Warning Shots
Starring:Jared Sykes, Terrence Kingsley, and Aimz (sorta)
Black screen.

SCCW logo.

Folks, welcome to the inside of the Mullins Center on the campus of the University of Massachusetts at Amherst. What you see before you is a collection of social miscreants otherwise known as "the Boston sports fan". Also, this is a party school, so there's a damn good chance that at least 75% of this crowd is fucked up, or will be fucked up by the end of the evening.

There's also some pyro.

But you're perfectly capable of imaging what pyro sounds like when it explodes, so nobody's going to type all that out for you, kitten. What you do get to read are some signs, since there's a veritable sea of them out there. Here's a few:

"Celtics in 6!"

"Rick Tim will make you a victim"

“James Varga for mayor”

"This company let Dusk main event. I want you all to think about that for a minute."

"Skittles”

And then we whip pan and star fade to the broadcast position, where Dave Gibson and Eugene Ware are ready to welcome the Sin City faithful to another edition of Temptation. Eugene is two-fisting Dunkin Donuts, because he can.

Gibson: Good evening everyone, and welcome to Temptation! I'm David Gibson, and with me as always is Eugene Ware.

Ware: Go Lakers.

Gibson: We're here live from the campus of Umass Amherst...

Ware: I'm gonna get drunk and fondle a co-ed! Woo!

Gibson: We've got an exciting evening as always folks, and we'll be kicking off the action tonight with the debuting Vince Jones, and the redebuting Jadian Bridden, against the team of Legion and Varga!

Ware: Fucking brain trust, right there.

Gibson: Then, in a preview of the tag team championship match we'll see at Sin on Spike five, Frank Silver steps into the ring one-on-one against August Monday!

Ware: And I will be going two-on-one with April Monday! Means I'm fat.

Gibson: We've got tag-team action coming later...

Ware: I will also be coming later. See also: my last joke.

Gibson: ...when Lance Marshall teams with Mitchell Quinlan to take on the unlikely duo of Xavier Kannon and Suzanne Larsson.

Ware: Fun fact, she might have the biggest dick in that match.

Gibson: And in our main event of the evening, "The Pit Viper" Terrence Kingsley...

Ware: Yay!

Gibson: ...takes on hometown hero Jared Sykes!

Ware: Gay!

Gibson: Speaking of which, I understand we've got Jason Myers standing by in the ring to kick this show off.

Ware: Oh you've gotta be kidding me. No one told me about this! Why wasn't I warned?

Sure enough, there's Jason Myers looking particularly, well... however the fuck he usually looks, that's how he looks right now. And he's in the ring. And he has a microphone. You know what happens next.

Myers: Amherst, Massachusetts!

"RAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"


It's a cheap pop, but it's one that'll work all night long. Again: party school.

Myers: Join me in welcoming one of your very own...

"RAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"


See?

Myers: JAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAREEEEEEEEEEEEEED SYYYYYYYYYYYYYKES!!!

The house lights dim, blue and green spotlights flash over parts of the crowd, and the drums that signal the start of Killswitch Engage's "Save Me" throw the crowd into a righteous frenzy. On either side of the entryway, a column of pyro flares up some fifteen feet high, and then a curtain of sparks falls like rain across the stage.

So much that I've done wrong, it's an open book
I've done much more than my fair share of damage

Ware: This is already the worst show ever.

Gibson: Well maybe you should just try not paying attention.

Ware: Oh no. That's how they get ya'. As soon as you're not looking, BAM! ... Dick in the ass.

Gibson: Oy.

Ware: I know, right?

The curtain parts, and suddenly, the good-spirited nature of the crowd gives way to the stereotypical fermented fervor of drunken New England. Who could blame them? The man casually walking to the ring isn’t their native son; it’s the chain-smoking psychotic and sociopathic Pit Viper, armed in his trademark leather jacket with rusty nails across the arms and shoulders. A fluorescent light bulb tube is in his right hand.

"BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"


Gibson: Folks, this wasn’t what was on the itinerary for the evening, so all of Sin City Championship Wrestling would like to apologize in advance—

Ware: Fuck that nonsense! This man speaks for me and anyone who doesn’t snort Drain-o Max.

As the pudgy bastard is busy cutting Old School off, Kingsley slithers underneath the bottom rope before pulling himself back up to his feet and walking over to Myers. His hand clasps the microphone. He doesn’t even need to tug to pull it out of his grasp.

Gibson: As I was saying...Adrienne St. Germain, Kurt Fusiliers, and Final Curtain Entertainment, as well as Cinemax, would like to apologize for any offense you may take to Terrence Kingsley’s actions or words.

Ware: Do not stare directly at Happy Fun Ball.

Kingsley: Jason...

He pauses after taking a drag off his unfiltered cigarette. His hands ruffle Myers’ tie.

Kingsley: Get out.

Jason doesn’t need to be asked twice; he high tails it out of dodge. After all, it hasn’t been a good week for support staff in wrestling federations. As he darts behind the curtain, the microphone hovers just underneath the Pit Viper’s frothing maw. His face is eerily stoic.

Kingsley: No offense to any of you people. You paid for a ticket, you a came to see a show. But they lied to ya’ll.

After taking another drag, the Pit Viper puts the cigarette out on the heel of his hand.

Kingsley: The main event they scheduled for this show? It ain’t happening.

"BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"


Kingsley: And it ain’t your native son that’s the reason, though I’m sure there’s plenty of folk that seem to truly believe that just ‘cause you’re supposed to be one of the good guys, that folk like me got to quiver in a snake skins.

"BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"


Kingsley: You gonna let me finish?

"BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"


Ware: Fuck these plebes, TK! Say your piece and buy me a few rounds. I’ll give you a hit off my eight ball!

Kingsley: He wants reciprocity. You all do. Thad Denver—

"RAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"


Kingsley: He’s dead.

"BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"


Kingsley: He’s gone.

"BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"


Kingsley: Don’t make me raise my voice.

The fans are certain they’re getting to him. They have to be. But Kingsley is cold-blooded, unemotional in his manner. He lights up another cigarette, trying his best to suck down the plume as Amherst’s roar begins to dull.

Kingsley: With what happened to Lane Stevens last week—

Ware: This is making me get depressed.

Gibson: Fans, if you didn’t know, Lane Stevens was injured very badly by Amy Campbell on the last broadcast of Temptation. As a result of his neck injury, he’s been forced into retirement, and has been stripped of the Universal Championship.

Ware: Fucking dumb ginger!

Kingsley: Things have changed. The stakes have risen. Now, it ain’t about being the chosen pet of some...haughty little cunt in an ivory tower. It ain’t about playing the game of fawning adulation of you fans. Me and Sykes are fighting for pride. Fighting for pride. They want us to tear each other apart. Beat the hell outta each other. And why? Because this company don’t revolve around us.

Another drag. Hypnotically, the fans desire a reason behind his last sentence.

Kingsley: See...I told ya’ll the story of fightin’ dogs, and believed it. But the sentiment is real. Now more than ever. Axes to grind find the folk you want to hit the most. But we ain’t brandishing axes. It’s mauls. Mauls splinter. They’re messy. They’re violent. And to be frank, I got a qualm with your boy, so I ain’t gonna work him.

"BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"


Kingsley: You think me a coward. But I’m not about to kill myself so Desade...that’s right...Desade...gets a free pass. Lance Marshall ain’t going to hulk up for you at my expense. Amy Campbell ain’t gonna be gifted another shot at something she never deserved.

"BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"


Kingsley: Sykes can run that damn rat race. But I got bigger fish to fry. So—

"RAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"


This time, there’s no music, or pyro, or dazzling light displays. There is, however, one of the few relevant figures to not be wearing a green jersey this evening.

Gibson: And Kingsley! Has! Company!

Ware: That was way! Too! Dramatic! ... Seriously, not even necessary.

Gibson: Just shut up already.

Deprived of his fanfare, Jared Sykes stands at the edge of the staging with a microphone in hand. In stark contrast to Kingsley’s battleworn nails, his own attire is plain: jeans, tee shirt, the usual.

Sykes: You know, it’s weird, but in a way I almost wonder if I should have expected this. I mean, no offense, but this is an awful trend you’ve started. Sure, I’ll give you the big statement at Defiance. Terrence Kingsley does very bad things, and is suddenly on everybody’s radar.

A playful grin creeps across his lips.

Sykes: And then spends a few weeks taking nice leisurely strolls away from the ring every time he’s scheduled to show up. First there was Kannon, and now this. Awesome. Hey, you know, I wonder if maybe we can license that piano ballad from ‘The Incredible Hulk’. I mean, hell, we’ve already got the intro, right?

He sighs.

Sykes: Seriously though, is this how it’s gonna go down? You walked away from me once, when I said that I’d take up the mantle of Thad Denver...

"RAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"


Sykes: And now you’re gonna walk away when I get a chance to continue his fight? Are you fucking kidding me?

Most men would snap at the thought of their manhood being questioned.
   
Kingsley: That’s exactly how it is.
   
"BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

   
Terrence doesn’t flinch.

Sykes: Nuh-unh. No way. Not at all.

Jared takes the first step in a slow walk to the ring.

Sykes: No, see, you took a friend of mine out of this company. Out of the business. Gone. I’ve heard more than a few things said about some of the people I care about. So this? This is going to happen.

Smoke bellows out of the Pit Viper’s nostrils.
   
Kingsley: I won’t tell stories tonight, Jared, because you and yours seem to be a bit too slow. Or maybe you’re some parrot for the ginger cunts who won’t step forward themselves. I’d rather you stop trying to play Odysseus and use your fucking head. You can step inside this ring. We maul each other. And then, your little slut can bypass you to the top of the mountain. Again. And you’ll let the shit foam across your lips and you’ll let it ferment until you believe it’s sweet wine. You want to give your fans a gift? Think self preservation...think back to your cowardly, fumbling over words, wide eyed and piss soaked pants roots.

Sykes is staring daggers into Terrence when the crowd swells out of its booing again. It's not the pop for their hometown hero - this entry isn't accompanied by any music or pyro, and a large portion of the audience likely doesn't even notice the redhead that slips out onto the stage. In a Pantera hoodie and black capris, she's certainly not ring-ready, and Amy Campbell picks up her pace just enough to reach out and slide a hand onto Jared's shoulder. There's no microphone in her grip yet, and it's strange not to see her as the center of attention or the focus of the venom for once, but her primary directive seems to be supporting her Black Sheep.

Gibson: Amy Campbell joining her boyfr-

Ware: GAAAAAAAAAAAAAYYYYYYYYY

The words she's caught mouthing are probably why she didn't pick up the mic yet. 'Wait it out,' She advises, eyes locked on Kingsley. 'He's using me to trip you up.'

With one hand slipping down to intertwine with one of Jared's, Aimz uses her free hand's middle finger to respond to the Pit Viper.

Jared takes a deep breath and locks his fingers with Amy's, but his eyes never leave the ring. He slowly draws the microphone back to his lips.

