Trauma 215 Results!

[Nathan Saniti]

Trauma 215

Thursday July 20th, 2017

Jerry Andrews: Welcome, ladies and gentlemen! Thursday Night Trauma is finally on the air and this audience couldn’t be more electrified!


Ace Anderson: It’s going to take more than technical difficulties to keep us down. Fortunately we have a great crew of unsung heroes in the back that know how to help out in a pinch!


Jerry Andrews: Truer words have never been spoken. Hopefully their actions will be noted with the upcoming Iceys. But first, we have to get past this amazing show!


Ace Anderson: I’m sure they will. They certainly deserve it. For tonight, though, the action is a guaranteed heart stopper! Our Main Event pits the Serpentine Sermonizer against our World Champion *gag* Whitey Ford.


Jerry Andrews: That was hard for you to get out, wasn’t it?


Ace Anderson: You have no idea. Seromine called him out and Whitey was quick to accept the challenge. Hopefully, the preacher can show Ford the light.


Jerry Andrews: We also have the fatal four-way match for the Underground Title. The Champion, Non Compos Mentis has to defend his reign against not one, not two, but THREE opponents!


Ace Anderson: He doesn’t even have to be pinned to lose his belt. It’s not fair!


Jerry Andrews: Well, NCM is hardly a stranger to the difficulties of keeping a belt, or a stranger to using weapons for that matter. We’ll see if he has what it takes to stave off Alexa Black, Alexandra Tamora, and Seromine’s most devout follower: Gabriel.



Ace Anderson: Our second match is a return engagement; Kyle Shane versus Grimm, Mark Two!



Jerry Andrews: That will be a great match, Ace. Both men are fairly evenly matched. The last time they met, Shane couldn’t quite get past the Hangtown Horror. We’ll see if he still has his number.



Ace Anderson: Shane isn’t the kind of person who takes to losing lightly. Grimm is one of the few people to chalk up an “L” in shane’s record since he has been here in PCW. Shane feels like he has something to prove.



Jerry Andrews: We’re kicking things off with a classic speed versus brawn match when Crazy Boy and High Tide team up against the two monsters Sicko and Dominator.



Ace Anderson: Tide and CB are more used to being across the ring from each other. It’ll be interesting to see if they can coexist long enough to survive against these two huge men.



Jerry Andrews: Right now, it seems our cameraman has caught up with the World Champ as we speak right as he’s coming into the arena. Let’s go to that footage.



*Scene switches backstage, to show Whitey Ford, walking from the parking area towards the arena itself. He has his gym bag with him, carrying his gear and the title, and his mind seems to be going over what is to come in the main event tonight with Seromine. He looks up, breaking out of his reverie, and he immediately looks as if he's ready to knock someone's lights out. The camera cuts across the hall, to show Kyle Shane, also dressed for his match and ready to face Grimm. Whitey shakes his head angrily, and looks like he's ready to throw down. Kyle holds his hands up in a gesture of innocence.



Whitey Ford: Oh, hell no, you want to get right up out of here, kid.



Kyle Shane: Whoa, whoa, champ, easy there, I come in peace, alright. What, you a little upset, you a little hangry? Huh? Cause I knocked you out for a week and pinned you in the middle of the ring, and you had to skip a few meals there, big boy?



*Kyle playfully shadow boxes at Whitey Ford's midsection. Whitey has a stern face, and no time for Shane's taunting. He crosses his arms over his chest. Kyle sobers up somewhat, but still smiles.*



Kyle Shane: Yeah, but I did want to bring your attention to the fact, that last week, you gave me a warning, told me to concentrate on getting my Underground Championship back, not to get too big for my britches, and not to get in my way because you were going to steamroll me... and I still came in there, and put both Nathan Saniti, and you, flat on your backs and won the match singlehanded for my team. Yeah. So hey, maybe you can give me another one of those warnings for when I face Grimm tonight.



Whitey Ford: You're real funny, kid. This is not the way to get on my good side. So you got one - ONE, lucky cheap shot on me. Do you want a trophy?



Kyle Shane: I want all the trophies. It's who I am.



Whitey Ford: I can give you one shiny object in particular when I break your jaw. So you think you should get in line for your title opportunity now, do you, mister TIIT 2017 winner? You can join the rest of the pack, at the back of the line, puckered up to kiss my ass.



Kyle Shane: Whoa, champ. Don't get it twisted, there. I know the field is crowded right now, I know you still have Grimm nipping at your heels. Believe me, when I want a shot at you, I won't insert myself into some triple threat or fatal fourway situation. When I want that title, I'll come for you, one on one. Believe that. But if you want to solve this Grimm problem, why don't I fix that tonight, and bust him up worse than you could ever dream of?



Whitey Ford: You know, that's the first time I think I've ever said something that didn't make me want to punch you in the mouth.



Kyle Shane: And also, since we're here... look, I came in peace, so I brought you a peace offering. Since we're not fighting tonight, there's no need for us to be at each other's throats, yet. So here.



*Kyle unrolls a small sandwich bag filled with nugs of weed. Whitey looks from the bag, to Kyle, and back to the bag, an incredulous tilt of his head and bemused expression.*



Whitey Ford: You know, you're an annoying little bastard... but you're not bad. A word of advice and a quick reminder...I'VE always had Grimm's number. I beat him for the International Title, I've beaten him for the World Title...multiple times, I think, my memory is shot from...



*Whitey darts his hand forward, snatching the bag from Shane's hand. He stuffs it in his pocket hastily, not waiting for Kyle to change his mind.



Whitey Ford:...extracurriculars. The last time YOU went up against Grimm, didn't he kick your ass? Sure, you came close. Really close, actually, but you still lost. What's to keep that from happening again?



Kyle Shane: Because I beat you, for starters.



*Whitey bristles at yet another reminder of his loss at the last show.*



Whitey Ford: You had to use like, eight fucking finishers in a row! AND, that was after Gabriel softened me up. It took two of you to beat me, one on one you don't hold a candle to me. But tell you what. Let's make a deal. You go out there tonight and do what you say you can do; beat Grimm better than I ever could. You put a beating on him, make my eventual rematch with him that much easier, and I'll make sure it's a fair fight and nobody gets involved. Then, after I'm done with Seromine, we'll talk about you putting your money where your mouth is, and me doing what I do best: WIN.



*Ford extends his right hand for a handshake, waiting Shane's response.*



Kyle Shane: I usually make it a policy not to shake hands unless I know where someone's been... but in the spirit of fairness...



*Kyle shakes Whitey's hand, then retracts his and mimics a little explosion sound. Whitey tilts his head at Kyle in a bemused fashion.*



Whitey Ford: You are something else, you know that?



*Kyle nods his head towards the back*



Kyle Shane: Now, if you'll excuse me, I got my own extracurriculars to take care of... If you know what I mean...



*He gets close to a visibly uncomfortable Whitey, almost to the point of breaking boundaries.*



Kyle Shane: Is Indian giving considered bad form with a peace offering? I guess we'll find out.



*Kyle retracts the bag from Whitey's pocket, and dips down the hall, and Whitey looks outraged, shouting after him.*



Whitey Ford: ...You son of a bitch, that was my inside pocket. Shane, get your ass back here!



*The scene switches elsewhere with Whitey yelling after Shane*

Match One:

Standard Tag Match

One Fall

Tyrone “Crazy Boy” Smith and High Tide vs Dominator and Sicko

Referee: Tyrone Little, Jr.

Sasha Greene: The following tag team contest is scheduled for one fall!

The lights flicker and fade out as the pulsating beats of Dope Star Inc's "10000 Watts of Artificial Pleasure" pops on the PA system. Smoke fills the arena as a figure stands in the middle of it.

Sasha Greene: Introducing first, from Biloxi, Mississippi. Weighing two-hundred twenty seven pounds, Here is Tyrone ‘Crazy Boy’ Smith!

All of a sudden, Crazy Boy comes out of the smoke and pumps a fist in the air. He walks down the entryway and climbs the ropes of the ring. He bounces around the ropes a few times, pumps his fist in the air one last time and waits for his opponents to come.

Sasha Greene: And his tag team partner...

With very little lighting and effects that simulate lightning, High Tide (in a pirate outfit) walks down the ramp slightly crouched over, as if he was sitting. He holds a large pirate flag in one hand, and in the other he is imitating steering a ship.

Sasha Greene: From Toronto, Canada. He weighs one-hundred, ninety five pounds, High Tide!

He does this until he gets to the ring where he motions dropping and anchor and proceeds to hop onto the turnbuckle and dive headfirst over the ropes, rolling into a standing position. Then he climbs the nearest turnbuckle and pulls out a spyglass, looking around at the audience. He mimics loading a cannon and as he motions firing it, he jumps off the turnbuckle into the ring (to imitate recoil) as fireworks shoot from all four turnbuckles.

Sasha Greene: And their opponents…

The lights slowly fade to black. Flashes of cameras give intermittent glimmers of the darkened surroundings. There is a moment of silence as the crowd awaits with anticipation. The Tron slowly illuminates with the image of a ticking clock as the opening rift to TRIVIUM’s cover of “Losing My Religion” echo throughout the arena. The crowd suddenly comes alive as the guitars make themselves heard. Horacio Mortimer appears on the stage, holding out his arm in an expression of beholding. As the first verse begins to play, he finally appears on the top of the stage…

…DOMINATOR…

Sasha Greene: From Salisbury, England. Weighing three-hundred sixty five pounds...being led to the ring by Horacio Mortimer, DOMINATOR!

The Zenith glares towards the crowd massed to his left, then to his right before slowly raising his left arm into the air, revealing a gold plated watch that envelopes his wrist. A shower of orange sparks begin to fall from the top of the Tron, briefly masking the Entrance Video as Dominator shows off his bulging biceps to the crowd. All the while, Horacio Mortimer is applauding his client and calling some last minute tactics to him.



