Trauma 245 Results

[Rick Majors]

Pure Class Wrestling Trauma
Thursday January 31st, 2019

The camera spies Joey Handy in the parking garage, walking with purpose towards the entrance of the arena, his wife walking a step or two behind and concentrating texting on her phone. Shane Dodge rushes over to get a quick word in with the relative newcomer.

Shane Dodge: Handyman! Handyman! Hey! Can I get a quick word?

Handy looks a bit disjointed by the interruption, but he keeps moving as a mic is thrust in his face.

Joey Handy: No. Is that a quick enough word for you?

Shane looks nonplussed, but persists.

Shane Dodge: Come on, man! You're going to have to do this a few times in your career. You obviously have some things on your mind. Why not give the fans a little something? What's going through your mind?

Handy stops dead in his tracks, Nadine running into him, still paying attention solely to her phone. He glares at her, and she sneers back, backing off without a word.

Joey Handy: You wanna know what's going through my mind? Alexa Black! That's what! That woman is nothing less than a plague on humanity and on my life! She's crossed the line by screwing with my family. Tonight, she's going to find out just how big of a mistake that was.

Nadine scoffs and rolls her eyes, but Joey catches it in the corner of his eye and stares daggers into his wife.

Shane Dodge: What about your opponent tonight? Shouldn't you be concentrating on the Big Dog?

Joey's face flushes red in anger. He takes a few deep breaths to swallow back his rage.

Joey Handy: Look, Shane... I know you and Razor Blade are tight. I get it. But here's the thing: Razor has never won against anyone who's bothered to actually show up for work. I'm not interested in making him look good. I'm not interested in padding his overinflated ego, no matter how well he's loved or hated by the fans. I'm going through him, just like I said I would. He's in my way to get to that Amazon bitch. I just hope the ASPCA isn't watching.

Shane Dodge: The ASPCA? Why?

Joey Handy: Because what I'm about to do tonight could qualify as dog abuse.

Joey doesn't let Shane ask any more questions, walking away with steam in his stride. Again, Nadine rolls her eyes, still texting as she follows.

Inside the arena now, the PCW Faithful are on their feet! The camera pans throughout the building, capturing footage of the RABID fans, ready to see some PCW action.

Jerry Andrews: Ladies and gentlemen, welcome once again to Trauma! I'm Jerry Andrews and, of course, I'm joined by Ace Anderson! How are you feeling tonight Ace?

Ace Anderson: It's cold outside, Jerry. REALLY COLD, but it's HOT inside the PCW Arena here tonight, and not just because I cranked the heat up before we went on the air.

Jerry Andrews: Hey, at least we're not in Chicago! We're in the PCW Arena as always and what a show we have for you tonight! Let's get to the ring!

Sasha Greene: The following is scheduled for one fall, introducing first, he weighs in at 195 lbs... "THE HANDYMAN" JOEY HANDY!!

"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, accompanied by Nadine. The crowd pops respectably at the relative newcomer. He sees the crowd's reaction and humbly waves at them as he makes his way down to the ring, unsure how to truly act. Once inside the ring, he stretches and pumps himself up nervously awaiting his opponent. Nadine, waiting on the outside, looks as annoyed as one can be.

Jerry Andrews: Joey Handy, out here right now, is accompanied by, er, a very disgruntled looking woman.

Ace Anderson: She looks like the type of wife a sitcom writer would get a lot of mileage out of!

Jerry Andrews: Well, perhaps she's out here in the capacity of a cheerleader for Handy.

Ace Anderson: If someone needs so much moral support that they bring a cheering section when they face... Razor Blade, of all people... this is maybe not the line of work they want to go into.

Sasha Greene: And his opponent, he weighs in at 265 lbs... Razor Blade! 

"The Truth Reigns" by Jim Johnston plays and Razor Blade 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.

Jerry Andrews: This will be a good test of what Handy is made of.

Singles Match
Joey "The Handyman" Handy vs Razor Blade
Referee: Joseph Buckland

The bell sounds and the two men circle each other before locking up. Handy calls for a collar/elbow tieup, but Razor snakes a knee into his midsection. Razor begins clubbing Handy over the back. Razor whips Handy to the ropes, only to have it reversed. Handy whips Razor off the rope, and when he swings for a clothesline Razor ducks in turn. Handy turns around and begins getting peppered with right hands. Razor backs Handy up into the corner and begins peppering him. Handy reverses, throwing Razor into the corner and unloading on him with rights. The ref gets in between them, forcing Handy to break out of the corner. Handy backs off, holding his hands up innocently. As he comes back towards Razor, Razor gives him a thumb to the eye. Handy stumbles back, blinded. Razor grips Handy by the hair and bounces his head off the top turnbuckle a few times. Handy slumps in the corner, and Razor backs up, looking for a corner splash. Handy moves out of the way, and Razor hits the turnbuckle.

Jerry Andrews: I think Razor was a bit too eager there.

On the outside, a very non-plussed looking Nadine bangs on the apron, and in a spot of "who's side are you on lady" starts egging Razor on, telling him to get up. Joey Handy wipes his face and begins to lay punches in on the dazed Razor. Handy takes the advantage and tosses Razor into the ropes, executing a basic side headlock. Handy laughs, looking at the crowd and also Nadine, as if to say, "How do you like me now?"

Ace Anderson: I can't believe this guy is looking at me like he wants a pat on the back for employing a strategy they teach the remedial class in wrestling school.

Handy holds on the the elementary hold with all his might, grinding the side headlock on, and Razor, annoyed, pushes his way up to his knees. Razor shoves him forward into the ropes and sends him over with a belly to back suplex. Handy rolls around on the mat, holding his back. Razor goes to lift Handy up, but Handy pushes him away with force. Razor comes back in, viciously clubbing Handy quickly, but Handy again pushes Razor off. Razor attempts to run back at Handy, but Handy catches him with an uppercut to the throat. Razor rolls around. Handy lifts him up, grips his head and gives him a headbutt. Razor stumbles back, dazed. Handy grips his own head in pain, as if not knowing how much that would hurt. Nadine shouts at him, "You idiot, if yer gonna do something, stay on him!" Handy comes in and gives Razor a boot to the stomach, doubling him over, and then he gives Razor several hard clubs to the back, making Razor fall to his knees.

Ace Anderson: I'm... I'm not sure what I'm seeing. They did train this guy to fight, right?

Jerry Andrews: It's rough but effective, Razor Blade is being beaten down.

Handy looks to Nadine, saying "Honey, did you see what I just did?" And Nadine, disinterestedly, is applying her makeup in a compact mirror. Handy turns, running to the ropes, but he goes too close to Nadine, and he trips over the strap of her purse, which she has set up on the apron. Handy nearly trips over his own two feet because of this, and he looks up, embarrassed, rubbing his head and saying "Nadine!! Awww, geez!!" It is at this moment, Razor, having enough playtime, hits a running knee strike. Razor, saying "THIS IS MY YARD!", He sends Handy over with a vertical suplex and goes for the pin. Handy kicks out before it gets started, and Razor forces him up and back down with a belly to belly suplex. Razor covers again.

The referee: One...

Razor rolls Handy over and hyperextends his arm with an inverted armbar with wristlock. Handy battles to the bottom rope quickly before it can get too far in. Razor breaks the hold and delivers a few stiff kicks to the shoulder. The referee breaks up the tactics and allows Handy to get to his feet. Razor quickly clubs him over the back of the head, following it up by placing Handy's throat on the middle rope and choking him. Handy flails his arms, as his wind is cut off. The referee begins warning Razor, who has his knee buried in Handy' back and is pushing with all his might as he pulls on the top rope for leverage. The referee begins a five-count to disqualification, and Razor breaks at three. Then Razor goes back to choking Handy on the ropes. Nadine looks up in wonder as Handy is being choked on the ropes. Her eyes begin to sparkle as if it's the most magical thing in the world.

Jerry Andrews: Handy is certainly getting taken to the woodshed here.

Ace Anderson: Seems like this is a day in the life of his domestic situation, HEYOOOO. But no, marital strife is a serious issue, and one that we should talk more about.

Razor breaks again, and then he grabs Handy's arm and wraps it up in the ropes, torquing it backwards with force. The ref once again warns Razor about disqualification. Razor eventually breaks, letting Handy up to his feet. They lock up and Razor takes the same arm in with an arm wringer followed by a hammerlock. Handy attempts to roll forward but Razor wrenches the hold in tight and gives him a hammerlock back suplex. Handy yells and contorts on the mat, arching his back and shaking that arm in pain. Razor, chuckling at his effectiveness all of a sudden, goes for the pin.

The referee: One...













Two... Kickout.

lifts his shoulder up off the ground. Razor lifts him up but Handy surprises him with . Handy flows around and sends Razor over with a german suplex. He grabs on tight and sends him over with another. On the third Razor goes for a few back elbows but Handy ducks and hits the third, this time making it a release german that sends the bigger man across the ring. Handy staggers to his feet, his sweat-soaked face beet-red, and he scrambles to go after Razor, who has rolled over to the other side of the ring. Razor begins to lift himself up off the mat as Handy hits the ropes and comes back a Million dollar knee lift. He lifts Razor back up and plants him with a double arm DDT, sending Razor crashing awkwardly to the mat. Razor immediately grabs at his neck as Handy grabs one of his arms and tries pulling him up. Razor gets up to his feet as Handy tries sending him into the ropes, but Razor reverses and sending Handy into the corner instead. Razor charges the corner leading with his shoulder, and Handy quickly falls to the mat curled up in a ball as Razor hits the turnbuckle above him. As Razor backs off holding his shoulder, Handy slides under the bottom rope to the outer apron, and executes a rudimentary springboard into a shoulder attack.

Jerry Andrews: Handy's arsenal looks a lot like someone didn't heed the warnings "Don't try this at home,"

Ace Anderson: You mean like, if these bozos can do it, I can attempt to do it?

Jerry Andrews: Maybe with slightly less polish, but that's the idea.

Handy goes for a cover.

The referee: One...













Two... Kickout

Nadine throws her hands up at Joey Handy, shrewishly yelling "Can't you do anything right??" Handy looks at her, and the crowd in the front row even give a sympathetic "Awww" because you have to feel for that. So Joey grabs Razor by the arm and pulls him over to the ringpost under the turnbuckles. He climbs to the outside, grabs Razor's arm, and dashes it into the ringpost, then he hauls back and does it again, and again. The referee warns Handy about doing this or else he'll get disqualified. Handy gets back in the ring, pulling Razor out into the middle of the ring and applying a keylock. Razor clucks in pain. Handy tightens his grip, and Razor flails his free arm. The referee asks if he'll give up, but he refuses. Razor begins flinging his free elbow back, nailing Handy in the side of the head. Finally, Handy releases the hold. Razor takes a second to shake his arm out, as Handy tries to clear his head.

Jerry Andrews: Handy does seem to have a good grasp on the basic holds, and he's using those to eliminate Razor's strength advantage.

Ace Anderson: Great, so he's not a total idiot. I'm glad they provide the fundamentals at K-Mart Wrestling Academy.

Handy grips Razor's arm and applies a triangle armbar. Razor yells and thrashes his free arm in agony. Handy pulls back on the hold. Razor is bent over, with Handy's shoulders almost pushed to the mat, and Razor tries to push Handy down into a pin while Handy holds on to the submission. The referee asks Razor if he gives up, but Razor refuses. Razor is putting all of his weight down on Handy, trying to pin him. Handy rolls his shoulder off the mat and keeps the submission applied. Razor yells in pain. Handy pulls back on the hold. Razor starts lifting Handy up, using all of his strength, with Handy still hanging onto his arm. Razor lifts Handy up and gives him a short powerbomb, squashing Handy to the mat. Handy tries to hang on. Razor lifts Handy up and does it again, and Handy finally releases the hold. Both men are down on the mat. Razor blows out a breath, moving his hair out of his eyes, as Handy lays, groaning on the mat.

Jerry Andrews: Handy tried to use more of an MMA base, but Razor used his power to squash him flat.

Ace Anderson: The first one to his feet is going to have the advantage!

The referee is counting both men out... 1... 2... 3... 4... 5... both men are stirring... 6... 7... Razor pushes himself up to his knees... 8... Handy is starting to roll over. Both men stand, feeling their aches and pains. Razor Blade responds with a big right, levelling Handy, who rolls across the ring. Razor tilts his head back and lets out an "OOOOOAAAAHHHH" call to the crowd, which is completely his and is not similar to anyone else's taunt, and as Joey scrambles to his feet Razor jacks him up with an insane discus lariat. Razor paces around the ring, holding his arms out at his sides, and he pounds on his chest, declaring that this is his yard. Yet again. Like he always does.

Nadine: Are you just going to let him keep hitting you, you idiot? Get up!

Ace Anderson: I can't believe I'm agreeing with that unpleasant lady but... Handy, are you?!

Razor waits for Handy to start pulling himself, dazedly, up using the ropes to compensate for his inability to stand. Razor boots Handy in the gut, lifts him up and drops him with a gutwrench powerbomb. Then, Razor looks around, his eyes widening in the realization that he may actually be closing on a win here if he can just finish this off. He looks around, then he pauses, wheels turning as he glances at the turnbuckle. It was the one he collided with earlier, that now looks a little bit askew. That one. Well, Razor picks that corner to start ascending. With Joey Handy in prone position, winded, and laid out after the gutwrench powerbomb, Razor starts ascending the turnbuckles, going for a splash which will surely clinch the match. Except, as Razor's feet get to the top turnbuckle supports, the beams holding the ropes, and he puts a foot wrong on the top turnbuckle pad itself, the turnbuckle pad slips off. Razor, suddenly off balance, tumbles off the top rope, falling awkwardly right beside Handy.

Ace Anderson: ...Get the hell out of here.

Jerry Andrews: A freak accident with the turnbuckle, Razor Blade... slipped? He pushed on the pad and the pad came off?

Handy, unable to stand, simply scoots closer to Razor, who is holding his arm in pain and Handy rolls into a small package. The referee, still squinting at the turnbuckle wanting to know what just happened, shrugs and looks down, spotting the cover.

The referee: ONE...

















TWO...















THREE!

Ding Ding Ding

Sasha Greene: Here is your winner, JOEY HANDY!

Nadine, on the outside, has an open-mouthed look of shock as Handy and Razor Blade are both laid out on the mat. Razor rolls to the apron. Handy is still laying there, trying to catch his breath, but he looks quizzically at Nadine, who, in disbelief, is shrieking that he won. Handy laughs, and holds his arms up wearily as he tries to sit up.

Jerry Andrews: That's it! Handy chalks up his second win with just two matches under his belt!

Ace Anderson: You mean his first LEGITIMATE win? Alexa got herself DQed

Joey Handy now stands in the middle of the ring, both arms held high and gasping for air, as "Handy," by "Weird Al" Yankovic ignites the crowd. He takes some time to soak in his victory, as Razor rolls out f the ring. Joey see him and scrambles for a mic. He motions for his music to stop.

Joey Handy: Yo! Big Dog! Razor! Hey man!

Razor stops dead in his tracks, slowly turning his head back to the ring. Joey holds his hands up to show that he means no harm.

Joey Handy: Look man. I know I said some stuff in my promos and before our match that may have been a bit heavy-handed, but I have to say, you gave me a run for my money. I wanted to thank you for the match and...

Suddenly, "Blood on My Hands," by The Used rocks the sound system.

Ace Anderson: Uh oh! You know who that means!

Jerry Andrews: This could get ugly.

Ace Anderson: I'm sitting next to ugly. This could get brutal.

Both Joey Handy and Razor Blade glower at the entrance at the top of the ramp. Joey looks intently, never breaking his stare at the entrance.

Joey Handy: Razor! Man, no offense, but this is my fight. Let me have her. I've got this.

Razor looks at the Handyman, nodding and mouthing, "You've got this?" over and over again as Alexa sneaks in through the crowd behind him. She charges at Handy as the crowd tries to roar a warning to the hapless...

Handy turns around just in time to dot Alexa right in the temple with the microphone, landing her like a trophy fish. Alexa looks shocked as she scoots on her butt to the turnbuckle, holding her jaw. Rage boils on her face as she stands and charges again. This time, she and Handy exchange a flurry of fists. Joey lands a series of haymaker rights and left jabs.

He manages to wear Alexa down, much to the crowd's appreciation. Nadine hops onto the ring apron with a steel chair in hand. She steps through the ropes, yelling at her husband to hold Alexa in place. The Handyman picks up the large woman, holding her arms behind her back, a look of shock on his face when he sees Nadine actually supporting him.

The couple look at the crowd, Nadine holding the chair like a baseball player at bat. The audience cheers wildly as Nadine takes a few practice swings. She reels back and...

