Undisclosed Location
Pre-Domination 15

Beneath the light of a single lightbulb, the teddy bear of Jerry David sits on an old wooden chair, his arms and legs bound to the chair with rope, an apple duct tape to his mouth.

In the shadows, a bag gently rustles.  Doritos Man steps forward into the light, like a born again Christian.

“The way to the title, is without doubt, routed through the undergrowth of deception and treachery.”

The foil belt of the teddy bears gleams gently underneath the dim light. Doritos seductively rubs his index finger across its length.

“Break him, Teddy. Weaken his body, ready for the brutal match that the future holds…”

The teddy doesn’t nod, but he clearly understands.

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Richard Rutherford is standing in the ring accompanied by his clients. Rutherford has got a microphone ready. 

“Ladies and gentlemen, last week you all seen The Rutherford Guys officially become GLOBAL tag team members. It should have been the biggest night for GLOBAL having one of the world’s best signing a multi-year contract. But…no one is talking about it. No one seems to care about anything else than this guy….ehm….Mr. Dream what is this guys name?”

Daniel leans over Richard Rutherford’s shoulder and says with a touch of disdain, “John J. Truth.”

Rutherford nods. “Thank you, Mr. Dream….so Mr. Truth gets all the hype, yet I am standing here with your Tag Team Champions who can not even get a match? Is this how the company treats their champions? I mean look Mr. Dream has busted his ass since he got here…he was inches away from being YOUR world champion. He took the loss and came back stronger and decided to take on yet another set of champions and beat them. And Truth is the focus? What about my clients? Why aren’t my clients in focus? Why can’t they get a match?”

Rutherford hands the microphone to Daniel. 

“Richard, as we all know, I’m the type to make my own opportunities. And I’m sure Nikolai is ready to TAKE his own opportunity,” Daniel asserts confidently.

Nikolai stares out over the crowd before grabbing the microphone from Daniel. “I said last week someone will be punched, I said I wanted a fight. You don’t take my warning? Well I am not to blame for what might happen.”

Nikolai hands the microphone and his championship to Richard before rolling out of the ring and walking up the ramp. Richard and Daniel look surprised and slightly worried, but Rutherford raises his mic. 

“But enough ranting about that lets talk about the real issue…. I hate to say this, but it is common for the authority to target my clients. Again we see the evidence of it. Before you all start booing me let’s look at the facts. There are numerous tag teams in this company…and how many came last week to congratulate my clients? How many came to challenge my clients? NO ONE! Instead, they go facing each other or sitting back in catering expecting to get a match falling in their lap? My clients are ready for a fight….”

Rutherford gets interrupted by camera at the Megatron showing Nikolai outside the door of Catering. He looks concerned but continues. 

“My clients are ready for a fight, Mr. Dream, why don’t you explain your side of the situation.”

“I make my own opportunities, and I want the rest of the roster to do the same. There’s ONE thing the previous champions did right, and that’s letting their opponents make their own opportunities. That’s why I’m issuing an open cha-” Daniel begins before he is cut off.

Camera again cuts to backstage, We can see significant damage. Broken tables, hole in walls, chairs thrown and a table full of food flipped over. In the middle of the chaos and people running away stands Nikolai Sinclair. His eyes are towards a corner of the room where someone is still standing. He turns around and stare right into the camera. “I told you i wanted a fight, so I will take one” 

Camera cuts back to the ring where Rutherford and Daniel are seen in discussion, they seem to be unsure what to do. 


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ITV Studios

London, England

October 30, 2023

“Well, then! Are we ready, darlings?”

Kerry Buckingham’s faux-enthusiastic hand clapping vividly contrasts with the aggressively glum demeanor of the two men in front of her, one of which has his hands stuffed into the pockets of his suit jacket like a petulant schoolboy.


“What was that, Rupert, darling?” Kerry cups a hand to her ear. “I could not quite catch it…”

The blond man rolls his eyes and heaves a groaning sigh, before repeating his thought in the most condescending tone he can muster. “I still…cannot fathoooommmm..what the need. Is…for this.”

To emphasize his point, he turns his finger towards the ground and waggles it around a few times, indicating the surrounding area. Kerry, however, misses the sarcasm (or convincingly pretends to) and appears perfectly earnest as she elucidates him.

“Well, darling, it is all part of our PR tour. If you look in your calendars, you will see we have this today, then ‘Good Morning Britain’ tomorrow, and next week, we are popping over to see Jimmy, Conan, Jay and Oprah.”

The laundry list of duties does nothing to cheer the blond’s spirits; much to the contrary, he once again grumbles under his breath, to the effect of this press round being so ill-timed that he would “not even have the chance to chat up Holly Willoughby anymore.” This, Kerry does hear, immediately cutting in with her most soothing tone.

“Oh, don’t worry, darling. I know Holly. Shall I introduce you to her?” She leans in with a wink. “She is an absolute darling, you know…”

Before the blond can reply, however, a production assistant pops her head around the corner, announcing the trio will be on in a couple of minutes. This is the prompt for Kerry to run her hands over both men’s lapels, smoothening away inexistent creases, as she gives them a final reminder.

“Now, remember to go over all your talking points, darlings. Just as we rehearsed.” The PR agent begins to count on her fingers. “You are ever so repentant…you are taking a break from the ring to reassess your approach to the sport…you wish to start over from fresh…and you hope the fans both here in the UK and overseas in American will allow you the chance to win their trust, and to become better people.”

“Yes, yes, yes!” The man called Rupert waves his hand in dismissive irritation. “May we PLEASE get this done and over with?”

This, in turn, earns him a mild scolding from Kerry.

“Rupie. Do not be impatient!”

Still, she turns towards the door leading into the studio, beckoning the two men to follow her; on the last step before the threshold, however, she wheels back around to face the two men, her expression and tone somewhere between amused and stern.

“Oh…and please, darlings…try to refrain from chatting up the hosts, hmmm?”

With that, and without giving either man any chance to get a word in edgewise, she finally steps into the studio, where some of Britain’s most famous television hosts wait to broadcast Phase Two of her carefully concocted PR plan to an entire nation.

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Yesterday afternoon.

As Giovanni enters the hotel room, he sees three familiar faces. One, he was expecting, and two others that take him by surprise.

The tall Italian-American CEO and President of GLOBAL, Giovanni Ferrari, is in a smart white shirt, sunglasses hugging his shirt pocket, and black suit pants, clutching his jacket, looking to unwind after another day at the office.

As he enters the hotel room, he sees three familiar faces. One, he was expecting, and two others that take him by surprise.

“Mr. Ferrari, glad you could make it.” Alicia says, she’s in the white business suit and slacks he’s used to seeing her in, blonde hair tied back in her usual ponytail, “Can I get you anything to drink?”

Looking up from their seats at the table, he sees Ray Young and Hank Wright as well.  Ray, as always, is suited, all grey this time with a blue shirt and matching tie, while Wright is in a leather jacket, ripped jeans and a red and blue checked shirt.

Giovanni waves off the offer of a drink, more intrigued by seeing Ray and Hank here, and his eyes meet Ray’s a little sterner than usual.  Young attempts to diffuse that with a trademark smile of his while Wright remains fairly stoic.

Ray raises the champagne glass in his right hand, a typical sight down the years.

“To you, G, you’re a hell of a boss, my man.”  This turns into a toast with Wright, who has predictably settled for beer, gently clashing glasses with Ray and they salute the boss.

Giovanni smiles, and puts his hands in his trouser pockets, somewhat defensive, but that doesn’t stop him from breaking the tension in the room. “I take it, you know about the discussion Alicia and I had, then?”

Ray and Hank swap looks.  Young silently suggests he tackle the question, and the Texan opens his hands to indicate that the floor belongs to the 19-time World champion.

Young leans forward, and then, champagne glass still in hand, stands up and looks Ferrari in the eye. “We’re here for whatever YOU need, which for us,” he says, looking back at Hank and over at Alicia.

He swirls his glass around to show that they’re on the same team. “Which means we’re here for whatever GLOBAL needs.  That’s the way we see it, G. There’s no other guy, girl, or person, period, for the job.”

Wright echoes that and also decides to stand up. “I know a thing or two about politics in wrestling, whether I wanna admit that or not.  I’ve not always done the right thing, no pun intended, believe me, but here, this, whatever it takes, is the right thing, as Ray said.  We’re here for you, Giovanni, for GLOBAL and for the fans.  The way they’ve treated you in that boardroom, Ray tells us things, is awful.  We’re not afraid to get our hands dirty for the cause, boss,” Wright rounds off.

“But we need to play our cards right.” Alicia says, stepping forward, “Right now an outward show of solidarity is going to bring us more trouble than we can handle.  The biggest obstacle is the company shares. Our adversaries hold the majority and so long as that’s the case, they can overrule us, no matter how united you three are in spirit. We need to legally relieve these men of their shares, and to do that, we will need to divide and conquer.”

Ray Young is grinning from ear to ear upon hearing that, and Hank nods along.  “We’re in, Alicia.  Whatever you need,” Young states.

Giovanni turns to his former press secretary. “Okay, let’s say we’re all in.  How do we divide and conquer?  With due respect to these men, they love a fight and I love that about them.  But, I sense that isn’t your approach, Alicia.  So, IF we do this, how do we go about it?”

She nods and opens up a folder, placing it on the table, so they can all see the mugshot inside.

“Our first target will be Adam Hatt, a hard drinker, loves to party and is something of a risk-taker. Of all the board members, he is the most likely to act carelessly, and we can take advantage of that.”

Ray winces as soon as hears Hatt’s name, and Alicia detects that, as well as knowing fine well the relationship Young and Hatt enjoy.

“Will that be a problem, Ray?”

Young shakes his head.

“No, for the greater good.  For GLOBAL”

She seems to be studying at him for a second, but then her gaze softens.

“This doesn’t have to be permanent. Once the other board members are taken care of, I’m sure Giovanni will be happy to return Mr. Hatt to his previous position. But right now, your friend is as stuck as the rest of us. Forced to choose between his friendship and his job. We’re not moving against him, not really. We’re moving against the people manipulating him.”

Ray hesitates for a second, but then gives a firm nod.

“Thank you. I think we’ll need your cooperation for this to work.”

She pulls out another sheet of paper and begins outlining her plan

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Toukon Puroresu Academy

Tokyo, Japan

October 2023

Jacqui Monroe can barely prevent her jaw from hanging from her mouth. When her student first told her about her work colleagues from Beverly Hills who wanted to come train in Japan with her, the self-styled “Alpha Bitch” could not have been more skeptical, pegging them as spoiled rich girls wanting a scenic vacation to Japan with a few arm drags thrown in as part of the package. It has not, however, taken more than a couple of days for her assessment to prove not only premature, but wrong: the two girls have turned out to be unassuming and good-natured to a fault, undemanding, and serious about their purpose, if a little fragile on the mental side. What little accommodations they have asked for – the multiple-hour streams every other day and occasional Facetimes with now-remote boyfriends – they have so far done their best to accommodate around Jacqui’s own hours, and to keep from clashing with training. The “Alpha Bitch” is suitably impressed, and even forewarned, is still surprised every time her two new lodgers reveal just how different from her usual houseguest they are.

Like now, for instance – “Raven” has always made a stink about having to clean and sanitise the ring after using it, but the two girls in front of Jacqui have made a game out of it, each timing the other to see who can complete a task faster. The head of Toukon Puroresu Academy is so pleased, she cannot even bring herself to tell them not to take footage inside the dojo. Even though it is still very early days, she cannot help but feel this teaching relationship could start working much faster, and with far less attrition, than her previous one.

“Hey, Coach Monroe?” Jacqui is taken out of her reverie by the call of the red-headed half of the duo, whom she has discovered to be the spokesperson for the pair. “Do you mind if we do a quick little stream thing here in the gym?”

The “Alpha Bitch” looks around, assessing the general state of the area. “Well, long as you’re all done…”

“Yup!” Both girls beam at the blonde. “All done!”

“Well, then I don’t see why not.” Despite her accommodating tone, Monroe still feels the need to issue a warning to her charges. “Dinner in thirty, though. And I ain’t waiting. You’re not there by the time I’m done eating, the dog’s getting both your plates. Capeesh?”

“No problemo, Coach!” The redhead directs another winning smile at her elder. “We’ll be there in plenty of time. And showered, as well!”

“You see to that.” The blonde points one last warning finger at the two girls before striding out of the room, leaving the duo to go through the motions of setting up a stream on their phone. A moment later, they are both sitting across from the propped-up iPhone, where a Twitch session is under way.

“’Konnichiwa‘, Roxx Gang!” The redhead takes it upon herself to serve as the main host, leaving her blue, black and gold-streaked friend to provide occasional support. “It’s ya girls Teagan and Izzy, back again with another stream!” She squints at the screen, quickly realizing it is too far away to accurately assess. “I was trying to see how many of you are on chat, but screw looking at a phone screen from this far away! So, however many of you there are, thanks for being here! I know these last few streams have been, like, super-early or super-late, but hey…” The redhead rolls her eyes. “…timezones, am I right? What are you gonna do?”

As the few members of the chat respond with their own “Konnichiwas” or comment on the latest statement from the host, she continues.

“That’s right. In case you didn’t know, ya girls came all the way out here to Japan, to train with the AWESOME Coach Monroe. I’ll drop the link to her X in the bio. She’s the real deal. She trained Hayley Robinson, too…you guys know her, right?”

Affirmative statements begin to trickle through in the chat, as Teagan moves on to her next point, a slight confrontational edge creeping into her tone.

“And hey…for those of you going ‘buuut guuuuyssss, you said no breaks and no days ooooffff…’, check our Insta and TikTok. Tell me if that looks like breaks or days off to you.”

Her point made, the redhead reverts back to her pleasant, conversational tone.

“Nah, fam. We ain’t here on a sightseeing vacation. We’re here to learn. We’re here to improve our game. We’re here to put in the work, so that when we get called back into action, we can be at that next level: bigger, better, faster, stronger.”

“Isn’t that, like, a Daft Punk song or something?” The random interjection from Izzy catches Teagan by surprise, but after a moment’s thought, she giggles.

“Wait, I thought it was the Olympic motto?” Teagan frowns in confusion for a moment, but quickly dismisses the question. “Whatever, you get what I meant.”

Izzy, however, is unable to contain her laughter, which, predictably, proves too infectious for Teagan to resist, as well; not until composures are finally restored, a long moment later, does the redhead manage to go on with her address.

“OK, that’s enough. This is no laughing matter, actually.” Teagan’s countenance suddenly becomes unusually stern. “There’s actually a reason we’re doing this. There’s a reason we want to be bigger, better, faster, stronger. And if you watched GLOBAL’s comeback show after the Summer vacation, you know what that is.”

Teagan bores a hole into the camera. “Daniel Dream…Niko Sinclair…you make sure you take care of our precious metal babies…keep ’em in one piece and looking good…because Mama Teagan and Mama Izzy are coming back for them real soon.”

“No beef with those guys, by the way.” Izzy lifts up a finger as she interjects for the second time. “They beat us fair and square. We got outsmarted and outwrestled, and they were the best team on the night. But we have a chance to get our win back – AND our titles – and we’re not about to waste it.”

“You said it, Iz!” Teagan pats her partner on the shoulder as she once again takes over. “And that’s why, if you’re a normal person who isn’t up super-early or super-late, you’re probably not gonna see us for a while.” The redhead lowers her voice to a stage whisper, as she leans in with her hand in front of her mouth. “Unless you check the YouTube channel…”

The two youngsters share another giggle before a look of alarm briefly crosses Izzy’s features.

“Dude! Coach!”

Teagan, too, looks panicked for a few seconds upon hearing these words, though she manages to regain just about enough composure to address stream attendants one last time.

“Right, guys…this was just a short one. We gotta go. But hey, this is going up on YouTube later, so…let everybody else know, OK?” The host winks and points a finger gun at the camera. “Catch you on the flip side, Roxx Gang. Until then, this is ya girl Teagan Trouble…”

“…and ya girl Izzy Roxx…”

“…saying ‘sayonara‘ from Tokyo!”

With that, the two girls abruptly cut off the feed and, after exchanging a vaguely worried look, gather up their setup and rush towards the showers, lest their new Coach’s pet end up with their portion of dinner.

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“On the last Domination, we saw Punch Drunk Purcell make his awaited in-ring debut by defeating Joe Public in fairly quick fashion, however, he steps up in competition against the cunning El Principe!” states Lucas Quinn. “El Principe gives up some size to Purcell, but he’s got a technical background to be able to combat that size.”

“I also think Purcell needs to stop worrying about The Great Wall,” adds Mark Deltzer, “and focus on the task at hand. I get it. Purcell was pushed by Xiang and The Great Wall when he appeared at ringside to watch GLORY. Xiang threw beer in his face. But coming in here and picking fights with one of the largest men in our roster, that can come back and bite him. Can he even PUNCH someone that tall?!”

“He certainly wants to try!” Allie Reece says. “We saw Purcell almost come to blows with The Great Wall a second time until security came out to break it up… and as much as it pains me to say, Mark is right. Punch Drunk Purcell can’t take his eyes off El Principe or he’ll make him pay for it. I’m eager to see how this clash of styles will go!” 

“Downtown” Jason Brown is now in the ring and ready for the introductions. 

“The following contest is set for one fall!” Brown shouts. “Introducing first…”


A BIG explosion of white pyro erupts after the first word is spoken! 

“Start a Riot” by Duckwrth. 

The camera is behind the man coming out from behind the curtain to face The GLOBAL Nation in ring for the first time, catching the back of his yellow boxing robe with the following words:



Pay Window.

The massive Purcell throws back the hood and shadowboxes in place as a few more pops of pyro explode from either side of the stage! 

“…From Atlanta, Georgia, weighing in at THREE-HUNDRED FIFTY-ONE pounds… He is The Jaw-Break Kid! He is The Round Mound of Ground and Pound… PUNCH! DRUNK! PURCELL!