Sykes: No.

"RAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"


Sykes: This isn't about self-preservation, and this isn't about titles. You think I don't know what's at stake here? I've had it slip through my fingers once, dude. Give me enough credit to know that I don't want to repeat that mistake. But right now?

Mustering all his courage, Jared takes a long stride towards the ring. His next comment will draw a small shudder from Amy Campbell, as her affection for the thing is boundless.

Sykes: Fuck the title.

Another drag. He points the light tube at the encroaching Sykes.
   
Kingsley: I ain’t Desade, boy. And, much to the chagrin of your baggage, I ain’t Lane Stevens. I’m not springing a trap on you. I’m warning you. For the last fucking time. You step in here? Jesus will weep for you.

Sykes: Wouldn’t be the first time.

He uncurls his fingers from Campbell’s, and moves defiantly towards the ring. The pair climb onto the ring apron in synchronicity, and when they step through the ropes are careful to never take their eyes off the tube-wielding sociopath.

Sykes: Okay. Take your swing.

And as they enter, the Pit Viper steadies himself. The air in the arena is palpable. Sykes had a history of yellow streaks, of being uneasy in the face of domineering personalities, but he was changing. He was becoming the hero SCCW needed. His newly minted love at his side (and with a mean streak a mile wide), the audience watched as neither side flinched.
   
Gibson: Will we see this go down early?
   
As if hearing Old School, Kingsley answers.
   
By slithering out of the ring.
Tempers Flare in Anticipation.
Starring:Vince Jones & Jasmine
The camera fades into a small lounge in the Mullins Center where 'The Violence' Vince Jones is seen sitting in front of a plasma t.v a recent clip of James Varga's ranting concerning their upcoming tag match. Vince Jones tries to keep a straight face but just bursts outloud with laughter at one of his upcoming opponents yelling at the camera until his face nearly turns blue. Vince just shakes his head in disappointment and points a gloved finger at the screen.

Vince Jones: Of all the cats that Jonesy could end up crossin' paths with in his debut match, Sin City digs up this mahfuckin' sideshow act. How the hell you supposed to get fired up and ready for a damn tag match when you got a damn clown like this that you can't help but laugh at? This guy poppin' off at the mouth 'bout how nobody gonna be forgettin' his sorry ass and shit? Cat soundin' like a damn, jealous, teenie boppa bitch on prom night or somethin'. And then this cat all obsessin' and shit ova Jonesy havin' some highlights?

Vince leans back in his chair roaring with laughter.

Vince Jones: C'mon Varga man! Jonesy's a damn star! This cat's a fuckin' idiot and shit! Kid keeps tryin' to compare the battery life powered glow of a flashlight like himself to V. Jones' shine. There ain't no comparisons. Most underrated talent in this industry?? Hell nah! Shiit! When you go to Google 'bout a cat like Varga and get a "A Who The Hell is He?" in return then bein' underrated is the last of this guy's problems. Matta fact V thought people had to actually give a damn 'bout a cat like him first before he can start cryin' 'bout bein' an aftathought and shit!

Vince Jones pauses and listens some more to the incessant rant of Varga and nearly falls out his chair with side-splitting laughter. All of a sudden there is a knock at the door.

Vince Jones: (laughing) Its open...

The door swings open and in steps Vince's valet Jasmine followed by Reno Banks 'The Agent of the Stars'. Reno catches sight of Vince and just folds his arms across his chest in disappointment.

Reno Banks: Mr. Jones, destiny awaits yet we find you here in this room watching t.v??

Vince whirls around in his chair and shrugs his shoulders.

Vince Jones: And?? V a big boy! V been around the block quite a few times in this whole wrestlin' game and been pretty damn successful at it! So, the only thing you need to keep yo self concerned with is the business side of things! Get it?? Got it?? Good! (under his breath) Damn pen pushin' bitch!

Vince turns around and faces the t.v screen once again and enjoys frustrating his agent, Reno, to no end.

Reno Banks: Mr. Jones, I've worked very hard to get you this gig here in Sin City Championship Wrestling and I don't want this stint of yours to end up like your previous stop, High Octane! So that means you could at the very least try to act as if you even give a damn about the opportunity that I've landed you! I mean its the very least that you could do in return, to show some appreciation for my hard work! And best believe me when I say it, representing a rather volatile individual like yourself is not a simple cup of tea!

Vince snatches up his Louisville slugger bat, hops up to his feet, and instantly presses the bat against Reno's forehead catching him totally guard.

Vince Jones: And dealing with you ain't necessarily all that great for V eitha! Now remind V why he hasn't just bashed yo damn skull in yet!? Huh!?

Reno slides past Jasmine and steps up to Vince.

Reno Banks: You know what?? At this point, you'd probably be saving me quite a lot of stress, headaches,and Tylenol so how about you go ahead and lay it on me, Mr. Jones! Do your worst!

Vince glances down at his suddenly bold agent in amusement.

Vince Jones: (chuckling) As you wish...

Vince pulls back the bat ready to strike, but Jasmine quickly slides in between the two and tries to her best to subdue the situation.

Jasmine: GUYS!! GUYS!!! Let's calm down here!

An expression of utter outrage crosses Vince's fascade after Jasmine's rude interruption.

Vince Jones: Back the fuck down Jasmine! V 'bout to splatta this cat's brain 'cross the whole room and back!

Jasmine gets up in Vince's face the best she can and grabs a hold of the baseball bat Vince is wielding.

Jasmine: No, you're not! You can't!

Vince Jones: And why not, huh??

Jasmine: (points at Reno) Because you need him...

Reno folds his arms across his chest and nods his head in agreement.

Reno Banks: She brings up an extremely valid point and don't you forget that, Mr. Jones. You need me...

Jasmine turns towards Reno and glares.

Jasmine: You both need each other!

Jasmine points at herself, Reno, and then at Vince.

Jasmine: Don't forget that we are a team and together we take this whole Sin City Championship Wrestling thing by storm.

Vince and Reno slowly begin to ease up as the tension in the room slowly dwindles.

Jasmine: I mean, c'mon! Tonight V goes out there and sets that ring out there on fire in his debut. We shouldn't be at each other's throats we should be anticipating the beginning of his rise to the top...

Reno nods in agreement.

Reno Banks: Yeah. You're right...SKY HIGH, baby!

Vince shudders at the sound of Reno's voice and reluctantly agrees.

Vince Jones: Yeah! Whateva...

Jasmine: V I know you're not the fondest of tag matches, but look at it like this. A match is a match. We go out there and we make the best of it. Right??

Vince snarls at the thought of it.

Vince Jones: If you call walkin' that damn aisle and havin' to carry some bitch made that's only comin' along for the damn ride tonight as V's tag partna makin' the best of things then it oughta be clear why the hell V could give a damn about this so-called debut. The Jones might as well be in a damn handicapped match against a bunch of retarded kids from that Make-a-Wish Foundation shit!

Jasmine leans in close and begins nudging Vince a little in an attempt to ease his tension.

Jasmine: Just try and make the best of this. Its only one match. Knock 'em down and roll out. Anyways, we need to get going. Time's running short...

Vince Jones: Hmph! Silence 'em and roll the hell on; but, Sin city betta have some bigga and betta things lined up for V for next week!

Jasmine and Vince make their way towards the door followed by Reno Banks.

Reno Banks: Hey! Its no big deal. Tonight is just the beginning of much bigger things to come, Mr. Jones. Just keep this thought in mind...sky high! SKY HIGH, BABY!

Vince stops in his tracks and shakes his head in utter disappointment with Reno's words of encouragement.

Vince Jones: Shut the hell up with all that sky high shit, son!

Reno Banks: Sorry was just trying to keep you locked in gear...

Vince Jones: Just shut it up!

The camera slowly fades to black as the three exit the lounge.
Your time is up...
Starring:Varga
Backstage the show goes to the interview area where Varga is standing with a microphone in hand. He’s wearing a white Ghostbusters T-shirt that says “Stay Puft is better than you“ on it with a picture of the Marshmallow Man stepping on someone‘s car. He looks up at the camera and starts to speak.

Varga: Now let’s go over what’s happened the past few weeks. First my own friends turn on me and leave me laying in a heap in the center of the ring. Since then I’ve destroyed Atlas Adams, won my last few matches in the WWA, and now stuck in a tag match with three pieces of trash who have no business in a wrestling ring.

He glares at the camera, not seeming too happy about the situation that he is in at the moment.

Varga: Just the mere thought of being in the ring with these men makes me sick to my stomach. I’m stuck wrestling garbage but I won’t let myself become garbage. Legion, you try any shit and I will knock you the fuck out. If you don’t like it, tough shit. The people deserve a better villain than you guys. I tried to be that villain but it’s just not me. I just didn’t fit what they were looking for so now I’ve decided to eliminate the others like me, starting with Legion. Legion, you and me go WAY back. Soon, very soon, this world will end for you…

Varga slams the microphone down before heading down the hallway to get ready for the match at hand.
Transcript unavailable.

From Scott Spite's recap:

MATCH ONE: Jadian Bridden & "The Violence" Vince Jones vs. Legion & James Varga.

Good to see Jadian back, he's one of the best workers they have. Whether he'll be able to carry someone like Jones, we'll find out. (Not saying anything bad about Jones, but I've got one of him in my pants for Julissa!) The other team is James Varga and Legion, who've had their on-again, off-again feud because no promoter knows how to use them properly and SCCW isn't any different.

We start off with Jones and Legion, and are reminded quickly of two things: 1.) Vince Jones is big and scary tough (the one-handed spinebuster is particularly impressive) 2.) Legion sells like nobody's business.

The early going is proof that Jones is going to be given a monster-push from management, which is good, because SCCW doesn't really have a monster. He pummels Legion with a series of stiff clotheslines in the corner, then turns him in a loop-de-loop with a lariat. Looks to be quick and painless, but Varga (continuing last week's faceturn thing) breaks up the three count. When Jones goes after Varga for the affront, Legion chops the knee and hits a leapfrog into a bulldog.

You may have expected Varga and Legion to be the wacky team-that-can't-get-along, but really, it's Jones and Bridden whose egos can't see eye-to-eye, as Jadian's distracted by Julissa's cast (yeah, sure, the CAST) and can't get the tag, allowing Legion and Varga to work together (!) for a double flapjack. Varga gets two from that and sets up for the Commercial Break.

And that's where the Bridden-based chicanery begins, of course. Juli uses her crutch to get the ref's attention, and Bridden proves all the doubters who said he came back early from his injury (they say he was forced because Stevens was taken out) wrong with a springboard spin-wheel kick, and he drags Jones close to their corner so he can tag in.

