WWA Underground Season 2, Episode 5 kicks off in the ring, as red, white and blue strobe lights flash throughout the arena.  

V/O: Iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiit's SHOWTIME! 

American [Fuck Yeah!] begins to play on the TD Garden sound system. The WWATron lifts up to allow passage of a tour bus all decked-out in Red, White and Blue finery. Where it once might have read "Lex Express" on the side of the bus, it now exclaims itself to be the "SHOWTIME XPRESS."  

Jack: To save time, allow me to apologize to all of our fans and sponsors right now. 

Fat Tony: Hey, speak for yourself! I have never felt more patriotic that I do now! 

The bus slowly drives its way down the entrance aisle. The bus looks like it has seen better days. Patches of rust and stressed metal are clumsily covered poorly drawn stars. Unlike traditional American symbolism, the SHOWTIME XPRESS also sports blue stripes and eight-sided stars.  
 

Jack: Is Showtime even American? 

Fat Tony: Bite your tongue!

Jack: I think some ducks are nesting in the luggage compartments. 

Fat Tony: Don't be absurd! Those are geese. 

Finally the SHOWTIME XPRESS gets to the end of the aisle, and the passenger door opens. Out steps Showtime. And he really does stand out.  

Fat Tony: I take it back. NOW I have never felt more patriotic!

Showtime walks to the ring, and the SHOWTIME XPRESS backs its way back to the offstage area. Showtime has elected to eschew his usual black attire, and has instead dressed like what Uncle Sam would look like if he forgot to put on pants. He wear so many stars and stripes that Stephen Colbert would say "geez, don't overdo it, guy." With him is the similarly clad Mini-Showtime.  

Jack: Once again I would like to apologize; both to all of our fans in this great nation, as well as any other country in the world. 

The music dies, and the house lights come up. Showtime motions for mic, and reluctantly, Gary Trudeau obliges.  

Showtime: My fellow Americans... 

Jack: Isn't Showtime Ca... 

Fat Tony: Shhh!! 

Showtime: ...I come to you today not as your favourite WWA Champion of all time. 

Jack: I doubt being the Gen-X Champion is much of a laurel. 

Showtime: No, today I come to you as a patriot. USA! HOOOOO! 

The crowd begins to chant.  

Crowd: You Look Lame! You Look Lame! 

Showtime: USA! USA! That's right! And as a patriot, as YOUR WWA Patriot, I come here today to tell you grim news. 

Jack: We already know he's back as a wrestler. 

Showtime: My Fellow Americans, the WWA has been invaded! No, no, not like back in 2000. It's even worse than a bunch of rejects from a washed-up company! 

The derisive chants continue.  

Showtime: USA! Yes, yes, we've established that. My Fellow Americans, the WWA has been invaded, no INFESTED! By CANADIANS!

Jack: What?! 

Fat Tony: Oh my god! This is worse than even I thought! 

Jack: Our BOSS is Canadian, Tony. 

Fat Tony: And I, for one, welcome our new Canadian overlords. 

Showtime: When the WWA was bought by Canadians, I said nothing because I did not want to own the WWA. When they renamed the United States Championship the Canadian Championship, I said nothing because secondary titles are meaningless to a main event star like myself. But! When suddenly Canadians can suddenly be considered CONTENDERS for the WWA Title? I had to speak up before it was too late! 

Jack: All complaints can be sent to wwa@wwa-online.com. TO avoid deletion, be sure to put "Showtime" in the subject line. 

Showwtime: Tom Sawyer has the gall to name himself after a beloved American hero? All the while being unabashedly Canadian? Just one more example of these Euro-Trash monsters stealing what is really American! 

Jack: Wait, what? 

The crowd continues to mock Showtime. Showtime continues to believe the mocking is popping.  

Showtime: The WWA. Mr. Dressup. The Alaska Highway. Randy Quaid. Saskatchewan. All of these things Canada has stolen out from under us! I say NO MORE! I draw the line in the sand today! In this, the city that repelled not one, but TWO Canadian teams to once again win the Stanley Cup, I, Showtime am declaring war on Canada! 

The crowd accidentally pops for the Bruins nod, but then comes to its senses and realizes it almost cheered for Showtime.  

Jack: Yeah, this'll spike ticket sales in Canada. 

Showtime: I, Showtime, pledge that at South of Heaven - taking place in the hellish Tundra of Quebec - no Canadian shall win the WWA Title! 

Jack: What...? How exactly...? 

Fat Tony: Yes! Showtime is taking America back for us Americans! 

Jack: But Showtime is Cana... 

Fat Tony: Shut up! 

Showtime: Ladies and Gentlemen, My Fellow Americans, this interview is over! Now hit my new music! 

"Real American" by Derringer plays on the TD Garden sound system. Showtime and Mini-Showtime make their way to the backstage area.  

The camera cuts backstage to the locker room of Eugene King.  The big man is wrapping tape around his wrists, getting ready for his upcoming fatal four way match.  The door to his locker room slings open and Mary Bingham enters the room looking very sexy as usual.

Bingham: Mr. King can I get a few words with you please?

Eugene doesn’t say a word nor does he even look up.  Instead he remains focused on taping his wrists which angers Mary.

Bingham:  I’m not sure if you heard me or not, but can I ask you a couple of questions?

Again, Eugene says nothing.  This time however, he does look up at her, anger spread across his face.  The giant stands up and his six foot ten inch frame towers above the much smaller and petite Mary.

King: What in the hell do you want?

Bingham:  That is no way to treat a lady.

King:  I will remember that when I actually see a real lady.

The look on Mary’s face is priceless as she wasn’t expecting an answer like that to come from the demon infested Eugene King.  Reluctantly she decides to proceed.

Bingham:  You have a big match tonight against former Defiance members Tom Sawyer and Cobra along with Nathan Cole.  What is your mindset going into tonight’s match?

King: To conquer and destroy.

Bingham:  Okay, let’s turn our focus to the future.  The Heat Magnets made an open challenge to any tag team in the World Wrestling Alliance.  However, you have decided to answer that challenge by yourself.  What was your reasoning?

King: Because I wanted to.

The lack of answers from Eugene prompts Mary to storm out of the locker room leaving the big man by himself, the way he prefers it.

When we return, "Mr. Personality" Andrew Everett is already in the ring, to absolutely no reaction from the crowd whatsoever. This, of course, is a bad sign, but fully expected. "Pushed Again" by Die Toten Hosen begins to play over the loudspeakers, and the crowd begins to boo.

Jack: Exciting match coming, between two of the WWA's bright young stars!

Fat Tony: Okay, let's not lie to the people, Jackie.

After a big chunk of the song has played, Drew Rosen finally steps out of the curtain and walks down to the ring, looking all business.

Trudeau: The following contest is scheduled for one fall! Introducing first, from Pardeeville, Wisconsin, weighing in at 290 pounds... DREW ROSEN! Already in the ring... He is Mr. Personality... ANDREW EVERETT!

Jack: This is a very big fellow, that's for sure. It'll be interesting to see what he can do in his first singles match.

Fat Tony: It sure will be. Whenever that actually happens! Ha!

Rosen reaches the ring and enters, eyeballing Mr. Personality, who is too busy looking out into the crowd with googly eyes as if he'd never been in a ring before.

Jack: This could get ugly.

Ding, Ding

Rosen looks at his opponent, who simply doesn't look like he has any inkling of where he is. Rosen tries to maintain his steely aura, but a flash of a half-grin appears for a moment on his face, before vanishing just as quickly. Mr. Personality begins to wander around the ring, still staring dumbly out into the crowd.

Jack: Um...

Fat Tony: This is totes presch.

Rosen leans over and takes Everett's hand before kindly and gently whipping him into the corner. He follows this up with the damndest body avalanche that has ever been captured on film, and finishes Everett off with a t-bone suplex; the crowd oohs at every impact.

Jack: Welp, Mr. Personality is a pancake now.

Fat Tony: No, that's not true at all. I already would have eaten him.

Everett is pretty flat laid out. In fact, for a moment after the combination attack, he may have actually been as flat as a pancake, and then breathed the fullness back into himself. It is left up to the imagination of the reader.

Regardless, Rosen lays a palm upon the chest of Everett, and the count is made.

One!

Two!

Three!

Ding, Ding!

Trudeau: Your winner... DREW ROSEN!

As officials get the carcass of "Mr. Personality" Andrew Everett out of the WWA ring, we cut to Jackson backstage, looking glum. He sports a swollen, black eye and a cut on his left cheek. A lazy, five-o-lock shadow spreads around his frowning mouth, his lips are pursed and his brow is contorted into a questioning  grimace.

Jack: The losing finalist in the Television Championship match, and in my opinion a complete idiot. A “jackass”, for want of a better word.

Fat Tony: Hey, Wacko Jacko is, by his own declaration, one of the most charismatic and underrated stars in the WWA. He doesn’t need the TV Title, it’s below him.

Jackson stares towards the floor, holding something out of shot. He wears a black T-Shirt with “Ride The Lightning” written on the chest, a yellow cartoon electric bolt splattered below. Jackson sighs, shuffling the out-of-sight object in his palm.

Jackson: You know Al, maybe I should take this mask thing, seriously?

Alan Redman suddenly strolls into shot, looking flustered. Surprisingly, a small, sympathetic pop resounds for Jackson’s bungling agent. He dabs at his sweating forehead with a scummy hanky, before turning his attention to Jackson’s object.

Fat Tony: What?

Jack: What? 

Fat Tony: I heard something about Jackson’s object...

Jack: Shhh!

Redman smiles, shaking his head in disbelief.

Redman: Well Joey, chuckling I hear Intrepid is recruiting students.

Jackson: Pah! I vomit more talent than ‘Treps will ever hope to have. Bringing the Intrepid mask in view, booing. No, I’ve got a better idea. I’m too good to be simply his friggin’ apprentice , I’m making my own fortune.

Redman rolls his eyes. He’s heard it all before, but plays along.

Redman: Y’know, Intrepid claims he hears.....”voices” when he put that thing on.

Jackson:  Laughing Yeah, the voices, right. I hear them too, wait....I think they’re speaking now....... they’re saying..............Shut the hell up, Alan!

Jackson pokes his tongue out at his agent, who sheepishly looks down at the floor. Shuffling his feet. Jackson hold the mask closer to his face, peering into the ominous dark inside. He quickly studies the intricate design on it's front.

Jackson: I’m not Jim Carey, and sadly, you’re no Cameron Diaz. This mask is nothing more than a stupid prop, designed to simply hide the ugly truth, that is Intrepid's face! Look, I’ll prove it.

Jackson plants the replica mask over his head, his eyes show more fear than his voice would admit. Out of nowhere the big, hulking figure of Intrepid steps behind him. His massive frame casts a demonic shadow over Jackson and Redman, who are non-the-wiser to their chilling visitor.

Jackson: See? No voices!

Intrepid leans forward, whispering into the ear of Jackson. The “Charismatic Magnet’s” eyes grow wide in terror. He lets out a girlish scream, and bolts for the door, never turning back to see the the pioneer of the voice. Intrepid nods, as if amused, before looking down at Redman.

Redman: Joey?! Joey?! Sigh

Fat Tony: He’s behind you!

Redman turns, jolting as his eyes meet the dark, silhouetted gaze of Intrepid, who stares straight back. Redman looks as the though he has just crapped his pants, and he swiftly follows Jackson out of camera shot. Intrepid’s eery glare tracks the fleeing men.

Jack: Now that’s entertainment!  touches his earpiece I'm told we're going to Bruce Pepin's office now...

Fat Tony: DRAGON TIME!

Backstage at Bruce Pepin's office, a place of much consternation and strife recently, but for now, it is still. Pepin and his lackey, the morbidly obese Canadian Dragon are there. Pepin paces the floor in quick, determined steps while Dragon has his girth heaved into a folding chair that creaks beneath the immense strain.

Dragon: Don't worry 'bout it, boss. I got this 'un.

Pepin says nothing, but continues pacing, looking towards the closed door, clearly expecting a visitor.

Dragon: You see B2 wipe the mat with him last week? What a sclub. And when he balled up his tiny little fists like he was gonna put on the big boy pants and do something about it ... shit. I crap bigger than this kid.

Pepin gives him a look of disgust and an overly audible disgusted sigh at the revolting image .... but a sudden knocking at the door rouses both of their attention. Dragon goes to rise to his feet quickly, but falls back from the effort, finally assisting himself out of the groaning chair with a grunt.

Dragon: It's open, bitch.

The door is opened slowly, meekly, and is shrill against the relative somber tone of the sullen office. It's the man they've been expecting, though not the one they wanted, the story of the last month of events. The WWA staff has given him the derisive nickname 'The Faux-hemoth', a supposed 350 pound monster, actually just a boy. Jokes abound about this man. "They say the camera subtracts 150 pounds," is one of the funnier ones. Most of the company guys hate him. Most of the boys mock him, sometimes openly ... what's he gonna do about it?

Dragon: Hey, it's the Chinese boy. You got the extra lard dip for the crab rangoon? No tip for you if you don't. Shit, you ain't getting no tip no how sucka! BOOM!

"Jim Blair" is dressed in street clothes, his meager duffel at his side, clearly containing all of his travelling belongings. His boyish face is flush with shame, and he postively is in the shadow of the massive grotesque Canadian Dragon. Bruce Pepin takes one look at him, gives him a snide smirk and a huff of a laugh, and turns away. Not even worth his time.

Dragon: Aw, shit, that's right. You ain't the Chinese boy. This is the big bad wolf. Mister Death Wish. The Behemoth. Jim Blair. Well, don't worry, the Chinese job is waiting for you back in Kansas or whatever dusty shithole crapped you out in the first place.

"Blair": Actually, I'm from Missouri ...

Dragon: The United States of Bitch, nobody gives a good god damn. You know why you're here?

"Blair" shifts around uncomfortably. He clearly wishes they would just pull the trigger and end his dream mercifully. Not to be, apparently.

"Blair": Well, I've got my bag packed, and I booked a train back home ....

Dragon laughs uproariously, and slams his hammy fist down on the conference table. Upon second examination, he sees a crumb of a bagel consumed earlier ... sniffs it to be safe, then pops it into his mouth.

Dragon: Yeah, no bitch. You should have taken my advice, gotten the chili in DC like I suggested after all. Only you shouldn't have bothered showin' after. You an embarrassment, boy. Mr. Pepin doesn't like being taken for a fool, being the baddest man in the WWA. And being the baddest man runner-up, I ain't too fond of you neither ... but you're not goin' out that easy, aw no. Mr. Pepin's decided to make an example out of you.

"Blair" clearly looks confused.

Dragon: You should read your road agent instructions more clearly. You best get your stuff back out and get ready and pray to whoever the God of scrawny, talentless bitches is. Mr. Pepin's gonna use ya, he's gonna abuse ya, he's gonna break you down, and THEN he's gonna fire ya. But not until we've had our fun first. But ya know, the way you stood up to Brett Butler and buddies last week was kinda cute, so he's gonna give you a favor. You've got a match on the next card. Against BOTH Heat Magnets. And judgin' by the look on your face, you're the last dumb motherfucker on payroll to figure it out.

