Game Over 3!

[Murdoc]

****

Earlier today, in the middle of the Pure Class Arena parking lot, a huge amassing of people encircled a large smoking tent. Inside, Rebi Matthews worked the front counter, selling Southern Renegades merchandise, alcohol of all flavors and food from the grill just behind her. Brian Parker charred juicy burgers, plump dogs, spicy brats and all of the toppings. From mushrooms and onions to pickles and tomatoes, anything you could put on a thick, greasy cheeseburger was on the open flames alongside the meats.

Complete with a ninety-six inch LED screen, the multimedia system of Gamble’s F150 entertained people waiting in line to order. They had played Moccasin Creek videos, including their theme song “Southern Renegade”, between a rundown of the entire Game Over 3 card and announcing the rules of a contest happening just on the other side of the tent.

The crowd of people coming away with their food and T-Shirts mixed with those just stopping by gasped and shouted as Remi Matthews dodged another bullet; somewhat literally. Leading the chants and overselling the close calls, Matthew Gamble sold three chances to dunk the young valet for just two dollars. According to the announcements, should anyone successfully dunk her, they were to be awarded upgraded tickets to the pay-per-view event.

“Here we go,” Gamble announced, “here’s our big winner, right here.”

A young man stepped up to the plate, handing Gamble four dollars as he received three balls in return. The digital countdown above the dunk tank was just at two minutes when the teenager lined up on the target.

“Wait, wait, hold on now,” Gamble interrupted the throw. “Tell me man, just what is it you do?”

The young man informed all that could hear that he was a local high school student and the starting pitcher on their varsity team. This got the crowd going as Gamble enticed them further, taunting Remi.

“Okay,” Gamble announced, drawing an even bigger crowd, “here’s the round up; and, it’s off!”

The target slammed against the front of the dunk tank, setting off an alarm and dropping the bikini clad southern sweetheart into the water.

While Gamble hadn’t yet realized it, Rebi was quick to exit the dunk tank and inform him. No sooner had the digital countdown above the tank expired, Remi had turned the tables on her former tormentor, “Looks like it’s your turn Coyote.” She didn’t hesitate reminding everyone, including the high school pitcher, “Don’t you have another round?”

With the attention of every set of eyes on the parking lot, including Parker and Rebi in the tent, Gamble sat down in the dunk tank. He stalled several times when Remi asked if he was ready. Each time, the crowd grew larger and louder.

“I’ll tell ya what,” Gamble called out from his perch. “how `bout we make a onetime deal?”

“Oh no, no,” Remi shook her head and waved her finger, “ya ain’t talkin’ yer way out of this.”

“Of course not,” Gamble waved, “I’m talkin’ a real deal that includes a set of VIP, backstage passes for tonight’s show. How’s that sound Pitcher?” The young man accepted with a grinning nod, but Gamble hadn’t finished. “Ya have to do it in one pitch. Just like last time. Deal?”

Again, the young man nodded. Then he wound up. Then he made Gamble clinch, feigning a fast pitch.

“Holy shit!” Gamble shouted. “What was that?”

“Are you and your partner the mystery team tonight?” The young man asked.

“Ya know, as far as I know, the team that is doesn’t even know,” Gamble rattled off; “so, no, not that I know of.”

“You could be though?”

“Well, I reckon so, bein’s that I don’t know,” Gamble answered.

Once more, the young man wound up. He closed his eyes before zipping another air ball toward the target. Everyone’s nerves were on end as Gamble slowly opened his eyes.

“So, if it’s not The Southern Renegades,” the young man continued, “then who else could it be?”

“It could be any team I reckon,” Gamble answered. “I mean, when they found us they were lookin’ really hard for tag teams. Not just one, but maybe…”

“I get it,” the young man cut Gamble off.

For the third time, the young man wound up. Staring Gamble down, paying no focus at all to the target, he let the ball go. As the buzzer went off and the large man in the Stetson hat went into the water, the young man picked up front row seats and VIP, backstage passes for Game Over 3.

Special Feature Dark Match
"Get The Fun Started!"
Mr. Tickles vs. Rikkashot
Singles Match
Referee: Charles Lim

Mark Long: Ladies and gentlemen in attendance, THIS is your speciaaaaaaaaaaaaaaal feature maaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaatch!

“Bangarang” by Skrillex begins, and Rikkashot runs out from behind the curtain, his retro-style wireless microphone in hand. He tries to pump up the crowd, jumping up and down and waving his arms. The crowd rewards his efforts, exploding into cheers! It’s clear that while his track record is somewhat lackluster, his easygoing and playful manner has earned him a spot with the PCW Faithful.

Al Laiman: Never thought I’d hear that music again.

Jerry Andrews: I know, isn’t it great? Looks like the crowd missed this guy, too.

Al Laiman: Yes. Yes, missed him. Totally what I meant.

Rikkashot walks down the ramp, high-fiving fans and generally making a playful nuisance of himself .... most of the crowd appearing happy to see the strange blue fellow once again. He makes it to the ring and generally plays to the crowd in the way only Rikkashot can before ...

“Merry-Go-Round" by TheIllusoryGentleman begins to play over the PCW loudspeakers, the familiar circus sound of a calliope warped and ghostly in this eerie song. A black and white video tron fades in with the music, showing an abandoned carnival in the middle of nowhere. A Merry-Go-Round circles around in addition to an old Ferris Wheel. Quick glimpses of Mr. Tickles flicker in and out with bursts of maniacal laughter. A funhouse in operation without a soul in sight captures the imagination, articles of trash littering the ground in a wide panoramic view.

The image cuts to a distant image of someone standing a trench coat next to a rusty rail-gate, his hands slipped into the side pockets. The shot starts in closer with a slow, yet intense feel gaining speed as it draws nearer to the mysterious creeper. The camera angle switches to ground level and into the terrifying face of Mr. Tickles who has a sinister smile, leering malevolently into the lens. Fade out- the arena turns pitch black, the crowd reacting with a collective, anxious hush.

Al Laiman: What the f-

Jerry Andrews: -fans don’t realize is that they are in for a treat with these two competitors here tonight!

Al Laiman: We’re not live yet.

Jerry Andrews: Practice makes perfect.

Al Laiman: [inaudible]

Two bright spotlights are panning all around while yellow, red, and even black set lights skitter over the crowd. Two women in exotic black and red latex Miss Jester costumes appear a few seconds into the chilling music. The lights provide a hard focus on the performers who seem to come out of nowhere, a little at a time. Meanwhile the two jesters prance and skip, swinging their arms and swaying their heads with mannequin-like grins pasted onto their painted faces.

Controlled chaos can best describe the various acts, which include two trapeze artists swinging above the audience with no safety net, fire-blower on the ramp, sky dancers, juggling shrunken heads, balancing human tower, acrobatics, a trampoline ejects a singular act on each side of the stage as they do twists and flips.

Al Laiman: What kind of budget is he working with?

Jerry Andrews: Maybe they were already working for him.

Al Laiman: ...Carnies. Carnival workers. Small hands, smell like cabbage.

Mr. Tickles himself rides out on a large red tricycle...with a squeaky rusted wheel. Coming to a halt on stage, Mr. Tickles steps off and waits patiently with his elbow bent out to the side, facing the crowd.

Jerry Andrews: What is he...is he posing?

Sindie, wearing a short black mini-skirt with red trim, matching top, and black leather, high-heeled, knee-high boots struts out towards Tickles.

Al Laiman: Looks like she raided the ‘circus sideshow performer’ section of Dominatrixes-R-Us for that outfit.

Jerry Andrews: Is that really a place?

She links her arm into his as they make their way down to the ring, the performers simply going through the motions around them as he acknowledges some of their talents, pointing or nodding with various displays of favor. A faintly sinister but interactive atmosphere is most certainly in place in the arena as balloons, black and red to echo Mr. Tickles’, are handed out to some of the children in attendance. Rikkashot watches with the crowd, holding a small child up on his shoulders and pointing out some of the more daring acts, the attendees in his immediate area seemingly reassured by his positive presence.

Once at the bottom of the ramp next to the ring, Tickles ushers the performers away as everything returns to its original state. Tickles holds the ropes open for Sindie as he takes off his top hat and bows her into the ring. He steps in through the ropes and takes off his jacket and vest, Sindie taking his formal wear and cane stepping out to watch from ringside.

Jerry Andrews: Well, this should be an interesting match. Here we are, ladies and gentlemen, a special feature match just for those of you here in attendance tonight! Pure Class Wrestling’s newest recruit Mr. Tickles squaring off against the one and only Rikkashot!

Al Laiman: Rikkashot doesn’t exactly have the best track record here. Only two matches, both of them losses.

Rikkashot finally reaches the ring, sliding in and picking a corner and carefully climbs to the second rope. Once he finds his balance, he salutes to whoever is willing to cheer for him, the crowd obliging with enthusiasm.

Jerry Andrews: Who did he face, before?

Al Laiman: It doesn’t really matter, he’s just that forgettable.

The camera pans out to show the two combatants staring at each other across the ring, Rikkashot taking a moment to lean over to one side and wave at Sindie around Mr. Tickles’ shoulder. Charles Lim steps forward and issues his “good, fair fight” bit, and signals for the bell. The match has begun!

Rikkashot bursts into action, moving towards Mr. Tickles and leveling in a few sloppy punches. Mr. Tickles stays put, his feet solidly anchored to the mat, weaving around the blows as if his body were made of rubber sinew rather than flesh. Rikkashot pauses, glancing over Mr. Tickles’ right shoulder and throwing a clearly projected feint, his opponent taking a single step backwards - well out of the “surprise” hit’s range. Chuckling sheepishly, Rikkashot backpedals towards the ropes, shrugging at Mr. Tickles as if to say “Your move.”.

Jerry Andrews: This is certainly a different sort of match.

Al Laiman: That’s one way to put it. I wonder if he squeaks like a rubber ball when he’s hit?

Mr. Tickles tilts his head to one side, almost parallel to the floor, blinking wordlessly at Rikkashot.

Jerry Andrews: This dude is just creepy. Not scary. Just creepy.

Rikkashot apparently agrees, the camera catching a shudder from the only rapping luchador Pure Class Wrestling has ever seen. Mr. Tickles presses the attack, moving in with a series of technically sound but uninspired strikes, easily flowing from one movement to the next with bland, mechanic precision. Rikkashot takes the hits, overselling each glancing blow as if it were a mortal wound, the crowd laughing and cheering his antics on.

Al Laiman: What are we even watching?

Jerry Andrews: I’m not sure, but I - what the hell?!

The crowd’s cheering rolls away to confused murmurs as another act comes walking down the ramp! Out of the darkened stage entrance comes seven muscle-bound males, their gait and stature making it clear that they’re all afflicted with genetic dwarfism. Casting nervous glances over their shoulder, they scurry forward, a sporadic sharp cracking sound followed by their pained grunts audible over the crowd’s reaction. Each arguably attractive (if short) male is clad only in a black leather bondage harness and tight, black leather pants. The reason for the staccato noises and their fearful looks soon becomes abundantly clear, the crowd bursting into raucous cheers!

A tall, ivory skinned woman with ruby red lips and raven wing black hair follows along behind them, her waist-cinching corset and satiny thigh-high stockings echoing the traditional blue-and-yellow color scheme of the fairytale princess Snow White herself! Cracking the whip again she shouts vulgarities at her entourage of dwarves, setting her hands on her hips - which only shows the camera a better view of the red, glittery nipple pasties. Apple shaped, of course.

Jerry Andrews: Oh my God. Is this...can we even...we’re still dark, right?

Al Laiman: Come on, nothing’s SHOWING. *pause* Technically.

Rikkashot leans over the ropes, openly staring, and Mr. Tickles can be seen in the background with one hand over his face, his head lowered and shaking back and forth slowly. The crowd is in an absolute riot of cheers and catcalls, the hoots and hollers floating seemingly unheard over Mr. Tickles’ head as he rushes out of the ring and approaches the ebony-tressed virago, waving his hands at her in clear admonishment.

Charles Lim, shaking his head in amazement, has no choice but to begin the 10-count!

...1!

Jerry Andrews: So...watching this...am I gonna get in trouble with my wife?

...2!

...3!

Al Laiman: You’re kidding me.

...4!

...5!

Rikkashot now eagerly paying attention to each strike to the mat, his face lighting up at the dawning realization that he might actually win this match.

...6!

...7!

Jerry Andrews: This can’t be happening.

...8!

Mr. Tickles still arguing with the Princess of Pain, he can be seen getting more and more incensed, his companion Sindie hurrying to his side.

...9!

At the crowd’s noise swells to new highs, he looks back over his shoulder towards the ring, alarm spreading across his painted features. Turning on his heel he runs flat-out towards the ring, just a few feet away...

...10!

Not close enough! Charles Lim raises Rikkashot’s hand as the victor, leaving Mr. Tickles to sort his affairs and clear the area of his associates before the Pay-Per-View goes live.

Al Laiman: I don’t believe it! He WON!

Jerry Andrews: I think that was the single weirdest match I’ve ever seen.

Al Laiman: Well, I guess that’s what happens when you aren’t fully prepared to appear.

****

[Murdoc]

****

Mark Long: Ladies and gentlemen, in a few moments ... Pure Class Wrestling brings you Game Over 3!

The cameras pan over the entirety of the audience, catching glimpses of notables in the building.

‘Confrontation’ by OTEP is the theme song for the evening and the PCW Faithful are treated to the lead singer, Otep Shamaya, in the front of the crowd. Throwing up the devil horns and rocking out with the rest of the crowd, they’re absolutely jacked for the evening to begin. The crowd is pumped as the song continues, signs such as {BLACKED OUT}, 'Great SCOTT!’ and 'Let’s get Unified, Showtime!’ are someclever discoveries. The crowd is pumped and the music dies out enough for Mark Long to resume his duties.

Mark Long: Before we OFFICIALLY start the event, I would like to inform you that videotaping and recording this show is strictly prohibited. Also, laser lights are not allowed in the arena. If anyone is caught with one, they'll be escorted out of the building by security and will not receive any type of refund. And last but certainly not least, the antics displayed in and out of this ring are extremely dangerous and are performed by trained professionals. You should not try this at home. All in all, sit back and enjoy the show!

Mark takes a a quick breath and continues.

Mark Long: It’s time to begin .... GAME OVER THREEEEEEEEEEEEEE!

Match One
'A Draw Just ISN'T Going to Cut It!'
Singles Rematch
#1 Contendership for the Genesis Championship on the Line
Sterling Werner vs. Arica Lewitt
Referee: Melina Cruz

Melina Cruz doesn't even have time to call for the bell as Sterling Werner slides in under the bottom rope and rushes Arica Lewitt. Werner takes Lewitt to the mat with a vicious spear.

Al Laiman: Sterling Werner wasting no time here tonight after the No Contest finish of their last meeting on Trauma 139.

Jerry Andrews: He is laying in some stiff shots here on Arica Lewitt, and I don't know if she will be able to come back from this, Al!

Werner lifts Lewitt to her feet by a hand full of hair as Melina Cruz finally calls for the bell, and He pulls her with an Irish Whip into the corner.

Al Laiman:“Werner is looking to put this match away fast, Jerry. It's like his last two meetings with Trouble have really lit a fire under him!

Jerry Andrews: The ferocity of his opening barrage here tonight has been incredible, and wait...

Werner slingshots Trouble across the ring again, launching her into the opposite corner, back first into the turnbuckle.

Sterling Werner follows Lewitt into the corner, but is met with a face full of Trouble's booted foot for his effort. He shakes it off and goes for the corner again, but Lewitt isn't finished yet... she lifts both feet into the air and kicks Werner square in the jaw as he rushes in, turning him around to look all goggle-eyed at the crowd. Werner collects himself and turns to face Lewitt again, but Lewitt lands a huge Top Rope Missile Drop Kick that sends Werner sprawling across the mat.

Al Laiman: Trouble doesn't want to find herself back on the receiving end of the punishment Sterling was dishing out early here tonight, so she had better stay on top of him.

Jerry Andrews: I'm pretty sure that is RIGHT where Werner wants her!

Sterling makes it to his feet slowly, leaning heavily on the ropes, as Arica Lewitt measures him from the middle of the ring. Just as Werner is about to turn around, he pushes off the top rope with both hands to steady himself, and Lewitt attacks! Lewitt hooks the leg and goes for the cover...

One...

Two...

Thr...

Jerry Andrews: But Werner kicks out at Two and keeps himself in this match here, Al.

Lewitt doesn't spend a solitary second on the mat before she is back to her feet and stalking Werner. Sterling, slow to get to his feet, finally makes it upright to come crashing back down to the mat once more. Lewitt spins to her feet, and grabs Werner by the ankle looking, to the crowd now... Lewitt gets back to her feet, her grip still firm on Werner's ankle, and delivers another devastating elbow drop on his knee. Trouble spins back to her feet again before raising Sterling's leg up, and drilling him in the back of that wounded knee with the hard soled toe of her heavy boot. Werner screams in pain and reaches for his leg, but Arica holds firm her grip on his ankle, and drives that hard toe in once more for good measure.

Arica Lewitt drags Sterling Werner towards the ring ropes, struggling to slide him across the mat, Werner takes the opportunity to put his free foot in the middle of her back and shove her towards the ropes, finally freeing his leg from her grasp. Sterling writhes in pain as Arica Lewitt takes her time making it to her feet. She walks towards him as he begs for a break. She looks out to the crowd who cheer her on wildly.

Al Laiman: Lewitt rushed in to grab Sterling Werner backing towards the corner, but Werner was waiting on her!

Jerry Andrews: Sterling Werner, grabbing a handful of Lewitt's tights there, slingshots her over his head and shoulder first through the ropes into the steel ring post!

Arica Lewitt is draped over the middle rope hugging the ring post and Sterling Werner is laying in the corner of the ring, both competitors feeling the effects of this match already as Melina Cruz starts her ten count.

One...

Two...

Three...

Lewitt manages to get her feet back onto the mat, but she is still dangling in the ropes as Cruz continues the count.

Four...

Five...

Six...

Sterling Werner begins to stir now, and Arica Lewitt drags herself out of the ropes, holding herself up by the top rope.

Seven...

Eight...

Nine...

With a sudden burst of energy, Sterling Werner reaches up, and pulls Arica Lewitt over his shoulder and down to the mat in a School Boy Roll-Up as Cruz goes for the count...

One...

Two...

Thr...

Jerry Andrews: But Lewitt kicks out at just Two and a Half!

