Refueld XLII

The HOTv logo gives way and the last show before Rumble at the Rock begins as the 42nd Refueled in this era begins as we cut to the Hall of Fame announcers.

Joe Hoffman: Welcome everyone to Refueled! As per the status quo for the last several years, we see a go home show as an opportunity for those not only NOT booked on the PPV, but those new and returning to the company to make a final mark heading into the next part of the schedule.

Benny Newell: Basically if you are not on the RATR card you better get your ass in gear for ICONIC. Simple.

Joe Hoffman: I would not have said it exactly like that but yes…..folks will not want to be left off the two PPV’s in a row on HOTv so tonight is not just a big show for those heading into the PPV to do battle but…

Benny Newell: Shut up Joe. They get it. They need to step the fuck up or step the fuck out. Let’s move the fuck on to the first match shall we……or are you not the professional we all expect you to be?

Joe begins to speak but catches himself and after a quick pauses….he does show his professionalism and continues on with his duties.

Joe Hoffman: Well let’s get started. It’s another tough battle for Kevin Capone coming up. Another member of The Best Alliance and another Hall of Famer.

Benny Newell: Last week’s theme of the match was “could’ve, would’ve, should’ve”. Now you’re already making pre-made excuses for Kevin Capone this week with the use of the word “another”. “Another” Best Alliance member. “Another” Hall of Famer. Cry me a river, Joe! HOW is the BIG LEAGUES. Everyone is tough!

Joe Hoffman: I agree everyone is tough but give it a match or two and you’ll contradict that statement.

The lights go out and “Mr. Nice Watch” by J. Cole blares from the arena sound system in the pitch black. After several seconds the lights come back on and Kevin Capone is already standing at the top of the ramp, eyes cold. Kevin Capone’s face features a 4-finger length beard with sporadic strands of gray and balding head with connected short dreads at the far back of his dome. His body drenched in pre-match workout sweat, accentuating the 6 inch vertical scar down Capone’s toned abdomen along with the “Scarred For Life” tattoo right above it through the light amount of hair over his torso. He stretches both arms, wearing padded fighter’s gloves and cruises down the ramp in a blacked out ensemble, black boxing-style trunks several inches above the knee and short black boots. Capone does his ballistic stretches, swinging his arms performing different combinations, before making it to the ring, hopping on the apron in one swoop and pulling on the top ropes with bad intentions. Kevin Capone enters the ring between the middle and top rope and assumes his position in a corner, his eyes never letting up on their laser focus.

Joe Hoffman: A big test here but Capone looks ready!

The PA switches to Sektor’s theme as he appears on the top of the rampway. Eyes locked on Capone, the Hall of Famer is ready to go as he makes his march towards the ring.

Joe Hoffman: There’s no flamboyant nature here. No golf cart, not Jatt or others for support. Sektor is focused. Of course, last week he and The Best Alliance took down Eric Dane after Sektor smashed the steel steps on Dane’s arm.

Benny Newell: Tune-up contest. That’s what I’m hearing.

Sektor rolls into the ring and referee Matt Boettcher calls for the bell.

DING DING DING

Joe Hoffman: Alright, here we go… unlike Capone’s first opponent, Jatt Starr, John Sektor matches him in weight.

Benny Newell: Sektor is going to slam through this punk!

Joe Hoffman: They lock up and immediately Capone puts Sektor into a headlock but he’s pushed off and into the ropes. Sektor lowers his head and Capone punts him in the side of the face! This knocks Sektor back but as Capone comes rushing in, Sektor pulls through with a spinebuster slam! Sektor holds onto Capone, dragging him to his feet and a German suplex! Sektor is still holding on… another German suplex. In fact, he hasn’t let go… a third release German suplex!

Benny Newell: Give me all of the suplexes Sektor!

Capone rolls to the corner. Looking over at Sektor, it doesn’t take long for him to know he’s in for a hell of a fight. Capone uses the top ropes on both sides of the buckle to pull himself up and he sprints out… into a powerslam by Sektor…

Joe Hoffman: But Capone slips free! He kicks Sektor in the gut and a DDT follows!

The fans give a light cheer to the newcomer as he wastes little time. He bounces off the ropes and dropkicks Sektor square in the face! Then he pulls Sektor to his feet and hits his own release German suplex!

Joe Hoffman: Capone is in control now. He takes Sektor by the head and is working a sleeper hold… but no! A jawbreaker by Sektor! Great reversal! Sektor takes three steps back and then charges Capone, annihilating him with a knee to the face!

Capone falls between the top and middle rope out of the ring. Sektor rubs the back of his head to knock out that release German suplex he received and then visits the newcomer on the outside. Immediately, John looks to Irish whip Kevin into the steel stairs…

SLAM!

And does so.