He slowly walks down the ramp with a gleam in his eye, a wicked and arrogant smirk spread amidst his dark stubble. He makes no attempt to slap hands with the fans. He reaches the ring apron, grabbing the middle rope to haul him onto the side of the ring. He pushes down the top rope with his right hand, throwing one foot over the top before the other follows. He slowly makes his way to the center of the ring, turning a full three hundred and sixty degrees to admire the capacity crowd before raising his arms in the air in the exact same manner as he had done atop the entrance ramp, lifting them with malicious purpose to display the watches covering his wrists.



He cricks his neck back and forth before swinging his arms in preparation for the impending fight. All the while, that devious smile is still on his face and he looks to make eye contact with his opponent without a single hint of intimidation. Horacio Mortimer patrols the perimeter of the ring. The music slowly fades, the lights returning to a more average level of illumination as Dominator waits with masked enthusiasm for the start of the match.

Sasha Greene: And his tag team partner…

The opening circus calliope intro of "Greasepaint and Money Brains" by White Zombie starts playing as a battered, dilapidated ice cream truck, it's paint and decals peeling in a sinister manner rumbles up on stage, it's axles shaking with effort. The entrance ramp is backlit with a hellish red lighting as the ice cream truck pulls into a spot just to the left of the entrance ramp, making this vessel seem like some demonic harbinger. As the music distorts and twists into the driving guitar riff the jumbotron shows images of Sicko, walking down a long hallway, his back turned to the camera, then the screen splits and two images of Sicko, two faces, one laughing, one snarling.

Sasha Greene: From Death Valley, California. Weighing three-hundred eighty five pounds...SICKO!

Death is on the midway 

Gambling with souls

Roulette on the wire 

Ace is in the hole

I sink beneath the feeling 

Moon is in my hands

A crooked wheel of twenty-one

I just don't understand - NO!

Laugh - YEAH! - drown and laugh

Your life is over 

Then, as the music kicks in harder, shots of Sicko hitting various high impact signature moves on opponents. Sicko steps out from behind the wheel of the ice cream truck, looking around with a sickening smile. A red mist rolls out from the interior of the ice cream truck with Sicko. The creep clown slowly makes his way down to the ring, like a predator on the hunt. As he climbs into the ring, he kneels on the apron, taking a look around at him with a depraved look in his eye. He then takes his fist and bashes himself over the forehead a few times, and then he begins getting fired up. His demeanor changes to one of frightening intensity as the smiling mask drops away, and he stands in the ring, screaming and flexing his muscles as he awaits the match to start.

DING! DING!

There is no discussions to be found on the side of “Team Speed,” as Crazy Boy, despite injuries suffered at the hands of Dominator, charges over full speed and goes right after his much larger adversary. He lights his torso up with rapid fire fists, kicks and chops. Dominator tries to protect himself the best he can, having been blindsided, but he finds himself against the ropes like a boxer. Horacio is beside himself with barking out orders to his client from the outside. Dominator shoves Crazy Boy halfway across the ring. But that doesn’t stop anything, as he just comes right back with a springboard dropkick directly to the face. Dominator drops to a knee. Crazy Boy brushes aside the ref as he grabs The Zenith by the hair. Again he gets shoved away, this time rolling backwards. Undeterred for a second time, he charges and this time gets caught mid-air.



Jerry Andrews: Crazy Boy is living up to his name tonight, but at what cost?


Ace Anderson: Stupid isn’t crazy. It’s just stupid.



It begins as a bear hug, but Dominator runs corner to corner, smashing his spine with unforgiving punishment. Back and forth he goes as Horacio can be heard yelling out random times as if it were being clocked for record keeping. After the last, Crazy Boy is shifted over Dominator’s broad shoulders and dropped with a fallaway slam. Crazy Boy crumples in the middle of the ring. His entire midsection and lower back remain taped from previous events, but he’s hurting and hurting early. Not one to waste a second of time, Dominator rips him into the air by his EARS and sends him flying like a rag doll into his corner, where a reluctant High Tide decides to tag into the match. If for nothing else, but to maybe give his team a fighting chance, as his partner looks down and out early.



Jerry Andrews: Dominator has scary power, Ace. Can the speed of Crazy Boy and High Tide negate it?



Ace Anderson: Have you seen who Dominator’s partner is? Speed meet brick walls.



Dominator runs in, hoping to catch the resident pirate off guard, but his speed proves too quick, Dominator smashes into the corner and staggers over Tide, who trips him like a schoolyard bully. He hits a standing moonsault, but finds himself being pressed into the air by Dominator’s raw power. High Tide looks well surprised by this. He hits the ropes and delivers clothesline after clothesline, but each one has little to no effect. He ducks a meathook clothesline and returns with a diving spear! Dominator is staggered off his feet, but again, just has too much raw power for High Tide to follow up with. Tide looks towards his corner, gazing upon his wounded long time rival. That window of time is all Dominator needs. High Tide spins around only to find himself on the receiving end of a one handed chokeslam. High Tide spikes off the mat as Dominator big boots Crazy Boy, sending him flying into the railing.



Dominator is practically licking his chops as he forcefully whips High Tide into enemy waters. A corner avalanche is followed by a tag to the equally imposing Sicko. He steps over the ropes and gazes down at his smaller opponent. Sicko roars with a “she was the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen!” before introducing High Tide to a short arm clothesline. Sicko rolls High Tide over and puts a single finger on his chest.


1.


And then removes it. He shakes his head from side to side. His sadistic smile growing with each turn. His bulging eyes shift like they want to roll out of their sockets. Sicko’s head tilts to the side. He has no use for concepts of time. He just wants to spend every second hurting people. And possibly enjoying delicious ice cream while doing so. High Tide crawls slowly away for his life, but is pulled up by the seat of his pants and brought into a short-arm powerslam. The ring shakes from impact. High Tide flops like a fish out of water, before coming to a stop. Sicko sends chills down the spines of the faithful with his creepy laugh of insane pleasure. High Tide is peeled up and has his face devoured with a claw hold. Sicko hits Napalm Cone! And again goes for a half-hearted pin.


1.


And Tide is lifted to appear like he got his own shoulder off the mat. Sicko sees this and pushes him down, mounting with a devastating ground and pound arsenal. At any second you get the impression he is going to beat him into a pulp, but he refrains from such levels of violence. Sicko appears to hear a voice in his head, because he sits upright and slowly turns his brute self to the direction of Dominator. A tag is made.


“ELEVEN MINUTES AND ONE SECOND!”


Horacio yells the time as Dominator sizes up High Tide and then bull-rushes with a spear of his own, a move he calls Force of Time! High Tide is left folded like an accordion as Dominator returns to his feet. He charges at Crazy Boy and again propels him off the apron with another big boot. Dominator laughs at his conquest. He turns around to unleash the Pendulum Swing, another trademark of his that has two directional changes . High Tide goes rolling from the momentum and looks to be completely worn out. Not even the fans cheers for the overmatched team can work any magic it seems. Dominator receives another time check as Horacio Mortimer is most pleased by how things are progressing.


Jerry Andrews: Is Horacio late for a very important date?


Ace Anderson: Hey! The man has everything mapped out. Time is very important to him, Jerry. Maybe they have plans to go destroy somebody else tonight.


High Tide is pulled up and flung into the nearest corner. Dominator catches him with a clothesline, and then whips him to his side of the ring. The second attempt isn’t as successful, as his spear attempt meets ring post. Dominator slumps to a knee. Sicko slaps his shoulder to bring himself back into the match. High Tide is hoisted into the air for a samoan drop, but SOMEHOW manages to counter into a spinning DDT! Sicko shakes out the momentary effects of it and beats his foe back up. High Tide takes a trio of boxing punches, rocking him like he was a punching bag in a gym. Spaghetti legged and more than damaged, Sicko throws himself off the ropes and returns with a clothesline from hell.


But it MISSES. High Tide falls just out of reach before being decapitated. His forward momentum pushes him into a lowered top rope, as CRAZY BOY makes himself known. He slaps the buckles as hard as he can, fighting the pain and calling for the tag as fast as possible. Sicko stirs on the outside as High Tide crawls through. Dominator rushes in and takes Tide by his feet. High Tide is flipped head over heels back onto a vertical base, where he then catches Dominator off guard with a pele kick! On the outside, Sicko has just posted himself. He was looking to knock Crazy Boy off the apron, but he dropped down before that happened. High Tide fights through hell and back and…MAKES THE TAG!


Sicko is rolled through the ropes. Crazy Boy scales to the top like it was a skyscraper. He frog splashes Sicko! Crazy Boy rolls through and charges Dominator. He levels him with a leaping single arm DDT and then floats into firing lefts and rights to his temples. Getting up and noticing Sicko is no longer down, he staggers him into the corner and follows with a scissors kick! Crazy Boy mounts the corner and unloads a series of ten punches, each one counted along with by the fans. Sicko tries to shake it off, but falls flat on his face after only a few steps. Crazy Boy looks at his partner, whom is still getting a much needed breather. Then back at Dominator. He drags Sicko to the middle of the ring. The daredevil high flyer again scales to the top, but Horacio Mortimer is there on the apron, yelling at him about ruining the schedule. The referee comes to do his job and get him down. Crazy Boy has since jumped down and taken him by the head.


He never saw it coming.


In the midst of potentially evening the score, Sicko levels him with the FCS to the back of his head. Crazy Boy whiplashes off the ropes and is dropped with a back suplex into a full nelson slam. Sicko tags in Dominator. The two men glare at one another for a second, before sharing an evil smile. Crazy Boy has the current time yelled in his face before being pulled into Anachronism. Dominator is quick to make the cover.


1.


2.


3!


And just like that, the bell is called for.

Sasha Greene: Here are your win---

Horacio for a second time in as many weeks, rips the mic from Sasha’s hands.


Horatio: Here are your winners, in SIXTEEN MINUTES and TWENTY-NINE SECONDS...Sicko and Dominator!

The focus is on a lone candle. It’s light is just enough to illuminate a radius inside of an unknown room. There is nothing to distinguish it. It’s a room with four walls. A room with a door. A room with a floor. A room with...two occupants. A husband and wife.


They are seated facing the lone candle. Their gaze fixed on it. They sit arm in arm and are in complete harmony with the ambiance.


“The world doesn’t have to be a scary place—God has chosen me to be his light and I must let it shine.”


