Opening Credits
Starring:
Before there is crowd noise, theme music, or a fancy clip montage there is simply the audio of the wind on a bitterly cold Detroit evening.

The video feed materializes slowly.

One thing that not a lot of people know about Nigel Kensington is that he smokes.  It’s certainly not something that he would ever attempt to glamorize, as he is vaguely ashamed of himself for the continued addiction.  In fact, it’s pretty rare that he smokes on the site of a SCCW show at all.  But tonight, he could make an exception.

Nigel huddles outside a door right next to the staff & performer parking lot, his hands forming a barrier around the cigarette, trying to get a successful light.  Flurries hang in the air, slowly descending to the pavement.

Nigel Kensington: Come on.

As if responding to the encouragement, the lighter does its job and the boss takes a drag.  The stress of the last few months is written all over his face.  He had backed some horses that didn’t pan out, he had been beaten up physically and emotionally.  There had been a money crisis that admittedly crept up on him.  He had come to believe that certain things were beyond him, and late at night Nigel wondered if that were true, or if he had allowed that thought to be almost surgically implanted in his head by his opponents – by the Dead Man’s Hand.

And speaking of that.

A side door that leads to the backstage area opens, and Nigel doesn’t even turn to look who it is.  He only hopes that whoever it may be, they don’t know who he is.  He has no desire to be bothered.  He just wants to smoke his cigarette, and get ready for the evening, and oh what a humbling evening it seemed to be.  How much faith could the others really have left?  He had admitted to himself on several occasions that if he were in their shoes, certain alternatives would be considered.

Footsteps creep up behind him.  They are lazy, almost as if feet are being dragged.

“Huh, didn’t know you smoked.”

Nigel knows that voice.  He knows it all too well.

Nigel Kensington: Hello, Mr. Stevens.

The River Rat emerges at Nigel’s side, smoking a cigarette of his own.

Lane Stevens: What’s the haps, El Presidente?

Unlike Nigel who is bundled in a coat, Stevens wears an old school NWC Desade t-shirt, and black track pants.  Also in his left hand is a can of Strongbow alcoholic cider, which probably has something to do with his indifference for the weather. 

Nigel Kensington: Did you come all the way out here to assault me, Mr Stevens?  If so feel free, I have no security within shouting distance.  I don’t even have my phone on me.

Stevens grins savagely, a moment later blowing smoke into the night air.

Lane Stevens: Nah, at this point…wouldn’t really be my style.  A lot of people like the finality of someone beaten into submission, finished…destroyed.  Personally I don’t mind seeing them flail around like a grasshopper with the legs plucked off, ya know?

Nigel Kensington: No, I do not.

The Warlord nods at the cold reaction.  Nigel does not even look at him.

Lane Stevens: Well, you’re missing out.  Also, just thought I’d let you know that one of your golden boys is safe.  The referees Lance assaulted are going to drop their case, thanks to yours truly.

Nigel Kensington: The kindness of your heart, no doubt.

The River Rat shrugs.

Lane Stevens: Alexandra told me to stop it, called it nonsense.  Her sense of humor could use a little work I’d say.  You know any good jokes you could tell her?

Nigel Kensington: Afraid not.

Lane Stevens: How about the one about the Jew and the failed fed head walking into a bar?

Nigel doesn’t even consider responding to that particular line of questioning.

Nigel Kensington: Mr. Stevens, it is of my personal opinion that if she started making more decisions like that, this place would be a lot saner.

Stevens begins to chuckle, and that chuckle breaks out into a full fledged laughing attack.  He literally doubles over, before eventually settling down.

Lane Stevens: There isn’t anyone around here more influential than Miss Pierce, no one more powerful.

He slams the rest of his cider, and literally punts it forward.  The sound of the can colliding with Lane’s food makes Kensington flinch involuntarily. 

Lane Stevens: But you don’t know Sin City, I’m afraid.  You don’t know the first damn thing about it.  No matter where we go, we are inside of it.  It travels with us.  This life has twisted so many, even you.

Still unable to make eye contact with the creature before him, Nigel just stares straight ahead.  Lane flicks the remainder of his cigarette into the parking lot, and starts to head back into the arena.  But standing in the doorway, he has one last thing to say.

Lane Stevens: I’ll show you its true colors, if you ever want to have a look.

The former Gateway and Livewire champ closes the door, shrieking with laughter yet again.  Even through a wall separates the two men, Nigel can clearly hear Lane singing “The Times They are a Changin” as he saunters down the hall.

We are left with a shot of Nigel Kensington, who simply exhales.  It would be another night of pain, misery, jubilation, triumph, and everything in-between.

And here we go.

Fade.
Cobra Commander and His Minions tell the People of Earth What's Up
Starring:Varga, Rappin' Rick Malloy, and Kaden Calix aka the Bermuda Triangle Alliance of Pain aka COBRA~!
Backstage, Varga is getting ready for his Falls Count Anywhere within Ten Miles of the Arena match with Legion. His buddies Kaden Calix and former SCCW Livewire Champion Rapmaster Rick Malloy are nearby chatting as Varga turns to see the camera entering the area.

Varga: Hello plebeians and parasites watching at home and in the arena. I’m Varga and I’m about to show all of you scumbags why I am the greatest in the world at what I do.

The crowd in the arena starts booing.

Varga: Legion is nothing but another victim. He refused my offer to join in an alliance so I’m going beat up him and Luci4 with my own bare hands. I’ll take on him and all of the SCCW myself if I have to! I’ll burn this place to the ground. Nobody around here views me or any of my associates as threats. Well shame on you. After I bludgeon Legion and send him to the morgue in a body bag I’m coming for that SCCW Universal Championship.

In the background Malloy stares at Varga funny for some reason before interjecting with a question.

Malloy: You serious James?

Varga rolls his eyes.

Varga: Yes Rick, I am.

Malloy: Oh, ok then. Well when he wins the Universal Title I’M going to win back the SCCW Livewire Championship.

Varga: Yeah, and I’ll win the Strength in Numbers titles with Calix and then we’ll be the most dominant force in SCCW. But first I have to lead Team SCCW to victory tonight in War Games and destroy Legion like everyone knows I will. Now if all of fans will excuse me, I have to shock the world more than a certain pasty snow white Irish warrior guy from Stamford. Later losers…

Varga walks off screen with Malloy and Calix right behind him as the scene fades to black.
Gibson: Ladies and gentlemen, we were supposed to bring you the start of the match between Legion versus Varga...

Ware: Yeah. The "potty break" match.

Gibson: ...but I'm being told that there's been an altercation backstage. It seems neither man could wait for the match to officially begin, so they started it on their own.

Ware: Good! Let's get this s(beep)t over with.

Gibson: We're going to take you to the back, and... oh my!

There's no fade, no theme music or pyro, just a smash cut to a scene in the backstage area. Specifically, we're in the loading docks, and the cameraman has to dodge out of the way as Legion is hurled past him. Malik Jackson stands nearby, poised and ready to make a count should the need arise.

Gibson: Fans, I'm not sure what exactly's going on here, but I'll try to call this to best of my ability.

Ware: And I'll sit here and tell you all how awful it is. There might be a dick joke if you're lucky.

Gibson: I can't say that I'm surprised it started this way. These two men have something of a history.

Ware: Oh, who am I kidding. Of course there'll be a dick joke. I'll also probably suggest that these guys form a suicide pact at some point.

In the loading dock, Varga charges at the downed Legion, but Legion quickly gets his bearings and manages to trip Varga up. The Puppetmaster is sent tumbling into a stack of crates labeled "Aimz Theme Music: Tracks A - M". There's about 7 crates in total.


Ware: NOW WHAT WILL SHE LISTEN TO?!

Gibson: There's still N through Z, Eugene.

Ware: Name me one f(beep)king song that starts with Z. Go on, I dare you. And you can't say Zanadu.

Gibson: You mean because it starts with an X?

Ware: ...f(beep)k your mother.

Also, there is actual wrestling taking place through all this.

Gibson: Legion looks to be building up some steam, and he connects with a running elbow drop!

Ware: Are you actually going to call this like it's a real match?

Gibson: That was the plan, yes.

Ware: Can I go get a taco?

Gibson: Nope.

Ware: ...please?

Legion gets to his feet and grabs one of the crates. Ripping the top off he then proceeds to dump the contents onto Varga. It's nothing but Avenged Sevenfold CDs. Legion tries to make a cover through the mess.

Gibson: And it looks like we've got our first pinfall attempt.

Ware: That you know about.

Jackson: One... two... Nope. He got his shoulder up!

Oh yeah, Malik Jackson is close enough to the camera that you can kind of hear him. He's got a sexy voice, that chocolately man-mountain.

Gibson: Legion pulling Varga back to his feet. Legion with a right, but Varga blocks!

Ware: (deadpan) Awesome.

Gibson: Varga's with a kick to the midsection, and... OH! He just rammed Legion face-first into a barrel of...

Ware: Does that say "Fancy Cigars"?

Gibson: I think it does.

Ware: Yikes. I sure wouldn't want a mouthful of that.

Gibson: Fans, I'm being told we need to cut away.

Ware: HOORAY! Thank you, wrestling Jesus!

Gibson: But I've been told that we'll cut right back to this as it develops.

Ware: BOO! F(beep) you, wrestling Jesus!
...Testicles Blowing Up
Starring:Quasar/Aimz
“...and that might be the worst idea I’ve ever heard.”

“Bark bark. Which is why it’d make a great movie. Bark bark.”

Screen up, fuckers. Obviously, you know who the second voice is by now, unless you mistook him for some other talking dog in Sin City Championship Wrestling, which is a common error made by those who regularly shit themselves in anticipation of getting to eat crayons. Yup, it’s Quasar – who we’d almost forgotten existed since Spacely decided to go all “Thad” on us. BOO! But, since it is our favorite furry Geordi LaForge visor-wearing canine, the live crowd at Joe Louis gives a resounding…

"RAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"


…for the Intergalactic Hydrant-Pisser. Although it was purely by association, that may have been the first cheer the other one has heard in her direction since Halifax. Yep, it’s none other than Evil SCCW Redhead #497326104 – otherwise known as Amy Campbell. In the ever-famous “standard backstage scene,” she is seated on a metal chair and is flipping through a stapled-together stack of paper. A look of (probably faux) deep-thought is across her face.

Aimz: (pointing) Okay, I do like this part…

Quasar: Bark bark. I figured you would. Bark bark.

Aimz: ‘Then, SuperAmy stands atop the mountain of bad guys she just beat up and a guitar comes out of nowhere and she bends the strings so hard that the audience’s balls explode.’ Even though you obviously stole this from the Official Ninja Webpage…

Quasar pants, lifting up a paw to Amy for a handshake. For no reason, mind you. He’s just a dog and engages in random shit, right? Like handshakes. And writing multi-million dollar action scripts starring him and a woman his master hates.

Quasar: Bark bark. I have no idea what you’re talking about. Bark bark.

Amy shaks her head and half-laughs as she points to another section of the screenplay. Turning to address Quasar, she continues to nonchalantly shake it as she reads aloud.

Aimz: Surrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrre you don’t. ‘A shot of some crap hitting a ceiling fan. Pantera plays and then SuperAmy and BatDog are surrounded by angry snakes and have to save the passengers on the jet so they start tying them in knots and using them as jump ropes and stuff.’ Riveting.

Quasar: Bark bark. Yes ma’am. Hence the title of the film: ‘Guitar Hero: Reptiles On A Flying Vessel And Testicles Blowing Up.’ Bark bark.

She merely nods in understanding. Oddly enough. Amy releases his paw and cycles back to the title page of America’s summer blockbuster, then holds it perpendicular to her knees.

Aimz: As... uh. As stoked as I'd be to work for that circus, I'd... you'll have totalk to my agent. He's a nice guy. Little Jewish, NOT THAT THERE'S ANYTHING WRONG WITH THAT... but, uhh... yeeeeah... gonna have to pass.

Quasar: Bark bark. No. You just shook on it. Bark bark.

Amy’s look shifts suddenly from smug to shock in 1.4 seconds. This, coincidentally, is something Quasar has written for her to do in Scene 4 of “GH: ROFVTBU.”

Aimz: I…you…

It’s hard to come to terms with being swindled by a talking dog. Nevertheless, it has been the one thing EVER capable of leaving Amy Campbell momentarily speechless.

Quasar: Bark bark. Don’t act too excited or anything, SuperAmy. I mean, this movie is gonna make us, just like Mr. Nanny did for Hulk Hogan! Bark bark.

Aimz: ... Seriously?

A stage technician can now be seen walking into the shot, and kneels behind Quasar with the Rober Smigel “fake paw appendage,” going through the notion of the dog face-palming himself. The Red Raver shakes her head and ALSO face-palms herself. Mainly coming to terms that since losing her Uni title, her top billing status has sunk to this point.

Quasar: Bark bark. Never mind that, then. You need to get started on learning lines, so open up to page twenty-six. I start the scene off: ‘Bark bark! But we have to go into the sewer, SuperAmy! Our careers are in there! Bark bark.’

”May need to reschedule this rehearsal, Michael Bay. She’s got a match to get ready for. And so do you.”

Enter stage right – dark denim cuffed at the bottom, a pair of worn-out Chuck Taylors, a blue Explosions In The Sky T-shirt, and trademark blond hair spattering in all directions – here’s Spacely! (Spacely in “Earth form” if you want to get technical.) Sensing a confrontation is inevitable, Amy is quick to rise to her feet in a defiant stance – almost stepping toward him if he’d not put his hands up in defense.

Spacely: For both of our sakes, just chill out for a second. Hear me out.

Aimz: Have I been drinking more than normal? Did you slip something into my flask?

Space smiles sheepishly, figuring that since she'd gotten out a sentence without calling him some sort of name had to rank in the positive column. Shrugging, he whistles over Quasar, who obediently trots over to him with tail a-wagging.

Spacely: You're asking that now as opposed to five minutes ago when a dog pitched a script to you?

Aimz: Animatronics have come a long way, and I have a cat that I'm convinced is the reincarnation of Winston Churchill when I drink tequila. And isn't the dog your manager?

Spacely: I'm not saying that's the weird part -- just that you thought this thing was actually sellable...

Quasar: Bark bark. I'm standing like...right here next to you. Bark bark.

Spacely: You say that like it prevents me from trashing that terrible thing you call a screenplay.

Qusar: Bark bark. You're just mad I only gave you one line in it. Bark bark.

Spacely turns to look down at the dog, hands on his hips in defiance. Meanwhile, for whatever reason, Amy continues to stand there and listen to this ridiculous conversation. Probably because she's decently drunk.

Spacely: You think? And it's not the fact that you gave me one line -- that I can handle -- but when the line is 'Hooray! I love pee!' and my role is of 'Fire Hydrant #2'...you know what? I don't feel like arguing about this right now.

Rejoining this amazing conversation (and probably realizing that she has better things she could be doing,) the Red Raver pipes up, stepping in between the two to separate them.

Aimz: Darn, maybe we'll get to watch that later. Seriously - or what passes for serious in present company - though, what's got you suddenly acting like a halfway functioning human being?

Spacely looks around, albeit a bit nervously, and straightens up. Very seriously, he responds.

Spacely: I... I don't know what you're talking about.

Aimz: ... And there's the dimwit we know and love! Whatever, guy.

Spacely: Wow. Well, I am gonna say that I realize exactly why Jared thinks so highly of you. A real go-getter.

Amy arches a brow and sneers, and the camera catches a hint of a fist curling and uncurling at the sound of Spacely's retort. Undaunted, he continues.

Spacely: Regardless, I know I've said some pretty awful things about ya. Things you're probably used to being called by now, I'm sure. But, last week, you did the exact opposite of what I said, and I have to give you credit, Campbell...

Spacely swallows (shut the fuck up, Matt) and continues.

Spacely: You proved me wrong. You came to Jared's aid after I claimed you wouldn't, and you succeeded in making me look like a horse's patoot in the process.

Aimz: Probably because I'm not actually the horribitch people think o--y'know what, sure. I accept the... whatever this is. Apology.

Spacely nods, and for a second thinks about extending his hand. It is a passing thought, however, and instead just gives a wry smile to the former Superversal champion.

Spacely: Good luck tonight. As much as a few might think we'd like to see ol' Craig follow through on his promises to get rid of your mean asses...I'd hate to not have the opportunity to beat you myself.

Aimz: Remind me to quake later. Oh, and before you go? Consider a sincere apology to Jared. My feelings weren't what got hurt when you went on that little tangent.
We pan to the announcer’s desk. Eugene Ware is wearing a long dark wig.

Gibson: (glancing at Eugene) Uh…what?

Ware: You’re the strong sensitive type, and I’m the evil sexy genius. Together, we announce a wrestling show. Yeah we have our differences, but what a team, right?

Gibson: …

Ware: Sorry about your kid’s butt.

Myers: Ladies and gentlemen the following contest is set for one fall, and is for the SIN TAG-TEAM TITLES!

"RAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"


Myers: Introducing first…

despite all my rage i'm still just a rat in a cage

Smashing Pumpkins "Bullet With Butterfly Wings", edited ever so cleverly to work as a wrestler entrance song, plays the softer version of the line. Together, Daddy Daughter Day step out onto the ramp overlooking everything the arena. August has his arms folded across his chest and April has her hands on her hips. The guitars kick in and it hits the chorus, that's when the pair make their way down the ramp.

Myers: They are the challengers. August and April Monday…DADDY DAUGHTER DAY!

Ware: I would never form a tag-team with my kid.

Gibson: You don’t even have a kid. And you’re not athletic.

Ware: I wouldn’t buy that little jerk ice cream either. Who does he think he is, anyway?

DESPITE ALL MY RAGE I'M STILL JUST A RAT IN A CAGE!
DESPITE ALL MY RAGE I'M STILL JUST A RAT IN A CAGE!
THEN SOMEONE WILL SAY WHAT IS LOST CAN NEVER BE SAVED!
DESPITE ALL MY RAGE I'M STILL JUST A RAT IN A.... CAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA-YAGE!

Without any high-fives the pair just make their way down to the ring. Focused on the task at hand. They slide under the bottom rope simultaneously and head for a far corner each. August climbs to the second turnbuckle and folds his arms across his chest. April climbs to the second turnbuckle with her hands on her hips.

Myers: And their opponents...

The video screen at the head of the entrance ramp sparks into life. But instead of a slickly edited intro package, what we see looks like a slightly battered, somewhat worn piece of film...or old school video. The image is that of the late Bill Bixby in one of his most famous roles, David Banner. Noted scientist...and alter ego of The Hulk.

The music playing behind the video begins to pick up speed slightly as our narrator's voice booms out over the PA.

Voiceover: "And now when David Banner grows angry or outraged, a startling metamorphosis occurs."

Onscreen, David's eyes turn a sudden, violent shade of green. His body locks rigid and begins to expand, erupting with muscle while turning a deep shade of green. The scene cuts and the creature stands at the top of a hill, growling at the universe. The narrator continues.

Voiceover: "The creature is driven by rage..."

The video begins to shake and stutter, the same sequence repeating several times. Finally, the film appears to burn out leaving the screen black. The audio, however, is still coming through. We hear again:

Voiceover: "The creature is driven by rage..."

Quickly followed by the most famous phrase ñ which the crowd speaks along with.

Voiceover: "Mister McGee, don't make me angry. You wouldn't like me when I'm angry."

"RAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"


The driving guitars of Muse's "Supermassive Black Hole" blast out over the PA system as the Marshalls make their presence known at the top of the aisle.

OH BABY DON'T YOU KNOW I SUFFER?
OH BABY CAN'T YOU HEAR ME MOAN?
YOU CAUGHT ME UNDER FALSE PRETENSES
HOW LONG BEFORE YOU LET ME GO?

Lance prowls his way down the aisle, each step being made with deliberate precision. Even in a sport known for impressively developed individuals, Lance Marshall can still manage to give an audience pause. He is heavily muscled and incredibly defined, to the point where he'd make your average comic book powerhouse look small... and the sense of power radiating from him leaves no doubt that the muscles are not just for show. Clad in a pair of workmanlike blue jeans and a black t-shirt with a gold lion's head emblem imprinted on it, he makes his way down the aisle with a grace one would not expect from a man of his size.

He holds the SIN title off to the side, and doesn’t seem to care for it. There are a lot of other things on his mind.

OOOH...YOU SET MY SOUL ALIGHT
OOOH...YOU SET MY SOUL ALIGHT
(OOOH...YOU SET MY SOUL ALIGHT)
GLACIERS MELTING IN THE DEAD OF NIGHT
AND THE SUPERSTARS SUCKED INTO THE SUPERMASSIVE

Lance slaps at the hands at the hands lining the aisle, his gaze never straying from the ring. His eyes seem to almost burn with energy. As he approaches the ring, a smile slowly starts to creep along his mouth.

Myers: Standing six-foot-three-inches tall, he weighs in at three-hundred and twenty pounds! This is a former SCCW Universal Champion! THIS IS ONE HALF OF THE CURRENT SIN TAG-TEAM CHAMPIONS! THIS IS THE LION...LAAAAANCE MAARRRRRRRRRSHALLL!

I THOUGHT I WAS A FOOL FOR NO-ONE
OH BABY I'M A FOOL FOR YOU
YOU'RE THE QUEEN OF THE SUPERFICIAL
AND HOW LONG BEFORE YOU TELL THE TRUTH

Normally, this would be the point where Alanna Marshall, standing tall and pround, would make her way down to the ring by her husband's side. But tonight, the Lioness is nowhere to be seen. And while Lance looks ready for blood, there's still the profound sense of something missing.

OOOH...YOU SET MY SOUL ALIGHT
OOOH...YOU SET MY SOUL ALIGHT
(OOOH...YOU SET MY SOUL ALIGHT)
GLACIERS MELTING IN THE DEAD OF NIGHT
AND THE SUPERSTARS SUCKED INTO THE SUPERMASSIVE

Lance makes his way up to the ring apron, clambering in through the middle rope. Once inside the ring, he turns to the crowd and lets out a huge roar. The crowd responds back in kind.

SUPERMASSIVE BLACK HOLE
SUPERMASSIVE BLACK HOLE
SUPERMASSIVE BLACK HOLE
SUPERMASSIVE BLACK HOLE

Gibson: What a dynamic team this really could be…

Ware: If they didn’t want to punch each other in the face.
Gibson: August and April Monday have been chasing these titles for months, constantly, constantly robbed of their chances by the Dead Man's Hand... will this be their chance?
Ware: We get it. You're hyped.
Gibson: Lance Marshall waiting in the ring and...
Ware: And this is when the lights go out.
Lights, please.
Ware: See!
This is also ordinarily where we see hear the driving guitars of Marilyn Manson's "Four Rusted Horses." But that's not coming.
The name of the band is You're Pretty. The name of the song is "Not a Saint," and it explodes right into the lyrics.
I am not a saint
No sacrifice can make me holy
And I cannot live for you
Myers: His tag-team partner, currently residing in Paris, France! She stands five feet, ten inches tall and is the OTHER half of the SCCW Strength in Numbers Champions!
On the SINScreen, the video package starts with a barrage of Spider's Kisses – Jonathan Rhine, Lance Marshall, Jared Sykes, Phillip Kennedy, it's a who's-who of Sinner Elite, all dropped with both knees to their face.
I've given this thought
And climbed off this cross
Because that's the way
I think it should be

Gibson: New music choice for Alexandra Pierce here at SIN on SPIKE.
Ware: It's okay. A little too... cheery.

I'm feeling my flaws
And accepting my wrongs
What do you expect from me?

As the on-screen version of the Director leaps onto the top rope, walking it like a high wire before driving both feet into the face of an unseen opponent, her name appears across the screen in deep red lettering.
D E S A D E

Myers; She is the Spider in the Web! She is the Sin City Spectre! Ladies and gentlemen, I give you Alexandra Pierce – DEEEEEEEE-SAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHD(uh!)!

Well here I stand before you
I'm not hiding anything

And she steps out through the curtain, flicking it aside with a negligent flick of her hand. Alexandra Pierce is not a particularly impressive specimen – she's not the bombshell that Kathryn Shaw is, certainly. She's thin, lithe, built like a dancer with corded muscle and eyes that could stop a freight train. Her singlet is pure, pristine white like a new snowfall, and her boots are black and well-worn. Both fists are wrapped in dark athletic tape, the singlet open across her chest thanks to a Templar cross of a cutout.
The crowd? Still doesn't like her.

"BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"


Because I am not a saint
No sacrifice can make me holy
And I cannot live for you

Pierce does not acknowledge the jeers, but her expression is not blank – as it has been many times in the past – but inscrutable, eyes unreadable. Alexandra bounds up the steps, slinging herself over the top rope, glare affixed on the Mondays. Surprisingly, she and her partner do not acknowledge each other – there's none of their glare there.
Alex rolls her shoulders, flexing her fingers.
It's go time.



DING!

DING!

DING!


Gibson: Well, here we go.


“D-D-D”

“D-D-D”

“D-D-D”

“MARSHALL!”

“MARSHALL!”

“MARSHALL!”


The two legal men in the ring, Lance Marshall and August Monday look around at the crowd and grin for a moment.

Ware: We’re starting off with the two big boys right here.

Gibson: Right you are. Here’s a collar and elbow tie-up, and neither man is moving an inch!

The struggle against each other for ten more seconds, with no progress.

Gibson: The irresistible force against the…

Ware: Oh come on don’t do that.

Gibson: Fine.

They finally break the hold, simultaneously shoving each other back. They take a moment to look each other up and down before August Monday runs off the ropes and Marshall holds his ground.

Gibson: There’s a shoulder block and Marshall backs up a few steps, but he didn’t go down!

Ware: This is like watching Animal Planet.

Gibson: Now Marshall off the ropes…and August holds his ground as well!

Ware: This crowd is nuts over shoulder butts. I don’t think that has ever been said.

Gibson: The Lion and The Fear locked up again! And this time August gets a momentary upper hand, grabbing a side headlock. Lance pushing him back into the ropes, and here’s an irish whip! Monday ducks under a Marshall clothesline and coming back off the near side, and Lance ducks under a Monday clothesline! Now they both run off the ropes, AND COLLIDE IN THE CENTER OF THE RING!

Both men fall backwards into the ropes, almost going down to the ground.

Ware: August Monday, born on a Monday.

Gibson: …

Ware: Some comic book dork paid me ten bucks to say that.

Both men calmly approach each other in the center of the ring and…

"RAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"


Gibson: MARSHALL! MONDAY! TRADING RIGHTS AND LEFTS! IT’S A FLURRY OF FISTS! THEY ARE POURING EVERYTHING THEY HAVE INTO THESE PUNCHES!

Ware: Dude, settle.

Gibson: Marshall with the upper hand backing him against the ropes, and how he sends August to the far side…

SLAP.

Gibson: There’s a blind tag by April Monday, here’s August coming back and again he ducks under a Marshall clothesline!

Against the nearside ropes August holds on. Lance stares at him for a moment, somewhat confused. He figures it out a second too late when April Monday jumps on his back and tries to put him in a sleeper.

Gibson: Teamwork by Daddy Daughter Day!

Ware: Whoops.

Gibson: And Marshall just threw April off like a sack of potatoes! Here comes August…AND A BIG POWERSLAM BY THE LION! AND THAT SHOOK THE RING!

Ware: And tipped over by Wyatt Connors coffee mug.

Gibson: Marshall going over to the corner…

He looks to the crowd for a moment, and they seem somewhat confused about how to react. Eventually he tags in Alexandra Pierce, who makes a bee-line for April who is just getting up to her feet.

Gibson: And Alexandra scores with an enziguri! My god the sound that made! Our first cover….




