THE BATTLE DELAYED

Several Weeks ago…

First had come the limousine.

It had arrived outside the arena as Son of Malta was leaving, still sore and bruised from his battle with Dream. Personally delivered from an anonymous source.

Eventually, curiosity overcame his suspicion. And he allowed himself to be taken to the hotel. Five stars, a luxury suite… something was off.

Next came the phone call. Reyn was pulling out of their match at Last Laugh. Malta had nearly snapped the phone in half.

Finally, as expected, the messenger in person.

“You still carry the wounds of your war with Daniel.” the intruder had said. “I have no interest in a forgone conclusion, Malta. If we were to fight as you are now, you would lose.”

There was no uncertainty in Reyn’s voice, and… loathe as he was to admit it, Malta knew he was right. Reyn was a tough fight even at his best, and Dream had taken him to the absolute limit, not to mention what Angel and Xiang had taken out of him.

“Rest, recover, I told management I had suffered an illness. When we fight. I expect your best effort.”

Weeks have passed. Malta has rested, trained. He is ready.

Reyn can not escape him now.

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VANISHING POINT

“Hollywood debutante Abigail Van Garde, daughter of producer Anthony Van Garte, has been reported missing from the wellness clinic she signed into three months ago. Van Garte was reportedly seen leaving the clinic alongside a male guest, in the early hours of yesterday morning.

In other words, A-V-G is back on her shit. This is my shocked face.”

The video host’s change from a professional tone to flippant comedy, alongside the exaggerated O-face he pulls as he speaks his last sentence, elicit a mischievous giggle from somewhere off-camera. A moment later, a slender finger with deep crimson fingernails reaches in to tap the tablet’s screen and pause the video, as an excited, girly voice gushes to a similarly unseen interloper.

“That’s us, Pookie!”

“It sure is, dollface.” The second voice is male, somewhere North of reedy, and has a vaguely mocking edge to it. “But you know what they say…all publicity is good publicity…”

The woman’s tone suddenly shifts from proud amusement to genuine apprehension, making her sound somehow smaller and meeker.

“You think they’re going to come after us?”

The man’s reply comes in a somewhat different voice than before, deeper and with a rather pronounced street twang.

“If they do, baby, we’re gonna be ready for ’em.”

The woman giggles again as the camera pulls away from the tablet on her lap, showing the entire scene to be taking place inside of a car. Viewers watch on from a vantage point in the back seat as the well-built, dark-haired man in the driver’s seat holds out an arm to one side of his head with the elbow pointing down, almost as if inviting his date – a slender blonde with a curled bob – to arm wrestle; the girl, however, simply reaches out her own hand, clasping it with the man’s, as the rumble of an engine being turned on drowns out whatever conversation they might still have been planning on having. The two are still holding hands as the red convertible begins to pull further and further away from the camera, gradually fading into the horizon as it speeds down the empty desert highway and out of sight.

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A TRUE SET OF CHAMPIONS

The loud guitar opening of “The Final Countdown” by Europe blasts as Global Nation goes wild, rising to its feet and cheering on its faithful, loyal champion.

Lucas Quinn says, “The Final Countdown is hitting, and the fans know exactly what this means!”

The Mark responds, “He survived Last Laugh, retaining the Global Championship against the unstable Jerry David. It’s unknown if we’ll ever see Jerry David again, but just listen to these fans. They want to see their champion, Sean Darring!”

Allie chimes in, “Sean Darring always likes to give back to his fans after a hard-fought match like Last Laugh. It’ll be interesting to hear what he has to say.”

However, the cheers quickly turn to boos. Instead of the Global champion, the 2023 Tag Team of the Year award-winning and arguably the two most hated men in Global, Jimmy Classic and “The Suplex Ninja” Trae Larkin, come out full of arrogance and smirks.

Lucas Quinn expresses his disappointment, asking, “What on earth are these two doing here?”

Allie groans in agreement, adding, “And why, oh why, are they ruining such an epic song and moment for us!”

The Prime Time Athletes bask in the massive disappointment from the fans, relishing in their outrage. They make their way down the aisle, and their eyes lock onto a fan holding a sign that reads, “The Rich Family is my Tag Team of the Year.” Rudely, they snatch the sign from the fan’s hands and hold it up, mocking the sentiment. With cruel amusement, they toss the sign down onto the cold cement floor and stomp on it, all while laughter fills the arena. They then turn and head into the ring, their champions’ theme song fading away, replaced only by the resounding boos of the audience.

Lucas Quinn provides an update, saying, “Fans, I’ve just received word that our champion, Sean Darring, isn’t even in the building yet. I’m not sure what the Prime Time Athletes are up to, but it looks like we’re about to find out.”

The boos persist, a deafening chorus of disapproval that seems to fuel the Prime Time Athletes. They stand proudly in the ring, wearing the animosity from Global Nation like a badge of honor. Jimmy Classic, undeterred by the thunderous response, decides to speak up.

“Now, I know you were all hoping for the white knight of Global, but instead, we felt the need to come out here and make a statement.”

The boos show no signs of relenting, and the chants of “ASSHOLE” begin to echo through the arena. However, Jimmy Classic remains focused on delivering his message, talking loudly over the crowd’s disdain.

“It’s become quite the predictable routine around here. Sean Darring wins his big matches, and the very next night, he’s out here thanking all of you, claiming he couldn’t have done it without your support.”

The Prime Time Athletes nod in agreement, acknowledging both that Sean Darring is indeed getting older and that he wouldn’t have achieved his victories without their assistance.

Jimmy Classic continues to bask in the sea of boos, relishing the opportunity to make his voice heard despite the hostile reception. He raises a valid point, and the tension in the arena is palpable.

“It would take me all night to go through the extensive list of opponents that Sean Darring has faced and defeated in Global. However, there’s only one team that can claim to have beaten him and PINNED him right in the center of a Global ring. And guess what? We’re standing inside that ring right here in front of all of you.”

The Mark interjects, acknowledging the truth in their statement. “Well, technically, they’re not wrong, guys.”

Allie chimes in, “Yeah, but let’s not forget that it happened after Jerry David turned his back on Sean Darring!”

Trae Larkin, clearly irritated, shouts at the announcers to do their jobs and convey the truth to the fans. Jimmy Classic seizes the moment to drive his point home.

“That’s right, folks! That puts us at the top of the pecking order, making us the DOS NUMERO UNO Contenders around here. We’re not just contenders; we’re the top contenders for the Tag Team Titles after not only defeating but utterly embarrassing the Rich Family. And when you look at the facts, it’s clear as day—we’re also the top contenders for the Global Heavyweight Championship!”

The Mark queries, “Wait, are they really?”

Allie vehemently disagrees, shouting, “NO!”

Lucas Quinn, though skeptical, acknowledges, “I haven’t seen any official announcements regarding the top contenders for either of the titles after Last Laugh. But, unfortunately, they do make some valid points.”

The Prime Time Athletes revel in the moment, their smirks growing wider as their plan becomes clear. Trae Larkin takes the microphone, embodying the persona of The Suplex Ninja as he addresses the crowd.

“The upcoming months are going to be nothing short of fascinating in this place. Sean Darring, listen closely because next show, we’re challenging you for the Global Championship. It’ll be one-on-one, and either Jimmy or I will defeat you right in the heart of that ring, just like we did the last time we faced you. The era of the old, washed-up has-been is officially over. We don’t need anyone else to beat you; we’ve already proven that.”

The fans make their disagreement known, reminding the Prime Time Athletes that it took Jerry David’s interference for them to defeat Sean Darring last time. However, the Prime Time Athletes remain unfazed, choosing to ignore the dissenting voices.

“But that’s just the beginning,” Trae continues, confident in his tone. “After we reclaim the Global Championship, we’re going to finish what we started last year. In 2024, we’ll repeat our success, solidifying our position as the top tag team in Global and adding the Global Tag Team Titles to our collection.”

Lucas Quinn remarks, “That’s certainly a daunting prospect.”

The Mark adds, “The unfortunate truth is that if anyone can make it happen, it’s these two.”

With synchronized gestures, the Prime Time Athletes emphasize their ambitions by making circular motions around their waists, signifying their determination to capture both the Global Championship and the Global Tag Team Titles. The crowd watches as Jimmy Classic takes the microphone for the final word.

“In the coming months, Global is about to enter the Prime Time era,” he declares confidently.

With a dramatic flair, he drops the microphone, punctuating the challenge they’ve laid out. The 2023 Tag Team of the Year begins to exit the ring, but the audience doesn’t let up, expressing their displeasure and disagreement with the Prime Time Athletes’ audacious claims.

As the Prime Time Athletes make their way up the ramp, soaking in the jeers and boos from the audience, the camera cuts back to Allie, Lucas Quinn, and The Mark at ringside.

Allie sighs, shaking her head. “Well, folks, it seems the Prime Time Athletes have made their intentions very clear tonight. They’re gunning for the Global Championship and the Global Tag Team Titles.”

The Mark nods in agreement. “That’s right, Allie. Love them or hate them, you can’t deny their track record.”

Lucas Quinn leans forward, looking thoughtful. “It’s going to be an interesting few months in Global Wrestling, that’s for sure. We’ve got a determined champion in Sean Darring, and now we’ve got a pair of challengers who firmly believe they’re next in line.”

Allie adds, “And let’s not forget about the Rutherford Guys, who may have something to say about those Tag Team Titles. It’s going to be a wild ride, folks.”

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FUTURE OF THE TAG DIVISION

Rutherford and his clients are seen backstage in front of a camera. The champions corrects the championships hanging from their shoulders. Rutherford looks into the camera with a smile

“Ladies and gentlemen. My clients are standing here still your Global Tag Team Champions. I claimed my clients would walk out of The Last Laugh champions after defeating Trouble Roxx again and they did. What is next for them?”

Rutherford takes a deep breath. 

“The match itself was a good one. I mean Trouble Roxx is no easy opponents….for anyone except my clients. Was I nervous when Mr. Sinclair needed nine counts before his arm went up? A little as Nikolai loves to dominate his opponents, I was surprised that…..”

Rutherford gets interrupted by Nikolai who whispers something to him. Rutherford nods.

“My client has stated the following: Tegan walked away easily, I was prepared for more fighting and the reason for me not raising my arm until the nine count was because I honestly thought Tegan had more fight left so I wanted to catch my breath before I stood back up. I was ready after the count of five. I guess I underestimated her hunger for the Tag Team Gold as she never stood back up.” 

Nikolai nods as Rutherford continues. 

“Well after being corrected by Mr. Sinclair it sounds like he pulled a Daniel Dream move. I really have taught these guys well. Now the match before that moment I admit was very good. Both my clients got to show off what they have been doing for so many years. Domination and hunger for the gold.”

Rutherford gives Daniel a nod. 

“I call myself Carnivore for a reason. I prey on the weak, I dominate them, and I’m always hungry. Nikolai and I both are willing to sacrifice for the greater good, and that’s what makes us the best tag team in GLOBAL. But we’re also two of the best singles competitors, and we’re going to prove that tonight.”

Rutherford nods in agreement. 

“So ladies and gentlemen…what is next for the best tag team in the world? Well as we now have defeated the former champions, my clients now run the tag division. Anyone that steps in their way will suffer the consequences. Look at Trouble Roxx, look at The Players. One by one the teams will be taken out with only one team standing tall. MY CLIENTS….THE RUTHERFORD GUYS!”

Nikolai and Daniel raise their championships with a smile on their face.

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CONFLICT ESCALATION

“Dude…I know…but just sit tight for now, all right?”

Teagan Trouble frowns as the voice on the other end of her phone rises enough to be faintly audible to bystanders.

“Dude…I know. I feel you, girl. But these dudes are out to get you, for some reason. And we don’t want you getting hurt. OK?” Teagan does her best to sound upbeat and encouraging, despite the look of worry on her features. “So just hang out for a while. Netflix and ch—actually, no. DON’T Netflix and chill!! My Dad would kill me!!” The panicky expression on Trouble’s face is almost comical as she catches and quickly redacts herself. “But, like…I dunno…watch some Disney+ or something. Order some Uber Eats. Hit the pool. I mean, you’ve got literally everything right there.” The redhead drops her tone to a conspiratorial whisper. “You can even raid my secret stash of Tootsie Rolls. Bottom of the makeup case in my bedroom. Help yourself.”

Before her interloper can reply, something draws Trouble’s attention from offscreen, the redhead briefly glances off-screen before quickly addressing the caller again. “Angel? I gotta go. We’re literally about to get interviewed.” She pauses for a moment, before answering an unheard question. “Me and Izzy and the Robinsons.” Another few seconds elapse before Teagan calls out over her shoulder. “Hey, Aiden! Angel says hi!”

A chorus of good-natured teasing emanates from off-screen as Teagan turns her attention back to the call, the better to make her goodbyes. “Listen…I really gotta go now, Ange. That Informer dude looks about ready to put me in a chokehold if I delay this any longer.” The redhead chuckles. “Yeah. Catch you later, dude, all right? Stay safe. Tell Saul he’s a supremely rad human, and not to drink my Dad’s hooch.” Trouble pauses for merely a split-second before adding an extra warning. “That goes for you, too, by the way. ‘K, bye!”

The two girls share a giggle as the redhead finally ends the call and rejoins the cluster of people waiting to be interviewed by the GLOBAL backstage reporter known simply as The Informer. Despite indeed looking a little impatient, the interviewer is immediately able to quash – or at least hide – his personal feelings, as he signals for the cameraman to begin capturing footage, then turns towards the camera with his best business smile.

“Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome, Trouble Roxx and the Metal Militia.”

He then turns towards the gaggle of young people similarly smiling at the camera directly behind him.

“Thanks for being here, guys. I was hoping you could shed some light on your actions at The Last Laugh…?”

As ever, it is Teagan Trouble who takes the initiative, perhaps attempting to atone for holding up the interview.

“First of all, you’re welcome, my dude. As for our actions…I mean…isn’t it obvious?”

The redhead and The Informer both frown, albeit for different reasons, before Teagan resumes.

“These dudes were out there beating down a kid, seven-on-one…y’know…as you do…” Teagan’s countenance darkens as she struggles to contain her anger. “Even if that hadn’t been our buddy, we would have still done the exact same thing. It was just the right thing to do.”

The Informer nods – as do several of Teagan’s companions – as he readies the next question; before he can fire it off, however, he feels his mic nearly get pulled out of his hand, as one of the more outspoken interviewees all but hijacks it.

“Tell you what else, man…them yellow-belly sons a’ bitches wanna come at some kid that ain’t done shit to ’em…” Destruktor takes a step forward, proudly puffing out his chest, with his older brother and sister only a half-beat behind. “…hell, here’s three of ’em. Come at us, bro. Step to us like y’all done to Angel. Y’all wanna play rough? Let’s play rough. Hell, ain’t even need to be just three a’ y’all. Y’all wanna come at us together? Bring it on, bitches!”

The youngest member of the Metal Militia scorches the lens with his glare, his voice dropping to an unusually low tone, with all hints of trash-talk abruptly removed.

“But the next time y’all come at my buddy Angel like that…y’all gon’ be sorry. I’m gon’ make damn sure of it. Ain’t even matter what the hell y’all do to me. Y’all take me down, I’m takin’ some y’all down with me.” The youth gives the camera another glare, which makes his young face look incongruously grown-up. “Y’all mark my words, now…y’all fix to hurt that girl again…I’m gon’ fix to hurt y’all right back.”

Louds hoots of agreement from the other two members of the Metal Militia support the youngster’s statement, as he returns to his original position, giving The Informer back control of his microphone. A relieved look crosses the interviewer’s features as he prepares to continue his line of questioning…

…then nearly jumps out of his crisp blazer in surprise, as the sudden roar of onrushing steps abruptly turns into a wild flurry of chairs, lead pipes and other assorted weapons!

One by one, The Informer’s interviewees collapse to the floor in front of his eyes as if shot, the attack too sudden and brutal for them to even attempt any sort of defensive manouevre. The faint sound of booing drifts up from somewhere in the vicinity – although it seems to come from several miles away – as, having made sure their mission was carried through to completion, the assailants now crowd around the interviewer, pushing in uncomfortably close, their demeanors split between intense, angry body language and a bully’s sadistic smirk. To his credit, The Informer stands his ground, although his common sense prevents him from engaging the group, certain recent events involving one of his colleagues still quite clearly present in his mind. Still, he returns each and every one of the death glares, even going as far as to grace the leader of the group with one when she steps forward and plucks the microphone from his hands, as if daring him to stop her. When he still refuses to react, the leather-clad brunette leans in closer than any of her associates, her face mere inches from The Informer’s, to mockingly utter a single word:

“Boo.”

With that, and without another look back at either her associates or the interviewer – who soon manages a swift and blessedly unharmed escape – she promptly begins to address the scattered bodies on the ground.

“You’re all so goddamn predictable…”

Her gaze, which had been fixed on the prone wrestlers at her feet, now travels up to pierce the camera, as she steps in closer to it.

“…you all stand in front of this camera, week in and week out, and talk about unity, and loyalty, and friendship, and supporting each other, and doing the right thing…” She snorts derisively. “…but when someone you see as lesser starts doing well, what do you do? Do you build them up? Do you embrace them? Do you do the right thing?” The brunette is physically quivering with uncharacteristic indignation as she answers her own question. “NO! You band together to bring them down! Drive them out! Make sure they don’t interfere with your precious status quo!”

As suddenly as it had surfaced, the anger in the woman’s voice disappears, replaced by her far more usual vitriolic husk. “And we all know why that is. Oh, sure, you’re going to say it’s because your little friend was attacked. You’re going to act all righteous and high and mighty. You’re going to pretend like you’re in the right, and working for the greater good. But we all know the real reason…”

The brunette steps in even closer to the camera, which now captures little more than her facial area.

