TNT: March 31, 2011

Murder was the case...
Turmoil Thursday 31st Mar 2011
The Best Arena; Chicago, IL

A Gypsy Welcome

A huge explosion erupts inside the Best Arena as fireworks begin to shower down on the  entrance ramp signaling the beginning of the first edition of Thursday Night Turmoil after March to Glory and the first in the Best Arena for a considerable amount of time, but something does not seem right. The cameras quickly pan to the commentators table where Joe Hoffmann and Benny Newell are looking around them rather confused.

Joe Hoffmann- Welcome folks to this edition of Thursday Night Turmoil, High Octane Wrestling comes home once again…..but something doesn’t seem right Benny……..the arena is half empty.

The camera pans around to see a considerable number of empty seats around the arena then pans back to Benny for his whimsical insight into the matter.

Benny Newell- I heard Christopher America is doing doorman at the entrance gates, if you cannot prove your American you were turned away, this show is for the pure bloods. Also those in Best Alliance and Foundation shirts were turned away; the one Foundation fan was rather upset…..ha! Snap!

Joe Hoffmann- We are being told we are going to go outside where something seems to be happening right now, maybe we can get some answers as to what is actually going on.

The cameras now move to the entrance gates of the Best Arena where security guards are standing staring at something outside. Meanwhile an irate Christopher America is seen approaching them from down the corridor and stands directly behind them, a look of sheer anger on his face as the guards turn around.

Christopher America- What the HELL is going on? This arena should have been full over an hour ago, what’s the hold up?

Security Guard- Look over there.

America parts the security guards and takes a look outside into the parking lot. Expecting to see the parking lot of the arena filled to capacity it is practically empty, which cars waiting in line all around the block, impatiently honking their horns and many abandoning their cars where they lie. The source of the problem? A pack of gypsy travellers have parked their caravans within the parking lot of the Best Arena and have made themselves feel quite at home.

Three large caravans are parked and there is a lot of commotion as the gypsy children have broken a fire hydrant and are playing in the water gush that it has created, one child is seen completely naked being washed by an older gypsy woman! Another man is trying to barter with fans as they go by, attempting to sell them an Irish Setter dog, a dirty, shaggy looking animal, by the looks of it extremely old and on its last legs, potentially blind because when he drags it the dog has no sense of direction! Two other men are playing cards at the door to their caravan and drinking from large milk bottles, but it doesn’t seem to be milk they are drinking, their eyes tell a different story. Two older women, one dressed in a long dress and another in a large overcoat and shawl are knitting on two wooden crates talking to one another.

Christopher America- Gypsies, the worst of the un-American people. What are you waiting for? Get them off the property, they are trespassing.

Security Guard- We were awaiting confirmation about what way you want to deal with them

Christopher America- The only way these dirty vermin know, by force. Get out there, I want this arena filled by the end of the first match, it’s between two curtain jerkers anyways, they don’t deserve to open to a full crowd

America walks back down the corridor mumbling profanities to himself as the security guards begin to speak amongst themselves about what they are going to do.

Security Guard #1- I heard gypsies are hard to shift

Security Guard #2- I heard their men are notorious fighters.

Security Guard #3- Look at them, they are all drunk, they can barely walk, you heard America, let’s get them out of here.

The three guards move out of the entrance gates and make their way towards the gypsies caravans. This has caught the attention of the kids who were playing in the water and drenched to the bone they make their way over to the security guards and begin to hassle them, grabbing for their truncheons.

Gypsy Kid- Here mister, how much for the gun? Me pa will give ye good money for it.

Security Guard- It’s not for sale, where is your father?

Gypsy Kid- He’s asleep, not allowed to waken him when he’s in an angry mood.

Security Guard- Well can we speak to one of the adults please?

Gypsy Kid- I guess ye can cost ya though. Two dollars and I will get ya someone.

Security Guard- Clear off kid, I’ll get them on my own. (shouting towards the gypsy men playing cards) Sirs, can we have a word please?

Security Guard- (whispering into the other guards ear) What are you doing? Reasoning with them, they are not going to leave

One of the gypsy men, cigarette in mouth, balding head, aged terribly though smoking and drinking but probably younger than he looks stands up and moves rather gingerly over to the guards.

Gypsy Man- Problem here officers?

Security Guard- You are trespassing on private land and as you can see there is an event in the arena tonight to which you are stopping these people from parking their cars.

Gypsy Man- And?

Security Guard- We would like you to move.

Whilst the guard is asking him to move their caravans the man has taken a swig of whatever is in his plastic milk bottle and spits it out onto the ground, some getting onto the shoes of the guards. He begins to laugh profusely.

Gypsy Man- Move? But we only got here! Anywho, we are here to see a Lee Best, take it he owns this warehouse, seeing it’s his name up there.

The guards are having trouble understanding the man, for one due to the fact that he is highly intoxicated and slurring his words, but also that he has a very strong Irish accent.

Security Guard- What business does a pack of gypsies have with Lee Best?

This seems to offend the old man, who props his bottle to the ground and raises his fists as if he wants to fight. Two of the other men see this and come to stop him.

Younger Gypsy Man 1- Come on now pa, you know what you’re like when you start the fightin.

Gypsy Man- Fecker called us a pack of gypsies.

Younger Gypsy Man 2- Oh did he now, the fecker!

The second young gypsy man pulls out a switchblade and points it in the direction of the guards. All of a sudden Christopher America is seen coming out of the entrance gates and is making his way towards the commotion.

Christopher America- I thought you would have had this sorted by now.

Security Guard- They want to speak to Lee Best.

Christopher America- Oh really? What about?

The three gypsy men begin to calm down as the older one begins to speak.

Gypsy Man- You Lee Best?

Christopher America- No, I am Christopher America.

Gypsy Man- Well Mr America, names Seamus Maguire, I hear this Best fella does a wrestlin show.

Christopher America- And you want in, we don’t take old men, we already have one, his name is Chris Kostoff.

Gypsy Man- Funny fecker aren’t ye, I might be old son but id tear ya a new arsehole, make it red, white and blue, it’s me son, Sean, he’s lookin to fight.

Christopher America- And exactly which one is Sean now?

One of the woman stands up from her wooden crate and drops her knitting utensils on the floor and walks over to the men, her hair is straggly and is covered in a shawl and she has one large mole on her cheek. She seems to be the husband and mother to the men.

Gypsy Woman- Seamus, what’s the trouble.

Christopher America- Move away, men are talking.

All of a sudden a loud shout is heard from the background, a man has exited one of the caravans. He has dirty fair hair covered in a hat and his beard is beyond manageable, he is wearing several necklaces and braclets and has what used to be a white t shirt and black waistcoat. His shouts are directed at America

Gypsy Man- That’s me muther your talkin about there, show a bit more respect.

Christopher America- And you would be Sean Maguire?

Sean- That be me, is there some sort of problem here to waken me up?

Christopher America- Your trespassing on private property.

Sean- Oh are we now? Well I tell you what, you get me this Lee Best laddie and we be on our way, you don’t want any trouble now do ya?

Christopher America- Fuck it, it’s Lee’s problem now, frankly standing here is making me vomit, get Lee out here to deal with them, I am done and MAKE SURE HE DOES NOT GET INTO THE FUCKING BUILDING!

America goes to walk away and Sean calls at him.

Sean- You there, what be your name?

Christopher- It be……Christopher America.

Sean- I’ll remember that.

America turns and walks away, putting his shirt up over his nose and making the sound as if he was about to vomit. The guards stand bemused as Sean parts his brothers and his father and walks over to the guards.

Sean- Well you heard the man, go get me this Lee Best fella, my family would like to join this merry family of your……………be jeasus! Your one tall fecker ain’t ya? What are ye? 6”5?

Security Guard- Correct.

Sean- Bet I could knock ye out with one punch, thousand says I can, you on big guy?

Seamus- Son, that’s enough, I told you no fighting before we meet this Best guy, need you to be in good shape.

Sean- Ah so

They all turn and go back to their doings as the guards walk back towards the entrance as one of them goes onto the radio trying in vain to contact Lee Best, one of the guards stops in shock as the other one turns around.

Security Guard #1- What is it?

Security Guard #2- One of those bastard kids has stolen my wallet!

Another security guard runs up.

Security Guard #3- I just got the word Lee Best isn’t here tonight.

Security Guard #1- What are we going to do now?

Security Guard #3- Lee says let them inside and he’ll smooth it over with America.

Security Guard #2- How’s he going to do that?

Security Guard #3- What else? A bribe. If that’s not American, I don’t know what is.

The cameras move back into the arena where Benny and Joe are sitting.

Joe Hoffmann- Well, it seems that Sean Maguire is hell bent on seeing Lee Best tonight, or else his family will not move, could we potentially have another wrestler coming onto the books?

Benny Newell- A gypsy? Well HOW is going on the road again, he will feel SO at home! Wonder what that is they are drinking?

Joe Hoffmann- Well folks, the first match is up next, and only half a crowd will get to see it it seems, stay tuned for Adonis Smyth against Fear, the loser will curtain jerk for the entire pay per view period leading up to War Games.

Adonis Smyth – 0% v Fear – 0%

Cutting back inside The Best Arena we already see Adonis Smyth and Fear standing in the middle of the ring, Hortega keeping the two back in their corners.

Joe Hoffman: Well I have no idea what that was all about but right now we have Adonis Smyth and Fear chopping to get going here, with the loser “curtain jerking” until War Games.

Benny Newell: The winner barely even deserves that honor Joe.  The loser should be castrated and dumped in a gutter somewhere.

Joe Hoffman: Well I don’t think that is going to happen Benny, as Hortega calls for the bell to get this match underway.

The two men lock up and Adonis takes advantage with an elbow to face as Fear is stunned and Adonis hits a quick kick to the side followed by a quick kick to the head which takes Fear down.  Adonis drops an elbow as he pulls Fear back to his feet and slingshots him into the ropes and drills Fear with a knee to the gut and follows it up with an axe handle to the back of Fear’s head.

Joe Hoffman: Adonis dominating early here as he looks to not even give Fear a chance here tonight.

Benny Newell: Did you say something?  I’m trying to find some porn with Barbi Kostoff in it on the internet.

Adonis again pulls Fear up to his feet, but fear counters with a thumb to the eye and goes for a superkick, but Adonis ducks it as drills Fear with a boot in the gut as he underhooks both of Fear’s arms and connects with a flipping piledriver.  Fear’s body completely limp as Adonis goes for the cover.

Joe Hoffman: Golden Eclipse and that cover is all but academic.

Uno……

Dos……….

Tres…………

DING DING DING

Bryan McVay: The winner of this match in 3:46 Adonis Smyth!!!

Joe Hoffman: Well Fear better get used to opening HOW shows, because that is all he is going to be doing until War Games.

Benny Newell: Really?  Not a single video or picture?  Missy Andrews is all over the fucking net… but no Barbi.

Joe Hoffman: How about you put that away and concentrate on the rest of the show Benny.

Benny Newell: I GUESS I could start drinking, if you insist Joe.

Joe Hoffman: I never said anything about…

Benny Newell: DRINK!