He gets some cheers from The GLOBAL Nation who do take kindly to the fact that he knocked Xiang out at GLORY. When he gets to the ring, the robe comes off! Purcell, wearing yellow boxing trunks with “PUNCH DRUNK!!!” on the waistband, yellow kneepads and black wrestling boots, climbs into the ring. He adjusts the MMA-styled yellow gloves on his hand, then pops his yellow mouthpiece into his mouth. The green-eyed boxer looks ready to go and gets cheers as the GLOBAL Nation wait for his opponent…

“Los Consejos De Un Padre.”

Gerrardo Reyes’s versión of the song starts off slowly, but as the trumpets pick up in tempo and volume, ‘The Crown Prince of Lucha Libre’ and the ridiculous crown that sits atop his masked head shine brightly under the Hollywood lights here inside Stage 49.

“And his opponent… from Mexico City, Mexico, and he wants me to tell you that he weights in at 100 kilos and wants you to look that up… EL PRINCIPE!

Blue and gold, like a cheap rip-off of a superhero, cover the entire body of El Principe, who calmly walks the aisle, oblivious to the boos directed at him. He struts down the ramp and then hands off his crown to someone at ringside before entering the ring. Purcell doesn’t look impressed one bit by The Crown Prince of Lucha Libre or his extravagant entrance. He tells the official to back Purcell up and then gets ready. He takes off his robe… 


Then throws it at the former boxer! 

He moves, but Purcell goes right for a flurry of forearms to Purcell and tries to rock the big man early! The GLOBAL Nation jeers El Principe as he goes wild and tries to take the bigger Purcell off his game with some crafty thinking! 





He rocks Purcell with chops to the chest and tries to stun him… but the blows now only seem to be making him angrier. El Principe swings, but Purcell blocks and then goes with a flurry of body shots to stun Principe! He throws The Crown Prince of Lucha Libre across the ring and when he comes back he FLOOR the luchador with a huge back elbow! Principe takes the shot and goes rolling across the ring, then retreats to the floor! 

The Round Mound of Ground and Pound watches Principe pace around ringside as he tries to quickly compose himself after getting rocked by the elbow, then taps the side of his head like he meant to do what he did by taking a quick dive. The Crown Prince of Lucha Libre starts to climb up to the apron, but when Purcell comes near him, he moves again.Booing fills Stage 49 as he quickly jumps off the apron again and protects his face. 

“Get your punk ass back in here! You got a face and I gotta punch it!” Purcell shouts. 

The Green-Eyed Wildman holds the ropes open, but El Principe tries to ignore him. When he finally has the gumption to go after him, he crawls up to the apron as Punch Drunk Purcell moves back. But before he can go for something…


Principe pulls the neck down and drag’s Purcell’s throat across the top rope! That’s enough to stun the big man as he crawls back into the ring! The talented luchador leaps over the ropes and then hops to the middle rope before flying off with a missile dropkick. The big shot is able to rock PDP and send him backwards as Principe pops to his feet. He goes right for the leg and takes to Purcell’s leg and hamstring with a series of kicks! 

“¡Caer! ¡Vamos!” El Principe shouts. 

He continues going for the leg! Purcell tries to swing with a right, but El Principe ducks and then kicks the knee again. He tries an Irish whip, but The Round Mound of Ground and Pound throws him to the ropes. Purcell catches him in a waistlock and looks for a possible belly-to-belly suplex, only for El Principe to stop him… 


Not one, but two discombobulating bell claps box the ears of Purcell and throw him off for a moment.  El Principe is using whatever tricks he can to stay alive in this match, but when he hits the ropes again… 

Purcell HITS him with a big charging clothesline! 

El Principe spins and then rolls to the floor a second time. Punch Drunk Purcell takes a moment to catch himself and then finally decides this time, he’s gonna take the fight out to the floor. He waits for El Principe to stand… then RUNS him over with a huge running shoulder tackle on the floor! 

“Who wants to take home one of his teeth?! Principe about to get some free dental work!” Purcell screams. 

The Round Mound of Ground and Pound starts to pick up the Crown Prince of Lucha Libre and then hurls him back into the ring. PDP stars to follow… 


Walking out onto the stage in matching gray suits… 


The Great Wall! 

The jeering is loud as Purcell turns his attention on them and balls up his right hand. 

“You want some, too? Bring it! Bring that shi…”

He tries to get back up to the ring… 

But El Principe hits a dropkick to the left leg! 

Purcell yells out in pain as that brings a smile to the collective faces of The Xiang Dynasty watching on stage. El Principe finally takes a moment to catch himself, then hits the ropes… 


Taking his eye off the ball a little too long results in El Principe being able to take advantage and come back with his signature Tope Suicida through the ropes! Purcell gets brought back down to a knee when El Principe gets back to his feet. He looks out to Xiang and The Great Wall up on stage, then slides back into the ring to gear up for another attack! 


The second Tope Suicida is enough to fully bring Punch Drunk Purcell off his feet completely! Principe slides back into the ring and then yells at the official in Spanish to count the big man out! 


The counting continues as Punch Drunk Purcell tries to get back to his feet. Xiang continues to watch the action with his arms folded while The Great Wall watches with an uncharacteristic smile. 


Purcell hobbles up…


Then he climbs up on the apron! He steps through the ropes…

…but El Principe grabs the knee and hits a dragon screw leg whip WHILE he’s in the ropes! The move tweaks the knee of Purcell as The Green-Eyed Wildman is now left hobbling. El Principe clips the leg and then DRIVES him down to the mat with a big jumping DDT! 

“You shouldn’t have taken your eyes off the enemy,” Xiang says from the stage. 

El Principe finally has Purcell down and goes for the cover!



Purcell POWERS El Principe off of him, but even still, The Crown Prince of Lucha Libre knows that now that Punch Drunk Purcell is distracted, he has a solid chance of taking the fight to him. He goes for the leg and hits another pair of stomps before putting the leg on the bottom rope. He jumps up…

Seated senton on the knee! 

The Round Mound of Ground and Pound gets effectively grounded by the move when El Principe looks up to Xiang and The Great Wall, who remain merely as (distracting) observers. He jumps up…

Seated senton to the knee! 

A second one does more to the knee. El Principe jumps a third time…  but PDP uses his other foot and KICKS him up and over the top rope, sending him all the way out to the floor!

That gets cheers from the crowd as Punch Drunk Purcell fights back and tries to get feeling back into the leg while El Principe is left fumbling around at ringside to try and get back to his feet. When he sees Punch Drunk Purcell trying to stand up, he panics and tries to get back in… 


…only to lay out Principe with a big headbutt out of nowhere! 

The smiles that were on the faces of The Xiang Dynasty go away the second that Punch Drunk Purcell mounts a comeback! He picks up El Principe off the mat and whips him to the ropes, only to grab him by the waist and then THROW him overhead with a belly-to-belly suplex that sends him crashing near the corner! 

Punchy gets back to his feet and hobbles to the corner. He still has enough in him to charge and hits big back splash in the corner before grabbing El Principe and hitting a second overhead belly-to-belly suplex back out of the corner! 


Purcell shouts more of his absurd trash talk, but the GLOBAL Nation loves it as he grabs El Principe and whips him into the ropes again. When he comes back, he gets pitched into the air… 


The GLOBAL Nation let out a collective snap as he lays him out with the dreaded pop-up into the punch! El Principe hits the canvas and Purcell hobbles into the cover!





A much tougher match than his first against Joe Public, but a victorious one for the former boxer as he gets back to his feet! 

“Here is your winner of the match… PUNCH DRUNK PURCELL!”

The Atlanta native waves for a microphone immediately. The Great Wall wants to advance towards the ring, but Xiang holds a hand out to stop the massive beast from going anywhere near it. 

“Hey! Assholes!” Purcell shouts as his music cuts. “I challenged you to a fight and the answer that giant slow-ass up there gave me was…” He does a Lurch impression. “Notttttt tonightttttt…”

He points at El Principe being checked on outside the ring. 

“Here’s the deal… GLOBAL Wrestling ain’t paying me and helping me provide for my family by having a bunch of goddamn staring contests with you. They’re paying me for FIGHTS! They’re paying me to break jaws! So either you come down here, or I’m gonna come up there!”

That gets a loud cheer from The GLOBAL Nation. The Great Wall once again wants to fight, but Xiang stops him. He says something off-mic to the massive monster before pulling a microphone out from his own coat. 

“You really are a simpleton,” Xiang says. “We didn’t come out here for games, Mister Purcell. We came out here merely to tell you that after weeks of your incessant begging and pleading for a match with The Great Wall… your challenge has officially been accepted.”

That gets a cheer! Purcell draws an imaginary line with his good leg and wants The Great Wall, but Xiang holds a hand up. 

“But not tonight!”


“On behalf of my colleague, I have reached out to GLOBAL matchmakers and this match has been made official for The Last Laugh! December 16th!”

That seems to be enough to satisfy Punch Drunk Purcell as he smiles. Xiang isn’t finished. 

“I’m not doing this to indulge you Americans who like what you refer to as…” Air quotes. “‘Big money fights.’ We are doing this because I want no excuses. We want you healthy and at 100% when The Great Wall makes you irrelevant and then runs you out of this promotion, Mister Purcell. You’re an attraction. Nothing more. On that date, your fifteen minutes, as you say…”

He gestures to The Great Wall. 

“They’re up.”

Xiang and The Great Wall take their leave, but Punch Drunk Purcell finally has the match he’s wanted since GLORY when the two monsters first locked up!

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Backstage, amidst the boisterous atmosphere, The Informer attempts to secure a quick interview with the recent victors of Domination, Jimmy Classic and Trae Larkin, the electrifying duo known as the Prime Time Athletes.

The informer endeavors to gain control of the interview, posing a question to the young and audacious tag team. “Guys, after your remarkable victory over two of Global’s most prominent stars, the Global Heavyweight Champion Sean Darring and Jerry David…”

Trae Larkin turns with a snarl, clearly annoyed by the interruption, and forcefully grabs the microphone from the interviewer. He looks over to his partner, inquiring, “Who does this guy think he is?”

The informer makes another attempt to engage, but Trae snatches the microphone away again, conveying an unmistakable message. Throwing his arms up in frustration, Informer steps back, allowing the Prime Time Athletes to share their thoughts at their own pace. Jimmy Classic flashes a sly grin as he takes the microphone from his partner.

“They just don’t seem to get it around here, Trae. Last week, Global Nation bore witness to what we’ve been professing since day one. We are the true yardstick, the apex of talent, the future of this industry, and we just validated it in front of the entire world. While it may come as a shock to many of you, it doesn’t faze us. We’ve always known we’re the best this company has to offer. We define ‘Prime Time’ around here, and by pinning your beloved champion, we’ve perhaps convinced the rest of you.”

The informer endeavors to interject with a question, shifting around to speak, saying, “What about Jerry David’s actions?” Trae Larkin steps forward, silencing the Global interviewer, while Jimmy Classic seems irritated by the inquiry.

“Everyone keeps harping on Jerry David’s supposed betrayal, but he didn’t throw in the towel until he realized that he and his partner had no chance against us. We maintained control of the match from the opening bell to the final one. Sean Darring’s efforts were in vain. Jerry David just seized an opportunity for his own agenda when he saw it.”

The Prime Time Athletes share a laugh. Jimmy Classic then stands more upright, attempting to adopt a more serious tone. “Yesterday’s news, my friend. Let’s focus on tonight. We’re looking to carry this momentum forward and make tonight ‘Prime Time’ again. We’ve heard that Declan Rich is in the building this evening, the lone member of his family around.”

Trae chimes in, saying, “Thank goodness for that.”

Jimmy proceeds, “How about you show your family that at least one of you possesses a bit of courage by stepping into the ring later tonight and facing either Trae or me in a one-on-one match?”

Trae enthusiastically adds, “Pick me, pick me, pick me!”

Jimmy nods, continuing, “Here’s your chance to prove that you’re not the coward everyone makes you out to be. No gimmicks, just you versus one of us. We demonstrated last week that we are the foremost stars in this company. It’s your turn to prove you’re not the coward that everyone believes you are. So, Declan, what’s your answer? We’ll be right here waiting.”

Jimmy tosses the microphone back to The Informer, who can only watch as the Prime Time Athletes walk away laughing, leaving him shaking his head in disbelief.

LOGO b&w


Somewhere in Greater Los Angeles

November 2, 2023

“Two! You got me right here, buddy!”

The man with the blue check-mark on his mask nearly falls off his team’s corner as he gets angrily shoved by the “luchador” in a black bodysuit standing next to him, who then begins to angrily point at himself.

“Oh…sorry, Two…” The wirier of the two men chuckles, but this does not prevent a bird from being flipped in his direction, as the bodysuitted man similarly leans into the ring, hand outstretched towards a wrestler in every way his twin, currently being held in a chinlock by a grizzled man with a blond flat-top haircut. Seeing his team-mate is in a precarious situation, the man in the check-mark mask once again leaps into action.

“Is that all you got, Flan Pudding? That ain’t nothing! That’s not even hurting my boy One! Right, One?” The man currently having the hold applied is, however, unable to reply, his entire body posture belying his team-mate’s claim. Thinking on his feet again, the man with the checkmark changes tack. “In fact, the only reason One isn’t whupping your ass right now is ’cause the BO from your armpits knocked him out! Man, I can smell that shit from over here!” He covers his nose-hole dramatically, waving his free hand in a wafting motion. “You heard of showering after practice, my guy?”

SHUT. UP. MARX!” The groan comes from one of the flat-topped blond’s tag team partners, a large, girthy and frankly intimidating man. His other team-mate, an average-looking man in a light blue singlet, immediately attempts to follow suit.

“Yeah, Marx! Shut up!”

This, however, simply earns him a shove from the large man, which causes him to stumble and nearly fall off the turnbuckle. The check-marked man’s tactic appears to have worked, however, as his banter creates just enough of a distraction for the bodysuitted “luchador” in the chinlock to break free, immediately lunging forward to tag in his twin.

“Hey, nevermind me, guys…it’s not like I’m in this match anyway…” The wiry man’s sarcastic comment falls on deaf ears, however, as the fresh twin begins attempting to turn the tables on his blond opponent. His quickness helps him, and it does not take long before the contest has been evened out, and the grizzled veteran is slowly but surely being made to retreat closer and closer to his corner – so much so that he actually starts looking for his girthy team-mate. Much to his displeasure, however, it is the third wheel on the team who blind-tags himself in, putting some distance between them before the flat-topped man can so much as react. This turn of events appears to delight the man called Marx, whose motormouth promptly begins running again.

JACKPOT! We get Average Joe!” He switches to a reedy, condescending tone as he leans in towards the fresh wrestler. “Careful, Joey…don’t get a boo-boo…Mommy wouldn’t like that…”

Shut up, Ma—”

The momentary distraction is, once again, all it takes; less prepared than his partner moments earlier, the man called Joe allows himself to get caught and isolated in the masked team’s corner, where all three members take turns hitting corner moves on him. Having thus worn him down, the bodysuitted twins then connect with stereo suplexes and a flapjack into double-knee facebreaker combo, after which one of them drops down to cover, while his two team-mates run interference on the unmasked team’s remaining members, allowing the dark-haired female instructor-cum-referee to count the three and give their team the win. Rather than celebrate or gloat, however, both the victorious masked men and their unmasked opponents scramble to attention in front of the woman, who is pinching the bridge of her nose and looks somewhat irritated. A large moment of tense silence then elapses, after which the instructor finally looks up at her six charges.

“You maggots…”

Tension can almost be cut with a knife as she pauses for another second or two, before slumping her shoulders with a defeated sigh.

“…did not make complete fools of yourselves.”

This time, there are cheers and celebrations – from both sides of the divide. The woman is, however, quick to quash these with a bark of “QUIET!!” This, predictably, cows the men into silence, allowing the instructor to address the two most active members of the losing team.

“With that said…you two are still going to drop down and give me five hundred each, for letting Private Bigmouth over there distract you with his yakking.”

Then, as the two men promptly begin to comply with her command, she turns on the pinned party.

“And you, Public…need to learn that when people aren’t including you in something, there’s probably a good reason for that. Namely, the fact that you are a good-for-nothing little worm who’s nothing but a burden on his squad-mates, and on me. As became abundantly clear not two minutes ago.” She glances over at Public’s two team-mates and smirks. “In fact, if I were you…I’d make sure not to drop the soap when you hit the showers later on. You never know what could happen.” Here, her menacing growl suddenly turns to a full-on roar, which makes not only Public, but the three member of the opposing team start. “DROP DOWN AND GIVE ME TWO THOUSAND! NOW!!

As the terrified Public literally leaps into action beside his two team-mates, the woman turns to the masked trio on the other side of her.

“As for you three…don’t go thinking you’re hot stuff. Anyone can pin Public. Just because you weren’t a complete disgrace, doesn’t mean you’re ready. Understand?”

Two nods and a cry of “Yes Ma’am!” are good enough for the instructor, who pauses for a moment before once again turning towards the three prone men.

“In fact…get up, you maggots! Come on!”

The men promptly scramble to their feet, just as the woman lays out her next instruction.

“In fact…you losers need a bigger challenge than just facing one another all the time. Which is why…” She pauses again, a smirk broaching her features. “…you are now going to face me.”

A collective gasp ripples through the group, making the woman grin even wider.

“What’s the matter, ladies? Are you scared?” The instructor chuckles, putting on a sarcastically girly voice. “There’s six of you big, strong men, and only one of little old me…” Her tone reverts back to its usual bile as she gives her troop a once over. “In fact, if I was any of you maggots, I’d be embarrassed not to accept this challenge.” She then adopts a fighting stance, once again smirking at her charges. “Well? What are you waiting for?”

This is the cue for the men to line up and begin attacking their instructor, with the winning masked team taking the initiative. The woman predictably dispatches each of them in a few moves, however, doing the same to the highly reluctant Public before taking a step back and addressing her squad in disbelief.

