A DIFFERENT LEGEND
No music, no fanfare. The Global Champion, Sean Darring, swiftly and quietly descends to the ring, an unplanned and unannounced intrusion. The announcers haven’t even completed their preparations for the opening when Sean Darring asserts himself, demanding a microphone before the night’s proceedings officially kick off.
“I’ve been in this business for a long time. I’ve witnessed nearly everything. There are few things left that truly upset me or get under my skin.”
The legend paces the ring in his impeccably kept suit—unusually absent of a tie and unbuttoned at the top. The expression on his face communicates to the fans everything they anticipated, yet the anger propels him to speak.
“Jerry David, you’ve crossed a line that most of us in this industry understand is too far. An unspoken rule that has stood for generations. Steve Blaine will heal. He will return to work. He’s more of a professional than you and I combined.”
Darring shakes his head, suppressing the rage.
“But that’s not the point. The point is, you attacked a man who has no business being in a physical altercation just to send a message to me. Steve Blaine is one of the most respected men in this industry. I told you that you already have my attention. You had your title shot. What you did wasn’t business, Jerry David; what you did was personal.”
The Global Champion unstraps the Global Championship, places it on the mat, and looks up.
“So you want this to be about personal satisfaction? You want to break unspoken rules to toy with my emotions? Steve Blaine is a dear friend of mine. We go back YEARS… However, when I got to the hospital, and he was lying in that bed, we looked at each other, and no words were spoken. They weren’t needed. I knew what he was thinking. I know what I have to do.”
The legend gives a sinister smile as he contemplates what that entails.
“Jerry David, I’m going to do things that I’m not proud of. You’ve brought me back to a place I promised I wouldn’t return. Tonight, I’m not asking the Global Championship committee; I’m telling them I will have a Global Championship title match. You pick my opponent. While I’m urging you not to suspend Jerry David and send him down to the ring, I expect it will be somebody else. I’m dedicating tonight to our dear friend and a true professional, Steve Blaine.”
The camera zooms in on Sean Darring’s face one last time.
“As for you, Jerry David, be careful what you ask for. Because you just might get it.”
OPERATION PR STUNNED, PHASE 3: ALL PUBLICITY IS GOOD PUBLICITY
Somewhere in West Hollywood, California
November 16, 2023
The banners, posters and stands dotted around the West Hollywood rental space advertise a public fundraiser for a well-known local charity, with proceeds from the various activities scattered across the event floor presumably being donated to support the cause. Among said activities – which range from face-painting to target-shooting or even an indoor bouncy-castle – one of the most immediately noticeable and attention-grabbing is the one at the far end of the hall, where an attractive and prim middle-aged blonde stands directly in front of a fighting ring, inside which two men in appropriate gear scowl at passers-by. Attracted by the unusual and unusually large structure, any number of visitors to the event make their way over to where the blonde has set up a small fold-out table, on top of which rests a branded donation jar, and receive the exact same answer to their query.
“For just a small donation, you will earn the unique opportunity to test your skills inside the ring against two professionally employed grapplers, as featured on television’s ‘GLOBAL Wrestling Domination’.”
Excited by this perspective, the vast majority of the visitors do drop a few bills and coins into the jar, before making their way into the ring, causing a crowd of onlookers to gather in the process. This is where the blonde takes a moment to round up her two charges and remind them of their part in the whole affair, by pointing at three simple bullet points typed into the Notes feature of her mobile phone:
“SHOW THEM A FEW BASICS
BE GENTLE
LET THEM WIN.”
While the darker-haired of the two men appears generally agreeable to this, however, his blond counterpart shows increasing agitation with each passing bout, visibly struggling to muster up the energy to go through the motions, or, alternatively, allowing his emotions to run away with him and being a little rougher than strictly necessary with his civilian opponents; each time, the man’s partner is forced to minimize the damage, by first holding him back and tagging him out, and then apologizing to said opponents, who – to their credit – mostly appear to take it gracefully.
The inevitable tipping point comes, however, when a woman and two young men – both clearly with Down’s Syndrome – make their way over to the table. The two boys appear eager to participate in the activity, and even the blonde woman’s sugar-coated attempts to dissuade them have no effect.
“They’ve already been everywhere else. I couldn’t talk them out of trying this one out, too.” The caretaker – whose nametag identifies her as Sam – runs a hand across her greying brown hair, as her two charges bounce excitably all around the ring, chanting words to the effect of “WE’RE GONNA WRESTLE!” To her credit, the fighters’ manager makes one final effort to dissuade all the parties involved, before caving in, with a sigh, and beckoning to her own two charges.
“Boys…? A little word, please…”
Then, once they are huddled around her, she wastes no time whipping her phone out of her pocket and pointing urgently at the words on the screen.
“Now, more than ever, hmmm?”
The darker-haired fighter immediately nods, but the blonde wants confirmation from his partner, towards whom she casts a pointed glance.
“Rupie…?”
The man mumbles something indiscernible in reply, causing the manager to speak up again.
“What was that, darling? Do speak up! You know I’m going a little deaf in my old age…”
“I said, VERY WELL, Kerry! Christ!”
Seemingly satisfied, the woman named Kerry nods, releasing her charges to face their two expectant self-appointed opponents. The darker-haired half of the duo, however, still sees fit to whisper a warning to his partner.
“Let me take the lead on this one, mate, hmmm? You just follow along.”
The blond’s silence is interpreted as acquiescence, and the slimmer, ponytailed man promptly proceeds to follow through with his plan, carrying out Kerry’s directives without too much further ado, to the glee of his two young opponents. Only once he feels as though the match is fully under control does he tag in his partner, not without subtly reminding him of the right approach to take. Eyerolls notwithstanding, the blond half of the duo does, to his credit, try to keep up his side of the bargain, at least for the first few moments; at length, however, he is unable to resist the urge to slam one of the youths to the mat a little harder than usual, much to the chagrin of his team-mate and manager.
None of the parties in or out of the ring could, however, have predicted the youngster’s reaction to this; for, when he pulls himself to his feet, his whole body appears to convulse, his arms briefly curling into gun-show positions before an index finger points out accusingly towards the blond wrestler.
“YOOOOOUUUUU!!!”
There follows a borderline uncanny moment, as a young man with Down’s Syndrome pushes a professional wrestler against the ropes through sheer anger, force of will, and use of the element of surprise.
“Argh! Get off, you stinking brat!”
The youth, however, shows no signs of relenting, and it takes the combined efforts of the caretaker, Kerry, and the second member of the wrestling duo to prise the two men apart and calm each of them down, as they continue to glare daggers at one another over each of their interlopers’ shoulders, the disabled boy even directing a few words at his opponent as he is ushered away by the caretaker.
“You big meanie! Come to my school, I’ll kick your butt!”
The blond wrestler appears to want nothing more than to reply in kind, but his partner wisely talks him down from it, as he and manager Kerry work together to fully defuse the situation. After a few moments, when the worst appears to well and truly be over, the latter is finally able to return to the front of the ring to man the table, next to which two men are patiently waiting. Kerry turns her most beaming smile on them, only for her eyes to visibly widen as they blatantly run up and down each of their bodies; it is no surprise, then, that her tone is extra-honeyed as she addresses them.
“Would you two hunks care to take part in our little activity?”
The taller and broader of the two men nods. “Yeah. How’s it work? How much do we gotta donate?”
“You donate what you want, darling.” Kerry is ever more pleasant as the interaction continues. “It is entirely up to you.”
“Really?” The man looks over to his companion, who nods. “’Cause we would donate like ten large to get in the ring with your boys over there.” He gestures towards the pair inside the ring, who look somewhat apprehensive; Kerry, however, flashes an even wider smile, her green eyes glinting with the color of money.
“Would you? How splendid! Though, I am not sure how that would work…all I have is this little tip jar…” Kerry giggles, but each of the two men is already flashing a wad of five-hundred-dollar notes, which they attempt to shove into the jar before deeming it better to hand them to the blonde. Then, without hesitating a single second, they slide under the ropes and into the ring with the practiced ease of people who have done it before. They then square up to the two men already inside the squared circle, whom they each have a couple of inches on, with the taller one – seemingly the leader – smirking as he cracks his knuckles in the direction of the blond half of the pair.
“So…you like slammin’ little disabled kids like they someone your size, huh?” The smirk broadens as the blond man gulps. “Well, why don’t you try that shit on someone actually your size?”
The blond man barely has time to cast a nervous glance toward his manager before the two guests pounce on him and his partner, forcing them into a fight they were almost certainly not expecting to have in this context. Despite her charge’s rather clear – if silent – plea for help, however, Kerry does nothing to defuse the situation; rather, she reaches for her phone and prepares to take some footage and photos of what is going on in the ring. She always lived by the motto that any publicity is good publicity, and better publicity than having her two clients face off against two locally famous mixed martial arts fighters (which she now recognizes the guests to be) can hardly be asked for…
A 'STRONG' START
Toukon Puroresu Academy
Tokyo, Japan
November 15, 2023
“Oof!”
Teagan Trouble hits the mat back-first, the air being driven out of her lungs for a moment by the impact; she is, in fact, still trying to catch her breath when the thud of another falling body makes the ring briefly shake, drawing a gaspy quip out of the redhead.
“Hey…Izzy…!”
Izzy Roxx similarly gasps as she pulls herself to a seated position and attempts to regain her bearings.
“Tried to fly, huh?”
“Yup.”
“Didn’t work, huh?”
“Nope.”
The two girls’ somewhat sparse conversation is cut short by an irritated comment from the third woman in the ring, and the main responsible for their current physical state.
“Somebody told me you were the Champions over there in California…” The tall, muscular blonde scoffs. “Either they were bullshitting me, or that company’s standard is about as high as a straight-edge Amish…!”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Teagan Trouble is recovered enough to take offense at the comment, which the blonde compounds with a thumbs-down gesture; her interloper, however, appears less than fazed by the outburst, instead matching the redhead’s intensity as they stare one another in the eye.
“It means, you two would not know ‘ready‘ if it fucked you in the ass and took both your wallets.”
Teagan is about to speak up once again, but the blonde woman cuts her off.
“I call ’em like I see ’em, cupcake. And when I look at you two…you want to know what I see?”
“You see PRIDE? You see POWAH? You see TWO BAD-ASS MUTHAS who don’t take NO CRAP off’a NOBODY?”
Izzy’s hopeful attempt at lightening the mood falls flat, however, as the older woman appears in no mood for pop culture references, retro or otherwise, continuing to scorch the two girls with her gaze as she answers her own question.
“I see two one-trick ponies who lucked their way into a halfway respectable reign.”
Teagan is about to open her mouth to protest again, but one gesture from the blonde cuts her off.
“Save it, cupcake. Like I said, I call ’em like I see ’em. And the fact is, I got twelve-year-olds in the Young Boys class who are more versatile than you two.” The blonde lets her gaze wander between the two youngsters on the mat in front of her. “Each of you is good at one thing, and one thing only.” She points first at Trouble, and then at her partner. “You can throw strikes…and you can do flippy-do gymnastics bullshit. That’s it. That’s all you got. No ground game, no submission game…hell, has any of you ever even thrown a fucking suplex?”
The pregnant silence into which the question falls is all the proof the blonde needs, and she heaves a deep sigh.
“I thought so. This is gonna take longer than I expected when the kid said you guys were Champions…”
“We’re really good at our ‘one things’, though, Coach!” Teagan Trouble can’t help but bristle, in spite of herself; her coach, however, remains surprisingly calm as she replies.
“Sure. You are really good at your ‘one things’, and your ‘one things’ sort of go together…but what happens when somebody takes those away, or forces you into something different?” The blonde scoffs a second time. “Well…you saw what happens. It’s why you’re here in the first place.”
Surprisingly, neither girl attempts to dispute this, allowing the blonde woman to continue her address, her gaze falling squarely on the quieter half of the pair.
“Now…I can’t help you with the flying. Most I ever did off the ropes was a splash, and that was off the second buckle.” She look from Izzy back to Teagan. “And you don’t need any help with your strikes. What I can do, though…” Her eyes now dart rapidly between the two women. “…what I can do is teach you some fundamentals that you sure as fuck do need help with. Like, you know, throwing a fucking suplex.” She once again gazes at the two women. “And, hey…if you’re ready to put in the work, I’m ready to fucking teach you…”
“C’mon, now, Coach Monroe…!” Teagan begins to pull herself back up to a vertical position from her seat on the mat. “’Course we’re ready. Why would we have come all the way out here otherwise?”
The woman named Monroe shrugs. “I dunno. Y’all could be doing it to get views on your social media, or whatever…”
This actually draws a laugh out of the redhead. “Nah, Coach. That ain’t how Roxx rolls. Our socials are doing fine. Our belts, on the other hand…”
Teagan pulls a meaningful grimace,, and Monroe nods.
“Good answer, kid.”
Then, as Teagan beams, the blonde claps her hands, instantly returning to instructor mode as she tells her two students to assume their positions either side of the squared circle.
“Alright ladies. Your vocal cords got plenty enough exercise already. Time to get back to work.” She is unable to keep a hint of sadistic delight from creeping into her voice as she adds a final thought. “Y’all want to learn some strong style? I’ll teach y’all some strong style.”
CHAMPIONS' PUNISHMENT
Rutherford’s theme hits and he walks out alongside the tag team champions Nikolai Sinclair and Daniel Dream. The champions raise their championships before all three head down to the ring. Rutherford grabs a microphone on the way in the ring and takes his place in the middle of the ring.
“Ladies and gentlemen last week my clients….well they did what they had to do. And oh boy did it get the attention from higher up the chain.”
Rutherford glances in the direction of Nikolai Sinclair.
“After Mr. Sinclair had a little run in with Mr. Sanders backstage….well they suspended him for the night. Mr. Dream put on a very good match last week and clearly proved the point of why my clients should have a match each week.”
Rutherford hands the mic to Daniel Dream
“Now, I didn’t know what Nikolai was going to do. But I support him,” Daniel says, a hint of amusement in his voice. “I was actually going to issue an open challenge, but it seems the next challengers for the GLOBAL Tag Team Championships are obvious, The Players. And I have history with The Players.”
Rutherford nods as he receives the microphone.
“Yes well…there is one thing I forgot to mention about that Mr. Dream….due to the actions of your tag team partner….the authority have decided they get that chance….in just a few moments .”
Nikolai looks at Rutherford and begins to laugh before snatching the microphone.
“You are joking right? We are the best tag team in the world and we’re going to be defending against those two? My question here is who are they punishing? Because to me it seems like The Players are the one with the punishment.”
Nikolai shakes his head and hands the microphone to Richard
“Well it will be wise to take this serious Mr. Sinclair. I do not doubt you but it is your first title defence here at GLOBAL and we want to make sure we respect all opponents. So…lets hear from the expert what you guys are in for tonight.”
Rutherford hands the microphone to Daniel.
“As I was saying, Nikolai, I have history with The Players, don’t doubt them,” Daniel asserts, his voice brimming with confidence. “The Players have a lot of ‘upside potential’ and I was managing them, but it seems that potential will remain untapped. Nikolai forcefully severed that connection, but The Rutherford Guys are proven superstars. The Players are not, and without me… they are nothing.”
Rutherford nods in agreement.
“Well said Mr. Dream. As you hold the experience with them…you take the lead in today’s match. Yes I know that is my job but under these circumstances you will be the better option. Now I think all that’s left to do is show the world why you are the best tag team in existence.”
Daniel and Nikolai raise their championships as Rutherford’s theme can be heard playing
GLOBAL TAG TEAM CHAMPIONSHIP: THE RUTHERFORD GUYS (C) V THE PLAYERS
That brings The Players out. “Sexy Boy” by Air is The Players’ choice of music this week rather than Mr. Bungle’s rendition of the Super Mario Bros. theme. Paul Sanders looks a million bucks, his shoulder-length blonde hair glistening, and his all-yellow tights are complemented by his fantastic physique while Kid Chameleon also looks cool in a completely different way, his leather jacket, ripped jeans, and white shirt with sunglasses, that do get removed for the match, most matches anyway, and they look the part. However, they know they’re heavy underdogs against The Rutherford Guys, who ripped the belts away from the tremendous tandem of Trouble Roxx on our Season 2 premiere, otherwise known as Domination 15. BREATHE.
“This looks familiar, ladies and gentlemen,” Quinn asserts.
“The logical place to start,” Allie attests.
“I am nervous, excited and everything in between,” Deltzer declares, rubbing his hands and then covering his mouth with both of his palms.
“The two men who contested an excellent match, Daniel Dream and Kid Chameleon, will kick things off for their respective teams. Not that I mind,” Quinn confesses.
Dream tests the water with a shoot kick, which doesn’t make Chameleon flinch too much, but the second one directed at Lara’s Boyfriend’s left leg does. However, the brief flirting segues into a collar-and-elbow…
“OH MY GOD,” Allie exclaims.
That’s because Kid Chameleon has stopped short of engaging into the tie-up and lifted Dream into the air with a chokebomb, but Dream rakes the eye, raising the ire of the audience, especially as it goes unnoticed by our inexperienced referee, Gabrielle Harris, and take it away, Mark.
“I CANNOT believe Gabby didn’t see that, and she’s a lovely girl, very personable, but why is the least capable referee officiating the GLOBAL Tag Team Championship match, regardless of what you think of The Players? You’ve got the wily fox Richard Rutherford in the corner, the physically phenomenal Niko Sinclair and Daniel Dream to deal with too, five people out there, who in GLOBAL makes these decisions?”
Dream patiently waits for Gouken’s 3rd Disciple to come to his senses, only to waylay him with a superkick, sending Chameleon to the ground via hitting the back of his head on the top rope at the north side of the squared circle.
Before The Player can process what has happened, Dream gives him a not-so-helping hand and whips him to the south side, when Chameleon arrows back toward The American Patriot, he has a surprise in store, blocking a big right hand with one, two, three of his own, softening Dream up. Then, the SEGA Ambassador switches it up with two lefts, and as Dream is on his way to the deck, Kid administers a ‘finger poke of you-know-what’ to the top of the head to make it look like that is what put Daniel down, when we all know it isn’t.
