PCW Trauma: The 250th Episode Spectacular Results

[Rick Majors]

Pure Class Wrestling Trauma
Thursday April 25th, 2019

The cameras head to the parking lot of the Pure Class Arena. With the weather warming up and the rain sprinkling down, a cheap, green Honda Civic roars into view. It parks itself pretty quickly, the tires screeching from the sudden stop. When the lights are turned off and car becomes silent, the front door opens, revealing David Hunter in blue jeans and a belt. He's wearing a black shirt with "Zutara 4 Lyfe" on it in white lettering. The shirt is tucked in because apparently dad-chic is in.

David slams the door, locking the car. He starts to approach the arena, a man on a mission with very little desire to stop.

David Hunter: Kassandra!

David enters the arena through the backstage entrance. He glances around, his eyes eventually falling on a distant group of ladies talking and gossiping. Amongst the group is Kassandra Black, who meets his eyes before ducking down. David cracks a smirk before approaching.

As he gets closer, the ladies disperse. When David finally reaches his target, he knocks a few moments on her cover--simply the catering table.

David Hunter: Yo Kassandra, let's do an interview!

David proceeds to repeatedly knock on the catering table, sending food and drinks spilling about. Eventually, Kasssandra stands, holding a mic up as protection.

David Hunter: Kassandra! Kassandra! Kassandra!

Kassandra Black: Alright, alright! Stop!

David does so, waiting patiently for Kassandra to start.

Kassandra Black: Just don't harass me again, please.

David Hunter: Yeah, sure.

With very little promise and a whole lot of regret, Kassandra adjusts her dress and clears her throat.

Kassandra Black: David, when we last saw you, you lost your King of the Underground Championship to Sicko. How are you going to retaliate now that your crown is in somebody else's hands?

Kassandra offers the mic.

David Hunter: Great question! As for an answer, I think my actions tonight will serve as a good example. You see, I just so happen to have the night off. And while I could easily spend it at home or on a mission, I decided to spend it here, in Greenville, South Carolina...

This gets the obvious cheap pop.

David Hunter:...at the Pure Class Arena. In my last match, I went toe-to-toe with Sicko and kicked the shit out of him...but he obviously kicked my shit more. That's fine. I love a good match, even if I end up losing at the end of it. But the biggest thing about my loss is that...it made me realize something. You see...I've been way too lenient on PCW. I've allowed them to control my matches. I've allowed them to decide who I end up facing. I've allowed them to decide that Sicko deserved a shot at my crown. And how did they decide it? Sicko just went around and kicked the shit out of anybody who would take it. Cory Steel, Tyler Scott, Tyrone Smith, Razor Blade, God rest his soul. And the guy...he wasn't punished for it. Hell, he was rewarded. They gave him a shot at my crown...twice...and he took advantage of it. Second chances, and all that.

David takes a few moments to let the words settle.

David Hunter: So I figure...if a guy like Sicko can go around, kicking the shit out of anybody and anything he wants...then who the hell am I but to follow suit? I do find it funny that the first show without a King of the Underground Title match comes after I lose it. As if Sicko is allowed a reprieve but the guy who's been on consistently for six months has to earn himself a day off. Nah. I don't think so. By the time the night is done, Pure Class is going to have to suspend me before I leave this building.

David looks around the area, pondering for a bit.

David Hunter: And I think I'm going to be starting...now.

David then grabs the sides of the table, flipping it over. This has the effect of sending copious amounts of food--mostly potato salad, cheap hot dogs, some burgers, condiments, a load of chips, and some extra pastries--onto the floor. Unfortunately, most of it lands on the dress and legs of Kassandra, who simply stands there. Her eyes are wide and her mouth agape. The microphone is frozen in place.

David Hunter: Nothin personal babe. Love ya!

David walks away, making his way further into the building. The show switches to the OUT OF CONTROL crowd packed inside the PCW Arena!

Jerry Andrews: Ladies and gentlemen, for the TWO HUNDRED AND FIFTIETH TIME, welcome to PCW Trauma!

Ace Anderson: What a HUGE show we have for you tonight everyone! Welcome!

Jerry Andrews: I'm Jerry Andrews alongside Ace Anderson, and we thank you for continuing to tune in to Trauma each and every week.

Suddenly, the area goes dark, all except the PCW Tron. It’s lit, and the feed is still showing black, but it is still giving off enough light to illuminate the stage without fully coming to life. Those in attendance begin to light up the phones hoping to see something, or someone, make their way to the ring unannounced.

As the shadows begin to fill the crowd while the phones light up like stars in the night sky, the sound system comes to life.

Stormm: There comes a time when biting your tongue and turning the other cheek just won’t do, and this is one of those times!

The tron flickers on with a feed of the Force of Nature somewhere backstage, or in a studio off-site. He is surrounded by mirrors, with dozens of reflections showing, and the spotlight is right in his face. Despite not being booked for a match for the evening, he is still in full ring attire, and is donning his new trademark black leather trench, covered in belts and buckles. In his right hand, old trusty, the wooden baseball bat that some have encountered in the past, as well as more recently since Stormm has started carrying it with him again.

Stormm: It doesn’t matter if I speak, or I stay silent. If I win a match, or lose. Or, Hell, if I’m the longest reigning champion out of any superstar, with any championship in PCW history, there are those that just can’t stop slandering my name out of their dirty, pathetic mouths!

The crowd pops to Stormm’s aggravation towards at least one unnamed individual, if not several others; if for anything else, that they haven’t really gotten to see much of the Force of Nature since late last year, when he had stopped addressing anyone and everything.

Stormm: They would have you believe I’ve been handed everything and deserved nothing. They would have you all believe that they are heros, when all they do is throw words at you all, a lot of them, and hope they stick, when a true hero doesn’t asked to be called one, and definitely doesn’t go around saying so!

Even more support for Stormm’s words begin to rise from those in attendance.

Stormm: They would have you believe that their short times here have afforded them courtesies that people like Grimm, Majors, even Willard, or I still don’t have. When really, all we’ve been subjected to for months are a couple of babies crying back and forth, and somehow getting what they want.

The Force of Nature begins to pace back and forth in the relatively small area amongst all the mirrors, casting different shadows from the spotlight on him. His gaze never leaves the center of the frame, though.

Stormm: No, I’m not speaking up to feel good about myself, or just to pick someone out and run them down. I’m not running my mouth to defend why I think I lost, or to blame anyone else for losing the North American title. And I’m certainly not addressing the Faithful for the first time in months with a big long list of demands, or nonsense that I think is owed to me.

He stops pacing on his mark, and with an intense expression, stares into the camera, silent, almost as if he’s waiting for the excitement in the arena to calm down, which is does. The camera zooms in on his face, some of the reflections and mirrors can still be seen in the frame. No smile. No sarcasm. Just Stormm and the PCW faithful.

Stormm: I’m coming to you tonight to let you know that I had no intentions of jumping any lines, or not earning a shot at the World title. My presence watching Gerard beat Kyle at Mass Destruction was not calling my shot… at least not immediately.

The crowd’s implication on his words draws in a large number of cheers as he presses on.

Stormm: Not for nothing, but even if I had accepted Loki’s offer to face The Hollywood “Hero” at Living a Legacy, trust me, I’ve more than earned it! Just like some of you, and just like Kyle Shane and Gerard Angelo, our very own President assumed my actions at Mass Destruction were to lay claim to the the number one contendership. Not a chance!

He begins to pace some more as the house lights in the arena begin to come up, and all the lit up phones are being put back into pockets, or fired up to take video.

Stormm: The only thing I wanted was a front row seat to see who would carry our company’s top prize into Living a Legacy. To see who would get to watch me claim what they thought was being handed to me. To see who get to try and make excuses why I no longer deserved the right, or come up with the fables on how I didn’t earn the shot. To see who will ultimately not be prepared when the Eye of the Stormm is already upon them, and it’s too late.

The hype from the crowd is beginning to reach another peak as they draw their own conclusions to the Force of Nature’s words.

Stormm: Because for the last time, I will be entering the Icemann Invitational, and nothing less than winning it for the second time will do!

The Faithful explode, but this time, Stormm doesn’t wait for them to calm down to continue.

Stormm: And when I win it, there should be no doubt in anyone’s mind what title I’ll be gunning for!

Pointing the baseball bat at the camera, he presses on.

Stormm: Whether it’s Gerard, or whoever takes it from him at Living a Legacy, I will be next in line. So, to Mr. Angelo, any future World title hopeful, and the rest of the field in the tournament this year, the Force of Nature is coming…

Joining him in finishing off his catchphrase are just about everyone in attendance. Stormm fan or no, they realize when to join in for good television.

