Trauma 244: "The 8th Anniversary Show" Results

[Rick Majors]

Pure Class Wrestling Trauma
Thursday January 17th, 2019

The show opens with Kyle Shane walking around the backstage area. He's wearing a black cloth vest over a silky dress shirt, tight black pants and a pair of scuffed Chuck Taylors. Despite his more businesslike veneer, Shane has an agitated look on his face. It may because of the controversy surrounding his life, or it may be the fact that, for the moment, he is bereft of the Pure Class Wrestling World Championship. At some point between his arrival to the show and him going to his dressing room, Pure Class middle management had shown up with a decree written by the board that Kyle would have to hand the title over for a decision to be made tonight. As such, the erstwhile champion is stalking around the backstage, and production assistants and workers alike are getting a suspicious eye from him.

Kyle Shane: Alright, I want to know, who's in charge here? Huh? Is it Luis Malave?

He's barking in the face of a mousy young woman carrying a clipboard and a stack of books and notes. She and her cohort both have the look of busy worker bees hurrying from meeting to meeting. The first one, a white girl with hipster glasses and a nose piercing, looks frightened and a little concerned.

Production assistant #1: Luis Ma- ...Kyle, didn't you know Luis Malave died back during the summer?

Her work buddy, a black girl with an elaborate updo, also carrying notes from the last meeting on a clipboard turns her head, conversing with her friend.

Production assistant #2: Did he though? That whole story never got any real closure or seemed to go anywhere...

Production assistant #1: I know! It's like, if I'm watching a soap opera and the boss dies in a car crash, I'm expecting in a week, or two weeks, or a month he's going to show up with a dramatic revelation that he faked his death to throw off the people who were trying to take his company from him.

Getting into it, the girl with the braids nods along, motioning that she knows similar story bears.

Production assistant #2: Or he was set up by his never seen before twin brother, who had been alive for all those years living in Puerto Rico and now was trying to take his fortune!

Kyle is seen between the two of them, squinting his eyes and scrunching his forehead in consternation.

Production assistant #1: Or maybe his mistress tried to have him killed and then he went away to plot his -

Kyle, bouncing a little from foot to foot, is growing increasingly annoyed with the lightspeed babble of metafictional conjecture, and honestly is just trying to find someone to talk to about his situation.

Kyle Shane: ENOUGH!

They both look at Kyle, pooched lips out, signalling that he was rude.

Kyle Shane: If. Luis Malave is dead, or even if he was off the table. Who is the general manager of Pure Class Wrestling.

Production assistant #1: Um...

Production assistant #2: It's, uh... I think it goes to...

Kyle grabs the stack of notebooks and clipboard out of the first girl's hand, flinging it to the floor in a fit of pique.

Kyle Shane: Who's the commissioner. Who's the sheriff. Who's the fucking CEO, chairman of the board, who's the fat, out of shape former wrestler that still feels the need to stroke their egos by putting on a suit, marching around the ring and siphoning heat away from actual performers, filling TV time with twenty minutes of self-aggrandizing at the top of the show and probably abusing his power? Huh? Every fucking wrestling federation has an authority figure running their show, they have ever since November 1997. Hell that shitshow on Mondays has had the same goobers running it since 2013.

Now that's meta. The two production assistants look at Kyle, sheepishly, their eyes and mouths screwed in a second hand embarassed look of "don't ask me, buddy, I just work here".

Kyle Shane: WHO? Who the fuck do I talk to about the decisions that go on around here?

Production assistant #2: So... so we have to go...

Production assistant #1: Yeah, girl, we have that meeting down the hall.

The mousy, scared white girl bends down to scramble and pick up the sheets of paper that are scattered around the hall, but keeping an eye on the seeting Kyle Shane, she doesn't get that many picked up.

Production assistant #1: You know what, they can just have the Cliffs notes version, um... bye...

Kyle, kicking himself for the show of temper but not really wanting or able to tamp the fire down, looks across the hall. A stage hand is coming, bearing a tray of cups of coffee.

Stage hand: Oh... mister Shane! I... I didn't get an order of coffee for you, but I can... you can have this soy latte if you want -

Kyle slaps the cup out of his hand viciously, and gets in the stage hand's face. The stage hand is trembling.

Kyle Shane: Alright, I'm trying to be reasonable and not lose my shit, but it isn't exactly easy because I don't know where to go to vent my frustrations. And in lieu of there being a suggestion box, I'm trying to find the on-air authority figure. Because why? Oh, because when I walked in the God damn building tonight, they wanted me to hand over My World Championship. The World Championship that I have now spent 402 calendar days defending. The title that main events pay-per-views, that provides a revenue stream, that gives people a match worth putting their money down for and putting money in YOUR pocket. Yeah. They decided that a bullshit no-contest finish was too controversial, and they couldn't just start the match over, and this is what I get. After all that work I did, for them, for me... for YOU, even, buddy.

Almost tenderly, he's stroking the stage-hand's cheek, patting him on the head like an old pal. Despite this, his eyes aren't smiling, and his teeth are clenched in a rictus of "humor" that also reads as a little frenzied. The stage hand is fucking petrified. And then, Kyle laughs, in the most good humored, ironic way.

Kyle Shane: You'd think I'd know who he is, wouldn't you? HAHAHAHA. You'd think I'd know who the fucking general manager is, since a good deal of people from Gerard Angelo to Justin Fuckwit Michaels have said my getting on my knees and smiling like a donut for him is the only way I've managed to stay champion for 402 days.

Stage Hand: Uh... uh...

Kyle Shane: And I've tried to rise above it, I've tried to brush it off, but what sticks in my mind is that in the infinite need to excuse for them the fact that I've risen past them, and they aren't where I am, they complain, over, and over, that Pure Class Wrestling management is in league with me and helping me along and that them bending over backwards for me is why I've been given the shakes that I have.

Kyle smiles, acid sweetly, and blinks his eyes, as he's uncomfortably close to the stage hand, right eyeball to eyeball. His venomous, angry-sweet smile about the whole fucking ridiculousness of the situation says it all.

Kyle Shane: So... so if management is my buddies, we're such chums, they've been so good to me all this time... I must really be on a good basis with them right? I must know them on a first name basis? I must know exactly WHO IS IN CHARGE FROM AN ON CAMERA STANDPOINT of Pure Class Wrestling, right? Because they've been helping my career so much? Huh? Doesn't that make sense?

Stage Hand: ...It makes sense to me?

Kyle Shane: Right? So?...

He inches forward, still smiling, as the kid is watching him like a mouse watches a hovering cobra, and Kyle has his arm companionably around the kid's shoulder.

Kyle Shane: ...Who's in charge of Pure Class Wrestling?

Stage Hand: ...I... I... the person who ordered the coffees?

Kyle flings the tray filled with coffees the length of the hall, snarling "Take that shit the fuck out of here". Then he turns, yelling in the kid's face with a furious roar.

Kyle Shane: NOW WHO'S GONNA ORDER YOU TO CLEAN THAT UP? HUH?!

Leaving the cringing stage hand behind, Kyle stalks down the hall further, and people, having been clued in on his rampage, are now finding reasons to duck into nearby dressing rooms or hide behind equipment boxes. Kyle spots a group of people in maid's outfits, wearing rubber gloves, scarves and chatting with each other peacefully in Spanish.

Kyle Shane: You there! Where is your boss?!

Maid #1: El jefe?

Kyle Shane: Si, si, el jefe! Where the fuck's the jefe. I got a bone to pick with him.

One of the ruddy, wizened elderly maids points at a man standing by, with a thick cigar in his mouth, his back turned to Kyle, as he checks things off on a checklist. Kyle can't make out who he is or who he's supposed to be, but he carries himself with a managerial import.

Maid #2: El jefe está allí, pero yo no lo haría con él, él está al teléfono.

Kyle Shane: That's him? Well, me and him gotta have some words.

Maid #3: Se enojaría tanto que te colgaría de los pulgares, estupido muchacho blanco.

Kyle Shane: Whatever you say there - HEY! YOU! I GOT SOMETHING TO SAY TO YOU!

The boss turns his head minutely towards Kyle, but continues chatting on his bluetooth, waving his hand in the air with a cigar clamped between his knuckles. Kyle advances on him, arms akimbo, fists clenched, striding like a gunslinger.

Kyle Shane: You know, it wouldn't even bother me if you took the title so much, because I've proven I can win. I am a winner, it's in my nature. It's that, despite EVERYTHING I've done for this company, I get shit on by ingrates who insinuate that I haven't worked for everything I've got, and THEN, on top of that, I don't even get the respect - the DECENCY from you, my apparent boss, to come to me, as a man, and discuss our options. I didn't like that clusterfuck at Collision Course either, but what do you want me to do, say I DIDN'T win the match?!

The boss says in Spanish to whoever he's talking to something that sounds like an apology, a "sorry for the interruption, I've got someone talking to me." Kyle, standing behind the man, continues to throw his arms wildly as he rants.

Kyle Shane: Do you hear what I'm saying to you, you don't even give me the respect that I deserve and let me be a part of the conversation. And for that, I've got to go around here hearing high school rumors about my being given favors from you. When you don't even have the respect to do right by your champion. Your WORLD CHAMPION, who is bringing you in the revenue and doing everything he can to bring eyes to your product. What more can I do, huh? What more do you want from me?!

He shoves the man in the shoulder, trying to rein in the aggression, but also trying to get the man's attention and have a dialogue.

Kyle Shane: Do you hear me?! WHAT MORE DO YOU WANT FROM ME?! WHAT DO YOU WANT?!

The Boss: ...I want some more Lemon Pledge.

Kyle pulls his head back at the non sequitur, his eyes and mouth twisting in a pure "WTF" expression.

The Boss: Senorita, necesitamos más Lemon Pledge para los baños, alguien hizo una mala mierda en los puestos.

The maid pushes past Kyle on the cart, as Kyle is standing there, feeling completely done, his eyes closed in an expression of pure "are you fucking kidding me". This guy is the boss of the maids cleaning the arena, not The boss.

Maid #2: Te lo dije, al jefe no le gustan las personas que interfieren con nuestra limpieza de los baños. Vamos, pinche gringo.

Kyle sighs wearily, and he knows he's going to have to wait for answers about his title. He shakes his head, muttering curses but getting out of the way of the maid, who shuffles blithely in to start cleaning the bathroom. The scene switches to ringside.

Jerry Andrews: Welcome to the first Trauma of 2019, and the 8th anniversary since PCW's return! I'm Jerry Andrews and we've got a hot show tonight! As you just saw Kyle Shane is without the PCW World Championship.... does that mean he's not the champion?

Ace Anderson: I have no idea what it means! Who's the champion? 

Jerry Andrews: Well, we're supposed to find out the answer to that question here tonight as PCW President Loki will be making a rare on-air appearance to resolve this situation for everyone.

Ace Anderson: Oh yeah, Loki is the president!

Jerry Andrews: But first, to the ring for our opening contest!

Sasha Greene: The following contest is for one fall... introducing first, weighing in at 465 lbs... he is “The Chocolate Collosus" and Your mom's favourite wrestler! Winston Wilson.

He waves to the crowd and high fives them as he goes dancing down the ramp as he makes his way to the ring making them go off even more. Winston walks down sees a kid at ringside and holds up his sign and takes a selife.

As he continues to walk down to the ring as the crowd grows louder and louder so even the announcers can't get a word in over the cheering.

He goes up the ring steps and steps over the top rope and into the ring

The music fades out as Winston stays in the ring waiting for his opponent.

Jerry Andrews: Winston Wilson is usually out here for a good time, and likes to entertain the fans, but I'm not too sure the big man has an idea of what he's getting himself into.

Ace Anderson: I'm not sure if anyone ever expected to see Black back in action. But she's set her sights on destroying Wilson tonight.

Sasha Greene: And his opponent, she weighs in at 200 lbs... ALEXA BLACK!!

The crowd looks to the entrance way as Blood On My Hands by The Used roars out and they know who is coming out from backstage and they start booing loudly almost drowning out the music.

Alexa Black steps through the curtain her face covered by a black mask with two Japanese Kanji in white. Death on the left and Pain on the right

Her head is covered by a hooded zip up jacket over a plain black t shirt and black tights with black wrestling boots with a red spider on the side of each boot. Her hands are covered by black gloves and around her neck a red back tspider pendant.

She walks slowly down the ramp as the booing intensifies as the PCW faithful don't hold back their hatred of this evil woman

Alexa looks around at the PCW faithful who pack the stands and simply glares malevolently back at them as they jeer and boo.

She continue to walk down to the ring as the crowd grows louder and louder so even the announcers can't get a word in over the booing.

Alexa reacha the ring, climbs up on the ring apron and enters the ring.

The music fades out as Alexa stays in the ring and removes her mask, her cold eyes silently staring up the ramp unflinchingly waiting for her next victim.

Jerry Andrews: Alexa Black's disdain for all other people around her is palpable, but she is eyeing Winston with a proverbial appetite for destruction tonight.

Ace Anderson: I think the Black Widow is looking for a meal.

Singles Match
Alexa Black vs Winston Wilson
Referee: Nigel Gale

The music stops and the referee calls for the bell. An unusually business-like Winston marches forward and went on the attack out of the gate, hammering Alexa with piston-like rights and lefts before whipping her farside and military pressing her over his head with ease. He presses her up and down before throwing her across the ring. Disoriented, she tries getting to her feet only to be caved in the corner with an avalanche. Winston now turns to the crowd, forgetting his earlier aggression to showboat and hold his arms out, proving he's the bigger man.

Jerry Andrews: Now even I have to question that. Winston should have tried to go for the fall there.

Wilson turns and goes to lift Alexa, but she gives him a throat thrust uppercut, making him stumble back, and Alexa rolls him into a schoolboy. No sooner has the referee gotten in position than Winston kicks out keeping the match alive. Getting to her feet, it is an incensed Alexa who begins mounting aggression knocking Winston down with two quick fire clotheslines as he tries getting up. before a massive kick to the side of the skull keeps him grounded. She continues to hammer down with furious right and left forearms to the back, dropping Wilson to his knees. She then drops down to continue to attack, and once she has Winston flat on the mat much to the displeasure of the crowd. Alexa applies the boots before she looks to pull Winston to a vertical base and chuck him in the corner, but the much bulkier Winston quickly turns the tide, yanking Alexa hard against the turnbuckle and hammering in with a flurry of right hands to the midsection, before a handful of hair allows Wilson to smash Alexa face first of the top turnbuckle.