"Blair" turns a shade of pale, but steadies his trembling lip and puts up his bravest chin.

Dragon: Oh, and you know what? Since he doin' you a favor and all, might want to even it up for the Magnets. We don't wanna play favorites here. So just to make sure that you don't get too cocky, it's going to be no disqualification. Yeah, you heard me.

Dragon chuckles and pokes "Blair" in the chest, not gently.

Dragon: And if you somehow survive this with what little brains you got in that lil' noggin, well next week, maybe you get the Magnets, Outkast, and Eugene King in a Texas death match. And after you done? All lyin' on the ground, cryin' and shit? ....

Dragon explodes into the face of "Blair", spittle flying from his mouth.

Dragon: BOOM! DRAGON TIME!

Dragon suddenly grabs "Blair" by the collar of his shirt and lays a huge overhand axe handle right to his shoulderblades, doubling the kid over in agony. He grabs him roughly by his neck and the waistline of his jeans and throws him two handed out the door and into the hallway.

Dragon: ... there will be pain, boy. Pepin said so and it is gonna go down, you gonna get got! Now, time for Arizona State to get got!

The camera cuts away from Pepin's office to another area backstage. Multiple camera for the win!

Fat Tony: ANOTHER segment? Feedback thread ain't gonna like this...

Jack: Huh?

Fat Tony: The post show feedback thread.

Jack: What are you talking about?

The audience can immediately see Wallace Coleman standing outside an unlabelled brown, wooden door. The interviewer holds a microphone in his hand, whilst at the same time tucking in his plain white shirt and tidying his general appearance. All in all, it seems safe to assume that Coleman is preparing himself for an interview.  

Fat Tony: Looks like old Wallace has been caught unaware!

Jack: I wonder who he’s going to be interviewing. 

Wallace Coleman runs his fingers through his parted brown hair and readjusts the glasses that lie high at the crux of his nose. He turns to face an unnamed assistant off camera and speaks, folding his arms and looking generally impatient.

Coleman: Where is this guy? They told him to be here… 

Wallace sighs and looks down at his watch.

Coleman: …ten minutes ago! 

A muffled, indistinguishable reply is heard off-camera and Coleman nods in response, rolling his eyes at the same time. The interviewer turns around and pounds his fist on the door four times, before standing limply with his hands on his waist for a long moment. An impatient sigh once again escapes from his mouth, before he turns to face the camera. For the first time, he gives eye contact to the camera, raising his hands to his side in an apologetic shrug.  

Jack: I don’t think I’ve ever seen this prima donna side to Wallace Coleman before.

Fat Tony: He can’t be interviewing anybody important. 

Coleman maintains eye contact with the audience, finally addressing them.  

Coleman: Ladies and Gentlemen, I’m afraid something has gone awry. I was meant to be standing here with the newest addition to the roster, Steven Mason, but he has unfortunately not turned up. 

The crowd murmurs slightly, perhaps underwhelmed by the unrecognisable name.  

Fat Tony: Well this is a bit of a damp squid.

Jack: Squib, Tony. A damp squib is a faulty explosive, that’s where the phrase derives from.

Fat Tony: Oh right. I never knew there was such thing as an explosive fish! 

As the announcers continue to discuss the perilous inhabitants of the ocean, Coleman begins to splutter a further apology to the WWA viewers. As he carries on, however, some distant whooping and cheering emerges within the crowd as a figure becomes visible growing larger and larger behind Wallace Coleman. With Coleman still unaware of his presence, the shadowed figure stops halfway down the corridor. It is clear, however, that his eyesight is deadly focussed on the back of the interviewer’s head.  

Jack: Is that him? Steven Mason?

Fat Tony: I don’t recognise him. It must be.

Jack: Looks scary. 

For a few stretched moments, Mason seems to just stare at the back of Wallace Coleman’s head. As quickly as he had turned the corner and stopped in his tracks, however, Mason turns back around and paces quickly back to where he came. A muffled exclamation is heard off-camera and Coleman, slow on the uptake, swings around just in time to see the figure disappear around the corner.  

Coleman: Was that him? Why the hell didn’t you tell me quicker? Come on, let’s go… 

Forgetting that he had only just begun to address the audience, Wallace Coleman hurriedly runs off down the corridor with a couple of lesser staff members following shortly behind. As they disappear round the same corner Mason had gone, the camera outside his dressing room door stays in life for just a few more lifeless seconds, before cutting back to black.  

Jack: Why did Mason seem to run away from Coleman?

Fat Tony: Maybe he’s shy, Jack.

We cut back to the ring, where one of the WWA’s newcomers, The Cobra is stood in the center of the ring finishing of his entrance. He stretches out against the ropes amid a few boos while he waits for his opponents.

"Let The Bodies Hit The Floor" by Drowning Pool roars through the arena as the lights go off. A pyro shoots off towards the raptors, momentarily illuminating the arena. Seconds later a barrage of pyros go off in all directions before the lights finally come back on, where the fans find Eugene King is already in the ring, awaiting his opponent. 

Jack: Weird!

Fat Tony: Nobody can win with you can they Jack?

Jack: Meaning?

Fat Tony: You moan when our champion, Jaymz Watkins makes his wonderful entrance, and you still complain when King makes it snappy!

With the crowd already abuzz, "Ashes to Ashes" by Faith No More blasts over the PA system.

Jack: Here comes a man who has been certainly saying some interesting things of late.

Fat Tony: Still a whiner though.

From behind the curtain, Nathan Cole steps, dressed as was intended on Insider, long white tunic with a leather belt tied at his waist.  His head is bowed, his lovely, not at all ridiculous sword in his hands.

Jack: And he has ... the sword!

Gary Trudeau: Approaching the ring, from Stone Mountain, Georgia….weighing 300lbs! NATHAN COOOOOOLE!

Cole walks slowly to the ring, and when he gets to the steps, he stops, dropping to one knee and saying a small prayer with his head against the hilt of the sword before standing and walking up the steps into the ring.

Fat Tony: And he is taking that thing into the ring?

Jack: A shield last week, a sword this, maybe next week we will have the full ensemble.

Cole stands in the ring to a modest reaction, and passes his sword carefully to a ring attendant who is about 50lbs too light to carry the weapon, and then his tunic, and Cole stretches against the ropes as the attendant struggles his way to the back.

BEEEEEEEEEEEEYYYYYYYYYYYYYYOO OOOOOOOOOOOOOWWW

Rush's “Tom Sawyer” hits, lights all around the arena turning blue and scanning over the audience. A mixed reaction from the audience, easily half cheers and half boos. The enthusiasm of Tom Sawyer's joining the WWA from the outside seems to have waned. Half of the crowd love him from past experience... But half is torn.

Jack: Speaking of Watkin’s, here’s the Number 1 Contender for his title, and listen to this reaction!

Fat Tony: Whatever Jack, He’s nothing but an interloper. This isn’t his company.

Gary Trudeau: Weighing in at 183lbs….

The cameras pan over the entranceway. Nothing. Scanning into the crowd... there, in the front row, is a certain sunglasses-wearing individual. In his big yellow-and-orange cowboy hat, sits Tommy Sawyer. The camera focuses on him, and the kid in the Armaan Singhania tee-shirt looks a touch confused. A hand rises up, pointing to his chest, “Me?” Tom mouths.

Gary Trudeau: The Winner, of the Independence Day Rumble…..and Number One Contender for the WWA Heavyweight Championship….

Sawyer points to the guy next to him, mouthing “Him?” The cameraman's hand then rises into shot, gesturing directly at Tom. Tom looks to the other side, where Lucas Harper, The Sentry, former World Tag Champ alongside young Tommy sits. “Him?”

Gary Trudeau: TOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM SAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAWYEEEEEE EEEEEEER!”

Apparently they meant Tom. The kid pops to his feet, throwing both hands into the air, and that mixed reaction gets even louder, changing to 70/30 in Sawyers favor. He jumps the guardrail, with Lucas quickly following. The two men climb onto the ring apron with Tommy throwing a fist into the air, pointing out into the crowd, a big grin on his lips. Holding onto his hat, he ducks under the top rope and into the ring, where the Macho Ranger spins on his heel, pointing out into the crowd with both index fingers!

OOOOHHHHHH YEEEEEEEAAAAAAAHHHH!

Tom screams, before springing onto the middle ring rope, one hand on the top, index finger pointing straight upward. Lucas simply applauds, a proud smile on his face.

DING! DING!

Jack: Well, there’s the opening bell, and the action starts straight from the bat with these four guys.

Fat Tony: …And it’s Nathan Cole going straight for the other huge guy in this contest, Eugene King! Wait, maybe not!

Maybe not indeed, as Cole approaches King, who readies himself for an attack, Tom Sawyer spins Cole around and pushes him out of the way. Sawyer then launches himself at King with a flying forearm and the two begin to trade punches in the corner. Cole, shrugs his shoulders at Sawyer and turns to Cobra who has sneaked behind him while it unfolded.

Jack: Ouch! Cobra nails Cole in the mid-section with a running head-butt, which puts the big man to his knees!

Fat Tony: The Cobra strikes, for the first time in the WWA! And he isn’t finished with Cole, it looks like he’s trying something else!

Cobra grabs the back of Cole’s head, and attempts to deliver a kneeling DDT. The bigger man fights out with some elbows, before climbing to his feet where he begins to throw right hands. He batters Cobra into the corner, the serpent unable to slither out of this onslaught. In the opposite corner, the fans give a huge cheer as Sawyer gains the upper hand over Eugene King. He climbs the turnbuckle and begins to swing punches into King’s cranium!

Jack: Sawyer, the Number 1 contender to Jaymz Watkins’ title raining down on King here!

Fat Tony: Listen to this crowd count along, sickening!

Jack: Regardless, Sawyers’ pure bravery have quickly won the respect of the fans, and most of the locker room!

Fat Tony: Not me!

Sawyer doesn’t reach ten, however, and King blocks the final punch with a quick thumb to the eye. The referee misses it, as he attempts to focus on Cole who is choking Cobra on the opposite side of the ring. Boos ring out as Sawyer reels back, slowly falling from the turnbuckle.

Fat Tony: Finally, time for King to show some real dominance here. The 280lbs-der is exhibiting some real strength!

King grabs Sawyer around the throat, who helplessly chokes as he attempts to wriggle free from the hold. In the other corner, Nathan Cole takes a step back, mostly because of the referee who shouts at him to let Cobra have some space. As Cole steps back towards his opponent, Cobra quickly lifts his feet, stunning Nathan with a dropkick!

Jack: Dropkick from Cobra, but he’s unable to get Cole onto the mat!

Cole steps back, holding his face but refuses to drop down. Instead, Cobra grabs him by the wrist and whips him to the opposite side. At the same time, Eugene King watches the action unfold, before whipping Sawyer across the ring at the same time! The two men collide in the center of the ri-

Jack: No! Counter! Sawyer and Cole scouted the move!

As they meet, Sawyer and Cole adjust themselves to eachothers right side, lock arms and spin each other around. They use the momentum to spring back towards their foes, hitting both a flying clotheslines!

Jack: shouting above the cheering Huge clotheslines from Sawyer and Cole! And they’re not finished!

Cobra and King are rattled by the other two men, and quickly get whipped into the center of the ring.

CRASH!

They smash bodies in the midpoint of the canvas, both tumbling to the floor amid huge appreciation from the audience. Cole and Sawyer celebrate in opposite corners, encouraging more support from the ringside spectators. Cobra rolls away, and King crawls onto all fours.

Fat Tony: The fans on their feet for Nathan Cole and Tom Sawyer here Jack, and I don’t know why they would cheer these talentless mooks.

Jack: The reason they’re cheering Tony, is beca- OH MY LOOK AT SAWYER!

Standing in the corner, Sawyer quickly extends a pointed finger at Cole, who is turned the other way motioning to the crowd. The crowd cheer, as Sawyer sprint across the the ring. He steps off the back of Eugene King, who is still crawling on all fours. He launches off the bald and bearded giant’s back, soaring through the air with a spinning heel kick!

Jack: NO! Cole countered!

Mid-air, Sawyer is caught by Cole’s tree-trunk-like outstretched arms. The 300lbs monster easily lifts Sawyer to the side of the ring, and sends him violently tumbling over the top rope. A sympathetic groan eminates from the nearby fans, while Cole’s actions get a mixed reaction. Nathan looks down at Sawyer, now sprawled onto the outside mats, he grimaces at the former DEFIANCE superstar, almost sympathetically.

Jack: Nathan Cole shower his natural power here Tony, but he still has to deal with two other men in this match.

Fat Tony: Yep, and one of them is Eugene King, Look out!

Some nearby females audience members scream warning to Cole, who seems to listen and turns to face the stampeding Eugene King! King throws out an arm, which Cole ducks sending the man from Atlanta crashing to the outside. He just misses Sawyer, who is being helped up by Lucas and the crowd sigh at the potential impact.

Jack: Nathan Cole showing some supremacy here Tony, despositing two of his opponents over the top rope in front of our announce position.

Fat Tony: But there’s four competitors in this match Jack, and my pick for the win, The Cobra doesn’t seem intimidated by Cole.

As Cole hovers over the top rope, peering down at his fallen enemies, The Cobra slowly approaches, grabbing Cole around the neck  and delivering a powerful backbreaker, holding onto Cole’s neck as they fall. Cole rolls away in pain, but doesn’t get far as Cobra follow and makes the cover!

One.

Two.

Kickout!

Cole throws up a shoulder, and Cobra stares at the referee in frustration. Outside the ring, King and Sawyer continue to groggily climb to their feet, Lucas positions himself between the two to prevent any squabbling.

Jack: Kick-out by Cole, who is now being dominated by The Cobra who delivers some hard rights to his temple.

Fat Tony: Just goes to show how quickly momentum and shift in this match, Jack. Four guys, all with different strengths and weaknesses, diverse styles, giving the fans a great competitive bout.

Jack: Well, at the moment only two are actively competing. Sawyer and King are still struggling on the outside, and it looks as though King may have injured himself with that fall.

Fat Tony: He’ll shake it off.

Back in the ring, The Cobra lifts Cole up and gives him a couple of sneaky right hands which the ref doesn’t seem to notice. Wrapping an arm over Cole’s neck, the Cobra locks him into a suplex position, adjusting his feet to accommodate the weight of his huge opponent. Cole has different ideas, however, throwing a leg between Cobra’s, and countering with a suplex of his own! Cole refuses to release the hold, pulling Cobra back up and deliver another suplex, before rolling over for the cover.

Jack: Cover by Cole!

One.

Tw-

Kickout!

