One week from Afflicted Glory, Clinton Sage looks ahead to a warm up before his Universal title rematch, taking on Fred Fusion tonight in our main event KZ[39] | Air Date May 16th, 2007 LIVE! From the Scotia Bank Place in Ottawa, ON, CA! Setting the Stage Featuring: John Covel and Jacob McKail “Middle of Nowhere” hits the FUSEwire, bringing the crowd to their feet. They wait in anticipation as the lights beat with the music. SA: Good evening! I’m Scott Ambrose along “Hardball” Hunter Jones for KillZone thirty-nine! And what a way to start off the show! Here comes John Covel! HJ: Dammit. I wanted to start off on a good note tonight! He bursts through the curtain and makes his way down the entrance way, immediately sliding into the ring. He tosses his hand into the air and asks for a microphone. SA: Looks like Covel has a purpose being out here. HJ: He’s never had a purpose in life. Covel: So, after the main event last week, I’ve heard that Jacob McKail isn’t exactly happy of how it went down. Understandable, but the truth is neither am I. We had good cohesion, good team work. We could have won that match and would have had it not been for a simple mistake. My mistake. So I’m asking that Jacob McKail come out here so I can apologize to him. The crowd pops for the offer of an apology. After a few moments of waiting, “All My Life” hits the FUSEwire, bringing another explosion of cheers from the crowd. They wait as the music continues until the Universal Title is pushed through the curtain, quickly followed by the man that holds the belt, Jacob McKail. He walks down the entrance way, looking at Covel in the ring. McKail slaps hands with random fans before sliding under the bottom rope and grabbing a microphone of his own. McKail: You want to apologize? SA: McKail doesn’t sound happy. HJ: They got beat by the Affliction, would you be happy? Covel: Look, I’m a man willing to admit my mistakes. I stepped onto the apron at THE WRONG moment last week and got you dropped onto the top of your head and then choked out. I’m not proud of it and I know you aren’t happy. All that did was give those lowlifes something more to brag about. McKail: No doubt. But you still caused me to get dropped on my head and choked the fuck out. Why would your little apology make me your friend again? Come to think of it, I was never your friend to begin with. So why would this matter to you? John smiles, sighing a bit. Covel: Come on. We all know that I’m the nicest guy here. I just want to bury the hatchet. I’ve got the Affliction breathing down my throat; I don’t need another unbelievable competitor pissed off at me as well. McKail looks away, weighing the options of what is at hand. SA: It looks like Jacob is contemplating this, Hunter. HJ: No matter if they’re friends or enemies, Clinton Sage is going to destroy both of them! McKail: We’ve spoke on the matter before; I don’t need your help. I don’t need your friendship. I think I proved that when I became the Universal Champion. I can’t believe that this is all about you just wanting to bury the hatchet. Covel breaks into a huge smile, snapping his fingers as if to say “darn it!” Covel: Alright, you’ve got me. I do wish to bury the hatchet with you, but I also want to drive a stake right through the heart of Clinton Sage. You and I both know that nothing would piss him off more if somebody was able to cut in front of him at the buffet line. SA: Is Covel referring to… HJ: He better not be… McKail: You’re not actually meaning a real buffet line, are you? I know you’re referencing “Rush Hour 2” but they were talking about women, not food partner. John laughs again. Covel: No, no. I’m talking about the FUSE Universal Title. I want my rematch. I held my tongue last week when Sage was granted his shot at Afflicted Glory. But tonight is a different story. I should have been first in line for a rematch. As much as I love Smitty and as entertaining as that sex and money addicted man is, he’s wrong. A confused look comes across the face of the champion. McKail: You want a title shot before Clinton Sage? How in the hell would that happen? The match is next week! Covel: Tonight. Let’s do it right here! The crowd explodes at the mention of a Universal Title match. SA: Whoa! McKail and Covel for the Universal Title; I’d like that! HJ: Of course you would, you’re gay. McKail: Are you serious? Covel: Dead serious. Look at it this way. You’re not happy with me right now, so take the match and beat the crap out of me. More importantly, it would irk Clinton to no end. Somebody would have one upped him. That’s all that matters. What do you say? The crowd still buzzes, trying to encourage Jacob McKail. McKail: If it will fuck with Clinton Sage, I’m down with it. You’ve got your match. SA: Jacob McKail will defend his title against John Covel TONIGHT! That’s HUGE! HJ: Fuck, I forgot my barf bag at home this week. The crowd continues to cheer like crazy as Covel smiles at the champion. Covel: Look at it this way. If you win, you’re still the champion and get to beat the crap out of Clinton Sage at the pay per view. If I win, I’ll be the Universal Champion. I’m hoping for the latter. With that, Covel smiles and drops his microphone as “Middle of Nowhere” hits again. The crowd continues it’s frenzy as Covel hops onto the turnbuckle and raises his arms into the air. One Card Dealt Face-Down Featuring: Cowboys From Hell, STD and Damien Cruz SA: Well, we’re going to have one hell of a night here on… HJ: There seems to be a commotion in the crowd, Ambrose. SA: What’s going on up there? The camera pans up as the Cowboys From Hell are making their way through the crowd and down to the arena floor. As they reach the ringside area, they hop the steel barricade and help Araceli Negra over and roll into the ring. Connor Ennis takes the mic from SKYE’s hand and walks her over to the corner. Connor: Smitty, get your worthless ass down here, so we can beat you like the little bitch you are. Three weeks ago, we challenged every team in FUSE, and who did we get? We got the RPG. It wasn’t much of a match, as we nearly killed those two pussies. This week, you put us against Two Ton. A fat, disgusting pig who’s so huge that he wouldn’t be able to find his dick. Connor walks towards the ropes and points to the back. Connor: Who in the fuck do you think you are? We didn’t become a tag team in FUSE to play with two little punks or to face guys that only disgust the FUSE fan base. We became a team to take the FUSE Fatal Faction titles. Get your ass out here, now! The FUSEWire lights up with an image of STD in his office. He is peering into the camera with a smile on his face. STD: Connor, Connor, Connor. You know where to find me. If you want to talk about the chaos that you’ve caused here in FUSE, then you can come back and see me. But I will not come down there on the basis of threats to my physical being. Connor: Smitty, you fucked with the wrong redneck! STD: Please, Connor. You and your partner, you’ve given me nothing but a headache since I assigned your contract to Ms. Negra. You almost make me think that it was a mistake to do so. I should have just released the two of you along with your buddies Jaime and Joshua. The Cowboys From Hell are now pacing in the ring. Anger is coming to Connor’s face. Connor: Smitty, you don’t want us to come back there. Because the minute that we reach your office, you’re really going to wish you never said that. STD: Connor, do you really think that you can intimidate me? I don’t fucking think so. I’ve stared down the turks that have come through here. I’ve outlasted many of the people that have come to this roster. You want to know why? Connor: I don’t give a shit why. STD: It’s because everyone that goes against me loses. Either you will play by my rules, or you will lose as well. The Cowboys From Hell have had enough, and exit the ring and start to make their way to the back. While it had been a while since the FUSE community had seen Damien Cruz. And even then, he was being pinned by an upstart rookie who was well on his way to FUSE gold within the next couple of weeks. It was not quite a flattering memory. The young interviewer ran a hand over his jacket, removing the invisible threads, and waiting for the man to emerge from the front office. When he did, he was not smiling.   Guy: Damien, can I have a few moments of your time?   Cruz: Have we met?   Guy: James Wallace, I’m from The Shooter’s Press magazine. May I?   Cruz: Talk to the FUSE press agent. I’m very busy.   JW: I hear you were not given an extension on your contract. Any truth to that?   Cruz: No. I’m fine.   JW: Word around the cooler is that you are shopping around for a new company. Can you confirm that?   Cruz: No, I cannot.   The man thought for a moment.   JW: No, you can’t confirm it, or no, it’s not true?   Cruz: Both.   Damien Cruz walked toward the parking lot, quickly losing interest in what the man had to ask him.   JW:  Is it true that you asked for a re-match against Jonathan Rhine?   Cruz: I didn’t ask for one, but I am always ready and willing to avenge a loss.   JW: Can you expand on that, Mr. Cruz?   Now Damien stopped.   Cruz: Mr. Rhine did something that so few other men have done in this business. He earned a clean 3-count on me. I suppose that demands a hell of a lot of credit. And I will allow the man that distinction without attempting to downplay it or cheapen it with any excuses. Flat-out, he beat me. And he went on to take a win from Lundgard. Really, I give the man all due respect for that. But I’m a competitor. And I would lay the challenge on the table to him to do what NO MAN has ever done. And that is to take two clean wins from me. Do the research. I have never been beaten twice by the same man, woman, or entity. And I have rarely left a loss go unanswered barring a loss of staying power on their end. So that’s where I stand on Mr. Rhine. Quote me.   JW: Will you be at the upcoming PPV?   Cruz: That remains to be seen, I guess.   There is a pause, then the man asked the next question.   JW: I never thought I’d ever hear that question asked to The Latin Assassin. What do you think of this new position in which you find yourself?   Damien Cruz remained quiet, then slid his sunglasses onto his face and walked away. He had already said enough. What the hell!?! Featuring: STD, Ethan Frost and Fred Fusion Sat silently in his office STD had the feeling that it was going to be one of those nights these suspicious were confirmed as soon as he saw Ethan Frost storming into his office. Frost: Duluth! A word in your nostril if you will. Frost barges forwards into the office, flanked by Fred as STD backs down slightly in his chair, feeling slightly threatened by the whole shebang. Frost: So I need you to explain to me, what exactly happened out there? The Legacy had no right being out there in my return! STD: Well... uh... Before he can even formulate the slightest response, Fred suddenly steps forwards and slams his fist down on the table. Fred: Ethan! Wrestling! Fatal! Now! STD: Uh? Wha… Frost: Exactly right Fred. We’ve been pussyfooting around too long it ends next week at the Pay Per View. This is where you come in STD, we need you to sign the match. We want our belts back. Fred: Yeah! Lance and Trav' have crossed the line and the Astronaughts can't take anymore!!! Fusion turns to Frost. Fred: Can't we Ethan? Frost: Once again Fred you are correct, so Duluth what I’m suggesting you do and by suggest, I mean what you WILL do. Is that you…. Frost pauses midflow as though the conversation has quickly caught up with him. Turning with a confused expression to Fred. Frost: Astronaughts? Fred: Oh god... did it slip out? Fusion places his hands on his head in despair. Fred: I wanted to wait until the Pay Per View to surprise you... Frost: Surprise me? Fred what are you talking about? Fred: Well I came up with a new name for our team. Fusion raises his arms in victory, letting out an almost silent cheer. His eyes stare at Ethan, completely forgetting STD, looking for some kind of positive reaction from his buddy. Frost shuffles his feet for a moment before mumbling something almost incoherent under his breath. Frost: I always liked the idea of Cold Fusion. Fred looks at Frost and lets out a slight grin. He then shakes his head slightly as he places his hand on Frost's shoulder. Fred: Ethan, why don't you just leave the name choosing up to me okay? Fusion then turns to STD and points at Frost, laughing as if to make fun of his idea. Duluth just sits there in astonishment. STD: Uh guys, so about this match? Both Frost and Fred turn to STD, looks of confusion on their faces as there so often are these days. Frost: So anyway, what we are demanding is a match with The Legacy next week. We want our titles on the line and we want something else as well don't we Fred. Fred: We do, we want our names changed to Batman and Robin! Frost: Errrr no that's not it Fred. It's as I said before Duluth. We want the FUSION Title on the line. Through the thin walls of the arena, the crowd could still be heard cheering. Fusion turns to Frost in confusion. Fred: And rename IT the Batman and Robin Title? Frost: Fred, there is nothing to do with Batman and Robin....not us and not the title. Next you'll be wanting to call it Batman and Robin Wrestling.... Fred: What... How could I rename a Frederation like this one, how could I plaster the face of such an industry... FUSION Wrestling!!!! Cheers come again from the arena, as Fred turns back to STD. Fred: And this match will be the biggest and greatest match in the history of FUSION Wrestling... a tag team match to get back what is rightfully ours! The FUSION Wrestling titles will come back to Palm Tree Strikers! Frost: Palm Tree Strikers Fred? Fred: Oh god...did it slip out? Frost: Did what slip out Fred? Fred: The surprise name for our tag team. Frost: I thought that was Astronaughts. Fred: Oh god... did it slip out? Frost: Did what slip out Fred? Fred: The surprise name for our tag team. Frost: I thought it was Palm Tree Strikers? Fusion just freezes. For about thirty seconds, Frost stares at him, as Smitty gets slowly to his feet, intrigued. A few moments later, Fred suddenly "comes to", and turns to STD. He then suddenly seems pleasantly surprised, as he lets out a big grin and extends his hand. Fred: Hi there... we were just looking for you! STD looks at Fred's hand, before shaking it out of pure politeness. Fred: So we would like you to explain what just happened out there, The Legacy had no business being out there on Ethan's return. STD: Ok Ok Ok! Look I’ll book the match! Just please get out of my office. Fred: Wow how did you know we wanted the match? Fred turns to Frost and holds his hand up for a hi-five, Frost stares at the hand for a brief moment before relenting into a smile and doesn’t leave Fred hanging for long. They share the moment before leaving STD’s office who is, quite understandably sat in a state of confusion. Taking It To The Man Only To Be Taken Featuring: 'Mean' Dean Jokerlin and STD One man. One man believes he can change the world one person at a time. Dean Jokerlin is this man. He is the man who is stalking through the backstage halls with an unforgettable scowl painted across his face. He walks with large steps and angry grunts. He quickly moves through the hall passing doors at an aggressively rising acceleration. He suddenly stops in front of one door. "Smithers T. Duluth" He takes a large breath gaining more confidence as raises a boot to slam the door in. It doesn't quite work out as planned as he stumbles a bit backward from the door. He regains his confidence for a moment longer when returns to simply turn the door knob. STD sits across the way. He has nearly soiled his pants thinking he pissed Clinton off in some other way and he came to collect his throat. An assuring smile spreads like butter as he sees the weak Dean Jokerlin standing in front of him. A small snicker escapes from STD's mouth before he speaks. STD: Whew, Jokerlin, I almost thought you were Sage again.. STD becomes more relaxed in his chair as he returns to his cell phone so he can vote for his favorite star to win some dumb dancing contest. He continues without even looking at Dean. STD: But...then again, I think Sage could even break down that reinforced door. You, on the other hand, I don't know if you could break down a straw door. Dean is in no mood for jokes as he slams his hands down in front of Smitty. Dean: No time for your bullshit, I need Bobino, now! STD chuckles for a moment mulling over Dean's demands. STD: What exactly makes you believe you are in any position to make demands? You haven't even won a match yet. Dean deflates for a moment as he raises his hands of the desk and steps back a small bit. Dean: Well.....everyone else does it...I thought if I came all hard and shit I could do it too.... STD laughs at the former reporter as his anger rises. STD: Ahahaha, well, I mean those people usually have at least a 1 in the old winner's column. Dean has had enough. Every week he is seen as a joke; every week he is humiliated; every week he loses Dean: Not...this...week... An unusual tone comes out of the interrogator. I mean we have all seen him scream in anger, but this is a low, manic tone that is on the fringe of lunacy. He has snapped. No longer will he be seen in this light. No longer will he submit to the will of others. No longer will he give up. Now, he takes it. Now, he leaps across the room with the speed of a cheetah. He scrapes the commissioner up with the strength of a bear. And he growls with the ferocity of a Sage. Dean: You will make this match happen. You will make this match happen tonight. You will let me seek out my revenge.....or you will lay in the hospital... A side of Dean has been revealed that has been lying dormant for many years. Dean has erupted and he has done so on Smithers over there. STD, however, has been in this situation too many times as of late. He will not submit once again. He found strength to fight off Sage, he will find strength to fight off this hack no problem. And then it happens. A swift raise of the knee nails Dean below the belt Bruce Bowen style. Dean slowly slides to the ground in agony.....Steve Nash style. STD regains his feet as he adjusts his suit wiping off where Dean had touched him. He smiles as he looks down at the fallen Dean. He puts a foot on top of Dean's head applying a small bit of pressure. STD: Ok...Now, I'm sorry I have to get all Suge Knight on you hear, but it seems power is the only thing people will listen to these days. Smitty applies a small bit more of pressure to emphasize his point. STD: Now, you will understand that Bobino is suspended. And you will adhere to the restrictions placed by the Fuse Corporation. And you will get the fuck out of my office seeing as you can't realize that you already have a match tonight. So, you now can go make Hoss Richards a winner...again. Dean is enraged by the mocking tone of his boss. His testicular pain is overcome by his testosterone driven impulses and he is able to push STD off of face and regain his posture. Dean: This isn't over... Dean then rushes out of the room in all a fluster. El Hombre Featuring: El Hombre and Timo Bolamba The backstage area, lit by the bright lights of the set, reflect a man with pasty white skin. He has on a red, white, and green mask over his head, and is shirtless. His tights have a red dragon on them, are white, and are trimmed in green. Sweat glistens off his chest as Dominique approaches him with her microphone at the ready. The man sways slightly as she enters, as if taken by her beauty. She makes her way over and begins to speak. Dominique: I am here with…well, just who are you? Masked Man: My name…is El Hombre. I am one of the fasted rising independent stars on the circuit, muchacho. I am here tonight not as a FUSE wrestler, but as the winner of the 2007 FUSE Fantasy contest! I have won an opportunity to meet my favorite wrestler, Timo Bolamba! SA: Something doesn’t seem right… Dominique: The what? I’ve never heard of that. And isn’t it “muchacha?” I am a woman, so it’s the feminine form. El Hombre: Yeah, yeah. Well, of course. Anyway, I am here to meet my personal hero and idol, Timo Bolamba. Tonight, I am getting the opportunity to have my picture taken with him right now! Dominique: And does Timo know about this? Voice: He sure doesn’t! Timo Bolamba walks up from behind the pair. He is already wearing his wrestling tights, and ready to pound El Hombre into oblivion. El Hombre smiles from under the mask, bowing and waving his arms. Bolamba looks disgusted. Timo Bolamba: Okay, Tanaka, you must not think much of me. A masked wrestler, who claims that I am his idol, comes on the night you just so happen not to be here? I don’t buy it. I mean, EVERYONE wants to meet me, but this is low, even for you. SA: It’s starting to make sense now! This is a damn setup! HJ: Tanaka would NEVER do anything sleazy and underhanded as this. Shame on you! SA: Do you watch this program with your eyes closed? Have you not been paying attention? HJ: No, I only close my eyes when I’m in bed with your wife…SWISH! El Hombre: No, you don’t understand, gato! I am not Tanaka! I don’t like that Japanese scumbag and what he’s been doing! Timo Bolamba: Did you just call me…cat? El Hombre: Well, err, yes. You are a cat, and Dominique here is a chick. Anyways, I really want that picture, and from the way I won that contest, I don’t think you should deny me that chance! Timo Bolamba: Contest, huh? How come this is the first I’m hearing about it? El Hombre: We wanted it to be a surprise. Timo Bolamba: How tall are you, Hombre? El Hombre: About 5’11”. Why? Timo Bolamba: Weight? El Hombre: If I had to guess…195. Timo Bolamba: 5’11, 195…sounds an awful lot like a certain Japanese Firecracker I know. Take off the mask, Tanaka. You’re only embarrassing yourself. El Hombre: I told you, I am not Tsuyoshi Tanaka. I am the real deal, a pollo, if you will. SA: Oh give me a break! HJ: El Hombre may have bad taste, but he is NOT Tsuyoshi Tanaka! Timo Bolamba: A…chicken? El Hombre: No, never! I never back down from a fight. Timo Bolamba: I meant— El Hombre: You and me, friend. Let’s take that picture. Timo looks at El Hombre with eyes of steel. He circles around the man, trying to keep his eyes on his back so that he does not get jumped. His expression then warms. A smiles crosses his face, and he stands in front of his so called “biggest fan” and smiles. Timo Bolamba: You know what? I’m sorry, Hombre. I’ve just been a bit tense. Of course I’ll take it with you. I never let my fans down. El Hombre: Oh, bless you, Mr. Bolamba! We Puerto Ricans always stick together, no? Timo Bolamba(to self): And Tanaka said I was Puerto Rican as well… El Hombre: Hmm? Queso? Timo Bolamba: Oh, nothing. Yes. Yes, we Puerto Ricans stick together. Now, let’s just pose with each other and you can tell all your friends about this once in a lifetime opportunity. Timo puts his arm around El Hombre. A photographer basically emerges out of thin air with an elaborate camera. He adjusts the camera lens, and then begins to shoot. In the middle of the photo shot, Timo stiff-arms El Hombre in the back of the head. El Hombre falls to the ground, almost with no effort. Timo looks up at the camera with a sick smile of satisfaction. Timo Bolamba: Now, let’s just expose this so-called El Hombre for what he is! Timo pulls the mask off of El Hombre. His face drops in horror as he sees that the man lying in front of him is not Tsuyoshi Tanaka, but is, in fact, a random Puerto Rican wrestler. HJ: I told you! SA: For once, you were right…this isn’t Tsuyoshi Tanaka! Timo Bolamba has made a terrible mistake! Timo leans down and tries to help El Hombre. As Timo is trying to help El Hombre, Tsuyoshi Tanaka appears out of nowhere. The crowd erupts in a series of boos. He stomps Timo, who is crouched over, and causes him to fall on his face. El Hombre, who was exaggerating the injury, helps Tanaka stomp on Timo. The two men then begin to walk away. Timo shoots up, and double clotheslines both Tanaka and El Hombre. The fans cheer loudly and get to their feet. SA: This was one of Tanaka’s traps! I knew this was a setup! But Timo got the better of both! Timo shakes his head, walking away from the stunned Tanaka and El Hombre. Tanaka looks at El Hombre with disgust, and then walks away. El Hombre scurries after him. The cameras pan back to the arena. TWO TON VS. COWBOYS FROM HELL Featuring: Two Ton and Cowboys From Hell SKYE: The following contest is a 2-on-1 handicapped match. WE’RE TAKING OVER THIS TOWN! The television screen shows pictures the beginning of the video shown in the arena on the FUSEWire of brawls in the Old West. As the fights are taking place, we are starting to see interspersed images of Wyatt Colton and Connor Ennis as Pantera’s “Cowboys From Hell” starts to play. # OH COME ON! # The video changes to modern day cops running through the streets during a riot, battles being fought in the Middle East, shaky video of Pantera playing on stage, Wyatt Connor and Connor Ennis standing in the desert, stock footage of atomic bomb blasts and fires devastating neighborhoods all firing off and alternating in rapid succession. # Under the lights where we stand tall # # Nobody touches us at all # # Showdown, shootout, spread fear within, without # # We're gonna take what's ours to have # # Spread the word throughout the land # # They say the bad guys wear black # # We're tagged and can't turn back # # You see us comin' # # And you all together run for cover # SKYE: Making their way to the ring at this time……being