Stormm: ...and this is your warning!

The sounds of rain and thunder soundtrack over a blank screen. The pitch black darkness loses detail as a white four pane window comes into focus. The glass is moonlit, projected through the tree top of an orange tree (or is it...tops?).

Lucy is shown rocking with content in her chair. She's humming softly to her child, who is sitting at her feet playing with PCW action figures inside of a replicated ring. A heavy blanket is wrapped over him like a cloak. Seromine picks figures up from the tangled battle royal and begins crashing their bodies into each other.

The glow of a fire casts across the wooden floor. Warped publicity photos of every superstar is fodder for the fire, along with wooden logs that permeate with the smell of pine. Seromine continues his human demolition derby, but grows increasingly agitated as his strength begins breaking them.

He chucks the broken pieces into a small cardbox box. The ring as well is taken apart and discarded with the rest of the junk. Lucy leans over to take possession of the box. Crouching, she dumps it into the fire, then gets everything moved around with a poker.

Lucy dusts her hands off and returns to her seat. Seromine crawls up onto her lap and is lovingly embraced. A latex mask of Frankenstein's monster now resides where Seromine had sat. Lucy turns off a nearby lamp and resumes rocking and humming.

The show moves on.

Sasha Greene: The following is scheduled for one fall, introducing first... he weighs in at 225 lbs... 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.

Ace Anderson: Alright, we're trying this one more time.

Jerry Andrews: For the past several Traumas, we've been trying to get this match started, but outside factors have always prevented us from seeing it. I've talked to Tyler Scott tonight -

Ace Anderson: Wait, you talked to him? He talks??

Jerry Andrews: - And the former Underground champion wants this match more than anything, he wants to show the world which one of them is the better man.

Ace Anderson: Something to be said for determination, I guess.

Suddenly, the Tron interrupts with a feed of footage showing the backstage, locker room area. Corey Steel is in the locker room, wrapping his wrist tape up and awaiting for the cue of his music coming on to walk out. Suddenly, Holden Ross comes running up from behind him and smashes him over the back of the head. Steel stumbles forward. Holden picks him up and grabs him by the arm, pulling him over to a locker and placing his arm in the door next to the frame, then he viciously closes it on Steel's arm.

CRACK!

CRACK!

Steel, holding his arm, grimaces and pulls himself out. Ross begins pummeling him down with clubs to the back. Ross sees a steel chair leaning against the wall, and he unfolds it out. He holds it in the air in front of him. He lifts Steel up by the arm and boots him down so that he's on the floor, and then sits the chair over top of his back and shoulder so the injured arm is sticking out. Ross then walks over, and sits on the chair with all his weight, and he grips Steel's arm. Steel is screaming in agony. Ross pulls upward on Steel's arm, bending it uncomfortably with all his weight pressed down as if he's dislocating Steel's shoulder. Steel screams in pain. Holden Ross then addresses the camera, and the combatant waiting in the ring, who is watching all of this go down on the Tron.

Holden Ross: I DIDN'T WANT YOU TO THINK I FORGOT, TYLER, YOU SON OF A BITCH. I'M GONNA PUNISH YOU JUST AS BAD WHEN I'M DONE WITH HIM!

Ross gives one final, brutal yank upwards on the arm, bending it uncomfortably against the frame of the chair. Steel screams. Satisfied, Holden steps off the chair. Back in the ring, Tyler Scott, mouthing choice words and phrases all centered around hurting Holden Ross, continues his invective, no longer even paying attention to the screen.

Singles Match 

Tyler Scott vs Cory Steel 

Referee: Tyrone Little Jr. 

Ace Anderson: So I'm guessing the match is off then...

Jerry Andrews: Yes the damn match is off, Corey Steel is writhing on the locker room floor with his arm hanging out of the socket after Holden Ross tried ripping it off like a chicken wing! And Tyler Scott is bolting for the back!!

Ace Anderson: *Sigh* I guess we'll never know...

Scott gets all the way up the ramp, and aggressively pushes through the curtains. Two seconds later, Tyler Scott comes flying back out, sliding backwards as if from a devastating shot. Holden Ross had beaten him to the punch, as Ross comes through the curtain, carrying the steel chair he used to torture Steel. Tyler rubs his now throbbing head, not even sure of what he ran into, but the mack truck that hit him is on legs and carrying it's weapon, and steps up closer to him. Holden Ross, looking down without pity on the enemy that bedeviled him last summer and fall, raises the steel chair again and smashes it down across Tyler Scott's leg. Tyler howls and rolls to his side, grabbing his leg in pain. Holden Ross rains down merciless shots on the body and back of Tyler just in case. The seat of the steel chair bends under the punishment, and the referee for Tyler and Corey's intended match is admonishing Holden Ross, telling him that's enough. Holden Ross holds aloft the bent chair, receiving a loud, nuclear reaction from the crowd.

Jerry Andrews: Holden Ross has absolutely destroyed Tyler Scott, and dashed Scott's hopes of ever finishing this match with Steel.

Ace Anderson: Tyler knew this was always coming, I mean Holden Ross has been threatening him for weeks. And yet he still wanted to come out here and prove something.

Jerry Andrews: He wanted to compete and show his skills against his opponent!

Ace Anderson: He should have taken the week off!

Holden Ross, laughing, throws the chair aside as PCW officials rush out to the area and the show abruptly goes to commercial.

The camera is seen backstage, specifically the locker room door. We hear a huge ruckus inside. Clangs of metal, some stuff being thrown, a litany of other...strangely squishy sounds?

The camera stays firm though, despite all the numerous noises emitting from within the locker room like the sounds of wood being mishandled, a few liquids being strewn about, and a few other...wait is that footsteps?

The door opens, revealing David Hunter. He fixes his jeans, buckling up his black belt.

He releases a sigh of relief before looking at the camera.

David Hunter: Oh hey. I...I wouldn't go in there for a while. The toilets are a little clogged up.

As David walks away, the cameraman opens the door. Revealed inside are a litany of lockers banged up and dented, a bench flipped over, a few other accessories like watches or earrings or cell phones lying on the floor, and some bags strewn about with clothing lying in the liquid on the floor, and, oh, of course, the floors flooded with...mostly clear water, flooding in from the nearby restroom.

The cameraman takes one step towards the restroom before gagging. He quickly backs up, exiting the locker room. As the door closes, the feed cuts to the back to the ring.

Synthesizers erupt from the speakers as the arena is plunged into darkness. Red strobes begin pulsating in time with the music and after thirty second or so, Holden is wheeled out, strapped the a chair similar to ones they use in mental health wards and correctional facilities alike. His face is covered in a black cloth hood with a grey mesh over the eyes so the wearer can see. These “bags” are usually applied to “spitters” and “biters.” A large man in a white nurses uniform is the one in control and pushing the chair down the ramp.

Sasha Greene: Being escorted to the ring, he hails from San Luis Obispo, he is six feet, five inches tall and weighs in at three hundred and twenty pounds! He is the Bastard, Holllllden Rrrrooooosssssss!

The orderly has made it ringside and has begun to release his charge. He first removes the restraints, leaving the hood for last, before turning and leaving with the chair. Holden rolls in under the bottom rope before crawling to his corner where he leans back, both elbows resting on the bottom rope and his back against the bottom turnbuckle, seemingly unworried about his bout with Miss Black.

Jerry Andrews: We saw Holden Ross out here earlier, absolutely brutalizing Tyler Scott and Cory Steel. But now what's going on with him?

Ace Anderson: We know he's dangerous. We saw that earlier tonight and it's the reason he hasn't been on PCW shows for the last while. He was suspended after attacking an official at Mass Destruction.

Sasha Greene (frightened, moving fast): And his opponent Alexa Black! (She runs out of the timekeepers area)

The crowd looks to the entrance way as "Blood On My Hands" by The Used roars out, Alexa Black steps through the curtain her face covered by a black mask with two Japanese Kanji in white. Alexa on the left and Pain on the right. She doesn't waste time, she comes quickly around the side of the ring and begins throwing bombs at Holden Ross, and the two go back and forth with right hands.

Jerry Andrews: What a wild and chaotic start we've gotten onto, the opening match got scrapped thanks to Holden Ross, Ross has called Alexa out to the ring, and they're heavily into this brawl!

Ace Anderson: This match hasn't even started officially, this is madness!

