V.O: Since its very inception, the WWA has seen great warriors…

As the opening music hits, the WWA logo fades immediately to a nostalgic scene; ‘The Painmaker’ Randy Cross jumps up from the pin over Mark Lynch having claimed his first ever WWA Championship. The euphoria of his first WWA Championship fades slowly to the glory of his second victory, the climactic moment of his long-term feud with Nik Segier recaptured in high definition. This is shortly followed by the image of Black Scorpian, cementing his place in the House Of Pain, laying down for Cross for his third capture of the belt. Randy Cross is then seen winning his fourth and final WWA Championship by pinning Steihl, the man he helped win the belt just five days before.

V.O: Some warriors saw just one glimpse of glory…

The image cuts to a clip of Ian Tense holding the WWA Championship victoriously above his head at the close of the 2002 Birthday Brawl, his fearsome seven month reign just beginning. There is a quick flash of his reign coming to an end, beaten at the hands of Kash, before the scene cuts to the iconic image of Dave Harley reaching for the WWA Championship at the 2004 Birthday Brawl while his former partner Mal Somers is restrained. Kade Williams is then seen pulling himself up the oversized WWAtron towards the WWA Championship at the 2006 Birthday Brawl, before Nicholas Adams is seen finally holding the WWA Championship he had craved. The climactic moment of his victory over five other men is the last image seen before a crescendo of music and a fade to two of the WWA’s greatest superstars of all time.

V.O: And some warriors kept coming back for more.

Craven Moore and Jackson Kraven stand toe-to-toe in the middle of the ring, eyes locked on each other in an intense stare. The two begin exchanging punches, and the image switches to various powerful moments in the career of these two legends of WWA history. First, Kraven lies atop Vik Ventressa to win his first WWA title. Second, Kraven once again beating Ventressa to regain the title after it was taken away from him. Craven Moore is then seen defeating Jackson Kraven in the first of many huge matches between the two. Kraven wins back the title from Moore once more, but it is Craven Moore with the final say between these two giants; he wins the title from Kraven on Fiesta in the last ever title match to occur between the pair.

V.O: But what does it take to become a hero of the WWA? Is it bravery?

Quick clips continue of death-defying moments in the WWA’s history. Armaan and The Plague flying down fifty feet from the WWATron at Birthday Bash 2007, Shawn Cage executing a belly-to-back suplex on Randy Cross from the top of the cage at Rage In The Cage 2001, and Wes Sanders hitting a frog splash on Ian Tense from the top of the cage at Rage In The Cage 2003.

V.O: Is it ruthlessness?

And now, just one story airs; Dave Harley loses to Ian Tense, his head bowed as he is forced to join the Devil’s Own. Then, his victory over Leviathan, rendering Dave Harley the unlikely leader of the group. Images of Harley’s then tag team partner, Mal Somers, becoming WWA Champion intertwine these images. What follows remains one of the biggest moments in WWA history; Dave Harley comes to congratulate his friend Mal Somers, but betrays him. As Harley beats Mal Somers down, the image fades again.

V.O: Or is it persistence?

Images of those who waited a long time to win the title flash across the screen; Mal Somers’ eventual victory of the World Title League, Nicholas Adams’ title victory at Revolution in 2009 and Jack Griffiths’ defeat of RJ Stone at the Independence Day Rumble of July 2010 all making an appearance.

V.O: Each warrior faces down the barrel of the gun in a different way. Some choose to tread the path together…

Deimos and Phobos appear on the screen, a clip of Havoc’s first unlikely victory over The Human Condition show at first. This then fades to short clips of their various title match victories; over The Horsemen, over The American Luchadores, over X-Corp and, most recently, in the final showcase of the Tag Team Championship belts. Short clips of the WWA’s legendary groups then flash in and out of the screen; of the House of Pain, of X-Corp, and of many others.

V.O: And some choose to walk it alone.

The imposing figure of Damian Thorne appears facing the screen, his vicious victory over Mal Somers in 2006 the first to be seen. This is followed by another iconic clip; of Thorne being hoisted to the WWA Championship by his ally Leviathan. The image then fades to a winking Tracer Bullet, and his three title victories are all displayed.

V.O: All of these warriors cemented their place in WWA history. All of these warriors will be remembered in years to come as some of the greatest-

The voiceover is cut off as suddenly as possible, and the crescendo music in the background cuts to a tense silence. The screen goes black and, after a few nervous seconds, fades back to the image of Jack Griffiths looking directly at the camera. A confident grin stays ever-present on his face.

Griffiths: But that was then…

As he finishes speaking, he too fades away only to be replaced by various current members of the WWA roster. Shaman, Chris Bond, Denrol, Eddie Van Dorn, Intrepid, Seth Copeland are all visible, looking straight at the camera. These are replaced by clips of the current roster in action; of Jaymz Watkins ending Trendkiller's career, of Intrepid grappling Wolf Hunter, of Chris Bond wrestling Seth Copeland, and of the various rookies beginning their journeys with the WWA. These images are eventually replaced by the menacing figure of Jaymz Watkins, current WWA Champion, glaring at the viewers.

Watkins: This is now.

The camera clicks suddenly to the backstage arena, not far from the curtain at the top of the ramp on the way to the ring. Walking down the corridor is Steven Mason, a steely and focussed look on his face.

Jack: That's Steven Mason. The rookie must be on the way for his match; a four man battle royale!

Fat Tony: Not bad for a show-opening match.

Mason's pre-match determination is abruptly, and some would say rudely, interrupted by a microphone being thrusted in front of his face. He stops in his tracks, and all of a sudden Mary Bingham appears in front of the camera, a coy look on her face as she finishes approaching Steven Mason. He does not look pleased with her attempt.

Jack: The last time somebody tried to interview Steven Mason it did not end well.

Fat Tony: I'm not sure even Mason would openly attack a woman on air...

Jack: I imagine that's exactly the point. The headquarters want an interview with Mason, so they send a woman in there. Sneaky!

Mason takes a moment to compose himself, before directing his glare at Bingham, who does not cower like her counterpart Wallace Coleman did two weeks ago. The two exchange a challenging stare long enough for Bingham to smirk in a challenging manner, and the feisty interviewer speaks.

Bingham: Steven Mason, you soared to a debut victory last week and have been rewarded with a chance to become the number one contender to the TV Title. What do you hope to achieve in the WWA?

Mary Bingham waits, slightly nervously, to see if Steven Mason will answer her question without in trouble.

Jack: Mary Bingham has got balls!

Fat Tony: No wonder she's feisty.

Steven Mason takes a deep breath, and closes his eyes with a sense of incoming regret. He reluctantly pulls the microphone closer to his mouth, and speaks.

Mason: I have been reliably informed that it would be in my 'best interests' to give you an interview. For that reason, I will answer your question.

Mason pauses for the briefest of moments, and Bingham's eyes widen as she realises she is going to be successful in getting an interview from the media-shy rookie.

Mason: First, I'm going to win this match tonight. Then I'm going to win the TV title. I'll follow that with a title reign that will end when I decide it will end. After that, I move on to greater things here but, truth be told, I don't feel like going into too much detail with you. I have a plan.

Mason finishes his abrupt answer by handing the microphone back to Mary Bingham and walking to the end of the corridor with the arena curtain in sight. Surprised and unsatisfied, Bingham chases after him again.

Bingham: Steven! What kind of plan?

Mason: It doesn't matter. You'll see eventually. For now, just concentrate on the 'win the match tonight' part I mentioned.

With that, Mason disappears behind the curtain to head towards the ring for his match. Bingham turns to face the camera, and shrugs apologetically. Steven Mason has slipped from her grasp, something she usually doesn't allow.

Jack: At least he didn't beat the interviewer up this time. 

Jack:  And with that, I believe we are ready to get under way…  Live from the Palace at Auburn Hills, Michigan…welcome, everyone to WWA Underground.  Sitting with me, as always…Tony Valentino.  

Fat Tony:  Fulfilling my contractual obligation to do so.

Jack:  And I believe that we are ready with our first match of the night.  Let’s go to Gary Trudeau…

With the referee for this match by his side in the middle of the ring, Gary Trudeau reads from one of a handful of index cards in his hand.

Trudeau:  Ladies and Gentlemen…this is an Over-The-Top Battle Royal, with the winner being named the Top Contender for the WWA Television Championship. 

The fans, eager for some wrestling, give the match description a good cheer.  

Trudeau:  Introducing your opponents in this match.  Already in the ring and standing in the northwest corner of the ring…he weighs 265 pounds…CHRIS SLAYTON!

Slayton generates, if anything, some polite applause, which he acknowledges with a simple wave.

Trudeau:  And, also already in the ring and standing in the southeast corner of the ring…weighing in at 264 pounds…MAX MAXWELL!

Compared to the reaction for Maxwell, Chris Slayton was a totally over superstar.  Nobody seems to care that Maxwell is in the ring.  They can’t even manage some polite applause.  Thus, there’s nothing for him to acknowledge—which Maxwell doesn’t.

Jack:  So, looking at the tale of the tape here, Tony.  Chris Slayton is one inch taller and one pound heavier than Max Maxwell.

Fat Tony:  Who are you, Art Donovan?  Nobody cares.

The familiar opening riff of Jimi Hendrix's 'All Along The Watchtower' spreads around the arena, and the lights over the audience flash between on and off and through the curtain comes Steven Mason.

Jack:  The third man in the match is Steven Mason.  Not sure what to think about him yet.

Fat Tony:  He’s the guy I’m putting MY money on in this match.

Jack:  He’s an odd one.  One moment, he seems not to care about anything…the next, he’s showing real skill in the ring. 

Mason makes his way down the entrance ramp towards the ring.  He keeps his head facing downward the entire way—refusing to look at anything but the floor as he makes his way to the ring.  Thus, he’s not generating a lot of fan excitement here in the arena.

There must be some kinda way out of here

Said the joker to the thief...

Jack:  Now, Steven Mason has already been in a match with both Max Maxwell and Chris Slayton.  Tony, does that give him an advantage here.

Fat Tony:  What?  Are you actually trying to do commentary here?  This is the opening match, Jack.  It really doesn’t matter.

Mason reaches the ring and immediately rolls under the bottom rope, to continued indifference from the fans.

Trudeau:  Weighing 290 pounds…STEVEN MASON!

Steven Mason doesn’t look at the fans.  He doesn’t look at Chris Slayton or Max Maxwell.  He doesn’t look at Gary Trudeau or the referee, for that matter.  He just goes directly to an empty corner, as his music is faded out, and leans against the turnbuckle to await the other opponents in this match.

Jack:  So, if it doesn’t matter…then why is Mason the guy you’re putting your money on in this match? 

Fat Tony:  He doesn’t waste my time.  He just comes out here…nothing fancy…nothing flash.

The loud roaring of a bear echoes throughout the arena.  And now the fans get up on their feet.

Fat Tony:  Oh, Jesus.

Jack:  Ahhhh…you know what THAT means!  

The rockabilly strains of Motorcity Daredevils' “Bear in the Air” begins to play.

Fat Tony:  It means I can’t get myself a sandwich.

Jack:  What?

Fat Tony:  You’ve got to hang all your food fifteen feet in the air when there are bears around.

Stepping through the walkway is a large and hairy man wearing a dark-olive green star-spangled spandex singlet, with red, white and blue fringe hanging from the elbow pads.  Through a mound of curls on his face, the camera catches his wild, wide eyes peering around the arena at the fans who are cheering his arrival.

Trudeau: Hailing from Jacksonville Florida, he stands at 6 foot 4 inches and weighs in at 328 pounds...  He is known as “The Flyin' Ursine”…  The ONLY one of his kind...

Jack:  He’s a man…he’s a bear…

Fat Tony:  He’s the reason I can’t have a sandwich.

The hirsute beast crouches down low over the entrance ramp so both fists touch the ground.  Suddenly, the mighty mauler rises up to his full height and unleashes a terrifying bellow into the air!  The crowd responds in kind.

Trudeau: THE AMERICAN FREEBEAR!

Red, white and blue fireworks shoot out from both sides of the entrance ramp. American Freebear pounds his chest.  The crowd is definitely excited to see him and those closest to the entrance ramp stretch out their arms towards him as he thunders towards the ring.  Freebear responds by using his big paws to give as many of those fans high-fives as he can.

Fat Tony:  Oh my God, is he hairy!  Look at him! 

With a bounce in his steps that belies his rotund shape, American Freebear jumps to the ring apron.  

Fat Tony:  Looking at this Freebear guy is like staring at a Hustler magazine from the 70’s.

Jack:  How so?

Fat Tony:  IT’S NOTHING BUT HAIR! 

American Freebear steps through the ropes and does a crowd pleasing forward roll before rising to his full height.  Looking directly into the hard camera, Freebear jabs his thumb to his chest and mouths the words “I am the ONLY bear that flies!”

Jack:  He may be hairy, Tony…but I think he’s a favorite to win this match and become the top contender for the Television Championship.

Fat Tony:  And I think he’s a nutbag…and—wait, is that it?

There seems to be some confusion in the production staff and the men in the ring.  The hand-held camera whips around to catch Gary Trudeau shuffling his index cards.

Fat Tony:  That’s only four guys.  Is it only supposed to be four guys?

The hard camera catches the referee kneeling at the side of the ring, talking to a member of the production staff.  Meanwhile American Freebear looks menacingly at Steven Mason, Max Maxwell and Chris Slayton.

Jack:  I guess, we’re going with only four guys here, Tony.  Four men in a Battle Royal to determine the top contend—

Fat Tony:  Not gonna be much royal about it with only four guys, Jack.

Jack:  Four guys is what we’ve got… 

Fat Tony:  I’m just sayin’—

Jack:  I KNOW what you’re saying, Tony…but I guess someone decided that pour himself a big, tall glass of “Can’t Be Bothered.”

Fat Tony:  Yeah.  Where IS Jackson?  He’s supposed to be here.

Still exhibiting the confusion behind the scenes with the production of the show, we cut to a shot of the empty entrance area and no one coming through the curtain.

Jack:  Jackson WAS scheduled to participate in this match…evidently, he’s a late scratch.

The hard camera shows that the referee nodding to what he’s being told at the edge of the ring.

Jack:  And, fans, if you were hoping that tonight would be the night that Erik Stalin would make his first appearance wrestling in a WWA match--

Fat Tony:  Which he may be avoiding, because it would take time away from his endless talking…

Jack:  We know that he was invited to participate in this match here tonight…and earlier in the week, it looked pretty good…it looked that we’d see Mr. “100% Real” in this Battle Royal.

Fat Tony:  We’d see him get that big mouth of his shut.  That’s what I was looking forward to.

Jack:  Well, if you were watching the most recent WWA Insider show, you saw Erik Stalin turn that invitation down.  So, he will NOT be in this match here tonight.

Fat Tony:  I think he’s a coward…a braggard… 

Jack:  You think he’s all hat and no cattle?

Fat Tony:  I don’t know what that means, but if it means that he talks more than he fights, then yes.

The referee motions for Gary Trudeau to leave the ring.

Jack:  Meanwhile, we’ve got four wrestlers here who are ready to put on a good show and—

Just as the referee was going to call for the bell, the opening piano riffs to “I Need A Dollar” begins to play over the arena speakers.

Fat Tony:  Ahhhh…better late than never.

Jack:  Says you.

The referee quickly waves off the ringing of the bell and catches Gary Trudeau by the arm to prevent him from leaving the ring.  The lights of the arena begin to blink on and off to the bassline of the song.

Jack:  Looks like we’ll have five men in this match after all.

The entrance area is bathed in blue lights and into that sapphire glow comes Jackson, who ignores the abuse from the crowd as he shuffles his way through the curtain and across the stage.

I need a dollar dollar, a dollar is what I need.
Hey! Hey!
Well I need a dollar dollar, a dollar is what I need.
Hey! Hey!
Said I said I need dollar dollar, a dollar is what I need
And if I share with you my story would you share your dollar with me.

As he heads down the entrance ramp to the stage, Jackson is shaking his head and muttering to himself the entire way.  He doesn’t look at the hand-held camera that frames him up so the WWATron, showing the image of an ominous rain cloud, is directly behind him.

Fat Tony:  At least now, this match has a sturdy ring veteran…rather than all of these green horn kids.

Jackson stumbles as he transitions from the entrance ramp to the flat ringside area.  His muttering turns to anger that Jackson seems to hurl at the entrance ramp—as if it was the ramp’s fault that he just stumbled.

Jack:  Sturdy?

Fat Tony:  Well…

I need a dollar dollar, a dollar is what I need
Hey! Hey!
Well I need a dollar dollar, a dollar is what I need
Well I don't know if I'm walking on solid ground
Cause everything around me is falling down
And all I want - is for someone - to help me

Jackson trundles up the steps to the ring apron.  The fans continue to boo him, loudly, as he struggles to maneuver himself through the ring ropes and actually get into the ring.  

Trudeau: From Chicago, Illinois.  Weighing in at 245lbs…..JACKSOOOOON!

As Gary Trudeau exits the ring, Jackson allows the referee to do the standard check for foreign objects.  Sweat is already glistening on Jackson’s face as he looks at the other four wrestlers in the ring.  His last glance is at the American Freebear…and the camera catches Jackson quite obviously rolling his eyes.

Jack:  So, we now have FIVE wrestlers who are here and ready for this Over-The-Top-Rope Battle Royal…which will determine the new Top Contender for the Television Championship. 

The music stops, the lights in the arena return to normal.  The referee calls for the bell.  

Ding!

At the bell, both Chris Slayton and Max Maxwell run straight out from their respective corners, right at Jackson, who is standing in the middle of the ring.

Jack:  And we are under way here—

Jackson takes a step back to avoid both Slayton and Maxwell.  Unable to stop their momentum or alter their trajectory, Slayton and Maxwell run head first right into each other.  There is a sickening crack of skulls that reverberates over the din of the crowd.

Jack:  Ooooooh.

Almost cartoonishly, both Slayton and Maxwell stagger backwards from the impact…and then both men fall face first onto the mat.  They land with a thud.

And there is a moment’s pause before Fat Tony tries to express in words what everyone in attendance here at the Palace in Auburn Hills, not to mention everyone watching at home on Showtime, is thinking.

Fat Tony:  WHAT THE F-- 

Jack:  Slayton and Maxwell are down! 

Oddly, no one in the ring moves.  American Freebear, Steven Mason, Jackson and the referee all stop and stare down at the two men who have just knocked themselves silly by bonking each other’s heads in the first seconds of the match.

Fat Tony:  Seriously…WHAT THE F—

Jack:  Major impact on both men.  And they are down!

Tony is annoyed that Jack keeps interrupting him before he can express, fully, a simple three-word thought.

Fat Tony:  Jack…please try to remember something.  We’re on Showtime.  If I want to point out that these two guys fucked up, I can do that…and you don’t have to try to talk over me whenever you think I might drop the f-bomb.

As if on cue to show support for this statement, the crowd that was stunned silent by the unusual nature of two men starting a match by knocking themselves out cold, a substantial part of the audience begins chanting “YOU FUCKED UP!” over and over again.

Fat Tony:   And this is completely f-bombed, Jack.  Completely.

Jack:  And this match is still going on.  But…nobody’s doing anything…

Jack is right.  There are two men lying face down on the mat but there are three men and a referee who are on their feet—but there’s no action taking place in the ring.

Fat Tony:  Did they ring the bell or did the referee call for a doctor or something?

Jack:  No.  The referee hasn’t stopped the match.  They’re just…standing there…

Jackson is the closest wrestler in the ring to the two men who are down on the mat—as both American Freebear and Steven Mason look on from their corners.  Jackson looks over at Freebear who looks like he’s waiting for the right moment to make his move.  Jackson looks over at Mason, who looks rather shifty and possibly waiting for his own opportunity.  Finally, Jackson, once again, looks down at the two men now lying on the ground.  

Jack:  Maybe Jackson is too drunk to realize that he could just grab either of those two guys and try to push them over the top rope to eliminate them.

Fat Tony:  He doesn’t want to make the first move.  Nobody does…

After assessing the scene for a moment or two, and with the crowd beginning to get restless at the momentary inactivity in the ring,  Jackson throws his open palms into the air, more in DEFIANCE than surrender.  He motions for the referee to halt the action.

Jack:  What’s this now? 

Jackson stumbles toward the side of the ring and demands a microphone.

Jack:  Seriously, what the hell is this drunken fool doing now?

Fat Tony:  If he does ANYTHING, it’ll be better than everybody standing around doing nothing.

Jack:  He’s asking for a microphone.

Fat Tony:  Hopefully, he’ll inject a little charisma into this match.  So far, all it’s done is hurt my head…

The referee looks over at Steven Mason and American Freebear and shrugs his shoulders as Jackson grabs a microphone from one of the nearby stage hands.  Mason and Freebear stare back and forth at each other in confusion.  Jackson, meanwhile, raises the mic to his quivering lip.  An angry snarl is etched across his frowning face.

Jackson:  Stop the match!  Just stop the God-damned match!

The fans boo.

Fat Tony:  The match hadn’t really started yet.

Jack:  He’s probably too drunk to have noticed. 

The referee gestures at Jackson to hurry, as do the other wrestlers.

Jackson:  I’ve had enough of this crap!  It’s time somebody listened to ME for a change!

More irritated boos from the crowd.  Meanwhile, the other wrestlers in the ring edge closer towards Jackson.  He throws out an arm and they back off a little

Jack:  What in the--  Come on!  Somebody get him off the mic and let’s get on with the match!

American Freebear feigns a step towards Jackson.  Jackson’s instincts kick in and he moves so that his back is up against a rope and he can keep an eye on both Freebear and Mason.

Jackson:   None of you come near me!  If any of you talentless nobodies takes one more step, I’ll shove my boot so far up your ass you’ll be chewing on my toenails.  Believe me, this is not a good day to piss me off.

The negativity continues to rain down on “The Lightning Rider”, who now walks back and forth in the ring, keeping that rope to his back, while the other wrestlers watch perplexed.

Jackson:  Everybody, shut up and listen, because “The Charismatic Magnet” is about to add some actual talent to tonight’s proceedings…and, believe me, there’s a lot I need to get off my chest.

That certainly didn’t make the crowd boo any less loud.

Jack:  What is wrong with this guy?

Fat Tony:  I don’t know, but I bet it’s hard to pronounce!

Jackson now directs his comments directly into the hard camera.

Jackson:  When I agreed to re-join the WWA, I was part of a small roster.  About the same amount of guys that Mrs. Whalen gets through on a weekday afternoon!

Jack:  HEY!

Fat Tony:  Ouch!

Jackson points over at the broadcast station and looks right at the WWA’s lead commentator.

Jackson:  That’s right Jack, I’ve heard you talking crap about me, calling me a "jackass" and a "waste of space".  Well, it seems you’re not the only WWA mook to think I’m useless, because it appears to me that Bruce Pepin doesn’t have a friggin’ clue either.

