the canvas before he flips over onto his side, looking unconscious while Savior crawls quickly into the cover on his bloodied opponent, hooking his leg.

1

2

Psycho somehow musters up the strength to launch a shoulder off the canvas. Savior sits up, appearing stunned that he didn’t get the victory off that last move, his jaw hanging open and his eyes almost bursting through the sockets. He gets to his knees and now grabs hold of Psycho’s hair, dragging him upwards with all of his remaining strength, it’s obviously his intention to end this, and to end it now. With Psycho kneeling before him Savior steps back, stomping his foot in anticipation of a big superkick. The struggling Psycho continues to work his way to a standing base before he finally gets all the way up, Christian stepping in and launching his foot straight at his face. Psycho somehow has the whereabouts to duck it though, avoiding being caught to the jaw with the kick, Christian staggering forward as a result then spinning around to face the Sadistic One. Psycho steps towards him, catching Savior around the neck and hooking his leg before dropping back into a t-bone bridging suplex with the pin.

1

2

The crowd reacts with shock and enthusiasm as Christian kicks out at the last second now, Psycho dropping onto his back in disbelief. His face is twisted with anger and rage, blood still dribbling down his face from his open laceration. He turns onto his knees now while Savior is trying to stand up, attempting to force himself to his feet to the best of his abilities. Psycho grabs him around the jaw though, pushing him up to a standing base then lobbing a boot straight at his face. Savior avoids it with a quick duck though before rushing across the ring quickly into the ropes behind him. Psycho spins around as Christian comes barreling back in only for the Sadistic One to step forward once again and catch him with his hands to his chest. He throws Savior up into the air much like a few moments ago only for Christian to rake at his eyes while airborne. Psycho then drops to his seat with Savior coming down on his feet in front of him then charging forward with a quick shining wizard right to the side of his opponent’s face. Psycho is knocked out as a result with Christian coming down beside him, quickly crawling into the cover.

1

2

To great applause and shock Psycho gets his shoulder up this time. The fans are all standing, going nuts over what they are witnessing, putting their hands on top of their heads in disbelief over the fact that Psycho kicked out in time after that one. Christian grits his teeth with veins throbbing through his head over the fact that he just can’t seem to put away the Sadistic One.

Dan: Man oh man what a match we’re seeing here between Christian Savior and Psycho. Both of these men trying to put one another away but they just can’t seem to accomplish it.

Mayne: They’ve hit one another with high impact move after high impact move and nothing seems capable of doing the job in this sprint to the finish.

An irritated Christian gets to his feet while Psycho is trying to force himself upward as well. Both men are very tired, spent already after this grueling contest, but Savior is the quickest to his feet. With Psycho bent forward in front of him, Christian steps in, kicking him hard right to the sternum and thus causing him to stand up straight. Christian quickly delivers a spinning back chop to the side of his face, Psycho staggered and stumbled as a result of the impact, but not yet taken from his feet. A surprised Christian turns, charging into the ropes and jumping onto the second one. He shows his great agility by springing off backwards, flying right at Psycho and landing on his shoulder. Somehow Psycho is still standing though with Christian now placed on his shoulder, pushing him down into a tombstone position. Savior is trying to free himself but can’t before Psycho starts to spin around in circles then reach out, placing his hands to Christian’s hips, pushing him upward. Savior is now stretched out with his legs placed over Psycho’s shoulders before the former Livewire Champion drops to his seat, dragging Christian down face first into the canvas with a huge facebuster. Savior bounces off the canvas and rolls over onto his back, appearing out of it while Psycho lays sprawled out across the canvas, breathing heavily. Neither man is capable of moving much after the brutality they’ve inflicted on one another in this intense, out of control singles contest.

Billy: Both men are absolutely spent after everything they’ve thrown at one another, and now I have no way of finishing out this comment whatsoever....

Douglas: That’s why they pay you such a meager salary Billy. But I’d hate to see this contest end with neither man capable of reaching the ten count if Fitzpatrick would realize his job is to make one right now.

On cue Fitzpatrick steps forward, beginning to make the count very slowly, not wishing to have to throw out this contest after what both these men have endured thus far. The fans are counting along with neither man really moving all that much, both of them still laid out, trying to catch their breath and get their heads straight. That’s when the reaction from the fans changes drastically as from the backstage area rushes none other than Michelle Blacker, dressed in her tight fitting black leather and wearing a devious smile on her face. She charges down the ramp and stops at the edge of the ring, slapping the apron while calling out to Psycho to get up, but secretly enjoying the sight of all this pain he’s in as well as the anguish he’s inflicted on Christian.

Dan: Oh great, Michelle Blacker is now out here, our unstable backstage correspondent who’s become smitten with Psycho, or at least with the prospect of having pain inflicted on her. I don’t understand this woman at all, she was normal just a couple of months ago.

Mayne: She’s a bit out there yes, but I do enjoy the sight of all that hot black leather.

Michelle is still slapping the apron while the official has reached a 7 count, just moments away from throwing this match out. Finally both Psycho and Christian start to move, their bodies weak and worn thin, but nevertheless pushing themselves upward. They can barely fight through the strain that wears them down, Savior grabbing the ropes to beginning pulling himself up while behind him Psycho has finally reached his feet, wavering a bit but causing the official to stop his count. Psycho then turns to spot Michelle at ringside, who is slapping the apron and smiling in his direction. The Sadistic One becomes irate, pointing to the back and telling her to get out of here, however Blacker has no interest in leaving, she turns her arm and begins to motion towards some scars on her bicep, fingering them with great delight. Psycho turns to face Christian though who steps away from the ropes and receives a hard right hand straight across the face for his troubles. Savior stumbles backwards, falling into the ropes for support and nearly tumbling through them while Michelle whistles to Psycho, having retrieved the X-Class title from the ringside mats. She slips it into the ring then jumps onto the apron, distracting Fitzpatrick who quickly lunges to the ropes in front of her, demanding she go to the back. The belt ends up right in front of a contemplating Psycho before he bends forward go grab hold of it. Just then Christian steps away from the ropes and locks his arm around Psycho’s head then drops back with a spike DDT that plants his opponent face first into the X-Class title belt. Psycho stands on top of his head then flips over, crashing onto his back, appearing to be completely out cold now. Christian grabs the belt and throws it across the ring before crawling into the cover. Michelle appears stunned by what she just did but smiles as well before dropping off the apron, referee Fitzpatrick spinning around and spotting the pin. He drops and makes the count.

1

2

3!

The crowd is shocked by this, absolutely stunned by what just happened as Christian Savior has pinned Psycho thanks to a well timed DDT onto the title belt.

Douglas: Oh no, I cannot believe this just transpired. Michelle Blacker basically just handed the victory to Christian Savior by throwing that belt into the ring. What was she thinking?

Mayne: I don’t know but I continue to gain respect for Savior. You got to love guys who will be opportunistic enough to take every short cut they can to victory. Just like George Bush Jr.

Dan: I think that comparison is even too low for Savior.

The fans are outraged as Christian now snatches the X-Class title off the canvas and rolls under the ropes to the outside of the ring. Everyone appears confused as to why he has the belt in his grasp, perhaps removing it from the ring so that Psycho can’t try to gain revenge on him by using it. The sadistic Psycho finally begins to regain his senses, shaking his head and sitting up slowly with a very furious glint in his eyes, realizing he was just robbed of a much deserved victory.

Mayne: Christian Savior now 2 and 0 since his debut in the IWC, who is going to be capable of stopping this man? Who I ask, who? Jesus? I doubt it, the man’s probably too busy playing dice in a back alley somewhere, robbing Budha of all his hard earned money.

Dan: I swear, the longer you speak the less and less you make sense.

Psycho is still sitting on the canvas, not appearing happy over what just transpired whatsoever while Michelle has slid into the ring, grabbing at him and fondling him. She grabs hold of his wrist and lifts it into the air before Psycho pulls it back, glaring menacingly into her features. On the outside of the ring, an exhausted, sweating Christian has reached down, grabbing the X-Class title belt off the mats then staring into his reflection in it. He tilts his head and shrugs his shoulders before thrusting the belt over his forearm and holding it high into the air. The crowd boos as a result before Psycho spots him holding the belt he took from Robin. The Sadistic One gets to his feet to give pursuit but Michelle jumps in his path, still running her hands over his chest and face, fondling him even more. Psycho tries to get around her but Michelle keeps jumping in his path, blocking his pursuit of Savior who has now jumped the barricade, waltzing through the crowd with the X-Class title held high above his head.

Douglas: What is going on here? Christian Savior has just stolen the X-Class title from Psycho now, who can’t go after him because Michelle’s in his way.

Mayne: She better get out of there before something bad happens to her.....oh wait.

Psycho finally realizes Christian has gotten away before glaring straight into Michelle’s face who is nodding, pointing to herself and saying something.

Michelle: I cost you the match Psycho, yeah, me, me, me, I deserve something for that don’t I, yes?

She reaches up, sliding her hand across the side of his face in a soothing manner then clawing at it with her nails. She digs them into his flesh for a moment before Psycho finally becomes enraged enough to kick her to the gut. Michelle is bent forward and now Psycho wraps his arms around her waist. He hoists her into the air and steps forward, throwing her across the ring with a huge powerbomb. Blacker hits the canvas with force and stands up on the top of her head and shoulders as a result while half the crowd boos, and half the crowd cheers what Psycho just did.

Douglas: Noooo, Psycho just powerbombed Michelle Blacker!

Mayne: I think that’s exactly what she wanted done to her.

Fitzpatrick jumps in Psycho’s direction, yelling and screaming at him for what he just did while the Sadistic One tilts his head, glaring at him in anger. He then grabs the ref by the shirt, spinning him around and placing him in a cobra clutch before dropping back with the Psychotic Episode. Fitzpatrick crashes onto the back of his head then flips over onto his chest and stomach, completely laid out while Psycho gets to his feet slowly, trembling, looking as if he’s completely lost it.

Dan: Now he’s almost killed referee Fitzpatrick, somebody get help out here already!

Mayne: Psycho is beyond the point of being controlled.

EMTs begin to slide into the ring in order to help those who have been injured but Psycho immediately starts stomping on them. He drops his elbow into the back of one of their heads while another one enters the ring, begging Psycho to stop with his hands held out in front of himself. Psycho grabs him by the wrist though, dragging him forward into a bearhug then hoisting him into the air as he turns and drives him to the canvas with a belly to belly suplex. The helpless EMT is left lying while the rest of his crew remain outside the ring, refusing to enter. A demented, deranged, and unstable Psycho steps towards the EMT he stomped on a few moments ago, grabbing them around the neck and dragging him to his feet. He places him in a front chancery then hoists him into the air before driving him down to the canvas with a sickening brainbuster DDT. The EMT convulses on the canvas, going into seizures after that impact before Psycho finally rolls to the outside of the ring, dropping to his feet on the mats. He takes deep breaths while marching up the ramp now, not even looking back any longer at all those he left in the wake of his destruction. The rest of the EMTs slide in, coming to the aid of their counterparts, as well as Fitzpatrick and Michelle, who has gotten up onto one of her elbows smiling and nodding her head with great satisfaction.

Douglas: Psycho has completely and utterly went off the deep end tonight. I cannot believe what he’s done here.

Mayne: You only have one person to thank for all of this, Robin Brooks.

Psycho continues to march up the ramp, bleeding from the face and mumbling to himself while EMTs try to desperately help everyone he damn near killed in the ring.

THE TRUTH AT LAST?

Police are gathered backstage, several plain clothes detectives and officers adorned in their standard black uniforms. They stand around impatiently waiting for something just outside of Nathan Creed’s dressing room, obviously awaiting his arrival after that tag team match earlier in the evening. Commotion comes from the end of the corridor, the officer’s turning their attention in that direction with straight laced, serious expressions residing on their features. The camera pulls out and switches around to reveal Orlando Cruze and Nathan Creed marching down the corridor. There seems to be an argument ensuing between both men, Creed trying to walk on but Orlando continuously grabbing his shoulder, trying to spin him around in order to speak with him, so they can look one another eye to eye. All the while Cruze reaches for his battered ribs with sweat rolling down onto his black sweat pants.

Orlando: God dammit Creed, talk to me. Quit walking away from me!

Greatly annoyed and increasingly flustered, Creed spins around, glaring straight into Orlando’s features in an agitated manner. He’s twisted with hostility.

Creed: What!?! What are you going to lecture me about now? That’s all you ever do anymore, lecture, lecture, lecture. But do you ever listen to me, have you once taken one thing I’ve ever said seriously? No!

Again Creed turns his attention to his doorway, marching towards the police with a grimace with Orlando still keeping after him.

Cruze: Of course I listen to you Nathan, of course I take what you say seriously.

In a fit of anger Creed spins to face the former three time champion, lifting a trembling finger up into his face.

Creed: Bullshit, bullshit, you’ve never taken me seriously once, Cruze, never. Now please, be quiet, I’ve got to deal with these assholes.

The police officers all glance in one another’s directions, appearing mildly outraged by that comment as Creed uttered in well within hearing distance. The Future starts to march forward towards them again before Orlando grabs him by the shoulder, keeping him from reaching the police.