The voice is that of Seromine.


“The two most prestigious championships are being held hostage. Their captors are men who may be leading you astray. DO NOT—do not be fooled by deceptive disguises. A man of psychedelic drug went so far as to use mind altering needles in his quest to silence me and all of you.


A man of debauchery has in his possession what they deem the highest title. In your own lives, you may know someone like them and wish to help. I, too, wish to help these lost souls. The way I was able to help our fellow brother, Gabriel. The way I wish to help everyone of all walks of life!”


Seromine tilts his head to the side. His eyes are partially hidden by the hat on his head. But there is enough shown to let you know that he’s looking right through the lens and into your soul.


“Isaiah, Chapter Forty-Two, Verse Sixteen. And I will lead the blind in a way that they do not know, in paths that they have not known I will guide them. I will turn the darkness before them into light, the rough places into level ground. These are the things I do, and I do not forsake them.


Tonight, Gabriel has a chance to cleanse the Underground Division. Tonight, Gabriel has a chance to purify the Underground Title. What Rick Majors could never do, Gabriel will accomplish.


But what of the men of whom I spoke?”


Seromine turns his head away, re-focusing on the candle’s flame. Destiny rests her head on his shoulder. Her smile is obscured by light and shadow alike.


“Acts, Chapter Twenty-Six, Verse Eighteen. To open their eyes, so that they may turn from darkness to light and from the power of Satan to God, that they may receive forgiveness of sins and a place among those who are sanctified by faith in me.


My faithful, I forgive the man of psychedelic drug---and the man of the poisonous drink. But I must also protect you, by striking the devil out of them.


For there is no higher power than God.


And he is never wrong in what I’m asked to do.


Praise Seromine. Praise the Lord.”


The video is now ended.


Ace and Jerry blink at each other in confusion.


Ace Anderson: Well, that wasn’t creepy at all.



Jerry Andrews: Seems that Seromine is determined to “redeem” Whitey Ford and Nathan Saniti or die trying.



Ace Anderson: Who knows what that guy is thinking at times? Can we get back to the show now?



Jerry Andrews: I think we should. We get to see if all of Kyle Shane’s bravado from earlier in the night is well founded or if he’s going to hit another brick wall… Named Grimm.

Match Two:

Standard Match

One Fall

Kyle Shane vs, Grimm

Referee: Nigel Gale

The opening notes of "In The Morning And Amazing" by Circa Survive begins to play. The big screen shows shots of Kyle’s matches. Kyle Shane steps slowly out onto the stage. The Assassin’s hood to his longcoat is pulled low over his face. The distinctive voice of Anthony Green hits the bridge:

"And how could anyone

You are in my dreams

Half human, half machine

You with someone else that I have felt and seen

I cannot rest, or my consciousness contest

Looking right through the lens

From winter brings the spring again"

Kyle tilts his head back and holds his arms out, taking in the reception of the crowd. For the PCW faithful that are just getting to know him, there is a modest show of respect, but the truly dedicated that have followed his career stir mightily. Some on the sides of the aisles even make a fanning bow motion as Kyle walks by. 1/2 the way down the aisle, Kyle pivots, holding his arms up to either side of him. He climbs onto the apron. Kyle balances on the ropes for a moment, points to himself and smirks, holding his arms out, and then he hops down, takes off his longcoat and stretches a few times to get ready.



Lights dim and the PCW-Tron goes black. With the sound of a sharp nib scratching across a ragged sheet of parchment, a sepia-toned cursive scrawls grimm across the screen. The name flickers, wavering in and out of focus with the occasional tracking glitch as if projected from an old forgotten film canister uncovered on the bottom shelf in the cellar. Sparse percussion resonates throughout the arena and is soon joined by a droning, distorted bass line. At that, A Perfect Circle’s ”Counting Bodies Like Sheep to the Rhythm of the War Drums” stomps out of the speakers and marches through the aisles. The drums, the distortion, the voices – all work to herald the arrival of the Hangtown Horror.

Don’t fret, precious, I’m here. Step away from the window.

He walks out to a single blue-white spotlight, stops to bask in the light and shadows, and scans the crowd. The Lord of Misrule closes his eyes and takes a deep breath before making the long walk down the ramp, dead-set on the ring and ignoring the fans along the way. The spotlight follows. The words work their way up through the layers of the song.

Go back to sleep.

Phinehas climbs up onto the apron and slides in between the ropes. Hopping up onto a turnbuckle, he casts his gaze out over the crowd with his arms at his side, eyes shifting to take in the sea of faces spread out before him. Grimm then drops down. And waits.



Jerry Andrews: This will be the second time these two have met one-on-one. Statistically speaking, they couldn't be more evenly matched.



Ace Anderson: Yep. You have the utter destructiveness and veteran standing of the Hangtown Horror going against the brash newcomer with the chops to back it up.



Jerry Andrews: Looking at Shane's resume, he's no stranger to competition, just new to PCW.



Ace Anderson: Grimm has always seen this as "his yard" and Shane is a new dog sniffing around to expand his turf.



Grimm glares at Shane as the cocky star taunts him across the ring. Gale checks Grimm over for weapons before calling for the bell.

DING! DING!

It’s the Hangtown Horror vs the God of Game, round two. Phinehas Grimm was victorious at Trauma 209, in a close encounter of the non-third kind, back in April. The two men size one another up from opposite sides of the ring. Neither man has a distinct advantage in the height or weight department and are both very skilled competitors. They circle around, neither wishing to make the first mistake. A collar-and-elbow tie up nets no upper hand, so they break off. A second attempt and it’s Grimm with the fast side headlock. He squeezes down on Kyle’s head as if it were trapped in a vice, dropping his balance momentarily. Shane reaches behind Grimm’s head and tries jerking it back. This only causes additional pressure. With Kyle Shane down to a knee, Grimm flips him over with a takedown, but finds himself caught between Kyle’s knees. Grimm quickly fights this off and both men are back up.



Ace Anderson: Shane will find out real quick that it’s never a good idea to piss off the Hangtown Horror.


Jerry Andrews: Maybe getting under his skin is exactly the point. Angry opponents make mistakes.



They size up once again and Kyle Shane attempts a quick strike with his biggest asset, his legs. Grimm sidesteps out of the way, and goes for a quick kick of his own. Shane rolls through, forcing Grimm to stagger forward. Out of the corner of his eye he sees Kyle rearing for another attempt. This time Phinehas not only spins around, but jams the point of his elbow into Kyle’s kidneys. With the “God of Game” momentarily stunned, Grimm underhooks the kidneys again like a prizefighter. Shane flashes a pained expression. Grimm drops him into the ropes with a sudden headbutt to the same area and moves in for a continued advantage. Against the ropes he sneaks in some knee lifts to the ribs, almost delivering them like an MMA fighter. Kyle tries to protect his insides from the onslaught, but Grimm is relentless as his blue eyes bore a hole through his soul.



Following a bell clap, Kyle is pulled away from the ropes and hoisted into the air for a bodyslam. He floats over Grimm and spins the former World Champion into a series of roundhouse kicks to his sides. Phinehas goes for the “dance like a butterfly” technique to prevent further damage. It partially works as his HP is depleting, but Kyle has other ideas in mind, catching Grimm off balance with a spinning back fist. He then scores a quick single knee facebuster to bring down the ginger one. Grimm is pulled up by the beard and sent into the ropes. The slippery bastard that is Kyle Shane meets him at breakneck speed with a picture perfect-kiss your teeth goodbye dropkick, forcing Grimm to tumble out of the ring. Kyle keeps his foot on the gas and comes flying at him with a barrel roll suicide dive. This jars Grimm into the barricade where outstretched hands slap the shoulders of both men.



Jerry Andrews: OUCH!



Ace Anderson: HOLY COW! How are they both alive after that?



Kyle gives Grimm a couple of furious knees, the second of which is partially slapped away by the longtime mainstay of PCW. Phinehas is rolled back into the ring. Kyle hops onto the apron and picks his spot. As Grimm begins recovering, Kyle puts him down with a springboard leg drop bulldog. He goes for a pin but loses it after the count of one. Grimm is pulled off the mat and moved to the nearest corner. Kyle cuts through like a samurai with a stinging WOOOO chop! Grimm gets a moment to catch his breath as he covers up. Kyle takes him by his red locks and measures for a right hand to the cranium. Grimm rocks back and is sent to the far corner. Shane comes in like Sonic but finds himself caught mid-air and ran out with a spinebuster. Grimm rolls over and hits a series of stinging Dead Reckonings to blind with. With Shane’s eyes watered, he’s picked up and dropped with a fisherman’s suplex. Kyle kicks out of this.



Ace Anderson: Grimm trying to cave in Shane’s skull with his own.



Jerry Andrews: Concussion, thy name is Grimm.



Ace Anderson: I’ll do the comedy from here on out, please.



Grimm sneaks in a blatant choke as his eyes frost over to an even icier shade of blue. The referee administers the five count and has order restored by four. Shane is sent into the corner and Grimm comes charging with a spear. Kyle is thrown to the opposite side and has the air driven out of him with a second spear. Kyle is doubled over as he falls forward. Grimm shows no emotion as he climbs the turnbuckles. Once Kyle returns to his feet, he is sent down with a missile dropkick. Grimm goes for the cover and gets a two for his troubles. Remembering what he had used earlier, Kyle is shoved in the ropes and finds his kidneys worked over like stones were causing havoc inside. He falls down the ropes in obvious pain. Grimm decides to sap more oxygen from him as he shoves his windpipe across the middle cable. After four, Grimm steps away, but not without Kyle Shane. He’s leaned into the ropes and Irish whipped. Grimm goes for a dropkick, but hits the invisible man instead. He springs off the canvas and Kyle is ready to meet him with a knee to the face and a transitional leaping elbow to the heart. Kyle fights through the pain of the landing and is able to get up first.



Jerry Andrews: I’ll give it to the God of Game. He can absorb the punishment.



Ace Anderson: And Grimm is great at dishing it out, so he’ll definitely get his fill.