Singles Match
Alexa Black vs Holden Ross
Referee: Joseph Buckland

The referee, not knowing what to do, plaintively asks them to get in the ring. Holden Ross, roaring with adrenaline, smashes Alexa over the head with an elbow. Alexa stumbles away, and Ross grips her by the hair, stripping her mask off, and he bounces her head off the guardrail. Alexa moans and leans against the guardrail. Ross, holding her by the hair, walks Alexa over and bounces her head off the apron. Alexa is too winded from the onslaught to fight back. Holden throws her in the ring, and he gets in, taunting the crowd and jeering antagonistically. The referee finally sees they're semi in position and asks the bell rung. Before they can even get it started Alexa kicks Ross in the knee. The She Demon experiencing a desperate surge of adrenaline, begins firing away at Ross's forehead with rights. However, Ross, still riding a wave of rage fueled adrenaline of his own, gets in a few shots of his own. It becomes clear though in the early going, Alexa is hitting just a little bit quicker. Ross, amazingly, starts to go on the back foot, stumbling a little. Alexa then goes off the ropes, and charges back across the ring, but on the way back Holden Ross just flattens her with a big boot. Ross follows it up and lands a monstrous leg drop across Alexa's throat. Ross goes to pick up Alexa and she hits Ross in the gut once, twice and three times before getting up to her feet. Alexa then executes a small throat toss that lands Ross relatively close to her side.

Jerry Andrews: That throat toss wasn’t very effective, yet I’m surprised by Ross’s conduct thus far.

Ace Anderson: I’m not surprised at all. Ross is almost a hundred fifty pounds heavier than Alexa after all. Besides you could tell Ross was resisting that a little.

Alexa catches her breath a bit before picking Ross up. Then Alexa drops Ross in a double arm DDT. Alexa gets up and goes to lift Ross. Alexa then attempts to go for a powerbomb. However, roaring with defiance, Ross just back body drops Alexa. Ross angrily picks up Alexa and holds him close to his face as he yells a bunch of obscenities and then Ross executes a two handed choke bomb.

Jerry Andrews: Alexa trying to fight back into this thing might just have made things worse, Holden Ross is violent tonight.

Ross lifts Alexa up, giving him a series of wicked clubs to the back. He whips Alexa into the corner and goes for a splash, sandwiching Alexa. Ross whips Alexa into the opposite corner, coming in for a second splash. Alexa stumbles outward into a military press, Ross lifting the Black Widow up in a display of strength, then Ross simply lets him drop face first onto the canvas. Ross calmly lifts Alexa, and begins to lay a series of punches into Alexa's forehead, beating her down into a seated position. Ross then tries to apply a vicegrip submission on Alexa's head, but Alexa struggles to keep Ross's hands from fully locking, screaming with effort. Alexa finally is able to grab Ross by the head and drop down with a quick jawbreaker, which makes Ross release the hold.

Jerry Andrews: Even though this match possibly started too quick and caught Alexa unprepared, you have to admire both of these competitors for the resilience shown so far in this crazy slugfest.

Ace Anderson: It certainly has lasted longer than Scott versus Steel - Oh WAIT.

Alexa lifts Ross up, but she is cut off by a headbutt. Ross yanks Alexa over to the ropes and begins choking him violently on the middle. The referee starts counting Ross for disqualification, and he pretends to ignore the official. The ref, getting heated now, starts giving him a more final warning. Finally Ross releases. Alexa is trying to get some air into her lungs. Ross lifts him up and plants Alexa with a pumphandle driver.

The referee: One...

















Two... Kickout.

Jerry Andrews: As much as Alexa has able to fight back, she really hasn't been given many chances to get out of the gate. I'm amazed that she's still in this match.

Taking his time, Ross hoists Alexa up again, Alexa begins to slowly fight back. She lands punch after punch to the gut, making Ross stumble off. He runs off the ropes, hitting the bigger man with a shoulder block that knocks Ross back a bit. Then Alexa executes a clothesline sending Ross into the ropes. Then Alexa runs and hits a lariat sending both competitors to the outside. The ref tells them to get in the ring. One… Both men stagger to their feet. two… And when they are both on their feet, they get into a fist fight. three… Ross grabs Alexa's arm, and whips Alexa into the steel steps. Four… Ross lifts up Alexa and tosses him into the ring, but keeps his head under the ropes and on the side where Ross is. Five… Ross slams his elbow right across the throat of Alexa. Six… Ross taunts the crowd as they boo. Seven… Ross gets back in the ring. Alexa tries to get away, rolling towards the other side of the ropes. Ross, irritated, goes over to that side of the ring, and when he reaches the ropes, he grabs at Alexa's feet. However, Alexa responds with a kick to the mouth so hard that Ross' head snaps, he stumbles back a bit, and when he looks back, he's wiping his nose checking for blood. He has a glare in his eyes now.

Ace Anderson: Uh oh, did Alexa forget what happens to bulls, why we get the expression seeing red?

Ross slides in the ring, and a weary Alexa uses the opening to axe handle Ross in the back of the head. Alexa gets up, kicking Ross in the face again with a full on soccer ball kick. The ref admonishes Alexa, but she threatens him and makes him back off, before turning and stomping on Ross's sternum. Alexa hoists Ross up and whips him into the ropes. She swings for a big boot, but Ross ducks, running to the opposite ropes. When he comes back, Ross hits a spear. He picks Alexa up and puts the Black Widow in a position for a sudden piledriver. Alexa uses all of her weight and just makes Ross fall flat bon his back. Alexa gets to her feet, obviously feeling the effects of the match thus far. She stumbles, trying to lift the bigger Ross, but before she can get him up for an electric chair, before she can even fully put him on her shoulders, he elbows her repeatedly in the side of the head. He drops down the front. Ross, moving slowly and with relish, double underhooks the arms of Alexa, turns her, and executes a vertebreaker. Holden Ross laughs sadistically.

Jerry Andrews: Sins of the Father connect, and Ross is just toying with her at this point.

Ace Anderson: Yeah, she couldn't muscle him up for the Heart of Darkness, and she was just out of it.

Holden Ross hooks the leg for the pin.

The referee: One...



















Two...

















Three!!

Ding Ding Ding

Sasha Greene: Here is your winner... HOLDEN ROSS!

"Spiders" by Billy Corgan begins playing, but Holden Ross does not allow time to get up celebrating, have the referee raise his arm or taunt, he exits the ring, going over to ringside, where he finds the timekeepers table. The referee is begging him to stop. Alexa Black in still on her side, barely able to move. Holden Ross shoves some people out of the way in the timekeepers area, and he grabs a steel chair, like he started this all with by killing Corey Steel and Tyler Scott with. He holds it up. The referee comes towards Ross as he goes to the ring, but Holden Ross flings his arm at him, shooing him away and roaring at him.

Jerry Andrews: Oh come on, dammit, hasn't Ross done enough?!

Ace Anderson: He certainly doesn't think so, is the main point.

Holden Ross gets in the ring, holding the steel chair and looking at Alexa sadistically. Holden Ross opens the seat of the chair, like the jaws of a crocodile. He sneers. Then, he grips Alexa Black's arm, and he places the open seat of the chair around her arm and pulls her wrist through it. The referee is begging Holden Ross to stop at this point. Holden Ross responds by shoving the ref so hard the ref goes flying out of the ring.

Jerry Andrews: NO, DAMMIT, HE CAN'T DO THIS!

Ace Anderson: Someone needs to get out here and stop this, Holden Ross is on a path of destruction tonight!

Jerry Andrews: He may have hurt or injured Steel and Scott, but he's toying with Alexa and teasing her with a much worse fate.

Indeed, Ross has his foot stepped lightly on the legs of the folding steel chair, putting just enough pressure on the legs that it's squeezing the chair's seat on Alexa's wrist and arm. Alexa cries out in pain and squirms, but she's pinned and can't get free. With a malicious grimace Holden Ross pulls his foot up and stomps down on the legs of the chair. The crowd at ringside is sickened as the foot stomps and you can almost hear the bones break. Alexa shrieks in agony. Holden Ross then backs up a few paces... then he comes forward again, stepping on the legs of the chair with more force this time. Alexa screams again, as even more damage is done.

Jerry Andrews: I think... I think I'm going to vomit...

Ace Anderson: This was a sickening assault, it's really no wonder why Holden Ross is called the Bastard.

Several referees have swarmed to the ring and they now try to intervene, provide a shield between Alexa, cringing and holding her arm on the mat and Holden Ross, who is standing, holding his arms up and absorbing the angry, sickened heat from the crowd. Painfully, two refs pull the chair's jaws from around Alexa's arm, and she cries out, holding that entire arm against her chest.