accompanied by Araceli Negra…… # We're takin over this town # The video keeps playing as the image switches to inside the arena as Araceli enters the arena, followed by Connor and Wyatt, who stand to the sides and points to the crowd, getting a mixture of boos and cheers. # Here we come reach for your gun # # And you better listen well my friend, you see # # It's been slow down below # # Aimed at you we're the cowboys from hell # # Deed is done again, we've won # # Ain't talking no tall tales friend # # 'Cause high noon, your doom # # Comin' for you we're the cowboys from hell # SKYE: Weighing at a total combined weight of 505 pounds, they are the team of Wyatt Colton and Connor Ennis…THE COWBOYS FROM HELL! # Pillage the village, trash the scene # # But better not take it out on me # # 'Cause a ghost town is found # # Where your city used to be # # So out of the darkness and into the light # # Sparks fly everywhere in sight # # From my double barrel, 12 gauge, # # Can't lock me in your cage # The Cowboys from Hell slowly make their way to the ring during that verse. When they enter the ring, they take off their black Stetsons and hand them down to the evening’s ring attendant. Wyatt takes off his sleeveless trench and tosses it over the top as Connor does the same with his black vest. SA: The Cowboys From Hell are ready for this match. Earlier tonight, they had a run-in with a poorly disguised RPG, but they aren’t going to let that get in the way of the match they have that’s about to start with the one man Fatal Faction, Two Ton. “I’m Fat” by Weird Al Yankovic starts to play as a couple members of the FUSE ring crew come out and start to remove some bolts from the FUSEWire, and start to slide the opening to the entrance a bit as the Man Mountain of FUSE comes starts to slowly make his way to the ring. SKYE: And their opponent…Two Ton. SA: Notice how SKYE never announces his weight? HJ: That’s because every time we go to the Truck Stop to weigh him, the attendant says no whales allowed. SA: That’s just harsh. HJ: It’s true. Two Ton slowly makes his way to the ring. In fact, during the whole diatribe that Scott Ambrose and Hunter Jones just took part in, he just make it past the FUSEWire. SA: Looks like Two Ton’s going for twenty steps in twenty minutes. HJ: A new personal record for him. SA: Fans, if you need to get a sandwich, I suggest doing so now, as we may be here for a while. HJ: This entrance is brought to you by Snickers. Not going anywhere for a while? Grab a Snickers. SA: I know that I’m supposed to be ultra supportive of the wrestlers in that ring, but do you think that we can get a forklift out here to hurry this up? The Cowboys From Hell, tired of waiting for Two Ton to move slower than a tectonic plate, exit the ring and head up the entrance aisle way and cut Two Ton off at about 10 feet from the FUSEWire. They start to hammer away at the really big man before making everyone else happy, and doing a double team Irish Whip, making him go a little faster than normal. One Ton is close behind yelling at the Cowboys From Hell. SA: The Cowboys From Hell were tired of waiting for Two Ton to get to the ring. HJ: They didn’t want to be collecting Social Security before the match started. The Cowboys From Hell are still hammering away at Two Ton as he finally makes it to the ring from the Irish Whip. The Cowboys roll back into the ring as Two Ton makes it over to the newly reinforced steel ring steps, which still warp under Two Ton’s massive weight. SA: You have got to think that no man alive would ever want to weigh as much as Two Ton. HJ: I don’t think anyone dead would want to weigh that much either. The Cowboys From Hell take advantage of the lack of speed from Two Ton as they start to lay kicks into him again before the referee gets in there and orders Connor Ennis out of the ring. Connor begrudgingly obliges as Wyatt Colton launches another boot into Two Ton’s ample waistline. Colton then hits the ropes and hits a Yakuza kick which staggers Two Ton, but does not take him off his feet. SA: Wyatt Colton, one of the best pure athletes in FUSE is going to have a tough time taking the big man down. HJ: I don’t think I’d want him to go down. Last week, we needed a fork lift and to remove the bottom rope to get him out of the ring. Colton launches a left into the jaw of the larger, yet shorter man. Colton hits a second one before being taken down with a backhand slap from Two Ton. Colton is quick to his feet and charges back in with a forearm shot to the chest and goes to whip Two Ton into the corner. Two Ton reverses it and uses most of his body weight to send Colton barreling into the corner. SA: Quick defensive move from Two Ton, sending Wyatt Colton to the corner. Two Ton then charges in, showing amazing speed for a man that ginormous, before slamming the entirety of his bodyweight into Colton in the corner with a giant Body Splash. HJ: Wyatt Colton now knows what it’s like to be hit by a freight train. Two Ton backs up as Colton collapses to the mat. He looks down and smiles, shoving his ample backside into Colton’s face. The referee starts a five count, but the damage to Colton’s ego has already been done. As Two Ton gets out of the corner, he looks at the retching face of Wyatt Colton and gives off a hearty, guttural laugh. Not realizing his surroundings, Two Ton turns around and gets leveled by Connor Ennis’ 12 Gauge. SA: 12 Gauge from Connor Ennis, but Two Ton is still on his feet. HJ: Now the CFH have got to be worried. If Ennis can’t take him down with the 12 Gauge, they may not be able to knock Two Ton down period. Ennis hits the ropes again and hits another 12 Gauge, but again, it only rocks Two Ton. Ennis hits the ropes and third time, and hits another 12 Gauge, which knocks Two Ton into the ropes, but not down. A look of shock fills Connor Ennis’ eyes as he can’t believe that he just unloaded his finisher three times, and it didn’t even knock Two Ton down. Wyatt Colton is clutching his ribs as he gets back to his feet, and sees Two Ton in the ropes. SA: I think the Cowboys From Hell are trying to figure out how to take this guy down. HJ: I don’t think that it’s humanly possible to lift him, and a triple barreled 12 Gauge didn’t do the trick either. Connor goes to advance on Two Ton, but the referee stops him and sends him back out of the ring. Wyatt on the other hand, hits a front kick on Two Ton, which finally brings him to fall, but he gets tied up in the ropes. SA: How many times have we seen this? HJ: I don’t know, but in the context of a handicapped match, it is never good news. Wyatt heads over and tags in Connor, who charges Two Ton and hits a shoulder block to the midsection. Connor then unloads with a series of rights to Two Ton’s forehead, attempting to bust him open. The referee is attempting to squeeze in there and break Connor away from Two Ton. The referee decides that maybe he should start to use his five count, which makes Connor break away at four. The referee then starts to try and untie Two Ton. SA: Two Ton has taken some punishment from those rights from Connor. HJ: Maybe now, Two Ton and Phillip Edmonds will both try the Atkins Diet. Connor tags in Wyatt, who quickly charges in and hits a front kick to the jaw of Two Ton. The referee again gets in there, warning Wyatt that the next attack will warrant an automatic disqualification. Wyatt puts up his hands and backs off as the referee finally gets back in there and frees Two Ton from his binds. SA: The referee is starting to take control of this match, which may be just in time for Two Ton to survive. HJ: Well, the Cowboys From Hell have been like hyenas this entire match. As soon as Two Ton gets off the ropes, Wyatt charges in with a left arm lariat, which Two Ton ducks and counters with a huge bearhug. Two Ton clasps his hands and is driving his shoulder into Wyatt’s abdomen, squeezing the life out of the Cowboy. SA: That bearhug from Two Ton is driving the breath out of the smaller half of the Cowboys From Hell. HJ: It’s almost like someone told Two Ton if he squeezes the life out of him, he could eat Wyatt later. Two Ton continues to squeeze tight, and instead of going for the submission, lifts Wyatt up and throws him to the mat before heading to the top rope. HJ: No, don’t do this. You might break the ring. Two Ton slowly ascends to the top turnbuckle. Cameras are starting to flash as the rather huge man looks like a 747 getting ready to take off. Two Ton comes off the top rope, almost in slow motion with the flashbulbs going off, and lands a rather ugly looking frog splash, nearly killing Wyatt Colton in the process. 1. . . . . 2. . . . . SA: And Connor Ennis breaks up the pin at the last possible second. HJ: That was close, though we may still need a spatula to scrape Wyatt Colton off the mat. Connor Ennis brings Two Ton back to his feet as he starts to pound away with hard right hands. Ennis gets Two Ton backed into the corner before laying in shoulder blocks on Two Ton’s rather pronounced Abdominal Area. Connor then climbs the ropes and starts to hammer rights into the side of Two Ton’s head, as the fans count along with each punch. After the ninth punch, Two Ton grabs the Wyoming Cowboy’s thighs and slams him down with a Powerbomb. Two Ton again climbs to the top rope. SA: If Two Ton hits this, there is no way that the Cowboys could survive. Two Ton comes off the top with another rather ugly looking frog splash, and as the flashbulbs are going off as the fat man flies through the air, Connor moves out of the way. The hard thud of Two Ton hitting the canvas echoes throughout the arena. Connor then grabs Wyatt by the wrist and drags him to their corner. As Connor gets him to the corner, he tags himself in. SA: The opportunistic Connor Ennis is going to try and steal this one. HJ: Why not? Connor is quickly in there, rolling Two Ton over and going for the cover. He obviously thinks that there’s no way that Two Ton’s going to kick out after nearly splattering himself over the mat. 1. . . . . 2. . . . . KICKOUT! Two Ton not only kicks out, but tosses the 260 pound Wyoming Cowboy a couple inches into the air to boot. This shocks everyone in the arena, as they didn’t think that Two Ton had enough left in the tank to pull that off. Connor is quickly back to his feet, waiting for Two Ton to get to his feet again. Connor is salivating at the thought that this 12 Gauge may finish the match. As Two Ton gets to his feet, Connor hits the ropes. Coming in like a 260 pound bullet, Connor rears his right arm back and unloads, missing as Two Ton ducks, but figuratively decapitating the referee. HJ: I think that we need tougher referees. With the ref out of the match, Connor Ennis goes on the attack, with a hard left kick to the back of Two Ton’s thigh. He follows this up with a hard right hand right into the forehead of the Man Mountain. Followed by another one. Connor pushes Two Ton to the ropes and attempts an Irish Whip, only to be reversed by Two Ton. As Connor hits the ropes, he takes a blind tag from Wyatt Colton. Ennis ducks a clothesline from Two Ton and nails a 12 Gauge on the rebound. This staggers Two Ton enough that the Cowboys From Hell hit the Hi-Lo to take Two Ton down to the mat. SA: The Cowboys From Hell have finally taken Two Ton to the mat. HJ: Now they just need to lock in a double submission, and we’ll have Déjà vu from last week. Wyatt Colton heads to the top rope as Connor Ennis starts up a series of stomps, starting at the right shoulder and working his way around. As soon as Ennis finishes with a stomp to the jaw, Wyatt comes off the top with a Guillotine Legdrop. Ennis heads to the outside of the ring and grabs a steel chair and slides it into Wyatt Colton. SA: The referee is out, there is nothing to protect Two Ton from this. Wyatt slams the chair on the mat as Two Ton gets up and to his feet. As he turns around, Wyatt comes and nails him right in the forehead with the chair. A second chair shot staggers Two Ton. The third chair shot sends Two Ton to the mat. Connor Ennis heads over to where the referee is down and brings him back from the dead with a couple of slaps to the face as Wyatt slides the chair out of the ring. SA: I don’t see how Two Ton is going to kick out of this one. HJ: Die, Fat Ass, Die. Wyatt Colton goes for the cover as the referee gets into position for the count. 1. . . . 2. . . . KICKOUT! The fans are on their feet as they can’t believe that Two Ton kicked out from three devastating chairshots from the 245 pound Cowboy From Hell. SA: What do the Cowboys From Hell have to do to keep this man down? HJ: I have no clue. Connor and Wyatt are looking at each other in disbelief as they weren’t able to put Two Ton away with those chair shots. So they bring the big man back to his feet and drive him into the corner. Wyatt is calling to set him onto the top turnbuckle. Both Wyatt and Connor grab a leg and with all of their combined might, set Two Ton on the top turnbuckle. SA: What do the Cowboys From Hell have planned? HJ: I don’t know, but I hope that the ring is re-enforced. The Cowboys From Hell then set Two Ton’s legs to the outside of the ring as they both climb to the middle rope. They then place Two Ton in double front facelock and go to the top rope. They are unsteady as the bring Two Ton to the top and place his arms over their necks. SA: You can’t be serious. This would be over a half ton superplex. Both Wyatt and Connor use the last bit of strength to lift Two Ton in the air, falling back and all three slam hard into the mat below. The impact was enough that it caused the ring steps to get knocked away from the corners. SA: The ring is holding up. FANS: HOLY SHIT! HOLY SHIT! HOLY SHIT! Wyatt Colton rolls over and makes the cover on Two Ton. The referee is down. 1. . . . . 2. . . . . 3. *DING, DING, DING* SKYE: The Winners of this Match…The Cowboys From Hell. SA: The Cowboys From Hell hit the World’s Largest Superplex to defeat Two Ton. HJ: How did they get him over? SA: I don’t know, but the trainers are coming out here to take a look at the three men, as they aren’t moving. HJ: Ya think? A half ton of human carnage just collided with the unforgiving canvas. They are hurt, and the fans are loving it. "Never tell me the odds" -Hans Solo Featuring: Hoyt Williams and Ryan Hayes Walking backstage is Hoyt Williams, recently named by GOD magazine as the greatest wrestler of forever . Walking with him in a black Reebok track suit with his initials written in gold trim is Hoyt's agent, Big Al Larcher. The two are looking over some photos of Jacob McKail in racist situations. Big Al: Here is one of McKail kicking a black cat. Hoyt Williams: Even racist against animals. Horrible. SA: Those are doctored! HJ: That cat is not a football he's a hair ball. What a sick, sick, sick man. Hoyt Williams: How about this one of McKail giving the finger to a black church bus. Big Al: Despicable. Hoyt Williams: This one is my favorite it’s McKail French kissing Marge Schott. Big Al: Yea but nobody is going to remember who she was. This one is more relevant it’s Michael Richards and Jacob McKail yelling at some black kids eating ribs and watermelon. Walking down the hallway as Al and Hoyt look over the photos, is the yet to be signed "Oddsmaker" Ryan Hayes. He looks to be here on business as he has a suitcase in one hand, a Tanqueray and tonic with no fruit in the other, and a naturally sleazy business look on his face. Big Al: Oh hey it’s Ryan Hayes!! How's the contract signing working out for you? Hayes exhales deeply with a slow sigh that reveals a man that isn’t used to being the one on the receiving end of a prank. Hayes: You know, I’m getting annoyed because I think some of these meatheads working security are having a little fun with me being the new guy. When I asked where STD’s office was they pointed me down this hallway but this hallway only leads to the locker area! Big Al: Well if you ever need representation you know where my office is. Say have you met Hoyt Williams? Hoyt Williams: Who is this? Big Al: This is Ryan Hayes, he is an odds-maker notorious in Vegas, and really all over the world. He's predicted the last 15 Super-bowls, NCAA Finals, and of course the death of Steve Irwin by Sting Ray. I asked him to do some odds so we can print them in the Holier then Thou news letter. Hoyt Williams: Spiritual! The massive wrestler and ‘Personal Jesus’ extends his hand offering it out to Ryan Hayes. The ‘Oddsmaker’ puts down his briefcase and accepts the handshake of Williams. In mid shake Hoyt Williams ties a shoestring bracelet on the wrist of Hayes with ‘WWHD’ sewn into it. He then uses some Purell on his own hands. Hoyt Williams: What would Hoyt do! Hayes looks down at his wrist and smirks for a moment before shaking his head slowly in the affirmative. Hayes: Well, thanks for that, I think! Hayes turns back to Big Al. Hayes: You know, Big Al, it was kind of difficult doing what you asked since I couldn’t find much info, but based on what I've been given to look at I'd be forced to give 9-4 odds that McKail is a racist. Big Al smiles a big city smile after hearing the news. Hayes: Of course, I haven't actually had the opportunity to speak with Mr. McKail yet... Hoyt Williams: Who the hell wants to meet a racist anyway? I mean this man kicks ONLY black cats, just because they are black. I mean I would never kick a cat based on color. By the way what the hell is 9-4 odds? You see, being a man of God I don’t wager on anything because I already know what is going to happen. I would NEVER cheat or lie as it goes against all I stand for as a MAN of GOD. So explain, please. Hayes takes a long gulp from his beverage as he sizes Williams up. He immediately decides to back off his previous line of thought. Hayes: I didn’t mean to upset you, man. Without boring you 9-4 odds are very short which means it's nearly certain, from what I've seen, that McKail's a racist. So I suppose I’m in agreement with you. It’s probably not worth even pursuing. The son of man smiles a million dollar smile. Hoyt Williams: I knew it!! We need to hit the presses with this information and show the world the evil that is McKail. Big Al: How about that other stuff I asked for, like did Larry The Cable Guy sell his soul to Satan? Hayes: Given the facts such as an unfunny catch phrase, a new movie despite a failed unfunny movie last a year ago, a career of the same jokes over and over again, a phony accent, I would say we are looking at some very short odds here. You won’t win much with that bet… Hoyt Williams: I KNEW IT! Get-R-Done? That reeks of Satanism, as stupidity keeps the dumb out of heaven. Big Al: What about the odds of Paris Hilton having an STD, that isn't our commish? Hayes: You probably won't be surprised but that is another sure bet... 2-1 odds there. Hoyt Williams: I’m so glad I didn’t sleep with her when she BEGGED me to give her the Holy Hump. Listen the world is a very scary place and most of the people here in FUSE are diseased. Selfish sinners who don’t understand the art of caring and sharing like I do. Someday soon, I hope, this roster, understands my gift to them of....woooo....ME. But if they don’t the odds of salvation aren’t good my friend. Chub rubs, racists, and Bobinos will all rot in the 7th layer of hell. But you my friend look like you may be one of the saved. Big Al: Amen. Hoyt Williams: Did you know McKail is the guy who made Michael Jackson bleach his skin white and rape children? That was all McKail’s idea. Terrible. Or that Family Ties was supposed to be based on a black family, but McKail had his people scrap that idea because a rich family of hippie should be white. Horrible. Big Al: Tell him what we just learned through research? Hoyt Williams: McKail’s father, who was grand master of the KKK, was friends with Betty Black. He forced her to change her last name to White, or he was going to destroy her career brand new TV career. The song Black Betty by Ram Jam was about this historic wrong doing. These are the people that are in FUSE. I pray for them. Hayes furrows his brow a bit. Religious types of all shapes and sizes had always spooked him a bit, no matter the motivation. Hayes: I think I’ll uh, say a little prayer myself just before bed tonight Mr. Williams, thank you. Hoyt Williams: Peace, Love, and Hoyt Williams!! Big Al: Thank you for your work, a check will be in the mail. Also like I said if you need help dealing with that mass of filth STD just give me a call. Hayes shakes Big Al's hand firmly. Hayes: No problem - I might just take you up on it. In the meantime... you've got my number too. Hayes nods at Al and Hoyt and takes off back down the hallway. Big Al: Seems like a bright enough fellow… Big Al is interrupted by his cell phone ringing. The screen splits and Hayes can be seen on the other end walking down a hallway. Hayes: Uh yeah, have any idea where STD’s office is, by the way?! Frick, Frack and Fuck Featuring: Aimz, Timo Bolamba and The Alliance 'I know it wasn't you last week. You always piss me off by holding back on your punches.'' What a way to enter a conversation, and a room! In jeans that hang seemingly by the outline of hipbones on her lithe form, Aimz can catch the attention of most men. Arenas of them tune in week after week, probably more out of curiosity as to when her pants are finally going to fall off her frame than in any interest to her fighting ability. Among other things, she has a habit of wearing her signature black tanktop and oversized pants with enough wear-and-tear holes that a spring breeeze could probably leave her as bare-assed as one of those homely Playboy Playmates. Luckily, she's entering a room occupied by the few individuals who don't care about such things, and would probably turn away respectfully if ever presented with the idea of seeing her nude. ... Okay, so two of them would. The jury's still out on Gideon Fontaine, but his partner Neil and their friend Timo wouldn't look even if someone sculpted her fifty feet tall on their front lawns. And Amy lives comfortably knowing that, so she doesn't bother tightening her belt - it's all about dressing comfortably, after all. And speaking of dressing, Timo looks oddly unprepared for his match later in the night with her fiancee, Darcy Crisis. Such a thing could almost be taken as arrogance, but the redhead blows it off and continues her interrogation of The Alliance with a quick nod to the Samoan. Aimz: Hey, Timo. Anyhoo, just to be clear... it wasn't you two, was it? Because I couldn't see a god damned thing, and I'm gonna feel mighty stupid if you misinterpreted 'STAGE a beatdown' without me figuring it out. Neil: You can tell my style. I don't hide and I don't play games. If I do something I'm up front about it. That shit last week was cowardly and isn't anythign resembling my style. Timo nods. Timo: The question, then, is who? I mean, you werent in very good shape when I found you at all. Gideon: As for myself I could do something like that but I do everything to a calculated purpose and there is no point in sneak attacking a woman like a coward. A person that does that did not want to be found out and cowardice is not a word in my description. Amy had no choice but to agree. She hadn't suspected them in the least, but she'd needed to confront and confirm her unusual trust for her Fatal Faction rivals - as if the company of Timo Bolamba wasn't already enough to show her that they really were worthy men. Aimz: I know it sounds cliche, but I honestly didn't see a thing. I was struck from behind, and the rest came after the lights in the room were switched off. They barely even spoke... it was too planned for comfort. I'm wondering if they were even wrestlers, and not just some old dealers I owed something to three or four years ago - but security told me that NOBODY not on or being considered for the roster was checked in. I've got time to figure that out, though... I want to ask a favor of all of you, but mostly Timo. Gideon: They? Aimz: Yeah, it was at least two people. You really think ONE guy could take me out like that? They threw me headfirst into a wall... I still can't see straight. But, back to what I need to ask... The Samoan nods. Timo: Shoot. She sighs. Aimz: I'm sure you know who this is about, and that I'm going to ask you guys to help me out through your behavior in the ring. Play to his bravado, but don't fuck with his back. And you know this request isn't coming from him, because if he'd sent me here I would've straight-up told him to kiss my ass. I just know what a tool he can be sometimes, and I know he won't be watching out for his old injuries. Amy looks now to the mountain of a man beside The Alliance. Aimz: I also know that you're not the kind of guy who plays off of someone's old injuries in a case like this. So I guess I'm just asking that you remember who you are, even when he acts like he doesn't know who he is. The Samoan Highlight Reel breathes in deeply then slowly exhales. Timo: Amy, this match is unfortunate. I don't really know why there is this wedge, and I'm sure I instigated a portion of it. You have to smell reality, though - Darcy is not right in the head, and he's killing everything around him. The tiny redhead nods, but it doesn't make the facts of life any easier to swallow. Timo: This isn't a fantasy world where you can sucker punch someone and get away with it Amy. I am not a judge, I am just going to go do my job. I will tell you one thing though, and I want you to see this from the outside... He sighs. Timo: You need to evaluate your life with Darcy Markson. Is this really what you want for the rest of your life? I will promise you, and only