Trauma 253 Results

[Rick Majors]

Pure Class Wrestling Trauma
Thursday June 20th, 2019

Jerry Andrews: Welcome everyone to PCW Trauma! I'm Jerry Andrews and WOW Living a Legacy is in the books and it was quite a night!

Ace Anderson: It certainly was! I'm Ace Anderson, as always, and we have a new PCW World Champion! Grimm will be here tonight folks and I can't wait to hear what he has to say!

Jerry Andrews: He'd better watch his back because Dominator now holds the Icemann Invitational Tournament prize and a shot at Grimm's newly won title!

Ace Anderson: What is going to happen when those two allies square off?

Jerry Andrews: I can't wait, but I also can't wait for the first match of the evening, so down to ringside we go!

Sasha Greene: The following is scheduled for one fall! Introducing first, he weighs in at 184 lbs... DARREN "THE BOMBER" HUGHES!!

The tron features gritty footage of vintage classic rock bands. Darren runs out onto the stage, throwing a few chords of air guitar out to wind up the crowd.

Darren runs down to the ring, sliding in under the bottom rope. Ready for a fight, he bounces his back to the ropes a couple of times and throws up a double-shooting gesture with his fingers to the hard camera, grinning and soaking in the crowd's cheers.

Jerry Andrews: High energy from Hughes tonight, he looks fired up.

Ace Anderson: I'm amazed he isn't limping out here, after somehow surviving the mauling in the Underground title match at Living a Legacy.

Jerry Andrews: Well, it looks like he's moved on, and ready to get back on the right track.

Sasha Greene: And his opponent, weighing in at 265 lbs... RAZOR BLADE!

Razor Blade comes out from the back of the audience. He walks down the steps, and high fives his fans. Finally, he walks walks down the steps and climbs over the barricade, stopping for a minute, and then he hops on the apron. He raises both of his arms in the air, and then gets down, waiting for the match to start.

Ace Anderson: I think we need to start this match by asking the assembled here if they have ever felt victimized by a giant, evil clown.

Jerry Andrews: Razor Blade, too, is looking to shake off the dust after a string of losses... and he is not going to back down without bringing the big fight to his yard!!

Ace Anderson: ...God, do you test screen these phrases before you say them out loud? That doesn't sound like something someone relatable would say, ever.

Singles Match
Darren "The Bomber" Hughes vs Razor Blade
Referee: Tyrone Little Jr.

The two men circle each other, and go to lock up. Razor stops at the last second, and turns to the crowd, holding up his arms and letting out an "OOOOOOOAAHHH" roar. Hughes waits for a moment, and then Razor turns back toward him and holds his arms out. They go for a collar-elbow tieup, and Razor pushes Hughes back towards the ropes. Hughes pushes back and the two jockey for position for a moment, before Razor twists Hughes's arm with an arm wrench, and then works it into an wristlock. Hughes drops to his back, and uses his legs to push Razor off, and he gets quickly up to his feet, but Razor stops him by holding out his hand. Hughes calls for another tieup, test of strength style, and the two men lock hands and Hughes starts to push Razor down to his knees. Hughes laughs, and exerts more pressure, and Razor slowly starts to buckle, and the Razor falls to his back and uses his legs to kick Hughes off and fling him into the air. Hughes quickly lands on his feet, but as he turns around Razor takes him down with an arm drag. Hughes slaps the mat, and tries to pull free, but Razor twists his arm into an armbar. Hughes screams. Razor twists his arm, and Hughes reaches for the ropes, but they're out of reach. Suddenly, Hughes flings his free elbow back into the side of Razor’s temple, then another, then another, making Razor release the hold. Razor crawls to his feet, and Hughes gets up, shakes his arm to get some feeling into it, and runs at Razor for a clothesline. Razor scouts it, takes Hughes to the mat with a hip toss, and he locks on an arm bar.

Jerry Andrews: Razor Blade using his strength in the early goings, and applying some basic holds to wear his opponent down.

Ace Anderson: It's like he got them from a Blue Light special at K-Mart.

Hughes screams, as Razor cinches in the hold. The crowd is starting to get behind both men, and Hughes is pushing himself up with his free hand. With Razor still holding his arm behind him in a keylock, Hughes pushes over so that Razor's shoulders are pinned to the mat. The ref counts...

The referee: One... Kickout.

Ace Anderson: If Darren couldn't get his way out of that, I was going to seriously begin to doubt his skills.

Razor gets to his feet, and pulls Hughes up. He goes to whip Hughes to the ropes, but Hughes reverses, sending Razor to the ropes. At the last second, Razor hops up to balance on the second rope for a moment, then springboards off and takes Hughes down with a flying arm drag. Hughes gets to his feet, and Razor takes him back down to a sitting position with a snapmare, then runs off the ropes in front of Hughes and comes in with a baseball slide dropkick to the face of Hughes. Razor gets to his feet and grips Hughes's arms, and pulls them back with a knee in Hughes's back in a surfboard submission. Hughes screams, and tries to get to his feet, but Razor pulls back on the hold. The ref asks Hughes if he gives up, but Hughes does not reply. Hughes slowly starts getting to his feet, and he twists around and before Razor can react, Hughes drops down with a surprise jawbreaker. Razor lays on the mat, holding his jaw. Hughes rests for a moment, then gets to his feet, pulling Razor up. He clubs Razor over the back several times, and then Razor fights back by flinging an elbow into his midsection. Razor starts getting to his feet as he lays a few rights and elbows into the face of Hughes, but Hughes cuts him off by viciously raking the eyes.

Jerry Andrews: Darren is so vicious, like a wild animal of some kind.

Ace Anderson: Hmmm, I don't know, I feel like we saw him get introduced to us by fighting a reptile of some kind before.

Razor turns away, scrubbing at his eyes, and Hughes grips his head and takes him down with a reverse neckbreaker. Hughes drops an elbow across his chest, then several more. He starts to go for a cover, but pulls off. He lifts Razor up, and whips him to the ropes. He swings for a clothesline, but Razor ducks. Razor turns around, right into a knee to the midsection from Hughes, who then plants Razor with a facebuster. Hughes nods, and points to his temple. He applies a rear chinlock submission to Razor as he wraps his legs around Razor's midsection in a body scissors. Razor flails his arms, but Hughes has the hold in tightly. Razor screams "No!" and continues flailing his arms and trying to reach for the ropes. Hughes keeps his legs firmly grapevined, and the chinlock in place.

Jerry Andrews: It seems that, try as he might, Razor can't get out from between Hughes's legs!

Ace Anderson: I want you. To write down on a piece of paper, what you just said, out loud. I want you to read it. I want you to read it again. And then tell me -

Jerry Andrews: I think Razor Blade is fading!

Razor indeed does look to be starting to fade. The ref holds his limp hand up, once, twice... on the third time his hand stays in the air as Razor starts getting his second wind. Razor screams with effort as he pushes Hughes's legs apart, and slowly starts making his way to his feet. Finally, Razor is on his feet, and he flings an elbow back into Hughes's midsection, then does it again, and again, trying to make Hughes loosen the hold. Razor starts to break free and run off the ropes, but before he can, Hughes grips him by the hair and dashes his head down to the mat with force. Hughes covers.

The referee: One…

















Two… Kickout.

Hughes gets to his feet, playing some air guitar and gyrating his hips while making a "WEEEOOWWWWW" noise. A cocky smile crosses his lips. Hughes pulls Razor up, and whips him into the corner, then he comes in looking for a corner splash, but Razor moves at the very last second. Hughes staggers backwards, and Razor quickly rolls him up from behind with a schoolboy.

Ace Anderson: Is it me... or is Razor Blade showing a high level of competence tonight?

Jerry Andrews: Darren Hughes took Kyle Shane to his limit in his re-debut.

Ace Anderson: I'm not sure if I'm impressed for Darren now, or feel bad for Kyle.

The referee: One...

















Two… Kickout.

Hughes and Razor rise at the same moment, and Razor boots Hughes in the gut and drops down with a wicked looking DDT that leaves Hughes nearly vertically driven into the mat. Hughes flops over. Razor takes a moment to begin stomping Hughes, and stomps every exposed part of Hughes’s body as he circles him. Finally, he drops a knee across Hughes’s forehead. Razor arrogantly holds his hands up, taking in the boo’s from the crowd, and he yells "THIS IS MY YARD!" Razor lifts Hughes up and gives him a harsh backbreaker, then stretches him across his knee. He shouts for Hughes to give up.)

Ace Anderson: Ah hah, the tides have turned, lizard man!