Jerry Andrews: With this sick, demented act of aggression, Holden Ross might just have changed Alexa Black's life. And he doesn't even care.

Ace Anderson: That was as vile as they come, no doubt.

Referees help Alexa over to the EMTS waiting to assist her, as Holden Ross taunts her and holds his arms up arrogantly to the crowd. He smiles evilly, laughing and bragging about everything he's done tonight.

The crowd's reactions suddenly turn mixed as David Hunter is seen sliding into the ring. Holden looks at him as he reaches his feet. The two share a quick side-hand shake before bumping fists.

Jerry Andrews: Now David Hunter out here. We've already seen him make an impact around the arena. What could he be doing out here now?

David stares down at Alexa Black, who is currently being worked on by EMTs and PCW officials. Holden exits the ring, flipping up the apron skirt. He quickly pulls out a barbed wire baseball bat, which gets a decent pop from the crowd.

Jerry Andrews: Oh no...

Ace Anderson: Well, Alexa Black certainly can't defend herself at this point.

David grabs the locks of Alexa's hair, bringing her to her feet. The officials try to stop him, but they're powerless. David looks down at her, shouting some taunts that the camera can't pick up. Holden slides into the ring, offering David the bat.

Jerry Andrews: David Hunter looking to make some noise!

When David looks away, Alexa takes this time to punt him directly between the legs, which actually gets a positive reaction from the crowd.

Ace Anderson: Whoa!

Jerry Andrews: Alexa has some life left in her--oh god!

Just as Alexa gets some energy back, she's taken down by a hellacious clothesline by Holden that sends her head over heels.

Ace Anderson: Holden Ross with that huge lariat.

As David holds his family jewels close, trying to regain some composure, Holden walks up to him, making sure he's okay. David shakes his head, taking the bat from Holden's grip.

Jerry Andrews: David's certainly going to be feelin that one for a while.

Ace Anderson: Alexa's about to be feeling much worse. Probably. Comparatively.

Jerry Andrews: This is too much now. I know Alexa Black has done some awful things in her time in PCW, but no one deserves this kind of beating.

Holden grabs Alexa's crumpled body, bringing her to her feet. Joseph Buckland tries to get them to stop, but his arm flailing is to no avail. Holden grips Alexa's arms, holding her stout and upright. David holds the barbed wire bat in two hands before swinging. The result is the bat colliding barbed wire first into the face of Alexa, taking her to the mat once again. Her limps seem to rag doll all over as she's left in a crumpled mess against the mat.

Jerry Andrews: The barbed wire bat to an already injured Alexa!

The blood starts to pour from the new wound on Alexa's head, dripping to the mat as Joseph tries to make sure she's alright. Some EMTs bravely try to approach her, despite the continuing threat of Holden and Hunter. All during this, the crowd is definitely not liking these turn of events, letting their boos be heard. David and Holden share a high-five before approaching the ropes.

Ace Anderson: David has been making a mess of things tonight, and this is no different.

David holds a hand over the top rope, signalling to Sasha Greene. She stands up, handing over her microphone to David. He wastes no time and starts to speak.

David Hunter: I hope you're taking things seriously tonight, Sicko, because once you're finished with that dog and pony show...of a main event, make no mistake about it...you...and my crown...are on my hit-list. As for tonight....as for right now...I just wanted to remind everybody that the two of us...Holden and I...we've still got each other's backs.

David uses the mic to point as Alexa, who is being helped onto a stretcher. Holden takes this opportunity to grab at her head once more.

Jerry Andrews: Oh come on! She's already motionless!

Holden grabs her arms, laying partially on her back. He then turns, lifting her up with her legs danging in the air while their backs meet. Holden looks to the hard camera before planting Alexa with a Sins of the Father!

Ace Anderson: Sins of the Father!

Holden gets back to his feet, with EMTs and referees scrambling to separate him from his victim. Holden flings his hair back again. David lets out a few chuckles before offering the mic to Holden. He snatches it from the man's hands and begins to speak.

Holden Ross: We are here! And she...is just the first on a long list of people around these parts who are going to end up on the shelf. I've said it before and I will say it again: I am not here for belts...I am here to hurt people. Period! And I will do whatever it takes to make sure the rightful Underground King...reclaims his throne…

When it's all said and done, Holden tosses the microphone out of the ring. David and Holden shake hands once more before stepping over the limp body of Alexa. They exit the ring, heading straight to the back.

Jerry Andrews: Holden Ross with the victory tonight, but David Hunter continues his path of rampage.

Ace Anderson: David Hunter is a man who feels he's been wronged. Desperation is only the next step, and when that happens...I don't know who can stop him.

The feed cuts to a commercial as Holden and David take one last look at Alexa being helped by medical staff.

???: "Good evening!"

The next segment of the evening is a cold open, directly onto an old face to longtime PCW fans. He is standing amidst a group of fans, near the concession stands. Many of them are cheering and hollering, attempting to get into the shot.

???: "Jesus Christ, it's loud back here!"

A fan bumps into the man, nearly knocking his Aviator sunglasses off his face. He takes it lightheartedly, not causing a scene and trying to keep his focus onto the camera.

???: "I haven't been here for a LONG time! I didn't even think anyone remembered me!"

A fan yells out "YOU'RE DARREN HUGHES!" to which a large cheer echoes.

Darren Hughes: "Yes, that's me...thank you...you wanna cut the rest of this promo for me, too?"

Darren extends his microphone towards the fan, who declines his offer.

Darren Hughes: "Maybe next time, huh? Okay! So...I'm Darren 'The Bomber' Hughes, perpetual loser in Pure Class Wrestling in the year of 2012! I figured, if I waited any longer to come back my hair would turn more grey than Brad Jackson's did! So what better place than here, what better time than now? I'm here to settle a few scores and answer a few questions...starting with the biggest one in the room."

The crowd around him hushes. Darren points out, directly in front of him. The camera turns, to reveal a hissing alligator with one eye missing!

Darren Hughes: "This is the very same alligator that I fought in the locker room way back on Trauma 125. You can tell that Father Time hasn't been any more kind to him than he has me."

The gator snaps his jaws, scaring everyone but Darren.

Darren Hughes: "With the help of Cory Steel, I rolled him up in a carpet and locked him in my boss's office. I should have finished the job properly. So tonight, unbooked and unexpected, I am going to give you, the PCW universe, the match you've waited for all these years!"

Indeed, a referee (read: drunk fan in torn and stained referee shirt, eating a hot dog) steps through the crowd. Darren removes his shirt, revealing wrestling gear underneath. He stretches a little bit, staring down the alligator who inches his way towards Darren. The crowd is a little apprehensive to see a man wrestle an alligator in the arena hallways...but hey, they did pay for their tickets.

Darren Hughes: "Duck and cover, baby!"

Darren rushes in at the alligator, but the camera pans away to the fans as he leaps into the air with an elbowdrop. The crowd is seen gasping, jumping back, many covering their faces. Several are cheering on, and a few even curse in exclamation.

Darren Hughes: "HEY! THE TAIL WHIP IS ILLEGAL! WE AGREED ON THAT IN THE LOCKER ROOM!"

The alligator growls loudly, and Darren utters another word or two that will most likely get him fined. Rolling across the floor, Darren comes into the camera's view briefly...only to be dragged right back off-screen!

Darren Hughes: "I don't think so! These are new boots!"

A struggle is heard, and the fans react accordingly, even beginning a "BOM-BER! BOM-BER!" chant. Darren returns on screen, climbing into a trash can and receiving a large ovation from his audience. He breaks out into a brief air guitar solo, and flies away with a double knee drop (the impact of course happening off camera.) The drunk referee is heard counting.

Drunk Referee: "ONE! TWO! THRECK!"

The camera pans back over, to see the alligator laying on top of Darren Hughes on his stomach. Darren, also face down, is gasping for breath. The drunk referee vomits into the same trash can, and Darren rubs the alligator's head. The gator "purrs" and nuzzles Darren's head with his own.

Darren Hughes: "Heh...heh...good match, buddy!"

Darren rolls over onto his back, and the alligator lays beside him rolling over onto his back as well.

Darren Hughes: "Now that we've got that out of the way...what do you say about a serious comeback attempt? Sound good?"

The loudest cheer of the night echoes through the hallway. Still on his back, the camera points down directly into Darren's face as he smiles, closing his eyes.

Darren Hughes: "Guess the Bombing run's just started, folks..."

The alligator growls happily, bringing the scene to a commercial.