Sterling makes it to his feet again, bends over, grabbing Lewitt around the waist, and picks her up off of the mat bodily. He squeezes hard, locking his hands around behind her back as she squirms in his arms to get free. She drives several heavy rights into his cheek, but to no avail as Werner lays his head in close to protect his face. Suddenly, he hoists her up higher, and drops her flat on the mat with a massive powerslam.

Sterling Werner lifts Lewitt to her feet by her hair, and backs her against the ropes before laying in a pair of knife edge chops and Irish Whipping her across the ring. Lewitt rebounds as Werner thunders across the ring, but Arica ducks a huge Running Lariat and flies into the ropes again. Both competitors come across the ring like lightning. Werner takes a couple of showboating steps with Arica Lewitt in his arms before lifting her over his head and attempting to toss her to the mat behind himself, but she lands nimbly behind him instead and leaps, connecting with a huge dropkick to the center of Werner's back that sends him into the ropes hard.

Jerry Andrews: Werner stumbles backwards now, and Trouble is just waiting...

Suddenly, Lewitt leaps onto the top rope from the mat, spins in mid air and lands on Werner's shoulders, going for a Spring Board Hurricanrana...

Al Laiman: But Werner counters by driving her back first into the mat and laying in for the cover out of nowhere!

One...

Two...

Th...

Jerry Andrews: Lewitt kicks out again at two, and slides to the outside to get some distance from Werner, but Sterling is having none of it.

Cruz starts her count, but is interrupted before long as...

Al Laiman: Sterling Werner bounds off of the ropes and slides under the bottom rope on the other side of the ring, going for a baseball slide, but Lewitt moved to the side!

Using his momentum against him, Lewitt grabs his ankles and yanks his sliding mass to the outside, dumping him in a heap on the floor. Wasting no time, and seeing her opportunity to end this, she leaps up onto the apron, backs into the corner and waits for just the right moment as Cruz re-starts her en count.

One...

Two...

Three...

Jerry Andrews: Lewitt now, a Running Senton off the apron collides with Sterling Werner and sends him crashing into the steel guard rail!

Four...

Five...

Six...

Lewitt manages to get to her feet first and slide in under the bottom to break the count before climbing the turnbuckle to a standing ovation from the fans in attendance as Cruz begins her new count for Werner in the outside.

One...

Two...

Three...

Four...

Jerry Andrews: What a great fight we have seen here tonight between these two to kick off Game Over Three, and to think, Al, we're just getting started!

Al Laiman: That's right. We have a jam packed Pay Pew View for you all tonight, and if this is any indication of the intensity we are about to witness, then we are in for one hell of a night!

As Werner finally makes it to his feet, and pulls himself up on the guard rail, Lewitt launches herself off of the top turnbuckle and drills Sterling with a Missile Drop Kick that sends him over the Guard Rail and into the fans seated nearby as Melina Cruz starts her new count...

One...

Two...

Three...

Four...

Five...

Six...

The fans dump a groggy Sterling Werner back over the railing where he stands, wobbly, holding onto the guard rail. Lewitt Struggles to make it to her feet, but manages to pull herself most of the way up on the ring apron as Cruz continues to count.

Seven...

Eight...

Nine...

At the last moment, both Arica Lewitt and Sterling Werner dive towards the ring and roll under the bottom rope breaking the count.

Jerry Andrews: Amazing! Both of them ACTUALLY managed to get back into the ring before the count out, and it look like we still have a match here folks!

Melina Cruz starts yet another ten count as Sterling Werner and Arica Lewitt lay sprawling across the mat from the punishment they have dished out already.

One...

Two...

Three...

Four...

Five...

Six...

Trouble and Werner begin to make their way unsteadily to their feet, but manage to attain vertical positions before the ten as Melina signals for the match to continue.

Al Laiman: Winded, Werner makes his way towards Trouble across the ring, and they finally tie-up for the first time in this grueling match.

Werner backs Lewitt up against the ropes, and drives a big knee right into her midsection. Werner, sensing the end is near, flops her arm over his shoulder, and hoists her by the waist into the air for a standing suplex, but she twists in mid air, and goes over the top rope to the apron on the outside, still tangled up with Sterling Werner over the ropes. Lewitt grabs Werner's closest leg, and pulls him towards the outside until his leg dangles from the ring. Lewitt points out to the crowd as they cheer for her loudly, and then drives a hard elbow in to the back of Werner's previously damaged knee again and again.

Jerry Andrews: Lewitt looks like she is getting tired of Werner, going back to that damaged knee.

Arica Lewitt slides back into the ring, circling Sterling Werner struggling to get to his feet. Lewitt drives both feet into the side of Werner's bad knee, sending him crashing to the mat. Lewitt floats over him, and wraps her legs around his, locking in the Figure Four Leg Lock right in the middle of the ring!

Jerry Andrews: After everything Werner has been through here tonight, this could be all over right now!

Al Laiman: Arica Lewitt cinching in and locking onto that Figure Four as Melina Cruz checks on him.

Werner tries to fend of the inevitable, but the damage has been done already and the pain is too great as he taps out frantically. Melina Cruz calls for the bell as Arica Lewitt releases the hold and rolls out of the ring to celebrate her hard-earned victory over Sterling Wener as we go backstage where ...

****

[Murdoc]

****

... a lone camera-man is skulking outside of Skylar Marshall's office. The door is closed but the sensitive camera mic is still able to pick up snippets of the conversation.

"So we have a deal then?"

"Yeah, Marshall, we've got a deal."

Footsteps start towards the door and the camera-man back off so as not to get hit by the door. The door swings open wide and Gabriel Cross struts out of Marshall's office smiling. He ignores the camera and starts down the hall, nearly running into Whitey Ford.

The two glare daggers at one another and it looks like they're about to dust off their old differences and have at one another. Suddenly Cross starts to laugh. He reaches out and claps Whitey on the shoulder before walking off leaving the International Champion, the camera-man, and everyone else wondering what the heck just happened as we head back out to the ring and our next match of the evening.

****

Match Two
"Gonzo Grudge Match!"
Genesis Championship
Nathan Saniti vs. Q (Genesis Champion)
Referee: Roberto Garcia

Mark Long: Ladies and Gentlemen...

He's alone in the ring, microphone in hand, with the lights in the arena dimmed down. The Faithful are on their feet waiting to welcome both champion and challenger.

Mark Long: Our second contest of the evening is scheduled for one fall under Genesis Rules, and it is for the Pure Class Wrestling Genesis Championship!

The ruckus rises at the mention of the Genesis Championship until "Circus Envy" by R.E.M. fills the arena. The rocky riff signifies the coming of one Nathan Saniti as he appears at the top of the ramp. With cane at his side he stares straight ahead, ignoring the clear jeers of the audience.

Al Laiman: Listen to this crowd, Jerry!

Jerry Andrews: They're not impressed with Mr. Saniti, that much is clear.

Al Laiman: Can you blame them? They love Q, and Saniti has done nothing but spit in his face.

As his entrance music continues to play, purple smoke billows up from the stage and a grin comes across his stark white visage. Slowly enshrouded, Saniti begins to disappear amid the haze.

Mark Long: Introducing first, the challenger...

The eerie smoke consumes Nathan Saniti, now fully out of view. Suddenly a line of pyrotechnics fire from the stage, tracing the ramp to the bottom. As the pyro smoke clears, Nathan Saniti is standing in front of the ring!

Mark Long: Hailing from the Land of Chaos, he stands at six feet, two inches tall and weighs in at two hundred pounds...

With a tap of his cane Saniti turns to the stairs, climbing them casually onto the apron.

Mark Long: Naaathhannn Sannitiiiii!

The multi-colored magician slips through the second rope with the grace of a gentleman, which is all the more unsettling as his unhinged grin remains firm upon his face. He hands his cane, hat balanced on top, through the ropes and turns to face the stage.

Al Laiman: I always thought he was weird... now he's just giving me the heebie-jeebies.

Jerry Andrews: You and me both, brother.

Mark Long: And his opponent...

The grin on Saniti's face somehow grows wider as "Come Little Children" by katethegreat19 begins to play in place of the fan favorite "Super Soul Fighter." And while the Faithful are expecting the FUNK, they're met with something entirely unexpected.

White hair. Black leather. A sombre smile. But a smile nonetheless.

Al Laiman: Watching Q is like watching a rollercoaster of emotion. First he was sad, and then he was happy, and now... I don't know what to call this, Jerry.

Jerry Andrews: Well, Al, it seems the fans respect that Q may have to venture to a different place to take on Nathan Saniti after all that's happened between them.

Al Laiman: Different's a good word for it, Jerry. Both of these men seem from a different dimension!

Jerry Andrews: You're the long-time colleague of an immortal elf. Why do you seem so surprised?

Al Laiman: I'm color commentating, Jerry. Or rather, commentating on Q's lack thereof.

Though his look is one of sheer determination, Q still acknowledges the fans who show him support as he strides to the ring. He points to their signs and salutes their babies but otherwise keeps his focus solely on Nathan Saniti.

Mark Long: He hails from Parts Unknown. Standing six feet, three inches tall, he weighs in at two hundred pounds. He is your Pure Class Wrestling Genesis Champion... Q!!!!!!

The single syllable echoes throughout the arena in Mark Long's signature tone, and he exits the ring just as Q reaches ringside. He slides in under the bottom rope and takes to his corner, watching Nathan Saniti from across the ring. Roberto Garcia finishes checking Saniti for foreign objects and turns his attention to Q. As Garcia's back is turned, Saniti's grin grows wider still until it's almost inhuman. His rosy-red cheeks are glowing but the color around his eyes flashes momentarily black. A trick of the light, certainly.

Satisfied that Q is clean, Roberto Garcia shuffles around to the middle of the ring, looking left and then right at each superstar. He twirls a finger to call for the bell, and the fifteen minute countdown appears on the PCW-Tron.

DING DING DING!

Jerry Andrews: Here we go!

Al Laiman: You've gotta love Genesis Rules, Jerry! It's always a fight to the finish!

A fight, however, is not how this match begins. Instead Nathan Saniti struts to the center of the ring in exaggerated fashion, sticking his hand straight out in an offering of some sort. Q eyes him suspiciously but steps in to meet him, reaching out and accepting Saniti's handshake. Hand in hand, Saniti pulls Q in close, whispering something intended for Q's ears only. Q reacts by shifting his weight and attempting a takedown, hoping to flip Saniti over onto his back. Saniti cartwheels and lands on his feet at Q's back, immediately attempting a leg sweep a la Mortal Kombat. Q judges and jumps, leaping over Saniti's leg and spinning mid-air to face him. Saniti whirls and rises, changing levels and aiming another sweeping kick at Q's midsection. Q folds at the waist and the kick narrowly misses while Nathan Saniti continues to spin. Once more he changes, using his momentum to fire a spinning roundhouse at Q's face. The Single Letter Superstar ducks just in time, and now Nathan Saniti is spinning in place in a comical fashion.

Al Laiman: And I thought Q was unorthodox. What's Saniti trying to accomplish?

Round and round he goes, no longer attempting any sort of offense as Q stands at the ready. Saniti turns about face, and Q hits him with an uncharacteristic open-handed slap! Nathan Saniti screeches to a halt, his grin having shifted to a shocked expression. Q recoils, apparently shocked at his own aggression, which gives Nathan Saniti a window for a hard two-handed shove to Q's chest which sends him sprawling head over heels. Q rolls and recovers near the corner. Saniti simply flourishes, following it up with a deep bow.

Jerry Andrews: I have a feeling this will be a battle as much mental as physical, Al.

Al Laiman: Mental... yup. That's one word for it.

Q shakes his head and both men advance, meeting in the center of the ring. This time they go traditional, leading with a collar-elbow tie-up.

Jerry Andrews: Sometimes one forgets they're both capable wrestlers.

Saniti clears the collar-elbow and seizes Q by one wrist in both hands, seeking to control and maneuver behind him. Q responds by grabbing Saniti by his shirt, keeping them face to face. The Single Letter Superstar steps in, hauling Saniti overtop with a hip throw. This breaks Saniti's hold, and in turn Q takes hold of Saniti's wrist. He rotates the joint and Saniti spins on the mat to counter, working up to his feet. Quickly Q moves in close, sweeping Saniti down with the heaven-and-earth throw. Q drops for a Quick cover, but barely gets one.

Al Laiman: Q's Aikido style is impressive, Jerry.

Jerry Andrews: He's going to keep Saniti off-balance and expending energy.

Al Laiman: Genesis Rules seem tailor-made for Q. He doesn't have to hurt his opponent, he just has to subdue him until time expires.

Not one to be subdued, however, Saniti responds by gaining space after his kickout. With both men on their feet, Saniti fakes and flourishes, producing a ribbon of red cloth from under his sleeve. He tosses it in the air between them, and Q gets caught watching it fall to the mat. Saniti leaps and clears the cloth, connecting with a hard leg lariat!

Al Laiman: That's the strangest application of a foreign object I've ever seen.

Jerry Andrews: What else might he have up his sleeve?

Al Laiman: He's a magician, Jerry. How the hell should I know? There could be a rabbit under there.

Jerry Andrews: Come to think of it, where is Nathan Saniti's furry friend?

Saniti's lariat drops Q to the mat, but Q is Quick to recover. Saniti's up already, though, and he takes off running. Q turns toward the sound but instead he finds Saniti flying through the air.

Al Laiman: Corkscrew Elbow!

Jerry Andrews: That looked like four rotations.

Al Laiman: Maybe that bit at the start was his warm-up.

This time it's Nathan Saniti who attempts the cover, and Q who kicks out at one. Saniti shoots a glance at the clock on the Tron which shows ten minutes remaining. He turns his attention back to the rising Q and locks in a double underhook. He sticks an unsavory knee into Q's collarbone and then hoists him overhead, landing a hard double underhook suplex. Q's down, Saniti's up... and he's hopping like a rabbit? Standing moonsault! March Hare Hop!

Jerry Andrews: Lateral press by Saniti...

1...

...

2...

Al Laiman: And Q kicks out! The crowd's pleased with that one.

Indeed they cheer at Q's escape, but it's clear the Single Letter Superstar's thoroughly winded. Once more Saniti's sporting his unseemly grin as he grabs Q violently by the head. With both hands clasped around Q's skull Saniti starts to haul him to and fro.

Jerry Andrews: What does he call this?

Al Laiman: The... Shaken Baby Syndrome?

Jerry Andrews: And he considers himself a gentleman...

After a few seconds of having his head shaken, not stirred, Q's looking disoriented. He reacts by holding tight to Saniti's outstretched arms, resisting the brain-rattling force. And Saniti's slowing. Q's struggling to hold them both steady, anticipating the direction and applying the opposite force. Q leans backward, with Saniti's firm grip causing him to fall forward. Monkey Flip!

Two feet planted hard into his stomach forces Saniti to release his hold, and now he's soaring through the air across the ring. He lands hard on his back and Q rolls to the outside, cradling his own head and trying to regain his composure. He's stumbling around outside the ring, receiving encouraging pats on the back from the Faithful as he passes by.

Jerry Andrews: Saniti's up...

Al Laiman: He's taking to the top!

Q turns toward Saniti, now perched on the top rope. Before he can make heads or tails of it, however, Nathan Saniti is flying through the air. Corkscrew senton to the outside! Q absorbs the brunt of the impact and both men are down on the outside. Given Genesis Rules, Roberto Garcia cannot count but instead only watches as the two breathe heavily on the floor at ringside.

Jerry Andrews: Five minutes to go, Al.

Al Laiman: Does it have to end? I'm having fun.

Jerry Andrews: It does, Al. But how?

After half a minute or so, Nathan Saniti is the first to stir, climbing slowly to his feet without taking his eyes off the Single Letter Superstar. Somehow Q is close behind, getting up to his hands on knees. Saniti closes on him, dropping a knee of his own onto Q's back, forcing him down into the thin protective padding. Grabbing Q in a facelock he lifts and lines him up, aiming an irish whip at the steel steps.

Q reverses! At the last second Q shifts his weight, sending Nathan Saniti face first into the unforgiving steel. Having regained his eQuilibrium, Q closes in on the downed Saniti and rolls him back into the ring. Q follows, seizing Saniti around his legs and looking out to the crowd. Gathering momentum, Q begins to spin. Nathan Saniti's helpless at this point, twirling a few feet above the mat with nothing to do but wait to come crashing down. As Q goes round and round, the Faithful count each rotation.

1!

2!

3!

4!

5!

6!

7!

8!

And Q tosses Nathan Saniti across the ring! He lands with a thud, flat on his back, the air driven forcibly from his diaphragm. Q glances up at the clock, and there's only a minute to go. Gaining a second of reprieve against the ropes, he's watching Saniti roll toward the center of the ring. Roberto Garcia changes position toward the corner, out of the path of the two combatants. Suddenly, Q's not only watching. He's stalking...

Saniti's rising with his back to Q, doubled over in Garcia's direction. Q is lining him up.

Jerry Andrews: Could it be?

Al Laiman: QFT?!

From his spot on the ropes at the side of the ring, Q hits once and rebounds toward his initial position. He hits the ropes once more, at an angle, increasing his momentum as he aims at the ropes one more time.

Al Laiman: What the... what is that?

Suddenly Saniti's unawareness takes on new meaning. From beneath his sleeve he pulls out another swath of cloth, this one purple and quite large.

Jerry Andrews: How did he...

Al Laiman: That's gotta be five feet of fabric!

Indeed it's nearly the size of a child's bedsheet, and he tosses it in the air toward Roberto Garcia. With his vision cut off from the two superstars, he fails to see Saniti turn toward Q just as the Single Letter Superstar hits his third set of ropes. Before he can POUNCE, Saniti flourishes toward him and Q is stopped on the ropes. He takes two steps forward... and falls flat on his face. Saniti leaps, double-stomping the ring for good measure, just as Roberto Garcia gets clear of the purple curtain (or whatever it is).

To find Nathan Saniti pinning Q.

Jerry Andrews: Ten seconds...

Al Laiman: Did he... did Nathan Saniti hit him with a hatpin?

Roberto Garcia does the only thing he can think of. He hits the mat to make the count.

1...

Jerry Andrews: Not like this...

...

2...

...

Al Laiman: Q's out cold!

...

...

3!

Nathan Saniti sits up, clapping to himself before giving Q a little slap on the cheek (and pulling something small from above his collarbone). Q doesn't move. "Circus Envy" begins to play.

Mark Long: Here is your winner, and NEEWWWW Pure Class Wrestling Genesis Champion...

