The Rich Family home approximately 48 hours BEFORE Domination 1.

“Freddie, our car’s here,” Declan calls from the front door.

“Go on, Dec, I’ll be there in a minute,” Freddie says unknowingly walking into a bearhug from a tall, lovely brunette in a red dress and a shorter yet gorgeous blue-eyed blonde, sporting a blue blouse and matching jeans. This is a situation something many men would dream of.

“Freddie, we’re worried,” the blonde states, burying her head into Freddie’s chest.

The 6’3 blonde bombshell, Freddie and not his sister, has got his orange and black jacket with ‘The First’ on. He looks ready to go, minus his ring gear, wearing a plain white t-shirt and black jeans.

“Sis, we’ve been wrestling in Texas for two years, and he’s not come here once,” Freddie laughs,
overcome with pride and revelling in his responsibility as The Rich Family leader while remaining ultra-cautious about the threat posed to those he aims to protect.

“You’ve never been away from Texas, that’s the point,” Freddie’s sister, Samantha, reasons.

“What if he comes here,” the brunette queries.

“Rachel,” he says, cradling his cousin’s cheek.

“You really think Todd, or I aren’t prepared for that,” he says convincingly, though secretly reviled and terrified at the thought.

“FREDDIE,” Declan shouts impatiently.

“COMING,” Freddie replies, put out by his younger brother and their pick-up destined for the airport.

He grabs them closer together, and kisses both of them on top of the head: “I love you both more than anything else in the world, though don’t tell those idiots,” he jokes, fighting back the tears at the thought of not being there for Samantha or Rachel in case anything happens.

Freddie then grabs his blue sports bag, accepting kisses on the cheek from both girls, but not replying in kind through the fear of showing vulnerability to either, managing to muster a ‘I’ll call you every couple of hours” on the way out. He composes himself before opening and then slamming the front door, fronting up for Declan, Donny, Todd and father Frank. It’s hard being the glue of this family, but nobody else can do it, besides ‘The First.’

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2 hours ago.

The plush red carpet has GLOBAL written on yellow, but besides that special addition, this soulless white office is full of light with an ovular table to house the GLOBAL Board of Directors.

The tall, dark and handsome archetype of Giovanni Ferrari sits at the head of the table:  “Tonight’s main event.  What do we think,” he asks, throwing it out to the rest of his ‘team’ with his hands parting to mirror that this is open to everyone.

Ray Young, sporting a gorgeous blue suit, rests his arm on the table and raises his hand:  “May I, G?”

“By all means, Ray,” Giovanni invites him.

“For whatever reason, I know you’re going with Daniel Dream.  Hey, he’s a hell of a guy,” he admits, turning to the rest of the grey-haired board members.

“But, there are others on the roster.  My suggestion, if you’re going with Dream, is to give him a different type of opponent.  Darring had too much wisdom, experience, and technique.  You want someone impetuous, who takes chances, acts on impulse and YET,” Young says waggling his ring finger, the fifth different band, not that anyone is counting.

“You don’t want to insult the audience’s intelligence by throwing out some random acrobat,” Young reasons.

Jarrod Cruz, the dapper assistant in a ridiculously-priced white shirt and black pants, throws his hands up in the air like Giovanni did when welcoming suggestions.  Ray smiles, having the attention of these know-nothing executives who would rather be anywhere else than working for GLOBAL, except for Ray, Giovanni, and arguably Jarrod.

“Alfie Button,” Ray reveals, holding the picture of the jet-black maned superstar, staring down the barrel in a rainbow-colored coat:  “I hear he took Amber Lee out last week, and anyone who accomplishes that is onto something, trust me.  He’s a former World title contender, not even two years ago, he’s got more moves than Mick Jagger, just as much charisma and yet, Daniel Dream is bigger, stronger and a better all-rounder than this guy.  It’ll be an interesting match-up guys, it’s winnable and credible, and it’s a win-win.”

Young puts his hand in the middle and so does everyone else: “On three…one…two…three…Bet on Dream.”

Fast-forward to the present and in the welcome to Domination 2 portion of our program, Lucas Quinn announces:  “Tonight, on Domination Two, can Daniel Dream redeem himself against the flashy, electric, and eccentric Alfie Button in tonight’s main event?  Are you betting on the US or UK in that one?  Repeat or revenge?  Stay tuned as the two up-and-coming hungry tigers collide in Hollywood, live from The Globe at Stage Forty-Nine.”

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This is the part where a Santa Claus bursts into the arena. Well, we say Santa Claus, it’s more of a pink haired, small wrestler with a fake beard from a dollar store. You can call her Dawn Master if you want. Behind her are her two sisters, the big bad Moonlight Master, who is currently wearing a reindeer hairband, you know the ones. And on the other side, not wearing anything even remotely Christmas related and holding the two Global Tag Team belts, is none other than Aurora Master. She’ll tell you their names again in a bit, it’s okay if you don’t fixate them just yet. 

Dawn is carrying a bag of gifts. Now, it should be noted that this bag isn’t the nicest looking bag in existence. It’s hard to be, after all there’s so many bags in the world, but this one would not even rank in the top one hundred. It’s not because of the bag per se, it’s a huge, red bag with Christmas ornaments, but it’s also wet. Like, needlessly wet for a Christmas bag, leaving even a black liquid behind. 

Dawn is opening the bag and taking wrapped boxes from it. If you did not guess, these are also extremely wet and dripping what seems to be the exact same off-brand diet cola that she brought the previous show, and she’s handing them to the audience, who clearly want nothing to do with the wet boxes full of liquid, it doesn’t stop her however from throwing them to the audience, wetting everyone just meres minutes after the show started. 

After a good minute of box throwing and audience begging, not even booing, just begging, the three sisters enter the ring, and it’s now that Aurora takes the microphone to her lips. You’ll likely hate this part. She doesn’t know when to shut up.

“Hello ladies and gentlemen, if you don’t know who we are… well, just look at the titles, they have our name on it.” She starts. “The Master Sisters. And normally when joining a new federation, we’d do a better introduction. I’d be on and on about how I, Aurora Master, am the best agglomeration of atoms you’ve ever seen. Or how she, Dawn Master…” Aurora points at the small pink haired sister. “She’s the insane pink pinball, fast, crazy and the epitome of annoying, as your wet asses may already know. And then, her.” 

Aurora takes a pause to walk to her bigger little sister and leaves a second for the audience to bash on her size and muscles, before continuing.

“Moonlight, MURDERBOSS, Master. And you might be wondering… Is that middle name real or a nickname?” Aurora smirks. “Moonlight is the member of our family that will annihilate your bones. Plain and simple.”

The older sister walks around the ring for a second, probably recovering her breath after talking for so long, before returning to make noises with her mouth. 

“Now, this is normally where we’d finish the introductions by telling everyone that we were better than the rest of the roster and that we would become Tag Champions soon.” She noised with her mouth. “But we decided to change the order around this time. First show we just go there and SHOW you guys that we are better than everyone else and that we deserve to be the Tag Team champions by becoming the very first ones.” She raises one of the titles above her head. “And let’s just say that there aren’t going to be second ever champs for a long, long time.”

Aurora’s long speech is at last broken by the sigh of The Rich Family strolling out, minus their leader, Freddie.  Unsurprisingly, that leads to speculation on commentary and no doubt among audience members.  His second in command, Todd, decked out in a green jacket and tights, think Mitsuhara Misawa for the attire and Lance Storm for everything else, has a microphone in hand, flanked by the fair-haired Declan to his left and the blonde-haired baby, Donny, on his right.  No stuck-in-the-middle jokes, please: “There aren’t going to be second-ever champs for a long, long time.  Did I hear that right?”

Todd checks with Donny and Declan: “That depends on when you’re gonna give us a second chance, doesn’t it?  How about Domination Three for instance?  You two against two of us?”

The crowd cheers at the prospect of a Tag Team title tussle set for 2023.  While The Master Sisters confer, Todd accepts it as a ‘yes’, and the match, though not officially made by the powers that be, seems set in stone for Domination Three in THREE weeks.

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Lucas Quinn, Mark Deltzer and Allie Reece get ready to give the rundown for the first matchup between two GLOBAL stars looking to make a mark in their in-ring debuts. 

“We’ve got an in-ring double debut in a mere moment,” says Quinn. “Up next, the brawler from Ireland known only as Flanagan goes up against a man that was the subject of a lot of talk coming out of DOMINATION 1: the man calling himself the first-ever GLOBAL Hall of Famer, Aleczander The Great.”

“I like that he’s already setting goals,” says Mark Deltzer, “but… HOW are you a Hall of Famer when our promotion is still young? He ran down his resume and it’s true. He has acquired a lot of tag team gold over his ten-plus years in the business after a stint as a reality TV star in the UK. All of that was true… but as a singles wrestler, he’s looking for that success here in GLOBAL and calling yourself a Hall of Famer off the bat will rub people the wrong way!”

“Aleczander The Great made multiple entrances two weeks ago and got under the skin of our fanbase. Tonight, he’ll have to put up or shut up. We know little about this Flanagan guy other than he likes to drink and fight, but tonight, we’ll see if he can make his own mark. 

The camera is now on “Downtown” Jason Brown. 

“The following singles match is scheduled for one fall! Introducing first… from right here in Hollywood, California by way of Manchester, England… he weighs in at 264 pounds and he demands to be referred to as GLOBAL’s First-Ever Hall of Famer…”

The opening piano intro to “Hall of Fame” by The Script feat. will.i.am starts to play and already, the crowd starts booing. 

On stage, an unnamed pair of blonde female presenters are on stage much like his debut with a bouquet of yellow flowers and a plaque respectively. The music plays as two fountains of golden pyro start to shoot out from either side of the stage…

Out comes  Aleczander The Great, decked out in golden thigh-length trunks and knee pads, pristine white boots and white wrist tape with a golden bandana and about four or five gold chains around his neck. He holds his arms out and steps around in a circle to show off his admittedly fantastic physique. Once he’s finished, the female presenters each take an arm and then walk on either side of the self-proclaimed Hall of Famer before heading to the ring. 


The booing is louder the longer this goes on until Aleczander is handed his flowers and Hall of Fame plaque. They each kiss Aleczander on the cheek and then start walking. He slowly walks up the steps but as the jeers get louder… his face noticeably sours. 

He waves at Jason Brown and demands a microphone. Jason hands it over. 

“Cut the song, music wankers!” he demands. 

The music goes out as booing fills Stage 49. The Manc Miracle addresses the jeering fans. 

“Oh, nah, nah, nah! I told you! I was gonna have me flowers tonight and I’m not gonna let any of you cock this up for me! I worked too damn long and too damn hard making a bunch of people needlessly practice this routine before the show! They started whining about lunch breaks and some such bollocks. And if you don’t start showing me the proper respect, then we’ll do this all over again.”


Aleczander sneers at the GLOBAL fans. 


He throws the microphone back to Jared Brown and then stomps off with the hissiest of hissy fits, all the way back up the red carpet and all the way to the back behind the curtains. The presenters are back on the stage as the show queues… 

“Hall of Fame” by The Script feat. will.i.am… again. 

The booing is even louder now as Aleczander The Great comes out a second time, once again to the same pyro fountains and music. He flexes and shows off the wingspan before turning around and making his pecs dance. After that, he holds out an arm for each of the presenters and then heads to the ring a second time. He has a very fake grin on his face as he takes in the crowd reaction… 


When he gets to the end of the red carpet, he takes his bouquet of flowers and plaque, then climbs up the steps. But when the crowd is jeering him again… 

“I said stop! Stop! I’ll do it again, you wankers! We’ll do all of this aga… HEY! HEY! GET OUT OF HERE!”

By now, his opponent for the evening, Flanagan, arrives with no music and is clearly done around for whatever Aleczander The Great is doing. He rolls into the ring, ready to go and gets nose to nose with The Golden Great. 

“And his opponent,” Jason Brown announces, much to Aleczander’s protests. “From The Local Pub in Donegal, Ireland, weighing in at 235 pounds… FLANAGAN!

Flanagan takes a swig from a tiny silver flask, then raises it up. He hands it off and faces off with Aleczander, but Alecz hands off his bouquet and flowers, then steals Jason Brown’s microphone. 

“Hey! I asked for appropriateness!” Aleczander shouts. “And I know what that word means! It’s the opposite of what you’re doing right now, you bloody drunk! Now get back up there, Flanagan! I’m still working through my entrance and everything, you sod!”

Aleczander hands the microphone off and yells at the voiceless brawler to leave. 

His retort?

A punch to the face of Aleczander! The GLOBAL Nation cheers as the self-proclaimed GLOBAL Hall of Famer stumbles back! With both men in the ring, the official calls for the bell! 


Aleczander is slammed with a second right hand, but still doesn’t go down! He stumbles back to the ropes when he sees Flanagan positioned on the other side of the ring. In a fit of rage, The Mancunian Muscle charges at him, but Flanagan pulls the ropes down at the last second, sending the musclebound Brit over the ropes and out to the floor to the delight of the crowd! 

With Aleczander dispatched for the moment, the mute drunkard raises an imaginary glass to the crowd and takes a pretend shot before he steps out onto the apron with Aleczander on the floor trying to get back up. When the GLOBAL Hall of Famer finally reaches his feet, he gets a Ron Burgundy special from his opponent…


With a huge dive, Flanagan takes over on Aleczander The Great and the crowd gets already behind the silent brawler as he looks up and raises a fist for the GLOBAL fans. 

It’s Flanagan who is the first to get back to his feet while Aleczander is left panting, trying to pull himself up on the ring apron. Flanagan shoves The Mancunian Muscle back underneath the bottom rope and into the ring before following him inside. When Aleczander rolls across the mat, Flanagan continues the punishment by running off the ropes and delivering a pointed elbow drop to the back of Aleczander The Great’s head! 

“Ow! Ow! Bloody ow!” Aleczander shouts. 

The GLOBAL fans are giving some love to Flanagan for taking the fight to the musclebound Brit as he holds the back of his head on the mat. Flanagan gets more cheers when he gets a pair of chops in to Aleczander’s pecs. 

“Ow! Get him off, get him off!”

Aleczander falls to a knee in the corner while Flanagan gets ready to wind up for another chop…

But before he can, Aleczander grabs him by the tights and pulls him face-first into the middle turnbuckle! 

After getting jeered by the crowd, the self-professed GLOBAL Hall of Famer gets up and laughs in the face of Flanagan. 

“You all saw it!” Aleczander shouts to the audience. “He attacked me first! I’m the bloody hero here!”

Finally shedding himself of his gold chains, he places them carefully at ringside. He turns adn SMACKS Flanagan under the jaw with a big European Uppercut! He stumbles against the ropes before Aleczander whips him across the ring and CLUBS him right in the chest with a running double sledge to the face of Flanagan. After knocking him down to the canvas, Aleczander leans back against the ropes and has himself a jolly old time while the Irishman is looking up at the ceiling lights at this moment in time. 

When he’s done preening for the GLOBAL Nation, he picks up the Irishman and then stuns him with another big uppercut that sends him into the corner. The Golden Great then backs up and then STOMPS away at Flanagan! Official Shane Staggs tells Alecz that he needs to back up and stop stomping and he does…

So he can put him up against the ropes and choke him with a knee! Aleczander milks the official’s count until four and then lets go so he can step out to the ring apron. He measures up Flanagan and then SMACKS him against the side of the head with a knee lift on the ring apron, knocking him back into the ring! 

Aleczander The Great walks back into the ring and then picks up a dazed and punch… nay, knee-drunk Flanagan and drops him with a huge body slam in the center of the ring. Then, the bandana comes off as he throws it into the crowd…

Then some joker throws it back! 

Aleczander grumbles and then hits the ropes off one side, then the other before he drops a HUGE driving elbow to the top of Flanagan’s head…


After the completely original move, Aleczander goes for the cocky cover on Flanagan. 




After kicking out with a shoulder up, Aleczander turns Flanagan over by the side. He looks out to the crowd and then gets their attention by applying a gutwrench before DEADLIFTING Flanagan off the mat with ease. He smirks now that he has the GLOBAL fans attention before he moves him about, moving him up and over repeatedly through the air just to show off the famed strength that has made him a success in other circ… leagues. 

But before he is able to hit the big gutwrench… Flanagan rolls through it and catches Aleczander with a school boy! 




Almost caught by surprise, Aleczander kicks out and scrambles to his feet in a hurry to beat Flanagan to his feet, but the Irish brawler is a hair faster and catches Aleczander with a big right hand. Chop! Right hand! Chop! Right hand! 

The GLOBAL fans cheer on the Irish brawler as he fights back and backs up the cocky Mancunian against the ropes. Aleczander stops him with a quick knee to the gut and then tries to pick him up for a scoop slam, but Flanagan slips out behind him and then hits an atomic drop on the bigger man! His tailbone gets rattled and so does his spine right after that with a big double knee backbreaker! 

Once the big man goes down, there’s nothing but cheers as Flanagan goes for the cover!




Only a two-count, but Flanagan knows that he’s on the right path! He hurriedly goes to the ring apron and then starts heading up top while he can as the big man is still disoriented off the two-hit combo to the spine. Aleczander The Great tries to get back up and sees Flanagan coming off the top…



Aleczander’s strength prevails when he’s able to catch the 235-pound Flanagan with no problems! Aleczander then lifts him up by the side to the previous gutwrench…


He finally connects with the big deadlift gutwrench suplex and spills Flanagan on the canvas! The party the crowd was throwing for Flanagan’s offense has just been let out like a balloon! They jeer Aleczander as he heads to the corner and waits for the brawler to stand. When he rises…



And just like that, a massive spear comes out of nowhere and nearly breaks the Irish brawler clean in half! The crowd jeers as Aleczander rolls through the move, then crawls over to hook a leg, hoping to put the proverbial period at the end of the sentence! 