“It’s because you’re scared. You feel threatened. All of a sudden, you’re not the center of attention anymore, and your fragile little egos can’t take it. Your fragile little egos can’t stand the fact that those scrubs you’ve always looked down on, and laughed at, and taken for granted, made the most their chance, and are doing better than you!” The woman steps back once again, to point at the assembled gaggle of wrestlers behind her. “Your egos can’t stand the fact that these men are a Force to be reckoned with, and that there’s absolutely nothing you can do about it.” She shrugs, her tone now affecting airy mirth. “And if you try to stand in our way…your egos will be the end of you.”

The woman chuckles again as she takes a step back, falling in line with her men, whom she encompasses in a broad sweep of a hand.

“I have said it before, and I will say it again…there is nobody in this company that can stop us. You hypocritical little hooligans may think you’ve had The Last Laugh two weeks ago…but you’re all about to know better.”

Then, her piece said, she leans in, grabbing one of the inert bodies at her feet by a shock of blond hair, as she crouches to make herself level with its face.

“And as for you, little trailer trash rat…challenge accepted.”

With that, she shoves the dazed youngster roughly back down, regaining her vertical base, and signals to her men, who promptly file in behind her in perfect formation, leaving five inert young bodies in their wake, as barely living proof of the devastation they have wreaked in GLOBAL’s main interview area.

Somewhere in Beverly Hills, a hand smacks on a comfortable-looking quilt, to compound the strangled half-cry of anger coming from somewhere off-screen.

I SHOULD’A BEEN THERE!!!

The level, even male voice that replies to this desperate outburst is in sharp contrast with the youthful, anguished tones that uttered it.

“It’s what they wanted, Ange. You’ve got to respect their decision. They’re your friends. And they’re doing it for your own good.”

FUCK my own good!” The attempt at reason appears to have had no effect on the young female, who cries out in rage yet again. “I should’a been there! I should’a helped ’em! I should’a helped theeeeemmmmm…”

The fit of rage gradually devolves into several long seconds of muffled sobbing, then, finally, into silence.

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THE WRIGHT MAN - 1

2007.

I walked into a building with less than one thousand in there.  They were all drunk, but into it.  They were enjoying the show, but it was no different to your run-of-the-mill indy show until the main event.

 He came out to ‘Rock You Like A Hurricane’ and everyone who’d been falling asleep woke up again.  As soon as he walked through the curtain, you could see he had the look.  Blonde, tall and lean with a little fat on him to make him normal but not enough to stop him from looking like a star.  The first thing he did was stand there in a way, just like, it’s hard to explain, but it told you he’d been places and worked with people way beyond the federation’s limits.  He was the star attraction, I knew that much, but even if I didn’t know, I’d have been able to tell in an instant.

 Some fan got in his face right from the get-go, and he actually cocked his hand to punch him.  The fan put his hands up and Hank just pointed and laughed.  So did the fans.  A few others tried to wind him up, and he just stood there and took it with his hands on his hips.  You could see he was enjoying himself, and the fans loved to hate him.  That’s what you want from a villain.

 As for the match itself, he went for almost half an hour and never took a deep breath.  He pummelled the face and controlled the match, not using any rest holds, but he just pounded and pounded, suplex after suplex, one big move after another.  I realized he had the perfect entrance theme because he did rock you like a hurricane.  

 I thought to myself:  How old is this guy?  You wouldn’t think he was around forty.  He was smash, bang, up-in-your face and had a really hard-hitting style.  Even from where I was, which was at the back, you could see and almost feel his brute strength.  God knows what it looked like from the front row.

 I knew we had to have him, and I told Antonio:  I’ve got the one.  The one you’ve been looking for.

 When he came in, he destroyed four of our best cruiserweights, all top draws, and that was the perfect way to bring him in.  We wanted to establish a heavyweight division, which isn’t as easy in Mexico, and he was going to be in the main event, along with a guy we had called Marcos Marquez, who’d gotten stale.

 After he beat them up, essentially attacking Mexican wrestling and how in the US, cruiserweights and midgets were comedy value, the show before THE show and that if experts thought the US had turned wrestling into a joke, then what had Mexico done to it? 

 For weeks, he beat cruiserweights, though we were careful not to match him against everyone.  He’d attack them after grueling matches. He was a bully and people wanted to see him get his tail kicked.

 2010.

“He sounds great.  What was his attitude like backstage?”

“I thought you’d ask me that.  He was terrific.  I had no idea of his reputation until a month in when we went out and told me all about it.  Of course, every now and again, he’d give his opinion, but he only ever refused to do one thing and that was put Marquez over, who’d refused to help Hank when he first came in.  Basically, Marquez was jealous that Wright had taken his spot as number one heel, at least in terms of reaction, and was always difficult to work with.  Hank said he was himself in America but in Mexico, he did everything we asked him to.”

“John, thank you so much for your time.”

“No problem Henry.  Will you sign him?”

“I think so.  We know he’s got talent and his reputation in Mexico speaks for itself, and you’ve reinforced that.  The main stickler with him is his attitude outside of the ring.”

“I can only go on what I know and tell you that he’s a fantastic professional.  He likes life outside of the ring as well but I haven’t met many more people passionate about our business than Hank.  Honestly, he gives me a run for my money and that’s saying something.”

Irwonsen laughs.

“Okay.  Thanks, John.  You’ve been a big help.”

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CHARITY BEGINS AT HOME

The thundering fanfare of “Rule Britannia” shatters the humming silence inside The Globe, bringing a somewhat less indifferent reaction than it was given at The Last Laugh. Though there is still plenty of bemused and slightly confused silence among the fans in attendance, a sizeable portion of jeers has also crept in since last time – one which heightens considerably once a trio of Union Jack-clad figures emerge through the curtain. Leading the way is a jaunty, sunbed-tanned and impeccably turned out blonde woman in an eye-watering power suit made up entirely of the British flag, the better to match the trunks and long trousers, respectively, of the blond and darker-haired men walking a few steps behind her, the former glowering at everything and nothing, the latter wearing a smugly amused expression. As the group make their way to ringside, the announcers are helpfully at hand to contextualize their appearance to viewers at home.

“The Best of British coming out here in the wake of their big win over the Metal Militia two weeks ago, at The Last Laugh…though according to my notes, they are not scheduled to wrestle here tonight…”

“You’re right, Lucas. They’re definitely not in the running order. I wonder if they’re going to make a match for themselves again, like they did at the Pay-Per-View…”

“I guess we are about to find out…”

Indeed, the blonde woman has just put the microphone to her lips, her perfect, dazzlingly white smile not quite ingratiating most of the fans to her, or her associates. Still, she presses on, shutting out the boos as she attempts to make a formal introduction.

“I imagine most of you will be aware of who we are at this point…but on the off-chance you might not have watched the live event two weeks ago, and are just tuning in right this moment, allow us to introduce ourselves.” She places a hand on her chest, then gestures towards the two men flanking her. “My name is Kerry Buckingham, and these two strapping young gentlemen behind me are my clients, Misters Rupert Royston-Fellowes and Nigel Kensington III.”

A mixed reaction greets both men, causing blond Rupert to scowl, even while his partner does not seem particularly affected. Kerry, on her part, willfully ignores this again as she launches into what is clearly a planned PR spiel.

“Now…if you did tune in two weeks ago, you will no doubt be aware that my clients charitably donated the match purse to their opponents on the night, so that they might purchase a few ready meals to stock up their fridge. It is ever so sad to see youngsters left to fend for themselves like that…”

The blonde shakes her head theatrically, but the crowd continue to audibly not buy into her act – and neither do the announcers.

“The Robinsons are perfectly capable of taking care of themselves. You just want to look good for the cameras!”

As Allie displays her famously outspoken personality, in the ring, Kerry plows on with her announcement.

“Now, evidently, these gentlemen know helping young people in need is not the only way to be charitable. As they say, charity begins at home. Which is why, this evening, Misters Royston-Fellowes and Kensington would like to give the other group of British citizens in this institution the opportunity to compete against them in a featured bout.” Buckingham’s smile becomes, if possible, even whiter as she turns towards the ramp. “What say you, Mr. Flowers, Mr. Rushton?”

There follow a long few moments of, in fairness, considerable tension, as fans in attendance and at home wait to see if the group’s challenge will be answered. Eventually, however, their hopes are met, as Ade Flowers and Ant Rushton burst through the curtain and stride defiantly down to the ring, visibly ready to tussle. No further words are required as the four men face off inside the squared circle, waiting for the arrival of an official who can sanction the match. This turns out to be Gabrielle Harris, who dashes down the entranceway and slides into the ring a moment later, then wastes no time calling for the bell and getting the match under way!

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THE BEST OF BRITISH V TEAM UNITED

“We were right. They DID make a match for themselves again. And what a match it could be!”

“You got that right, Mark. The high-flying prowess of Team United against the power and technique of the Best of British should make for an interesting mix of styles. We shall see how well the two mesh here in the next few minutes…”

“Right now, it’s Ant Rushton with the upper hand over Rupert Royston-Fellowes here in the early goings…”

Indeed, the speed and agility of the Team United legal man have allowed him to kick off hostilities by ducking under Fellowes’ clothesline, then rebounding off the ropes at the blond’s back to connect with a dropkick to Rupert’s back. Fellowes goes sprawling face-first onto the mat, and Rushton wastes no time capitalizing with an elbow drop across his fellow countryman’s back, further wearing him down and dealing damage. He then just as quickly puts some distance between himself and the blond half of the Best of British, to avoid getting caught by Rupert as he pulls himself back to his feet. No sooner does he see the blond upright, however, than Rushton, well, rushes in with a running dropkick to Fellowes’ face, which sends him right back down to the mat again.

“It’s all been Team United here in the first few moments…and there’s something to be said for wrestling regularly. Out of these two teams, Rushton and Flowers have the most matches wrestled in the past few months, by nearly double. Ring rust is a thing, is what I’m saying…”

As the announcers attempt to analyze the action in the ring, however, they are surprised by the unexpected arrival at their table of the Best of British’s manager, who smiles her perfectly bleached smile at them, while picking up and putting on the spare headset to the right side of Lucas Quinn.

“Excuse me, what are you—”

Quinn’s spluttering, however, is cut off by a cut-glass British accent, which suddenly invading the homes of thousands of viewers across the, well, Globe.

“I just thought it might be a lark to join you darlings here at the table. You know…do a spot of announcing… I’m sure you don’t mind.”

“I—”

Before Lucas can reply, however, is inexorably cut off by the blonde’s train of thought.

“To be honest, the little bug bit me two weeks ago, already. With that being a live event, though, and ever so important, I thought it might be best not to indulge my silly little urge just then. I could scarcely resist tonight, though…” Here, the Best of British’s manager halts herself for the first time, though only long enough to give a little giggle. “…oh, this feels just the same as back in the day! I DO wish my friend Cher was here…we made quite the team, even if she never wanted to admit it…if you’re listening in right now, darling, mwah! Wish you were here!”

The three members of GLOBAL’s announce team make futile attempts to call the match, all of which are absolutely steamrolled by their honorary member.

“Cher and I met each other just up the road, actually…in Malibu, I believe it was…an association named Girl Power Wrestling? Something like that?”

“Oh, yeah, I remember them!” Allie Reece stuns both of her male counterparts by both engaging and indulging Kerry. “I used to watch their shows when I was in middle school.”

“Oh, you must be thinking of the wrong show, darling. This was not THAT long ago…or was it?”

Intentional or not, Reece’s statement has had the effect of momentarily halting Kerry’s barrage of chatter – a half-chance Lucas quickly seizes.

“Rupert Royston-Fellowes now targeting Ant Rushton’s leg…which is a smart strategy, since the leg is a key element in any high-flying style…”

“Yes, that is my boys for you, darling. They are ever so clever! Both of them…though, Rupie does let his passions cloud his judgement a lot of the time… Not just now, of course! Just…other times. It’s a good thing he has Nigey to keep him grounded. They are such good friends, as well! It really is lovely to see…”

Sensing the start of another torrent of words, Quinn is quick to jump in once again, and bring the focus back to the match.

“Rushton makes the ropes, but Rupert is taking advantage of that five-count there…”

“Yes, it would be silly not to, wouldn’t you say, darling? If the possibility is there, they clearly mean for one to use it… Otherwise, why would they bother coming up with it?”

“Well, at any rate, referee Gabrielle Harris is enforcing the separation…but look at Rupert now!!”

In fact, the more volative half of Best of British gives his opponent just about enough time to get upright and stagger off the ropes before grabbing him by the back of the head, pulling him closer, then wrapping his arms around his waist and launching him overhead with a big suplex!

“Rupert Royston-Fellowes demonstrating all his technique there…”

“Yes, everyone thinks Rupie and Nigey are nothing but brutes, but really, there is such a finesse to them…such a poise…in the ring and out of it. It’s no wonder all the girls fancy them rotten!”

Judging by some of the faces the camera seeks out just then, it is clear the PR agent’s claim may not be strictly true; be that as it may, however, inside the ring, at least, Royston-Fellowes is still very much in control of his immediate destiny, as he floors the recovering Rushton with a punt to the face, which draws a gasp from the crowd in attendance!

“…Of course, there ARE times when the boys DO go for a more forceful approach…”

“Forceful” is the right word for it, as Rupert roughly grabs his opponent once again, bringing him to his feet only to throw him towards the Best of British’s corner. Rushton falls slumped against the corner, and Fellowes quickly capitalizes with yet another kick to the face – a running one, this time – before tagging in his partner.

“Nigel Kensington III coming into this match for the first time…and look at this!! THE DOWNTRODDING on Ant Rushton!!”

Indeed, no sooner is the darker-haired member of the team made legal than the two men begin to punish their downed opponent with their trademark series of stereo stomps. Gabrielle Harris is, therefore, forced to intervene, first enforcing some separation between the two men and their target, and then pointing Rupert towards the corner. The blonde’s only response, however, is to shoot the young official a haughty look and direct a few words towards her – which, judging by the look of fury in Gabrielle’s face, are likely not the most pleasant. Still, he does eventually comply with the referee’s request, leaving Nigel to continue working on the still downed Ant Rushton.

This, Kensington promptly does, lifting him up and dropping him onto the corner buckle for a second, before connecting with a corner slingshot suplex. Not wasting a second, he rolls back through to his feet and once again leans in to pick up his opponent, this time for a simple yet effective front suplex.

“See, Nigey prefers a more subtle approach…you won’t see him stomping about like Rupie. Well, except for when he kicks them at the end…I like that part…”

Kerry’s giggles serve as the backdrop for a big lariat from Nigel, which sends Rushton hurtling onto the ropes. The Team United member bounces off, only to get hit with a second strike, which sends him straight back the way he came, then a third, which throws him over the ropes to the outside.

“…you were saying, Ms Buckingham…?”

“Kerry, please, darling. Also, I did not say Nigey NEVER hit anyone. I said he favored a more subtle style. There is a difference.”

“Whatever style he prefers, he is feeling quite a bit smug right about now, isn’t he?”

Indeed, his good run has visibly pleased the Best of British member, who, rather than follow his opponent to the outside, takes the opportunity to gloat, spreading his arms out wide to the crowd, to a predictably negative reaction.

“I am not quite sure why those people are jeering. Nigey has every right to feel proud of himself. He has been doing well. He and Rupie both! Why shouldn’t they celebrate it?”

“Well, perhaps he shouldn’t keep his eyes off the PRIZE!!!”

Rupert tries to warn his life partner, but just too late, as, from Kensington’s then-blind side, Ant Rushton re-enters the ring, and promptly makes a desperate leap into a rollup! Gabby Harris drops down to count…

ONE!

TWO!

—and a kickout by Kensington!

“Ant Rushton finally finding a way back into this match, but that one’s on Kensington. He got distracted, and it almost backfired for him and his team.”

“Haven’t YOU ever lost focus for a moment, darling?”

“Rushton needs a tag now!”

Indeed, the Team United member seems to know precisely what is needed at this point – but his opponents have other ideas. In fact, so indignant is Nigel Kensington about the roll-up that he slaps Rushton, sending him reeling several steps back and eliciting an ‘oooh’ from the crowd. Rushton attempts to return the insult, but his hand is blocked by Kensington, who then promptly knees him in the midsection, doubling him over near his team’s corner. He then brings his partner back into the match, gesturing as if to say “all yours”. Rupert nods in thanks, then promptly locks in a double-underhook, before dropping into a facebuster.

“ASSUME THE POSITION CONNECTING!!!”

“Here’s the cover!”

Referee Harris slides in again…

ONE!

TWO!

Before she can slap the mat a third time, however, the young official stops, as if transfixed by a spot in the corner. She then stands up and begins pointing to where Rushton has his foot under the ropes!!!

“UNBELIEVABLE!!”

“An oversight from Rupert Royston-Fellowes means this match will continue!”

The crowd erupt as the two members of the Best of British crowd the referee, contesting the decision. Gabrielle struggles mightily to maintain her aura of authority in the face of two much larger men, but is eventually able to maintain order, as Nigel and Rupert resign themselves to their fate, exchanging world-weary eyerolls…

…right before the blond gets pulled down into another rollup!

ONE!

TWO!

—kickout!

“Another oversight, and once again, Rushton seizes the moment. At this rate, we could well have an upset on our hands…”

“Pish-posh, darling. The only way those chaps are getting anything out of this match is if Rupie and Nigey let them.”

“…which they just did. Twice…”

Kerry falls strangely silent as, in the ring, Rupert and Nigel once again seek to punish Rushton for his audacity. To this effect, Kensington once again lifts him up and tosses him towards the corner, before rushing in with the same superkick he used to finish the match against the Robinsons.

“ETIQUETTE LES—SMACK ONTO RUPERT’S CHIN!!”