Roberto Garcia retrieves the Genesis Title from ringside, presenting it to the new champion with a raise of his hand. Nathan Saniti grins and takes a bow.

Mark Long: Naatthhannnnn SAANNITIIIIII!!

Winner: Nathan Saniti

Saniti calls for his hat and cane as he straps the Genesis Championship around his waist. He tosses his hat into the air and it hovers in place for the briefest of moments before falling neatly atop his wild red hair. He tips his hat to Roberto Garcia, now checking on the still-downed Q. Nathan is exiting the ring to a fresh round of jeers as we go to a commercial for ...

****

[Murdoc]

****



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****

[Murdoc]

****



Match Three
"Championship Chaos!'
Gauntlet for the Gold (North American Championship Match)
Rick Majors vs. Kelli Starr vs. Gabriel Cross vs. Grimm vs. Andy D vs. Tyrone Smith (North American Champion)
Referees: Austin Shaw

Mark Long: Ladies and gentleman, THIS ... is the GAUNTLET FOR THE GOLD MATCH for the NORTH AMERICAN CHAMPIONSHIIIIIIIP!

The crowd pops to attention as Mark Long’s voice reverbs over the speaker system.

Al Laiman: Here it is, Jerry. The fuster-cluck that is the North American title picture! And what a MESS it is.

Jerry Andrews: Not kidding there, Al. Every single competitor in this match has proven that they DESERVE the shot to be North American champion. But the finale is here; only ONE can walk out with this prize around their waist!

Al Laiman: I dunno, the World Championship isn’t ...

Jerry Andrews: Noooooo ... not AGAIN .... right?

Jerry Andrews: .... RIGHT?!

The lights go out. Suddenly the sound of guitars pierce through the silence. A spotlight shines on the entrance. The crowd starts to murmur. As the guitars get louder, Rick Majors appears in the entrance way, the spotlight directly on him and no one else. Majors pauses in the entrance way for a moment.

Majors looks down briefly. He then shakes his head, breathes deeply and stares out at the crowd.

["You drink the wise blood
You're gonna hear about it
You'll be taken down brick by brick by brick
Burn the orphanage
You're gonna pay for it
They will purify block by block by block"]

Majors stands at the top of the ramp, looking out around the arena.

["'Demons
Come on
You've got a vision
You're on a mission
Demons
Live on
And when I die, hang me high"]

Majors then slowly walks down to the ring, as the spotlight follows him. He climbs the ring steps and pauses ... turning towards the crowd, standing on the ring apron as he stares out into the sea of PCW Faithful.

Jerry Andrews: Rick Majors has been a little ... well, what would you call it Al? Unhinged ... unbalanced?

Al Laiman: He’s been completely NUTTY, Jerry! Let’s face it: a rational man doesn’t provoke Grimm. Even in your DREAMS if you provoke Grimm, you should apologize when you wake up. That’s MY two cents on it.

["They're gonna bury you
They're gonna finish
They're gonna stand em up six by six by six
You pull the hood back
I wanna know
Which way will the heavenly go?
Taken down, taken down, taken down"]

He enters the ring, still only lit by the spotlight. He then stands in the centre of the ring, looking out towards the crowd. He slowly starts to circle the ring, stretching and loosening up his body.

Mark Long: From Toronto, Ontario, Canada, weighing in at 227 pounds: Rick Majors!

Majors calling for his entrance music to stop, he asks for a microphone from ringside. After receiving the mic, Majors looks out at the crowd for a long few seconds .... collating his thoughts into words before addressing the crowd.

I've lied to all of you. And I've failed all of you. I know I've said this before, but here I am again giving another pointless speech on another pointless topic. It's pretty much the only thing I can do successfully these days.

Majors walks over to the corner of the ring and he leans on the ropes. With his head down, he continues speaking.

I tried to inspire a revolution. I tried to change things, but my reasons for wanting change were selfish. I wanted this industry to become a place where I could fit in, but that's impossible. I don't fit in anywhere anymore. Not in wrestling, not in sports entertainment and not anywhere else on earth.

Majors now starts to walk around the ring again.

There will be no revolution and even if there is some day, it won't have anything to do with me. I'm done trying to fit in. I'm done trying to rage against a system that seems to be doing perfectly well on its own. I'm done trying to be anything other than an old, broken man who clings to the fragments of a wrestling career. That's exactly what I am. Nothing more.

Majors backs into the corner now and he tilts his head back.

I've been talking to a therapist. I've been discussing why I have these extreme emotions. I've been trying to figure out why sometimes I feel great and other times I feel completely terrible, and why I jump back and forth between those two so often. But now I've realized that I don't feel great very often anymore. Those moments of hope and inspiration and positivity occur less and less often these days. I now understand what reality is and I'm sorry, I'm very sorry for trying to steer all of you in the wrong direction before.

Majors drops the mic.

The lights in the arena then come back on as Majors circles the ring, awaiting the second entrant. Who is not shy in making their presence known, for as soon as the lights are up ... well ... waitaminute. Who is this? A resounding scream of animalistic magnitude. The lights are out, no one knows what’s happening. Tonight surely is a night of surprises ...

‘BATTLE!’

‘METAL!’

‘BATTLE!!’

‘METAL!!’

Turisas’ ‘Battle Metal’ rings out over the speaker system. The crowd is rocking to the heavy, driving bass line as a lone figure strides out onto the entrance way. It’s ... TYRONE SMITH! Clad in ... clad in fucking chainmail and war paint?! The crowd erupts in a frenzy as Crazy Boy strides to the ring. Rick Majors is waiting for him and SEEMS unimpressed, though it’s hard to maintain composure when a man is walking your way with war paint and historically accurate and what appears to be battle ready armor.

Al Laiman: ... Crazy, boy. That’s all I have to say.

Jerry Andrews: Does there need to be anything ELSE said?

Al Laiman: What the hell is on his face?!

Jerry Andrews: You ask me like I should know. A lot of strange and colorful characters in PCW. Specifically ... in THIS match!

Al Laiman: ... damnit man, do your homework!

Crazy Boy finally makes it to the ring(no simple task given the armor he wears) and moves his way into the ring. Majors watches from the corner as Crazy Boy begins the painstaking process of removing his entrance attire. Finally, the defending champion is ready for the match to begin. We’ve seen some strange and exotic things tonight, but this might be the most strange and exotic thing of them all!

The referee DEFINITELY checking Crazy Boy, he checks Majors briefly before signaling for the bell ...

DING DING DING!

This match is officially underway!

Crazy Boy begins by immediately rushing Majors in a berzerker frenzy, catching Majors off guard with a flurry of crazy chops, punches and knees. Majors is taken aback as Smith unloads on him. Reminiscent of the recent match with Grimm, Majors is taking one hell of a beating in just the first few seconds of the contest. As Majors is forced back into the nearest corner, Crazy Boy continues to wail on Majors until the referee has to physically interject himself between the two.

As he does so, Majors takes a shot at Smith over the referee’s back, sending Crazy Boy into a frenzy yet again. As soon as the pair are separated, Majors steps out of the corner only to walk into another furious assault from Smith. Smith knows that he’s the ULTIMATE underdog in this match; there’s no WAY that he’s going to give up the ghost without leaving his all in the middle of the ring.

The referee stepping in again, this time the break is clean and the two men meet back in the center of the ring. Majors looking slightly worse for the wear, Smith is physically trembling in the middle of the ring. There’s no TELLING what he’s done to work himself into such a fervor but whatever it is .... at the outset of the match, it’s working TREMENDOUSLY.

Al Laiman: There’s no way that Crazy Boy should be allowed to compete in that state of mind! Who let this nut out of his cage?!

Jerry Andrews: Crazy Boy is his nickname for a reason, Al. I mean ... what did you expect? He’s in the fight of his career and he’s got virtually NO chance to win thanks to the unlucky draw. What would you do in his shoes?

Al Laiman: Take a vacation again! Look at him! WAAAAAAAAAAY too high-strung.

The two competitors locking up in the middle of the ring, Majors shoots Crazy Boy off into the ropes in a flash, but Crazy Boy is right there to counter the irish whip into one of his own, catching Majors on the way in with a jumping heel kick that floors Majors. As Crazy Boy pops back to his feet, he slowly drags Majors with him and once both men are standing ... plants him again with a beautiful standing dropkick flush on the jaw.

Smith stomping away at Majors, he drops to the ground and begins grinding Majors’ face into the canvas ... almost looking to turn his features into ground beef. The referee warns Crazy Boy about his grasp on the hair and finally lets go at the five count to avoid any trouble with a disqualification or the like. The referee STERNLY admonishing Smith now, he manages to break free from the referee only to have Majors trip him with a drop toe hold that brings his face flat to the ground.

Majors seeming to break from the fog that has enveloped him for the early match, he begins to stagger to his feet ... hands gripping tightly to Smith’s head as he stands. Pulling Crazy Boy up with him, an elbow smash ... a second one ... a third one, followed by a heavy resounding knee lift that has Crazy Boy off of his berzerker fury into a modern day world of hurt.

Majors circling the ring, waiting for Crazy Boy to stand again ... you can hear him shouting at Smith ‘You can’t stop me. What are you waiting for?! Get up!’. Beckoning for Crazy Boy to stand, it’s obvious what he wants and that’s one Phinehas Grimm. But ... is he already seeing Grimm before him? God forbid he falls in the first matchup and fails to face the Hangtown Horror.

Al Laiman: My god, Jerry. It’s like a veritable buffet of mental illness in that ring!

Jerry Andrews: I don’t think Rick Majors realizes that he’s NOT fighting Grimm, such was the fury of Crazy Boy in the opening minutes.

As Crazy Boy stands to face Rick Majors, he snarls in virulent defiance and gets a slap across the face for good measure. This only serves to fire up the Crazy One even more. A second slap and Crazy Boy has had enough. He rushes Majors with reckless abandon and for his troubles ... receives a standing sidekick that levels him once again. Again, Majors is yelling at Crazy Boy to get up. ‘Come on, Grimm! GET UP! Finish what you started Grimm ... GET! UP!’

As Majors hauls Smith to a standing position, Crazy Boy throws a wild haymaker that connects with Majors and forces a slight step back. Crazy Boy with another shot and Majors is smiling wide as he is forcibly shoved back towards the corner. Crazy Boy looking less and less crazy by the minute, he’s got Majors reeling with no end to the momentum in sight. At least ... it doesn’t LOOK like Majors is attempting to stop it.

He’s taking every last bit of it!

And Crazy Boy seems to be punching himself out.

As Crazy Boy seems to be losing steam, Majors looks more and more disgusted as the charade continues. One of the last punches, Majors just shakes his head and grabs hold of Smith’s hand mid punch, redirecting him and whipping him across the ring into the far turnbuckle. Crazy Boy lands with a thud in the turnbuckles as Majors shakes off the Crazy Strikes and rushes him with a dashing elbow smash. Crazy Boy’s neck and head snapping back sickly, Majors follows up with a snapmare and a low kick to the back.

Jerry Andrews: Dear god, that kick was impressive! You could hear it echo around the entire building, Al.

Al Laiman: You know who else is hearing it? Crazy Boy. He’ll be hearing that kick for a good few days, I’d say.

Crazy Boy’s back arching in an attempt to alleviate the stinging sensation, Majors uses this positioning to lift Crazy Boy off of the mat in a reverse facelock aaaaaaaand .... reverse DDT! The impact shakes the entire ring and Crazy Boy is in a WORLD of trouble. Majors floating over for the pinfall attempt, he only manages to net a two count ...

... only because Gabriel Cross has hit the ring! Apparently, the third man in the match feels it is time to make his presence known and he isn’t above jumping the gun to eliminate not ONLY Crazy Boy but Rick Majors as well! Cross wailing away on Majors, it’s a veritable brawl in the middle of the ring with the referee struggling to maintain control.

Al Laiman: Attaboy, Cross! This is how you get the job done: when everyone else is at their LOWEST!

Jerry Andrews: You’re a sad and pathetic creature, Al. And you have my pity.

The referee pushing Cross away from Majors, he goes to attack again when ... out of nowhere, Crazy Boy catches Cross with a big boot to to breadbasket and hoists him up into suplex position. He’s spinning ... HE’S SPINNING .... Crazy Slam! Planting Cross to the mat with his patented Crazy Slam, the crowd roars its’ approval for the sudden explosion.

The celebration, however, lasts all of about five seconds before Crazy Boy turns into Rick Majors who is waiting with the hungry maw of a hyena, hooking the arms and hoisting Smith up for a high angle double-arm DDT. MAJOR IMPACT FROM RICK MAJORS! Crazy Boy’s lifeless form on the mat, Majors muscles Crazy Boy onto his back and makes the cover.

1 ....

2 ...

....3!

Crazy Boy has been eliminated!

Majors forcing himself up from the former champion’s lifeless body, he looks over at the referee and then at Gabriel Cross who is just barely stirring on the mat. The referee shrugs and looks to the entranceway. No one is coming ... and ‘Power’ by Kanye West begins to play. So, it is now VERIFIED that Gabriel Cross was to be the third man in this North American title match. And boy, he seems to have made a monumental error in judging the remaining strength of his first opponent. All good things come to those who WAIT, it can be said.

Jerry Andrews: Well, Al ... Cross was supposed to be number three in the Gauntlet match ... but he’s already out and down in the ring!

Al Laiman: Which is a shame, Jerry. He could’ve made a FINE showing here tonight, if he had just waited five more minutes.

Majors moving over to Cross and beginning to pull him to his feet, it’s obvious he’s hoisting near dead weight and simply lets Gabriel Cross drop back to the mat. Dropping to the mat, he pulls Cross away from the ropes and makes the lateral press.

1 ...

2 ...

....

3!!

Gabriel Cross has been eliminated!

Majors pushing himself off of Cross, he rests on his knees for a few seconds before ....

When you’re dreaming, you feel alive.

At that, Ministry’s “Dream Song” stomps out of the speakers and marches through the aisles. The drums, the bells, the choir, the chanting – all work to herald the arrival of Grimm. He steps out to a single blue-white spotlight, stops to bask in the light and shadows, and scans the crowd with his arms at his side. The Lord of Misrule closes his eyes and sighs before making the long walk to the ring, ignoring the fans along the way. The spotlight follows. A malevolent, distorted voice works its way up through the layers of the song.

This has always been. They tried to pull me in but I was already there.

Phinehas looks into the ring at Rick Majors, who is simultaneously grinning maniacally and physically shaking with fury. The man he has sought all evening is finally here. Blood shall be spilt and the Gods shall be appeased with this offering of carnage. Grimm pulling himself onto the apron, Majors is BEGGING Grimm ... literally on his KNEES begging for Grimm to enter.

Al Laiman: Oh god ... I’m getting a bad feeling about this. Majors, let’s rethink this bud ...

Jerry Andrews: Even I have to concur, this is a very POOR decision on Rick Majors’ part.

Grimm striding in with the calm repose of an executioner walking to the gallows, Grimm grabs Majors by the hair and yanks his head back ... forcing Majors to present his match-weary face. Rearing back, Grimm simply nods and lays a heavy shot into Rick Majors. A second. A third. Continuous shots, Grimm is methodical in his approach, targeting a different spot on the face with each shot. It’s getting to the point of turning away the more squeamish of the fans ... Majors isn’t even fighting back!

After all this work, it has become apparent that Rick Majors wants nothing to do with the title and everything to do with Grimm. Grimm, the Hangtown Horror ... is eager to oblige. Majors wobbling as he kneels still, Grimm picks him up and lands a vicious headbutt to Majors. The Sword of Heimdall strikes! Not once, no. Several times. Grimm is literally using his own head as the hammer that strikes the anvil! His cold and calculating demeanor replaced with one of disgust and ... almost ... PITY.

That is, were Grimm capable of feeling the emotions that normal men feel in the ring.

Majors literally forced back to the mat with the multitude of blows, Grimm calmly instructs the referee to check on Majors. Doing so, the referee is shoved away from Majors. Even from the mat, Majors will not DIE! This has almost become a last man standing match scenario, with Grimm hellbent on keeping Majors from standing. Grimm striding over to Majors, he straddles atop the man and begins laying in several brutal elbow smashes to the face and head region ... not even bothering to go fully automatic. He wants Majors ... he HIMSELF wants to feel this. The feeling of flesh against flesh, bone against bone.

The referee right there in the thick of things, watching with almost a nauseated stomach ... he’s finally had enough and forces Grimm off of Majors. A bit of a premature decision on the referee’s part as Grimm coolly forces his way back to Majors and raises him to his feet. Grabbing him by the throat with both hands, Grimm pushes him back into the corner and ascends to the second turnbuckle ... Majors in front facelock position. Eyes locked onto a single spot on the canvas, Grimm pivots and leaves the turnbuckle ... bringing Majors with him. Harvest! Rick Majors has just been Harvested!

Grimm sliding back from Rick Majors a few feet, he simply stares at the man as Austin Shaw moves in to check on Rick Majors. It’s apparent to everyone that Rick Majors is out cold. Shaw raises the X symbol and continues to check on Majors as the EMT’s begin pouring in from the backstage area. After the last PPV, it seems that they’ve really gotten on their game and are in the ring within moments.

As the EMT’s load Majors onto a backboard, the crowd shows its’ appreciation for his performance and give him a standing ovation. Grimm looks mildly perplexed in their response. And as the EMT’s being the journey up the ramp, the strapped in Majors begins to stir and ... looks no more confused than Grimm. Forcibly moving his neck from the neck brace, Majors stares down the ramp at Grimm ...

... YOU DIDN'T FINISH THE JOB!

Majors stops yelling for a moment to catch his breath.

WHY COULDN'T YOU FINISH THE JOB!? Why.....!?

Majors stares at Grimm for another few seconds before dropping his head down. Majors is weak and sore and exhausted, but he can be heard yelling at the EMTs as they examine him and walk at the same time.

No... NO! GET AWAY! LEAVE ME ALONE! Please....

The hysterical Rick Majors carted off to the back by emergency technicians, Grimm is left alone in the ring with one very intimidated referee. Looking to the ring announcer, he confirms what everybody already considers a foregone conclusion:

Rick Majors has been eliminated!

Jerry Andrews: These two ... Al, I sense some very DARK days for these two men in the coming months.

Al Laiman: Hey, Kreskin - The next person is coming out. And that’s the story you need to worry about. Who wants to tangle with Grimm NOW?!