Orlando: Whoa, whoa, whoa. I think I know what’s eating you. Your starting to take those messages from that S.K lunatic seriously, aren’t you?

Nathan pauses for a second, frozen for a response while slowly lowering his head. This seems to flabbergast Orlando.

Cruze: I knew it, after all the preaching you’ve done to me, trying to clear your name, now you’re the one taking these stupid messages to heart. And I’ve done nothing, absolutely nothing that would give you reasoning not to trust me. Have I not had your back every week, did I not go into that match tonight with injured ribs just so you wouldn’t have to fight it out alone? Jesus man, after everything you’ve said these past few weeks, you’re the last person I thought would believe something produced by this S.K freak.

Placing his fists to his hips and giving the Future a very intense glare, Nathan lowers his head again, realizing that he may have been mistaken, that perhaps he should be apologetic.

Nathan: Listen, maybe I reacted a litt…

Detective: Excuse me gentlemen, I’m sorry to interrupt, but we’ve got an investigation underway here.

Nathan and Orlando are both irritated as they stare towards the well dressed detective, glancing between both men with his arms thrust out to his sides.

Creed: Okay, okay, what do you need me to say?

At that the detective really does is just shrug his shoulders while removing a notepad from his chest pocket.

Detective: I’m assuming that you’re Mr. Creed, the victim of the attempted vehicular manslaughter.

Nathan: Um, obviously.

Detective: Okay, well thanks to the surveillance cameras out back and the assistance of your General Manager, who might I add, was increasingly rude throughout our investigation, we were able to find the car that was used to try and run you over. It was parked a few blocks away, abandoned.

This piece of information causes Creed to perk up a bit and also renews Orlando’s interest.

Creed: Okay then, so you should have a suspect then, right?

Detective: Um, yes, actually we did. We were able to track down the individual who rented the vehicle from the dealership today….

Bizarrely the Detective’s attention turns towards Orlando Cruze, who’s eyebrow arches with confusion. Nathan mouth opens a little, hanging agape while shifting his focus to his tag team partner as well.

Orlando: What?

Detective: Mr. Cruze, the owner of the vehicle in question was rented by you. I’m afraid your going to have to come with us to the station sir.

Cruze: Your joking right?

Detective: I’m afraid not sir, officer, handcuff this man.

Nathan can’t believe what he’s hearing, his eyes darting back and forth between an outraged and confused Cruze and the police officer opening his cuffs while stepping towards the Icon. Orlando throws his hands up immediately while shaking his head, the Detective quickly reaching under his jacket to his belt line.

Orlando: There’s no need for that, I’ll come along peacefully…

The officer lowers his handcuffs while the Detective takes his palm away from the handle of his gun. Two thick policemen step to opposite sides of the Icon, taking him by the arms before he looks back at a bewildered Nathan, who can’t believe what he’s hearing. While being dragged away Orlando attempts to explain.

Orlando: I had nothing to do with this Nathan, I promise you man. I’m being set up! I didn’t do this, you know me, I didn’t do this!

Creed stands there watching Orlando being taken away before his shaking his hands reach up, planting themselves on the top of his head. He takes several deep breaths, trying to calm himself down and rationalize everything that is happening.

COMMERCIAL BREAK

DO YOURSELF A FAVOR, GO TO A GOOD WRESTLING SCHOOL

FULLY LOADED

The camera starts from the ground, with a view of the bench-pegs, and of the back of some guy's denim-covered legs, as he's seated on the bench. The camera pans up to show the back of a black IWC logo T-shirt on somebody, reaching down into a duffel bag and putting in a black leather jacket, a black IWC logo hat, and a pair of shades. Upon sitting back up, a light-brown ponytail of hair is shown as a "menacing"-sounding voice emanates from the doorway.

Ooohhh...Axl Evermoooore...you did a bad, BAD thing...

The ponytailed man, now revealed as Axl Evermore, the man who presented the new IWC Submission Title belt TO, then ATTACKED, World/Submission Champion Hurse just a short while ago, slowly turns his head towards the doorway with a cocked eyebrow and a smirk on his face.

Evermore: ...Not as bad as what WE'RE going to do to them in the FUTURE, Mr. Cräven.

The camera zooms out to show a grinning Max Craven, tonight going by MAX, coming up to Evermore and shaking hands with him and hugging him the way lifelong friends tend to do. He swipes a towel over his face and the back of his neck, still sweating from the competition earlier in the evening.

MAX: The FUTURE, Mr. Evermore?

Axl: That's right, MAX, ol' buddy! ALL THE WAY!

MAX: Huh?? How so?

Axl: Well, now that I kicked Hurse’s emo-er-than-thou ass in the ring earlier, and since our alliance is well known seeing as their videotaping it right now, I have a feeling we’re going to be seeing a lot more of the Alpha Generation in the future. Which means we’re going to have make our unity felt much stronger in the coming weeks.

This gets a great chuckle out of MAX, who's still confused, however, as to the nature of Evermore's previous statement.

Evermore: Which means, I’ll be accompanying you to the ring very often and such in the coming weeks.

MAX: Oh, great! ...But speaking of the Alpha Generation?

Evermore: What about them?

MAX: Well seeing as you kind of drew their attention, what are we going to do when they come looking for some payback?

Evermore stands pensively, hand on his chin, for a moment, before finally shrugging.

Axl: We'll cross that bridge if we come to it. Hurse and Desolation want to retaliate? We'll be ready and waiting. They want to bring their lackeys? We'll fight back, because YOU and I aren't the ONLY ones who hate them.

MAX: Then what? You want the Submission Title...I want the X-Class Title...

Evermore reaches into the duffel bag and pulls out two snap-closure team jackets, one black with green sleeves, the other white with red sleeves, and puts out his hand with the green-sleeved jacket for MAX to take.

Axl: And WE...we want the IWC's Global Tag Team Crown. Now put on your Team Jacket, 'cuz NEXT WEEK...Fully Loaded shows the IWC what we're about, starting with Robin Brooks and her boyfriend, Hurse.

MAX takes the jacket and puts it on, as Evermore puts HIS jacket on. They turn towards the camera and grin broadly.

MAX: I like the sound of that! Look out, IWC, because we're COCKED...

Axl: ...LOCKED...

Both: ...and FULLY LOADED!

MAX: Whether you like it or not...

Axl: ...GUARANTEED!

They cackle to themselves as they leave the locker room and head God only knows where.

GAUNTLET MATCH

Mayne: And that last backstage segment represents just how far of a downward spiral this show has been on since Riot! started this evening. Is this Axl Evermore guy even on the roster? What the hell is he doing here and why hasn’t he been thrown out by security yet?

Douglas: I’m not sure what’s going on with Evermore, although I did quite enjoy how he made his debut. What I’m worried about is what happened to Orlando backstage, is he really responsible for trying to run Nathan over?

Billy: I wouldn’t doubt it. The second Nathan tries to build up some momentum Orlando swoops in and tries to take it out from under him. He’s never been able to tolerate Creed being in the spotlight, ever, and now it’s gotten so bad the Icon is actually trying to do nothing short of murder him to keep him from reaching any type of fame.

Douglas: I just can’t believe that’s true, but all the evidence is certainly pointing to the Icon. We’ve got to change gears now because up next is the Luck of the Drawl Gauntlet Match, with the winner of this battle moving on to challenge for the World Heavyweight title.

Mayne: Whomever survives this, I highly doubt will have the physical ability to withstand the challenge of a title match, no matter how bad some of the participants in this match are.

The opening cords of Drivers high begins to play and the lights begin to flicker on and then off and the music kicks in to the first verse where Nobu-kun walks out from behind to loud cheering from both female fan and a few male ones. He walks carefully towards the ring intill the song hit’s “coolest drivers high” and the pyrotechnic begin from all the ring posts as Nobu-kun slides in and throws his hands up in the air. Chris Hunter is standing up now and waving a twenty in Nobu-kun’s direction, just like he was with Mercy earlier. When he spins around though and glares at Chris, the spectator’s face fills with both bewilderment and disgust.

Chris: Oh, shit, you’re a man. My Bad, my bad.

Chris slides back into his chair with a grimace.

Mayne: This guy still has a job? I thought he would have been fired for sexual harassment by now.

Douglas: You are you fear of others with different life styles.

Billy: Me? I’m completely cool with those who are different than me, just as long as they think exactly as I do, and don’t do things that would be contrary to my behavior.

Dan: Yeah, that would certainly make them different from you then wouldn’t it? But this definitely goes to show the randomness of this match, as Nobu-kun would certainly never be considered for a World title shot in the near future.

The sound of a beer can opening and being poured echoes through the P.A. Systems and the Crowd begins to go nuts. As the opening verse of BEER! by Psychostick begins to play, Bitchcakes McPhee stumbles out from behind the curtain and waddles down the entrance ramp, slapping every last hand of fans he sees.

"I drink beer because it's good.
I drink beer because I should.
If there was a song to sing.
I'd sing it and beer you'd bring.
I drink beer when I am sad.
Cuz the beer it makes me glad.
Now there is nothing more to sing.
So let's go drink beer."

Bitchcakes rolls into the ring just before the chorus begins, and begins to get the fans involved in singing the chorus of the song with him.

"Beer is Good, Beer is Good, Beer is good, and Stuff!
Beer is Good, Beer is Good, Beer is good, let's go drink some
BEER!
BEER!
BEER!
BEER!
BEER! BEER!
BEER! BEER!
BEER! BEER
BEER!"

After the rowdy chorus Bitchcakes ascends the turnbuckles and drunkenly falls off, before doing a few stretches waiting for the bell to ring. Nobu-kun marches back and forth with a seductive swagger of his hips while glaring in the direction of McPhee. He rubs at his forehead, remembering what McPhee did to him a few weeks ago with that beer bottle.

Billy: Well it certainly makes sense for both of these men to be fighting each other tonight….

Douglas: Yes, your right, absolutely right for once, seeing as there’s some history between them with McPhee busting a beer bottle over Nobu-kun’s head a few weeks ago.

Mayne: What the hell are you talking about? I’m talking about the correlation between their disturbing sexual preferences. Well, actually, you can never know rather Bitchcakes is pitching or catching, since it seems to change every week.

Dan: One more generic statement and I’ll, well, I’ll continue sitting here and keep grimacing at you since I actually need this job.

Nobu-kun is still swinging his hips and pointing at the scar on his forehead from that beer bottle shot last week, a sad expression in his features. McPhee’s shoulders sink and a bit of disappointment creeps into his features as well. With much duress he shrugs his shoulders and steps forward, attempting to explain himself. Slowly he reaches out, brushing back Nobu-kun’s hair and rubbing at the wound while the young Japanese star becomes putty in his hands for a moment. Bitchcakes steps back, snapping his fingers and putting his palms up, saying something in the process.

Bitchcakes: Hold on, hold on, I’ll make it up to you right now.

The chunky McPhee moves towards the ropes, rolling under the cables to the outside mats and approaching a fan in the front row who is holding a flower for some odd, implausible reason. Bitchcakes reaches into his pocket, removing a dollar bill and lifting it towards the female fan who blushes due to embarrassment from being on TV. She shrugs her shoulders, not sure what to think and then finally smiles and nods her head, extending the rose out to Bitchcakes, who raises the dollar into the air as well. McPhee snatches the rose and then hands the dollar to the female who stuffs it into her pocket, turning around and celebrating her interaction with the drunken star. That’s before McPhee yanks on something, revealing a near invisible string attached to the dollar, abstracting it from the pocket of the female before she can even realize it. He then rolls the string up and takes hold of the dollar attached to the other end of it, stuffing it into his pocket and moving towards the ring with the rose in hand.

Dan: Bitchcakes bamboozling a female fan with a fish lined dollar bill.

Mayne: That’s probably why he’s been kicked out of numerous, numerous strip clubs all throughout the United States.

A smiling Bitchcakes enters the ring and bows gracefully towards Nobu-kun, extending the rose outward with his stretched palms. Blushing with joy Nobu-kun fans himself off with his hand then reaches out, taking the rose, lifting it aloft immediately with great joy. He then extends his neck, puckering his lips in Bitchcakes’ direction, looking for a comforting kiss to cement their new found friendship. Bitchcakes stands up, placing his fingers to his jaw and stroking the stubble that grows there, contemplating rather he should give him the kiss or not. Finally he looks back and forth at the fans, shrugs his shoulders then bends forward for the kiss before stopping abruptly. He suddenly decks Nobu-kun right to the jaw, followed by another strike. The impacts knock the small Japanese star in reverse, almost dropping the rose every time, somehow he remains standing though. Bitchcakes now charges backwards into the ropes, bouncing off and coming back in with a running punch to his face before Nobu-kun jumps into the air for a huge spinning heel kick. McPhee ducks it though, Nobu-kun dropping to his feet behind him then spinning around when Bitchcakes wraps his arm around his waist. He pulls him in close, grabs the rose, places it between Nobu-kun’s teeth then interlocks hands with him. Suddenly ballroom dancing music starts to play throughout the PA system, everyone going absolutely nuts in the building as Bitchcakes begins to the do the tango with Nobu-kun. He pulls him back and forth across the ring before dipping Nobou-kun then standing him up straight so that they are almost face to face.