The scene switches backstage, to show Shane Dodge, standing by with Kyle Shane. The two Shane's are at opposite ends of the spectrum, Dodge is smartly dressed and fidgeting with his tie briefly, while Kyle leans against a corner, the epitome of casual, dressed down cool, wearing a thin stringed hoodie and a Turnover shirt, texting on his phone. When Dodge is ready to start the questions, he looks at Shane, who sighs a little and puts his phone away, straightening up with the disgruntled side-eye and expression of "Let's get this bread."

Shane Dodge: I'm standing by with Kyle Shane, former World Champion, and I wanted to get a word with you, well, about Gerard Angelo's comments last Trauma. Angelo seemed to take exception to you "making excuses" as he put it, complaining about losing the World title to him, and, well to be frank he said that he paid nothing but respect to your skills and said you spit in his face. He went on to say that you painted yourself as his contender despite having lost your match and that he doesn't respect people who haven't earned their -

With each passing word, Kyle has gone into a pantomime of falling asleep. Dodge, not taking the hint, has kept going, as Shane hasn't responded to anything at that point, Dodge, in confusion had just kept repeating what Gerard Angelo was saying. Shane goes so far into his sarcastic sleep that he tilts over to the side, head lolling, and then he snaps himself awake, looking around like Rip Van Winkle not knowing what year it is.

Kyle Shane: Oh, god, you're done, I'm sorry, I got so bored by what Gerard Angelo said I dozed off. Insert eyeroll and sarcastic response about my length here. We can compare lengths all night long, Dodge. I'll win every time.

Shane Dodge: Er, yes, uh.

Kyle Shane: Chill out, Dodge, I know we don't have much chemistry because I don't usually do the "stand back here against a wall and get softballed questions" thing like you love to do with Angelo or David Hunter.

He does pause, cock his head, his eyebrows furrowing a little bit.

Kyle Shane: It is weird we haven't met before, right? Shane Dodge, Kyle Shane, there's tons of identity mixup shenanigans we could have had before now.

He has a fraction second faraway look in his eyes as he plots out the sort of things they could get into, then shrugs it off, back to business.

Kyle Shane: Eh, whatever. So, Gerard Angelo. Says I disrespected him, made excuses, made a case for getting a rematch despite not deserving it. Wow, it's... funny, Gerard Angelo managed to get both the subtext and the actual literal meaning of my words on Trauma 248 entirely wrong, and then he used that to paint himself as someone who's being victimized. That isn't EXACTLY WHAT'S BEEN HAPPENING EVER SINCE OCTOBER OR ANYTHING.

Irritated, Shane gives a simple shake of the head.

Kyle Shane: I in fact did show Gerard Angelo all the respect possible, I said that I made no excuses for losing to him at Mass Destruction, I blamed myself for making a mistake and getting cocky, and I made it perfectly plain that I was starting over again fresh in my eyes. Did he just skim over that on his DVR? Did he not see the part where I expressed irritation that my run ended and that we were just moving on because Justin Michaels wanted to come out onto the ramp and stare Angelo down? Does that not say that I'm annoyed by the situation but I then said Gerard Angelo was welcome to it? I'm frankly embarrassed that I have to explain myself, but our new World Champion as always takes every opportunity to bitch. So, if you see this, Gerard.

He pulls his lips right up to the camera. The camera operator gives a muffled squawk at the invasion of space, but Kyle pulls his face so close that pretty much only his lips are visible, and then when he speaks he does so in a loud, slow cadence, making his voice sound like Sloth from the Goonies or, you know, someone spelling out words to a slightly slow student.

Kyle Shane: I - DO - RESPECT - YOU. I - THINK - AT MASS DESTRUCTION - YOU - DID - A GOOD - JOBBBB. I - DO NOT - WANT - TO - GO - IMM - E - DIATE - LY... BACK - TO - THE - TOP - OF THE NUMBER - ONE - CONTENDERS - LIST.

Disgruntled, Kyle pulls back, rolling his eyes.

Kyle Shane: Because Kyle Shane Remastered isn't about me staying where I was, it was about working, and fighting, and clawing my way up to start all over again. Now, I could make a case I SHOULD be Gerard's contender, because hey, last Trauma, when Stormm, the man Gerard talked up soooo much as a winner and a threat in Grimm and I all had our three-way dance it was me who caved Stormm's fucking skull in, again. That, should be indicative of a title shot, not Stormm's asinine and irritating method of standing on a stage and pointing. Not attacking the champion from behind and posing with a belt. There's a pitch for Pure Class Wrestling management... Hey nerds, how about some stakes instead of randomly paired tag matches once in a while, some number one contenders matches... a pecking order?

He settles back against the wall.

Kyle Shane: But, no, no. I may have expressed irritation about it when I vented my negative feelings, but it was in the vein of processing them and moving on. I'm not throwing my hat right back into the ring to fight for the World Title, because that isn't the point I came to. If I went right back into contendership, it wouldn't feel remotely earned, to me. I want to work for it. When a game gets Remastered it doesn't plunk you right down at the last boss. It presents the entire experience for you all over again, sharper, clearer, all of the rough edges fixed. That's what being Remastered means to me.

Shane Dodge: So where do you go from here?

Kyle fixes Dodge with a squinty eyed look that is at once scathing and sarcastic.

Kyle Shane: ...Are you still here? Go on, get out of my shot, I told you I don't go in for that "barely qualified reporter asking softball questions to film a generic promo" trope. That narrative device became passe by 2005. Go, go, go.

Mumbling, his head hanging, Shane Dodge sheepishly exits the shot, leaving Kyle, standing taller now, set in monologue stance in front of the camera. The camera focuses fully on him.

Kyle Shane: When I said I was going to be Remastered, I meant that I intended to work my way up from where I began in December 2016, to prove that I had what it takes. I was going to undertake the same challenges as when I started, but this time I wouldn't be just content with passing the test, I am going to ACE those suckers, I am going to get every perfect score, I am going to grab every brass ring and gold trophy. The God of Game Remastered means that I am going to take the lessons I learned every step along the way of what worked, and make my rise to the top better than it was the first time around. I'm here, on the 250th, Anniversary edition of Trauma, and I don't even have a damn match... but I'm HERE. And I'll be here every Trauma, stepping up my game. Gerard Angelo is in the main event, against two champions that have fought their way past tough competition with destructive, brutal and unstoppable paths. And what is he doing? Gerard is taking the title I wore for 450+ days... and he is flailing with it, like the rich kid that fell over the side of his yacht. So it doesn't matter to me how much Gerard mentions my name, from this point forward, I'm not thinking of Gerard or answering back.

Kyle looks down and to the left, at the space where Shane Dodge would have been, if Kyle hadn't run him off, still asking the questions that Kyle hates.

Kyle Shane: So where do I go from here, interviewer man? It's simple. I go up. And I prove myself all over again. If Stormm becomes the number one contender by virtue of him standing on a ramp and pointing, then that's on them. Myself, I am going to EARN my way back. And it does not matter what I have to do even if I'm starting from scratch. If I have to reclaim the Underground title, like I did the first time, and push it's worth as My World Title. I'll do that. Sicko is a monster of a champion, but he and I had a long association back in the old days, and I beat Sicko before. If I need the Underground title to start my ascent, I'll take it, stepping on top of one giant murder clown along the way.

His jaw sets firmly now, in determination.

Kyle Shane: Or as I called out in the closing moments of Trauma 249, if I need to enter the first round of the Icemann Invitational and win all the way through until the end again, I'll do that. I'll do better than a betting pool this year, I'll OWN the damn field, why? Because I can. I'm pushing higher, further, faster, more.

His face sets in, haughty, unsmiling eyes, defiant.

Kyle Shane: The first time around I brought you things you had never seen before, I came about bringing forward thinking, progressive and confrontational art that none of you were prepared for. I'm doubling down now. I'm going to go even further. You want new, I am the God damn bleeding edge. I'm not obsessed with the past. I'm taking this train into the future of PCW. My God damn word. Achievement... Remastered.

He walks out of the camera's view, and we switch back to ringside.

Sasha Greene: The following match is scheduled for one fall. Introducing first...

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

Sasha Greene: From Hangtown, Kentucky. He weighs 217 lbs, GRIMM!

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

A lone silhouette steps out onto the entry way, and as it begins the long walk to the ring, candle wax drips onto the parchment. The lights fall into a pestilential throbbing, in and out of time with the discordance raging from the speakers. The Hangtown Horror remains deadset on the ring, steadfast in his approach. He climbs onto the apron and slides between the ropes. Hopping upon a turnbuckle, he casts his gaze out over the crowd with his arms at his side, eyes shifting to take in the sea of faces spread out before him. Grimm then drops down. And waits.