There’s a rather mixed reaction at the mention of Bruce Pepin here in Detroit.  Jackson laughs it off.

Jackson: I don’t know, maybe he’s too busy plucking Chris Bond’s pubes from his teeth to notice, or perhaps he missed out a chapter in “Vince Russo’s Guide To Booking” to realize what a friggin’ boiling hot commodity I am!

Some fans gasp, while others laugh and cheer at Jackson’s insult.  Mason and American Freebear shake their heads impatiently.

Jack:  Well, I’m certainly not Bruce Pepin’s biggest fan, but I think that’s uncalled for.

Fat Tony:  Canadian Dragon is his biggest fan, obviously!

Jackson wipes his nose.  An alcoholic sweat has formed on his forehead which glistens against the arena lights.

Jackson:  But, when I, “The Lightning Rider”, am forced to participate in a meaningless match for a no-name title…  When I’m expected to continuously wallow, week in, week out, amongst these God-damned rookies, these…blue collar bitches…that I’m currently surrounded by... 

As the referee has not officially called time out or stopped the match, American Freebear once again seems to want to edge a bit closer to Jackson, but Jackson darts away against the ropes on the other side of the ring.

Jackson:  When these things KEEP happening, I think there’s a problem.

Fat Tony:  I think there’s a problem too!

Jack:  HE’S the damn problem.  Perhaps if he didn’t turn up drunk every show and disrespect the owner, he might actually get somewhere in this company.

Of course, Jackson can’t hear what Tony and Jack are saying…so, he just goes on with his mid-match rant.

Jackson:  When I sit in the piss-stained communal locker room, breathing in the talentless stench and watching puny little morons like Tommy “I’m Lucas Black’s rent-boy” Sawyer…and Wolf “I’ve never wrestled in my life” Hunter…

The crowd’s booing grows even louder, but Jackson continues his rant.

Jackson:  These no-talent clowns are getting booked in Main Events that I should be in…it makes me wonder if there is a damned point to actually being entertaining.

The referee has now given up trying to get Jackson to finish.  He gestures toward the other competitors in the ring to calm down and be patient.  Meanwhile, Slayton and Maxwell are still down on the mat.

Jackson:  I mean, let’s just take a look at tonight’s Triple Threat Match.  Shall we?  You’ve got Eugene King, a big bald bearded wimp, who has to take pills to make sure he can’t remember how many times he’s had his ass kicked by Sawyer.

The crowd cheers at the mention of Sawyer winning…as the WWA fan base continues to be won over by the plucky former DEFIANCE wrestler.

Jackson:  You got Nathan Cole, another generic big bald bitch who walks around with a helmet and sword in a desperate attempt to make himself slightly more entertaining, which he isn’t. 

The crowd is certainly giving him the heat he wants for this rant.

Jackson:  This guy, Nathan Cole.  I was paired with him, a few weeks ago.  We lost.  And, while I’m scratching my head trying to claw my way out of the bottom of the barrel, he’s swanning around…staking his claim for the Number 2 Championship in the WWA!

Jackson pauses, becoming more irate as he speaks.  Spittle flies from his mouth, and he continues to stalk the ring, all the while stepping over Slayton and Maxwell and avoiding the others.

Jackson:  Finally, we have The Cobra, who, seriously, if you haven’t seen it, dresses up like a fucking green SNAKE and doesn’t even have an updated bio that I can nitpick on.  This is a guy who has had ONE match, which he LOST and yet still he’s higher up the damn card than me.  AM I MISSING SOMETHING?!

Jackson screams, flailing his arms in fury.  There’s a mocking giggle which floats from the surrounding fans, but Jackson ignores them, even when they begin to chant that he sucks.

Jackson:  So, tonight, I’m refusing to take part in this insignificant, irrelevant, ten minutes of un-heated, uninteresting pile of trash that you all are being forced to watch.

Jackson points out at the crowd.

Jackson:  A match that you all have paid good money to see!

Jackson shakes his head and laughs as the crowd continues to boo him, loudly.  He looks down at both Slayton and Maxwell, still lying on the mat.  He shakes his head again.

Jackson:  I don’t THINK so.  Jackson, out.

Jackson calmly rolls his way over the top rope, landing on his feet on the arena floor and, thus, eliminating himself with a smile.  The crowd, continue to boo him, unmercifully.

Jack:  Jackson just eliminated himself!  He’s taken himself out of this match!

Jackson starts taking a couple of steps up the ramp as he begins to make his way backstage.  Then he stops and turns back to look at the wrestlers remaining in the ring.  Since he’s still holding onto the microphone, he uses it.

Jackson:  And, sadly for you guys, I bet that by the end of the year…half of you will be getting screwed by Pepin, as though he’s a Tom Cat with three balls.  There is no way in hell, THIS shit…

He gestures to the ring.

Jackson:  …is going to get the job done for you.

Jackson laughs at the thought and the crowd continues to boo him.  Jackson looks around the arena in snide dismissal of those who are booing him.

Jackson:  I mean, Jesus…why don't we just get Erik Stalin out here to bore you all to tears about how un-entertaining all of this is? 

Jackson drops the microphone on the entrance ramp.  It lands with a metallic clang and Jackson continues making his way up that ramp towards backstage.  Just then, the entrance area is suddenly bathed in red lights and a jet of CO2 smoke shoots up from a specific spot in the grating of the entrance area.

Fat Tony:  FIRE!! FIRE!!  Oh my God, this place is gonna burn!!!

Jack:  For heaven’s sake, Tony.  We went through this in Boston…and in Toronto... 

The camera cuts away from the entrance area to show Jackson, still on the ramp.  He’s looking up that ramp towards the red lights and the smoke.  He’s standing there, now with his hands on his hips…shaking his head.    

Jack:  This place is NOT on fire, Tony.  It’s just--

Fat Tony:  It’s just that there’s an arsonist targeting WWA shows!  Obviously…

Jack:  Why would anyone-- 

Fat Tony:  THEY WANT TO BURN ME ALIVE!!!

Jack:  What?!

Fat Tony:  I know too much.

As Jack Whalen tries to stifle a laugh, the camera cuts back to show the WWATron turning a solid red color with the name “STALIN” in big bold black capital letters across it.  Coming through the jet of smoke, from below, in a brilliant white light and rising up through a trap door in the floor of the entrance area, is a large man with both of his arms folded across his massive chest.

Jack:  Well, fans, there’s really no fire here at The Palace in Auburn Hills…but there is one of the hottest new faces here in the WWA.  Jackson mentioned his name…and here he comes.  Erik Stalin!

Fat Tony:  He’s like the Candyman!

Jack:  The Candyman?

Fat Tony:  Yes…you know, the Candyman.

Jack:  I don’t know any Candyman, Tony.  Is he a wrestler?

Fat Tony:  Who?

Jack:  The C--

Fat Tony:  FOR GOD’S SAKE, DON’T SAY IT AGAIN!!!

When Stalin all the way up on the entrance ramp, the smoke stops and the lights return to normal.  Stalin has a microphone in one hand and some sort of a jug in his other hand.

Jack:  I have NO IDEA what my broadcast partner is talking about…and, to be honest, I have NO IDEA why Erik Stalin is making an appearance.   Erik Stalin decided to turn down an invitation to participate in this Battle Royal—we saw him rip up the invitation on WWA Insider.

Fat Tony:  What do you think Erik Stalin is going to do?  He’s going to talk.  That’s all he does.  He certainly doesn’t actually WRESTLE.

Jack:  Well, it is true that Erik Stalin has yet to make his official debut in a WWA wrestling ring…but he has already made an impact in his short time here…and he’s definitely got everyone’s attention right now. 

Stalin raises the microphone to his mouth and points down the ramp towards the ring area.

Stalin:  Well, I can see that this match is going JUST GREAT! 

His mock enthusiasm pops the crowd.  Meanwhile, Jackson’s decided to just keep walking up, on his way towards backstage, the same entrance ramp that Erik Stalin has started walking down, on his way to the ring.  Their eyes meet at they get closer to each other.

Stalin:  Oh, hey Jackson…glad I caught you.  I think you left this backstage.

Stalin holds up what he’s carrying in his other hand.

Jack:  What is that? 

The camera zooms in to show that it is an oversized glass jug of cheap looking vodka.  

Fat Tony:  For Jackson, I think that’s breakfast… 

Jackson takes a couple more steps towards where Erik Stalin is standing.

Stalin:  I think this is yours…

Jackson takes another step towards Stalin and reaches out his hand, as if to take the jug from him.  Stalin, however, pops the cap off and turns the jug over.  He pours all of the liquid contained in it out onto the entrance ramp.  Jackson stops and watches the entire jug empty itself in front of him.

Fat Tony:  Uh-oh. 

Stalin makes certain that every drop of the jug comes out.  Jackson, realizing he’s just been punked, doesn’t give Stalin the satisfaction of looking upset.  Instead, he looks away and manages a pursed lip smile.

Stalin:  Sorry…

Stalin shrugs his shoulders and then lets the empty jug clatter to the steel grating underneath his feet.  

Stalin:  …but I’m not going to be your enabler.

Jackson, with a cocked head and a tongue that is pushing his lower lip out as far as it can go, now walks right up to Erik Stalin and gets in his face.

Jack:  Fans, I want to remind you…we’ve got a match that’s supposed to be going on right now…

Fat Tony:  I think what’s happening here could get VERY interesting! 

Stalin lowers the microphone while simultaneously meeting and holding Jackson’s gaze without a hint of his backing down.  The crowd’s reaction builds a bit before Jackson shakes his head.  He’s not going to play Stalin’s little game here.

Fat Tony:  …but probably not.

Jackson rolls his eyes and takes a step or two back.  Jackson looks at Stalin with contempt, shakes his head and, with a strong shoulder bump for good measure, walks past Erik Stalin is standing to continue to head back stage.

Jack:  That was a deliberate shoulder bump right there.

Fat Tony:  Oh.  You think? 

Stalin chooses not overreact to the deliberate shoulder bump from Jackson.

Fat Tony:  Is that it?  Is that really going to be it?

Jack:  Like ships passing in the night, Jackson and Stalin are simply headed in different directions.

Fat Tony:  Yeah, but the least Jackson could have done would have been to iceberg the hell out of this Stalin guy.

Jack:  You want to see them fight?

Fat Tony:  Are you kidding?  I want to see if Stalin’s blood is the same color red as his pants.

Stalin turns to make certain that Jackson has walked all the way, through the lingering wisps of his entrance smoke, backstage, before bringing the microphone back up to his mouth.

Stalin:   So, I’m not out here to talk…

The crowd cheers loudly.

Fat Tony:  Thank God.

Stalin has almost made it all the way down to the ring, where the referee is standing between American Freebear and Steven Mason, who are eager to get on with this match.  Meanwhile, on the mat, Chris Slayton looks like he’s beginning to stir.

Stalin:  And I’m not here to join this little circus you’ve got here.

The crowd boos.  They’re tired of wrestlers talking about not wrestling—this is the first match of the show, they want some action.  Meanwhile, Stalin walks right past one of the corner ring steps and walks around the ring.

Stalin:  No…I’m here for the same reason all you fans are here.  I’ve been promised some entertainment.

Stalin walks all the way around the ring to the broadcast station.  He pulls up an empty chair behind the broadcasting desk, right next to a visibly annoyed Fat Tony Valentino.

Stalin:  I’m here to be entertained.  So, please…let’s get this going.

Erik Stalin brushes his hand in such a way to indicate that he expects them to immediately continue their match.

Stalin:  Do your best…and entertain me.

Erik puts down the arena mic on the broadcast desk, sits down in the chair he’s pulled up for himself and puts the broadcast headset microphone on.

Jack:  Well, it looks like we’re being joined here by Erik Stalin.

Fat Tony:  Oh.  Great.

Stalin:  Thanks Tony.  Great to be working with you, too.

The crowd starts chanting “WE WANT WRESTLING” Clap! Clap!  Clap-Clap-Clap.

Jack:  Not that I’m not happy to have you join us, but it would have been nice to see you join this match, Erik…

Stalin:  Thanks Jack. 

Fat Tony:  You could have joined us after Steven Mason tossed you over the top rope.

Chris Slayton pushes himself up to his hands and knees…still trying to shake off the cobwebs cause by that head-to-head collision with Max Maxwell, who, himself, remains face down on the mat.

Jack:  So far, nobody has gone over the top rope in this match.

Stalin:  Other than Jackson.

Jack:  That’s true.  Jackson did eliminate himself.

Stalin:  And it looks like American Freebear wants to entertain us all.

Sure enough, the ice is broken by American Freebear rushing in to put Chris Slayton into a wrestling hold.  

Stalin:  Looks like Freebear is putting Slayton into a stretch cradle.  A good move to wear down an opponent here, not sure why he’s putting it on someone who is barely conscious but—

Freebear locks in the hold and immediately begins rolling around the ring with Slayton.

Stalin:  What the hell is this?

Fat Tony:  I’m not sure this is legal in Michigan. 

Slayton, disoriented as he was already, is now in the clutches of Freebear and they are rolling like a log around the ring.

Jack:  This is the Ursus Circus.  It’s one of the moves that we’ve been told to look for American Freebear doing by those who have seen him work before.

Fat Tony:  Is the idea to smother him in his chest hair?

Steven Mason, on his way towards the still flattened Max Maxwell, has to leap up to get out of the way as Freebear and Slayton as they go rolling along.

Jack:  That’s 328 pounds of man bear flattening out Chris Slayton like a pizza crust.

Fat Tony:  Got to get all the bubbles out. 

With Steven Mason trying to get some leverage to lift Max Maxwell off the mat, the referee is almost knocked over by the Freebear/Slayton rolling pin.  The crowd is definitely finding this rather funny.  The hand-held camera zooms in to see the exertion that Freebear is putting into this move.

Fat Tony:  You know, this might actually be sort of awesome…if it wasn’t so disturbing.

The crowd has started chanting “FREEBEAR!!!  FREEBEAR!!!”

Jack:  Don’t let Jackson hear these fans…he might think they’re announcing Free Beer!

Fat Tony:  Meanwhile, my guy Steven Mason has decided to clean some of the trash out of the ring.

Stalin:  Your guy?

Max Maxwell is pretty much 264 pounds of deadweight at this point and Steven Mason is doing his best to drag him to the edge of the ring.

Stalin:  You like the moody ones more than the hairy ones, Tony?

Fat Tony:  I’m just saying…I like the guy who actually seems to be trying to eliminate someone.

As if on cue, Freebear and Slayton go rolling around to the side of the ring where Steven Mason is trying to lift up Max Maxwell.  Mason jumps out of the way to avoid being run over.

Stalin:  Well, I had to admit it…but I’m with you, Tony. 

Fat Tony:  Oh? 

Stalin:  Yeah.  Get the job done…that’s why you’re there.  Steven Mason seems to be doing that with Maxwell…and I don’t know what Freebear and Slayton are doing. 

A close-up of Chris Slayton’s face shows him to be beet-red and struggling to break free or stop the rolling—whichever he can manage first.

Fat Tony:  Let me ask you a question, while I’ve got you here Mr. Stalin.

Stalin:  Sure thing, Tony.

It looks like Mason is going to try to deadweight suplex as his method of getting Maxwell up and over the top rope.  The fans, who have been entertained by Freebear and Slayton’s rolling around, start to notice the impending elimination possibility.

Fat Tony:  You confuse me.

Stalin:  I imagine a lot of things confuse you.

Fat Tony:  Well, yes…but that’s beside the point.  What confuses me about you is that you claim that you’re one of the good guys…a guy the fans should cheer for and support.

Stalin:  Yeah, I think that’s true.

Mason is having trouble getting a good grip on Maxwell, who may finally be coming to after the brutal head-knock that started this match.

Fat Tony:  But you do a lot of bad guy stuff.

Stalin:  What do you mean?

Fat Tony:  Well, that stunt you pulled with Jackson on the ramp there…pouring out his booze.

Stalin:  I’m pretty sure he’s got more.

Fat Tony:  Again, beside the point.

Mason sees that Maxwell is starting to come around.  Mason delivers a pretty strong forearm to the back and neck of Max Maxwell.  Then, he has to avoid another sweep of the Freebear and Slayton rolling menace.

Stalin:  What IS your point?

Fat Tony:  It wasn’t very nice.

The crowd gets louder as it looks like Mason’s got a good hold on Maxwell and is ready to lift him up and toss him over the top rope.

Fat Tony:  I mean…in your short time here in the WWA, I’ve grown to hate everything you say…but I have to admit, I kind of like a lot of the things that you do.

Jack:  You know, sometimes, the nicest thing that anyone can do for someone struggling with addiction is confront them. 

Fat Tony:  WHAT?

Stalin:  I think Jack’s right, Tony.  What I was doing out there with Jackson was helping him hit his bottom.

Fat Tony:  Well, I think Jackson should KICK your “bottom” the next time he sees you.

Stalin:  And, he may try to do that, Tony. 

Jack:  Or he might drunkenly fall flat on his face into a pool of his own vomit.

Stalin:  You know, I’ve never noticed it before, Jack…but you’ve got a dark side.

Mason begins to lift Maxwell up for the suplex.

Jack:  Speaking of sides, looks like Steven Mason is about to take Max Maxwell to the other side.

Just as Steven Mason lifts Maxwell up, Freebear and Slayton roll right into his legs.

Stalin:  Mason in a precarious position here.  

Fat Tony:  He’s wobbling like a ten pin!

Mason, struggling to maintain his balance…twists on his attempt to suplex Maxwell out of the ring.  Maxwell does go over the top rope, but he ends up on his knees on the ring apron, his head and arms dangling over the second rope.

Fat Tony:  He went over!

Stalin:  But he didn’t go all the way to the floor…

Mason needs to take a couple of steps to recover his balance.  When he does, instead of dealing immediately with Maxwell, who seems content to rest with his neck on the second rope, Mason comes over and starts stomping on Freebear and Slayton.

Jack:  Steven Mason…upset that the American Freebear’s Ursus Circus messed up his attempt to eliminate Max Maxwell…really giving the boot to both Freebear and Slayton here.

Fat Tony:  Well, they’ll all have to go sometime.

Stalin:  I think Mason’s mad.  With the weight of Maxwell suddenly unbalanced, that could have easily and accidentally eliminated him.

The effect of the stomping is that American Freebear has had to release the hold on Chris Slayton.  

Jack:  No more Ursus Circus…and Mason now returns to some unfinished business. 

While Slayton tries to stop the world from spinning and while the American Freebear tries to catch his own breath, Steven Mason turns back to Max Maxwell and delivers a kick right to his face.

Jack:  A big black boot to the chin of Max Maxwell…and he’s off the apron and on the floor.

Maxwell lands, head first, on the floor at ring side.  The ring side fans point and laugh at him.

MAX MAXWELL ELIMINATED BY STEVEN MASON

Fat Tony:  That’s my guy.

Stalin:  And what a total lack of effort shown by Max Maxwell here.  The only thing he managed to do here was prove difficult to lift.  A bag of full of cow pies would have been just as effective.

Steven Mason looks over the top rope down at Maxwell on the ground.  He shows no joy in what he’s just done.

Fat Tony:  Cow pies?

Stalin:  Oh, I think you’d find them delicious, Tony.

Fat Tony:  Stop talking about food!

Jack:  Guys, it looks like Chris Slayton is trying to get up to his feet here. 

Stalin:  And already showing more effort that Max Maxwell did.

Slayton, still obviously groggy and probably dizzy, is using the ropes to try to pull himself up to his feet.

Jack:  Chris Slayton went down hard right at the start of this match.  Since then, he’s been in rather intimate contact with American Freebear ever since.

Fat Tony:  And it doesn’t look like Freebear is ready to let him go just yet…

Sure enough, American Freebear has gotten himself up and, with a snap kick to the midsection, has Chris Slayton by the arm.

Jack:  I have a feeling that Freebear’s going to send Chris Slayton on a bit of a ride here.

American Freebear sends Slayton into the ropes.

Stalin:  I think Freebear is going to try to clothesline Slayton right over and out of the ring right here.

Jack:  American Freebear going for an elimination of Chris Slayton here and…

Stalin:  Steven Mason, out of nowhere, with a kick to the side of Chris Slayton! 

The kick sends Chris Slayton out of the way of the on-rushing American Freebear.  Freebear tries to stop and manages to hit the ropes with his stomach—preventing himself from accidentally eliminating himself, but it hurts a bit.

Stalin:  I think Steven Mason just rescued Chris Slayton from elimination right there.

Jack:  He definitely would have been in danger of going over…and Freebear’s not happy about it.

American Freebear is on one knee, trying to catch his breath…staring icy cold death at Steven Mason, who is ignoring him and going after Chris Slayton.

Stalin:  Why would Mason do that?

Fat Tony:  I think he wants to get his OWN licks in.

Stalin:  Not smart strategy.

Fat Tony:  Oh, but so much fun…

Mason lands a European Uppercut on Chris Slayton that drops Slayton to one knee.

Jack:  Mason bends Slayton over with that shot and now he pulls him up…

Stalin:  SNAP SUPLEX!

Fat Tony:  His lunch is in his nose after that impact.

Steven Mason doesn’t waste a second.  He moves right into position and grabs Chris Slayton by the arm.

Stalin:  Arm Triangle Choke by Steven Mason here.  He’s got it locked in good and tight, I think.

Fat Tony:  I bet that hurts, too.

Jack:  But, American Freebear is feeling left out…  BIONIC ELBOW TO STEVEN MASON!!!

Fat Tony:  I bet THAT hurts, too.

Jack:  It hurts enough to make Steven Mason break the hold. 

Slayton stays down on the mat as Mason rolls out of the way in pain after the Bionic Elbow.  Freebear follows it up with a rolling senton.

Jack:  TUMBLING BEAR!!!  TUMBLING BEAR!!!

Mason is grabbing his ribs now, as that’s a lot of weight coming down on them.

Stalin:  Action’s starting to heat up a little bit here…finally.

Fat Tony:  This might turn out to be entertaining after all, huh?

Stalin: We’ll see. 

Freebear does a little hop to jump on Mason’s stomach as he walks over him.

Jack:  And a vicious blow to the ribs there by American Freebear.  Mason is definitely in a great deal of pain now.

Stalin:   Freebear doesn’t follow up on Mason…he’s going after Slayton some more.

Fat Tony:  Chris Slayton is everybody’s favorite punching bag.  Even I want to punch him…and I don’t even know him.

Sure enough, American Freebear leaves Steven Mason behind and moves over to deal with Chris Slayton.  Freebear pulls Slayton up to his feet.

Jack:  What does Freebear have in mind? 

What he has in mind for Chris Slayton is a massive bear hug.

Jack:  Bear hug…bear hug…NO!!!  IT’S A BEAR SLAM!!!