In fact, this time around, Rushton is able to dodge the blow, diving out of the way and leaving the hapless Fellowes to receive the brunt of his partner’s kick directly on his jaw! The crowd erupt as the blond half of the Best of British topples off the turnbuckle to the ground, and Rushton books it across the ring towards his corner.

“Rushton looking for a tag here!!”

“Oh, dear…excuse me, darlings. It was a pleasure…”

A clearly flustered Kerry is seen getting up from the announce table, putting down her headset and hurrying towards the downed Rupert, just as Ade Flowers is finally, at long last, able to play a part in the contest.

“Ade Flowers now in as the legal man for his team, and he is wasting no time with pleasantries!”

Indeed, the fresh man surprisingly forgoes his usual fair play, sliding between the distraught Kensington’s legs and pulling him into yet another surprise rollup!! The crowd erupts as Gabrielle Harris drops to count…

ONE!

TWO!

—Kensington survives yet again!

“Third time’s NOT the charm, apparently…”

Indeed, all Flowers’ bold move appears to have accomplished is to annoy the already aggravated Kensington, who is visibly beginning to lose composure. This may be why Flowers is able to dodge the upper-classman’s forearm shot, slipping underneath Kensington and using his momentum to springboard off the ropes and catch him with a missile dropkick! The Best of British man is truly floored for the first time since coming into the match, and Flowers quickly capitalizes with a standing moonsault, further wearing his opponent down. Knowing that will probably not be enough, however, he then quickly takes to the turnbuckle to perform a standard moonsault, which the still-dazed Kensington is unable to react to quick enough! The move therefore lands flush, and Flowers hooks the leg. Gabrielle Harris slides in…

ONE!

TWO!

—Hand on the ropes by Kensington.

“A narrow escape by Nigel Kensington, as Ade Flowers enjoys a good start to his participation in this matchup…”

Bolstered by his decent, if short, run of offence, Flowers seeks to capitalize on it by once again scaling the turnbuckle, this time looking for his own trademark Phoenix splash…

…only to get pulled down by a suddenly revived Kensington, and carried back into the center of the ring.

“Look at the strength by Nigel Kensington….HURRICANRANA FROM ADE FLOWERS!!!”

The crowd erupt as Flowers manages to escape whatever fate Kensington had in store for him, then dodges the ensuing Superkick attempt, forward-rolling out of the way! Therefore, as, Kensington turns around, he is launching into a cross body block…

…which his opponent catches, and reverses into a big fallaway slam!!

“Power move from Nigel Kensington…and he is not done yet!”

The camera closes in on the intense, almost crazed look in Kensington’s eyes as he picks his opponent up and throws him towards the now-empty Best of British corner. Still, the absence of his partner, still recuperating on the outside, does not deter the darker-haired member of the team, who promptly launches into yet another attempt at an Etiquette Lesson…

…which Flowers dodges, reversing it into a dropsault of his own!!

“Superb ring awareness from Ade Flowers, who continues to hang in there against a dogged and resilient opponent!”

“For how much longer, though, remains to be seen. I am not sure I like the look in Kensington’s eyes right now…”

Indeed, Kensington does appear to be growing increasingly irate as he reverses Flowers’ running dropkick attempt, ducking down and vaulting his opponent over the ‘buckle. Flowers hangs on, however, and Kensington is met, a moment later, with a stiff European uppercut, which sends him reeling back long enough for Flowers to take to the skies once again…

…were his pants not snagged from below, crotching him on the turnbuckle instead!!

“Wait…what happened?”

Fans begin to boo as the answer to that question becomes clear, and a recovered Rupert Royston-Fellowes regains his position in the corner, pushing Flowers to the floor in the process. A relieved Nigel Kensington immediately begins to profusely apologise to his partner, even as he sets Flowers up against the corner, but Fellowes simply tells him to let the matter go, tapping him on the shoulder to demonstrate bygones are, as far as he is concerned, bygones. Then, making sure referee Gabrielle Harris has her vision blocked by Nigel’s body, he wraps the tag rope around Flowers’ neck, leaving him gasping and utterly defenseless to prevent what follows, as Nigel’s umpteenth attempt at an Etiquette Lesson superkick finally connects with its target.

“ETIQUETTE LESSON!!”

“And there is nothing Flowers can do about it. Rupert Fellowes made sure of it!”

“Not like this! Not like this!”

The moment the move connects, Rupert immediately lets go of the tag rope, leaving Flowers to slump to the ground, and the second member of the Best of British free to do the rest. As Gabrielle Harris slides down to count, however, Nigel decides it is better to be safe than sorry, and places his feet on the ropes for leverage – a trick the referee misses, but the crowd do not, immediately voicing their displeasure. Kerry Buckingham steps in to hold her client’s legs down, further ensuring her team’s advantage as the referee counts.

ONE!

Ant Rushton shoots out of his corner…

TWO!

…but is bowled over by a tackle from Rupert Fellowes, which sends them both sprawling, and ensures Nigel gets the…

THREE!

…and the win for his team!

An ecstatic Kerry Buckingham climbs into the ring just as both her clients return to their feet, holding up each of their hands as “Downtown” Brown officially declares them the winners. Fans at The Globe are, however, less impressed, and finally appear to have made up their minds as to which side of their appreciation the Best of British belong in. Still, the victorious trio appears more than capable of drowning out the negativity, continuing to strike triumphant poses as their dejected opponents attempt to regroup and shake off the effects of the match’s finishing sequence. For a moment, it appears as though Rushton and Flowers may be about to seek some revenge on their adversaries…but then it passes, and the two simply make their way to the back, leaving their fellow countrymen to bask in their own glory.

“The Best of British go two-for-two since returning to GLOBAL…but Team United definitely have a right to feel aggrieved about the result here tonight. Let’s hope they can bounce back, and perhaps get their win back at some point…”

“For now, though, Domination carries on, and there is still plenty of action to come here tonight!”

It is on a shot of the three members of the victorious team smirking in smug self-satisfaction that the camera cuts to elsewhere…

LOGO b&w

SURE

Backstage, Global’s crack interviewer, The Informer, stands by with Global’s champion, “The Legend” Sean Darring. The champion, dressed to impress in a black tailor-made suit with a purple tie, exudes confidence despite the healing signs on his face from his recent battle at Last Laugh with Jerry David. The Informer’s voice is filled with excitement as he seizes the opportunity to interview the wrestling legend.

The Informer says, “Thank you, Mr. Darring, for this opportunity to talk to you. Usually, we all have to pretend we are Steve Blaine backstage to feel this moment. However, it looks like I drew the right straw as here I stand with wrestling greatness and our long-time champion.”

Sean Darring pats The Informer on the shoulder, thanking him and attempting to help ease his excitement. He responds, “It’s my honor. Steve and I have asked to ‘spend some time apart.’ So, I guess you may be stuck with me for a while.”

The legend chuckles, attempting to lighten the mood, but his comment hints at something deeper, leaving The Informer intrigued. He moves on to his first question.

“How are you feeling after Last Laugh?”

Sean Darring rubs his forehead where his stitches have been removed. He smiles momentarily, reflecting on his words before responding, “Last Laugh was everything but funny. Jerry David was always a respected top contender in Global. At any time, he would have been a worthy opponent for the Global Championship. We can stand here and debate how he went about getting that title shot. We can talk about the methods and games he played. However, we can’t debate that he put on one hell of a fight and took me to the limits. Last Laugh was a tough night for yours truly. I was taken to the limit. At times, my back was against the wall, and it looked like my title run could not only be over but perhaps my career. Yet, here we are. Here I stand. After weeks, my wounds and body have responded well. I am not fully 100%, and I have been asked to take it easy for a few more weeks, but even I surprise myself sometimes.”

The Informer nods and follows up, “Do you think we will ever see Jerry David again?”

Sean Darring ponders for a moment but quickly responds, “I hope so. This industry isn’t always kind. Jerry David entertained a lot of people. I’m not going to pretend I like the guy or agree with what he did to Steve Blaine or myself. However, I hope, for the fans’ sake and the industry’s sake, we see Jerry David at least one more time inside the ring again.”

The Informer nods again and swiftly transitions to his next question. “Mr. Darring, if I may, let’s talk about the elephant in the room. I’m sure by now you’ve seen the video of the opening of the show. What are your thoughts and response to the Prime Time Athletes?”

The legend smiles wide at the mention of the Prime Time Athletes before responding. “Maybe they also caused my flight to be delayed so they could take my opening spot, too?”

The Informer and the champion laugh as obviously he wasn’t serious, but he continues.

“The game continues. My wounds haven’t healed fully. I am not even cleared, but someone is already trying to leap the line and get a title shot. The Prime Time Athletes? I mean sure, they did beat me in the tag team match when Jerry David decided to make his move. They were the benefits of that. They are young, talented, hungry, and always looking for their next opportunity. Those are all good qualities to have in this business.”

The Informer is a bit shocked at how kind the legend is being to the outspoken youngsters, but the legend continues.

“However, they are also rude, arrogant, overconfident, and misguided. All traits that will be obstacles they will have to learn how to overcome if they want to be really successful in this business. They mocked me at the start of the show, talking about my age. No surprises there – we can see that Father Time is catching up to me. That is a softball, an easy target that everyone uses. However, to mock the sentiments that Global Nation has my back. Global Nation powers me through tough moments, Jimmy Classic has Trae Larkin. Well, I always have each and every member of Global Nation!”

The Informer nods quickly, following up. “So, what about their challenge?”

The legend shrugs. “The hard answer is – you have to clear all title matches with the championship committee. You have to convince the Global medical staff I am ready to go.”

The legend pauses, letting that sink in, but before The Informer can follow up, he interrupts, saying.

“The easy response is, be careful what you ask for, boys. Beating me in a tag team match when my partner has alternative motives is one thing. Stepping inside the ring against me… for the Global Championship… with thousands of screaming Global Nation fans having my back? That seems like a match YOU BOYS do not want.”

The Informer laughs and agrees. He then says, “So if the medical staff clears you. If the championship committee agrees. Will we see you defending the title against one of the Prime Time Athletes?”

The legend looks around, then he places the golden Global Championship title on his right shoulder as a symbol of power as he responds.

“Sure.”

The Informer blinks and says, “That simple? Sure?”

The legend nods, repeating himself. “Sure.”

The Informer says, “Well, there you have it, folks! If everything goes well, we could see a Global Championship title match next Domination between ONE of the Prime Time Athletes and ‘The Legend’ Sean Darring. That is exciting, don’t you agree, Mr. Darring?”

The champion smiles and says the word one more time.

“Sure.”

As we fade.

LOGO b&w

MEMORIES

Valorie sighs as she makes her way from the curtain of the stage, pulling the scrunchie out of her hair and letting it fall to her shoulders before she pauses, staring up at the ceiling with a bit of a smirk.

“Button was… a bit of fun… Makes me look forward to challenging Best~” she says, chuckling quietly to herself before that smirk falls. “But he’s not my ultimate goal…” 

Clap!

Clap!

Clap!

Clap!

The sound echoes off the walls. Seeming to come from every direction.

“Well done on your progress, Valorie. I see you haven’t forgotten your lessons.”

Valorie looks around, her eyes darting in every direction before finally landing upon Reyn himself. A deafening silence falls between them for a moment before she rests her hands on her hips, that smirk returning once more.

“After that ass-beating I received from you a few months back? How the hell could I forget…” she responds, her brows furrowing as the memories come flooding back.

His eyebrows raise as he takes a step closer.

“Is that it? Is THAT what’s been on your mind?”

Another step.

“Not your emancipation over the other two.”

A third step.

“Not your victory, nor the moment you earned your freedom by crippling the soldier…”

A fourth.

“Your thoughts are on… your loss. Your moment of weakness. Where I twisted your leg and felt each individual ligament strain beneath my hands.”

He smiles almost pityingly.

“THAT is your recurring memory?”

Her smirk is gone. A silence flows between the two wrestlers, their gazes tense and unwavering. Valorie’s hands finally fall from her hips, clenched into fists as she takes a deep breath, stifling the frustration that is building up inside of her before she looks away.
 
“I’m disappointed in you.”

Reyn says before he walks past her.

LOGO b&w

THE RUTHERFORD GUYS UNLEASHED

Rutherford’s theme hits, and he walks out followed by his clients. As they hit the ramp they stop for a second as Nikolai and Daniel raise the championship over their heads before continuing the walk down. As they walk up the steps to the ring Rutherford grabs the microphone on the way. As they enter the ring they stand there for a few seconds while the boos can be heard loudly in the arena. 

“Ladies and gentlemen. Tonight my clients will be facing off in singles matches.”

The boos continue from the fans. 

“I understand your frustration but you need to understand that my clients also know how to fight in singles matches. Now for a while you have been seeing Mr. Dream compete in single competition. However up until recently he was under the guidance of the wrong person. Last Domination you’ve seen him under the right guidance against Mr. Malta. Now there is no doubt in Mr. Dream’s skills even before I started managing him. But with my help he became better and the Daniel Dream you all know today…that is THE Daniel Dream that will never stop fighting.”

Rutherford takes a breath before continuing. 

“Tonight Mr. Dream goes up against an unknown opponent. Any other superstar would be reluctant to do so, but my clients are not afraid of anyone. And I am confident against any opponent that Mr. Dream will face tonight.”

Rutherford hands the microphone to Daniel Dream. 

“I’m not reluctant to face any superstar on the roster, because I don’t fear any superstar on the roster. I instill the fear in others. I don’t fear Alex Reyn, I don’t fear Sean Darring but respect him. And I damn sure don’t fear John J. Truth.”

Daniel hands Rutherford the microphone back. 

“Now on to the unknown. Mr. Sinclair is a very dangerous man and with that he often gets misinterpreted. Now I have been hearing rumours that he is under my control so bad that it is almost like he is on a leash.”

Rutherford and Daniel both chuckle at that statement. 

“Mr. Sinclair chooses not to speak directly to you or his opponents unless necessary. And that is why he hired me. Let me give you a history lesson. Mr. Sinclair is a well decorated wrestler and was so already before he hired me. He hired me because he was tired of speaking directly to people who dont deserve it. He feels… well he feels he is wasting his breath. And you or most of the people in the back are not worth it. Yes he tells me what he wants to say and I do, not because any of us is under control of each other.”

Nikolai leans over and whispers something to Rutherford who nods in agreement. 

“Mr. Sinclair says and I quote: If you have something to say about the way I handle my business how about you walk down here and say it to my face?”

They pause awaiting an entrance before Rutherford continues. 

“And I quote: I knew it. Behind my back everyone talks smack, but the second they get the opportunity to say it to my face, no one shows up. Cowards…you better hope I do not figure out who you are because if I do….you will be my next victim.”

Rutherford smirks as he continues. 

“As for tonight you will see Mr. Sinclair is just as good in singles matches as he is in tag matches. His resume speaks for itself and whoever the opponent is will realise it is not a fake resume. See if you don’t know Mr. Sinclair, he seems very…unstable. And yes he can be if you push his limits. But when that bell rings whoever is on the other side of that ring is a target. A target that will either get an easy way out by pinfall or submission….or a target that will be eliminated from ring competition for weeks, months or even end your career. So whoever chose to step in the ring tonight….make sure you are prepared to fight as if your career depends on it, because depending on Mr. Sinclair’s end goal….it might be the last match you have.” 

Nikolai and Daniel both raise their championships as Rutherford tosses the microphone.

When, all of a sudden, “War Dance” by Shen Yi plays, cueing boos from all quarters of The Globe.  Get it?  Never mind.

Xiang, despite his British accent, doesn’t deal in sarcasm – for the most part.

“It sounds like you’re in the market for opponents – I can help with that.”

He waves off some cheers, the crowd led to believe The Xiang Dynasty will challenge The Rutherford Guys for their tag straps.

“No, no,  no – NOT YET at least.”

Surprisingly, he’s all alone.

Not for long.

In a red and yellow singlet with stars, representing the Chinese flag and matching Xiang, the lumbering unit otherwise known as The Great Wall emerges.  An imposing sight, and one that has got Nikolai Sinclair licking his lips, ignoring any instructions or advice by Richard Rutherford or Daniel Dream, for that matter.

The Great Wall, on the other hand, nods as his mentor whispers something, well, once The Wall leans down.  Xiang accompanies the seven-two skyscraper to the ring and it seems that we’ve got a battle between two of GLOBAL’s STRONGEST AND NASTIEST…

NOW.

LOGO b&w

NIKOLAI SINCLAIR V THE GREAT WALL

“It looks like we have a little impromptu match, though maybe not for long,” Lucas reacts organically as Nikolai immediately goes for…

“VICTIM’S END,” The Mark exclaims, referring to Sinclair’s take on the Claymore, and his typical finisher.

“This could be a record, or would have been rather,” Quinn recalls, referring to Valorie Vitality’s disposal of Joe Public in just SIX seconds last season.  Imagine if Miranda Wright had been around for that.

Back to the present (tense…)

However, it goes awry rather rapidly as The Great Wall sticks his huge left paw out and lifts Nikolai into the air for a choke-lbows, three of them, to the head, which causes separation and then, the bell rings.

“This is going to be physical,” Quinn asserts.

“It’s a wrestling match, of course it is, Lucas,” Reece sarcastically responds.

Lucas shrugs that off and asks Deltzer how he sees things going.

“Smashmouth, all-in, all-out-attack offense, full of power moves, the ODD hold and as you said, very, very physical, and Allie knew exactly what you meant.”

“Don’t speak for me, Marky Boy,” Reece tuts.

The Canadian, by way of Norway, goes back to his roots and sticks it to his fellow import with a TRIO of European uppercuts that find their mark, forcing The Great Wall back to the top right-hand corner, no mean feat and testament to the GLOBAL Tag Team champion’s raw power and intimidation.

“Sinclair isn’t shy, and he can’t be, going up against someone who stands nine inches taller, and some hundred pounds heavier,” The Mark adds.