“What the hell are you braindead idiots doing? There’s six of you…” The instructor points at each man in turn, then at herself. “…and one of me. Why in the blue HELL are you all coming at me one at time? What do you think this is, a karate movie? Fucking rush me, you morons!”

Another collective gasp follows these words, as the masked Marx attempts to raise an objection.

“But…Corporal Wright…Ma’am…”

No sooner have these first words escaped his lips, however, than the instructor is rounding up on him.

“’But’ what, Marx? Are you going to disobey a direct order from your commanding officer?”

Marx gulps. “N-No, Ma’am…it’s just…”

‘It’s just…‘” Corporal Wright’s tone once again becomes mockingly childish. “’It’s just’ NOTHING, Private! I said rush me!” The next word comes in the form of a bark, directed at all four men. “NOW!!!

At this, the six cadets leap into action, albeit slightly clumsily, and taking perhaps excessive care not to hinder each other’s actions; this, in turn, allows Corporal Wright to easily dodge most of the onrushing attacks, spinning gracefully out of the way of a double clothesline from the masked twins – who butt heads in the process – and taking Marx down with a hip toss. Busy as she is with the masked half of her squad, however, she is powerless to prevent a lariat from the flat-topped Flanagan from hitting her, and throwing her into the waiting arms of the girthy Dann, who promptly applies a bear hug. Thinking on her feet, Wright extricates herself via her preferred method – a swift heel kick to the family jewels – then stands with her hands on her knees, staring at each of her recruits in turn as she catches her breath. A long moment of silence ensues before anyone speaks again, with Dann – of all people – raising his voice.

“Sorry, Ma’am…”

The response is another sardonic quip from Wright.

‘Sowwy, Ma’am…’” She glares at Dann. “What are you, second-graders? Stop fucking apologizing!” She pushes her fringe out of her eyes as she slowly stands upright once again. “You have strength in numbers. When all six of you maggots can pull it together long enough, you make a halfway competent wrestling unit. Fucking use that!” A smirk slowly creeps its way back into her features as she cracks her knuckles. “Now…who’s up for Round Two?”

The grin slowly fades as her question is met with an awkward silence, which brings a steely glint to her eyes.

“You maggots want to play it like that, huh? Well, in that case…” Suddenly, her tone once again booms around the walls of the practice room. “…YOU ALL STILL OWE ME SOME PUSH-UPS!!

It is, as ever, with six men frantically scrambling to a planked position and endlessly flexing on closed knuckles that yet another practice session comes to an end.

LOGO b&w


A Comedy Club, Location Undisclosed
Pre-Domination 15
Night Time

A cold wind blows along the damp, dimly lit alleyway as Jerry David steps out of the back door of the comedy club. His set has been a success, and the crowd has been a receptive one. Undoubtedly his rise in fame has attracted fans more in tune with his bespoke humor, making his gigs easier and more enjoyable.

He straightens the lapels of his navy blue sports jacket and smiles to himself, mentally patting himself on the back. What a great comedian he is, he thinks to himself.

Suddenly, a shape falls from the sky and before him, landing on his feet, knees bent, one hand on the floor, a man appears. Jerry jumps, his foot instinctively stepping back, readying for a fight.

The man stands straight. He is wearing a black pinstripe suit, immaculately polished dress shoes and, bizarrely, on top of his head is an upturned bag of Cheeseburger flavored Doritos.

Doritos Man.

“Who–” Jerry starts. 

But it is too late.

Doritos raises a fist, unravels his fingers, and a mysterious wind blows. As it does, an orange powder blinds Jerry David, sending him staggering back, his back pressed against the closed door of the comedy club.

He wipes his face and opens his eyes, which are now entirely black.

“Break his body, teddy…” Jerry says, his voice deeper, and further away.

Doritos Man nods.


LOGO b&w


“Two of GLOBAL’s brightest young stars, PTA’s leading light Jimmy Classic and Declan Rich, otherwise known as “The Diamond” will do battle in what could, WILL, be a psychological boost for the winner,” Quinn opens.

“No doubt about that, and it’s not like PTA’s confidence isn’t already sky-high with what went down in not only winning in our main event a fortnight ago, but also by beating “Legend” Sean Darring to boot, the GLOBAL Champion, the main man period, and ending his undefeated streak,” The Mark contributes.

Suddenly, Declan Rich steps through the curtain, no Todd or Donny here tonight.

“Weighing two hundred and twenty pounds…from Dallas, Texas…”The Diamond” DECCCCCLAAAAN RRRRRRRRRRIIIICCCCH!”

Weighing blue and red trunks with white boots, complemented by a black leather jacket and a picture of a blue diamond, reflective of his nickname, he’s going it alone tonight.

“Declan looks focused, that’s hardly surprising, and Jimmy will have to be, too, though he’ll be favorite given their win at the expense of Sean Darring and Jerry David during our last Domination main event, which doesn’t tell the whole story,” Deltzer laments.

“No, it doesn’t, but they are also the Tag Team of Season One, and as you’ve said, Jimmy Classic is a fantastic athlete who can do it all, but so can Declan, this should be an awesome encounter, as long as it stays one-on-one” Quinn tips.

Speaking of awesome…

Jimmy’s long brown hair looks immaculate, the blonde highlights adding a certain element of stardom that the main eventers of the world have that separates them from the rest of the pack, and Jimmy’s on his path to the top. His black and silver pants and boots are part of the full package, and backed by Trae Larkin, wearing a black and silver singlet himself, they’re all smiles as “Legacy” by Dirty Palm and Benix blares out, all that’s needed now is a touch of Downtown Brown.

“His opponent from right here in Los Angeles, California, weighing in at two hundred fifteen pounds…one-half of the Prime Time Athletes, GLOBAL’s Best Team of Season One…JIMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMYYYYYYYY


Classic has a strut about him as he looks up at Declan, but just as he’s about to head left and scale the ring steps, Jimmy is caught unaware by a suicide dive by Declan, who mounts Jimmy and fires away with four punches, two of which land, as Classic desperately tries to cover up and this one is most definitely underway.

“A hot and positive start by Declan Rich, who isn’t going to let Jimmy Classic settle into a rhythm,” Quinn reasons.

“Nor should he, these two tremendous athletes are looking to score points, mentally I mean, tonight, and neither can afford to let the other wrestle HIS match or they’re in trouble.  These two youngsters are so ridiculously talented, and whether they admit it or not, they know it about themselves AND the other man, yes, even Jimmy knows Declan is a threat, and judging by that, Declan knows Jimmy is, too.  They’ve been in the ring together, this isn’t a rivalry that started yesterday,” The Mark offers.

As The Mark finishes his statement, a wicked whip from Declan sees Jimmy SMACK the stairs, going up and over, hurting his knee.

“Declan will definitely take advantage of that, one way or another, sooner or later,” Mystic Mark predicts.

In the meantime, cheered on by the Californian crowd, the Texan comes to collect the hometown boy, whose antics and attitude rub people up the wrong way despite the unquestionable ability Jimmy possesses.  Declan drops Classic again, this time throat-first onto the barricade Snake Eyes style, and breaks Gabrielle Harris’s count, somewhere between six and seven, which has been slow to say the least, rolling in and then immediately out, so as not to get counted out and have this grudge match end in a draw, wasting an opportunity to get one over on the other side.  Trae Larkin remains stoic, probably seething inside at Declan’s electric start and the support he’s enjoying.

Rich tosses Classic back in.

“Jimmy doesn’t know what has hit him,” Reece beams.

“Look at Jimmy, using his hands, retreat from a sitting position – and now we know why,” The Mark explains.

LOW BLOW!  Somehow, Classic gets away with, even if the audience jeers, and Gabrielle probably knows what has gone down, no pun intended.  However, her poor positioning and lack of experience counts against her, something our commentators pick up on.

“Gabby, Gabby, Gabby,” The Mark laments.

“Leave her alone, I know Mark, she got it wrong, but there’s a lot of inexperience in the ring, generally, and she’s no different,” Reece argues back.

A pair of European uppercuts by Classic rattle Declan’s teeth, and he picks Declan up, steering him towards the top left-hand corner.  A few seconds later, a massive chop lights Rich’s chest up.

Clearly getting off on inflicting visible and audible anguish, Classic hits Declan with a second, and then exposes Declan’s for a third, which he hits.  However, smiling, he takes too long, and as he comes back in…

“Jimmy’s inexperience counting against him there,” Reece states.

“Or arrogance,” The Mark replies.

“True,” Allie admits.

Declan swivels him round. 


Declan pushes Classic back. 


Classic stamps on the floor, distressed and suffering and INCOMING…


Classic is almost taken off his feet, and on the bottom rope.  Declan kicks away, as the crowd counts along, and Jimmy is covering up, not knowing where to go.

Rich scrapes Jimmy up and a whip to the diagonally opposite corner sets it up for Declan to have a direct run and hit at Jimmy, who to his credit, sees it coming and musters a back body drop, pointing to his head, praising himself for quick thinking.

Trae tries to warn Jimmy that Declan ‘didn’t go’ as The Rich Family member lands on the apron.  A couple of seconds later, Classic discovers that the hard way as he’s pulled to the mat by his hair.  Declan then braces himself for a spectacular re-entry with a springboard spl-EGS UP!!

“Counter, counter, counter, that’s what we’ve come to expect from these two young men so far, demonstrating they know their way around the ring,” Quinn declares.



“It’s been frantic, manic, positive, plenty of energy, confidence, arrogance,” Allie wades in.




Classic climbs to his feet and stings Declan with a fantastic forearm smash, causing Declan to stumble back and enough separation for a SUPER-DRAGON SCREW BY DECLAN!

“THAT, right there, could change the entire complexion of the contest,” Lucas reckons.

“I said sooner or later, and Jimmy’s left leg will be in a bad way with a bullseye on it after that,” The Mark boasts.

“Figure four coming up,” Lucas narrates.

“Jimmy cannot cope with this, look at his face.  Declan has got it on technically sound, and you’re right Mark, Jimmy Classic cannot win this type of match,” Allie affirms.

“In fairness Allie, he’s going to give this a go, look at that, what a turnaround.  If Jimmy can turn this, cheered on by Trae Larkin, his only friend among three thousand, yes, he can!  All of the hurt is now placed at Declan Rich’s door, and it’ll be equally interesting to see if “The Diamond” can handle the rough.  Classic has got the figure four on, and looking to make Jimmy pay…would you believe it?  Declan has managed to reverse the reversal, and we’re back to square one as this crowd, really into this one early on, cheers Declan on, and Jimmy’s in more pain than he was before,” Lucas doing his job there.  Glad someone does.



“Very few people get pinned by a figure four, but you’ve got to be careful.  Imagine losing that way,” Reece scoffs.



Classic JUST about pulls himself up, fighting with every fibre right now. Jimmy talks to himself, rejecting multiple appeals to throw the towel in.

“Could Classic be thinking about giving it up here, bigger picture and all that?” Allie asks.

“It would be smart, and while he may seem like the type, he’s too damn arrogant, Allie,” The Mark, bestowing a backhanded compliment on the standout athlete for the Prime Time Athletes.

However, right now, he’s showing other attributes.





“Jimmy reverses the figure four for a second time, though they’re now both in the ropes and Gabrielle Harris is on hand to try and untie them.  This girl was a guide back in the day, by the looks of it.  Well done on that one,” Quinn jibes.

“How much did that take out?” Reece ponders.

“It should be advantage Declan, still,” The Mark believes.

“Both men won’t have come out unscathed though,” Lucas, the actual wrestler out of the three, tell us now that he’s back on Earth.

They clamber to their feet.  Declan throws a BIG right hand, which is cheered, but Jimmy fires back with a knee to the abdomen and hurts himself in the process.

“Not his finest moment – not a classic moment,” Quinn quips.

Declan avoids another knee, our commentators and Trae Larkin wondering where Jimmy’s head is at, for a roll-up…



As Classic gets out, Declan grabs him rather aggressively by the head and goes for the family heirloom that is Rags to Riches, the famed cradle piledriver perfected by Declan’s dad and TRF patriarch, “Filthy” Frank Rich many moons ago.

“Classic counters with a back body drop attempt that does work on this occasion,” The Mark says, making reference to a previous moment in the match.

“You were saying?”

Allie corrects him as Declan negotiates a sunset flip counter…



However, Classic is up, dodgy wheel or not, the quicker of the two…

CLASSIC KICK with his weaker foot.

For a brief second, there’s a delay.  Declan absorbs the shot, seemingly well, and then does a chicken dance.  Jimmy laughs at Dec’s dishevelled state and takes a pace back, looking for the double…


A shinbreaker paves the way for a repeat of the…

“Figure four, so smart Declan, all right,” Allie applauds.

“What did I tell you?” The Mark brags.

When Declan goes to secure the submission that impacts no fewer than seven separate parts of the lower extremities, Classic, fresh off feeling that first-hand, lashes out with a straight right, but cops one in return, Declan taking no prisoners.

“No-nonsense by Declan, and he has turned that into a stepover toehold, and that might be worse for Jimmy.  Wait a minute, Trae, who has been fairly quiet, has seen enough and is on the apron.  Declan lets go of the hold and floors him with an ALMIGHTY right hand,” Quinn calls.

Meanwhile, something fishy is going on.  Jimmy Classic, at first, appears to be tending to his foot.  However…

“Jimmy Classic has got some brass knux, and Declan has got no idea.  Gabrielle Harris after reprimanding Trae moments ago is now listening to his complaints, and Larkin is…”

Allie’s observation is interjected by Deltzer’s abrupt tone.


“No, Mark.  Just don’t,” Reece shakes her head.

“Not like this,” Lucas says, steering this thing back on track.


The right hand decks Declan, pun absolutely intended, and Trae suddenly and graciously lets Harris go back to her duties.

“Harris is all over the place here,” Deltzer complains.

Jimmy hooks the leg, and Gabrielle elects to count. 





There’s a sigh of relief.

“I don’t know if Jimmy caught Declan cleanly, we’d have to see that again, but Rich has still shown remarkable resilience to kick out of that, and listen to the crowd cheering his name,” says Quinn.

“A hangman’s neckbreaker, and Gabrielle comes to meet him just in front of us…no, Declan reverses the hangman’s necbreaker into a backslide…one…two…three…four…five….six, no on there to count, and Declan’s won this twice, and only now is Gabrielle sliding back into the squared circle,” Quinn complains.



Tha-t’s a kickout in the nick of time!

“Declan had Jimmy beat THREE times, and yet that’s not a three,” Lucas states, somewhat disgustedly.

“Jimmy’s still limping…and Declan goes low, though within the rules, and a dropkick to the left leg,” The Mark adds.

“Declan’s going for something big, I can feel it, and so can this crowd,” Allie chimes in.

Double knee facebrea—No, Classic avoids contact, and Declan hits his head on the mat.

Catapult by Classic, sending Declan into PTA’s designated corner, and Trae applauds that enthusiastically.  Cue boos.

Declan falls, and Jimmy, even if the left wheel isn’t turning well from up above…

Standing moonsNAKE EYES!!!

Hang on…

Declan catches Jimmy just as he’s about to splatter all over the third eldest member of The Rich Family, at least in today’s incarnation, and showing great strength, calmness and composure, Declan stands up with Jimmy in tow and throws him like a Javelin into the PTA corner, right in front of Larkin…

No, he doesn’t, you know.

Because it’s Classic’s turn to counter Declan as he slips out in the nick of time, pushing Declan into the corner, securing a roll-up and probably the win with a handful of tights…



Th-at still isn’t enough!

“Jimmy doesn’t know how to beat Declan, not tonight at least.  Sometimes, it just happens,” Quinn claims.

Classic complains about the camp, which Harris rejects and tells him to get on with it.  To be fair, he does.

A running powerbomb is signalled.  From the corner, Classic elevates Declan up, despite the pain, the limp and the crowd against him….

He runs halfway across the ring and BOOM!!!

“I may’ve spoken too quickly,” Quinn confesses.




“Definitely the nearest fall of the contest so far, both men showing heart, a willingness to win that may not benefit either in the long run, but pride, ego, whatever you call it is present on both sides.  Classic’s frustrated, he’s INCENSED, look at his face…the teeth, he’s like a wounded animal, and he has the leg to prove it.  It doesn’t matter, though, and here he goes…STANDING SHOOTING STAR PRESS! Will that be enough?”

Let’s find out, Lucas.






Declan denies him again.  Jimmy looks determined to put Declan away despite fighting through the pain barrier, limping.  However, while he is showing guts, Declan kicks him there in the abdomen and you know what Declan wants by now…

RA-LABAMA SLAM, and it’s not Sweet Home Texas for Declan, just yet!

“Declan was overzealous there,” Lucas provides us with that unique in-ring insight he has at this desk at least.

Classic holds his head, suffering the side-effects of this clash, and continues to limp, perhaps bearing the scars that will stay with him not just in this battle, but beyond.  No matter, he puts that to one side, mentally, and pulls Declan up. 

Declan shoves Classic back up against the ropes, and looks for a lariat, deep in the heart of Texas.  Jimmy ducks underneath, and runs at Declan, feeding him a sidewalk slam opportunity, baiting him into a tilt-a-whirl DDT…. only for Declan to stand him up straight and a northern lights suplex, graciously applauded…



Jimmy’s turn to deny Declan there.   In fact, though, Jimmy thought Gabrielle’s count was a bit too quick, and mounts an appeal, hardly the ideal moment, and Declan seizes the moment with a brief trip west to return with a sizzling SPRINGBOARD ROUNDHOUSE KICK!

Trae, who had tried to warn his pretentious partner, is still muttering away to himself.  Incredibly, Declan doesn’t go for the cover and wants to ensure victory, so he seeks a brainbuster, not the Rags to Riches, perhaps telegraphing that too early and too frequently in this fight.  Jimmy has one last twist in the tale, slipping out…going for a schoolboy, but Declan doesn’t fall for it, using the ropes to shove Classic off.

Nonetheless, Jimmy avoids another stray lariat attempt, but somehow misses with a Pele kick attempt, Declan not quite committing, apparently anticipating the overhead, and now he has Classic tied up in a school boy of his own…



It’s all a decoy.