Jay might have lost a step, but he's still slick, taking Varga down with a baseball slide to the knee and a swinging neckbreaker for a two count. Bridden climbs to the middle rope and misses a senton, allowing Legion to get tagged in. Legion straightens Bridden with a European uppercut, and he goes for the Osaka street cutter, but Bridden goes over the top and makes the tag to Jones, who catches Legion with the Neck Cutta (because changing "-er" to "-a" makes you "street," see) for two, again saved by Varga, who gets the hot tag (!), knocking down Jones with a straight right, then taking Bridden off the apron with another.

Jay appears to fall into Juli, reinjuring her leg, and predictably, the referee takes a look over there, which means he misses Legion's floatover DDT on Jones. Legion hooks Jones up for the Ninth Gate, but Jasmine slides in with a tire iron (as you do). Luci catches her, and CATFIGHT! The whole thing distracts Legion long enough for Jones to hit him with the Thug Killa and get the three.

Winners: Vince Jones and Jadian Bridden
Rating ** 1/2 (this was more to show off Jones, as Bridden isn't 100% yet, and for the post-match)

Post-match, Julissa is fine (shock!) and Jadian celebrates like he's actually done something of note in his SCCW career, and predictably gets dropped on his skull with the Silencer.

Post-post-match, Varga is checking on Luci (who it appears took the worst of the catfight with Jasmine), and Stigmata gets offended, and the situation gets pretty bad, as Legion and Stigmata get into it with Varga. Wild pullapart brawl ensues, which must mean we're due for our yearly Legion vs. Varga match, which is fine because they're always wild brawls.
They Don’t Pay Barry Kitna Enough For This
Starring:The Heirs of Wrestling
Barry Kitna stands at SCCW Interview Pavilion. Shaking noticeably in his interviewer shoes. He knows who he is about to interview, and even after the weeks in group therapy, not much has changed.

Ware: Look at Barry! Such a maroon! He looks like he’s about to cry.

Gibson: Maybe it’s because who he’s about to deal and how much they’ve tormented him lately.

Enter Heirs of Wrestling.

Frank stands by in his red robe, looking fashionable as any man in a big, gaudy LED-laced red robe could. To his side, Mack Brody was decked out in a black leather vest, manly-looking solid loop earrings and a fabulous pair of D&G shades and dress jeans. And bringing up the front was Ryan Gallway, wearing a neon yellow bowler cap, chartreuse ascot, mauve waistcoat and tan knickers, rampages into frame. Yes, in his own mind this was fly as hell.

Barry: Ladies and gentl…

Ryan cut into Barry Kitna’s spiel and grabbed the microphone. Kitna stepped back out of impulse and saw the bloodshot eyes of “The Intergalactic Space Cowboy.” Brody and Silver shrugged their shoulders as the smallest Heir looks at the interviewer and then at the camera.

Gallway: Shut the fuck up Barry. It’s time for me to fuck you up with some truth. You see time and time again you ramalamas doubt the Heirs of Wrestling. You doubt our pedigree. You doubt our talent. Talent that no one else in this cosmos forsaken organization has. You look at Aimz, she has been scaring away title wins like she scares away everyone in bed. There must be a grue in there, or some black hole expelling them throughout the universe. You see Jared Sykes, your local masshole failure. He has failed each time he has had the opportunity to win the big one. You think he’s going to win the SCCW Grand Slam? Come on Kitna. I feel it in the bottom of my interdimensional nines. It Won’t Happen.

Gibson: A cocky and certain attitude from Gallway, considering he refused a tag from April Monday last Temptation.

Ware: Mind Games. MIND GAMES FROM THE REAL LIFE MICHAEL WESTON!

Gibson: Do you hear yourself talk? Is Silver paying you to say these things?

Ware: We have an agreement. I get a bottle of Blanton’s and Gallway’s hand rolled cigars. That’s why I don’t remember last week.

Gallway: To think I had the opportunity to go down the road at age 14 and study at a school in this hellhole you call a commonwealth. I was much better of travelling the heavens and stars and wrestling and training. I have done more in my five years as a pro wrestler, as an athlete, then most of this company has combined. I could be like the rest of you pathetic plebians whom are wasting away in education. I have real experience. I am a wrestling virtuoso. Don’t you see?

Gallway: And that leads me to the crumbling castle, the fallen legacy of Dead Man’s Hand. There was a time that you all held everything. There was a time that you were the most feared faction in the history of Sin City. But just like *snap* it is gone. Jaiden lost both his titles in one throw, and Campbell has taken out Lane Stevens once again. But you still have one last claim. One last pillar that supported your army. The Strength in Numbers title.

Nodding in agreement, Frank and Mack dap fists while Ryan continues.

Gallway: Come SOS V. That will fall. Just like the galactic flotilla of Carnassius Prime did to my hand eons and eons ago. We will eliminate you August and April Monday. Just like each and every team we’ve faced in SCCW. We are the last team surviving. We have yet to lose as as a team. And we won’t come two weeks from today. Your last part of your legacy, will be the last jewel the Heirs need in our crown for our ordination over this realm.

Gallway: We are bad mothers. Each place we have gone to we have destroyed. We have their team titles. Every. Single. One. Of. Them. I am the vanquisher of realms. The destroyer of night. The one of mythos. Nothing will stop us. No one has before. And no one will. Barry, this bad voodoo daddy is going to give you a story time. When I was a young Space Cowboy on our ranch, I managed to catch a wild coyote pup. Before him, I could never get a dog or cat or dingo, because coyotes and wolves would eat them, picking them off one by one. So I had this pup, and each time I tried to feed him, or even pet him, he would bite my hand. He would attack me Kitna. So I went to the smartest person I knew, my Grandmama Gallway. And I asked her, “Grandmama, why is he bitin’ me? I just want to love him!” She in all of her wisdom looked out into the Neptunian prairie, and then looked down her youngest grandchild, the whelp of the Gallway clan. And she said “Ryan. Insanity is doing the same thing repeated times and expecting a different result.” SCCW, Dead Man’s Hand, the rest of the wrestling world. You are insane trying to face us and expect a different result.

By this time Gallway’s intent glare leaves the camera, and Kitna and the Texan starts to pace back and forth across the area. Kitna gives Frank and Mack a look of “What Give?” Both of them shrug, letting the Little Titan continue on his rant.

Gallway: And April. Ohhhhhh April. April. April! I thought we had something. You met up with me in Tokyo remember? Speakeasy USA? We had a special night. I thought we had something! Weeeeee had something. You were so pretty in the moonlight. You were mine. You left me a note to see you later the next night! At the same place! You IGNORED ME! After a night of bliss, you acted like I was the scum of the earth. SCUMMM!

Gibson: I think Gallway’s lost it, finally once and for good.

Ware: It’s just love! He just…yeah, he’s gone.

Gallway: And ever since then you have forgotten our love. Our special night. You even had your daddy-o try to smash me in Iraq. But you can’t keep me down. I’m prepared, April Monday. I know I have to do this. I know I need to make you mine. I will have to do what I have to do to keep you. So you realize this. Our love. If that is me making you bleed so I can taste you, then I will. Your sweet salty lovely blood. I will lick it and spread it alllll over. Hahaahahaha

Frank arches his eyebrow and Kitna is muttering about how this is going to ruin his “reputation.” Ryan steps forward right to the camera’s lens. He starts to breathe heavy and fogs up the lens, so the viewer hears huffing and the disturbed Heir muddled by his opants

Gallway: I have to do this. I have to do this. I have to do this. I will make you love me. I have murdered the masses of Xenia for less. I will tear apart your ghoul of a father and everyone in my path. Blood! And Fluid! Hahahaha FLUID! I will make you mine. Mrs. April Gallway. A prettttty ring does it!?

Marching off, Ryan Gallway heads onward to battle. Barry Kitna remains mortified, but tries to shake out those uneasy feelings. Putting the microphone up to Frank Silver, he takes a deep swallow.

Kitna: So… uh… Frank, a word. Tonight, you’re facing August Monday. Your thoughts?

Silver scratches his chin, looking around the vicinity. After exchanging glances with Mack Brody, he shrugs his shoulders.

Silver: Victory. There, there’s your word. Now fuck off. Mack Attack, let’s go.

Mack nods as they both turn tail and leave the vicinity, leaving Barry Kitna do his own devices. He shrugs and looks to the camera, smiling nervously before we cut elsewhere.
Waiting Up
Starring:Jadian Bridden, Julissa Minorez
* Tap * * Tap * * Tap *

Jadian Bridden lifts his head, beads of sweat on his brow as he lets a sigh escape through gritted teeth. He stands up from the bench, adjusting the towel wrapped around his waist to make sure the guys in the trailer don't need to blur anything out.

* Tap * * Tap * * Tap *

Bridden: I'm coming! Damn.

He grabs a hold of the knob, twisting it before pulling the door open and finding an irate Mexican Minx standing there leaning on her crutches.

Minorez: Did you really need to rush off without me?

Bridden: What did you want me to do... Carry you?

He holds the door open for Julissa to make her way in, then lets it close as he walks past her and toward the open locker.

Minorez: Someone's a little pissy.

Bridden: What did you expect? As if it wasn't bad enough that I had to get in the ring with 'The Man of a Thousand Identities' and 'He Who Does Not Win', but I had to tag with the guy that says his name every five minutes and still gets forgotten... and then he attacks me!

Jadian grabs something out of his locker then throws it back in just to make a little noise.

Bridden: What the hell was St. Germain thinking when she hired that guy... Vince Jones is too 'violent' for SCCW. I'm going to make a call to our sponsors and get him fired.

Minorez: How about you settle down. We have things to do tonight, and you need to have a level head about yourself if we're going to pull this off.

Jadian bangs his forehead against the locker room door softly.

Bridden: I'll be fine. You just make sure you take care of things on your end, and I'll handle mine.
Frank Silver vs. August Monday

Gibson: Thanks for being with us here on Temptation! Up next, we’ve got more or less the ringleaders of the respective teams going at it in what you could call a Rubber Match leading up to Sin on Spike 5 when the Heirs of Wrestling get their shot at Daddy Daughter Day for the SIN Championships.

Ware: On the one hand, you’ve got August Monday ready to start killing anybody and anything that moves… along with sweet, sweet, April… (drools)

Gibson: …But on the other hand, you have the Heirs of Wrestling who have pretty much done whatever they could to stick it to Daddy Daughter Day. August Monday won against Ryan Gallway in Baghdad and Mack Brody quote-unquote “subbed” for Frank Silver in Venice to beat April, then attacked April. Last week, Gallway left April high and dry so August wants some payback.

Ware: Man, I’D like to stick it to April. Come on, you knew it was coming. Like me when I get a crack at April…

Myers: The following contest is scheduled for one fall with a ten-minute time limit… first, being accompanied to the ring by April Monday, he is a member of the Dead Man’s Hand and one half of the Strength in Numbers Champions… from Portland, Oregon, weighing in at 312 pounds… AUGUST MONDAY!