you, that I will not hurt him intentionally if I get the chance... And that's all she can really ask for. Amy nods, but still looks distressed. Aimz: He's just trying to live up to something. I don't know what he's got to prove anymore, but I know that he's not being himself... I'm just not sure why. I can't help but wonder if it's me, but I know in my heart that's nonsense. And Neil, Gid... I know you're both gonna pull something during the match - I can tell by that little twinkle in your eyes. Just don't get physically involved, because it's hard enough for me to watch Timo strike him without going psychotic - I'm scared of what I'd do to you if either of you touched Darcy tonight. It doesn't sound rational, but it's difficult to shake the protective feelings. Gideon: I can tell you that I don't plan on striking Darcy but I do plan on annoying the living hell out of him. If he puts a hand on me all bets are off. Neil: I'm going to do commentary. If he's stupid enough to take a swing at me he wants to be hurt and I'm just helping him. I'll let him take the first swing after that, like Gideon, all bets are off. Timo begins to exit the room slowly. Timo: I wish this didn't have to happen. Unfortunately, you are my only family left Amy, and I am who I am. You know I'm going to fight. You know I am going to do what I do... He sighs. Timo: I hope when this is over, you will see that your life is not what you wish it was. Darcy may have been a good man at one time, but he is rapidly running down a bad path. I just don't want to see you get hurt by it all. Amy can't even formulate a response. She pats Timo on the shoulder and passes in front of him to exit the room, nodding to her friend that she does, in fact, know what he's talking about. With that, the scene cuts elsewhere... everyone still anticipating the one-on-one bout later in the night. A Title Goes Here Featuring: Hoss Richards and ??? Slamming back first through the corridor, it's very clear the only thing on Carys' mind is preventing her precariously balanced ice coffees from falling to the floor. Stepping nimbly over loose wiring 'some slack jawed pole smoker' left trailing over the floor she makes her way towards the nearest TV set, and she almost makes it, too. Carys fails to notice a giant hand coming into the path of her tray of ice coffees, snatching one up at the last second, making her lose her footing. The stack of delicious beverages crash on the floor, making the young trickster that much more hotheaded. She looks up and sees the source of her error, a massive man in a white cowboy hat was drinking the coffee she fought hard to obtain. Hoss: Sorry ‘bout yer mess there, but thanks for tha drink, muh dear. Carys' hands lose grip on the remaining cartons, cartons spill. Her white hoody becomes brown, and her fair face red. Her teeth grind and her jaw tenses as she unzips the hooded jacket quickly and slams it at Hoss' feet. Carys: Sorry? If this were a manga cartoon steam would be whistling out of her ears. Her words quickly pick up speed, starting somewhere near chipper and spiralling faster and faster until her mouth barely has the time to form the shrieks. Carys: SORRY?! Sorry? You meat gobblin' pillow biter! Son of a BITCH! The coffee alone cost forty bucks! Sorry...does...not...fix...THIS! FIRST DAY! Okay, now manga Carys would be shooting a couple eye laser beams through his chest, but as it stands all we can see is rage, and this would put PMT to shame. Richards raises his arms, trying to get the much smaller Carys to restrain her temper, but it was obvious she wasn’t having that. He then reaches into his wallet and pulls out a fifty-dollar bill. Hoss: Ma’am, Ah gotta apologize for muh mess-up, but ya gott watch yer temper. Now, get yerself cleaned up on me an’ maybe you can fetch another latte fer me? Carys: Oh... Her eyes are glued on the money, hell she would probably run into the wall if Hoss had a notion to slam that bit of green against it, they are glued, glued GOOD, super glued. Some of the redness is running out of her face and it almost seems to unwind. Carys: Thanks... She grabs the fifty and turns back the way she came, but spins around quickly. Carys: But one thing...You've not finished this one. Raising her hand towards the ice latte, Carys grabs a hold of Hoss' hand and proceeds to lift it towards his face, sending ice, foam and coffee, obviously, into his eyes. The contents of the cup start to drip off his face for several moments before he procures a monogrammed handkerchief from his coat pocket. He wipes his face and sighs to himself before looking back down at the now-smirking lady. Hoss: Lady, ya need ta tone that bullplop down NOW. I just offered ya some money to get yer suit cleaned. Ya don’t gotta have a hot temper over nothin’. Ah’ll let ya get away with this now, but Ah got half-a mind ta go to that Smitty T. Duluth feller and let him know tha hired help around these parts need ta have their tempers checked. Carys: Hired...heeeeeee. Oh no, she wheezing - she can't even finish that thought, and man oh man the red she was before wasn't half of what it is now. A vein appears on her forehead and her eyes take on an angry sheen. Carys: Oh bitch! Imma fuck you up for that! Imma make you regret ever laying beady EYES on me. It's getting hard to understand what she's saying, seriously, her words are starting to sound like a continuous high pitched buzzing sound. Carys: Immamakeyouregretthatsobadyouwouldn'tbelieeeeeeee--- By this point, The Texan Titan has no idea what the hell is coming out of Carys’ mouth, but he simply attributes it to her having a bad day. Hoss: Well, darlin’, it’s alright. Ah know it’s yer first day here, but as long as ya learn yer lesson and watch yer temper, we ain’t gonna have a problem an’ Ah won’t say nothin’ ta Smitty, alright? She lifts her hand to her bangs and brushes them out of her face, a flippant and annoyed gesture. Her chest begins to shake uncontrollably up and down and her mouth opens to let free a high pitched and witch like cackle of mad cackling as she turns away. With a quick, forceful tug of the door handle she storms out of the corridor and into the next, her laughter seeming to follow her and, if possible, get louder as she leaves. Three words interrupt her hooting repeatedly: Carys: It's so ON! Bewildered by his first meeting of Carys Callicker, Hoss Richards only shrugs before nodding to himself. Hoss: Must be that time of the month… her PBS is actin’ up again. And on that note, he turns on his heel and walks the opposite direction for his match, not completely aware that he may have made a dangerous enemy today in the form of a woman scorned. No Pictures, Please Featuring: Dominique and Mikael Lundgard Dominique: Good evening ladies and gentlemen, I’m sure many of you will have read on the FUSE website sometime during the week that Mikael Lundgard is set to make, and I quote*, a huge, groundbreaking, announcement here tonight on FUSE. (*I hope I get this right) The fans cheer at the thought of a huge announcement. Truthfully, they’d cheer at anyone making any kind of announcement. For example, if Covel came from the back and said “Hey everyone, I’m gay” they’d go nuts. Not because it’s Covel, but because it’s something unexpected… well… to those that don’t know him… Dominique: I’ve heard from some very reliable sources* (* I’ve made it up) that Mikael is set to make the announcement at the end of the show. But I’m here right now, for you fans at home, to try and find out what he’s going to be announcing right now! SA: Didn’t Mikael threaten to choke her out if she kept trying to interview him at one point? HJ: He threatens to choke anyone out, Ambrose. SA: I hope Dominique knows what she’s doing… HJ: I wouldn’t bet on it. Dominique knocks on the door behind her just underneath the giant “Mikael Lundgard” plaque. The door swings open revealing the room’s inhabitant, Mikael Lundgard… but he doesn’t look quite right. The cuts on his forehead are healing nicely, his jacket looks brand new, his shades are as cool as ever… but he’s not smiling. Now usually when Mikael’s in view of the public his face is plastered with that sick, sadistic smile. But not today. Mikael: what? Dominique: Hi Mikael, umm, I was wondering if I could get a few words about this announcement everyone’s talking about. Mikael stares at the young woman for a few seconds… almost day dreaming… until he comes to. Mikael: Sorry, yeah, you can have six. Dominique: Six? Mikael: You’ll find out soon enough. Dominique stands there looking at the Danish Demon. You can see her mind working overtime as she counts the words on the fingers that are wrapped around the microphone. Dominique: That’s five… Mikael: Bitch! HJ: HA HA! Lundgard heads back into his room slamming the door behind him. Dominique: well… uhh… ok… thank you… Mikael… Back to you Hunter and Scott. SA: Obviously Lundgard isn’t in the mood to talk right now. HJ: you know you two could be perfect for each other. It’d be like David and Victoria Beckham all over again… SA: How do you mean? HJ: A talentless hack and a cock getting it on… SA: …Fantastic… HOSS RICHARDS VS. 'MEAN' DEAN JOKERLIN Featuring: Hoss Richards and 'Mean' Dean Jokerlin SA: Fans, welcome back to our 39th edition of KillZone! Up next, we’ve got a battle of two FUSE up-and-comers when everyone’s favorite underdog, Mean Dean Jokerlin, already in the ring now, goes one-on-one against a MAMMOTH of a big man in Hoss Richards. HJ: Hoss Richards FTW! SA: FTW? HJ: Get with it, dude! FTW! Fuck the World! Fight to Win! For the Win! And a whole lotta other acronyms! SA: Anyhow, Dean Jokerlin in the ring now, having some recent issues with Bobino as of late has to put that all aside and focus if he’s gonna have a chance against Hoss Richards. Mean Dean readies himself in the ring now, doing some pre-match stretches as he looks forward to facing off against his opposition. “The World Needs A Hero” by Megadeth. As the familiar guitar riffs cut through the jeers of the Ottawa, Ontario crowd, the curtains part and reveal the monstrous form of the beastly Texan that’s come to apparently “save” FUSE from what he perceives as nuisances to his new home. The fans continue to boo appropriately, but some stand in awe of the 7’2”, 400+ pound giant as he heads down to the ring. Dean sighs to himself in the ring, having to face another opponent that dwarves him in size in as many weeks. Jokerlin: Oy. Another day at the office. SKYE: Making his way to the ring, from Corpus Christi, Texas! Weighing in at 425 pounds… “THE TEXAN TITAN” HOSS RICHARDS! He puts on his brave face just as Hoss starts to climb through the ropes… SA: AND DEAN’S OFF TO A HOT START! DROPKICK TO THE HEAD! HJ: He’s only delaying the inevitable! I mean, look at him! That baseball slide dropkick merely stunned Hoss! Sure enough, Hoss is still on his feet, but the dropkick stuns him. Dean grabs onto he ropes and slingshots himself through with a second dropkick to the head that connects right between the eyes of the Corpus Christi Colossus. While Richards tries to find his bearings, Jokerlin lands back inside the ring. In a frenzy, he climbs to the top, says a little Hail Mary to successfully land his move and leaps off the ropes with a HUGE leaping cross body… CAUGHT BY HOSS! Dean gulps while currently being in the big hands of his gargantuan opponent. The Texan Titan quickly shifts Dean’s position in his hands so he’s being held in a military press before HURLING Mean Dean back over the ropes, sending him crashing into the canvas. HJ: Now THAT is power! Right now, I don’t think there’s anybody on this roster that can compete with the unadulterated, raw power that Hoss Richards has in his possession. And he’s using it to clean up this one-horse town, pardon the pun. SA: I gotta disagree with you there, Hunter, but when it comes to power, I don’t think we’ve seen such a massive physical specimen like Hoss Richards. The TV does NOT do this man justice, ladies and gentlemen. HJ: All right, tone it down, Joey Styles. Richards finally regains his wits and climbs up and over the ropes. Dean throws as many punches as he can to try and phase his giant opponent, but a headbutt from Hoss stops Dean in his tracks, sending him skittering across the canvas. While Jokerlin tries to pull himself back up, Hoss raises both hands into the air in the symbol of the Longhorns. SA: Well, THAT was original. HJ: Bull. Haven’t you ever heard of the Longhorns, dude? That’s money right there! Hoss pummels Dean Jokerlin in the small of his back several times with a series of clubbing blows that etch a look of pain on the face of the underdog. He HURLS Dean into the corner and gets his foot up, now using the ropes as leverage to strangle Jokerlin profusely. The referee beings the count of five, but Hoss knows that the count of a referee that isn’t a pin is usually a bad thing, so he backs off at four. A flurry of back elbows find their mark in Dean’s face and the final blast is a nasty shot to the stomach. With the match firmly in his control, Dean gets whipped HARD into the opposite corner back-first. As he finds himself propelled forward from the force of the impact, a big Clothesline knocks Dean out on the canvas. Hoss falls over and makes a rather nonchalant cover. ONE… NO! Dean kicks out, but Hoss puts his entire hand damn near over the face of Jokerlin, dragging him back to his feet with one hand with great strength. He goes in for a second Clothesline, but Dean ducks underneath and starts energetically kicking the left leg out from under him. He runs to the ropes and tries for something resembling a chop block, however the brute force of Hoss comes into play once again, KNOCKING Dean for a loop with a big shoulder block! SA: Dean Jokerlin’s trying as hard as he can to take the fight to Hoss Richards, but I truly don’t know how much longer he can last in that ring against somebody with the power and size that Hoss possesses. HJ: This kid’s making himself a lotta enemies real fast. First, Bobino, now this guy. I REALLY wouldn’t want to be him right now. While Mean Dean coughs up and tries to regain the air driven out from his lungs, The Texan Titan walks over to him and hooks him up for something resembling a Back Drop Suplex, then connects dead-center on the canvas. He rolls over again and goes for the cover on Jokerlin again. ONE! TWO… NO! Hoss, quickly getting dissuaded with his tenacious opponent, clubs him several more times before taking him into the nearest corner for the second time in this match. He holds his hand in the air before CHOPPING him hard with an Open-Handed Chop that ebbs Dean of more oxygen. A second chop finds its mark in the chest of Dean, then a third one finishes off the combination before Richards takes possession of Dean Jokerlin once again and tosses him mid-ring with a MASSIVE Biel Throw. Jokerlin grabs his back in pain and grimaces, knowing that if he doesn’t do something SOON, he’s going to be the victim of another big beatdown. HJ: This guy impresses me more and more each week, Ambrose. Not only is he asserting himself in FUSE, but he’s quickly turning heads. SA: Scott, of course you cheer for the bullies. Jokerlin’s doing his damn best to try and fight off this giant, but I will note that Hoss has been getting a buzz in recent weeks. However, I’m not counting Dean out for a second. We’ve seen Mean Dean overcome the odds before, but can he do it one more time? HJ: Nope. SA: HOSS MISSES THAT LEG DROP! Dean’s got an opening! HJ: Shit, I jinxed him! Sure enough, amidst the bickering of FUSE’s own announce team, Hoss went for a big Leg Drop, but the wiry Jokerlin manages to move out of the way at the very last second. With Richards in a seated position, still sore from the force traveling up his spine, Mean Dean mounts another comeback, bouncing off the ropes and flooring the giant with a quick clothesline. Dean rolls through and comes back to his feet, but Hoss is already sitting up albeit slowly. The former announcer gets a bit of momentum off the ropes a second time and DRILLS Hoss in the face with a deadly low dropkick that sends him back to the canvas. With the fans firmly behind Mean Dean now, he bounces off the second rope just as Richards attempts to sit up and firmly plants a second dropkick that puts The Texan Titan down! SA: What a series of moves landed to perfection by Mean Dean Jokerlin! HJ: That little shit! He didn’t take him off his feet, though, Richards did that all by himself! He got lucky, that’s all! While Hunter Jones shits a brick at ringside, the now fired-up underdog poses for the crowd before climbing up top. The Stallion is still down and out for the moment, allowing Dean to hop off the top with all the force his body can muster, dropping a big Top Rope Elbow across the chest of his opponent! Once he lands it, he throws himself across the shoulders of Hoss and prays for dear life that he can win. ONE! TWO! KICKOUT WITH AUTHORITY! Jokerlin goes FLYING off The H-Train’s upper body, but once he lands, he gets back to his feet and grabs the woozy Richards by the head as he gets on his knees, planting him down in the middle of the ring with the DDT. Another cover follows. ONE! TWO! THR… NO! Again, Dean gets hurled across the ring and lands stomach-first into the canvas, allowing The Texan Titan the precious time he needs to get back to his feet. Jokerlin grabs him by the head again and climbs up to the second turnbuckle, looking for another DDT in the form of a Tornado, but Hoss manages to hang on and set him back on the canvas. He runs blindly at the giant with another kick in mind, but Richards catches him by the leg and drops a stiff Hammer Blow that knocks Dean for a loop. HJ: That damn fist nearly knocked Dean Jokerlin’s head into the next zip code! SA: Hunter, that’s some scary impact. I’m actually surprised the impact from that move didn’t cave Dean’s head into his body by now. Hoss stands over his intended target and holds both his massive hands out in preparation for his finishing maneuver, it seems. Ever so slowly, the Hero of Nobodies starts wobbling to his feet and when he turns around, he doesn’t like what he sees at all. Hoss wraps both hands around the throat of Mean Dean and powers him up… HJ: HOSS TOSS! WHOO! SA: What an impact right there! Mean Dean Jokerlin got drilled damn near to China with that sick Chokebomb! Hoss goes for the pin by placing both hands across the chest of Dean while in the Sit-Out position. ONE! TWO! THREE! “The World Needs a Hero” by Megadeth blasts over the Public Address system as Hoss rolls back to his feet with his first official victory in FUSE in the books. The Texan Titan throws both arms into the sky and screams for his win while the fans jeer to high hell and back. SKYE: Here is your winner… “THE TEXAN TITAN” HOSS RICHARDS! He climbs out of the ring and starts to head to the back with the feeling of success washing over him while the sore former announcer in Mean Dean starts to slowly make it to his feet, to a nice rousing bit of applause for the crowd. SA: Well, a tough loss for Mean Dean Jokerlin, Hunter, but he got a couple nearfalls off the giant. An extra second here or there and we would’ve seen a victory. But no shame in trying, he gave it all he had. HJ: Yeah, that’s all fine and good if you’re working for Hallmark or some shit, but here in FUSE, all that matters are results! Fly me to the Moon Featuring: Kid Cool and Jonathan Rhine SA: Welcome back folks and what a match we just had. HJ: No it wasn’t Scott, you want to see a match, just wait until Clinton Sage is here later on! SA: Well Sage will be facing off against Fred Fusion later tonight and… Scott is interrupted by the PA system playing a piano and “Don’t stop me now” by Queen hits over the system. Mixed feelings from the fans greet a beaming Kid Cool some cheer the loveable loser while many other find it more pleasurable to toss garbage in his general direction. SA: Not expected here tonight but Kid Cool is most defiantly set for his final next week against Jonathan Rhine HJ: At Afflicted Glory. SA: Darn Straight. Kid Cool walks casually to the ring with a certain jaunt to his step which we’ve become quite unaccustomed to. Seems whenever Kid Cool doesn’t have a match, he’s more peppy. SA: Kid Cool is cocky, cowardly, no good son of a bitch who seems to be happier trash talking than actually fighting. HJ: You know for the first time we agree on something, Kid Cool is a loser. SA: What… Wait you hate him too? HJ: What is there to like about him? Kid Cool slides in the ring and takes a microphone as the music starts to slow down. Kid Cool waves to his adoring fans and ignores the boos and jeers coming from the rest. Kid Cool: Hey, Hey, Hey! What’s up Ontario! Usually there is a small pop for the hometown name, on this occasion however there is silence. Kid Cool circles the ring and continues anyway. Kid Cool: So I bet your wondering what I’m doing out here tonight, well in case you didn’t realise it, Kid Cool is going to Afflicted Glory! You want to know how happy I am… Kid Cool pauses again waiting for some kind of reaction but again nothing comes. Kid Cool: I’m so happy that I could sing… Kid Cool clears his voice and for someone so weedy he sings with a slight jazz to his voice. Kid Cool: Fly me to the moon, let me play among the stars… Kid Cool looks up at the ceiling of the arena. Kid Cool: Let me see what life is like on… # AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH! # SA: He may be new, but I recognize that music already! It’s Jonathan Rhine! Strata’s “Piece by Piece” explodes on the amps much like Jonathan Rhine explodes through the curtain, his arms raised (a microphone in one) and a smile on his face. The fans let out a hearty cheer both for the rookie and for the end to the singing. HJ: Oh no, this is getting even worse! SA: Jonathan Rhine is a very accomplished rookie with a bright future here in FUSE! HJ: He’s also a tool, but I guess it’s better than the singing. Rhine raises the microphone to his lips, then kicks his head back as he screams. Rhine: ONTARIOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! “RAAAAAAAAAAAH!” HJ: He stole Kid Cool’s pop! SA: Yeah, but he actually made it work. Rhine: First off, I just want to thank you guys for accepting me tonight. It’s an honor to receive your applause, and I appreciate it. Thank you. HJ: He’s retarded. SA: He’s a young man who appreciates the business he’s in, something you don’t see every day! He’s noble. HJ: He’s sickeningly retarded. Rhine now continues after soaking up the applause. Rhine: Now, I’m not usually the kind of person to come out and tell a person to shut up or anything but… And he pauses, looking at the confused and slightly-angered Kid Cool. Rhine: Dude, the singing. It’s GOT to stop. SA: Amen! And the fans cheer again as Kid Cool shakes his head, giving in to the full-blown anger. However, Rhine isn’t quite done. Rhine: Singing won’t get you anywhere at Afflicted Glory. I understand that you’re excited. I mean, it’s really an incredible feeling to be in a PPV in your third match after beating two certified FUSE Legends…I’m sure you know the feeling. HJ: This kid is getting cocky, I don’t like it! SA: He deserves to be cocky, Hunter! In two consecutive matches, he beat Damien Cruz and Mikael Lundgard, two former Universal Champions! His ego’s building, and it’s with good reason! Rhine: So I understand how you can be excited. But there’s got to be another way besides giving the concession stands an excuse to sell four dollar earplugs. Kid Cool looks gobsmacked. He backs away as far as he can holding the microphone to his face. Kid Cool: You can’t talk to me like that…or I’ll… Rhine: Or you’ll what? The fans cheer again as Kid Cool doesn’t have an answer. Rhine: Tell you what…how about I “what” right now? And Rhine drops the microphone and begins to walk towards the ring. Kid Cool is standing in the ring waiting for him, telling him to come on in. SA: We’re going to see some more action here, Hunter! HJ: It seems that every time Rhine isn’t in a match, he gets in a fight and gets his ass kicked. I’m looking forward to it happening again. Rhine slides under the ropes…and Kid Cool jumps out of the other side. The fans boo loudly as Kid Cool shakes his head, backing his way down the entrance-way. Rhine points at him, then jumps up on the turnbuckle and makes a motion around his waist as “Piece by Piece” starts again. SA: Kid Cool doesn’t want any of the rookie! He saw what happened to Cruz, he saw what happened to Lundgard, and he doesn’t want to get in his way! HJ: Now I might not like Kid Cool, but I don’t like Rhine more, and I have to point out that Kid Cool beat the same amount of people Rhine did! He just wants to wait for the finals at Afflicted Glory! He made his way through this tournament, and if he can do the same against butterhead in there, he’ll be the new champion! Heels vs. Faces 101 Featuring: Timo Bolamba and Darcy Crisis As the scene fades in, Darcy Crisis is stalking the halls of Scotia Bank Place. He almost seems somewhat wary, as if he expects anything and everything could happen tonight. As it turns out, something indeed was about to happen. Timo: Markson. Darcy stops and rolls his eyes. What the hell was this joker doing bothering him again? Hadn’t he put him in his place already? He turns to look behind him, but sees nothing. He looks back and forth a few times before turning around again and bammo! Standing in his way is 235 lbs of Samoan top sirloin. Darcy: GAH~! Darcy instinctively stutter steps backwards a few paces and puts his hands up to ward off a blow. Timo: What are you worried