Sasha Greene: And his opponent!

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.

Sasha Greene: From Toronto, Ontario, Canada. He weighs 227 lbs, RICK "THE IMPACT" 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.

"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 the start of the match.

Singles Match
Rick "The Impact" Majors vs Grimm
Referee: Eric Russo

DING!
DING!
DING!

The sound of the bell is music to Rick's ears. He chooses to go straight at the Hangtown Horror with vigor. His clothesline over the top dumps both men out of the ring, but Rick Majors comes out ahead. No less than four times down Grimm's skull get slammed against the unforgiving floor. Majors continues the fight with some forearm shots that sneak under Grimm's defense mechanisms.

Majors takes Grimm up by his GingerBeard of DOOM and whips him into the steps. They dislodge with Grimm's torso partially snarled. Rick untwists him and finds enough exposed body to begin striking away at with manic fervour. Grimm eases himself against the barricade, but winds up meeting the top with his forehead. It leaves a red impression in the center. Majors cuts him with a rough looking knife-edge chop. The very kind that makes rookies question what they got themselves into.

A double thrust to Majors' throat turns the tide, albeit only long enough for a quick breather. A thunderous clothesline puts the resident boogeyman up close and personal with front row fans. Majors breaks up the count of the fresh and in the process gains a fresh start. Grimm is suplexed out of the crowd now. Majors floats over and deposits him midsection first across the rail. This gives him the chance to use the barricade for an assisted DDT. Grimm is tossed back inside with Majors stepping in after him.

Jerry Andrews: Rick Majors has found himself with a renewed commitment to life.

Ace Anderson: Death is a part of life. Has he found a renewed commitment to that as well?

Grimm avoids an attempted chop block. This allows him to steady himself for Majors standing up. A running back elbow clips him in the mouth. Majors staggers to a corner. Grimm calmly approaches only to be introduced to the top turnbuckle. Majors turns him around for some combination strikes, but in a frenetic manner. Grimm covers up the best he can, drawing the referee over to lay down a five count.

"The Impact" backs off long enough to allow the job to finish. From there he catches Grimm with an armdrag, transitioning that to an armbar. Majors manipulates the torque so that Grimm's arm bends at an unnatural angle. Grimm winces, but is otherwise distant from human emotions. Catching Majors by surprise while pressure is applied, is Grimm dislocating his arm as a measure of release. The distraction pulls Majors attention for a decapitating clothesline from the free arm.

Majors sells the cannon shot like he may have suffered another concussion. Grimm pops his arm back into place as if the grotesque sight never happened. Majors is ran down with a well placed boot to the head. But he doesn't stay down and in fact, begs for more. Grimm is all too happy to oblige the request. A savate kick under the chin is the gift. Majors adjusts his jaw while flat on his back, but refuses to stay down.

Majors sits on his knees to shoot Grimm a look of take-your-best-shot. Grimm has his own strikes pushed back. Majors finds an opening and this time is able to hit a chop block. Grimm scoots out of the ring favoring the right knee, avoiding the grasp of Rick Majors. Rick rolls after him and is shouldered against the edge of the ring. Grimm spins him around so that he can fling his head right off the ring post with a loud PING!

Jerry Andrews: Did you hear THAT? He may be concussed for sure this time.

Ace Anderson: You have to have a brain for that to happen, Jerry. Besides, he's from Canada.

Jerry Andrews: What does that have to do with anything?

Ace Anderson: I guess you weren't listening.

Grimm works his joint out and appears to have no lingering effects of the chop block. Majors is starting to get to his feet when he's speared into the barricade, shoving it back a few feet. Grimm drags Majors by the wrist as he goes up the ring steps. He steps inside and pulls Rick under the bottom rope. One giant leap later and the throat has itself a foot stomping on it.

With Majors coughing up a lung, Grimm drops to a knee so that he can blatantly choke him. Majors tries to get some air back in his lungs, but the grip might as well be the suffocating strength of the mighty anaconda. The official gets his authority respected as Grimm eases up. Majors is brought to the corner and winds up eating a headbutt. He slumps and then puts a trio of boots to the midsection.

Grimm's next headbutt is avoided as the turnbuckle pad absorbs the blow. Majors quickly lifts Grimm's right leg up and spins it with a dragon screw leg whip. Grimm clutches at his knee while Majors takes some time to gather himself. The fans are firmly behind him, but he remains focused on his challenge. Majors is crouched in the corner favoring the back of his head. Grimm puts his weight on his left leg, exposing his right to a chop block. Majors picks the leg up in the air only for Grimm to twist his body around so that he can counter with a drop toe hold.

Face first goes Rick. Grimm continues that pattern two more times for good measure. He remains on his back to work out the damage done to his knee. Majors is on his side cupping his face. Grimm mounts Majors and in an effort to pound him to dust, issues a barrage of closed fists without any defense from Majors. Grimm takes control of Rick's upward mobility, feeding him into the ropes. An attempted back body drop becomes a countered sunset flip...

1.

2.

Grimm crashes his knees into Majors temples like they were symbols made of bone. He grabs his right knee following this, but returns to his feet with a bit of a limp. Majors cuts through him with forearm after forearm to the stomach. Grimm is forced to rake the eyes. Majors turns away from the action. Reverse DDT! Majors is rolled back into a pin.

1.

2.

He kicks out with plenty left in the tank. Grimm braces him with a full nelson, but not for the sake of submission. He walks him to a corner still favoring that right leg. Majors grapevines said leg and in the process, somehow manages a slick counter with BELIEVE IN THIS.

Jerry Andrews: That's one of his trademarks!

Grimm is rolled away from the ropes. Rick immediately goes for the right knee. He starts to strike away at the bone and when that isn't enough, he gives it a few stomps. Majors fights through partial disorientation and surprises with a single leg crab and boy does he have a death grip on that right leg.

The referee is in position to see if Grimm wishes to submit. Those pale eyes stare a hole through the official's heart. Grimm digs his fingers in his beard, looking for any distraction possible to block out the wrenched limb. Suddenly...he lurches his body back like the tail of a scorpion. Fans watch in disbelief as he gets his hands under the chin of Majors. This while the submission is still on.

Rick avoids things breaking away by turning the crab into an STF! He uses Grimm's beard for added leverage. Phinehas the Hangtown Horror finally showcases that he's experiencing pain. The fans root Rick on in his quest to put this match away. Grimm shows no signs that he's going to tap and it's a reality Rick knows as well. But the damage is done. Rick pulls the one-legged man up. He wrenches the arm around, but the intended hook kick is blocked. Grimm captures the leg over his shoulder and sits down to force an awkward looking split of Majors.

Ace Anderson: Make a wish, Rick. Wait. Don't. You wish you never had this match.

Jerry Andrews: Will you stop?!

Rick gingerly favors his groin as he writhes around. Grimm drags himself across on his hip and then uses the ropes for aid. He hobbles off his right leg as he collects Majors. A well placed headbutt between the eyes stuns him into the ropes. Majors decks him with a rabbit punch, but pays for it by being slammed into straddling the top rope. His eyes widen before doubling over. LAMENT CONFIGURATION. Grimm hooks a leg...

1!

2!

3---Majors puts a foot on the ropes! Grimm looks...well, grimm at what stopped the count. He's not happy. You won't like it when he's not happy. Carefully standing up on his good leg, he reaches down to bring Rick up, only to be tucked with a small package!

1!

2!

3!---GRIMM kicks out in time!

Both he and Majors turn at the same precise second and wind up slamming the other's face into the mat. Now the ten count begins. After each passing number, the fans count along.

1.
2..
3...
4....
5.....
6......

They start showing signs of life.

7.......
8........

Grimm is nearly up.

9.........

Majors gets to his feet.

They beat the count! Majors throws an elbow smash. Then a succession of strikes. Grimm fires back with a stiff uppercut. Then a wild haymaker and a stinging knife-edge chop. For good measure, he even includes a headbutt. This time Majors absorbs and pulls that head down to a lifting knee. Grimm stumbles and buckles off the right leg. THE CENTRE OF ATTENTION puts Phinehas Grimm down. Majors immediately takes the pin.

1!

2!

3---kick-out!

Rick thought he had it for a moment, going so far as to ask the referee if he beat that kickout. But it wasn't meant to be. There are pockets of fans chanting MAJORS! MAJORS! MAJORS! Grimm is ripped up by two full hands of ginger-beard. Grimm lambasts with DEAD RECKONING and follows with a FODDERSHOCK. He rolls the limp body of Rick over. Pin...

1!

2!

3---KICK-OUT!

