OCW Presents: Massacre
LIVE! Monday, March 25th 2019
From The OCW Arena in Key West, Florida
~Another Monday night hits us like a wave of rotten nostalgia. Just when you feel as though you’re FREE from the clutches of Monday…here comes another one! Oh well, last Monday we felt like shit. We were sick (not our fault) and hungover (totally our fault). This week, way better…even if not all the way back to 100%. Four straight days of non-stop basketball put us a bit behind the proverbial eight ball but, hey, that’s life! Gotta stop and smell the roses every once in a while, even if you are allergic to pollen and or other natural allergens floating around in this crazy world. Considering the deadly COLD strand we managed to somehow overcome, a new lease on life has offered an innocuous perspective. Let’s take it easy this Monday night. No spirits. No libations. Let’s have some coffee, some water, MAYBE a protein bar and let’s work on living a healthier life to keep this renewed energy going! Probably won’t happen but unrealized good intentions is a right for every American to enjoy. So, we take a seat with our coffee, water, and…DORITOS? Whoops. Resolution already decimated. Ah well, 2/3 isn’t so bad…that’d get you in the MLB hall of fame. We flip the television on to see an edge advertisement for a new show that looks like every other show debuting this season. It ends and that OCW logo flashes…a slight drumroll is heard as…yes…YES...is that? IT’S A NEW MASSACRE LOGO! Holy smokes! Tonight is going to be a brand new pair of high speed tits. We are in for one hell of an evening! We cut to the OCW Arena! The fans are going crazy…they, too, seem overwhelmed by the fact we got a new logo. Tells ya how cheap we are around here…we don’t fuck around, heading directly over to Smith and Hood~
Smith: Hello again everyone and welcome to Monday Night Massacre!! I’m your host Smith and alongside me, as always, is Hood!
Hood: New logo, man!
Smith: Yes! A new logo for an old show…doesn’t happen all that often.
Hood: Welsh back in charge…new faces, new logo…I think we all need to appreciate the greatness of a very great man…the great Marcus Welsh.
Smith: Just because he sprang for a new logo doesn’t mean he’s going to start handing out raises.
Hood: Shit
Smith: Fans, we’ve got an action packed lineup for you tonight. A number of matches featuring a variety of names and stakes. We’ve got debuts, up and comers, big names making their in ring debuts, legends looking to stave off hungry, new stars, tag team action, and the second bracket of our Block Party Tournament.
Hood: Honoring Linchy tonight!
Smith: Miss that guy.
Hood: He’s not dead, Smith. He’s just out in LA or something. Good luck to ya, Linchy!
Smith: Indeed! The main event tonight carries major implications as Mike Best takes on The Big Bifford. If Mike Best wins then that would mean Mario Maurako gets a match against Paul Paras at, presumably – Block Party.
Hood: the eMpire doing work!
Smith: Evidently…I can’t help but get the uneasy feeling that our temporary GM is mortgaging OCW’s heart and soul in the name of temporary fame and fortune.
Hood: That’s because you’re a narrow minded fool. OCW is bigger and better now than it’s ever been!
Smith: And, speaking of new names…we also get the debut of Max Kael as he takes on an OCW original, PerZag.
Hood: Let’s hope PerZag doesn’t get caught zigging when he should be zagging tonight.
Smith: That would be unfortunate…a huge night is in store, everyone including the debut of a very exciting team named Pas De Deux.
Hood: Remember the days when teams were named things like Electricity and House of Pain? So simple…
Smith: I rather enjoy the name Pas De Deux…I can’t wait to see what they bring to the table!
Hood: Hopefully none of that diabolical french food...unless we're talking fries. I love french fries!
Smith: I'm not even sure where to begin with that one...however, I know how to kick tonight's show off...with some in ring action!! The debut of Blake Anderson is scheduled to take place next!
Singles Match
Blake Anderson (0-0) vs. Shootah (0-2)
~It’s a white hot crowd for Monday Night Massacre! These fans are ready for some in ring action…so no sense in keeping them waiting! We cut straight to Belvedere who stands in the ring looking like his dapper self~
Belvedere: Ladies and gentlemen, Welcome to OCW Massacre! The following is your opening match opening match of the evening and it is scheduled for one fall!
Fans: ONE FALL!!
Belvedere: Coming to the ring first, using a special rider in his contract that he negotiated with Mr. Zybala, where he gets one entrance with music, this is SHOOTAH!!
~The lights go out and a brief riff can be heard over the speakers before a sweet voice starts singing~
"Life is a mystery. Everyone must stand alone."
~The fans cheer and start singing along.~
Fans: "I HEAR YOU CALL MY NAME, AND IT FEELS LIKE HOOOOME!"
~"Like A Prayer" by Madonna plays over the speakers as the fans sing along. Shootah comes out dancing, and acting like a big shot. He makes his way to the ring.~
Smith: It seems like Zybala is trying to hype up our enhancement talents with giving them entrances.
Hood: It seems like a waste of money to me, but who know, it might psyche them up a little. They might put up some fight before they get demolished by the real wrestlers.
Smith: Maybe. Though I bet Welsh isn't happy about it.
Hood: I doubt Mr. Welsh really cares that much. All it does is lengthen out these squash matches a bit and leaves us with less dead air time.
~Shootah is in the ring as the music dies down and Belvedere continues.~
Belvedere: And his opponent...
~The sweet sultry music of "Pain" begins to play as a nearby ringside camera cuts to the front row. Blake Anderson is seen sitting wearing a Black hooded zip-up jacket over his street clothes. Leaning forward, he places his hands on the guardrail in front of him and stands to his feet. As the crowd cheers and boos around him, inside the ring, Belvedere starts to speak~
Belvedere: Weighing in at Two hundred and Twenty pounds, he is the sadistic madman from the hills of The Sanitarium...this is BLAKE ANDERSON"!!
~Blake pushes an arena staff security out of his chair and uses the chair as a ladder and climbs over the guardrail. At ringside, Blake slowly takes a few steps to the ring and slides under the ring rope and turns to face the bottom turnbuckle on his hands and knees. He wipes his forehead with the bottom turnbuckle before leaning backwards and is sitting in a squatted position. As he stands up slowly, Blake starts to remove his leather jacket and drapes it across the top rope. Turning around, he face Shootah who is being checked by Scruff. Scruff then checks Blake and then calls for the bell.~
Smith: Here we go. The first match of the night.
Hood: Let's see how long Shootah will last.
~Shootah is pandering to the fans with his back turned to Blake, who charges in and blasts Shootah with a front dropkick, driving him into the corner. Blake is quick to his feet as Shootah bounces backwards off of the turnbuckles. Blake quickly locks in a full-nelson, steps to the side, and drives Shootah face first into the canvas!~
Smith: Annihilator!!
Hood: See ya Shootah, thanks for playing.
~Blake rolls Shootah on his back and covers him as Scruff goes to make the count.~
1!
2!
3!!!!
~
~The bell rings as Blake gets to his feet and raises his hands up.~
Belvedere: and your winner, BLAKE ANDERSON!!
Smith: Impressive performance by Blake Anderson!
Hood: Yep, another newcomer off to a hot start.
Smith: Indeed! It will be fun to watch his career progress here in OCW
~We cut backstage to the eMpire’s private locker room, which is obviously much nicer than all the boring pleb locker rooms thanks to Marcus Welsh’s great generosity with his new hires. A fully stocked half-bar, snacks, and other amenities accompany the usual lockers and bench. A probably-previously-fucked-on leather couch is pushed against the wall nearest the locker room door. There is a large television set across from it, though curiously, it isn’t turned on and the remote is nowhere in sight. Clearly no one has been watching tonight’s show thus far. ~
~The room would almost look classy, save for the fact that Max Kael is seated on a bench near the lockers, hair dishevelled, perusing through what seems to be some kind of R.V. catalog. Or at least we’re pretty sure it’s an RV catalogue-- it’s impossible to tell, though, because everything is written in some kind of Asian lettering~
~He pauses for a moment as he narrows his blue eye, looking up toward the clock on the wall behind him. A frown crosses his face as he looks down at his naked wrist, idly tapping it before he lifts it to his ear, checking to hear a watch that is clearly not there~
Max Kael: Michael is running late.. HEY MARIO! You seen Michael?!
~From off camera, the voice of Mario Maurako can be heard shouting back.~
Mario Maurako: Mike? Nah. I’ve been focused on my training!
~The camera pans over to the corner of locker room, where Mario can be seen stalking a punching bag. Yes, stalking a punching bag. It looks worse for the wear, sporting several large holes in the center, with sand occasionally spurting out onto the floor like the dusty blood of an Antediluvian~
Mario: STAB! STRIKE! STAB!
~In his right hand, Mario carries a large wooden stake, one of the many found on his excursion to Maurako Island this week. He impales the bag, creating another big hole in the nylon where the punching bag’s heart would be. You know, if punching bags had hearts~
Mario: How you like THAT, you vampire fuck?! How you gonna bite me if you’re DUST?
~Max nods approvingly toward Mario, before attempting to sound concerned about his brother~
Max Kael: Great work Mario! Excellent form!.. But back to the point.. Michael appears to be missing. You think we should, you know.. Go look for him or something?..
~Silence fills the room as both men stare at each other for a full three seconds before Max looks back down toward the catalog and Mario falls back into a Captain Kirk battle stance, circling the wounded punching bag like Bifford stalking a triple bacon cheeseburger~
~As though he was summoned by their apathy, the locker room door swings open, heralding the arrival of the Zero Chill Hero himself. The HOW Hall of Famer has his bag slung over his shoulder, and whatever has impeded his ability to get here on time clearly has him already in a particular sort of mood~
~Michael steps into the room, looking first at Max Kael and his catalogue, and then at Mario the Vampire Slayer, shaking his head in near disbelief~
Mike Best: What in the actual fuck, you guys?
~Max doesn’t look up but flashing a full thumbs up while he continues shopping for his exotic recreational vehicle~
Max Kael: I found Michael.
~The adopted brother of Mike Best says the words with all the charismatic inflection of a PerZag promo, though he doesn’t use the word “WORTHY” even once~
~Michael throws his gear bag toward the lockers, putting his hands on his hips as he further assesses the situation. There is sand fucking everywhere. Max has dogeared enough pages you’d think he was preparing a Chinese dinner party. This entire locker room is already trashed, and the show has barely begun~
Mike Best: So uh, we gonna wrestle tonight, or are we just playing Breaking Bad and Van fucking Helsing in here?
~The Lord of Kaelsalvania mutters and tucks his nose deeper into the catalogue, clearly annoyed by Michael’s words. Whatever smile might have been on his face has vanished into a severe frown, dejection clearly painted across his face~
Max Kael: Brother, Dearest tell me… what is… a PerZag?
~Michael looks perplexed, as though he’s just been asked a complex math question or read a Tweet from the Lost Stranger~
Mike Best: I’m sorry, what?
~Max lowers the catalogue and shoots Mike a hateful cycloptic glare~
Max Kael: A PerZag. I didn’t stutter. If you can explain a PerZag I’ll put the catalogue away.
Mike Best: I… well there’s WORTHINESS… and he doesn’t like Nazis…
~Max snorts and lifts the catalogue back up, muttering something about the word WORTHY under his breath as he does so~
Mike Best: Ugh. Fine. Continue not giving a shit, I guess. Mario-- you know you can’t bring a fucking wooden stake down to the ring, right? You’ll get disqualified, lose the tournament, and then you’re forever known as the man who lost to a fucking vampire.
Max Kael: At least he gets to fight a vampire. I wasn’t WORTHY enough to fight a creature of the night. I got a PerZag.
~Max rustles the catalogue loudly, his face buried even deeper into the catalogue.~
Mario Maurako: Okay, what’s going on here? Since when is Mike Best the captain of “Team Take Things Seriously”? I’m fighting a vampire.
Max Kael: YEAH IT’S NOT LIKE HE’S FIGHTING A PERZAG.
~At this point Max rips his catalogue in half, his face flushed red before suddenly looking like a child who has just broken his favorite toy. He looks down at both halves, a tear welling up in his single blue eye before looking up at Mike like a child expecting his parent to fix the problem~
Mike Best: Look guys, I get it. I do. I saw him fight the Nazis too. I did. I saw the Nazis. But tonight is a fresh start for us. Tonight, The eMpire has a chance to pull a clean sweep-- a perfect game-- and all we have to do is focus up and… and…
~He frowns, his brow furrowing~
Mike Best: ...fuck it. He wrote Mike Best on a fish. I was the fucking fish. He was supposed to be the ONE, you guys. The Big Bifford was supposed to be the biggest, baddest motherfucker in the yard, and It was me, Florida. It was me, all along. I was the fish. What a load of carp. I’m scouting and training and getting ready for a real fucking fight, and this fat fucking tuna heads out to France for just for the halibut and spends a week eating soft cheeses and PAINTING MY GODDAMNED NAME ON A FISH. Not even a REAL fish. A faux fish. A dirty lie of a fish.
~Max nods his head solemnly, understanding his brothers plight as he stands. He sets the ruined catalogue on the bench, resting his hand reassuringly on Michael’s shoulder~
Max Kael: I got a PerZag.
Mario Maurako: C’mon man, fish bite but vampires SUCK.
~Max snaps his attention toward Mario, his expression returning to frustration and anger~
Max Kael: HE BATTLED NAZIS!
Mike Best: I WAS THE FISH.
Mario Maurako: I DON’T REMEMBER MY GUYS NAME BUT HE IS OF THE UNDEAD.
Max Kael: AT LEAST YOUR OPPONENTS SHARE A COMMON WEAKNESS!
~Mike and Mario glance at one another, seemingly confused~
Max Kael: STEAKS!
~They glance at each other once more, no longer confused. They nod in agreement and solidarity. For the benefit of Jason Kortare… steaks and stakes are homonyms. That means they mean different things but sound the same. Kind of like casket and gasket, except those words just rhyme~
~Big Bifford has a weakness for steaks~
~Vampires have a weakness for stakes~
~PerZags fight nazis~
Mario Maurako: I think we’re getting off track here, guys. What kind of vampire am I fighting… is it a deadly one, or a sexy one?
Max Kael: It’s a WORTHY one.
Mario Maurako: I know you’re not from here, but I really, really doubt that. And I have more questions. When you stake a vampire, does it instantly turn to dust like on Buffy? Or does it just go to sleep?
~Max appears to give up returns to his torn catalogue, a dejected expression on his face~
Mike Best: Look, let’s remember why we’re here in the first place. Yes, I’m the fish. Yes, PerZag thinks Max Kael is a Nazi. And yes, Mario is fighting a man who can escape a pin by turning into a bat and just like, flying away, I guess, but-
Mario Maurako: Wait, you’re not serious, right? Like he can’t actually turn into a fucking bat, right? Cause I’m not trying to get rabies.
~Mike stares at Mario, one of his greatest and longest friends of all time, with utter contempt. And then, he looks at Max. His brother, both by law and by spirit. Back at Mario. Back at Max. Back at Mario. Back at Max~
Mike Best: I…are you… no, Mario. Look. I believe in you guys. I know this is disheartening tonight, and maybe we’re up against a bunch of silly people, but this isn’t the end-- it’s the beginning. For every PerZag, there is a Paras. For every Morbidus, there is a Meyhu. For every Big Bifford, there is a…
~He lets out a heavy sigh. He can’t do this anymore~
Mike Best: REALLY THOUGH? THE FUCKING FISH? I WAS THE FUCKING FISH? I SPENT A WEEK OF MY LIFE BODY SHAMING THE GREEN GIANT’S FATTER STEPSISTER AND I WAS THE FUCKING FISH? FUCK.
~There it is. The Zero Chill Hero begins to boil over, and with a dramatic throwing up of his hands, Michael Best shakes his head turning away from his eMpire brothers. He briskly makes his way out of the locker room door, slamming it three times behind him. Even as he steps into the hallway, Mario and Max can hear the slamming of something against the wall and a guttural wail of a yell:
“FUCK SOFT CHEESES AND FUCK YOU.”
~Max peers up from his catalogue, huffling a little while Mario returns to stabbing his punching bag~
Max Kael: I did Nazi that coming.
~We cut back to ringside~
Hood: Haha...these guys are great!
Smith: I find their condescension unnecessary and, quite frankly, insulting. PerZag and Bifford are former OCW Champions...Best and Kael should show some respect!
Hood: You know who never showed any respect? Syren. You know who never showed any respect? Lurrr. You know who sohws no respect? Meyhu. You know who ALSO shows no respect? Vargas AND Bifford. You know who does show respect? Shootah.
Smith: Ugh. Well those three men - the eMpire will get a chance to back up their strong words inside the ring, where it truly matters.
Hood: I predict you will be utterly disappointed, Smith. These guys are legit.
Smith: I need a palate cleanser. Those guys make me so angry! Let's cut to footage from earlier this afternoon
~We cut to the parking lot. The dreaded “EARLIER TODAY” is written across the bottom of our screen. A familiar, expensive sports car pulls into the lot. It may or may not be playing “I’m TOO SEXY”. The engine is killed. Out steps Marcus Welsh and Greg. Welsh pulls out his phone and pretends to be using it upon seeing an increased number of HOMELESS people in the parking lot. Greg sighs and secures all his valuables inside a purple hand bag, which has a strap that goes over his shoulder. Together, they try and avert the homeless congregation. It doesn’t work~
Homeless Man with 7 Teeth: Excuse me! Do you mind if I take a nap in your backseat?
~ANYTHING ELSE and Welsh may have kept walking. But this pisses him off to the point of stopping and communicating with the homeless man. Welsh places his phone back into his pocket and surveys the situation. Homeless people everywhere. They are all wearing ZYBALA t-shirts. Every now and then one of them shouts ‘ZYBALA’. The ground seems to be moving – that’s because ants are all over the place. There’s also a tree placed, strangely in the middle of the homeless. It appears to be fake. But, it could be real. However, it’s probably fake. Unless it’s real. Inside we spot talons, belonging to – you guessed it, owls. They are all sleeping while attached to branches. Welsh’s eyes spot a trailer…it’s old yet somehow new. Everybody knows to whom it belongs~
Marcus Welsh: NO YOU MAY NOT SLEEP IN MY CAR! What is the meaning of this? Why are there MORE of you this week? You do realizing Zybala isn’t wrestling tonight, right?
Homeless Person with 6 Teeth: ZYBALA!
~Welsh pauses. Greg reaches over, massaging Marcus’ shoulder~
Marcus Welsh: I want you filthy bums out of my parking lot before the show begins tonight. I have no idea how many ticket purchasing patrons your combined presence is running off…but I’d be willing to wager the number is…more than 20.
Homeless Person with 0 Teeth: THYBALA!
~Welsh is furious~
Marcus Welsh: THAT’S NOT HOW CHANTING WORKS, YOU KNOW! YOU’RE ALL SUPPOSED TO SAY IT AT ONCE, IN UNISON!
All the Homeless People: ZYBALA!!!
~Welsh kneads his forehead. He’s about to lose it. The doors to the trailer open and ALICE KNIGHT appears. She’s seated in a torn, yet functional recliner. She kind of floats, in a ghostly manner toward Welsh. Welsh looks up, his eyes widen…he looks for rollers under the chair…but there aren’t any. What on EARTH is going on here? Alice waves at Welsh. She gets within talking distance and the chair stops~
Marcus Welsh: How did you...what in the…
Alice Knight: Hey, Marcus! Did you want to stop by and have some of my homemade sandwiches with some of my homemade mustard? It will be good. Pants optional. But your boyfriend Greg can't join us... unless he has a bottle of Peach Schnapps in there? Then the three of us can throw on some Prince and get real nasty... Yes? No... Yeessss??
Marcus Welsh: Absolutely not.
~Welsh leans in and suddenly realizes ANTS are carrying Alice’s chair~
Marcus Welsh: Geezus
~Alice looks down and laughs, slapping her knee. Laughing to a point where everyone feels uncomfortable, even some of the bums~
Alice Knight: Surprised? You shouldn’t be, ants are extremely strong. Just ask actor Paul Crudd. You’ve see the movie The Ant-Man's, right?
Marcus Welsh: No, because it looked terrible. Shrinking yourself down to the size of an ant…that doesn’t make ANY sense. I…OW!!!
~Welsh hops around, swiping at his ankle. An ant, upon overhearing Welsh, apparently bit him~
Alice Knight: Yeah, but giant ants would be awesome. You can read my script sometime. Honey, I Made The Ants Big. We might be able to afford Rick Moranis. But I was thinking someone with more abs. You think Matt Mayo would be interested? Are you okay?
Marcus Welsh: I WAS BITTEN BY ONE OF YOUR STUPID ANTS! GREG, QUICK, DISINFECTANT
~Greg rushes forward to cleanse Welsh’s wound~
Alice Knight: You know what would help that bite? Some of my FAMOUS mustard. I did some testing and it helps cure the blind... or it causes blindness? I forget. I'll hook you up!
Marcus Welsh: Don’t you dare.
~Alice leans to her right, to grab a jar of her mustard. As she does, the right side of her chair suddenly dips. We here a loud CRUNCH. Everyone pauses. The scene goes silent. Alice looks around like “whoops”. She grabs the mustard and returns to her normal posture. Everyone goes back to doing what they were doing~
Alice Knight: What do you say?
Marcus Welsh: Alice, I wouldn’t eat your mustard if Greg’s life depended on it.
Greg: MARCUS
~Greg shoots to his feet, appalled~
Marcus Welsh: Relax, Greg…it’s never going to come to that.
~Alice is busy lathering up a slice of cheap white bread with some of her CHUNKY mustard. Welsh is disgusted. A security guard approaches~
Security Guard: Mr. Welsh, glad I could find you. We have an emergency.
Marcus Welsh: What is it?!
Security Guard: Your personal masseuse showed up an hour ago and he says if you don’t come inside in the next ten minutes he’s going home.
Marcus Welsh: That IS an emergency. Thanks for coming out here to tell me.
~Welsh, about to run off, stops, sizing the guard up~
Marcus Welsh: I see potential in you. Come and see me after the show tonight…I may have a promotion and pay raise for you.
~Welsh and Greg hustle toward the arena doors. The Security Guard stands, proudly in the parking lot, excited over a bright future. Something tickles his nose. He looks down and sees Alice offering a piece of bread loaded with her homemade mustard~
Alice Knight: Try it…it’s great!
Security Guard: Free food AND a potential promotion? Today must be my lucky day.
~The guard takes the bread and bites into it. He smiles, nods…and then passes out. He’s instantly covered with ants. We cut back to the arena~
Smith: Poor guard must have suffered heat exhaustion.
Hood: Whatever! Alice KILLED that poor man with her toxic mustard!
Smith: She did not!
Hood: Fuck yea she did...what is she doing out there anyway? Why is she around? WHY CAN'T WE EVER BE RID OF HER?
Smith: Because she's the best!
Hood: I'm starting to think that idiot on twitter who posted a tweet about playing russian roulette with six bullets might have been on to something.
Smith: Russian roulette with six bullets...I...that...
Hood: Or, as normal people refer to it - suicide.
Smith: Twitter sounds terrible. Anyway...it appears as though Alice is TEAM ZYBALA!
Hood: No fucking surprise there.
Smith: Zybala will make his tournament debut in two weeks...the final week of the first round. Convenient timing...
Hood: Smart scheduling by Marcus...keep that fucker deprived of power for as long as possible.
Smith: It will be interesting to watch play out...however, that is then, this is now...and, up next we have Melinda Rhodes looking to bounce back against Tom Ambrose!
Singles Match
“The Rebel” Melinda Rhodes (13-4) vs. Tom Ambrose (3-2)
~The fans remain hot. No surprise there…that first match wasn’t much of an appetizer. It was basically Blake Anderson doing terrible things to Shootah. That’s okay, better matches are ahead, including this one featuring Melinda Rhodes and Tom Ambrose! Both wrestlers in search of a comeback victory. Belvedere clears his throat~
Belvedere: The following match is scheduled for one fall!
Fans: ONE FALL!
~Bon Jovi's remastered "You Give Love a Bad Name" assaults the P/A system. Through the curtains steps a fit, pale skinned, raven haired and heavily tattooed woman, her fist raised up in the air. Her dark brown eyes wander over the crowd as she stands upon the stage, taking it all in for a moment. On her face we find dark crimson painted on her full lips and red highlighted black eye shadow over her eyes. Her modest chest is contained by a a fringed red and blue leather vest and black leather bra, while her ass is covered by black and silver tights. She sports standard black pads on her elbows and knees, with knee high laced wrestling boots to match. On her wrists are red, white, and blue bands. Upon her hips rests a thick black leather belt with a large and square silver buckle that reads in an ornate font, "REBEL.”~
Smith: Rhodes looks determined tonight. After a surprise loss in the Number One Contender tournament, she's looking to bounce back tonight with a win.
Hood: I'm looking for her to bounce out of that too.
Smith: ........sigh.........
Belvedere: Making her way to the ring.....
~She makes her way to the ring with a confident stride. It doesn't take her long to reach ringside. She climbs the steps, wipes her feet on the apron, and slips through the ropes. Rebel Rhodes then backs into a corner of her choosing and waits.....~
Belvedere: From Rome, Georgia, standing at five feet, eleven inches, and weighing in at one hundred and fifty two pounds... RRRRREEEEBBBBBEEEEEELLLLL RRRRRRHHHHHHOOOOODDDDDDEEEESSSSS!!!!
~Melinda raises her arm with a three finger salute to the fans as the music dies down and Belvedere continues~
Belvedere: And her opponent, hailing from London. Standing in at six feet, one inch and weighing in tonight at 225 pounds, this is Tom Ambrose!!
~"Judas" by Fozzy (great song BTW) hits the speakers as Tom Ambrose swaggers out from behind the curtain and pauses to check his hair. He starts to strut down to the ring, soaking in the boos, when he is suddenly attacked from behind with a vicious clothesline to the back of the head! Ambrose falls to the ramp as we see his assailant, a 7 foot person in a generic monster costume and over that, a giant squash costume~
Smith: It's the Squash-ness Monster!!!
Hood: But that was an Outsider's thing! Why is it here?!
Smith: Maybe it attacks when someone no shows and doesn't rp a few shows in a roll?