The self-proclaimed GLOBAL Hall of Famer notches his first victory over a very game Flanagan as “Hall of Fame” plays for the third (and hopefully) final time tonight. Aleczander stands up and gets his arm raised by Shane Staggs! 

“Here is your winner… ALECZANDER THE GREAT!”

Despite his good fight, Flanagan gets taken care of and rolls out of the ring with help from one of the ringside trainers. Aleczander huffs a little bit and then demands that Shane Staggs raise his hand. Staggs rolls his eyes, but nevertheless does as he is instructed and points to Aleczander The Great. 

“A big win to start off Aleczander The Great’s GLOBAL tenure here on our opener,” Lucas Quinn tells the crowd. “Despite this over-the-top demeanor of his, it’s clear that he knows what he’s doing in between those ropes.”

“Flanagan showed something and brought the fight to Aleczander, but that power of his has served him very well in his career,” Delzer adds. “That’s going to make him a real force in GLOBAL going forward!”

Aleczander The Great collects his chains, his flowers and his plaque before heading to the back with a big grin on his face.

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The Diamond Casino is a dazzling spectacle, with its gleaming chandelier, plush dark carpeting, and the sound of clinking chips and cheering gamblers in the background. 

The slot machines at The Diamond Casino are a dazzling array of colors and flashing lights, each one promising the potential for big wins with the pull of a lever. The reels spin and clatter, the symbols blurring together as the board members eagerly watch to see if they will hit the jackpot

The roulette tables are equally exciting, with their spinning wheels and bouncing balls. The board members gather around the table, their eyes fixed on the wheel as they place their bets on red or black, odd or even, or specific numbers.

The atmosphere at The Diamond Casino is electric, with the sound of cheers and laughter mixing with the jangle of slot machines and the clatter of roulette wheels. The board directors sit at their poker table, the cards and chips in front of them adding to the glamour and excitement of the night.

As the board directors sit around the poker table at The Diamond Casino, they are suddenly approached by a towering figure, his chiseled physique and confident demeanor commanding their attention.

Daniel Dream stands tall and proud, wearing his red ascot, white cowboy hat, and blue shirt. He is the epitome of the American Dream, a hard-working athlete who has clawed his way to the top through sheer determination and grit.

Daniel asks, “Why bet on slot machines and roulette wheels when you can be on a sure thing? America. Bet on Dream, bet on America.”

The board directors nod, impressed by Daniel Dream’s passion and patriotism. They know that a bet on this pro wrestler is a bet on America itself and they are eager to see him take on all comers in the squared circle. Daniel Dream has a satisfied smile on his face as he knows he won their support. 

As he steps out into the night, the neon lights of The Diamond Casino fade behind him, replaced by the stars twinkling above. Daniel Dream is ready to conquer the wrestling world and nothing will stand in his way.

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Giovanni Ferrari is at home when he looks down and sees the umpteenth call from Victor Ingram Price. Finally, he bites the bullet and picks up: “Victor,” he whispers.

“G, you’ve been a hard man to get hold o…,” he opens up before being cut off.

“I’m a busy man, Vic. You know that. What do you want?”

On the other end, Price pouts, surprised his friend isn’t backtracking by this point: “I wanted to say sorry, I was out of line.”

Giovanni strokes his thick black fringe: “And?”

Price responds: “And…nothing.”

Ferrari chuckles to himself: “Nothing is ever nothing with you, Vic. You won’t be in action on Domination Two. Just so you know,” Giovanni states matter-of-factly.

Price mouths ‘fuck’ to himself and gouges his own eyes with the thumb and index finger of his right hand: “That’s fine. Am I at least welcome to make an appearance backstage?”

“Always. Take care and night, Vic,” Giovanni says, somewhat abruptly yet gently at the same time. Price knows his best friend and smiles: “Night, G. See you at The Globe.”

Victor puts the phone down, and relaxes, putting his feet on the all-glass coffee table in his luxury apartment, looking rather pleased with himself: “But not next week,” he tells himself.

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Alicia Fawkes, GLOBAL’s press officer, has just handed Giovanni Ferrari a note with ‘Bet on Dream – Bet on America’ scribbled on it. Giovanni nods and then hands it back before addressing the room: “Okay, gentlemen, I’ve been thinking about this for weeks and I’m going to put Daniel Dream in the main event with Sean Darring tonight. He’s got everything to be ‘The Star’ here in GLOBAL, and I think he’s worthy of our attention and investment.”

Ray Young holds his hands up: “Giovanni, are you sure about this? I mean, he’s a talented guy, not saying anything different, but there’s a lot of guys in that dressing room who can go. You might wanna see them all before you lay all your eggs in one basket.”

Meanwhile, seconds later, Ray Young’s cell phone sounds and he does a double take: “I gotta take this,” he says apologetically to the GLOBAL Board of Directors.

Little does Ray know that Giovanni ignores Young’s questions and tells the room: “That’s it settled then. Darring v Dream in the main event tonight.”

In a loud hush outside of the door, though nobody hears him, Young exclaims: “SHANE! How are you doing? This is a nice surprise.”

We can’t hear the other side of the conversation. Young nods along, every so often agreeing with ‘Yeah, yeah…”

Young patiently waits for Shane, grinning and nodding along with great enthusiasm: “It’s great to hear from you. Why? Oh, I know. THAT guy just left. I’ll be keeping an eye on him. He was singing the praises of Daniel Dream, who to let you in on a little secret, is going to be wrestling Darring in the main event tonight. Ah, you’ll be watching?”

Ray moves further away from the door and down the corridor, away from the earshot of the oval office in which the GLOBAL directors are gathered: “Shane, have you heard from your dad? You haven’t? That’s sad. How are you all doing down there?”

Young, for once in his life, listens intently: “I imagine. The last time? He told me he always keeps his word and wished me a happy July Fourth. I’ll never forget it. Yeah of course. Shane, if you need anything, just say the word. Yeah, sure. What do you need? Yeah, I’ll keep an eye on him. I know he did some shady things in UWE, and as soon as he walked in, I thought to myself: What in the hell are you doing here?”

Young laughs at something Shane says: “Sure, Shane. Yeah. Happy to do it. HE IS? WHEN?”
Ray breaks out in a legitimate smile: “Oh, that’s amazing. Well, whenever you fancy joining him, I know it’s too soon, but give me a call and it’ll be done. You take care, Shane, and love to everyone. Take care.”

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“Hello, folks! It’s a great day for baseball! This is Jeremiah King, play-by-play man and Vice Commissioner Of Baseball, here to try and convince you to come watch some baseball!”


“That’s right, the Baseball Commission of North America is bringing you the Winter Scrimmage Series! It’s live from The Roulette Wheel in Las Vegas, Nevada! We put the dome roof up, just so it can get blown off!”



“As you can see, we’re about halfway through the series and we’ve had some amazing games! Brooklyn just walking away from Boston, that Capital City-Philadelphia game where THREE pitchers got hit with comebackers….including the infamous #UsiBall of course…”


“We’ve still got some more games coming up for you as well! Tonight’s game between the Chicago Frost and the Cincinnati Monarchs is looking to heat up, especially with this unannounced signing by Cincinnati that’s definitely got people talking! Hey, maybe you GLOBAL Wrestling fans might know him? But regardless, we’ve got more games to bring you after that! Las Vegas and OKC! Louisville and St. Louis! Memphis and New Orleans! On Christmas Day, we’re bringing you the Toronto Huskies and the Montreal Stampede! Coming back on the 27th with Mexico City and TJ! The 29th, Seattle against Vancouver! And on New Year’s Day, to close out the series…the Orlando Killer Orcas against the Puerto Rico Macaws! I’m out of time! Sorry I talked so fast, but we didn’t pay extra for the extended ad package! BCNA Winter Scrimmage Series, live on 350 The SuperSoma! That’s 35.0 Digital, 350 on Satellite and Paid Cable!”

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The screen opens to the sight of Christian Pierson dressed in a suit and tie running down a street in broad daylight. There are blood stains on his suit and his hair is wet with sweat from his flight. He reaches the corner of a building and grabs onto it as if it is a base in the kid’s game of tag. He slowly peers around the corner and notices a door to a bar.

“Yes!” He says.

Pierson takes off and runs directly to the door and goes in, nearly breaking the door off the hinges with how hard he yanked it open.

Inside the door is a dive bar. One that seemingly is not truly active. There are no customers in the place, not even a song playing on the juke box. Christian has a curious look on his face as he pensively steps further into the establishment. He gets to the bar and sits down. After several seconds of not having any interaction, he musters up the ability to call out.

“Anybody here?” he yells out.

Some movement is head and a female voice chimes out.

“Be right with you!”

A few seconds later, a woman walks around the corner and into the bartending area. She is blond and very pale, though everything looks pale in a place that has little lighting and the daylight coming through almost gives a blue hue to the room.

“What can I get you?” She asks.

“Do you have lagavulin 16?” asked Pierson.

“Where are you from?” the lady asks with a laugh. “Nobody around here drinks stuff like that. Pretty much beer and watered-down whiskey in this place. Will that do for you?”

“I guess a beer is fine,” the yuppy dishearteningly answers.

The bartender goes to work and gets a glass, filling it with beer. She sets it in front of Pierson, who is still staring back toward the door he came in.

“You waiting for somebody, darling,” She says stepping toward where he is sitting and into a beam of light.

“Not exact….OH MY GOD!”

Pierson finally notices that the bartender has blood on her abdomen and he really looks at her for the first time since walking into the bar.

“It can’t be,” Pierson gasps.

“What’s wrong, honey?” the lady barkeep asks. “Didn’t you ever learn bars aren’t the kind of places to run from your troubles?”

Pierson goes to grab the beer and his hand goes right through it as the lady starts laughing in that evil, maniacal sort of way.

“What the?” Pierson says as the entire bar’s outer walls start to catch fire and flames now surround him.

He moves a few steps to each side, but the wall of flames get higher and higher. Just as the laughing gets louder and the flames are on top of him the screen goes pitch black.

Suddenly we are looking at Pierson’s face.

“And that is when I wake up in a cold sweat every time, Dr. Goldman,” He explains.

The screen widens to show the older man with a white goatee sitting next to Christian, who is laying on the reclined couch.

“Very interesting,” the doctor muses.

“Well,” Prods the yuppy, “Do you know what it means?”

“Perhaps,” Goldman continues. “But first let me ask you about the relationship you had with your mother growing up.”

“What does that have to do with a dream like this?” asks Christian.

“He’s calling you a motherfucker!” yells out a now visible Manny crouching right next to the area on the couch where Christian has his head.

“He is not!” defends the patient.

“I was thinking that the women in this dream is your mother, whom you have some issues with,” suggested Dr. Goldman, “and perhaps working through them could take care of these dreams.”

“He IS calling you a motherfucker,” Manny says again gleefully. “Can we just kick his ass and be done with this bullshit?”

In a sequence that can only be seen as lightning speed, Pierson is up off the couch and grabs the doctor by the suit jacket and yanks him up out of his chair and slams him into the wall to stand him up.

“Don’t you ever say I have some deviant sexual shit going on about my Mom!” Pierson states emphatically.

The doctor is visibly afraid and nowhere near his panic button behind his desk.

“I wasn’t saying that at all,” the doctor says in defense of himself.

“YES HE WAS!” Manny rings out.

“Doc,” Pierson starts and then takes a second to gather himself. “I think our time is up for today. Wouldn’t you agree?”

He lets him down and releases the coat as the doctor just nods his head quickly.

“I have better things to do right now,” Christian says as he walks to the door and out of the room.

The doctor stands there almost too scared to move as the screen fades to black.

LOGO b&w


“On the premiere episode of DOMINATION,” says Lucas Quinn, “Global fans were treated to a variety of stars… and among them, the largest standing at SEVEN-FOOT FOUR! The former NBA player-turned-wrestling “Big Aug” August Lazar! He was victorious over the masked “Verified” Chett Marx on DOMINATION 1 and we’ll be having a rematch of sorts… with a twist.”

“That’s right,” Mark Deltzer adds. “Cause it will be August Lazar in a handicap match against Marx and someone who is claiming to be a friend of his. We don’t know who this is just yet, but we’ll find out soon.”

“Yep,” Quinn replies. “It’s August Lazar in a two-on-one handicap match against “Verified” Chett Marx and a partner to be named! Let’s go to ringside for the next match!”

I go by the name of Dame Jones
I’m with my crew
And we gon’ show y’all what we be snacking on
Ya dig

“Hot Cheetos and Takis” by Da Rich Kidzz. 

TOWERING through the entrance, the dirty-blonde monster with hair tied back in a bun, wearing a red and black sleeveless bodysuit walks out and raises a finger in the air! He looks out to the cheering crowd with a box in hand. Just like two weeks prior, August Lazar’s best friend and manager, Del Waterstone, records the entrance on his phone while wearing the first bit of August’s GLOBAL merchandise, a red “Chow Time” apron with a pair of cartoon teeth around the logo. 

“The GLOBAL Domination of Big Aug continues!” Aug shouts into his Del’s camera phone. “Global domination on GLOBAL DOMINATION here tonight! Let’s get it, GLOBAL Wrestlings!”

On his way down the red carpet, he opens the box and starts throwing out various packs of candy, peanuts, jerky and other snacks to the GLOBAL fans. 

“Let ‘em know, Augie, let ‘em know!” Del shouts. 

Big Aug hands Big Aug’s Big Snack Box to Del and then pulls himself up to the ring apron. 

“The following is a two-on-one handicap match set for one fall!” “Downtown” Jason Brown makes the announcement as Big Aug raises a finger with each nickname that he names off.”

“First, from Clearwater, Florida, by way of Romania… accompanied by manager, Del Waterstone… he stands SEVEN-FOOT FOUR and weighs in at THREE-HUNDRED NINETY-NINE pounds… he is Everyone’s Zest Friend, Boss of the Sauce, Mr. Spice Guy, One Giant Tasty Snack, The Appetite For Life, The Man With The Iron Stomach…”

Brown takes an exaggerated breath as Big Aug poses in the ring. 


Wrestling’s Largest Foodie raises his hands in the air to cheers from the crowd! Del takes off the “Chow Time” apron and then gives it over to a young kid in attendance to take home! Del resumes filming as the music fades out. August Lazar waits for his opponents to arrive. 

“Break Da Internet” by Moneybagg Yo. 

The music hits and out comes a masked man with a black mask and grey eyeholes with only his mouth visible. His ring attire consists of black singlet in pants and black boots with blue check marks running down the sides. He holds out his cell phone and motions for the music to be cut. 

“Big Aug? More like Big Slog, am I right?” he cackles. 

The only reaction he gets from the crowd after that is some sparse booing and one or two people coughing and clearing their throats. 

“Your big ass ruined my debut!” Chett shouts. “I’m offended, I’m butthurt, but you know what? Tonight, Big Aug, you’re going to TAKE THIS RATIO! It’s going to be THE ULTIMATE RATIO! There won’t be ANY Counter to how big this Ratio is!”

He pauses to click away at his phone. When he gets a quick chime that someone has replied, Marx continues. 

“You’re a big man! Just under four-hundred pounds! Well, guess what, pal? I scoured the Subreddits, Twitter Feeds and even… ugh… the YouTube comments until I found someone that could kick your ass! He weighs three-hundred fifty pounds! And he’s big enough to come down to that ring and kick your ass all by himself, but I’m gonna help him cause this is MY win tonight…”

Chett points at the stage. 

“He’s now one of my best gamer friends in Destiny 2! Not only is he the tank in our group, but he’s tank in real life! My new bodyguard… TANK MERLIN!”

Big Aug folds his arms and the crowd is waiting for this alleged monster that is going to help even the odds for Chett Marx… 

But the “monster” that is expected? 

Well, he’s about three-hundred fifty pounds, but… to be generous… It isn’t muscle. 

The very round man with a thick, scraggly beard and balding brown hair on his head taps away at his own phone as the crowd groans. He can’t be more than five-foot eight and is in fact, a bit shorter than Chett himself. The supposed “tank” Big Aug looks at his friend, Del, on the outside and Del can only offer up a confused shrug in return. Chett smiles under his mask before he screams into his mic. 


Chett throws the mic down and marches to the ring while his very round friend is bringing up the rear, very slowly since he’s more attached to whatever is going on his phone. 

“Virgil! Virgil! I found out where to grind EXP!” Tank shouts. “Just in time for Lightfall!”

Chett gets angry. 


Tank looks offended. 


Lazar has literally no idea what is going on right now, but has to put up his guard when Chett slides into the ring and runs at him with a dropkick as the bell rings. 


Chett knocks Big Aug back a step with one dropkick, then gets back up and hits a second one that nudges him back an extra step! The Verified One gets back on his feet and then raises his hands in the air! 

“Ha! Ratioed!” Marx yells!

When he turns around, though, he gets BUMPED right over by a shoulder from Big Aug! The big man gets cheers from the GLOBAL crowd as he raises a finger and asks who’s next. He feels a few clubbing blows to the back. He turns and it’s Tank Merlin. When Merlin realizes how ineffective his shots are, Big Aug kicks him over with a boot to the chest! 

“Get ‘em! Go, Augie!” Del shouts. 