1……………






2…………………….




Gibson: And a kickout!

Ware: Probably a little closer than the Mondays would like. They don’t want this shot to slip away, I can tell you that much.

Gibson: What’s with the serious commentary?

Ware: YOUR FATHER WEARS ASSLESS CHAPS!

Gibson: …Alrighty.

Pierce picks up April by the hair, and drags her into the corner. Like a machine she thrusts one kick into her gut that causes April to hunch over, then one knee to the head, which causes her to fall down on her bottom. And then three kicks directly to the face.

Gibson: Desade is kicking it into full gear here!

Ware: Her feet are almost as deadly as her breakfast quiche. Seriously folks!

Gibson: The Director once again dragging April back to her feet, here’s a standing armbar, and a tag back in to Marshall!

"RAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"


Ware: I get that kind of reception when I enter the waffle house.

Desade holds April steady as Lance enters, and delivers a double axe-handle blow to her back that sends her face first into the ground.

Gibson: Early on April is in a really bad spot here.

Ware: No crap.

Gibson: Marshall not letting up, yet another hard irish whip sends the younger Monday into the corner, she comes stumbling out…here’s a big back body dr…NO! COUNTER! ON THE WAY DOWN APRIL TURNED THAT INTO A TORNADO DDT! AND THE LION IS DOWN!

Ware: Her circus background came in handy there.

Gibson: She has no such thing.

Ware: Yeah, but still thought.

Gibson: What?

April takes a few moments to clear the cob webs and does a summersault into the corner and tagging her father.

Gibson: And here comes August! And he does not look pleased!

Marshall barely has time to get up before he gets a huge forearm to the face that staggers The Lion. Alex makes a move from the apron, but she gets a forearm in the face for her trouble and hits the ground hard.

Gibson: Marshall back up…AND GETS A SPEAR FOR HIS TROUBLE!

Ware: The crowd is confused.

Gibson: HERE’S A COVER!





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2…………………………





Gibson: And a kickout by Marshall!

August gets back up to his feet, and drops an elbow right into the chest of Lance Marshall, before dragging him over to the corner.

Gibson: We haven’t seen Lance get manhandled like this in the early stages of a match in a while.

Ware: Pretty sure he’s got a lot on his mind. OH MY GOD I JUST DEFENDED LANCE MARSHALL OH CRAP.

Gibson: Here’s a tag back into April!

She positions herself on the apron right across from Lance.

Gibson: And a springboard senton bomb by April Monday! And another cover!




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Gibson: And another kickout by the Lion!

Ware: It takes more than that to beat Lance Marshall. It takes minerals from his home planet, Claxtron!

Gibson: Well alright.

Ware: Exactly.

Gibson: April on the second turnbuckle now, waiting for Lance to get up and…THERE’S AN AXE KICK FROM THE 2ND TURNBUCKLE! AND SHE’S GOING FOR ANOTHER COVER!



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"RAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"



Gibson: AND MARSHALL EMPHATICALLY KICKS OFF APRIL!

She almost fell through the middle rope. April picks herself up and shakes her head before tagging in August.

Ware: The Raging Fear was my old college nickname.

Gibson: You pretty muscular back then?

Ware: No, I just had Eczema. No one wanted to touch me.

Gibson: August Monday propping Lance up in the corner, and delivers a knee to the stomach and a back elbow to the face!

He backs off for a moment, measuring Marshall before charging.

Gibson: AND MARSHALL GETS A LEG UP AND KICKS AUGUST RIGHT IN THE FACE! August stumbling backwards now…AND LANCE CHARGES IN FOR A BIG TIME CLOTHESLINE THAT PUT MONDAY ON THE MAT!

After that shot, Lance goes down too, and starts to crawl towards the corner.

Gibson: Daddy Daughter Day has shown some great team work early and certainly that’s one of their strengths, but it’s hard to account for the massive talent on the opposing team…

August gets up and starts to chase after Marshall, but its too late.

SLAP.

Gibson: And Alexandra is in!

And the crowd doesn’t know how to react.

Ware: Don’t cheer her! You are too stupid to like someone this awesome!

Gibson: August swings wildly at Pierce and there’s a duck under, and a quick kick to the side of the leg, and another! Monday momentarily stunned and there’s a rope flip moonsault body block by Desade by he caught her! Oh the strength!

August’s expression suddenly changes.

Gibson: HEAD SCISSORS TAKE DOWN BY THE DIRECTOR! April heading in and she gets a spinning heel kick right to the face for her trouble!

Ware: That’s what I’m talking about!

Gibson: But August with two hands wrapped firmly around Desade’s throat! He does not like this woman and it looks fairly obvious!

"RAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"


Gibson: Alright, so the crowd isn’t quite onboard with Alex yet, despite her partnership.

He picks her up in a two handed choke lift, and looks to be about to attempt a power move of some type.

Gibson: HURRICANRANA COUNTER! RIGHT INTO A PIN!


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Gibson: And April with the save! Quite the heads up move by the younger Monday!

Ware: Or it was just delaying the inevitable of Desade crushing their hopes and dreams.

Gibson: But what if Lance gets the pin?

Ware: Then I will go on hunger strike for a week.

Gibson and Ware simultaneously laugh heartily.

Ware: Yeah, okay.

Gibson: The referee is trying to get April out of the ring and…OH MAN! Alex hits a brutal low blow behind the official’s back on August!

Lance sighs.

Ware: YOU ARE A PART OF AN EVIL ENTERPRISE LANCE MARSHALL! MWAHAHAHAHAHAHA!

Gibson: You finished?

Ware: MWAHAHAHAHAHA – yes.

Gibson: Desade scores with a DDT and Lance is already demanding back in. He wants a shot at The Raging Fear.

But Alexandra respectfully declines. Lance asks again, and she declines again.

Ware: Alright, so this team hasn’t always been the most well oiled machine.

While they debate this, August starts to stand up.

SLAP.

Gibson: Desade just went into the ropes and Marshall applied a blind tag…AND AUGUST WITH A RUNNING BIG BOOT ON THE DIRECTOR AS SHE WAS ON HER WAY BACK! OH MY WHAT A SHOT! He’s going for the cover but she’s not even the legal person in the ring!

When August sees the referee not making the count he stands up in confusion, and turns right into another big boot. This one belongs to Lance Marshall.

"RAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"


Gibson: LANCE MARSHALL JUST HIT AUGUST RIGHT UPSIDE THE HEAD WITH THAT BOOT!

Alex staggers to her feet, and says something to Lance. A moment later she runs off the ropes.

Gibson: Well, what’s this…BACK BODY DROP BY MARSHALL ON DESADE! OH THE ELEVATION! AND A LEGDROP BY DESADE ONTO AUGUST MONDAY!

Ware: I DON’T KNOW WHAT’S HAPPENING!

Gibson: Marshall going for the cover…but here’s April Monday on the top-rope! A shooting star splash but Marshall moves and she lands directly on her father!

Ware: Sounds like a video tape I watched last night.

Gibson: Uh…I don’t even want to know.

April looks shocked. But she does not have time to be shocked for long. Because Lance Marshall is picking her up from behind.

Gibson: CODE RED! CODE RED! MARSHALL HAS THE CODE RED LOCKED IN!

Meanwhile Alexandra runs off the ropes and tries to hit a flying forearm on August, but he moves out of the way and she strikes Marshall in the back of the head which knocks April out of the hold.

Ware: Well, this could get interesting.

Gibson: Marshall and Alexandra, staring each other down!

After a few moments of intense discussion, the situation seems to be dissolved. Meanwhile, August is crawling towards the corner while the champs sort out their differences. April is there waiting for him.

SLAP.

Gibson: And there’s a tag to April. I’m not sure if she should be in there after taking that torture wrack…but then again August has taken a fair amount of punishment himself.

Ware: Well, three of these people can die in a fire so…let’s just get on with it.

Gibson: April Monday with a split legged dropkick, one foot for each of her opponents and that staggered them! April off the ropes again but this time Marshall caught her with a tilt-a-whirl backbreaker!

Alex, who just recovered from the dropkick, finally returns to her corner.

Gibson: Marshall going to go for The Code Red yet again!

Just as he starts to get April up on his shoulders, she rolls over his back.

Gibson: She’s going for the full nelson bulldog here…

SLAP.

Gibson: But before she can even hit the move Alex reaches out and slaps Marshall’s hand!

April lets go immediately but still takes a springboard dropkick right to the face from Desade. August Monday is in the ring a second later.

Ware: Well, this might come a bit unglued.

Gibson: And here’s August Marshall with a clothesline that takes Lance right out of the ring!

April Monday gets up, kind of stunned. And walks right into…

Gibson: SPIDER’S KISS! SPIDER’S KISS! DESADE SCORES WITH THE SPIDER’S KISS! THIS HAS TO BE ALL!



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Gibson: AND AUGUST WITH THE SAVE! HE BRINGS A DOUBLE AXE-HANDLE BLOW RIGHT DOWN ON THE BACK OF ALEXANDRA’S HEAD!

Ware: Ugh.

Gibson: Alexandra is not pleased…but The Raging Fear doesn’t look too concerned! He just deadlifted her off the ground, my god the power…AND THERE’S A RIB BREAKER BY MONDAY!

Ware: Well look who decided to rejoin the party.

Gibson: LANCE MARSHALL! LANCE MARSHALL HAS AUGUST FROM BEHIND! AND THERE’S THE CODE RED AGAIN! SPEAKING OF POWER! I CAN’T BELIEVE HE GOT HIM UP!

Alexandra gets up slowly, holding her ribs. And for a moment, she doesn’t see April Monday. That moment is all the difference.

Gibson: Well here’s a roll-up by April!



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And the hand hits the mat again.

Ware: Holy crap.

Gibson: SHE GOT ALEX! APRIL MONDAY JUST PINNED ALEXANDRA PIERCE!



DING!


DING!


DING!



Marshall drops August, and collapses himself a moment later.

Myers: The winner of this match…AAAAAAAAAAAND NEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEW….

Ware: Holy crap.

Myers: …STRENGTH IN NUMBERS CHAMPIONS! AUGUST AND APRIL MONDAY…DAAAAADDY DAAAAAAAAAUGHTER DAAAAAAAAAAY!

"RAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"


It is a rare thing that Alexandra looks confused, and this still is not one of those times. She knows exactly what happened, and why it happened. Desade sits on the mat and takes a brief moment to be upset with herself before standing up again. Lance Marshall, on the other hand, does look a tad confused. He has no idea what happened.

Gibson: THEY’VE FINALLY DONE IT!

And on the other side of the equation, August and April embrace. You can clearly make out August saying to his daughter, “you pinned Desade.” A few moments later the referee hands them the SIN titles. Lance Marshall nods in their general direction. Alexandra Pierce does no such thing.

Gibson: I mean we all knew that they had a shot, because are a more cohesive team…but still, quite the impressive win here today by DDD.

Ware: It makes me want to take a crap.

Gibson: …Alrighty.

The last image we have, before cutting backstage, is August and April Monday each holding up one of the SIN titles, much to the delight of the crowd.

Clearing The Air
Starring:Jared Sykes and Lance Marshall
One of the more valuable (and nearly impossible to find) resources backstage tends to be anywhere to get a little piece and quiet while a show is going on. Whether it's to plan strategy, grab a quick bite or just clear your head, finding somewhere where you're not tripping over crew members, fellow wrestlers or arena staff can be a bit of ordeal. So it's something to be savored...treasured even...when you can find that little area backstage where you can just spend a few blissful moments alone.

And if anyone could use some time to himself, it's the man we see before us right now. The Lion himself, Lance Marshall, is currently seated backwards on a folding plastic chair, his elbows resting against the top of the chair's backing. His head is bowed and, for a man who has been through a huge amount of stress in the past few weeks, his body language reads remarkably peaceful. Whether it's a moment alone with his thoughts or with G-d that Lance Marshall needed, it's hard to say as his head is tilted down towards the floor. The confusion is quickly dispelled, however, as he makes the sign of the cross quickly before getting back to whatever he was currently doing.

The quiet of this particular moment is shattered, however, as a door towards the rear of the room bursts open and Jared Sykes makes his way inside. He stops quickly, obviously not expecting to find Lance Marshall present and apparently deep in meditation. He quickly turns and starts to make his way back out of the room as quietly as he can.

It doesn't really work.

Lance Marshall: Who's there?

There is no anger or fear behind the question, just a plain, casual tone as Lance lifts his head. Jared's shoulders slump, a sigh escaping his lips. It was nothing against Lance, personally, he just didn't want to speak to anyone at the moment. Best to make this as quick as possible.

Jared Sykes: Oh, umm, sorry dude. Didn't know you were in here, and... I'll find somewhere else to go, so...

Lance holds up a hand, interrupting Jared mid-flow.

Lance Marshall: Whoa, Jared. Hold up. Have a seat. I've been meaning to talk to you for a while.

Jared sighs again. He grabs a nearby plastic chair, unfolds it and sits himself down in it. Being rude to someone like Lance Marshall, he thinks, isn't the best thing do if you value your health. He smiles weakly, trying to sound casual.

Jared Sykes: 'Sup?

He fails. Lance notices almost immediately but elects not to mention it. Instead, he begins to speak.

Lance Marshall: Look, I know you and Thad have some issues going on between you right now. I'm not gonna stick my nose in, those are your problems to resolve. I just wanted to let you know this: I found out what Thad said to you when Zach went missing, when I suspected the Dead Man's Hand might have something to do with it. I told him he was out of line. I want you to know that I never suspected you and I never would.

Jared Sykes: Oh. Right. That.

The words are accompanied by a slight shake of the head. There haven't been many good days lately for the Black Sheep, but that one stands out among the worst. Reliving the experience is not something he's particularly fond of.

Jared Sykes: I didn't think you would. I mean, it got pretty out of hand that day, and a lot was said that I don't think either of us really meant, so... Yeah. Not quite sure I handled that one too well. But hey, I heard that he's back at home, which is awesome.

A second sigh escapes his lungs.

Jared Sykes: How's everyone holdin' up, if you don't mind me asking?

No sooner does he finish his sentence does Jared wave his hands and lean back in his chair.

Jared Sykes: No, you know what? Not my business. I'm sorry I brought it up. Sorry, I really seem to be kickin' myself in the teeth a lot lately, you know?

Lance quickly holds up his hand, almost pinning Jared to his seat with the force of the gesture.

Lance Marshall: Jared, it's fine. Maybe I'm being a little presumptuous but I'd like to think that, to some degree, we're friends. And friends ask those kind of questions. So...we're struggling a bit but we're trying. My folks are staying over for a while. I'm glad of the company and the help. Lani should be able to come home from hospital in a few days, they're keeping a guard on her after the bastard who attacked Zach tried attacking her. Zach's...I don't know. He's trying really hard, I can see that and I want to help him so bad. It's just...I don't know what to do, you know?

Lance's voice catches on the last sentence, going thick and a bit hoarse. His eyes start to water and Jared can't help but feel his heart ache for Lance.

Lance Marshall: And me? I go on. I wake up, do this job, go home. Put one foot in front of the other. Try to forget how much I want to scream sometimes, how much I want take the bastard who did this and beat him to death. Try to be the man who people want me to be, who they expect me to be, who they need me to be. I survive. It's what I do.

Lance bows his head quickly and sighs before bringing it back up again.

Lance Marshall: I'm sorry, man. I don't mean to unload all of this on you, it's just...sometimes you need to get things off your chest, you know?

Jared Sykes: Dude, by all means vent away.

The Black Sheep digs his hands into the pocket of his hooded sweatshirt. Granted, his own life has been on a steady descent into absolute chaos for the last month, but if you were to ask him he'd freely admit that his own issues are nothing compared to the avalanche of pain and suffering that's descended on the Marshall family in recent days.

Jared Sykes: Seriously, don't feel like you need to hold back. I'm happy to listen. Like, really happy to listen. Everything that's gone on lately in my own life, and then with...

His voice trails off and he's forced to clear his throat.

Jared Sykes: But yeah, it's kinda selfish to say, but it helps get my mind off things, you know? I'm not so good at this whole 'dealing with BEEP' thing, but you guys? I'm pretty sure that the nukes could drop tomorrow and the only things that'd survive are cockroaches, Twinkies, and the Marshalls.

The situation is one that Jared can't help but find amusing: two grown men, both trained to fight for a living, sitting alone among thousands and spilling their guts to each other. He also can't help but laugh.

Jared Sykes: Wow. Listen to us, huh? Hold on while I change my tampon.

The response to this comment is one that Jared Sykes wasn't exactly expecting from the man widely regarded as one of the scariest men in SCCW. Lance Marshall...laughs. Not the grim chuckle or snicker that we often see from him but a full blown, belly deep laugh. The force of the laugh takes Jared aback for a moment (after all, how many folks ever since Lance Marshall laughing?) before he breaks into a smile and starts laughing himself (albeit in a much lower volume). This goes on for a few minutes until Lance's breath starts to catch in his throat and he stops laughing in order to take in some air. When Lance looks up again, his skin is flushed.

Lance Marshall: Heh...thank you, man. It's been too damn long since I did that. Too damn long since I just let myself go like that.

Jared smiles a quirky little smile.

Jared Sykes: I know what ya' mean. Once upon a time it was all I did. Kinda what I was known for, you know?

Lance smiles back at the Black Sheep.

Lance Marshall: Seriously, though...thanks. Before I forget, there's something else I wanted to talk to you about.

Jared's right eyebrow quirks upwards.

Jared Sykes: Oh?

Lance Marshall: It's about the...well, it's about whatever the hell it is you've got going with Amy Campbell.

If there was any doubt that the temperature in the room just dropped about ten degrees, it's eliminated by the look of frustration that suddenly appears on Jared's face. He gets up quickly, making his way towards the doorway at a brisk pace.

Lance Marshall: Jared, hold on a second...

Jared stops, turning back to face Lance. He doesn't particularly want to get into an argument with Lance but, as the expression on his face makes clear, his friendship with Amy Campbell (and the resulting grief it has caused him) is not something he particularly wants to discuss right now.

Jared Sykes: Please don't take this the wrong way, but it's been a piss-awful couple of weeks, and at the risk of sounding like a dick I really, really would love to try and get through the night without a lecture, so...

Lance Marshall: Good, because I'm not about to give you one.

That was most certainly not the answer Jared had been expecting.

Jared Sykes: Okay, have we gone all "mirror universe", because I don't see any sinister goatees. Seriously, last time I checked you and Amy kinda had this very "there can be only one thing" going on. Most nights I'm pretty sure we're two swords away from a "quickening".

Lance nods his head at the reference.

Lance Marshall: Do I like Amy Campbell? Hells, no. I make no secret of that. But I don't have the right to tell you who to be friends with. No one's got the right to decide who you can be friends with, Jared, except you. Hell, given that I've somehow managed to barely tolerate my wife's friendship with Katsidy...

That little revelation stops Jared cold.

Jared Sykes: So, okay... Hold on. I want to make sure I follow. Your wife...

Lance nods.

Jared Sykes: ...and Katsidy?!

Lance shakes his head and chuckles slightly.

Lance Marshall: Believe me, I don't understand it either. But with that relationship going on on our end, I'd be a serious hypocrite to tell you not to be friends with Aimz. Just understand that things might get a little awkward if the three of us are ever in the same room together.

Now it's Jared's turn to laugh.

Jared Sykes: Awesome. Just don't be surprised if I find something sturdy to hide behind when that goes down. Preferably something bolted to the floor. You know, so it doesn't get picked up and thrown at me.

Jared shudders. He's seen enough movies to know what happens when you rally the soldiers and meet on the field of strife at dawn. Swords clash, arrows fly, trumpets sound, and everything caught in between is decimated. He's felt the wrath of them both before, separately. To get caught in between them is certainly cringe-worthy.

Jared Sykes: Yeah, anyway... Thanks. It helps.

Lance gives Jared an informal little salute in response.

Lance Marshall: Like you said earlier, man...anytime.

Jared nods, letting his eyes drift around the room for a minute.

Jared Sykes: So I'm gonna head out, I think. Just 'cause one guy doesn't want to cave my head in over all this doesn't mean the rest of 'em think the same way. Still need to figure out where my head's at before your boy tries to take it off by force.

As he reaches for the door with one hand, he makes what's commonly referred to as "the rock hands" with his other and offers Lance a half-salute.

Jared Sykes: Good luck with, you know, everything.
Gibson: Fans, I've been told that the battle between Varga and Legion has made it's way to the mezzanine level of the arena, and the two men are now brawling among fans.

Ware: Thin the herd, bitches! ... Hey cool, they didn't bleep that.

Zoom! Smash cut to the mezzanine level. Normally this is where people go to get snacks or souvenirs, but right now it's the scene of a pretty sick brawl between Legion and Varga. Presently the fight is taking place between a tee shirt vendor and a nacho cart.

Because you can't have a mezzanine without a nacho cart. It's in the goddamn rules.

Ware: Oy. Any way we can speed up time and get through this?

Gibson: That would defy the laws of the universe, Eugene.

Ware: Nuh-unh. I once knew a guy with a time machine... WHICH CAN INTO THE FUTURE!

Gibson: I think you missed a word there.

Ware: Buy your dress.

Gibson: ...you're not making any sense.

As our wonderful announce team continues to bicker, Legion charges at Varga but is caught by a quick scoop and subsequently slammed through the vendor's table. Specifically he lands on an unopened box of Dusk tee shirts.

Ware: Man, we still have those? Guess they really don't sell, huh?

Gibson: Varga going behind the table. He's got the vendor's chair!

Ware: Oh, sure. Just ignore my little gem of a line.

Gibson: Legion scrambling to his feet. Varga winding up...

[ohh]

Gibson: He missed! Varga missed!

Eugene Ware can barely contain his glee.

Ware: Not from where I sit.

It's true. While Varga's Babe Ruth swing might have missed Legion, it was not without a victim. A young man wearing a black tee shirt with an atomic detonation on the chest seems to have been caught square in the head with it. He's now on the floor unconscious.

Gibson: Good lord! A fan?! We've got to get that poor man some help!

All that is heard from the microphone of Eugene Ware is laughing and wheezing.

Gibson: You're a sick man, Eugene.

Ware: Varga was all "swing", and then that guy was all "whack!" and then "splat!"! AHAHAHAHAHAHA!

Gibson: Deplorable.

After a moment of stunned inactivity, both men resume their fighting. It quickly spills to an elevator located near the escalators.

Gibson: This is getting totally out of hand.

Ware: This is the best thing ever!

Gibson: Varga with a kick to the midsection. Headlock sunk in. He couldn't be... Varga trying for a bulldog on the floor!

Ware: HIT SOME MORE FANS!

As Varga begins to get a bit of momentum Legion shoves him off. The move sends Varga careening into the wall by the elevator door. He happens to hit the down arrow.

DING!

The doors slide open, and as Varga turns around to face Legion the Puppetmaster catches a yakuza kick that sends him flying back into the elevator. Legion follows, and before Malik Jackson or the cameraman can follow, the doors slide shut.

Gibson: Fans, I don't know what to say -- stop laughing, Eugene -- but again, we'll be sure to update you once we get a handle on the situation.

Ware: Atomic bomb shirt. WHACK! AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!

Gibson: Unbelievable.
Meet the New Boss...
Starring:Nigel Kensington, Adrienne St. Germain
"What do you mean 'they're not here'?"

Nigel Kensington was having a rough time of it – not that any night in recent memory had been particularly easy. More than once, the good doctor just wanted to say, "Fuck it" and return to England. He wasn't sure he was cut out for this, or even that he wanted to be.

Dr Kensington: They are half of our main event this even, and I would expect they would actually show up for –

"Actually, nope. They won't be coming at all."

The speaker is female, her voice high in pitch. In any other time, it might be considered "warm" or even "bubbly." The camera pans away from Nigel, taking in the new arrival. She's a slight woman, small and curvy, with a fall of wavy blond hair that nearly reaches the middle of her back, one long lock dyed a vivid shade of pink hanging down in her eyes. Her dress is diaphanous turquoise, gathered at her too-pert-to-be-real bust by a copper clasp. And, yes, if your wife or girlfriend just walked past the television, that is a Coach doggie carrier over her shoulder.

Dr Kensington: Forgive my impertinence, but who in Hades are you.

The woman rolls her green-green eyes so hard they might come out of their sockets.

Woman: Duh. I'm Adrienne. Adrienne St. Germain? And you're sitting in my seat, though we so need a better chair, since it doesn't look like that one has any lumbar support, and I kind of have a bad back, so if you'd just—

Dr Kensington: This is my office, young lady, and I'll have you know my chair is quite comfortable.

St. Germain: Ugh. You're Nigel?

Dr Kensington: Doctor Kensington, please, miss.

St. Germain: It's "Ms." If we're going to be all proper. I was just expecting someone less... less British.

Adrienne crosses the distance between door and desk, setting her tiny puppy bag onto Nigel's desk.

Dr Kensington: ...who are you again? Which wrestler do you represe—

St. Germain: Uhm, I'm your lifeline? Does "Final Curtain Entertainment" ring a bell?

Dr Kensington: I've been dealing with a man from my new partners.

St. Germain: That's my Dad, yeah. He put me in charge of this new wing, so I guess that means we're partners, pardner.

Dr Kensington: You are the new co-owner of this federation?

St. Germain: Man, they said you were smart.

Dr Kensington: And you know where Team Aeterno is?

Ms. St. Germain nods, reaching to pet her puppy through the bars of the carrier.

Dr Kensington: Were you planning to tell me?

St. Germain: Oh, I totally had their contracts voided.

Dr Kensington: You did what?!

St. Germain: The kind of money you were spending on people like that is outrageous. And for what? For people who stomp on your biggest stars?

Adrienne clucks her tongue.

St. Germain: Face it, Nigey, this place is built on the backs of people like Alexandra Pierce and Lane Stevens, and you never treat them with respect. Sin City is where the bad guys rule the playground—ooh, I like that.

She slides at tiny microcassette recorder from her purse, pressing a pink-nailed thumb down on the record button.

St. Germain: Note to self: "SCCW: Where The Bad Guys Rule the..." Hrm. Should I use "Roost" for alliteration or "playground" for imagery? Must consider further.

Dr Kensington: You cannot simply fire half of the main event!

St. Germain: Pretty sure I already did.

Dr Kensington: And what are we to run in its place?

St. Germain: Not really my concern, Nigey—

Dr Kensington: "Nigel," if you will not call my Dr Kensington.

St. Germain: Whatever. Not like you're an actual doctor – you studied Shakespeare and stuff. I may not look it, Doctor, but I'm going to make this little carnie show profitable. Tell the others just to go longer or something.

Dr Kensington: It does not work like that. These are athletic contests, and I will not simply dictate –

St. Germain: I'm bored already.

Adrienne pops up to her feet, bringing the cage to eye level.

St. Germain: Who's a good boy? Who is?

She flicks those vivid green eyes to Nigel.

St. Germain: I'm going to see if we can get a decent cup of cappuccino around here. We'll talk again, I'm sure. TTFN.

She actually says the letters as she exits, heels clicking on the tile floor. We pan back to Kensington, pinching his nose against the oncoming stress headache. His mutter is almost unintelligible.

Dr Kensington: At least she's not a redhead.

Ringside.

Ware: ...wow.

Gibson: We have a new owner?

Ware: And she's HOT!

Gibson: Eugene! She also fired Aeterno—

Ware: Which is why she's hot.

Gibson: What does this mean for our main event, though?

Ware: SCCW wins! Confetti! Bring out the hot owner for a celebratory lap dance!
Uh-Oh.
Starring:XK, Aimz, Ellie~!
The lights go out again, plunging the arena into the dark.