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

"BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"


Smashing Pumpkins "Bullet With Butterfly Wings", edited ever so cleverly to work as a wrestler entrance song, plays the softer version of the line. Together, Daddy Daughter Day, the Strength In Numbers Champions, step out onto the ramp overlooking everything the arena. August wears his championship belt draped over his right shoulder, his arms folded across his chest. April wears her belt strapped around her waist, hands on her hips to draw attention to the gold. The guitars kick in and it hits the chorus, that's when the pair make their way down the ramp.

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

Without any high-fives the pair just make their way down to the ring. Focused on the task at hand. They slide under the bottom rope simultaneously and head for a far corner each. August climbs to the second turnbuckle and folds his arms across his chest. April climbs to the second turnbuckle with her hands on her hips. Then simultaneously they both remove their championship belts and thrust them into the air to a chorus of boos.

With April remaining at ringside, she watches her father carefully as he runs a hand through his beard, probably contemplating the ways he would hurt Frank Silver for psyching her out and having Mack Brody assault her back in Iraq. He’s focused and ready for match.

Myers: And the opponent…

The fans wait with eager anticipation before the lights fade to pitch black. Slowly, a low trumpeting starts to echo throughout the arena before we hear none other than the crooning lyrics of “The Shit” by Danger Mouse and Jemini start to play.

“WHO’S THE SHIT?
I’M THE SHIT!
WHO’S THE SHIT?
I’M A BAD MOTHERFUCKER!”

“WHO’S THE SHIT?
I’M THE SHIT!
WHO’S THE SHIT?
I’M A BAD MOTHERFUCKER!”

A solitary spotlight shines on the entryway as three forms make their way out behind the curtains. Ryan Gallway enters first, wearing a denim vest and his wrestling trunks, looking like he hasn’t seen sleep in several days. Mack Brody comes out in black and gold thigh-length trunks, checking his faux-hawk to make sure every strand is perfect. Frank Silver, the man competing tonight, is in a pair of black trunks and a GAUDY blood-red robe that would make Ric Flair brush.

Myers: Making his way to the ring from a quiet Spring residence in Seattle, Washington, weighing in at 265 pounds… he is representing the Heirs of Wrestling… FRANK SILVER!

Ware: Oh, I don’t know who to exactly root for, Gibbo. You’ve got a rich kid who could buy my favor and on the other hand, you’ve got a guy that’s been maiming people for years! And April’s out here! I’m in Disneyland… of debauchery.

Gibson: One has to think that August Monday would have the advantage due to having a much more tenured singles career, but on the other hand, Frank Silver is one to keep an eye on… because if you blink, he’ll probably nutshot his way to victory.

Frank Silver climbs the steps and wipes his feet on the ring apron before climbing inside, taking in the jeers from the Massachusetts faithful. Taking off his robe, he stares down August Monday as the referee calls for the bell. On the outside, April Monday notices Ryan Gallway eyeballing her the entire time, not taking his eyes off her.

Gibson: I don’t know what the hell has gotten into Ryan Gallway, but August Monday better keep an eye on the Heirs. We’ve seen these guys use their numbers game to great effect.

DING DING DING!

Silver and Monday circle one another, waiting to make their first move before August goes in for the kill, looking to lock up with the Sovereign Superman. Frank Silver decides that discretion is what works best in this situation… before he straight decks August Monday with a right hand. He fires off a few more rounds, staggering the big Portland native before whipping him into the ropes. August comes back…

BAM!

And Frank goes tumbling backward. The former U-Dub defensive lineman looks up at a very pissed-off Augie, looking to possibly maim, kill, destroy, brutalize, mutilate, and maybe even colostomize the young rich kid. Silver rolls back to his feet as August Monday throws a couple rights of his own, staggering the mouthy Sonny Silver protégé.

Gibson: And August Monday from the outset, hasn’t come here to play. He’s dropping bombs and he’s going to try and maybe take Frank Silver out before Sin on Spike 5.

Ware: OHHH! And August Monday is beating Frank Silver like he owes him money. Seriously, I think Frank maybe owes him some money, I’m worried for his well-being. Who’s gonna pay me to cheer them on now?!

August pins Silver in the corner and goes for another right, but this time Silver ducks and fires off a few more kicks of his own. Whipping him across the ring, he goes to follow him in the corner, but August gets an elbow up to put the kibosh on that plan. Running to the ropes, he barrels Frank over with another big Shoulder Block. He stands over him, waiting for him to get up.

Gibson: Frank Silver is no small man, tipping the scales at two sixty-five, but August Monday is a BIGGER guy!

August grabs him by the throat with both hands and pulls him upwards, but Frank gets a kick in, staggering the big man back a few steps. He kicks him in the chest to double him over, then follows it up with a kneelift to finally stagger him. Measuring up one half of the SIN Champions, he delivers a PERFECT Dropkick right underneath the chin, finally getting him off his feet for the first time in this match.

Ware: AWESOME! GO, SILVER, GO! GO, SILVER GO!

Gibson: Beautiful Dropkick from one of these two Pacific Northwesterners trying to hurt one another! And the cover by Frank!

ONE!

TWO… NO!

August Monday powers out, but this doesn’t stop The Baron of Ballistics from putting the stomps to the SIN Champion further. He throws down a few more boots to the head and soon, works over the body. Two stomps for the arms. One for the breadbasket. One for each of his knees. Then finally, a bounce off the ropes before driving a big elbow right between the eyes.

Ware: BOOTLICKER! That’s it!

ONE!

TWO!

NO!

Gibson: Silver’s gonna have to do a lot more than that if he wants to beat August tonight!

Silver goes to the second rope, looking to do some more damage to the SIN Champion. On the outside, April Monday starts to cheer on her father, slapping the apron, but suddenly turns her attention to Ryan Gallway now within a few feet of her, just eyeing a hole right through her. The referee focuses on the possible commotion outside and yells to both of them to keep the peace. The one second Frank Silver takes to look costs him, as he doesn’t see August Monday coming. He grabs him by the leg and HURLS him off the apron!

Gibson: I gotta say it, but SWEET LORDY LOU! Frank shouldn’t have left his feet OR taken his eyes off August Monday. Rookie mistake and now, he’s going to make him pay!

The Raging Fear grabs him by the body and rams him violently into the corner before burying a few shoulder blocks right to the rib cage. He keeps pressing a shoulder into the stomach now, trying to drive the wind from his lungs as the referee starts the five-count for August to back off. At the count of four and a half, August backs out of the corner and ignores the jeering crowd, calling for head of the Dead Man’s Hand member.

He scoops Frank Silver up and parades him around the ring, much to the chagrin of Mack Brody, standing outside and looking on intently. He drives Frank down across his knee, but keeps him held! The second Rib Breaker is just as brutal, but he doesn’t stop there. The Innovator of the Insurance Policy bounces to the ropes and HURLS him high overhead, sending him crashing with a modified Fallaway Slam!

Gibson: That’s some strength! The three-hundred pounder exercising his will upon the de facto leader of the Heirs and nothing Frank can do about it! And here’s the lateral press.

ONE!

TWO!

NO!

The Baron of Ballistics gets the shoulder up, but it’s clear that August Monday has some more bad intentions for the Seattle native. Putting him in a big Rear Chinlock, He goes to work, twisting and trying to pull the head off Sonny Silver’s godson like the cap of a bottle.

April Monday slams a hand on the apron, rooting her father on to try and squeeze the life out of Frank Silver while Mack Brody and Ryan Gallway stare on, looking on with bad intentions.

Gibson: I’m telling you, ever since this feud has started between the Heirs and Daddy Daughter Day, Ryan Gallway has been obsessed with April Monday.

Ware: Can you blame her? She’s Daddy’s Little Demon … in the sack…

Gibson: Frank now trying to get back to his feet, but it’s hard when you have a three-hundred pound man hovering over you.

Silver finally musters enough strength to throw an elbow or two in the chest of The Raging Fear to get him to relinquish the hold. After a few more body blows, he finally does so. The two men start to exchange rights amongst one another with August winning out with the blows. He goes for another big Clothesline, but Frank Silver ducks underneath and catches him with an Inverted Atomic Drop!

He gets himself a running start off the ropes and FLOORS right through him with a BIG Flying Shoulder Block, putting the father portion of Daddy Daughter Day down to the mat! He scurries over into the cover.

ONE!

TWO!

THR… KICK OUT!

Gibson: CLOSE! Frank Silver put everything he had into that Shoulder Block!

Ware: I’d like to… nah, too easy… nah, I’d still put everything I have into April!

Frank Silver tries to get him back to his feet again, but August Monday cuts him off with a big haymaker to double him over. Another kick to the chest doubles him over for a suplex attempt, but Frank actually lands on his feet behind him and DRIVES him down with a big Neckbreaker! Rather than follow up for the cover, he picks August up again and whips him to the corner. Smiling to the camera, he runs full-speed…

Gibson: He nails the Running Hip Attack in the corner and I’m not going to call it, though…

Ware: Allow ME the honors! He just hit the Eat My Ass! Eat My Ass, August Monday!

Gibson: …Really?

Ware: …April? I meant April! APRIL, APRIL, APRIL!

August Monday goes staggering forward and walks right into a Running Big Boot from Silver! He hits the ground and falls into a cover.

ONE!

TWO!

THR… KICK OUT!

Gibson: And Frank Silver almost got him there again! Now, he’s getting himself ready to assault August Monday, he’s looking for the Choke Artist… NO! April Monday has seen enough and just ran in the ring, smashing him in the back of the head with the SIN Championship belt!

DING DING DING!

Ware: Bedlam! Mayhem! It’s crazy! …Also, I think that Frank Silver won by disqualification!

Gibson: You got it! WAIT! NOW MACK BRODY AND RYAN GALLWAY ARE ATTACKING AUGUST AND APRIL MONDAY!

August tries to fend off the attack from a very fresh Mack Brody as the two big bruisers start to exchange right hands. Ryan Gallway rolls into the ring and continues to stare down April Monday, who’s ready to fight. Before she can do anything, she gets a sick cheap shot from behind by Frank Silver, knocking her to the canvas!

Ware: IT’S GANG WARFARE! THEY’RE A-FUSSIN’ AND A FEUDIN’!

Gibson: And now, it’s a three on one! The Heirs are ganging up on August Monday in the corner! I don’t know that even he can fight off these guys!

Kicks, punches, elbows, and even a headbutt or two thrown in for good measure keep The Raging Fear at bay in the corner until it becomes a simply ugly three-on-one mugging. April comes around and tries to help her father out, but is met with a STIFF Leg Lariat from Ryan Gallway, knocking her down and out in the process!

The crowd begins to boo some more as Mack and Frank begin to take turns, punting August Monday in the ribs until he’s been beaten down significantly. For good measure, Frank picks the half-fallen body of August Monday up and ties him up in the Cobra Clutch, shaking him around violently.

Gibson: And THIS is just uncalled for! He’s got the Choke Artist locked in. The Mondays aren’t patron saints of any kind, but there’s no need for this.