Just as quickly as American Freebear got Chris Slayton into a bear hug, he drove Slayton down to the mat in a powerful body slam.

Stalin:  That’s a case where Freebear’s extra weight definitely dishes out extra damage. 

American Freebear surveys the scene.  Slayton is flat on his back in front of him.  Mason is still grabbing his ribs on the other side of the ring.  Freebear points his hairy paw up to the heavens.

Stalin:  No…

Jack:  Oh, fans…  We’ve been told to look forward to this. 

Fat Tony:  What?

Jack:  Take a look because you’re going to see something amazing.

American Freebear starts climbing the ropes and the crowd begins to cheer in anticipation of something big and nasty.

Stalin:  He’s really…not…is he?

Fat Tony:  He’s not going to…what?

Jack:  The rumor is…American Freebear is the master of the moonsault. 

Fat Tony:  You’re joking.

By the gleeful smile on American Freebear’s face and the rate at which he’s climbing up to the top rope, it doesn’t look like he’s joking.

Fat Tony:  You’re NOT joking?

Stalin:  Such nonsense.

American Freebear gets the crowd to clap along for him as he steadies himself on the top rope.

Jack:  Freebear is going to absolutely flatten Chris Slayton if he lands this…

Fat Tony:  He might flatten most of Michigan if he lands this.

Stalin:  He’s taking too long…

Sure enough, while Freebear soaks in the anticipatory cheers of the crowd, Mason, despite the pain in his ribs, has time to crawl his way over and shake the rope at precisely the worst moment.  Freebear loses his balance and falls.

Fat Tony:  TIMBERRRRRRRR!!!

Freebear manages to keep one leg on either side of the top rope—that keeps him from tumbling to the outside…but crotching yourself on the top rope, especially when you’re as round as American Freebear is, does tend to make the audience gasp.

Jack:  Ooooooooooh!

The camera zooms in on American Freebear’s face as it is squirreled up something fierce.  He still has the wherewithal to fall to the mat on the inside of the ring rather than falling outside and eliminating himself.

Jack:  A bear’s going to want to go into hibernation after something like that.

Fat Tony:  I can’t breathe.

Stalin:  What?  Empathy pains?  YOU?

Fat Tony:  Nahhh, it was probably just something I ate.

We hear a loud belch as we see American Freebear curled up in a fetal ball with his hands clutching his junk.

Fat Tony:  Ahh…  Much better.

Jack:  Can’t say that American Freebear feels the same…nor does Chris Slayton, who seems to be on the receiving end of Steven Mason’s more manic-side.

Stalin:  Mason with a strong European uppercut that snaps Slayton’s head back.

Mason hits Slayton with a second strong European Uppercut that drives Slayton down to his knees.  Mason finishes it up with a side kick to the head that sends Slayton to the mat.

Stalin:  Good hard striking from Steven Mason. 

Mason pulls Slayton off the mat.  He whips Slayton into the ropes.

Jack:  Steven Mason with the whip to Chris Slayton.  Mason catches him on the rebound.

Fat Tony:  NICE!

Jack:  BACKBREAKER….DROP!!!

Slayton lands hard and the entire ring shakes.  He stays on the mat and Mason turns to pull American Freebear back to his feet.

Jack:  Mason going after Freebear now.  Whip into the turnbuckles!

Mason whips Freebear into the turnbuckles—intending, probably to splash or elbow him upon landing-but Freebear jumps up and rebounds off the middle turnbuckle to deliver a cross body block against Steven Mason.

Stalin:  Good reversal by American Freebear there.  Didn’t need the jumping off the whole jumping off the middle turnbuckle businesss…but good…

Jack:  Crossbody block takes Mason to the ground.

Fat Tony:  That would be helpful if this fat bear could win by a pinfall, but he can’t.  He’s got to get him up and over the top rope.

Freebear is still holding onto Steven Mason as he gets to his knees and is trying to hold onto him while he gets onto his feet.  Chris Slayton, meanwhile, has also gotten to his feet.

Jack:  Well, look at this…Freebear still has Mason and he’s deadlifting him up from the mat.  Impressive display of power from the Freebear here.

The strain of this effort is beginning to show on Freebear, but he has managed to pull Steven Mason, sideways, off the mat.

Jack:  And, coming up from behind…Slayton!!!  NO!

It looked like Slayton was going to hit Freebear with a big elbow to the back of the head.  Freebear, however, saw it coming…dropped Mason to the mat and grabbed Slayton by that elbow and then drives the palm right into Slayton’s chin.

Stalin:  Strong palm strike to Slayton’s chin.  I didn’t know Freebear was capable of that…

Fat Tony:  Steven Mason scrambling back to his feet.

Jack:  Nevermind that, Freebear is lifting Chris Slayton up and over his shoulder. 

Fat Tony:  What is he doing?

Stalin:  I think he’s setting him up for an over the shoulder reverse piledriver…  Not sure that’s the move I’d use…but it is definitely high impact.

Slayton, though groggy and weakened by all that’s happened to him in this match, is fighting going over Freebear’s shoulder…and they’re both pretty close to the ropes.  That gives Steven Mason an idea.

Stalin:  HERE COMES MASON!

Jack:  Steven Mason running towards Freebear and Slayton.  Freebear ducks slightly…FOREARM TO SLAYTON’S MIDSECTION.

Stalin:  AND FREEBEAR GIVES SLAYTON A PUSH!!!

Together, the running “clothesline” to Slayton’s midsection by Mason and the push from American Freebear sends Slayton up and over the top rope…and all the way to the fan barrier on the edge of ringside.

Jack:  And down goes Slayton! 

Stalin:  He is over and he is OUT!

The crowd cheers this rare display of teamwork that resulted in the elimination of Chris Slayton.  American Freebear smiles with joy at seeing how far they managed to send Slayton.

CHRIS SLAYTON ELIMINATED BY AMERICAN FREEBEAR AND STEVEN MASON

American Freebear raises his arms in celebration.

Jack:  Freebear, very happy with himself here.

And, while the referee is indicating Slayton’s elimination to the official timekeeper, Mason seizes the opportunity to drive a forearm through the legs of the Freebear.  The crowd, again, shares a collective groan.

Jack:  LOW BLOW! 

Stalin:   He’s now the only bear who can’t breed. 

Fat Tony:  It’s his own fault.  You’ve got to protect yourself at all times.

Jack:  A pretty blatant low blow there from Steven Mason…

Stalin:  And for the second time in this match, American Freebear is doing the wet diaper dance.

American Freebear’s knees are together as he tip toes gingerly away from the ropes.  The look on his face is that of a man who has been sucking on a lemon.

Jack:  That’s enough to set the referee on Steven Mason.

Fat Tony:  He can’t punish him for something he didn’t see.

Jack:  No, but he can give him a good talking to…

The referee is lecturing Steven Mason, who simply doesn’t care to listen to him.  He turns his head to avoid looking at the referee.  Meanwhile, American Freebird has dropped to his knees and is still grimacing in pain.

Stalin:  You know, it occurs to me that this is a rather difficult match up for each of the two men remaining in this match.

With the referee talking to Steven Mason and American Freebear rearranging his twigs and berries, the television crew chooses to show us Chris Slayton, who is upset with himself for a relatively poor showing in this match.  He heads backstage.  Doing so, he steps over Max Maxwell…who still seems to be lying on the ground, just where he landed after being eliminated.

Stalin:  It’s really a clash of opposites…and no clear favorite to win.

Fat Tony:  Well, maybe you should have shown us all how it’s done by actually competing in this match yourself.

Stalin:  Look at them.  You’ve got Steven Mason, who…in addition to being bi-polar with panic attacks and who knows how many other psychological disorders…is a technical wrestler who prefers to work submission holds rather than brawl.  That’s not what a match like this is all about.  You can’t make someone tap themselves over the top rope.

Fat Tony:  Oh, Steven Mason could…  Steven Mason?  Oh yes.  He can also write a joke about a Quillow.

Stalin:  And being a technical wrestler certainly doesn’t mesh well with what American Freebear does.

Freebear slaps himself in the face to shake off the pain.  He pushes himself, with some effort, back up to his feet.

Fat Tony:  I don’t think you want them to mesh well.  I mean…they’re fighting each other…

Stalin:  Hardly.  They’re being entertaining.

Freebear balls his hands into fists and runs in place a little bit—to get the feeling back in all of his limbs.  It’s a funny visual.  And Steven Mason sees it and prepares to move in to engage him by pushing past the referee to get at him.

Stalin:  And then you’ve got the American Freebear, who is a high-flying big man—

Fat Tony:  He’s a fat ass.

Jack:  You should talk, Tony.

Stalin:  Actually, you should diet, Tony.

Fat Tony:  And you should just die.  Both of you. 

Mason and American Freebear lock up collar and elbow.  Freebear looks a bit confused.  This really isn’t what he does, but he’s resisting Mason’s efforts to pull a hold out of it.  

Fat Tony:  But mostly you, Erik Stalin.  But you won’t…you’ll never stop talking…

Frustrated, Mason hits Freebear with a European Uppercut.  He tries for a second uppercut but Freebear blocks it.

Jack:  Blocked by Freebear…Freebear with his own Bear Claw Swipe!

The move does the job of helping American Freebear regain some control.

Jack:  Step in clothesline from Freebear…sends Mason down to the ground.

Mason rolls away and wipes some blood from his lip.  Freebear doesn’t follow up as he’s still trying to catch his breath.

Stalin:  My point is…American Freebear has the big moves that make him a threat in these types of matches.  He’s quite capable of landing something that forces his opponent over the top rope and out of the ring—but those big moves are also dangerous.

Fat Tony:  Like I said.  Never gonna stop talking…

Freebear comes to pull Mason off the ground.  Mason tries to punch Freebear in the stomach…but it’s doubtful that made much of an impact.

Stalin:  All those flippy-floppy moves leaves a wrestler vulnerable.  He takes to the ropes to fly…he’s putting himself right on the edge of being knocked out…or slipping and knocking himself out.

Jack:  That makes sense.

Fat Tony:  Big risk, big reward.

Stalin:  Or big risk, big risk.  And that’s why I can’t stand those flippy-floppy wrestlers that keep trying to land a moonsault leg drop when a simple leg drop will do.  What’s the point of taking a risk that doesn’t help you win?

Fat Tony:  BECAUSE IT’S FREAKING COOL!

Stalin:  It’s cool to lose spectacularly when you could have won?

As if to prove Erik Stalin’s point, Freebear whips Steven Mason into the ropes and when Mason comes off the ropes, Freebear nails Mason with a flying dropkick.

Jack:  OH MY GOD!  HOW DID A MAN THAT BIG GET OFF THE GROUND THAT HIGH?!?! 

The impact of the dropkick sends Mason flying into the ropes—but Mason catches them and doesn’t go over.  Freebear lands on the mat with a mighty SLAM!

Jack:  American Freebear with a powerful dropkick right there…nearly sent Steven Mason out of the ring.

Fat Tony:  And that big move might have won him this match.

Stalin:  And look at him.  That dropkick hurt Freebear as much as it hurt Steven Mason.

Sure enough, American Freebear is grimacing and is slow to get up.

Fat Tony:  Well, that shows that he’s willing to sacrifi—wait.  Why am I arguing for American Freebear? 

Jack:  Because he’s exciting to watch?

Fat Tony:  No.

Jack:  Because he’s doing very well in this match?

Fat Tony:  No, no no!  Stalin here is getting me all confused.

Mason manages to get to his feet before Freebear does.

Jack:  Kick to the right arm of Freebear…and another.

Stalin:  Mason with some good solid striking there…softening up Freebear’s arm and allowing him to retake and maintain control of he match.

Mason manages a third straight kick to Freebear’s right shoulder.

Stalin:  And a quick elbow drop on that right arm.  Excellent stiff striking from Steven Mason.

Fat Tony:  Now, why are YOU cheering for Mason?

Stalin:  I’m not.  I’m pointing out that Mason is delivering some real damage to American Freebear here.

Mason reaches down and grabs Freebear’s softened right arm.  He twists that arm and Freebear can’t help but move in the direction that Mason wants him to.  Mason wants him up on his feet.

Jack:  Standing Arm Lock from Mason here.

Fat Tony:  Oh, I see where this is going…

Jack:  He’s taking him right down the Turnpike!

Fat Tony:  Mason thinks he can finish him off right here! 

Mason moves Freebear into the center of the ring and takes a deep breath.  He then turns the standing arm lock into a lift—with the intention of turning it into a slam.  The camera catches a very panicked look in the eyes of the Freebear.

Fat Tony:  If Mason hits this, we’ll have a dead bear in Michigan.

Jack:  MASON’S GOT HIM UP…

Stalin:  NO, HE DOESN’T!

Sure enough, the sheer weight of the American Freebear is destabilizing Mason’s lift.

Jack:  NO…HE DOESN’T!!!

Destabilized, Mason stumbles…which puts all of the weight off the Freebear directly over him…and he can’t manage that…so down they come...

Fat Tony:  NO!!!

SPLAT!!!  Freebear lands flat on Mason…turning what was supposed to be Steven Mason’s finishing move into a splash.  Freebear rolls off Mason and Mason is grabbing his ribs as he tries to roll back to his feet.

Jack:  Freebear was really in trouble there.  Mason almost sent American Freebear down the Turnpike  But, at this stage of the match, Mason couldn’t handle lifting someone the size of the American Freebear.

Seizing the opportunity, Freebear recovers quickly and hits Mason with a quick jumping lariat.  That sends Mason down to the mat—giving Freebear even more time to recover.

Stalin:  Mason dropped like a stone there.

Fat Tony:  He was going to land the Turnpike!  Steven Mason was so close to winning this…I could taste it.

Stalin:  YOU could taste it?

Jack:  Everything is food to Tony.

Mason gets to his feet but looks wobbly.  Freebear, after dropping down into a three-point stance for a second, nails Mason with a running shoulder block.  Mason spins from the impact and lands face first on the canvas.

Jack:  And Mason tasting the mat right there…

Fat Tony:  Bleechhh.

The crowd begins to swell in support of the American Freebear and Freebear seems to be feeding from their energy.

Jack:  From the edge of defeat to the verge of taking control, it’s American Freebear here…

American Freebear pulls Mason roughly off the mat and drags him to the corner.  He pulls him up and starts to push him up onto the turnbuckles.

Stalin:  What’s he doing? 

Jack:  American Freebird pushing Steven Mason up to the top rope.

Stalin:  Ugh.

Fat Tony:  What?

Stalin:  Well, if he can lift Steven Mason up to the top rope…why can’t he just toss him over that top rope?

American Freebear doesn’t do that though.  Instead, he climbs up to the top rope with Steven Mason and then grabs him in his arms.

Jack:  Freebear…BELLY TO BACK SUPLEX FROM THE TOP ROPE!!!

The sound of the two men both landing hard on the mat is like a rifle shot…and the whole ring wobbles under the weight.

Stalin:  Wow. 

Stalin isn’t excited, but the crowd definitely is…as that was a HUGE move!

Jack:  That’s QUITE a move there by Freebear.  HEAVY IMPACT!!!  Mason is DEFINITELY feeling that one! 

Fat Tony:  I think they felt that one all the way in Cleveland, Jack.

American Freebear still looks a bit winded, so he doesn’t immediately take advantage of the situation.

Stalin:  Hey, you know, guys…I think I know who I want my first official match to be against.

Fat Tony:  Biggest move of the match and nothing from you, Stalin?

Stalin:  It ended up hurting both men…I figured I had time to share.

Stalin’s right.  Neither man is too quick to get up right now.

Jack:  Well, you’ve got a couple of strong contenders right here…battling it out to become the top contender for the TV title.  Be a good match to see you against either of them.

Fat Tony:  Mason would give you a fight.  Freebear would give you reason to fight.

Stalin:  Yeah, I think I’ve made up my mind.

Jack:  Sorry to interrupt…but it looks like American Freebear is up and has made up his mind…to end this match right here. 

Sure enough, Freebear is up on his feet…he’s trying to get the audience to clap for him.  When he gets them going, he points to the opposite side of the ring as he pulls Steven Mason off the mat.

Jack:  He’s like Babe Ruth calling his shot.

Fat Tony:  And he’s like Babe Ruth…in that he’s fat enough to have a candy bar named after him.

Stalin:  Kind of a pot calling a kettle a Snickers bar there, Tony.

Fat Tony:  Shut it.

Jack:  Freebear lifts Mason up off the canvas…AND INTO A MASSIVE BEAR HUG!

Stalin:  He’s got him locked in right around his stomach…that allows him to lift Mason right off the ground.

Jack:  So…

Stalin:  So, all the pressure is on the ribs.

Fat Tony:  Actually, I think he intends to launch him.

Mason grimaces in pain as Freebear really has that hold locked in.  But the camera shows Freebear pawing at the mat with one of his boots—like he was a bull about to charge.

Stalin:  Oh my…I think Tony’s right.

Jack:  Meanwhile, Mason is trying to slug his way out of this. 

Mason’s arms are free, so he’s is pounding Freebear’s ears…scratching and clawing at his head, but Freebear has the hold locked tight.

Fat Tony:  He’s going to have to power out of this.

Mason starts driving his elbow down hard into the right arm that he softened up earlier in the match.

Jack:  Freebear is not loosening the hold. 

Fat Tony:  Mason HAS to break this bear hug before that big hairy bastard starts moving!

Mason tries another elbow smash to that softened arm…but as Freebear starts moving them both forward towards the ropes on the other side of the ring, Mason tries to shove his left arm underneath Freebear’s right arm…to try to free himself.

Jack:  American Freebear is about to send Steven Mason into space!

Mason looks around and sees his predicament as Freebear begins running, unsteadily, towards the ring ropes while still keeping Mason locked in the Bear Hug.

Fat Tony:  RAKE THE EYES!!!  RAKE THE EYES!!!

Sure enough, Mason does indeed rake Freebear’s eyes…which is enough to distract Freebear just as he’s about to launch Mason over the top rope.

Stalin:  BOTCH!

The two big men crash heavily into the ropes, neither one of them totally in control of their momentum.  Mason, falling backwards from up higher and Freebear falling forwards with Mason’s arm hooked around his own right arm.

Stalin:  Mason was trying to fight it…but he can’t stop the momentum of the Freebear.

Jack:  THEY’RE INTO THE ROPES!!!

Fat Tony:  Mason can pull Freebear over!

Jack:  And Freebear can toss Mason over!

Stalin:  OR… 

With both men falling out of control towards the ropes, Erik Stalin realizes that both men are in trouble.  And sure enough…they hit the ropes awkwardly and both men are scrambling to either stay in the ring or grab onto a rope that could prevent them from falling all the way down to the arena floor.

Jack:  OH MY GOD!!!

Stalin:  They’re BOTH going over!

The crowd squeals as over six hundred pounds of men go tumbling over the top rope.

Jack:  OVER THE TOP ROPE!!!

Steven Mason and American Freebear both scramble to hold onto the ropes on their way over the top.  Mason grabs the nearest rope—the fingers of his right hand are stretched as far as they can be stretched and still hold on to that rope.

Fat Tony:  MASON’S GOT—

Jack:  LOOK!

Mason’s right arm was dragging Freebear with him, so now Freebear is coming down on top of Mason.  That breaks Mason’s tenuous hold on the rope and sends him down to the arena floor.

Fat Tony:  WHAT?!?!

American Freebear, in desperation, tries to get his arms around the ropes.  His right arm, softened by Mason’s efforts in the match, can’t hold on…but he does manage to hook one of his left arm over the top rope.  He swings precariously into the air, off the edge of the apron…with only his left arm holding his entire bulk from falling to the floor.

Jack:  CAN HE HOLD ON?

Fat Tony:  HE CAN’T POSSIBLY HOLD ON. 

Despite all of his own weight dragging him towards the arena floor, American Freebear has that arm locked over the top rope…and he’s managing to hold on.  The referee is looking closely to make certain that he does.

Jack:  HE’S HOLDING ON!  HE’S HOLDING ON!  THE FREEBEAR IS HOLDING ON!!!

The crowd roars as Steven Mason, sprawled on the arena floor, looks up at American Freebear who remains on the ring apron.

Fat Tony:  WHAT?  That can’t be it!  That can’t be how this ends…

American Freebear smiles and settles himself firmly on the ring apron.  With his free hand, pumps his fist in the air—to the delight of the fans in attendance tonight.

Stalin:  Actually, Tony…this is EXACTLY how it ends.

American Freebear pulls the top rope out as he leans his portly body over the edge of the apron.  He uses the springiness of the ropes to help him vault over all of the ropes and back into the ring.  The crowd continues to cheer.

STEVEN MASON ELIMINATED BY AMERICAN FREEBEAR

Jack:  I believe that a bear can fly!  And the American Freebear did fly high tonight…

Fat Tony:  Jesus.

Stalin:  And I believe I’m going to be ill.

Freebear is exultant and thrilled with himself…and the victory.

Jack:  Time to put this one in the books…

Ding, Ding!

Trudeau:  Your winner of the match...and NEW…Top Contender for the Television Championship…AMERICAN FREEBEAR!!!

The crowd cheers continue as American Freebear throws his hands up in celebration of his victory and his music begins to play again.  The referee struggles to grab his hand—which is already raised—to officially signal that he has won the match.

Jack:  American Freebear sent Steven Mason over the top rope and onto the arena floor…and wins this match.

The hand held camera finds a discouraged looking Steven Mason as he picks himself up off the ground.  He gives only a glance up into the ring at American Freebear who has taken to climbing up the ropes on the side of the ring closest to the broadcast station.  He’s jabbing his thumb into his chest and then wagging his finger in Erik Stalin’s direction, repeatedly.

Jack:  A good effort from Mason here tonight…but American Freebear takes it.

The crowd continues to cheer as we see Mason start his way back up the entrance ramp to leave the arena…while American Freebear decides that he’s had enough of taunting Erik Stalin with his win and walks back from the ropes.  He shoves his hands in the air when he’s in the middle of the ring and that pumps the crowd one more time.

Stalin:  Well, guys, it’s been a pleasure sitting in with you. 

American Freebear walks to the side of the ring closest to the entrance ramp, hops over the top rope to the arena floor below and begins a long backwards walk up the ramp towards the curtains.

Fat Tony:  What?  You’re leaving?  You finally run out of things to say?

Erik Stalin, however, has already taken off his headset mic and picked back up the arena mic he brought with him from his entrance.  He stands up from his chair and walks away from the broadcasting station.

Jack:  Erik Stalin, our unexpected—

Fat Tony:  --and unwelcome.  Don’t forget “unwelcome.” 

Jack:  --guest commentator for this match.  And Tony, what a match, huh?  That was hard fought, wasn’t it?

American Freebear is still celebrating his win as he makes his way up the ramp.

Fat Tony:  Yeah…and I think Steven Mason would have won had the American Freebird not cheated.