And there it stays, waiting, anticipating, building... all for this.



There is no music when the song begins, just Rhianna's dulcet voice in the black.

Feel it comin' in the air
Hear the screams from everywhere
I'm addicted to the thrill
It's a dangerous love affair
Can't be scared when it goes down
Got a problem, tell me now
Only thing that's on my mind
Is who's gonna run this town tonight
Who's gonna run this town tonight?

The kick-in of the bass beat brings with it an explosion – two gold bursts of light on either side of the entrance beneath the SinScreen. The lights set to flickering as the song – Jay-Z's "Run This Town" – begins in earnest.

We are, yeah I said it – we are
This is Roc Nation - pledge your allegiance
Get your fatigues on
All black everything
Black cards, black cars – All black everything
And our girls are blackbirds, ridin' with their dillingers
I'll get more in-depth if you boys're really real enough
This is La Familia, I'll explain later
But for now, lemme get back to this paper

Myers: Ladiees and gentlemen, please welcome the two-time former Sin City Championship Wrestling SUPERVERSAL Champion and the one and only Red Raver of Wrestling! This is AMY CAMPBELL! THIS IIIIIIIIIIIIIS AAAAAAAAAAIIIIIIIIIIMMMMMMMZZZZZ!

I'm a couple bands down and I'm tryin' to get back
I gave the other grip, I lost a flip for five stacks
Yeah, I'm talkin' five comma, six zeroes, dot zero
Here it go – back to runnin' circles 'round niggas, now we squared up.
Hold up!

Gibson: What exactly does she want?

Ware: Why does she need a reason

The spotlights find the tiny terror at the head of the rampway, her head down, one arm raised, fist up. But you can't hide that self-confident smirk. Faded black jeans, black spider-webbed hoodie with a black tanktop beneath. She throws her head back, the hood falling down over her shoulders to unveil her stoplight red hair, starting down the ramp as the chorus hits.

Life's a game but it's not fair
I break the rules so I don't care
So I keep doin' my own thing
Walkin' tall against the rain
Victory's within the mile
Almost there, don't give up now
The only thing that's on my mind
Is who's gonna run this town tonight
We gon' run this town.

The song only cuts because she's got a microphone in hand.

Aimz: Okay. Hear me out before you boo.

"BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"


Aimz: Seriously? That predictable? C'mon, guys. I've got a lot to apologize for. A lot of things I've done that I'm not proud of, especially in the last two years. I've also got a lot of apologies expected of me that won't ever be delivered, because they're not deserved. I think some of you booing know you're on that list.

She's unusually somber, shaking her head.

Aimz: I AM sorry to the fans I disappointed - those of you I made look foolish for believing in me. The rest of you I could give a damn about. I'm here as a living testament to anybody who's ever fallen down, anybody who's screwed up and thought they couldn't redeem themselves. You don't have to prove yourself to anybody but the people who take a chance on you. Even at my worst, a few people have still cheered me. You knew even before I did that the person I was projecting and the s(beep)t I was doing was just part of a phase I needed to go through. I managed to hit rock bottom just to stay at the t--

Now the party don’t start ‘til I walk in…

Aimz: ... At the top, and...

The purr of Ke$ha breaks Amy Campbell’s verbal stride, tripping her words over one another. Then, before she can even fire a narrowed, inquisitive glance towards the stage, a sickly sweet sugar-rush of electro-pop pretty much puts her in a diabetic coma.

I Know UR Girlfriend Hates Me by Annie.

Through a stage bleached heavenly white, a petite figure strolls out on unfathomably high heels. Smeared in butter-wouldn’t-melt innocence, and looking as if the merest waft of a breeze could send her flying, the young woman appears to be as far from threatening as Jessica Simpson is from MENSA. Appears to be.

I know your girlfriend hates me,
I see it in her eyes,
The way she looks right on me,
It opens up in time.

Aimz: ... Uh oh.

Sin City Championship Wrestling, meet Eleanor Hall. It’s her maiden name. Ellie to her friends… of which there are bound to be very, very few. Those pristinely manicured nails have a tendency to stab many an unsuspecting enemy in the back with ice-queen remorselessness.

Gibson: This cannot be a good thing.

Ware: How can this not be a good thing? This is a hot blonde! Hot blondes are always good!

As soon as the first cringe-worthy note tickled her ear, Aimz became rightfully nervous… and she was one of the aforementioned uber-rare friends. For the size-zero, platinum blonde, 69-megaton bombshell catwalking down the aisle with a lip-licking smile was an erection-rousing herald for something much, much, much worse.

I know your girlfriend hates me,
See you know it’s true,
The way she hangs upon you,
And watches every move.

Reaching the end of the aisle’s runway, Ellie strikes her pose, pout so fierce that it acts as an EMP to blow out every light and screen in the arena. Loud bursts of static sizzle above the detuned hum of the PA system.

I get a feeling there‘s gonna be a riot…

The distorted, radio crackle’s prediction often came true.

Rock Is Dead by Marilyn Manson.

It was then, from the first millisecond of screeching intro, that the wrestling world knew its oldest nemesis had returned from his paternal slumber… not that anything about Eleanor Kannon-Hall’s impossibly tight frame would have betrayed the fact that she was mother to twins.

Oh, yes, the man tearing out through the curtain?



Xavier Kannon.

Gold Patron Meritorious. Eye-Catching. Midas.

Trouble. Big trouble.

Gibson: Oh... f(bleep)k.

Ware: I THINK I JUST EXPLODED INSIDE!

Gibson: Xavier Kannon! Xavier Kannon is here!

Between the ropes, a stone-faced Amy Campbell was pacing, her mismatched eyes tick-tocking across their sockets like a pendulum as they remained wisely locked onto Kannon, who was approaching with paced, deliberate menace. As he opened the ropes for Ellie to hop through, the thought of rushing Xavier with a cheap-shot didn’t so much cross the Red Raver’s mind as trample back and forth across it. Just as she’d began to face up to her recent actions, she was forced to look at the man who’d plunged to new depths in his torment of Jonathon Rhine a year and a half ago… a man she had been all too happy to sink down to the level of.

She’d just attended her first night of AA at 3-for-1 shots night, nipple-piercings get in free.

Kannon: Amy, Amy, Amy. Is this any way to welcome an old friend into your home?

Aimz: You'll need to forgive the confusion, Xavier. I think... actually, I know you should've called me. Maybe a text, an e-mail from either of you, really. I don't really get this.

A tutting Ellie shakes her head and wags a judging, pristinely manicured finger in mock disappoint, agitating the corner of Campbell’s eye.

Kannon: As much as it despises me, I respect this business. I’m not some relic who shows up after years away, ignorant to all that’s come after him, embarrassing himself as he wheezes and pants to keep up in a two minute dark match. No, I’ve been watching you and your little friends here, Amy. I’ve heard all that’s being said. Sin City Championship Wrestling is on the brink of greatness. It’s poised to be the number one promotion. It has the potential to crush its opposition in 2010.

Conducting the crowd like a baying, hissing orchestra, Kannon brings his impassioned rant to a halt, drawing the attention off his words and back onto him for a moment... just before the other mic comes up to Campbell's lips.

Aimz: As much as I respect the idea of continuing to route the trash out of this company, I've kinda been handling it, and... and I'm a little confused. This isn't unlike having family show up on your stoop unannounced, saying they need a place to live. That's not to say you need to be here, or that you haven't got my permission, but damn. Damn. You're cold shouldering me, of all people, by talking like I haven't been doing my job showing the garbage to the dumpster. You couldn't have come around two weeks ago and interrupted a Dusk speech?

Kannon: You've been doing a fine job so far, Amy, but the effort needs more than you to push past 'a fine job'. Not to insult your stature, but raising the bar is exactly where I come in.

Gibson: I thought these two were friends.

Ware: Xavier Kannon is... squee.... he’s in my ring! I get to fawn over him! Suck it, Parker!

Aimz raises an eyebrow, looking to Ellie for some sense of what's going on.
Kannon: I’m the acid test. As much as I’ll want to hack my tongue out for sounding like Almasy… I’m Sin City Championship Wrestling’s final boss battle. If you want greatness, if you want to be recognised as the number one promotion, if you want to crush the opposition under your boot and reach that promised land… then you have to pay the toll.

Aimz: If you're looking to tear the place to the ground, people have tried. We should've gone over this idea before y--

Kannon: See, I’m not here to destroy this place. I’m not here to declare war. I’m here to unlock that heavy, bolted, creaking door to wrestling’s upper-echelon. In my head right now… oh, you wouldn’t believe the things I’ve been dreaming up.

A sickeningly sadistic sparkle brings Kannon’s eyes alive as they meet Ellie‘s with mischievous electricity.

Kannon: BUT. This gift comes with a price. See, every great story needs its villain. I can stand here in front of you all and run my mouth about what I’d do to this guy or that guy, or how I’ll be taking this belt or that belt, but unless I’ve been reading your hype all wrong, this place isn’t about talk. No. So, when the ink dried on my contract, every member of Sin City Championship Wrestling had their career gambled with. A few, to be honest with you, won’t get to see their locker room hailed as the greatest in the world. A few will need to be sacrificed so that the rest can triumph. Improvement here will come through conflict. Bloody, vicious, glorious conflict.

The crowd isn't entirely sure what to do, but they're booing. Oh, they're booing.

"BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"


See?

Kannon: So, Amy, as much as I’d like you to take me on a little meet-and-greet backstage so I can get buddy-up to my new roster-mates… the cold, hard truth is that I’m going to be the man who ends some of their careers, or drags their name through the mud, or brings their life crashing down around them. For some unlucky people backstage, this here will be the beginning of the end. See, the more vile, the more inhumane I become, the more brave, the more heroic the man - or woman - who finally makes a stand against me will have to grow. I’m here in Sin City to ignite a clash of the titans that will be spoken about for decades, that everything else that comes will be compared to… but never match.

His hyperbole reaching it’s crescendo, Kannon winds his gaze back from the crowd and casts it off towards the Red Raver. His words are calmer, almost… sincere.
Kannon: Amy, as rousing as I’m sure your words were going to be tonight, they’re now redundant. You don’t need that microphone anymore. You don’t even need to say another word. This place finally has a villain its heroes deserve, that they can be proud of, that can’t be defeated with one-liners or pop-culture references.

To visualise her sneering husband’s words, Ellie feigns comatose boredom, rolling her pale blue eyes back while fanning her glossed, yawning lips.

Kannon: So, when the time is right, when I have the blood of your snivelling roster-mates on my hands and their careers crunched oh-so-satisfyingly under my boot, maybe I’ll meet you back out here. If that happens… then you have my word that it will be a match to eclipse all that has come before it.

Gibson: Did... what a match Aimz and Kannon might have, Eugene, just think about it!

Ware: I think I shall have to read Dianetics.

Kannon: That is if you’re destined to be a hero, though, Amy. A big, big ‘if’…

As his infectious words spread self-doubt through the death-staring Aimz, Rock Is Dead by Marilyn Manson fills the silence Kannon knew would follow. Pole-dancing around her husband, Ellie blows the Red Raver a departing kiss before leading her husband out of the ring.

If Xavier Kannon’s shock arrival in Sin City was to create a time for heroes, Amy Campbell may be one of the scant few to benefit from his poisonous presence.
Personal Time
Starring:Wyatt Connors and Jared Sykes
The Joe Louis Arena may not be the most state-of-the-art facility in America, but it has all the necessary features. Seats, lighting, concessions, and most importantly, bathrooms.

As it happens, a trio of men just happens to be walking past one of those vital facilities. Leading the way is the SCCW Universal Champion, "Wise Guy" Wyatt Connors. Shortly behind him are his minions, Deacon Dale and "Rotten" T.J. Ratigan. For those of you who care, they are dressed as they usually are--Connors in his trademark suit, Dale in a black t-shirt and jeans, and Ratigan in whatever was closest to the bed when he woke up. T.J. is slightly hunched over, and holds a hand over his stomach.

Ratigan: Son of a bitch. Shouldn't have had all those chili dogs.

Connors: A fact that I made known at the time.

And now you know why the bathrooms are the most important feature.

Ratigan: Yeah, yeah. Listen, I gotta take the Browns to the Super Bowl. Can I borrow your paper?

Connors: The Wall Street Journal does not have "funnies," Trevor.

Ratigan: Damn. What the hell--

Ratigan's tirade is interrupted by a strange gurgling from his intestines, and he bolts through the restroom door. Wyatt Connors rolls his eyes, but does not bother to look back.

Connors: Do you want to go in there and make sure he's all right?

Dale: Not even a little.

Almost immediately after, the door swings open again and Jared Sykes walks backwards into the hall. The expression on his face is a blend of confusion and revulsion. It’s about what one would expect from a near-miss encounter with T.J. Ratigan’s gastrointestinal fireworks.

Sykes: Okay. Guess I won’t be hiding in there, then.

Also, he’s completely oblivious to the presence of Connors and Dale.

Sykes: So much for “obscure and out of the way”.

Until now.

He turns, thinking he’ll simply be able to stroll off down the hall towards a new private spot. Unfortunately the two men in his path might have something to say about that. His reaction is about what you’d expect, given the circumstances.

Sykes: Oh, s(beep)t.

The Devil in the Details raises an eyebrow, intrigued by this latest development.

Connors: Good evening, Jared. I trust things are going well?

The Gateway champion’s response is markedly deadpan.

Sykes: Yeah. Swell… I think. Could be better.

His eyes dart nervously between Connors and Dale. Last time they shared the same space he’d almost been crushed under the weight of Deacon’s rather large arms. It’s not exactly something he’s keen to repeat.

Sykes: Yeah, could be a lot better. How ‘bout you gents? Beat up any seniors lately?

Connors: Not lately, no. Too busy foreclosing mortgages and tying women to railroad tracks. How about you? I hear you've been making some new friends in recent weeks.

Wyatt smiles, and he gets a little twinkle in his eye that he gets whenever he's being a total dick. The Black Sheep lets his head drop back. Then he sighs.

Sykes: Okay, I get it. Let’s get it over with.

He brings his head back down and meets the mischievous gaze of the Wise Guy. When Jared speaks again his tone is reluctantly sarcastic.

Sykes: Gee, Wyatt, whatever could you mean?

Connors: Oh, don't be cross, Mister Sykes. You have been an endless source of entertainment these last few weeks. Isn't it amazing how a single decision can turn people against you in such dramatic fashion?

Sykes: Yeah, it’s been a real blast and a half. I can’t even begin to describe it.

Connors: You really are upset, aren't you? If you like, I can have Deacon comfort you. Deacon, could you comfort him?

Dale: Probably not.

Connors: You need to look at this objectively, Jared. It's a fascinating psychological study of...really, everyone who gets involved.

At this the Black Sheep quirks an eyebrow. He crosses his arms and leans back against a nearby wall.

Sykes: Alright, I’ll play along. You’ve got my interest. What’s your psychoanalysis?

He grins and bobs his head for a moment.

Sykes: Aside from the obvious “Jared is crazy”. Kinda heard that one a lot lately.

Wait. He just asked Wyatt Connors to explain something? Jared, you poor fool.

Connors: Amelia Campbell is a woman who is almost universally reviled in this company. Some hate her for her actions, others for the company for she keeps. Personally, I do not care for children, especially ones that throw constant temper tantrums. The question then, is how does one deal with her. Professional wrestlers, being a simple lot, have fallen into the expected camps. There are those that despise her, others that simply ignore her. There are only a few who do not fall into either group. Ms. Pierce is the most obvious, but I find myself unable to believe her position. First, it implies that she is capable of human emotions such as love, and second, it implies that there is something to love about Amelia Campbell. Both of these statements are blatantly false, as I'm sure you will agree.

Sykes: Granted, I may not be the smartest guy here…

Connors and Dale share a look and a grin.

Sykes: …but I think it’s probably fair to say that if I agreed with that, then we wouldn’t be having this conversation, you know?

Jared, oblivious to the amusement that both men seem to share, simply shrugs.

Sykes: I mean, yeah, so maybe there’s an issue or two there, but it’s not like any of us are saints. Not me, not you, not the guy dying in the third stall. Hell, are you really the guy to be playing the lecture game here? Like… really?

Connors: That's not the point. The point is, that I am judging her. I am not judging you...at least, not for your association with her. And I have to wonder, how does it feel to know that you can't say the same for most of your "friends" in the company?

Sykes: It sucks, if you really wanna know. Kind of a lot, actually. I’d like to say that I get it, since people have been questioning everything I’ve done in this business since day one, but…

He shakes his head and lets his gaze drop to the floor.

Sykes: At what point do I get to catch a f(BEEP)king break?

Connors: That's the best part, Jared. You don't.

Wyatt's grin widens, and he looks like he's about to bust out laughing at any moment. It is not pleasant.

Connors: This is what I find so fascinating. So many of them will gladly go out into the ring and act the hero. In the ring, they represent certain values--honor, courage, what have you. You, however, take it a step farther. You have more than enough reasons to despise her, yet you choose to rise above it. In doing so, you have shown honor; you have shown courage. And they hate you for it.

Amazingly, there is no malice in the Rainmaker's smile...well, no more than usual. He just thinks the whole situation is hilarious.

Sykes: Thanks, I think?

Despite himself, Jared begins to wonder if T.J. Ratigan might finish up in the bathroom, if for no other reason than to take some of the focus away. With no relief in sight, Jared begins to fidget.

Sykes: You look like you’re about to die laughing. It’s, uhh… It’s really kind of weirding me out a little.

Connors: I apologize. I realize it's bad form to laugh at one's own jokes, especially before reaching the punchline.

Wyatt steels himself, in an attempt to look more serious. It is only marginally successful, as his grin is still far too wide.

Connors: Your behavior shines a light on their hypocrisy. They are suddenly confronted with their own anger, jealousy, pettiness...essentially, they are forced to recognize that they are not the shining beacons of humanity they pretend to be. Naturally, they are outraged...and what better target for that outrage than the one among us who actually tries to live up to the standard? After all, if there is one thing this business abhors, it is the better man.

The Black Sheep can only stare. His brow is peaked, his jaw is slightly slack, but he is otherwise rendered inert. There is silence in the hallway, quiet enough that if you listen close you can almost hear the hamster wheels that turn the gears in his head. For a moment his speech is reduced to muffled sound effects.

Sykes: I… Wha… Bu…

Congratulations, Wyatt Connors. You’ve done what few others have ever been successful in accomplishing. You’ve made Jared Sykes absolutely speechless.

Good for you.

Then again, it doesn’t last nearly as long as most people would hope.

Sykes: Okay, hold on. Wait.

Jared presses his right hand to his forehead and raises his left index finger.

Sykes: So, if I’m not the bad guy, but the good guys all think I’m the bad guy, but the bad guy thinks I’m really the good guy…

He sighs.

Sykes: My head hurts.

Connors: I believe my work here is done. Now, as soon as Trevor returns...

As if on cue, the bathroom door opens and T.J. Ratigan emerges, still in the process of buttoning his pants.

Ratigan: Can you believe it? Every f(beep)n' stall in there was out of paper.

Connors: ...we will take our leave. Have a good evening, Jared. Who knows? Perhaps it will involve some 'personal time' with your new friend.

Quizzically, Ratigan turns toward the now fully embarrassed Jared Sykes.

Ratigan: Personal time? Y'mean, you're trying to f(beep)k Amy Campbell? Nice!

He holds up a hand, ready to give a high-five to the Black Sheep. Jared’s expression is one of twofold concern.

Sykes: No offense, dude, but I didn’t hear a sink, so… yeah.

Concern one addressed (and seriously, even if he had washed, would you touch that guy?), the Black Sheep quickly turns his attention back to the Universal Champion.

Sykes: And for the record, no. Not even close, not even a little. Just because Alex puts you on edge doesn’t mean I have to die. Also? Little weird that you’re imagining that. Way to be everybody’s creepy uncle there, Wyatt.

Connors: Nothing of the kind. I was merely--put your hand down, Trevor--I was merely casting aspersions on your character. Fortunately, nobody in the locker room is stupid enough to read anything into that. Right?

There's that twinkle again.

Connors: See you around, kid.

The gears in Jared’s head continue to turn as Wyatt and his cohorts make their way down the hall and out of sight. After a minute of thinking (evidenced by a number of expression changes), the realization sinks in.

Sykes: Aww f(beep)k.
Alright
This is from our hearts
Sincerity over simple chords
We’ve made some mistakes
We’ve made some mistakes
But it's a long time coming
when you're giving it everything

The anxious crowd in the Chaifetz Arena erupt when the bell sounds. For all the pageantry that Sin City Championship Wrestling provides with its colorful characters the value of the card for the campus faithful was a pair of men beating each other senseless. And through the curtain walked a man more than happy to provide the base excitement.

Gibson: This match has been a long time coming, and with Julissa Minorez banned not only from ringside… BUT THE CITY OF DETROIT!! He has a good chance not to get cheated here.

Myers: From Brantford, Ontario, Canada. He is the number one contender to the LiveWire title. He is Mitchell Quinlan!

Alright
This is from our hearts
Sincerity over simple chords
We made some mistakes
We made some mistakes
But it's a long time coming
when you're giving it everything

Underneath a hooded sweatshirt that simply said, “Cheer if you hate Jadian Bridden?” Quinlan made his way slowly to the ring, trying to interact with the crowd down in front.

Gibson: Look at the intensity in his eyes!

Ware: Actually makes him look a little constipated.

Gibson: You really are something you know that?.

Ware: I’ve been trying to tell you that since the first day we met, Gibbo. Way to get with the times.

Alright
This is from our hearts
And it's been right from the start
There's fire in my guts you just can't put out
Alright, this is from our hearts (from our hearts)
And there is going to be a part of this crowd
Who don't understand, oh
And I feel the same I won't ever change
Not a jaded hair upon my head

After making someone happy with a free, albeit sweaty hoodie, the Eagle Place Product has made his way into the ring. He is bouncing between the ropes waiting for Myers to call out his competition for the night. To call out the champion. Careful what you wish for, you might actually get it.

Guitars.

Josey Scott.

One, two, three, four!

Saliva. "Survival of the Sickest."

"BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"


Myers: Coming to the ring!

I'm the hand up Mona Lisa's dress
I'm a smile on every criminal who's ever acquit
I'm the things you've done you'd never admit
'Cause one hand is on the Bible and the other's in shit

Myers: From San Antonio, Texas!

"BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"


but right now - your face is in the crowd
I'm shouting out loud - the one you counted out of the game
Oh, wow! Take a good look at me now!
Should have never had a doubt
Is that you I hear screamin' my name?

**RAT-TAT-TAT-TAT-TAT**

Explosions above the entranceway immediately precede the arrival of a small man, arms out, hair damp. The chorus of boos hits Jadian Bridden the moment he steps out onto the stage like a wave; it just stretches that jagged smirk. His wrestling tights are simple but shiny in gold with "JADIAN" inscribed down one leg. The black t-shirt with "Detroit? I‘d rather be in Julissa" across the front is brighter around the neck where the moisture from his hair has decided to settle.

I'm a roller, I'm a rider
A number-one motherfuckin' survivor
So move over, I'm the driver
'Cause I'm high and I'll keep getting higher

Myers: He is JAAAAAAADIAN!!! BRRRRRRRIIIIIIIIIIIIDDEN!!!!!!!

Jadian makes his way toward the ring, a LiveWire title draped over each shoulder as he keeps them just out of reach of that seven year old kid that has always dreamed of touching one. Not tonight, kid. Jadian drops the titles and slides under the bottom rope the moment Quinlan turns to egg the crowd on.

Ware: Never turn your back to Jadian Bridden!

Gibson: Bridden just nailed Quinlan from behind with that running knee right into the small of his back, sending him on the outside...let me tell you folks that these two are not very fond of each other.

Ware: I don‘t think anyone on the roster likes Quinlan though, so your point is moot.

Gibson: Bridden on the apron now and nails Quinlan with a double axe handle...he's right on Quinlan though, picking him up and irish whipping him into the guardrail on the outside and OH!! Jadian got everything he had on that one, sending Quinlan over the barricade and into the front row!

Quinlan lifts himself up only to get blasted across the chest from across the guardrail with a knife edge chop.

Ware: DAMN! I don't know if Jackson can handle this match...not with this much hatred between Quinlan and Bridden!

Quinlan's slightly tanned chest already looks to have turned a shade of red, but that doesn't stop Quinlan from blasting Jadian right back with a chop.

"RAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"


Gibson: Things getting very physical here from the onset and Jackson is counting the two out...and remember folks...as of tonight the LiveWire Championship has a different rule. This match will only be eight minutes instead of the standard ten. If Quinlan wants to walk out of here as champion, he‘s going to need to get this match back inside the ri- OH GOD!

"RAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"


Gibson: Bridden and Quinlan...exchanging chops...The fans have their hands all over Quinlan, and that is the reason you buy those instead of the cheap seats. OH! Quinlan with a rake to the eyes! Look at that chest! Look at both of their chests! We're barely into this thing and these two are going at it as hard as they can! Quinlan now coming out of the guardrail and Malik Jackson is at six. I think right now, both of these men need to think about getting in that ring!

Ware: When you're putting this much into just pounding the other guy...to say you’re the better man...I don't know if the thought will cross their mind, Gibbo.

Gibson: Bridden is stumbling toward the ring, he kno- OH! Quinlan using that apron as a weapon here slamming Jadian's skull into it and that drops him to his knees! Nine count! Quinlan rolls under the bottom rope.

Ware: What in the hell! The match just started!!!

Gibson: Quinlan...looking at Jackson! Mitchell Quinlan is the new LiveWire champion ladies and - What is he doing?!

Ware: Being himself.

Gibson: Mitchell Quinlan rolled back out to the outside, he did it right as Jackson was going to make the final count! Jadian is dazed on the outside here and Quinlan now grabbing Bridden by the skull and snapping it into the ring apron! Again! Again! AND AGAIN!!! Bridden is in trouble here now that the tides have turned.

Ware: How many times have we seen Bridden damn near deflated, only to come back and yank the rug from under some schmucks feet? He and Julissa are the perfect bookends for the LiveWire title.

Gibson: Jadian on the padding on the outside, and he's had no answer for this onslaught...I think it's a mental game. I think Mitchell Quinlan not only wants to beat him but get into his head completely! It's a brilliant strategy especially against a complete hot head...

Ware: I guarantee it will backfire!

Gibson: I guess that's the price you pay and now Quinlan on the hunt again, lifting Jadian to his feet...the number one contender is staking his claim on that title right now, and Jadian is not looking hot! Quinlan drags Bridden over to the guardrail and lifts him up...

"RAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"


Gibson: He just dropped him headfirst across the guardrail and you can sense something in the air here. Something special! It feels like a title change is gonna happen here tonight!

Ware: In case you missed it earlier, Mitchell's too stupid to get
 the job done!

Gibson: Quinlan wants a legit win here! Surely he's tired of everyone making him out to be a welcome mat that everyone tramples over. Right now it just seems like Quinlan is just too on fire to be beaten! Jadian picking himself up and OH!

Ware: We got blood!

Gibson: Jadian's head has been busted open here! He's sucking wind and trying to get up but Quinlan just sends those wild boots down at his face and this is not supposed to be happening. Quinlan is being a huge aggressor in this contest!

Ware: And he's going to burn himself out because of it.

Gibson: But even so...how much will the blood loss play a factor and OH! It's coming down!

Jackson continues to make the count in the ring and he's trying to demand that these two get back in that ring! But it doesn't look like that's going to happen here...Quinlan drags Bridden's body to those steel steps and slams his head into them a few times!

Ware: I think...I think he's knocked out...