Jimmy is up, only to be put immediately back down by a DOUBLE KNEE FACEBREAKER that lands at the second time of asking.

Just as he did moments ago, Declan isn’t going for a cover.  Now is the time, not to choose a Volvo, but to go back to his roots.

“Put him away, Declan,” The Mark exclaims.

“Don’t you worry, Mark, he’s gonna,” Allie getting caught up in the moment as Declan, calm as you like, lifts Classic up…

The commentators sense it.

The fans do, too.

Declan KNOWS it.

Tonight, Lucas, you’re right.  Jimmy’s race is run.  He can’t beat me, because I, Declan, and my dad, Frank grew up…




“Of course, Trae Larkin had to SAVE his partner.  Does anyone know why The Rich Family isn’t here this week?  Do they have a family party down in Dallas?  Declan is alone…STEREO SUPERKICKS that they call THE PRIME TIME KICK!  Declan’s out cold.  Not ten seconds ago, Declan was on the verge of winning this, and now he’ll be lucky to get out of here in one piece,” The Mark complains.

Declan has entered the lion’s den, and emerged triumphant but, alas, not unscathed.

Boos ensues from all quarters as Prime Time Athletes, despite the disqualification defeat, raise their arms in the air, dominant while Declan lays their hapless and unconscious.

“I cannot stand these punks,” Allie throws her hands up.

“You’re not alone, Allie,” Quinn suggests.

LOGO b&w


Rutherford and Daniel discuss heavily before Daniel gets the nod. He hands his championship to Rutherford and rushes up the ramp. Meanwhile, backstage Nikolai takes a few steps closer and has now cornered the two men. It is Paul Sanders and Kid Chamelon. Chameleon is the first one to charge at Nikolai. He hits him with a punch right to the face. Nikolai looks even more angry than he already was. Kid again swings for a punch but Nikolai this time dodges and grabs the arm. He swings him around and send him flying to the other side of the room. As Nikolai turns around he is met with a boot right to the nose by Paul. Nikolai goes down to a knee as blood starts flowing from his nose. He stares at the blood for a second and as he stares back at Paul he gets an evil smirk on his face. “That was a stupid mistake” He yells before hitting Paul with a Spear right into the wall. Paul slowly gets back up and steps right back into Nikolai’s face. They throw a few punches back and forth before Kid comes rushing jumping onto the back of Nikolai. Together they bring Nikolai down to both knees. Kid attempting to lock in a sleeper hold. Daniel comes rushing in and attempts to grab Kid off Nikolai’s back. Kid throws an elbow and hits Daniel right in the forehead. Daniel in return rips Kid off and connects with an Uncle Slam through the table. Meanwhile Paul attempts another boot but Nikolai and Daniel sidesteps it. Nikolai grabs Paul and connect with a Niko’s Drop onto the floor. He takes a step back. Again wipes off some blood and stares at it for a while. As Daniel walks over to him, he can see the evil smirk and the icy eyes. Daniel knows what that means, Demoter Kick, and attempts to stop Nikolai. Nikolai will not listen and tries to shake off Daniel. Paul can be seen very slowly getting back to his feet. Paul struggles to stand and as officials come rushing Nikolai charge and connects with the Voices Punch, He sets up for the Demoter Kick yet again but this time Daniel and few officials are able to hold him back. Daniel yells, “It’s okay Niko, they got the message.” 

Nikolai still smirks as the medical team rushes in. He throws his hands up and signals he is done. Daniel and Nikolai walk out laughing.

LOGO b&w


Today at noon.

Son of Malta is escorted into Michelle Miller’s office, just as he was last week, and it’s an even bigger deal than the first time, given Malta’s rather public reaction to his previous meeting with Michelle.  Malta is still visibly furious at the sight of the newly appointed press secretary for GLOBAL, to the point that they don’t even make eye contact, let alone acknowledge one another.  Instead, Michelle merely presses a button to put a certain Giovanni Ferrari on speaker.

Giovanni Ferrari presses his index finger to his mouth to Ray Young, unbeknownst to anyone, and Ray holds his hands up.  They are gathered in GLOBAL’s equivalent, albeit less swanky, of the Oval Office.  Ray is in a light green suit jacket and grey pants to Giovanni’s immediate right.  The tall, dark and handsome Italian is in an all-black suit and Son of Malta gets somewhat of a surprise when he hears THAT voice.

Ferrari stands up, putting his hands in his pockets, pacing the floor. 

“Son of Malta, Giovanni Ferrari, here.  Michelle Miller organized this meeting.  What seems to be the problem?”

Malta doesn’t hesitate.

“Giovanni, a long time, and great to hear from you.  Well, last week, as I’m sure you’re aware, I walked into this office and was told that I should think about taking it easy or even retiring.  If anyone knows anything about me, and I’m assuming you do because you’re responsible for employing me and paying my salary, that is not me, Giovanni.  I’m a wrestler, a FIGHTER even, and I want the hardest battles, the biggest names and matches possible, and I’ve shown that, even in defeat, I can still give anyone a, what do you say, a run for their money, that’s it.”

Giovanni is pensive.  Ray waves to get his attention.  Ferrari mutes the call for a moment.

“He’s not kidding, G. We know what, or rather WHO, he wants.  It’s Reyn.”

Son of Malta sits back for a moment, confused as to what has happened, but Michelle rudely holds her finger up, annoying the European import even more, but he elects not to get into it.

Giovanni looks at Ray.

“He’s in great form at the moment, and is three and oh for the season, but he did lose to Reyn on Domination Five.”

Young scoffs.

“Many people have lost to Reyn, and that was a LONG time ago.  Very few people have fought Reyn the way Malta has, period, and he’s too good an asset right now just to have fighting, with all respect to them, low-level guys on Domination.  He’s too proud, too competitive, and take it from someone who knows, still too good for that.  Michelle was out of order for what she said.  Did this come from you, G?”

Ferrari shakes his head.

“No.  You know me, I’m all about opportunity.  She went into business for herself, or was told by Jones, probably.  You know what he’s like, and look at them last year advocating for Dream and trying to sabotage Darring, they probably still are.  Michelle’s smart, though, and comes highly recommended.  She just sees wrestling the same way they do, a means to an end and all about the look and marketability.”

Giovanni presses the button before Ray can respond, much to the former champion’s chagrin.

“Son, what is it you hope to achieve today?”

“I want Alex Reyn,” he says without hesitation.

“And I…” a cold voice says, stepping out from the corner. “Have never been one to go back on my word.”

He steps into view of the laptop camera, staring down into the lens.

“I told this man I would give him an opportunity to prove himself. I intend to honour that.”

Michelle Miller’s office goes silent, the various personnel surprised at seeing one of the most dangerous individuals in the industry show up without warning, almost out of nowhere.  Giovanni has the luxury of that mute button, and uses it to full effect.

“Shit, Alex Reyn is there.”

Ray shrugs his shoulders. 

“So is Son of Malta, he’s not scared, and they want to fight each other.  You can say what you want about Son, not having the superstar look or lacking this or that, English being his second or third language, but he won’t let us down, and they want to fight each other.  This is a no-brainer, G. They’ll make money for the company, because they’ll tear shreds out of each other.”

As Ray predicts, and most others know, Son isn’t fazed at all, having faced Reyn on multiple occasions, and being as game as a bagel, as they say.

“I am happy to hear that.  I never, for one second, thought you’d be the problem.” Malta declares, looking squarely at Michelle Miller for the first time before turning his attention back to Alex.

“And… is there a problem?” Reyn asks, shifting his piercing eyes towards the machine from which Giovanni is speaking. “I assume you have no objection to our battle tonight?”

There is a pause, and then he adds, almost mockingly, “Sir?”

“FUCK,” Giovanni palm strikes his forehead.

“Take it easy, G,” Ray reassures Giovanni.

Wandering back and forth, Ferrari stares at Young and holds his hands out.

“Relax.  Let’s play for time.  We don’t wanna give this away on free television again.  Tell them they can have their match, but we’ll do it at the pay-per-view, and if they touch in the meantime, they won’t get their match.  Simple,” Young smiles.

“I’m not so sure.  Two of the most lethal men in wrestling, probably the planet, could go at it in that office right now, and there’s not a damn thing any of the workers could do.  I don’t want that happening, Ray, not on my watch.”

“G, they’re men of honor.  They won’t, trust me.”

Ferrari shakes his head.

“I trust you, it’s THEM I don’t trust.”

Giovanni kicks his heels, takes a deep breath, and puts himself back on speaker.

“Gentlemen, it’s in GLOBAL’s best interests if we have your match at the pay-per-view.  We’ll hold our end of the bargain up, you’ve both got the match you want, it just won’t be tonight.”

Reyn glares at Giovanni, not that Ferrari knows about it, via the loudspeaker they’re sharing.

“And may I ask why?”

Then he pauses. Realization dawning in his mind.

“Ah, yes. You wish for our battle to have a more… ceremonious occasion. I can respect that. Still…”

His head tilts as he turns to study Malta.

“I do not want this man growing soft before our battle… and the fact remains that his standards have been slipping. His sword must be whet before our battle, and the monkeys you’ve thrown at him recently are hardly a fitting challenge.”

He seems to be considering something, and then…

“Angel Ramirez will battle him tonight.” he declares.

Everyone does a double take upon hearing that.

After naturally putting himself on mute AGAIN, Giovanni looks at Ray, who’s up out of his chair and holding his mouth, having been put on the spot.  He begins to explain his thought process.

“I know: who in the hell does he think he is?”

Giovanni nods.

“I wanted to avoid something like this.”

Young is very blunt with Giovanni.

“Avoid something you didn’t see coming?  It is typical, though.  I mean, for him to set his own rules.  The way I see it though, Malta will be down for it, he doesn’t care, it does give Malta  a test for tonight, and we see what Angel Ramirez is made of.  Plus, you avoid a serious situation downstairs right now.  Play it cool, play it calm and just pass it off as, fine then, you’ve got your match.”

Ferrari raises his eyebrows before tuning back in with Michelle Miller, and much more importantly, Alex Reyn and Son of Malta.

“If it’s okay with Son of Malta…”

“I accept,” Malta interrupts.

Giovanni clenches his fist in a celebratory manner, and Ray smiles, waving his arms in an I-told-you-so manner.

“Very well.  Son of Malta will face Angel Ramirez in tonight’s main event.”



LOGO b&w


“Don’t expect any sense out of The Mark for the forthcoming match, especially with the quality and reputation of the opponent in Daniel Dream,” Allie announces.

“True, Allie, I’ve been told by Kid that something went on backstage earlier and that there might just be a GLOBAL Tag Team Championship match next week,” The Mark reveals.

“Aren’t you great at keeping secrets?” Lucas asks.

Over to you, Jason.

“The following contest is scheduled for one fall.  Accompanied by Paul Sanders, from Raccoon City, Nintendo’s Number One, X-Box’s X-Factor, Kasumi’s Secret Crush, Lara’s Boyfriend, Mario and Luigi’s Other Brother, Bass Armstrong’s Son-in-Law, The Saturday Night Slam Master, one-half of The Players, The Mark’s Favorite Wrestler…the unique KIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDD


“What an entrance,” Allie says, genuinely impressed.

Deltzer rises to his feet.

“You’re damn right.”

Sporting sunglasses indoors, ripped denim jeans, a plan white t and that black leather jacket which makes him looks like The Fonz, or in Kid’s mind, Spider from Micro Machines, Kid Chameleon gets a half-decent reception, walking out to Mr. Bungle’s ‘cover’ of the Super Mario Bros. theme.

Only he looks worse for wear, and Paul Sanders is favoring his neck, which is enough to worry Mark.

“You weren’t kidding when you said something happened backstage,” Quinn observes.

“This is surely a mismatch,” Reece complains.

“Your thoughts on him facing Daniel Dream, Mark?”

“The clash of our two favourite wrestlers, you mean, Quinn?  It should be a superb match, both are great all-rounders, Daniel Dream is an incredibly impressive athlete and Kid’s already The GOAT, so…”

Reece bursts out laughing.

“Wait, what?  HE’S WHAT?  You’re something else.”

Quinn sees through the façade.

“Mark, it would be hard enough as it is, but it’s going to be an UPHILL task.  The Rutherford Guys must’ve attacked The Players earlier.”

Led out by Richard Rutherford, Daniel Dream, the blue-eyed blonde-haired American Patriot, is joined by the slightly talker and broader brunette of Nikolai Sinclair, as fireworks go off like it’s 4th of July to you Americans, but Remember, Remember 5th November for us Brits, oh wait, it is!  Anyway, they raise their belts high in the air as Brown does the honors.

“Joined by Richard Rutherford and GLOBAL Tag Team champion and one-half od The Rutherford Guys, Nikolai Sinclair, a Tag Team champion himself, one-half of GLOBAL’s Match of Season One, the Gold Rush tournament winner, a main event talent in every sense of the word…The Carnivore, The American Patriot…the one…the only…DAAANNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNIEEEEEEEELLLLLLLL DRRRRREEEEEEEEEEEAAAAM!”

“Sorry Mark, Kid’s was good, very good, but you didn’t pay old Downtown Brown as much money as Richard Rutherford, that’s obvious,” Reece reckons.

“This time last year, Daniel Dream had headlined Domination more times than anyone else, surprising everyone by facing Sean Darring in the inaugural edition and then by beating Alfie Button on Domination Two.  This year, what a start it has been with Dream reuniting with longtime partner and manager, Richard Rutherford, out with the new and in with the old, it would seem, and they answered Trouble Roxx’s open challenge, seeing off the girls to become the third team in GLOBAL history to wear those belts, and it might be a while before there’s a fourth, because these guys will be tough to beat,” Quinn raves.

Daniel scales the steps and wipes his feet, unhooking the title and handing it to Richard Rutherford, who also has Sinclair’s for safe keeping, not that Niko would ever dream of physically getting involved, which explains why he’s ‘NOT’ eyeballing Paul Sanders and spoiling for a fight right about now.

The bell sounds.

Deltzer rubs his hands together.

“Either way, honestly, I’m really looking forward to this one.”

“What an opportunity for Kid Chameleon and Paul Sanders, too, presumably,” Quinn asserts.

Daniel extends his hand to Kid Chameleon, who’s advised not to take it by both Paul Sanders and the masses gathered in The Globe.  Kid contemplated it for a moment, taking a pace back before eventually accepting the offer, only to eat a kitchen sink and a hard right to the back.

“Mark, your boy was a little naïve there,” claims Allie.

“He was,” confesses Deltzer.

Dream then wastes no time in whipping KC to the right-hand ropes and scoring with a spinning heel kick, and the ear-to-ear grin etched on Daniel’s face doesn’t sit well with a certain commentator not too far away.

“He takes a short cut and thinks he’s amazing.  Quinn, how could you ride on the Dream Bandwagon for as long as you did?  It makes me sick,” The Mark moans.

“Don’t take out your anger on me, Mark.  Plus, as Allie said, Kid lived up to his name instead of being an adult when Dream offered the handshake.  Everyone in here told him not to take it, and what did he do?”

A cocky cover with the sole of his left foot…


That is all.

“Plus, Mark, you’ve said good things about Dream yourself and I still believe he may arguably be the best athlete in GLOBAL today,” claims Quinn.

Reece claps and gaps.

“Er…WHAT? Sean Darring says hello.  In fact, quite a few people do, Lucas.”

Meanwhile, Dream, egged on by Rutherford and Sinclair, drives Kid to the top left-hand corner with amazing authority, Chameleon hitting the turnbuckle hard and coming out with a slight stumble in his step.

One shoot kick.

Make it two.


Rinse, repeat.

Two to the left and two to the right, it’s almost like Mambo Number Five.

A slight shuffle by Dream, feeling confident and sure of himself, and a THUNDEROUS superkick sends Chameleon back to the corner where he has just come from.

“Kid already looks out of it,” Allie observes.

While The Mark moans upon hearing that, and no, not like that, Daniel takes his time, almost measuring Kid as Sinclair and Rutherford joke on the opposite side, a stark contrast to the figure Paul Sanders cuts at this moment in time until a right cross suddenly stuns Daniel as he comes in.  In an instant, Chameleon swivels one-half of the GLOBAL Tag Team champions, so he is standing in the corner where he has doled out damage to Kid in what has been one-way traffic thus far.  Now, it is Chameleon’s turn, as a left cross to the body makes Dream wince for a moment, and a sharp pair of rolling elbows followed up by a fabulous roundhouse kick, each hit generating more cheers than its predecessor, marks a terrific turnaround.

“Now, it’s Dream who’s stumbling out of the corner,” Quinn declares.

“And, now, he’s on the floor,” Reece follows up as Daniel falls flat on his face, Sanders punches the air and Rutherford and Sinclair exchange a slightly worried expression that wasn’t there merely moments ago.

Kid, encouraged by Sanders and the 2500 spectators on hand, waits for Dream to stir…SHINING WIZARD! 

“POP. YOUR. COLLAR,” Deltzer proudly calls, as if I needed to tell you who calls any of Chameleon’s moves. 

AND that POPPED the crowd.

“Where did that come from?”

Deltzer answers Allie’s query with some unique insight.

“He has never done that from the corner, so there’s no way Dream could’ve known what was coming.”

“Wow,” Allie reacts, apparently genuinely impressed by both Deltzer’s assertion and Chameleon’s first-time airing.

With Daniel crawling, Kid stands on his back for some added momentum and shows his own awesome athleticism with a stunning shooting star senton that explodes all over The American patriot’s spine, garnering The World’s Greatest Gamer a heck of an ovation.

Quinn and Reece gaze sideways at a cross-armed Mark, who has his head cocked and a smug smile that could last for days if Chameleon keeps this up.

“You were saying, Quinn?”

Lucas stays quiet while Allie affords herself a quite chuckle, her left hand covering her mouth.  She doesn’t want to embarrass Lucas nor give The Mark any more encouragement or confidence.