And right Al is, for The intro of 'Are You Not Entertained' hits out on the PA system, and when it asks for everybody to scream the crowd goes crazy and Andy apears from the back. As he heads towards the ring, he slaps hands with as many people of the crowd as he can. Approaching the ring, Andy slides under the bottom rope before running up to a random turnbuckle, hopping up to the second turnbuckle and motioning for the crowd to cheer loudly. Andy jumps down and removes his bucket hat, tossing it out of the ring and staring intently at Grimm.

Al Laiman: Oh god it’s Andy D. Andy, if you were smart, you’d run. For the hills. Just leave well enough alone, you’re in control of all your limbs.

Jerry Andrews: Don’t count Andy D out just yet, Al. Let’s be realistic, Andy D is a high caliber athlete and MORE than capable of holding his own in that ring!

As Andy stares across the ring at Phinehas Grimm, he moves to the center of the ring towards him. Grimm responds in kind and Andy extends a hand to the Hangtown Horror. The crowd cringes at what is to come ... but are left wanting as Grimm shakes the man’s hand and the two back away from each other. The crowd is on their feet, being treated to what amounts to five different matches WITHIN a match. An amazing deal and great bang for your buck.

Well, four different matches. No counting the Gabriel Cross fluke.

The two begin circling and Andy begins building up speed immediately. Grimm is able to keep up initially, but is left in the dust as Andy hops on his horse and RIDES. Taking off at Grimm, he lands a flying elbow that catches Grimm momentarily flat-footed. Punch after punch from Andy, Grimm is reeling ... but here comes Grimm, responding to the shots with punches and kicks of his own. Andy and Grimm dueling in the center of the ring ... it’s clear that Andy is NOT intimidated by the Majors-Grimm dynamic and is in it to win it.

The pair fighting tooth and nail, it’s finally Grimm that begins to pull ahead of Andy, landing more shots than he is absorbing. Andy’s onslaught is slowly but surely curbed and Grimm is taking control of the situation. A chance miss of a Grimm punch gives Andy the opportunity to lock in a waistlock by ducking behind the Hangtown Horror. Grimm struggling to free himself, he reverses and slips behind Andy .... picking him up and dropping him facefirst to the mat. Andy wiggling and squirming his way out to a seated position, he nips behind Grimm with a hammerlock.

Grimm slapping at his shoulder to try and loosen the pressure, he manages enough room to do so and reverses into his own hammerlock. Andy dropping immediately to his knees, he grabs Grimm by the back of the head and delivers a beautiful snapmare that leaves Grimm seated in front of him. Backing two steps away, Andy lands a low dropkick to the back of Grimm ... right between the shoulderblades and the crowd roars its’ approval.

Al Laiman: Some great chain wrestling there, Jerry. I can appreciate it when two high quality competitors can make it look like art.

Jerry Andrews: I thought Andy would be smart to run.

Al Laiman: He would be, but he’s not. So I’m letting him entertain me while he’s physically able, before Grimm pulls his head off.

Hopping into the air, Andy delivers a knee drop to the chest of Grimm. A second jump and the same result. A third and Grimm has his forearms up, managing to blunt the force of the strike and simultaneously grabbing hold of Andy’s leg. Twisting from the mat, he drops Andy to the ground and holds the leg before driving it into the canvas. Andy clutching at his knee, Grimm drops back to a knee as he clutches at his chest ... the knee strikes having taken their toll on him. Slapping his pectorals defiantly, daring the pain to worsen ... Grimm stands and watches as his wounded prey begins to struggle to his feet.

A smart move by Grimm, attacking the speed advantage of Andy D and forcing him to play HIS game. Ever the ring veteran, Grimm moves in and snatches the injured limb as Andy hops to a standing position yet again. Balancing precariously on his good leg, Andy hops and breaks the hold of Grimm ... pushing his feet deep into Grimm’s center. The sudden front dropkick forcing Grimm back, Andy lands on his stomach and immediately takes off ... diving at Grimm and rolling him up.

1 ..

2 ..

NO! Grimm kicks out of the sudden pinfall attempt and Andy is back to his feet, anticipating Grimm’s response. Andy throwing a knee into Grimm’s midsection, Grimm catches the joint and holds Andy close as he drops down and uses the falling momentum to force his head into Andy’s kneecap. The pain is excruciating as Andy immediately clutches the ropes to stabilize himself.

Grimm goes in for the kill but Andy unceremoniously manages to lift Grimm up and over the top rope, sending him crashing to the ringside area. Looking down at Grimm, he smiles and pulls on the top rope, flinging HIMSELF up and over ... a beautiful plancha that leaves Grimm flattened on the ground. As Andy hobbles to his feet, the crowd erupts as he raises his hands and goes to pick Grimm back up. Andy KNOWS he won’t win on the outside.

Rolling Grimm back into the ring, he follows suit and Grimm is staggering to his feet. Andy limping along after Grimm, he is surprised to find himself brought to the mat by an errant back kick that connects with Andy’s injured leg. He crumples to the mat, giving Grimm the breathing room needed to recover his senses after that plancha. Grimm making it to his feet, he goes to grab Andy in a front facelock. Could it be the Harvest?!

Grimm begins to shift his momentum but Andy D wisely pushes Grimm away at the very last second. Making the most of the moment of surprise, he springboards off of the second rope and twists in mid-air aimed directly at the Hangtown Horror! Grabbing Grimm by the neck, he flips OVER Grimm and lands a beautiful falling necbreaker that brings Grimm’s head crashing violently to the mat. Blockbuster! Andy D has been perfecting this one for some time now.

Crawling over to Grimm, he hooks the leg tight.

1 ...

2 ...

...

...

... 3!

The referee makes the three count and Andy D looks out at the crowd, who are almost as stunned as he is. Not for long though, as the crowd erupts into boisterous cheers. And we’re down to the final two!

Grimm has been eliminated!

Al Laiman: ... holy ^)*^$ $@#!@! Grimm just got eliminated by Andy D! What an UPSET!

Jerry Andrews: I told you, Al. Don’t underestimate Andy D, he’s got the skills and the HEART to make it to the top of the PCW mountain, and he may just have one last big step before he gets there!

As Grimm slowly makes his way to his feet, he looks at the crowd and then to And who is holding onto the ropes for leverage. Nodding in respect, Grimm rolls out of the ring and begins to make his way up the rampway as the rapid harpsichord sounds of Syringe by Emilie Autumn plays over the PCW loudspeakers, all the arena lights go out save for delicately strobing green lights at the stage area. Increasing in tempo with the music, they light up a single female figure standing at the top of the ramp.

With the heavy pulse of the bass kicking in, multicolored lights begin to flicker and strobe in a rainbow of chaos as Dollface makes her energetic way to the ring ... passing by the retreating Grimm who seems to ignore her existence altogether as he disappears into the back. Kelli hitting the ring, she moves to the center of the ring and looks at Andy intently. It’s obvious she’s looking at Andy’s injured leg like a dog eyeballing a brand new chew toy.

Great respect between these two, but respect is respect and a championship ... well ... that kind of complicates things.

Just like on Facebook.

Andy hobbling away from the ropes, Kelli dives at his legs which Andy responds to by hopping over her. Landing on his feet, he winces as he lands ... the impact enough to cause a bit of irritation to the already weakened joint. It’s only a matter of time before Kelli zeroes in on it. As Kelli and Andy go to meet in the middle of the ring, he immediately goes for a headlock. Struggling to escape, she tries to push him away but he hangs on for dear life. Spinning around her, he affects a tight waistlock and manages to wrestle her to the ground.

He’s got a back mounted position on her and he pushes this advantage by attempting a Dragon Sleeper but Kelli is too fresh, too new to the match to give in easily. Managing to fight her way from her stomach to a kneeling position, she grabs Andy’s leg and shoves him away ... but Andy is right there ... with a Dragon’s Bite!

Out of nowhere, Andy hits the Dragon’s Bite!

A quick pinfall!

1!

2!

...

3..! NO! Kelli gets the shoulder up at the last minute!

Jerry Andrews: Close call for Kelli Starr! Andy D is riding high and it’s about time to finish, if he hopes to finish at all!

Al Laiman: Andy has GOT to keep Kelli grounded and no let the pace speed up, especially with that bum wheel of his

The sudden strike bringing the match within a hair’s breadth of ending, Kelli is dazed and Andy is starting to look frustrated. He knows that to go too much longer is straight folly on his part. He has to end it quickly and NOW would be the perfect time. As Kelli fights to make it to her feet, Andy is waiting for her with a boot to the gut. Doubling her over, he bounces off the ropes and goes for a sunset flip ... but Kelli stonewalls the attempt and stands firm.

Dropping to her knees, she pins his shoulders to the mat and the referee is right there to make the count.

1 ...

2 ...

... no! Andy squirms out in the nick of time to save the match for himself. As Andy slides out from underneath Kelli, she waiting for him with several chops and low leg kicks to keep Andy off-balance and out of his element. Kelli forcing Andy into the ropes, he is Irish Whipped from them and sent across the ring. Bouncing off the ropes, he drops low and slides a baseball dropkick to the knee of Kelli Starr.

On a knee again, she’s set up ... and Andy is up and aimed. He’s going for a second Dragon’s Bite!

Jerry Andrews: This will do it!

Al Laiman: I can’t believe it, Andy is going to beat Grimm AND Kelli Starr to take this. What a feather in the cap, Jerry! I LOVE IT! ANYthing can happen in PCW.

Taking off across the ring, Andy hops into the air and ... MISSES! Kelli ducks at the last second to avoid the impact and leaves Andy to try and salvage the landing. Unfortunately, the bad leg is weak enough to cause him great pain upon hitting the canvas. Turning quickly to come face to face ... with a vicious spinning backfist brought all the way up from a kneeling position.

The added momentum enough to break a cinder block, Andy is the unfortunate recipient of the strike and collapses in a rumpled pile of flesh on the mat. Kelli shaking her head, still knocking loose the cobwebs and the haze from the FIRST Dragon’s Bite, she falls on top of Andy D for the cover attempt, thanks to an amazing Candygram.

1!

2!

...

...


... 3!

The crowd roars as the bells sounds and the winner is announced ... the NEW North American champion .... Kelli Starr!

Winner: Kelli Starr
^{Order of Elimination:
-Rick Majors eliminates Tyrone Smith
-Rick Majors eliminates Gabriel Cross
-Phinehas Grimm eliminates Rick Majors
-Andy D eliminates Phinehas Grimm
-Kelli Starr eliminates Andy D}

The crowd is thunderous in their applause, showing their utmost respect and admiration for ALL the superstars involved in the match. As the crowd cheers on, Kelli is helping Andy to his feet. The referee presents Kelli with her newly won North American championship as confetti and glitter explode above the ring in a dazzling display of SHINYYYYYYY! Kelli raising Andy’s hand in joint respect, Andy shakes his head and puts his own hand down ... raising the new champion’s hand as we go to a brief advertisement for the next pay-per-view, Deadly Intentions IV.

Match Four
"Tag Team Turmoil!"
Triple Threat Tag Team Championship Match
The New Breed (Tag Team Champions) vs. The Flying Freebooters vs. Mystery Team
Referee: Manny Cruz

Mark Long: Ladies and gentlemen, our next match of the evening is for the PCW Tag Team Championshiiiiiiiiiiiiip!

The lights of the arena slowly begin to dim, before going altogether dark. Hollow by Alice In Chains hits as the lights begin to flicker.

Mark Long: Now making their way to the ring, hailing from Toronto, Ontario Canada, at a combined weight of three hundred and seventy pounds, The Flying Freebooters!

The Freebooters enter, but stop halfway down the ramp where they begin to pose. Wasp with his hands up in the air triumphantly, while Tide looks indifferently off into space. The usual rain of boo’s comes, and Tide does his best impersonation of a conductor, instructing the fans to get louder. They waste no time entering the ring, climbing opposite turnbuckles from each other. The music begins to fade, with the Freebooters doing their signature synchronized back flips.

Al Laiman: The Freebooters are looking energetic tonight, like they are ready to become the new Tag Team Champions tonight!

Jerry Andrews: I seem to recall you calling them the future Tag Team Champions at Living A Legacy, and look who’s still holding the belts? The New Breed are like pit bulls, they aren’t going to let go of them without a fight!

Mark Long: And their opponents, hailing from Jacksonville, Florida…

Blue spotlights flash to life on either side of the stage and twirls away into the crowd timed to the beat as the guitars come to life and the beginning of Two Steps From Hell's 'Jump' begins to play. As the horns build to a crescendo, and the guitars really begin to jam, two figures are lit from under the stage in bright white spotlights as a cascade of red sparks falls behind them. They raise their arms over their heads holding up the PCW Tag Team Title Belts high.

Red, white, and blue fireworks shoot off down the ramp as the two men emerge onto the stage and the crowd can see for the first time that they are John Cable and Sebastian St. Paul. John and SSP rush the ring slapping hands with fans on both side of the aisle cheering wildly, while The Freebooters move to the back of the ring. The New Breed slides in under the bottom ropes as the stirring melody of the horns picks up and the crowd goes wild with cheers for them as they put up their fists like they are ready for a fight, then climb opposite turnbuckles showing off their Titles to the fans before they hop down into the ring again as the music dies out and the lights come back on.

Mark Long: Weighing in at a combined weight of five hundred and thirty pounds, they are your PCW Tag Team Champions… The New Breed!

Jerry Andrews: The New Breed look fired up. They come out every night to win, and this looks to be no exception.

Al Laiman: Well we’ll just have to see who this “Mystery Team” is. That could put a wrench in the New Breed’s plans!

Both teams, though ready to beat the hell out of each other, are seasoned enough to know doing so already, would leave the third team with a great advantage. They warily stay to their sides of the ring, looking up at the ramp to see who will make their way out from the back. High Tide is in the ring for the Freebooters, and Johnathan Cable stands ready for the New Breed.

A minute or so passes, and High Tide has decided he has had enough waiting. Without any warning he charges across the ring, and bulldogs the unaware Cable, driving his face right into the mat. Manny Cruz, with no other third team in sight, without any explanation, motions for the bell to signal the beginning of the match!

Al Laiman: High Tide the opportunistic pirate he is, starts the match on his own terms. That is an intelligent move right there.

Jerry Andrews: It might not be as intelligent as you think Al. Manny Cruz didn’t offer any explanation, and there was no change in the match. It appears the Mystery Team can enter at any time now and change the momentum!

Cable has made it to his feet, where High Tide is eagerly awaiting him. He unleashes a quick right hand, but is hardly seems to phase The Beast. Cable responds by stepping in and wrapping High Tide in a crushing bear hug.

Al Laiman: I don’t think this is what mother’s mean when they say “just hug it out.”

Jerry Andrews: This might be the only time in history you’ll ever see any member of the New Breed hugging a Freebooter!

The Beast is squeezing with all his might, and Tide is obviously in some great discomfort. Wasp has one foot on the ropes, ready to spring in at any given moment. Cable turns, still with the submission locked in, wanting to keep an eye on the ramp, for any glimpse of the mystery tag team. Tide uses the momentum locking an arm around the back of Cable’s neck, and pulling down, he delivers a double kick to the knees of Cable in some sort of unorthodox DDT.

Cable is down on the mat, and Tide isn’t fairing much better after his time in the submission hold. He manages to make it to a vertical base and immediately goes for the tag. Wasp is rearing to get in and his outstretched hand is an easy tag target for Tide. Wasp busts into the ring, only to find Cable has made the tag to SSP. As St. Paul comes into the ring, he is met with a heavy clothesline. Cable isn’t out of the ring yet, and he turns on Wasp, only to take a flying knee to the face.

Al Laiman: Looks like Wasp is building some momentum, he might have rearranged Johnathan’s face with that knee!

Jerry Andrews: It’s obvious that every competitor in this match has their mind on that mystery team that has yet to show. I wonder how that will play out.

Wasp looks at SSP who is getting off the mat, and then turns to take a glance at the ramp. There is no sign of any movement from the back, and so he focuses his attention on St. Paul who is up on his feet now. Wasp runs at him, going for another clothesline to take the big man down, but SSP turns it into a vicious power slam and goes for a cover.

Jerry Andrews: Sebastian St. Paul looking to put away this match early!

Al Laiman: Maybe the mystery team forgot to set an alarm?

Wasp manages to kick out at two, and Tide has already made his way into the ring. However before he can do any damage, the referee puts himself between Tide and the two legal men. Tide argues and tries to get past Manny Cruz, but he is insistent and begins to shepherd Tide back to his corner. Cable takes the opportunity to get in the ring, where SSP has lifted Wasp into the air and sends him back down with a powerbomb, over the knee of Cable. Wasp writhes in agony, but by the time the referee turns his attention back, Cable is back in his corner.

Jerry Andrews: The New Breed working in perfect tandem, even if they are bending the rules!

Al Laiman: They didn’t bend any rules Jerry! The only thing bent was Cable’s knee!

Wasp gets shakily to his feet, and SSP meets him with a hard elbow, followed up immediately by a headbutt. The dazed Wasp staggers, and SSP takes the opportunity to lift the dazed man and execute a perfect gutbuster drop. He goes for the pin. 1…2.. and Wasp kicks out at the last second.

Suddenly there is a clattering noise coming from the direction of the ramp and both Cable and St. Paul turn to look at the ramp.

Jerry Andrews: Everyone is on edge tonight, wondering when that mystery tag team will appear! Appears that it was just a fan throwing garbage onto the ramp.

Al Laiman: Looks like security is dealing with him now.

SSP turns back to find that Wasp has used the moment of hesitation to reach his partner and make a tag to him. High Tide comes in with full steam, connecting on a spinning jumping heel kick. St. Paul manages to stay on his feet, and Tide sends the bigger man down with a hurricanrana.

Suddenly High Tide makes his way out of the ring with intent in his eyes. He finds what he is looking for, a steel chair. He picks it up and folds it so it is a more usable weapon. Manny Cruz attempts to dissuade Tide while counting him out at the same time. Tide however is not deterred and slides back into the ring with the weapon.

Jerry Andrews: What is he thinking?! Is he going to throw the whole match away for what? Revenge?

Al Laiman: High Tide has never been known as a big thinker.

St. Paul is slowly getting up and Tide advances towards him. He raises the chair up into the air, ready to strike the rising member of the New Breed, when suddenly a pair of hands grabs the weapons right from him! Tide turns to find Wasp there, who is yelling and furiously shaking his head. Wasp throws the weapon to the outside, as Manny Cruz starts to usher Wasp back into his corner.

Tide turns around right into a huge clothesline from St. Paul. Tide is on the mat, and SSP takes the opportunity to tag in Cable.