...tosses Alexa the chair just as she escapes Joey's clutches. Alexa doesn't hesitate and levels the Handyman with the seat, busting his forehead open like an over ripe melon. Joey wilts to the mat, barely conscious. Alexa and Nadine laugh loudly at their plan coming to fruition.

Alexa throws the chair down and gathers Joey from the mat. She sets him up...

Jerry Andrews: No! She wouldn't!

Ace Anderson: It's Alexa Black, and she DID! KILLSHOT ON THE CHAIR!

Jerry Andrews: OH! MAH! GAWD! I think she just killed Joey Handy!

Joey spasms as Nadine and Alexa both mock him mercilessly. Paramedics rush to the ring, along with officials and security. Alexa rolls out of the ring, followed closely by Nadine, both still having a good laugh at the Handyman's expense.

Jerry Andrews: That's her husband! How can she do that to him?

Ace Anderson: I know a good divorce lawyer, if she needs one.

Jerry Andrews: Wait... What?

Ace Anderson: She's obviously in a miserable relationship.

Jerry Andrews: Is it time for a commercial yet? We'll keep you updated on Joey Handy's status as the night goes on, folks.

Instead, the cameras go backstage where Shane Dodge is seen next to David Hunter. David is currently jumping around, doing stretches and getting pumped for his coming match. The title around his waist--the King of the Underground Championship--hops with him along the way.

Shane Dodge: Ladies and gentlemen, my guest at this time, one half of the main event, the King of the Underground Champion, David Hunter. Now David, you've been a solid staple in the Underground division as of late. Tonight, you take on a new challenger to your throne in Tyler Scott. What's goin through your mind?

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

David Hunter: Shane, I have been the King of the Underground for a solid month. Now the last time I breached the 30 day mark, I unfortunately fell to one Muscles Malone. Now, jokes aside, tonight will be vastly different. You see...as the once and future king it is my job to make sure that the peasants fall in line. That the commoners look upon me...as an influence...of what one should strive to be. Now, in my court, I'm fair. I allow people to play their little games of politics. I allow nobodies to mingle with nobles in an attempt to gain favor. Hell, I'll let a prince get away with screwing a squire if they feel like it. But there's one thing I just can't allow.

David takes the belt off his waist. He holds it up in front of the camera right next to his head.

David Hunter: And that's people challenging my crown. That's not to say that Tyler Scott is much of a challenge, but the fact remains: a loss tonight means losing my crown. Now...I've come to fall in love with this piece of gold.

David places the title on his right shoulder.

David Hunter: It symbolizes a moment in my career. It symbolizes all the potential in the world I possess. But more importantly, it means I can call myself champion. And I dare anybody who lower the prestige of this title to participate in it. Kyle Shane and Dominator and Gabriel all can claim that they already have, but lack of participation makes one complacent. I dare them to come back down here from their high heavens. I dare them to return to the division they once called home and see if they still stack up.

David scratches his nose to allow for a brief moment of pause.

David Hunter: I've come to understand that the division recently has become something of a joke. With guys like Winston Wilson or Tyrone Smith participating left and white in an attempt to claim my title. And that's not even mentioning the debacle that were Muscles Malone's reigns. But tonight...is not a joke. Tyler Scott is my next challenger. Or more apropos, Tyler Scott...is the next victim...of the guillotine. When you step into that ring, against me, for this title, in that division, you are putting your life on the line. Tyler Scott thinks he can walk in there and challenge me? Much like I am with Tyler, I do not take slights lately.

David adjusts his title a bit.

David Hunter: If you think you have what it takes to rule this kingdom, by all means, give it a shot. But know this: I'm a Hunter. We're stubborn, we're hard-headed, and if we're not considered dumb-asses, than we usually have the heart of one. Tyler Scott might just be another head for the guillotine, but if anybody else thinks they can step-up, than boy oh boy, do they got another thing comin. I really like my place as the King of the Underground. And you know what they say right Shane?

David looks towards Shane, who looks momentarily confused. He moves the mic back towards him.

Shane Dodge: It's good to be the--

David interrupts him, glaring back into the camera.

David Hunter: It's good to be the King.

David then walks off-screen with Shane nodding his head. We then fade to the next segment.

EARLIER TODAY...

SEROMINE: Look at all of these faithful, Mom, flocking in to hear the word of God. Families, friends and strangers alike. They know I'm not going to be gracing the ring tonight - and yet - they still arrive to receive the good word.

Doors have just opened to the arena as fans find their seats for another jam packed Trauma. Seromine presides above in the press box section with Lucy Willard. But it's not just any press box.

This one belongs to Phinehas Grimm.

LUCY: Your absence simply wouldn't do, oh no - you must always be present in their time of need, darling. Yes - Yes, I do believe that's what the Lord would want as well.

Lucy trails into contemplative thought while she speaks out loud to her son. He listens intently, feeding off her wisdom.

LUCY: Sin never takes time off. That's what makes Mr. Grimm such a prime example - he must be punished! Punish him for mommy - he must fall!

SEROMINE: I shall make him pay. I shall beat his body with the fury of GOD pumping through as if Grimm were a pseudonym for Satan!

LUCY: Pray with me, my darling! I can feel his wretched energy in the walls! In the floor! In the ceiling! In the air! Let us give it the cleansing it needs - let us PURIFY this place!

Her smile comes and goes as she clutches Seromine's hands. He bows his head and kneels before her. Lucy rests her right hand on his head as she gently leans it against her stomach like he was still a young boy. She, too, bows her head.

LUCY: Dear LORD, I am a believer and I put my hope and trust in you. I believe and trust the truth, that you alone have all the power and authority in Heaven and on Earth.

I come to you, asking for the spiritual cleansing of this place, for it to become new and clean, so that this place may glorify you, Father.

I condemn any sinful items he ever kept here, I condemn any sinful things that he broadcast here, I condemn Phinehas the sinful for entering here!

I ask You LORD to place your blessing and spiritual protection on this place, clean it with Your Holy Blood, and let it be made as new for us. Let only thy Holy Spirit and Holy Angels of Heaven be here with us in Jesus name. AMEN!

Seromine also gives an AMEN before he returns to his feet. He embraces his mother with a hug.

SEROMINE: Thank you for being here with me. Thank you for giving me life, giving me strength, giving me your truth, your love, your guidance. I love you with all that I am, Mother. God will punish him - I'll personally see to that.

He kisses her on the top of her head before release. She moves aside to place a neatly wrapped gift on one of the chairs. The box is small in stature and is hidden under white paper and gold ribbon.

LUCY: Come now. The masses will soon be gathered enough to receive us. We mustn't disappoint. No - we mustn't do that. After all, I did bring you into the world!

Mother and son walk out of the room like they were departing a wonderful service. The room is silent, save for the dull roar of the growing crowd gathering down below. A few moments of muffled voices passing outside the door. Then, there in the gloom, a glint in the corner. A light flashes off something moving out of the dark.

The well-worn head of a shovel.

Grimm steps out with shovel in hand. He moves to the chairs overlooking the arena and stands over the “present” from Seromine and his mother. Grimm rests the shovel on another chair, picks up the gift, and pulls the ribbon free. The white paper comes off easy enough. Phinehas drops it to the ground and takes the lid off the box. His eyes narrow.

A Bible.

He places it back on the chair, takes up his shovel, and steps back. Grimm carefully wedges the tip of the shovel blade under the pebbled leather cover of the book and slowly eases it up. He hasn’t forgotten the last encounter with Lucy and her Good Book. However, instead of a fireball or black mist or giant boxing glove, there is only a scent that starts off faint enough, then grows the longer he stands there.

Wood smoke. Rosemary. Bay leaves. Bayberry candles. It’s the smell of Hangtown. And Ruth and Granny.

The Willards are going to regret this.

Back to ringside.

Sasha Greene: The following match is scheduled for one fall! 

There's a major buzz beginning to swell for the upcoming fight between two bruisers.

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.

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 his opponent...

A school bell rings....the crows claps along with the clapping of the song matching its beat. A motorcycle emerges from the back with Cory Steel on the back, the outlaw stops at the top of the ramp where he holds a fist up in the air. The massive man also lays down on the accelerator drowning out the music and the crowd!

Sasha Greene: From New York, New York. Weighing 300 lbs, CORY STEEL! 

Cory smiles and then launches himself down the ramp on his motorcycle. He takes a few laps around the ring before coming to a stop and rolls into the ring. The large man lumbers to his corner turning his rage into focus on his opponent.

Singles Match
Cory Steel vs Holden Ross
Referee: Nigel Gale

The referee calls for the bell just as chants of CORY begin breaking out.

DING!
DING!
DING!

Holden wastes no time in storming forward and much to his approval, Cory joins him in the middle of the ring for a face to face meeting. They are of equal height, but Holden holds a twenty-five pound weight advantage. There is no signs of backing down from either. Words with expletives are starting to fly, adding a combustible element to things.

Fans have yet to sit down, choosing instead to get the best possible vantage point for this one. Out of nowhere, Holden levels Cory with a haymaker. Cory, once he snaps his head back, is grinning. Holden is all too happy to take a receipt. Neither seems to have been all that effective. Cory is shoved and dared to run the ropes. The biker does just that and returns to a shoulderblock standstill.

Cory yells at Holden to try his luck. The young upstart does and the end result is the same. They change strategy and go at the same time. On the return, Holden lowers his base and scoop slams Cory with sudden authority. Holden flexes his muscles with a loud roar as Cory gets to his feet. They go at it a second time and on this follow, Cory stuns with an Oklahoma slam, followed by a taunt of his own.

Jerry Andrews: Two immovable objects colliding here and neither is budging!

Ace Anderson: It's as even as can be. Unless you wish to count the fact Cory is down an eye and four fingers, all of which come from the left.

Holden rises up and launches a volley of shots to the head of The Bear. Cory is pushed into the ropes and once cornered, he turns things around to start throwing bombs of his own. While engaged, Cory sinks his teeth into Holden's head, which draws immediate rebuke from the referee and Tessa. While the official steps in, Holden sneaks a thumb to the right eye, which halts Cory. The Bastard runs him front first to the nearest corner and after turning Cory around, launches him with a belly to belly suplex.

Cory is picked up by the hair and measured for a roundhouse punch to the forehead. It puts him on a knee and opens the door for Holden to go to the ropes. Cory puts a big boot right in his face on the rebound. Holden is shoved against the ropes and then leveled with a swinging side slam. Ross rolls out of the ring, but Cory follows him, ignoring the verbal jabs of Tessa as he does. Holden is posted face first and then takes a VICIOUS header onto the top ring step. Ross is down on a knee while Cory sneaks in some knees to the temple, each one smashing Holden right back into the steps.

Cory pulls him up for a whip into the barricade which ends up moving a few feet in. Holden boots him in the gut and then sends Cory head first into the center of the wall. Cory stirs upright, but finds his own head smashed in with a running hip that bulldozes him. Cory is down on all fours as Holden hoists him up. Cory finds his spine rattled as he takes a bodyslam over the edge of the barricade. Holden shows off his balancing skills on the rail and with a leap, is splashing Cory ON the barricade!

Jerry Andrews: Welcome back, Cory! Good grief what impact.

Ace Anderson: Is there a Chiropractor in the house?

Cory fights off a full nelson with sharp, disorienting elbows. Holden sinks a knee, hoists him in a powerbomb, and then throws him right into the ring post! Cory drops and back body drops a charging Holden into the same post. Both men are down and in an effort to stop the count, Tessa hops into the apron. Cory and Holden brawl all the way up to their feet with previous punishment being worked through. Both men land their shots at an impressive success rate, but it's Cory who scores with a throat punch, a heart punch, and a tackle THROUGH the barricade!

Fans start the HOLY SHIT chant while scattering to safety because fists are flying while they are on the floor! Cory slams Holden's head against the cement to put a stop to that nonsense, which then allows him to bring Holden back out to ringside. Cory throws in some heavy punches to the body and then vaults Holden up in the air. Jackhammer onto the timekeepers table!! The ring bell goes for a ride. The small table is completely demolished and Holden is compacted in the remaining space.

Cory drags Holden to the ring. He then sends him back inside and follows like an angry bear. Holden drags himself up to his feet. Cory throws him to the ropes and picks him up for a spinebuster, but Holden blocks it with a bell clap. Clothesline! Clothesline! Clothesline! And if that wasn't enough, a World's Strongest Slam! Holden folds Cory over for a pin.

1.

2.

Cory has no trouble kicking out. Holden throttles him to his feet and while he shows some struggle with his lumbar, it doesn't prevent him from gorilla pressing Cory over his head. Holden further shows his power by marching to the corner and dropping the three hundred pounder right across the top rope and turnbuckle. Tessa applauds outside of the ring as she coaches her man. Holden drives leaping elbows to the kidneys and then a pair of stiff kicks to the ribs.

Holden steps onto the middle rope to hoist Cory sideways. Fallaway slam! Holden rolls to his feet and taunts like he is the baddest motherfucker in the ring. Cory gets to his feet and turns in time to counter a spear with a running front powerslam! Holden has no time to process before he is driven with a sickening TROUBLE IN THE EAST. Cory hooks the legs.

1.

2.

Holden gets his shoulder off the canvas with plenty of strength left to spare. Cory grinds his forearm over the bridge of Holden's nose like it were a saw. There's pain behind the roar of Ross as this happens. Cory brings him to the corner where he then lands some more heavy body blows. Holden leaps with each one as he's worked over like a punching bag. Cory chooses to rake Holden's eyes back and forth across the top rope in a methodically paced way.

Tessa begins lobbying a complaint to the referee about it, but Cory stays within the allotted count. With Holden blinded, he's whipped across the ring. Or so it was until the counter. Ross follows him and lands a splitting spear on the rebound, partially knocking Cory through the ropes! Cory drapes his arms over the middle as he fights for air. Holden has Tessa throw water in his eyes to aid the effect of the rope burn. He then gives Cory a running big boot to the face to completely knock him to the floor.

Jerry Andrews: To the surprise of nobody, these two are pummeling each other and what's worse is that they LOVE it.

Ace Anderson: So does these bloodthirsty savages here tonight! I for one just hope neither man is seriously hurt after this is over.

Jerry Andrews: Oh puh-lease! If this were held in the Roman Colosseum, you'd be the first to say how entertained you were.

Holden takes control of Cory and drives him to the floor with a pumphandle driver! Holden isn't done yet. Cory gets lambasted with a STIFF clothesline with his head bouncing just as hard off the mat. Holden powers him across his right shoulder, marches up the stairs and then brings everyone to their feet as Cory is set-up for a top rope piledriver!

Jerry Andrews: NO! DON'T DO THIS!

Ace Anderson: This could break Cory's neck!

Jerry Andrews: Maybe that's what he's going for!!

Cory fights and resists, fully aware of the dangerous fate that awaits if he doesn't. Holden is shuffled back onto the apron. Cory splits Holden open with a NASTY face first planting to the edge of the ring post. This allows him to power Holden across his shoulders, squat on the top rope, and LAUNCH in the air with a DEATH VALLEY DRIVER that SOMEHOW doesn't give the ring a sinkhole! Holden sits up with a crimson mask out of reflex, but is sprawled out with a mortified Tessa beside herself.

Cory takes enough time to gather himself, using the ropes for assistance once he rolls to them. A bloodied and battered Holden somehow, someway, manages to stand, but is promptly speared out of his boots for it! Cory hooks a leg...

1!

2!

3---KICKOUT!

Cory looks stunned by Holden not being kept down. He brings him to his feet with a throw to the corner after. Cory comes in and hits a running forearm smash. He backs up and is nearly beheaded with a MASSIVE clothesline as he charges. Ross wipes the blood from his face and applies it across his chest like war paint. Cory rolls onto the apron. Holden slowly joins him, needing enough time to maneuver things in such a small space.

Jerry Andrews: Oh my god...what is he doing??

SINS OF THE FATHER OFF THE APRON AND ONTO THE FLOOR!! Holden may have just snapped Cory's neck like a slim jim with that ungodly vertebreaker. Cory clutches his neck almost instantly and is otherwise slow to move. Holden rips the apron fabric as he pulls himself into the ring. The referee has his count going and by the time seven rolls around, there's concern Cory won't get back in. No matter how much the PCW faithful wishes ge would.

Nine and a half comes and just when it appears Holden will win by countout, Cory is in! Holden punches the mat out of anger. His composure long gone as damage sets in from the tolls of war. Cory is slow to move to his feet, but he does. HENRY VIII! But Cory falls against the ropes. He comes back with STEEL HANDS. Grizzly Bear ferocity is shown as punches land to the face and stomach of Holden Ross. He has The Bastard on roller skates. Holden throws his own punches right back after being on the cusp...