Mayne: This is not Dancing With the Stars, this show is actually suppose to be slightly entertaining. Save the homoerotic dancing for after the show boys.

Douglas: Some impromptu dancing commencing between these two in a moment I’m sure none of us will ever forget, no matter how hard we’ll try.

Nobu-kun and Bitchcakes continue dancing before McPhee spins him away from his wide frame, catching him by the hand. Nobu-kun kicks his head back then slams his foot to the canvas and Bitchcakes pulls him back towards his body, sending him into a spin. The agile young man throws his arms up into the air, moving almost like a swan while spinning before turning to face Bitchcakes with a smitten expression on his face only to be almost cut in half with a huge spear, the Charging Bull. Nobu-kun flips over backwards, crashing into the canvas across his shoulders and neck, immediately Bitchcakes hooks his leg.

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3!

The crowd erupts into a long wave of cheers at the sight of Bitchcakes picking up the win over Nobu-kun within a matter of seconds. A slightly drunken McPhee gets to his knees, thrusting his arms up into the air in celebration while the referee rolls the young Japanese star from the ring.

Douglas: Well the dance routine is over and McPhee has already advanced in the Luck of the Drawl Gauntlet Match.

Mayne: All I have to say is thank God that was merciful short. Let’s hope the next individual out here is someone with some actual talent. Which is a high hope, considering the only one with real athletic ability is Jackson Adams.

Bitchcakes stands in the ring, limbering up for the next match, which should hopefully be a bit more straining and stressful. That’s when Why Do You Love my Garbage hits the PA system, everyone jumping to their feet, putting their hands together in a loud celebration. Immediately through the curtains charges Aurora Rose herself, drawing an even bigger reaction from the fans. She stands there a moment, thrusting one arm high in the air in a punk rock pose then charging towards the ring. She slides under the ropes, jumping to her feet and then thrusting her arm high above her head again, putting on a pose when Bitchcakes charges forward immediately for a spear. He tries to catch her before she’s aware but she jumps into the air, leap frogging him then ducking her head forward. She slips over McPhee’s back, wrapping her arms around his waist while rolling him over in reverse into the sunset flip out of nowhere.

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Bitchcakes rolls over out of the sunset flip onto his knees right in front of Aurora before jumping forward, clasping his arms around her neck, pulling her down onto her spine. He’s got her positioned in a side headlock submission while she’s spread out across her back, smiling widely before nodding his head towards the fans who are cheering him on.

Douglas: Bitchcakes trying to catch Aurora with a quick spear before she could get ready but Rose reacted with those cat like reflexes with enough time to get a fast near fall over her inebriated opponent.

Mayne: Why couldn’t have Jackson been the next guy out here? He would have stopped Bitchcakes’ spear and finished him off all at once with one of his many lethal finishing moves.

Douglas: I think Jackson Adams’ ass has to be getting sore from all the kissing that you’ve put on it. I actually think Aurora will make a good challenger for the title, as she pushed the current title holder to his absolute limit several weeks ago.

Billy: That was only because Hurse was bitten with a mosquito carrying West Nile virus.

Bitchcakes continues to hold Aurora in the side headlock submission before she shows her agility by bridging herself up off the canvas. The athletic young Rose stands up behind McPhee and then steps over his shoulders, sitting on them only long enough to lock her long legs about his neck. She drops onto her back and pulls Bitchcakes down into a sleeper hold with her legs clamped about his throat. Bitchcakes stomps his heels to the canvas and reaches for the shins of his opponent, attempting to separate them from about his throat. Unfortunately for him he’s incapable of doing it before he begins to roll from side to side with his body, dragging Aurora with him. Finally he rolls over onto his knees, pulling Rose over onto her chest and stomach while she is still trying to hold onto his neck with the sleeper.

He grabs her legs, prying them from around his neck and placing them in an Inverted Indian Death Lock. However, he holds that on for a second before standing up and stepping to Aurora’s side, sticking out his elbow then dropping it straight at her spine. Aurora rolls out of the way, Bitchcakes hitting the canvas elbow first and sitting up with a grimace of pain. The quick Rose rises to her feet and steps in front of her seated opponent, going for a swift kick to his chest. As fast as he can though, Bitchcakes lifts his forearms up in front of his face and sternum, blocking Rose’s neck. Aurora then steps behind him, going for a kick to the back of his head. Instead of hitting it though McPhee leans forward, avoiding the impact and causing Aurora to spin around so that her spine is facing her less than stable minded opponent. Bitchcakes stands up quickly behind her, slapping on a rear waist lock, setting up for some type of German suplex perhaps. Before he can hit it though, Aurora reaches up with her arm, wrapping it around Bitchcakes’ neck and then pushing up with her leg. She’s hoisted up into the air as she tries to go for a big snapmare attempt only for her opposition to place his hands to her back and shove her off. Rose flies across the ring and then turns so that she lands on her feet right in front of the cables. She then turns around right in time to spot Bitchcakes rushing in with another Charging Bull attempt (Spear). He seems intent on finishing her off with it before Aurora side steps him, pushing his head along and thus sending McPhee flying through the ropes due to his momentum. He is sent flying before he spins and crashes into the mats across his spine, holding his back in pain.

Mayne: Bitchcakes going to the well way too often and it definitely cost him big time right there. Perhaps he just isn’t in the right frame of mind, I heard that he went into deep preparations for this match and thus only followed a twelve pack of beer with two shots of whiskey instead of his usual three. That could definitely throw off one’s equilibrium.

Douglas: Yeah, I guess. But you certainly couldn’t fault McPhee for attempting to be somewhat clear headed for this match. Although I’m not quite sure he accomplished that in the slightest.

Bitchcakes forces himself up to his feet on the outside, gripping his lower spine in pain while Aurora slips through the ropes onto the apron. She begins to charge across it towards her opponent before McPhee rushes forward, big booting Aurora right to the shins, knocking her legs out from under her and causing her to land face first on the apron with a sickening thud. She bounces off and spills to the outside mats across her back while wrapping her hands around her forehead. The tired Bitchcakes who looks stunned that he was able to get his leg up so high to hit that move turns staggers forward with a questioning expression on his face. He now begins to thrust his legs into the air to see if he can get them up that high once again when one of his boots fly off his feet and go soaring straight into one of the camera lenses. The individual operating the camera spills over backwards with the device coming down on top of him, Bitchcakes cringing, placing his fingers between his teeth in disbelief. He turns away timidly, and begins to step towards Aurora who is trying to get to her feet. Her palm is placed to her forehead while McPhee grabs her around the hair, dragging her to her feet then burying his shoulder into her spine. He lifts Aurora into the air then turns to that his back is aimed towards the barricade, falling in reverse towards it. Rose is back dropped right into the barricade, her spine bending around it before she falls to her side next to Bitchcakes who stands up, appearing apologetic over what he did. He grimaces a bit while Aurora tries to get to her feet now, holding her back in a great deal of anguish while leaning side first against the barricade.

McPhee shakes his head but now charges forward, delivering a hard boot right to the side of Aurora’s face, driving the other side of her skull into the steel plates of the barricade. She bounces off with a hard thud before tumbling to her gut, the crowd groaning the impact of her skull into the steel, while Bitchcakes backs away. He rubs at the back of his head and shrugs his shoulders in a sympathetic manner towards Aurora, who still only wearing one boot. Rose starts to pull herself to her feet, attempting to use the barricade to stand before Bitchcakes takes her by the hair, dragging to the ring. He rolls her in under the ropes then slides in himself before crawling into a hook of the leg.

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Aurora gets her shoulder off the canvas while Bitchcakes sits up, shaking his head in a distraught manner, not liking the fact that she kicked out, meaning he’ll be forced to prolong the damage he’s doing to her. He now rises to his feet, turning towards Aurora while bending forward, wrapping his arms around her waist. With a grunt he hoists Aurora up off the canvas and then turns her upside down before dropping her with a side suplex brain buster of sorts. Aurora bashes off the canvas across the top of her head and shoulders before McPhee turns around and crawls into the cover on her again.

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Somehow Rose shoots her shoulder from the canvas once more, Bitchcakes sitting up, appearing surprised that he didn’t get the pinfall on her yet again. He shakes his head and rises to his feet while Aurora attempts to push herself to a standing base as well, although she’s clearing been knocked almost unconscious.

Billy: Oh come on, why is Bitchcakes holding back against Aurora? Sure she’s a chick, but sometimes uppity women need to be put in their place.

Douglas: Did you get that out of the OJ Simpson handbook?

Immediately McPhee grabs the back of Aurora’s head, delivering a bare foot boot into the side of her face. Rose is almost knocked down, more from the stench than the impact before Bitchcakes grabs her around the head, dragging her to a standing base with a side headlock submission locked in. He has her held tightly in this lock, hoping it will be enough to finish her off and he won’t have to inflict anymore physical damaged on her. However, his hopes are dashed when Aurora throws an elbow into his back, followed by another shot. She now places her hands to Bitchcakes’ back, shoving him forward into the turnbuckle. McPhee spins around, hitting the corner hard spine first before Rose comes barreling in quickly, jumping into the air for a big splash. Bitchcakes side steps her though, causing Aurora to rack herself on the top turnbuckle pad, bouncing off then spinning around, leaning spine first against the corner. A grimacing Bitchcakes steps across the ring behind her, then spins around, slapping his knee and charging in for a big running boot right to her face while she leans against the corner. But no, Aurora pulls herself up onto the second rope and dives over top of Bitchcakes as his barren foot flies at her, going over top the turnbuckle. His leg is draped over the cable while Aurora ducks her head, rolling across the canvas right onto her feet, turning towards Bitchcakes who spins around in time for Rose to come barreling in, springing into the air then dropkicking him directly to the face. The crowd screams while Bitchcakes in knocked off of his feet and sent crashing onto his posterior, leaning back first against the corner. Aurora rolls in reverse away from Bitchcakes, ending up on her feet in front of the seated McPhee then bolting forward with a huge running knee-lift directly to the face of her drunken opponent. Bitchcakes begins to flop on the canvas as a result while Aurora staggers in reverse across the ring, taking several deep breaths.

Dan: A lot of transitions there but ultimately Aurora Rose was the one who got the advantage with a series of high impact maneuvers right to the face of McPhee. If his brain wasn’t already riddled with the numerous effects of alcohol, I might think that mind add to some further head trauma.

Mayne: Every time you mention Bitchcakes’ brain I think back to that public service message with the egg in the frying pan.

An already exhausted Rose leans on the cables, placing her palm to her forehead then turning towards Bitchcakes who is trying his best to get to a standing base. He can’t seem to get his feet beneath him though when Rose steps away from the cables and kicks him straight to the chest. The impact causes McPhee to stand up straight with his arms wavering. After a moment or two he balances himself before Aurora steps forward with a forearm strike directly to his face. She rushes backwards into the cables, bouncing off and coming back in with a lunging forearm to his face. The impact further staggers Bitchcakes before Aurora turns, rushing into the cables, bouncing off them then coming back in with a spinning forearm strike. Before she can hit it though, Bitchcakes reaches out, wrapping his arms around her waist, going for the belly to belly suplex. But he can’t hit as Aurora sinks her teeth viciously into his nose, causing a loud roar to come from her opponent who stomps both his feet to the canvas. He finally pulls away and turns from Rose who stands behind him, rubbing at his nostrils.

Bitchcakes: What’s with you crazy bitches and biting?

Aurora jumps onto the back of Bitchcakes’ shoulders, sitting on them now in a reverse hurricarana position. Instead of being able to hit it though, McPhee places his hands to her thighs, shoving her over his head and causing her to land on the canvas right in front of him. As soon as she hits the canvas she drops into a forward roll, ending up on her feet as McPhee comes charging after her right into a dropkick directly to his shin. McPhee is taken down to the canvas to a kneeling base before Aurora stands, rushing into the ropes behind him. She bounces off and then jumps forward, catching a slowly rising Bitchcakes by the back of the head, dragging him down face first into the ring with a huge face buster slam. McPhee slams off the canvas then rolls onto his back while Aurora rises to her feet in a sluggish manner, charging into the ropes at her opponent’s side. She bounces off the cables then dropping down into a forward roll before flipping out of it into a rolling thunder directly onto Bitchcakes’ ribs. McPhee curls into a ball immediately after the impact while Aurora sits at his side, sweating heavily, appearing very flabbergasted and tired.

Chris Hunter: You still suck!

The fans around Hunter boo his chant while he shrugs, asking what was wrong with it. In the meanwhile Aurora turns towards McPhee, who is trying to roll to a kneeling base, attempting to get to his feet. He is unable to do it before Aurora charges into the cables behind him, bouncing off then coming back in, beginning to jump into the air for another face buster. No though, Bitchcakes pushes her off and sends her flying into the cables only for Rose to land feet first on the second rope with remarkable agility. She flips over in reverse right into a moonsault directly onto her opposition’s shoulder, taking them both down to the canvas. Aurora turns and hooks both of his legs.

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No, McPhee shoots his shoulder from the canvas, turning away from Rose, who sits on the ring appearing stunned that she didn’t just get the pinfall.

Mayne: Aurora within mere seconds of pinning Bitchcakes McPhee in what has been a slightly more competitive match than the first one in this gauntlet series.