“PUSHOVER,” squeals The Mark.
“Far from it,” Lucas reminds Deltzer.
“He was there,” Mark instantly returns.
1…
“And that kickout confirms it,” Lucas getting the last word there, in the end, by the looks of it. More importantly, which team will have that come the end of this encounter?
Dream gets to his feet, though not for long. Two punches to the ribs, and Kid Chameleon is setting Dream up for a stunner. Instead, Daniel manages to push The Player off rather than taking the bait, and then there’s somewhat of a standoff as they both ponder which course of action to take next.
“Look at Rutherford, Mark, he’s not happy,” Quinn points out to a nervous Deltzer.
“Dream’s still dangerous, make no mistake about it, any time, any place. He’s not off to a bad start, and I’m not just saying this because he’s my friend, but Kid’s a handful for anyone. His win-loss record doesn’t reflect the type of competitor he is, and we’ve seen him, even in defeat, give plenty of people a run for their money, Daniel Dream included,” The Mark reckons.
“I have to agree. Crusader X aside, would you agree?”
Deltzer nods.
“Sadly, yes, but he is amazing in his own right,” Deltzer admits.
There, look? They’ve kissed and made up. Awwwwwwwwww.
Chameleon wins a collar-and-elbow by negotiating a whip, however, it is rapidly reversed by Dream and a stunning spinning heel kick, filled with phenomenal technique, placement, accuracy, and power scrambles the SEGA Ambassador’s brains, like eggs for breakfast, and Daniel looks to build on it and turn around a mixed start immediately, but he too is feeling the effects of a frantic start to The Rutherford Guys’ first official title defense, here on Domination 18, and is forced to take a knee, albeit briefly.
He gets back to his feet, looking to score with a sliding knee st—DAKE TOE HOLD!
The Mark confirms that last part for us, which is a one-two of a drop toe hold, surprise there, and an elbow drop that keeps Daniel detained.
Boy, are you glad this is a written medium…
“AKI’S REVENGE, AKI’S REVENGE, AKI’S REVENGE,” and when I tell you The Mark is up dancing and screaming that at the top of his lungs, I am not kidding.
One of the most dangerous moves, an STF by the way, in Kid’s arsenal is locked in and Kid is holding on for dear life, and why wouldn’t he? Paul Sanders affords himself a wry smile and a laugh at The Mark’s childlike enthusiasm and cheerleading, which is well within earshot here in The Globe AND ON the globe, pun intended. I reckon everyone in the sound stage can hear him.
Meanwhile, Dream, who has shrugged off a couple of Gabrielle’s requests, is less forthcoming in his verbal rebuttals, prompting an awkward exchange of glances between Nikolai, ready, willing, and very much able to nip this in the bud, and Mr. Rutherford, who doesn’t want to show a lack of faith in Daniel here, but also doesn’t want to have a lack of hardware when they traipse back through the curtain in a few minutes time with a major regret hanging over the trio.
A nod eventually comes, and Nikolai licks his lips. Not only does he pull Kid off of Dream but lifts him up off his feet temporarily by his ripped jeans, something not lost on Lucas.
“Scary, terrifying power by one of the best in the business in Nikolai Sinclair,” Quinn compliments one-half of The Rutherford Guys.
Gabrielle tries to reprimand Sinclair yet to no avail.
“Good luck with that,” The Mark wishes the rookie official.
Getting over his wedgie, Chameleon comes to collect Daniel. Mario and Luigi’s brother from another mother is still hopeful of cashing those chips in for championship gold, only for that to seem miles away when Daniel catches him on the bridge of the nose with a brutal and unexpected headbutt. With a second wind,
Dream rises to his feet and exploits Kid’s weakened state with a running high knee to the jaw, flooring Kasumi’s Secret Crush, and handing the initiative back to the kingpins when it comes to tandems here in GLOBAL.
Sinclair wants the tag, but Dream doesn’t even look his way, intent on establishing his dominance over the man he had a rumble with a fortnight ago. Instead, he picks The Player up and dumps him with…
CARNIVORE’S LAST HUNT!!!
The elevated sitout powerbomb threatens to leave a 204-pound imprint in the form of Kid Chameleon’s corpse on the canvas.
1…
2…
NO!
Paul Sanders, sidelined for the entirety of this encounter thus far, roars words of encouragement, and the audience rallies behind the challengers and underdogs in this collision. A shout, perhaps in vain, from Sanders is designed to alert Kid Chameleon. Whether it’s that or the sense of danger, Daniel’s Dream Crusher, a full nelson facebuster, is crushed by Chameleon as Kid lifts all 225 pounds of Daniel up with his head, hoisting Dream up into an electric chair position. As Daniel rises, so does the crowd, expectant of another twist in this tag team tussle, and Chameleon doesn’t disappoint them on this occasion, ROCKING The American Patriot with a dangerous modified vertebreaker, Kid’s knees dropping while Daniel’s noggin bounces off the canvas at the same time.
“A Ghost Shower, and could that be the end of the ghost for The Rutherford Guys?”
Well, Mark, let’s find out, lad…
1…
2…
3!!!
Yes, The Players have won the GLOBAL Tag Team Championship.
DING, DING, DING!
4…
5…
Oh wait, it’s a double down.
Did I get you?
6…
7…
Kid’s up first. Daniel is in close pursuit. As he did a fortnight ago, Chameleon is proving to be a real challenge here, right up there with the formidable final bosses that haunted your youth, and a right hand followed by a backhand shows The World’s Greatest Gamer’s confidence is growing, and growing, the second shot causing Dream to turn away for a brief second, wincing in pain. A jump on the spot by Kid, which is theatrical and serves no real purpose, precedes a pointed elbow drop to the top of the head, decking Dream, and as Daniel goes down face-first, Chameleon rounds the combination off with a double axe handle to the spine.
“Throw Dem Bombs, Kid,” The Mark yells.
“Happy, Mark?”
“I am, Lucas,” Deltzer affirms.
Not that Nintendo’s Number One is done. He scoops Carnivore up and plants The American Patriot with a strong bodyslam with Dream, a man who has headlined every GLOBAL pay-per-view to date and Domination One as well, landing in an awkward position, his legs upright and dangling in the air. Kid Chameleon uses his opponent’s legs as a springboard to jump up, kick the foe’s pins away, and land on his opposite number’s nads with a splash. Finally, and mercilessly, Kid kicks his foe in the face as they are upside down, prompting The Mark to proclaim…
NOTHIN’
“Is that the name of the move? He’s treating Daniel Dream, one of the greatest stars in GLOBAL’s short history, that way right now,” Reece reacts.
“Never count Daniel Dream out though,” Lucas reminds them.
“Never would,” The Mark begrudgingly responds.
“BUT, if I may say, Kid has been around Daniel, studied him, and has clearly downloaded information,” Deltzer adds.
“Wait a minute, Kid Chameleon makes the first tag of the night, and here comes his partner, Paul Sanders, how do you feel about that, Mark?”
“I’ve always liked Paul, personally and professionally, but he hasn’t been the same since he ran into Alex Reyn and a steel ring post several years ago, and The Rutherford Guys are the wrong type of people to capitalize on that. Paul has to be move-perfect here, Kid has been so far, but these two men are super predators when it comes to professional wrestling,” Deltzer warns us.
Sanders is off to a good start, lighting Daniel’s chest up with chops, a couple before Dream returns fire with one of his own, Sanders feels that but fights through the pain, measuring Daniel with a third and whipping Dream to the diagonally opposite corner. He telegraphs his attempted corner splash and accidentally smacks the ring post in the process, extracting a collective OOH from the crowd and commentary team in the process, and that’s just the start of it, for a split-second later Daniel Dream demonstrates his tremendous quality and shows why he stakes a claim for being the best all-round athlete on the roster, going from down and out to…
DREAM CATCHER!!!
One…
Two…
Three…
“I know you think I’m a cheerleader for this man, but that is a joke, a sick one, guys. And now, the joke’s on Paul Sanders. Dream avoided Paul’s ill-advised splash, and in the blink of an eye, what a GORGEOUS jumping flatliner to capitalize and Paul is unconscious. For all the punishment Dream has taken, all of that has gone up in the smoke and that’s what separates the good from the great, and the challengers from the champions,” Lucas waxes lyrical.
Four…
Five…
Six…
Seven…
Daniel crawls over and does a forward roll to tag the intimidating, imposing, impressive, and imperious Nikolai Sinclair. Sanders is up to his feet, and you know the phrase ‘timing is everything?’
Sinclair wastes no time…
VICTIM’S END!!!
The claymore kick is a one-hit knockout, living up to its billing as Sanders not only falls to the canvas but starts twitching nervously. Kid rushes in immediately, and Gabrielle Harris asks both Kid and Nikolai to take a step back, so she can check on Paul, who is out.
“Paul, can you hear me? Paul? PAUL?””
With a heavy heart, Harris stands up and stops the match with an x-sign. Kid Chameleon falls to his knees, not disappointed in defeat, but clearly concerned by his partner’s fallen state.
Richard Rutherford applauds, what did we say about timing, and goes to fetch the belts. Sinclair is stoic, while Dream seems a little hesitant to celebrate as “Downtown” Jason Brown confirms what we already know.
“The winners and STILL GLOBAL Tag Team Champions…The Rutherford Guys.”
Brown sits back down, in no mood to overexaggerate in his characteristic style, given the gravity of the situation.
“Ladies and gentlemen, The Rutherford Guys have retained their championships, but what we have just witnessed is about more than a match, goes beyond wrestling in fact, and all of our prayers are with Paul Sanders at the moment,” Quinn says sadly.
“Amen,” Allie adds.
The Mark has left his station and is pacing nervously and pensively, tempted to join his friends in the ring, but he stops short of doing that, as the stretcher comes down, passing the triumphant team of Dream and Sinclair on their way down.
“Our colleague, Mark Deltzer, who we all know and love as The Mark, is worried for the health and well-being of Paul Sanders, as we all are.”
Deltzer, trying to fight back the tears, bites his thumb, reduced to an adolescent for a moment, and is mumbling “Come on, Paul” to himself repeatedly.
Gabrielle Harris urges the EMTs to rush, even though they’re at ringside, and GLOBAL cuts somewhere else out of respect for Paul Sanders.
FROM THE GUTTER TO THE STARS
“I told you ‘pendejos‘.”
This defiant statement is made by none other than rising GLOBAL star Angel Ramirez, seen standing against a nondescript wall somewhere backstage. The deceptively skinny Latina still bears the marks of her fight with Son of Malta in the Main Event of GLOBAL Wrestling’s latest televised episode, but seems to bear her opponent on the night no ill will; rather, it is the fire of pure competition which appears to drive her next few words, spoken in her usual defiant tone.
“I told you not to sleep on me. I told you there was more to me than what you see. An’ then last time, on Main Event, in front a’ everybody…I proved it.”
Angel fixes her burning gaze on the camera, a prideful grin spreading through her features.
“See…I ain’t like the rest of you. I ain’t no wrestler. I’m a fighter. I been fightin’ every single day of my life, ever since I was a little kid runnin’ round on the East Side, seein’ BLEEP go down that I didn’t even understand yet. Ain’t nothin’ ’bout my life been easy. Ain’t nothin’ I ever had been handed to me. So when I get into a fight, I ain’t try’na win…I’m try’na survive. When them dudes up in the swanky offices put me in a match, I ain’t thinkin’ ’bout no belts an’ records an’ BLEEP…I’m thinkin’ I gotta get out alive. I’m thinkin’ I gotta hurt the other person before they hurts me – an’ hurt ’em enough that they can’t chase me if I need to get away. ‘Cause that’s what you gotta do out there in the streets if you wanna stay alive. An’ the way I see it, this BLEEP ain’t so different from the streets. Only difference is you get free chicken wings an’ a fat paycheck, instead of a whole gang of ‘pendejos’ tryn’a kick your ass.”
The youth pauses for only a split second, to gather her thoughts, before continuing.
“So that’s how come I got outta that headlock. It wasn’t no strategy or whatever. Man, I wasn’t even thinkin’ ’bout nothin’! I was just doin’ it. I was doin’ it ’cause I had to do it, ’cause if I didn’t do it, I was gonna get hurt. That was literally it.” The Latina chuckles. “But yo, you all wanna act like I’m Miss BLEEPing Marvel or whatever, that’s cool with me, fam. Long as you don’t sleep on me no more…long as you give me my props for bein’ a tough ‘chica’ who can hang with anybody….you do you, ‘ese’.”
Ramirez grins again, from ear to ear, as she continues.
“Speakin’ of hanging…I’m kind’a feelin’ a fight right now. That BLEEP last week got me pumped, you feel me? An’ seeing as I’m a bigshot now, I’m gonna do what bigshots do…I’m gonna choose who I wanna fight. An’ who I wanna fight is my ‘chicano’ homeboy El Principe, ’cause he don’t get enough love up in this bitch.” Here, Angel switches to speaking in her native language, as El Principe has long been known to almost exclusively do. “Y entonces, guey? Que tal? Te animas? Dime algo, vale….?”
With that, and a playful wink towards the camera, the young Latina drops the mic and walks off, her challenge laid down and the ball now firmly in the other court.
SNAKE BITES
Darren Best and Alfie Button are walking backstage following Best’s disqualification victory over Mr. Merchandise, and the long-time friends and partners are clearly full of adrenaline, and happy to have got out of there in one piece.
“Do you know who those guys are?”
Alfie shakes his head.
“No idea, mate, but ‘ooever they are, you ‘aff ta know they’ll do an Arnie, and be back, my man. But, I’m glad Keegan and I was there to ‘elp ya out, I know you’re capable, but free against one is a different story.”
The New York native nods his head.
“Totally agree, appreciate it, BUT… Keegan seemed weird. Is he okay?”
Alfie seems somewhat distracted, glancing around the corner, hearing hurried footsteps. Darren patiently waits for Button’s response, and Alfie’s focus eventually returns to his former tag team partner and close friend.
“Course, yeah. Old, innit? Grumpy and that, ever since ‘is menopause finished, innit,” Alfie laughs, with Darren joining in.
“I still can’t believe someone of your caliber would lose to those wastes of space and time.” A voice says from behind them.
The two turn to see Valorie slowly approaching, wiping her hand clean of any blood and/or sweat that may have covered her hands. Her eyes fixate on the two men, shifting between Best and Button, though her focus falls upon Best for a longer duration.
Darren does a double-take, pointing at himself, and then looks at Alfie, smirking in a combination of disbelief and amusement.
“Excuse me?”
Alfie waves it off.
“Don’t worry, Dazza, she gave me the verbals, I don’t know what ‘er problem is, exactly, but ever since she teamed up wiv Reyn, she’s turned into a right sort, I wouldn’t worry abaht it.”
Button then turns to face Valorie, and shakes his head.
“You know what? I’ve never really liked ya, sumfing abaht ya, Valorie. Couldn’t quite put me finger on. A fake smile, but okay, benefit ov the daht and all that. But, nah, I can safely say you’re a pain in the ‘arris.”
Valorie just stands there as they talk about her, her gaze unwavering before she simply shrugs.
“Opinions are just that. Little thoughts that run through your head. However, I am just stating facts. And besides. I am just wanting to see if Best was okay with taking a loss via disqualification.” Valorie says, fixating on Best once more as she dusts off her cowboy hat and puts it back on before continuing.
“I’ve seen you, Darren. I’ve seen how you perform, your skills, and they are certainly something. But with those skills, you still lost, and by disqualification. Made me question those moves of yours, but at the same time, a DISQUALIFICATION win for them, is not a TRUE win. I merely came to tell you that I do hope to see you claim a TRUE victory, and not a half-assed one like they got over you… and make them realize their victory was half-assed”
Her gaze then fixates on Button, giving a smile that almost seems genuine, though the meaning behind it is anything but friendly.
“I know you don’t like me, all because I’m stating the truth. You and I still have a score to settle, though. Lest we have forgotten?” she says, crossing her arms.
Best remains calm while Button feigns fear, shaking, before turning his gaze to Valorie.
“Not forgotten at all, Vitality. Lookin’ forward to it, in actual FACT – pun most definitely intended, my dear.”
Valorie just stares at Button, gazing deep into his eyes before she gives a subtle smirk, moving past them calmly.
“Good… glad you haven’t backed down or forgotten. However, I must admit… puns are so unbecoming of you. The worst form of humor too if you ask me.” She says softly.
A pause; Vitality slowly turning back to look at Best once more with another smile, though it is obviously empty.
“And Darren… I do hope we can get in the ring one on one to test and gage your skills~”
Alfie stops Best by holding his hand up.
“No one asked ya what you fort abaht anyfing, Vitality. If you ask me, no one gives a monkey’s,” he declares.
Darren smiles, giving an answer to Vitality’s challenge: “Anytime “
Button snarls, “Yeah; anytime; anyplace; wiv eivver ov us;.”
Valorie pauses, not expecting Best to actually answer her, as she turns to gaze out of the corner of her eye. There is a grin on her face though as she hears his acceptance. All the two men see from her is a simple nod of approval before she walks away and turns the corner, leaving their sight.
MR. MERCHANDISE V VALORIE VITALITY
The camera shot shows Lucas Quinn flanked by The Mark and Allie Reece. Quinn, looking as immaculate as ever in a black suit, stares down the barrel. The Mark is still not quite with it.
“Before the next bout gets underway, Mark,” Lucas says turning to his partner.
“We’ve just received news that Paul Sanders has been taken to hospital, but he IS awake and lucid,” Quinn smiles.
“Thank God for that,” Deltzer exclaims.
Allie also smiles.
“See, I told you.”
“Up next, we have some one-on-one action between Mr. Merchandise and Valorie Vitality, and we’re joined by Darren Best. Nice to see you,” Quinn introduces.