The crowd has been invested from the opening bell and their energy has yet to waver. Shane rips Grimm off the mat and nails a trio of suplexes. But he pulls him for a fourth and instead drives him into oblivion with a brainbuster! Phinehas is brought up and spun with an uppercut. It’s when Kyle goes for a pele kick that Grimm gets the advantage back by swatting it away. The ‘Science of 8 limbs” approach of the Hangtown Horror has served him well for years and this match is no different. Grimm measures Shane’s face and says HELLO with his foot for a savate kick. Kyle slumps onto his side and is shoved out of the ring like E.T. on Atari, in other words, trash. Grimm enjoys hearing the body go splat. He takes his time in exiting the ring, showing the calm demeanor he is known for. Shane is picked up and ran into the edge of the steel steps, again targeting the kidneys. He uses the apron for assistance in staying off the floor. Grimm notices and slams his head into it since he needs the crutch.



Jerry Andrews: Grimm stalking the number one contender. I don’t know how much more punishment Shane can take, Ace.



Ace Anderson: He’s a resilient bastard, for sure, but the Lord of Misrule may end up being too much for him.



Kyle gets a second wind and returns the favor from out of nowhere. But he’s not satisfied with just one. No. He gets three before Grimm lands a haymaker. It’s almost as if he had his signature shovel in hand. Kyle is tossed back into the ring and in comes Phinehas Grimm from Hangtown, Kentucky. He’s had enough of this dance...so he hits a FODDERSHOCK! And there’s the cover!


1!


2!


and a half with the shoulder up. Grimm looks at the referee, annoyed by the mere notion Kyle beat three count. Kyle is sent into the corner and in comes Grimm like a runaway ginger train. He gets derailed by Kyle’s rolling out of the way, and in turn eats buckles sternum first. Kyle digs for that extra life and finds one! He turns and unloads on Grimm’s entire body. Punches to the head like he was Little Mac. Stinging knees to the midsection to lower Grimm in the corner and then a barrage kicks to the chest, which the crowd revels in counting! Kyle runs the length of the ropes and returns with a boot square across the face to drop Grimm’s lips into the canvas. Grimm is pulled into the middle of the ring and slammed down. Kyle heads up top and in the midst of the camera flashes, comes down with an OOOH YEAH elbow drop! He hooks the leg…


1!


2!


NO! Grimm pushes out of the pin. The man who sees everything as a boss battle senses Grimm’s health bar is in danger. He follows it with a LIGHT ARROW, continuing to target the chest his elbow was introduced to. This as well doesn’t keep a good Grimm down. Kyle looks for a double arm DDT, but Grimm powers out of that and spins Kyle into a soccer violent headbutt between the eyes. It’s hard enough to bust someone open, but not here. Shane is immediately dropped, giving Grimm the chance to catch his breath and get things back on track. The fans are practically rabid at this point.



Ace Anderson: Shane has Grimm gassed, but neither man is ready to give up the fight yet.



Kyle is Irish whipped. He hits a GODDESS WHITE SWORD! Before he can follow up on it, Whitey Ford has sauntered out to ringside, gazing at both men, but with particular focus on Kyle Shane. The future challenger checks on Grimm before noticing Ford is outside taunting him by hoisting the biggest trophy achievement high in the air. It’s enough to draw Kyle’s attention. Grimm recovers and while he has no love loss for Whitey Ford, winning the match is more important.



Grimm grabs Shane and swings his body into a spinning backbreaker. Kyle assaults the mat from the pain coursing through his body. Grimm smirks and brings Kyle upright. He hoists him like a potato sack and seats him on the top rope facing the crowd. Grimm steps out and up top the best he can. He’s standing on the middle rope from the outside. Kyle’s head and neck are cinched in a DDT formation. Grimm balances his foot on the top rope and weaves his way around, bringing both bodies flying away from the corner for a devastating tornado DDT, otherwise known as THE HARVEST! The impact is disgusting. Even Ford cringes at the sight while heading back up the ramp. Grimm rolls a lifeless Kyle Shane over and grabs a pinfall while staring daggers at the champ.



1!


2!


3!


And that’s all she wrote as the referee calls for the bell.

DING DING DING!

Sasha Greene: Here is your winner, GRIMM!

Match Three:

Fatal Four-Way

One Fall

Underground Title is on the Line

Underground Rules

Alexa Black vs. Gabriel vs. Non Compos Mentis vs. Alexandra Tamora

Referee: Eric Russo

Our sponsors say paying bills is important. All four participants remain in their respective corners, already in the ring after a commercial break. Like racehorses stuck in their stalls, they fidget, checking tape or testing the ropes, just waiting for their release. Then, once Eric Russo has finished running the rules by them one last time, he calls for the bell.



Jerry Andrews: If you're just joining us, it is now time for a fatal fourway, no-rules brawl for all for the Pure Class Wrestling Underground Championship!



Ace Anderson: That's right, we have four competitors, already assembled in the ring, each of whom are willing to go through absolute war right here, right now!



Jerry Andrews: As we get things underway here, Ace, who is your pick to win this whole thing?



Ace Anderson: Well, Non Compos Mentis has been on a tear since winning the title on our Battlebowl episode, lasting to the end of another fatal fourway match after pinning Kyle Shane earlier in the night. He beat Alexandra Tamora last week as well, and you know she's looking for payback.



Jerry Andrews: And the bell rings, and we are underway!



Pumped beyond her body's capacity for this rematch from last week, Tamora explodes from her corner and flings herself at Alexa, landing with a leaping forearm before the Black Widow can even move away from the turnbuckles. A flurry of chops is then unleashed across Alexa's massive chest, before she manages to catch Tamora with a right hand, forcing Tamora to stagger away. Alexa turns back and bull rushes Tamora with a Clothesline, only for it to be rolled under by the time-lost superstar. Skidding to a halt, the Black Widow is faced with the sight of both Gabriel and Non Compos Mentis staring her down, neither having engaged themselves in the match yet. With caution, Alexa turns away from them and back to Tamora, only to eat a clothesline to the jaw that knocks her straight down. Ready to fight anyone, Tamora jumps over the fallen Alexa and catches NCM with a leg lariat.



Jerry Andrews: It's sometimes not evident, but Alexandra Tamora just about classifies as a heavyweight. She may not have the same mass as Black, but they stand nearly eye to eye.



Ace Anderson: Very true, but NCM is clearly the heavy in this match, and anything one can do to take him out of the game is very wise.



Shrugging, Gabriel decides it might be time to get his hands dirty... and promptly proceeds to drop down and cover Alexa.



1!



Kickout!



The bulky shoulder of the Black Widow shoots up, leaving Gabriel to complain to Tamora about the lack of power behind her hit. Ignoring the feedback from the Follower of Seromine, Tamora stomps the grounded Non Compos Mentis, forcing him to roll to the outside. With that being no obstacle to Tamora, Tamora rushes into the opposite set of ropes, before flinging himself up and over, wiping out Non Compos Mentis with a suitably named spaceman plancha. The crowd erupts into an "Oooooh" Hearing the crowd explode, Gabriel appears to rise to the occasion, and heads over to the ropes. Grabbing the top cable, Gabriel yanks back on it, ready to springboard over... before simply releasing and turning back to stomp the rising Alexa in the temple. Blood coursing with fighting spirit, amongst just about every other type of spirit going, Alexa bursts up under the barrage from Gabriel, and takes a wild swing at Gabriel's head. Deftly ducking the arm, Gabriel secures it in a half nelson, gaining just enough leverage to heave Alexa up, then drive her down onto his knee for the backbreaker. On the outside, Tamora lifts NCM up... trying, desperately, to get him in the ring, but the stronger champion sends Tamora violently into the steel ring steps. NCM waits for a few moments before he goes rooting under the apron, looking for weapons.



The Black Widow arches her back off the canvas, only for Gabriel to land a few stomps to it, before dragging Alexa up by the hair. Spinning the dark maiden around, Gabriel lifts her up for a Backdrop Suplex, only to again drive him down onto the knee, this time with a Blue Thunder bomb. Relentless in his rabid assault, Gabriel doesn't even let Alexa drop to the mats this time, instead rolling her over for a cover.



1!



Kickout.



Outside the ring, NCM pulls out a street sign, a Stop sign with graffiti spray painted on it "Eat Pussy". NCM tilts his head at the vulgarity, then he looks over at Alexandra, measuring her for a shot, ready to blast her right over the head with some blue language. However, As he runs up, Tamora reacts quick and kicks the defaced Stop sign right back into the jaw. NCM crawls away from Tamora, shaking his head to clear the cobwebs. As Non Compos Mentis retreats around the corner, Tamora slides through the ring to cut him off, landing a dropkick to the face as he blocks the path. Dragging Non Compos Mentis up, Tamora drills NCM with an open hand, increasing the volume of the chops she levels across Non Compos Mentis' chest. She drapes. The fans in the front row urge on the time lost superstar, prompting her to turn it up a notch. With NCM still draped back over the barrier, Tamora hops onto the apron, then springboards off the middle rope with an Asai moonsault. Crashing down into Non Compos Mentis' chest, Tamora is sent rolling out into the fans, while a breathless NCM slumps down onto the mats.



Jerry Andrews: Tamora is turning up the volume tonight!



Ace Anderson: Well we know we, she was so close last week, only to be inexplicably robbed by, Lunatic, of all people, and now she has another chance. She's taking it to NCM, hardcore.



Back in the ring, Gabriel continues his brutal assault on the back of Alexa, heaving the Black Widow up from a double-underhook and spinning him through into a double underhook backbreaker. Holding her spine, Alexa crawls to the corner, only for Gabriel to be there waiting for her, ready to fiercely whip him across the ring. Alexa's whole body ripples as she smashes against the buckles, then tries to make her escape out through the ropes. Grabbing Alexa by the waistband, Gabriel pulls her back, then places the Black Widow's feet up on the middle cable. With Alexa laying across the ropes, Gabriel drops an elbow down into the small of her back, before leaping up to score a knee drop that bends Alexa the wrong way, pulling her down from the ropes. Rolling Black away from the corner, Gabriel hooks the leg.



1!



Kickout!