Hood: DUDE! Don't break the 4th wall!
~The Squash-ness Monster picks up the prone Ambrose and lifts him above its head with a gorilla press, walks towards the ring, and hurls Ambrose over the top rope. It then walks away and disappears behind the curtain. Ambrose slowly gets to his feet and Puff asks if he wants to start the match. Ambrose nods and Puff calls for the bell. Tom shakes his head, clearing the cobwebs and meets Rhodes in the middle of the ring. The two lock up and Ambrose quickly gets Rhodes in a side headlock. He tries to crank the pressure but Rhodes wraps her arms around his waist and lifts him up with a backdrop!~
Smith: I think Ambrose made a mistake by staying in this match.
Hood: That's because he's not a pussy like you. WEAKASS Smith!
~Both competitors hit the mat but quickly get to their feet. Tom charges in for a clothesline but Rhodes ducks, gets behind Ambrose and drops him with another backdrop to the approval of the fans! Frustrated, Ambrose gets to his feet, albeit a bit slower this time. He grabs Rhodes by the wrist and whips her into the ropes. ~
Smith: Rhodes gets whipped into the ropes, bounces back, and Ambrose lunges forward with a superkick! He hits Rebel right on the chin, making her fall back into the ropes!
Hood: Hold on Smith! She's not out yet! Rebel bounces off the ropes and spears Ambrose to the mat!! Both wrestlers are down!
~Both are indeed down, but still moving. Ambrose slowly crawls to the ropes and starts to pull himself up as Rhodes slowly stands up under her own power. She gets to her feet first and sneaks behind Ambrose. As soon as he turns around, Rhodes leaps up and drops him with a cutter!~
Smith: Shot in the Dark!
Hood: And yet again, another female wins in OCW.
Smith: Oh shut up.
~Ambrose is out cold in the mat. Rhodes drags him away from the ropes and make the cover. Puff makes the count.~
1!
2!
3!!!!
~The bell rings and Rhodes climbs to her feet and Puff raises her hand in victory!~
Belvedere: Here is your winner, “THE REBEL” MELINDA RHODES!!
~The fans cheer when suddenly the lights go out! People are murmuring, wondering what's going on. A dim, green light washes over the arena as fog covers the floor. Next to the ring is a old, beat up, little green car~
Smith: What the heck is going on?! That's Uber Man's car!
Hood: But he's dead!! Who's driving it?!
Smith: I can't tell. The lights are too dim.
~An eerie hush falls over the arena. One of the car's back doors open by itself and a spotlight shines over Tom Ambrose's body. Tom starts to come to and notices the spot light he's in, then sees the Uber Mobile. A look of sadness comes over his face as he rolls out of the ring and into the waiting backseat. The door closes and the car makes its way up the ramp and to the back. The regular lights come on and "You Give Love a Bad Name" plays over the speakers as Rhodes shrugs and celebrates her win~
Hood: What the fuck did we just witness!?!
Smith: No clue partner. Maybe Uber Man haunts us to this day.
Hood: Or it's just a spooky coincidence as we say our final goodbye to Tom Ambrose
Smith: Melinda took care of Ambrose and notched her first win in 2019...at least, as far as OCW is concerned. I expect Rhodes to continue trending upward and have, hopefully a banner campaign in 2019.
Hood: Man she's got some baggage, for sure. But when she's on, she's one of the best.
Smith: Indeed.
~Scene Opens. Aubrey Baxter-Kalei was spotted backstage in the hallway. She was sitting on a ladder with her legs crossed seductively. She was wearing knee high leather boots, a short black leather skirt and a black designer fitted top. Smiling into the camera, she bites her lower lip~
{Aubrey}: “Hello everyone, it seems that somebody wants to cause a little drama in my life by booking me into a match with Bester. No, no, see I won’t be competing in the match against him, I will simply be his valet as I escort him to ringside. I will be at ringside and I will be in his corner. I will be there next monday night as he takes on his next upcoming opponent. Mia Valentine is trying to cause an issue with me by putting me in an awkward position with Bester? One thing that little miss Valentine fails to understand is that Aubrey Baxter can never be in an awkward position. She wants me to be at ringside? Fine, I am going to do exactly that and I am going to be there every step of the way.”
~Aubrey takes her hands as she rubs down her body~
~The men cheer~
{Aubrey}: “You see folks, Aubrey knows how to handle any situation accordingly. Next monday you are going to see Bester getting my full support. Just to show Mia how much I don’t care about her stupid little manipulative ways? I will make sure to wear something a little bit more…...comfortable.”
~Crowd cheers in reaction~
~Aubrey smiles~
Smith: A unique partnership...of sorts
Hood: Why do idiots get the hot women? Are they just too stupid to understand they are in over their heads?
Smith: I wouldn't know
Until...
Smith: Wait, what...?! Who...?!
~At first, the source of a particular section's excitement is unclear. As the seconds pass and the throng parts, however, it becomes increasingly evident just why the fans are jumping up and down and making O-faces; for, down the steps of their section, unannounced and without so much as an entrance theme to herald their arrival, two figures are making their way to ringside. By the time the cameramen catch on and zoom in on them, the two are effortlessly vaulting over the barricade onto the ringside area.~
Hood: SECURITY! There's some fans trying to jump the barricade!! SECURITY!!
Smith: First of all, they can't hear you from here, Hood; and second of all, that's no pair of fans – that's the Dirty Birds!
Hood: The Whonow?
Smith: The Dirty Birds , Hood. Ariel Shadows and Hayley Robinson?
Hood: ...they're a team now?! With a name ?!
Smith: You...were here...last week...when...they...said as much...?
Hood: You're implying I pay attention, Smith.
Smith: ...fair point.
~As the two announcers banter, the two figures – who are, indeed, none other than Ariel Shadows and Hayley the Raven, AKA the Dirty Birds – have made their way up the steps and into the ring, in the centre of which they now stand. Typically, it is Hayley who stands front and center, her posture and body language defiant, her hair falling loose over her face and partially covering it. Unlike Ariel, who has made an effort in a leather jacket, form-fitting jeans and a new haircut, the Southerner appears to have deliberately worn the least sexy outfit in her closet, opting for a loose-fitting hoodie with a depiction of the Grim Reaper on it, equally loose-fitting 'jorts' and a pair of imposing-looking Doc Martens steel-cap boots. The contrast between the two is striking enough to cause the fans to perhaps wonder how and why this team got together~
~They do not, however, have long to do so, as soon enough Hayley commands their attention when she brings the microphone to her lips and declares:
Hayley: Surprise, muthafuckas!!!
~The fans roar, perhaps even in spite of themselves, but Hayley does not seem in the mood for fan-friendly interactions. She gives the cheer just enough time to die down, then quickly continues:
Hayley: Bet y'all ain't think y'all was gone see us tonight, am I right?
~Another small cheer – one 'the Raven' gives some room to, this time around – then the blonde proceeds:
Hayley: See, if them up there had they way, we for-real ain't finna be here. Not tonight, not last week, an' not next week neither. Seems 'round here, when y'all put on a helluva match an' get folk to sit up an' pay fuckin' attention, y'all ain't get shit to do but sit on y’all’s ass for like a month after.
~A slight boo arises, directed not at Hayley, but – one suspects – at OCW management~
Smith: ...the kid has a point. Why HAVEN'T they had any matches since Social Justice?
Hood: I don't know, and I don't care. The kid needs to stop whining and man up!
Smith: ...uh, Hood...?
~Before Smith can correct his ever-callous partner, however, Hayley speaks up, as if she had heard his comment herself:
Hayley: Now, if'n we was anybody else...anybody else been left off'a goddamn TV for two weeks an' countin' after rockin' the shit outta they Pay-Per-View match....y'all know what we finna be doin'? If'n we was anybody else, we finna be comin' out here hollerin' 'bout that we wanted a title shot 'n' shit, on 'count of we ain't lost our first match an' we was a thirty-time Gran’maw's Kitchen Rasslin' World Champion or whatever.
~A peal of laughter erupts across the arena, and even Ariel cracks a smile. If Hayley meant her comment as a joke, however, she gives no indication of it, instead remaining stern and aggressive as she continues:
Hayley: Or, y'all know what we finna be doin'? We finna be draggin' a couple high-school juniors out here an' whuppin' they ass in like twenty seconds to show err'body how we badass an' we deserve a title shot. Or like, the porn dudes or whatever.
~Another ripple of laughter, which even Smith engages in this time around:
Smith: ...she's not wrong, you know...
Hood, however, uncharacteristically keeps his mouth shut in this instance – or perhaps it is just that Hayley barely gives anyone time to react before continuing:
Hayley: That ain't our thang, though. That ain't how we roll. So 'stead of us comin' out here an’ havin’ a good ol’ bitchfest, we 'bout to do this shit our way. The Dirty Birds way.
~The blonde lets the hair flow away from her face for the first time as she looks up towards the entrance ramp, her face a picture of defiance.~
Hayley: So if any y'all suckers back there... any y'all...finna get a piece of the most bad-ass new team in this goddamn company...get yo' ass out here an'...Come. Get. Some.
~With that, and as her partner nods in defiant approval, the teen quite literally drops the mic, which clatters onto the mat with a buzz of static. The youth's eyes, however, never leave the ramp, as she waits to see if her challenge has had any effect..~
Smith: They’ve laid out the challenge!
Hood: Is Vargas backstage? How about Grenier? Teach these loud mouthed women a lesson!
~”The Boys Are Back” by Dropkick Murphys hits!!! The OCW Arena goes WILD!! Hayley and Ariel look at one another…they seem impressed. Nathan and Jonathan Dravers appear on stage. They are in their street clothes…but they’ve got their game faces on~
Smith: The Dravers!! They are former OCW Tag Champions! They won their return match last week!
Hood: Yes, yes…WE KNOW
Smith: What a match! I can’t wait to see this one!
~Nathan and Jonathan bump fists, nod and start to head down the ramp. Hayley and Ariel bounce around, eager for the competition. The music comes to an abrupt halt!! OCW Security members rush the stage, grabbing Nathan and Jonathan, preventing them from reaching the ring. The fans boooo!!!! Hayley grabs her mic…it’s been shut off. The OCW Tron flashes on, revealing Marcus Welsh in his office, receiving a massage~
Marcus Welsh: Now that’s what I call taking initiative! Hayley, I’ve always admired your leap before looking mentality. Ariel…well, you’re a future star. Great team in that ring! And, well, as for the Dravers…you guys are, well, you’re alright.
~BOOOOO goes the crowd. Nathan and Jonathan look pissed. They try to fight through security…there are simply too many of them. Hayley and Ariel also appear agitated…they want to compete~
Marcus Welsh: I’m all for some tag team action. The division is white hot at the moment. So many exciting teams. Now, I’d love nothing more than to have an impromptu match take place right now in that ring…sadly, we don’t have the time for it. You see, unlike people in Arkansas, Hayley, I know what it means to run a business. You have to be regimented. You have to schedule things in advance. You can’t just run out there and do whatever the fuck whenever the fuck. That’s not how REAL life works.
~BOOO!! The crowd is furious. Hayley shakes her head. She seems ready to eviscerate Welsh. Ariel tries to talk her down~
Marcus Welsh: So, here’s what we’re going to do. The Dirty Birds…great name, by the way. The Dirty Birds will debut next week against…
~The Dravers look at the OCW Tron, hopeful~
Marcus Welsh: TORNADO ALLEY
Crowd: BOOOO!!! BULLSHIT!!
~Hayley paces back and forth…again, she wants COMPETITION. Ariel, too, seems annoyed by this. The Dravers are about as pissed as a Draver can get~
Marcus Welsh: Relax, ladies. You two beat Tornado Alley and I’ll consider giving you OCW’s teeny bop sensation, the Dravers Boys. Then, Hayley, you can coddle up to whichever Dravers you find most attractive and Ariel can enact some of those cougar fantasies she’s been experiencing lately.
~More boos. Again, Hayley tries to talk shit, but the mic remains cut off~
Marcus Welsh: Now, if you’ll excuse me. I’ve got a serious knot in my back that needs some extensive rubbing. Ladies…Dravers, have a good night.
~The OCW Tron cuts away. The security team maintain their wall. It’s impossible for either team to reach one another. The fans are booing. We cut to Smith and Hood~
Smith: Some potential excitement snuffed out by our GM.
Hood: He’s right, Smith. You can’t give shit like that away without promotion and planning.
Smith: A few unannounced matches here and there wouldn’t be so bad. It’d create that ‘anything can happen’ vibe.
Hood: Fuck that shit. Total anarchy, man.
Smith: Different strokes for different folks, I suppose. Regardless…we will see the Dirty Birds in ring debut next week against Tornado Alley.
Hood: Should be a classic!
Smith: Yea, right.
~Outback somewhere in the loading docks of the OCW Arena is where we find a cameraman wandering around with a camera on his shoulder filming as he goes, so POV style. He’s also talking as he films.~
Cameraman: Okay….so I hear that this Team ATARI is hiding out on the loading dock somewhere…...ah ha!
~Through his trained eyes he spots where the team could be hiding. A huge pile of pallets are arranged to look like a castle of sorts, with the pallets stacked 20 feet high and two pallets are stacked on end, a clear OSHA violation and Marcus Welsh is going to fined for this as soon as this hits the airwaves, stacked on end on top of each other forming a door. The Cameraman walks up to the fortress. He puts the camera up right next to the pallets and when he tries to look through the slats we can see Team ATARI huddled up inside looking at green bar paper, studying them.~
Cameraman: Hey? Guy?
~2600, 7800, FB2 look up and looked to be shocked. 2600 holds his index finger to his lips and we can hear him whisper.~
2600: Shhh! If we’re quiet he’ll go away! No one move.
~7800 and FB2 nod and look at the cameraman looking at them through the slats in the pallets and creates this really awkward moment.~
Cameraman: I can see you guys in there. I was wondering if I could get a couple of words about your match coming up at Block Party?
2600: Shit! We’ve been discovered! Quick! Burn the reports!
~7800 and FB2 gather up which seems like a whole box of green bar paper and make a huge pile in middle of their hideout. 7800 sprays it with lighter fluid soaking it real good.~
Cameraman: uhmmmm? What are you guys doing? I smell lighter fluid? Hold on! WAIT!
~2600 removes a lighter form his pocket and strikes it and tosses it on the pile of lighter fluid soaked paper and it goes up! Team ATARI then tosses the pallets on their ends out of the way and exits the hideout like nothing is going on. In fact they get right in the Cameraman’s face.~
2600: Hey there Yamauchi scum spy! How you doing? What did you see?
Cameraman: Hey! Let go of the camera! Guys! Stop!
~7800 rips the camera away from the cameraman and the feeds abruptly ends.~
Smith: What is going on back there?!
Hood: I don't know but it looks like OCW's insurance just went up.
Smith: Maybe so...Team ATARI earned a shot at Vargas and Grenier two weeks ago...they will cash that shot in at Block Party.
Hood: The fucking dichotomy between Vargas, Grenier and Team ATARI is great. You think Vargas has any clue what they are getting into?
Smith: Doubtful
~Friday the 13th starts to play as TLS appears at the entrance. There is a smattering of cheers being drowned out by boos~
Hood: He doesn’t have the mask on today and no face paint. This guy can’t make up his mind can he?
Smith: Maybe you haven’t been paying attention, but he hasn’t had face paint on in any of the promos he’s cut since he came back last month.
~TLS makes his way slowly to the ring. Most of the women in the audience jeer and shout obscenities at him~
Hood: These women don’t know a good man even if he slapped her in the face.
Smith: A good man wouldn’t slap a woman in the face.
~TLS slides under the bottom rope and motions for a microphone~
Smith: It’s really odd to see him out here this late in the card.
Hood: He’s probably got some more disparaging remarks about women wrestlers.
Smith: Maybe he’s going to talk about his upcoming match with Matt Meyhu.
~TLS raises the mic to speak as a chant of “get in the kitchen!” breaks out in the crowd. That chant is quickly drowned out by “You are a pig!” by most of the women in the audience. TLS paces around the ring and waits for the noise to quiet down~
Smith: I’m not sure what’s happening here.
Hood: Maybe he just wanted to come out and listen to the fans chant.
Smith: okay. Here he goes. He’s going to speak.
~TLS stands in the center of the ring and raises the mic~
TLS: What have we become? Sold our souls to the highest bidder. Compromised our principles for a few extra dollars.
~TLS lowers the mic as the crowd is quiet~
Smith: TLS is a man of few words. I guess.
Hood: I don’t think anyone knows what he’s talking about.
Smith: or who? Maybe he’s talking about Matt Meyhu.
~TLS reaches behind to his back pocket and pulls a mask over his head. He raises the mic again, but then lowers it and drops the mic as “Every Breath You Take” starts to play and he exits to through the crowd.~
Hood: What the hell just happened there?
Smith: I think the audience is just as confused as we are.
Hood: Shit's changing here in OCW. TLS is...was one of the promotion's longest tenured vets. Perhaps he isn't a fan of what's going on.
Smith: Could be...truth is I've never truly understood TLS. I don't think anyone ever has.
~Scene Opens. OCW’s recently signed talent Cassie was standing backstage and she was surrounded by police officers and members of the FBI. News reporters and paparazzi had smothered the hallways as they had her surrounded. Cassie stood in the center of them all with her hands on her hips~
{Cassie}: “I am here tonight to clear my name. Last week you all saw me make an appearance on monday night Massacre when they showed the video footage of me speaking to Jason Kortare. In the video I am shown in front of Jason’s Florida house as it was completely set on fire. Jason’s home has burned down to the ground. I currently have a restraining order against Jason for my personal safety. He claims that I am responsible for his house burning down when my attorney says otherwise. I am innocent of all wrongdoing, the house was already in flames when I was walking within the neighborhood area. Jason is a mad man and he needs to stay away from me while I continue my future career here in OCW. He has sent me threatening messages and he claims that I did this, when I clearly did not. Thank you. That is all that I have to say.”
~Cassie walks away as news reporters begin to quickly ask her multiple questions at once~
Smith: If any of that is true then I feel for Cassie.
Hood: She burned his fucking house down!
Smith: She claims it was already in flames.
Hood: Well how fucking convenient, then.
Smith: I'm just saying...
Hood: I know what you're saying...believe EVERYTHING that comes out of the woman's mouth...even if the bitch is crazy.
Smith: Ugh...you need to evolve, Hood.
Hood: Into what? A fucking pussy? I'm fine being me, thank you very much.
Smith: Well, that's your right just as it's my right to stand by a woman in peril.
Hood: Chivalry and white knighting won't get you laid, Smith.
Smith: I'm not trying to get laid! Ahem...anyway, moving along...we've got more in ring action as HOW legend Max Kael is set to make his OCW in-ring debut against former OCW Champion, PerZag.
Hood: Hell yea! I've been looking forward to this one all week!
Smith: It should be a great one! Let's head down to ringside
Singles Match
PerZag (13-9) vs. Max Kael (0-0)
~The fans are primed and ready for some more in-ring action! It’s been a fun filled night thus far filled with intense competition showcasing the menagerie of OCW talent. Belvedere stands in the ring. The fans look on with intrigue…could this be the debut of Max Kael? According to the show’s format it *should* be…but, OCW has never been known for its strict adherence to organization. Belvedere clears his throat~
Belvedere: Ladies and gentlemen the following contest is scheduled for one fall! Introducing first…
~“Witch Doctor” begins while the lights dim in the arena. Lights above the ring shine down to create a #970000 Red High Octane Wrestling logo on the canvas that slowly morphs into a twisted, one eyed smiley face. The stage flashes with alternating red and blue lights as Max Kael saunters his way out onto the stage~
~Greeting the crowd with a large toothy smile the Prime Minister of Maxopotamia pauses on the stage and offers a traditional royal wave to a chorus of boos. Max doesn’t seem phased by the boos and jeers holding his head high as he continues to saunter down to the ring, his hands folding behind his back as he does so. Max keeps to the center of the ramp doing his best to avoid contact with any of the fans before climbing up into the ring~
~Pausing once again Max wipes his feet off on the edge of the ring before slipping between the top and center rope. Slinking toward the center of the ring Max, bathed in the red smiley face, lifts his hand and smiles once again, the Ambassador of High Octane greeting the OCW hostility with grace and measured arrogance. The music dies down as the house lights rise while Max Kael moves to his corner to prepare for his match~
Belvedere: From Arkham, Massachusetts…6’4 and weighing in at 236lbs…making his debut inside an OCW ring…please welcome…Max Kael!!!
Smith: It’s a historic night here in the OCW Arena, Hood. Max Kael making his OCW debut.
Hood: Yea man I’ve heard a lot about this guy…he definitely measures up, thus far, to his reputation.
Smith: He, like Mike Best, is swinging for the fences in his debut. He’s set to take on a former OCW Champion…the man from down under
Hood: So what if Max and Mike both defeat former OCW Champions in their debuts? What does that say?
Smith: I think you’re reading too much into things, Hood. It merely says we’ve upped the level of competition here in OCW.
Belvedere: And, his opponent…
~The lights of the arena go out. All that is seen is a small glow of light from the entrance ramp. ‘Eye Of The Tiger’ by Survivor starts to play over the PA system. A hooded figure walks on to the entrance ramp. The lights come back on as the hooded figure stands still on the stage. The hooded figure walks down to the ring slowly. He gets into the ring and stands in the centre of it. He slowly removes the hood and the crowd gives a positive reaction to him. 'Eye Of The Tiger' by Survivor stops playing as PerZag walks over to a corner in the ring and crouches down near it~
Belvedere: From Benalla, Victoria, Australia…standing 6’5 and weighing in at 216lbs…he is a former OCW Champion…he is…PerZag!!!
Smith: The fans giving PerZag that ‘home town’ pop. They understand that the eMpire is here to change things, to implement their way of thinking, to force their narrative…and, well, they don’t like it.
Hood: People don’t change OCW…OCW changes them. Once you go OCW you never go...
Smith: I find that analogy offensive so I’m gonna cut you off right there.
Hood: Yea, plus Vargas may quit if he gets the sense that he’s wrestling within a ‘colored’ organization.
~Belvedere promptly exits the ring. The bell sounds. PerZag heads for the center of the ring. Max Kael does the same. Within a few seconds, both men are within inches of one another, sizing each other up. The crowd goes from cheering Zag and booing Max to chanting ‘YES!’ The magnitude of this match is resonating with the fans~
Smith: These fans have an allegiance to OCW and, by proxy, PerZag…but, make no mistake about it they are dying to see this match.
Hood: Dying, huh? Seems a little over the top.
Smith: You know what I mean.
~Some random fan in a “Benalla” shirt passes out due to excitement. Perhaps Smith was right. Our POV switches back to where it belongs. PerZag is talking shit to Max. Kael’s response is simple, he smiles. The man has been through, seen it all. He won’t flinch in the face of a little derision. PerZag, however, is a bit more hot tempered. A little looser with his emotions. So, he throws a huge right hand. Max blocks it! Max dives in for a head butt! His forehead clips Zag’s jaw! PerZag stumbles back, into the ropes. Kael stays on top of Zag…he waits for PerZag to look up…once he does, Max brings his arms up and thrusts them down around the sides of PerZag’s neck with a Mongolian Chop!! PerZag’s shoulders hunch upward…he staggers forward, wincing as pain shoots through his body~
Smith: A Mongolian chop!
Hood: Invented by Genghis Khan! It’s a move they’d use to punish people who traveled the silk road illegally.
Smith: Fake news!
Hood: Don’t try and say Marco Polo invented that shit. He was a fucking pussy.
~Kael doesn’t let Zag get far, grabbing the former OCW Champion by the hair and whipping him around. Zag faces Kael and receives a vicious knife edged chop right across the chest!! Zag leans forward, into Max, clutching his chest. Max straightens Zag up and delivers a second knife edged chop!!! Zag tries to walk away, but Max snares wrist control, thrusts PerZag over and drops him with a short arm clothesline!! PerZag hits the ring hard~
Smith: Max Kael off to a fast start!
Hood: He’s a modern day voodoo child…chopping PerZag down to size.
Smith: I guess.
Hood: Lay off…sounded better in my head.
~Zag sits up, showing the resiliency that’s made him one of OCW’s best. He starts to get to his feet but is stymied via a NERVE HOLD courtesy of Max Kael. The crowd boos. We assume it’s because Max is inflicting more punishment on PerZag…but, it could very well be due to the fact a NERVE HOLD is being applied on OCW Television~
Smith: We rarely see nerve holds around here.
Hood: Talk about one annoying ass submission hold.
Smith: Well, it’s being used quite effectively.
Hood: Any person who loses via NERVE HOLD should be lined up and shot in the parking lot.
Smith: Seems a bit extreme.
~PerZag winces. It may be a NERVE HOLD…but, there’s no doubting it’s impact. The fans chant “ZAG!” PerZag is imbibed by their chants. His body starts to shake. He’s trying to fight back. He gets to one knee. The NERVE HOLD seems to be losing it’s effectiveness. Zag gets to his feet, Kael is barely able to maintain the NERVE HOLD. Zag throws a vicious elbow into Kael’s gut! The crowd pop!! Max loses his grip and doubles over. Zag leaps into the air, flat footed, with a standing dropkick! It’s perfectly executed! His feet smack Kael right across his protruding chin!! Max drops to the mat, stunned by the kick~
Smith: And there’s PerZag’s incredible athleticism!
Hood: I would say he’s sneaky athletic…but we’ve seen the guy enough to know there’s nothing sneaky about what he can do.
Smith: Indeed…he’s got the frame of a heavyweight and the agility of a cruiserweight.
Hood: Hey! We demolished the LIGHTWEIGHT division late last year. How dare you try and associate smaller wrestlers with a diminutive division. What’s next? A WOMEN’S DIVISION?
Smith: Never.
Hood: Damn…was really hoping I might slip that one by you.
~Max, on the mat, blinks his one, good eye repeatedly~
Smith: Some damage absorbed by Max’s neurological senses, apparently.
Hood: Nah man, he’s winking.
Smith: Nobody winks like that.
Hood: You meet many one eyed winkers?
Smith: No
Hood: Then don’t talk like a fucking expert!