Cobra desperately rolls away from the pin, and Cole slaps the mat before going for Cobra once again. As he stoops over, Cobra throws out a thumb and Cole staggers away holding his eyes. The referee doesn’t see it again however, because of his attention being focused on Sawyer and King who are still infront of the announcers table.

Jack: Blatant cheating there from The Cobra, on his debut.

Fat Tony: I blame the referee, clearly incontinent.

Jack: You mean incompetent.

Cobra launches himself at Cole yet again, delivering a strong kick to the midsection before throwing him into the steel ring-post. Cole let’s out a howl, as his immense shoulder slams into the metal. He stumbles back into the grip of Cobra who whips him across the ring.

Jack: Cole counters! He send Cobra to the other side!

The Cobra is just as dexterous at scouting out moves as Cole, and on the rebound flies at him with a shoulder block. Cole bounces away, just as King and Sawyer have finally got upright. Peering over his shoulder, The cobra notices this, runs back across the ring and…

Jack: SUICIDE DIVE!

Fat Tony: Through the ropes!

The crowd go nuts, and flashbulbs blink into life as The Cobra soars through the middle rope and crashes into Sawyer and Eugene King! Lucas, Sawyer’s manager, ducks out of the way before the huge collision, leaving the other three men unfurled on the floor in a like a highway pile-up.

Jack: Great move from the Cobra! But it won’t help him win this match. Cole is the only man left in the ring.

Fat Tony: But he doesn’t look like he’s completely with it.

We focus on Cole, where a cut has swelled above his right eye and has already began to trickle blood. He dabs at it with his fingers, whilst staring up at the ceiling. King is the first to stir of the other three men. He pulls at the ring apron, before lazily throwing a leg under the bottom rope before rolling slowly into the ring. The Cobra lays unmoving, and Lucas has gone back to helping Sawyer.

Jack: Utter chaos so far in the bout Tony, the place resembles utter carnage.

Fat tony: Or Paul Sterling’s announcing career.

Jack: And it seems as though Nathan Cole has been busted open, perhaps from that thumb from The Cobra.

Cole rolls onto his knees, and King approaches him which gains some negativity from the fans. He pulls Cole to his feet, noticing the bloodied eye, before easily knocking him back down with a clothesline. Huge boo’s from the crowd as it’s King’s turn to show his power. He lifts cole once again, and once again delivers a massive clothesline. He drops to his knees and hooks the leg.

One.

Two.

Thre-

Kickout!

King smiles at Cole’s dedication, and for a third time lifts the bleary eyed and bloodied man from Stone Mountain to his dazed feet. King spins his opponent around, before violently pushing him against the corner post. Cole bounces off, falling back into the clasp of Eugene King!

Jack: German Suplex!

Fat Tony: This has to be over!

One!

Two!

Three!

Jack: No! Cole managed to lift a shoulder!

King screams at the referee, accusing him of slow counting, while outside the ring The Cobra and Tom Sawyer crawl in opposite directions. King stands, waiting for Cole to slowly get up himself, before cracking him in the stomch with a kneeling elbow. King the spins on his heel, making for the ropes but Cole has shook the cobwebs by the time King rebounds, deliver and earth-shattering powerslam!

Jack: Powerslam from Cole! That shook the ring!

Fat Tony: Wow! That almost sent them through the canvas, but Cole cannot capitalize! He’s too tired.

Cole’s is unable to do anything as the momentum swings slightly to his advantage. With both combatants on the mat, the referee has no option but to begin the ten count.

Jack: All four men have already given everything in this match, but it doesn’t look like ending soon.

Fat Tony: Cole and King are beginning to stir as the referee reaches 3….But look at Cobra and Sawyer!

As Tony says it, we see it. The Cobra and Tom Sawyer have begun to climb opposite turn buckles and the crowd quickly get animated at the prospect of more anarchy. King and Cole are now on the feet, as the referee reaches the count of 7, and The Cobra and Sawyer have ascended the ringposts. The two big men in the center of the ring turn…

Jack: WHOOOAAA!

Fat Tony: Look out!

In unison, Cobra and Sawyer launches themselves into the air. The fly through the atmosphere amid a flurry of camera flashes, each delivering huge tope rope cross bodies! Cobra hits Cole, while Sawyer slams on top of Eugene King!

Jack: Did you see that? Double count!

The referee shrugs his shoulders and drops down to count the double pin!

One! One!

Two! Two!

Thre-! Thre-!

Double Kickout!

The fans cheer the action, as Cobra and Sawyer both stand, look at each other and swap pinning targets!

Fat Tony: Another double pin!

One. One.

Two. Two.

Double Kickout!

Again, King and Nathan Cole throw at an arm last second, but both are using up most of the energy. Sawyer shakes his head in frustration, but Lucas claps encouragingnly from under the bottom rope. The Cobra slaps the mat in annoyance, before getting to his feet. As does Sawyer.

Jack: Terrific action here Tony, and it keeps getting be-OOHH!

Whalen is interrupted, as The Cobra attacks Sawyer whos back is turned. He nails him on the back of the neck with an elbow, and Tommy staggers away to the other side of the ring. The Cobra follows. Nathan Cole and Eugene King each begin to laboriously get to their feet, the crowd egging Cole on. The blood continues to flow from the deep gash above Cole’s eye, but his determination to win is admirable, and he is upright before King whom he quickly kicks in the gut.

Jack: Spinning neckbreaker on King! Cole hooks the leg!

One.

Two.

Kickout!

Cole lifts King back to his feet, and pushes him towards the corner with a heavy shove. Meanwhile, Sawyer drops Cobra with a dropkick, before delivering a standing moonsault! The referee, exhausted, drops to count.

One.

Tw-

Jack: Kickout from The Cobra, he’s determined not to lose on his debut here.

Fat Tony: The pinfalls coming thick and fast here Jack, the referee finding it hard to keep up!

The ref quickly wipes the sweat from his forehead on his sleeve, as The Cobra rolls out of the ring to escape Tom Sawyer’s offense. Sawyer then points at the battling Cole and King, and the crowd cheer as Tom motions at Nathan Cole to team up. Cole agrees, and as Eugene King stumbles to stay upright in the center of the ring, Cole and Sawyer attack at the same time. Nathan Cole delivers a huge clothesline, while Sawyer approaches from behind and executes a nasty dropkick to the back of King’s knee.

Jack: Great teamwork from Nathan Cole and Sawyer, but only one man can win this.

With King spread-eagled on the mat, Nathan Cole lifts the smaller Tom Sawyer onto his shoulders and the crowd go nuts as he walks towards the downed King. In a flash, Sawyer releases in to the sky and performs a big flying legdrop. Sawyer stays seated and with Kings shoulder flat on the canvas, the referee makes the count.

Jack: Cole won’t like this.

He doesn’t, and pulls Sawyer from the pinning predicament before the referee reaches two. Sawyer holds his hand up, apologetically and Cole nods in acceptance. From nowhere, The Cobra slides back into the ring and sprints striahgt at the two men. Sawyer jumps, split-legged over him, but Cole doesn’t quite have the agility and is cracked in the rips by a vicious speer from Cobra!

Fat Tony: Spear! Spear!

Jack: Calm down.

Fat Tony: Cole is out of this, he’s bloodied, battered and now he’s fallen out of the ring.

The impact launches Cole from the ring, and as Sawyer moves toward The Cobra he is grabbed around the back of his shoulder by King, who has recovered from the double-teaming. Eugene easily throws Tom at the mat, his head slamming against the canvas. The Cobra is up too, and looks at Eugene King and when the men's eyes meet, they both nod in cruel agreement. The audience boo loudly, as they both lift Sawyer to his feet.

Jack: This doesn’t look good for Sawyer, Tony, he’s smaller than both Cobra and King, and Nathan Cole is unable to help.

Fat Tony: That’s true, it looks like that cut is getting worse for Nathan Cole and it looks from here that medics are attempting to halt the bloodflow. Never mind, it’s time for Sawyer to die!

Jack: A bit extreme, don’t you think?

Fat Tony: The PG era is over Jack, it’s clobbering time!

We get a glance at Nathan Cole on the outside, where a small group of EMT has gathered and are trying to close the nasty slash, Cole, seeing the engagment in the ring attempts to push them away, but they are adamant. Back in the squared circle, King and The Cobra violently whip Sawyer against the ropes and on the rebound deliver a massive double flapjack. The crowd gasp as Sawyer literally flies about 9 feet into the air before smashing brutally back down to earth!

Jack: Oh my god, huge move there from King and Cobra.

Fat Tony: Sawyer almost went into orbit! And they’re not finished with him.

King screams at Cobra, and both nod as Eugene mouths “Again”. They lift Sawyer, who’s tired legs hardly support his weight. They whip him against the ropes nearest Nathan Cole, who is still desperately trying to hurry the medical team, Sawyer bounces off the ropes, and zooms towards his opponents. They elevate him up, into another double flap-

Jack: OH WOW!

Fat Tony: SAWYER COUNTERED!

Mid-air, Sawyer has the strength of mind to adjust his body and as it descends from on high he wraps his legs across The Cobra’s shoulders.

Jack: Hurricanrana! Cobra’s out! Did you see that?!

Fat Tony: Can you hear the crowd?

The ringside fans go nuts, as The Cobra is flung from the ring by the Hurricanrana from Sawyer. His success is short lived, sadly as he is deck by a massive Eugene King boot in his gut. Cole, still on the outside, urges to Doctor to let him compete, but the blood is still falling from the gash.

Jack: This could be it here here Tony, there’s no way a clearly exhausted Tom Sawyer can out fight Eugene King one-on-one.

Fat Tony: And Nathan Cole is going crazy!

A clearly frustrated Nathan Cole finally pushes away the nearest doctor, and the others disperse trhgouh fear. Cole starts towards the ring, but suddenly The Cobra catches his eye. After quickly recovering from the hurricanrana, Cobra hops nimbly up the ring steps before rushing across the ring apron and launches himself into the air in the direction of Cole.

Fat Tony: Here comes Cobra!

Jack: Look out Cole!

As the Cobra plummits towards his target, Cole pushes the remaining doctor out of harms way before adjusting himself as Cobra approaches!

Jack: Georgia Death! Cole took Cobra’s head off with that uppercut!

Fat Tony: I think he killed him!

Jack: Cole was hurt in the process, the doctors are straight back on him as he goes down to one knee. What happened? Let’s see a replay of that.

As the scene repeats itself, Cole is clearly caught on the side of his temple by a flailing boot from The Cobra. The accidental blow immediatley reopens Cole’s wound, and he falls to one knee holding his face. Despite this, he still manages to begin climbing into the ring, where Eugene King swings another boot, one more punch, before throwing out a claw and grasping Tom Sawyer around the throat, the crowd explode with boos.

Jack: Psychosis! Psychosis!

Fat Tony: King lifts him with a chokeslam!

Jack: No! Sawyer became free! And here’s Nathan Cole!

WHAMMO!

As Sawyer wriggles free, Nathan Cole charges at Eugene King, who staggers into a huge spinning uranage slam!

Jack: COLE MINE! This is over!

Fat Tony: Don’t speak too soon!

The move shook not only the ring, but the whole building. Sadly, Nathan Cole rolls away in exhaustion before he can make the pin. Eugene King is totally out of it, and Tom Sawyer's eyes suddenly widen in excitement. The crowd, realizing his fortunate circumstance, begin to cheer and scream while Sawyer begins to climb the turnbuckle!

Jack: Cole is out! Cobra is out! And Eugene King is certainly out!

Fat Tony: He’ll be fine, just resting his eyes.

Jack: What does Tom Sawyer have planned here? He’s going up top…

On the apron of the ring, Lucas urges Sawyer to hurry, the crowd press him to continue, and as he reaches the top turnbuckle, he stares across the broken bodies in and around the ring. He unrolls his right arm, unfurls his index finger and points at the damaged frame of Eugene King. The fans screech in delight, and Sawyer springs into the air…

Jack: Ode To Madness!

Fat Tony: NOO!

With a crack, the top rope elbow connects with King’s jaw and the referee drops for the pinfall!

One!

Two!

Three!

DING! DING!

With a roar of exhilaration the building erupts for Sawyer. He rolls away from King holding his side as the referee and Lucas try and help him to his victorious feet.

Jack: He did it! What a match!

Gary Trudeau: Ladies and Gentlemen, Your winner…….TOM SAWYEEER!

Sawyer lifts a clenched fist in triumph, and pats Nathan Cole on the back in appreciation. Cole nods without making eye contact and rolls out of the ring to be greeting by more Doctors who immediately begin to look at his eye. Lucas helps Sawyer out of the other side of the ring, leaving King and Cobra still flat out.

Jack: Well, we knew these four guys would put on a hell of a fight, and they didn’t disappoint!

Fat Tony: Well, sadly it was Sawyer who found the energy to get the pin, but only after help from Nathan Cole. But you’re right Jack, these four put everything on the line tonight and I guess we’ll have four bruised and battered bodies going back to that locker room.

Backstage. We cut an interior shot of Bruce Pepin’s office. He stands, facing the wall looking at a picture of Montreal, as the Canadian Dragon plays NCAA 2012 on the PS3 in the corner. A quick glance shows us Dragon’s UAB Blazers are losing to Arizona State 45-3. The Dragon swears at the inanimate console – surely it is cheating. Pepin looks at Dragon and speaks.

Pepin: Dragon, I’ve been thinking a lot these last two weeks.  You did a great job during my moment of need. When I was at my lowest, you picked me up and carried me. I know I often point out how fat you are, or how smelly you are, or your horrible acne. How terrible you are as a wrestler or the fact that you will die without knowing the vagina. Also, the fact that you can’t drive a car or that, no matter what difficulty you play it on, that you lose video games – even ones designed for stupid fat children. Also, you’re rather stupid and your mother looks absolutely awful. Besides those few things, D.L., you are a good guy.

The Dragon throws the controller down.

Dragon: FUCKING BULLSHIT! How am I gonna throw 6 interceptions in one quarter? This game is cheating like a little bitch…

Pepin chuckles. Something terrible happens again to the Dragon’s team and he snaps.

Dragon: BITCH! PILOTE PSYCHO!

The Dragon lifts up the PS3 over his head, before jumping downward towards the ground. The system shatters into hundreds of pieces, which fly all over the room.

Dragon: Who throw’d an interception now, huh bitch?

Pepin: Canadian Dragon…that was ..........AWESOME! You have cheered me up, you rotund imbecile. I didn’t think I’d ever get over Bond’s betrayal, but I’ve moved on. I mean, I beat him. He never beat me. He snuck into a match in disguise and I still tossed him out. He’s nothing – tonight, the masked guy will break him and he’ll be off my hands. I feel relaxed...finally......finally.

There’s a knock on the door. The Dragon climbs up, pushes off Playstation debris and waddles to the door.

Dragon: OH MY GOD IT’S BOND!!