Jerry Andrews: It's not often that Alexa gives up such a considerable power and size advantage.

Ace Anderson: Yeah, about two hundred bones worth. Let's not forget, Andrews, next to Winston, Alexa is a graceful cruiserweight.

A hard irish whip sends Black across the ring, with Wilson charging in for a corner clothesline, seamlessly transitioning into a running bulldog for an early near fall. Dazed, Alexa crawls to the ropes, but Wilson is right on her, teeing off with a few rights to the head before sending her off the ropes... into a high back body drop! Alexa goes sailing into the lights, and comes crashing down to earth. She is quickly back up, holding the small of her back, but she’s left staggering towards the ropes, with Wilson charging... and a clothesline sends Alexa over the top rope, tumbling to the floor. Black lands hard at the foot of the aisle, while in the ring Wilson briefly soaks up the cheers of the home town crowd before he notices Black rising... and comes off the opposite ropes... to connect on a baseball slide dropkick that sends Alexa flying into the guardrail! Hitting the rail face first, Alexa staggers off, holding her face. The fans pop as Wilson stares down at Alexa; the fans certainly continue to will on Wilson. Wilson considers his options, and for one, brief, hysterical moment, it seems as if the 465 pounder is weighing the benefits of attempting to do a suicide dive.

Jerry Andrews: HE WOULDN'T!!

Ace Anderson: I think I'll call this the Wreck of the Hesperus!!

Thankfully, while turning and playing to the crowd, Winston motions that he ain't doing that nonsense, and he climbs out of the ring, lumbering after Alexa. The crowd is starting a rhythmic clap for the big man, and in the aisle Winston raises the roof and plays to the fans again as he advances on the downed Alexa, only for Alexa to grab the waist of Wilson’s tights, and pulls him forward, sending him shoulder first into the steel ring post! The crowd instantly deflates as Alexa pulls out a desperation move, taking time to return to her feet sees Wilson is still wrapped around the ring post, prompting the Black Widow to jump to the outside, grabbing Winstons arm and placing a foot against the ring post, yanking the arm forward, applying all kinds of pressure on the shoulder that again causes Wilson to express his pain. She hauls back on the move, screaming like a banshee. The referee tells Alexa he will DQ her, and starts counting to five. A count of four and 3 fourths finally prompts Alexa to release her grip, but she slides back under the bottom rope, catching Wilson as he stumbles from the ringpost, and Alexa slides back outside, burying in a wicked lariat to the throat as he is still cringing and holding his shoulder. Alexa responds to the fans in the immediate vicinity showering her with bile by shouting at them.

Ace Anderson: I think both of these competitors need a lot more focus on the task at hand, and not playing to the crowd, on either end of the spectrum.

Jerry Andrews: I cannot argue with that.

Alexa is trying to lift the bulk of the super heavyweight up, but she may have outfoxed herself by downing hi, in the aisle, as he's become as immobile as a dead weight. She drags him by one arm, slowly pulling him up. The referee is starting to count both competitors up, and is at a count of 2... then 3, and Alexa finally muscles Winston up, trying to push him onto the apron. Winston fights back with elbows to the side of the head, repeatedly, until Alexa stumbles away in the aisle, and then Winston climbs down, and Alexa turns into a running shoulder block that flattens her light a freight train. Winston is able to lift Alexa up much easier, and he does so, giving Alexa a stalling back suplex before depositing her the hard way on the ring apron.

Ace Anderson: THE HARDEST PART OF THE RING!

Jerry Andrews: Has that ever been proven, or is it just a buzz word that people want us to say? Shouldn't it all have the same consistency, being made of -

Ace Anderson: They MAKE that part HARDER than anywhere else!!

Alexa, arching her back in a pantomime of severe back pain, has her mouth stretched wide in a grimace, and she rolls underneath the ropes, rolling to near the opposite side of the ring to deal with the pain. Winston goes around the ring and climbs up the steps, getting back in the ring. He then pulls Alexa to her feet by the back of her pants, and hoists her high into the air, holding her there and landing a brutal atomic drop. Alexa continues screaming, and holding her lower back, and Wilson finishes off by smashing her into the mat with a full nelson slam.

Jerry Andrews: Alexa getting dropped on her keister two times in a row.

Alexa tries to roll out of the ring again, but this time Winston catches on to her mid roll, and pushes all of his weight down in a press to pin her.

The referee: ONE...















TWO... KICKOUT.

Winston let out an audible sigh before going back on the offensive. He turns to the crowd, points to Alexa, and starts motioning that he's going to the top rope. He grabs Alexa's arm, and starts dragging her prone body over towards a corner, but then he takes just a second too long because Alexa gives him a wince inducing kick to the knee-cap, structurally damaging a vital part of an already engineering-wise unstable vessel. That is to say, the mammoth big man falls with his wheel kicked out, and Alexa rolls him into a small package (as small as 465 pounds gets, anyway.) The referee scoots over, recording this new cover.

The referee: ONE...















TWO... Kickout.

The Black Widow snarls and lets out a string of profanities at the ref. Now Alexa looks to apply pressure to the arm, driving his elbow into the shoulder, taking Winston down with a single-arm DDT and then continuing to stomp at the arm with a frenzied fervor. She continues to apply pressure, but Wilson shows great resolve to stay in the match, but his resolve is pushed to the limit as Alexa synchs back to apply a fujiwara armbar! She pulls on the arm, applying pressure to the damaged shoulder, leaving Winston in a desperate state, clawing for the ropes. Unable to reach with his free hand, Wilson tries to maneuver his body to allow him to reach the ropes with his feet, kicking out at the bottom rope but continually falling short. Black continues to up the pressure, with the referee repeatedly asking Wilson is he wants to submit.

Jerry Andrews: The Black Widow is ripping and tearing at the big man's arm.

Defiantly Winston shouts “No!”, but the pain is clear for all to see, as despite his best efforts Wilson is still unable to reach the freedom of the ropes. Still he struggles for the ropes, but it’s to no avail as Alexa continues to ramp up the pressure, until Wilson shifts his weight onto his knees, stacking Black up with a bridging pin.

The referee: ONE...















TWO... Kickout.

Alexa shoots out of the hold, and looks over at Winston with an expression that is as wide-eyed as it is murderous. Winston is gripping at his arm, moaning in pain. Alexa sneers at his agony, and she moves over, gripping his arm and twisting it behind him. She moves in and pounds his sides, then yanks the other arm of Winston, pulling back on both of the big man's arms in an angle they don't want to go in. Alexa then places a boot to the back of Winston's head and curb stomps down with violent force, executing a BFT stomp. Then, she goes back to one arm, twisting and wrenching it hatefully. Winston is helpless, only able to weakly try to push himself up.

Ace Anderson: Alexa isn't letting the big man get out of the blocks here.

Jerry Andrews: A dark welcome back for miss Murder, here.

Alexa twists the wrist into a painful looking top wristlock. Winston is trying to get to his knees, and he flails, moaning in agony. The referee asks if he gives up. Alexa twists the wrist back, acting as if she's going to break it. Winston pushes himself to his knees, then up to one knee, and using his free hand he swings over and punches Alexa a few times in the gut. He does this until she loosens the hold. Alexa stumbles, and she lets go of the wrist, but then she grips Winston's head and gives him a savage headbutt. She grabs Winston by the head and nails him with six Kawada style kicks to the head. With Winston still, weakly, dazedly, hanging by on one knee, she rushes forward and nails him with a shining wizard. She falls over for the cover.

The referee: ONE...















TWO...















TH- Kickout.

Jerry Andrews: Alexa is beginning to get more and more agitated.

Alexa screams in disbelief and outrage, and she turns to the referee, threatening him. He holds his hands up innocently, and Alexa gets to her feet, frustrated. She looks from Wilson, up to the ropes, then she decides to go up top and look to end the match once and for all, even if it means she loses her laser focus on the damaged arm. Alexa screams for Wilson to get up, as she sets up on the top rope. It takes several long seconds, but the big man finally shuffles to his feet, and Alexa has a hungry, waiting look in her eyes as he stands there, dazed and staggering. Her version of the diving top rope stunner, however, is intercepted in mid flight, giant hands catch her in midair between her legs and around her shoulder, and she is suddenly flipped up in position for a front powerslam, before she is dropped with a ring shaking version of the World's Strongest Slam. Wilson rolls off of Alexa, breathing heavily, and Alexa kicks and spasms on the mat once, all of the wind taken out of her.

Jerry Andrews: WHAT A COUNTER! WHAT AN AMAZING COUNTER!

Ace Anderson: Somehow, someway, Winston Wilson is still in this fight. Winston is holding NOTHING back here tonight.

Winston rolls over, hooking the leg for the cover.

The referee and the crowd: ONE...















TWO...

















THR- Kickout!

Alexa shakes the cobwebs out of her head, and Wilson also takes a second to recuperate. Winston clubs Alexa over the back, and goes to lift her back up. Alexa converts this into an armwringer, twisting the wrist, then she spins and snaps the arm down over her collarbone with a snap arm wringer. Winston yells, and he backs up, holding his arm. That black rage of Alexa comes out as she instantly jumps on Wilson, driving knees into the shoulder as Wilson lays prone on the mat, before Alexa drags Wilson to his feet, firing him off the ropes... she swings with a clothesline... but Wilson ducks... and strikes with a SPEAR!

Jerry Andrews: The full force of being rammed by the 465 pounder... SHE IS BROKEN!!

Ace Anderson: It was a last ditch effort from Winston, too.

Both Winston and Black are down, and the referee looks on in shock at the sudden turn of events. He begins administer a count, which neither one is in a position to answer at the moment. The crowd chants along, as both Alexa and Winston are laid out. 1... 2... 3... 4... both competitors start to stir... 5... 6... Alexa is on her knees, holding her midsection with great anguish... 7... Winston is on one knee, shaking his head... 8... both competitors begin to lumber to their feet. On sight, they clash together and begin throwing bombs. Alexa connects with a right, but Wilson fires back with a right of his own. Favoring his left arm, Wilson tags Alexa with three rights in a row, only for her to score a kick to the midsection. She then winds up Wilson for a neckbreaker, only for Winston to counter... and he drops her with an inverted DDT! Winston covers!

The referee and the crowd: ONE...















TWO...















THRE - Kickout!

Alexa rolls a shoulder; Winston has a wide eyed look that's questioning what more he has to do. The crowd encourages Wilson to continue on the attack, as he scoops up Alexa for a slam and then climbing to the second rope... Winston Wilson pushes off and CRUSHES Alexa with a Vader Bomb, 465 pounds off the top rope, enveloping her entire upper body!

Jerry Andrews: Good lord... Alexa completely disappeared underneath that splash!!

Ace Anderson: He needs to provide people with a snorkel if he's gonna do that, how is she supposed to breathe?!

The referee counts the splash as Winston stays on top.

The referee and the crowd: ONE...

















TWO...

















THRE - Kickout!!

Again Alexa spasms out of the pin, much to the disappointment of the crowd. Wilson gets back on his feet, exhausted of his burst of energy, a disappointed look on his face, still favoring the left arm, but determined that victory is in his grasp. He waits as slowly…Alexa is struggling back to her feet as he pulls her in, he kicks her in the gut, doubling her over... He double underhooks her arms... but all of a sudden, Alexa drops to her knees. The referee can't see around the bulk of Winston Wilson's broad back. Alexa headbutts Winston in the groin! It is jarring enough that Winston groans, releases the intended double underhook, and bends over, holding his midsection. Alexa, gasping for air, then scrambles out of his clutches. She looks like she's seen a ghost, being that close to getting hit with one last finishing move. But she sees Winston, still stumbling around, holding his midsection, and she wastes no time. She goes to the top rope and jumps off, taking Winston down with his jaw landing on the point of her shoulder with a top rope diving stunner.

Jerry Andrews: She calls that Downward Spiral!

Ace Anderson: And it just plunged Winston's hopes of winning this match down the drain!

As Alexa recuperates, holding her back, on the mat, she looks over and sees Winston on his back, groaning. Rather than cover, she slides in, aggressively hooking on an Anaconda vise submission, wrenching the damaged arm as she uses the choke. Winston groans in agony. Alexa has the face of a warrior maiden, screaming for him to submit.

Jerry Andrews: And another new move, the Garrotte, it's super effective!

Ace Anderson: The big man is tapping out immediately, too much damage done on that arm and his throat.

Winston taps out with his free hand, and the referee orders the bell rung. Alexa, her teeth gritted, holds onto the hold for a while longer before throwing Winston's arm down.

Sasha Greene: Here is your winner, by submission... ALEXA BLACK!!

"Blood On My Hands" by the Used begins playing on the PA as Alexa stands, a ferocious grimace on her face. The referee tends to the hurting Winston Wilson, who is complaining about his arm.

Ace Anderson: A hell of a big win for a true warrior in the ring, it wasn't easy for her to overcome a man twice her size, but Alexa did so convincingly.

Jerry Andrews: You can call her a lot of things, sociopath, inhuman, brutal, but she has made a mark on Pure Class Wrestling, and tonight was a statement of bigger things coming her way.

Jerry Andrews: Winston clearly in pain in the ring here. Alexa held onto that hold a bit longer than she needed to....

Ace Anderson: If you were to ask her, she needed to hold it until she heard something snap.

Alexa exits the ring, staring coldly at the crowd and showing them her disdain.

Jerry Andrews: I honestly can’t say if there isn’t any low Alexa won't stoop to when it comes to getting what she wants. She is truly a monster.

Alexa decides she’s had enough of antagonising the fans. She grabs a steel chair from ringside and returns to the ring looking to inflict more damage to and already injured Winston Wilson.