Showing off the power packed into her body, Alexa Black throws Gabriel off her rather easily. The crowd is split between chanting for Tamora, and, amazingly, Black. With the fans going crazy for the displays of Tamora and Alexa, Gabriel hops up onto the barrier, conducting a further increase in volume. Non Compos Mentis drags himself up, looking like he's lost his bearings, allowing Tamora to leap off onto NCM' shoulders for a Hurricanrana. But as Tamora flings herself back, Non Compos Mentis plants his feet, leaving her hanging. Tamora desperately tries to sit back up, but can't manage it in time before Non Compos Mentis swings her into the ring-post from a powerbomb position. Seeing Tamora weakened, Non Compos Mentis tastes the blood in the water, and drags the supernova back to her feet. Grabbing her around the waist, Non Compos Mentis drives Tamora back into the ring-post, before plucking her up off the mats, spinning, then driving the time traveller down with a classic Spinebuster right across the freaking aisle. Kneeling above Tamora, Non Compos Mentis dusts off his hands, then goes back to looking for weapons under the ring. NCM selects a tool box and brings out a pair of pliers, clamping them down on Tamora's hand with a sickening grip, and bending her hand and wrist back far enough to make her yell. The Hobo King is in rare form.




Ace Anderson: I think NCM is trying to extort torment from Tamora right now, and it's well and good, but he isn't focusing on the bigger picture of the rest of the fatal fourway competitors.



Jerry Andrews: It would not pay to get tunnel visioned here.



Back in the ring, Gabriel stalks the rising Alexa, the latter having to hold her back just to get to one knee. Relentless, Gabriel shouts at her to repent, but he smacks her over the head several times, and when he goes to hit his finisher, a much different move than that awesome Kyle Shane finisher mind you, Alexa simply pulls her head free of it and crushes him with a clothesline to the windpipe. Alexa Black, her face clouding with rage, lifts Gabriel up and whips the lighter man across the ring, charging after and nailing him with an avalanche in the corner. Alexa rolls to the outside and grabs herself a steel chair from the timekeeper, then grabs a second one, and a third, and a fourth, throwing them one by one over the ropes, into the ring. Alexa Black stalks back into the ring and kicks the chairs into a pile, before she walks over, lifting Gabriel up. She bashes him with a club to the back so hard he drops to all fours, and Alexa lifts him back up. Alexa Black boots Gabriel hard in the gut, lifts him up, and then flips him end over end before turning him over into an Awful Waffle Driver, aka Black's Brain Damage Driver, right onto the stacked pile of chairs. Gabriel is turned over, and he looks to be out cold.



Jerry Andrews: If you hit a person in the head with a steel chair, it can be a fine and you'll have to pay their medical bills and sit in Congressional meetings about CTE syndrome... but it you hit chairs with a person…



Ace Anderson: That loophole is just asinine enough to be completely brilliant!



1!



2!


NCM breaks up the count by pulling Black off by the leg.



Black looks back at NCM and shouts at him, staring bloody murder. Alexa Black's manager, Jamie King, slaps the mat in outrage. Gabriel's still in la-la land on top of the chairs, but Black picks one up, folds it closed, and then she lifts it high over her head and SMASHES it over Gabriel's back. Gabriel flops and rolls around, holding his back in agony.



Jerry Andrews: Alexa Black is in her pure element here in this match.



Ace Anderson: Yeah, I mean, go figure, a chick who walks around with bodyguards and always carries brass knucks and garroted baseball bats is into hardcore stuff.



Jerry Andrews: She likes inflicting all kinds of pain.



On the outside of the ring, NCM turns back to Alexandra Tamora, lifting her up and slamming her head off the steel guardrail. The relentless Hobo King continues to beat Tamora around the ringside area, as in the ring, Alexa holds the chair up, getting a strange mixed reaction from the crowd. She threatens to come out there and beat every one of them with the chair. She looks around, trying to lock onto Gabriel again, to make him more chair than man. But as she gets up, she sees Gabriel scrabbling to pick up one of the other bevy of chairs she introduced. Black runs at Gabriel, trying to swing a chair at him. Gabriel lifts a chair up just in time and swings it counter to Alexa. The two chairs smack each other very hard, causing a loud clang that echoes throughout the arena. Both competitors hold their hands and drop their chairs. Alexa snarls at Gabriel as she looks over at him... she charges, and Gabriel sidesteps and gives Alexa a drop toehold. Alexa hits hard as she falls, mouth first onto the stack of chairs she left... as she lifts her head up, holding her mouth in pain from getting her lips busted, Gabriel comes in and legs drops the back of her head, smashing her face first into the steel chairs again! Not wasting a breath, Gabriel drags Alexa up with a pumphandle, pulling Alexa up to once more introduce his knee to the Black Widow's spine. Circling the fallen Alexa, the Follower of Seromine's joyous expression shows that he's getting into the Underground spirit.



Jerry Andrews: Let's hope Gabriel succeeds here tonight, because if he fails Seromine, he knows what awaits him.



Ace Anderson: Uh, yeah, that weird, sick self flagellation that he put on himself a few weeks ago after Kyle Shane defeated him? That gave me nightmares.



On the outside, Tamora is pulling herself up, on the guardrail. NCM waits for a few more moments before charging her, but Tamora quickly is able to backdrop and throw him over her shoulder, sending NCM spilling into the aisle. Back in the ring, with Gabriel finished his ministering, he looks to Alexa's back a little further, Gabriel rains down stomps to the small of it, before slapping his right knee for show, then bouncing off the ropes. As Gabriel hits the cables, Tamora casually grabs him around the left foot, sending Gabriel crashing down face-first into the mat. The crowd cheer as a smirking Tamora watches Gabriel stagger up, only to be mowed down by a big boot from Alexa. Grabbing her back, Alexa rests against the ropes for a moment as Tamora slithers back into the ring. Tamora and the Black Widow shoot a glare at one another...but a rising Gabriel is enough for them to live only for the present. With an all-telling nod from each, they set about Gabriel, Alexa mowing him down with a brutal Lariat, before Tamora rubs salt into the wound with a leg drop. Cheers continue to be hurled at the ring as Tamora drags Gabriel up, mocking him with a slap to the face... which triggers Gabriel's reflex action, and he nails Tamora with a backfist. Acting quickly, Alexandra kicks him in the ribs, then pushes him into Black, who almost caves Gabriel's skull in with a bionic elbow. Black goes for a cover…



1!



2!



Tamora breaks it up.



The alliance dying before it even got started, Tamora and Black get to their feet, heatedly going nose to nose. Not wasting any time, Black throws a punch at Tamora, who stumbles back a bit before throwing a punch of her own. Now an Alexa punch, now a Tamora punch, now an Alexa punch, now a Tamora punch, back and forth they trade blows, and then they turn around and the big man NCM runs right back into the ring and double clotheslines them both down. NCM holds his arms up and roars, and the Underground King gets a heated response back from the crowd. NCM was not paying attention to all of the competitors again, though, because Gabriel takes this moment to come behind him and hit him with yet another of Alexa's steel chairs. NCM is barely phased by the hit, and he turns to Gabriel, who has a dawning expression of "Ohhhh shit" on his face as the face-painted horror turns to glare at him. NCM then swats the chair out of Gabriel's hands, grabs him in a side clutch and drills him with a swinging side slam, the Dum Dum Drop.



Jerry Andrews: Well, thanks for playing, Gabriel.



Angrily shouting choice words at the Follower, NCM isn't done yet. His other two competitors are getting up. Wanting to inflict damage on Gabriel and Gabriel in particular, NCM barks orders as he goes over, grabbing Gabriel by the arms. Non Compos Mentis holds Gabriel in place for Black to land a string of solid right hands, each one violently crashing into Gabriel's jaw. As Gabriel goes limp in his grip, Non Compos Mentis pulls Gabriel over with a tiger suplex, bridging for the pin.



1!



2!



Thr-NO!



As Eric Russo goes to bring the three down, Alexa grabs Gabriel by the foot and rolls him back through to his feet, breaking Non Compos Mentis' pin. Grabbing Gabriel around the waist, locking an arm in, Alexa takes Gabriel over with a belly to belly Suplex, almost leaving Gabriel's remains smeared on the canvas. Pushing her forearm down into Gabriel's face, Alexa covers.



1!



2!



Thre - NOT YET!



Walking past the pinfall, Non Compos Mentis spites Alexa by kicking Gabriel's foot up onto the bottom rope.



Ace Anderson: How did she not see that coming?



An angry Alexa then storms up, getting up in NCM's face. As they trade insults back and forth, Tamora pulls himself up onto the apron, then springboards onto the top rope. Rising the cable, Tamora launches off with a crossbody aiming to wipe-out NCM and Alexa... only for them to react just in time. Utilizing her power advantage, Alexa catches Tamora over his shoulder, while Non Compos Mentis scores a hard right to stop Tamora's struggling. While Alexa shows off by pacing around the ring with Tamora, makes his way up to the top rope. As Alexa flings Tamora down by the thighs with a harsh spinebuster, Non Compos Mentis flies off drilling the point of his elbow down into the time traveller's sternum. Hurriedly, Non Compos Mentis hooks the leg, only for Alexa to plant her boot firmly into the NCM's face, knocking him out through the ropes, and down to the floor. Acting fast, Alexa Black pulls Alexandra Tamora up and whips him into the ropes, scoring with a quick and brutal powerslam. She motions that it's over now, turning a lifeless Tamora upside down before drilling her into the mat with a Tombstone.



Jerry Andrews: There it is, the Widow's Kiss!



1!



2!



Three- Kickout!



Just as Alexa thinks he has it won, Tamora defies him by shooting a shoulder up. Black shoots the referee her best death glare, and he motions to her that Tamora just got the shoulder up. Black takes a few moments to snarl at the referee and tell him how to do his job. As she does, her manager, Jamie King pounds on the mat, trying to get her attention. Finally, King gets Black to look over at him. He slides her her signature Underground weapon, a garroted baseball bat. Black nods, a sadistic grin crossing her face. Drawing her hand across her throat, a snarling Alexa calls for the end, and flings the bat back and forth in front of her as he waits for Alexandra Tamora to get up, ready to hit her a home run. However, Gabriel pops up in front of him, forcing the Black Widow to skid to a halt. Seizing her chance to escape, Tamora squirms free, prompting Alexa's instinct to spin back towards her. Before Alexa can land a blow, Gabriel takes both of Alexa's legs, and as she falls, the baseball bat goes flying out of her hands, as Gabriel uses his core strength to lift her for a wheelbarrow suplex, only for Tamora to apply a double-underhook. As the crowd rise to their feet, Gabriel and Tamora plant Alexa into the mat. Both kneeling beside the fallen Alexa, taking a breath, Gabriel covers.