In a flash, Pepin dives to the ground and begins low crawling off camera. He screams out, sliding into the bathroom and slamming the door shut. A deadbolt is heard and Pepin yells for Bond to leave his office. The camera cuts back and…

Dragon: Holy shit! Daniel Craig! You was the man in those movies with the chicks with the titties and stuff!

Indeed, Daniel Craig is in Bruce Pepin’s office.

Craig: Where did he go? I thought we were all set for this meeting?

Dragon: He no listen to me, maaaaaaan.

Craig: Is he here still?

Dragon: Locked in the bathroom. You don’t want any part of that, trust me. Little dude stinks.

Craig: Dammit! I brought him a copy of he looks directly into the camera Cowboys and Aliens, the number one movie in America. The critics love it! he looks back at Dragon I also brought him a script for Bond 23. We need an obnoxious, arrogant French fellow and, upon hearing that, my agents said Bruce Pepin was the best choice there was.

Dragon: Yo, maybe there’s a spot for me in the movie? You need some muscle Dragon flexes or some hustle Dragons jogs in place ?

Craig looks Dragon up and down. It appears at least twice that his mouth fills with vomit.

Craig: I…I’ll see…no promises. Please tell him I stopped by.

Dragon: Can do, Candyman.

Craig: Candyman? Wh…oh, nevermind.

Dragon: Like Freddy Krueger, ya dig?

Craig walks off. The Dragons heads to the restroom door. It sounds like there may be some sobbing going on inside the closed room.

Dragon: Bond left you these papers. Want them?

Pepin: NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!! YOU HEAR ME, NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!! GET THEM OUT OF HERE NOWWWWWWWWW!!!

Dragon: Got it, boss.

The Dragon rips the papers up and tosses them on the floor with the broken PS3 pieces as we cut back to the announcers.

Jack: The Canadian Dragon…

Fat Tony: There are no words that really describe what we just saw, except this. EA Sports needs to get their head’s right and quit making these games that are cheap as hell. I’ve played Dragon before – he’s an elite player. SMOKED me.

Jack: Of for heaven’s sake…let’s get back to wrestling. This place is turning into a bad Saturday Night Live episode.

Fat Tony: Is there any other kind? Daniel Craig was here, how do you like that? Maybe he was our special guest host...

The camera opens to the backstage area where Rex Teitus is walking around looking for something as he notices someone standing nearby. He notices Coleman standing there as he motions for him to come over.  

Teitus: Hey Coleman, come with me if you wanna live!

Coleman: What are you talking about?

Teitus: My Daddy said once if you wanted to make a mark you need to take on one of the biggest and baddest in the yard.

Coleman: That sounds more like suicide than making your mark. 

Teitus motions for Coleman to come along with him. They both walk along the corridor and stop at a corridor. He jerks his thumb smiling.  

Coleman: Look here man, that guy will kill you... no hesitation, no stopping at go to collect two-hundred dollars. He is purely sick and dangerous, besides you will do nothing but piss him off.

Teitus: What better person to knock down a few pegs. 

Teitus quickly charges into the room and leaps onto the back of a rather large man throwing punches away into the back of the large mans head. The camera gets into the locker room as Wallace Coleman is seen outside the door covering his face and shaking his head. Teitus yelling in the background causes the camera to spin back around.

Teitus: Not so tough now big man are ya!!

Suddenly the camera gets a free shot of the big man known as Shaman. Shaman reaches back grabbing Teitus and then launches himself backwards into the wall. Shaman then spins as Teitus releases Shaman. Grabbing teitus by the throat Shaman lifts and charges literally slamming Teitus through a wooden door nearby leaving him there. Shaman looks down at him.

Shaman: Are you freaking insane upstairs??

Teitus staggers and attempts to get up while talking trash.

Teitus: Not so tough are you, You never expected that did ya!!

Shaman: Usually people aren't that stupid.

Shaman stops and rubs his chin looking around. Raising a finger he taps his cheek lightly.

Shaman: I'll tell you what Rex, you got some big ass balls. You call me on the phone, I'll teach you what it takes to survive in the WWA. Just one warning don't fail because I will hurt you. At least I can train you in how to choose your actions wisely.

Teitus: Uh...yeah...sure...mind if I just lay here and bleed?

Teitus slumps over as a trickle of blood flows down his forehead.

Shaman: Go ahead most people do at some point by my hands.

Shaman turns and walks out of the locker room looking to his right at Coleman.

Shaman: Should have warned him Wallace.

Coleman: I tried, trust me I tried.

Shaman walks away simply shaking his head.

Coleman: Pepin needs to hire more announcer's, I'm getting too old for this shit...

Trudeau: This match is scheduled for one fall. Making his way to the ring first…

The lights in the arena dim to an almost pitch-black level and soon enough a yellowish hue engulfs the arena. Chris Cornell's "You Know My Name" blasts over the audio system as the fans are on their feet. Their favorite former Hostilite and current WWA-ian is on his way out! As he emerges from behind the curtain, there is a small burst of excitement from the crowd. With a spotlight lighting his way, Bond makes his way down the aisle and towards the ring, even slapping a few hands of his fans on the way down. He replies back with a smile.

Trudeau: From San Antonio, Texas…’The Chairman’ Chris Bond!

Soon enough he jogs up the stairs, and walks along the ring apron before wiping his feet. Chris Bond steps over the second rope and into the ring. The Hostility Legend and former sVo Tag-Team Champion walks to the center of the ring and stands there for a moment, as flashes go off through out the waves of fans. He circles the ring, arms outstretched, as the fans cheer loudly once again. Bond enjoys this, as his trademark smirk re-emerges on his face. Heading to his corner, Bond does a few stretches as he waits for the match to begin.

Trudeau: And his opponent…

The lights go out and a door can be heard creaking, followed by the sound of wind howling right through the arena; suddenly “Psychosocial” by Slipknot roars through the speakers. Copeland slowly walks out from the back, with Ali on his arm. He stops at the top of the ramp with a calm look etched on his face. The American Psycho stands there for a moment and looks out at the sold out crowd and Ali whispers something in his ear, he nods his head and slowly heads down the ramp toward the ring.

Trudeau: From Los Angeles, California, he is the "American Psycho" Seth COPELAAAAAAAND!

Copeland gets to the ringside area and leaves Ali at ringside. He walks up the steps, slowly enters the ring and walks to the opposite corner. He climbs onto the second turnbuckle and stands there scanning the arena, his eyes taking in the new reception that the fans are giving him, which brings a smile to his face. He climbs off the turnbuckle and paces back and forth as the music fades out and the lights return to normal.

Jack: It’s time for this match to get under way.

Fat Tony: It’s the first time these two have met. This should be interesting.

Ding, Ding!

Bond and Copeland grapple in the centre of the ring. Copeland uses his size advantage and pushes The Chairman away. Bond jumps to his feet and comes in for another grapple. This time he floats under Copeland’s arms and goes behind, locking his arms around the American Psycho’s waist. He throws Copeland to the ground and locks in a side headlock. Copeland struggles a bit, before using his power to force Bond and himself up to his feet. Copeland breaks free of the headlock and hits a belly-to-back suplex.

Jack: Bond will have to keep Copeland’s power under check if he is to win this match.

Copeland picks Bond up and whips him into the ropes, sending him crashing to the canvas with a fallaway slam. Bond rolls out of the ring, evading more danger and catching his breath. The referee starts a ten-count, but Bond is quick back into the ring. Copeland goes for another grapple, but Bond kicks him in the gut and hits him with a neckbreaker.

Fat Tony: The fans are torn in their loyalty, they don’t know who to cheer for!

While Copeland lies on the floor, Bond works on the neck, hitting him with leg drops before picking him up and hitting another neckbreaker.

Jack: Chris Bond locks in a Camel Clutch.

Bond releases the hold and drags Copeland to his feet. He hits a scoop slam and picks Copeland up again. This time, Copeland punches the Chairman in the gut a few times, followed by a stiff European uppercut. Copeland picks Bond up and hits a beautiful running powerslam. He goes for the cover, but only gets a two-count.

Copeland picks Bond up and hits a short-arm clothesline. He keeps hold of the arm and drags Bond up again, and hits him with another short-arm clothesline. Some of the fans rally Copeland on, while others cry for Bond to retaliate. Copeland whips Bond into the corner.

Jack: Bond moved out of the way!

Copeland goes face-first into the turnbuckle. Bond brings him down with a quick roll-up, but Copeland kicks out at two. Both men get up at the same time, but Bond sends Copeland to the floor with a dropkick. Bond picks Copeland up and executes a belly-to-belly suplex. Another pinfall leads to another two-count.

Bond locks in a sharpshooter, leaning back to put as much pressure as he can on the leg. Copeland manages to reach the ropes, and the referee tells Bond to break the hold.

Jack: Bond is trying to wear down Copeland’s body. First the neck, and now the legs.

Fat Tony: It’s a smart tactic.

Bond picks Copeland up and tries to whip him into the ropes. Copeland reverses, and Bond comes off the ropes.

Jack: Lethal Spinebuster!

Copeland hooks the leg, but Bond is able to kick out just before the three-count. Copeland picks Bond up, clubs him across the back three times, and hits a devastating T-Bone Powerslam. Bond manages to get the shoulder up at another pinfall attempt.

Jack: Seth Copeland is in a commanding position now. And now he hits Bond with a Death Valley Driver.

Fat Tony: Any more of these high-impact moves, Jacky boy, and Chris Bond will be done.

Copeland climbs out onto the apron and stalks Bond, who is slowly climbing to his feet. Copeland launches off the ropes with a Springboard Lethal Clothesline, but Bond has it scouted and counters it into a snap bodyslam. Using the momentum, Bond hooks the leg.

Jack: Seth Copeland kicks out just in time!

Bond picks Copeland up and whips him into the ropes. On the return, Bond smacks him in the face with his trademark superkick, known as the Reality Check. Copeland manages to kick out at two.

Jack: The crowd are on their feet now, they can sense Bond taking over here.

Bond stalks behind Copeland as the American Psycho starts to climb to his feet. Bond tries to lock on his patented Misery submission hold, but Copeland elbows him away. Bond stumbles back towards Copeland, who delivers a brutal Lethal Clothesline. The fans cheer for Copeland’s brutal offence as Bond crashes to the canvas in a heap.

Jack: I think this could be the end!

Copeland picks Bond up and puts him in a headscissors. He looks out at the fans, soaking in their cheers, before dropping Bond down with a butterfly faceplant.

Fat Tony: The Endgame! This is over, folks!

Copeland rolls Bond over to his back and hooks the leg.

One!

Two!

Three!

Ding, Ding!

Trudeau: The winner of this match...SETH COPELAND!!!!

Copeland’s theme tune plays over the PA system for the second time as the referee raises his arms. Bond lie son the canvas, holding his head, still feeling the effects of the match.

Jack: This was a closely fought match between two evenly-matches men.

Fat Tony: It was all about power versus finesse, Jack.

Jack: And power won out.

Fat Tony: This time.

The crowd loudly cheers both men for their performance as Bond, who has risen to his feet, shakes Seth’s hand and rolls from the ring. Seth stands and watches him leave with a respectful smirk on his face as Bond walks up the ramp and exits behind the curtain. Suddenly the crowd becomes restless as the large hulking figure from the Independence Day Rumble moves slowly through the sea of people and steps over the guard rail, sliding under the bottom rope into the ring behind an oblivious Seth.

Jimmy: Wait? That's the man who attacked Seth at the Rumble, he’s back!
Fat Tony: Yeah Jimmy he’s back and Seth doesn’t see him. What a dumbass

Seth however hears the commotion from the crowd and turns around, only to be with a thunderous spear from the masked man, almost cutting him in two.

Jack: Spear! He damn near cut Seth in half! What a cowardly attack this is, after Seth just put on a highly entertaining match against Chris Bond, only to be attacked like this.

Fat Tony: Its Copeland manifest, Jimmy. He wants Seth to know how pissed off he is at being cast aside. I'd say Seth is maybe starting to get that message

Seth lies in the center of the ring, holding his mid section as the figure gets to his feet and pulls down the oversized hood, to reveal the mask fully.

Jack: That mask creeps me out, probably more so now after Seth destroyed it all those weeks ago and now it’s miraculously back covering the face of that monstrous man. We watched it burn.

Fat Tony: Well, unless you didn't pay any attention in science class, you can't burn metal in a trashcan fire. Clearly, Seth is going to have to try harder to rid himself of "Copeland"!

Jimmy: That’s what creeps me out so much. It's like a spirit of evil in that mask.

Fat Tony: Think how Jim Carey felt!

Rolling to his stomach, a dazed Seth pushes himself up onto all fours. His attacker wastes no motion, exploding off the mark and punting Seth in the head, knocking him out cold, blood and spittle spraying across the mat from a gash above Seth's eye

Jack: Someone stop this, Seth may have a concussion after that sickening punt kick to his unprotected head.

Fat Tony: Did you hear the sound that made? i think his eyeball is in the fifth row!

Jack: Would you stop?

The figure looks down on the unconscious Seth as paramedics rush down to ringside, but can’t enter due to the masked beast standing over him. After a few moments, he calls for a mic. He speaks with a thick Brooklyn accent...

MAN: Do you know what "Nemesis" means? A righteous infliction of retribution manifested by an appropriate agent. Personified in this case by one horrible motherfucker... ME!
 
With that, he simply turns and rolls through the ropes to the outside and leaves through the crowd. The EMT’s push a gurney under the bottom rope and climb into the ring. They attach a neck brace to Seth and slide him onto the gurney as the silent crowd look on with concern.

Jack: This crowd is absolutely silent as the EMT’s try to stabilize Copeland’s neck after that ungodly kick.

Fat Tony: I fear he may be in some pretty bad shape after that attack. Seth owes "Nemesis" a debt, and it looks like he's come to collect

Jack: Shocking...

The scene flashes suddenly to the backstage area once again, and immediately there is a close up of a fairly unrecognisable man. His skin tone is rather dark, his eyes blue and strangely empty-looking, and his dark hair cut short round the back and sides. He is wearing a forgettable outfit, a pair of faded dark blue jeans and a plain white t-shirt. He does not acknowledge the camera following him, and does not go to any length to reveal his identity. After a while, however, it is apparent who the man is.  

Jack: I think this is the newcomer who ran away from Wallace Coleman earlier! Steven Mason, I believe his name is.

Fat Tony: I told you earlier, he must be shy. 

The camera pulls to a standstill away from Mason as he turns a corner, and after a few seconds it becomes clear why. Mason walks further down the corridor he has turned into moments ago, his figure growing smaller while the camera stays rooted to the same spot. He stops suddenly and faces his right, opening a door which is only just visibly brown and diving inside as quick as possible.  

Fat Tony: Does this guy seem antisocial to anyone else?

Jack: Well now he’s gone into his dressing room, so I’m not sure why-

Fat Tony: Who’s that? 

The mystery person Tony is referring to appears in front of the prone camera, and after a few more steps we see the back of the unmistakeable Wallace Coleman.  