Mr. Spice Guy sees Chett Marx getting back up, followed by Tank Merlin trying to do the same. He pushes Marx into the corner, then BIELS him right out… 

Throwing him right into Tank and knocking both men over in the process! 

Big Aug calls out to the crowd and signals for them to make some noise. When they get louder, he sees Tank getting up first. He positions himself in the opposite corner, then charges forward to CRUSH the supporting tank with a running corner back elbow! 

A loud “OOF!” is let out from Tank! He starts to slump over, but amazingly, Big Aug scoops him up with no trouble. He drops him forward against the corner with a snake eyes and then charges off the opposite ropes. The big snake eyes leads to a massive big boot to the face


After connecting with the snake eyes/big boot combination, a “Big Aug!” chant starts to ring out with Del Waterstone partly filming from ringside and then raising a hand to get the GLOBAL crowd to chant some more. Big Aug cheers… but turns to a running dropkick, this time to the knee, courtesy of Chett Marx!

After letting his friend, Tank, take the shot from earlier, he gets up and throws a quick superkick to Big Aug’s knee! He starts to stumble into the corner when Chett Marx has him lined up. 

“Got you this time!” Marx screams. 

The Verified One charges… 

But gets caught by the throat! 

He shakes his head as Big Aug carries him to the middle of the ring. He palms the back of Chett’s head and throws him off the ropes before he runs to the other side… 


In a tribute to famous basketball center, Dikembe Mutombo, he connects with the big move and knocks Chett across the ring! 

Tank Merlin is barely up when Big Aug grabs him by the head. He pulls him backward then balls up a fist before SLUGGING Merlin in the chest with a massive clubbing forearm! 


Big Aug feels the end of the match is nigh and he plays to the crowd from the corner again, getting the GLOBAL fans into things as he grabs Chett Marx. He hooks him high up in a back suplex and holds him over Tank Merlin… 


The back suplex turned chokeslam drops Chett right on his own tag partner! With both men down, Big Aug lightly places a forearm on Chett to make the first (and likely) only pinfall of the match! 





Big Aug’s theme plays and he stands up to his full height! Del stops filming for a moment so he can climb up the ring apron and then to the middle buckle carefully so he can be tall enough to help raise Big Aug’s hand! 

“Here is your winner…” declares Brown. ”BIG AUG” AUGUST LAZAR!”

August Lazar is happy to have won this handicap match and can hopefully move onto bigger and better things. Del Waterstone hands back Big Aug’s Big Snack Box and he raises it to see which side of The Globe @ Stage 49 can be the loudest! When he finds that side, he opens the box and starts throwing out more packets of various snacks to the crowd on his way out of the ring. 

And watching backstage on a monitor? 

The self-proclaimed GLOBAL Hall of Famer known as Aleczander The Great, watching the match.

LOGO b&w


The clock says 5:00 AM.   It’s still dark outside the Fit Factory, the GLOBAL gym.   GLOBAL’s arrogant duo is entering the facilities – Jimmy Classic and “The Suplex Ninja” Trae Larkin, Prime Time Athletes.

Jimmy Classic turns to his partner, bragging about their dedication to outworking their peers.   “You don’t stay at the top of the game sleeping in and letting your bodies break down like the Rich Family, Trae.”

The two men laugh as they turn the corner to reach the illustrious field of iron, only to stop in their tracks, finding out they weren’t the first duo to make it to the Fit Factory on this day.

It’s not shocking to anyone, well perhaps the Prime Time Athletes, to find Damon Somner and Greg Matthews of the Health Fanatics in the zone hard at work living up to their reputations as gym rats. 

Trae Larkin yells, “Son of a B<leep>!” expressing his frustration that the Health Fanatics beat the Prime Time Athletes to the Fit Factory.

The Health Fanatics notice the Prime Time Athlete’s arrival, and the two men pause, reaching for their water bottles.  Damon Somner turns to the youngsters and asks, “What took you two so long?”

Jimmy Classic tosses his gym bag in the corner in frustration snapping back, “We usually get our cardio in the old fashion way before our workout.”

Greg Matthews laughs with a condescending, “Sure you do.”

This only fires Trae Larkin up, who fires an insult toward Greg Matthews.  “That all the weight you going to lift?

Tension begins to fill the room, but the janitor makes his way in to start his morning shift as he is taken aback by the early guests.  The distraction is enough for both teams to take a few steps back as Jimmy Classic turns to his partner.

“Let’s hit the pool while these two meatheads continue to impress absolutely nobody.  It looks like we just need to get here earlier next time.”

Trae Larkin turns, nodding as the Prime Time Athletes leave the room of iron in frustration.

LOGO b&w


Jerry David leans as he speaks to a nondescript backstage staff member, one foot planted against the wall. It’s easy to tell that the other person is a staff member on two counts; firstly, he is wearing a wireless headset. A universal code  in the world of professional wrestling for “backstage staff member”, or “Brock Lesnar fodder”. But secondly, on account of the black T-shirt he was wearing, with the big white letters on the back spelling out the word “STAFF” in capital letters. The latter being a bigger clue to his role than the first.

The two men are in a friendly, open dialogue, indicated by open body language, an upward palmed hand gesture from Jerry David, and the big grins on each of their faces. 

“So what you’re saying to me is,” Jerry smiles, “that this Tik Tok app can get my standup comedy in front of millions of people?”

The words “Tik” and “Tok” are separate in the sentence of Jerry David, illustrating his age and aptitude for technology. Heaven forbid anyone should ask him to sign into an incredibly popular website software. He would have no chance. 

The staff member nods. 

“That’s amazing. This is an incredible marketing tool. I wish someone had mentioned it to me earlier.”

The staff member, who has clearly not been paid the extra for a speaking part, again smiles and nods. 

“Show me again how I add a video.” Jerry says, turning his phone towards the staff members face. The staff member leans in and with a finger he clicks the screen and swipes around for a few seconds. 

“Well this really is something. I can’t believe nobody around here is on this thing. I really can’t.”

Meanwhile, just a few feet away, E Z Rah stands behind a tall, black soundbox. He clenches his phone tightly in his fist, his fingers turning red, then white.

“He’ll go viral over my cold, dead body, yo.” He seathes, before storming off up the corridor.

Jerry and the staff member continue to chat, seemingly oblivious to the existence of E Z Rah.

LOGO b&w


Backstage in front of a GLOBAL backdrop, one of its backstage interviewers, Steve Blaine is ready to speak to one of its many stars. 

“Hello, GLOBAL,” he starts. “I’m Steve Blaine and we’re about to speak to a man who will be competing later tonight. Please welcome… “Big Aug” August Lazar and his business partner and manager, Del Waterstone!”

The camera has to back up… and back up some more. Several feet to accommodate the massive frame of GLOBAL’s Largest Athlete! In his ring gear, Augie is ready to go. The dark-haired man next to him, Del Waterstone, wearing a black jacket, blue jeans… and a red apron?

“August Lazar, congratulations on your win earlier, making quick work of Chett Marx and Tank Merlin in a handicap match!”

“It’s no biggie,” Big Aug tells him. Call me Big Aug or Auggie, either is fine. And thank you, Steve. It’s been great so far being in the GLOBAL Wrestlings. They give me chance to succeed and I’m happy to show what I can do as The Largest Athlete in The GLOBE. Oh, also…”

Del pulls on the apron to show “Big Aug: CHOW TIME” with cartoon teeth. Big Aug points. 

“Buy first Big Aug merchandise, folks! Help me make monies to move rest of my family to the United States and in return, you get dope apron! Nobody else in wrestling selling these! Then GLOBAL Wrestlings makes more money. It’s the win-win-win situation!”

“Never stop hustling, right?” Steve chuckles. “People want to know more about Big Aug, so with this time, why don’t you tell the GLOBAL Nation a little about yourself, so what would you like them to know?”

Big Aug holds a hand out to Del. 

“I do. Go ahead. We’ll do one of them Reddit thingies I don’t know. The ones where you ask me anything. Whatever they’re called.

“AMA,” Del says. “AMA. Ask me anything.”

“I just say that.”

“No, I’m telling you… oh. You’re being an asshole.”

The wry smile on Big Aug’s face tells his best friend all he needs to know. 

“Sorry, Del, can’t resist.” 

Steve Blaine moves things along. 

“So tell the GLOBAL Nation a little about yourself,” Steve says. 

“That I can do. I got into the wrestlings at the end of 2018 after my NBA career got cut short for making stupid decisions. That ban I had was lifted in 2020, but during that time I discovered that everything we’re doing here… the wrestlings… all this is what I REALLY want to do. And this guy here make it all possible…”

Big Aug holds out a hand. 

“This man… he do more for me in the sport of professional wrestlings than anyone else. This my buddy and my co-host of Big Aug’s Grub Vlog, Del Waterstone.”

“Hey,” Del says. “Just here helping a friend on his journey. That’s it.”

“That’s great to hear,” Steve replies. “So, Del, how did this friendship start?”

Del nods. “I’ll give you all the TL;DR version. My dad was a referee for over forty years and I followed in his footsteps for a while, but my real talent was producing videos and music. I’m still friends with a lot of wrestlers, so when I got into producing music for another guy I know, I met this giant asshole through a mutual friend, Angel Trinidad.”

“Hey!” Augie shouts. “That’s offensive… I more dickhead than asshole I think.”

Del shrugs. “Anyway, long story short, I helped him start up Big Aug’s Grub Vlog and I’ve helped out as his business manager to keep this fool out of trouble since.”

“You’re terrible at that,” Augie tells him. “Now how about steak after show? We gotta get more content for future episodes.”

Del cranes his neck up at Big Aug. “Uh… no. Vegan?”

Big Aug points a thumb at Del with a “this guy?” look. 

“Fine. We get you vegan steak. Maybe we can add it to the Big Aug Grub Vlog and leave review?”

Before Del can explain to The Boss of the Sauce how wrong his last statement is on many levels, the three get interrupted by another presence stepping into view, putting a massive arm over Steve Blaine. 

“Mates, mates, mates, mates!” 

There stands Aleczander The Great, dressed in gold-colored wrestling gear and gold-tinted sunglasses. He looks up at Big Aug. 

“Holy hell, mate, they weren’t kidding about you!” he tells Big Aug. “You’re tall!”

“Uh… oh, Aleczander The Great!” Blaine says. “What brings you here?” 

Aleczander The Great turns to Steve. 

“Stan, Stan, Stan,”


“Loud and clear, Stu. I’m here because I just beat some wanker in me debut match and wanted to come and gloat about that, but then I see you talking with this big lad so I had to see him for meself! The big guy with the black hole for a stomach.”

He turns to look at August. 

“And mate, you don’t disappoint! Big Aug! Aleczander The Great! GLOBAL Wrestling’s first-ever Hall of Famer, the one man in this promotion that got an A-plus on his Airport Test, and future holder of all the titles. Nice to meet you, mate.”

The self-professed Hall of Famer extends a hand. Big Aug takes it and Aleczander is shocked by his own strength! 

“Damn! That’s a grip!” Aleczander yells. 

“Nice to meet you,” Big Aug says. 

Del looks up at Aleczander skeptically. 

“There a reason you’re cutting into our interview time, guy?” Del asks. 

“Yeah, you can get me a Fiji… chilled, please. Let us giant folks speak hoss for a second, yeah?”

Del rolls his eyes as Aleczander looks up. 

“Big Aug… I’ve got me eye on you, mate. I’ll see you around. I think that we might be able to help each other.”

Mr. Spice Guy nods. “How so?”

“Look, how about we talk another time, sound good?”

“Sure, that can happen. Maybe we have another wrestler on Big Aug’s Grub Vlog! We break bread! We eat meat!”

Aleczander The Great shakes his head. “Mate, I don’t do red meat. Anyway… Dak. Stu. Keep doing what you’re doing, yeah?”

“It’s Del…”

By the tim he gets those words out, Aleczander gives Big Aug a hearty slap on the arm and almost bowls over Del on his way off the set. Steve Blaine looks to the duo as Del tries to brush himself off. 

“You’re wrong, Augie, THAT GUY is the dickhead.”

“I don’t know, he seem cool to me. Now let’s get steak. You can vegan yours or whatever.”

Del facepalms as the two leave the interview set and the show rolls onward.

LOGO b&w


Amber and Principe lock up in the middle of the ring, they jockey for position and Principe manages to push Amber into the corner of the ring and hit her with a knife edge chop before throwing her forward across the ring to the opposite corner where Amber manages to jump up and over Principe backwards and land on her feet behind him. She hits him between the shoulder blades with a double bar axe handle and drops him to his knees. Amber pulls Principe to his feet and hits him with a European uppercut that sends him into the ropes. Principe bounces off the ropes and as Amber bends over to deliver a back body drop, he catches her with a kick to the stomach that has the crowd booing Principe.

Amber and Principe trade blows back and forth, She sling shots him into the ropes and as he bounces back off the ropes Amber hits him with a standing drop kick which sends him staggering into the ropes. She comes after him and hits a clothes line that sends them both over the top rope and onto the ground in front of the fans. Amber is the first to her feet and she hits Principe several times and then slingshots him into the steel stairs while the referee starts counting. Amber climbs back on the ring apron and appears to to be ready to do a summersault off the ring apron but decides against it when Principe gets to his feet and takes her legs out with a vicious swipe of his arm. Amber falls and lands on the ring apron, the hardest part of the ring and rolls out of the ring hitting the ground. Principe encourages the referee to start counting, confident that Amber won’t make it back into the ring before the count of ten.

Amber rolls around and holds her back as she tries to get back to her feet, the fans are cheering for her as she manages to get to her knees using the steel steps by a count of four. Principe argues that the referee is counting too slowly but the referee just shakes his head. Amber manages to roll under the bottom rope by a count of nine. The crowd goes wild, they are super happy that Amber made it back into the ring and that the match will continue. Principe turns around, angry that Amber made it back into the ring and he grabs her by her arm and hauls her to her feet. They trade blows until Amber manages to back Principe into the corner and hits him with a flying fury of fists and kicks so much so that the referee has to separate the two of them. Principe starts trash talking at Amber and she lashes out at him with a heavy left hook that knocks him back into the corner. Amber runs the few steps to the corner and hops to the middle rope and kicks Principe in the side of the head. The crowd roars as Amber jumps down and does a backflip and smiles at Principe.

Principe is furious! He climbs to the top rope and jumps with a flying cross body and Amber catches him in her arms! In one swift movement she threw him backwards over her head in a Samoan drop. The crowd collectively gasps at Amber’s show of strength as she throws herself over top of Principe and hooks his leg.




Amber Lee gets the win over Principe! As she rolls out of the ring, Amber blows a kiss to Principe who is arguing with the referee that he got his shoulder up before the three count but the referee shuts him down and tells him it was indeed a three count!

LOGO b&w


The cameras turn focus to one of the high end backstage lounge where Son of Malta is there with 3 other people. As the camera zooms in, they are immediately recognised as the 4 Horsemen of the Apocalypse.

“I think we managed to leave a lasting impression last week. Your debut went perfectly and you really showed that you haven’t lost any of the edge” says Joe Dutch.

Gino Di Maggio nods “Agreed. We couldn’t have expected a better debut than this. You completely annihilated your opponent. Now it is important to make another statement against Jerry David.”.

“I agree. It is important to start building a reign of terror and have the 4 Horsemen of the Apocalypse back on top. I remember watching you three and William, God rest his soul, completely annihilating the competition, completely dominating and holding all titles both wrestling and fighting. And I want us to be up there again”, says Son of Malta.

“You might be young, but don’t forget we are getting older and older. Joe and I are now nearing sixty and Gino no matter how much money he spends to look young is nearing fifty”, laughs El Asasino.

“Don’t worry guys. I will spearhead the fight but I need you behind me and know that you will be there and together we will dominate just like the past”, finishes Son of Malta as all 4 high five each other and they continue enjoying their beer.

LOGO b&w


A caption situates the action in “London, England” as the camera focuses in on two tumblers of whiskey sitting on an ornate tray. A man’s arm, in shirt-sleeves, is seen filling the second of the two glasses with whiskey, before picking the tray up off the mantelpiece it had previously been sitting on. The camera then follows said tray up a flight of steps, before panning out to reveal a workout area, with sundry machines and weight benches scattered about a spacious converted loft. In the centre of the division, a perfectly toned, shirtless blonde man, his torso dripping with sweat, is just finishing a standing lift of an impressive amount of weights, which he drops to the floor with a clatter as he sees the second man approaching with the drinks.

“Honestly, mate”, the carrier of the tray remarks as he takes in the scene, “do you want to maybe give it a rest now? This IS our downtime, you know…”

The exercising man – GLOBAL superstar Rupert Royston-Fellowes – steps in closer, casually tossing aside the towel he had been using to dry his hair as he gratefully reaches for one of the tumblers and downs its contents in one gulp.

“Bloody hell, mate!” His interloper chuckles, at once startled and impressed. “That was not Red Bull, you know…”

“We cannot afford downtime, Nige”, Fellowes states, seemingly oblivious to the second man’s latest observation.

“Why ever not?” Nigel Kensington III, the other half of the team known as Best of British, frowns in puzzlement as the camera finally pans up to focus on his face. “We are not due to compete for two whole weeks. Surely, we can relax and have a couple of drinks at SOME point, can’t we?”

“Yes, but we must not let ourselves relax TOO much”, his partner counters. “We DO still need to exact revenge on those…”

The blond waves his hand in front of his face, as if looking for the word, prompting his partner to helpfully chime in:


“What?!” Fellowes” tone of genuine bewilderment visibly catches Nigel by surprise. “Flyboys? What ARE you on about, mate? I was referring to those…girls!”