~PerZag, back on his feet, snares Max by the hair, yanking the HOW legend off the mat. He whips Max into a corner. Max reverses! Zag charges into the corner…he hops onto the middle buckle. Kael charges in. Zag leaps off the middle buckle with a back flip, landing on his feet. Kael reaches the empty corner. He hesitates before turning around and eating a SUPERKICK from PerZag!! His body falters into the buckles. Zag takes several steps back before charging in and crushing Max with a huge splash!!! The fans remain behind PerZag, chanting for the former OCW Champion~
Smith: PerZag is on a roll!
Hood: Yea, we’re seeing what the man from Australia can do. Max Kael looks great early but he’s in trouble now.
Smith: Indeed. One might deduce a bit of rust showing on Max this evening.
Hood: Yea, you could say that. Been awhile since the guy’s wrestled, right?
Smith: Years, I believe.
Hood: Hm, okay, yea, that qualifies as ‘awhile’
~Kael’s head hangs toward the mat. Zag charges in, lifting a knee into Kael’s face. He pauses and looks into the camera, “Yea, that’s right. You all saw that. Fuck this guy.” PerZag turns his focus back where it belongs, on the very dangerous Kael. He lifts Max up, onto the top buckle and steps up onto the second rope. He begins to hook Max for a superplex~
Smith: PerZag could do some major damage to Max Kael right here!
Hood: Zag’s all about stopping that Nazi movement
Smith: He had some strong words for the eMpire, yes.
Hood: You think it’s just his way of trying to schmooze a career in Hollywood?
Smith: I have no idea.
~Zag hoists Max up….Kael lifts a knee on the way up with an ironic chin strike. Zag is weakened. Max flips over, landing on his feet, on the mat. He maintains control of Zag’s head (who is still standing on the middle buckle. Kael drops to the mat, executing a brutal neckbreaker!!! Zag rolls around in pain. The fans are stunned at Kael’s ability to not only avoid punishment, but counter with something equally devastating. Max sits up~
Smith: What a counter! PerZag’s neck could be sprained – or worse!
Hood: Australians have weak necks. That’s what I’ve always heard.
Smith: Where did you hear such a fallacy?
Hood: From a bunch of New Zealanders. They were talking MAD SHIT about the Aussies.
~Max gets to his feet. He heads for the corner. PerZag rolls onto all fours, near the center of the ring. His forehead rests against the mat. Kael steps up, onto the second rope…he leaps off with a flying elbow, driving it directly into the back of PerZag’s head and neck!!! PerZag’s face is driven into the mat! He remains on all fours for a second before falling over, onto his side. The fans all grimace at the devastating nature of the move. Kael rolls Zag over and goes for the pin~
1!
2!
Shoulder Up!
Smith: PerZag got the shoulder up!
Hood: I don’t know how…I thought the fucker was paralyzed.
Smith: Max is pushing PerZag, hard. Can PerZag, the worthiest of them all withstand the pressure?
Hood: Looking pretty fucking unlikely at the moment.
~Kael remains unfazed. He moves ahead in his pursuit to destroy PerZag. Max stands. PerZag, on his back, looks up at the lights. We see his fingers working back and forth, his hand closing and opening into and out of a fist. He’s testing his nervous system after all the punishment inflicted upon his neck. Max, giving no fucks about Zag’s neck, reaches down, grabbing a handful of dirty blonde hair. He jerks Zag to his feet and dives in with a headbutt, leading with his eyepatch. Zag ducks!! He pops up behind Kael and pulls him down with a backslide into a pin!!! The crowd leaps to their feet! Scruff slides in with the count~
1!
2!
Kick Out!!!
Smith: Wow!!!
Hood: Fucker was faking!
Smith: I don’t think he was faking, Hood. I think he saw a window of opportunity and took it!
~Kael rolls over, upon kicking out. He’s on one knee. Zag is already back on his feet. Zag rushes forward, throwing a knee into Kael’s shoulder. This stuns Max. PerZag hooks Max around the waist, hoisting him up for a powerbomb~
Smith: He’s looking for the Worthiest Move of Them All!
Hood: This guy’s a physical freak, Smith! I can’t believe he’s already in position to end this thing.
Smith: A very resilient, athletic wrestler.
~Max rakes Zag across the eyes. Scruff, as always, is out of position. The fans boo. Max drops to the mat and barrels a shoulder into Zag’s abdomen. Zag stands his ground. Kael throws a couple of short, punishing jabs into Zag’s ribcage. Zag weakens. Max reaffirms his grip, looking for a Northern Lights Suplex. He gets PerZag up…Zag, however, changes the course of the move by turning his hips and dropping Max on his head with a Tornado DDT!!! The fans leap to their feet!! Kael is down, center of the ring, on his back. Zag kips up!! The OCW Arena is firmly behind PerZag~
Smith: These fans are hoping to see an OCW vet stand his ground against these HOW intruders.
Hood: Well, they may get their wish.
Smith: Indeed…I think PerZag is heading for the top rope! His devastating moonsault called Death from Above!
~PerZag reaches the corner and hops up onto the top rope with tremendous ease and agility. He stands upright, looking down at a very prone Kael. He turns around, pointing his back to the center of the ring. The fans chant “ZAG!” PerZag prepares for lift off…something catches his eye!! His head jerks to the left…he sees LURRR! Lurrr hops onto the apron!! The fans are freaking out! Lurrr steps forward and delivers THE WAKE UP CALL to PerZag’s left ankle!! Zag falls off the top rope, SLAMMING his face into the top buckle! He staggers and limps around the ring, holding his face, shaking it in pain. Lurrr tells PerZag to FUCK OFF…hopping off the apron and leaning against the barricade. The HOF title is around his waist. The fans are mixed…some are going crazy, others are concerned~
Smith: Lurrr just kicked PerZag in the ankle!
Hood: Payback for last week.
Smith: Yea, but PerZag’s interference actually HELPED Lurrr win.
Hood: So? That wasn’t the idiot’s intention, Smith. He tried to BURY Lurrr.
~Scruff is leaning through the ropes, yelling at Lurrr to leave. Lurrr hops over the barricade and puts his arms around a couple of fans. Max sits up. The crowd urges Zag to focus back on Kael. PerZag, though, continues to pace around the ring in maladroit fashion like a short circuiting robot. Kael reaches his feet. PerZag finally notices his opponent’s recovery and goes after him. Kael still seems a bit dazed from Zag’s earlier offense. PerZag tries to hook Kael for PerZag Perfection. Max pulls his leg away, steps back and drills Zag in the crotch with Helter Kaelter!!! The crowd boos!! Scruff turns around, wondering what’s going on~
Smith: C’mon, Scruff!
Hood: You think he was giving Lurrr an order for takeout?
Smith: I doubt it…he was trying to get Lurrr to leave the ringside area!
Hood: Why didn’t he DQ Kael like he DQ’d Kortare last week?
Smith: Because Lurrr never entered into the ring? I honestly don’t know. But, he chose not to.
Hood: It appears Lurrr’s still got some backstage clout around here.
~PerZag tries to fight through the pain crippling his lower extremities. He stands up and glares at Kael, furious. Max smiles, leans forward and DRILLS PerZag in the face with Brow Beater!! Zag appears out on his feet. He leans into Max. Max hooks PerZag and drops him sharply with Weapon of Max Destruction!!! PerZag’s body snaps back. He’s out. Max makes the cover~
1!
2!
3!!!!
~The bell sounds~
Belvedere: Here is your winner…MAX KAEL!!!!!
Smith: Brutal ending.
Hood: Max received and opening and he fucked PerZag’s shit up.
Smith: Yep…Lurrr kicked PerZag off the top rope and it was over from that point.
Hood: PerZag’s fault for fucking with Lurrr last week.
~Max has his arm raised in triumph. The fans boo and shout obscenities. Lurrr looks around from the front row like “Shit, I’d better get out of here.” So, he hops the barricade and heads up the ramp. Max pays him no attention. Instead, he looks down at PerZag and scoffs before turning to exit the ring~
Smith: This man, one third of the eMpire just walked in and defeated a former OCW Champion.
Hood: Well, so far the eMpire is 1-0. They’ve got two more matches, right?
Smith: Indeed they do…Mario in the tournament and Mike Best facing Bifford in tonight’s main event.
Hood: I don’t know how good Mike Best is…his reputation indicates he’s VERY good. But, I’ll say that Max Kael is incredibly talented. Guy also looks like he’ll fuck your shit up if given the opportunity.
Smith: I think Social Justice is proof of that, Hood.
Hood: As if I’m capable of remembering something that happened two weeks ago. C’mon!
Smith: A huge win for Max Kael as he gets his OCW career off to an incredibly hot start.
~Kael heads up the ramp and through the curtain. Lurrr is already gone. This leaves PerZag alone, in the ring. He sits up. It takes him a bit to realize what's happened. He gets to his feet, stumbles a bit and then kicks at the ropes in frustration. Suddenly, the arena lights begin to spasm. PerZag looks around as the lights in the arena flicker. They eventually go black~
Smith: Oh God! Not again!
Hood: It's him! The Jager Bomber!
Smith: Is that what we're calling him now?
Hood: I mean, if the shoe fits.
~A dark voice is heard~
Jager Bomber: Everyone will pay... Everyone will suffer...
~The lights come back on, and the Hooded Figure (aka. The Jager Bomber) stands behind PerZag. A bottle of Jagermeister is in his hand~
Hood: There he is!
~Just as quick as the lights come on, they go off~
Smith: I don't like the look of this...
~The lights come back on. PerZag is unconscious on the ground, covered in Jagermeister and shards of the bottle~
Hood: The Jager Bomber strikes again!
~Backstage before this match, we’ve caught up with Madwoman and Madman, Pas De Deux. They’re standing outside of their locker room looking quite confident in their masks and assorted merchandise that you can buy at OCW and HOW.com. Please. We’re broke~
Madman: Look, there they are….look….
~The two are watching a small monitor of the broadcast, as The Lockwood Party is seen walking towards the curtain. Madman points towards Tom on the monitor, licking his lips~
Madman: I want some of HIM….he look like he got a big ole’ dick….
Madwoman: Not yet. I haven’t set up the BBQ pit yet.
~Turning his head over to the right, Madman looks over to where Princess Madwoman is helping several masked children assemble a brick BBQ bit, smack dab in the middle of the locker room. A metal grate is being set in while bricks are placed around it, while several pieces of wood are brought in and placed underneath~
Madwoman: We’re almost done, promise…
Madman: How in the…..
~Madman shrugs, throwing up his hands~
Madman: Fuck it, just, fuck it.
Madwoman: Those are our little cousins. From Mexico. Don’t think too hard about it or you’ll get a brain aneurysm.
Madman: Fuck it.
~Madman tosses a gigantic rack of ribs onto the metal grate~
Madman: Como se dice “baste with apple juice every half hour” en Espanol?
Madwoman: That’s not French therefore I do not know what you’re saying.
~Madman gestures towards one of the kids, handing him a spray bottle filled with apple juice. Several Spanish phrases are heard, including “¡Dios Maldita sea, hijo!”~
Madman: There. Now that we have successfully ribbed the entire locker room….
Madwoman: Just like we said we would….
Madman: Now we have to do the other thing we said we would….
Madwoman: So I get to kick someone in the balls?
Madman: You sure do, Princess. You. Sure. Do.
~As Pas De Deux goes to leave, Madwoman turns back towards the construction crew~
Madwoman: Make sure to save a rib for the Lockwood party. After we BEAT them tonight, they’ll need something to bring their energy up!
Madman: Bifford has his own rack, too, by the way. We planned ahead!
~The duo leaves, opening up to the next scene~
Smith: Pas De Deux...they are set to make their debut in a few, short minutes
Hood: I know they are pretty high on themselves...but the Lockwoods are fucking nasty, man. That won't be easy.
Smith: Nope...but let's not wait any longer. Let's head down to ringside for what should be a hard hitting, high flying, intense tag team contest!
Tag Team Match
Pas De Deux (0-0) vs. The Lockwood Party (0-0)
~The lights dim. “Hood Tales” begins playing over the sound system. The lighting in the arena begins to alternate between red and blue. On the ramp, Madman II and Princess appear taking on near heroic poses. The fans pop for the young duo as the sprint down the ramp, slapping the hands of the fans along the way. Just as they are about to enter the ring, The Lockwood’s, who appear to have been sitting at ringside the whole time wearing hoodies, jump the guardrail clutching chairs. They deliver a nasty looking con-chair-to to the head of Princess Madwoman and she falls to the ground in a heap. Madman is caught off guard by this and kneels down to tend to her as The Lockwoods then enter the ring and dare Madman to enter. Madman shows no fear as he climbs in. While his partner is still laying on the ground. He stands face to face with both Lockwoods. He looks over his shoulder with a look of concern at Madwoman who is very slowly making her way to her feet. Tim facepalms Madman into his corner. The referee quickly verifies he wants to continue despite Madwomans current state, He agrees and the bell rings~
Smith: This match is underway and I wish Madman all the luck in the world. Madwomen looks completely out of it.
Hood: Like Bob Grenier on a Saturday night!
Smith: The Lockwoods sure got the jump on Pas De Deux. They are not playing around.
~Tom punches Madman in the jaw and whips him into the ropes. He catches him on the rebound with a knee to the gut, taking him down. Tom mounts Madman and begins wailing away on his face. He stands up and begins to stomp him, finishing off the sequence with a Garvin stomp. Tom quickly tags in Jack, who climbs the top rope and hits a frog splash on a downed Madman. Princess Madwomen has made her way onto the ring apron but she still looks pretty groggy. She stands in the corner with her head down on the turnbuckle~
Hood: Her ears are probably still ringing after that vicious assault. I hope she comes too and can assist her partner.
Smith: Smart play by those damn Lockwoods.
~Jack picks up Madman onto his shoulders and has him in position for a Death Valley Driver but Madman shifts his weight and manages to land on his feet behind Jack. Madman quickly applies a Buffalo Sleeperhold, He cinches it in tight but with no partner to assist him at that moment, Tom enters the ring and hits him with a chop block to the back of his knee, sending Jack and Madman to the mat. The crowd begins a loud “Pas De Deux” chant as Princess Madwomen FINALLY appears to be coming around. Princess shakes out the last of the cobwebs as Madman leaps across the ring and makes the tag. The crowd erupts as she begins nailing both Lockwoods with various kicks and knee strikes. She manages to take down both Lockwoods and sends Tom scurrying back to his corner after hitting him with a jumping swan kick. The crowd loves it!~
Hood: That girl is a ball of fire right now! She regained her composure in a big way. Now the odds are completely even after that sneak attack.
Smith: She just managed to fend off both members of The Lockwood Party with those vicious kicks and the crowd is eating it up!
Hood: Welcome to OCW Princess Madwoman!
~Princess picks up Jack and whips him into her corner. Madman stomps his foot down on the mat in an attempt to get the feeling back in his knee. They make the tag. They take Jack to the top rope and hit a huge double waterwheel suplex! The crowd goes apeshit in support. Madman applies a crossface to a fallen Jack and Princess hits the ropes, she comes back with a front drop kick to Jack’s face. Madman goes for the cover.~
1..
2..
~Tom manages to break it up in the nick of time, hitting Madman in the back of the head with a elbow drop. The referee sends him back to his corner as Jack slams his fist on the mat and gets to his feet. Once he does, Princess hits a springboard and sends Jack falling towards Madman as he rises to his feet, he promptly hits a spike tilt-a-whirl kneeling piledriver. The crowd erupts into incredibly loud and dueling “Madman” and “Princess” chants. Madman covers Jack Lockwood~
1..
2..
~At the last second Jack barely manages to kick out~
Smith: A bit of resolve from Jack there. I thought for sure he had him.
Hood: It’s that East Bay toughness. Those punk rock mosh pits are incredibly brutal.
Smith: How would you know that?
Hood: I was young once Smith!
~Madman whips Jack into his corner and tags Princess. Princess hits Jack with her patented swan kick and Jack falls into Madman who hits him with a falling reverse DDT. Jack immediately scurries over to his corner and tags Tom. Tom grabs Princess by the hair and pulls her head back, He kisses her! She looks absolutely disgusted by this. The crowd boos loudly~
Hood: Kiss of death!!
Smith: What a scumbag.
~Tom still has a firm grip on her hair trying to decide what to do next when all of a sudden Princess kicks him square in the balls. He crumples to the mat in pain grabbing at his crotch. The crowd erupts into applause~
Hood: Now that is a REAL kiss of death!
Smith: There will be no babies in Tom Lockwood’s future.
~Princess tags Madman and they begin to put the boots to Tom as he is still on the ground. Jack rushes in to save his partner but is met with a vicious european uppercut that sends him reeling back to his corner. Tom gets up and is met with the same european uppercut. He is down again, still in pain from the nut shot as Princess ascends to the top rope, She leapfrogs Madman and hits a leg drop. The crowd loudly chants Pas De Deux again.~
Smith: Pas De Deux are going toe to toe with The Lockwood Party and really endearing themselves to the OCW faithful.
Hood: They are OVER with this audience. The decibel level inside the OCW arena is at a fever pitch.
~Tom slowly crawls his way over to Jack who tags himself in. Jack rushes to the opponents corner and knocks Madwoman off the apron with a stiff shot to the face, she falls to the floor. Jack and Tom begin to assault Madman with kicks and punches. Tom picks up Madman into a powerbomb position and on the way down Jack hits a falling neckbreaker~
Smith: Goodnight, From the East Bay!
~Jack covers Madman. The referee drops to make the count~
1..
2..
3…
~No! Madman kicks out of The Lockwood’s finisher at the last possible second. Jack and Tom both argue with the referee about it. Madman manages to make a hot tag to Princess who has returned to the apron. The crowd is electric! Princess hits her jumping swan kick to the face of Tom, which sends him crashing through the ropes to the floor. She then hits Jack with a straight kick to the gut that sends him to the corner. Madman then screams READY! He steps back, downing into a three-point stance and screams DOWN! He charges towards Jack, nailing him with repeated elbow strikes as he yells "HUT! HUT! HUT! HUT!". The crowd loves it and chants it along with him. The Tecmo Elbows of Madman send Jack the outside. As he and Tom try to regroup, Princess does a short spinning dance move into the waiting arms of Madman II near the ropes, She leaps into his arms, as he spins a little bit along with her, and he uses continuous momentum to monkey flip Princess over the top rope onto the other team outside of the ring!~
Smith: Incredible! These two are something else! After an early advantage, The Lockwoods have no idea how to handle this hot new tag team.
Hood: I seriously have a massive erection right now due to the unconventional offense of Pas De Deux! Their stiff offense is really exciting.
Smith: Calm down Hood!
Hood: I can’t!
~Madman exits the ring, He throws Jack (the legal man) back inside. Madman takes Princess by the hand, twirls her around into a rear waistlock, and uses a German suplex to assist Princess Madwoman with a devastating standing moonsault onto her opponent!~
Hood: They call that Germann’s Soup Salt!
Smith: This one is over.
~Madman pins Jack while Princess stops Tom from attempting to enter the ring.~
1..
2..
3..
Belvedere: The winners of the match, PAS DE DEUX!!
~A spotlight immediately shines down on them while they celebrate in the middle of the ring. Madman throws his arms out to the side and yells while Princess spins upon one leg, like a ballerina. The crowd really seems to love them~
Smith: What grace, showmanship and just downright ability from Madman II and Princess here tonight!
Hood: Just an incredible debut. With Vargas and Grenier leading the pack, The tag team division in OCW has become quite a strong point. Team VAG should be looking over their shoulders!
~As Pas De Deux celebrates with the crowd, The Lockwoods make their way up the ramp. They can be seen mouthing “this isn’t over!”. Tom blows a kiss to Princess and flips her off as they exit through the curtain~
~Scene cuts to somewhere deep inside the OCW arena where Nanook is sitting in a old beat up recliner with a notepad in his hand. He has a dark match in a little bit and tonight’s gimmick is an oil rig worker named “Ollie” and it took him some time to find yellow rubber overalls in his size. He will be facing Ox Goodman from the OCW school and this is a match Nanook has no desire to be apart of. As he told Bester the other day~
“That stupid fucker is going to flying all over the ring and I’ve got to catch his stupid ass.”~
~So why Nanook is getting ready to play catch in a few minutes, he has more important work to be doing and he is waiting on someone to arrive at the OCW and is doodling in his notepad. ~
~Finally the wait is over with.~
~Walking through the door dragging his gear bag behind him is Mastodon. Inside Nanook is so freaking happy.~
“Hey big guy! How’s it going?”
~Nanook says as soon as Mastodon gets within ear shot. Mastodon stops and looks at Nanook and while the whole overweight oil drill worker with no shirt on is a lot to take it, most likely Mastodon is trying to remember who he is, then it clicks~
“Oh. Hey guy! How’s it’s going?”
“Good! All healed up from last week, about to go out there and do it again.”
~Nanook says as he pushes himself up out of the chair and walks over towards Mastodon~
“Ah...good. I’ve got to go see if I’ve got a match tonight or not.”
“Gee...I think I saw you listed on the card. Can’t remember though. It’s listed outside of Welsh’s office, I know that.”
“Awesome bro. I hope it’s on TV.”
“Oh, you’ll have to go check big guy.”
“Yeah yeah. I will. Good luck out there Bro.”
“Thanks. Appreciate that.”
~Mastodon then nods and makes his way towards the locker room and Welsh’s office, where he’ll find that he is not being used tonight but everyone else from the OCW Academy is. ~
~Of course, Nanook made sure of that…….~
~We cut backstage where GM Marcus Welsh is seen receiving a massage from his personal masseuse. Greg sits in the corner, eyeing the process. We won’t really go into description over the type of EYES he has...but they aren’t dull or disinterested~
Marcus Welsh: So glad I caught you before you left.
Masseuse: It was my fault for getting here earlier than you expected.
Marcus Welsh: Yea...plus Alice and her bums distracted me. Kept me from getting here earlier.
Masseuse: I hate the homeless.
Marcus Welsh: They disgust me.
~Both men pause, realizing they are probably on camera due to the slight ‘booing’ that comes from within the arena~
Masseuse: But they really should have more affordable housing.
Marcus Welsh: Oh definitely, I plan to find a charity on the up and up to provide more housing opportunity for the homeless.
Masseuse: When you do, let me know so I can tweet it out and help get those people some homes.
~Just then, a knock on the door. Without giving even a moment to respond, ‘The Marvel’ Matt Meyhu barges into the room with his signature smirk on his face. He’s got on a shirt that reads “TBA” and a pair of sunglasses.~
Matt Meyhu: Marcus, my main man! How’s it going? Listen, I’ve been trying to get ahold of you for days now! About this title match, I’ve got some pretty big ideas for it. Paras may have got the best of me last time, but there is one match I am undefeated in… I’ve got two words for you: Iron Man Match. Is that three words? Doesn’t matter. What do you think?
~Welsh slowly looks in Meyhu’s direction. He seems exasperated at the mention of another iron man match. He begins to protest...until Meyhu’s shirt catches his attention~
Marcus Welsh: TBA? What’s TBA? Is that a new nickname, Face? Total Bad Ass? The Bad Ass? Throwing Bitches Around…
Greg: MARCUS!
~Greg and the masseuse are appalled. The masseuse’s firm, warm hands leave Welsh’s back~
Marcus Welsh: I meant men, Greg! I wasn’t talking about women, obviously.
Matt Meyhu: You know, I'm not sure what it means. I was going to ask you! Paras is facing TBA at Block Party… I'm TBA!
~Meyhu smiles wide, already excited for the match. He does a quick glance over the room. Welsh stares at him blankly. The masseuse looks away, and Greg rolls his eyes.~
Marcus Welsh: Take five.
~Welsh sends his masseuse away. The masseuse exits...but, before making a complete exit, he stops, looks at Meyhu and huffs. Welsh gets off the massage table revealing that he’s wearing a pair of biker shorts sporting his face on the front and his name on the back. He slips on a pair of slacks and turns, addressing the FACE of OCW~
Marcus Welsh: Listen, champ. You mind if I still call you champ? Great. About this TBA stuff...I understand you won the Elimination Chamber and, boy, what a match that was. A performance for the ages!
~Meyhu nods. It was an excellent performance~
Marcus Welsh: However, Zybala was the one who promised a shot at Block Party to the winner. I made no such promise. You see, now that I’m running things...I’ve decided to open the main event scene up. I’m looking at options. And, trust me...don’t get me wrong...you are one of those options. I just think we’d be denying ourselves...denying OCW...denying the advertisers if we set in stone a rematch from two months ago. People want fresh, you know? Look at the eMpire, for instance…
Matt Meyhu: Who?
~Meyhu looks surprised… Until he figures it out.~
Matt Meyhu: Ohhhhh… I get it. April Fools is NEXT Monday. Don’t worry, it could happen to anybody.
~Welsh begins to put on a recently ironed white, formal shirt. He rolls the sleeves up to his elbows~
Marcus Welsh: Ha, that it is! And if you want we can play a prank on Chad Vargas or Bob Grenier. Those never get old. But, in all seriousness...the OCW Championship match for Block Party remains in the air. You understand, face!
~Welsh snaps his fingers at Greg. Greg moves with purpose~
Marcus Welsh: All these new names, big names, legends from other places...it would be foolish if we didn't’ capitalize. PLUS, I kinda, sorta, already allowed a stipulation in tonight’s main event that would offer Mario Maurako a match against Paul Paras IF Mike Best were to beat Bifford.
~Welsh pauses, watching Meyhu. Marcus appears, for the first time, kind of nervous~
Matt Meyhu: Uh huh… I see…
~Matt slowly nods and is visibly frustrated. His jaw is clenched and his eyes are locked on Welsh.~
Matt Meyhu: Legends from other places… Right, right. Sounds like a solid plan as always. What could possibly go wrong? Last time that happened, OCW was graced with Aidan Collins. A solid addition for sure. Now this time, we’ve got two of them. Well the more the merrier!
~Matt walks over to the massage table just for something to pound his fist on.~
Matt Meyhu: I remember when you had to earn your place around here. Now you’ve got charity cases having their friends earn shots for them? What a joke. Tell me one thing…
~Meyhu walks over to Welsh. They stand face to face.~
Matt Meyhu: Do you follow these guys on Twitter?