Joe Hoffman: We’ll be back with Belmont taking on Cavanaugh here on HOW Thursday Night Turmoil!

Flying in America

The scene cuts to Christopher America’s office. With time and money, Christopher America had now managed to transform his office into a near identical replica of the Oval Office.

Wearing his referee’s shirt, America has his hands folded and resting on the desk.

Christopher America: My fellow Americans, a few weeks ago, Lee Best presented Max Kael with keys to the Best Mansion. This week, Lee Best presented myself and the other members of Team Best with keys as well.

Christopher opens his drawer and pulls out a single metallic key. He holds it up and admires the shine.

Christopher: This key and all the keys belonging to the members of Team Best are to our brand new private jets. Realizing the talent that we all possess, Lee wanted to ensure that we travel in the utmost luxury and style.

Christopher’s lip quivers into a semi snarl before relaxing. He sets the key down and stares into the camera.

Christopher: Unfortunately, Lee has also provided Scottywood and the traitorous John Sektor with their own private jets to fulfill contractual obligations. The only good news is that this gift does not extend to John Sektor’s teammates or Scottywood’s teammates. Why? Because John Sektor and Scottywood did absolutely nothing to ensure the safety, security, and comfort of their War Games teammates.

But don’t worry members of Team Sektor and Team Scottywood, I’m sure that traveling in rental cars in the dead of night on empty interstates filled with wildlife is a much safer way to travel.

Besides, I’ve seen Scotty’s jet. It’s more like a fucking port-a-potty with wings. There are no seats, just a bunch of toilet bowls for you to sit on. And as for Sektor’s jet, it’s so fucking flaky that there are times that it just up and leaves with no word to anyone.

So to the members of Team Best, enjoy. To the members of Team Sektor and Team Scottywood, all I can say is…. I hope your captains will one day value you as much as they do themselves.

Christopher smiles wide.

Christopher: Enjoy the rest of the show.

Sad you didn’t get a private jet… well sucks to be you.

 

Valerie Belmont – 0% v Ethan Cavanaugh – 0%

Back in the arena “The Great Pandemonium” starts over the speakers and smoke fills the entranceway. From the smoke, Valerie Belmont’s form is seen walking through to the explosion of the fans.Joe Hoffman: Folks we’re carrying on tonight’s action with a match up between Valerie Belmont and Ethan Cavanaugh. As we saw at March to Glory Ethan was ejected from the Best Alliance so it will be interesting to see how he copes in this match as a lone wolf.

Big Buff: He’ll crumble Joe. He calls himself the Shadow but really he’s just been in the Best Alliance’s shadow and now he’s going to hit an all time low by being beaten by a girl.

She dips forward and back up straight, flipping her hair off her face and raising her hand in a devil horn. She takes off down the ramp, catching hands with as many fans as she can before jumping onto the apron and then over the top rope. She goes to her corner, jumps onto the middle turnbuckle and raises both her hands in a devil horn before settling in her corner as the music fades

‘Revolution Man’ by Union Underground then hits as a dejected looking Ethan Cavanaugh appears at the top of the ramp. The fans are booing him and chanting “You Suck” as he begins to walk down to the ring.

Joe Hoffman: He certainly doesn’t look like he’s in high spirits here Benny.

Big Buff: Well that’s what happens when you underachieve in the Best Alliance.

Ethan enters the ring and once his music fades and Rick “Even” Steven’s calls for the bell to sound.

DING DING

Joe Hoffman: We’re getting this matchup underway and its Cavanaugh to make the first move, pulling Belmont in and locking her into a side headlock. Valerie cant afford to get into a grappling match with Cavanaugh here.

Big Buff: Why not, she’d probably out do him at that too.

Ethan flips her over landing her on her back, turning the side headlock into a sleeper hold. Using his strength he drags her up to her feet keeping the hold in tact. Valerie quickly jabs him in the ribs with some elbows and once he releases the hold she nails him with a Pele kick to the front of his head, stunning the Shadow. She then runs to the ropes and dives forward, knocking him down with a flying elbow smash.

Joe Hoffman: Belmont just nailed Ethan right there. This young lady is impressive.

Big Buff: You mean this filthy whore is hot…

Valerie keeps the momentum going for a while, trying him out with multiple drop kicks, forcing him to expand energy for each attempt he has at getting to his feet. She ends the series with a neck breaker and earns herself a two count.

Joe Hoffman: Not too far away from pulling out an early win there. I’d like to think that it would take a bit more than that to beat Cavanaugh though.

Big Buff: As would we all Joe.

Valerie lands a knee drop to Cavanaugh’s head and gets a huge pop from the crowd as she points to the corner turnbuckle. She begins climbing up top as the fans will her on. She waits, perched up top on the turnbuckle, waiting for Cavanaugh to get to his feet. He finally does so and turns around only to see Valerie flying at him with a cross body. But he catches her in mid air and counters the high risk maneuver with a powerslam.

Joe Hoffman: What a counter!

ONE

TWO

Valerie kicks out.

Joe Hoffman: Cavanaugh nearly stole it there with a great piece of awareness.

Big Buff: This match blows.

Cavanaugh runs to the ropes and lands a huge guillotine leg drop across Belmont’s throat. He continues to dominate throughout this period of the match, wearing her down with various suplex’s. Eventually he hits a high angle German suplex in which he bridges for a second pin attempt.

ONE

TWO

Joe Hoffman: She kicks out again! She is one tough cookie.

Big Buff: Yeah and I want her in my mouth.

Cavanaugh is looking frustrated and drags her by the neck whipping her into the corner. He proceeds to punish her with a vicious slap to face followed by rugged mud stomps to the abdomen.

Joe Hoffan: Ethan is clearly venting his frustrations on Belmont here, perhaps trying to send a message to the Best Aliance.

Big Buff: The Best Alliance will have forgotten he’s even existed trust me. All attention will be on Max Kael’s satellite message later on in the show.

Cavanaugh has whipped Belmont to the opposite corner now and is begins to hit her in the middle of her spine with stiff elbow swipes. He eventually arches her back and locks in a dragon sleeper hold.

Joe Hoffman: Good technique, hurting the back first and then locking in the dragon sleeper. Hopefully what they say about women’s pain threshold being higher than a mans is true.

Big Buff: It’s bullshit Joe. Everybody knows that getting kicked in the balls hurts a lot more than having your vagina split in half by a baby.

Joe Hoffman:…I have no response to that.

Belmont is in trouble as the referee holds up her arm to check her consciousness. He lets it drop but she keeps it held up. Ethan yells as he applies pressure but Valerie kicks her way up the turnbuckle, flipping over the top of Ethan and manages to reverse the move into a make shift reverse DDT getting a huge reaction from the crowd.

Joe Hoffman: NOW THAT’S A COUNTER!

Big Buff: Yeah that was hot.

She goes to lock in the Twisted Consequence but Ethan punches her in the head before she gets the chance. She looks out on her feet as Cavanaugh quickly gets up and see’s her land against the corner turnbuckle, sitting down on the ring apron. He backs up to the opposite turnbuckle with a focused look in his eyes.

Joe Hoffman: He’s going for the C.O.D. It’s going to be lights out all out for Valerie if he hits this.

Cavanaugh charges at the corner and goes for a boot to Belmont’s head, which she ducks causing his foot to go through the ropes. Cavanaugh yells out in agony, but Valerie quickly pulls him back jumps across his back, taking him down and locking in a spider twist submission.

Joe Hoffman: TWISTED CONSEQUENCE. WILL ETHAN TAP?

Big Buff: YEAH TAP YOU GAY MOTHER FUCKER.

Cavanaugh tries to over power Belmont, but she has the move well and truly locked in. He begins to tap hard on the mat and Steven’s calls for the bell.

DING DING.

Joe Hoffman: BELMONT’S DONE IT. SHE MADE CAVANAUGH TAP!

WINNER OF THE MATCH IN 7:48….VALERIEEEEEE BELLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLMOOOOOOONT!!

Rick Steven’s holds Belmont’s hand up high in victory as Cavanaugh rolls out of the ring. He kicks the ring steps out of anger and frustration and the action cuts backstage.

Rallying the Troops

All right here we go. Everything is written right up till the point where Sektor interrupts.

We cut backstage where the current holder of both the ICON and the TV title, Best Alliance member Brad Jackson, is seen walking with a title belt draped over each shoulder when he is approached by another Best Alliance member, David Black.

David Black: Big man.

David offers a slight nod of acknowledgement before his eyes eventually, and inevitably, drifts toward the two title belts currently in Jackson’s possession. His gaze rests briefly on the ICON title briefly before his focus shifts to Jackson’s other shoulder and the TV title.

David Black: You know, those belts look kinda heavy. And since I am your Best Alliance brother, I feel it is my duty to help alleviate you of this burden. So why don’t I just take that…

His words are light and casual, but his determined eyes tell a different story. He finally takes his eyes off the TV title and looks at Jackson, who seems less than amused.

David Black: Hey, I kid!

He smiles innocently, though Jackson doesn’t seem to buy it at all and the smile quickly fades from David’s face again.

David Black: Anyway, I actually wanted to talk to you. You see, now that the War Games teams are coming together, you and I are about to become the very best of friends. Why, you ask? Honestly? Because we don’t have a choice. Neither one of us made it onto Lee Best’s team, in fact, we both ended up on Sektor’s team. You know what that means, right? It means that we will be fighting against Lee Best at War Games. Which means that as of right now, considering that every non-Best Alliance member of the HOW roster hates the Best Alliance, all you and I have right now is each other. And while you may be the new…golden boy of the Best Alliance—

A slight hint of disdain is heard in his voice.

David Black: It doesn’t change the fact that the only person you can trust right now, in all of HOW…is me.

That familiar scowl appears on Jackson’s face, there and gone before his features arrange themselves into something a bit more neutral. He clears his throat, speaking in a harsh rasp that spells out just how much he’s enjoying this particular conversation.

Brad Jackson: Hate’s a funny thing, Black. So’s trust.

He reaches up, rapping his knuckles against the golden faceplate of the TV title, smirking when Black’s eyes immediately follow the movement.

Brad Jackson: Don’t come at me with this lame bullshit and try to paint me a pretty picture. I know exactly what we’re up against. But if you think for a second I’m going to smile, nod and shake your fuckin’ hand before we get in that ring tonight, you’re dumber than I thought.

He chuckles, rolling his eyes.

Brad Jackson: Yeah, I can trust you, huh? You look me in the eye without pulling the Jerry Seinfeld routine, cracking your cute little jokes with your eyes on my goddamn gold and I’ll think about buying the shit you’re selling right now. Heh, sure I can trust you since we’re both Best Alliance, right? That’s a two-way street, hoss. I promise I won’t kill you out there, and you can promise me the same. Clean fight, all the way… best man wins and all that happy-crappy. You follow through on that and we’re cool. If not, I break you like the bitch you are. How’s that sound?

The champion holds out his hand for Black to shake, that intense glare boring into his upcoming opponent to the point of being uncomfortable as the tension mounts.  David glances briefly at Jackson’s hand, then back at his eyes. After a long moment a smile finally appears on David’s face.