1!



2!



Three - Kickout!



As Alexa shoots an arm up, Tamora slides in between her and Gabriel, hooking the leg.



1!



2!



Three - Kickout!



Gabriel and Tamora shrug it off in unison, before heaving Alexa's stocky frame bad to its feet. Gabriel pulls Alexa up, then drops him down into a Side Backbreaker, nodding for Tamora to go do her part. Recognising the set-up, the fans rise in volume once again as Tamora ducks out through the rope. Springboarding onto the top cable, Tamora is all ready to launch until Non Compos Mentis hops up onto the apron and yanks at the top rope. Losing her footing, Tamora plummets ribs-first onto the ropes, before bouncing off to the floor. The crowd gives a loud negative reaction. Dropping Alexa, Gabriel simple acknowledges Non Compos Mentis with a grin of confidence, dropping to one knee and inviting him in. Inciting heckles and boos from the ringside fans, Non Compos Mentis simple backs away to the steps, fobbing Gabriel off as if the Follower is that far beneath him. A look of spite crosses Gabriel's face as Non Compos Mentis goads him. But despite being successful in his frustrating of the Gabriel, Non Compos Mentis understates Tamora, and Tamora springs up beside him. With a mischievously cocked eyebrow, Gabriel points it out to Non Compos Mentis, who is caught in the ribs by a startlingly high dropkick from Tamora, springing off the floor to catch her higher opponent. As he doubles over, almost staggering down the steps, Tamora leaps onto the steel, then hops up to take Non Compos Mentis down to the mats below with a Side effect like side slam. Tamora grabs her tailbone upon landing, feeling the impact.



Jerry Andrews: I think it's possible that Tamora might have just cracked a bone on the landing.



Ace Anderson: I think in NCM's case she cracked many bones. NCM is off his game tonight, taking his eye off the ball one too many times. In such a crowded field, you cannot do that.



Back in the ring, before Gabriel has a chance to stroll over and lord it over NCM, he's mowed down with a lariat from a resurgent Alexa Black. Grabbing Gabriel by the throat, Alexa drags him up, before scoring with a headbutt, then a European Uppercut. Rising to the fight, Gabriel replies with right hand of his own, prompting the crowd to up their volume as the duo slug it out. Black starts getting the better of Gabriel due to her strength and heavier hands, but as he recoils back from some of her right hands he suddenly turns and digs at her eyes, gouging her in both eyes with his thumbs. Alexa screams and turns away, shouting and holding her blinded eyes. Gabriel then whips her around and nails a front facelock cutter, dropping her in the middle of the ring.


Jerry Andrews: BELIEVE!


Slowly crawling back onto the apron, Tamora holds her lower back, but as Gabriel goes for the cover, she dogpiles on and clubs him in the back. Gabriel gets to his feet, complaining, and Tamora lifts him up and attempts to go for a powerbomb, lifted into a lungblower, but before she can even get the Spacial Distortion in motion, Alexa Black comes from behind and smashes her flat with a inverted headlock into a leg drop. Alexa shakes her head, motioning that it's over, and she lifts up the garroted baseball bat. Tamora is dazed, and she picks her way to her feet. She sees Alexa Black lifting her special bat up, and aiming it at her head. Tamora shoots forward, and she clotheslines both of them up and over the top rope to the outside! The crowd goes wild. Alexa and Alexandra, they both are down in the aisle. Black woozily starts to get to her feet, stumbling like she's drunk. Tamora pulls herself up on the apron. Tamora looks over at Black, who's stumbled towards the announcer's table. Tamora runs towards her. Black sees her coming and gives her a flapjack that throws her across the table.



Jerry Andrews: LOOKOUT!



Ace Anderson (In the squeakiest voice imaginable): I'M A HEMOPHILIAC!!



Black snarls and begins throwing things like papers and the border of the table, ripping up TV monitors and wires, and when the table is clear, Alexa gets up onto the table, pulling a dazed Tamora up with her. Tamora offers no resistance, but Alexa Black ruthlessly picks her in position over her shoulder, then falls onto the table with a high impact back to belly piledriver, the Hematoma! Both of them are laid out on the table, which, miraculously didn't break. The referees come checking on both of them. Alexa sits up after a few moments. The crowd is building a huge "HOLY SHIT" chant at both the hard hitting move and the enduring table. Alexa rolls off the table, stumbling to her feet. Alexandra Tamora is laid out, clutching her neck, still on the table. Both announcers have come back around to the vicinity of the ruined table.



Jerry Andrews: Well, Ace, first of all, I'm glad to see everything still in one piece.



Ace Anderson: Yeah, definitely, hey, please don't tell anybody I screamed like that, cool?



Jerry Andrews: ...Right. - But something serious is happening right here, as Alexandra Tamora hasn't moved since taking the Hematoma onto our announce table.



Ace Anderson: This table has seen some dark times, and it offered no give tonight... but the way Alexandra is gripping at her neck, I don't think she can say the same.



Jerry Andrews: She is being evaluated by EMTS and trainers at ringside to see if she can get back in the match.



Alexa, stumbling, rests against the apron, trying to gather her breath. An EMT comes down to ringside, pushing a stretcher to load Alexandra Tamora onto. In the meantime, both Gabriel and NCM have started getting to their feet. Black retrieves the garroted baseball bat, and she walks around the ring, staring at both men. Alexandra Tamora is loaded onto the stretcher, and a collar is being fit around her neck. Tamora looks absolutely heartbroken.



Jerry Andrews: One competitor down, and the other three have seen a war tonight.



Ace Anderson: I think this is a crying shame. I hope Tamora is able to recover. It's a scary situation. She hit right here on this desk and she hasn't moved since.



Alexa, a twisted grin, points the garroted baseball bat at the stretcher, then at NCM. NCM holds his arms out, saying for her to come gets some. However, the opportunistic Gabriel hits NCM from behind. Gabriel kicks NCM in the kneecap, making the bigger man stagger to one knee, and then he goes for the Word of the Lord, but NCM pushes him off. Sent flying forward, Gabriel's head collides with Black's jaw, causing the big Black Widow to stagger backwards and tumble out through the ropes. Seizing his moment, NCM musters every bit of strength left in his body and drills Gabriel with a rushing knee strike to the temple, collapsing on top of him.



Jerry Andrews: Psychotic Break, Mk 2! That may be it!



Ace Anderson: Jesus tap-dancing christ, I thought we were done with blunt force trauma for the night.



Jerry Andrews: If not, the medics left another cervical collar here to fit on the next person that gets injured.



1!



2!



Three - NOPE!



Black breaks it up by VIOLENTLY smashing NCM across the back of the head with the bat! The crowd gives an "Oooooooh!" NCM holds the back of his head which begins gushing blood. NCM also looks hurt, as he tries to get to his feet.



Jerry Andrews: Another costly mistake from the champion, he didn't keep Alexa Black and that bat in his sights.



NCM tries to make it to his feet, as Black measures him for another shot. Alexa grips the bat in both hands, and NCM wobbles slightly as he approximates a vertical position, only for Alexa to give him another ripping, bludgeoning shot across the bow, right in the midsection as she runs through him. NCM doubles over, holding his gut. NCM groans in agony. Alexa Black then turns around and bashes the butt of the baseball bat very hard against the champion's temple, dropping him. Black gives him a few more shots with the bat while he's down.



Ace Anderson: Stop! Stop! He's already dead!



Jerry Andrews: Alexa Black has shown absolutely no mercy in this match. She is closing in on another Underground Championship.



Alexa throws the bat away and goes to pin NCM, but suddenly, Gabriel comes up behind her, grips her by the back of the head, and throws her out of the ring. Gabriel holds his arms out in a prayer pose, and then he drops down on the incapacitated champion, pinning NCM.



Jerry Andrews: Wait a damn minute... Gabriel just tossed Alexa out of the ring!



Ace Anderson: Brilliant!



1!



2!



3!!

DING DING DING!

Sasha Greene: Here is your winner... and NEW PURE CLASS WRESTLING UNDERGROUND CHAMPION... GABRIEL!!

Releasing the pinning grip, Gabriel drops flat onto his back, remaining on the canvas with the unconscious body of NCM, only rather than wallow in defeat, he basks in the victory. "There's A World" by Neil Young begins to blast out around the arena as the fans boo, responding with wild applause to the sight of Eric Russo dropping to one knee and raising Gabriel's arm in victory.



Jerry Andrews: Gabriel just scored another huge victory, and brought the followers of Seromine a piece of gold hardware!



Ace Anderson: Gabriel really must have pleased his Lord tonight, Heaven smiled down and favored him!



Jerry Andrews: We're going to have to keep check on Tamora and see if we can get any medical updates on her.



Alexa Black is livid, as her bodyguard and her manager are walking with her, she points and shouts to the referee that she should be the champion. Gabriel, in the ring, is holding the title up with an elated smile on his face. NCM still has yet to move. Medics rush the ring as we switch to backstage.



Backstage in his locker room, Whitey Ford is laying down on a bench near the lockers. Smoke is wafting all around him, filling the room with the sweet stench of marijuana. He's dressed in his ring gear, but doesn't look like he's too eager to warm up for his match. At least he's loosened up, I suppose. Suddenly, the lights flicker above him. They restore back to their normal setting, but only for a moment. They flicker again, and this time Whitey opens his eyes.



"Shut the fuck up, light. I'm taking a nap before I denounce a false religious zealot. Naps are important to victory." Ford closes his eyes, but no sooner are they closed do the lights hum and flicker out again. A loud zapping noise is heard, and Whitey is plunged into darkness. "Fine, be that way. I'll just nap in the dark like a normal person. Just turn back on when it's time for my match."