Coleman: I definitely saw him come back down here, come on… 

Coleman ushers the technician following him to go down the corridor, and the pair stop outside Steven Mason’s dressing room.  

Jack: Something tells me Coleman really wants to do this interview with Mason.

Fat Tony: Probably just wants to get it out of the way. 

Just like earlier, Coleman knocks forcefully on the rookie’s door. There is an awkward pause, Coleman unsure whether it is sensible to knock again. He instead opts for a more vocal and unusual approach, choosing to ignore the hint from Steven Mason. He puts his face close to the door, and raises the volume of his voice.

Coleman: Steven, I saw you come in here. How does it feel to be a part of the WWA? 

Fat Tony: Is he trying to conduct an interview through a wooden door?

Jack: Well…I suppose if he gets a response he can tell the powers that be the interview occurred. 

There is no reply from the other side of the door. Instead, after another awkward silence that lasts just a moment too long to be comfortable, a small note passes under the door. Coleman kneels down instantly, picking up the note and reading it to himself.  

Jack: Is that a note?

Fat Tony: I feel like I’m in high school again. 

Coleman: It says ‘Fu…go away’. It says ‘go away’. 

Digesting the message for a second, a surprisingly cynical and doubtful smirk appears on Wallace Coleman’s face. He stands up and faces the door, straightening up his shirt as he does so. He leans his face back into the door once again.  

Coleman: What do you want to achieve in your time here? 

Another silence.  

Coleman: Any particular message for the WWA fans out there? 

Before Wallace Coleman has had a chance to finish his seemingly rhetorical question, a click is heard and the door swings wide open. Some cheers are heard around the stadium, perhaps from those who do not enjoy the presence of Wallace Coleman. Standing in the doorway is Steven Mason, a flash of furious impatience sketched into every minute detail of his expression. He stares coldly at Wallace Coleman for several further prolonged moments before opening his mouth in front of the WWA audience for the first time, his eyes maintaining contact with Coleman.  

Mason: Did you get my note, Wallace? 

As he is addressed threateningly, Coleman noticeably jumps somewhat.  

Jack: Coleman looks frightened.

Fat Tony: Ha! Look at the squirming little guy! He doesn’t look so sure of himself now. 

Coleman scrambles desperately around his four pockets, his hands clambering untidily amidst the sudden pressure he feels. Finally, he pulls the crumpled note from one of his back pockets and reaches his hand out to Mason with it. Mason does not respond, however, clearly not in favour of taking his note back.  

Fat Tony: I don’t think Coleman quite gets what Mason was saying there. 

Steven Mason’s jaw visibly clenches further, and in the space of a blink the entire scene changes. Mason forcefully pushes Coleman in the chest, and the comparatively small interviewer flies backwards into the concrete wall behind him. As he makes contact with the wall a crack is heard from his head also making contact, something which is greeted with a stifled ‘ooooh’ around the audience. He stays against the wall in shock, seemingly keeping his distance from the rookie as much as possible. The audience falls quiet, seeing the fear visibly crawling on Coleman’s face, but this is contrasted to the obnoxious laughter of a certain co-commentator.

Fat Tony: I’m in tears, Jack!

Jack: I don’t think this is funny. I think Mason has got an attitude problem.

Fat Tony: I think he’s got style. No nonsense. At least we know he isn’t shy now! 

Mason’s expression simply does not change. He continues to focus his eyesight on the now cowering Wallace Coleman, at the same time retreating slowly back into the frame of the doorway to his dressing room. He addresses Coleman quietly.

Mason: I don’t like interviews. 

After a small pause, Mason steps calmly and serenely backwards into his dressing room. While standing there Mason’s head tilts sideways, and he looks down at Coleman studiously, like some sort of experiment. The corner of his lip curves upward, almost a hint of admiration at his own power. Nonetheless, he closes the door in front of him and the camera pans round to see Wallace Coleman standing as postured as possible, tucking his shirt in and muttering grudgingly to himself. He eventually stops after adjusting his tie, and attempts to walk proudly down the corridor away from the dressing room of Steven Mason.  

Jack: I imagine that will be the last time Wallace Coleman attempts to interview Steven Mason.

Fat Tony: He should try every week!

BEEEEEYOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWW

The synthesizer intro. The drums. The blue spotlights everywhere. Rush’s “Tom Sawyer”. Many of the fans, those crossover fans from DEFIANCE and Appalachian Wrestling and all the other places where the Foreshadowing had torn things up... Many of those fans pop to their feet. Yes, oh yes, it was time for the Macho Ranger.

Spotlights glare on the entryway... But where was Tom? With Geddy Lee wailing that love-it-or-hate-it voice, the song was in full go mode, but Tom himself is nowhere to be-

RRRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!

Ah, there he was. Emerging from the stands, in the midst of the cheap seats. In his leather Macho Ranger jacket, fringe dangling and flapping every which way, followed closely by his former tag partner, Tom Sawyer rushes into the midst of the fans. Arms flail, so Tommy can slap hands, high-five, give handshakes, hugs, and all the rest. Tommy Sawyer was definitely here for the people.

Fat Tony: How touching, he’s trying his very best to manipulate everyone into loving him.

Jack: That’s really cynical. These fans have taken to Tom...especially after his big win earlier tonight.

Fat Tony: Wake me when he says something of substance. I’ve got a sandwich and a big bowl of au jus to enjoy.

Tom quickly makes his way down the stairs with Lucas Harper just behind him. The Foreshadowing, as they once were known, move their way through the their? fans on their way to the ring, hands always in motion. Despite being tired from his four-way dance, Tom is still beaming, grinning merrily. He loved the people, and wasn’t gonna let them off without hearin’ from him tonight.

Fat Tony: So, you think ratings are gonna nosedive out of people being bored?

Jack: With commentary like you’re giving, probably.

Down to the ringside seats. After an embrace of a kid in a comically oversized Foreshadowing hockey jersey, Tom jumps the guardrail.

Into the ring Tom dives, and the man bursts to his feet, immediately spinning into the center of the ring, hands held out to the sides. A  of “OOOOHHHH YEEEAAAAAAHHHH!” comes from the fans. As he rotates, Tom’s hair flings out and his fingers point out to the people. A microphone appears in his hand, in use even before he stops rotating.

Tom Sawyer: Another stop on the way to South of Heaven, another night of fun... And another chance for me to watch Jiminy Watkins in action. You KNOW I’ll be watchin’ in a couple minutes.

The crowd watches in rapt attention. Either Tommy Sawyer was gonna be the next victim of the Killer of the Trendkiller, or he was gonna be kickin’ his ass. Or... He was gonna be facing down with Eee Vee Dee, and losin’ that belt to a superior wrestler. In either case, Tommy was the newest contender, and guaranteed to be kickin’ in the title division for a few weeks.

Tom Sawyer: So, boys and girls. I’m gonna be on South of Heaven, no matter what. But the real question is, who am I gonna be facin’? 

Tom comes to the side of the ring and points out into the crowd. A dazzling smile is offered as he points right out into the mass of people. Some hold up signs, some cheer and dance, some boo and flip Tom off.

Tom Sawyer: Do you guys want to see me facing Eddie Van Dorn?

EEE VEE DEE! 
EEE VEE DEE!
EEE VEE DEE!

Tom arches an eyebrow, watching the crowd. A moment’s thought, before he lifts a finger, pausing the crowd with naught but a simple gesture.

Tom Sawyer: Or do you want to see me get a chance to end the Magic Man’s spell personally?

RRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

Tom smiles, letting the microphone fall to his side. Those brilliant eyes look out into the masses of people fondly. Their cheers envigorate him, and give him the warm fuzzies deep down inside. After a long moment, he brings the mike back up.

Tom Sawyer: I might’ve just happened to win the number one contendership by outlasting everyone else in the Independence Day Rumble, but there’s a good reason I want to fight Watkins so badly.

A finger jabs out into the crowd. Tom points out a single child.

Tom Sawyer: Five short years ago, I sat in the exact same seats that you guys are sitting in right now. I was just a seventeen-year-old kid, in love with wrestling, watching everything I could get my hands on. I had bought up every video of old-school stuff I could afford, I downloaded anything I couldn’t buy, and I watched every show I could get on cable. Religiously.

A moment’s sigh, before Tom looks upward, a brilliant smile appearing on his lips.

Tom Sawyer: And so, the very moment I turned old enough to be accepted into Calgary Wrestling’s school, I was standing outside the front door. 

Tom turns back to the center of the ring, fist clenching as he looked downward. His eyes burn, his face a mask of sheer pleasure, remembered fondly.

Tom Sawyer: I went to that school every day. I lifted weights until my arms felt like they would fall off. I did wind sprints until I puked. They threw me around the ring until I came home looking like a Dalmatian. They chopped my chest bloody.

The kid looks up, back out to the crowd. He tosses his hair and one hand comes up to stroke the thick blonde hair behind his head.

Tom Sawyer: And every minute of it was worth it. I got to be a pro wrestler. I got to trade in my front row ticket for being a part of the action. I got to be in this ring, fighting against the best competitors in the world. I risked my life, I risked my health, and every single second, every moment was worth it! I was living my dream!

Tom clenches a fist, pumping it to his side in one strong, quick motion.

Tom Sawyer: And then, I had to face... reality.

A finger points to the back. His grin slowly melts, dripping into a grimace.

Tom Sawyer: I was a professional wrestler. This is a business, and shouldn’t be about making every match life and death. It’s not about being the most , the most violent, the most brutal...

Tom’s fist shakes, his face trembling with anger, with frustration, with rage.

Tom Sawyer: IT SHOULD BE ABOUT PUTTING ON GOOD MATCHES! ENTERTAINING THE FANS! MAKING SURE THAT WHEN YOU PEOPLE SHELL OUT YOUR MONEY, YOU GET TO COME INTO THESE SEATS AND WATCH TWO MEN FIGHTING FOR PRIDE, FOR ENTERTAINMENT, TO SEE WHOSE SKILL IS BETTER!

The kid’s entire body shakes with his barely restrained hate.

Tom Sawyer: And people like Jamie Watkins pervert it all.

Tom leans over the top rope, curls his lip, and hocks a big fat loogie, spitting right onto an imaginary Magic Man.

Tom Sawyer: That’s why I’m gonna stand in your way, J.J. I’m gonna be here, whether you want me to be or not. A World Champion is supposed to be the best fighter in the world, and should be testing himself against all comers. I earned the shot to face you, Watkins. I earned the RIGHT by going through thirty-nine other wrestlers, and I’m not gonna just give up like that!

The kid takes a few stomping steps back, one hand smashing into the mat before he straightens, fingers curling up tight.

Tom Sawyer: So come on out, Watkins. I know you’ve heard every single word I’ve said. And I might’ve just been through a match... But I still got enough left in the tank to dance a duet with you!

Nothing happens, though. No music, no nothing.

Jack: Where's the champion?!

Fat Tony: As long as he isn't here, I'm good.

The crowd has begun to grow restless, and Sawyer looks to be getting impatient, when finally the curtains rustle and part, and out from the back emerges...

Jack: Rachel Beckett!

The woman adjusts her glasses as the crowd begins to boo loudly. She maintains the air of professionalism she's always maintained, but beneath it, it's clear that she's not comfortable about something.

Beckett: Mr. Sawyer, my client does not wish to speak with you at this time.

Massive deluge of boos. Sawyer doesn't know how to react to this, and seemingly chooses to simply scoff.

Fat Tony: Good! We don't want to see him, either!

Jack: The champ can't just do that!

Beckett: Furthermore, he wishes me to inform you that you are, and I'm quoting, a "jive-ass turkey." I don't really know what the hell he's talking about, but that's what he said.

The crowd's hatred is nearing a fever pitch now, but a swell of concern wells up in the crowd in the form of a collective gasp. Sawyer, sensing what's coming, turns... And backdrops a charging sneak-thief Watkins up and out of the ring!

Jack: Did you see that?! Watkins was using Rachel as a distraction!

Fat Tony: She can distract me any day, lemme tell you.

Jack: Watch Tom!

As Watkins recovers at ringside, removing and discarding the WWA Title, Tom turns, dashing to the ringropes and rebounding off the opposite ones. Right as Watkins looks back, Sawyer leaps into a handspring, a backflip... THEN FLEW RIGHT OVER THE TOP ROPE!

Fat Tony: SUICIDE DIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIVE!

Jack: CORKSCREW! CORKSCREW PLANCHAAAAAAAAAAAAA!

And Tom wipes Watkins right out! Both men hit the ground hard, Tom dizzied from his no-look, no-hands corkscrew suicide plancha, Watkins taken aback by the impact of the kid’s flight! Lucas Harper rushes over, fists clenching, ready for a fight...

Fat Tony: Whoa, hands off the Champ!

Tom pops to his feet, a single finger pointing into the air.

“RRRRRRRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” goes most of the crowd. That was a pretty sweet move.

Tom bend, grabbing ahold of Watkins by the hair, other arm looping under his arm. Lucas bends, grabbing at Watkins’ other arm and “helping” the champ to his feet. The Foreshadowing, back again in fine condition. They straighten the World Champ...

Fat Tony: Is the Champ about to get broken down?

Reared back...

Jack: Oh yes.

Fat Tony: It’s “OOOOHHH YEEEEAAAAAHHHH!”

CHOP!

“WHOO-Eh!”

CHOP!

“WHOO-Eh!”

CHOP!

“WHOO-Eh!”

DOUBLE CHOP!

“WHOO-Eh!”

Watkins stumbles backwards, arms coming up to cover his broken-up, chopped-red chest. With his face a mask of pain, things were looking bad for the Magic Man. Time for something to change things...

A hand digs into Watkins’ waistband, and he pulls something out surreptitiously. The Magic Man turns away from Tom and Lucas...

Fat Tony: Ooh, we’re gonna see a trick!

Jack: This is gonna be bad... C’mon, Tom, don’t fall for it!

Tom grabs at Jaymz’ shoulder, turning him to face him... And Watkins throws his hands out, a bloom of fire exploding from his palms! FWOOM, and Tom’s eyebrows are crisped, eyes dazzled, face burnt a wee bit!

Fat Tony: I think WWA Security has seen enough...

Jack: About time! Tom Sawyer could have just been blinded!

The men in the security shirts flood down to the ring, Watkins being hauled away from the challenger. All the while, Jaymz roars with laughter, Lucas Harper looking absolutely FURIOUS. Tom keeps his hands clapped to his face, leaning pitifully against the ring apron.

Watkins: YOU LEARNED WHAT HAPPENS WHEN YOU MESS WITH ME, KID!

Tom grits his teeth, and with one hand, lunges through the crowd of security, swinging a nearly-blind punch, and ALMOST connects! Watkins’ eyes go wide, and he cackles even louder, stepping willingly back. The security goons part, uneasy about even touching Jaymz Watkins with their own two hands.