David Black: Ouch! Someone’s in a mood today…

He quips, trying to lighten the mood. He then reaches out and shakes Jackson’s hand as the smile on his face quickly disappears, replaced by a much more serious look.

David Black: I meant what I said though. From now and until War Games, you and I are stuck in this little two man boat of ours. Sektor can’t be trusted. He’s a son of a bitch and if you think—

Voice: …Now that’s no way to talk about my mother.

Faint cheers from inside the arena can be heard as Sektor walks into the frame smirking. He’s wearing ray ban sunglasses a black T Shirt with the words “Team Sektor” written in green letters written across the middle in bold. Above in the top right peck area is smaller gold writing which reads “Captain.” He has a black bag in his hand also as he looks at both me who’s back’s have tightened up and who’s expressions have turned to distain towards Sektor.

Sektor: I mean you’re absolutely right she is a bitch. A whore too!

Neither Jackson nor Black so much as crack a smile.

Sektor: Anyway boys I couldn’t help but over hear you both talking about War Games and well, I thought I’d come over and clear a few things up.

Again the two men just stare a hole through Sektor, not giving anything away. Sektor focuses his attention on Black for the time being.

Sektor: David you’re absolutely right, I cant be trusted. I make no secret of the fact that I would trample over any man in this business to get what I want and two members of the Best Alliance are no exception.

He pauses.

Sektor: That being said..I chose you both to be on my team for one very specific reason.

He leans in a little closer, as if to whisper.

Sektor: I want to win.

Both men give each other a look, somewhat surprised by this statement.

Sektor: David Black you in the past two to three years you have sky rocketed to the top and had two very respectable title reigns with the LSD and World title. I might think that you have the personality of a dust pan, but I cannot deny your talent in the ring.

Black looks as though he doesn’t know whether to feel insulted or complimented. Sektor now turns his attention to Jackson. Tapping on both titles simultaneously.

Sektor: Brad Jackson…I mean look at you man, you’re at the top of your game. I know we’ve had our problems in the past,  but just like your buddy here I cannot deny what a force you truly are. You’ve been here only a few months and have held three titles and been on reign of terror since you got here. You my friend are exactly what I was looking for, for my team.

Sektor nods and pauses, thinking to himself.

Sektor: Now back to the trust issue. You may not trust, or indeed like me and hell I wouldn’t have it any other way. But for the next couple of weeks we have to start pulling together as a team. I know you both have your loyalties to Lee Best but if you’re both true competitors then you’ll agree that we have to work together if we want to win War Games. Forget title belts for a minute because winning War Games, is like winning the super bowl. Every man and team that have won It have been held in high regard.

The two Alliance members nod in recognition of what Sektor is saying.

Sektor:  We can win this guys. On paper we have the strongest team. I promise you both right now that up until and during war games I will have your back. You can at least trust that because I would not jeopardize one of you guys getting hurt and risking losing at War Games.

The two look deep in though about Sektors words. He removes his glasses now so they can both look in his eyes.

Sektor: Team Sektor has to come first. Let’s face it boys if Lee had as much faith and you as I did then he would have snapped you up first. This is a guy who can change the rules at the flick of switch so obviously he isn’t worried about you being on my team.

Sektor daringly places hand on each of their shoulders, and both men look uneasy by this.

Sektor: I’m asking you both now, just for the next two months. Let’s work together. And to symbolize your commitment to the cause…

Sektor reaches into the bag he’s holding and pulls out two black t shirts, handing one to both Jackson and Black. They open them out and reveal the same T shirt that Sektor is wearing minus the captain logo. They don’t look too pleased by this but Sektor is beaming with pride.

Sektor: It’s only two months boys. Just think about it.

Sektor smiles and turns to head away but then turns back as though he’s remembered something.

Sektor: Oh and good luck in your match tonight.

He gives a thumbs up and motions for them to put their T Shirts on before walking off out of sight, leaving both Best Alliance members looking confused.

Wolf In Sheep’s Clothing

There camera cuts back to ringside with a wide pan shot into the crowd at the Best Arena. The fans are still hot as the first show following March To Glory continues, and they’re about to get hotter as the lights in the arena dim to a low, red hue.

“Power” by Kanye West begins to pump through the sound system, prompting a surprisingly mixed reaction from the hometown Chicago crowd. Through the deafening boos inside the Best Arena, there is a small minority– a cultish force in it’s own right– of cheers. HOW’s only active two-time World Champion, Michael Best, makes his way out from behind the curtain and onto the ramp.

Joe Hoffman: Love him or hate him, folks, Michael Best retained the HOW World Title at March To Glory, and as much as I hate to admit it he did it on his own. I know I’m not his biggest fan, but I can respect the war that went on between two brothers at March To Glory.

Benny Newell: After what he did to Max Kael?! HE PRACTICALLY KILLED HIM! Respect my ass, Joe, Mike Best is a jerk. And to think I used to look up to that guy.

He saunters slowly, doing a full three hundred and sixty degree turn on the stage with his arms out at his sides before taking a three-hop step and thrusting the HOW World Championship high over his head, though on the third hop there is a noticeable limp in his step. Once again, there is a very small but strong cheering– there aren’t many of them, but boy are they loud about it. The rest of the crowd retaliates with a firestorm of hatred, showering it down upon the bastard child of Lee Best as he continues his path toward the ring, still trying hard not to limp on the leg still injured from March To Glory.

Joe Hoffman: The main event in Mexico just a week and a half ago is still fresh in the minds of these fans, Benny, and some of them seem to disagree with you– I can’t believe I’m hearing this, but some of these HOW fans are actually cheering for Mike Best!

Benny Newell: Well gee golly, Hoffman, this changes everything! Oh wait, no it doesn’t. Fuck you. I’d say drink, but you’re a one shot twat.

Best climbs onto the apron, rolling under the ropes and taking his time as he gets to his feet inside the ring. He hoists the HOW World Championship over his head once again, a snarky smile on his face as he snatches the microphone from Bryan McVay. Mike Best quickly raises it to his lips and rests the HOW Title on his shoulder– before he begins, he hobbles his way toward the corner, climbing up and taking an awkward seat on top of the turnbuckle.

Mike Best: You caught me.

Though cryptic, the remark serves it’s purpose– the arena quiets, a packed arena speculating over exactly what in the hell that means. A bemused, thoughtful look comes over Mike’s face as he stares out into the crowd.

Mike Best: There I was, in the midst of the fight of my life and without an ally in the world, double suplexed off a twenty foot balcony and left for dead. But you caught me.  Not you, literally– of course the people I’m talking about aren’t anywhere near this arena. They’re nowhere near this city, even. In fact, it’s a fair guess that most of them aren’t even in this country. Brown skin, hard workers– you know the people I’m talking about. But figuratively? Figuratively, it wasn’t just a bunch of filthy Mexicans who caught me. Figuratively, it was you– every single one of you.

There is a heavily mixed reaction to this, mostly from the confusion that comes with a compliment and an insult at the same time. The reaction is surprisingly positive, however, and Mike Best smiles legitimately in the middle of the ring.

Mike Best: I’ve spent the better part of a year shitting on you people. I’ve berated you, I’ve aborted your potential children, and I’ve bashed in the skulls of the men and women you admire. I’ve double teamed, triple teamed, fuck I’ve even quadruple teamed people in the center of this very ring. I’ve mocked your religion, I’ve mocked your overweight, illiterate lifestyles– in every sense of the word, I’ve mocked you. And yet, as I was falling twenty feet to the cold, hard, unforgiving stadium floor, you caught me. You lifted me up and saved my from injury, paralysis– maybe even death. So from the bottom of my heart, and to HOW fans all around the world, all I can say is this: What the FUCK is wrong with you?

The smile on his face disappears, replaced with an almost admonishing scowl. He shakes his head, disgusted. Instantly, his heat returns– the crowd explodes into a plethora of boos.

Mike Best: I’m serious, hear me out. What the fuck is wrong with you? For a year, you scream for my head. You spend hours with tubes of glitter and construction paper, painstakingly crafting signs just to tell me how much you fucking despise me. Every single day, my e-mail account at Best Studios is slammed full of death threats and illiterate hate mail– you loathe my very being. You hate with every ounce of your soul what I represent. And yet when I fell from that balcony– when my career was likely over, and you could have been rid of me forever– you caught me. You saved me. So don’t boo me– for a moment, really stop and consider what I’m saying. What the fuck is wrong with you?

The customary boos come, at least from a small pocket in the crowd– but for the most part the fans on hand are just listening.

Mike Best: See, I’m sorry to disappoint all of you that misread the signs. Dissention in the ranks– a veritable Civil War between myself and Max Kael. Lee Best chooses a favorite son, and it’s not me. And then I get lost in the fucking desert and start re-evaluating my life– I mean, I can understand where you went wrong. By all logic and psychology of professional wrestling, this is my big face turn, isn’t it? This is where I come out and pander to your wishes, spout out some witty catchphrase, and urge you all to buy my t-shirt. This is where I stand tall and rally the troops, leading them into War Games on a crusade against my father. You cheered me at March To Glory– some of you even cheered me here tonight. But see, that’s why you’re pathetic. That’s why you’re sheep– you’ve learned to follow the formula.

He shakes his head once again, curling his legs up Indian style in the turnbuckle and visibly wincing as he bends his leg. The fans boo along, as per the rules– after all, they’ve been called sheep. But frankly? Their hearts aren’t in it.

Mike Best: Two weeks ago, you booed me because I’m a Best– you booed me because I’m a bad guy. But now Season 2 begins and there’s a new big bad in town, so you expect me to join up with the good guys and save the world. Fuck yourselves. Eat a big bag of dicks and wash it down with a forty ounce of the motherfucking TRUTH! The truth is that bad guys are bad guys– I wasn’t born to kiss babies. I wasn’t born to donate to charities, obey the rules, and pander to fat mouth-breathers to sell a few bucks more in t-shirts every week. The truth is that Bests are Bests– we can’t escape our destinies. But there is one more truth, and this one might be the most important… the truth is, I’ve been a bigger sheep than any of you.

He nods his head, slumping his shoulders down and weakening his posture. The fans actually begin to hang on his words, listening to see where this is going.

Mike Best: See, every week you’re sucked in to the story we want to tell you. Lee Best is the bad guy, Mark O’Neal is the good guy. Davis is a joke, Jackson is a monster. You perceive what the puppet-master wants you to perceive, and under no circumstances are you to look behind the big red #970000 curtain. But allow me to let you in on a little secret– it’s not just you cats and kittens. It’s all of us. It’s Lee’s game, and we’re just fucking pawns in it. He spent the last year building a relationship with me– building a trust, and a family. And then he brings Max Kael into the fold, and he breeds that jealousy that he desires so very much. He breeds that hate. He’s Emperor Palpatine, stabbing people in the eye with his crazy purple force lightning. And me? I was being bred to be his Darth Vader.

He chuckles, rocking back and forth in his seat high upon the turnbuckle.