Jerry Andrews: Luckily for the Freebooters, Wasp was able to stop High Tide from getting them disqualified.

Al Laiman: It was certainly enough to distract him long enough for St. Paul to recover and tag in the Beast!

Cable enters the ring and heads right for the fallen High Tide. He lifts the pirate to his feet and begins to deliver a series of knife edged chops. One. Two. Three. Four. Cable goes for a fifth, but in desperation Tide reaches out and pokes Cable in the eye. Cable grabs his face, blinded momentarily.

Jerry Andrews: A poke to the eye by High Tide! Another example of how dirty the Freebooters really can be.

Al Laiman: It’s not dirty Jerry, it’s called staying in a match by whatever means necessary.

Manny Cruz warns High Tide, but the eye poke has served its purpose. Tide makes the tag to Wasp, who enters the ring and ducks under a huge right hand by Cable. He locks his arm around the man’s waist and with a large amount of exertion, executes a german suplex, but doesn’t let go. The two men are on their feet and Wasp unleashes another german suplex! Still Wasp has not let go of Cable, and as they rise to their feet once more, Wasp puts all his strength into completing the Hive guard with a third german suplex.

Both men are on the mat now, and St. Paul wants a tag badly. Wasp crawls forward and drapes his body over top of Cables. 1….2… broken up by St. Paul!
Tide is in the ring now too as Manny Cruz is losing control of the match. Tide points at the fallen Wasp, and then at St. Paul and bounces off the ropes. SSP bounces off the opposite ropes heading straight towards the angry pirate. Tide gets the better end of the deal, unleashing a devastating spear.

Jerry Andrews: I think that was High Tide’s weird way of acknowledging his partner’s efforts tonight by executing a Stinger.

Al Laiman: This is one of the closest tag team matches we have seen in awhile!

The referee gets Tide out of the ring, practically shoving him back to his corner, while St. Paul is eager to roll back to his. The Wasp and The Beast are both rising to their feet, but it’s Johnathan Cable who gets up first, and this gives him enough time to connect with a spinning back fist! Wasp goes down and Cable keeps on the attack. Wasp rises to his feet, where Cable sends him right back down with a leg sweep. Cable grabs one of Wasp’s legs, who knows what is coming but can’t stop it. The Beast locks in a figure four leg lock, and Wasp is crying out in pain.

Jerry Andrews: I would not want to be in Wasp’s position right now. Johnathan Cable is accomplished in the art of submissions and nobody wants to be in The Slammer!

Al Laiman: Jerry that’s the most amusing thing you’ve said in months! Could you imagine that, you in the ring?

Tide hasn’t entered the ring, but for once he is urging his partner on. Wasp is slowly inching towards the ropes which are not far out of reach. Cable attempts to drag him backwards, but Wasp’s forward momentum is greater, and finally, he manages to grab a hold of the ropes with an outstretched arm. Manny Cruz tells Cable to break the hold, and he reluctantly does so, but not until he’s dragged out the pain for a couple of seconds.

Cable is quickly back to his corner, where he tags Sebastian St. Paul into the match. SSP is quick on the attack, pulling Wasp to his feet and irish whipping him into the corner. On the rebound he lifts Wasp way high in the air, and delivers a crushing spinebuster. He immediately moves in for the pin. 1…2…3 NO!

Jerry Andrews: Wasp manages to get a shoulder up at the very very last second!

Al Laiman: The Freebooters aren’t going down without a fight!

St. Paul is frustrated and he forces Wasp to his feet again. He looks to be setting up Light’s Out, when Wasp lashes out with a desperate headbutt that connects, causing SSP to let go of him. Wasp sends him stumbling backwards with a dropkick and is making his way towards Tide as fast as he can go. Tide is leaning in to the ring as far as he possibly can, and just as Wasp leaps, St. Paul catches his back leg and begins pulling Wasp backwards.

Wasp suddenly kicks out with his remaining free leg, spinning and connecting with the side of St. Paul’s head. Both men land on their backs on the mat. Manny Cruz waits for a couple of moments, but both men are taking their sweet time rising. He begins the count. At four both men are on their knees, and by seven they are up on their feet. St. Paul locks up with Wasp, the force of this appearing to send Wasp back a few steps.

Suddenly High Tide slides in between the legs of both Sebastian St. Paul and Jule Martins and rolls up St. Paul with a schoolboy pin.

Jerry Andrews: What?! The Pirate’s Code?! Why?

Manny Cruz drops to the mat to make the count.

1.

Cable is confused but rushes into the ring anyways to break up the pin.

2.

Only to be superkicked in the face with the last bit of strength Wasp can muster.

Al Laiman: The Great White North!

3!

Jerry Andrews: I don’t understand! High Tide wasn’t the legal man! Why did the referee make the count?

Al Laiman: When St. Paul locked up with Wasp, they moved close enough to Tide, and he tagged himself in! I saw it, and clearly so did the referee!

Jerry Andrews: The bigger mystery is what happened to the mystery tag team?

Winner: The Flying Freebooters

As The Freebooters celebrate on the outside of the ring with their newly won tag team championships in hand, the lights begin to flicker. Subtly at first but soon, the strobing effect is UNBELIEVABLE. Finally, the system can no longer handle the pressure and completely fizzles out. The crowd is submerged into darkness. The crowd roars to life under the guise of the night ... they know what this is.

A Black Out.

Flash bulbs going off all over the arena, trying to light up the ring and ringside area. A mix of concern and anticipation, for we ALL know what happens when the lights go out in PCW. Especially lately. With the arena dropped into the abyss, the PCWtron lights up. The fuzzy static of a old television filling the screen, the black and white snow breaking the monotony ... but still not enough to light up the ring.

After several tense moments, the screen dies and ...

... the lights come back up.

... no video?

No soliloquy?

As the lights return to their normal brilliance, the crowd fears the worst as they turn their gaze to the ring. But to their utter amazement, BOTH the New Breed AND the Freebooters are still standing. No worse for the wear, it seems. Except, the Freebooters are causing a bit of a ruckus for some reason. As the camera moves in to check on what’s going on ....

... it’s apparent that the Tag Team Championships are gone!

The Freebooters are raising all levels of hell! Pointing fingers at the New Breed who are protesting and claiming their innocence, the referee is in a difficult position and somehow has to escort the Freebooters and the New Breed from the ring without this all blowing up again. As more officials pour from the back, we attempt to get things under control as the ring techs finally begin to set up the ring for the next match.

****

[Murdoc]

Match Five

"Rage in the Cage!'

Steel Cage Match

Tyler Scott vs. Non Compos Mentis

Referee: Tyrone Little

As referee Tyrone Little joins Mark Long in the ring, the camera pans to the ceiling of Pure Class Arena and the steel cage suspended from the rafters. Little and Long share a word or two before Mark Long introduces the match-up.

Mark Long: Ladies and gentlemen, the following contest is a Steel Cage Match! A winner may only be declared by pinfall, submission, or escaping the structure. Introducing first...

BOOM!

BOOM!

BOOM!

"Galvanise" by Chemical Brothers begins to play. The fans in Pure Class Arena leap to their feet and the cage descends from above.

Mark Long: From London, England, standing six foot one and weighing two hundred and thirty pounds, he is 'The British Lion,' Tyylerrrr Scottt!

At the sound of his name Tyler Scott flings the curtain aside and erupts onto the stage to the cheers of the PCW Faithful. He peels off his red and black biker jacket, dropping it off to the side as he makes his way down the ramp slapping outstretched hands.

Jerry Andrews: A warm reaction for Tyler Scott tonight, Al.

Al Laiman: Of course. He's made it his personal mission to stop this Non Compos Mess. If we're lucky, it all ends tonight.

Jerry Andrews: I can't see it being that easy.

Al Laiman: Is it ever?

Tyler Scott continues down the ramp, determined and focused, sliding into the ring as the steel cage reaches the canvas. He pounds on his head to psyche himself up, turning to the stage and staring through the cage, cursing Non Compos Mentis before he's even in sight. He tests the ropes, getting a feel for the distance between them and the steel, before starting to stretch.

“SCUM OF…THE EARTH… COME ON!”

Mark Long: And his opponent...

The heavy beat of drum and harsh guitar kick in immediately after the voice of Rob Zombie blasts over the PA system, almost drowning out Mark Long's introduction. The Faithful boo vehemently with forked tongues as the images of the notorious ‘Born Psycho’ flash across the PCW-Tron. They wait with no lack of vocal attacks for the man himself to arrive but he holds back until the voice erupts once more.

“YEAH! RUN AND KILL, DESTROY THE WILL, A HERO THAT DOESN’T EXIST! YEAH! SMOKING GUN, WELL I AM THE ONE, A BULLET HOLE IN YOUR FIST! YEAH!”

Mark Long: From the Streets of Buffalo, New York... weighing in at two hundred and fifty-five pounds, he is 'The Born Psycho' ... Non! Compos! Menntissss!!

Non Compos Mentis appears on the stage and the hatred in the air only intensifies. He grins his sadistic grin, staring a hole through the cage and into the eyes of Tyler Scott who can hardly wait, but wait he does. The Born Psycho holds his arms out in his signature cross, basking in the boos and revelling in the chaos he has caused since walking out on the World Championship.

Al Laiman: You can feel the hatred like it's slick on your skin, Jerry. And you know the worst part? Non Compos Mentis has orchestrated it. He's planned every moment, every attack, and earned back the title of Born Psycho.

Jerry Andrews: They call him the Hobo King, and Tyler Scott chose this stipulation for exactly that reason. He's hoping the former World Champion won't be able to play pied piper tonight.

Al Laiman: The cage is designed to keep them out, Jerry. You're right about that. But it can quickly become a prison. It can work just as well at keeping a man in.

“I’M BREATHING! I’M BLEEDING! I’M SCREAMING! SCUM OF… THE EARTH… COME ON!”

As the refrain hits he's striding to the ring, eyes never leaving Tyler Scott, yet he still manages to taunt and enrage the fans around him by raising his arms as he reaches the stairs at ringside. The second refrain explodes as he steps through the door, grinning his sadistic grin.

“I’M BREATHING! I’M BLEEDING! I’M SCREAMING! SCUM OF… THE EARTH… COME ON!”

The frenzied beat fades as the ringside official closes and locks the cage door behind him, trapping the two men and Tyrone Little inside. Non Compos Mentis walks to his corner and drops down to a seated position, mocking Tyler Scott who still stares with determined intent.

Al Laiman: Though this is Tyler Scott's match that he himself earned in the Hobo Gauntlet, Non Compos Mentis doesn't look one bit troubled.

Jerry Andrews: He's certifiably insane, Al. 'Troubled' is practically his raison d'etre.

Al Laiman: I didn't know you spoke French, Jerry.

With both men inside the cage and the crowd hot on their feet, Tyrone Little calls for the bell.

DING DING DING!

At the sound of the bell Non Compos Mentis pulls himself to his feet using the ropes. He takes a second to shake the cage, spit at the crowd, then turns and yells at Tyler Scott. Scott gestures for him to 'come on!' and then takes off at a dead sprint. A step behind, Mentis does the same, and he's taken down as Scott leaps and floors him with a Thesz Press!

Tyler Scott's raining closed-fisted shots on the head of Non Compos Mentis as he tries to cover up, but Scott's intensity is making it damn near impossible to block the brunt of the blows. With no disqualifications, Tyrone Little simply watches, quite possibly enjoying what he's seeing.

Al Laiman: When this is all said and done, Tyrone Little will have the best seat in the house for this beatdown.

Jerry Andrews: There will be a lot of beating to go around, Al.

Growing frustrated with Scott's onslaught, Non Compos Mentis uses his power to toss Scott off, and the British Lion rolls off to one side. Scrambling on the mat, Mentis follows him and drops a lunging double-axe handle on his back, knocking Scott to a prone position. The Born Psycho hops to his feet and drops a knee on the back of Scott's skull. Scott scrambles away now, turning on his knees and lunging forward, taking Non Compos Mentis down once more.

Again Scott is mounted atop the Hobo King, and again he's punching him over and over. Mentis bucks and rolls, managing to shift position until he's on top of Scott who holds in a full guard. He seizes Mentis's wrists to keep him from striking him, but Mentis resists and drops a hard hammer fist square on Scott's nose. The shock releases Scott's guard and Mentis retreats, laughing and checking his own nose for signs of blood.

Scott starts to stand and Mentis advances at a run, colliding with a running knee strike that sends Scott back to the mat. Non Compos Mentis lifts him in a facelock, grabs him by the neck, and sends him flying face first into the steel cage!

Al Laiman: Ouch! I know from experience... that reallly hurts!

Jerry Andrews: I have a feeling that won't be the last time we see the cage deal damage tonight.

Having dismantled Scott with unrelenting steel, Mentis lifts him only to scoop slam him back down, then goes on the heavy offensive with an elbow drop flurry. After two, three, four elbow drops in rapid succession, he covers Scott and waits for a count.

1...

...

Scott gets his shoulder up, and Mentis slams him back down hard, the back of Scott's head hitting the mat.

1...

...

Tyler Scott kicks out now, with enough force that Mentis is knocked away. With a surge of adrenaline Scott leaps to his feet at the same time Mentis reaches his. Mentis wades in and aims a stiff punch at Scott's eye, but Scott ducks it and sticks two knife-edged chops on the chest of the Born Psycho. Mentis swings back, and again Scott ducks. Standing headbutt by Tyler Scott! An uppercut elbow strike pops Mentis cartoonishly into the air and he falls flat on his back.

Tyler Scott scales the side of the cage until he's halfway up. Non Compos Mentis to his feet...

Al Laiman: Cross body block off the side of the cage!

Jerry Andrews: Pin attempt by Tyler Scott!

1...

...

2...

Kickout by Non Compos Mentis! Scott's up again and he's laying boots on Non Compos Mentis as he gets to one knee. An enziguri, and Non Compos Mentis is down once more. The British Lion grabs a handful of the Born Psycho's hair, pulling hard and hauling him to his feet. Implant DDT!

Jerry Andrews: This is an intensity from Tyler Scott we don't see often.

Al Laiman: He's been waiting long enough for this match, Jerry. I wouldn't expect anything less.

With Mentis down and dazed, Scott climbs to the top turnbuckle. He lines him up... top rope leg drop.

No!

Mentis rolls out of the way, and Scott crashes and burns as he lands hard on the canvas. Mentis continues his roll, all the way to the ropes, pulling himself up using rope and cage in tandem. Scott's getting up, his adrenaline still flowing. Yakuza Kick from Non Compos Mentis! Scott goes down, and Mentis takes a second to catch his breath. Picking up Tyler Scott, he works him back into the corner and starts to level him with stiff strikes. Right hand, left hand, a hard knee to the gut. He hoists Tyler Scott up so he's standing on the second rope. A slap to the throat doubles Scott over, and Mentis hooks him up for a suplex. Using Scott's position to his advantage, Mentis hits him with an extra impact snap suplex!

Flipping Scott over now, Mentis locks in a camel clutch. He sits deep on Scott's back, shouting obscenities as Scott struggles to escape. Tyrone Little is down on the mat to check on Scott's condition, and he's refusing to submit. Growing frustrated, Non Compos Mentis releases the hold in order to leap and land on Scott's back, forcing him down into the canvas. Once more he hooks in the camel clutch, and once more Scott refuses to give up. Non Compos Mentis torques the hold, giving all he's got to break Scott's back and make him humble, and still Scott resists. Mentis releases the hold to crush Scott under his weight once more.

Tyler Scott spins, and Mentis lands groin first on Scott's knees! Non Compos Mentis rolls away, wincing and holding onto his little hobos. This gives Scott a much needed chance to recover, and for a moment both men are out of commission.

Tyler Scott's the first to his feet now, and as the pain in the pit of his stomach subsides Mentis is soon to follow. They're moving to the center of the ring. Roundhouse kick by Scott, but Mentis doesn't go down! Instead he returns the favor with a gut kick, but the action causes him to relive the pain in his groin. The result? Both men doubled over, holding their midsections. But then they're up and punching at each other, Scott with lefts and Mentis with rights, neither gaining a clear advantage. First Scott is pushing Mentis back, then vice versa, and all of a sudden Scott steps back of his own accord to clear space. Standing dropkick, and Mentis is down!

Scott crawls over to the ropes and makes as though he's about to climb the cage. Mentis sees this and rushes to stop him. In essence, he takes the bait. Springboard clothesline from Tyler Scott! Mentis is down and Scott attempts the pinfall.

1...

...

2...

But Non Compos Mentis kicks out.

Al Laiman: These two are at war, Jerry!

Jerry Andrews: We've seen great ring awareness from Tyler Scott tonight. He has the Born Psycho scouted and playing into the palm of his hand.

Al Laiman: Only problem with that, Jerry, is that Mentis is a biter. Even when Scott gets the advantage Mentis finds some way to even the odds.

Optimistic about a pair of two counts, Tyler Scott continues to press knowing that he's starting to wear Mentis down with his unorthodox offense. Once again using Mentis's hard to lift him up, he irish whips the Born Psycho at the ropes. In a moment of his own awareness, Mentis hooks his arms on the top rope and stops his momentum. Scott closes in on the run, and Mentis tries to dump him over the top and into the cage! Scott shifts in mid-air, landing in the small space between the ropes at the cage. Mentis turns and eats an elbow to the face from Tyler Scott, which sends him stumbling toward the center of the ring with his back to the British Lion. Another springboard from Scott... diamond cutter!

Jerry Andrews: Mentis is down!

Al Laiman: What a move by Tyler Scott!

It only takes a second for Scott to regain his composure, and he's looking to Mentis and then to the cage, back to Mentis, back to the cage. He starts to climb!

Jerry Andrews: Does he have enough time to escape?

Al Laiman: If anything yet could keep Mentis down, that was it.

Scott's climbing, and it's relatively slow going. He's cleared the ropes, he's halfway up...

He’s nearly at the top...

But from the crowd, out of NOWHERE ... in comes the Horde! They swarm the ring like roaches; several violent vagrants all scaling the outside of the structure. Two have made it near the top just as Scott gets a hand on the top of the cage! Scott's fighting them off, alternating punching and holding on to the top with each hand. He knocks one down! But one more takes his place! There's three meddling bums at the top now, all preventing Tyler Scott from escaping.

Jerry Andrews: Mentis is still down!

Al Laiman: He's lucky he's got friends in low places!

Jerry Andrews: This is despicable, the match should be over!

Al Laiman: It ain't over til the fat hobo bathes, Jerry.

Jerry Andrews: Thanks for the imagery, Al.