The ref asks over and over again if Hughes will give up, but he refuses. Razor stretches Hughes further until his spine looks like it’s beginning to curve. Hughes is contorting and throwing his arms around. Razor finally settles for shoving Hughes to the mat. He laughs in arrogance, and gives Hughes a kick to the ribs. Razor jogs around the ring, dancing and waiting for Hughes to get up. When Hughes gets up, he avoids a superkick, and Razor turns around into a roundhouse kick. Hughes whips Razor into the corner and follows it up with a running enziguri in the corner. Hughes picks Razor back up, and shoves him back into the corner. He begins booting Razor down a few times, and then he climbs up to the second turnbuckle and begins laying into Razor's head with a ten-punch combo. As the crowd counts along, 1...2...3...4...5...6... Suddenly, Razor pushes Hughes off. Hughes quickly gets to his feet and comes running in for clothesline, but Razor ducks it and boots him in the gut. He sets Hughes up on the top rope. He gives Hughes a few right hands, then climbs up, motioning to the crowd as he gets set to give Hughes a frankensteiner, but Hughes headbutts him in the groin and pushes Razor back to the mat. Hughes flies off with a crossbody, taking Razor down. Hughes rolls into a cover, but Razor rolls through it into a cover of his own. The ref counts...

The referee:One...

















Two… Kickout.

Razor looks perturbed, and his eyes squint in confusion as he looks up at the referee. He asks if it was three, but is told it of course wasn't. Razor Blade, annoyed, gets to his feet, yelling at the referee. Razor goes to lift Hughes up, but is poked in the eye. Razor stumbles away, holding his eyes. He checks his face. As he turns back around, Hughes runs through him with a hockey body check. Then, Hughes points to the turnbuckles, as Razor is laid on his back, dazed. Hughes hops up to the middle rope, begins a short air guitar solo, and when bending the final note, leaps into the air and comes down with a double knee drop across the sternum.

Jerry Andrews: Air Guitar Solo connects to Razor Blade!

Hughes covers.

The referee and the crowd: One...

















Two...















Three!!

Ding Ding Ding!

Sasha Greene: Here is your winner... DARREN HUGHES!!

"Pick Up The Pizzas" by James Gang hits on the PA and Hughes gets to his feet, holding his arms up and celebrating wildly. The crowd reacts big for the plucky superstar.

Jerry Andrews: And Hughes picks up the first win of his comeback tour over a game Razor Blade!

Ace Anderson: Razor Blade gave Hughes a tougher fight than most people would have expected, but in the end the high energy animal wrangler took Razor down like he was going for a pleasant night at the reptile conservatory.

Hughes is celebrating and playing air guitar, playing to the crowd as Razor Blade rolls dejectedly out of the ring. The crowd celebrates with him, and he soaks in his moment as he's finally getting back on track.

Jerry Andrews: Wait a minute -

Suddenly, a figure comes hopping over the guardrail just by the announce table. Wearing a Neck Deep hoodie, skinny jeans and Chuck's, the stern face of Kyle Shane can be seen, holding a steel chair as he slides fluidly under the bottom rope behind Darren Hughes. He gets to his feet and brings up the chair, and in one quick motion he smashes the chair over Hughes back violently. Hughes' back arches in agony, and he falls forward against the ropes, turning half around only to get battered by another wicked chairshot. Hughes is too stunned to get his arms up as he turns around and takes a full force chairshot to the front. When it's over, Kyle Shane is standing over a downed Darren Hughes, with a dented chair, and he raises it over his head to a stunned reaction from the crowd before he takes a mic out of the back of his pants pocket and bends over to spit venomously at Hughes.

Kyle Shane: Whatcha think of this swinging dick now?!

Shane's teeth grit and he, in irritation at the sudden wave of negative feeling that comes over him, brings the chair down three more times, pelting Hughes across the thighs, lower back, and arm. Hughes writhes in pain under the stinging chair shots, and the crowd are reacting with muted shock at Shane's vicious turn. Finally, Shane, panting, cocks the chair against his leg and takes a deep breath, closing his eyes. When he opens them again, he looks down, eyes slitted with hate.

Kyle Shane: First warning to keep your name out of my mouth from now until doomsday, btw. But if you want to know why you are on the receiving end of this it's simple. You wanted to brag that your skillful showing against me exposed my mortality. You know, the match you lost en route to going 1-3. I'm here to disabuse you of that notion, and also to refute my station in this company. I am not you, Darren. I'm not going to be the guy that goes from being World Champion, to the losing streak guy.

It is a bitter, spiteful and angry Kyle Shane that stands there, now, and he doesn't even bother to look around the crowd as he talks.

You're all going to bitch about this "going on, and on, and on," anyway. He's past the point of caring what any of you think, or what they think.

Kyle Shane: I lost in the semi-finals round, really the first round that mattered in the 2019 TIIT. And I parted that curtain and I got so many people clapping me on my shoulder, giving me that fake, disengenuous heart to heart, "Tough loss, it was such a close match," pep talk. Nobody MEANS that when they say that. Nobody wants to be honest with you, they just want to smile in your face and act like they're your friend and say gosh, you were close, it could have gone either way there. Fuck you. No it couldn't. I'm not here to say that I should be here, the 2019 Icemann Invitational Tournament winner. I'm here to talk about the fact that I got screwed out of my chance to go to the finals, I got screwed out of yet another big match.

He shrugs, irritation and anger radiating from his pores.

Kyle Shane: And if you want to say I'm "making excuses" for why I didn't win that's fine, because it exposes your hypocrisy. When things go your way, when fate intervenes on your behalf and everything falls into place for you you chuckle that it was what was meant to be. And yet whenever circumstances trip you up, you're right here with me saying that you got the shaft. I know every one of you has been there. But this has been piling up for too long and so much of it I have to lay at the feet of one and only one factor.

Now he does look up into the camera.

Kyle Shane: Bad referees.

He runs his tongue around the inside of his mouth as if swallowing something distasteful.

Kyle Shane: Gonna take you back to Collision Course 2018, referee Eric Russo. Me facing Gerard Angelo in the main event. Angelo and me both get thrown into the turnbuckle, and it snaps. An entire half of the ring gives way, and the referee is thrown for a loop during all of this. Angelo and I are in some kind of double pin situation, in the middle of a deconstructed ring, and two referees now come and give their opinion. The match goes to a no-contest.

Reliving this, he paces around, getting worked up.

Kyle Shane: Mass Destruction 2019, referee... ERIC RUSSO, I kick the side of the cage out, and the referees all huddle in confusion not knowing what to do since there's a side of cage missing. Gerard Angelo gets a pin on me in the middle of the confusion, while I'm looking at the referees. Eric, do they just pay you to dither over broken equipment and stand around with your hand up your ass? And then we come to my personal favorite, Living a Legacy.

Kyle's grin is acid-sweet, snarky and more than a little bit outraged as he looks up to the lights. He points to the Tron.

Kyle Shane: In fact, Nigel Gale! Get on out here and let's talk about that. Nigel. Nigel, come out here! And you, TV production crew, why don't you pull up that audio I gave you? Nigel! C'mon, buddy!

Nigel Gale is coming from the gorilla position, a bit put off by being summoned. Kyle has a wide grin on his face, as he holds open the ropes, beckoning Nigel to come on in.

Kyle Shane: Nigel, I'd like for you to explain to me what we're hearing and experiencing here.

Kyle stands up straight, and Nigel looks like a middle school kid that has been summoned to the principal. Kyle, for his part, is staring at Nigel like a cobra over a mouse, and then he points sternly to the Tron. Audio Kyle has selected to prove his point cues up.

Jerry Andrews: Did Stormm get his hand under the rope in time?

Ace Anderson: Oooohhhh..... I think maybe he juuuuust did!

Jerry Andrews: I'm not so sure. Let's see that again.

Ace Anderson: Well, Jerry, the referee's decision inside the ring is final and it looks like he's decided that the match will continue.

The audio cuts off there.

Nigel Gale: Kyle, if you'll just let me -

Kyle's hand shoots up in an abrupt, whip-fast "Shut your mouth" gesture. He points to the Tron again, and another section of audio cues up. This is from the deciding fall of the match.

Jerry Andrews: That's a tough one, Ace! I think Stormm had him there, but I can see why there's controversy!

Ace Anderson: I agree... it's nearly impossible to say if Shane kicked out a fraction of a second after the three count or before, even with the benefit of slow motion replay!

Jerry Andrews: Well, as you said Ace, the referee's decision in the ring is final and that decision is that Stormm has advanced to the final!

Ace Anderson: What a match. These two left it all in the ring. They did absolutely everything possible to defeat one another. I don't think I've ever seen a closer match.

The audio cuts off again. Kyle's intense, hard-edged smile is back.