Mike Best: Well, unfortunately for Lee Best, the force is pretty fucking strong in this one.  See, all this time I’ve been a drone. A clone solider. Insert your own shitty George Lucas euphemism, but the end result is the same– I’ve been a man on a fucking leash. Always doing what was best for the family– always doing what was best for the Best Alliance. I sat and watched my father make mistake after mistake after fucking mistake. I watched him throw Rhys Townsend and Mark O’Neal out of the Best Alliance, only to see them rise like phoenixes from the ashes to become number one contender and LSD Champion. I sat through a thousand mind numbingly boring James Varga promos and matches, shaking my head as my father insisted he stay while Ethan Cavanaugh is forced to go. Mario Muarako, Ryan Faze, Jatt Starr– legends, tossed from Lee Best’s private tea party, because his big bald ego outweighs his ability to make the right decision. And it all would have worked out fine, until his next big caper was the adoption of Maximillian Kael– pushing him through the Lee Best Invitational, giving him every opportunity in the world. Pairing brother against brother, the ultimate test to see who’d make a better apprentice to the dark side of the force. He chose Max Kael as the favored son.

His voice getting quiet, a small smirk comes over his face as he leans in closer to the mic.

Mike Best: He chose wrong.

The crowd explodes once again, though the HOW World Champion doesn’t seem to pay it a lot of heed. If anything, he looks a little bit uncomfortable with the reaction.

Mike Best: And so now I’m left with a choice– see, Max Kael can’t be with us tonight. He has a prior engagement with an intensive care unit and a machine that’s keeping him breathing properly. He failed his master– and he picked a pretty bad time to do it. Max Kael wasn’t just the winner of this year’s Lee Best Invitational– he was also the captain of my father’s War Games team. Whoops, someone fucked up. And since I have it on pretty good authority that Max Kael’s tenure in High Octane Wrestling is over– and I do mean over— that means that there is an empty seat at the Captain’s Table on Team Lee Best. Now family is about forgiveness. It’s about love. It’s about accepting the faults of the people who– oh, who am I kidding? I’m a Best. And dad, if you’re watching– and I know you are– you have just found yourself a conundrum. You made a mistake. You picked the wrong kid. We both know you did, and now if you want me to take Max’s place on your War Games team, you’re going to have to come down to this ring and admit it. You’re going to have to apologize to me, publicly, and then you’re going to have to get down on your fucking knees and beg for me to come clean up after your mistake.

He sneers into the microphone, staring at the entrance way.

Mike Best: I’m the HOW World Champion, Lee. And right now, I’m drafted to Team Scottywood. You dropped me like a bad habit when you thought Max Kael had the better odds of walking out of March To Glory with the belt, and like most things in life, you made a bad fucking bet. Now if you want me, you’re going to have to earn me back. In fact, you know something? Fuck Scottywood, too. See maybe the rest of these HOW monkeys are proud to be picked for War Games– maybe they feel special to be a part of the big show. But last year, I got dogged and sold out for Christopher America– this year? This year I hold the cards. I hold the belt. I hold the prize that everyone is going to be fighting for. So from this moment on, consider my status in the Best Alliance frozen. From this moment on, consider my involvement in Team Scottywood to be nothing more than speculation. From this moment on?

He chuckles, lowering his eyes and his voice at the same time.

Mike Best: Consider me a free agent.

This time, the Best Arena EXPLODES. For the first time ever, the entire HOW crowd seems to be one hundred percent behind Michael Best– funny how that works out.

Mike Best: I don’t know where the dice are going to land– but Lee, you have until the end of the night to give me your decision. And this time, you’d better make the right one. Let the negotiations begin… I don’t know where I’m going to end up– but I’m going to have a lot of fucking fun getting there.

He drops the microphone, flipping it to Bryan McVay who doesn’t quite catch it in time. It drops to the mat, feedbacking hard as Mike Best climbs out of the ring. He holds the HOW Championship overhead one more time, making his way back up the ramp as the show cuts to commercial.

People who drink water don’t belong on Team Scottywood anyhow.

 

Goldenly Awesome?

The scene opens up on Summer Passions, the AoA’s Hall of Fame Stripper turned Official AoA interviewer. Summer is standing outside the AoA locker room wearing a Red, White, & Blue Bikini. The door opens up and ‘Marvelous’ Mario Maurako & ‘Golden’ Greg Davis exit the locker room. Mario is wearing his wrestling gear, and a black t-shirt that has a woman in a wheel chair in it, next to the woman is the printed words “This Bitch didn’t know when to keep her mouth shut. Do You?”  Mario adjusts the HOW Tag Team Title on his shoulder as he proudly holds his 2009 Oscar in his right hand.  Next to Mario is Greg Davis, who is of course ready for his match which is coming up next. Water drips down from Davis’ head and face and Mario begins to talk to Summer.

Mario: Oh- well hello there Summer. I see you’re attempting to earn your paycheck this week and actually trying to talk to an Argonaut.

Summer: I’m standing here with two of the Argonauts who were victorious at March 2 Glory. Mario Maurako fulfilled his prophecy and recaptured the HOW Tag Team Titles for the AoA by defeating, among others, HOW Hall of Famer Chris Kostoff. Tonight thought Chris Kostoff is standing across the ring from Golden Greg Davis, and also Brian Hollywood, with the winner of the 3-Way dance getting a HOW TV Title Shot.

Mario: Summer, can you read?

Summer: Of course I can.

Mario: Then take a few minutes to read my shirt and hand that microphone over to The Marvelous One.

Summer hands the microphone over in disgust as she reads the T-Shirt.

Mario: At March 2 Glory Greg and I did exactly what we said we were going to do. We both went out and won our matches, and now we stand before you here tonight on the verge of another break through. I’ve had the pleasure of teaching Greg here all he needs to know about beating Kostoff this week, seeing as I am officially an expert on such things after whacking his wife, and then defeating him at March 2 Glory. Now tonight Greg is going to go out there and put the finishing touches on the Foundation while securing himself a TV Title Match for next week. Tell him Davis.

Mario hands the microphone to Davis.

Greg Davis: That’s right, tonight I’m going out to that ring and creating another Golden Moment featuring me, Golden Greg Davis.  Ten years from today people will look back at this night and realize that this night I took my career to the next level.  Tonight I will defeat HOW Hall of Famer Chris Kostoff, and his little stable mate Brian Hollywood and send them both back to the “Golden” Showers.

Mario and Greg laugh at the joke and Mario slaps Davis on the back, and takes the microphone back.

Mario: Also another monumental event that people will remember for all time. Tonight is the night that I again step away from Wrestling and focus solely into guiding Greg here to many HOW Titles. C’mon now don’t act shocked. A few weeks ago The Marvelous One agreed to wrestle with Greg Davis, and we took out Kostoff, Fear, & Thunder. Then I agreed to wrestle at M2G and I once again showed up Kostoff, and a few other losers. And now I’ve contractually fulfilled all of my obligations and will once again step to the side and let Golden Greg here take my spot.

Suddenly a trash can comes flying by and JUST misses Maurako & Davis. The camera pans over to see Chris Kostoff who is obviously still pissed off. Maurako & Davis quickly head away from Kostoff as the Triple Threat Match is next.

Kostoff: You can’t run forever Maurako! I’m going to KILL you!

Kostoff rips the camera out of the camera man’s hands and throws it down the hallway after Mario & Davis. The camera shatters on the ground sending the HOV screen in the arena to a shot of pure static.

Brian Hollywood – 0% v Greg Davis – 0% v Chris Kostoff – 0%

Joe Hoffman: It’s time for the mid-show main event, folks– this match has been speculated on all week, and for good reason: It’s for the #1 contendership to the brand new HOW Television Title! I’ll tell you what, I wouldn’t want to be in the ring for a match like this.

Benny Newell: Yeah, Douchebag Greg Davis sure is intimidating. And Brian Hollywood really seems to be going places. Oh yeah, and Chris Kostoff is the most– you know what? I feel like being sarcastic is lost on you. I’m just gonna drink.

“Perfect Insanity” by Disturbed blasts over the PA system, prompting a cheer from the crowd as Brian Hollywood steps through the curtain and onto the ramp. The Foundation member smiles at the crowd, working over the arena as me makes his way down to the ring.

Joe Hoffman: Well here’s Brian Hollywood, and he seems pumped up for the opportunity at his feet here tonight. He might be the underdog in this match, but I wouldn’t be at all surprised to see him walk away with  the right to challenge for the HOW TV Title. Especially with his stablemate Chris Kostoff watching his back in the ring.

Benny Newell: Having Chris Kostoff watch your back is like having Chris Tucker watch your bike and basket of watermelons.

Joe Hoffman: Benny…

Benny Newell: No? How about having Chris Farley watch your baggie of heroin?

Hollywood gets into the ring, pointing all around the arena to the crowd. First stretching on the ropes, he then walks to a turnbuckle, leaning up against it and waiting for fellow Foundation member Chris Kostoff to make his entrance.

The crowd erupts into cheers as “Cry Little Sister” by Seasons After replaces Hollywood’s theme, prompting Chris Kostoff to bound his way through the curtain and onto the stage. He stares down into the ring at Brian Hollywood, nodding his head as he makes his way down the ramp.

Joe Hoffman: And here’s the big man, HOW Hall of Famer Chris Kostoff! You’re looking at one of the scariest men ever to enter an HOW ring– you’ve got to make him the favorite in this match.

Benny Newell: Not if he’s watching Hollywood’s back– which he’s not. You just say words sometimes to fill in the spaces between entrances, don’t you?

Joe Hoffman: What did you just say?

Benny Newell: Huh? I said your hair looks nice like that.

Chris Kostoff steps over the top rope, getting into the ring and raising his arm high over his head. The crowd eats it up, going ape shit for the HOW Hall of Famer as he takes his corner, cracking his knuckles and neck.

Metallica’s “King Nothing” blasts to life over the sound system, the arena lights dim down as the entrance stage comes to life with yellow and white flood lights.  The Golden One rushes out from the back, stopping at the top of the stage to scan the crowd.  He points to the rafters and pounds his chest.

Joe Hoffman: And here’s Greg Davis, fresh off a big PPV win at March To Glory. After being chased off by Chris Kostoff earlier tonight, you know he’s going to give it his all tonight, no matter–

Benny Newell: HE GOT HIS FUCKING DICK SUCKED BY A COW. Close your hole.

He slaps hands with the raucous fans before rushing up the steps and ascends the turnbuckle from the apron, again looking out over the crowd and pounding his chest twice more.

As Davis jumps down from the turnbuckle, Matt Boettcher rings the bell to start this one off.

DING DING DING

Right off the bell, Brian Hollywood charges for Greg Davis, jumping into the air with a perfect missile dropkick that knocks Davis backward into the corner. He slams against the turnbuckle pad, staggered as Hollywood moves in like a hawk with a flurry of punches.

The crowd begins counting along with the blows, ONE, TWO, THREE, FOUR– but it’s broken up! Chris Kostoff shakes his head at Hollywood, sneering at him and telling him “I’ll show you how to get it done, kid.” He throws Davis hard back into the corner, pounding him with a hard right hand to the side of the face. The fans go nuts, cheering him on as he connects with one punch after another– finally, the referee breaks it up and sends both men back to their corners.

Joe Hoffman: A strong start by the Foundation, weakening Greg Davis right off the bell.