“How would you handle that, Lucas?” Allie asks her colleague.

“How did I?  The same way Sinclair is going about it now,” Lucas doesn’t finish his line when The Mark starts cracking up.

“You weren’t as big or strong as Sinclair, Lucas, or have you forgotten that?”

“He still isn’t,” Allie chips in.

Quinn shakes his head.

Cheered on by Rutherford and Dream, Sinclair sets about TGW with great work to the body, two lefts visibly making The Wall wince.  However, the Asian powerhouse changes the complexion of the contest in the blink of an eye, grabbing the decorated Hamilton native by the throat and slinging Sinclair into the corner in a fashion that I dare say, Nikolai is not accustomed to.

“It takes something, not only to weather those shots, but have something to answer back, and the way he did it…my goodness,” Lucas laments.

Sinclair ducks underneath, and tees off with a couple of punches, this time aiming for the right side of the body.  His handiwork bears fruit, given there’s no comeback on this occasion from The Great Wall.  Instead, Sinclair stands back, measuring the near 400-pound behemoth before him.

Flying Kne—Wall catches Sinclair, and drops down with a powerslam, which again changes the mood of the match in the time it takes for a kettle to boil.  Xiang can afford himself a somewhat creepy smile, and a round of applause, which our audience members don’t appreciate.  Honestly?  He could care less.

Wall whips Sinclair to the left set of ropes and connects with a BIG BOOT!

And by BIG, WE MEAN BIG!

1…

The Wall bends down and hopefully hooks a leg.

…1!

TGW is taken aback, and clearly displeased.

“Nikolai is double tough, and what you’ve got here is two guys that refuse to take a back seat to anyone, as you can see,” The Mark reckons.

The Great Wall drops a leg on Nikolai Sinclair.  Can he keep him there?

1…

…and a half.

“Sinclair is so determined, so relentless, he just will not give anything away, and you have to work for everything,” The Mark warns.

“The Great Wall is in the habit of taking exactly what he wants, though, with his sheer size and strength,” Lucas Quinn contributes.

“That reminds me of Jerry Watkins,” Reece states, deadpan, in the middle of the match before realizing she may have made a mistake, judging by the daggers heading her way courtesy of Quinn and Deltzer.  She covers her face, embarrassed and also secretly amused by her zinger.

Meanwhile, Xiang yells words of encouragement, or at least that’s what we believe, given they come in Mandarin.  The Guangzhou Gargantuan lifts Sinclair up like a lawn dart into the top left-hand corner, scoring with snake eyes, but before Sinclair can fall, he is hoisted up more than eight feet into the air by the biggest bastard in the promotion, currently speaking, with a gigantic…

GORILLA.

PRESS.

SLAM.

No cover is coming.  The Great Wall stalks Sinclair to the bottom right-hand corner.  Nikolai pulls himself up, beckoning for the Chinese super heavyweight to bring it on, looking like a madman laughing at the rain, again, not that the Norwegian-born titleholder will be bothered by what the masses think of him.  He wanted this challenge, after all, and clearly has a lot of self-confidence and belief in his amazing abilities.

“Both of these men are a terrifying prospect for any opponent on their day, neither should be an easy day at the office.  The Great Wall is the second biggest man in GLOBAL history, behind Big Aug, but Nikolai Sinclair has a list of achievements longer than Yao Ming’s legs,” The Mark quips.

“Yao Ming?  You’re British.  You don’t know anything about basketball,” Reece dismisses Deltzer.

“I AM NOT BRITISH,” Mark yells.

The Great Wall takes Sinclair up on his offer, and instantly regrets doing so, steaming in, only to miss Nikolai.  What happens next is awful for The Wall, and quite amusing for everyone else, as he hits his head off the steel ring post, and then falls back, following an ill-advised corner splash.  The Wall is holding both his chest and his forehead, a double whammy if you will, following his poor timing.

A double down ensues, and we get to five.  Xiang’s mat-banging gets the crowd involved, and even though The Wall is up first, his sluggish and telegraphed right is blocked and returned by Sinclair, who fires off with another couple.

Nevertheless, a knee brings his comeback to a grinding halt…

A CHOKESLAM changes that, though, and Sinclair drops to his knees, neglecting to hook a leg.

1…

2…

Only 2.

“Let’s give The Great Wall credit there,” Lucas insists.

“What for?” Allie asks.

“The bigger they are, all that?” Deltzer offers.

“No?” He checks.

Reece shakes her head…

1…

2…

NO!

…And so does, Sinclair, surprised The Great Wall didn’t succumb to his charm and chokeslam. As opposed to getting mad, Sinclair rightly opts to dole out more punishment.  Rutherford, sensing what Sinclair is going for, rallies the crowd, annoying Xiang in the process.  In vain, Xiang attempts to dissuade the audience, but it’s too late.  They’re already involved and all in.  The Great Wall rises…

VOICES PUNCH!!!

The Great Wall is about to fall from the sensational Superman punch, but Sinclair is back up in the air, showcasing his phenomenal agility, speed of thought, and all-round in-ring presence…

VICTIM’S END!!!

The Claymore that didn’t land and consign China’s biggest sports entertainer to the history books several minutes ago finds its mark on TGW’s sizeable chin.  Xiang holds and shakes his head.  Rutherford smiles at Dream, who knowingly nods as Sinclair puts a foot on The Great Wall’s chest for emphasis, and the audience counts along.

ONE…

TWO…

THREE?!?!?!

 

THREE!!!

 

“What a performance from Nikolai Sinclair, who washes his hands of The Wall like a bathroom break, and it’s not easy to do THAT to someone LIKE THAT,” Quinn reckons.

“Dream and Rutherford are all smiles, as they should be, and like they said, these two men are a danger to anyone, singles or tags, on the roster.  We know how close Dream has been to winning the GLOBAL Championship on multiple occasions, and Nikolai Sinclair, in case you didn’t already know, just exhibited why he should probably be on a short list for Sean Darring in the future,” The Mark tips.

Dream waves Xiang in, but Xiang waves it off and heads to the back, huffed and reluctant to get in there and mix it with Daniel Dream, especially on such short notice.  However, when Xiang gets to the top of the ramp, he gets a shock, partly because he wasn’t expecting such loud pop music to start blaring.

“Let Me Entertain You.”

Daniel Dream affords himself a smile.  He’s been here before, The Globe reacts with great applause, and…

“We’ve got ourselves another match,” Lucas laughs.

LOGO b&w

ALFIE BUTTON V DANIEL DREAM

“The very same match that headlined Domination Two, and Daniel Dream’s first-ever GLOBAL win.  There’s a tremendous respect between these two amazing athletes,” Lucas waxes.

“Say what you want about Alfie, but he’s not shy,” The Mark states the obvious.

“Whether it be in talking smack or challenging anyone on the roster, he does not give a…hoot,” Deltzer finishes.

“A hoot?  As in…an owl’s hoot?” Reece questions.

Just as Alfie hops over the top rope, Dream feigns a superkick.  Alfie effortlessly avoids it and takes his dreamcoat off.

As he does, Dream also pretends to attack him.  Alfie urges Dream to bring it on.  When the bell goes, Dream takes him up on his invitation, hammering away with rights in the corner, dominating Alfie, until Snider breaks them up.

“Gamesmanship going on already.  Alfie wearing the various shades of pink, yellow, lime green, purple and every color you can think of,” Lucas pointing out who’s who for the benefit of new viewers, I guess.

“What I wanna know is…how will Valorie’s victory at The Last Laugh affect him?”

“Well, Allie, he looks okay right now, doesn’t he?  I’m sure he’s not even thinking about that,” The Mark barks back.

Daniel whips Alfie to the buckles, upside down and Button is now up on the top ropem thought not for long, given

Dream comes over, seeking CARNIVORE’S LAST HUNT…Alfie kicks his legs off the top rope, does a backflip and escapes Dream’s clutches, which gets major praise from fans and commentators alike.

“That WAS awesome,” Allie admits.

“So was that!” The Mark excitedly yells as Alfie unleashes a SUPERKICK, no wait, Dream ducks.  However, Alfiepoints, and laughs.  Turnabout and all that.

“Not shy at all,” Lucas affirms The Mark’s earlier statement.

“And very, very good,” Deltzer declares.

“Lucas, are you over your Daniel Dream phase?” Reece jests.

“I am, though he is still arguably the greatest athlete in the game, even with someone like Alfie in there.  As an all-rounder, I can think of none better, seriously,” Quinn believes.

In the meantime, Dream looks annoyed he got caught out with that, and eager to regain his focus. 

Richard Rutherford calls Daniel Dream over for a timeout.  Dream listens intently, as Sinclair stays silent, fresh off a fantastic victory over The Great Wall.  Daniel nods, seeking to make it a double for the GLOBAL Tag Team Champions here at The Globe on Domination 20.

“Never ‘ad you down as a yes-man, Daniel,” Alfie says, loud enough for some sections to hear and cheer his observation.  Dream shrugs it off, ready to indulge the Englishman in a collar-and-EUROPEAN UPPERCUT BY ALFIE, AND ANOTHER!

I PITY THA FOOL!

I PITY THA FOOL!

Rather than going for a hattrick there and then, the Londoner attempts an Irish whip, attempts being the operative word, as Daniel reverses it, and follows Button to the north side of town with a reverse elbow, a great equalizer and receipt for those teeth-rattling European uppercuts.

A snap mare by Dream sets Button up for an elbow drop, which misses.  Alfie’s up, alert and ready to unload…

HEEERE’S ALFIE!

1…

2…

AND ONLY TWO.

The stunning standing shooting star press is a thing of beauty and got some crowd members up off their feet.

“He looks on it tonight,” The Mark muses.

“How do you know?” Allie quizzes Deltzer.

“I can just tell…there’s a snap about him, which is difficult to explain, but easy to see,” The Mark believes, clicking his fingers to emphasize his point.

“A flow?”

“Yeah, a good way of putting it, Allie,” The Mark admits.

Button heads west, out and back in, launching himself at a dazed and stationary Dream with a superb slingshot Arabian press, otherwise known as Al Jazeera.

1…

2…

…and a half!

“Dream looks a couple of steps off it, doesn’t he?” Lucas wonders.

“He does, but let’s give Alfie credit, he’s dictating the pace, which is a breakneck one, and Daniel’s one of the few who can even hope to live with it, if Alfie gets in his groove, which we haven’t seen often enough in GLOBAL.  He’s the definition of a confidence wrestler,” Deltzer analyzes.

“Dream needs to ground him, and quick – pun intended,” Allie chimes in.

And, as Alfie heads to the summit in the top left-hand corner, it’s almost as if Dream is listening to the commentary, or perhaps the words of encouragement by Sinclair and Rutherford, and he meets Alfie perched up on the top rope, stunning the speedster with a hard right to the back.  Button won’t go quietly, though, and responds with a closed fist of his own, which garners a warning from Snider.  Nevertheless, there’s not much time for debate given the potentially precarious predicament the pair of these performers presently find themselves in.

It causes separation, and Dream slides down the buckles, but boy does he come back with a vengeance, catching Alfie with THAT slam you’ve seen a certain “Nature Boy” get trapped in so many times over the years.  Alfie’s back takes a battering, as he sits back upon impact, and then down again.  This gives Dream the impetus and confidence to rebound off the bottom set of ropes and arrowing back towards Alfie with a…

“SLIDING KNEE STRIKE BY DREAM, AND HE GOT ALL OF IT,” Lucas shouts.

ONE…

TWO…

 

NO!

That was close, but that is what Daniel needed to keep Alfie grounded.

“Now, it’s Daniel who is going up,” Allie observes.

  By contrast, Alfie’s not there to stop his opposite number.  Dream salutes Rutherford and Sinclair, what a patriot and partner he is

…HEADBUTT OF STA…ALFIE AIN’T THERE.

“Well, that’s embarrassing,” Alfie capturing the mood of everyone watching.

Snider starts his count. 

One…

“Mark, we’re waiting on a couple of exclusives from you,” Allie starts.

Two…

“Such as?”

“Paul Sanders?”

Three…

“He’ll be here in the next show or two, addressing his future,” The Mark tells Reece and us, as a result.

“Where does that leave Kid Chameleon?”

Four…

“You’ll find that out, too,” The Mark replies.

Five…

“The Rich Family?”

“Alfie and Dream are up,” The Mark points out.

“Damn, this isn’t finished,” Reece promises.

“I would bet on that,” Quinn calls.

Alfie slings a couple of European uppercuts at Dream, which get Daniel’s attention and cause him to stumble back off the left set of ropes with interest…

THE RIGHT OF THE PEO-ALFIE NARROWLY AVOIDS IT!

“Scary times for Alfie there, as he went from being in control to almost being out unconscious if that had landed…SUPERKI—CAUGHT, EXTRAORDINARY,” Lucas’s inner fan coming out.

Dream spins Alfie around…No, Alfie with an Enzuigiri—-misses, as well, and Alfie’s now on the ground…

THE JOHN LOCKE, AND NOWHERE TO GO.

“Daniel’s patented camel clutch, complete with a full nelson, and why do I sound like a used car salesman?” The Mark asks himself.

“You look like one too.” Do I need to, really?

Snider keeps asking the chirpy and cheeky Cockney, who in fairness, keeps turning down Barry’s tempting offer of throwing the match despite being in a considerable amount of agony and discomfort.

“Fackin’ ‘ell, NO, BARRY!  NO, NO, NO…ALL RIGHT?  JESUS.”

Dream is in complete control of the Londoner, but spurred on by the crowd, Alfie decides he’s not going to give up, and slowly, but surely, crawls a few steps forward, which in turn feeds the crowd. 

“Listen to the GLOBAL Nation, twenty-five hundred of them in full voice, trying to give back to Alfie, who thrives in this type of atmosphere and environment.”

“He’ll try, no doubt about that,” The Mark states.

Daniel almost seems powerless, as Alfie crawls, and crawls, and crawls…

“Can he?”

Dream drags Button back slightly, and cinches back in.

“No,” Allie answers The Mark’s question.

“Yes, I can see that for myself, Allie.”

Snider resumes his repeated requests, and Alfie screams back at him in a concoction of frustration and pain.

The Globe goes quiet, though not for long.  The crowd seems determined, despite Richard Rutherford’s futile attempts to dissuade them, to get Alfie out of the John Locke, which is locked in, and Button is beginning to get a little sleepy.

A surge, a rush, call it whatever you want enters his body, and he now looks wide awake, desperate to get out of this thing.  Clapped and roared on, he sets about reaching the middle ropes, and now suddenly he makes strides rather than baby steps, and he’s close…

He gets there!

Alfie reaches the ropes!  Notwithstanding, Dream isn’t happy with his lot and a pair of seated sentons to the spine showcase his frustration, but Rutherford is happier to see a more angry and aggressive Dream.

“He wants to make up for lost time, and here he goes, setting Alfie up for…CARNIVORE’S LAST HUN…O!!! Alfie reverses it into a hurricanrana,” Lucas breathlessly narrates.

1…

2…

A roll-up by Dream reverses Alfie’s reversal…

1…

2…

Same outcome.

Alfie very gracefully steps towards the downed Daniel Dream with a…SLIDING SUPERKICK?!  Well, something like that.

ONE…

TWO…

 

TH-AT’S BLOODY CLOSE!

“Breathtaking by Button, but also by Dream, what resilience, heart and guts on the part of The American Patriot, who wants repeat, and not revenge, from Domination Two, and he’s doing his best to stay in the fight and keep what the fans want at bay,” Lucas comments.

“Stay on him, Alfie,” The Mark urges, cupping his hands around his mouth, presumably to project the volume.

Button again comes to the left set of ropes…

BRITAIN’S GOT TAL-EGS UP!

The springboard moonsault press attempt is nipped in the bud, and Button’s ribs are on fire right now. 

“Oh no, Carnivore’s Last—and at the last possible second, Alfie deems Dream The Weakest Link!” Only The Mark could call that, lads and lasses.

In plain English?

Dream’s elevated sitout powerbomb was countered by a falling DDT from Button.  Better?

Snider starts his count.

One…

Rubbing her hands, Allie gets back to it, while The Mark rolls his eyes and shakes his head.

“Right, Mark.  The Rich Family?”

Two…

“What about them?”

“Don’t start,” she threatens him with a pointed finger.

Three…

“Okay, okay.  They’ll be here at the next show, and that is a definite.”

Four…

“Your source?”

“Declan,” he confirms.

Five…

“Pretty good.  Not like Donny.”

Six…

“No, not like Donny, and nobody’s talking to Freddie.”

“You mean, like in the family?”

Seven…

“No, I mean OUTSIDE of the family,” he realizes his error.

  Lucas interrupts.

“ALFIE’S UP FIRST…ONTO THE TOP ROPE…”

“WATCH OUT, SO IS DANIEL,” Allie yells in return.

DREAM CATCHER!!!

Rutherford punches the air, and Sinclair pats him on the back.  This one’s in the bag, fellas.

“Why did Alfie hesitate?” The Mark wonders.

“What do you mean?  He was playing to the fans,” Allie retorts.

“No, he wasn’t.  He was distracted,” The Mark insists.

“What?”

ONE…

TWO…

THR—-NO!!!

“I don’t know how Alfie kicked out, maybe he doesn’t himself.  Daniel is incredulous, but Richard Rutherford a stone’s throw away from us is telling him to calm down, he’s got this, and I have to say, easier said than done.  BUT, he’s right,” Lucas blurts all that out, and takes a sip from his water, trying to commentate and enjoy this match at the same time.

Suddenly, Dream lifts a helpless Alfie up.  Button is there in body, but not in mind…

AMERICAN REVOLUTION ELBOW!!!

“Repeat, then,” The Mark laments.