Jack:  How did he cheat?

Fat Tony:  He held onto the top rope.

Jack:  I don’t think that’s cheating…I think that was an amazing feat of skill and strength.

Fat Tony:  Well, because he held onto the top rope…the American Freebear didn’t fall to the ground.

Jack:  Yeah…

Fat Tony:  That sounds like cheating to me.  Shouldn’t be allowed. 

Jack:  Well, I don’t—uhhhh, what is Erik Stalin doing?

The hard camera catches Erik Stalin not walking to the ramp to head backstage but instead he’s climbing into the ring.

Fat Tony:  Oh, God…and me, without a sandwich handy.

Jack:  Fans, it looks like Erik Stalin’s got something to say here…

American Freebear’s music is faded down and the crowd’s attention is diverted back to the large man in the brick red t-shirt who is now standing in the middle of the ring.  He’s got a microphone in his hand and soon his voice booms over the arena speakers.  

Stalin:  So.  THAT’S entertainment, huh? 

The camera catches what might have been Erik Stalin rolling his eyes as he scans around the arena for the reaction of the crowd.

Stalin:  Well…BRAVO.  BRAAA—VO.

Erik Stalin puts the microphone, tightly, under his arm…and, while shaking his head, he begins what may be one of the most obnoxiously sarcastic slow claps in history.  He directs this slow cap in the general direction of Steven Mason and American Freebear, who have both made their way, all the way, back up the ramp to the entrance area stage and the edge of the curtain.

Fat Tony:  Oh, just let it go, kid.  This match wasn’t about YOU. 

There’s a murmur in the crowd as Stalin continues to mock the match he’s just watched.  American Freebear doesn’t care.  He’s staring back at the ring as he walks backwards towards the curtain—all the while, he’s jabbing his thumb into his breastbone with his left hand and then holding up one finger, to indicate that HE, American Freebear, is the new Number One Contender for the Television Championship.  Mason, meanwhile, simply walked through the curtains and slipped backstage.

Jack:  I don’t know, folks…I think the crowd here in Auburn Hills actually DID find that match entertaining.  What did YOU think, Tony?

Fat Tony:  I think you should wake me whenever this clown gets out of the ring so the show can move on.  I just imagine him droning on and on about nothing for the next half-hour.

Meanwhile, at ringside, Max Maxwell, the man eliminated very early in the match, is both looking rather groggy—have just gotten to his feet and are preparing to leave the ring area.  Erik Stalin, however, notices him and pulls the microphone back to his mouth.

Stalin:  Oh, hey…Max Maxwell…  Look, can you…slide into the ring for a second?   Just for a second.

Jack:  Fans, I don’t know what this is about.  Erik Stalin, trying to get the wrestler eliminated first from this Battle Royal to climb back in the ring.

Fat Tony:  Actually, Jackson eliminated himself first.

Jack:  And Max Maxwell was the first one eliminated by one of the other wrestlers then…and Erik Stalin wants Maxwell to join him in the ring. 

Erik Stalin uses his hands to try to disappate any fears that either Maxwell may be feeling about getting back in the ring with him there.

Stalin:  Look, I know that it was a tough match for you.  But, like they say in the rodeo…when the horse bucks you off, you’ve got to get right back on that horse…  So come on up here.

Fat Tony:  I wish Erik Stalin would buck off…

Jack:  Tony.

Fat Tony:  WHAT?

Max looks like hell and he’s holding his head.  But, it also looks like he’s considering doing as Erik Stalin says.  

Stalin:  Max, I’m serious here.  I think it’s important that you get back in this ring.  It’s been rough going for you here in the WWA…and I don’t want you to leave here tonight dwelling on what happened in this match. 

Max Maxwell climbs up the stairs to enter the ring.  

Stalin:  If you get in the ring, I think you’ll find some very important things…

Stalin even goes over and pulls the top rope up so Max Maxwell can climb into the ring.

Stalin:  Yes.  In this ring, I promise you…you will find some very important things…if you look for them.

Maxwell is fuzzy-brained enough to actually look around the ring, thinking he’ll find something there.

Jack:  I know that Erik Stalin used to teach and train wrestlers when he worked in Japan.  Perhaps he’s using this match as a teaching moment—and he’s got some advice to share with Slayton and Maxwell.

Fat Tony:  Yes.  Because who you trust for wrestling advice is the guy who still hasn’t wrestled a match in this company.

Stalin:  I think you’ll find some very important things here in this ring…things that I think you lost. 

The camera catches Max Maxwell mouthing the words “Like what?”

Stalin:  Things you lost…like, you know…maybe, your dignity…

The crowd goes “Ooooooh…”  Maxwell smiles, awkwardly and tries to laugh it off.

Stalin:  Or your pride…

The crowd goes “Ooooooh…” louder.

Stalin:  And DEFINITELY your teeth.

The crowd goes “Oooooooh…” one more time.  We see the thought flash across Max Maxwell’s face that would best be captioned as “What do you mean my teeth?” if it was a still image.  Instead, we see Erik Stalin drop the microphone to the mat and move very quickly to grab Max’s right arm.  Stalin then turns his left hip towards Maxwell’s right hip and in a flash, he kicks Maxwell’s right leg out from under him and that sends Maxell hurtling at an incredible speed, face-first into the mat.

Jack:  DOWN GOES MAXWELL!!!

Stalin pops back up to his feet very quickly.  The crowd, meanwhile, responds in surprise as anything else—although, really, wasn’t it pretty obvious what was about to happen?

Jack:  STALIN HAS JUST PURGED MAX MAXWELL!

Fat Tony:  What is WITH this guy???

Erik Stalin grabs the microphone and directs his comments to the man lying face down and still on the mat.

Stalin:  Did you HONESTLY believe that you put forth the effort necessary in the WWA?!?! 

Erik Stalin bends down to shout at the unconscious man.

Stalin:  GET REAL!

The crowd seems to like this reference to Stalin’s oft-repeated mission statement.  And, with barely concealed rage, Stalin bends down to deliver his final comment to Max Maxwell.

Stalin:  Detroit deserves better than YOU.

The crowd cheers lustily at this cheap local pop connected to some unnecessary violence.

Jack:  Erik Stalin has just purged Max Maxwell.  AND STALIN WASN’T EVEN IN THE MATCH, TONY!

Fat Tony:  Well, to be fair…neither was Maxwell.  Not really.

Jack:  Since when have you been about being fair?

Fat Tony:  In a world where Erik Stalin gets cheered for beating up a defenseless and beaten man, I’d say that ANYTHING is possible.

Jack:  I think, probably, the luckiest man in the Detroit metro area tonight is Chris Slayton.  Could easily have been two men facing Stalin’s wrath.

Erik Stalin has maintained an intense stare at the man who remain motionless on the mat.  Eventually, he shakes his head in sad disgust.  He drops the microphone to the mat—it reverberates throughout the Palace at Auburn Hills with a resonant “THUD.”  He turns, drops out of the ring and makes his way back up the ramp…headed towards backstage.

Jack:  So…  Erik Stalin, making another statement here tonight.

Over the speakers, the instrumental intro to the song “Rise” by Public Image Ltd plays loud enough that it isn’t as noticeable that the crowd reaction for Stalin, as opposed their immediate reactions to what he’s just said and done, is not entirely supportive.

Fat Tony:  This guy makes a LOT of statements.  Pretty soon, he’s gonna have to start backing up all that talk in the ring.

On the way up the ramp, we see a lot of fans yelling in Stalin’s face…but there are also a few people reaching out to shake his hand.  The reaction in the arena is loud, definitely mixed, but overall, it sounds positive.

Fat Tony:  And he’s not making many friends, backstage…I can tell you that.

Stalin reaches out and touches the hands of the fans who are reaching out to him.  He even sees a group of three fans who have pressed against the fan barrier near the top of the ramp who are all wearing plain brick-red t-shirts, who are pumping their fists as they cheer him on.  Stalin makes the effort to lean over and give them each fist bumps—which makes them even more boisterous in their support.

Jack:  And let’s not lose the fact that, in American Freebear…with his victory in this match, we have a new Top Contender for the Television Championship.  Will we ALSO have a new Television Champion?  Or, will Wolf Hunter successfully defend his title against the undefeated Drew Rosen?

Stalin walks through the smoke that’s pouring out on the entrance ramp and disappears backstage.

Jack:  The Television Championship will be on the line, later tonight…here on WWA Underground.

Mary Bingham stands backstage, her head is framed by the WWA logo.

Mary: With me at this time, Drew Rosen.

Drew strides out with an amused smile on his face.

Drew: I have to say, Mary Bingham, the sun shone on me today, the grime of Detroit was looking spectacular today, and Pancho and Lefty are gonna get all they can eat.

Drew kisses his fists.

Mary raises an eyebrow.

Mary: Oh Kay. You seem confident in your first WWA Title opportunity.

Drew: Why wouldn't I? I'm bigger, I'm stronger, and I'm meaner. I suppose Wolf Hunter was always going to think more about Nazi Gold than my propensity for violence anyway.

Drew trails off.

Mary: You're--

Drew: Don't worry. It just means I get to punch and throw him around more. I like punching and throwing things until they stop moving.

He smiles down at Mary.

Drew: And Wolfie? He's not going to be moving when I'm done with him.

He laughs as if that was a joke. Mary takes a half-step back.

Drew: Because the fact is--

A hand taps him on the shoulder. Drew brushes it off.

Drew: The fact is that I'm going to--

The hand insists on being heard.

Drew: Okay buddy, what do you...

He wheels around to see an annoyed Steven Mason staring back at him.

Drew:...want?

Steven: I just wanted to wish you luck.

Drew smirks at that.

Steven: Hope you don't choke.

Drew: Thanks. I don't intend to.

He balls his right hand into a fist.

Drew: But it's nice to see what happens when someone does.

He pats Steven on the cheek with his left hand.

Drew: Thanks for the tip, Stevie.

Drew bumps shoulders with Steven as he strides off camera.

The camera refocuses on a nervous Mary.

Mary: It's getting intense in the back, but let's send it to Gary in the ring.

We cut backstage, where Bruce Pepin waits near the entrance to the arena. A nervous look is on his face, as he looks at his watch.

Jack: Has Tom Sawyer shown up yet?

Fat Tony: My sources inform me that Sawyer will NOT make it to the arena on time and in fact is likely becoming someone's bitch as we speak.

Jack: Will you be serious!

We cut back to the ring, where Gary Trudeau stands next to a large nasty looking man wearing a mask. Trudeau seems very nervous.

Trudeau: Already standing in the ring, from parts unknown, weight unknown, height unknown, blood-type unknown... sigh this is NEMESIS!

The crowd reacts negatively, which causes Nemesis to chuckle underneath his mask.

Fat Tony: What do we know about this guy Nemesis after all?

Jack: Precious little, I'm afraid. I checked backstage and he seems to have a slight height advantage on Jork, certainly a heavier build...

Fat Tony: Jork's all skin and bones anyhow.

Jack: Well don't use yourself as a point of reference!

Voice: PAY NO ATTENTION TO THE MAN BEHIND THE CURTAIN!

Neuroticfish's remixed version of Funny Farm blasts onto the speakers as Jork hops out of the entrance and smiles and waves at the crowd.

Trudeau: Hailing from Goudhurst, Cranbrook, Kent, England-

Fat Tony: All of these places, together?

Trudeau: And weighing in at 215 pounds... JORK!

Fat Tony: More like DORK if you ask me. Curtain-Jorker.

Remember when you ran away
and I got on my knees
and begged you not to leave
because I'd go berzerk?

You left me anyhow
and then the days got worse and worse
and now you see I've gone
completely out of my mind

And ...

As the song goes into the chorus, Jork cartwheels down towards the ring, in tune with the music.

They're coming to take me away
Ha-ha!
They're coming to take me away
Ho-ho!
Hee-hee!
Ha-ha!

As Jork reaches the ring, he slides under the bottom rope and bounces onto his feet, then bounces around the ring, smiling wildly and holding out his hands, bobbing his head from side to side. The bell rings and both men immediately start eyeing each other, trying to gain an early advantage on the other. Brute force wins over dexterity...

Jack: Nemesis starts out strong, manhandling the strange high flyer named Jork!

Nemesis with a collar and elbow tie-up that drives Jork hard into the corner where the referee is forced to call a break. He get's one, but Nemesis chops Jork in the chest so hard he crumples down to the mat.

Jack: Well he's gonna feel those in the morning; impressive power by the mysterious Nemesis. Followed by a stalling vertical suplex from our mystery man, a great way to cause all the blood to rush to someone's head.

Fat Tony: But I ask you Jack, was there anything in Jork's head to begin with?

Nemesis keeps control with a side headlock, Jork trying to wiggle out of it but to no avail. Tries for a belly-to-back suplex but can't get him fully up. Shoves Nemesis into the ropes and drops down as he comes back, followed by a leapfrog, then gets a pop from the audience with a Japanese arm drag!

Jack: Jork finally managing to get Nemesis off his feet, and keeps on the assault with a flying dropkick to the face!

Fat Tony: Pay attention Jack, because we've got a guest coming over to ringside! SETH COPELAND!

That's right: Seth Copeland walks down the entrance aisle with chair in hand as Jork hits Nemesis with a running knee. Security comes to crowd the former champ, but Seth calmly sets the chair down and instead.... USES THE CHAIR FOR SITTING PURPOSES! Meanwhile, Jork hits the Jork Sleeper, trying to put Nemesis away early

Jack: Jork Sleeper early on and Nemesis in a whole mess of trouble!

Fat Tony: You're not kidding! Didn't Nemesis basically assault Seth Copeland just a few weeks ago? You ever thought that Seth Copeland didn't bring that chair to get revenge on Nemesis? Something's gonna happen Jack, I'm tellin' ya!

Jack: He's sitting on the chair.

Fat Tony: THE SITUATION CAN CHANGE AT ANY MOMENT!

And far from serving as a distraction to the match, it seems as if Seth Copeland's presence has revitalized Nemesis! Finding the strength to turn to his stomach and break the sleeper through brute strength only! Big Belly to back suplex! Jork gets up but eats a belly-to belly suplex!

Jack: Surge of strength from Nemesis as he suplexes Jork left and right, but Seth Copeland doesn't bite. He's still at ringside, not attacking, not even taunting much. Looks like he's studying... his nemesis.

Fat Tony: Oh my, Jack that is so clever. Did you think of that yourself?

Another grapple attempt but Jork strikes first with a spinning back kick. Pele kick knocks Nemesis down as Jork climbs to the top.

Jack: Big move coming up from Jork.

Fat Tony: Eh, he just acts all special so that more people will pay attention, regardless of natural talent. They should be calling him Bjork instead. Even Seth Copeland is concentrating more on Nemesis than Swedish Chef over here.

Jack: Swedish chef?

Fat Tony: BORK BORK BORK!

Jack: MISSILE DROPKICK CONNECTS!

Big pop from the crowd!

Fat Tony: Well Seth can study Nemesis falling on his ass then; that WAS a great dropkick.

Jack: Jork covers!

One!

Tw-Kickout!

Jack: And that won't be enough to put Nemesis away.

Fat Tony: Nemmy's a big man, tough too. Think he'll like it if I call him Nemmy?

Jack: Ask his good friend Seth Copeland watching by ringside. Jork pelting Nemesis with multiple strikes but Nemesis just brushing them off... Punches and kicks have no effect on Nem- Nemesis catches Jorks leg- ENZIGURI!!!

Fat Tony: Well Nemesis sure felt that hit.

Jack: Jork with another cover!

One! 

Two!

Kickout!

Jack: Can't put him away, is Jork as he still struggles against HIS Nemesis.

Fat Tony: Give it up Jack...

Seth almost looks disappointed as he follows Nemesis from ringside, until Jork runs the ropes trying for a Flash Finish, with Nemesis keeping Jork up in the air!

Jack: Well that's something new, our mystery Nemesis showing us he has the sheer strength to hold Jork up and nullify the Flash Finish- POWERBOMB!

Fat Tony: Yeah, that'll nullify that Jork-off.

Jork rising to one knee as Nemesis comes off the ropes and hits Jork with a knee to the back of the head. Seth goes "hummmm" as Nemesis lifts his opponent up for a Fisherman suplex

Jack: Turns it into a Mexican Stretch Buster! This has been back and forth action so far, with Jork having difficulty in keeping the big man down and stuck eating heavyweight offense over and over again!

Fat Tony: And Seth still hasn't made a move yet. I don't like that, Jack. There's payback coming but I don't know when.

Knife edge chop from Jork is answered by an even stiffer chop from Nemesis. Nemesis pulls Jork up for a suplex but Jork slips out from behind and slips into a neckbreaker! Leaps to the middle rope and springboards into a moonsault!

Jack: Jork not letting up this time, he's turning his foe over in a reverse figure four leglock!

Fat Tony: Well I didn't see much submission moves from the high-flying technician but this might actually be part of an intellegent strategy. Then again, this is Jork we're talking about.

Jack: Reverse figure four leglock, often a submission finish in Mexico could find a victory where so many high flying moves failed instead.

Jork has his back to the ropes, Nemesis is in the center of the ring and in definite pain. He pushes off the mat to alleviate the pain but just can't seem to find an escape. Seth Copeland looks on bemused at Nemesis' plight. Suddenly, Nemesis free's a single leg and starts kicking himself free. Keeping close to Jork, he quickly hooks him in a cross-leg over-the-shoulder crossface!

Jack: Good Lord that's a Regal stretch from Nemesis, where'd he learn that from?

Fat Tony: William Regal?

Jack: Okay, I left myself wide open for that one... As Seth Copeland watches on, seems Jork just can't find a way to keep Nemesis down!

The Regal stretch, hastily applied, hooks Jork as he was near enough to the ropes. With a little encouragment from the fans, Jork manages to grab the bottom rope with his free hand... Although Nemesis waits until the edge of a five count before breaking the hold. Referee gets in Nemesis face for this blatant disregard to his autority, allowing Jork to pull himself up to his feet.

Jack: Jork still in this... Catches Nemesis with a back heel kick, off the ropes for a springboard forearm smash! Picks the ankle, somersault leg snap!

Fat Tony: See, he's only acting crazy. When crunch time happens, Jork wrestles as sanely as any other man.

Jack: Concentrating on the leg is Jork as he goes for the Indian Deathlock! Shades of Wahoo McDaniels! The high flying technician seemingly going for Nemesis wheels after his onslaught of flying maneuvers!

Nemesis in pain as Seth looks on with a smile on face. Neither helping nor distracting Nemesis, Seth merely offers a golf clap to Jork from ringside. Jork turns over the maneuver into something Triple H would but Nemesis using his brute strength advantage to power out of the move as best he can

Jack: Nemesis reaching the ropes; he'll need a lot more power to keep a foe like Nemesis grounded.

Fat Tony: Like I said, Jork's all skin and bones. Eat a burger, Jork-off! But not any of mine or I swear I will sit on you.

Jack: It seems as if EVERYONE has their dreaded submission maneuvers tonight! Jork quickly breaking the hold but only to administer more punishment on his opponent!

As Nemesis stumbles to his feet, Jork see's his opportunity and overtakes his opponent with a turnbuckle climbing tornado DDT!!! Big crowd pop for this move as Jork doesn't let up climbing the top turnbuckle AGAIN and eyeing his foe

Jack: Jork judging the distance; he's got something big coming... Hurricanrana, NO- Down the rabbit hole!!! Hooks the cross face!

Fat Tony: Not quite!

Jack: Nemesis struggling to keep his arm free; he's not giving anything up in this battle!!

Fat Tony: Jork'll have to give up his crossface instead if he wants to keep the advanatge!

Jack: Jork letting go, running off the ropes- FLASH FINISH!

Fat Tony: Won't work! Nemesis is keeping him up, just as he did before!

Jack: Knees buckle- He got some of it in!

And there's a defining crowd pop to go with the half-executed Flash Finish!

Jack: And a second Flash Finish seals the deal! Jork hooks the leg!

One! 

Two! 

Kickout!

Jork looks towards the referee, raising three fingers in the air. Jork walks towards the referee, not noticing Nemesis raise up behind him. Nemesis runs towards Jork and kicks him in the head, sending Jork to a knee. Nemesis bounces off the ropes and levels Jork with a shining wizard to the skull.

Fat Tony: Forget about it!

Jack: BRUTAL! 

One! 

Two! 

Three!

Ding, Ding

Fat Tony: He took his head off!

Jack: Something very familiar abo - Copeland!

Nemesis slides from the ring, as Copeland is right on his tail. Nemesis hurls a cameraman towards Copeland, slowing the big man down. Copeland lunges over the cameraman, clotheslining Nemesis to the ground as security rushes down to separate the two men.

Fat Tony: Let them fight!

Jack: These two are going to murder each other!

Fat Tony: Yeah! Ain't it cool?

Copeland pushes off the security detail and chases after Nemesis, who is already through the curtain. A camera near Seth's face closes in on the fury in his eyes.

Fat Tony: And to think Pepin wants these two to fight at South of Heaven...they'll destroy the entire stadium!

We cut backstage, where Pepin still waits near the doorway. His attention turned, he is pushed hard into the wall by Nemesis, who exits the arena quickly.

Jack: Nemesis wasting no time getting out of dodge!

Fat Tony: He launched the WWA owner into the wall!

Copeland rushes onto the scene, shouting.

Copeland: WHERE IS HE?! he sees Pepin and rushes to him, lifting him up by the neck WHERE DID HE GO?!

Pepin points towards his mouth, gasping for air. Seth lets him down.

Pepin: He's gone, Seth Cope-Land. He just took off out these doors!

Copeland opens the door with a massive right boot, kicking it off its hinges. He rushes out of the arena, a cameraman close behind him. Seth surveys the surroundings and sees nothing.

Copeland: DAMMIT!

We transition from an angry Seth Copelan to a separate area backstage. Immediately our senses are barraged by an off-camera voice, magnified by the efforts of a bullhorn.

Voice: ATTENTION WWA NATION! YOUR HERO HAS ARRIVED!

Backstage personnel all glance annoyedly toward the source of the voice, who walks into frame, revealing himself as none other than the WWA’s own savior, Chris Bond. Wearing his ‘0014: Twice as Good’ t-shirt and dressed in his wrestling gear, Bond continues his assault on the eardrums of those backstage.

Bond: PLEASE MAKE WAY! HERO COMING THROUGH!

He goes as far as to point the megaphone directly towards the ears of those in the backstage. Walking through the semi-crowded corridors backstage, Bond has nothing but a smirk draped across his face. Random faces standing in doors, all but one that is. Chris Bond backs up a few steps and comes face to face with his tag-team partner later tonight, WWA Champion Jaymz Watkins. Bond slightly glares at him, before returning to his jovial state.

Bond: JAYMZ WATKINS! YOUR HERO - AND TAG-TEAM PARTNER - HAS ARRIVED!