about Darcy? Do you think I would resort to a cheap shot just to get a little heat on you? That’s amateur stuff. Darcy finally finds his throat. Darcy: Dammit, I told you to stay the hell away from me. We don’t have any business together until later tonight, and to be honest, I don’t really want to hit you again. Unlike some people in this hallway, I like to show Aimz that I don’t need to be the aggressor. The Samoan smirks. Timo: Oh, but you are the aggressor Darcy. Or should I refer to you as “The Darcinator”? Or “Crisis”? Why, oh why, do you morons insist on coming up with pseudo names? Only the man who names himself something other than his real name has something to hide…a dark path…a lack of confidence…I don’t know what is it you “chub rubs” as my brother Hoyt might say do it for, but you choose to hide behind a name, or an act, or in your case… woman. Darcy glowers as The Samoan continues. Timo: Let’s please face facts Markson. I could call you anything at all, and nothing I say is more insulting to you than your actual name. That’s rather interesting to me. I have always thought of myself as somewhat of a good fighter. I possess a bit of panache, if you will. Yet I do not hide my name or actions. You, on the other hand, would walk forward as a man who lives as a fictitious character, all the while holding some sort of action in your concealed hand. Crisis sighs and shakes his head. Darcy: And what about you sancho? “The Samoan Silencer”? Oooooh, I quake at the very name! Is that like something you dreamed up to intimidate people? Is that why you wear the fangs and eye thingies, and the face paint? Do you really believe that it makes you more menacing? He pauses. Darcy: I don’t. The Samoan nods. Timo: A fair question. What you do not realize, my short sighted friend, is that I earned that moniker. I earned the right to wear something that makes me look intimidating because I AM intimidating. Do you think people frolic for the opportunity to get in the ring with me? I’ve never known a man who quaked with anticipation to fight me. Ever. Yet I am forced week after week to face the same type of person. Shrugging slightly, Timo crosses his arms in front of him. Timo: It really isn’t your fault. There are just so many people out there who see violence as an easy way to the top. Take yourself for instance. You see the world around you staying the same, and you want to be on top. That’s fine Markson, but you have to understand that you don’t make the rules by demanding things. You make the rules by taking them. Darcy: Like when I took you to school last week and shut you up for a change? Timo: That’s what you call that? Darcy raises a brow. Timo: That’s the exact issue we have Markson. You seriously think you accomplished something by sucker punching me. I, on the other hand, will do what I have had to do countless times before to so many idiots that thought they were hot shit before. I will go out in that ring, and I will do what I do best. No sucker punches, no acting harder than I am, none of that crap. Clean, concise…perfect. I don’t even have to win and I will look better in defeat than you look in victory. Darcy scoffs. Darcy: And how do you figure that Honcho? Last time I checked, you don’t get anywhere by losing matches. In fact I’m not sure, but I might have rattled something loose up there last week old timer. Why don’t you go take your meds and leave me alone? He tries to walk past Timo, but a large hand impedes him. Timo: It’s a simple fact Markson. You are the bad guy, and I am the good guy. You chose the path, and now it’s finally time for you to see why even in defeat nobody will remember this night for my loss or your victory months from now…However, they will remember the fact that you wont be able to beat me without cheating. Its how this game works in professional wrestling. Darcy had heard enough. He backs up a step and turns around. He doesn’t bother looking at Timo, or even saying a word, he just turns around and begins to walk away. As he takes his first step, he suddenly wheels around and throws a punch toward Timo. This time however, The Samoan catches his fist in mid air and before Darcy can react, he is swept off his feet by a Judo throw. The Samoan steps over Darcy’s body and begins to squeeze his clenched fist hard, eliciting a grimace and growl from Darcy. Timo: Don’t you know anything Markson? You can’t sucker punch the good guy twice. He squeezes harder and Darcy cries out. Timo: Go watch some old tapes; you’ll see exactly why I am what I am. Oh, and do yourself a favor…learn to punch. If it weren’t for the fact that I wanted this match to happen this week, I never would have let you strike me in the first place. He lets Darcy’s hand go, and Crisis grabs it, clutching it hard. Timo: Show the world you have a spine. For god’s sake, show Amy you have a spine. Fight me fair tonight, back up your mouth. Just don’t be surprised when you try to pull your shenanigans and you find a wall you cannot pass. I’ll be waiting. The lights suddenly drop to black, and when they restore, Timo is gone. Darcy is left clutching his hand, and he screams several curse words as the scene fades to the next exciting installment of KILLZone~! The inDecision Featuring: Clint Stanton, Cheryl Madison and Erik Parker We fade backstage to the FUSE Wrestling Board Room. It's just as it was seen three weeks ago, decorated in leather and mahogany, with the three board members sitting around a large table. Unlike the last time they made an appearence, they don't seem to be in a celebratory mood. At the head of the table, Cheryl Madison goes over a stack of paperwork, before finally breaking the silence. Cheryl Madison: .. I really hate that bitch. Clint Stanton: It ain't really Candy's fault, she's just the one who had to tell us. We did make her spokeswoman, afterall. Cheryl Madison: Thank you for that cheerful reminder. She goes back to looking over her stack of legal documents. Erik Parker: Any progress? Cheryl Madison: No. Absolutely none, and it's strange. Whoever added these stipulations to the board contract knew what they were doing, and made it nearly impossible to get out of. One of us is going to have to take over as chairman next week, Gentlemen, if not.. Then.. Erik Parker: Smitty. Cheryl Madison: So.. Uhh.. How about I just take it? Clint Stanton: Why the hell should you take it? I say we go with my plan. Cheryl Madison: We're not playing quarters to see who takes over this company! By the end of tonight, one of us will have made a decision. There's a contract that needs to be signed by one of us sitting at FUSE Headquarters in Chicago, and one of us is going to take it. Now let's get back to work. With that, the camera's fade back to ringside. The Summons Featuring: The Legacy and STD The door to STD’s “interestingly” appointed office swings wide and Lance and Travis Reed, The Legacy, stride in. Each man has his Fatal Affliction title belt slung over his shoulder and they both look a bit perturbed. Lance leans on his left arm, propping it on STD’s desk, as Travis flanks him, arms crossed. Lance Reed: Nobody summons us Smits. We decided to cut you a break and come down here this one time, but you have been warned. Now what do you want? STD: I want you to get your goddamned hand off of my desk! Lance takes a step back, startled by the base in STD’s voice. Travis pats his younger brother on the shoulder and steps by him, taking the forefront. Travis Reed: Well it looks like ole Smitty got him some balls. You know its hard ot take a man seriously when he’s got a stripper po-- STD stands, interrupting Travis mid-word. STD: You’re going to take me seriously and you’re going to shut your fucking hick-ass mouth. Travis face contorts and he clinches his fist. STD: Oh yeah, swing tough guy… see where that gets you. Travis relaxes, realizing that STD clearly means business. STD: Everyone thinks this is pick on Smitty week, well I’m done with it! Yeah, I’m happy go lucky most of the time and I’d much rather be watching some chick rub her titties up and down that pole but I’m stuck here looking at your ugly mug. I’m tired of getting pushed around and I am pissed off so you two are the lucky ones who get to suffer. Lance and Travis scowl in unison, but they seem content to let STD say his piece. STD: I’ve had to sit by and watch you two give Fred Fusion and Ethan Frost hell for over a month! I’m just as tired of it as they are. Now they came in here earlier and asked for a chance win those “titles” and I’ll be damned if I don’t believe they deserve that chance! Lance Reed: The Fatal Affliction division is a crowded place, I simply don’t know if they’re top contender material. STD: Well I disagree and frankly my word is law. You two are going to put those belts on the line at Afflicted Glory and I’ll be damned if you find a way to weasel out of it. I hope to god that somewhere you still have those FUSION Wrestling titles you won off Fred and Frost because I’m going to need you to produce those. Travis Reed: What the hell for? Smitty smiles. STD: I am so very glad you asked. You see we’re going to take those Fatal Affliction titles and we’re going to take those FUSION Wrestling belts and we’re going to suspend them over the ring. FUSE isn’t big enough for two fictitious title belts so we’re getting rid of one! Travis Reed: What? STD: I’m going to put each set of titles on a hook, separate those hooks by several feet, and the set of belts that come down will stay… the other set will be banned from FUSE! Lance Reed: You can’t do that! STD: I can and I did, if you don’t like I will gladly accept your resignation. The Afflictions reign of terror is coming to a close here in FUSE and this will prove to be but one of many nails that are driven into its coffin… live on pay-per-view! Travis steps up, again his fist clinches but STD doesn’t flinch. Lance quickly intervenes, pulling his brother away and towards the door. Lance turns back for one final word as the brothers depart. Lance Reed: Fine Duluth, all you’ve done is hold the Fatal Affliction division down since its inception. You’ve just given us a stage to prove these titles are the premiere belts in all of wrestling. You’re gonna be sorry. STD just shoots a less than impressed look at Lance as he watches The Legacy exit his office. PASTE TENSE. FUTURE WAITING Featuring: ??? The scene cuts into a pitch black room where a light appears which seems to be coming from an electric torch in a corner of the room. SA: I have a feeling I know who this is. HJ: Should I care? Sure enough sat in the corner of the room on a steel chair is the Mystery Man dressed in his usual attire of a black ski mask and long black trench coat. He shines the torch away from himself and onto the wall behind him which has photographs up of the camera man he beat and tied up a few weeks ago. SA: Hasn’t he put our camera man through enough already? HJ: (sarcastically) Yeah two weeks vacation is just a terrible thing to happen to a guy. Next to those photographs are more, this time of the fan who was beaten up by him. The photos of the fan are showing the fan in his hospital bed with cuts and bruises and several stitches. SA: How on earth did he acquire those pictures? The man shines the torch higher up and the photos there show the message he left in the fire of the parking lot. SA: What does showing his past actions prove? HJ: That you’re next line? SA: Don’t say that. The torch moves across a bit where some words have been painted on the wall: THE PLAN! The torch light then quickly pans back to himself. He stands up out of the chair and walks toward the camera. Man: I always keep track of my victims. I always keep track of the past as I look toward the future. The fan I destroyed has been paid appropriately for trying to reveal my identity before I am ready to reveal it, he won’t be trying to tell anyone any time soon. And that camera man just got in my way when I was leaving my message. SA: That’s no reason to beat him up. HJ: I think it is, but hey I just like that electronic voice. Maybe FUSE hired a robot. Man: Now, about the plan. You don’t need to know about the plan, I just wanted you all to realise that I am not a short term thing to happen in FUSE, I’m here for the long term. And that I suppose is another warning to those that don’t like the way I do things. He shines the torch onto another wall in the room and moves the camera to reveal what is on it. SA: That is just disgusting. On the wall are several more photographs of people covered in blood, but the photos are blurred. Man: Victims from my past. Next to the photos there are words written and then crossed out, but once again blurred, no doubt to conceal his identity. Man: I’m no rookie, I have a past and I’m bringing all my baggage to FUSE. I’ll be there soon enough, just watch and wait. With that said the torch is switched off and the room returns to a pitch black state. SA: I’m not looking forward to him being here full time. Paralyzer Featuring: Aimz and Darcy Crisis Darcy Crisis is about to step into singles competition in one of his first lone outings for FUSE. The stakes have been raised through the roof for this one, because it's about something far more important than titles in his mind. ... If only his fiancee knew that. She wants to support him, but there's little more than stress lines and bruises across her face when she enters the room, sighing deeply while toying with the bandages on her forehead. Crisis is so caught up that he barely notices his minute redhead enter, but as usual it isn't long before she voices her presence. Aimz: Aren't you gonna ask me what's wrong? Sure, it's a typically female move... but it'll get a reaction. Darcy: Let me guess... Amy Lee just cut a new album and you're miffed because you didn't get mentioned in the liner notes even though you bought her enough lemon drop shots to kill a small cow. Something like that, right? Aimz: No, but we both know I'd kill that filthy wench if I could. Amy reclines onto the wraparound benching supplied to the room. Aimz: You're not gonna go crazy tonight, right? This thing between you and Timo... it's stupid. But he was sort of right last week, y'know. Darcy: Sort of right? Sort....of right? With his boots laced up good and tight, Darcy turns to face this confrontation head on. Darcy: If sticking your nose where it doesn't belong qualifies as being sort of right around here, the beating I'm about to send his way will make anybody else think twice about being sort of right. Anybody who talks to me the way he did better be named Campbell or Markson... and I'm willing to bet your little Samoan buddy isn't in either of our family trees. The redhead sighs. Aimz: He may as well be family to me, and he's just worried about me getting myself hooked up with yet another in a long line of assholes. Yeah, he doesn't know you... but you've gotta admit, you haven't exactly been setting any boyfriend records around here. I got smacked down while you were running off with the mouth in the ring, and instead of rushing to the hospital you decided to waste some time bitch-slapping him when you should have been thanking him for getting me help before I bled to death. Now, instead of even going after likely candidates who would've want me taken out, you're wasting MORE time trying to sideline one of the only people around here who looks out for me. With that, she stands up and starts to head for the door - limping slowly all the while. Aimz: You need to get your shit sorted out, Darce. In some ways, you're damn lucky I'm still here... especially when I see you wearing a dead federation's title instead of my ring. You know I'll still stand by you at the end of the day, but you're making it harder and harder. At the end of the day, Timo can only judge you based on my past of taking shit from guys, the fact that you bailed on me once already five years ago, and the way you're treating me in public. He's not in our bedroom. And all he's given you to judge him by have been positive instances where he's trying to help the woman you say you love more than anything. Think about it when you're out there trying to break his neck. Darcy: Damn it all, Amy... His body language suggesting he would rather be doing anything else, Darcy slowly pushes himself to his feet and moves to meet his fiancee. Darcy: Listen to me. I know things haven't exactly been smooth sailing since we got here. But if you've got a problem with this team, you come to me. Nobody else's opinion means a damn to me, and it shouldn't mean a damn thing to you either. You're right, Sancho Bombala doesn't know what we're like at home, and that's why I told him to shove his opinion straight up his bippy. Believe it or not, I do care about you and I do care about us. And if you feel the same way, you'll stop playing Chatty Cathy with everybody who's willing to cut themselves to get into your pants and you'll stand by your man. Now are you with me, or should I go tell the Alliance to cancel our title rematch? Amy backs away from him for the first time in a long time. Aimz: Don't EVER talk to me like I'm some 50s housewife who's gonna obey your every word just because you use a firm tone when you call me 'toots'. I already told you that I'm still here for you, but you've got to smarten the fuck up and teach yourself how to treat me all over again. I don't talk to others about our relationship, but I'll listen to their opinions of what they see without slapping them in the face. If you're going to keep this team alive, you need to become a part of it again... because I'm done chasing you around. You can take me or leave me, but I won't be here much longer if you don't start treating me right. Have all your little jealous tiffs with my friends, but don't give me orders or just talk about how you care - show me, and not with some ridiculous macho display at everyone who calls out your fuck-ups. For a moment, she steps forward and cups his bearded cheek in her hand. Aimz: I love you, have a good match... but I'll be watching it on a monitor. I'm too sore to go out there, and I'm liable to go crazy on Timo when I see him hurt you - and neither of you deserve that. If you give a damn, find me after you've got your silly little beef settled out there and show me how you feel. You know where I'll be sleeping. Darcy: Believe me when I say this - next time you see your friend, every bruise, every stitch, every scar I leave on his sorry carcass will be a sign of just how much I really love you. And that's a motherfucking promise. Aimz simply shakes her head as she exits the room. As much as a little competition can make a girl feel like a queen, too much bullshit will have the exact opposite effect. Amy Campbell is left wondering what her next move will be, whether it will lead her into or away from her long time relationship with someone she loves beyond anything. Darcy Crisis, on the other hand, is left trying to prove his case - that he's not just going to be another waste of valuable years in the redhead's life. If he has to prove it by ploughing through every Samoan in his way, so be it. TIMO BOLAMBA VS. DARCY CRISIS Featuring: Timo Bolamba and Darcy Crisis Neil Fracas and Dave Gibson walk to the ringside area. Neil and Dave grab seats and head sets. Both Scott and Hunter look at them confused. Gibson smirks and settles into his chair. DG: This is nice... are these chairs real leather? Comfy! Dave hops up and down a little bit in the chair as he adjusts his headphones. SA: What are you two doing here? Neil: Well since you are able to ask a question that stupid makes the selection process that much easier. Scott why don’t you go get us some nachos? Hunter: And popcorn. DG: Hunter, can we get Scott to throw in a mineral water on that food order? I don't wanna get parched while I'm calling this great action... Neil: You heard the men. Take your time Scott because Hunter, Dave, and I got the announcing covered. Scott Ambrose leaves as Hunter points at Gideon behind them and to the right. Neil and Dave are looking at him in confusion as he has on a beer hat which REALLY doesn’t go with the Armani suit at all. He has a sign saying. “I paid 500 bucks for this seat”. They are looking at him in confusion. Gideon waves at them. HJ: Ummmm. Why does he have a beer hat on? Neil: Don’t ask me. DG: And one filled with Natural Light at that! Neil: They still call that beer? DG: I call it yeast'n'stuff “This Means War” by Bustah Rhymes hits and the fans respond. Several of Timo’s old fans who have found him on FUSE now stand to applaud. Timo launches out of the backstage area, Tiki Torch in hand. He whirls it around with great ease, the lighted end tracing a crimson path through the air. The Samoan slips down to the ring, slapping hands of the fans as he goes. He pauses shortly before entering the squared circle to stick his torch into a holder, then turns, taking off his shark tooth necklace. He walks to a youngster in the front row and puts it around his neck. The young man is elated. DG: That scene always brings a tear to my eye... Neil: I'm not much for the hand slapping stuff myself. DG: Besides, he buys those things in bulk anyway. HJ: And he likely paid some woman in Mexico 15 cents each for them. DG: Haha! That was a good one. But I like Timo... really, I do. I just don't trust the man. How can you trust ANYONE who won't take a gift-wrapped victory? Neil: You got me there. I'd have taken it. DG: That's exactly what I tried to tell him! Then he got all noble on me and... bah, let's get back to the action. Abruptly, "The Movement" by Inspectah Deck overtakes the arena, which is immediately greeted by a chorus of boos. As the former Wu-Tang Clan star belts out the opening lyrics to the title track of the album with the same name, Crisis has a look of pure focus on his face as he makes his way ringside, perhaps attempting to block out the boos of the fans who once adored him. Clad in a pair of blue jeans with his signature "EBE" black t-shirt, Darcy slips under the bottom rope and into the ring. DG: Ya know Neil, I swore I wouldn't make fun of Darcy tonight. Neil: Really... DG: Yep. Neil: So no jokes about his name... or the whole emo thing... DG: Nope nope nope! As Timo and Darcy are arguing as the match starts Hunter points at Gideon behind them. Gideon has a sign saying “I held the AWC TransAtlantic Title 2 weeks and I wasn’t even in AWC”. Neil: That sign is going to piss off Darcy. I like it. DG: I can't comment at this time... Neil: You OK, Dave? Ya look a little sweaty. DG: I'm tempted, OK?!? The bell rings and Darcy and Timo lock up in the center of the ring. They try getting an advantage but Timo can't get the leverage and Darcy isn't able to power Timo back until Darcy goes low and arm drags Timo across the ring and points at his head. Timo looks at Darcy in annoyance and gets to his feet and locks back up again. Darcy arm drags down Timo a second time and smirks and does a bicep flex. Timo is cursing as they lock up but this time Timo overhead throws him across the ring with a head and arm suplex. DG: *yawns* Neil: Finally a suplex. DG: So sleepy... Need... siesta... Neil: Dave, we've got commentary to do... DG: Spanish announcers! Spanish people take siestas! HJ: Aw crap that means I have to watch this then. Darcy gets up and instead of locking up Darcy pulls the leg out from under Timo and takes him to the mat. Darcy starts stomping the leg then puts knees into it and starts wrenching it. Timo starts kicking at Darcy with his free leg to try and get free but Darcy is relentless holding onto that leg and then going back and starting to lock in a heel hook. That doesn’t last too long as Timo starts slamming down his free leg across Darcy’s body until he has to give up the heel hook. Neil: No way in hell a heel hook is going to work on a fresh Timo. What an idiot! HJ: Darcy had it in solid. Neil: Big deal he ate about 7 leg smashes from Timo’s free leg. As Timo is getting up Darcy is kicking the left leg of Timo and drops him to one knee and kicks him in the head. While reeling from the kick Timo lunges at Darcy with a waist lock and takes him down to the mat and starts raining down forearms to the chest and head of Darcy. You can see the sweat flying from the head and body of Darcy as 235 pounds of Samoan rage and violence hits him full force. HJ: Sweet! Neil: You knew it wasn’t going to be a technical match that long. You don’t bitch slap a Samoan and not expect to get your head handed to you. I’m loving this. HJ: Oh man Gideon has a new sign. Gideon is holding a sign that says “I paid to see Darcy get Silenced Samoan style”. Darcy scrambles back to the safety of the rope break but it doesn’t stop Timo from drilling him with forearms. Darcy rolls to the outside and Timo is lunging at him. Darcy grabs the left arm of Timo and slams it against the ring apron. Timo is holding his forearm as Darcy rolls in. HJ: What a mistake by Timo. Neil: Can’t blame Timo there. I want to slap around Darcy on principle myself. HJ: What do you think Dave… Dave… You awake Dave? They look at Dave who is leaning back in the chair with his eyes shut who obviously isn’t watching the match at all. Darcy grabs that left arm and starts twisting it in an armbar and is forearming it. While gritting his teeth and shutting out the pain Timo drills Darcy in the nose with a forearm bloodying his nose. This causes Darcy to let go of the armbar and start punching. This plays right into Timo’s strategy and before Darcy Crisis could regain his composure Timo Belly to Belly suplexes with a Northern Lights Suplex. This barely gets a count as Darcy kicks out strongly cursing. HJ: Oh man. Neil take a look at the sign. Neil turns around and sees the sign. Both Neil and Hunter are laughing their heads off. Neil: Fuckin beautiful. The camera shows Gideon holding a sign “Bah Amy bleeds more then Darcy during her time of the month.” While both men are getting to their feet Darcy is kicking at the leg of Timo. It takes 4 kicks but the leg buckles and Darcy is on it like a shark wrenching it and pulling it taking Timo to the center of the ring. Darcy hooks the heel of that leg under his arm and reverse DDTs it to the mat getting a grimace of agony out of Timo. Neil: I want to shit on this match but Darcy is bringing his A game. HJ: We can still shit on his ring attire though. Neil: That is why you are one of my favorite ring announcers Hunter. When in doubt find something else to shit on. As Darcy is getting up he keeps a hold of the left leg of Timo. He starts pulling on it trying to hyper extend muscles and ligaments as well as knot up the leg muscles as he is stomping the leg. Darcy starts dropping elbows on that leg and then starts a kneebar on that left leg. Timo starts kicking at Darcy with his right leg to try and get loose. HJ: That was stupid. Last time he tried a leg lock he got kicked several times. Neil: I blame rap music. The impacts from the kicks cause Darcy to wince noticeably until he grabs the right leg of Timo and turns the kneebar into a Figure 4 on the mat. Darcy is cinching it in and Timo is in a lot of pain. Gideon is starting up a Timo chant. Neil: Great counter. Timo is going to reverse it though. HJ: Yup. TIMO!! TIMO!! TIMO!! TIMO!! As Gideon is getting the crowd chant for the fans to cheer Timo you see the sweat beading on the forehead of Timo as he is struggling to roll over Darcy. TIMO!! TIMO!! TIMO!! TIMO!! You can see the strain but Darcy is slowly being rolled then he is rolled over and the Figure 4 is reversed. Darcy is in pain and starts to try and drag himself to the ropes. You can see the desperation in Darcy’s eyes as he tries to get free. ASK HIM!! ASK HIM!! ASK HIM!! ASK HIM!! Neil and Hunter are laughing as they see Gideon starting the ask him chants. No one is really expecting Darcy to submit as he is inching even closer to the ropes. They know the only purpose of the ask him chants is to annoy Darcy and get him off his game. Darcy makes another lunge and gets to the ropes. The referee is signaling for Timo to break the hold but the hold is held a full 4 seconds before Timo helps the referee get the legs free of the Figure 4. Neil: This should be interesting. I’ve been in the figure 4 and it takes a hell of a lot out of you. It took Timo force of will and adrenaline to gut it out and reverse it. After that adrenaline dies down you lay there exhausted in pain. HJ: And Darcy has to be tired. He was dragging 200 pounds of dead weight to the ropes. Both men are getting up slowly. Darcy swings with a right hook with everything he has but Timo ducks it and waist locks Darcy and tries to German suplex Darcy but he is blocked. HJ: Textbook Greetings from Oz by Timo. Neil: You are calling that Greetings from Oz? HJ: Can you think of anything better? Neil: Yeah. Getting pushed by Chet Worth. Timo headbutts Darcy in the back of the head and then German suplexes him hard to the mat. Timo doesn’t break the hold and starts German suplexes him again. Timo is bridging holding Darcy’s shoulders to the mat. The ref is counting 1… and Darcy rolls to the side but Timo will not let go. Darcy is kicking the left leg and back elbowing Timo and finally gets free. He DDTs Timo hard to the mat and is holding his back from the German suplexes. HJ: Did you think that Darcy would be controlling the match this well? Neil: Timo goes back a long way with Amy and he flat out thinks that Darcy is a worthless jackass. I’m not going into my opinions on the idiot but Timo has been pissed off all week. DARCY-BATER!! DARCY-BATER!! DARCY-BATER!! DARCY-BATER!! Neil and Hunter are laughing as they see Gideon start the Darcy Bater chants. Darcy has had all of this he could stand and he rolls out of the ring and gets right in the face of Gideon. The fans are chanting even louder knowing that they are getting under his skin. DARCY-BATER!! DARCY-BATER!! DARCY-BATER!! DARCY-BATER!! The referee rolls out of the ring to try and get control of the situation and Darcy is letting out a string of curses that cause Gideon to smirk smugly. Timo is getting up to his feet. The referee is trying to get between the two of them when Darcy slaps Gideon across the face sending the beer hat and his sunglasses flying. You can see a look of anger on Gideon’s face as he gets in the face of Darcy. You can hear Gideon say “Not only are you named after a girl. You slap like one as well.” The crowd lets out a gasp. Neil: This is going to be great!! HJ: He is going to kill him!! Dave Gibson starts paying attention to the stand off between Gideon and Darcy when he sees Tanaka come out of the crowd and sneaking up behind Timo yelling at Darcy to get back in the ring. The crowd is reacting but no one is able to tell it from what is going on ringside. Tanaka measures Timo. Gibson notices what is going on and smirks. Tanaka lets out a low cough that causes Timo to turn around. Timo barely sees a blur as he gets kicked in the side of the head by the same type of shin kick that Gonzaga threw at the head of Mirko Cro Cop. Timo falls limp to the mat as the referee is breaking up Gideon and Darcy. Gibson is smiling as he pretends to be asleep. Tanaka is gone back into the crowd by the time everyone’s attention is back in the ring. HJ: That sucked I wanted Gideon to floor Darcy. Neil: He didn’t want to interfere… What the Fuck hit Timo!! Even if you didn’t see it you know that Timo was hit by something. Darcy grabs a chair and slides into the ring. He is waiting for Timo to get to his feet but he doesn’t seem to be stirring much. The referee is checking on Timo when Darcy pushes him away and starts picking up Timo. Timo can barely stand as Darcy is measuring him before smashing the chair with a brutal THWACK!! of metal on bone. You can see blood starting to flow from Timo’s forehead. Neil: This is bullshit!! Darcy puts the chair over Timo’s face and goes to the top rope. He measures the distance and then he jumps with an elbow drop driving the chair into the face of Timo busting his forehead open. There is a huge dent in the chair where Darcy put his elbow so hard into it that it busted him wide open. Darcy is rolling on the mat holding his elbow in pain but he guts it out and hooks Timo’s leg with his left arm and makes the pin. 1… 2… 3… Darcy leaves the ring and is standing next to Skye. He is admiring his handiwork. Skye: The winner of the match!! “The Darcinator” Darcy Crisis!! Gideon jumps the rail and Neil drops the headset. They enter the ring and check on Timo. Gideon removes a handkerchief from his jacket pocket and holds it to Timo’s forehead to try and slow the bleeding from the horrendous elbowdrop where Darcy Crisis damn near put his elbow through a chair to bust open Timo and leave him bleeding. The Alliance are helping Timo to his feet as Darcy holds his elbow and walks to the back. HJ: WOW!! Who would have ever expected Darcy Crisis to leave Timo laying in a pool of blood. As the cameras go to commercial Dave Gibson gets up from the announcers table. Speak now, or forever hold your guilt Featuring: Clinton Sage and Jacob McKail SA: Wow fans, I’m still in disbelief about that Bolamba and Crisis match! We’ve still got two more matches to go, but I’m going to be hard pressed to say that anything can top THAT match! HJ: Are you done, yet? SA: Done what? HJ: Fellating the midcarders. Turning towards the camera, Hunter Jones smiles a big, toothy grin. Over-exerts the smile, at that. HJ: The previous insult was paid for by Clinton Sage and anyone else who has talent, like Lane Stevens. The previous insult was directed towards everyone else on the roster, announcers like Scott Ambrose included. SA: There are days when I hate you, and there are days when I absolutely want to see what a head being smashed in by a meat cleaver would look like. HJ: You wouldn’t. SA: I would. HJ: AND MESS UP THIS HAIR?!?!? As the camera watches the announcers for a moment, we can see Scott Ambrose press a finger against his earpiece like the secret service agents do when they’re being given the order to kill a would be presidential assassin or pick up presidential underpants. SA: Oh no, folks…I’m being given word that an altercation is taking place backstage! Clinton Sage and Jacob McKail have somehow found themselves in the same room! HJ: The previous insult was directed at Jacob McKail as well. Suck him dry, Ambrose, just don’t forget to tickle the balls! [ cut ] The shot jumps to the FUSE Dining Hall, where once again like in previous weeks, there are tables set up looping around the room in a giant “U” shape. As the shot cuts in, a few of the FUSE staff can be seen scurrying out of the room, their spidey-sense tickling their scaredy-bones. HJ: PUSSIES! Standing at the far end of the tables, is Jacob McKail. The FUSE Universal Champion has a small plate in his hands, with a few healthy selections of fruit and various delicatessens atop it. (It’s how he keeps those bangs so bouncy and full of life) Slowly snaking his way around the tables, picking up an apple along the way and tossing it like a baseball from one hand to the other, is Clinton Sage. Knowing damned well that neither man can lay a hand on each other before the PPV, the tension is thicker than some of the thighs on the women in the stands. And that’s pretty fucking thick, mind you. Sage stalks the newly crowned champion, the wolfish grin only matched by his ego. Clinton Sage: Well, well, well, if it isn’t the man that I single-handedly choked out last week. Looks like the Garrote hasn’t popped that head of yours off, I might have to start lifting a bit more weight. But, for the second time in a little over two months, you’ve lost to me in the center of the ring…champ. Jacob McKail brushes his dark bangs away from his face, just enough so Clinton Sage can see him smirk. HJ: WIPE THAT SMIRK OFF OF YOUR FACE IN THE PRESENSE OF A DEITY! SA: Stop yelling, for Christ’s sake! HJ: For Sage’s sake, don’t you EVER shut up?!?! Stepping down a table, Jacob McKail says nothing back towards Clinton Sage. The eyes of ‘The Seventh Sin’ narrow slightly, perplexed. In turn, he takes a stride down the row of food tables, matching that of his prey. Sage: What’s the matter, Jacob, afraid that if you say anything, I’ll dismantle your words just as easily as I’ve dismantled you inside the squared circle? And just like I told John Covel last week, the only reason you even have a career is because of me, kid. So I expect you to thank me for bringing you out of the curtain-jerkers, and into the midcard. HJ: Told you he was in the midcard. SA: He is our Universal Champion, how dare you! Once more, Jacob McKail says nothing. He smacks his lips together slightly, and then grabs a piece of the fruit off of his tray and takes a bite. As he’s chewing the piece of fruit, McKail leans in forward as if he’s going to say something to Clinton Sage, and Sage leans in, in turn. He sends a mocking smile towards Clinton, shrugs his shoulders slightly, but doesn’t say anything. The breathing of the devil depends, and the grin turns into a menacing frown. The muscles in his jaw can be seen clenching and unclenching before Clinton bites his bottom lip for a moment, and lashes out with a tirade. Sage: Who the fuck do you think you are! When I address you, you answer me! You better be attending church on Sundays, kid, because you’ve got an angel on your shoulder. Thank the heavens that Duluth banned me from placing any harm on you, or else you wouldn’t even see another sunrise unless you read it from a Braille book, or watched it from the heavens. I don’t think you get it, kid, I really don’t. Clinton Sage leans across the wooden table, the table itself groaning under the pressure of his 6’6”, 250lb frame. Sage: You’re not ready for this kind of pressure, yet. Before, I hunted you down and made your life a living hell because of you simply beating me, but now…you’ve taken something I want. And not only that, you’ve got guys like me after you and the rest of the roster. Your actions define this federation, and yet…you stand there and can’t even find the fucking balls to answer me when I address you? I’ll say it again, who do you think you are? SA: Oh, this isn’t good. This isn’t good at all. Fans, the pay per view main event might be in jeopardy, here. If Sage lays one hand on McKail, the match is off! HJ: Maybe that’s what the coward wants! Sage has already beaten him twice! That bastard Jacob McKail is trying to weasel his way out of the pay-per-view! SA: That’s absurd! HJ: What’s absurd is that its called a pay-per-view…because we’re on Showtime, and it’s not like that’s free, either! This is a pay-per-view! Sensing the tension in the room, FUSE’s Universal Champion leans in close to Clinton Sage, close enough to feel the radiant heat coming off of the angered Sage, and looks him up and down for a moment, analyzing the situation. The champ brings a hand up and rubs the barely-seen stubble across his chin. But once again, he says nothing, and turns away from Clinton Sage, heading towards the exit of the Dining Hall. HJ: Look at that pussy! PAY PER PUSSY iS WHAT WE’RE GETTING AS A CHAMPION! SA: Let me say this, folks, I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone play the mind game better than Clinton Sage, but now it’s Jacob McKail who has turned the tables on that bastard! Like he just got slapped across the face by some bitch at the bar, Clinton Sage’s jaw drops and he blinks a few times. Did that just really happen? Sage: Maybe you didn’t hear me…WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE?!?!?! Slamming two closed fists down atop the table, breaking it in half, Clinton Sage yanks and throws the halves of the table in two directions, sending the toppings across the room in every possible direction. Storming past the splintered halves, tossing over the other table that impeded his path. The champion stopped in his tracks, and turned to watch the rabid animal approaching. Sage: ANSWER ME, GOD DAMN IT! Closing the distance between them to less than a foot, Sage’s lips peel back in anger to show his teeth, while finally Jacob McKail can be seen starting to get agitated and angry. His fists start to clench and unclench, perhaps his own way to release the pressure without hitting Clinton Sage and losing his Universal Championship match against perhaps his greatest rival. But he continues to hold his stance, silent and stoic. Sage, however, can’t control his anger. When he yells, the spit flies and his face reddens. Sage: WHO THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU ARE! “That’s Jacob McKail…sup McKail?” The voice comes from offscreen, and the camera darts over to see just who it is. Standing there, a smile across his face, is FUSE rookie sensation Jonathan Rhine. SA: Oh no…oh no, oh no, oh no, oh no. Backing away from McKail a step, Clinton Sage’s obsidian eyes never leave McKails, but the anger leaves his face, quickly filled with enjoyment. SA: Oh no, no no no. This isn’t good, isn’t good at all. HJ: Are you crazy! This is great television! Jonathan Rhine, in all his rookie ignorance, has just walked into the wrong room at exactly the wrong time. If they sold wrong time on the corner, Jonathan Rhine just bought all of it. He flicks his chin out towards McKail with a smile, and studies Clinton Sage with a wary eye for a moment. But then his attention gets directed towards the few tables of food that Clinton Sage didn’t destroy, and he takes a step towards them. Clinton Sage lifts an arm, and points at Jacob McKail. Sage: Hey kid, congrats on both of your wins over those…legends… Stifling a laugh as he slinks his way over towards Jonathan Rhine, Clinton Sage picks up another apple off of one of the tables. He flicks a quick glance back towards Jacob McKail, who instinctively takes a step towards Clinton Sage. But he knows it’s too late, and he knows there isn’t anything he can do. Even if he were to speak up, it would take an act of God to stop FUSE’s own Devil from his machinations. Sage: Like apples? Gently tossing the apple into the air towards Rhine, for a split second the rookie looks up towards the fruit arching towards his head, but suddenly becomes aware of just how quick Clinton Sage can be, and equally as deadly. The chair was snatched up almost immediately, and Clinton Sage even spun a full three hundred and sixty degrees before crushing it against the face of Jonathan Rhine. SA: OH NO! HJ: Rookies…they never learn. Well, Rhine will learn now. The one chairshot was enough to knock the FUSE rookie unconscious, and send blood pouring out of his nose at a disturbing rate. But Clinton Sage lifted the chair up high once more, and brought it down across the back of the neck and shoulders of Rhine once more. Sage shot a glare back towards McKail. Sage: THIS IS YOUR FAULT! THIS IS YOUR FAULT, JACOB! Another crushing blow, bending the chair slightly around the unconscious body of Jonathan Rhine. Sage: THIS IS WHO YOU ARE…HIS SPILLED BLOOD IS ON YOUR CONSCIENCE! Falling to his knees, Clinton Sage kneels beside the lifeless body of Jonathan Rhine. He takes the rookies head in his hands, watching as a mix of spit and blood bubble out of the rookies mouth, letting the blood ooze over his hands. Clinton stands up quickly and grabs an unopened soda can from a nearby table and looks at it for a second, then grins. Kneeling back down by Rhine’s prone body, he takes the soda can and smashes it into Rhine’s face, spraying more blood and causing Rhine to cough up blood and what may or may not be a tooth. HJ: That better be Diet Dr. Pepper, it’s better for the body! SA: This is…my God, this is just too much. Clinton looks down at his blood covered hands, still holding the soda can, stands up and kicks Jonathan Rhine in the ribs for good measure. Followed by another boot to the face, before stomping on the rookie’s midsection once more. 'The Seventh Sin' walks over to Jacob McKail once more, lifting the bloody can of soda only an inch from the eyes of the FUSE Universal Champion. Sage: You better hold onto that belt tonight, champ, because now someone has paid for it with their blood. You're in a whole different echelon of importance with that strap around your waist or across your shoulder, and there are others who suffer from your actions. Sage looks down for a moment, smirks, and then hands McKail the can of soda. Sage: You look like you could use a drink. With a quick flick of the wrist, Clinton Sage sends drops of blood splattering across the face of Jacob McKail, who is standing there with a look of shock mixed with anger. Sage: Now get the kid a fucking band-aid. He turns away from his quarry, leaving his back exposed for a moment too long, knowing the attack would never come, and leaves the dining hall. McKail turns towards the fallen rookie, his fists clenched tighter than ever before, and is left speechless not by his own choice, but by the actions of Sage himself. Roadie Revolution Featuring: 'Mean' Dean Jokerlin, Bobino and STD The lights drop as the crowd lets out a low rumble. They stare towards the entrance way as suspension draws. All of a sudden the PA rumbles out the voice of Bob Marley as The Wailers play on in the background. HJ: What the hell is this? SA: I think it's a revolution song... Revelation reveals the truth - revelation. (revolution, revolution, revolution - oooo-doo-doo-doo-doo) (revolution - oooo-doo-doo-doo-doo) Lights buzz to attention illuminating the aisle way leading to the ring. The first man to step out of the entrance way is Dean Jokerlin. The fans can't help but cheer their "hero". HJ: Not this joker... SA: The true savior of man has reached the entrance way! It takes a revolution (revolution) to make a solution; (doo-doo-doo-doo) Too much confusion (aaa-aaah), so much frustration, eh! I don't wanna live in the park (live in the park); Can't trust no shadows after dark (shadows after dark), yeah-eh! So, my friend, I wish that you could see, Like a bird in the tree, the prisoners must be free, yeah! (free) Dean is not alone as he steps forward basking in the glow of the light and the fans. He is followed by seemingly an army of men. HJ: Ok, What the hell is this?! SA: A...revolution? Never make a politician (aaa-aaah) grant you a favour; (doo-doo-doo-doo) They will always want (aaa-aaah) to control you forever, eh! (forever, forever) So if a fire make it burn (make it burn, make it burn) And if a blood make ya run (make ya run, run, run), Rasta de 'pon top (aaa-aaah), can't you see? (doo-doo-doo-doo) So you can't predict the flop. Eh-eh! (doo-doo-doo-doo) These people, these faces, although they blur together are the faces of FUSE. They are the men and women that are independently contracted by each arena FUSE enters. They are the men and women that make this show possible week in & week out by constructing and managing these sets. We got lightning (lightning), thunder (thunder), brimstone (brimstone) and fire - fire (fire, fire); Lightning (lightning), thunder (thunder), brr-brimstone (brimstone) and fire - fiyah - fire - fiyah! (fire, fire) A small set of pyros come to life around the entrance way. They are fire red cued by the song. The men Dean lead down the aisle now reach their destination. They all enter the ring and sit. They all take seats that span the full mat. Some even sit around the ring. Kill, cramp and paralyze all weak at conception; (aaa-aaah, doo-doo-doo-doo) Wipe them out of creation (creation), yeah-eah! (creation) Wa-Jah, Jah, Jah! Wa-Jah, Jah, Jah! (creation) Wa-Jah, Jah, Jah! (creation) HJ: CALL SECURITY!! SA: I think they might already be in there..... The music abruptly stops in sequence with the lights flipping back on to full capacity. Only one single spot has been left bare on the ring mat. Dean Jokerlin stations himself within that bare spot with a microphone in hand. Dean: Bob Marley said it best ladies and gentlemen, "It takes a revolution to make a solution." That is what this is; this is the Roadie Revolution. The fans give a quick pop showing their support. Dean: I have been laboring in the back studying which would be best to confront this problem. And, well, I think Doctor King did it best, non-violence. I am here today with my men performing a sit-down. We will not leave this ring until we get what is demanded. The crowd continues to cheer as Dean takes his place as the centerpiece within this mass clogging up the ring. All of a sudden that entrance-way drapery gets ripped open to see a steaming Smitty. Smithers T. Duluth is not a man who likes dead air. Dead air cost money, Smitty likes money. STD: What the hell do you think this is Jokerlin?! Do you think I'd allow you to get away with this?! Dean once again stands to respond to the commish. Dean: I don't think it is in your power any more, Smitty. That is the first time Dean has ever referred to any boss by his first name. He feel cool and he shows it with a smirk. STD: Well, you're wrong...too bad. Bobino is suspended and I don't double book...tough shit. Dean scrunches his face as he seems a bit perplexed. Dean: Fine!! I can wait! But, not long...Afflicted Glory.... Those two words bring on an out cry from the crowd surrounding. Dean: Me ....Bobino ...Afflicted Glory....Payback. The crowd chants out Jokerlin's name. He can not believe the following he has slowly been growing, for the first time he feels....wanted. STD: Dean...Dean...Dean...If I've told you once I've told you a million times, ol' Bobby boy is out, gone, finished. And that is beside the point. The FUSE Pay-Per-View is not something we throw any jobber on. The people that fill this card have to actually you know....have talent.. Dean scoffs at his higher ranking FUSE member. Dean: Talent, Schmalent! Look Prime is still on the top of the charts, they don't have talent Cheap Pop. Dean: Exactly, now, what do they do to replace talent? Stipulations! And that is why I encourage you to make this match, and make it a lumberjack match with all of these fine workers lining around ring. The fans cheering grows once more. STD nearly has to scream as he makes his way closer to the ring making sure Dean can hear him. STD: Does this look like Prime?! Do we look washed up?! No! Smitty's words are then interrupted by Mushroom Head. "Solitaire Unravelling" breaks out across the PA as the crowd begins to boo. A man steps out from behind the curtains. That man is the "Master of Darwinism" Bobino. He holds a mic in his hand and a scowl on his face. Bobino: Dean-o, I thought I already finished your little crusade last week when I set you on your ass, buuut if you need it again I guess that could be arranged.. Now, it is STD's turn to interrupt someone as he cuts both Dean from a rebuttal and Bobino from continuing. STD: Actually! No, that can't be arranged seeing as you are still suspended! And Jokerlin I suggest you move your rag-tag army out of that ring before I call INS! A few murmurs coarse through the sit-down with a couple of tanned tortilla lovers becoming worried. Dean: Do what you like, Smitty! You better call in someone, maybe I should suggest fire hoses? I don't know just think of the most racist way possible so I can lure Mr. Jackson back out here to give you another lawsuit? Smitty clams up a small bit after the prospect of losing money is involved. He doesn't believe Jesse would actually fight for