“Thank you, Lucas, and to Mark and Allie, also. Mark, I’m happy for you man. Me and Alife have wrestled Paul and Kid many times, a great rivalry we’ve had, never any hatred, always about being the best, and yes, I know that sounds corny.”
The shoulder-length dark brown hair of Darren Best sits on his smart royal blue shirt and he’s wearing jeans, striking the right balance between smart and casual.
“It does,” Allie affirms.
“I know, but they’re great guys and I know what it’s like to have injuries as The Mark reminds everyone, and we’ve both suffered at the hands of Alex Reyn, giving us so many problems as we press on with our careers. The main thing is Paul’s health, but I know he’ll want to get back in there, it’s just what we do,” Darren states.
“Amen, Darren. I know that only too well. Thanks for joining us, but you won’t be alone, though, as you know Darren. We’re going to be joined by Keegan.”
The Englishman is in a grey suit with a black shirt, both top buttons open, and he nods at the three-pronged commentary team.
As Keegan approaches the desk and puts his headset on, Lucas smiles and comments.
“This is becoming a regular occurrence.”
“What’s that, Lucas?”
“I said this is becoming a regular occurrence,” Quinn repeats.
“Someone watched the last show back, and got their briefs in a twist, didn’t they?”
Darren interjects.
“Hey, you threw the first punch.”
“If I had, you wouldn’t be sitting here right now, son,” Keegan reasons.
“Is that a threat?”
“No, it’s a fact,” The Briton barks back.
“I don’t get the issue here,” Reece throws in.
Just then, Mr. Merchandise’s music hits, The O’Jays’ tune “For The Love of Money” and he gets a mixed reaction erring on the negative more than the positive, and he still has that cocky swagger about him. His two masked enforcers that protected him from suffering a clean loss to Darren Best, who is taking notice of them for a moment, are ordered back by their boss, who seemingly wants to go this one alone.
“If only he had done that at the last Domination,” Darren complains.
Meanwhile, Keegan finally makes eye contact with Allie.
“Yes, you do, because unlike him, I watch the show even when people aren’t talking about me, and I happen to know how much of a Deltzer you are for Valorie. Why has her attitude suddenly changed? Alex Reyn. Where does Alex Reyn show up? Everywhere this lad seems to wind up. Is that a coincidence? No. Let me finish, and then you can have your say,” Keegan holds his hand up to Best, itching to interrupt.
Merchandise, in the meantime, enters the ring and rotates his neck muscles, getting a feel for the ring by bouncing up and down and then doing a quick jolt from right to left, raring to go here.
“From The Bank, West Hollywood, weighing in at two hundred and twenty-four pounds…THE TOP SELLER, LAMAR SELLERS, MIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIISSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSTTEERRRRRRRRR
MERRRRCCCCCCHANDISE!”
“Go on.”
“When he was at his lowest ebb, and yes in case you didn’t know this, Gemini DID beat Alex Reyn not once, but twice, I don’t know if you got the memo or have ever heard that,” Keegan brings up.
“We had heard that,” The Mark sarcastically says.
“Good lad, I thought you might have. Who then offered a helping hand when Alex Reyn was down in the dumps? This MORON here,” Keegan points the finger.
“Moron?”
“I know we’re from different countries and all that, but aye, you heard me. I called you a moron, you were then, and you are now. Want the proof? Watch Valorie Vitality annihilate Mister Merchandise here, and make you look like a mug, in and out of the ring, and yes, I called you a mug. You know what it means – Alfie says it every hour of every day without fail.”
Brown announces. “His opponent…”
The argument ceases, for the time being at least, with the arrival of Valore Vitality.
Counting Bodies Like Sheep to the Rhythm of the War Drums” by A Perfect Circle plays, and the no-nonsense Valorie Vitality, sporting a blue-themed camo t-shirt tied at the waist to show a little bit of her stomach, tight yet comfortable black shorts, black combat boots, the dog tags of her deceased father, black fingerless gloves, and a red and blue sweat-band around her upper arm with the Marine’s symbol accompany her on her way to do battle with Mr. Merchandise.
“She looks confident, as she should be,” Allie observes.
“She’ll do a number on Mr. Merchandise, unlike Darren,” Keegan chips in.
“We don’t know that,” Best replies.
“The only person at this desk who doubts that is you. Sorry to ruin it for the fans at home, but it’s true,” Keegan declares.
Jason, please take our minds off that.
“Weighing one hundred and twenty-seven pounds, from San Antonio, Texas…VAAAAAAAAAAAALLLLLLLLLLORRRRRRIE VIIIIIIIIIIITALITY!”
“What an announcer he is, and Marcus, by the way. Both brilliant,” The Englishman applauds Jason.
Darren is seething at Special K’s comments, but for the sake of the two combatants, suffers in silence as the bell sounds and attentions turn to Lamar and Valorie.
A tie-up brings Merchandise and Vitality together, and Valorie gets down to business nice and early with a go-behind and an IMPACTFUL cobra clutch legsweep, which turns the ante up a notch or nice, yielding an early two-count.
Merchandise is already coughing violently, resembling a man who has been in the ring twenty-five minutes as opposed to twenty-five seconds. Vitality has no intention of letting up, depositing him in the corner and capitalizing on the situation with a corner choke, agreeing to relinquish control on the brink of 5 and disqualification as a result. Duncan Sullivan’s not the guy to try that with, though Valorie does anyway, complaining. She, in turn, gets no change out of GLOBAL’s master of the dark arts.
“I wouldn’t try that with Sullivan,” Keegan remarks.
She’s not happy that she has had to squash the submission/control spot and stands Merchandise up in the corner only to repeat the feat, extending her left leg over Lamar’s windpipe, threatening to take all of the breath out of his body, early doors.
“Look at that, Darren. Your fault right there,” Special K suggests.
“So, everything that happens in GLOBAL is my fault now, huh?”
“Everything that Alex Reyn does, and everyone he hurts, aye, it is…not to mention everything and everyone Valorie Vitality hurts, that also counts.”
“Is this because Reyn beat you?”
“Being clever, are we? So, let me shoot you down – yeah, yes, it is. Not because he beat me, but because he broke ALL of my fingers. That kind of has something to do with you, as well.”
“At least I tried to do something,” Best replies.
“Did I not try? I mean you were there, sitting in roughly the same spot as you are.”
Vitality mounts Merchandise, only for Sellers to shove Valorie off. Undeterred, Vitality is back, up and at Lamar, only to cop a reverse elbow from the corner for her overzealousness. Mr. Merchandise is fixed to make a serious breakthrough with a belly-to-belly supl-ands on the top rope!
“OH MY!” Allie exclaims, genuinely impressed by Valorie’s astonishing athleticism.
A springboard hurricanrana is on its way…SITDOWN POWERBOMB by Merchandise!
1…
2…
“Another thing, Darren. You tried to do what exactly?”
“You ran away, retired, and haven’t wrestled since. I’m still trying to stop Alex Reyn.”
“Guilty conscience,” the Newcastle native tells the New Yorker.
“Merchandise has to capitalize here, and I have to say I’m surprised he didn’t enlist his new team for the job here. Bravado, I wonder,” Reece contemplates.
A Boston crab is applied. However, Vitality isn’t too far away from a warm meal and a bed, refuge in the bottom rope, and Merchandise refuses to budge until, yes, you’ve guessed it…
“Four and a half, and turnaround is fair play,” Allie laments – or not.
Merchandise gets the green light from Sullivan and drags Vitality’s prone body into the center of the battleground for an…
S.
T.
OW!
No…Valorie twists Merchandise’s fingers before he locks them. Yelling in agony, Sellers retreats to the right-hand corner of the ring.
“Valorie Vitality is a mean, mean competitor,” The Mark claims.
A double tap axe kick exhibits a complete lack of compassion on Valorie’s part, reinforcing Deltzer’s aforementioned accusation, and she follows that up with an elbow drop and a kip-up, the latter drawing considerable jeers from the crowd, not that Vitality seems to mind.
“I don’t like this version of Valorie, but her potential is still incredible. She can be anything she wants to be,” Allie reckons.
“Thanks to that moron over there, she has turned out to be a complete dickhead,” Keegan butts in.
“We apologize for the language,” Lucas adds.
“I don’t, because it’s the truth,” the Englishman tells us, unapologetically.
Vitality vacates the squared circle momentarily to take a chance up top, and so it proves, for when she gets there…
“Merchandise may’ve been playing possum,” Reece points out.
“Smart strategy,” Best believes.
“A coward’s one,” Keegan quips.
Lo and behold, it proves. Merchandise is there to intercept, and it gets many of the GLOBAL Nation out of their seats and puts Valorie on the edge of hers with an outstanding belly-to-belly suplex, yes, he MORE than gets it this time.
“That was a thing of beauty and gives Merchandise a foothold in this match at last,” Lucas believes.
Sullivan commences his count.
1…
2…
“Darren, I don’t know how you can sit there, son. I really don’t,” Keegan shakes his head, dejected and disappointed.
3…
“I don’t know where all of this has come from, Keegan. I’ve always respected you,” Best responds.
4…
“Alex Reyn is a pesticide to this profession, something that should’ve been weeded out years ago, and you’ve allowed it to fester. For my money, you should BOTH be sacked. Fired, in case anyone here doesn’t understand the King’s.”
“We know that word,” Deltzer confirms.
“Fired?”
“Is there an echo in here or something? Has your hearing been affected, as well as your piss-poor judgment, and Quinn, don’t even bother apologizing for me. It’s this dipstick here who should be apologizing to you three, everyone in this building, and at home for allowing Alex Reyn to ruin wrestling,” Keegan rants.
5…
“Do we need to have a private conversation?”
6…
“What for? I’m saying it up front here to you and to everyone.”
7…
“This is the first time I’ve heard any of this.”
“You need a good hiding,” Keegan tells Darren.
“And you’re the man to do it?”
“Why not?” Keegan glares at Best.
Valorie sticks Merchandise with a roundhouse right that paves the way for another, and Sellers is visibly rocked by the purchase and power behind both blows. Buoyed, Vitality bounces off the left set of ropes and returns with interest, staggering Merchandise back with a BIG forearm strike.
“It’s a testament to Merchandise that he’s still on his feet after that,” Quinn claims.
Valorie whips Merchandise to the southern set of ropes and lowers her head a tad too early. Leave it to Mark to call this…
“MARKUP!”
The Harlem sidekick, in one fell swoop, floors Valorie, who is nursing her back, and the crowd, not fond of either competitor, seems to have taken sides with Merchandise for this one, and urges Lamar to capitalize on this breakthrough.
Lamar is now looking for Top S-unset flip! The fisherman’s suplex will have to stay on hold…
1…
2…
Merchandise drops down and ties both of Vitality’s legs up…
1…
2…
She counteracts that with a roll-up…
1…
2…
PELE KICK! Talk about being beaten to the punch – or kick, in this instance. Vitality is a hair faster, and it proves decisive for her and disastrous for Merchandise.
“Just when you think Merchandise is storing some money in the bank, Vitality finds a way to take charge,” The Mark muses.
As Sellers stumbles, Valorie follows up with a BIG BOOT.
“Whereas Vitality follows up on her good work, invariably, with something bigger and better, and that could do it,” Allie predicts.
1…
2…
NO!
“That wasn’t far away, and Vitality could be on the verge here,” Quinn states.
A sleeper hold could contradict Allie’s previous statement, your honor, but it’s a smart move considering, at least momentarily, as Lamar drives her back into the top right-hand corner with authority before turning around and laying into her with turnbuckle smashes. He unleashes a couple, but spurred on by the crowd, embarks on a series. However, Vitality stops him on five and throws a spanner in the works with a well-placed palm strike. Hers, unsurprisingly, are not counted, rather jeered, but Merchandise meets fire with fire and counters her counter with a palm strike of his own and the crowd picks up with…
SIX…
SEVEN…
EIGHT!
No, it’s not a dance routine.
Just in case you’re wondering, Keegan and Best are still out there as they’re about to remind everyone.
“How about it, then?”
“What’s that?” Keegan asks.
“Settle this, because it’s clear you’ve got a problem with me,” Darren argues.
Mockingly, Special K claps back at Best.
“FINALLY, it’s getting through. Like I said, you’re a moron, and if you think I’m scared of you in any way, shape or form, then you’re even dafter than I thought. Pick your time, place, and stipulation, and I’ll pound the piss out of you anytime you want, mate,” Keegan promises Best.
“Wow, I never knew any of this.
“Merchandise goes back to the well, or the bank in his case…” The Mark starts.
“Stop with all of the money references, PLEASE,” Reece interjects.
“Hey, one of my best friends…”
“That’ll only go so far for so long,” Reece bites back.
Not that it’s the only argument taking place.
“You couldn’t do any of this, could you? You’ve been in GLOBAL a year, and how many matches have you won?”
“How many have you won? The level of competition is unlike anything you’ve ever experienced, and I bet I could still beat you,” Best brags.
“Oh, aye? You think so? Why don’t you put your money where your mouth is?”
“I’m listening,” comes the New York native’s reply.
During all of this, Vitality is elevated onto the top rope and just as it looks she’s about to wriggle free, Merchandise unleashes an almighty knife-edge chop that the folks at the back of the building can hear, stabilizing her in the process. Perhaps that is poor word choice, because she appears to be set for a nasty fall, but then Merchandise joins her up top, not looking for a belly-to-belly this time, but another variation of the suplex…
SUPERPLEX!
“What these people do every fortnight for your entertainment, and sixty percent of the table knows it, the other forty percent appreciates it, and we sure hope you do at home,” Lucas waxes.
Sullivan, where are you?
One…
Two…
Three..
Four…
“Peace and quiet,” The Mark jokes.
“Keegan, Darren, can I get your thoughts on the match you’re out here to commentate on?”
“Sure,” Darren responds, realizing he has spent more time name-calling than appreciating the efforts of Merchandise and Vitality.
Five…
“Go on then,” Keegan butts in.
“Vitality is a great blend of flying and striking, but I think Merchandise, at times, has matched her.”
Six…
“No, he hasn’t,” Special K contradicts him.
“That’s my opinion,” Darren retorts.
Seven…
Eight…
“Could this end in a draw?” Allie voices her concerns.
Nine…
ONE…
TWO…
Valorie kicks out!
Merchandise’s roll of the dice almost pays off. He drags himself to his feet, and Valorie with him.
“Profit Margin,” Deltzer calls.
Merchandise’s neckbreaker connects, and rather than go for a cover, his outstretched arms hint at something else.
“You remember what this feels like?” Keegan asks Best.
The camel clutch…
The Merchan-and no! Valorie flips around first, catching the Californian in the mush with a heck of a kick, forcing Merchandise to rebound back off the ropes…
Small package.
1…
2….
Not quite.
Merchandise is up, though not for long.
Firstly, you take a double roundhouse kick and be sure to connect with the temple.
Then, showcase your agility while still adding to the woes of the opponent, courtesy of a stunning scorpion kick.
Add a final flourish with a spinning back kick, sure to take your partner off their feet after a beautiful, beguiling, bewildering blend of kicks, known as…
SWEET CHIN REMIX.
“Thanks for coming Merchandise, but your race is run,” Reece gravely predicts.
“Talk about adding insult to defeat,” The Mark shakes his head.
It’s a testament to Valorie’s skillset that her moveset contains no fewer than three finishers, and the one she decides to pick just so happens to be…
An STF camel clutch.
Coincidence?
Last Hoorah is on, and while Merchandise fights through the pain, both physically and to his pride, self-preservation prevails.
TAP, TAP, TAP!
“Merchandise, who you faced twice, has just tapped out to Valorie Vitality. Congratulations, Darren. She did in a matter of minutes what you couldn’t do in TWO matches, but I suppose I should give you an assist. That’s the only way you’re getting a win over Merchandise, isn’t it?”
Keegan takes his headset off and seems ready for a cool sharp Harp and hits the exit.
“Before you go, I want it no-hold-barred.”
Special K’s eyebrows raise.
“Well done, copying Reyn again, are we? Fine, mate. Just one thing, though, yeah? You’re not him, and you’re not her, either. You’re a shit-stirrer, not an arse-kicker, and I’ll do GLOBAL a favor and show you the difference.”
“No, it’s because you’re THE COWARD, Keegan. You gave up, you ran away from wrestling and trying to get rid of Reyn, which is why, like I said and listen to me this time, I’M STILL TRYING. Sure, yes, you’re bigger, stronger, whatever…but I’m braver, and you got your ass kicked by Reyn one time, whereas it’s happened to me MANY TIMES, and I’m still here, still fighting for justice.”
Keegan shakes his head and walks off, issuing one final thing in return.
“You’ve bitten off more than you can chew, and I’ll show you who the coward is. Get ready, because believe me, you’ll need to be.”
Best also takes his headset off.
“I’m sorry about that guys,” he apologizes.
Valorie holds on a bit longer, possibly to prove a point to Merchandise she’s superior, to wind the veteran Sullivan up, who begins counting, only for her to release the moment he hits two, and then her music hits. Cue boos.
She scales the turnbuckle, not seeking accolades that are most definitely not forthcoming.
“The winner of this contest…VALORIE VIIIIIIIIIIITALLLLLLLITTTTTY!!
Downtown Brown’s announcement is met with further jeering, which isn’t anything directed at our regular ring announcer, but Valorie isn’t pandering to the crowd, but rather glaring at them.
“What a change there has been in Valorie Vitality,” Lucas wins no prizes for stating the obvious, there.
“Still a tremendous talent, but sadly, that can no longer be said about her attitude,” Allie complains.
“You know why,” The Mark adds.
“I’d say it was a pleasure having Keegan and Darren Best out here, but let’s face it, it wasn’t,” Reece concludes.
“No, it wasn’t, and that’s a shame because they’re both nice guys,” The Mark explains.
“Don’t you mean blokes?”
“I’m not British, Allie,” Deltzer reminds Reece.
Lucas gets the train back on the track.