Even as Scott knocks another hobo from the top of the cage, sending him crashing to the floor, it seems two more take his place. Four hobos at the top, two on the floor, and the odds aren't looking good for Tyler Scott. He's starting to lose his balance but still managing to fight them off.

Jerry Andrews: Wait, look!

Al Laiman: Is that Security? Finally!

Jerry Andrews No, Al! It's a brigade of PCW Officials!

Indeed Pure Class Wrestling's team of referees are running down the ramp, and the Cruz siblings quickly subdue the two on the floor keeping them away from the cage. Steve and Austin Shaw start scaling the cage themselves, catching up to the hobos near the top and trying to haul them down.

Scott's still battling at the top, and manages to knock another one down. He hits the floor and AJ Bennett and Nolan Burke pounce on him. The Shaw brothers manage to pull down another two, leaving Scott alone with one hobo at the top of the cage. The hobo connects with a hard punch, and Scott starts to lose his balance at the top of the cage. He glances behind him and sees that Non Compos Mentis is still down. Knowing he's going to fall, he makes a last second decision. He flails and knocks the final hobo down before turning and leaping toward Non Compos Mentis. Swan Dive Headbutt from the top of the cage!!

Jerry Andrews: Mentis rolls! He was playing possum!

Al Laiman: Makes sense, Jerry. Hobos have a lot of practice pretending to sleep...

Tyler Scott hits the canvas face first as Mentis just manages to avoid the ultra-high-risk maneuver! Wasting no time, the Born Psycho covers the British Lion.

1...

...

2...

...

...

Al Laiman: TYLER SCOTT KICKS OUT! HOW DOES HE DO IT?

In an amazing display of fortitude, Tyler Scott kicks out just before Tyrone Little can count to three. Non Compos Mentis can't believe it, and neither can the Faithful but they're on their feet screaming in what's easily the biggest pop of the night.

Mentis sits straight up, cursing Tyler Scott and watching him like a hawk. His attention shifts to the outside where the referees have successfully contained the Hobo Horde and now watch on intently, waiting for a clean finish to a match that deserves one. Non Compos Mentis spits curses at them before raising Tyler Scott to a seated position. He takes off at a run... Psychotic Break! Non Compos Mentis connects with a Roaring Elbow.

Jerry Andrews: Lateral press...

1...

Al Laiman: This should be it, Jerry...

...

Jerry Andrews: Don't sound so sad, Al.

...

2...

...

...

Al Laiman: TYLER SCOTT KICKS OUT AGAIN!!!!

And AGAIN the Faithful erupt, somehow louder than before, and every single person in the building is cheering for Tyler Scott and his incredible cajones. Non Compos Mentis goes, well, mental. He can't believe it, he stands and moves to Tyler Scott's feet, reaching down and grabbing him around the throat to pick him up.

Jerry Andrews: Triangle Hold by Tyler Scott!!

In an act of utter defiance, Tyler Scott locks Non Compos Mentis in a triangle hold and is doing everything he can to squeeze the air from his lungs. Mentis is rocking back and forth trying to break free, but Scott's grip is firm. Tyrone Little's down and in his face, asking him if he wants to tap out. Mentis refuses, still rocking back and forth. He picks Tyler Scott up clean... and slams him down!

But Scott doesn't let go!

Al Laiman: How is he holding on?

Again Mentis picks him up... and again he slams him! And again Scott holds on! Mentis is clearly winded, his energy almost all spent, but the same can be said for Tyler Scott after battling six hobos and falling twenty feet to the canvas. One more time Mentis picks him up... one more time he slams him down...

And this time it's enough! The British Lion finally breaks his hold. In sheer anger Non Compos Mentis lifts his boot and brings it crashing down across the face of Tyler Scott with a sickening stomp. The arena goes quiet. Even Al Laiman is speechless. For the first time in the match Tyrone Little is reprimanding somebody, and it's Non Compos Mentis for what could be considered an unsportsmanlike display of aggression. But who would ever confuse the Born Psycho for a sportsman?

In fact, it doesn't even phase him as he picks up Tyler Scott and locks a double underhook. Fractured Mind by Non Compos Mentis! He makes the pin and the conclusion is foregone.

1...

...

2...

...

...

Or is it?

...

...

3!

Tyrone Little calls for the bell and immediately jumps between Non Compos Mentis and Tyler Scott. Little and Mentis engage in a staredown as "Scum of the Earth" sounds out in the arena. Rob Zombie can barely be heard over the boos from the Faithful. Non Compos Mentis spreads his arms in his trademark cross, turning away from Tyrone Little and toward the fans to gloat and insult. They're booing, and booing, and he's loving it.

Winner: Non Compos Mentis

But then they start to cheer.

Jerry Andrews: I don't believe it...

Al Laiman: Is he? He should... He should stay down, Jerry.

Tyler Scott's up to one knee. Tyrone Little's down at his level, saying something to him, but Tyler Scott's shaking his head and telling him to get out of the way. Non Compos Mentis turns to find Tyler Scott rising, and the look on the Born Psycho's face is one of disbelief and pure hatred.

Jerry Andrews: The battle's over...

Al Laiman: But Tyler Scott's still at war!

In a moment of his own insanity, the British Lion charges and tackles Non Compos Mentis to the mat. The steel cage is still in place, and the Hobo Horde begins to resist the referees who still have them at bay. One hobo breaks free and attempts to scale the cage, but two officials haul him down.

Inside the ring Tyler Scott's unloading on Mentis, browbeating him into the canvas. Mentis is trying to fight back but the onslaught is uncanny, and soon Tyler Scott's in full control. He stands, and stomps, and stomps, and stomps, bringing his boots down on Mentis's face and neck, chest and back. He's practically on fire and the Faithful are the fuel, going bananas at this much-deserved beatdown. "Scum of the Earth" is cut off and soon the only sounds are the screams of the Faithful as Tyler Scott raises Non Compos Mentis to his feet, never relenting. He drags him to one side and slams his face off the cage. And then to the next. And the next! And the next! Non Compos Mentis's face hits four sides of steel and Tyler Scott drags him to the center of the ring. The Born Psycho can barely stand but Scott's supporting him with one hand while chopping, punching, and elbowing with the other.

Al Laiman: He's gone ballistic!

The British Lion gets the Born Psycho in position for his signature STO.

Jerry Andrews: Will we see a Sudden Impact?

The crowd cheers Tyler Scott on ... they know what they want to see! As Tyler Scott nods his head, even Tyrone Little is in the background cheering Scott on. A huge grin spreading across his face ... he does it! Planting NCM with the Sudden Impact, the ring shakes with the force and Tyler Scott begins to climb the cage to celebrate. Finally driving the nail in the coffin of NCM, a measure of revenge against the Born Psycho ... Tyrone Little and Tyler Scott finally wind their way out of the ring after celebrating heartily with the fans and we go backstage ...



****



... to absolute chaos.

Skylar Marshall is face-to-face with the Flying Freebooters who are absolutely LIVID at the aftermath of their win over the New Breed earlier in the evening. Tide and Wasp are both directly in Skylar Marshall’s face, who is listening intently with all the respect and gravitas that situation deserves. Finally, once Wasp and Tide settle a bit to allow Marshall to offer them a solution to the problem ...

Gentlemen, gentlemen ... PLEASE. Look, I know we haven’t been on the best of terms the past few weeks and I can appreciate your anger at the situation. Be that as it may, let me make one thing clear:

I DO NOT HAVE YOUR BELTS.

You earned those titles tonight, why would I take them from you? Just because you decided to go into business for YOURSELVES instead of Marshall’s Law ... -achem- But hey. Congrats on your win. We’ll see what we can do about getting your belts returned to you. Right now though, I have to get ready to return ANOTHER belt to its’ rightful owner.

Isn’t that right, Justin?

With a knowing nod, Marshall glances over his shoulder at Justin Kaard who stands a fair distance behind Skylar. Head bowed, he doesn’t even look up at the man ... he simply nods as Marshall begins to walk away. Justin looking after Marshall as he walks off, a small ... almost unnoticed smile creeps over his features as he follows Marshall past the Freebooters ...

... who begin their ranting anew.

****

Match Six
Lumberjack Match for the International Championship
"Nowhere Left To Run!"
Ace Anderson vs. Whitey Ford (International Champion)
Referee: Eddie Lane

Mark Long: The next match, scheduled for one fall, is for the PCW INTERNATIONAL CHAMPIONSHIP!

"Pain Redefined" plays, sounding out and competing with the crowd as stage lights flicker with the first echoing notes. The light drumline begins, and the lights pick up speed. With each exclamation by the vocalist three short bursts of red and blue fireworks rocket toward the ceiling. On cue with the lyrics, Ace Anderson erupts from behind the curtain, arms raised.

Jerry Andrews: Ace Anderson has had his eyes set on Whitey Ford and the International Title for months. Tonight, just maybe, he could become PCW’s very first Grand Slam Champion!

Al Laiman: A lot of that may just depend on the men he’s chosen to be by his side though. This is a Lumberjack Match, after all.

He takes a few seconds to survey the sound and the scene, before he turns to the curtain and the crowd calls out as three individuals walk through to join him. Jonathan Cable and Sebastian St. Paul are the first to join him, receiving a big pop from the fans of the New Breed Foundation. But as the third of Anderson’s lumberjacks walks out the fan reaction gets even louder. Out from the back walks Q, battered after the previous Trauma but ready for his duties.

Jerry Andrews: There are Anderson’s three selections and what a gamble Q may be, Al?

Al Laiman: He’s got an Icey to prove he’s PCW’s most loved star, but you have to admit he’s unpredictable. But he’s paid his dues to appear in this role, Ace must have a lot of trust in his man.

Mark Long: Introducing first, he stands at 6 feet, six inches and weighs 275 pounds ... the challenger ....

ACE .... ANDERSOOOOOOOOOOOON!

The quartet walks to the ring and Ace does so with long strides, looking determined and mentally preparing himself. He reaches the ring, stops, looks left and then right at the crowd as if he makes to jump up to the apron as he always had in the past. A momentary pause and he leaps, landing on the outside of the ring. Pyrotechnics blast from the ringposts as his feet hit the apron, and he shakes the top rope while the fireworks die out. He climbs through the second rope and raises his fists, gauging the ovation of PCW's Faithful before stretching in his corner.

Disturbed cuts off and is replaced with Critical Acclaim (and massive boos) which starts to play, and the lights dim down to darkness, except for the stage. The PCWtron plays clips of Whitey Ford hitting his finishers and trademarks, like the Wasted-Land, the Hangover From Hell and the Backtoss Piledriver. Once the heavy guitars kick in, Whitey walks out onto the stage with his arms held open, soaking in the crowd reaction with an arrogant smile. Over his shoulder, the International Title is draped.

Jerry Andrews: Whitey Ford has held the International Title for well over a year now. No matter what you think of his tactics, you have to admit his reign is beyond impressive.

Al Laiman: Absolutely it’s impressive. And his tactics are exactly what they should be for a champion in his position. You do whatever you can to retain and he’ll have to do that and more tonight.

Mark Long: And now, introducing ... the champion. He stands 6 feet, 3 inches tall and weighs in at 220 pounds. He is THE Asshole and the PCW International Champion .... WHITEYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY FORD!

He doesn't waste much time on the stage and continues down the ramp, not afraid to mouth off to the fans if they get too vocal along the way. As he reaches the bottom of the ramp he halts and signals to the top of the ramp, bringing out his nominated Lumberjacks… first, the duo of the Flying Freebooters who are out to represent the ominous presence of Marshall’s Law. There is a short delay as both men walk out and Ford looks slightly uneasily toward the curtain, waiting for his third and final man to walk out.

Jerry Andrews: Well I don’t think anyone is surprised to see Marshall’s Law flying the flag out here but where’s the third man?

There’s a moment of unease before, finally, a figure steps out…. ‘The Archangel’ Gabriel Cross! The cocky steps of Cross follow the Freebooters down the ramp but he seems resistant to getting too close to his uneasy allies.

Al Laiman: Looks like Marshall’s Law have themselves a new mercenary! Haha.

Jerry Andrews: Gabriel Cross is the third of Whitey Ford’s lumberjacks and you have to wonder if that will have thrown Ace Anderson at all.

Ford continues to the ring and climbs inside, making a few last minute preparations as the referee checks both men. Eddie Lane then makes sure that all of the Lumberjacks are in place and ready before finally signalling for the bell. It rings out with a ding and the crowd show that they are more than up for this match already, cheering wildly.

Ace immediately makes his way forward, knowing that he will need to go on the offensive and prevent Whitey from dictating the pace with his much superior speed. But he isn’t able to block his opponent into his corner as Ford sees him coming and dashes away, beginning to circle the larger man. Waiting for the PCW veteran to make a move, Ford keeps moving and soon gets his wish as Anderson goes for a Double Leg Takedown. A kick to the arm greets Ace as he quickly regains his feet and shakes off the blow, but soon tries a second time. This time Ace is met with another short, sharp kick to the shoulder and is forced to back off.

Al Laiman: A cautious start here, Ford knows he has to keep his distance and not let Anderson get close enough to use his mat skills and his power.

Around the outside, the lumberjacks continue to watch, tensed and ready for their moment of action. Inside, however, the action is slow as Ford plays a scruffy form of Rope-a-Dope with the PCW Legend and evades another attempt to take his legs. This time Ford jumps on Ace, rolling him up in an Oklahoma Roll.

One…
Kick Out!

The wily Ford gets to his feet and immediately hits the ropes as a stunned Anderson finds his bearings again. He looks up just in time to see Whitey attack him with a Clothesline and ducks, sending him into the other ropes. This time Ace is waiting for him and when Whitey returns he uses his momentum against him, throwing him over the top rope. Ford just about hangs on to the top rope and lands on the apron, but as he looks relieved the wolves begins to circle.

Jerry Andrews: That’s Q and the New Breed’s side of the ring!

Anderson’s chosen Lumberjacks approach the Asshole on the apron who realizes his predicament just in time and jumps eagerly back into the ring…. Too eagerly. As he signals tough luck to the lumberjacks he turns straight into a big right haymaker from Anderson, sending him flying back into the ropes. Anderson unleashes a combo of strikes against Ford, vicious rights and lefts to the body designed to drive the air out of him. With Ford sufficiently weakened, Anderson grabs his arm and whips him across the ring before ducking his head for a Back Body Drop. Whitey reacts by screeching to a halt and lifting his laces straight into Ace’s grill.

As Anderson recoils from the strike, Ford backs into the ropes and rebounds, looking to attack but again Anderson moves and throws him across the ring. He uses the speed and jumps onto the middle rope, springing and rotating backwards into a Springboard Crossbody… but Ace catches him out of mid air! Going for a high impact Powerslam, Anderson tries to transition Ford onto his shoulder but the slimy opponent slides out and nails a cheap but effective Chop Block to the back of Anderson’s knee.

Al Laiman: Whitey now needs to keep Ace grounded where he’s unable to get the leverage he needs for any takedowns of his own.

Ford attacks the downed Anderson with a flurry of kicks to the body but his opponent threatens to push through them and get back to his feet. Not wanting this, Whitey backs up and unleashes a vicious High Roundhouse Kick to the head… but still he doesn’t put Anderson down!

Out of mild shock Ford merely watches as Anderson pushes himself back to his feet and trudges forward toward him. Finally Whitey snaps out and, out of instinct, dives to the outside to compose himself and work out some strategy. He has forgotten, however, that Q, Cable and St. Paul are all waiting for him on the outside. Q stands in front of him while the New Breed Foundation flank him from either side, giving no option for escape.

“Whoa boys, let’s all calm down here.” Can be heard as Ford tries to reason with the three men, or perhaps stall as his own Lumberjacks make their way around to help. They’re nowhere near, though, when two massive hands reach down from the ring and grab Ford by the ears. From inside the ring, Anderson hauls Whitey back up to the apron and looks to Suplex him back inside, only to receive a desperation Guillotine on the top rope.

Jerry Andrews: Another cheap move by Ford!

Al Laiman: Another NECESSARY move by Ford!

Ford struggles to gain his composure on the apron but he spots Anderson in trouble as he tries to get his breath in the middle of the ring. Before Q and the New Breed can attack him, Ford leaps onto the top rope and throws himself of, hitting a spectacular and impactful Springboard European Uppercut straight to the jaw! The rocked Anderson staggers backwards and bounces back off the ropes, right into a Snapmare from Ford as he finally puts Anderson on the mat. To add insult to injury, Whitey slams his shin straight into the back of Ace’s cranium who rolls his eyes worryingly. Taking his opportunity, Whitey begins to climb the turnbuckle behind Ace and reaches the top easily before Anderson has even begun to recover from the kick. With Ace playing the part of a sitting duck perfectly, Ford throws himself off the top and plummets feet first with a horrifying Missile Dropkick to the neck!

Jerry Andrews: That could have knocked Anderson out cold!

Ford hooks the leg of the barely moving big man and pins…

One…
Two….
NO! Shoulder up!

Anderson gets his shoulder off the mat and tries to shake off the assault, but Ford won’t let him off so easily. As Anderson pushes himself to a knee, Whitey shoves him over to the ropes and drapes his head over the middle, pushing down and choking Ace. Eddie Lane immediately starts his count and reaches four before Whitey releases his hold. Just a second later, and to the PCW Faithful’s massive distain, Ford drops his pressure back onto the head of Anderson and chokes him again.

Q, Jonathan Cable and Sebastian St. Paul can only look on as Lane makes his count once more. Thankfully, after four Ford lets go and drops Ace to the mat before pinning again.

One…
Two….
Kick Out again!

Getting to his feet, Ford looks to the outside of the ring and the gathering forces of his own Lumberjacks and gets an idea. Purposefully he kicks Anderson to the apron and drops him to the outside where High Tide, Jule Martin and Gabriel Cross are waiting.

Jerry Andrews: Dangerous territory here for Anderson, he has to get back in the ring, or find some space to recover.

But Anderson can’t find any space as the Flying Freebooters freely lay their boots into his back. There is nowhere to go, no escape as Tide and Wasp continue to strike away while Cross holds back for a moment. Finally the New Breed come to Anderson’s rescue and force the Freebooters back who are clearly not up for a fight. Anderson climbs back to his feet as both tag teams return to their places… but Gabriel Cross is still very much present.