Douglas: That’s for damn sure. These two athletes are really tearing one another apart for what could be a rare World title opportunity.

Sweating profusely, Aurora and Bitchcakes start to force themselves up to a standing base. Before they can get up, Rose moves across her knees and launches an elbow into the side of Bitchcakes’ head. She then stands up to his side and delivers an elbow to the back of his neck. Bitchcakes is knocked back to his knee while Aurora steps to his side then moves forward with a step up enzugari to the back of his head. The collision causes McPhee to land on all fours while Rose gets to her feet and charges into the ropes at his side, jumping into the air, springing off the second cable then spinning around into a leg drop across the back of his neck. The collision drives him down face first into the canvas and causes him to roll onto his back while Aurora gets to her knees, scooting into another pinfall attempt.

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Again Bitchcakes launches his shoulder from the canvas, narrowly keeping hope for a World title shot alive. Aurora gets to her knees, screaming in anger over the fact that she’s yet to get what she so desperately craves, a chance to become World Champion. Aurora stands while Bitchcakes tries his best to push himself up to his feet. Just as he’s about to get up Aurora slaps on a side headlock, pointing at the cables, signaling for the Sinful Desires. She rushes forward, pulling Bitchcakes along with her and then springing into the air, lifting her feet to the spring off the top rope with her version of the stratusfaction. With quick thinking Bitchcakes places his hands to her back, shoving her up into the air over the cables to the outside of the ring. Aurora turns though, grabbing the top rope and landing feet first on the apron, keeping from crashing to the outside. Bitchcakes quickly steps in, bending forward to drive his shoulder through the cables into her gut before Rose grabs the top rope and pulls herself over into a sideways flip. She lands right on top of McPhee’s shoulders, then wraps her arms and legs around his and flips over sideways, dragging Bitchcakes into a backwards flip with a crucifix bomb into the pin.

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Once more with all his strength Bitchcakes launches his shoulder from the canvas, dropping over onto his knees, narrowly avoiding defeat. Rose drops to the canvas in front of him, slapping her palms to the canvas and shouting in frustration. After a long struggle she forces herself to her feet, turning towards a kneeling McPhee and slapping him to one cheek, then the other. Each impact causes McPhee to sway, yet he isn’t taken down, he remains in a kneeling base. Aurora goes into a spinning back chop straight to the side of his head now, Bitchcakes almost taken down as a result before Rose goes rushing into the cables in front of him. She gets a running start, charging in only for McPhee to stand up, catching her against his shoulders. He seems to be setting for the Samoan Driver before she knees him hard to the side of the face. This allows her to slip off his shoulders, landing behind him then jumping into the air, dropkicking him to the back. McPhee is sent charging into the cables, turning his back towards the ropes and then falling through them. His legs kick up into the air, his shins hitting the top rope, causing them to be launched back towards the canvas and for him to stand up straight with almost a slingshot effect. Aurora gets to her feet and turns towards Bitchcakes who comes rushing in with a huge Charging Bull directly into her mid-section. Aurora almost flips over as a result, hitting the canvas across the back of her neck and shoulders. She rolls onto her elbows and knees while Bitchcakes falls onto his back, appearing exhausted. A battered Rose rolls across the canvas then spills under the ropes unfortunately for McPhee, hitting the mats across her spine. She’s sprawled across them, breathing heavily with fluttering eyes, barely able to keep them open while Bitchcakes turns onto his side, finally noticing that she’s gotten out of the ring. He slams the side of his fist to the canvas, realizing he can’t get the pinfall now.

Douglas: An unfortunate turn for Bitchcakes, Aurora spilling to the outside, avoiding any pinfall attempt, well aware of her ring positioning.

Mayne: Oh please, Aurora isn’t smart enough to realize she should roll to the outside of the ring, it was just blind luck. Even a retarded squirrel finds an acorn every once in a while.

Dan: Which would explain how you make it to the ringside area on a weekly basis.

Chris Hunter is again shouting into the ring, demanding that McPhee exit and get the pin on Rose already. A very winded Bitchcakes is incapable of doing so though, his body racked with anguish. Instead he just lays there, catching his breath, instead allowing the referee to start making a ten count. The official steps towards the ropes, reaching a count of three while Rose begins to stir on the outside, holding her mid-section in bitter agony. She grabs the tarp hanging from the apron, using it to drag herself upwards, her body in a great deal of pain. The official has now reached a count of five while Aurora grabs hold of the apron, reaching out and taking the rope. She’s just moments from pulling herself into the ring when a hand reaches out from under the squared circle, wrapping around her ankle. Aurora’s eyes widen with terror before she gazes down at the hand, tripping over backwards, crashing onto her posterior. She kicks at the hand repeatedly while trying to get herself free.

Billy: Oh no, Hornswaggle trying to get hold of Aurora. Oh wait, wrong federation. Oh well, it’s probably some other highly racist ethnic figure attempting to get hold of those skinny calfs.

Douglas: I don’t think we’re fortunate enough to have Leprechauns under our ring Billy. I think this might be that same individual who’s been trying to get to Aurora for weeks now.

The official is still making the count still, undeterred even as Rose fights to get free from the figure under the ring. She kicks his hand away finally before a man with a Michael Myers mask on pops his head out from the ring, glaring at her menacingly. Rose turns and crawls away from him quickly with a look of terror in her eyes while the odd individual crawls after her. Bitchcakes gets to his knees, wondering what in the world is going on before Aurora jumps over the barricade, pushing the fans out of the way then charging through them. The unusually dressed Stalker climbs over the barrier as well, in hot pursuit of the female he’s targeted for oh so long. The referee has no other alternative but to step forward and shout ten, officially counting Rose out, therefore McPhee is victorious, moving on in this match. As official Ingelson turns, informing him of this Bitchcakes shrugs his shoulders, tilting his head.

Bitchcakes: Um, that works too.

Aurora has vanished through the crowd with her pursuer following closely behind. .

Mayne: Well that’s one way to get an elimination in this gauntlet series.

Douglas: Unfortunately it’s not the best way. Aurora officially eliminated from this match via count out, but it’s really because she was chased away by this deranged, Halloween obsessed stalker. Why does this man keep tormenting her so?

Billy: I don’t know, probably because she has obscenely large breasts.

Bitchcakes lies on his back in the ring, trying to catch his breath, not too use to this amount of physical endurance. The camera switches to the entry way now as the lights dim and “Reach Out and Touch Faith” plays over the PA system, creating a massive ovation from the fans. Everyone rises, thoroughly enthused by the prospect of Chapel’s impending arrival. However, the entry way remains vacant, completely devoid of the War Angel. Much like a few weeks ago when Chapel hesitated to appear for his handicap casket match against Desolation.

Douglas: Well, it appears as if Chapel is doing some more of his stalling tactics, due to his overwhelming apathy directed at these types of matches.

Mayne: As per usual. Who is Chapel to be judgmental? Does he not want a World title shot? Oh well, maybe he just decided it wasn’t worth wasting our time just to watch him fail all over again and choke during the big one.

Dan: I don’t want to believe that’s true. But I guess we’ll just have to wait and see what Chapel is going to do here. I’m assuming of course he’s just trying to stall and let his outrage over this match be known.

Still there is no sight of Chapel materializing from the back while Bitchcakes has turned onto his side, glaring at the entry way in great confusion. Nobody knows quite what to think of this as “Reach Out and Touch Faith” again plays over the PA system. Everyone seems to be growing impatient over the fact that there is still no sign of the War Angel anywhere. The music is still playing before the camera suddenly shifts to the backstage area.

BACKSTAGE

Abruptly the camera cuts to a scene being provided just a few feet away from the entrance tunnel in the backstage area. There, lying spread across the concrete is Chapel, as the Alpha Generation stand over him, stomping repeatedly at his battered torso as violently as possible. A broken 2x4 lies over the back of his neck and a dented chair is a few inches away from his slightly bloodied face. He appears completely unconscious while Desolation continues to launch boots into the back of his skull, Jackson bending forward and slapping the side of his face in an egotistical manner. Too Magnificent stomps him to the area between his shoulder blades while Hurse kicks at his ribs as hard as he can, the World title dangling from his grasp. Once he’s completely incapacitated Desolation turns in Adams’ direction, pointing towards the entry way.

Desolation: Well, go!

A crude, conniving smile is plastered across Jackson’s face as he steps backwards, swaggering almost.

Jackson: No need to tell me twice, hahaha.

Jackson turns, brushing his hands over his hair while making his way to the ring. He leaves a bloodied, battered Chapel spread out across the ground with Hurse dropping to his knees in front of him, holding the World title up in front of his face. He grabs Chapel around the jaw, lifting up on his head a bit and raising the World title so that is directly in front of his bloodied features.

Hurse: Did you honestly think I’d let you anywhere near my fucking championship? You don’t deserve an opportunity at this gold, do you hear me!?! You don’t deserve it!

Hurse lets go of his head while Desolation helps the Champion to his feet, patting him on the back as they march away chuckling over what they just did. In their wrath is left the bloodied, broken body of Chapel, obviously incapable of competing in the gauntlet match tonight.

GAUNTLET MATCH

An exhausted McPhee utilizes the ropes to drag himself to a standing base, almost falling over a couple times while glaring towards the entry way. “What I’ve Done” by Linkin Park starts to descend upon the crowd through the speakers now, resulting in much commotion and angst from the fans, who rise in defiance to the arrival of the Alpha member. Jackson Adams strolls through the curtains with a long swagger, and a bright toothy smile on his face. He uses a small napkin to brush the blood away from his knuckles before heading towards the ring.

Douglas: This is appalling, absolutely appalling, worse than if Carrot Tap, Gilbert Godfried, Fran Drescher and Chris Rock formed a choir together. That’s how appalling this is. Chapel has been laid out backstage by the Alpha Generation and left incapable of coming to the ring to compete in this gauntlet match. This whole show has really just gone straight to hell in a hand basket.

Mayne: The only people who use baskets are the Amish and little girls in dorky red hoods, update your damned cliché analogies you bastard. But as your already well aware of, all the Alpha Generation did was keep us from watching Chapel try to pointlessly win another contendership match only to go on and lose horribly.

Dan: I’m not aware of that whatsoever. I think Chapel may be one of the best options to take that World title from Hurse’s grasp, which is exactly why the Alpha Generation laid him out backstage in a disgusting, reprehensible act.

There is still much disgust emanating from the fans as Jackson marches towards the ring with a confident grin on his face. He jumps up onto the apron and then thrusts a single thumb downward into his direction.

Jackson: You sons of bitches are looking at the next number one contender!

A chuckle comes from him before he turns towards the ring where Bitchcakes is standing right behind the cables. He hooks his arm and grabs him around the back of the head, hip tossing him over the ropes into the ring. Jackson flips over, crashing onto his back across the canvas then rolling around on it. He holds the back of his neck and head while rising to his knees when McPhee charges in, booting him directly to the face. Adams is knocked onto his back before he rolls over, trying to stand up. He can’t do it because McPhee is right on top of him, drilling him over the back with repeated clubbing blows. Bitchcakes grabs Jackson by the hair, pulling his head up just long enough to launch a knee directly into his face. Adams is knocked onto his back while McPhee steps towards the ropes, leaning on them for support with sweat leaking down his features. He’s obviously getting winded after surviving two matches, well, if you consider his first battle an actual match.

Douglas: McPhee all over Jackson Adams right here from the start of the match, which is good strategy. Bitchcakes is trying to weaken Adams to the extent that he himself was weakened too at the hands of his previous opponents. Well, mostly Rose I guess.

Mayne: It doesn’t matter, because he should realize by now that Jackson is superhuman, maybe even more superhuman than Max Power.

Adams falls onto his back, appearing tired before McPhee charges in and springs into the air, coming down with a knee directly to his face. The collision causes Jackson to go into convulsions almost while McPhee gets to a standing base, rushing into the cables on the opposite side of the ring, bouncing off then coming back. As he rushes forward he jumps into the air, extending his leg, dropping it right across Jackson’s throat. Adams’ lower body kicks up into the air as a result of the immense weight coming down his neck. After both collisions Jackson turns onto his side, gagging before McPhee grabs him by the shoulder, pulling him down onto his spine then hooking his leg.

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Jackson shoots his shoulder from the canvas in the nick of time though, Bitchcakes getting to his knees, taking a deep long breath. He now takes Jackson around the neck, rolling him to his feet while holding him in a cravat. He now launches a knee upward into Jackson’s face, before hitting another strike, followed by a third blow. Each one almost takes Adams down to the canvas, but somehow he keeps standing long enough to be snapmared over onto his posterior. Jackson ends up on his rear end before McPhee steps up behind him and drops a knee directly to his middle back. Adams arches his spine, yelling out in pain before McPhee stands, grabbing him around the neck once more. He rolls him to a kneeling base then pulls him up to his feet before slapping his arms around Jackson’s waist and falling in reverse, connecting with a huge belly to belly suplex. Jackson flips over, crashing into the canvas across his spine then sitting up, roaring in pain.