Ace Anderson: Oh for gods sake this is overkill at this point. She has the win what else could she possibly want?

Jerry Andrews: This is making me sick. I can’t watch.

She puts both his legs into the chair and rolls down out of the ring and looks under the ring apron to find something. After searching for a minute or so she pulls out a familiar long shiny steel object

Jerry Andrews: God damn it she’s got that freakin pipe again! Somebody stop her!

She raises the pipe in the air and just as she is about to strike....

"Handy" by "Weird Al" Yankovic blasts over the speakers. Lights flash around the arena in various colors to the thrum of the music.

The fans take interest during the opening strains at the curtain as Joey "The Handyman" Handy pops through. The crowd pops respectably at the relative newcomer. He sees the crowd's reaction and nods at them as he sprints his way down to the ring with an equaliser in hand.

Ace Anderson: Here comes Joey and thank god for that!

He rolls under the bottom rope and charges towards Alexa who turns just in time to see him but not fast enough to avoid the sledgehammer shot to the gut that drops her like a sack of potatoes.

She quickly gets out of dodge scowling furiously at Handy who just stares back with an equal glare. She retreats to the top of the entrance way and grabs a near by microphone and putting it to her lips

“YOU’ll PAY FOR THIS HANDY!" She screeches

THIS ISN’T OVER AND YOU JUST MADE A TERRIBLE MISTAKE I HOPE YOU CAN LIVE WITH WHATS TO COME...”

Joey is incensed and jumps out of the ring and starts walking towards her with his sledgehammer pointed directly at her.

“BRING IT BITCH!”

“I owe you for what you did to my boy you freak. And I will have my revenge!.

This is not a rivalry any more this is PERSONAL! You crossed the line and there is no going back!

She drops the mic and stomps away as Joey calls the medic and walks back to check on Winston.

Trauma is blessed to be allowed access to Seromine's location as the show rolls on. An array of monitors have been manipulated into an arrangement that spell out the word SINNER. Footage of Seromine attacking Grimm with a steel chair at Collision Course play in a black and white loop.

The Serpentine Sermonizer is shown observing his deed and eating popcorn like an excited moviegoer. The bag is tossed aside so that he can address HIS faithful.

Seromine: What you are being shown is the moment I intervened to save all of you. Cast out of your minds any notion that I randomly acted from a place of malice. Look towards me---

He pauses long enough for his request to take effect. Inside of the arena, the booing is a loud and clear act of rejection. He continues with his arms spread out like a welcoming parent offering a hug.

Seromine: Look towards me and be thankful! Be thankful that I did what I did for all of you. When I arrived on the scene and saw poor Justin "Stormm" Michaels all face down and beaten to hell---I knew then there was nothing else I could do to him.

Seromine claps his hands together and throws his head back in jubilation.

Seromine: But wait! There WAS someone else out there. There was a (using air quotes and a faux shock expression) HANGTOWN HORROR! So my plans changed. I knew then, deep in my heart, deep in my soul, what I had to do. You see, Grimm, we've spent years in this company together and not once, have we ever had the opportunity to meet alone in the middle of the ring. Oh sure---we've been teamed up, teamed against, and placed as opponents in multiperson singles matches...

But never alone. You made the mistake of moving in my way. Stormm was of no use to me at that moment in time. But somehow, he transferred his energy to you and SHE commanded me to punish your wicked soul right then and right there and so I did!

Seromine turns so that he faces his makeshift sign. His elation has dropped down to callousness. Snapping his fingers, the picture on the monitors switch to a live shot of his face.

Seromine: So I did and I promise you this, RED. I'm going to do it again. Not just tonight. But every time I see you until the day of your reckoning. When Mass Destruction comes, I'm going to put you down the way I have others...

He returns to a less agitated state after admitting that. In fact, his mood could be classified as euphoric.

Seromine: Hebrews 13:7. Remember your leaders, those who spoke to you the word of God. Consider the outcome of their way of life, and imitate their faith. Always remember this. God loves you---and so do we.

Seromine again snaps his fingers. The footage returns to the same loop it was on before. Following the quick notice of a shadow moving in the room with him, the show goes to commercial.

Arriving in an empty locker room, PCW North American Champion Stormm rests his gym bag on a bench-like seat in front of some wooden cubicle-like lockers. Over his shoulder rests his gold, which he slips into his arms, looking at it longingly before setting it down on top of his back. He lets out a sigh and begins to stretch his arms and legs. Before he can get too far into his routine, there is a knock on the door. Rather than wait for entry to be granted, the door swings open.

With a grin, Horacio Mortimer steps into view. Stormm immediately sees red.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing here?!” he spits, immediately surging across the room. He grapples with Horacio, pinning him against the door with a forearm across The Chronological Order’s founder’s throat. “Alright,” Stormm seethes. “Where is he? Where is that massive, lumbering pile of shit?”

“Calm yourself.” Horacio pleads, trying to wiggle his subdued arms free. “All I ask is for a minute of your time and I will be out of your hair.” Stormm grabs one of Horacio’s arms, hauling it upwards so that his watch is right in front of their faces. Waiting for just a couple of seconds to round off the minute, he slowly loosens his grip.

“You’ve got one minute. Then you’re gone,“ Stormm warns.

“Thank you,” Horacio bows his head, motions to step forwards.

“Just stay by that door,” Stormm instructs fiercely. “I'm not an idiot, you’re only here to distract me so that Dominator can burst in and try to attack me from behind... again. Not happening! You keep your back pressed against that door until your time is up.”

“Fourty-six,” Horacio says aloud, as if counting down from the top of the minute. “I thought I should give you a fair level of warning,” he returns his focus towards Stormm. “Never have I seen Dominator so focused on reaching a goal. In all the time that I have known him, he is fuelled by the prospect of becoming the North American Champion. He will stop at nothing to get what he wants.” Horacio looks at his watch once again. “Thirty-seven,” he states.

“Right.” Stormm guffaws. “Make sure he's prepared to be disappointed. He can hide in the shadows all he wants, but that's MY domain now! I’m keeping my belt, like I've done for over a year now, and if he doesn’t like it, well, he can go back and challenge David Hunter or Muscles Malone for the Underground Title he likes to talk about so much.”

“Twenty-eight,” Horacio slowly begins to smirk. Stormm is becoming increasingly unnerved as the countdown approaches single digits. He looks around the room insecurely. There are no other doors, windows or means of entry aside from the one door that Horacio’s back is still pressed against; aside from the doors of the toilet cubicles just outside the shower area, yet given Dominator’s sheer size, it was highly unlikely that he would hide himself in there. “I think you should re-evaluate your predicament,” Horacio says ominously. “I don’t think you fully grasp the lengths that The Zenith will go to in order to break your psyche. He will not stop until you are physically incapable of clinging on to your championship. He will break your fingers, one by one, until your grip is gone completely.” It is not the threatening words from Mortimer that have perturbed Stormm. He is anticipating where Dominator could potentially be lurking. Could he bust through the ceiling? Break down a wall? “Nineteen,” Mortimer adds.

“If he wants a fight, bring it!” Stormm challenges “Tell him to face me like a man!”

“You mean that way that Johnny Matthews did when he was at the forefront of The Zenith’s rampage?” Horacio chuckles.

“Comparing me and Johnny?” Stormm chuckles. “Bringing up family to get under my skin is such an obvious cheap trick, surely that silver tongue of yours has something better to spit out than that? Besides, Johnny took Dominator to his limit, barely scraping through with his dignity intact. Did you not see me and Grimm at Collision Course? If you thought Johnny was bad, and want to talk about doing whatever it takes for the North American title, MY title, then Dominator may very well yet regret coming after me!”

“Eight,”

“Get out,” Stormm snarls. “Get the hell out of here before I break something valuable!” Horacio seems a little surprised by this statement.

“If you insist,” Horacio says, slowly running his hand along the door panel to blindly locate the handle.

“Five, Four, Three…”

As Horacio reaches for the door handle without looking, he quote-unquote ‘inadvertently’ flicks the lightswitch. The locker room is plunged into darkness for no more than three seconds. Horacio flicks the lightswitch back on quickly.

Stormm glares at Horacio, who is simply smiling cheekily back towards Stormm, who is blissfully unaware that, towering behind him stands the monstrous figure of Dominator. Sensing something is amiss, Stormm throws an elbow backwards, striking Dominator in the chest. The Zenith immediately delivers a clubbing blow from overhead to the shoulders of Stormm, who staggers forward. Dominator takes two large strides to where Stormm now stands, delivering another quartet of Axe Handle shots to the back before grabbing him by the waistline of his jeans and the collar of his shirt, spinning him like a discus before throwing him into the wooden lockers. There is a mighty crash as the champion’s torso meets the wood.

The Force of Nature crawls from the wreckage, but Dominator is right there, hauling Stormm up and setting him in position for the Anachronism. Stormm’s arms flail to the side of him, trying to grab a splintered wooden slat that had become dislodged from the bench directly beneath the lockers at the moment of impact. He swings the clump of wood at Dominator’s skull, cracking him square in the center of his head. The Zenith stumbles away as Stormm regroups.

Just as he turns, he narrowly ducks underneath an attempted strike by Horacio Mortimer, who has the North American Title in hand. Stormm sends Horacio flying backwards with an instinctively delivered Super Kick, sending him crashing into The Zenith. Stormm scrambles for the door, flicking the lightswitch off as he leaves to plunge the room into total darkness, giving him ample time to make his mistake.

“GET BACK HERE!” Dominator roars, trying to fumble around in the pitch black to locate the lightswitch. Within mere seconds, he manages to place a hand on the switch, filling the room with light once again. Dazed, Horacio is on his feet. The Temporal King pulls the door wide open, thrusting his head into the open space to determine which way Stormm had made his escape. It is impossible to tell; the hallway being baron of life.

“Leave him,” Horacio smiles. Dominator turns with a scowl on his face, only to see the North American championship still in his eyes. The Zenith’s eyes widen in something reminiscent of glee, a wicked and triumphant smirk emerging across his face.

David Hunter is seen backstage, waiting beside the locker room door. While he stretches and gets ready for his coming affair, his championship loosely sits around his waist. It moves about, following the motions of his body.

The camera zooms away. His companion--Shane Dodge--appears in shot to David's right. He soon begins to speak.

Shane Dodge: David Hunter, later on tonight you will compete in a 4-way match for your King of the Underground Title. This is your first title defense after winning the championship once again, and the second 4-way match you will compete in for that title. Now that you've been a staple in the Underground division, what's on your mind head going into tonight, bro?

Shane moves the mic towards David, who wastes no time in starting to speak.

David Hunter: Tonight I'm facing three other men: Muscles Malone, Razor Blade, and Tyrone Smith. Now I know that sounds like a regular night for someone like Kassandra Black--I'm kidding, you know I love you, girl--but for me, it's just another notch in my belt. And by "my belt", I'm of course referring...to my crown. You see I've fought tooth and nail damn near every week since I've debuted. First it was the Deadly Rumble, and while I fell short of that, it wasn't long before I found myself with a hefty consolation prize.

David pats his championship a few times.

David Hunter: Ever since I was tossed over that top rope I've been fighting in Underground matches. I've been in a title match almost every week, and sure, I've stumbled a couple times, but at the end of the day, not even Muscles Malone can say I haven't earned the right to walk in and walk out with this title. Sure you've got the big leaguers like Kyle Shane or Seromine who're too busy jerkin each other off to worry about little ol' me, but while they're worrying about what kind of lube to use, I'm down here killing myself trying to make the name David Hunter mean something.

David cracks his neck to throw in a pause.

David Hunter: Now tonight is no different than my last few matches. I'm out there with some tough opponents. Tyrone Smith calls himself a Crazy Boy, but if that's what he calls crazy, than I'm a frickin sociopath. I've done worse things to people I've called a friend, so if Tyrone thinks he can waltz on out and do whatever he wants, than let's make sure he takes his medicine. A few good shots in the head should alleviate his symptoms.

David rolls his shoulders a bit.

David Hunter: I know I joke about Razor Blade, and I do like the guy, but he knows what he's walking into. Two guys who want my crown, and another one who's basically a sitting egg. Razor doesn't stand a chance, but if he walks away from this match having gotten his fair share in, I'd say I'm proud of the guy.

David smiles, enjoying another pause.

David Hunter: Then there's Muscles. Yeah, him and I have been at it for a while now. But the thing about tonight...is the finality of it all. Tonight, I will defeat Muscles Malone to retain my championship. And when this crown returns to its rightful place, Muscles can go back to harassing whomever he pleases without a care in the world. After that, I'm focused on Holden. And when that's done, maybe it's high-time I moved on to bigger and better things. Being a king is amazing, don't get me wrong. But imagine...if you were a god. That World Championship represents the potential of many a-wrestler who want to make their name in this industry. That's their goal, right? For all my differences, that still remains the same.

David looks at the camera.

David Hunter: Tonight I'm focused on keeping my spot on the throne. Next time I'm looking to get some business out of the way. After that...maybe it's time I abdicate. Too much of a good thing can turn bad. And while I'd love to be a god-king, I'm charitable enough to give other people a chance to sit on the throne. But not until I've had my fill. So until then, anybody who thinks they can oppose me will find themselves under the guillotine. Any form of revolution will be met with a swift punishment. But please...make it interesting. I do so love...the thrill of the hunt.

With a smirk, David walks off screen. We then fade back to ringside for the next match.

Sasha Greene: The following tag team match is scheduled for one fall! Currently in the ring...From Anaheim, California. Weighing in at two hundred and forty pounds, he is The Serpentine Sermonizer, SEROMINE!!

He holds his arms out with an ear to ear grin on his face. He's in his 1800s preacher attire and as a tribute to Reverend Harry Powell from NIGHT OF THE HUNTER, his taped hands have the word LOVE on the right and HATE on the left. The reception he receives is the complete opposite of his expression. Undeterred by the loud negativity, Seromine takes possession of the microphone.

SEROMINE: What I'd like to have right now, is for all you weak, immoral, South Carolina sinful heathens! Clasp your hands together and bow your heads, as I read to you a prayer of repentance.