~Welsh looks around like he’s been stumped. Greg extends a manila folder. Welsh appears relieved. He opens it up to reveal - a micro image of Matt Meyhu~
Marcus Welsh: Enough about Twitter. Leo handles our twitter account. Sometimes a drunk Hood gets on there to bash Alice but other than that, it’s strictly Leo’s property. But, hey, check this out!
~Welsh hands Meyhu the micro image. He’s obviously doing whatever he can to divert the line of conversation. He sees this isn’t working. So, Welsh snares another piece of paper...it’s the Block Party logo...this time in LIME~
Marcus Welsh: And how about that? Thinking we might make all PPV’s lime moving forward.
~Welsh looks at Meyhu, hoping these diversions did the trick~
Matt Meyhu: Seems like I should be main eventing that then, doesn't it? Don't insult me, boss. How many more shots do I have to earn before I'm back to where I belong? You know I'm winning this tournament too, right?
~Meyhu looks to discard the sheet of paper, but takes one more look at it. He folds it up nicely and slides it into his pocket.~
Matt Meyhu: Pretty cool logo.
~Welsh pats Meyhu on the back~
Marcus Welsh: Yea, you go ahead and keep that. And don’t worry about Mario or the eMpire...all these external factors. You do you, FACE. You’re my number one draft pick. You’re the guy I’ve built OCW around since taking over in 2017. You are going to get your shot. I didn't really want to admit this to anyone, but this Mario noise...it’s just hysteria meant to bump ratings, increase attendance, stir the pot while we wait for Block Party. That’s all. It’s you and it’s Paras. You earned that, my man.
~Meyhu’s smirk returns to his face. He nods and turns toward the door.~
Matt Meyhu: That’s what I like to hear. I’m a better TBA than any of these guys!
~Meyhu opens the door, feeling victorious.~
Matt Meyhu: You going to break it to those guys now or later?
Marcus Welsh: I’ll take care of it, FACE. You can count on me.
~Meyhu extends his fist. Welsh goes for a high five. They get caught in that awkward ‘fist/five’ miscommunication before Meyhu slaps Welsh on the shoulder and exits, shutting the door~
Marcus Welsh: I may have booked myself into a corner, Greg.
~A visibly nervous Welsh takes a seat, staring blankly at the wall contemplating his options~
Smith: It seems as though our interim GM has a few too many checks floating around.
Hood: Impossible…Welsh doesn’t work with paper currency. He’s all digital, man.
Smith: It was a metaphor for promises. Welsh is making promises left and right to satisfy the amount of egos he has brought into this company. At some point you can only make so many egos happy. Which egos will he ultimately satisfy?
Hood: Stop trying to push that Zybala narrative. Welsh is making OCW great again, Smith. Just sit back and enjoy it!
Smith: For some reason those words do not comfort me.
~Outside at the loading docks where several firetrucks are on the scene spraying water on a huge pile of pallets that somehow caught on fire mysteriously. That is going to be a huge fine from OSHA. By one of the pumper truck is 7800 and 2600 and a the cameraman who has his hands duct taped to a microphone with 2600 and 7800 holding him by one of his arms, so he can't escape, and his camera is laying at his feet all smashed up. The camera man looks to be scared and pissed at the same time.~
Cameraman: You know they are going to make me pay for that! I don’t have the money for that camera! Assholes!
2600: Shut up Yamauchi scum! No one cares about your little spy machine.
Cameraman: For the last time! I wasn’t spying!
~That is when Flashback 2 walks up to the Cameraman from off camera, (OneRoverOne is filming everything BTW) and slaps the cameraman across the face.~
FB2: Stop lying Yamauchi Spy! We know who you are!
Cameraman: I’m not a spy! I work for the OCW production crew!
~Flashback 2 slaps the cameraman again.~
FB2: LIAR!
7800: Dilly dilly.
~2600 leans forwards and looks at 7800 as FB2 backs out of the frame.~
2600: That might be a tad bit extreme 7800. Plus I’m pretty sure this Yamauchi scum wouldn’t be able to handle that sort of….
~2600 looks at the cameraman who has no clue what 7800 said.~
2600: Questioning.
7800: Dilly dilly.
~7800 says sounding a tad disappointed.~
2600: So, Brad! If that is in fact your real name! If you do indeed work for the OCW production crew as you have stated several times.
Brad the Cameraman: That is the truth!
~2600 holds his hand up, thus stopping FB2 from slapping Brad again. It will be discussed on message boards later on tonight if this sort of thing, slapping spies of the Yamauchi is a turn on for FB2.~
2600: You said before this fire mysteriously broke out, that you wish to ask us a question about our battle at Operation Block Party.
Brad the Cameraman: Yes, you will face Bob Grenier and Chad Vargas for the OCW Tag Team titles at Block Party. I just wanted to know how you two felt about that? And what you thought about all of the other tag teams that have popped up on the OCW as of late. That’s all! That’s all I wanted to ask! I swear!
~2600 holds his hand up again, to most likely stop FB2 from slapping Brad again. He leans forward to look around Brad and look at 7800.~
7800: Dilly dilly?
2600: I am unsure? This term you used, Brad! OCW Tag Team titles? We are unsure what that is code for, perhaps you could enlighten us?
Brad the Cameraman: The World Tag Team titles? The belts that Bob and Chad have, that you will fight for at Block Party?
2600: Hmmm. I see. The Yamauchi have taught you well Brad. You speak their language very well, but nonetheless, we know what you mean. So allow me to tell you the truth Brad, in layman terms so you can understand with your simple Yamauchi infected mind! You see, Brad. We’re not going to war against Bert and Ernie for these, belts. No! Team ATARI is going to war against Bert and Ernie at Operation Block Party to secure the Energon Devise so we can save this nation's security and make sure that the economy marches forward unimpeded!
7800: Dilly dilly!
2600: Correct 7800! Willy Mack (This has been debated at great lengths that “Willy Mack” is the President of the United States of America, but this rumor is still yet, unconfirmed) has instructed us personally to win at any cost, to secure the Energon Devise and defeat our enemies of the state and rid the planet of these Yamauchi scum who wish to enslave the human race! Which, you know very well, Brad, that you are apart of and you will be dealt with accordingly!
~Brad the Cameraman looks scared at this point. 2600 holds Brad’s hands up so the microphone can pick up everything he is about to say and looks right at the camera on OneRoverOne.~
2600: OneRoverOne has been watching our targets all week long. OneRoverOne has gathered a ton of details on Bert and Ernie! So much intell that there isn’t anything we don’t know about them! We know who they report to, who trained them, how high in the Yamauchi hierarchy they are and it is true, Bert and Ernie rank pretty high on the food chain Brad, way higher than some some low level spy, a spy no one will miss if he was to come up missing. Yes, Bert and Ernie got where they are because they are good at what they do.
7800: Dilly dilly.
2600: Yes sir 7800! The truth of the matter is, we’re just a little bit better and when we step on that battle field on the twenty ninth day of April, Team ATARI will already have the upper hand because we already know everything there is to know about our sworn enemies. We will defeat Bert and Ernie and take what is ours, section 4 and section 5 of the Energon Device.
7800: Dilly dilly!
~2600 nods in agreement. He fist pumps 7800.~
2600: Hell yeah 7800! You tell them! As far as all of these other Mickey Mouse “teams” that you speak of Brad! Let it be know, they better run and hide and quit the Yamachi army now! We will hunt them down one by one! And we will rid the planet earth of them! We have our orders! We have our mission and no one is going to stop us from our goal. We will not be stopped! Not even death can stop Team ATARI! But unfortunately for you, Brad! Your time has come to an end!
Brad the Cameraman: Wait? What? Hold on?
~FB2 enters the frame and she is removing her gloves as OneRoverOne spins around and takes off thus cutting the feed……..~
Smith: In five short weeks Team ATARI could be the new OCW Tag Team Champions
Hood: Might as well set that division ablaze if that happens.
Smith: RUDE! Well folks, it's been a wild night so far...so much going on in OCW right now, I don't know where to begin. But, I do know where to continue...
Hood: That makes no fucking sense.
Smith: Hey, I've got a lot going on in my head right now. Can't I be human? Am I not allowed that from time to time?
Hood: Only until you receive a micro of yourself...once that happens, you are no longer human.
Smith: Well here's hoping the people in the micro department have me near the bottom of the list. Anyway...next up we have a six person tag match featuring six of the top, up and coming talents in OCW! Let's head down to ringside for this exciting match!
Six Person Tag Match
Jason Kortare (2-2), Trav Morgan (2-0), Evin Empire (6-1)
vs.
Osidius Rex (1-0), Myst (1-0), Jasmine Martini (1-0)
~The crowd is eager and ready for some intense in ring action! The night, thus far, has been exciting. But, there is much more to come…including tournament matches, an epic main event and, well, an exciting six person tag match! Belvedere clears his throat to a strong ovation from the OCW contingent~
Belvedere: Ladies and Gentlemen…the following contest is a six person tag team match and it is scheduled for one fall!!! Introducing first…
~The song Broken Dreams by Shaman's Harvest starts to play over the PA system. When the lead singer starts to say~
Out of Time
~The beautiful Jasmine Martini starts to come on out and the fans cheer for her. She gives our a sexy sadictic smile and goes to the ring. When she gets into the ring, she stands in her corner awaiting for the match to begin~
Belvedere: From Atlanta, Georgia…standing 5’6 and weighing in at 130lbs…Jasmine Martini!!!
Smith: Jasmine Martini making her second in-ring appearance here in OCW!
Hood: She’s hot, Smith. And, from what I’ve read…she likes to party.
Smith: I’ll just leave that one alone. The audience can decipher for themselves.
~Osidius Rex and his wife Ursula come to the ring slowly as the beginning of Sanctioned Annihilation plays and the fans are silent as they make their way down the aisle. Osidius lowers the ropes for Ursula and they come to the middle of the ring~
Belvedere: From Sparta! Standing 6’8 and weighing in at 320lbs…Osidius Rex!
Smith: The massive Osidius Rex! He dominated Puffer last week.
Hood: I know that may sound like faint praise, but Rex really did beat the fuck out of Puffer.
Smith: He’s looked unstoppable in two appearances. Tonight, however, he faces far more formidable competition.
~The sound of hissing steam pipes through the speakers as a slow rolling wave of smoke begins to creep out from the ramp like the tide rolling in from the ocean. The arena feigns darkness with a dim blue glow emitting from the lights. Out walks a small hunched over man in white robes carrying a small dirty silver lantern in which a similar blue light is shining. He paves a way through the thickening fog and stops atop the entrance ramp and turns back with the lantern ahead of him. Out to the ramp walks a giant 6'11" being with long silver hair flowing around a white mask lined with 3 diagonal black stripes that wraps around the contours of his face. His long white wrestling singlet has a single black strap that cuts across his bulking upper body. As soon as the monster appears, the small monk turns back towards the ring and slowly leads Myst towards the ring. As they get closer, smoke begins to pour out from under the ring and engulf the apron and stairs. The monk stops ringside and sweeps the lantern in a motion across his body from Myst towards the ring. Myst, who has stopped a few feet from ringside walks near and begins his slow ascent up the stairs towards the turnbuckle. He easily steps over the top rope and enters the ring that is slowly attracting a shallow covering of smoke. He looks over to the monk who extinguishes the dim blue light from the lantern as the lights raise back to normal~
Belvedere: And their partner, from The Congo, standing 6’11 and weighing in at 345lbs…Myst!
Smith: Another behemoth – Myst!
Hood: Two beasts and one beauty. Interesting team.
Smith: Yea, not your usual tag team aesthetic. A very strange looking unit but…they’re all undefeated and all three are looking to advance themselves so, with a common goal, they may wind up being successful.
Belvedere: And, their opponents…
~"Welcome to the Party" By French Montana (Feat. Lil' Pump & Zhavia Ward) begins to blast over the P.A. system. Yellow and red lights begin to flicker on the stage. Trav Morgan comes from behind the curtain as he was dancing a little bit to the beat of his own theme music. He walks on the stage with his shoulder bouncing up and down as he grooves to the music. Walking down the ramp way, he stops in the middle of the ramp as he flexes his biceps and poses while flexing for the camera. Moving towards the ring, he climbs up the ring post and steps into the ring. Climbing up the turnbuckle, he flexes his muscles once again in a pose, he makes his biceps bounce up and down with a grin as he steps down off the turnbuckle~
Belvedere: From Malibu, California…standing 6’3 and weighing in at 255lbs…Trav Morgan!!!
Smith: It’s been a few weeks since we last saw Morgan compete inside an OCW ring. He brings an impressive 2-0 record into this match.
Hood: Another one of these young, super muscular dudes (no homo!). What the hell are the kids eating these days?
Smith: I’d like to go ahead and state that OCW enforces a very strict drug testing policy.
Hood: Since when?! Is this why Syren went away?!
~"A mixture of red and yellow lights begin to flicker among the stage. "Welcome to the Party" By French Montana (Feat. Lil' Pump & Zhavia Ward) begins to blast among the P.A. system. Jason Kortare walks among the stage with his head down and a towel hanging over his shoulders. He begins to shadow box with his fists aggressively on the stage. He makes his way down the ramp entrance way, he takes the towel off his shoulders and throws it into the crowd. He climbs up the ring post and steps inside the ring. Making his way to the center of the ring, he raises his arms high in victory. Putting his arms down, he makes his pecs bounce up and down with a serious and somewhat mysterious stare at a few of the women sitting in the front of the crowd~
Belvedere: From The Bronx…standing 6’4 and weighing in at 247lbs…Jason Kortare!!!
Smith: And here’s Jason Kortare! You may not like this man but you cannot deny his talent.
Hood: Guy’s had some tough luck. He’s one of our top new stars but he’s lost two early matches.
Smith: He’s been placed in some high profile matches early in his career and has, unfortunately, come up short in both. Tonight he looks to get back to his winning ways.
Hood: I guess he came up short last week…PerZag’s interference sure didn’t help.
~ The lights dim to black as the opening chords of his entrance theme fill the arena to a majority of boos. Multi-colored strobe lights flicker on and off to the beat of the music as smoke begins to fill the entrance way. Evin Empire steps out from behind the curtain with a swagger in his walk and a sarcastic grin on his face. He begins trading insults with the fans on the rail and slowly makes his way toward the ring. Evin starts to push an elderly fan out of the way who has hopped the barricade…but he soon realizes it’s just Ehud, slowly making his way around the steps. Not wanting to be DQ’d, Evin turns his focus back to the ring. He slides into the ring, runs to the opposite corner, hops onto the middle turnbuckle and taunts the crowd once again as his music fades~
Belvedere: And their partner, from Reno, Nevada…standing 6’3 and weighing in at 215lbs…Evin Empire!!!
Smith: Here he is! The reigning Newcomer of the Month! Evin Empire!
Hood: Future star, Smith. He had a hell of a performance at Social Justice…great to see him back!
Smith: Losing is tough, no doubt about it…but a person learns more from a loss than they do a win.
Hood: Yep, if the kid’s got his head on straight then he’ll bounce back tonight, better than ever.
~Belvedere exits. Ursula does as well, taking advantage of the opening provided by Belvedere. The bell rings. All six competitors remain in the ring. The crowd is clapping and cheering, ready to see these six up and coming stars go at it~
Smith: And now we find out who will start for which team.
Hood: Kinda funny to look at this and go “Evin is the vet”…but, technically he is.
Smith: He’s logged the most OCW mileage of the six.
~Empire, flexing his seniority for once, steps through the ropes. Kortare does the same…both men giving way to the fresh Trav Morgan. Martini finds the apron for her team. Rex and Myst stare one another down. The fans sense tension~
Smith: I think both big men want to start this match for their team!
Hood: Cracks already beginning to show! That’s what happens when you put two giant retards on the same team
Smith: I’d watch it if I were you!
Hood: You know what they say…the bigger they are…the dumber they are!
~Morgan points and laughs at Myst and Rex. Ursula, on the outside, shakes her head. She shouts up at Rex. He looks down at Ursula before looking back up at Myst. Finally, Rex steps over the top rope, onto the apron, giving way to Myst. The bell sounds~
Smith: Osidius listening to some wise words from Ursula
Hood: Yea I mean take the apron…why start the match? Save your energy.
Smith: Some people, unlike you, my dear colleague…are competitors!
Hood: Dude, I am highly competitive in certain areas.
~Morgan goes right after Myst, who seems slightly distracted due to the stare down with Rex. Morgan throws hands at Myst, drilling him in the head with some vicious right fists! Myst’s head jerks to the right after each corresponding blow. Morgan hits and hits and hits…he finally stops, to assess the damage. Myst looks directly at him, unfazed. Morgan’s eyes widen. Myst reaches out and clutches Trav around the throat~
Smith: Uh oh
Hood: Yea man you might want to try and punch the guy wearing the thick ass mask in an area where the thick ass mask doesn’t reside.
Smith: Not to mention the fact Myst is a physical freak.
Hood: Well, so is Trav Morgan.
~Myst looks ready to hoist Trav up…but Trav throws a kick into Myst’s groin!! The fans boo. Myst releases Trav, doubling over. Trav stands upright, rubs his neck before returning to his cocky demeanor~
Smith: Well, there’s hard evidence that no matter the size of a man a shot to the groin will bring him down.
Hood: Hard evidence, eh?
Smith: I didn’t mean it that way
Hood: Pretty telling that when a guy gets hit in the dick the first word you think to describe it is ‘hard’.
Smith: Leave me alone.
~Morgan stops showboating and drives a forearm down into Myst’s back. Myst goes upright, arching his back. Morgan delivers a vicious chop into the massive chest of Myst. Myst sways back, leaning against the ropes. Morgan whips Myst off the ropes…Myst reverses! Trav hits the ropes, bounces off and eats a big boot to the face!!! He hits the mat, hard. Myst seems to be fully recovered. He backs into his corner, measuring Trav up. A hand reaches out, slapping him on the back. It belongs to Osidius Rex!! Myst seems confused. Rex steps in over the top rope, going after Trav Morgan. Scruff, timidly, asks Myst to leave the ring, informing him of the tag~
Smith: Myst was ready to roll and Rex tagged in!
Hood: I think Rex feels he would have won this match by now.
Smith: Perhaps he feels that way but, still, I’d think you’d want to communicate better, as a team.
Hood: Nah…when you’re that fucking big, who needs team work
~Morgan sees Rex stepping in and hurries over to his corner. He reaches out and tags – Evin Empire! Empire seems unafraid. The crowd rises with intrigue. Empire leaps over the top rope, into the ring. He leans back, into his team’s corner sizing Rex up~
Smith: Rex is bigger. Rex is stronger. But you wouldn’t know that if you were judging things via Evin’s demeanor.
Hood: The dude was just in the chamber against Meyhu, TIO, Bifford, Mack, CJ, and LeClair. As if he’s gonna sweat some midcard tag team bullshit
Smith: Well, I guess that’s one way to look at it.
~Rex charges forward. Empire moves! Rex runs right into the corner!! Evin slides in behind the big man, taking him over with a roll up!! Scruff slides in with the count~
1!
2!
KICK OUT!
Smith: HUGE kick out by Rex!
Hood: This Empire kid is SMART
Smith: Indeed…he’s not going to try and brawl with Rex.
~Evin pops back to his feet. He hits the ropes, trying to capitalize on Rex’s predicament. Empire bounces off the ropes to find Rex already standing!! He leaps into the air…Rex catches him…Evin tries to get free…Rex yanks Evin forward and slams him into the mat with an Alabama Slam!! Empire hits hard, reaching for the back of his head. Osidius stands over Empire, looking down at the OCW prodigy~
Smith: Freaky strength and surprising quickness
Hood: Yea man, Osidius straight fucked Evin up.
Smith: I don’t think Evin ever entertained the notion that Rex would return to his feet that quickly.
Hood: Nah man, he figured he’d lay him out with a flying forearm or some shit.
~Rex bends over, snaring Empire by the throat. He deadlifts Evin off the mat and holds him in the air. Empire’s feet are inches off the mat. Rex spins and throws Evin into his team’s corner. Kortare and Morgan are like “Holy Shit!” Rex heads their way. Kortare, however, gets over the initial shock and tags in by slapping Evin on the shoulder. He steps into the ring and charges at Rex, going for a spear. Rex doesn’t budge. Instead, he hooks Kortare around the waist and tosses him over, onto the mat with a Gut Wrench Suplex~
Smith: Wow!
Hood: It’s official…Osidius Rex is, like, half caveman or something.
Smith: Talk about impressive!
~Kortare arches his back. He gets to his feet and hurries for the ropes. He turns around only to receive a giant lariat from Rex!! Kortare flips over the top rope, landing hard on the apron. Osidius takes a few steps back before lunging forward with a HUGE kick!! The kick smacks Kortare in the face, sending him flying off the apron, into the barricade. The fans applaud Rex’s demolition of Kortare…the impressive way in which he’s gone about it. Rex paces around the ring, fired up~
Smith: Osidius Rex and Myst…I don’t know how you beat this team.
Hood: They’ve got a third member and she will fuck you…
Smith: Up?
Hood: Yes, up. She will fuck you up.
~Rex walks by his team’s corner. Jasmine Martini reaches in and tags! Rex pauses. He turns. Martini steps into the ring, motioning for Rex to get on the apron. Rex steps up to Martini…it’s a tense moment. Ursula encourages Rex to stand down~
Smith: Lack of cohesion
Hood: The hell is that woman doing? Let the big guy finish the job! She’s fucking crazy!
Smith: I think she senses an opportunity
~Myst looks on in frustration. Rex finally stands down, taking a spot on the apron. Martini slides out of the ring, going after Kortare. She snares Kortare by the hair and tosses him into the ring. She hops onto the apron, jumps up, springboards off the top rope and comes down with a guillotine leg drop!! She goes for the pin~
1!
2!
Kick Out!
Smith: Kick out by Kortare! Martini thought she had him!
Hood: She’d better finish this up otherwise Myst and Rex are going to be PISSED
~Martini looks at Scruff, complaining about the count. Kortare rolls over, getting to all fours. Scruff very calmly tells the irate Jasmine that it was two, not three. Jasmine spits in his face and turns around. As she does, Kortare pops up and drills Jasmine into the mat with a Spinebuster!!! He rolls over, onto his back, continuing to recover~
Smith: Uh oh
Hood: And that’s why the woman needs to know her place.
Smith: Some strange talk…
Hood: You calling me…a stranger?
~Kortare gets to his feet. Martini sits up. He looks to make a tag. Trav is eager, he’s willing, he’s waiting…he’s got his hand out. Kortare reaches to make the tag…but, before he can, Evin slaps Kortare’s hand, tagging in! Kortare and Morgan are both like “What?!” Empire steps in through the ropes~
Smith: Evin Empire looking to seize the moment!
Hood: Oh man…Trav was all set to get in there and get his. Evin cock blocked that mother fucker.
Smith: That’s one way to put it.
~Empire goes right after Martini. She’s on her feet. She throws a roundhouse kick at the incoming Empire. Evin ducks it…he kicks Martini in the gut and drops her with an Implant DDT!!! Evin is already back on his feet. He snares Maritni by her vibrant hair, hooks her for a powerbomb…lifts her into the Crucifix Position before dropping her on the mat with a sitout powerbomb!!! He holds on for the pin~
1!
2!
3!!!!
~The bell rings~
Belvedere: Here are your winners…the team of EVIN EMPIRE, JASON KORTARE, AND TRAV MORGAN!!!!!
Smith: Wow! Empire got in there and ended this match quick!
Hood: Some piss poor tag management. You’ve got two unbeatable giants and JASMINE MARTINI decides to play hero ball.
Smith: Well, she thought she could steal the spot light. It, sadly, did not work out that way.
~Morgan and Kortare are PISSED. Morgan steps into the ring. They seem to be plotting an attack on Empire. Rex, also pissed, steps into the ring. Morgan and Kortare see this and decide that maybe now isn’t the best time to attack Empire. So, they exit the ring, happy to take the win. Rex stands over Martini. Empire on his feet, looks up at Rex. Osidius reaches for Evin, trying to grab him. Empire eludes Osidius and slides out of the ring~
Smith: Rex is not happy.
Hood: No shit, man. He dominated this match and gets handed a very shitty fucking loss? That sucks
~Rex reaches down, looking to take out his frustrations on Jasmine. Before he can, he’s spun around by MYST. Myst grabs Rex by the throat, lifts him up and drops him with a chokeslam!! The fans pop to their feet at the display of strength shown by Myst. Myst then grabs Jasmine by the throat, picking her straight from the mat, all the way up into the air and driving her body down into the mat with another chokeslam. He stands tall, looking at his downed teammates. Ursula stands back, knowing that entering the ring at this juncture would be a big mistake~
Smith: The giant, mysterious man known as Myst laying waste to both his opponents.
Hood: Yea man, once Rex wakes up he’s going to want revenge.
Smith: Indeed
So Say Goodbye
What Is Yours
Now Is Mine
~Post match, Nanook is slowly making his way towards the locker room favoring his back as Ox Goodman did all of his flippy shit five times more than normal. He just saw Nanook as this huge soft fluffy pillow and launched his himself off of everything and landed on Nanook. By now the last dark match is taking place before the actual show begins and Nanook hobbles himself through the hallway leading to the locker room, and along the way he passes by Welsh’s office and standing outside of it fuming is one big guy, Mastodon.~
~And he’s pissed.~
“Hey big guy!”
~Nanook says as he holds his lower back and walks up to him~
~Mastodon just grunts.~
“What’s the matter?”
~Mastodon jabs his big meaty finger on the board outside of Welsh’s office where tonight’s card is posted for everyone to see. This is mostly for the students and guys hoping to crack the big time and get some TV Time in scrub matches and what not.~
“Every mother fucker in the school has something! Except me!”
“Really?”
~Nanook says sounding surprised. He leans in and glances at the line up, of course he already knew all of this~
“I’ve busted my ass bro! I fucking kill it in class bro!”
“I know! I’ve seen you.”
“And this is the shit I get? A fucking meet and greet?”
“Doesn’t seem right if you ask me.”
“It doesn’t bro and I’m fucking sick of it! I should have a fucking spot in the 32 man tournament! I should be getting fucking Jack Puffers matches! I would kick someone’s ass out there you know! Fucking Shootah couldn’t even lace my boots!”