Joe Hoffman: John Sektor is looking at the stairs… don’t tell me he’s going to do the same thing to Kevin as he did to Eric Dane last week!?

Even if he was (or wasn’t), John Sektor doesn’t get a chance. Kevin Capone finds a second wind and dives towards Sektor with a flying elbow smash! It knocks Sektor into the guardrail and then Capone comes charging in again but this time Sektor lowers his shoulder and sends Capone up and over into the first row!

Benny Newell: Getting more than they paid for tonight! A first-hand look at the new guy!

Capone pulls himself off the laps of people but eats a forearm to the side of the face! Again, again, again… the only thing keeping Capone from falling into the fans again is both of his hands are holding on to the guardrail.

Benny Newell: Sektor is hellbent on crushing Capones skull in. Maybe he thinks it’s Eric Dane!

Looking for his fourth-straight forearm, this time Capone blocks it. He headbutts Sektor hard and then works his way over the guardrail and back to the floor. Meanwhile, the referee is at an eight count and was probably being lenient.

Capone boots Sektor in the side of the head, rolls into the ring to break the count at nine and then rolls back out. This time, he Irish whips Sektor right into the ring post!

As the member of The Best Alliance tries to recover, Capone charges in again, full-blast and without hesitation. However, Sektor sees him coming but Capone can’t apply the breaks. It’s already too late.

THUMP.

Joe Hoffman: Powerslam by Sektor! This match is certainly a hard-hitting affair!

Benny Newell: Sektor made Capone look like a rookie there!

Joe Hoffman: My understanding is Capone is anything but. However, HOW is a new environment and he’s going against back-to-back legends.

Benny Newell: Ughh…

Sektor puts Capone onto his shoulder and runs him into the apron and then rolls him into the ring. With the two wrestlers finally inside the squared circle, John Sektor looks to finish things off. He tosses Capone into the turnbuckle and then races in with a clothesline that takes the spit right out of Capone’s mouth. Placing his head under his arm, Sektor bulldogs Capone in the center of the ring. This is followed by a stepover armlock camel clutch!

Benny Newell: Ohhhh, this is great! A perfect submission to lock this punk in the center of the ring with!

The fans are trying to get behind Kevin Capone but he’s dead to rights on the canvas floor. Kevin’s screaming out, trying to look at where he is in the ring but on top of the insurmountable pain he’s feeling, John Sektor’s arms are also blocking the view.

Benny Newell: Call it a day, pal!

There’s no let-up for Sektor! He sits back even further!

Joe Hoffman: Sektor’s going to win this thing… he’s going to make Kevin tap!

Capone raises his right palm, as if he’s going to tap it against John Sektor’s knee. Sektor’s eyes are locked in a trance, focused on some distant object ahead of him… either real or perceived. Still stuck in the center of the ring, maybe Sektor lost his focus for just a split second, as it was enough for Capone to slide an arm out from the Hall of Famer, push back and hook his legs against the ropes behind him.

Joe Hoffman: Capone got out of it! I don’t know how he pulled that one off…

Benny Newell: Cheating, that’s how.

Hoffman lets the idiotic comment by Newell pass as the referee tells Sektor to break the hold.

Joe Hoffman: You know, come to think of it, this is a similar situation that happened to Capone last week, where it was Jatt Starr who escaped a submission by using his feet on the ropes. It’s clear Capone has adapted quickly.

However, Capone is still recovering as Sektor takes the newbie and drags him to the center of the ring again, connecting with a brainbuster.

ONE.

TWO.

SHOULDER UP.

Joe Hoffman: Sektor looks to drive his knee straight into Capone’s head but Kevin moves back at the last second and rolls Sektor up!

ONE.

TWO.

KICKOUT.

Both men gain a vertical base, although Capone is clearly struggling. Sektor crushes him in the head with a forearm… and then three more. With Capone reeling, Sektor goes off the ropes and plans to put his body right through the newcomer…

Joe Hoffman: SPINEBUSTER by Capone! This crowd cheers in support! Capone throws Sektor on his shoulders, looking for the F5 setup maneuver…

But just like last week with Jatt Starr, Sektor takes hold of the ropes, so Capone isn’t able to spin him in the air! However, ALSO just like last week, Capone tosses Sektor into the air and drops him against his knee instead!

Joe Hoffman: The air is out of Sektor…

Capone attempts a back breaker but Sektor locks his right arm around Capone’s head and reverses it into a desperation DDT!

Joe Hoffman: That was a solid transition by Sektor! He’s bought himself some time to recover from the hard knee to the stomach, which clearly took the wind out of him.

With both men on the canvas, the referee begins his ten count. He’s only able to get to four before the Hall of Famer and the newcomer are getting to a knee.

Joe Hoffman: Sektor with a forearm to the face! Capone gives one back to Sektor! Here we go, shot for shot!