He pauses his speech and surveys the faithful. Satisfied with what he sees, he begins:

SEROMINE: Dear Lord, thank you for your forgiveness. Thank you for not abandoning us to our mistakes, but for reaching out instead to bring us home. Help convict me of sin and help me accept your mercy without shame. Thank you for the love you have poured out for me and all of your children. Help me live out of that love today. In the name of Seromine, Amen.

You're all welcome, my Brothers and Sisters. Just remember---GOD loves you and so do we.

That goes over about as well as expected for the most hated personality. Seromine politely gives Sasha the prop back and then removes his wide-brimmed hat and black coat.

Sasha Greene: And his tag team partner.

Synthesizers blast through the speakers for roughly eight seconds before the guitar riff kicks in. Moments later the drums begin their assault. The arena is blanketed in red flood lights and as Holden emerges from the back, followed by Tessa, a single spotlight shines down, illuminating “The Bastard” on his trip to the ring.

For his entrance, besides his leather bikers jacket, he also sports a leather mask which covers the bottom half of his face. It is made to look like a grinning sharks maw or the nose of an A-10 Warthog.

Sasha Greene: “Making his way to the ring, accompanied by Tessa, he stands six foot-five inches tall and weighs in at just over three hundred pounds! He hails from the S.L.O.

He….is….Hoooooooolllllddeeeennnnn RRRRRooooosssssss!

He climbs the ring steps and wipes his feet on the mat before sitting on the middle rope to help Tessa get into the ring. He follows her in and takes a seat in his corner, leaning against the turnbuckles with his elbows resting on the middle rope.

Sasha Greene: And their opponents!

The lights shift to a sickly shade of yellow. A pale glow, as if the arena has been cast in the harvest moon’s reflection off the season’s first killing frost. With the sound of a sharp nib scratching across a ragged sheet of parchment, a sepia-toned cursive scrawls grimm across the PCW-Tron. The name flickers in the guttering candle light.

Sasha Greene: From Hangtown, Kentucky. He weighs two hundred and seventeen pounds, GRIMM!!

Thump. Clap. Thump. Clap. An incessant electric tremolo. The deep end of a piano. The ebb and flow of a dissonant wail builds to a wall of noise as Zeal and Ardor’s “You Ain’t Coming Back (Instrumental)" breaks forth upon the masses, heralding the arrival of Grimm.

A lone silhouette steps out onto the entry way, and as it begins the long walk to the ring, candle wax drips onto the parchment. The lights fall into a pestilential throbbing, in and out of time with the discordance raging from the speakers. The Hangtown Horror remains deadset on the ring, steadfast in his approach. He climbs onto the apron and slides between the ropes. Hopping upon 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 is attacked by Seromine!

Jerry Andrews: New year, same cowardly tactics by Seromine!

Ace Anderson: Even I wouldn't advise picking a fight with a man like Phinehas Grimm. It never ends well.

Seromine works Grimm over in the corner, but loses his quick advantage the moment Grimm squeezes through an opening. Seromine is thrown into the corner for shots so hard by Grimm, that Seromine damn near is knocked out of his boots. Holden charges in to lend a hand, but is doubled with a headbutt in the midsection and put in a seated position with a knee lift.

Grimm zeroes in on Seromine with the coldest of stares. Before he can move in, Holden grabs him by the ankles, causing enough of a distraction for Seromine to blast Grimm with a discus forearm. Grimm is dropped to his knees which gives Holden his chance to assault. Seromine staggers to the ropes as he tries shaking the cobwebs off.

Can you feel it coming? Can you feel it coming?

'Switchblade Smiles' by Kasabian gradually rises in volume to announce the arrival of Tyler Scott. The lights dim and flicker as the crowd react with alternative waves of boos and cheers.

Move back this wrecking ball,
Rips through the blackest hole,
Violence is coming. It's coming. It's coming.

Tyler bolts down to the ring. He blocks the immediate shots from Seromine, dumping him over the top with an uppercut. Holden tosses Grimm aside like a rag doll and sets his sights on Tyler. The momentum carries Grimm OUT of the ring and right on cue, the ref calls for the bell.

Tag Team Match
Seromine & Holden Ross vs Grimm & Tyler Scott
Referee: Joseph Buckland

DING!
DING!
DING!

Holden wins overwhelmingly in a brawl. Tyler is thrown into a corner but dodges an incoming spear as Holden posts himself. Tyler wrings him around and throws him sternum first into the buckles and then hits a backstabber to the kidneys. Tyler mounts with a ground and pound, but Ross yanks him over by the hands. Tyler rolls to his feet and takes Holden out at the knees with a dropkick.

Ross blocks an attempted DDT. Tyler is thrown into the ropes, Seromine has pulled the top down, but Tyler lands on his feet. Seromine takes an elbow and is pushed into an awaiting Grimm who spinebusters him off the apron and onto the floor! Holden takes a springboard dropkick and backpedals on his feet. Tyler goes for a spear, but is promptly taken over with a massive gutwrench suplex. Seromine is allowed to crawl along the floor to his corner while Grimm is redirected back to his own.

Jerry Andrews: This should've been billed as a grudge, because these four have scores to settle!

Tyler finds himself being ran down with clotheslines. Then a gorilla press slam. But anyone who has ever seen an Ultimate Warrior match knows what's to follow. Tyler included. He manages to flip around and fold his knees in as Holden splashes right over them. This allows the chance for an inside cradle.

1!

Holden powers out with ease. So much power that Tyler is heaved sideways and flung with an overhead fallaway slam. Tyler is tagged out. Grimm steps through the ropes and catches a rising Holden Ross in a rookie mistake, making him pay with a swinging neckbreaker. Seromine glowers at the Hangtown Horror, alternating between wanting to fight and thinking better of it as he doesn't hold an advantage.

He sticks his hand out anyway. Grimm's eyes freeze over and one could guess what sorts of evils are running in his mind under the label of payback. Phinehas doesn't try to stop Holden from going to his corner. The tag is made but Seromine shows no willingness to get in. He brings the referee over for a conference, suggesting that Grimm is hiding a foreign object and should be checked over. The fans aren't buying it and resort to not only booing but also chants of YOU FEAR GRIMM!

Seromine looks to silence that LIE by leaping into the ring. Grimm moves away from the ref so that he can either block or duck everything Seromine tries. The two ring vets trade counters as neither can find paydirt. Seromine thumbs Grimm in the eye and quickly returns to tag Holden back in, barking an order of GET HIM as he exits.

Jerry Andrews: Seromine showing that not only is he yellow like a coward, but also that he's white like a ghost, because he's afraid of Grimm!

Ace Anderson: Don't let these fans think for you. Seromine knows what he's doing. It's all part of the plan...

Jerry Andrews: Does Holden know that?

Holden clubs Grimm between the shoulder blades and then sends him to the ropes. Tyler wraps an arm around him to halt running back. Grimm doesn't look appreciative, but accepts the aid. Holden rushes like an angry bull. Grimm spins away. Tyler hits a leaping knee between the eyes. Holden is then turned into a flurry of haymakers and gut busting kicks. Tyler is tagged in to continue the onslaught. Holden takes a header into the top turnbuckle, but stands upright like he absorbed it.

Tyler is sent face first into the top of the ring post. Going backwards now, Holden hip tosses him clear across the ring and into danger. Holden splashes Tyler in the corner, tags in Seromine and watches as he unleashes his brand of anarchist violence. Seromine angrily gets in the face of the referee for daring to give him a five count. Letting his temper get the better of him, Seromine dares Grimm to fight HIM now! He doesn't flinch. Seromine steps to the middle of the ring, draws an invisible line, and once again challenges Grimm.

Tyler running knees him in the back! Seromine falls into an outside headbutt, sending him down with a tumble. Grimm is tagged in as he immediately goes to collect Seromine. Holden has come charging across the ring as he spears Tyler to the floor! The two start engaging in a brawl that spills over into the crowd. Grimm meanwhile is choking the life out of Seromine with vice grip tightness. The referee is busy trying to find where Holden and Tyler are, so no count is placed.

Jerry Andrews: This is less a wrestling match and more a war! Seromine has been getting what he deserves so far. Holden and Tyler are well on their way to China by now! It's bedlam!

Seromine gouges Grimm's eyes like a man possessed as he FINALLY gets Phinehas off of him. He rolls out of the ring, gasping for air with wide eye horror, while Grimm tries to find where his vision is. Seromine hacks up his lungs on the floor as his color begins returning. Fans give him an earful while he's out there. Seeing Grimm's plight now, he slides back in for a frenetic flurry of strikes. Grimm is ripped up by the beard and pulled into a pop up backbreaker.

The Serpentine Sermonizer continues to get the return of oxygen. He signals he's alright to the referee but also informs him that "he won't be!" in speaking about Grimm. Seromine unloads his series of stomps. BEACON STREET BLITZ! Phinehas captures the dominant right foot, but is caught by the left. The exclamation point is a double stomp to the face. Grimm is muscled over onto his back from his side as Seromine covers.

1!

2!

Grimm kicks out right between the two numbers. Seromine shakes his head. Not from the count. But from the mere fact Grimm decided to not stay down. Grimm is pulled up and hit in the midsection with a roundhouse kick. Seromine lifts Grimm in the air like he were going for a suplex, only for Grimm to counter and pull him down with a nasty looking DDT. Seromine staggers into the corner following a disorienting bell clap. Grimm cracks every single one of his joints before calmly moving in.

Seromine stuns Grimm with a chop to the throat and then a release Northern lights suplex into the corner. Grimm is unfolded and drug away. Seromine lifts his legs and with Grimm's head under the bottom rope, falls back with a catapult, which has the double benefit of slamming Grimm under the rope and near the edge of the apron. Seromine rolls out and drags Grimm across the apron like he were being set in a guillotine. After wasting a few seconds to taunt fans, Seromine climbs up to the apron. He runs and misses a leg drop!

Seromine gingerly walks along ringside, favoring his tailbone after his miss. He senses Grimm is behind and so turns to charge at him, but finds himself thrown for a splat with a back body drop. Grimm patiently sizes Seromine up, allowing him to get right against the ring steps before collapsing him against both that and the ring post!

Seromine is rolled back inside. Grimm takes himself up to the top rope and as Bam Bam Bigelow used to do, lands a flying headbutt!Unless he doesn't. Seromine, while down, turns his body with an uncorking uppercut counter, which bends Grimm in an awkward direction.

Jerry Andrews: Call it desperation or call it effective, whatever name you want to give it, it worked.

Ace Andrews: Seromine had the aid of a higher power on that one!

Seromine looks to his corner and sees his powerhouse of a partner, the Ambassador of Ultraviolence now standing there! When he returned doesn't matter. What does is he's there. Unlike Tyler Scott. Seromine laughs to himself as he moves in that direction. Holden has his meathook of a hand tagged, giving Seromine a chance to breathe again.

Holden lifts Grimm up by one hand, off his back, off his feet, and in the air with a powerful choke. Phinehas is dumped in the corner and hit with a massive clothesline. Grimm is whipped around back to the same corner and caught with another clothesline from the opposite arm. Grimm is lifted in a powerbomb and thrown into the buckles, eating a running spear that damn near cuts him in half right after.

Holden flexes his muscles in an arrogant fashion, walking the length of the ring, and signalling everyone to look at the tron. Cameras frantically arrive on the scene to find a contingent of officials pooled around an unconscious Tyler Scott. Holden continues to pay Grimm no attention as he chooses instead to alert Seromine to his handiwork.

Jerry Andrews: What the hell did Holden do to him?!

Ace Anderson: Whatever it was, he's made this a two on one.

Seromine is pleased until he sees what Holden doesn't. He quickly tags himself and runs to cut him off at the pass. A knee buried in the midsection flips Grimm up and over, which also presents a chance for Seromine to hit a neck snap ala Mr. Perfect. He arrogantly rolls himself back over and rather than hook the legs, he decides to hold out his arms to the masses.

1!

2!

Seromine is forced to kick out as fast as he can following the crucifix pin. He quickly gets up and hits Grimm with a savate kick. Grimm bounces into the ropes and comes back with one of his own! Seromine clutches his jaw and returns with a clothesline over the top rope. He turns and runs to the far side, but returns to Grimm DIVING over with a springboard headbutt that hits like a heat seeking missile!

Seromine rolls to his corner clutching his forehead. Holden is tagged in and finds his power advantage negated with a flurry of fists, feet and FOUR DEAD RECKONINGS! Ross is backed against the ropes as stinging chops cut into his pectorals. Grimm blinds him with one more mighty sledgehammer blow between the eyes. His Irish whip is reversed into a pulling spinebuster! SEROMINE HITS I-5!

Jerry Andrews: Did you see the HEIGHT of that frog splash??

Seromine laughs in between coughing at the sight of Grimm favoring his ribs. Seromine clutches his midsection after the impact. He's more than happy to oblige the referee's instructions to get out of the ring, feeling the match is under wraps now. Holden gets the cover.

1!

2!

Grimm kicks out! Seromine stops and looks back to see for himself what just happened. It's then he quickly (or as quick as he can) goes back to his side of the ring to DEMAND a tag. He lobbies some words to the referee while waiting. Holden eventually obliges, but while keeping Grimm in their corner. Seromine wraps the tag rope around Grimm's throat, asking him in a maniacal way "how do YOU like being strangled?!" This transpires right in front of the referee, but Seromine doesn't care.

Choosing not to get his team disqualified, Seromine stays within the five count. Grimm is sent to the opposite corner. Seromine MISSES his a handspring back elbow. FODDERSHOCK! Seromine finds himself being pinned after that signature.

1!

2!

Foot on the ropes! Grimm sneers at the sight. His eyes plunge to deeper shades of blue like one may see further down in the ocean. Or if hell literally froze over. As if Ruth herself has concocted a spell from Hangtown at *this* very moment, Grimm is full of vitality and a sense of a Great White Shark to blood in the water. Seromine is pulled up and lambasted with a back elbow, a lariat and a shoulder block. Grimm runs his boot into the face of Seromine in the corner, turning him halfway against the ropes.

