<UWF> Saturday Night Rampage - 3-18-06 Hour Two
Cygnia
BB: I'm sorry.
[The camera zooms out revealing Alex Extreme sitting in the chair
across
from her looking quite distraught.]
AE: You're sorry? That's it?
BB: Look, I wish I could do something but I can't.
AE: Can't or won't?
[Byers looks somewhat shocked.]
AE: Oh please. That you killed my puppy look might work with others but
not me. Ever since Marshall Law ended I've had to jump through every
hoop
Jessica Marshall's put out there and you've not done one damn thing to
stop all this.
BB: I wish I could but there's nothing I can do. Jessica's moves have
been ones the UWF board of directors like. They want to see you in
matches with Keening and Annis as do our fans. Even if I wanted to, the
board would simply overrule me.
[Extreme stares at Byers like she's given him a death sentence.]
AE: Damn you.
[With that, Extreme slowly gets up out of his chair. Once a little more
solid on his feet, Alex quietly walks out of Byers office. Byers
sighs,
the events of the evening obviously weighing her down. Fade to the
opening once again.]
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\_____/ 03-18-2006
Hour Two
[Dissolve back into Madison Square Garden, in on a wideshot of the new
interview platform back near the entrance area. The camera zooms in so
that we see Dave Rogers standing ready and holding a microphone.]
DR: Ladies and gentlemen, my guest at this time is a man who made an
auspicious debut at Gold Rush by saving his own Uncle Brett from a
Pride
beat-down and then competing in the huge eight man elimination match.
Please welcome to the ring "The Bayou Badboy" Colby Greene!
[All attention is turned to the aisle as the house lights dim and
"Superstar II" by Saliva kicks off on the speakers. A smoke machine
goes
off around the entrance portal and a strobe light flashes as the 6'5,
265lb second generation wrestler emerges from the back to a decent
sized
pop from the crowd.]
SS: Colby Greene huh? He's a chump just like his Uncle Brett.
AM: You don't even know him Sam.
SS: I don't need to know him, I saw enough of him at Gold Rush.
Besides.
Luke Kinsey spoke ill of him, and that's enough for me.
[The man that steps out looks around at the crowd, perhaps a little
surprised by the mostly positive reception. Dark green trunks with
matching boots, and black knee pads make up his wrestling attire. The
word GREENE is written on the rear of the trunks as he spins around,
looking at all of the fans. He has medium length brown hair which is
watered down and slicked back.
# Been floating around up here on Cloud 11. #
# I did my best to make it to 27. #
# Open up my eyes and I can see the glory. #
# Now I'm alive and I'm gonna tell the story. #
[As he starts to make his way to the platform, we see the various
tatoos
on the young man's biceps and the large french cross tattoo covering
his
back.]
# Now I'm a superstar in the making. #
# I ain't f*cking around and there ain't no mistaking. #
# I never ask for something worth the taking. #
# Cause I'm a superstar, baby. #
[Greene makes it to the interview area and leaps up onto the platform.
He
glances out once again at the fans as his music quickly fades out. He
towers over Dave as the two men stand atop the raised stage.]
DR: Colby Greene, if it hasn't already been said, allow me to be the
first to say welcome to the Universal Wrestling Federation.
CG: Merci Dave. Thank you.
[Greene speaks with a uniquely southern, but french accent.]
DR: Now before we get into your arrival at Gold Rush, let's talk a
little
about your past. You were one of the first competitors signed for UWF
Eurasia a while back and it didn't take you long before you were the
Eurasian champion. From there you used your experience overseas as a
stepping stone to go on to one of UWF's biggest rivals, River City
Wrestling. You chose to go to new waters verses coming to the UWF where
your Uncle Brett competes. Why did you choose to go to the competition?
CG: I chose to compete for RCW because I went d'ere on mah own terms. I
was lookin' to make a name for mahself, mah way, without the stigma o'
being a Greene. Now I could have come to de UWF a long time ago. But
d'at
be taking the easy way here, know what I mean? I love mah Uncle very
much, but I don't intend to stand in his shadow or ride his coat tails
to
success. De only way to do d'at was to make a name for mahself
somewhere
where they don't even know de name Brett Greene.
[A small Brett chant starts up.]
CG: D'at place was River City Wrestling. And within one year I
completed
my goals. I made sure d'at everyone in de locker room knew who Colby
Greene was, and what Colby Greene could do. I stood side by side
with some of de greatest names in wrestlin' today...
One of those names competes here now...
DR: You're referring to Luke Kinsey?
[BBBBBOOOOOOOOOOOOO! That's not a popular name.]
CG: Yes, Mr. Kinsey was one of those men. See, d'ey decided to pay me
extra money. Luke Kinsey and Mark Langseth, d'ey pay Colby Greene to
watch their backs. To be their protection. Luke Kinsey paid me a lot
of
money...
[Colby gets a round of boo's from the fans that watched RCW.]
CG: ...But Luke Kinsey never paid me money to be his friend.
[That's enough to buy the fans back.]
CG: See Club Elite was all about opportunity for me. I got to knock
some
heads around and win my matches, and I made some extra cash on de side.
DR: Not to mention the River City championship.
CG: Something I ain't ever lost mes amis.
DR: Now we know the unfortunate news of RCW closing... So of all the
places you could have gone Colby, why have you come to the UWF?
CG: See, mah place was with de UWF all along. I just wasn't ready for
it.
But now I am, see? Now d'at d'ese people know who I am and what I can
do,
it's time to step up to de biggest dogs in de world and show d'em
exactly
what I am capable of. I feel ready to take on de Augustines and de
Frosts
of de world... Bring on de Pride or de Illuminati. I know what I can
do,
and it won't take long before d'ey all see it too.
DR: Well, despite not being victorious at Gold Rush, you certainly made
a
strong impression with these fans by stepping up and filling the vacant
spot against the Illumanti in that huge eight man war.
CG: See, d'at was icing on de cake for me. I didn't plan to compete
d'at
night. I was just sittin' back, watching mah Uncle face Derek Martin
and
I saw de Pride try to take advantage o' him. So I hopped de rail and
showed Monsieur Derek Martin and Tom Landis exactly why d'ey shouldn't
mess with a Greene. But d'en, when I go to de back, I run into Alex
Kidd
and De Frat Boys. And dey tell me what kinda pickle they was in. Three
o'
d'em against four Illuminati. I call d'at opportunity knockin'.
DR: And indeed you answered by giving a strong performance in such a
big
match.
CG: See, d'at was like a message to Luke Kinsey. While I appreciate
what
he did for me elsewhere, and while I appreciate de extra paycheck... He
ain't mah friend. And de only way to let him know d'at was by treatin'
him like any other fool who gets in mah way. He got trampled by de baby
bull, and if it weren't for Jamie Underwood, things would have gone
down
a whole lot differently, I guarantee. If you look close, you see de
fear
in his eyes when I came walkin' out. And d'ats cause he know first hand
what I can do.
DR: So what is next for you Colby, now that you have officially signed
with the UWF?
CG: First things first, I want everyone to know d'at d'is is a fresh
start for Colby Greene. I ain't gonna sit by and live off mah family
name. If anything, I'm gonna improve it. D'at way when mah Uncle Brett
wrestles, he may just be in mah shadow for a change, know what I mean?
[But before Dave can answer, Audioslave's "Set It Off" cuts through the
building and the low, grinding sound causes everyone to turn their
heads
to the entrance. Within a few seconds, everyone's favorite Hellraiser
strides out from the locker rooms dressed in bluejeans, work boots and
a
black Pride t-shirt with his hair tied back into a ponytail.
Tom Landis sneers over to the interview area as the crowd greets him
with
a steady round of boos, but the Pridesman ignores the jeers and
continues
to approach.]
AM: Uh oh, this might not go well. It's a known fact that Tom Landis
and
Colby Greene had more than a few run-ins in RCW.
SS: Yeah, the guy was trying to look out for that snot-nosed punk kid
Greene and got attacked for it repeatedly.
AM: That's not how Colby tells it.
[Landis slowly climbs the steps to the platform as Colby looks on with
a
wary expression covering his face. Dave stands between the two
wrestlers
uneasily...]
DR: Tom, we don't want any...
[Landis takes the mic from Rogers and pats the announcer on the back.]
TL: Don't worry Dave, I've got no interest in getting into a physical
confrontation tonight. Go on back to the booth, it'll be fine.
[Landis motions for him to leave, and after a few seconds Rogers exits,
returning down to the announce position at ringside. Colby continues
to
look on at Tom, with his arms folded.]
TL: Colby... Colby... Colby... Nice of you to show up here. You
remember
me don't you? Tom Landis. The guy who tried to keep you out of
trouble
out west in St. Louis?
[A small "R-C-DUBB! R-C-DUBB!" chant starts up.]
TL: And oh yeah. The guy who got his ass kicked for trying to do the
right thing after Langseth told his little lapdog to attack. And that
lapdog was you, Colby. I'm surprised he let you off your leash to come
up here, I'd have figured you for being at his side in Los Angeles.
[Boo! Landis of course, assumes it's directed at him. Colby doesn't
make a move, continuing to stare at Tom with his arms folded across his
chest.]
TL: But you see, you've made one absolutely huge mistake in coming to
the
UWF. See, up here I have no interest in doing the right thing. I have
no personal vested interest in keeping Brett Greene's little nephew
safe
and sound here. Maybe you haven't noticed, but my pals and I have been
kicking the ever-loving crap out of Brett himself ever since his
return.
What makes you think you're gonna be any different?
CG: I tell you what mes amis, why don't you try it?
[Crowd pops loudly as Greene sizes up Tom.]
CG: Why don't we drop de mics, and I let you take a swing. Because we
know how it turned out for you last time. And it won't be any different
here tonight.
TL: Well there's a big difference between there and here, Baby Bull.
You
had the advantage in numbers back in River City, but everybody knows
that
up here the Pride has the might that makes right. Even if you wanted
to
try and get on Kinsey's good side you kinda screwed that up when you
sided against him back at Gold Rush.
CG: I don't need anyone to go through you Tom. Or Derek. Or Dan. Or
even
your precious Hotspot.
TL: Oh, I beg to differ there Frenchie. And yeah, never forget that
here
in the UWF, you never want to forget the one cardinal rule.
Pain is temporary, the Pride is forever.
# Holy Calamity! Scream Insanity! #
[Frenzied pop!]
DR: Oh wait a minute!
[And all eyes -- including those of Landis and Kidd -- are sucked to
the
entrance...]
SS: What? What?
[... Where Madison J. Valentine yanks away the curtain and breaks into
a
sprint that conveys him right out of the portal and across the floor,
propelling him headlong onto the platform, springing up to his feet to
see a Landis haymaker hurtling its way towards him...]
DR: Em Jiggy Vee! Mad Valentine is here!
SS: He... is?
[Valentine throws his head down, and feels his black hair parted by the
rush of air that passes over him. He twirls up to his full
five-feet-eleven on the other side of the Hellraiser, balls up his own
fist, and throws it for the first time on a UWF broadcast.]
"Boom!"
"Boom!"
"Boom!"
"Boom!"
DR: He's taking it to Tom Landis! MJV has the Hellraiser reeling!
[Four straight overhand rights rock Landis backwards to the edge of the
stage -- but as Valentine looks to line up a superkick, Kidd slams into
him from behind with a forearm shot. As the fans holler and hiss, the
Pridesman grabs two handfuls of Em Jiggy Vee's hair -- but catches the
point of his elbow right in the spot underneath his sternum.]
DR: And to Daniel Kidd now! Valentine is coming to Colby's aid!
[Kidd backpedals away, hugging his ribcage -- when the resurgent Bayou
Bad Boy piles into him from behind with a clothesline. The crowd is up
on its feet, punching the air as Greene snatches Kidd up off the ground
and flings him off to the cement floor. Pop!]
DR: Colby Greene back into things!
SS: Oh!
DR: Kidd rudely sent to the arena floor in a hurry!
[Landis decides now's a good time to get back involved, but MJV sees
him
coming and uncorks a trademark superkick; the Hellraiser dodges it, but
isn't fast enough to get out of the way of a raging Baby Bull, who
dispatches him from the stage with a clothesline. The fans go wild as
the former rivals are left side-by-side in the ring.]
DR: And Landis as well! Greene and MJV have cleared out The
Cornerstones!
["EM - JAY - VEE!" "EM - JAY - VEE!" "EM - JAY -
VEE!"
"COL - BY!" "COL - BY!" "COL - BY!"
"EM - JAY - VEE!" "EM - JAY - VEE!" "EM - JAY - VEE!"
"COL - BY!" "COL - BY!" "COL - BY!"]
DR: Listen to these fans chant the newcomers' names!
SS: I'm sorry -- who is the other guy?
AM: Mad Valentine, Sam. Don't act like you don't know.
SS: ... What?
DR: Time for an introduction, Sam: Valentine is gesturing for the
microphone!
[And Debbie Henshall -- much to the fans' delight -- is happy to
oblige.
Kidd helps his fellow Pridesman to his feet in the aisleway, both men
clutching the backs of their heads and scowling furiously at the two
men
still prowling around the interview stage.]
VALENTINE: So this is Pride country, Landis? This is where the Pride
rules?
This is where it's all about the numbers game?
[The Hellraiser stabs his finger at the floor and shouts: "You be sure
it
is!"]
VALENTINE: It is, huh? ... Well, as long as it's numbers you're
dealing
in...
[He touches his own chest, and turns to point at Greene.]
VALENTINE: ... I make it that these two sides just became about even.
So how about we see what happens... when you truck with the River City?
[Mixed pop! Kidd steps forward this time, yelling: "We _will_ see! We
_will_ see!"]
AM: Is that a challenge, Dave?
DR: Amy -- I believe it is! MJV and Colby Greene against The
Cornerstones!
VALENTINE: And we'll decide whose rules we're going to play by.
[He tosses down the microphone and "Holy Calamity" begins to pump from
the PA once again. In the aisleway, Kidd is pulled away from the stage
by his partner, who points his finger and aims a stream of
obscenity-laced threats towards the platform as the two men back away
up
the ramp. Greene and MJV stand, simply watching.]
SS: Those are some big words from the new guy, calling out The Pride!
DR: Madison J. Valentine has been around, Sam, he's fought a lot of
battles in his career -- I'm not sure he's ever experienced anything
like
the might of The Pride in the UWF, but you can be sure that this
eight-year veteran knows what he's doing.
SS: He'd better be sure -- 100% positive! The Pride can kill a
pencilneck like that!
AM: Don't forget, Ironman: it's not just The Pride that Valentine has
to
worry about when his tag-team partner will be a man with whom he never
settled a big vendetta in River City Wrestling. How does Em Jiggy Vee
know he can trust Colby Greene?
DR: And indeed, how does Greene know he can trust Em Jiggy Vee?
SS: Uhh -- Em Jiggy Vee? Which one is that, and which one is
Valentine?
DR: [no-selling Sam] What an intriguing tag-match we have been
promised,
here!
[As the two ex-RCW stars finally acknowledge each other with traded
glances from eyes sliced to cuts, the arena booms again with the
competing chants of the fans.
Fade to backstage. The camera is following "Dead End" Derek Martin. The
Pridesman is already dressed in his wrestling attire and has a pissed
off
look on his face... which is nothing new, for those familiar with him.
And if the camera is following him around, well, you know something is
going to happen... and so it does as Martin sees something.]
DM: [dark, sarcastic tone] Well, look who's here... may I welcome you
to
the UWF.
[The camera swings over to the poor, unfortunate soul who's caught
Martin's interest...Juan Vasquez. The part-time referee/world famous
wrestling superstar(~!) who made his mark so well known in the "Gold
Rush" main event is dressed in his usual pre-match tracksuit warm-ups.
Juan stops dead in his tracks, but doesn't immediately recognize
Martin.
His eyes suddenly open wide in realization. He places a hand over his
mouth and points excitedly.]
JV: Oh! Oh! I know who you are!
[He closes an eye, thinking _really_ hard...not really.]
JV: Don't tell me, don't tell me...
[He snaps his fingers and points at the Pride member with a smile.]
JV: Derek Martin!
[He sticks out a hand for a handshake.]
JV: Pleased to meet ya'!
[Martin scoffs at the extended hand, leaving Juan hanging.]
DM: Oh, I guess I should inform you... from this welcome wagon, you
don't
get a fruit basket.
[He gets closer to Vasquez, staring right into his eyes.]
DM: You get a few lessons on why you don't cross paths with The Pride.
[The smile slowly disappears from Juan's face as a slight tone of
disgust
can be detected in his voice.]
JV: So, you're _not_ going to shake my hand?
[He lowers his arm and shrugs, not looking too bothered by Martin's
lack
of social skills.]
JV: Oh...I get it.
[Juan rolls his eyes.]
JV: It's the age thing, right?
[Martin looks at Vasquez with a slight look of confusion.]
JV: Hey, I know the idea of me being his son-in-law ain't the most
appealing thing in the world, but tell him not to worry! No offense to
Scott, but his little girl ain't exactly my type anyway.
[Martin just shakes his head.]
DM: Nah, it ain't just you wanting to be a supercouple with Scott's
daughter... it's got more to do with you showing up in a Pridesman's
match in the first place
And those who try to make a name for themselves at The Pride's
expense...
well, if you had been watching, you saw what happened to Brett Greene.
[He sneers.]
DM: And tonight, it's your turn.
[Juan frowns a bit. He looks genuinely confused.]
JV: Who?
[Seeing the angry expression on Martin's face, Juan backs up slightly,
holding up his hands defensively.]
JV: Hey, you gotta' excuse my ignorance! I ain't exactly been brushing
up
on my UWF history. Now, I'm sure you taught that Greene guy quite a
lesson for whatever he did, but understand this...
[The expression on Juan's face focuses just the slightest bit.]
JV: ...I don't need to make a name for myself at...heh...*your*
expense.
I know you might be feeling a bit threatened by me, maybe even a little
intimidated...but I don't need to show up your little band o' merry men
to look good. I think I do a damn fine job of lookin' good all by
myself.
[Martin just chuckles.]
DM: Yeah, so I've heard... you've made a name for yourself at the
expense
of a lot of other people.
[His gaze narrows.]
DM: But threatened? Intimidated? You better understand something right
now... I'm not the one who feels threatened or intimidated... I'm the
one
who makes others feel that way.
Now, I'll give you credit... you haven't flinched yet.
JV: Well, your breath has such a nice and minty fresh smell to it...
[Always has to be a smart aleck, doesn't he? A slight smile appears on
Martin's face as he interrupts.]
DM: We'll see how long that lasts when I face you in the ring tonight.
[Juan seems amused. He places both hands on his hips and stares down at
the ground,
JV: I gotta' admit that I'm impressed by your moxy.
[Juan chuckles.]
JV: Now, I'm sure you feel a need to defend Scott's honor and I respect
that, but directing your anger and your rage and your frustration at me
ain't exactly the brightest of ideas.
[He tilts his head a bit, frowning.]
JV: Ya' see, I might get the idea in my head that you're threatening
me.
[Juan walks right up to Martin and gets on his tip-toes, going
nose-to-nose and staring the Pride member straight in the eye with an
intense glare.]