“Mr. Merchandise still fought well at times, but his hopes of GLOBAL domination will have to wait but an upset win over Best, a competitive rematch, and the rubber match is still there, despite the fact that it now looks like it’ll be Keegan against Darren Best in a cage four weeks from now, and a decent showing against Valorie. Who knows, if he had got HIS camel clutch instead of her, we may’ve been telling a different story here,” Quinn reckons.
“Credit to Mr. Merchandise, and he’s an excellent competitor in my book, you’ve not seen the best of him yet, a bit like Alfie, Kid and Darren Best for that matter, but, as much as we may’ve gone off Valorie Vitality, let’s not forget she has only been wrestling a fraction of the time any of those other guys have, and her trajectory is remarkable. She was the favorite coming into tonight, let’s not forget that, and she justified her status. What a future she has,” The Mark concludes.
“Sadly, you’re right, and I’m sad to be saying that,” Reece laments.
“Valorie Vitality with another fine win, building even more momentum, and Mr. Merchandise should also take confidence from that, and he lives to fight another day, richer for the experience,” Quinn closes.
THE SECOND TRIAL
The other day.
Giovanni Ferrari is back at it, heading the plain table in GLOBAL’s all-important yet soulless boardroom with white walls and, as usual, a bunch of old, out-of-touch gray-haired businessmen who’ve been hired because of who they used to be or what they knew. Worst of all, they no longer want him here, never have really, and everyone knows it. With that in mind, he braces himself mentally and puts on a fake smile.
“Gentlemen, we have Michelle Miller present with us today. She is Alicia Fawkes’s replacement,” he gestures to his left, Michelle, a brunette with too much lipstick and an abrasive manner about her, doesn’t acknowledge anyone before getting ready to stand up with a beige file in her hand.
Adam Hatt, the eldest man in the room at 91 years old, points.
“Who is she?”
Stationed next to him is Ray Young, who smiles and whispers Michelle’s name.
“I am Michelle Miller, and it’s a pleasure to meet you all. Giovanni asked me to present for you. Angel Ramirez, gentlemen, is a star. My predecessor knew it, and the numbers here show it.”
Ferrari interrupts her for a moment.
“She wasn’t in the ring by herself, Michelle. Son of Malta was there too, and he won the match.”
Miller nods.
“He was, but his numbers got a bump because of Angel. She’s young, fiery, ticks a lot of boxes among our demographic, and she produces great numbers. She’s one to look out for,” Miller asserts.
“Could it also be because of Alex Reyn?” Giovanni wonders aloud.
Michelle is trying to hold her frustration in at constantly being interrupted. It is, however, the boss after all.
“Yes, and that’s what I wanted to talk about. I believe we should allow Alex to do more of this,” Miller states.
Ray Young shakes his head and bangs his hand on the table before rising to his feet.
“Absolutely not. G, come on. Alex Reyn, with ANY type of power, is a terrible business idea. He’s a wrestler, and I use that term loosely, there’s no way he should be making matches for anyone,” Young protests.
Giovanni holds his hands up.
“I hear you, Ray, but let Michelle continue.”
Michelle gets the go-ahead from Ferrari.
“Alex Reyn, as many of you know, produces numbers.”
Young holds his hands up.
“Yeah, they all know it, but they realized the error of their ways, too. They wanted him in the Magnum Opus main event, and he’s a captivating figure, no doubt. But, if he has his way, he’d be the only guy on the roster. He’s not an asset to a major wrestling company. He’s a MASSIVE headache,” Young moans.
“And yet…” a certain headache said, “Your species seemed to be clamoring for that violence.”
He gives a small, cold smile to Ray Young. The door is open behind him, but by the looks on everyone’s faces, none of them had seen him walk in.
“I hear Malta’s last challenge pleased you?” He asks.
Everyone’s attention is directed towards the door immediately. Ray Young’s jaw drops, and the other board members rise to their feet as if they’re about to flee a burning building, but the man’s gaze glues them to the spot, too terrified to even try and escape the room that he has just entered.
Michelle Miller, the calmest person among the GLOBAL personnel at least, nods in agreement.
“Yes, it did, Alex. Very much.”
“Well then.” he says, tone and smile outwardly pleasant, even as he glares murder at each man in the room. “It seems we have a common interest. I require Malta warmed up and battle-tested before our match, and you need the spectacle that I can provide.”
Giovanni takes the stage, so to speak.
“What have you got in mind?”
“We continue these trials. Two more, progressively harder until he and I battle, I keep him sharp and focused, and the flies you keep buzzing around our battles enjoy the thrill of an escalating challenge. And…” he paused, eyeing some of the board. “Since some of you are apparently weary of my upcoming battle with Malta, I am willing to make a bargain. Should Malta fail in any challenge, then he clearly is not ready to face me and I shall allow you to cancel our battle. He can suffer in obscurity, and we will speak no more on the subject.”
There’s some chatter among the seniors on the panel, headed by Ray Young, but a brief look between Giovanni and Michelle Miller decides it.
Michelle holds her hands up.
“Whatever you say, Alex.”
“Thank you kindly.” he says, smiling as he bows and turns to leave the room.
Then he stops.
And slowly turns a cold, judging eye on the people in the room.
“Of course… if anyone interferes in Malta’s battles, I’ll know who to hold responsible.”
And he leaves.
ANGEL 'THE KID' RAMIREZ VS EL PRINCIPE
The first few bars of “So Rough, So Tough in LA” bring a cheer from the crowd in attendance, which only intensifies once the wrestler the theme song heralds steps through the curtain and onto the entranceway. Once again flying solo – with no Saul in sight – Angel Ramirez appears in ebullient spirits as she makes her way down the ramp, slapping hands and literally throwing herself into selfies with front-row fans, as Downtown Brown gives his usual over-the-top introduction.
“Ladies and gentlemen, the following match is scheduled for…ONE FALL! Introducing first, from East Los Angeles, weighing one hundred and twenty-six pounds…ANGEEEEELLLL…’THEEEE KIIIIIDDDD’…RAMIIIIREEEEZZZZ!”
“Two weeks after having set a record by being the first person to EVER break out of the Satan of Headlocks, Angel Ramirez appears to…have gone on being herself?”
“That’s what’s great about it, Lucas. My girl Angel knows you shouldn’t change who you are just because you’ve done something awesome or impressive. The challenge is to go on being who you were before – and I would say she’s nailing that part of it.”
“I completely agree, Allie.”
“Yeah, well, I’m still not convinced that wasn’t a fluke. This girl has a lot of impressing to do if she wants to continue being taken seriously…”
“She knows that, Mark. That’s why she took it upon herself to find a match here tonight – and give El Principe one in the process!”
“And speaking of El Principe…”
“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.
Blue and gold, like a cheap rip-off of a superhero, cover the entire body of El Principe, who calmly walks the aisle, getting some more cheers sprinkled in than he’s accustomed to.
“A talented technical wrestler, you never quite know what to expect from El Principe in terms of performance, even if everyone knows his strategy, and it’s a sound one, especially against someone like Angel Ramirez. He’s here to take her off her feet, not like some old-fashioned romantic, but cut her down to size, nullify her speed, and in this instance too, use his superior size, in terms of height and weight, to achieve victory,” Deltzer informs us.
“Our two competitors are in the ring, as is referee Gabrielle Harris…and we are ready to go!”
“Like in the opener, she’ll have her hands full here,” Deltzer adds.
As if on cue, Harris calls for the bell, officially getting the match underway. Rather than lunge at one another, however, the two competitors stall for a moment longer, as Angel offers her opponent a fistbump. Principe considers it for a moment, then reaches out…
…and grabs Angel’s wrist in a hammerlock, wringing it behind her back for a moment before connecting with a backbreaker.
“The oldest trick in the book from Principe, who draws first blood in this matchup!”
“Yes, Lucas, but the question now is, how is he going to… …are you kidding me?! A HEADLOCK?!”
The Prince of ‘Lucha’ is, indeed, attempting to lock Angel in just such a move – which she, predictably, has no difficulty getting out of.
“Seriously…after last week…he goes for THAT move?!”
“Maybe he didn’t watch the Main Eve—HUGE dropkick from Angel, sending Principe to the corner!”
Lucha Royalty hits the post back first, and the youngster quickly capitalizes by connecting with a basement dropkick. She then backs up a few steps and – before Principe can react – launches into a Bronco Buster!
“Well…to be honest…there are worse places to be than that…”
“MARK! Don’t be gross! Do you even know how old Angel is?”
“No…”
“…exactly.”
“Why? Do you?”
“That’s not the point, Mark. Think about what you just said.”
“What, that I don’t know how—oh. …OH.”
“Yup. You got there in the end. Well done.”
As Allie tries to make Mark Deltzer aware of the implications in his flippant comment, in the ring, Angel has finally dismounted Principe, though only long enough to reach in and pull him out of the corner and into an arm drag, which sends him sprawling across the ring. The Prince of ‘Lucha’ is, however, quick to spring to his feet, and when Angel runs in again, looking for a big boot, he finds him up on his feet, ready to catch her leg and send her sprawling with a dragon screw leg whip, which he then attempts to convert into a Figure 4 leg lock. Angel, however, is quick to react, mule-kicking Lucha Royalty in the midsection, then turning over onto her back and kicking both her legs up and out, once again hitting him in the chest area. This sends Principe reeling back long enough for the youngster to kip up to her feet and rush her opponent, bowling him over with a clothesline!
“Surprising strength in those strikes from Angel, who is the definition of ‘two hundred pounds of grit in a one-hundred-pound package!’”
“She said it herself, Lucas…she’s like a Transformer.”
“…a robot in disguise?” Lucas Quinn’s genuine puzzlement brings laughter from his announcing partners before Deltzer puts the discussion out of its misery.
“No, you freaking bozo. ‘More than meets the eye!‘”
“Oh…!” Lucas is, to his credit, gracious enough to laugh at himself. “Guess I just had the wrong part of the song, huh?”
“Yeah…” Deltzer is chuckling himself. “…genius!”
As this exchange is taking place, in the ring, Angel has sought to use her momentum to springboard off the ropes into a back elbow drop; Principe, however, once again shows all his cunning by quickly springing up and plucking her from mid-air into a release suplex, which throws the young Latina back-first into the center of the mat.
“Principe showing how experience and ring awareness can turn the tide of a match in a single move, right there.”
“Love him or hate him, Lucas, this guy is very good at what he does. He should definitely get more opportunities here at GLOBAL.”
“I agree, Mark. And who knows? Maybe this could be his Son of Malta moment. His claim to fame.”
“Well, first, he’s going to have to get by my girl Angel. And that’s not as easy as it looks. Just ask Son of Malta.”
Be that as it may, Principe definitely appears to have the upper hand at the moment, as he reaches down to retrieve Angel, pull her up to her feet, and set her up for a Blue Thunder Bomb. As he rotates into the move, however, Angel is able to somehow shift her legs so that they are around his head, and reverse the attempt into a headscissors of her own! Caught mid-rotation, Principe is sent stumbling into the ropes, and another bit of quick thinking from Angel throws him to the outside with a clothesline. Lucha Royalty has barely hit the floor before his opponent gets a running start and jumps over the ropes herself with a suicide dive, taking Principe down to the floor before he has even had a chance to fully get to his feet!
As is customary with suicide dives, however, the move takes its toll on Angel as much as it does on Principe, and the two contenders end up staying down for a long while, prompting the requisite count from referee Gabby Harris.
ONE!
TWO!
THREE!
FOUR!
Both competitors roll over and begin to pull themselves up.
FIVE!
SIX!
Both make it to their feet, but Principe is – for once – quicker, and pounces on Angel with a series of punches, putting the youngster on the back foot!
SEVEN!
Angel fights back, and manages to even the contest in her usual scrappy fashion, even landing a stiff headbutt, but Principe regains the upper hand by grabbing her by her long ponytail and repeatedly smashing her head against the apron!
EIGHT!
Principe aims a kick at Angel, for good measure, pushing her sideways along the ring apron, then hops onto the apron himself, connecting with a baseball slide just as she is attempting to pull herself up onto it!
NINE!
Principe smugly rolls under the bottom ropes and into the ring, to wait for the ‘TEN’…
…which never comes! Angel has somehow managed to clamber back onto the apron and just about throw an arm under the ropes and into the ring, beating the count!!
“ANGEL, IN THE NICK OF TIME, AVOIDING THE COUNT-OUT DEFEAT AT THE HANDS OF PRINCIPE!!!”
“She is not out of the woods just yet, though, Lucas…”
Indeed, after the momentary shock has passed, Principe is quick to react, giving Angel just enough time to get to her feet before stunning her with the Dolores Bell clap! The move has the desired effect, and Principe is able to pick up the woozy Angel, lift her onto the ropes, and then hop onto the middle rope himself, to connect with a springboard suplex!
“WHAT AN IMPACT from Principe!!”
“This is why Principe is dangerous. He has that perfect balance of technical skill and agility which is very hard to counter once he gets into his rhythm…”
And Lucha Royalty very much appears to be in his rhythm at the moment, as he rolls to his feet and once again brings his opponent up, only to hook her around the waist again and connect with one…!
…two!…
…three belly to belly suplexes in a row! He stays on top of Angel for the last one and hooks the leg, bringing referee Harris sliding in…
“El Tricolor connecting, and the first cover of this match from Principe!”
ONE!
TWO!
—NO! Angel kicks out!
“A close one there from Principe, but Angel survives!”
“That’s what she does best, Mark. She said it herself, not a half-hour ago!”
Despite her evasion, however, the youngster is still very much at the mercy of the older, more experienced, and infinitely more cunning Prince of Lucha Libre, who wastes no time following up on his pinfall attempt by looking for a submission. Retaining his hold on Angel’s leg, he begins attempting to turn her around, the better to set up one of the various leg submissions in his arsenal; once again, however, his young opponent is quick to react, swinging her other leg around in a motion resembling a prone crescent kick, which hits Principe square in the face, stunning him and causing him to release the hold.
“Principe’s strategy was sound there…take away Angel’s legs and you take away her speed, her evasion, and her ability to fly. Which, at that point, you might as well be wrestling a dummy. Just saying.”
“Harsh, Mark…but sort of true. If Angel has one flaw, it’s that she’s rather one-dimensional in terms of her offense…”
“…she’s an untrained teenager. What did you guys expect? She’s doing the best she can every time she’s out there. Cut her some slack!”
As Angel’s biggest defender comes to her rescue once more, in the ring, the Latina capitalizes on the opening she created by finally hitting the kick to the face of Principe that she has already been denied on a couple of occasions in this match; then, as the Prince of Lucha hits the mat, she vaults over him and onto the turnbuckle, where she takes no more than a moment to assess her distances before taking off with the Angel’s Flight moonsault…
….WHICH GETS CAUGHT BY PRINCIPE, WHO HAD BEEN PLAYING POSSUM!
“WHAT A REVERSAL by Principe, catching Angel in mid-air!!”
“And now the tilt-a-whirl…”
“…HEADSCISSORS FROM ANGEL!!!”
The crowd erupts in cheers at the sequence of reversals, which ends with Principe hurtling towards the corner once again. This time, Angel takes no chances, and launches into a handspring, connecting with the Prince of Lucha the moment he bounces off the turnbuckle. She then backs up a few steps before rushing in again, looking for a running knee smash…
…only for Principe to drop down, lift her up, and send her over the buckle to the outside!!
“Principe back in control now…and he may be going for…YES!! TOPE SUICIDA ONTO ANGEL ON THE OUTSIDE!!”
Like before, the move impacts the recipient as much as the taker, and Gabrielle Harris once again starts the standard count.
ONE!
TWO!
THREE!
FOUR!
Both competitors are on their hands and knees, each showing the toll this match is having on their stamina and body.
FIVE!
The two stagger to their feet, looking at one another with visibly more respect than before…
SIX!
…before each leaping for the apron!
SEVEN!
They jostle for position, each shoving the other away as they seek to be the first to climb the buckle…
EIGHT!
…until ANGEL SHOULDER-TACKLES PRINCIPE! The Prince of Lucha goes hurtling backward, and the Latina quickly scrambles into the ring…
NINE!
…as does her opponent, who somehow managed to keep his balance, with a little help from the steps and ring post!
“Another close count-out call, but I would be surprised if Angel let it end that way…”
“I don’t know, Allie…she says she’s all about survival…and that would allow her to survive, as opposed to continuing putting her body on the line…”
“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but…good point, Mark. I hadn’t thought of it that way.”
“Either way, this match continues…though I wonder how much more these two have to give to one another…”
As the two competitors start over, something surprising happens: PRINCIPE steps in, hand outstretched, looking to shake with Angel. The youngster is understandably wary, given the circumstances from earlier in the match, but eventually acquiesces, clasping hands with the Prince of Lucha…
…who does not take advantage in any way, merely clasping hers back and shaking it, in a sign of respect!
“There you have it. It’s official. Angel has made it. This is now a respect match.”
“And this crowd are loving it!”
Indeed, the fans are roaring as the two competitors start over after the handshake, with Angel, predictably, going on offence. She swings a running clothesline at Principe, but he drops down and sweeps her leg, sending her hurtling forward face-first. Before he can so much as capitalise, however, Angel rolls over onto her back and once again pushes him away using both legs, creating just enough space to allow her to kip up onto a vertical position. Principe, however, is right there, and scoops her up once again into a tilt-a-whirl backbreaker…
…which Angel once again evades, pushing the older wrestler into the corner! Then, as Principe turns around after hitting the corner, she leaps up, and sends him flying the other way with a hurricanrana! Principe is quick to get to his feet and rush over towards the corner once again…only to find Angel already in mid-air, and about to come down on him with a big crossbody!
“Angel’s Flight connecting! Hook of the leg!”
Gabrielle Harris slides in yet again…
ONE!
TWO!
—NO!
“Close, but no cigar for Angel Ramirez!”
“Principe is clearly starting to feel the intensity of this match, though…and Angel could well capitalize on that.”