But McPhee still will not let up, pressing the advantage as he approaches Adams, grabbing hold of his hair, rolling him to his knees then slapping on a front chancery. With great quickness Bitchcakes drags Adams to his feet and then hoists him into the air for a vertical suplex. Finally Jackson is able to counter though, floating over Bitchcakes’ shoulder, landing on his feet right behind him and then hooking both of his arms. In a quick motion Jackson turns his ample opponent around and drives him down face first into the canvas with the unprettier. His skull hits the ring hard, flopping over onto his back, appearing completely out cold at this junction in time before Jackson turns, crawling into the cover on him. He hooks both of his legs for the pinfall.

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No, somehow McPhee kicks out with just seconds to spare, keeping hope alive. A flabbergasted, and pain ridden Adams glares at Ingelson then spins around, pulling McPhee onto his back and hooking his leg again.

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Bitchcakes proves it was no fluke as he launches his shoulder from the canvas for a second straight time. Jackson becomes irate, raising his fingers into the officials face then bunching them up into a fist, physically threatening Ingelson. He then takes hold of Bitchcakes’ chair, rolling him over onto his knees and beginning to hook up both of his arms, he seems ready to set for the Double Take (Angel’s Wings).

Mayne: Bitchcakes somehow kicking out of the unprettier, but there’s no kicking out of the Double Take, no way whatsoever.

Douglas: People have done it before.

Billy: Yeah, but that’s because they were on the juice obviously.

Dan: Billy! What if Congress is watching?

Mayne: I meant Tropicana.

Bitchcakes is dragged up to his feet as Adams prepares to finish him off quickly only for his opponent to suddenly waken. Without warning Bitchcakes swings around out of the Double Take position, taking hold of Jackson’s wrist throughout the process. He spins under Jackson’s arm and steps out to his side, holding his wrist and dragging him forward for a short arm clothesline. Adams ducks it and stands up behind him, catching hold of his arms, pulling him around into positioning for the unprettier once again. Before he can hit it though, McPhee pulls his head free, placing his hands to Jackson’s back then shoving him forward into the cables. Adams bounces off, coming back in at a bent forward Bitchcakes only to stop just short of him and deliver a hard upward kick directly to his chest. Bitchcakes stands up straight when Jackson jumps into the air and connects with a hard bicycle kick to his face. The impact knocks McPhee down to the canvas hard across his spine, looking completely out of it now after that shot to his kisser. Jackson turns and falls into the cover once more, desperate to obtain a very quick pinfall.

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Somehow Bitchcakes finds the strength to launch his shoulder from the canvas. He sits up immediately afterwards while Jackson quickly switches behind his back, locking his arms around his neck. With all his upper body strength he applies a sleeper hold, trying to drain any remaining energy from Bitchcakes’ body, no matter how tiresome the task might be. McPhee reaches up, grabbing hold of the arm, attempting to pull it away from his throat as he gags and gasps for air. But his body is drained after all its went through in this gauntlet match thus far, Jackson finding it easy to pull him down closer and closer to the canvas with the sleeper. Finally both men end up sprawled out across the ring, with McPhee lying on his side and Jackson down behind him with the sleeper still established. A diabolical chuckle comes from Adams, realizing he may have the victory here already.

Billy: Hahaha, this is over, Bitchcakes’ Cinderalla story has come to an end, which is good since I think his feet would be too fat to fit in the glass slippers. Who the hell makes a slipper out of glass?

Douglas: People in China? How the hell should I know? Besides, it’s completely irrelevant, there’s a match going on where Bitchcakes is fading, if you’ve forgotten that much already.

Jackson is really squeezing his arms about McPhee’s throat, cutting off all air to his head as Bitchcakes tries his best to fight through it. He’s just far too exhausted, incapable of getting up whatsoever as Jackson kicks his lower body into the air, swinging it down at the canvas to exert more force onto the submission. The hue of McPhee’s face has gradually changed from red to blue now, unable to get any breath to his lungs whatsoever. The official steps in, dropping down and inquiring as to rather or not Bitchcakes wishes to submit. However, McPhee is incapable of even producing words as the sleeper is further clamped about his throat. All seems hopeless for McPhee before his teeth grit against one another and he starts to fight finally. He begins to sit up while Jackson is still shifting his arms back and forth across his throat, attempting to deprive him of absolutely all his energy. But Bitchcakes will not stay down, even as the tint of his face changes colors again and again. He now begins to force himself upwards with Jackson’s eyes filling with almost dementia. They rise to their feet now, both men getting their wobbly legs beneath them when McPhee turns his body, throwing an elbow into Jackson’s gut, followed by another strike. Each blow bends the Alpha Generation member over, so that he is hunched forward completely before Bitchcakes rushes into the cables in front of him. He bounces off, coming back in at his dazed opposition when Jackson rises fully upright and reaches out, catching McPhee around the neck, re-applying the sleeper once again. The fans react with anger, many booing as Jackson has his opponent trapped once again in this time tested submission maneuver. It immediately starts to drain him of his energy, sweat rolling down his tired features while his knees slowly buckle beneath him. He finds himself fading, gently falling towards the canvas with Jackson bending down behind him, keeping that sleeper latched on. All the energy and determination is being drained out of Bitchcakes’ body all over again, as he tumbles to his posterior. Adams drops to a kneeling base behind him, really wrenching at the neck now as he turns the sleeper into almost a rear naked choke.

Douglas: Well Jackson Adams is now channeling the spirit of Randy Orton with about a thousand rear chinlocks, but its definitely been an effective strategy for wearing McPhee down in this match.

Mayne: If by some major miracle, Bitchcakes actually survives this one on one match with Adams, there’s going to be absolutely nothing of him left to compete against Jon Rich, nothing. Although, considering it is Rich, you certainly don’t have to be on top your game to beat him.

Dan: I have to disagree with you there. If Bitchcakes wants any chance of winning this gauntlet match then he’s got to defeat Adams, and he’s got to do it quickly. That’s if he can even escape this rear naked choke.

Adams wrenches back and forth, almost breaking McPhee’s neck in the process while he continues to sit there, almost motionless now. A trail of spit hangs from his mouth with his eyes closed shut entirely, his arms hanging limply at his sides. Ingelson steps in and takes hold of McPhee’s arm, lifting it up into the air and then allowing it to drop to the canvas. He turns to the time keeper, lifting one finger in the air then spins back around to face Jackson who is still putting a lot of torque on that battered neck. Again Ingelson takes hold of the lifeless McPhee’s arm, lifting it aloft before allowing it to collapse to the canvas at his side once more. The crowd is slapping the barricades, shouting for Bitchcakes to get up while Chris Hunter dabs his fingers into his beer glass and flicks it towards the ring, hoping it will have a spinach, Popeye like effect. Nothing is working though as Bitchcakes remains seated, sweating, barely breathing with both arms down at his sides. Finally Ingelson takes hold of his arm for the last time, Jackson smiling widely as he watches it raised into the air. It’s released and falls towards the canvas, Ingelson turning and motioning for the bell before the arm defiantly shoots upward, Bitchcakes showing that he is indeed still alive. Jackson shakes his head in disbelief, unable to accept the fact that McPhee is still fighting in this match, that he’s yet to give up.

Billy: No! Bitchcakes is still alive!

Douglas: I’m so glad your disappointed.

Gasping and gagging Bitchcakes begins to shake both of his arms, the flab in his muscles shaking like waves on the ocean. The crowd is solidly behind him while he forces himself upwards, Adams still trying to clamp onto that rear naked choke as tightly as he possibly can. But his hope is the one fading now as both men reach their feet, McPhee doubled over in front of him. He turns though and once again launches a desperation elbow into Adams’ gut, bending him forward. McPhee hits another elbow to the mid-section of the Alpha Gen representative then charges forward. Before he can make it across the canvas though, Jackson grabs the back of his shirt and pulls him in reverse right into the rear naked choke once again. The crowd begins to boo before McPhee bends forward, slipping around behind Jackson’s back then locking in his own sleeper hold. Jackson flails his arms and kicks his legs with the crowd going nuts before he charges forward at one of the turnbuckles, pulling McPhee along behind him. Adams drops down right in front of the corner, launching the plus sized Bitchcakes forward into the turnbuckle pads due to the momentum. He hits the padding hard then spins around, his arms falling limply over the ropes at both his sides with his opponent standing up in front of him. A smirking Jackson taps his temple then steps towards his tired opponent. He moves over top of Bitchcakes then begins to slug downward into his face, some of the fans counting along, but others booing furiously.

Once the count reaches four though Bitchcakes launches his head forward right into Jackson’s testicles. A groan comes from Adams while he bends forward now, McPhee stepping out of the corner and taking hold of his legs in the process. He allows Adams to fall on top of his shoulders while moving across the ring, holding him in a fireman’s carry then dropping back into a Samoan Driver. The impact is particularly vicious as Jackson bounces from the ring, flipping over onto his bum and grabbing at his neck. Bitchcakes takes hold of his shoulder, forcing him to the canvas then hooking his leg.

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No! Adams gets his shoulder up in time, turning away from Bitchcakes in the process while he tries to get his head straight. He can’t do that for very long though as McPhee scoots up behind him, slapping on another sleeper hold, using Jackson’s own strategy against him. Adams begins to shout out in anger, disbelief, and anguish while immediately forcing himself upward. Bitchcakes is still gripping onto his neck with that sleeper though, really holding it on tightly while both he and Adams get to their feet. That’s when Jackson reaches up, wrapping his arms around McPhee’s head then dropping onto his posterior, hitting a jawbreaker. Bitchcakes bounces off the top of his head, grabbing his jaw then staggering in reverse, barely able to stand up as a result while Adams rolls to all fours in front of him. The Alpha Generation representative rises to his feet slowly while bent forward before McPhee suddenly lunges at him, stepping over his head then reaching out, taking hold of both his arms. He crosses them in front of Jackson’s gut then hoists him into the air onto his shoulders before connecting with a triangle sit-out powerbomb. The crowd erupts as Adams is driven into the canvas, McPhee leaning forward with exhaustion into the back of his shoulders.

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Again Jackson is able to launch his shoulder from the canvas in the nick of time, shocking McPhee who falls onto his back, trying to catch his breath. He now rolls over to a crawling base, Adams doing the same. Both men now appear to be equally as exhausted, but Adams is still able to get to his feet a little quicker. He is bent forward while turning towards Bitchcakes who still has his back aimed in his direction. Almost instinctively Adams steps in, grabbing hold of his arms, trying to turn him over into the unprettier once again, desperate to get that final knock out strike. He’s unable to spin him around though, Bitchcakes planting his feet hard to the canvas and grinding his teeth, not allowing himself to be hit with the move. A loud roar comes from Bitchcakes while he continues to fight this attempt with every ounce of his being. Finally he launches a mule kick right into Adams’ testicles, Jackson bending forward before McPhee reaches in reverse, wrapping his arm around his neck. He drops down into a stunner, Jackson’s jaw cracking off his shoulder. Adams flies backwards and hits the ring while McPhee just sits there, trying to catch his breath, the referee admonishing him for what he just saw him do.

Mayne: That cheating little slut!

Douglas: McPhee with a stunner out of nowhere, avoiding that unprettier the only way he could think of and getting himself back into this contest in the process. If he can just make the pin now he’ll move onto the second round of this gauntlet match.

Operating on instinct once again Jackson rolls into the turnbuckle, grabbing hold of the ropes and using them to drag himself up to his feet before he turns around, placing his back against he corner. Sweat is streaming down the features of McPhee who gets to a standing base and now steps in, turning his back towards Adams. He wraps his arms around his neck and now steps out of the corner, going for the diamond cutter it seems but Jackson has reached in reverse, clasping his hands around the top ropes, keeping himself from being hit with such a brutal move. Bitchcakes lungs forward once more, trying his best to hit that diamond cutter before Jackson reaches out, wrapping his arm around McPhee’s neck then bending him over backwards and dropping down into a reverse DDT. McPhee’s head hits the canvas with force while Jackson comes down on top of him, quickly crawling around and hooking his leg.

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Bitchcakes shoots his shoulder from the canvas to a huge eruption of cheers from the fans. Jackson sits up, shouting inflammatory comments, completely and utterly dejected by McPhee’s refusal to be pinned. The whites of his eyes are showing as much as his exposed, gritting teeth while Adams gets to his feet. He then takes hold of McPhee’s sweaty hair, beginning to roll him over onto his knees and once again grab hold of his arms, hooking them as he sets for that Double Take a second time.

Jackson: Your looking at the new number one contender bitches!

He hoists McPhee up to his feet and now begins to lift him before Bitchcakes drops back unexpectedly, flipping Adams over with almost a back drop. Instead Adams comes crashing down onto his spine with McPhee landing on top of him back first, both his arms still hooked. Ingelson drops and makes the count.

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3!

Adams kicks out a second too late, his face immediately flushing with outrage as Ingelson informs him that he’s been eliminated. The fans are going nuts while Jackson gets to his knees, running his hands through his hair in complete shock and embarrassment as McPhee rolls into the cables, utilizing them to drag himself to his feet. He lifts his arm into the air while the crowd is screaming with utter delight.

Mayne: What, wait, no, you got to be kidding me!

Douglas: Bitchcakes has done it again, he’s just pinned Jackson Adams, and now he’s going to advance to the finals of this gauntlet match!