JV: And that's how people end up gettin' hurt.
[After a few tense seconds, a smirk appears on his face as he backs
down,
the seriousness of the situation all but diffused.]
JV: But we wouldn't want that to happen, would we?
[Juan begins to walk away, chuckling and patting Martin on the shoulder
as he leaves.]
JV: I'll see ya' in the ring.
[Martin seethes as he watches Vasquez walk off.]
DM: People getting hurt, huh? Don't give me ideas.
[Martin then turns to walk off in the opposite direction.
Go backstage, to the "Gorilla position" immediately behind the black
curtain, and interviewer Peter Phillips lingering with microphone in
hand
to catch... one Madison J. Valentine, who promptly swirls into the back
on a wave of cheers from the arena. He looks a little sticky after his
in-ring exertions, wearing black slacks and a tight turtleneck, and
completely ignores the outthrust mic of Double P as he passes by.]
PP: Madison! Madison!
[Valentine swivels his dark eyes at Phillips from under lowered lids,
still walking.]
PP: MJV, would you care to explain why you ran out to save from a Pride
beating a man who you spent two months of last year fighting against?
What's changed in UWF to put yourself and the Bayou Bad Boy on the same
side, given your history?
[He dangles the microphone under Em Jiggy Vee's nose again; the Ottawa
native stops short -- Phillips nearly loses his feet -- and runs one
hand
over his hair before planting it on his hip, glancing down the hall
over
one shoulder and then the other.]
VALENTINE: I said it out there, and I'll say it to you now...
[Val prods his finger in the lapel of Phillip's jacket.]
VALENTINE: ... Certain people need to realise you don't truck with the
River City.
[Phillips nods.]
PP: So... it's an RCW thing?
[MJV resists the urge to roll his eyes.]
VALENTINE: You could say, yeah.
Now if you don't mind.
[He makes off again, with Persistent Pete continuing to trail.]
PP: But how do you know you can trust Colby Greene? How do you know
tha-
[Suddenly, Valentine's long-time manager Kingsley Sweete -- outfitted
in
a sharply- tailored black suit -- steps in to block Phillips' path as
Valentine vanishes inside an unmarked door. The interviewer extends
his
microphone over Sweete's shoulder...]
"WHAM!"
[... only to pick up the sound of the door slamming in his face.]
SWEETE: You heard the man: no more questions, please.
[And as a perturbed Double P extricates himself from Kingsley's grasp,
cut.]
DR: Wow! What a night we've seen already, with another hour to go! I
don't think anyone expected to see Madison J. Valentine come to the
rescue of Colby Greene, not with their history in RCW.
AM: About as much chance as seeing Juan Vasquez in the UWF, period.
The
Pride really does have a problem welcoming new talent into the company.
SS: It's their perogative, they practically own this place. Have for
years.
AM: That's a bit of a slanted take on history, and you know it Sam.
SS: I'll give you five thousand dollars to just sit back and accept it,
Amy.
AM: Where the hell are you getting this cash from?
[Music starts playing over the PA system. Specifically, "Peter Gunn"
by
Henry Mancini. And out into the arena, fedora on his head, Ray-Bans
over his eyes, and a smug smirk on his face, is one Simon O'Neal. He's
got a cordless microphone. A 'Welcome Back' pop is heard throughout
the
arena, and Simon seems to be basking in the reception as he gets to the
ring.]
SO: UWF... I'm BACK, baby!
[Simon chuckles.]
SO: What happened at Gold Rush was a proclamation- an announcement-
that
the Mighty Bastard had returned, and Judgement Day was upon some
people.
Chris O'Brien, Brian McKenzie, and Donna Tetreault. Or, as I like to
call them... "See No Evil", "Hear No Evil", and "Evil".
[Simon shakes his head, and the smirk goes away for a moment]
SO: But before I do that, I want to thank three people publicly. I
don't do grateful very often, so you'd better record this for
posterity.
[Simon counts off one finger]
SO: First, as always, my tag team partner Paul. The toughest son of a
bitch in the UWF. Had to deal with all three of them while I was on my
'vacation'. They were still so scared that they needed to attack him
from behind and injure him. I can't blame them- the Frats are stupid,
but even they know they can't beat the big man in a fair fight.
[Another finger]
SO: Second- and this will shock you- Stephanie Harper. We haven't seen
eye to eye, Steph, on just about anything. But you pegged Donna right
from the start. And when I was out, you stood by Paulie. I know the
day will come that we won't be on speaking terms... but for all that
you've done, Thank You.
[A third finger]
SO: Number Three [The smirk has come back on]... the one who convinced
me to leave, and the one who brought me back... [He looks around,
finally focusing on... the announce team.]
SO: Hi, Amy.
AM: What the hell?
SO: You found me at my lowest and said the truth- that when Donna got
over on me, that I lost my will. That I stopped being the Bastard.
And
then you encouraged me to quit.
[Simon smiles]
SO: You were right. In wrestling, I'm nothing. A nobody. Lowest of
the low. I'm not big. I'm not strong. I'm not fast. I can't brawl.
I can't fly. I don't know that many moves. What I have... what I
am...
is being the Bastard.
The UWF wanted the Bastard.
The UWF NEEDED the Bastard.
_I_ NEEDED the Bastard.
And what you did, Amy, was point this out to me. What you told me that
afternoon, Amy, was that if I wasn't the Bastard, I should quit.
AM: That wasn't what I...
SO: And what you showed me that night, Amy...
AM: What?
SO: Oh, Amy... that glorious, glorious night. [The smirk is now
stapled
to his face.] You made me glad to be a man, Amy. You showed me how
things were. You showed me why I needed to be the Bastard again. And I
realized, during those wonderful 36 hours, was that Amy Marshall needed
the Bastard, too.
AM: What the hell is he...
[Simon looks out to the audience] By the way, guys... they are real,
and they are spectacular.
AM: [Looking at Dave and Sam] I'm going to kill him.
SO: As for Donna and Brian, you tried to take me out. And you came oh
so
damn... [He paused, then reaches into his pocket. He pulls out a pair
of
red silk panties, then grins.]
SO: I'm sorry, Amy. I forgot to return these to you. [He tosses the
panties down on the announcer's table. Sam starts to reach out, but a
glare and a growl from Amy stops him.]
SO: As for Brian and Donna... Brian, I don't blame ya. Having never
been
with a woman before, I can certainly see you going for the first person
with breasts, no matter how flat they were. But now? Donna's gonna
lead
you to a world of pain. Which I guess is where you came from, anyways,
so it's not that big of a deal...
[A familiar guitar riff interrupts Simon, eliciting a heel pop! As
"You
Really Got Me" by the Kinks begins to play, out steps Donna Tetreault.
Dressed in her usual teal tights and sports top, the self-proclaimed
Queen of the Bastards appears ready for war as she shoots her former
beau
an ugly look before bringing the mic she just happens to be holding up
to
her lips.]
DT: Well, well, well...look what decided to come crawling back. What
happened, Simon? You couldn't bilk the old ladies at the retirement
home
anymore?
[She smirks.]
DT: But I'll give credit where it's due. You coming back at Gold Rush
threw me off a little. And god only knows how desperate Harper was in
trying to put me down in any way possible! For all her talk of "fair
play", deep down inside she KNEW she couldn't beat me on her own...
AM: And yet Donna saw no problem having McKenzie to hide behind! If
Paul
wasn't there to chase him off...
DT: Steph was outclassed! Even with the Blind Stip, she couldn't
really
think like a Bastard. She needed help badly. Tell us, Simon, just how
much of her pride did Stephanie have to swallow to ask you to come
back?
[Pause. Then an evil sneer begins to spread on Donna's face as she
looks
pointedly at O'Neal.]
DT: Or maybe it wasn't her pride that she had to swallow....
[Ooooh, the crowd is NOT liking that innuendo!]
AM: That's low! As much of a louse as Simon is, even HE'S not
desperate
to betray Paul just to get back at Donna!
SS: But Harper might have been! Hell, maybe Paul agreed to it if it
meant his partner would come back. Maybe he even watched! It's always
the nice quiet guys who end up being into the kinky stuff...isn't that
right, Dave?
DR: What?!
DT: You never should have come back, old man. Your mystique is gone!
Now, the only thing that gonna be remembered is how the so-called
"Mightiest" of Bastards...
[Donna's grin gets bigger.]
DT: ...was turned into _MY_ personal little bitch.
[HEEL POP!]
SO: You know... in retrospect, I sometimes wonder why I didn't realize
what a loudmouth pain in the ass you were when we were together. But
then I remember- you weren't using your mouth for talking when we were
together.
[Simon smirks and Donna glares.]
SO: As for Stephanie, I don't need to fight her battles. I seem to
remember her kicking your ass from one end of the ring to the other,
every single time I saw you two fight. Now, you're more than welcome
to
get her even angrier at you. Hell, I'll make the popcorn. Twice- once
when she gets her hands on you, and once when you're recovering in the
hospital room.
[Simon smiles]
SO: You won the first battle, Donna. But now you've got a war. And it
doesn't matter who wins the first battle- just the last one.
DT: You know, Simon. Maybe you are right...for once. We need to look
at
the bigger picture here. I mean, just a little while ago I was
chatting
with Jessica Marshall and I remembered something. I'm still listed as
_your_ manager!
AM: Uh-oh...
DT: So I figured, what better way to welcome my charge back to the UWF
and to see if he still has what it takes than to ask to give him a
match
-- tonight?! And Jessica, in the spirit of generosity, agreed! Hell,
because I'm such a sentimental gal, I even had it made No DQ--
["YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE-AH!"
DA-DNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNN..."KICK IT!" In the ring, Simon sighs,
reaches inside his trunks, and pulls out a black leather glove.]
AM: Oh, damn. I hope everyone's insurance is paid up.
[And indeed, as Greece and the rest of the crowd leap to their feet,
out
from backstage storms "Last Call" Brian McKenzie. He blows down the
ramp
and stalks to the ring, his eyes locked on the Mightiest Bastard
standing, smirking, in the ring. Clad in a red turtleneck and black
pants, McKenzie climbs the ring steps, ready to step into the ring and
confront O'Neal...]
DR: AND O'NEAL CUTS HIM OFF AT THE PASS!
[...only for O'Neal to charge him as he's between the ropes and
kneelift
him in the face! McKenzie is stunned, easy prey as O'Neal drags him
into
the ring, now beginning to stomp away at the fallen Fraternity Boy!
Still holding the microphone, O'Neal begins to provide running
commentary
as he assaults McKenzie!]
SO: Predictable.
[Kick!]
SO: So damn easy to figure you out, McKenzie.
[Simon rears back and punches the loaded fist in McKenzie's face.
Simon
turns and faces Donna.]
SO: Here's your boytoy, honey... hope you like him bleeding!
[Simon smirks... only to suddenly turn into a grimace of pain as
McKenzie
fires off a boot that catches O'Neal in the...]
Crowd: OH MY GROIN! OH MY GROIN! OH MY GROIN!
[McKenzie picks up Simon, as Chris O'Brien comes through the backstage
to
the aisleway. Or rather, is thrown through the backstage to the
aisleway. And right behind him is Paul Wong, charging, and being
greeted
by a forearm from O'Brien.]
DR: The Machines and the Fraternity Boys, continuing their war!
SS: Yeah... ain't it great?
[As O'Brien and Wong brawl, McKenzie punches O'Neal in the face, twice.
He rears back for a haymaker...]
DR: Powder! Simon O'Neal just threw powder into Brian McKenzie's face,
blinding him!
SS: It's like he never left!
[A punch to McKenzie's throat stuns him and O'Neal spins into a
neckbreaker. As he gets up... CROWD POP!]
DR: He just... GOOSED Donna Tetreault!
[Donna's still holding the microphone and picks up Simon's comments.]
SO: Like I wasn't expecting this?
[He spins around and starts kicking McKenzie. From the backstage, one
of
the UWF referees runs down to ringside, signaling that this is an
official match. Outside the ring, O'Brien and Wong continue to brawl.
Inside the ring...]
DR: O'Neal is pummeling McKenzie... Donna just started choking him out!
AM: O'Neal stands up- he's one of the smaller UWF wrestlers, but he's
still bigger than Donna by over 50 pounds... and Throws her off his
back!
And now he's... oh, that's disgusting... he's SPANKING Donna Tetreault!
SS: Cheating, brawling, illegal weapons, kinky acts with hot women...
GOD
it's good to see Simon back!
[Unfortunately for Simon, he's too busy with Donna to see McKenzie
reach
over, grab a chair...
CRACK!
McKenzie tosses the chair aside, grabs Simon and lifts...]
DR: MINNIE DRIVER BY BRIAN MCKENZIE! There's the cover...no, Brian's
lifting O'Neal back up?
SS: He's defending Donna's honor, Dave. Of course, Brian wants to
punish
Simon some more!
AM: What "honor"?! This is Donna we're talking about!
[Flashing a grin over at a now-beaming Donna Tetreault, Brian McKenzie
drags O'Neal over to the corner, slaps him across the face, and lifts
him
up to the top turnbuckle!]
DR: Neither one of these guys are high-flyers.
SS: Yeah, but the higher up you go, the farther you can throw them
down.
I think that's what's going through McKenzie's head.
[McKenzie sets Simon on the top turnbuckle. In the aisleway, Paul Wong
sees this and starts to head to ringside, but a flying tackle by
O'Brien
stops him.]
DR: Wong and O'Brien aren't letting up on each for a second! I
haven't
seen this amount of aggression of Chris O'Brien since...
SS: ...since the LAST partner that drunken idiot had ended up with a
broken neck courtesy of the Machines! You KNOW that's gotta be on
O'Brien's mind!
AM: Too true, Sam. And I'm sure Donna's been more than happy to remind
him off that fact. His blind loyalty to Brian allowed him to willingly
get dragged into Donna's mess!
[McKenzie climbs up to the top turnbuckle...]
DR: Testicular claw! Simon's using the testicular claw on Brian
McKenzie.
SS: Now that's disgusting, Amy.
AM: They're all disgusting!
[McKenzie yells in pain, and Simon shoves him off the top turnbuckle.
As
McKenzie hits the mat, Simon climbs up, leaps off, and hits a fistdrop
with the loaded glove on McKenzie's head. He hooks the leg...]
...
...
...
DR: Why isn't anyo...
[CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!
The chairshots from Donna Tetreault catches Simon O'Neal from behind,
and
Simon hits the mat. Donna now hooks the leg...
1...
2...
3!]
DR: What in the...
DT: [grabbing the microphone] By the way, Simon... the match was with
ME!
[HUGE HEEL POP!]
DR: Donna Tetreault managed to ruin Simon's homecoming...
SS: Sneaky and underhanded... she's learned a few tricks on her own
since Simon disappeared.
[Simon sits up, clutching the back of his head... just as Brian
McKenzie
sits up... and another brawl starts. Paul Wong and Chris O'Brien reach
the ring, and all four continue to brawl as several referees and UWF
officials jump in the ring to separate.]
DR: The Machines and Frat Boys haven't fought in almost two years...
but
they picked up their war right where it left off tonight. And with
Donna
Tetreault in their corner, the Frats are more dangerous than ever.
[The security team manages to pull the two teams apart, and soon usher
them to the back as we cut back to the announcers.]
AM: So coming up next is the big I Quit Match with Sonya Benedict and
Angel. This is going to be messy, one way or another.
DR: This rivalry has been a mostly psychological one. Sonya has denied
for months what Angel has been telling her, that she has the darkness
within. Tonight, if she has any hope of winning this match she just
may
have to find that darkness.
____ ___ __ _____________
| | \/ \ / \_ _____/
S | | /\ \/\/ /| __) SATURDAY NIGHT RAMPAGE
N | | / \ / | \.........................
R |______/ \__/\ / \___ / Writer: Mike Beeby
\/ \/
I QUIT MATCH:
Angel versus Sonya Benedict
......................................................
DH: The following contest is scheduled for one fall and is an I QUIT
MATCH! Introducing first...
[The lights dim down as turquoise strobes come on. Fast drums cue up
and
lead into the opening guitar riffs of Megadeth's "Addicted to Chaos".]
DH: Hailing from Miami, Florida and weighing in at one hundred and
thirty-three pounds...
"THE TWIIIIIIIIILIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIGHT ANNNNNGEEEEEEEEEELLLL"
SSSSSSSSOOOOOOOOOONNNNNNNNNYAAAAAAAAAAAAA BENEDIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIICT!
[Sonya Benedict steps out into the arena and raises both fists in the
air
to a big crowd pop. Addicted to Chaos rages on as the "Twilight Angel"
heads down the aisle, her eyes focused on the ring and the impending
war.
She is dressed in a turquoise sports bra with black patterns and fine
fishnets covering her arms and upper torso.]
DR: This match may be the toughest to date for Sonya, Angel isn't the
type of person to just up and quit a match unless she's basically
unconscious.
[She also wears a solid turquoise denim skirt, matching shorts beneath
that, black kneepads, and matching boots with turquoise laces. Upon
arriving at ringside, she gets on the apron and slingshots into the
ring
in a forward flip, landing in the center of the ring, both fists once
again raised above her head. The music fades and the lights return to
normal as Sonya lowers her arms to her sides.]
DH: And her opponent!
[A low roll of thunder rumbles over the arena's speakers, accompanied
by
a brief strobe effect and the dry, creaking voice of an ancient crone.]
# With every breath, the air grows stale #
# Deathly cold winds howl and wail #
# Raging thunder pounds like drums #
# When something wicked this way comes #
DH: From Parts Unknown, weighing in at one hundred and twenty-eight
pounds...
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAANNNNNNNNNNNGEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEELLLLL!
[She breaks into a fit of disquieting cackling as the thunder gives way
to Midnight Syndicate's "Witching Hour". Angel emerges from the locker
rooms, wrapped in her trademark black cloak and progresses down the
aisle
to ringside. Sonya stands her ground, resisting the urge to charge as
Angel climbs onto the outside apron and soon removes the cloak and
jewelry. The two females stand on either side of the ring with the
referee in the middle, and soon he calls for the bell.]
DR: And we're underway, Angel looking to tie up with Sonya off the
start,
but a wicked slap to the face from the fan favorite! She just rattled
Angel's cage, and Sonya grabs her in a side headlock. Teardrop suplex
by
Angel though, dropped Benedict right on the back of her head!
AM: That's about what it'll take to get either woman to say the words
'I
Quit', basically knocking them so loopy they don't know where they are.
[Angel rolls Sonya over and tries to grab her in a crossface hold, and
Sonya immediately throws a pair of elbows to get her opponent off of
her.
Benedict gets up, staggering from the effect of the suplex but also
laying into Angel's midsection with a couple of stiff shin kicks.
Angel
rises soon after and Sonya hits a pair of knife-edge chops, knocking
Angel to the corner and then sets up for another chop. This one is
blocked though and Angel spins her around into a hammerlock from
behind,
releases the arm and drills Sonya with a high impact neckbreaker. The
result has Sonya on the mat and Angel grabbing her with a facelock, all
of her weight pressed down onto the neck of the Floridian.]
AM: I'm surprised, I would have expected less of a technical start to
this match and more of a fistfight.