Anderson gets up and… Cross drives him straight back into the apron, crushing his back and kidneys. Cross continues with his educated strikes as Ford climbs out of the ring and approaches him from behind. In the midst of Gabriel’s assault, Ford cockily places a hand on his shoulder and pulls him back as if to say “Very good, now it’s my turn.”. Whitey moves forward and attacks with a collection of punches of his own, but is halted in his tracks when he gets pulled back by his very own Lumberjack, Cross.

Al Laiman: What the hell is Cross doing?

Jerry Andrews: I don’t think he’s playing ball with Marshall’s Law!

Whitey questions Cross and a look of disrespect crosses the face of ‘The Archangel’ who isn’t used to being told what to do. Getting right in Cross’s face, Whitey doesn’t seem to realise that he’s too close and suddenly takes a vicious punch to the chin, followed by a collection of Muay Thai knee strikes that stun him entirely. Before Whitey knows what’s happening, Cross takes him by the head and throws him into the ring, closely followed by Anderson.

Al Laiman: Marshall needs to pay his mercenary better, he’s gone rogue!

Jerry Andrews: Who said Cross was ever aligned with Marshall’s Law, he could have played them all along to get involved with the Champion!

Whitey struggles to comprehend what just happened and it’s just enough time to allow Ace to get his breath back. As Ford gets to his feet he turns and walks straight into a big Clothesline from Anderson. He gets back to his feet quickly but is hit straight away by a second Clothesline from the veteran who winds up for a third. This time Whitey looks to block the attack, but Anderson is smart and swerves, instead transitioning into an unexpected rear waist lock and dropping Ford to the mat with a traditional Mat Slam.

Now Ace’s power and mat skill come into their own as he keeps the waist lock applied in the form of a Rear Bearhug. He clutches tight to drive the air out of Ford’s lungs while Eddie Lane asks for the submission. Ford exasperatedly says no and receives another jerk of agony as Ace tightens the hold. The seconds pass and Ford weakens considerably, enough for him to shift his and Ford’s bodies and roll into a bridging pin, exactly as you’d see from a Bridging German Suplex.

One…
Two…
NO!

Ford just rolls his shoulder off the mat in time but remains in the hold. Realising that the hold is still sapping his energy, Ace again rolls Ford into the pin, making him expend more of his reserves.

One…
Two…
TH..NO!

There is a look of desperation on the face of Whitey who knows he must escape the hold soon or else he’ll be stuck in this predicament until he loses. With this attitude he tries to push himself to his feet, but Ace knows his plans and has one of his own. As Ford gets up to a knee, Ace uses all his strength and hauls him up into the air for a massive German Suplex… but Whitey lashes out at the last moment, hitting Ace in the temple with an Elbow. Ace tries to keep his hands locked but a second hit forces him to release. With Ace temporarily stunned, Ford looks back over his shoulder and throws himself backward with a phenomenal Backflip Kick to the top of Ace’s skull. Ace stumbles uncontrollably back onto the ropes and when he rebounds, Whitey lands a boot to the midsection before spiking him down with a ferocious Snap DDT!

Jerry Andrews: The momentum swings back towards Ford!

Al Laiman: But what kind of toll has that submission move taken? You have to assume that Ace will be targeting the back and midsection if he can get back into this contest.

Whitey slowly gets to his feet and sees that Anderson is still down on the mat, deciding that now is the time to go high risk. He moves out onto the apron and begins to climb. He wastes valuable seconds looking down to the floor as Q and the New Breed close in. Making haste now, Whitey climbs to the top and looks into the ring… only to see Ace Anderson waiting for him, still woozy but able to see the incoming threat. He acts fast and jumps into the corner, throwing a hard uppercut straight into the chin of Whitey.

Climbing to meet Whitey on the second rope, Ace moves well outside of his comfort zone and the two begin to brawl wildly. Fists fly with rights and lefts being exchanged by both men but neither getting an advantage as Whitey counters Anderson’s size with the higher ground. Finally, the strength and superior striking ability of Anderson wins through and he fires off a combo of open-handed chops that echo around the arena much to the delight of the fans. The PCW Faithful begin to chant ‘An-der-son! An-der-son!’ in support of the legend, but they’re stopped in their tracks by a disgusting thumb to the eye from Ford who gasps in relief at the respite offered.

Al Laiman: Again Ford does what he has to in order to get free from Anderson’s grasp.

Jerry Andrews: Other people call that cheating, Al.

Al Laiman: Did he get DQ’d Jerry?

Anderson tries to shake off the cheap shot and rush forward, but as he does Ford uses his new alertness and leaps over his charging opponent, landing with a roll and a quick turn. As Anderson hits the turnbuckles and turns, Ford runs with all his speed and hits a huge Running European Uppercut straight across the chest and all the way up to Anderson’s chin. Anderson collapses out of the corner and again he goes high risk, climbing the turnbuckles to look for an ending to this match.

Reaching the top turnbuckle, Whitey looks down at the struggling form of Anderson who is on his feet but reeling from the attack. With no hesitation Whitey launches himself high into the air and flies towards Ace with a spectacular Flying Crossbody….but Ace catches him!

Out of nowhere Ace plucks Whitey out of the air and throws him backwards with a Fallaway Slam, keeping hold of him to execute a technically perfect Bridging pin.

One…
Two…
THREE….NO!

Whitey gets his shoulder up at the last moment and Eddie Lane has to specific the two count to Anderson and what seems like every fan in the arena. With a flush of adrenaline through his system, Anderson immediately transitions into a Rear Waist Lock and uses all of his considerable strength to lift Ford clean off the mat, into the air and float him over with an unbelievable Deadlift German Suplex, bridging again for the pin.

One…
Two….
THREE!

Jerry Andrews: NO! Kick Out!

Al Laiman: Ford needs to get some distance here and recuperate otherwise Anderson is going to pounce!

This time Anderson shows a display of disbelief to the referee who insists that the count was only two. Instead of going for another pinning predicament, Ace chooses to inflict more damage and he pulls Whitey back to his feet. Unable to defend himself, Whitey is forced back into the corner so that he faces out into the crowd and Anderson hammers away into his back with forearms to weaken him further.

There’s a cheer from the fans as Anderson pulls Whitey out of the corner and sets him up for a Backdrop. He hauls Whitey into the air but the damaged champion manages to roll through and land on his feet. Running on instinct, Whitey hits the hopes and rebounds with pace, but Ace is still the fresher man and uses his strength to throw Whitey high into the air with a massive Flapjack! Whitey does up so far he comes down with snow on, but on the way down he throws an arm out and latches onto Anderson, before hitting an Armdrag out of nowhere!

Anderson is thrown clear and lands on the outside of the ring, right in the middle of the wrong side of town. Ford climbs to his feet and he looks down at Ace and the two men closing in on him, The Flying Freebooters. Ford shouts down to them to grab his challenger and they do so, pulling Anderson to his feet right in front of the apron.

Jerry Andrews: Come on! They should be throwing him back in, not just holding him there!

But that is all they do, Tide and Wasp hold Anderson in place as Ford takes aim and rushes the ropes. He rebounds with pace and throws himself through the ropes with an undefended Baseball Slide Dropkick straight to the sternum! Anderson goes limp in the arms of the Freebooters but Whitey isn’t satisfied, instead he gets back to his feet and hits the ropes again. The Freebooters can barely lift Anderson in time for Whitey’s boots to impact again, this time with a Dropkick straight to the face!

Al Laiman: That’s called resourcefulness!

Jerry Andrews: I’d call that a disgrace. Whitey can’t win on his own so he’s using the Flying Freebooters!

Finally the New Breed and Q move into position to make the Freebooters reconsider their actions. There is a tense moment between the Lumberjacks…. That ends with Gabriel Cross interjects and hits Jule Martin into the face, allowing a shocked Anderson to crawl back into the ring to the disgust of Whitey Ford.

Ford waits for a second, trying to decide whether or not to admonish Cross, but instead he refocuses on Anderson who is crawling back to his knees. Just as Anderson pops his head up to take a look around, Whitey aims the crosshairs and fires off a shuddering, violent Enziguri Kick to the back of the head, that he calls the Hangover From Hell and hooks the leg for a pin.

One…
Two….
THRE…NO!

Anderson still manages to get his shoulder up after the abuse but he is clearly worse for wear. There is barely any movement from him after his kick out, but Whitey knows he still has to inflict more damage if he’s going to win. With that notion in mind, Ford grabs Anderson by his head and pulls him up to his feet. There is little hesitation as Ford lifts the whole weight of Anderson onto his shoulders. With the much larger man weighing down on him, Ford doesn’t waste time in taunting for one, instead the pulls back and throws Anderson forward with the Wasted Land!

But Ace hangs on! He hangs on and somehow rolls through so that he is able to lock in a grounded Abdominal Stretch on the smaller man.

Jerry Andrews: An amazing counter from Anderson! I don’t know if Whitey can escape this!

With the Abdominal Stretch locked in, Anderson uses his free arm to lock in a painful Dragon Sleeper too! The full version of the Superior Stretch is locked in and Ford tries desperately to reach for the ropes but he is nowhere near. Eddie Lane asks for a submission but again Ford tells him no, despite the clear sight of him fading.

Al Laiman: The abuse to Ford’s midsection and back has been a constant in this match, it can’t be long before he has to give up.

Ford tries to fight but there is still a long way to go and again Lane requests that he gives up, only to be sent away one more time. Drawing energy from somewhere, Ford tries lashes out as hard as he can and manages to hit Anderson in the eye, causing him to flinch and lose control of the hold. With his opponent momentarily distracted, Ford grabs his head and throws himself backwards through the air, hitting an amazing and desperate Standing Shiranui ring in the middle of the ring!

Jerry Andrews: Desperation move from Ford and Anderson may be out cold!

Whitey drapes his arm over the body of Anderson, watching as the referee counts.

One…
Two…
THREE!
NO!

Again the count is a millisecond under three before Anderson somehow manages to get his shoulder off the mat. Ford can only look at the referee in complete frustration and disbelief, with a resolve to put the match away. At that he moves to the corner one more time, climbing with purpose. He reaches the top and looks down into the ring where Anderson is now stirring but still down.

Jerry Andrews: 540 SPLASH?!

Ford throws himself high into the air, getting more than enough height for the rotations needed to execute his phenomenal finishing manoeuvre… but as he does Anderson has a flash of adrenaline and jumps back to his feet! The plummeting form of Whitey Ford instead lands on the shoulders of Anderson who struggles to control the sheer amount of force but somehow manages to place his hands on his chest and throw him down with a desperation Exemplifier!

Jerry Andrews: An Exemplifier out of nowhere!

Al Laiman: But he didn’t get all of it!

Ford, having hit the mat and rolled, lands outside the ring on Anderson’s side. Q looks at the man on the ground for a moment and contemplates attacking him, but then grabs the dead weight of Whitey Ford and shoves him laboredly back into the ring. Anderson falls to the mat out of exhaustion one more time and drags himself over to the body of Ford, placing little more than a hand on him.

ONE!
TWO!
THREE!

NO!

Ford lifts his shoulder off the mat but only just enough to break the count. There is a roar of unbelievable noise from the crowd, a mixture of boos for Ford’s resistant, cheers for Anderson’s near victory and a mixture of everything else in between.

Both men begin to stir on the mat, completely spent and barely able to support their own weight. But still they try, driven by instinct. It is Anderson who makes the most progress, slowly and tiredly reaching his feet and stumbling back into the corner. Ford manages to reach his knees but there it finishes for him. The crowd begins to chant again, ‘An-der-son! An-der-son!’ Ace feeds off the energy and pushes himself out of the corner.

With Ford still on his knees, Anderson has his chance and he signals for the Exemplifier one more time. He takes Ford by the head and pulls him up before lifting him high into the air for the powerbomb and…. Whitey falls out of the back door!

Al Laiman: There’s still life in Whitey Ford!

Anderson turns around when he realizes what has happened, but he is too late as the adrenaline driver Ford smashes into his ribs with a horrifying Rehab Spear!

Jerry Andrews: Dear god what an impact! But Anderson is still moving… somehow!

The look on Ford’s face is one of satisfaction but also of understanding that he still needs to do more. With that his eyes turn to ringside and the figures of the Freebooters. He looks at them for a moment and then says something to them, an order for them to get into the ring. The Freebooters follow the order and climb into the ring to help their stablemate as they did earlier. This time they hold Anderson up in preparation for another Spear and Whitey hits the ropes…

..But his foot is caught by Gabriel Cross and he’s pulled to the outside of the ring! Inside, the Freebooters are suddenly set upon by The New Breed who tackle their rivals to the ground and brawl with them all the way to the outside, leaving Anderson as the only man in the ring. On the outside, Whitey can only look at Cross and shout obscenities at him, questioning what he was even doing at ringside if his goal was sabotage. Cross doesn’t answer in words, only in a cocky smile that forces Ford into action… grabbing Cross and throwing him straight over the announce table!

Jerry Andrews: What the hell…!

A crackle of static cuts off the commentators as they run for cover and Whitey jumps back in the ring to finish his business. With a new rush of adrenaline and an apparent second wind, Whitey grabs a decimated Anderson by the head and sets him up for the Backtoss Piledriver.

“There’s no way…” can be heard mutely on the broadcast cameras as Jerry Andrews’ voice travels from the still in-operational commentary position. Ford uses all the strength he has and hauls the weight of Anderson up, managing to get him there with an immense effort.

A gasp escapes from the crowd as the feat, or maybe as a figure dives into the ring. Completely defenzeless, Ford can only watch with Ace suspended on his shoulders as Gabriel Cross gets to his feet holding a chair. He pulls back and before the referee or Ford can do anything…

CRASH!

Cross slams the steel chair over the head of the International Champion who collapses into a heap under the weight of Anderson. Eddie Lane has no choice but to call for the bell as all hell breaks loose in the arena!

Mark Long: The winner by Disqualification and… STILL PCW International Champion, WHITEY FORD!

Winner: Whitey Ford

Cross not done with his chair-swinging momentum, he brings the chair down on Ace’s back several times ... and throws another one to Whitey for good measure. Tossing the chair out of the ring, he smiles to the crowd and poses for a few seconds. THIS is what he wanted ALL ALONG! As the crowd jeers Gabriel Cross for ruining what was turning out to be a spectacular match, he rolls out of the ring and makes his way to the ring announcer position where he ... grabs the INTERNATIONAL CHAMPIONSHIP BELT!

Gabriel Cross has just stolen the International Championship!

With a sick smile and very proud of himself, Gabriel Cross simply walks from ringside and strolls his way up the entrance ramp ... disappearing from the view of the audience ....

****

... for all of two seconds, that is.

A cameraman backstage is already there and has caught up with Gabriel Cross. And it’s obvious he’s not sticking around to survey the fruits of his labor and his handiwork. As he clutches the belt like a child and its’ favorite toy, Cross meanders his way through the backstage area of the arena ... searching for the nearest exit. Going so far as to stop at the back door and strap the belt around his waist, he looks at the glinting metal under the fluorescent lights and is in that moment, at peace. He has what he deserves.

Suddenly ...

... the lights start to flicker.

The backstage lights.

And ONLY the backstage lights.

Gabriel notices this and wisely goes for the door ...

... but not before the lights cut out.

The only light being the light of the camera, we hear a metallic CRASH and a thud in the interim while the cameraman struggles to switch his portable light on. But his efforts are in vain, for as soon as the camera’s main light is switched on ... so are the rest of the backstage lights. And we are treated to the sight of Gabriel Cross laid out on the floor. Blood beginning to flow from his forehead, the International Championship is notable in its’ absence. No sign of Whitey Ford’s Championship, the cameraman can be heard calling for assistance as we head back to the ring.

WHAT IS GOING ON HERE?!

****

Main Event
Triple Threat World Championship Match; 2-out-of-3 Falls
"Reunification!"
Justin Kaard (World Champion) vs. Justin Michaels vs. Michael Wryght (World Champion)
Referee: Eric Russo

The lights flash in time with the intro to "Attack" as Justin Kaard takes the stage. Bouncing on the balls of his feet, Justin loosens up before the match. With slow determination he walks to the ring, ignoring the cheers and/or jeers of the audience. Mostly jeers, thanks to the company he’s keeping as he walks to the ring. Skylar Marshall.

The leader of Marshall’s Law.

Al Laiman: Here we go, Jerry! It’s the Main Event!

Mark Long: Ladies and gentlemen, THIS is YOUR Main Event of the evening ... and it is for the PCW World Championshiiiiiiiiiiip!

Coming to the ring he moves to the side and takes a running start before sliding across the apron on one knee. He grabs the ropes before hitting the turnbuckle and vaults over the ropes. Once in the ring, Kaard runs to the far turnbuckle and leaps to the second rope. He raises his arms, crossing them at the wrists before jumping from the turnbuckle and back into the ring.

Mark Long: Introducing first, weighing in at -

Just cuts Mark Long off and snatches the microphone out of his hand. Skylar claps Justin on the back and nods with a big grin on his face as he makes his way to the commentary position. He shakes Al’s hand, goes to shakes Jerry’s but thinks better of it and sits down besides the two ... demanding a headset and looking around for the nearest lackey to bring him one.

Once he’s miked up, Skylar immediately takes over.

Skylar: Gentlemen. What we have HERE is the FUTURE of PCW. The future of the company is in the ring, so you might want to pay close attention to him

Justin looks out at the crowd, then to Skylar Marshall and nods as if he knows exactly what he is about to say. Almost as if he’s been rehearsing it in his mind over and over all day.

Ladies and gentlemen, TONIGHT ... I will be the World Champion. There is not a SINGLE doubt in my mind that everyone of you will be forced to see that I am what this company needs right now. Excitement. Thrills. Great television! Who else can deliver the non-stop rollercoaster ride of pure ADRENALINE that I can? Not Showtime. Not Stormm. Not Andy D. ... especially not Andy D. I don’t get why you people like losers like Andy D and Q and Kelli Starr so much. They’re NOBODIES! I AM THE WORLD CHAMPION!

The crowd boos at Justin running down their heroes, but Skylar isn’t exactly shy on his thoughts.

Skylar: Listen to the man, Jerry. Al, you already know he’s speaking the truth. He IS PCW’s Highlight Reel! This man has had some of the most memorable matches in PCW HISTORY! These fans need to realize what they’re seeing is history in the making. This is Justin’s big time arrival.

Kaard scans out over the crowd.

But right now, I’m not here to talk about THEM. There’s something I’ve been meaning to do, and I’ve been waiting for TONIGHT to do it. Skylar, I want you to stand up.

Skylar moves from his chair and claps for Justin, looking around at the crowd and surveying the house the Marshall built.