“Wait, WHAT?!” It is Nigel”s turn to express shocked disbelief. “Rupes, you DO know our match is not with THEM…?”

“Of course I bloody know that”, Fellowes snarls through gritted teeth, “but I am not about to let them get away with ASSAULTING us without suffering the consequences!”

“So you are…focusing on totally the wrong targets”, Kensington deadpans. “I…see.”

“They are NOT the wrong targets, Nige”, Rupert counters forcefully. “They should just be as much in our line of sight as…well, as your “flyboys”.”

Before his partner can offer another counter-argument, the conversation is momentarily interrupted by the buzzing of Rupert”s phone, emanating from a nearby bench. The blond walks over to retrieve it, glances briefly at the screen, then hastens to answer.

“Hello! How are you?”

He pauses for a long moment to listen to whoever is at the other end of the line, then his complexion visibly and suddenly darkens.

What?! But…”

He pauses again, presumably having been interrupted, then flares up again.

“You don’t understand! They ASSAULTED us!”

Another pause, the voice at the other end now speaking forcefully enough that they can be faintly heard from where Kensington is standing, a few feet away. Perhaps that is why, when Fellowes speaks again, his tone is significantly more subdued.

“Yes…yes, all right…yes, I understand…no, no, you are, of course…you are in charge…yes…yes, leave it with us. Yes, goodbye for now.”

Then, as the caller presumably hangs up, he turns to Nigel, his expression livid.

“We are supposed to APPROACH them! Can you BELIEVE this?”

“Approach whom, exactly?”

“Those women!”

“The Master Sisters?”

“YES! Apparently they are “an asset”…” Rupert emphasises his words with sarcastic air quotes, to match his pronounced eye roll, “..and would “fit in perfectly with our vision”. And the thing is…we can’t really say no, can we?”

“No we cannot”, Nigel agrees. “So there is only one thing to it, then…”

“UGGGHHHH….yes”, Rupert agrees, his teeth firmly clenched once again. “Honestly, I CANNOT BELIEVE she wants to REWARD them for attacking us…I thought she cared about us!”

“Mate…look who you are talking about”, Nigel retorts, clearly giving his partner pause. Then, Rupert’s anger suitably brought to a low boil, he adds: “Now…more whiskey?”

Yes please”, Rupert growls, reaching for his empty tumbler on the tray. “After THAT, I certainly bloody need it!”

With that, and not another word shared between them, the two men walk out of the workout room, the camera taking in the empty area for an additional couple of seconds before the scene ends.

LOGO b&w


“I’m sorry.”

“Sorry don’t cut it, cupcake.”

“Yeah, I know…I should’a done listened to you…’bout that there concentration thing.”

“No shit, Sherlock. When are you gonna learn that I NEVER just talk out my ass?”

At this, the young blonde woman currently holding a battered old phone in front of her face snorts, causing the older, also blonde woman on screen to wince momentarily.

“Okay, okay, yeah…but not about training. I never just talk out my ass about training.”

“Yeah, ‘k”, the younger woman quips, still sniffing away the laughter. Before the older caller can say anything further, however, the door connecting the motel room to the tiny cubicle-like space that passes for an ensuite bathroom opens, and a good-looking man in his early 20s, with a curly straw-colored mullet and an impressive six-pack, steps out, his lower torso wrapped in a towel. His appearance causes the young woman – GLOBAL athlete Hayley ‘The Raven’ Robinson, whose romantic and tag team partner he is – to momentarily lift her eyes from the screen to briefly roll her eyes at him.

“I saw that, cupcake. If you were here, you would owe me twenty right now.”

“Good thing I ain’t, then”, the youngster snarks. “Anyway, I gots to go.”

“Ohhhh no, you don’t”, the older caller snaps. “Don’t you dare hang up this goddamn call, cupcake. I want him to hear you get chewed out.”

As she says this, the man jumps onto the bed, kneeling behind his tag team partner and flashing his cheeky grin at the lens.

“’Sup, Jacqui? What you givin’ my girl here a hard time for?” The man leans over to kiss his partner in the neck, even as the woman now identified as Jacqui scowls at the pair of them.

“It’s Miss Monroe to you, cupcake. And for being a dipshit, that’s what”, she snaps. “Costing you that match just ’cause she can’t keep her cool for five goddamn minutes!”

“Look who’s talkin’”, Robinson snarks. “Like you ain’t do the same shit on the regular!”

“Yeah, dumbass…and that’s why I only got so far in my career. Is that all you want? To be as good as me? ‘Cause that’s all that kind’a shit’s gonna get you…”

“As good as you is plenty good ’nuff”, the youngster retorts, her tone suddenly subdued.

“Not if you can be better, it ain’t”, her mentor counters, equally solemn. “And you can be better. In fact, you’re THIS fuckin’ close. But you keep letting your goddamn temper get in the way!”

“That’s what I keep tellin’ her, too”, the man interjects. “Like, yesterday, at Taco Bell…”

Shut up, Ross”, the two women snap in unison, causing the young man to laugh.

“Hey, I got both y’all to agree, at least. That’s somethin’…”

The woman named Jacqui, however, appears not to see the humour in this, her face and countenance still stern as she once again addresses her younger lookalike:

“And another thing…you don’t know how to work as a team. Your boyfriend does. He spent that whole goddamn match leaning forward on that rope yelling his ass off. But did you give a shit? Nope. You had your anger blinkers on, and you had to do your thing, and fuck everybody else. And you do that every time. Every. Goddamn. Time. Remember back at that place, what was it called?”

“I ain’t wanna talk ’bout that place”, the youth grumbles, glowering first at her coach and then at her partner. “An’ yeah – he do know how to work in a team all right. A sports team…”

On screen, Jacqui frowns. “What are you talking about?”

“He know. Right, ‘darlin”?”

“Hey”, Ross holds his hands up, as if apologising. “We ain’t booked that night. I might as well do SOMETHING. Besides, they WANT me. More’n I can say for THIS business anymore…”

“’K”, Hayley snaps, rolling her eyes. “Whatever.”

“You two mind telling me what’s going on?” Jacqui now looks distinctly unamused, if not more than a little confused.

“Nevermind, Coach. Just go on.”

“Whatever you say, cupcake. The thing is, every time I got you to pull your head out of your ass for five seconds, you did good. But then you went and put it right back in there again, and you ended up in the shit again. And you’re still fucking doing it! You’re a walking, talking self-fulfilling prophecy. And until you realize the world doesn’t revolve around you and doesn’t give a shit what you want, things ain’t gonna change for you. Right, Ross?”

“Huh?” At the mention of his name, Hanson, who had been lying back on the bed, sits up, frowning at the screen. “Sorry, I was watching this fly walking into this spider web up there in the corner…man, that was a CLOSE goddamn call!”

The blonde coach heaves a world-weary sigh. “Nevermind…” Then, once again addressing her student: “…anyway, my point is…”

Oh shit, we’re late!!” Hanson suddenly springs off the bed, his hands already grabbing for his shirt, laid out in a chair in the corner of the room. On the phone screen, Jacqui frowns.

“Late for what?”

“All-you-can-eat Indian buffet, that’s what! Motherfuckers close at nine-thirty, and they don’t do take-away!”

With that, the Son of a Madman promptly abandons the conversation, leaving Hayley to suffer her coach’s sarcastic “All-you-can-eat? Really? That’s your date night dinner?” before hastily saying her goodbyes, ending the call, and heading to the now-vacant bathroom to make herself look presentable for the evening ahead.

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The ring shows a very average looking guy in wrestling gear standing near the far right corner with a lady standing next to him. In the center of the ring, “Downtown” Jason Brown is shaking his head as he begins to speak.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, this match is set for one fall!”

He takes another look over at the pair in the corner and continues.

“Introducing first, from Lynchburg, Virginia,” Brown announces with a trademark grin, “and accompanied to the ring by Plain Jane, here is Joe Public!”

Joe raises his arm to the announcement of his name and gets almost no response at all. Well, that is, except for Jane who claps a few times in a mediocre celebration of the already obviously mediocre.

“And his opponent,” Brown deftly shifts the focus to the man entering the arena now. Blacklite District’s “Cold As Ice” begins playing as the yuppy Christian Pierson walks out. Not a ton of reaction here either as nobody knows him really. Not yet, anyway.

Pierson enters the ring, stepping through the middle and top ropes and walks directly toward the middle of the ring. The largest referee in Global, Aaron Powell, holds out a hand to stop his progress and calls for the bell to get this one started. Jane exits the ring as the timekeeper obliges.


The two men start to circle around a bit to size each other up and then Public surges forward and goes for a lock up. Just as the two men are about to finally connect in a grapple, the entire screen seems to free and Pierson literally steps back as if not tethered by space and time. He looks at the camera with a steely glare.

“This is what you all out there never understand about what we do in here,” Pierson discusses to the camera. “It really is a game of inches. Take this guy right here.”

He slowly walks around Public, who is seemingly frozen in mid-lunge toward the tie-up.

“This guy is as average as he could be, right?” He says and then wags a finger, “but is he?”

He squats down behind Public right near the feet. He points to Joe’s left foot, which is pushing hardest in the surge forward.

“He very well may be the most average man in a wrestling ring, but then again he may have skill. Only somebody with a trained eye and true skill can tell for sure and this is where it is seen the best,” explains the yuppy. “He has pushed far too hard because he is used to not winning these types of moments in the ring.”

Pierson rises back to his feet and begins to symbolically wash his hands.

“If he were truly just hiding greatness, then he wouldn’t be throwing everything he has into this first exchange,” Christian muses. “He has already imbalanced himself and all I will need to do is quickly regress my left side and spin around, planting an elbow to the back of his head.”

He takes a breath with a confident look on his face. “Yeah, that will probably be enough to gain all the advantage I will need.”

He notices Aaron Powell and his eyes bow out just a tad.

“Fuck me, he’s huge,” Pierson blurts out before turning to the camera again. “I know that is what she said, right? Grow up, you filth. Be smarter than that.”

He walks back toward where he was in the near tie up.

“Let’s get this going, then eh?”

Pierson steps back into place and immediately the action jumps back as he drops the right shoulder back and spins around, using Joe’s momentum and plants him in the back of the head with a spinning elbow that sends Public to the canvas.

Christian stands back and waits for Joe to get up to his feet. The moment he is up and turns around, Pierson immediately grabs him by the neck in a front chancery hold and lifts his knee into the ribs hard and fast. Then he does it again before dropping Public into a front facebuster on his knee.

“Pierson really taking it to him right from that opening bell!” exclaims Lucas Quinn.

“I’ll say,” replies Allie Reece, “I expected him to be dangerous though.”

Christian pulls Public up to his feet and whips him across into the corner, where he hits the turnbuckle squarely and staggers back into the waiting arms of the yuppy. Pierson immediately lifts Joe into the air with a belly-to-back suplex and bridges over for the cover!


Pierson lets go of the hold and the pin ends. Even Aaron Powell is stunned that Christian just let the probable victory go. The slicked-back assassin gets to his feet and backs up, looking to land his curb stomp finisher when Joe finally manages to get his head lifted up just high enough for maximum impact.

Suddenly, Christian’s eyes bulge wide and his face goes red with anger as he hears Plain Jane yelling at Joe to stay down. He turns his head to hear her hitting her hands on the apron and just screaming, “STAY DOWN!” over and over in a screechy tone.

Pierson turns and walks to the ropes, stepping through them again. He drops to the arena floor and power walks over to where Jane is. He grabs her by the back of the head and yanks her back awkwardly, holding the hair tightly. Her face immediately going into shock and fright with tears immediately streaming.

“SHUT THE FUCK UP!” Pierson yells. “You are what makes him pathetic! You are why he loses every damn time he walks out here. You scream at him to stay down and take the loss. You ought to be yelling to stand up and fight like a man!”

He looks to Joe, who is still trying to get up in the corner and seemingly has no clue what is going on.

“I’m so sick of hearing your voice in my head!” Christian continues as he looks back at Jane. “Now either cheer him on or shut your face!”

He lets go of her hair and turns around to eat a flying clothesline from Joe Public, who just got the first positive reaction from a crowd in his career. Pierson hits the arena floor and Joe quickly is over to check on Jane instead of jumping on his downed opponent.

As he checks on Jane, Pierson sits up and looks to the camera, shaking his head, and then lays back down as Joe walks over. Public pulls the yuppy to his feet and rolls him into the ring. Joe follows quickly, sliding under the bottom rope and then grabs Pierson to pull him to his feet.

Joe sets up for a suplex lift, but Pierson blocks it and then lifts it the opposite direction, dropping him squarely with a vertical suplex of his own. Christian rushes back over and kicks him three times quickly in the ribs, forcing him to roll over. Then he runs over to the side of the ring where Jane is and points at her.

“This is all YOUR fault!” He yells, “Remember that!”

The moment Joe rolls over and starts pushing himself up, Pierson runs over an leaps with a destructive curb stomp that bounces Joe’s head nearly a foot back off the canvas after impact.

“There it is!” shouts Quinn.

“The Crash has landed flush!” Mark Deltzer adds.

Christian quickly covers and Powell counts the three count. ONE! TWO! THREE!

Pierson wins his debut match in Global and he gets to his feet for Powell to raise his arm. As the screen changes view to show the wide view of the ring, we see Pierson is in the middle with his left arm being held up by Manny, who is beaming with pride.

As “Cold as Ice” by Blacklite District begins to play, Pierson’s expression has not shown an ounce of emotion for the thrill of victory. He just walks out of the ring as the screen fades to black.

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“Do you have scruffy, shaggy hair?” a peppy voiceover reads, as a field is flooded with dogs of all shapes and sizes.

It is a glorious day, and the dogs smile widely, if you are the type of person who believes dogs can indeed smile. If not, then there were just some regular dogs running across a field, and you can stick to being a ‘cat person’, okay?

“Constantly caked in mud and smelling like a swamp?”

The dogs leap through a narrow brook, which splashes their fur as they bound across the water. Some dogs make it, but you have to imagine that many of the smaller ones were immediately swept away downstream.

You don’t have to imagine it, but you are, aren’t you?

“You need HOUND DOG SHAMPOO!” the voice over booms.

Inexplicably, a man in a shirt with a white t-shirt underneath it appears in the bottom right of the screen, holding some HOUND DOG SHAMPOO and smiling.

HOUND DOG SHAMPOO is the leading shampoo on the market for women aged 35-65 with wiery, dirty or shaggy hair-types.  So come on, ladies. Don’t be shy.  I know my mother never was!”

He smiles into the camera, trying to hide the hurt he feels deep down inside. The hurt from never quite making it in this town, the hurt of his mother having actually left him when he was 12 years old, the hurt of a life wasted.

A very quick voiceover says, HOUND DOG SHAMPOO is not medicinal. No matter who says you should drink it, President or not, you should not consume this product orally or otherwise. It is for your hair only. May cause drowsiness, hair loss,and cravings for wet meat. Always read the label.”

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“What’s the deal with driving gloves?” Jerry David asks the audience in front of him in the dark, intimate comedy club. Down the right of the screen some white icons indicate the amount of likes, comments and shares. They are in their thousands.


“What’s this? Ah.” Jerry says, speaking to a different audience in a different comedy club and rummaging in his jeans pocket, “A pacifier. Looks like my kid has left me yet another disgusting gift.” 

The audience laugh as he holds the pacifier aloft.


“What’s the deal with car garages?”


“The problem with my father is…”


E Z Rah drops the phone to his side, his knuckles whitening as he tightens his grip on the phone. A vein pulsates in the side of his head.

“Nah.” he shakes his head, “Nah!” he grunts a second time, his head as red as the top of a match.

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The scene opens with a view of the parking lot recorded earlier today, which it states previously recorded on the screen. A long black stretch limo appears, parking right in front of the parking lot, as the only one standing there is a geeky-looking man in a tacky suit. He stands at attention, nervously sweating bullets. Right outside soon, the windows move down as the head of the newest signing to Global pops out, none other than the Queen herself, Bianca Davis; she looks around disgusted like she was expecting more than what was provided. 

“Simon, where is my red carpet, my paparazzi, my adoring public? I thought you had discussed this with them?! She said in a demanding tone, not happy that her big moment was ruined by incompetence. 

“My Queen, I am sorry I told them, but they seemed to have ignored it; they said, “She doesn’t get to make these kinds of demands,” Simon said sheepishly as the eyes of the Queen were cutting through him.  

“I will not entertain this; I will send them a telegram and contact the television executives. They are not going to be happy with this! I hope the board is happy with themselves so I will be going make sure next show this is properly taken care of,” Bianca says in a commanding tone.

Simon nods his head nervously, gulping for air. “Yes, my queen, I will not let you down!”

Bianca scoffed smugly as she said, “You had better not, do not fail me again!’ The haughty Malibu native soon turns her eyes to the limo driver. Her voice can be heard saying,” Let’s go; I am so damn disgusted; get me out of this cesspool.”

With that, her limo drives off after she closes and raises her window, as Simon shakes his head, bothered by this situation. As he heads off, likely taking out his phone, the scene fades to black.

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The camera shifts backstage to find GLOBAL hot prospect rookie Valorie Vitality chatting to a scruffy-looking man a few years older than her. Like Valorie, the man is holding a pair of dogtags, which he is in the process of comparing with the GLOBAL competitor’s.