DR: The ref checking on Angel's grip here, Sonya obviously not about to
quit yet though.
[Benedict pulls herself to her knees and Angel releases the hold, but
smashes Sonya in the face with a pair of knees. A double underhook
results next, but instead of going for a powerbomb or piledriver Angel
lifts Sonya right up across her shoulder in a modified backbreaker
position, keeping the arms locked. Sonya struggles to escape but Angel
locks in, and the referee takes the microphone out of his pocket and
holds it up to Benedict's mouth, asking if she wants to quit.
"NO!"]
DR: Angel's specialty is her submission skills, Sonya will need to
avoid
them the rest of this match if she's going to survive this. Angel
looking... Oh!
[With a sudden run forward, Angel spikes Sonya Benedict down across the
ringpost with a powerslam-style move, leaving her opponent dazed and
sitting on the top rope! Angel climbs to the second rope after her and
hits repeated uppercuts before slapping on another neck vice as Sonya
tries to reposition, only to be caught and tortured with a mandible
claw...
...and Angel falls backwards, turning and hitting the mandible claw
monkey flip on Sonya which sends Benedict hard to the canvas. A heel
pop
rises as Angel gets back up and drags Sonya to the ropes and leans her
across the middle one. She runs back across the ring and rebounds from
the far ropes, leaps and hits a sliding neck splash. Angel rides her
foe
all the way to the floor and lands on her feet as Sonya writhes on the
mat clutching at her throat.]
DR: This match is starting out all Angel, Sonya can't seem to gain any
traction against her. Angel rolling back into the ring now, and right
back to working on the neck with a front facelock.
SS: She might as well save herself a lot of pain and just give up now.
Angel's just as happy to take home an ankle or a kneecap as a trophy.
[Sonya struggles to escape Angel's grip and despite her pounding across
the small of Benedict's back the Miami native manages to hit Angel hard
and fast with a gutwrench suplex. The shock of it keeps Angel from
getting right back up, and Sonya grabs the ropes and hauls herself to
her
feet and manages to repeatedly kneel and drive her knee into Angel's
stomach. Seven or eight times she does it and then with all the force
she can muster leaps into the air and drops a knee into the side of
Angel's head.
Benedict rises again and heads for the nearest corner, wasting little
time before grabbing the turnbuckle padding from the top rope and rips
it
off. The official admonishes her but can't officially do anything in
this kind of match, and can only watch as she reaches down to grab
Angel
and lift her up...
SLAM!
SLAM!
SLAM!
And three times, she beats Angel's head into the exposed metal link.
Angel begins to go limp and finds herself trapped in a facelock of her
own, and the referee gets the microphone up in her face for the
opportunity to quit if she wants.
"... No..."]
AM: Amazing how fast this match can turn around when you introduce an
outside object like the exposed turnbuckle, Sonya has Angel at her
mercy.
DR: Benedict lifting Angel off the mat... straight down headfirst to
the
mat with a brainbuster suplex! Well if this was a normal match she'd
have the cover there, but it takes two big words to end this. Sonya
now
rolling Angel out to the floor.
[Angel lands with a thud on the floor of the arena but tries to get
back
to her feet. She reaches out and grabs the dasher boards, lifts
herself
back to a shaky but standing position... and Sonya comes running full
bore and hurls herself over the ropes to the outside with a headfirst
tope through the ropes, smashing right into Angel as both of their
heads
collide!
CRRRRRRRRRACK!
The crowd groans in sympathy as both women lie on the floor, trying to
regain their senses and lick their wounds.]
SS: Well one way or another, I don't see either of these women in the
bikini battle royal next week. Of course with as many bruises as
they'll
probably have, I'd almost say I wouldn't want to see them in a bikini
anyways.
AM: Almost, he says.
DR: Benedict is back to her feet first, grabs Angel by the hair... Into
the ringpost!
LARIAT TAKES ANGEL OFF HER FEET AGAIN!
[Angel lies at the feet of Sonya Benedict as the crowd cheers, and
Sonya
defiantly reaches down and grabs her opponent, hurling her back into
the
ring. Before she follows she grabs a chair from ringside and folds it
up, and then slides under the bottom rope.]
AM: She's got malicious intent to use that chair, I'm not a big fan of
Angel but she'd better watch out or this match is going to have a rapid
conclusion.
DR: She's trying to rise, she sees the chair and she sees Sonya coming
at
her-
[With chair in hand, and Angel on one knee, Sonya runs at her and at
the
last second throws the chair into Angel's face as she steps up onto the
knee and blasts the chair into the raven-haired woman's face!
CRRRRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAACK!]
AM: Angel down! Angel down, and possibly out cold!
[Sonya smirks as she sits up and grabs the chair again, setting it down
next to her and rolls over the unmoving Angel. Angel groans and begins
to stir after a few seconds, with a trickle of blood running down the
side of her face from the front enzuigiri kick.
Sonya gets back up and grabs the chair once again, setting it up in the
corner. She grabs her opponent and whips her full force into it only
to
be reversed in herself, and immediately after hitting her own chair
sternum first Angel follows up with a huge Scythe to the back of the
head. Sonya slumps facefirst into the corner, and Angel grabs her with
a
dragon suplex-type hold, arms behind her back and lifts her straight up
into the air with a hanging armlock. Before the official can ask Sonya
if she wants to quit Angel drops her suddenly and quickly, down across
the top rope neck-first with a hotshot. The rebound leads to another
Scythe, and then Angel punt kicks Sonya through the ropes back to the
floor.]
DR: Well that should buy Angel some time now to recover from the
enzuigiri. Sonya Benedict attempting to return to her feet, but Angel
with a double mule kick through the ropes! Sonya gets sent up the
aisle
about five feet!
SS: Angel's like the frickin' Terminator. She just keeps coming.
AM: Whether it's at the risk of her own health or not.
[Angel rolls through the ropes to the floor and brushes her hair out of
her face before advancing on Sonya, who at this point is back on her
feet
again and comes back at Angel. The two women begin to strike at one
another, and Angel manages to whip Sonya back towards the ring.
Benedict
uses the momentum to slide right back into the ring, and in one swift
motion grabs the chair still lying inside the ring and turns around,
catching Angel as she tries to return to the ring with a nasty
guillotine
chairshot to the back of the neck! Angel immediately slumps back out
of
the ring, and after Benedict pulls her in by the hair she takes the
chair
again and begins to pulverize the left arm of Angel with the edge of
the
chair over and over again.]
AM: Oh no, it's like she's tenderizing meat!
SS: Well in a way she is.
DR: Sonya Benedict unleashing fury on Angel here, absolute fury! Her
arm
has to be ravaged in pain now... oh no! Sonya now using the chair
wrapped around the arm and she's trying to tear it off!
AM: Now that's what you call a submission hold!
[Angel begins to scream in pain, a rarity for her, as Sonya has the
tenderized shoulder sandwiched in the chair and pulls back on it in a
direction one's shoulder doesn't normally go. Angel refuses to say
those
two words however, pushing the microphone away with her free arm before
pulling closer to the ropes. Sonya finally lets go of the arm and
still
holding onto the chair she runs into the ropes and leaps.]
DR: Springboard moonsault...
SONYA BENEDICT DRIVES THE CHAIR INTO ANGEL'S FACE!
AM: The chair hit her in the stomach too! Talk about your suicidal
moves!
[Benedict lies in pain on the mat, curled up and clutching her stomach
and ribcage next to Angel, who covers her face with her hands. Sonya
gets up first, and soon pulls Angel up into a sitting position as
well...
CRACK!
CRACK!
CRACK!
CRACK!
CRACK!
CRACK!
CRACK!
CRACK!
CRACK!
CRACK!
The crowd unleashes a loud mixed pop as Angel blinks rapidly, grabbing
her nose which by now is gushing blood.]
DR: Dear god, Sonya Benedict with ten vicious headbutts to the bridge
of
the nose.
AM: She broke it, she broke her damn nose.
SS: Is it wrong to be turned on by this?
DR: Almost certainly yes! Sonya's forehead has Angel's blood on it
too,
and now the official is asking Angel if she wants to quit.
["... No..."
And as soon as she answers, Sonya grabs her and repeats the process
with
another ten straight headbutts right to the bridge of Angel's nose.
This
time, there's no defense as Angel is near the state of passing out.
CRACK!
CRACK!
CRACK!
CRACK!
CRACK!
CRACK!
CRACK!
CRACK!
CRACK!
CRACK!
The crowd counts along with each vile blow, at which point the referee
once again asks.
"... no... PFFT!"]
DR: Not only is Angel refusing to say I quit, she spit some of her own
blood right back into Sonya's face. Unbelievable.
AM: That woman is either stubborn, concussed, or suicidal. For all we
know it may be a combination of the three. But Sonya Benedict is now
starting to have her way with Angel, and I don't have a clue how she
could recover from this.
[Sonya is clearly frustrated that her efforts aren't working, and Angel
struggles to breathe as she coughs and gasps. The blood is pooling on
the mat as it continues to drip from her mangled and definitely broken
nose, and Benedict rolls to the outside of the ring and looks around
underneath for a few moments... then produces a lead pipe to the
shocked
gasp of the crowd.]
AM: Oh god, this is getting out of control.
SS: Damn right, especially when she's already tried to run Angel over
with her motorbike. She just won't be happy until that woman's dead!
[Sonya crawls back into the ring, wiping Angel's blood from her
forehead
before dropping yet another knee into Angel's face which leaves her
flat
on the mat. Benedict places the pipe across her throat and begins to
put
as much pressure as she can on it, effectively choking her opponent
into
submission, unconsciousness, or worse.
Angel struggles to breathe and escape, but Sonya keeps pressing down
and
from the wide-eyed look of terror on the face of the former Fury it
won't
be long before she's out. The referee once again lowers the mic to
Angel's mouth...
"... [gasping heavily] ... n-no..."
Sonya gives up before Angel does and grabs the pipe, then with her
other
hand grabs Angel by the hair and yanks her rudely to a kneeling
position.
This time a front facelock, aided by the pipe on the underside, is what
Sonya tries to go for but Angel summons up her strength and manages to
push Sonya backwards to the corner with a spear, bulldozing her the
last
several feet.
And Sonya suddenly goes limp and falls forward across Angel's back, as
the two remain huddled in the corner.]
DR: SONYA'S HEAD SNAPPED BACK AND CAUGHT THE EXPOSED BUCKLE!
AM: The whiplash of it might have opened the match up and given Angel a
chance to win this afterall!
[Angel pulls herself to an upright position as Sonya hangs on the ropes
in the corner, still conscious but definitely not clearminded at this
point. The former women's tag team champion turns around behind Sonya
and jumps up with the help of the ropes, leapfrogging up and into
Benedict's shoulderblades with a double kneedrop, drilling her straight
down into the mat with staggering impact! Sonya lies motionless on the
canvas, Angel still perched on her back and the crowd unleashing a huge
heel pop!]
DR: THE DANCE OF KNIVES! Angel with another explosive, deadly maneuver
and Sonya Benedict is in a bad, bad way!
AM: Either way this match ends up, neither one of them will be the same
afterwards.
SS: Yeah, that broken nose'll probably leave Angel disfigured for life.
[Angel returns to her feet and sits across Sonya's back, trying to pull
her up into a camel clutch. But the pain in her shoulder refuses to
let
her apply it tightly and soon she releases Sonya altogether, then turns
her over and applies a dragon sleeper with her right arm hooked.
Benedict struggles and reaches for the ropes to escape, manages to grab
them and flips right over Angel so that she's the one in control...
...and drops Angel right on the back of her head with a DDT! It knocks
her senseless, and Sonya follows this by rubbing Angel's face into the
canvas, doing more damage to her already broken nose and causing more
blood to drip.]
AM: Oh no, Sonya's gone back to the top rope and she's got that damn
chair again!
DR: No, hold it, Angel's trying to climb up and meet her before she can
come off the top here...
[Benedict perches on the top rope, but Angel manages to join her before
she can come off. Once she knocks the chair from her hands the former
Fury gets in a few more shots on Sonya and smashes her off the exposed
turnbuckle again, leaving her dazed and prone for a superbomb. But
Benedict struggles and manages to counter...]
SS: HOLY SHIT!
DR: BURNING SUNSET! BURNING SUNSET TO THE ARENA FLOOR, JESUS!
AM: ANGEL WENT HEADFIRST TO THE FLOOR, OH GOD!
[The gasps in the arena turn into worried murmurs from the crowd as
Sonya
disentangles herself from Angel's broken form and staggers to her feet.
Angel is completely unmoving, and the referee rolls from the ring to
check her condition. But as he does, Sonya doesn't wait for Angel to
say
the words and delivers repeated kicks to the side of the head.]
DR: Oh god, that's enough! Angel can't even defend herself... The
referee just called for the bell! He's stopping this match!
[The bell rings out to stop the contest, but even as the crowd pops a
good deal of them are worried as the ref immediately motions for help
from the back.]
DH: Here is your winner...
SSSSSSSSSSSSSOOOOOOOOOOOONYYYYYAAAAAA BENNNNNNNNEDIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIICT!
[Beaten and bruised, with some of Angel's blood dried on her forehead,
Sonya staggers up the aisle. Barely able to lift her arm up in
victory,
she slowly makes her way to the back as a tired smile is etched on her
face.]
AM: Sonya won this match tonight, but the tactics she had to use to get
that win, I'm not so sure she won the war. Look at the fans, some of
them don't seem to know how to react.
[She continues to hold her ribcage as EMTs pass by her with a
stretcher,
headed for Angel, and the crowd noise dies down quickly as they begin
to
check the wrestler's condition and soon put a neck brace on her.]
DR: [hushed tone] I'm not entirely sure of the condition of this young
woman, but Angel to my knowledge has not moved since that brutal
piledriver from the top rope to the arena floor.
AM: You hate to speculate in situations like this but with the way she
landed... I have a very bad feeling about this.
[The paramedics continue to work on her, and soon the Romanis as well
as
Leslie Hernandez are down at ringside with them. Not long after their
arrivals, Tigress herself comes down with a worried look on her face.
Angel is carefully loaded onto the stretcher, her former Sabbat Justice
mates following behind and visibly shaken. Leslie is the only one who
manages to speak, and the camera manages to pick up a bit of what she
says... "is she breathing?"]
DR: This is a serious situation, fans, we have to cut away but if we
get
any word in the meantime we'll break back in. Moe Owens is standing by
with Serge Annis, who tonight faces Alex Extreme in our main event.
[We cut to the back, where Moe Owens is standing at the UWF interview
set
in front of the logo. He's standing pretty uneasy, but with good
reason.
Mere inches away from him is the man that crippled his older brother
Joe
almost ten years ago, "The Epitome of Evil" Serge Annis. The original
World champion is in his ring gear, and sports a sick, twisted smile on
his evil, scar covered face.]
MO: Moe Owens backstage with Serge Annis, who soon will go out into the
ring against Alex Extreme. Serge, I just have one question for you. Why
are you doing Jessica Marshall's dirty work tonight?
SA: Jessica Marshall?
Heh.
You think I'm another pawn in one of Fatality's revenge games?
No. Lucky for her, she and I just have similar goals.
[Annis grabs a hold of Moe's mic and raises it up as he turns to the
camera.]
SA: See Alex, your destruction has been on my to-do list for quite some
time. Long before you ran your mouth to your friends, The Grimssons
about
me. Even before that night in Toronto when I sent you through a display
case window. The day you christened yourself as being extreme... The
moment you decided to be hardcore Alex... Once you decided that you
would
never die... THAT is when you brought tonight on yourself Alex... You
pride yourself on how tough you are Extreme, about never giving up, no
matter what.
[He points to himself.]
SA: *I* am the reason there is no one like you left Alex. There are no
more heroes because I have slain them all. I have broken the dreams and
livelihoods of so many people that deemed themselves indestructable...
It's like a hobby to me Alex. Just ask Caliban, heh heh... Just think
about it like this kid... If a guy like Jason Keening hands you your
ass
like no one else has before... Heh heh heh... Just think about what I
am
going to do to you in just a few moments...
Tonight, it's about finding one's self amidst a sea of blood and chaos.
I
know who I am Alex. I am The Epitome of Evil. The Lethal Protector.
Evil
Incarnate. Tonight... we shall see who you are, Alex Extreme...
[The Epitome turns to Moe and smirks. Moe looks too afraid to interupt
Annis' tangent. Serge glares back to the camera with his cold icey
eyes...]
SA: Tonight Alex, it's end game. There is no tomorrow, and the pain you
experience tonight will be with you for the rest of your life because I
intend to leave a lasting impression on your very heart and soul...
Heh...
Fear not for the future, and weep not for the past. For tonight Alex
Extreme... Our lives will change... Heh heh... Forever.
[Annis releases his grip on Moe's microphone and storms past him.]
SS: Live it up Extreme, tonight your end is at hand. The man has
spoken,
and his word is as good as gold.
AM: I just hope and pray tonight's not the end of Angel. I've never
really been a big fan of hers, but you don't want to see anyone suffer
an
injury like that in the ring.
DR: Indeed, we'll keep you aprised of Angel's condition if we hear
anything before the night is over.
# I HAVE NO RIVAL #
# NO MAN CAN BE MY EQUAL #
AM: Oh crap.
[Queen's famous anthem is quickly interrupted by screeching tires and a
firing machinegun before Rob Zombie's "Demonoid Phenomenon" starts to
blast over the PA.]
SS: And we are getting some company.
[Indeed, "Violent" Victor Frost steps into the arena as cocky as ever.
He is dressed to the nines tonight, wearing a dark blue pinstripe suit
and a matching mobster style fedora. He grins as he stops for a moment
under the jumbotron to get a good look at the booing crowd.]
AM: I didn't even know he was here tonight.
DR: Nobody did, as far as I know. We haven't heard a word from Victor
Frost ever since his loss to Sabbath at Gold Rush.
[With a nod to himself Frost starts to saunter down to the ring. Only
now Roxy Mayhem emerges from the backstage area. Her black hair has
regrown nicely as it flows down to her shoulders. Apart from this, Roxy
is still showing off her familiar outfit: Studded dog collar choker,
long leather pants and a long-sleeved "Mudvayne" shirt. She does not
seem to share Victor's good mood, though, as a frown is etched onto her
face.
# Violator #
# Desecrator # #
Turn around and meet the hater #
[The couple reaches the ring, Frost stepping through the ropes while
Roxy slides in. As the refrain of "Demonoid Phenomenon" hits one more
time Frost lets out a bellow, posing with his arms spread wide. Roxy
just moves to stand behind him, looking anything but happen. As the
music fades out Victor pulls a mic out of his suit and addresses the
masses, that wide grin still prominent.]
VF: Let me start of by paraphrasing one of your great American poets:
Guess who's back ... back again ... Victor's back ... tell a friend ...
[He chuckles for a moment and points an index finger at the camera.]
VF: Oh, in my absence I have heard so many rumors.
Victor Frost was crippled by Sabbath in their match and he had to
retire, Victor Frost was fired by UWF because of salary disputes,
Victor
Frost was arrested by FBI investigators during a cocaine raid, Victor
Frost has fled back to Europe because of trouble with the IRS ... and
so
on ad nauseam.