Jerry Andrews: Rick Majors refuses to say die!

Ace Anderson: Did he become a Goonie while away?

Jerry Andrews: These two are taking one another's best and coming for more.

Grimm glowers at Majors, but remains completely level headed. He picks Majors up, bad leg or no bad leg. Things are set in motion. It's harvest time...Majors counters with a Northern lights suplex out of the tornado spin!

1!

2!

3---KICK-OUT!

The two wind up back on vertical bases at almost identical times. Rick goes for THE MAJOR IMPACT! Grimm dead weights it into a ramming shoulderblock to the corner. He attempts a spin around. Majors blocks. Grimm figures out a way to throttle Majors with a stun gun. This time Grimm gets his second try at THE HARVEST. He hits it!

THE LIGHTS GO OUT.

It feels like an eternity, but for those scared of the dark, two spotlights help the picture. One on Rick Majors. The other on Grimm.

Jerry Andrews: What in the hell...?!

The lights return in full. SEROMINE is in the ring with a music box in his hands. It's of a pastel colored carousel. Winding it as far as it'll go, he releases it so a lullaby can play with the circling horses. Seromine has his face hidden behind a Mickey Mouse mask and his body appears to be more muscular now. He dances to the melody like a child who is hearing it for the first time.

Commentary audio has been blocked somehow.

Outside of the ring is his mother, Lucy, who keeps watch over the dispatched official. Seromine wobbles side to side as the melody continues. After it comes to its eventual end, his movements stop. He tilts his head to the side with the body language of a child who wonders where the music went. Lucy climbs into the ring to approach her son. He looks at her and then the trinket...

Lucy gently takes him by the hand while whispering something to him. That's when Seromine shoots up like a bolt of lightning. His shoulders roll, his chest heaves. The man is angry. Very angry.

Seromine goes right for Grimm, introducing him to what headbutts feel like when someone is wearing a mask made of hard plastic. Grimm is aggressively pulled into a double underhook brainbuster! Rick Majors is the proud owner of a pop-up powerbomb and then a double underhook brainbuster of his very own. Lucy reacts like a parent would when their child wins awards.

The lights go out again. This time when they return on, Seromine is shown riding right over the bodies of Grimm and Rick Majors on a child's tricycle. It's as surreal as it sounds. The reception is booing of course, but also a sense of WTF happened to Seromine? Lucy points at Grimm and then smiles towards her son.

He DRAGS Grimm over Rick Majors.

Seromine dumps the tricycle out of the ring. Then calmly leaves with Lucy, who gives loving approval of his activities. The last thing left is to revive the referee so he can do his job. Audio to the commentary headsets is heard being restored. The groggy referee spots the sight in front of him.

1...

2...

3...

The official weakly calls for the bell.

Sasha Greene: Here is your winner, Grimm!

Nobody in the arena has any idea what to make of what they saw. What is known is that Phinehas Grimm is victorious.

Jerry Andrews: Ladies and gentlemen, we are back here on Trauma and it's time for HUGE NEWS!

Ace Anderson: That's right folks, the 2019 Icemann Invitational Tournament is coming up.... and we have the brackets!

Jerry Andrews: Are you ready for them??? Are you ready?

Ace Anderson: Then..... HERE. WE. GO.

Jerry Andrews: A lot of HUGE matches taking place in that first round!

Ace Anderson: That's right! You've got the return of Darren Hughes in his first match back in PCW against a mammal!

Jerry Andrews: And the return of Seromine to in ring competition as well!

Ace Anderson: Plus, as you saw earlier this evening, Stormm will be entering the tournament for the LAST TIME in his incredible PCW career!

Jerry Andrews: And that's just the matches taking place next week!

Ace Anderson: Also, we'd like to pass on a note that the North American Championship, currently held by Dominator, WILL be on the line in his first-round match, but not in subsequent rounds.

Suddenly, the view changes, revealing David Hunter standing inside the doorway of an office. He is seen placing his shirt back on. He cracks his neck, playing around a bit with his clothes.

Not too long after, a fairly attractive female walks out of the office, fixing her own clothes as well. When they pass, the woman looks back at David, blinking her eyes repeatedly.

David Hunter: Look. Sorry. I know it wasn't that long, but...you gotta admit...breaking everything we could was worth it.

The woman rolls her eyes, smiling and chuckling despite the situation. She then walks away, leaving David Hunter alone, once again. He cracks a smirk himself.

David Hunter: God I love therapy...

David walks away, revealing an office with a cracked wooden desk, a busted up computer monitor, a smashed laptop and keyboard, a tipped over lamp, a broken vase, a PCW picture hanging loosely off the wall with a crack in the glass, and a smaller picture frame tossed away with the picture upside down. The frame did not make it, unfortunately.

As the door slowly starts to close on the office, it's revealed that this is the office of PCW President Loki!

The camera stays on the door for a few more seconds before cutting back to ringside.

Sasha Greene: The following triple threat match is scheduled for one fall and is Champion vs Champion vs Champion!

The announcement elicits plenty of buzz as the three kings of their divisions will collide for supremacy.

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.

Sasha Greene: From Death Valley, California. He weighs 383 lbs, and is the PCW Underground Champion, SICKO!

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.

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.

Sasha Greene: And his opponent. From Salisbury, England. He weighs 365 lbs. The PCW North American Champion...

The arena is enveloped in total darkness, save for a solitary spotlight shining at a vacant spot central to the stage. Stepping into view, Horacio Mortimer is welcomed by a chorus of thunderous boos. He wastes little time, extending his arm as if to beckon the audience to bear witness to a presentation crafted of his own accord.

Indeed, this very sentiment rings true in the most literal sense as a graphic appears on the Tron in scripted white letters; “A Presentation By The Chronological Order,” Horacio steps aside as the lights suddenly begin flashing fiery colours; orange, yellow, white and red, as the image change to the hands of a clock spiralling out of control, accompanied by an ominous guitar riff. After a few seconds, the name that strikes fear towards all who oppose him appears in front of another image of a clock in bold red letters…

DOMINATOR

The guitars suddenly increase their tempo and energy as the Tron shows the total devastation of various PCW stars at the hands of the titular monster. The Zenith arrives with purpose, standing directly next to Horacio Mortimer. Dominator looks out across the sea of fans in attendance, lifting his forearm in front of his face whilst flexing his gargantuan bicep to display the wristwatch that he wears always, without fail. As he raises his arm further into the air, to the point where the giant cannot reach any higher, a shower of fiery sparks falls from the top of the Tron, briefly masking the entrance video being played. He holds this position for no more than eight seconds before lowering it, taking deep breaths in preparation for the oncoming duel.

The thrashing of the guitars mirrors the intensity in every single one of The Zenith’s strides. Horacio follows his client at his own pace. Dominator 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 arm in the air in the exact same manner as he had done atop the entrance ramp, lifting it with malicious purpose to display the watches covering his wrists.

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

Jerry Andrews: The two titans of pain aren't exchanging pleasantries in the reinforced ring. Dominator has the advantage in height, Sicko, the weight, but both are behemoths.

Ace Anderson: Nobody would blame Gerard if he didn't make his appearance. His title isn't on the line and there's no reason for him to risk future blockbusters...

The PCW Arena is plugged into darkness as the opening hook to "Amazing" by Kanye West blasts out over the PA. Suddenly a spotlight blasts down onto the stage, revealing Gerard Angelo down on one knee with his back to the crowd, hood pulled low over his face. He bursts suddenly to his feet, spinning around to face the PCW Faithful as the house lights come on, leading to the Faithful erupting into cheers as he pulls his hood back. The light shaines off the massive golden face plate of the PCW World Championship strapped around his waist. Gerry un-hooks the title, holding it up in one hand, staring at it for a minute. Gerard smirks as he surveys the fans from behind his sunglasses, extending his arms as if absorbing the energy from the crowd.

Sasha Green: From Hollywood, California, weighing in at 221 LBS, he is "The Hollywood Hero", GERARD ANGELO!

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

Champion vs Champion vs Champion
Non-Title Match
Gerard Angelo (PCW World ©) vs Dominator (PCW North American ©) vs Sicko (PCW Underground 👑)
Referee: Ed Lane

DING!
DING!
DING!

Sicko and Dominator break from their quarrel long enough to gaze at the far smaller World Champion. They make sure to keep him blocked in a corner with little wiggle room for escape. Gerard studies both opponents like a movie script. Horacio kindly lets him know how much time he has left before his client shortens his career. Sicko flashes the most sinister grin as he advances into what little space remains.