A solid punch to the chest bone, a left hook that startles Dream, not to mention Rutherford and Niko, and then as Daniel turns away, a right hook to the jaw,

“GOLD RUSH,” Deltzer exclaims, the move sharing the same name as GLOBAL’s second pay-per-view offering in which Dream won the tournament and the right to face Sean Darring for the most prestigious prize in the promotion at Glory, our season finale in summer.

“I have seen that move before,” Reece believes, clicking her fingers.

“It’s one of his go-to moves,” Mark affirms.

“What is Chameleon’s strategy here, Mark?  It seems to be a case of hit hard and hit often.”

“Absolutely, which is what he’s doing.  See, Lucas, you cannot predict what Kid is going to do next, because he doesn’t know himself,” Deltzer reveals.

A dragon screw leg whip seems to be what the doctor ordered, however, the THQ Le-Enzuigiri by Daniel.

“He did well to anticipate that, though,” Allie points out.

A brief double down.  Let’s fast-forward to four and join Lara’s Boyfriend as he stands up first, even if Daniel isn’t far behind in true Carnivore fashion.  Chameleon goes to the right-hand ropes, only for Daniel to meet and greet him with a stunning running high knee, pinning Kid to the ropes he was destined to rebound off, and reenforce his lead.

Dream whips him back to the west and joins Chameleon with a SECOND running high knee that connects flush with Kid, who falls instantly upon impact.  Dream flops on top, as a gleeful Rutherford, booed by everyone round about him, turns away and applauds Dream, who’s looking to win it here.



Kid kicks out.

Rather than get angry, the calm and confident superstar goes to the ropes again and unleashes a tremendous sliding knee strike that threatens to break Kid’s nose and The Mark’s heart, as well as Paul’s at ringside, all in one.

“What a shot, a Dream knee if you will, by Daniel, and that might just have turned Kid’s lights out for the night,” Quinn calls.





The elevated powerbomb, better known as Carnivore’s Last Hunt, given the grappler involved, is the next page in the play book, but Kid reads it and won’t go quietly.  In turn, Daniel sledges at the Sega Ambassador’s back, hoping to persuade him, but Chameleon realizes the potential severity and gravity of this move, during and beyond this bout. 

“Kid is fighting for his life, fighting with everything he’s got here,” Lucas states.

Quinn isn’t wrong.  A fluid combination, as if he were a beat-em-up character in an arcade game being controlled by someone who has memorized the manual, sees Kid unleash a rapid right to the face, a follow-up left, another right hand before shifting gears with alternating uppercuts to the body before rounding things off remarkably with another right-left-right trio.

“Critical Punch, and could it be critical for Dream?  Sinclair and Rutherford seem to think so,” Meltzer proudly cries, revelling in seeing Niko and their manager smack the apron in frustration.



“Another regular go-to tactic has got Kid out of a tight spot.”

Yes, Mark.




Kid interrupts that count, a double down, with one of his own in the form of a lateral press.


Two…that’s all.

“He’s doing well, Mark, and this reminds me of his performances against Amber Lee at Domination Five and Mangum Opus,” Reece reminisces.

“I agree, that’s a great call, but he might be doing even better, and he’ll have to in order to get the duke over Daniel Dream,” Quinn predicts.

“Who says duke these days, Quinn?  Get with it,” The Mark puts Lucas down.

“Just three shows ago, Daniel Dream came within a whisker of winning the GLOBAL Championship, and two shows ago, that man, Niko Sinclair, showed up and they took the tag titles away from Trouble Roxx.  That’s the size of the task in front of Kid Chameleon, and he’s performing admirably,” Lucas insists.

Kid Chameleon sends Dream to the corner where Niko and Rutherford are, the top right side of the squared circle, and they get an up-close-and-personal look as Lara’s Boyfriend unleashes his inner Sagat, and The Mark releases his blatant bias towards KC by screaming…


Chameleon tosses Dream down, and as Daniel sits up instinctively, he is mowed back down by a Soccerball Kick as The Mark shouts something we’ve all heard numerous times over the last three decades.

“IT’S IN THE GAME! Could that be GAME OVER for Dream?”

Let’s find out, shall we?



TH-AT’S not it, just yet, but Richard Rutherford is sweating and screaming for Daniel to get his head back in the game, which causes the commentators to giggle, given the aforementioned move name.

Surprisingly, and those in The Globe rise, not for the American national anthem, but the sight of seeing Chameleon, daringly given that he’s just in front of Daniels’ entourage, head to the summit.  Deltzer knows exactly what his buddy is seeking, which is a moonsault, but Dream denies him by crotching Kid on the top strand in spite of in-vain shouts by Paul Sanders.  The crowd collectively groans, disappointed by the change in momentum and sympathetic to Chameleon’s current predicament.  You get it, lads.

  • Dream is looking for a belly-to-back suplex and The Mark commits the cardinal sin of referring to the past.

“I once watched Darren Best do this to Kid Chameleon in a match, and I hope it doesn’t happen now, though Kid dominated that, so perhaps it isn’t bad after all,” Deltzer convinces himself.

“He’ll really thank you for that reference,” Reece jokes. 

On cue, Kid headbutts Dream, drawing some repeated ‘NO’ cries from a certain manager stationed on the outside.  Daniel nurses his nose, and an elbow sends Dream to the mat, putting him flat on his back.  Kid does a 360, having had his back turned to the mat for much of the last several seconds, and changes Larry Tact in terms of what to do next, given he’s now large and back in charge to quote a Cockney character of mine.

Just as Kid is about to set off, Daniel springs to his feet, scales the buckles and wows everyone, Rutherford above all, and silences Sanders with a devastating…


The jumping flatliner draws major applause from most quarters, Deltzer and Sanders being notable exceptions.

“An athletic marvel and offensive mastermind, that was magnificent by Daniel Dream, who is still a major force in GLOBAL,” Quinn gushes, and in this instance, it is completely justified.







“Dream is up,” Quinn announces.

“Come on, Kid, GET UP,” roars Deltzer.

It’s almost like Lara’s Boyfriend hears his biggest fan, though Dream comes to collect, looking for a…

Dream Crus—slip behind by Kid instead.

Drop toe hold and an elbow to the back of the bonce thwarts Daniel’s plan.

“Dake Toe Hold,” The Mark tells you, just in case you’re wondering.

A reverse northern lights, which Kid calls Southern Darkness, is ready and waiting for Daniel, however, Dream has different ideas altogether, landing on his feet like a cat, and escaping the particularly painful trip and awkward landing.

His massive KO punch…

The Right of The Pe-SHO-TIME, which is a sudden jumping kick by Kid to the head.  With a bit of distance negotiated, Kid darts towards Daniel, only to rush right into an Olympic Slam!

“Awesome action by both men, battling it out for supremacy, and Daniel looks like he’s had enough of playing with his food as it’s his turn to go up top, but Kid is there to pay Dream back for earlier on, and dump Dream crotch-first on the top rope,” Lucas comments.

Gingerly, the leather-clad 3rd Disciple of Gouken steadies himself and readies Dream for another crash landing…


The Mark’s call is an avalanche back suplex, not inspired by Miss Ramirez, but rather Reiko from Rumble Roses.  To quote a BBC Radio One phrase that has long been in the language, we’re now back to square one, and this crowd cheers both competitors.



“Sinclair looks worried, Rutherford is sweating, The Mark is close to a heart attack, Sanders is shaking, the roof is being raised, and these two former associates, you could call them, have gained some respect for each other tonight, no matter what they may claim to the contrary in the aftermath, you can’t help it, I’ve been there, it’s inevitable.”



Thank you, Lucas.

“This crowd is hot, the competitors are too, and a win is needed for BOTH men, for very different reasons, you feel,” Quinn assures us.



“Could it end in a draw?” Allie asks.

“Would Kid take that?” Quinn wonders.

“Never,” comes the answer from you-know-who.


Rutherford and Sinclair are exchanging viewpoints in the corner.

“Kid is up!”

From out of nowhere, Chameleon stands up and then suddenly he’s on the ground again…


The STF is denied by virtue of Daniel’s vicinity to the ropes closest to our commentators, farthest away from the entrance.  Chameleon accepts a telling-off for not breaking until four with a rapid nod, and then he drags Dream into the centre, seeking and zeroing in on what would be a historic triumph for him.

The Mark stands, clapping along, and he has his hands on his head as a roar goes up.

“If he hits this, it’s Dream over for tonight, and we’re onto another one for The Players—-YES!  MEGA. DRIVE!!!”

Kid Chameleon has just hit Daniel Dream with his patented Michinoku Driver II, and surely that must be a 3?!?!?!


More like…


The Mark’s mouth is agape.

You see, at the apex of the life, as he has done on multiple occasions throughout the contest, the Georgian grappler scurried out of the back door, shoved Princess Peaches’s Pin-Up into the nearby ropes and then BOOMERANGED into a high impact ripcord elbow strike!

“Say what you want, and I’m sorry Mark, because Kid was so close, THIS close even, but that was a thing of brutality and beauty.  Daniel Dream, I’m not back on the bandwagon I promise, has just shown amazing presence of mind, timing, power, precision and accuracy to KNOCK Kid Chameleon out.  If this were a boxing match, the fight would be stopped.”

“His leather jacket could be a body bag,” Allie starts.

“DON’T SAY THAT,” The Mark protests.

In a rare instance, he is greeted with an apology.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that,” she says, touching his arm, realizing she overstepped her mark.

“Look, he’s breathing.  What I meant was nothing else is moving, and Lucas is right despite what we may think, but Kid can be proud, though this time, it is GAME OVER, Mark.  I’m sorry.”

He musters a confession.

“I know.”

Nikolai and Rutherford are elated, punching the air and Rutherford leans in on Niko as Dream reaches over and hooks the leg, Paul Sanders muttering for Kid to ‘come on and kick out.’




The Mark can’t look, and shakes his head as hears the bell sound, pouring scorn on another fine Kid Chameleon outing, but as assumed, Daniel Dream proves to be the cream of the crop here, and is soon joined by Richard Rutherford and Nikolai Sinclair inside, both men being handed their belts and showing off the gold as DJB reads out the official result.


More fireworks, just as they did during Daniel’s entrance, are set off in response to his and The Rutherford Guys’ success.

“A new season, and perhaps a new direction, but a series still expected to be filled with victories for one of the GLOBAL elite, Daniel Dream, a singles and tag team specialist, capable of beating anyone, anywhere, anytime in the world,” Lucas rounds off.

LOGO b&w


Steve Blaine stands by just outside the interview area ready to speak with his next guests. 

“Thank you for joining us tonight! I’m Steve Blaine and right now, I have not one, but TWO massive guests who will be speaking with us about their recent success in the tag team division. Please welcome… the self-proclaimed GLOBAL Hall of Famer… Aleczander The Great!”

From his left, the muscular Aleczander The Great walks onto set shirtless, but in a pair of golden-colored trackpants, a bandana, chains and glasses. 

“Thank you for that introduction, David Blaine! But ain’t nothing self-proclaimed here. I AM a GLOBAL Hall of Famer and you may bowwwwwwwwww…”

He pauses. 


“Steve. My name is Steve Blaine, not David. That’s the magician.”

Aleczander ignores him. 

“Then work your interview magic and introduce me partner, mate. We ain’t got all day.”

Steve rolls his eyes. 

“And his partner… the 7’4” “Big Aug” August Lazar! Collectively known The Dirty Greats!”

Cheering erupts in the background as The World’s Largest Foodie walks into the frame, along with his content manager and best friend, Del Waterstone. 

“Stevie! Thank you for reception! You good guy!” The massive Romanian tells him. 

“Yeah, thanks, Steve,” Del adds. “And sorry for…” he gestures at Aleczander. “THAT.”

Steve nods. “Been doing this for a long time and it comes with the territory. Anyhow… Big Aug, Aleczander, All across Season One, we’ve seen the two of you destroy each other in the ring, but since the finale, we’ve seen you two come together in a fairly short time as a very successful team. Are the two of you putting aside that bad blood to eventually focus on the GLOBAL Tag Team Titles?”

Before Big Aug can answer, Aleczander The Great (naturally) jumps first at the chance to hear himself speak. 

“Simple, mate! Before I became GLOBAL Hall of Fame Icon, I was a VERY successful tag team wrestler for over a decade! Team HOSS! The GD Best! Muscle Mountain! All successful teams in a lot of different promotions! Mate, if you strung together any three letters, I’ve carried teams to gold. Scientific fact, but don’t look that up. I’m GLOBAL Hall of Fame Icon and my word is my bond, yeah? I…”

“We are successful team because I SMASH people!” Big Aug says. “The Largest Athlete in The GLOBE! Boss of the Sauce! When opponents see The Snack Daddy coming, they have two choices… you scramble like eggs or get folded like omelets!”

“And other food puns!” Del shouts directly into the camera. 

Aleczander offers a fake, mocking laugh. 

“Sure, mate, you can smash anybody but that’s after you follow me plays! I’m the experienced one here! If we were in a hot-dog eating competition, we’d refer to your expertise, you bloody muppet!”

Before they can argue, Steve Blaine cuts in. 

“Answers my question about the bad blood…” Blaine says dryly. “But regardless… 2-0 against Best of British and Team United. With The Rutherford Guys holding the Tag Team Titles, is it safe to assume you’ll be making a play at the titles in the near future?”

Before any of them can say anything else, they get interrupted by someone who has become one of the more prominent faces of Season Two following his shocking win over the established Darren Best… 

“Mr. Merchandise” Lamar Sellers. 

“Gentlemen,” he says. “My apologies. I know this is your time… but I wanted to quickly say I’ve been big fans of your work since you two became a team.”

“Kay, groupie, $50 for an autograph. $200 for a photo.” Aleczander says. “You can wait until we’re done talking!”

Mr. Merchandise laughs. “Good one… anyway…”

He offers the pair his business card. 

“You can be on the ground floor of something I’ve got brewing. If you’re interested, let me know. GLOBAL needs a change-up… and I know exactly what it needs…”

As quick as he arrived, Mr. Merchandise leaves the set. Big Aug and Del look at one card while Aleczander raises an eyebrow. 

“What this crap?” Big Aug says. “No, thank you.”

He ditches his card. 

“Yeah, what a bloody wanker… cut off MY time…”

Aleczander starts to ditch the card, then quickly rubs the hand on the back of his head to tuck the card quickly under his bandana. 

“Anyway, we need to be off. Let’s bloody go.”

Aleczander, Big Aug and Del all depart the scene as Steve Blaine signs off. 

“Gentlemen, thanks for your time!”

LOGO b&w


The cameras catch up with the Global Heavyweight champion, “The Legend” Sean Darring. He’s deep in conversation with one of the board of directors, Jarrod Cruz. Darring looks to Cruz and says, “When you get a chance, please let G know I’d like to talk with him.” Cruz nods and goes about his business. As Darring turns, there’s a noticeable healing wound above his right eye, the result of Jerry David’s brutal blow with the Global Championship on the last episode of Domination. He stops for the cameras, his expression stern and serious.

“Congratulations, Jerry David. You sought my attention, and you certainly have it now. Everyone’s abuzz about the Prime Time Athletes pinning my shoulders to the mat.”

The Legend chuckles wryly and continues, “In this demanding industry, losses are an integral part of the game. No disrespect to the confident Prime Time Athletes, but in the last episode of Domination, they happened to be in the right place at the right time.”

Darring nods slowly. “I was supposed to have an honorable tag team partner. Jerry David had carved a niche as one of the ‘good’ guys. Fans adored him. The locker room respected him. He was in line for a future title shot, but evidently, none of that was satisfactory.”

He shakes his head and points to the prestigious Global Heavyweight championship adorning his right shoulder. “This illustrious title has changed many individuals in this industry, and I’m no exception. I’ll be the first to look into this camera and say, Jerry David, I empathize.”

Darring pauses to let that message sink in before he resumes. “I comprehend that patience doesn’t always reward you with the opportunities you want or, to put it more precisely, deserve. I’ve mentioned it before, Jerry David, you’re deserving of a shot at this esteemed prize. But all you needed was a little patience because I had no qualms about facing you honorably in a one-on-one contest. Instead, you took it upon yourself to expedite the process and left me with eight staples in my head after that shocking betrayal, cracking me with the Global championship.”

Sean Darring motions to the healing wound where the staples evidently had been removed just days ago. “So, let me convey that I’ve received your message. Hence, I’m here tonight, talking to my dear friend Giovanni Ferrari on your behalf, requesting that he accelerate your path to a Global Championship opportunity.”

The Legend points to the illustrious Global Championship. “Move you to the front of the line and designate Jerry David as the number one contender. You sought my attention, and now you’ve got it. Be cautious about your wishes, Jerry. I’m not EZ Rah, and I’m no Jester. There’s no comedy act when it concerns Sean Darring and the defense of this title.” 

The champion turns and walks away, sending a message back to Jerry David.

LOGO b&w


Immediately, Mr. Merchandise looks to strike out with Markup, his trademark Harlem sidekick, but Best catches Merchandise’s leg and lifts him into his own go-to maneuver of…


“What a start by Darren Best, looking to make up for an upset a month ago at our first Domination of Season Two,” The Mark brings up.

“Dazza loves a backdrop driver, innnit?”  No need to tell you who that is.

“He sure does, a bit like you with a superkick,” Keegan weighs in.

“Nuffin’ like a good superkick.  You used ta be all about ‘em back in the day, weren’t ya?”

Alfie’s mentor laughs at the very thought.

“Aw aye, of course, I used to lay three in every five minutes.  Couldn’t get enough of them.”

Just as Best is about to go and get Merchandise, MM has enough sense to roll out of the ring, holding his head, nursing the effects of Best’s backdrop driver.

“Mark, do you think it’ll be Darren’s night tonight?”

“You can’t go off that, Lucas, but yes, coming in, I feel like Darren will win.  He’s my pick, but a month ago, I thought the same.  All of the pressure is on Best.”

“Can he handle it?” Allie asks.