“You know what you need big guy?”
“To bust in that office and throw that fucking Welsh around like a goddamn rag doll! Teach that motherfucker a lesson!”
“Yeah, not that! Listen, Big guy! I can help you.”
“How?”
“You need someone to represent you.”
“Nah! I’ve heard about that shit, fuck that!”
“Not for nothing, but Jack Puffer has someone whose job is to make sure he’s on TV. Shootah has a guy. Some of these guys, they have someone and guess what? They’ll be on TV before you do.”
~Mastodon crosses his arms and glares at the list.~
“Do you have like five minutes? I’d like to talk to about this. I like you. You have a bright future in this sport, not only in the OCW, but elsewhere. You’re going to be a huge star. I can see it. Just give me a couple of minutes, I’ll show you what I can do for you.”
“You?”
“Yes, me. Look, I know right now, I look like an old beat up has been who can’t let it go, but like I said. I lost a bet and I’ve got to pay up. You always gotta make good on your bets right?”
“Must have been one hell of a bet you lost Bro. Just sayin’”
~Nanook nods~
“It was and I’m about all paid up. This going out there and getting beat up is just about over. You should have been out there beating the fuck outta of Ox Goodman you know. Not me! But I can get you in that ring. I can get you on TV. All you’ve got to do is trust me. What do you say? Will you at least hear me out? Five minutes, that’s I need.”
~Mastodon thinks it over for a second and then nods.~
“Sure. Not like I’m doing anything anyways.”
“My office is down here big guy.” Nanook says with a smile on his face.
~We cut back to the announce team~
Smith: Nanook looking to prey on the Mastodon's frustration.
Hood: Simply and opportunistic man, Smith. Nothing wrong with that.
Smith: I guess...
~"I Am The Fire" by Halestorm kicks up over the arena sound system, loud enough that it's able to drown out the boo birds in the capacity crowd. Kitty Petrova steps out slowly, amid a shower of red and white sparks, settling the Paradigm Championship in against her shoulder so that it reflects the fire blazing up along the ramp as she strides purposefully towards the ring. When she arrives, she slowly climbs the steps and wipes her feet daintily on the apron before stepping between the ropes. As her music fades in volume and the house lights come back up, she lifts a microphone to her lips.~
Kitty Petrova: I promised I wasn't going to be a disappointment like our dear Rocket Man was once this belt ended up around my waist. See, I meant to be here last Monday. I honestly did, but the best laid plans of mice and men are often thwarted by human limitations. I put everything on the line at Social Justice: my body, my heart and my soul-
~She breaks off with a frown when the crowd starts to boo again. Turning her back on the loudest section, she starts to pace, showing off her curves perfectly in the laced-up leather pants she has on. The cropped sweater inches up a little higher around her midriff as she gesticulates, punctuating her impassioned speech.~
Kitty Petrova: This is my first championship with the company. I'm going to promise you now that it won't be my last. I did what I said I was going to. I'm still undefeated since my return from that brief retirement. Rest assured, if I'd been aware of this company then, I wouldn't have let Victory's closure drive me from the business – but hindsight is a hell of a thing. We all know a revisionist historian, those clever spin doctors who try and pretend there was a reason all along. There wasn't. I won't waste time pretending otherwise. I was sick of all the drama, at the dearth of competition everywhere I went – won't bother to name names. They're elsewhere, blown to the four corners of the globe like the chaff they are.
Smith: Listen to that crowd. They're so fired up it's insane.
Hood: Peanut butter and jelly, that's all.
~Kitty rolls her eyes.~
Kitty Petrova: Go ahead, get it all out. Boo me to your little hearts' content. We both know what it means and it doesn't bother me. I know you wish I hadn't taken down your precious idol. I know you want to see him succeed in this tournament after his comeback win just last week. He needs your support. I don't. I can survive just fine knowing that when push came to shove, I was simply the better wrestler.
Smith: She used brass knuckles! She didn't do it on her own! I can't even believe what I'm hearing right now.
Hood: That's called adapting to one's environment. She's an inspiration!
Kitty Petrova: I don't hold back – I've proven that time and time again. I don't run from the violence and I'm certainly not illiterate trailer trash playing at being tough – I can't imagine the things running through Hayley's head. I can barely comprehend things she types out on social media, let alone the things she says. When her time comes, she won't take this belt from me. She can't outwit me. She can't outwrestle me. I am as violent as they come. I am ruthless and cunning – I was trained by a callus machine and I've taken every setback in stride. I've overcome. I've thrived on the adversity. Deep down inside me, at the core, these things resonate, sounding through me like some sort of death knoll. Tick tock. Time marches ever forward and the hour is almost upon us. Can you feel it as the pendulum swings? I can. I feel it deep in my marrow. I quiver and I'm overcome with the most glorious sensations: spite, anger and retribution. All the malice for you, waiting, wrapped up in so many possibilities for your demise. Pick one, love. You're in for a rude awakening no matter which door you open. I am the champion. I made his happen. Not you. Not The Lost Spaz. It wasn't dumb luck or the intervention of another absolute idiot that put this belt around my waist and there won't be a repeat of that idiocy on my watch. You won't win. You're not on my level and no matter how many times you change your name, that will still remain a sad reality. Poor little Hayley. "Poor little Raven," quoth the Kitty, "NEVERMORE!"
~She smirks and pats the belt on her shoulder as the crowd starts alternating "FUCK YOU, KITTY!" and "WE LOVE HAYLEY!" chants.~
Kitty Petrova: The sheep do so love to bleat... my goodness. I have one last thing to say and I think you're going to want to shut the hell up so you can hear it. Well. How about it? Can you behave?
~The crowd finally quiets down.~
Kitty Petrova: There. That wasn't so hard, was it? Now that we're being civilized, I can let you in on the next part of my plan. A promise, if you will. My next promise is this: I won't lose this any time soon. I am going to break a record. I'm going to end more reigns, streaks and careers. I'm going to earn my place in the top echelon here – the Hall of Fame! The more you ignorant plebes hate me for it, the more I'm going to push to achieve that goal. Funny how that works, isn't it?
~She lets that soak in before dropping the microphone, feedback ripping over the speakers before the sound is cut. She throws her head back, laughing before she tosses the belt up in the air, rolling out under the ropes and to the floor in time to catch it before it falls. She settles it back in its place of honor on her shoulder before strolling back up the ramp, ignoring the incensed crowd. At least they're not showering her with trash – yet. It could be worse.~
Smith: She's got a terrible attitude and a penchant for doing whatever it takes to get what she wants...but, there is no denying her talent.
Hood: You say that like she's a terrible person. She's a WINNER, Smith. A WINNER...people like Kitty are the ones who make this business great. They teach the Hayley Robinson's of the world what it takes to be a champion. You can't be some plucky, happy go lucky, smiling, douche bag baby face...fuck that shit. You've got to get dirty.
Smith: I wholeheartedly disagree. There are two ways in life one can achieve success...through hard work, dedication...or by taking the short cut. Kitty used a door way made available via brass knuckles.
Hood: Cry me a fucking river
Smith: Well since we've reached something of a philosophical impasse now might be as good a time as any to plug HOTv!! HOTv is a streaming service where you can view past, present, and future shows from OCW and HOW.
Hood: Sweet
Smith: I'm told more promotions will link up in the very near future. So, fans, if you like what you see in regards to some of the newer faces around here...
Hood: eMpire!
Smith: Yes, them...be sure to sign up for a subscription over at HOTv!
Smith: Some very exciting developments as the OCW brand continues to extend beyond our esoteric, rabid fan base
Hood: I can hear one voice in particular down in New Orleans screaming "WHAT HAPPENED TO THE OCW I USED TO LOVE?"
Smith: Same place, just available to more people.
Hood: Yea man, nothing wrong with that!
Smith: Well folks, it's time we reached the second half of our in-ring action. It's Block Party Tournament time! Tonight's bracket is in honor of El Linchador
Hood: Maybe the most charismatic wrestler in OCW history.
Smith: That's saying something. OCW has always been known for it's charisma and creativity. EL Linchador was one of the best. Tonight we'll see four first round match ups with eight competitors looking to advance into the second round...
Smith: We'll start things off with the one seed, Mack O'Connor taking on the eight seed, Dazi Miyashita! Let's head down to ringside
El Linchador Bracket – 1st Round
(1) Mack O’Connor (29-9) vs. (8) Dazi Miyashita (4-2)
~We see Dazi standing in the ring. Our POV hold steady on Dazi for a moment before zooming in real close in a ‘WTF’ manner. It’s as though the camera is trying to make sure we’re seeing this correctly. Dazi Miyashita, competitor in the Block Party tournament is in the ring WITHOUT AN ENTRANCE. This…does not bode well~
Belvedere: Ladies and Gentlemen…the following contest is a first round match in the El Linchador Bracket!!! Introducing first, the eight seed…already in the ring…Dazi Miyashita!
~Dazi gets a mild reaction. The fans, like the camera operator are really surprised and pretty much put off by the fact she didn’t get an entrance~
Smith: Inauspicious start for Dazi.
Hood: Bitch be fucked.
Smith: Come on, now. No need to be so harsh.
Hood: SHE DIDN’T GET AN ENTRANCE!
Belvedere: And, her opponent…
~"Vagabond” by the Greenskeepers hits. Mack O’Connor walks out on the stage and walks directly to the ring, dressed in jeans and a black tank top. He occasionally raises an arm to acknowledge and get a rise out of the fans. He slides into the ring and starts pacing in his corner. He doesn’t talk trash to Dazi but he makes sure to stare her down, letting Miyashita know he means business~
Belvedere: And her opponent…from Brooklyn, New York…standing 6’3 and weighing in at 220lbs…he is a former OCW Champion. He is in the OCW Hall of Fame…he is…Mack O’Connor!!
Smith: And Mack, the top seed in the El Linchador bracket receives HIS entrance and looks ready for Dazi.
Hood: Good thing the sports room was closed this week. People would be rushing to the window right now to bet Mack.
Smith: Indeed
~Belvedere exits and the bell sounds~
Smith: I guess Dazi could pull off the upset.
Hood: Anything is possible…she has done some things in OCW.
Smith: A very talented competitor who suffers from a lack of focus, at times.
~Dazi says ‘fuck this’ and snares the singamore cane held by her manager. She turns and charges at Mack. Mack raises an eyebrow. Dazi swings at Mack’s head. Mack ducks and catches an out of control, spinning Dazi, dropping her with HOLLOW POINT!! She’s out on her feet. Mack is already back up, he grabs Dazi, lifts her up and drills her into the mat with CLAYMORE! The fans are on their feet! There is a “OH SHIT, HE FUCKED HER UP!” electricity in the OCW Arena. Dazi is out. Mack picks up the cane…he breaks it across his knee and tosses it out of the ring with disgust. He puts his foot on top of Dazi and Scruff makes the count. While Scruff counts, Mack removes a flask from his pocket, taking an elongated pull~
1!
2!
3!!!!
~The bell sounds~
Belvedere: Here is your winner….MACK O’CONNOR!!!!!
Smith: Wow!
Hood: Mack straight up killed Dazi
Smith: That was fast. Mack seemed focused…this could be his tournament to lose.
Hood: Well, he is a number one seed.
Smith: Indeed
~Mack heads out of the ring, continuing to drink from his flask. Scruff bends over to check on Dazi~
Smith: I’m not sure what the future holds for Dazi Miyashita but this performance was far from inspiring.
Hood: By far the weakest first round match.
Smith: True…but, you could look at it as the strongest performance.
Hood: Hey, Mr. Brightside over here!
~We cut to see a man in a brown hoodie walking through the backstage area with his arms tightly clinched in his hoodie pockets. He walks for a few feet before a tall, bald man wearing all black notices him. It’s one of the security officials. Immediately the man in the hoodie freezes in his tracks as he senses their presence behind him.~
Security Officer: Sir, I need to your license. Only permitted personnel can enter the backstage area here tonight. We’ve had a few situations happening around here lately and...
~Without a single hesitation our visitor whips out a thin wallet and willingly surrenders it over. The officer mulls it over for a moment studying it carefully before he looks in awe at the visitor, flabbergasted.~
Visitor: Any problems officer?
Officer: I just can’t believe you of all people would want to show up here!
~Immediately the visitor flips his hood up to reveal current High Octane Wrestler DARIN ZION standing right in front of the officer! Impatiently as always, Zion crosses his arms with a grin coming across his face much to the crowd’s delight.~
Darin Zion: I get that a lot now that I’ve decided to make a return to professional wrestling. I can assure you I mean you no trouble. I’ve actually got an important meeting with OCW officials tonight about some business I need to tend to here. Of course, as usual, traffic got in the way and I’m running late. Any way I can have you escort me back to the proper area? I would like to not keep your bosses waiting.
~The officer nods and follows Zion back towards the office of Marcus Welch as we cut back towards ringside. Hood and Smith both look confused as to these happenings backstage.~
Smith: I can’t believe that Zion’s shown up in OCW after everything that has gone on the last few weeks. Let alone with his career over the past few years! With his decline, I figured he would lay low until HOW’s tournament kicked off.
Hood: Yeah! What a joke! Zion has no business walking into our arena ever!
Smith: I wouldn’t dismiss him, Hood. He’s been a highly decorated individual throughout his 14 years in this business. But you can tell something’s weighing at him.
Hood: Yada yada yada we will find out in the coming weeks...
Smith: I am sure we will. He never shows up unannounced without a purpose. But right now we have to turn back to the action at hand.
Hood: Shit is crazy right now, Smith. Who's going to show up next? Robert Mueller and his investigation?
Smith: I certainly hope not! Anyway...speaking of Zion and famous faces dropping by...we've got another world renowned wrestling star set to compete...hold on, I'm told something is going on backstage!
~We cut quickly backstage where Marcus Welsh is looking around for his Masseuse. He runs into…DAREDEVIL! The crowd goes wild~
Marcus Welsh: What the…
~Welsh rips the mask off to reveal – CURT CANON! The crowd BOOOOS~
Marcus Welsh: No way. Not on my watch, pal.
Curt Canon: Canon is retired.
Marcus Welsh: I’ve advertised Curt Canon tonight…not…whatever the hell your other character’s name is.
Curt Canon: DareDevil.
Marcus Welsh: Dare Devil?
Curt Canon: No, DareDevil. There is no space between Dare and Devil.
Marcus Welsh: I don’t care! I’m tense. I’m frustrated! This has not been my night. I’m not going to have you go out there and make a mockery of this tournament…especially not with a talent like Noah Hanson in the ring. You’re wrestling as Curt Canon tonight and that’s THAT. If you win we can discuss this Dare…Devil shit. But tonight you are Curt Canon OR you are BLOCKED
~Canon narrows his eyes. He rips his mask away and storms off~
Smith: That was rude.
Hood: Welsh didn’t get an ending to his massage, Smith. Dude’s fucking tense!
Smith: Curt wants to be DareDevil…I say let him be DareDevil!
Hood: I’m sure Welsh will do that once he’s got time to promote it. However, as you heard, tonight he promoted Canon and, as a promoter, that’s what he needs to deliver!
Smith: Ugh…I guess. Anyway, folks, that match is up next!
El Linchador Bracket – Round 1
(4) Curt Canon (15-7-1) vs. (5) Noah Hanson (4-2)
~Belvedere stands in the ring. It’s time for our second tournament match of the evening. FORTUNATELY…no other wrestler appears in the ring SANS entrance. This must mean we’re in for a competitive match! Belvedere clears his throat~
Belvedere: From Philadelphia, Pennsylvania... standing 5'4" and weight in at 155 lbs... Curt Canon!!!
~The opening beats of Figure 8 by Trust Company hits. Eight seconds into the song you see Curt Canon slide out from the entrance way on to the ramp. He stands there with an arrogant look on his face and for a few seconds before taking both hands and pointing to himself. In the same motion he leans a bit back and throws his hands out to his side. He then slowly starts to make his way to the ring, arrogantly looking at the crowd and rubbing his wrist on the way down. He gets to the ring and walks up the steps….climbs into the ring heads to the center repeats the pose he did at the top of the ramp as blue pyro shoots out of all four turnbuckles.~
Hood: So much for retirement.
Smith: From what I've heard, Canon thought he was retired, but OCW put him in this tournament anyway.
Hood: If someone did that to me, I'd damn sure not show up. They never got me to sign a contract for it!
Smith: Are you sure? Have you read the contract you signed so long ago for OCW? There are a ton of clauses in there that they can use to force us to participate.
Hood: I had a lawyer look over mine before I signed it.
Smith: The OCW corporate lawyer?
Hood: ... Ah, shit.
Smith: Exactly.
Belvedere: From Kansas City, Kansas…standing 6’2 ¾ and weighing in at 236 ¾ lbs…Noah Hanson!!!
~"Killin In The Name of" by Rage Against the Machine blares and Noah Hanson makes his way to the ring to a mixed reaction. There seem to be more cheers than usual for him, as the fans appear happy to have him back. He interacts with some of them on the way to the ring, smiling at them, before getting through the ropes. As Hanson poses in the middle of the ring, a gold and green pyro waterfall goes off behind him.~
Smith: We've received multiple calls from Hanson's publicist, trying to get this match cancelled or Hanson replaced. As you can see, those attempts didn't work.
Hood: Hey, Hanson wants to wrestle, let the sucker wrestle! We've had many wrestlers who have wanted to wrestle until they die.
Smith: We've had wrestlers ACTUALLY die.
Hood: Not for a while, though. Think we're overdue?
~As the pyro finishes, Hanson turns to see Canon standing right behind him. The two men study each other, face-to-face, each looking for that weak link.~
Smith: This should be an incredible contest for a first-round match! Two wrestlers with decades of experience in the business, both of whom could be seen as 'dark horses' in the Block Party tournament.
Hood: Can you be a dark horse at the fourth and fifth seeds? Shouldn't that be reserved for the bottom tier?
Smith: The fifth seed IS in the bottom tier.
Hood: Oh. Okay, fine, Hanson wins, he's a dark horse. Canon's a damn Hall of Famer, he should always be the favorite.
~The bell rings, and Belvedere quickly leaves the ring.~
Smith: And here we go!
Hood: Paramedics are standing by!
Smith: What? Why? This isn't a hardcore contest, even if Hanson would like it to be.
Hood: Just given the average age in there, I think it's a worthy concern.
Smith: Both of these wrestlers are still in peak physical condition, Hood. And they could both kick your ass.
Hood: Definitely, but I wouldn't call that much of a benchmark.
~The two wrestlers meet in the middle of the ring, sizing each other up. Neither seems tremendously impressed. But, in the spirit of the tournament, Canon decides to put out his hand to offer a veteran handshake. Hanson just stares at the hand, not responding, so Canon shrugs... then slaps Hanson across the face with it! Hanson quickly shakes it off, and backhands Canon as he steps in. Canon, staggered, takes a step back, as Hanson moves in, looking to pepper him with several strikes. But Canon dodges a punch and twists behind Hanson, using his speed to quickly pull Hanson down into a roll-up! Referee Gruff makes the count, but Hanson's able to kick out, despite the handful of tights Canon had.~
Smith: We almost had a shockingly quick match here, Hood.
Hood: Hey, there's no harm in trying to steal it as early as possible. This is for a tournament, you have to conserve yourself for future matches!
Smith: This isn't a one day tournament, the winner here won't wrestle again until the middle of April!
Hood: I still stand by my statement.
~Canon tries to keep up the momentum, shoving Hanson into the ropes, but Hanson reverses, sending Canon across the ring instead. As Canon comes back, Hanson gives him a backdrop, only for Canon to land on his feet. Hanson, though, spins around and grabs Canon as he turns around, spinning him with a Belly to Belly Suplex. Canon rolls away, holding his stomach, but Hanson doesn't let him get far. He grabs Canon and lifts him up, this time lifting Canon into the air with a stalling suplex. He finally drops Canon to the mat, showing off his strength. Canon, clutching at his back, tries to leave the ring, but Hanson won't let him, grabbing him by the hair. Canon can't pull free, as Hanson locks him in and delivers a thunderous double underhook overhead suplex! Hanson finally goes for his first cover of the night, but Canon manages to kicks out.~
Smith: Hanson's a suplex machine tonight!
Hood: What a cheat! He's abusing his size advantage!
Smith: Not something you hear about Noah Hanson everyday...
~Hanson, clearly enjoying himself, brings Canon up once more and locks him for another suplex. But this time Canon scores with a low knee, allowing him to break free of Hanson's grasp. Canon then jumps up with a dropkick that sends Hanson stumbling back into the ropes. He rebounds, coming back with a clothesline attempt, but Canon ducks under it and grabs an off-balance Hanson from behind, landing the Zig Zag! Canon follows it up with a standing shooting star press and tries for the pin, but Hanson shrugs him off. So Canon starts kneeing Hanson in the head repeatedly, trying to do as much damage as possible as Hanson tries to find a way to cover up!~
Smith: Vintage Curt Canon!
Hood: Of course, everything is vintage when it comes to him.
Smith: It would be a great comeback story for Curt Canon to win the Block Party Tournament for sure, and get him back into the main event scene.
.. if he doesn't stay retired, of course.
~Hanson struggles to his feet, dazed, as Canon moves off to the side. He runs up behind Hanson and leaps, landing a running Blockbuster! With Hanson down, Canon switches to a submission attack, applying a Calf Killer. Hanson immediately fights for the ropes, dragging the lighter Canon with him, and manages to grab hold. Canon refuses to let go at first, but Gruff threatens a disqualification, and Canon has no choice but to break. He grabs at Hanson and works to drag him away from the ropes. He stomps on Hanson a few times before then turning to the turnbuckle and heading up, thinking about going high risk! However, as Canon gets to the top, Hanson, having limped over, sweeps the legs, causing Canon to fall hard on the 'buckle! Hanson then goes up with Canon, bringing his arm around and lifting him off with a superplex! Both wrestlers are down for a moment, as Gruff watches them to see who will rise up first.~
Smith: So far this has been a very back-and-forth contest, as you would have expected.
Hood: Actually, I expected Canon to have Checkers get involved and distract Hanson to help out his friend, but considering how many suplexes Hanson is using today, it's probably better that Checkers stayed in the back.
~Hanson regains his feet first, and uses it to his advantage, kicking a still-seated Canon repeatedly in the back, then landing a stalling dropkick to the back of his head! Canon collapses to the mat, and Hanson tries to capitalize by going for the pin, bringing in one of Canon's legs. But Canon avoids the loss, kicking out of the attempt. Hanson, undeterred, quickly shifts around and double underhooks Canon, spinning over him for the Sunday Matinee submission! Canon is in a bad way, reversed in such a way that he couldn't even tap out. Gruff gets in close, checking, as Hanson racks up the pain. But Hanson can't hold it for too long, eventually having to drop the hold due to the strain of staying off the mat. He gets up, glaring down at the badly hurting Canon. With no mercy, Hanson drags the OCW Hall of Famer up and sets him for The Sureshot! But Canon somehow manages to free himself during the spin and lands on his feet, and then leaps right into the Canon Kick! Hanson falls facefirst from the hit, with Canon crumpling beside him. He puts an arm weakly across Hanson.~
1!
2!
Hood: Hanson kicks out!
Smith: He really had his brain rattled there, but his instincts were good enough to get his shoulder off the mat.
Hood: The way these wrestlers are, I fully expect one of them to kick out of the casket at their own funeral someday.
~Canon lands a few more kicks on Hanson's back, trying to keep him down. He then makes his way back to the corner, heading up top. This time, Hanson isn't able to rise to meet him, so Canon positions himself for a Red Arrow! But Hanson does the next best thing, rolling over away from the corner, causing an annoyed Canon to watch from his turnbuckle. Hanson starts to pull himself up, as Canon hops back down to the mat. He rushes in, with Hanson turning and grabbing him, throwing him up in the air. But Canon lands feet-first on the turnbuckle, then springs back off with a moonsault! But Hanson catches Canon on his shoulder! He holds a desperately kicking Canon for a second before dropping with a shoulder jawbreaker!! Canon flops backwards and Hanson moves over to make the cover.~
1!
2!
Smith: No! Canon kicks out!
Hood: Hanson pulled that move out of nowhere, and it was almost enough. Hell of a match, we should have saved this for the PPV!
Smith: Unfortunately these two got the draw in the first round.
Hood: Damn Zybala!
~Hanson, no longer wanting to waste any time, slowly pulls Canon up and locks him in, before snapping him down with the Summer Bomb! Canon's down, as Hanson once again makes the cover...~
1!
2!
3, NO! Canon kicks out!
~Hanson looks frustrated for a second or two, but he shakes it off, having been in this situation many times before. He moves off to the ropes, working to control his breathing, as Canon ever-so-slowly pulls himself off the canvas. Hanson preps his elbow, impatiently waiting for Canon to reach the right height. When Canon does, Hanson charges, looking for the Mirikuru!! But Canon slides out of the way, avoiding the strike by mere centimeters. He then continues the reversal, grabbing at Hanson and delivering Divine Intervention!! Both men are down, but Canon landed on top, so Gruff slides into position...~
1!
2!
NO!
Smith: That was almost it, but Hanson was able to shift Canon off of him!
Hood: If Canon could have gotten his full weight on him, that might have been it!
~Canon pulls himself up, looking around for a moment as if looking for inspiration. He sees Hanson starting to get up and heads to the side, firing up and positioning for the Chronicles End! He lets out a yell and runs in, but Hanson half-dodges, half-collapses, falling to a knee as Canon soars over him. Canon partially lands on his feet and grabs at the ropes, before turning back and trying to kick Hanson in the head. Hanson knocks it away, rises, and blocks another shot, stepping in and twisting Canon around to land the Big Opening Weekend!! The fans are cheering loudly, enjoying the action, as Gruff takes up his position. But Hanson's a little too out of it at the moment to make the cover, instead using the time to regain a little more consciousness.~
Smith: Both of these guys are giving us everything they've got!
Hood: Is this tournament really worth this much pain?
Smith: To these wrestlers, yes, of course it is!
Hood: They should get a cushy announcer job instead. Much less pain, and still get to see the bloodshed. Any interest in giving up your seat to a veteran?