“A familiar sight, unfortunately for Alfie and The Globe, and you could feel the wind sucked out of his body, and this building,” Lucas, there, doing his job.

One…

Two…

 

Three!!!

“No kicking out of that, and Daniel Dream does the double for The Rutherford Guys.  And that might be an even more impressive win than the first one, because not only did he do it in half the time, but Alfie was on top of his game.  Credit to Daniel, he dug in, but I can’t help believing Alfie was distracted at a crucial moment, and hey, Daniel did what he had to, and took advantage of it,” The Mark shakes his head.

“Nonsense.  He just doesn’t have it at this level,” Reece coldly slams the door on The Mark, and Alfie with it, I guess.

But, when one door closes, another one opens?  Isn’t that what they say?

Up on the big screen, which we really need to name properly, Lamar Sellers, otherwise known as Mr. Merchandise, is flanked by the two masked men that gate-crashed his second match with Darren Best in their mini best-of-three series last arc.

“Rumor has it that GLOBAL is a little hard-up for cash.  Perhaps Mr. Merchandise should invest a stack…or just start a hostile takeover, and hmm,” Sellers hums pensively, covering his chin with his index finger before starting back at The Rutherford Guys in the ring.

“Maybe we should begin with the GLOBAL Tag Team Championship.”

LOGO b&w

THE WRIGHT MAN - 2

December 2010..

In his worst Mexican accent ever, which covers an awful lot of ground given his ridiculously low standards on that score, the Texan veteran is in a cheerful mood.

“Thees is ees Marcos Marquez.  You screwed me Steeeen.  I want my job back and when I do, you’re heestory.”

Stein gags.  The normally mild-mannered road agent only had one response to that:  “Fuck off, Hank.”

“Hey John.  How you doin’?”

“I’m good.”

“Listen John…”

Stein cuts his former thoroughbred off:.

“No, you listen, Hank.  I know why you’ve called, and I just want to say congratulations.  You’ve worked long and hard to get there.  Do for them what you did for us and you’ll be HUGE up there.”

“What if I fuck up, John?”

“You won’t.  Plus, there’s always a place for you down here.  You know that.”

Hank nods, not that it matters because he couldn’t be seen:  “I know.  I may take you up on that offer.”

The road agent chuckles

“Don’t you dare.  I don’t wanna ever see your face down here again.  Three years was more than enough.”

“Two and a half, technically.”

Stein retorts, “It felt like two and a half decades.”

Wright laughs:  “I don’t know what you said.  You don’t have to tell me, but I want you to know I appreciate whatever it was because I think it made Irwonsen’s mind up.”

Stein shakes his head, “You don’t give yourself enough credit sometimes, Hank.  He was gonna sign you anyway, son.  He just wanted a reference, and I told him the truth.”

Wright sighs,

“John, you know I’ll always be in debt to the men who trained me, but them aside, you’re the best, you know that?  Nobody in the last ten years, let me finish.” Hank adds as he anticipates Stein’s interruption.

Wright clears his throat first.

“Nobody in the last ten years has helped me or believed in me more than you.  I know I could be an asshole at times, even with you, but I always respected you.  You gave me my break in Mexico, you were behind me all the way, and you’ve done it for me again. Thank you.  I can never repay you.”

Stein iss silent for a moment:  “Hank, it was easy.  I don’t recognize the guy you were, I don’t know him…”

“You don’t wanna,” Hank chips in.

“Maybe I don’t.  But I do want to know the man that I met and see him do well.”

The Texan changes tact “Thanks, John.  How’s business?”

Stein scowls:  “Better when you were down here.”

Wright nods on the other side of the phone 

“Obviously.”

John was astonished

“What if I fuck up?  What happened to the humble guy that came on the phone and kissed my ass about his glowing reference?  He didn’t hang around, did he?”

“Number two or number one?”

“Two.”

ALL’s former top draw didn’t say anything, but he didn’t have to.  Stein said it for him

“We’d be number one if you were here.”

“Correct.”

The Anglo-American agent asked:  “When do you start?”

“The new year.  They’re starting me off in…”

Stein smiled:  “Mexico.  Henry told me.”

“I may drop by…”

“Don’t even think about it!”

Hank is puzzled:  “Antonio?”

“No.  ME!”

The cowboy cracks up before getting serious again.

“How’s Antonio?  Is he mad at me?”

“Never, Hank.  You took a bullet for him.  He’ll always respect you for that, and he thinks he let you down.  He didn’t do right by you.  I’ve told him time and time again that there’s no problem…”

“Hell no.  Maybe we’ll have to clear that up.”

Stein’s tone turned serious.

  “Come in then.  We can shoot the shit and talk about good old times when you’re down here.  You’ll do well, Hank.  They’ve got big plans for you in ACW.”

“Not like you, John.”

The half-Scottish middle-aged wrestling lover conceded defeat:  “You can’t recreate magic.”

Telepathically, they uttered the same words at the same time…

“BUT, you can try.”

LOGO b&w

A LAST OPPORTUNITY

Doug Washington from Global’s HR sits in a backstage conference room, meticulously sifting through a folder while shaking his head in apparent disapproval. He suddenly looks up, motions to his assistant, and instructs, “Bring him in.”

After a brief pause, the former Global superstar known as the Masked Maniac is led in by his assistant. He dons one of his signature silk suits along with his usual black mask, and he promptly takes a seat across from Doug Washington, eager to hear what he has to say.

Doug Washington continues to shuffle through the folder, emitting a deep sigh before finally raising his gaze to meet the masked wrestler’s expectant eyes.

“Masked Maniac,” he addresses.

The masked wrestler nods with hope and eagerness.

“I’ve been informed that you’ve reapplied for employment with Global. After a thorough review of your folder, including the complaints made against both you and your former partner, I’m uncertain whether it’s prudent to put Global at risk once more at this juncture.”

The hope in the masked wrestler’s eyes begins to fade until he hears the pivotal word, “but.”

Another deep sigh escapes Doug Washington as he proceeds, “However, it appears you have a supporter within the company, as they’ve advocated for your reinstatement. Subject to a strict set of guidelines, your signature, a series of videos, and a one-on-one seminar on proper conduct toward the opposite sex, you will be granted the opportunity to return to Global.”

The masked wrestler raises his head, a smile presumably forming beneath his mask. He reaches for a pen but once again pauses upon hearing the word, “but.”

Doug Washington maintains a serious tone as he continues, “You must comprehend that this is your final chance. Your partner will neither be reinstated nor rehired, and you will operate independently. You will be under close scrutiny, and there are certain things you cannot do. You must refrain from using your slogan – ‘Masked Bros before …'”

Doug Washington halts before completing the phrase, shaking his head disapprovingly before moving on. “You are prohibited from referencing your waist or discussing ‘Mojo.’ You cannot promote your business venture, ‘Masked Bros condoms,’ and its tagline – ‘Don’t forget to mask your little bro.'”

Once more, Doug Washington pauses and rubs his temple, clearly questioning who in Global supports this individual. “You are obligated to exhibit exemplary behavior, particularly around members of the opposite sex. A single complaint, a single misstep, and you will face fines and almost certainly unemployment once again. There is one individual within Global who advocated for your return, and that person’s support should be sufficient. Do not squander this opportunity; do you understand?”

The masked wrestler appears conflicted, undoubtedly daunted by the stringent restrictions. After contemplating Doug Washington’s words, he tilts his head, reaches for the pen, flips to the final page of the packet, and hastily scribbles his name on the designated line. Doug Washington grumbles under his breath, saying, “Oh, boy… I have a feeling we are going to be seeing you again. In the meantime, watch the videos, enroll in the classes, seek therapy if necessary, and do whatever it takes to exhibit professionalism and maintain impeccable conduct. Remember, this is your last chance. DO NOT SQUANDER IT.”

The Masked Maniac eagerly nods, signifying his complete understanding and commitment. He rises from his seat and begins to skip toward the exit, but then hears a sudden “Wait,” causing him to halt in his tracks.

Doug Washington frowns one final time and adds, “Don’t forget your wrestling gear for the next Domination.”

LOGO b&w

GALAXY BRAIN

The buzzing excitement permeating The Globe as fans await the appearance of the next set of GLOBAL Wrestling superstars is instantly replaced with a wave of displeasure and anger the moment the first few chords of Black Sabbath’s “Paranoid” begin to emit through the speakers, heralding the arrival of the most controversial and universally disliked athlete in the company.

“Ugh…I swear, I would pay money not to have to listen to this guy, just once!”

“Oh, really? Can I interest you in a set of heavy-duty earplugs, Al? I wore them front row at a Motorhead concert, and I can confirm they work…”

“…very funny, Mark. Though, even having to listen to you is better than putting up with that creature…”

Said “creature” has, in the meantime, emerged through the curtain onto the entranceway and begun to make his way down to ringside, flanked, as ever, by his Stars and Stripes-waving contingent of two security guards and a sole, yet effective spin doctor. The group are, predictably, absolutely bombarded with jeers every step of the way, yet manage to brush those off as admirably as ever, keeping their eyes front and their flags flying as they reach the bottom of the entranceway, climb the steps, and effectively enter the squared circle. Only once they are thus situated does the brunette twenty-something in an impeccably fitted blazer jacket order the two men to tone down their patriotic fervor, so as not to distract the audience from her announcement.

“Ladies and gentlemen, please rise in salute of your American Champion…and mine…General John J. Truth!”

Predictably, the audience’s reaction to these words is the exact opposite of what the woman intended, as the jeers intensify to nuclear levels and a chant of “AAAASS-HOOOOLE!” begins to ripple across the stands – much to Allie Reece’s delight.

“The fans in attendance saying what we legally can’t right now…but I wholeheartedly agree. He IS exactly that.”

The deafening din is, however, not quite enough to deter the GLOBAL American Champion, who shows off his vocal projection skills to make himself heard above the raucous crowd.

MY NAME IS JOHN J. TRUTH, AND I CALL BULLSHIT!

The crowd appear equally undeterred in their aim to drown out the Champion, but Truth inexorably plows on, in as loud a tone as he can maintain long term.

“I call bullshit on the goddamn suits in the place trying to screw over their top Champion!”

The crowd boo, if possible even louder at this blatant bit of boasting, but Truth appears to have tuned them out, as he now addresses the powers-that-be at GLOBAL directly.

“That’s right. I call bullshit on you jackasses stacking the odds against me. Forcing me to defend at the Pay-Per-View against the terrorist drug-lord…putting Sullivan in charge of that match…not even having any security in place to make sure that masked freak didn’t try to whack me before the match…seriously, do you jackasses think you’re fooling anyone anymore?”

By the Champion’s side, his brunette associate can be seen nodding in sympathetic commiseration, and mouthing the words “do better, GLOBAL”. Still, she does not speak up, lest the spotlight be pulled away from Truth, instead simply letting his associate continue – which he does with a dawning smirk on his lips.

“Sorry-not-sorry, dipshits..,the only people who got fooled two weeks ago…were yourselves.”

Truth’s smirk broadens as he taps his temple.

“See, you weren’t counting on my galaxy brain. You weren’t counting on me having you bastards all figured out, and knowing exactly how to deal with it. I wouldn’t give you asswipes the satisfaction of actually making me lose…so I made MYSELF lose!” Truth holds up his title proudly, eliciting a fresh batch of jeers. “CHAMPION’S ADVANTAGE, ASSHOLES! HOW ‘BOUT THAT?

“Oh…so that‘s what he was doing at the end of that match!?”

“If it was, I gotta admit, that was pretty clever from Truth…” Lucas Quinn and Mark Deltzer struggle to make themselves heard over the noise of the crowd, but Allie Reece appears to have no such problem.

DON’T YOU DARE DEFEND HIM, MARK! I WILL MAKE YOU REGRET IT!!

A stunned, subdued silence envelops the commentary table after this outburst, as, in the ring, Truth goes on to make his next point.

“And another thing…just to shut up all you asswipes typing in your little message boards about how ‘TwUtH iS sUcH a CoWaRd‘…I’ve decided I’m going to be a fighting Champion. Starting right here tonight.”

The crowd reaction to these words is, for once more akin to stunned confusion than outright hostility; there is, however, plenty of the latter to be found at the announce table.

“Yeah, right. You’re just trying to lose that thing before X comes back and knocks your teeth in and takes it off of you anyway!” Allie Reece scoffs in disgust. “’Fighting champion‘…honestly…!”

That is, however, the narrative Truth appears intent on putting across – though not without imbuing it with his particular strand of confrontational defiance.

“In fact…I’m not only going to defend my American Championship here tonight, but I’m gonna do it in a HANDICAP MATCH! Never seen the other asshole do that, have you?”

More jeers erupt from all corners of The Globe as Truth implicitly invokes the name of the fan-favorite GLOBAL World Champion, though these are undercut by the predictable chant of “DAAAA-RRIIIIINNNGGG!”.

“The GLOBAL Nation reminding Truth of who the REAL top Champion in this company is!”

“And Truth does not like it one bit!”

“Good. I’m glad.”

“Wouldn’t it be great if Darring actually came out here and mopped the floor with this guy?”

“Don’t toy with my emotions, Mark. Please.”

Predictably, however, no such thing occurs, and Truth simply carries on with his tirade.

“That’s right…right here tonight, American Champion John J. Truth is going to defend his title, TWO-ON-ONE, against…” Truth turns around and points at his two bodyguards. “…these two meatheads!”

The security team react in mock surprise, and the brunette affects a swoon, but the crowd are not buying it, and punish Truth with yet more jeers.

“Oh, please! You wanna talk about not fooling anybody?!”

“To his credit, Al…it seems you were wrong. Seems Truth’s not trying to lose the belt – he’s trying to keep it, before somebody in the corporate office makes him defend again!”

“Whatever, Mark. Either way, it’s scummy, and I hate it.”

“A-freaking-men.”

As the announcers pour derision on the announcement, in the ring, Truth’s brunette associate removes her blazer, revealing a striped shirt underneath. This is, however, not a referee shirt, but simply a regular, rather fashionable dress blouse – a fact which does not at all appear to deter her, or anyone else in her group, for that matter.

“Is she—is she going to be the REFEREE?!?!”

“Just when you thought it couldn’t get any worse, am I right, Lucas?”

To add insult to injury, and further fuel the fire currently raging inside the fans, the largest of Truth’s two security guards takes it upon himself to ring the timekeeper’s bell, having suitably bullied said official into surrendering it and momentarily stepping away. As such, and unsanctioned though it may be, the “match” actually, officially gets under way, as John J. Truth looks to add a defence of his title (however illegitimate) to his GLOBAL Wrestling trajectory!

LOGO b&w

INTERNATIONAL CHAMPIONSHIP - HANDICAP MATCH: JOHN J. TRUTH (C) V BORDER CONTROL

As soon as the bell rings, John Truth and the smallest of his two security guards run towards each other, the guard swinging a telegraphed and slow-motion haymaker which comes nowhere near close to hitting the Champion. Truth still makes a show of dodging, however, before “connecting” with the softest Sting of Truth imaginable. The security guard, however, reacts as if he had just taken the most devastating of manouevres, launching himself into a backwards tumble which sees him do two reverse safety rolls and land near the post. He then drags himself painstakingly towards his corner, grimacing as he reaches up to tag in his partner, who has since taken up his position behind the tag rope.

The fate of the bigger man is, however, not much better than that of his partner, as his own ridiculously telegraphed move is thwarted, before Truth waves a foot in the vicinity of his midsection, in a vague approximation of the Boot of Truth. Once again, the reaction is akin to the move having landed full-force, as the large man lies spread-eagled on the mat, immobile. His smaller partner makes a show of preventing Truth from dealing further damaged, but is gently led to the ropes and patted on the back, at which point he crosses over onto the apron, drops safely down onto the floor, then collapses as if shot!

“This is a farce! This is an insult to the International title! Somebody put an end to this!”

“Looks like Truth is about to do just that…”

Indeed, with his main “threat” out of the way, Truth promptly places a single foot over the large guard’s shoulder, in the epitome of a cocky pin. His brunette associate-cum-referee promptly drops down to count, her voice barely audible over the pre-emptive jeers for the inevitable…

ONE!

TWO!

It all happens in a blur of motion. Two hooded fans in the front row vault over the barricade, one of them springboarding onto the security guard on the outside, while the second one rushes the ring and pulls Truth off the one lying on the mat! As the two literally leap into action, their hoods fall off, instantly bringing the crowd from nuclear jeering to almost as deafening cheers.

IT’S CRUSADER X!!! AND ALFIE BUTTON!!! X BUTTON ARE HERE!!!

“Well, well, well…looks like you got your wish in the end, Al. Somebody did put a stop to the whole act.”

“My heroes!”

They are audibly the crowd’s heroes, as well – at least judging by the reaction to X connecting with his poisoned Frankensteiner on Truth (to the floor, no less), as he audibly quips at his foe.

“You wanted to lose, Schmidt? Well, we just made you lose! Galaxy brain!”

As his sometime-tag partner punishes the International Champion, Alfie button prepares to splat onto the guard on the mat with his Action Finale, looking to exploit his quickness before Truth’s acolyte has time to react. He would have reckoned, however, without the female member of the group, who dashes out of the corner she had retreated to with a can of pepper spray in hand, and promptly fires it into Alfie’s eyes! Blinded and struggling to keep his balance on the top turnbuckle, the British Bobby Dazzler thus becomes easy pickings for the big man, who effortlessly lifts him up and dumps him out onto the floor with a running powerslam.

“Alfie Button just got hit with a Deportation order!”

“And now Lexi Darlington looking to do it to Crusader X, as well!”

Indeed, the brunette has profited from X having his back turned to sneak up on him, and, when the luchador turns around, he, too, receives a blast of pepper spray through the eye sockets of his mask! Then, as he stumbles around in blinded agony, Darlington gives the sign for the smaller security guard to rush forward and floor Crusader with a big lariat!