Billy: This is insane, in some small third world countries McPhee would be shot for what he just did. I don’t believe he’s survived to the finals!

An exhausted, physically drained McPhee leans on the ropes for support after surviving three separate matches thus far, and now finds himself seconds away from facing the final entry in this contest, Jon Rich. He can barely breathe after everything he’s endured in this gauntlet match but he’s able to crack a smile, still raising his arm up high. That’s right before his arms around grabbed from behind though, McPhee being spun around and kicked to the gut. Jackson hoists McPhee into the air, spinning him around and planting him face first into the canvas with the Double Take. A loud reaction of boos escalates from the crowd as Bitchcakes was assaulted by the man he just eliminated, Jackson rising to his feet with a bitter, twisted expression settled on his face.

Douglas: God damn you Jackson Adams, damn you. What a sore loser, what an absolute sore loser.

Mayne: He deserves this, his drunken luckiness has just ruined the Alpha Generation’s best laid plans.

Dan: This behavior is reprehensible, absolutely reprehensible. And yet with the exception of AWOL barring the Alpha Generation from coming to Robin’s aid he’s done nothing about it tonight.

Billy: Why should he? The roster is getting what they deserve for failing him at Born Again.

A creepy, disgusting smile settles over Adams’ face while he motions for something from the back. That’s when Desolation, Too Magnificent, and Hurse come rushing through the curtains, charging down the ramp. The Champion’s title dangles from his grasp while the rest of an outraged Alpha Generation slide into the ring.

Douglas: Oh come on, now this is a mugging. Haven’t these guys done enough already? They’ve taken out Chapel and kept him from being capable of fighting in this match, now they’re ganging up on a defenseless, exhausted McPhee! Shouldn’t they be at the hospital with Brooks right now?

Mayne: They’ve got bigger things to worry about, namely making Bitchcakes suffer for his insolence.

Hurse immediately straddles McPhee’s chest, beginning to slug him repeatedly to the face while Desolation makes a straight path for Adams. He places his hands to Jackson’s chest, shoving him backwards violently then getting into his face, demanding to know what he hell just happened. Adams shrugs his shoulders and tries to explain himself before the Dark Man slaps him across the face. Anger sets into the features of Jackson before he’s slapped to the face again, the Dark Man demanding an explanation, jabbing his finger into his sternum. Adams tries to let himself cool off while Hurse takes great pleasure in pummeling Bitchcakes’ face with repeated punches, Too Magnificent doing some shit talking throughout the process. That’s when the crowd starts to go nuts as Jon Rich rushes from the backstage with a steel chair clutched in his hands.

Mayne: Oh no, what is this hapless son of a bitch doing coming out here now? If he had a brain in his body he’d allow the Alpha Generation to finish with McPhee so that he’s easy pickings for a quick pinfall.

Douglas: Well excuse Rich for having some honor and nobility. He doesn’t want to win this match under jaded means after all.

Too Magnificent and Hurse turn to spot Rich and then drop into a roll, going under the ropes as their enemy slides in with the chair still clutched in his hand. Jackson’s eyes open widely while pointing over Desolation’s shoulder, trying to warn him about the arrival of Rich, but he won’t listen, insisting that his teammate stop trying to change the subject. That’s when Rich steps up behind Desolation, swinging the chair directly into his spine. Desolation lets out a roar and staggers forward before spilling through the ropes to the outside of the ring, arching his spine throughout the process. The intense Rich lifts the chair and steps towards Adams who quickly evades him by diving through the cables. Hurse drops down beside Desolation, taking his head in his arms and appearing terrified over his condition while Rich slams the chair against the canvas in the ring, demanding that the Alpha Generation enter and get themselves some. Too Mag points at Rich, threatening him with violence, but Jon merely grins, not looking fearful in the slightest, even as Desolation shoots a disturbing glare in his direction.

Douglas: Rich coming to McPhee’s aid and in the process taking a chair to Desolation’s back.

Mayne: Is he crazy? Is he absolutely fucked in the head? Nobody willingly upsets Desolation, nobody. But that’s all this kid seems to want to do, is piss the Dark Man off.

Jon throws the chair down now while backing towards McPhee, who is starting to regain his senses. The N.H.B champion still seems intent on getting the quartet of Alpha members into the ring, yet they merely shake their heads, refusing to enter, instead assisting Desolation to his feet. They fail to vacate the ringside area though while Rich exchanges a menacing glare with the Dark Man, unaware of Bitchcakes scooting up behind him. That’s when Rich’s thigh is hooked and he’s rolled over backwards into a school boy.

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Rich kicks out, dropping over onto his knees then standing up with his arms thrust out to his sides, glaring at McPhee in confusion.

Rich: What the hell are you doing!?!

Bitchcakes doesn’t explain as he reaches up, grabbing hold of the back of Rich’s neck, pulling down into a small package.

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As quick as he can Jon kicks out, dropping over onto his posterior while an agitated McPhee gets to his elbows and knees, sweating profusely. The Alpha Generation finally start to lead Desolation towards the backstage area, assisting him up the ramp while Jackson rubs at his cheek and glares towards the ring still outraged. Too Mag grabs his arm and insists that he comes to the back still though, reluctantly being dragged along.

Mayne: And do you see what Rich gets for his honor? He was just almost pinned twice from an ungrateful McPhee.

Douglas: Bitchcakes is trying everything he can to end this match early, which understandable seeing as he’s already went through three tough opponents.

Bitchcakes rises to his knees, barely able to keep them beneath him before Rich rushes in, jumping into the air with a hard front dropkick to his face. The shot echoes throughout the arena and causes McPhee to spill onto his back then roll under the ropes to the outside of the ring. He lands on his feet upon the outside mats, staggering around before Jon approaches the cables, grabbing the top one. He pulls himself over it then lands right on top of Bitchcakes’ shoulders, dropping back into a huge hurricarana. McPhee crashes into the mats across his spine, yelling out in pain while sweating what almost looks to be Crisco at this point. There’s no telling how much he’s got left in the tank at this point while forcing himself up to his feet, operating on fumes alone perhaps. That’s when Rich kicks him to the gut, takes hold of his wrist, and whips him with all his strength right at the barricade. McPhee charges into it then turns, slamming shoulder first against the steel plates. He bounces off then turns, falling onto his bum across the mats, leaning against the barricade for support. He’s absolutely drenched with sweat, and incredibly exhausted after all the brutality that has thus far been inflicted on him in this match. Yet somehow he’s forcing himself up to his feet, using the barricade he just slammed into in order to reach a standing base. He almost crumbles and tumbles to the mats before Rich takes him by the wrist, leading him away from the barricade and then dropping back, whipping him with all his strength into the opposite barrier. McPhee gets a running start, ducks his head and slams into the barricade with such force he almost flips over it but instead falls to his side on the mats. He almost looks lifeless at this point while Rich rolls into the ring then back out of it to break the official’s count. An absolutely exhausted Bitchcakes begins to reach his feet, once again using the barricade as a brace before Rich kicks him hard to the chest. The impact causes him to stand up straight then fall spine first against the barricade. Jon steps to his side and delivers another stiff kick to his chest, followed by a third, equally as devastating shot. Each blow almost knocks McPhee down to the mats, yet somehow he keeps standing on his own two feet.

Rich now takes him by the wrist, leading him away from the barricade before burying his shoulder into his gut and charging him spine first right back into it. The exhausted McPhee leans over the steel, trying to keep upright before Rich stands straight and chops him hard across the sternum. Sweat goes flying through the air while Jon takes him by the hair and leads him towards the ring, rolling him under the ropes to the inside. What is left of Bitchcakes ends up in the center of the ring as Rich climbs up onto the apron and now begins to scale the turnbuckle. He seems intent on finishing McPhee off once and for all and doing it as quickly as the Champion possibly can. Just as he gets his first foot onto the top rope though, McPhee forces himself to a standing base and steps towards the turnbuckle. He throws a dazed right hand into the side of Rich’s face, followed by another strike. Each impact almost takes Rich off the turnbuckle, but somehow he keeps standing before Bitchcakes makes his way up the corner in front of him. The exasperated McPhee grabs hold of Rich’s hair and headbunts him right to the skull, Jon again almost losing his footing as a result before his opponent slaps his arms around his waist. With quickness Bitchcakes drops back off the second rope and hits a super gutwrench side suplex, flipping the N.H.B champion through the air and sending him crashing with a violent thud against the canvas. Jon sits up, roaring at the top of his lungs while arching his spine, digging his nails into the palms of his hands from the pain.

Douglas: A big time desperation move by Bitchcakes McPhee that may keep his hopes alive here tonight.

Mayne: This is ridiculous, no normal man should be capable of putting up this type of fight after everything he’s been subjected to. He survived two grueling matches with Aurora Rose and Jackson Adams, a brief foray with Nobu-kun, a beat down from the Alpha Generation, and now he’s actually putting up a challenge even after the initial onslaught from Jon Rich.

Douglas: Maybe years of alcohol abuse have destroyed the pain receptors in his brain.

Now that Rich is seated on the canvas, McPhee crawls up behind him then lunges forward, wrapping his arms around Jon’s waist. He holds on with a reverse bearhug, no matter how weak his grip may be at this time. The side of his face is placed to the back of Rich’s shoulders, moments from passing out due to the pain finally setting in. He must remain conscious though, especially against Rich who is already starting to force himself up to his feet, trying to fight out of this reverse bearhug. The N.H.B champion throws several reverse elbows to the side of McPhee’s face, but he doesn’t let go as both men reach a standing base. That’s when Bitchcakes drops back into a snap German suplex with the bridge.

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Jon kicks out, dropping over onto his chest and stomach then rolling across the ring while McPhee lies on his side, breathing heavily. McPhee’s eyes flutter on the verge of fainting while Jon rolls into the ropes, holding the back of his neck while utilizing the cables to reach a standing base. Just seconds before he can get all the way up an immense pain, caused by that top rope side suplex, courses through his spine. It almost causes his legs to buckle beneath him, but he remains upright, turning with enough time to spot a dreary Bitchcakes charging in, going for a big lariat. Just as he is about to connect with the lariat though, Rich bends forward catching him against his shoulders then hoisting him over the cables. Somehow McPhee grabs hold of the ropes though even in his dazed state and floats over onto the apron, keeping himself from crashing to the outside mats. A battered Rich steps away from the cables with his back turned towards them before he flips over in reverse and connects with the Pele right to the side of McPhee’s head. The impact causes Bitchcakes’ eyes to roll to the back of his head before he tumbles side first onto the apron and then onto his back. He lies spread across it, appearing more dazed than ever while Rich gets to his feet, stepping to the cables and grabbing hold of the top rope. With a primal shout Rich pulls him over the top rope into a senton bomb almost right into McPhee’s mid-section before tumbling to his feet on the outside of the ring. He then staggers forward into the barricade, falling against it for support while Bitchcakes remains lying on the apron, trying to curl himself up around his mid-section.

Douglas: My God what a series of high risk moves by Jon Rich. This guy is really trying absolutely everything in his reserve to put away McPhee once and for all.

Mayne: Which apparently is a much more difficult task than any of us ever thought it would be.

Rich spins away from the table then charges at McPhee, jumping into the air and delivering a front dropkick over the apron straight into the side of his dazed opponent’s face. Bitchcakes begins to flop a bit while rolling under the ropes to the inside of the ring, getting to all fours and trying his best to push himself up to his feet. As soon as he gets them beneath him he falls sideways into the cables, unable to even stand up at this point while Jon climbs up onto the apron, preparing to re-enter the ring. He sticks his head through the cables and begins to climb through them when Bitchcakes unexpectedly charges forward, catching him around the neck and pulling him around into a swinging neckbreaker. Rich is dragged through the ropes and spun around before he crashes onto the back of his neck, flopping around in a great deal of a pain. He kicks himself around into circles while gripping at the back of his neck, an absolutely exhausted Bitchcakes quickly crawling into the cover.

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Rich sticks his foot out and places it over the bottom rope, keeping himself from being pinned and upsetting McPhee, who is barely coherent at this point. Thinking to an extent that is allowable, McPhee forces himself up to his feet and almost tumbles to the canvas several times while making his way across the ring. He falls into the turnbuckle and then bends forward, motioning for Jon to stand up, ready and willing to finally finish him off once and for all with the Charging Bull. A battered and confused Rich grabs the ropes and uses them to stand up straight, holding his neck still while staggering forward. That’s when Bitchcakes comes barreling out of the corner, going for his big spear only for Rich to jump into the air in order to leap frog him. However, McPhee saw that coming as he stands up straight and catches Jon right on top of his shoulders. He now throws him up into the air and drops onto his back, lifting his knees high for a modified gut buster, but Jon lands on his feet right beside his legs, not hitting them ribs first like what was planned. Instead Jon wraps them around one another and pulls Bitchcakes over onto his chest, locking him quickly in a Texas Cloverleaf. Bitchcakes pushes himself up onto his elbows, yelling as loud as he can, his lungs deprived of much air however. His hand lifts into the air, already looking prepared to tap out while Rich continues to lean in reverse as far as he can with the Texas Cloverleaf, seated on the lower back of McPhee.

Mayne: Now it’s over, there’s nothing left for Bitchcakes McPhee to do but tap out after everything his body has been subjected to in this physically demanding, violent gauntlet match.