[Frost makes the "flapping gums motion" with his left hand.]
VF: Everytime a new rumor hit the net I imagined all your beady little
eyes lighting up with Schadenfreude, clapping your fat hands in
anticipation of my misery.
[He holds up a finger in a lecturing pose.]
VF: The truth ... is simple. I was on vacation.
For four months I went from one entertainment hotspot to the next,
living a life few of you dare to _imagine_. Las Vegas, Hawaii, Mexico
... (his index finger travels across an imaginary map) Thailand, Japan,
South Africa, Italy ... the works.
I relaxed, I recuperated, worked on my tan ... I healed!
[Frost takes off his fedora and slings it into the crowd to reveal ...
a
modest shock of black hair. Still rather short with a hint of a
receding
hairline on his forehead, but Victor is obviously proud. The fans just
boo the bragging German.]
AM: A shame. No more bald jokes.
VF: And now, with me being recharged and ready for action, I have
returned. But first of all ...
[Victor grimaces, an expression almost dripping with fake regret.]
VF: Roxy ... my dear ... you have been a good little trooper in my army
for the last two years. Good times were had by all, ja?
[Roxy warily glances at Frost.]
VF: But, the thing is ... you have become a little bit too ... clingy.
[Panic becomes evident on Roxy's face and the boos start up again.]
VF: What started out as a great relationship has become ... too
ordinary. I told you once ... I told you many times ... I am _above_
the
petty conventions society has spread out before us. Yet you decided to
play the part of the jealous girlfriend. During our vacation this
became
more evident than ever. Those venomous looks you throw at me in Tijuana
... meh.
[He takes a step towards her and the goth, with tears in her eyes,
backpedals.]
VF: We had a good run. Two years ... an eternity. Time to end it. I
release you ... set you free.
[And the grin is back on Victor's face.]
AM: That bastard! I never liked Roxy Mayhem but nobody deserves to be
treated like this.
SS: You should be glad, Amy. Perhaps Victor gives you a shot now?
[SLAP!]
[Meanwhile, Roxy has left the ring, but she still stares up at Frost,
dejected. Victor turns his back on her.]
VF: Don't you people have a tradition for this kind of occasion? What
was
that song ... na na na na ... na na na na na ...hey hey hey ...
goodbye!
Na na na na ...
[Heel pop! The crowd wants no part of Frost's singing and neither does
Roxy who finally runs up the aisle, covering her face with both hands.]
VF: This was of little importance, though, compared to my next
announcement.
As of now I declare myself as the No. 1 contender to the UWF World
Heavyweight Championship!
[Here come the boos again. Victor just nods and keeps on grinning while
pointing at his chest with a thumb.]
DR: Sam, stop clapping your hands, this is ridiculous.
SS: Come on, it's Vic Frost! He would be a better champion than that
oversized lummox.
VF: Now, of course only few of you agree with that. You small-minded
people never begrudge my every breath.
[He makes a throwaway gesture.]
VF: Luckily, I have undeniable proof that _I_ should be the next
challenger, _I_ and nobody else.
[He points at the Jumbotron.]
VF: Roll the tape!
[The Jumbotron shows a groggy Frost in his ring attire kicking a chair
out of a ring and dropping on top of a bloodied Alex Martinez. A ref
Jordan MacCall crawls over and begins slapping the canvas as Frost
makes
the pin attempt. To add insult to injury, Frost places both feet
squarely on the ropes without the referee seeing them, increasing his
leverage as he keeps Martinez pinned.]
DR: Here's the pin... ...1... ...2... ...3!
[DING DING DING!]
DH: Ladies and gentlemen, here is your winner... "VIOLENT" VICTOR
FROOOOOOOOOOOOOOOSSSTTT!
[The Jumbotron switches to the live feed again. Impossibly, Frost's
grin
seems to have widened even more.]
DR: I remember that match. Frost used _every_ dirty trick in the book
that day.
SS: He won, Dave. That is in the record book and that is what he just
showed us.
VF: You see? July 2005 ... Rampage ... I pinned Alex Martinez in the
ring. One-on-One. I may have been the very last man to have done that
in
the last 9 months. Now is the time to collect the fruits of that labor.
Now is the time to ...
[Cue the "Authority Song" by John Mellencamp as the crowd roars with a
huge pop!]
DR: And here comes our boss.
AM: Don't tell me she is going to validate Frost's claim?
SS: After he has reminded everybody of his greatness? I have no doubt.
[Becky Byers stays at the entrance and she is _not_ amused, judging
from
her grim expression. The German Machine claps his hands to welcome
her.]
VF: Ah, hail to the chief and all that. Glad you will confirm my status
as No. 1 contender so-
BB: SHUT the hell up!
[HUGE crowd pop. Now the grin seems to freeze on Frost's face.]
BB: What do you think you are doing here tonight? I only gave you some
airtime because I expected an apology from you, both to these people
and
to everyone who works for UWF!
VF (still forcing that grin to stay up): I have no idea what you are
talking about, Becky, bu-
BB: I am talking about you disappearing after Gold Rush! I am talking
about you no-showing house shows, promotion appointments, a medical
analysis and a tour with UWF Eurasia. Not only did you cost the UWF
money
but you disappointed thousands of fans who wanted to see you getting
your
butt kicked! And after all these months you come just out here and
claim
that you were on vacation, as if you were gone for a weekend!
AM: Oh my, she is fuming. This is so great.
VF: Just what are you saying here, Becky? That I, a _top_ star in this
promotion, someone who has been loyal for years, does not deserve a
break
now and then?
BB: Loyal? (Sneer) Don't make me laugh, Frost. You are loyal to anyone
as
long as the paycheques keep coming and you can spend more money on your
decadent and downright disgusting lifestyle. Fatality and Winston may
have tolerated you because they were as rotten as you are but you don't
play your games with me.
[Finally, the grin has faded way as Frost icily stares at his employer
up
the aisle.]
VF: So ... what now? No title shot?
BB: NO title shot! And the priviliges the New Era granted you ... it is
time we cut them as well!
And I want you in this very ring here next Rampage! No excuses! No
no-shows or, court costs be damned, I will fire you once and for all!
[The "Authority Song" starts up again and Becky glares once more at
Frost
across halfway the arena, her stare magnified by a close-up from the
Jumbotron. Byers leaves, and soon after Frost's music picks back up
and
he too storms up the aisle to the back.]
DR: This was certainly not the grand comeback "Violent" Victor Frost
thought he could celebrate tonight.
SS: I can't believe that Byers would treat him like this. She is
behaving
worse than Fatality!
AM: Frost has disrespected her and the whole company with his
behaviour.
It is time that someone showed him his limits!
DR: Frost back in the ring next week, but who will he face?
SS: Byers never bothered to tell poor Victor, it's a damn conspiracy!
AM: Not that I buy into your paranoid delusions, but just in case it's
true it couldn't happen to a nicer guy.
SS: Next thing you'll tell me there's no RCW invasion.
AM: Oh not this again. There IS NO INVASION!
DR: That's right. Now let's send it back down to the ring for the UWF
debut of former RCW World Heavyweight Champion Juan Vasquez.
____ ___ __ _____________
| | \/ \ / \_ _____/
S | | /\ \/\/ /| __) SATURDAY NIGHT RAMPAGE
N | | / \ / | \.........................
R |______/ \__/\ / \___ / Writer: Jeremy Steigerwald
\/ \/
DEBUT MATCH:
Juan Vasquez versus "Dead End" Derek Martin
......................................................
[We cut to the ring, just as the opening strands of "The Garden of
Allah"
by Don Henley kick in over the speakers. The arena lights dim, the
crowd
boos, and the Unitron shows a black-and-white shot of a long road
zipping
by, and then just as the drums to the song kick in, the shot zooms in
on
a sign at the end of the road:
"DEAD END."]
SS: And that sign on the Unitron says it all. "Dead End". Juan
Vasquez
took a wrong turn at Gold Rush, and now Derek Martin's going to send
him
home in a box!
AM: Maybe, maybe not. If anyone can take out Juan Vasquez, Derek
Martin
just might be it. But that's a tall order, even for the big Pridesman.
Juan Vasquez has earned his reputation as one of the best in the sport.
SS: Yeah, and it's time for Derek Martin to earn one for himself.
AM: It's possible, but we'll see if he's man enough to try that on his
own.
[As the announcers elaborate, a light goes up by the entrance portal
and
smoke starts to rise up as the music plays. A figure then steps into
the
light, but the hazy smoke prevents us from seeing the features of the
man
who stands there.
And then, the figure moves forward so we can see his features, and
indeed, it's "Dead End" Derek Martin. He wears a standard wrestling
singlet, black in color, with a yellow "DEAD END" sign with the letters
in black lettering on the front of the singlet, plus black kneepads and
black wrestling boots. And he has a dark, cold, sinister look in his
eyes. The fans jeer the Pride member as he heads down the aisle.]
SS: Does that look like a man who needs help?
DR: The Pride are a whole group of men who don't really NEED help, but
they don't let that stop them.
SS: It's insurance.
AM: More like an insurance scam.
[A lone spotlight now begins to follow Martin as he walks down the
aisle.
About halfway down, he gets a very slight, wicked smile on his face,
but
it goes away just as quickly as he continues to ringside, never once
paying attention to any of the jeering fans. A plastic cup,
half-filled
with beer, catches Martin in the side of the head just before he hits
ringside; Martin doesn't even dignify that with a change in facial
expression. Martin, upon reaching the ring, does not lose that
sinister
look on his face as he slowly makes his way up the stairs, the
spotlight
following his ascent.
Martin ducks between the ropes, entering the ring, where he simply
stands
in the corner, that dark look still in his eyes, another very slight,
wicked smile crossing his face, but that goes away just as quickly as
before. The music slowly dies down and the lights slowly come back to
normal, but Martin's cold demeanor does not change a bit.
As soon as "The Garden Of Allah" has cut all the way, the lights cut as
well. The fans pop loudly for the voice-over...]
"Same s[bleep], different toilet, yo'."
[FACE POP!]
"Mirror, mirror, on the wall... who is the top choice of them all?"
SS: Scott Daniels, thanks for asking.
["Conceited Bastard" by Ras Kass begins to play as a long spotlight
hits
the entranceway, where we see a silhouette of a man with his back
arched
and arms outstretched. When the lights pop back up, Juan Vasquez is
there, basking in a tremendous outpouring of fan approval.]
SS: They cheer him, and not the Pride?
DR: Juan Vasquez is known for being underhanded and self-absorbed, but
at
least he fights his own fights, Sam. I'd say he's got more pride than
the Pride.
SS: You, sir, are a blasphemer.
[Vasquez slowly makes his way towards the ring. He is wearing a
black-and-white Adidas tracksuit, with his hands heavily taped, a white
towel wrapped around his neck, and he's wearing some pretty damn nice
looking wrestling boots. Juan is working the crowd the entire time,
paying Martin little to no attention. Near ringside, he finds a fan
with
a very well-done homemade sign that has an airbrushed picture of
Vasquez's hand backhand-slapping every male Pride member in one swoop
of
his hand; he grabs a chair from ringside, "borrows" a marker from the
pocket of a security member, and trades an autographed steel chair for
the sign, which he then happily displays to the camera.]
SS: You, sir, are also a blasphemer.
DR: Vasquez trying to get under Martin's skin with his behavior, I
think.
But that's not going to work. Martin is coldly professional, and he
will
not be psyched out.
AM: Maybe he's trying to psych out Martin, but I think this is just
Juan
being Juan.
[Vasquez hands the sign to a ring attendant, then climbs up on the
announce table to showboat for the cheering crowd some more.]
SS: If I trip him, and he gets hurt, I wonder if I can get an honorary
Pride membership.
JV: No, but you will get an honorary Social Security disability
benefit.
SS: Oh. Right.
[The camera cuts to Martin, who is very patiently waiting. Vasquez
acts
as if he's noticing Martin for the first time, and jumps from the table
to the apron. He pantomimes asking the crowd "who the heck is this?",
before his usual tease of leaping over the top rope. Juan then starts
to
simply step between the ropes, before saying "screw it, this is Madison
Square f'n Garden" and actually leaping over the top rope to the
continued roar of the crowd. Juan scans the crowd with a large smile
covering his face, as his music dies down and the introductions
commence.]
*DING*
DH: LAIDES AND GENTLEMEN, THE FOLLOWING CONTEST IS OUR MAIN EVENT OF
THE
EVENING! IT IS SET FOR ONE FALL, WITH TV TIME REMAINING!
INTRODUCING FIRST, TO MY LEFT... FROM ROCKY FORD, COLORADO... WEIGHING
IN
AT TWO-HUNDRED SIXTY-FIVE POUNDS...
"D E A D E N D" D E R E K M A R T I N ! !
[Martin remains stoic, glaring at Vasquez as the fans boo him. Juan
walks over to Debbie and asks her to repeat the name, because he didn't
catch it. She shows him the announce card, and he nods with an "oh"
sort
of expression. Martin remains unimpressed.]
DH: AND HIS OPPONENT, TO MY RIGHT... FROM LOS ANGELES, CALIFORNIA...
WEIGHING IN AT TWO-HUNDRED THIRTY-EIGHT POUNDS...
...J U A N V A S Q U E Z ! !
[Juan looks around as if to say "hey, that's me!", and does a little
boxer shuffle before raising his arms to the fans. Again, Martin
remains
stoic.]
DR: Vasquez seems full of energy and enthusiasm here tonight, while
Martin seems as cold as ever. Which is odd, since Martin is the one
out
for revenge here... the Pride certainly blame, in part, Juan Vasquez
for
Scott Daniels' loss at Gold Rush.
SS: Derek Martin's poker face is so good, he could win the World Series
Of Poker with Tarot cards. Believe me, he's more than ready to tear
Vasquez apart.
AM: Well, here's his chance!
*DING*DING*DING*
*W H A C K !*
Crowd: OOHHHHH!
[The bell rings, and Martin lunges forward with a vengeance and cracks
a
still-showboating Vasquez with a straight right hand that sends the
Hispanic superstar crashing to the mat and rolling nearly out of the
ring!]
DR: WHAT A SHOT!
AM: Vasquez was even trying to sucker him in, but Martin came at him
much
faster than he expected and he wasn't able to react in time!
[Vasquez blinks, stunned, and Martin boots him the rest of the way out
of
the ring. The big Pridesman follows him out to the floor.]
DR: The match spills outside right away, and we've all seen how deadly
Martin is in this element!
AM: Vasquez's style involves frustrating, outmaneuvering, outthinking,
and outdoing his opponent. Martin's style involves beating the crap
out
of you. I think Juan wants this to stay in the ring.
SS: I think Juan wants to get as far away from the ring as possible.
Brazil, maybe.
AM: Not bloody likely.
[Martin lines up as Vasquez gets to his feet, and rains a three-punch
combination down on his foe, with the last shot being another straight
right to a falling Vasquez that sandwiches his head between the apron
and
his fist. The fans boo Martin, who does not let up. He gathers
Vasquez
up off the mat, scoops him up, and slams him hard on the floor!]
DR: As we saw earlier tonight on the concrete, a bodyslam is as
devastating as anything!
AM: Absolutely. It's better to get powerbombed in the ring than
bodyslammed on the floor.
SS: There are so many things I can say about you and being slammed on
the
floor, Red, but I'll just leave them to the imagination and take the
slap
like a man.
[SLAP!]
SS: Owie!
[As the usual exchange goes on in the booth, Martin rolls Vasquez back
in, draping his head and neck over the ring apron and smashing his
elbow
down over Juan's exposed Adam's apple! Vasquez clutches his neck and
rolls in agony, but doesn't get far as Martin snatches Juan's
well-groomed black hair, drags him back into position, lifts his foe's
head, and smacks Juan's neck into the corner of the ring apron!]
DR: Punishing offense by Martin! He's straight brawling, no technique
at
all. Derek Martin is a very skilled mat wrestler, but when he's out
for
blood, you wouldn't know it.
SS: Likewise, Juan Vasquez is a very skilled all-around wrestler, but
when Derek Martin is kicking his ass, you wouldn't know it.
AM: As tough as Vasquez is, I don't think Martin's going to be able to
dominate this for too long, Sam. It's early, and it takes a hell of a
lot to put Vasquez away.
[Martin rolls back into the ring, and starts pummeling a rising
Vasquez,
who fights back in kind. But the slugfest is won by Martin, who
punches
Vasquez into a corner and lays into him with a hard kneesmash. The big
Colorado native measures Vasquez and hammers him with a back elbow, and
a
second. On the third try, Vasquez ducks under, moving past Martin out
of
the corner, and hiptosses the big Pride member into center ring! The
fans cheer as their man finally starts to get the upper hand.]
DR: Vasquez manufactures the opening he needs!
[Juan takes two steps back to the turnbuckles. He pushes off of the
bottom rope with one foot to add a boost to his dash, and clobbers a
now-standing Martin with a smooth spinning heel kick. "Dead End" lands
flat on his back, rolling to his hands and knees to get up as soon as
he
does. But his foe pounces on his back, driving a knee into his spine
and
whaling away with some hard crossface forearm shots!]
AM: Those crossface forearms will dizzy someone in a hurry. They go
right across the ear, and wreck your sense of balance.
SS: Like a night with Amanda Wells.
AM: That'd wreck your immune system, too.
[Juan is zeroed in on Martin now, and he whips his larger opponent to
the
mat with a snapmare as Martin tries to get to his feet. Immediately
bounding off the ropes, Vasquez launches himself into a dropkick to the
face of his seated opponent, causing a loud smack and a resulting pop.
Martin is put on his back but sits back up, clutching the left side of
his face. Vasquez, who is also on his back after the dropkick, raises
his left leg in an almost leisurely motion, then shoots it out to kick
Martin in the right side of his face. That blow is more embarrassing
than painful, and "Dead End" tries to roll on top of Vasquez to hook
him
in a hold or such, but the far faster Los Angeles native rolls away,
gets
up to his feet, and ends up in perfect position to blast Martin in the
head again with a stiff soccer kick!]
DR: VICIOUS KICK! Juan Vasquez outmaneuvering Derek Martin there, and
the Pridesman has absolutely got to keep Juan from dictating the pace
and
flow of this match, or he won't stand a chance!
SS: He took him lightly is all! Once Martin gets control again...
AM: Wait, he took Juan Vasquez LIGHTLY?! I'd have to think Derek's
watched a wrestling show or two outside this promotion, Sam.
SS: I'm sure he could have, but why should he?
DR: It's called scouting, Sam. As flippant as he is, you can believe
Vasquez has scouted Martin.
[As this discourse goes along, Juan drops a series of elbow drops on
Martin's upper back as Derek struggles to his feet. To his credit, the
Pridesman weathers the storm through obvious pain, and surges to his
feet
with a violent kneelift that catches Vasquez in the early stages of
dropping another elbow. The perfectly-timed shot smashes into Juan's
jaw
and sends him reeling to the canvas, where "Dead End" pounces on him,
locking on a front facelock to get control of the match. Vasquez
struggles right away, attempting several counters, but he can't
escape.]
DR: Martin timed his kneelift with uncanny precision, and he's got
Vasquez in hand now. He's locked up Vasquez, and this gives him the
chance to recuperate and plan what he wants to do next.