Watkins shows little to no emotion, and instead chooses to snatch the megaphone from Bond’s hand and smash it against the door jam several times, shattering it into pieces before turning back to Bond with a polite smile underscored with evil and mockery.

Watkins: I'm a very busy man, Chris. Do you have something of substance to say to me, or do you just enjoy the sound of your own voice?

Bond frowns, but presses on nonetheless.

Bond: Pleasure to see you again, Jimmy. It’s good to see you’re still smelling of brimstone and sulfur. Glad to see Hell hasn’t frozen over.

A small smile forms in the corner of Chris Bond’s mouth, his insult sufficient in his opinion. Watkins just gives his fake smile again. He seems... Weary tonight.

Watkins: Unlike you, I’ve actually got places to go and people to see. In fact, I have a meeting with my secretary in about, oh... checks watch Five minutes ago. And by meeting I, of course, mean I'm going to shoot a pound of throat yogurt.

Bond: Wonderful language, you ass. What about the children in attendance? Do we really need you going around blabbing on and on about you busting a nut? These kids deserve better than that.

The irony of the statement blows past Bond.

Watkins: So a guy who lied openly to a man who openly deemed him his friend, then dressed up as another wrestler just to superkick said friend is trying to claim the moral high ground? Yeah. I'll be leaving now.

Watkins tries to brush past Bond, but the WWA's savior steps into his path and puts his shoulder into the champ's, blocking him bodily.

Bond: I did have something to say, in fact. About tonight…

Watkins's polite demeanor remains, but it's obvious that Bond has pushed the right button to make him slightly less cordial.

Watkins: I don’t give a teensy fuck about about you or this match, you meat-headed shitsack. I’m better than you, I'm better than this contest, and I’m above all of the people in this building. I am the WWA, for Christ’s sake, and I get stuck babysitting... pauses, thinks, gestures at Bond obviously one of MI-6's greatest success stories. Hey, Q-Branch called, and wants you to know that that is not what you're supposed to do with the explosive pen. And to make matters worse, I've got the Canadian Jek Porkins and a second, even less relevant Canadian on the other side of the ring, besieging my eyesight with their ineptitude. I don’t care if you came here to talk shop or talk some kind of strategy. As far as I’m concerned, you can show up or you can choke to death on your own vomit, because you nor any one else in that match - or this federation for that matter - is worth any of my time. Hell, Bond, you’re not even worth the sweat on my balls.

Watkins's smile this time is so sinister, Hitler would blush. Bond clinches his fist as a massive boo can be heard echoing throughout Detroit.

Bond: You know what, you narcissistic prick? That’s fine. But make sure you stay out of my way. I have no problem kicking your teeth down your throat mere weeks from South of Heaven. You make sure to keep that title nice and warm, because if you manage to defeat Today’s Tom Sawyer at South of Heaven, I want you to know I’m coming for you. I will hunt you and put you down like the worthless dog you are.

The WWA Champion yawns in the face of his would-be partner.

Watkins: Cute and all, but you're doing it wrong. You’re not the WWA’s savior. You’re certainly not my hero, or anybody else’s. Why don’t you worry about saving yourself before you go on some suicide mission, and try to save a place that doesn’t want to be saved in the first place? We’re done here. You’ve already wasted more time than you're worth.

Watkins forces his way past Bond, who turns around and follows him with his gaze, red with rage, muttering while he storms off in the opposite direction.

Bond: This is far from over.

Fat Tony: Looks like the WWA Champion just tore YOUR Hero a new one, Jackie boy.

Jack: He claims to be our - the WWA Nation’s - Hero. But by the looks of it, that impossible team looks like it may implode before tonight’s main event!

Fat Tony: Tom Sawyer hasn’t even shown up yet! Who says there will even be a main event? If anything… it seems like poor old Pepin is a lamb being lead to the slaughter!

The show returns to ringside. Brett Butler, Albert Rodriguez, and Buster Wilson stand in the ring, with Gary Trudeau.

Trudeau: This next match is a tag team bout to be decided by one fall. Already in the ring, is the Heat Magnets. Their opponents, first weighing in at 280 pounds, this is Eugene King!

"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, staring at the Magnets.

Trudeau: And his partner…

The men in the ring stand around. However no music plays and no one comes out. After a few moments, Trudeau shrugs and exits the ring.

Jack: Wait a minute. Eugene King doesn’t have one it seems. This is a handicap match!

Fat Tony: Like someone would want to team with that nut.

Rodriguez and Wilson exit the ring as the ref gives instructions to King and Butler. The ref than signals for the bell.

Ding, Ding!

King goes right for Butler, whipping him into the ropes. Butler comes bouncing back and King slams him to the mat with a power slam.

Jack: What a vicious opening move by King. It may be a simple power slam, but when it’s performed by someone that big, it hurts.

Jack bends over to pick up Butler, but Butler surprises him with a thumb to the eye. King stumbles backwards as Butler pulls himself up.

Fat Tony: Nice counter.

Jack: That wasn’t a counter. That was a cheap shot.

King recovers and swings a large forearm Butler’s way, however Butler moves out of the way at the last second. King turns to try for another, only for Butler to dropkick his knees out, taking the big man down.

Jack: Butler needed to get King off his feet, that was as good as any way to do it.

King tries to roll over, but Butler grabs his legs and delivers a series of kicks to the inside left knee.

Fat Tony: If King can’t stand, that helps Butler out a lot.

King still struggles to get away, however Butler pulls him over to the Magnet’s corner. He tags in his partner.

Jack: Here comes Rodriguez.

Rodriguez introduces himself into the match by dropping a knee right on King’s throat, which puts an end to his struggling.

Fat Tony: He could have crushed King’s throat there.

Jack: Let us not forget, King has another match later tonight. All the damage he taks here will carry over into that match.

Fat Tony: Carry over? Is this a video game?

Rodriguez pulls the dazed King up. He whips King into the ropes. King comes bouncing back, only for Rodriguez to shoulder tackle him to the mat with a loud thud.

Jack: I swear, I think the ring moved 3 inches there.

Rodriguez stands and quickly tags in Butler. Butler climbs to the top turnbuckle and flies off with a body splash. However in midair, King gets his knees up, knocking the wind out of Butler.

Fat Tony: Okay, that’s a counter.

Butler rolls over in pain and King covers him.

One!

Two!

Rodriguez gets in and kicks King square in the head. King rolls away, but Rodriguez doesn’t let him get far. Rodriguez drops an elbow onto the back of King’s head as the ref warns him to leave the ring.

Jack: Two cheap shots in a row from Albert.

The ref finally gets Rodriguez to return to his corner. While this was going on, Butler recovered and now grabs King and locks on a half crab. King groans, but he’s far away from any ropes.

Fat Tony: King could really use some help from his partner. Oh wait, he doesn’t have one.

Butler really applies all the pressure he can, but King starts to recover. Feeling King begin to power out of the hold, Butler releases it. Butler rolls over and locks on a pure headlock. However his arm seems to be lower than it should be on King’s throat.

Jack: He choking him!

The ref takes a few moments, but once he realizes it’s a choke, he orders the break, doing the warning count.

One!

Two!

Three!

Four!

Butler finally let’s go of the choke and starts to argue with the ref. The two begin to have a heated argument; however behind the ref’s back, Rodriguez enters the ring, carrying a wooden cane.

Fat Tony: That’s Buster Wilson’s cane. This won’t end well.

As the ref and Butler argue about the choke, Rodriguez kneels down and applies a choke of his own, this one using the cane. King struggles, but he can’t escape the hold.

Jack: This is disgusting. This is basically a handicap match, but still the Heat Magnets constantly cheat.

Just before the ref turns around, Rodriguez stops the choke and tosses the cane out of the ring. The ref turns and sees Rodriguez, but no foreign object. He orders Albert out of the ring, as Butler stomps the fallen King on the head.

Fat Tony: King is hopelessly outnumbered here. He needs-

Over the PA system, “Hero” by Skillet starts to play. Butler stops kicking King, looking around.

Jack: What’s this?

The crowd suddenly starts cheering. The camera suddenly cuts to the entrance, where Jack Griffiths is making his way down.

Fat Tony: What is he doing here?

Jack: Obviously Jack is sick of seeing this and is going to do something about it.

Griffiths is wearing blue jeans and a t-shirt saying “Working Class Hero”. He jogs down to the ring and climbs onto the apron.

Fat Tony: So wait, is he now King’s partner?

Butler yells at Jack and the two have a back and forth. Rodriguez argues with the ref in his corner and Buster Wilson is throwing a fit on the outside. The music fades out. As all this is going on, King begins to get up.

Jack: King is recovering, the Magnets needs to focus back on the ring.

King grabs Butler from behind and drops him with a German suplex. Butler hits the mat hard and rolls out of the ring. As King stands up, Griffiths reaches over and slaps him on the back.

Fat Tony: Griffiths just tagged himself in. He IS in the match.

King looks around confused as Griffiths steps him. Rodriguez charges in, only for Griffiths to dropkick him out of the ring as the crowd cheers.

Jack: Griffiths has come to save the day it seems. Oh wait…

Wilson climbs onto the apron and yells at Griffiths. Griffiths looks at him for a few moments, then suddenly charges forward and knocks Wilson off the apron with a shoulder block, sending Buster flying to the floor, getting even more cheers. Griffiths turns back around, smiling, only for King to grab him by the throat and drop him with a chokeslam.

Fat Tony: Whoa! That was King’s finisher, Psychosis.

Jack: And he just delivered it on his own partner!

Fat Tony: I guess he wasn’t looking to be saved.

King glares down at Griffiths and leaves the ring. He begins to make his way up the aisle as Butler climbs to the top turnbuckle. Butler flies off the top and nails the fallen Griffiths with a solid elbow drop.

Jack: The Long Kiss Goodnight by Butler. And this might be goodnight for Jack Griffiths.

Butler covers, hooking a leg.

One!

Two!

Three!

Ding, Ding!

Trudeau: Your winners of the match… THE HEAT MAGNEEEETS!

“Pour Some Sugar on Me” by Def Leppard plays over the PA system as the ref raises Butler’s arm. Rodriguez helps Wilson up on the outside.

Jack: A win for the Magnets and it was technically in a tag team bout, but it certainly wasn’t any normal tag team match.

Fat Tony: They got the win, but Eugene King is the one who did the damage.

Butler rolls out of the ring and the Magnets make their way up the aisle. A stunned Griffiths gets up and rolls out of the ring in disgust.

Jack: Well up next we have-

Suddenly, "Another Brick in the Wall, Part II" hits and Eddie van Dorn appears, walking toward the ring staring daggers at Jack Griffiths.

Jack: He doesn't look happy.

Fat Tony: Grungers never do.

Jack, who had already been outside of the ring ready to head to the locker room, simply throws his leather jacket on and goes back through the ropes. Eddie grabs a microphone from ringside and rolls into the ring, standing up and getting uncomfortably close to Griffiths.

EVD: Where is it?

Jack shrugs and Eddie verbally backtracks a bit.

EVD: Wait, forgive me. I jumped the gun a little bit. Where is it?

Jack shrugs again.

EVD: I'm only going to ask one more time. Where. Is. It?

Jack snatches the microphone out of Eddie's hand.

Griffiths: What part of my body language do you not understand? I have no idea what you are on about!

Eddie snatches the microphone back off of Jack.

Fat Tony: These two need to learn how to share.
Jack: Or another microphone!

EVD: Let me put it this way... something went missing from my bag last Underground. I have a sneaking suspicion that you are responsible, but I'm going to give you a chance to prove otherwise.

Jack smiles as he takes the microphone back off of Eddie and puts a hand in his jacket pocket.

Griffiths: Oh so you're accusing me of being a thief!

Rather than bothering trading the microphone all night, Eddie begins speaking to Jack's hand, not even bothering to look him in the eye.

EVD: I don't see you denying anything yet, and you seem awfully smug for someone who had nothing to do with... wait, what's that sound?

Griffiths: I don't hear anything.

Eddie steps closer to Jack, his head cocked to the side like like a dog.

EVD: It's getting louder. There! That's the sound I didn't hear at the last show!

Griffiths: Cheers?

EVD: Har de har har. I can hear it, though. I know you have it.

Griffiths: Wait, let me guess... you're looking for these?

Jack takes a bottle out of his pocket and shakes it near the microphone, producing a distinctive rattling sound. Eddie makes a lunging grab for the bottle, but Jack evades him.

Griffiths: Now, now. Patience, Eddie Before I even THINK of giving these back to you, something needs to be said. Pause. Now, do you want to tell everybody what's in this bottle, or is that going to fall to me?

Eddie looks around nervously. He leans in and whispers something into Jack's ear that the microphone doesn't pick up, but Jack's response makes it obvious.

Griffiths: Oh, I think it's precisely the time and place for this. Jack turns to the crowd. Ladies and gentlemen, what Eddie doesn't want me to tell you is that I did indeed take something from his bag.

The crowd let out an audible gasp.

Griffiths: When Eddie didn't thank me for saving him, I knew something was amiss so I went in the locker room the following show and took these Lortab from your bag! That's right, folks... Eddie van Dorn is on painkillers!

Murmurs run through the crowd.

Jack: Painkillers? That doesn't sound like Eddie at all. He usually revels in personal injury. Although that would explain his odd behavior of the past few months.
Fat Tony: It doesn't explain Jack's thievery, though.

Van Dorn somehow manages to look sheepish and enraged simultaneously and snatches the microphone back, as Jack pretends the revelation was a surprise.

EVD: Fine. It's out now. You have taken a great amount of glee in shaming me. All that aside, I knew it was you! I knew the moment they went missing that it was you. Give. Them. Back!

Jack merely shakes his head, half in defiance and half in disappointment.

EVD: I'm not going to ask you again. Giv...

Before Eddie can finish Jack grabs the microphone out of his hand.

Griffiths: You're not going to ask me again? Eddie, you never asked the first time, you just demanded! Pause If memory recalls you demanded a title shot and then tried to renege on wanting it.

Eddie tries to grab the mic, but Jack swings it out of reach.

Griffiths: Your painkillers are the same Eddie, you think you need them but you actually don't.

Griffiths shakes his head.

Griffiths: And despite what you think, I don't take any glee from this. I want to help you Eddie, I took them for your own benefit. You used to be better than this Eddie and I want that Eddie back!

Fat Tony: So Griffiths is a thief AND a liar.
Jack: Tony, this is serious.

Eddie lunges for the pill bottle this time, and Jack pulls that away as well. Whether Eddie is thinking exceptionally quickly tonight or this was diversionary tactic is anyone's guess, but the fact remains that he manages to snatch the microphone instead.

EVD: You know, Jack, I really don't see how this is any of your business.

Griffiths retrieves the microphone once more.

Fat Tony: We really need more of those.

Griffiths: Exactly, Eddie. YOU don't see. You don't see how it's affecting you, the people around you, and even your career. When was the last time you won a match?

Jack: Ouch.

Eddie simply leans into the microphone to make one final statement.

EVD: I don't have to take this.

He then drops to the mat and rolls out of the ring. Jack remains, pills and mic in hand.

Griffiths: But you have to take these, don't you?

He shakes the bottle again. Eddie ignores him and continues his walk backstage.

Griffiths: I'm not going to give up, Eddie. And neither should you.

Jack drops the microphone and makes his own departure.

Jack: Emotions running high between those two.

Fat Tony: In Eddie's case, especially. See what I did there? Running high? Huh?

Jack: You're a horrible person.

Fat Tony: Thank you - just like Jack Griffiths, huh?

Jack: Pardon?

Fat Tony: He's a horrible person too.

Jack: What? What are you talking about?

Fat Tony: Hypocrite, thief, liar, crusty juggler...take your pick.

Jack: Folks, it seems Nemesis has left the building. Lets cut to backstage to see if there are any developments.

We cut backstage to a heavily breathing Seth Copeland with his girlfriend Ali, as they stand outside his locker room door.

Seth: I've had it with Nemesis! I'm putting an end to this once and for all ... Pepin wants me to wrestle Nemesis and end this shit at South of Heaven, well, he's got it! I'm gonna sign that contract right now!

He opens the door and leads her in to the room.

Seth: I want you to stay here and sit tight baby. I'm going to lock the door just to be safe, I don't trust anyone right now.

Seth goes to leave as Ali turns to him.

Ali: Don't be long Seth.

Seth stops and turns back, still trying to catch his breath after giving chase to Nemesis moments earlier.

Seth: I won't be long, I just need to see Pepin about a match at South of Heaven ... I'll be back before you know it.

Seth locks the door and walks off down the corridor toward Pepin's office. Ali is sat patiently in the locked dressing room, not doing much of anything other than reading a braile book. She presses a button on her wristwatch, and a staccato female voice speaks the time. Ali sighs to herself and wonders out loud.

Ali: How long are you going to be Seth?

As if her words had summoned action from the ether, she hears a key turn in the door. She turns to face the door, but is only met with breeze. She jumps a little as the door slams shut, and again she hears the key.

Ali: Seth, you made me jump. I w...

Shhhhhhhhhhhh

Jack: Oh please, do we have to watch this?

Fat Tony: Oh yeah, time for some blind chick action. They say blind chicks give...

Jack: STOP!

What everyone but Ali can see, is the hulking figure of Nemesis, standing in the doorway, his chest heaving from the recent pursuit by Seth Copeland. In his hand, he holds a small video camera, which he quietly sets down on the table.

Ali: Seth? inhaling his scent Wait ... who are you ... oh Jesus ... HE

Before she can finish her scream, a hand is clasped over her mouth and the door is kicked shut.

Jack: Jesus, get someone in there quick! Seriously, can someone in the truck send agents down there now!

Fat Tony: Oh chill out Jack, did you see the way she was dressed. Pretty hot for a blind girl, I dont know how she co-rdinates so well.

Jack: I should slap you right now. Folks, we have road agents backstage now.

Road agents rush into the room, to find Ali, sat with her knees drawn up to her chest, rocking back and forth. Scrawled on the dented locker door, in some form of sharpie, are the words.

MMMMM, CANDY!

Jack: This is disgusting. Folks, we can assure you if anything untoward has happened to Ali Pitt, WWA will be launching a full criminal investigation and...

Fat Tony: Oh look she's fallen and she can't get up. Can't we get this broad a white stick or something?

As Ali is helped to her feet, a breathless Seth bursts into the room.

Seth: What the hell happened?!? Ali?

Ali: Where were you? WHERE THE HELL WERE YOU SETH?

Seth: I was ... oh god no, please tell me he didn't.

A road agent calms Seth, assuring him there is no evidence of foul play. Seth notices the video camera with a post-it note, gaudily taunting him with its child-like scrawl of "Watch Me"

Fat Tony: WWE had One Night in Chyna, WWA has 30 Seconds in Ali's Pitt.

Jack: You're sick, Tony!

Seth has watched the footage and throws the camera across the room, shattering it. His face red with rage, he grabs the lens of the nearest shoulder cam, screaming into it.

Seth: NEMESIS!!! YOU ARE A FUCKING DEAD MAN! YOU HEAR ME? DEAD!

Ali reaches up to Seth, but he blindly shrugs the hand off, almost knocking her to the ground again. Realising its her, he softens and comforts her as we cut back to the arena.

Jack: Folks, we can only apologise about what just happened. We can assure you whoever this Nemesis is, WWA owner Bruce Pepin will deal with him accordingly.

Fat Tony: Yeah right, if he's not busy crying over Chris Bond...

Jack: He signs your paycheck, Tony.

Fat Tony: Folks, we'll be back after these messages. Watch more shows on Showtime because they are awesome and stuff!

Jack: *groan* We'll be right back folks.

Fade to a commerical for the new season of Dexter.

'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!”

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

Jack: Here comes the first competitor in this match.

Fat Tony: Intrepid is a dangerous man, I love it!

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: Now we await Armaan...

The house lights in the arena start to flicker orange, white and green as “Invaders Must Die” by The Prodigy blasts over the PA system. The crowd's attention turns to the top of the stage, as Armaan appears at the top of the stage. Armaan looks out at the crowd, a small appreciative smile on his face. But it quickly disappears as his eyes focus on the ring. He starts to make a purposeful march down to the ring.

Trudeau: From New Delhi, India, weighing in at 225 pounds… ARMAAN!

On announcement of his name, the crowd gives yet another
generous yet reserved pop. Armaan marches down to the ring, leaps up onto the apron and climbs through the middle rope. His eyes move to each corner of the squared circle and then to the referee, who he offers a respectful nod. Finally, he glances at Intrepid, and the two engage in a powerful stare to show that each of them means business.

Jack: Well here we go folks, a feisty match between two competitors who have seen a fair share of exciting matches in their time at the WWA!

Fat Tony: I can only hope Intrepid teaches Armaan a lesson or two.

Armaan and Intrepid stand in opposite corners of the ring and the referee, realising the two wrestlers are ready for the match to begin, signals for the opening bell.

Ding, Ding!

As soon as the bell rings, Intrepid bursts into life and leaps at Armaan. The two men begin exchanging left and right blows at an astonishing rate, and Armaan eventually loses out to Intrepid’s powerful hooks.

Jack: Intrepid’s sheer size is giving him an advantage in these opening moments.

Fat Tony: That and the fact that Armaan sucks.

Armaan attempts to salvage a foothold in the opening exchange by lining up an uppercut, but Intrepid is too quick. He leaps forward before Armaan has a chance to finish the uppercut, simply barging Armaan a few steps backward. Armaan sprints back at Intrepid, but the bigger man steps to the side and swings him to the ropes. Upon his return, Armaan receives a swift kick to the midriff, and he is forced to double over. Intrepid bends forward and lifts Armaan up into the air, slamming him down with a powerful Suplex.

Fat Tony: Now that looked painful. Intrepid is on fire!

Jack: Intrepid will win this match unless Armaan comes up with a different strategy; he’s simply bigger and stronger than the Indian.

Keeping a gripped hold of Armaan’s shoulders, Intrepid rises to his feet. He repeats his last move, pulling Armaan back into the doubled over position and performing another hard-hitting Suplex. After a few moments of Armaan writhing on the ground, he tries the same for a third time. He successfully stands up into the air and pulls Armaan back into the doubled over position once again, but this time the Indian steps back out of nowhere and boots Intrepid in the face. Intrepid is forced into an upright position and, while he clutches his face, Armaan runs to the ropes behind him. As he returns, he uses the momentum to leap into the air and hit a flying clothesline, sending both he and Intrepid to the mat.

Jack: Armaan hits a flying clothesline out of nowhere!

The two men both rise up slowly to their knees, but Armaan is much quicker to his feet. By the time Intrepid has stood fully up, Armaan is stood above him. The Indian pulls his head next to his hip and slams down very suddenly, hitting a Snap DDT on the bigger man. While Intrepid stays prone on the floor, Armaan uses the adrenaline he has gained to jump very quickly to his feet and contemplate what move to take next.