Smith: Heck no!
Hood: I knew it, you commie bastard! You'd make them stand, wouldn't you?
Smith: I... what?
Hood: Asshole.
~Hanson regains enough whereabouts to locate Curt and yanks him to his feet. Curt stands in the center of the ring, swaying back and forth. Hanson measures him up, spins around and lunges forward with Mirikuri (rolling elbow)!!! Canon ducks!!! Hanson’s momentum spins him around. Canon grabs Noah by the arms and pulls him to the mat with a backslide!! Scruff slides in~
1!
2!
3!!!
~The bell rings! The fans go wild!! Noah kicks out right at three. Canon looks around, shocked the counter worked~
Belvedere: Here is your winner…CURT CANON!!!!!
Smith: Canon did it! He stunned Noah Hanson!
Hood: WHAT THE FUCK
Smith: I can’t believe it! I thought Curt was finished!
Hood: HE WAS
~Curt, on his feet, has his hand raised. The fans chant “DAREDEVIL!” Curt pauses and pulls the mask from within his pants. The crowd goes wild~
Smith: These fans want to see DareDevil!
Hood: He had it in his pants this entire time? Gross
~Before Canon and slip the mask on Noah rises up and drops Curt with a LOW BLOW!! Noah grabs the mask and stuffs it in Canon’s face, smothering the OCW legend from replenishing his lungs with air. He tosses the mask away and wraps both hands around Canon’s throat, choking Curt with unbridled rage~
Smith: Noah Hanson has lost it!
Hood: No shit, man. Guy comes over here…graces us with his presence and LOSES? That’s some fucked up shit.
Smith: Hey…Curt Canon is a Hall of Famer, Hood. This is a tournament for an OCW Title shot…it’s not exactly easy competition.
Hood: Yea, well Noah may be about to eliminate Curt via post match strangulation
~Noah continues to choke Curt. Curt’s face starts to darken…he’s losing what little oxygen he has remaining. Noah has a crazed look in his eyes. He’s got the eyes of a madman…a competitor furious over a ‘fluke’ loss. Canon’s arms begin to go limp. The fans are booing. They are chanting for help~
Smith: We need some help out here!
Hood: Nah, we’re cool. This will just prevent us from ever having to see DAREDEVIL in the future
~The crowd suddenly reacts! Our POV switches to find DARIN ZION sprinting to the ring. He slides in, under the bottom rope. Noah, defensive at first, lets Canon go and pops to his feet. The fans, cheering at first, quiet down. The situation goes from ‘obvious save’ to…well, we’re not sure what this crazy Zion guy has on his mind~
Smith: Well, his presence has momentarily spared Canon.
Hood: Smart money is on Zion and Hanson shaking hands and kicking the shit out of Curt.
Smith: Oh dear, I hope not!
~Zion talks with Hanson. These two clearly have a past. Hanson runs his hand through his sweat soaked hair. He doesn’t seem to trust Zion~
Smith: I think these two have history, Hood.
Hood: No shit, Smith.
~Zion reaches out, patting Noah on the shoulder. This slightly lowers Noah’s guard. Once it’s lower, Zion snares Noah! The crowd goes wild!~
Smith: He’s out here to attack Noah! He’s looking for the Destination Kick!
Hood: Fuck this guy!
Smith: I’m warming up to Darin Zion! Nice to know not everyone in HOW is a jerk!
~Zion tries to get Noah in position for the Destination Kick. Noah, however, being the true ring vet that he is, realizes what’s coming and is able to get away and slide out of the ring. He heads up the ramp. Noah turns around, facing the ring. Zion remains standing, pointing at Noah. Hanson responds with a pissed off expression~
Smith: This has not been Noah’s night.
Hood: Nope, it seems as though a Darin Zion and Noah Hanson match is in order.
Smith That would be one heck of a contest!
~We cut backstage to the locker room of the True Living Vampire. He is visibly not happy. Judas is sat on a nearby chair amping his client up~
Judas: Well Robert, tonight is the night.
Morbidus: Tonight, Judas is the beginning. Tonight is the start of the destruction of Mario Maurako. Tonight is the start of the road to redemption and glory. But I am not happy Judas.
Judas: And why is that?
Morbidus: Because... there is no place like OCW. This place is a cess pit... Do you remember the story of Sweeney Todd: The Demon Barber of Fleet Street?
Judas: Why yes, it is a Stephen Sondheim classic.
Morbidus: Well tonight, I am the metaphorical Sweeney Todd and Mario Maurako is my Judge Turpin.
Judas: Do you plan on slitting the throat of our good friend Mario? I don't think rules permit that.
Morbidus: A pity. No, but I will win tonight
~We cut back to ringside~
Smith: Morbidus is confident
Hood: Why shouldn't he be? The dude believes he's a vampire.
Smith: Will his confidence be enough to overcome a two time Hall of Famer? Let's find out!
El Linchador Bracket – 1st Round
(2) Mario Maurako (9-4) vs. (7) Robert Morbidus (5-4)
~The fans in the OCW Arena all stand and stare at the ring. There is an eerie vibe. Is it because they know the presence of a VAMPIRE is about to consume the building’s aura? Or, did the concession stands run out of beer? We can’t be entirely sure. Belvedere clears his throat~
Belvedere: Ladies and Gentlemen…the following contest is a first round match in the El Linchador Bracket! Introducing first…
~'The Animal' by Disturbed begins to play as the arena lights go blood red with smoke filling the ringside area - almost like fog and through the curtain steps Morbidus' manager and legal counsel, Mr. Judas. He stands there for a few seconds with an evil smile before motioning backwards. A few seconds go by and then Robert Morbidus steps through the curtain with a deadly serious look on his face. He barges past Judas and storms down to the ring. Morbidus then goes to a corner and eyes the ramp with eyes like a hawk. Judas then goes to Morbidus' corner on the outside providing last minute advice and encouragement~
Belvedere: From The Other Side of Darkness…standing 6’6 and weighing in at 275lbs…please welcome back 'The True Living Vampire' Robert Morbidus!!!!
Smith: And he’s back, Hood!
Hood: Guess we ran out of garlic.
Smith: Morbidus had some memorable matches in 2017. He’s back, here in 2019, looking to make a run in the Block Party Tournament.
Hood: Good luck, vamp. You’re gonna need it.
Belvedere: And, his opponent…
~Ego by Element Eighty begins to play before being totally drowned out by boos. Mario Maurako, a proud member of the eMpire, emerges from behind the curtain. He looks out into the crowd. They continue to boo the man. Mario soaks in the jeers. The look on his face isn’t so much pride as it is relief. Relief that he’s unburdened himself of the invisible load that comes with trying to appease the fans. Exhaling a deep breath, Mario makes his way to the ring~
Belvedere: From Minneapolis, Minnesota via Rome, Italy…standing 6’2 and weighing in at 265lbs…he is a two time OCW Hall of Famer…he is a member of the eMpire…he is…Mario Maurako!!
~This time the boos consume Mario’s music. They are incredibly loud. Mario makes his way up the steps and enters into the ring. Again, he appears as a man relieved, free~
Smith: These fans are still angry over his antics.
Hood: Jealous idiots…angry at a man for attempting to better himself.
Smith: He seriously injured one best friend and nearly did the same to another! All while siding with some…with some…
Hood: Just go ahead and say it…some posers!
Smith: That’s not what I was thinking, but it works!
~Belvedere exits the ring. The bell sounds. Mario finally catches the eyes of Morbidus. The vampire has been eying Mario since he arrived. Mario simply hadn’t noticed…a refreshing byproduct of giving no fucks. Mario, inside the ring, leans into his corner, looking sideways at Morbs~
Smith: Morbidus is a unique first round challenge for Maurako.
Hood: Yea…ya know, if you think about it…Mario’s got TWO shots at earning an OCW Title tonight. His first round match, right now…and then the main event later this evening.
Smith: There does seem to be a heavy push from at least a few sources to help Mario achieve a career long goal of earning the OCW Championship.
~Mario looks around, finally taking stock of the atmosphere. A very pro-Morbidus crowd…or, well, more like a very ANTI-Mario crowd. Mario stands upright and shakes his head, almost admonishing the fans for having an opinion. He saunters toward the middle of the ring. Morbidus wastes no time in meeting Mario there. Mario looks up at Morbidus.…Morbidus has the height advantage. Mario is thicker, more muscular. He gives Morbidus an arrogant shove, pushing the vampire out of his ‘personal space’. Morbidus responds by unleashing lefts and rights into the face of Mario!! The crowd goes wild~
Smith: I don’t think The True Living Vampire enjoyed Mario’s perfunctory attitude
Hood: I don’t know what that means but it appears Morbidus doesn’t like people who are dicks.
Smith: Same thing
~Mario is rocked! He’s stumbling back into a corner. Morbidus lifts a knee into Mario’s gut, doubling the OCW legend over. Robert straightens Mario up and unleashes a HUGE knife edged chop!! Mario gasps for air. There’s a giant red slash across his chest…Robert’s chop landed in the same spot Cyanide’s ‘run chop’ made its mark. Mario stumbles forward, holding his chest~
Smith: That spot is still tender from Social Justice
Hood: You think Mario had some garlic before the match? Is that why Morbidus is so angry?
Smith: I don’t think so, Hood.
Hood: So Mario hates garlic? That isn’t very Italian.
Smith: I’m sure he likes garlic well enough…I don’t see him eating it before the match.
Hood: I don’t know, Smith. Garlic breath against a vampire sounds like a fairly potent weapon.
~Morbidus comes up from behind Mario, fish hooking Mario around the mouth. The awkwardness and unique level of pain temporarily paralyzes Maurako. Morbidus manages to get his arm around Mario’s head, from behind, dropping him to the mat with an Inverted DDT. Morbidus returns to his feet, quickly, standing over Mario. He begins to stomp away on the two time Hall of Famer~
Smith: Morbidus in control early on.
Hood: Guy is moving with a vicious purpose, Smith. You know he wants to win but you also get the sense he wants to hurt.
Smith: I think everyone, including Mr. Judas, would admit that Robert’s first run in OCW was less than satisfactory. They are hoping for improved results this go around.
Hood: Starting off by defeating Mario in the first round of this tournament would be a hell of a start.
~Robert pulls Mario off the mat and drives a few forearm uppercuts through Mario’s chest. The impact sends Mario staggering back, into the ropes. Morbidus delivers another knife edged chop, strategically placed, like the first. Mario winces…but not for long. Something within is triggered by that chop. He looks up at Robert and drills him with a right hand! The vampire is rocked! Mario can’t capitalize…he’s still reeling from the early onslaught. Morbidus recovers and throws a third knife edged chop as retaliation…Mario, however, blocks it, spins Robert around, hooks him around the waist and deadlifts him off the mat for a German Suplex~
Smith: Oh no!!
Hood: German over the top rope to the outside? Can vampires break their neck?
~Mario struggles, lifting Morbidus off the mat…he gets him up, hoping to toss him over the top rope. However, by the time Morbidus reaches the apex of the move, Mario has very little momentum. So, Robert punches Mario in the face, eliminating any possibility of suffering the full impact of the move. He transitions, while in the air, grabbing Mario by the head. He then comes down, driving Mario face first into the mat with a bulldog~
Smith: Whew…I’m not pulling for anyone in this match…but a German over the top rope would have been devastating.
Hood: Mario’s out for blood, Smith. He brought in these mercenary buddies of his from HOW. Now he’s trying to figure out a new way to kill a vampire.
Smith: He’s not trying to kill anything.
Hood: What are you talking about? He comes out here reeking of garlic and then he tries throwing Morbidus onto his neck. Mario is attempting homicide in front of our very eyes!
~Mario is face down on the mat. He tries to push up onto all fours. Morbidus grabs him by the hair, yanking Mario to his feet. He finds wrist control. He yanks Mario forward, looking for a short arm clothesline. Mario ducks…he pops up behind Robert, hooks him, lifts him up and drops him with Super Mario (Full Nelson Slam)!!! Morbidus hits hard!! Mario drops to one knee upon executing the maneuver~
Smith: Devastating Full Nelson Slam by Mario Maurako! He’s back in this!
Hood: Man you can’t ever count these legends out…I guess, well, yea, now I sound stupid.
Smith: That’s why they are legends, Hood!
Hood: Yea, yea, figured that out halfway through my idiotic statement.
~Mario returns to his feet. He moves to pull Morbidus up. Mario’s hand, about to grab Robert’s hair pulls back. The vampire sits up. Mario is taken back by this, for a split second. Morbidus gets to a knee. Mario throws a kick into Robert’s chest, attempting to subdue the resilient big man. Robert, though, gets to his feet as though nothing happened. He reaches out and grips Mario by the throat! Mario’s eyes widen. Robert bullies Mario back, near a corner. Scruff administers a five count. Mario throws his foot out, clipping Morbidus in the knee. This slightly hyperextends Robert’s knee, causing Morbidus to stumble back, losing his grip. Mario hops onto the second rope. Robert stands upright…Mario jumps off and lands on top of Morbidus with a crossbody!!! The ring shakes due to all the weight crashing down!! Mario remains on top of Morbidus for the pin~
1!
2!
Kick Out!
Smith: Kick out by Morbidus!
Hood: Hey, who knew Mario could still fly?
Smith: I doubt he planned on taking flight in this match, Hood. He’s simply going with whatever this match gives him.
Hood: Well, it worked…I mean, kinda.
~Mario gets to his knees. He glares at Scruff…he starts to yell, but backs off. His eyes do this funny thing where they go from angry to confused. He stands and appears to be short of breath. This lapse in focus allows Morbidus a chance to get to his feet. Mario seems to regain his breath and goes back after Morbidus. He drills Robert with a few hard right hands. Morbidus sways back and forth, but refuses to fall. Mario backs up, charges forward and drills Morbidus with a lariat!! The big man remains on his feet! Mario backs into the corner again…he flashes back to a few moments earlier. He hops onto the middle rope. He stands…he hesitates, taking in a few deep breaths. Morbidus charges in and punches Mario in the lower abdomen!!! Mario is stunned, standing atop the middle buckle. Morbidus reaches up, grabs Mario by the head, yanks him off the middle buckle and down to the mat with a Jawbreaker (Death Kiss)!!! Mario appears to be out! Morbidus rolls him over and goes for the pin~
1!
2!
SHOULDER UP
Smith: Mario got the shoulder up!
Hood: Fuckin barely…the hell is with him, anyway?
Smith: Cardiovascular issues, I’d say…at least, that’s how it looked.
Hood: Should this guy…ya know, be wrestling?
Smith: The Knife Man seems to think so!
~Morbidus returns to his feet, like clockwork. It seems as though no amount of damage can keep this man down for very long. He pulls Mario up and spins him around…Mario’s back facing Robert’s front. He lifts Mario up, looking for an inverted slam. Mario wraps his right around Morbidus’ head and throws a few quick jabs into the vampire’s face. Robert drops Mario. Mario lands on his feet and quickly transitions, taking Morbidus from behind. He seamlessly locks in La Omerta!!! The crowd rises! Morbidus is trapped! His arms are yanked up and back, pulled tight. The pressure is immense! Morbidus winces, he remains quiet, but it’s quite clear the pain is intense~
Smith: La Omerta!! Mario is looking for the submission!
Hood: Can vampires submit?
Smith: I’d imagine so
Hood: Maybe Mario needs to lean in closer and breath in Robert’s face…give him a heavy dose of that garlic breath.
~Robert drops to one knee. The crowd senses a tap. Scruff is leaning in, close…looking for capitulation. Morbidus will not give up. He does, however, look to be wearing down, physically. Scruff reaches over, grabbing Robert’s arm to test his level of consciousness. Morbidus swats Scruff away. Scruff jumps back with a look that says, “Okay, so he’s still awake.” Mario yells out, applying as much pressure as his body is capable. Sweat is leaking from his head, down to his toes~
Smith: Applying a submission…especially one as physically demanding as a Full Nelson can wear out the applicant almost as much as the recipient.
Hood: Bullshit…if so, why apply the fucking move?
Smith: Because it’s absolutely taxing on an opponent. Look at Morbidus…his shoulders appear ready to dislocate simultaneously.
Hood: Yea and look at Mario…if he were a towel you could probably wring enough water out of him to quench an entire third world village.
~Mario is, indeed, appearing fatigued. Morbidus, once again, dips his head, his eyes shut. He appears to be sleeping…or meditating the pain away. Scruff comes over to check Robert’s arm. Very much like before, Morbidus snaps at Scruff as soon as his hand makes contact. Maurako looks around like “are you serious?” Morbidus starts to fight to his feet. Mario turns his head right…then left…sweat flies from his face. Morbidus is nearly on his feet when Mario jams a knee into Robert’s back, sending him back to one knee. The crowd boos~
Smith: Mario is determined to end it right here, right now.
Hood: Yea man you can’t let a fucking vampire hang around. They go straight for the jugular…at least that’s what I’ve heard.
Smith: Ha ha, very funny
~Morbidus doesn’t stay down long! He fights up…regaining his footing. Mario, frustrated by Robert’s inability to submit, finally does the one thing he can think to do at this juncture. He lifts Morbidus up and SLAMS him into the mat with another Super Mario!!! Morbidus hits hard! Mario staggers to his side…he drops to one knee, planting his fist into the mat for support. A very prone Morbidus lays a few feet away…but Mario is unable to immediately capitalize~
Smith: Maurako is exhausted! Applying La Omerta for so long extracted almost all of his energy!
Hood: Guy needs to maybe cut some weight…quit bulking up.
Smith: Yea, the added weight hasn’t really seemed to benefit him tonight.
Hood: Or maybe it has and we just haven’t realized it. Like, if Mario came in here at 240…maybe he’d already be heading home with a big, fucking, spooky loss.
Smith: Yea, maybe
~Mario regains enough stamina to increase his awareness of the moment. He crawls over, toward Morbidus in desperate nature. He leaps on top of Robert for the pin. It’s taken so long! But, he’s in pin position…Scruff slides in~
1!
2!
3…NO!
Smith: Robert Morbidus kicked out!
Hood: Well, that was unexpected.
Smith: Mario took too long! The vampire has recovered as, well, vampires are wont to do.
Hood: Oh so now you know ALL about vampire recuperation…how convenient! Always controlling the narrative…you…you…narrative controller!
Smith: Well, alright then.
~Mario, on both knees, holds three fingers at Scruff, hoping that maybe, maybe he can change his mind or, perhaps his aging ears heard wrong. Scruff holds two fingers up in response. Mario slams both fists into the mat, frustrated. He pauses and looks over…his eyes find a pair of boots. Slowly, his face moves upward to find the giant, creepy, unkillable fucking vampire standing over him. Mario’s got that classic “Oh shit” look on his face. Morbidus reaches down, snaring Mario by the head~
Smith: This does not bode well for Mario.
Hood: That fucking guy is already back on his feet! Vampire staminda…CONFIRMED to be…I don’t know, supernatural?
Smith: Well, that would fit.
Hood: We need to get Mario some crosses. ARE THERE ANY WOODEN STEAKS AROUND RINGSIDE? ANYBODY?
Smith: Calm down! There won’t be any stabbing going on inside that ring!
Hood: Who said anything about stabbing? I’m looking for a wooden block of ‘meat’.
Smith: Huh?
Hood: A wooden steak. You know, so the vampire bites into it and breaks his jaw.
Smith: It’s not STEAK, you idiot. It’s STAKE! Like…what you stab someone with.
Hood: Huh…now that you mention it…that does make more sense. ARE THERE ANY WOODEN STAKES IN THE CROWD? ANYBODY PACKING SOME WOODEN HEAT?
~A few college aged guys snicker at Hood’s phrasing. Hood pauses upon hearing the snickering, thinks about what he just said, but moves along. Morbidus has Mario up…he lifts him into the air in the reverse body slam position, jumps up and drills Mario, front first into the mat with Vampire’s Redemption!!! Morbidus returns to his feet, leaning into a corner, keeping a very baleful gaze upon the two time OCW Hall of Famer~
Smith: Mario is down!! Morbidus is in total control!
Hood: Fucking hell…the eMpire is faltering! Already!
Smith: It’s just one match, Hood. ONE MATCH
Hood: Yes but the entire point of all this…to me, anyway, is to get Mario where he’s never been…the OCW SUMMIT!
~The crowd suddenly reacts. Our POV shifts to locate an individual hopping the barricade. Fans at ringside seem to recognize the man…they begin to freak out. He hops onto the apron with something in his hand. Scruff, attempting to do his job, heads the man’s way~
Smith: Hood! That’s another one of those HOW guys!
Hood: Don’t tell me his name starts with…ya know…
Smith: This man’s name is Cecilworth Farthington!
Hood: What a dick!
Smith: Why do you say that?
Hood: That’s a long ass name to put on match banners and roster images…ya know, for the website guy.
Smith: You say that like he CHOSE his name.
~Farthington takes the item in his hand and unwraps it. We notice the outside layer is a t-shirt. It’s got the eMpire logo on it! He throws the shit at Scruff! It hits him in the face! Scruff struggles, getting it off his head. Wrapped within the shirt is a wooden cross. Farthington turns to locate Morbidus. As he does, a hand reaches out, grabbing him by the throat. Cecilworth chops down at the bend in Robert’s arm, keeping Morbidus from clutching him. Cecilworth BLASTS Morbidus in the head with the wooden cross!!! It shatters! Morbidus stumbles around…he seems out on his feet. Farthington has a jagged edge in his hand – a remnant from the now shattered cross. A devilish idea seems to cross his mind. He looks to step into the ring…however, Morbidus’ menton, Mr. Judas grabs Cecilworth by the leg. Farthington, more annoyed than concerned, hops off the apron and takes Judas down with a HUGE lariat!!! The crowd boos and chants “GET THE FUCK OUT!” at Cecilworth. He couldn’t care less~
Smith: He’s ruined this match!
Hood: I guess he heard my plea for a wooden STAKE
Smith: Morbidus was on his way to the biggest win of his career and now…now THIS
Hood: These men are on a mission, Smith.
~Mario returns to his feet. He looks around. He sees Scruff remove the eMpire shirt from his face, returning to his full faculties. He sees Cecilworth on the outside, urging him to finish the job. Mario looks at Morbidus who is bleeding from the top of his head. The man is a wounded animal that needs to be put down~
Smith: Another one of those moments for Mario…is he a competitor or is he willing to win at all costs?
Hood: Dude’s come this far…why stop now?
~Mario moves forward…he grabs Morbidus, locks in the Full Nelson, ragdolls Robert around awhile before lifting him up and planting him into the mat with the THIRD Super Mario!!!! Morbidus is down. Mario goes for the pin…Scruff slides in~
1!
2!
3!!!!
~The bell rings~
Belvedere: Here is your winner….MARIO MAURAKO!!!!!
Smith: More tomfoolery ruining a first round result!
Hood: the eMpire strikes again!
Smith: Is Cecilworth in the eMpire?
Hood: Hmm, good question…dude doesn’t have an M anywhere in his name. Maybe he’s just a really big fan?
Smith: I don’t know, but he seemed extremely eager to help Mario further his mission. That’s lockstep with the eMpire’s goal.
Hood: Plus, he had the shirt. Those shirts aren’t even available yet. Total inside job, if you ask me.
~Farthington slides into the ring. He picks up the eMpire shirt and hands it to Scruff, patting the OCW veteran ref on the chest. Scruff, knowing better than to refuse an offering by a group like the eMpire takes it and quickly vacates the ring. Cecilworth helps Mario to his feet, hoisting his arm in the air in triumph. The crowd boos…they are a vulgar bunch, telling Cecilworth and Mario to “FUCK OFF”~
Smith: Is Farthington in OCW or was this merely an HOW drive by?
Hood: I hope the guy sticks around…he’s got his fucking priorities straight.
Smith: Agree to disagree. Regardless of what the future holds for Cecilworth, he’s already made a tremendous impact by altering the course of this tournament.
Hood: You act like Morbidus was going all the way or some shit.
Smith: Hey may have, Hood! That’s the point! Due to Cecilworth’s interference…we’ll never know.
Hood: Farthington is simply keeping this business on the up and up. We can’t have mother fucking vampires winning tournaments around here. That’d be crazy.
Smith: I’m sure some light will be shed on this in the coming weeks. But, make no mistake about it…Cecilworth Farthington has made an impact here in OCW!
~The scene opens up backstage in what was the co-office of acting General Manager Marcus Welsh and Commissioner Greg. We do not see Welsh, but Mike Zybala sitting behind the G.M. desk and Greg sitting behind his desk. Both men are laying back with their eyes closed, relaxing on very expensive looking massage chairs. Welsh walks into the office looking happy, but that happiness goes away when he sees Zybala~
Welsh: Mike! What the hell are you doing here?!
~Zybala's eyes open and smiles at Welsh.~
Zybala: Testing out the new chairs I got for the office.
Welsh: I didn’t approve of this! Why massage chairs when we already have a masseuse?
~Zybala lowers the vibrations of his chair~
Zybala: I had a talk with YOUR personal masseuse, Marcus. Sounds like he didn’t come cheap. In fact, upon doing the math, I realized that two massage chair would be cheaper than one night’s worth of work from Trevoire Keinte. Besides, these are top of the line models that you don't have to pay every time you use them.
Welsh: Don’t tell me you fired TK.
~Zybala nods. He points to the tip of his nose indicating that Welsh hit the nail on the head. Welsh glares at Greg~
Greg: I’m sorry, Marcus. I’m just the commish.
Welsh: Yes and HE’S NOTHING! How in the HELL does this keep happening? I’m going to veto -
Zybala: Nope.
Welsh: Excuse me?
Zybala: It’s too late, Greg already signed off on it. Trevoire Keinte went home and he’s never to return.
Welsh: Well that’s just GREAT
~Welsh grabs a coffee mug with MIKE ROTH’S name on it. He throws it as hard as he can at the wall. Zybala leaps out of his chair, catching the mug before it smashes to pieces against the wall~
Zybala: Don’t you dare! This mug is special.
Welsh: Yea, right...why don’t you put some jager in it or something.
~Zybala smiles, pulls out a small key and opens up the bottom drawer of the g.m. desk. He pulls out a bottle of Blue Label Jack Daniels and fills the mug. He then puts the bottle back in the drawer and locks it. He sips his whiskey and looks at Welsh.