AM: If we're lucky, his plans won't include a cast of thousands.
Unfortunately, I know the Pride is here somewhere. I can smell them.
[It doesn't take Martin long to muscle Vasquez into position, and
transition from a front facelock to a double-underhook. He lifts
Vasquez
with ease, holds him upside down... and keeps him there... then whips
him
straight down into a backbreaker with tremendous force! Juan pretty
much
bounces off of Martin's knee, and "Dead End" follows up with a
fistdrop.
Derek then proceeds with everyone's favorite hold, the blatant choke.]
DR: Martin in control, and for all of his toughness and ability, I
don't
see why he has to resort to choking!
SS: 'Cause sometimes ya just gotta choke a...
AM: SAM!
SS: ...person.
[Vasquez grasps Martin by the wrists, and anger flashes in his eyes as
he
somehow makes his way to his feet despite Martin's strength advantage!
The crowd roars as Vasquez starts choking Martin, and both men are now
throttling each other, locked in a battle of wills.]
DR: It's heating up now! Vasquez and Martin simultaneously choking
each
other out! They're going to find out who will break first!
SS: I hate to say it, but Vasquez can't lose this kind of contest.
AM: That's surprising to hear from you.
SS: You know how much wind that windbag has in him? Juan can talk for
hours without taking a breath! Choking him isn't going to work!
[The crowd gets behind their chosen superstar with a "JUAN! JUAN!
JUAN!" chant that seems to fire up Vasquez even further. The man once
known as "El Cholo"'s eyes bug out and he starts trash-talking as best
as
a man that's getting strangled can. Martin remains unfazed and intense
in the face of this, but his knees appear to be weakening. Martin
headbutts Juan in an effort to stop his momentum, but Juan just
headbutts
him back. Then the two men exchange headbutts as well as chokeholds!]
DR: There is serious pride, no pun intended, being shown here as these
men refuse to give an inch!
[And finally, Martin goes to a knee! The fans roar as "Dead End" is
unable to maintain his chokehold any longer, now purple-faced (as is
Vasquez) and struggling for oxygen. Fortunately for the Pridesman, his
arms being free and being on one knee allows him perfect positioning to
launch an uppercut in the low groinal area that breaks the chokehold
rather effectively. The chant goes from "JUAN! JUAN!" to "OH MY
GROIN!
OH MY GROIN!" as the uppercut actually lifts Vasquez off the mat before
he crumples to the canvas. Martin takes the opportunity to catch his
breath.]
DR: Vasquez won the battle of wills, but Martin may have won the war!
The referee is berating Martin, but I doubt that he's even listening.
SS: Should he be? I didn't see him jumping in when Vasquez was choking
Martin!
AM: But Martin was choking Vasquez too!
SS: It was a front neck hold!
AM: You'll be holding your neck in a minute, Sam...
DR: Enough! Vasquez in trouble now, as Martin is collected and back to
work.
[Indeed he is, and as Juan uses the ropes to pull himself up, Martin
again times his attack perfectly, diving on Vasquez's upper back with a
double axehandle blow that drives Juan's neck into the middle rope!
Unrelenting, Martin chokes Juan on the second rope, while clambering
out
onto the apron of the ring. Derek puts the back of his right leg over
the back of Juan's neck, and uses his body weight to keep Vasquez's
throat pressed against the middle rope. When the referee finally
threatens a disqualification, Martin simply lifts his left leg off the
apron, dropping to the floor and snapping Vasquez's neck off the second
rope! Vasquez is flung all the way onto his back!]
AM: Nasty guillotine move!
SS: I'm hoping he'll go all the way and decapitate him.
AM: He'll try.
[Derek reaches in, grabs Vasquez's left boot, and slides him out of the
ring. As Juan's body skims over the apron, Martin winds up and kicks
him
right in the head, sending Juan headfirst into the side of the ring.]
DR: That's the second time Martin's used the side of the ring apron to
sandwich Vasquez' head. He's trying to put Vasquez out, and he's going
to use everything around him if he has to.
AM: And he'll have to.
SS: He needs to hit him with the hardest, most devastating thing he can
find. But how exactly do you swing a Scott Daniels?
AM: Ugh.
[Martin scoops Vasquez, and attempts to slam him into the ringpost, but
Juan floats over the top to a cheer! Vasquez grabs Martin's head to
smash his face into the post, but "Dead End" blocks it. The two men
start exchanging punches again, to the cheers of the fans! But the
cheers subside a bit as Martin again gets the best of it. "Dead End"
sends Vasquez reeling against the railing, and winds up a big
clothesline
to try and send him over...
*B L A P !*
The crowd explodes, and so does Derek Martin's right eyebrow, as
Vasquez
lets loose a KILLER right cross that drops Martin! A small rivulet of
blood begins to trickle down Martin's face from that one punch!]
SS: HOLY...!
DR: BRUTAL RIGHT CROSS BY VASQUEZ! JUST BRUTAL!
AM: Rumor has it, he once killed a man with that punch just to watch
him
die.
SS: Rumor has it.
[Derek Martin is made of sterner stuff than the rumored murder victim,
though, and he gets right to his feet. Vasquez seems startled that
Martin recovered so fast, but he nonetheless gets right to it, kicking
Martin in the midsection, stepping on the back of Martin's calf as he
doubles over, and thwacking him with a step-up enzuigiri that sends
Martin stumbling forward, forcing him over the ringside railing!]
DR: It's spilling outside! The referee has been letting the outside
action go, as noone wants to see a Main Event end in a double-countout,
but for the safety of the fans, he should consider starting a count!
SS: More importantly, HE SHOULD GET THAT CHAIR OUT OF VASQUEZ'S HANDS!
[Indeed, Juan has a steel chair, but instead of splitting his
opponent's
brow with it any further, he sets it up near the railing. The crowd
stands in anticipation, feeling a spectacular flying move coming. But
first, Juan steps over to Debbie Henshall and retrieves the house mic.]
JV [on house mic]: GET OUT OF THE WAY, PEOPLE! I'M ABOUT TO JUMP AT
THIS
GUY! WHAT, YOU LOOKING TO COLLECT INSURANCE?
[The people near Martin back off.]
SS: What an idiotic move! He just warned Martin of what he's going to
do
next! The Juan Vasquez I heard so much about would have jumped and
took
out the whole third row to get his man!
[We shall see, as Vasquez runs, steps off the chair, and leaps...
...well, he steps, anyway, onto the ring barricade. The feint
completely
fools Martin, who wildly swings a chair that he'd landed on in his
tumble. Sadly for "Dead End", he ends up looking foolish as his swing
connects with nothing but air, as Vasquez stands on the ring barricade,
grinning. By the time Martin recovers from the wild swing, Vasquez
jumps
down at him, kicking the chair right into his face!]
SS: I, uhhh... well, it was still a stupid move!
DR: VASQUEZ FAKES OUT MARTIN! Juan is a step or three ahead of his
adversary, and Derek Martin has got to be feeling foolish right about
now!
AM: That actually worries me. This is entirely the wrong man to
embarrass.
SS: Yeah, see? Red agrees with me!
AM: When pigs fly.
SS: We got a luchadore cop?
[Juan picks up Martin, and sort-of release back suplexes him over the
railing back to ringside. Vasquez gets back up on the barricade, and
hops down with a double stomp onto Martin's back. Juan flings Martin
onto the ring apron, and gets up on the apron himself. Juan kicks
Martin
several times, then backs up to the far end of the apron. He gets a
running start... but whatever it is he was going to do, we'll never
know.
For "Dead End" surprises him by quickly rolling off the apron onto his
feet, running at Vasquez, and tripping him on the way by, making Juan
fall face-first onto the apron!]
SS: Ha ha! Who looks like the fool now?!
DR: Vasquez going for some kind of running move on the apron, but Derek
Martin recovered faster than he'd anticipated, and made him pay!
Martin
now climbing up on the apron... what is he doing?
[As the crowd boos him, "Dead End" picks up Vasquez in a fireman's
carry,
and steps off the apron! He pushes Vasquez off in front of him, and
the
popular Latino star falls all the way to the floor, where his face
connects with Martin's knee, as "Dead End" lands in a kneel to crush
Vasquez with a facebreaker off the apron! The crowd actually pops for
the devastating move, and Vasquez folds up in a heap on the floor!]
DR: WHAT WAS THAT?!
SS: The end of Juan Vasquez' potential for a modeling career! That was
great!
DR: Incredible move by Martin, who has maintained his composure despite
Vasquez' attempts to get him unfocused!
AM: Actually, I think making Martin angry is a very bad idea. He's the
rare type that gets more focused by anger, and far more dangerous than
he
already is. Juan's just so confident that he doesn't care... that
might
be his downfall in this match!
[The match finally returns to the ring as Martin throws Vasquez in.
Derek stomps at Vasquez' head upon his own return to the ring, and
wipes
the small trickle of blood from his right eyebrow. He then slaps
Vasquez
across the face, leaving a small mark of his own blood across Vasquez'
face. The slap seems to re-ignite Juan, though, and he starts throwing
punches at Martin, who stops the flurry by shooting in, and delivering
a
beautiful twisting belly-to-belly suplex! Martin goes for the pin...
ONE!
TWO!]
DR: Premature pin attempt by Derek Martin, but he does have Juan
Vasquez
hurt!
[Martin immediately pulls up Vasquez in suplex position... and lifts
him
up, holding him upside down!]
AM: Here comes that hanging brainbuster of his! He holds this
upside-down for as long as he can, getting all the blood rushing to his
head!
SS: Won't work on Vasquez. His ego is already filling every inch of
space up there.
AM: Says the world's biggest Pride fan.
[Juan Vasquez starts kicking his feet and shifting his weight around,
but
Martin makes several deft adjustments to keep him in the air, and ends
it
by dropping back and spiking Vasquez right on top of his head! The
crowd
oooohs for the deadly maneuver, and Martin goes right into the cover.]
ONE!
TWO!
TH...
DR: That was close, but Vasquez kicked out! Even he can't take too
many
more of Martin's best shots, though, so Juan had better mount a
comeback.
SS: Otherwise it'll be The End before you know it.
[But Derek Martin isn't going for the aforementioned finishing move
just
yet. He picks up Vasquez in slam position, and just falls to his
knees,
yanking downwards with the arm closest to Vasquez' head and smacking
his
face into the mat! Martin then steps over Juan's head, kneeling and
applying a chinlock. This gets Vasquez in position for "Dead End" to
pepper him in the side of the head with hard punches as he holds him
there with a free arm.]
DR: Unique sort of facebuster by Derek Martin, and now he's taking his
shots at Juan Vasquez!
[Martin proceeds to stand, kick Vasquez in the gut, then stomp on his
forehead. Leaving his foot on his foe's forehead, Martin twists around
with a bootscrape. Then another. Then another. Then another.
Finally,
the referee breaks up the repeated twisting bootscrapes by physically
interjecting while threatening a disqualification, and Martin ends the
bootscrapes with another stomp. Vasquez is now bleeding a bit from the
forehead, and the fans make their displeasure known.]
DR: Vile tactics by Martin!
SS: It was a thing of beauty! Vasquez made him bleed, so Martin
returned
the favor!
AM: It's not like Martin has a five-alarm gusher, Sam. Besides, if
he's
such a tough guy, why worry about a little cut like that?
SS: Principle. And Juan isn't bleeding badly either, but that's
probably
because his ego is restricting the flow of blood to his head. I bet
there's a massive ego leak up there right now, because Martin's beating
him soundly.
DR: That's one bit of truth. Derek Martin has looked very strong, and
controlled much of the match to this point.
[Juan rolls away from Martin, getting a bit of space to collect
himself.
When Derek comes after him, Vasquez gets up and rushes him, spinning
behind Martin with a quick go-behind to dazzle the Coloradan. This
doesn't work, as Martin spins around with a wild haymaker that nearly
knocks Vasquez out of the ring. Juan hits the ropes hard, but uses
this
to his best advantage as he stumbles off of the ropes, and somehow gets
control of his momentum to hit a running double-leg takedown on Martin!
He lashes out at Martin with several punches before getting up to evade
a
retaliatory strike.]
DR: Vasquez trying to get back in control! This one's essentially been
a
fight, and that's going to favor Derek Martin nine times out of ten.
Juan has to get this back to wrestling!
[Martin rolls up off of the canvas, and moves in to grab Vasquez, but
Juan ducks underneath, ends up behind Martin, gets two handfuls of
hair,
and spikes the back of his head into the canvas! Juan snatches
Martin's
feet as he hits the mat jackknifed, pulls him into a wheelbarrow
position, and proceeds to wheelbarrow suplex the two-hundred sixty-five
pounder in the middle of the ring! The fans cheer for the re-emergence
of Vasquez in the match.]
AM: That suplex knocked the wind out of Martin!
SS: No, no, he's fine. You hear me, Derek? You're fine! Shake it
off!
["Dead End" attempts to do just that, but the much-faster Vasquez is
already rebounding off the ropes by the time he stands, and in one
fluid
motion, a leg snakes out in mid-stride to hook behind one of Martin's
legs, and an arm shoots out to collide with Martin's head... the result
is an STO that folds up Derek Martin like a greeting card! The crowd
pops as that one did serious damage!]
SS: What the...
DR: STO!
SS: Isn't that a motor oil?
AM: No, it's where you pretty much plant a guy down on his back like
Vasquez just did there to Martin.
SS: What's it stand for?
AM: Martin'd probably tell you: "Stop That, Owww!"
[Derek is dazed, but still insists on getting quickly to his feet, a
tactic that costs him dearly as Vasquez grabs him by the hair, winds up
a
big fist... which the referee focuses on instead of the knee right to
the
groin!]
SS: DISQUALIFY HIM!
DR: Martin's already used a low blow on him!
SS: But Martin didn't use a dirty trick to make the referee miss it!
AM: No, he pretty much just blatantly did it and the referee is likely
too intimidated by the Pride and/or Fatality to do anything about it.
Vasquez is just leveling the playing field.
[And his opponent, as well, as a stunned Martin is helpless to fight
off
an Irish Whip and a big kick to the face by Vasquez. Martin hits the
canvas, and Vasquez does the little hand-twirl and ear-cupping pose to
the cheering crowd! He then bounces off the ropes...]
SS: Oh, no! Not this! MOVE, DEREK!
AM: What?
[...AND KILLS MARTIN DEAD WITH THE DEVASTATION KNOWN AS THE...]
SS: ...TOMMY STEPHENS-STYLE SENTON! NOOOOOOOOOOOO!
AM: Huh? It was just a senton!
SS: Tommy Stephens-style! *sob*
[Juan lays on Martin for a pin.]
ONE!
DR: Martin kicks out at one, and Vasquez is... complaining about a slow
count?
[Vasquez holds up two fingers, insisting emphatically that was a
two-count. The referee just stares incredulously, and the fans laugh.]
SS: Oh thank goodness! He must not have gotten all of it. Get up,
Derek! He'll break the ring if he does it again!
[Martin gets up, and takes a swing at Vasquez, who ducks it. Martin
then
kicks at the ducked head of Vasquez, who grins as he catches the foot,
hooks Martin's head, and flings his foe overhead with a fast, hard
capture suplex!]
DR: Vasquez set Martin up for that one, and he could be looking to end
it
here!
[Juan runs to the corner, hits the bottom rope, and bounces off of it
with a moonsault! He practically rolls right back to his feet with the
moonsault motion, runs back at the corner, and repeats the maneuver off
of the second turnbuckle! The crowd, knowing what's next, cheers
loudly
as Vasquez then runs back at the corner and jumps all the way to the
top
turnbuckle! But instead of immediately moonsaulting, Vasquez points
down
at ringside and taunts someone. He gives this person the one-finger
salute before moonsaulting backwards, and connecting brilliantly with
Martin's upraised knees. That wasn't, of course, part of the plan, and
Juan bounces off of Martin's knees, holding his midsection in pain.]
DR: Vasquez went for the Moonsault Trilogy, but something distracted
him
right before that third one!
SS: It was nothing. Certainly not Tom Landis. He's just watching, and
I'm sure he'd never do anything to distract someone in a match.
AM: Ugh! Where'd he come from?!
SS: My educated guess would be the locker room.
[The MSG crowd lets Tom Landis, who is indeed newly arrived at
ringside,
know their disapproval with a round of boos. Derek Martin rises to his
feet, slugs Vasquez in the ribs, and sends him off the ropes with an
Irish-Whip. Catching his man coming off, Martin plants Vasquez into
the
mat with a thunderous powerslam that quiets the crowd!]
DR: WHAT A POWERSLAM, AND THAT COULD DO IT!
SS: THE END IS NEAR!
[Martin grabs Vasquez by the head, and twists around for The End, but
Vasquez brings up a mule kick that splits the uprights! "Dead End"
again, doubles over, holding his groin, and Landis immediately jumps on
the apron, demanding a disqualification. The fans jeer Landis, and
Vasquez decides to take out the Cornerstone before he can interfere
physically. Vasquez rushes Landis and connects with a dropkick, but in
so doing, he (and the referee) misses seeing the other Cornerstone
slide
into the ring, chain in hand!]
DR: Vasquez dropkicks Landis, who barely manages to hang onto the top
rope to stay on the apron, but Daniel Kidd is in the ring! He's got a
length of chain!
SS: This is what happens when you stick your nose in Pride business!
[Kidd wastes no time running across the ring to blast Vasquez with the
chain, but he stays a little too close to the near-side ring ropes, and
as such, a third party is able to reach in and trip him before he can
blindside Vasquez!]
SS: HEY! What gives with people and sticking their noses in Pride
business?!
DR: Michael Bonn just pulled Daniel Kidd's legs out from underneath
him!
Vasquez sees him now, and kicks Kidd out of the ring! The referee now
over and he sees the chain in the ring!
SS: But Kidd's already out of the ring! DISQUALIFY VASQUEZ, REF!
[Tom Landis sneaks up to the top turnbuckle as Kidd and Bonn go at it
on
the floor. Seeing his chance, Kidd rakes Bonn's eyes and slides
halfway
into the ring, but the referee cuts him off. Martin tries to blindside
Vasquez, but Juan turns around and nails him with a knife-edge chop.
The
two men exchange blows, as Landis prepares to leap at Vasquez...]
DR: No! Vasquez doesn't see Landis coming!
AM: But Landis doesn't see Osawa coming!
[...and Landis flies off of the top rope, though not under his own
power!
Ryu Osawa gives him the non-cooperative version of the Rocket Launcher,
and Landis crashes into the mat, rolling into Martin's legs! Martin,
in
mid-punch, stumbles forward into a ducking Vasquez, who doesn't look a
gift horse in the mouth. Vasquez shoulders Martin, straightens up, and
drops "Dead End" right onto his head with the...]
DR: ___CITY OF ANGELS___!
[MASSIVE POP!]
SS: NOOOOO!
AM: Don't Go There has just turned the tables on the Cornerstones, who
were trying to hand Derek Martin the match!
[Vasquez gets up, pulls up Landis, and gives him the same hard right
cross he gave Martin earlier, sending the Hellraiser out of the ring.