Cory is sent to the ropes. Holden goes the other way. STEAMROLLER! Cory flies across the ring. Holden drags himself over while favoring his midsection. His face is caked with blood. It appears Cory's is as well! Holden digs his hands into Cory's scalp. He goes for SINS OF THE FATHER again. Cory muscles things into a reversal. THE SICKEST KILL I. Holden is folded like an accordion after the third powerbomb. Cory drops face first beside him. The referee begins a ten count - but at the halfway point - Cory gets his left arm over just enough to count as a pin.

1!

2!

3!

The bell is called for as both men remain down from the absolute beating they placed on one another.

Sasha Greene: Here is your winner, Cory Steel!

Meanwhile, back at the ranch…

Grimm roves backstage. As with his entrance to the ring, he walks with purpose. Focused on nothing but the task at hand. Cold, calculating, preternaturally calm…although the white knuckles wrapped around the handle of the shovel speak to an inner fury powering him forward. But then, he stops. Turns his head a fraction of a degree as he picks up a smattering of familiar lingo.

…sinners….salvation…the way, the truth, the light…

The Hangtown Horror hones in on the voice. He moves down corridors, takes sharp turns, peers around corners. Stops seemingly at random to listen, to sniff the air. Until he comes to a nondescript door in the middle of an empty hallway. Grimm grasps the doorknob and walks through, all matter-of-fact like he belongs there. He steps in to find himself in the midst of a congregation.

Upon closer inspection, a congregation of mannequins. A gathering of dummies listening to a sermon playing out on a tape recorder at the front of the room.

The menagerie are dressed much like Seromine's former cultists. A collective of pastels and pinafores for the women and earth tone button ups and broadfalls for the men.

The hellfire and brimstone audio provides a unique soundtrack:

"I have been called to put out the FIRE set forth by the red demon, Grimm! His attempts to burn down our foundations shall not go unanswered! Shall not go unpunished! Brothers and Sisters - I want you to pray, pray, PRAY for his soul! Deliverance shall be rendered as we cast him back to the depths of hell from which Satan sent thee!"

Grimm grips the shovel tight.

“You Pinnochio-lookin’ knuckleheads.”

And then swings away. A clean cut with the edge of the blade, taking off a head with no disruption to the body. A blow with the flat side of the shovel head, shattering the featureless gaze into pieces and knocking its neighbors to the floor. Grimm makes his way through the crowd before turning his attention to the false prophet. A few well-placed swings and he finds himself looking at a spread that no one would ever be able to identify as something that had once been a tape player. He takes a few deep breaths as he surveys his carnage. One more look around the room, and Grimm exits to continue the hunt.

But then, Lucy and Seromine arrive on the scene of leftover carnage. Her eyes cast a stone gaze over the strewn props, while her pursed red lips tightly restrain her tongue from speaking. Meanwhile, Seromine calmly gathers the mannequin chunks and gathers them into a pile with the fragments of audio tape and recorder.

What's left of the congregation is sat up the best as can be. For her part, Lucy straightens out the wardrobes, all the while beginning to have a peaceful balance return to her state.

"Nobody likes a mess - Goodness, no, a messy home is simply an unhappy home. Even if this is just a room, I won't allow that in ours. He mustn't get away without answering for this."

Seromine is in full agreement as he steps behind the lectern.

"Brothers and Sisters, what you bore witness to was an unnecessary act - a disregard for privacy and fellowship - a reminder to us all that Grimm the SINNER seeks to poison the well from which ye drink. We went in seeking peace and got violence. Colossians 3:25. For the wrongdoer will be paid back for the wrong he has done, and there is no partiality. He chose his calamity tonight and now Mother and I must clean up a second mess."

Seromine turns to Lucy as she leads them on a journey of their own. One in which they hope will bring them into confrontation with a red headed trespasser. Such as the invader is dealt with for breaking and entering, so too will The Hangtown Horror on sight.

Coming back from the commercial break, 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.

And... back to the ring.

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 his opponent...

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. He weighs 227 lbs...TYRONE " CRAZY BOY" SMITH!

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 their opponent...from Death Valley, California. Standing 6'8" and weighing 389 lbs...SICKO!

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

Death is on the midway

Gambling with souls

Roulette on the wire

Ace is in the hole

I sink beneath the feeling

Moon is in my hands

A crooked wheel of twenty-one

I just don't understand - NO!

Laugh - YEAH! - drown and laugh

Your life is over

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

Triple Threat Match
Tyrone "Crazy Boy" Smith vs Muscles Malone vs Sicko
Referee: Eric Russo

DING!
DING!
DING!

Ace Anderson: Is the Coroner on his way with bags and tags?

Sicko's veins pump an endless supply of rage and hate as he allows his brain to feed him all the ways to violently maul his two counterparts. The sound of the bell only serving as a grim flashback to the sound of large metal doors closing him in his room back at the institution. He starts out the match by gripping both men around the throat with an attempted double chokeslam. They both boot him in the gut, trying to make him release the goozles, but Sicko simply throws Muscles to the mat, but holds on to the throat of Crazy Boy. He lifts him up from the choke into an impressive gorilla press slam, and HURLS him across the ring, taking Muscles down by throwing Crazy Boy into a cross body.

Sicko power walks to collect Crazy Boy and with one large paw around the head, FLINGS him like he were a paper airplane back to the other side of the ring. Muscles finds himself bull rushed in the corner for his further troubles, with Sicko's keg of a torso smashing into him like a boulder. As Malone is left gasping for air with bulging...eyes, the psycho clown changes gear to deliver a running avalanche on Crazy Boy.

He's not satisfied. Crazy Boy is hoisted like a shield and following another running start, finds himself being used as a human battering ram. Sicko wraps BOTH men up and takes turns going corner to corner with psychopathic glee as he smashes their bodies together without regard. Sicko loses his smile as a blank look hides behind the paint. He steps to the center of the ring, adjusts his position, and in a show of strength, gorilla presses the stacked foes high over his head.

Jerry Andrews: How was this animal ever hired here??

Ace Anderson: I thought he was featured on America's Most Wanted one time. I was going to call the number, but then he called mine instead.

Jerry Andrews: Really?

Ace Anderson: No. I'm just really scared of that guy.

Sicko taunts the fans by motioning like their section is going to get two parcels of air mail. He begins to feel life from above and the second he looks up to check on things, is the moment Muscles Malone drops to his feet and Crazy Boy hits a DDT. Only Sicko's head touches without impact. His upper body strength prevents him from being taken down. Crazy Boy is propelled at an angle like a telescope, but Malone cuts into him with a spear and the doubling over swings Crazy Boy down to hitting that DDT!

Malone rolls Crazy Boy out of his way so that he can put the boots to Sicko. He doesn't bother covering up or resisting. Finding pleasure in pain only induces laughter. The Crazy One comes flying off with a springboard frog splash which momentarily halts Chuckles. Muscles directs Crazy Boy into allowing another press slam. Malone tosses Crazy Boy in the air like an acrobat and then he comes down with a 450 splash!

Sicko is no longer laughing as coughs take over his lungs. The two men continue working together in order to neutralize the threat as Sicko is tied up in the ropes. He looks at them with a sinister toothy smile, the very kind that would make a last visual before a victim's soul is knocked out of their body. Malone flexes his muscles and then unloads a torrent of interval uppercuts. Crazy Boy pushes him aside for mudhole stomping. Malone hip tosses Crazy Boy, but he lands on his feet, returning with a dropkick to the kisser!

Jerry Andrews: So much for that alliance! Their hope for survival has just collapsed.

Ace Anderson: Beat Sicko if you can. Survive if he lets you.

Malone is dumped over the top with an assist by Sicko's head. He's free from the binds that tied him! Crazy Boy slides under Sicko's legs as he lands a baseball slide to the moneymaker of Muscles Malone. Sicko narrowly whiffs on grabbing him with a lunge over the ropes. A pele kick from Crazy Boy connects to the top of his head. Malone shoves Crazy Boy into the edge of the ring and then rolls him back inside.

Sicko's second effort nets him a Muscles Malone prize and The Sleaze Machine finds himself yanked between the ropes with a javelin throw spiking him into the mat after. Sicko sticks the side of his boot into Crazy Boy's throat, but he doesn't apply added pressure. At least not yet. What Sicko does is ignore the referee's count while DRAGGING Crazy Boy over to a prone Muscles Malone. The rage induced fists of Sicko pummel Malone into dust as his piston arms fire at ludicrous speed.

This while his foot remains on Crazy Boy's throat.

Fans are starting to have concerns about the nature of this match and especially the air supply of Crazy Boy. Sicko finally takes his foot off as his focus goes to the wheezing mainstay. Crazy Boy is lead to his feet and pulled into a short-arm powerslam. Sicko scoops him back over his shoulder and goes for a running snake eyes. It hits with such force that Crazy Boy cartwheels over the top, landing outside with a sickening thud.

Jerry Andrews: Sicko is a violent storm here tonight. If I'm the Underground Champion, I'd be thinking of vacating the title.

Ace Anderson: PCW isn't prepared to deal with the ramifications. Two men can't even stop him tonight. Imagine him WITHOUT rules?! Facing him would be akin to the death penalty.

Sicko pushes the top rope down into its middle sibling. He's halfway over when he stops to see the stirring of Muscles Malone. Pained as he may be, he still woozily has time to show off for the ladies and score those all important sympathy points. Sicko sharply turns his head to Crazy Boy, then swivels back to Muscles. Crazy Boy. Muscles Malone. Back and forth he goes until he decides on Malone. Sicko charges to go for FCS...and is CAUGHT by a ducked Malone. Before Sicko knows it, he's buckle bombed!

Malone spears him in the corner and alternates shoulders into the keg gut, driving each time with purpose. He finally is moved back by the referee which allows Sicko to ooze into a seated position. Muscles steps around and returns with a bronco buster! Crazy Boy returns with double knees, jarring Malone's face against the middle turnbuckles. Crazy Boy throws knees at Sicko on his path to the top turnbuckle. Fans rise to their feet...corkscrew elbow drop hits! There's a cover!

1!

2!

Malone kicks out. Sicko's head is rested on the bottom rope. The monster appears to be in slumber. Crazy Boy cautiously returns to the top rope. He motions to the fans to rally behind him. There's a leap...Sicko catches Crazy Boy coming off the top rope around the throat for a chokeslam, and he paces around the ring, leading Crazy Boy by the throat, and then he lifts the aerialist high enough to clear the ropes and chokeslam him back first onto the apron. Crazy Boy arches his back in agony and slumps off!!

Jerry Andrews: HE MAY HAVE JUST BROKE HIS BACK!!

Sicko tilts his head at an inhuman angle. He appears ready to rip the ropes clean off since it serves as a wall between him and his prey. Sicko turns into a running clothesline that knocks him off balance. Belly to belly suplex hits! Malone begins to doing push ups off the torso of Sicko, but uses one to push himself into a mid-air elbow drop. The opportunistic Malone frantically goes for the cover.

1!

Sicko presses Malone right the hell off. Muscles gets back up and is halfway met by a speedy clown. A swinging neckbreaker halts that. Sicko reaches underneath and cracks his neck back into place with a very audible pop. He shoots a CREEPY smile while looking up at Malone and then throttles him around the throat. Muscles tries to use what power he has, but that only tells Sicko to tighten the grip. Malone is flipped back first in the corner. Sicko spins his body so that he's getting up from a face down position.

Sicko boots Muscles in the gut, lifting him up for a powerbomb. Muscles bangs on Sicko's head, trying to make him release the hold. He gouges him in the eyes in order to drops behind Sicko with an attempted sunset flip. Sicko resists. Muscles frantically pulls, trying to take Sicko off balance but Sicko, manic-eyed and snarling, shakes his head no. AIR CRAZY BOY! The high flying fan favorite leaps into the fire, looking for a hurricanrana, but Sicko catches the legs around his head. He grips them with fiendish strength.

Crazy Boy looks around wildly as Sicko pulls him back up, forcing him to do a sit up and then Sicko picks him all the way up from the head scissors into a powerbomb position. Sicko steps out of the grip of Muscles Malone, STOMPS on his chest hard enough to make Muscles lay supine, and then Sicko powerbombs Crazy Boy across the chest of the prone Muscles! With bodies stacked again, Sicko goes for a cover.

1.

2.

Sicko lifts BOTH off the mat. The referee looks into the eyes of a man on mission of destruction and it chills him to the bone.

Jerry Andrews: This man is not human.

Ace Anderson: Rumor has it that he likes killing them and small animals for fun in his spare time. I always speculated that it wasn't ice cream he has in the truck...

Jerry Andrews: If Crazy Boy and Muscles Malone don't find a way to survive this, they may be taking a trip in those freezer caskets.

Ace Anderson: For Christ Sakes, Jerry! Children are watching this show.

Sicko props Crazy Boy against one of the corners and then does the same with Muscles on the opposite side. Sicko lumbers to the middle of the ring and then for no inexplicably good reason, starts to spin round and round like a top. He extends his arms out with his hands closed, sans the index fingers. Sicko stops on a dime and is directed to...Muscles Malone.

Like a human cannonball he comes barreling right for him. Malone moves out of the way and the impact absolutely rattles the ring. Sicko bounces into an electric chair drop! Muscles starts to pose and admire himself, but then realizes the unmitigated danger of the man under him, which is enough to make him serious for a minute. Crazy Boy lends an assist by allowing a back body drop. The two men work together (finally) to pull Sicko up. He's swung into the corner. Muscles hits a running hip attack. Crazy Boy with a leaping heel kick. Tandem suplex!

No slouch in the strength department, Muscles Malone picks up the 383 pounder with little trouble. Sicko is turned to the side and hoisted up with a single arm suplex! Crazy Boy is on the ropes, he leaps off with a crossbody at the same time Malone falls back! Crazy Boy remains for the pin.

1!

2!

Sicko presses him off. Malone leaps in place.

1!

2!

The result is the same. Sicko is pulled to his knees. Muscles reaches back and punches the clown square in the face. Crazy Boy hits him from the opposing side. His head swivels back with a death glare. Malone, being who he is, throws off his pants to give Sicko a face fall of pink thong! Sicko low blows Muscles clean off his feet, placing him over his shoulders. Crazy Boy finds the top rope for springboard action...

FUCKIN' CLOWN SHOES IN MIDAIR FOLLOWED BY A SAMOAN DROP!!

Sicko drags Muscles by one arm to the corner. The big man exits the ring, pulls Muscles by the arm over to the ringpost, and yanks Muscles under the bottom turnbuckle so that Muscles cracks into the post. He pulls on the arm like he's trying to yank it out of the socket. Sicko grabs a hold of it and puts a foot against the apron, pulling back on the arm with all his might.

Jerry Andrews (sickened): Sicko is trying to literally rip off Malone's arm off!

Ace Anderson: Think he'd beat him to death with it...?

Jerry Andrews: OF COURSE HE WOULD! HE'S SICKO!

Ace Anderson: ...do you think Alexa would marry him...??

Jerry looks exasperated by the question. Ace puts his hands up as if to imply he was joking. Muscles is heard screaming for his life. Sicko lets go of the arm, but then...sets the head of Muscles against the ringpost. Sicko backs up the necessary amount of paces to get a running start and then TUTTI FUCKING FRUTTI, Sicko does a FCS, sandwiching Muscles head INTO the ringpost while Muscles is pulled next to it.

There is a wave of audible concern amongst everyone in attendance. That spot was sickening and has put Muscles Malone clean out. Sicko pulls himself onto the apron and just as he pushes it down to step over, Crazy Boy hits CRAZY DROP. Sicko staggers and actually falls to a knee! Tornado DDT! Sicko is down! Crazy Boy scratches and claws his way to the top. The fans roar to their feet.

Crazy Spin misses!! Crazy Boy clutches his knees upon impact. Sicko sits upright and once he gathers his senses, dumps Crazy Boy out of the ring. Muscles Malone is set in the corner...ANOTHER FCS sandwich! Sicko sadistically works on the injured arm of Muscles with a ferocious pit bull mentality. He stomps on that arm and stands on it with all of his weight. Malone is lifted into a double chickenwing, or as Sicko calls it, LAUGHING GHOST. Crazy Boy dives back into the ring to attempt to break it up, but Malone's body twitching is enough for the ref to call for the bell before he gets there.

Sasha Greene: Here is the winner of the match, Sicko!

Returning from a commercial break, the lights in the arena 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 riff to TRIVIUM’s cover of “Losing My Religion” echo throughout the arena. The crowd suddenly comes alive as the guitars make themselves heard. Horacio Mortimer appears on the stage, holding out his arm in an expression of beholding. As the first verse begins to play, he finally appears on the top of the stage…

…DOMINATOR…

The Zenith glares towards the crowd massed to his left, then to his right before slowly raising his left arm into the air, revealing a gold plated watch that envelopes his wrist. A shower of orange sparks begins 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.