Jack: Looks as though Armaan has gained the upper hand in this match!

Fat Tony: It won’t last. Intrepid has got the idiot right where he wants him…

Armaan bends forward as if to lift Intrepid back up to his feet but, at the last moment, changes his mind. He stands back upright and walks away from the prone man, choosing instead to climb up to the top of the corner turnbuckle. This is greeted with a chorus of cheers from the audience, but also a strange rant from our colour commentator.

Fat Tony: So it’s not enough that he has to pretend to be a really nice guy, but Armaan is now getting cheered because he, essentially, climbed up three steps? This is outrageous, Intrepid hasn’t been cheered for once!

Jack: I bet you couldn’t climb up three steps. And the cheers are probably for what’s about to happen…

As Armaan reaches the very top of the turnbuckle, he stands up straight. As if to garner energy from the audience, who holds his arms out wide and makes a rising motion with them, and the cheering from the audience increases four-fold. As this noise spreads around the arena, Armaan suddenly leaps off high from the turnbuckle, creasing his body mid-air and landing atop Intrepid in a Frog Splash. Unfortunately for him, Intrepid appears to have been able to lift a knee at the very last moment, forcing Armaan to land his midriff on it and fall to the side clutching his stomach.

Jack: Oh! Armaan’s high-flying move has backfired at the last second!

Fat Tony: Saw that coming a mile off. I’m a step ahead of you every time, Jack.

Intrepid and Armaan both lie prone on the floor for several seconds, but eventually Intrepid is able to rise to his feet fairly quickly. Armaan soon follows, but Intrepid grabs him by his arm and whips him into the corner of the ring. Armaan bounces back out from the corner of the ring but grabs the rope to stop him from flying backwards towards Intrepid. He turns around, only to be greeted by Intrepid, who forces him back into the corner by pushing him in the chest. Intrepid steps forward and whips the back of his hand across Armaan’s chest, causing an ‘ooh’ to reverberate around the crowd. He repeats this three times, and each time the crowd reacts in the same way.

Jack: That must hurt coming from a man the size of Intrepid.

Intrepid hurts Armaan one more time, driving a knee into his midriff with a harsh, audible grunt. The crowd begins to boo, and Intrepid then grabs Armaan around the waist, hoisting him upwards so that he is seated atop the corner turnbuckle. Intrepid puts his head between Armaan’s knees and grabs his shoulders, readying himself for a turning, falling Powerbomb. He begins to attempt to lift him into the air…

Fat Tony: This won’t end well for Armaan…

…but Armaan resists, punching Intrepid in the face. While Intrepid is slightly disorientated, Armaan leaps off the turnbuckle. While turning, he manoeuvres his knees so that Intrepid’s head slams down onto the mat first. Armaan rolls aside, and Intrepid’s lights are out.

Fat Tony: What the hell was that?

Jack: That was a brilliant reversal!

After a short while, Armaan rolls back towards Intrepid and lays atop Intrepid in an inevitable attempted pin. The referee drops to the mat and makes the count.

One…

Two…

T-

Fat Tony: Intrepid kicks out! Thank god! 

Jack: I thought this match was going to be over quickly for a moment there…

The two men both lie on the floor momentarily after the failed pin attempt. Armaan then decides to go for another pin, but before the referee even has a chance to register the attempt Intrepid punches Armaan in the face out of desperation, forcing him backwards. Instead, Armaan then stands up to his feet and waits for Intrepid to rise. He waits for longer than he expected, however, as the last high-flying reversal seems to have made a large impact on Intrepid.

Jack: Intrepid really looks in trouble there…

Fat Tony: He’s just pretending. A classic tactic!

Even Armaan eventually becomes impatient, and walks over to left Intrepid to his feet. As he does so, however, Intrepid suddenly jumps up and delivers a flurry of left and right hooks to Armaan, much to the delight of Fat Tony.

Fat Tony: I told you it was a ruse, Jack! I knew it!

Jack: You should be worried that you’re on the same wavelength as Intrepid.

Armaan is backed into the ropes as Intrepid’s punches continue, and Intrepid attempts a clothesline to send Armaan over the ropes. Armaan ducks, however, and swings Intrepid to the ropes on the opposite side of the ring. As Intrepid returns, Armaan steps forward and leaps into the air, hitting the big man with a flying dropkick. Intrepid doesn’t drop to the floor, however, but merely stumbles backwards into the corner of the ring.

Jack: Armaan reverses Intrepid’s momentum yet again! He just doesn’t know when to quit.

Fat Tony: That trait will not end well for him…

After hitting the dropkick, Armaan stands straight up to his feet. He looks up, only to see Intrepid flying at him with his arm outstretched, attempting a clothesline for the second time. Armaan is able to duck this one as well, punching Intrepid in the stomach as he flies past. Intrepid doubles over on the spot and, as Armaan turns around, he spots an opportunity. He runs past Intrepid and attempts a Running Neckbreaker, but before he can hurt Intrepid with the manoeuvre he is pushed forward and away. With this pushing momentum Armaan bounces off the ropes, and receives a very powerful Big Boot from Intrepid upon his return. He falls to the floor motionless.

Jack: Wow, neither of these men can get the best of the other at the moment!

Fat Tony: Intrepid picks up the deserved advantage…

Looking down at Armaan, it is Intrepid’s turn to have time to decide his next move. Instead of following in Armaan’s footsteps and leaving him on the floor, however, Intrepid jumps down in a Standing Elbow Drop, causing Armaan to writhe in agony for a moment before staying prone. Seeing Armaan’s motionless state, Intrepid jumps atop his opponent for the second pin attempt of the match.

One!

Two!

Thr-

Jack: Armaan kicks out! Neither men succumbing to a pin so far…

As he realises his pin attempt has failed, a furious look appears on Intrepid’s face. Wanting to waste no further time, he grabs Intrepid by the neck and lifts him into the air. He punches Armaan in the face three times, and after each punch Armaan stumbles. Clearly weakened, Intrepid delivers a right hook into his stomach, forcing him to bend forward. In quick succession, Intrepid pushes Armaan’s head between his legs and lifts him up into the air by his waist into a Powerbomb position. For the second time, Intrepid attempts the Powerbomb on Armaan only to be greeted by a determined struggle from the Indian. This time, Armaan clutches on to Intrepid’s head with both arms, occasionally punching him to try and force him to release.

Jack: Armaan is really utilising the reversals in this match.

Fat Tony: Probably the only choice he’s got. Intrepid is overpowering him in all aspects!

Intrepid stumbles backwards three steps, desperately attempting to fall forwards so that he may hit Armaan with the Powerbomb. The Indian has other ideas, however, and is eventually able to climb over Intrepid’s head and fall down his back. Incredibly, he is able to also land on his feet. Strangely, Armaan begins to sprint as fast as he can at the corner turnbuckle in front of him.

Jack: What the hell has Armaan got planned here?

As he reaches the corner of the ring, two things happen. Firstly, Intrepid turns around rather slowly. Secondly, Armaan does not slow down at all. His left steps on the lowest of three turnbuckles, and he pushes with that foot so that he may leap up and plant his right foot on the highest of the turnbuckles. In what seems like one swift motion, Armaan leaps backwards through the air in a sudden Moonsault. As he does so, the commentators become somewhat excited.

Jack: Oh my god!

Fat Tony: That is not normal.

Armaan soars gracefully through the air, but this move does not work out so well for Armaan. As he hits the standing Intrepid, the much bigger man is somehow able to catch Armaan in mid-flight. He finds himself in the perfect position for a Piledriver, and without any further thought he drops down, hitting the move with ease.

Jack: Piledriver out of nowhere! How the hell did he catch Armaan?

Fat Tony: That was also not normal. And much more impressive if I do say so myself.

Intrepid immediately rolls over Armaan for the third pin attempt of the match.

One!

Two!

Thre-

Jack: Another kickout! What a fierce match…

After that unlikely kickout, Intrepid is able to get to his feet surprisingly quick. He stomps on Armaan once and then, unsatisfied, does so three more times. Armaan is eventually forced to try to roll away no matter how hurt he is, and this momentum means he is able to use the ropes at the side of the ring to clamber to his feet. He tries to hit Intrepid with a right hook, but Intrepid blocks this and hits his own. Tired as Armaan is, he stumbles backwards due to the force of just one punch. Perhaps naively, he leaps forward at Intrepid again out of sheer will. Intrepid grabs the oncoming Armaan’s arm and whips him incredibly forcefully to the ropes at the other side of the ring. Armaan is simply too tired and hurt to bounce off the ropes, and he is unable to stop himself from flying through the ropes to the outside of the ring.

Jack: Armaan is on the floor outside the ring!

Fat Tony: Oh he’s in trouble now…

Seeing that Armaan is outside of the ring, the referee begins the slow count to ten.

One!

Intrepid walks slowly over to the ropes that Armaan fell through, and looks down at Armaan lying in a crumpled heap.

Two!

He continues to look over the ropes at Armaan, who shows some slight signs of movement.

Jack: Armaan can’t get up!

Fat Tony: Intrepid has dished to him a lot of pain, Jack. That Piledriver, the various beatings, throwing him through the ropes…

Three!

Four!

Much to the crowd’s displeasure, Intrepid continues to just stand and watch Armaan struggle to his knees, smiling at the dominance he has shown in the last instance of the match. The Indian pushes himself onto one knee and one foot, and the crowd chant his name in an effort to give him enough adrenaline to rise to his feet.

Five!

Jack: Surely Armaan will be able to get into the ring.

Fat Tony: I have a feeling Intrepid won’t make it that easy…

Tony’s commentary comes simultaneously with the image of Intrepid standing, leaning forward coolly on the ring ropes, smiling to himself as Armaan finally pushes himself to his feet. The Indian man then looks up, seeing Intrepid watching his every move.

Six!

Armaan steps to the left towards the ring, and then suddenly changes direction to the right. He tries to dive into the ring, but Intrepid is one step ahead of him. Diving down, Intrepid dropkicks Armaan under the ropes, kicking him to the floor outside the ring once again so that the count to ten continues.

Fat Tony: Denied!

Seven!

Jack: I’m worried for Armaan here…he’s taking a while to get up once again.

Fat Tony: I think Intrepid has got this sewn up…

Armaan rolls over to his belly and slowly gathers the energy to push himself up to his knees once again. This takes it out of him, however, and it is a while before he can make another move.

Eight!

Eventually, Armaan is able to push himself to his feet. Expecting another dive into the ring by the Indian, Intrepid crouches somewhat, preparing himself for another quick dive. Instead, however, Armaan surprises everybody by wasting precious time. He walks casually around the corner of the ring, no plan of action looking apparent. Intrepid’s face grows increasingly confused, but he stalks Armaan from inside the ring nonetheless.

Nine!

Jack: What the hell has Armaan got planned?

Fat Tony: Probably nothing, the idiot.

Suddenly, as Tony speaks his daring sentence, Armaan comes to life. He changes direction once again, sprinting towards the stairs that sit on the outside of the ring corner he just turned .Leaping up them, he plants his right foot at the top and grabs the ring ropes. He then uses his arms and momentum to jump into the air, his plan now becoming apparent; to fly over the top of the ring instead of rolling under it.

Jack: Armaan is flying over the ring-

Ten!

Before Jack can finish his exclamation, something outrageous happens. As Armaan begins to fly over the top of the ring,  Intrepid once again proves his speed and anticipation. He leaps towards the corner and throws his shoulder into the oncoming Armaan’s ribs. Armaan falls downwards but, agonisingly for him, he falls to the outside of the ring. The referee, therefore, has no choice but to finish the count.

Jack: Is the match over?

Fat Tony: Armaan never officially entered the ring! It has to be!

Intrepid, Jack and Fat Tony all wait silently for the referee’s verdict. After a short pause, the crowd falls silent and the verdict becomes apparent.

Ding, Ding!

Trudeau: The winner of this match by countout…Intrepid!

Many members of the crowd jeer the match winner as he holds his arms aloft victoriously. Fat Tony continues to sing his praises as Intrepid steps over the top rope and drops down to the outside of the ring. He begins to walk up the ramp towards the backstage area of the arena, leaving Armaan to rise slowly to his feet and wonder what the hell just happened.

Jack: Well folks, it looks like Intrepid is the match winner. Armaan really did not think that through at the end!

Fat Tony: It was certainly a big error. Intrepid was way too quick for him!

The camera cuts backstage to a long corridor, right at the top a man rounds the corner. He’s too far away to make out who he is but he appears to be wearing jeans, a t-shirt and a hoody.

Jack: Who is that?

The figure draws closer, coming slowly into view. Firstly his t-shirt, partially obscured, it reads: “Working Class Hero”. The his hair medium length, dark; then his face, bearded and finally his eyes: unmistakable.

Fat Tony: Ugh, brilliant... Griffiths. 

Jack is accosted towards the middle of the corridor by Mary Bingham.

Bingham: Jack, can I get a word?

Jack, doesn’t blink, he just continues walking.

Bingham: Ass!

Mary looks on as Jack walks away, who at the bottom of the corridor is greeted by Wallace Coleman.

Coleman: Jack, do you have a moment?

Jack stops level with Wallace and turns to face him.

Griffiths: For YOU, of course Wallace.

Jack fires “a look” towards Mary Bingham, who sulks off up the corridor.

Coleman: Thanks Jack! Wallace pauses for a second, thinking of his first question. I guess I’ll start with the most obvious question; why did you take Eddie’s painkillers?

Griffiths: Well Wallace the thing is, I used to respect Eddie. He used to be a hero, an example that you didn’t need to be a muscle bound jerk to win the WWA Championship but, and I can’t believe you didn’t notice this, he changed recently.

Jack pauses, stroking his beard.

Griffiths: It all started that night he didn’t save me. It seemed out of character it got me thinking, so I did some investigative work and lo and behold I spotted Eddie popping a few pills one night.

Coleman: So you took them from his bag?

Griffiths: Precisely! Pause Originally I was just going to see what they were and confront him on it, but when I realised what they were; I knew I had to stop him taking them.

Jack looks down solemnly, before looking back up.

Coleman: Do you feel like its right to take something from someone like this? What if he has a prescription?

Griffiths: If anyone knows how drugs can affect a life, it’s me. And I don’t want to see the same thing happen to Eddie. I know the signs when I see them.

Coleman: That’s very noble. You seem to be taking your role as a hero very seriously as of late. New music, new t-shirt. Jack opens his hoody revealing the t-shirt again. Indeed. But more importantly first you saved Eddie from a beating and then you came out to even the odds for Eugene King; albeit losing the match in the process.

Griffiths: Indeed, I may not like either much at the moment but Eddie can’t be held responsible for his issues and I am not prepared to watch a man get double teamed. Pause. Knowing Nod. Well, maybe after the way he assaulted me, just for helping, I might let Eugene King get beaten next time.

Jack smiles.

Griffiths: But you are right, I take my role as hero to the working class and underclass very seriously. Pause. After the riots in London and with all the things going on around the world; the under privileged majority need someone to look up to. They need to see that hardwork isn’t just its own reward, it also, in time, brings money and the life that those people helped themselves to.

Coleman: And you want to be that man?

Griffiths: I am already that man Wallace, I just didn’t realise until recently.

Jack smiles and shakes Wallace’s hand as he leaves.

Fat Tony: I don't trust Griffiths...first, he interferes with Eugene King's match. Then, he admits to stealing from Eddie van Dorn and now he tries to convince us he did it to help him?

Jack: Seems noble to me.

Fat Tony: Of course it does - you're a Griffiths puppet. Fat Tony thinks outside the box though and I realize that Eddie van Dorn is the victim here! As is Eugene King...Jack Griffiths is an egomaniac and needs stopped!

Jack: Here we go, fans! The biggest moment in Drew Rosen's career is upon us.

Fat Tony: Dude has been here three weeks and has wrestled nobodies and "Mr. Personality" Andrew Everett. Obviously wrestling someone awake and coherant would be the biggest moment after taking on those jokers.

Jack: This is a WWA Television Championship contest, Tony. Gold is on the line...let's take it to Gary Trudeau in the ring.

Yep, Gary Trudeau in the ring.

Trudeau: Hailing from Pardeeville Wisconsin and weighing in at 290 pounds DREW.... ROOOOOOO-OSEN!!!

The opening strands of "Pushed Again" by Die Toten Hosen play through the loadspeakers but nobody comes out... until half a minute passes and then Drew Rosen rushes to the ring. No slapping any of the fan's hands, no preening or posing or anything, just a plain entrance to the ring because he's got business to do and titles to lay claim to

Trudeau: And already in the ring-

Fat Tony: Goddamn I can't stand it when our champions get jobber entrances.

Trudeau: He weighs in at 215 pounds....

Fat Tony: Not even a place of origin?

Jack: His father tends to move around.

Fat Tony: What does that mean? Ah forget it; I can't believe you took the time to check into that guy's backstory.

Jack: Somebody has to do their jobs around here.

Trudeau: I SAID WEIGHING IN... at 215 pounds. He is the WWA TELEVISION CHAMPION... WOLF HUUUUUUUNTER!!!

Jack: That's right, we have a WWA Television title match coming up next; gotta bet that this'll be exciting.

Fat Tony: REALLY? Where'd you get that? Drew Rosen has been undefeated until now, he's a heavy hitter and a master of suplex techniques.

Jack: Yes well Wolf Hunter is our TV champion. A little respect please for a former member of the prestigious SAS.

Fat Tony: What happened, did he flake there too?

Collar and elbow tie-up by both men, neither giving any advantage until Drew clocks Wolf Hunter across the face with a forearm shot! Followed by a jab, another jab, whips him out but turns it into a short-arm clothesline!

Jack: Strong start by Drew Rosen taking it to the champ! Picks Wolf Hunter up- snap suplex! Floatover for the cover!

One!

Two!

Thre-Kickout!

Jack: No that's not it but it could've been!

Fat Tony: No. I don't care how bad this match turns out; if a few punches, a clothesline and a suplex was all that's required for a paycheck then the goddamn fans would be screaming for a refund.

Jack: Wolf Hunter striking first with a turning sobat, takes over Drew Rosen with a hip throw into a rear chinlock!

Fat Tony: See Jack, even Wolf has to have SOME offense in this match.

Rosen struggles to a knee, manages to fire off a few elbows to Wolf Hunter's gut to release the grip and throws Wolf Hunter into the ropes. Clothesline get's ducked and Wolf comes back with a flying crossbody block....

Jack: CAUGHT BY DREW ROSEN! Two hundred ninety pound powerhouse from Pardeeville, Wisconsin; hoists Wolf Hunter into a fireman's carry and slams him HARD to the mat!

One!

Two!

Thre-Kickout!

Jack: Nope, that's funny. I thought he had him finished right there.

Fat Tony: Come on Jack, since when did a Fireman's carry slam ever finish anyone?

Jack: Well the attitude of this match has certainly been adjusted-

Fat Tony: No, no; he did that other move that slams 'em on their faces, not their back.

Jack: As Drew Rosen get's serious! Big suplex from Rosen; keeps him hooked and suplexes him some more! Suplexes Wolf Hunter a third time!

Fat Tony: Why stop at three? C'mon Drew, you're a big dude, suplex him some more!

Jack: Drew Rosen is a notorious loner, Tony. He can only afford to have THREE amigos. In fact, three amigos is really pushing it, his only true amigo is himself.

One!

Two!

Thre-Kickout!

Jack: And STILL Wolf Hunter finds the will to survive! At the last second he keeps grasping to life -- and the WWA TV Championship!

Fat Tony: Why?

Jack: You may not like him, but he's still our champ. And the WWA television champion is still expected to fight like one. Even as he's down, Wolf Hunter still tries to find the fight in him so that he can still retain his championship title. Catches Drew with a punch to the gut, another one; he's been battered but he's not beaten.

Fat Tony: Hold on, I'm supposed to find SYMPATHY for that man?

More punches lead to a backhand chop that catches Drew Rosen across the neck! Drew stumbles, allowing Wolf Hunter to take over with a running bulldog! With Drew down down, Wolf Hunter ascends to the top!

Jack: High risk maneuver incoming, look out Drew!

BIG elbow drop from the top rope... as Drew Rosen rolls away.

Fat Tony: Heh, he did look out. Imagine that. I mean, I never thought just "telling" people to look out would actually make them pay attention but here we are.

Jack: Drew follows it up with a debilitating lariat! Throws him into the corner- BODY AVALANCHE!

Fat Tony: Oh wait, I know that sequence-

Jack: COMMEND THY SPIRIT BY WAY OF T-BONE SUPLEX!

One!

Two!

Thre kickout? No? e!

Ding, ding! 

Jack: A fast three count!

Fat Tony: Come off it, Hunter-lover! That was right down the middle.

Jack: ... I know. Fiddlesticks!

Gary Trudeau enters the ring, as the referee hands the TV Championship to Rosen.

Trudeau: The winner of this contest....and NEEEEEEWWWWWWW WWA Television Champion, DREW ROOOOOOOOOOOOSSSENNNN!

Jack: That was brutal; he didn't beat the man, he decimated him.

Fat Tony: His spirit has been commended away, Wolf Hunter died on the way to his home planet.

Jack: Something like that.

Rosen drops to his knees, holding the belt over his head in truimph.

Jack: Enjoy it, Rosen...you earned it. But beware, the only bear that flies is coming your way!

Fat Tony: Don't you start that crap now too! I hate the Freebear.

We fade out on Rosen as a highlight video of Tom Sawyer winning the Independence Day Rumble plays, turning into a hype video for his WWA Championship shot against Jaymz Watkins coming up at South of Heaven.

Once again, we cut backstage and see Bruce Pepin waiting by the door for Tom Sawyer. He has an easier time looking for him, now that the door lies in a broken pile outside the arena. Pepin looks nervous - the match is near and no Sawyer. Maybe they failed. Anyways, our beloved bundle of fat waddles in to console the boss.

Canadian Dragon: Boss, I'm here to console you. Things aren't so bad...I can take Sawyer's place and we can get some bitches got, ya heard?

Pepin: You fat monkey, I'd rather wrestle blindfolded against these two animals than have a 400 pound anchor tied to my leg.

Ouch. The Dragon looks down, obviously dejected.

Pepin: Oh, that was nasty. D.L., forgiving me please. I'm nervous and I took it out of you, my loyal foot soldier.

Better. Dragon looks up.

Dragon: It's all good, Bruce. Let's hug it out.

The Dragon opens his harms for the real thing. Pepin looks ready to vomit, a repulsive look filling his face.

Pepin: Sorry Dragon, I uh....I have to go get ready now.

Canadian Dragon opens his arms even wider.

Dragon: Come on, dude! HUG. IT. OUT.

Pepin sighs the sigh of a defeated man. Quickly, looking away, he gives the Canadian Dragon a quick hug before scurrying off.