Gibson: Jadian Bridden's body...pressed against those steel steps...Quinlan has beaten him right from the get go tonight...LiveWire Championship on the line and we're not even halfway through the show!

Gibson: And Quinlan again entering the ring breaking the count and...wait a minute. Walking to the corner, stepping through the ropes, and he's on the apron. He wouldn't.

Quinlan goes with a running start, jumping off the apron and nailing Jadian's prone body with a dropkick, causing the fans to explode, a loud crashing noise to be heard, and Jadian's remains left plastered on the ring steps.

"HOLY SHIT!"
"HOLY SHIT!"
"HOLY SHIT!"

Ware: Maybe he does want to prove something here tonight.

AT&T Replay

The replay is showing super imposed on the television screen once at full speed, the collision being heard from an angle looking at the running Quinlan. It is followed up by a full speed one with a dramatic close up of Jadian Bridden as his body gets pounded further into the unforgiving steel. Finally, as Quinlan starts getting up on the outside and grabbing Jadian to roll him into the ring, a slow motion replay is shown as Quinlan flies off the apron and hits the dropkick right into the upper portion of Jadian Bridden.


Gibson: My lord what a collision and here we go Quinlan rolling him over for the cover!

ONE!

TWO-OH!

Gibson: Shoulder up by Jadian, and with the tremendous pounding he has taken tonight that might actually be a shock!

Jadian is bleeding profusely as Quinlan puts him in a sitting position. Quinlan nails him in the back with a hard kick, the thud heard all across the arena as Jadian cringes and falls to his side. Quinlan shrugs as Jadian claws on his stomach, trying to get away from Quinlan as the blood just flows like water from his head. Quinlan sees this and drops a hard elbow right across the banged up right shoulder of Jadian, going across the body. Jadian's clawing stops and he groans as Quinlan gets up as quickly as he can and begins putting the boots to the shoulder.

Jadian continues to try and get away, he looks like he's been in a car accident, his entire body is shaking as he is in shock. Jadian's skin begins to turn pale as he starts murmuring to himself, trying to either get this match called off or to waste as much time as he can before he can at least string some offense together. Quinlan drives the heel of his boot into Jadian's face one more time, then quickly rolls him on his back - hooking the leg. Malik Jackson makes the count.

One...

TWO!

THREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE-KICKOUT!

Jadian's kick out somewhat shocks Quinlan, who quickly grabs the leg and pins him again.

One...

TWO!

THREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE-KICKOUT!

Gibson: Jadian Bridden is being taken out back behind the proverbial woodshed by the challenger Mitchell Quinlan!

Ware: He's hurt...shaking like an epileptic on crack!

Gibson: That might be true, but in the spirit of competition I don't think Jadian Bridden would want to quit this match...he would never live it down! Jadian trying his best to just survive but I don't know how much longer Malik Jackson is going to let this one go...I mean this ring is stained with Jadian's blood!

Ware: I hate to admit it, but Jadian may be done here.

Gibson: Quinlan has him up and lifts him up and over with a snap suplex! And another hook of the leg...

ONE!

TWO! KICKOUT!

Gibson: Quinlan has beaten Jadian bloody, but he hasn't gotten the three count he so desperately wants. Pulling Jadian up...NO! Jadian scores with the fireman's carry takedown as Quinlan got him to his knees...and the ever resourceful Bridden still seems to be in the thick of things...he's standing up and oh my...

Ware: Still standing? He just dropped to his knees! Jadian is showing that he has guts...that while he might piss people off...he's still pretty damn good inside that ring! I'm telling you...Jadian is winning this damn match because Quinlan should have beaten him already! He's letting him linger too long!

Gibson: Might be true, but I don't see how a man who has lost that much blood could be able to hit a move, let alone string together a comeback to defeat Mitchell Quinlan, who is firing on all cylinders tonight!

Ware: Quinlan is going too slow...he needs to press the advantage or he's going to get beat!

Gibson: And now Quinlan lifting Bridden up...irish whip and wraps him up in an abdominal stretch when he comes back! This move can end it...

Ware: What? This move isn't beating anyone, and just goes to show you that while Quinlan has shown something here tonight, he doesn't have that killer instinct needed to get the job done.

Gibson: Bridden seems to be out of it...he's not moving...Malik Jackson coming over...

Ware: He's moving.

Gibson: No he's not!

Ware: Then what the hell is that arm doing? It's pushing against that leg...

Gibson: I don't think that he has the strength to break...Jadian just pushed the leg off and nailed a hip toss to get out of the abdominal
stretch! Jadian drops to a knee but is up again. As is Quinlan...CLOTHESLINE! Hard clothesline and you could hear the skin hit skin on that one!

Ware: And that's what a conservative game plan will do to you!

Gibson: But Jadian...his stamina is nonexistent now as both men are once again up collar and elbow tie up and Jadian works it into a side headlock. Quinlan pushing him into the ropes and Jadian lets go. Shoulder block by Bridden on the way back. Jadian now going off the ropes and Quinlan rolls to his stomach to force Jadian over but he stops and drops.

Gibson: Bridden sitting on Quinlan's back now and Mitchell knows that he's in trouble as Jadian grabs at him, trying to lock anything in that can get him a bit of rest, but Quinlan is putting up too much of a fight...

Ware: Jadian can't get a grip thanks to his own damn blood being everywhere!

Gibson: Jadian is getting frustrated that he can't force Mitchell into a submission, so he just starts wailing away with forearm strikes to the sides of Quinlan's head! This match doesn't have closed fists but we have an Ultimate Fight type atmosphere right now as the crowd is really buzzing as the tempo is increasing.

Ware: Quinlan played it dumb...he went way to conservative instead of really going for the kill.

Gibson: You can see those teeth...that angered and frustrated expression on his face...he's trying to beat the will out of his opponent! Quinlan's head...he might have a damn concussion. Jackson is coming over, but I don't think there is anything he can do!

Ware: And Quinlan's head was already a little soft anyway so...

Gibson: Jadian grabs at the head of Mitchell Quinlan, raising him to his feet and tossing him over with a belly to belly suplex.

Ware: He just threw him into the turnbuckles!

Gibson: His back...Jadian working that back and it does NOT look to be good now as Mitchell Quinlan's initial onslaught is a distant memory. Jadian now, lifting himself up and Quinlan doesn't look so hot anymore.

Ware: His own fault for not putting it away earlier.

Gibson: Bridden now...grabbing at Quinlan with a front face lock and brings him over...No! Quinlan slips out and carries him over into a school boy! And both men's shoulders are on the mat!

ONE!

TWO!

THREEEEE!!! KICKOUT!!!!

Ding Ding Ding

Gibson: Is that it? Is it over?

Ware: Bridden kicked out!

Malik Jackson is calling for the title.

Ware: NO! Slap me, Gibbo!

The sound of skin slapping skin is heard.

Ware: What the hell, man?

Gibson: You told me to slap you.

Ware: I didn't mean it literally!

Myers: Ladies and gentlemen...Here is your winner...and NEEEEEW LIVEWIRE CHAMPION!!!

"RAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"


Myers: MIIIIITCHEEEELLLL QUIIIIINLAAAAAN!!!!

Ware: I need to call my mom and tell her that I love her.

Gibson: This match reminded you of your mother?

Quinlan grabs the title in both hands, and he has not risen from his
knees yet. He has a smile on his face when he lifts his head to a roar from the crowd.

"RAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"


Ware: No, but surely this is one of the signs of the apocolypse.

Quinlan stands up, and Jadian is just lying there on the mat catching his breath. Quinlan makes his way to the corner and climbs to the second turnbuckle.

Gibson: Quinlan getting a hand from the crowd, and Jadian looks as if...Is he smiling?

Jadian's chest starts to heave like he's trying to spit out a hairball, or he's...

Ware: I think he's laughing.

Gibson: He just lost...how is that funny?

*PPFFFFFFFFFFTTTTTTTTT*

The SinScreen flitters to life, first from static then the smiling visage of the woman that was banned from the city of Detroit.

"Hey, Q-ball!"

"BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"


Mitchell turns his attention to the screen and finds the face of Julissa Minorez smiling back at him.

Julissa Minorez: Well, lookie there. I guess the critics were right when they said Jadian couldn't win without me. I'm really upset that I couldn't be there personally, to share in your glee, but I do have something for you. Actually, I have someone special to bring it out to you, too. Oh, Jeeves!!

Out from behind the curtain steps Nigel Kensington. He has a file folder in one hand and a microphone in the other, and a frown on his face.

Julissa Minorez: Oh, you're just going to love this.

Nigel Kensington: Under normal circumstances, I would wait for you to return to the backstage area to congratulate you. Unfortunately, these are not normal circumstances. It has come to my attention...

He looks over his shoulder at the image of Julissa staring toward the ring.

Nigel Kensington: ...that due to circumstances in which we focused on cementing a deal to bring in outside talent, we overlooked a few things within our own organization.

Julissa Minorez: Here comes the good part.

Nigel Kensington: According to our records, Mr. Quinlan, your contract with Sin City Championship Wrestling is expired.

Julissa Minorez: SURPRISE!!!

Gibson: It what? How could this happen?

Ware: Remember the other night when you were barking about how Desade and Aimz would be getting what was coming to them because of In Utero...They happened.

Nigel Kensington: Taking that into consideration, it is with my deepest regret that I must strip you of the LiveWire title.

"BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"


Jadian Bridden sits up almost immediately, a smile - clear as day - on his lips. He stands up as Quinlan drops down from the turnbuckle and shakes his head.

Nigel Kensinton: Please, Mr. Quinlan, do not make this more difficult than it already is.

Jadian rushes up behind Mitchell and drives a shoulder into the small of his back, sandwiching him against the turnbuckles. The sudden attack from behind has him disoriented enough that Jadian grabs the title from his hand and smashes him in the face with it.

"BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"


Ware: And we can officially close the book on Mitchell Quinlan.

Gibson: That was completely uncalled for.

Jadian slides out of the ring with title in hand, walking over to the timekeepers table and taking the microphone from Myers.

Jadian Bridden: How did that feel Mitch?

Quinlan grabs at his head, trying to shake out the cobwebs.

Jadian Bridden: How did it feel to have this title in your hands...To hear your name announced as the new liveWire champion...Only to have it all erased.

He stands there and soaks in the boos from the crowd, that damn smirk on his face as Quinlan slowly gets up to his knees.

Jadian Bridden: I told you, Mitch. I told you that you would not beat me, could not beat me - but you wouldn't listen. All you could hear was these people booing me, begging for someone to come in and put me in my place.

Jadian wipes a bit of the blood off of his face, taking the time to stare at his hand before wiping it on his chest.

Jadian Bridden: I'm not going to lie and say it didn't hurt, that I laughed off every one of your shots, but time was running out and you just couldn't help yourself. You wanted this title, but, more importantly, you wanted me to know that you were a threat. Congratulations, you failed.

"BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"


Jadian Bridden: Failed at beating me...Failed at proving your superiority...Failed at life.

"BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"


Jadian Bridden: But hey, at least you know what it would have felt like to succeed for once in your life.

Jadian drops the microphone with that damn smirk on his face, as Josey Scott screams through the PA system.

One, two, three, four!
On Being Taken To Task
Starring:Sykes, Aimz, Desade, Ashe, Stevens, Bridden, Regan, and a special guest
"Naw! Naw, man! Naw, y'can't leave!"

Backstage.

Okay, WAY backstage. Downstairs. Around the corner. Yeah, there. There's a meeting room – it's where the Detroit Red Wings meet to plan... whatever it is hockey players plan. That's what it is on most nights, at least.

Tonight: it's the place for a meeting. Although all the camera sees right now is a man. He's a big man – okay, a really big man – so large he's nearly round. Like a missile silo of hate with a really bad accent. His name: Roderick Ashe.

Also in this room: another man. He's smaller (not tiny – this is pro wrestling, after all), but still... not very big. However he has a title and the big man doesn't, so there. Also, he's wearing some jeans and a faded t-shirt we can't quite make out. His name: Jared Sykes.

One of these men wants to be in this room, the other does not.

Ashe: C'mon, man. We got, uh... we got pie. Effin' razzleberry an' shit.

Sykes: And a bunch of people who I don't really – wait, razzleberry? Is that a real thing?

Ashe claps an arm around Sykes' shoulders (hard enough that our Gateway Champion – at least for a little while – winces).

Ashe: Yeh. It's like dey crossed raspberry wit' love.

Once Roderick steps out of the way of our angle (which, for the record, is kind of an awkward angle up along the top of the screen), we get a look at some of the room's other contents. Several chairs. A podium. And a big-ass TV (pointed away from the lens, because we don't want to pay licensing).

Oh, and two redheads, but we'll get there.

Sykes: And the odds of you just letting me take your word for it?

Ashe grunts out a laugh and tightens his grip. It's big-man code for "not on yer life".

Sykes: Wonderful.

Needless to say, the Black Sheep is quite happy when Ashe retracts his arm. This happiness lasts for the span of time it takes for Ashe to give him a firm slap on the back, the force of which causes Jared to stumble forward a few steps. No, it's not embarrassing at all.

Relatively sure that he's not going to be accosted again, Jared takes a minute to adjust his shirt. For the record it's purple, it's faded, and it's all about My Little Pony. Clean laundry's been hard to come by around the Sykes house lately.

Sykes: I'm just going to stand, if nobody minds. Right here. Against the wall. Not near the door at all.

He leans against the wall and quickly surveys the room.

Sykes: Umm... why am I here, exactly?

The taller of the two redheads sits in one of the chairs, looking somehow less comfortable than the smaller one, cross-legged on the floor. But it is Alexandra Pierce who looks up, a small smile staining the Spider's lips.

Desade: You are here because... I felt the need to –

Aimz: HEADSHOT! I love this [bleep]ing ACR!

Suffice it to say, she'll be upset when she finds out they're bleeping her. But with this group... really, it's the censor you need to pity.

Desade: [continuing unabated] – I felt the need to apologize. For actions that were taken in my name without my knowledge.

Aimz: What she's trying to say is – HAH! DIE! What, uh... she's trying to say that she's going to yell at people. But in a good way.

Sykes: Oh, that. Right.

Jared chuckles nervously as he runs a hand through his hair.

Sykes: It's really not necessary. Seriously, the less waves made on my account the better off for everyone. Plus, then there's no need for a meeting, and I can just head back to my little corner of the world and...

Jared’s words trail off, and the silence is short lived. The sound of footsteps grow by the second. And by the sound of it, whoever is coming down the stairs isn’t doing so alone. Also, there is whistling. Alexandra’s eyes harden, and settle on the doorway. Suddenly the footsteps stop, and the handle turns. Even Amy pauses her video game, which should speak volumes to the tense nature of this meeting.

“This the Dead Man’s Hand potluck? I brought chips.”

Lane Stevens brought chips. He stands in the doorway, and gestures to a bag of baked Lays. The River Rat is wearing a “Up with Hope, down with Dope” t-shirt and black wrestling tights. At his side is Regan Guest, whose slim frame is covered in a black dress fitting of a movie premiere. But alas, they are not alone. Jadian Bridden has a LiveWire title draped over each shoulder, a sheen of sweat on his bare chest, and that damn smirk on his face. His tights are darker around the waist, his perspiration having soaked through the black spandex material. Miles Cavanaugh brings up the rear, leaning against the door. He looks over everyone in the room, taking note of their postures. What he thinks is: “oh crap”.

Stevens extends an arm, which Regan takes. The duo assumes seats across from Desade. Unlike Jadian, his smirk is long gone. The Livewire champ joins them a moment later.

Aimz: This is a little more than creepy.

Jared pushes away from the wall, eager to find an escape. It's not out of fear for any one thing in particular, but regardless of whatever relationships he may have built this is still a room full of Very Bad People. It's the kind of thing that has the potential to get out of hand in a hurry.

Sykes: So, I think I'll just show myself out.

Though her demeanor may have softened in recent days, a look from Alexandra Pierce is still enough to stop him dead.

Sykes: Or, you know, not.

Lane Stevens: No, I think you should stick around bucko. You’re among friends.

The River Rat glances at Amy, something venomous lingers behind his eyes for a moment, and then evaporates into good humor.

Jadian turns toward the voice as Lane speaks, realizing for the first time that someone was out of place.

Jadian Bridden: What the hell is this guy doing here?

In the end, it's the Spider who stands, her iron glare coming back in fits and starts.

Desade: Sit down, Jadian.

Jadian Bridden: I'm good, thanks.

He glances past the knot of people to the table behind them.

Jadian Bridden: Hey, is that pie?

Ashe: [with a toothy grin] Razzleberry!

Jadian Bridden: Awe -

Desade: Sit down, Jadian.

Jadian Bridden: - some

It's with a defiant sigh that the LiveWire Champion snags a chair with his toe, tugging it over to the wall. It's there that he sits..

Desade: In St. Louis, the two of you attacked Jared in my name. As some kind of... punishment for him daring to be friends with Amy. I know you thought you were doing me a service. Protecting "what's mine"—

Aimz: – Which I'm still pissed about, because I'm not her property to be secured—

Lane Stevens: Any chance this is just a swerve and we’re all about to beat up Jared again, and I just didn’t get the memo?

Sykes: Wait, what?

Desade: Be that as it may. You did not have my authority to do this thing. This is not a wink-wink-nudge-nudge, she says it but does not mean it thing, either. This is my world, and unless I missed a memo, you work for me.

The Director’s WMD opens the bag of chips and offers some to Regan, who declines with the slightest head shake. She looks as if she is trying not to breathe. Stevens pops a few in his mouth, and for a moment the only sound in the room is crunching. Two of the best poker faces in the game – Lane and Alex, stare each other down. When he finally speaks his tone is calm, his tempo slow.

Lane Stevens: Months ago now, you appointed me to a certain…position here. Part of my responsibilities, as I understood them, was to interpret threats and handle them in my own unique way. I mean, I’ll get your coffee, I’ll fold your f(bleep)ng socks if you want me to, I don’t care. But I think we all know that’s not why I’m here. Nigel Kensington asks for my advice when booking you in matches, did you know that? Seems I made an impression on him.

He laughs aloud. No one else finds it all that funny.

Lane Stevens: Now my point is not that you need me. You were doing just fine before I showed up, and you’ll be doing just fine if you fired me today. But hey, I made a judgment call as to your preferred course of action. As it turns out, I was wrong. But I’ve met a million of these “woe is me pity party f(bleep)ots”…

The River Rat suddenly finds himself pointing at Sykes, and stops mid sentence, and clears his throat. He calms himself.Jadian stands up and glances toward Sykes, the realization striking him like a brick to the face.

Jadian Bridden: Wait a minute…This is a joke, right?

Jay turns toward Stevens, who stuffs a handful of chips in his mouth, then over to Desade. Neither of them is laughing.

Jadian Bridden: You gotta be kidding me.

She moves before any of them realizes she's gone; even without heels on her boots, she still seems taller than the Ace.

Desade: You. Will. Sit. Do you understand me? I am not "taking Jared's side". This is not high school, and when your employer tells you to sit down... you sit down.

Jadian puts up his hands, dropping heavily into the seat.

Jadian Bridden: Fine, whatever.

And then she wheels on her Warlord.

Desade: And you... are right.

Sykes: Wait, what?

Desade: I did hire you to eliminate threats to me. I did point you at Lance, before I realized exactly what you would do. But I seem to recall that you are not a fire-and-forget missile, and that your responsibilities do not include my personal life. You do not get to decide that I dislike someone, or that I would not approve of a relationship. Has Jared Sykes ever attacked me? Has he ever drawn a weapon, made a threat, even though I put his... his friend in a coma? He has not.

She folds her arms, the corner of her right eye twitching just a little. Stevens knows what kind of sign that is. Hint: they don't call them "good omens".

Desade: In fact, his friendship with Amy has kept the locker room pointed at him and not us. So you could say he has been every bit the distraction that I employ you to be.

Jadian Bridden: So - just so we're clear - am I gonna need to raise my hand if I need to pee?

It's a small moment, just a pinch to her nose, but it shows the stress quite nicely.

Desade: You are testing my patience, Mr. Bridden.

Jadian Bridden: You should've let me get some pie.

The Black Sheep's first words are relatively quiet.

Sykes: This is so stupid.

They still manage to draw the attention of the room.

Sykes: I mean, honestly, what the hell.

His tone is different, a result of the switch flipped in his head at the mention of a dear friend now deceased. It's not hostile, definitely not among this crowd, but it's not entirely pleasant either. He'd never dare speak this way around them otherwise.

Sykes: I'm kind of standing right here. I can hear this, you know. But that's just it, I guess. Do I need to be? Do I have to? Whose benefit is this for?

Still leaning against the wall, he slides his hands into his pockets and shakes his head. For the last few minutes his gaze has been focused on the floor, and even know as he speaks that's where his gaze remains.

Sykes: Yeah, so let's talk about very bad things that happen to people. Let's talk about people that get hurt. Then let's talk about getting other people to apologize when even we haven't tried to fix anything. Seems smart.

Jared lets his head flop back against the wall, his eyes shifting from floor to ceiling.

Sykes: What the hell am I doing here?

Lane Stevens: Pissing me off.

Jadian Bridden: There's no off switch for the stupid is there?

Desade: ENOUGH.

Aimz: Okay, nobody gets to play boss in here. You're all being ridiculous -- even *I* don't know why we're here.

Desade: We are here because Lane and Jadian will apologize to Jared for the uncalled-for attack that happened for no particularly good reason, and it happened in my name. I have done quite enough bad things on my own without adding Lane Stevens' sins to my docket.

The Ace in the Hole glances at his mentor, but Stevens is still staring at Alexandra Pierce. There is curiosity flickering in Lane’s eyes.

Lane Stevens: So, I’m just trying to get on the same page here…and believe you me, when we walk out of this room that’s where I’ll be. But I’m just trying to arrive there as quickly as possible. So we here, at the Dead Man’s Hand, are in the business of righting wrongs? And no offense Alex, but come on…at this point, what’s another teaspoon into the ocean of all the s(bleep) you’ve done? Isn’t part of what makes us who we are that limp d(bleep)k cowards like Jared Sykes…

Sykes: Hi.

Lane Stevens: …have to think every once and a while when they walk around backstage? No good reason? Hell, that’s why I’m here…to not have a good reason.

Jadian Bridden: We should bake Jonathan Rhine some cupcakes next week. Maybe our “chosen one” over there can tell him she’s sorry about the whole steel chair to the head thing.

Lane Stevens: Pretty sweet chair shots though, Amy.

The River Rat dramatically re-enacts this with his hands, looking really intense.

Jadian Bridden: Completely different situations, I know, but when's it going to stop...It's bad enough you want us to apologize to this clown.

Sykes: …hi.

Aimz: Seriously? You guys are going to question her on this? Isn't that... not your thing?

Desade: Amy, please.

Aimz: No, for real. These two owe everything to you. Without Alex, no one would ever see Lane again after I broke his neck. Without Alex, this little dweeb is would be stuck doing flips like this was a gymnastics show. And now you're going to question how she –

Desade: Amy.

It's harder the second time, and Campbell's hands drop into her lap.

Aimz: Shutting up now.

Desade: Thank you.

Pierce spins smartly on heel and toe towards the other two, her smile evaporating.

Desade: You are a weapon, Lane. A tool.

Campbell snickers, but says nothing.

Not a landmine that explodes whenever someone passes, but someone who is directed at people at my discretion. Your task has never been to make people afraid to walk backstage. Your task is to do what I say. And I believe Jared would like an apology.

Sykes: No, that's cool, really.

Pierce's glance lingers on Jared, enough to make him turn away.

Desade: Then I would like an apology. If you had some actual disagreement that had sparked you to go after Jared, we would not be here. For you to decide that his friendship with Amy is offensive to me.

Jadian Bridden: So I'm off the hook?

Desade: You will apologize because you are a sheep who does what they are f(bleep)ing told.

It's one of the few times you will ever see Alex Pierce bleeped.

Aimz: Whoa!

Campbell stands, touching a hand to Alex's shoulder.

Aimz: (whisper) Relax, okay?

The Ace shoots up out of his seat, and before he can do anything truly regrettable Stevens literally catches his index finger in the air before it can point at the two redheads at the other side of the table.

Jadian Bridden: F(bleep) this…

He looks down at Stevens, who has not shed his thin smile. He isn’t smiling because this situation pleases him, as to be frank almost nothing does. He is smiling because it amuses him, as almost everything does. It is oddly calming for Bridden, somehow.

Lane Stevens: Okey dokey, let’s all simmer down. Our boss would like an apology, Jadian. And we do what our boss says.

There is malice in Lane’s eyes that betrays his tone. When he shifts his gaze back to The Director, the malice is gone. After a few moments, and with a few pats on the back from Regan (who has barely even breathed during this meeting), Jadian eases back into his seat.

Lane Stevens: Alex, my apologies. Sometimes I overstep my bounds. I did nothing while Amy put me in the hospital…and with that and other things, I only hope you can understand my true dedication to the cause.

His gaze shifts again, this time to the Black Sheep.

Lane Stevens (beaming): I’m sorry Jared…I’m so sorry.

It is perhaps only Amy that gets his true meaning. She can’t help but get the feeling that he speaks of the future.

Jared slides his hands into the pockets of his pants and raises an eyebrow. The expression on his face is akin to what one might see while trying to explain quantum mechanics to a dachshund.

Sykes: Okay, sure. ‘Cause that wasn’t creepy at all.

His eyes dart from person to person as he tries to read the room. Unfortunately it’s never been something he’s particularly good at, and as such his readings fall along these lines: “douchebag”, “raging douchebag”, “English as a second, no, third language”, “kinda hot”, “what was that about the machine gun?”, and “do what she says or else”. None of this is particularly helpful to the situation at hand. But, as he feels the room expects him to say something, say something he does.

Sykes: So does this mean I can go now?

The thought occurs to him to not wait for an answer and simply sprint through the door. The thought of getting shaken baby syndrome from an angry Mr. Ashe as a result of sprinting out the door soon follows.

Sykes: Or we can hang out and talk more. I’m cool with either one.

Pierce seems to have ignored Jared’s last few sentences. She nods in Jadian’s direction.

Desade: Jadian.

The Livewire champ exhales dramatically.

Jadian Bridden: (looking at the floor) I guess I'm sorry too.

Mr. Ashe: Yeh, I'm sorry too. Even if I didn't... y'know, whacky-wacky with the chairs an' all. I'm jus' sorry we ain't had no pie yet.

Whether they want to or not, Bridden and Stevens both find their gaze held to the Director, waiting for some kind of reaction. Finally, they get it when she nods, one hand slipping behind her back.

Desade: I am satisfied. For now. If we ever have to renew this discussion again, it will not be nearly as pleasant for anyone involved. Am I clear?

Lane Stevens: Crystal.

Our River Rat let his gaze drop the moment that he was sure he wasn't in the doghouse any more. Regan Guest's left leg bounced nervously. Two strides carry Alexandra across the room; she towers over the seated LiveWire Champion.

Desade: Am. I. Clear.

Jadian Bridden: Like the waters of the San Antonio river.Now if you'll excuse me, I think I'm gonna grab me a piece of that pie. You know, unless I need your permission for that, too.

Alex says nothing, simply stepping back. For a moment, her gaze is caught in Lane's – or is it the other way around? – but whatever's happened there is broken up by Jared Sykes raising a hand meekly.

Sykes: So, uh, where's Amy?

Alex's head snaps around on a swivel. Indeed, it would appear that the Red Raver has, as they say, vamoosed. The Spider's gaze slips to Ashe, his plate already with a heaping pile of razzleberry.