Douglas: Bitchcakes has proven a lot of people wrong tonight, and you may just be another naysayer he puts in their place. He may have one more shocker left in him.

Bitchcakes is shaking his head as sweat flies in all different directions, Rich really cinching in the cloverleaf, shouting loudly as well as he attempts to earn that ever allusive submission. McPhee will not be stopped though, not by anything on this planet it seems as he buries his forearms into the canvas, his eyes lighting up and beginning to drag himself towards the cables. Rich is still holding on as both men move towards the ropes at a sluggish pace. Tears of pain are almost streaming down McPhee’s face as he gets within inches of the cables that to him seem so far away. That’s when Rich breaks the cloverleaf and steps to his side, flipping forward into a senton splash right across Bitchcakes’ lower back. McPhee roars from the pain while Rich rolls to his feet and charges at the cables, jumping onto the second one then moonsaulting over backwards straight onto the kidneys of Bitchcakes once more. The drunken athlete rolls onto his spine, reaching for his back while scooting across it as he grabs the ropes. His neck ends up under the cables as Rich steps over his legs, grabbing hold of them, lifting them into the air then dropping back. He catapults Bitchcakes throat first into the bottom rope, causing his opponent to begin gagging terribly as he spills under the cables to the outside of the ring. McPhee lands on his feet and staggers in reverse, trying keep his feet planted beneath him while Jon stands up in the ring then rushes across it into the opposite cables. The N.H.B champion bounces off of them then comes barreling back in before diving through the cables with a huge suicide pancha right into McPhee. Bitchcakes is launched backwards into the barricade while Jon flips up and over it into the crowd, landing on his feet amongst a sea of screaming bystanders.

Douglas: Rich is just absolutely owning McPhee at this point with high flying move after high flying move. There seems to be nothing that Bitchcakes can do to stop him at this point.

Mayne: Bitchcakes is the equivalent of Jell-O in there right now. He’s just got nothing left, no defense whatsoever.

McPhee can barely hold himself up in a seated position while Rich steps back through the crowd and moves over the barricade. He pauses for a moment to kick Bitchcakes to the face then grab hold of his hair, dragging him up to a standing base. Rich then slaps on a front chancery before powering over his opponent with a big vertical suplex. The spine of McPhee drawls the most impact from the collision, as he immediately sits up, gasping in agony due to hitting the thin protective mats with such force. There isn’t much time for belly aching though as McPhee is dragged to his feet once more by Rich who slaps on another front chancery before suplexing him one more time on the outside mats. Bitchcakes drops onto his side, unable to even vocalize his pain at this point in time while Rich gets to his feet behind him. He takes hold of McPhee’s sweaty head, rolling him to his knees then pulling his almost dead weight to his feet before rolling him into the ring under the ropes. Bitchcakes ends up in the center of the squared circle, completely sprawled out, almost incapable of defending himself while Rich climbs up onto the apron then makes his way up the turnbuckle. He gets to the very top rope, looking for what he was setting for earlier before he comes flying off the corner, soaring through the air with the elbow drop. It connects right with the barren canvas, McPhee having gotten out of the way in the nick of time. Rich grabs at his arm, rolling to his knees and starting to force himself to his feet when a very groggy Bitchcakes charges into the cables behind him, bouncing off then coming back in with a northern lariat. It connects hard with the back of Jon’s head, almost taking him down, yet he remains standing even as Bitchcakes charges into the ropes in front of him. He comes back in once more and this time almost beheads Rich with another vicious lariat. The impact knocks Jon over backwards into a reverse flip almost where he crashes on the back of his head and stands on it for a moment. He then falls onto his back with the crowd groaning as McPhee hooks his leg for the pinfall victory.

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No, Rich gets his shoulder off the canvas at the last possible second humanly imaginable. Bitchcakes sits up, sweating heavily and barely finding the breaths to breathe while glaring around the ring desperately.

Fans: LET’S GO BITCHCAKES….

Fans: LET’S GO RICH…

The crowd is divided, vocalizing so with their dueling chants while Rich tries his best to get up, McPhee attempting to motivate his body to rise. Both men reach a standing base before Bitchcakes rushes into the ropes behind Jon once again, bouncing off and coming back in with a lariat directed at the back of his head. Rich ducks it this time though, McPhee rushing into the cables in front of him, bouncing off and coming back in before Jon springs into the air and hits a vicious dropkick directly to Bitchcakes’ face. The collision knocks McPhee off of his feet and sends him hurling to the canvas with Jon landing beside him, sweating heavily himself. Rich rises to his feet now and begins to slap his chest with both hands, calling for the fans to get up.

Rich: COME ONNNNN!

Everyone is cheering loudly while Bitchcakes tries to push himself up to his feet, attempting to get his wobbly legs beneath him. He can’t seem to do so however, staggering and stumbling to a standing base.

Dan: Who wants this more, who wants that number one contendership more than anyone else? That’s what both these men are fighting for here Billy.

Mayne: I agree, these two are putting it all out there for that shot at the title. Not that either of them will win, but they’re really doing everything in their power to earn it.

The crowd is still chanting both men’s names in competition against one another before Rich lifts his leg stomping it to the canvas, preparing for a superkick perhaps while Bitchcakes waddles his way to his feet, turning towards him. Rich steps in with a superkick but Bitchcakes ducks it, stepping around behind Jon and then waiting for him to spin around. As soon as Jon does McPhee kicks him to the gut then shouts “Moo” stepping in for the Hang Over. Right as he is about to jump forward though, Rich steps forward under his arm, ending up behind his back. He then catches McPhee around the neck with a cobra clutch and pulls him down across the back of his neck into his knee with the Get Rich Quick. The fans are stunned as McPhee bounces off the knee then tumbles onto his side, looking completely out of it, Jon dropping beside him and hooking his leg quickly.

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3!

Everyone in the building rejoices until many of them realize that Bitchcakes just kicked out, launching his shoulder from the canvas. Rich slaps his hands over his face, incapable of believing that after everything McPhee has went through, he’s still able to kick out of his finishing move.

Mayne: Wow, McPhee just kicked out of the Get Rich Quick! What is it going to take to put this man away? A meteorite?

Douglas: It may take some heavenly bound force, because nothing else has been capable of finishing Bitchcakes off, he’s determined to get that title shot.

A sweaty McPhee lies on the canvas stirring about on instinct, unable to get up though as Rich turns towards the turnbuckle, destined to hit that huge elbow from the top rope. He approaches the corner, beginning to step up it even as his body drags him down, nevertheless he progresses upwards, closer to the top. The fans’ reaction changes though at the sight of Desolation charging down the ramp and jumping onto the apron. Ingelson is checking on a slowly rising McPhee as Rich looks up and spots Desolation wrapping his hands around his head, unable to fight it though in time. Desolation drops off the apron and pulls Rich down throat first into the top rope, choking him on it. Jon bounces off, staggering in reverse while gripping his throat with both hands, a smirking Desolation backing up the ramp now.

Douglas: No! Desolation just interfered in this gauntlet match once again!

Mayne: I told Rich not to draw the ire of the Dark Man, who is making him pay for his insolence, hahaha.

The fans are outraged while Desolation chuckles and backs up the ramp, watching as Rich holds his throat and turns towards McPhee who barrels across the ring and damn near rips him in half with a spear to the mid-section. Jon flips over backwards, crashing into the canvas on the top of his head then landing on his chest and stomach. McPhee crawls in and pushes him onto his spine, literally falling on top of him.

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3!

Bitchcakes has done it, he’s won the gauntlet match, and he has survived all four separate battles.

Mayne: No fucking way!

Douglas: Bitchcakes McPhee has just defeated Jon Rich, he’s our new number one contender!

Billy: All thanks to Desolation you might add. I cannot believe he survived four separate matches to walk out of this thing victoriously.

An exhausted, battered and brutalized Bitchcakes McPhee tries to stand up but almost tumbles over immediately afterwards. His arm is held up high by Ingelson who points in his direction, confirming his victory and then turning to motion for the bell. Right before it can chime “Reach Out and Touch Faith” hits the PA system, causing everyone to rise to their feet, screaming in shock and disbelief. Bitchcakes eyes open widely as he almost falls over, turning his attention towards the entry way while shaking his head.

Douglas: No, no way.

The reaction from the fans intensifies as a bloodied Chapel marches through the curtains, almost losing his footing as he waltzes onto the stage. He steadies himself, shaking his head throughout the process, attempting to get his mind straight while batting his eyes, trying to keep them opened long enough to focus on the ring. Everyone in the building is screaming as the War Angel makes his way down the ramp, cradling his battered ribs with one arm in the process.

Mayne: You got to be kidding me. Chapel is actually coming out here after he was attacked backstage at the hands of the Alpha Generation? I knew this guy was absolutely brainless.

Douglas: He seems intent on coming out here and competing no matter what. His will to become number one contender is insatiable, and just when it appeared that McPhee had somehow overcome all the odds, now he has to wrestle one more match it appears.

Billy: Jesus, this really is a lose, lose situation, either we’ll get an injured McPhee, or an injured Chapel contending for the World title after this is all said and done.

Chapel’s eyes are brazen with hatred while McPhee tries to plant his feet and keep himself upright long enough to put up a fight. After taking several deep breaths and preparing himself Ingelson steps back, shrugging his shoulders and letting this thing go since Chapel was originally slated to be in this match in the first place. Although barely able to stand himself, the War Angel climbs the steps onto the apron, leaning on the ropes for a second then slipping through them, allowing a small dribble of blood to drip downward from his face. Chris Hunter is standing up at ringside, taking a photo of this with great joy. McPhee glances towards the referee, asking if this is official before Ingelson just nods his head, reversing his request for the bell to sound.

Douglas: It looks like we’re going to see it, Bitchcakes has not won the number one contendership yet, even after surviving four separate matches, now he’s got to overcome Chapel.

Mayne: Which might be easier than speculated seeing the condition that the War Angel is in. God it sickens me referring to him by his monikers.

Chapel is sliding through the ropes with a grimace before McPhee steps in, thrusting a right hand into the side of his face. The impact almost knocks the King of Monsters down before Bitchcakes grabs him around the jaw, dragging him through the ropes and standing him up. He chops him right across the chest, then does so again, each impact knocking the King of Monsters backwards against the cables. He somehow is keeping himself upright before Bitchcakes takes him by the wrist, whipping him across the ring with the little bit of strength he has remaining. Chapel charges into the cables, bouncing off and coming back in before Bitchcakes steps forward and bends down for a back drop. Just as he sets himself though, Chapel stops just short of him and delivers a hard upward kick directly into his chest. The impact causes Bitchcakes to stand up before an equally as exhausted Cartel Champion steps forward with a big boot. McPhee ducks it though and then stands up behind Chapel catching him around the neck and pulling him down into a huge reverse neckbreaker. Chapel crashes into the ring beside McPhee, rolling across the canvas to his knees immediately afterwards while his opponent sluggishly gets to his feet. Bitchcakes charges in at Chapel who is trying to stand up and catches him around the bloodied head, spinning him around into a huge swinging neckbreaker. The back of the Cartel Champion’s skull hits the ring with force, Bitchcakes sitting up with his clothing absolutely drenched in sweat. On the outside of the ring Jon Rich has regained his senses, holding his ribs and moving around the squared circle then up the ramp in a fury. He seems to be mumbling Desolation’s name under his breath.

Inside the squared circle the King of Monsters is rising to his feet steadily with his untreated wound still pumping blood down his face. As soon as he gets up Bitchcakes moves in and knees him hard to the face, causing him to stand completely up right as McPhee takes him by the wrist and whips him straight into the turnbuckle. Chapel spins around and hits it hard spine first, his massive frame almost tumbling to the canvas as a result, grimacing from the pain that tears through his mid-section. McPhee now comes charging in and jumping high into the air before splashing Chapel in the turnbuckle, with a frame that would usually engulf most of his other opponents. This time is barely even takes up a portion of the War Angel’s massive physique though as McPhee staggers backwards, moving to the center of the ring then charging in once more. He jumps into the air a second time with another splash but this time connects with straight up turnbuckle. The collision drives all the air out of McPhee who staggers backwards, Chapel stepping out of the corner and slapping his hand around Bitchcakes’ throat. He grabs the back of his pants and hoists him into the air, his ribs almost breaking in the process while he now chokeslams Bitchcakes down hard to the canvas. Chapel lands beside him on his elbows and knees, the fans shocked by the sheer brutality of the chokeslam.

Mayne: Well McPhee’s ride was fun while it lasted, but all good things must come to an end. Wait, this hasn’t been good. I need to come up with some better material.

Douglas: Finally, I’ve been saying that for years now. But the fact remains that Bitchcakes has been taken out with a thunderous chokeslam and now Chapel might find himself the victor right here. Which would be such a shame considering everything that McPhee has endured in this match.

Billy: Actually, if it didn’t mean Chapel were the victor, I might find that rather hysterical.

Chapel hooks McPhee’s leg, going for the pinfall to become number one contender.