Ware: Sweet April is being made to watch this by Ryan Gallway and Mack Brody! Oh… sweet April… oh, the things I’d do to you…

Keeping the hold locked on, August looks up out of one corner of his eye and sees Ryan Gallway standing over the fallen body of April Monday, a sick, perverted grin on his face. He takes her by the head and cradles it, running a hand along her fiery red hair before turning her around and licking her face, keeping one eye on August the whole time. The crowd – even Frank and Mack themselves – groan a little bit with disgust.

Gibson: What the…? Ryan Gallway has REALLY gone off the deep end. This is sick! Somebody get that mental midget out of here!

Savoring the very last sweet taste of April Monday, Ryan lets her fall to the canvas as Mack throws in a kick to the side of August’s skull for good measure. Frank finally releases the hold, tossing him down like a big rag doll. The three Heirs stand proudly…

…well, two Heirs stand proudly. The third doesn’t take his eyes off April Monday the entire time as they exit the ring to the cacophony that is a hate-filled crowd.

Gibson: We’re gonna get some trainers out here to help August and April Monday, but I think the Heirs of Wrestling have sent a very loud and clear message. They want those SIN titles and they’ll do whatever they can to get them.

Preparations.
Starring:Alex Pierce, Jordan, Benji
"Is everything set?"

Backstage, Alexandra Pierce has found herself a familiar plot of real estate – a darkened corner with decent phone reception. A lot of things have changed over the last year for Sin City's Spectre, but one thing remains the same: she's always on the clock.

Usually, she's ahead of the technological spectrum, with doohickeys and gizmos and whatsits that allow her an edge in training and preparation. But the new earpiece dangling from the Spider's left lobe seems to be giving her some difficulties.

Pierce: Say that again? I'm sorry, I can't hear what you're saying. I... I know you're on the plane, but I want you to be here, to get the apology in person.

Gibson: (whispering) Is that her daughter she's speaking with? Quinn is supposed to get a personal apology from Adrienne St. Germain tonight.

Ware: (whispering) Why are we whispering? She's nowhere close to us, and we're on the TV.

Pierce: I'm going to text you a number – give them a call, and they'll give you an escort to the university. Okay? Okay. I...

Those infamous stone-gray eyes slip to the cameras briefly.

Pierce: I'll see you then. Yes, as a matter of fact, the cameras did just show up. Just get here, we'll talk then.

A tap to the blinking button on the Bluetooth ends the call, and the Spider turns towards the camera. A single hard-eyed glare is enough to drive them back a step, and out of the path of the oncoming storm.

Pity poor Jordan Cross and Benji Dill, for they have been given the most unenviable task of keeping an eye on the Medusa. Jordan's the tall one, the dark-haired dude with the "How did I get dragged into this?" expression. Benji's the scraggly one (he prefers "dashing," though) scurrying away as the former Director approaches. Cross isn't budging, though.

Jordan: (mumbled) Knew this wouldn't work.

Alex isn't smiling as she nears, but there's something in her eyes that pushes Dill behind Cross' shoulder.

Pierce: Gentlemen. Good evening.

Jordan: Alexandra.

He nods briefly. Benji waggles his fingers up from over Jordan's back.

Benji: Hi, there.

Pierce: So you're supposed to keep an eye on me? Funnel me somewhere Adrienne wants me at the end of the day so that I can be backjumped by someone looking to make a name for themselves?

Jordan: Got it in one.

Benji: Is this where you beat us both up and go on your way?

Pierce: We're getting closer to that conversation as the day goes by, yes.

She folds her arms defiantly, only one side of her smile emerging.

Pierce: Instead, let's try it this way. Go back to Adrienne – I'm sure you'll find her in the deepest, darkest pit this building has to offer, protected by as many men as her daddy's money can buy. Give her...

She draws a single slip of paper, neatly folded into quarters.

Pierce: Give her this – unopened. Tell her to meet me there after Lance's tag team match, right before the main event. If she comes, she won't have to apologize. If she doesn't, and I have to come find her... then there might be an issue or three.

Jordan: So when we go find her, that leaves you all alone to do whatever it is you're planning to do, right?

The Spider chuckles – it's just as disheartening a sound as you might imagine.

Pierce: Oh, you saw right through me there, didn't you?

Jordan: To be fair, we've been burned by you a time or two.

She bows her head slightly, relenting.

Pierce: What would you suggest?

Jordan: Benji takes the message to St. Germain. I stay here with you. When he comes back with Adrienne's response – and we both know what that's going to be – I'll take you to the meeting. If you attack me, knock me out, anything like that, then the deal's off, and I'll make sure that you never even breathe the same air as the woman who put your daughter at risk.

Alex's laugh is almost delighted. Almost.

Pierce: It is truly a wonder to see your children grow up right before you.

Jordan: I learned under trying times. Are we agreed?

Pierce: Agreed. Come, now – my daughter will be here soon, and I want her to see me be magnanimous.

She's continuing down the hall and past the camera before she finishes speaking.

Pierce: She's never going to believe it.
If Only They Knew What Was To Come
Starring:Terrence Kingsley, Amy Campbell
In the underbelly of Amherst, the Pit Viper chain smokes unfiltered cigarettes as a soft rain begins gliding in. The air is cool, crisp. The light tube is still firmly grasped in his hand. Why he’s out here? Perhaps the Massachusetts crowd was a bit too stuffy for his liking. Or, perhaps, he’s waiting for the first person to make their exit from the show.

He’d been called a coward, unmanly, been threatened with the sins of his past, and he still sauntered away as if it didn’t mattered. In reality, it didn’t. Lane Stevens, Wyatt Connors, Desade, these people would slink away at the first thought of danger. Carnage, sometimes, isn’t about those wanton moments. It’s about picking the right spots.

Amy Campbell picks her spots poorly. She assumed the outdoors would be fairly barren, offering a moment away from the circus of autograph-hungry hometown fans Jared had immersed himself in. Her hoodie from earlier is gone, peeled back for the drizzle to fall on her tattoos and tanktop. There's a red cup in her hand, half-filled with a mystery drink (It's a campus - what do you expect?), and she takes a long sip before the cigarette smoke catches her nostrils, turning her attention to the man it's billowing from.

Aimz: Cars're that way if you wanna keep running.

Kingsley’s eyes narrow as he faces her.

Kingsley: When I was younger, I lived with a traveling circus. Alone. By myself. Traveled the south and pickpocketed because I had to. I ran away if I got caught, which stopped happening after the fact. You want to know why I ran, Amy Campbell?

Aimz: Because it's what comes naturally for somebody so full of shit?

Kingsley: I’ll swab that cunt of yours out with lye if you keep this up.

She sneers and steps away from the building, a little closer to Kingsley.

Aimz: Someone took the course on pissing me off, I take it, but I don't give a fuck what stories you can tell. Your past doesn't justify being a bitch out there earlier. You tried all you could, talked all that fuckin' game... you baited Jared just to walk away? C'mon. You're a grown man. Leave conspiracy theories to the internet and take your beatings like a good boy or you'll never last here - especially with people like me so willing to call you on your horseshit.

A smile slithers across his face. Pulling the cigarette from his lips, he hands it to her.

Kingsley: Don’t seem like you’re one for stories...but I got one. How about I spin a yarn about the little redhead who toiled in mediocrity because all she had was a pair of tits she was willing to flash? How she’s fucked everyone from Brand Frontier to Darcy Crisis to Desade? Who sold her soul down the pike to get a taste of glory…glory not even earned…glory that was fostered and protected by the people pullin’ her strings? People don’t look at you as this crusader, this world beater…this champion. You know the truth; that belt was Desade’s. You held it, your name was on the plate, but it’s hers. And to see you glom onto some other dipshit and try to act like you suddenly give a shit? Are you that dense? That transparent? So do what you want to do, you sinning whore; hit. Me.

The telltale signs are there - balled fists, flushed cheeks and daggers in her eyes. Still, Aimz barely flinches.

Aimz: No. You don't get the satisfaction of controlling me thro-

Kingsley: Your parents must be proud; some dyke chickenshit who’s too busy spreading AIDS—

Her knuckles cut him off. The Pit Viper cranes his head back towards her. She’s trembling. Quaking with raw anger.

Kingsley is strangely calm.

Kingsley: Trust me...trust me.

She called him a coward for walking away earlier in the evening. It isn’t hard to imagine what she thinks of him now as he brushes past her, walking back into the building.
Brackets and Announcements.
Starring:Dave & Eugene
Cut down to Dave and Eugene at ringside. Dave has his serious face on. Eugene has a chicken leg.

Gibson: Fans, as you know, when we were last on Cinemax, we had a tag match as part of the Dangerous Liaisons card, Xavier Kannon and Terrence Kingsley facing SCCW Universal Champion Lane Stevens and former three-time champion, Amy "Aimz" Campbell.

Ware: A match won by Kingsley.

Gibson: Yes, I was going to say that.

Ware: But it bears repeating. Pinned the Universal Champion. Is awesome. All of that.

Gibson: At the conclusion of that match... well, we're not really sure what Lane said to Amy, but the Red Raver—

Ware: Went bugfuck loco.

Gibson: Ah, yes, it could be argued that, yes. Amy assaulted Lane, with the Universal Championship belt and with three of her famed "Bitchkiller" headkicks. We're told that Lane has suffered a severe concussion and some head trauma and he'll be out of action for several months.

Ware: Until he returns and puts that redheaded wench in the ground for good.

Gibson: (continuing blithely) As a result of that, Sin City management has had no recourse but to strip Stevens of the Universal Championship, and, as revealed on SCCW.com, it will be held up until we return to basic cable.

Ware: So, like, a month from now?

Gibson: Not quite even. It will be SIN on SPIKE V, live from the Prudential Center in Newark, New Jersey...

Ware: Fuck, we have to go to New Jersey? I, uh... I'm sick, have a bug, I'll have to let you handle this one.

Gibson: You can't not go to the show, Eugene.

Ware: Cough.

Gibson: Did you just SAY "cough"?

Ware: It's an onomatopoeia.

Gibson: Well, we're proud to announce the brackets for the High Roller tournament right now.

Ware: Now? But I have chicken.

Gibson: I'll do it. You just offer commentary.

Ware: Hey, it's just like normal.

There is only one smirk quite like the one on the screen, attached to a tattooed redhead whose picture on the screen draws quite a cheer.

Gibson: Our first bracket will begin with a match we haven't seen in SCCW since Defiance 2, as Aimz will have a chance to win the Universal Championship for an unprecedented fourth time...

The Aimz still moves down to the lower left-hand corner, and the picture on the screen is of the strongest man in the federation, the Lion, Lance Marshall.

Gibson: If she can beat this man. Lance Marshall has been Universal Champion himself, and though he has physically dominated Amy in every single one of their encounters, Lance doesn't have a victory over Aimz to show for it. But those were the days when Amy... let's say she had a different definition of the rules.

Ware: Why does she get another shot? She should be suspended for life. And then suspended from heaven.

Gibson: Can Amy Campbell beat Lance Marshall with her cheating ways in the past? Will Lance get his first victory? Well, chances are he'll want it really badly, as in the other half of Bracket A...