Mr. Ashe: (mouth full) Oh, yeh. She weft when ya wuf yewin'.

Desade: I see. If you gentlemen will excuse me?

Being so close to the door, Jared has front-row seats for Alexandra Pierce’s grand exit from the room. When he turns his attention back to those still present the color drains from his face.

Sykes: Oh. F(beep)k.

Historically, Very Bad Things ™ seem to happen when he’s left alone in a room with Jadian Bridden and Lane Stevens. Even with the towering form of Mr. Ashe still present, Jared’s not feeling particularly up to taking his chances. After all, Mr. Ashe does have quite the plate of razzleberry to attend to.

Sykes: Think I’m just gonna go now.

A quick half-salute, and the Black Sheep is out the door. For the sake of keeping up appearances it’s only after he’s certain that he’s out of sight does he break into a full sprint.

Jadian Bridden: (low) Jesus Christ.

Regan: I have boob sweat after that, and I don’t even really have boobs.

Roderick almost chokes on his dessert. Meanwhile, the River Rat and the Ace get up as well, passing Roderick on the way out of the room. Regan trails behind, still feeling a bit out of place.

Lane Stevens: We still on for drinks later?

Ashe: So long's yer buyin'.

Lane Stevens: Fair enough, stop by after the main.

The trio barely stays in earshot, and we are left with the visual of Roderick devouring the pie.

Jadian Bridden: Feel like I'm back in the fifth grade. Mrs. Horscher wasn't as emasculating though.

Lane Stevens: Well, maybe you’ll be like a kid on Christmas soon enough.

Jadian Bridden: I know, that pie looks yummy.

Baron von Blackberry: Indeed, this pie is glorious. I shall require the recipe from the baker to take home with me!

Jadian Bridden: What? Uh, okay, but I don't know who really bak--

It takes Bridden a full seven seconds for the scene in front of him to really register to him. The man known as the Devil Fruit, Baron von Blackberry, is holding a paper plate in his hand which has a large chunk of pie on top of it. The undisputed ruler of the scenic, yet diabolical nation of Fruitsylvania, who ruled his empire with an iron (yet fruity) fist, has a large smile on his face.

The smile starts to fade as Bridden starts to recognize the Baron.

Jadian Bridden: Wait a second...

Blackberry: Ahahahaha... we meet again. Also... OH MY GOD, WHAT'S THAT?! IT'S HIDEOUS!

Blackberry points just behind Jadian, and Jadian can't help but take but the briefest of glances. This is all of the time the Baron needs to throw down a smoke bomb.

When the smoke clears, the Devil Fruit is gone.

So is the pie.

Jadian Bridden: Son of a bitch.

Cut away.
The Challenge
Starring:Phillip Kennedy, ????
Gibson: Up next, we have...well, Phillip Kennedy. The Big Stack isn't competing tonight, but he's asked for some time to issue a challenge here, in front of millions, live on SIN ON SPIKE 4.

Ware: Phil's got to have something big in mind here.

Gibson: I would hope so, Eugene.

Ware: I just like saying the obvious every so often. You always get to do that, after all.

With the stage set, cue Black Sabbath -- the post Ozzy Osbourne version. The one that tours nowadays under the name of the song that's going to accompany the Big Stack to the ring.

Heaven and Hell.

From behind the curtain emerges Phillip Kennedy. He's wearing his usual black Stetson, his usual tight blue jeans, and cowboy boots. One might say he looks ready for a fight, but Phillip Kennedy *always* looks ready for a fight.

Gibson: And we're moments away from finding out what the Hell's going down.

Myers: Please welcome at this time..."The Big Stack" PHILLLIIIIPPPPP....KEEENNNNEEDDDDYYYYYY!!!

He comes out alone, a state that he's rapidly getting used to. After a year plus in the sport, he looks less eager to make it to the ring, less enthusiastic. Kennedy almost stalks his way to the ring, fingers running along the brim of his cowboy hat as Ronald James Dio continues to croon the song.

Gibson: Like him or not, Phillip is arguably the best of the SCCW trueborn competitors. We've benefited greatly from talents from the National Wrestling Council, and from our former existance as FUSE, but it's pretty easy to make a case that Kennedy might be the best athlete in the company to first start competing here, though Spacely might give him an argument on that.

Ware: Well, he might if Spacely was capable of coherent and logical thought.

Having sauntered to ringside by now, Kennedy ignores the jeers of the crowd in attendance, and takes the microphone from the intrepid ring announcer, Mr. Myers. Lunging forward, he rolls into the squared circle, easily the fastest movement he's made since making his way out from behind the curtain.

Gibson: The Big Stack looks focused tonight, on whatever mission he has.

With microphone in hand, Phillip Kennedy raises his other hand, forming a fist, and almost revelling in the boos. He raises the mic to his lips, practically sneering at everyone else.

Kennedy: What does a guy have to do to get some respect around here?

"BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"


Gibson: Might I recommend "the opposite of everything you do right now?"

Ware: Quiet, Gibbo. You're talking over him. And proving his point.

Kennedy: Let's get right to the point. I was one half of the Strength in Numbers Champions. I held the SCCW Gateway Championship longer than anyone in history, and was one concussion away from getting a title shot that would have resulted in me, not Amy Campbell, not Wyatt Connors, being YOUR SCCW Universal Champion. But that's okay. I'm not going to live in the past.

Gibson: Even though you just were.

Kennedy: No, I've got my sights set on the future. And therein lies the problem. Because my future right now is murky, all because of a guy out there who doesn't seem to have any interest in taking on yours truly. He's a former SCCW Universal Champion. He was the number one seed in GTT7. He's a hero to millions. His name is...

Pausing for a moment, Kennedy shrugs.

Kennedy: You all know who he is. No need to give you the chance to cheer the name.

"BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"


Kennedy: But yeah, all jokes aside. Jono, it's hard as Hell for me to admit this, because it's something I haven't said that often in this company, but I've got a lot of respect for you. I've stood in your shoes, staring down Alexandra Pierce and her limitless resources, and it is a lonely, lonely place. You and I have a lot in common when it comes right down to it. Sure, you're beloved by millions and I'm a giant prick. But deep down?

The grin on Kennedy's face speaks volumes.

Kennedy: So, New Life, I'm asking you to come out here right now, and face me in the middle of this ring in front of a worldwide audience on SPIKE. I'm asking you to agree to a match--no, THE match. Jonathan Rhine versus Phillip Kennedy. Let's make it happen.

And with that, he flips the microphone to the mat, eyes focused on the entryway, and makes the universal motion of "bring it on!"

Gibson: The Big Stack has been practically begging for this contest against the New Life, and I can't imagine Jonathan Rhine would take this sort of challenge lying down.

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH

"RAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"


Gibson: And here he comes!

Jonathan Rhine takes only a few seconds to appear at ringside, his manager Foster Nackedy right behind him. Jon has a microphone, and it is important to point out he isn’t wearing his ring gear.

Rhine: Hey, Phil. I’ve got to ask: what’s gotten into you?

He pauses for effect as Kennedy continues to beckon him towards the ring.

Rhine: I’m not asking at this sudden reversion to all the things the fans hate. Because I knew you were the kind of guy who quits the war when things don’t go your way. The guy who flips over the chess board when the opponent gets checkmate. There’s a certain quality that leads men in battle against the true evils of the world, and that is called resilience. And it’s been obvious since day one that’s not your forte. So I’m not asking you why you changed, because you really didn’t.

Jon Rhine takes a few steps towards the ring.

Rhine: What I’m asking is what any of this has to do with me?

Ware: He sounds scared!

Gibson: No, he has a good point. These attacks have been unprovoked.

Rhine: I was doing my own thing, man. No beef with you. And it’s not even something where I’m looking down on you, or past you. No, I’m just doing my thing. And I don’t see why we have to fight. Are you trying to prove your worth to this company? Your title history regurgitation did that for you, buddy. You expect me to get mad because you hit me with a chair during my match with Desade? Well, I wasn’t happy with it. But I’m not just going to stop everything and focus my energy and hatred on you. Not when there’s still a battle to be won. I’m sorry, Phil, but my answer to a match is no.

"BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"


Gibson: That might be the first time Jonathan Rhine has gotten a boo in his wrestling career!

Ware: He’s scared!

Rhine: If we get a match scheduled by the proper administration in a few weeks, I have no problem facing you. But coming out here and demanding some sort of revenge match? There’s no motivation on my end, Phil. I have nothing to prove.

At that moment, Jon’s manager Foster grabs the microphone.

Nackedy: But I sure do!

Jon looks at Foster confused. The mic is no longer on his lips, but lip readers can see him say “What are you doing, man?”

Nackedy: I know you don’t want to fight him, Jon, and that’s cool. I know other girls who get periods and don’t want to fight too. But I hate this guy, and I think someone needs to give him the beatdown he deserves.

"RAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"


Nackedy: Phil Kennedy, you’re a slime. And even if Jon doesn’t want anything to do with you, you can still have your match tonight. You, me, right there, right now!

The fans cheer again as Phil looks around at them, confused.

Gibson: Foster Nackedy wants a piece of Phil Kennedy.

Ware: Last time I saw Foster Nackedy wrestle he lost to Jay Draven’s toenails. True story.

Nackedy: So what do you say, Big Hack? You ready for a real challenge?

In the ring, Phillip Kennedy is mad. Seethingly so.

Kennedy: Are you...kidding me, Rhine? The face of SCCW, its best known competitor...tells me no? What the is this ? The brave Jonathan Rhine backs down from a challenge?

The expression on Phillip's face is a combination of mocking and unbridled scorn. He turns, and waves his hand at Rhine's manager.

Kennedy: And so instead, the never-was wants to fight me. A guy who couldn't cut it as a wrestler wants to make a name for himself. If that's what you really want, bring it on. I didn't come here to sit on my ass all night.

Ware: He's going to get killed!

Foster Nackedy slides underneath the bottom rope. Phillip is ready for combat, but Foster explodes forward and tackles the Big Stack, raining lefts and rights to the roars of the Sinning faithful.

Gibson: Foster Nackedy just took down Phillip Kennedy! The former UWF competitor is throwing fists of fire!

Kennedy scrambles to his feet, and throws a left hand that's blocked, and responded to by a sharp right that staggers him back into the ropes. Foster flies at him with a half clothesline, half bodyblock, that sends both men spilling over the top rope to the floor.

Ware: Rhine's just watching this! He's standing back and just watching!

Foster seems to revel in the crowd's ovation, turning to Rhine, who still watches from his position in the aisle.

Nackedy: See, Jon? This is how you deal with a--

*CRACK!*

Gibson: For the love of God!

Ware: Classic Stack, baby!

Gibson: Kennedy just cracked Foster Nackedy in the back with a steel chair! Nackedy is down!

The grin on the Stack's face only widens as he stands over the downed Foster, chair in hand. He raises it skyward, aiming the top end of it carefully, before driving it down hard into the small of Foster's back. Nackedy contorts and writhes from the impact, while Jonathan Rhine watches from the aisleway, his fists clenched...but making no motion towards the ring.

Ware: Rhine's not doing anything! He's just standing there! His manager's being assaulted and JONATHAN RHINE'S NOT DOING A DAMNED THING!

The Big Stack approaches the broadcast table, ripping the cover off of it with a maniacal gleam in his eye. Kennedy begins to pull monitors free from it, pulling at cords and cables.

Gibson: Damnit, Phil! What the Hell are you doing? This is--

Ware: DO IT! DO IT! DO IT! It's been AGES since I got to see someone put through this table!

Behind Kennedy, Foster Nackedy rises, clutching at his back. That's only for a moment though. What he clutches at next is the steel that was used against him, and he holds it firmly, and stalks towards the Stack for vengeance.

Ware: LOOK OUT, PHIL! HE'S COMING!

Thanks to Eugene's timely warning, Kennedy spins on a dime, burying the monitor he's holding into Foster Nackedy's midsection. Foster doubles over, dropping to his knees in immediate agony.

Gibson: GODDAMNIT, EUGENE! YOU CAN'T DO THAT!

Ware: I'm a commentator, Dave! I was calling the action!

Phillip reaches down, pulling Foster up to his feet by his shirt, before stepping into a short lariat to the back of the neck that sends Nackedy sprawling across the announce table.

Gibson: Kennedy with the Nuts! That enzuilariat he hasn't used in months! This is-- Jonathan! Come on! Help him!

Phillip Kennedy climbs up onto the table, pulling the weakened and battered form of Foster Nackedy back up, and front facelocking him with one hand. He locks eyes with Jonathan Rhine in the aisleway, and slashes the thumb of his spare hand across his throat.

Ware: Dave, we've gotta get out of here!

Gibson: DAMNIT, NO, PHIL! DON"T DO THIS! HE'S NOT A WRESTLER ANYMORE!

Ware: HE BROUGHT THIS ON HIMSELF! HE CALLED PHILLIP OUT!

Gibson: RHINE! COME ON! SOMETHING! ANYONE!

By the time Phillip has Foster vertical, even Dave Gibson has no choice but to flee. Kennedy shifts Nackedy in his grasp, over his shoulder, before sitting down to spike Foster head-first into the table, which collapses and splinters between the weight of the two men colliding with it. This also sort of plays Hell with the audio for a bit, so let's send it up to the crowd for the call.

"HOLY ! HOLY ! HOLY !"

Both men lie in the wreckage of the table, but Phillip Kennedy is up relatively quickly. It's also pretty obvious judging from Foster Nackedy's lack of motion that he's not going anywhere anytime soon.

Gibson: SWEET LORDY LOU! Kennedy just spiked Foster Nackedy through our announce table with that....I don't know what it is! He's beaten Jared Sykes with it, he used it on Jonathan Rhine months ago, and now he's annihilated Rhine's manager with it!

Ware: ...are we on? Wouldn't want you to waste that emotional bit if we weren't.

The phalanx of referees and EMTs emerging from the back seem to convince Kennedy that it's time to go. He walks slowly away from the scene of his crime, his eyes focused on one person: Jonathan Rhine, who stands in the aisle, faintly trembling with rage.

As Kennedy passes Rhine, he growls something at the other man. Once Kennedy is out of earshot, Jonathan takes off to follow the referees and EMTs, to check up on his manager.

Gibson: What did Kennedy say to him?

Ware: I can't read lips that well, but it looked to me like "this is on your hands, Rhine."

Gibson: How disgusting is that?

Ware: It's true, Dave. All Jonathan Rhine had to do was say yes. Hell, all he had to do was run down and stop Phillip when he was going to put Foster through that table! He didn't! Jonathan Rhine is AFRAID of Phillip Kennedy! Face facts!

Gibson: I...don't think that's true at all, but something's going on here, and it's something that I don't understand.

Rhine reaches the side of his manager, kneeling over him as the EMTs begin to check on the fallen Foster. As that scene plays out ringside, Phillip Kennedy stands proudly on the top of the stage, arms raised triumphantly to the disapproval of the capacity crowd.

And on that note, we go elsewhere.
Apolly-olly-ogies
Starring:Spacely, Mackenzie Malone
We’re in a good ol’ locker room – or as a few people in the biz call it: a locker room. Fuck you, it’s hard rendering these introductory paragraphs interesting. There’s a bench. There are some sinks. There’s a depiction of Jesus on some wheat toast. Oh, and there’s Spacely and Mackenzie Malone! Both are sharing easy smiles as they stand across from one another, Space leaning against the row of lockers while Mackenzie leans over to adjust a silver knee-high boot. Obviously, both are in ring gear, which can only mean that things have been reconciled since the spat from last week. We hope!

Spacely: But seriously, I hope things are really cool and you aren’t just pretending they are. You know, for the sake of not making me feel like a total ass.

Mackenzie arches her brow up at him, setting her foot down and subsequently taking a seat on the bench. Spacely joins her, resting split-legged to face her.

Mackenzie: Honestly, I’m thinking the same. All things considered, you’re in a stellar mood tonight – as opposed to the total ass from a couple of weeks ago…

Spacely chuckles in response, nodding his head in admission.

Mackenzie: …so are we okay? I mean, I know the whole ‘trust’ issue is going to take time, and there’s not a whole lot else we can do to speed things up, right?

The Pocket Pulsar moves his hand to rest under his chin, fooling the audience into appearing to be a thoughtful little lad. With another nod, he gazes wistfully off in the distance.

Spacely: You’re too damn smart and rational to be dressing in futuristic gear and leading me into battle, you know?

She blushes, throwing her little “project” a gracious smile.

Spacely: You and I, we’re gonna eventually have one of those moments of clarity where it’s all, ‘Holy cow, we’re in this TOGETHER!’ And I have no doubt that day’ll be sooner rather than later – but in the meantime? Honestly, there’s WAY more evidence for me to trust you here with me than there is against it. I could be legit scared that you’re just a tool for some sort of career-ending injury, but when you think about it…

Spacely smiles wide, pausing.

Spacely: I flip. Like, a zillion times a match. Into people. ONTO CONCRETE SOMETIMES! Every time I go out there to represent the planet Zarflon, I’m just one mishap away from breaking my neck! And why? ‘Cause I’m a risk-taker, Kenzie. A rebel. And I woke up this morning, stretched my arms toward the forty-nine suns of the Krebstar galaxy, and thought: life isn’t worth living if you know what’s gonna happen next. So, to be truthful – even if we were to go out tonight and you zap me with a vaporizing ray and cost me the Gateway title, it’s a risk I’m gladly gonna take!

Mackenzie: (giggling) You are dumb.

Spacely smiles big, nodding once again in agreement. Can’t fault her for that!

Mackenzie: I promise I’ll leave the vaporizing ray here in the locker room.

Spacely: Really?

Mackenzie: Cross my heart.

Forming an ‘X’ over her boob to drive home the point, the vivacious raven-haired woman assures him of her loyalty.

Spacely: Good. Now all I gotta worry about is being vaporized by Jared. And he won’t use a ray gun to do it – it’ll be a fist-to-the-face gun, which hurts WAY more than photon energy blasts. That, and considering the stuff he’s gone through, plus what DUMMY ME put him through…I definitely deserve it.

Mackenzie: Oh, that’s neither here or there, babe. But, you know it’s not too late to go mend fences. Like I told you – you two are friends! You already made steps toward a half-amicable relationship with Campbell, so why not swallow more pride while you still have the taste of it in your mouth?

Spacely: Yeah, but with Amy, that’s a little easier. She’s an egomaniac, and someone I don’t care about, and I honestly did that for my own comfort. I was a jerk to Jared. I questioned his loyalty, his values – why would he accept my apology?

Mackenzie: Well, you were a jerk to me. You questioned my loyalty, my values. I accepted your apology, didn’t I?

Spacely grins, giving her a wink.

Spacely: You only did ‘cause you think I’m dreeeeeeeeeeeeeeeamy.

Playfully, Mackenzie ruffles his hair with her left hand and lightly pushes his head to the side.

Mackenzie: Don’t flatter yourself.

Without warning, Spacely responds by blindsiding her with a big ol’ smooch on the cheek. It takes Mackenzie completely by surprise – enough to give the Ant-Sized Astronaut time to jump to his feet and start toward the door in case she wanted to smack his face. Fortunately, she didn’t want to, but as she turned with the startled impression still crossing her eyes, she noticed him bolting for the door.

Mackenzie: What’s your hurry, Fast Lips McGillicutty?

Spacely: Like I said – you’re too smart sometimes. I’ll see ya at the curtain.

And we exit…
Hey, guess what? We’re cutting backstage again, only it’s not backstage at all. It’s the production truck, and somehow Legion, Varga, Malik Jackson, and our camera crew have made their way inside.

We call this “a recipe for shenanigans”.

Well, not we, but someone probably does.

Gibson: They made it into the production truck?!

Ware: Maybe we’ll get lucky and they’ll knock out the guy who’s been censoring all the s(beep)t I say.

Gibson: Guess he’s still awake.

Ware: F(beep)k!

Most of the crew, those without key functions, have already congregated in one part of the truck so as not to get themselves in the way of whatever goes down. A few are bound to their stations.

Varga grabs Legion by the head and bounced his face off of one of these consoles.

Gibson: Good lor-

And inadvertently cuts the audio feed to David Gibson’s mic.

Ware: I know, right? It’s like getting a pogo stick stuck in your a(beep)s.

Dave Gibson? Still silent.

Ware: Pfft, you’re out of your f(beep)king mind. I only did that one time. One. And he wasn’ t even that good a kisser.

Eugene Ware? Still talking.

Oh, by the way, Varga just managed to execute a suplex on Legion in the small confines of the production truck. Legion’s foot catches a cable on the way down.

Now there are no lights in the arena.

Gibson: What the hell is going on here?!

But at least Dave Gibson’s mic works again.

Gibson: Fans, I don’t know what it’s like for those of you watching at home, but the lights have just gone ou- No, I guess they’re back on.

That would be courtesy of Steve in production.

In the truck, Legion has countered some of Varga’s offense. A right hand staggers Varga back, where he trips over a wire and falls onto a bright red switch. Pyro explodes from the four turnbuckles.

Ware: GAAAAH!!!

Eugene Ware nearly shits himself.

Gibson: Okay, this is beyond absurd. We’ve got a referee back there! He needs to get this under control!

Varga lunges forward after getting back to his feet. A short clothesline sends Legion stumbling back into an abnormally large bald man.

Ware: Is that Cyrus Raynes?

Said large bald man looks towards the camera.

Ware: I was wondering where that guy went. Someone see if Elliott Rollins is workin’ the boom mic.

A second clothesline sends Legion careening into a console, and the video feed is abruptly cut.

Gibson: That was…

Ware: Fucking retarded.

And then Eugene gasps.

Ware: HELL YEAH THEY BROKE THE CENSOR BUTTON!

Gibson: Oh, crap.
Three Amigos (the
Starring:Blackberry, Sykes, Spacely
"So tell me the truth. Do you think I'm crazy?"

There is a list, cleverly hidden away and guarded by dragons. It contains a collection of things that should not be spoken out loud, for the consequences are so severe as to tear a man apart. Really, there's a reason they use dragons for this kind of thing.

Yes, those pants make you look fat.

Your sister has a fantastic ass.

Dusk is awesome.

Jared Sykes either does not believe in this list or has never heard of its existence, for if he did then he would not be asking questions like this. After all, the list has an entire section dedicated to him and only him.

Guess what question is number one.

Sykes: Seriously, don't hold back.

Bet you thought we were kidding.

If there is any consolation to be found in this it comes in the form of the man that he is asking. Baron von Blackberry might very well think him insane, but let's not kid ourselves: he's not exactly one to talk.

The Devil Fruit, supreme ruler over the sovereign nation of Fruitsylvania, stands attentively at the part of the backstage area known affectionately as "the Gorilla position". Dressed in a white lab coat painted in black lines, the Baron stares intently at a rather large hardbacked book.

Things Wyatt Connors Will Try to Get Away With: A Comprehensive History of Rules for Professional Wrestling

Even when approached he continues to flip through the pages. Like most people he is operating under the hope that if you just ignore Jared Sykes he will eventually get bored and go away. Unfortunately, this is not the case. Sykes waves his free arm, hoping to get his attention. The other holds the Gateway Championship against his shoulder.

Sykes: Hello?

The Baron merely waves at Sykes with the back of his hand, his eyes still locked on the book.

Blackberry: Quiet, you fool! Can you not see I am studying the intricate nature of the professional wrestling ring?

There is a pause.

Blackberry: Apparently, there is no rule against having a ninja army escort you to the ring. Or a robot army. Or a ninja army made out of robot parts! ...Or a robot army that wears the garb of ninjas and travels through the night undetected! Hm. I shall have to experiment on that last one, in the name of science. Yes, that is what I shall do after I play the role of judge, jury, and if I have my way, executioner of this meaningless athletic contest between an alien and a sheep.

Blackberry might as well not even realize that Sykes is right there next to him.

The Baron merely waves at Sykes with the back of his hand, his eyes still locked on the book.

Blackberry: Quiet, you fool! Can you not see I am studying the intricate nature of the professional wrestling ring?

There is a pause.

Blackberry: Apparently, there is no rule against having a ninja army escort you to the ring. Or a robot army. Or a ninja army made out of robot parts! ...Or a robot army that wears the garb of ninjas and travels through the night undetected! Hm. I shall have to experiment on that last one, in the name of science. Yes, that is what I shall do after I play the role of judge, jury, and if I have my way, executioner of this meaningless athletic contest between an alien and a sheep.

Blackberry might as well not even realize that Sykes is right there next to him.

Blackberry: Yes, I'm serious, too. How ever shall I approach the art of ninja robots? Do I dress them in orange, program them to proclaim that they "believe it"? Will they know "kage bushin no jutsu"? Would they wield swords? Sickles? Smoke bombs? Shurikens? Shurikens that are eighty times their own size? I'm a scientist! I have to decide such things for the benefit of... well, me. Certainly, I will not be making a robot army for the fools that DARE live in the scenic, yet diabolical nation of Fruitsylvania. That would be ridiculous! Foolishness, even!

The Baron flips a page in the book.

Blackberry: Oh. Kage bushin no jutsu is not allowed. Very well, then, I can work around that. I'm the great and mighty Baron von Blackberry, after all. There's no science I shall not pursue!

Sykes: Okay, right. I get it. The mask. The schtick. It's all part of the package. I invented the package, so I get where you're coming from. But that other thing? The... was that Japanese?

The Black Sheep simply shakes his head. He expected this, sort of. What he didn't expect was how frustrated it would actually make him.

Sykes: What the hell does that even mean?

Blackberry: It's the shadow clone technique, of course! The act of splitting one's essence into multiple copies in order to gang up on your enemies like a one man army! Such a technique would be a vital element to my plan to RULE Sin City Championship Wrestling with an iron fist! ...But alas, it is banned from this book. Does this mean Wyatt Connors knows such a technique? I shall have to investigate this later tonight to see if this is indeed true.

The Baron pauses and flips a page in the book.

Blackberry: Hmph. Now there's an entire section on valets. "The largest the bust size, the better the distraction." Who wrote this part, Eugene Ware?

Ware: Hail to the king, baby.

The Baron shakes his head.

Blackberry: Hm. Perhaps it's high time I found a fruity femme fatale for furiously fighting the fools of this failure federation.

He pauses and considers the option while still keeping his eyes locked on the book.

Blackberry: ......Do you think Vivica J. Valentine is available to put in a fruit costume?

Sykes: HA!

The laugh, however brief, is sharp enough to draw the attention of a few nearby crew members. He chuckles softly to himself, shaking his head.

Sykes: The GCW chick? The one with the red streak in her hair? I dunno, man. That's the sort of thing that apparently gets you killed around here. Sure, it might be innocent, but nobody will give a damn. Nope. They'll all see you as some sort of freak-traitor-lunatic who's apparently incapable of judging character for his own. You'll be more or less ostracized by everyone you know, and then a sociopath will try to kill you in the break room. It's friggin' wonderful. Seriously. It is.

Jared lets his head drop as he presses into his eyes with the palms of his hands. He leaves them there when he speaks again, muffling his voice.

Sykes: Then you'll try and talk to maybe the one guy who hasn't told you how much of a f(beep)k-up you are, and you'll think "Hey, maybe someone out there doesn't think I should bake my head in the oven", but he'll just talk about ninjas flipping out and killing people.

He pulls his hands away from his eyes, throws his head back, and smiles. It is not a happy grin.

Sykes: I guess at least the people you care about'll still be alive though, huh?

It's at this point that the Baron slams shut the book loud enough to startle anyone else who hadn't already been startled by Sykes' tirade. The Baron does not yet look at Sykes, but the voice he uses is almost certainly *not* the faux German accent people were accustomed to hearing.