Indeed, the Prince of Lucha is visibly beginning to slow down, and even appears winded, while his opponent, though tired, still appears ready to go the distance. This has an impact a moment later when Angel is able to roll off Principe and drop an elbow on him before Lucha Royalty even has time to catch his bearings. When he does, he gets caught with a jumping facebuster by Angel, finding himself face-first on the mat yet again!
“The quickness of Angel Ramirez continuing to do damage to El Principe!”
“Beat him through exhaustion…clever tactic from Angel Ramirez, I have to admit.”
“I don’t think she meant to, Mark. That’s just how the match went.”
“Well, now that it’s happened, it looks like she won’t miss her chance to use it in her favor…”
Indeed, by the time Principe gets up, Angel is already up on the near turnbuckle, ready to dive down with a seated senton, which connects flush. She is not through, however, and rolls out of the move onto a springboard fist drop off the near set of ropes, which connects. She then is just as quick to put some distance between herself and Principe, once again allowing the older wrestler to get up before dashing towards him.
This time, however, the Prince of Lucha is quicker on the uptake, and reverses the attack into a big back body drop, sending Angel over the ropes to the outside…or so he thinks. Angel is able to skin the cat, and hangs precariously from the ropes for a long moment before beginning to pull herself up onto the apron. Principe had been waiting for this, however, and dropkicks her through the ropes, sending her to the floor. The next move is a foregone conclusion…
“TOPE SUICI—NCREDIBLE REVERSAL FROM ANGEL!!!”
Indeed, the youngster has been quick enough getting to her feet that she is able to catch Principe with an uppercut straight to the jaw, sending him crumpling to the floor, and the crowd into a frenzy.
“Shades of Angel’s partner there, proving that even when he is not physically present, he is always right there with her…”
“We’ve seen her use that move before, in a far more desperate context…but she seems to have incorporated it into her moveset, to great effect!”
Indeed, Principe is still out cold from the reversal when Angel rolls him into the ring, placing him just so before leaping onto the apron herself, and from there, onto the turnbuckle. Once up there, she once again measures the distance between herself and Principe, making sure she got it right, before leaping off with the split-legged moonsault she calls Fallin’ Angel!
“Careful, Ange…Principe could be playing possum AGAIN!!!”
“Turns out he wasn’t! FALLIN’ ANGEL connecting, and here’s the cover!”
“Angel could have this one clean as a whistle, guys!”
Gabrielle slides in as the crowd counts along…
ONE!
TWO!
THREE!!!
..and the arena erupts!!
“SHE GOT IT! ANGEL GOT IT!”
“A HUGE win for GLOBAL’s youngest competitor, who continues to assert herself as one to look out for in the very near future!”
The crowd’s din very nearly drowns out both the announcers and “Downtown” Brown, who gleefully launches into his announcement.
“Ladies and gentlemen…the winner of this match…ANNNNGEEEELLLLL ‘THE KIIIIDDDDDD’ RRRRRRAMIRRRRRREEEEEZZZZ!”
“They’re going to have to stop calling her ‘The Kid’ if she continues to put on matches like this. Just saying.”
“Agreed one hundred percent, Allie. She is turning into one hell of a wrestler, worthy of squaring up to anyone in GLOBAL and beyond. Son of Malta found that out last time, and here tonight, it was Principe’s turn.”
“Speaking of Principe…”
The roar of the crowd becomes, if possible, even louder as the Prince of Lucha – now fully recovered – steps in to help Gabrielle Harris raise Angel’s arm in victory. The two are then seen exchanging a few words before Angel holds out a fist to her opponent on the night once again. This time, there is no trickery, and the two competitors share a fist bump, to the delight of the fans in attendance. They then continue to celebrate in the ring together, as the announcers reflect on what just went down.
“A fantastic competitive match between two contenders that looked a little bit mismatched going in, I must admit.”
“Shows you what we know, Lucas.”
“Indeed…”
It is on this admission of ignorance, set to a backdrop of Principe and Angel exiting the ring together, that the feed cuts elsewhere…
THE WHEEL'S OFF
The camera captures the boisterous laughter of Jimmy Classic and Trae Larkin as they share a moment backstage, hidden around a corner. As the camera zooms in, Jimmy Classic’s amusement is evident as he speaks.
“They just never seem to catch on, do they? The Rich Family, this so-called legendary wrestling clan, and yet, week after week, they fall for the oldest tricks in the book. Declan Rich was so blinded by his thirst for revenge that he left himself wide open, and once again, he became our victim.”
Trae Larkin, with a mischievous grin, decides to impersonate Declan Rich, mimicking the two-on-one attack from the last episode of Domination.
“I swear I heard him calling out for Freddie as we were dishing out a little tough love. Or perhaps he was calling for his mama; it was hard to decipher amidst all the tears.”
Jimmy Classic joins in, laughing even harder, playfully mocking Declan Rich with a crying tone.
“FFrrrreeedddie… Please, get up off that wheelchair.”
The laughter between Jimmy Classic and Trae Larkin continues, but as they catch their breath, Jimmy wipes away a pretend tear and adopts a more serious tone.
“You know, Trae, maybe we’re doing the Rich Family a favor. Teaching them some humility, showing them the ropes, so to speak.”
Trae Larkin nods, still grinning.
“Absolutely, Jimmy. They’ve been living in their family legacy for too long, thinking they’re untouchable. It’s about time they realize that in this business, everyone’s fair game.”
Jimmy Classic, with a sly smile, adds, “And our little demonstration seems to have ruffled their feathers. I bet they’ll think twice before underestimating the Prime Time Athletes again.”
Trae Larkin chuckles, “Or maybe not. It’s too much fun seeing them fall for it every time.”
The duo shares a conspiratorial glance, clearly reveling in the chaos they’ve caused within the Rich Family.
However, from out of nowhere, turning the corner backstage and leading the charge from the right side is Declan Rich, who stuns Trae Larkin with a right hand while Todd storms Jimmy Classic, flanking Declan with a right of his own and a scoop slam that Classic’s spine feels every bit of. Declan’s dropkick rattles Trae, though the moment Larkin senses Rags to Riches, just like the previous Domination, he rolls out away from the action like a scolded dog, and Declan clenches his fist in frustration, shouting.
“Enough’s enough…you’re everything wrong with your, MY generation, and when you lose, you learn nothing and still behave like brats. When you win, you do it through cheating, and the next time we wrestle, and it’s a case of when, not if, we’ll teach you a lesson you’ll never ever forget. I am SICK of hearing your names at our dinner table in Dallas, Texas. The fans here are sick of your antics, and it’s time…”
Todd points to the duo, who are now backing away, strategically sneering.
“That we kick the shit out of you,” he says, calling for the Prime Time Athletes to return. Declan looks somewhat annoyed at first and then nods as Todd approaches the duo. Still, before they can get to PTA for a second time, security guards swarm the area and provide a pretty effective blockade between The Rich Family and Prime Time Athletes. Declan, hands on hips, shakes his head as he points the finger at Larkin, and Todd struggles past one hapless guard, only to get restrained by another two, as a total of half a dozen stop an irate Todd and Declan while Donny looks on in the background.
You can hear Jimmy Classic scream over the mob of security guards.
“Go home and pray really hard. Because when we get through with you, there is no doubt all the Rich boys will be in a wheelchair.”
Trae Larkin smiles and tries to leap through the fray one more time but is quickly held back as the Rick Family realizes the position at hand. They back up, nodding and accepting Jimmy Classic’s verbal challenge.
A FORCE-FUL INTRODUCTION
The catering table. The meeting place for wrestlers in between matches, perpetually stacked with platters upon platters of delicious vittles, ranging from cold cuts to crinkle chips to anything in between. Is it any wonder this simple foldout trestle table is almost always bustling with activity and the chatter of conversation?
The present moment is no different, as a cluster of wrestlers shares a laugh over plastic cups of Coke and ham-and-egg sandwiches. At the center of it all, perhaps unsurprisingly, is GLOBAL’s youngest athlete, the street-tough yet good-natured firecracker called Angel Ramirez, currently gesturing wildly to her captive audience, as she re-enacts the final moments of her match with El Principe, moments before.
“I be like BAM! And he be like ‘oof‘! And Gabby be like ‘One! Two! Three!‘ And the crowd be like ‘YEAAAHHH!‘ And Downtown be like…” Here, Angel deepens her voice, to imitate that of the charismatic GLOBAL ring announcer. “’Ladies and gentlemen, the winner of this match, ANGEEEELLLL RAMIIIIREEEZZZ!!”
As the youngster pretends to celebrate, to another round of laughter, her partner cuts her short by placing a hand on her shoulder.
“Hey…I gotta hit the john for a minute, all right?”
Angel nods, but cannot resist pulling the older man’s leg. “Don’t think I don’t know what you doin’, Saul!”
“Huh?” Saul Morgan’s genuine puzzlement does not deter his young partner.
“Yeah. I know you go in there to smoke the shit without me. Cut that shit out, ‘ese’!”
This suceeds in getting Morgan to laugh – though not before feigning anger, and showing Angel the finger – and he takes off to the gents in a much improved mood. As for Angel, she turns back towards her assembled group of listeners and prepares to resume her story.
“So, anyway, after I was done celebrating, I be like, ‘yo, I wanna get my hot wings on!’” Angel reaches for just such a food item, waving it around briefly before consuming it all in practically one bite. “Good thing they got a shitload of those here, huh?”
So distracted with her meal is the youngster that she does not hear another group of co-workers approach at her back; as such, when they do address her, it causes her to nearly jump out of her skin.
“Hey, Ramirez…we heard you been looking for who did Morgan in?”
“I know who done him in!” The youth disposes of the chicken bone in her hand irritably, and begins to turn around to face the new arrivals. “An’ when I find ’em, I’m gonna…”
Here, the Latina stops short, her eyes widening in horror as her jaw drops slack.
“You’re gonna…what?” The woman with dark hair and a fringe smirks down at the teenager, as the half-dozen men behind her take a step forward, revealing the various weapons in their hands. “Go on, show us, you little gutter rat!”
Before Ramirez has time to so much as put up any form of defense, however, all six men hurtle towards her, brandishing their respective weapons. It does not take more than one shot from a steel chair to bring her down, however, and the other five members of the group quickly turn their attention towards Angel’s captive audience, who have not hesitated to jump in her defense. Both halves of the team known as the LA Express rush towards the armed men, as do all three members of Team United; unarmed and at a numerical disadvantage, however, they, too, fall prey to the armed squad’s all-out assault, as various forms of weapon shots soon send them hurtling down to the concrete floor beside the prone Angel.
The half-dozen victors then make as if to relax, but a shout from their leader alerts them to one final obstacle, which comes dashing round the corner, only to run face-first into a steel chair. Then, as the blur of motion resolves into the falling, unconscious form of Saul Morgan, the man wielding the chair – a hefty, girthy mountain of muscle – lets it fall across his injured arm multiple times, adding frankly excessive insult to injury. All of this is duly registered by the dark-haired woman’s phone, on which she has been filming the attack, and in front of which she now stands, addressing an unspecified but rather obvious audience.
“Get used to it, GLOBAL. This is how it’s going to be from now on. We have arrived, and not even the best of you will be able to stop us. See, these men…” She gestures towards the squad. “…these men were nothing on their own. Losers. Nobodies. But together…” She smirks, as do the men behind her. “…together, they are a Force to be reckoned with. Together, they will show everyone in this company what happens when employees get overlooked to the point when they’re ready to do something about it. Together, they will prove that the old sayings are true: that there is strength in numbers…and that might…makes Wright.” She gives the camera one last glare. “Don’t say you haven’t been warned…”
With that, she switches off the video recording function, jerking her head at her men to indicate they should follow her. Some more reticently than others, they all eventually comply, leaving the host of prone bodies strewn around the catering table as living proof of their immediate impact.
The catering table. The meeting place for wrestlers in between matches, perpetually stacked with platters upon platters of delicious vittles, ranging from cold cuts to crinkle chips to anything in between. For once, not bustling with activity and the chatter of conversation. For once, not a place of mingling, but a place of pain.
WHAT'S IN A NAME?
Moments after laying out a sizeable portion of GLOBAL’s tag team division – as well as some of its brightest up-and-coming stars – the group of six men led by a masculine dark-haired woman is seen celebrating in a secluded part of the arena, their whooping and hollering echoing off long-unused, leaky pipes, causing them to chitter and rustle with the steps of their fleeing inhabitants. The mirth is, however, abruptly cut short when the leader of the group enters the room, leaving any number of cheers hanging in mid-air as the joyous mood is replaced with one of palpable apprehension. The woman takes a long moment to pace a large circle around the group, silently studying their reactions, before finally speaking up.
“Squad…”
The men’s breaths all catch in their throat, only to be released by their leader’s next few words.
“…mission accomplished.”
No sooner has this statement escaped the woman’s lips than the hooting and hollering restart, several of the men exchanging high-fives and chest bumps, or even grabbing and shaking each other’s heads.
“Hoooo-wee!!” The tallest and largest of the men distills his feelings into a long, drawn-out holler, while his team-mate in the black and blue mask takes a more pragmatic approach.
“Yo…we gotta get ourselves a name, my dudes!”
This sends a ripple of excited agreement through the group – one which dies as quickly as it spawned, when the ringleader speaks up once more, barely bothering to hide her mirthful disbelief.
“A name? You maggots think you deserve a name?”
Stone silence falls over the group once more, as their leader begins to pace back and forth in front of them.
“You think following instructions without fucking up ONE TIME makes you worthy of being treated like a real group? Like real wrestlers? Like real people?” Then, at long last, the anticipated explosion arrives, bouncing wildly off the pipes and sending the myriad of tiny feet inside scurrying for their lives once again. “DROP DOWN AND GIVE ME FIVE HUNDRED!!!”
The men hasten to comply, immediately assuming planked positions on the concrete floor, but the woman is not done yet, continuing to berate them even as they begin to carry out their punishment.
“You want a name? I’ll give you a motherfucking name! How about the Snivelling Idiotic Maggot Patrol?” She snorts at her own joke, before becoming deathly serious again. “Because that’s all you are. S.I.M.Ps. And no amount of laying out teenagers with chairs is gonna change that.”
“…then what will, Ma’am?”
The question, huffed and puffed in-between push-ups, catches the dark-haired woman completely by surprise.
“What did you just say?”
“I asked…huff…what will…puff…change it…huff…Corporal Wright, Ma’am.”
By the time the girthy man finishes saying these words, the woman he called Corporal Wright is already looming over him, an unreadable expression on her face.
“Did you just question your commanding officer, Dann?”
“No, Ma’am…I mean, yes, Ma’am…” The man named Dann appears clearly nervous, and struggles to regain his composure as he attempts to clarify his hesitation. “I mean, I did – huff- ask a question, but I -puff- I meant no disrespect by it, Ma’am. Genuinely -huff- curious, Ma’am.”
For a moment thereafter, the woman named Wright appears to be considering whether or not to rip her subordinate to shreds; eventually, however, she settles for a glower, as she actually deigns to answer his question.
“’What will change it‘ is you maggots doing more than one thing right, once in your pathetic lives. ‘What will change it‘ is you becoming what I just told everyone in the company you are going to become. ‘What will change it‘ is you living up to the standard I expect from a squad I trained myself. When that happens, maybe I’ll consider letting you snivelling morons pick your own name. Until then, you are S.I.M.Ps. My S.I.M.Ps. And I get to choose what you’re called, and whatever else I feel like choosing. Are we clear?”
“Ma’am, yes -huff- Ma’am!” The girthy man would clearly have saluted, had he not needed his hands to retain his planking position on the floor. His acknowledgment seems, however, to be enough for Corporal Wright, who nods, though not without shooting him another glare.
“Good. Any further questions. cadet?”
“Ma’am, no – huff – ma’am!”
“Good. Because that one just earned you an extra two hundred push-ups.”
With that, the instructor walks pointedly away from her groaning trainee, raising her tone as she addresses the remainder of her squad.
“As for the rest of you maggots….please tell me one of you worthless pieces of trash grabbed that platter of wings the little mongrel was stuffing her face with back there?”
The uneasy, embarrassed silence that falls over the room tells the dark-haired drill sergeant all she needs to know, and Wright groans with fury and frustration.
“And you WORTHLESS IMBECILES want to be able to make your own decisions?” The instructor throws both hands in the air in helpless despair. “You’re lucky I don’t kick each and every one of you right where it hurts!”
This threat has the six men in Wright’s squad exchanging uneasy glances, even as they continue to do push-ups; the drill sergeant, however, does not follow through with it, instead settling for opening a box of protein bars, which she munches on as she watches her squad suffer the consequences of having free will and independent thought.
A DESERVING OPPONENT
Pre-Recorded. The office of Giovanni Ferrari
Addressing the GLOBAL audience, Giovanni Ferrari sits behind his desk, smartly dressed in a suit and tie.
“Ladies and gentlemen, one man has been standing out above all others as a deserving contender for the world heavyweight championship number one contender’s spot. He is a man that shows up week after week, and a man who refuses to lose. This man has the longest undefeated run in GLOBAL history. In fact, he is undefeated.
“That man, of course, will challenge “The Legend” Sean Darring this very evening. And the GLOBAL World Heavyweight Championship will be on the line.
“That man…
“Is none other…
“Than…
“Alf Alferson.”
The audience in the arena cheer and applaud, beers are thrown around as the audience bounce up and down excitedly. This will be a match for the ages.
After Sean Darring’s first ever loss in GLOBAL, he is to face the man with the longest winning streak in the company’s history.
And what’s more, the title will be on the line.
TURNING THE TABLES
Somewhere backstage, Angel Ramirez and the ragtag group of similar-minded wrestlers who attempted to help her fight off her assailants earlier on in the show – comprising the teenage Latina and the tag teams known as Team United and LAX – stand facing a camera, presumably set up by themselves, if the lack of GLOBAL’s official interview backdrop is anything to go by. Each of the six wrestlers sports the cuts and bruises from their brawl from earlier, but is otherwise fully cognisant; in fact, a fire burns in each set of eyes which would have been impossible to muster by anyone not fully in control of their senses. It takes no more than a moment for this intensity to be translated into words, as a livid yet defiant Angel brings the microphone to her lips.