Jerry Andrews: Go Grimm Go!!

Seromine is driven with a German suplex, but Holden Ross is quickly in to collapse the bridge. Grimm is picked up and sent to the ropes. Holden runs opposite. Grimm counters the STEAMROLLER with a makeshift HARVEST!! Fans roar to their feet with approval as the powerhouse has been removed. Grimm looks for Seromine and finds him coming down from a springboard with GREETINGS FROM ORANGE COUNTY! Seromine frantically covers...

1!

2!

Grimm kicks out AGAIN! Seromine digs his fingers into his scalp while staring down the official like his count was slower than some patrons in Wal-Mart. There's a groundswell of support for Phinehas Grimm. Out of respect. Out of disdain for Seromine. It doesn't matter. Seromine leads Grimm to his feet by his wrist.

"Say your prayers, Grimm. It'll all be over soon."

Grimm is pulled with a short-arm clothesline, but he ducks under the swing and traps Seromine in THE WINDING STAIR! Seromine is quickly taken down by the submission. He looks for escape, but that only signals to Grimm to tighten things.

That's when the lights go out.

Jerry Andrews: What the hell is this?

When light is restored, the referee is shown with his kisser in the mat. Standing in the ring and looking right at Grimm is a middle age woman with a natural beauty that deceives her age. Her own blue eyes and scowl penetrate The Hangtown Horror's soul, but he's hardly intimidated by the intruder. She's dressed conservatively and has her near shoulder length brown hair in a sleek 1950's pageboy hairstyle. Pressed against the side of her right breast is a bible.

Grimm has long released Seromine from his bind. Just as he makes a move to stand, the unknown woman aims the book and opens it to expel a fireball right towards his face. It receives an audible gasp of shock. Grimm shields himself just in time, but the distraction is all Seromine needs. He sends Grimm plummeting with a nasty looking CALIFORNIA DREAMIN and then quickly gets a one arm pin. His own eyes focus on the woman and it's clear by his expression he knows who she is.

The woman steps out of the ring and revives the referee. She tells him to count and over mass booing, he does just that.

1!

2!

3!

He reluctantly calls for the bell. Seromine carefully rolls out of the ring to embrace the 5'5" woman.

Sasha Greene: Here are your winners, Seromine and Holden Ross! 

Following a kiss on her cheek, Seromine laughs the laugh of a man who stands victorious despite the reason why. The referee checks on Grimm as they retreat for the back with Holden Ross following some distance behind.

Jerry Andrews: If Seromine thought he had hell to pay before...

Ace Anderson: That's not what the record book will show. No matter how the job got done, it got done.

Jerry Andrews: Seromine was beat tonight. Period. He couldn't win a glorified handicap match, so he---

Ace Anderson (mocking): Will you stop?!

Jerry Andrews (exasperated): Go to a commercial.

As Trauma returns, PCW President Loki is standing in the ring. In front of him is a table, and on that table sits the richest prize in wrestling: The Pure Class Wrestling World Championship. Loki starts to speak.

Loki: Ladies and gentlemen, I am the President of PCW. Now, usually I don't like to come out here and address you personally. That's because PCW isn't about me. It isn't about management. It's about the wrestlers. If there's a problem, the wrestlers solve it, usually through wrestling. It's a novel idea, I know. The point is, I don't make a habit of taking up TV time with long diatribes or petty personal feuds.

Loki takes a moment before he continues to speak.

Loki: However, everyone knows that there is a "situation" with the PCW World Title. Now, I wish this situation could have been resolved without me, but we've gone long enough without an official word as to who our champion is. In PCW, the top champion actually appears on shows and competes in matches, so we need to know exactly who that champion is. With that said, without further ado, please welcome Gerard Angelo and Kyle Shane. 

The PCW Arena is plugged into darkness as the opening hook the "Amazing" by Kanye West blasts out over the PA. Suddenly a spotlight blasts down onto the stage, revealing Gerard Angelo down on one knee with his back to the crowd, hood pulled low over his face. He bursts suddenly to his feet, spinning around to face the PCW Faithful as the house lights come on, leading to the Faithful erupting into cheers as he pulls his hood back. Gerard smirks as he surveys the fans from behind his sunglasses, extending his arms as if absorbing the energy from the crowd.

Gerry walks down the ramp, cocky and confident as always, pointing at the fans wearing his mercy, telling them they made a solid investment. He stops at the ring stairs and slaps the top step before climbing them, and walking to the center of the ring apron. Angelo surveys the PCW Arena once more before slipping through the middle and top rope into the ring. He runs to the opposite ring post and leaps onto the second turnbuckle. Gerry points to the crowd before unzipping his hoodie, pulling it off and tossing it to the Faithful. "The Hollywood Hero" hops down and removes his trademark sunglasses as he leans against the turnbuckles, awaiting his adversary.

The opening notes of "In The Morning And Amazing" by Circa Survive begins to play. A video game drop down menu opens and the cursor hovers over the options, "LOAD GAME, SAVE GAME" before coming to the first option, "START GAME" and highlighting it. Kyle Shane steps slowly out onto the stage, wearing a balaclava-like mask resembling a bandanna over the lower half of his face, a floor length leather outlaw duster, and a leather belt/harness resembling holsters on his hips. Shane tilts his head back, holding his arms out. 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"

There are some that react negatively, annoyed by the flippy, arrogant, self-absorbed so-called Game Changer, but the vast majority of the fans in the aisle, having seen what he can do, rise to their feet in appreciation. 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, as he pulls the balaclava mask away, his normal, infuriating, arrogant smirk spreads across his face and he raises his eyebrow. He fluidly slips between the ropes, pirhouettes towards the entrance ramp and extends his arm fully out, his first finger and thumb pointed out in a pantomime of a cocked pistol, before he mouths the word "Bang" and lets the hammer down. Then he turns, removes the duster and turns his attention to Loki.

Kyle Shane: First of all, it's good to finally meet the person who, according to some, has been handing me all of these easy opportunities in my career. It's nice to finally meet the person who's been sooo generous.

Kyle looks over at Angelo with an obnoxious, knowing smirk and wink. Then his demeanor becomes a bit more serious.

Kyle Shane: Ever since Collision Course, I've had a straight month full of people on my social media demanding answers of me. Kyle, who is the World Champion? Kyle, are you going to hold on to the belt? Kyle, why don't you do the right thing? My point of view was, I hit the last move in that match. I had the pinfall. It was my hand the first referee that I saw with my own two eyes was raising. It was me who was declared the winner, so I should be the World Champion.

Kyle's face darkens.

Kyle Shane: So, since you assholes stopped me as I entered the building and demanded I hand it over, I'm telling you what happened from my perspective. And I'm telling you, I want that damn belt back.

Gerard picks up a microphone from off the table and stares daggers over at Kyle Shane.

Gerard Angelo: Thirty-nine days.

He turns and looks out over the crowd to see if they understand the significance of the number.

Gerard Angelo: Thirty-nine days since Collision Course. Thirty-nine days that management let controversy swirl around the most prestigious championship in business, let alone the company. I get building suspense, but this is ridiculous. Now I could do the easy thing here and say that I should be champion. Hell, the referee ASSIGNED to the damn match said I won.

He shoots a look over at Shane.

Gerard Angelo: Now, I could talk about conspiracies and favoritism until I’m blue in the face, but that doesn’t matter to you guys because all this controversy puts more money in your pockets. So long as the guy in the nut hugger jeans with daddy issues still makes you money, the rest of us be damned.

Loki puts his hand up, asking both men to settle down. 

Loki: Okay, okay. I get that you're both upset. And here is the solution. Due to the inconclusive ending of the most recent match, there will be a rematch for the PCW World Championship at Mass Destruction IX... and it will be inside a steel cage.

The crowd cheers.

Loki: And this isn't the kind of steel cage where you can escape from your opponent and earn the title. No, the winner of this match - and the PCW World Champion - will be the man who pins his opponent or makes  them submit. That's it. And there WILL BE A WINNER.

The crowd cheers again.

Loki: As for the fate of this title right now, since the result of the match was inconclusive, the PCW World Champion remains Kyle Shane.

There's a mixed reaction from the crowd.

Kyle Shane: That's a partial solution. And since it's the official ruling, I will reiterate, I want. My damn belt back. But if you think I'm satisfied, I'm still not calling this a win. This clusterfuck is a blemish on my record, it spoiled my run of victories in the main event all this year.

Kyle points across the ring at Gerard Angelo.

Kyle Shane: But him and me, we still have an asterisk hanging between us, and I won't be content with that. I have always wanted to prove myself, to you management types and all the boys in the back, that I am the best in the world.

He gets closer to Angelo, looking defiant.

Kyle Shane: You've given us one more match, and now I'll prove it. Like I was about to do before it all went down at Collision Course. And like I'll do in tonight's tag team match. I'll do it any time.

Gerard rolls his eyes at the announcement.

Gerard Angelo: Wow what a shocker, y’all ruled in favor of Kyle Shane. Color me surprised.

His words drip sarcasm.

Gerard Angelo: I could bitch and moan all night out here about how I should be champion or about me being held back in favor of the “Golden Boy," here. But that’s a crutch used far too often in this industry. I’m actually glad you get to keep the strap, Kyle, because I want to take it from you. A guy who used to fly in a leer jet and ride in a limo once said, “If you wanna be the man, you gotta beat the man.” If I’m gonna be the face of the company, if I’m gonna lead this company into a new age, then I have to beat you.

He stares over at Kyle.

Gerard Angelo: I had you beat until the turnbuckle broke. Give me another match, straight up, and I will take your title and shatter your ego.

The two men stand face-to-face, with Loki eventually coming between them. PCW officials rush into the ring to make sure nothing else happens between the two, and the show heads to commercial.

Sasha Greene: The following is a Fatal Four Way and is for the Underground Title! Introducing first...from Orlando, Florida. Weighing 265lbs, RAZOR BLADE!

He comes out from the back of the Audience in walks down the steps in high fives his Fans in walks down the stops in Climbs over the barricade in stops for a min in hops on the apron in raise both of us arms in the air in get's down in waits for his Opponent to arrive.

Sasha Greene: Introducing next....

We see a video of an oily-skinned muscular man flexing and gyrating his hips in a suggestive manner, flexing and posing along to the smooth saxophone of The Midnight's "Vampires." On the entrance ramp, this same chiseled individual is cavorting along the entrance ramp, eying up virtually every single female of legal age in the front few rows, showing off his physique as if hoping for one sex-crazed fan might succumb to testosterone and endorphins and leap over the barricade to jump all over him. It doesn’t happen. The fans seem a little uncertain of this seemingly random performer’s behavior.

Sasha Greene: Ladies and Gentlemen, please welcome; from Toronto, Canada, weighing in at 269lbs… MUSCLES MALONE! 

Muscles eyes the ring in which Sasha is stood. He runs by shuffling his feet up the steel ring steps before hopping over the top rope to show off his agility. He flexes his biceps to the fans one more time, who do not provide much in terms of admiration. He looks across to Sasha Greene and puffs out his shoulders, strutting like a cockerel with full plumage on display. He motions with his tongue. As usual, Sasha recoils.

Sasha Greene: And introducing...

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. All the sudden, Crazy Boy comes out of the smoke and pumps a fist in the air.

Sasha Greene: From Biloxi, Mississippi. Weighing 227lbs...CRAZY BOY!

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 opponent to come.

Sasha Greene: And finally....

"Hopes and Dreams/Save the World" by GaMetal starts blaring on the PA speakers. The lights in the arena all go out, barring the spotlights on the stage. David Hunter comes out, adorned in his usual Hawaiian shirt. He steps to the stage, arms spread, chest exposed. He looks around at the crowd, breathing deeply and ready for what's to come, but otherwise focused on the ring in front of him. He cracks his wrist, neck, and knuckles, glancing around at the crowd before him.

Sasha Greene: From Tampa, Florida. He weighs 247lbs. The PCW Underground Champion, DAVID HUNTER!

As the drop begins, David pumps his fist forward, punching the air. David begins to walk to the ring, the lights in the arena coming on completely. His eyes focus on the ring in front of him, and shows heavy remnants of a scowl. He avoids the audience members looking for a high-five or some hope of touching him.

As he approaches ringside, he starts to head towards the steps, before taking a u-turn and jumping onto the apron. He climbs the nearest turnbuckle and stands tall, one foot on the top rope, another on the middle. He points towards the hard camera, giving it a wink and something akin to a smirk before resetting and hopping into the ring. He takes off the Hawaiian shirt, tossing it towards the nearest body. He begins doing some quick warm-up stretches.

Pure Class Wrestling Underground Championship
Fourway Underground Rules Match
David Hunter (PCW Underground 👑) vs Muscles Malone vs Razor Blade vs Tyrone "Crazy Boy" Smith
Referee: Eric Russo

DING!
DING!
DING!

The latest chapter in PCW's version of a demolition derby is now about to be written. Muscles and Hunter pick right back up where they left their surprising unfinished business at. Razor Blade SPEARS Crazy Boy from out of nowhere and in an effort to assert himself early, lands a well timed superman punch between the champion and his rival.

Hunter is knocked to the outside of the ring. Muscles gets the business against the ropes, taking body blows as he tries to cover up. Razor turns him around and sends him to the far side. David yanks Razor's feet from under him, propelling his face into the canvas. Muscles on the return takes a shoulder into his midsection...but he powers the champ through the ropes and lands a powerbomb onto Razor's back.

Malone forgoes a follow up, choosing instead to play his narcissism card by power flexing to the ladies. Crazy Boy hits a springboard in order to surprise The Sleaze Machine with a tornado ddt. The Crazy One lines the bodies of his opponents side by side. He steps out onto the apron and again takes flight, this time with a 630 splash! He then rolls out to retrieve his signature weapon: a steel chair!

Jerry Andrews: Crazy Boy is about to be the first to introduce a weapon!