Blackberry: ...Do you *want* me to say that you screwed up, too, Jared?

Now he looks towards the Gateway champ.

Blackberry: Or do you honestly think me so shallow that I'd judge people based on the company they keep?

Sykes: No, that's not what I meant at all. It's just... f(beep)k.

He sighs the last word and slumps down in a nearby chair. He leans forward, his elbows on his knees, but he keeps his eyes low.

Sykes: I'm sorry I blew up. I didn't mean to drag you into this. I just... I guess I wanted a fresh perspective.

He looks up briefly and offers a weak half-smile. It still isn't happy, but it's not disturbed either. This time it's embarrassment.

Sykes: Been rough lately, is all.

The Baron sighs in embarassment in his own right.

Blackberry: Sorry. Sometimes, I say something too honest. Lost a girlfriend that way, once, come to think of it.

Any trace that the man in the blackberry mask and the striped labcoat is an idiot is washed away. He seems almost humorless as he looks up at the ceiling.

Blackberry: So, this friendship you've got with Amy. It's worth it, right?

Jared simply flexes his eyebrows.

Sykes: Hasn't sucked so far.

And then slouches back in his seat.

Sykes: I mean, I get that a lot of the time I do things that kinda leave people scratching their heads. It's just that... like... I stopped doing things just to be a rebel a long time ago, you know? Why is it so hard to get a little credit for not being a complete moron. Maybe people don't trust me to figure things out for myself, and that sucks.

The Black Sheep leans his head back and lets his eyes drift to the ceiling.

Sykes: It's funny though, because I've actually been tooled on a lot harder for a lot less. Like there's this weird inverse proportional something going on. I dunno. I'm not a math guy.

The Baron looks up, almost at the same spot in the ceiling as Jared.

Blackberry: It could be worse. You could be friends with a Japanese woman who calls you "bakayarou" instead of your name, and kicks people with enough force to knock a freight train off of its tracks. Generally yourself. There are worse people in this world to be friends with. If you feel that it's worth all this, then there shouldn't be anything to feel conflicted about.

The Baron shrugs.

Blackberry: Just my thought, anyway. I don't know much about what goes on around here. Kept out of the loop, as it were.

Sykes: You're probably better off that way.

Jared quickly cocks his head in the direction of the Devil Fruit, and then immediately turns his eyes skyward once again.

Sykes: Seriously, being in the loop sucks. I mean, yeah, at first it's like you're part of some secret club, but then as soon as things get out of hand you start to feel it tighten around you. Before long you can't breathe, and then it just crushes the hell out of you. That's what being in the loop is like. It's a noose without the rope

He sighs.

Sykes: Actually right now that doesn't sound half bad.

The Baron turns his gaze straightforwardly, but doesn't actually focus on anything in general.

Blackberry: It's always harder before it's better, right? Also, don't hang yourself. There are much more spectacular ways to kill yourself, like shooting yourself out of a cannon or something.

"Or, my personal favorite, you could try and Scrooge McDuck into a money bin. Of course, you run the risk of completely botchin' the deal and end up all Schiavo instead. BUUUUUUUUUGHHHHHHHHHHH UNHGHHHHHHH!"

Oh shit, oh shit! Walking into the shot opposite from where Jared sits and totally going there with a Terri joke is the once pal-now-rival of the current Gateway champion in Spacely, prepped in his flashy ring gear and donning his facepaint this time around. The part of his face not covered in an orange and black star reveals a bit of a nervous look, as he bites his lower lip and tiptoes into the conversation. Nodding to the Blackberry and casting an anxiety-filled glance toward his opponent tonight, he clears his throat and tries to make things less awkward. (And fails.)

Spacely: Hey dudes.

Jared, obviously, is quite puzzled as to what the pleasure is owed. (Note: Jake did not write that shitty sentence, it was Renner or Matt. I swear.) Loosening his arms in a "EYYYYYY" Fonz-like pose, the Moon Rovin' Retard continues on. Still failing to make things less awkward.

Spacely: I was just in the neighborhood, ogling the snack tray back there and trying to decide on cocktail wieners in the barbeque sauce or regular little wieners...and I heard you guys talking about 'cage in the bush ju-jitsu,' so I thought I'd drop...dangit, I really suck at lying, don't I?

Spacely breathes deeply, nodding and trying to regain his composure.

Spacely: Look, Jared...last week, and the week before that, and the week before that...well, I did some thinking and all, and I...

A quick wave from the Black Sheep cuts Spacely off. With a heavy sigh Jared leans forward in his chair, resting his elbows on his knees and letting his gaze fall to the floor.

Sykes: Look, I think I know where you're going, and it's cool. It's just... All the f(beep)king fighting... I don't wanna do this anymore, you know?

He gestures with his right hand to the small table where the Gateway title idly rests.

Sykes: You want it? Take it. All yours, dude. I'll concede to our esteemed referee here, he'll make it official, and I'll get fined a ton of money for bailing out on the show. Seriously, it's all yours. You got me.

The Baron coughs, and then gets back into character.

Blackberry: I shall demand a SUBSTANTIAL bribe IN ZARFLONIAN DOLLARS to swing the match in his favor!

Spacely can't help but laugh, as it's the exact opposite of the ol' switcheroo he's used to pulling. Shaking his head, he puts his focus back on Jared, extending his his hands in a defensive pose.

Spacely: Regardless of whether you want to or not, the match is happening. And let me tell you this, Jared -- you and I both know it's going to be intense. It's going to be downright insane. We're going to beat the crap out of each other. It'll EASILY be the match of my career, and when it's all said and done...

Spacely walks over to Sykes, who matches his eyes in a deadlock stare. However, Spacely is the first to soften his look as he extends a right hand down to the Black Sheep.

Spacely: ...we're leaving the fans in the Joe Louis Arena breathless. And I could care less WHO walks out with that thing...what's most important is that you and I are gonna be friends again Whaddya think?

The Baron seems to feel like he's being ignored, as he waves his hands into the air (like he just doesn't care).

Blackberry: Hello? Bribe? Come on, Fruitsylvanian death robots for my evil army do not fund themselves! Particularly not if I desire dreaded Zarflonian death ray technology! Yes, the most scientific way to conquer my enemies is through ALIEN science! AHAHAHAHAHAHA!

Jared draws both hands the length of his face as he rises from his chair. When he pulls them away his expression is not what one might expect, given the circumstances: he's smiling. He steps past the Baron, who is still trying to get the attention of either man, and gives him a playful slap on the shoulder.

Now but a few feet from the Galactic Grappler, Jared breaks his stride and slides his thumbs into the waistband of his shorts. He lowers his head, still smiling, and chuckles. Spacely meanwhile is still holding out his hand like a fool, left hanging as it were.

Spacely: Umm...

Jared's laughter grows in intensity. As Spacely is about to retract his offer of friendship the Black Sheep steps forward, grasps his hand, and pulls him in for only the manliest of hugs (seriously, this isn't gay at all, amirite?). It's followed by a firm pat on the back, because that's how dudes get friendly.

Sykes: Thanks. Really man, I mean it.

He may be a little misty, but damned if he'll admit it on live television.

Spacely: Don't think twice, bro. Let's get ready to go do this thing, and we'll do it for...

Jared inhales sharply, his smile fading. He takes a single step back, afraid of what Spacely might say. Though normally obtuse (at least when in character), Spacely is quick enough to pick up on the signal and offer a different name than what Jared expects.

Spacely: ...Mark Gormley. Praise be his Little Wings.
Gibson: Fans, our next match has a lot of personal issues driving it.

Ware: Yeah, and a lot of retards.

Gibson: We’ve got to men evenly matched in size, and while the champion, Jared Sykes, may be a bit stronger, his challenger is most certainly faster and more agile.

Ware: Here’s a question. Which one’s dumber?

Gibson: ...

Ware: Good point.

While the fans at home can’t see it, David Gibson is shaking his head in frustration.

Gibson: Let’s head down to the ring where Jason Myers has our introductions.

Myers: The following contest is scheduled for one fall and is for the Gateway Championship!

Pause for "Rah"s.

"RAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"


Myers: Introducing first, the special guest referee...

The light go out in the arena, and a lone spotlight shines down on the entryway.

Moskau
Fremd und geheimnisvoll
Türme aus rotem Gold
Kalt wie das Eis
Moskau
Doch wer dich wirklich kennt
Der weiß, ein Feuer brennt
In dir so heiß

Purple strobe lights shine along the entryway, which could've created a sense of dread and mystique for the man coming down to the ring, if only his entrance music wasn't so god awfully weird.

Kosaken hey hey hey hebt die Gläser
Natascha ha ha ha du bist schön
Towarisch hey hey hey auf das Leben
Auf Dein Wohl Bruder hey Bruder ho

Three individuals come out of the entryway. Two of them have their arms crossed and are doing some weird dance, while the man in the middle happens to be the star of this particular ensemble, a man whose name terrifies the masses and rules the scenic, yet DIABOLICAL nation of Fruitsylvania with a fruity fist.

Baron von Blackberry.

Moskau, Moskau
Wirf die Gläser an die Wand
Russland ist ein schönesLand
Ho ho ho ho ho, hey

"HEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEYYYYYYY!"

Myers: From Fruitsylvania, weighing in at two hundred and twenty-five pounds... he is the Devil Fruit, BARON! VON! BLACKBERRRRRYYYYYY!

Moskau, Moskau
Deine Seele ist so groß
Nachts da ist der Teufel los
Ha ha ha ha ha, hey

"HEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEYYYYYYY!"

As his minions, Lemon and Lime, dance the night away, the Baron walks down the aisleway. He eventually hops up onto the ring apron and turns to wave at Lemon and Lime to "shoo and go away", which they eventually do once they take the hint. With that done, the Baron steps into the ring.

Fun fact: the Baron is still wearing the striped lab coat.

Moskau, Moskau
Liebe schmeckt wie Kaviar
Mädchen sind zum küssen da
Ho ho ho ho ho, hey

"HEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEYYYYYYY!"

And mercifully, the music stops.

Putting a cease-fire to any more poop/cosmos references is a flicker on the SinScreen. Snow fills the rectangular transmitter for a few moments until it finally clears up to reveal the image of…oh no. Not again. Yes, he’s using this dumb song as his entrance. Again.

Ware: No no no no no no no no no no no no no no NO!

A few cheers rise for the quasi-celebrity, featured on public access channels nationwide, as well as Tim & Eric Awesome Show, Great Job! His name is David Liebe Hart, and with an alien puppet perched lifelessly in his lap, his expression turns somewhat serious as he addresses the viewing audience.

David Liebe Hart: Hey everybody, I’ve come on here to tell you about something the government hides from you! It’s aliens! Except now, you’ve got an alien in your wrestling, and I want to sing you a song about that alien right now!

Ware: Why is this guy relevant?

Suddenly, we hear the sounds of screechy keyboard playing a very simple chord structure that sounds like this: BEEEEEE BEEEEEE BEEEEEE BOOOP BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE BEEEE BEEEE BOOOOP. David Liebe Hart and the alien puppet on his lap begin to slightly sway back and forth, not in any sort of rhythm, however…which makes it look awkward.

There is a man and he comes from Zarflon
He has got a dog and it is really from space
They landed on the Earth to make some new friends
And then they ate a piece of pizza.

"RAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"


Myers: INTRODUCING FIRST, THE CHALLENGER!

Ware: As in the space ship.

Myers: Coming down the aisle and weighing in at one-hundred seventy five pounds, or forty nine SPACE POUNDS…

And with this, out come none other than our friend and his furry partner in crime to a big fat Motown welcome! Sporting his metallic silver wrestling outfit, complete with orange shaker-style tassels on the boots and wrists (hello, 1987) both he, Quasar, and the very lovely Mackenzie Malone make their way down the ramp and onto the entrance aisle, soaking in the adoration. Quasar has become quite the slut and makes sure to stay close to the barricade so that everyone gets a chance to pet him (read: feed him popcorn treats) while Spacely smiles and slaps five with the Motor City faithful. Mackenzie is right by his side, she too waving and playing to the crowd.

Myers: He hails from Space, You Idiot on the Planet Zarflon…and is accompanied to the ring by Quasar and Mackenzie Malone…

Up on the SinScreen, the puppet now begins to move his mouth, and a sound resembling a 40-year smoker is David Liebe Hart’s portrayal of the alien’s voice. The camera periodically fades back to show that Hart is making no attempts whatsoever at being a REAL ventriloquist, as his lips move along as if he were speaking himself.

There is a man and he comes from Zarflon
He has got a dog and it is really from space
He is a foreigner and he has a green card
And he doesn’t try to score on the first date.

Myers: He is the FUN-SIZED PHOTON…the HULK HOGAN OF THE HEAVENS… He ISSSSSSS SPAAAAAAAAAACEEEEEEEEEEE-LEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!

Near the top of the ringside area, Spacely nods up at Baron von Blackberry and proceeds to circle the area. Turning to Mackenzie, the little guy proceeds to lift her off her feet and give her a BIG OL HUG, then kisses her on the cheek once again, much to the delight of the crowd.

There is a man and he comes from Zarflon
He has got a dog and it barks at space
He doesn’t drive a car because he can’t get a learner’s permit
Because he’s not from America really.

Ware: I would seriously pay seven dollars to not hear this right now. Thank God I have Mack to look at.

Space man!
Place man!
Race man!
Space man!

Ware: ‘RACE MAN’ DOESN’T EVEN MAKE SENSE.

As Quasar runs over to a SCCW crew member holding an oversized novelty bone, Spacely mounts the apron and climbs inside the ring.

Space man!
Place man!
Race man!
Space man!

Myers: And his opponent...

All at once the arena lights dim, the drums kick in, and purple strobes start flashing. Oh, also there’s a little bit of pyro. Nothing too extreme, but just enough to wake you up.

Myers: From Boston, Massachusetts he weighs in tonight at 198 pounds and is the current Gateway Champion...

The Gateway champion steps through the entrance. He doesn’t look as happy as he normally might, and there’s no bounce in his step. His outfit is also considerably darker than what he normally wears for this sort of thing, and the accent color of choice appears to be a deep violet.

On his left arm a black sleeve runs from his wrist to his bicep.

So much that I’ve done wrong it’s an open book
I’ve done much more than my fair share of damage
What once was hidden now is crystal clear
Transformation is within me
To break the cycle I must turn to you
What I lack through your virtue
I... gain... through... you

Did we mention it’s "new song day" here at Sin City Championship Wrestling? Because it is. Today’s new song is "Save Me" by Killswitch Engage.

Myers: The Black Sheep... JAAAAAAAAAAAAARED SYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYKES!!!

"RAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"


Even when I fall, will you still believe?
Even when I’m lost, will you still believe?

The Gateway title belt is slung over his right shoulder. The thumb of his left hand is tucked into the waistband of his shorts. His eyes skirt over the crowd, and more importantly the two men in the ring(s) ahead of him.

Shattered by the hate that I carry
Take me as I am and make me whole again
I am lost without a purpose
Always consumed by self
I freely give this calloused heart
Can you, can you forgive me

Uncharacteristically, the walk to the ring is slow and methodical. Once there he ascends the nearest set of steps and climbs through the ropes.

Even when I fall, will you still believe?
Even when I’m lost, will you still believe?
Now I don’t have much, will you save me?
But I’ll give it all, will you save me?

There’s no glorious raise of the title, no showboating, and no playing to the crowd. Instead he simply hands the title over to the Baron and leans against a nearby set of turnbuckles.

*DING* *DING* *DING*


They start in the first ring, circling each other. The Baron keeps his eyes on both men, knowing that this could get out of hand at any minute, but gives them a wide birth.

Sykes and Spacely lock up. They briefly struggle for position, and then the following exchange occurs at warp speed.

Gibson: Armdrag by the champion...

Spacely rolls to his feet.

Gibson: Counter by the challenger...

Now Sykes rolls to his feet.

Gibson: Sykes moving in. Knee to the midsection. Headlock applied by the champion...

Spacely hurls him into the ropes.

Gibson: Jared with a shoulder-block sends Spacely to the mat. Sykes to the ropes...

Spacely gets up, then quickly hits the deck. Sykes leapfrogs and rebounds off the opposite ropes.

Gibson: Legsweep by the challenger...

The champion bounds right back to his feet.

Gibson: Dropkick by Spacely.

Ware: Can I talk now?

Again Sykes gets back to his feet in a hurry.

Gibson: Spacely off the ropes...

Ware: I’ll take that as a ‘no’.

Gibson: Scoop by the champion, but Spacely counters with a flying headscissors!

Jared rolls through the move, using the momentum to bound into the opposite ropes.

Gibson: Dropkick by the champion now.

Both men roll back to their feet and square off, thus ending the chain.

"RAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"


Gibson: Incredible exchange to start things off here. Both of these guys know the other extremely well.

Ware: By that do you mean buttsex?

Gibson: No.

Ware: Yeah you do.

Gibson: I liked it better when you didn’t talk.

Ware: I liked it better when you weren’t alive.

Gibson: ...I’m older than you!

Ware: Yeah, but still though.

Gibson: The two are now just eyeing each other, contemplating their next move and trying to come up with something the other won’t expect…

Ware: Spacely could go out there and French kiss the babe. That might be enough to shock us all, though.

Gibson: Spacely now…stomping his foot and snorting?

Ware: You say that like this is something completely out of the ordinary as to what he’d do…

Gibson: Jared’s look is of pure confusion as…SPACEY WITH A BALD BULL CHARGE! Leapfrogged! AND LOOK OUT BLACKBERRY! Blackberry with a leapfrog…and Spacely stops behind him!

Ware: Great. More butt-touchery!

Gibson: And now…the Ant-Sized Astronaut has Blackberry’s arms? It looks like he’s edging him toward the Black Sheep…

Spacely: “RECCCCCCCCCCCCCCTUMMMMMMMM…”

Ware: God save us…

Spacely: “LUNNNNNNNNNNNNCH!”

Spacely tries to force Baron von Blackberry’s fist out to hit Jared…which it does, but only barely grazes his arm. While the move is ineffective, it does allow Spacely the opportunity to kneel down behind Blackberry…allowing the Black Sheep to push him over the crouched nutcase and causing him to fall flat on his ass.

Gibson: Hahahahahaha!

Ware: FINALLY. A means for disqualification. END IT, TARD.

Instead of pointing and laughing at their fallen official, however…Sykes nudges Spacely over to Blackberry, who offers his hand to lift him to his feet. Blackberry accepts it…along with a punch to the gut for his shenanigans.

Gibson: How’s that for a reprimand? A fist to the stomach has caught the Man from Zarflon off-guard!

Ware: He’s not usually used to taking fists there, so I’m sure that’s surprising.

Gibson: Sykes with a sunset flip!

1...

Spacely throws both of his legs forward, countering the cover with one of his own.

Gibson: Spacely with a pin attempt.

1...

Jared managed to rock back, countering Spacely’s counter.

Ware: You’d think they roll around like this all the time.

1...

Spacely this time flips backwards out of the move, grabs Sykes by the legs and rolls into a jackknife cover.

Ware: See? Totally gay.

1...

The champion kicks out, locks his arms around Spacely’s torso, and both men bridge to their feet, turn once, and Sykes brings Spacely down with a backslide.

Gibson: Backslide.

Ware: That’s what she said!

1...

Spacely kicks out, dives over Sykes, and hooks him in an Oklahoma roll.

Ware: This is getting ridiculous.

1...

2...

Needless to say, the Baron is getting quite the workout just trying to keep up with the various pinfall attempts.

Also, Sykes kicks out of the Oklahoma roll. Both men scramble back to their feet, and Sykes shoots for one more cover.

Gibson: Jared with a small package.

Ware: Ah-ha! I knew it!

1...

2...

When Spacely kicks out both men again scramble back to their feet, and once again arrive at a stalemate. Once again, the crowd does this.

"RAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"


Gibson: That’s not quite what I meant, Eugene.

Ware: Eh, it’s probably true anyway.

Gibson: So you think about that sort of thing?

Ware: ...NO!

Gibson: The two are visibly a little frustrated at their failed attempts at pinfalls, and Sykes comes in for a brutal shoulder tackle! He’s got Spacely grounded here, and there’s a forearm to the forehead!

Ware: I wish I had the FOREsight to fake a diaharrea spell for this FOR-ing match.

Gibson: Spacely is fast to push Jared off with his knees, and has turned around and now grounded him! He responds back with a couple of fists to his face!

Ware: I am so FORlorn watching this FORrible match. I’d rather FORnicate with Spacely’s valet.

Gibson: Forgive me, fans, for my colleague’s behavior.

Ware: Heh! FORgive. FOR.

For a moment at least, things between the two men seem to have broken down. What started as lesson in chain-wrestling became a battle of quick covers, and now that has turned into an all-out brawl.

Gibson: The Baron needs to get this sprawling, brawling mass of humanity under control.

Ware: Do I have to actually make the gay joke there, or can we all just make up our own?

Gibson: Spacely rolling on top of the champion...

Ware: Or you could just narrate the queer.

Gibson: Looks like he’s trying to mount him.

Ware: Really, you’re taking all the fun out of it.

Much to his chagrin, the Baron is unable to separate Jared Sykes and Spacely through conventional means. He scratches at his chin, and thrusts a finger into the air in an "ah-ha!" moment. Perhaps someone in the production truck will add a little light bulb over his head when this goes to air.

Gibson: And the Baron is... walking away? What the hell?

Ware: Maybe he’s going to get a camera. You know, to commemorate the gay.

Gibson: Can you stop with the gay jokes?

Ware: I really can’t. You get all indignant and crack the f(beep)g jokes. Kind of how this works, Dave.

Now standing in the second ring, the Baron licks his finger and again raises it into the air. He may or may not be checking for wind resistance. Certain of his next course of action, he balls his hand into a fist and raises it high into the air.

Gibson: Is he going to do what I think he’s going to do?

Ware: Shove it up his own ass? I sure hope not.

Blackberry: RETCOOOOOOOON...

Ware: F(beep)k.

The crowd shouts as one.

PAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAUNCH!!!!!!!

Instead of striking one of the competitors (and really, he’d need some serious Dhalsim arms to pull that off, since they’re in the other ring), the Baron instead punches the mat of the ring he’s in. The shockwave travels from one ring to the other and causes both Sykes and Spacely to fly apart, landing on opposite sides of the ring.

"RAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"


Yeah, they love them some Retcon Punch here in Detroit. Then again, they also love setting things on fire, so who the fuck knows with these people.

Gibson: Wow. That was...

Ware: F(beep)king retarded.

Each man is a little disoriented, but when Sykes and Spacely each roll to their feet they first look at each other, and then at the Baron (who is triumphantly standing with his arms folded). There’s a moment of hesitation before they even consider locking up again.

Gibson: Certainly one way to do it…but I think the Baron has inadvertently scared the wits out of these two competitors! Collar-and-elbow tie-up here, and there’s an Irish whip from Spacely, sending Jared into the ropes…he follows suit by bouncing off the opposite corner…wait a sec…

Ware: Sigh. IDIOT.

"RAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"


So, there’s this thing we maybe neglected to mention at the beginning. Due to tonight’s Wargames-style match, there is a completely separate ring positioned up against the ring this match is currently in. Instead of bouncing off the ropes, the Black Sheep has taken the liberty of springboarding OVER the rope and into the other ring to continue the effect of the Irish whip.

Gibson: And Sykes now in the other ring! And here comes Spacely!

Meanwhile, Spacely has followed suit. Just as Jared is about to hit the opposite ring’s rope, Spacely springboards into the other ring and connects with a spinning wheel kick! Baron von Blackberry continues to officiate as if nothing out of the ordinary is happening.

Ware: These cutesy little things really irk my noodle, Gibbo.

Gibson: Nice connection on that kick! Spacely now back up and has made his way back into the original ring!

In the second ring, Sykes is just starting to get back to his feet. Meanwhile, in the first ring, Spacely takes a deep breath, hits the far set of ropes, and builds up some momentum. He leaps onto the top rope, vaults into the second ring, and catches the champion with a breathtaking tornado DDT.

Gibson: Good God! The challenger just flew clear from one ring to the other with... I don’t even know how to describe that.

Ware: A hands-free cross-ring springboard tornado DDT.

Gibson: ...what?

Ware: I WIN!

Gibson: Spacely with the cover...

Unfortunately, the Baron is slightly out of position, as he needs to move from one ring to the next before he can count.

1...

2...

Thr-NO!

Gibson: But the champion manages to get a shoulder up at the last second.

Spacely rolls off and climbs through the ropes. He stands on the ring apron and waits for his opponent to get back to his feet.

Gibson: Spacely waiting on the ring apron.

Ware: I hope he’s waiting for a sniper’s bullet.

Gibson: Sykes finally to his feet. Spacely with the springboard...

Spacely vaults to the top rope, springboarding into the ring. He tries to connect with a flying frankensteiner, but the Black Sheep has different plans.

"OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOHHHHHHHHHHHH!"


Gibson: Countered! Jared Sykes has just countered that springboard huracanrana into a short powerbomb.

Ware: I wish a real bomb would...

Gibson: We get it, Eugene! Sykes with a cover...

1...

2...

Thr-NO!

Gibson: And Spacely kicks out! Sykes trying to bring it back to him just as quickly, and there’s a ducked left hand!

Ware: These guys really stink on ice at landing a punch.

Gibson: Spacely with a wristlock on the champion, and he’s backing towards the corner.

Ware: Spacely backs into a lot of things.

Gibson: And now he’s ascending the buckles.

Ware: Get it? Because he likes to...

Gibson: Yes, I get it. We all get it. None of us think it’s funny.

Ware: I think it’s funny.

Meanwhile, Spacely has made it to the top rope, still holding on to Sykes’ arm. He then begins to moonwalk across the top rope much to the delight of the viewing crowd.

"RAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"


See? They’re delighted.

Gibson: I’ll never understand how he manages to keep his balance up there.

Ware: Just like I’ll never understand how his parents didn’t feed him to bears after he was born.

And if you think the crowd was delighted to see a spaceman moonwalk across the top rope, they go absolutely bugfuck when Spacely takes to their air.

"RAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"


Gibson: Good God! Ropewalk dragonrana by the challenger! Spacely rolls through and hooks the leg...

1...

Gibson: This could be all.

2...

Thr-NO!

Gibson: Unbelievable!

Ware: OH! OOP OOP OOP OOP!

Gibson: …

Ware: You’re so unbelieveable…what? Don’t you listen to modern music, you curmudgeon?

Gibson: Spacely with the scoop... Sykes countered. Reverse facelock hooked.

Ware: Wait! I'm trying to think of an appropriate homosexual reference!

Gibson: Here's the lift, aaaaaand...

The champion hoists Spacely up in almost a reverse suplex, then hooks a leg under his free arm. It sort of looks like an inverted fisherman's suplex, except for the part where Spacely gets dropped on his head. I used more combinations of "backwards" and "suplex" in those sentences than feels right, and I don't give a shit.

"RAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"


Gibson: OHH!! He calls that move the Omega-13!

Ware: What, is he some f(beep)king Greek gangsta now?!

Gibson: And Spacely gets dropped right on his head.

Ware: Well, at least no vital organs were injured.

Gibson: ...

Ware: What?

Gibson: Sykes with a cover. Baron in to make the count. And it's a movie reference, Eugene.

1...

Ware: Is it porn? Does s(beep)t blow up?

Gibson: N-

Ware: THEN I DON'T CARE!

2...

Gibson: And the champion reta-

THRRRRRRRRRRRRRR-NO!!!!!

Sometimes the ring feels a little smaller than it actually is. Sometimes that's caused by a someone you think you've beaten being just close enough to the ropes to get their foot into position to break the count.

