BUZZ!

The constant humming in the background progresses from the static left behind from the last commercial to the office of the GCW Commissioner; Garbage Bag Johnny. The air conditioners packed high above the ceiling rumble as the scene focuses in on GBJ and an always-quirky character.

Fox: And so I told her that those weren’t my melons, but I’d be glad to bag hers! Ell oh ell! Get it?

The commissioner sits there deadpan, but instead of no-selling the joke, he just basically freezes for a while on the edge of his seat.

GBJ: Don't leave me hanging, bro...whose melons were they?

Fox: The ugly bakery girl’s melons. I just can’t seem to mustard up the confidence to talk to a real pretty lady so I just practice on her. Speaking of baking; I’m super uber stoked to be in the Rampage main event!

Clyde speedily claps his hands as he leans on GBJ’s Cherokee desk.

GBJ: And I'm super stoked to have a Cherokee desk, but that's good to hear. I'd be pretty proud to see you take the GCW Title, and I actually wanted to talk to you about the match. You know how you and Terror get to pick where you start the match, right?

Fox nods his head like no tomorrow. If his mother wasn’t a stickler for firm neck development during his childhood, then odds are it would have fallen off.

Fox: AH-YUP! But my only concern is our mobility.

That raises an eyebrow of Johnny’s.

Fox: Won’t it be hard to manure around on top of a jelly cake?

GBJ: Jelly cake?

Garbage Bag Johnny scratches his head, but there's no way he's going to figure this one out.

GBJ: What the hell are you talking about?

Fox: AH-DUH! I’m in a double trouble bubble jelly cake match with Jay Tea and the married couple. I hope its wedding cake, though! That way I can wear my Sunday dress!

Clyde crinkles his face as if he caught a bad whiff of GBJ’s deodorant.

Fox: But I won’t be a happy camper if I have to wrestle on a fwozen cake. That’s practically animal cruelty.

GBJ: Clyde, you're not wrestling on a cake, frozen or otherwise! It's a cage match--a double cage match, actually. You know...two rings right next to each other, each one with a cage?

Clyde stares blankly, GBJ keeps explaining, mostly to hammer the point home to the audience.

GBJ: There's going to be one match in one cage, and one match in the other, and when both are done, we'll take out the middle piece between the two cages, and the winners will fight for the GCW Championship across two rings surrounded by one giant cage. Got it? Because I really don't know if I can explain that again.

Fox: Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait.

Fox places a hand on his chest as he tries to calm himself.

Fox: Did I just hear that correctly? We are wrestling in two onion rings!? Sweet! I’ve always wanted to give my opponent a thorough oil burn!

GBJ just shakes his head and tries to reminisce about their previous melon conversation. At least that was going somewhere.

Fox: Nope, nope. I get the feeling from your negative Nancy look that I’m wrong. Let me try again, sport. All four of us. Two cages. Two rings. Three matches. One title belt?

GBJ nods.

Fox: Hooked on numerals worked for me!

GBJ: You're a gentleman and a scholar, Clyde. And I'm sure as you know, since you and Jay won at Shockwave, I'm giving you guys first pick as to what cages you go into. Now, I know what choice Jay's going to make if you walk out first, so I want you to wait until Jay picks his cage before you get into whichever one you choose. You got it?

Clyde folds his arms like a grumpy child in the candy aisle that can’t manage to get their parent to cave.

Fox: BUT GEE BEE JAYYYY... I want to be in the pink cage! What if Jay Tea picks the pink cage? Or even worse; what if there isn’t a pink cage!? Oh, the horror! But I guess I understand oh great master chief of commissioned garbage. Your word is my command.

GBJ: Glad you do--and who knows. Maybe both cages will be pink.

Fox: Now that’d be icing on the cage! Tee hee! See what I did? I said cage instead of cake even though before I thought we were fighting on cakes. Gee whiz I’m sharp tonight. I think I might go and brush up on my hooked on foods now, boss. Gimmie five and I’m out, dawg!

Fox raises his hand in hopes that Commissioner Johnny will oblige to his request. The commissioner appears to be deep in thought. He has an epiphany, starts laughing and gives Fox a badass high five (because he looked at the elbow when high-fiving...that's how all the bros knows how to do!)

GBJ: I do, get it! You weren't talking about fruit melons...you were talking about boobs!

Back to Top

The lights dim in the Hong Kong Coliseum and the Hong Kong crowd begins to buzz. The GCW logo flashes across the screen, as "Wake Up" by Rage Against the Machine begins to play. Finally a heavy guitar riff explodes into the arena, and the fans in Hung Hom go wild! Bright blue fireworks explode over the ring as two screaming bolts of light stream down to the stage. The stage erupts with silver pyrotechnics as the cameras begin flying over the frenzied crowd, and the voice of James Bryan chimes in right on cue.

Bryan: Welcome to Hung Hom, Hong Kong, everybody, and get ready for another episode of GCW WorldWide!

Yale: That's a tongue twister, JB!

Bryan: I did exercises, Dave!

Yale: Let's just hope the participants in the second round of Rampage have done theirs. Tonight will decide which four GCW superstars go on to fight for Rampage glory in a couple of weeks from Tokyo, Japan at the Rampage Pay Per View!

Bryan: That's right, Dave, and tonight we're here in Tempest's home country where the number three seed will anxiously await her opponent, and Shaman, Lori Equinox, and Bryan Mayhem all have a ticket back to the tournament if one of them can win two matches in one night!

Yale: I think any of the three is capable, but Tempest better hope that Shaman and Mayhem do too much damage on each other to make an impact, because either of those men have the size to pose a serious threat to the Cyberpunk Goddess.

Bryan: The other second round matches also look to be very competitive, Dave. We've got Shipley and Messiah, Frost and Rasa, and David Spencer vs. PAZUZU, THE DARKNESS!

Yale: We're definitely down to a stacked field, and I even hate to make picks in some of those. I'm confident that Shipley will go all the way, even if The Magnificent Messiah has the extra incentive of a Hardcore Title shot, should he eliminate Timmy. He's just too good.

Bryan: His actions outside the ring put away, Shipley has proven himself a brilliant ring technician, but I can't wait to see who will come out ahead tonight in all three matches.

Yale: That's not all we got for you tonight either. The United States Championship is on the line as Phil Atken gets a shot at Vivica's gold, and Garbage Bag Johnny must have been high as a kite when he booked that one. Phil Atken? Seriously?

Bryan: I just think it's about time Vivica J. Valentine defended that title!

Yale: She's been busy, JB. Remember? Retiring LeStatt Knight and all? Besides, what kind of travesty would it be if a Scotsman won the United States Championship?

Bryan: You're something else, Dave, but speaking of Scotsmen, I'm super excited about tonight's main event. Andy Murray will officially get his hands on Shipley stooge, Cheap Labor, and I would not want to be in Cheap's shoes tonight.

Yale: Cheap is working with the smartest mastermind in the business today, Tim Shipley. They're always one step ahead.

Bryan: We'll see about that later on, but let's get started. We also have Mike Sawyer debuting against Aaron Fujita and Donny Diamond and Bishop Steele are set to crash heads yet again! Will Donny go two-for-two or will Bishop Steele even the score? What else will happen, tonight on WorldWide from Hong Kong?

Yale: Stop asking questions, and maybe we'll find out.

Bryan: Oh...okay.

Back to Top

"Broken" by Seether suddenly fills the arena and all eyes divert to the entrance ramp.

Bryan: It looks like someone wants to get an early jump on the show.

Yale: With all the newcomers looking to make an impression, this is a great way to make people pay attention.

Rather than any newcomer stepping out from the curtains, the fans are actually greeted by the "Rock Superstar" Chris Storm. He looks around for a second, but waste no more time in making his way down toward the ring.

Bryan: Well it seems like we’re actually having Chris Storm come out.

Yale: He may want to say something about his latest fine. I swear it seems like this man just hands back every check he makes.

Bryan: He has certainly never been on the best of terms with authority here in GCW.

Yale: That’s an understatement. And from everything we’ve seen thus far, it doesn’t look like he gets along with our current commissioner any better than the last one.

The fans give him a great show of support as he steps into the ring and motions for Joey Andrews to hand him a microphone. Chris waves the crowd quiet and the music dies down. He flips back the hood from his Punisher hoodie.

Storm: You know, I’ve never been one to do what people tell me.

Chris pauses for a moment, looking out at the crowd. He digs the toes of his boot into the canvas as he lifts the microphone back up.

Storm: I don’t really know if that’s a good thing or not, but it certainly has made my wallet a lot thinner.

Hong Kong cheers for him, each voice rising up as if to fight back against their own bosses. Chris lifts his free hand to try and quiet them down.

Storm: I’m the square peg in that sense. I can never fit in just right even though people try to put me in these round holes. It just doesn’t work. To be quite frank, all it ever does is piss me off, and you know what; I’ve been rather pissed off a lot lately.

Again Hong Kong throws out their support for the Rock Superstar as he paces back and forth in the ring.

Storm: As of late, our Commissioner seems to be the one trying to cram me into some round hole and I’m getting kind of sick of it.

Bryan: I don’t know what Chris Storm is talking about.

Yale: I think he’s accusing our Commissioner of some possible dirty dealing.

Storm: I get that I am some kind of untapped potential or some shit, that I could be one of the best. Hell no one has ever held a belt as long as me, and no one ever will in GCW. But for our Commissioner to think he knows what is best for me, well I don’t play that.

He stops and turns toward the entrance ramp. Walking over to the ropes, he allows his body to lean against the top rope as he stares out toward the curtain.

Storm: Garbage Bag Johnny, you gave me this golden star and ever since then you’ve thrown me in a series of matches. Apparently you have even more matches you want to throw me into. You’re even going to toss in the vacated World title.

Bryan: And what a match at Rampage it will be! Four wrestlers, two rings, one cage, and someone will walk out World Champion.

Yale: It will be like the first edition of Meltdown, but this time it will be inside a steel cage when we get down to the final two.

Storm: I’m sure you’re having fun in your little office, Commish, with your plants and your little pile of paperwork. You can sit there and have all sort of people visit you and talk and occasionally you get to put on a big boy hat and make all sorts of decisions. You probably enjoy that, you look in the mirror and think of yourself like a proud father. A father that always knows best, huh?

There is a pause, almost as if Chris is waiting to be interrupted. But nothing ever comes from it. The silent crowd is all ears as he again begins to speak.

Storm: You seem to have little schemes for me, for my wife, and for the likes of Jay Terror and Clyde Fox. Hell you seem to have schemes for everyone on the roster. But I’m serving notice right now, I’m not one for any schemes or plans you have. As Caldera witnessed, and Zenith saw, I’m a real pain in the ass. So why don’t you come out here right now so I can shove this golden star down your damn throat.

"Garbage Bag Johnny Will Win Zero 2 Hero" and Commissioner GBJ walks out to a cheering crowd. After all, how could you not cheer amidst the empowering fury of slap-pop bass virtuosity? He doesn't look like he's in any mood to deal with Chris Storm, though.

Bryan: Commissioner Garbage Bag looking suaver and suaver by the week.

Yale: It's hard to reverse trajectory when you're Garbage Bag Johnny.

The commissioner silences the crowd, motioning quickly for them to cut off so he can speak. He raises his microphone to his mouth.

GBJ: Mister Storm. I'm pleased to see you decided to show up for work tonight. Are you planning on sticking around for a while?

Storm: We got jokes, I see. Walk on down to this ring and tell me another one. I would love to hear the one about how Clyde would improve by actually hanging around scum like Terror. After all, Clyde will never be a World champion if he doesn’t learn how to try and cripple women.

He fakes a laugh as the crowd boos, clearly not wanting to see Clyde resort to any of the dirty tactics Terror uses.

Storm: Or why not tell me the one about how Terror will soften up if you just keep having him tag with Clyde. I mean clearly it’s working because my wife can still walk. Barely, but she can still walk. I’m sure old Terror would have tried to break her neck. New and improved, Clyde-inspired Terror only tries to end careers.

Garbage Bag Johnny looks towards the ring ponderously. He takes a few steps towards it even, obviously not rushing into the situation, but firmly displaying he's not going to back down.

Yale: The commissioner would have more balls than brains if he was Lance Armstrong.

Bryan: Garbage Bag Johnny hasn't had to get physical with anyone yet, but only a select couple have pushed the commissioner's buttons as hard as Chris Storm has.

GBJ: Look, Chris. I wouldn't blame you if you wanted to hunt down Terror and shove a pack of Marlboro's up his ass. If Tessa was my wife, I'd be pissed off, too, but I tell you what...I wouldn't be marching down to this ring and calling myself out. That just wouldn't make any sense.

Bryan: Point taken.

GBJ: Ask Jordan White or Andy Murray or LeStatt Knight what it takes to become the GCW Heavyweight Champion...

Pops for all three names.

GBJ: There are going to be opponents who will do any despicable thing they can to stop you. Guys like Murray and Knight expect Jay Terror to act like Jay Terror. They anticipate that and they overcome it. And that's what it takes. There are no exceptions for Tessa, and I'm sure that's how she'd want to play it. If she's got what it takes to be GCW Heavyweight Champion, and I think she does, she'd probably get pissed off that you're using her as an excuse to act all grouchy for no good reason.

Storm: Yeah, because this is part of what is all about, right? You want Tessa to overcome all odds to prove she should be World champion. That’s why you’ve tossed her into matches against her own husband. You’ve tossed her out to the wolves. You call it proving she’s on the same level as Murray and Knight. Course when Zenith or Caldera ran the show, we had another word we liked to use.

Bryan: To try and put Garbage Bag Johnny on the same level as Caldera or Zenith is just unfair.

Yale: That’s right, they both were much better dressers.

Storm: We keep changing who’s in charge, but we keep getting the same results. You have an agenda and look at the roster like we’re some chess pieces for you to play with.

A few more steps forward from Garbage Bag Johnny, and he's about as pissed as anyone's ever seen the easy-going Garbage Bag.

GBJ: Is that what this is really about? It's about the guy in charge having an agenda for the company he's supposed to run? Well, shame on me for doing my job. Is it really about you and Tessa POSSIBLY having to face off in a wrestling match? I haven't heard her complaining about that. Or maybe...

Garbage Bag Johnny grins to himself.

Bryan: Maybe what?

Yale: I think maybe he just got a joke from a Cheech and Chong movie he saw a long time ago.

GBJ: Maybe you don't like it because you're scared your wife's going to beat you.

Storm: Me and Tessa have got at it enough in and out of the ring for me to be secure with how well I hold myself up against her.

Yale: I have a feeling he’s talking about more than just wrestling matches.

Storm: Now people may remember I was a part of a little thing called Banned & Exiled~!

The crowd instantly pops for the mention of the former tag team champions.

Storm: You remember them, right Commish? And why don’t you come a few more steps closer. I’m not going to bite. Anyways, Banned & Exiled~! didn’t really like it when people had agendas for us. And even without my running buddy, I have to be honest. I still don’t like it. I don’t give a care what name they hang on the door. And to be frank, I’m a little disappointed that someone like you would put on that suit and come out here and spew this bullshit to the fans. You want to play Junior Caldera? Then prepare to be called out on the same crap he was.

GBJ: You know what, Chris. I've about had it, man. The pot laws are crazy strict out here, and I really don't want to just flip out and do something insane. The only agenda I have for you is to see if you got what it takes to be the next GCW World Champion, and I really think you do. If you don't following agendas though, I've done about all I can, and I ain't going to push on you to go for the World Title anymore. Feel free to follow your own agenda of not following agendas for the sake of not following agendas. See if I care.

At this, Garbage Bag takes a few steps back.

GBJ: I ain't afraid of your bite, though, Chris, but I ain't letting you tempt me to try and use mine.

With that, Garbage Bag Johnny drops the microphone. It pops hard against the ramp.

Bryan: The Commissioner is pissed.

Yale: Well, pissing off Garbage Bag Johnny seems to be ranked pretty high on Chris Storm's to-do list, lately.

Bryan: If that's the case, then mission accomplished, but I'd really love to see Storm make a serious attempt at the World Title, and I'm sure the fans would, too.

Yale: Chris Storm has always done what's best for Chris Storm, and anyone with half a brain can respect that.

Bryan: Yeah, you can't hate him for it, but he's definitely not making Garbage Bag Johnny's job any easier.

GBJ, slumped shoulders, doesn't even look back at Chris Storm, still standing defiantly in the ring, as he walks back through the curtain.

Bryan: In any case, folks, stay tuned! We've got a hell of an evening lined up for you tonight!

Back to Top

Bryan Mayhem is seen walking into the arena. The crowd erupts as they see the painted monster walk through the hallways. Lately this sadistic beast has had quite the fan following. He is carrying a black gym back, wearing a black T-Shirt featuring the death metal band Deicide, and black jeans. His dreads are down to the center of his black and his face is as evil as ever.

Mayhem makes a turn and stops in his tracks. Standing in front of his lockerroom, already ready for the evening is Shaman. The crowd see’s the two monster standing toe to toe and seeth in bloodlust.

Shaman: Well, if it’s not my good friend Bryan O’Neil.

Shaman is grinning, staring eye to eye with one of the few in GCW that can.

Mayhem: Andrew.

Shaman: You know my friend, it always seems to end up like this. Shaman and Mayhem. Irresistible force meeting the immovable object.

Bryan nods, still not pulling his eyes from Shaman.

Shaman: We both know we will never give in. I think I am better than you, and you think you are better than me.

Bryan puts a hand up.

Mayhem: Wrong my friend. I KNOW I am better than you.

The crowd erupts, yet Shaman does not let his grin vanish.

Shaman: This isn’t a my cock is bigger than yours type of argument. I will allow to have your opinion.

Bryan takes a step closer, both men are nose to nose.

Mayhem: Good. Then move before I make you move.

The crowd screams. They know when these two monsters meet blood is spilled.

Shaman: Bryan, I think we both know I am not like everyone else in the this locker room. I am not scared by your size. I am not scared by your thirst for blood, because like you, I crave blood day in and day out. The aura of Bryan Mayhem doesn’t scare me nor does the history, so if you are going to make me move than, than step up.

Bryan drops his bag and lands a right that stuns Shaman, but the giant Native American quickly recuperates and begins to throw rights and lefts of his own. The hallway turns into a mess as tables and chairs and vending machines become a part of the war. Neither man will let the other have the upper hand.

Shaman swings Bryan into a Coke Machine shattering the face of it sending cans of coke flying from the machine. Bryan picks one up and crushes it over the head of Shaman busting him open. The fizz sprays everywhere as security begins to separate these two monsters.

It took a group of 20 men to keep these two giants from killing each other. Shaman is pushed away from the lockerroom screaming at Bryan.

Shaman: This will never be over brother! Everytime I see you expect a war! I will not back down!

Mayhem: Bring it on man!

Shaman shoves the 11 men holding him back flying off as he bumrushes Mayhem again sending him into his lockerroom. Bryan begins to rip at the cut on Shaman’s face as both men are now on the floor brawling in Bryan Mayhem’s lockerrom. The crowd is screaming for blood in a frenzy.

Yale: These two men have no love lost. Shaman is right, everytime we see them it is a war!

Bryan: Over 20 men can’t keep these two at bay.

Both men make it to their feet as the camera is jolted than the screen shows nothing but static.

Yale: My God, JB! When will this Shaman/Mayhem war ever stop?

Bryan: We both know that answer. When one or both are dead. Easy as that!

Yale: We’ve just confirmed that both men have been separated. Apparently Mayhem grabbed the camera, went to hit Shaman with it, but Shaman countered and punched it busting our camera into pieces. Wow, what a night already and it’s just started!

Back to Top

Alexis Frost is lacking her usual, flawless complexion.

Bryan: I… I have no idea what to say to this.

Her skin is blotchy and cracked; a sickly eggshell-blue hue blushed with pale violet. Her eyes are glazed over, off-axis in their bruised sockets, dead, pleading and lost behind milky lenses. Crimson gloss drips from her lips, and her nostrils, and her tear glands. Her model’s pout has been torn open into a pained, anguished scream.

Yale: This is just… well, it ain’t right, I’ll tell you that.

Bryan: I won’t lie; this is more than a little creepy.

Masked by the ghastly, contorted face of Alexis Frost, the hooded Rasa makes its arrival, guaranteeing itself a peaceful and uninterrupted walk to its locker room.

Bryan: Rasa will square off against Triumph Frost later tonight in a second round Rampage match-up, and it looks like our most mysterious of roster members is sending a message to his brash, mouthy rival.

Yale: Luck runs out eventually. Fact. Tonight, Triumph Frost isn’t just going to beat Rasa, he’s going to tear its face off and spit into whatever’s under it. No amount of sick stunts like this will stop that.

Back to Top

The camera follows Garbage Bag Johnny through the backstage area as he walks briskly back towards his office following his verbal altercation with Chris Storm just moments ago. The commissioner is walking so briskly that he almost doesn't notice Shaman in the hallway en route to his upcoming match, only stopping just in time after stepping into the big man's shadow.

GBJ: Christ, Shaman! Where'd you come from? You can't just go sneaking up on me like that, or you're going to give me a heart attack.

Shaman looks down at Garbage Bag Johnny.

Shaman: Would a heart attack be such a bad thing compared to the stress of the show?

Garbage Bag Johnny takes a moment to catch his breath and cool his head. After all, he's already maxed out his seg cap, and there hasn't even been a match yet.

GBJ: If it's going to be another one of those nights, I should probably just leave now. Head to the moon or something. But I'll make it through. You ready to get out there and kick some ass tonight, big guy?

Shaman shakes his head slightly as he looks over at Garbage Bag Johnny. His eyes narrow as he observes him.

Shaman: You think i am not capable of kicking ass and taking a victory? You doubting my skills and dangerous reputation?

Stepping forward a bit he looks down at Garbage Bag Johnny who gulps, wondering why everything he says tonight is pissing someone off.

GBJ: Not at all--just looking to see how you're feeling about things.

Reaching up and rubbing his chin he responds.

Shaman: Kind of surprised you gave me a second shot in the tournament. It isn't like i was the first and best choice.

Garbage Bag Johnny breathes a sigh of relief, off the hook from Shaman's wrath.

GBJ: He may not look it, but Shipley is one of the most proficient in the game today. You were with him every step of the way. It's a shame the cards fell the way they did, but sometimes that's the way the draft comes in. Also put a smile on my face when you leveled the little prick with my old, gold strap.

Smirking sadistically.

Shaman: You ain't seen nothing yet GBJ!

GBJ: Heh, as long as I ain't in your way when it happens.

GBJ poses in thought.

GBJ: In fact, if you're ever looking to trade favors, I could use a guy like you on my side from time to time.

Rubbing his chin he nods a bit.

Shaman: Just put them in my way and i will gladly knock them down. Plus, I am like a cannon lately. Just point me and i will cause chaos like never before seen.

GBJ: Good to hear it. I'll be in touch if I need a cannon, then.

The commissioner taps the big man on the shoulder.

GBJ: Go put on a show, man.

Shaman smiles as he looks over at Garbage Bag Johnny with a smirk and a very disturbing twinkle in his eye.

Shaman: More than you know Johnny, more than you know.

He smiles and walks off down the corridor leaving Johnny there in a slightly better mood. The commissioner grins halfway.

GBJ: You know, I think I could go for some wife cake and pineapple buns.

Yale: Wife cake and pineapple buns?

Bryan: Local cuisine, Dave!

Yale: I'd rather have pineapple cake and wife buns if you catch my drift.

Bryan: Very clever, but stay tuned! We've got a triple threat coming your way now, and the winner gets back into the Rampage Tournament!

Back to Top

Bryan: We have a full plate in front of us tonight, so let’s get right to the first match of the night.

Joey Andrews and referee David Fellows awaits patiently in the ring. The arena is succumbed by darkness as a red light erupts from the ground under the Megatron. "Puritania" by Dimmu Borgir erupts over the PA system. Smoke billows up from the floor and mixes with the red light.

Andrews: The following contest is a triple threat match, with the winner going on to face Tempest tonight in an official Rampage tournament match! Introducing first, from Belmont, England. Weighing in at 348 pounds, he is the current GCW Hardcore Champion…..BRYYYYYYYY-ANNNNNNNNN…MAAAAAAAAAAAAY-HEMMMMMMMMMM!!!!

Bryan: The Hardcore Champ was originally the 10th seed in the tournament, but met his exit via an uncharacteristic submission to the 7th seed in Triumph Frost. The Lunatic has never been the type to give.

The crowd's reaction is mixed as "The Lunatic" Bryan Mayhem makes his way from backstage. Smoke and flames surround Mayhem as he stands tall, eyes straight ahead.

Bryan: Looks like the Gods might have been out drinking that night as Mayhem’s destiny suffered a bit of a hiccup. But I think they’re watching closely tonight.

He slowly and methodically makes his way down to the ring as the flames and smoke continue to kick up from the stage. The red light follows him down the aisle.

Yale: …What the hell are you talking about?

The Megatron is littered with images of matches involving Mayhem, death, mushroom clouds, and Belmont.

Bryan: Err...nothing. Forget I said anything.

Yale: Done and done.

He stands in front of the ring, staring straight ahead, glancing at the ref, than the announcer. He pulls himself onto the apron. The lights slowly light the arena as "The Lunatic" stands perched, ready for battle, ready to spill blood.

Bryan: Since Mayhem is the highest seed in the match, one that was subject to serious debate…

Yale: Amongst internet virgins with no life.

Bryan: …I have to think the momentum is on his side.

Yale: And as we all know, a pissed Bryan Mayhem is a dangerous Bryan Mayhem.

Dimmu Borgir - The Serpentine Offering blasts over the PA system, Shaman steps through the curtains as white mist rolls around him. He raises his hands and brings them down as two bolts of lightning hit behind him.