Marshall's headshot moves down into the lower left beside Campbell's, and the cocky smirk of the Gold Patron Meritorious, Xavier Kannon replaces it. Kannon's arms are outstretched, his head back as if he's basking in cheers that only he hears.

Gibson: Features this man, The King of Wrestling, Xavier Kannon. Kannon and Marshall have had quite a few run-ins since Defiance, and if both men make it to the second-round, they'll face off. But that is surely not a guarantee, as Marshall has never beaten Aimz, and as Xavier Kannon didn't get an easy first-round draw either...

Kannon's picture moves into the lower right corner, and the roar from the Massachusetts faithful is pretty goddamn loud, because they love them some Jared Sykes.

Gibson: Jared Sykes! Sykes and Kannon have never had a one-on-one bout before – something you may see comes up quite often during this first round. But Jared is just the Universal Championship away from winning the Grand Slam in SCCW, and the kid has heart, Eugene.

Ware: Gay heart. Kannon's winning the title, Dave. Let's not joke.

Gibson: Jared has impressive history with the rest of his bracket – he's winless against Lance Marshall and, well, he and Aimz are...

Ware: They're fucking, Dave. They're fucking.

Gibson: And that's just HALF the tournament!

Sykes' picture shrinks down to rest beside Kannon's in the lower right corner, and the new picture in the middle of the screen is... well, how many other guys wear junkyard armor?

Gibson: We start Bracket B with Terrence Kingsley, the Pit Viper—

Ware: The last man to pin Lane Stevens.

Gibson: Yes, I was going to say that.

Ware: The man who finally got rid of Spacely.

Gibson: Eugene, shut up and enjoy your chicken. Terrence Kingsley has been impressive since his debut in Sin City, with that pinfall victory over Lane Stevens, a dominating performance in Baghdad's Chosen One battle royal before ceding the win to Xavier Kannon, and, yes, his actions at Defiance in injuring the former Gateway Champion Spacely. Speaking of the Gateway Championship...

Kingsley's picture swoops up to the upper-right corner, and is replaced by our resident cackling mad scientist, all wild hair and wide grin.

Gibson: Terrence Kingsley's opponent will be the Gateway Champion himself, Baron von Blackberry. Blackberry will in fact make his first attempted defense of the championship in this very match, as he has agreed to put the belt up on the line against Terrence Kingsley, against the advice of Spacely's former flame, Mackenzie Malone. Blackberry has a chance to shut up Kingsley and make a play for a bigger brother for his own title belt in one night.

Ware: Or he could lose that belt and then Kingsley wins the big one, too.

Gibson: Kingsley could win the Gateway Championship and one thing he wants more than that, even...

Blackberry's photo slips up to the upper-right, and the mainline photo switches to a porcelain-skinned redhead with an unreadable smile.

Gibson: Because the first name on the other side of that bracket is the woman who defeated Kingsley during the GTT7 tournament she won. Alexandra Pierce. As with Jared Sykes, Alex is just the Universal Championship away from winning the Grand Slam, though her Gateway title reign wasn't even twenty-minutes long during the Dome of Doom match. Can Pierce ascend to the top of the federation after all this time?

Ware: Nah.

Alex's picture moves to the upper-left corner, and it's replaced with the smarmy smirk of one Wyatt Connors, clad in suit and smart power tie. It draws quite an extensive boo from the crowd.

Gibson: If she is to do so, she'll have to beat possibly the only person in the federation who can match her for planning and intellect. Wyatt Connors, another former Universal Champion, has been equal parts terrified of and a pox upon Alexandra Pierce, all the way back to when the two teamed together to close the National Wrestling Council. But this will be the very first time that they have ever faced each other in a one-on-one match, and it'll be like two master chess players at war.

Ware: Girls can't win at chess.

Gibson: Really? That's all you've got?

Ware: Look, I'm enjoying chicken here, dammit.

Gibson: There you have it, fans! Tune in to Spike TV for SIN on SPIKE V! Aimz vs. Marshall! Kannon vs. Sykes! Pierce vs. Connors! Blackberry vs. Kingsley – for the Gateway Championship! All this, plus a no-time-limit rematch between Suzanne Kingsley and Mitchell Quinlan and Daddy Daughter Day versus the Heirs of Wrestling for the SIN titles! What an event we'll have for you July 4th weekend!
Transcript unavailable.

From Scott Spite's recap:

MATCH THREE: Mitchell Quinlan & Lance Marshall vs. Suzanne Larsson & Xavier Kannon

This should be a good one. Quinlan and Larsson showed good chemistry in their LW title match, Lance Marshall is probably the best big man in the game, and Xavier Kannon is fucking Xavier Kannon.

We start with the LW competitors, and Quinlan quickly shows his technical skills with a couple textbook takedowns that would earn big points if this was, like, MMA or whatever. The frustrated anger look on the Valkyrie's face is pretty stellar here, and so is XK's "let me give it a shot little girl" patronizing extension of the hand.

Predictably, when Larsson lets him in (with the loudest tag I think I have ever heard in my life), it goes poorly for the Gold Patron, as Quinlan's able to take him down with a back-heel trip. Just as predictably, the Massachusetts crowd is just ecstatic about the idea of Quinlan tagging in Marshall. Not because they hate Quinlan or anything, but because Xavier Kannon is an asshole and Lance Marshall is their hero (I mean, seriously, I think I saw a guy in an N.E.W.S. tee).

Marshall gets tagged in, and Kannon, well... Kannon flees. Slips out of Quinlan's leglock and practically dives out of the ring. Marshall gives chase (you know, as you do) and gets caught by Larsson with a sick off-the-ringsteps knee-strike. How that didn't break Marshall's eye socket, I'll never know.

Kannon pounces immediately (of course), and rolls Lance into the ring. He goes for the Hallmark immediately, but Lance Marshall is a goddamn big guy and that weight is packed densely, not stretched around a tall guy, so he struggles, and Marshall's able to reverse it into a backdrop, but XK recovers enough to prevent the tag.

Larsson and Kannon make the tag and hit a really impressive double inverted suplex (girl is STRONG). Larsson is going places in this business if she sticks around, because she doesn't look out of place with Marshall (neither does Aimz, though, so at least some of that has to do with Lance himself). Suzanne blitzes Lance with a series of hard kicks while he's seated – including a double-footed dropkick that just about causes him to take a back somersault.

When she steps close, however (possibly to Shatter the Ice), Lance snatches her up and very nearly throws her into the lights in a belly-to-belly suplex. Marshall makes the hot tag to Quinlan (and who thought we'd hear THAT sentence in 2010?), and their bearhug/hangman's neckbreaker combination was really impressive.

Mitchell improves every week, working over the same arm that Larsson uses to hit the Shatter the Ice with a good thirty or forty-five seconds of rolling moves that bend it in ways it shouldn't go. This may come up again in their SOS bout. The arm work ends with a sharp jab to the eyes from the Valkyrie, and Xavier takes that as something of a signal, perhaps, because he hops off the apron and creeps out after Marshall on the floor, him on one side, Ellie on the other.

Lance sees them coming (really, after he's been jumped 944356 times by the Dead Man's Hand, it makes sense he'd develop something of a sixth sense to this effect), and once he sees Ellie, he turns the other way and cuts off XK.

This of course leads to him catching a lowblow from Ellie, but what can you do? In the ring, Quinlan hooks Larsson for the Fisher of Men, but that doesn't work (proving she IS a chick after all), as she slips her leg free and knees Mitchell in the face. I think I missed something here, but Larsson has clear knuckle-dusters (ice-dusters?) and drills Quinlan in the face with a spinning backfist, catching the semi-clean three.

Winners: Suzanne Larsson & Xavier Kannon (pin; knuck-assisted uraken)
Rating: *** (Good match, showing that Quinlan is the real deal as the LiveWire champ, Larsson has a real future in the fed, and kept the Kannon-Marshall blowoff from stopping before their possible second-round match at SOS).

Post-match, XK has a chair wrapped around the throat of Lance Marshall and gives it an old-fashioned Pillmanizing, setting up Marshall's story during the tournament and adding more to their heat. Approved.
Coffee Break
Starring:Wyatt Connors and an asshole
“You didn’t mean that. Tell me you didn’t mean that.”

For two years Jared Sykes’ agent, Larry Spiderman, had succeeded in keeping himself off of television. This was actually rather easy to accomplish, seeing as he never attended televised events. Tonight, however, he is making an exception. With his charge having his first match in his home state since the aftermath of Cataclysm two years prior, it seemed only right for Larry to see what all the fuss is about.

With the way things have been going, he’s not entirely sure it was the right decision.

Sykes: What are we talking about again?

Spiderman: The title. And the colorful language you used.

Presently, the two men are speeding along one of the many backstage corridors en route to god-knows-where.

Sykes turns on his heel, but doesn’t break stride, instead shifting his momentum to walk backwards down the hall. It’s quite remarkable a feat. Though he’s able to control himself inside the ring, outside of one Sykes has a reputation for being something of a total klutz.

It’s kind of like how Ozzy Osbourne is only intelligible when he’s singing.

Sykes: Oh, that. Yeah. Of course I wasn’t serious. I want it. Pretty bad, actually. I’d have to be retarded not to.

Spiderman raises an eyebrow. Matt laughs because that just looks funny in print.

Spiderman: Jared…

Sykes: Whatever you want to say right now, don’t.

Spiderman: No, Jared…

Sykes: No, no. I get it. I’m dumb, and all that. Ha ha, very funny.

Spiderman: No, Jared, look out!

Sykes: Buh?

The squeak of shoes from nearby causes Jared to swivel his head around. This action brings him in a nearly face to face collision with someone entering the intersection from another direction.

"Hey!"

The other backstage traveler stops just short of walking right into Jared, but fails to keep his coffee mug stable. A small amount of liquid splashes over the side and lands on his shoes. Both men look down, and then slowly look up. It doesn't take Jared long...but there is a rather unpleasant surprise when he gets to the top: a withering scowl from "Wise Guy" Wyatt Connors.

Sykes: Okay, this time I wasn’t looking for you. Honest.

Wyatt says nothing, but he narrows his eyes a little. Somehow, this makes his expression even more sour.

Sykes: No, really. This one? Total accident. Tell the man, Larry.

Spiderman: Thank you, no.

But Wyatt still doesn't say anything. Even when his goons, Deacon Dale and T.J. Ratigan, arrive on the scene, he gives no orders. He just keeps staring.

Sykes: Okay, I have no idea what the fuck else to say here. And this is getting kinda creepy.

He’s jabbed in the side by a light elbow from his agent.

Spiderman: (whispering) Language.

Ratigan: Want we should fuck him up, boss?

Ratigan--long on initiative, short on patience--makes a move to approach Jared. Connors stops him by holding up a hand...but he still says nothing.

Again Spiderman leans in, this time to nudge his client a bit harder.