It doesn’t take long, though, for Sektor to grab one of Capone’s forearm attempts and drop Kevin’s arm across his knee. Capone shouts out, as replays show his arm bent backwards.

Joe Hoffman: That might nullify further attempts of the F5…

Sektor charges in with a shoulderblock takedown.

Capone’s body ricochets off Sektor. Kevin falls in a heap. Sektor signals for it…

Joe Hoffman: The Sektor Stretch!

The submission is applied flawlessly. Capone tries to fight it but unlike the modified camel clutch, this time there’s no hope of breaking free.

Joe Hoffman: Sektor has him dead to rights in the middle of the ring!

Benny Newell: Tappppppp or pass out, Kevin Capone it’s your choice!

Capone lasts a little longer than Sektor may have liked but ultimately he taps the side of Sektor’s thigh and the referee calls for the bell.

DING DING DING

Joe Hoffman: What a tough break for Capone! Two Hall of Famers back-to-back. He stands his own but the ring general gets him in this one…

Sektor keeps the submission locked in for a few more seconds. He only drops the dragon sleeper once Matt Boettcher walks over and asks to raise his hand.

Joe Hoffman: John Sektor and Eric Dane in two week’s time! A good showing by Kevin Capone but-

Benny Newell: Stop with the excuses. John Sektor is ready to take on Eric Dane!

Joe Hoffman: We will find out soon enough wont we? But for now lets go backstage as the show rolls on…

The scene fades off the announcers and does in fact cut backstage.

Scene open inside a locker room. Steve Harrison sits on a couch, his legs crossed attempting to look as relaxed as possible. On a table sits some water bottles and Miracle Milk Gallons all on a small bed of ice to keep them cool for drinking enjoyment. About ten feet away, a chair is covered with a blanket. Steve stands up and walks toward it when suddenly…

KNOCK

KNOCK

Steve Harrison: Come in!

The doors open and Doozer peaks his head in and sees it is Harrison inside and he lets out a loud sigh and shakes his head at Steve. Steve grins back at Doozer.

Steve Harrison: Hey, down in fraggle rock!

At the end of that asshole comment The Miracle Man takes the blanket off and underneath sits a tied-up Cancer Jiles with a towel in his mouth to shut him up. Harrison tosses the blanket to the floor and then looks back at Doozer, his shit eating smirk back in all of its glory.

Steve Harrison: Hey Dooze, did you bring the coffee? I have some Miracle Milk that of course goes great as a creamer.

Doozer looks back at Steve angrily at that comment, his hands becoming fists as he looks ready for a fight. Harrison shakes his head and makes a calm down gesture with his palms going up and down.

Steve Harrison: Relax, man. I did not send you a fake message to meet your crush Lindsay Troy here for nothing. Look at your buddy, Doozer. Do you feel bad for him? Do you wish to release him? Do not worry though, this is just a test about your allegiances, I have not harmed Mr. COOL…yet.

Steve puts his hands on Cancers shoulders and looks at Doozer hoping to get any sort of response from him. More stoic than ever, The Dooze retreats his muscular, age-defined arms back and crosses them. His blue eyes stone cold, the veteran knows better than to fall into any traps. Especially thanks to the poor shmuck tied to the chair.

Doozer’s poker face game is so strong, Harrison breaks a frown taking the place of his smirk.

Steve Harrison: I see…it’s fine, it’s ok, its… (Harrison looks at Jiles) cool, so you don’t want to talk? I won’t pretend to know if you guys are on a break or if this is a divorce, but I want you to know that I expect you to not get in my way. What do you think, Jiles?

Steve unties Jiles and removes the gag in his mouth. The Miracle Man walks a few away to the table and crosses his arms as he watches intently on what Jiles will do.

Cancer Jiles: Steve, you going to share that Miracle Milk or what?

Steve rubs his temples as he looks at this husk of a man. Doozer shakes his head and walks towards the door.

Cancer Jiles: You aren’t going to finish me off, Doozer?

Doozer looks back for a quick second and then exits the room ignoring Cancer’s question. Harrison throws his arms into the air, his whole plan failing miserably.

Steve Harrison: Well this kind of blew up in my face. What will it take for you to give a shit, Jiles? You sniveling fucking corward, not even your best friend leaving your side can get a response other than depression from you.

Jiles looks up at Steve from the chair. He has still not moved since Steve untied him.

Cancer Jiles: Just do it, Steve. I don’t need to wait for Martin or for you at Rumble at the Rocks.

The Suplex Saint groans and walks in front of Jiles and kicks the chair knocking Jiles and the chair to the floor. Jiles just stares at the ceiling.

Steve Harrison: You are not even worth it. Just look at me from that far down because that is all you are now: a lowly peasant. You are nothing but a has-been looking far up at someone much greater than you. Rumble at the Rocks is supposed to be the biggest stage for ME to prove to the world that I am the future.