Zybala: You know, you were much nicer to Matt when he was the Face of OCW. how come you can't treat me the same way now that I'm the Face?
Welsh: That must be some strong booze if you think I'd ever consider you the Face of my company.
~ Zybala smiles and pats Welsh on the chest~
Zybala: Oh, don't be like that. We all know you want to stay in charge and that's why you're cheering me on to not only win the tourney, but also to keep the OCW title until I retire. I'll leave you and Greg alone to enjoy the chairs. Enjoy the rest of your night, boss.
~Zybala exits. Greg looks over at Marcus, concerned~
Welsh: Relax, Greg...you know I’d never hurt you without asking.
~Greg smiles. Marcus decides to hop into the chair. He turns it on and leans back, trying not to smile~
Greg: Zybala moved pretty quick to catch that mug.
Welsh: Yea, let’s hope he isn’t that spry in two weeks when he faces Hayley Robinson.
Greg: Do you want him to win or lose?
Welsh: Ugh, I don’t know. I like watching him suffer...but I also like having my job. This situation sucks.
Greg: At least you’ve got this chair.
Welsh: Yea, it’s actually not that -
~A loud pop is heard...the chair catches on fire~
Welsh: What the?!
Greg: Ahhh!!
~Welsh flies out of the chair and begins kicking at the fire, trying to put it out~
Hood: Zybala just tried to kill our GM! Right Smith...Smith...SMITH?!
~Standing in the middle of the ring is Smith with a mic in his hand.~
Smith: It is my honor right now to introduce one of the favorites in the Block Party Tournament, who will have his first round match next week against James Raven. Ladies and Gentlemen, boys and girls! Bester!
~Arch Enemy’s The Eagle Flies alone plays as it’s a mixed reaction of cheers and boos, but the boos from the under 14 crowd get loud as Bester and Joe Jones step out from the back. Bester is still taken back by the boos from his Rainbow Warriors and Shining Stars. Joe rubs Bester on the shoulder and tells him it’ll be okay. As they make their way down to the ring, Bester is telling his bitter and jaded Rainbow Warriors that he is sorry. After some time Bester and Joe finally climb in the ring. Bester goes and stands next to Smith while Joe lays back and hangs out in a corner.~
Smith: Bester! Joe! It’s great to have you out here. We haven’t seen you in action since you lost the Craze title to Andrea Hernandez. I think I speak for everyone when I say that we have missed you, especially all of your Rainbow Warriors!
~Boos~
Bester: Mister Smith, if I could for just one minute address my Rainbow Warriors, who I have severally let down over the past couple of months for my actions and my words I have said to our current Craze champion Miss Hernandez, who! if I may say, is doing a fantastic job as champion.
Smith: By all means Bester.
Bester: I am sorry! I was nothing but a bully towards Miss Hernandez and I understand why you no longer believe in me! I wish I never threw my mask away, I wish I was standing here as Orgulloso Guardian Del Arcoiris. I deserve the cold shoulder you are giving me. I was a bully and a meanie! I just hope that over time you can forgive me and we can go back to fighting the good fight and putting bullies and meanies in their places! The world is a better place without them in it and we should all learn to love one another and live in peace. But until then. I will still be your OCW Superhero! Thank you Mister Smith.
Smith: Heartfelt words for the former Craze Champion. But! That could all change at Block Party with a couple of wins Bester! And for you, the road to Block Party, to winning this 32 man tournament begins next week against James Raven.
Bester: Correct Mister Smith. I will face Mister Raven, who, I know very little of. Mister Raven seems like a nice guy, but I’m sure. I’m just taking Mister Jones’s word on this.
Joe Jones: Smith. If I may, just interject for a second. If you think we haven’t seen Bester in a while, when was the last time James was in a OCW ring?
Smith: It has been a while for sure. Bester I want to ask you about…
Bester: Mister Smith? I have a question.
Smith: (Laughs) Okay? What is your question Bester?
Bester: I once knew a Miss Raven. A Miss Autumn Raven. I wrestled Miss Raven several times.
Smith: Okay?
Bester: Is Mister Raven her husband?
Smith: I don’t think so Bester.
Bester: Are they brother and sister? Because what little film I did find on Mister Raven leads me to believe that they are because they seem alike.
Smith: Perhaps? I am not sure Bester. I think you will have to ask James.
Joe Jones: Excuse me, sorry. Just a second Smith. Best! I’m pretty sure that they are unrelated.
Bester: Oh? Well that’s good to know Mister Jones. Either way, Mister Raven better not make plans to be at Block Party. I am going to bust my rear end off and grind my tailbone to make sure that I am one of the final 8 to make it to Block Party. That is my goal Mister Smith. To be one of the final 8 to be at Block Party and then, to be the last man standing.
Smith: And I think you can do that Bester. But I have to ask you, it was announced that next week, in your match against James Raven, you will have company in your corner in the form of one Audrey Baxter. How does that make you feel?
Bester: Oh….yes. Miss Baxter. She, Yes, she will be in my corner.
Smith: Does this make you feel uncomfortable Bester?
Bester: I did ask Mister Welsh for another advance on my paycheck for new wrestling gear, to, you know, huh, I don’t want to look like a slob for Miss Baxter. I should have nice wrestling gear right?
Smith: Well. Yes, yes you should have nice gear.
Bester: Mister Smith? Does this mean that Miss Baxter forgives me for making her all wet? I have tried to say sorry several times. I even bought her several gifts but she hasn’t said that she forgives me. I don’t want to go to jail for rape, or assault or something.
Joe Jones: Smith, if I may. I think you’re good Bester. I think it’s safe to say, that she forgives you. We have talked about this several times already. Audrey is a complicated women, right Smith?
Smith: Yes! I think you’re good Bester. I don’t think Audrey Baxter is going to press charges against you.
Bester: Oh thank goodness! I didn’t want to go to, What did you call it Mister Jones? From that movie? Office Space?
Joe Jones: Oh! Pound me in the ass jail?
Bester: Yeah…..that. I didn’t want to go there. At all.
Joe Jones: Sometimes, it’s a great place to be at Bester.
Bester: I’ll…..I’ll just take your word for it.
Smith: Okay! So this got weird real quick. Bester! I wouldn’t worry about Audrey Baxter pressing charges and good luck to you next week against James Raven! I do hope we see at Block Party.
Bester: Thank you Mister Smith! I will try my darndest!
Smith: No problem Bester. Up next is….
~Bester hugs Smith and this catches Smith off guard. Hood cracks up laughing as we fade towards the back.~
Hood: I...man...I'm lost without douche bag sitting next to me. I think we have more matches to come? Shit, where's my program...
~Hood looks for his program. He pauses, realizing the camera is just sitting on him~
Hood: Fucking cut to something...like a Block Party logo or some shit!
Smith: And we're back!
Hood: Whew
Smith: Everything alright?
Hood: Oh yea, total breeze without you up here. In fact, I think you get in my way most of the time.
Smith: Hmm...well do you mind if I go and grab a soda while the final tournament match of the evening gets underway?
~Hood lunges at Smith, grabbing him by the arm~
Hood: NO! PLEASE! DON'T EVER LEAVE ME OUT HERE ALONE AGAIN!
~Awkward pause~
Hood: Uhh, I mean...be a fucking professional and do your damn job, Smith.
Smith: Sure. Let's head down to ringside for our fourth and final first round match up within the El Linchador bracket!
El Linchador Bracket – Round 1
(3) Andrea Hernandez © (9-3) vs. (6) Dangerous Dan (5-4)
~The OCW crowd is on their feet, still in the midst of an incredible night of action on Monday Night Massacre. The camera takes a moment to pan across the sea of fans, as the action gradually cuts back toward the ring where Belvedere is waiting to introduce the next match.~
Belvedere: Ladies and gentlemen, the following contest is scheduled for one fall and is a first round match within the El Linchador Bracket! Introducing first, making his way to the ring… from Smithville, Tennessee…
~The lights go out as a strobe of red and blue begin flashing across the arena~
"I was born in a thunderstorm
Belvedere: Standing at 5’11” and weighing in at 225lbs… DANGEROUS… DAAAAAAN!
~The man himself, Dangerous Dan, emerges onto the stage area, staring out into the crowd. “Alive” by Corvyx corvix continues to play as he begins making his way towards the ring, embracing the fans but keeping himself cold and in control. Climbing the ring steps and heading up to the turnbuckle, he points to the crowd and lip syncs "I'm still breathing..." from his theme song lyrics.~
Smith: Dangerous Dan hoping to be dangerous enough tonight to overcome the odds and advance to the second round of the tournament, Hood. He’s got no small mountain to climb tonight, having the misfortune of drawing none other than the OCW Craze Champion herself, Andrea Hernandez.
Hood: You know what might help? If he gets down on his knees and sings his own theme song. There is no better way to prepare for an important match like this than to get on your FUCKING KNEES and sing your own theme song.
~Dan slowly climbs down the turnbuckle and stands in the middle of the ring, as the lights dim and a spotlight shines on him. He falls to his knees as the lyrics from his song blasts over the PA~
Dangerous Dan: I'm ALIVE...I'm ALIVE...I'm ALIIIIIIIIIIIVE!"
Hood: Oh, well see, he’s got it in the bag now. He did the thing.
~The spotlight fades out as Dan stands to his feet and takes his corner. His music softly fades to a close, as it is suddenly replaced by the opening soundwaves of “Ultranumb” by Blue Stahli.~
Belvedere: And his opponent, from Sedona, Arizona… standing at 5’4” and weighing in at 125lbs….
~Andrea Hernandez appears on the stage, brandishing the OCW Craze Championship and holding it over her head to a roar from the crowd. She acknowledges the positive reaction that she's getting as she makes her way toward the ring, but her eyes are locked on the ring-- and specifically at Dangerous Dan.~
Belvedere: The O...C..W.. CRAAAAZE Champion…. ANDREA… HERNNNNAAAAANDEZZZZ!
~Andrea gets up to the ring apron and uses the top rope to slingshot herself into it, continuing to soak in the cheers she gets as she leans against the corner.~
Smith: Andrea Hernandez is really hitting her stride here in OCW, folks. A victory tonight would bring her one step closer to a shot at the OCW Championship, and I don’t think she’s taking that lightly.
Hood: What are you talking about, Smith? She didn’t even sing her own theme music. And look at how small she is! She’s exhausted from just carrying that big ass belt to the ring. Dangerous Dan is going to stuff her in a very small box and mail her back to Arizona-- EXPRESS MAIL.
~The bell rings, and with the match underway, Andrea Hernandez wastes no time in moving to the center of the ring, waiting for Dangerous Dan to do the same. Dan isn’t an idiot, though, and he DOES meet her-- with a stiff right hand that sends the Craze Champion reeling right off the bat. Andrea stumbles, and Dan starts things off strong with a side headlock. He charges forward to turn it into a bulldog, but Andrea pushes her way out and shoves Dan into the ropes front-first. He stumbles back off the ropes and falls into a flying arm drag from Andrea Hernandez!~
~Dan pops immediately back up to his feet, dazed but adrenaline now pumping. He rushes forward toward Andrea a second time, but she launches into the air and locks her legs around his head, bringing down Dangerous Dan with a counter hurricanrana!~
Smith: Dangerous Dan with a strong start, but unfortunately just outmaneuvered by Andrea Hernandez there. She’s going to keep Dan as immobilized as possible tonight, it looks like, trying to negate any size difference that gives her the disadvantage.
Hood: Size difference? He’s an entire person bigger than her! This is basically a handicap match! You can’t win a handicap match with flippy shit, Smith, you know that’s what I always say.
Smith: I think that’s literally the first time you have EVER said that. In fact, I’d count on it.
~Dangerous Dan climbs right back to his feet again, now feeling the two consecutive takedowns. Andrea tries for a third, coming off the ropes for a big maneuver, but Dangerous Dan kicks her leg right out from underneath her, sending the Craze Champion to a knee from the force of the attack. Dan grabs her by the hair, stuffing her head between his arm and torso and dropping her with a solid DDT in the middle of the ring!He makes a quick cover.
ONE!
TW-- KICKOUT!
~Andrea gets a shoulder up with little problem, more disoriented than anything, and Dan lays a stomp down on her midsection for good measure. He backs off as he begins to get to her feet, giving himself room to work.~
Smith: This is where Dangerous Dan wants to keep his opponent… on the ground. He’s going to have to pick apart his Andrea’s weaknesses-- in this case, sheer size advantage. One hundred pounds separates these two in the ring, and it shows.
Hood: HE’S ALIIIIIIIIIVE!
~Back to her feet, Andrea Hernandez backs into the ropes and gives herself a running start, leaping into the air with a flying cross body toward Dangerous Dan. He sidesteps the cross body, though, and leaps into the air himself, grabbing the Craze Champion and dropping her dead to rights with an impromptu cutter in the middle of the ring! Dan rolls quickly onto her prone body, covering her up with a pin that looks like it’ll stick this time!~
ONE!
TWO!
KICKOUT!
~Andrea just barely gets a shoulder up this time, rocked from the impact of a move that was aided by her own momentum. Dan stands to his feet, looming over his opponent, unsure of what to do next as he thought he had it locked up. As he’s waiting, Andrea summons a rush of energy and rolls him up with a small package out of nowhere! The referee drops to count!~
ONE!
TWO!
THREE!
NO! KICKOUT!
~Dangerous Dan barely wriggles out of the surprise pin, looking angry as he powers through and rolls away from Andrea Hernandez. The crowd cheers loudly as they realize it isn’t over, and now Dan steps back with his guard up as Andrea rolls to her feet.~
Smith: I wouldn’t bet on this match right now, folks, the entire thing feels like a coin flip. Both these competitors came to win and no one is giving up an inch of momentum.
Hood: I’ll give your mom an inch of momentum, you fuck. Wait. Six inches. Ish.
~Dangerous Dan lunges in with a lock-up, easily using his strength to control the situation. He grabs Andrea by the backs of her knees, lifting her effortlessly into the air for a big, slightly out of the ordinary slam-- but Andrea counters! She kicks her legs up around his neck, instead pulling him overhead and sending him skittering across the canvas with another hurricanrana! The crowd goes wild, admiring the agile move and quick thinking!~
~Dan collides with the ropes, grabbing on to them to keep from falling out of the ring from the momentum. He uses the ropes to begin to climb to his feet, but Andrea is already back up and charging toward him with a running knee! She collides with his head, sending him whiplashing back into the ropes-- this time he doesn’t grab on, and Dangerous Dan is sent flying out of the ring from the force of the impact!
~The ringside staff check to make sure Dan is alright, and then the referee begins the count out.~
ONE....
Smith: While this match has looked pretty even in the ring, Andrea Hernandez has clearly been in control for most of this match. If she can get through the high impact offense of Dangerous Dan, she’s going to send a big message here tonight to Paul Paras and rest of the participants in this tournament.
TWO........
Hood: Dangerous Dan is just playing dead out there, Smith. I think you know what he REALLY is…
Smith: Please don’t yell “I’m alive” again.
THREE...........
~Dangerous Dan climbs slowly back to his feet, grabbing the apron and pulling himself back up to the ring. The ref stops the count, and Andrea comes charging toward the ropes again, looking to catch Dan by surprise. She throws a running back elbow, but Dangerous Dan ducks and grabs her by the head, pulling her down and bouncing her throat off the ropes! Andrea stumbles back from the ropes, gasping for breath, as Dan hops up onto the top rope and springboards toward his opponent, laying Andrea out with a Springboard Diving DDT!~
Smith: The ENDDING to Remember! That could be all!
~Immediately he covers up.~
ONE!
TWO!
THREE!
NO, KICKOUT!
~Andrea gets her shoulder just barely up this time, and Dangerous Dan can’t believe it! Neither can the crowd, who go ballistic at the back and forth high flying maneuvers of the last few minutes. Dan is trying to keep his emotions in check, but is clearly becoming frustrated as grabs Andrea by the hair and picks her up off the mat. He hoists her up to a standing, dazed position, before stepping back and launching forward with a Superkick...~
Hood: THE ENDD IS NEAR! HE’S ALIVE HE’S ALIVE HE’S ALIVE!
NO! Andrea moves out of the way!
~Andrea Hernandez dodges at the last second, sending Dangerous Dan stumbling forward off balance! He tries to spin around and grab her again, but Andrea comes off the other ropes, springboarding toward Dangerous Dan and bringing him thundering to the mat with a huge springboard tornado DDT!~
Smith: ARE YOU KIDDING ME?! Dan is down! She’s got him dead to rights!
Hood: DAN SHE’S FIVE FOOT FOUR YOU IDIOT YOU SHOULD HAVE JUST SAT ON HER!
~Dangerous Dan hits the mat and it’s lights out! Andrea stumbles toward the turnbuckle, jumping up onto the second pad and springboarding off the side of the opposite rope, landing an exhausted but nearly picture perfect Somersault Senton to her prone opponent!~
Smith: SKYYYYY HIGH! This could be it, folks, Dangerous Dan has nowhere to go!
Hood: I… I can’t believe this! She’s almost legally a midget!
ONE!
TWO!
THREE!
DING DING DING
~Andrea climbs off of Dangerous Dan, beaten and bruised but victorious nonetheless! The referee presents her with the OCW Craze Championship once more and raises her hand in the air.~
Belvedere: Here is your winner, by pinfall… the OCW Craze Champion… ANDREA… HERNANDEZZZZ!!!!
~The referee releases Andrea’s hand, giving her both available as she thrusts the belt into the air again, nodding along with her own music as “Ultranumb” by Blue Stahli begins to play once more. She gets up onto the second rope, finally able to showboat to the fans a little bit after a hard fought match.~
~Dangerous Dan rolls toward the ropes, looking frustrated at his loss as he watches his opponent take in her victory.~
Smith: Andrea Hernandez moves on!! She will face Mario Maurako in the second round of the Block Party tournament!
Hood: And Dan will be singing the blues
Smith: Was that really necessary?
Hood: When is anything, aside from regular sex, truly necessary?
Smith: No comment. Well folks…that does it for this week’s first round match ups…let’s take a look at the updated El Linchador Bracket!
I grew up overnight
I played alone
I played on my own
but I survived"
Smith: Exciting match ups shaping up for round 2!
Hood: So we're halfway through the entire first round and EVERY HIGH SEED has won? That's fucking lame, man.
Smith: Sounds like OCW did a good job seeding this tournament.
Hood: I want some fuckin upsets. GIVE ME UPSETS
Smith: Eight first round matches remain...I'm sure we'll get a few, Hood
~The sound of boot heels clicking against the floor is actually quite loud over the ambient backstage noise, those determined footsteps signalling the arrival of someone important even before she's visible. The Paradigm Champion Kitty Petrova rounds the corner, still dressed in the same figure-hugging leather pants and a cropped red sweater that shows off her midriff while still maintaining modesty. She stops in the empty corridor outside the eMpire locker room, tapping the toe of her red satin boot as she glances up and down the hall. Satisfied that she's not been observed or followed, she slips inside the room without knocking, taking a calculated risk because she's been watching long enough to know he's in here alone. Closing the door firmly behind herself, she leans against it and licks her lips, her voice ringing out in the silence.~
Kitty Petrova: I hope I'm not intruding...
~There is legitimate surprise on the face of eMpire co-leader Michael Best, as he looks up from his gear bag. He's already dressed to compete tonight, just moments now from his scheduled main event against The Big Bifford. His first match back after over three years away from the ring, and it's safe to say that Kitty Petrova is not the person he expected to see leaning against his locker room door~
~He tosses his bag to the floor, leaning back against the locker, his arms instinctively taking a defensive, crossed pose in front of his chest. A beautiful assassin is still an assassin.~
Mike Best: You're literally meeting the definition of intruding. What you mean to say is: "I hope you don't mind that I'm intruding."
~Kitty nods, a wry smirk on her lips for a moment as she steps away from the door, moving just a little closer to him.~
Kitty Petrova: The dreaded semantics, yes. That's what I meant.
~She pauses, tilting her head slightly to take him in from head to toe before her golden brown eyes meet his again.~
Kitty Petrova: I suppose I could have also said, "forgive my intrusion", but that would be counter-intuitive. You don't look...
~This time the pause is deliberate.~
Petrova: Disturbed.
~A wry smirk comes over Michael's face, as he rubs the back of his neck, probably just to find some use for his hands. Kitty Petrova is not the usual kind of woman who would walk into his locker room unannounced. She has, you know… self respect, talent, and the ability to kill a man with her bare hands.~
Mike Best: I'm going to remember that you said that. I might need you to say that under oath someday, possibly in front of a Grand Jury.
~His posture relaxes. If she was here to physically assault him, she'd likely not be so coy about it. Michael steps forward from the locker, leaning his arm against the wall as he looks hard at the woman in front of him. She looks slightly less imposing in person than on television, though that may be because she isn't currently engaged in the act of battery.~
Mike Best: I suppose we've never been formally introduced. What can I do for you this evening, Ms. Petrova?
~That devilish smirk is back on her lips as she takes that shift in his body language as an invitation, moving closer until she's within arm's reach.~
Kitty Petrova: Well, Mr. Best, I thought on the eve of your glorious return to the ring, it was only fitting to come by beforehand and wish you luck. Not that you need it, of course. Bifford will be gassed before he makes it down the ramp. We both know that.
~Michael chuckles, a brief moment of actually sincerity in the walking billboard for "bad guy insecurity". He seems to notice it, though, and immediately returns to his usual too-cool-for-school stature.~
Mike Best: He wrote my name on the fish. He wrote… my name… on the fish. I have a resting heart rate of fifty two-- I'm confident I'll be climbing Mount Foopa tonight and planting my flag in the name of The eMpire. So you're right… I don't need luck.
~He realizes immediately that his words sounded more dismissive than he wanted them to, and almost despite himself, he doesn't end on what (in his own mind) seemed like a cool way to end a conversation.
Mike Best: ...but uh, hey, thanks.
~He rubs the back of his neck again, sheepishly.~
Mike Best: Oh, and, uh... I hope you don't win this tournament, because I would dislike the idea of having to destroy you. You know… uh… for Mario.
~Kitty laughs softly, shaking her head.~
Kitty Petrova: I'm not in the tournament. I'm actually glad I chose to sit it out. Especially now that I can sit back and watch someone else run roughshod over these...
~She trails off, shrugging as the right insult eludes her. A little flush of pink creeps over her cheeks as she breaks eye contact for a split second and she lifts one hand to toy with a lock of her hair.~
Kitty Petrova: If you're feeling up to it afterwards, I'll let you buy me a drink.
~Mike Best raises an eyebrow. The idea appears to intrigue him, as he tries very hard not to get caught giving her an up and down look. If she was here to murder him, now would be the perfect time. He would have fallen into her trap by now, if it were a trap indeed.~
Mike Best: As long as I make it out of this main event without being partially digested by Moby Dickhead… I'd like that, Ms. Petrova. You know where to find me.
~She nods, reaching out slowly to lay her hand on his shoulder.~
Kitty Petrova: Go get 'im, tiger. And afterwards? We celebrate your triumphant return.
~Without another word, she turns and moves across the room, her heels clicking as she gives him a great view of her assets in those skin-tight pants. Michael cranes his neck like he's trying to see a Wonder of the World, hating to see her go but loving to watch her leave as he laughs softly to himself, shaking his head.~
Smith: Two veterans...two legendary competitors mingling backstage. Interesting.
Hood: Man, these eMpire guys. They come in, they win all the matches...they take up all the air time and now they snag all the women. Dominance in every phase of the game!
Smith: An alliance with Kitty would be strong. She's without a doubt one of the best competitors here, in OCW.
Hood: Yea and imagine the type of kid a fuckening between those two would produce. Lee Best would be so proud he might grow back that second eye. He's missing an eye, right?
Smith: Yes, I believe he is. Anyway...speaking of best...Mike Best is scheduled to make his return to the ring against one of OCW's best in an effort to prove that he's the best.
Hood: Not YOUR best.
Smith: It's been a long night. Folks...an epic match worthy of headlining any event all over the world is slated to take place...and it's next!
Main Event
The Big Bifford (10-2) vs. Mike Best (0-0)
~The crowd is abnormally quiet. This is the OCW Arena. It’s Main Event time. Typically, these people are buzzed and acting like total assholes. However, tonight…tonight is different. We’ve got a huge match with ‘dream’ potential and major implication on the line. These people get it. Well, aside from that one guy…yea, him over there…cut to a guy, this feels so weird typing…cut to a guy who seems to be taking a selfie to upload onto twitter for social approval…he’s immediately beaten down by OCW security and removed from the arena. The crowd pops for the random act of unnecessary(?) violence. Belvedere clears his throat~
Belvedere: Ladies and gentlemen…it is now time for our Main Event of the evening!! This match is scheduled for one fall and, if Mike Best is able to defeat The Big Bifford then Mario Maurako will receive an OCW Title shot!
~The crowd boos. Belvedere hesitates. A guy in the crowd notices Belvedere’s trepidation and yells out “WE AREN’T BOOING YOU, BELVE!” Belvedere nods with confidence and continues~
Belvedere: Introducing first…
~"Everybody Loves Me" by OneRepublic begins a slow beat over the sound system, erupting into it's acoustic jam as a very hostile crowd heralds the arrival of HOW Hall of Famer Michael Best. As always, a small but vocal minority of 35 year old white men rise up in cheers, the crowd at war as the always polarizing wrestling veteran steps out slowly onto the stage, making his way toward the ramp~
~As he saunters toward the ring, Mike makes a big show of making sure the camera gets a good zoomed in shot as he flips the bird, displaying his Hall of Fame ring prominently~
~He smirks out into a jeering crowd as he approaches the apron, rolling under the bottom rope and standing to his feet in the ring. He slowly makes his way toward his corner, stretching and preparing for the beginning of the match as his music begins to quiet and fade away~
Belvedere: Making his OCW in-ring debut! From Chicago, Illinois…standing 6’1 and weighing in at 225lbs…please welcome…Mike Best!!!