Gibson: And Spacely got his foot on the ropes! This match isn't over yet, folks.

Ware: F(beep)king wonderful.

Gibson: The champion slow to get to his feet, but look at the resilience of Spacely! Using the ropes to pull himself back up.

Ware: He should use the ropes to hang himself. That I might actually be impressed by.

Gibson: Both men up. Sykes moving in...

"OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOHHHHHHHHHHHH!"


Gibson: Step-up enzuigiri by Spacely, and the Black Sheep is down!

Ware: Again with the whacking each other in the head. If they had brains they would know to not do that.

Gibson: Wouldn't that also invalidate your joke?

Ware: Oh, go f(beep)k yourself.

The strike leaves Sykes dead on the mat, blinking at the ceiling to try and get his senses back. It also gives Spacely enough time to do what he does best: take to the air.

Gibson: And now the challenger is climbing the buckle. You know how dangerous he is coming off those ropes.

Ware: Never use the words "dangerous" and "coming" together in the same sentence again. Especially not when talking about this a(beep)ole.

Normally Spacely might simply springboard to the top rope, but his climb this time is slow. Perched on the top rope he ducks low to steady himself, and also to give himself a bit more bounce when he leaps.

And leap he does.

Gibson: Spacely to the skies...

"RAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"


One flip is followed by a second.

Gibson: Betelgeuse!!

Cameras flash.

Gibson: Betelgeuse!!

The crowd goes berserk.

Gibson: BETELGEUSE!!!!!

"RAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"


And the famed double-rotation moonsault connects with its target.

Even the Baron jumps a little at the impact. After completing the move, the momentum carries Spacely onto his back, leaving both combatants down and out. Baron von Blackberry, being a diabolical-yet-just referee, is forced to begin the ten count.

1...

Gibson: Unbelievable move by Spacely! Let's see that again.

2...

AT&T Replay

Some homo in facepaint does flips off the ropes.


3...

Gibson: Stop talking over the replay, Eugene!

4...

Ware: Alright, fine. Next time I'll say "f(beep)ot in tassels".

5...

Gibson: That move took a lot out of both men.

6...

Ware: Just like a d(beep)k in the butt.

7...

Gibson: Like... what? No, don't repeat that. Spacely looks to be moving, and the Baron has broken off his count. The challenger rolls onto his chest...

Ware: As opposed to the turds that normally roll OFF his chest.

Gibson: I hate the hell out of you right now.

The former Gateway champion edges closer to the man who took the belt from him, pulling himself on top for a weak cover. The Baron immediately dives into position to make the count.

1...

Gibson: Does Spacely have enough to hold him down?!

Ware: More counting. Awesome.

2...

Gibson: We're going to have a new champions!

THREEEEEEEEE-NOOOOOOOOO!!!

"RAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"


The kickout isn't strong, but it's enough.

Gibson: UNBELIEVABLE!!!

Ware: I'M RIGHT HERE YOU DON'T HAVE TO SHOUT!!

Spacely rolls off in disbelief, holding up three fingers and trying to plead with Baron von Blackberry. The Baron simply shakes his head and holds up two fingers in response. Spacely gets to his knees, frustrated from the near-victory. Sykes manages to use the ropes to pull himself up, but soon falls to his knees as well.

Gibson: Spacely with a right. Sykes with a right of his own.

Ware: It's just like a circle jerk, only not sexy at all.

Gibson: And from where I sit it doesn't look like there's a whole lot on those blows.

Ware: Speaking of bl-

Gibson: Do NOT finish that thought.

Ware: That was my point! She didn't finish, either!

Gibson: Classy.

Both men, now on their knees only a few feet apart from each other, are in the midst of an ugly slugfest. A punch from one is answered a few seconds later by a shot from the other. Dave Gibson is right. There isn't much behind each strike.

Gibson: Fans, I don't need to tell you how deeply personal this rivalry became. There is much more at stake in this match than just a title belt, and what we're seeing now is proof of that. Both of these men have a serious respect for one another, which makes this match all the more important for their careers.

Ware: You’re right, Gibbert. The loser will go back to shooting T-shirts out of a cannon, while the winner will…go back to loading the T-shirts that shoot from the cannon.

Gibson: I think both of these guys have an even bigger future ahead of them after this match. With Spacely being a young man…

Ware: He’s 852 in space years. Not that young…

Gibson: (groan) and Jared Sykes arguably wrestling the best he ever has in his career, the next time these two meet may be under main event circumstances.

Ware: Or in a rest stop bathroom.

A loose arm swings widely at Spacely, whose eyes light up as he grabs hold of Jared’s wrist, taking him by surprise.

Gibson: Spacely with the arm here…and there’s a run up the…SWEET LORDY LOU!

Ware: Owch! You just hit me in the arm, you noid!

Gibson: SYKES JUST REVERSED AND BROUGHT HIM DOWN WITH A SUPER ARM-DRAG!

"RAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"


Gibson: And HE’S GOT THE ANACONDA VICE LOCKED IN THERE! IT’S ‘THE MANLY HUG’!

Ware: …of COURSE it would be called that…

Dave Gibson, normally full of words here, can only watch in awe as Jared Sykes has the arm-trap triangle choke locked in on the challenger to his Gateway championship. Spacely is shifting his body weight in a rocking motion to try and shift the balance, desperately hoping to break the hold and surmount a counter.

Gibson: This crowd has jumped to their feet here in Detroit, and folks…there is no division in the Joe Louis Arena! These fans are getting loud and stomping their feet in this tense moment of Sin on Spike history! Jared Sykes forcing the Ant-Sized Astronaut back down, but Spacely is fast to bridge his neck up…

CLAP CLAP CLAP CLAP CLAP CLAP CLAP CLAP CLAP CLAP!

Ware: I CAN’T HEAR S(beep)!

Gibson: Spacely is at a seated position! Jared wrenching that wrist and trying to push him back down, however…BUT SPACELY IS NOW ON ONE KNEE!

CLAP CLAP CLAP CLAP CLAP CLAP CLAP CLAP CLAP CLAP!

Gibson: The Black Sheep now shifting his weight forward, and Spacely is back down on the mat! Baron Von Blackberry moves in to check on the situation here…

Our camera view shows a very intense and very focused look across the face of Jared Sykes. Spacely’s expression is filled with anguish, but manages to scream out an audible “NO!” as Blackberry asks if he wants to throw in the towel.

Gibson: He has just got this thing locked in too tight! There is no hope for Spacely unless he can get to his feet here, as Jared Sykes is in perfect position right here in the center of this ring!

CLAP CLAP CLAP CLAP CLAP CLAP CLAP CLAP CLAP CLAP!

Gibson: Spacely now, with every last little bit of strength that he has, has started to shift his weight back and forth to break this hold! And this audience is growing louder with each passing second in this match! There goes Blackberry down to check the situation…

For a split second, Jared looks over toward Blackberry…which catches the attention of Spacely. He takes that instant to roll with everything he has up to his knees…

"RAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"


Ware: Holy crap…

Gibson: SPACELY IS UP TO HIS FEET! HE’S UP! OH MY GOD, WHAT HEART! WHAT RESILIENCY!

The camera gives us yet another amazing shot here, as it circles around to see the fingers of Jared Sykes locked on…only Spacely’s forearm and bicep are straining through the skin to try and pry it free. For a millisecond, it looks as though Jared’s pointer finger and middle finger are about to separate from each other…

SLAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAM

Gibson: AND SYKES JUST SENDS HIM CRASHING BACK DOWN TO THE MAT!

"RAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"


STOMP STOMP STOMP STOMP STOMP STOMP STOMP STOMP STOMP!

There is a dull THUD as Spacely’s back and head connect and bounce into the canvas. He jerks like a snake in a loop knot trap and rocks forward…

Gibson: Still some fight left in him! I cannot believe what we’re seeing here…

…until the left hand of the Supernovaic Norman Smiley taps rapidly on the forearm of Jared Sykes. Baron von Blackberry then quickly points toward our timekeeper…

*DING* *DING* *DING*


Gibson: Lord have mercy…

Jared, at the first couple of taps, instantaneously releases the grip and rolls flat onto his back in complete exhaustion. Spacely, meanwhile, extends his arms and flails backward, then slithers onto his stomach and exhales through his mouth. Once again, the cameraman should get a nice Christmas bonus for his work.

Myers: The winner of this match…and STILL the S-CEEEEEEEEEEE-CEEEEEEEEEE-DOUBLE-U GATEWAAAAAAAAAAAAY CHAMPION…

HO-LY S(BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP)~!

HO-LY S(BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP)~!

HO-LY S(BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP)~!

Ware: These censors are the hardest working men here tonight.

Gibson: We’re LOOKING at the hardest working men here tonight right there in that ring, Eugene.

Myers: JAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAREEEEEEED SYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYKES!

"RAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"


The Baron even has to catch his breath in this one, as he shakes his head in disbelief. Meanwhile, Jared has made his way to his feet, his face a tye-dye of emotions and colors as Blackberry walks over to him with Gateway title in hand.

No theme music is playing, because the intensity of the situation calls for the shockwave to keep the Joe Louis Arena rocking. As BVB raises Jared’s hand up in triumph, the inevitable reaction happens.

"RAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"


Gibson: No doubt in my mind that this will definitely be a match that neither one of these guys will ever forget. Just a ridiculous ending that I’m sure will make plenty of ‘best of’ compilations.

Speaking of inevitable, both Blackberry and Sykes walk over to help the challenger up to his feet. With a little effort, he is at 3/4ths attention and stumbles over to the ring rope to catch his balance back. Shit is pretty much erupting and the crowd makes with the stompage and clappage for what we know is coming.

Jared puts a hand on his shoulder, which prompts the man in the makeup to turn around and nod at him.

Gibson: They left everything in the ring tonight, ladies and gentlemen.

"RAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"


And the two embrace. MANLY. Closing the book on the little spat from a month and a half ago…and basically mirroring exactly what Dave Gibson said: leaving it all out in the ring.

Ware: I think he’s grabbing his ass!

Gibson: Will you stop it?
Guess where we are.

No, really. Guess.

WRONG!

Gibson: Ladies and gentlemen, if you’ve been with us so far tonight then you know we’ve been following a situation between Legion and Varga…

Ware: Situation is putting it politely. Clusterf(beep)k is closer to the truth.

Gibson: Both men are involved in a falls count anywhere match that quickly spun out of control, and has thus far spilled all over the arena.

Ware: Like a big ole tub of semen.

Gibson: I… wow. Okay.

Ware: What? Where do you put it? And don’t say my mother!

Taking a page out of the Dusk playbook, David Gibson no-sells the shit out of that last comment.

Gibson: It’s my understanding that both men are currently in the parking lot, so we’re going to take you there now.

Ware: If they’re making out in a Chevy, so help me God…

Fwoosh! Through the magic of the newly restored production truck we are whisked away to a land of wonder and cars. Legion and Varga are currently in the midst of slugging it out in front of a bright blue sedan. This car also happens to have a license plate which reads “WRACNDA”.

In the background some shit is on fire, because this is Detroit and that’s how these fuckers like to get down.

Ware: Is that… That’s my car!

David Gibson lets slip a giggle.

Gibson: Oh. Oh, I’m so sorry, Eugene.

Ware: Don’t you give me that s(beep)t! I swear to god if they even… NO!

As if on cue Legion charges towards Varga, who happens to be leaning against said car. Unfortunately his kick misses and puts a nice dent in the driver’s side door.

Ware: That son of a bitch!

Gibson: Tee hee.

Okay, he doesn’t actually say “tee hee”, but you get the idea.

Also, we’ve got a few new arrivals on the scene. It would appear that Luci4 had returned and brought with her a new friend. By “friend” we mean “bodyguard”.

Gibson: Varga with a forearm shot to Legion, and OH! He just hurled the smaller man into the side of Eugene’s car!

Ware: Oh, sure. Now you decide to call this like a real f(beep)kin’ match? I hate you so hard right now.

Gibson: Varga charging in… backdrop by Legion sends Varga crashing down on the hood!

And the impact is hard enough to create a spider web crack in the windshield.

Ware: I don’t think my insurance covers “Act of Retard”.

Gibson: Legion climbing onto the hood, and he’s pulling Varga back up to his feet… PILEDRIVER ON THE HOOD!

Ware: Mother. F(beep)er.

Gibson: Legion with a cover. Falls count anywhere, so he can legally pin the man on the hood of the car.

Ware: OF MY CAR!!!!

Jackson: One!… Two!… Three! Call it! It’s over!

Malik Jackson instinctively signals for the bell. Then he remembers he’s in a parking lot. Then he remembers he’s black and this is Detroit at night, so he runs back into the building so as not to get arrested.

Gibson: And that’s going to do it for this match, folks! Legion will walk away the victor.

Ware: F(beep)k you all.
Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dumbbell (suck it, Jake!)
Starring:Aimz and Jared Sykes
It’s been a rough night for the Black Sheep. He’s already had to endure a guest spot at a meeting of the Dead Man’s Hand, a chance encounter with Wyatt Connors (and let’s not kid ourselves, those never end well), and brought the house down in a battle with Spacely that taxed him both mentally and physically. All he wants right now is to get back to his locker room and collapse.

Still caked in sweat, Jared drags his newly-retained Gateway championship behind him as he slowly makes his way down the hall. A light gray towel is draped over his head, hiding him from the world and partially obscuring his vision. It also has the added benefit of telling most of the world “Hey, now would be a good time to leave me alone.”

He steps through the door to his locker room, eager to get inside and lock out the rest of the world. A hot shower, a change of clothes, and a little privacy; it’s about all he can handle at this point.

Unfortunately, it’s not all he’s going to find.

It's strange to see Amy Campbell relaxing - especially in a room that isn't hers. Ownership won't stop her, though - she's wearing boxy reading glasses, staring down at a Macbook from one of the only comfortable chairs Jared's locker room can provide.

Aimz: Heeeey, how'd it go?

The sound of her voice stops him dead in his tracks. With one hand he pulls the towel back from his head and lets it drape across a shoulder. With the other he raises the black and gold championship belt before casting it aside.

Sykes: Got to keep my shiny new toy, so I guess it wasn’t a total disaster.

Seeing the chair occupied, the Black Sheep opts to lean against a nearby wall and let his body slide to the floor.

Sykes: Probably gonna hurt in the morning though. What about you? Do anything exciting after that little meeting… conference… whatever?

Aimz: Tried to sit down for a minute with Kannon and Ellie. I've gotta say... not really sure if I love them when they're not slumming it in PRIME. I'm pretty sure we're friends -- or were -- but he's kinda stepping on toes over here...

Jared's focused elsewhere, and that's a little obvious. Perhaps sore ribs, knees, hands...

Aimz: Aaand you're probably not that interested, understandably. That's kinda good, though, because I've... kinda got a favor to ask. I'm not all smooth like Alex, don't really manipulate people into shit, so I'm just gonna ask. 'Kay?

He doesn’t look up, as his attention seems to be held strong by the tape around his right wrist. It’s posing a little trickier to pick away at than he’d expected.

Sykes: Hrm? Oh, right. Favor.

The tape can wait. He’s tired, he’s sore, and he’s still not the happiest guy in the world. None of that means he can’t force a smile.

Sykes: What’s up? Wait, I’m not gonna be babysitting anyone right now, am I?

Aimz: Okay, that's annyoing as s(beep)t. C'mere.

Throughout Jared's mumblings, the pick-pick-picking at his wrists had been driving Campbell halfway insane. OCD will need to be forgiven when she grabs his arm with both hands, going to work on the first corner of the tape with her teeth. One yank and it's loose enough to take between thin fingers with red and green nail polish (because your girl loves Christmas).

Aimz: Anyway, with Dusk's career aborted, I got whatsherass to switch the main up. It saves me from having to team with Connors and Stevens, and the way I've got it now lets me get a piece of Lane after the s(beep)t he's been pulling. Problem's that they get a partner of their choice, and I'll need to go it alone if I can't find people to go out there with me. The other problem's that I only trust two people around here, and Alex isn't allowed to go out there with me, so...

He nods once, and slowly shifts in his seat using the wall for support. Try as he might, hiding the fact that he’s in a bit of pain from his last match is posing more of a challenge than he’d like.

Sykes: I’d be kinda lying if I said that the kid didn’t kick my ass. I honestly don’t know how much I’ve got left. This is next? Like, a “right f’n now” kinda thing?

Aimz: I didn't want to ask at all, especially not on camera, but these guys have been following me around all night. The only time I got away was when I was talking s(beep)t on half the roster with Kannon - which you'd think...

She shoots a glare at the camera.

Aimz: Might be a bit more interesting than me asking a friend a favor, but whatever. I'm perfectly fine going out there, and it's not like I'm up against much. I just figured I'd ask, especially since you might think I didn't trust you or something if I didn't ask, and... and I'm just yapping now. It's all good.

He shakes his head and chuckles.

Sykes: No, it’s… That’s not what I meant. It was more of a “do I have 30 seconds to breathe or 30 minutes” kinda deal. Yeah, if you need me for it then I’m in. Worst case scenario I get tossed around for a while, ya’ know? I mean, and I’m just throwing this out there, I might be pretty useless, but that doesn’t mean I don’t have your back here.

Still a little fatigued he lets his head fall back against the wall. Then he cocks an eyebrow and tilts his head ever so slightly.

Sykes: Wait… You thought I was gonna say no?

Aimz: You mean you're not?

Sykes: No. Like I said, I dunno how much I have left, but I’ll give you whatever I can. ‘Sides, you’ve been pretty cool, and with everything that went down a few weeks ago I do still owe you one.

He shrugs.

Sykes: Who knows, maybe we’ll even get lucky.

And then immediately turns a shade of red not normally found in nature.

Sykes: Umm… You know what I mean.

Amy's grin is lazy when she slides down to the ground beside him, clearly amused.

Aimz: After the night I've had, I need to get lucky... but that's up to someone else, and it's not something I'm gonna need in the ring. Maybe we'll go for a drink later, see if we can get a nice girl a little wasted for you! Would you like that? Oooooor... we can do what we do every night.

She wiggles her eyebrows and the cameraman shakes a little.

Aimz: That's right - we'll chill in Snuggies and watch shitty Christmas movies.

It's a little strange when she leans against his shoulder. This reddens him more.

Aimz: You sure you can do this?

Sykes: Yeah. I’m sure.

His smile this time is still weak, but much more natural. Then again, for someone who’s spent the better part of their career mastering ways to fake it one can never be too sure.

Sykes: Okay, well, no… Not really. I’m pretty much MacGyver’ed together with paperclips and rubber bands right now, but that guy never had an issue, so as long as nothing snaps we should be good to go. And yeah, I realize this probably isn’t filling you with confidence.

Aimz: I don't need confidence, just my best friend behind me.

That boy's face is so red, it's nearing purple.

Aimz: Err, beside me? Wow... this is gonna end up on the internet.

Sykes: Yeah, prob…

Red as he may be and wracked as his body is, Jared’s brain is still functional. Granted, it takes a minute to register, but register it does.

Sykes: Did you just…?

Aimz: Ask you to get behind me, or call you my best friend? 'Cause it was definitely one of those...

Her smile is full-fledged.

Aimz: C'mon, dweeb. We've got a match.

Oddly, it’s Jared who’s first to his feet (and quicker than you’d expect, all things considered). Before she can stand he’s already hovering above her, a hand extended to help her up. A slight wiggle of the fingers is his way of saying ‘take the hand, dummy’. His own smile is the brightest it’s been all day.

Sykes: Dweeb is derogatory. I’ll settle for nerd or dork.

Instead of his hand, she grabs his forearm. It's a pretty pathetic grip, but the girl's always one to avoid looking too vulnerable.

Aimz: Then let's go, dork. I need a meatshield!
Planting the Seeds
Starring:McKail, Varga
Walking the corridors of the Joe Louis Arena, McKail can’t help but notice the staring. Staff and workers alike, all judging him it on first sight. Some mutter asshole under their breaths, others kept quiet enough but McKail knows all to well they’re all thinking it.

How could they not? To the wrestling industry, McKail is considered the devil. Falsely accused of throwing matches for a little extra money. Those who know the man know it’s bullshit. Thing of it is, McKail has no interest in letting anybody know the man. The more they know, the weaker he becomes. He’ll be diminished, half the man he is.

So in the end, what’s the point of arguing? Might as well roll with the punches. It’s what he’s good at anyhow.

Truth of it is, McKail knows he should be keeping himself to himself. Stick to the locker room, head down and ride this shit storm right out to the other side. Thing of it is, he ain’t got shit else to do. Six or so weeks into his SCCW and he hasn’t even had one match yet. Perhaps its his own fault for not acquiring the medical clearance as quickly as he, or SCCW, would’ve liked or maybe it’s because he just hasn’t put himself out there enough.

Running into James Varga doesn’t exactly fill him with too much enthusiasm either. McKail see’s him out of the corner of his eye first, but is careful not to make it known. Being ignorant to such a clinical degree is something of a skill and McKail’s got it nailed down.

However, it quickly becomes obvious that this isn’t one of those situations where he can just walk on by. Varga stops dead right in front of him in such a way McKail can’t help but acknowledge him - or just barge him right out of the way. The latter seemed the more rational to him.

McKail: You want something, chief?

Varga suddenly become animated and the smile stretching across his face, tells McKail whatever the hell it is, it can’t be good.

Varga: What I want is to help YOU become the best wrestler in SCCW.

McKail simply stares back, barely able to blink never mind choose an emotion to spread across his face.

McKail: What?

But Varga’s already into his pitch.

Varga: Imagine yourself as the SCCW Universal Champion with me at your side guiding your career to the top of the heap. I can help you.

McKail still can‘t pick an emotion.

McKail: Seriously?

Varga: Let’s face it. You need someone to guide your career because it’s currently in a state of limbo.

McKail desperately fights to find the right words to formulate an answer, but finds his alcohol-destroyed mind is left wanting. Almost.

McKail: What?

Varga: With me, you’ll be going somewhere. I CAN HELP YOU! Don’t you see? I’m your best hope of becoming the superstar I know and you know you can be.

McKail idly wonders how drunk he truly is, wondering whether such hallucinations are a sign to stop and clean his act the hell up.

Varga: Look at the facts! I am the best in the world at what I do. I’m more entertaining and more sporty than anyone here. You need my help since I’m also the Manager of Champions.

Despite himself, McKail finds himself embroiled, if not intrigued, not by Varga’s offer, but his questionable state of mind.

McKail: Manager of Champions?

Varga: I got a killer clown and a guy dressed like a pirate PTC Tag Team gold so don’t underestimate my abilities as a manager.

McKail: Yeah, let me think it over.

Varga smiles and nods.

Varga: Yeah, you do that.

With that, Varga taps McKail on the shoulder and walks away, leaving McKail wishing that everyone in the building hated him, not just those who weren’t entirely annoying.
Gibson: Our main event this evening has changed quite a lot since we set out this evening.

Ware: By that you mean it has 100% less Dusk.

Gibson: Our new co-owner –

Ware: Who is totally hot.

Gibson: Adrienne St. Germain has voided the contract of ALL the members of Team Aeterno, which briefly left SIN on SPIKE without a main event at all.

Ware: Which still would have been better than Craig "Totally Not Dusk Anymore" Maloof.

Gibson: The internal scuffles among the Dead Man's Hand have resulted in Aimz demanding a chance to shut up Lane Stevens, but I don't know if even SHE expected this! War Games!

Ware: More like Wa! Games! This is like my favorite kids fighting, except one has lousy taste in friends but is a champion [bleep].

Gibson: Eugene! As I was saying, this will be War Games – Lane Stevens will team with the reigning SCCW Universal Champion, Wyatt Connors, and a partner to be named against Aimz, Jared Sykes – wrestling his second bout this evening – and a partner of her OWN to be named!

Ware: And when Dave Gibson doesn't know something, you KNOW it's up in the air.

Gibson: Thank you, Eugene.

Ware: I'm saying you're kind of nosy.

Gibson: I should have known. Let's just go down to the ring for Jason Myers to go over all the particulars.

Ringside. Myers. Teeth. Lots of teeth.

Myers: Ladies and gentlemen, THIS is your FEATURED CONTEST at SCCW SIN on SPIKE 4, and it will be conducted under WAR GAMES RULES!

"RAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"


Myers: The match will begin with two participants inside the cage for five minutes! Every two minutes thereafter, a new participant will be added, until all six combatants are in the ring and the cage door is LOCKED! Once that occurs, the only way for the match to end is if one of the participants submits or surrenders!

Gibson: War Games is one of the most brutal matches in all of wrestling, fans, so hold on tight!

Myers: Introducing first!

The arena lights dim, and SinScreen comes to life with an image we hardly have the perspective for. Tiny, furry legs scurry along. It takes up the entire camera shot.

The opening guitar riffs of Radiohead’s “Karma Police” is heard over the sound system.

Karma Police
Arrest this man
He talks in maths
He buzzes like a fridge
He’s like a detuned radio

The crowd immediately lets loose with a chorus of boos. The camera steps back for a moment to reveal the creature as a rat. He is darting through a maze. At its conclusion he comes to rest on a dollar bill that seems to be even bigger than he is. The rat looks around, confused. The shot melts into Lane Stevens with his arms raised in the air.

This is what you get
This is what you get
This is what you get
When you mess with us

Myers: Introducing first, hailing from Dubuque Iowa, he is the former Gateway and Livewire champion….”The River Rat” Laaaaaaaaaaaane STEEEEEEEEEEEVEEEEEEEEEEEEEENS!

Lane Stevens appears on the ramp, dressed in a black shirt with the King of Diamonds centered on it. He wears wrestling tights with “DMH” written down the sides. Standing next to him is one Regan Guest, who looks on with no small amount of boredom. She holds up an arm and accepts Lane’s mandatory high five. The duo continues down the ramp, soaking in the boos.

Karma Police
I’ve given all I can
It’s not enough
I’ve given all I can
It’s not enough
We’re still on the payroll

The River Rat walks up the steps, and holds the ring ropes open for Regan who steps into the ring a moment later. Lane joins her, and stands in the center of the ring, eyes glaring at the entrance ramp. A smirk forms on his lips.

Gibson: Lane looks ready for war here!

Ware: Oh-ho, I see what you did there.

Gibson: Let's see who the first member of Team Aimz to join—

The lights go out again, plunging the arena into the dark.

And there it stays, waiting, anticipating, building... all for this.



There is no music when the song begins, just Rhianna's dulcet voice in the black.

Feel it comin' in the air
Hear the screams from everywhere
I'm addicted to the thrill
It's a dangerous love affair
Can't be scared when it goes down
Got a problem, tell me now
Only thing that's on my mind
Is who's gonna run this town tonight

The kick-in of the bass beat brings with it an explosion – two gold bursts of light on either side of the entrance beneath the SinScreen. The lights set to flickering as the song – Jay-Z's "Run This Town" – begins in earnest.

Ware: Man, remember when she used to come roaring out to Machine Head and hit people in the junk a lot? Good times, good times.

Who's gonna run this town tonight?

Myers: Introducing next...

We gonna run this town

Myers: She hails from Halifax, Nova Scotia and weighs in at one hundred and forty-three pounds!

We are, yeah I said it – we are
This is Roc Nation - pledge your allegiance
Get y'all's fatigues on
All black everything
Black cards, black cars – All black everything
And our girls are blackbirds, ridin' with their dillingers
I'll get more in-depth if you boys're really real enough
This is La Familia, I'll explain later
But for now, lemme get back to this paper

Myers: The two-time former Sin City Championship Wrestling SUPERVERSAL Champion and the one and only Red Raver of Wrestling! This is AMY CAMPBELL! THIS IIIIIIIIIIIIIS AAAAAAAAAAIIIIIIIIIIMMMMMMMZZZZZ!