Steve spits at Cancer and kicks the chair.

Steve Harrison: Now I am stuck facing a fucking shell of a wrestler. That isn’t meant to be a goddamn pun either, you literally are just a body with no soul or desires. You want it to end then go do it yourself. Go walk off a cliff, go jump off a bridge, be a man for once and stop trying to involve everyone in your bullshit. If you really want it all to end then just NO SHOW our match, I don’t need to waste any energy against someone who isn’t going to put up a fight.

Jiles continues to look up at the ceiling. Steve sighs and grabs the bottle of Holy Water and takes a large sip. He puts it down and grabs the Gallon Jug of Miracle Milk and walks over to the Jiles. He opens it up and tosses the cap at Jiles and then begins pouring the entire jug onto Jiles.

Steve Harrison: Here is your Milk, asshole. I will see you at Rumble at the Rocks if you haven’t manned up and killed yourself first.

Harrison shakes his head and heads out the door leaving Cancer JIles lying on the floor drenched with Milk staring at the ceiling as we cut to our first commercial break.

Back live and we cut backstage we see Blair Moise ready to go with her next interview.

Blair Moise: Ladies and gentlemen, my guest at this time Scott Stevens.

A mixed reaction his heard for the Texan as he somberly comes into frame.

Blair Moise: Scott, after what happened last week every what’s to know how are you feeling?

Scott Stevens: Can we not talk about last week?

Stevens asks kindly, but Blair doesn’t give in.

Blair Moise: Really? I can just look at you and see that you’re miserable….

Stevens cuts her off.

Scott Stevens: What do you want me to say Blair?!?!?!? That I fucked up? Yeah, because it’s pretty fucking obvious that I fucked up big time!

Stevens shouts, but takes a second to check himself.

Scott Stevens: I know I messed up Blair and any idiot can see what it’s doing to me so I don’t need to rehash it over and over again because do you think Steve Harrison cares if my heart is shattered? Does Harrison care if I’m at one hundred percent after Mike Best broke my nose and knocked me out?

Blair Moise: Probably not.

Scott Stevens: And you would be correct. You see Blair, Harrison is undefeated in HOW for a reason: he’s a seasoned vet that knows how to close the deal when opportunities arise and he’s looking to seal my fate and put me on the shelf tonight, but I can’t let that happen.

Stevens takes a second to look at the ground and delivering a sigh before turning his attention back towards the camera.

Scott Stevens: Harrison, I know you don’t care what I’ve down in the past or last week. I know you only care about yourself and no one else, but I have a right to correct and a mission to complete and you’re preventing me from doing that. To get my son back I have to climb the ladder all the way back up to fight Mike Best and I have to go through you to get there and you aren’t going to prevent me from getting what is rightly mine!

Stevens growls as he exits the frame.

We cut back live inside The Best Arena for our next match…

DING! DING! DING! DING!

Bryan McVay: The following Contest is scheduled for one fall!

“Take the Money and Run,” By The Steve Miller Man starts to play and the curtain flies open. Steve Harrison walks out with his arms in the air, a smirk across his face. He begins walking towards the rings and begins waving at that crowd who return his waves with boos and indifference. The smirk begins to fade after hearing the response so the Miracle Man begins jawing back at some of the audience and pointing to himself yelling over and over “ME, ME, ME!.” Steve walks faster to the ring, his smirk now a scowl, he enters the rings and leans against one of the turnbuckles and begins talking to himself, his face becoming red in anger.

Bryan McVay: Introducing first, from Fairfax, Virginia weighing in at 245 pounds, he is “The Miracle” Steven Harrison!!!!!

Benny Newell: Joe, I’ve got one question for you….DO YOU BELIEVE IN MIRACLES? Because I do! After the undefeated Steve Harrison destroys the Lonesome Loser right here tonight on Refueled, Scott Stevens will be choking down his well-done steaks through a straw at a hospital thanks to The Miracle!

Joe Hoffman: Been drinking too much Jack Daniels tonight, Benny? You forget Scott Stevens is a former World Champion. This is a warmup match for Rumble at the Rock when Harrison takes on Cool Cancer Jiles for a shot at the LSD Championship. Harrison doesn’t have an easy match.

Benny Newell: It’s fucking Stevens!!!! Harrison will find a way to fuck him up Hoffhole. Just like he will do to Jiles at the Pay Per View.

“Dead Man Walking” by Crucfix (feat. The Lacs) hits and Stevens rushes down the entrance ramp sporting a face mask courtesy of Mike Best. Stevens slaps hands with the fans as Bryan McVay introduces him and Joel Hortega makes his way to the ring.

Bryan McVay: And his opponent tonight, ailing from Houston, Texas; weighing in at 256 pounds; please welcome SCOTT STEEEEEEEEEVENS!