Bonn has finally pulled Kidd out of the ring, so there's noone left to
distract the poor, overworked referee as Vasquez goes for the pin...]
ONE!
TWO!
THREE!
[The fans cheer wildly!]
SS: THIS IS AN ATROCITY! VASQUEZ CHEATED!
AM: Whaaaaa?
DR: Juan Vasquez has pinned Derek Martin, and the Cornerstones are
going
to have a lot of explaining to do for this one! The Cornerstones and
Don't Go There are brawling out on the floor!
[Michael Bonn launches Daniel Kidd into the aisle with a hiptoss as Ryu
Osawa sends Tom Landis into Daniel Kidd with the same. Martin rolls
out
of the ring, glowering with an expression even meaner than the one he
walked in with.]
DR: I'm not sure who Martin would like to hurt more... Vasquez or his
Pride teammates that just cost him the match!
SS: Waitwaitwait! Those freaks, Osawa and Bonn, THEY cost Martin the
match!
AM: Why did the Cornerstones even come out in the first place? Derek
Martin was still very much in this match, and had given Vasquez
everything he could handle! He didn't NEED their help! All Ryu and
Michael did was turn the tables on their interference; if they'd stayed
put, this wouldn't have happened!
[Juan holds a finger up to his lips to shush the cheering crowd, and
cups
his ear to hear Debbie Henshall say it...]
DH: LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, HERE IS YOUR WINNER...
...J U A N V A S Q U E Z ! !
["Conceited Bastard" by Ras Kass starts up again, as Vasquez indulges
in
a little victory celebration to the applause of the crowd. Martin, who
still hasn't left ringside, angrily smashes the ring bell THROUGH the
timekeeper's table and heads out. Seeing that little display, Kidd and
Landis hustle out as well, as Bonn and Osawa just sort of hang out at
ringside, smiling and waving to a glowering Derek Martin as he storms
by.]
DR: Juan Vasquez victorious over one of the toughest men on the roster
in
his first UWF matchup. But you can bet that he has not heard the last
of
the Pride, who were uncharacteristically sloppy tonight.
SS: It was just an aberration! They'll get back on track before you
know
it, and send Vasquez back to Los Angeles in a shoebox!
[Bonn and Ryu head up the aisle next, and after another couple of
victory
laps including one where Juan takes advantage of a picture snapping fan
to sit in Amy Marshall's lap for a moment, he leaves too.]
SS: Well I don't hear you complaining about that. And yet I try to pay
Amanda Wells to give you one good night on Valentines, and I'm the bad
guy.
AM: You're an idiot.
[But before she can elaborate, it's "The Authority Song" that hits the
PA
system to a loud wave of cheers!]
AM: This has got to be the announcement about the status of the number
one contenders position!
DR: Becky Byers has promised all week long that she'd announce the
status
of that position, and who would get a chance to face Alex Martinez for
the World Heavyweight Championship. I guess it's time.
[President Byers walks down the ramp towards ringside quickly, trying
to
waste as little time as possible and since she's already been forced to
come out here tonight she's not looking to shake as many hands this
time.
Becky steps through the ropes into the ring and takes the house
microphone from Debs, turns and stands to address both the live crowd
and
the one watching at home.]
BB: Ladies and gentlemen, I don't want to take up much of your time
tonight so that the main event can begin. However before that match
gets
underway, I have a major announcement to make concerning the world
heavyweight championship title picture. Ever since Alex Martinez
walked
away from Gold Rush 2005 as the brand new champion, I have been
besieged
week after week with people demanding a shot at the title.
Everybody from Trey DaMann to Victor Frost seem to think they've earned
number one contender status, and here this evening I hope to be able to
clear up some misconceptions. I've taken time to make this decision,
which I believe will be most fair for everyone. Next week Alex
Martinez
will set foot in this ring for his first televised championship
defense,
against the number one contender that I am about to announce. Ladies
and
gentlemen, next week's championship match belongs to-
# I JUST SAID UP YOURS, BABY! #
["Electric Head part 2" by White Zombie EXPLODES over the PA system as
the lights go low and the Loose Cannon walks out of the entrance,
dressed
in black dress pants, dress shoes and sunglasses. Holding up one hand
to
acknowledge the crowd's overwhelming negative response, The Bringer of
THE AWESOME~! jaunts down the ramp, throwing off crotch chops to anyone
within walking distance. At the mouth of the ringside area, Luke takes
two giant steps and hops onto the apron, and then climbs the nearest
turnbuckle, holding his hands wide as he cracks a grin a mile wide.
Finally jumping down, the Zombie dies off ans Kinsey discards the
sunglasses, perching them on Becky's head and catching a microphone
thrown at him from the outside.]
LK: The new number one contender for the UWF World Heavyweight Title,
currently on loan to a gigantic Peruvian is yours truly.
[Luke leans in to shake Becky's hand and winks at her.]
LK: You've made the right choice, Beckles, as I knew you would. You
listened to Fatality, you listened to your lover Joey~! and most
importantly, you listened to me.
[Kinsey turns on his heel and looks at the crowd.]
LK: Now, maybe you're wondering why I should get the title shot. What
have I done lately?
How about... pinning Alex Kidd, even as vital fluid was seeping out of
my
head, courtesy of a jealous douche? How about leading The Illuminati to
a
victory over the Frat Boys, the aforementioned Kidd and my old gopher
Colby Greene? How about giving the UWF the hot beef injection of chaos
and excitement that only I can?
The answer, is that I've done everything lately. I trimmed the fat from
the UWF, I shook it up, made waves, insert cliche >here<. I've
announced
my presence with authority, and now's the time to seal the deal. The
World Heavyweight title has eluded my grasp for nine long years, but
not
any longer. In your underwear drawer, past the Hello! Kitty vibe, I'm
sure you'll find a tape of Rise to Powah. And on that tape, you'll find
a
match between Luke Kinsey and one Alejandro Martinez. Who won that
match
again? Refresh my memory?
[Kinsey leans in and holds the mic to Becky, then walks right back away
and continues speaking.]
LK: Luke Kinsey, that's who. I'm the last man to fell The Last American
Freak of Nature. Not Scott Daniels, not Brett Greene, not Mean Joe
Greene, not Joe Reed, Kyle Backwood or anyone else who's name I
mentally
prepared to drop but forgot at the moment.
_I_ am the last man to beat Alex Martinez. And I'm going to be the
_next_
man to beat Alex Martinez.
And you _know_ that. So make the announcement and start selling the
tickets.
BB: Well if you'd give me a chance to get a word in edge-wise, Luke,
I'd
be able to tell you that unfortunately, you are _NOT_ the number one
contender to the World Championship.
[POP!]
SS: Tease!
BB: Luke, while it is true that you own a victory on pay-per-view
against
Alex Martinez and are high up the list, there's a reason you're not
getting a title shot. And no, it has nothing to do with the fact that
we
were on opposite sides at Rise To Power. The reason for that is-
SD: Because someone else has a much better claim than you.
[As if the crowd didn't hate Kinsey's interuption, they REALLY hate the
fact that the former World Heavyweight champion, Scott "Hotspot"
Daniels
is marching down the aisle, mic in hand. Daniels isn't dressed for
action
tonight, clad in black pants and a red dress shirt with the top button
casually left undone. Of course, there is a small Pride logo on the
heart
of shirt. His wet, greasy and curly hair hangs loose and free, and the
former champ has to brush it out of his face as he raises the wireless
mic.]
SD: Pardon the interuption to the interuption, but Luke, you have no
business neogiating yourself into my title shot.
[Hotspot continues on his hot trail to the ring. Kinsey mouthes "Is
that
so?" to the former champion. Daniels rolls into his ring and approaches
Byers, completely snubbing the Illuminati leader.]
SD: I'm not here to debate with him Byers. Frankly, I don't care to be
here at all because I shouldn't have to be here to begin with. Alex
Martinez shouldn't even have my belt. Everyone knows what went down at
Gold Rush was a crock, and that I should have never lost the title.
[A chant starts up...
"BULL-SHIT! BULL-SHIT! BULL-SHIT! BULL-SHIT!"
"BULL-SHIT! BULL-SHIT! BULL-SHIT! BULL-SHIT!"
"BULL-SHIT! BULL-SHIT! BULL-SHIT! BULL-SHIT!"
"BULL-SHIT! BULL-SHIT! BULL-SHIT! BULL-SHIT!"]
SD: Now do I even need to list to you and the idiots at home what the
numerous reasons are as to why I was screwed at Gold Rush, or can we
just
skip all of that right now and you make the call right now and tell me
what I deserve to hear.
[Unintimidated, Byers raises her microphone but gets cut off once
more.]
SD: Or do I even need to remind you about that clause that goes into
every written contract between a champion and a challenger Becky? Ahh
yes. The rematch clause. Which states that if the champion should lose
his title, he has the right to a rematch for the title.
[Scott turns his head, glancing over to Luke Kinsey.]
SD: And you know what? While you're here, I may as well get into it
with
you too. You think beating Alex Kidd is something worth a damn around
here? Let me tell you there's a long line of guys that have been there
and done that. You know I've tolerated you and your Illuminati for a
long
time Luke while you did your thing. I put up with the little pot shots.
Those tiny little sarcastic jabs you think you were getting away with.
Know why I did it? Because you were irrelevant. In fact, you've been
completely irrelevant to me until the moment you walked out here
tonight
and got it in her face demanding a title shot. Well you know what
kumquat? Your dreams of getting to that world title spot are being put
on
hold as of now. Because the rightful number one contender is standing
right here.
[The leader of Pride turns back to Byers.]
SD: Now Becky. I am using my rematch clause, and I want the first shot
at
Alex Martinez, because I only need one. My gold is coming back home to
the Pride.
BB: No, Scott, I'm afraid your championship rematch clause might get
you
a title shot at some point in the future, but there is no subclause to
get that title shot on demand. The time and place of your rematch is
at
MY discretion, not yours.
[But before she can continue, before we FINALLY find out who the number
one contender is, "Battle Without Honor or Humanity" blares over the
loudspeakers, and the crowd roars just as loud.]
SS: Dammit! There go our ratings!
DR: You knew it was only a matter of time before the big man made his
voice heard.
AM: Ladies and gentlemen... the world champion. And, the man with my
initials.
[Alex Martinez makes his way down to the ring, the UWF world title
resting comfortably on his shoulder. Fans reach out to slap him on the
back or touch his arm as he passes, but the seven footer pays them no
mind, instead stepping quickly into the ring. He motions for a
microphone, and waits for the silence necessary to allow him to speak.]
SS: He's going to talk? God, there goes another ratings plunge!
[Martinez looks at those assembled, pausing to send a truly evil look
in
the direction of Scott Daniels.]
AM: Now, let's get one thing straight. The only bad thing 'bout havin'
to defend my title next week?
Is that I don't get to kick someone's ass this week.
[Martinez smirks, as the crowd roars.]
AM: I said it earlier, and I'll say it again. All that it takes for
someone to get a shot at this belt is a pen and the ability to sign
your
name to a contract. So long as I hold this belt, its anyone, anytime,
anywhere, anyway they want it.
Scotty... you're right. You deserve a shot. Every champ is owed one
rematch. I beat ya twice, but I'll be damned happy to make it three.
And Kinsey? Well, no matter how ya did it, ya beat. So yeah, you
deserve
a shot, definitely.
But my first defense ain't gonna be against either one of ya.
[Scattered boos come from the audience, who seemed shocked by what
Martinez has to say. To his credit, the former champion steps up to
Martinez as if he were anywhere close to the amazing 7'0 champion.]
SD: Just because you've pinned me Alex doesn't mean I didn't give you
the
fight of your life. I've taken it to you better than anyone ever has.
Not
even that idiot there. You're scared because you know what I am capable
of doing to you.
[Kinsey leans against the ropes and mouthes the word "bitch" as Scott
Daniels stares up at Martinez.]
AM: Scared? Hell. Do I look scared to you?
I ain't never met a man I'm scared of. And there ain't man... or
woman,
in this ring, that's gonna be the first.
No, neither of you is gettin' the shot for one simple reason.
Because I'm a man of my word.
SS: What could this idiot possibly be talking about?
[And its that question that the Last American Badass is about to
answer.]
AM: Ya see, before Gold Rush, a man asked me for first crack at this
belt. And I told him he'd get it. And like me or hate me, everyone
knows that when I give my word, I keep it.
So I'm tellin' ya, right here, and right now, that Brett Greene, if he
wants it, and I'm damn sure he does, is first in line.
LK: That's bulls[BLEEP!], the line starts _here_.
AM: Listen, you two can cry 'bout all ya want. And maybe Byers'll be
able to find someone to change your Pampers. But what I say stands.
Brett Greene, next week, you come and try to take this from me.
DR: The champ, telling it like its going to be. He promised Greene
first crack at the title, and Martinez intends to be true to his word.
BB: HOLD IT!
[The president wisely steps between Scott and Alex, and all three men
are
forced to listen to what she says.]
BB: All three of you, just stop talking for thirty seconds and listen
to
what I've got to say! You've all got valid points to make here, but
the
office of the president isn't about to get bullied into anything here.
Illuminati be damned. Pride be damned. And that's why next week on
this show, in the main event of Saturday Night Rampage, the World
Champion Alex Martinez is going to defend his belt against THREE
contenders.
Luke, relax. You're going to be in the match next week. And Scott,
you
can relax too...
You're out.
[Daniels face turns white as he glares over to Becky in disbelief.
Martinez chuckles, and says something not quite audible to Daniels. But
the look on the former champ's face suggests that the current champion
didn't offer him words of comfort.]
BB: However, you will get your championship rematch in Las Vegas, at
Luck
of the Draw 2006.
SD: Wait. You're serious? You're actually serious?
[Daniels paces, runing a hand through his greasy hair as he tries to
come
to terms with the situation.]
SD: You stupid [BLEEP]. You actually expect me to wait untill...
BB: That's it. Cut his mic. Cut his mic!
SD: You can't treat me like...
[Silence. Hotspot's mic has been cut off. The crowd laughs, as Daniels
pounds on the microphone furiously.]
BB: I told you to stop talking and listen to what I have to say. And I
don't care if you like it or not Scott. You're not getting anywhere
near
that title until Luck of The Draw. End of discussion.
[The thought of dropping the president in a Pridebreaker is surely
going
through Daniels' mind as he slams his microphone down on the mat. In an
attempt to cool down, Daniels runs his hands through his greasy hair
again and then takes a deep breath. He glances to Kinsey and then to
Martinez, flipping them both off. "[BLEEP] you, [BLEEP] you...". He
turns
and climbs through the ropes to the apron. Before he hops down, he
gives
Byers one last look. "And you? This isn't over.". With that, the former
champion hops down off the apron and turns his back on the ring. He
shoves past JOEY~! as he heads back up the aisle, cursing out a storm
to
himself as he angrily stomps backstage.]
SS: Wait! You can't leave Scott!
AM: It sure looks like it Sam.
SS: This is no good!
BB: Back to next week's contest, it'll be Alex Martinez versus "The
Loose
Cannon" Luke Kinsey, versus Brett Greene...
Versus the person I was going to name before I was so rudely
interrupted...
One of the co-winners of the Cupid's Revenge 2006 Tournament...
ALEX EXTREME!
[HUGE POP! Martinez grins at the thought of his friend getting a shot
at
the gold, even if it is his gold. Kinsey takes the news less well,
realizing almost immediately that he'll be in the ring with three guys
who aren't that fond of him.]
BB: Thank you very much, and as distasteful as the way the match came
about, please enjoy the main event.
["The Authority Song" hits the PA and Becky leaves the ring, followed
soon after by Kinsey and JOEY~!. Martinez remains in the ring for a
few
more seconds, basking in the cheers of the crowd and lifting the title
over his head as his music comes over the PA system.]
DR: My god, what a main event next week! Alex Martinez, Brett Greene,
Luke Kinsey and Alex Extreme, all fighting for the biggest prize in the
game!
SS: You know the more I think about it, the better this actually looks
for Luke's chances.
AM: What are you spouting off about now?
SS: Think about it. Extreme's about to be dismembered by the Epitome
of
Evil in a few minutes, there's NO WAY he's making that match next week.
And Greene went and pissed off Trey DaMann earlier tonight, I'll bet
you
seventy-five thousand dollars Greene won't make it to the match either.
It's a dangerous world out there, you never know when you're going to
get
mowed down in the parking lot by a limo or a hummer.
AM: That had better be a joke, Sam. DaMann is out of his mind, but not
even he would stoop that low. And I wouldn't get too cocky as far as
Alex and Serge go either. Every time you try to count him out, Mr.
Excitement seems to rebound, better than ever.
DR: Well regardless I think the first title defense of the new champ
here
on SNR is going to be extraordinary. But first things first, let's get
to the ring for _tonight's_ main event.
____ ___ __ _____________
| | \/ \ / \_ _____/
S | | /\ \/\/ /| __) SATURDAY NIGHT RAMPAGE
N | | / \ / | \.........................
R |______/ \__/\ / \___ / Writer: Pat Calnan
\/ \/
MAIN EVENT:
"The Epitome of Evil" Serge Annis versus "Mr. Excitement" Alex Extreme
......................................................
DH: Ladies and gentlemen... the following contest is scheduled for one
fall. Introducing first...
[As has happened in countless arenas on countless occasions around the
world, the lights go out and strobe lights begin randomly flashing
through the darkness. Billowing clouds of hazy purple smoke bloom into
existence as LL Cool J's "Momma Said Knock You Out" begins playing over
the loudspeakers at full volume.
FFFFFFFFFFFFFFSSSSSSSSSSSSSSHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!
A white light blinds the crowd for a moment as the arena then switches
back to darkness.
KAABOOM!
KAABOOM!
KAABOOM!
KAABOOM!]
DH: ...from Chicago, Illinois and weighing in at two hundred and forty
pounds... "MISTER EXCITEMENT" ALEEEEEEEEX EEEEEEEEEEEXTRRRRRRRREEEME!
[Through the smoky purple haze and pyrotechnics walks Alex Extreme as
spotlights converge on him, alternating from white to blue to pink and
finally, to purple. Extreme paces forward wearing a black and neon
blue
leather jacket, a black T-shirt with a huge clumsily-splashed "X" in
neon
purple on the back, Ray Ban wafer shades and a pair of neon blue and
black swirled spandex pants. His clothes glisten in the arena lights
as
he throws a few half hearted lefts and rights into the air before
heading
to ringside while the fans cheer. Extreme walks into the ring and hops
up onto a turnbuckle, throwing his arms into the air to a mixed
reaction.]
SS: DEAD... MAN... WALKING!
AM: You know, you've made lots of confident predictions in the past and
been proven wrong, Sam. What makes you think that Alex Extreme isn't
going to surprise you tonight?
SS: Two words, Red. Serge. And. Annis. Immediately preceded by four
words... "The Epitome Of Evil". And as I've said many times... this is
not a guy who got the nickname "Epitome of Evil" by selling girl scout
cookies!
DR: Alex Extreme definitely has his work cut out for him especially
considering the vicious manner in which Annis turned on his former tag
team partner, Caliban, at Gold Rush and ended his career.
DH: And his opponent...