Jerry Andrews: Here comes the monstrous man who will challenge for the North American Title at Mass Destruction.

Ace Anderson: He picked up a huge victory over Stormm and Kyle Shane last week alongside Gerard Angelo. He must be feeling on top of the world.

Jerry Andrews: Through dubious measures, Ace. He used his wristwatch as a weapon. The outcome of that match didn’t do justice to the action we saw in the ring.

Ace Anderson: You’re kidding, right? Dominator is a BEAST! No wonder he’s only lost TWO singles matches in his entire PCW career.

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

Once Dominator has completed his taunt, Horacio Mortimer raises his hand as if signaling for silence. They receive the complete opposite; unfathomable boos and jeers from the capacity crowd. Horacio looks appalled by this reaction, waiting for the hecklers to quieten down. He lets out a sigh when he realizes that the ruckus will not stop. Instead, he raises his voice to somehow try and drown out the sea of negativity surrounding them.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he begins. “My name… is Horacio Mortimer.”

Normally, the crowd would speak in tandem with The Chronological Order’s founder. On this occasion though, the boos usurp anybody who tries to deviate from this task. He continues regardless.

“Last week, we took away some of Stormm’s credibility,” he gloats. “In time, the inevitability will strike like an epiphany. There is no possible way that Stormm can weather this… well, storm, that is barrelling down on him. Once we obtain the North American Title for our own at Mass Destruction, the entire nation, nay, the WORLD will have no choice but to believe us. Everything we say that we will do, we will do. Perhaps then, you might reconsider how you invest your time.”

Jerry Andrews: Is he trying to recruit members of the public into The Chronological Order?

Ace Anderson: Who knows? Maybe with enough members, they could even administer themselves as a certifiable religion.

Jerry Andrews: Ugh… I shudder to think!

“Here tonight, we find ourselves with ‘time to spare,’ so to speak,” Horacio speaks with the utmost of conviction. “Of course, no time is spare. Time must be spent wisely, even in periods allocated by others to be used to rest, think, plan or otherwise. Some may relish at the chance of leisurely activities, but any true successful businessman knows that even in quiet times, one must work hard.”

“That is one of many mantras of The Chronological Order,” Horacio continues. “There is no such thing as ‘time to spare,’ for every second is precious. And whereby we are expected to sit on our hands and allow time to elapse until our next show, we point blank REFUSE to deny our obligations. Now, I cannot say that there is ‘no better time’ to do this, considering that no given moment in time is specifically better than another…”

Ace Anderson: He sure does ramble a lot, doesn‘t he…

“However,” he continues, having not heard Ace’s jape from such a distance, “I must reiterate the fact that you are looking at one of the greatest commodities in PCW today. A man with no equal. A man who takes the word DOMINATE so literally that he has become the very definition of what he is. This man will dispose of the man you adore so grandly… Justin “Stormm” Michaels…”

The fans burst into cheers at the mention of the North American champion’s name, much to the chagrin of Horacio. Dominator, meanwhile, simply allows his lip to curl.

“I can assure you,” Horacio butts in, “that Dominator WILL dethrone Stormm at Mass Destruction to become the NEW PCW North American Champion. Then, and only then, shall the championship regain its value. For too long, Stormm has prohibited progression of real talent by selfishly keeping that championship around his waist. Is it any wonder that the footfall of talent into PCW is so low when people like Stormm and Kyle Shane refuse to make way for more prominent rising stars? It is a crime against this company. But The Chronological Order shall right this wrong and deal our own brand of justice.”

He stops for breath. The fans are not at all pleased with Horacio’s sentiments, however, Horacio cracks a small grin.

“But I simply could not deny you, the prospective future members of The Chronological Order, an opportunity to witness the most DOMINANT individual in Pure Class Wrestling today do what he does best,” Horacio grins slyly. Dominator dubiously slides his eyes into the corners of their sockets towards his manager. Mortimer begins to pace from one side of the ring to the other, heading specifically in the direction of, without irony, the timekeeper’s area. “As such, I have arranged a very special opponent to appear here tonight to face The Zenith,” he states, reaching into his inner pocket to retrieve a piece of card, waving it between the ropes. Sasha Greene exits her seat uncertainly as Horacio continues to beckon her to come for. “Paging Mr. Cruz. Your assistance is required. Ms. Greene, if you please…”

Sasha looks at the card, turning it over with a flick of her wrist, seeing the text written on both sides. With a shrug, she reaches for her own microphone as referee Manny Cruz jogs down the entrance ramp and slides into the ring.

Sasha Greene: The following contest is scheduled for one fall. Introducing first, from Salisbury, England, representing The Chronological Order and The Black Hand. He weighs in at 365 pounds. He is The Temporal King, The Zenith… HE… IS… DOMINATOR!

The crowd unleashes a torrent of boos, but Dominator does not even flinch, not even raising his arms to flourish his muscular frame like a peacock’s plumage. Instead, he stares directly up the ramp with complete totalitarian supremacy, ready for whatever fool had agreed to sign their own death warrant by agreeing to Horacio’s offer.

Without warning, the opening drums to “Land of Shadows” by Audioslave begins to resonate through the arena. The crowd goes wild as the lights immediately cut out! Horacio has a smug expression on his face, whilst Dominator takes a much more serious looking stance, a spotlight still shining over him. The entranceway begins to fill with orange lights as the violins begin to play.

Sasha Greene: His opponent; from Kansas City, Kansas…

The crowd roars in anticipation as the crescendo reaches its peak. A spotlight appears at the top of the stage…

Sasha Greene: Weighing in at 99 pounds.

There are some chuckles from the crowd, accompanied with some murmurings. Had Sasha misread what was on the card? Their questions would be answered in an instant as the silhouette of Stormm appears amidst the fog, only for it to disperse to reveal…

…A little person! Dressed identically to Stormm, complete with a miniaturize baseball bat and a scaled-down version of the North American Title.

Sasha Greene: Ladies and Gentlemen, please welcome… MICROBURST!

Displaying all the traits of Stormm’s entrance down to a tee, this little person known as Microburst makes his way to the ring. The crowd is not quite sure how to react to this. They seem to be booing Horacio’s intentions more so than the arrival of Microburst himself. As Microburst runs up the steps leading to the ring apron, Dominator can be seen with an amused, yet malicious smirk on his face. It takes several seconds for Microburst to clamber onto the second rope, throwing the hood that he wears down from the back of his head, raising his replica title into the air as the lights begin to return to normal.

Removing his coat and letting it drop to the ground, he slowly steps down onto the bottom turnbuckle before his feet finally reach the canvas. He squares up to Dominator, or rather, his shins. He slowly looks up. The size difference is beyond colossal; like an island off the coast of a continent. Microburst’s neck is fully cricked back as if he is looking up into the rafters.

“Oh,” Horacio suddenly pips up. “One more thing…” he unleashes a wicked grin of his own. “This match is to be contested under No Disqualification rules.” This revelation causes the crowd to unleash their abhorrence with a tirade of boos and jeers, some fans even going as far as to hurl trash, drinks and anything else they can get their hands on at Horacio. Judging their trajectory, along with calculating the average speeds given to their weight and force of propulsion, Horacio is able to dance around every projectile at the last split second, laughing at the feeble attempts of the crowd.

Jerry Andrews: This is just sick! How on earth is this little guy meant to take on a behemoth like Dominator!?

Ace Anderson: Come on, Jerry. Surely this Microburst guy knew what he was getting himself in for when he agreed to Horacio Mortimer’s terms. And besides, this could be the start of a bright and prosperous future. Remember, this is exactly how Muscles Malone made his debut.

Jerry Andrews: Oh, stop! You can’t justify this any way you slice it. This is WRONG!

Ace Anderson: Well, it’s happening Jerry, whether you like it or not.

DING DING DING!

No Disqualification Match

Dominator vs Microburst

Referee: Manny Cruz

Dominator simply stares down at Microburst, that amused grin is yet to leave his face. Undeterred by the size difference, Microburst reels the miniature baseball bat that he still wields in his hands and swings it as hard as he can into Dominator’s shin. The Zenith grimaces on the impact, but not out of pain; more so discomfort, as if he’d been bitten by a mosquito. Nonetheless, he pulls his leg upwards into his chest to rub the area of impact with his hand. The crowd begins to chuckle at this, which, in truth, is the last thing that they should have done. With one almighty thrust, the sole of Dominator’s boot slams into Microburst’s chest and putting him straight on his back. He keeps his foot pressed forcefully down, crushing Microburst like an ant. The referee acknowledges this as a cover.

ONE!

TWO!

TH-NO!

Microburst had not kicked out. Rather, he had been kicked onto his front by The Zenith. The crowd is disgusted. Microburst twitches on the mat, barely even conscious from that one kick. Dominator reaches down, pausing to let his hand hover over the downed midget. The crowd reacts accordingly, crying as if pleading for mercy from The Temporal King on Microburst’s behalf. Perhaps their cries had been heard as Dominator picks up the miniaturized baseball bat, something smaller than even that which would belong in a child’s toy box. He centralizes both his hands in the center of the bat. And in one simple movement, he snaps it in half as if it were a twig.

Discarding the splintered remnants of the bat over the top rope, Dominator’s malevolent intentions start to become clearer as he wraps his serpentine fingers around the back of Microburst’s neck. With minimal effort, he lifts his prize into the air, holding him high above his head like a trophy ready to mount on his wall. His amusement soon turns into rage as he forcefully thrusts Microburst downward into the mat with a Reverse Chokeslam. Blood erupts volcanically from Microburst’s nose; the first part of his body to impact the mat.

Ace Anderson: GOOD GOD!

Jerry Andrews: This is too much! Somebody stop this!

The official simply stares in disbelief at Dominator, as if wondering why he is not just going for a pinfall right now. Microburst, amazingly, is trying to move. His hand has now become awash with the claret that pours from his nose like a nasal Niagra. Dominator smirks and reaches down for the North American Title replica. He looks at it in the palm of his hand, dropping down on to one knee and propping the strap over his shoulder, only to lash it down across Microburst’s back like a whip. Microburst’s screams are muffled and interspersed with genuine weeping, but Dominator is remorseless. WHAP! WHAP! And again!

Jerry Andrews: This has gone much, MUCH too far! This is depraved! This is sick!

Ace Anderson: Do YOU want to go in there and stop him!?

Without a moment’s hesitation, Jerry Andrews rips his headset away from his ears and ejects himself from his chair. Horacio watches on in disbelief as Jerry Andrews scrambles into the ring, grabbing the replica title and throwing it out of harm’s way. Dominator glares at Jerry judgementally, slowly rising to his feet to tower over Jerry Andrews. Jerry had never stood face to face with The Zenith before. It is an awe-inspiring, yet spine-chilling experience for him.

Ace Anderson: Jerry, you crazy son of a… GET OUT OF THERE!

Dominator grins as he takes a large stride towards Jerry, who stands his ground despite flinching ever so slightly. A “Jerry! Jerry! Jerry!” chant that would be more suitably placed coming from the mouths of a crowd in a tasteless syndicated talk show. Unmoved by the support towards his newfound opponent, The Temporal King looks over his shoulder back down at the rotting carcass that is what’s left of Microburst. He looks at Jerry once more, letting out a chuckle before moving back towards his original target. With The Zenith’s back now turned to him, Jerry grabs him by the arm and tries to yank him back. Immediately, Dominator turns and thrusts his free arm forward, clutching Jerry around the throat, slowly beginning to crush his windpipe. Jerry tries to claw himself free, but the grip of The Temporal King is fierce.

Ace Anderson: JERRY!

With all hope lost, Jerry appears to be going blue in the face. The official tries to pull Dominator away but is swatted away like a fly, sent tumbling to the canvas. Dominator’s face screws up as he applies even more pressure to the trachea of the commentary legend.

It is at that moment that the lights cut out. Only the flashes of cameras from phones are able to reveal glimmers of what is transpiring in the ring. Ten seconds or more pass. By the time the lights return to normal, Dominator is stood in the perfect center of the ring, both Microburst and Jerry Andrews have managed to drop down to the canvas and roll under the bottom rope. Whether the latter was simply released or shoved by force remains a secret that only the temporary darkness knows. No sooner than the lights come back on, Sasha Greene offers assistance to Jerry.

It isn’t long before Horacio begins shouting at Dominator, pointing upwards to alert him towards an oncoming threat. This warning also acts as guidance for the crowd, for, upon realization, they begin to cheer the hero of this caper…

Rappelling from the rafters, the PCW North American Champion Stormm makes his descent.

Prepared for his foe’s arrival, Dominator tries to position himself in the best possible place to gain the advantage once Stormm’s feet have touched the ground. Stormm dangles some fifteen feet above the ring. The Zenith pounces at Stormm, trying to swipe at him with his bear-paws for hands. Even at such a height, Stormm is perilously close to being caught in The Temporal King’s clutches. Realizing that his efforts are futile, Dominator instead chuckles and motions back towards Microburst, giving him a swift kick to the side to remind him that his ordeal is not yet over. Seizing the opportunity, Stormm begins to wriggle free from the harness he is wearing. Horacio is literally screaming for Dominator to return his attention to where it should be. The second Dominator looks back up, Stormm wriggles free from his harness, twisting his body in midair to flatten Dominator with a Cross Body! The crowd roars at this death-defying feat.

Ace Anderson: Was Stormm hiding in the rafters this whole time!?

Jerry Andrews: I’ve…*pant*… no idea, but…*pant*… I’m sure glad he…*pant*…got here…*pant*… when he did.

Ace Anderson: You okay, buddy?

Jerry Andrews: I’ve…*pant*… had better days.

Ace Anderson: Sarcasm levels nominal. He’s fine.

Having been caught completely off guard by the high-risk maneuver deployed by Stormm, Dominator is now flat on his back on the canvas. Stormm is wailing away on him with lefts and rights, trying to keep to the big man detained for as long as he can. It isn’t long before he is overpowered, being forced away from Dominator with one almighty shove. Stormm backward-rolls onto his feet, quickly unclipping the North American title from around his waist for it restricts the movement of his waistline muscles.

The Zenith is up, a look of pure rage has spread across his face as he lunges at Stormm. Stormm ducks another clothesline, but Dominator anchors himself into place and instead throws another Clothesline with his other arm, this one clubbing Stormm across the back of the neck. Stormm hits the mat before Dominator immediately drops his knee into The Force of Nature’s spine. Stormm yells out as Dominator kneels on the top of him, putting the vast majority of his weight directly onto his back. Dominator grabs the back of Stormm’s head and pounds his face repeatedly into the mat.

Ace Anderson: Stormm has tried to get the drop on Dominator here and it looks like it’s going to cost him dearly!

Jerry Andrews: I can’t remember anybody who is as sadistic as Dominator. Just look at his eyes! He’s like a wild animal!

Mercifully, Dominator ceases this form of onslaught, but the ordeal is far from over. Dominator slowly clambers to his feet, reaching down and lifting Stormm off the mat. Slowly and methodically, Dominator hoists Stormm onto his shoulder and runs with him towards the corner turnbuckle, lodging Stormm in a standing position. The wind has been taken out of Stormm from that bombardment. The Zenith backs up, assessing Stormm’s position before charging will a full head of steam at the North American Champion.

With The Zenith halfway across the ring, Stormm suddenly throws himself upwards, using the top ropes as leverage so that he is able to get his boot high up enough in the air to kick Dominator right in the face. The crowd roars as Dominator is knocked back, dazed from such a stiff blow to the skull. Stormm doesn’t waste any time in trying to seize an advantage over his newfound nemesis. He reaches for Dominator’s arm, struggling to get him in position, but eventually locks in the Eye Of The Stormm! Dominator grits his teeth and Stormm wrenches at his shoulder, arm and face, but he refuses to show any signal that he might submit to the move, no matter the relevance given the match stipulation.

Jerry Andrews: It would be a huge statement if Dominator were to tap right here!

Ace Anderson: But he’s not doing it, Jerry! Dominator isn’t the sort to just give up!

Indeed, Ace’s words ring true as Dominator momentarily causes an amplification of pressure to his face by hurling himself forwards. Stormm’s feet leave the ground as Dominator uses his raw power to flip Stormm over his shoulders, but Stormm refuses to break the hold, resulting in a modified Cattle Mutilation hold being applied instead! The crowd applauds Stormm’s innovation as Dominator struggles to free himself from this situation. The Force of Nature suddenly breaks the hold. Horacio Mortimer is up on the ring apron, shouting abuse in Stormm’s direction in an attempt to gain his attention. With Dominator subdued, Stormm glares at Horacio, who immediately looks like he regrets his decision to intervene.

The crowd roars!

Jerry Andrews: Look!