Andrews: His opponent. Making his way to the ring, from Mojave, New Mexico, weighing in at 335 pounds…SHAMAAAAAAN!

Bryan: Shaman was the lowest seed in the tournament at number 16, which inevitably led to a showdown with the top seed and tournament favorite Tim Shipley.

Yale: A showdown that Shipley prevailed in.

Bryan: Shaman also cleared up his business with Jorge Samuellson last week, and put the world on notice that Mortifera was still indeed alive and well.

Yale: C’mon! When do tag teams ever really break up for good around here?

Shaman slowly walks to the ring. He stops at ringside reaching up he grabs the second rope and pulls himself up onto the ring apron. Pushing down the top rope he simply steps over it and into the ring.

Bryan: I suppose you have a point.

Yale: Teams around here are just like my parents. They stay together, forever, even through the thick and thin. By the way, my dad survived that poisoning attempt by my mom.

Bryan: I meant to ask you about that. How’s she holding up?

Yale: She just made lieutenant in her prison gang.

Bryan: Good for her.

Turning, Shaman stalks right up to Mayhem, and the two engage in a stare down.

Bryan: These two are certainly quite familiar with one another.

Mayhem and Shaman jabber back and forth, reminiscing about past instances. Suddenly, a bright light encapsulates the entranceway and "Forevermore" by Shadows Fall blasts out of the PA system.

Andrews: And finally, from whereabouts undetermined, he weighs in at 235 pounds...LOOOOOOOO-RIIIIIIIIII.......EEEEEEEE-QUIIIIIIIII-NOXXXXXXXXX!!!!

Out of the darkness and into the light comes Lori Equinox, who is greeted by a mixed of cheers and jeers from the crowd.

Bryan: The last guy in this re-entry match, Lori Equinox garnered the 14th seed, only to be taken down by the 3rd seed, and the woman that will face the winner in Tempest.

Yale: I’m a bit on the fence about this guy. He’s got some skills, but there’s something about him, you know? Something off...

He holds his arms up in the air and looks to the sky, soaking up the welcome he receives.

As he starts to walk forward the light follows him, ensuring that he can be seen by all around.

Yale: I really wish he’d put an eyepatch on or something. Gives me the creeps.

Bryan: Well, you’re welcome to suggest it to him. I’m sure he’d take it well.

On his way to the ring he has a few altercations with members of the crowd, some are not so friendly.

As he reaches the ring he turns his head to look behind himself. With a smile turns back to the ring and hoists himself up with the second rope before entering. And that smile fades right away as he spots his two combatants still screaming at each other, and seems to stop and ponder what the hell he did to deserve such a fate.

Yale: I think the guy just realized he got the short stick on this one.

Before he can do anything further, Shaman and Mayhem begin exchanging blows in the ring, as David Fellows calls for the bell.

Bryan: And here we go! Shaman and Mayhem, wasting no time in picking up right where they left off!

The ring shakes with each right hand, as Lori jumps off of the apron and watches these two beasts take their pound of flesh from one another.

Bryan: This is a huge opportunity for these three men to correct their Rampage missteps.

Yale: Looks like only two are taking advantage of it, though, while the other lets ‘em rip each other to shreds.

Mayhem proves to be too much for Shaman, and gets the upper hand. With Shaman reeling backwards, the Lunatic launches him over the top rope with a clothesline, but Shaman lands outside on his feet.

Bryan: A lucky break for Shaman there.

Mayhem doesn’t spot Equinox sliding into the ring. Equinox gets a running start and lands into Mayhem’s tree-trunk of a leg with a dropkick, sending him to one knee.

Bryan: Mayhem’s caught off-guard!

Equinox bounces off the ropes and bashes into Mayhem’s face with a knee. With Mayhem’s head bouncing off the mat, Equinox covers, and David Fellows’ hand barely hits the mat when Mayhem throws Equinox off of him.

Yale: Aaaaaand there goes that.

Equinox scurries away out of the ring, as Mayhem rises. Equinox screams Mayhem’s way and backs towards the guard railing. He bumps into something behind him, and looks upward. Looking down at him is Shaman.

Bryan: I’m sure that’s not what Equinox had in mind there.

Equinox slowly turns around, and shock runs across his face. He chuckles nervously and backs towards the ring apron. Facing down the rock, it’s not long before the hard place grabs Equinox by the back of his neck and pulls him forcibly into the ring. Mayhem lifts him up, as Shaman rolls inside the ring.

Yale: Well, Equinox, we hardly knew you.

Shaman bounces off the ropes, and comes rushing in with a big boot, but at the last moment, Equinox wriggles free and scatters out of the ring, and Mayhem takes the full brunt to his chest.

Bryan: And Shaman hits Mayhem instead! Though I don’t think he minds all that much.

The impact is enough to send Mayhem to one knee. Mayhem shoots Shaman a look, but Shaman wastes no time and lays into him with a hard fist, sending him crashing down to the mat.

Bryan: One former tag team champion knocking down the other.

Yale: Shaman’s probably one of the only ones that can take Mayhem down without using a lead pipe or a Sherman tank.

Bryan: Look at these former brothers at arms, at each other’s throats!

Yale: Yeesh! Will you lay off on that already? They were friends, partners, champs, lovers, whatever, who cares! We get it already!

Bryan: ...I never said lovers...

Shaman takes his time as he walks over to the prone Mayhem. Stretching out his arms, Shaman drops onto Mayhem’s chest with a falling headbutt. He hooks Mayhem’s leg.

ONE...!

TWO...!

Mayhem kicks out, tossing Shaman off of him. Shaman and Mayhem both rise, and again go back to trading punches.

Yale: Man, these guys will just not let it go!

Bryan: Lotta history there--

Yale: Yeah, yeah, yeah.

Mayhem gets the upper hand again, and sends Shaman over the top rope with a lariat. This time, however, Shaman does not land on his feet, crashing to the floor below. As Mayhem takes a quick second to check on Shaman, he turns around, only to have Equinox spear into Mayhem, attempting to take him down to the mat.

Instead, he’s a child, hugging his dad’s midsection in a futile attempt to knock him over.

Bryan: This doesn’t look good for Equinox…

Mayhem sort of chuckles, as he lifts up Equinox into a powerbomb position. Equinox does everything he can to get free, but it’s simply not happening.

Bryan: Oblivion Bomb!

Yale: Good night, Equinox!

Equinox bounces off the mat, as Mayhem pounces for the cover.

ONE...!

TWO...!

Shaman kicks Mayhem in the back, breaking up the pin.

Bryan: Shaman makes the save!

As Shaman leans in to grab Mayhem by the dreadlocks, Mayhem thumbs him in the throat, out of the view of Fellows who’s checking on Equinox.

Bryan: That’s just despicable!

Yale: He IS the Hardcore champion, y’know.

Shaman drops, rolling around on the mat, struggling to breathe, and rolls out of the ring. Mayhem pushes Fellows out of his way and picks Equinox up off the mat. Equinox still on dream street, thinks quick and gouges Mayhem’s eye.

Bryan: So much for Equinox staying on the straight and narrow, as he delves deep into his bag of tricks.

Yale: So much for Equinox not getting eaten alive by that damned grizzly bear. To hell with the rules!

With Mayhem clutching his eye, Equinox gets his second win, and lays into Mayhem’s sides with snapping kicks. As Mayhem clutches his sides, Equinox backs up a bit, sizing Mayhem up.

Bryan: Lori has the Lunatic on the ropes...

Equinox bounces off the ropes towards Mayhem, but doesn’t see Shaman out of the corner of his blind eye, and gets a kick to the face for his troubles.

Bryan: Shaman wisely takes advantage of Equinox’s handicap!

Yale: Good form!

As Mayhem comes at Shaman, hands clasped above his head, Shaman kicks Mayhem square between the legs. Fellows rushes up, threatening DQ.

Bryan: Shaman with a blatant disregard for the rules!

Yale: Sometimes you gotta do what it takes, even if it means Mayhem will never again sire children. Shaman’s starting to put it together. Good for him!

As Fellows makes sure that Mayhem is okay, Shaman lifts Equinox into a fireman’s carry.

Bryan: He’s going for a Death Valley Driver!

Yale: Equinox is done for!

Bryan: That’s usually the---TIM SHIPLEY!!!

Jumping the rail and rushing into the ring, Tim Shipley gets a running start and bashes Shaman in the back of the head with the Just Wrestling Championship belt!

Bryan: Tim Shipley just struck Shaman in the back of the head with the Just Championship belt!

Yale: I’m sure Garbage Bag Johnny just tensed up backstage.

Bryan: The man wanted his revenge, he just got his revenge!

Shipley bails out of the ring, pointing at the Just title and screaming in Shaman’s direction, "I got you! I got you!" Equinox wearily looks around, and sees Shipley exit the ring and Shaman laid out. Equinox wearily gets to his feet, trying to figure out what’s going on. Equinox, decides not to waste any time, and leaps on Shaman for the cover.

ONE…!

TWO…!

Tim Shipley, on his march to the back, takes a moment to soak in his victory and peers up at the big shiny screen. It’s not long, however, as his happiness is shot in the back of the head, execution style, upon the spotting of Shaman’s raised shoulder.

Bryan: Shaman kicked out! Tim Shipley couldn’t finish the job!

Yale: Are you kidding me?!?

Equinox shares in Shipley’s befuddlement and frustration, as Equinox leaps up and begins laying the boots to Shaman. After a number of stomps, Equinox turns around to let out a scream to the crowd.

Only Bryan Mayhem is waiting, and puts a dent in Equinox’s skull with a haymaker that the nosebleeds could hear.

Bryan: Good lord! What a punch!

Equinox drops to the ground, and, if he is thinking, makes a mental note to visit an oral surgeon. Mayhem, fired up, lifts up Shaman, only to have Shaman return the favor with a thumb to Mayhem’s larynx. Mayhem goes wide-eyed, gasping for air.

Bryan: And Shaman returns the favor!

Yale: Is Fellows even watching this match? I’ve counted so many infractions, you’d think the guy was Tim Donaghy!

Bryan: Very topical, Dave.

With Mayhem reeling, Shaman lifts him into a fireman’s carry. Tossing him over, he crushes Mayhem with a Death Valley Driver.

Bryan: What strength by Shaman!

Shaman quickly covers, as Fellows counts.

ONE…!

TWO…!

THREE!!!!

Shaman rises off of his fallen comrade, and has his hand raised by David Fellows.

Andrews: Advancing to the next round of the Rampage tournament, your winner…..SHAAAAAAA-MAAAAAAAAAN!!!!!!!!

Shaman sports a slight smile on his face. He leans over the ropes, spotting a very distraught Tim Shipley, and gives chase. Shipley hightails it out of there.

Bryan: Shaman picks up what is no doubt an upset victory!

Yale: From 16 seed and an outing by Shipley in the first round to a second chance and an advancement. Too bad it’s against Tempest.

Bryan: The hometown girl has an advantage in location and fatigue, as Shaman took some pretty brutal hits in this one.

Yale: I was hoping Mayhem might come through, get some champion-on-champion action, but them’s the breaks, I guess.

Bryan: Equinox also put up a valiant effort, but it is Shaman who prevails, and goes on to face the TV champ Tempest in the next round later on tonight.

Mayhem and Equinox slowly make their exits from the ring.

Back to Top

The camera finds Tempest face to face with a ficus, studying its leafy branches curiously as she sits, none too patiently in an office that could only be Commissioner Garbage bag Johnny’s. She’s dressed in an outfit that offers homage to her hometown, red silk, with gold brocaded bamboo and edging and a high, closed collar. Her hair pinned up with straight Chinese painted hair pins and her makeup recalls Chinese theater makeup, with dark outlines around her eyes and red shadow and lipstick.

She sighs, apparently bored and hops up, pacing around the desk. She eyes the computer sitting on the desk in much the same way an alcoholic might eye a tall bottle of bourbon. She fidgets and turns away from it.

Tempest: Get your butt in here Johnny. I don’t have this kind of willpower.

Garbage Bag Johnny takes his time waltzing back into his office after a trip to the catering table. He's licking his fingers as he approaches through the door, but his expression becomes puzzled upon seeing Tempest dressed up in his locker room.

GBJ: Hi, Tempest...uh, happy Halloween?

Tempest folds her arms and scowls lightly.

Tempest: I suppose expecting cultural and fashion sense for this particular venue, from you, is probably asking too much, isn’t it?

GBJ: Hey, I don't sneak into your office dressed up like AXEL Action in women's clothing and make fun of the things you don't know--at least I've never been caught. But since you're here, I wanted to talk to you about what happened last week.

Tempest appears to mull this over a moment and then nods, retaking her seat.

Tempest: true enough. Although I’d understand your leadership style better if you did do something like that. As for last week… well, yeah.

Tempest twirls a stray lock of hair around her finger.

GBJ: Look, I'm not saying it's your fault that the match between "Normal" John and SurReal got out of control, but I don't think it was really absolutely necessary that you were out there guest commentating.

Tempest pouts very slightly.

Tempest: Well… I was just trying to help. I mean I thought it might be fun and come on, someone had to keep an eye on Christian Zenith. I was hoping just being there would keep him honest. You know, that I’d be a deterrent.

GBJ: It had to have crossed your mind that you being out there might just make things worse. I know you're not all glitter and ferrets, but then again, I'm not all rules and regulations, so you don't have to play coy with me. I don't want Zenith here in GCW any more than you do, you know.

Tempest blinks.

Tempest: You’re giving me way too much credit for having planning skills.

She chuckles softly.

Tempest: But I see your point. Look, I took care of Zenith. That should have evened things out. The fact that Johnson couldn’t get it in the ring and SurReal got too distracted to… I dunno, pursue the dream he’s supposed to be, just isn’t my problem.

GBJ: I just don't want that problem to repeat itself tonight. You've got a tall order en route to the Rampage Pay Per View in Shaman, and I'd hate to see you get your chance dashed because SurReal is out for revenge.

Tempest: Yeah literally. Can you make it a ladder match so I can at least look him in the eye?

Tempest grins, her eyes alight with their customary mischief.

GBJ: Sham-wow just had to topple the Hardcore Champion and Lori Equinox, so I'm going to cut him some slack on that one. You're just going to have to look up.

Garbage Bag Johnny breaks up the dialog with some action. The kind of action you do when you just said something long and are about to continue with something longer.

GBJ: But you won't have to look over your shoulder. If SurReal or Zenith interferes in the match tonight, I'll see to it that the Tribal War Machine doesn't ever get a shot at your Television Title. After that, though, you're on your own. Irish will be none too pleased that he's out of the Rampage tournament, and I can't keep an eye on you outside that ring.

Tempest: That’s awesome! Hey, thanks for that. I was about to send the ferrets to find them and put peanut butter in their shorts or something. Your way is less messy.

She nods quite seriously at GBJ’s "you gotta be shittn’ me" expression.

Tempest: Nah, I can take care of myself. You just watch. I can step up to Shaman. Bigger they are the harder they fall and all that.

GBJ: Glad to hear it, but I'm hoping you can do something for me in return.

Tempest: Sure! Does it involve hacking, dancing ferrets, pelting someone with egg rolls, or bubble bath?

GBJ: Bubble bath, huh?

Garbage Bag Johnny shakes himself back to reality.

GBJ: No, uh, none of those things, I'm afraid. I just want you to try and keep yourself out of trouble, alright?

Tempest exhales slowly.

Tempest: You do realize how difficult that usually is for me, right? I mean, Shaman and stay out of trouble in one night. That’s a tall order.

GBJ: Well, do what you gotta do. I'm not too familiar with the laws out here--this one time, I received 30 lashings for violating a no-dancing ordinance, and I just don't think I have it in me to initiate a battle to abolish the outmoded ban and revitalize the spirit of the repressed townspeople.

Tempest laughs.

Tempest: I don’t think you’ll have anything to worry about here. I’ll do my very best. And thanks again for taking the riff raff out of the equation.

GBJ: I just want a good clean fight. Can't have any open spots in the Rampage tournament after tonight.

Tempest: Not to worry. After tonight you’ll have a smooth sailing set of semi-finalists. Including me!

Tempest giggles as she bounds out the door with a wave as GBJ shakes his head a little at the boisterous superstar.

Bryan: You heard it here first folks! SurReal and Christian Zenith are banned from ringside by order of Garbage Bag Johnny.

Yale: It’s an injustice I tell you! Tempest fouls up the works last week, knocks out two competitors from Rampage with her scheming and now SurReal has to suffer for it? It’s a conspiracy I tell you.

Bryan: You believe in Area 51 too, don’t you? Anyway folks, looks like the odds will be even, at least as even as you can call it, for Tempest vs. Shaman later this evening.

Back to Top

Yale: So, Bryan, how about that Rampage tournament?

Byan: What about it?

Yale: Kind of a big deal, isn't it?

Bryan: Well, yeah.

Yale: Good, 'cause it looks like we have another Rampage-related contest coming up.

Bryan: We do. This time, it's top-seeded Tim Shipley taking on The Magnificent Messiah. A quick glance at this pair suggests that the Messiah is somewhat of an underdog, but after that victory over AXEL Action I wouldn't be so confident.

Yale: Maybe. But Shipley hasn't slipped one bit.

Bryan: I won't give him much, but I'll give him that. Despite pissing off almost everyone in the company, including resident fan-favourite Andy Murray, Shipley has managed to string together an impressive set of victories. We'll see how he manages tonight.

The house lighting fades, and white spotlights bear down on the stage as a cacophony of crashing and bleeping is heard. "Please welcome: Tim Shipley. Does not compute. Does not compute...", moans a robotic voice, and momentarily the ugly strummings of Ash's "Astral Conversations With Toulouse Lautrec" blast into the fans' ears.

Andrews: Making his way to the ring, being accompanied by Cheap Labor... from Milton Keynes, England, weighing in at 225 pounds... TIM! SHIPPPPLEEYYYYYYY!!!

Bryan: Well, there he comes. Like him or hate him, he's the #1 seed in the Rampage tournament and he's making his presence known in GCW.

Yale: You make that sound so ... bad. Lighten up, Bryan.

Shipley comes through the curtain, his tights gleaming in the oppressive lighting. His smirk contrasts sharply with the downcast face of the downtrodden Cheap Labor at his side.

Bryan: I can't see very well from here, but it looks like Shipley is still wearing those ridiculous pants that allude to his wrestling business. Y'know, the one that is in tatters.

Yale: Did you take that right off the website? I sense bitterness.

Shipley and Labor enter the ring to a chorus of boos and insulting chants, of which the Englishman takes precisely zero notice. Labor departs bad-temperedly to stalk the ringside area, while Shipley flexes his upper-body muscles awaiting his opponent's arrival.

Bryan: Despite his talent, you have to be in awe at his arrogance and condescension.

Yale: He's English, Bryan! What do you expect?

Bryan: Maybe a little more class. This is a world-class organization!

Yale: Class is a dime a dozen, Bryan, and it definitely doesn't win any ratings.

The lights go down. Anticipation builds as the arena remains dark for a short time with nothing happening. Finally, the tribal drum rhythm of Tool's "Ticks and Leeches" begins to pump through the PA system, rousing the crowd into a chorus of impassioned boo's. The stage lights begin to flash red and black, swishing and swiping the audience. Slow at first, but as the guitar crescendo builds, the lights grow more and more intense, building to a peak as the riff comes in.

The lights come up, bright white as the scream comes in. The Magnificent Messiah pushes through the curtain, his head is tilted back, eyes closed and arms outstretched as though he is bathing in great adulation from the fans. Walking slowly like this, he begins down the ramp.

Andrews: Coming to the ring... from Las VEEEEEEEEEEEEEGAS, NE-vada...

About a third way down the ramp and without stopping, he lowers his arms, tilts his head forward and opens his eyes. He ignores the fans as they shout profanities at him and shove their hands in his face trying to get him off his game.

Andrews: ...weighin' TWOOOOOOOO hundred an' FORTY! SIX! POUNDS! and standing SIX! feet and one inch...

He picks up speed just before he reaches the ring, rolling in and jumping to his feet with his arms out and head back again. He turns in slow circles as something above the ring explodes, showing him in gold sparks.

Andrews: ...he is THE MAAAAGNIFICENT MEEEEESSSIIIIAAAHHHH!!

The pyro ceases, and the Messiah lowers his pose and moves to his corner, warming up for his match. Shipley eyes him up, completely unimpressed with the Messiah's indifference to the fans.

Yale: Y'know, Bryan, the Messiah is a former JUST Wrestling employee.

Bryan: Indeed. Look who has done his research ... for once.

Yale: I have a store of knowledge. Er, wait ... I AM a store of knowledge.

Bryan: ... whatever. Let's get on with it. Hal Jenkins will oversee this contest.

Jenkins calls for the bell and the Messiah immediately charges ahead to enter a grapple with Shipley. The two jostle for position, but with no significant size difference neither can gain an advantage. Shipley, sensing this, pushes off of the Messiah and lands a strong push-kick to his opponent. The Messiah stumbles backward and manages to stabilize himself, but Shipley rushes forward and catches the Messiah with a forearm strike.

Bryan: Shipley starting off the match very focused, Yale.

Yale: You can tell that he wants to prove that he deserves that number one seed.

Bryan: He'll have a hard time convincing me in his actions outside of the ring as a representative of GCW, but his consistency in the ring is impressive.

Before the Messiah can even hit the mat Shipley drops on top of him with an elbow to the sternum. Getting back to his knees, Shipley drives some hard knees to the side of the Messiah's torso. "The Cavalier" grabs a fistful of his opponent's long hair and stands him up. The Messiah, doubled over and clutched by Shipley, is the recipient of more vicious knees to his ribcage.

Bryan: Shipley seems to be attacking the Messiah's mid-section early on in this contest. We'll see if it pays off.

Shipley half-heartedly walks his unstable opponent to the nearest ring ropes and whips him with authority across the ring. The Messiah comes back, a little more in control, and Shipley does a little duck, intending to send the Magnificent One into the air and onto the mat. The Messiah does a clean flip over his opponent's back and grabs a hold of Shipley's legs, intending on pulling him down for a quick pin. Shipley seems to be losing his balance but the Messiah can't quite get him down. Shipley, aware of his advantage while standing overtop of his opponent, drops down, intending to sandwich the Messiah's face with his pelvis. The Messiah quickly sits up and Shipley hits the mat.

Yale: Nice dodge by the Messiah!

Byan: Let's see if he can gain some momentum here ....

The Magnificent One springs to his feet and off the ropes, coming back at a seated Shipley and driving a knee into the back of the Cavalier's head. Clearly affected, Shipley rolls on his front and clutches the back of his kneck.

Bryan: The Messiah has deadly knees, Yale. If I recall correctly, he may even be trained in Muay Thai.

Yale: I thought it was pronounced MYEE?

Bryan: No, Yale, it's pronounced. Mohhy.

Yale: Mayy?

Bryan: ....

Yale: Whatever it is, it appears to have worked.

Shipley is still lying on his front as the Messiah jumps to his feet. The Messiah, now with the momentum, lunges toward the ropes and springs off, landing a cool springboard leg drop to the back of his opponent's head. Immediately switching styles, the Messiah grabs onto Shipley's leg for a single-leg boston crab.

Bryan: And now the Messiah is showing a little technical prowess ... let's see what he's got.

Shipley, sensing danger, musters up enough energy to scramble and grab the ropes.

Yale: Nothing, apparently!

Bryan: It's difficult to outsmart someone like Tim Shipley on the mat. In both applying and escaping submissions, Shipley has only a few equals. It might get him far in this tournament.

Hal Jenkins calls for the Messiah to release but the Magnificent One, frustrated with his failed submission, holds on a little longer than he should. Hal Jenkins ain't having any of that. He forces the Messiah off of Shipley and the two get into an altercation. Shipley uses the ropes to help himself get to his feet. With a slight limp he gets behind the distracted Jenkins and locks his arms around his waist. The Messiah, panicking, tries to snake his way out but Shipley has a firm grasp.

Bryan: Looks like Shipley wants to send the Messiah for a ride!

The Messiah won't budge. He drives an elbow into Shipley's gut and tries to force him off. Shipley keeps his grasp and after giving up on the attempted Suplex he pushes The Messiah forward while keeping his hold. The Messiah is alert, though, and grabs ahold of the ropes before Shipley can pull him back off for a bridge pin. Because of the momentum, Shipley ends up on the mat but manages to do a quick roll and get to his feet. The Messiah charges at him and tries a risky cross-body. Shipley doesn't quite get out of the way and gets caught with the Messiah's boot.

Yale: Neither wrestler seems to have the advantage here, Bryan.

Bryan: Shipley appears to have underestimated his opponent in this one – not his best performance ... a bit lazy if you ask me.

Yale: I'd like to see you get in there.

Bryan: He gets paid to wrestle; I get paid to commentate.

Yale: ... And you're not very good at that either.

Bryan: You--

Yale: Hey! Look! A plastic bag!
'
There is no plastic bag. However, "The Cavalier" Tim Shipley and the Messiah are showing signs of movement. Both wrestlers are on their feet but the Magnificent One opts to attack, lunging at Shipley knee-first. Shipley is on the ball though and stops the attack by grabbing a hold of the Messiah's leg. With enviable grace, Shipley gets himself into place and, almost out of nowhere, executes the Chaos Theory!

Yale: Wow!

Bryan: There it is! Where in the hell did that come from?

Shipley successfully holds the cradle and Hal Jenkins goes down for the count.

... 1!

... 2!

...3!

Bryan: And Shipley has done it again ...

Yale: Not bad, eh Bryan?

Bryan: Well, he hasn't faced any tournament favourites yet but he seems to be rolling along at a fine pace and proving to be a worthy #1 seed.

Yale: The Messiah had a notable performance tonight, Bryan ... but Shipley is on his way up.

Bryan: Tough sell for the Messiah. He's been good, but tonight he's run into someone who's even better.