Kyle Shane: So, the match continues after you rule that Stormm juuuuuuuuust barely got his fingers on the ropes before the count of three. But not ten seconds later, when I'm juuuuuuust barely fucking KICKING OUT OF AN ALREADY LOOSE PIN, you're not going to continue the match?

Nigel Gale: I didn't - You couldn't see - your shoulders -

Kyle has a sarcastic look and mimicks baby talk, eyes wide with parody.

Kyle Shane: Abuh-bu-bo-the shoulders- bu - bu-

Nigel, getting frustrated and put upon by having to defend his refereeing, grits his teeth and his next words come out rushed.

Nigel Gale: I saw him having your shoulders down, and I didn't see you kick out until I had already counted three. I'm sorry, but...

Kyle looms over him, gripping his shirt.

Kyle Shane: You restarted the match FOUR FUCKING TIMES. YOU ABSOLUTE PIECE OF SHIT. YOU RESTARTED THE MATCH FOR STORMM TEN SECONDS BEFORE THAT. FOR THE EXACT SAME CIRCUMSTANCE. FUCK YOU.

Nigel Gale: I - I don't know what you want me to say -

Kyle doesn't even let him finish.

Kyle Shane: I want you to say you are bad at this. And to say that your count was wrong. And that Kyle Shane deserved better than what he got.

Nigel Gale: We did our best, it was such a tough, close match, it -

Kyle hauls off and punches Nigel in the face, dropping him to the ground.

Kyle Shane: I do not ever want to hear that again. I can live with failure. I'll tell the world right now, heck yeah I've failed. I failed to do what I said I was going to do. I failed to get to the finals. I failed to get back my World Title. I FAILED. But I do not ever in my fucking career want to be consoled, "Oh, it was so close, the last count was so close." Fuck you.

Nigel Gale is looking up at Kyle, holding his face, shocked and appalled. The crowd is booing heavily. And Kyle, no longer caring, tilts his head back, closes his eyes and breathes it in.

Nigel Gale: You can't hit an official, you'll get a fine for that!!

Kyle Shane: You're lucky you aren't getting what crocodile boy got a minute ago, now shut your mouth.

Kyle looks around at the crowd.

Kyle Shane: In fact, ALL of you shut your mouths!

The crowd is booing, raining down heat on Kyle.

Kyle Shane: I'm so tired of tiny little oversights holding me back from being what I could be. I promised when I started that I was always going to give you the most innovative, forward thinking and best content, but you never have appreciated what you have with me. I'm the biggest star that EVER graced this company, but you all are so fucking in love with people who haven't provided you with an original thought for a decade. Who bitch every single time about ME, who always complain about ME, "Oh, Kyle Shane talks so much, wah, wah."

He smirks.

Kyle Shane: Guess what. If you don't appreciate me, I see no reason to pander to you. So say that I'm complaining, say that you don't like my attitude. I'm done trying to impress you, or be something that you can look up to. From now on, whenever any of those unimaginative mummified geriatrics in the back wanna square up with me, they're going to get something to worry about. Because I'm not going to be like Hughes. I'm going to be Kyle Shane. Always, and forever... the GOD... OF FUCKING... GAME.

Kyle throws the mic aside, and holds his arms up arrogantly, exiting the ring with a half-snarl, half smile, and very intense eyes as he walks up the ramp.

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

Ace Anderson: No match for Grimm tonight, but it looks like our new World Champion…

Jerry Andrews: For the seventh time, thank you very much.

Ace Anderson: …as I was saying…it looks like our World Champion is on his way out for his first State of the Championship address!

Jerry Andrews: I think you mean the first time…for the seventh time!

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

A lone silhouette steps out onto the entry way, and candle wax drips onto the parchment as the figure begins the long walk to the ring. The lights fall into a pestilential throbbing, in and out of time with the discordance raging from the speakers. There’s the usual brown T-shirt featuring a certain dead tree from the center of Hangtown, green britches, and black boots, but tonight, oh, friends, tonight those lights glint off the massive title belt strapped around his waist. Still, the Hangtown Horror remains deadset on the ring, steadfast in his approach. He climbs onto the apron and slides between the ropes. Hopping upon a turnbuckle, he casts his gaze out over the crowd with his arms at his side, eyes shifting to take in the sea of faces spread out before him. Grimm then drops down and, stepping to the center of the ring, pulls out a microphone from his back pocket.

“I realize this is a familiar sight for some. But for those of you entering the fold since 2017, here’s how this works. According the interwebs, this,” he says, tapping the face plate of the belt, “is the crown jewel of wrestling championships. The most fulfilling championship to win. It shows the world that you are the best this sport has to offer.”

Grimm offers a slight shrug.

“I guess that could be up for debate, depending on who you are and where you are at in your career. Or just how much one wants to downplay the fact they aren’t the World Champion at a given moment. Anyway, regardless of any of that, I do not take this for granted. You never know when the next opportunity will be your last. Just look at some of the names that have worn this belt over the years. Ace Anderson…”

Grimm nods at the announcer, who returns the nod with the tip of an imaginary hat.

“Lantlas. Whitey Ford. Murdoc. LoKi…”

The arena erupts at the mention of the current president of the federation.

“…Showtime. Billy Sadistic. All legends. All retired. But still, a who’s who of past superstars. The bedrock on which Pure Class Wrestling still stands.”

Grimm begins a slow circling of the ring. Squaring the circle? What dark alchemy is this?

“Now, there are those who disparage this past – even the mere acknowledgement that we have a past – and as such, they disrespect this federation and everyone who’s ever stepped foot in this ring. True, there are a few who deserve to be disrespected, but the vast majority did their part to build this place. They are the only reason you’re here, in the only federation that’s still worth anything after nigh on these many years.”

“Yes, there are those who would have you believe this federation would cease to exist without transfusions of new blood. That innovation and continual reinvention are the keys to success, if not the only means to thrive, or even survive.”

The Abomination of Desolation stops to scratch his chin. He gives the belt a gentle rap-rap-rapping with his fingers.

“Perhaps they’re right. To an extent. Maybe. After all, a federation whose framework is held up by dusty old bones will not stand. No one will watch, and predictability will get you pinned faster than you can say Pegasus.”

Ace Anderson: Good Lord, he dug deep into the archives for that one.

Jerry Andrews: Maybe that’s the point, Ace. You know, acknowledging and respecting the past and whatnot.

Ace Anderson: Sure. Whatnot.

Grimm returns to the center of the ring. Turning and turning in the widening gyre / The falcon cannot hear the falconer / Things fall apart; the center cannot hold.

“But it’s one thing when this retooling is a means to an end. It’s another matter when it’s all you have to hang your hat on. When your sole practice is style over substance. Flitting around, sputtering jargon, slinging all manner of personas and in-ring rigmarole all over the place, when it’s change simply for change’s sake and yet somehow you act surprised when you find you’re still trying to figure out who you are. At some point a person has to look themselves in the mirror and recognize this is it . You are who you are, and that’s all that you are. After all, the only thing that grows in the human body after a certain age is cancer.”

Grimm turns just right and the lights catch the belt in such a way that a prism bathes a quarter of the audience in a multitude of colors. Some of which the human eye is not meant to behold. One poor young man loses his mind. He will recover, somewhat, some day, but will forever be haunted by the experience. And he will never be able to explain why.

“You can’t set out to reinvent the wheel after every setback and expect to gain any traction in this business. Consider this: after defeating him a few times previously, I lost a World Title match against The Catalyst. And despite knowing Stormm as well as a wrestler can know an opponent, I fell short in a match for the North American title that I had requested after winning last year’s IIT. But I didn’t weep or wail or gnash my teeth. I didn’t walk around in sackcloth, shave my beard, and toss ashes on my head. I learned lessons from those losses. And then I doubled-down on all things Grimm. Distilled down my approaches and mindset and extracted my very essence. Winnowed out the chaff on the threshing room floor. Refined the silver, or gold, as it were, from the dross. Nothing left but the intrinsic nature of the Hangtown Horror itself.”

“And look how that turned out.” Grimm pats the belt.

“I’ve mentioned not taking opportunities for granted. So while I’m out here I would like to thank Gerard Angelo for affording me at least one more chance to stand as your champion. He didn’t have to do that, and yet he had the guts to call out the Crimson Demon. And now he’s part of the collective shattering -- the shared experience that is an encounter with Grimm. I appreciate the title shot. I respect him for offering it. And I don’t doubt for a second that I’ll see him in this very ring again in some form or fashion.”

A rousing ovation from the crowd for the former champion. He’s still their Hollywood Hero, yo.

“Now, down to business. As your World Champion, I am not here to claim that I’m going to remold the federation in my image. Despite being the Lord of Misrule, I’m not going to turn things topsy-turvy.”