“Were you in Afghanistan?”, the man is heard enquiring as he appraises both sets of insignia. “I did a couple tours out there. Was stationed right in Kabul… 8th Marines. You’re probably too young to have been there, though…”

Before the – clearly flattered – Vitality can reply, however, a human-shaped hurricane breezes through the scene, dragging the male half of the conversation in its wake.

“ComeoncomeoncomeONNNNN! Dude back there says we’re good to go!”

Even while allowing himself to be dragged away, the man still attempts to continue his exchange with Valorie. “Guess we’ll have to continue this some other time. I’m really curious about your…”

“Come ON, papi,” the teenage girl responsible for the distraction huffs. “Why you still standin’ there talkin’ for? You’re gonna make us LATE! Geez!”

“This is Angel, by the way”, the man states by way of farewell, pointing at his would-be kidnapper. “You’ll learn to love her…”

“UGGGGHHH come onnnnn!”

“All right, all right, I’m coming!”

The camera pans to a rear-view shot of the suitably hastening pair, following from a vantage point just behind each of their heads as they make their way down the long corridor they presently find themselves in and towards the so-called “Gorilla position”. As they approach the sound mixing table, the girl is heard whispering urgently to her partner:

“Gimme your phone, dude. Gimme your PHONE!”

The male half of the duo dutifully produces a somewhat outdated mobile phone, which the girl impatiently taps a few times, even as she gently chides her partner:

“Holy s—t, Papi! How long you had this thing for? Spotify even on here?”

Then, finally finding what she wants, she promptly hands the device over to the sound technician on duty, with one simple instruction.

“Hook that s—t up an’ blast it, homes. It’s ready to go, you just gotta push Play.”

“Roger that”, the tech quips, pulling off a salute as he does just that, prompting Green Day and Penelope Houston’s ‘The Angel and The Jerk’ to begin blaring across the arena speakers. This, in turn, brings a big, goofy grin to the girl’s face, and she once again begins to drag her partner by the hand.

“C’mon, papi! Let’s f—ing GOOOOO!”

This last is a whoop of joy, which the youngster keeps going until she and her partner burst through the curtain. The camera once again follows from directly behind as the two pull aside the rich velvet, revealing the dazzling lights and deafening sounds of the arena, which blend together in a haze of colour and noise. Time appears to slow down, muffling and distorting the cheers from fans on either side of the curtain, and the spotlights from high above the ring shine down on the pair as the camera slowly pans around to capture their expressions of, respectively, absolute awestruck wonder and benevolent mirth.

“’S’matter, kid? Cat got your tongue?” The former soldier grins down at his young, impulsive friend, who – for once – appears incapable of either speech or reaction, her eyes as big as saucers as she takes in her surroundings. Sensing this trance will not be broken for a while, the male half of the pair then takes it upon himself to prevent dead air, by addressing the crowd:

“You’ll have to excuse my partner. First time in a place like this, y’know… It can be a little overwhelming.”

He glances back over at Angel, who is pulling the closest human equivalent to a ‘chibi’ anime face, complete with a vague, squeaky, wordless hum of overwhelming emotion. This brings another fond chuckle from the soldier, who promptly continues:

“Anyway…what I’m sure she would have said, if she could talk, was that her name is Angel Ramirez. Better known as The Kid.”

“Yeah. An’ this dude right here? This is Saul. An’ he’s a real big Jerk.”

Rather than be cross at the interruption and subsequent slander, Saul simply smiles again.

“She speaks! I was wondering where your voice had gone…” He winks down at his partner. “I figured you must’a lost it…you know, since usually you just won’t shut up…”

“See what I mean?” Angel is also smiling as she jerks a thumb at her partner. “A REAL big Jerk!”

Then, as if realising her exact circumstances, she excitedly whispers off the mic to her partner: ‘Wait, is this s–t on TV?’ Then, after her partner nods: “Holy s–t! Wait ‘till I tell the guys back at the ‘barrio’! Hey, wait…”

Here, the youngster’s expression lights up as another realisation dawns on her; then, as if powered up by a Lithium battery, the youth then immediately begins to jabber into the microphone in rapid Spanish:

Orale, East LA! Fijense, que esta chica está en la tele, pendejos!

“Language, Angel”, Saul admonishes off the mic, receiving a playful middle finger by way of reply. Then, once again addressing the audience: “Anyway, Angel couldn’t wait to come out here and let you guys know how happy we are to be here, and how grateful we are to GLOBAL for giving us the opportunity to perform for you all. Most places would have run a mile from a pair of randos just walking in off the street, but GLOBAL chose to take a chance…and, now, it’s up to us to repay it.”

“Wait, PAY?” Angel bursts back in with a worried gasp. “Ain’t nobody say nothin’ ’bout ‘pay’… ‘Cause you know we ain’t got no money, papi…”

Saul, however, promptly assuages the youngster’s fears, giving her a reassuring smile. “We’re not paying them back with money, Ange. We’re paying them back with EFFORT. We’re paying them back by doing our best every time we come out here, and showing them why they were right to pluck the two of us off the street. Showing them their gamble paid off. Know what I mean?”

“GAMBLE?” The youth all but explodes. “You wanna GAMBLE now? S—t, papi, I just TOL’ you we ain’t got no money! The f—k we gon’ GAMBLE with? That old-ass phone of yours?”

Before Saul can offer another explanation on figures of speech and turns of phrase, however, a second theme song starts up on the arena speakers, interrupting the pair’s argument and momentarily commanding the fans’ attention.

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As Bad Bitch by Bebe Rexha hits over the public address system Queen Bianca Davis steps out the fans boo her presence dressed in her royal garb carrying her scepter. Standing alongside her is her faithful servant Simple Simon.  

The Queen motions for her music to cut, as her haughty posh accent cuts through “Here ye  here ye you simple minded peasants your Queen has arrived! The fans of course boo loudly, which makes the Malibu native look on in disgust “Have you no manners it is customary for you to curtsey for your Queen?!” 

The snobby disgusted look doesn’t leave the face of the Queen, who stares daggers as she makes her way down disgusted by what was standing in what she felt was her ring even though she was the newest member of the roster. “So I sign my name after length negotiations I was promised by the television studio that this would be were the best in the world would duke it out.” Bianca said keeping her eyes on those in the ring. “ I mean it is clear why they SOUGHT me out, I mean no one else is fit to be face of this program but me. I mean looking at you two poor little peons standing in this ring, it’s no wonder they threw the world at my feet just to sign me” Bianca continues her way down the ring as the boos ring in even louder.

The Queen B’s words clearly do not sit well with either member of the duo; while Saul chooses to keep his peace and quietly disapprove of the blonde’s words, however, his partner – having been clued in as to the meaning of the word ‘peon’ – has literally lost her smile, and is directing some choice words at the newcomer off the mic, in what appears to be her native language. Predictably, this draws a sneer of disdain from Bianca, who can be clearly heard telling the teenager to “speak English!” To her credit, Angel acquiesces – and, this time, for everyone to hear:

“You want English, ‘p-ta’? OK, here’s some English for ya: you think you better than us? Getcha ass up here an’ f—ing PROVE it! You’n’me, right here, right now. Valley girl vs alley girl. Let’s go!”

With this, the teenager disposes of her jacket and assumes a fighting stance, beckoning to the Queen B even as the newcomer looks on from the entrance platform, visibly less than impressed.

“Really?” Bianca mouths before shaking her head in an amused fashion, placing a hand on her hip. As she once again raises the microphone up to her perfect glossed lips “You’d like that but honestly speaking what makes you two worthy of facing me? Seriously?!” The Queen then rolls her eye at the fan reaction to her words.

“See these people may want to see that but quite frankly I deserve better than that, I should be the main event and trust me I will be.” Bianca says in a confident tone, believing fully what she was saying.

Angel, who appears less impressed with every word out of the Queen B’s mouth and is, by now, effectively doing ‘blah blah’ hand motions to go with her eyerolls, wastes no time going on the offensive yet again:

“Hey, girlfriend? Real talk? How you gonna be Main Event if you ain’t never fight? Y’feel me? You gotta SHOW up, to GO up, know what’m sayin’?”

Then, in a far more sarcastic tone:

‘Hell, how you out here ‘suspectin’’ to be Main Event when you too scared to fight a li’l street kid that ain’t never even done this s–t for real?  That ain’t a good look, you feel me?”

As Saul discreetly corrects his friend’s grammar off the mic – “EXpecting, not SUSpecting” – Bianca seems poised to counter her interloper’s latest argument; ‘The Kid’, however, does not give her that chance, instead looking her opponent up and done before switching her tone again, this time to a faux-reasonable one:

“I mean…OK…I guess when you out here dressed like you goin’ to prom, with a f—in’ tiara an’ s—t…” The teenager mimes considering her options for a moment. “A’ight, tell you what. You ain’t gotta fight me today…”

Bianca’s expression immediately changes to one of relief – though, as it turns out, this is to be short-lived, as Angel promptly adds:

‘…let’s do this s–t next time. Next show. Whenever that is.”

“January 9”, comes a helpful hiss from Saul, which Angel promptly speaks out loud:

“Yeah. January 9. That way, you ain’t gotta go to ya fancy-ass Christmas party with a black eye. How ‘bout that? You down?”

With this, and without the amused smirk on her lips ever once even faltering, the teenager – who is clearly feeling herself – waits to see how her opponent will take this request.

Bianca shakes her head in disgust, as he raises her hand as she yells at the fans “ When your Queen speaks you shut your mouths!” This of course only makes them louder as her voice becomes a loud shriek” I SAID SHUT UP.

The boos only grow, before tehy finally quiet down as Bianca says in a proud tone “Due to your insolence you will bend the knee, I accept. Get ready to bow before Royalty. The best way to begin the new year.”

Bad Bitch plays as the fans boo loudly; however, a match has been signed as Bianca does her royal wave before turning on her heel and exiting the ringside area, sauntering off and leaving Angel to mouth off to her behind her back and play up to the fans alongside her partner.

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The Maltese national anthem starts to play over the PA system as Son Of Malta makes his way from out the back, a look of grim determination on his face. He slides into the ring and starts to shadowbox in the corner, preparing himself for the upcoming fight. As he is doing this a group of musicians quickly make their way out to the top of the ramp, they compose themselves and start to play a lively tune. This brings out Jerry David, big smile on his face as he smiles and waves to the crowd, every so often he points to a member of the crowd and thanks them for coming. He gets himself in the ring and extends a hand to Son Of Malta who simply stares back at him, forcing Jerry to awkwardly give him a thumbs up before getting into his corner.

Ding Ding!

Son Of Malta starts out strong as he charges Jerry, catching him unaware and sending him flying into the turnbuckle. Unrelenting, Son Of Malta then continues the punishment by unloading a barrage of punches and kicks, Jerry raises his arms to defend himself as he gets hit with the high impact shots before slumping down.

Before Jerry has a chance to react and retaliate, Son Of Malta reaches down for him but is met with a hard kick to his knee forcing him to the mat. Jerry doesn’t waste this opportunity, he pulls himself up and starts punishing the limbs of Son Of Malta with hard stomps.

Clearly enraged, Jerry doesn’t stop there, he places one leg on Son Of Malta’s knee and pulls on his foot, wrenching the joint with all his might as his opponent struggles to get free. A quick kick with his free leg gives Malta the opportunity to get back to his feet, he nimbly dodges a right jab attempt by Jerry and continues his momentum with a spinning back fist.

Both men walk towards each other, seemingly now understanding what they are capable of before locking up and attempting to overpower one another. This time it’s Son Of Malta who gains the upper hand as he pushes Jerry back against the ropes before Irish whipping him to the other side, connecting with a huge dropkick as he makes his way back. Jerry is quick to be back to his feet though, before getting caught with a spinning heel kick right to his jaw. Malta makes the cover

One…Tw..kickout by Jerry.

Both men back to their feet now and trying to gain an advantage, they start throwing elbows at each other before Jerry manages to duck under Malta’s arm, positioning himself behind him before lifting him up for a huge german suplex. Son Of Malta clutches his head and rolls out the ring to the hard floor, Jerry is quick to follow after, lifting Malta to his feet and slamming his head into the barricade, then throwing him into the steel steps. The ref starts to count.


Jerry lifts up Son Of Malta by his head and leads him to the apron, bouncing his head off of another surface.


Jerry then positions himself and Malta carefully, lifting him by the legs and hitting a huge flapjack into the apron.


Son Of Malta holds his face as Jerry takes some time out to schmooze some audience members as he catches his breath.


Noticing the refs count, Jerry throws Son Of Malta back into the ring under the ropes and slides in after him. He then lifts Malta and places his head under his arm looking for a suplex. As he does, Son Of Malta manages to resist and get his feet back on the ground, wrapping his own arm round Jerry’s head instead and hitting his own suplex. Jerry arches his back in pain as both men lay on the mat.

Using the ropes to assist them, Jerry and Son Of Malta get back to their feet, Malta strikes first with a kick to Jerrys gut who bends forward in pain. Son Of Malta grips him by his back and throws him into the turnbuckle with a sickening thud. As Jerry staggers back to the centre of the ring, Son Of Malta scoops him up and slams him back down hard. He follows this up by rebounding off the ropes and hitting a large splash, remaining in position for a cover.

One…Two…Th… Another kickout by Jerry.

Malta wastes little time, he starts striking the head of Jerry hard before lifting him up and ramming him firmly between his open legs. Jerry is lifted up onto his shoulders before being forcefully driven hard into the mat with a sitting powerbomb. Again Son Of Malta remains for the cover.

One…Two….Thre…Last moment kickout from Jerry.

Jerry sits up dazed as Malta eyes him from the corner post. He runs directly to him, looking for a hard kick to the face which Jerry dodges by laying flat. Jerry quickly kips up and meets Son Of Malta with a hard clothesline, driving him into the corner.

With adrenaline on his side, Jerry lifts Son Of Malta into a sitting position on the turnbuckle before climbing up after him. Jerry wraps his arm round Maltas head once again, looking for a superplex before being met with some hard right fists to his side as Malta desperately struggles to break free. Knowing he won’t be able to hit his preferred move, Jerry instead opts to leap backwards, keeping Malta’s head under his arm and turning it into a huge top rope DDT.

Both men are down nursing injuries but it’s Jerry who gets up first, making his way over to his opponent and lifting to his feet before firmly gripping him, signalling he’s going for his finishing manoeuvre the Encore.

Just as Jerry hits the second snap suplex preparing for the brainbuster, the big screen flares up with the image of E Z Rah who looks deep into the camera and smiles widely.

“What’s up Global!” E Z shouts obnoxiously loud. “Hope you guys are taking it E Z out there!”

The crowd react instantly and negatively, showering the arena with boos and jeers all aimed at E Z. Jerry has left Son Of Malta slumped in the ring clutching his neck and back to get a better look at the screen.

“You guys straight tripping!” E Z Rah exclaims looking visibly disappointed. “This boomer humour ain’t it! The big E Z comes here to save you all from this boring ass clown and this is how you react? You wanna boo someone then it should be him!” 

Jerry laughs to himself, pointing to the screen and shaking his head. Before he realises what has happened, Son Of Malta has grabbed him by the ankles and pulled him down to the mat, locking in the reverse cloverleaf he calls The Maltese Clover.

Jerry screams in pain as the sound of E Z’s nasal laughter rings out over the PA system, Jerry glares at the screen as he reaches out for the ropes with a grimace on his face. It isn’t too long before he succumbs to the pain however and is forced to tap.

Ding Ding!

The voice of Jason Brown replaces E Z’s obnoxious laughter. “Ladies and gentleman here is your winner by submission, Son Of Malta!”

Son Of Malta celebrates his win as Jerry nurses his legs and looks towards the ramp with seething anger. E Z simply smiles and waves before the screen turns off.


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“Good evening,” a well dressed man says directly into the camera, his hands clasped in front of his light grey suit and crisp white shirt. He is wearing a red tie, symbolic of a certain type of political party. Heaven forbid he go with the blue that brings out his eyes. It just isn’t the done thing.

Walking along a quiet suburban street, he continues, “My name is Michael B. Patterson, and I am running for your,” and here he briefly points into the camera, “local government.”

He looks down for a moment at his shoes, then continues to speak directly to the voters at home.

“I know that times are hard. I know that energy prices and food prices are rocketing out of control. But honestly, that’s nothing to do with us. It’s just some barmy Eastern Europeans having a tiff.  It’s probably best that you ignore the fact that, rather than relying on the oil we have literally spewing from the ground on our home turf, we actually import a whopping 84% of our oil from one of those mentalist fascist countries in the Eastern Bloc.”

“And you shouldn’t give much thought to the fact that my own wife owns a very high percentage of the oil company just north of here selling all of that oil gushing out of our own ground to Scandanavians for an exorbitant profit. Making both her, and me, really, really rich. Especially whilst simultaneously I own a company that imports oil via a pipe running all the way across the ocean floor, and charge the taxpayer an incredibly disgusting amount for it.”

“Crime is what I’m tough on. We have to stamp out the crime on our streets.  Seriously, there are criminals absolutely everywhere.”

“So vote for me, Michael B. Patterson. An honest, hard working, tough on crime local politician.”

And now he stops walking, to accentuate a very important final point.

“Because who else can you trust with the important topic of crime, if not the biggest criminal in the country? Me.”

A black screen pops up with the name of the political party (make it up yourself, they’re all broadly the same), and a voiceover reads “This has been a public service announcement, brought to you by <insert political party you just imagined>”.

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“What I am asking is whether or not we can still use the TERM!”

The screen swivels to show a portly gentlemen holding a clipboard with a headset on his head looking very curious and confused after he has asked that question of the man standing next to him. The man who was asked the question, also with a headset looks to be in charge of whatever backstage area this is for Global.