Skylar, you’ve done a lot for me. I can’t deny that. You’ve given me every opportunity to prove that I am the BEST thing going in PCW today. For that, you have my unending gratitude.

Skylar nods and smiles big, he knows this is where it all begins again. He knows which horse to bet on.

And Skylar, I AM going to win the World Title tonight. You’re right about that.

...

.... BUT IT’S NOT GOING TO BE WITH YOU BEHIND ME!

The crowd gives voice to the look that immediately comes across Skylar Marshalls face: shock.

Skylar Marshall, I’ve had enough of your pandering! You’ve been babysitting Michael Wryght and Whitey Ford for WAY too long, missing where your REAL results come from! YOU HAVE BEEN THE CAUSE OF YOUR OWN DOWNFALL! And now that you’re on the downswing, you try to grab onto MY coattails to ride my back to success. Well it’s not happening! I don’t NEED you, Skylar Marshall! I’ve NEVER needed you! You’ve done nothing but make a MESS of things since you GOT here I’m going to beat Wryght. I’m going to beat Stormm.

And I WILL become the UNDISPUTED World Champion.

WITHOUT YOU!

Justin throws the microphone down as the arena lights dim down to a gentle glow and the sound of pouring rain fills the arena to the brim as an orange fog begins to cover the entrance way. Hardly containing themselves already, the fans start to rise to their feet as a sudden bright flash of orange lights flood the crowd before a deafening crash of thunder rattles the foundation and leaves the arena in darkness. The pre-chorus rift to "Crash" by Decyfer Down instigates a small riot amongst those in attendance as orange flashes, like lightning, illuminate the way for the Force of Nature, and Justin Michaels appears through the curtain and onto the stage, followed by his wife, the lovely Lindsay Michaels.

"CRASH! YOU'RE GOING DOWN! WITHOUT A SOUND!"

Mark Long - Introducing at this time...

Justin plays to the cheers of the fans from atop the ramp, and marches back and forth while interacting with those in attendance. He nods his head and points towards the fans recognizing all the support they provide before turning his attention back to the ring, and starts to make his way towards the squared circle.

"THEN I'LL PASS YOU UP, BEFORE I EXPLODE! BREAKING IN TWO! I'LL SEE IT THROUGH!"

Mark Long - From Kansas City, Kansas; weighing in at two hundred and fifty-two pounds...

Having made it to ringside with his lovely wife at his side, Stormm patrols around to the opposite side of the ring and gives a mocking salute towards Al Laiman, the man who for years has mocked the "misspelling" of Justin's nickname. Justin hops up onto the apron, and assists his wife up and through the ropes before motioning to the crowd once more.

"YOU WON'T KEEP ME DOWN WHEN I CRASH THROUGH YOU!"

Mark Long - Accompanied by Lindsay Michaels, he is professional wrestling's Force of Nature... JUSTIN "STORMM" MICHAELS!

Justin follows Lindsay through the ropes and immediately scales the nearest turnbuckle to raise his hands into the air for all to see. The flash bulbs surge throughout the arena as the orange lights brighten back to the venue's usual lighting. Justin repeats his actions and poses on the turnbuckle in the opposite corner before hopping down from the corner and his music fades out, but the overwhelming applause does not as he stands the ready for his match ... staring holes into Skylar Marshall who is almost stuck at ringside.

He doesn’t want to try and move past Stormm and with Kaard now no longer protecting him, Skylar is feeling the incredible loneliness that his decisions have borne this evening.

"Gold on the Ceiling" by The Black Keys begins to blare over the P.A. system and the arena darkens. A single spotlight begins to shine on the entrance way illumination none other than “Mr. Showtime” Michael Wryght. He is wearing a long black and silver sleeveless robe. He stands there with his back to the ring and his arms crossed. The back of the robe is exposed with the words in blue and silver “Mr. Showtime” and slightly behind him is the beautiful Perfection. Showtime slowly walks to the beat of the music as the only light in the arena follows him to the ring.

Mark Long: Introducing next ... the CHAMPION. He stands 6 feet, 3 inches and is accompanied by the lovely PERFECTION. Ladies and gentlemen, this is ‘Mr Showtime’ .... MICHAEEEEEEEEEEEEEEL WRYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYGHT!

He walks up the stairs and whips off his feet on the outside apron. He ducks under the top rope and two other spotlights shoot on him he spins and puts his arms out. He slowly makes his way to the corner crossing his wrists, with is fingers are lock making a “W.” He pulls his arms down setting off some small pyros behind him, which also begins the lights to return to the arena.

The referee looks to each man to get the go-ahead and ...

DING DING DING!

The bell has sounded and we’re officially underway!

Stormm and Showtime immediately make a beeline towards each other. The weeks of chomping at the bit to take each other out have been long and arduous but here we are and they’re allowed to tear into each other! And boy, do they ever! The showdown between the two is just as epic as everyone imagined it would be. Going to to toe with each other in the center of the ring, Showtime and Stormm both are going full throttle on each other ... neither man willing to concede even an inch. But from out of the background comes Justin Kaard!

Dropping Stormm with a low dropkick, Stormm hits the ground and Showtime is quick to land a falling elbow onto the back of Stormm’s head. Kaard with an elbow to the back of Stormm’s head. They’re taking turns. He doesn’t have a piece of the title, better to get rid of him NOW so they can focus on the REAL business at hand. Once Stormm is flattened into a pile of Stormmy-Orangey mush, Kaard and Showtime start in on each other. Kaard gets the upper hand in the initial volley, but Showtime answers right back with a plate of chops for Justin Kaard.

Kaard staggering back, Showtime presses the attack ... only to have Stormm holding onto his left ankle! Showtime stomping at the hands and fingers of Stormm to escape his grasp, Showtime turns right into a leg lariat from Justin Kaard. The surprise of the attack sending both men to the mat, Kaard quickly goes for the cover ... but Stormm is on the right level to break the attempt.

Jerry Andrews: Smart move by Kaard, all he’s got to do is pin Showtime and that’s the end of the match!

Al Laiman: Stormm is at a severe disadvantage here. He’s got to pin BOTH men, but Stormm being as thick-headed as he is, probably sees that as a good thing.

Showtime struggling to make it to his feet, Justin is ready with several punches and an Irish Whip. Stormm building up a head of steam, he ducks under an attempted clothesline and on the return trip ... Showtime is there alongside Justin Kaard! Whoops. Stormm in a bad spot, he dives feet first at both men ... a foot for each man in a beautiful front dropkick that drops both men in front of him.

Stormm popping right back up, he beckons for the crowd to make some noise as he heads straight for Wryght. Dragging him to his feet, he grabs him by the hair and throws Showtime out of the ring ... following him with evil intent on his mind. Showtime continuing to walk around the ring to try and create space, Stormm quickly catches up and grabs Showtime by the whole of his head ... leading him to the cornerpost. They say you can lead a horse to water but you can’t make him drink? Maybe not, but you can lead a Michael Wryght to a cornerpost and make him eat it. And eat it Showtime does.

Stormm slams Showtime full force into the corner post and watches him drop to the floor. Going to pick him up again, he gets Showtime to his feet before ... out of nowhere, Justin Kaard OVER the cornerpost to the outside with a scintillating cross body block on both opponents that leaves everyone downed. Kaard may have gotten just as much of the impact as Showtime and Stormm, but does that really matter right now? He didn’t die.

Jerry Andrews: Amazing move by Kaard, but can he capitalize?!

Al Laiman: He’d better if he wants to walk out with that title!

Kaard going straight for the co-champion, he picks Showtime up ... and catches a rake of the eyes for his troubles. Perfection at ringside screaming for her man, Showtime nods and staggers away ...leaving Storm to trail behind him, clutching at Showtime’s boots. Dragging Stormm with him, he finally gives up and lays several shots to the head into Stormm’s cranium before rummaging under the ring for something. He yells in frustration and turns to Perfection who digs into her Louis Vuitton bag and pulls out ... a set of handcuffs?!

Jerry Andrews: We’ve seen this before, Al! He’s looking to eliminate Stormm from the picture!

As he fumbles with the handcuffs, Stormm begins to fight back ... but it’s to no avail and soon, Showtime has Stormm handcuffed to the bottom rope! Showtime laughing and mocking Stormm as he fights with every fiber of his being, Showtime goes to turn his attention back to Justin Kaard ... who is in the ring near the ropes. Showtime crawling in, Kaard suddenly pops up and begins hammering away on Showtime. He was playing possum! Kaard putting every pound of force he can muster into the hammer blows, he’s got Showtime beaten down enough to drag him to the center of the ring.

Stormm is calling for Lindsay to hurry up and hurry she does. And looks ravishing doing it. Fumbling under the ring, she takes what seems to be an eternity before she re-emerges with a set of bolt cutters! Stormm was prepared for this eventuality, having stashed them under the ring before the show started.

Al Laiman: Bolt cutters! How cheap, Jerry! That’s just cheap, those bolt cutters aren’t yours I bet! PCW property, you miscreant! Put them back!

Jerry Andrews: Cheap like handcuffs, eh Al?

Al Laiman: Watch it, Andrews ...

As Lindsay works to free Stormm, Justin has scaled to the top turnbuckle and has his sights directly on the downed Showtime. Taking aim, he begins to move ... but it’s Stormm! Stormm is free! Scaling the ropes to meet Kaard, the shaking of the ropes is enough to throw Justin off ... but not enough to stop him as he takes off a split second before Stormm can reach him. The rotations, man ... THE ROTATIONS! It’s a corkscrew ... no, it’s a shooting star press ... IT’S BOTH! The Seattle Spacewalk! Kaard is there!

Stormm, seeing the match slip away, does the only thing he can think of: springboard to the top rope. As he does, Kaard is coming down on Showtime ... and Stormm comes down on Kaard with an elbow across the shoulders and the neck of Kaard! The impact astronomical, the crowd pops heavily at the action. Kaard hits the Seattle Spacewalk while Stormm manages to hit Kaard with a springboard elbow at the point of impact!

Al Laiman: Un-@#$%-ing believable!

Showtime crushed under both men’s weight, Kaard rolls off to the side and Stormm falls on top of Showtime to take advantage of the added momentum to make the opportunistic pinfall attempt.

1 ...

2 ...

...

... 3!

Stormm has pinned Showtime! Stormm now holds half of the World Championship!

Jerry Andrews: Stormm is half the world champion, Al!

Al Laiman: Oh god NO! C’mon, someone get that prestigious belt off of that animal.

Stormm with a fire now lit underneath him, he picks Kaard up ... wisely sizing him up as the man he needs to focus on. Several knee shots to the ribs and Kaard is gasping for breath. Showtime is a mess on the canvas and it’s Stormm and Kaard going at it across the ring. Not one to rest on his laurels, Stormm is focusing heavily on the ribs, making sure that Kaard pays for the last time the two were face to face on Trauma. He’s going to make every last breath something for Kaard to regret ... and the declaration not to screw with his family.

Stormm hanging Kaard on the top rope with a face front suplex, Showtime is up out of nowhere and forces Stormm out of the ring through the ropes. Looking out at Stormm and back to Kaard, Showtime gets a wild idea and bounces off the ropes behind him. Running across the ring, he leaps onto the second rope and springboards at an angle to where he lands with a double foot stomp onto Justin Kaard’s exposed back.

The momentum toppling him OFF of Kaard, he falls out to the floor ... and lands on Stormm with a falling cross body! A calculated risk, and one he was willing to take in order to take out both of his opponents and buy him some more time. The crowd is roaring at the desire these three men have shown thus far. Skylar Marshall is sitting next to the ring announcer but saying nothing to ANYONE. There’s no TELLING what’s going on in his head. All his allies have deserted him. He has NOTHING left now ...

Nothing except revenge.

Skylar not the smallest of individuals, he makes his way over to the downed Stormm and the downed Showtime, shaking his head in disgust as he slides into the ring where Justin Kaard is laying in agony, trying his best to catch his breath. The referee admonishing Skylar, Skylar can be heard yelling ‘I’m your boss, you nitwit!’ and shoving him aside. As Kaard moves to get up, Skylar is right there to kick him in the ribs. Several thick kicks to the side of Kaard and Skylar is livid, finally to the point of eruption.

The crowd cheers as Skylar lands another kick. He yells at Kaard to stand so he can take some more punishment ... but when Kaard doesn’t follow orders, he turns to leave the ring. And manages to turn into one Justin Michaels. Skylar’s mouth wide open, he grits his teeth after regaining his composure and goes to throw a punch at Stormm ... who effortlessly catches it and holds Skylar’s hand hostage. Looking at the impudence of the boss, Stormm shakes his head and boots Skylar in the gut.

There’s no one to save him now!

A suplex set up ... fisherman style with the leg hooked. He’s up ... HE’S WAY UP! FORCE OF NATURE ... ON SKYLAR MARSHALL! The crowd explodes in unison as Skylar Marshall’s body hits the canvas! Stormm pops up to his feet and gestures to the crowd, absolutely proud and in the moment of his exacting revenge. Skylar is down and out, Kaard is down ... it’s time to finish -

... and there’s Showtime. Finally come a-callin’. He waited for Stormm to get his hands on Marshall, no small amount of personal satisfaction there. However, with Stormm so enraptured with his handiwork, it was time to take advantage and get his title belt back. Spinning Stormm around on his heels, he boots Stormm in the gut and doubles him over. With a perverse grin, Showtime hooks his OWN suplex set up ... AND THE LEG! Could we be seeing the beginning of ...

IT IS! THE FISHERMAN’S SUPLEX! Michael Wryght’s own fisherman suplex, legendary in the business. He hoists Stormm up and drops him back-first to the mat. The impact sickening, the referee it right there to make the count.

1!

2!

..

... 3!

Showtime has pinned Stormm and taken back his half of the belt! Stormm down for the count, Showtime staggers to his feet. It looks as though after all the abuse this match has wreaked upon his body, Showtime will be the one to lay claim to his belt. Grabbing Kaard once he makes it to his own feet, he drags the man up and ... quick small package!

1!

2!

...

NO!

Showtime kicks out at the last moment!

Kaard is in agony, but he’s right there at the finish line! He’s got Showtime in his sights and after such a sudden rollup, Showtime’s nerves are racing. He’s on his feet in a few moments and there’s Kaard waiting for him. Boot to the midsection! Kaard turns and hooks the head of Showtime from in front ... but Showtime pushes Kaard away in a last desperate survival strategy ... but Kaard bounces back on hooks the head again! This time, the momentum is enough to carry him up and over ... ADRENALINE RUSH!

Kaard plants his knees firmly into Showtime’s back with a sick looking lungblower with the over-the-top velocity added on top of that. With a final last ditch lunge, Kaard goes for the pinfall!

1!

2!

...

Stormm dives for the save ....!

...

3!


But it’s too late!

DING DING DING!

Winner: Justin Kaard

The crowd is on their feet for the amazing display of athleticism shown by all three of these men. Skylar has rolled out of the ring to the safety of the ring, while Stormm and Showtime are both recuperating off to the side. Kaard ascending each turnbuckle with pyro going off at random intervals, the crowd is cheering not for the man. No, thanks to his earlier inflammartory comments he’s not the most well-received people at the moment.

No, the fans are cheering for the great show from top to bottom that they have been treated to.

And as Justin Kaard begins to head to the back with the both World Championship half-belts in tow, the crowd lets fly a THIS WAS AWESOME! chant the reverbs around the arena, zipping up the backbone of every person in attendance ...

... that is, until the lights go out.

You didn’t think it was OVER did you?

The crowd is hushed, Justin Kaard’s celebration victory cut short by the overload of power in the arena. Maybe the generators couldn’t handle it? The crowd murmurs and lowers the volume. The PCWTron comes to life, not with video ... but with a voice. The female voice, the one from the past few weeks. What can this mean? What is she saying?!

‘Don’t open your eyes, you won’t like what you see .... ‘

The crowd is in complete confusion as ‘Happiness in Slavery’ by Nine Inch Nails begins to play over the loudspeakers. The PCWTron is still video-devoid, but the music is loud and jarring. The crowd gasps as lights slowly start strobing around the ring area. The lights are way up in the top of the building and only silhouettes are visible in the ring.

Then ... a spotlight.

It’s ... HER!

EIRA!

EIRA HAS RETURNED TO PCW!

The crowd explodes in shock at the sudden arrival. Eira is here at Game Over 3! But that ... that can only mean one thing ...

The lights go down before anyone can extrapolate or speculate. A second spotlight shines in tandem with Eira. But the figure ... is NOT who you would think it to be. The Shin Akuma mask. The blood red, black and white trappings. The Aviators. The hooded robe. Can it be that ... but where ... it’s not him It can’t be! MONROE all but abandoned PCW!

But it is! IT’S MONROE STANDING SIDE BY SIDE WITH EIRA!

The two are motionless, but resolute. Firm in their stance. The lights go down once more ... the strobe lights are causing some serious video distortion for the audience at home but it’s more than clear that MONROE is standing side by side with Eira. What can this mean, what ...?

The lights are down again. No more spotlight. The crowd is left shocked at the sudden turn of events. The song is suddenly interrupted by a HUGE crash of something otherworldly, at least that’s how loud it it. Suddenly, the ring ropes are engulfed in flames ... and the three in the ring are lit up hellishly. Their features distorted by the jumping flames and sick orange and reds.

Oh...did I say ... THREE?!

The behemoth to Eira’s left looks familiar and unfamiliar all at the same time. His long straggly beard. The height. The clothes and the mannerisms ... but the metallic mask on his face is enough to throw ANYone off the trail. It’s him ... isn’t it? It looks like him. And as he raises his head, all three of them look to the center of the ring where four championships lay.

The World Championship.

The Tag Team Championships.

... The International Championship.

The four belts laying in a pile before them, the group close in together and and a small ring of fire slowly rises from the canvas to surround the championships ... all but daring anyone to come and take them. The message is clear, and yet ... not so clear. What does this mean for PCW? What will happen come Trauma 140? And will we get any answers as to what the FUCK IS GOING ON?!

-CLICK!-

_{Rikkashot def. Mr. Tickles
Arica Lewitt def. Sterling Werner
Nathan Saniti def. Q to become the Genesis Champion
Kelli Starr wins the six-person Gauntlet for the Gold to become the North American Champion
The Flying Freebooters def. The New Breed & A Mystery Team to become the Tag Team Champions
Non Compos Mentis def. Tyler Scott
Whitey Ford def. Ace Anderson to remain the International Champion
Justin Kaard def. Michael Wryght and Justin Michaels to become the Undisputed World Champion}