Back to Top

(The famous guitar riff and lyrics of "Rock You Like A Hurricane" by The Scorpions fills the air as the lights dim inside the arena. The video screen fills up with two red half circles; the recognized symbol for a hurricane. Moments later Aaron Fujita pushes through the curtain. He throws his arms into the air and spins in a circle before proceeding towards the ring.)

Andrews: Making his way to the ring, from Plainfield, Illinois, weighing in at 225 pounds. . . "The Atmospheric Phenomena" Aaron Fujita!

( On his way down he attempts to slap hands with the fans, but comes up empty as everybody backs away from the barriers. Fujita slides in under the bottom rope and hops onto the nearest turnbuckle as his music fades and the lights come back up.)

(Fujita hops down from his perch on the turnbuckle and begins hitting the ropes.)

Andrews: And his opponent, currently in the ring, from Council Bluffs, Iowa, weighing in at 260 pounds... Mike Sawyer!

Bryan: So here we go folks. Aaron Fujita against Mike Sawyer. Should be a good one.

Yale: Youth versus experience here. It'll be interesting.

Cameron Wrigley checks that everything is ready to go and signals to ring the bell...

DING! DING!

Fujita's straight out of the blocks as he runs at Sawyer. He ducks a clotheslines but as he comes back off the ropes he's caught by a stiff elbow. His head bounces hard off the mat as Sawyer turns to try and mount an offence.

Sawyer lays a couple of boots to the midsection of Fujita before grabbing him by the head and lifting him up. He unloads with a number of punches which knock Fujita back a little. Wasting no time, Sawyer pushes Fujita into the corner and delivers a few more punches followed by a knee to the abdomen.

Bryan: Good offence by Sawyer so far. Keeping Fujita on the backfoot.

Yale: Can he sustain it though. He is rather old.

Bryan: Not that old surely?

Yale: He's more than double Fujita's age.

Bryan: Oh... my bad.

Yale: Yea!

Bryan: Anyway, Mike Sawyer here bring Fujita out to the centre of the ring.

Sawyer whips Fujita off the ropes.

Yale: Spinebuster! Now that's impressive.

Bryan: That was some impact.

Sawyer immediately goes for the cover and hooks the leg. Cameron Wrigley makes the count.

1...

2...


KICKOUT!

Bryan: I think Fujita was more stunned than anything there.

Sawyer gets up slowly and yet again lays a number of kicks into Fujita.

Yale: Watch you don't break your hip there Mike!

Sawyer picks Fujita up again who seems to be out on his feet.

Yale: Small package!!!

1...

2...



KICKOUT!!

Bryan: Sawyer nearly caught out there but he's back up again with Fujita here. Both men going toe to toe.

The men tie up for a moment with Sawyer putting Fujita into a headlock. He wrenches away at the neck of Fujita but it's short lived as he's pushed off the ropes. Sawyer looks for the clothesline as he comes back but it's ducked by Fujita.

Bryan: Fujita now bounding off the opposite ropes. Flying clothesline.

Sawyer hits the mat but his momentum brings him back up rather quickly where he is met with a quick clothesline this time. Once again he gets up and ends up facing Fujita again and slams him hard into the mat.

Yale: He won't be bouncing back up this time.

Fujita wastes no time in moving towards the turnbuckle and he begins to ascend it with pace, with his back facing the ring.

Bryan: Fujita going to try for the moonsault?

Fujita launches himself backwards but then flips forward insanely for a 450 splash!

Yale: Sawyer got his knees up!

Bryan: That's gonna leave a mark.

Fujita rolls across the canvas holding his ribs in sheer agony. Sawyer spots his chance to pounce and the veteran covers Fujita as quickly as he can, once again hooking the leg. Cameron Wrigley makes the count...

1...

2...


KICKOUT!

Sawyer rolls off Fujita and gets back to his feet. He lifts him up and gets behind him, grabbing him by the waist. He spins round, dragging Fujita with him and planting him into the mat.

Yale: I believe that's what they call a Uranage Bryan.

Bryan: Who call it that?

Yale: People.

Bryan: Anyway, we've got another cover!

Cameron Wrigley makes the count...

1...

2...


KICKOUT!!

Yale: Plenty of fight left in Fujita yet.

Bryan: And Sawyer may be using up a lot of his energy making these covers.

Fujita remains down, one arm still on his ribs as he tries to get as much air into his system as possible. Meanwhile Sawyer is up and stalking him. Sawyer moves in and drops a leg straight on Fujita's ribs, he stays down and uses his right elbow to clip Fujita on the temple.

Yale: Nice stuff here from Sawyer, he needs to keep on Fujita.

Bryan: If he can continue to work on the ribs of Fujita this match could be his.

Sawyer decides though that he's had enough and signals to the crowd that this match is going to be over. He lifts Fujita up a little and from behind grabs his head.

Yale: Dragon Sleeper!!

Bryan: This could be it!

Yale: Unbelievable!

Out of nowhere, Fujita somehow flips his weight backwards and lands behind Sawyer. He drapes Sawyer's left arm over his shoulder and grabs his right leg with his right hand. Fujita lifts Sawyer up and spins him upside down before dropping to the mat and planting him.

Bryan: QG THEORY!! IS IT OVER?

Yale: It took a lot of Fujita there doing that, he's laid out on the mat. Sawyer on the other hand must be dead.

Fujita begins to stir, face down on the mat he lifts his head to see the fallen Sawyer. He pulls himself closer and closer and finally gets to him. He hooks the leg very lightly. Cameron Wrigley makes the count...

ONE...

TWO...

THREE!!!

DING DING!!

Bryan: It's over! Aaron Fujita picks up the win tonight.

"Rock You Like A Hurricane" by The Scorpions fills the air once more as Fujita gets to his feet slowly, looking down on his fallen adversary. Cameron Wrigley raises his arm in victory before he exits the ring, leaving Mike Sawyer behind.

Yale: Sawyer may need some medical attention here, he was nailed!

Bryan: Indeed he was but a good display here from Aaron Fujita who is looking to stake his claim in GCW!

Back to Top

GBJ is in his office, doing something weird on the moon when Andy Murray rolls up.

GBJ: Andy Murray. Funny seeing you here...here on the moon. I was just doing something weird. What do you want?

Murray: Yo playa, let me huff on some of your oxygen. I'm running low.

GBJ: Sure.

The Scottish King of the Moon floats over towards Garbage Bag Johnny (because there's zero gravity in outer space), who pulls his air pipe from his suit for a moment. Murray slides it into his glass-fronted helmet and takes a few deep breaths.

Murray: That's better. Thanks, brother. Anyway, I was wondering if I could ask you for som--... hey, nice ficus trees.

GBJ: Yeah. They sure are. They're the best ficus trees that mooney can buy.

Garbage Bag Johnny laughs at his own joke, and, oh what the hell, Murray laughs at it, too, because it's funny and shit.

Murray: See, I'm more of a bonsai man. I bought a couple for my locker-room a while ago, but the went missing at 130. You wouldn't know anything about that, would you?

GBJ: No, no I wouldn't. So let's change the subject! What brings you to the moon...and I'm not talking about that rocket ship you've got in your pants. Or is that just a boner?

Murray: I've got a plan, Mr. Johnny. A terribly clever and imaginative plan that I believe you can help me with. See, I'm fed-up of Tim Shipley and his pet goon running around like this is their little Just Wrestling playground. Like that guy in Network said: I'm mad as hell, and I'm not going to take this anymore! Except I'm not all that mad at the moment, but y'know.

Confused by his own meanderings, Murray pauses to scratch his head. Yes, I am aware that that's impossible through a spacesuit.

Murray: Anywho. Those t-shirt launchers - you still got 'em?

GBJ: Are you kidding me? I've got T-Shirt launchers, T-Shirt guns, T-Shirt catapaults, T-Shirt swords, T-Shirt iron maidens, T-Shirt bombs, T-Shirt dirty bombs, biological T-Shirts, you name it.

Garbage Bag Johnny presses a button on the back panel of his desk which causes a fake wooden portion of the desk's surface to slide open, revealing a touchtone control panel. Garbage Bag Johnny types in a code, and one of the office walls rotates 90 degrees, leaving an opening.

GBJ: Join me in my T-shirt weapons reserve.

The Admiral of Outer-space bounds slowly around the desk, following GBJ into his top secret cache. His eyes widen as soon as he enters the room.

Murray: It's. It's. It's beautiful, Johnny.

GBJ: You understand why I can't keep this stuff on earth, what, with people bursting in and out of my office all willy nilly. Horses and Bryan Mayhems and shit, but you...since it's for a good cause...go ahead and take your pick of t-shirt launching devices.

Garbage Bag digs around in the secret armory and pulls out the largest t-shirt launcher anyone's ever seen.

GBJ: And when you're done, just put the device of your fancy in this T-shirt launcher launcher, and I'll launch it back to Hong Kong for you.

Andy Murray selects one of the T-Shirt launchers.

GBJ: Ah, the Bleacher Reacher...classic choice.

Garbage Bag Johnny loads the Bleacher Reacher into the t-shirt launcher launcher and shoots it back to earth.

Murray: Well, time to get back to earth.

Andy Murray turns to leave.

GBJ: Wait--you never answered my question.

The Scottish King of Cool raises an eyebrow.

Murray: What question?

GBJ: I asked if you had a boner.

The two share a knowing nod, and the scene fades out.

Bryan: What the hell was that?

Yale: Probably the worst segment ever. Bobby and Hyde are going to be pissed when they do feedback.

Back to Top

Coming back from a commercial break, the live WorldWide broadcast rolls on. And what better way is there to come back from a series of candy commercials than to have The Prince of The Playroom, Clyde Fox, standing by with the bustier than ever, Sally Ford.

Ford: Welcome backs, folks. I’m backstage in the locker room of Clyde Fox if you can’t tell by the mounds of toys surrounding me.

Sally creeps her eyes around just imagining the mountains of germs crawling all over the mountains of toys that act as a moat around Fox’s locker room. In steps Clyde Fox, toothy grin and all. He notices how Sally looks much different from the last time they spoke. Granted, whenever these two hooked up it was always a lot raunchier in Fox’s mind. Not to mention he’d always get bitch slapped in the end anyways.

Fox: HETO, SALLY JESSE RAFEAL LEONARDO DONETELLO!

Fox stands on the ends of his toes before rocking back and forth, trying to impress the always vibrant Sally Ford.

Ford: Ummm hi, Clyde. It’s certainly nice to see you again after a nice LONG break from you.

Clyde starts nervously chewing on his fingers.

Fox: Tee hee, thanks. I was really hoping you’d notice the changes I’ve made to my locker room but I can’t help but be captivated by your new looks.

Sally tosses her hair back. She knows what she’s doing.

Ford: Is that the only reason why you asked me over here? Sheesh, I should’ve known. Whenever you ask for my presence, it’s never for an interview or anything, you just like to stare at my breasts and ask if we can go into the closet for seven minutes!

Fox slants his head towards the closet, winks and nods towards it a few times.

Fox: Whaddaya say?

Ford: No.

Fox: Spin the bottle?

Ford: No.

Fox: Play doctor?

Ford: No!

Fox: Naughty nurse?

Ford: No!

Fox: Guess who is hiding the banana?

Ford: NO! NO! NO! NO!

Fox: Otay then...

Fox slumps his shoulders as he is all too easily defeated by the stubbornly cute GCW interviewer.

Ford: So then I guess we’re done here seeing that there’s nothing else to say...

Sally takes on step towards the door before Fox violently tosses random toys in her way.

Fox: WAIT! I gots something we can talk about, Sally! The final jeopardy matchy match I’m in! We can talk about Alex Trebek, global warming and what to do when your local oil tanker crashes!

Sally turns back to Clyde one final time.

Ford: Firstly, it’s not final jeopardy. Everything you mentioned comes from a television show... but... I don’t see why I can’t interview you on your match. Okay, Clyde. You have one shot. Impress me.

Instead of doing what he’d normally do and ‘press up’ against her, Clyde tries his best to impress Sally.

Fox: Otay! So at Whampage I am facing off against Jay Tee-error, Tessie Windsor, Chris Lightning Storm and myself. I plan on winning because that seems like fun. I don’t think I’d be much of a challenge to myself because I know all my weaknesses...

Ford: How about you just answer this question, Clyde. Seeing that you won the Gold Star match, who are you going to pick to go against in the first cage?

Clyde scratches his head as if trying to dig down deep into his memory banks. His eyes pop wide open as he comes up with an answer.

Fox: I will be facing... one of my three opponents in the first cage!

Clyde claps as he thinks he’s done a super interviewee job. Sally looks the least bit impressed.

Ford: That’s obvious, Clyde. But which one? Singular, Clyde.

Fox: Hmmmm. I don’t know yet, Sally. I have still yet to consult my magic eight ball. I usually go to it for most of my daily inquiries. Like, do I need to go grocery shopping today? One time it took me five weeks before I was allowed to go.

Instead of getting mad, instead of screaming in his face, and even, instead of slapping that dumbass look off of him, Sally Ford just decides to not feed the fire any longer.

Ford: Oh... really, Clyde? That’s like, super interesting.

Her voice couldn’t be duller.

Fox: Yeah and then I asked it...

The scene slowly pulls away as Fox keeps rambling on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on... maybe Sally won’t be leaving early tonight after all. One can only hope that The Prince of The Playroom won’t be leaving ‘Whampage’ early, without any championship gold either.

Back to Top

Andrews: The following match is scheduled for one fall and is a Rampage tournament contest!

Darkness consumes the arena as a telling song begins to play: "Welcome Home (Sanitarium)" by Metallica. As the opening chords play through, the sickening, twisted, chilling sound of a laugh that can only belong to one man reverberates throughout the arena. Various strobe lights and spotlights throughout the arena shine and blink around the crowd in many shades of red, blue and white. The crowd's anticipation builds as the opening instrumental of the song begins to wind down.

Andrews: Making his way to the ring, from Albuquerque, New Mexico, weighing it at 213 pounds...DAVID SPENCER!

Bryan: Here comes Spencer, one of those guys that may shock this entire tournament if the others aren't careful. He's proven that he's here to dominate the competition and he did just that in his first round match against Phil Atken.

Yale: He did a number to Atken for sure. Although Phil now has a title match, winning this tournament will get Spencer more fame then Atken could ever imagine.

As soon as the lyrics kick in, the spotlights and strobe lights invert in colour, making wherever they shine look strangely inverted as well. At this time, David comes out from the back, a lighter in his hand that he constantly flicks on and off. He stops center stage and crouches down, his arms up on his knees, which are nearly at the height of his head in this position. He surveys the crowd, whoever he sees flinching at the sight of his masked face. After a few moments of simply surveying the crowd, David gets up and starts walking down the entrance ramp, towards the ring, continuing to flick his lighter on and off like clockwork. Every once and a while he suddenly stops in his place and turns to face a particular nearby fan, his blank - almost dead - expression not reassuring in the slightest to whomever he faces.

Bryan: I like his chances too. He's been on a bit of a tear as of late and honestly has the spark someone needs to have for a tournament like this. Especially tonight, I think he has the ability to catch PAZUZU off guard.

Yale: He has the skills, sure. It's the execution. He's a no-nonsense kinda' guy and PAZUZU is all nonsense. It's an odd clash that he'll need to capitalize on.

The song begins to slowly die out as David reaches the ring. He stalks along the ropes, staring down at his feet and not really paying attention to the inside of the ring or showing any intent on entering it. However, he soon has a change of heart, it seems, as he suddenly lifts the top rope and swings under in, snapping to attention once inside. The song dies out completely. The lights come back on. David tosses his lighter to the ref and surveys the crowd one last time.

Andrews: And his opponent...

The gates of hell are violently flung open, which are conveniently connected to the beginning of the entrance ramp. PAZUZU, THE DARKNESS comes out perched high on the sagging back of the magnificent steed, The Wonder Horse! He receives his warmest welcome from the fans yet, some of whom sport his patented skull-mask with viking horns and sunglasses. His his minion imp, Gnark, holds the reigns of The Wonder Horse in one hand and an over-sized picnic basket in the other, and guides the horse precariously down the entrance ramp.

Andrews: Making his way to the ring on the back of The Wonder Horse, from the 7th Later of Hell, weighing in at 305 pounds, he is . . PAZUZU, THE DAAAAAAAARKNESS!

Bryan: Speaking of nonsense, here he comes. A lot of the world has faith that PAZUZU will be the one to win this entire ordeal. His bizarre in-ring tactics and ability to take his opponents off guard is hard to counter.

Yale: That and he's honestly been one of the fastest growing talents in the company. He already held the TV title and he showed us that he could take the fight to anyone in the Rampage preview match on Worldwide 130.

The steed pauses momentarily, shaking its tail as it unloads a steaming dump on the end of the ramp, much to the chagrin of AXEL Action, who'll probably be paid $1.50 in quarters to clean it up. A swirl of black and red smoke encapsulate the center of the arena for no other apparent reason than to further irk the GCW special effects crew who have been working overtime since this freak arrived.

Bryan: No matter how you spin it, PAZUZU is one of those lurking threats. He's big, loud, and usually makes a splash. Kid Cool was his first round competition and he ended up making it through him pretty easily it seemed. Tonight could be more of the same.

Yale: Either way, good match lined up here.

Meanwhile, PAZUZU dismounts his horse. He enters the ring and gates of Hell close for the time being. Meanwhile, Gnark grabs the reigns of The Wonder Horse, dragging it toward the announce table where its ass is pointed squarely in David Yale's face.

DING! DING!

Bryan: The match is off fast with PAZUZU charging Spencer with a spear.

Spencer sidesteps the attack though and PAZUZU hits the ropes. He returns at Spencer with a closeline in mind, but is thrown to the mat with a spinning spinebuster. PAZUZU grabs his spine while Spencer stands and begins to wear away at him on the floor with his boots. He grabs him by the horn and whips him into the near corner. PAZUZU takes a boot to the face and finds himself being choked for a two count. Upon letting go, PAZUZU falls onto the mat and Spencer eyes him up.

Yale: Fast domination by David Spencer. He's a methodical guy and he's taking apart PAZUZU already.

Bryan: PAZUZU came out of the gates hot but it sure didn't last long. You gotta' wonder where his head is this week.

Spencer mounts PAZUZU from behind and locks in a chin lock from the top. PAZUZU, the bigger man, crawls across the ring with Spencer on his back. He reaches the ropes and the hold is broken quickly. Spencer keeps on the attack and brings PAZUZU up against the ropes. He cracks a back-hand slap across his chest, a second even, before grabbing his head for a snapmare. PAZUZU lands on his backside in front of Spencer waiting for a dragon sleeper hold.

Bryan: Another submission by the artist formerly known as Face.

Yale: I can't help but wonder what's going on with PAZUZU. Usually he's a fire cracker in the early goings of his matches and tonight he's falling short.

Bryan: Maybe the tournament is too much for him. I mean, there is so much hype behind the guy that he could be folding under the pressure.

Yale: What a terrible time to fold.

PAZUZU struggles against the sleeper until Spencer voluntarily releases it. The fans are surprised but Spencer continues his attack without thinking of it. He brings PAZUZU up to his feet. David lights up his shins with flashy leg kicks before grabbing him across the chest. In a lifting execution style, he drops PAZUZU onto his back with a vicious STO. He follows with a pinfall.

...1!

...2!

...KICKOUT!

Yale: Near fall!

Bryan: Talk about a quick one. Spencer almost stole a victory there and moved into the next round.

Yale: I'm thinking it's only a matter of time.

Spencer is calm and collected when he brings PAZUZU to his feet. As he looks to lift him for a slam of some sort though, PAZUZU finds his attack with a shoulder to Spencer's gut. He bends over and PAZUZU uses a European uppercut to take the upper hand in the match. Spencer stumbles and the PAZUZ lines up a tough closeline. Spencer falls to the mat and the fans erupt at the change in momentum.

Bryan: He needs to stay on the attack now, but nice work getting this match under control.

Yale: I think I smell a ham sandwich coming in soon.

Bryan: I sure hope not.

Spencer gets back to his feet and makes his way toward PAZUZU. The unorthodox demon reaches out with both arms and grapples with the technician. To everyone's surprise, PAZUZU's size wins out and he takes Spencer into a side headlock. He shoves his knee into the chest of Spencer and turns him about face drawing him in for a powerbomb. Wasting no time, PAZUZU lifts Spencer into the air and onto his shoulder. He drops to his knees forcing Spencer's back to crack awkwardly. He rolls off of the demon and PAZUZU looks for a cover.

...1!

...2!

...KICKOUT!

Yale: A near fall for PAZUZU now and we have ourselves a match.

Bryan: He's coming back and he's feeling feisty, that's for sure. This is the demon we've seen in the past weeks.

PAZUZU stands and brings Spencer with him. He whips him to the ropes and Spencer returns only to be tossed overhead with a back body drop. He lands with a smack and PAZUZU runs at the perpendicular ropes returning with a leg drop. He gets back to his feet with Spencer in hand and tosses him at the corner buckles. Spencer bounces but maintains position. PAZUZU runs at him with a charge but hits buckles as Spencer moves at the last possible second. As Spencer moves onto the offense, he's stunted by the demon and a kick to the midsection. Spencer bends and PAZUZU jumps up placing both of his legs overhead in a legdrop slam.

Yale: Unique move and a clear chance for the win here!

Bryan: You don't see that very often and it came at the perfect time. He's hooking the leg!

...1!

...2!

...KICKOUT!

PAZUZU doesn't waste time stressing it and gets back to his feet. He leaves Spencer and moves toward Gnark who is handing him a ham sandwich from his pant pocket. The fans go wild at the sight of the meat and bread and he continues to play it off by holding it in the air Lion King style.

Bryan: It's that ham sandwich but I don't like this. He's got his back to Spencer and the man's already back to his feet. He's spotting up the demon and that's a bad place to be.

Yale: PAZUZU's gonna' get burnt. Get it?

As the PAZUZ turns around, he finds Spencer charging at him. He tries to throw the sandwich at him to stop him, but Spencer gathers PAZUZU's head and sends it straight into his upward knee. PAZUZU drops hard onto his back. Spencer stands for a second to feel the momentum switch. Ready, he lifts PAZUZU and headbutts him for good measure. The demon shakes out the cobwebs while Spencer jumps and spins, landing a high impact DDT.

Yale: Great DDT. I think PAZUZU's lost his momentum completely now, especially after that headbutt.

Bryan: Spencer's chosen to work the head with that combo and I have a feeling he may try and work the breath out of his very soon.

Spencer lifts PAZUZU again and this time he places him in the corner. He chops him again before turning a reverse elbow into his face. PAZUZU takes the blow in while Spencer climbs the rope beside him. He jumps off the second rope and lands a head kick that stumbles the demon. PAZUZU is ready to fall but as he goes, Spencer grabs him by the arm and whips him over with an armdrag. Before letting go, he wraps his legs around PAZUZU's head, holding tightly to the legs. The triangle is locked tight and it's set in the center of the ring.

Yale: Talk about the worst possible place to be!

Bryan: It was what he meant to do though. Spencer used that armdrag to place him in the center of the ring and now PAZUZU is into the flames. Not much he's going to be able to do here unless he has some kinda' lubricant in that nearby ham sandwich.

Yale: I sure hope not. That'd be awkward.

PAZUZU is locked so tight that the fans can see him losing consciousness. His limbs seem to have gone limp under the pressure but he refuses to tap out.

Bryan: Tap the mat, PAZUZU! Get out before you're out cold.

Yale: I think he's refusing to go out that way. He's done so well lately that he doesn't want to lose like that. Instead, he's going to fight against it as best as he can.

Bryan: Stupid idea by PAZUZU but if it means honor, then so it goes.

The referee moves in and lifts PAZUZU's arm off the mat. It falls back down. He does it again and the same result happens. When he does it a third time, the fans wait for him to come to life.

Bryan: It's all over!

PAZUZU's arm hits the mat a third time and the referee signals for the bell.

Yale: What a bad spot to be stuck in for PAZUZU but what a great lock to sink in by Spencer. He's just made the upset of the tournament with that one.

Bryan: He sure has. I'd hate to be the next guy in line to face him. That choke was just plain terrible looking.

Andrews: And your winner, moving on in the rampage tournament, DAVID SPENCER!

Yale: PAZUZU loses but that's the nature of the beast. He's made a name for himself and will continue to do so. As for Spencer, he's able to move on and continue to slay the dragons above him.

Bryan: And there are some names above him that will prove to be dragons. He's got his work cut out for him but I think this performance tonight proves that he's a dangerous man.

Back to Top

Sally Ford is monitoring the halls, looking for her scoop, when she spots Chris Storm appearing to be heading for an exit. Motioning for her camera man to follow, she hurries over to him.

Ford: Chris, Chris! Do you have a minute?

The Rock Superstar stops in his tracks and lowers his sunglasses (cause all the cool kids wear sunglasses indoors, true fact.)

Storm: Yeah fine, not like I have anything else to do.

Sally gets into the interviewer position, lifting the microphone she always carries right into Storm’s face.

Ford: It looks like you were getting ready to leave the show early again.

Storm: It would certainly look that way, given that I am walking through a door with an exit sign above it.

She ignores his sarcastic comment and pushes forward with a smile.

Ford: So does that mean you are knowingly leaving another show early despite the fact that you could be fined or suspended?

Storm: Hey you heard what our Commissioner said, I could follow my own agenda. And given the fact that I don’t have a match tonight, my agenda calls for an early end to the night.

Ford: So you’re not worried about being suspended for Rampage?

Storm: If he wants to give me a show off to rest for the World title match I’m fine. It’s not like he’s going to suspend me for that as well. He may have his little plans for everyone, but he’s going to find out I never fit into schemes.

Ford: Does this mean you will be holding back during the Double Jeopardy match?