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Bitchcakes throws his arm out as his wrist lands on the bottom rope. Ingelson is just about to make the last count before he spots it, standing up and informing Chapel that Bitchcakes’ arm is on the cables. A bloodied War Angel sits up, grimacing, appearing flabbergasted over the fact that he didn’t just get a quick pinfall. He rises to his feet, if he muster the strength to in his current condition then grabs hold of McPhee’s hair. The War Angel drags him up to his feet and then pulls his head between his legs, reaching down and wrapping his arms around his waist as he sets up for a big powerbomb to finish him off once and for all. Chapel hoists his rotund frame up into the air then grunts in pain from his battered ribs, forced to release Bitchcakes who slips off his shoulders and lands right in front of him. Chapel then steps forward with a lariat but McPhee ducks it, rushing into the cables behind him and bouncing off the ropes. The bloodied War Angel turns around right into the Charging Bull. The full force of the collision takes Chapel off of his feet and down to the canvas with McPhee coming down on top of him before rolling onto his back at the side of his opponent. Both men are spent even though Chapel has only been in there a mere few minutes. The sheer brutality of that attack backstage has left him almost powerless to stop this onslaught from McPhee though who turns towards him and throws an arm over his chest.

Douglas: Bitchcakes could have a victory with the same move he used to finish Aurora and Rich off with! We could be looking at our new number one contender, for um, a second time.

Mayne: Yes, please, anyone but Chapel.

The crowd is hopping with excitement as the official drops down and makes the count.

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3!

Bitchcakes sits up, barely able to hold his arm aloft in victory before he’s informed that Chapel kicked out just a split second before the three count. McPhee’s jaw drops while he raises three fingers towards the referee, taking exasperated breaths, trying to understand how he didn’t just get the pinfall. Finally he slides his hands down over his sweaty face, trying to come to terms with the fact that he’s not yet the number one contender.

Dan: Somehow Chapel kicked out!

Mayne: Damn you McPhee, can’t you get the job done already?

Douglas: He has just went through four different matches Billy.

Billy: That’s no excuse.

Finding it increasingly difficult to breathe, McPhee forces himself up to his feet and then steps over top of Chapel, moving towards one of the turnbuckles. He climbs it painstakingly, his girth weighing him down, yet he keeps on going, climbing right to the top rope. He gets to it with his back aimed towards the down Chapel then flips over in reverse with a huge moonsault as he comes crashing down right on top of his opposition’s battered ribs. Bitchcakes rolls away from him, holding his own mid-section and kicking his legs while gasping for air. After a struggle he pushes himself up to his elbows and knees, crawling towards the motionless Chapel and again falling into the cover.

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Chapel gets his shoulder from the ring with a bit of time to spare on this occasion. Fury sets into Bitchcakes’ wide eyes, he certainly isn’t about fun and games tonight while he rises to a standing base. He then takes hold of Chapel around the neck, rolling him onto his knees then dragging him up to his feet with his little remaining strength. McPhee kicks Chapel hard to the gut and takes a step back, extending his arms out to his sides as he sets up for the Hang Over (Jumping DDT). He shouts his calling card then runs forward and jumps only for Chapel to reach out, catching him around the waist, swinging him around into a huge black hole slam. The crowd is stunned by this as Chapel finds his bloodied torso rolling away from McPhee who has been squashed to the canvas. After much struggling Chapel gets to all fours, fighting off the desire to pass out due to blood loss while McPhee is fighting through his agony as well, also attempting to get up. Chapel rises to a standing base before staggering towards Bitchcakes, who has rolled to his knees, only for the War Angel to step behind his back. He immediately begins to hook both of his arms in an attempt to get him up for the full nelson, and perhaps into the Crucifier (Reverse Crucifix Facebuster).

Mayne: Chapel now setting for the Cardinal Sin, my God, both of these men are going balls to the walls here. Great, now I just made my testicles hurt.

Douglas: I’m sure they’re in a constant state of agony Billy, just like both these individuals currently in the ring.

Much like a few moments ago with Jackson, Bitchcakes is fighting this attempt at the reverse crucifix before he’s hoisted in the air. When lifted above the canvas, McPhee twists his body, swinging free from the grasp of Chapel and landing on his feet right behind his back. McPhee steps forward and immediately buries his shoulder into Chapel’s spine, attempting to lift him into the air, but there’s no way he can get his much larger opposition up for a slam. Bitchcakes groans and turns away from Chapel, holding his spine before the War Angel spins around, bending forward and thrusting his shoulders into the spine of his drunken opponent, hoisting him up into a torture rack. He seems to be setting for the Cardinal Sin this time before Bitchcakes pushes himself around quickly. Just as Chapel is about to jump into the air though, Bitchcakes rakes his eyes and slips off his shoulders, landing on his feet behind his back. Chapel spins around and receives a hard kick to the gut before McPhee slaps on a front chancery, preparing to vertical suplex him. He can’t get him up into the air once again though, roaring in pain as his back almost snaps. That’s when a bloodied Chapel reaches out, hooking McPhee’s leg then lifting him up high into the air across his shoulders and dropping back into almost a fisherman Samoan drop combination. The entire body of Bitchcakes crashes with unbelievable force against the ring while Chapel sits up, blood mixing with sweat as it leaks down his features now. He turns and crawls into the cover once more, any move might be enough to finish their opponent off at this stage.

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Bitchcakes defiantly shoots his shoulder from the canvas once more, refusing to be bested after everything his body has been subjected to throughout the course of this contest. Chapel turns away from Bitchcakes, unleashing a shout of pure anger and animosity, trying to motivate himself perhaps. He forces himself to an upright base slowly then turns back towards McPhee, grabbing him around the neck and dragging him over onto his knees. He once again takes him around the head, dragging it under his seat then grasps his belt line, pulling him to an upright base. Bitchcakes is bent forward, barely able to move as Chapel wraps his arms around his waist then hoists him up into the air onto his shoulders for the powerbomb. This time he drops to his knees and plants McPhee into the canvas with force. Bitchcakes is driven with incredible velocity into the ring, which shakes upon the impact, leaving him sprawled out across his spine in a motionless state. The War Angel now rises and takes hold of Bitchcakes’ leg, lifting up on it and thus causing him to roll over in reverse onto his knees. A tired Chapel steps behind his back and grabs both his arms once more, lifting up on them and then hoisting McPhee into the air for the Crucifier. As soon as he gets him up though, Bitchcakes turns around and wraps his arm around Chapel’s neck, pulling him down head first into the canvas with a huge DDT counter. Chapel bounces skull first into the ring then flops over onto his spine, McPhee laid out beside him, trying to get up to make the cover. The crowd is still screaming as Bitchcakes turns over and launches his chubby arm out over Chapel’s sternum. Ingelson drops and makes the count with the fans chanting along.

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No, The War Angel kicks out just a second before the third slap of the canvas can be made.

Douglas: Chapel kicks out again, my God what is it going to take for either of these two men to finally finish one another off? Even after all they’re bodies have endured throughout this match?

Mayne: Jesus Christ, you’ve asked that question like a thousand times throughout this match!

Bitchcakes is utterly flabbergasted, trying to come up with some way to pin Chapel now that he’s exhausted just about all other means in this fast paced, deciding fall in the gauntlet series. After struggling for several moments Bitchcakes turns towards Chapel, who is already rolling to a kneeling base, bleeding heavily from the forehead. Just as he starts to get up though, McPhee steps in and slaps on a front chancery before yelling at the top of his lungs. To the amazement of everyone, Bitchcakes lifts Chapel into the air and delivers a brainbuster, driving the top of his head straight into the canvas. Chapel drops onto his back, lying motionless now while McPhee is spread across his spine beside him, breathing heavily. The fans are slapping the barricades and stomping their feet while Bitchcakes turns onto his side and once again finds himself glaring at the turnbuckle. He forces himself upwards slowly, assuring himself that Chapel is laid out before slapping his chest with both open palms and yelling something loudly.

Bitchcakes: Super-Balls!

The fans react with cheering as Bitchcakes slips through the ropes onto the apron and now climbs up the turnbuckle, scaling it as quickly as he possibly can while Chapel tries to get up in the ring. His blood loss is really effecting him while he forces his legs beneath his tired frame, Bitchcakes getting to the top rope now. McPhee glares down at his opponent with evil intentions as Chapel turns around to spot him but almost loses his footing after everything his body has endured thus far. That’s when Bitchcakes launches himself off the turnbuckle, flying through the air with a huge superhero like crossbody. He connects right with Chapel’s chest, knocking him off of his feet and down to the canvas. A smirking McPhee comes down on top of him but Chapel rolls over backwards, reversing the pin. Wait though, Chapel isn’t going for the pin, he’s rising to his feet with Bitchcakes spread across his chest. McPhee punches at the War Angel widely before he’s thrown into the air, over top of Chapel’s head, landing right on top of his shoulders. Chapel jumps upward and then comes down onto his posterior, hitting the Cardinal Sin (torture rack back breaker). The crowd reacts with astonishment as Bitchcakes bounces off his shoulders and tumbles to the canvas, lying there while going into convulsions.

Douglas: The Cardinal Sin! Chapel just hit the Cardinal Sin!

Mayne: Stop shouting, I saw it!

McPhee is a crumbled mess on the canvas as Chapel turns and crawls into the cover, hooking his leg in exhaustion. The fans are counting along.

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Everyone in the building is shocked as McPhee kicks out once again, keeping himself from being pinned even after all that’s been thrown at him in this gauntlet match. Chapel’s face fills with astonishment, his eyes wider than ever before and more clear amongst the sea of blood that drains down his face. His can’t even think to argue with the referee over that kick out, having never seen it coming in a million years.

Billy: Is this match ever going to end? Or is Bitchcakes just going to keep kicking out for hours?

Douglas: I don’t know how he just did that. McPhee kicking out once more like he’s been forced to do so much tonight, in now his fifth straight match. This has to be one of the most gutsiest performances I’ve ever witnessed.

Chris looks to be falling asleep at ringside while Chapel gets to a standing base and takes hold of Bitchcakes’ hair, signaling that this is it. He pulls McPhee’s head under his posterior and uses all his strength to drag the rest of his body up into the air, Bitchcakes no more than dead weight at this point in time, an exhausted, broken heap. Chapel hoists McPhee into the air and allows him to slide over his shoulders before catching both of his arms, holding him in a crucifix position then twisting him around, catching him around the neck and dropping him with a DDT. The crowd explodes at the sight of the Apocalypse, McPhee crashing head first into the canvas then flipping over onto his back. A bloodied Chapel crawls defiantly into the cover this time, hooking both his legs.

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There is no kicking out for Bitchcakes on this occasion, his body having took much more than it was capable of withstanding. Chapel sits up, blood spilling down his face but a slight smirk coming to his mouth while he raises a single arm into the air. The fans are clapping as loud as they can at the sight of this huge victory.

Douglas: Chapel has done it, he is the new number one contender. He will challenge Hurse for the World Heavyweight Championship!

Mayne: No, no, why couldn’t it have been McPhee, at least he’s somewhat entertaining.

Chapel struggles to reach a standing base, almost falling over several times in the process while Ingelson steps in so he can be leaned on. Chapel uses him as a crutch before shooting one arm aloft into the air, getting a huge reaction from the fans. All the while Bitchcakes rolls to the outside of the ring and crashes down to his knees on the outside mats. A look of dejection is in his eyes but he perks up a bit as the crowd gives him a standing ovation.

Douglas: I’m sure nobody will able to forget Bitchcakes’ performance tonight, competing in five straight matches, winning four of them before finally meeting his end at the hands of Chapel.

Mayne: I don’t care, he didn’t get the job done, so everything he did before this final match with Chapel is absolutely meaningless.

Chapel continues to be held up by the official while almost falling over several times. Nothing can take the grin away from his face though as he realizes that his time is now, a World title shot beckons over the horizon. Not even the sight of what is occurring on the entry way can take the grin from his face. There, emerging from the curtains is the General Manager AWOL, who stops on the stage and gives Chapel an introspective glare. The two former tag team partners now rest eyes on another while AWOL strokes his jaw, contemplating something as he observes the War Angel.

Dan: There’s one man who I’m sure is glad to be proven wrong tonight.

Mayne: AWOL’s proven wrong like every other week, its no big deal.

The War Angel the Big Crazy Bastard continue to exchange a long, meaningful glare with one another as the Cartel Champion celebrates a momentous victory.

Douglas: What a night! Chapel is the new number one contender! What does this mean for the Champion, what is going to happen next week on Riot!?

Mayne: I shudder to think.

ONE LAST SURPRISE

Aurora is seen with her stuff now as she head for the exit when the lights start to flicker and go off. When they come back on, the Masked Myers guy is right behind her as she starts to run again. She goes to run around the corner when she is hit in the face with either a chair or a leadpipe knocking her out. Pat Evans stands over her smiling as the Myers character stops and looks down as well before taking off his mask to show it was just one of the IWC jobbers. Evans gives the jobber a wad of cash. He then goes to shake his hand and the jobber goes for it, only for Evans to twist his arm around and locks the kid in the Time to Let Go. The jobber struggles but Evans just continues to pull back. He tries to grab the hair of Evans, but Evans just continues to keep the hold locked until the jobber just passes out. He then throws the jobber down, and takes back the wad of cash, before turning around and looking down at Aurora Rose, only for the scene to fade to black.