As Tom lunges against the grasp of the security guards, one hand pressing tightly to his face, Watkins waggles his fingers at Tom. Oooh, how scar-

Fat Tony: SAWYER BUSTS THROUGH THE SECURITY!

Jack: SAWYER WITH THE TAKEDOWN!

”RRRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

Even with one hand clenched to his face, Tom shoots through the guards, goes low, snags the leg and trips Watkins down, dropping the World Champ! Tom mounts, and begins to rain down right hands, hammering away at the Magic Man... But Watkins reaches up, jabbing with two fingers, right into the ol’ eyesockets!

Fat Tony: Security, seperate ‘em already, god damn!

Jack: Sawyer’s like a wounded animal!

Tom is dragged back, both hands clapping to his face, and Watkins lunges forward, jabbing that magical hand through Tom’s guard. Jaymz grabs Tom’s forehead, and RIPS his fingernails downwards, slashing them through Tom’s tender, burned flesh!

BBBBBBOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Security instantly overwhelms Tom, dragging the kid back, forcing him away from the WWA Champ. Guards get into Jaymz’ face and personal bubble, dragging him away from Tom, but Jaymz willingly goes. He grins devilishly, even merrily, and lets them. But after a few moments...

Fat Tony: Oooooh... uh-oh.

Jack: Watkins just noticed that Lucas Harper’s in the ring.

Fat Tony: Jaymz is the WWA Champ... That’s his ring!

Jaymz Watkins turns, slipping through the security guards’ grasp, and dives into the ring. Lucas Harper stands before him, fists clenched. The Canadian even tore his shirt off, leaving himself barechested. Harper’s still easily in ring-shape...

Jack: WATKINS WITH THE LOW BLOW!

Fat Tony: Kick right between the uprights!

Jaymz slips in, like a thief in the night...

Jack: THE KILLDOZER!

Fat Tony: Lucas Harper is DOWN! HE’S SO DOWN!

Jaymz grins, and gestures for his WWA Heavyweight Championship. He grabs it possessively from the stagehand who offers it, then saunters on over...

Fat Tony: FISTDROP!

Jack: More like Title Belt drop!

Watkins hammers away with that WWA Title, smashing it into Lucas’ unprotected face over and over and over and over, before the title belt pulls back with blood spattered across it. Tossing the belt down, Watkins grabs Lucas by an unresisting hand, yanks him to his feet...

Fat Tony: Head and arm locked...

Jack: THE TRENDKILLER

Fat Tony: Miracle Suplex!

WHOOMPF

Harper is down, crumpled in a heap, bloody and battered and rendered into a useless pile of meat with a fluttering pulse. Jaymz Watkins pops back to his feet just long enough... To drop to a knee. His arms extend out to either side, a brilliant grin on his lips.

Jack: In one fell swoop, Jaymz Watkins not only beat Tom Sawyer at his own game, but assaulted Tom’s mentor, and might have ended the man’s career!

Fat Tony: There’s a reason he’s the WWA Champion. He’s the best. He might be the worst, but he’s the best.

Watkins grabs his WWA Heavyweight Championship and walks on over to the ring ropes. The title is lifted into the air, a brilliant grin on Jaymz’ lips as he climbs onto the ropes. Hanging off the top, Watkins poses for a photo op. All hail the King.

As the carnage brough upon by our champion is cleaned up, we cut backstage to the office of Bruce Pepin. The Canadian Dragon is putting posters on the wall, of Bruce Pepin beating Chris Bond. Music also plays in the background – apparently the Dragon has put on some Gordon Lightfoot in an attempt to bring the boss back to Earth. Why he chose the 'Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald" we will never know. Pepin sits at his desk, his head down. The door to his restroom has been broken off the hinges, apparently by the Canadian Dragon. On the floor behind Pepin is a mess of broken PS3 parts and ripped up paper. There’s a knock at the door and Pepin’s eyes shoot up as Dragon goes to answer it. Pepin looks ready to dive to the floor. Off camera, Dragon addresses the door.

Dragon: Look who it is. Thought you didn’t have the balls to show your face…thought I was gonna have to go to Toronto and snatch your ass out of your house, maybe lay some PILOTE PSYCHO on ya, BOOM!

A figure enters and Pepin rises. The owner of the WWA stands face to face with the "Greatest of All Earth Time," Denrol.

Pepin: First Bond now you! At least you came.

Denrol: That's what she said.

Pepin and Dragon look at each other in confusion.

Denrol: Nevermind. You wanted to see me and since I'm still under contract until December 31st, so I'm here.

Pepin: Sit, Gordon, please.

Pepin extends a hand towards a chair in front of his desk and hurries around to the other side.

Pepin: DRAGON! Fetch us some beaver tails and hot ciders.

Denrol: I'm not going to even ask. I'm fine.

Pepin: Fetch them for me!

The Dragon does as he is told.

Pepin: It’s good to chat sometimes, no? We never have really talked, just you and I. How are you, Gordon?

Denrol: Listen, I’m not really in the mood. You saw what happened with Segier last week. I just want to move on. In the past, I would have slapped the smirk off Greg’s face but he’s right. Wrestling has passed me by. It’s a young man’s game. I watch these newcomers – guys like this animal Bronson Box, men like Tom Sawyer who won’t quit and Segier…Segier. He’s good, damn good and he knows it.

Pepin stares at Denrol, unsure of what to say next. The Dragon returns with a beaver tail and Pepin’s drink.

Pepin: Merci, Dragon. Gordon, do yo—

Denrol: My friends call me Gordon, Pepin. My fans calls me Denrol. You are neither, so you can call me Mr. Korth.

Pepin: Fine. Korth, do you remember when we met?

Denrol: Is this conversation going anywhere?

Pepin: Do you remember when we met, Korth?

Denrol: Are you referring to last year? When you tried to ruin the reputation of Canada by making Jevon White a citizen?

Pepin: You helped him train for that match, in vein as I crushed him six or seven times. You remember?

Denrol starts to rise, but the Dragon pushes him back down. Denrol, from a seated position, pushes the Dragon, who flies into the far wall, breaking an "Old Time" photo of Pepin in cowboy gear.

Denrol: I have better things to do than listen to you put yourself over again, Pepin. Yeah, you beat White. Big deal.

Pepin: Please, Gor—Korth, please sit. This is going in a direction I did not intend. Please, sit for the W.W.’eh owner. DRAGON, pick yourself up and get the hell out of here.

Rejected, Dragon slinks off, carrying the NCAA 2012 strategy guide.

Pepin: When I was a young boy, my father talked about me taking over the family business. I would carry out his legacy and stand in his footsteps. It wasn’t what I wanted. Because, from the first time I turned on the W.W.’eh, I saw a man I emulated. A man I wanted to be just like. A Canadian, just like me – sure, maybe he was from dirty Toronto, but that didn’t matter. The first live show I attended was in early April of 2002. Do you know what I speak of, Gordon?

Denrol stares at Pepin, remembering. The attitude slowly – very slowly – seeps away from his face.

Pepin: On that night, I thought you would conquer that which couldn’t be conquered. All week at Collège Jean-de-Brébeuf, my classmates and I talked about the big match. My father had surprised me with tickets and it would be just him and I. The Bruce Pepin’s together in Toronto. Sure, we had to get our shots first, but we did. I was ready, Gordon. I was ready for you to be the man to stop Jackson Kraven. No more tomorrows for Kraven…I believed in you, Korth.

Denrol: And I lost and you were sad and that made you into the little smug prick you are today. I'm sorry I ruined your life. Can I go now?

Pepin feels the sting of the words.

Pepin: When I started in the W.W.’eh, I didn’t know I’d own it one day. I just wanted to be the best and it became obvious quickly that I was. I dreamed one day, you and I, would compete. I would win, of course, but it would be a marvelous day for the world. I was just like you were…yet, you rejected me. You sided with GeVon. I understood why, but the very thought crushed me. I wanted to just talk to you and make you understand my mission. I am a hero all over the world, Gordon, these people just don’t realize it. They didn’t realize it with you, either.

Denrol: I'm no hero, never was. I was just a wrestler. I did what I had to do to compete here and I had a run that I’m damn proud of. No one can take that away from me. I tried to teach Segier but I learned quickly that it was a waste of time – he wouldn’t listen and, as much as it stings me to admit it, there was nothing I could provide him. He didn’t need me – I needed him. I used him to stay in the spotlight. But now I’m out of it. These fans have heard my name, but it’s just a name. It’s fitting Segier calls himself the Second Generation, because it just further sinks home the fact that my time has come and gone.

Pepin: Gordon, I implore you – as a fan and not as the W.W.’eh owner – stand up for yourself. Greg Segier is an obnoxious punk who has no honor, not like men like us Denrol raises an eye at this reference . You have meant a great deal to the W.W.’eh and to me. I refuse to accept this attitude…I want you to walk the aisle one last time. I want an adoring fanbase to shower you with the love and adulation you’ve earned. And I want to be there, to be among those cheering you on once more. Denrol versus Greg Segier. South of Heaven. The final bow for the "Greatest of All Earth-Time," in his home country? What do you say?

Denrol stands up, brushing himself off.

Denrol: Look Pepin, you and me have no issues right now. I am still under contract with the WWA. And it's a tempting offer. But my answer is no. Furthermore, I have this for you.

Denrol takes out a manilla envelope and hands it to Pepin. Pepin looks confused.

Denrol: Those are my retirement papers. I'm officially done Bruce.

Denrol nods towards Pepin and walks out of the office. Pepin stares after him, before turning around and kicking a Chris Bond Hostil-a-Buddy across the room.

'Wolves' by Josh Ritter blasts pover the PA system as Robert “Wolf” Hunter makes his way tot he ring as the crowd gives him a positive cheer.

Gary Trudeau: Making his way to the ring weighing in at 215 lbs is Robert “Wolf” Hunter!!

Hunter slips into the ring raising his hands as he spins around in a circle throwing a few quick punches into the air loosening up.

Fat Tony: Another new guy leading himself to the slaughter.

Jack: Uhm Tony Hunter is a fixture on the roster now for several weeks.

Fat Tony: Was he? I wasn't paying attention.

Jack: Do you ever?

Fat Tony: What pay attention? Nah I am too poor to pay attention.

Gary Trudeau: At this time, weighing 246 pounds. He is WWA's Hellbilly from Hot Springs. He is...the one known as...INTREPID!

'Killing Inside' by Cavalera Conspiracy begins playing and not even a second after the entrance ramp begins to fill with smoke. A brilliant burst of white strobe light flashes to the beat and Intrepid comes out quickly but  stops on the entrance ramp as D.Filed follows closely behind. He stares out into the crowd grooving to the beat of the music, glaring at them through the eyes of his mask. He suddenly thrusts his arm into the air and screams “Heathens!”

Fat Tony: Now this is getting exciting, Intrepid is a man I can respect.

Jack: Not like he wouldn't hurt you given a chance.

Fat Tony: Don't be jealous Jack soon you will grow up and be hated too.

Jack: Why do I even try?

Fat Tony: Because your too stupid not too?

As soon as the crowd reacts, Intrepid runs down the entire aisle all the way to the ring. He dives onto the ring apron and slides into the ring on his stomach. When He reaches the opposite side of the ring he pushes himself into a standing position. Before stepping out toward the referee Intrepid turns and kneels in the corner to pray. After everyone clearly has an awkward moment he stands and nods to the referee that he is ready to go.

Jack: And we are having a religious moment here as we speak.

Fat Tony: Nothing wrong with a man being religious thanking his god or gods for this opportunity.

Jack: When did you become religious Tony?

Fat Tony: Uhm somewhere around the time I got rehired.

Hunter and Intrepid slowly circle each other as the referee signals for the bell. Both men lock up. Intrepid out muscles Hunter as Intrepid quickly breaks the hold and drives an elbow right into the middle of Hunters forehead. Hunter staggers backwards as Intrepid grabs hims ending him into the ropes. Quickly Intrepid kicks Hunter in the midsection and executes a single arm ddt on him. Intrepid drops down and drags Hunter back to his feet.

Jack: Intrepid taking quick advantage here in this match.

Fat Tony: Intrepid is the man of the hour, I do believe he already has beaten Hunter.

Jack: No I must correct you there, Hunter actually beat Intrepid evenhandedly might I add.

Fat Tony: I do not believe this, I must know the truth.

Intrepid reaches back and begins to throw a fist into Hunters head. Hunter blocks it and throws a fist into Intrepid's head. Intrepid staggers backwards at the onslaught from Hunter. Hunter grabs Intrepid and sends him into the ropes, Coming off the ropes Hunter hits a Enzuiguri laying Intrepid out flat. Hunter gets to his feet quickly as Intrepid bails out of the ring to regain his composure as he watches Hunter very carefully.

Jack: Intrepid lost the momentum very quickly.

Fat Tony: He needed to capitalize on his control.

Jack: Intrepid may be clearing out the demons in his head from that counter attack.

Fat Tony: it is cobwebs, Intrepid doesn't have any demons.

Some of the fans heckle Intrepid as he stalks around the ring. He makes his way to the ring steps and climbs them slowly. He steps through the ropes as Hunter waits patiently for him. Hunter circles as Intrepid follows once again, Both quickly lock up as Intrepid drives a knee into Hunter bending him over at the waist, but he staggers back quickly and executes a backhand chop across Intrepid's Chest.

Fat Tony: Intrepid won't take this for long.

Jack: I don't think he has a choice.

Fat Tony: He under estimates Intrepid.

Jack: Like Buffets underestimate you?

Fat Tony: Exactly...uh wait a second!?!?

Intrepid is sent into the ropes once again as Hunter executes a flying clothesline on Intrepid dropping him down ahrd onto the mat, Hunter quickly attempts a cover as the referee drops down.

1...

2...

Fat Tony: No and I told you Intrepid is too good to be pinned.

Jack: That you did Tony.

Fat Tony: Ya you better listen to my almighty expertise.

Hunter lifts Intrepid to his feet and pulls, Intrepid is whipped hard into the corner. Hunter runs at him to deliver a corner clothesline but is met with a drop toe hold by Intrepid and Hunter eats the top turnbuckle.

Jack: Intrepid Counters quickly to avoid possible major injury.

Fat Tony: he is a ring technician, nothing less for Intrepid.

Intrepid grabs Hunter and lifts him up onto the top turnbuckle. Intrepid then climbs up onto the second turnbuckle and grabs Hunter's arm.

Fat Tony: Doesn't look good for Hunter here!

Jack: Hunter is far from out of this match.

Intrepid turns around on the turnbuckle with Hunters arm over his shoulder then leans forward quickly yanking the still disoriented Hunter off the top turnbuckle and slamming him onto his back.

Jack: Intrepid back in control here.

Fat Tony: Of course he is, his accolades go back several years now.

Jack: Uhm he has been silent lately.

Fat Tony: That's because he was on a mission to spread the gospel of his beliefs.