Chris stops for a moment, surprised by what she asks.

Storm: What? No, absolutely not. I’m going to win the World title. I’m sure Garbage Bag would love that. He probably has big plans for the belt. I want to make sure I flush every single one of them down the drain. He wants me to go all out for the World title, I’m going to go all out for the title. But damn if he isn’t going to regret it the next day.

Ford: That means you may have to face off against Tessa.

Storm: We’re both professionals. I would rather it not come to that, but as I told Garbage Bag before, we’ve tangled many times before. I don’t care if I have to go through Clyde Fox, Jay Terror, or Tessa Windsor. I’m getting that belt around my waist.

With that said, Chris turns away from Ford and exits out the building. A stunned Sally Ford watches as he leaves, only to face the camera as it draws back to the announce table.

Bryan: It looks like our Commissioner is going to see Chris Storm go all out for the World title.

Yale: But by the sounds of it, he may not like it. He’s trying to push all of his buttons tonight.

Bryan: Another early exit, and I have a feeling Storm’s wallet will be even lighter before this trip is over.

Back to Top

Backstage and the unmistakeable Chris Bagwell is roaming the hallways. The reactions from the fans is definitely mixed: though some have warmed to his new demeanour, there are still those who have not quite forgiven him for his sins.

Yale: Feel that, JB?

Bryan: What?

Yale: Just the Nielsen Ratings soaring...

He strolls through the locker-room area with the swagger of a chihuahua with a ten inch cock. He rounds a corner but soon stops dead in his tracks. A nauseating stench wafts through the corridor, stinging Bagwell's nostrils.

Bagwell: What the hell--

"PSSSST!"

Bagwell looks around for the source of the noise.

Murray: Bubbles! Over here!

Andy Murray's head appears from a doorway. He extends his hand, beckoning Bagwell forward.

Bagwell: Jesus Andy, what the hell are you doing in there?! Smells like AXEL Action's jockstrap.

Murray: Your mother's here! She came all the way from New Jersey just to see you...

The Rajah of Ratings stops.

Bagwell: Y'know, disrespecting my mother probably isn't the best way to convince me to do something, Andy.

Murray: Yeah, fair play.

Chris finally steps closer to Andy's locker-room door. The stench from within is almost overpowering, and Chris has to hold his nose to avoid throwing up. Fortunately for him, though, Murray pulls out a gas mask from behind his back and hands it over.

Murray: Here, you'll need this.

Bagwell doesn't need to be told twice. He quickly slides the mask over his face and breathes a sigh of relief.

Bagwell: Much better.

Murray: Indeed. Your puny American immune system won't be able to cope with the fumes. Come on in, Bubbles. I need your help...

Bagwell: What are you doing in there?!

Murray: You'll see.

The Scottish King of Cool disappears back inside his locker-room. A curious Chris Bagwell peers inside but soon follows Andy inside. The door slams closed in the cameraman's face.

Bryan: What the hell is going on?!

Yale: Murray's got something up his sleeve, JB. I can smell it.

Back to Top

In the backstage area, Triumph Frost sits in a chair leaning against a wall, his wrestling pants and a form-fitting black Nike faux basketball jersey. He shuffles through his Zune, with the headphones in, his eyes shut.

Bryan: Tonight, Triumph Frost looks to advance to the next round of the Rampage tournament, but first he has to make his way past his old nemesis, the only man so far to defeat Triumph Frost, the illusory Rasa. What waits in store for--

Yale: Hold up. Is that…?!?

Vivica J. Valentine saunters past, the United States title around her waist gleaming in the light, as Triumph opens his eyes.

Triumph Frost: Hey you, with the tits.

Valentine stops cold, and slowly turns towards Triumph.

Triumph Frost: Do something useful. Get me a water, will ya?

Triumph closes his eyes again and bobs his head to the music, as you could fry an egg off of Valentine’s head. She stalks right up to him, and rips the headphones out of his ears and throws them to the ground.

Vivica J. Valentine: Sure thing, right after you go fuck yourself...rookie.

Triumph pauses and eyes her over. A devious smirk crosses his face.

Triumph Frost: I know you. You lost to that mime fucker, the one from the sticks or wherever.

Triumph sighs incredulously.

Triumph Frost: You lot and your makeup and shit. I swear.

Vivica J. Valentine: You know, usually I'd take this time to introduce myself, sunshine...but that just seems like a waste of time at this point. All you need to know is that I'm the GCW United States Champion, and since no one else around here is skilled enough to win the World Heavyweight Championship...that means I'm the best. Since I don't know who in the hell you are, nor do I care... maybe it's best you keep that in mind in the future, alright?

Triumph rolls his eyes and snickers.

Triumph Frost: Right.

He clicks his tongue as he rises from the chair, placing the mp3 player on the chair behind him. He easily towers over Valentine, but so many have before as well.

Triumph Frost: So, Hot Topic.

She freezes in her tracks. He taps her in the shoulder twice, softly. Valentine closes her eyes and attempts to count to ten, balling her hands into fists. If you can read lips, you can tell she goes from counting to repeating "don't kill the rook."

Triumph Frost: How’d a sprite like yourself get such a fancy designation like that? Lemme guess, you’re the Glory Hole champ, too?

Vivica J. Valentine: Oh, you keep talking and I'll be more than happy to show you how I got this title. I'd tell you to ask Dan Black...if you could find him.

The tension cuts through the room, both of them with uneasy smiles, both of them in each other’s face.

Triumph Frost: I bet I could show you a thing or two. Give you a nice, long, good skull-fuckin’ to remember me by.

Vivica J. Valentine: Oh, for some reason I have a feeling that wouldn't hurt very much.

She holds up her thumb and index finger, mere centimeters apart.

Vivica J. Valentine: You'd have to find it first.

Triumph Frost: Got all the time in the world. I can whip it out, see how long it takes ‘til a whore like you’s on her knees. Three seconds? Four?

Vivica J. Valentine: Show me what you’ve got, and I’ll rip it off and shove it right up your ass. I fucking dare you.

Triumph Frost: Way I heard, it’s you who’s into that mess of fun. You get a shiny belt for gettin’ tag-teamed by the boys, also?

Suddenly, texting obliviously as usual, Alexis Frost walks up and spots the two in the midst of their verbal volley. Her jaw drops, as she rushes forward, but neither pays any attention to her.

Alexis Frost: Oh…my…God! You’re totally United States Champion Vivica J. Valentine! You are sooooooo awesome! Can I take a picture with you for my Fac--

Frost and Valentine, together: Shut the fuck up!

Alexis, offended, throws up her arms and walks over to the chair. She knocks the mp3 player to the floor, and sits down and goes back to texting. Though it’s not long her attention turns to the show in front of her.

Triumph Frost: I don’t know whose cock you had to suck to make it big around here, and I really don’t give a shit.

Vivica J. Valentine: This is kind of cute, actually. I haven't heard this kind of ignorant, sexist banter in a year or two. Ah, it reminds me of the good old days. Isn't this the part where you tell me that my place is in the kitchen making you a sandwich? That's always my favorite part.

Triumph presses in further, but neither even flinches.

Triumph Frost: Maybe I make you wish daddy didn’t come in that hooker you call "mom". Then maybe I enjoy a steak, and turn you into my own personal finger-puppet. And then I go and get fitted for that little toy of yours.

He taps the belt around her waist. She takes a moment to take it all in before she guffaws, inappropriately, unbelievably, and loudly.

Vivica J. Valentine: Oh trust me, I'd be the first person to agree with you that my mom is quite the hooker, but that isn't why you stopped me, is it? It isn't vagina envy. It's...belt envy, isn't it? Wow, you've managed to hit both cliches in under five minutes. I'm impressed.

She caresses the bridge of her nose, and groans, looking him right in the eyes.

Vivica J. Valentine: So you think that some no-name, pompous, super macho, and obviously very...VERY insecure walking professional wrestling stereotype like yourself deserves a shot at the champ? Maybe you should learn how to come up with some original dialogue...

Triumph Frost: No.

He tilts his head to the side, shocking The Bulletproof Blonde as she's in mid-sentence.

Triumph Frost: I think you don’t deserve to have it.

She shakes her head from side to side rapidly, and taps him hard in the chest.

Vivica J. Valentine: That's the problem with all you newbies. You all go around here, running your mouth like you fucking own the place, wanting something for nothing like you’re entitled to everything GCW's got. But you’re not. You want something?

She points towards the center of the arena.

Vivica J. Valentine: Go out to that ring. Make a fucking statement. Actually impress me and get those fans to recognize your face... then we'll talk about your title shot. Until then, stay the fuck out of my way rookie. I'll end your career before it even starts.

She throws her hair back, turns about-face, and confidently struts off, as Alexis stands up and wraps her arm around Triumph’s waist from behind. He stares, as Valentine leaves, his eyes burning.

Alexis Frost: You’re just gonna let her go?

Triumph blinks twice, and bites his lip. He shrugs.

Triumph Frost: Got more important shit to tend to.

He smirks.

Triumph Frost: She’ll get her go, though. Don’t you worry about that.

Triumph pats Alexis on the head like a small child, and Alexis swats his hand away. He grabs her playfully around the waist and walks away with her.

Bryan: Some stern words of wisdom from our "illustrious" U.S. Champion to a kid that only has one win under his belt.

Yale: Okay, I get it. You’re not a fan of either of them...are you?

Bryan: I never said that. I am an impartial observer, and respect all GCW competitors equally.

Yale: You think he’ll take the words to heart?

Bryan: For his sake, I hope so. Vivica may look petite and innocent, but I don't think appearances could be any further from the truth. She's a monster in that ring and the big difference between Valentine and Frost, is that Valentine has earned everyone's respect. Frost has a long way to go.

Back to Top

Yale: Now it's time to see the second chapter in the Donny Diamond and Bishop Steele saga.

Bryan: You know after last weeks assault of Alexis I heard a rumor of Bishop Steele trying to get out of his GCW contract.

Yale: Not often we will agree Bryan, but when you get involved in a man's personal life you have crossed the line.

The lights in the arena shut off and flames erupt on the stage circling it. "Hollowed" by Submersed begins over the speakers as a red light fills the arena. Out onto the stage steps "The Living Nightmare" Donny Diamond with the flames reflecting off from his black attire and coat. He crosses his arms in the form of an "X" across his chest before raising them into the air.

Andrews: Making his way to the ring, from an Los Angelas, CA, weighing in at 246 pounds... DONNY DIAMOND!

Bryan: Donny Diamond seems to be extremely focused for the match tonight.

Yale: I do believe that is because he knows he will be facing a completely different Bishop Steele here tonight.

As he steps down onto the aisle flames run down each side as fog covers his footing. He stops for a moment to look at the ring before making a small run and sliding in under the bottom rope.

Bryan: In a twisted manner I do believe Donny Diamond is using Bishop Steele as a stepping stone to make his name known in GCW.

Yale: Yeah because a glass tables match against SurReal wasn't enough...

Climbing to his feet he leans against the ropes and begins removing his sunglasses and trench coat. Afterward he walks back into the middle of the ring and makes the "X" formation again as flames erupt from the ring posts. The lights return to normal and the music comes to an end.

Bryan: And now the moment all of the GCW fans have been waiting for, Bishop Steele coming out for some revenge!

The lights get dim and silence fills the arena in anticipation of the next match. ‘Forever’ cues of the PA system and the crowd gets hype and erupts. The lights start flickering orange and red. The chorus starts to play as the video tron shows the nightlife in Atlanta, GA. After the chorus plays the curtains open and Bishop Steele walks out. The crowd starts to chant Perfection as he stands on the stage and soaks in the essence of the cheering and screaming of the fans. He then raises his arms and red and orange pyros go off simultaneously across the stage.

Andrews: Next to enter the arena from, Miami, Florida, weighing in at 255 points... He is "True Perfection", HE IS BISHOP STEELE!!!

Yale: Bishop Steele trying to not show any weakness here.

Bryan: That's because he cannot allow Donny to gain an advantage here.

While making his way down the ramp he touches hands with the fans in the crowd showing love to his fans. He makes his way to the start of the ring.

Yale: I know what Diamond is trying to accomplish, but attacking a man's wife is just going to far.

Bryan: Suicide Dive from Donny Diamond!

Diamond rests on his knees for a moment as he looks over at Bishop Steele who is still down. He gets back to his feet and stomps on the rib area of Steele a few times before lifting him up and holding in in back breaker position. Referee Hal Jenkins orders Diamond to get in the ring so the match can officially start, but Diamond ignores him and slams the back of Steele into the ring post before dropping him down onto the floor.

Bryan: Donny Diamond didn't even give the Steele the respect to step into the ring.

Yale: Respect between these two men was gone a long time ago.

Again Diamond brings Steele up to his feet and then proceeds to push him face first into the ring post. Blood immediately starts dripping from the face of Steele as Diamond grins at the jeers from the crowd, before rolling Steele into the ring. Jenkins goes check on Steele as Diamond climbs onto the apron and then into the ring. Jenkins signals for the bell and it rings as Diamond kicks Steele in the face a couple of times before dropping a knee across the back of his neck. The mat is stained with Steele's blood as Diamond raises him back to his feet only to hit him hard in the face with a high kick knocking him back down to the mat.

Yale: Diamond is really working Steele over in the early goings of this match.

Bryan: He also attacked him before the match even started.

As Steele remains down on the mat with blood dripping from his face Diamond grabs him by the arm to pull him up onto his feet. Diamond then proceeds to lift him up into a fireman's carry, where he then runs towards a corner drops Steele off face first for a snake eyes. Steele holds his face as Diamond runs to the ropes, just as Steele turns around Diamond meets him with a big boot to the face. Diamond watches Steele fall down onto the mat and then grabs Steele's foot and applies an ankle lock, which is quickly followed by Diamond falling to the mat for a leg grapevine with even more pressure.

Bryan: Referee Hal Jenkins is there to make sure Steele doesn't tap out from the hold.

Yale: Steele should just tap and save it for another day.

Steele yells in pain as the crowd starts getting behind him with a chant of "Perfection". Feeding off the energy from the crowd he pulls himself slowly to the ropes where Jenkins forces Diamond to release the hold. Diamond releases the hold and gets to his feet as he watches Steele slowly crawl towards the corner, Diamond goes in, but Jenkins turns him around ordering him to stop. Diamond goes to punch Jenkins, but Steele sneaks in a kick to the groin and Diamond falls to his knees. Steele uses the ropes to get to his feet and then pushes off with a drop kick to the back of Diamond's head knocking him forward onto the mat.

Yale: Bishop Steele must have just remembered what happened to Alexis... Took him a while...

Bryan: At least he's back on track with his game plan now.

Steele leans against the ropes kicking his leg a little to shake off the pain from the ankle lock and then lunges onto the back of Diamond. He starts his new found offense with a flurry of punches to the face of Diamond who is trying his best to cover his face until Jenkins' pulls Steele back. Diamond gets to his feet and Steele catches him from behind in a full nelson and then sends him back down onto the mat with a release dragon suplex. Steele poses in the center of the ring as the crowd showers him with cheers.

Bryan: Diamond landed flat on the back of his neck with that dragon suplex. This is the Bishop Steele everyone knows and loves!

Yale: I don't love Bishop Steele! The only reason I'm cheering for him is because I want to see Alexis back.

Walking over to Diamond, Steele returns the kicks to the face from earlier before lifting Diamond back up to his feet and elbowing him in the ribs. He then proceeds to hoist Diamond up to the top rope and leans him over into a front headlock. Holding him there for a few moments he uses his other arm to wipe blood off his face and slaps it across the back of Diamond before pulling him down onto the mat for a top rope spike DDT. Diamond holds his head in pain as Steele slaps his leg to let the crowd know what's coming next.

Yale: Steele is going to try and end it quick here!

Bryan: Yea...What's that?

"The Serpentine Offering" begins playing over the speakers as Bishop Steele looks over to the entrance area.

Bryan: Is that Shaman coming out here?

Yale: What the hell does he have to do with this?

Shaman slowly makes his way towards the ring as Bishop Steele leans forward on the ropes looking on in confusion. Suddenly Diamond begins climbing to his feet without Steele knowing, as Shaman finally makes his way to the ring. Steele stares him down for a moment before turning around where he sees Diamond waiting, Steele quickly goes for his super kick and Diamond ducks it. Jenkins tries focusing on both the match and on making sure Shaman doesn't interfere. As Steele turns around Diamond lifts him into a fireman's carry, he spins Steele forward into Tombstone position and drops him for the "Sinner's End"! Diamond remains down on his knees as he spreads the arms of Steele out like a cross and pins his wrist down to the mat as Jenkins drops down to make the count.

One...............

Two..............................

Three!!!

Diamond lifts Steele up to his feet and pushes him back against the ropes where he then stretches his arms out and ties them between the top and middle rope. He passes his hand in the blood on Steele's face then wipes it as an "X" across Steele's chest and then points back over to Shaman. "Hollowed" begins to play on the speakers as Diamond stands in the middle of the ring watching Shaman make his way back up the ramp. Jenkins calls for help as he frees Bishop Steele from the ropes.

Andrews: And the winner of the match is "THE LIVING NIGHTMARE" DONNYYYYY DIAMONDDDDDDDD!!!!!

Bryan: Donny Diamond has managed to defeat Bishop Steele after an appearance from Shaman!

Yale: Maybe Steele can get out of his contract now!

Bryan: Who knows? We'll hopefully get some answers, but right now we're out for a commercial break!

Back to Top

The camera pans around backstage in the catering area, over ornately decorated tables of Chinese delicacies. Plates of egg rolls, dumplings, rice, noodles and brightly colored and doubtless spicy meats adorn the tables as well as a large tureen, likely full of delicious and nourishing egg drop soup. Panning further out, the camera finds Tempest pacing, her outfit somewhat resembling the delicate paper castle assembled as a centerpiece. She’s dressed in red silk, with gold brocaded bamboo and edging and a high, closed collar. Her hair is up, for a change, staked with straight Chinese painted hair pins and her makeup recalls Chinese theater makeup, with dark outlines around her eyes and red shadow and lipstick.

James Bryan: Wow, Tempest looking the part tonight. Very nice to see her looking at home.

David Yale: She doesn’t look at home at all, if you ask me.

Indeed, Tempest is pacing, her eyes darting around furtively with every noise, including that of the crowd as they see her and erupt with cheers.

Tempest suddenly finds herself distracted by a familiar voice.

"What do you mean you don't have any?! This is preposterous."

It's Andy Murray and an unfortunate member of the catering staff is his victim. Andy is clearly frustrated, and the fact that he isn't getting any change from the caterer isn't helping matters.

Caterer: Maybe we'd consider bringing some in if you weren't the only person on the roster who'd even consider eating that shit...

Tempest’s head swivels quickly to the disturbance and she eyes the caterer inquisitively. She walks over and looks very slightly more relaxed.

Tempest: What’s the matter, Andy? The Mongolian barbeque a little hot for your liking?

Murray: Oh, hey Sparkles. Don't mind me; I'm just a little upset that these GODDAMN HEATHENS don't have what I'm looking for!

Andy turns to hiss at the caterer.

Murray: I'm looking for something very important, you see. Something every kitchen in the world should have, except this doesn't. But I can't tell you what it is, no. It's top secret.

Caterer: He's looking for—

Murray: QUIET, YOU!

Shaking his head, Andy leads Tempest away from the serving area before the pesky caterer can blow his cover.

Murray: So, what's up? You look awfully dour tonight.

Tempest looks up, seemingly startled.

Tempest: I… I do? I’m not, really. I’m just excited is all. You really should try the dumplings. They’re very good. I…

She looks down the hall, in the direction that leads toward the ring.

Tempest: Yeah, ok… I’m pretty nervous about tonight.

Murray: Hometown nerves, huh? Last time we were in Aberdeen, that dirty LK motherhubbard tried to come down and rain on my parade. I fucked him up though, so it's all good. But chillax! It's only bloody Shaman you're wrestling tonight, and he's only half a threat if he's remembered to change his colostomy bag.

Tempest snickers in spite of herself.

Tempest: Yeah, it’s just that I’ve never actually wrestled in front of the so-called home town crowd. Not professionally anyway. Well, that is, not legally. I mean… well what I mean to say is…

Tempest shakes her head and clears her throat.

Tempest: I mean not this way, the right way. In fact…

She shuffles, her eyes moving between Murray and the wall restlessly.

Tempest: I haven’t been back since I fled… about fifteen years ago.

Murray: Blimey O'Reilly. "Fled"? That sounds like some super-spy James Bond type shit to me. Let me know if you need a hand with that - I do a mean Sean Connery impression.

The King stifles his own laughter when he realises that humour is lost on Tempest tonight.

Murray: Alright, what's up?

Tempest: It’s nothing. Just..

Tempest smiles and shakes her head slightly.

Tempest: I didn’t exactly come up the easy way. And here, well you know how it is. China has its traditions; it has its roles for women and its social strata. Maybe more firmly than other places even.

She glances toward the hallway leading to the ring again and speaks softly.

Tempest: I guess I’m just afraid they’ll know.

Murray: Like anything bad's gonna happen to you tonight. You're one of the most popular people on the roster, and this is your hometown. Explain to me why the reception you'll get tonight will be anything less than stellar? You'll be fine. Just flush all this apprehension out of your head and roll with it, or I'll, err. Beat you up or something. Yeah.

Tempest tilts her head, with a tiny smirk curling her lips.

Tempest: Mmmhmm… because nothing bad’s gonna happen to me tonight. Right. You’ve never felt ashamed of who you were have you?

Murray: It's pretty hard to feel ashamed of yourself when you're as awesome as I am.

Andy kisses his bicep.

Murray: Sorry, couldn't resist. You gotta quit with this Vivica J. Valentine emo bullshit though, Sparkles. There are thousands upon thousands of people in this arena. What's the worst that could happen? Seriously.

Tempest snickers at him and then shrugs.

Tempest: Well admittedly, they may not be the worst. And it’s... well, it’s a little hard to explain. I used to go uptown when I could scrape up a little money, but I would be put out of clubs, cafes.

She shakes her head.

Tempest: It’s like they knew I was the wrong element to have around. And now…

She lifts her head and nods toward the staging area.

Tempest: I’m not ashamed of who I was then. I guess I’m just hoping they’ve forgotten.

She looks thoughtful for a moment.

Tempest: I just don’t want it to be the same town I ran away from, that’s all. I want to like it now.

Murray: Sounds like a long time ago. You're right to be a little apprehensive, but ill-will always clears over time, y'know? Places change, people change. I'm sure they've all forgotten about whatever happened.

Andy pauses.

Murray: Damn, that was some trippy-hippy shit. Maybe I should write a book.

Tempest laughs, her mood already appearing lighter.

Tempest: Yeah try some of it on Valentine and see if works. Lucky for you I want to feel good about things. But speaking of feeling good; how are you doing?

Tempest eyes Murray’s recently abused ribs curiously.

Murray: I'm alright. I'd be doing a whole lot better if certain wankers stopped messing with my ribs every Goddamn week. Don't worry about me, though. I can still fight. Speaking of fighting, whaddaya know about this Cheap Labor character? I've only really just met the wanker, but I understand you and he have a bit of history.

Tempest nods, rolling her eyes slightly.

Tempest: Sad but true. At least you won’t have to worry about his misguided affections. He’s quick. Sometimes sloppy. But mostly he’s... gullible.

She sighs and shakes her head sadly.

Murray: Do you reckon that he'll just piss off if I give him some money? I can't really be arsed wrestling tonight, and his name is "Cheap Labor".

Tempest nods thoughtfully.

Tempest: Might work. I’m not sure what hold Shipley has over him though. It might not be up to him anymore. It’s kinda sad, how he gets himself into these things. First me, now Shipley. Poor guy needs a big brother or something.

Murray: Or a friend that isn't a vile English wanker. Anywho, Sparkles, time is short and I've got a mysterious plan to concoct, so as much as I'd love to hang out and talk shit about Cheap Labor, I gotta run. You keep your chin up, alright?

Tempest: I will. You take care of yourself. And let me know if you need a little Tempestuous assistance. Not like I need much of an excuse to prank.

She giggles and waves, then skips off toward the very staging area she was skittish of before. Murray shakes his head and heads of the other direction, determined as ever to continue his top secret mission.

Yale: Revolting. Both of these two could use to bust heads rather sit around and have campfire moments like this.

Bryan: Some people are capable of making friends as well as enemies. It’s called range. Look it up. And I’d estimate both are going to do just fine tonght.

Back to Top

The dead, grotesquely warped face of Alexis Frost fills the lens of the ringside camera.

Yale: This Rasa ‘thing’ is just not right.

Bryan: Triumph Frost can win a verbal battle against just about everyone on the roster, but Rasa wants to assert its dominance in the psychological war; two falls and that mask will certainly help.

Andrews: This upcoming contest is a Rampage Tournament second round match, scheduled for one fall. In the ring at this time… RASA!!!

The pockets of applause seep through the audience; the mysterious violence machine winning over sections of the GCW crowd with the prospect of bone-crunching strikes and life-sapping submissions.

Suddenly, the lights dim down, as "We Major" by Kanye West and Nas comes pumping from every speaker in the arena’s public announce system. Orange and yellow lights strobe across the entranceway, as out from the shadows appears Triumph Frost, in his black Nike b-ball jersey and wrestling pants. A far more vibrant Alexis Frost, in a purple Gucci dress and a pair of Manolo Blahnik boots of the same color, follows him closely.

Yale: She is such a stunner. Wouldn’t you say?

Bryan: Don’t let him catch you saying that.

Triumph walks slowly towards the ring, his eyes affixed to Rasa’s chilling mask the entire time.

Bryan: Triumph seems more focused than ever. I get the feeling he wants to avenge his transgressions in the worst way… and the mask that Rasa has chosen for tonight will surely amplify those feelings.