Bloodied and broken, yet miraculously, Microburst has somehow managed to retrieve a FULL SIZED baseball bat. It is even larger than the dwarf is himself. Barely even able to lift the weapon, Microburst swings with all his might, cracking Horacio in the shin. Horacio lets out a yelp of pain, hopping up and down on the ring apron. Stormm surges forward, clubbing Horacio in the face with such gusto that The Founder is sent hurtling off the apron. He crashes face first into the barricade, dropping to the ground to rapturous applause from the fans in attendance.

Jerry Andrews: That little guy has a lot of heart!

Ace Anderson: Which is probably just as well, considering the amount of blood he’s lost.

Jerry Andrews: Ace… is that really necessary?

Ace Anderson: The guy just passed Stormm a WEAPON! I’ve got no sympathy whatsoever.

The moment that Microburst passes the bat to Stormm, he collapses down on the canvas. Having only just realized that Microburst had evaded his sight and noticed the impending danger, Horacio shouts at Dominator to warn him. Dominator is still dusting the cobwebs from Stormm‘s retribution, only for Stormm to swing the back full force into the back of Dominator’s legs. He lets out an anguished cry as he drops to one knee. Stormm slowly paces around to The Zenith’s front, using the bat like a ram, shoving the tip into Dominator’s chest. Dominator drops onto his back, clutching his chest. Stormm looks to deliver the deathblow but stops upon noticing the distress on Microburst’s face.

Within seconds the lights go out. There is confusion amongst the fans.

Jerry Andrews: What’s going on?

Ace Anderson: Obviously, we’ve come across yet another arena where they haven’t paid their electricity bill.

The truth is revealed moments later. Stormm had lifted Microburst on his shoulders, having waved to whoever might be up in the rafters. The harness that he had descended within has now lowered once more. Stormm had slipped his arms through the straps, securing himself and Microburst within its confines.

But, as the lights reveal, the danger is still present.

Just as Stormm had started his ascent, he had been grabbed by the foot by Dominator, who is battling through the pain of being struck by the baseball bat to make one final stand. The harness is continued to be winched higher, but The Zenith refuses to relent. He is pulled upwards onto his feet, yanking sharply at Stormm’s foot, applying a Standing Ankle Lock of sorts. Stormm yells out, trying to kick himself free whilst ensuring not to drop Microburst.

Gently prising the baseball bat from under his arm, Stormm swings the baseball bat downward but is unable to reach Dominator’s hand. Instead, he resorts to throwing the bat downwards as hard as he can, striking The Zenith right in the forehead. The Temporal King lets out an anguished roar, releasing Stormm’s foot so that he can hold the area of impact. The fans cheer as Stormm makes his ascent. Dominator is irate in the ring, picking up the bat and launching it upwards toward Stormm, but by this point, he is too high up to be reached, even with the projectile hurtled into the air. As Stormm rappels back up into the darkness, Dominator is left to pound the canvas with his boot out of rage.

But Dominator’s frustrations are soon vanquished upon the sight of something that is left behind. Where Microburst had been laying, Stormm had left the North American Title in its place. Dominator stops and stares at the championship belt, looking dubiously towards the rafters. Stormm is now long gone. Horacio has rolled into the ring, still a little woozy from being struck by Stormm. Dominator and Horacio exchange a confused look, before The Zenith gestures for Horacio to retrieve the belt, sensing that this could be some sort of trick or trap. There is a moment of awkwardness shared between the two, with Dominator pointing at the belt and berating Horacio like a child who has not cleared up his toys. Nervously, Horacio reaches down for the North American title, his fingertips tantalize the gold.

Nothing happens.

Quick as a flash, he snaps up the title in his arms. He looks at the belt briefly, only for Dominator to snatch it up for himself. He gazes longingly at the gold. Manny Cruz is left speechless in the ring. Horacio notices the flummoxed expression on his face. He calls for Microburst to be counted out! Manny refuses, based on the no disqualification rules in place for this match. This prompts intervention from The Zenith, who towers over the referee and grabs him by the scruff of the neck, before turning him around to face the timekeeper.

Reluctantly, Manny complies.

ONE!

Ace Anderson: He’s making the count!

TWO

Jerry Andrews: This is an absolute disgrace. It isn’t enough for The Chronological Order to try and belittle Stormm, but now they have come into possession of the North American Title once again and, furthermore, they’ve called for a count out to take place.

THREE

Ace Anderson: Well, this match has to conclude somehow. Microburst has left the ring, so he’s practically forfeited the match.

FOUR

Jerry Andrews: That’s only because Stormm had to intervene and save the little guy from an absolute mauling. I applaud Stormm’s valiant attempts to save him, but The Chronological Order have taken a step too far here tonight.

FIVE

Ace Anderson: Microburst knew what he was getting into by stepping into the ring with The Zenith. I think this is a fair outcome.

SIX

Jerry Andrews: Horacio Mortimer himself made this match No Disqualification! And in all my years following wrestling, I’ve never seen anything in the rulebook about countouts being applied in a No DQ match.

SEVEN

Ace Anderson: That’s because there ARE NO RULES, Jerry. Are you going to go back in there and argue with them yourself? Because, you know, it worked out SO well for you last time.

EIGHT

Jerry Andrews: Ace, I could hear you yelling at me from the ring earlier. It was almost as though you actually cared.

NINE

Ace Anderson: Please. It’s just the fact that I’m not paid enough to do a two-man job on my own.

TEN!

DING DING DING!

Sasha Greene: Here is your winner as the result of a countout… DOMINATOR!

The crowd immediately reacts with a torrent of negativity. Dominator lifts the North American Title high above his head, mounting the turnbuckle and staring out across the crowd and, in fact, the entire ringside area. He is clearly a little cautious, knowing that Stormm could appear from literally anywhere it would seem. Horacio applauds his client before checking his watch, signaling that the time has come for them to take their leave. Dominator drapes the North American Title over his shoulder and climbs over the top rope. Dominator and Mortimer walk side by side with the manager still offering congratulatory words to The Zenith.

They reach the top of the stage. Dominator cannot help himself but to turn around and raise the North American Title triumphantly over his head one last time, when all of a sudden, he is blindsided by a shot with… a baseball bat!?

Jerry Andrews: STORMM! STORMM IS BACK!

Ace Anderson: How the hell did he get down from the rafters so quickly!?

Despite being struck from behind and landing on all fours, Dominator battles through the pain and beckons for Stormm to fight with his fists. Stormm is only more than willing to oblige, barrelling through Horacio Mortimer and leaping at Dominator, planting him with rights and lefts. With Stormm still up in the air, Dominator lunges forward, planting him with a Spinebuster on the stage. Stormm writhes in pain, but as Dominator picks him up, Stormm instinctively throws more punches and kicks The Zenith’s way. Stormm hits an elbow to the sternum, before spinning behind Dominator and wrapping his leg around that of The Zenith, tripping him and planting him with the Flash Flood! Dominator squirms in pain, trying to get back up to his feet as Stormm retrieves the North American Title once again. He arms himself with it, begging Dominator to get into the right position, looking to put an end to this once and for all…

The stage is suddenly swarmed by officials and members of the PCW roster, trying to keep these two from tearing each other apart. There must be thirty or more people in between Stormm and Dominator, both are still trying to wriggle free to get at one another. Without warning, Stormm breaks away and leaps over the majority of the obstructions, nailing Dominator with a right hand. Enraged, The Zenith barrels through the crowd holding him back and delivers a punch of his own to Stormm. Even more officials and even management are forced to get involved, a sea of personnel now stopping the two from coming to blows.

Ace Anderson: This has turned into an all out WAR!

Jerry Andrews: These two can’t wait for Mass Destruction. They want to settle the score right here and now. We hope things will have calmed down when we come back from this commercial break.

Sheesh, again with this backstage business.

Seromine and Lucy walk down a hall, confident in their righteousness. "Grimm is going to get a lesson from Genesis" the clenched right hand "and Revelation" now the left. Lucy, for her part, asks her son to clasp them in prayer until they find their target. Elsewhere, perhaps in an adjoining corridor parallel to the very one we just observed (shocking, I know), Grimm continues on his way, still wielding a certain shovel that is not unfamiliar to these environs. Brow knit in consternation, he chomps at the idea of putting the Serpentine Sermonizer down before they even have to step into a ring. Sanctioned or not, sometimes a person just needs a beating, you know?

It doesn’t matter who turns the corner first. What’s important is that, yes, of course, Seromine and Grimm see one another. They approach, stopping just beyond striking distance.

Seromine’s grin grows into a full-blown smirk. “Grimm.”

Grimm’s scowl somehow deepens. “Seromine.”

Grimm raises the shovel to his chest. Seromine reaches behind him, but only God knows whether it’s to pull something from his waistband or for Lucy to hand her son that something. And a voice starts faint but grows louder from yet another hall.

“nonononononNoNoNoNONONO!”

Loki skids around a corner and jogs up to the three of them. Face flushed, he runs his hand through his hair.

“I can’t believe I had to leave my office for this. And for you two! You’ve been in PCW collectively for, what, 50 years? You of all people know this stuff isn’t going to fly.”

A joint shrug from the two foes.

“Now, everybody knows you two want to beat one other into bloody messes, and I recognize that neither of you have a title to put on the line, but we still can’t have our employees at less than their best at a pay per view.”

At that not-so-subtle insult, Grimm and Seromine glance at each other. There passes between them a flicker of acknowledgment that they could respond with a collaborative exhibition of shocking violence. Standing up for themselves, teaching a lesson, you know, the usual. Even at his peak Loki could not handle the two of them together (Grimm made Loki eat his own beard, for goodness sake!), so now…well…you get the idea. But then, a shared subconscious shake of the head. Such a display, no matter how deserved or fulfilling, would be one of the poorer business decisions either had made in their respective careers. So they grit their teeth and allow Loki to continue.

“So here’s what’s going to happen: you’re not going to lay a finger on each other until your official match. If you do, you’re both suspended until I feel like reinstating you. Who knows how long that could be? And I know money isn’t an issue, but what the hey, I’ll fine both of you enough to make it sting a little. Got it?”

Loki’s right, and they know it. As much as they want to lace into one another, how much sweeter will it be then and there at Mass Destruction?

Pretty freakin’ sweet.

So, without taking their gaze off each other, they both nod. Seromine still smiling, Grimm still scowling, they slowly back away until the collective threat is neutralized, then turn and walk to…wherever. Loki rolls his eyes, throws up his hands, and leaves in a huff.

Back at ringside, "In The Morning and Amazing" hits on the PA, and Kyle Shane comes walking out onto the stage. He's wearing a tight-fitting black hoodie with a band logo adorning the back, a pair of skinny jeans and Chucks, and holding the Pure Class Wrestling World Championship in his left hand. He has a mic, and as he is making his way to the ring, he starts addressing the crowd as he goes.

Kyle Shane: You know, since last Trauma, I've had a lot of time to reflect on the decision handed down by President Loki and the board in charge of all of this. They decided that despite the split decision at Collision Course, I was going to remain as World Champion, and at the end of the night they returned the belt where it belongs, to the person that actually had won that match - yours truly, the Game Changer, Kyle Shane.

With a bounce in his step he goes up the ring steps, confidently swinging a leg between the ropes and entering the ring. He begins walking around, holding the title.

Kyle Shane: Now I recognize the fact that, that wasn't a popular decision. I'm not even going to say it was a completely fair decision... but it was a JUST decision. And in my mind, it should put all of this to bed, because it means in the eyes of more than just me, that official rulings are that I should be named the sole winner of that match. BUT. Taken on it's own, Loki coming out here, holding the belt up until he gave an answer and then awarding it to me, raised more questions and concerns than it solved, so I'm out here to fix things. I'm about to set everything right. Alls I need is my challenger, Gerard Angelo - Angelo, you bastard, get on down here.

Nothing happens for a moment, and Kyle frowns.

Kyle Shane: I'm not waiting all night. Get out here!

There is another slight pause but soon the opening drum beats to “Amazing” blasts over the PA system, annoying the arrival of Gerard Angelo. He strides out confidently onto the stage in a blue Tom Ford suit, the Faithful giving him a decent pop as the light show of his entrances reflects off the lenses of his Santos De Cartier sunglasses. Gerry has a slight smirk on his face as he makes a “cut” motions with his left hand. The music stops as his right bring the mic to his lips.

Gerard Angelo: As much as you don’t want to believe it, Kyle, the Universe doesn’t revolve around you. Shocking, I know, since the company treats you like a deity. But you see, I’m in my dressing room all the way down the hall, enjoying this thrilling edition of Thursday Night Trauma, minding my own business. This is when a jerk off in girl jeans demands I drop what I’m doing to come listen to another long winded monologue. Then he has the nerve to get mad that I didn’t sprint across the arena. Like I’m wasting his time.

Gerard walks down the ramp slowly before he stops, staring up into the ring at the PCW Champion, but going no further.

Gerard Angelo: But you’re out here beating a dead horse about the Board’s official ruling. The company did what they always do, ruled in favor of you. You got to keep the title, even though their was no definitive winner. You get to continue your historic championship reign, even though you never beat me. One would think you would be happy and decide to move on from this blemish on your otherwise pristine reign as the guy around here. But you keep wanting to talk about it. Almost like you’re…. guilty?

Kyle smiles, cagily, and he spreads a hand out in front of him like a gracious host.

Kyle Shane: Thank you for your invaluable insight, Gerry boy... and I think it's funny, for someone so secure in their own life, they feel the need to mention what kind of pants I wear EVERY SINGLE TIME YOU SAY SOMETHING ABOUT ME, but with that wry little observation noted, why don't you uh, join me in the ring so we can talk about my proposal face to face.

Gerard looks at Kyle, then around at the crowd, and sighs.

Gerard Angelo: Well, knowing you, this is gonna take a while so I might as well get comfortable.

Gerard walks over to the ring steps and climbs up them. He wipes his feet on the apron before climbing into the ring. He makes his way into a corner, putting his elbow on the top turnbuckle and propping his head up.

Kyle Shane: See Gerard, when Loki handed down his decision and I was given the title back, I knew it was going to make you double down on your illogical conspiracy theories. You are gonna scream louder than ever now, that Loki, who as I stated last Trauma I hadn't even met before in the capacity as the head honcho - have a little home cooking going on and he had a vested interest in protecting me as champion.

Gerard Angelo: Kyle, it doesn’t matter if you’ve never met Loki, or you sleep over his house every Friday and give each other make overs. You think I’ve met half the people in Hollywood who I’ve worked for? Hell no. Does that mean that they don’t have a vested interest in the lead actor for their movies? The fact is Kyle, you are the leading man around here. You are the golden goose. Business has been real good with you as the man around here. Hell, taking nothing away from you as a competitor and entertainer, you are FANTASTIC. Trauma is easily the best rated show in its time slot. We launched the PCW Network. Business is booming. And now you don’t think the company has a vested interest in making sure nothing changes.

Gerard takes his sunglasses off as he steps out of the corner and closer to Shane.

Gerard Angelo: You don’t believe me? What was your hardest title defense before me? Probably your first one against Grimm. And that was just to see if you could hang. After Grimm they paraded a bunch of broken down has-beens as challengers for you. Tyler Scott with a bad arm and a mentally broken Rick Majors don’t strike me as the creme de la creme, I’m sorry. And then I came out of nowhere to win the Deadly Rumble, and I threw a wrench into all their best laid plans. I ruined the money match they were banking on with you versus Dominator. The guy they didn’t want to see succeed. Hell, I couldn’t even get an Underground title shot. But I forced myself into the main event. A guy that could actually beat you and fuck everything up. So they did everything in their power at COLLUSION Course to make sure the golden boy stayed spotless.

Kyle just shakes his head at the absurdity of it, and smiles. He holds up the World title between them.

Kyle Shane: So Gerard, if you really think that. If you REALLY believe that, that I was unworthy, that I've been given everything on a silver platter by Loki, up to and including him handing me the title after Collision Course and conspiring to screw you out of it, then I have a deal with you. I will, right here, right now, in this ring, straight up HAND YOU the Pure Class Wrestling World Championship. No strings attached. You're the champ. I'll step back and say hell, you won fairly at Collision Course, even, it was a goofy referee call that robbed you of it. You agree right here, right now, and I'll give you everything you want.

Gerard Angelo: Damn, who’s your weed guy? That ish must be LOUD.

Kyle's grin turns wicked, as he's driving home on a sly point.

Kyle Shane: Only problem is if you take my deal, you have to renounce every single thing you've been saying. You have to eat your words completely, YOU have to step back and say there is no conspiracy to hold you back. You have to say there is no collusion between me and Loki, or any management authority figure, and they haven't helped my career at all. You'll have the World title given right to you, but in exchange, you will have to tell each and every one of these people that you're full of it, and the only reason you ever said there was a conspiracy is to cover up your own insecurity.