Intrepid stands up slowly looking down upon the prone form of Hunter. Hunter is barely moving as Intrepid smiles as he reaches down and pulls Hunter up onto his feet roughly. Jerking Hunter around he stares at the crowd and then grabs Hunter by the throat shoving him into the ropes sending him off to the other side following quickly as he clotheslines Hunter out of the ring over the top rope.

Jack: Intrepid taking control fully now.

Fat Tony: He needs to hurry and finish this and move on to more important matters.

Jack: This is sad.

Intrepid runs and climbs onto the top rope while he looks down at Hunter who is slowly staggering to his feet. Intrepid leaps up into the air executing a Nuclear Warhead Plancha down onto Hunter as they both go crashing into the chairs and tables near the announcers table.

Fat Tony: Ahhh get out of the way!!

Jack: Hey watch it!

Intrepid rolls himself over slowly as he crawls free of the tables and chairs laying about, He slowly makes his way towards the ring pulling himself up. Hunter rolls himself over slowly as Intrepid quickly rolls himself into the ring and then back out towards Hunter. Intrepid grabs Hunter and drags him towards the ring and slams him head first into the ring. He then casually rolls him into the ring as he turns around jawing with the crowd.

Jack: Wow that was close here at ringside.

Fat Tony: I heard once that Intrepid is up for the role in the new Phantom of the Opera!

Jack: Damn Tony that was random.

Fat Tony: Of course I am randomness at its best.

Intrepid climbing to his feet as he rolls Hunter over for the pin as he points to the referee he points to the mat. The referee drops down for the count.

1..

2..

Jack: No at the last minute Hunter kicks out.

Fat Tony: It was a three count didn't you hear it hit??

Intrepid gets up and drags Hunter to his feet. Intrepid goes to sling Hunter into the ropes, but Hunter reverses it and as Hunter executes Savate kick knocking Intrepid sideways, Intrepid holds the side of his head as Hunter steps in close and executes a spinning hook kick leveling Intrepid once again just after he gets back to his feet. Hunter quickly drops in and grabs Intrepid by the waste and pushes him forward. Her executes a rear throw Judo style on Intrepid.

Fat Tony: What was that? That's not wrestling.

Jack: That was a Judo rear throw otherwise known as the Ura Nage.

Fat Tony: this isn't the time for a bathroom break.

Jack: Ura Nage is a rear throw in Judo.

Fat Tony: Yeah I knew that.

Hunter slowly gets to his feet and slips in around Intrepid as he sits up. Suddenly Hunter executes a series of kicks into the chest and back of Intrepid. He reaches down and grabs Intrepid and drags him to his feet. He turns to sling Intrepid into the corner, but Intrepid counters and goes to charge in, but Hunter quickly leaps out of the way as Intrepid staggers backwards. Hunter leaps up and executes a tilt a whirl head scissors into an armbar.

Jack: La Mistica!!

Fat Tony: That won't stop Intrepid.

Jack: Intrepid struggling to reach the ropes.

As he struggles Hunter locks in tighter on Intrepid. Barely inches out of reach Intrepid reaches up and taps the arm of Hunter as the referee signals for the bell. Hunter stands up releasing Intrepid as he backs away as Intrepid rolls out of the ring shaking his arm a bit.

Jack: Your winner by submission ….... WOLF HUNTER!!!

Fat Tony: Intrepid isn't going to take this lightly.

Jack: Well he is taking the loss here.

Camera fades to commercial leaving Intrepid staring at Hunter as on the screen shows Hunter forcing Intrepid to submit.

The scene cuts to backstage. To be more exact, the parking lot. The exit of the arena opens and out steps Denrol.

Jack: After officially handing in his retirment papers, it looks like Gordon is leaving the building.

Fat Tony: Good to see him gone. I never liked that little bastard.

Denrol heads for his car, pulling his keys out of his pocket. His head is done and he seems lost in his own thoughts. He turns a corner and stops dead. He glares at a figure out of sight.

Denrol: We really need to do this?

The camera pans over and we see that Greg Segier is leaning up against Denrol's rental. The Canadian Champion has his belt on his shoulder.

Greg: Yeah, we really do. You think you can just run away from this?

Denrol: I'm not running. I'm looking to get in my car and drive away from this.

Segier chuckles and takes a step away from the car.

Greg: Fine.

Denrol: Is this the part where you brutally attack me, to try and piss me off?

Greg: No. It's the part where I let you drive away, knowing I'm the better man.

Denrol shakes his head and walks to the car. He unlocks it and starts to get in, but Segier places a hand on his shoulder.

Greg: This is also the part where I make it clear this isn't over. I'm the Canadian Champion, Gordon. That should mean I'm the best in Canada. But you and both know that hasn't been proven yet. I need to defeat Canada's greatest legend.

Denrol: William Shatner?

Segier's eyes narrow.

Greg: You.

Denrol shakes his head.

Denrol: My time is done. You should be the future of this company. But you're never going to be if you stay obsessed with the past.

Denrol steps into the car and starts it.

Greg: Don't you ignore me old timer, you've still got business in this company! You walk away from me now, you will seriously regret it.

Denrol pulls down the driver side window.

Denrol: I'm driving away Greg. Enjoy the championship.

Denrol pulls away. Segier watches him leave, clearly livid.

Greg: This isn't over you son of a bitch! You've just pissed off the greatest Canadian Champion to grace that ring, the last remaining Franchise Player... I WILL BRING YOU BACK!

The scene slowly fades out.

Trudeau: The following match, scheduled for one fall... Is for the WWA Heavyweight Championship!

"Tip The Scales" by Rise Against blares through the PA, and the crowd roars in anticipation. From behind the curtain, Jack Griffiths appears, dressed in the familiar black-and-white of WWA officials and black track pants. He high-fives a few members of the audience before breaking into a sprint for the ring.

Trudeau: Making his way to the ring first, the assigned official in this contest! From London, England, weighing in at 205 pounds... The Once and Future King... JACK GRIFFITHS!

Jack: This match is going to be AWESOME, folks! Eddie van Dorn gets the first crack at taking this WWA Title from our questionable champion, and I have to say, I think he's got a chance to do it!

Fat Tony: What gets me, Jack, is Griffiths's appearance in this match. As much as I hate EVD AND Griffiths, I hate Watkins even more at this point, and the addition of Griffiths does not bode well for EVD, in my opinion.

He slides into the ring where he pops up to his feet and throws up a devil's horn symbol to the crowd as his music fades out. The house lights dim as "Another Brick in the Wall Part 2 " by Pink Floyd begins to play. It seems as if the only illumination in the arena are the lighters that have been flicked on by the more musically inclined members of the audience. Suddenly, another flicker of light appears at the top of the ramp, lighting up the face of Eddie van Dorn. Eddie's wet hair falls in light curls over his eyes, almost as if he is hiding behind a curtain. He is not grinning devilishly tonight; instead, he looks out at the ring and crowd with a look of grim determination.

Trudeau: Introducing first, the challenger, from Truth or Consequences, New Mexico, weighing in at 181 pounds... The Extreme Revolutionary... EDDIE VAN DORN!

Jack: Eddie van Dorn has most certainly earned this shot, which is more than can be said for our WWA Champion's shot at IDR and subsequent reign.

Fat Tony: I'm not so sure about that, Jackie. EVD earned that shot under the old regime, and cried to Bruce Pepin until he got it back. While I'll stop short of saying he didn't earn it, because he did, I will say that, with the advent of the new WWA, that shot should have been roundly made null and void.

Jack: Maybe, maybe not. Regardless, we've got a really big matchup incoming.

Eddie walks slowly down the ramp as his highly appropos entrance theme continues to play. He climbs the steps to the ring, then lights a fuse on one of the ringposts. It burns slowly toward a powder load in one ringpost, and the load goes off just as the first accented note in the song is played, and each successive ringpost goes off with other stressed notes. Eddie stands on the fourth turnbuckle to go off. He raises his eyes to the ceiling and his arms to the sky.

Jack: EVD is the very picture of Generation X.

Fat Tony: Is that supposed to be a good thing for Gen X?

He then steps down from the turnbuckle and crumples into a heap in the corner, staring hard at Jack Griffiths, who stares back in kind but not kindly. Pink Floyd fades out, and the crowd's cheers and death gazes amongst old friends remain. The lights in the arena go dark, and the crowd starts to murmur in anticipation. On the screen, a countdown from ten begins in very blocky video game letters, a loud, stylized clock sound as it counts; the crowd knows who it is, and explodes into boos. Strange music begins to play along with the clock sound; the countdown hits five, at which point the word MAGICS appears emblazoned in the background for about half of a second, and the screen blacks out again, the strange music stopping, also. Shapes begin to line the stage area, slightly and eerily glowing in the blackness. The strange music returns, building in intensity until it reveals itself by transforming into Katy Perry’s “E.T.” The lights rock back on in a series of obnoxious neon colors, and the words KING JAYMZ fill the screen. The shapes on the stage are in fact people, covered in neon paint and fiber optic pieces that play hell on the eyes in the light of the neon glow. They all begin dancing together in a choreographed piece that oozes with sexuality. The screen underscores their dance with images of both Watkins’s history in the WWA and weird imagery that may or may not also be sexual in nature. The crowd has none of it, booing with everything they have.

Jack: How much does this idiot's entrance cost every time we have to see it?

Fat Tony: More than he deserves.

Finally, Jaymz Watkins steps out onto the stage, adorned in his tophat, skull facepaint, custom jacket, and wrestling attire. He holds the WWA Championship, for some reason, in his teeth, which still cannot hide that the biggest shit-eating grin ever covers his countenance as he walks through the throngs of dancers. The amount of boos is disgusting.

Trudeau: And from New Orleans, Louisiana, weighing in at 275 pounds... The Master of Five Magics... The WWA Heavyweight Champion... JAYMZ WATKINS!

As the song leads into the chorus, Watkins grabs the WWA Championship in his hand and holds it aloft. The dancers surround him; he lowers the belt in his “magic” hand quickly and drops to one knee. Right as the song hits the chorus, the dancers collapse to the stage as one; Watkins leaps to air, thrusting the title belt back up and a massive and obnoxious line of pyro erupts around the outside of the screen. Watkins continues walking to the ring, biting ahold of the end of the belt again. As he passes the camera near the ring, it is revealed that the bent-up, bloodied crowbar is sticking out the back of his tights.

Jack: Wait, why does he have that?! This match isn't No DQs!

Fat Tony: He might just have it for moral support. I don't know.

Watkins grabs the title belt from his mouth and rolls beneath the ropes before climbing the nearest turnbuckle and bowing low. He hits all the turnbuckles as such, but on the final turnbuckle, Jack Griffiths hops up and snatches the crowbar out of the back of Watkins's tights. Watkins turns around and drops out of the corner immediately, the look in his eyes enough to slay a mammoth. He screams at Griffiths as the music fades out.

Watkins: WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING, PYJACK MOTHERFUCKER?!

Griffiths: MY JOB!

And on that note, Griffiths chucks the crowbar out toward the entrance ramp. Watkins desperately reaches to try to catch it as it leaves Griffiths's hands, but he's not even close. Griffiths gestures toward the timekeeper.

Ding, Ding!

Jack: YES! EVD is on even footing with Watkins now!

Fat Tony: Well, as even as a man that weighs a hundred pounds less and is seven inches shorter can be, I suppose.

Watkins lets loose a massive snarl and lunges for Griffiths with a huge haymaker, but EVD cuts him off quickly by leaping up and dragging him down with a crucifix pin, knocking off Watkins's tophat in the process!

Jack: Eddie looking to steal it early!

Griffiths drops to make the count...

One!

Two!

But Watkins powers out, shaking his head hard. EVD hops up and runs for the ropes behind the champion, and on the rebound nails Watkins in the small of the back with a dropkick. The champion is knocked forward, bending in two for a moment before bouncing back onto his back. EVD makes the pin again, and Griffiths again makes the count.

One!

Two!

Watkins kicks out again. Again, EVD gets to his feet quickly, this time leaping up and landing atop Watkins with a standing moonsault. Another pin.

One!

Two!

And another kickout.

Jack: EVD taking it to the champion here. He knows that he's going to have to smother the bigger man with offense if he wants to take this match. Watkins has him outclassed in virtually every category!

Fat Tony: EVD is faster, I would wager, and probably more experienced, but that's about it.

Crowd: EVD! EVD! EVD! EVD!

EVD "helps" the champion back to his feet, and goes to whip him into the ropes, but Watkins counters, sending EVD for the ride instead. On the rebound, the Magic Man tries to clobber the Extreme Revolutionary with a clothesline, but the smaller man ducks it. On rebound numero dos, EVD leaps at Watkins with a crossbody, but the bigger man catches him easily, the boo birds taking flight.

Fat Tony: Oh, well. It was fun while it lasted.

Watkins, grinning madly, tries throwing EVD around with a spinout uranage, but EVD counters on the way around by throwing the bigger man with a momentum-infused arm drag. The champion is thrown so far that he's propelled out of the ring. The crowd gets loud, and when they see the look of excitement upon EVD's face, they put two-and-two together and swell bigger with anticipation.

Jack: What's the Extreme Revolutionary planning here?

As Watkins gets back to his feet, a look of overwhelming shock on his face, EVD runs at the opposite ropes. He rebounds and rockets toward Watkins's side before leaping into the air and splattering the champion with a flying senton! The crowd goes bananas, and EVD's face as he gets back to his feet doesn't mask his enjoyment.

Jack: EVD showing everyone why he deserves to be here tonight! The champion doesn't know what hit him!

Fat Tony: He's going to need to keep up this breakneck pace, then. If he slows down for a nanosecond, the champ is going to capitalize.

Griffiths begins his count.

One!

Two!

Three!

Four!

EVD hops up to the ring apron, sizing Watkins up. The champion gets slowly back up to his feet, and when he turns, is met with a picture-perfect missile dropkick from the challenger, right up under his chin. The champ flops about on the ground, and EVD doesn't give an inch, delivering a series of stomps.

Five!

Six!

Seven!

Eight!

Jack: The challenger had better get a move on here! He's libel to get counted out!

The Extreme Revolutionary grabs Watkins about the head and pitches him back into the ring, following suit quickly. As Watkins goes to get back up again, EVD puts him flat once more with a running enziguiri. The crowd is LOVING it.

Crowd: EVD! EVD! EVD! EVD!

Jack: Do you think Watkins has his mind on Tom Sawyer right now?

Fat Tony: After what he did earlier to Sawyer's mentor, I sincerely doubt it. Watkins has Sawyer on the defensive now.

Pin cover.

One!

Two!

Jack: Watkins kicks out here.

Fat Tony: The challenger is showing impressive cardiovascular endurance, as he most certainly is keeping up the pace. Well done.

Jack: I'm impressed you knew that word, Tony!

Fat Tony: Then buy me a taco.