Triumph keeps walking, making the round trip around the ring, as slowly as he possibly can. The fans get restless, and make themselves known. Meanwhile, Triumph hasn’t broken his stare one inch, a shit-eating grin permanently attached to his mug.

Bryan: C’mon, guy! Pick up the pace, will ya? We’ve got a show to get to!

As Frost takes up about 6 minutes and thirty seconds worth of the 7 minute song on his jaunt, Triumph finally jumps onto the apron, as Alexis defiantly walks up the ring steps, under the gaze of the wrestler wearing her pained face as a mask. Triumph sits on the middle rope, and Alexis shimmies through. Following her in, he stands, as stoic as ever, as the music dies away. The boos fill the arena, and Triumph simply soaks them all in.

Andrews: And his opponent. From the Pacific Heights section of San Francisco, California. Weighing in at 256 pounds. He is "The Future"! TRRRIIIIII---

Triumph immediately snatches the mic away.

Triumph Frost: They know who the fuck I am.

Andrews brushes himself off and exits in a huff, as jeers echo out from the nosebleeds. He can’t help but enjoy himself. Rasa, meanwhile, remains unmoved. After a few moments, Triumph gestures for Alexis to leave the ring so he can pay full attention to his opponent.

Triumph Frost: I’ve been waiting for this day for a long, long time. So no more talk.

He takes in a deep breath, closing his eyes, and exhales with satisfaction. His eyes reopen, burning with fire. As referee David Fellows warns both participants not to go before the bell, natural animosity pulls them closer to one another, until they’re chest-to-chest in the middle of the ring, the freakish Alexis Frost mask staring up at Triumph. Their tension magnetic, mask soon presses against face, Frost’s words - for once - hushed, for Rasa only.

Bryan: At stake, a place in the Rampage semi-finals. But as big a prize as awaits the victor of this match, I don’t think who they’ll fight after tonight is on Rasa or Frost’s mind right now.

Yale: Come on, Triumph! Do it for Alexis!

The crowd’s reaction matches the spike in animosity and they burst into a rousing, expectant cheer.

David Fellows calls for the bell.

Both participants show lightning-quick reactions to fire off a right hand, and before the echo of the bell has subsided, Rasa and Frost have reeled off countless blows, each ignoring their opponent’s shot to land their own.

Bryan: This one is under way and neither participant is holding ANYTHING back!

It’s not pretty and it’s not technical. It’s violent and it’s personal. David Fellows makes a point of stepping back to the ropes, just letting Rasa and Frost pummel one another with wild swings. Ignoring the fact that Rasa’s leather-bound knuckles and smashing against his cheekbone, Triumph Frost grabs it around the throat and drills a trio of straight right hands into the ghoulish Alexis Frost face. Ferocious Mongolian chops to the trapeziums from Rasa break Frost’s grip, but he takes control by blinking first and driving a knee into Rasa’s ribs, doubling it over.

Trapping Rasa in a front facelock, Triumph drives it back to the ropes, all the time drilling the point of his elbow down into the back of Rasa’s neck and between its shoulder blades. Pushing Rasa’s chin back over the ropes, Frost uses his height advantage to pummel it with a barrage of hammer-fists, before an uppercut from Rasa slams his jaw shut. For just a split second, Frost drops his guard, allowing Rasa to surge up into a Tiger Crush, slamming its knee into Frost’s chin. Triumph Frost staggers back, and Rasa once again launches, knee primed to strike, causing its opponent to bring his arms up to block.

Bryan: Rasa’s going for the flying triangle! It’s used that to put Triumph Frost away twice already in GCW!

Yale: Don’t let me down, Frosty! You can beat it! I believe in you!

Bryan: Using the thought of one of those vicious knees is such an effective set-up. You might keep your teeth, but you give Rasa a chance to put you to sleep!

Rasa swings its right leg around Frost’s defenses, grabs itself an arm, and locks its feet to ensnare Triumph in the flying triangle choke. Immediately, Triumph Frost rears up, giving Rasa a second or two to synch it in tighter. As the crowd’s volume rises, Frost tries to powerbomb Rasa, only to be violently snapped over with a ‘rana, Rasa keeping the hold locked in.

Bryan: Let’s not forget, Triumph Frost is a large human being. He’s 6’6 and over 250 pounds. He needs oxygen, and Rasa knows that!

Yale: Yes, he’s 6’6, over 250 pounds, and that gives him the power to get out of this. He’s not flailing about, he’s not panicking.

David Fellows slides down to check on Triumph Frost, who completely blanks him, devoting all his focus on breaking the hold. To another sharp pop from the crowd, Rasa launches into a death roll, back and forth, trying to prevent Triumph from getting any sort of footing. Frost waits for his moment, and it comes when Rasa rolls onto its back. Surging forward, Frost doubles Rasa over, then plants his feet to pull the mysterious masked violence machine up off the canvas.

Having already tried a powerbomb escape, Frost instead tries swinging a hanging Rasa into the turnbuckles with no effect. As his legs look like they’re about to buckle, Frost commits the last of his reserves to heaving Rasa up once more and rushing at the ropes, sending both participants tumbling down to the floor to the delight of the crowd.

Bryan: Desperation there by Triumph Frost! He just hurled himself over the top rope to break Rasa’s hold!

Yale: What did I tell you? He knows how to bea---

Bryan: It’s still locked in! Rasa still has it locked in! Amazing!

Under the horrified gaze of Alexis Frost, Rasa lays on the ringside mats, Triumph’s neck still ensnared in the vice-like triangle. Screeching encouragement to her husband, Alexis gives him a last-gasp energy boost, allowing Triumph to again struggle up to his feet, but not enough to heave Rasa up overhead.

Bryan: You can’t blame Rasa for going right to the move that’s been so effective in prev---

Yale: Yes! Again!

With Rasa hanging from around his neck, Frost swings it into the barricade to try and break the triangle. Feeling it weaken ever so slightly, a resurgent Triumph swings again, Rasa’s shoulder thumping against the barricade once more, before a final, energy expending swing smashes the side of Rasa’s hooded skull against the ringpost, breaking its grip.

Yale: He’s done it! Triumph Frost has broken Rasa’s triangle choke! Now finish him!

Bryan: That could be a massive confidence boost to Triumph Frost, not that he seems like he’d need one! The hold that has beaten him twice has been thwarted. He knows it can be broken.

Yale: Rasa’s skull just got caved in by the ringpost so Frost can take his time here.

A light-headed Triumph Frost bursts up to his feet to bite back at the booing fans, only for his legs to give out underneath him. On his knees, Frost heaves in deep breaths, reoxygenating his blood and letting the flow to his brain resume. As Rasa stirs, Frost lands a trio of rights to the back of its neck. Rising back to his feet, a little slower this time, Frost stamps down hard on the back of Rasa’s neck, before grabbing a handful of hood.

Dragging Rasa up, Frost takes it over with a snap suplex onto the thin mats. Keeping hold of his opponent, Triumph rolls through and executes a second suplex, this time kicking his feet up to intensify the impact.

Bryan: This is what Triumph Frost has been craving ever since Rasa surprised everyone with the win in their first match; a chance to work the masked mystery over and exact his revenge.

Yale: This is the match that can catapult Frost up the card and on the way to being a household name. If he can put Rasa down for the 1-2-3, that will surely spur him on to emerge victorious from the Rampage tournament and put this masked freak behind him.

With David Fellows’ patience wearing thin, Frost rolls back to his feet and hoists Rasa up for a third time… before dropping it into a Brainbuster, the back of Rasa’s hooded neck thudding against the mats. Feeling his rival quit struggling, Triumph rolls back onto Rasa. But, rather than delivering a knockout blow, he instead claws at the creepy Alexis mask, only for Fellows’ final warning to force him to break it off.

Bryan: These two are lucky to have one of our more, um, ‘relaxed’ referees in charge of this. David Fellows knows this one is about more than just who moves on to the next round, but they’re starting to test his limits already.

A grumbling Frost grabs Rasa by the hood and drags him back into the ring, keen to remind the viewers who is in control by stamping down on his opponent’s head and neck. With Rasa laying facedown on the mat, Frost scuffs the sole of his boot on the canvas, cleaning it up before delivering a final, brutal stomp to the back of the skull. Dropping down to one knee, Triumph teases rolling Rasa over for a cover, but instead takes his opponent’s gloved hand and pulls the arm across its neck. He then does the same with the other hand, a snarl etched deep across his face.

Yale: Triumph Frost looks like he wants to remind everyone that there’s more than one submission specialist in the ring. And while Rasa’s puts you to sleep, Frost likes to add a little agony into the mix.

Frost sits on the small of Rasa’s back, yanking back on its wrists to choke Rasa with its own arms.

Bryan: This torturous hold by Triumph Frost leaves its victim with only three options; escape, pass out, or feel your shoulders pulled from their sockets.

Letting out a roar of exertion, Frost pulls back harder on The Vicious End, feeling the struggle through Rasa’s arms. The crowd’s volume begins to swell once again in favor of Rasa, urging it to break free of Triumph’s cruel submission. Rasa forces a knee underneath its flattened body, easing the pressure and levering it up off the canvas.

As Rasa fights back to its feet, Triumph Frost uses Rasa’s upward me momentum against it by switching his hold to a half-nelson and an underhook, using them to hurl the masked violence machine over onto its neck with the Reppageki.

With Rasa planted on the back of his neck, Frost rolls his opponent up, pinning its feet to the canvas.

...1!

...2!

...KICKOUT!

Bryan: So close for Triumph Frost. He didn’t waste a microsecond before making that cover.

Yale: There’s no rule to say you have to pin your opponent with a neat little lateral press. If their shoulders are on the mat, you dive onto them and try and keep them down for a three count any way you can.

Unrelenting, Triumph Frost bombards Rasa with stomps as it crawls towards the ropes. Grabbing a hold of Rasa’s hood, Frost drags it up and lands a string of stinging forearms. Grabbing Rasa’s wrist, Frost hurls it across the ring with an Irish whip, then steps up for a Spinebuster… only for Rasa to slide between his legs. As a stooping Frost turns, Rasa thrusts its legs up off the canvas, catching Triumph in the chest and sending him flying backwards. Springing up, an infuriated Frost charges at the rising Rasa only for it to roll under his scything clothesline attempt. Rasa springs up, Frost turns… into a brutal roundhouse kick.

Bryan: BOOM!

Yale: Headshot!

Knocked off balance by the strike, Frost staggers back towards the turnbuckles, somehow managing to stay on his feet. At least until a vengeful Rasa follows up with a jaw-breaking Tiger Crush which sends Frost toppling down onto the canvas.

With Frost down on his back, Rasa grabs the rope to steady itself as it unleashed a rib-crunching volley of stomps to his opponent, each one reverberating through Triumph’s flapping body.

Yale: This savage should be banned! Triumph Frost was trying to put on a technical clinic! He shouldn’t have to suffer this… this… barbarism!

Bryan: So you’re saying Frost hasn’t stomped Rasa once in this match?

Yale: Those are called transitions.

Finally, Frost’s grasping hand reaches the bottom rope, giving Rasa only the mercifully fast five-count from Fellows to unleash another 7 stomps before the break is called. A tenderized Triumph Frost drags himself back up on the ropes, leaving his flanks prone to stinging kicks from Rasa. As Frost collapses back against the cables, Rasa tries to crumble his collarbone to dust with another brutal pummeling of Mongolian chops, before a perfectly timed knee to the face bounces a toppling Triumph back up onto the ropes.

At ringside, Alexis frantically yanks on her husband’s ankle, trying to tug him out under the bottom rope and to safety. Spotting her, Rasa suddenly drops flat on its chest, leaving Alexis staring right at her own, grotesquely warped face on Rasa’s mask. Digging her nails into the mask, Alexis holds Rasa down, incurring the wrath of David Fellows. Seeing a window of opportunity to sneak back into the match, Frost slingshots his 6’6 frame over the top rope and crashes down across the back of Rasa’s neck with a legdrop, crushing it against the apron.

Furious, Fellows orders Alexis away from ringside; to the delight of the crowd but the anger of Triumph. With his protests falling on death ears, Frost takes his frustrations out on the masked violence machine, draping its arms over the ropes and reeling off rapid-fire right hands to its masked faced. Fellows calls for a break, only for Triumph to shove him away and push down on Rasa, ensnaring its arms between the twisted top and middle cables.

Bryan: Triumph Frost is going to push David Fellows’ tolerance it its very limits, it seems.

Yale: After what happened with SurReal and Johnson last time around, no referees want to end a Rampage match in a DQ.

With Rasa trapped, a snarling Frost seizes upon its mask, trying to rip the ghoulish representation of his wife away. Again, Fellows tries to back Frost away, only for be shrugged off as Triumph yanks at the mask with both hands, a foot planted in Rasa’s gut for leverage.

Bryan: I don’t know how that mask is secured to Rasa, but Frost is damn near ripping its head off with his bare hands.

Finally, David Fellows pries Frost’s fingers from Rasa’s mask, igniting his fiery temper.

Yale: Count to ten, Triumph! Rise above his incompetence!

Bryan: Triumph Frost just drew his fist back ready to strike Fellows, he needs to keep that temper in che--- RASA!!!

With Frost distracted, fist raised, Rasa flings its legs up to ensnare its opponent in the triangle choke, locking the hold in before Triumph can react.

Bryan: For one split second Frost’s focus drifted away from Rasa!

Yale: You know how to break this, Triumph. You’ve done this before! You’re in control! Focus!

Bryan: When did you start moonlighting as a motivational speaker?

For a few seconds, David Fellows considers letting Rasa choke the life out of Triumph Frost, but ultimately steps in to call the rope break. But, before Fellows can unhook Rasa’s legs, Frost surges up, once again sending both participants tumbling over the top, the ropes unwinding to free Rasa. Frost’s fall to the mats is clean, while Rasa’s, disrupted by the ropes, smashes the back of its neck against the apron.

Yale: This is where Triumph Frost can take it home. He’s battered Rasa, he’s stretched Rasa, he’s exhausted Rasa. And now it’s time for him to beat Rasa, and prove all the doubters wrong.

With a dazed Rasa struggling to drag itself up onto the ring apron, Frost crawls up the ring steps and begins to climb up the turnbuckle ladder. Having successfully managed to tune Fellows out, Triumph ignores the referee’s protests as he ascends to the top turnbuckle, looking down as his groggy, masked rival.

Bryan: We’ve seen Triumph Frost’s striking, technical and submission games tonight, and it looks like he’s about to treat us to high fly---

Yale: Oh, come on!

Before Frost can fly, Rasa bursts back to life, scrambling up the ladder and flinging a knee up into his opponent’s tattooed chest. For a couple of seconds, the hostilities cease, both wrestlers securing their footing. A right from Rasa is answered in kind by Frost, who adds an uppercut for good measure. Trusting its balance, Rasa flings its arms back for a Mongolian chop… only for Frost to kick a foot up between the masked violence machine’s legs with as much force as he could muster.

Yale: That’s legal if Rasa is a chick or anything in between!

Rasa withers on impact, allowing Frost to hook it around the waist.

Yale: Sympathy for the Devil! He’s set Rasa up for it! This’ll be goodnight!

Triumph Frost heaves the deadweight of Rasa up into the powerbomb position… only for Rasa to swing a leg under his right arm to lock in the triangle choke. Feeling Frost’s legs bend, primed to launch, Rasa flings itself back, snapping him off the top turnbuckle with a ‘rana, somehow keeping the triangle synched in tightly as they smash down onto the canvas.

Bryan: The most flying-est of flying triangle chokes from Rasa! He has this locked in as tight as I’ve seen in, and that impact off the canvas had to wind Triumph Frost!

Yale: Fight it! Do it for Alexis! Or just do it to stop that freak winning!

The fall having sapped his body of both energy and air, Triumph Frost’s dwindling reserves are depleted as Rasa flings itself into death rolls, preventing its opponent from getting a footing to break the hold.

Bryan: Frost is fading! This is the, what, third time that the choke has been locked in deep? Not many guys could survive that even without the ferocious action in between, but make no mistake, these two have gone to WAR tonight!

Rasa rolls through one final time, ending up on top of Triumph Frost, all its weight channeled down into the hold as the referee checks on his fading opponent.

He raises the arm once.

It drops.

He raises the arm twice.

It drops.

He raises the arm a third, final time…

Bryan: He’s out! Triumph Frost is out! Rasa advances!

As the bell rings, a respectful cheer breaks out around the crowd, the mysterious masked violence machine delivering the sort of onslaught through actions that Triumph Frost could deliver with words.

Yale: No no no no no no no no no no no…

Bryan: The triangle choke, Triumph Frost’s Achilles heel, defeats him once again, but my God did he put up one hell of a fight.

Andrews: The winner of this match, and through to the semi-finals of the Rampage tournament… RASSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSA!!!

Exhaustion breaks the hold before David Fellows needs to step in, Rasa slumping down onto the mat beside an unconscious Triumph Frost. Before Fellows can even think about raising the masked wrester’s hand in victory, Rasa rolls out of the ring and staggers back up the aisle to silence from a arena’s speakers, but a deserving roar from the crowd.

Back to Top

A panning shot of the Hong Kong Coliseum shows a jam-packed house on their feet, roaring for their images on the MegaTron, as we approach our title defense match.

Bryan: Welcome back ladies and gentlemen, and you're going to want to stay tuned where you are because up next we have a United States Title match!

"Fuckin' in the Bush" begins to play as out from the back trot the tandem of Phil Akten and "Superagent" Dirk Dickwood. Phil wears an ill fitting gold and black robe whilst Dirk wears an ill fitting suit.

Andrews: Making his way to the ring, from Glasgow, Scotland, weighing in at 231 pounds. . . PHIL ATKEN!

Bryan: Phil Atken making his way down to the ring and Dave, I've got to say I'm surprised at the gusto that he's showing here tonight.

Yale: You know, JB, a title shot can be a strange thing. Sometimes they are a reward for a hot streak, but sometimes they are motivation. Phil Atken's had a bit of a rough patch lately, and this coming match might be his chance to pull himself up and snap out of it.

Phil and Dirk stomp towards the ring, Dirk jumps on the apron opening the ropes for Phil as Phil takes a moment to yell at various fans then runs up the ring steps. Dirk allows Phil access into the ring, jumps back off the apron and heads to Phil's corner.

Bryan: Well we certainly know what Atken is capable of when he is on his game, but I think something should be said for the motivation he's had in his ear lately.

Yale: You mean Superagent Dirk Dickwood! He's a motivator of men, JB! He's a Wizard of Wheeling and Dealing! A Colossal Contract Connoisseur!

Bryan: He's a colossal something, that's for sure.

Phil quickly heads towards the turnbuckle and leans against it in the hopes of quickly getting back his breath while he struggles with his robe. He finally successfully disrobes and throws it in Dirk's general direction.

A few seconds of silence leaves the crowd in anticipation. Their eyes focus down on the entrance, waiting for what comes next. The anxiety breaks...

"Purity" by Scars Of Life.

The beginning chords bring those who weren't already there to their feet as red jailbreak lights swifl around the arena. Walking out to the ring with her blonde and black streaked hair over her eyes, Vivica J. Valentine greets the jeers of the crowd with a smirk. Pausing for a moment to soak in the reaction, the spotlight reflects off the GCW United States Championship wore like a sash across her chest as she flips her hair back and makes her way down towards the ring.

Andrews: Making her way to the ring, from Highland Park, Illinois, weighing in at 129 pounds. . . she is your GCW United States Champion, "THE BULLLLLETPROOF BLONDE" VIVICA JJJJJJJ VALLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLENTINE!

Yale: And you want to talk about a rough patch. This United States Champ might be the guru in that department, and I'm not referring to wins and losses.

Bryan: Vivica J Valentine has been a different woman of late. The fans haven't been too keen on it, but that hardly comes close to disputing her caliber. She is the United States Champion, and deservingly so. That is, unless Phil Atken has something worthwhile to say about that.

The Bulletproof Blonde pays no attention to the screams and questions from the crowd as she makes her way down the aisle. Her once night-making entrance full of crowd participation is now replaced by disappointment from the crowd, wishing things were like they used to be. They don't dare stick their hands out to touch their old hero as she passes. The fan-favorite has turned volitile, and even the bravest wrestling fan thinks twice about grabbing her attention as she turns the corner and walks up the stairwell with her head slumped and blonde locks covering her face.

Walking slowly across the apron, Valentine pauses facing the aisle... wrapping her arms around the middle rope. She hangs from the rope, staring around at the faces of GCW fans all around the arena before smirking and dropping down to the apron and rolling into the ring.

Bryan: Look at the glare from Valentine to Atken.

Yale: Ugh I can feel it in my bone marrow, JB! She is ice cold.

Walking over to the opposite corner from where she entered, Valentine jumps up to the top rope and takes a look around the audience. Her once vibrant expression is now emotionless as she watches her once frenzied masses cup their mouths so they are sure she'll hear them voice their displeasure. Shaking her head, Vivica jumps back down into the ring where she stays in the corner on one knee. Instead of her trademark Flying V hand symbol, she simply unstraps the United States Championship from around her chest and slowly raises it into the air... showing the fans her worth.

Bryan: This one should be all business, folks. Vivica has no intention of letting go of that U.S. Title, and Phil is looking at it like a chalice, a beacon toward better days.

Yale: He definitely looks more determined than I've seen him in a long time, JB.

Referee Timothy Vale calls for the bell.

DING! DING! DING!

Bryan: It is always interesting to see how Phil Atken will fight someone immune to low blows.

Valentine and Atken size each other up from across the ring for a moment. Both begin to circle counter-clockwise, Atken with his arms up ready to grapple and Valentine coiled like a viper ready to strike. Dirk Dickwood yells a word of encouragement from the outside and Atken comes in on Valentine looking for a grapple. Valentine lands a stiff kick to the mid section that gives Atken pause as he takes a step back and re-evaluates.

Bryan: Phil is going to try to use his size advantage, but Vivica is so damn quick with her strikes.

Yale: Size shmize. She's plenty used to fighting bigger opponents than him. He's got to dig deep.

Atken comes in again for a grapple but Vivica throws a right hook. It's blocked by Atken and he grabs a hold of her arm, twisting it for a straight arm wrench that holds Vivica in check. Atken twists Valentine's wrist which holds her arm straight and keeps her at bay.

Bryan: Phil Atken taking away Vivica's striking ability with that wrist lock.

Atken lifts Valentine's arm up and brings it down hard, driving her smaller frame to one knee. She stands right back up and circles, trying to gain leverage, and he snaps her arm down again. This time Vivica uses the momentum from the snap to roll partially forward then swing all her weight into a reverse somersault, negating Atken's lock. She pops up with her arm free and Atken immediately clotheslines her down to the mat for her efforts, and the crowd greets him with a small ovation.

Bryan: If we booked this match a couple months ago, this entire arena would be on their feet to see Vivica J Valentine beat Phil Atken.

Yale: She's become disillusioned with them, they want to see her humbled a bit more. Atken looks determined and is starting off well, and they're taking him seriously for it.

Atken is immediately on top of Valentine as he applies a blantant chokehold. Timothy Vale gives Atken the five count, but at the count of five Atken still has the hold locked in, with Vivica's hands trying to pry his off her throat. Vale gets in close and yells at Atken, who finally lets go. Vivica rolls onto her side, coughing and trying to breathe. Atken doesn't give her much space, though, as he lands a stomp on the middle her back and then picks her back up to standing.

Bryan: I think Phil Atken is well versed in Miss Valentine's recent relentlessness, and he's not about to give her a chance to retaliate.

With Valentine up Atken throws her into the far ropes. He runs close behind her and as she hits the ropes he greets her with a friendly knee to the stomach that sends her down coughing again. Atken is immediately on top of her, stomping her back and shoulders repeatedly as the crowd isn't sure whether to boo or cheer. After five stomps Timothy Vale gets between Atken and Valentine and instructs him to let up the stomping.

Yale: Relentless. When Phil is like this, he's in his zone, he can command a match.

Bryan: Oh please. He blatantly choked her-

Yale: And he broke it when he was told to. What's the problem, JB?

Atken again picks Valentine off the ground. With one motion he grabs her head with one hand and rakes her eyes with the other, causing Valentine to bring a hand up to her eyes and stumble toward the ropes. The crowd boo's Atken and he gives them a smug look of satisfaction. With Valentine against the ropes Atken comes at her full speed. As he approaches, though, Valentine drops the act and executes a drop toe hold that brings Akten's neck and chest down across the top rope! She pops up behind him as he stumbles backward, holding his neck, and Valentine steps to his side and executes a Russian Leg Sweep that brings both down to the mat and the crowd to their feet.

Bryan: Vivica with a great counter and an excellent follow through!

Yale: And the crowd has come alive! That's how it works, JB. You can have two combatants who might not be on the good side of the crowd, but you give them an exceptional match and they will be electrified!

Bryan: You pretty much named GCW's business model, Dave.

Valentine is back up immediately and runs to the nearest turnbuckle. She plants one foot on the second rope, one foot on the top rope, and launches herself into a quick moonsault that lands and goes for the pin!

1!...

2- and a kickout by Phil Atken.

Bryan: Vivica is showing that she's down to brass tacks just as much as Atken, and she's not about to underestimate him.

Yale: She isn't considered one of the best United States Champions in GCW history because she underestimates her title defenses, JB.

Valentine picks Atken up to standing and goes for a collar/elbow grapple. Atken breaks the grapple, though, and lands a big right hand to Valentine. She responds with a quick jab that stuns Atken and a roundhouse kick to his side. She comes in for a grapple again as Atken is doubled over, but this time he reaches up and grabs her head and brings her down in a big jawbreaker that brings the arena to their feet! Vivica is down on the mat holding her jaw as Atken shakes some of the cobwebs and gets up to standing.