“I’m Grimm.”

“You know what that means. You know where I stand. And I know what I’m about. So let’s dial back the drama, tone down the angst, and jettison all the preciousness that’s been mucking up the works. This is humanity’s oldest sport. This is Pure. Class. Wrestling.”

"So let’s fight."

Grimm returns the microphone to the pocket and slips out of the ring without further fanfare.

Fresh off his address to the faithful, Grimm moves about in the backstage area. Wherever he may be roaming to, only he knows.

"Look, mommy! It's Phinehas Grimm! You remember him. He's the fed bully."

Seromine's childish exuberance is temporarily dashed as he lowers his head. His octave drops a few notches.

"He doesn't like me very much."

The champ's strides are suddenly halted. He doesn't immediately turn to face the intrusions. But his cold stare is enough to chill anyone's spine. Luckily, it's just a side glance. As Lucy approaches her son, he perks up. So much so, he leads her by the hand in an attempt to get closer. Lucy allows him so much space before her maternal instinct kicks in. Seromine speaks up.

"Hi Phinehas! Hi!" He says with an attention seeking wave. "Say --- that's a nice toy you have there. It looks like a hand-me-down. I used to have one that looked just like it!"

Grimm turns around this time. Expressionless. Maybe annoyed. But never one to show his hand. Seromine hides behind his mother. Having a nine inch height advantage on her makes him crouch. His arms wrap gently around her legs. His head partially pokes around her hip.

The Hangtown Horror stands his ground but, other than a slight tilt of the head, does not respond. This development certainly puts him on alert, though, as seen through the narrowing of those eyes of ancient ice.

"In honor of your achievement, I baked this apple cinnamon pie! Wasn't that nice of me? Hmmm? Just be sure to let it cool first! - we wouldn't want you to hurt yourself, now would we?" She begins thinking out loud to herself. "Goodness no. I'm afraid that wouldn't be pleasant."

Lucy's chipper disposition returns in full. She's very proud of her baking skills. The pie is your classic all-American dessert with a lattice-top crust. The Golden Delicious apples and freshly ground cinnamon combine for an appetizing aroma. Seromine has since popped back up.

Grimm’s frigid gaze shifts from Seromine to Lucy. “You’re crazier than I reckoned if you think I’m going to eat anything from your kitchen.”

She ignores him. "Oh! That reminds me!"

She takes out an index card. "This is the recipe should you want to make it at home! After all, you won't find it in any cookbook! Oh, how my sweet, innocent Jason loves his cherry pies --- only he's my pie and I could just gobble him up!"

Lucy playfully tickles Seromine's sides, causing immediate laughter. It should be accepted fact that cherry pie IS the best kind of pie!

Grimm’s mouth begins a collapse into a frown behind the GingerBeard of Doom. Because this…this is off-putting.

"But you go on and enjoy that. Just remember, it only takes a second for everything to change."

There's something behind her smile that wishes to remain hidden. "Goodbye Grimm! And you're welcome!"

Grimm watches them like a moray eel staring out from some deep abyss. He won’t lash out, not now, but there’s no turning your back on these two, World Champion or not.

Seromine waves. "Bye Phinehas! Maybe we can be friends..."

His voice sounds more adult and ominous on his final two words.

"one day..."

Lucy leads her son away by his right hand. They move out of view from the camera.

“That boy ain’t right,” says Grimm, as he moves to find the venue’s furnace room. This pie needs to be incinerated, and fast.

Back to ringside.

Sasha Greene: The following match is scheduled for one fall and it is for the PCW Underground Championship!

Ace Anderson: I think Seromine must have concussed Rick Majors at Living a Legacy. Just imagine what a monster like Sicko is about to do.

Jerry Andrews: Nobody should take Rick Majors lightly. He's been renewed ever since he broke from Seromine. He may be older than most on the roster, but there's no quit in him.

Ace Anderson: How did that work out for him the first time?

The lights go out. The crowd cheers instinctively before eventually falling silent. Suddenly the sound of guitars pierce through the silence. "Wastelands" by Linkin Park begins to boom throughout the arena, the lights in the building flashing along with the drum beat of the song. Then, from the entrance way, steps Rick Majors.

Wearing a black denim military jacket, a grey t-shirt, and jeans, Rick Majors pauses for a moment and looks down briefly. He then looks up and starts to make his way to the ring.

Sasha Greene: From Toronto, Ontario, Canada. Weighing 227 lbs, he is RICK "THE IMPACT" MAJORS!

"This is war with no weapons,
Marching with no stepping,
Murder with no killing,
Illing every direction."

Majors walks slowly, looking out around the arena as he continues his way down to the ring.

"And no, I'm not afraid of that
Print it in your paperback
Every rap is made in fact
To act as a delayed attack
Every phrase a razor blade
That's saved until they play it back
To slay and leave em laying on the pavement
Bang, fade to black"

The lights in the arena burst on fully as the song's chorus hits.

In the wastelands of today,
When there's nothing left to lose,
And and there's nothing more to take,
But you force yourself to choose,
In the wastelands of today,
When tomorrow disappears
When the future slips away,
And your hope turns into fear,
In the wastelands of today.

Majors climbs the ring steps and pauses. He turns towards the crowd, standing on the ring apron for a moment before entering the ring. Majors stands in the centre of the ring, looking out towards the crowd, awaiting his opponent.

Sasha Greene: And his opponent...

The lights start going out as if with a rolling blackout, flickering and struggling to maintain power as the first guitar chords of "Fixxxer" by Metallica starts playing over the PA. As the lights come fully up, 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 hits the mid-point heavy guitar break 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 letting out a bestial roar.

Sasha Greene: From Death Valley, California. Weighing 383 lbs, the PCW Underground Champion...SICKO!!

Tell me

Can you heal what father's done

Or fix this hole in a mother's son?

Can you heal the broken worlds within?

Can you strip away so we may start again?

Tell me, can you heal what father's done

Or cut this rope and let us run?

Just when all seems fine and I'm pain free

You jab another pin, jab another pin in me

Then, as the music kicks in harder, shots of Sicko ruthlessly attacking and destroying PCW superstars flicker on the screen. Sicko steps out from behind the wheel of the ice cream truck, and as he does, he cocks an ear, listening to an unheard spoken word or command, and he responds, talking to himself. A red mist rolls out from the interior of the ice cream truck with Sicko. The Demon Clown slowly makes his way down to the ring, like a predator on the hunt. As he climbs onto the apron, James Hetfield is just getting to the "NO MORE PINS IN ME" part of the chorus and in time with that, Sicko holds his arms out at his sides and he throws his head back, letting out a guttural roar. As Sicko climbs over the top rope, he turns his head to talk to a voice only he can hear, waiting for the match to start.

PCW Underground Championship
Sicko (PCW Underground 👑) vs Rick Majors
Referee: Ed Lane

DING!
DING!
DING!

Majors introduces his forearm right to the face of Sicko. A move that Tito Santana would approve of with a hearty "Arriba!" But for the purposes of this fight, it has little effect on the towering clown of death. Majors backs up to hit an elbow smash. The impact is hard enough to be heard, but not strong enough to make Sicko do anything but laugh.

Majors goes for the knees but is picked off his feet the moment he lowers his body. Sicko goes charging to a corner with Rick held upside down. Majors slips out and in the process trips Sicko up enough to drive him to the buckles. Rick rolls (no pun intended) out of the ring to retrieve his signature weapon: a baseball bat. Sicko spots this, but stands his ground with the most menacing stare aimed the challengers way.

Majors climbs in. He looks at Sicko. Then the bat. Then at Sicko. He throws the bat at him! Sicko catches it, but in the process winds up being kicked between the legs. Sicko careens over which allows Majors to jam the bat into his throat. Sicko groans from the shot. Majors changes his stance and begins swinging like it were batting practice.

Jerry Andrews: Can Majors hit a home run and get the destructive champion down?

Ace Anderson: I think Sicko is going to knock him down to the cellar where all the other losers go.

Rick's luck runs out when Sicko snaps the bat in half. The momentary pause is enough of an opening for Sicko to drive the fragmented ends into the sides of Rick's head. With Majors now vulnerable, Sicko gets rid of the weapons (he doesn't need them), electing instead to drive a punch to the back of the head. Majors gets pancaked into the canvas, but refuses to stay down. So Sicko punches him again. Then again. Then again. Until finally his punches starting crushing Rick's face as well.

Once the barrage ends, Majors STILL refuses to stay down. Disorientation does funny things. Sicko backs up, licking his chops as he has the smaller prey lined up. Majors staggers to his feet with both fists clenched. Sicko hits him with FCS! Rick spirals backwards through the ropes and then comes to a stop on the apron. The champion power walks over, but Rick drops to the floor before he can be grabbed like a stuffed prize from the claw machine. Sicko is able to get him once out of the ring, however. Majors gets pulled into a short-arm powerslam that ends across the top of the steel railing.