“I don’t know,” states the other man. “Is it possible we are being TOO literal here?”

The first man throws his hands up.

“Who knows at this point, Greg!” He exclaims. “All I know is that everybody went nuts when the word ‘circle’ got used and now we have to question everything, right? So can we say that they are in the ‘squared circle?’ That is a legitimate concern for me!”

“All I can do is take it to the bosses, Stan,” Greg replies, “But I would not see the problem with the phrase as it predates all the other stuff out there.”

Stan looks so confused he is irate as he begins to yell, “BUT IT HAS THE WORD CIRCLE IN IT! We aren’t supposed to use the word, right? I mean…”


Stan is interrupted by the loud voice of Gemini, who walks into view and looks angry.’

“It doesn’t matter!” The journeyman begins, “It is a WRESTLING RING! I don’t give a flying squirrel’s ass what you call it, but recognize the solemn event that is taking place inside of it. This is where wrestling happens. This is where one man or one woman can walk in and prove themselves in the field of combat.”

“But,” Stand starts to get a word in, but Gemini stares him down.

“DO YOU HEAR THE WORDS I AM SAYING?” screams the veteran.

Both men nod.

“GODDAMN!” Gemini rants. “All the things people could be talking about: The first set of champions being crowned, the great fans we already seem to be garnering, or even the fact that I’m here after being chased by every federation on the planet thanks to an undefeated record against the unhinged Alex Reyn. All of that and the word Circle is what you two losers are focusing on?”

The two stagehands look at each other and shrug. Gemini shakes his head and walks away.

“I’m surrounded by morons.” Gemini states under his breath as the screen fades to black.

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“The following contest is scheduled for one fall!” Came the announcement by Jason Brown “Making her way to the ring, from San Antonio Texas, weighing in at 127 lbs, Valerie VITALITY!!”

As ‘Blow Me Away’ plays and Valerie makes her entrance, the commentary notices something different about her.

“Oi, Allie! Is it just me or does she seem angrier than usual?”

“For once I agree. She’s not playing up to the crowd as much in this match. Seems something might have gotten her riled up backstage.”

“And the opponent! From Atlanta Georgia, weighing in at 185 lbs! Jed Johnson!”

“Well HE doesn’t look any different!” The Mark says and Allie nods.

“Jed Johnson has made no secret about his disdain for high flying wrestlers throughout his career. I imagine he’s looking to put young Valerie in her place.”

“Maybe that’s why she’s so ticked off? She heard him go on one of his rants?”

“It’ll be an interesting second challenge for her either way.” Quinn notes, bringing the focus back to te match.

Bell rings. They go for a lock up and bam! Knee to the gut by Valerie!

An axe kick brings Jed low and Valerie crouches down next to him with a mockingly pitying loo- Small package by Jed takes her by surprise!


Jed still has a face lock n though and tries to suplex his smaller opponent. But she shows perfect core control as she floats over behind him! Waist lock from Valerie german suplex atte… no, Jed seems to be blocking it well..

So Valerie leaps onto his shoulders for a spinning hurricanrana! Jed goes sprawling across the canvas and immediately has to roll out the ring to take a powder.

Meanwhile, the eagle-eyed Valerie is watching… studying…

Is she going for a dive?! Jed covers up!

…And looks like a great fool when she simply backflips off the ropes to land back in the ring as he covers up against the invisible man. (I didn’t know we hired John Cena)

Safe to say that Jed is NOT happy with being made a fool of and rushes the right! Grabbing Valerie’s ankle for an ankle lock, but the valiant Valerie is one step ahead and scores with  a mule kick to Jed’s legs then a HARD enzuigiri!


As Valerie rolls off her still dazed opponent, she gets an idea… Deciding that what was good for the goose is  good for the gander, she grabs HIS leg and tries to negotiate a figure four, but the second her back is turned, Jed kicks her face first into the turnbuckles and tries to roll her up!


She tries to elbow Jed, but he’s already slipped out the ring and is tapping my head in the universal “I’m smarter than you” gesture.

Clearly… he wants to throw Valerie off her game.

Valerie is having NONE of that! She dashes out the ring after Jed, but her opponent is back inside. As Valerie tries to climb into the ring, Jed uses the momentary delay to grab her for an attempted suplex, but Valerie is managing to slip ou-

Kick to the groin from Jed! And as Reece says on commentary, it hurts girls too!

The fans are booing, but the ref didn’t see it with Jed’s own body blocking the view and Jed has already brought her back in the hard way with a suplex!



Jed rolls off her, and the ref is suspicious of how Valeire is curled up into herself, but Jed protests that she is merely “winded from the suplex.” Our official is clearly suspicious, but doesn’t have any proof on hand.

Trying to take advantage, Jed hooks Valerie’ legs with his own, rocks back, and lifts her up into a Romero Special!! Pulling on ALL her limbs! As he tries to pull hr into a Romero Dragon Sleeper, she fights back with a headbutt that hits him directly on the nose! Immediately, Jed lets go to grab at his own face as his eyes begin to water! She isn’t done yet though. Bringing him to his knees with a sharp kick to the gut, to the mat with an axe kick, and a second axe kick keeps him from getting back up!

With him down, it’s time to fly! She ascends to thee top rope, looking down at her opponent.

Corkscrew shooting sta-


Jed gets his knees up, but Valerie avoids disaster by landing on her feet!

She’s on top of Jed now! Furious palm strikes raining down on him as he tries to cover up or get her in a guillotine from guard, but Valerie shifts her weight into a lateral press!


They’re both up into a lockup and Jed no uses his strength and size to manhandle her into the corner before she can escape! She’s able to e out of the tie-up, but Jed suddenly RAKES HER EYES!!

The crowd boos, but Jed is quick to take advantage! Arm drag into a chin lock! Valerie scrabbles around! Trying to reach for anything! She’s right near the ropes, but she can’t see!

Her hand is getting too close for comfort though so Jed pulls her down and away into a crucifix pin!


That was closer and Jed won’t let this advantage slip by! He grabs her arms, ragdolling her with a trio of butterfly suplexes! Trying to “smother her” as Quinn puts it! As he lifts her up for the third however, she maintains just enough wits to catch Jed with a sudden hurricanrana! Jed is like a Pit Bull however, and even as he’s tossed ass over teakettle, he grabs a hold of her ankle! REFUSING to lose this advantage! But Valerie is just as stubborn and scores with an enzuigiri! She’s got a chance to really turn it back around now! Big boo-! No her eyes are still a little watery and the shot goes wide! Jed is still too stunned from the last kick to capitalise though, and Valerie grabs the ropes to halt her momentum. Taking a few seconds to rub her eyes while Jed gets the ringing in his skull to clear out.

Jed’s up to his feet and he charges again, hoping to catch Valerie before she’s fully reco- Caught with a big boot! Jed goes down and there is a positively MURDEROUS look in Valerie’s eyes. She has been taunted, kicked in the groin, blinded, and had her skills as a wrestler insulted.

She is 100% DONE.

Jed narrowly avoids a knee that would have knocked it out if it had connected and one look at the death glare on Valerie’s face has him trying to backpedal out the ring, only to eat a 619 as he tries to climb out through the ropes!

Valerie now slingshots herself in the ring, doing a HANDSTAND on the top rope before twisting into a hurricanrana that takes Jed down!

“She’s sending a message: Don’t underestimate my style.” Reece says.

Now she’s straddling Jed again and raining down palm strikes like she wants to cave his face in!

Wait! Jed just got her in a prawn hold! He might steal this!


Still with that same, murderous glare, Valerie lifts Jed’s chin up with the point of her boot before nearly taking his head off with a spinning back kick!

“She just caught Jed’s wrist! She’s stopping him from hitting the mat! Mark calls.

“She’s not done with him yet!” Reece adds

Spinning back elbow! Knee to the gut! Glasgow kiss and a leg sweep to bring him down!

Jed is stunned and Valerie backs off into her corner.

Now come the stomps.

Slow. Rhythmic stomps that signal the end as she watches Jed try to rise.

“Sweet Chin Remi-DEAR GOD!!” Quinn almost yelps as the roundhouse busts Jed open!

Then a scorpion kick splits his lip!

“Ow!” Allie on commentary visibly winces!

Followed by a spinning back kick that sends blood gushing from his nose!

“STOP! STOP! HE’S ALREADY DEAD!!” Yells a terrified Mark!

A bloody Jed Johnson drops like a stone, and Valerie places her foot on his chest.



“Here is your winner!” Jason Brown declares “Valerie VIIIITALITY!!”

“Well, that was… brutal.” Quinn says.

“He had it coming.” Was Reece’s commentary. You take liberties like he did, you get the receipt.”

“THAT WASN’T A RECIEPT, THAT WAS THE BLEEDING IRS!!” The Mark yells.  “Reminder me NEVER to tick her off!”

“So, tell you not to speak then. Got it. I’ll try harder.”

“Cheers Al- OI!

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It’s been a historic night not only for GLOBAL but for pro wrestling as the main event for the debut show for the new juggernaut in professional wrestling out of Hollywood wraps up.  The fans are still cheering in the Globe as the camera crew is set up backstage as a gathering has formed in celebration as the victor of the night, “The Legend” Sean Darring, emerges through the curtains showing signs of the war he just endured, against Daniel Dream.

The first to approach the legend is GLOBAL president Giovanni Ferrari, who extends his hand in a congratulatory manner.  The legend humbly walks through the crowd, thanking each congratulation and well thoughts.  Eventually, he makes his way through, where a camera crew and some selected press have gathered to document the historic night.

The Legend stops and jokes, commenting, “So this is where the after-party is?”

GLOBAL interviewer Steve Blaine is the first to speak up, “Mr. Darring, as you know, tonight was a historic night in GLOBAL.  First off, congratulations on a hard-fought victory in a fantastic match.   Can we get your thoughts on your opponent Daniel Dream?”

The smile changes as the Legend wants to reflect.   He then responds, “Going into tonight, I had no clue who I would be facing; even if I did, I didn’t know much about Daniel Dream.  Trust me, I say this, I now know who Daniel Dream is.”

The Legend points to his face showing signs of a war of the main event.  A busted open eyebrow, redness, and deep bruises tell the story of adversity Darring, but true aggression and, at points, domination for Daniel Dream.   “I feel like I just stepped in the cage with a hungry lion and just barely survived.   Look, guys, I am honored to be standing here and documenting this historic night, but Daniel Dream is the real deal.  I may have won the battle, but that kid will be good.   Next time I see him inside the ring – I will know damn well what I am getting myself into.   It took everything I had and more to pick up the win tonight.  Let’s call a spade a spade; Daniel Dream is the real deal.”

The majority of the crowd nod in agreement as Steve Blaine continues.  “Watching the match, some could say you were lucky to win.  As you said, the world discovered Daniel Dream is a top star tonight.”

The Legend chuckles at the question.  “Everyone that has stepped inside the ring knows you win more matches because you are lucky than you do because you are just that darn good.  At this level, there is a locker room full of “the best.”  GLOBAL went out and signed “the best” worldwide.  I learned early in my career that it’s better to be lucky than great and unlucky.  Tonight, I am okay with Daniel Dream being great and myself being lucky.”

Steve Blaine continues to document the raw thoughts of the Legend coming right off the main event following up – “So, you are standing here celebrating a hard-fought victory even if you call it lucky against Daniel Dream.  What is next?  Where do you go from here?”

The Legend looks for Giovanni Ferrari and points, “Ask that man.”   

Ferrari chuckles as The Legend deflects.  “I am going back to my hotel.  I will fill the tub with ice and nurse this old body.  I have a date with a glass or two of Weller’s and try to numb the beating I took tonight.   After that?  I don’t have a clue.  I don’t dictate my opponents.  As I mentioned before, I respect this locker room of wolves.  Just like all of you, I am in the dark about the plans of the GLOBAL board of directors, but I am sure they aren’t going to let me off easy.”

Giovanni Ferrari shouts, “We are going to get our money’s worth!”  The room laughs as The Legend responds, “I am sure you will.”

Steve Blaine waits for the entertainment to die down, and they ask one final question, “Legend, one more question for me before we allow the actual press to ask some questions.  What advice do you have for the competitors in the next Main Events coming up?”

The Legend pauses for a moment and responds, “Well, that depends if they are facing me or not.”

Steve Blaine smiles and rebuts, “Assuming they aren’t your competitors.  What legendary advice are you willing to pass on?”

Sean Darring thinks for a moment and tries to articulate, “If I were one of these great superstars, first, I wouldn’t listen to a darn thing I had to say.  It’s important to be yourself.  You are here for a reason.  Like Daniel Dream, go out and be the best you can be.  And if it’s your night, you may have a little luck like ol’ Sean Darring here did.”

Steve Blaine thanks Sean Darring as he tells the production crew to keep the GLOBAL cameras rolling. He opens the room up for the few reporters included in documenting the grand opening night of Domination.

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Nigel Kensington III is set to kick things off with Ade Flowers.  The lanky Londoner towers over Flowers and that size and strength advantage quickly comes into play with Nigel frogmarching Ade via a Tie-Up into a neutral corner, adjacent to both teams, before referee Jessica Harris calls for a break, which both men respect.  Nigel, hardly known for fair play, holds his hands up.

Ade comes out of the corner, seeking a second dose of C & E, but Nigel’s quick thinking negotiates a Drop Toe Hold, which seamlessly transitions into an Armbar.  However, Flowers takes Kensington by surprise with a nippy kip-up and a reversal by way of Arm Wringer.  Nevertheless, Nigel keeps his calm and forces Ade back to the corner, though not legally on this occasion.  Unbeknownst to our inexperienced official, he has a handful of Ade’s hair to aid him in his quest to the corner. 

When Nigel breaks this time, he reverts to type and unleashes a ferocious forearm strike, ignoring the referee’s half-hearted warning by going about his business with a superb shot to the breadbasket, setting up an Irish Whip.

However, Ade has other ideas, grabbing Kensington by the hand and going back to the well with another Arm Wringer.  Not only that, he follows it up with a lovely Monkey Flip, sending Kensington to the right part of town, unfortunately for Ade, and Nigel is able to tag out to Rupert.


Rupert rushes, but due to Ant and Ryan’s collective call, Ade is able to LEAPFROG the onrushing Rupert without even seeing him.  Flowers grabs Rupert’s waist, but Royston-Fellowes doesn’t buy the Schoolboy attempt via the ropes, merely brushing Flowers off, and clutching the ropes.

Ade isn’t deterred, though, coming back for more.  Rupert thinks he has the better of Flowers again, serving Flowers with a Back Body Drop over the top.  Ade lands on the apron and surprises Royston-Fellowes by returning with a sublime Springboard Enzui Dropkick that sends Rupert sprawling face-forward towards the mat.  Ade leaps to tag the other half of RAF, Ant Rushton.

Ant scales the top rope, patiently waiting for Rupert, perched like a cat.

Crossbody Block-ED!

Rupert has Rushton poised for a Northern Lights Suplex, which connects.

Royston-Fellowes regains his bearings in a cool sharp Harp and tags out to a grateful Davey-Boy O’Brien.  The sheer power of this pound-for-pound marvel is on display with a Deadlift Gutbuster, which he doesn’t relinquish, following up on that impressive power display by converting it into a gorgeous Gutwrench!



‘No the noo!

Davey mouths off to his Domination 1 opposition, Ryan Ansell, the only man not to taste action thus far in this 6-man affair.  O’Brien focuses his attentions on Rushton, and is in firm control with a whip that sets up a sensational Flying European Uppercut.

While on his knees, O’Brien poses, folding his arms, fully aware of his own awesomeness, it seems, fetching boos for his arrogance.  They come easily to this trio, even when they’re NOT trying.

Davey welcomes Ryan and Ade in.  Amazingly, Ade falls for it, allowing Referee Harris to intercept while Davey nicks off with Ant in tow, ramming him into the top turnbuckle and neither Best of British member needs an invitation, setting about Flowers, triple-teaming poor Rushton, who is being peppered from all angles with flailing boots and the odd fist from Royston-Fellowes, who is anything but a good fellow.  It’s a mugging, and one Harris is not an eyewitness to.

Davey is substituted by Rupert, who tags in.  Standing Ant up in the corner, exposing the abdomen in the process, Rupert rams his head into Rushton’s ribcage repeatedly, four times in total.  As he takes his telling off from Harris, Kensington takes aim with a well-timed and well-placed Rabbit Punch.

Rupert sticks the head on Rushton with a Glasgow Kiss style Headbutt, which makes some members of the front two to three rows wince at the sight and sound of it.  A GORGEOUS Roaring Elbow by Rupert fells Rushton, who goes down like Manny succumbing to Marquez at the fifth time of asking, face-first and flat out.  London Bridge may not be falling down, my fine lady, but Ant Rushton is out.



…And needs to be saved by Ade Flowers.

Nigel is thinking about trespassing the ring for some double-teaming, but Ryan Ansell, in spite of his inexperience, draws Gabrielle’s attention to it and she catches him in the act.  He feigns that he has no such thoughts, extracting boos from the capacity crowd gathered at The Globe.  As a result, Ansell is quick to hop in and there’s a brief stand-off with Harris warning the two teams not to take this any further for the time being.

Momentarily, they back off.  Rupert then takes Ant by the head.  In vain, Rushton tries to tee off with a couple of rib-ticklers, but in no-nonsense fashion, Rupert takes them well and cuts Ant off with an elbow to the top of the forehead prior to ramming Rushton’s head into O’Brien’s welcoming boot from the outside.