Atken leans Vivica against the ropes and sends her to the other side of the ring. He bends over in the middle, looking for a big shoulder toss, as she heads back but Vivica stops short and kicks him in the face that springs the larger man up holding his nose. Valentine then lands a spinning crescent kick to the head that sends Atken stumbling to the far ropes. With some momentum on her side Valentine runs to the opposite ropes and starts to charge toward Atken, but a hand on her ankle causes her to fall on her face!

Bryan: And Dirk Dickwood, from the outside, just had a hand to play!

Yale: The Titan of Tripping! Superagent!

Dickwood has a grin plastered on his face as he turns to the crowd. He holds his arms out and up, saying, "You like what you see?" Valentine is up, though, and narrows her eyes at the man who tripped her. She runs full speed at the side of the ring that he is on.

Bryan: Is she gonna DIVE THROUGH THE ROPES!!!

With an explosion from the crowd, Vivica's spear hits on the outside and Dickwood is on the ground. Vivica seems to have stunned herself a bit from the move, but is making her way back to standing. Timothy Vale is trying to get her back into the ring, to regain some semblance of order, as Phil Atken comes running as well.

Yale: Look out, Vee!

Bryan: Here comes Atken, springboarding off the ropes!

Phil Atken has a prime target for a big springboard splash, but at the last second Vivica Valentine rolls out of the way and Atken comes crashing into Dirk Dickwood who has just made his way back to standing!

Bryan: And there goes the Superagent!

Valentine is back up as Timothy Vale is yelling at both competitors to get back into the ring. She ignores him and stalks over to Phil Atken. Pulling him off the ground, she lands a big chop across his chest with some "WHOO!"s from the crowd. Vivica doesn't let up, but takes Atken by the scruff of the neck and the shoulder and throws him crashing into the guard rail, with shrieks from the crowd as they back up. She is about to follow through when a loud "Hey!" can be heard from behind her and she turns around to see Dirk Dickwood trying to stand tall.

Yale: Vivcia Valentine is one of the few people that the Superagent can look down on.

Valentine walks right up to Dickwood, who backs off a few steps. Behind them Phil Atken is on his hands and knees near the ring apron. Timothy Vale is yelling at Vivica to get back into the ring and doesn't see Aken pulling something from underneath the ring and place it on the steel steps on the far side.

Bryan: Is that the backup match bell?

Yale: We still have those? I thought this place went all-digital.

Outside, Vivica has backed Dirk Dickwood up against the guardrail nearest the entrance and has grabbed him by the collar. Dickwood's hands are up in a surrendering gesture, and Vivica looks to the crowd to the left, then to the right, and then she looks back at Dirk Dickwood, who has the nervous smile plastered on his face. Vivica seems to exhale a tiny laugh and lets go of him with a shove, turning back toward the ring.

Yale: Vee knows what's important. She's not about to stoop to hitting someone like Dirk-

Valentine suddenly throws a back kick right into Dirk Dickwood's stomach that sends the Superagent doubled down and falling to his knees.

Yale: I KNEW SHE WAS GONNA DO THAT! I knew it!

Valentine runs full speed into the ring and slides under the bottom rope. She springs up to a waiting Phil Atken and throws a right hook, Atken throws a right hook of his own. The two trade punches as Dirk Dickwood gets to his feet and, red-faced and seething with anger, runs to the ring apron and begins climbing up to get into the ring. On the other side, Valentine has gotten the upper hand on the fist fight and sends Phil Atken staggering with a European uppercut. As he bounces off the ropes and comes back into her, Valentine sidesteps and grabs his neck with an inverted facelock, then lands The Siren Song, her modified somersault cutter that amps the crowd past the point of frenzy! Camera flashes are blinding as Atken's head bounces off the mat and Vivica J Valentine hooks the leg for the cover!

Bryan: Out of nowhere! The Siren Song! But where's the count!?

Timothy Vale has been yelling at Dirk Dickwood to get off the apron and doesn't see Valentine making the cover. Dickwood tries to get into the ring but Vale is having none of it, though Dickwood is yelling and pointing angrily at Vivica Valentine.

Yale: Dirk Dickwood wants some revenge on Vivica for kicking him in the gut!

Bryan: Well now is neither the time nor the place, Dave! Vivica's got the cover, Phil Atken isn't moving, and Dirk Dickwood is screwing her out of a title defense!

Yale: Superagent Screwjob! I've got a million of 'em, JB!

Pissed off at the lack of a count, Valentine slams her hand on the mat and looks for Timothy Vale. At this point Dickwood actually has his hands on the ref, trying to grab his attention by literally grabbing the man and making Vale look at him. Unfortunately this means he doesn't see Valentine get up from the attempted pin and crack her knuckles.

Bryan: And Vivica J Valentine looks like she's had just about enough of Dirk Dickwood.

Dirk catches a look at Vivica coming toward him and starts to panic, now wanting to leave the area. But now Timothy Vale has a firm grip on Dickwood's collar, telling him he has no business touching the wrestlers and especially not the refs. Valentine takes a couple of determined steps closer, and behind her Phil Atken has come to and has reached to the steel ring steps, grabbing the backup match bell that he pulled from under the ring earlier.

Bryan: Now Atken is back up, Vale is busy kicking Dickwood's butt the hell out of here, and Valentine should turn around!-

THUD!

Bryan: NO!

Yale: He just rang her bell!

Vivica Valentine hits the ring face down in a heap, Atken tosses the bell out of the ring as he collapses, still hurting from The Siren Song. The rain of disapproving boos from the crowd draws Timothy Vale's attention and immediately Dirk Dickwood starts pointing toward the wrestlers. Vale, not sure of what's happening, turns around and sees Phil Atken, moving slowly, turning over and covering a sprawled out Vivica Valentine! He drops down for the count as Dirk Dickwood claps from the apron!

1!...

2!...

3-NO! KICKOUT!

Bryan: I do not know how she did it! Vivica Valentine yet again defying the odds!

Yale: That bell shot just about cracked her skull! How did she lift a shoulder out of that?

Bryan: I don't know but if there was any doubt about Phil Atken's resolve to win this match, to win the United States Title I think it has been erased. He will stoop to any depth to put that belt on his waist tonight.

Dirk Dickwood is stomping his foot, pissed off on the apron, and Timothy Vale shakes his head and holds up two fingers. Atken, sucking wind, gets up to his knees and gives a short elbow drop to Valentine. He then grabs her arm, locking in an armbar while he tries to regain his breath. Valentine's legs are searching for the ropes, but she's nowhere near them.

Bryan: Atken, now, seems to be trying to tame the burning in his lungs. He's got that armbar locked in and Vivica seems more annoyed than in pain.

Yale: It's a smart move, JB. You've got to wear her down, slow her down, and bring the match down to the mat. You can't give Vee room to move and use her speed.

Timothy Vale leans in and asks Valentine if she is going to submit. An audible "Fuck no!" can be heard as Vivica grits her teeth and looks for leverage. Dirk Dickwood can be heard yelling encouragement from the ring apron as Phil Atken wrenches the arm in a way that it shouldn't bend. With Timothy Vale checking on Valentine, Atken sees a chance and grips Valentine's arm with only one hand. His other hand finds the ropes above his head and pulls on the second rope, lifting his back off the ground and giving more leverage to his hold. As Valentine holds her breath and grunts from the added pain Dirk Dickwood runs over to the side of the ring that Atken is using for leverage. Dickwood climbs up on the apron right next to Phil Atken and puts both hands over the top rope.

Yale: Is this a tag match, JB? I thought it was a singles match.

Bryan: Would somebody get Dirk Dickwood out of here? I thought he would have learned his lesson after he got his gut kicked into his spine.

Atken sees Dickwood's hands above him and reaches his free hand up. Dirk Dickwood grasps ahold of Phil Atken's free arm and lifts with all his might, using the top rope for leverage. With boo's raining down from the crowd, drenching ring with disapproval, Timothy Vale notices that something's not right and he turns to Phil Atken. The second that Vale begins to turn, Dirk Dickwood lets go of Atken's hands, dropping his client back down. Vale sees Atken hit the mat and knows that something has transpired. Phil Atken smiles a boyish little smile and Dirk Dickwood pats him on the shoulder from the ring apron. Timothy Vale shakes his head and doesn't buy it, calling for Phil Atken to break the armbar. Atken lets go reluctantly as Dickwood voices his disapproval to Vale.

Bryan: Can we get Dickwood out of here? Can we maybe have a United States Title match here, without Phil Atken's agent having a hand in it?

Yale: What? The Superagent is just trying to give some encouragement to his client who has been in a rut here.

Valentine has gotten onto her knees and is holding the arm that was locked a moment ago, and Atken grabs her hair and lifts her to standing. Atken lands a forarm to Valentine and pushes her into the ropes. With a whip to the far side, Valentine comes running back at Atken and he steps to the side. Atken picks Valentine up and begins to give her a tilt-a-whirl slam, but halfway through the tilt-a-whirl she worms through his grip and lands on her feet behind him. A knee to his back bends Akten backwards and Valentine grabs an inverted facelock.

Bryan: What a reversal by Vee!!!

Vivica Valentine drops to the mat in a huge inverted DDT that rocks the crowd into the stratosphere, and she immediately pops back up, springs over to Dirk Dickwood, and before he can drop down off the apron she grabs ahold of him in a front facelock and grabs his pants at the leg.

Yale: I think the Superagent's about to be more involved in this match than he wanted...

Valentine pops Dickwood up and suplexes him into the ring, landing right on top of his client Phil Atken! Timothy Vale is beside himself, not sure if Dickwood counts as an illegal object or not, but Valentine pays him no mind. In a heartbeat she pries Dickwood off the mat and lands a right jab, then a left hook, and with Dickwood reeling back against the ropes Valentine throws a Super Kick to his jaw that sends the Superagent falling to the outside as the bloodthirsty crowd reaches a defeaning volume!

Bryan: And Dirk Dickwood is outta here! Vivica J Valentine just showed the Superagent why wrestling is best left to the wrestlers!

Yale: And ass-kicking is best left to the ass-kickers, JB!

Phil Atken has made his way to his hands and knees and as soon as Valentine turns around Atken throws a low blow that would have hurt Valentine if she were a man.

Bryan: Umm...is that considered sexual harassment?

Yale: That DDT scrambled his circuits. He was running on autopilot.

Valentine's brow is furrowed and her jaw is dropped at the attempted low blow to a woman as she grabs ahold of the kneeling Phil Atken by the hair. Timothy Vale, having seen the action, can visibly be seen holding back a laugh as the crowd begins to jeer Phil Atken sarcasticly.

Aaaaaaat-Kennnnnnn! Aaaaaaat-Kennnnnnn!

Valentine looks out to the crowd, still more than surprised that Atken tried that, while he looks up at her, still on his knees with her hand gripping his hair, eyes wide with a mixture of disbelief that he did that and a loathing that he is about to feel the true meaning of a woman's scorn.

Bryan: It seems we've got a...we've got a rare break in the action here, during a title match nonetheless. The hell's going on, Dave?

Yale: I think VJV's trying to process why in the hell Phil Atken would try to hit her in the balls she doesn't have. And Atken is a little embarrassed, a little surprised that he did that, and a little woozy from getting the back of his skull caved in a moment ago.

Bryan: I don't think there is anyone in this arena that can believe he tried that.

Aaaaaaat-Kennnnnnn! Aaaaaaat-Kennnnnnn!

Vivica's shocked face cracks, and the corners of her mouth curve up. She doesn't seem to mean to, but a laugh has worked its way to the surface. The ridiculousness of the transpiration has caught her completely off guard and, mixed with the look that Atken might have soiled his pants, it's too much even for Valentine. She lets go of Atken's hair and backs up a step, bringing a hand to her mouth and lowering her head to hide it from the world.

Bryan: Is Vivica Valentine...laughing?

Yale: I didn't think she did that anymore.

Phil Atken looks perplexed. Then relieved. And then he finally cracks a bit of a smile too. He shrugs his shoulders in a "I can't believe I did that either" way and stands up. The split second he stands up, Valentine's face drops into a snarl, she brings a foot up and plants it on Atken's hip, and plants her trademark Enziguiri to the back of Atken's head that sends the man down to the canvas and motionless!

Bryan: REPENTANCE! REPENTANCE! She suckered him right into it!!!

Yale: That kick...that might have been the hardest I've ever seen someone get kicked in the head, JB...

Timothy Vale snaps out of the previous awkward moment as Valentine goes for the cover and yells for him to "fucking count!"

1!...

2!...

3!!!

DING! DING! DING!

Andrews: Here is your winner, and STILL the GCW United States Champion..."THE BULLLLLETPROOF BLONDE" VIVICA JJJJJJJ VALLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLENTINE!!!

Bryan: Vivica J Valentine played Phil Atken like a puppet. He thought she was amused. He thought she was laughing. And the moment he let his guard down she just about decapitated him with that step-up Enziguiri of hers!

Yale: She's not done either!

Valentine, her teeth gritted and snarling still, reaches down and grabs a handful of Atken's hair. She spits in his passed out face before throwing his head back down to the mat. Standing back up, Valentine rears back and plants a big kick to his side. Then another. And another. Timothy Vale is getting in between her and Atken and she pauses shy of laying a hand on Vale.

Booooooooooooooo!!!!

Valentine brushes her hair back out of her face and glowers at Atken's motionless frame before she turns and runs up the nearest turnbuckle. Standing on top for a moment, Vivica looks out to the crowd that is booing her after such a successful title defense.

Bryan: She does not look done, Dave.

Yale: Nope. But Atken defintely does.

Valentine turns back around and looks down at Phil Atken as she stands up to her full height at the top of the turnbuckle.

Booooooooooooooo!!!!

Yale: Is she gonna do what I think she's gonna do?

Bryan: Come on, Vee! Enough is enough!

With roaring disapproval of the crowd, Valentine holds her arms out to the side and launches herself into the air. She jumps forward and rotates backward, coming down with The Second City Air Raid right on Phil Atken's back as the booing intensifies. She sits for a moment and collects herself before taking her belt and rolling out of the ring as "Purity" by Scars Of Life blares over the PA system.

Bryan: Fans...that is a woman that I don't think knows who she is.

Yale: I sure as hell don't recognize her.

Bryan: We'll be back, folks, with the next match in the Rampage tournament and then...later tonight, make sure you stay put for Cheap Labor versus Andy Murray.

Vivica Valentine ignores the booing from the crowd as she storms up the entrance ramp, belt over her shoulder, and into the backstage.

Back to Top

Yale: The match with David Spencer and PAZUZU was an entertaining one. Great win by Spencer there!

Bryan: It's always nice to see a match where top stars give their absolute best for their fans.

Backstage the cameras come on to show Shaman walking out of his locker room. From the opposite end Donny Diamond is seen walking towards him. As the two men meet in the hall, Diamond stares him down for a moment.

Donny Diamond: You know tonight was to be the night when I destroyed Bishop Steele for the final time. Tonight was to be the night when I was to walk into the locker room of Mayhem and demand my shot at the Hardcore Title. Instead I find myself staring at... What's your name again? I know, I'll just call you Mayhem's little bitch, seeing as that is exactly what you have been as of late.

Shaman: Yet what have your proven lately other than being in a match or series of matches with Bishop Steele that went nowhere. Sounds like your just choking on your own failures and trying to one up my own.

Donny Diamond: I don't really care to hear anything that comes out of your mouth. Why? Because there is no reason for me to give a damn about you. Sure you have been in GCW for years, but what makes you special? Tag-Team Champions? Give me a break, you were such a waste of a Champion that Johnny retired those belts, because we all know Mayhem is just as boring as you are! Everyone already thinks of Shaman as the next Bishop Steele, in fact that's why you decided to show up during my match. You needed some real camera time for once right?

Shaman: Let me correct you there little girl. GCW TV Champion, US Champion twice, oh yeah and two time Tag team champion. If you are going to insult me or even try get your facts together. You are just jealous the only thing you have achieved is beating Bishop Steele.

Donny Diamond: Just shut up and get out of my way, before I teach you a thing or two.

Shaman stands there not moving a muscle after the verbal threat from Donny Diamond. He becomes fed up with the GCW giant and pushes him against the chest, nudging him slightly.

Bryan: Did Donny Diamond just push Shaman back?

Yale: I think it was more of an attempt at a push than anything, but either way Shaman isn't happy!

Shaman looks down at the push and then looks at Diamond. He grabs Diamond by the throat. hoisting him up onto the air with two hands around the throat.

Shaman: Big mistake little man.

Shaman slams Diamond against the wall and throws him down on the floor. Shaman turns and grabs a pallet and lifts it slamming it down onto Diamond who is prone on the floor. Shaman looks down at him as he steps up on the pallet. He looks down and speaks.

Shaman: You wanted a piece of this now be ready for the war that is coming.

Shaman steps off the pallet and walks away down the corridor.

Yale: Shaman has just laid Donny Diamond out!

Bryan: Donny Diamond may want to think twice before calling someone the next Bishop Steele!

Back to Top

The scene shifts to the image of Vivica J. Valentine, holding the GCW United States Championship in her right hand as she marches down the hallway. The crowd reacts appropriately with venom as a noise is heard somewhere down the hall, forcing Vivica to spin around in her tracks. Backing up slowly she keenly searches her surroundings before before continuing on her trek at a bit faster pace...

Bryan: Vivica successfully defended the United States Championship tonight, then proceeded to brutalize Phil Atken. You would think she'd be content but it looks like there's a bit of paranoia at play here.

Yale: That's just curiosity, JB.

Bryan: I'm not so sure. We haven't seen AXEL Action all night, think she might be scared?

Yale: Scared? The FEARLESS Phenom? You're joking, right? Sure I'm not her biggest fan, but you're talking to a woman who was almost set on fire by Bryan Mayhem and the challenged him to an inferno match. Crazy? Probably. Scared? I doubt it.

Bryan: She certainly looks the part.

Yale: You're just spreading lies at this point, JB. Quit looking so desperate.

Looking over her shoulder, she slings the GCW United States Championship over it and looks down the hallway as she fiddles with the doorknob to her locker room. Clearly on her way out of the building, Valentine takes a sigh of relief as she hits the homestretch. The knob turns. The door opens. She's just a few feet away from grabbing her bag and getting the fuc...

WHACK!

It's the sound of combat boot connecting with skull as a MASSIVE Yakuza Kick comes flying in from off-camera to land flush against the temple of the US Champ's head. Valentine crumples almost lifelessly to the floor, the GCW United States Championship skidding across the floor like a piece of trash as the camera's view follows to focus in on her. The impenetrable blackness of a shadow envelops her small frame as the camera catches the slight hint of the leg of a pair of blue carpenter jeans.

Bryan: Looks like Valentine had a reason to be paranoid here, Dave. What in the world is going on?

Yale: There is a laundry list of people who WANT to do this to Vivica J. Valentine, but not many who have the balls to do it from her own locker room.

Heavy breathing through clenched teeth can be heard as a hand moves into view. The fingers take hold of Valentine's hair, clenching it at the roots as her motionless body is pulled into a semi-sitting position. The assailant begins their trek down the hallway, dragging the champion behind them.

The camera pans upward and zooms out, capturing the person's back and the back of their head in the frame. There is no mistaking that platinum blond hair, even though it's oily and a little matted down. Vivica J. Valentine's attacker is none other than The Angel of Vengeance himself.

Bryan: Dave, THAT'S AXEL ACTION!

Yale: Isn't he supposed to be crying in a corner somewhere because Vivica burned his puppy collar?

Bryan: He isn't taking this lying down! He's bringing the fight to the champion!

He's eerily silent as he pulls the United States Champion along the concrete floor; the fabric of her clothing scraping the rough surface. Finally, they reach what appears to be his desired destination: catering. The GCW staff scatter from around the room like roaches as AXEL tramples everyone who gets in his path. Letting go of Viv's hair, AXEL sweeps his arm across the table, knocking the sandwhich population onto the floor.

Yale: Christian Zenith wouldn't have ever let this happen! Garbage Bag needs to get security back there pronto!

Bryan: Maybe the commissioner, like most normal people, realizes that Valentine deserves this!

Yale: No one is worth the destruction of cracker sandwhiches, JB! AXEL of all people should know that.

Bryan: Oh please...

Yale: AXEL did all that hard work for nothing. He's just throwing them on the ground! Has he not learned ANYTHING from his time in poverty?

Once he's satisfied with the appearance of his tool of choice, he turns to grip Vivica's hair with both hands. She tries to resist but is too addled from the blow to the head to even put up a decent fight. AXEL manages to force her to her feet, using one handful of hair to tilt her head back so he can look into her eyes. The corners of his mouth curl upwards into a bit of a twisted grin. He spins her around so that her back is pressed against his chest. AXEL takes hold of her right arm and drapes it over the back of his neck before clutching both of his arms around her waist.

Yale: RAPE!

Bryan: He's not raping her, Dave... but she's sure going to feel this in the morning.

Yale: Listen to these heathens here in Hong Kong! Cheering on the senseless rape of a champion!

Bryan: Do you ever listen to yourself?

Yale: Not worth the effort. They pay me to talk, not listen. That's where you fail as a commentator.

AXEL pops his hips, taking her up and over head before bringing her crashing down onto the back of her head and through the table with a high-and-tight Back Suplex! Splintered pieces of particle board fly everywhere as the table smashes to bits and Valentine's body lands hard on the concrete. AXEL sits up, that grin still etched across his features as he stares off into nothing. His body rocks back and forth as the camera zooms in on Valentine's prone body while it lays amidst the debris of what used to be a table.

Bryan: HE JUST BROKE VALENTINE IN HALF!

Yale: WHAT?! I CAN'T HEAR YOU OVER THIS CROWD!

Bryan: He might have just KILLED the United States Champion, and this crowd LOVES it!

Security and EMTs surround the scene as AXEL Action doesn't even acknowledge their presence. Tending to the wounded, it's almost as if they aren't there at all as AXEL continues to rock back and forth, deaf to the demands and cries for assistance from GCW's finest.

Bryan: He's snapped. Look at him, he's oblivious.

Yale: I always knew that kid had issues. Lock him up in the looney bin!

Bryan: You can only push a man so far...

GCW Security tries to lift AXEL Action up, but his deadweight shows to be too much as the EMTs attempt to drag an unconscious Vivica J. Valentine out of harms way. As more security comes, AXEL begins to leave the ground, jolting him back into reality and causing him to start swinging his arms wildly at anything around him. As security and EMTs jump out of the way, AXEL spins around as far as he can... breathing heavily and snarling from between his teeth. The shocked the staffer have no idea what to say, think, or do.

So they do all they can do, stare and watch as AXEL Action looks around at the carnage he's caused... and simply walks away. No reaction. No emotion. No more sense of satisfaction. Almost as if he's forgotten he was the one responsible. Oblivious to the consequences of his own actions.

Yale: I don't know if he doesn't know or if he doesn't care what just happened back there, JB... but AXEL Action deserves to be FIRED.

Bryan: But Vivica J. Valentine can steal somebody's personal belongings and burn them as she forces them to watch? That's okay?

Yale: She didn't physically assault a champion, unprovoked! Look at him, he's a wildman! He's attempting to assault staff members without a reason! I fear for my safety.

Bryan: Wow, not only can I think of over a dozen instances off the top of my head where she's done just that... but AXEL Action was well beyond "provoked." She deserved every bit of it, Dave and as a matter of fact I hope that she doesn't make it to Rampage.

Yale: Way to be an unbiased play-by-play guy, Dave. We can always count on you to call it right down the middle.

Bryan: I learned from the best, Dave.

As the camera moves away from the carnage, much too crowded to get a glimpse at the injured Vivica J. Valentine, it pans down the hallway to focus in on the GCW United States Championship laying face down in the hallway. Alone.

Back to Top

With three of the four Rampage PPV spots decided for the final, the crowd comes alive to witness whether it will be Shaman or Tempest that takes the final spot.

Bryan: And here we are, JB! Shaman is back in the second round of the Rampage tournament against Tempest here in her native Hong Kong.

Yale: What an outfit we saw her in earlier...I wonder if she's going to wear that whole ensemble to the ring?

Dimmu Borgir - The Serpentine Offering blasts over the PA system, Shaman steps through the curtains as white mist rolls around him. He raises his hands and brings them down as two bolts of lightning hit behind him.

Bryan: I guess we won't find out yet.

Andrews: Making his way to the ring, from Mojave, New Mexico, weighing in at 335 pounds. . . SHAMAAAAAAN!

Bryan: Shaman has looked focused as of late, and it looks like he's ready to go here tonight.

Yale: I wonder how much of that earlier match Shaman is still secretly nursing. If he was feeling any effects, he would do his damnedest not to show it.

Bryan: Even so, Shaman is nearly three times the size of Tempest! This man is a mountain!

Shaman slowly walks to the ring. He stops at ringside, reaches up, and grabs the second rope to pull himself up onto the ring apron. Pushing down the top rope, he simply steps over it and into the ring.

Bryan: This is going to be a real David and Goliath battle right here.

Yale: I hope Tempest brought her slingshot.

Turning Shaman stalks back and forth like a caged animal ready and waiting to strike as a subtle electronic chorus of voices wafts from the speakers as a laser blue hue pulses across the screen and over the crowd. On their feet at the opening strains of "Battle Flag" by the Lo-Fidelity Allstars, the crowd’s volume starts to rise as flashes of lightning and quick shots of a whirling maelstrom of wind and rain illuminate the darkness on the screen accentuating the beats just as the words kick in.

Then the bass beat kicks in and the images flash to that of a woman’s cobalt blue eyes flashing out of the darkness and a tumble of jet black hair, her face lit by flashes of light and a smile with a light all its own. These are interspersed with the lightning and the storm.