Jerry Andrews: He may have just snapped his spine in half!

Majors is bent precariously and the painful grimace etched on his face tells it all. Sicko keeps him bent so that he can mercessily unload everything he has in way of punches, elbows and headbutts. If things keep going this way, Rick Majors face is going to look like Rocky Balboa without the addition of rounds. Sicko wrenches Rick up in the air and then snaps him backwards to the floor, folding him in half.

But Majors won't stay down! His limbs wobble as he tries to push himself up. Sicko sees this as further opportunities to make him pay dearly for being foolish. Majors is drug around ringside until he winds up being propped against the announce table. The color commentators wisely vacate their seats to safety. Sicko heads down to the ring steps. He dislodges them and uses it as a projectile that collides to Majors body. It draws a loud 'OOOH' from the crowd. Majors has been turned away from the table, but he won't stay down!

Rick digs deep for everything he has. He tugs on the ring skirt to pull his failing body up. He manages to get inside of the ring, where Sicko is happy to join him. Rick uses the ropes to begin standing. Just as he turns, Sicko SPEARS him in half against the corner with violent velocity. Majors takes one hell of an ugly landing and is then moved out to the middle of the ring. Sicko throws his keg of a torso over him. The referee keeps a safe distance from the sadistic champion who is now talking to himself as the count begins.

1.

2.

3---SHOULDER UP!

This gets the faithful rallying behind him. Sicko fixates his death stare on the shoulder that denied his win. He tucks the arm under Majors and pins him again, this time putting ALL of his weight down on the joint.

1.

2.

3---SHOULDER UP!

Sicko's fire rages with fury. He doesn't think twice about this. He bends the OTHER arm under and this time, he drops all of his weight with a big splash. Majors has his legs hooked for what should be three.

1!

2!

3---MAJORS KICKS OUT!

Sicko has had enough. Rick is pulled into the air by his neck. His limbs try to mount some sort of offense, but there isn't much behind them. Of course having your air supply cut off can do that. Sicko walks around the ring with Majors goozled in the air by his neck. He FINALLY drives him with leaping authority and a humongous splat as PAGLIACCI is delivered. He's not satisfied. Sicko scrapes him off the mat. Majors gets doubled over and picked up in a pumphandle. He's rolled across the wide shoulders of Sicko...

BRIMSTONE! Sicko engulfs Majors on yet another cover...

1!

2!

3!

NO! Rick Majors REFUSES to stay down! BOTH shoulders AND a kick out! The fans give him their full support. MAJORS! MAJORS! MAJORS! Sicko has an animated conversation with whatever voice is in his head. This continues to be a thing, even after Majors is rag dolled clear across the ring. He winds up tumbling into the buckles. Sicko towers in the opposite corner, still talking to himself. Majors, looking half-dead, has started to will himself up to his feet.

Jerry Andrews: What is possessing Rick Majors to continue taking these punishing levels of abuse??

Ace Anderson: Perhaps he's still riding high from the Toronto Raptors parade, eh?

Sicko comes full steam ahead. Chop block by Majors! Rick crossbodied the knees of Sicko, catching him off and actually getting him down. He winds up spinning mid-air like a propeller, but he's got the champ down. Rick scratches and claws. Pushes and pulls. He's finally to his feet, but with spaghetti legs and a whole world of pain named after him. Sicko himself is in the process of getting up, but favoring his knees. Majors lands one of his own signatures, THE CENTRE OF ATTENTION.

Sicko catches Rick before he's able to land on his feet. In one powerful motion, Rick is flung in the air, caught, and put down with a massive UNDER THE BIG TOP! The impact of shakes the ring with seismic proportions. This comes with the caveat of a pin...

1!

2!

3!

And that's all she wrote. The bell is called for and Sicko has notched another victory.

Sasha Greene: Here is your winner and STILL Underground champion, Sicko!

"Fixxer" by Metallica becomes the anthem of the reigning champion. Sicko rips the gold out of the referee's hands and then exits the ring with an unnerving smile. Rick is shown being checked on by the official.

Jerry Andrews: He may have lost, but he has nothing to be ashamed about. He kept fighting until his body couldn't handle any more.

Ace Anderson: A nicely worded metaphor for being old.

Jerry Andrews: I wasn't calling him old --- I was saying that he would not stay down.

Ace Anderson: So he's old AND stupid?! Boy, Jerry. The guy just went through hell with one of the most dangerous Underground champions. The least you could do is show him some respect for even trying.

Ace begins to clap, much to the exasperation of his broadcast partner. Rick is beginning to get to his feet when all of a sudden, loud commotion from the faithful is heard. SEROMINE has hit the ring. He looks "concerned" about Rick. Seromine pulls out a pack of gum and then takes two steps before realizing it's empty. Undeterred he checks his other pockets.

He's all out of bubble gum.

Seromine looks to his mom on the stage about what he should do. She calls him over to her since Rick is in no condition to play. Seromine looks at Rick and then blasts the living daylights out of him with LITTLE BOY BLUE. Majors is left in a heap as Seromine returns back to Lucy to eagerly tell her what he did. She approves and leads him to the back after he waves goodbye to the ring. Both he and his mother get booed out of the arena.

We go backstage where Shane Dodge is standing next to David Hunter. They're both in the catacombs of the building, the hall lighting up the emotions of the self-proclaimed champion, only hallmarked by the expensive but custom Tag Team Championship around his waist.

Shane Dodge: Ladies and gentlemen, I am standing here with one of the members in the triple threat main event tonight for the #1 contenership...of the North American Championship...David Hunt--

Before he can finish, David grabs the mic from Shane's hands. He then gives Shane a kiss on the cheek before shoving him off-screen.

David Hunter: With all due respect to the many members of this roster...to the many staff members in the back...to the corporate schmoozes up at Pure Class Headquarters...to the shit-tier referees who go into business for themselves nine times out of ten...and to the people in the back who make this show stand...

David waits a moment, letting his hard breathing do the talking.

David Hunter: This company is a fucking joke.

Well that certainly doesn't gain aim any favors. In fact it only gains him some more boos.

David Hunter This crowd...is a fucking joke.

That doesn't help things. What mixed reaction there might've been fades away to even more jeers.

David Hunter: I can stand here and talk a mile a minute about the bullshit I've been through these last 9 months. I could tell you that this company clearly has its favorites and nothing I do would make a difference. I could tell you that I'm the future of this company, have more guts than the guys in that ring, have been through more shit than anybody on this roster but nobody gives a damn. These fans...they'll boo me for what I say but cheer for what I do in that ring. This company will give title shots to those undeserving while guys who toil in the Underground never leave unless they force their way out...like I did.

David takes off his tag team title, placing it in front of him so that it shares a camera with his face.

David Hunter: I am one half of the PCW Tag Team Champions, but my partner, Holden Ross, has been sent home by the company. Why? I don't know, nobody tells me anything, but the fact that I have to resurrect a championship just to get that spotlight is a damn shame.

David sets the title on his right shoulder.

David Hunter: I've stolen the show every single time I've competed, and what do I get? Title shots? Ah, thanks Sicko. I got my tournament spot...but apparently Dominator is a better competitor than Sicko because six Thrill of the Hunts can't keep that bastard down. I have the chance to take the North American Title, claim a real championship...but I've gotta deal with Stormm and Kyle Shane. A guy who lucked out and lost out...and another guy who's been handed everything in every company he's competed in! He's won everything imaginable, but it's not enough. He needs it more, he needs it all, he can't staaand not holding a piece of gold. Sucks doesn't it, Kyle?

David shakes his head, the emotion threatening to pour over.

David Hunter: Tonight I am an underdog facing off against two bonafide stars in this company. I am considered out of my league, out of my depth, and merely fodder for those two asshats to try and pin me, but you know what? I've faced giants, fought off armies, had a knife through my chest, a bullet in my asshole, and an arrow through my hands, but I'm...still...here! You can blow my fucking brains out....and I'll stand right back up, flip you off, and let you know that I'm still here! And I will always be here, with a title, without a title, but quite frankly, it's not about what I can do. It's never about...what I can do.

David releases a deep sigh.

David Hunter: It's about what the refs want to do. It's about what the fans want to do. It's about what this company wants to do. Story of my life right there, but even if I have to write a goddamn symphony, tell the world my life story, or spit in the face of every wrestler or authority in this company, I will make sure that this son of a dumb-ass...gets his due.

David tosses the mic against the floor before walking off camera.