Harrison stares at Stevens for a moment before he points and laughs at Stevens’ face mask.

Benny Newell: God damn look what Mike Best did to Scott Stevens! He fucking looks hideous with that damn face mask on! Laugh at him Miracle! Laugh! It perfectly resembles Stevens’ 1-10 record since returning to HOW!

Joe Hoffman: You’re writing Stevens off here, man. Look what’s happened in Stevens’ history in HOW. JPD wrote him off and he won the World Championship. He’s held the ICON, Tag, and held various other accomplishments, Benny. Don’t let your Jack Daniels talk for you.

Benny Newell: Stevens couldn’t even harm a fly! And with a face like that.

WHAM?!

Scott Stevens grows tired of Steve Harrison’s mocking and immediately headbutts him with the mask. Harrison starts stumbling and Stevens sets up for his Remember the Alamo Superkick and connects immediately with Harrison’s jaw.

Joe Hoffman: You were saying, Benny? Scott Stevens looks like he’s hungry and pissed off tonight after taking loss after loss. This could be his night.

Hortega goes down for the cover:

¡UNO!

¡DOS!

TRE…

Harrison puts his foot on the rope and Hortega screams out ¡Rotura de cuerda! Stevens immediately gets in Hortega’s face and lectures him about counting faster while Harrison rolls out of the ring to catch his breath for a moment.

Joe Hoffman: Harrison’s eyes barely rolled up into his forehead. I would be mad at Hortega too!

Benny Newell: Stoovins needs to take his focus off Hortega and focus solely on Harrison. He’s getting rested for round two right now.

Stevens shirks Hortega and slides to the outside. Out of desperation, Harrison then rakes Stevens straight in the eyes. He grabs Stevens and yanks him by his hair over towards the steel steps before slamming Stevens face first into the steps. Harrison then takes his knee and drops it down on the back of Stevens head placing pressure on Stevens’ broken nose. After smiling devilishly, Harrison takes Stevens and sends him shoulder first into the ring post as Hortega’s count becomes more audible:

¡Cinco!

¡Seis!

¡Siete!

¡Ocho!

Stevens slowly hobbles back to his feet and rolls into the ring, but Harrison doesn’t wait and goes on the attack to Stevens face with a fury of forearms straight at Stevens face. Stevens stays under the rope and Hortega pulls Harrison off. Harrison taunts the crowd who continue to boo him unmercifully.

Benny Newell: That’s what a future LSD Champion looks like Hoffhole. He doesn’t show his opponents mercy. First, he’s destroying what’s left of Stevens’ ugly mug tonight then he’s going to use Doozer to his advantage to shatter the spirit of Cool Cancer Jiles. This man will be holding gold soon, mark my words!

Joe Hoffman: You got a little something on that nose of yours, Benny!

Harrison allows Stevens to pull himself back to his base, but again goes on the offense trying to hit him with his shitty looking STF, but Stevens holds on the ropes. Stevens grabs Harrison and whips him against the ropes before hitting his patented Double S spinebuster stiff to the mat changing the momentum. Stevens mounts Harrison and just assaults him with lefts and rights before Harrison shoves him off. Harrison gets back up, but Stevens nails him with a stiff looking Discuss Clothesline and sends him flying into the turnbuckle. Stevens rushes towards Harrison with all his might and nails a Stinger Splash in the corner. Stevens then nails chop after chop against Harrison’s chest leaving big red welts on it. Stevens jumps on the turnbuckle before hitting punches to Harrison’s face, but before he can nail a few more good measure, Harrison sizes Stevens up, whirls him around and hits a picture-perfect Belly to Belly Suplex. Harrison tries to hit a Belly to Back Suplex, but Stevens lands on his feet and grabs Harrison and nails his Houston We Have a Problem Death Valley Driver.

Joe Hoffman: Stevens has made a comeback against Harrison. He’s been unleashing fire on him.

Benny Hoffman: Come on, Harrison! Send Stevens back to Stevens ranch! Hit him so hard he thinks he’s a Dallas Cowboys fan!

Stevens goes for the cover:

¡UNO!

¡DOS!

Harrison kicks out of the cover with all his might to the surprise of Stevens. Angrily, Stevens yanks Harrison off the mat and tries to force him into the Toxic Sting Diamond Cutter, but Harrison attempts to push Stevens in Hortega, but Stevens stops himself from colliding into Hortega. He apologies before Harrison sneakily lands a low blow straight into Stevens. Harrison doesn’t hesitate in hoisting Stevens straight up into the air and nailing a stiff brain buster onto him. He then locks Stevens into a Dragon Sleeper in the middle of the ring. Stevens struggles as the crowd continues to get behind him and clap as he struggles. Finally, Stevens is able to slowly pull himself back up, but Harrison elbows Stevens in his ear and nails a Side Russian Leg Sweep on him. Harrison grabs Stevens and lands another belly to belly suplex on him. He continues to hit suplex after suplex from his arsenal on Stevens. Harrison watches Stevens slowly move to the corner turnbuckle and sets up for the Enlightenment, eyes widening.