A white hot light flashes from the screen and the real Tempest bounds from beneath the screen to a sparkling shower of blue pyro and the loudest ovation of the night for the Hong Kong native, dressed in traditional fashion in her silky red, painted-faced number. The white hot light flashing from the screen fades into the white of thousands of flash photographs from all around the arena.

Andrews: Making her way to the ring, from Hong Kong, in the People’s Republic of China, weighing in at 133.3 pounds… TEEEEEEMMMPEEEEESSST!!!

Bryan: What an ovation for Tempest. The fans here in Hong Kong are really behind Tempest in this one.

Yale: I think she's even a little bit surprised.

Tempest skips and leaps in time to the music’s heavy beat, slapping hands and waving to throngs of fans, spinning happily as the light glints off her sparkly ring attire.

As she reaches the ring, she bounds up the steps and doesn’t stop, mounting the ropes and standing atop them, toes on the tops, she raises her arms to a new chorus of cheers. She smiles mischievously and tilts her head to one side.

Bryan: Will it be enough to carry her past Shaman tonight?

Yale: Cheerleaders don't win matches, JB.

She laughs and leaps into a twirling dismount, before heading to the opposite corner to leap once to the top and salute the fans in the same manner. She leaps again, landing gracefully and laughing as if it were as easy as walking.

DING! DING!

And as soon as Cameron Wrigley calls for the official start of the match, Shaman is off, charging at the freshly landed Tempest with a fierce clothesline that would surely have decapitated Tempest if it wasn't for her quickness.

Bryan: Tempest ducks under that big arm in just the nick of time!

Yale: This one could've been short.

Tempest quickly turns the avoidance tactics into a spinning heel kick, but the massive frame of Shaman only backs up a few steps. Tempest springs back into the air, this time connecting higher with a spinning wheel kick. The connection knocks Shaman back into the ropes, and he holds on to keep his balance, but Tempest leaves absolutely as little recover time as possible, already back up to her feet, charging forward.

Bryan: Tempest has a lot of energy coming out. I don't think Shaman expected this much from his smaller opponent right off the bat.

Yale: But she's going to have to keep up this pace if she wants to stay ahead of Shaman.

Shaman does, however, expect the charge from Tempest, and he ducks down and flips her up with a back body drop over the top rope. Only, Tempest's fresh and agile. She's able to grab onto the top rope, flip and land on the apron.

Bryan: Acrobatic maneuver by Tempest, and now Shaman's turning--

Tempest slings her body over the rope, kicking her legs out towards Shaman's head with such precision to flip the big man using his own momentum and a flying head scissor.

Bryan: I guess she did bring her slingshot!

Yale: Gunning for quote of the night, eh, JB?

Shaman rolls easily back to his knee, grinning across the ring at Tempest as the Hong Kong crowd cheers respectfully for Tempest. Shaman rises to his feet and urges Tempest on, and the Hong Kong native rolls into a somersault for added momentum as she pushes off the ground and into a huge, flying avalanche. The big man moves out of the way, and circles around, expecting Tempest's crash landing in the turnbuckles, but to his chagrin, Tempest hasn't crashed, but landed safely on the second turnbuckle, steadying herself with a grip on the top rope.

Bryan: My goodness!

Shaman is barely able to stop himself from crashing into the turnbuckles from the premature charge, but ever a moment too late against Tempest, the diva has pushed herself into a handstand on the top rope, timing her rise and fall perfectly to come back down over Shaman, driving his head into the turnbuckle with a knee to the back of his skull.

Yale: It's a good thing Shaman's head is durable!

Bryan: 133 (and 1/3) pounds crashing down on anyone's head is going to cause some serious damage.

Yale: The Just Title barely left a dent.

Bryan: Ha, you're right, Dave. Though it might have left a stain in Shipley's tights.

Shaman falls back to the canvas, and Tempest gracefully maneuvers herself into a tight split-legged moonsault that lands her perfectly on Shaman. Referee Cameron Wrigley drops down to count, and the Hong Kong crowd comes alive with the early acrobatics and pinfall.

ONE!

Yale: Shaman not having that at all!

Bryan: Did you see the brute strength? He just pressed Tempest off her, and--HOW THE?

Indeed, Shaman body pressed Tempest impressively high in the air from a pinning combination, but even more impressive, Tempest was able to twist her body in midair, springboard off the second rope, and contort herself into a specially executed senton bomb!

Bryan: She calls that the Cannonball, and the fans in the Hong Kong Coliseum are absolutely loving this!

Yale: Here she goes for another pin!

ONE!

Bryan: Wrigley's going to get a workout tonight keeping up with this one.

Yale: Shaman will slow it down.

TWO!

Bryan: Just barely two!

Shaman kicks out and shakes some of the cobwebs away. Meanwhile, Tempest gets back to her feet, but having thrown such a burst at the big man, she rethinks her game plan and allows Shaman up to focus a sharp kick to the back of his thigh. No such luck, though. The kick only blows Shaman's fuse, and he turns quickly, leveling Tempest with a strong fist. Tempest goes down, but she shakes herself off and fights up.

Yale: Jesus, JB. By the end of this match, Shaman might have the prettier face of the two wrestlers.

Bryan: That's disturbing in so many ways.

Shaman is more than happy to help Tempest back to her feet, if only to club her back down with an axehandle smash to her upper back. This mercilessly set Shaman up for his next trick. He grabs Tempest by the arms and pulls her entire body up in the air before slamming it back down face first into the canvas.

Yale: Shaman just slammed Tempest like he was beating a rug!

Bryan: That is such a dangerous move! He could've pulled one of her arms out of its socket in the process...or both, for that matter!

Yale: Eh, Tempest is flexible.

Shaman rolls Tempest over and contemplates the pin before deciding against it. He peels her off the canvas and tosses her forcefully into the turnbuckles before laying into her torso with fists as she covers her head. The fists are so much for Tempest that they end up dropping her into a seated position against the turnbuckles.

Yale: I think Tempest is realizing the true power of Shaman right here.

Bryan: He's successfully slowed up the pace, and Tempest needs something to reverse that trend.

Yale: She'd need a miracle to stop Shaman's momentum.

Like a big, angry train, Shaman switches from fists to knees, milking a stiff shot to Tempest's face against the second turnbuckle. He follows it up with the other knee before pulling Tempest's limp body up and over his shoulder. He drops Tempest easily with a powerslam, follows it up with an elbow, and stays down for the pin.

Yale: Shaman is firmly in control here.

ONE!

Bryan: I don't think a normal human being could kick out from Shaman simply pinning them.

Yale: It's like being trapped underneath a support beam.

TWO!

Yale: Tempest better squirm here.

And squirm she does, just enough to push a shoulder up. The crowd breaths a simultaneous sigh of relief, and Shaman goes back to work. The big man pulls Tempest up to her feet again, and this time, he whips her off against the ropes. Acting almost on instinct alone, the diva twirls backwards over the top rope, lands on the apron, and quickly runs and climbs the turnbuckles.

Bryan: I don't know how Tempest is so quickly back to her balance, but she needs a spark here!

Tempest leaps off the top rope, and unfortunately, doesn't do much with it besides land caught with Shaman's meaty paw around her throat. Shaman lifts Tempest back in the air--almost higher than she flew from the top rope--before trying to slam her down with a chokeslam.

Yale: She's hanging on for dear life!

Bryan: Wait a minute! I think that's an interesting counter.

Tempest, at the peak of Shaman's reach, wraps her leg around Shaman's raised arm, the heel of her boot firmly pressing against Shaman's throat.

Bryan: I think we've got a double choke going on here!

Yale: Nothing like a Mexican standoff in Hong Kong.

As Tempest holds on, the crowd begins to chant for her, "TEM-PEST! TEM-PEST!" Slowly, Shaman's fingers start to uncurl around her throat, and the big man goes down to one knee to try and gain some leverage, but he finds himself fading. He's not quite there yet, though. Wrigley checks on Shaman's well-being, and Shaman is able to verbally confirm he's still in the fight.

Yale: Tempest's boot is just digging into Shaman's Adam's Apple. He's got to be really tough to power through this one.

Bryan: I don't know how he's going to get out of this one!

And for a while, neither does Shaman. Wrigley tries to raise Shaman's free arm to check for life, but Shaman merely swats Cameron's arm away, trying to think as Tempest grunts and yells, applying as much pressure as possible to Shaman's throat. Slowly, Shaman begins moving his arm from in front of himself to the side, and with Tempest holding on with all her might, moving his shoulder against the grain is no easy task.,

Bryan: Shaman might dislodge his shoulder here.

Yale: I guess that's one way to get out of this. He's like an animal, gnawing off a limb that's caught in a trap.

Bryan: But can Shaman still be as effective sans one limb?

Yale: I was speaking metaphorically about limbs. I'm more worried about his throat. It's like he'll have to literally gnaw off his own throat.

Bryan: How is that even possible?

Yale: Magic.

And with one final struggle, he holds Tempest just far enough out where his air passages flow freely again. He drops down to the mat, slamming Tempest down into the canvas. She immediately releases his arm, but neither competitor is fast to move, Shaman rolling away clutching his neck and shoulder. Tempest tries to push up, but she has to seriously catch her breath.

Bryan: It took all of Tempest's strength to hold Shaman at bay for that long. This match could very well go to whoever gets up first.

Yale: Shaman has an extra two feet to go, though.

Neither gets up, in actuality. Instead, Tempest tries her luck crawling over to Shaman and draping her body over him for the pin.

ONE!

Yale: Tempest better hope this works.

Bryan: I'm sure she wouldn't be trying it otherwise.

TWO!

Bryan: And it just might.

Yale: Nope--Shaman's got his leg on the rope!

Wrigley catches it, too, and he puts two fingers in Tempest's face to let her know. Tempest used those two seconds to recover, conserve some energy that Shaman had to spend reaching his leg for the rope, and that tiny slight makes some difference. Tempest pulls herself back up, using the ropes for assistance. To keep Shaman just a few steps behind, she sends some sharp stomps into the big man's ribs before dropping down with a knee driven into the small of Shaman's back--if his massive back can even have a small--and locks him into the Ferret Face crossface chicken wing!

Yale: I don't know if this is such a good idea considering the strength it takes for Tempest to hold Shaman in a submission like this!

Bryan: But she's got his neck bent at a bad angle, and after that foot choke, Tempest might have found a rare chink in Shaman's armor.

Wrigley drops down to check, and it's apparent that Tempest has found the right spot, but Shaman being Shaman, isn't one to tap without a struggle. He begins slithering on his stomach, Tempest's knee gnashing against his back as he squirms there, but little by little, the big man makes ground.

Bryan: I'm very impressed in Tempest's ground game! I didn't think she'd be able to take it to Shaman unless it was from the sky, but she has found a way!

And so has Shaman. His arm reaches out as he growls in pain, and after a few flicks of his wrist, up and down, he's able to get his fingertips to the rope, and from there, possess himself to make a final lunge forward to grab it. Tempest breaks the hold and groans herself, her hands on her hips as she tries to think of a way to control Shaman.

Yale: Tempest can't allow Shaman up like that.

Bryan: I think she wants the fight to have a higher center of gravity, and she certainly can't lift Shaman herself.

Shaman pulls himself up using the ropes as Tempest waits for him to climb to his feet. She beckons him to charge in before retreating, using her quickness to repeat the process a few times.

Yale: Running away is a great strategy.

Bryan: I know you're joking, Dave, but making Shaman move around like that is only going to tire the big man down faster than Tempest, who has the endurance of a hummingbird.

Yale: Endurance of a hummingbird, huh? I guess you don't hear that one often enough.

Finally, Tempest is able to complement her dodges with stiff kicks to Shaman's ribs. Even now, the big man is too solid to go down, but the kicks appear to take their toll until Shaman isn't lunging anymore. Now Tempest goes on the offensive, knocking Shaman progressively back to the corner with a flurry of kicks, muay thai knees, and leaping elbows. Using the building momentum that buds with the crowd noise, Tempest is able to whip Shaman clear across the ring into the opposite turnbuckles.

Bryan: Tempest is starting to bring this match back up to her faster pace!

Yale: Where's my Dramamine?

She quickens things up with a cartwheel into a back handspring into a back elbow, and the crowd goes wild as Shaman stumbles out of the corner, only to receive a running bulldog from Tempest. Sensing the waves shifting, she quickly turns in for a pin.

Bryan: Tempest trying to take it here!

ONE!

Yale: A bulldog isn't going to stop Shaman after some of the brutal matches he's had with Mayhem throughout his career.

Bryan: He already survived one of those tonight, though, mind you.

TWO!

Yale: Still, Shaman being pinned by Tempest is like me being pinned by my blanket, trying to get out of bed in the morning.

Bryan: What if you're blackout drunk?

Yale: Good point.

Albeit good, the point, for now, is not applicable, as Shaman is able to muscle up a shoulder before the three count. Tempest keeps the momentum swinging in her favor by quickly rising into a jumping double knee to Shaman's ribs in order to keep him down. She supplants that with a running corkscrew flip splash, or at least she tries to.

Yale: And Shaman moves out of the way!

Tempest rolls off the mat, flipping back up and somehow landing on her feet, holding her lower back. Unfortunately, Shaman's up fast, too, and he's able to lift her up into a fireman's carry for a...

Bryan: Death Valley Driver!

Yale: This could be it!

...but it isn't it. The fireman's carry is as far as Shaman gets, and Tempest is able to kick her feet up and over her own head, front flip kipping off of Shaman's shoulders and landing on her feet next to a very surprised Shaman. Before Shaman can extend back up to his full height, Tempest is quick to launch a standing side kick that catches Shaman hard in the jaw, not hard enough to knock him down, but hard enough to daze him.

Bryan: Shaman is out on his feet here!

Hard enough to daze him for long enough for Tempest to hop up to the top rope, spin in dizzying ways off the top buckle, and catch Shaman with The System Crash. From there, the pin.

ONE!

Bryan: We might have our fourth semi-finalist here!

Yale: Well, not if Shaman kicks out.

TWO!

Bryan: It's going to be Tim Shipley and David Spencer on one side of the semis.

THR-

Bryan: On the other side, it's going to be Rasa and...

-EE!

Bryan: Tempest!

DING! DING!

The crowd is absolutely ecstatic, even louder than previously, when Tempest enters.

Bryan: Tempest has done it, and it's going to be Rasa and Tempest at Rampage, and my God, will that be an incredible match!

Yale: Well, at least I'll have someone to root against.

Andrews: The winner of this contest, and the final Rampage semi-finalist--TEMPEST!

The crowd pops wildly again, but strangely enough, Tempest's music isn't there to accompany it.

Bryan: Commiserations to Shaman who put up an extremely laudable effort tonight. If he hadn't fought in a triple threat earlier, he could've easily been the victor here, but there is a steep re-entry fee for the Rampage tournament...and wait a minute...

Yale: What the hell? Are those cops?

And just like that, Hong Kong's finest men in uniform are coming out from behind the curtain, walking in two single file lines towards the ring.

Bryan: I think you're right, Dave. What's going on?

The last of the officers filters out as the first begin to surround the ring with Tempest still standing inside. The crowd's cheers go silent into confusion, but confusion lifts for some as Christian Zenith presents himself in the entrance way behind the police squad, pointing wordlessly at Tempest in the ring with a devilish grin on his face.

Bryan: Of course! That explains it.

Yale: Christian Zenith is out here with a plan far too brilliant for any of us to understand.

Bryan: It's a shame he couldn't come up with such plans as commissioner, or he might still have that spot. Either way, Tempest doesn't look to be too happy about this.

The cops slowly start filtering into the ring, and Tempest puts up her fists to fight. Unfortunately, the resistance she can offer, especially after a fight with Shaman, is useless against a dozen Hong Kong policemen. She still won't move without being dragged, and her shouts are audible, if not intelligible over the jeering crowd.

Bryan: Folks, we'll try to get more to you on this situation as it develops, but Tempest appears to be in some legal trouble here tonight.

Yale: She hacked the wrong sociopath, JB, and sociopaths never forget.

As he gets back to his feet, even Shaman looks confused to see the authorities dragging Tempest away.

Back to Top

Because you went so many months having to deal with under-talented athletes talking about mystical shamrocks and how they 'deserve' their time in the spotlight, the great executives of GCW decided they had to make it up to you in some way. And what better way to do that than to give you what you want to see. You don't really care about mid-card wrestlers who go broke and struggle to find their way back to the top, do you? And you're really not fascinated by dancing ferrets or low-card superstars wearing bizarre masks, claiming they're from the darkness - are you?

Of course not. You're sick and tired of the Indians and Vikings who pretend like you should actually fear them. You're bored of the hundred pound women who act like they'd truly stand a chance in a fist fight. And for Christ's sake, you've had enough of the 500-plus pound Japanese guys who should've had a heart attack years ago.

You need real entertainment. You crave real entertainment. And by God, we're here to give that to you.

Cheap Labor: You know something Chris, you and I are a lot alike.

In some sort of unexplainable act of God, Cheap Labor finds himself stumbling around in the locker room of the only true Neighborhood Superhero. He runs his hand through his air, momentarily pretending like he's Fabio stranded on a desert island with a slew of sexy sweethearts.

Bagwell: In that we both work for the same company?

Chris Bagwell, your local celebrity and quite frankly the only reason you're watching this show, turns his attention away from a collage of self-portraits pasted on the inside of his locker and towards the once-was radio announcer.

Cheap Labor: Nah man, not like that. I mean beyond all the glitz and the glamour. Underneath the surface, we're both just two chill dudes.

Bagwell rolls his eyes to the side, doubting if Cheap Labor is really even standing in front of him or if this is some sort of Garbage Bag Johnny-induced acid trip.

Bagwell: I don't think so, Cheap. You see, while you're stuck opening shows with the likes of Donnie Diamond and Phil Atken, I'm headlining tours sexually harassing people like Tessa Windsor. You're a shmuck, Cheap. And me? Well, shit. I'm the RAJAAAHHH OF RAAAAAAATINGS!

Labor scratches his head - not because he's deep in thought or anything, but probably because he's got a bit of dandruff.

Cheap Labor: You're a funny dude - but you're still missing my point. We're both kind of the same as in we live in our United Kingdom-ally's shadow. You live in Murray's shadow just like I call home in Shipley's.

Admist all his self admiration, Chris Bagwell finds a moment to pause and really digest wht just came out of Cheap Labor's mouth. He opens his mouth, as if to go absolutely ape shit on Labor, but finds himself without a word to say.

Cheap Labor: See, dude? I think you're leveling with me. We're practically the same guy.

Unfortunately for Cheap, Bagwell doesn't necessarily agree. In a blink of an eye, he whips his hand across Cheap's face, bitch-slapping him with a pop so loud it would make even a face-Vivica J. Valentine jealous.

Bagwell: You've gotta lotta nerve walking into the locker room of the Human Hype Machine, spewing shit out of your ass like you've got diarrhea of the mouth. And to-boot, you've got yourself a match with Andy Murray in about fifteen minutes.

Cheap tries to interject, but Bagwell slaps him again.

Bagwell: Now I know you don't wanna have to crawl down to your match with Andy Murray - do you?

Labor simply stares.

Bagwell: Now get out of my locker room before the ratings for this segment drop so low, people think they were watching a Lindsey Troy interview.

Labor takes a few paces back, smiling wider with each one.

Cheap Labor: You know, you're right. Maybe we aren't so alike afterall.

Chris lifts a people's eyebrow.

Cheap Labor: Yeah, see - you found comfort in Andy's shadow. You came back to try and help him out, tired of getting beat around by him. But me - I'm about to do what Shipley couldn't and what you sure as hell couldn't do. I'm about to take Murray out and make Shipley's shadow look like it was cast by a lollipop.

Had it been one of five other guys on the roster, Chris Bagwell would've probably gotten pissed at Cheap's comments. But the fact of the matter is, they were coming from a guy who's got more eyes in his head than he does wins in a ring.

Cheap Labor: Just make sure you don't ride Andy's co-tails too hard tonight. I wouldn't want you to mess up that pretty little face of yours.

And just like that, the man they call the Marauder of the Microphone exits the locker room of the Master of Manipulation. While there may not be any references to heavy metal rock stars or washed up has-been GCW alumni, there was a clear statement made tonight.

To all the haters, the nay-sayers, and the critics who say Cheap Labor doesn't belong rolling with the 'big dogs'...well, he's just going to eat your babies!

Back to Top

Bryan: Welcome back Ladies and Gents! And Dave, you know what time it is.

Yale: Main event, baby. This has the potential to be a very interesting showdown, JB. Cheap Labor may not have had much in-ring action since returning to GCW, but his opponent tonight, Andy Murray, is still recovering from a broken rib. We all know Cheap’s prowess from his time as GCW Television Champion, and he has a fantastic chance to re-establish himself with a big win over a wounded Andy Murray.

Bryan: Cheap is definitely not one we should take lightly. He may be Tim Shipley’s lackey outside the ring, but he’s proven in the past that he’s no slouch inside it. He’s got a lot to prove, too, having lived in Shipley’s shadow for the past few months.

Yale: Absolutely, and that’s what makes him a very dangerous opponent for Murray tonight. Cheap Labor has everything to prove! He’s not really had an opportunity to stand up and show everyone what he can do since his return, and I’ve no doubt that he’ll be fired-up tonight.

Bryan: What about Murray, though? Him and Shipley managed to defeat Clyde Fox and Jay Terror last week despite Murray’s broken rib. If Murray can handle two of GCW’s biggest stars then surely he can handle Cheap Labor too?

Yale: I wouldn’t be so sure if I were you. Yes, Murray was on the winning team last week, but he was carried for much of the match by Shipley. Besides, don’t you think that Cheap will do just about anything to win Shipley’s approval? He played a big part in Murray’s injury in the first place; don’t think that he won’t do the same again.

The camera swings around to Joey Andrews in the ring.

Andrews: Ladies and Gentlemen, the following contest is our main event of the evening!

The fans cheer wildly, but their enthusiasm soon evaporates as strobes begin to flicker and the opening refrains of "Re-Education Through Labor" hit. As the lead guitar starts undercutting the quarter notes with the song's main riff, the strobe slows to a stop as the drum fill crescendos into a climax. BOOM! A wall of yellow pyro erupts across the entrance ramp and Cheap Labor leaps through this barrier, landing squarely on his feet and hitting the ground running. He is racing to the ring like a hooker runs from a baptism.

Yale: Here comes Cheap!

Bryan: And he’s not alone, either! Look who’s in-tow…

An embarrassed Tim Shipley follows from the backstage area. Shipley strolls slowly down as Cheap slides under the bottom rope and is propelled halfway across the ring by his own momentum. The former Television Champion hops to his feet and turns to meet his ally… only to find that Shipley isn’t even half-way down the ramp yet.

Yale: Heh. I guess Shipley doesn’t share Cheap’s enthusiasm…

Bryan: Shipley should lighten up a bit, Dave. He’s one of the most sour-faced men I’ve ever met.

Yale (sarcastically): Yes, because I’m sure putting on a goofy smile and saying "heto" would do wonders for his career…

Andrews: Introducing first, being accompanied by Tim Shipley… from Saint Joseph, Michigan, weighs in at 180lbs and is a former GCW Television Champion… CHEEEEAAPPP LABOOOOOOUUUUUUURRRRRRR!

Shipley eventually reaches the ring when the opening chords and vocal lines of "The Mob Goes Wild" by Clutch hit the speakers. A burst of pyro drowns out the crowd’s cheers for a moment, before The Scottish King of Cool appears with a black bag slung over his shoulder. He pauses at the top of the ramp for a few moments before pointing to the back… and soon enough, out pops Chris Bagwell.

Bryan: Chris Bagwell is accompanying Andy Murray to the ring, Dave! Who thought we’d ever see that?!

Yale: And Bagwell’s got one of those bags too! I wonder if those are what Murray was talking about earlier…

Andrews: … aaaand his opponent! From Aberdeen Scotland, weighing in at 275lbs, he is being accompanied to the ring by Chris Bagwell and is a former GCW World Heavyweight Champion… ANDYYYYY MURRRRRRAAAAYYYYYY!

Andy and Chris head down to the ring; Andy slaps hands, Chris smirks and glares at Cheapley. Soon they reach the ring and slide right in, eyeing their foes for a couple of seconds before Murray hands his holdall to Bagwell and points outside the ring. The Rajah takes both of the bags to the outside and drops them by the railings, before standing guard with both arms folded across his chest.

Bryan: Whatever’s in those bags must be pretty important, Dave. Bagwell’s standing guard like a Labrador!

Yale: I have absolutely no idea what this British idiot has up his sleeve but it can’t be good, especially not for Shipley and Cheap.

A bewildered Shipley follows Bagwell with his eyes before eventually leaving the ring himself. Murray’s still throwing shapes for the fans when Cheap Labor suddenly barrels past Josh Briggs and clubbers the back of Murray’s skull! The music is hastily cut and the houselights return as Cheap forces Murray into the corner, hammering away at his back.

DING! DING! DING!

Bryan: We’re underway!

Yale: Man, what a CHEAP shot!

Bryan: …

Yale: See what I did there?

Bryan: Yes, very clever.

Murray turns and is able to quickly push Cheap in the chest. Cheap falls backwards, but he’s able to roll through and quickly hop on his feet again. Murray steps forward and Cheap charges at him, connects with a couple of punches, and tries to whip Murray across the ring. The King’s too strong for him, though, and reverses the Irish whip. A big clothesline attempt is ducked by Cheap, who hooks his arms over the top rope to prevent a second rebound.

Bryan: Good start from Cheap! He’s gotta keep the big man on his toes. The longer he stands still, the more of a chance he gives Murray to compose himself.

Andy beckons his opponent forward but Cheap wisely opts against tying-up. Instead he surges forward, baseball slides between Murray’s legs, hops up, and kicks the back of his knee. Murray drops to one knee and Cheap seizes the opportunity by leaping on his back and locking in a sleeper hold.