“WELCOME TO AMERICA, Crusader X!”

“…are you enjoying this, Mark? Because I’m not.”

As Mark Deltzer gets rightfully called out, the woman named Lexi Darlington quickly retrieves the remaining members of her group and begins to beat a hasty retreat up the ramp, before their assailants can once again come to. Alfie and Crusader X are therefore left to lie at ringside until a team of EMTs comes down to assist them and stretcher them back up the ramp.

“Un-be-lie-va-ble! John J. Truth and his gang just made a complete mockery of the GLOBAL International title, and got away with it!”

“Did they, though, Al? If you ask me, they’re going to have a few bruises and sores to remember it by in the morning…”

“Let’s hope so, Mark. Let’s hope they have more than that…”

It is on Allie Reece’s typically acerbic remarks that the feed cuts away from the now empty ringside area and elsewhere altogether.

LOGO b&w

THE THIRTEENTH TAROT

The locker room is completely silent. The lights have been shut off, bathing the room in darkness. In the quiet solitude, the Son of Malta leans his head against the locker, breathing deeply.

+++

“You’ve been slipping. Weakening.”

+++

ASCENDANT’S WRA-

SUPERSTAR KICK TO A MIDAIR REYN!!!!!

“OH MY GOD!! OH MY GOD!!”

Reyn was down! Out! That superkick had completely KO’d him and he lay utterly motionless upon the floor! That one, last ditch counter had payed off better than any of them could have expected!!

But… as the roar of the attendants slowly faded, as their eyes took stock of the scene before them, a new sound could be heard. A far more harrowing one…

It was the sound of Son of Malta screaming in agony.

“..Oh no… His leg.”

Malta was writhing on the outside floor, craddling his injured leg. His primary leg that he had instinctively used for his superkick.

And it had just taken the force of 200lbs flying out the ring.

NINE!!

Okay… Okay, Reyn was in the ring… Now he just- he just needed to get in there himself. He just needed to ignore the pain, ignore the pain and just-

TEN!!

Too late.

“No…” C.G Gaines looked pale, as Son of Malta collapsed on the floor. Face in his hands as the EMT’s rushed to check on him. “No, dammit, NO!!!”

“Your winner as the result of a countout and STILL the Keystone champion! The East Wind of Adversity! ALEX!! REYN!!”

+++

His hands ball into fists.

+++

“You’re not the warrior you once were, Son of Malta.”

+++

Malta hand was reaching out, trying to grab Alex Reyn’s wrist again. But he longer had the strength to even grip him. His legs buckled on every attempt to stand. No matter how hard he forced himself to move. To keep fighting, that last move had taken every bit of strength out of him. His body could not move no matter how hard his will struggled.

Reyn grabbed him!

East! Wind! Cutter!!!

ONE!!

TWO!!

THREE!!

DING! DING! DING!

Neither man moved. Just like Malta had expended his last bit of energy hitting the FRO, Reyn too had used up his last bit of energy on the cutter. They had both hit their limits fighting each other.

But at the end of the day…

“Here is your winner, and STILL Keystone Champion! Alex! Reyn!”

+++

“Your best is behind you, you haven’t got the IT factor.”

+++

ONE-LEGGED NORTHEN LIGH-

“Malta’s leg buckled!” The Mark calls!

“It wasn’t as hurt as the other one, but it had just been superkicked! Malta put it under too much pressure too early!” Quinn relays.

Reyn takes the chance. Slipping behind Malta!

EAST! WIND! CUTTER!! (Lifting, rolling cutter)

“It’s over.” Quinn says.

ONE!!

TWO!!

THREE!!

DING! DING! DING!

Jason Brown makes the call

“Here is your winner! Alex! Reyn!”

The fans boo, as on commentary, Quinn breaks it down.

“Malta had so much damage done to his right leg, he was forcing the left to work over-time. It became a battle of attrition and in the end… the East Wind won out.”

+++

He’s clenching his hands so tightly that his nails are almost piercing the skin.

+++

“We’re happy to keep you around, but do you want to stay here, knowing you can’t beat the top guys?”

+++

Allie says. “THE CHAMPION HAS THE LEGEND LOCK ON THE SON OF MALTA!”

The Mark says. “The Son of Malta had this move well scouted, but Sean Darring still locked it on the center of the ring.”

The Son of Malta tries to hang on, but with nowhere to go, the veteran taps the mat choosing to live to fight another day.

DING DING!

+++

A violent punch dents the locker next to him. Malta is breathing heavily.

+++

As a thank you, we could assign you easier matches, the likes of Joe Public, and you could work your way into International Championship contention WITH TIME. Is it worth it?”

+++

The Dream uses the ropes to get to his feet, and the Son of Malta turns from the referee to eat an unexpecting American Revolution, high-impact elbow by Daniel Dream!

ONE!
TWO!
THREE!

“YOUR WINNER…THE AMERICAN PATRIOT…DAAAANIEL DRRRREEEAM!”

+++

The Son of Malta takes a deep breath, and pushes up off the wall.

It’s time.

[Cue: “Fate” by Shirou Sagisu]

+++

“I can still go. I’ve only lost to the best, and a few months ago, I was considered good enough to challenge Sean Darring for the GLOBAL Championship. I competed with Alex Reyn in a main event and have given him more problems than most in his career.”

+++

Boots are laced.

+++

“Bring anyone out right now, and I’d fight them. That’s the type of man I am,”

+++

Hands are taped up.

+++

“And I know THAT is what you want back. Not the respect of the ignorant. You want your SELF-Respect.”

+++

Elbow pad applied.

+++

“You seek a worthy opponent. Someone to prove yourself against, prove how strong you really are. Allow the East Wind… to be that opponent.”

+++

Kickpad. On.

+++

“I accept.”

+++

Outside of the locker room, the door suddenly slams open. The Son of Malta begins his march, one foot in front of the other. To the gallows, or to the podium, it matters not. His stride does not break.

Before him, stands Damon Somners…

+++

“The Maltese Cross is on, and this is over,”

Like Mr. Merchandise securing victory over Darren Best on our Season 2 premiere, Son of Malta’s makes Damon pass out!

+++

What will the future hold?
How will I be rewarded?

Damon Somners steps aside, and The Son of Malta walks forward.

Before him stands Greg Matthews.

+++

Have I the right to riches?
In a world where there are no prizes?

“THE MALTESE CROSS! THE MALTESE CROSS!”

Staggs calls for a stoppage, giving Son his second win in quick succession..

+++

Who makes the clock tick by?
When will my fate be ready?

Greg Matthews steps aside, and The Son of Malta walks forward.

Before him stands a glaring, blood soaked, Angel Ramirez.

+++

Do I get prior warning?
Am I told? Are there no surprises?

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

DING! DING! DING!

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

+++

Angel Ramirez steps aside, and The Son of Malta walks forward.

Before him stands Xiang.

+++

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! There is nowhere for Xiang to go!!

XIANG TAPS OUT!!!

+++

I have to count my blessings
I have to learn my lessons
My fate is in the balance
I must go on believing

+++

Xiang steps aside, and The Son of Malta walks forward.

Before him stands Daniel Dream.

+++

The Son of Malta slips off Daniel Dream’s shoulder, rolling Dream up with a Schoolboy! Prelude to…

“MALTESE CLOVER!! MALTESE CLOVER!!”

“DREAM TAPS!! DANIEL DREAM TAPS OUT!!”

+++

Daniel Dream steps aside, and The Son of Malta walks forward.

There are no more obstacles. No more delays. No more excuses.

Tonight, it will be him… and his opponent. No count outs. No disqualification. Just submissions.

Above him, Alex Reyn looms. Looking down on Malta and all his victories and accomplishments with a curious smile.

What will the future hold?
How will I be rewarded?
Have I the right to riches?
In a world where there are no prizes?

Who makes the clock tick by?
When will my fate be ready?
Do I get prior warning?
Am I told? Are there no surprises?

It’s time to wipe the smile off of that smug son of a bitch’s face.

Malta steps through the curtain.

LOGO b&w

MAIN EVENT - SUBMISSION MATCH: ALEX REYN V SON OF MALTA

The Maltese National anthem is almost drowned out by the roar of fans as the tough as nails Son of Malta makes his way down to the ring.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, we apologise for making you wait, but now, in the words of Bruce Buffer: IT’S!! TIME!!” The Mark declares!

“The following contest is a SUBMISSION MATCH!!” Newman announces. “In this match, there are no count outs! No disqualifications! The only way to win is to make your opponent submit! Anywhere! Any time!”

“Our audience has taken a shine to Malta in recent months and it’s not hard to see why!” Allie says “Week after week, this man has gone to war and given his body on every Domination! He’s beaten both members of Health Fanatics in a single night! Angel Ramirez, Xiang and even Daniel Dream himself! All in an effort to get this match, a battle against his own personal White Whale, Alex Reyn!”

Malta is eager to get this underway, no posing, no slapping hands. Newman has barely gotten his introduction out of the way when he’s already in the ring.

“Introducing  first! Weighing in at 110 kilograms! He is! The SON! OF! MALTA!!”

Only one man left.

A soft chant begins to spread throughout the arena, interrupting Quinn’s soliloquy, or so it feels like, and the buzz around The Globe is palpable.  Starting as a whisper but growing into a chorus as the lights darken while images begin to flicker on the viewers screens. Images of violence, war, and a solitary figure watching it all.

The chanting has grown louder now and the drumbeats of Nightwish’s “Seven Days to the Wolves” rise in volume as mist spreads throughout the stadium, ghostly images of great heroes and villains forming two parallel lines along the ramp.

The rock part of the song kicks in and thunder roared while fire erupts on the stage, revealing the cowled form of the East Wind Alex Reyn, his hands outstretched over the flames. He’s shirtless, save for an open black cloak with a wolf skull mask. His body covered in ancient symbols and markings that seemed almost to glow and move in the firelight. Tonight, a toolbelt has been wrapped around his waist, the camera catching a sight of a white bottle, a small wrench, and various unidentified pouches and tools.

“And his oppo-!!”

MALTA WITH A TAKEDOWN!!

“What a way to start by Son of Malta, no one expected that, least of all, Reyn,” Quinn raves in sheer excitement from the outset.

Reyn is completely taken off guard! Malta has got the legs grapevined, trying to turn the East Wind over into a Maltese Clover (Texas Cloverleaf) on the stage! But Reyn’s defensive instincts kick in as he grabs the Son’s wrist, pulling him down into a guillotine choke on the stage!

“Going for such a significant move early on, like you said Lucas, Reyn is in shock right now, but not that much,” Reece reads the situation.

No!

Malta rolls onto his back, applying a face lock of his own and rolling to his feet to deadlift Alex Reyn into a vertical suple-

Reyn slips out behind! EAST! WIND! CUTTER (Lifting Rolling Cutter)!

“HANG ON A MINUTE…WHAT IS GOING ON?” The Mark exclaims.

Malta counters with an armdrag! 

“Phew,” Allie exaggerates, well for herself at least.  There’s a great sense of relief on Malta’s and the audience’s part, but what a breathless start to the bout so far.

He maintains wrist control! Looking to grab Reyn’s other wrist, only for Alex to roundhouse him in the face!

“What impact,” Quinn says with a combination of awe and jealousy.

…So Malta tanks the kick, grabs Reyn’s leg and starts trying to apply an ankle lock! 

“Malta is equal to Reyn in many ways,” Lucas reckons.

Reyn with a headscissors takedown! Both up!

Malta charges in- straight into a knee to the chin!

“They’re not holding back,” Lucas laughs.

Only to grab Reyn and Belly to Belly Suplex him onto the ramp!

“You CAN say that again,” Allie affirms upon seeing the big-time suplex.

But Malta doesn’t capitalise. Instead, he suddenly stumbles forward, collapsing to a knee as his hand goes to his chin. He’d fought through the knee’s effects, but that didn’t mean they disappeared. Meanwhile, Reyn is writhing on the ramp after being tossed back first onto the cold steel. He’s able to get up first however and tries to get The Son of Malta in a facelock, but the Maltese Icon surges forward and rams Alex’s spine into the barricade! Tossing the East Wind overhead with a monkey flip while maintaining wrist control on both arms!

“A great example of strength, technique and control by Son of Malta,” Lucas lauds.

Suddenly Reyn surges! Perhaps realising the danger of a Malta holding both his arms, he pushes through the monkey flip to try and get Malta into his own Maltese Cross (Straightjacket Crossface)!!!

“If anyone has tremendous powers of recovery, it’s the unnerving “East Wind” Alex Reyn, he is rabid, relentless and dangerous at all times,” Quinn comments.

Malta’s eyes widen as he feels his arms being twisted! He grits his teeth! Pulling them apart! Fighting back against the East Wind! Pulling the arms apart with his superior strength as the fans cheer him on!

The two are facing off now! Malta throws a headbutt at the East Wind to try and stun him, but if Malta is stronger, Reyn is quicker!

Northern Lights counter!

No bridge. No point in a submission match. But it has given Reyn time to catch his breath and nurse his back and ribs that took some damage in those last few exchanges. He takes a few deep breaths to steady himself as he eyes Malta with a calculating gaze, planning his next angle of attack.

“I always wonder what Alex Reyn must be thinking, but then realize it’s futile, because you never truly know,” The Mark offers.

“Would you want to?” Allie wonders.

“Probably not,” Deltzer shakes his head.

A high angle, it turns out, as Alex Reyn climbs onto the barricade and flies off with a diving double stomp aimed at Malta’s head!

No! Malta dodges it! He’s rolled to his feet! Superkick! Reyn catches it! He throws the leg away, but has to duck a follow up spinning back kick from the Son of Malta! He counter attacks with a bicycle knee, but this time Malta blocks it and fires back with a forearm that Reyn dodges! Malta has Reyn on the defensive, though, trying to overwhelm him with a blizzard of strikes coming at speeds and angles too fast for a normal human to keep up with! A storm that even the East Wind is hard-pressed to avoid getting caught in!

“Malta is like a man possessed, too,” Quinn cries.

A straight right from Malta! Reyn catches his wrist! Big mistake! Malta takes the wrist back!

…Or was it?

The second Malta, perhaps instinctually seeing a chance for the Cross, grabs his wrist, he slows the onslaught of blows for a brief second.

And that’s all Reyn needs.

He drops low! A kick to Malta’s knee! Using that momentum to pull Malta face-first into the barricade! 

“Very resourceful, and just like that, Alex Reyn is in control,” Quinn laments.

“It always happens.  I heard Callum Smith say this about Artur Beterbiyev after last weekend – he stops you getting into your rhythm, you don’t dominate Reyn for prolonged periods, I can scarcely remember anyone doing it, and I’ve seen ALL of his matches, believe it or not,” The Mark states before inevitably being interrupted.

“Oh, we believe you,” Reece kids.

“But, seriously, he feels like The Terminator.  You have to kill him to keep him down, because if you don’t, he’ll counter with something, and it won’t be an arm wringer or a hammerlock.  It’s usually something that gives you a headache for days,” The Mark rounds off.

There’s a sickening BANG of metal on skull! Blood is dripping from the impact point as Reyn steps back, measuring Malta before stomping his face into the metal edge.

“He’s not a textbook wrestler, or fighter, but he knows EXACTLY what he’s doing in there, folks,” Lucas admits.

Or he WOULD have if Malta hadn’t pulled his head out of the firing line at the LAST second! Reyn barely has time to realize what happened before he and Malta are sent into the crowd thanks to a cactus clothesline!

“Son of Malta has his moments too, Lucas,” Allie counters.

“No doubt, Allie, he’s had a lot of success here tonight,” Lucas concedes.

Both men lie on the concrete, surrounded by GLOBAL fans. Reyn is coughing from the impact of Malta’s arm into his throat, while Malta is trying to blink away the rivers of blood that are now flowing down his face and into his eyes, painting his skin red. He’s not done yet though, as he picks Alex up and sends the East Wind into a row of  chairs with an Irish Whi-

No! Reyn springs like a gazelle OVER the folding chairs.

“Amazing agility and timing, albeit terrifying too,” The Mark half-jokes.

A look over his shoulder at the Son of Malta. An amused smirk and a raised eyebrow.

“He doesn’t intimidate Son of Malta,” Allie interjects.

“No, he does not,” Lucas backs his pink-haired broadcast partner up.

Malta glares. Reyn gives a mock bow. Malta charges, but Reyn springs onto the chair and uses that elevation to launch himself into a diving hurricanrana that catches Malta mid-charge, sending the fighter tumbling across the floor! Malta tries to stumble to his feet until a dropkick from Alex Reyn sends him into a wall! 

“We knew it would be hard-hitting and it hasn’t disappointed in that department,” Lucas pipes up.

The fighter’s back arches in pain from the impact, but his resilience shines as he charges at Alex with a clothesline that the East Wind ducks and Malta has to pump the breaks to avoid crashing into another row of chairs! Reyn tries to take advantage, attack Malta from behi-

Superstar Kick catches Alex Reyn on the chin!

“A tribute to one of the greatest of all time, “Superstar” Vince Jacobs, a mentor to Son of Malta, and a tribute to Malta’s power because Reyn looks down and OUT,” The Mark exclaims.

The East Wind drops like a stone and Malta takes a second to catch his breath, wiping blood out of his eyes before he grabs a chair and brings it down on Reyn, but Reyn rolls out of the way of the blow and the chair bangs against the concrete! Malta pursues, as Reyn retreats through the crowd to the production area by the stage. Rolling out the way of another blow from the chair, Reyn grabs an extension cord from the floor, wielding it like a whip!

“It didn’t take him long to get over that Superstar Kick, did it?” Lucas asks rhetorically.

It’s a standoff! Reyn’s improvised whip has the range, but a chair hits a LOT harder! Malta comes in with the chair, and Reyn lashes out with his cord, their weapons becoming tangled up in each other.