Joe Hoffman: Harrison’s going to finish Stevens off here with this one!

Benny Newell: No, Joe! He’s going to Enlighten Stoovins! He’s going to make him see how great the world around him is besides that shitty Texas land he and his family live on! That’s something we can drink about!!!!

WHAM!

Joe Hoffman: Harrison’s knee collided with the turnbuckle! Stevens’ is about to unload his FIST and…

BOOM!

Benny Newell: Harrison wastes no time in letting that Adrenaline sink in and chop block Stevens right at the knee! He’s hobbling on his knee right now. Here, Miracle! Jack will save you!

Harrison hobbles around the ring for a moment as Stevens tries to come at him again. Harrison picks Stevens up with a stiff spinebuster and plants Scott straight down on the mat with a spinebuster with authority. Harrison crumples as Stevens holds his back. Hortega begins his count:

¡Uno!

¡Dos!

¡Tres!

¡Quatro!

Slowly but surely, Stevens uses the ropes to pull himself back up to his base. Harrison continues to grab his knee in pain.

¡Cinco!

¡Seis!

Stevens walks over towards Harrison to try and lock in the Venomous Wrath Crossface, but Harrison takes his thumb and shoves it straight into Stevens’ eye. Harrison slowly pulls himself off the mat and charges at Stevens, crashing his knee straight into the back of Stevens neck to Enlightenment. Harrison then picks Stevens up and signals for the finish. He picks Scott Stevens up and hits him with the It’s a Harricle Suplex with much authority. Harrison signals towards Hortega who begins to count the fall:

¡UNO!

¡DOS!

¡TRES!

DING! DING! DING! DING!

Bryan McVay: Here is your winner of the match via pinfall: “THE MIRACLE” STEEEEEEEEEEEEEVE HAAAAAAARRISON!

Benny Newell leaps from the announcer’s desk and does his terrible rendition of singing….it’s more of him slurring his words half drunk.

Benny Newell: I believe in miracles…

Joe Hoffman: I swear if you finish that line of the song…

Benny Newell: You shut up and respect our future number 1 contender, Hoffhole! I told you! I told the world that Steve Harrison would extend his record to 7-0, but you wouldn’t listen. Look at that Jiles! Look at what denomination looks like. This is what miracles look like! Not your shitty miracle win for that LSD Championship you once held. This man embodies it!

Joe Hoffman: I’ll give it to you, Benny. I held on to hope for our former HOW World Champion, but it seems Harrison’s looking primed to win that #1 Contender’s Match at Rumble at the Rock. What’s Jiles going to show us when he takes on Zeb Martin up next?

Benny Newell: Who cares? He’s an egg sucking baffoon! I don’t care if his best friend turned on him. The dominance of Steve Harrison’s about to show in HOW, mark my words.

Hortega raises Harrison’s hands in the air in victory as Harrison gloats about his win as the scene fades to black.

The scene cuts backstage to the StarrSek Industries epicenter, i.e. their dressing room. The Switch, his black hair slicked back showing off his scarred, deformed face, dressed in a red and blue tracksuit, checking his phone, scrolling through his news feed…pondering whether or not he should read “10 Celebrities That Got Embarrassed on Awards Shows”. The door opens and Jatt Starr enters.

The Thane of Starrkarth is sporting a neon pink polo shirt with light gray pants and he is carrying a briefcase. There is a smirk on his face with a glint in his eye. He places the briefcase down on the table.

JATT STARR: Where’s Sektor?

The Switch shrugs.

JATT STARR: What about the Dooze? Or Steve Sellex?

The Switch shakes his head and shrugs.

JATT STARR: Ah, man! I had a big announcement for “Rumble at the Rock”. Oh well, it’s their loss.

The King of Grapple from the Big Apple turns to The Switch and grabs his arms, much to the discomfort of The Switch.

JATT STARR: Hugo, The Switch, I know this past week I have been a little off. But I had one of those light bulb moments, An “Epersephone”. We both know that it takes initiative to get what you want.

The Hero of Jattlanta turns back to the briefcase, laying flat in front of him on the table.

JATT STARR: And that, my friend, is what is in here. What is in this briefcase will be my achievement in defeating Conor Fuse at “Rumble at the Rock”. Allow me to present….

The Marquis of MadagaStarr opens the briefcase and reaches in with the excitement of a child on Christmas morning.

JATT STARR: The HOUGCOTUAB Belt!