He picks his spot. Razor Blade has it ran through him like an alternate version of the spear. Muscles Malone takes a STIFF swing to his junk, drawing immediate sympathy from men and women alike. Crazy motions to Sasha to let her know that was for her. When he goes after Hunter, however, a Van Daminator puts it back in his face. Crazy Boy rolls to the bottom of the corner, but Hunter follows him. He sets the chair against his face and returns with a running big boot.

Hunter turns around to find himself being press slammed out of the ring by Muscles Malone. Razor Blade gets the same treatment. Crazy Boy is picked up in the corner for a series of shoulder thrusts. The steel chair that had been used is promptly slammed onto the back of Crazy Boy's head. Malone hoists him in a powerbomb. He runs and launches him into Hunter and Razor. Malone steps out of the ring to stay on top of things...until he spots some ladies in the front row who he thinks look cold and in need of a meat coat.

Malone somehow returns his head to the game as he dips under the ring. He pulls out a box labelled HALLOWEEN 2018. No, not the movie, but leftover props. He picks up a medium sized pumpkin (it's a fake), then throws it like a dodgeball at Crazy Boy. It hits with impact and soon, a welt. Razor Blade dumps him into the crowd with a bodyslam toss, proceeding to then go after him.

Malone procures a broomstick and makes a suggestive message by shoving it between his legs with the handle sticking upright. He points at some fine looking ladies while gyrating his hips. His fun is promptly stopped when David flashes the results of a PATERNITY TEST in his face. That broom lowers fast. He rips the paper away, anxiously reading what it says. Cameras pick up on the words: YOU ARE AN IDIOT in bold red lettering.

Hunter takes the broomstick and like he were an MLB All-Star, cracks Muscles Malone in the head, splintering the wood on impact. Malone tumbles like a mighty redwood. Meanwhile, Razor Blade and Crazy Boy have taken their fight up the stairs. Crazy Boy drags Razor's face up the cold rail and once at the top, slams his head into it. Flip Piledriver on the steps lowers the sickening boom on Razor Blade as he tumbles down a few of the concrete steps. Crazy Boy grinds down the rail and once in the right spot double stomps on his chest.

Jerry Andrews: Crazy Boy finding ways to create offense without the aid of a top rope!

Ace Anderson: Good thing for his balance. He could've gone right back down in a heap.

Back at ringside, Muscles Malone has gained the upper hand by ramming Hunter into the barricade. He takes possession of a plastic skeleton and turns it into a whip. He's not enthused. But he is once he pulls out a lead pipe! Hunter senses the trouble and leaps into action by throwing him face first into the ring post. ODE TO FRANK! Muscles is absolutely sandwiched with disgusting impact. He slides right down to the floor with his head covered.

The Underground Title is recovered by the champ and THAT becomes a makeshift whip. Hunter is halted in mid-lift by a pair of hands grabbing the strap. It's Crazy Boy! He flings Hunter against the barricade and then DDT's him onto the face plate! Crazy Boy brings out everybody's favorite piece of plunder: A TABLE! It becomes a bridge between the ring and barricade. Muscles is moved onto it. Crazy Boy sets another table above him. David Hunter is placed up that. Crazy Boy drags out a ladder that is no less than TWENTY feet high!

Standing it up, Crazy Boy gets the approval of the faithful as he climbs up rung after rung. RAZOR BLADE RETURNS! THE BIG DOG meets him at the top of the ladder. Crazy Boy takes a stiff uppercut. SUPERPLEX OFF THE LADDER AND THROUGH THE TABLES!! There are no winners with that collision. Everybody is strewn on everybody else amongst the rubble and now a fallen ladder.

Jerry Andrews: OH MY GAWWWD!

Ace Anderson: PCW is going to be liable for the end of careers with spots like that existing.

It's at least ten minutes, but feels like an eternity, before anyone is able to show signs of life. Hunter pulls himself halfway under the ring. Razor Blade throws Crazy Boy back inside. Muscles Malone...well...he'll be ok. Razor Blade switches the glove on his right hand to a gauntlet. Superman Punch! Crazy Boy collapses in prime position for a running dropkick to the head from outside of the ring. While giving the fans fist bumps around ringside, Razor is met with a clothesline with a barb wire baseball bat!

The champ sets his signature weapon down so that he can bodyslam Razor's bareback on top of it! THE BIG DOG quickly roars with horror as the barbs stick in his skin. Hunter splashes Razor to further drive them in. Sensing things are well in hand, Hunter gets back into the ring and waits to pounce on Crazy Boy. He goes in for the kill and is immediately picked up in CRAZY AIRLINES - DESTINATION SAMOA!

Crazy Boy rolls out of the ring and goes the table route again. This time it's GLASS. He re-enters and sets it up in the center of the ring. Hunter is lifted up into a suplex, but he frantically frees himself for the time being with a knee to the head. Crazy Boy blocks an attempted suplex and this time hits a stunner! Hunter finds himself lifted up for the CRAZY SLAM---but Muscles Malone hits a PANTY SHOT first! Hunter is dumped away from the table. Crazy Boy is escorted on top and before it has a chance to break under the weight, Muscles puts him through it with THE G-SPOT!

Jerry Andrews: There's Glass everywhere!

Ace Anderson: And this Friday, Glass will be in theaters nationwide.

Jerry Andrews: #shamelessplugbyAce

Razor Blade arrives on the scene to prevent anyone from pinning Crazy Boy. He's a bloody mess, but does manage to land DULLED BLADE on Muscles Malone! David Hunter was playing possum while the finishers hit. Just as the ref counts a pin for Razor, he slips in to stop it dead. Razor Blade is DRILLED with brass knucks and then THRILL OF THE HUNT! David senses his moment has arrived as he hooks the legs of The Big Dog.

1!

2!

3!

The referee calls for the bell as David Hunter has retained his title.

Sasha Greene: Here is your winner and STILL Underground Champion, David Hunter!

"Hopes and Dreams/Save the World" hits as the champ is awarded his title. He clings to it with the satisfying knowledge it won't be going with an oily gigolo again, or a Roman Reigns cosplayer or a PCW original. The odds weren't in his favor, but David Hunter found a way to walk in as Underground champ and walk out Underground champ.

Suddenly, the lights go out. They stay out for a good, long, pregnant beat, and then the next source of light is a reddish glare from the entrance ramp, and the squeaking of bent axles and springs of an old, dilapidated vehicle rolling slowly on it's worn tires. The lights go off again, almost in a strobe on-then-off effect, and when the red light fills the stage, a bent, twisted, and evil looking vessel sits upon the dark red stage, sinister wisps of smoke curling from within it's back. The dry ice-smoke curling out from the battered vehicle in the red light gives it the appearance of a demonic harbinger. And then, the vehicle's headlights cut on. And the lights of the arena come fully on, and the crowd sees that it's a familiar ice cream truck... the box truck with the peeled paint and battered sides that belongs to Sicko!

Jerry Andrews: Could it be?!

Ace Anderson: We haven't seen Sicko since the Deadly Rumble?! What is his truck doing here?!!

David Hunter looks on in confusion at the ice cream truck, but then he turns his head, sensing an ominous presence in the ring and is dropped by a face shattering bicycle kick from a giant boot clad in a mock clown shoe.

Jerry Andrews: He is here! Sicko is here!!

The giant, massive girth of the Demon Clown Sicko stands triumphant, holding his arms up and letting out a guttural roar, and then Sicko peels David Hunter up off the mat, gripping them around the throat, while he gasps and chokes, and Sicko leads him around, turning him in a circle while he's on spaghetti limbs, and Sicko lifts him up effortlessly and crushes him with a monstrous chokeslam. It is at this point that Sicko turns and sees Crazy Boy, still recovering from the match, and Sicko rushes over, clubbing Crazy Boy and furiously booting him.

Ace Anderson: Sicko is tearing into the men laid around the ring, making a clear statement.

Sicko lifts Crazy Boy up, holding him in the air and performing an effortless vertical hold, before twirling and driving him to the mat with a spinning Jackhammer. Sicko rises to his knees, and he looks across the ring, seeing Razor Blade. Sicko's face contorts in a frenzied sneer of disdain, and he exits the ring, lifting Razor Blade up, walking him by the back of his hair, and flinging him the length of the aisle. Razor Blade is sent with such force that he goes into the guardrail upside down and comes down on the crown of his head. Sicko raises his arms and yells again. Then, Sicko starts stalking towards the timekeepers area. Several referees have come down, trying to desperately beg Sicko to leave the ring.

Jerry Andrews: These men have tried to talk some sense into Sicko, but I don't think he's in any mood.

Sicko has selected a steel chair, and he forcefully shoves a referee out of the way. The bulky clown carries the steel chair back over to where he left Razor Blade, by the guardrail, and Razor Blade is laid out helpless. Sicko raises the chair with both hands and brings it crashing down across the midsection of Razor Blade, with enough force that Razor Blade immediately begins yelling and twisting around in pain. Sicko looks to the ring. He sees Muscles Malone and David Hunter both at different points of the ring. Sicko gets in the ring, and he waffles Muscles with a steel chair shot while Muscles is still on all fours. David Hunter, kneeling and trying to rise, doesn't even get out of a seated position and he also gets a chairshot. Then, Sicko throws the chair down, and he bends down, and scoops up a certain prize... the Underground championship.

Ace Anderson: I think we've finally seen the point of this rampage.

Jerry Andrews: Sicko is eyeing that Underground title hungrily. I can't ever presume to know what this evil clown wants...

Ace Anderson: Other than hurting as many people as violently as he can, Sicko has never clearly stated his intentions for... anything.

Sicko holds the Underground title up, snarling and flexing his muscles against his greasy, sweaty stained wifebeater and yelling.

Jerry Andrews: But this, right here, this was a statement.

Sasha Greene: The following is your main event, scheduled for one fall, introducing first, he weighs in at 221 lbs... the HOLLYWOOD HERO, GERARD ANGELO!!

The PCW Arena is plugged into darkness as the opening hook the "Amazing" by Kanye West blasts out over the PA. Suddenly a spotlight blasts down onto the stage, revealing Gerard Angelo down on one knee with his back to the crowd, hood pulled low over his face. He bursts suddenly to his feet, spinning around to face the PCW Faithful as the house lights come on, leading to the Faithful erupting into cheers as he pulls his hood back. Gerard smirks as he surveys the fans from behind his sunglasses, extending his arms as if absorbing the energy from the crowd.

Gerry walks down the ramp, cocky and confident as always, pointing at the fans wearing his mercy, telling them they made a solid investment. He stops at the ring stairs and slaps the top step before climbing them, and walking to the center of the ring apron. Angelo surveys the PCW Arena once more before slipping through the middle and top rope into the ring. He runs to the opposite ring post and leaps onto the second turnbuckle. Gerry points to the crowd before unzipping his hoodie, pulling it off and tossing it to the Faithful. "The Hollywood Hero" hops down and removes his trademark sunglasses as he leans against the turnbuckles, awaiting his adversary.

Jerry Andrews: There goes a man who many claim has a case that he should be Pure Class Wrestling World Champion today.

Ace Anderson: For example, only he says that.

Jerry Andrews: Will you stop that? The replays at Collision Course did show that Angelo had one of the champion's shoulders down at the conclusion of the match.

Ace Anderson: But his shoulders were ALSO down, plus as Shane alluded to, he wasn't the one who performed the last move of the match and... oh, forget it, we could be here all night.

Jerry Andrews: Regardless, he has a legitimate case, and he will get his rematch, we've now learned.

Ace Anderson: First let him get through tonight.

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…

Sasha Greene: Introducing; from Salisbury, England, representing The Chronological Order and The Black Hand, weighing 365 pounds… DOMINATOR!

Slowly, the towering figure of Dominator emerges into view to a chorus of boos. In one hand, the strap of the North American championship dangles at his side. With a battle-ready roar, he holds the championship aloft as if it were his own.

Jerry Andrews: As we saw earlier tonight, The Chronological Order ‘stole’ the North American title from Stormm in the midst of an altercation backstage.

Ace Anderson: ‘Stole’ is a strong word. ‘Obtained’ would be more suitable. If you remember, Stormm fled the scene and left the championship behind. If he cared about it that much, he’d have made sure to take it with him.

Jerry Andrews: I think it was more of a case of putting his wellbeing first. After all, he’s going to get his chance to inflict a level of vengeance against Dominator tonight, who for the second week in a row has assaulting the TRUE North American Champion while his back was turned.

The Zenith glares towards the crowd massed to his left, then to his right before slowly raising his left arm into the air in parallel with the one holding the North American title, 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 as he looks at the North American title before handing it to Horacio. With a sneer, he pats the championship with an open palm before 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.

The referee makes his way out of the ring in an attempt to regain the title on behalf of the true champion, but Horacio turns his back on the official, huddling the North American title close to him.

Ace Anderson: Looks like Horacio isn’t willing to give up that championship so easily.

Jerry Andrews: This is disgusting behaviour from The Chronological Order. They are defiling the legacy of one this company’s most prestigious prizes.

Dominator 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 their opponents, making his way to the ring, from Kansas City, Kansas, weighing in at two hundred and fifty-two pounds... he is the North American Champion... The Force of Nature... STORMM!

Without warning, the lights in the arena go out in a flash, and the sounds of rhythmic drums began to beat like an oncoming war. Very subtle orange lights illuminate the ramp way as the strings begin to accompany the percussion, and the tron flickers back on with black and white aerial shots of the Kansas City metro area. The faithful are left in total darkness, and their cell phone screens and flashlights begin to sporadically light up the crowd, like stars in the night, as a dense fog has risen, covering the ramp. Despite how little time has passed, the beat has brought the crowd to their feat.

Then, as the crescendo reaches its peak, a spotlight hits the entrance to accompany the climax of "Land of Shadows" by Audiomachine, and Stormm instantly comes into view.

The Force of Nature looks out into the crowd from underneath a black hood attached to an ankle length, black leather trench coat. The coat is covered in straps and buckles all left dangling about as the open coat sways with his movements. The crowd's reaction rivals that of the music volume, and Stormm acknowledges, looking left and then right, with a nod. His stare turns back to the ring, and he makes his way down the ramp with a black, wooden bat in his left hand, and the North American title belt hanging from his right.