Dragon: Get 'em, boss! Bond ain't shit and Watkins ain't shit. But together, they is shit...you see what I'm saying? BOOM!

A worker comes by, looking at the broken door. Dragon eyes him nervously, as the man reaches for a tape measure. The Dragons gets closer to the man, his masked face next to the man's turned head.

Dragon: BOOM! DRAGON TIME!

The man jumps in fright, backing away from the Canadian Dragon and clutching at his chest.

Dragon: That's right, bitches!

The arena starts to dim as vocals are heard over the pa system.

[Please allow myself to adjust my pants.  So I may dance the good time dance and put the innocent bystanders and onlookers into a trance.]

"The Mob Goes Wild" by Clutch hits the system as the crowd looks on puzzled.  From within the crowd comes "De Cajun Sensation" Tobias Devereux.  Tobias dressed in a black t-shirt and black jeans.  He's also sporting his black trench coat and fedora.  Tobias hops the guard rail and takes a moment to look at the crowd pandering to those who are half cheering.  Tobias walks around the ring for a moment taking in the crowds mixed reaction.  He climbs up the steps and steps inside the ring and walks to a corner only to lean against it for a moment.  He reaches into his coat and pulls out a mic.  

Tobias: For those of you who don't know who I am, let me just clear up the confusion.  I am Tobias Devereux, born and raised in the swamps of Louisiana.  For those who do know me and are confused don't adjust your television sets.  My "actcent" isn't missing.  I'm just sick and tired of being portrayed as some sort backwoods hick.  If'n yews wanna years somebodies talk like dis, then you need to get your asses down south back to the swamp and eat it up.  You will not be getting that from me anymore.  

Tobias is pacing back and forth and keeps his eyes out on the crowd almost as if he's expecting something bad to happen.  

Tobias: For those of you who have been concerned about my actions that cost me the last match I had against Intreped and more so my missing for the last few weeks.  It's quite simple, it's the same reason I'm looking at all of you for any familiar faces.  I've never been a saint but some of the friends I have had make me look like Mother Theresa.  These are the same people who felt the need to put up a substantial amount of money on my winning of the IDR.  These are the same people who followed me for a period and finally caught me alone and well. 

Tobias raises his left arm allowing the sleeve of his trenchcoat to slide down his arm showing off a white cast on his arm.  

Tobias: They think that a little ole injury like this can keep me from doing what I enjoy more than anything.  They think that taking their pound of flesh will make everything better.  I'm sorry to say to them that nothing is going to keep me from doing what I was born to do and that's entertain.  I am De Cajun Sensation.  I am Tobias Devereux, and I'm back! 

Tobias drops the mic and slides out of the ring as his music hits once again.

Jack: Tobias is back?

Fat Tony: I didn't realize he was gone!

Jack: He hasn't been on Underground in nearly a month!

Fat Tony: Eh. I'm a busy dude.

Jack: Anyways, we have a special treat for you now. Showtime has provided us with a video highlighting the upcoming season of Dexter.

Fat Tony: I bet he murders some people...as well as HBO's ratings on Sundays!

Jack: You're probably right.

Fat Tony: I saw this video earlier, it hacked me to pieces.

Jack: Uh- okay.

Fat Tony: This show certainly makes a killing for Showtime!

Jack: Okay, that's enough. Roll the video.

Said video rolls

We go to the announcers’ table, with Jack and Fat Tony shuffling their papers.

Jack: Well fans, that last video went a lot longer than the WWA planned.

Fat Tony: I thought it was a brief trailer for the new season of Dexter, not a ten minute sit-down interview with Michael C. Hall!

Jack: As did I. As such, we are now going to air highlights from the number one contendership match for the Canadian Championship, a match where we saw Eugene King, Cobra and Nathan Cole battle it out in a three-way, last man standing elimination match. The match was scheduled to air live, but Mr. Hall's big mouth ruined that.

Fat Tony: Spoiler alert: Nathan Cole is still out in the ring!

Jack: Tony!! Sigh The match began an open outing, with all three men getting a lot of offense in.

Flash! Nathan Cole clotheslines Eugene King. Flash! Eugene King powerslams Cobra. Flash! Cobra superkicks the hell out of Nathan Cole.

Fat Tony: But eventually, the hard pace began to take its toll.

Flash! Nathan Cole, sweating and obviously gassed, charges Eugene King with a spear, but King sidesteps it and instead Cole finds himself going head-first into the ring post. Seizing the moment, Cobra jumps onto Cole’s back and drops backwards with an inverted STO, which slams the back of Cole’s head into the canvas hard! The referee begins the ten-count as Cobra rolls away and both he and King catch their breath, stalking the prone Cole from the neutral corners.

One!

Two!

Fat Tony: With the massive impact of the inverted STO, Cole was knocked out cold.

Nine!

Ten!

Ding! Ding!

Trudeau: Nathan Cole has been eliminated!

Announcers’ table, again.

Jack: This left Cobra and Eugene King to battle it out for the top spot.

Flash! Cobra whips King across the ring and then goes for a dropkick as King rebounds, but King ducks under the launching Cobra, catches him across his left shoulder and then rises up and slams Cobra down with a massive double-leg mid-air takedown! Flash! Cobra rings King’s bell with a massive forearm to the face and then, as King topples to the side, rights the larger man up again with a kick along the ear. As King dazedly takes a half-step forward, Cobra hops onto the extended bent knee and executes a shining wizard that sends King sprawling across the ring. Flash!

Jack: After Nathan Cole was eliminated, the pace of the match grew even quicker and the furious action made both remaining competitors desperate to finish the match before they grew entirely exhausted.

Flash! Cobra punches King. Flash! King shin-kicks Cobra in the gut. Flash! King with a northern lights suplex that sends Cobra squirming. Flash! Cobra rolls King up out of instinct, but then immediately lets go as he realizes there’s no pinfalls. Instead, he stomps the rolled-up Kin in the face. Flash! King knees Cobra in the gut as Cobra comes off the ropes, sending Cobra somersaulting across the ring.

Fat Tony: Until ...

Flash! King ducks a roundhouse kick from Cobra and then wraps his arms around Cobra’s waist, dumping him up and over with a belly-to-back suplex. Tired as seven hells, King slowly climbs back to his feet, while intently watching Cobra. The referee begins the counting, but King pushes the ref aside and instead grabs Cobra and pulls him up, smacks his hand around Cobra’s throat and hoists Cobra high for the chokeslam. In mid-air, though, Cobra’s legs shoot out and wrap around King’s neck. Thusly folded up, King nevertheless crushes Cobra with the chokeslam; but Cobra’s legs around his neck puts unbelievable torque on the neck-crank and King goes down with him. The referee, shocked and awed, starts the count for both men.

One!

Two!

Three!

Jack: Things looked grim for both men ...

Fat Tony: ... and the WWA! Pepin could not have been pleased ...

Seven!

Eight!

Nine!

Ten!

Ding! Ding!

Trudeau: ... both remaining men have been eliminated. This match has been declared a draw!

Though the crowd boos, neither man in the ring even so much as stirs due to the enormous effort they both put in.

Jack: Well, no, Pepin is probably not pleased. The three-way ends in a two-way draw!

Fat Tony: We're a few weeks away from South of Heaven and the Canadian Champion is AWOL searching for a retired Denrol and there's no number one contender! We need answers, dammit! And we need them now! Or at least by or at the next Underground...heh, hopefully someone gets Cole the hell out of the ring by then.

Jack: A big setback for the big man. Everytime Cole seems to gain momentum, he blows it.

Fat Tony: Story of Seeley's life.

Jack: Pardon?

Fat Tony: Eh, nevermind.

As Cole composes himself in the ring, the lights go out. After a moment, the silence is broken by “Psychosocial” by Slipknot. The fans erupt as a visibly angry Seth Copeland explodes through the curtain.

Jack: Here comes Copeland and he is seriously pissed off.

Fat Tony: I would be too after what Nemesis did to Ali earlier on tonight.

Copeland trudges down the ramp as quickly as we’ve ever seen him and climbs into the ring. Copeland sees Cole and levels him with a big boot to the skull, before lifting him up and hurling him over the top rope and up the ramp. He marches across the ring and demands a mic from Gary Trudeau, who obliges in kind, tossing it too him.

Jack: I think he just shattered Nathan Cole!

Copeland: A depraved act took place, when Nemesis violated the innocence of my beloved Ali. That was a huge fucking mistake, because I’ve been quiet up until now! GET OUT HERE NEMESIS!

He seethes in the middle of the ring as he looks back up the ramp toward the entrance.

Copeland: If your wish was to anger me Nemesis, than you have succeeded. What you did has made me want your head on a stick!

He paces back and forth, with anger coursing through his veins.

Copeland: I am going to fucking kill you, do you understand? You took the innocence of a sweet and kind girl who had done nothing to you, you sick son of a bitch!

He walks over to the ropes and leans on them, looking back up at the entrance.

Copeland: Your depravity will be you undoing Nemesis; you have awoken a beast inside me that you have no chance of defeating. You say I have done nothing in the four years I have been here … well that is about to change, because I am sending you straight to hell!

He pushes off the ropes and circles the ring, still seething as breathes in and out at a rapid rate.

Copeland: Get out here and fight me! Don’t be the coward you’ve proven yourself to be, attacking people who can’t see you.

Seth watches and waits, but nothing.

Copeland: GET THE FUCK OUT HERE NEMESIS!

A moment later the lights go out and a few screams from the women in the crowd can be heard. When the lights come back on, Copeland is face to face with his former mask and his Nemesis.

Copeland: I'M GOING TO KILL YOU!

Dropping the microphone; Seth launches into a barrage of hard right hands into the steel mask, sending Nemesis stumbling back into the ropes. But Seth is pushed back as Nemesis regains his composer.

Jack: Seth is one hell of an angry man right about now and I completely understand why.

Fat Tony: He has no chance against that beast of a man wearing his old mask...Seth used to be an animal, but this Nemesis takes it to new levels!

Nemesis shakes free the shots and stumbles back out off the ropes, but Seth leaps up and connects with a Superman punch, shooting up off the mat and meets Nemesis walking in. He then circles around him like an animal stalking his prey and runs at him, connecting with a running knee to the temple.

Jack: My god! Did you hear the sound that knee made?

Fat Tony: Maybe Seth isn’t so timid after all!

From the impact, Nemesis rolls from the ring and scurries on his hands and knees along the floor at ringside; Seth holds his knee, but sees Nemesis has escaped the ring and follows him outside.

Jack: Seth isn’t done with Nemesis just yet.

Fat Tony: Could this be “Copeland” coming out in him again? He did say the beast has awoken.

As Nemesis stands up with the use of the guard railing, Seth walks over the announce desk and pushes Fat Tony from his chair, picking it up in the process and folding it.

Fat Tony: What the … son of a bitch …

Jack: Careful Tone, I wouldn’t say something you might regret.

Tony stands up in silence as Seth stalks behind Nemesis and waits for him to turn around. As he does, Seth takes a huge swing as him but Nemesis ducks out of the way and Seth makes contact with the guard railing, jarring his hands and dropping the chair.

Fat Tony: Ha missed!

Jack: Yes, but I don’t think that’s going to stop Seth.

Nemesis stumbles away as Copeland shakes his hands, before following him. He grabs the back of Nemesis’ head and runs toward the steps, slamming his head into them with violent force. Seth turns and repeats the act, slamming Nemesis’ masked face into the cold steel again, before grabbing him and rolling him back into the ring.

Jack: Seth Copeland will not stop!

Fat Tony: I think someone should stop him Jack. Pepin needs to get security out here right now!

Jack: Anyone with any decency would allow this; Nemesis needs to be punished for what he did.

Fat Tony: Listen to yourself Jack...

Seth leans down and picks up the steel chair and rolls into the ring with it, stalking Nemesis who crawls around on his hands and knees. The look on Seth’s face is that of pure rage as he grits his teeth and zeros in on the mask, raising the chair above his head.

Jack: Do it Seth, give him what he deserves!

Fat Tony: Someone get out here and stop this!

Just as Tony finishes yelling into his headset; a slew of road agents, referees, security guards and jobbers run through the entrance and make their way down to the ring. Seth sees them circle the ring and swings at them as they try to enter, before turning and swinging at Nemesis who grabs the chair and pulls it away.

Fat Tony: Now the tables are turning.

Jack: Ah oh, now Nemesis has the chair.

Nemesis turns and swings at Seth, but Copeland ducks and spears the masked man to the ground, grabs him by the throat and hits him at a vicious closed fist to the mask. Copeland grimaces but shakes the pain out of his hand and hits him again, even harder.

Fat Tony: What an idiot, he’s hitting solid steel with an unprotected hand.

Jack: I don't think Copeland cares! He's going to leave a mark, one way or another!

Copeland punches Nemesis a third time but is then tackled off him by half a dozen men, another half dozen men pick up Nemesis from the mat and walk him over to the ropes; Seth roars and breaks free charging across the ring and hitting Nemesis, knock him and the six other men through the ropes to the outside.

Jack: Copeland isn’t done with Nemesis yet!

Fat Tony: What the hell? Grab him, he’s only one man.

Copeland follows them out and hits Nemesis again from a standing position, bringing down his full weight into the punch. The six men that Seth threw off inside the ring scurry outside and grab hold of him dragging him backward up the ramp as Seth roars again and kicks at Nemesis.

Jack: Nemesis has taken a beating, but he’s still conscious on the outside of the ring.

Fat Tony: He is wearing a steel mask Jack; of course a few punches aren’t going to knock him out.

Jack: Regardless of that fact Tony, he’s going to know he’s just made Copeland very angry and that isn’t a good thing on his part.

Fat Tony: Yeah well, I doubt this is over between them, not by a long shot.

Nemesis stands to his feet and brushes aside the security guards who try and restrain him, before turning and leaping over the guard railing and leaving throw the crowd, who throw garbage and obscenities at him as he moves through to the exit.

Jack: Nemesis may have escaped but I agree with you Tony, I too doubt that this is over between them.

Fat Tony:  No Jack, it’s only just getting started. I'm not sure Nemesis realizes what he's awoken!

Jack: speaking quietly ...he is? Now? Okay. back to normal Fans, I'm told we're heading backstage a vehicle has just arrived!

Fat Tony: Who is it?

Jack: Let's head to Wallace Coleman, who is racing to find out!

The camera cuts suddenly to the backstage, where a camera crew and the WWA Head Interviewer, one Mister Wallace Coleman are running down the hallway. The shouts of the camera crew urging one another to hurry and get to the back parking lot door echo through the cement hallway.

Wallace Coleman: Who is showing up? I haven't gotten the full stor-

SCREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE EEEECH

Tires squealing on blacktop pierce the comparative quiet of the backstage area, and a car door slams shut. The door to the back parking lot is yanked inward, and the stereo of the car still blares, audible through the building's wall.

Tom Sawyer strides through the door. With thousands of miles behind him, he has shown up, with Queen blaring. “Ooooohhhh, won't you take me home tonight...”

RRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRAAAAAAAAAA AAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH!

... goes the crowd. They are thoroughly sick of Jaymz Watkins running this shit unopposed.

Wallace Coleman: Tom Sawyer! I take it the WWA Lawyers got you out on bail?

Tom begins to storm past Coleman, barely paying attention to the interviewer's claims. He yanks his dirty, rumpled, worn tee-shirt up over his head, exposing the swimmer's build that made him his money. The awkward, slightly cockeyed lines of his spandex ringpants betray the fact that he got dressed for his match in the car.

Tom Sawyer: Yup. 'Scuse me, Wallace. I've got Five Magics to conquer.

Wallace wasn't gonna let the winner of the IDR, the Modern Day Warrior, get by without an interviewer. He jogs alongside Tom, offering the mike up to the kid.

Wallace Coleman: Do you have any words on what Jaymz Watkins did to you, your manager Lucas Harper, and your tag match?

Tom Sawyer: Watkins gon' get got.

Undeterred, Wallace Coleman continues to walk... But as he watches Tom's face, he notices that Tom stopped. Coleman kept walking, and thumps square into a wall of Man. Mighty man. Six feet of the Working Class Hero, Mister Jack Griffiths. Coleman whirls to see what he's hit, and slowly looks up into Jack's face. Gulp.

Wallace Coleman: Uh. Take it away, Jack.

The microphone is handed up to Griffiths, and Wallace beats feet outta there, getting the hell out of Dodge. Let these two fight it out.

Griffiths: Well, look who finally showed up for the party!

Griffiths pauses and takes the unique opportunity to look down on Sawyer.

Griffiths: A little late, don't you think, Tom? Pause Oh no... Jack smacks himself on the forehead. Wait, you're just in time for your match! 

Jack smiles, as he motions for Sawyer to pass him.

Griffiths: Better hurry along so as not to keep the good people waiting. Jack puts an arm out, blocking Sawyer from leaving. Although, you don't really care about them do you Tom?

Sawyer tries to interrupt but Jack motions for him not to bother.

Griffiths: No, no, no... don't answer that, because its pretty clear to me and everyone watching at home... All you care about is Jaymz Watkins and his WWA Title! Jack stops and looks more closely at Sawyer. I guess in many ways you're just like all the other so-called heroes here, focused on wearing that title belt even if it's to the detriment of the WWA as a whole.

Jack pauses again and smiles.

Griffiths: But in one, key way, you are very different to everyone else here. Pause. You see, you didn't even earn your spot on the roster. You are just lucky. Lucky that Pepin opened the door to all comers for the IDR, even luckier that you were able to win it...

Jack looks at Sawyer and smiles, a very sarcastic smile.

Griffiths: ... But most importantly, you are lucky that our fans haven't turned on you yet. Pause You see, kid, sooner or later... They are going to wake up and realise that the only thing you have done since you arrived is chase the WWA Title. You've never bled WWA, you've never woken up in cold sweats because your job is on the line and you're certainly yet to act like a real hero.

Jack steps in close... real close.

Griffiths: And you see, the thing is Tom, WWA fans are smart, you have to earn their appreciation and respect. Respect that needs to be earned, rather than given. You have to bust your ass on a daily basis and put my body on the line every week. You have to even the odds for people you don't particularly like.

Jack adjusts Sawyer's t-shirt, straightening it, so that it sits correctly. Tom, his face gone cold, eyes narrowed and glaring, swats Griffiths' hand away, and snatches that microphone out of Jack's grasp in one fell swoop.

Sawyer: Where were you when Lucas Harper was having his C4 vertebrae exploded by Watkins, Jack? For all your talk, for all your posturing, you're just as human as anyone else. You're just as human as I am. And yeah, I'm a little late.

Tom steps forward, coming nose to nose with Jack.

Sawyer: Take a deep breath, Jack. You smell the stink of that dank jail cell still on me? You smell the coffee and jet fuel from the red-eye flight I had to take, just to get here, just to get one chance to make sure that Bruce Pepin doesn't walk into a slaughter? That man's a paranoid caffeine junkie, and has proved himself to be a jerk in the past, but I'M STILL HERE TO PULL HIM OUT OF THE FIRE!

Tom steps back, eyes wide, hand pointing out to the ring.

Sawyer: Despite my best friend being in the hospital, and despite me not even knowing for sure if he's alive or dead, despite me having spent the past WEEK AND A HALF in a jail cell for doing the EXACT same thing you woulda done in my situation, despite me having jumped on an airplane less than two hours ago just so I could get here, despite not having been able to do any exercise except for pushups and situps to prepare for this match, I'M STILL HERE, JACK!

Tom jabs a finger directly into Jack's pectoral muscle, eyes wide, upper lip quivering.

Sawyer: And you wanna stand there and judge me as lesser than you? When I've TURNED ERIC DANE DOWN to go running back to DEFIANCE, where I'd actually get to change in a REAL room, rather than in my rental car or the arena bathroom, like every WWA show I've been to up until now? Oh yeah, you remember now, Jack? How, since I wasn't even a WWA employee, I couldn't change in the locker rooms with you guys? I couldn't take advantage of the hot showers or the free towels or the buffet tables or any of that?

Tom jabs that finger into Griffiths' chest again, walking forward. To his credit, Griffiths takes a step back, letting the kid make his point.

Sawyer: You wanna say all I've been doing is chasing a belt? Do you remember how I spent more time in that Independence Day Rumble than any other man, suffering and bruising and being beaten down by every musclehead in the locker room who wanted to use a hundred-and-eighty-pound kid as a punching bag? Do you remember how I EARNED my shot at the WWA Heavyweight Title, and have been trying to harry Jaymz Watkins, make sure that his attention is on me, ME, the one guy who should be taking the least abuse of anyone in this company? Look at my arms, Jack!

Tom steps back, spreading his arms, baring his chest.

Sawyer: Do I look like I can survive the kind of hell Watkins put Trendkiller through? Do I look like I have the muscle, the fat, the size, the unbreakable bones? 

The kid jabs his free hand's index finger downward, eyes blazing as he gets right back into Griffiths' face.

Sawyer: But I've been purposely antagonizing Watkins, I've been interrupting his promos, I've been calling him out, I've been jumping him outside of shows so he DOESN'T go on a tear and take out man, after man, after man! Do you wanna see the guy who took out Trendkiller decide that he wants to end Armaan's career? Or Copeland's? Or yours?!

Tom Sawyer curles his lip, turned his head, and spat.

Sawyer: You can be the hero preaching from the balcony, Jack. I'm gonna be the guy right down there in the front lines, trying to be the human shield, trying to make sure that there ARE heroes left. I'm gonna be the guy taking all the flak while you tell me how much holier than me you are. Just remember, when my blood is being mopped off the middle of the ring at the end of South of Heaven, I never wanted to be forced to be Watkins' opponent. But by god, I'll do it, because I don't see anyone else who will.

Tom presses the microphone into Jack's chest, turns, and begins to storm off. He was ready to tear some flesh and rip some ligaments in the musculature of one Jaymz Watkins. As he moves... Jack picks that mike up.

Griffiths: Whoa whoa whoa, you think you just say that and then walk away? Sawyer turns back, eyes still flinty and hard. You accuse me of being a hero preaching from the balcony, kid? I'm the one who stopped Watkins when he turned his attentions to Eddie Van Dorn. Not you. I might talk a big game but I back it up, unlike Chris Bond, unlike Armaan, and unlike just about anyone else around here. People have to be more than just a wrestler, and most people don't understand that.

Griffiths stops, looks down and strokes his beard thoughtfully.

Griffiths: Look, I'm sorry about your friend. Lucas, right? Sawyer nods. He seemed like a good man. 

Tom blinks a few times in confusion, taken aback by Griffiths' kind words. He nods in agreement... And begins to smile ever so slightly in appreciation.

Griffiths: I call myself the last hero because sometimes it genuinely feels that way. But that passion, the way you stood up for yourself and the way you've been standing up against Watkins, I've not seen that in months. So maybe I am wrong. Maybe... you have all the makings of a bonafide WWA hero. Pause It would certainly be nice not to have to carry this burden alone.