The arena is enveloped in total darkness, save for one solitary spotlight aimed directly at the center of the stage. The ticking of a clocks echoes hollowly throughout the vicinity. Slowly, cradling the trophy awarded to the victor of The Icemann Invitational Tournament in his arms as if it were a newborn child, Horacio Mortimer cannot contain the smug look that had spread far and wide across his face even before he had stepped into view. He relishes in the loathing coming from the fans before stepping to one side, adjusting his grip on the trophy to prise one arm free to gesticulate towards the curtain.

It is at that moment that the opening riff to Garik Wheeler’s cover of “Wave of Darkness” begins to blast over the PA system, the tension mounting with every chord. Slowly, The Zenith himself makes his way into the spotlight and stares straight ahead towards the ring. The PCW North American Title is clutched in his right hand by the gold plate itself rather than the strap. He glances down towards the trophy that Horacio holds before wrapping his own fingers around it. With a triumphant roar, Dominator raises his hands high and wide into the air, showcasing both his prizes for all the world to see.

Jerry Andrews: Here he is, folks… the winner of The Icemann Invitational Tournament 2019.

Ace Anderson: This guy is just phenomenal, Jerry. He knocked off a game David Hunter and Stormm in quick succession just two weeks ago at Living A Legacy.

Jerry Andrews: And he remains undefeated throughout the whole of 2019 thus far. It begs the question, Ace… is there ANYONE in PCW capable of stopping Dominator’s rampage?

Ace Anderson: Right now, I don’t think there is!

By this point, Dominator and Horacio have strode to the bottom of the entrance ramp, the spotlight following their every move. The Zenith palms off the trophy back to Horacio before clambering into the ring. In the meantime, Horacio walks towards the announcer’s desk, leaving the trophy directly between Jerry Andrews and Ace Anderson whilst acquiring a microphone. He joins The Zenith, who is waiting patiently in the centre of the ring.

“Greetings friends,” he begins with a smirk. “My name is Horacio Mortimer.” The crowd compulsively talk in unison with The Chronological Order’s founder as he introduces himself. “And today, I present to you the singular greatest acquisition that Pure Class Wrestling has ever contractually sourced. He has proven to be the most dominant individual ever to grace it’s roster. He is the reigning PCW North American Champion and the outright winner of The Icemann Invitational Tournament 2019. He is The Temporal King; The Zenith… DOMINATOR!”

Though the crowd loathes Horacio’s overly exaggerated levels of hype, they cannot disregard The Zenith’s accomplishments. There is a smattering of applause and even some cheers mixed in with the crowd. All the while, Dominator simply stares out across the sea of faces with an expressionless gaze, simply exuding even more of a destructive aura.

“At Living A Legacy, you all bared witness to the highest level of ascension perhaps since Kyle Shane first broke out onto the scene,” Horacio gloats. “Amongst all of the postulating and self-promotion from his rivals, there was no man other than Dominator who could back up their statements with their actions. And yet, for some reason, the management here at PCW seem to have thrown a bone towards the three of the final four who came up short in the tournament for a shot at retribution towards the man their jealousy is aimed towards.”

“Is a shot at The Zenith’s North American championship the kind of compensation that these men deserve?” Horacio rubs his chin as if he is merely pondering aloud. “After all, it seems highly unfair that all three men should fall short in The Icemann Invitational Tournament, only to be denied of yet another coveted prize.” Mortimer chuckles to himself, warranting a chorus of boos from the fans in attendance. “You see,” he recomposes himself, “David Hunter wants to reach the highest level, yet The Zenith has shown him just how far he still has to climb. He has dashed Stormm‘s dreams on two separate occasions in recent memory. And as for Kyle Shane…” Horacio stops, pondering the thought for just a moment. “You know, I don’t think we’ve seen Kyle Shane face The Zenith one on one. Nevertheless, the fact that he was eliminated at the semi-final stage is a far cry from the dominant Kyle Shane that ruled the roost for over a year. But whoever earns their chance at the North American title, they must remember just one thing.”

The Zenith promptly snatches the microphone out of Horacio’s hand, staring soullessly into the hard cam directly in front of him.

“Nobody can stop me,” The Zenith glowers in his own aura of indestructibility. The crowd boos at his arrogance as Horacio tries to retrieve the microphone for himself.

“Of course, the fallout from The Icemann Invitational Tournament spans beyond the bitterness of his rivals,” Horacio grins. “There is the matter of what will happen to the multi-thousand dollar cash prize that The Zenith earned,” Horacio beams almost maniacally at this stage. “It is something that has never really been expanded upon by past winners; what happens to the cash after it has been won? Some might speculate that the money will continue to fund The Chronological Order. Others might think it would be wasted on such immaterial things as, say, a new car. However, what we have in mind is something that we feel shall give something back to you, the fans, whilst also serving our own purposes.”

The crowd suddenly looks bemused.

“We have not yet approached management with this, so consider this our pitch to both the fans and the bigwigs backstage,” Horacio states. “Picture the scene; a spectacular night of dream match-ups showcasing PCW talent both past, present and future in match-ups that have never been seen before. That’s right. We intend to entice the Board of Directors to, shall we say, ‘switch up’ the Trauma booking schedule so that a show can be produced by The Chronological Order.”

The crowds hums back into life. They appear interested by this proposition.

Ace Anderson: Horacio Mortimer hosting an episode of Trauma? THAT’S what he’s going to do with the money!?

Jerry Andrews: You’ve got to know that there’s an ulterior motive to this.

Ace Anderson: Oh, come on, Jerry! Why do you have to be such a Negative Nancy all the time?

Jerry Andrews: I’m not a…

“But it begs the question… what about Grimm?”

Jerry and the crowd stop dead. The realisation hits the fans as soon as the words have exit Horacio’s mouth. It had been teased at Living A Legacy’s climax that Dominator could potentially challenge his fellow Black Hand alum; Grimm. This idea excites the crowd as they come to the same conclusion. Clairvoyantly, Horacio waves a dismissive hand.

“Let us address the elephant in the room,” he begins anew. “Grimm defeated Gerard Angelo to become the PCW World Champion at Living a Legacy. Dominator has a guaranteed title opportunity that can be utilised at his own behest. It would be highly plausible for The Zenith to challenge The Hangtown Horror to claim the gold for his own… and he SHALL!”

The crowd explodes!

Jerry Andrews: I don’t believe it! Dominator versus Grimm! It’s ON!

Horacio once again raises his hand, as if prompting the crowd the quieten down; their pre-emptive misreading of the situation is evident on his face.

“The Zenith has a full calendar year, a leap calendar year at that, to make his mark,” Horacio continues. “And, after talking at length with The Zenith about this, we have come to the conclusion that Dominator will challenge Grimm for the PCW World Championship…”

The crowd waits with baited breath.

“At LIVING A LEGACY XII”

Horacio begins to chuckle as the crowd erupts into a torrent of jeers.

“Do you honestly expect Grimm to drop that title to anybody else in the next year?” Horacio asks the audience. “The Black Hand has returned to power. Why jeopardise that over such a needless vice as greed? Phinehas and I may not see things from eye to eye, but I can at least respect the man’s abilities. And Dominator too has his own obligations to adhere to. Put simply; it isn’t the right TIME to be challenging Grimm.”

Horacio lets out one final grin.

“Of course, the card is always subject to change. And if Grimm does fall short somewhere down the line, I have the ultimate insurance policy ready and waiting. Feast your eyes, ladies and gentlemen, on a future PCW World Champion. It is undeniable. You cannot tell yourself anything otherwise. He is The Zenith… DOMINATOR!”

The crowd have grown annoyed with Horacio’s constant boasting as Dominator raises the North American Title into the air as a symbol of his triumphs. The camera pans to The Icemann Invitational Tournament trophy one last time before cutting to a commercial.

Sasha Greene: The following is a second chance, triple threat match to determine the #1 contender to the North American title! 

Jerry Andrews: Somewhere Dominator is watching...and waiting.

Ace Anderson: How much time do you think these three have left?

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

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

Sasha Green - Making his way to the ring, from Kansas City, Kansas, weighing in at two hundred and fifty-two pounds...

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

Sasha Green - He is the Force of Nature... STORMM!

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

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

Sasha Greene: Introducing next...

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

Sasha Greene: From Tampa, Florida. He weighs 247 lbs, DAVID HUNTER!

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

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

Sasha Greene: And their opponent...