“What’s going to give?” Lucas asks.

There’s a fierce tug of war. Both of them trying to take control. Malta is the stronger of the two, pulling the lighter Reyn towards hi-

FREDDIE’S NIGHTMARE (Claymore) KICKS THE CHAIR INTO MALTA’S FACE!

“I CANNOT believe what I’ve just seen.  Malta paid tribute to Vince Jacobs just seconds ago, and now, Reyn has unearthed a not-so-fitting tribute to Freddie Rich, what am I, are we, watching here?” The Mark, not normally stuck for words, wondering what’s happening, and illustrating that by holding his head in his hands.

Malta hits the concrete HARD! Completely taken off-guard by that unexpected move from Alex Reyn. Methodically, coldly, Reyn leans down over Malta and takes the chair, wrapping it around Malta’s neck, Pillman style.

“NO, NO, NO,” The Mark punches the desk, knowing the damage this can do at the best of times, let alone with a man as cunning, capable and downright callous as Reyn.

Then, he doesn’t stomp. No. Instead, he SLOWLY presses down on the chair.

“What in the world?” Allie contemplates, just as many around her probably think, and then it becomes apparent.

Malta’s eyes go wide! His hands go to the chair! His legs kick and thrash wildly as the metal presses into his throat! Cutting off his airways! His face is turning purple under a crimson mask of blood! Genuine panic on his expression now!

Reyn, however, shows no urgency, no anger, unbothered by the booing crowd, he looks almost relaxed as he pulls the first tool from his belt.

“You could make all the noise in the world, he’s in his OWN world, and doesn’t play by anyone else’s rules,” The Mark points out.

“THERE’S A REFEREE IN THERE, MARK,” Allie shouts, pointing towards the ring herself.

A small scalpel.

Patiently, still applying pressure to Malta’s throat with the chair, he takes the scalpel and makes a small tiny cut on Malta’s forehead. Blood flows from the open wound.

Then another small incision, like a doctor performing surgery. The blade opening up Malta’s skin with only the lightest pressure.

The blade trails lower. Hovering, almost teasingly, close to Malta’s eye.

“I don’t know if I can watch,” Deltzer turns away.

“Nobody would or could blame you, Mark, it’s not a pleasant sight, and we’ve been looking forward to this for weeks,” Lucas confesses.

There seems to be the small trace of a smile on Reyn’s fa-

OVERHEAD KICK SMASHES REYN’S NOSE!!

“Thank goodness,” Lucas says.

The East Wind reels back in shock and pain! Blood flowing from his nose as Malta, bloody, gasping for air, but still defiant, rips the chair off his neck and brings it down  on Alex Reyn’s back!

The blow echoes throughout the arena! Echoed by a jubilant crowd! They cheer on the bloody Malta as he throws Reyn into a row of chairs! This time, The East Wind can’t evade, and his body scatters chairs as it smashes into them! Bouncing and tumbling across the floor! 

“Time for payback,” Reece rubs her hands.

Malta is taking deep, gasping breaths. Blood flows like a river down his face, but he grabs the cord Reyn was using and brings the whip down on the East Wind’s back!

The crowd roars as The Son of Malta whips Alex Reyn again and again! The East Wind tries to retreat, but Malta is having NONE of that! He wraps the cord around Reyn’s neck and begins keelhauling the East Wind over a pile of collapsed chairs! Over the course, dirty concrete as the fans cheer! Grabbing bottles of beer from willing fans, he begins smashing them on the ground, creating a pool of broken glass! Looking to drag Reyn by the neck over THAT too!

“Let him have—DAMNIT,” The Mark expresses contrasting emotions because of witnessing a…

…SPEAR FROM ALEX REYN!!

“You cannot give him a milimeter, never mind a yard,” The Mark tells the GLOBAL Nation at home.

Malta had taken too long playing to the crowd, and Reyn’s spear cut him down in a second! 

Both of them go tumbling across the concrete floor until they lie still in a pile of limbs over a spreading pool of blood. Smears of blood stain the concrete as they both lie panting on the ground, eyes fiercely locked on each other, but neither man is able to make the next move in this state. Reyn licks away blood that has trailed down to his lips while Malta wipes it out of his eyes, both men painfully crawling towards each other as their war wounds are starting to catch up to them.

“Neither man will be able to wrestle for weeks after this,” Allie believes.

Reyn is able to make it to his feet on shaky legs before taking the cord. Wrapping it around Malta’s neck in a mirror of his opponent’s actions, he drags Malta over to the pool of broken glass, leaving a smear of blood.

“Or maybe months,” she corrects herself, mulling over what might happen here momentarily.

Then he places his heel on the back of Malta’s head and stomps his face into the glass!

Reece winces.  Quinn keeps his composure.

“These two men have so much history, bad blood, figuratively and literally, and bring out the best and worst in one another.” 

He pulls back on the cord, cutting off Malta’s oxygen as he pulls Malta’s head up, showing shards of glass embedded in the fighter’s forehead before it’s stomped into the glass once more!

Again  Malta’s head is pulled up by the cord, and again Reyn stomps his face into the gla-

MALTA’S FACE STOPS INCHES FROM THE GLASS!

The Mark shakes his head, and rests his palm on his forehead, Allie covering her mouth, too, while Lucas watches on intently.

There’s a look of furious defiance in Malta’s face. Reyn tries to pull the cord against his throat again, but The Son of Malta grabs the cord and pulls against Reyn! Rising to his feet along with the rising cheers of the crowd, he turns to fix the East Wind with a hate-filled glare beneath his mask of blood!

“It’s so personal,” The Mark musters.

A right hook crashes into Malta’s temple!

…And Malta takes a step towards Reyn.

Uppercut to the jaw!

Another step forward.

Left Jab! Straight Right!

He keeps coming. Relentless. One foot in front of the other. Eye-contact unbroken.

HEADBUTT SMACKS REYN IN THE FACE! BELLY TO BELLY THROWS REYN BACKFIRST ONTO THE GLASS!!!

“YES,” Allie shouts, surprising herself that she’s getting off on such violence, but that’s what Alex Reyn can do to a wrestling fan.

There is VISIBLE pain on Reyn’s face from that impact! Not only can fans see blood beginning to pour from his back from multiple lacerations, but they can also see where Malta jammed some of his OWN glass shards into Reyn’s forehead with that headbutt!

Given such gruesome injuries, obviously Malta is feeling incredibly sorry and merciful towards Reyn right now.

Also, Santa Claus is dating the Easter Bunny, Truth is a Canadian Liberal and Keegan is moving back to NbW.

MALTA THROWS REYN INTO A PRODUCTION CRATE HARD ENOUGH TO KNOCK IT OVER!!

“OH MY GOD,” Allie reacts.

There is a VISIBLE dent in the box from that, and Malta uses that time to nurse his own wounds. Massaging his throat and wiping more blood from his eyes before he starts clearing some equipment and bottles from a table and leaning it against the wall. Needless to say, our fans approve.

“Come on, Son,” Reece almost cheers.

With that set up, he walks over to Reyn-who trips him up with a sudden legsweep!

“Time and time again, he finds a way to disrupt, counter and snatch control back, just as Malta was building a ton of momentum,” The Mark reiterates.

The back of Malta’s head hits the floor with a violent smack from the sudden attack! Reyn has rolled to his feet, his movements are still tentative, but there is a cold cruelty in his gaze as he begins opening up the crate’s lid. He grabs Malta, trying to whip him into the crate, but Malta reverses and sends Reyn into the crate instea-

Reyn moonsaults off the rim of the crate! No! Malta caught him! Running powersla-

“What agility by Alex, but look at the timing, the power, the toughness of Son of Malta—NO!” The Mark going through a wave of emotion here.

Reyn slips out behind and before Malta can react, kicks the Fighting Zone veteran HARD in the back of his knee!

“Basic, brutal, annoying, amazing, Alex Reyn to a T,” The Mark throws his hands up, borne out of frustration and admiration for a competitor he has watched on so many occasions.

Reyn steps back to get distance, then runs up the kneeling Malta’s back like a ramp before coming down with a diving double stomp to the back of his head!

That move has stunned Malta, and Reyn pulls him by his bloodsoaked hair to the crate. Pressing the lid closed around his neck! Crushing his throat between the rim and the lid! Malta tries to thrash and escape, but he’s still too stunned to fight back with full force as Reyn secures the clasps to keep Malta’s head trapped.

Then he starts climbing the balcony. 

“This. Is. Ominous,” the cool Quinn declares, as if this match hasn’t already got out of hand.

There is growing horror from the audience as Reyn reaches the top. Malta is below him. His head is trapped inside the crate. His neck is between the rim and the lid. He can’t move, he can’t see, he’s trying to get away from-

DIVING MOONSAULT STOMP FROM THE BALCONY ONTO THE CRATE!!!

The crowd is screaming in horror. The referee’s face has gone ash white. He rushes over to undo the ties on the crate. Malta falls out. Blood is visibly spilling from his mouth.  The commentators don’t react either, Reece covering her mouth with her hand, and then leaning on Lucas’s shoulder.  Quinn squeezes her hand in comfort, rising to his feet, partly out of respect and then genuine concern for Son of Malta.  The Mark, like a temperamental teenager, places his feet up on his chair, rocking back and forth, praying for Son of Malta, but it seems his race might be run.

The X goes up. We see Malta coughing violently, specks of blood spilling onto the floor. His breathing is shallow, laboured. It’s a miracle he can breathe at ALL. The referee is looking over him, calling for EMT’s.

When Reyn grabs the referee by the back of his head and smashes his skull down on the concrete floor like slam dunking a basketball.

He doesn’t even look down at the official. Instead, he’s looking at Malta, who is still violently coughing on the floor. He doesn’t take his gaze off the man, it’s a focused, predatory look. A spider with a fly in its web.

He walks closer, calmly taking a clear, white bottle from his tool belt and unscrewing the cap.

“That’s… that’s rubbing alcohol.” The Mark realises with horror.

Reyn grabs a handful of Malta’s hair, pulling his head up before slowly tipping the alcohol onto Malta’s open wounds.

Malta’s screams of agony are drowned out only by the livid boos from the audience. Noises that fall on deaf ears. The crowd may as well not exist to Reyn as he takes out a small wrench and opens up a pouch to pull out a thumb tack. He takes Malta’s hand, Malta is too dazed from pain to resist as Reyn spreads his hand flat against the floor. He positions the thumb tack over Malta’s hand.

“How much lower can he go?” Allie shakes her head.

Then uses the flat of the wrench to hammer the tack into Malta’s finger.

Malta can’t even cry out this time. But the boos make up for it. Growing louder as a second tack is driven into his index finger. Malta cannot make noises at this point.

But he CAN respond with a sudden headbutt to the East Wind’s jaw!!

“Thank God he countered there, how is this match still in progress?” Reece with yet another question that no one, not even the competitors, I dare say, can answer.

Once again, Alex Reyn is knocked back and the crowd erupts in approval! This time, Malta doesn’t give the East Wind a SECOND! He charges into the sociopath, ramming him back first into the wall! Punching him over and over in the gut with his good hand! The punches are followed up by knees like hammer blows into Reyn’s solar plexus! Malta looks possessed! His eyes burning with a berserk, insane fury! A right hook to Reyn’s temple knocks The East Wind to the floor! Malta tries to follow up, but a dizzy spell drops him to his knees, his lungs desperate for air as he coughs violently. His good hand is balled into a fist. Body shaking from the effort to just stay conscious. Just stay moving. Reyn’s lip is busted open, his face a crimson mask that matches Malta’s and blood flowing down his back. Their eyes meet, but while Malta’s’ burn with hatred and venom, Reyn’s are lit up with a twisted, excited SMILE.

“I knew he was sick, we all did, but that…there’s no reasoning with that…animal,” The Mark, dejected, er, reasons.

They stand to their feet. Reyn juts his chin out, daring Malta to give it his best shot.

So Malta obliges.

AND REYN SNARES HIM IN THE GUILOTINE!!!

“In a way, mercifully I mean, I hope that’s all,” The Mark says, cursing himself for coming out with that comment.

Too late does Malta realise the trap as Reyn’s arm snakes around his neck like a vice! Compressing down on his arteries! Malta drops to his knees. Reyn sinking in the bodyscissors to drag him down further. Malta can barely breathe as it is, blood leaks from his wounds like a fountain. He can feel his limbs growing heavy and his vision fading. 

“Come on, Son, you can still fight this, WIN this, even,” Allie encourages the European grappler.

He pushes up from the floor, carrying all 200 lbs of Alex Reyn as he tries to get him up higher, looking for a Northern Lights- his legs buckle and he collapses in a pool of blood.

Reyn’s grip locks tighter.

“It’s no use, Allie, Son’s in there with a wild animal,” The Mark resignedly says.

The camera catches Malta’s hand close into a fist that he PUNCHES into the ground. Again he braces himself. Again he tries to lift Reyn’s bodyweight as the roaring crowd urges him on! 

“Don’t write him off yet, Mark,” Reece cheerfully believes.

MALTA CHARGES FORWARD AND RAMS REYN THROUGH THE TABLE!!

Blood pools on the floor around them as they lie in the wreckage of the table, breathing heavily. Shards of shattered wood lie around them, one metal leg has bent so far back it’s almost snapped in half. Malta’s chest rises and falls as he desperately tries to take in needed air through his crushed throat. Reyn almost looks unconscious, but horrifyingly, twitches from the East Wind show signs of life. The crowd yells, cheers, chants! Desperately URGING Malta to get up before Reyn takes control back! 

“The Globe believes he can, and so do I,” Allie stands up to fist-pump and transfer her energy to Son’s screaming-in-pain body. 

The Son of Malta seems to hear them, he slowly struggles to his feet, grabbing a shard of wood and pushing it into Reyn’s mouth before grabbing Alex by the head and trying to smash him face-first into the concrete wall and drive the wood down his throat!

“Ew…gross,” Reece reacts.

No! Elbow from Reyn smashes into the bridge of Malta’s nose! The East Wind grabs the bent table leg, detaching it with a twist before smashing the metal rod into the back of Malta’s knee! Malta collapses and Reyn follows through into a mount! Table leg held high! 

“These two men are giving it everything they’ve got, not necessarily for the fans, but to be the better man, they aren’t normal, they’re not even human,” The Mark compliments, if you can call it that, the couple of absolutely insane warriors leaving it all in the battlefield in the name of competition and entertainment, or whatever label you want to put on it.

No! Malta counters! He grapevines Reyn’s arm with his legs and brings him down into a Lebel Lock! Reyn’s dropped the table leg, so Malta grabs it, puts it between Alex Reyn’s teeth and pulls back on the rod like a bit between a horse’s teeth!!

“The determination, the desire, the will to win is off the charts, and so is the noise emanating from The Globe,” Lucas declares.

The fans have exploded into cheers! Malta has this! There’s no rope break, nothing for Reyn to brace against. He’s flat on his stomach, scrambling around for SOME
THING to get him out of this hold, but not only was the Lebel Lock perfectly executed, Malta has EXTRA leverage thanks to the chair leg!

Reyn’s hands go to Malta’s hand around the chair leg, perhaps trying to get him to loosen his grip.

Wait… no…

They go to the thumb tack still embedded in Malta’s finger.

A thumbtack that Reyn grabs and…twists.

Malta cries out in reflex! His hand springs open and that’s the opening Reyn needs.

“NASTY,” Reece grimaces.

He twists out of the hold, rolling onto his knees, grabbing both of Malta’s wrists before he rises up and stomps down on Malta’s face!

“He’s a son of bitch,” The Mark says rather coldly.

He goes to stomp again, but Malta suddenly surges forward and grabs the leg, looking for a capture suplex when Reyn suddenly digs the jagged point of the table leg into his EAR! 

“I cannot believe what they’re doing to each other, and I’ve been in there, been here and seen and done many, many things,” Lucas coughs up.  I’m sure one of them will be coughing up something rather different shortly.

Malta drops Reyn, collapsing to the ground, trying to get away from his opponent, get away from this assault, but Reyn stalks after his opponent, leaning down to gouge bloody scratches into The Son of Malta’s back using the broken metal point even as Malta tries to crawl away.

But Malta isn’t crawling to an escape.

He’s crawling to a weapon.

“You need to have a screw loose to fight Alex Reyn, and Son of Malta’s got a full furniture store full of them,” The Mark quips.

He grabs the bottle of rubbing alcohol that Reyn had used on him earlier! Reyn goes to impale him on the table leg, but Malta turns and SPLASHES THE ALCOHOL IN REYN’S FACE!!

“But, I’m glad he does, Mark, and Alex Reyn needs to learn what turnabout is fair play, even if there’s nothing fair about this fight at all,” Allie says, her mind racing, getting carried away in the moment.

The roar of pain Alex Reyn lets out is feral and inhuman. He reels back, hands going to his face as the alcohol burns his open wounds! The crowd cheers, clapping and roaring encouragement as Malta rises to his feet, the rubbing alcohol in his hand!

Then, he lifts the bottle high for all to see… then tips it over himself.

“I don’t know how smart that was,” Allie observes.

He shudders from the searing agony, the alcohol washing blood and grime from his wounds, but that very same burning pain is rejuvenating, igniting the fire of adrenaline from within to cleanse away the aches and fatigue. He will die on his sword or not at all!

The bottle is half empty. Malta tosses it to Reyn who, having recovered from the initial shock, catches it in his hand.

“I can’t make sense of any of this,” Allie continues.

“Told you – don’t try,” Deltzer shakes his head.

There’s a look, and a nod between the two, then Reyn does the same, the showering of burning liquid acting like a cleansing rejuvenation.

The bottle drops to the concrete. The arena has gone eerily silent. Both men are almost statue still, the only indication of life being the slow rise and fall of their chests, their heads are lowered, hair over their faces, blood and burning liquid dripping onto the ground. Yet their eyes are locked into a death glare.