Jack pauses and takes a step back.

Griffiths: But until you prove it, I want you to remember that I am the only hero in the WWA, I am a hero for the underclass and the working class; an example of where hard work and determination can get anyone. Even scrawny armed, five foot somethings.

Jack and Tom share a smile before Jack purses his lips for a moment, thinking. Then, he walks on over to where Tom was standing, and offers his hand.

Tom looks down at Griffiths' hand... Slowly back up to Griffiths' face... Back down to the hand. Tom's hand slams into Jack's, and the two shake hands firmly. Then, Tom continues to march off. Jack grins softly.

Griffiths: Good luck, kid. You're gonna need it.

We cut back to the announce desk.

Jack: And like that, Tom Sawyer has arrived!

Fat Tony: Out on bail. A criminal.

Jack: Will you stop?!

Fat Tony: And of course he runs into Captain England, the hypocrite himself Jack Griffiths, a man who steals prescription medicine that Eddie van Dorn needs to compete and won't give them back...what a monster!

Jack: Why are you so on Jack Griffiths all of a sudden? The way I understand it, those are NOT prescription pills.

Fat Tony: More lies from Jack Griffiths - the WWA's answer to Fox News.

Jack: You are a piece of work...

Fat Tony: Thank you.

Jack: Let's get to Gary Trudeau as it is time for our main event.

The crowd is perched on the edge of their collective seat, signs for the unlikely main event being waved frantically. Was Tom Sawyer really in the building? Was he really cleared to fight? Was Jaymz Watkins really gonna get into the ring with him? Would Bruce Pepin sanction the match?

Jack: Well, Ladies and gentlemen... As we saw, Tom Sawyer had managed to get out on bail.

Fat Tony: I wonder how much WWA money got blown to achieve that....

Jack: But will things be settled enough for Tom to be able to wrestle?

[Live to Win!]

BBBBOOOOOOOOYEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH!

Fat Tony: What a mixed reaction for the Boss!

Jack: Well, a lot of people have had a lot of strong feelings against Pepin... But when you're opposing Jaymz Watkins, there's a lot of leeway to be had!

Out from the back, in his old Canadian flag tights bounces the “Canadian Crusader”. His head is bowed, his fists are clenched, and Pepin looks... focused. Centered. Driven. Pepin shakes his head while standing on the entryway ramp, his teeth clenching tightly.

With a Maple-leaf printed towel in his hands, the Canadian Dragon walks out from the back, fanning some cool air at his boss. As the rockin' guitar blares, and the KISS guitarist sang, Bruce Pepin tenses up his muscles, before stepping forward and striking a helluva pose, flexing and throwing a single finger upward.

The Starchild continued to wail as Pepin jogs his way down the ramp, ignoring the few fans reaching out towards the WWA's owner. Bruce rolls under the bottom rope, and pops to his feet. A finger points to the sky, and Pepin whirls on his heel, pointing that index finger right up the ramp, towards the back.

Jack: Well, now it's do-or-die time. Is Sawyer gonna be here?

A moment passes...

And the curtains part just enough to let a shapely lady in business attire sashay through. She lifts a microphone to her lips, and miss Rachel Beckett smiles frostily.

Beckett: Mister Pepin... With all due respect, there's not a chance in the world that Jaymz Watkins is going to step foot in that ring with you tonight. Nor is he going to get within five hundred yards of Tom Sawyer, who is being served with a restraining order.

BBBBBBBBOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Beckett: In fact, for putting Mister Watkins in such a situation, Jaymz has insisted that he be granted the night off, to allow himself to recuperate from the mental strain of your thoroughly illegal contract-signing last week. Neither Jaymz nor myself were present to ensure that Sawyer signed the contract legally, and as such, it's a non-binding contract. We will not be present at South of Heaven, and Mr. Watkins will not be present in your match. I am going to go and try to see if Jaymz will flex at all on his policy of suing the WWA not only to double his pay, but to make sure that you are terminated from your position of-

During all this talking, the Canadian Dragon has finagled himself a microphone. After flicking the power switch, the Dragon brings the mike to his lips.

Canadian Dragon: QUIET, YOU MOUTHY BITCH! OR THE DRAGON COME UP THE RAMP, AND BOOM! PILOTE PSYCHO!!

Rachel Beckett's eyes go wide. Her mouth falls agape, and she looks around frantically. Sadly for her, there is no Jaymz Watkins coming to the rescue.

The microphone moves to Bruce Pepin.

Pepin: Hey, skirt, Tom Sawyer has been reinstated fully as a member of the WWA roster, and if Watkins insists on pressing charges for the assault in the Toronto International Airport, Lucas Harper and Tom Sawyer have both stated to me that they intend to press charges for Watkins' assault and battery... Battery with fire, mind you. Remember the fire?

Beckett looks behind her, and goes to say something, but...

Pepin: So, either we can all drop these lawsuits and begin the match, or I can strip Jaymz Watkins of his championship due to his embarrassing legal troubles.

Rachel ducks her head behind the curtain, but even as she does, “You Know My Name” kicks to life, and a spotlight lights up the entryway ramp. The rest of the house-lights drop out, leaving that single icy white spotlight lighting the way. Neatly slipping by Rachel, Chris Bond walks out from the back, a big ol' grin on his lips.

Fat Tony: Well, Pepin's not playing with kid gloves. We might as well bring out the Bondsky to ruin things even more, right? C'mon, Bruce! Mess with Bond now, too!

Jack: Bruce Pepin's mental state is a little worrying. He might just start threatening Bond...

Chris Bond stretches his arms out to either side, grinning brightly and beckoning on to the crowd with both hands. Already dressed to wrestle, Bond swirls his way onto the stage, plucking the microphone from Rachel Beckett's unresisting hand. Chris taps the head of the microphone gently, and grins charmingly.

Bond: That's a nice bucket of threats you've got there, Brucie. But what about me? Aren't you gonna threaten me, to make me come to the ring?

Pepin: Wrestle or you don't get paid.

A moment passes as Bond purses his lips thoughtfully.

Fat Tony: ...Good point!

Jack: I don't think Bond has a response to that!

Bond: Well, I-

The lights in the arena go out once more. The countdown from ten begins, those blocky, pixellated letters shining their way from the dark. Once the “0” appears, it quickly flips around into the words “KING JAYMZ”.

Even as the people frantically dance, the lights setting off seizures in those epileptics unlucky enough to be in attendance tonight, Jaymz snarls and yanks the microphone from Bond's hand.

Watkins: Pepin, I'm gonna give you one more chance to make good on things before I come down to that ring and tear your jaw off Under Pressure-style.

Fat Tony: I am starting to get the feeling that Pepin may have bitten off more than he can chew.

Jack: If I were Pepin, I'd-

Pepin: The match is on.

BEEEEEEEEEEEYYYYYYYYYYYYYOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWW

At the sound of Rush's “Tom Sawyer”, Jaymz Watkins spins around. The house-lights have come fully up, just in time for Watkins to see Tom Sawyer, the Macho Ranger... Bereft of leather jacket, no cowboy hat, no sunglasses. Just his ring tights...

And a gleaming steel chain dangling from one hand.

Fat Tony: SAWYER'S GOT A CHAIN!

Jack: THE DIFFERENCE MAKER!

Watkins takes a step back, and then another, hands coming up to hold between him and Sawyer. The WWA Heavyweight Championship is handed off to Rachel Beckett, and Watkins begins to back away from Tom...

Sawyer takes another big step forward, lifting that fist, the chain clinking menacingly as it dangled. A moment, and Tom begins to rotate his arm, spinning that chain through the air... And his other hand comes up, in time with his foot! The booted foot stomps down, just as Tom jabs out with a finger, pointing it directly at Watkins! The big wind-up is unmistakable, and the fans scream it along with Tom...

“YOOOOOOOOOUUUUUUUUU!”

Watkins turns and scrambles down the entryway ramp. Leery of being caught in the crossfire, Bond books it down the ramp, away from the madman with the steel chain swinging through the air, and Tom Sawyer gives chase!

RRRRRRRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

As Bond comes rushing down to the ring, he dives under the bottom rope, just in time to rise to his feet and catch a snapping Pepin roundhouse kick to the chest! Bond is rocked and sent right back into the ring ropes!

As Bond takes a series of brutal kicks and chops, Watkins rushes around the side of the ring, running from Sawyer and the kid's insane chain-swinging, but Tom isn't amused! He isn't gonna be doin' this whole chase bullshit! Tom dives right through the ring ropes on one side of the ring corner, and out the other side, grabbing onto Watkins' Members Only jacket as he flies! Knees double up, and Tom moves with Watkins' momentum for just a moment... Then the overbearing weight of the kid pulls Jaymz off-balance, and the Man of Five Magics is yanked downwards, Tom bringing Watkins down onto his doubled-up knees for a backpack Lungblower!

Fat Tony: SAWYER GETS HIS FIRST TASTE OF VENGEANCE!

Jack: WHAT A LUNGBLOWER! SAWYER JUST SHOWED THAT A MAN CAN FLY!

Pepin and Bond trade rights and lefts in the ring as Sawyer forces himself back to his feet, grabbing onto that ring apron for support. After ducking a Pepin right hand, Bond spins around behind the Canadian Panty Soaker, before he hauls off and slams a knee into the small of Pepin's back!

Fat Tony: What a cheap shot on the Boss! Who cleared Bond to lay his hands on Pepin?!

Jack: I think that happened when Pepin ordered Bond into the ring.

Bond grins as he grabs at Pepin's arm, twisting it up tightly into an armwringer, forcing Pepin to hunch over, arm slapping weakly at his shoulder. Bond yanks harder and tighter on the arm, contorting Pepin's face in agony... But the Boss wasn't gonna let himself get outwrestled that quickly! Hopping forward, Pepin dives and rolls, working himself free of the armwringer in the most spectacular of fashions!

Fat Tony: What moves by the Boss!

And then Bond quickly snags a side headlock on the Lost Rougeau.

Jack: And what quickness from the Golden Boy!

As Pepin struggles to get free, Bond grins, sticking a single finger in his mouth... And worms it into Pepin's ear! WET WILLY!

Pepin SHOVES Bond away, the former HOSTILITY star dashing to the ropes, and as he returns, Pepin snaps a leg upward, bicycle-kicking for Bond's face... And Bond ducks it, grabs the arm, and twists it right back into another armwringer! Pepin is wracked with pain, but Bond isn't done! That arms gets twisted up behind Pepin's back into a hammerlock, before Bond pops the hips and hauls Pepin into the air... And slams Pepin down with a Hammerlock German!

Jack: WHATTAMOVE!

Fat Tony: That had to be against the rules!

On the outside of the ring, Tom grabs Watkins by the hair, hauling him to his feet. A kick to the chest to knock the wind outta him, and Tom rushes forward, Irish whipping Jaymz to the guardrail... And Watkins leaps, spins, and reverses the whip! Tom slams chest-first into the guardrail, and Watkins is right behind him to grab Tom by the head on the rebound, and Jaymz cracks Tom facefirst right into that 'rail once more!

Fat Tony: The tables have turned for the spotmonkey!

Jack: Letting Watkins get the upper hand could be the beginning of the end for Sawyer's title hopes...

Watkins hauls off and whips Tom back the other direction, slamming the kid shoulderfirst into the ringpost! Tom stumbles backwards, arms locked across his chest, wind blasted from his lungs, and Jaymz explodes right through the kid with a powerful leaping forearm! The kid drops, and Watkins is quick to lay in the boots, stomping away.

Jack: Sawyer is seriously in trouble.

Fat Tony: He shoulda stayed where he was safe, in the slammer!

Bond had Pepin in a brutal kneeling armbar, Pepin not willing to go all the way down to the mat! The Canadian Crusader had no interest in letting Bond get him for a matwrestling exhibition. Instead, Pepin jigs his feet to the right... Pushes up a little higher, moves himself to the left... And Pepin reverses direction, sliding his feet forward and rolling through... The Boss's arm is free!

Jack: Pepin's free from the armbar!

Fat Tony: But now he's going right back for Bond...

Arm gets grabbed, and Bond's face ends up in the mat, that Kimura expertly applied! Pepin rears back, howling as he yanks on the arm...

And just after rolling Sawyer back into the ring, Watkins slides in, rushes across the mat, and dropkicks Pepin right in the face! Pepin goes kablooey across the mat, knocked for a loop, and the WWA Heavyweight Champ is quick to fall on his prey, stomping and knee-dropping! Incensed, Bond pops up and starts hammering away with kicks and stomps as well, the two just raining devastation down on the Canadian Dream!

Jack: This is bad, bad news for the team of Pepin and Sawyer!

Pepin is hoisted to his feet, and the duo of destruction toss Bruce Pepin bodily through the middle and bottom ropes. Pepin crashes to the floor in a heap, leaving... Just Tom Sawyer, struggling to get to his feet in the ring.

Watkins steps back, arms crossing over his chest, watching calmly as Bond tries for the pinfall.

One!

Two!

Th-Kickout!

Jack: TOM KICKS OUT!

Fat Tony: Watkins doesn't look pleased...

The WWA Champ steps in, grabbing Sawyer by the head and dragging him away from Bond, right into the center of the ring. The referee, finally tired of this stuff And catching the eye of a rising Bruce Pepin , waves Chris Bond out of the ring. Bond obliges, not wanting to cross the zebra-man.

With Tom dragged to the center, Watkins drops to a knee, yanks his arm around Tom's neck, and cinches in a kneeling Chinlock, cranking on Tom's head, twisting and tearing at the kid's neckmeats. Tom's hands flail, trying to manage... Something. Anything. But Jaymz keeps that hold on tightly, grinning with a tight, teeth-clenched, feral smile.

Jack: Look at Pepin on the apron!

The Boss... was pounding on the turnbuckle rhythmically. He leads the crowd in a chant.

Pepin: TOM! TOM! TOM!

Instantly, the crowd picks up on it.

Crowd: TOM! TOM! TOM!

Pepin turns, lifting both hands above his head to begin to clap. And the crowd just eats it up.

Crowd: TOM! TOM! TOM!

The kid, red in the face and deprived of oxygen, clenches both fists, shaking them violently. The WWA Champ's face turns angry and spiteful as he looks to Pepin, snarling a “CUT IT OUT YOU CANADIAN MORON!”... But to no avail. Tom begins to force himself upward, head shaking against Watkins' grasp...

Jack: SAWYER'S ALIVE!

Tom slams an elbow into Jaymz' stomach!

“RRRRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

Tom slams another into Jaymz' stomach!

Crowd: LET'S GO TOM! LET'S GO TOM! LET'S GO TOM!”

Sawyer hammers another elbow into Jaymz' stomach, forcing the Champ to drop the chinlock fully. Turning, Tom rushes to the ring ropes, and as Jaymz staggers forward, Sawyer leaps into the air and takes Jaymz down with a leaping crossbody block! Full of fire from the crowd's support, Tom pops back to his feet, fists clenching!

“OOOOOOOHHHHH YEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH!”

Tom pulls Watkins back to his feet, and ducks a mighty right hand from the Champ, before peppering Watkins with three quick jabs in succession! Watkins backpedals, and Tom leaps forward with a rolling wheel kick, smashing Jaymz in the face. Watkins stumbles into the ropes, and Tom leaps up, grabbing Watkins' wrist and whipping him off to the ropes...

Fat Tony: Did ya see that blind tag by Bond?

Jack: That's why Chris Bond is a multiple time heavyweight champion in many other places. He's wily, and so skilled.

Fat Tony: Jeez, marry the guy, whydon'tcha? Get off his weiner!...COME ON BRUCE!!

Watkins comes flying back across the ring just as Tom springboards off the top rope, turning as he flies! Legs wrap around Watkins' neck, and Tom flips backward, smashing Jaymz into the mat with a picture-perfect hurricanrana! A leg gets hooked for the pin...

Jack: Tom didn't see the blind tag!

Fat Tony: Here comes Bond...

One arm around the right arm, the other going for that crossface! Tom's arm flails, eyes wide as he's suddenly dragged off of Jaymz Watkins, Bond going for Misery! Bond hauls Tom to the center of the ring, trying for that Cobra Clutch...

Jack: Tom's in a lot of trouble if Bond gets that locked in!

But somehow, Tom twists, snagging that arm, and rolls! Armdrag to Bond, sending him across the ring, and Sawyer leaps...

Fat Tony: THA BOSS IS LEGAL!

Pepin leaps the top rope, and as Bond rises to his feet, Pepin lashes out with a roundhouse kick, nearly taking Bond's head off! As it is, Bond just barely ducks and gets his clock rung, dropping into the ropes. Pepin turns, and with Jaymz Watkins rising to his feet, Pepin explodes forward, spinning...

Fat Tony: KEEP THAT PIMP HAND STRONG, BOSS!

Jack: What a spinning backfist from Pepin!

Fat Tony: He's still got it!

Jack: I'd hope so, he's in his early 20's!

Watkins drops back against the ropes, and Pepin rushes up with a high knee to the face!

Jack: There goes Watkins!

Over the top rope goes the champ, leaving Bond alone with Pepin and Sawyer! Bond is brought up and forward, before Pepin doubles Bond over and begins to crack snapping kicks directly into Bond's chest! WHAM! WHAM! WHAM! WHAM! A spin, and a back heel thrust to the chest sends Bond backwards...

Jack: SAWYER'S ON THE TOP ROPE!

Tom leaps off the top rope with both hands together... DOUBLE AXE HANDLE SMASH TO BOND! The Golden Boy drops, and Tom rushes forward, leaping up and onto the second rope, pointing out to the crowd!

RRRRRRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

Tom drops, looking around the ring... There he is. Jaymz Watkins, rising to his feet. Tom points, and Pepin glances behind him... Ah... That's the ticket. The Boss steps back, to just in front of the ropes. A crouch, both of Bruce's hands clasped low to provide a springboard.

Jack: Pepin's gonna give Tom Sawyer a boost!

Fat Tony: This is an illegal doubleteam move on the poor WWA Champ!

Jack: It's like Sophie's Choice...you either have to choose your love for Jaymz or the boss!

Tom comes running across the ring, steps onto Pepin's offered hands, and Pepin THROWS Tom upward, Tom leaps right over the top... Spin, spin, twist, and WHAM, IMPACT ONTO JAYMZ!

Jack: WATKINS IS DOWN! IT'S PEPIN AND BOND, ALONE IN THE RING!

Pepin clenches both fists, shaking his head furiously as he circles Chris Bond, the 5th-ranked singles wrestler in the WWA on hands and knees before his boss.

Outside of the ring, Tom and Jaymz have both roared to their feet, trading punches and blows... And Watkins charges Tom, tackling him right over the guardrail!

Jack: They're goin' into the crowd!

Fat Tony: Leave it to Sawyer to put his so-called fans at risk!

Bond manages to get to his feet... And Pepin ducks, hauling Chris onto his shoulders for a Fireman's carry!

Jack: ALARM CLOCK IS SET...

And Pepin tosses Bond forward, snapping a brutal kick into Bond's chest! Chris snaps backwards, slamming into the mat, and Pepin backpedals to drop back for a pin... And crumples!

Fat Tony: ...Did Pepin step funny to you?

Jack: Yes, he did... I think Bruce Pepin may have just tweaked his knee!

The referee dives in, checking on Pepin as the Canadian Crusader clenches at his knee, eyes squeezed agonizingly shut. Through clenched teeth, Pepin growls... No, Pepin HISSES that the referee had better not throw the match out.

Jack: Pepin won't say die!

Pepin crawls to the ropes slowly, favoring that one knee, and begins to pull himself up with the middle rope. Good leg first... Baby the bad leg, and then... Finally test it and put some weight on i-

AAAAAAAAIGH~!

Jack: Pepin can't put any weight on his knee!

Fat Tony: Chris Bond is getting his senses back... If Pepin wants to win, he'd better get things together!

In the crowd, Watkins tumbles down a flight of stairs, taking out a popcorn vendor as he falls. Tom Sawyer comes skidding down the handrail, and lands beside Watkins... Watkins grabs a beer bottle from a nearby fan and swings wildly! Tom ducks the first shot, but not the jab to the eyes immediately after! A SMASH of the bottle to the side of Tom's face sends the Modern Day Warrior staggering away, hands clutching his cut-up cheek...

And Tom's hand had dug into those tights for the briefest of moments!

Tom: Hey Jaymz...

Jaymz: What?

Tom: Who was my favorite manager?

Jaymz: What?!

Tom: MISTER FUJI!

FLOOF goes the powder, and Jaymz staggers backwards, face covered in the grit, eyes rendered useless! Tom ducks and rushes forward, hitting Watkins low... And the two go flying through a curtain, Tom tackling Jaymz offscreen!

In the ring, Pepin has barely managed to force himself to his feet. Slowly, he turns, taking a doddering, feeble step, testing that knee. Chris Bond stands just in front of Pepin, grinning. A finger beckons...

Jack: Pepin with a... really WEAK right hand.

Fat Tony: Bond's going behind!

After ducking the punch, Bond went back behind the Boss, hooking the head. Grinning, Bond looks out to the crowd for a moment, before...

Jack: THE DISTORTION!

Fat Tony: Oh, this one's over... Bond with the floatover.

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

Trudeau: YOUR WINNERS... JAYMZ WATKINS AND CHRIS BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOND!

Bond grins brightly as he falls back onto his haunches. A playful slap to Pepin's sternum, before Bond pops to his feet, both fists going into the air. “You Know My Name” blares, and Bond looks out to his adoring public...

Blows 'em a kiss.

Bond looks over at the fallen Pepin, sitting down next to him and holding up two fingers, very close, showing how close Pepin was to winning...and then Bond separates the fingers as far as they can go.

Fat Tony: What a dick!

Jack: If Pepin did it you'd love it!

Fat Tony: AND?

Bond rises up as medical personel come down to look at Pepin's leg. Bond mocks walking with a limp, hoping down from the ring and walking to the back, a huge smile on his face. He stops to shake hands with EVERY fan he sees - mocking Pepin.

Jack: What a night...we've seen a new TV Champion and his new top contender, we've seen Nemesis...

Fat Tony: The vile fucker himself...

Jack: Nemesis step too far over the line, Eddie van Dorn accuse Jack Griffiths of being a thief.

Fat Tony: Not accuse - he told the truth!

Jack: Well, that remains to be seen...but we also saw Tom Sawyer return and bring the fight to Jaymz Watkins.

Fat Tony: I love the Magic Man, but I don't think this "Macho Ranger" will stop! Maybe he needs the TK Special at South of Heaven?

Jack: Fans, join us in ten short days for the next edition of Underground, live from Cincinnati, Ohio!

Fat Tony: Ugh, really? 

We fade to black as Pepin slowly tries to rise to his feet, the Canadian Dragon helping him up as he receives a mixed reaction.