The opening notes of "In The Morning And Amazing" by Circa Survive begins to play. A video game drop down menu opens and the cursor hovers over the options, "LOAD GAME, SAVE GAME" before coming to the first option, "START GAME" and highlighting it. Kyle Shane steps slowly out onto the stage, wearing a full length pirate coat, matte black with red trim, and a hood reminiscent of Shay Cormac from Assassin's Creed: Rogue. Shane tilts his head back, holding his arms out. The distinctive voice of Anthony Green hits the bridge:

"And how could anyone

You are in my dreams

Half human, half machine

You with someone else that I have felt and seen

I cannot rest, or my consciousness contest

Looking right through the lens

From winter brings the spring again"

There are some that react negatively, annoyed by the flippy, arrogant, self-absorbed so-called Game Changer, but the vast majority of the fans in the aisle, having seen what he can do, rise to their feet in appreciation. Some on the sides of the aisles even make a fanning bow motion as Kyle walks by. 1/2 the way down the aisle, Kyle pivots, holding his arms up to either side of him. He climbs onto the apron. Kyle balances on the ropes for a moment, as he pulls the hood off, his normal, infuriating, arrogant smirk spreads across his face and he raises his eyebrow. He fluidly slips between the ropes, pirouettes towards the entrance ramp and extends his arm fully out, his first finger and thumb pointed out in a pantomime of a cocked pistol, before he mouths the word "Bang" and lets the hammer down. Then he turns, removes the Assassin waistcoat and begins stretching for the match.

Second Chance Battle
Number One Contendership for PCW North American Championship
Stormm vs David Hunter vs Kyle Shane
Referee: Eric Russo

DING!
DING!
DING!

You knew it would happen. There is no good vibrations between The God of Game and The Force of Nature. If you thought things were explosive in the semi-finals, you may want to redefine the term. Kyle from the get go is all OVER Stormm. He is lighting him up with heavy strikes and kicks that are coming so fast and furious that Stormm's ring presence is being neutralized. Shane's pitbull mentality has Stormm trapped in the corner. The offensive flurry is wearing the bigger man down. Attempts to throw shots back are being bobbed and weaved by, giving Kyle extra looks at prime real estate.

Oh and there's some "cover the kids ears" level of trash talk while this is going on. Kyle is a new level of pissed off, ignited by his early exit in the Icemann Invitational and incompetent officiating. David Hunter is content to mind his own business, allowing things to play out to his advantage. Kyle eventually breaks from his assault to take Stormm down with two stiff suplexes plus that extra stank put on them. His third of the trio is blocked, however, by body shots. Stormm jacks Kyle's jaw with a brutal roundhouse that feels equally as personal and less professional. Kyle, stunned, drops his arms as Stormm gains the dominant position.

Kyle takes some heavy shots of his own and then some ear splitting knife-edge chops that break the skin. The God of Game covers up, but still peppers Stormm with side kicks to keep him from moving in. Stormm actually captures one, forcing Shane to hop on one foot. David Hunter jumps to the rescue with a wicked forearm to disable Stormm. Michaels staggers against the ropes. Hunter comes in with knee lifts to the chest, eventually getting Stormm in the corner. Kyle races over to launch a shotgun dropkick to his face.

Enter the double team. Kyle and Hunter stomp a mudhole in Stormm with aggression, with Kyle reminding him that 2006 is long gone. Stormm manages to cup the foot of each man that was getting used. Stormm pushes them back on their heels and then uses some quick thinking to get out of the ring. Kyle, still seeing red, hits the far ropes with breakneck speed, returning with a somersault plancha OVER the ring post with plenty of room to spare, as he gets the drop on Stormm.

Jerry Andrews: Did you see the elevation on that? Good grief!

Ace Anderson: Kyle has felt like he's in a slump and he wants this win no matter what.

Jerry Andrews: The same could be said for David Hunter.

Ace Anderson: Stormm came up short in what he called his final Icemann Invitational. A win here would give him a third failed attempt --- I mean opportunity --- against Dominator.

Stormm has reversed an Irish whip to the ring steps. Kyle uses them as a springboard to flip behind Stormm. In the process of the tuck, Kyle positions his knees to Stormm's shoulders, pushing him into the steps anyway. From the other side, David Hunter suplexes Stormm onto the floor. Kyle again uses the steps to his advantage, getting off a beautiful shooting star press. Stormm isn't given a chance to catch his breath as he's ripped to his feet and dumped back inside.

Hunter follows after. He sits Stormm up only to penalty kick him in the chest. Kyle, for the third time, takes flight, this time from the top rope, but finds nothing but knees as he lands a 450 splash. Hunter drops a volley of elbows on Stormm to keep him grounded. He then maneuvers him to a corner but leaves him seated. Hunter backs up enough to give himself some clearance. He comes full speed only to miss a running hip attack. The momentum pushes him over a prone Stormm, who then cradles his weight to keep Hunter down.

1!

Kyle is swift to breaking that with a stiff kick to the head. Stormm is pushed up and moved on skates, but he dosey doe's around Kyle in order to battering ram him in the corner. Stormm drives his shoulder in, but Kyle sticks him underneath with a knee. Hunter waistlocks Stormm and as he's moving him back, Kyle hits a savate kick. Hunter bridges him with a German suplex. Kyle moves around to take possession of Stormm with a wheelbarrow facebuster. Hunter then hits a knee to the back of his head.

Kyle and Hunter have a moment of acknowledgment in working together to remove Stormm from the equation. Stormm is picked up in tandem. They work together to throw him into the ropes. Stormm holds onto them, baiting Hunter in for a back body drop. Kyle's charge gets him dumped through the ropes, but it winds up looking more like a suicide dive. Stormm picks his spot to baseball slide Kyle into the guardrail, tripping him over Hunter's body in the process. Stormm exits to PLASTER Kyle with one of the stiffest punches you'll ever hear.

Ace Anderson: Somebody may be going home with a souvenir!

Stormm puts the boots to Hunter while he's down. He also works Kyle over with combination punches before clotheslining him over the rail. Stormm concentrates on Hunter. The former Underground champion is slingshotted against the ring post. The resilient and longest reigning North American champion brings the action back inside. Fans are getting behind the Force of Nature just as he scores a Russian leg sweep. Stormm transitions into picking Hunter up for a delayed vertical suplex. There is a floatover...

1!

Kyle returns with another stiff kick to the head of Stormm. Kyle throws him double birds right after the fact. He picks Stormm up to his feet, but winds up taking an inverted atomic drop. Hunter delivers a big boot to the face of Stormm the moment he turns around. Stormm in turn dropkicks Hunter clean in the kisser. David reverses a whip, Kyle LEVELS Stormm with Shoryuken. Hunter winds up Tiger suplexing Stormm into a pin.

1!

2!

Kyle yanks Hunter off and takes the pin for himself.

1!

2!

Hunter pulls Kyle off and then gives him a harsh forearm right after. Kyle hits a spinning back kick to the midsection. Then a kick to the chest to prop him back up. That's when Hunter turns him inside out with a thunderous lariat! Kyle has some boots put to him, but he wisely scoots to the ropes in order to force the five count. Hunter backs off to target Stormm. Michaels blocks a turnbuckle smash, turning the tables instead on Hunter. He sends him across and comes flying in with a stinger splash! Then a T-bone suplex! Hunter rolls himself out of the ring.

Stormm nails an incoming Kyle Shane with a quick powerslam. But he holds onto him and powers into a fallaway slam. Kyle rolls out of the ring leaving Stormm all by himself with the adulation of the faithful. He goes after Kyle and this time makes damn sure to punish his face into anything he can bounce it off of. Kyle is dumped in with Stormm quickly mounting for a flurry of stiff rights and lefts.

Jerry Andrews: You can still feel the hatred with every shot they level against the other.

Ace Anderson: That could actually favor David Hunter.

Kyle spins his legs up to trap one of Stormm's arms. He quickly flips him onto his back, but can't cinch in an armbreaker. Stormm reverses his positioning so that Kyle is face down. Stormm's attempt at an STF forces Kyle to quickly drag himself into reach of the ropes. The count is on, but Stormm sneaks in some shots anyway. He gets up and turns in time to sidestep David Hunter. The two in the end have the same thing in mind: a double clothesline.

There is applause for all three participants and what sounds like a groundswell of THIS IS AWESOME chants. Action has not let up from the moment the bell rang. Kyle uses the ropes to stand. He goes right for Stormm, who ends up surprising him with a kick to the gut. Kyle is lifted for a powerbomb. In the process, Hunter is seen standing behind Stormm. Kyle spots this and is able to hop from Stormm to Hunter. Kyle throws his weight backwards to nail a hurricanrana. Hunter's boot ends up catching Stormm in the head, taking him down in the process. Kyle rolls onto Stormm.

1!

2!

Kickout!

Just as Kyle moves to try and pin Hunter, Stormm bridges him back over to get a pin of his own.

1!

2!