Spiderman: Maybe we should go. I kind of get the impression that he doesn’t really want to see you right now.

Still no vocal response from Connors, although he does blink.

Spiderman: Come on. We’re leaving.

As Sykes stares quizzically at the Wise Guy, a firm hand is placed on his shoulder, nudging him further down the hall. His expression is one of confusion, but he won’t get a chance to ask his questions. Not today, anyway.

Spiderman: So sorry for the trouble. We’ll be out of your way in just a moment.

Once more Jared Sykes finds himself backpedaling down the corridor, this time being led by his agent. His momentum is momentarily stopped when he bumps into a wheeled cart and comes within inches of tumbling to the floor. Spiderman can only shake his head.

The whole time, Connors has not taken his icy stare away from Jared, even for a moment.

Dale: Boss? You OK?

Connors: Fine. Just remembered something I have to deal with
Help From Above
Starring:Jadian Bridden, Julissa Minorez, Alex Pierce, Quinn Gregory
Backstage.

Nerves do funny things to people. Some people pace (like Jordan Cross), some bolt when the pressure gets too much (like Benji Dill did – he sent a staffer with the all-clear and bugged the hell out), some drum their fingers (like the intern Benji sent) or eat or chew gum.

Alexandra Pierce doesn't get nervous, she simply waits. Which is what she's been doing for the better part of the hour in a tiny little room in the bowels of the Mullins Center, under the watchful eye of the perpetually pacing Jordan Cross – and, though she's not supposed to know it, several small cameras placed by interns whose feeds went directly to Adrienne St. Germain's office.

The time passed slowly for Alex with the situation out of her hands, but she never showed it. Never sighed, never frowned, never scowled – and never said a word to her itinerant jailer. For as slow as the time must have gone for the Spider, it went slower for Jordan Cross, who couldn't figure out what angle Alex was playing, and even slower for Adrienne St. Germain, who could only dread it.

When Suzanne Larsson's weighted knuckles cracked across Mitchell Quinlan's jaw and earned the Valkyrie a three-count, the clock ran out, so it's just as we cut back here that the door is opened, and beefy men in black-and-red polo shirts quickly pack the room. With Alex and Jordan and a staffer and the cameramen, several security guards make for a tight squeeze.

But St. Germain is a slight thing, and she manages.

Pierce: You're late.

ASG: I run a professional wrestling company, and you're interrupting a live cable broadcast because your feelings are hurt. Let's make it quick, Alex. I've got a main event to watch your little buddy choke on.

Pierce: First of all, he is not my "little buddy". Second, my daughter hasn't arrived, but I'm told she'll be along presently, so if we could just—

ASG: No. We can't just anything, Alexandra. You know, I tried to work with you. They all told me, they said you're "different" and "temperamental". I've seen the footage of what you and your ex-girlfriend did to Dr. Kensington's predecessor. But you screw with my Chosen One, you sit on that pretty little bracelet until you can screw Lane, and then when I give your daughter the chance – just the opportunity – to get her feet wet, you threaten me and assault me and—

The Medusa is half-turned away, her head tipped down just enough so that those rusty ringlets cast a long shadow across her face.

Pierce: And you wouldn't be talking like that if there was an army with you if you were not dealing from a position of strength. So... go on. Surprise me. What horribly devious scheme have you concocted?

ASG: I had a speech.

Pierce: You mistake me for caring. So what is it? Have you given some advantage to Wyatt next week? Were you thinking of putting me in some horrible position, so I'd accept a demotion?

"You're thinking so smalltime, Al."

Let's put one more body in there. His name is Jadian Bridden, the golden-haired Golden Boy, the former GateWire Champion, and the Crown Prince of the crumbling Dead Man's Hand. Bridden's in blue jeans and a black t-shirt featuring a red aerosol can with "SPIDER SLAYER" on the label.

Pierce: Ah, Jadian...

Her smile tightens against her lips, rictus-like.

Pierce: I thought I smelled a diaper needing change. So you've come to Adrienne's rescue, her new knight in shining armor? Will Julissa be limping along to tell us all that she understands, so you can insist it's platonic?

The Ace in the Hole gives a slow golf clap, resting his hip against the desk.

Bridden: Oh, wow, you're so clever. Insinuating I'd sleep around on Julissa? Really? Have you seen that girl? She's a sight better than any girl you're ever going to land. She'll be along... sooner or later, but I don't need to be attracted to Ms. St. Germain to find the way you do business vacuous and reprehensible.

Pierce: Oh, I'm "reprehensible" now? Did we learn a new word in school today?

Bridden: Two, actually. The other one had something to do with aborigines or something. But enough about me... look at you. The vaunted Alexandra Pierce, fearsome Spider in the Web, bane of whole federations... reduced to empty threats and half-hearted humor. And here I was becoming one of the idiots in the crowd in thinking you turned over a new leaf!

Pierce: Don't push me, Jadian. I hope you know I can get to you before Alan's men get to me.

Bridden: I'm pretty sure you could, but could you get to me before I got to your little girl?

That puts a spark through those gray eyes.

Pierce: Mind your tongue, boy. If you've done anything to my daughter—

Bridden: Yeah, yeah. Fires of Hades, I get the picture. I haven't done anything to the brat. I won't, either – you will. Perhaps you should ask the heavens.

He tips his head back slightly, speaking up to the ceiling.

Bridden: Are you there, God? It's me, Jadian.

"I hear you, my child."

The voice is rich, full, and beatific, piped in through the loudspeakers.

Ware: If God sounds like that, I'm converting religions.

Gibson: That's Julissa, and you know it.

Ware: To be fair, I always want to say, "Oh, God!" whenever she's around.

Bridden: Do you have the heathen child with you?

"God" (OSV): I do. She is the rebellious sort, and I fear she must be cast down.

Bridden: Whatever can we do to prevent such a thing?

"God" (OSV): Perhaps if the child's mother apologized for her sins, and begged my forgiveness, she might meet a just and merciful deity. Else she be hobbled in turn.

Bridden: Well, I'm just the prophet, but what do you say, Alex? Seems like a fair trade to me.

The Spider ignores the question and flicks her glare upwards.

Pierce: Quinn?

The girl's voice is strained, but it's her. Probably, at least.

Quinn (OSV): Yeah, uh... sorry, Mom.

Adrienne preens. Jadian chuckles.

Pierce: You okay?

Quinn (OSV): Should've known better than to lollygag.

Bridden: Seriously... who the fuck says "lollygag" anymore? Look, patience isn't one of my greatest virtues, so how about we move this along.

Alex ignores the Ace in the Hole completely, her gaze still focused upwards.

Pierce: Don't worry, Quinn, I've got it from here.

Jadian snaps his fingers in irritation.

Bridden: Hey! You two can have your little family moment when we're done here. Face it... I win. I win and you're going to apologize. Then maybe – just maybe – you won't catch up with your daughter next when they fit her for a cast.

Pierce: You would hurt her anyway, wouldn't you?

Bridden: Maybe. I mean... probably. But can you really take that chance?

Pierce: No.

Bridden: So apologize.

Pierce: I meant: no apology.

Bridden: Seriously? And here I was thinking you actually grew a heart when you got a conscience. Oh well, do it, Jules. And make sure Mommy Dearest can hear it.

Silence reigns; the kind of awkward silence where the other shoe is almost certainly in the air.

But it never falls.

Bridden: Juli?

Pierce: Behind you.

He doesn't say it, but the posture, the expression, the glare – it's "I'm not going to fall for that," nonverbally.

The Medusa simply gives strength to her name and glares and glares and glares.

Finally he turns, just as Jordan Cross pushes through them.

Jordan: Wait, I figured it—

A small fist buries itself into the GateWire Champion's midsection, and then right across his cheek.

Gibson: The intern! That's Quinn! Quinn Gregory just popped Jay Bridden in the jaw!

Ware: Sucker punch!

Gibson: Alex turns in the same moment – savate kick for Adrienne St. Germain! Security separating the Pierces from Bridden!

Jay's holding his mouth, sort of staggering. He's all but yelling.

Bridden: You're mine, you little bitch! You hear me! Mine! Where's Juli? What the fuck did you do to Julissa?

Alex glances slowly upwards.

Pierce: Ask God. I'm sure She can guide you. Stick to backjumping people, Jadian – it's all you're good at. Come on, Quinn.

Gregory steps backwards, shaking out her hand.

Quinn: Yow, that hurt.

Pierce: I told you.

She comes face-to-chest with Alan Branch, looking up, up, up to the big bald bearded badass.

Pierce: When Adrienne wakes up, tell her that was strike one.

Bridden: You're mine!

Neither of the Pierces turn back as they step around Branch and out through the door.

Away.
Gibson: Fans, if you didn’t catch the start of the program, then you missed a heated exchange of words between Jared Sykes and Terrence Kingsley.

Ware: Here, I’ll recap. “I smoke cigarettes because I scare the SHIT out of cancer, and I’m awesome.” “Wah, I’m a big gay with a gaping butthole.” “I have a giant vagina and people only like me because I have boobs.”

Gibson: That is not at all how it went down.

Ware: That’s how I remember it, so I’m pretty sure that makes it official.

Jason Myers is once again in the ring, though after his near-miss encounter earlier with Terrence Kingsley he looks a touch apprehensive about being there.

Myers: The following contest is scheduled for one fall, and is the main event of the evening!

"RAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"


Myers: Introducing first, from Boston, Massachusetts…

"RAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"


The arena lights go dark, and the SinScreen flashes to life. In 16-bit, arcade-style font is written “Sin City Championship Wrestling”, with a flickering “press start”  beneath it. With a the sound of a digitized bell, an unseen button is pressed, bringing us to the next screen. Two rows, each consisting of 8 fighters, are stacked one over the other, and as each one is highlighted a cartoon headshot appears in the lower left corner of the screen. The selection is made.

Drums. Guitars. Killswitch Engage. This time, it’s for real.

Blue and green spotlights flash over parts of the crowd, and the drums that signal the start of Killswitch Engage's "Save Me" throw the crowd into a righteous frenzy. On either side of the entryway, a column of pyro flares up some fifteen feet high, and then a curtain of sparks falls like rain across the stage.

So much that I've done wrong, it's an open book
I've done much more than my fair share of damage

Myers: Weighing at 199 pounds… JAAAAAAAAAAREEEEEEEEEEEEEEDDDD SYYYYYYYYYYYYYYKES!!!!

Gibson: This is the second week in a row that he’s been introduced as something other than ‘The Black Sheep’.

Ware: One step towards sucking less, in my opinion.

What once was hidden now is crystal clear
Transformation is within me
To break the cycle I must turn to you
What I lack I gain through your virtue … I – gain – through – you

The SinScreens display a collection of career highlights, each rendered in a different animation style. Spacely being defeated to retain the Gateway Championship is animated in the style of Final Fantasy VII. A giant pixellated penis costume dances "Peanut Butter Jelly Time" in 8-bit glory. Xavier Kannon's "Golden Army" being dispatched from the ring is shown in 16-bit arcade style graphics, complete with a Zangief inspired spinning lariat. Sykes and Crisp defeat Bridden and Kennedy for the SIN titles in fully rendered 3D, complete with a flashing "2-Hit Combo!" marker on screen.