another race than his own, but then again he doesn't want to give him the chance. Dean: Exactly! And as for you Mr. Bobino. I expect to see you this Sunday.. The fans begin to deafen the arena as they roar. Bobino: Well, I mean, if you really want to fall as hard as that guy who used to get me coffee, that is fine with me. Hell, why don't I use the same weapon, let's drop some pipe wrenches into that ring, whaddya say? Dean simply nods and drops his mic as Bobino turns for the curtains. STD is the only one that can still be heard...barely. STD: HEY! WAIT A MINUTE! I'M THE BOSS! I MAKE THE RULES!! Although Smithers T. Duluth is a man surrounded by the greed for the green he is still a little slow when his ego becomes involved. He somehow doesn't realize what is going on around him, that is money. Those cheers? Money. Those wrenches? Blood....which in turn brings money. He slowly comes to the realization that this could actually...help...the...PPV. STD: You know what? FINE! FINE! FINE! You want it? You both got it! But, this will not be simply a lumberjack pipe wrench match! Oh, no! This match will be determined only by knockout! That's right, me, the genius, have put a good spin on two bad wrestlers! This Sunday is Dean Jokerlin vs. Bobino in a lumberjack pipe wrench last man standing match!! If you want to cover your bad wrestling with stipulations....you need a lot Dean. Dean once again only nods as fire burns in his eyes. STD begins to make his way back up the aisle leaving us with only one sentence. STD: Now, everyone, go buy the damn thing. Touché Featuring: Lane Stevens, Clinton Sage and STD Smitty T Duluth walks down a hall, taking small and careful steps. The look on his face is one of dread, and determination. After about fifteen seconds of this later, he arrives at a door. A piece of paper on the door says this: Lane Stevens The commissioner stands at the door momentarily, takes a deep breath, and knocks on the door. There is a brief pause. Voice: Come in. Smitty opens the door slowly enough that it creaks dramatically. Inside he not only The River Rat Lane Stevens, but one of the men Lane answers to, a Mr. Clinton Sage. They are seated across from each other at a rather cheap looking card table. Five cards sit face up in front of each player, and two sit face down. It appears that Lane is attempting to teach Clinton how to play a form of poker called Razz, a version of seven card stud. Lane Stevens: (to Clinton) Razz is a limit game, so while position can be important…it’s not nearly as important as in hold’em. Clinton shrugs, he seems relatively disinterested. Their gaze collectively finds Smitty. Lane Stevens: How’s it hangin’ buddy? Smitty says nothing at first, he simply steps forward and closes the door. STD: I came to talk to you. Not…him. Sage’s face forms its trademark smirk. Lane Stevens: It’s not like he wouldn’t find out about our meeting sooner or later, one way or the other. Either through me, or not. So let’s just get the middle men out of the way, shall we? Smitty takes a few seconds to consider this, and finally nods. Lane Stevens: Good. Now, how can I help you? The commish looks at his feet as he talks. STD: Not a lot of people here know, but I have a daughter. I believe she is in danger; some kind of psychopath is involved. We are not supposed to go to the police. Some kind of…stalker or something. Lane Stevens: What is her bust size? This is important for uh…background info. STD: THIS IS SERIOUS GODDAMNIT! Clinton and Lane share a humored glance. Lane Stevens: I know, I know. Just trying to lighten the mood. STD: This is not the kind of mood that can be lightened. The River Rat nods, his face seemingly becoming sincere. Lane Stevens: Look, I’m sorry. Go on. STD: You had said that you knew people that could…take care of these kind of situations. Lane Stevens (immediately): And I do. If I am given the proper information, and the price is right. Clinton Sage leans back in his chair; he seems almost surprised by this conversation. STD: Tell me more about the price. The face of the Livewire champion lights up. Lane Stevens: Well, I’m content being a wrestler, but there’s a job here in FUSE I’ve always wanted to do part time. Should I take care of this for you, I would expect to be able to work this particular job from time to time. STD: Go on. Lane Stevens: Let’s not worry about that for now. You just get me some specifics about your situation, and I’ll explore some of my contacts. We’ll talk at the PPV. Smitty just stands there, looking helpless. He does not want to feel like he has been bought, but this is an issue very close to his heart. STD: (low) Fine. Lane Stevens: Nice doing business with ya, sir! Smitty does not respond, he simply turns and leaves the locker room. After the door is closed, Lane grabs an apple off the card table, and takes a rather large bite of it. Clinton studies him as he does this. Clinton Sage: How do you think you’ll be able to stop his daughter from being harassed? Lane Stevens: Well, because I arranged the harassment in the first place. That was a very matter-of-fact sentence. Lane followed it up by taking another bite of the apple. Clinton Sage nods at him, completely taken by surprise. The expression on the stable leader’s face seems to say “touché”. Lane Stevens: You will wear that belt again, my friend. Cut. DHARMA: Damn, Hoyt Announces: Racist McKail Answers Featuring: Hoyt Williams and Jacob McKail SA: Well it’s now time for Hoyt Williams to give us his “BIG” announcement. HJ: I have been waiting all night for this. I think this is going to be the highlight of the show. SA: If by highlight you mean waste of time then so be it. A negro spiritual plays as from the back enters Gilbert Godfrey in black face. He smiles a big smile as he shakes hands on his way to the ring. He has chains around his neck and is bare foot. He gets in the ring and takes the mic. Leroy Godfrey: Holy Mack-er-al look at all dez folk! The crowd boo’s the racial stereotype as Gilbert plays it very well. Leroy Godfrey: Sucuse me had you seen my master? Mr. McKail? He done beat me if I don’t rub his feets soon. Gee wiz, I can goes for some watermelon and fried gizzards! UMM-UMM. SA: MY GOD this is offensive. HJ: I agree, this McKail makes this poor man rub his feet? EVIL!! Leroy Godfrey: Tis sure is loud in here folk! Master McKail done whip me last night after I took to long getting him his Barely 18 magazine. Also I don’ts understand why he likes looking at the Toy’s R’ Us catalogue. He done seem old for toys but he sure do like the boys. I seen him trying to start a fire rubbing his log to pictures of the kid from Jerry McGuire! SA: This is disgusting. HJ: I agree, we are learning more and more about McKail and his dark side. Leroy Godfrey: Yes sir. Master McKail and his Klan friends sure don’t like us blacks. No sir. He burns crosses and beats blacks for fun. Master McKail is a bad, bad, man but don’t tells him I say that!!! NOOOOO SIRRRR! From under the rings appears Jivey Smurf the midnight blue smurf who was held back by McKail, and kept off the TV show the smurfs due to his color. HJ: Look, it’s Jivey Smurf the worlds only African-American Smurf. SA: This whole charade is offensive and it’s all Hoyt’s doing. He is the real racist. Jivey Smurf gets in the ring and pimp strolls over to Gilbert Godfrey who is in black face doing his character Leroy Godfrey. Jivey Smurf: What’s smurf’n papa? Leroy Godfrey: I musts have accidentally taken some of Master McKail’s white snow drug, cus I’m seeing things fer show. Jivey Smurf: You are not seeing anything. I’m a black Smurf who your master held back. Leroy Godfrey: You ain’ts black you’s dark blue. Jivey Smurf: Shit Smurfro listen up. In Smurfdom midnight blue is black. You dig dude? Leroy Godfrey: I don’ts believe my eyes. Feets don’t fail me now! Jivey Smurf: Don’t Smurf away yet, we have some bit-ness to discuss dawg. I can save you from your Master McKail. Leroy Godfrey: You can get me mys freedom? Jivey Smurf: All you have to do is believe in Hoyt! Leroy Godfrey: Whom is dis Hoyt? Jivey Smurf: Shit, Smurfo don’t you know? He’s the second coming. If you took a dirt nap today would you get into heaven? Leroy Godfrey: Well if he can’s save me then I believe. Jivey Smurf: Say it with conviction! Leory Godfrey: I believe in HOYT WILLIAMS. The arena goes dark as thunder booms and lightening flashes. SA: What is going on? HJ: I don’t know do you think McKail’s evil is entering? SA: Will you stop. The ring fills up with purple smoke as from the ceiling slowly lowers is Hoyt Williams wearing a sparkling white jump suit with a golden batman type cape. Hoyt Williams hovers above the smoke for a moment snapping his fingers and all the smoke vanishes. A bright light then consumes the ring. SA: MY EYES! HJ: That is one bright light. When the light turns off the normal lights return and Hoyt Williams grabs the chain around Godfrey’s neck and snaps it off. Godfrey smiles and does a cart wheel. Leroy Godfrey: Free at last, free at last, thank HOYT almighty I’m free at last!!!!! Hoyt Williams: My son, you are free, please exit a new man. A free man. A strong black man!! I am the crusader of civil rights here, to free FUSE of it’s oppression and satanism. Master McKail you no longer are a slave driver, but rather a slave of God. Fear him, as he no longer loves you. Feel his wrath, as he will remove the title from you. But this is my time for a special announcement. First a miracle!! Hoyt hops out of the ring and waves his hand over some fans bag of popcorn. A second later the popcorn turns into a fish. As a matter of fact it starts raining fish through out the arena. The crowd starts booing Hoyt and throwing fish into the ring. Jivey and Godfrey take off running to the back. Hoyt ducks under the ring until the fish riot ends. SA: How disgusting this place smells like.... HJ: I was thinking about your wife too, but please this is a family show. SA: This is disgusting, not a miracle. The crowd is not happy and they let Hoyt know it. The fish riot ends as a huge pile of fish stands in the ring. Hoyt climbs out from under the ring then climbs back into the ring. Hoyt Williams: Sinners, chub rubs, and diseased spawns of Satan understand this. Your savior’s jump suit costs more then your entire family’s income. I give you the gift, just as Jesus did of fish. You throw it back? Have you people become so selfish that the gift of food is an insult? That is the self love that men like McKail embrace. Throw the gift of life back into the face of God by having fat bodies, filthy mouths, and selfish-self love! I am disgusted by you people. I’m so mad I’m not sure I want to make my announcement anymore. SA: Take your ball and go home like you did in that other federation when you didn’t get your way. HJ: Please the man is on a mission from God. Hoyt Williams: I am God’s Champion! The crowd boo’s and a few more fish fly in the ring. One fish nails Hoyt right in the face but he ignores it. Hoyt Williams: Wait a minute....woooo.....God is speaking right now!! But only the enlightened can hear. SA: I don’t hear anything but the crowd booing. HJ: OH MY GOD!!! I HEAR GOD!! Hoyt Williams: Yes father? You want me to go forward with the announcement? But DAD! Oh ok.....you also want me to tell these people they are all going to hell...BUT....OK......and Hunter Jones is going to be saved? Ok you got it pops!! SA: What? HJ: I told you I heard him!! You know how Hoyt’s title is so perfect that it leaves you in shock and wonder. The voice of God is very much like that too. SA: This is all an act, there was no voice of God. Please. HJ: Only the enlightened heard it. Clearly you are not one of the core group you are one of the “others”. SA: This week’s Killzone is brought to you by ABC’s LOST. Like a Hoyt Williams promo, it goes somewhere; but nobody really knows where. Yet like a car wreck you watch anyway! Feel the desperation as the writers reach for ideas, and make up bullshit! It’s ABC’s LOST! Wednesday nights. HJ: What are you saying about Hoyt segments? SA: Read between the lines. HJ: Is this that middle finger joke? SA: No. Hoyt Williams: God told me you all are all going to hell. Crowd boo’s. Hoyt Williams: Except Hunter Jones, he’s enlightened and not one of the others. Hunter stands up from his ring side table and takes a bow, a fish hits him in the head. Hoyt Williams: Well here it is....... Six trumpet players run in from the back and play an announcement trumpet tympani then return to the back. Hoyt Williams: Next season I will be on Dances With The Stars!! HJ: HOLY COW!! What a major announcement. This is the greatest news EVER!!!! HOLY COW!! SA: WHO CARES? Hoyt Williams: Just kidding. See I have a sense of humor. The announcement is this.... Six trumpet players run in from the back yet again, and play an announcement trumpet tympani. Hoyt Williams: At Afflicted Glory God’s championship will be on the line! The crowd seems uninterested. Hoyt Williams: Since McKail is busy I must look else where. My opponent will be Jacob McKail’s father, the Imperial Wizard of the Klu Klux Klan, Jimbo McKail!!! From the back enters a man in a red Imperial Wizard robe of the Klu Klux Klan. He is holding a cross with the image of Hoyt Williams on it. He stands it up, then sets it on fire it goes up fast. Hoyt watches as his image burns in a blaze of hatred. Hoyt just sneers his lip at the masked “McKail”. Imperial Wizard McKail: Jesus was a JEW and if you are his brother then you’s a JEW too! Burn filthy Jew, burn!! God’s championship will be mine cus no spook, wetback, or JEW can stop me or my son Jacob McKail. The McKail family is a proud racist family and we’s hold all the gold! Hoyt Williams: God’s going to strike you down! So it is spoken so it is gospel. At Afflicted Glory, I will strike you down the father of McKail, then set my sights on your son! Imperial Wizard McKail: My son never will have to deals with you cuz I’m going to hang you first! Hoyt Williams: It’s on! SA: Another set up by Hoyt Williams. That is not McKail’s father it’s an actor. This is crap. That is one match I’m NOT looking forward to at Afflicted Glory. HJ: GOD’S Championship is on the line at the pay-per-view “Your Personal Jesus” Hoyt Williams versus the Imperial Wizard McKail! The battle of the century this just sold the pay-per-view for me. I’m sooooo getting it now. SA: You are going to work the show you don’t need to order it. HJ: I’m ordering anyway and taping it. What a classic match up, and I hope Hoyt can hold on to his title. SA: I’m sure he will. =w= Oh god please don't believe the hype! Featuring: Fred Fusion and Ethan Frost Backstage once again we see Fred Fusion and Ethan Frost however they are currently in the parking lot stood outside by the very appealing setting of some dumpsters and behind them three ladders are set up. Ethan Frost is currently standing up straight, his fists clenched, behind him Fred Fusion is attempting to look menacing but failing significantly. Frost: For too long now, myself and Fred have stood back and let the bad things happen to us. The Legacy break my arm, they take away our belts and week upon week of sneak attacks. It was always a numbers game. Next week though it will be simply a case two on two. The Legacy vs. Fusion and Frost and the deciding factor.... Frost turns around and slaps one of the ladders behind him heavily. Frost: 12 feet of steel! As the intensity can clearly be read on Frost's face, he is suddenly distracted by a noise. He turns towards it, and his shoulders drop and he sees in front of him his friend Fred Fusion climbing up one of the three ladders set up in the background. Fred: Look Ethan! I'm almost at the top! This is eas... KWAHAAAAA!!! Fred's foot sadly slips on one of the rungs, as he goes tumbling from the top of the ladder, holding on with one hand, before letting go and falling down onto a closed dumpster, then bouncing off it and down to the floor with a trademark thud. Knowing that the balance of the hype machine was tilting, Frost knows he has to do something straight away. Frost: That's exactly what will happen to 'The Legacy' next week as they try to climb the ladder of success but they stumble and fall, they will fall because we will push them. There is nothing that 'The Legacy' will be able to do that will prevent me and Fred from getting back what is ours At this point, Fred pulls himself to his feet, and now stands next to his partner. Although a little dizzy, he starts his own hype. Fred: That's right! The FUSION Wrestling Titles! Something that you stole from us, something that you tried to destroy with you're Fatal Affliction Titles... but that's not how it's going to go, you see w... Suddenly as Fred was starting to get into things, the ladder he was just on seems to have wobbled a little much, and toppled over, falling right onto Fred's head. Fusion goes down with another thud. Frost: Errrr yes and that thud was only a small proportion of the pain that we will deliver to you! The pain that you caused me when you broke my arm, the pain that you caused Fred when you took his belts. All of that will pale in comparison to the pain you will feel next week. You have made us wait too long and now we're so hungry, we're simply going to destroy you. Isn't that right Fred! Once again, Fred pulls himself up from underneath the ladder, fairly groggy, as he looks towards the camera, only not, rather a little up and left from the camera squinting. Fred: Yes! Destroy you! And as just an example of what's to come I will... The second ladder suddenly toppled over landing on Fred. However, he manages to stay on his feet, holding the ladder just above his head. Fred: I... I will destroy Clinton Sage tonight! He's no better than you two Lance and Trav', he's attacked us from behind on many occasions, and tonight we get revenge, and we get to show you a preview of things to come. Fred Fusion and Ethan Frost regaining the FUS... The third and last ladder finally comes crashing down, landing on the ladder Fred is already holding above his head. Fusion tries to stay up under the weight. Fred: ... the FUSION Wrestli... The pressure is too much as Fred stumbles backwards, tripping over the first ladder that fell on him. In a loud crushing metal banding "explosion", Fred goes falling backwards, both ladders he was holding up tumbling down right onto him. Fred: ... Frost: Well....that went well. FRED FUSION VS. CLINTON SAGE Featuring: Fred Fusion and Clinton Sage SA: Here we go fans, Fred Fusion vs. Clinton Sage, it’s happening! Suddenly the lights die and the FUSEwire is filled with the following: Affliction – n. A state of pain, distress, grief, or misery The crowd erupts in boos as “Pet” by A Perfect Circle echoes throughout the arena. After a few seconds of music, the curtain is pushed outward by the frame of “The Seventh Sin” Clinton Sage. He saunters from the entrance, a devilish smirk on his face. The boos start to die down, only to be summoned once again as Lance and Travis Reed push their way through the curtain. The Legacy, Fatal Affliction titles slung over their shoulders, flank Sage on either side. After a moment to soak in the depth of these fans hatred they begin to make their way down the aisle, entering the ring. SA: Naturally Sage comes with back up! HJ: Lance and Travis have a vested interest in this match! SA: In ruining it. 5.. 4.. 3.. 2.. 1.. It's the final countdown!!! "The Final Countdown" by Europe hits the speakers, with it's far too well known "tutututuuuu... tututututuuuuu!!!". The keyboard solo goes on, when suddenly out from behind the curtain comes Fred Fusion with Ethan Frost in tow. HJ: Hey, Frost has no business out here! SA: I hate you. Fred and Frost stop just out of the curtains and mime counting the number of people in the ring and then themselves. They add it up and seem to be a bit unhappy with the results. The fans are simply loving the little pantomime but they quite their cheers as Fred produces a mic and raises it to his lips. Fred Fusion: Seems like the odds are a bit one sided… as usual. Frankly I’m just about sick of these Affliction games so I’m not playing. SA: Is he refusing this match? Fred Fusion: Those sneaky bastards are gonna lurk around ringside and I’m gonna spend this whole damn match waiting for them to trip me or just plain lay me out. Unfortunately, knowing those two idiots, they’re screw up and get you DQ’ed Sage. That’s just not going to work. SA: What’s he trying to say? Fred Fusion. I’m not letting you off that easily Sage, I want this match to be made no disqualification! HJ: He’s lost his mind! Sage looks back at his two men to Fred’s one and grins. Fred Fusion: Yeah, that’s right, you’ve got the numbers, seems like a no brainer for you. What’s it gonna be? SA: The ball is in Sage’s court! The referee looks to Clinton Sage and Sage nods in agreement. For good measure Lance has fetched a mic and passes it off. Clinton Sage: If you’re stupid enough to offer it how can I pass it up? Agreed. HJ: It’s on! Fred and Frost immediately sprint up the isle and slide into the ring. Sage drops down onto Fred, slamming the microphone into his head and sending a ‘thwump’ echoing out over the arena. Lance and Travis put the boots to Frost before he can even get to his feet, leaving him lying in a heap by the ropes. HJ: Fusion is a bigger fool than I ever imagined. What kind of moron proposes what amounts to a 3 on 2 match? SA: Don’t be so quick to judge, Fred may have something up his sleeve yet. The Reeds pull Frost up and shoot him into the far ropes as Clinton Sage pulls Fred up into a front face lock. Frost rebounds out and looks right down the barrel of a double clothesline from the Legacy as Sage hoists Fusion up into a vertical suplex and holds him in the air. Amazingly Ethan manages to duck the clothesline, hit the far ropes, and bounce back as Fred suddenly wiggles and jerks and slides free from the hanging vertical suplex Clinton had him trapped in. Lance, Travis, and Sage all quickly turn around to meet their individual fates. The Reeds are dropped by a double flying clothesline from Frost as Fred snaps off a Fusionizer that catches Clinton completely off-guard! SA: What a set of moves! HJ: Impossible! The crowd are now immediately into this match as Fred and Frost spring up and pump their fists. Fred then begins directing traffic, calling for Frost to roll Travis out of the ring. Ethan quickly complies as a few feet away Fusion pulls Lance to his feet and locks on a side headlock. With Travis dumped outside Frost returns to Fred’s side where they double Irish whip Lance across the ring. The younger Reed rebounds out and strides all the way back across to Fred and Frost who have their backs against the far ropes. As Lance comes in he’s lifted up with a double back body drop and tossed from the ring! Lance takes the long fall to the ringside area where he luckily, or perhaps unluckily, slams down onto his recovering brother! SA: A forced suicide leap there for Lance and he just wiped out his brother! Suddenly these odds are looking a little different! HJ: What a bunch of lucky ass bull shit! The fans are loving it but Frost and Fusion barely notice as they zero in on Clinton Sage. Clinton is trying to get up, stumbling a bit in the process, still woozy from the Fusionizer, and he’s easy pickings for Ethan and Fred. SA: They’re pouncing! Fred grabs Sage and whips him to the far corner where Clinton smacks hard against the turnbuckle and slumps in place. Fusion now grabs Frost and whips him too, only to have Frost pull the ole reversal and whip Fred instead. Fusion railroads in and slams a running splash into Sage, sandwiching him in the corner. Clinton stumbles out of the turnbuckles, stunned, and takes a sloppy swing at Frost. Ethan easily ducks the swing and allows Clinton’s momentum to carry him 180 degrees before snatching Sage into a rear double arm lock. Fred then flies in and slams a superkick into Sage’s chin, the force of which allows Frost to easily hoist Sage up and over for a Tiger suplex! SA: Frost and Fusion are looking like a well oiled tag team here! Frost bridges on the Tiger but obviously no count comes. We quickly realize that Ethan isn’t really trying a pin but simply holding Sage in this doubled up position so that Fusion can make his way over and securely grip Clinton’s legs. Again Frost and Fusion are in perfect sync as Ethan releases the Tiger bridge just as Fred rolls Sage up and over with a wheel barrow suplex! SA: We have rarely seen some of our Fatal Factions work together this well, I for one am impressed! HJ: You would be! This is all just dumb luck, like everything Fusion has ever done in his career! Fusion and Frost are totally pumped as they get to their feet, the crowd cheering them on. The rally is suddenly brought to a halt as two metallic clanks echo out in near unison as Lance and Travis swing for the fences and brain Ethan and Fred with steel chairs! SA: Where did they come from?! HJ: Ha! Now that’s what I call teamwork! The crowd’s cheers turn to unanimous boos as Lance and Travis hold up their now dented chairs in the center of the ring. SA: It looks as though these numbers, and the no DQ stipulation, may have caught up to Fusion. HJ: You thought it wouldn’t? SA: I hoped… HJ: Hope is for pussies! Travis now yanks Frost to his feet and drapes him over the nearby middle rope. Travis now, interestingly, plants the feet of his chair on the ring apron and posts the top under Ethan’s throat. Frost is trapped there, body leaning on the rope, throat jammed down on the top of the chair, Travis’ weight on his back to hold him in place. A few feet