He folds the straps of the title under the face plate, holding it extended in one hand, out to Angelo.

Kyle Shane: I'm willing to put my money where my mouth is. Are you?

Gerard looks at the title for a long minute before looking back at Shane and shaking his head.

Gerard Angelo: You are a really, really, insecure man. Any other person would’ve just scoffed at the notion that their career had been assisted by management. Anyone else would’ve just brushed it off. But you let me get under your skin with my words. You’re so insecure about what people say about you, that you let this fester in your head for two weeks. It bothered you so much that you came to Trauma with this entire dog and pony show. You’re making a scene and for what?

Kyle Shane: What I'm trying to do here is trying to get you to come around to a point, Gerard. You own up to your shit. I'm willing to do the same, I'm willing to give everything up, as I always do, going all in to prove MY point. But if you accepted, you never cared about working for this title, you just wanted the fame and prestige that comes from sitting in my position. Hell, it means that you, happily would take the advantages you say I'm given if our roles were reversed. Or you could be a man, and say there is no advantage, there is no collusion, I got where I am because I am that God damn good!

Gerard Angelo: Kyle, you know as well as I do that I would never accept the World Heavyweight Championship like that. I’ve worked my ass off for everything I have in my career. I was never suppose to succeed in wrestling. I was told by everyone I should just quit, that I wouldn’t accomplish anything. I succeeded in spite of those people. I worked my ass off to be one of the very best in the world. And I don’t want you to just hand me the title because you have a guilty conscience.

Seeing that Angelo doesn't seem to be buying the bait, Kyle unfolds the title, still clutching it in his hand. He holds it up next to his face.

Kyle Shane: Well that's great. It's a nice little speech you have there, about busting your ass. And I liked what you said earlier, about the fact that management never gave you title shots like they did to me. Here's a secret. Wasn't ANYTHING handed to me. I'm the man who kicked in the door of this place and TOOK what I wanted. I was the one who made people sit up and take notice from his first night. I'm the one who won two matches in the same night to retain my Underground Title and win the Icemann Invitational Tournament. So when you bitch about not getting attention, Gerry... you're the one that feels insecure, because you have never done anything like I've done to MAKE them take notice of you.

Gerard rolls his eyes, and mouths "Here we go with this again," but doesn't respond.

Kyle Shane: And I came out here and offered you an out. I offered you a test to see if you would finally back all of your complaining up about being overlooked and passed over and do something that makes them, and more importantly, makes ME take notice. So while if you had just taken what I'd offered, it would have been a letdown. And honestly, it just wouldn't mean as much to me if I didn't prove it to you, Angelo. You can sit there and bitch, and whine, and complain that I get things given to me, that I get what I want from management. And it's all irrelevant. I'm gonna get what I want from you. Even if I have to drag it from you kicking and screaming, I am going to get a definitive win over you, no referee controversy, no authority intervention. With absolutely no help I am going to shatter your illusions and send you packing back to Loki, crying for another title shot, crying for another hand out.

Gerard Angelo: Kyle, if you beat me fair and square, I will shake your hand and call you the best in the world. But we both know that isn’t going to happen. You can’t beat me. Last time I pushed you to the limit. You had a gimmicked turnbuckle and a crooked ref and the best you could do was take me to a draw. What do you think is going to happen when we are locked inside a steel cage we can’t escape from? Let me give you a spoiler. I’m going to shatter the mystique. I am going to ruin your aura of invincibiilty. I am going to break you and TAKE the World Championship from you.

Gerard gets closer to the Champion, smirking.

Gerard Angelo: And as good as being the champion will be, it will pale in comparison to the look on your face when Sasha announces me as the NEW PCW World Champion.

Kyle rears back, cocking an eyebrow, ruffled by the last few lines.

Kyle Shane: You think YOU'RE the one that's going to break me, Gerry, you haven't even done your homework, not last week's, not last month's, not even back to the last exam, how do you expect to pass that final? Boy, NOTHING you can do will break me. The best and brightest of this damn company have broke themselves crashing like waves on a lighthouse shore against me, trying to "break me". You think YOU are going to kill that aura? Let me show you that aura.

Gerard Angelo: You’ve been in the ring with me, Kyle. You know I’m different then anyone you’ve faced in your historic reign. Not just because I’m better then the has-beens before me, but because I don’t buy into the hype. The aura and mystique let you beat somebody mental before they even step in the ring with you. But me, I’ve already seen through it. The God of Game hype, it’s just a facade.

Gerry smirks.

Gerard Angelo: And behind that hype is a sad, pathetic, little boy still crying about his daddy issues. I’m going to EXPOSE you at Mass Destruction, “Champ”.

Kyle, defiantly, raises the belt up in Angelo's face. Angelo, moving quickly, snatches on to one end of the strap, pulling it closer towards him. The foes lock eyes as there is a tense tug of war over the belt for a long second. Angelo pulls on it, grabbing it closer to his chest, and Shane yanks it back. Angelo shoves Shane off-balance, pulling the World Title belt nearly away, and then Shane pivots on his heel and comes around, dropping Angelo with a spinning roundhouse kick. The electric crowd erupts in a huge split reaction, some cheering against Shane, some leaping out of their seats at the sudden cheap shot.

Jerry Andrews: A Dead Eye out of nowhere!!

Kyle pulls the World title belt back to himself, staring down at Angelo and shaking his head, and he spits out a few more taunts and choice words that the audio doesn’t pick up. He exits the ring, staring at Angelo and holding the title over his shoulder, walking up the ramp. Angelo sits up, rubbing his jaw, a focused look that says "I'm going to pay you back for that". The two men stare down across the distance at each other.

Sasha Greene: The following is your main event, scheduled for ONE FALL, and it is for the Pure Class Wrestling Underground Championship! Introducing first, making his way to the ring, weighing 225lbs, from London, England. Tyler Scott!!!

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

However, as Tyler Scott appears through the curtain, the boos surpass the cheers. He pauses at the top of the ramp and takes a moment to adjust the strapping around his wrists and direct a few abusive words to the front row crowd. A quick turn of the wrist and crack of the knuckles and Tyler continues his descent down the ramp. He heads to the ring, climbs through the ropes and walks to the centre where he stands and stares intensely into the crowd. He mouths a few obscenities before beginning warming up for the upcoming contest.

Jerry Andrews: The tension and dread is falling upon the crowd, as they're getting ready for the main event. The Underground division has been going such a renaissance lately, but it's defenses have been so brutal. We legitimately don't know if this match will shorten someone's careers.

Ace Anderson: Usually I think you're overstating things, Andrews, but truly, the Underground division has gone out of it's way, cranking the edgy, extreme battles up to eleven.

Jerry Andrews: And with the two competitors we have tonight, and their similar smash mouth styles, we are sure to be in for a fight.

Ace Anderson: Tyler Scott has been looking to break out for a long time, since his battles with the World Champion. I think tonight he's looking at a huge test.

Sasha Greene: And his opponent, weighing in at 247 lbs...he is the Pure Class Wrestling Underground Champion... DAVID HUNTER!!

"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.

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.

Jerry Andrews: After a string of matches where the title changed hands every few weeks, David Hunter has stepped up since Collision Course and hung on to the gold, through some very challenging matches involving Muscles Malone and others.

Ace Anderson: Yeah, but tonight, he's got to get through another defense, and Tyler is more motivated than anything we ever saw out of the last few challengers.

Jerry Andrews: I hear you might be right, Ace, and what's more, you never know if Sicko is waiting in the wings since he set his sights on the Underground Title as well.

Pure Class Wrestling Underground Championship
Underground Rules Match
David Hunter (PCW Underground 👑) vs Tyler Scott
Referee: Ed Lane

As the bell rings, the crowd is electric; a real buzz ringing out throughout the arena, as this match, months in the making gets underway. Both men stand across from each other in opposite corners, a smug look on Scott’s face, while Hunter has a real fire in his eyes, looking like he has everything in the world to prove. Slowly the pair emerge from the corner, inching towards each other, and of course, Tyler can’t help himself, he has to start talking smack, saying that all of this belongs to me, while Hunter remains stoic, letting Scott’s words sink in… and the rage starts to build, and the crowd builds to a frenzy, urging Hunter to strike… and strike he does, with a European uppercut. Hunter unloads stiff forearm after stiff forearm, and Tyler is rocked, stumbling back.

Jerry Andrews: The champion, not backing down from the Transgressor an inch!

Hunter is thrashing away with shot after shot. Tyler is trying his best to cover up and block the blows, but David is wailing away and the referee certainly isn’t going to stop it. Everyone has their eyes glued on David peeling Tyler off the canvas and whipping him violently into the corner. Scott reels from the hard throw, right back to the center of the ring where Hunter is waiting. He takes Tyler’s head and jams it off the turnbuckle now, stunning Tyler some more and further targeting his head. Hunter then steps onto the second rope and traps Scott in the corner beneath him, setting his knuckles up for the ten punch combo as the crowd counts along. One... two.. three... four... five... six... seven... eight... Scott throws Hunter off and away…but Hunter lands on his feet! Scott tries to charge out of the corner and mount some kind of offense, but he’s cut off by one of the most vicious clotheslines people can recall in recent memory. He stares at Scott for a moment before taking him up and again trying to whip him into a corner, but Tyler manages to reverse the whip this time, throwing Hunter into one instead. Hunter runs up the corner to the top turnbuckle… but Scott puts on the breaks… and he comes in behind Hunter, shoving him off the top rope, sending Hunter sailing down into the aisle. Hunter cracks head first on the barricade as he comes off. A painful landing for Hunter as he smacks into the barrier, and now finally there’s a chance for Scott to go on the attack. After leaning against the corner for a few seconds to compose himself, the Transgressor shakes the cobwebs out, exiting the ring and with Hunter leaning against the barricade, trying to feel himself and check for blood, Scott comes in with with an arrogant pie face to Hunter. Scott pulls his opponent up by the hair, where he drills a pair of knees to the gut. He winds up for an irish whip, and sends Hunter into the steel ringpost face first!

Jerry Andrews: Is he bleeding? Skull meeting steel after that violent encounter, if the Underground title was decided under First Blood rules, it might already be over.

Ace Anderson: True, but then the title really would change hands every week. If not, every five minutes.

Hunter smacks the post as he flops to the floor. The referee asks them to take it back in the ring, but Tyler ignores him, instead again turning to the crowd, arms open wide, revelling in their boos. More stomps from Scott, before dropping knees to the face as he places Hunter’s throat on the second rope. Tyler pulls the rope up while pressing down on Hunter’s head for a blatant choke. Scott finally relents, but with Hunter draped across the rope, Tyler looks to do further damage, grabbing the top rope, and he slingshots himself to drop a forearm to the back of the head. The impact causes Hunter’s throat to violently bounce off the middle rope. David rolls away, coughing and spluttering as Tyler raises his arm in so called “victory” as these fans let him have it, although Scott could careless. He watches Hunter writhing in pain, and then lands a few more shots to the back of Hunter’s head with his boots. Scott lifts Hunter to a vertical base, and he once again whips Hunter into the corner. As Scott charges in for a splash,Hunter raises an elbow that Scott runs into throat first. This sends Tyler reeling a few steps as Hunter lifts himself up to the second rope. He flings off for a diving uppercut, but no, Scott sidesteps and Hunter hits the canvas hard. The Transgressor mounts Hunter and lays into him with mounted right hand. Tyler follows this up with a swinging neckbreaker.

Jerry Andrews: Tyler Scott may not be using weapons, yet, but he is using every shady tactic he can to batter Hunter senseless.

Hunter again falls on a tender spot and Scott lands in a position where he just stares at his opponent. With Hunter down, Scott slides out of the ring just as Hunter curls up fairly early off the neck breaker, but as he rises, he doesn’t see Scott. That’s because Tyler is still outside and reaching under the apron, pulling out a steel chair. Tyler smiles broadly, holding the chair up and smacking it with a loud report on the concrete, and he taunts the crowd with the chair as he re-enters the ring. As Tyler turns his attention to the crowd, holding the chair, is blindsided via nasty dropkick right to his face via Hunter. Leaping out of nowhere Hunter sends Scott to canvas as the chair flips out of Tyler's grasp, and falls to the mat. scramble over and grip the chair! Tyler is able to climb to a vertical base but Hunter gets behind him and cracks the chair off his spine. Scott yelps in pain as he collapses against the ropes and towards a corner from the chair shot. forcing himself up in said corner while holding his back.

Jerry Andrews: Tyler is reaping the whirlwind, if only because he brought the chair in himself.

Hunter goes to the corner directly across the ring from Scott. He setting the steel chair down center ring as he does so, before springing himself up on the full roll-through onto Scott, performing a monkey flip, sending Tyler end over end, ONTO the steel chair. The camera catches the look of horror on Tyler’s face as he goes flying through the air, knowing he’s doomed by gravity to land right on top of the steel chair! Scott oversells the pain a little bit, crawling on his knees as he slips under the bottom rope with the steel chair he just landed on. Just as Scott turns to get back in the ring, Hunter grips the ropes and kicks it right into Scott’s face as Hunter slips feet first to outside. Scott is thrown for a loop for a second with the steel hitting his chin, allowing Hunter to grab hold of him again and drive a hard knee into his gut, followed by yet another pair of right hands to the cranium. He follows this up by taking Scott’s head and bashing it against the steel steps! Hunter is again playing towards opening up Scott quickly to win the first fall, as the Transgressor is stupefied from the hard knock. As he drunkenly wanders around, Hunter grabs his head again and drives it off the steps again!

Ace Anderson: Tyler Scott is losing more brain cells than a weekend of college binge drinking at a party school!

Scott isn’t busted open, but he certainly may have a concussion, Hunter walks over and rips the cover off the Spanish announce desk! The Spanish announcers both leave their chairs as Hunter rips out one monitor and throws it aside, then he grabs the second monitor… waits for Scott to stumble back up… and smacks the monitor off Scott’s skull! A vicious shot from Hunter, Scott was trying to block it with his hands but still taking the full impact off his temple and face mask which seems to have a crack forming above the right eye. Scott is down again, and now Hunter rips the cables from the monitors… then wraps them around Tyler’s throat. Hunter is trying to choke him out! Tyler desperately tries to fight it, trying to rip the cable away, but Hunter’s grip is too tight as he violently swings Tyler’s head from side to side, Hunter continues to apply the choke, but eventually he releases, allowing Scott’s body to lifelessly drop to the floor. Not satisfied Hunter grabs the back of Tyler’s neck and send Tyler flying over the barricade into the crowd! Scott lands right amongst the Pure Class faithful, with Hunter quickly following, hammering Tyler from behind, and causing him to seek an escape through the masses. Hunter stays on him, landing more shots to the back, each blow causing Scott to stumble further and further into the crowd… until the cameraman gives up, and we see the pair fade off into the distance. After a few seconds, the shot returns with a camera at the top of a flight of stairs, with both men battling up the stairs, with Hunter continuing to drive rights to the spine, only for Scott to fire back with a knee to the midsection. Tyler then reaches down and picks up a nearby trash can… and CRACKS IT ACROSS Hunter’s spine! Hunter falls face first onto the cold concrete with a nasty splat as Tyler takes his time leaning against a wall to try and catch his breath before driving his boot into the back of Hunter’s neck before shoving him through the stairwell, and now both men are in the concourse of the arena. Fans scurry out of the way, as Scott lines Hunter up… and looks to smash his face off a water fountain… No! Hunter blocks… and it's Scott who's driven into the water fountain!

Jerry Andrews: Unbridled physicality is the only world you can use to describe this match so far, it’s only the first stages but already these two are bringing the pain to one another.

Scott is down again, but soon enough is back up courtesy of Hunter who lands a few more body blows before walking him forward a few steps… then launches him across the counter of a merchandise stand. Scott goes flying right across the counter and his body connects with the flimsy back board of Pure Class Wrestling merchandise hung up as he brings that whole display including t-shirts, hats and other items right down around him as he hits the floor. Fans are hugely cheering the action latterly in front of their eyes. “Hunter" chants ring out as Hunter tries to catch a second wind until the fans scream “WATCH OUT” as Tyler Scott grabs a fan’s beer... and splashes it in Hunter's face! Hunter is blinded, stumbling backwards, flailing wildly, as Scott leaps over the counter, carrying a replica championship belt which he smacks off his adversary's face. Tyler takes Hunter by his hair and drags him back into the arena. Scott has a handful of Hunter's hair and is dragging him, throwing him into the doors.

Ace Anderson: I think they're coming back this way!