“Of course ‘e can,” Alfie doesn’t even hesitate.

“We’re about to find out,” The Mark replies.

“He’s a composed competitor, but I don’t care who you are, when you lose like Darren did, it eats away at you,” Quinn informs the GLOBAL Nation.

“I agree with Lucas, I’ve been there, and while he’s off to a good start, the defeat to Merchandise will be playing on his mind somewhere,” Special K suggests.

Best then rams Merchandise’s head into the ring apron after going to greet him.  He wants the match back in the battlefield, but like in the first match, Lamar cuts the native New Yorker off as he re-enters the ring, a knee taking the wind out of Darren’s sails and a headbutt handing control to Mr. Merchandise.

“At least it was legal this time,” The Mark observes, dialing back to the low blow.

A fireman’s carry is the gateway to a front face lock.

“Sound wrestling, the type of thing you’d expect from Darren Best,” Quinn points out.

“No daht, Quinny boy.  You know your stuff in that department, innit?”

Best gets to his feet, and a pair of punches to the breadbasket cause separation until Sellers returns fire with another headbutt, only this time it hurts BOTH men, and they stumble away from one another, feeling the full effects of that.

“I don’t know what happened there, I think it was more a clash of heads, and Merchandise wanted to get Best on the bridge of the nose,” Lucas believes.

“I reckon so, Quinny,” The Cockney concurs.

The official goes to check on both men, and they insist they’re okay.  Back at it, a dropkick from Merchandise misses, and he lands flat on his back.  Darren wastes no time in looking for his favored scorpion armlock otherwise known as…




“He’s got away with it again.  Everyone, and I mean everyone saw that, except the referee,” The Mark complains.

“You tell ‘im, Marky Mark.  It was a blatant low blow, and look, Stevie Wonder’s on the blower.  STEVIE!  ‘ow are ya?  You what?  Yeah, even YOU saw it?  Staggs should be sacked?  Bit ‘arsh?  No, I fink it’s spot on, geezer.  That’s nice, fanks.  I fort you’d just called to say you love me, but if not, you can do one, mate.  Cheers.  See you later?  Actually, you might not, mate.”

Keegan shakes his head.

“You’re out of order for that, but you know what?  So is your mate, Darren Best.”

“Hang abaht, K, I mean…”

“Hey, if we’re being honest, and we’re friends out here, surely we can talk about it in the open and let the public make their own minds up, can’t we?”

Shane Staggs knows fine well what has happened, but you can’t call, what you can’t see. 

Keegan continues.

“So, you were attacked when a certain Alex Reyn debuted, collateral damage.  Okay, you were all bairns back then, but even still.  He has followed you and Darren, and quite a few of us, around like a stench ever since.  Why is Alex Reyn in GLOBAL?  No one wants him here, and you’d be the first to admit that if you were telling the truth.  My guess?  Darren Best.  So, actually, I’d like to see Mister Merchandise win this one, Darren leave the company, let you crack on with your wrestling, and maybe, just maybe, Alex Reyn will bugger off and the world will be a better place.”

“WOW,” The Mark reacts.

“Did I say anything wrong, Mark?  Honestly.”

“I’m not the one to argue with you, Keegan,” The Mark says, getting out of a sticky situation.

“And if Valorie Vitality were out here, you’d be slagging her off,” Special K suggests.

“Wait, why’s that?” The Mark reacts.

“See what you’ve done there, Keegan.  Well done, geezer,” Alfie claps back.

“Not my fault she wound you up backstage a fortnight ago, and you’ve had a mental wedgie ever since.  Deal with it like a grown-up for once.”

Deltzer’s mind is all over the place.

“I definitely want to know more.”

Staggs is called into action, but not for long, as Merch is up first. Lamar drags Darren towards him and is searching for a piledriver, surely mindful of Best’s long history of head-related injuries, including multiple concussions.  Wise to this, the technician uses a basic back body drop to convert Merchandise’s masterplan into a win for Darren.  Nonetheless, Merchandise is rapidly back up on his feet, Best isn’t far behind him and it’s Darren who again takes this exchange with a single arm DDT.

“That’s like a blanket to Best, and it sets the tone for his strategy, which is Best Submission Ever if he can get it, pulling away at the arms, and if not, he can drop you on your head, too, with repeated backdrop drivers and the Best of Both, the wrist-clutch exploder into the turnbuckles,” The Mark insightfully explains.

“Mark, you know your stuff, son,” Keegan compliments Deltzer.

“Does ‘e eva?  I teamed wiv Dazza for years, and I feel like Marky Mark knows him better than I do,” Alfie jests.

Repeated armbreakers, 4 in total, into the canvas keep Merchandise grounded, picking away at the undoubted confidence he must have gained following Domination 15, and keeping Best on top.

“Great work by my main man,” Alfie applauds Darren.

Best again cashes in, yes that was intentional, with an armdrag and then the daunting, deadly…



Merchandise doesn’t take it lying down, though, to the point he’s back up on his feet, but not for long, the future is coming on and that’s a leg sweep by Best that puts Lamar back on the mat, back in the armbar, no, it’s a setup for something more sinister.




Okay, I’ll stop.

In fact, before Best can really reap the reward, I won’t stop with that, though, Merchandise seeks refuge in the form of the bottom rope closest to the commentary desk, and Darren releases on 3.

“Very few people are fairer than Dazza in the ring, ‘e’s too honest to a fault,” Alfie states.

“In the ring, perhaps.  However, his selfishness has put a lot of people’s lives and careers at risk,” Keegan retorts.

“Keegan, it’s not Dazza’s fault that Reyn’s a psychopaff, come on, be real, innit?”

“Okay, let’s be real.  Alex Reyn’s a nutjob, and that’s not Darren’s fault?  I’ll take that, aye, why not?  But, as for the rest?  Has he not been followed by Reyn everywhere the two of you have been since?  I’ll not give the other companies the time of day by mentioning them, but there’s a lot of blood on Darren’s hands.  He helped Reyn get back on his feet in your previous place?  Why on earth would you do that?  Here, Freddie Rich and VIP haven’t been seen for months, and that’s on Darren’s head, if you ask me,” Keegan hisses.

Sellers shoves Darren back once they’re untangle and Darren returns the favor, which in turn prompts Merch to slap Best.  The normally cool New York native loses his cool for a moment, perhaps a combination of the slap and the pressure of attempting to avenge the upset from a month ago. Before Best can really grab hold of Lamar, Sellers wisely sticks his head through the middle rope like a hot-and-bothered passenger desperate for a breeze on a summer train to the south of Spain, for instance, and Staggs, why did you have to call him Staggs, does his job and stops Darren from slapping the snot out of the confident and cocky Mr. Merchandise.

Thereafter, Merch decides to take a hike, stepping out of the squared circle for a moment and Best waits, receiving a word of warning from Staggs.  Merchandise mouths off to a few unhappy spectators positioned near the commentary desk, prompting Allie to say “Charming” in response to his foul-mouthed rant, following some criticism for his reluctance to engage.

“Hey, you may not like it, but we’re humans, not machines,” Quinn states, sticking up for Lamar’s approach.

“He’s not unhealthy though, Lucas, he’s doing it to annoy people,” Allie protests.

“He isn’t hurting anyone,” Quinn comes back.

“That’s precisely the point, Lucas.  It’s a wrestling match.  That’s what you’re supposed to do,” Allie doesn’t miss a beat to put her senior colleague correct, who laughs and nods along.

“You got me there,” he confesses.

“Good one, Allie,” Alfie laughs.

The count has reached six.  Merchandise decides to return, but when Best steps forward with his left foot, ahem, too quickly, Merchandise objects to that, your honor, and drops down onto the floor, shaking his head, apparently infuriated, though not as half as much as the fans, who have come her for action and not these antics.

Merchandise does an entire lap around the ring, not one of victory or celebration, while Darren holds the ropes open, inviting Merch back in.  Lamar predictably declines the offer and instructs Darren to get back, patiently waiting and racking up another six-count, ludicrously slow by Staggs incidentally, and that isn’t helping the natives’ mood.

Finally, greeted by cheers, ironic ones of course, Lamar decides to join us and Darren asks Merchandise if he’s ready now.  A collar-and-elbow tie-up paves the way for something much bigger, a second backdrop driver, but Merchandise manages to fire off a nasty closed fist, and then take Darren down with a side headlock takeover, which Darren counters by rolling Lamar up into a cover.




Merchandise still has the headlock intact, but Best regains his vertical base and again goes back to the breadbasket, forcing both men into the right set of ropes.  Before Staggs can break them up, Best grabs Merchandise by the hand, not to lead him through the Streets of London, but courtesy of an Irish whip.  Well, a similar part of the world, though I wouldn’t say that if I were you.  Anyway, Merchandise leapfrogs the incoming Best, but Darren improves with a gorgeous shotgun dropkick, he’s more than just a technician, however, there’s a brief instance of concern when Best lands on his head, and doesn’t move.

“There’s always a worry where Darren Best is concerned,” The Mark solemnly tells our viewers.

“I wonder how long it’ll plague him,” Allie chips in.

For now, no one knows, but Merchandise would be stupid if he didn’t take advantage, and Lamar Sellers might be a lot of things – being a mug is not one of them.  He drops an elbow and with no real risk attached, attempts a cover.



Nothing going on that one, hut if you don’t buy a ticket, you can’t win the lottery.

“Mr. Merchandise, Lamar Sellers, is biding his time, He knows Best is hurt, and with how patient he is, and he’s not normally a patient man from what I understand, that tells me whatever he’s going for is BIG, as in he senses blood and this could be the time to make it two and oh and move onto bigger and better things than Darren Best,” Lucas contemplates.

“Hopefully, the embarrassment of losing to Mister Merchandise for a second time will tempt Darren to work elsewhere,” the Englishman continues with the same train of thought.

HE CHARGES, only to run into an OVERHEAD BELL-CLAP!  Merchandise takes a cheap yet effective way out, and Best’s ears must be ringing.  Booed considerably, Staggs decides to have a word with Merchandise, who doesn’t back down from the confrontation and claims, in his defense and dissent, that this is “ridiculous.”

“He’s not shy, is he?”

“Not at all, Allie,” Quinn confirms.

“Not like me,” Alfie drops in, which gets a laugh out of The Mark, and Alfie slaps him on the back, asking him if he’s okay.

“You’re not kidding anyone,” Keegan tells Alfie.

Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, allegedly.  I’ve never bought that guff, and neither does Darren Best, as Merchandise looks for an overhead belly-to-belly of his own…



And a cover…

“Could Darren be laughing all the way to THE BANK?” Allie laughs at her own joke. 




“OUTstanding moonsault by Best, and it’s a thing of beauty,” The Mark, admiring Best’s handiwork there.

“It’s even better from the apron, Mark, though not if you’re lyin’ up lookin’ at it from the canvas.”



That was also close.

“There’s been a shift in momentum, and the pace has picked up,” Quinn shares.

Behind Merchandise, Best changes tact altogether, looking for a cobra clutch, we believe.  We’ll never know as Merchandise, going for broke, no I’m not tired yet, picks Darren’s pocket and more accurately, his ankle…

“Ankle lock applied by Lamar, and what a change from a leisurely lap round the ring merely minutes ago to the two swapping potentially match-changing or even match-winning manuevers,” Lucas lauds.

“The GLOBAL Nation certainly approves, as do I,” Allie tells us, for what it’s worth.

Best turns around and kicks Merch off, who bounces off the rope and headbutts Best to the lower abdomen, precariously close to the crown jewels, which leads to some speculation on commentary whether that was intentional or not, but moving on and sticking with the action, here.  Lamar wants a sharpshooter of his own, and despite some resistance by Darren, Sellers gets it!

“There’s no question who the fans want to see win this one.  Merchandise may be the underdog in a sense, but Best is the favorite in more ways than one, even if this is a desperate situation.  The Globe is encouraging him to stay in this, not to give up, and I don’t think Darren will, particularly after the first match.  He needs this, he wants this and tonight, if failure happens, it’s not because of a tapout.  He’s going down, fighting, and that Mr. Merchandise, you can take to the bank,” Reece spews.

“Damn,” The Mark exclaims.

“Forgive him,” Reece jokes.

“Marky Mark, don’t be insultin’ the man upstairs,” Alfie digs at Deltzer.

Meanwhile, in the ring, Best has made some headway, courtesy of feeding off the crowd’s energy.  That is stalled when Merchandise, losing control, drags Darren back towards the centre, forcing Best to start all over again, which he seems willing to do, repeatedly shouting NO and repelling any notions of surrendering to Sellers on this night at The Globe, 2,500 fans packed in yet again for Domination 17.

Let’s skip to the part where Best drags and drags and drags Merchandise to the ropes, and reaches them, attaining a massive cheer in the process.  Staggs intervenes, and breaks up the sharpshooter, which annoys Merchandise, who is showing some signs of wear and tear, limping ever so slightly despite the one dishing out the punishment.

“This one hangs in the balance,” Quinn muses.

“You’re right, Lucas, it could go either way, in fairness, like the last match did.

Merchandise is up, and looking a little pissed off, quite frankly.  The West Hollywood hero wants to break out a German suplex on his New York rival, but Best has a better idea…


“If Best could capitalize, this one would be over,” Quinn proclaims.

“It would, Quinny, COME ON DAZZA,” Button bellows.









Both men get to their feet, roughly at the same time.   A swing and a miss by Merchandise is punished by an atomic drop from Best, who is looking for a THIRD backdrop driver.  That isn’t the charm, either, as Merchandise grabs ANOTHER side headlock, though he wants to cash in via a bulldog, but Best has something else in mind, shoving Merchandise off so he takes a front turnbuckle that extracts a collective gasp in The Globe.  Remarkably, Sellers no-sells that, see what I did there, but he is conveniently positioned near the top left-hand corner of the squared circle…

BEST OF NO-TH!  NO, Merchandise ends up shoving Best into the buckles instead, back-first and goes to work, gets down to business, and any other money-related reference you can think of, keep it to yourself, because you’re supposed to be reading this quietly, while at work.  Sh.

Four wild right hands soften Best up enough for a whip that sends Darren diagonally opposite, upside down and out, onto the apron…

Clothesline by Best as Merchandise dashes to seal the deal and knock Darren down to the ringside floor.

Merchandise gets back up, but Best hangs him out to dry on the top rope and speaking of which.  As Lamar stumbles away, Best perches himself up there.  However, Lamar is playing possum, and suddenly crotches Best on the top rope, having pretended to be worse for wear than he (Lamar) actually is. 

“Cunning, but clever.  Now, Merchandise is looking to win it as he lifts Best from the wreckage of the top rope…FISHERMAN’S SUPLEX!



“I am surprised he didn’t just go for Top Seller, which is a fisherman driver, but perhaps he thought Best would fight desperately.  I don’t know,” The Mark says, somewhat perplexed.

Lamar doesn’t get the three he’s looking for either way, and he’s fed up with Staggs, but Lamar should keep his head in the game.  He has already beaten Best before and if he can just stay cool, he has a really good chance of doing it again,” Quinn reckons.

A reverse suplex…Best comes back down and looks to turn it into YET ANOTHER BACKDROP D-ENIED! Eye gouge.

“Staggs didn’t see that either,” Reece protests, and when she realizes that’s right, she covers her eyes and shakes her head, just as incensed as the fans are, and they make their feelings clear.

“I hate to say this, but Shane Staggs may have been bribed,” The Mark drops into the conversation, ever so casually.

“THAT is a serious allegation, and not you should be making on commentary,” Quinn advises Deltzer.

“Shane Staggs is a cheat, and should be struck off,” Reece raises the bar.

“Shane Staggs should never be allowed in a GLOBAL ring ever again,” Deltzer retorts.

“Shane Staggs should be banned from working in wrestlin’ full stop,” Alfie declares.

“Shane Staggs should be deported,” Keegan joins in.

“Shane Staggs should be in prison,” Deltzer says, it coming back to him.

Enjoying this, Allie thinks of something. “Shane Staggs…Shane Staggs SHOULD DIE,” she says, smacking her hand on the commentary desk.

There’s a collective OOH from Deltzer, Button and Keegan while Quinn concentrates on the action.

The fans round about her hear this and start a mini “DIE, STAGGS, DIE” chant off, which makes Allie giggle, as she continues to act as a ringleader.

“I don’t really want him to die, I’m sorry Father, I have sinned again,” confesses Reece, though she should probably save that for church as opposed to work.

Sorry, where were we?

Yes, an eye gouge by Merchandise.  Anyway, he follows that up with a hip toss, no, Best again proposes something else, strange that by kicking Merchandise off, however, Lamar has a leg-up to one-up Best…


“Where did that come from?” Keegan wonders.

“Aw, you only join in nah, because you wanna see Dazza lose, innit?”

“Not exactly true, but that was a heck of a shot, Alfie, regardless,” Keegan argues back.

The Harlem sidekick which missed at the outset finds its mark, it’s BANG on the money, but will Merchandise turn a profit with this lateral press?




“Merchandise is angry, and again, waiting for Darren to get up from the depths, just so he can plunge him back there,” Quinn muses.

“Nice line, Lucas, and I hope he can,” Keegan confesses.

BOTTOM LIN-Armbar takedown counters the signature discus lariat, and Best rains, pun intended, and now it is Sellers scrambling for deal line, and he know what’s coming. 


“That’s a win for Darren Best, surely?” Allie queries.

“Unfortunately,” Keegan whispers.

Just as Darren turns Merchandise over and secures the latch on his scorpion armlock, two ‘strangers’ to the GLOBAL Nation storm the ring and ignore Staggs waving this one, plus the repeated sound of the bell and the boos emanating from all corners of The Globe.

These two men, both in the 6’4 height range with one slightly taller than the other, are both wearing masks and pounding the you-know-what out of Darren as Mr. Merchandise nurses his arm, directing traffic as he clutches at his arm.

The first man, who is leading the assault and the tallest, has a marine-esque tattoo on his upper left bicep.  They continue to stick the boots to the hapless Best.