Take one European Uppercut with the left…

Mix it with a mirror image from the right side…

A third Christmas cracker southpaw style…

And a deliciously devastating DISCUS FOREARM SMASH!!!

Davey-Boy O’Brien is always ready for…A SQUARE GO!!!

Ansell and Flowers can only watch on.  O’Brien, frustratingly for his teammates, and a sentiment that the commentators echo, doesn’t opt for the cover and wants to heap more punishment on Rushton, who has well and truly been isolated from his fellow ‘Team United’ members.

“Look at that,” Lucas Quinn states matter-of-factly, and in awe of DOB’s phenomenal Stalling Suplex.  That is until Ansell, who has been a bystander, comes in and kicks Davey to the midriff, so O’Brien drops Ant, who actually lands on his feet.  Faced with the prospect of two rivals at the same time, Davey’s stuck in No Man’s Land and is left there as Ant and Ryan strike with a stereo Dropkick from both sides, leaving Davey on the deck and nursing somewhat of a headache.

Ansell is ushered out by Harris.  The ensuing double down ends on three.  Rushton is close to home, though also so far away as Davey plucks him away from sanctuary and into the air with a scary Deadlift German S—tanding Switch and Rushton briefly has control of Davey Boy with a roll-up…



Davey kicks out.  Rushton then rebounds off the ropes and comes back with a Front Dropkick, which Davey not only takes, but embraces as he allows himself to bounce off the ropes behind him to come charging at Ant. Rushton looks to keep on the offensive as he swings a backfist with some very ill-intent. Davey-Boy ducks this attempt. Instead of running the ropes though, he rebounds off the ropes in a very unique way by putting his arms up and diving straight into the top rope like a fork then snatches the lead back with a rip-roaring REBOUND LARIAT!

Davey gets back to his feet and appears to be a bit irritated with the damage he had taken mere moments prior. He mouths off to Team United’s corner before helping Ant Rushton to his feet and leading him by the ear over to The United Kingdom’s corner.

Davey says something to Nigel as he’s stalking toward their corner. Nigel seems to oblige to what he’s ordered to do as he lifts his boot up over the rope and Davey-Boy slams Rushton’s face right into Nigel’s heel. O’Brien then shoves Ant into the corner and tags in Nigel.

Nigel immediately lays into Rushton with a devastating European Uppercut which sends Ant right back into the corner as Kensington begins to boot him into the corner, stomping the proverbial mudhole in his ass.

The official gets to a count of four, but Nigel wisely tags back in Davey-Boy who gladly leapfrogs the ropes and begins stomping a mudhole in Rushton himself. Again, Jessica Harris reaches a four-count before Davey-Boy tags out to Rupert who takes his own turn.

This time, instead of tagging out he yanks Ant out of the corner by a leg and goes for the pin.




Ant Rushton displays gumption by finding it within himself to kick out after that triple team. Fellowes-Royston doesn’t seem too worried as he smugly stands over Ant Rushton who begins pulling himself to his feet assisting himself with Rupert’s tights.

Fellowes-Royston seems to just take amusement in this as he jokes around about it with his teammates, taking his eyes off of Ant.

This proves to be a big mistake as Rushton suddenly gets a second wind, and he leaps out of his crouched position into a beautifully-executed dropkick that fells Rupert just long enough to allow Ant time to springboard off the ropes and catch Rupert with a missile dropkick!

Both men are down!

The referee begins her count, but only gets to four before Rupert tags out to Davey-Boy O’Brien!

Meanwhile, across the ring, Rushton is able to make it to his corner. He leaps for the tag, but Davey-Boy clutches his the leg and stops him just short of Ryan Ansell’s outstretched hand!

Fortunately, Ant is able to keep his balance on one leg. Davey-Boy believes he has enough of the upperhand to mouth off to Team United’s corner, but a lightning fast enziguiri from Rushton proves otherwise!

Having knocked down O’Brien, Ant now finds an opportunity to leap for the tag to the fresh Flyin’ Ryan Ansell who is amped. Davey returns to his feet only to be met with an emphatic springboard lariat from Ansell!

Ryan isn’t finished as he immediately returns to his feet and springboards off the ropes to catch a recovering Davey-Boy with a Springboard Moonsault! He immediately goes for the cover with the best leg hook he can muster from the position!


Best of British look nervous on the apron.


Both BoB members are already beginning to scramble into the ring!


KICKOUT by Davey-Boy!

That was a close one! Team United nearly pulled the upset there over The United Kingdom. 

As Davey returns to his feet, he’s met with a kick to the gut and a front facelock. Ryan Ansell displays amazing agility as he runs up and off the near turnbuckle, looking for a Tornado DDT. Unlike his last faceoff with Davey-Boy though, he hits the DDT with authority before peeling O’Brien off the mat and shoving him into his team’s corner.

It would seem it’s time to return the favor as Ansell begins laying on the boots, stomping a mudhole in Davey’s ass! This gets the crowd in a cheering frenzy as they feel as though The United Kingdom, and Davey-Boy O’Brien more specifically is getting his comeuppance.

Much like the way The United Kingdom executed this triple team, Team United does the same only the crowd isn’t jeering them for it. After each member has had his four-count turn and tagged out, Ant Rushton finds himself back in the ring with a battered Davey O’Brien.

Rushton, despite seeming a bit worn out still from his still pretty recent time in the match, seems ready to dish out some punishment to Davey as he sets him up on his team’s turnbuckle.

Before too long both men are standing atop the turnbuckle, Rushton grabs Davey in a Urenagi hold…


It takes a moment, but Rushton gets on top of Davey.




The pinfall is broken up by both members of Best of British! And, with that, the ring is filled with all of the participants of the match fighting one another!

Before we know it, both Flyin’ Ryan Ansell and Ade Flowers hit crossbodies on Best of British that send all four of them out of the ring, leaving Davey-Boy and Ant Rushton both trying to get to their feet!

On the outside, Rupert seems to have ultimately gotten the better of his assailant (Ade Flowers) despite the crossbody spill to the outside. This gives him the opportunity to assist Nigel in double-teaming Ryan Ansell then throwing him unceremoniously into the ring steps with a massive THUD! As Best of British looks toward the ring, Rupert pulls something shiny and gold from his tights…

Meanwhile, back in the ring, Davey-Boy and Ant have recovered enough to throw strikes at one another. Rushton ultimately gets the upperhand here causing Davey to turn away, giving Ant the opportunity at a rear waistlock perhaps looking for a German Suplex?

Standing reverse!

Davey-Boy O’Brien bulls Rushton into the ropes and just as Ant hits the ropes, Rupert leaps up onto the apron and punches Rushton in the forehead with golden gleaming knuckles! Unfortunately for Team United, the referee is none the wiser as Davey-Boy O’Brien rolls Rushton away from the ropes and executes the Rolling Stone Suplex with deadly precision into a Bridging Hold…




Exhausted, Davey-Boy rolls out of the bridge before being helped to his feet by his fellow United Kingdom stablemates who raise his arms from either side. Jessica Harris stands to the side and points to them signifying their victory.

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Standing in our specially designed press room with a GLOBAL logo on a blue background, The Informer has a microphone in hand. Dressed in a knee-length cream trench coat, a white shirt, light brown tie and a dark green mask typical of Lucha Libre, the investigative journalist is joined by Alfie Button, whose arrival sparks a great response from the capacity crowd who are clearly tuning in for this one.

Alfie’s technicolor dreamcoat and matching tights, containing all of the colors of the rainbow and then SOME, light up the screen and he delights in the acclaim from the audience, listening to The Informer’s first curveball: “A major opportunity for you tonight in the main event…”

The cheeky Cockney can’t help cutting in: “So, ‘ave you mate, by the looks of it. I fort you was dead. What on earf are you doin’ back ‘ere, interviewin’ wrestlers when you could be doing anyfing? Make the most of ya time ‘ere, mate. It might end any minute, ya never know.”

Deadpan, The Informer replies: “You could say that about anyone.”

Alfie cocks his head: “I s’pose. But there’s nowhere I’d ravver be whereas you write articles, don’t ya? Anyway, sorry, geezer. What do you wanna ask me?”
The Informer maintains his composure: “As I was saying, a major opportunity by being in the main event with Daniel Dream. Are you confident of following in Sean Darring’s footsteps?”

Speak of footsteps, Alfie hears some heading his way, and holds his hands up to his head as he seems a familiar…mask! Crusader emerges and approaches him, wearing casual clothes. A hoodie, black jeans, and one of his merch shirts.

“Oh my life,” Button whispers to himself.

X enthusiastically exclaims: “Alfie! Hey! Big match tonight. I flipped when I saw the card. Main event of the second GLOBAL show ever. Can’t wait to watch it! Now, about my offer.”

The Informer points at the intruder: “Wait a minute, the rumors are true then.”

Both men ignore the interviewer. Button half-heartedly replies, hands on hips: “Yeah, what abaht it?”

Crusader continues on his…crusade: “I know you haven’t seen me wrestle yet, so I don’t want your answer until after that. But don’t worry about any of that tonight. That’s not why I’m here! You see, I’ve never wrestled Dream, but I’ve been watching him for years. He’s a real bastard, but he’s a real tough bastard. Now, you have all the tools to beat him, but you’ll have to use them right. I’ve noticed that a lot of the guys he beats all tend to fall into similar traps. If you want, I could give you some pointers on how I’d,” X never gets to finish his sentence as the loud-mothed Londoner cuts him off.

“Listen, geezer, fanks and all, but I’ve probably been doin’ this longer than you ‘ave, wiv all due respect, and I’ve done all right to get ‘ere, so cheers, but I’m abaht to go out and do what I do best,” he says, clearly fed up with Crusader X.

Crusader X puts his hands up apologetically: “Hey, never said you didn’t. You’re right. You have been at this longer than I have. And yeah, you don’t NEED my advice. Food, water, shelter, love, remember? Like I said. You’ve got all the tools. Use ‘em well. Good luck out there!”

As X leaves, Alfie looks The Informer up and down, confused by what has just happened: “You know what my old muvver used ta say to me, Informer? Never trust a geezer in a mask,” he concludes, shaking his head and ready to battle Daniel Dream in the Domination 2 main event.

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Davey-Boy O’Brien calls for a microphone. Nigel retrieves it from the ring announcer for him and hands it over.

“Keegan, Ah cannae help but notice yer up to the same old shite again, ye geezer,” Davey shouts toward the camera. “In this industry, if Ah’ve learned anythin’, it’s ye gotta evolve or ye die! Ah’ve clearly evolved, but look at all this.” Davey-Boy motions around to all of Keegan’s proteges lying in and around the ring before adding, “Yer just lettin’ yer children do yer dirty work for ye. Ye let me do yer dirty work for ye.”

“In fact, mate, if it weren’t for me an’ me evolution in this sport, ye woulda never been SCW Tag Team Champion,” Davey-Boy spits on the canvas before continuing, “So how ‘bout ye do everyone a li’l favor, mate? Do yer li’l lads here a favor and stop throwin’ them to the wolves. Just step into the damn ring with me yerself, let’s ‘ave a square go, an’ settle all o’ this like solid men!”

As Davey unleashes on his former mentor, Best of British is just content to listen with smug smirks on their faces.

“Ah ‘ave li’l doubt, Keegan, that come next Domination, Ah’ll be beatin’ down whoever yer next li’l flavor of the month is. That’s just dandy wit’ me, mate,” Davey-Boy concedes. “Ah’ll do it, and Ah’ll keep doin’ it until ye find yer bullocks.”

Davey-Boy O’Brien releases the microphone from his hand, allowing it to drop with a sickening thud over the speaker system as “Hail Britannia” begins to play over the sound system. The United Kingdom finally leaves the ring much to the chagrin of the crowd.

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Don’t wanna be an American Idiot

Don’t want a nation under the new media


The Global Nation clearly don’t want Daniel Dream to be their new darling as boos instantly ring out, Benedict Beel Zebub, Dream’s manager with shoulder-length black hair, wearing a red suit jacket over a black undershirt and a black cane, is grinning ear to ear.  He points to the entrance way and out comes the blue-eyed, blonde-haired poster boy for GLOBAL’s Board of Directors, who have given Dream another main event berth in spite of coming up short against ‘Legend’ Sean Darring a fortnight ago.


Wearing a white cowboy hat, which accompanies his all-blue tights with ‘Dream’ emblazoned on the left leg, Daniel cuts the perfect image of everything Americana.  He also has the ‘red, white and blue’ in front of him in the form of the flag, waving it around as some noisy punters start chanting ‘USA, USA, USA,” to hint that Dream isn’t alone in his bid to beat Button tonight.


“A true American patriot and IBW US champion, Daniel Dream is clearly a star in the making, but will he be ‘THE Star’ in Hollywood, at least in terms of wrestling?  After a phenomenal performance against Sean Darring, he gets another shot at cracking stardom in the City of Stars, while he parades around in stars and stripes.  Are these shining just for Daniel Dream?  Diamond Casinos say you should bet on Dream, and bet on America.  Is he the odds-on favorite tonight?  A British invader says otherwise.”

Dream holds the American flag aloft and perfect timing, just like when I’m Kung Fu fighting, the iconic Eurodance anthem, ‘Freed from Desire’ blares out.  After all that talk about strong beliefs, the song rams up to its chorus, and suddenly, we hear a man constantly chanting…







Danny Button, the cheeky Cockney’s cousin, microphone in hand stirs the crowd up, and that catches on like wildfire.  Alfie comes bouncing out.  Mark, take us away:  “What you’re looking at is one of the most confident and insecure athletes in the world of Pro Wrestling today.  Both men have enjoyed success in their respective promotions, winning titles and battling for the biggest prizes, but to no avail.  Tonight is a make-or-break for both here in GLOBAL and for their careers.  The winner will take a major step forward while the loser will regress.”

Button steps through the ropes, does a Randy Savage-like pose, showing off his wingspan before settling on the south-east ropes as a place to pose.

Quinn chips in: “Well said, Mark.  That’s safe to say, and why this one is so fascinating.  Alfie is a handful and a match for anyone, but Dream, despite his defeat to Darring, came out with a ton of credit, even from the great man himself.  Neither man lacking confidence.  This should be a cracker just in time for Christmas.”

Button removes his jacket and hands it to Barry Snider, who in turn passes that over to our timekeeper.  Marcus Anthony is ready to get the introductions started as Dream and Button, pacing back and forth like a cage lion and tiger ready to do battle in the confines of a zoo, don’t take their eyes off one another while secretly basking in the spotlight of another main event:  “To my left…standing an impressive six feet four and a lean two hundred and twenty-five pounds.  From Atlanta GA, but currently residing down the road in West Hollywood, a product of the Slaughterhouse Gym, a true American Patriot and ‘The One’ here in GLOBAL.  The gem in Diamond Casinos’ portfolio, bet on Dream…Bet on America!  Introducing one-half of Domination One’s main event, ladies and gentlemen…DAAAAAAAAAAAANNNNNNIEEEEL DRRRRRRRRRRREAM!”


Impressive.  The audience disagrees, evidently, the majority of them booing.  BUT some scattered cheers emerge in appreciation for the world-class all-rounder and a chant of ‘USA!  USA!  USA!’ makes this reminiscent of a UFC crowd when one ‘chaotic’ competitor performs.  Perhaps Daniel Dream is looking to ‘make America great again.’  I wouldn’t bet against him, put it that way.


Button stands forward, placing his hand to one side like a cheeky rooster in the henhouse:  “HIS OPPONENT…from LONDON, ENGLAND…with a record of one win and zero defeats here in GLOBAL.  The A to B of Professional Wrestling, The Viewers’ Choice, The Host with The Most, who says you’re all mutton dressed as Button…The Essex Boy, The Man Who The Girls Came to See, ALLLLLLFIEEEEEEE BUTTTTTTTTTTON!”


“The atmosphere is electric and not one you’d expect not that long after Thanksgiving with the Brit the fans’ favorite here, not that Dream hasn’t got his vociferous supporters in attendance, who continue to chant the initials of this great nation.”




Both men walk up to each other, neither shying away from talking some smack, which the cameras can’t capture.  Suddenly, Daniel shoves Button back, prompting a collective ‘OOOH’ from the crowd.  Smarting, Alfie smiles, ruffles his jet-black mane, and uncorks an UNBELIEVABLE European Uppercut – I PITY THA FOOL!  And a second one, a little less stiff but still enough to get Daniel’s attention.  A third and final rallying call and Mr. T tribute forces Dream back into the north-western corner.  The Englishman then attempts an Irish Whip, which The American Patriot has no problem reversing.  Dream dashes towards the diagonally opposite corner, only for the cheeky Cockney to catch him cold with another attention-grabbing shot to the mush, Reverse Elbow style.  Alfie then hops over the ropes, returning by jumping onto the top one, and decking Dream with a Springboard Reverse Elbow, he affectionately calls…


Daniel rolls out of the ring, understandably frustrated, and Alfie amps it up by clapping his hands, circa Queen at Live Aid, to get the crowd involved, invested and interested, and they play along.  Speaking of playing, Alfie sprints towards Dream, who has gone for a walk at ringside at the foot of the entranceway.  Daniel, once he sees Button, puts his guard up, like a boxer shipping too much punishment.  Meanwhile, Alfie slams on the brakes, reverses back into the ring 619 style and stares down at Daniel Dream, hand resting on his chin, setting up a photo opportunity for many of the 2,500-strong supporters to simultaneously hold their phones up and snap one of Alfie, a keepsake from Domination 2.