With Hunter still dazed, he’s easy picking as Scott picks him up… then drops Hunter groin first onto a metal guardrail running along the back wall! Some fans up in the upper seats groan in sympathy as Hunter holds his groin and moans. A seriously painful landing for Hunter, but it gets worse as Tyler Scott walks backwards giving him a few feet of space between himself and Hunter as Scott gets a running start and lands a wicked leaping clothesline to Hunter that causes him to fall, landing awkwardly on his neck on the top of the steps.

Jerry Andrews: Much like Tyler himself, the concrete floor is just as cold and unforgiving.

Ace Anderson: Seriously, man, those kinds of elementary word associations aren't even college level.

Jerry Andrews: I wasn't going for clever, I was going for sincere!

Scott goes back on the attack, smacking Hunter with more rights to the head, then a pair of boots to the body. Hunter groans and holds his midsection. Scott pulls him up and lands a hard shot, driving Hunter across the metal middle rail going down the steps. Hunter, stumbling, makes his way down a few steps, then across an aisle. Scott shoves his way through the fans, drills a few stomps to the knee, stopping Hunter dead in his tracks. As Tyler then hooks Hunter up… and looks for a suplex on the stairs… no! Hunter blocks it, then lands a pair of shots to the midsection… and Hunter too tries for a suplex… no! This time it’s Scott who blocks and smacks a few shots to the gut, causing Hunter to double over as Scott hooks Hunter up and back body drops him from the row of fans back onto the landing of the concrete steps. Hunter groans in agony as does this capacity crowd who continue to throw their heat and insults towards the Transgressor. This seems to just piss Tyler off even more as he sneers towards the fans before looking back down just as Hunter continues to rive in pain, Scott lifts Hunter up to his knees before stepping back and processed to then punt Hunter in the side of the head, making Hunter tumble end over end, hitting several bone jarring times as he hits the steps rolling down.

Jerry Andrews: Oh my god, Hunter is falling, he fell down the stairs!

Ace Anderson: I'm sure that's what he's going to tell the doctor that stitches him up, too. I fell down some stairs. Not, I went through a machine thresher, not I take part in a fight club. Fell down the stairs. They buy it every time.

Jerry Andrews: Will you be serious, that could break some bones!!

Finally Hunter is done rolling at the bottom of the steps as he is closely followed by Scott as the two men find themselves at the side of the stage. Scott reaches down and once again drives his boot into the back of Hunter’s head, not satisfied, Scott picks up Hunter by the back of his tights and looks to whip him into the rail. Hunter, somehow, finds enough energy to reverse, and send Scott into the side ofd the stage instead. Tyler goes down in a heap. Hunter, desperate to create space climbs up onto the stage. After a few moments of resting and catching his breath, he is followed by Scott; who then eats a boot to the face from an incensed and fed up Hunter. At the edge of the stage, in the sound equipment part there is a large bass drum and Hunter flings Scott off the stage, turning him inside out and upside down as he goes through the canvas of the drum! The PCW fans pop at the sight of Tyler Scott's legs sticking out of the rather large base drum as Hunter has leaned his body up against the staging in order to save his strength. Hunter is quickly back on the attack, lifting Scott out of the busted drum, and walking them both back towards the stage.

Ace Anderson: I gotta say, that was a hell of a visual.

Jerry Andrews: I think Hunter got his ideas from Bugs Bunny.

Hunter walks Scott over to some sound equipment cases and slams Tyler off them. Tyler gasps and moans, almost saying "no more" but he can't form words. Hunter relentlessly pursues him, noting that there's some other instruments around them, almost as if the stage crew moonlight in a punk band or something. He's noting this because he finds an electric guitar set neck first against an equipment case. Hunter picks up the guitar with interest, and he allows Tyler to reach his feet. Hunter, gripping the neck of the guitar, swings the base of it at Scott like a bat, but it whiffs over Tyler's head, taking Hunter in a circle, and BOOM, Hunter is stopped by a boot right between the legs from Tyler. Tyler then smacks Hunter's face off one of the sound equipment cases, and he moves over, selecting a sound equipment case that has wheels under it. He rolls it over and as Hunter is trying to pick himself up, using the guitar to prop him up, Tyler rushes forward pushing the rolling sound equipment case and smashing into Hunter with it!

Ace Anderson: Man, Joey Numbers is gonna be pissed off that they're tearing apart his band's equipment.

Jerry Andrews: Joey Numbers should think about where he's leaving expensive musical instruments and speakers during a show.

The boos are growing louder as Scott then takes Hunter’s head and points towards the scaffolding handing behind the stage, as Scott rams Hunter into the steel... But no, Hunter blocks with both hands gripping the steel. Hunter rakes the eyes of Scott sending him stumbling as Hunter uses his momentum to leap and pull himself up onto the scaffolding, hanging off like monkey bars. Hunter begins to swing his body back and forth building momentum as Scott turns around just as Hunter looks to leap off with a dropkick. But at the last second, Scott catches Hunter and lands a fallaway slam, sending Hunter into a massive speaker by the stage! The sound is horrific but so are the sparks that fly as the speaker falls off the stage while Hunter is just left lying there. Hunter is out cold but still has not been opened up but Scott doesn’t seem to care. He eyes a metal microphone stand, also with the rest of the musical equipment. He hefts the mic stand, looks across the distance at Hunter, who is gasping and groaning as he pushes himself up to his knees, and he brings the Hunter stand's heavy base down, smashing it down on Hunter's back! There's an unending squeal of Hunterrophone feedback and static. Hunter falls immediately to his stomach. Tyler Scott, laughing, says "TESTING, ONE TWO" as he smashes the base of the Hunter stand into Hunter's abdomen again and again.

Ace Anderson (On the phone to someone): Yeah... Joey Numbers? Dude, you are going to be so pissed when you see - Oh, you're watching it right now? I know, how much did that cost you? Jesus, man, you got ripped off...

Flailing with his arms and doing everything he can to block it, Hunter's arms rip out the cord, shutting the squeal of feedback up. Tyler looks down, sees the microphone is unplugged, and he angrily throws the stand away. He takes the length of loose wire... and wraps it around David's throat, beginning to choke him violently with it! Scott snarls nastily, pulling back under Hunter's throat with both hands as Hunter's face starts going red. Pulling up Tyler is desperate to choke the life right out of Hunter, who is struggling trying to stand. The official is watching with horror as Scott continues to pull back before dragging Hunter by the neck like a dog down the ramp back towards the ring. It’s a disgusting and frightening sight but finally Scott drags Hunter’s body down the ramp way and leaves him lying ringside. Scott eyes go wide and his mouth melts into a deeper scowl as he slides Hunter under the bottom rope but keeps his neck hanging off the ring apron. He grabs Hunter by the head and pulls him close, snarling at Hunter. He bounces the head so violently that it whiplashes the back of his neck. Hunter yells in pain, grips at the back of his neck and collapses to the floor, but Tyler won’t let him lie. Scott takes his rival and slides him under the bottom rope, but he keeps his head poked out over the apron. Tyler then goes up on the apron and STOMPS on the exposed neck of Hunter before taking a few steps back, and goes for a knee drop to the back of the neck... however, there is nobody home! Hunter slides his head under at the last second, and Tyler hits knee first, damaging his limb, making him hop off, screaming and holding his knee.

Jerry Andrews: Tyler Scott is going above trying to incapacitate Hunter, that could have crippled him!!

Ace Anderson: You know these Underground fighters, Andrews. They aren't going to be content until someone isn't able to move, unless it's to twitch.

Tyler howls in pain, as he stands, grabbing at his joints like an old man. Slowly Hunter is up on his feet, his neck much stiffer than it was several offensive moves ago. Tyler is at a semi-vertical base, ending the count on his end as well as Hunter steps through the ropes onto the apron and begins stalking Scott, who turns back towards the ring only to see Hunter flying at him…with a missile HEADBUTT!! Hunter strikes Tyler, catching him flatfooted at the unique dive, and Hunter's head hits dead center on the solar plexus, taking them both down. The crowd goes nuts at not just Hunter’s first sign of life in a while, but such a high-octane sign of life at that! Both men are down, recuperating in the aisle, for quite some time, and the referee leans out, checking to see if someone had received a concussion or just isn't moving. Finally, at what would have been a count of like, ten and a half, a groggy Hunter, holding his neck and the back of his head, starts pulling himself up on the apron. Hunter, struggling with a bit of dead weight, hoists Scott and slides him under the ropes, completely in the ring on this one. Hunter soon follows, carrying the steel chair in tow with him. He waits for Scott to get to his feet, sizing him up, and preps himself… smacking a home run off Scott's head with the chair! Scott falls flat onto his back.

Jerry Andrews: Listen to that, the sound of steel and skull meeting in the middle.

Ace Anderson: Joey Numbers said he's going to make a ballad about these two. It's called, "Crazy Pieces Of Shit."

The ringing of bone meeting metal sends ripples all through the arena, drowned out after a moment because of the riled up crowd. This doesn’t frustrate Hunter, just gets his gears turning…he removes the protective padding on one of the turnbuckles, exposing the small metal ring holding the ring ropes in place. Hunter then takes the still stunned Scott and goes to slam him right into the exposed steel ring…but Scott stops it. He gets a foot up to prevent his skull from being completely destroyed, taking Hunter and crushing Hunter off the turnbuckle! Hunter is dizzied considerably from the flip of the script, both men having to take some time to recover from their blows to the head. But Scott is the first man to shake the cobwebs out, albeit not completely. He’s recovered enough to get the steel chair that he introduced, and then he jabs the end of it into Hunter's ribs hard enough to make Hunter gag and cough, and turn onto his stomach, then Scott bashes it off the base of his neck and his spine! Tyler hits him so hard, Hunter rolls onto the apron. Tyler is in no hurry to chase after him, however, just watching his prey fall to the floor. The official looks concerned. Hunter is barely stirring, forced to grip at his already destroyed neck. He probably can’t move his head at the moment, but he’s up! He tries to whip his neck around to maybe get it loose, but it looks like it hurts a bit to even do that. The infuriated Scott doesn’t waste any time, looking to hit Hunter with a plancha. Hunter moves, but Tyler lands on his feet. Hunter charges at Scott, looking for more offense, only for Tyler to sidestep him and send him careening shoulder first into the steps. Hunter hits them with such force that he knocks them loose, prompting him to roll around on the outside of the ring in immense pain. The man who was consumed with destroying Tyler Scott to retain his title looks himself to be consumed; already having paid the price for his requested stipulations. Tyler, meanwhile, has a sly smirk on his face, as he contemplates going for the kill. Hunter tries to get to his feet using the guard rail, but he turns around only to find that Scott is rummaging under the ring again and pulling out a table!

Ace Anderson: It wouldn't feel right if Woody didn't come to the party.

Jerry Andrews: Ace I am begging you, read over what you just said in your mind.

The crowd ‘oohs’ and ‘aahhs’ at the sight of the wooden slab, but Hunter doesn’t give Scott any time to implement it, scurrying back towards him. Tyler leaves it on the floor to fight off Hunter, who is delivering hard lefts and rights. Scott finds a small opening in the flurry and actually clubs Hunter in the side od the neck, opening up a whole world of pain on the already damaged part. This gets him the separation he needs, rushing at Hunter for more offense. But Hunter catches him and gives him a one-armed flapjack right onto the flat table. Tyler’s body splats off the flat slab and sends him curling up in a ball of pain, both men again taking a painful time-out. Hunter somehow keeps a vertical base on himself, and now it’s his turn to go rummaging under the ring to see what toys he can find... and he comes up with a second steel chair. Hunter drags himself over to Scott’s still downed body and raises the steel… he smashes it down across Tyler. The crowd pops once more for Scott getting just a small piece of his comeuppance, Hunter raising the chair to go for it again, but this time... there's nobody home! Scott is able to roll out of the way, body still wrapped in pain. He rolls into the ring, grabs the chair in there, and rolls back out now behind Hunter, barely able to stand after that last shot. As Tyler composes himself, Hunter turns around to see him, instead seeing that they’re both very armed, very angry, and very dangerous.

Jerry Andrews: I don't know if I've ever seen two men duel with steel chairs quite like this.

The crowd is buzzing like crazy at this stand-off moment that could decide the momentum of the rest of the match. Scott bangs his chair off the floor, the sound challenging Hunter. Hunter takes that in, and smacks his chair off the floor in response! These two bulls are getting ready to charge! As the crowd hypes some more, both men charge with chairs in hand…Hunter up high… but Scott catches Scott, once again, is one step ahead of Hunter, who went to knock Scott’s head clean off his shoulders. With Hunter doubled over now, Scott raises his chair and smashes right between the shoulder blades, pinpointing the vertebrae. Hunter could have a broken neck and back when this is all over with…but now it looks like Scott has a sadistic idea as he opens the seat of the chair and sets it like a malicious mouth, putting it over Hunter's head.

Jerry Andrews: No... no... this is going too far, even for the Underground, don't let this happen, ref!

Ace Anderson: I'm inclined to agree with you, Andrews, but the ref, like you and I, is too disturbed to step in on this...

The air in the entire arena is escaping by the second, Scott’s vile smile growing from all the new negative energy. His madman eyes are burning bright as he takes everyone’s hero with the vice around his neck…forces him to his feet… and throws the chair into the steel post! Hunter's head shoots down, his throat connecting, and his head slips out of the chair's vise as he flies back, choking and holding his throat. The crowd gives an "OOOOOOH" in sympathy at this spot, which is as insanely dangerous and violent as anything they've seen in the Underground lately.

Jerry Andrews: The referee needs to stop the damn match, Hunter is writhing around, in too much pain to continue!

Ace Anderson: You know I don't disagree with that, either. But think about it. As proud as Hunter is, hell as much as an asshole s Tyler is, there's no way either one of them want the match to end that way. They're in it to the end.

Jerry Andrews: To what end? For Scott to torture him?!

Scott, soaking in the negative reaction of the people that feel like maybe that was a bridge too far, holds his arms out and he grins super wide, the crowd at ringside showers him with boos. Tyler gives them an "Up yours" gesture, then he lifts Hunter up, muscling him into the ring. He crawls over for the cover. The referee hesitates, not thinking it's right for the match to continue at all, that way. At least, not under these circumstances. But Tyler insists, shouting abuse at the ref. Finally, the referee drops down, making a count almost defiantly.

The referee: ONE...

















TWO...

















THR - Kickout!

Hunter spasms out of the pin, and Tyler looks shocked. Hunter, still breathing heavily and coughing, rolls out of the way, and Tyler sits up, freaked out, looking up at the referee and demanding he tell him it was three. It had to be. Hunter exits the ring while Scott argues with the ref, rolling to the outside. However, Tyler looks around, wondering why the crowd is starting to stir, and then he startles like he's just seen a ghost. Somehow, some way, with a gritty look of determination on his face, David Hunter is rising to his feet on the outside. Tyler Scott reacts with a mixture of shock, fear, and rage. He seethes, then he starts climbing out to the apron, only to be cut off by a last ditch dropkick from Hunter, beaning him in the side of the head! Scott flings out between the ropes and falls to the outside.

Jerry Andrews: This crowd couldn't believe it, Tyler couldn't believe it, but some how, Hunter is still in this match!

This crowd goes nuclear for the last ditch effort that sends Scott face first to the floor below, leaving Hunter the time he needs to get back to a vertical base. The weary champion ventures over and reaches under the ring and pulls out a kendo stick to a huge pop from the crowd. Hunter holds it out with both hands and stares at it for a moment, channeling the entire crowd’s excitement into the weapon before smashing it into Scott’s midsection. And again. And again. Scott is doubled over now, so Hunter takes the kendo and smashes it across Scott's spine. The crowd is eating this up, Hunter drops what’s left of the now broken kendo stick and himself. The punishment seems to be catching up to Hunter here as he drops to a single knee as he looks over watching Scott squirm on the floor, giving him strength Hunter reach back under the ring pulling out a second kendo stick which is used like a whip as he smacks it across the back of Scott. Over and over again, this stick soon enough breaks in two as pieces go flying admidst the horrifying screams of Scott. With a new found strength Hunter is able to peel Scott off the floor as he slides him back into the ring. Hunter follows under the bottom rope as Hunter now looking to suplex Scott, but Scott floats over Hunter and lands on the ring apron safe on his feet. As Hunter turns to greet Scott, he gets bashed in the face by a hard right hand that knocks him back, only for Hunter to retaliate with a hard right hand of his own. Hunter then drives a shoulder into the gut of Scott and doubles him over, leaving Hunter to flip cleanly over the top rope... with a sunset flip powerbomb to the outside, pulping Scott on the floor and wiping them both out! Momma mia!!

Jerry Andrews: Where does he even have the gas in the tank?!