Benny Newell: That’s what she said. Don’t bother commenting, I know it didn’t make any sense. DRINK!

Greg Davis re-centers himself, grinning at Brian Hollywood and telling him to come get some. Cautiously, Brian Hollywood looks to Chris Kostoff for guidance– Kostoff merely shrugs his shoulders and points Brian toward The Golden One. In a rush, Hollywood charges forward with a clothesline, but Davis ducks! Spinning around, Davis catches Hollywood off the opposite ropes and knocks him right over the top with a clothesline of his own!

Brian Hollywood lands outside on the concrete, holding his head and looking worse for the wear.

Joe Hoffman: It’s just Kostoff and Davis for the moment, and I can say I don’t envy The Golden One.

Benny Newell: Who would? He got his FUCKING DICK SUCKED by a FUCKING COW.

Kostoff beckons for Davis, who swallows hard and then charges in gun’s blazing. The two men lock up, and thanks to the obvious size advantage, Chris Kostoff effortlessly tosses Greg Davis across the ring and back down to the mat. The crowd goes nuts, but Kostoff isn’t done yet– he lifts Davis back to his feet, powering an elbow down onto the back of The Golden One’s head before tossing him into the ropes with an Irish whip… and then a big boot! Davis hits the mat in a heap, and Kostoff drops for the cover.

One…

Two…

NO!

At the last second, Brian Hollywood dives onto the pile after sliding into the ring, narrowly breaking up the count and keeping this match going.

Joe Hoffman: Kostoff can’t be happy about that, he almost had it all right there after a big boot.

Benny Newell: You’re so helpful tonight, Joe. In case any blind fucks are listening in, you’re really keeping them fucking posted.

Kostoff snarls, flipping his hair back and glaring at Hollywood but quickly getting over it and moving on. Kostoff reaches down, picking Greg Davis up off the mat– but Davis counters! He drives a boot into the stomach of Chris Kostoff, following up with a standing clothesline that runs Kostoff back against the ropes!

Brian Hollywood takes advantage of the distraction, bouncing off the opposite ropes and going for another big dropkick, but Davis moves out of the way! Hollywood connects with the face of Chris Kostoff, sending the big man flipping over the ropes and colliding with the hard concrete outside! Hollywood can’t believe it, his eyes filling with shock– it doesn’t last long though, as Greg Davis catches him with a roll up from behind!

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

DING DING DING!

Greg Davis pops up off the canvas, slapping his chest as Matt Boettcher holds his arm up into the air. Brian Hollywood is livid, slamming his hands against the mat as he glares up at Greg Davis for stealing such a quick win.

Bryan McVay: Here is your winner, and number one contender for the TV Title… GOLDEN GREG DAAAAAAAVIS!

Davis drops to his back, all smiles as he continues to interact with the crowd on his way back up the ramp. Brian Hollywood gets back to his feet, shaking his head at he stares at the man who just beat him with a roll up.

*THUD!*

Hollywood drops to the mat, lying in a heap as Chris Kostoff stands over him in a rage. He picks him back up, ripping the Foundation t-shirt off Hollywood’s back and booting him in the stomach.

Joe Hoffman: OH MY GOD! Chris Kostoff is on a rampage!

Benny Newell: KILL HIM! ROID RAGE YOU FUCKER!

With a thunderous slam, Chris Kostoff brings Brian Hollywood down to the mat with a violent and utterly terrifying looking No Remorse. Hollywood lies motionless on the mat, left for dead as Kostoff drops out of the ring and makes his way back up the ramp, disgusted.

An Insane Departure

Fading in on the scene is the distant faded out picture of an old house in Arkham. On the front door the rotten sign reads “Kael Residence”.

“Sweet Dreams (Are Made of These)” covered by Emily Browning slowly crawls over the scene as several people dressed in black suits slowly start to parade out of the front door. A few random close ups show people from Max Kael’s past looking somber as they pass through the doors, their eyes looking down at the ground..

First is Jackson Knights, the man Max Kael managed for in the mid to late nineties. His face is wet with a few tears shed for his old friend. Follow behind him is Elenore Kael, cruel cousin of Max Kael, her placid, porcelain face reveals no emotion as her ever steady business like appearance remains intact. She turns and holds her hand out as the growing you man Sutler Kael follows her out.

The young man, looking hauntingly like his biological father, Shane Reynolds, looks up at the sky with a sort of calm, removed expression. He pauses as Elenore beckons him forward, looking toward her. For a moment his face twitches as a very familiar look of insanity crosses it, the video cutting to a rather frantic looking Max Kael glaring at the scene but it falls back to the calm features of Sutler. He nods and takes Elenore’s head, leaving the house.

The people leave and the house is emptied as the camera slowly moves forward..

We are treated to a scene of Max Kael making his way down to the HOW ring for the first time back in 2006, little more than an unknown entity taking on the Jobber elite. He participates in the beating down of Darkwing, Sektor, Michael Norcia and even Fear before the scene fades to darkness.

“Sweet dreams are made of these.. who am I to disagree, travel the world and the seven seas.. everybody’s looking for something..”

Fire fills the screen as Phoenix Wrestling’s logo burns brightly as Max’s wild eyes slowly fade in on either side. Crooked white teeth stretch out into a smile as the logo burnts itself to the ground, fading into ash as the distant sound of Max Kael giggling can be heard…

“Some of them want to use you..”

Lee Best’s face fades in from the darkness of the ashes, his stern expression twisted into a snarl..

“Some of them want to be used by you..”

Shane Reynold’s face boils out of Lee’s left eye, contorted in pain and blood as Max Kael can be seen shoveling dirt over his face. The camera slowly zooms in on Max’s manic expression as he holds the shovel high above his head..

“Some of them want to abuse you..”

The Hall of Famer Jatt Starr fills the screen as he cracks his neck, a smug expression crossing over his face. He holds up a list of achievements Max has never accomplished.

“Some of them want to be abused by you..”

Graystone hobbles onto the screen, blood dripping from his face shortly before Max Kael shatters a glass jar of rusty screws across his face, dropping him to the ground.

“Some of them want to be ABUSED BY YOU!!”

Scenes from last weeks March to Glory title match break out onto the scene. Max Kael getting attacked by a mob of Mexicans, having his head rammed into the turn buckle, getting kicked in the side of the head, kicked in the groin..

Finally as the song grows louder and more dramatic Max Kael can be seen struggling on Mike Best’s back as the HOW World Champion drives him forward head first via a Crucifix Power Bomb. Max’s head strikes a chair as the screen washes into red tones, slowing down as you can see the chair contort around Max’s head as his neck snaps violently to the side. Mike covers Max who twitches slightly..

1…

2…

3….

The video fades into darkness…

“Sweet dreams are made of these…”

The Madness Ends..

1971 – 2011

We cut backstage to see Mike Best staring at a Television monitor with mixed expression on his face. He shakes his head and sets his arms on his hips. Blair Moise makes her way up to Mike Best with mic in hand with the Max Kael segment coming to an end.

Blair Moise: Michael.. Lee Best has yet to answer your question and after that video I have to ask, what do you think is in store for you? Or for the Best Alliance?

Mike Best: Listen, if Max is gone.. well if he is gone he is gone. I won’t apologize for anything that happened or anything I did. Lee made that mistake, Lee set that match and made it what it was. Lee was there, he had the power to stop it but he wanted Max to Kill ME. Ok. Let me clarify that he was hoping Max would kill ME. So his plan backfired, so this isn’t all on my shoulders.

Blair Moise: What about the resolution about you giving Lee the chance to speak to you? Have you heard anything from Lee yet?

Mike Best: No I ha-

CRACK!

A chair cracks Mike in the back of the head as he stumbles to the ground. A bald man steps out in front of the camera as Blaire runs off screaming in the other direction. The chair clatters to the ground as the bald man picks up Mike and slams his head into the near by wall! Stepping back the man eyes Mike for a moment before running forward slamming his knee into the side of Mike’s head sandwiching it with the cement wall!

The man stands over Mike staring down at him before he reaches down, grabbing the near unconscious World Champion by the collar, hoisting him up before he drags him toward the chair on the ground…

SINGULARITY!

The back of Mike’s head snaps off the chair as his body goes prone, slumping onto the ground, blood seeping from the wound. The camera pands around to reveal the face of the man who has attacked Mike..

A bald Max Kael stares down at Mike with a very serene, cold expression. On top of his head there is a jagged looking scar where Mike Best had dropped him at March to Glory. He pulls a pen out of his pocket and clicks it open, swatting down as he grabs the bleeding head of Mike Best. Pushing the pen against the under part of his left eye Max snarls a few words out.

Max Kael: ..Big Brother has his eye.. on you.

Max’s clicks the pen back into place as he slips it into his pocket leaving Mike to bleed on the floor. Max stares down at him as the screams of a few people seem to alert Paramedics to Mike’s condition.

Max Kael: Lee say’s go fuck yourself.

A paramedic arrives looking down at Mike as he hurriedly starts to pull out a few bandages, horrified at what he sees.

Paramedic: My God what Happened!?

Max Kael: I went sane. Heh. Heh.

Having issues with your brother? Call now and get advice from Max Kael.

John Sektor – 0% v Scottywood© – 0%

“Praise” by Sevendust blares throughout the arena. The crowd erupts as John Sektor makes his way down to the ring.Joe Hoffman: Listen to the Chicago welcome for the in-ring return of John Sektor!

Benny Newell: The only thing great about Sektor’s return is that he hasn’t rejoined those AoA idiots.

Sektor slips into the ring when all of a sudden…

OOOOOHHHHH! YOU GOTTA KEEP ‘EM SEPARATED!

“The Animal” by Disturbed plays as Scottywood makes his way out to a mixed reaction.

Joe Hoffman: This should be an excellent matchup and a mini preview of what’s to come for War Games.

Benny Newell: I don’t often say this but this a great idea by America, having these two face off while Lee Best’s team remains protected.

Joe Hoffman: Let’s not forget that this match up is also due to Scottywood running down John Sektor on HOW’s website.

Benny Newell: Let’s not forget that Scottywood is a fuckstick who lost his ICON title to the Best Alliance’s Jackson.

Scottywood enters the ring and the two begin to circle each other. Scottywood quickly moves in and kicks Sektor in the gut. With Sektor bent, Scotty clasps his hands together and brings them down hard on the back of Sektor’s head. Sektor falls to the mat as Scotty begins to stomp away at Sektor’s head.

After a few stomps, Scotty places his foot on the back of Sektor’s head and holds out his arms in a Jesus pose. The crowd again offers a mixed reaction. Sektor rolls himself out from under Scotty’s boot. He holds the back of his head and looks at Scotty, who motions with his hand for Sektor to come get some more.

Joe Hoffman: This is a new meanstreak from Scotty.

Benny Newell: Notice the ref didn’t check Scotty for weapons. I bet he’s got a knife on him. If Scotty’s meanstreak continues, we may see a shanking!

Sektor gets back up as he and Scotty go into a tie-up. Sektor pushes Scotty back to the turnbuckle and then begins to elbow Scotty in the face. After a few shots, Sektor backs up a few steps and then charges Scotty, driving his shoulder into Scotty’s stomach. Scotty falls to his knees and then face first into the mat.