~The crowd welcomes Best in the most flattering manner possible (for him)…with BOOOOOOS. Best looks around, with a smirk. He’s got them right where he wants them~
Belvedere: And, his opponent…
~The crowd pops! “Gangsta’s Paradise” by Coolio hits and THE BIG BIFFORD emerges from behind the curtain. He pauses at the top of the ramp, fists atop his hips, and glares out into the crowd. “T! B! B!” fills the arena. It is, indeed…a HUGE POP~
Smith: Bifford receiving a hero’s welcome here tonight
Hood: Yea well they see Mike Best as an outsider, an enemy…Bifford may be a homicidal, arrogant, wasteful asshole but…he’s an OCW legend and mainstay
Smith: Indeed he is – all of those things
Hood: Plus, I think it just shows how much these fans DON’T want to see Mario besmirch the OCW Championship legacy by adding his name to that honored list.
Smith: Special K is on that list.
Hood: And still, no Mario
~Bifford makes his way down the ramp. The ramp is exceptionally well put together, holding his giant frame. He pauses, seeing a person wearing a Crazy Chris shirt. Biff contemplates ripping the man’s throat out, but decides against it. The act could result in a DQ which would give Mario an OCW title shot – something Biff hates about as much as the Danger Boiz. Bifford continues his heavy footed procession, reaching ringside and storming up the steps. He barely fits his giant gut through the ropes, managing to somehow get inside the ring~
Belvedere: From Phoenix, Arizona…standing 6’6 and weighing in at 488lbs…he is a former OCW Champion…he is in the OCW Hall of Fame…he is…The Big Bifford!!
~The crowd goes wild! Bifford narrows his vision, surveying the people. There’s a lot of delicious food in that audience. Belvedere exits the ring. The fans begin to chant ‘KICK HIS ASS’. Biff turns his focus onto his opponent, Mike Best~
Smith: I never thought we’d ever see Bifford and Mike Best in the same ring…let alone facing one another.
Hood: Many would say that Mike Best is the FACE of High Octane Wrestling. A true legend of this industry…and, here he is, against one of the most notorious competitors in OCW history.
Smith: I don’t care what you’ve done and where you’ve done it…you don’t really GET OCW until you step into an OCW ring. The people here are just…different.
Hood: They don’t get more unique than Bifford
~Best is intense. He stares at Biff with a clenched jaw and tightened fists. Bifford marches toward the center of the ring. He holds his arms out and does the thumb point with the crowd chanting along “T! B! B!” Mike Best sorta rolls his eyes with an acerbic smirk and tells the fans and Biff to fuck off. Biff doesn’t really care. He continues to occupy the majority of the ring’s center, posing for the crowd. Best finally makes his way toward the legendary beast. Bifford places his hands on his hips…Best throws a vicious kick into Biff’s cut – it does virtually nothing~
Smith: That Bifford gut is impenetrable
Hood: Yea it’s like punching a water bed or, in Best’s case, a giant garbage bag of goo
Smith: Various methods people use for preparation…no need to question it unless it fails
~Best hesitates for a second. He doesn’t want to show it but that kick may have hurt his leg more than Biff’s gut. So, he must re-evaluate. He throws a kick into Biff’s knee (his left knee). It smacks with a much louder, and more damaging sound. Biff winces and budges in the slightest of manners…which could be construed as ‘pain’. Best throws another…it garners even more of a painful reaction by Biff. Best throws a third…this time Bifford stumbles back a bit, clearly showing that his left knee is absorbing more pain than he’d like~
Smith: When you chop down a tree you start at the base
Hood: Unless you’re flying an airplane…then you just fly into the tree, right?
Smith: I…I guess…but why would someone chop a tree down in such a manner? They’d kill themselves.
Hood: Suicide Lumberjacks. They exist, Smith.
Smith: I doubt that they do.
~Best, seeing an opportunity, rushes in with a high knee. Bifford catches him!! He’s got Best in bear hug. Best looks around like “OH SHIT”. He perhaps allowed his eagerness, his aggression to cloud his hall of fame level judgment. Bifford, wrenches his hands together, squeezing the muscles and discs in Best’s back. The look on Best’s face says he wants the fuck out of this hold. Biff, being a gentlemen (AND a scholar)…obliges by spinning around and planting Best onto the mat with a Belly-to-Belly!! The entire ring shakes. The crowd pulls back with a collective ‘That’s gotta hurt’ reaction. Biff remains on the mat, smoothing Best via his large gut. Scruff slides in with the count~
1!
2!
SHOULDER UP
Smith: Wow! I can’t believe how close that was…THIS early
Hood: Dude, when five hundred pounds is dropped on ya it’s going to take a minute to recover. The fact that Mike Best managed to kick out means he’s damn near immortal.
Smith: I think you might be overselling things a bit there.
Hood: You can never oversell Mike Best. They guy is banned from ice cream parlors.
Smith: I don’t care to know…
Hood: The minute he walks in, all the ice cream melts. He’s straight fire, Smith!
~Bifford sits up, onto his knees. He’s still sporting his MAGICAL FLEECE. It’s looking quite magical…we aren’t sure how we missed it until this morning. A breeze floats across the ring, ruffling the edges of THE MAGICAL FLEECE. Bifford thrust downward with surprising quickness, delivering a head butt to Mike Best, keeping the HOW Hall of Famer down. Bifford then struggles to his feet. He lifts up the arms, thumbs out and proceeds to lead the crowd in yet another chant of “T! B! b…” he doesn’t get the third letter out! He stumbles forward, doubling over. The fans BOOO~ Mike Best is on one knee, wiping his right bicep and forearm clean. Scruff looks around, trying to figure out what happened~
Smith: A low blow by Mike Best! So, I guess, if you can’t beat them…cheat them!
Hood: Again, it isn’t cheating unless you get caught.
Smith: That was blatant cheating! Scruff needs to learn positioning!
Hood: Hey! Don’t yell at Scruff because Shamu grew legs, threw on a fleece and decided to wrestle.
Smith: I’ve never seen you turn on Biff like this.
Hood: Hey, don’t act like it was an easy decision. It may not show…but right now, my heart – it is breaking.
~Best returns to his feet. He throws three consecutive kicks into the back of Biff’s left knee, forcing the big man down, on that knee. Best rips away THE MAGICAL FLEECE. He slings it onto the mat and begins to stomp on Biff’s fabled fleece. Once finished stomping, Best picks the damn thing up and hurls it into the crowd! It takes out an entire group of “Dangerous Dan” fans as though it knew what it was doing. Best doesn’t pay any attention – he doesn’t care enough to know who Dan is. He returns his focus back to Biff, who remains kneeling~
Smith: Mike Best requested this match weeks ago, I’m told. And, from what we were given privy to earlier this week, I think it’s easy to guess why.
Hood: To lube up Mario’s OCW Title path? Paras didn’t get any help…then again, Paras is perfect.
Smith: No! Mike Best, from what I understand, has a history with…well…rotund bullies. Biff represents that type of schoolyard terror.
Hood: I heard Biff was short and skinny in elementary school. His parents were worried he might have been born with AIDS. So, they began feeding him a lot, hoping he’d gain weight. It worked.
Smith: I never heard that.
Hood: Yea, neither did I…I was just making shit up. For all I know Biff just appeared one day in some weird country torturing the weak.
~Best goes back to work on Biff. He drills the OCW legend in the back of the head with a roundhouse kick!! It lands with a loud SMACK! Biff leans forward…but he won’t tip over. Best takes off, charging toward the ropes…he bounces off, flies into the air and smacks Biff right in the face with a claymore kick!!! Bifford leans back…but, he remains on one knee. Best, sitting up, hurries to his feet, he grabs Biff by the beard, secures his head, falls back and plants Biff face first into the mat with a DDT!! Biff is face down. He isn’t moving. Best tries to roll him over. He positions himself at Biff’s side and pushes and pushes as hard as he can, finally getting the near 500lb dead weight of Biff over onto its back. Best goes for the pin. Scruff slides in with the count~
1!
2!
SHOULDER UP
Smith: Biff got the shoulder up!
Hood: Just when you think the man is about to give in…he stands up, grabs another plate and goes back to work.
Smith: Mike Best is giving Bifford everything he’s got…how much more can Biff withstand?
Hood: I’d imagine he’s close to his threshold…but, it’s Bifford. He wears a magical fleece…so you never really know.
~Best shakes his head. He’s frustrated…he’s got to do more work. The rank yogurt never kicked out, not once. So, he dives in and begins clawing at Bifford’s eyes. The fans boo! Bifford tries to fight Best off. Scruff administers a five count~
Smith: Oh come on! You’ve got control…why go for the eyes?
Hood: Because he’s a rapist level heel!
Smith: Excuse me?!
Hood: Hey, don’t get mad at me…I’m not the one who made that term up…although I do kinda dig it.
~Scruff reaches five. Best doesn’t let go. Scruff is about to call for the bell…which is when Best relents. He holds his hands up and pops to his feet. The fans continue to boo. Best, while standing, throws an arrogant kick into Biff’s face. More boos sound out. Best begins to saunter around the ring. “Too easy,” he says. He leans against the ropes, keeping his eyes on Bifford. Biff tries to sit up, but rolls onto his side, instead. Best has a good laugh at this. Biff gets to all fours. Best stops laughing, replacing a jovial demeanor with his serious face. He leans back against the ropes as far as he can before shooting off and charging at Biff. He jumps up, placing his leg behind Biff’s head~
Smith: Mike Best looking to put Biff away!
Hood: You’re not going to say the move? Weak ass pussy. He calls this The Hall of Fameasser!
Smith: Sorry if I refuse to besmirch my ethics, Hood. Some of us have morals!
~Biff pops to his feet!! The big man LIVES! Best looks around, shocked!! Biff has him hoisted up…he throws Best down as hard as he can with a HUGE powerbomb!!! The ring shakes!!! The back of Mike’s head BOUNCES off the mat! He’s motionless! The fans chant ‘YES!” They urge Biff to pin Best…Biff, however, is still slightly incapacitated due to all the head trauma. He staggers for the ropes, leaning over the top rope, catching his breath. The fans clamor for Biff to turn around and pin Mike Best~
Smith: These fans are thirsty for a Bifford victory! Best is down, he’s prone….Biff has a shot!
Hood: Yea, too bad he’s fucking concussed. That’s why Mike Best is a legend in this business. He knows momentum can shift…that’s why he always pads his lead.
Smith: Talk all the padding you want. If you ask me, this match has just been reset to zero!
~Bifford, leaning over the top rope, stares down at the floor. There is a flashing sign within his eyes which reads “VACANCY.” Mike Best has kicked the life out of Bifford’s cognitive faculties. Biff looks up, slowly with the eyes of a drunkard. He spots something in the crowd. It’s a Dangerous Dan fan…WEARING THE MAGICAL FLEECE! His eyes tighten with focus. They are consumed by fiery rage! He lets out a warrior’s yell and stands upright! The fans are on their feet “BIFF! BIFF!” Biff turns around and points at Best, who is finally beginning to stir…the fans all chant “YOUUUUU FUCKED UP!”~
Smith: Biff is enraged!
Hood: No shit…some DAN FAN is wearing his MAGICAL FLEECE! We need the police out here, right now!
Smith: I hardly think this necessitates authorities
Hood: Dude this is a crime that should be worth many years in prison…many years.
~Best gets to his feet, visibly shaken from the powerbomb. Biff charges at Best and drives his shoulder into the HOW legend. Best flies backward, landing hard on the mat. Biff, like a freight train, takes a few steps to slow down…the ropes aid in his stoppage. He turns back around, quickly – for dramatic effect. The fans buy into it, going wild!! Best is blinking hard and quick, he shakes his head, trying to figure out where and when things took a turn. He gets on all fours and returns to his feet. Biff charges at him once more. Best turns around and eats another shoulder block!! This one sends Best flying into the ropes! His body crashes into the middle rope, awkwardly, forcing Mike to clutch at his rib cage as he falls to the mat. Biff comes to a stop in the corner. He pauses…he remains still…the crowd is eating this up. Biff TURNS AROUND SUDDENLY, like before…our POV ZOOMS IN ON HIS BEARDED FACE…the fans go wild once more~
Smith: Bifford has these fans EATING out of the palm of his hand!
Hood: First and last time you’ll ever see Biff feed someone.
Smith: Not true, he fed the homeless a few weeks back.
Hood: Yea but that was merely prep for war games between the homeless and hot women in yoga pants.
Smith: So? How is that a disqualification?
Hood: Because it just is!
~You have to give Mike Best credit. The guy is fucking resilient. He reaches his feet, drenched in sweat, clutching his rib cage. He turns, locating Biff. Bifford takes off, full speed and runs right into Mike, flailing his arms forward which sends Mike’s body flying through the air INTO the nearest corner!! Best hits hard!! The buckles keep him from falling…he stumbles forward. Bifford grabs Best, lifts him up over his head in a Gorilla Press Position and stares out into the crowd. He presses Best three times…to the tune of “T! B! B!” before tossing Best over, onto his back!! The ring shakes!! Best arches his back, wincing in pain! Biff hits the ropes…he bounces off, the ropes nearly snap under his weight…he leaps into the air with a HUGE splash and covers Mike Best!! Scruff slides in…the crowd counts along~
1!
2!
3!
NO!
Smith: Best somehow snuck the shoulder up!
Hood: Under all that blubber…all that girth! Holy shit!
Smith: I thought it was over! We’re seeing the toughness that has made Mike Best a legend in this business.
Hood: Yep and Mike Best is getting a taste of CLASSIC OCW, BABY
~Bifford struggles to his feet. He reaches for Scruff, using part of Scruff’s shirt and body for support. Scruff is like “Whoa, get off me big man!” But, Biff manages to reach his feet. He looks around…the crowd stomps their feet…their hands clap together in unison. Bifford goes after Mike. He’s on the mat, prone. Bifford bends over to grab Mike BUT…Mike rolls out of the ring, to the floor. The crowd booos!!! The fans chant “PUSSY!” Our POV shifts to show Best on his knees, outside. He clutches at his ribcage…they appear tender to the touch. He reaches for the apron, missing the edge. His hand pokes through the apron cloth, finding something. His eyes focus…he pulls out, from under the ring… A WOODEN FISH WITH HIS NAME ON IT~
Smith: What is THAT doing out here?
Hood: That’s where we store memorable shit, Smith. I think CJ’s picnic basket is down there somewhere. Chad’s first white hoo…
Smith: Okay, that’s enough reminiscing
~Best looks at the fish. That fish. THAT FUCKING FISH. His hands and arms begin to shake with a career’s worth of frustration over adversarial disappointment. He looks prepared to demolish the fish. Bifford’s giant arm reaches through the ropes, grabbing Mike by the hair. Best’s goal switches. He spins around and CRUSHES Biff in the head with the fish!!! It shatters into a hundred pieces outside the ring. Scruff hears the noise and runs around Biff, trying to get a view. He sees the mess. He knows something is up. The fans try and inform him. He looks toward the timekeeper. The fans chant “DQ! DQ!”~
Smith: Do the right thing, Scruff! You know, in your heart…you know Mike Best cheated!
Hood: Hey! If he didn’t see it, he can’t call it! Don’t take a leap of faith based on the hopes, dreams and fucking whims of these idiotic fans that have to get up and work the counter of a Chevron tomorrow morning!
~Mike Best realizes he might get DQ’d. He looks inside the ring. Biff is on his back, eyes shut. Best slides into the ring and covers the OCW legend. Scruff looks at the pin attempt…he then looks at the timekeeper. He’s indecisive – at best~
Smith: RING THE BELL! CALL FOR THE BELL!
Hood: Make the count you fucking moron!
~Scruff yells “SHEEEYIT!” A weird way to pronounce a common word. He turns and dives at the mat, making the count! The fans boo~
1!
2!
3!!
NO!!!
Smith: WHAT?!
Hood: OH SHIT
Smith: Bifford got the shoulder up!
~The fans go wild! Mike Best slaps the mat and points at Scruff. He jerks the ref to his feet, pointing and yelling. He criticizes his indecision. He claims it cost him the match. Scruff warns he’ll call for the bell…for REAL this time. Best shoves Scruff back…hard, but not too hard. He turns, frustrated. Upon turning around he’s face to chest with the mammoth Bifford! He looks up, stunned. Bifford knees Best in the gut and hooks him around the waist~
Smith: The Biff End!!
Hood: AND THIS IS WHY WE CAN’T HAVE NICE THINGS!
~Best tries to fight way but Biff is too big, too strong. He flails his arms around while his head is pinned between Biff’s mammoth thighs (a place I wouldn’t want to be). Biff hoists Best up and drops him with THE BIFF END!!! The fans go wild!!! Bifford holds on for the pin…Scruff slides in with the count~
1!
2!
3!
NOOO!
Smith: He didn’t kick out…his shoulder didn’t get up…why did Scruff quit counting?
Hood: Foot on the rope, mother fucker! That’s instinct! A champion’s instinct!
~Our POV shifts…Best’s foot is, in fact, resting ever so slightly on the bottom rope. It slides off now that the threat of immediate danger has passed. We cut to a replay. Scruff’s arm is up after the count of two…it starts to come down…before it can hit the mat, Best’s foot juts out, finding the bottom rope in a last act of a desperate man. Bifford curses at the ropes. He threatens them with scissors and other rope ruining material. He then grabs Best by the hair and drags him nearer the center of the ring~
Smith: Mike Best is far away from the ropes now…he’s got no out if Biff hits that move one more time.
Hood: C’mon, Mike! Level up, pal! You got this! He put your name on a wooden fish, man!
~Biff pulls Mike up. Mike leans into Biff…he’d fall if it weren’t for the support. Bifford puts Mike back into that suffocating position, head between his thighs. He’s looking for a second and final Biff End. Best’s right arm flails around, trying to find something, anything. Scruff, showing the awareness of a homeless man crossing a busy street, walks within arm’s reach of Mike. Mike grabs onto Scruff’s pant leg. He grips the fabric tight. Scruff tries to swat his hand away~
Smith: Let go of Scruff!
Hood: Guy’s grasping at metaphorical straws, man. He’s looking for a lifeline.
~Biff pulls Mike up…Mike maintains his grip on Scruff’s leg. While going up, Mike yanks Scruff’s leg out from under him, sending Scruff falling backward. Scruff hits fairly hard. Bifford just about has Mike in position! Best sits up…he reaches out and rakes Biff across the eyes!! Bifford drops Best back to the original position…he tries to squeeze his thighs around Mike’s head again, but Mike is free. Mike, one his knees, drills Bifford with a low blow!! Bifford nearly doubles over…he’s stunned. Mike rises to his feet…a sense of arrogance comes over his fatigued demeanor~
Smith: Scruff!! For the love…DQ this man!
Hood: Scruff’s counting the lights in the ceiling. He’ll hopefully be done in half an hour
~Best grabs Biff by the beard and looks the beast in his crazy eyes. He delivers a knee into Bifford’s groin, sending the man to his knees. Best backs up…he leans against the ropes. He looks over at Scruff…Scruff sits up, shaking off the fall. Best charges forward at the stunned Bifford. Bifford pops back to his feet!!! Best tries to stop, but Bifford hoists him into the air~
Smith: I can’t believe it!
Hood: We need to drug test Bifford…NOW
~Bifford’s got Best back in that powerbomb position. He stumbles around…the giant is giving it his last gasp. Best, at the apex of the move, delivers some downward elbow strikes into the back of Biff’s head. Biff loses his grip…he falls to one knee. Best lands on his feet. He throws knee after knee after knee after knee into Biff’s face! Biff WON’T GO DOWN. Best shakes his head, surprised by Bifford’s toughness. He turns for the ropes and runs at them as fast as he can this time. He bounces off, sprints at Biff. Biff’s body shakes…he starts to get up…but can’t. Best jumps up and toward Biff, SMACKING in the head with I Kneed a Hero!!!! Bifford, like a giant ship torpedoed one too many times collapses to the mat! Mike Best covers him and yells at Scruff to make the count. Scruff slides in. The fans boo their lungs out~
1!
2!
3!!!!
~The bell rings! The fans are IRATE~
Belvedere: Here is your winner…MIKE BEST!!!!!
Smith: NO!
Hood: Holy Shit! Mike Best slayed Bifford!
Smith: Yea thanks to various forms of cheating!
Hood: Hey…the record book shows a Mike Best win…and, guess what…the eMpire goes 3-0, baby!
~Best pops to his feet, hand raised in the air. He begins talking shit to any fan within earshot. He looks down at Biff and scoffs. Bifford begins to move. Mike Best retains his look of derision while making a fairly quick exit from the ring~
Smith: I don’t think he wants anymore of Biff.
Hood: Would you? Half an hour with Biff is more than enough!
Smith: I can’t believe you’ve turned on Bifford.
Hood: Blame the fans.
~Mike Best reaches the bottom of the ramp. He points at the ring, talking shit. He continues to bitch about the wooden fish. Fans at ringside reach out, trying to grab him. He gets just close enough where they believe they might be able to touch him, only to pull away and smirk at their gullibility. Boos cascade toward the ringside area. Trash is thrown toward the ramp way where Mike Best remains, basking in this glorious moment~
Smith: I’d heard of Mike Best. I was aware of his achievements…but after witnessing him in action, tonight…I must say the man is better than I imagined.
Hood: Oh, look at you…already back tracking.
Smith: I do not condone his actions. The way he won this match sickens me. But the talent is too obvious to deny.
Hood: That mother fucker came in here and called out the biggest, most legendary fucker we’ve got. And, guess what…he won…IN HIS DEBUT. He’s fucking legit.
Smith: I don’t want to get ahead of myself…but this…this is very reminiscent of 2017 and a man named Meyhu.
Hood: Don’t let The Marvel hear that! He’ll be seeing LIME
Smith: The eMpire proved, tonight, that they are a true force. They backed up their words with their fists. This is a group to be respected…a group to be feared.
Hood: 2019 will be the year of the eMpire. Enjoy that belt, Paras. Mario is coming for you, buddy!
Smith: Indeed…and, lost in all this hysteria and madness is the fact that Mario Maurako has been awarded a shot at Paras at Block Party!
Hood: OCW Championship is coming home to the eMpire. Mario is going to finally climb Everest…gonna be so rewarding.
Smith: Meyhu will have something to say about this…you can be sure of that!
Hood: Meyhu needs to focus on the tournament. Let this be the eMpire’s ascension. Then, once they’ve killed Paras, yoga, and nostalgia all in one night, at Block Party, we can get Meyhu and the eMpire.
Smith: Marcus Welsh has a lot to deal with in the coming weeks. How will he manage? Are we really getting Mario and Paras for the OCW Title at Block Party? Where does Meyhu really stand? And how about Vincent Langston and other OCW veterans…what do they think about this eMpire coming in and taking over? So many questions left unanswered and, sadly, I don’t think we have enough…
~We suddenly cut back to the parking lot area as a cameraman is frantically running towards two men~
Smith: What’s going on? We’ve got an altercation in the back!
~The cameraman gets closer and we can see Mario Maurako on the ground and a man in a black hoodie with a #97000 colored Anarchy symbol on the back hammering down rights on the skull of Mario.~
Hood: Someone break this up! Where is the eMpire?!?
Smith: And who is this attacking Mario?
~Finally someone tries to pull the man off Mario, but for his troubles he gets a boot in the gut and a DDT onto the concrete and it is then that the camera catches a glimpse at Mario’s attacker~
Smith: It’s HOW’s Scottywood!!!! Long time foe and ally of Mario and possible 2nd round opponent in the HOW World Title Tournament.
~Looking down at the carnage of Mario and the OCW employee, Scottywood sets his sights on the cameraman who he motions towards him. Timidly the cameraman obliges and moves in as Scotty grabs the camera and pulls it closer~
Scottywood: So this is OCW. The place that Mario, Paras and Cyanide have run off to after HOW. The fed we signed to an HOTv deal. The place where Mike and Max started their eMpire last week with… this man. Mario Maurako. A possible 2nd round opponent for me next week at Refueled for the return of the greatest wrestling federation the world has ever seen… High Octane Wrestling.
~You can hear boos from inside the OCW arena as the fans are not fans of Scottywood’s assessment of High Octane Wrestling~
Scottywood: Seriously eMpire? Isn’t there a dude on the roster named Evin Empire already? Whatever… I don’t give a fuck what you wanna call yourselves. Best Alliance, eMpire, Mike Best’s Merry Band of Cuntzits. The fact is that I wasn’t gonna let you three have all the fun on HOTv relaunch before Refueled and I felt that Mario needed a little reminder who The Hardcore Artist was… and that you aren’t gonna fuck me over like you did tonight with that little stunt to advance in OCW’s World Title Tourney.
~Scott looks down at Mario and nails him with a boot to the skull.~
Scottywood: That is if your ass even makes it out of the first round against… against… line!
~Scotty looks around but of course we know there is no one to feed him the name of Mario’s opponent at Refueled.~
Scottywood: Whoever the fuck he is. But I hope you do beat him Mario. I really hope we get to see The Hardcore Artist Scottywood versus Marvelous Mario Maurako one more time. Because it’s fun traveling down memory road and remembering just how much better I have been than you over the years.
~Scotty chuckles as Mario is trying to starting to try and pull himself back up to his feet.~
Scottywood: So OCW, welcome to HOTv. I’m not sure if it was the “best” decision to let Mike Best and Max Kael into your arena and onto your roster… but I guess time will tell. Maybe you’re immune to the disease that is Mike Best. Maybe he won’t fuck ya all with his raging Twitter boner. Either way, it was fun OCW… and maybe… just maybe if you’re all lucky. The Hardcore Artist will grace your presence once again. See ya at Refueled Mario.
~The sound of sirens can be heard as OCW security did the smart thing and call the police rather than confront The Hardcore Artist. Mario starts to pull himself back to his feet as Scotty takes a few steps away and grabs something leaning against the wall~
Smith: No… Is that?… It is!… Scottywood’s barbed wire wrapped hockey stick!
Hood: Where are the police! He can’t do this here!
~Mario pulls himself up to one knee as Scotty takes a few quick strides and swings the hockey stick at Mario’s head, almost cracking it in half as he drills Mario in in the skull. Mario falls to the ground as blood starts to pour onto the concrete floor and Scotty, satisfied with his work takes off before the police cruisers pull into the parking lot area as Massacre goes off the air and fades to a HOTv logo.~