That gets the crowd riled up again, and even leaves our referee with a pair of wide eyes. Hunter with pain edged across his face is sitting against the ring lip; meanwhile Scott is eagle spread across the outside. Some light ‘Holy Shit’ chants are piping in from the back. The ref does his duties and peeks through the middle ropes, checking on both men to see if they’re responsive or cut open neither are. So Hunter slowly grabbing onto the ring apron and bringing himself to his feet, looks down at the barely moving Scott and instead turns back to retrieve the table on the outside, which Hunter slides back into the ring and sets up in a corner. Cameras catch Scott turned over on his belly trying to get to a vertical base, seeing this Hunter trying to massage his neck, stops and leaps, only to receive a broken kendo stick half across the skull!! Hunter, possibly looking for the suicide dive, instead gets only a shot from the kendo stick. A trickle of blood can be seen, as Hunter goes down hard. Scott snarls, and throws the broken kendo stick piece aside. Scott now taking Hunter and slinging him back under the bottom rope and into the ring, while Scott pulls out gardening gloves from under the ring.

Ace Anderson: Are those... gardening gloves?

Jerry Andrews: I don't think this is a very smart place to be planting petunias.

A sick smile is spreading, and bad intentions seem to be filling the head of Tyler Scott as Scott flips up the ring skirt and carefully and slowly pulls out a sheet of plywood, except for this table is wrapped completely in a covering of metal barbed wire. Wearing the gardening gloves so as not to get pricked on the forest of thorns, Tyler is smiling broadly. As the “ooh’s” and” awe’s” die down, Scott looking over still watches a lifeless Hunter lie on the canvas, as he carefully lifts the barbed wire wrapped plywood board and slides it into the ring. Careful not to bleed anywhere, Scott takes the rail and sets it up against the corner. The sickened reaction of the crowd is unbearable as cameras catch Scott removing his gardening gloves smirking as he roams back over to Hunter and takes him by the back of the neck and tights… walking him across the ring and aiming to throw him into the corner, right into that nest of thorns, that barbed-wire covered plywood board. Hunter reverses his body and the whip in one motion, chucking Scott into the board!! Scott screams as he makes excruciating first contact, and he's only touching with his forearms and knees, trying to keep his torso away.

Jerry Andrews: Tyler Scott is like a cat trying to arch over the water, but his hands and legs are touching those pricks of that barbed-wire covered board!

Scott is obviously caught in the barbed wire but Hunter springboards off the middle rope and lands a missle dropkick, smashing and grinding Scott even further into the barbed wire board. Cameras and the official catch this gruesome sight, as he pulls his face away, he is covered by perhaps dozens of cuts in various depth!!

Jerry Andrews: OH MY GOD! NO! THIS IS SICKENING!

Ace Anderson: Hey, Scott brought this out, he's tasting his own medicine here.

Jerry Andrews: As technically accurate as you are, the fact is that anybody going into it is too far.

Several agonizing seconds pass, filled with only the most horrifying shrieks as Tyler is trying to pull himself free. The official now wearing Scott’s gardening gloves has to help Tyler try and peel his body away from the barbed wires which of course now hang with pieces of Scott’s flesh. The sight is horrifying as Tyler’s mid-section now is riddled with what look like tiny bullet holes that continue to bleed. In all of this, the camera has lost sight of Hunter, who is on the outside rooting around under the apron. Tyler, cringing in pain, gingerly tries to pull himself up, using the referee to help him up, when Hunter gets back in the ring with a chair in hand. He crushes Scott with a chairshot. Once again, the sound of Scott’s consciousness being destroyed echoes through the arena as he drops like a mighty oak against the ring ropes. Hunter put so much into that chair shot that he was thrown off balance and has to use some nearby ropes to keep himself up. As Hunter shakes his head, he looks across the distance to check on his opponent. In fact cameras catch Scott leaning against the ropes…and bah gawd, he’s been busted open. Scott's face has been busted open!

Jerry Andrews: Tyler Scott has lost enough blood to feed a horde of hungry vampires.

Ace Anderson: Where's the call to end this match now, huh?

Jerry Andrews: To quote you, at this point, I don't think either man would accept anything less.

Hunter eggs Scott to get up, taunting him with the steel chair and letting the badly bleeding Scott get some wind in his sails and gather his legs under him. Now it’s Scott’s turn to show some resolve, as even with blood pouring down his face, he’s got enough to stand up and keep fighting! The Transgressor is bleeding and Hunter might have some broken disks, but Hunter keeps the aggression on by jumping on Scott again… only for Tyler to instinctively take his foundation out from under him with a double leg takedown… and he tries to roll into a sharpshooter. and manages to torque his body and spin Scott off of him, putting Tyler on the ropes. But just as Hunter turns back towards Scott, the Transgressor grabs the back of Hunter’s head and nails a one handed bulldog on the steel chair. Hunter’s face gets implanted into chair! Scott shakes the cobwebs out of his head from the previous chair shots but Scott is able to bring Hunter back to his feet and gets him in a front headlock, sizing up where the chair still is, looking for DDT…NO!! Hunter still has enough to push Scott off, causing him to hop back, but as Hunter lunges right back at Tyler, who catches him, floating behind him... giving him an X-Plex, compressing that spine and driving him onto the chair!

Jerry Andrews: Another suplex from Scott turns Hunter's spine into an accordion!

Ace Anderson: Accordions! That's what Joey Numbers band needs. Let me get him back on the phone...

Both Scott and Hunter are sprawled out right now, both reaching exhaustion levels. Both men have taken heavy weaponry damage here, causing Scott to roll under the bottom rope and to the floor. Hunter is the first man to start motioning, pulling himself to his feet and still gripping his lower back and Scott has risen to his feet as well, although he’s needed the help of the announcer’s table to do so. Hunter sees Scott and rushes to the opposite ropes, rebound… suicide dive! Suicide dive... no! Air Hunter goes clean over Scott and spine first into the announce table! Scott ducks at the last minute and sends the somersault plancha-aimed Hunter right on top of the somehow still stable announce desk! While Ace and Jerry try to readjust and get up from the table, the crowd cringes with Hunter, who is stuck in his terrible landing position on his back, looking like a bug drowning in a pool of bug spray. Scott is tangled up in some of the production wires behind the announce booth, but he fights himself out of it and grips his midsection as he gets to his feet. Hunter has rolled off of the table, but is having a much harder time getting vertical. Tyler takes a gasping lungful of air. Then he looks back in the ring, and he sees the plywood board wrapped in barbed wire. Picking up the gardening gloves again Tyler begins taking a thread of barbed wire off of the board, prying it loose and pulling it out.

Jerry Andrews: Wait - wait, Tyler Scott is going back to the barbed wire? What is he doing?

Ripping and pulling it loose from where it's nailed to the board Tyler has a length of barbed wire about two feet long, He bends and pries and is able to snap the length of wire enough to remove it, and then he's left with a two-foot long barbed wire lash. Tyler Scott, bleeding from all the pricks, looks down at his pants, and then his boots. He brings his foot up, and resolutely begins wrapping one boot in barbed wire. He winces a little bit as he wraps the two-foot length around his boot, the tighter it gets, the more it stabs and cuts into his foot. David Hunter is trying to get to his feet, crawling from the site of his crash and burn against the announce table. Scott lifts him up by the back of the head, smashing his head off the apron, and rolling him in. Tyler, gingerly stepping on the foot wrapped in barbed wire, isn't trying to support his weight on it as he rolls into the ring.

Jerry Andrews: I have a bad feeling I know what's coming.

Almost as if he's pantomiming the very famous tuning up the band, Tyler has himself in the corner, holding the ropes, and readying his foot, the one that is currently wrapped in a length of barbed-wire. David Hunter, bleeding, possibly concussed and in a lot of pain, flails his arms in confusion, not knowing where he is. He starts woozily trying to get to one knee, then to his feet. Scott motions for him to get up. When Hunter does, Tyler waits for him to turn around to face him in the corner, gives him the British two-finger fuck you salute, and goes for a Switchblade Superkick with the boot wrapped in barbed wire... but no! Hunter ducks under the swing of the kick! When Scott's momentum takes him around in a dizzied circle, he turns around only to be caught by a one armed, leaping stunner, that catches him totally off guard, his chin bounces back and he stands for a fraction of a second before crumbling forward.

Jerry Andrews: Scott going for that kick covered in barbed wire and - NO! NO! THRILL OF THE HUNT!

Hunter, broken and wasted from this grueling match, sinks down, clawing Scott over for a leg hook.

Jerry Andrews: After all he's done, Hunter has it! Hunter has it!

The referee and the crowd: ONE...

















TWO...

















THRE - Kickout!

Ace Anderson: I can't believe what I'm seeing out of either of these men, in all seriousness. This would be worthy of a power ballad by Joey's band, G-String Caterpillar.

Hunter, looking around like he can't believe what's happening, pushes himself up onto his fours to crawl around, his hands groping for a weapon. His searching hands find a steel chair. Huffing and trying to recover energy, Hunter pulls himself up, and he tries to lift Scott, but his injured vertebrae aren't up to the task and he slackens his hold, gripping at his neck. He shakes his head, willing more energy, and he kicks the steel chair into position near him. He motions that it's over, and goes to lift Scott up. He tries to lift Scott up for a package DDT, but again, his savaged neck and back give him problems and he lets go of Scott. Scott falls next to Hunter, and, although he's wobbly and barely able to stand himself, he gives Hunter a short distance superkick using the barbed-wire wrapped foot. Hunter's head does a slow mo roll and he blinks, but he is totally out of it. He falls first. Scott stays up only a few seconds longer, his arms drunkenly, and then he collapses, on his front.

Jerry Andrews: Hunter has Scott hooked for the King's Throne - no, Hunter's back is in too much pain to lift and hold -

Ace Anderson: Wait a minute!

Jerry Andrews: Switchblade Superkick! Switchblade Superkick with that metal wrapped foot!!!

Ace Anderson: Scott has already lost enough blood to do a whole day's work at a Red Cross blood drive, now he turns Hunter's forehead into a pin cushion as he goes down!

Jerry Andrews: Both men are down!

It takes several long, agonizing seconds, and the referee is about to start a mandatory ten count for both men, but, moving like he's swimming in molasses, the blood lost Scott crawls over and slumps an arm over Hunter, who's crumbled, and now bleeding worse. The referee, amazed and in shock, starts counting.

The referee and the crowd: ONE...

















TWO...

















THREE!

Hunter just kicks out, but the referee is already motioning to the timekeeper.

Jerry Andrews: David Hunter gets the shoulder up, just barely!

Ace Anderson: It's not in enough time, he's waving it off!

The referee does wave off and motion to the timekeeper and Sasha Greene, telling them to ring the bell. Sasha Greene looks from the combatants, both still laid out and not able to sit up.

Sasha Greene: Here is your winner... and NEWWWW PURE CLASS WRESTLING UNDERGROUND CHAMPION... TYLER SCOTT!!!

"Switchblade Smiles" by Kasabian begins playing on the PA, and Scott, still laid out with a lot of blood coming from his wounds, pushes himself over on his side, looking up deliriously.

Jerry Andrews: The new champion can't even stand after that grueling hardcore battle, but he did, just barely, get the three count!

Ace Anderson: Heart breaking for Hunter, who went through so much hell over recent weeks, to lose the Underground title like this tonight.

Tyler begins pulling himself up using the ropes, and even though he stumbles and he can't keep himself straight due to loss of blood, when he is handed the Underground title his face beams and he straightens up somewhat. He holds the title in his hands, laughing. Hunter, sitting on the other side of the ring, is sitting up, somewhat staring in narrow eyed disbelief and an almost silent rage. The crowd is cheering loudly for both men.

Jerry Andrews: Tensions are so thick you can cut them with a knife here, it's clear by the look on Hunter's face that he is not pleased at the referee's decision.

Ace Anderson: It may not be a popular one, but it's going to stand. Scott is the new Underground champion tonight!

Tyler Scott, limping and holding his wounds gingerly, as he has the Underground title on his arm, stands up, as does David Hunter, both men staring across the distance at each other. Suddenly, the lights blink out. In a repeat of last week, when they come back on, a deep red filter is on the lights, and fog has begun rolling out on the ramp. The hellish squeaking of wheels can be heard, and "Greasepaint and Monkey Brains" by White Zombie begins playing over the PA. Hunter and Scott both turn to the entrance ramp, and, learning their lesson from the attack last Trauma, Hunter begins looking around, ready for a fight.

Jerry Andrews: I was afraid of this happening.

Ace Anderson: Can't even let the new champ have his moment?!

The headlights of the dilapidated, rusted old ice cream truck come on, and then the full lights of the arena come on. Sicko steps out from behind the driver's seat of the box truck, a sickeningly disturbed smile on his face, his bright makeup unevenly applied. He smiles down the ramp at Hunter and Scott, and stands there beside his ice cream truck, not making a move.

Jerry Andrews: Like an evil harbinger of things to come, Sicko is out here giving a bleak warning. He wants that Underground title.

But that isn't all. As Tyler pants and the crowd gives off a fairly mixed reaction, David is on his knees in a nearby corner. He looks out at all the members of the crowd. Despite the panting, the lack of a smile or smirk is obvious. After a bit of measuring the crowd, David reaches his feet. He turns towards Tyler, who is continuing to celebrate.

The two lock eyes, with David actually managing a small applause. This garners another fairly mixed reaction.

Jerry Andrews: Some respect here shown from David.

As the ref starts to help clean up the mess that is the usual Underground Match, Tyler Scott lowers his title. He continues to stare at David, who starts stumbling towards him.

Ace Anderson: This might not be over.

Tyler approaches David in return, a scowl ever clear. Despite the brutal match that just took place, the two can remain standing. Tyler decides to take the higher road, offering David his hand.

Jerry Andrews: Some respect offered by Tyler Scott here.

David looks down at it. The scowl that marked his face flips upside down, now transformed into a full blown smile. David shakes his head, backing away from Tyler, who starts to look disappointed.

The crowd, however, starts to boo.

Ace Anderson: Wait a minute...

The camera zooms out, revealing that Holden Ross has slid into the ring.

Jerry Andrews: Holden Ross in the ring! I don't think Tyler Scott is aware! This is too much!

David starts to laugh, laughing and pointing behind him. This is enough distraction for Holden to attack. Tyler has just enough time to turn around before taking a NASTY clothesline by Holden. Tyler collapses to the mat, his legs falling over his head and his new championship soon forgotten.

Jerry Andrews: Tyler Scott just got clotheslined by Holden Ross! What the hell is he doing here?

David leans back against the corner, catching his breath while trying to rest as much as possible. Holden looks towards him, no real emotion showing. He points down towards Tyler, while staring at David.

The latter simply shrugs.

This gets Holden to smirk.

Jerry Andrews: Oh no...

Holden grabs Tyler by his hair, bringing him to his feet. The crowd has no idea how to react.

After maneuvering Tyler by his arms so that he and Holden are back-to-back, Tyler's legs dangling in the air and his head facing the mat, Holden looks towards David before falling to the mat with a devastating Sins of the Father!

Jerry Andrews: Sins of the Father to the near dead weight that is Tyler Scott!

Ace Anderson: How apropos. Sins of the Father with that man, David, in the ring.

Holden gets to his feet, glancing towards David. The two lock eyes once more.

David begins sauntering over to the middle of the ring as if this is a modeling act. With a smirk still on his face, he stands in front of Holden. The two take a few moments to share a few words, neither man losing the smiles on their faces.

Holden offers his hand, which David immediately takes.

THIS gets a reaction, although whether it's mostly negative or positive is still hard to pinpoint.

Jerry Andrews: David Hunter and Holden Ross. Once bitter rivals...are now shaking hands over the lifeless body of Tyler Scott!

Eventually, the two let go. Holden ducks down, gripping the head of Tyler in his hands.

Ace Anderson: And they're not done with him yet.

Holden grips the jaw of Tyler Scott, looking into the glazed over eyes of Tyler. He lets him go briefly, if only to slap him in the face.

Ace Anderson: Defenseless...

This causes Tyler to turn slightly, just enough for David to wrap his right arm around his head. David falls to the mat, landing ass-first. Tyler comes off his feet, but his jaw finds itself slamming into David's shoulder.

Ace Anderson: Absolutely defenseless...

Jerry Andrews: A Thrill of the Hunt delivered to Tyler Scott! What the hell is going on?

David flings his hair back. He keeps to his knees, taking a few more moments to catch his breath before standing. He stumbles around a bit, but manages to catch his balance on the ropes. David walks to Holden, grabbing his right arm. The two stand tall in the middle of the ring, David raising Holden's arm high, his own fist raised upwards, and Tyler Scott's prone body lying below them. This is the last thing we see as we fade to black.

Jerry Andrews: Ladies and gentlemen, Holden Ross and David Hunter are celebrating together! Is David now a part of Seromine's Church? What kind of understanding do these two have? What the hell does this mean? We'll see you in two weeks...for Love Hurts!

- CLICK -