I'm a couple bands down and I'm tryin' to get back
I gave the other grip, I lost a flip for five stacks
Yeah, I'm talkin' five comma, six zeroes, dot zero
Here it go – back to runnin' circles 'round niggas, now we squared up.
Hold up!

The spotlights find the tiny terror at the head of the rampway, her head down, one arm raised, fist up. But you can't hide that self-confident smirk. You know the drill by now – black jeans, unzipped black hoodie over a black tanktop that features the crown-based Aimz logo, bright pink sneakers ('cause she can). She throws her head back, the hood falling down over her shoulders to unveil her stoplight red hair, starting down the ramp as the chorus hits.

During her reign, she'd smack-talk everybody in the front row. She swore more than George Carlin on the run down that ramp. Now, nothing. No words - not tonight. After a silent walk down, making eye contact with as many fans as she could, Amy slides under the bottom rope, pivoting easily to her feet.

Life's a game but it's not fair
I break the rules so I don't care
So I keep doin' my own thing
Walkin' tall against the rain
Victory's within the mile
Almost there, don't give up now
The only thing that's on my mind
Is who's gonna run this town tonight

She steps up to the middle rope, arms out to the side as she nods her head along with the song as it fades out. Campbell hops back down into the center of the ring, both fists up in the air now. The crowd still kind of despises her, so here's your mandatory jeer-time.

"BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"


But if you listen closely, there are a few – just a few – who do cheer.

Gibson: The Raver and the Rat in the ring together for the first time since Amy broke Lane's neck!

Ware: And vengeance will be his!

*DING* *DING* *DING*


Gibson: David Hamill calls for the bell and – here we go! Collar and elbow tie-up in the center of the ring! Stevens forces the smaller Campbell back into the corner... and breaks cleanly? Lane Stevens with a clean break? Have we stepped into a parallel universe?

Ware: I keep TELLING you he's a gentleman!

Gibson: Stevens steps back with a contemptuous smirk and Aimz! Aimz comes flying out of the corner with a dropkick, sending the River Rat tumbling to the mat!

Stevens uses the ropes to pull himself up, wagging his finger at Aimz like she were a misbehaving child.

Gibson: Lane Stevens has no respect for anyone.

Ware: He respects me! He said so!

Gibson: Lane is laughing out there like this was some kind of game!

"OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOHHHHHHHHHHHH!"


Ware: Not for long!

Gibson: Aimz with a flying knee! Stevens back into the corner now and Aimz right in after! And now SHE breaks clea—

**SMACK**

Gibson: Amy with the backhand on the break! The former Universal Champion backs into the middle of the ring and she DEMANDS Lane come and get some!

Ware: You don't have to taunt the man!

Lane steps out of the corner, his hand to his jaw and a much more sober expression on his face. He nods.

Aimz charges.

Gibson: Campbell runs at Stevens! Lariat from Lane! Ducked by Aimz! Off the ropes – springboard! Corssbody – no! Lane drops flat and Amy tastes the mat!

Ware: Bet that's not all she's eaten today.

Gibson: Are we going to start again?

Ware: Pizza! I meant pizza!

Gibson: Lane—BOOM! Straight kick to the ribs of the Raver! We are just about two minutes into the five minute opening period of this match here, and if you're just joining us, where have you been all evening? Amy Campbell is facing Lane Stevens inside the double ring!

Ware: You really ARE Captain Recap, aren't you?

Gibson: Lane stands Amy up and shoves the Red Raver back into a corner! He follows up – hard shoulderblock into those ribgs! Stevens focusing on Amy's ribcage here!

Ware: Really? Hadn't noticed.

Gibson: Lane straightens Aimz up now and – what's he saying to her?

Super-sensitive microphones aholy. "Tell her I said I was sorry!" He then lights Amy up with a knife-edge chop.

"WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"


"TELL HER!"

"WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"


"PTUI!"

Gibson: Aimz! Aimz spits in the face of Lane Stevens!

Stevens: (low) Well, that was just rude.

Gibson: Stevens answers with a sharp right hand and a corner-to-corner Irish whip! The Rat on Amy's heels and – OH!

Ware: Not again! I couldn't handle it again!

Gibson: Aimz back body drops Lane Stevens from one ring to the other! She crippled the River Rat with a similar move last fall!

Ware: My heart is hurt—oh, no, that was just the chorizo. He's moving, okay.

Gibson: So is Aimz! Amy across the ring! She runs up the turnbuckles and leaps – DEAD AIM! DEAD AIM! SPRINGBOARD 450° SPLASH FROM ONE RING TO THE DAMN OTHER!

HO-LY SHIT! HO-LY SHIT!


Ware: You can't chant that on free TV!

Gibson: That girl is –

Ware: POIIIIIIISONNN!

Gibs: I was going to say "crazy."

Ware: In retrospect, that makes more sense.

Gibson: Aimz just squashed Lane flat, but she can't get a pinfall in this match! She can't win at ALL for almost ten minutes!

Ware: Is that... wow, is your head math actually right?

Gibson: Amy's ribs are still smarting as she pulls herself up slowly by the ropes! She still has to survive for nearly ninety seconds before the next person gets into the ring! WHACK! Double foot dropkick sends Stevens into the corner again! And Amy follows him in with another kick!

Ware: Not the face! Not the face! Regan won't like it!

Gibson: Aimz now waiting on Stevens! Amy's waiting and – BOOM! Facewash! Facewash kick! Campbell with a glance to the clock! Less than sixty seconds left, and she's trying to incapacitate Stevens before the clock hits zero to prevent a possible two-on-one!

Ware: and you said she was dumb.

Gibson: Aimz looking for Freetekno! If she hits this, she'll have some breathing room! Aimz stands Lane up! Reverse facelock! Freetek—NO!

Ware: Not fair when you use the word.

Gibson: Stevens rotates over! Northern lights suplex! But again no pinfalls! Thirty seconds now! Stevens waits for Campbell to get to her feet! She does, and charges again! Under a clothesline attempt, off the far-side ropes – stungun! No! Campbell reaches out and grabs the mesh!

Ware: How come you can say "mesh" on television, and I can't say [bleep].

Gibson: For the last time, it's not a curse word! Aimz with a kick to the temple of Lane Stevens, and she's scampering up the side of the damn – ASAI MOONSAULT DDT OFF THE SIDE OF THE CAGE! Stevens just got spiked!

Ware: She's INSANE.

Gibson: Aimz is down! Stevens is down! The clock...

**BZZZZT**

Ware: Is out!

Gibson: Aimz pulling herself up to her feet as we wait for –

Hard-charging guitars. "Coming Undone" by Korn.

Keep holdin' on
When my brain's tickin' like a bomb
Guess the black thoughts have come
Again to get me

Gibson: Wait a goddamn minute.

The woman who bursts through the curtain looks like a stylized version of Amy Campbell herself. Same black jeans, same crown-based Aimz tanktop, same pink sneakers, same neon-red hair. Except this version is taller, and this version has a significantly wider, maniacal grin.

Myers: Introducing next! From DETROIT, MICHIGAN! The former PRIME Wrestling UUUUUUNNIIIIIIVERSAL CHAMPION!

Sweet bitter words
Unlike nothing I have heard
Sing along, mockingbird
You don't affect me

Myers: She is the Faceless Fighter! She is the Skinchanger! She! IIIIIIIIISSSS! COOOOOOOOOOHHHHHH-ZZZZZZENNNN!

Gibson: St. Germain voided her contract with the rest of them! How does Cozen get in and Alias and Mary-Lynn Mayweather lose their damn jobs?

Ware: Because she's hot?

Gibson: Cozen into the cage! Aimz across the ring to meet her doppelganger! Right hand, blocked by Cozen! The taller woman with a spinning backfist, ducked under by Campbell, who drives the former PRIME champion into a neutral corner! Amy now unloading on Cozen in the corner!

Ware: It's like beating on your mirror universe version!

Gibson: Aimz up to the middle rope, she looks out to this crowd and Detroit is counting along with Aimz!

"TWO!"
"THREE!"
"FOUR!"
"FIVE!"

Gibson: Stevens is up!

"BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"


Gibson: Stevens with a handful of the real Aimz' hair – reverse guillotine across the top rope! The back of Aimz' head across the top strand of cable! She snaps down facefirst and up to her hands and knees and Cozen! Springboard! Springboard double-stomp across the back of Amy Campbell!

Ware: Are you telling me that Lane Stevens is WORKING WITH the woman who impersonated his boss?

Gibson: Campbell down and clutching her back! Lane Stevens climbs into the ring and pulls Aimz into a camel clutch! We still have close to a minute left before Amy gets any help out there! Campbell in the camel clutch and Cozen—

Ware: No, I think that's the real Aimz.

Gibson: She's almost a foot taller than Amy is.

Ware: My bad, I have depth perception issues.

Gibson: Cozen off the ropes, spinning into –

THHHHHWWWWAAAAAAAAAAAAACCCK!


Gibson: Good lord! Good lord, knockout shot! Spinkick right to the nose! Aimz is limp in Lane Stevens' grip!

Ware: That was... wow.

Gibson: Cozen drops to her knees by Aimz! Lane won't let go of the hold and Campbell can't even tap out! This match CANNOT end for at least six and a half more minutes!

There are times we don't really like having super-sensitive microphones. Catching Cozen's fevered whispers are among those times. "I wonder if Darcy will take me back?"

Gibson: Oh, come on! The Faceless Fighter just taunting the Red Raver now! Thirty seconds until someone from Team Aimz comes out to help their captain and Lane releases the hold! The Red Raver might just be out cold, but Lane's not taking any chances!

Stevens is directing traffic here. One word is picked up by the mics: "Bitchkiller."

Gibson: Cozen-Aimz and Stevens now both backing up! They're looking for their version of the double Bitchkiller that put out Phillip Kennedy! Ten seconds now! Will they beat the clock?

Aimz pulls herself up to her hands and knees and Stevens trots in a circle and then charges.

Gibson: BITCHKILLERS—NO! Aimz rolls out of the way! Lane and Cozen both come up short! They both come up short and—

**BZZZZZT**

Killswitch Engage. Save Me.

Roof: GONE.

Even when I fall, will you still believe?
Even when I'm lost, will you still believe?
Now I don't have much, will you save me?
But I'll give it all, will you save me?

"RAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"


Myers: The next participant... the SCCW Gateway Champion! JAAAAAARRRRREEEDDDDD! SYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYKES!!

Gibson: HERE COMES JARED SYKES! HERE COMES THE GATEWAY CHAMPION!

Ware: Him again?

Gibson: Lane and Cozen turn, and Sykes hardly waits for the door to be open! Springboard crossbody! Springboard crossbody and down goes Lane! Down goes Cozen!

"RAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"


Ware: MAKE THESE PEOPLE STOP SCREAMING I HATE THEM.

Gibson: Jared checking on Amy now! Campbell to her feet! Sykes and Aimz charge at Stevens and Cozen! Lane with a lariat! Cozen with a spinkick! Stereo dive-rolls by Jared Sykes and Aimz! Both of them up to their feet! Stereo superkicks on their enemies!

Ware: This is saddening and make it stop!

Gibson: Aimz spins Jared around –

Ware: Yes! Swerve!

Gibson: No! Jared nods, Aimz off the ropes, Sykes backdrops Campbell onto Cozen! Amy up to her feet, Sykes grabs the Red Raver by the wrist!

Ware: Yes! Swerve!

Gibson: No! Jared whips Aimz at Lane! Reversed by Lane! Sykes – BUSAIKU KNEE KICK! Lane Stevens with a faceful of Sykes!

Ware: How can you get away with saying stuff like that!

Gibson: Sykes and Aimz now pulling up Lane Stevens! Double wrist twist! Double kick to the midsection! Aimz and Sykes cinch in a hammerlock! They step up into a double facelock and – BAM! WHAM! Double hammerlock DDT! Jared Sykes and Aimz moving as one entity right now—

THHHHHWWWWAAAAAAAAAAAAACCCK!


Gibson: Cozen! Cozen out of nowhere! Butterfly kick! Butterfly kick to the face of Jared Sykes! The Beautiful Lie! The Beautiful Lie!

Ware: Good night, Dorky Prince!

Gibson: Cozen up and turns and – kick to the midsection by Aimz! Aimz with the reverse headlock and – BOOM! BOOM! FREETEKNO FOR COZEN! FREETEKNO FOR COZEN!

Amy mounts her doppelganger, working at her wig with the expertise of someone who sleeps with someone who's done this a time or to.

Gibson: Campbell wrenches that wig off of Cozen! Now her doppelganger is a raven-haired Aimz!

Ware: Who is still oddly hot.

Gibson: Aimz going to town on Cozen and Stevens is up and – BOOM! BOOM! NIGHT CAP! NIGHT CAP BY LANE STEVENS!

Ware: Lane Stevens is God, yo!

Gibson: We're less than thirty seconds left until the next entrant – who my count says should be Wyatt Connors – hits the ring and Cozen and Stevens now working over Jared Sykes in the corner! What hope do the Black Sheep and the Red Raver have?

Ware: I'm going to go with none.

Gibson: Lane just drilling Jared with the right hands to the face while Cozen drops kicks into the midsection! Jared Sykes has already been through a war tonight! How can he stand up to those brutal kicks and the relentless River Rat?

Ware: He can't I can go home now right gotta pee.

**BZZZT**

Gibson: And it all just got worse for Amy and Jared.

Cue fan outrage in three...two...one...

ONE TWO THREE FOUR

"BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"


The not-quite-melodious sounds of Stuart Davis' "Asshole World Renown" blast through the arena, signaling the arrival of SCCW's Bastard of the Year. Let's go to Jason Myers for the formal introductions.

Myers: Accompanied to the ring by Deacon Dale and "Rotten" T.J. Ratigan! Hailing from Manhattan, New York! Weighing in tonight at one hundred and seventy pounds! The former PTC Elite Champion! The reigning Sin City Championship Wrestling UUUUNIVERSAL CHAMPION! He is The Scorpion! The Rainmaker! The Devil In The Details! "WISE GUY!" WYATT! CONNORS!

Bored stiff with my wallet fat
I ordained myself a diplomat
Bought a plane and some aerosol
Sprayed my name on...China's wall

And then I pissed all over the Kremlin steps
Punched a monk...in Tibet
Drunk and disorderly in the ol' Big Apple
Passed Gas in the...Sistine Chapel

Just then, three men emerge from the curtain. The first two are the Scorpion's point men, Deacon Dale and T.J. Ratigan. Deacon's look is rather uniform--short, dark hair; black jeans, black shoes, black t-shirt featuring the SCCW logo. T.J.'s attire is...less uniform. Whitesnake t-shirt, ratty jeans cut off at the knees, Confederate flag bandana tied over his long, stringy hair.

Gibson: He's bringing his whole army out?

Ware: Uhm, Desade is still around somewhere.

Finally, there is the man of the hour. The shortest of the three, the smallest, the least physically imposing. His slicked-back black hair makes him look more like a manager, even though he's the one in ring gear--white tank top, black tights, white boots with an interlocking "W" and "C."

There are those who would not believe that Wyatt Connors poses a threat.

Don't you believe it.

I've thrown darts at the Mona Lisa
Tied lead weights to the Tower of Pisa
Sold salt water in the big Sahara, then I
Took a shit in the Riviera
Asshole World Renown

Wyatt Connors walks leisurely down the entrance ramp, as if he's taking a stroll by the lake instead of heading into battle. The fans assault him with catcalls and popcorn, but he ignores them. Ratigan approaches some nearby female fans and tries to hit on them. This goes over about as well as you'd expect. After a few painful seconds, Deacon Dale grabs his associate roughly by the arm, and drags him toward the ring. Connors follows, with no reaction to the antics of his lackeys.

Went to Rome and spread V.D.
Robbed the homeless in Tahiti
Slapped by a woman in the great Euphrates
Kidnapped kids in the...slums of Haiti

Gibson: Wyatt Connors is coming into this after a hard-fought loss to Aimz in the GTT, evening their series at two wins a piece. You have to wonder if he wants a piece of Amy now that he has that advantage.

Poisoned livestock in Korea
Tainted food shelves in Tanzania
Torched Saigon like a Buddhist pyro
Slashed tires in the streets of Cairo

"BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"


Gibson: And I guess that just answered that. Wyatt Connors lingering at the doors as Lane and Cozen whip the Gateway Champion across the ring!

Stevens glances out to the floor with an exasperated look for the Universal Champion, then he whips Cozen at the Sheep.

Gibson: Cozen across the ring – Sykes! Sykes pulls himself up to the top turnbuckle! Cozen goes sailing through to the ropes! Sykes leaps OVER Cozen and lands on his feet in front of Stevens! Kick to the midsection! Powerbomb pickup? NO! WHAM! WHAM! YOKOSUKA CUTTER ON LANE STEVENS!

Ware: Damn his flippy hyde.

OH PUNS.

Gibson: Sykes now... all he has to do is cinch in a submission hold! The third member of Amy's team –

Ware: If there IS a third person.

Gibson: If they get down in here and that cage door closes and Lane Stevens quits, this match will be over! ANACONDA VICE! THE MANLY HUG! THE MANLY HUG!

Ware: ...if Lane Stevens – LANE STEVENS – taps to something called the Manly Hug, I quit.

Gibson: Cozen turns – she's gonna kick Jared's head off! She's gonna—

"RAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"


Ware: Where did she come from?

Gibson: Aimz using Jared Sykes as a springboard as she launches herself at the larger woman! Caught! You forget how large Cozen is – this is a woman who successfully doubled Lindsay Troy! Cozen whips Campbell around – no! Crucifix Driver! Crucifix Driver by Aimz on Cozen! Now Aimz to her feet and – SHARPSHOOTER! SHARPSHOOTER FROM AMY CAMPBELL!

Ware: What, do they teach that to grade schoolers in Canada?

Gibson: Cozen is trapped! Stevens is trapped!

Ware: Connors is not trapped!

Gibson: Connors in the ring! Connors in the ring! Wyatt Connors picks up Sykes' legs and –

"OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOHHHHHHHHHHHH!"


Gibson: Lowblow! Lowblow from the Universal Champion! Connors up and – BACKSTAB! BACKSTAB FOR AIMZ!

Ware: Thirty seconds! Who do you think it is? I bet it's no one.

Gibson: Wyatt Connors now after Jared Sykes! He rolls the Gateway Champion over and just stomps the flat of the foot into the midsection of the Black Sheep! Lane Stevens pulling himself up – what's he doing? He's ordering Cozen to the outside of the ring! Cozen crawling for the corner and outside! Aimz – cut off by Lane! Knee to the side of the head!

Ware: Ten seconds!

Gibson: Cozen under the ring! Five... four... kick in the corner by Lane now! Two... one...

Lights out.

Ware: Wa! I'm scared of the dark.

Gibson: Who is it? Does Aimz HAVE any friends left?

Ware: HOLD ME!

It could be Xavier Kannon. It could be Darcy Crisis – wouldn't that blow your damn mind? It could be Spacely.

It's not any of them.

VO: "Mr. McGee, don't make me angry. You wouldn't like me when I'm angry."

Muse. "Supermassive Black Hole."

Ware: NO! NO! NO! NO! NO!

Gibson: YESSSSSSS!

"RAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"


Lights up. Lion on the stage.

When I type "RAH", I mean: "OH FUCK YES."

"RAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"


Myers: The final participant of this match! THE LION! LAAAAAAAAAAANNNNNCE! MAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRSHHHHHHHALLLLLLL!

Ware: He hates Aimz! He hates Aimz!

Brief shot of the Red Raver. Her smile is obvious, even with blood dripping from her face.

Gibson: Connors turns to TJ Ratigan and Deacon Dale on the floor and orders his men to cut off the Lion! Cozen has – are those lightbulb? Cozen slides a pallet of goddamn fluorescent bulbs into the ring! Dale and Ratigan charge at Lance Marshall! Double clothesline from Marshall! Down go the goons!

Ware: STEVENS!

Gibson: Lane Stevens flips Aimz over! Lane Stevens – CONSTRICTOR! Bodyscissored dragon sleeper! Aimz is bent in half!

Ware: KILL HER! KILL HER WITH FIRE!

Gibson: I thought you liked Aimz.

Ware: This isn't Aimz! The dark-haired girl is the REAL Aimz! That's... that's some wussy girl!

Gibson: Marshall heading to the ring! TJ Ratigan with a death grip on the Lion's ankles! Marshall dragging TJ behind him! Connors picks up Sykes – whip across the ring! Backdrop? NO! Sykes rolls over! Sykes to his knees behind Connors! Sykes –

"OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

"RAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"


Ware: UNFAIR!

Gibson: Lowblow! Lowblow by Jared Sykes! Yes! What's good for the goose! Sykes pulls Connors into the reverse facelock and OMEGA-13! DOWN GOES THE UNIVERSAL CHAMPION!

Ware: Now he has a problem.

Yes, he does. His friend, like her or hate her, is trapped in Lane Stevens' devastating Constrictor hold. She's crying out in agony as he chokes the life from her. And Jared could save her.

Except Cozen is in the way.

Except Cozen is a woman.

Except Jared Sykes does not hit women.

Gibson: Sykes trying to skirt the outside! Cozen reaches out with a legsweep! Sykes over the top! Cozen blocking off Jared Sykes! Sykes is talking – what's he saying? Is he talking to Cozen?

He is not. "You want me to surrender?" he asks. "I can quit right now."

Ware: What's eh talking about?

Gibson: Lance Marshall is a legal participant in this match! Jared could quit now and spare Aimz the pain! Jared's offering to surrender to let Aimz free!

Ware: Oh, nobly quit. The bad guys would still win.

Gibson: On the floor... Deacon Dale! Dale with a clothesline to the back! Dale steps in... face-first Russian legsweep on Lance Marshall on the floor!

"N-NO!" Aimz shouts.

Gibson: Aimz won't let Sykes quit! Aimz won't let Sykes qu—CONNORS!

Ware: The Connors Special!

Gibson: No! Sykes blocks the lowblow!

Ware: How did he know?

Gibson: What else has Wyatt ever done to Jared? Sykes turns around and –

THHHHHWWWWAAAAAAAAAAAAACCCK!


Gibson: Cozen! Leg lariat! Leg lariat from behind!

"OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOHHHHHHHHHHHH!"


Gibson: And this time, the lowblow hits! Sykes crumbles! Connors backs off from the former PRIME champion! Stevens... lets Amy go? Stevens... the lightbulbs! Stevens going after the lightbulbs! Kathryn Shaw shattered a fluorescent light over Alanna Marshall's head at SIN on SPIKE 2 and now Lane wants to replicate the feat!

Ware: I shouldn't like this as much as I do. I'm positively orgasmic, though.

On the floor, by the way, Deacon and TJ double-team slam Lance's face into the barricade

Gibson: Cozen holding Campbell! Stevens has the lightbulb!

Ware: This is called The Gloat!

Gibson: Campbell is helpless! Amy is helpless!

Lane hauls off with his weapon—

But his lightbulb hits another.

Ware: What?

Gibson: Sykes!

Ware: How?

Gibson: Jared Sykes on his damn knees has blocked the lightbulb shot with a bulb of his own! Aimz – backwards headbutt to Cozen breaks her free! Campbell turns – boom! Spider's Kiss to Cozen! That's Desade's move!

Sykes uses his lightbulb as a cane, levering up to his feet. Stevens nods his head and then swings with a mighty roar.

Gibson: Blocked by Sykes! Sykes prods with his own shot, driving Lane back!

Ware: Are they having a lightsaber fight?

Gibson: On the floor –

"RAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"


Gibson: Lance blocks! Lance drives Dale into the barrier! Lane with a bearhug on TJ Ratigan and he DRIVES the Rotten Apple into the damn cage! What power! What power! Now Lance is in the ring and the door is closed! The door is closed! Submit or surrender!

Ware: NEVER! Oh, wait, you're not talking about me.

Gibson: Aimz and Lance lock eyes! Lane realizes exactly what kind of hell he's in – Sykes! Sykes with a blow hard enough to shatter the River Rat's weapon!

It's Marshall that nods, slow and steady.

It's all three that charge.

Gibson: Marshall after Connors! Aimz and Sykes after Stevens! Cozen's just beginning to move after the Spider's Kiss!

Stevens backs away, rolling under the ropes and to the door – but the referee won't unlock it. "Uh, come on!"

Gibson: Sykes and Aimz have Stevens trapped! Jared steps aside for Campbell—wait, what's this?

It's a dark-haired man with a golf club and a pissed off expression.

Gibson: That's... that's Darcy Crisis! That's Aimz' husband – well, soon-to-be ex-husband! Connors backing away from Marshall! Lance with a clubbing blow to the back! Crisis pounds away at the damn cage with the nine-iron! Amy looks like she's seen a ghost!

If you're inside Amy's head, you'd see this: HolyshitholyshitholyshitwhatdoIdoDARCY!PLEASELISTEN!

What she does is step away from Stevens, climbing up the ropes to call to her ex-husband.

What Jared Sykes does is look concerned that his friend is freaking.

What Lane Stevens does is breathe something of a sigh of relief.

What Lance Marshall does is wrap a big-ass hand around the throat of Wyatt Connors, picking him up in the air.

Gibson: Stevens is trying to escape! Sykes charges!

THHHHHWWWWAAAAAAAAAAAAACCCK!


Gibson: FLYING SUICIDE DART! JARED SYKES TAKES LANE STEVENS THROUGH THE GODDAMN DOOR TO THE FLOOR!

What Wyatt Connors does is...

Surrenders.

*DING* *DING* *DING*


Gibson: What? David Hamill has called for the bell!

Myers: The winners of this match... the team of Aimz, Jared Sykes, and Lance! MARSHALL!

Gibson: Did Wyatt just surrender? Lance drops Connors! He doesn't understand what's going on! Aimz out of the ring, and Darcy Crisis is backing through the crowd! She just wants him to talk to her! Sykes and Stevens are still down!

Ware: Connors is not down!

Gibson: WYATT! Lowblow! Lowblow and—BOOM! BOOM! THE STING! THE SCORPION JUST STUNG THE LION!

Then Wyatt Connors does what Wyatt Connors does best. (Maybe second best.)

Gibson: And Connors and his thugs are out of here! Cozen up now, she slides out of the ring and pulls Sykes off Stevens! Sykes with a hard shove away, but Cozen has her palms up?

"I don't want to fight," she says with a smile – with Amy's smile.

Sykes drops his hands.

And that is when Cozen strikes –

Or rather when she would have.

But there's a Lion in her way.

Gibson: Marshall! Marshall snatches up Cozen! CODE RED! CODE RED ON THE FLOOR! Lance Marshall just saved Jared Sykes!

Ware: But Stevens has escaped!

Lane is out on the ramp, half-crawling away as Lance Marshall extends a hand down to help Jared Sykes up.

Cue the Muse as we get a shot of Aimz up in the stands. Darcy is nowhere to be found.

Gibson: What a turn of events this has been! Lance Marshall and Jared Sykes have formed a bond! Lane Stevens tried to cripple Amy Campbell! Aimz has gone after her soon-to-be ex-husband! Wyatt Connors found a hole in the rules and made Lance Marshall pay for it! What a match! What a night!

Ware: What a recap!

Gibson: It's a new For Eugene Ware and all of us at SCCW – we will return to Cinemax at the end of December for Temptation – tune in then, but until then... good night from Detroit.

The pieces are in place.

The ending is being written.

Do you know the answer?

Fade to the SCCW logo.
SIN on SPIKE IV
[ End Transmission ]