“We’ll never know if Mr. Merchandise would’ve tapped out.  He may’ve lost the battle on a technicality, but with this three-on-one assault, what we do know if he’s about to win the war,” Quinn claims.

“Not if I’ve got anyfing to do wiv it mate.  Nah, not on ya nelly,” Alfie boasts, slamming his headset down and getting in there.

“I’d be a hypocrite, but what the hell?  He has just jumped in the pool.  I’m doing this for Alfie, not Darren.”

Keegan follows suit.  As soon as Alfie hits the ring, the two masked intruders back off, and Alfie stoops down to check on Darren Best while Keegan is a little slower, but while there, he stands guard almost glaring as the two guys gather Mr. Merchandise and escort him out.

“Who are they?” Allie representing the GLOBAL Nation in posing that question.

Keegan cocks his head as Alfie helps Darren up.

“Is he okay?”

“Are you bovvered?”

Special K shakes his head.

“For your sake, of course I am.” 

“What was that all about on commentary, by the way?” The Mark wonders, presenting another unanswered question on fans’ minds.

LOGO b&w


As the fans in attendance and at home await the upcoming action on what has been a rather enjoyable episode of GLOBAL Wrestling Domination thus far, the familiar strands of “Stars and Stripes Forever” begin to emit through the arena speakers. Initially instinctively drawn to cheer for what is, essentially, one of the unofficial stand-ins for the American anthem, the crowd are soon subjected to mood whiplash by the appearance of three figures on the entrance platform, who draw a mounting chorus of boos.

“Oh, no…it’s not this part of the show already, is it?”

“I’m afraid it is, Al…”

“If he comes out, I’m out of here. Fines be damned!”

GLOBAL’s designated female announcer needs not worry, however, for no further people emerge through the curtain; rather, the slender brunette in the skirt power-suit and the two muscular men flanking her begin to make their way down the entranceway, seemingly immune to the boos raining down upon them.

“Seems like he‘s not with them tonight. Good. These three are bad by themselves, but…you know…small mercies.”

As Allie takes the chance to spit some more vitriol at the trio now entering the ring, the woman takes to the center of it and brings her microphone to her lips, casting her eyes over the crowd.

“Ladies and gentlemen…please rise in salute…of YOUR American Champion…and mine…GENERAL JOHN! J! TRUTH!”

The last two words are nearly drowned out by atomic-level jeers, as Allie gives off a VERY audible grunt.

“Oh, for…so he is here?! OK, I’m leaving.”

Once again, however, Ms Reece need not have worried; for while the self-styled American Champion (actually International) does appear in front of the crowd, he does so only on the monitor above the entrance curtain – which in no way prevents the torrent of boos from changing direction straight towards him. Still seemingly oblivious to the reaction, the woman smiles.

“You’re live, General.”

Truth, however, does not immediately appear to pay attention to his surroundings; rather, he is seen focusing on something off-screen for a moment, as he mutters to himself.

“…is this damn thing on? Is it live? Lexi? Can you hear me? Boys?”

The woman in the ring smiles again, even wider this time.

“We hear you loud and clear, General. Go on.”

“Good. I’m John J. Truth, and I call bulls—“

As fans realize the American (International) Champion is live-streaming, an immediate chorus of “John Jacob Jingleheimer Schmidt” drifts up from one corner of the arena, promptly being taken up by every other section. This, predictably, enrages the man on screen, whose face immediately becomes a shade of red as he begins to rant.


So enraged is Truth (or is it Schmidt) becoming, that Lexi sees the need to intervene herself.

“I would ask you to please stop deadnaming the GLOBAL American Champion, or we will be forced to take legal ac—”

She does not even finish her sentence before being drowned out by a chorus of boos; her address, however, has had the effect of calming Truth down enough for him to be able to string a few thoughts together – which he wastes no time in voicing.

“You heard her, you BLEEPing bunch of sheeple! Stop murdernaming me!”

Deadnaming, General…” Once again, Lexi feels the need to speak up in aid of her associate – who is predictably incensed by his own mistake.

“Deadnaming, murdernaming…whatever woke libtard bullshit it is. You do NOT get to do it. I am your American Champion, and I demand—”

Like clockwork, nuclear-level boos attempt to drown out the controversial superstar; the strategy, however, has the opposite effect, only causing Truth to raise his voice further.


“Gee, thanks for that, asshat…” Mark Deltzer is briefly seen covering his ears at the announce table, before the perspective shifts back to the increasingly incensed Champion.

“And that goes for you, too, you BLEEPing suited and booted Head Office sons of bitches!” Truth bores a hole into the camera, his furious spittle wetting it. “You know as well as I do that this ‘sUsPeNsHiUhN’…” The air-quotes and sarcastic tone come out for that last word. “…is complete and utter bullcrap. The only reason you’re fining me and barring me from the building is because you want to try to undermine my achievement. Just like all the rest of these sheeple!” Truth gestures as if to indicate the relentlessly booing crowd, before once again focusing on the camera lens. “Not only that, you bastards are trying to take away my First Amendment rights! You are actively going against the American constitution! You are actively contributing to make America less of a free country!”

“Oh, please…!” It is Lucas Quinn’s turn to join in with the anti-love fest. “Does he not know how privately owned businesses work?”

“I…actually question how much he does know about real life, Lucas…” Deltzer’s tone is, for once, more bemused than actively hostile, as the International (or is it American?) Champion continues.

“And for what? Because you don’t like me? Because those sheeple you pander to don’t like me? Because ‘the wrong man won’? Well, let me ask you this, you bastards…” Truth pauses only long enough to lean in before continuing. “…has your precious little illegal drug-lord ever gotten in a steel BLEEPing cage with a BLEEPing eight-foot slur for Chinese people?” The American Champion chuckles mirthlessly. “I didn’t think so. You know who HAS?” Truth points at himself. “ME. I did it. And what’s more – I beat the BLEEPing bastard. And his little gay dancing partner. Meanwhile, Mr. Chosen One couldn’t even get by my boys last time without his bottom-boy butt-buddy bailing him out.” Truth chuckles dryly. “Some Champion…”

“Um…are we not going to mention that you also needed your boys to bail you out of the cage?” In stark contrast to a moment ago, Mark Deltzer now sounds incensed; any further thoughts he or his broadcast colleagues might have had are silenced, however, as Truth plunges head-first into the sea of boos once again.

“And let me ask you this, as well…do you think your little Golden Boy would be willing to bleed for this title?” Truth lifts his belt up to the camera, his glare once again burning into the lens. “Because I HAVE. I have LITERALLY bled American for this thing, live on national television. But I don’t deserve it, because…what? I speak my mind? Because I’m a patriot?” Truth has another mirthless scoff. “Oh, but Mr. Chosen One is sooo much better of a choice, right? Because…he has…what, beat a couple of no-namers, in matches with no stakes? Wow. Build the son of a bitch a statue, already!”

The American Champion claps enthusiastically, yet sarcastically, for a moment, before a smirk broaches his features.

“In fact…I bet you the little son of a bitch isn’t even man enough to go out there and face my two boys.” He cackles, with gusto for once. “See, unlike you sheeple, I can see straight through that bastard. He’s nothing but a yappy little half-breed mongrel, all bark and no bite. Talks a big BLEEPing game, but when push comes to shove, he’s too chickenshit to put his money where his mouth is. Him and that little Homophobic slur he gets to suck his d—”

Truth’s last word is drowned out by a cheer as two figures suddenly burst out of the entrance curtain and dash full-pelt towards the ring!


“Gee, would you look at that.” Allie Reece has never sounded more smug. “Looks like they put their money where their mouths are…”

Indeed, no sooner have Crusader and Alfie hit the ring than they engage Truth’s two security guards, who have just enough time to ensure the woman named Lexi safely exits the ring before mounting a counter-attack. Alfie and X are, however, just fast enough to land a few blows on the duo, with Alfie landing a dropkick to the chest of the one called Lincoln, while X delivers a series of punches to Washington.

In Alfie’s case, however, the strategy ends up backfiring, as Lincoln rebounds off the ropes with a lariat, taking the fan-favorite down and peppering him with stomps, while taunting “Welcome to America, motherBLEEPer!”To his credit, however, the Englishman manages to turn the tables back in his favor, tripping up the bigger man as he all but breakdances his way back to an upright position!

“Alfie’s got moves, you guys! Did you see that?”

“We knew he was quick, but we never knew he could dance…”

The announcers do not have long to enjoy the moment, however, as, when Alfie leaps into a headscissors, he sees them countered into a powerbomb, instead. Lincoln then drops an elbow between the Cockney’s legs, with the predictable effect, before once again beginning to stomp all over his head and torso – as well as aiming at least one other kick at his opponent’s sensitive bits.

OUCH. That one hurt even me…”

His quarry out of the way, Lincoln then slips out of the ring, roughly shoving a fan out of the way as he reaches for a front-row folding chair, slides it into the ring, then steps over to where Washington is still brawling with Crusader X, coming up from behind and smashing the “luchador” over the back of the head with it. With the fan-favorite neutralised, Lincoln then unceremoniously dumps him out of the ring, before beckoning Washington to follow him to the outside. The two men then exit the ring, cackling amongst themselves at the prospect of stalking the increasingly easy prey.

“It appears X Button have literally run right into Border Control’s trap!”

“Say what you want about these guys…they’re smart. I bet all four of them concocted this whole thing just to goad these guys into coming out here…and it worked.”

“Speaking of coming here, THEY’RE COMING OVER HERE!!

At Lucas’s warning, all three announcers leap out of their seats, just as Washington begins to repeatedly ram the unconscious Crusader’s head into the top of their desk. He then throws the wobbling “luchador” into the ring post, before connecting with another chair shot to his back, effectively sandwiching him in steel. He then pulls X out and applies a full nelson hold, just long enough for Lincoln to run in and connect with a spear, which sends them both crashing through a nearby barricade, and into the middle of the fans!

“These fans are making their feelings known to Border Control, that’s for sure…”

“…I hope that was just soda Lincoln just got doused in…”

Deltzer is unable to keep the mirth from his voice as a fan retaliates against Truth’s agents the only way he knows how. Lincoln, understandably, does not appreciate this, but Washington steps in before he can actively attack a paying member of the audience, instead focusing his partner’s attention back on Crusader X, whom they once again begin to stomp a mudhole into. While Lincoln becomes fully engrossed in this, however, Washington is just alert enough to sense movement from behind them, and alert his partner…

…who turns around to the sight of an already diving Alfie Button!


“…but look at this!!”

Lucas’ exclamation originates from the fact that Lincoln has been able to catch Alfie mid-air, and now has him slung over one shoulder, as he tentatively eyes up the announce table. It does not take long for him to make up his mind, and he promptly takes off running towards it..



The boos once again reach nuclear levels as soda cups and popcorn bags begin to rain down from the stands; unfazed, however, Lincoln merely looks the three announcers in the eye .

“How d’ya like that, huh? That’s what you get for trash-talkin’ us!”

Then, as the three members of the commentary team check on Alfie, hoping to revive him, he once again joins Washington, as the two of them drag the knocked-out Crusader over to the general vicinity of the announce table.

“Oh, what now? Haven’t you two done enough?”

Lucas’ foolishly brave attempt to chastise the two men is, however, not even acknowledged by the pair, who merely bring Crusader to an upright position, before connecting with stereo lariats, which send him hurtling onto his partner. As he falls on top of Alfie, the two men exchange a quick high-five, after which they mockingly lean over the two fallen bodies, with Lincoln throwing out the first taunt.

“Now y’all can butt-BLEEP one another!”

Surprisingly, however, Washington does not join in; instead, his focus is on the announcers, whom he fixes with a steely gaze as he points down at the prone men.

“Now ya know. Don’t BLEEP with us.”

With that, he gathers up his partner, and the two wander off to join their female companion on the opposite end of the ring. A moment later, all three are walking up the entranceway and through the curtain, brushing off the now radioactive levels of jeering directed at them from all sides of the arena, leaving the announce team to pick up the pieces of what had, until moments previously, been a relatively orderly show.

“Well, ladies and gentlemen…we have lost our workstation…there are two superstars laid out right in front of us…and we have just been effectively threatened by one of GLOBAL’s athletes. This is definitely not any given Sunday.”

“Yeah…even when Truth is not physically here, he somehow still manages to start a fire…”

Lucas’ and Deltzer’s valiant attempts to lighten the mood and stay professional, respectively, are somewhat undermined by Allie Reece’s very audible half-sobbing, half-ranting off the mic (complete with unusual swears), which eventually force GLOBAL’s head announcer to throw the feed elsewhere, so that he and his colleagues may regroup, and give the EMTs time to come and assist the two valiant men currently lying at their feet.

LOGO b&w


“Are you sure you’re ready for this, Ange?”

Saul Morgan leans down and places his hands on his tag team partner’s shoulders, earnestly looking her in the eye, only to be met with a dismissive wave of a hand.

“Pssshhh…don’t sweat it, ‘papi‘. I got this!”

Morgan, however, does not seem willing to take the youth’s word for it.

“Are you sure, though? This match isn’t going to be like what you’re used to. There isn’t going to be anything to bounce off of. And Son of Malta is not Bianca Davis, or even Valorie.” Speaking that name clearly affects “The Tramp”, but he manages to brush his feelings aside long enough to conclude his point. “This guy’s a veteran. He’s not going to be fooling around. He’s going to be looking to catch you and twist you into a pretzel. And he’s not afraid to fight dirty, if he has to.”

“I ain’t, neither!” Once again, Angel Ramirez’s tone is as defiant as it is nonchalant. “Seriously, Saul. I ain’t some little baby. I got this, ‘holmes‘!”

Morgan still appears doubtful, but eventually concedes. “Well…if you’re sure…”

“’Course I’m sure!” Angel’s face breaks into her trademark girlish smile, making her appear even younger than she is. “Now, c’mon! We gotta go get ready, we finna be out in a minute!”

The older man, however, shakes his head. “Nah. You’re right, kiddo. I need to stop treating you like a baby. You didn’t need my busted ass out there in that ladder match last time, and you don’t need it there for this one, either.”

For a split-second, Angel Ramirez’s features flicker in a mix of surprise and a touch of panic; a moment later, however, that micro-expression is replaced with a broader smile of confident gratitude, as she holds out her fist for a fist-bumping salute. Then, unable to contain herself, she hugs Saul, whose own expression reflects surprise and shock for a moment, before settling into warm fondness as he returns the gesture.

“Thanks, ‘ese’. I ain’t gonna let you down.”

“You never let me down, Ange.” Morgan pulls out of the hug to once again look his younger partner in the eye. “Just do your best, and don’t worry too much if things don’t go your way, OK?”

“No promises, ‘papi’…” With that, and a final grin, the youth rushes towards the entrance curtain, leaving her partner to gaze after her fondly for a long moment before calling out.

“I’ll wait for you here, all right?”

Angel gives a thumbs-up and shoots Saul a brief grin, before disappearing through the curtain as her theme song queues up. As “The Tramp” begins to look for a nearby seat on which to wait until Angel’s match is over, however, a voice catches his attention.

“Hello, Morgan…”

Saul looks up, his eyes widening in horrified shock for a moment before flashing with anger as he takes in his interloper. His instincts kicking in, he begins to pull himself upright and adopt a defensive stance…

…but just a moment too late, as a loud clatter sends him hurtling to the ground, his lean yet muscular frame falling onto the chair he was about to occupy.

After that, there is only blackness.

LOGO b&w


“The following contest is set for one fall! Introducing  first. From Los Angeles California! Representing the Angel Corp and weighing in at 123lbs! She is! Angel! Ramirez!”

“And we welcome Angel to her SECOND ever Main Event match in GLOBAL wrestling.” Quinn announces

“And her first as a singles competitor.” Allie adds.

“Look, Angel is one hell of a fighter, but this… this might be a mismatch.” The Mark says, bringing down the mood.

“L -innu Malti” hits the airwaves as the Son of Malta walks stoically to the ring.

“And speak of the devil, Malta looks laser focused tonight.” Quinn calls “Mark, you got something to say?”

“Look, I might joke around with Allie all the time, but shooting straight, that kid Angel is going places, she’s a fantastic athlete, and an even better fighter, but this… The Son of Malta is THE fighter of GLOBAL. His tenure rivals Darring’s, he went toe-to-toe with REYN and pushed that monster to the limit, and he has forgotten more holds and strikes than Angel has ever learned. As the japanese would say, Angel is 100 years to early to be fighting THIS kind of competitor.”

“Yeah, but she IS fighting Malta tonight.” Reese retorts “And she’s not backing down.”

As Malta enters into the ring, the camera catches a look at Alex Reyn in the front row, watching the match intently.

“Speaking of, it seemed last week that we were going to be getting Malta v Reyn, but it looks like ‘Card Subject to Change’ happened.” Quinn notes “One can only assume Alex Reyn will be watching this match with great interest.”


Angel charges in hot! Trying to take Malta by surprise with a Dropkick, but the veteran is a step ahead and gets his hands up to block. Angel hits the mat and The Son of Malta is already smothering her with a grounded facelock, Ramirez is stubborn as ever though, and wiggles her way out before the hold is fully locked.

“Good attempt by Angel, but it’s like I said, Malta just has the leg up in experience.” The Mark calls.

She hits the ropes. Basement Dropkick connects! But Malta tanks the hit, already rolling to his feet alongside Angel who hits the ropes! Coming in with a flying forearm-


“Jesus!” The Mark cries!

The mood has shifted. In a second, Angel’s hot start has been quashed, and now there’s a murmur of concern from the audience as they see her neck folding from the gruesome landing. In the crowd, Reyn cocks his head, watching with interest.

Malta is all business.







“If we know anything about Angel Ramirez, it’s that she’ll keep fighting until she can’t fight anymore.” Reece praises as Reyn gives a small smile.

“Yeah, but right now, that might do her more harm than good.” The Mark says with obvious concern in his voice.