The Baron of Boca Jatton pulls it out of the briefcase. A tan leather championship belt with an oblong plate made of stainless steel. It has the HOW logo (with an asterisk next to it) and beneath it, it reads….

JATT STARR: The High Octane Ultimate Gaming Champion Of The Universe and Beyond Championship! The craftsmanship is adequate. Once I defeat Conor Fuse, the Ruler of Jattlantis will be crowned the H-O-U-G-C-

The Starrabian Knight looks at the Championship Belt at the exact wording as The Switch looks befuddled.

JATT STARR: …O-T-U-A-

There is a knock at the door.

JATT STARR: B Champion!!!

The Jattvian Prince of Polka lowers the title and stares at it, mesmerized by its beauty.

JATT STARR: Now, you might be asking yourself, did you clear this with any of the higher ups? Well, no, because I’m Jatt Starr and I can do whatever the heck I want! Conor Fuse thinks he’s the only gamer in the HOW? I have beaten Super Mario Brothers one, two, and three. I have beaten all the “Kings Quest” games. The “Space Quest” games? Beat them all. And….I am the Thane of all the holds in Skyrim! If that doesn’t scream—

There is another knock on the door, this time louder.

JATT STARR: It’s always something….

The Jatt-i Master reluctantly and gingerly places the “championship” back into the briefcase, leaving the briefcase open so whoever enters can be mesmerized by the “title” only he can claim after eviscerating Conor Fuse. Jatt Starr walks to the door and opens it.

The crowd gives off a cheer and Jatt takes a step back, almost readying for a fight because the person in front of him is none other than “The Vintage” himself, Conor Fuse. However, Conor smiles warmly.

Conor Fuse: I’m going door-to-door to give you this incredible offer!

Jatt peaks his head into the hallway, trying to see if Conor’s Game Boy has accompanied him. Once he realizes Conor’s by himself, Jatt turns to The Switch and motions like he can stand-down but still be on full alert at the same time.

Conor Fuse: Good evening kind sir, do you have a moment?

Before Jatt can answer, Fuse works his way into the locker room. He holds up a lime green backpack and acting like one of the beauties from The Price is Right, Conor places his free arm out as if showing the backpack off.

Benny Newell: What the hell is this nonsense?

Conor Fuse: Great. Let’s get started. So what I have here is ancient stuff, let me tell you.

Conor unzips the bag and digs inside. First, he pulls out two Nintendo power gloves and hands them to Starr.

Conor Fuse: Here you go. Those are some old school nifty neato Nintendo Power Gloves. You put those bad boys on and your punches and jabs do double the damage!

Conor nudges Jatt and leans in.

Conor Fuse: [whispering] I even hear if you low blow a guy, it’s guaranteed to keep them down longer.

Fuse gives a wink and rummages through the backpack again. All this time, Jatt’s trying to figure out what Conor’s up to.

Conor Fuse: Okay, you know what. You look like you’re in a hurry. I’m in a hurry, you’re in a hurry, we’re all in a hurry these days, is that right?

Jatt attempts to answer again but the guy in the lime green track pants just keeps the salesmanship going.

Conor Fuse: I hear ya. Kids have no patience, I have two myself. I’m gonna bring out the big guns now. Get right to the good power-ups. I give you nothing but the truth, the whole truth and that’s why people trust what I’m selling. You can handle the truth, right? Of course you can. Annnyway, here it is…

It takes some careful maneuvering inside the backpack but Conor reveals a Nintendo Virtual Boy and holds it up like he’s discovered the most prestigious item in the world.

Conor Fuse: Kind sir, THIS is the ultimate prize! You put this bad boy on and you can immediately see all of your opponents weak spots! It’s so easy to use, too. This portable console is a requirement for any fine… [stopping to notice the title belt on the bench] gaming champion such as yourself.

JATT STARR: Oh! Well, thank you. I am reminded of what a wise man named Jack Burton used to say, which holds true in this case — “It’s all in reflexes”. Wait!! What do you think you’re doing in MY—

Conor Fuse: OH! Deary me, I almost forgot!

Fuse pulls out a second Virtual Boy, this one with the head-straps tailored for a much larger head…

Conor Fuse: [to The Switch] And one for yourself!

Fuse tosses the larger virtual helmet to The Switch and places the smaller one onto the head of Jatt Starr, who tries to object. The Switch, curious, puts it on, clearly getting sold on its potential uses. Fuse straps Jatt Starr in the helmet.

Benny Newell: Ridiculous.

Conor is ear-to-ear in a mischievous grin. He waves his hands back and forth in front of Jatt first, to ensure he can’t see anything other than whatever The Virtual Boy will project (which is nothing because it doesn’t work), as Jatt Starr struggles with the strap. Then he walks over to The Switch and does the same.

JATT STARR: How do you get this thing—

WHACK.