Kyle kicks out of that and then slides under the bottom rope to prevent a follow-up from Stormm. Michaels instead gives him a running dropkick to shove him to the floor. Stormm turns and is put down with a Samoan drop from David Hunter. He rolls back and muscles Stormm into the air with a fireman's carry. Stormm throws elbow shots to the head of Hunter, winding up behind him. He runs David forward into Kyle Shane who gets knocked into the rail. Hunter hooks the ropes to prevent the roll. Stormm is oleyed so that Hunter changes position. Stormm blocks an attempted dragon suplex. He gets a judo throw, but takes a foot to the face while doubled.

Hunter runs into a belly-to-belly suplex. Stormm hooks the legs.

1!

2!

Kyle hits a running knee to Stormm's head to halt that noise. He bridges his arms and falls back with a double-arm DDT. Just as Kyle sits on his knees, Hunter cones FLYING with ODE TO FRANK. Hunter is quick to pin Kyle.

1!

2!

Kyle kicks out. Hunter picks Kyle up to his feet to move him against the ropes. The Game Changer has knees buried in his midsection. Hunter whips Kyle off the ropes, pressing him on the return for a flapjack but as Kyle falls down to earth, he catches Hunter's head in position for a spinning DDT. On the rotation, his boot catches Stormm flush in the face with enough force to dump him out of the ring. Kyle rolls through with a pin.

1!

2!

Hunter kicks out!

Jerry Andrews: This is one high octane match! Just listen to the fans.

Ace Anderson: Everyone has had a chance to claim victory, but nobody can keep one another down long enough.

Jerry Andrews: Or isolated enough.

KYLE! KYLE! KYLE!

Fans have gotten behind The Catalyst as his brand of offense continues to fluster Stormm and David Hunter. Kyle, seeing that Stormm remains outside, hits a double jump moonsault to the floor with camera flashes popping everywhere. STORMM DROPKICKS HIM IN MIDAIR! Kyle has an unusual rotation after boots meet him flush. Stormm gathers himself enough to go back inside. HUNTER SUITE --- NO! --- a sidestep from Stormm puts Hunter in trouble. Stormm wraps his left arm around Hunter's neck, leaning him backwards. He grabs a hold of the tights with his right hand and lifts Hunter off the ground. Stormm falls backwards with Hunter to spike his head and neck into the mat with a HANGCLOUD DDT!

STORMM! STORMM! STORMM! The faithful chant in unison as he hooks the legs.

1!

2!

3---KYLE DIVES IN FOR THE SAVE! He falls to his side still clinging to his midsection, but has prevented Stormm from a potential win yet again. The former North American champion beats the longest reigning World champion to their feet. He brutalizes the smaller foe with a full nelson slam. Stormm picks Kyle up and fires him across the ring with velocity, and into the waiting arms of David Hunter. Kyle revolves around, quickly trapping Hunter's arms. Shane flexes his muscles as he pulls him into a version of the octopus stretch!

Hunter is saved not by the ropes --- and not really at all. Stormm wisely takes advantage of both men. He bridges Hunter's leg while wrapping both men the best he can. Kyle releases the submission, but still takes some impact as Stormm fisherman suplexes David Hunter!

1!

2!

3!

NO! Kyle stops Stormm AGAIN! There are dual chants breaking for the heated rivals. Kyle fires himself up as things break down to where they were in the beginning. The shots traded are filled with dynamite. Hatred fills their veins as all the punishment washes over. The cameras show that a pair of haymakers have busted both men open. Kyle above his eyebrow, Stormm on his bottom lip. They catch each other with volleys that will probably give them shiners in the morning. DOUBLE HUNTER SUITE!!

Jerry Andrews: He has both men down! This could be it for David Hunter!

Hunter pins Stormm first. He hooks both legs.

1!

2!

3!

NO! STORMM GETS HIS SHOULDER UP! Hunter wastes little time going after Kyle. He hooks the legs. The faithful count along one more time...

1!

2!

3!

KYLE GRABS THE ROPES! Hunter's celebration is ruined by the official who alerts him to what he saw. Hunter is beside himself. He knows he can't beat himself up about things. Kyle is taken to the top rope. Hunter belts him with a headbutt as he goes after him. Looking for a superplex, Kyle elbows him repeatedly as he comes to life.

KYLE! KYLE! KYLE!

Hunter still has fire in his belly and shows it by pummeling Kyle from where he stands. For a split second he has Kyle pulled for a successful superplex, but those elbow shots return and with more force. Hunter goes limp as he's seated on the top rope. Kyle pushes him backwards into a tree of woe. Kyle stands and with all he has, comes down with a double knee meteora into the sternum!

Stormm is there to capitalize. He sets Kyle up in a suplex position of his own. He dtspes his left arm over the back of Kyle's head and puts Kyle's left arm over his left shoulder. Kyle has his left leg lifted close to his own torso. He fights off the cradle suplex lift with everything he possibly can. He successfully blocks Stormm's FORCE OF NATURE finisher. Stormm counters a throw to the ropes. GODDESS WHITE SWORD. Kyle stands and is CRUSHED with a missile headbutt by Hunter. David pins Stormm...

1!

2!

3!

STORMM PUTS A FOOT ON THE ROPES! Hunter AGAIN has his celebration ruined and this time he is pounding the mat in frustration.

Jerry Andrews: Hunter nearly had this put away, but Stormm's ring awareness denies him of a possible victory.

Ace Anderson: He's in the driver's seat, Jerry. That's all that matters.

Hunter collects Kyle, giving him a European uppercut. Then a second. Kyle spins around on a third to land a lifting back suplex to Hunter. He rolls over holding his back before getting to all fours. Kyle rushes in only to miss a running punt. Hunter hops up as Kyle turns, meeting him with a hurricanrana. As he snaps him over, Kyle does a cartwheel dodge out of it. Just as Hunter stands he is blasted in the temple with a staggering corkscrew kick! Stormm jumps into the fray with a blink and you'll miss it FORCE OF NATURE on Kyle!!

Jerry Andrews: Stormm hits it! He hits it! For the love and memory of Luis Malave, he has just landed his impact finisher!

Hunter cuts in with a leaping grab of Stormm's head with enough momentum to take him off his feet. Hunter sits out with a stunner, but Stormm takes ALL of the impact on his head and neck!

Ace Anderson: THRILL OF THE HUNT! Hunter has this won!! We're going to have a semi-finals rematch after all!

David Hunter wastes no time seizing HIS opportunity. This time he has Stormm dead center in the ring. Kyle is as well. He covers...

1!

2!

...

...3!!

...SICKO HITS THE RING UNDER THE COVER OF DARKNESS MILLISECONDS BEFORE THE COUNT!

Jerry Andrews: WHAT THE HELL?!

The snarling, sadistic Underground champion with unfinished business has stomped the referee's head. He then viciously attacks David Hunter, putting him down with a massive UNDER THE BIG TOP. It's one with enough force to put a hole in the ring!

HOLY SHIT! HOLY SHIT! HOLY SHIT!

Sicko tosses Hunter out of the opening. He then crawls out himself with the most twisted look on his face. Sicko nearly snaps the top and middle ropes as he steps over them to leave. Bodies lay strewn in the ring. When movement does happen, it's Kyle Shane dragging himself to his feet. Stormm finds his own self pushing through to get to David Hunter. Both men are up...DEAD EYE connects! Kyle crumples on top of Hunter. It's as if that one move of concentrated force just zapped him of further energy. The referee through grogginess rolls over to a view of the pin.

1!

...

2!

...

3!

The bell is called for. Kyle Shane has won the battle for a second chance. He must sense this because a combination of his entrance music and the faithful are breathing some life into him.

Sasha Greene: Here is your winner, Kyle Shane!

Kyle holds his hands up. His face cracks in a relieved and exuberant smile as reality starts to be processed. Kyle staggers to his feet, basking in the cheers and chants of the fans, none of whom remember how to sit down.

Jerry Andrews: What an incredible match this was. Every one of them laid it on the line tonight. Stormm and David Hunter were both seconds away from cashing in on a match with Dominator.

Ace Anderson: Wait until David sees who screwed him over. The bad blood between them is about to spill over.

Jerry Andrews: Sicko had no business coming into this match. He won earlier tonight. It must have killed him to see Hunter about to make him a distant memory.

Ace Anderson: I don't think --- hey! Look in the ring, Jerry!

Horacio Mortimer has brought a steel chair into the ring. But not for a sit down. He's arrived to attack an exhausted Kyle Shane with it. The God of Game senses this and makes sure to dent that weapon with a furious DEAD EYE straight to the skull! As Horacio falls, Kyle looks to the stage to see the imposing DOMINATOR looking at him unimpressed. The tension can already be felt as Trauma goes off the air.

- CLICK -