Quickly, Sektor climbs the turnbuckle behinds Scotty and holds up his hands. He jumps off the second rope as Scotty is climbing to his feet, driving his hands into the back of Scotty’s head.

Joe Hoffman: Sektor back on the offensive!

Benny Newell: It’s offensive that he even came back.

Sektor moves in on Scotty and picks him up, placing Scotty’s head between his legs.

Joe Hoffman: He’s setting him up!

Sektor hooks Scotty’s arms, but Scotty pulls down deep and flips Sektor over his head.

Benny Newell: OH MY GOD!

Joe Hoffman: I know, Benny! Tremendous counter by Scottywood!

Benny Newell: NO! I LOST MY JACK DAN— oh here it is.

Sektor winces in pain, grabbing at his lower back. Scottywood looks down at Sektor with wild eyes. He picks Sektor up and hits a quick snap suplex. Smirking Scottywood moves over to Sektor and begins smacking the back of his head.

Scottywood: What’s the matter, Sektor? A little rusty? Huh? HUH?!?!

Joe Hoffman: Mind games being played by Scottywood.

Benny Newell: If I know Scottywood, and I really don’t want to, I bet he’s imagining his hand is a hockey stick and he enjoys smacking the shit out of Sektor’s head.

Scotty picks Sektor up and then lifts him on to his shoulders.

Scottywood: YOU WON’T MAKE IT TO WAR GAMES!

Joe Hoffman: GAME MISCONDUCT COMING UP!

Scotty rotates Sektor but Sektor slips out, completely rotating behind Scottywood, grabbing Scotty’s neck and hitting a reverse DDT!

Crowd: OOOOHHHH!

Joe Hoffman: I can’t believe what I just saw! That may have been the counter of the year!

Benny Newell: I’ve seen better counters in a suburban kitchen.

Sektor picks up Scotty once more and pushes Scotty’s head between his legs. He hooks the arms and…..

Joe Hoffman: C-SEKTION! C-SEKTION!

Benny Newell: Damnit. No shanking tonight.

Sektor drops for the cover as the referee counts.

1

2

3!!!

McVay: HERE IS YOUR WINNER IN 8:42……. JOHNNNNNN SEEEEEEEEKTOOOOOORRRRRR!!!!

The crowd erupts as John Sektor has his hand raised in victory.

Joe Hoffman: What an outstanding match up between the two War Games captains! If this is what we get between these two, just imagine when their teams go at it in a few months!

Benny Newell: It won’t matter. None of this matters. All that matters is exactly how many from Lee Best’s team will be standing in the end. I’m guessing all of them.

Redemption?

The camera cuts backstage to see James Varga lacing up his wrestling boots. Eddie Pirelli is positioning the head of Uncle Mike Best on a shelf inside of the locker room.

Eddie Pirelli: This is it! This is the opportunity to gain championship gold for the Best Alliance once more! This is the chance for you to harness the momentum from March 2 Glory and carry it through tonight.

Varga jerks his head in the direction of the severed head and smiles.

James Varga: Of course it’s a reward. Why else would he put me in this match? He knows what will happen if he double crosses me….. just a repeat of what happened at March 2 Glory.

Suddenly, from off camera comes slow clapping. The camera, James Varga, and Eddie Pirelli all look towards the sound. There, leaning in the entryway, wearing a striped referees shirt is Christopher America.

James Varga: What the hell do you want?

Christopher walks into the locker room and Varga quickly stands, fists clenched.

Christopher America: I just came to congratulate you on a hard fought victory at March 2 Glory. It’s not everyday I get beaten by a Best Alliance member in Mexico in front of Mexican fans in a match refereed by a Mexican. Gee, it’s…. it’s almost like the odds were stacked against me!

Anyways, I wanted to tell you that since we’re….

Christopher pauses, looks at the camera and smiles.

Christopher America: … in America…

He turns to look back at Varga.

Christopher America: … in front of American wrestling fans and your match is being refereed by the epitome of America that the “adopted” son of Mexico now finds himself with the odds stacked against him. It’s like karma magically decided to fuck you in the ass! Isn’t that wonderful?

Varga scowls and gets nose to nose with America.

James Varga: Watch yourself, America. If you attempt to screw me out of the LSD Championship, I might have to knock out the epitome of America in front of all his American fans in his American arena… in America.

Christopher America stares into Varga’s eyes before ultimately smacking him hard across the face. Varga dabs at the inside of his mouth and then looks at his hand, checking for blood. Varga and Pirelli both begin to move towards America who holds up his shirt from his chest.

Christopher America: Ah, ah, ah, Mr. Varga. We wouldn’t want you assaulting a referee let alone the owner of the Best Arena. To do so may force me to take you out of the LSD Championship match tonight.

Varga fumes as America smirks and begins to back out of the locker room.

Christopher America: Now if you’ll excuse me gentlemen, I’ve got an appointment in the ring that I have to keep.

America walks out as Pirelli looks at Varga’s mouth.

Intergalactic

Our cameras switch back to a view inside the Best Arena just as the ringside area grows completely dark.  The massive arena is soon illuminated only by an entrance video on the High Octane Vision showing four silhouettes confidently marching out of the fiery orange horizon as three letters grow larger and larger behind them: A…o…A.

“Ladies and Gentlemen” by Saliva kicks into its main riff as four men—entirely tangible and not at all silhouettish now—step out from behind the curtain to a wild collaboration of deafening cheers and thunderous boos: Best Arena owner and referee for tonight’s LSD Championship match, Christopher America, The number one contedner for the TV title “Golden” Greg Davis, and the new HOW Tag Team Champions, Perfectly Marvelous.

Joe Hoffman: Here come the Argonauts, who have been making a huge impact since the returns of America and Triple M to their ranks!  At March to Glory, Perfectly Marvelous took home their sixth Tag Team Titles as a team, a truly monumental feat.

Benny Newell: Fuck that.  I make impacts in my toilet bowl bigger than the AoA, Hoffman.  Those Tag Belts belong to the Best Alliance, and they would have them right now if it wasn’t for Ethan fucking it all up.

All four AoA members have a cocky swagger tonight as they make their way to the ring, with America and Davis occasionally stopping to talk trash with the Best Arena traditionalist fans who would love for the Argonauts to be evicted from the premises altogether.  PM slide into the ring first, holding up the platinum Tag Team belts for all to see, before the whole group assembles as one.

As the music dies down, the Golden One taunts Bryan McVay from the ring, grabbing the microphone from McVay’s hand after sharing a few unkind words with the ring announcer.  Davis hands the mic over to his manager and stablemate, Mario Maurako.

Mario Maurako: Chicago, we haven’t done this in a while, so prepare yourselves…. WHO ROCKS THE HOUSE?!?!

The crowd lets loose with an array of different responses to Mario’s classic catchphrase, including “TRIPLE M,” “THE BLACKHAWKS,” and one that clearly catches the Irate Italian’s ire, “CHRIS KOSTOFF.”

Mario Maurako: Did…I just hear that correctly?  America?  Davis?  Paul?  Am I hard of hearing, or did I just hear someone respond to the most important catch phrase of all time with the talentless, rotten, egg-sucking name of Chris Kostoff?!

The fans erupt into a cheer that nearly knocks the Marvelous One over by its sheer force.  A vein bulges out of Mario’s forehead as he shakes his head in disbelief.  Paras steals the mic from his tag partner and raises a hand.

Paul Paras: Cool it there, M. Let us remember—the opinions of Kostoff’s fans are about as asinine as Kostoff himself.  These are the same people who will be buying Foundation t-shirts from the Goodwill half-price bin in about two weeks.

That quip garners another load of boos in the Minnesota Messiah’s direction.  The smug one shrugs it off and flashes his signature smirk.

Paul Paras: Tonight is not about the Foundation, and it sure as perfection isn’t about Chris Kostoff.  Tonight is about celebration.  Tonight is about pomp and circumstance.  For all the ignoramuses out there who came to the show tonight because their big brother was a wrestling fan back when PM won their first Tag Team Championships in 1999, and because their big sister was in the Perfect hotel room later that same night…

A group of girls in the audience stand up and scream approvingly.  Paras eyes them, deciding that they are too young to have been at that particular show in ’99, but would make good dessert for the current show, then continues his thought.

Paul Paras: …Let the Perfect One make this clear—tonight is about the greatest tag team of ALL-TIME, PERFECTLY MARVELOUS.  Our fellow Argonauts have been there with us the entire way, and tonight, in the arena Christopher America owns, we are expecting a party of the highest magnitude! Parades! Marching bands! Perhaps even a national holiday in our honor!  Let’s have it, Chris old boy!

The outspoken Triple P perfectly tosses the mic into America’s hands, then readjusts the Tag Team Title on his shoulder.  America appears slightly hesitant to respond, given the grand assumption he just received.  The National Treasure smirks to himself before pulling Greg Davis aside and whispering something in his ear.  Davis nods and suddenly leaves the ring, charging to the backstage area.  Mario watches his protégé’s exit confusedly while Paul seems too caught up in his own hype to even notice he’s gone.  America finally speaks, appearing more confident now.

Christopher America: Chicago, Illlinois—you gullible, pathetic, excuses for Americans—Triple P is right.

America grins as the crowd is once again incited.  He owns the place.  What are they gonna do about it?

Christopher America: What Perfectly Marvelous did at March to Glory was a thing of beauty.  The new Tag Team Champions deserve some Awesome recognition, because they will now do something  that no one else in HOW has been able to do for years—put tag team wrestling back on the map.  We’ve had to sit through the Best Alliance and Foundation treating those belts like the stale gum in a pack of trading cards for too long!  So I got to thinking…

He motions toward PM, who hold their Tag Titles proudly as they should be held.

Christopher America: What does one get for the team that has everything?  You guys have held Tag Titles all over the world.  You beat “teams”…

America blatantly and obnoxiously makes air quotes with his hands.

Christopher America: …from both of the other, un-Awesome groups in this company already.  So what can I possibly do to give you the appreciating you rightfully deserve?  Well, I noticed both of you are in your wrestling gear tonight…

As if this is a new revelation to the men wearing the gear, Paras and Maurako look surprised at their own attire, perhaps even moreso that it is coming up in this conversation.

Christopher America: So what I propose to you, Paul, and to you, Mario, is that tonight, right here in Chicago, we begin a celebration of tag team wrestling in the best way possible—a TOURNAMENT.  You guys, Perfectly Marvelous, will put your legacy on the line against the best tag teams HOW has to offer, and it starts…right now!

The crowd goes ballistic at this announcement while Perfectly Marvelous begin throwing a fit, looking less than happy that they have to compete tonight.  Their theme music, “Invincible” by OK Go begins to play, as America starts yelling at a confused Bryan McVay to get another microphone to announce PM’s “entrance.”

Joe Hoffman: A tag team tournament?  Tonight?!  What a blockbuster announcement from Christopher America!  PM don’t look pleased at this surprise!

Benny Newell: YES!  Get the BA out here and get these Perfect Douche Bags out of Lee’s ring!  I’ll drink to that!!