Malta shows some respect for the kid, but he didn’t come here to go easy on people tonight. He drags her body to the middle of the ring, grabbing her wrists for the Maltese Cross (Straightjacket Crossface).

A surge from Angel! She catches him in a Schoolboy Pin!



Angel collapses clutching at her head! She couldn’t keep Malta stacked for long, and instead she rolls out of the ring and collapses against the barricade. Head in her hand, trying to make the nausea go away.

“That was a nasty landing Angel took earlier. She could be dealing with nausea, a headache, potentially a concussion if she’s unlucky.” Quinn comments.

Malta is right after her. Tonight is not the night for mercy.

Angel cries out in pain as her back is rammed into the barricade! Malta grabs her wrist and whips her into the ring steps only for the agile Angel to spring onto the steps like a gazelle!

…But her footing is unsteady, the world seems to spin around her as her head throbs, which is all the opening Malta needs.

German Suplex off the stairs!

“And another brutal landing for Angel Ramirez!” Quinn calls.

The girl’s small frame is picked up and rolled into the ring. Reyn leans forward, a look of curiosity on his face.







The fans cheer now! Applauding the young wrestler’s heart, and Malta’s stoic expression shows a hint of frustration.


“Angel’s not getting out of that.” The Mark says with an air of finality.

As it turns out, he’s half right. Try as she might, she’s not able to pull her head free from the unbreakable hold. But Malta might have been a bit too hasty grabbing the headlock when Angel had only just been rolled into the ring and the kid is JUST able to get her foot under the ropes, forcing a rope break.

“You have to admire Angel’s heart,” Quinn says while Alex Reyn leans back, contemplating the match..

“Yeah, but that’ll only go so far, Quinn,” Deltzer replies. “She needs to find a way to turn this around.”

Angel tries to roll out the ring again to get some space, only to feel a hand around her collar, pulling her back through the ropes-

Angel retaliates with an overhead kick!

Malta drops the girl and actually reels back, clutching his nose! Angel has an opportunity now to get some momentum back into this match. She climbs onto the apron. Measuring her target.

Springboard- Malta with the superkick!!


Angel is one step ahead of MALTA this time!  Jumping BACK to land back on the apron so the kick hits air. But another sudden rush of pain and vertigo has her head spinning and her foot almost slipping off the apron. It’s all the opening Malta needs.

Running Knee impacts her skull! Malta pulls her limp body through the ropes! Vertical Suple… no, Angel slips out behind! Dropkick to the back of his head!

Malta stumbles, staggering to his feet as the kick dropped him to his knees. Angel meanwhile, is struggling to stand up, having to use the ropes to pull herself to her feet, but she’s eyeballing the Son of Malta with a defiant snarl on her face. She’s not going down so easily!

Flying Forearm! This time it connects, but the tough-as-nails Malta doesn’t go down! And Angel keeps hammering away!

“Allie, you talk about the heart of Angel, and no-one can deny it, but what about the toughness of Malta!?” The Mark calls as Allie hammers away at Malta who seems to be leaning INTO the shots.

“You’re right Mark!” Allie admits, making several fans mark their calendars. “Forget the cliche of an Irresistible Force meeting an Immovable Object, this is TWO Immovable Objects trying to take each other down!”

Malta catches her! Overhead Snap Belly to Belly!! She bounces like a spider hitting a windshield, but she’s already trying to pull herself up! She collapses several times, her muscles and back screaming at her in protest, but she REFUSES to stop fighting!

Malta grabs her by the head and SLAMS a knee into her skull!!

“Brutal!” Quinn calls. “Malta showing no mercy tonight!”

“She wanted a fight. He’s giving her one.” Allie says.

Angel almost collapses, but she grabs Malta’s tights to stop herself from falling completely, her wobbly legs finding strength from somewhere to push herself up to the obvious surprise of her opponent.

He goes for another knee lift, but Angel pulls her head free and retaliates with a sudden uppercut!!

“That’s Saul’s move!” Allie calls as the fans cheer! “Angel Ramirez taking the lessons of her mentor to heart in her first ever main event!”
Hurricanrana takes  Malta down! The fans cheer the kid as she’s starting to build momentum! She hits the ropes, but once again Vertico makes the world spin around her!

…So she LETS it, falling to her back suddenly to take Malta’s leg out with an impromptu basement dropkick!

“Wow! VERY unique offense from Angel there!” Quinn calls.

“Unique is exactly what she needs right now.” The Mark says. “I took the veteran completely off guard just now.
She’s managed to get her opponent off his feet for the first time in this match! Now she has to capitalize!

Shooting Star Press!




“Again that unrelenting toughness of the Son of Malta!” Quinn calls.

Angel is on top of Malta now! Raining down punches! But while he is hitting with everything she’s got, her technique leaves her open for Malta to catch her in a guillotine choke!

Wait! No!

Before he can lock in a body scissors, Angel rolls forward while in the hold to pin his shoulders to the mat!




He’s looking for a DDT, but Angel pulls her head free and drops low to roll him up with another Schoolboy!



But she uses the momentum to hit the ropes! The energy from the crowd and her building adrenaline, allowing her to push past the throbbing ache in her skull and the fog in her mind!

Springboard Crossbody takes Malta down!

…But Malta rolls through with it! Rising down to his feet carrying Angel-
Who catches him in a sudden Small Package!!





“Inch by inch, Angel is gaining ground!” Allie calls.

The fans can see the growing frustration on the Son of Malta’s face now! He fires a barrage of punches at Angel’s head, but the kid is quick and agile enough to avoid every shot!

“Wow!” The Mark cheers!

She ISN’T able to avoid a VIOLENT boot to her face though, and the kick sends her sprawling!

“Malta put some mustard on THAT one!” Mark calls again! I don’t think he was expecting this kind of fight from Angel!”
“I don’t think ANY of us were!” Quinn admits.
He tries to grab her legs for the Maltese Clover (Texas Cloverleaf), but Angel is struggling like a mad woman! Her boot strikes him across the face with a smack that echoes throughout the arena, but Malta still won’t release his hold on her ankle!

Another kick! He stumbles but does not go down!








The fans are applauding her resilience! Malta seems stunned for a few seconds, but he keeps himself calm. Grabbing both wrists, looking for Maltese Cro-

Monkey Flip!

But Malta holds on! Angel manages to grapevine her legs around the ropes to keep Malta from locking in the crossface, but Malta tears her off the ropes-


The commentary team is on its feet! The fans pop at that counter! But as both competitors lie on the mat, the slow-motion replay shows Malta catching Angel and driving her back into the mat with an Uranage at the same time she spiked him with the DDT!

“What tremendous skill by both wrestlers! The never-say-die fight of Amber! The veteran instincts of the Son of Malta!” Quinn calls

Slowly, the two rise to their feet, feeling the effects of the match. Malta is up a little before his opponent, hooking his opponent for a German Suplex

Suple-Angel lands on her fee- SPINNING BACK KICK FROM MALTA!!

“There’s that veteran skill I was talking about,” Quinn says. “He knew Angel would try to flip out like that and was one step ahead.”

As a rocked and stunned Angel collapses, he catches her and brings her down with the Satan of Side Headlocks!!


“She’s got nowhere to go! The veteran might have this!”
She tries to crawl to her ropes, but Malta is too crafty for her, leaning his weight into her body, both tightening the hold and cutting off her escape! Unable to move her body to the ropes, she tries to pull her head free, but his grip is like a VICE!

“No-one has ever, EVER broken free of Malta’s headlock!” The Mark calls “Angel might have to throw in the towel here!”

“Like Angel would ever do that!” Allie retorts, but the kid’s face is turning purple as she tries to get her hands around Malta’s arm! Trying to pull her head free! She pulls on his beartrap arm with both of her own! Using all of her strength! Her arms shaking from the strain and the force she’s exerting as she SCREAMS IN DEFIANCE!!

…And begins pulling MALTA”S ARM OPEN!!

“NO F**KING WAY!!!””

The crowd is roaring in disbelief! Malta’s eyes have gone wide in shock!! Even Reyn has risen from his seat looking stunned! Angel’s face is red, there are tears in her eyes, knuckles white, but with every muscle in her tiny body, she pulls the grip open an inch at a time!

“This can’t be happening! This CANNOT be happening!!!” Quinn echoes the disbelief of all watching!


She throws herself into Malta as the fans cheer! Her almost limp arms flailing at him as the fans chant “Holy shit! Holy shit! Holy shit!” Her limbs feel like jelly, she can’t put any real force into her attacks as the lactic acid burns through her body, but she will NOT. STOP. FIGHTING!!

A headbutt from Malta halts her momentum as the fans boo! They like Malta, but it’s clear who their favorite is tonight!

Malta doesn’t follow up though. The camera catches him breathing heavily. Eyes and mouth open in utter disbelief. He’s looking at Angel like he’s seeing her for the first time in his life. Alex too seems to be appraising the young wrestler with a more serious and apprehensive expression. The same question in their mind is echoed by the viewers.

“What the Hell IS this kid?”

Angel is slowly struggling to her feet, meeting Malta’s eyes with a defiant glare as blood drips from her nose. She raises her hands, calling for him to bring it.

He moves in! Angel attacks with an uppercut, but he catches her wrist, twisting her arm behind the back and throwing onto her elbow with a hammerlock Russian legsweep!

“Oof! Nasty landing!” Quinn winces.

He rolls onto her back, looking for the Warhead (Camel Clutch, but Angel scrambles out the back! She hits the ropes, but Malta FLOORS her with a Discus Clothesline!

“And just like that, Angel gets her momentum cleaved in half again!” The Mark calls. “Every time she tries to rally, Malta puts her right back on the defensive!”

Snap Belly to Belly throws her over his head! She comes up gasping for breath as the landing knocks the wind from her lungs!
“Angel is tough as nails, but Malta has been throwing her like a ragdoll all match!” Quinn comments.

The Son of Malta has his eyes on the prize, swinging a roundhouse kick directly at the kid’s head as she tries to stand!

…And as the kick comes in, an image flashes through Angel’s mind, the memory of an old friend of hers beating her with that exact. Same. Roundhouse…

…Someone she saw as her sister.

…Someone who betrayed her.

…Who crippled Saul.

A hand lashes out and catches the kick.

Malta’s eyes go wide as the blow is stopped an inch from her head. There is a tension in the air. A sudden silence, Angel has gone completely still, her body eerily relaxed…


“Jesus!” Quinn and his co-commentators reel back in shock as blood and split go flying! Malta is spitting out blood, the cameras catch a look at his mouth with an incisor visibly missing before Angel’s fist hits him directly in the throat! Malta actually drops to his knees, coughing violently until Angel rams a knee into his face! The camera takes a look at the girl’s face, it is a crimson mask as blood flows from a deep cut where the fans can see the grisly sight of Malta’s tooth stuck in her forehead. The most disturbing sight of all is her eyes. Blank… expressionless, a disturbing calm in contrast to the savagery of her actions as she slams another knee into Malta’s nose to cause another spray of blood!

He drops and she stomps down on his neck! He coughs up blood as even Allie winces!

Over and over she stomps down on his head! Temple! Neck! Throat! Eyes! A frenzied assault accompanied by an expressionless, unblinking stare.

“What… the hell  has gotten into Angel?” Allie whispers in horror.

“…It’s like she’s not even seeing Malta.” The Mark mutters back.

But it’s that exact blind rage that leaves her open. So focused is she on turning his face into bloody mulch, that she leaves her defenses wide open, allowing Malta to catch her foot, grapevine her leg and bring her down with an ankle lock!

“Malta counters! Ankle Lock! Centre of the ring!”

She doesn’t seem to even notice the pain, so lost is she in her blind frenzy, but her ankle is being twisted at an unnatural angle. She’s nowhere close to the ropes, Mala has her leg perfectly grapevined, and he’s got all the leverage in the world.


“Here is your winner by referee decision! The SON! OF! MALTA!!”


“I hate to say it, but Barry Snyder made the right call there,” Aliie says

“I agree, Allie.” Quinn replies “Angel wasn’t in the right mind to tap just then, but she was risking serious long-term injury if she didn’t. Snyder was thinking about the health of the wrestler first.”

There is a low growl from Reyn at that outcome, but his gaze turns to the two wrestlers. Angel seems to be coming out of her fugue state, while medical personal tend to both of them. Malta is breathing heavily, still bleeding from his mouth and nose as well as several open cuts on his face. His eye is puffy and swollen, while Angel can barely stand up, seems to be dizzy and is still bleeding heavily from that deep cut.

There’s a clear look of respect in the East Wind’s Eyes.

“A solid victory for the Son of Malta, but Angel Ramirez put on a bigger fight than ANY of us were expecting! From Glory to Ladder Matches to so-called “Mis-matches”, out Angel flies to meet the challenge!” Allie praises.

“But don’t sleep on Malta either. Angel had to claw for every second of offense. He is focused, he is experienced, and he might be one of the biggest bad mothertruckers in this sport.” The Mark says “He’s proving what he said two weeks ago: He is FAR from done!”

LOGO b&w


“Man, ‘papi‘, you was right! I should’a listened to you! I—”

Angel Ramirez stops herself short as she spots her partner seemingly asleep on a chair near the catering table, her brow creasing into a frown.

“Aw, fuck you, Saul! I didn’t take that long! The match was only, like, five minutes…”

As she half-playfully scolds her partner, she walks closer to him and begins attempting to shake him awake, becoming increasingly irritated when he shows no signs of doing so.

“Fuck you, man! I know you ain’t really asleep! Wake the fuck up!”

She shakes him more vigorously, still eliciting no answer.

“Come on, Saul!”

As she once again tugs on her partner’s arm, however, she notices the big, throbbing, bloody lump on his forehead, her expression turning from mild irritation to wide-eyed horror as she realizes what she is looking at. She can feel her heartbeat quickening as she now attempts to slap Saul into consciousness.

“C’mon, ‘papi‘…wake up…wake up, man…you gotta wake up!”

Tears begin streaking down her cheeks as she strikes and shakes the unconscious man ever harder, eventually landing punches to his chest as she cries directly into it.

“Come on, man…I was jokin’ earlier…I do need you…I do…I do…”

For a long moment, it is all she can do to repeat that last sentence, ever quicker and more urgently; then, as the stress response begins to leave her body, she pulls herself upright and begins looking around for someone who can assist her, all while calling out for help at the top of her lungs. The first person she sees in this instance is a young cameraman, whom she immediately addresses, gesturing towards her knocked-out partner.

“Yo! You seen who done this?”

“No…sorry…” The young man’s eyes are as wide as Angel’s had been a moment before. “But I can go call the EMTs, if you want…”

Angel can barely muster a nod, as the technician takes off running down the hallway; true to his word, he is back a moment later with a team of EMTs, who begin to check Saul’s vitals, as well as Angel’s.

“I’m fine! Take care of him!” The teenager shakes off the medical professionals irritably, rushing to where their colleagues are loading Saul onto a stretcher and holding his hand.

“I’m here with you, ‘papi‘. OK? I’m right here. I’m right here…”

She keeps talking to her partner in this vein – even though he is still unconscious – all the way back to the medical room, leaving his side only when she is unceremoniously told she has to wait outside. After making her thoughts on this perfectly clear to the medical team – complete with a kick to the closed door – she whirls back around to where the young camera technician has loyally chosen to stay by her and Saul Morgan’s side. A blaze burns in her eyes, so intense it makes the youth recoil slightly, in fear of getting accosted; as it turns out, however, her fury is directed elsewhere.


“Who’s’ever you are that did my boy Saul like that, I’m’ma tell you this…I’m’ma find you…an’ I’m’ma hurt you. Watch your back, ‘holmes‘.”


With that, she stomps off in the direction of the nearest exit, looking to clear her head with some fresh air. Left with nothing but a closed door to film, the young technician turns off his camera and lays it beside him as he sits on the floor, waiting for her to return so he can make sure she and her partner are going to be all right. Either way, it is looking as though it will be a long night for all of them.


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Somewhere nearby, a hand clicks off a monitor which, until a moment earlier, had been broadcasting the teenager’s angry outburst. A moment later, an amused voice addresses, presumably, the other unseen people in the room.

“Squad…mission accomplished.”

A brief cheer erupts inside the darkened room and drifts faintly across the hall just outside, before melding into the constant dripping of a leaking pipe, the humming of energy-saving bulbs, and the other incidental sounds typically heard in an unused section of a major events’ arena.

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Anarchy backstage. Shouting voices muffle one another so that no one voice can be heard. Then, the voices quieten. All voices but one. The voice of Jerry David. 

A rushing cameraman bounces around the corridor’s corner to find Jerry David in a white shirt, buttons ripped from it down to the waist, blue jeans and brown dress shoes. His shirt is spattered in blood. 

The blood of the man slouching before him. The man gasping for breath. The man that has been good friends with the GLOBAL world Heavyweight champion for years. 

Steve Blaine. 


Jerry smashes Blaine in the face again, before turning him around for all to see. Blaine’s nose is smashed across his face, blood covers his face and hair. He gasps for breath from his mouth, his nose being merely a shattered ornament.

“You want to know, Darring? You want to know why I did what I did? You want to know? By the power of the powdered GODS, I’ll tell ya.”

Blaine raises his hand weakly. 

“Sean…” he whimpers. 

“I did it because I had to. Because a good guy versus a good guy just doesn’t sell tickets. So to get my shot, someone had to be the bad guy. And it’s crystal clear to me, Darring, that you just don’t have the balls to be the bad guy.”

Jerry bitch slaps Blaine before putting his fingers into his mouth, holding him like a prize winning fish.

“But more than that… I did it because I wanted to. The same way I did this to your old buddy… because I had to. Because Fritos ordered it. And because I wanted to.”

David unhooks Blaine before smashing a few more blows across the face of Blaine and letting him slump to the floor. 

“I am Jerry David. Award winner. Rising Star. And without doubt, by the very word of God, I am your guaranteed next GLOBAL Wrestling champion.”

And with that proclamation, Jerry David simply walks away. 

Silence surrounds the scene, with one notable exception. A gentle rustling from above. 

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