away we see Lance scaling the turnbuckle, his chair still in hand. SA: What the hell are they doing? HJ: I’m not really sure but I have this feeling I am about to utter a string of expletives once they do it. Lance perches on the top turnbuckle for a moment before leaping off, chair still firmly in hand. Lance pulls the chair down under him as he leaps from the turnbuckle to the outside of the ring. Lance slams the chair down across the back of Frost’s head with a chair assisted leg drop, violently crushing Ethan’s throat against the other chair! Ethan reels up, immediately hacking up a mouthful of blood and falling to the canvas! HJ: Ohmyfuckinggoddiyoujustseethatshit?!?!?! SA: That was simply uncalled for, what point does such brutality serve? Travis kicks Frost to the outside where he lands beside Lance who didn’t fair that well on his end of the vicious move either. Travis now turns his attention back to Fred Fusion, who is on one knee courtesy of the handful of hair Sage is yanking him up with. Clinton keeps his grip on Fred’s hair and uses it to whip him towards Travis who catches, lifts, and slams Fusion to the mat with a spinebuster! SA: We saw Travis drop Fred with one of those in the aftermath of Raynes/Frost and now he gets another! HJ: Now Freddy gets his! The fans are voicing their displeasure with the turn this match has taken but Travis and Sage don’t even notice. Clinton is now directing traffic as he instructs Travis to retrieve the chair that had been posted under Frost’s neck moments ago. Travis is quick to do so and he sets it up in a seated position as Sage asks. SA: This is not the match we expected to see here, the involvement of all these additional parties has just become frustrating! HJ: Oh, now you don’t like it? SA: I just hoped we could see Sage and Fusion compete one on one in a competitive contest. HJ: One on one would not have been competitive, Sage would have put Fred’s ass down in the first two minutes! Travis and Sage yank Fred up and goozle him, positioning his back to the chair. The crowd rises to their feet, sure of what’s about to happen and non-to-happy at the prospect. HJ: Freddy boy is going down! Sage and Travis, neither man known for their use of the chakeslam separately, manage to cooperate on a picture perfect tandem version. Fred is lifted and then driven hard into the folded out seat of the steel chair, flattening the whole of it. The fans groan, feeling Fusion’s pain. HJ: Ha! SA: Fred’s body is being punished in ways it has never been before, I simply don’t know if Fusion is capable of coming back from this. HJ: He ain’t coming back, it’s over! As Sage and Travis congratulate themselves on their move well done we hear a faint clank at ringside, barely audible, hardly noteworthy. SA: Wait what’s that going on over on the far side of the ring? HJ: It’s Frost! Ethan Frost, a trickle of blood running down his chin, slides back into the ring and he’s got a… SA: Ladder! Before Sage and Travis can even react Frost is coming at them, ladder swinging like a dervish. Clinton and Travis both get smacked in the chest and hit the mat as the fans come to their feet, reinvigorated! SA: It’s an early preview of Frost and Fusion’s match at Afflicted Glory with the Legacy! HJ: Somebody stop this, no ladders allowed! SA: It’s no DQ Hunter, anything goes! Frost slams the ladder down onto Sage and lifts it high to do the same to Travis. Right about then Lance staggers onto the apron, woozy from an off camera ladder shot moments ago. Ethan somehow senses this and shortens up, pulling the ladder in and not striking Travis, instead quickly turning and jamming the ladder through the top and middle ropes right into Lance’s gut! The force of the blow knocks Lance off the apron and down to the floor where he falls back into the guardrail! The crowd is electric! SA: Lance goes down! Frost now turns back to find Travis up and just a foot away. The elder Reed grabs the ladder and tries to pull it away from Frost but Ethan has a death grip on it! After a few back and forths Travis musters all his strength and gives on last pull, wrenching the ladder free of Frost’s grasp. Travis staggers back, ladder now firmly in hand, and immediately lurches right back at Frost. HJ: Now Travis has it! Frost is gonna pay! Travis steps through with a huge swing of the ladder but somehow Ethan ducks under and slides around big Trav. Travis stops himself after miss and lumbers back around only to find Frost already in the air with a dropkick! Ethan’s feet manage to find ladder rungs and he dropkicks the ladder right back into Travis’ face! Travis falls back, dropping the ladder to the mat and cascading over the top rope and to the floor below! SA: What a counter! Travis has been knocked from the ring! HJ: That’s bull, that ladder should have never been under that ring in the first place! Ethan is quick to grab the ladder and smash is down over Sage’s prone body one more time. Now, with Sage stunned and Fusion making a slow recovery across the ring, Ethan sets the ladder up and starts to climb! HJ: What’s this idiot doing? SA: Looks to me like he’s about to put Sage down for the count! It’s a slow climb but finally Frost reaches the top and stands, albeit it shakily, on the highest rung. The crowd crescendos with cheers as they wait for Ethan to make his death defying leap and put Clinton Sage away. SA: Here it comes! Frost now leaps from the ladder, but it’s not forward towards Sage but instead it’s backwards out of the ring! Ethan moonsaults back and flies towards the Reed brothers who are barely on their feet at ringside. Frost crashes down onto the two brothers with an insane blind moonsault and all three men collapse to the floor in a heap! HO-LY SHIT! HO-LY SHIT! HO-LY SHIT! SA: Oh my god! HJ: Frost has lost his fucking mind! SA: He never looked back, that was truly a leap of faith! He could have died! The fans are going completely insane but they manage somehow manage to dial it down as they focus in on Fred Fusion and Clinton Sage, finally alone in the ring. SA: Ethan Frost just took not only himself, but the Legacy out as well… this is down to a one on one contest! Fred staggers to his feet, favoring his back for obvious reasons. Fusion heads over towards Sage and reaches down to pull him up. Somehow Sage lurches up, seizing Fred’s arm and pulling him down into a triangle choke! HJ: Garrote! SA: Sage suckered Fred in! Sage cranks on the submission as the referee slides in, ready to signal for the bell at a tap out. Fred is resilient and refuses to tap, he struggles to a vertical base, feet in a standing position, the rest of his down pulled down into the triangle. From this point of leverage Fusion is actually able to push both of Sage’s shoulders to the mat. SA: Fred turned it into a pin! ONE! TWO! THRE- Sage shifts his body, pulling one shoulder safely off the mat at the loss of a bit of his vice tight grip. SA: Just got the shoulder up! HJ: No way Sage gets put out like that. You think he ain’t had someone try that before? Fred again calls on his vertical base, but this time it’s not for a pin attempt but instead for a last ditch effort to free himself. Fusion actually manages to lift Clinton off the mat a couple of feet but Sage keeps the Garrote locked firmly on. SA: Fred’s lifting him! HJ: It’s gonna take more than that to make Sage lose that hold! FU-SION! FU-SION! FU-SION! With the fans cheering him on, and his consciousness fading, Fusion expends his energy reserves, lifting Sage to almost shoulder level… then the pain hits. Fred’s back spasms under the load and he falls forward. Fusion gets lucky, accidentally dropping Sage down with an improvised powerbomb. In an even bigger stroke of luck for Fred, Clinton’s head is cracked across the second to last rung of the ladder as he falls. Both men hit the mat, Sage ends up clutching at his head and Fusion, free of the Garrote, is left rolling around in pain after his back gave out. HJ: Damn! Did you see Sage’s head snap off that ladder rung, ouch! SA: A huge stroke of luck there for Fred. His back simply could not hold up after that earlier chokeslam onto the chair and he was close enough to the ladder to get lucky. The fans are on their feet, chants, boos and cheers are too mixed to distinguish one from another, but its clear that these fans are loving this match. The referee resists his urge to issue a standing 10 count, remembering the no DQ stipulation, instead he can only pace and wait. SA: You have to think that the advantage is going to go to the man who can get to his feet first. After a few more moments of nothing we see Fusion start to stir. Fred gets to his feet in a rather delicate manner, holding his back the whole time, clearly in pain. SA: Fred’s up! Fusion starts to hobble over towards Sage, who is by now to one knee. SA: This is Fusions one chance to put this match away. HJ: This isn’t his one chance, he has no chance! Fred reaches out for Sage and grabs him by the hair. Fusion starts to pull Clinton up but suddenly Sage swings his arm up and nails Fred with a low blow! Again the referee resists the urge to do what comes naturally since he can’t DQ anyone in this contest. SA: Damn it! HJ: Haha! Yes! Sage pushes himself the rest of the way up to his feet and immediately grabs Fusion’s arm, wrenching it around a full turn. Clinton now laps up and wraps his legs around Fred’s neck, pulling Fusion down into a triangle choke hold! HJ: Garrote! SA: Not again! The fans are stunned silent for a moment but they are quick to remember their role and they attempt to ‘help’ Fred get free. FU-SION! FU-SION! FU-SION! HJ: Chant all you want, this one’s over! As Fusion’s air is cut off he flops once or twice like a fish left gasping for breath on a fishing boat’s deck . After another moment his body seems to go limp in Sage’s grasp and the ref steps in to check things out. SA: This doesn’t look good for Fusion! HJ: Damn right it don’t! The ref grabs Fusion’s free arm and lifts it up… It drops. Again the referee lifts the arm… It drops. The ref now lifts it for the third time, the fans cheers intensify as they attempt to will it to stay in place… It drops. HJ: That’s it! DING! DING! DING! The crowd is quick to boo, and even a few pieces of trash fly towards the ring. SA: Fred Fusion gave an amazing effort here tonight, the odds simply proved to much. HJ: Odds my ass! Fusion was beaten by a superior wrestler! We’re talking about “The Seventh Sin” here, former FUSE Universal and PTC Global champions! At first Sage refuses to the release the triangle but the ref finally manages to pry Fred free. Fusion slumps to one side as Clinton Sage stays on his back, sucking wind, in no position for a proper victory celebration. SA: I cannot believe the effort that went into this contest, I can’t believe the effort that went into this whole evening! What a night it has been folks, what a night indeed! We see one last shot of the devastation, Frost, Lance and Travis writhing in pain at ringside, with Fred and Sage still prone on the inside. The Fly in the Ointment Featuring: Tsuyoshi Tanaka and 'Mean' Dean Jokerlin The cameras take us from the arena to the outside of Tsuyoshi Tanaka’s locker room. El Hombre, now unmasked, is standing outside of the door. The fans boo immediately upon seeing Hombre. The door slowly opens, and Tsuyoshi Tanaka stands tall, looking statuesque, in front of El Hombre. El Hombre almost shrinks back visibly in front of the cameras. He wipes his hand across his expansive forehead, looking as if he regrets his decision to return. Tsuyoshi Tanaka: You have some nerve, Hernando. El Hombre: How is this MY fault? I told you that you should have paid for Spanish lessons for me before hiring me for this gig. Tsuyoshi Tanaka: What? You’re a spic! You should know how to speak Spanish! El Hombre: I was born in East LA! Tsuyoshi Tanaka: You sicken me. How could you FUCK up a two on one attack? El Hombre: You were just as much— Tsuyoshi Tanaka: Look, I’ve had just about enough of your excuses. I should kick your ass, ground you into the ground right now…but I won’t. Besides, I’m in a good mood. I had one hell of a night, and for once, I’m not getting screwed. El Hombre: Can I go then? Tsuyoshi Tanaka: No, we need to discuss our next strategy. El Hombre: Whoa, you still owe me for my services this week. That will be 1500 big ones! Tsuyoshi Tanaka(glowing red): EXCUSE ME?! Voice: Hey! Keep it down! I’m trying to get tanked here! Tsuyoshi Tanaka: Hey! Who is that? “Mean” Dean Jokerlin appears in the doorway behind El Hombre. El Hombre quickly moves out of the way in cowardice. Dean gets right next to Tanaka, smirking at him, looking a bit out of the loop. Tanaka pushes a stray hair from his forehead. His face, stony and angry moments ago, now seems to be calm, even frightened. Tsuyoshi Tanaka: Who…the hell are you? Dean: Anyone who doesn’t fast forward the show between their own matches and segments would know that I am “Mean” Dean Jokerlin, resident hero and aspiring wrestler!  Now, keep your big mouth shut, or else I will have to shut it with my foot! Tsuyoshi Tanaka:  Look, I'm in no mood for a self-promoting, no talent jackass.  You should do yourself a favor and go back into your locker room.  The only woman that will ever allow herself inside of you is Laura Tabitha! Dean chuckles momentarily before answering the slant-eye. Dean: I never knew you mom's middle name was Tabitha.... A cheesy smile breaks way as Dean solidifies his name with an "I Fucked Your Mom" joke. Tsuyoshi Tanaka:  Fucking cunt-- Wait...you know what?  I don't need this.  The fact is, "Mean" Dean Porkerlin is, in no way, a threat to me.  If I wanted to be insulted and demeaned by a futureless greaseball, I'd go down to McDonalds and try to order a whopper. Dean merely nods as he has become accustom to this type of treatment. Dean: I understand, it would be difficult for them to identify much with your broken English. Tsuyoshi Tanaka:  In regards to language.  You and I share a common thread, Porkerlin.  I speak Japanese as a first language...you speak drunken gibberish.  English is difficult for us both. Tanaka smiles and snickers at his own joke. Dean: Yeah, lucky thing for me is that when people misunderstand me they just give me money thinking I'm some bum. You, on the other hand, they take to jail thinking you are about to shoot up a school over penis envy. El Hombre: Excuse me...can I go now? Tsuyoshi Tanaka:  Wha?  Huh?  No!  I'm not done with you yet!  Get lost, Pokerlin!  You interrupted a very important meeting! Dean looks at the homey as he contemplates what this meeting could be about. Dean: Oh, I gotcha. Trying to blend together chicken fried rice and re-fried beans within a tortilla? Good idea, you might be able to sell that to Taco Bell or something. Tsuyoshi Tanaka(sarcastically):  Goddamn!  Such ideas...wasted here on us!  You should be working for NASA, developing the next flight simulation program!  Or, perhaps you could find the exactly value or pi!  Maybe you could even decipher the meaning of the ancient texts in the tombs of Egypt! Dean strokes his chin as if he was really try to solve some long upstanding riddle. Dean: Oh, or better yet I can try and cure Asian driving! I'm thinking scotch tape...Is that what it is, eyes too closed to see the full road? Scotch tape could fix this right up! Tsuyoshi Tanaka:  The day you Americans can criticize Japan is the day America comes up with quality electronics, a car that doesn't burn a hole in the layer thousands of feet above our heads, and a leader that doesn't use the words "liberry," "bisghetti," or "nuke-ya-ler" Dean once again smirks at the crazy lil' Asian. Dean: That'll be the same day you Orientals don't cause wrecks, don't overprice sweat-shop manufactured goods, and actually have a leader important enough to know and criticize. Before Tanaka can respond, Jokerlin slams the door locker room door shut. He places a chair in the hallway in front of the door.  El Hombre, still on the outside, scurries away like a rat.  Tanaka bangs and pounds on the door from the inside. Tsuyoshi Tanaka:  Hey!  Open this door! Dean can be heard chuckling from the other side as his voice fades with his steps. Dean: What's wrong, Yoshi? Can't find the door handle?! Open your eyes...USE TAPE! Tanaka pounds the door in frustration, then circles around his locker room.  His initial triumph in the night's events is now spoiled. Tsuyoshi Tanaka:  Fucking punk… HJ: Unbelievable! Tanaka gets screwed again! SA: All I can say is that Tsuyoshi Tanaka is getting a taste of his own medicine. HJ: He can NEVER catch a break. SA: He doesn’t deserve it, if you ask me. Tanaka may have a lot of bad fortune, but he has worked hard to earn all of it. Flesh and Blood Featuring: Dave Gibson and Timo Bolamba Backstage, as we return to the pumpified KILLZone 39, Dave Gibson stands at the counter in his dressing room alone. Before him he has a wrestling magazine from yore with Timo Bolamba standing up on the turnbuckles holding his FSW championship belt high. He looks down at the magazine, harboring a grudge that he’s never fully been able to extinguish. He sighs a little and reaches out to grab a bottle of Fruit Punch Gatorade, only to find the lights in his room to suddenly flicker off. There is a sound of a scuffling, and a broken lamp, and then suddenly the only light that emanates from the room is that of a match. Illuminated by the match light are the two faces of Dave Gibson and “The Samoan Silencer” Timo Bolamba. The Samoan has Dave pinned to the ground, and his face is contorted in pure rage. A fresh wound drips blood from The Samoan’s forehead down his stained cheeks and runs past his lips until it eventually falls onto Dave Gibson’s face. The Samoans wide white eyes glare deep into Gibson’s soul. He opens his mouth to bare his fangs, Dave tries to look away, but has nowhere else to look. Timo: I trusted you with my life Dave. Whatever you feel is wrong isn’t wrong. You betrayed me, and I warned you not to. He pauses, licking a bit of the blood away from his lips. Timo: The next time we meet, you will have one last chance. Fail me…And I WILL end your career, just like you tried to end mine. Except this time, there will not be any coming back for you. The blood drips on Dave, and Timo’s gashed forehead continues to pump out the ichor. Timo: You have until Afflicted Glory to get your shit straight. Think about this Dave, because I am sick of telling you twice. The match blows out and as suddenly as he was there, Timo was gone. The End Of The Road Featuring: Mikael Lundgard Timeless by Graveworm hits the FUSEWire and sends the fans into a chorus of boos. For the last two and a half years it’s been doing that. Any week that Mikael Lundgard comes out, just those first few, haunting notes are enough for the fans to know what’s coming. SA: Ladies and Gentlemen, I think the time as finally come for us to find out Mikael Lundgard’s announcement! HJ: Fifty bucks says he calls out McKail SA: If I was a betting man I’d be happy to take your money. HJ: Come on, Lundgard is -THE- FUSE legend. He deserves the title opportunity more than Covel… #Forget the time, forget this place# #'cause we are here to damage your face# #Just close your eyes# #Across the ocean, across the land# #Mysterious things, and the name of a band# #Just close your eyes and give me your hand# Mikael Lundgard slowly makes his way down to the ring with a microphone in hand. He’s not dressed for combat either, wearing the exact same clothes as he was earlier, sans the shades. Leather jacket, T-shirt and Jeans. Just the kind of clothes any normal human being would wear really. #Are you ready? Are you ready?# #To hear this song, for so long?# #This is our time - believe in me# #We're playing you feel free# Lundgard climbs the steps, strange for him as he usually rolls into the ring and climbs the turnbuckle. None of that this time. He simply stands in the middle of the ring turning on the spot. Slowly times fades and the fans begin booing and cheering at the same time. Obviously not happy to see Lundgard but wanting to hear what he has to say. Lundgard: Last week, you people cheered as I was dropkicked from the top of a ladder and crashed to the mat falling through a stack of light tubes on the way. The fans pop for Lundgard mentioning his own loss to Jonathon Rhine. Lundgard: About two months ago you went crazy when I lost the Custom Chaos title to Mike Wade. Less cheers for the mention of the man that abandoned the company three weeks later. Lundgard: But just under a year ago, you chanted my name. You chanted “Please don’t go, please don’t go” as I was suspended for 10 weeks by that asshole Steven Caldera! Boos at the mention of that prick. Lundgard: I never thought I’d be saying this. I really didn’t, but the time has come now for Mikael Lundgard to leave FUSE once again. A stunned silence falls over the crowd. SA: What? HJ: What!? Lundgard: For two and a half years I’ve been here, week after week, putting my body on the line for you guys, and I’ll be honest, it’s been worth every damn minute! Since the conception of FUSE I’ve been the guy that everyone has loved to hate, and that felt so good. SA: He can’t be serious… Lundgard: But last week’s loss made me realise something, it made me realise there’s a new life in FUSE. There’s guys like Rhine, Sage, Williams and McKail… I don’t want to be holding them back by hogging the spotlight. SA: He’s hardly hogging the spotlight at the moment. HJ: He’s got these people into a stunned silence though. Everyone in this arena is hanging on his every word. If that’s not spotlight, I don’t know what it. Lundgard: I’ve done it all here… I’ve been the Universal Champion, the Custom Chaos champion and the Livewire Champion. I was and still am the only man to have held the Livewire title and the Universal title at the same time. I’m the only man in this company to have only been defeated for 1 of the three title’s I’ve held… There’s nothing left for me to accomplish. HJ: He may sound cocky, but it’s true. SA: I can’t argue with that I’m afraid. Lundgard: Maybe I’ll see you all around some day, but right now, this is the end of the road for Mikael Lundgard. Go ahead, chant your little ‘na na na na’ song. Timeless by Graveworm kicks in for the final time as Mikael Lundgard makes his way out of the ring and towards the curtain. The fans however don’t start singing ‘goodbye’ instead a ripple seems to run over them as they stand up and start to applaud Mikael Lundgard as he leaves the arena. As Mikael passes through the curtain the cameras cut to backstage and start to follow him as he passes superstars and stage hands, all of them staring at the Danish Demon. Most of them stand in silence, only a few applaud Lundgard until he finally reaches the parking lot door. He goes to open it but a hand comes in from the side of the screen and pushes it closed. Lundgard turns around to be faced by, possibly, the least likely person he’d have though. Damien Cruz. Lundgard and Cruz stare at each other. SA: Those guys have had their differences in the past, in fact, ever since FUSE Wired, these guys have been at each other’s throats. HJ: Smack him Lundgard! The two men continue to stare at each other until Cruz extends a hand for Lundgard, which the Demon doesn’t hesitate to shake. And with that Mikael Lundgard opens the door to the parking lot leaving it to swing shut. Preparing For Battle Featuring: John Covel The shot opens to “The Paragon of Piledrivers” John Covel. The crowd cheers at the sight of him. He stands in front of the black FUSE Wrestling backdrop clad in his wrestling gear. Covel: Some might call my actions tonight weasel-like. I have to give it to you folks; I did just kind of sneak into this situation. But who can blame me? I was cheated out of that title and then cheated out of my re-match last week when Clinton Sage manipulated his way into a match at the pay per view. John adjusts his stance, folding his arms casually. Covel: When I got here tonight I felt like I had sat in the backseat for far too long. I watched Clinton Sage take me around curves, over hills and through valleys for far too long. I felt it was my turn to hop into the driver’s seat. So I took control. Tonight I have the upper hand on that evil man. John runs a hand through his blonde hair. Covel: I have no problem with Jacob McKail. He just happens to be the Universal Champion. I wish him the best of luck in our match. But I feel like I should give him a small warning as this is our first time meeting. Protect your head, Jake. My piledrivers are the most devastating in the business today and I will stop at nothing to plant you as many times as possible. John tosses his head side to side, cracking his neck as he sighs. He smiles once again as he continues to speak. Covel: No matter what happens tonight I will feel as if I did something worthwhile. I got under the skin of a man I despise. Let’s hope I further my happiness with a win. Just be ready Jacob, because tonight I’ll walk in at two hundred and forty pounds but walk out at two hundred and fifty. With that, John pushes past the camera, ready to do what he loves. Wrestle. JACOB MCKAIL VS. JOHN COVEL Featuring: Jacob McKail and John Covel SA: Time for tonight’s main event. This match stemmed from last week’s miscommunication in that fatal faction match with Clinton Sage and Lane Stevens. Covel and McKail collided leading to the Universal Champion being locked into The Garrote. HJ: That’s right. Covel fucked up. Now we have to sit through ANOTHER one of his matches. Fuck. WHY?! “Middle of Nowhere” hits the FUSEwire bringing the