Gerard sharply exhales and then surprises both men at the knees. His right foot introduces itself to Dominator. The left to Sicko. It buckles them down to a kneel. Gerard knocks their heads together and then quickly goes on the aerial with a springboard dropkick to both of their kissers, splitting them apart. Angelo surprises everyone by hitting CENTER OF ATTENTION on Dominator, then follows up by giving Sicko one of his very own. Gerard kindly informs that Horacio's watch is broken before paying him no further attention.

Ace Anderson: What arrogance!

Jerry Andrews: Call it what you want, but he's shown early that he's not going to be intimidated.

Gerard high jumps an outstretched swipe from Dominator. After a prompt kick to the head, Sicko feels the wrath of a swinging neckbreaker. Gerry wisely shoves that keg of a body right out of the ring, making things one-on-one. He takes a single bounce off the ropes and returns to plow into Dominator like things were a hockey game. Gerard is pushed by a single hand into the ropes as the North American champ sits up.

Gerard scores a DDT, then a kip up, and a running dropkick to the legs of Sicko, who had climbed onto the apron. Sicko's chin smacks off the ring, diverting him for the present. Gerard gives him a swift baseball slide to shove him away from the ring. He then turns around and runs the length of the ring. Suicide plancha! Sicko stumbles, but hangs onto the squirming champ. He flips him around and pancakes him with a bodyslam.

Sicko peels back the protective mat to expose concrete. Gerard is scooped by one arm and sent back down with another bodyslam, but this time he immediately grabs his lower lumbar. Sicko devilishly sticks a foot onto his throat, and through clenched teeth, counts the seconds of air he steals. Dominator views this from inside the ring. He's none too happy about Gerard's annoying antics. He wants his fun. Sicko stops talking to himself long enough to afford Dominator a moment. It's also a moment that Gerard is allowed to breathe again.

Jerry Andrews: Sicko may be at a disadvantage. This match isn't an Underground affair.

Ace Anderson: You think that matters to a psychopath like him?

Gerard is high pointed back into the ring. Dominator easily picks him up for a charge backwards into the near corner. Angelo fires off a sudden flurry of chops, and with it, the crowd gets behind him. Dominator absorbs the stinging sensation before he lowels the boom with a Grimm-inspired headbutt. Angelo is hoisted way off his feet with a bearhug. The World champ isn't about to let this happen. Thumbs to the eyes will stop anyone. Dominator is forced to release him. Angelo alternates uppercuts around a hunched Dominator and then sticks him with a high knee.

Sicko is halfway over the top rope when Dominator is drop toe holed into him. The psycho-clown tumbles to the floor, but is quick to recover. Dominator is laid across the middle rope. That is until a MASSIVE right hits him between the eyes. Sicko drags Dominator out to him and proceeds to batter him back to the ring post. Sicko backs himself up and charges. Dominator is right in his midsection with a FORCE OF TIME! Gerard puts his stamp on things with a STUNT DOUBLE. Angelo, showing off his charismatic energy, high-fives every outstretched hand he can as they shower him with chants of GERRY! GERRY! GERRY!

Horacio Mortimer is chased off from ringside as he got too close to the fire. Gerard puts his focus back on where it belongs. The length of the apron gives him a running lane. Dominator has him in mid-air by the scruff of his neck. Sicko sticks one of his own hands in as well. They stare at one another while landing a tandem chokeslam. Gerard squirms on the floor from the disgusting impact. Dominator and Sicko engage in a back-and-forth that finds its way into the ring. Dominator shoots him into the ropes, but gains nothing on a shoulderblock. Sicko clubs him about the chest. Dominator is whipped to a corner. Sicko charges full speed ahead for an impact splash!

Dominator wraps his arms around Sicko's back. His head is tilted back courtesy of the rotund belly, but there's no delay in the charging ram across to the other corner. Sicko folds back over the top turnbuckle. A bell clap disorients Dominator. Remaining on the middle ropes, Sicko sticks a clothesline, dropping the Temporal King. It's followed by a standing splash and hook of the leg.

1.

2.

Dominator pushes Sicko off of him. Sicko drags him to his feet, pulling him into a short-arm clothesline. Dominator is spun sideways. Sicko buries a forearm to the kidney, but takes a back elbow to the side of his head. Gerard returns to the match by launching himself at the legs of both men, putting them against the ropes. Angelo uses Sicko's keg gut for a springboard so that he can perfectly hit Dominator with a blockbuster.

Jerry Andrews: A nice piece of innovation by Angelo!

The attempted clothesline of Sicko falls flat as he is unable to muster enough behind it. Sicko pie-faces him and then blasts Gerard with FCS! Dominator's running big boot IS enough to deposit Sicko over the top rope. He quickly takes advantage of the downed Hollywood Hero, deadlifting him into DAY BREAK. Dominator keeps him folded over for a pin.

1.

2.

Gerard pops out like a jack-in-the-box, surprising Dominator, but keeping the fans invested in cheering him on with applause and chants. Dominator hunches over to pull Gerard up, but is sent front first to tbe corner by Sicko. Dominator falls into a BRIMSTONE with a landing on Gerard Angelo. Dominator is rotated over but stacked on Angelo. Sicko presses down on both for another pin.

1.

2.

Kickout from Dominator. Shoulder up from Gerard. Sicko Irish whips Dominator to a corner. Gerard is sent careening into the opposite. Spear! Spear! Sicko rages into an explosive Tilt-A-Whirl Backbreaker from Dominator. Gerard leaps over an incoming charge. He gives Dom an extra push to the post with his feet, using his back as a spring to a rolling thunder on Sicko! Gerard then dazzles with a standing 450, giving himself a pin.

1.

2.

Sicko presses Gerard off of him. The Man With Out Peer recovers in time to give Dominator a flying knee in the corner. He locks an arm around his head for an attempted bulldog, but is rotated into a foldover on against the top turnbuckle. Dominator senses his position. He has enough time to shift Gerard into a muscle buster...BAM...BUTTERFLY EFFECT, one of Dominator's finishers. Gerard is a heap under the bottom rope. It feels like the air has gone right out of the arena.

Jerry Andrews: Can Dominator put this one away? He has the champ prime for it.

Ace Anderson: You could say he has enough time to try.

Dominator's internal clock must come equipped with an alarm, because he correctly senses the third party about to get involved. One giant punch to the face breaks the momentum. Sicko slooowly turns his head around and stares daggers into the eyes of Dominator. The edges of his mouth widen. His twisted grin is enough to ask The Zenith, is that all you got?

Sicko THROWS Dominator like he was a cruiserweight. Gerard finds himsrlf becoming a projectile to put Dominator back off his feet following his recovery. Sicko tramples The Temporal Tyrant under his big clown feet. He lifts Dominator off of his back with the start of PAGLIACCI. The chokeslam from hell is successful following a brisk run, not walk, a RUN around the ring, just because he fucking can.

Sicko lifts his head, but he's suddenly attacked by a barbed wire baseball bat that is held by none other than DAVID HUNTER!

Jerry Andrews: What the hell is he doing out here!?!?

Ace Anderson: He's been all over the show tonight - and this arena - and now he's taken out the Underground King!

Hunter leaves the ring, and the battered Sicko struggles to stand, becoming the perfect target for a CENTER OF ATTENTION. That same wind around smile shows itself once more. Gerard backs up and hits another, this one with more force behind it. But the result is the same. A third grows even louder, but Sicko starts ascending. Gerard finally changes tactics and instead delivers a HEADHUNTER with a marginal success, but success nonetheless.

He feeds Sicko to Dominator. The North American Champ demonstrates his own power ability with a ring crushing, heaven collapsing, hell shaking signature that he calls THE NAMESAKE. The crowd is all 'OOOOO' about how much force Dominator put behind slamming a 383 pound man into the canvas. Gerard seizes HIS moment, having wisely had Dominator eliminate competition, as he goes for one of his trademarks called DIRECTOR'S CUT.

Jerry Andrews: ANACHRONISM! ANACHRONISM! Dominator has countered with his finisher!

Ace Anderson: The only stars the World champ will be seeing are the ones around his head.

Gerard is promptly folded over with both legs hooked. Dominator counts along with the ref...

1!

2!

3!

The bell is called for as this heavyweight tilt is all over.

Sasha Greene: Here is the winner, Dominator!

Horacio has returned to the scene, wanting the glory of raising Dominator's arm in victory for himself. There's a cute joke slipped in of "what took you so long?" But with tongue firmly planted in cheek. Dominator stands tall over Sicko and Gerard Angelo and more importantly, he's gained momentum for the upcoming Icemann Invitational Tournament...

- CLICK -