“‘Que pasa, pendejos?’”
The young Latina compounds this insincere greeting by holding up a middle finger, which remains in place all throughout the next part of her speech.
“You really thought you was gonna keep us down?” Angel chuckles derisively. “Nah, fam. We don’t stay down that easy. Everybody know that. Valorie know that, PTA know that, Rich Family know that…Son of Malta sure as BLEEP know that…and now…you ’bout to know that too.”
Nods and sounds of agreement ripple through the group of male wrestlers, as their improbable leader continues her address.
“That’s right, ‘pendejos‘. Not only we not stayin’ down…we callin’ all yo’ asses OUT. Next show…” Angel sweeps a hand around to encompass her assembled allies. “…six of us…” She points outwards towards the camera. “…against the six of you.” She then indicates each separate cluster of wrestlers. “These three guys against three of your guys…these two guys against two of your guys…” Finally, she points at herself. “…an’ me against you, ‘pinche puta de mierda’.”
Her eyes scorch the lens once more as she steps in closer to it.
“That’s right. I’m talkin’ to you, Karen. I know you callin’ the shots with those guys. There’s an East Side ass-kickin’ with ya name on it – an’ I’m your motherBLEEPin’ DoorDash driver.”
The male wrestlers all chuckle, but Angel still appears in no mood for mirth.
“So that’s what’s up. You know what we want. You try to do my boy Saul last time, then you try to do me…now I’m gonna do you.” Angel once again flips a bird to her invisible interlopers. “See you in two weeks, ‘pendejos‘…if you got the ‘huevos‘.”
With that, and one final bird flipped towards the camera, the youngster and her white knights march off screen, leaving the weight of her last few words to linger in the air for whom it may concern.
SON OF MALTA V XIANG
The following singles match is set for one fall!” Brown shouts. “Introducing first… from Beijing, China, weighing in at 221 pounds, accompanied by The Great Wall. Representing The Xiang Dynasty… this… is… XIANG!”
“War Dance” by Shen Yi.
“The Trials of The East Wind continue as The Son of Malta faces Xiang tonight!” Quinn calls as Xiang makes his way to the ring in his usual yellow and red tracksuit.”
“And of course, we’ve got Reyn himself watching this match from the crowd.” The Mark points out.
“L -innu Malti” hits the airwaves as the Son of Malta walks stoically to the ring.
“Malta has been on a roll lately, going through Gordan Gaines, The Health Fanatics, and even Angel, but with his battle against Reyn looming on Sunday, you can’t help but feel the East Wind might be trying to fatten Malta up like a calf to be slaughtered.” The Mark comments as Allie snorts.
“That’s EXACTLY what Reyn is doing. But that arrogance could backfire. Everyone Malta beats raises his momentum higher and higher.”
Both men are in the ring and the official calls for the bell
DING! DING! DING!
The two lock up, Malta gets a waistlock early, but Xiang is able to counter it into a top wrist-lock.
“We’ve heard Xiang call himself “The Artist of War”. This is his chance to prove it against a wrestler as technically sound as Malta.” Allie observes.
“He’s doing well so far.” Quinn compliments, staying neutral as Xiang chains the wristlock into a hammerlock, and then an attempt at the Sun Tzu DDT (Snap DDT), but Malta counters with a fireman’s carry.
As the two roll to their feet, they seem to be eyeing each other up appraisingly.
“Xiang showed some good chain wrestling there, but Malta’s fighting background gives him an explosiveness that Xiang will need to keep an eye on,” Quinn says, breaking it down for the fans at home.
As the two circle, Malta gets a little too close to the side of the ring that The Great Wall is outside, and The Wall makes a grab for his ankle.
“Hey!” Allie protests, but the distraction is enough as Xiang charges in and hits a running forearm!
“And THERE’S the X-Factor in this match.” The Mark says. “You’re not just fighting Xiang, you’re fighting his bodyguard as well.”
“Reyn doesn’t look too happy about that.” Allie notes.
Indeed. Reyn had gone from a neutral expression to a white knuckle grip on the railings and a raised hackle snarl aimed at the rule.
“Yeah, he hates it when people interfere. Freddie could have told you that.” The Mark says.
Meanwhile, Xiang has taken advantage of this with a reverse dragonscrew. He drags Malta to the centre of the ring for a spinning toe-hold, but Malta is able to get separation with some hard kicks to Xiang’s lower back using his other leg.
“Looks like Xiang’s going after that famously injured knee,” Quinn reports as both wrestlers stand up, Malta is a little unsteady, which lets Xiang take the initiative with a side headlock. Malta backs them both up into the ropes, using that leverage to shoot Xiang off into the other side. He throws a clothesline at Xiang, but the usual manager is deceptively quick and ducks under, hitting the ropes to take out Malta’s knee with a running dropkick!
“And another good shot by Xiang, this time without The Wall’s help!” Quinn says, and even Reyn looks slightly respectful.
Xiang is focusing on the knee as he hits two kneebreaker stomps in sequence before going for a Muta Lock!
“Muta Lock! You don’t see that often!” Quinn says, obviously impressed.
But even as Xiang pulls back on the upside-down facelock, Malta displays his relentless resilience, reaching back, he grabs Xiang by the face with one hand and SMASHES the back of his head into the mat! Over and over again until Xiang releases his grip!
“That is a BRUTAL countermove by the Son of a Malta!”
“Brutal, but effective Quinn.” The Mark says “Malta’s a fighter, he’s learnt the art of doing what works.”
Now Malta shows his innovation, grabbing Xiang’s arms for an upside-down Maltese Cross (Straightjacket Crossface) with Xiang in the Muta Lock position!
“Maltese Cross! He got the Maltese Cross from a Muta Lock!” Delzer cheers, while Quinn is more reserved.
“Not quite. He won’t be able to apply full pressure from this angle, but it will still hurt.”
Malta is able to fully escape the Muta Lock, He stands up, crossing Xiang’s arms to try and et the Cross properly applied, but Xiangleans into Malta to throw him over his shoulder judo style!
“Xiang not going down without a fight, but Malta is still holding those wrists!”
An angered, and perhaps desperate Xiang stomps down at Malta on the mat, but the Son of Malta is rising THROUGH the stomps, tanking them even as he returns to his feet, still refusing to break his grip on Xiang’s wrists! Even a double-arm knee from Xiang isn’t enough to knock him loose! Xiang can feel his arms being crossed over! He can’t compete with Malta’s sheer strength!
He barks out something in Chinese!
MALTESE CROSS IS LOCKED IN!!
“Malta could win this!”
Wait!
THE GREAT WALL IS ENTERING THE RING!!
The referee sees this! He immediately moves to stop the wall from coming into the ring! The wall is yelling words in broken English, the camera picks up him repeating “Brass Knuckles!”
“Is The Wall trying to claim Malta had Bras Knuckles? Good luck fooling the ref with THAT?” Deltzer scoffs.
“Who cares!” Allie snaps “That was Malta’s moment, you dolt!”
Indeed. Without the ref to see it, it doesn’t matter if Xiang does tap now, and Malta realises it.
Unfortunately, his moment of hesitation lets Xiang throw his head back! Smashing the back of his skull into Malta’s jaw and the bridge of his nose!
“Ah! And right after he got his teeth replaced!” Allie winces.
The referee has made his call. The Great Wall is ejected from ringside!
“Xiang used the wall to get out of certain defeat, but it looks like he won’t be able to use that trick twice,” Quinn comments.
“Yeah, but it’s put him in a great position,” Mark notes as Malta stumbles against the corner, unable to see as his eyes are watering from that headbutt.
XD KICK (Corner Yakuza Kick (Triad Kick?)) FROM XIANG!!
No!
Malta catches his foot!!
“Malta might not be able to see, but his instincts are on POINT!” Quinn cheers as Reyn gives an approving smile from the crowd.
But then Xiang rolls Malta up into a half-crab!
“What a counter by Xiang!” Quinn calls.
Xiang leans back! Wrenching on Malta’s bad leg!
“Malta has been on a roll ever since Season 2 began. Can you imagine what it would do for the Dynasty if Xiang is the one to stop his momentum here?”
Xiang has transitioned from a Half-Crab into an STF, grinding his forearm against Malta’s face to further impair his vision. However, Son of Malta is able to slip out and try to grab at Xiang’s leg, but the Artist of War lashes out and catches Malta with a kick to his bad knee!
Malta falls to one knee and Xiang hits the ropes, coming in with a sliding kick!
COVER!! XIANG HOLDS THE BAD LEG!!
ONE!!
.
.
.
TWO!!
.
.
.
MALTA KICKS OUT!!
“Xiang has been on FORM in this match!” Quinn says. “I don’t think I’ve seen him look this good in a long time.”
“Yeah, but… did he start improving his training, or has he ALWAYS been this good?” Mark wonders.
“Deltzer might have a point,” Allie adds. “Xiang has always called himself “The Artist of War”, we know he’s a strategist, and he’s clearly in shape, so we know he works out, but he usually lets his muscle handle business for him. But now he has a chance to get some real glory for himself, and I think we’re getting a glimpse of what HE can really do.”
Xiang is looking for a figure-four, but Malta is able to kick him in the back of the knee, causing him to fall back into a waiting COQUINA CLUTCH!!
No!
XIang rolls it into a pin!
ONE!!
.
.
.
TWO!!
.
.
.
THRE-!!
.
.
.
MALTA NEARLY GOT PINNED THERE!!
They’re up on their feet! Xiang tries for the Sun Tzu DDT, but Malta counters with a sudden Northern Lights suplex! He doesn’t have the leg strength to bridge, so he has to pin the old-fashioned way!
ONE!!
.
.
.
TWO!!
.
.
.
XIANG KICKS OUT!!
“That second of crawling into position bought Xiang some time,” Quinn notes.
“Yeah, but what a counter from Malta!” Deltzer praise. “Xiang didn’t expect that at all!”
“Well said Mark” Quinn says “Xiang has been doing a masterful job of controlling this match so far, but you CANNOT look past Malta’s resilience and fighting spirit.”
Speaking of, Malta is looking for the Maltese Cross, only for Xiang to catches him in the small package!
ONE!!
.
.
.
TW-NO MALTA ROLLS IT THROUGH INTO A DEADLIFT VERTICAL SUPLEX!!
“Wow!”
No!
His knee gives out! Xiang lands behind him! Chopblock! Malta anticipates it and leapfrogs over, but tweaks his knee on the landing!
Xiang takes advantage, hitting the ropes and coming in with a spinning wheel kick!!
…But even as the foot blasts Malta in the face, the Fighting Zone veteran grabs a hold of Xiang’s waist, rolling back with the impact and managing to lift Xiang up with a DEADLIFT GUTWRENCH GERMAN WHILE BALANCING ON ONE LEG!!!
“WHAT A SUPLEX!!” Deltzer yells!
Both are up. Xiang is stumbling to his feet, looking utterly punch drunk after being dumped on his neck by the Son of Malta who increases the punishment with a forearm to the jaw, followed by another! And another! And another! A barrage of heavy shots that backs The Artist of War into the ropes!
“Malta is taking control!” Quinn calls.
But Xiang is crafty and drops low, grabbing the front of Malta’s singlet to pull him throat first into the top rope! As Malta reels back, coughing and spluttering, Xiang fires of a superkick to his chi-!
MALTA CAUGHT THE LEG! ANKLE LOCK!!
“And Malta gains control again!” Quinn calls!
Xiang tries crawling to the ropes, but Malta walks them back to the centre of the ring, only this allows Xiang to counter with a rolling kneebar in the middle of the ring!
“Kneebar! Imagine if Xiang beats Malta by submission!”
The hold has been applied securely to Malta’s injured knee and the agony is evident! A lesser man would tap then and there, but the Son of Malta is NOT a lesser man! He manages to twist his body weight to relieve pressure, pushing his good foot against one of Xiang’s grapevining knees, using the leverage to pull his targeted leg free of the hold as the crowd cheers. Including a slow clap from Reyn.
“Malta escapes, but how much damage did Xiang do to his leg?” Quinn wonders.
Xiang seems eager to take advantage, looking for the superkick that was thwarted earlier, but Malta will NOT give him the satisfaction!
STEREO SUPERKICK! BOTH ARE DOWN!!
The two land on the mat! Will we have a double down?
No! These two are too proud for that! They’re already crawling to their feet, using the ropes for support. Xiang is able to find his footing a little quicker and springs off the second rope with a springboard Tornado DDT!!
He spikes Malta! Rolling the DDT into a Small Package! Pressure is on Malta’s bad leg! Xiang has the tights hooked!
ONE!!
.
.
.
TWO!!
.
.
.
THREE!!?
.
.
.
MALTA POWERS OUT AT THE LAST MILISECOND!!
“Xiang nearly halted Malta’s momentum right here!” Quinn exclaims!
Frustration is growing in Xiang’s eyes, annoyance at Malta’s stubborn refusal to stay down! He slaps Malta across the face! Another slap! Another slap! Trying to put this peasant in his pla-
DISCUS CLOTHESLINE TURNS XIANG INSIDE OUT!!
The crowd pops at that! Malta collapses to his knees after putting weight on his leg to fire that shot, but Xiang has gone from arrogance to a scrambled retreat as his head is ringing from that blow! But even as he retreats to his corner, Malta keeps coming! No matter WHAT Xiang tries, Malta KEEPS coming!
He’s got Xiang’s wrist! Looking for Matlese-No!
Xiang kicks out his leg! Pulls Malta face-first into the turnbuckles!
He retreats to the opposite corner! XD KICK TO THE BACK OF MALTA’S HEAD!!
“What an impact!”
Xiang is looking to FINISH this match! He throws Malta out of the corner and climbs up top! He yells at the veteran to stand up!
BLOOD RED SUNSET (Diving Codebreaker)!!!
MALTA CAUGHT HIM OUT OF THE AIR! POP-UP MALTESE CROSS!!!!
“THE POWER OF MALTA!!” Quinn cheers!
The Cross is finally locked in! No Wall to save Xiang this time! He tries to get his foot under the rope, but Malta rolls them into the centre of the ring and there is nowhere for Xiang to go!!
XIANG TAPS OUT!!!
DING! DING! DING!
“That was a HELL of a win by Malta! Can we get the replay on that!” Mark cheers.
As the final counter from Malta plays on the Tron and the fans screens at home, Quinn gives his soundbite.
“He may not be your favourite wrestler, but Xiang put up one hell of a fight tonight, but it just wasn’t enough. Try as they might, whether it’s the Health Fanatics, the Xiang Dynasty or Angel Ramirez, Malta is coming for Reyn, and it doesn’t look like there’s ANYONE who can stop him!”
THE INQUEST
Immediately after Alex Reyn has left the office, earlier, following on from The Second Trial.
Ray Young, disappointed at the result of Reyn getting his way, stands up and shakes hands with Giovanni as the other board members file out, not bothering to say farewell.
“You’re the boss, but I think that was the wrong call, Let me finish, G,” Young asks as he senses Giovanni’s response is imminent.
“No matter what I said before, and I stand by it, I did notice something I wanted to share with you,” Young’s voice drops, paranoid that they’re being listened to, even if there’s no one in the office with them.
“He’s getting softer,” Young declares.
Giovanni’s taken aback by that statement, and gestures with his head outside.
“Who? Hatt?”
“NO,” Young immediately puts his hand to his mouth, realizing that was a little too loud.
“Reyn. He’s still off, creepy, scary, and you can see how he intimidates everyone when he walks in the room, BUT, his threats weren’t as direct as they usually are. It felt more like a negotiation than an ultimatum, I don’t know, just a feeling I got that he’s changed. I can’t put my finger on it,” Young rounds off.
“Interesting. And him?” Giovanni nods towards Hatt, who is getting a coffee outside.
“I’m working on him. He’s almost there on David. I mean, it was a hard sell at first, because while his memory isn’t what it was, he just so happens to remember all of the praise I’ve given Darring, so going back on that wasn’t easy.”
Intrigued, Ferrari asks.
“How did you manage it?”
“I didn’t tear Darring down. I built David up. I said he was involved in the rivalry of the year, not only that, but he won it, and he’s a dangerous guy, which he is.”
“Think he can beat Darring?”
Young contemplates that for a moment.
“Real talk? Can he? Yes. But, it’ll be difficult. It could depend on what type of match it is, if you know what I mean.”
Giovanni smiles.
“Go on…”
Young leans in.
“The right stipulation and David has a huge advantage. BUT, the experience and know-how of Darring is off the charts.”
“Like you, right?”
Young shrugs his shoulders.
“Well, if it fits, but he can still go. I carried on too long, and suffer.”
Ferrari’s eyes bulge.
“You look great, Ray,” he compliments the 19-time champion, gently squeezing Young’s shoulder.
“I feel it, and sometimes, I dream about twenty. Just to go one ahead of that damn Chris Hopper,” he laughs.
“Can you convince Hatt go all in on David by the time they face each other?”
Young nods.
Ferrari mirrors that with one to himself, pensive.
“Need me to do anything?”
“You could make a statement about what type of match it is, and I’ll get it across to Hatt that Darring can’t win, whether he does or not.”
Ferrari looks surprised.
“It’s a risk.”
“Everything in life is. Neither of us got to where we are without taking a risk, G,” and now it’s Ray’s turn to slap Giovanni on the back before leaving the room and also leaving Ferrari to reflect some more.
GLOBAL CHAMPIONSHIP - SEAN DARRING V ALF ALFERSON
The audience buzz with anticipation. About to step from behind the curtain is the current reigning World Heavyweight Champion, ‘The Legend’ Sean Darring.
The entire arena plunges into darkness. Several seconds pass and the audience fall to an eerie silence.
Then, from the silence comes a familiar voice.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” begins ‘Downtown’ Jason Brown, “Introducing tonights special guest ring announcer, Bruce Buffer!”