fans to their feet. They explode as the music continues. After a few moments, John Covel bursts through the curtain full of energy. He stands at the top of the entranceway for a few seconds, looking out to the crowd before finally heading towards the ring. He slaps the fans hands along the rail and then circles the ring doing the same before hopping to the apron. John steps through the ropes and heads for the opposite side of the ring, stepping onto the middle rope and throwing a hand into the air. SA: John looks focused on regaining that FUSE Universal Championship tonight. HJ: No matter who wins this match tonight, I lose. Covel steps down from the middle rope as “Middle of Nowhere” fades out. The arena is quiet for only a moment until “All My Life” fills the air, bringing a huge reaction from the FUSE faithful. They get louder and louder as the music continues, finally climaxing as the FUSE Universal Champion pushes through the curtain thrusting the belt into the air. SA: But nobody can deny the roll that Jacob McKail has been on as of late! He’s defeated Clinton Sage twice now, once being for that very belt he holds right now. HJ: That’s another thing. Clinton was promised a re-match at Afflicted Glory; this is completely unfair to him. John Covel just cut in front of him! Jacob McKail slides underneath the bottom rope and heads for the nearest turnbuckle, climbing up and throwing the belt up into the air to the approval of the crowd. He remains there for a moment before his music fades and the crowd sort of hushes in anticipation. SKYE: The following contest is scheduled for one fall and it is for the FUSE Wrestling Universal Championship! Introducing first the challenger, from Mazon, Illinois; he is “The Paragon of Piledrivers” JOOOOHN COOOOOOOVEEEEELLLLLL! The crowd reacts with cheers and John pounds his chest and tosses his hand into the air. Skye allows the crowd to quiet down before continuing. SKYE: And his opponent, from The Bronx, New York; he is the FUSE Wrestling Universal Champion, JAAAAACOOOBBBB McKAAAAAAAAILLLLLLLLLLL!!!! The crowd explodes into cheers again as Jacob simply holds his title belt into the air, staring across the ring at John. Referee Willy Parr approaches him, checking for foreign objects. After his check is done he takes a hold of the title belt, folding it and heading towards Covel. He checks John before holding the title before him. John looks at it intently and then nods, saying he’s ready. Parr hands the belt off the Skye and signals for the bell. DING DING DING The crowd buzzes with anticipation and begins clapping to get the man fired up. They exchange a few words fro macros the ring as they circle each other. They begin to slowly move towards each other, eventually coming face to face. SA: I knew this couldn’t start off peacefully. There is definitely some animosity between the two, stemming back from the tag match last week. HJ: Honestly, I think it was there even before. Covel wants that title, Scott. They inch closer, still exchanging words. The tension continues to build as an eerie silence comes over the crowd. Finally, Covel steps backwards extending his hand. SA: Covel still showing Jacob the respect he deserves! I like that. HJ: I hate courteous people. To be anything in life you have to be an asshole. McKail hesitates for a second and then extends his own hand, quickly shaking and releasing. Covel seems satisfied as he backs away and begins clapping. The crowd joins in again as the two competitors circle each other and come together in a collar and elbow tie up. They struggle for control in the center of the ring, John using the small size advantage he has to push the champion into the corner. They continue to struggle as Willy Parr moves in and taps the two men on the shoulder. Willy Parr: Come on guys, clean break. ONE! TWO! THREE!! FO— Covel backs away from the champion, raising his hands into the air. Jacob comes out of the corner and the two men circle again, coming together in another collar and elbow tie up. Covel takes control with a go behind, locking in a waist lock on the champion. He applies pressure as McKail attempts to break free, finally doing so as he grabs the wrist of John Covel and spins around. The wrist lock is synched in as Covel pats his shoulder and gasping at the pain. Covel accepts the pain for a few moments before he rolls forward with a somersault and gets back to his feet. John drops to a knee and takes the legs out from underneath McKail. Jacob falls to his back as Covel steps through his legs and spins around, dropping to a knee and applying the pressure on the knee of the champion. SA: You know, going back to what you mentioned earlier. What’s going through the mind of Clinton Sage right now? HJ: If I know him and I do, he’s in the back waiting to make his move. Somehow he’ll win the title tonight. SA: He’s not even in the match! HJ: You know Sage; he’s clever enough to find a way to win. After a few moments of applying pressure, McKail rears back and sends a kick that connects with the sternum of the challenger and breaks the hold. Covel stands, walking away and clenching his chest. McKail gets to his feet and shakes out his leg, keeping an eye on Covel the entire time. After each man works out their own problem, they come back together. Covel gets control once again, ducking behind McKail with another waist lock. Once again McKail is able to grab a hold of Covel’s wrist and spin around, locking in the wrist lock. He applies pressure as Covel measures up the situation, looking for a way out. It appears in the form as the top rope. He grabs on, forcing a break of the hold. McKail takes a moment to release, but he does. SA: Neither man wants to give an inch here. HJ: They would if they were in the ring with Sage. Covel releases his grasp on the top rope and immediately following that McKail grabs his wrist and locks the hold back in. This time the champion drags the challenger to the center of the ring to apply pressure. Knowing a rope break won’t happen this time, Covel rolls through with a somersault and then spins under the hold, reversing the pressure. John releases his grasp and locks on a side headlock. The crowd applauds the reversal as John applies pressure. McKail backs the Paragon into the ropes and sends him across the ring. Jacob drops down and John steps over him, hitting the ropes again. When Covel returns, McKail is on his feet and leap frogs over him. John hits the ropes again, but Jacob doesn’t turn around. He times a leap perfectly, trying to leap frog Covel again. John stops, allowing McKail to land on his shoulders instead. McKail steadies himself and then spins from facing the same way as John to a powerbomb position and snapping him over with a hurrincanrana. SA: Nice display of athleticism there by the champion! HJ: Don’t get excited yet. We’re in the opening stages. Wait until later to do that. Then I’ll yell at you. Both men get to their feet on opposite sides of the ring and charge one another. McKail hooks John’s arm and snaps him over with an arm drag. They both get up again and charge once more. This time Jacob takes down his challenger with a hip toss. They roll to their feet again and charge towards the center of the ring. McKail attempts another hip toss, but Covel blocks it and spins around, taking the champ over with one of his own. John and Jacob roll to their feet again and come together, McKail firing a clothesline. Covel ducks it and hits the ropes, racing back. He leaps into the air and grabs the back of McKail’s head, dropping him with a bulldog. The two men get up again and come back together. Covel tries to take McKail over with a hip toss, but Jacob flips back to his feet. Covel charges the champion, who attempts a hip toss of his own. Covel rotates just as McKail did, landing back on his feet. McKail races towards his challenger and getting taken over with a hip toss. But his body lands on the top rope, springing him back over, allowing him to take Covel over with an arm drag. By this time the crowd is buzzing at the non-stop action in the ring. The two men stand and run towards each other again, both leaping and attempting dropkicks. They fall to the mat and roll forward with modified somersaults that use their feet to bring them back to a standing position. Finally they stop moving, staring across the ring at one another as the crowd goes nuts. SA: That was a ridiculous exchange of moves! Both men are getting the respect they deserve from these fans. HJ: There is only one man that deserves respect in FUSE. Clinton Sage. Back in the ring, Jacob McKail and John Covel are circling each other again. They come together again, but this time the champion gains the advantage with a side headlock. Covel is quick to escape it by shoving his opponent into the ropes. Jacob hits the ropes on the opposite side of the ring and comes back, ducking a clothesline from his challenger. John turns around as McKail returns, leaping into the air and snapping him over with another hurrincanrana. Both men get to their feet and Jacob leaps, nailing a dropkick that sends Covel to the outside. McKail gets back up and measures Covel up, hitting the ropes and racing in his direction. Just as he reaches the ropes he spins around and backflips over the top rope, landing squarely on the Paragon of Piledrivers. FUSE!! FUSE!! FUSE!! FUSE!! SA: Beautiful tope from Jacob McKail! HJ: It was sloppy! He didn’t even land on his feet! On the outside, Jacob has gotten to his feet and is laying boots into the back of John Covel. As this continues, Willy Parr starts his count out. ONE!! TWO!! THREE!! Jacob McKail reaches down and lifts Covel to a standing position, firing a chop across his chest. The crowd buzzes with the stiff shots that scrape the chest of Covel. FOUR!! FIVE!! SIX!! Finally, Jacob McKail tosses Covel back into the ring and gets back onto the apron. He grabs a hold of the top rope and leaps into the air, landing in a standing position on the rope and spring boarding forward with a leg drop. The crowd applauds as he covers John, getting a two count before the shoulder comes up. Jacob doesn’t argue the count, instead gets to his feet and lays a few stomps to the chest of his opponent. The FUSE Universal Champion then reaches down and lifts Covel to a standing position, hooking his arm and head. McKail lists him up and over, dropping down with a suplex. He floats over into a cover, but only gets two again. SA: McKail is really going to work on John now. It looks like he has finally gained control of the engagement. HJ: They’re gay?! I knew it! You just said they were engaged! McKail stands once again, lifting John up too. He reaches under his legs and scoops him up, dropping him with a body slam. McKail climbs to his feet and hits the ropes, coming back and leaping into the air with a knee drop. He covers again, getting two before Covel kicks out. McKail lifts John to his feet and then snapmares him over, following it up with a kick to the back. The crowd groans with the stiff kick as McKail drops down and places his knee into the back and grabs on a chinlock. He pulls back, driving his knee into the back of his opponent. Covel groans and yells in pain as McKail continues to pull back on the chin. SA: And Jacob just wrenching back on that chin, driving the knee into the back of his challenger. HJ: Why do you show sympathy for these guys? Willy Parr is there, watching the hold. He asks regularly if Covel wants to give it up, but the Paragon says no each time. Covel begins kicking his foot against the mat in an attempt to get the crowd behind him. In response, they begin clapping rhythmically. John reaches up and pumps his arms, trying to spin to his feet. He spins to a knee, rearing back and driving a few successive elbows into the chest of his opponent. It releases McKail’s grasp, allowing Covel to hit the ropes and come running back. He fires a clothesline that Jacob ducks. McKail ends up with his head tucked under Covel’s left arm. He lifts up, stalling and then falling backwards with a belly to back suplex. He rolls over and covers, getting two before Covel lifts his shoulder off the mat. The crowd applauds the kickout as McKail gets to his feet and nails a few stomps on his opponent. SA: Covel is just in a bad way right now. HJ: Good. But he’s on bad terms with the Affliction; he’s been in a bad way. Covel tries to roll away from the shots, but McKail follows him. Finally McKail reaches down and lifts John to his feet, backing him into the corner. He grabs a wrist and spins around before sending John across the ring with a whip. McKail follows him in, nailing a chop across the chest. Covel walks from the corner, not allowing McKail to add to the chop. Instead, Jacob follows him to the next corner and backs him into the corner again, nailing one more chop. Covel shakes his head and walks from the corner along the ropes again. The champ stops him in the center of the ring and grabs his wrist, sending him across the ring, but Covel reverses and sends McKail into the ropes. When he returns, John fires a clothesline that his opponent ducks. Jacob slams on the brakes stopping just shy of the ropes and turning. He steps forward a bit as John turns around and charges. He fires another clothesline that McKail ducks again and hooks his head. At the same time he sweeps the legs out from under him and DRIVES him to the mat high on his head with an STO. Willy Parr grabs his head as he watches McKail turn the challenger over. SA: McKail dropped John right on his head! He’s looking for the win. Parr drops in and gets two before Covel kicks out. The crowd cheers as Jacob McKail stands and plants more stomps into the back of his opponent. Once again John tries to crawl away from the blows but the champion follows him. Eventually McKail lifts Covel to his feet and hooks his head and arm. Jacob lifts him into the air and allows his feet to bounce off the top rope before using the momentum to drive him to the mat with the slingshot suplex. McKail rolls over and hooks the leg, getting a two count from referee Willy Parr. The champion shakes his head as he pushes himself up and brings his challenger with him. He nails a few right hands and back Covel into the ropes. He sends John across the ring with an Irish whip, awaiting his return. When Covel does come running back, McKail reaches down and lifts him onto his shoulders, swiftly dropping back and driving him down with a Samoan drop. The crowd pops at the move as McKail covers once more. Covel kicks out at two, bringing another sigh from the champion. SA: Covel just won’t stay down. I have to say that this is the most I’ve seen Covel be dominated in quite some time. HJ: You’re going to cry aren’t you? Covel rolls to the side of the ring as Jacob stands, looking to the crowd. He walks over and lifts John back to a vertical base before lifting him onto his shoulders. He runs forward, getting ready for the Death Valley Driver, but Covel slips off his shoulders. Unfortunately, McKail keeps a grasp on the wrist of Covel, turning and pulling him into a back elbow. Quickly McKail lifts John onto his shoulders and drives him down with the DVD. The crowd pops at another one of McKail’s signature moves as he rolls over, looking for the pin. Willy Parr drops into position, starting the count. Jacob is a little taken back when Covel kicks out at two. HJ: This just won’t end. You know what would make this match better? SA: I don’t even want to hear what you have in mind. HJ: A camera with Clinton Sage. Whenever the Seventh Sin is on TV life is good. Jacob is growing more and more frustrated with each kickout from Covel. He stands, measuring up Covel as he does the same. Just as John turns, McKail charges and hits a STIFF kick to the head. McKail spins Covel around and locks in a waist lock, looking for a German suplex. He lifts Covel up and over, but John rotates a little extra, landing on his feet behind the champion. Just as McKail turns around, Covel charges forwards and LEVELS him with a clothesline that sends both men to the mat. After a moment with no movement from either man, Willy Parr begins to make his ten count. ONE!! TWO!! THREE!! FOUR!!! Both men begin to get to their feet, using the ropes for leverage. Willy Parr barely gets “seven” out of his mouth before stopping as the two meet in the center of the ring. Covel nails a right hand that is answered by McKail. They trade blow after blow until Covel fires a forearm that rocks the champion. McKail stands his ground, firing a forearm of his own with the same if not more impact that Covel’s. In quite the same fashion, Covel stands tall and absorbs the blow and fires back. McKail yells and fires a clothesline that Covel ducks, tucking his head under McKail’s left arm. He reaches down and hooks the champ’s left leg as well, lifting up and dropping him on his head with a modified backdrop driver. The crowd cheers as John slowly crawls over and hooks the leg. SA: OH RIGHT ON HIS HEAD! HJ: WHY ARE WE YELLING?! WE WENT THROUGH THIS LAST WEEK! McKail is able to kickout at two, bringing a pop from the fans. John gets to his feet gingerly, closing back in on the champion. He reaches down and lifts him to his feet, nailing a few forearms that back McKail into the corner. John rears back and lands a few successive chops across the chest before firing a STIFF forearm that jars the head of Jacob McKail. Covel grabs a wrist and sends Jacob across the ring. McKail takes the buckle and is almost immediately rocked with a flying forearm from Covel. Jacob stumbles from the corner, but John grabs his head and hops to a sitting position on the top rope. He pushes off, spinning around and driving McKail’s head into the mat with a tornado DDT. Covel rolls his opponent over and covers, getting another close two count before the shoulder lifts up. John doesn’t waste time arguing either. He stands and drags his opponent to the center of the ring before hitting the ropes and front-flipping, nailing a leg drop. He covers, getting two again. He stands and makes his way towards the legs of his downed opponent. John reaches in and grabs both legs, wrapping them up and dropping down. SA: There’s nothing I can really call that. Covel just has McKail’s legs all tied up and is applying pressure to his knees. HJ: Looks painful, whatever it is. McKail writhes and yells in pain as Willy Parr asks him for the submission. The Universal Champion denies it each time, struggling to wiggle his way to the ropes. After a good forty or so seconds in the hold, he’s able to get the bottom rope, breaking the hold. Covel does break the hold immediately before standing and going right back to work. He drops a knee into the back of his opponent before standing back up and raising him as well. Covel positions himself behind McKail ducking under his right arm. Covel lifts the champion up into the air, spinning him end for end and dropping down, driving his head down with a piledriver. OHHHHHHHHHHHH!!! SA: What a piledriver from John Covel! He’s got that nickname for a reason! HJ: Careless! He could cripple a man with those kinds of moves! John rolls McKail to his back and covers, hooking the leg. The crowd cheers, ready to count along. ONE! TWO! THRE--OHHHHHHHHHH!!! Covel sits up, shaking his head. He can’t believe that the match isn’t over. He doesn’t mess around, climbing to his feet and lifting the champion up again. Covel nails a boot to the stomach and underhooks both of Jacob’s arms, lifting and spinning before drilling him with the facebuster. Covel rolls him over, covering again. ONE! TWO! THRE--OHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!! SA: McKail kicks out again! I said it before; neither man wants to give it up! HJ: Kind of like that waitress at the Sizzler last night, huh Scott? John is still feeling the affects of the dominance from Jacob McKail earlier in the match. Now he looks to do the same. John lifts McKail to his feet again, hooking his arm and head before lifting him into the air. John drapes the champion’s legs across the top rope before spinning, driving him to the mat with the neckbreaker. John covers, hooking the inside leg. ONE! TWO! THR— SA: Foot on the ropes! McKail had the presence of mind to know where he was and place his foot on the bottom rope! HJ: It’s too bad that didn’t work during sex. You wouldn’t have any children then! Covel sighs as he stands. He waits across the ring for McKail to stand as well. When he does, John charges firing a clothesline that is ducked. Jacob hooks in for a backslide, but Covel won’t budge. Instead he backflips, rolling over the back of the champ and landing in front of him. John raises a boot to the mid-section McKail and shoves him under his legs. John lifts him up for a powerbomb, but McKail slides down his back into a sunset flip. John falls, but uses his momentum to roll backwards, back to his feet and come charging forward with a kick that echoes throughout the building. Covel turns back to the downed champion and lifts him to his feet. He grabs the wrist and sends him towards the corner where McKail elevates himself. Covel stops just shy of the corner, allowing the champion to fall to a sitting position on his shoulders. John reaches up and cradles the head before falling to his rear and driving Jacob down with another of his many piledrivers. ONE! TWO!! THREE--OHHHHHHHH!!!!! SA: And this match continues! Even after that electric chair piledriver, McKail kicks out! HJ: How? It’s Covel’s turn to become frustrated. He’s thrown Jacob McKail his best and still can’t put him down. John gets to his feet, a grasp on McKail’s head as he points to the corner signaling for the Intellectual Impact. John lifts McKail to a sitting position on the top rope before following him up. The Paragon hooks the champion’s arm and head, but is halted with a few right hands to the kidney. Jacob McKail fights out of Covel’s grasp and begins to reposition himself on the top rope. He stands and turns to face the same direction as John. He readies himself and uses the spring from the top rope to leap into the air and land on Covel’s shoulders, snapping him backwards with a reverse hurrincanrana that drops him right on his head. Jacob McKail scrambles over and covers, but there’s no referee to make the count. As the two rotated from the top rope, Covel’s feet made contact with Willy Parr, knocking him down. Jacob stands, frantically looking for Willy. As he does, Covel pulls himself up with the aid of the top rope. McKail approaches him from behind, locking in a waist lock. Covel refuses to let go of the top rope as the crowd suddenly begins to boo. SA: What the hell is he doing here?! HJ: RATINGS BOOSTER! Clinton Sage hops over the barrier, grabbing a chair as he does. He folds the chair up and looks up to John Covel, squaring up his shot. He rears back and brings the chair forwards, looking to DEMOLISH the skull of his foe and secure his title shot. Just as he swings, Covel spots the impending fractured skull and drops down. THWACK The crowd continues to boo as the chair connects violently with the top of Jacob McKail’s skull. McKail falls backwards as Clinton Sage drops the chair, knowing what he’s just done. He begins to back up the ramp as Willy Parr comes to and spots the cover. ONE! TWO!! THRE—RAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!! SA: JACOB KICKED OUT AFTER THAT VISCIOUS CHAIRSHOT FROM CLINTON SAGE! THE CHAMPION IS STILL IN THIS! HJ: SHENANIGANS! NOBODY KICKS OUT OF A CLINTON SAGE CHAIR SHOT! John rolls to his feet, using the chair shot as a basis for his next piece of offense. He lifts McKail up and lifts a knee into the midsection before shoving him under his legs. The challenger hooks up McKail’s arm and legs, looking up the entrance way at Clinton Sage before lifting him into the air and dropping down with the packaged piledriver. OHHHHHHH! The crowd buzzes as Covel rolls McKail over and hooks the leg. Willy Parr drops in, counting along with the crowd. ONE! TWO! THREE!! DING DING DING SA: COVEL DID IT! “Middle of Nowhere” hits the FUSEwire again as Jacob McKail rolls from the ring, clenching his neck as Willy Parr retrieves the title belt and hands it to John. The crowd is in a frenzy as The Paragon pushes himself to his feet, belt in hand. SKYE: The winner of the match, and NEEEEEEEEEEEEEWWWWWWWW FUSE WRESTLING UNIVERSAL CHAMPION; “THE PARAGON OF PILEDRIVERS” JOOOOOOHNNNNN COOOOOOVEEEEEEELLLLLLL!!!! John looks at the title held in his hand and then behind him to the man he just defeated. Finally he looks up the entrance way at Clinton Sage, standing there in disbelief. A smile emerges onto Covel’s face as he realizes what he has just done. He grasps the belt in one hand, stepping onto the middle rope and thrusting the belt high into the air, all the while staring at Sage. The camera shot changes to one coming from behind Jacob McKail who still holds his head. He looks off towards Covel and then his nemesis Clinton Sage. HJ: What does this mean for Afflicted Glory? John Covel now stands in between Jacob McKail and Clinton Sage’s title shot! SA: For some reason I don’t think John Covel will mind stepping into the ring with Sage! That chair shot was clearly meant for Covel! No matter what, things have sure gotten interesting here tonight! That’s all the time we have folks, be sure to check us out on the web at fusewrestling.com for further on this situation as we head into Afflicted Glory! The shot remains from behind McKail, looking out to the man that took his title and the man that cost him his title as the copyright graphic appears and the screen fades to black. KillZone 39 S h o w C l o s e .