Having made it to ringside, Stormm patrols around to the opposite side of the ring in typical fashion before nodding towards Ace and Jerry, and tapping the announce desk with his bat. In one fluid motion, he hops up onto the apron, leans back onto the ropes, and points the bat out into the crowd, which draws in another pop from those in attendance. Climbing through the middle and top rope, he immediately scales to the second turnbuckle of the nearest corner, and raises the North American title above his head, and out towards the crowd, as the arena lights slowly come back on as the spotlight fades out.

Stormm hops down, and throws the hood of his coat off of his head as he walks with purpose to the opposite corner, holding his title high for everyone to see once more, as the overwhelming adulation continued. No smile. No mouthing off. All business. The battle music fades out well before the reaction of the crowd does, but the Force of Nature waits patiently, perched from the top turnbuckle, waiting for the match to begin.

Jerry Andrews: You can see Michaels looking around for Horacio Mortimer, just looking for a chance to retrieve his belt.

Ace Anderson: Yeah, but Dominator is standing right in his path first, if he wants it back he'll have to go through him.

Sasha Greene: And his partner, he weighs in at 218 pounds... he is the PURE CLASS WRESTLING WORLD CHAMPION... KYLE SHANE!!

The opening notes of "In The Morning And Amazing" by Circa Survive begins to play. A video game drop down menu opens and the cursor hovers over the options, "LOAD GAME, SAVE GAME" before coming to the first option, "START GAME" and highlighting it. Kyle Shane steps slowly out onto the stage, wearing a balaclava-like mask resembling a bandanna over the lower half of his face, a floor length leather outlaw duster, and a leather belt/harness resembling holsters on his hips. Shane tilts his head back, holding his arms out. 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"

There are some that react negatively, annoyed by the flippy, arrogant, self-absorbed so-called Game Changer, but the vast majority of the fans in the aisle, having seen what he can do, rise to their feet in appreciation. 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, as he pulls the balaclava mask away, his normal, infuriating, arrogant smirk spreads across his face and he raises his eyebrow. He fluidly slips between the ropes, pirhouettes towards the entrance ramp and extends his arm fully out, his first finger and thumb pointed out in a pantomime of a cocked pistol, before he mouths the word "Bang" and lets the hammer down. Then he turns, removes the duster and begins stretching for the match.

Tag Team Match
Kyle Shane (PCW World ©) Justin "Stormm" Michaels (PCW North American ©) vs Gerard Angelo & Dominator
Referee: Ed Lane

Jerry Andrews: This team is unique in that, technically, both of these champions are without their belt at the moment. The decision, although controversial, was made to give Kyle Shane back the World Title after the show.

Ace Anderson: Uh, you mean, "the right decision?!" Kyle Shane didn't lose at Collision Course, so he shouldn't lose his belt.

Jerry Andrews: Regardless, he isn't being given it right away, and he is still going to have to face the number one contender at Mass Destruction.

Justin Michaels and Kyle Shane, typical of the clash of egos and tempers they have, are getting in a heated arguement in each other's faces, both of them wanting to be the one that goes first. Across the ring Dominator and Gerard Angelo are having a ball watching as Shane and Stormm are getting in a finger pointing, shouting match. The referee tries to intervene, telling them they need to start hitting that dusty trail, soooo... Shane huffs, and makes a "whatever" hand motion in Stormm's face. Stormm, satisfied, loses his smug grin and goes red as he sees Dominator, the man who jumped him and stole his title. He charges across the ring only to have Dom tag Gerard into the contest, and he steps on the aprong. The crowd boo's intently as Dominator steps through the ropes while Angelo gets in the ring.

Jerry Andrews: Some mind games being played early on by Dominator.

Ace Anderson: And you KNOW Stormm wants him a piece of Dom after earlier.

The crowd starts to get into the pairing, having seen several thrilling contests between the two, and Stormm puts it out of mind and focuses on the man in front of him. Angelo raises the hands, coming in kick to the left, leg. Stormm blocks it, kicking at Angelo's stomach in retaliation. A hard european uppercut follows this, with Stormm taking control of the Playboy's wrist to pull him into a shortarm clothesline. With Angelo on the mat, Stormm drops an elbow, which Angelo sits up to avoid. The Hollywood Hero uses his hands to spin himself on the mat and gain the rotation necessary to kick Stormm in the back of the head. Gerard rises before Stormm, punching the man in the side of the head as they come to their feet. Angelo hits a spinning backfist to rock Stormm's jaw, then turns runs to the ropes but gets stopped with a belly to belly suplex throw from Stormm. Angelo rolls over to the ropes, deciding maybe he does want to tag in Dominator after all, and the big man looks down at Angelo, his eyebrows knits together. Stormm motions for Dominator to come on. On the outside, Horacio Mortimer spews out some propaganda, yelling and holding up the North American title as if Dom is the rightful champion.

Ace Anderson: The crowd is electric for the staredown between these two men.

Dominator and Stormm gaze across the ring at each other before they lock up center ring. Dominator forces Stormm back into a neutral corner. The referee calls for a clean break before laying the count to Dominator who fakes a clean break before sucker punching Stormm in the jaw. The crowd roars with boo's as Dominator begins to open up on Stormm with rights and lefts. Dominator takes a moment to taunt Kyle which turns costly as Stormm comes out of the corner with right hands. Stormm hammers away backing Dominator up towards the center of the ring before bouncing off the ropes looking for a cross body block. Dominator catches him in midair before hurling him backwards with a fall away slam. Dominator is quickly into the cover hooking the near leg.

The referee: One...

Stormm escapes the near fall to a pop from the crowd. Dominator reaches his feet where he picks up Stormm before taking him back into the ropes. Dominator shoots Stormm across the ring with a irish whip, Stormm bounces off the ropes where he runs into a reverse elbow sending him to the mat. Dominator looks to follow up with an elbow drop, Stormm rolls out of the way sending Dominator into the mat. There's a pop as Stormm reaches his feet where he kicks Dominator in the ribs as he reaches all fours. Stormm reaches down picking Dominator up before nailing him with a right hand before taking him over with a snap mare which is followed by a stiff kick across the lower back by Stormm. Stormm picks Dominator up off the mat before backing him into the ropes where Kyle makes the blind tag to Stormm's back before shooting Dominator across the ring. Kyle springboards off the top rope as Stormm drops to his chest, Dominator bounces off the ropes leaping over Stormm only to be met with a hurricanrana from Shane. The crowd roars as Kyle knips up to his feet where he turns and gets in Gerard Angelo's face, telling him he should enjoy this bird Kyle just flipped him. Angelo didn't like that, judging by his expression.

Jerry Andrews: Oh, dear. Well, thankfully the government is shut down so the FCC may not have seen that...

Kyle turns back to pick up Dominator only to walk into a jaw breaker by Dominator which sends Kyle back into the ropes. Dominator distracts the referee which allows Gerard Angelo to hop up on the ring apron where he spins Kyle around before dropping down to the floor pulling Kyle's neck across the top rope.

Ace Anderson: That's what's called a receipt.

Dominator looms to to his feet where he takes over with a open handed chop across the chest, the frying pan sized hand dropping Kyle to his knees, and Kyle groans, holding his chest. Dominator backs Kyle up against a neutral corner where he laces him across the chest with another open handed chop before shooting Shane across the ring. Shane bounces off the buckles where he ducks under a Dominator clothesline on the return. Dominator spins around where he eats a boot to the midsection before being planted into the mat with a DDT! The crowd roars as Kyle rolls Dominator over executing the cover.

The referee: One... Kickout.

Kyle works his way to his feet where he reaches down picking Dominator up off the mat. Shane delivers a stiff kick to the right quad followed by a kick to the left quad which is followed up with a spin kick to the chest that sends Dominator back to the mat! Shane makes another cover hooking the closest leg.

The referee: One...















Two... Kickout.

Dominator throws a shoulder up off the mat once more. Shane quickly floats into a rear chin lock. The referee asks Dominator to surrender, which he refuses! He begins working his way to his feet where he turns into the chin lock before hoisting Shane up in the air and driving him into the mat with a side suplex. Dominator works his way back to his feet. He's in reach for Gerard to reach over the top rope and tag himself into the match. The crowd roars, as they still have a connection to the Hollywood Hero, and Gerard enters the ring where he quickly mounts Kyle and begins hammering away with piston like right hands. Gerard lands six or seven blows before getting up to a vertical base where he begins booting Shane and calling him "Golden Boy". Stormm looks to enter the ring where he's cut off by the referee which allows for Dominator to enter the ring where he and Gerard start putting the boots to Shane. This causes Stormm to try and fight past the referee.

Ace Anderson: Stormm is doing more damage than good! Get out of the ring!

Dominator exits the ring as the referee finally gets Stormm back out to the ring apron. Gerard Angelo reaches down picking Shane up where he locks a front face lock before pealing off a snap suplex. Angelo floats over into the cover hooking the near leg.

The referee: One...















Two... Kickout.

Shane kicks out to a nice ovation from the crowd! Angelo reaches his feet where he once again starts stomping away at Shane before finally reaching down picking him up off the mat where he takes him back into the ropes. Angelo fires Shane across the ring, Shane bounces off the ropes as Angelo ducks his head where he's driven into the mat with a Fame asser from out of nowhere by Shane! The crowd roars as both Angelo and Shane lay on the mat. Stormm is practically begging for the tag as he reaches out. Shane starts to slowly stir before rolling towards his corner where Stormm makes the tag. The crowd roars as Stormm enters the ring where he takes Gerard Angelo down with a double leg take down. It's Stormm who mounts Angelo and now hammers away with right hands. Angelo slips out from underneath Stormm with a Matrix like slide, and gives Stormm a shuffle side kick to the temple! Angelo pulls the bigger man to his feet, and goes to whip him to the ropes, He returns into a back elbow, but as that doesn't take the man down, he whips him over with a snapmare. Angelo then hits a picture perfect flipping neck whip. Stormm contorts on the mat, gripping at his neck in pain, and Angelo makes the lateral press with the leg hook.

The referee: One...















Two... Kickout.

On the outside, Horacio Mortimer, stroking the North American title like a beloved pet, yells encouragement for his team. Now, Angelo cranks on the head of the champion. The referee asks Stormm to surrender, he refuses before driving several forearms to the ribs ofAngelo before looking to counter with a side suplex, Angelo counters by flipping over Stormm, landing on his feet. Stormm spins around, and he walks into a thumb to the eye to louder boos from the crowd. Angelo hammers away with several right hands which backs Stormm up into the corner that houses Dominator. Angelo distracts the referee which allows Dominator to wrap the tag rope around Stormm's throat! Kyle enters the ring where he's cut off by the referee. The crowd boos louder as Angelo begins hammering away with right hands to the midsection of Stormm while Dominator continues choking away at him! Finally Shane, exasperated, exits the ring, Dominator removes the rope from around the neck of Stormm before the referee spins back around. Shane says "THANK YOU!" as if everyone is finally seeing the light.

Jerry Andrews: Gerard Angelo and Dominator aren't typically aligned, but they are both doing everything they can to grind their opponents down here.

Ace Anderson: And these are the men who want to be champions!

Gerard Angelo goes in with forearms to keep Stormm off of his feet. Stormm starts pushing himself to his knees anyway. Angelo lays in with with a european uppercut, then another. However, it appears he tried for one too many, as Stormm intercepts the arm on the last one, spins Angelo around in a half circle and nails a desperation inverted DDT. Stormm brings Angelo to his feet and sends him into the neutral corner. Following in with a clothesline, Stormm pulls the Playboy from the corner and scoops him onto the shoulder, dropping him across the top rope with a Snake Eyes. The Force of Nature leaves Angelo wobbling on his feet, taking back to the ropes. Going for a big boot. But as he runs back, Shane, trying to get his shit in, tags Stormm on the back.

Jerry Andrews: Blind tag by Shane.

Stormm turns to his partner with a look of extreme frustration. Shane has a shit eating grin on his face and he motions for Stormm to be, as they say tranquilo, because he can do it better, "In fact why don't you go sit over there" Shane says, and he turns his back on Stormm, who is looking on with an open mouthed, affronted expression. Mortimer laughs at these two clowns, and the referee tells Stormm he does after all have to go onto the apron. The dissention between the men is palpable as Shane walks over and begins to stalk his adversary. Shane calls over to Angelo, yelling "You feeling that conspiracy now?" and poking/kicking him with his boot. Shane lifts Gerard up to his feet, and begins trying to lift him on his shoulders for a fireman's carry. Stormm holds his arms out, yelling "What the hell are you doing?!"

Jerry Andrews: Nothing but conflict between the parties in this match.

With a confident "I got this" called over to Stormm, Shane runs into the corner, and with Angelo on his shoulders he lands a rolling fireman's carry senton, planting Angelo down on the mat from a rolling forward position, then he continues him momentum by springing up, leaving Angelo prone on the mat and hopping up to the second rope, then flipping BACK across the midsection of Angelo right where he'd dropped him before, coming across the midsection with a moonsault. The crowd pops big for Shane's athleticism, and he poses on his knees over Angelo's prone body, holding his arms out to Stormm and saying "And that's how you do THAT!" and then, Stormm yells "Cover him you idiot!" and so, Shane does, because that was his idea, totally.

The referee: One...















Two... Dominator roars in, stomping on Shane, breaking the pin.

The referee sends Dom out of the ring, and Shane, complaining and holding the back of his head, yells at the referee to get that big ape out of there. Then, Shane turns to Angelo, locking in a calf slicer submission. Angelo's eyes bug out as Shane pulls back on the leg, yelling for him to tap. The referee asks Angelo if he gives up, but Angelo refuses. Suddenly, there is a commotion outside, as it appears that Horacio Mortimer is trying to get the referee's notice and break his focus on the submission. Horacio Mortimer kicks the steps, and yells and rants. The referee does stop checking on Angelo, and Shane even slackens the calf crusher submission, craning his head over to see what's going on. At that moment, Angelo slithers over and grabs the bottom rope, hanging on for dear life. Shane snarls, and he can be seen to be saying "Fucking Horacio Mortimer!"