"For being THE World Champion, you sure know how to represent this place well. You can't change your filthy ways any better than those in power can resist abusing it. " Seromine's unmistakable voice echoes throughout Whitey's locker room, and the World Champ jolts up into a sitting position. "Abuse, Whitey. Abuse is going to be the word of the night. Because when that bell rings, I'm going to abuse you until the referee saves your sorry sacrilegious self from further harm."



Ford thrashes his arms around, darting to and fro in the darkness of the room, trying to find where Seromine is projecting his voice from. "Where are ya, you son of a bitch? Nobody interrupts naptime and gets away with it!"



"Repent, Whitey. Repent and Praise Seromine. Praise YOUR Lord." The Savior of Pure Class Wrestling demands.



"My lord is alcohol, and I'm never repenting from that!"



With another loud zap, the lights turn back on to reveal that Whitey is alone in his locker room. Somehow, he's managed to seat himself fully inside one of the lockers. Squirming to get free, Ford brushes off his pants and tries to compose himself. "That's the last time I smoke weed before a match. Well, today at least." Whitey exits the locker room, deciding that spooky ghost Seromine shouldn't be trifled with, and heads to the ring.

We come back from commercial break to see our esteemed President, Loki, standing in the ring, mic in hand, next to a pedestal with an object covered up with a cloth. Also in front of him is a folding table with a contract attached to a clipboard and a chair on either side. He waits for his music to fade and the cheers of the Faithful to die down before speaking.



Loki: It's been awhile since Living a Legacy, and we at the corporate headquarters of Pure Class Wrestling had meeting after meeting to make a decision about whether we were going to keep the International Title…



The audience pops rather nicely.



Loki: ...The North American Championship…



The crowd cheers even louder.



Loki: ...Or just merge them together and make a whole new division. Well, let me tell ya... The wait is over!



Now the excitement from the peanut gallery builds to a frantic pace. Loki pats the podium, sort of modeling the covered item mockingly like Vanna White. Once the enthusiasm dies, he puts the microphone back to his lips.



Loki: I figured, what better way to unveil our decision than a good, old-fashioned contract signing? So what I'm going to do, is ask for the men who will face off at Return to Glory to come down to the ring and see what they will be fighting for. Gabriel, Nathan Saniti, COME ON DOWN!



The lights go out. Suddenly the arena is completely lit up with white light as the opening notes of "There's a World" by Neil Young play. Gabriel emerges, wearing a tan button up shirt, brown overalls and heavy dark boots. He clasps his hands together and smiles widely before walking down to the ring.

"There's a world you're living in

No one else has your part

All God's children in the wind

Take it in and blow hard.

Look around it, have you found it

Walking down the avenue?

See what it brings,

could be good things

In the air for you.."

Gabriel climbs the ring steps and pauses. He then enters the ring, says a quick prayer, and stands on the opposite side of the table facing the ramp.



Loki: Thank you for joining me, Gabriel. First off, congrats on becoming the newly crowned Underground King. No easy feat to best Non Compos Mentis.



Gabriel: I was doing my Lord and Savior's bidding. I was blessed by him for my loyalty. Praise Seromine! Praise the Lord!



Loki: Ooooookay. Now all we are waiting on is…



On cue, the introductory chimes of "Monster," by Imagine Dragons beckon the entrance of Pure Class Wrestling's resident Madcap Magician as lime green fog coats the runway from the ring to the entrance. Flanked by Rasputin, Naomi, and Neville, the otherwise normal (for him) looking Nathan Saniti leads the group out from the back, Nathan taking point. He and Neville wave their arms with a flourish, calling to the fog to rise and engulf the lot.



The lights slowly fade as it thickens as it envelops the Harvesters, suddenly dissipating just as rapidly as it appeared, revealing that the group has vanished! A thunderous bolt of lightning strikes the ramp side of the table with a blinding flash, causing both Loki and Gabriel to jump slightly. And another. After a third bolt hits, the lights go out completely for a second. A column of spotlighted smoke begins to build next to the set, snaking its’ way skyward. Lime green and purple spotlights dance around the smoke as the lights fade on and the smog evaporates, revealing the Harvesters next to the opposite side of the table!



Loki: I've never seen that up close. I'm impressed. But you know what will impress me more? I'd like to see your friends head backstage. This is a simple contract signing. They don't need to be here.



Nathan gets a sour look on his face before looking at his entourage and nodding that it will be okay for them to leave. Without a word, each of them exit and head back up the ramp, disappearing beyond the curtain. Loki looks on, approvingly nodding his head. Nathan returns his attention to the President with his trademarked unsettling grin.



Loki: Okay, guys. It's real simple. We're here to sign a contract and reveal the title you two will go at each other for at the pay-per-view. So let's get started. The match at Return to Glory between Gabriel and the current champion Nathan Saniti will be for…



Loki yanks the cloth free revealing…



Loki: ...The North American Championship!



Nathan's eyes light up in approval, his grin widening. Gabriel eyes the piece of gold hungrily as well. Without a second thought, Gabriel starts to sign the contract when…



The pipe organ of “Be Still for the Presence of the Lord” echoes throughout the arena. As an angelic children’s choir begins to sing the hymn, Seromine and his wife Destiny enter from behind the curtain.



Slowly, the pair makes their way down to the ring, stopping to “bless” some of those close to the barrier as a mixed reaction churns from the crowd.



Seromine, dressed in preacher’s garb straight out of the 1800’s, leads his wife, also dressed in a very conservative black dress with a white collar and cuffs and two white buttons on the front. His wide brimmed black hat and black coat lend a severity to his appearance as they make their way to the ring steps.



He lends his wife a gentlemanly hand up the stairs, holding the ropes for her as she enters, following quickly behind. He slowly makes his way around the ring, “blessing” the audience to a somewhat ungrateful reaction. Gabriel also seem both a bit baffled and irritated that they are out here, Nathan even more so. Seromine walks over to his charge, placing a hand on his shoulder and saying a few comforting words that seem to soothe his ire.



Loki: No disrespect, Seromine, but if I forced Nathan's Harvesters to go back stage, what makes you think that I won't do the same to you and your wife?



Seromine: I answer to a higher authority than even you, Loki.



Loki: Not in this ring you don't. Now why are you here?



Seromine: I'm here to right the wrongs that have been done to the Faithful, to level God's wrath at those who besmirch His name.



Nathan sets into a defensive stance, but doesn't back down, keeping a close eye on all three of those across the table from him. Seromine smirks at the magician knowingly, shaking an accusing finger at his nemesis.



Seromine: You see, that man right there has constantly used those drugged hatpins, not just on me, but on nearly every person who dared to cross his path. To date, Pure Class Wrestling has done nothing about it. In fact, I dare say that I doubt he could have even achieved the things he has without them.



Loki: In every instance he used them, it was legal. What's your point?



Seromine: My point isn't the pins themselves, but the substance they are coated with. It gives him an unfair advantage in every contest. Even if he doesn't use them, the threat of their presence is there.



Loki: What do you want me to do about it?



Seromine: I want them removed from his possession. The only way to tell if he's truly the champion he claims to be is to see if he can survive without his precious hatpins. I have had those vile things puncture me more times than I care to count. I won't allow my follower Gabriel to go through that hell.



Loki stops and ponders the Serpentine Sermonizer's words. Nathan relaxes his guard just enough to make eye contact with the President. He can already tell that the authority figure has made up his mind.



Loki: You know, I can't say that I disagree entirely. Nathan, you're a gentleman of your word, right?



Nathan Saniti: I am, indeed, Mr. Nobel.



Loki: Could we get your word that you won't use hatpins during the match at Return to Glory?



Nathan thinks for several seconds as the audience jeers the tough decision before him. Finally, he removes his top hat, causing all three members of Salvation to step into defense mode. Slowly, he removes the pins one by one, glaring daggers at his foes. He casually sets the pins on the table in front of him and scoots them in front of Loki.



Nathan Saniti: I shall do you one better, good sir. You have my word that I shall not use hatpins in any form during, prior, or after our match at Return to Glory. Should I do so, I shall forfeit my title.



Loki: Well, it looks like we have an…



Nathan Saniti: BUT! Like everything in life, it shall come at a price.



Loki and Salvation look on, curious of the stipulation.



Nathan Saniti: I wish to face Mr. Willard at the Iceys in a "Two out of Three Falls" match. I shall even agree to the same stipulation about my weapon of choice. I shall prove beyond a shadow of a doubt that my accomplishments are not solely a product of dishonesty.



Nathan huffs as he snatches the clipboard out of Gabriel's hand, snapping up a pen, and scrawling his signature across the dotted line, before tossing the board into Seromine's chest indignantly. Seromine politely hands the contract to a grateful Gabriel, instructing him to sign the document as well.



Seromine: Pride is a sin, Nathan. At the Icey's I truly will beat the devil out of you, and at Return to Glory, Brother Gabriel will continue your glorious descent into hell and finish the job, taking MY North American Title from your grasp at long last.



Nathan smiles menacingly.



Nathan Saniti: Should he succeed, that would make him twice the man you are. You have yet to defeat me in singles competition. I wonder how your own dynamic would hold if he were to accomplish the one thing you couldn't.



Nathan places the mic on the table, exiting the ring, the members of Salvation looking on in disgust. They speak to each other, somewhat heatedly pointed at the magician.



Loki: Now, Gabriel… Get out of the ring, because Seromine’s match is next!



Seromine gives Gabriel a few more encouraging words and his wife another kiss, before instructing them both to exit as he prepares for his match.

Main Event:

Standard Match

One Fall

“The Asshole” Whitey Ford vs Seromine

Referee: Ed Lane

Sasha Greene: The following contest is for one fall. Introducing, already in the ring, and accompanied by his wife Destiny, Seromine!

Within a split second’s time and without warning, strobe lights cascade the fans and the arena while the heavy guitar riffs build up for "Determined" by Mudvayne. Once the lyrics kick in and the music roars louder, the arena is left dark as a crimson spotlight focuses on the center of the stage, just as a massive pyrotechnic spark erupts on either side of the curtain. Whitey Ford walks out with a purpose, holding the PCW World Championship over his head with pride.