[The arena lights suddenly extinguish all at once to an impenetrable
darkness and while normally, this could mean anything, the audience
responds with a loud roar of anticipation. There is no surprise
because
they know exactly who, and what, is next.]
......GONG.....
[After the first gong, the Unitron comes to life, flashing vivid images
of destruction, all in black and white. Wreckage of a bombed tank. An
eyeball hanging in midair. A man being beaten by military men with
clubs. The camera cuts to back the ring with Alex Extreme nervously
fumbling to get his jacket off.]
SS: God I love this entrance!
..........GONG..........
[An intense drumbeat starts, as the images begin to speed up. An empty
graveyard, with a grave freshly dug up. A baby's face, crying
mercilessly. A black rose, wilting away in time lapse photography.
Blood splattered across a crime scene. Maggots feasting on a rotting
carcass on a deserted highway. While still in black and white, the
screen appears to be turning red slowly... as if the top of the Unitron
were bleeding crimson red overtop of the images displayed on it.]
.............GONG.............
DH: ...hailing from Oakville, Ontario...
[A closed casket, surrounded by mourners clad in black. A mouth full
of
broken teeth, spitting out blood. Two Dobermans fighting, with teeth
gnawing at each other. An icepick, drenched in blood. An airplane
colliding in midair with another, causing a large explosion as they
clip
one another's wings. A human skull, being held in a man's large hand,
and suddenly being smashed against a brick wall, crumbling it into
pieces. The camera once more shows the ring and Extreme visibly taking
a
few steps back.]
.............GONG.............
DH: ...weighing in at two hundred and eighty-one pounds...
[As the gong continues, along with the drumbeat, the images speed up
and
finally stop. And beneath the blood, the word EVIL flashes across the
screen as a heavy guitar riff kicks in, and a large, LARGE wall of
flames
and fire suddenly explode from the entranceway, casting the arena is a
fiery glow.]
SS: WOOHOO!
AM: Careful, Sam. You don't want to stain your pants again!
SS: What? Did I... ah, shut up!
[The rest of "Hands of Death" by Rob Zombie and Alice Cooper begins to
play, as a red crimson spotlight glows down on the entrance portal,
until
a large, menacing figure emerges from the darkness.]
DH: ...here is... "THE EPITOME OF EVIL" SERRRRRRRRRGE
AAAAANNNNNNIIIIIS!
["The Epitome of Evil" steps out onto the ramp, wearing black tights.
The left leg has an image of a flaming skull on it, matching the tattoo
on his left bicep. There is a bloody red teardrop on his right leg.
Black boots, kneepads and wrist tape complete Annis' ringwear. Annis'
short brown hair is wet, and his icy cold blue eyes stare focused at
the
ring as he lumbers down the aisle. The crowd is giving him a huge
mixed
reaction with primarily boos but a smattering of cheers as the UWF
faithful react noisily while the innovator of violence heads for the
ring. Young children in the audience are crying, clutching their
parent's arms or leg, for support that the bad man might just go away.
And the rest, stare on in awe of the "Epitome of Evil", not quite sure
if
they feel guilty enough to cheer him, or good enough to condemn him.]
SS: Consider this the end of a decade!
DR: The supreme irony of this match is that both men are basically
celebrating a decade anniversary. Alex Extreme made his wrestling
debut
around ten years ago, and as we mentioned earlier ten years ago
tomorrow
the very first UWF show took place, which began Serge's rise to the
Universal Championship.
SS: That's right, and Alex Extreme is ripe for the plucking... this is
going to be absolutely awesome!
AM: Even better than when you lost your virginity at that prison?
SS: Yeah, even better than... HEY!
[Further images of destruction and brutality continue to play on the
Unitron... but this time instead of stock footage, it is all of Serge
Annis in action. Hurting and maiming his foes. But that's on a
video-screen. The real-life Annis is approaching the ring, staring at
Extreme without a smile or a frown on his face... just his classic
emotionless stare, fixated on his opponent which appears to make
Extreme
even more agitated.]
DR: Alex Extreme did not ask for this match nor can I imagine that he
wants to face this particular opponent based on how he's reacting right
now... but that is exactly the challenge he has to face tonight.
AM: Extreme's man enough to admit that he's scared but he's still out
here, isn't he? That's true courage, facing your fear and standing up
to
it rather than running away and hiding.
SS: Hah! He who runs away and hides lives long enough to collect an
old
age pension!
[Annis reaches ringside and a defiant Alex Extreme climbs up onto the
nearest turnbuckle, beckoning for his menacing opponent to step into
the
ring. But Annis' eyes flicker towards something else on the corner
ringpost, a black canister taped beside the turnbuckle that is directly
underneath the unsuspecting Extreme.]
AM: What...?
[Before anyone can suspect his intentions, Annis races over toward a
stagehand kneeling beside the ring barrier and shoves him aside,
stabbing
a thick finger down at a board filled with switches as the technician
screams in protest.
*BOOM!*
*BOOM!*
*BOOM!*
*BOOM!*]
DR: OH MY GOD! SERGE ANNIS JUST DETONATED HIS PYROTECHNICS... RIGHT
UNDERNEATH ALEX EXTREME!
[Four separate spikes of fire and flames spew upward from each
ringpost,
each flame clearing over ten feet tall as Alex Extreme topples over
backward. The crowd screams in panic as Extreme rolls around on the
mat,
beating at the shoulder of his T-shirt where flames lick hungrily for
his
flesh.]
AM: HE JUST DELIBERATELY TRIED TO BURN ALEX EXTREME WITH THOSE
PYROTECHNIC EXPLOSIVES!
SS: Shades of Chad Grimmson, Red. What goes around comes around.
DR: Luckily... and I mean *VERY* luckily, Alex Extreme was able to leap
out of the way at the last moment to avoid being badly burned!
[A disappointed Annis rolls into the ring, sneering at Extreme from
whom
smoke can be seen puffing out of the shoulder of his singed shirt.
Extreme backs away slightly as he whips off the T-shirt, tossing it out
of the ring as he stares at the "Epitome of Evil" for what seems like
an
eternity.]
AM: What a sick, twisted, sadistic, vicious...
SS: Wonderful sight to see! I LOVE IT!!
DR: Alex Extreme coming very close to being permanently injured just
now
and... well, I guess the match is underway as there goes the bell.
[*DING!*]
AM: That attempt at setting him on fire should tell Extreme that he
needs to use his quickness to stay out of Annis' reach...
SS: Not gonna happen, sister! Serge Annis is a LOT faster than most
people realize and... well, yeah... maybe Extreme can run faster scared
than Annis can angry but eventually, the "Epitome Of Evil" is gonna
catch
hold of him and when that happens... BLAMMO!
AM: Blammo?
DR: That's about as technical as we can expect, I suppose.
[In the ring, Extreme swears and runs against the ropes on the opposite
side of the ring to build up momentum. Demonstrating his remarkable
agility, he performs a sideways tumble onto his hands that launches him
high into the air for a handspring elbow but Annis rushes forward and
dodges sideways to catch the smaller man out of the air like a praying
mantis snaring a fly.]
DR: Whoah! And Annis just plucked Extreme out of the sky...
[Which the bigger man follows immediately up by using his grip around
Extreme's waist to fling him up and over to crash down hard onto the
mat
directly on the back of his neck and shoulders.
*WHAM!*]
DR: ...OH! And a powerful belly-to-back suplex puts Alex Extreme down
hard!
SS: BLAMMO!
AM: [sigh] Blammo... just great.
[Rolling quickly back to his feet, Annis maintains his offensive as he
clubs the rising Extreme across the back of the neck with a powerful
series of forearm smashes that drives the smaller man down to one knee.
Grabbing a handful of hair, Annis rears back and drives his forehead
into
"Mr. Excitement's" skull with such impact that Extreme is sent rolling
across the canvas.]
DR: Ooh! And a nasty Annis headbutt on Extreme has definitely got to
hurt!
SS: That's the whole point!
[Slumped against the bottom rope as he massages his bruised forehead,
Extreme can be heard groaning in pain as Annis paces toward him. But
the
smaller man moves with lightning-speed as Annis reaches down to grab
him,
driving his shoulder forward into the taller man's stomach. Annis
bends
forward at the waist just enough for his center of gravity to be
affected
as Extreme rises to his feet and dumps "The Epitome Of Evil" over the
top
rope and down to the unforgiving concrete floor.]
DR: Back bodydrop by Extreme and he dumps Annis to the outside!
AM: Is this where I say 'Blammo!', Sam?
SS: Ah, stuff it, Red!
[Unable to prevent himself from taking a nasty tumble to the floor,
Annis
pushes himself upright with a grunt as above him, Extreme races into
the
nearest corner and clumbers up onto the highest turnbuckle. As Annis
turns around, Extreme leaps into the air and spins around as he falls
to
smash down on top of the larger man, bearing both of them down to the
ground in a heap.]
DR: CORKSCREW SUICIDE SPLASH!
AM: I don't care how big or tough you are... when 240 pounds of muscle
comes crashing down on top of you from that height, you're going to
feel
it!
[The crowd cheers this foolhardy display with gusto as Extreme is the
first to regain his feet, grabbing the larger man's head and driving
his
knee into the doubled-over Annis' jaw.]
DR: Ouch, and a kneelift to the face by Extreme keeps the "Epitome Of
Evil" on the defensive.
[Extreme marches over to the timekeeper, quickly shoving him aside and
grabbing a folding steel chair before he heads back toward Annis with
his
new weapon in hand.]
SS: Hey! Where's the ref? He can't use that!
AM: I don't think Alex cares what you think, Sam.
DR: Extreme winds up and...
[*WHAM!*]
DR: EXTREME WRAPS THE CHAIR AROUND ANNIS' HEAD AND... HE'S JUST
SMILING?!? WHAT THE HELL?
AM: Look at Serge! He's not even phased! He's just wiping the blood
away!
SS: Ha! And Extreme looks like he just crapped in his pants! Alex
Extreme, welcome to your worst nightmare!
DR: EXTREME WINDS UP WITH THE CHAIR AGAIN...
[*WHAM!*]
DR: NO EFFECT AND SERGE ANNIS GRABS "MR. EXCITEMENT" BY THE NECK... AND
LIFTS HIM OFF THE GROUND WITH ONE HAND!
AM: Alex looks like a deer and headlights. I've never seen him like
this.
SS: That's because this isn't just anybody - it's the Epitome of Evil,
the Innovator of Violence, the Hand of Death himself, Serge Annis!
[Annis holds Extreme in the air for few more seconds for dramatic
effect
and then executes a one handed chokeslam that hammers the smaller man
down onto the arena floor. Extreme bounces slightly off the ground
from
the impact as the nearby fans gasp in dismay. Annis gives a small
smirk
and plays to the mixed reaction of cheers and boos that he receives as
Extreme rolls onto his stomach and slowly pushes himself up onto his
hands and knees. Looking upward in fear, Extreme begins to back away
as
Annis picks up the very same chair that "Mr. Excitement" was using just
a
few short moments ago.]
DR: Annis has that chair now and he's just stalking Extreme.
SS: This is great! It's like watching "Wild Kingdom" or something!
AM: Wild Kingdom?
DR: Or something?
[*WHAM!*
*WHAM!*
*WHAM!*
*WHAM!*
*WHAM!*]
SS: WOOHOO! CALL THE CORONER, ALEX EXTREME NEEDS A TOE TAG!
DR: SERGE ANNIS JUST PUMMELED AWAY AT ALEX WITH FIVE ABSOLUTELY VICIOUS
CHAIRSHOTS!
AM: And look at Annis, he's just admiring his handiwork!
SS: Hey, show some respect! The way that man splatters blood should be
considered an artform, sister! I hope he writes the number 10 in blood
and signs it. That'll really increase the value.
DR: Extreme now bleeding profusely as he... starts to get up?
SS: Bah, he's not getting up, it's just a nervous twitch.
AM: No, Sam. Alex Extreme is indeed getting up!
DR: Hmmm, if I didn't know any better, I'd almost think that Annis was
just a little bit impressed by this.
SS: He's not impressed. If anything, he's just happy that he'll REALLY
get to make Extreme bleed!
[Annis tosses the dented chair aside and grabs Extreme up by the hair,
forcing him into a kneeling position before trapping him in a standing
headscissors and then pulling him up into the air for a powerbomb. As
Extreme is elevated above Annis, he frantically begins to hammer left
and
right hands into the larger man's face. Extreme grabs onto the side of
the "Epitome Of Evil's" thick neck for dear life as he continues to
throw
right hands into Annis' forehead before poking both of his eyes.]
DR: Extreme's blinded Annis!
SS: Only for a moment, Dave. You just wait... Extreme's just about to
get squished like a bug!
AM: Annis is really flailing around as he can't see...
[___CRRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAASH!___]
AM: Oh... my...
DR: SERGE ANNIS COULDN"T SEE BUT HE STILL MANAGED TO BLINDLY THROW ALEX
EXTREME THROUGH THE AIR... TO COME CRASHING DOWN THROUGH THE
TIMEKEEPER'S
TABLE!
SS: Clean up in aisle four! Better bring a mop and bucket!
AM: Sam!
SS: Fine, I guess we can call the FAA Crash Investigation Team instead.
DR: Serge is still shaking off the effects of being poked in both
eyes... and I can't even see Alex Extreme at this point.
[A thunderous roar can be heard from the milling crowd gathering around
the barriers nearest the timekeeper's table.]
AM: He's up.
SS: What? That's impossible!
DR: Extreme is indeed up and Annis doesn't see him yet!
SS: If I was him, I'd run... fast, before Serge kills him once and for
all!
[Extreme shakily gets to his feet, blood streaming down the side of his
face from the cut on his forehead, but he still manages to hop up on
top
of the guard railing. After gaining his balance, Extreme pauses for a
moment as he waits for Annis to turn around. The "Epitome of Evil",
his
vision restored, slowly turns around and "Mr. Excitement" leaps off of
the railing to slam both his feet into the larger man's chest, knocking
Annis sideways into a painful collision with the steel ringpost.]
DR: WHAT A DROPKICK BY ALEX EXTREME!
AM: Annis looks hurt.
SS: He's not hurt, he's just allowing Extreme to feel good about
himself
for a second before he goes in for the kill.
DR: Extreme with his first real advantage in this contest as this match
has now spent more time outside of the ring than in it.
AM: Extreme's got to act fast here or that advantage isn't going to
last
for long.
[Rushing over, Extreme grabs Annis' arm and tries to send him crashing
into the steel ring steps with an Irish whip but a reversal by the
larger
man sends Extreme for a ride. Unable to halt his momentum, Extreme
smashes into the steps and knocks them aside as he crumples to the
ground.]
SS: YESSSSSSSS!
DR: A reversed Irish whip by Serge Annis sends Alex Extreme into the
ring
steps and as "extreme" as "Mr. Excitement" likes to wrestle, I can't
imagine that he wants to be on the receiving end of a Serge Annis
onslaught on the outside of the ring.
AM: Definitely not. He's got to get back into the ring and use those
ropes and turnbuckles to take advantage of his speed and mobility.
Duking it out toe to toe with Serge Annis is not a smart idea for a guy
like Alex Extreme.
[Which is likely what is on Extreme's mind as when he pulls himself
upright, Annis charges forward with a clothesline attempt only to
collide
shoulder-first with the unforgiving steel ringpost as Extreme ducks out
of the way.]
DR: Whoah! Annis misses a clothesline and he rams his shoulder and
bicep
into the ringpost!
[Extreme immediately jumps up into the air and drives the soles of both
of his feet into Annis' shoulder blade, propelling the bigger man's arm
into another punishing collision with the steel ringpost.]
SS: Dammit! Get outta there, Serge!
AM: Nice use of positioning and another dropkick by Alex Extreme as he
follows up on Annis' mistake by punishing that injured shoulder once
again!
[Leaving the grimacing Annis on the outside of the ring, Extreme rolls
back in underneath the bottom rope and smiles at the chorus of cheers
raining down on him while he crouches, waiting for the "Epitome Of
Evil"
to move. Annis, massaging his injured shoulder, grimaces slightly but
then adopts his usual frigid demeanor as he climbs up onto the ring
apron. But before he can step between the ring ropes, Extreme strikes
first as he races forward and slides along the canvas so that his boots
hit Annis' ankles, knocking the bigger man's feet out from under him.
Caught off guard, Annis drops like a stone and his jaw ends up slamming
down onto the edge of the ring apron.]
DR: HOLY SMOKES! ALEX EXTREME JUST USED A BASEBALL SLIDE DROPKICK TO
TAKE OUT SERGE ANNIS ON THE OUTSIDE OF THE RING!
AM: Nicely done!
SS: Sez you!
[For all of his size and indomitable strength, even Serge Annis feels
it
when gravity pulls all 281 pounds of his densely muscled frame down
into
a collision between the bottom of his chin and the edge of the ring
apron. Collapsing onto his back, Annis is helpless to react as Extreme
rolls out of the ring. When Extreme flips the curtain surrounding the
ring up out of the way so that he can get underneath it, the fans
immediately realize what he's doing and respond with a deafening
cheer.]
SS: What's he doing?
DR: I can't see, exactly. But I think he's going for something stored
beneath the ring.
AM: Careful, Alex. Maintain your advantage while you still can.
[What Extreme draws out from underneath the ring raises the volume of
the
crowd's cheering tenfold as he pulls a folded table into view. Extreme
unfolds the table legs and sets it up beside the ring and behind to the
prone figure of Serge Annis. He then grabs the steel steps and places
them a little bit in front of the big Canadian. "Mr. Excitement" then
waits a moment for Annis as the big man slowly begins to get up.]
DR: Alex Extreme is setting up a table and it looks like he's going to
live up to his surname!
SS: What, his last name is Suicidally Stupid?
AM: Shut up, Sam.
[Extreme starts running full speed using the steel steps to get him
airborne and...
*WHAM!*]
DR: AMAZING!
SS: HOW THE HELL DID HE DO THAT?
DR: EXTREME SOMEHOW PULLS OFF A SLINGSHOT DDT _THROUGH_ THAT WOODEN
TABLE AND NOW IT'S SERGE ANNIS WHO'S DOWN FOR THE COUNT!
AM: Notice that even though both men are bleeding, Alex Extreme has
never given up in this match. No matter how much the odds have been
against him because, let's face it, he's faced that kind of situation
several times before during his career.
DR: I take it you're referencing some of the hellacious hardcore
battles
he fought with Alex Martinez before they became friends?
SS: Who cares about that stuff! That's ancient history!
[From his position on the floor beside the wrecked table, Extreme
slowly
rises but then sparks another cheer from the crowd when he once again
reaches underneath the ring and pulls out another folded table. He
once
more unfolds the table legs and sets it up next to the crumpled form of
Serge Annis who is lying amidst the wreckage of the first table.]
DR: Here we go again! Extreme going for broke here.
SS: Yeah, well you can't go to the well on Serge Annis twice!
[Scooping up the larger Annis, Extreme dumps him on the table and
hammers
a chop across the "Epitome Of Evil's" massive chest to keep his
opponent
down. Springing up onto the ring apron, Extreme grins as he stands
with
his back to the table, holding the top rope with both hands for a
moment
before he leaps.]
DR: Here we go...