The ring is spotlit showing a well-dressed Bruce Buffer, microphone in one hand, a cue card in the other. At the edge of the spotlight, wearing a white vest that is a few inches too short for his stomach and is stained around the neck, loose jeans and a cap that has seen better days, is the number one contender for the GLOBAL Championship.
The crowd go wild.
Bruce Buffer holds the microphone to his lips.
“Ladies and gentlemen. The following match is scheduled for one fall and is for the GLOBAL World Heavyweight Chhhhhhhhampionship!”
The crowd cheer once again.
“Introducing, FFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFfffffffighting out of the corner to my left!” Buffer gestures towards Alf Alferson’s corner, which is immediately spotlit. Unfortunately, Alf is standing just outside of that spotlight, too. “Undefeated in all competitive matches, the NUMMMMMMMMMber one CONTENDER. AAAAAAAAAAAAAALLLLLLLLLLLLLF ALFERSONNNNNNNN!”
The crowd cheer, a ‘Lets go, Alfie!’ chant echoes around the arena, almost drowning out the famous voice of famed ring announcer Bruce Buffer. But he has never been overshadowed before, and he isn’t about to start now.
“And MMMMMMMMMMMMMMMAKING hiswaytothering…”
The music of ‘The Legend’ blasts through the arena PA system.
“Your REIGNING, DEFENDING, UNDISPUTED GLOBAL HEAVYWEIGHT CHAMPION OF THE WORRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRLD. ‘THE LEGEND’… SEANNNNNNNN DARRING!”
Darring steps out onto the ramp. He seems more stern than usual, forgoing the polite smile or appreciation of the audience. He paces towards the ring, up the steps, and straight into the ring, holding his title over his head as he stands in the spotlight of Bruce Buffer.
Bruce looks the champion up and down and directs him to his own corner.
“Ladies and gentlemen…” Bruce resumes as Darring’s music ends.
“IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIT’S TIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIME!”
Bruce leaves both the spotlight and the ring as the bell rings. At that exact moment the normal lighting is resumed.
Standing directly behind Alf Alferson, much to the surprise of everyone in attendance, is Jerry David. His eyes black and glazed, his mouth foaming at the corners, a sledgehammer in hand.
WHACK!
Alf Alferson takes a sledgehammer to the back of the head! He immediately collapses to the ground and the bell sounds.
Alf Alferson has defeated the GLOBAL World Champion via disqualification!
But that isn’t the end of this story, as without missing a beat, Jerry David takes a wild baseball swing with the sledgehammer, aiming for the face of the champion!
Darring ducks the blow and as Jerry swings around, Darring tosses his title to the ground and boots Jerry in the midsection.
Revenge for his fallen friend, Steve Blaine is surely to foll–
MY GOD!
A SLEDGEHAMMER SHOT TO THE SCROTUM!
Darring is down, holding his gentleman’s agreement and howling.
Jerry tosses the sledgehammer and leaps on top of Darring, smashing him in the face with closed fists over and over until all fight falls out of the champion’s body.
Jerry then starts with the elbows across the forehead, opening op Darring, blood spilling across the canvas!
“Worship at the alter of Lord Fritos!” he screams before aiming another elbow at Darring’s head.
“Sit at the feet of The Maize Man!” he screams, smashing Darring with another elbow.
Jerry rolls off Darring, lying on the mat next to him, catching his breath.
Darring is MOTIONLESS.
Jerry David is talking to himself. Muttering. Speaking in tongues.
A few moments of stillness pass before Jerry gets back to his feet and gathers up the sledgehammer. He kicks the side of Darring, checking to see if he’s ready to fight back, but there is nothing left. The champion is out!
Jerry grabs Darring by the hair, pulling him up to his feet. He drops the sledgehammer back to the ground and pushes Darring up against the ropes.
Jerry David is typing Darring up in the ring ropes! The middle rope is pulled over the arms of Darring, tying him up!
Jerry goes back to the sledgehammer, admiring its thick, heavy head.
He turns to look at Darring and wraps his hand around the head of the hammer.
Jerry runs across the ring, bounces off the ropes, and charges towards the bloodied, limp Darring. He flies through the air, hitting THE PUNCHLINE!
Superman Punch to the face of Darring!
The sledgehammer flies out of Jerry’s fist as he rolls to his feet.
Jerry David snatches up the world title from the ground, holding it high above his head to a chorus of boos.
He tosses the title to the ground, taking one last look at Darring, whose head lies limp, blood dripping to the canvas.
EMTs rush to the ring along with officials. The officials direct Jerry David from the ring. He seems confused. Tired.
Jerry David lies down and slowly rolls from the ring before collapsing to the ground.
Another set of EMTs rush down to tend to Jerry David, who appears to be…
…sleeping.
“Your WINNER,” comes the voice of Bruce Buffer, “by way of DISSSSSSSSSSSSSQUALIFICATION. ALF ALFERSON!”
Alf Alferson stands up in the ring, gently rubbing the back of his head.
He raises a finger in the air and surveys the carnage around him.
EDUCATION
The camera fades in from black to show Alfie Button, clad in his signature coat and ring gear, leaning against the ringpost of a practice ring. He’s looking at the ground, an intense look on his face.
In the background, we see Crusader X, clad in his gear, superkick a practice dummy set up in the middle of the ring. The dummy falls to the ground. X sets it back up.
Alfie looks at the camera and begins to speak.
“Wash…you know what? I need to wash me mouf out, so I ain’t gonna give ya the time ov day by mentionin’ the names of these plonkers. Racism ‘as no business bein’ ‘ere or anywhere in the world in twenty twenty-free. If that weren’t bad enough, and trust me IT IS, your tactics, low blows, runnin’ away, cheatin’ and general shenanigans makes me sick. For all ov Crusader X’s faults, and I fort he were wound too tight, ‘e ‘as always been fair in the ring. Crusader X is a stand-up geezer in the middle ov the ring, I can say that wiv first-’and experience, innit?”
As Alfie says this, X climbs up to the top rope and hits a picture perfect X Marks The Spot on the dummy.
“You are scumbags, and I know exactly where Crusader X is comin’ from.”
X slides out of the ring next to Alfie. They slap hands and nod at each other before Alfie rolls back into the ring.
As Alfie sets up the dummy, X stares directly into the camera. He waits a bit before he begins speaking.
“Border Control…” He pauses. He has a cold, blank look on his face.
“I’ve often been told that the best cure for bigotry and ignorance is education. That the best way to save future generations from hate is to teach them about the dangers of hate. About the pain, suffering, and hardship that hate brings to everything it touches. I’ve always believed that to be true. I’ve seen this education change people for the better. So… it’s now my responsibility to teach you about where your disgusting hatred is going to lead you if you continue down the road that Mr. Schmidt has paved for you.”
X leans in closer to the camera. His expression hardens. Alfie can barely be seen hitting Britain’s Got Talent on the dummy in the background before setting it up again.
“Washington? Lincoln? And you too, Mr. Schmidt? Your lesson begins now. Mark my damn words: you are never going to forget what Alfie and I are about to teach you.”
A twisted smile creeps across X’s face.
“Or maybe you will. Might have some memory problems after our lesson’s over.” He taps his head as Alfie superkicks the dummy in the head. “Lo siento.”
Alfie slides to the outside of the ring. He and X stare at the camera together, and in unison:
“Brace yourselves.”
MAIN EVENT - CRUSADER X AND ALFIE BUTTON V BORDER CONTROL
The first strands of “Stars and Stripes Forever” earn an unusually negative reaction from the crowd in attendance, who, though patriotic, are also very much aware of who uses that song. And indeed, it does not take more than another moment for the dreaded trio to appear on the entrance ramp, manager Lexi sporting her usual dark power-suit while Lincoln and Washington have eschewed theirs in favor of more comfortable tactical attire.
“Oh, good. At least Truth isn’t with them…”
“Yeah, the scuttlebutt backstage is that he got suspended for like a month. The only reason they didn’t make it longer is because he has the belt and has to defend it at The Last Laugh – otherwise, we’d be shot of the guy for a long while.”
“Alas…”
As the announcers lament the circumstances, Truth’s acolytes have made their way to ringside, where “Downtown” Brown appears strangely lax at his job; as such, it is easy for the two men’s manager to use her charm to prise the microphone off his hands and address the crowd herself, which she wastes no time in doing, in her modulated Southern accent.
“Ladies and gentlemen, my name is Lexi Darlington, and it is my pleasure to introduce to you tonight…”
The fans immediately begin attempting to drown out the brunette’s efforts, but she is undaunted, simply raising her voice slightly as she continues.
“…the most patriotic team in GLOBAL Wrestling…”
The jeers continue, growing ever louder, but still Lexi presses on.
“…at a combined weight of FIVE HUNDRED AND FIFTY-POUNDS of pure, grade-A, corn-fed American muscle…”
Lexi practically swoons as she says this, causing Lincoln and Washington’s chests to swell as she runs a hand across each of them, tenderly.
“…these are…Agent Lincoln…and Agent Washington…GLOBAL Wrestling’s very own…Border Control!”
The volume of jeers has now reached a pitch usually reserved for the fourth (and absentee) member of this group, a fact which continues to be cavalierly ignored by all three people inside the squared circle. What is NOT ignored, however, is the way the catcalls, whistles and name-calling immediately revert to cheers and whoops when another song cues up on the arena PA
“Let Me Entertain You” by Button’s countryman, Robbie Williams, blares out, and the technicolor-coat-wearing Alfie Button emerges. His tights match, containing shades of red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo, and violet, all designed to test the pixels and resolution of your widescreen televisions, just as a wildlife documentary or Pixar feature film would. Instead of sprinting to the squared circle, as per usual, he stands patiently for the arrival of his former rival-turned-partner.
“Governed by Contagions” by At the Drive-In marks the entrance of the award-winning Crusader X, who made an enormous impact in GLOBAL in the first season.
When the blast of feedback at the start hits, the lights go out on the main stage, causing the crowd to scream in a blend of shock, fear and excitement. A black X appears on the big screen on a white background, whuch goes up and flickers a bit. Once the guitar riff kicks in, CRUSADER X, also in black on a white background, appears onscreen. When the lyrics kick in, a spotlight shines on the center of the stage. In it is X, standing facing the crowd with his arms crossed above his head in an X.
He exchanges looks, a determined one, with Alfie and they make their way to the ring with exaggerated strides, high-fives every fan they can on the way there. Once they get to the ring, they climb diagonally opposite turnbuckles.
“This should be a fantastic main event. You’ve got Border Control, who are a well-oiled machine, big, strapping, strong, physical, dirty, nasty, against a dazzling high-flying duo of Crusader X and Alfie Button, who train together but lack the experience of teaming together. In boxing, they say styles make fights, and here in tonight’s main event, that mantra definitely applies. It’s a clash in styles, ideals, and personalities, and I, for one, cannot wait,” The Mark waxes.
Needless to say, once all four competitors are in the ring, it does not take long for things to threaten to devolve rapidly; in fact, the very first move of the match is indicative of exactly that, as both sets of wrestlers immediately rush at each other the moment the bell rings, Lincoln and Washington gaining the upper hand as they ram their opponents with stereo clotheslines, before beginning to put the boot to them. Referee Shane Staggs successfully intervenes to stop this, and forces one man from each team into their corner, but the damage has been done, and X is seen clutching his ribs as he takes to his corner, leaving Alfie to contend with big Agent Lincoln.
“Oh, sure…of course it’s the smaller guy against the big guy. What else is new?”
“That’s not just any ‘smaller guy’, though, Allie. That is Alfie Button, one of the best all-rounders in all of GLOBAL. If anyone can give Lincoln a hard time, it’s him. And Crusader X, of course.”
“…good point, actually, Lucas.”
Despite Quinn’s optimism, however, the early goings of the match are not easy for Alfie, who – still debilitated from the stomps – is easy pickings for his powerhouse opponent. In quick succession, Lincoln hits the fan-favorite Brit with a scoop slam, a standard powerslam, a sidewalk slam, and finally, a fallaway slam, sending Alfie into his team’s corner, where he connects with a big boot, completing the flurry of offense, before tagging in his partner.
“Grand Slam of slams for Agent Lincoln, ladies and gentlemen!” On the outside, Lexi is revealed to still be holding the mic – and, seemingly, to have appointed herself ringside announcer for her team. This garners the reaction that might have been expected, with boos showering the brunette from all corners of the arena.
“Somebody kill that mic!”
Lucas’ irritated remark must have been heard by someone at the tech table, as, when she next goes to speak, Lexi finds her voice is no longer being amplified. This clearly has her fuming, and she stamps her foot irritably, scowling, but eventually deems it more important to provide guidance to her clients inside the ring, and abandons her self-appointed role as commentator to shout instructions to Washington, who has Alfie isolated in his team’s corner and sitting against the turnbuckle, in a daze, and is peppering him with stomps, cackling gleefully. He then changes to knee strikes to the prone Brit’s face, topping it off with a facewash. He then pulls Alfie out of the corner, tosses him onto the mat and connects with a sickening curb stomp, which brings the volume of boos from the crowd from sub-atomic to nuclear.
“Why is Shane Staggs allowing this? Actually, why is Shane Staggs? Why was he chosen for this match? Why not Snider, or Powell, or, you know, someone who can keep these guys in check?”
“We can only wonder, Al. The Board moves in mysterious ways…”
“That…was so cringy it circled back round to being a passable Dad joke. Well done, Mark.”
As Deltzer receives rare praise from his female colleague, a few feet away, Washington continues his methodical disassembly of Alfie, whom he has propped up against the buckle and is punishing with repeat elbows to the face. At length, he switches to punches, before settling on headbutts – all while the helpless Brit struggles to find an opening which will allow him back into this match.
“This is hard to watch…”
“Has Alfie even landed a move yet?”
As if he had heard the commentators, the fan-favorite suddenly springs to life, surprising Washington with a series of uppercuts which absolutely delights Mark Deltzer.
“PITY THA FOOL! PITY THA FOOL! PITY THA FOOL!”
“…having fun yet, Mark…?”
“Bet your ass I am…PITY THA FOOL!”
“Alfie did well to create some space for himself there, but now he needs to capitali—WAIT A MINUTE!!”
The cheers for Alfie’s uppercut revert back to boos as the Brit ragdolls in the corner, trying to break loose, only to be pulled back each time, seemingly by magic. A closer inspection, however, reveals what is going on – and incurs the wrath of the fans in attendance.
“Lincoln is choking Alfie out with the tag rope!!”
“Why isn’t Staggs stopping this?”
“I think Washington is in his way…and now thumbs to the eyes by Lincoln!”
“This is outrageous! This group should be driven out of wrestling for good!”
As an incensed Lucas makes his opinions well and truly known, Washington and Lincoln double-team the hapless Alfie, with the latter holding him in place while the former runs in with repeated clotheslines, further pinning the Brit to the post. A moment later, the two wrestlers switch places again, as a tag is made and Lincoln returns to the fray as the legal man.
The split-second when Alfie is given room to breathe is, however, enough for the Brit, who reverts back to his tried and true uppercuts, surprising Lincoln with a pair. The Border Control member powers through it, however, delivering a corner splash to his opponent before picking him up for some sort of throw…
…only for Alfie to slip out of the hold and land a dropkick to the bigger man’s back, throwing him against the post! Quick as ever, the owner of the Technicolor Dreamcoat then rushes in with a corkscrew elbow, landing what could be a crucial blow in his quest for the upper hand.
“Modified Wheel of Fortune in the corner there, and Alfie is going for the real deal now…Lincoln whipped to the ropes…”
“…NO!! Washington tripped Alfie up!!”
Indeed, the Border Control agent currently behind the tag rope shows that he is looking out for his partner by subtly tugging on Alfie’s trousers, causing him to faceplant on the mat. Washington then sneakily grapevines the Brit’s leg around the post for a moment, drawing a scream from Alfie and boos from the crowd, before quickly putting his hands where Shane Staggs can see them. As such, when the referee comes over to check, Washington is heard claiming that Alfie tripped, an explanation the match official appears to accept.
“WHAT?! Staggs bought that?! Unbelievable!”
“Again…where are Powell and Snider when we need them? They’re usually chosen for matches like this for a reason…”
Regardless of the announcers’ objections, Staggs motions for the match to continue, with Border Control regaining the upper hand and Crusader X becoming more and more incensed in the corner. When he tries to come into the ring and argue his case with Staggs, however, he is summarily told to return to his corner, which further incenses the fans in attendance. To add insult to injury, while Staggs does go over to confer with X in the corner, he leaves Alfie primed for a series of stomps by BOTH members of Border Control!
“Absolutely atrocious ref work here from Shane Staggs, who is usually better than this!”
“Maybe his dog died, or something…”
Whatever the case may be, Border Control remains in, well, control, and continues to have their way with Alfie, with Lincoln picking him up and throwing him into the corner, the sheer strength of the throw causing Alfie to bounce off straight into the arms of his waiting opponent, who quickly sets him up for a powerbomb. As Lincoln lifts him up, however, Alfie is once again quick to react, countering the Agent’s attempt into a falling DDT, which has the crowd on their feet!
“Guys, was there a Ratings Slump just now? Can anybody check the numbers?”
“….are you trying to channel Jerry David, or something, Mark? Did you get possessed by his spirit? Do we need to call the Ghostbusters? Would they even come out to LA?”
As Allie profits from the chance to rib her announce partner, in the ring, Alfie finally manages to string together some offense, as he follows up the Ratings Slump with a beautiful slingshot moonsault press off the middle rope.
“Britain’s Got Talent! The Alfie Button Greatest Hits Tour is finally underway!”
“The question is…will he be allowed to keep it up, and for how long?”
Unfortunately for Lincoln, Washington is too far away to really do anything, and Alfie is therefore able to hook the leg…
…but Staggs does not slide in to count.
“What the…?!”
After a moment, however, all becomes clear, as Staggs begins to point to a spot underneath the ropes.