Bryan McVay: Ladies and gentlemen, the following contest is scheduled for one fall…!  Already in the ring, they hail from Minneapolis, Minnesota and are the reigning HOW Tag Team Champions, “Perfect” Paul Paras, “Marvelous” Mario Maurako…they are…PERFECTLY MARVELOUS!

PM place their Tag Team Titles neatly in the corner of the ring, trying to psych themselves up for the unexpected competition tonight, occasionally shooting concerned glances at their stablemate, America.  Referee Rick “Even” Stevens runs down the ramp and slides into the ring to make this official.  America climbs out to ringside and pulls a small white card from his pants pocket, handing it to McVay.  McVay reads the card, his eyes growing concerned and baffled simultaneously.  America audibly threatens to have McVay fired if he doesn’t make the announcement on the card.

Joe Hoffman: Maybe America also hand-picked PM’s opponents?  He’s sure riding poor Bryan McVay.  Well, here we go…let’s see who PM is going to face first!

Benny Newell: The Best Alliance!

Bryan McVay: Ladies and gentlemen, Christopher America has informed me that this single-match tournament has one important stipulation: because this competition is set up to determine the greatest tag team in High Octane Wrestling, only “real HOW tag teams” are allowed to compete.  So, allow me to introduce Perfectly Marvelous’s opponents…

PM wave for the opponents to “bring it on” as smoke begins to cloud the entrance ramp and the arena lights shut off completely, sending the crowd into a frenzy.  Several loud pyrotechnics go off on either side of the ramp.  Finally, the lights return as the cameras zoom in on the surprise opponents…

Benny Newell: What the fuck?

…Nobody.

Both members of Perfectly Marvelous continue to stand ready in the ring as America demands the timekeeper ring the bell.  He then yells at Stevens to begin the count.

1…2…3…

Joe Hoffman: What on earth is this?!  A tournament with one match?  If there’s a match going on, I sure don’t see any opponents for Perfectly Marvelous.  This is ridiculous!

…4…5…6…

Benny Newell: This is complete bullshit!!  There are plenty of “real” tag teams in HOW!  There’s David Black and… I mean, there’s Varga and…

…7….8…9…

Joe Hoffman: The AoA were seemingly out to prove a point, and it looks like they’ve done it.  I’ve heard of fictional tournaments in wrestling before, but I never thought I’d see one here on Turmoil.  I don’t know what to say, fans.  This is the quickest tournament I’ve ever seen in all my years in this business!

…10!  The bell slowly rings as America slides back into the ring, where Paras and Maurako look at each other with wide eyes, then jump into over-the-top celebration mode, slapping high fives with each other and America as their music plays.  PM then jump out to ringside and run a victory lap, high-fiving the irate fans, acting as if they’ve just won the Super Bowl.  Red, white, and blue confetti begins to fall from the rafters of the Best Arena as the AoA are soaking this all in.

Greg Davis reappears from the backstage area, proudly carrying what appears to be a large, Stanley Cup-esque trophy in his arms. He rolls the huge trophy into the ring and climbs in after it, placing it solidly between Paras and Maurako.  America raises his microphone again, motioning to the trophy with a wave of his all-American hand.

Christopher America: They’ve done it!  Ladies and gentlemen, what a match we have just witnessed!  What a grueling tournament win!  Without further ado, may I present to you, HOW’s ONLY real tag team… your winners of the first annual “HOW Intergalactic Tag Team Tournament” and therefore, not only the greatest tag team in HOW, but the greatest tag team… in the entire UNIVERSE…. PERFECTLY MARVELOUS!!!!

Mario looks ready to shed a fake tear as both he and Paras lay a victorious kiss on the sterling silver trophy.  The exorbitant celebration continues as PM overbearingly lift the “Intergalactic Tag Team Tournament” cup into the air, along with the HOW Tag Team Titles, as Davis and America pose along with them, garnering a wave of pure irritated hatred from the fans.  Chants of “BULLSHIT” begin to rain down on the arrogant Argonauts as Turmoil quickly cuts to commercial.

Even this chart has a hard time showing how much of a douche Triple P is… but it is a start.

 

Lack of Respect

The scene opens backstage in the locker room of “The Franchise” James Varga. There’s no Eddie Pirelli, no severed head, and nothing else in the room except for him and a camera. He looks sternly at the camera as he begins to speak.

Varga: The waiting is over, the time is finally at hand. In just mere moments I will be stepping into the ring with “Big Country” Mark O’Neal in a match with his LSD Championship on the line.

A smile creeps across his face.

Varga: That belt is going to look great around my waist Mark Keith O’Neal after I defeat you in the ring. Now there’s people in HOW who are barely clinging onto jobs right now and I’m not one of them. I’m the biggest star in HOW like it or not. So this is what I want you to do Mark in these last moments of clutching your belt. What I want you to do is shine that belt up real nice for my pictures that will be taken for HOW.com after the match when I become the new LSD Champion.

He points to the camera now.

Varga: The thing that you and everybody else in HOW needs to realize is that I am the man who held the HOW World Tag Team Championships for 173 straight days. If I’m not mistaken that is the second longest championship reign for any wrestler in HOW history. How many people can say they’ve done that? Nobody except for David Black. I don’t get any respect from you or anybody else in HOW. Everyone is still talking about Christopher America being better than me. Well let me enlighten you people. You don’t need to read through Gray’s Sports Almanac to know that I’ve won three championships in HOW. And soon I will win a fourth. Yet even after I do this I won’t be respected…I won’t be treated with respect by you or anyone else. I don’t even have my theme music on the HOW website. That’s how little this organization thinks of me. Out of everyone in HOW the one who’s had to scratch and claw their way to the top is me. Maybe Scottywood too but that’s about it. Never will I be respected by the fans, the wrestlers, and the media.

He looks down and can only shake his head in disgust before looking back up to the camera.

Varga: Well if you don’t respect me then maybe I don’t respect you. No matter how many matches I win, no matter how many titles I win, no matter how much blood I spill I will never be respected. I see signs in the crowd demeaning me and demeaning the Best Alliance and it hurts…IT HURTS!

He points at the camera again.

Varga: AND SOON I’M GOING TO HURT YOU! I’m going to hurt you by destroying your heroes just like I’ve done throughout my career and, in the end, I will have the last laugh by showing you that professional wrestling will never be respected…but it’s more of a joke being a professional wrestling fan than a professional wrestler…

He has an evil smile on his face.

Varga: And is it even wrestling anymore? It’s called ‘sports entertainment’ more frequently within the industry. Why? Maybe it’s because the stars now days all look like underwear models and can’t wrestle worth a shit so they have to be entertaining. If that’s the case then I’ll see you all at the Entertainment Games after I get through beating the shit out of Mark Keith O’Neil and taking his precious little belt. Wrestling fans, the punch line of the joke that our industry has become, I’ll see you in a few seconds out in the ring. And to Mark O’Neal, get ready to pay a hefty hospital bill because you’re about to have your wrestling career ended PERMANENTLY.

Varga shoves the camera out of the way as he walks out to meet Pirelli and the severed head in the

“The Franchise” James Varga – 0% v ‘Big Country’ Mark O’Neal© – 0%

“So Did We” by Isis plays as the crowd leaps to their feet to boo James Varga. Varga makes his way out from behind the curtain followed by Eddie Pirelli and the severed head of Mike Best. Varga’s eyes are locked on Christopher America who is already inside the ring. Varga slips in between the ropes as America quickly raises his hands. Varga’s music quickly cuts out. America points to Pirelli and the severed head, twirls his arms and then points to the entrance.The crowd cheers as Pirelli and Varga protest loudly.

Joe Hoffman: America just threw out Pirelli and Mike Best!

Benny Newell: He can’t do this!

Joe Hoffman: He’s the owner of the Best Arena and the referee for this match!

Pirelli slinks back up the ramp and behind the curtain.

Now, “Hillbilly Bone” by Blake Shelton and Trace Adkins plays as the crowd erupts into cheers. Mark O’Neal walks out with the LSD Title gleaming on his shoulder.

Joe Hoffman: There he is, the LSD Champion!

Benny Newell: And he’s about to get a fucking dose of reality when Varga takes that LSD Championship from that Foundation bastard.

Joe Hoffman: O’Neal will have a tough road ahead of him tonight. He’ll look to turn things around after his loss to Rhys Townsend at March 2 Glory.

Benny Newell: O’Neal’s a cunt. They should call him Big Cunt-try.

Mark enters the ring and hands the belt to America who holds the belt up for the crowd to see.

Christopher: You got anything on you, Mark?

Mark shakes his head no.

Christopher then walks over and begins to pat down Varga.

Varga: You just took his word for it?

Christopher continues the pat down for almost a full minute. When America gets back eye to eye with Varga, Varga smacks America hard on the side of the face.

Benny Newell: HAHAHAHAHA! Take that America!

Joe Hoffman: What is Varga thinking?

Benny Newell: Bell hasn’t rung, Joe. America can’t DQ him!

America is now the one checking for blood in his mouth. He gives Varga a glare before calling for the bell. Varga and America continue trying to stare down each other down. O’Neal quickly runs over and clotheslines Varga hard. Varga quickly springs up only to get hit by another clothesline. Wasting little time, O’Neal picks up Varga and begins to chop him into the turnbuckle. Varga holds his hands up, trying to block it but O’Neal continues.

Benny Newell: What is America doing?!?!

Joe Hoffman: He’s handing out autographed miniature American flags to the crowd.

A fan points into the ring and America quickly hands out the rest of the flags before sliding back into the ring. He tells O’Neal to break it off. Varga raises his hand.

Benny Newell: DON’T DO IT!

America flashes his shirt and Varga holds back. He turns his attention to O’Neal and the two begin to trade punches. Varga gains the upperhand. He whips O’Neal into the ropes. On his return, Varga hits a dropkick and levels O’Neal. Varga looks at America as he picks O’Neal up and hits a standing vertical suplex.

Joe Hoffman: Varga trying to send a message to America.

Benny Newell: America better quit fucking around!

Varga quickly bounces off the ropes and drops a knee on O’Neal’s forehead. Varga then takes the laces of his boots and rubs them hard into O’Neal’s eyes.

America quickly counts…. 1, 2, 3, 4….

Varga quickly gets off and jaws at America for the fast 5 count. America simply smirks and then points behind Varga. Varga turns around and O’Neal is waiting. He kicks Varga in the gut and hist a quick powerbomb on Varga. He rolls over on top of Varga and goes for the pin. America drops down into position.

America and the crowd: ONE!

The crowd: TWO!

The crowd: THREE!

Joe Hoffman: Where’s the two count?

As if realizing that America hasn’t brought his hand down, O’Neal looks at America who still has his hand in the air.

Benny Newell: YES!

America drops his hand down for a two count but Varga quickly kicks out.

Joe Hoffman: That was at least 8 seconds!

O’Neal is now the one getting in America’s face, smacking his hands together looking for a proper three count. America holds his hands up before flipping O’Neal off and mouthing the words: “FUCK YOU!”

O’Neal turns around to divert his attention to Varga but he now finds Varga waiting. O’Neal walks right into Varga’s CAPS LOCK CUTTER!