[Extreme leaps up into the air and flips over backwards to perform an
aerial back flip but while still in mid-flight, Annis rolls out of the
way so that "Mr. Excitement" ends up crashing stomach first across the
surface of the table, breaking it in half and falling down between its
collapsed halves.
*WHAM!*]
DR: ...moonsault off the ring apron but Annis got out of the way!
SS: ALL RIGHT!
AM: Damn. Extreme tends to pay a price for those daredevil moves of
his. He was trying to drive Annis through another table but ended up
going through it by himself.
SS: BLAMMO!
AM: Enough with the "Blammo" all ready!
[Annis rises to his feet and despite his own cuts and bruises and the
blood discoloring the side of his face, a slight smirk curls the corner
of his lip upward for a moment as he stares down at the dazed body of
Alex Extreme, lying amidst the wreckage of the second smashed table.]
SS: This is precisely where Serge Annis prefers his victims! Lifeless
and helpless and ready for the slaughter!
[The "Epitome Of Evil" reaches down and picks up the smaller man with
both hands, tossing him carelessly back into the ring as the crowd
begins
chanting "Mr. Excitement's" name in an attempt to revive him.]
Crowd: A-LEX EX-TREME! A-LEX EX-TREME! A-LEX EX-TREME!
Crowd: A-LEX EX-TREME! A-LEX EX-TREME! A-LEX EX-TREME!
Crowd: A-LEX EX-TREME! A-LEX EX-TREME! A-LEX EX-TREME!
SS: Save your breath, peons! Your hero is about to become the latest
member of the Crippled By Serge Annis Society!
[Climbing slowly back into the ring, Annis winces as he's visibly
showing
some of the effects of this match himself. But his condition pales
next
to that of Extreme who is only beginning to stir when the larger man
grabs a handful of hair and yanks him back to his feet. Trapping
Extreme's head between his legs in a standing headscissors, Annis
doesn't
even smile as he reaches down, grabs the smaller man around the waist
and
then lifts him high into the air before pounding him back-first into
the
canvas.
*WHUMP!*]
DR: Yikes! And a powerful power bomb by Serge Annis shakes the very
foundations of the ring!
[Moving methodically and with his trademark stone-faced expression on
his
face, Annis pauses for a moment to nail a kick to the head on the
defenseless Extreme before grabbing an arm and yanking the smaller man
upright once more.]
SS: Smash 'im, Serge! Smash 'im good!
[A powerful Irish whip hurtles Extreme into a painful collision with
the
turnbuckles but "Mr. Excitement" gets no opportunity to recover as
Annis
immediately charges in and crushes the smaller man into the corner.
Both
men remain upright but Extreme is staggering as he stumbles out of the
corner only to be grabbed around the waist, spun around and hammered
into
the mat on his back once more.]
DR: This match has finally gotten back into the ring but Serge Annis is
systematically demolishing Alex Extreme as he just crushed him with an
avalanche and followed that up with a devastating spinebuster slam!
AM: C'mon, Alex! Get away from this guy!
[Standing over his powerless prey, Annis casually lifts one foot and
wedges the side of his boot under Extreme's chin and across his throat.
Pushing downward with all of the considerable strength of his legs as
well as his weight, Annis merely stands there nonchalantly as Extreme's
heels begin drumming on the mat, his hands clutching at the larger
man's
boot as he gasps for breath.]
DR: Annis is now choking the life out of Alex Extreme and ignoring the
official...
[Before Dave can finish his comment, the audience immediately surges to
its feet with a cacophony of booing and jeering as all heads turn
towards
the arena entrance.]
DR: ...who is this?
AM: Oh, no. It's my sister.
[Indeed it is Jessica "Fatality" Marshall as she smiles wickedly while
ignoring the displeasure of the fans, drinking in the sight of Annis
standing on top of Extreme's throat as she begins sauntering down
towards
the ring.]
AM: She's probably come out here to admire her handiwork.
SS: Why not? It's always a pleasure to watch an artist at work!
AM: An artist in pain and misery?
SS: He's a genius, you have to admit it.
[In the ring, Annis finally steps off of Extreme's windpipe and the
smaller man rolls across the canvas, clutching at his throat as he
draws
in gasping breaths. Jessica Marshall arrives at ringside and begins
applauding the "Epitome Of Evil's" accomplishment as the fans continue
to
hurl verbal abuse at her.]
DR: Jessica Marshall has never been a fan of Alex Extreme's and she's
here at ringside, looking on as her designated executioner, Serge
Annis,
demolishes his victim.
AM: Her being out here right now is definitely not a good thing for
Alex
Extreme.
[Pushing himself up to his hands and knees, Extreme tries to rise but
is
interrupted as Annis casually walks over and kicks him in the ribs.
The
canvas covering the ring is stained by splotches of plasma as the big
Canadian picks Extreme up by the back of the head before nailing an
elbowsmash to the top of the smaller man's head that nearly buckles his
knees. But Extreme remains upright long enough for the bigger Annis to
hoist him up into the air and lift him up and over the "Epitome Of
Evil's" wide shoulders in a painful-looking arch. Extreme yells out in
pain as he faces upwards, his back bent over Annis' shoulders as the
larger man locks his arms around his victim's torso so that he can pull
downward and apply excruciating pressure.]
DR: CANADIAN BACKBREAKER! EXTREME IS TRAPPED!
SS: Oh, yeah! It's a beautiful thing!
[Jessica Marshall laughs with pleasure as Extreme bellows in agony,
blood
dripping through his hair and onto the mat. Annis continues to pull
downward with all of his considerable might as the official checks for
a
submission. But Extreme shakes his head from side to side in negation
despite the fact that he has to clench his teeth to suppress his
suffering.]
AM: Annis is exerting tremendous pressure on Extreme's spinal column
with that hold and you have to wonder how long he'll be able to last.
SS: If he was smart, he'd give up. But he's dumber than a bag of
hammers so he's gonna hang on... and Serge will get even *MORE*
opportunities to break him in half!
[Splitting the smaller man in two seems to be Annis' intent as he
maintains the backbreaker for several minutes. Turning in place, he
finally notices the presence of Jessica Marshall at ringside as she
shouts encouragement to him. But Annis' only reaction is a slight
sneer
of annoyance as he finally releases his grip and allows Extreme to fall
limply behind him.]
DR: Annis let him go! Now why would he do that?
AM: Maybe he's tired of being Jessica's errand boy?
[But Annis completely ignores Jessica Marshall as he turns to stalk his
chosen prey once more. The only problem with this is that Alex Extreme
is not one to remain victim for long as he lurches to his feet and
catches the bigger man by surprise with a kick to the stomach. Annis
is
doubled over long enough for Extreme to grab his head and jump up into
the air to pull the top of the "Epitome Of Evil's" skull down into the
canvas.]
*THUMP!*
DR: EXTREME FIGHTS BACK! A SNAP DDT AND ANNIS IS DOWN!
[The crowd roars its approval and Jessica Marshall curses in
frustration
but Extreme is too spent to do anything else as he rolls onto his
stomach. Beside him, Serge Annis rolls onto his back and sits up with
seemingly no effect from the DDT other than a slight bruise towards the
top of his forehead amongst the bleeding cut that is already there.]
SS: HE'S NOT DOWN FOR LONG!
[Unaware that Annis is rising to his feet behind him, Extreme pushes
himself upright only to turn around and gasp in shock at the sight of
the
"Epitome Of Evil" waiting for him.]
DR: Uh oh.
AM: You can say that again.
[With a speed that is astonishing for a man of his size, Annis unloads
with a flurry of forearm smashes to the head and shoulders of Extreme
that drives the smaller man down to one knee. Grabbing him by the side
of his head, Annis rears back and smashes his bloody forehead into the
top of the smaller man's skull, hammering away with a series of
headbutts
that makes Extreme go limp while yet more spatters of blood fly about
the
ring.]
SS: HERE WE GO!
DR: Strike after strike! Blow after blow! Serge Annis is just
pounding away on Alex Extreme and the decibel level in the building is
absolutely unbelievable!
[Jessica Marshall squeals with delight as Annis sends the sagging form
of
Alex Extreme into the ropes with a powerful Irish whip and then
immediately bowls the smaller man over by launching himself into the
air
and crashing shoulder first into his victim's chest.]
DR: Flying shoulderblock by Serge Annis and Alex Extreme is down!
AM: This is definitely not good.
[Grabbing a limp wrist, Annis pulls him up and hurtles Extreme into the
corner once more but with enough strength and power so that the smaller
man flips upside down and ends up hanging from the top turnbuckle by
his
legs.]
AM: Oh, no! This is bad. Real bad!
SS: TREE OF WOE!
[Stepping into the corner, Annis shoves Extreme's ankles underneath the
turnbuckle so that "Mr. Excitement" is trapped in an inverted position.
While his victim hangs helplessly upside down in the corner, Annis
backs
up several paces and then charges forward to drive his knee into the
smaller man's sternum with devastating effect.]
DR: Whoah! Alex Extreme is just getting pummeled here right now as he
has been unable to mount any offense for several minutes!
SS: Offense? Hah! He's not even able to mount any defense!
[Annis' expression continues to be cold and imposing as he casually
pulls
Extreme's ankles free so that the smaller man collapses down into a
heap
in the corner. For all of his vaunted stamina and endurance, Extreme
seems to have finally absorbed a hellacious amount of punishment as he
lies on the canvas, completely unmoving. At ringside, Jessica Marshall
picks up the dented steel chair that had been used by both men earlier.
She slides it into the ring and can be heard yelling instructions.]
J"F"M: Finish him off!
SS: Yeah, Serge! Finish this putz!
[There seems to be little to no reaction from the bloody Annis apart
from
a slight raising of one eyebrow as he considers the dented chair that
lies in the middle of the ring. Nonchalantly, the big Canadian reaches
down and grabs Extreme by the throat and hauls the smaller man upright
one more time. Extreme's eyes are closed and he hangs limply in the
larger man's grip with blood streaming down his face as the "Epitome Of
Evil" stares at his victim in the same fashion that a bug collector
might
examine a butterfly that has been impaled on a pin. With an ease that
demonstrates his great strength, Annis turns in place and lifts Extreme
high into the air by his throat, sweeping the smaller man's legs out
from
under him in mid-air as he drives him down to crash down onto the
folded
steel chair onto the back of his head and neck.]
*WHAM!*
DR: EPITOMIZER CHOKESLAM! SERGE ANNIS JUST EXECUTED THE EPITOMIZER ON
ALEX EXTREME DIRECTLY ONTO THAT STEEL CHAIR!
SS: It's so beautiful, I think I'm going to cry!
AM: I... I... think I'm going to be sick.
[The crowd boos lustily but Annis ignores them as he maintains his grip
around Extreme's neck and rises to his feet, pulling the smaller man up
with him.]
DR: What is he doing?
AM: He's not even bothering to go for a pin!
[Once again Annis lifts Extreme into the air by his throat and once
again, Extreme is pounded down so that his head bounces off the dented
steel chair.]
*WHAM!*
DR: ANOTHER EPITOMIZER ONTO THE CHAIR! EXTREME HAS JUST TAKEN TWO
EPITOMIZERS RIGHT ON TOP OF A STEEL CHAIR!
SS: That's it! Call up the nearest funeral parlor, the man is
officially DEAD!
[Flat on his back with his arms and legs splayed, Alex Extreme lies
lifeless in the ring with his head resting in a pool of his own blood
on
top of the crumpled steel chair as Serge Annis stands over him while
the
fans boo ferociously.]
AM: There is no way Alex is getting up from that. Two Epitomizers onto
a steel chair? This match is officially over.
[But again, Annis makes no move to pin his helpless opponent as Jessica
Marshall can be heard yelling orders from ringside.]
JFM: One more! One more Epitomizer onto that chair, Serge!
[Like the turret on a main battle tank acquiring its target, Annis'
head
slowly turns to face Marshall, his eyes colder than the interior of a
meat locker.]
JFM: Come on, Serge! Cripple him! One more Epitomizer!
AM: My sister wants Alex Extreme permanently injured!
DR: He might be all ready, considering everything Annis has done to him
for the past fifteen minutes and then those two Epitomizers onto a
chair.
SS: She's just offering some useful advice, that's all!
[But Annis appears uninterested in any advice as he looks down at the
unmoving Extreme for a moment and then dispassionately turns on his
heel...
And walks away. Stepping over to the side of the ring, he rolls out to
the floor and begins walking up the aisle as the noise in the arena
dies
down, all eyes watching the "Epitome Of Evil" as he departs.]
DR: What the... where is he going?
SS: Come back, Serge! Extreme is still breathing!
AM: I... I think he's finished!
DR: But the match is still officially underway!
[Jessica Marshall stares dumbfounded for a moment as Annis walks up the
aisle and towards the entrance. In the ring, the official shrugs and
begins counting.]
DR: This is really strange! Serge Annis has just walked out of the
ring
after completely annihilating Alex Extreme... and Extreme is still out
like a light! If the referee counts to ten, this match might just end
in
a double countout!
AM: That can't be what my sister wants...
[And it evidently isn't as Jessica Marshall shrieks in outrage at the
referee and then begins running up the aisle after the departing Serge
Annis.]
DR: I... I have absolutely no idea what is going on here as Serge Annis
had completely overwhelmed Alex Extreme and seemingly could have easily
pinned him... but instead, has chosen to walk away!
AM: This is very weird!
SS: You're telling me! COME BACK, SERGE!
[Meanwhile, the count continues.]
DR: The referee is still counting out both men... five... six...
seven...
eight...
[A slight motion from the previously immobile Alex Extreme barely
raises
one shoulder off the mat and the crowd explodes in cheers.]
DR: ...Extreme just moved! The count is still going... nine...
[And with a low groan of pain, Alex Extreme performs a modern miracle
by
weakly rolling over onto his stomach.]
DR: TEN! HE DID IT!
[*DING DING DING*]
DH: Ladies and gentlemen... here is your winner... as a result of a
countout...
"MISTER EXCITEMENT" ALEX EXTRRRRRRRREEEEEEEEEEEEEEME!
SS: NO! NO! THIS CAN'T BE HAPPENING!
DR: ALEX EXTREME HAS WON THIS MATCH! I DON'T KNOW IF HE HAS ANY
SENSATION IN HIS BODY OTHER THAN SHEER AGONY WHATSOEVER BUT ALEX
EXTREME
HAS SURVIVED A HELLACIOUS BEATING AT THE HANDS OF "THE EPITOME OF EVIL"
SERGE ANNIS!
AM: I... I don't believe it! This is absolutely amazing!
[The fans are screaming their approval at the top of their lungs,
drowning out the sounds of Sam Steeley's disappointed sobbing. At the
top of the aisle, having almost reached the curtains, Annis pauses and
turns to face the ring once more. Jessica Marshall, following in his
wake, backpedals to a halt as she realizes that she's been screaming in
protest at one of the most dangerous men in professional wrestling.]
DR: Wait a second... is Annis going to come back and finish Extreme off
now that he's officially lost the match?
SS: Please, Serge! Don't let this stain on your record survive to draw
breath for another worthless second!
AM: Ummm... a little on the overdramatic side, Sam?
[But the sweat-covered "Epitome Of Evil" simply stands at the top of
the
aisle, ignoring the barely-audible admonitions of the nearby Jessica
Marshall as he stares at Alex Extreme who is struggling to rise in the
ring as the referee attempts to assist him.]
DR: I'm not sure exactly what Annis is doing, just standing there. He
positivekly destroyed Alex Extreme but... is he admiring his own
handiwork?
AM: I'm not sure.
[Slowly... almost barely perceptibly... Annis watches Extreme who is
barely able to stand as blood discolors his face. And the "Epitome Of
Evil" does something completely unexpected. He nods. A barely visible
gesture but a clear sign of respect as his impassive face seems to be
registering approval.]
DR: I... did you see that?
SS: NO! There's nothing to see here! Move along! Move along!
AM: I think Serge Annis just gave Alex Extreme credit... for taking a
hellacious beating and still standing up afterwards!
DR: Wait!
SS: Who's this?
[Behind the blood-splatter Annis, a very familiar looking figure steps
through the curtains wearing a business suit. Upon spotting him, the
large proportion of die-hard UWF fans in the crowd explode in a
deafening
chorus of cheers.]
DR: IT'S "CRIMSON" JOE REED!
SS: LOOK OUT, SERGE! HE'S GONNA JUMP YOU FROM BEHIND!
AM: Relax, Sam. Reed doesn't wrestle anymore... he's a road agent or
management official with the UWF now.
DR: But why is he here?
[In the ring, Extreme collapses to the canvas once again as the fans
closest to the ring shout on their encouragement. At the top of the
aisle, Annis registers the cheers and turns around to face Reed. For a
moment, a hush falls across the crowd as the two longtime foes face one
another. But the moment is broken in an astonishing manner as Annis
steps forward... and the two exchange a handshake.]
DR: What?!? What is going on here???
AM: Reed and Annis... shaking hands? Something's up.
[The astonishment factor rises even higher as the two men embrace in a
quick hug as Reed can be seen whispering something into Annis' ear.
Behind them, Jessica Marshall looks on and is uncharacteristically
silent
as Reed steps back, his suit jacket stained by Annis' blood, as he...
begins to clap while Annis walks toward the entrance.]
DR: Reed... is clapping? FOR SERGE ANNIS?!?
AM: Oh my God! I just figured it out... he's leaving! We might just
have witnessed Serge Annis' last match in the UWF!
[The fans are bewildered as in the ring, a pair of medics can be seen
waving smelling salts under the nose of the semi-conscious Alex
Extreme.
Just in front of the curtains at the entrance, Annis pauses and slowly
hangs his head down before raising his arms to his sides in his famous
crucifixion pose with his back to the crowd. A breath... then
another...
before the "Epitome of Evil" slams his hands downward.]
*BOOM!*
*BOOM!*
*BOOM!*
*BOOM!*
[A huge wall of flames explodes behind him, on top of the Unitron, from
the top of the four ring posts, from strategic places around the arena,
as the crowd goes wild in reaction. With the echoing detonations of
the
explosives still ringing in the air, Annis still stands with his back
to
the audience while Joe Reed and now even Jessica Marshall can be seen
nearby, applauding. Annis raises a hand high in the air and then
lowers
it before stepping through the curtains, disappearing from view. Even
the crowd has begun to pick up on what's going on as a chant begins
slowly, building strength over time before growing into a loud roar.]
Crowd: E-PIT-OME! E-PIT-OME! E-PIT-OME!
Crowd: E-PIT-OME! E-PIT-OME! E-PIT-OME!
Crowd: E-PIT-OME! E-PIT-OME! E-PIT-OME!
DR: Based on how Reed and your sister are reacting, Amy, I think you've
hit the nail on the head! I think Serge Annis is leaving the UWF!
SS: NO! It can't be! Alex Extreme is still breathing!
AM: Just barely, though. We're going to have to see if my suspicions
are correct but from what we've just seen, we may have just witnessed
the
"Epitome Of Evil's" final moment in the UWF!
DR: Fans, we've run out of time! If this is indeed Serge Annis' swan
song, he certainly went out with gusto. We'll see you next week,
goodnight from the Garden!
[Fade to black.]