Alfie implores Dream to get back into the ring.  Understandably, Dream isn’t operating on Alfie’s time, and doesn’t take the bait.  Instead, he’s psyching himself up, chuntering away, probably in a bid to ensure Domination 2 does not go the same way as its prequel.


Suddenly, Alfie looks for a…Dream moves out of the way and Alfie takes a HELL of a fall.  A Slingshot something-or-other that only Alfie knows, and right now he must regret taking an (un)educated risk, because it has the potential to alter the entire course of this contest.


Not beating about the bush, Dream almost gives Alfie a wedgie before rolling him back into the battleground and hooking the leg for everything he’s worth.









Dream looks a tad frustrated, though he is now firmly in control as a result of Alfie’s impatience. 


The Mark gives the marks at home a history lesson:  “Daniel Dream changed his style due to wear and tear on his knee.  Alfie Button, though highly unlikely, may be wondering if he should do the same thing after that.  He was in the ascendancy, and after a crash-and-burn moment, has gone from favorite to fighting an uphill battle in an instant.”


Back to the action and Dream fires Button to the buckle HARD.  He takes his time to accompany Alfie there, gesturing to the audience that Alfie, their apparent favorite, is nothing.  That is, until, the speedster spontaneously leaps onto Dream, firing away with a right hand and then another…

…Daniel rams Alfie back into the same corner, Bearhug style, curtailing the Cockney’s comeback.


Not that Dream is content with his lot.  One shoot kick to the left leg, becomes two, and then three.  Hedging his bets, Daniel diverts his attention to Alfie’s right pin and mirrors his previous work with another trio of shoot kicks, softening up the right leg, a sound strategy in any fight, but even more so when your opponent claims to be ‘quicker than a hiccup and pick-up put together.’


Not all is lost, though.  Daniel favors his shoulder ever so slightly, hinting that the number Darring did on it at Domination 1, is a daily reminder to Dream of the defeat he suffered to LSD – the wrestler, not the drug.


And in another déjà vu moment, Dream decides to slap Alfie in the here and now.

Quinn comments:  “It didn’t work out for him in the end, but I seem to recall him doing that to one Sean Darring, who ultimately took revenge on the arrogant ‘American Patriot’ in the end.”

Dream is about to dump Button like last night’s takeout with a Hiptoss, but Button lands on his feet.  Oddly, there seems to be a moment of hesitation from Alfie, and yet it still unfolds all so quickly. 


SUPERKI-Caught in the ropes as Dream ducks!


Rope-Hung Enzuigiri to punish, just as he did that to Sean Darring a fortnight ago in the very same ring, arena and spot on the card.


It brings Button back to the mat with a splat, and Dream instinctively hooks both of the brash Brit’s legs…








Not yet.


Dream definitely senses he’s making great progress, and his fans back that up:  USA!  USA!  Hang on a minute…I PITY THA FOOL!  They’re going back and forth, exchanging European Uppercuts and after half a dozen each, Alfie shows his experience in this department by getting the better of this brilliant back-and-forth in-ring exchange and out-of-ring atmosphere.  Dream changes Larry Tact and fires in a couple of shoot kicks to WIN the exchange and Daniel’s noisy contingent grows louder.  As Button lies on the ground, Daniel takes off full of intent from the south side and lets the Londoner have it with A SLIDING KNEE ST-IFLED BY BUTTON!


The Cockney catches the leg, and suddenly stands up, Dream begging off.  However, it’s all to buy time as he attempts an Enzuigiri, which Button doesn’t fall for, ducking.  The gears grind in Button’s head as he contemplates an Ankle Lock attempt and cue cheers from the VAST majority of the 2500-strong throng here in Hollywood.


Alfie just WALKS ALL OVER Daniel, turns towards the hard camera and takes a bow.  Lucas Quinn, our main commentator, affords himself a chuckle: “My god!  Having been in the ring folks, and I could be cocky from time to time, I would never have done that in the middle of a main event, let alone one that is so finely poised.  And these fans, and I get why, love it.  Even it it won’t win Button the match, he has got their hearts, for sure.”

Understandably, Daniel is pissed at what has just happened.  He remonstrates with Snider, though there’s not much GLOBAL’s head referee can do, given no rules have been broken.  Alfie then bows in Daniel’s direction and points his right thumb back at himself: “You ain’t walkin’ all over me, mate.”

Keen to get their hands on each other, Dream and Alfie negotiate a mid-match Collar-and-Elbow, though not for long.  Daniel takes the shortcut with a knee to the gut and a closed fist to the throat that Snider suspects.  You can’t call what you can’t see, though.  The irony of Dream complaining just moments ago, mind.


Before Barry can even bring the query up with Daniel, Dream goes back to Button’s left leg with another two shoot kicks, the latter forcing Alfie to hobble back and retreat in the bottom right corner of the ring.


Already set up for an Irish Whip, Dream arrows Alfie towards the diagonally opposite corner.  What he doesn’t expect is Alfie to bite down on his gumshield and fight through the pain, pasting Dream with another Reverse Elbow…Dream saw it coming and catches Alfie with a superb Spinning Heel Kick in the corner, clearing Alfie’s attempt like a High Jumper at the Olympics.


“Alfie is quicker,” The Mark remarks.


“Not there,” Reece interjects, gladly putting Deltzer to bed, even if she doesn’t dislike Button.







Button won’t give up.


Dream, who could pass for frustration or concentration right now, gets on with things, picking Button up and looking to stick it to the likeable Londoner with a Powerbom—-Ratings Slump (DDT) gets Alfie out of jail and the crowd lively after a period of silence.  Daniel lands face-first and Barry Snider is called upon to do some work following the double down.


Let’s pick this up at four, and both are battling their way to a vertical base.  Dream, who is behind Button in the middle of the ring, takes a page out of Sean Darring’s book and turns the tide in his favor with a Chop Block, which nicely sets up…


The Patriot Lock (Ankle Lock.)


Lucas Quinn laments Alfie’s opportunity to use that against Daniel Dream:  “I know being a technical wrestler may not be his thing, but he could have used this against Daniel earlier on, and chosen not to.  I bet he wishes he had now.  Could this be a case of betting on Dream, betting on America?”


Nicely played, Lucas.


Alfie may not be an American citizen, but he believes in freedom and kicks his way there with a couple of kicks, using his right leg and he’s not resting on his laurels…


Bobby Dazzler!  (A Kip-Up Hurricanrana)







You know it’s not 3.  Who am I to insult your intelligence?


Dream, possibly too eager, doesn’t take a moment to clear his head after the tumble and senselessly wanders into a SUPERKICK!


Let’s see about that one!









Dream swings his right shoulder into the air.  And again, we need Barry because Alfie’s left leg is holding him back.  Oh wait, he’s back up after his little Flanagan impression and looking to take it to Dream…




Alfie’s Irish Whip is reversed, again, which is becoming a bit of a habit and when Button boomerangs back towards Dream, well what would you know…?




Talk about adding insult to injury.







TH—ERE’S NO CHANCE ALFIE’S LOSING LIKE THAT, IS THERE?!  Close, though!  And there’s no denying that Button’s in a bad way.

Lucas Quinn ponders:  “Should Alfie Button have worked on Daniel Dream’s shoulder, and built on Sean Darring’s work from Domination One?”


The Mark isn’t slow in assembling his thoughts:  “You could say that, but it’s not Alfie’s style.”


Reece can’t resist putting The Mark down:  “So, that’s a no then,” she sarcastically concludes.


Dream comes tumbling down on Button’s back with his 225-pound frame with a Seated Senton and then his version of the Camel Clutch, known as…


“THE JOHN LOCKE IS IN,” The Mark screams, sounding surprisingly enthusiastic and nervous as hell all rolled into one.


“Alfie’s struggling here.  And, sadly for him, Dream tightens his grip, but Button is also fighting this and slowly inching towards safety.  It’s imperative he gets there, because I don’t know how much longer he can withstand this…wait, Barry’s calling for Dream to release the hold, what’s going on?”


Dream has won via submission!


Daniel climbs to his feet, raising his arms in victory and looks proud as punch with his performance.


Until Snider tells him that Button’s legs are underneath the bottom rope, and Daniel has, in fact, not yet made amends for his Domination 1 defeat and must continue.  He is LIVID to say the least.  But Barry is not one for messing about with, and after mouthing some dissent, Daniel, hands on hips, thinks better of getting him disqualified and turns his attentions back to guaranteeing victory over this pesky English rogue.

Sensing blood and seeing Button get to his feet once again, Daniel gives Alfie the push he needs, once against the ropes, and embarks on CARNIVORE’S LAST HUNT!!!












Button is still down, face-first, holding his back.  Dream is a little slow in recovering, though very much in the lead.  Looking to inflict damage, Dream heads up top…

Diving Headbutt…Button rolls out of the way in the NICK of time!  On commentary, The Mark questions whether Button baited Dream into that:  “I have a sneaky feeling Alfie, albeit hurt, reeled Dream into that.”


I PITY THA FOOL!  I PITY THA FOOL!  I PITY THA FOOL!  Instead of following up with a fourth, Alfie changes tact slightly and a forearm sends Dream back to the corner.  Hobbling away like Verbal Kint, Alfie flees the scene, sprints back and misses with a Corner Splash, breaking the fans’ hearts more than his own, by missing with that one.  Even if he must be aching all over after going through the wringer with Daniel Dream, just as Sean Darring did…you know when it was, all right.


Back in the present (tense…)



The two exchange forearm strikes.  YES, BOO, YES, BOO, YES, BOO, YES…YES…YES!!!


That’s the sound of Alfie getting the better of Dream and a seventh one sends Daniel back to the north-western corner.  A hobbling Alfie hops, skips and jumps, ultimately missing with his in-vain Corner Splash.


There’s an audible gasp at Alfie’s miss.  Daniel’s not about to let Button wallow either, exploiting the opening and what would you know?  Dream tees off with a pair of solid shoot kicks until Alfie hits him with a European Uppercut, grabs Dream and Alfie does something he’s never ever done by borrowing the first page of Darren Best’s playbook, grabbing Daniel and sending him into the buckles with a Wrist-Clutch Exploder, AKA…



The Mark explodes, and that’s me putting it mildly.


Let’s skip Snider’s count, shall we?  1…2…3…4….5…6…7…8…


…KIP-UP by Alfie, who’s up and the crowd volume rises sharply to reflect that.  The Englishman drags Daniel away from the corner and leaves him on the mat in the perfect place while he gingerly steps through the ropes, clearly affected by Dream’s ‘downstairs work,’ still deciding to head upstairs, because it’s what he does and always will, or so it seems at least.  Alfie poses, allowing plenty of aspiring photographers and camera operators to capture his gorgeous Frog Pump Elbow, accompanied by Alfie wailing, in mid-air no less…




Has he hit the jackpot?











A defiant kickout by Daniel Dream there despite it being a razor-thin gap between losing and hanging on by a thread.  Speaking of which…


Cliffhanger (Hair-pull Hangman!)


Shades of OH YEAH, The Macho Man, who has had a few mentions in this match alone.  We’re not dwelling on that, though, and nor is Alfie, who hurries and scurries back into the battlefield, flopping on top of Daniel, daring to dream that it might be over…








And only 2.


He doesn’t seem to be getting closer.  However, one thing Alfie doesn’t lack is confidence.


The Brit, slowly, makes his way to the top turnbuckle, and this could be a huge gamble right now, especially at the sight of Daniel suddenly popping up, and also heading towards Alfie with something big in mind…


“GOOD GOD,” Lucas Quinn exclaims.




A round of applause, irrespective of their allegiance or bias, and you can bet your Christmas wage packet Snider has to embark on another double down.  Surely, Daniel wins it if he can execute a cover right now, but alas, the American Patriot is incapacitated himself and Button looks like he’s been involved in an M6 pile-up.


“Daniel Dream may not have won the match yet, but that was a HUGE LEAP, pun intended, towards doing so.  Alfie had something special in mind, but what he didn’t bank on was Dream emerging from the ashes like some madman to deliver that HELLACIOUS DREAM CATCHER!”


At Snider’s second 8-count in a matter of moments, Dream stirs just enough for Barry to quash it.  Nobody, even the head official, wants to see this end as a draw, even if that might be a fair outcome.


“Daniel to win it,” Lucas proclaims.


Dream, with an outstretched arm, gets enough of a body on Button as the audience counts along with a mix of anticipation, excitement, dread, delight and fear…











“BUTTON KICKED OUT,” The Mark screams.


Allie has to butt in:  “I wouldn’t even say it was a kickout, but Alfie’s alive.  For how much longer, we don’t know.  Win, lose or draw, Daniel Dream can’t do this every week!”


“Don’t bet against Dream or bet against America,” Quinn interjects.


Especially when Dream is awaiting his prey, a carnivorous beast intent on a kill, to administer one final blow in the form of a Claymore Kick, borrowed from his longtime tag team partner, the monstrous Nikolai Sinclair in IBW…


VICTIM’S END (Claymore Kick.)


Alfie has just enough awareness to avoid contact…


Match of The Day (Pele Kick!)


To coin a phrase derived from football, fuck off with soccer:  We’re back to square one!


Then, Button defies commentators and fans alike by kipping up.  Only he does it too quickly, and stumbles back against the ropes nearest the entranceway, and almost goes through them!  Another Flanagan impression.


However, he regains his bearings and this time he is the one looking to win it:  “Get up, ya mug!” 


Daniel climbs to his feet, feeling the effects of this match himself, and walks into another SUPERK-CAUGHT!


Alfie locks his hands, anticipating Dream’s Uncle Slam (Full Nelson Slam.)  He gets an almighty shock when Daniel takes him out for a spin and then LAYS HIM OUT with, rather appropriately…




To put this into context:  Remember the first fight between Deontay Wilder and Tyson Fury, 12th round?  Aye, that.  Button goes down like that, and he’ll need to mount an Undertaker-like reaction to survive that one and ensure this isn’t another American Revolution that goes the way of ‘the home side.’


“What a SHOT,” Lucas Quinn there, stating the obvious.


Save for the few lairy lads who have cheered for Dream from the outset, to give them their due, The Globe falls silence.  This is hardly a Shakespeare tragedy, but all seems doom and gloom for Button at this juncture.  Unless..


…Bizarrely, Dream doesn’t go for the immediate cover, and even the straight-laced Barry Snider seemed poised to crouch down, ready to count.  Instead, exuding and oozing confidence, Daniel calls for Benedict Beel Zebub to to pass him the American flag that Daniel brought out with him during his entrance.  It is tossed in to Dream who unfurls and places it on Button, who has not budged, like a proud parent covering their child on a particularly cold winter night, such as this one.


Dream then lies down, hooking the leg, counting along with Barry Snider practising his door-knocking technique…










“Daniel Dream becomes Daniel Redeem with an amazing victory over Alfie Button,” quips Quinn.


Dream picks the flag back up off the prone body of Button and holds it high above his head, sweating from the sheer effort and endeavor, all smiles because of a hard-fought victory over a game Alfie Button.


Reece rolls her eyes:  “Well, Lucas, that was cheesier than a Chicago track, but it has to be said that Daniel Dream, in defeat to Darring and in victory over Button, has staked a claim to be considered a front runner for the GLOBAL Championship, WHEN the time comes.”

Benedict is also on cloud nine and playfully punches his meal ticket’s midriff.  Dream retreats to the top left-hand corner of the squared circle, yes there’s that word again, and he punches the air, the flag for everyone to see, as he celebrates his superb main event triumph, a contrast to proceedings on the maiden Domination in front of the GLOBAL Nation, most of whom are flooding out of The Globe after another evening of Hollywood ‘entertainment.’


Quinn cannot wait to interrupt:  “We’re told there’ll be an official announcement on Domination Three surrounding that, and the first two episodes WILL be taken into consideration, so Daniel may have just put some money in the bank there.  Bet on Dream, bet on America might just be right.”


Annoyed, The Mark wades in:  “Diamond Casinos paying you to say that, Lucas?  He’s an asshole, but he’s an incredible athlete and I’m devastated for Alfie Button, but like Dream has shown, he can come again.  Well done to Daniel.”


Lucas signs off: “GLOBAL Nation, good night, Merry Christmas and Happy New Year…see you in twenty twenty-three for Domination Three!”

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The Rich Family home approximately 48 hours AFTER Domination 1.

Freddie Rich is back in Dallas after a trashing and yet ultimately disappointing trip. Oblivious to anyone in GLOBAL besides his immediate family, Freddie is relieved that sister Samantha and cousin Rachel are as he left them, and now he’s poring over the opening match in GLOBAL history in which The Riches, as always it seems, came up short.

Towards the tail-end of the title tussle, Freddie is paying extra attention to the match, leaning forward in his seat and drinking his cup of coffee, when he suddenly drops it on the floor, narrowly avoiding a broken foot as it misses his left one by a matter of inches. He fumbles for the remote rewinding, zeroing in on his discovery, and pauses: “No, no, no, it can’t be,” he whispers to himself.

But there, it is. In the audience, a blue-eyed ‘gentleman’ who doesn’t possess the beauty or innocence of his cousin Rachel or sex appeal of his sister Samantha, but one whose eyes are emptier than a banker’s heart. Suddenly, alone just seconds ago, Freddie feels a hand on his left shoulder.

He almost leaps out of his chair, but the grip stabilizes, even paralyses, Freddie momentarily.

The same man that is still on the screen is now in The Rich Family’s living room.

“We need to talk,” says…

Alex Reyn.

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