They move.

IMPACT!! A storm of blows! Punches! Forearms! Elbows! Knees and savage bites! Malta takes control, using the momentum of Reyn’s own right hook against him to whip Reyn into the barricade! Reyn springs up onto the barricade, but Malta lunges forward to shove him off!

“The crowd chanted fight forever when Malta collided with – and defeated – the amazing Daniel Dream, I think these two will still be at it, even when they’re buried on other sides of the cemetery,” The Mark offers.

There’s a pause. Malta has to catch his breath. His breathing still shallow, his hands a white-knuckle grip on the rail. Adrenaline can ignore pain. It can’t heal a wounded airway. Every second of air is precious. Still, Reyn had landed badly on the opposite barricade, and Malta is still in control. He climbs over the barricade and grabs Reyn to ram repeated knees into the East Wind’s ribs! The two of them back at ringside for the first time in a LONG time. Malta seems to notice it too, whipping Reyn towards the ring, but Reyn suddenly reverse Malta’s whip, only for Malta to reverse REYN’S whip and send him into the apro-

No! Reyn avoids impact by diving into the ring! He hits the ropes! Ascendant’s Wra-

Reyn cancels his own dive. Backflipping back into the ring.

“…Is it a taunt? Why did Reyn cancel his own attack?” Allie asks.

“I think Reyn remembered he has the advantage if the match stays in the ring. He’s a good fighter, but so is Malta, and Reyn uses the ropes for a LOT of his offence.”

The Mark nodded “People sometimes forget, but Reyn IS a high-flyer.”

Well, if Reyn wants to fight in the ring, Malta can oblige! He charges the East Wind who ducks a clothesline! Reyn hits the ropes again! Spe-DISCUS CLOTHESLI-!

No! Reyn BARELY Dodges with a baseball slide that sends him out the ring again near the commentary tables! But the impact is so close that the replay catches Reyn’s hair being caught by Malta’s blow!

“They’re too close for my liking,” a concerned Allie blurts out.

SUICIDE SPINNING WHEEL KICK KNOCKS REYN ASS OVER TEA KETTLE OVER THE ANNOUNCER’S TABLE!!

“WAY TOO CLOSE, GUYS,” Allie hides behind Lucas.

Malta is about to follow up, when he suddenly drops to his knees, coughing violently and breathing heavily! That high impact move, sapping the limited air from his lungs. On top of that, fresh blood is beginning to flow from his open wounds to replace the crimson mask he’d washed away earlier.

“He’s on borrowed time.” Allie says quietly.

Malta knows it too, and the frustration is evident on his face as he realises the Morton’s Fork he’s in. If he goes all out, he’ll burn through the little energy he has! If he takes it easy, Reyn will overwhelm him. He NEEDS time to catch his breath, but his injury means that each breath is a struggle.

He moves closer to the East Wind, who suddenly lashes out with a kick to Malta’s kn-o!

Malta isn’t stupid. He knew Reyn would play possum like that and catches Reyn’s leg, dragging him away from the commentary table.

“Smart on the part of the Son of Malta,” Lucas narrates.

What he DOESN’T predict, however, is Alex Reyn splashing a water bottle in his face! It’s not painful like the alcohol, but it blinds and distracts him, letting Reyn kick him in the knee and pull Malta down into a guillotine cho-

Malta rolls it into his OWN guillotine!

No! Reyn reverses into a rollup!

…I’ll give you three guesses why the referee doesn’t count the pin.

“Ah, muscle memory. It’s a double-edged sword.” Quinn chuckles.

“How can you find humor in this, Lucas?” Allie stares at him, amazed.

“I can at Reyn’s expense.”

Reyn’s mistake is only temporary though, swiftly, he transitions the roll-up into a Dragon sleeper, wrenching back on Malta’s neck, tightening his grip on the neck to constrict the already limited flow of oxygen to his opponent’s brain. Malta thrashes and writhes in the hold, trying to prevent Reyn from getting in a body scissors, trying to find an escape to this simple but effective choke. He manages to grab a hold of Reyn’s wrists, using both hands for extra leverage, he twists out of the submission, maintaining wrist control on the East Wind. Looking for the Maltese Cro-

Reyn counters! Triangle Lance- Malta stacks him up! Countering with the Maltese Clov- No! Reyn shoves him back!

Calf Slicer by Alex Rey- Malta counters with a Gutwrench Suplex!

Malta takes long, yet still shallow breaths, sweat and blood run down his face, his exhaustion is clear. He grabs Alex Reyn’s wrist, trying for the Maltese Cross again, only for the East Wind to lash out with a boot to his face! Reyn surges to life, surging forward to ram Malta back first into the ring post. He dashes to the barricade for a running start before coming in with a high angle jumping Spear that crushes Malta’s chest against the ringpost!!

“We’ve seen similar, poor Paul Sanders, a good friend of mine was never the same from a superkick to the ring post by Reyn, God bless you Paul, and Son of Malta’s body HAS TO give out at some stage.  They can’t keep doing this, not at this pace, rate,” The Mark utters in disbelief.

Malta almost collapses, but Reyn catches him, keeping him on his feet before ramming the crown of the fighter’s skull into the apron edge and tossing him back into the ring.

As Malta struggles to get his bearing’s to shake off the pain thudding in his skull, Reyn ascends to the top rope. Perched up high, we waits and watches like a leopard in the treetops.

Diving Crossbody!

…Malta rolls through! Rising to his feet, he lifts Reyn u-

A wave of vertigo and pain throws him off balance. All the East Wind needs.

TORNADO DDT!

Malta is SPIKED on his dome! Reyn wastes no time rolling to the corner. Watching as Malta struggles, to pull himself up, lining up his shot…

RUNNING FRONT FLIP DDT!!

NO!

MALTA BLOCKS IT! SHOVES REYN  BACK, HOOKS HIS LEG AND…

CALF SLICER!!! MALTA HAS IT LOCKED IN!!

“That’s how Malta scored his first fall in their Iron Man Match!!!” Deltzer is marking out right now!

“There’s no extra chances here though!” Quinn says. “It’s all or nothing for Alex Reyn right here!”

The hold is locked in good! Reyn is SECONDS away from having his leg broken! He twists, reaching around to grab the ropes, not for a ropebreak, but to get extra leverage to twist himself and Malta onto their backs, with the pressure reduced, he grabs Malta’s injured finger and TWISTS it, distracting Malta with the pain enough for Reyn to violently kick him him in the face! Over and over and o-

MALTA CATCHES ALEX’S LEG! STRETCH MUFFLER!!

“YES, YES, YES,” Allie jumps up and down as The Mark, hands interlocked, whispers “Come on” to himself.

The crowd roars! Malta rises to his feet with Alex’s Reyn’s knee bent around his neck! Showing phenomenal strength, he marches Reyn around the ring! Even as the blood flows down his face!

Even as his lungs struggle to breath in oxygen.

Even as his arms burn and Reyn feels heavier by the second.

Even as his vision blurs from fatigue.

Even as his legs feel numb.

Even as the world… sways.

Two bodies hit the floor. The referee knows something is wrong. He sees the glazed look in Malta’s eyes, but… he saw what happened to the LAST referee who called the X. Would that even stop Alex?

No. He has a job to do. The X goes up, the crowd boos, but he doesn’t care. Reyn meanwhile is unscrewing the top turnbuckle, as the official goes to check on Malta, calling for an EMT and security! The men in black shirts rush to the ring, surrounding-

The first man has the metal rod from the turnbuckle rammed into his throat.

The second finds Alex Reyn’s knee smashed into his nose.

The third feels the metal rod strike him across the temple.

Alex Reyn barely breaks his stride as he approaches Malta, still holding the now detached top rope. Kneeling over Malta, he rams his knee into the barely conscious, oxygen compromised man’s ribs again and again and again.

Then he takes the top rope, wraps it around Malta’s throat, and PULLS BACK! Strangling The Son of Malta with a Single-Knee Camel Clutch in the centre of the ring!

“How does he do it?  Really?” Reece questions.

The Son of Malta refuses to stay down though, quite literally as he rises to his feet, carrying Reyn on his back before charging backwards to CRUSH Alex in the corner!

The two collapse on the mat, blood drips onto the canvas as they pant, Reyn rolls to his feet, wiping blood from his eyes. Malta is on his knees as Reyn approaches him from beh-

DISCUS CLOTHESLINE TURNS THE EAST WIND INSIDE OUT!!!

“This is nothing short of sensational, staggering,” Lucas admires Son of Malta’s fortitude, courage and bloody-mindedness.

The fans roar, but Malta is lying face down in the mat himself. His fists clench with frustation at his own body failing him, his inability to literaly get his breath back means he can’t string offense together, can’t build real momentum outside these bursts of energy. He rolls onto his back, panting and wiping blood from his eyes. Pointless, since it’s flowing freely again. He crawls closer to the East Wind who, fortunately, is still completely stunned by that powerhouse blow. But a pin won’t win him the match here. He needs something else. He rolls out the ring. Grabbing Alex Reyn’s wrist and dragging him close to the ring post so that Reyn’s head is resting against the metal.

The exact same setup for the Ringpost Superkick.

But Malta has his own variation. He grabs a monitor from the announcer’s table, holding like a baseball bat, he swings it at Alex Reyn’s head!

Reyn dodges! He rolls behind Malta! Spea-! Malta smashes the monitor on the East Wind’s knee!

There’s an explosion of gas and glass! Alex Reyn goes tumbling over Malta’s head! As he hits the mat, he’s seen clutching his leg in pain! The pant leg is torn and blood can already be seen dripping from where the glass cut into his knee. He tries to get to his feet, but there’s a noticeable stumble, one Malta takes advantage of, grabbing Reyn in a back suples lift before dropping him knee first on the ring steps! As the bang of bone on steel echoes, Malta traps Reyn’s leg between the steps and posts the way Alex did to VIP’s head before backing off, lining up his shot.

He has to take a second to catch his breath, keep his focus even through the blood loss.

That gives Reyn time to pull his leg free and spring onto the ring steps for a moonsault attack!

Malta catches him! Looking to lawndart Reyn into the ringpost, but Alex slips out behind! He lands awkwardly however, and is seen hobbling before a back kick to the gut stuns him!

Discus Clothes-REYN COUNTERS WITH THE DREAM CATCHER (JUMPING STO) THROUGH THE TABLE!!!

“I’m outta here,” Reece again seeks refuge behind Lucas, Quinn instinctively protecting his frightened partner while still trying to do his job.

The table SHATTERS on impact! The commentary team steps back in shock! Alex Reyn and the Son of Malta lay among the broken wreckage, surrounded by table pieces, broken monitors and water bottles, neither man is moving, blood pours from their faces and seeps from Reyn’s back. Their skin is bruised and cut from their war wounds, faces concealed under their hair, making it impossible to tell if they’re even conscious any more as the pool of blood spreads? How much have they lost at this stage? How much more can they AFFORD to lose in this violent, savage war against one another. Malta’s inability to string together offense has been weakening him since his throat was crushed, but Alex Reyn is staring to feel the effects of that himself, unable to follow up on his counter.

Slowly, the two crawl across the wreckage until they are on their knees facing each other.

Forearm from Malta falls limply against Reyn’s face. There’s no power, no energy behind the blow.

But Reyn doesn’t need power for his attack. 

GUILLOTINE CHOKE!!

“He keeps sucking the energy out of Malta, and it has worked.  Will it close the deal?” Quinn wonders.

“Disrupts rhythm, hits like a man or beast fighting for his life, and does not quit.  I could be talking about either of them, but of course, I’m referring to Reyn right now,” Deltzer states.

For the fourth time in his match, Reyn has snared The Son of Malta in a guillotine choke! The simple, but effective chokehold has become the perfect weapon to take advantage of Malta’s condition! His limited oxygen is constricted further. Like an animal caught in an anaconda’s grasp, the more he struggles the more the choke saps his strength. The more his heart is forced to pump blood that leaks from his wounds onto the floor, the tighter the ruthless East Wind’s grip becomes, quite LITERALLY squeezing the life out of him!

But Malta… Malta is stubborn.

Malta is a fighter.

And Malta will NOT go down so easily!

DEADLIFT INTO A NORTHERN LIGHTS SUPLEX!!

“Where did that come from?  Does he even know?”

Probably not, Lucas, and no one cares right now, least of all the crowd, which roars at that counter! But is it more symbolic than effective. Every part of his body aches, he can barely see from the blood in his eyes! He’s got Reyn stunned again, but can he follow it up? Can he take advantage and TRULY turn this match around??

He grabs Reyn’s wrists. Both in his grip. He rises to his feet alongside the crowd! They know what Malta is looking for! They know this could be the move he needs!

ALEX REYN RAMS HIS KNEE INTO MALTA’S FACE!!

The crowd boos as Reyn’s sudden burst again cuts off Malta’s momentum. The East Wind pulls his wrists free… EXCEPT MALTA WON’T LET GO!!

“Dogged, determined, he’s an extraordinary competitor at an elite level,” Lucas muses.

Despite being kneed directly on the bridge of his nose, Malta’s grip is like a vice! Reyn’s eyes widen in concern! He strikes Malta with another knee! A third! But Malta won’t let go! 

Reyn’s arms are being twisted up. Malta looking to twist them into the straightjacket grip! Monkey Flip from Alex Reyn! SURELY that broke Malta’s grip, right!

NO! He STILL won’t let go! He barely looks conscious at the moment! His knees wobble as he stands, pulling his opponent up with him, and yet,by sheer instinct, he’s still fighting to twist Alex Reyn into the Maltese Cross!

“Like a dog with a bone, especially where this man, sorry that animal, is concerned,” The Mark weighs in.

He’s behind Reyn now! The cross is almost locked in! The fans are in an uproar!

Reyn suddenly lashes out with a back kick to Malta’s knee! It’s a second’s distraction, but that’s enough as Reyn ducks low and throws Malta face first into the ringpost!

The dull THUD of his bloody skull hitting the metal makes the fans in the front row cringe. Blood is smeared on the post, Malta is leaning limply on the metal, that final move was enough to break his grip, and Alex is on the offense.

“NO, NOT LIKE THIS.  IT COULD BE FATAL,” The Mark raises his voice, hoping to warn Malta.

RINGPOST SUPERKI-!

DISCUSS CLOTHESLINE!!

Reyn doesn’t have time to avoid it! The clothesline swings like a sword at his neck! Malta puts everything he has into the blow!

Everything he has left.

All that remains in his bruised, exhausted, blood-drained, oxygen starved body that is fighting on little more than instinct…

The blow lands harmlessly limp on Reyn’s chest as Malta collapses against him.

He just doesn’t have the strength left.

And Reyn has no pity.

He grabs one wrist. Then the other.

And then he performs the ultimate cruelty.

Maltese Cross. On the Son of Malta.

“What?” The Mark scratches his head.

The fans are LIVID! Not like this! There is no WAY Malta is going out to his own move! He CAN’T!

And they’re right. Malta knows the Maltese Cross better than ANYONE. There is NO-CHANCE it can beat him!

And that would be true… For a Malta that wasn’t heavily bleeding.

For a Malta that hadn’t been fighting for several minutes with an injured throat.

For a Malta that wasn’t so exhausted he could barely STAND, let alone fight. 

Malta is tough, but… everyman has his limits. Has Malta hit his?

HELL NO!

“Thank God – once again,” The Mark manages.

Malta pushes himself up! Pushes back against Reyn! Reyn can feel the Son of Malta starting to pull his arms apart! The Fighting Zone Veteran will NOT go down to his own submission! He yells out! Letting the fans will him on! He just needs the strength to reverse the grip!

The strength to keep his eyes open.

The strength to stay awake.

The strength… to…

The Son of Malta collapses in a pool of his own blood as Alex Reyn wrenches back on the Maltese Cross. There is no sign of struggle from the fighter, the referee has to call it.

“He’s out! He’s out!”

DING! DING! DING!

The bell rings, but Alex hasn’t let go. He looks more annoyed at the referee than anything, who is practically PLEADING for Reyn to let go! Malta is out! It’s over.

Reyn looks down at his opponent, as if expecting another rally. But none is coming.

Reyn raises an eyebrow. Then releases his grip before collapsing next to Malta, breathing heavily. 

“WHAT A WAR THAT WAS,” Lucas exclaims, standing up while clutching at his headset, incredulously attempting to process what he, his colleagues and a capacity crowd in California have just witnessed.

“These two serve up another GLOBAL best-ever bout, that’s your call, but that one will definitely live long in the memories of those who witnessed it, and what toll will it take on the participants?  You hear commentators talk about career-shortening matches, and yet it doesn’t seem to be the case, but take it from someone who lived it, that will leave a mark.  Maybe not today, well of course it will, but they may not retire immediately, and I hope they don’t, but matches like that will catch up with you. They’re only human, after all,” Quinn rounds off.

“I question that last statement, Lucas.  I don’t think they are at all to withstand that even for a second, but I hear you, that may well catch up with them at some point later in life.  They went above and beyond, not just for our entertainment, I may admit.  These two guys have a fierce dislike for each other, let’s not forget that, well, how can we?  They showed it in there,” The Mark points at the blood-stained squared circle as only now fans begin to file out having witnessed a murderous conclusion to proceedings, and getting more than their money’s worth in the main event.

“As a fan, it was fantastic to watch.  On a human level?  Not so much.  But, I agree with Mark, I don’t think they are.  That was insane, and it makes you wonder how far Reyn is willing to go, and I for one, am creeped out by him at the best of times, but AFTER THAT?  Even more so.”

“GLOBAL Nation, from The Globe, thanks for joining us on an unbelievable evening, and join us again soon.  Night everyone,” Lucas smiles as the show goes off air.

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