Sasha Greene: And his opponent, from Leeds, Maine. He weighs two-hundred forty-five pounds. He is The PCW World Champion, “The Asshole” Whitey Ford!

He surveys the crowd from the top of the ramp, nodding at their mixed reaction towards him even after his change of heart. In the end of it all, it makes him smile, and the title is dropped to his side. Dragging the gold belt down the entrance ramp, Whitey tosses it inside of the ring before rolling in himself. He stands in the center, raising the title once more over his head with one arm.

DING! DING!

Seromine remains in the corner, slow clapping Ford’s holding of the highest title in the company. “REPENT!” belts the self professed ‘Lord and Savior’ as he marches to the center of the ring. Ford looks around at the fans as he meets Seromine face to face. Seromine’s speech tone drops as he looks deadly serious about that repeated request. Whitey shrugs and looks as if he is going to do just that...but instead offers a confession with a quick strike to the preacher’s head. Seromine staggers and is met by a flurry, sending him into the ropes. Ford goes for the Irish whip but has it reversed on him. On the return he ducks under a clothesline. Then a second attempt. On the third return, he takes Seromine down with a springboard european uppercut. This draws cheers from the fans.



Jerry Andrews: Whitey on the offense!



Ace Anderson: Come one, Seromine! Take him to church!



Seromine is up and then sent back down with a bodyslam. Ford attempts to stomp him, but the Serpentine Sermonizer rolls out of harm’s way by escaping the ring, where he is quickly moved away by his wife. Seromine flashes some quick anger at the “sinful” champion, while Destiny attempts to calm him down. Whitey barks out some insults about how he doesn’t believe in mind control, punctuating it by comparing Seromine to a well known cult leader. This of course is laced in his usual profane way. Seromine confers with his wife and regains his composure before reentering the ring.



A running dropkick marked by speed sends Seromine up and over the top rope and back out onto the floor. This time Ford isn’t going to let Destiny help slow anything down, as he jumps out to the floor. With scorn in her eyes, she moves away as Ford grabs Seromine off the floor. An Irish whip this time is successful as the preacher meets the barricade. Ford charges in and deposits Seromine into the front row with a high kick to the head. As fans manage to pat Seromine, Ford leans over and flips him back over onto his side of things. He yanks him up by the hair and throws him into the ring. Seromine rolls over onto his knees and looks at the champion with a grimace on his face. He claps his hands in prayer and asks for mercy.



Ace Anderson: Come one, Whitey! Can’t you see a man of the cloth is asking for a break?


Jerry Andrews: I’m pretty sure that Ford doesn’t care.



Ford knows the score and kicks him in the midsection without a second thought. Seromine falls forward, and has both hands stomped on, as Whitey remembers what Nathan Saniti had done at Living a Legacy. Seromine yells and is brought to a vertical base. A big European uppercut staggers him into the corner as Destiny can be seen stalking around ringside in the background. Ford walks in and is caught off with a sudden kick to the gut, doubling him over. Seromine and Ford switch posts as he looks to capitalize. An attempted right is blocked and returned. Whitey fights out of the corner and whips Seromine right back into it. Whitey charges but finds himself nearly decapitated by a furious clothesline, one that draws an “OH SHIT!” from the faithful.



Seromine remains down, but his body language suggests he is laughing at his handiwork. He rolls himself over and gets up. “I said I was going to strike the devil out of you!” Seromine shouts. Ford is drug to the center of the ring as Seromine unleashes the Absolution Stomp, targeting in equal doses, his feet, hands, stomach and chest. A double stomp to his face is the last. Ford grasps at his face and writhes around as Seromine motions to the faithful. HIS faithful as he would say it. This draws a large contingent of boos, but with some applause from those who somehow support him. Seromine takes a second to look at his applauding wife before turning his attention back on the champion. Ford is pulled up and spun around into a release German suplex, dropping him on his head and neck. Seromine rolls onto his stomach and mocks the pain of Whitey Ford. He then sits up and offers him a prayer, albeit insincere.



Seromine grabs Ford and short-arms him into a knee to the stomach. He follows this with a pumphandle, but Ford slips out of this. He shoves Seromine forward, who stops on a dime and spins around to hit Ford with a spinning heel kick. Whitey is driven through the ropes where he hits the floor with a splat. Seromine rolls himself under the bottom rope to continue his assault. Whitey is moved over the announce table. His head meets it a total of ten times. Seromine gets him in a belly to belly and drops him with a suplex that doesn’t break the table, but sends commentary scattering. Seromine aggressively gets in and yells for him to “PRAISE SEROMINE! PRAISE THE LORD!” which draws plenty of boos. Destiny comes over to alert her husband as to the count, which stands at seven. Seromine runs in to break it and then back out to get the champion. Ford strikes with a couple of decent punches, but finds himself blinded after a gouging of the eyes. Something Roddy Piper would approve of. As he staggers around, Seromine shoves him into the ring post.



Ace Anderson: If thine eyes offend thee, pluck them from the sockets.


Jerry Andrews: Seromine certainly tried. Pretty sure he’s supposed to do that to his own eyes though, not his opponent’s.



Back into the ring now as Seromine drops Whitey with a split legged jawbreaker. A pin follows this.



1!



2!



Nope! Ford kicks out. Seromine gets up and lifts Ford onto his knees. He leans over him and forces Whitey’s hands to clap in prayer. Seromine delivers one himself and then slams his face into the mat. He takes a glance at the referee and out of nowhere offers him a handshake. The referee is unsure what to make of this, but Seromine’s smirk gives the impression he is serious. The officiating zebra begrudges him. Seromine can be heard thanking him for making sure Ford doesn’t try to use his cheating ways against him and that God sees all. Seromine pulls Ford off the mat and runs him through to the corner. Again. And a third. This leads to a trio of northern lights suplexes with the last held for a pin.



1!



2!



And a half! Seromine lets go and sits up shaking his head. Destiny yells at the referee about the count, drawing the referee’s attention to her. Seromine, whom had just spoke of cheating ways, sneaks in a choke that would have drawn a disqualification for going past the allotted count. The referee is alerted by the fans. He looks to see what’s going on, but all he sees is Seromine praying next to Ford. He comes over to ask what he did. “I’m praying for him to breathe God’s air!” is the reply. Seromine pulls Ford up with him and backs him into the ropes. An Irish whip is countered suddenly, and even more suddenly is Whitey hitting an angled Rehab Spear! Which targets Seromine’s ribs. The fans roar with support as Seromine rolls around in pain. Whitey remains down as he tries to get himself back into the match.



Jerry Andrews: Both men are down as the ref begins the count.



Ace Anderson: It’s not going to last long.



Both men are back up and Seromine grabs the swift advantage. He looks to send Ford into the ropes, but is instead pulled into a spinebuster! Seromine arches up and falls back down, favoring his back. The world champion is beginning to feel the moment is his! His slams his hands on the mat and pulls himself up. Seromine is brought up and introduced to each top turnbuckle. He staggers into a snap German suplex which lays him completely out. Destiny frantically gets as close as she can to her husband, pleading with him from under the bottom rope. Ford steps through on the side she’s on, forcing her to move. With the referee watching, she’s unlikely to try something to help. Whitey laughs at her and gives both a middle finger as he comes crashing onto Seromine with a springboard splash. He remains there for a pin.



1!



2!



and a shoulder! Ford thought he may have had that last count and so did the crowd. They are fully invested in this match as the energy is electric. Seromine is brought onto his feet and sent into the ropes. Ford drops his head and Seromine flips himself over the back. In the process he has wrapped his arms around the waist. Ford is shoved forward and rolled back with Seromine’s weight keeping him pinned down. For added leverage he grabs a handful of tights.



1!



2!



3…



NO! Ford muscles out of the shady pin. Seromine is beside himself over that kickout. Whitey is sent into the corner. Seromine charges into a pair of boots. He staggers but is undeterred. This time he runs into an uppercut. Seromine spins away from his opponent. Once he turns, Seromine is dropped with a tornado DDT. Whitey goes for the pin.



1!



2!



3!



NO! Seromine gets his foot on the ropes at the last second! Ford sees this and immediately regrets not pulling him to the center to prevent that from happening. Seromine is brought up and thrown into the ropes. Wasted-Land! NO! Seromine counters by contorting his body around so that he catches Whitey off by landing on his feet. Seromine pulls Ford into a nasty short-arm clothesline! The hopes of the faithful melt as everyone knows that’s the set-up of Ashes to Ashes, the finisher of choice of the self-proclaimed Lord and Savior.



Seromine peels Whitey Ford up and cinches his head for the DDT. He drops for it, but Ford hangs onto the ropes! He had just enough reach to grasp it and save himself! The back of Seromine’s head hits the mat. Destiny’s expression is that of concern as Ford gets enough of a breather to follow up with a Backtoss Piledriver! THIS time Seromine is pulled directly to the center of the ring and pinned.



1!



2!



3!

DING DING DING!

The referee calls for the bell as a winded (but victorious) Whitey Ford escapes with a major victory.

Sasha Greene: Here is your winner, Whitey Ford!

Jerry Andrews: The fans are elated as Whitey eeks out another victory.



Ace Anderson: That makes one of us.



Jerry Andrews: Well, that’s all of the time we have for this edition of Trauma, folks. Join us next time when we celebrate our bi-annual Icey Awards!


Ace Anderson: Don’t forget the “Two out of Three Falls Match” pitting Nathan Saniti against his nemesis Seromine!



Jerry Andrews: That will be a match for the ages. Those two men have no love loss for each other.



Ace Anderson: Boy, that’s the understatement of the century, Jerry. Gabriel will have to defend his Underground belt against an unknown, unrevealed opponent at Trauma 216 as well.



Jerry Andrews: Gabriel has his first gold, now we’ll get to see if he has what it takes to keep it at the Iceys. On behalf of Ace Anderson and all of Pure Class Wrestling, I’m Jerry Andrews. We’ll see you next time. Goodnight, folks!

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