“Oh…Lincoln’s foot was under the ropes.”
“Yeeeaaaahhh, all right. I’ll give Staggs that one.”
Though frustrated, Button chooses not to argue his case with the referee, preferring to keep his momentum going. He therefore leaps onto the ropes for a second Britain’s Got Talent, this time from the top rope…
…only for Lincoln to roll out of the way, leaving Alfie to crash and burn!
“The streak of bad luck continues for Alfie Button, just when it looked as though he would be able to turn the tide…”
Indeed, the missed move has allowed Lincoln to regain control once more, and the Border Control agent quickly capitalizes, once again sending Alfie into his corner before running in with a splash. This time, however, it is the Brit’s turn to dodge, sending his opponent face-first into the turnbuckle, and then straight down into a rollup attempt! This time, Staggs does drop in for the…
ONE!
—Kickout by Lincoln!
“Valiant attempt there by Alfie, but more of a wear-down than an effective pin, considering how little punishment Lincoln has taken thus far…”
“Still, no harm in trying, Lucas. He pulls off a few more of those, he just might be able to carve something out for himself here. Goodness knows he needs some sort of Hail Mary…”
Indeed, the pinning attempt has landed Alfie back in hot water, as Lincoln lands a stomp on him for good measure, before tagging in Washington. Alfie attempts to scramble to his feet in the split-second the two men take to tag in and out, but sadly, he is not as fast as on previous occasions, and therefore unable to prevent yet another curb stomp from Washington.
“Alfie desperately needs something to go his way here…he needs to get to Crusader X and bring him into this match!”
“Well, that is easier said than done right now. Especially seeing as Washington is now trying to ground the high flyer…”
Indeed, the smaller of the two Border Control agents is currently looking to apply his submission game on Alfie – an intent the Brit denies by connecting with a kick to Washington’s face, from a prone position. This, predictably, causes the agent to release whatever hold he had been trying to apply, and sends him sprawling the other way, giving Alfie an opening.
“Modified Match of the Day kick by Alfie Button…he needs to get away here…”
The fans’ budding cheers die in their throats, however, as Washington grabs Alfie’s leg and pulls him back, looking for another kneebar. This time, he does manage to lock it in, but only briefly, as Alfie throws a wild elbow which crunches against Washington’s nose, sending him down to the mat once more. Sensing his opportunity once again, Alfie crawls on his hands and knees to put some distance between himself and Washington, then springs up onto a vertical position…
…and smashes against referee Shane Staggs, sending him down to the mat while also halting his own momentum!
“What the hell, Staggs? Get out of the way, bro!”
Mark Deltzer’s confusion extends to the audience, who – while not outright booing – give a fairly mixed reaction to what looked like a legitimate mishap. Alfie, being Alfie, is quick to apologize to Staggs, and help him up to his feet, but while that situation is defused, any advantage the Brit had has long since been lost, and he soon finds himself accosted by Washington once again.
“This is, like, the opposite of everything coming up Milhouse. Nothing is coming up Alfie here. Not a single, solitary thing. And I’m not sure it’s all down to rotten luck, either…”
“What do you mean, Mark?”
“…nothing, Al. Just a hunch. But I’m gonna keep quiet until I can know what I’m talking about.”
To his credit, Deltzer follows through with his intent, simply watching on as Washington pummels Alfie with punches, then grabs him in a headlock, the better to pull him back into his corner. By the look on the Brit’s face, however, it is clear that he has had all he can stand, and he can’t stand any more – which may be why another elbow goes flying into Washington’s face a moment later, a laser-guided one this time, which allows Alfie to leap into the ropes and jump back with yet another elbow, this time a springboard reverse variant!
“BAM!”
“…oh, God. Like you needed more ammunition, Mark…”
Washington is taken down by this move, but Alfie does not relent; rather, he uses the proximity of the ropes to create some follow-up offense, as he leaps onto the middle rope and connects with a slingshot Arabian press!
“Greetings from Al-Jazeera!”
“You know, considering who he’s in there with, I think pulling off that move may actually count as an insult. Think about it…Al-Jazeera? That famously all-American news station, definitely based in the USA?”
For once, Mark’s remarks draw a positive reaction from his colleagues, as all three announcers share a laugh at Border Control’s expense. Alfie, however, is not at all in the mood to laugh – rather, he is all business as he looks directly across at his team’s corner, drawing a HUGE reaction from the crowd. He milks this for a moment, pointing at Crusader X, then begins to walk over to the masked “luchador”…
…and makes the tag, bringing Crusader X into the match!!
“TAG MADE TO CRUSADER…wait a minute, WHAT?!”
The crowd’s explosive reaction deflates into boos as Staggs sends X back behind his corner, indicating that he wasn’t holding onto the tag rope. Both X and Alfie appear absolutely livid over this – and this time, Alfie does argue his case – but the decision stands, and Button needs to start over again. Both men glower at Staggs, their gestures borderline pantomime as X holds up the rope in full view, and Alfie v e r y s l o w l y makes a blatant tag. This time, there is no objection from the referee, and X is allowed to come in, but whatever element of surprise the team of X Button may have had is gone.
“Hmmm…”
Mark Deltzer’s inquisitive noise draws questions from his two colleagues, but “the Mark” still chooses to remain silent, watching on as X tries to salvage something from the shambles that was his team’s very lukewarm tag by attempting to lock Washington into a surfboard stretch, but the Border Control agent puts his foot on the rope, forcing X to release the hold. He is then told by Shane Staggs to give Washington some breathing room, but lunges forward again the minute he is allowed to, leaping onto the agent’s back before he has time to turn around and connecting with a poisoned frankensteiner, which sends him sprawling across!
“X making the best of a frankly ridiculous situation, and showing why he is an asset to this team!”
After taking a moment to hype up the crowd with a few fist-pumps, X then quickly follows up by rushing over to the kneeling Washington and connecting with a big dropkick, which sends the agent back down. Not missing a beat, X then connects with a Rolling Thunder, almost literally steamrolling his opponent!
“Well…that’s something new from Crusader X!”
“He must have felt like the way the match was going justified it…”
Again showing his agility, X comes out of the rolling senton in a leaping motion which takes him to the top rope, only to launch off a moment later and catch the recovering Washington with a springboard cutter, which takes the agent right back down to the mat again!
“Washington is having issues dealing with Crusader X’s speed here, and after what we saw being done to Alfie, this really feels like vindication for the fan-favorite team!”
“You said it, Lucas!”
The fans seem to agree with the announcer’s assessment, as they continue to spur X on as he rolls back through to his feet and waits for Washington to do the same. When this occurs, he hits the agent with a superkick, which sends him bouncing against the ropes. Out on his feet, Washington then wanders straight into an arm drag from X, who follows this up by vaulting over the agent’s tumbling body, springboarding off the ropes in front of both of them, and flooring his opponent with his trademark flipping reverse DDT!
“PARASITE’S BANE CONNECTING, and here’s the cover!”
Shane Staggs slides in to count…
ONE!
…
…
TWO!
…
…
–Washington kicks out!
“Oh, this is getting ridiculous now! Did you guys see how slow that count was?”
“It was a little slower than is customary, yes…”
“A LITTLE slower? A sloth could have moved two branches over with the gaps Staggs was leaving between counts! That settles it. I’m calling it right now, live, on-air: Staggs is on the take.”
A hushed silence falls over the commentary table after an incensed Deltzer makes his accusation, with the next few words being spoken in a very tentative tone by Lucas Quinn.
“…that is a hefty accusation, Mark. Do you want to maybe think about it?”
Deltzer, however, stands his ground.
“Think about what?! You guys saw it, same as me! And that was just the one everyone saw. Now, connect the dots. Staggs has been a total BLEEPing joke all throughout this match. Always out of position. Never seeing anything he should. COLLIDING WITH ALFIE when he’s on his way to finally making a tag. HELLO? At a certain point, you have to stop giving people the benefit of the doubt, and just call them as you see them! Staggs is actively trying to prevent X and Alfie from winning this match, and the sooner he gets called out for it, the better!”
Deltzer is far from the only one incensed by this, as X wastes no time getting in the referee’s face about the blatant slow count. Unfortunately for him, not only does this not sway Staggs in the slightest, but it causes him to get caught from behind by Lincoln, who has since tagged back in by his partner, and thrown over with a big belly-to-back suplex. X lands near the ropes, and immediately uses them to scramble to his feet, but his attempts at counter-offence land him squarely in Lincoln’s arms again. The big man scoops up his smaller opponent for a powerslam…
…only for X to roll him up! Staggs slides in, and…
ONE!
…
…
TWO!
…
…
“Aw, come on!”
Lincoln kicks out and reverses the rollup into one of his own! Staggs counts again
ONE! TWO!
—Kickout, just barely, by X!
“Did you notice how he suddenly had a fire under him when Lincoln was pinning X? I’m telling you guys!”
“I’m…starting to feel you may be onto something, Mark…”
Both men are now scrambling to their feet following the pin exchange, and X wastes no time laying into Staggs once again, more forcibly this time around. The outcome, however, does not change; rather, the “luchador” simply gets caught again, and this time, is powerless to stop himself from being powerslammed over the ropes and to the outside.
“X just got Deported from the ring! Get it? Because the move is called Deportation, and the apron is sort of like a border to the ring, and in that sense, he got thrown over the border?”
“…we get it, Mark, thank you.”
“Oh, what is this, now?”
With Shane Staggs making a point of looking directly at Lexi, who has caught his attention, Lincoln and Washington convene near where the former has dumped X onto the concrete, with Washington placing something in his partner’s hand. A moment later, Lincoln puts it over his fingers, revealing it to be a set of brass knuckles, with which he presumably plans to deck Crusader X once and for all!
“Oh, you have got to be kidding me!”
“And again, I ask…where is Staggs? Trying to pick up chicks, instead of doing his goddamn job. I rest my case.”
Border Control’s plan goes awry, however, when Alfie Button comes running from behind and smashes into Washington with a double-ax handle, throwing him off-balance and sending him to the floor. Lincoln turns around, swinging a lariat, but Alfie ducks, and the biggest of the Border Control agents gets caught from behind with yet another poisoned frankensteiner, which causes him to faceplant and sends the brass knuckles flying out of his hand and sliding across the concrete!
“Border Control get hoisted by their own petard, and X and Alfie have another chance to turn the tides here!”
The fans’ ecstatic reaction soon becomes a murmur, however, as X pointedly studies the weapon now lying a few feet away, clearly in two minds about whether or not to profit from the opportunity. A long moment is enough for him to make up his mind, and he reaches for them…
…only for Alfie to step in front of him, and over the knuckles, stopping him.
This actually causes X’s body language to tense up, as he cocks his head at his partner. Alfie, however, retains his composure, and is clearly heard telling X that he is “bettah’n’that, geezah.” X still appears somewhat miffed at Alfie for making decisions for him, but the Londoner does not give up the ghost, insisting the pair should “beat ’em the right way.” Eventually, after another long moment’s hesitation, X nods, taking a step back and allowing Alfie to be the one to pick the knuckles up off the floor, rather than doing it himself. The crowd roar as Alfie prepares to throw the knuckles as far away from the ring as he possibly can…
…then revert to nuclear booing as Shane Staggs suddenly materializes from out of nowhere, pointing wildly at Alfie!!
“Oh, now he sees what’s going on. How convenient!”
The ever-more-jaded Deltzer can barely keep from snorting with sarcastic derision as, rather than call for the bell, Staggs motions for Alfie Button to leave the ringside area!
“WHAT?! Did he—is he—can he–?”
Lucas picks up where his barely coherent partner is forced to leave off. “Ladies and gentlemen, referee Shane Staggs has just ordered Alfie Button to leave the ringside area, and effectively evicted him from this match.”
“WHAT FOR?!” Quinn starts with surprise as Allie Reece, of all people, takes up Deltzer’s cause. “He was throwing the knux away! He had just convinced X not to use them!!”
“Well, clearly, Staggs doesn’t see it that way…”
“Seems as though, tonight, Staggs doesn’t see, period!”
“Wait, what happens now?” Somewhat more recovered, Mark Deltzer rejoins the conversation, just as his question is answered by the inimitable “Downtown” Brown.
“Ladies and gentlemen, Alfie Button has been ejected from the ringside area and will no longer be allowed to take part in this contest. This has now officially been made into a 2-on-1 handicap match.”
“W H A T ? ! ?” Allie Reece’s shock causes her to elongate the word beyond belief, as well as yelling it in a pitch loud enough to be heard over the crowd’s deafening jeers. As for X, he can hardly believe what has just transpired, and appears ready to Biel toss Shane Staggs across the arena for his troubles.
“Don’t do it, X…think of what Alfie would have said…”
Allie’s reasoning is clearly also going through X’s mind, as, at length, he steps away from the referee and accepts his fate, preparing to do his best against a suddenly favored Border Control. The two agents, who have been given time to recover by the kerfuffle have other plans, and Lincoln immediately grabs the “luchador” so that Washington can deliver a series of punches to his stomach. They then roll him inside the ring, almost contemptuously, before Lincoln steps back through the ropes and lifts him up again. He then calls Lincoln into the ring, and the two promptly lunge forward with stereo lariats…
…that X dodges, gaining both their backs!
“CRUSADER X IS ALIVE! DOUBLE PARASITE’S BANE!!”
In fact, as the two agents turn around, they are both planted at the same time by X’s trademark DDT. The crowd erupt, but the “luchador” is in no mood to celebrate; rather, it seems like he wants to end his trial as quickly as possible, seeing as how he immediately leaps onto the ropes and dives off with a springboard corkscrew moonsault, looking to land it on both his opponents at once!
“X MARKS THE—NO!! CRUSADER CRASHES AND BURNS!”
In fact, dazed as they are, the two agents see the move coming, and roll out of the way, sending the “luchador” hurtling to the mat. To his credit, however, X is up almost immediately, just in time to evade his opponents’ joint attack and cause them to butt heads. As they go hurtling backward in opposite directions, groggy from the impact, the fan-favorite high-flyer throws up his trademark X, indicating he is about to unleash yet another one of his signature moves!
“Uh-oh! We know what that means!”
“Could we be seeing Parasite’s—NO!!! DOUBLE LARIAT TO COUNTER!!”
“Gee…two against one…who didn’t see that coming?”
Having successfully landed their tandem move, Border Control takes a moment to lean over X’s inert body and quip “Welcome to America, motherBLEEPer!” before Lincoln drops down and hooks the “luchador”’s leg for the cover. This time, Staggs does not even need to fast count, as X is clearly out cold from the impact. As such, the numbers come, for once, at normal speed, even as the crowd refuse to count along, as is customary.
ONE!
TWO!
THREE!!!
Nuclear boos. Atomic. Radioactive. Enough to drown out “Downtown” Brown as he attempts to make it official.
“Ladies and gentlemen, the winners of this match…”
Before he can get much further, however, GLOBAL’s lead ring announcer is, once again, charmed by Lexi into giving her the microphone, and it is Border Control’s manager who finishes up the announcement, sounding for all the world like she is about to swoon as she once again runs a hand across each man’s chest.
“Ladies and gentlemen, the brave and heroic survivors of an absolutely horrific attempted act of foreign terrorism…”
The crowd once again make a point to drown out the brunette’s words, but she carries on, undaunted.
“…your all-American heroes, and mine…Agents Washington and Lincoln, of Border Control.”
She and Shane Staggs hold both men’s hands up, the duo gloating and about to burst out of their muscle shirts with how full of themselves they are; then, unable to stop herself, Lexi plants a kiss in Stagg’s cheek, which the referee seems to take in stride, with no surprise or shock.
“That settles it. THAT SETTLES IT!! If anybody still had any doubts…there you have it!” Mark Deltzer’s incensed indignation once again renders his broadcast partners to silence, his quippy mood from earlier decidedly and irredeemably gone. “This was a travesty. Every single bit of it. I hope someone up there was watching, and does something about it. ANYTHING. This can’t be allowed to stand! Not in a credible company!”
It is with the sound of the usually snarky commentator having perhaps the most earnest tirade of his announcing career – even as his mic gradually fades out, making his voice less and less audible – that the in-ring portion of another episode of Domination comes to an end.
THE LAST LAUGH
The Globe @ Stage 49
After Domination 18
The silence in The Globe @ Stage 49 is thickened by the gentle smog floating around the post-event air. The dimly lit ring is spattered in the blood of the World Heavyweight Champion, “The Legend” Sean Darring.
When he joined GLOBAL Jerry David would have had a tough time imagining that his rise to the World Championship scene would be so rapid. If his stand-up career had been anything to go by he ought to have slogged away in dingy bars and bingo halls for decades without anything even remotely resembling a ‘big break’ rearing its head. Yet here he was, sitting in the middle of the ring, the blood of his rival dried into the palms of his hand and smeared across his face.
Jerry sits cross legged in the centre of the ring, gently rocking back and forth.
“I am the Champion-in-Waiting. The next to ascend the throne. I am to rule this Globe,” he whispers into his folded arms.
“I am the reason this arena fills, and a belt around my waist will only solidify that fact. Praise be to he who powders the cheese. I will wear that title with pride, and bring it the respect and prestige it deserves.”
“And come the time when, Lord Fritos willing, The GLOBAL Board decide to hand me my shot…”
“I will have the last laugh.”
With that, Jerry begins a guttural laugh from deep in his bowels. It builds, cascading from his mouth like a gushing waterfall until he is rolling on the mat in the blood of “The Legend” Sean Darring, howling with maniacal laughter.
*
Cut To: A CCTV Television, elsewhere.
“My darling,” Doritos Man says, placing his hand gently on the shoulder of the hooded figure sitting in an office chair in front of an array of black and white monitors, one of which rolling with static, “it is time we make ourselves known to our champion.”
The office chair slowly turns. TNT unhoods her cheese-powder blasted head, shards of Doritos chips protruding from her cheek, her right eye whitened from the blast that had changed her fate forevermore.
“Yes, my love. It is.”
Static.