Even when I fall, will you still believe
Even when I'm lost, will you still believe

Quite frankly, it's the nerdiest entrance in the history of life.

Shattered by the hate that I carry
Take me as I am and make me whole again
I am lost without a purpose, always consumed by self
I feely give this calloused heart, can you... can you forgive me

Jared steps through the entrance and is met by a defeaning roar from the crowd; a small man held up and bolstered by the strength of his home. Now let's all take a minute and admire how pretty that sentence was, even if it wasn't grammatically accurate. The reaction from the crowd is such that he pauses at the top of the ramp and crouches to one knee, just to soak it all in.

Ware: Oh man, don't tell me he's crying. Actually, no wait, someone please tell me he's crying.

Gibson: This is the first time that Jared Sykes has wrestled in front of a hometown crowd in almost two years. I'd say that I'd be surprised if he didn't show a little emotion here.

Ware: Hey, Dave. Let's play a game. I'm thinking of a word. It starts with 'G'. Oh! And another one that starts with 'F'.

His outfit tonight is the same as it's always been: Loose-fitting knee-length shorts, kneepads, elbow pads, and Japanese-style kickpads. They're all black, but tonight the accent color is a vibrant kelly green. It may or may not have to do with the basketball game being played two hours away.

Even when I fall, will you still believe
Even when I'm lost, will you still believe
Now I don't have much, will you save me
But I'll give it all, will you save me

His walk to the ring is longer than usual, as Sykes can't keep from going railing-to-railing for a bit of hometown support. With about two-thirds of the distance to the ring covered, he breaks into a spring and dives under the bottom rope, twisting mid-slide and rising to his feet.

"RAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"


I've made so many mistakes
I've broken so many promises
I've searched inside and I'm empty
Will you save me
Will you save me

He paces a slow circle around the ring, glancing out at the sea of people. Finally he returns to the center of the ring, where he crouches to one knee and takes a few deep breaths as he waits for his opponent.

Even when I fall, will you still believe
Even when I'm lost, will you still believe
Now I don't have much, will you save me
But I'll give it all, will you save me

The emotion wells up inside Jared. The calm before the storm. Hometown hero going against the Devil, and he’s got a heart strumming an incalculable beat. He’s raw emotion. Raw nerves.

Unaware. Stretched out, a sheen of sweat covering his body. Biggest match of his career? Maybe the biggest match of his life. Unaware. He waits for the throbbing electronica, for the dull roar.

Unaware.

Kingsley darts into the ring from the back of the crowd. Jared is still on one knee. The Pit Viper slides in before the boos can alert the native son. The fluorescent light bulb tube smacks into the brainpan of Sykes. A plume of dust shoots up from the fracture.

"BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"


Gibson: What?! What?! What the hell?!

Ware: Oh yes! Oh hell yes!

Myers gets the hell out of dodge. Instinctively, Jared goes to cover his eyes, slumping to the canvas before shooting to his feet. He’s discombobulated. His legs aren’t underneath him. The Pit Viper coils. A cigarette hangs off his lips. His glare is unflinching and cocked to the side. A piece of cracked tube is still clasped in his left hand. No remorse. No glee. No emotion. He hovers over the wildly swinging former Black Sheep. Paper cups still full of beer come crashing down. Disposable cameras. And when that has no effect, they hit Kingsley in the head with double A batteries.

"BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"


Gibson: Jesus Christ…there’s going to be a riot tonight. This is an assault. The assault of a native son.

Ware: Oh shut your bitch yap, Gibbo. This ain’t even a .1 on the Denver scale. This faggot cuts himself just to feel and you know it. Probably tickles the yid.

"BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"


A boot to the gut stops the flailing. The Pit Viper grabs onto Sykes hair with his right hand, putting the remnant of the tube against his forehead.

Gibson: What’s he—

Ware: He’s gonna slice—

Kingsley’s head crashes into Jared’s, glass splintering into both men’s foreheads. The sick bastard tosses the metal filament to the crowd as the blood begins to pour from the head of the native son. Down his eyes. Down his cheeks. Maybe Terrence hit an artery. Or maybe he hit his own. The blood cascades down his own stoic face as he slithers out of the ring and pushes through the wall of Amherst college students in the front row.

"BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"


Gibson: This is disgusting! He just jumped Jared Sykes and busted him open with a damn light tube. A light tube! And then he walks away? He jumps a man and just walks the Hell away?

Ware: To be fair, dude did smash himself up in the process.

Gibson: That just proves how sick and twisted he is. And Jared Sykes...Sykes is trying to pull himself up to his feet but he’s bleeding buckets here. He surely has severe lacerations on both the back of his head and his forehead.

Ware: I’m going to go in there an scoop some of it up for lube.

Gibson: Jared Sykes needs medical attention! This is a disgrace, that's what it is.  It sickens me, sickens me to my soul to watch things like this happen in--

You ever feel like you're having one of those days?

ONE TWO THREE FOUR

The crowd's outrage spikes back to full volume as "Wise Guy" Wyatt Connors parts the curtain and walks down the ramp.  He is flanked by Deacon Dale and "Rotten" T.J. Ratigan, and all three of them look like they mean business tonight.

Gibson: You have got to be kidding me.  Isn't what Kingsley did bad enough?  Sykes is laid out in the middle of the ring, the medical crew is checking on him, and now Connors and his goons are out like vultures, looking to attack an injured man.  Why not bring Kannon out while you're at it?

Ware: Now you're talking!

Connors strides with purpose toward the ring, ignoring the verbal abuse and occasional projectile from the Amherst crowd.  In fact, he might have easily outdistanced his charges had he not stopped to grab a microphone.

Ware: Wyatt has something to say!  Best day ever!

Gibson: Dale and Ratigan rolling into the ring--and now they're going after the EMTs!

"BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"


Gibson: Those people were only out there to help Jared, and they're getting manhandled!  Tossed out of the ring, one by one!

Ware: Hey, Wyatt's boys are just trying to make for a safer work environment.  All those extra people in the ring means someone could get hurt, so they're trying to get the EMTs out quickly and safely.

Gibson: Then why did Ratigan kick one of them in the groin?

Ware: That's a bit of a stumper, I admit.

Within moments, the ring is clear of all non-wrestlers, just as Connors enters the ring.  He motions toward the still downed Black Sheep, prompting Dale and Ratigan to hoist his limp form to an almost standing position.  Wyatt looks at him for a moment, then nods at his charges...who throw Sykes back down to the mat.

Gibson: Was that really necessary?

Ware: I agree.  Why didn't they punch him in the kidneys first?

Connors takes a few steps toward Jared, who rolls on his back and coughs heavily.  Wyatt tilts his head to the side, regarding Sykes carefully...

"BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"


...and then starts grinding the heel of his shoe into Jared's face.

Connors: I don't know if you can tell, but I managed to get them cleaned.  Didn't want you to worry.

He leans forward, putting more of his weight onto his right foot. That's the one that is currently digging into Jared's cheek.

Connors: But this isn't just a social call.  I'm out here for a reason tonight.  As you know, I've been very preoccupied with matters outside the ring lately.  These concerns have caused me to neglect my responsibilities as an SCCW superstar, and I'd like to apologize for that...to you, and to all these people here tonight.

"BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"


Connors: Fortunately, this is no longer the case, thanks to recent developments.  I can now focus on bringing the full Wyatt Connors experience to all who ask for it...and let's be honest, you've been asking for it for months.

To emphasize his point, he gives his heel a bit of a twist.  Jared flails around a bit, but is still to weakened from the attack by Kingsley to defend himself.

Connors: Well, your efforts have paid off.  You now have my full, undivided attention.  Congratulations.

The Scorpion digs his heel in further, making a fresh cut on the side of Jared's face--insofar as anyone can tell.

Connors: I want you to know--it's important that you know--that this is not about revenge.  I'm not doing this because of the strippers, or the penis costumes, or even the coffee...and now, blood, on my shoes. I don't like revenge as a motivational tool.  Revenge is cheap, it lessens us as human beings...and besides, it's boring.  No, if I'm going to acknowledge your existence, I should have a good reason.

Jared tries to move his arm in a half-hearted attempt to dislodge Connors' foot, but can't get any force behind it.  All he manages is to slap ineffectually at Wyatt's ankle.

Connors: So that got me thinking.  What do I really know about Jared Sykes?  I know...basically, what everyone else does.  Reasonably talented.  Acts like a buffoon, although it's tough to tell if it's an act.  Bit of a...what's the phrase the kids are using these days, Trevor?

Ratigan: "Total faggot," sir.

Connors: Hmm.  Not quite what I was looking for.  The point is, I'd come to accept Jared at face value.  They tell you that's a bad thing...but honestly, it's usually not wrong.  People are simple, and wrestlers doubly so.  That's not to imply that they're stupid--they are, of course, but that's not the point--more that they're...well, they're uncomplicated.  And since the surface picture is usually true, very few bother to dig deeper.  Those who do rarely learn anything, mostly they're just looking for what everyone already knows.  Lane Stevens' actions might have been amusing, but they rarely provided interesting results.  Everyone already knows Amy Campbell throws tantrums at the slightest inconvenience, and when he made his attacks on Lance Marshall's family, it--

Wyatt's speech is interrupted when a battery hits him in the chest. He looks in the direction of the thrower, but does not remove his shoe from Jared's face.  If anything, he presses down harder.

Connors: Do you mind?  I'm trying to make a point here.

"BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"


Connors: I've gotten a bit off track here, but I think you can see where this is going.  None of us truly know you, Jared.  Perhaps, not even you.  But that's going to change.  In the coming months, I will lead you on a journey of discovery...one that will not end until I have shown you the truth.

Wyatt lowers himself down, reducing the distance between him and his intended audience.  His next words are spoken in a voice that could cut glass.

Connors: And you will know it is the truth...because it is going to hurt.

The Rainmaker stands back up, pushing harder against Jared's face as he does so.

Connors: Tell me, Mr. Sykes.  Do I have your attention?

ONE TWO THREE FOUR

As "Asshole World Renown" fires up again, Connors finally moves his foot off of Sykes.  He still stands over him, though, taking the opportunity to look him over.  We keep expecting him to attack, but he never does.  Instead, he walks calmly toward the ropes, as Dale and Ratigan follow suit.

Gibson: Wyatt Connors has come out and added insult to injury, making his big speech after Jared had already been taken out.

Ware: What a bastard.  He should have added injury to injury.

While Gibson tries to work out whether he could murder Eugene Ware and not get caught, the cameras focus in on Jared Sykes--still down, still bleeding, and still in severe pain.

Makes you want to watch Sin On Spike 5, doesn't it?