EVD looks down at Watkins, who is getting up again, albeit slower than before, and turns to run toward the ropes. Watkins desperately reaches out and grabs EVD by the hair and rips him down to the canvas by it, to a great deal of booing.

Jack: No! Such a cheap shot!

Fat Tony: Desperate times, desperate measures, Jackie.

Griffiths immediately runs over and admonishes Watkins, gesturing wildly about the hair pull. The Magic Man simply looks at the guest official, a demonic grin grasping at his lips.

Fat Tony: That could be all she wrote. EVD had a shot there, but now the bastard champion is going to work.

The Master of Five Magics hoists EVD up from the canvas, boots him in the gut, and lifts him up easily with a vertical suplex. Watkins doesn't drop the Extreme Revolutionary, though, stalling him up there. Cameras flash all throughout the arena even as the crowd boos, and Watkins, impressively, releases the hand gripping the waist of EVD's pants and holds it aloft, Magic Man-style. Even more boos cascade down at this little act.

Fat Tony: Okay, that's pretty swank.

Jack: It's just a shame that such a talent has become such a douche!

Watkins splats EVD down, and transitions nicely over into a cover.

One!

Two!

EVD kicks out in plenty of time, though. Watkins grabs ahold of EVD's hair again, and delivers a sick blow to the face. Almost immediately, Griffiths grabs Watkins's punching arm, stopping it. The champion glares up at the Once and Future Official, who shakes his head and makes the hair-grabbing gesture again.

Jack: Jack Griffiths seems determined to enforce the rules out here tonight, which I would say is a very good thing.

Fat Tony: That is a good thing. But let's see if he'll enforce them on EVD, too.

The Magic Champion yanks his arm free from Griffiths, and in his distraction, EVD shoves him away and rolls back, recovering in the corner for a moment. Watkins gets back up and moves in toward the challenger, but EVD lashes out with an open palm strike to Watkins's abdomen, doubling him over. Another shot, this one to the chest, follows, and a second blow to the abdomen follows that. The crowd begins to come alive again.

Jack: EVD trying to get some momentum again.

One very stiff European uppercut staggers the champion back, and EVD hops easily up to the top rope. He walks the tightrope there, his trademark smile coming into play, and leaps with ease toward the champion for a missile dropkick. The champion, however, has him scouted, and lunges forward under the flying challenger, causing EVD to sail harmlessly overhead and crash to the canvas.

Jack: Nobody home!

Upon impact, EVD bounces up a bit, landing on his knees, clutching his stomach. Watkins smiles knowingly, hits the opposite ropes, and roars in hard, putting one foot onto EVD's knee and the other into EVD's face in a very impolite way. The crowd boos, but Watkins just gets back up to his feet and throws his magic hand into the air, causing the boos to get even louder.

Jack: Our champion who lucked into the title showing us why he should keep it, I suppose. Drive-By Kick there, and it was textbook.

Fat Tony: Is the Drive-By Kick in the textbook? I don't remember coming across it.

Jack: Have you EVER read it?

Fat Tony: ...You win this round, Jackie.

Pin attempt.

One!

Two!

Thr-

EVD kicks out, but it took longer than last time. Watkins positions himself behind the challenger, grabs both of his arms, and puts a knee into the upper portion of his back. EVD struggles, but the surfboard is cinched in tightly.

Jack: Surfboard applied, and the challenger is in trouble here. With the size difference in this match, I wouldn't be surprised if this is enough!

Fat Tony: Hey now, Jackie. It ain't over 'til my momma sings.

Jack: Ha, I see what you did there!

Crowd: EVD! EVD! EVD! EVD!

Even with the urgings of the fans, the challenger cannot find the way to break out of the hold. Watkins pulls his knee back and drives it into the challenger's back hard, amplifying the pain. The champion repeats the process multiple times, and EVD grunts with pain each time. Then, suddenly, from out of nowhere, EVD pulls an arm loose, contorts his body as he leans back, and somehow kicks the champion right in the face.

Jack: Whoa! What a counter!

The surprise of the attack staggers Watkins, allowing EVD the chance to escape. The challenger throws a hard boot to the gut of the champion, but the Magic Man catches EVD's foot, holding up the magic hand and wagging a finger, Dikembe Mutumbo-style.

Jack: EVD gaining momen- Oh, Watkins catches his foot!

Fat Tony: The champion has something sinister in mind, I'd wager.

Indeed, as Watkins throws EVD's foot away hard enough that the challenger spins around in a complete 360, and ends up facing Watkins once again. Watkins delivers the boot this time, and grabs EVD's head.

Jack: No! Rational Gaze coming!

EVD, though, is the one to counter this time, elbowing Watkins in the small of the back and grabbing him tightly with a rollup, a sneaky handful of tights grabbed, too! The crowd cheers loudly, and when Griffiths drops to make the count, they count along...

Jack: Schoolboy out of nowhere!

Fat Tony: He's got the tights! Keep ahold of them, Eddie! Get that belt off that maniac!

One!

Two!

Three - NO!

Griffiths stops his count at three, spying EVD's hand on Watkins's tights. The Once and Future Official swats EVD's hand off of Watkins's tights, and the Cajun King is able to escape, scampering to the outside of the ring. The crowd boos very loudly at this, and EVD gets up to his feet quickly, holding his arms out at his sides in a look of frustration. Griffiths shakes his head, though, and EVD looks annoyed.

Fat Tony: Dammit. Well, at least we know he's going to call it fairly.

Jack: Why did it have to come at the expense of taking Watkins down?! He didn't kick out! He wouldn't have!

EVD gives up the argument, and instead moves over to the ropes, where Watkins has climbed to the ring apron. The Extreme Revolutionary reaches for him, but instead receives a shoulder thrust right in the gut for his troubles. Watkins stands up and dives into the ring, attempting a sunset flip, but EVD doesn't go down. Instead, the challenger tugs himself loose of the champion, leaps into the air, and gives a heavy double stomp right to Watkins's stomach, blasting all the air out of his lungs.

Jack: Ugh! That one hurt me!

Fat Tony: He's probably going to feel that for a few days. Every time he eats, I'd expect. Dammit, I'm hungry again.

Pin cover...

One!

Two!

Three - No!

Watkins finds the strength to kick out there, somehow. The crowd boos loudly, and EVD just shakes his head. The dropout "helps" the champion to his feet, and turns his eyes to the corner. The smile crosses the challenger's lips, and he drags the Magic Man into the corner, flipping him over into the tree of woe.

Jack: Eddie's going to put it away here! Get him, Eddie!

Fat Tony: Wait, what's Watkins doing?

Indeed, as the champion has leaned up and grabbed ahold of EVD's shirt, refusing to release him. The challenger tries to pull away as the crowd boos loudly, but it isn't until he is forced to grab a big handful of Watkins's hair and yanked him bodily off that he's able to escape; the crowd is happy with this result. Griffiths, once again, steps in and cuts EVD off, admonishing him. The crowd lets loose the boos here.

Jack: No! No, Jack! What are you doing?!

Fat Tony: Damn his insistence on following the rules!

As would be expected, Watkins is able to get out of the predicament and slinks back out of the ring. EVD has gotten in a lot closer to Griffiths's face and the two are warring with words.

EVD: Are you serious, Jack? You want me to beat this maniac as much as I want to beat this maniac!

Griffiths: I will NOT let you cheat, Eddie!

EVD: Listen to yourself! You'd be doing this company a favor letting me win, and here you are, clinging to your "honor." For what?!

Griffiths: You're being just like him, then, Eddie!

EVD goes to speak again, but all of a sudden, Griffiths grabs EVD and shoves him bodily out of the way. Zooming into frame is Watkins, WWA Title in hand, looking to knock the challenger's head clean off. Griffiths's quick thinking, though, averts the crisis, and Watkins stands sheepishly between the two men for a half-second.

Jack: Oh, God! That was close! I can't believe Jack just bailed Eddie out there!

Griffiths yanks the title from Watkins's hands, and Eddie takes the opportunity to run to the ropes on the opposite side. Watkins glances quickly between the two men and makes a snap decision of his own: before Griffiths can discard the title, the champion grabs him from behind and yanks him back, right into the path of EVD, who mistakingly blindsides the Once and Future King with a very stiff spinning wheel kick. The crowd goes bonkers, in a bad way, as EVD realizes what he's done, and tries desperately to revive his former friend.

Jack: No! No, no no!

Fat Tony: Damn, the bastard has a million tricks!

Unbeknownst to EVD, Watkins is slinking up behind him, and the champion grabs the challenger around the waist. The crowd swells with hate as he takes the challenger up and over with a German Suplex... But EVD lands on his feet! And, in an even more impressive maneuver, leaps up, grabs Watkins's head, and sends him to Detention!

Jack: Detention! Detention! And Jaymz doesn't have a hall pass!

Fat Tony: What the hell was that, Jack?

Watkins, though, stays standing, even as EVD has the hold tightly locked in. The champion waves his arms around wildly, reaching out for something, anything, to grab onto, or to use for an escape, but there is nothing. EVD shakes violently, torquing Watkins's head and back, but somehow, the champion still doesn't go down.

Jack: Tap out! Tap ou, you egomaniac!

Fat Tony: EVD's too small to take him down, it seems, but he certainly has that hold on th- oh, shit, he's gonna tap!

Watkins's hand hovers high, fingers wagging, the champion no longer looking for a place to grab onto and instead trying to block out the pain. He shakes his hand, shakes it, as Griffiths slowly makes his way back up to his feet...

Crowd: TAP OUT, WATKINS, TAP OUT! *clapclapclap* TAP OUT, WATKINS, TAP OUT! *clapclapclap*

Jack: Yes, "champ"! Tap out!

Watkins's hand begins to falter, slowly drops, as Griffiths turns back to the action, shaking the cobwebs out. Then, in a flash... Watkins thrusts the hand into the air, magic-style, and grabs EVD's head with both arms. The two men struggle, neither wanting to give the other the advantage.

Jack: WWA Championship on the line, and neither man wants to lose tonight! Who's going to budge first?!

Finally, the strength of Watkins is too much, and the champion pulls his head loose from EVD's grip, leaving the Extreme Challenger in a very precarious position. The champion grabs fully ahold of the challenger's and drops right down to his backside, crunching EVD with the Rational Gaze!

Jack: No! Rational Gaze! Don't give up, Eddie!

The boos of the crowd are wild, but they cannot stop Watkins from crawling over for the pin. Griffiths doesn't look happy, but he drops down for the count anyway. It's a tad on the slow side...

One!

Two!

Jack: KICK OUT, EDDIE!

Three!

Ding, Ding!

Jack: NOOO!

Trudeau: You winner... And STILL WWA HEAVYWEIGHT CHAMPION... JAYMZ WATKINS!

The champion leaps to his feet and throws his hands into the air, and Jack Griffiths begrudgingly takes one of them, holding it aloft to symbolize his victory. The champion, though, yanks his hand loose and shoves Griffiths away. The Once and Future King stares gape-mouthed at the champion, who simply laughs.

Watkins: Get the fuck out of here, pyjack! This ring is for champions, not has-beens!

Griffiths looks like he wants to say something, but does not, choosing instead to turn and exit the ring, crestfallen as he makes his way back up the ramp and to the back.

Jack: Credit where its due: Jack said he'd call it down the middle, and he did.
Fat Tony: He might not be happy with the result, but he made the call nonetheless.
Jack: And his reward as it were, is a match against Greg Segier.

Watkins snatches his title belt from a ringside attendant and stares down at his conquered opponent, who clutches at his jaw.

Jack: I can't believe he did it! This is terrible! I thought Eddie had him beat!

Fat Tony: The bastard gutted it out. He was clutch when he needed to be, and he's still the champion. You can't say he didn't earn it this time.

Watkins drops to a knee and yanks EVD's head up, thrusting the WWA Championship into his face, snarling at the failed challenger as he does so.

Watkins: Remember this?! Well, commit it to memory: you'll NEVER see it again!

The champion rears back and blasts EVD with a short-arm, belt-assisted clothesline that lays him out flat. The boos of the crowd reach a fever pitch, but the champion doesn't listen, instead getting back up to his feet and stomping away at the Extreme Revolutionary.

Jack: Stop him! What is he doing?! The match is over!

Fat Tony: I think he's sending a message...

The champion picks EVD up bodily and drags him over to the corner, where he sets him up in the tree of woe. The boos get even louder, if possible, as Watkins steps out, sizes EVD up, and charges in, stealing Eddie's own Dropout maneuver!

Jack: Dropout! Watkins is mugging EVD here! Leave him alone, Watkins!

Another spear hits, and another. Finally Watkins looks up to the rampway and his eyes light up. He runs full-tilt from the ring, up the ramp, and stops, where he leans down and picks something up, drawing even more hatred from the crowd.

Jack: The crowbar! He's got that crowbar, the weapon that retired Trendkiller, and he's looking to retire Eddie van Dorn now! SOMEONE STOP THIS!

Watkins slides back into the ring and stalks over to the lifeless Eddie, where the champion grabs Eddie's head and tugs him up so that he's in a horizontal position. As Watkins holds the crowbar aloft and the crowd spews their hatred, a figure bolts toward the ring with a chair in hand, running so quickly that the first cameraman isn't able to catch his face.

Jack: Who was that?!

A second camera catches the face of the man as he slides into the ring.

Jack: Its Griffiths! And it looks like he found a weapon!

As Griffiths pops up to his feet, Watkins rolls out the far side of the ring, narrowly avoiding the chair as Jack throws it, hard, right at his head. From his pocket, Griffiths pulls a microphone.

Griffiths: Thats right, Watkins: run away! Because the WWA is defended once more!

Griffiths pauses.

Griffiths: What you did to Trendki... to Jason, was barbaric and viscous. In an instant, you ended his career, but in that same instant, you made me realise something. One intangible truth.

Griffiths pauses and sighs a deep sigh of regret.

Griffiths: It made me realise that Christopher Bond was right: the WWA doesn't have any true heroes left. Pause You once stood for something, but now all that's left is a hollow lunatic. I talked a big game but failed to back it up. Well, that changes tonight! Yet another pause. Tonight, I stand before you once more as a bastion of honour, and as the WWA's last protector.

Griffiths pauses, glances to EVD, who has fallen in a heap in the corner, before turning back to the champion and snarling:

Griffiths: The world needs a hero, and heroes don't watch their friends get beaten!

Griffiths drops the mic with a THUD. The reaction of the crowd is huge, but mixed. Mostly there are cheers, but there are some boos in there, too. Watkins simply stares up at Griffiths, the hatred boiling behind the champion's eyes. Griffiths stares back, just as determined.

Jack: More strong words from Jack Griffiths tonight! Can he back them up, though?

Fat Tony: All signs point to, "No."

Jack: Our champion retains, but someone finally slowed the freight train that is Jaymz Watkins. What's going to happen next Underground?! Tune in to find out! Good night, folks!

As Griffiths's gaze shifts back to EVD, who is slowly getting back to his feet, the show fades to black.