Jerry Andrews: Mortimer certainly is inescapable, that mouth echoes through your mind and rings in your soul.

Ace Anderson: I wish I had a muzzle.

Shane is scouting Angelo when he is blind tagged, a bit forcefully, by his partner. Stormm gets in the ring, pushing Kyle off and telling him "Why don't you go sit down over there" as a call-back to a few minutes ago. Shane looks just as affronted as Stormm had, but Shane goes back to the apron, and Stormm stalks Angelo who is trying to use the ropes to pick his way up. Stormm hammers away at Angelo before finally reaching his feet. Stormm reaches down picking Gerard up where he takes him back into a neutral corner with a blatant choke hold.

Jerry Andrews: Now we're seeing a more aggressive side of Stormm!!

Ace Anderson: I think this whole night has been very trying for many people, emotionally.

The referee begins laying the five count to Stormm for a disqualification. Stormm releases the choke before getting himself disqualified. The referee admonishes Stormm as he comes back into the corner with a boot to the midsection by Stormm before hammering Angelo with a hard right hand. Stormm brings Angelo out to the ropes before hurling him across the ring, Angelo latches on to the top rope before sling shooting himself under the bottom rope and out to the floor to loud boo's from the crowd. Gerard turns and jaws with some fans at ringside before turning back towards the ring where he's met with a suicide dive through the top and middle rope by Stormm which sends both men to the floor. Both men are down, and tangled together with their limbs twisted. Horacio Mortimer peeks his head around the ring. Stormm finally gets up off Gerard Angelo before getting up to his feet where he picks Gerard up before bouncing him head first off the ring apron. Stormm throws Angelo back into the ring before rolling in after him where he is quick to his feet calling for the lifting reverse STO, but as he lifts Angelo up from the side, Horacio Mortimer suddenly stands there, right in front of him in the aisle, and raises up Stormm's precious North American Championship! Stormm's eyes focus squarely on the belt, and Stormm loosens the hold enough for Angelo to get behind Stormm, push him into the ropes, and, in a call-back to Collision Course, he snaps off a Chaos theory like German suplex, with a bridge, just like Kyle Shane had.

Ace Anderson: Heyyy, that looks familiar!!

The referee: One...















Two...















Thr- Kyle Shane comes running in and stomps on Angelo's midsection, yelling "OH NO, YOU DON'T!!"

Kyle Shane, standing in the ring, is fired up and gets the crowd behind him, yelling and tensing up, then he sees Horacio Mortimer, taunting with the North American title on the outside, and he points at him and says "And you! You're next, pal!" And he goes to the ropes when suddenly, Dominator runs the length of the apron and as Shane is on the ropes Dominator charges and boots Shane, hard. Shane is knocked silly enough that he rolls from that side of the ring to the perpendicular side corner, and stays there, and Dominator holds his arms up and roars to the crowd. In the ring, both Angelo and Stormm are trying to recuperate. Stormm is first to start pulling himself up, shaking his head. Stormm uses the ropes to prop himself up. Gerard Angelo starts working his way up to a vertical base. Stormm comes behind him, looking to grip him in a modified half nelson crossface, but Gerard gets him first, he hooks Stormm from the side, grips him in position for a flatliner and hooks the leg, dropping backwards in a leg hook reverse STO. Angelo, hurting from the moves he's taken, looks up from the mat, trying to gather his strength, as Stormm is laid out.

Jerry Andrews: He calls that new move the Directors Cut!!

Ace Anderson: I'll say this, that was a beautiful counter by Gerard Angelo.

Both Gerard and Stormm lay on the mat for several seconds before Angelo starts to stir. He rolls over to his chest before pushing himself up off the mat. He leaps out making the tag to Dominator! The man beast enters the ring where he picks Stormm up off the mat, hoisting him up in the air with the military press. Dominator holds Stormm up in the air for several moments before letting him fall. Stormm bounces up off the mat and he is peeled off the mat by Dominator, who walks a spaghetti limbed Stormm around before hoisting him up onto his shoulders and flinging him down full force with an Alabama Slamma, aka the Daybreak. Dominator sinks down and puts a hand on Stormm's chest for the pin.

The referee and the crowd: ONE...















TWO...















THRE- Kickout.

The crowd roars as Stormm shoots a shoulder up off the mat!

Jerry Andrews: How close was that?!

Ace Anderson: Stormm refuses to lose tonight!

Dominator cuts his eyes towards the official who shows him two fingers, as Dominator works his way back to his feet. Dominator reaches down, picking Stormm up off the mat where he hammers away with a right hand that rocks Stormm back into the ropes. Dominator comes forward, shooting Stormm across the ring. Stormm bounces off the ropes and into a boot to the midsection by Dominator which sends him slumping over. Dominator cinches Stormm in position for a pump handle slam! He hoists Stormm up in the air only it's Stormm who counters by using his momentum to flip over Dominator and land on his feet! Dominator spins around into a inverted STO from Stormm!! The crowd roars as both men crash to the canvas

Jerry Andrews: A Flash Flood from out of nowhere! Both Stormm and Dominator are down!

The referee starts laying the count to both men. 1... 2... 3... both men are starting to shake the cobwebs out... 4... 5... Stormm is starting to try and push himself up... 6... Stormm is crawling on his elbows... 7... Stormm manages to roll over getting his arm over the chest of Dominator!

The referee and the crowd: ONE...















TWO...















THR -

The crowd erupts as Gerard Angelo dives on top of Stormm at the last minute breaking the count.

Jerry Andrews: Gerard Angelo just saved this contest!

The crowd roars as this brings Kyle back into the ring where he and Gerard Angelo begin trading right hands!

Ace Anderson: The men with the dispute over the World Title have come to throwing hands about it!!

Shane and Angelo continue to exchange blows, back and forth, with neither one really gaining the upper hand. Just a right from Shane, a right from Angelo, a right from Shane, a right from Angelo, going back and forth with such vim and vinegar that the crowd is coming unglued. Finally, the referee starts trying to intervene, come between them and restore order to the match. Shane turns to listen to the referee, suddenly Angelo comes in, attempting a snap superkick, but - NO! Shane ducks under the swing, hoisting Gerry up onto his shoulders in a firemans' carry and dropping him the hard way with American Distillation!! Angelo rolls out of the ring. Shane turns, and then Dominator plants him with a desperation one-armed chokeslam, drilling Shane from a great height and following through with Shane all the way down. Dominator sinks to his knees, breathing heavily. Shane also exits the ring, much the way Angelo just did. Dominator starts pulling himself up, and then Stormm clubs him over the back of the head, grips him and is able to lift that big mother up and bring him down on the back of his neck with an inverted implant DDT!!

Jerry Andrews: The moves are flying fast and furious. I don't know how we've managed to keep as much order as we have!!

Stormm gets to his feet, his eyes scanning the crowd, but then he is once again stopped by the sight of Horacio Mortimer, on the outside of the ring, taunting him with his North American Title belt. Stormm points and shouts some choice words at him, and he goes to leave the ring to chase after him. The referee, trying to hold on to the last scrap of control of this match by his fingernails gets in Stormm's way and blocks him from exiting the ring. Stormm argues with him. Behind the ref's back, Horacio Mortimer is holding the title aloft and thumbing his nose at Stormm. However, it is at this point that Kyle Shane comes into the picture, directing a spinning roundhouse kick right into the cheekbone of Mortimer. It was called VATS, or the Dead Eye. Mortimer is down, and Shane reaches down, picking up the North American title. He holds it up, eyebrows raised to Stormm, and yells "Looking for this??" and he throws it onto the apron. Stormm, greedily, scrambles to try and pick the title belt up.

Jerry Andrews: Shane just took down Mortimer, Shane recovered the title for Stormm!!

Ace Anderson: Yeah, but wait, what's going on now?

As the referee and Stormm get into a shouting match and the referee starts snatching the North American title belt out of Stormm's grasp, in the aisle, Shane, still on a high after dropping Mortimer like a bad habit, is forcefully turned around by Gerard Angelo, who also has had time to recover in the aisle, and Angelo boots Shane in the gut with such force that he falls to his knees. Angelo then pulls Shane up, hoisting him on his shoulders and transitioning him to an electric chair position... then Angelo DRILLS Shane into the concrete with an electric chair driver/One Winged Angel!! The crowd pops big for this move, and Angelo lays next to Kyle, taunting him "WHO HIT THE LAST MOVE NOW, BITCH?!"

Jerry Andrews: Oh my, Shane is out cold on the outside, Angelo just put Shane down with his new finisher.

Ace Anderson: He calls that a Hollywood Ending!

In the ring, the referee has taken the title out of Stormm's grasp completely, telling him he will not allow it in the ring. Stormm furiously tries to plead his case, saying that the belt was stolen earlier. The referee doesn't hear him or doesn't care, the referee takes the time to turn to the timekeeper and give him the North American title belt. As Stormm is standing there, his arms out with a "WTF" expression, Dominator is pulling himself up on his knees. His one arm is clasped against his side, and only a quick camera close up on the arm shows what's going on. To the outside observer his arm is clasped against his ribs in pain, but he's really sliding a big, plated watch down from his wrist, to wrap it around his fist. The giant plated watch in this position also doubles as a pair of knuckle dusters. Stormm turns around, angrily going back to the giant. As the ref is still blithely concerned with handing the title over, Stormm goes towards Dominator, but is stopped dead by a stone fisted punch from a fist wrapped in a watch. Stormm's lights visibly go out, and he falls.

Jerry Andrews: Wait, what's that in Dominator's hand, do you see that shine - wait a minute! Wait a damn minute!!

Ace Anderson: That hit certainly stopped the hands of a clock. Stormm is out!

Jerry Andrews: Not this way, dammit, not this way!!

Dominator innocently puts his watch around his wrist, as it is nothing more than an expensive time piece. He covers Stormm, hooking the leg.

The referee and the crowd: ONE...

















TWO...

















THREE!!

Ding Ding Ding

Sasha Greene: Here are your winners... GERARD ANGELO AND DOMINATOR!!

"Losing My Religion" by Trivium hits on the PA, and Dominator, breathing heavily, is helped up. He looks outside, where Horacio Mortimer is groggily holding his aching head and complaining as he pulls himself up. Dominator paces over to the ropes, holding his arms up and roaring. Gerard Angelo also gets in the ring, standing beside Dominator and holding his arms up in victory.

Jerry Andrews: A huge win for Angelo and Dominator, building momentum towards their title matches at Mass Destruction!

Ace Anderson: It took a lot of work for them both to get here, and some shady tactics from Horacio Mortimer, but nobody can say it wasn't effective.

Jerry Andrews: Oh, no... well, I can see someone who is going to have an issue with the way this all happened.

True to those prophetic words, Kyle Shane is angrily rising on the outside, having recovered enough, holding the back of his head and shaking off the blurred vision and pain in his neck. He grits his teeth angrily, and he points and shouts at Angelo. Angelo holds his arms out, as if to say "What, you want some more?!" Shane slides in the ring, and bumps chests with Angelo, talking a copious amount of smack.

Immediately Dominator lets out another one of his enraged roars. He charges at Kyle, flattening him with a clothesline before turning his attention to Stormm. The North American champion doesn’t see Dominator circling behind him. Stormm turns… Dominator charges with a Force of Time, but Stormm is able to evade at the last split second, sending The Zenith crashing shoulder first into the ring post, his body thrusting itself between the two padded turnbuckles. Dominator topples to the ring apron before dropping further downwards onto the concrete floor.

The crowd is screaming for Stormm to turn around… Horacio Mortimer has the North American championship wound back behind him, beckoning for Stormm to face his fate. Horacio charges as Stormm turns, only for Kyle Shane to appear out of nowhere to nail Horacio with the DEAD EYE to a thunderous ovation. Horacio is sent sailing over the top rope, the North American title clatters onto the canvas. Kyle Shane looks pleased with himself, but the smile on his face does not last long as he turns straight into a CENTER OF ATTENTION from Gerard Angelo! Gerard immediately starts shouting trash at Kyle Shane, only for Stormm to quickly spin him round and drive his boot into The Hollywood Hero’s gut, before setting him up… FORCE OF NATURE!

Jerry Andrews: All hell has broken loose! And Stormm is standing tall!

Ace Anderson: Don’t be so sure, Jerry! Look!

Unaware of his predicament, Dominator has stealthily slipped into the ring once again. He plants his hands on his knees in a crouched position as Gerard Angelo rolls out of the ring to regroup. Dominator charges the second Stormm turns, going for the Force Of Time, but Stormm throws up a boot, stopping The Zenith in his back. Stormm begins wailing away on Dominator, only for his taller foe to get the better of him and whip him into the ropes. Stormm rebounds and Dominator charges again, but Stormm leapfrogs over yet another attempt at the Force of Time. Dominator catches himself on the ropes. Kyle Shane has pulled himself back up onto his feet. In tandem, Kyle and Stormm rush Dominator, double-clotheslining him over the top rope! Exhausted, Stormm drops to one knee to catch his breath as Dominator staggers on the outside, having landed on his feet. The crowd roar as the champions stand tall having cleared the ring.

Stormm is getting back up to his feet. Dominator motions to re-enter the ring, but is encouraged by Gerard Angelo to retreat. The Zenith stares at the fallen body of Horacio Mortimer, picking him up and draping him over his shoulder like a wounded soldier. Back in the ring, Kyle Shane picks up the North American title, tossing it to Stormm. Gerard and Dominator both express their frustration, but vowing to dethrone their rivals soon enough.

Jerry Andrews: Stormm has retrieved the North American title that was stolen from him earlier in the night. And with the help of Kyle Shane, he’s helped fend off Dominator.

Ace Anderson: For now, Jerry. Only for now. Dominator has vowed to make Stormm’s life a living hell. I feel that Stormm’s problems are only just beginning.

Jerry Andrews: And let’s not forget, Gerard Angelo and Kyle Shane’s quandary over who is the rightful World Champion continues to wage war.

Ace Anderson: Care to wrap things up, Jerry?

Jerry Andrews: We’re out of time. Join us next time on Trauma!

 - CLICK -