Benny Newell: YES! COVER THAT FOUNDATION FUCKER!

Varga goes for a cover and glares at America who drops down, smirks right back at Varga and taps the mat quickly.

America: One-two-three!

O’Neal kicks out a millisecond after America’s hand hits the mat.

Joe Hoffman: WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON?

Benny Newell: NEW CHAMPION!

Brian McVay: HERE IS YOUR WINNER AND NEWWWWWWWWW LSD CHAMPION…… JAMES VARRRRRRRGAAAAAAAAAA!

Joe Hoffman: Why the hell did America screw O’Neal?

Benny Newell: War Games, Joe. War Games. America needs his team to have the most momentum and success heading into War Games and he’s ensuring that at whatever the cost!

I knew I liked that American bastard.

Joe Hoffman: A moment ago, you were saying….

Benny Newell: I know what I said.

O’Neal looks in disbelief at America who is backing up the ramp, smirking and tapping at his head, as if to tell O’Neal he outsmarted him.

Jetting From Chicago

We cut away to Chicago’s O’Hare airport as a Black Hummer comes to a screeching halt next to a private jet which looks ready for a takeoff.  The passanger side door of the car opens and out comes Scottywood, beer in hand and in a foul mood still from his recent loss to Sektor.

Scottywood: Get me the fuck out of this city!

Baal gets out of the driver side door as a flight attendant rushes over to the vehicle and gathers their bags from the back seat of the Hummer.

Scottywood: Sektor got fucking lucky, that is all!  Now let’s get the fuck out of Chicago and off to next week’s show.  I’m going to drink the in plane bar fuckin’ dry, even with it being a short flight.

Baal: Is that the pilot you hired?

Scottywood: Do you really think I remember who the fuck I hired?  As long as he can fly the plane straight enough so I don’t spill my drink, I don’t care who he is.  What I do care about is Mike Best leaving my War Games team and the fact that Sektor is now going to think he is hot shit.  But Mike better not get used to being a “free agent” as I’m going to make sure that my draft pick stays on my team, regardless of what he wants.

Baal: At this rate it is just going to be Scottywood on Team Scottywood.

Scottywood: Which would be an amazing team, but would be nice to actually have someone watching my back.

Baal: You always have me if needed.

Scottywood: I’ll keep in in mind, but don’t hold your breath.  Now let’s get on the plane and get away from this city before I head back the Best Arena and stab someone.  Won’t be able to dodge that charge so easily.

The two men climb the stairs and enter the private jet, which is much nicer then America described it earlier.  But with the two onboard, the door is raised as the plane quickly starts moving to make it’s takeoff, leaving Chicago for the host of next week’s Turmoil Mikwaukee.

Next week Scottywood plans to get one step closer to reclaiming HIS ICON title.

 

David Black – 0% v Jackson© – 0%

Joe Hoffman: We are back from break folks and it is time for the first ever HOW TV title defense!

Benny Newell: Which is currently held by the ICON champion and Best Alliance member… Brad Jackson.

Joe Hoffman: Yes, it is, and Jackson “won” this title by defeating Scottywood and Adonis Smyth in a triple threat ladder match at March 2 Glory.  Where the ICON title and the TV title where in the briefcase to everyone’s surprise.

Benny Newell: And what a pleasant surprise that was.  Finally the ICON title is off of Scottywood, who was killing that title by the day.  But now Brad Jackson is reviving the prestige of that great title.

Joe Hoffman: Well I’m sure Scottywood will want his rematch somewhere down the road to try and change that fact, but for now Jackson is a double champion.  Which is a fact that David Black will try to change as he gets to be the first man to challenge for the newly created TV title.

Benny Newell: But regardless, that title will stay within the Best Alliance

“Last Of The Wilds” By Nightwish plays a the boos fill the Best Arena as David Black makes his way out from backstage with little emotion as he walks down to the ring.

Bryan McVay: The following match is scheduled for one fall and is for the HOW TV title.  First making his way to the ring… David Black!!!

Black climbs up the ring steps and into the ring as Boettcher quickly checks him over and directs him over to his corner.

The lights dim, heavy mist filling the ramp as strobe lights begin to pulse slowly. A steady bass throb begins, growing in volume, sounding much like a heartbeat. A single gunshot shatters the silence, followed by mocking laughter and Jackson’s voice hurling insults before the music skips, and then the sounds of “Lies” by Evanescence filters through the speakers. Dark red strobes pulsate on the entranceway, and a dark figure moves among them, stepping forward as indigo fountains of pyrotechnic spark either side of him.

Bryan McVay: And his opponent.  He is the HOW ICON and TV champions…. Brad Jackson!!!

Jackson pauses at the top of the ramp, bathed in sparks. With a smile, he tilts his head back looking upwards towards the sky with his hands held at his hips, palms outward. He stands there for a second before beginning his approach towards the ring, snapping his head forward with an absolute determined look upon his face. He strides forwards, ignoring the crowd reaction.

Joe Hoffman: This is going to be a hell of a fight between these two stablemates, who will surly hold nothing back despite their joint alliances.

Benny Newell: This is what a main event is supposed to really be Joe.  Far better than anything America has put on so far tonight.

Boettcher calls for the bell as this match gets under way and Black and Jackson shake hands quickly before locking up in a collar and elbow tie up. They spend about a minute trading punches back and forth, neither wanting to show weakness, but it is Jackson who takes control with a hard European uppercut and an elbow smash clothesline which takes Black down.  Jackson drops a fist down onto the face of Black as he quickly locks in a triangle choke hold.

Joe Hoffman: Jackson with that submission hold locked in and Black is in some serious trouble if he can’t break the hold or get to the ropes.

Black struggles as he kicks his legs as he is merely a foot from the ropes as he manages to slowly pull himself towards the ropes as Jackson tries to choke Black out but he can’t before Black reaches the ropes as Boettcher forces Jackson to break the hold.

Joe Hoffman: Close one for Black but we will continue on here with this match.

Jackson pulls Black to his feet and hits a quick vertical suplex and follows it up with a belly to back suplex, but Black blocks it and fires back some quick punches and springboards off the ropes with a cross body that takes Jackson down.  He quickly pops up and springboards off the ropes again with a moonsault and goes for a cover.

One…..

Two……..

Joe Hoffman: Jackson powers out!

Benny Newell: Of course he does, a mere moonsault won’t beat Jackson you moron!

Black pulls Jackson up and fires him into the corner where he unleashes a bunch of chops to the chest of Jackson, but Jackson takes them and reverses things as he throws Black into the corner and chops away at him.  But Jackson’ss chops seem to hurt a hell of a lot more as Black’s chest quickly glows red as Black doubles over in pain and Jackson drives his head into the mat with a piledriver.

Joe Hoffman: Black’s neck compacted hard as Jackson could have just crippled his stablemate.

Benny Newell: Black is resilient Joe, I’m sure that was like a bug bite or something.

Jackson goes for the cover on Black as the Chicago fans boo away.

One…..

Two…….

Three……

Joe Hoffman: Black powers out just before Boettcher’s hand hits!

Benny Newell: This match could go on forever Joe.

Jackson pulls Black up to his feet and signals for the end for the end as he double under hooks Black’s arms and connects with the brainbuster.

Joe Hoffman: Therapy by Jackson and it is all over here!

Jackson goes for a cover but Black is nowhere to be found.  The force of the move sent Black rolling out of the ring as Jackson stomps on the mat and sides out to try and retrieve Black.  Jackson tries to lift him but it is mostly dead weight as Black is really out of it.

Joe Hoffman: Tough break for Jackson as if Black had stayed in the ring, this match would be over.

Benny Newell: I don’t know if Black had the presence to roll out, or if it was just luck, but Black is still in this thing.

Jackson manages to get Black somewhat up as he starts coming around and rolls Black back into the ring as Boettcher gets up to and eight count before Jackson rolls back into the ring.  He starts stomping away on Black before he goes for the cover.

One….

Two……

Thre….

Joe Hoffman: Again Black keeps himself alive in this match, and Jackson seems to be getting a little frustrated.

Benny Newell: Well it is Best versus Best, that would be tough for anyone to score a pinfall in.

Jackson watches Black slowly trying to pull himself back up to his feet as Jackson starts to climb the turnbuckles.  Black is up to one knee as Jackson starts to size Black up who now gets up to both feet and turns to Jackson.  The big man lunges off going for his signature suicide DDT.

Joe Hoffman: Death From Above coming from Jackson!

Benny Newell: Blackout!

Black jumps up and catches Jackson with his finishing codebreaker move as Jackson slams down hard on his back, laid out cold as Black collapses to the mat.

Joe Hoffman: What a move by Black, now can he crawl and make the cover and win the TV title?

Black has enough energy to not waste time as he pulls himself over and hooks the far leg on Jackson.

Joe Hoffman: This is it, Black is going to win!

Benny Newell: Where is Boettcher?

DING DING DING

Joe Hoffman: What was that?

The camera cuts over to the timekeepers table where Boettcher is talking with Bryan McVay.  Black is in the ring and furious as he yells down at Boettcher, trying to figure out what is going on.

Bryan McVay: We have reached out twenty five minute time limit for this match.  Thus still the HOW TV champion…. Brad Jackson!!

Joe Hoffman: Time limit?  I completely forgot we even have those on Turmoil.

Benny Newell: This match was so fucking awesome Joe that it couldn’t even be constrained into a normal match.  What about that!  What about the Best Alliance!

Joe Hoffman: Well I guess we are out of time tonight, we will see you all next week on Turmoil in Milwaukee!

We see Black still furious in the ring as Boettcher hands Jackson his TV title as he starts coming back around and the feed cuts off for the night.

BONUS SEGMENT

Hours later we are inside the private jet of Scottywood’s as they seem to be landing finally.  Scottywood though could care less as The Hardcore Artist is drinking another Sam Adams, empty bottle litter the area around him .

Scottywood: Now this is traveling in fuckin style.  No more coach or shitty first class seating.  Private jets are the way to fucking go.

Baal: Haven’t we been flying for an awful while though?  I mean were only heading to Milwaukee.

Scottywood: It only seems long because you’re not drinking.  Really should have yourself a shot.

Baal: Nah, something doesn’t seem right and I want to be ready for it.

The plane touches down and comes to a stop a Scotty pulls himself up to his feet and stumbles his way to the door of the plane which opens up, the blinding morning light blinds Scotty as he places his hand up to shield his eyes.

Scottywood: What the fuck?  Why is it morning already?

Baal: I don’t think we’re in Milwaukee Scotty…

Pilot: Nope… you are in London, England.

Scottywood: What the fuck!?!?!

Pilot: I’m a bounty hunter Mr. Woodson, and you head carries a high price here in London.

Scottywood: You mother fucker!  I’m gonna slice your fucking throat you little prick!

London Police: I wouldn’t do that if I were you Mr. Woodson!

London police storm into the plane, guns drawn as Scotty quickly stops and raises his arms up.

London Police: Mr. Woodson, you’re under arrest for the murder of Frank Calrissian.

Scottywood: Oh fuck….

Roleplay Countdown

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