Bryan: Cheap Labor with the submission! He’s attached himself like a limpet!

Yale: Murray is really LABORING to get out of this one!

Bryan: … Jesus, would you stop?!

The King manages to rise to his feet but his face is already turning red. He staggers back and forth trying to dislodge his aggressor, but Cheap is persistent. The former Television Champion clings on for dear life as Murray stumbles around the ring, and only lets go when Murray suddenly charges backwards to sandwich Cheap between his 275lbs and the turnbuckles.

Bryan: Good ring awareness from Murray to knock Cheap off his back.

Yale: Maybe now he’ll be able to get some offence in!

A winded Cheap falls from Murray’s back and the Scot steps away from him. Andy holds off for a few seconds so that he can catch his breath, before turning back towards his opponent. Cheap, however, senses Murray coming and bails out of the ring before any damage can be done.

Bryan: There’s one tactic Cheap picked-up from Shipley…

Yale: Murray is one of the hardest-hitting wrestlers in GCW and Cheap was cornered. What else was he supposed to do?

Bryan: Stand and face him like a man?

No stranger to such tactics, Murray just rolls his eyes and awaits his opponent’s inevitable re-entrance. Cheap hops up on the apron when Briggs’ count hits five but shows some hesitation as he’s about to climb through the ropes. Murray, however, shows absolutely no hesitation in stomping across the ring and hauling Cheap back in. Cheap skids across the rough canvas and Murray stands over him, ready to strike.

Yale: Get up, Cheap! Quickly!

Bryan: I’m not sure that’s such a good idea…

Cheap does eventually rise and Murray slowly backs away. With Cheap back on his vertical base, Murray charges forward and tries to decapitate him with a big boot, but a still-fresh Cheap ducks beneath him. Cheap throws a few punches into Murray’s kidneys, before bouncing off the ropes and hitting him with a front dropkick to the chest. With Murray against the ropes, Cheap comes forward and unleashes a vicious knife-edge chop across the Scot’s bandaged chest. The blow doesn’t resonate with the same SMACK you’ve come to expect from such a move (nor do the fans "WOOOOO!", because Ric Flair is an utter wanker), but it still reels Murray.

Yale: OOOF! What a stiff shot to those hurt ribs.

Bryan: And another! Cheap is looking vicious tonight.

Yale: Not only that, but dare I say Murray looks a little bit sluggish? He’s not attacking with the crispness we’ve come to expect from him, and he’s already missed a couple of big shots.

Bryan: His injuries are definitely holding him back, Dave. There’s no doubt about it.

As Cheap downs Murray with a snapmare, Chris Bagwell steps forward to the apron and bashes his palms into its edge. As he barks encouragement, a curious Shipley peers over from the other side, trying to catch a glimpse of the black Bags. Bagwell steps back as soon as he notices this and casts the Englishman an icy glare.

Bryan: Bagwell is really keeping a close guard, isn’t he?

Yale: He’s not going to let Shipley get anywhere near those bags, JB.

Back in the ring, Murray has worked his way out of a second sleeper hold and has Cheap in an arm wrench. The King pushes Cheap's arm closer to his back and transitions into a hammerlock, before wrapping an arm around his opponent's neck and drilling him with a reverse DDT. Cheap squirms on the mat as Andy leans down to pick him up, before tossing him almost effortlessly into the corner and following up with a back elbow splash.

Bryan: Murray may be injured but he's still a fierce competitor. We saw it last week, and we're seeing it again here tonight.

Yale: Last week Murray was carried, JB. You know it as well as I do.

Bryan: He got his fair share of offence against Terror and Fox.

Yale: But who finished the match? Shipley. I don't think Murray was even in the ring for the last five minutes! He may have spurts of aggression throughout tonight's match, but his rib will catch up with him soon enough.

Andy grabs his fallen opponent and pulls him away from the corner. He throws an arm into the air and calls for a big move, but Cheap throws his fist forward and downs Murray with a low blow.

"BOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

Josh Briggs notices straight-away. He hops between Cheap and Murray as Labor's about to strike again and forces him towards the corner. Cheap's frantic to get away as Briggs admonishes him, but GCW's head official is having none of it.

Bryan: That wasn't a smart thing to do in front of the referee. Any more of those and Cheap will be disqualified.

It's a good few seconds before Briggs is done yelling at Cheap, and Murray, though still winded, is on all fours. Cheap steps away from Briggs and notices an opportunity. He takes a big step forward and strikes Murray's ribs with a brutal soccer kick that sends the Scot sprawling onto his back.

"BOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

Yale: JESUS! Cheap Labor came to play!

Bryan: And now the cover!

...1!

...2!

Yale: Kick-out from Murray, but God, that was one hell of a shot!

Bryan: That's definitely going to knock Murray down a couple of pegs! Cheap Labor is on FIRE! This is a guy we've become accustomed to see flying around the ring like a ballerina, but tonight he's striking Murray where it hurts.

Yale: He doesn't need any of his fancy flips at the moment, JB. He knows that Murray's hindered and that his best chance of success tonight is to hit the bigger man where it hurts and avoid those big power moves. This contest may already be just a couple of moves away from being won.

Perhaps surprised by the damage he's done to a former World Champion, Cheap Labor hesitates as he rises but a few calls from Shipley soon snap him out of it. Now it's time for a more familiar assault. He jumps, spins, and hits Murray with a standing senton, before climbing to his feet and quickly darting across the ring. Bouncing back off the ropes, Cheap hits a quick leg drop before standing up again. He goes to the other side of the ring this time, but unfortunately he picks the same side of the ring that Chris Bagwell is guarding. Bagwell reaches and grabs Cheap's boot, preventing Labor from rebounding.

Bryan: Heh. I guess Bagwell hasn't changed THAT much...

Bagwell backs off as an aggrivated Labour shouts at him. Hands raised, face flush with faux-innocence, Chris Bagwell remains one of Global Championship Wrestling's finest actors. Tim Shipley, far from pleased, mouths a piece of his mind across the ring, drawing a smirk and a shrug from the Guido King.

Yale: Never mind Chris Bagwell - Cheap Labor is on the move!

The former TV Champ strides over Murray's body.

Bryan: Across the ring... SPRINGBOARD MOONSAULT!

Yale: ... NO! Murray rolls out of the way!

The fans cheer as Murray manages to move away from Cheap as he sores through the air. Labor lands face-down on the mat with nothing but fresh air to break his fall.

Yale: Andy Murray may have just saved his own ass!

Bryan: Indeed! Bagwell's timely interruption gave Murray just enough time to recover and roll away, but he's still got it all to do! His body is in far worse shape than his opponent's and he's barely been able to get any offence in. Missing that moonsault will dent Cheap's momentum, but he's been pretty dominant thus far.

"ANDY MURRAY!"

CLAP! CLAP! CLAP-CLAP-CLAP!

"ANDY MURRAY!"

CLAP! CLAP! CLAP-CLAP-CLAP!

Chants building around the arena as both competitors crawl across the mat, each trying to get up before the other. Murray's only at a knelt position when Cheap climbs to his feet and stumbles around trying to steady himself. Eventually Cheap makes a full recovery and walks across to Murray, pulling him up. Cheap punches him once in the stomach, before taking his arm and looking for an Irish whip. Murray, however, stands firm. Cheap quickly realises that he can't out-strength Murray, so he kicks him hard in the shin twice, following up with a spinning heel kick to the face. Cheap goes to work with his opponent against the ropes.

Yale: Now that I've thought about it, JB, I can't really think of a worse opponent for Murray to face tonight. We know him as one of the most well-rounded wrestlers in the game, but his 6'7", 275lbs body means he's never going to be as nimble as some - especially Cheap Labor.

Bryan: Good call, Dave. Cheap is one of the fastest guys on the roster. Murray's injuries have effectively reduced him to a slow, lumbering brute, and while that may have been alright if he was facing a Shaman or a Mayhem, he's really struggling against Cheap.

Yale: Never before has The King been so vulnerable, JB. Let's see if Cheap can take advantage.

Cheap pushes Murray to the centre of the ring and smacks his jaw. Dazed, Murray sways back and forth as Cheap quickly darts towards a turnbuckle.

Bryan: Cheap's up top!

Yale: MISSILE DROPKICK!

Labour soars through the air with grace and sends Murray toppling like a Redwood. Cheap hooks the leg.

...1!

...2!

No! Murray gets his shoulder up.

Yale: Almost!

Calls of encouragement for Murray ring out through the arena, frustrating Cheap who recalls a time when they might have been chanting his own name. He rises to his feet and stomps Murray a few times for good measure, before helping the Scot to his feet and hopping up, looking for a hurricanrana. Murray recovers, however, and straightens his frame, making it impossible for Cheap to complete the move.

Bryan: This could be dangerous for Cheap! Murray's got him...

Yale: POWERBO--... no! Cheap slips out the back!

Cheap frees himself like a greased weasel. Again he bounds across the ring and bounces back at Murray with great pace. Murray, however, is first to react. He lifts Cheap into the air with a huge flapjack, and on the way down?

European uppercut.

Bryan: SHUTTHE*BEEP*UPPERCUT!

Yale: Where the hell did that come from?!

Bryan: Huge, HUGE move from Andy Murray!

Both men hit the deck, but Murray's ribs are still hurting. It takes him a few seconds longer to react than he usually would, but eventually he gets an arm across Cheap's chest.

...1!

...2!

No! Cheap kicks out!

Bryan: Cheap kicks out but Andy Murray is right back in this! What an explosive comeback.

Yale: What kind of toll is that going to take on the Scottish King of Cool, though? We all know he's resilient, but Andy has taken some significant damage around the ribs tonight.

Bryan: No risk, no reward. The flapjack/uppercut combo was all Murray could do at the time, and it's a damn effective combination.

Spurred on by the partisan crowd, Andy Murray is the first to attempt a rise. He does so slowly and kneels over almost as soon as he's up. Clutching bandaged ribs as sweat drips from his brow, The King is clearly feeling a little worse for weather but knows that he can't relent. Andy takes Labor from the ground and roars as he lifts him above his head.

Bryan: Gorilla press!

But instead of driving Labour into the mat, Andy walks across to the side of the ring where Tim Shipley is situation. He quickly lobs Labour out of the ring, sending the former TV Champion crashing down on Shipley!

Yale: OH MY GOD!

Bryan: 6'7" Andy Murray just tossed Cheap Labor over his head, out of the ring, and right onto Tim Shipley! What power!

A broad smile stretches across Murray's lips as both of his enemies collapse into a lifeless heap. After sliding out of the ring, Andy picks Cheap up from a-top Shipley and sits him up on the barrier. Cheap is helpless to avoid the set of kinfe-edge chops that come his way, and soon enough his exposed chest begins to swell and redden. Murray quickly switches his offence by grabbing Labor and whipping him rib-first into the side of the ring.

"OOOOHHHHHHH!"

Yale: Murray's getting nasty on the outside. That's not something we're used to seeing.

Bryan: He's getting a little sweet revenge on Cheap Labor, Dave. Last week he talked about how he hadn't yet settled his score with the former TV Champ, but tonight he's going to make Cheap pay for his part in Murray's beatdown.

With the count-out reaching a dangerous number, Andy rolls his opponent back inside and follows him in. Briggs stops counting and Murray has Labor on his feet. He bashes a few elbow shots into Labor's skull before grabbing him by throat and tossing him towards the corner. From there, Andy comes forward, wraps his arms around Labor's body, and throws him into the middle of the ring with a big belly-to-belly overhead suplex.

Yale: He's just throwing Labor around like a ragdoll, JB!

Bryan: Are you surprised?! This is a man that, in 2008, single-handedly lifted Kimbusa and tossed him over the top rope at Dangerous Games! Murray is outrageously strong, and he's almost 100lbs heavier than Cheap.

Yale: This means trouble for Cheap; we know all about his incredibly high pain threshold, but raw power is the bread and butter of Murray's offence, and when momentum goes his way there's often little that can stop him.

Andy, though, is feeling the pain. Shockwaves shudder through his body as he hits the mat, all the way through to his ribs. Visibly pained, Andy sits upright and winces, before rolling towards Cheap and covering.

...1!

...2!

Yale: Cheap gets the shoulder up.

The Admiral of Awesome struggles to his feet. He's tired, he's hurt, but he's not giving up. Face-to-face with Cheap Labor, Andy completely disregards the fact that Tim Shipley is stirring on the outside as he throws one of Labor's arms over his shoulder and wraps a vice around his jaw. Standing firm, Andy pulls backwards and applies a standing crossface.

Yale: Celtic Crossface! This one'll wear you down...

Andy wrenches harder and harder – such is his force that he pulls Labor clean off the ground. Cheap flails his arms out of desperation, but the move is never likely to finish him off completely. Eventually he jams a pointy elbow into Murray's rib and the Scot has no choice but to let go. This gives Cheap the opportunity he needs. A palm strike connects with Murray's jaw, and this time Andy's dizzy enough to fall to the hurricanrana!

Bryan: Big move from Cheap! And now the cover...

...1!

...2!

Yale: 3! IT'S OVER!

Bryan: NO! MURRAY GOT HIS FOOT ON THE ROPE!

A frustrated Cheap Labor sits up and punches the mat. Soon he's standing and dragging Murray towards the centre of the ring, before turning and hopping up onto the top rope. Cameras click as he steadies himself, but a coughing Murray rolls onto his side before Cheap can do any damage. Shaking his head, Cheap jumps down.

Bryan: Looks like Cheap was going for the Labor Strike to finish things off, but his demeanour has certainly changed. Maybe he's feeling the tides turn away from him? Has Cheap Labor lost his momentum?

Yale: Absolutely not! He's had the lion's share of the aggression in this match and there's still plenty of life left in him. Murray may have hit a few big moves in quick succession, but Cheap is still on his feet and standing tall. We've got a little while to go yet, JB.

Cheap stomps on Murray again but can't keep him down. Murray battles through the stomps, slowly rising to a knelt position. Cheap attempts to kick his ribs at this point, but Murray catches his boot and slowly gets to his feet. Shaking his head, Andy suddenly leans forward and flattens Cheap with a big clothesline!

Bryan: What a clothesline by Murray... but wait! Shipley is on the apron!

Indeed, a recovered Tim Shipley has hopped up on the outside. Throwing his arms around, making gestures, Shipley is none too happy with Andy Murray, who steps up to Shipley and smiles in his face.

Yale: Tim's getting in the ring!

Bryan: OH NO HE ISN'T!

"RAAAAHHHHHHHHHH!"

Suddenly Chris Bagwell pulls Tim down from the apron and gets right in his face. Shipley's having none of it, though, and throws a punch into Bagwell's face that's quickly returned.

Bryan: Chris Bagwell and Tim Shipley are going at it outside the ring!

Yale: And Murray's got Cheap at his mercy inside of it! This is carnage!

Sure enough, Andy Murray has picked Cheap up. Standing back-to-back with his opponent, Murray has Labor's head over his shoulder.

Bryan: Here it comes! Hex Breaker!

Cheap Labor squiggles free just as Murray's about to drop him. Both men turn simultaneously. Murray throws a punch that misses. Cheap ducks, kicks him in the thigh, then lands one in his chest. Murray reels backwards and Cheap comes forward, tucks his head under Murray's jaw, and falls down with a jawbreaker. Again Murray stumbles towards the ropes and Cheap comes forward, hops up, and rolls through with a monkey flip.

Bryan: Jeesh, this one's been so back-and-forth that I'm almost losing track of what's going on!

Yale: And of cou--

CRRRRRRRRRRRASH!

Yale: What the?!

Bryan: Oh my God! Shipley just whipped Bagwell into the ring steps!

Sure enough, the steps fall apart as Bagwell's back connects with them. Shipley sneers and turns his attention back to the ring, only to find that Labor is staring right back at him. Shipley's face turns to a scowl as he points towards Murray.

Bryan: Heh, looks like even Cheap got a little distracted by that.

Cheap takes the rising Murray up and rakes his eyes, hoping to daze him. After taking a couple of steps back, Cheap suddenly charges straight at Murray...

Murray: AHHHHHHHHH!

… whose sudden, eardrum-bursting scream almost makes Cheap leap out of his skin.

SLAP!

Bryan: HA!

Cheap steps away, clutching his cheek as Murray comes forward and knees him in the gut.

Yale: What the hell was Murray doing there?!

Bryan: I don't know, but it sure as hell was effective!

Shipley watches on, unimpressed as Murray grabs Labor and sets him up on the top turnbuckle. Murray climbs up to the second and the crowd count every punch Murray throws into Cheap's face. Cheap gets his dukes up at "eight" and Murray hops down, but not after clutching both of Cheap's wrists. Murray suddenly yanks backwards, pulling Cheap from the top rope and dropping him face-first on the mat! He rolls Labor over and makes a cover.

...1!

...2!

Bryan: An unorthodox flurry from Murray, but Labor kicks out.

Yale: Was that even a move?!

Bored of watching the action, Tim Shipley begins walking around the ring to where the bags lie unprotected. Murray notices this immediately and abandons his opponent. He hops out of the ring and pushes Shipley away before he can lay his hands on the holdalls, but Shipley doesn't take kindly to his. He sees some movement in his peripheral vision, though, and stops just short of touching Andy.

Yale: This is about to get heated.

Bryan: It-- LOOK OUT!

Yale: WHAT THE--?!

Cheap Labor.

Suicide plancha.

Over the top rope.

Bryan: JESUS CHRIST! Cheap Labor just put his body on the line to take Andy Murray out!

Fortunately for Cheap, he has 275lbs of Scottish meat to break his fall. Though obviously fatigued, Cheap gets to his feet with relative ease just as Chris Bagwell, newly risen, stumbles his way towards Cheapley. Shipley is quick to react; he points once at Bagwell, once at Murray, and then once at the ring. Cheap picks Murray up and rolls him back in the ring as Shipley advances towards Bagwell.

Yale: It's not looking good for Team Murrwell! Shipley's going for Bagwell, and Cheap is about to finish Murray off!

As Shipley and Bagwell collide on the outside, a determined Cheap Labor follows Murray into the ring and waits for him to rise. He shouts at Murray, taunting The King as he struggles to his feet. Eventually, when Murray's up, Cheap spears him into the corner and keeps him pinned there after a few shoulder barges. Standing, Cheap hops up to the second rope and hooks Murray's head.

Yale: Tornado DDT coming!

But Murray fights back. He hammers one shot into Cheap's side, then another. Soon the blows build up and Cheap has to let go. Murray reacts quickly. He sits Cheap up on the top rope and climbs up, throwing Cheap's head under his arm. Suddenly Murray grabs his opponent's kneepad and pulls him into the air.

Yale: Is he serious?!

Bryan: I think he is!

Andy Murray, though wounded, suddenly leaps backwards.

Bryan: TOP ROPE HIGHLAND HANGOVER!

The ring shakes. Tim Shipley has downed Chris Bagwell on the outside, but it's too late.

...1!

...2!

...3!!!

Bryan: MURRAY WINS!

"The Mob Goes Wild" booms out of the PA system. The King can't rise on his own just yet, though, and it takes Josh Brigg's help before he's on his own feet.

Andrews: Ladies and Gentlemen, here is your winner... ANDYYYYYYY MURRRRRRRAAAAAAYYYYYYYY!

But there will be no celebrations for Andy Murray. Tim Shipley, furious, piles into the ring as soon as the bell rings and clobbers Murray across the back of the head. He knocks Murray to the floor before charging forward and cleaning his clock with a shining wizard.

"BOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

Bryan: Oh come on! The match is over!

Yale: And that's exactly why Shipley is attacking!

Shipley doesn't let up. Stomp. Stomp. Stomp. Elbow drop. Then he mounts Murray and throws blatant closed fists into his face. The bells rings again and Josh Briggs tries to pull him away, but Shipley's having none of it. When Tim does get off Murray it's to pick up Cheap and slap him, trying to revival the downed former TV Champion. Eventually Cheap's head rolls back and forth. He snaps out of it.

Bryan: Oh God, what are these guys going to do?!

Yale: I don't know, JB. Murray may be victorious, but he's about to take a beating.

Nodding at Shipley's instructions, Cheap tries to compose himself as Shipley goes out of the ring and takes Joey Andrews' steel chair. He slides back in just as Cheap hooks Murray's arms and steadies the bigger man.

Yale: Oh no.

Bryan: Shipely's going to crush Murray's ribs with that chair! Someone stop this!

Yale: This is what happens, Murray...

Tim bashes the chair into the ground. Nostrils flaring, eyes widening, he lines Murray and charges forward...

"RAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH!"

… but Chris Bagwell comes out of nowhere and tackles him to the side!

Bryan: THANK GOD!

Bagwell holds Shipley down on the mat, throwing furious fists into his face but soon Cheap is on his back, applying the same mounted sleeper that he used against Murray earlier. Bagwell uses his superior strength to throw Cheap over his head but Cheap lands on his feet.

Bryan: This has descended to an all-out brawl!

Yale: Cheap's throwing punches, Bagwell's throwing punches... and now Shipley's getting involved!

The two men start to overcome the one, but it's not long before Andy Murray is on his feet and getting involved in the action.

Bryan: Here comes Murray!

Murray and Bagwell begin throwing punches almost in tandem. Their superior brawling skills overcome their smaller foes, and soon they've got both at their mercy. First Chris Bagwell whips Cheap Labor across the ring so that Andy can knock his block off with a big boot, then Murray's throwing Shipley into Bagwell's path for a belly-to-belly overhead! Cheapley roll out of the ring as Murray and Bagwell stand tall in the centre of the ring, eyeing each other.

Bryan: What a sight, ladies and gentlemen! Andy Murray and Chris Bagwell, two men who flat out HATE each other, standing firm to take down a common foe!

Yale: Can either of these men truly trust the other, though? Just look at them, JB. You could cut the tension with a knife.

Bagwell asks Murray sometime and The King nods. They both head out of the ring. It's black bag time.

Bryan: Looks like we're finally going to find out what's in those bags!

They each take a bag into the ring and unzip them. It takes Murray a little while to rummage through the contents, but soon he pulls out a long, silver cylinder. He throws it under his arm.

Yale: Wait, are those the t-shirt launchers that Murray borrowed from GBJ earlier?

Bryan: They are, Dave. What the hell's going on?!

Yale: I don't know, but I don't trust Murray...

Bagwell retrieves his launcher and immediately begins fiddling with the launch mechanism. Suddenly a brown-coloured projectile flies from the launcher's end and splatters into a messy heap atop JB and Dave's table, causing both men to flinch. A nauseating smell soon creeps up their nostrils.

Bryan: Wait, is that...

Yale: It's haggis!

Bryan: Dear God. The horror. The horrrrrrorrrrr....

Malcolm Wallace: OCH LADDIE! MOTHER NATURE'S SWEET NECTAR!

Both members of the Scottish announce team leap from their booth and shovel fistfuls of haggis into their mouth as a smiling Andy Murray points towards Cheap Labor and Tim Shipley, who have risen to their feet. Shipley and Cheap eye Murray and Bagwell with curiousity, when...

FOOOMP!

Murray fires a haggis at the duo. It hands at their feet as Bagwell shoots another one over Tim Shipley's shoulder. They soon realise what's going on and bolt.

Bryan: This is the most absurd thing I've ever seen!

Yale: DEATH BY HAGGIS!

Immediately recognising the rare Scottish delicacy at his feet, Tim Shipley starts backing off. Another haggis narrowly misses him and soon he bolts up the ramp at full speed, and a particularly large haggis powers through the curtain seconds after he's disappeared behind it. Cheap Labor, however, isn't so lucky. He hops over the barrier but not before Chris Bagwell launched haggis hits the back of his head!

Bryan: POW!

Cheap Labor disappears behind the barrier as nearby fancy cover their noses and try to back away from the noxious haggis. Andy Murray can barely contain his amusement. He turns to Bagwell, shrugs, and bursts out laughing.

Bryan: I genuinely can't believe what's just happened, folks.

Yale: This is ridiculous, completely ridiculous. Trust Andy Murray to come up with such a stupid idea!

Bryan: It worked, didn't it!

Yale: Well, yeah. But he used a freaking HAGGIS LAUNCHER! He took GBJ's t-shirt launchers and filled them with haggis!

Bryan: And now Tim Shipley and Cheap Labor are leaving the arena with egg... errr, haggis on their faces. Ladies and gents, we're losing feed! GOODNIGHT!

The copyright logo appears in the bottom corner. The final shot is one of Andy Murray and Chris Bagwell laughing and smiling.

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WorldWide 132 Credits

WW132: Food Fight!!! by Ross and Josh
Introduction by Josh
Under the Skin by Bobby and Josh
The Two Giants....Again by Bryan/Andy
Identity Theft by Charlie
Narrowly Averting Disaster by Josh and Andy
Lori Equinox vs. Bryan Mayhem vs. Shaman by Justin P.
Evening the Odds by Leah and Josh
Tim Shipley (1) vs. The Magnificent Messiah by Trent
Aaron Fujita vs. Mike Sawyer by Warren
Mission Accomplished by Josh and Andy
Sally Sells Seashells By The Sea Shore by Ross
PAZUZU, THE DARKNESS (4) vs. David Spencer (5) by Dan
Exit Stage Right by Bobby
Work in Progress by Andy
Bravado by Billy & Justin P.
Donny Diamond vs. Bishop Steele by Donny Diamond
Maybe You Can Go Home Again by Andy and Leah
Rasa (2) vs. Triumph Frost (7) by Charlie with a sprinkling of Prop Justin
Phil Atken vs. Vivica J. Valentine (c) by Dan (the one with Dennis as his profile pic)
The Next Bishop Steele by Diamond and Shaman
Behind Closed Doors by Matt & Billy
Tempest vs. ????? by Josh
Now That's a CHEAP BAG! by Sugga F'N Shane
Cheap Labor vs. Andy Murray by Andy