Joe Hoffman: Conor just took Jatt’s head and smashed it into the wall… with The Virtual Boy on!

The Switch heard the noise of Jatt crashing into brick and the subsequent falling to the floor and crying out but Conor tries to cover it up quickly, talking loudly overtop of the entire situation.

Conor Fuse: [shouting] Yeah, sorry, once you get the system going those red lights can hurt your eyes. Do you see Wario yet?

Conor eyes dart back and forth between both parties, trying to make sure he can get the most out of this before The Switch figures it out or Jatt rebounds. Conor smirks as he kicks Jatt as hard as he can in the stomach, this time knocking the wind out of him so even though the Hall of Famer is trying to shout for The Switch to take his VR system off and help him, no words are coming out of Jatt’s mouth.

Conor Fuse: There ya go… I think you can see Wario now! Well chap, this Virtual Boy sure looks good on you…

Another kick to the stomach. Conor’s still looking directly at The Switch who merely stands there, trying to figure out why he is only seeing darkness and no Wario. Conor speaks to his upcoming opponent.

Conor Fuse: Seems like your friend [hard kick] can’t get his working, though. [kick] That’s a [kick] shame [kick]. Sooo, I was going to offer you these Virtual Boy systems for a super low cost [kick] but ya know what… it’s on the house! See you both in TWO weeks… pricks.

Fuse hoofs Jatt in the stomach one more time as he turns to The Switch and blows him a kiss before exiting the locker room… leaving Jatt laying there, gasping for air and his bodyguard trying to locate Wario inside the worthless VR system as we cut to a commercial break.

DEATH MATCH for the WORLD CHAMPIONSHIP
The Minister vs. Michael Lee Best©

ICON CHAMPIONSHIP MATCH
Leenzee Troy vs. Dan Ryan©

LSD CHAMPIONSHIP MATCH
Scottywood vs. Hughie Freeman©

SINGLES MATCH
Eric Dane vs. John Sektor

SINGLES MATCH
Conor Fuse vs. Jatt Starr

NO.1 CONTENDERS MATCH
FOR THE LSD CHAMPIONSHIP
Steve Harrison vs. Cancer Jiles

Back live and once again backstage…

The hallways are myriad, lined with event posters and other HOAX propaganda. Walking side by side by side with their chests puffed out like made men are Steve Solex, Doozer, and John Sektor. Solex is dressed to put in work, black pants, vest, shoes and even gloves. He looks just like his picture on the website. Doozer, all white tee and jorts with a backwards cap covering his head, looks quite a bit more at ease than he has in weeks. Maybe months.

Last but by no means least is the Gold Standard John Sektor, already showered and redressed, showing them how it’s done with bleached white pants, tan loafers and a sparkling gold shirt, open at the top to show some chest. His hair is slicked back and the famous moustache, named Slick Daddy, is freshly groomed and looking better than Solex’s. Conspicuously absent are Jatt Starr, who’s off dealing with Conor Fuse or some nonsense, and The Minister, who is just…

Well, he’s The Minister, he does what he wants.

Sektor ignites a Cuban cigar and holds it between his teeth.

John Sektor: Tonight is gonna be spectacular!

Steve Solex: You can say that again! I’m gonna twist that old bitch’s head off and drop-kick it all the way up into Section DD214!

The idea of that pulls a chuckle out of the Doozer.

John Sektor: Good. Teach that Fisher Price fuck a lesson on what it means to get hemmed up by the real Best Alliance!

Sektor, Doozer, and Solex keep up the bantz but quickly make their way around a corner and disappear somewhere into the abyss. Momentarily the hallway appears empty.

Joe Hoffman: Well then. That was… abrupt.

Benny Newell: DRINK!

Something moves in the darkness in the middle distance. Before long Eric Dane materializes into the hallway with Blair Moise detained at his side, held by an iron grip across her face. HOW’s intrepid interviewer extraordinaire has a terrified look in her eyes.

Eric Dane: I’m gonna let you go, you’re not gonna do anything stupid like scream. Nod your head if you understand.

Frantically, she nods. Dane releases his grip on her face and uncurls his good arm from around her shoulders. His other arm is strapped into a sling, presumably covered in KT Tape and injected with a double dose of cortisone. Blaire takes a moment to regain her wits.

Blaire Moise: What the fuck is wrong with you?

Eric Dane: How very unprofessional of you, Ms. Moise. Don’t you have questions that you want to ask?

Blaire Moise: What I want is for you to be as far away from me as humanly possible. Forever. Questions be damned, I didn’t sign up for this!

The Last Outlaw’s eyes narrow.

Eric Dane: Blaire. Questions. Now.

Resigned, Blaire raises the microphone that’d been clamped in her hands the entire time. She grits her teeth momentarily before flipping the switch and looking directly into the camera.

Blaire Moise: Blaire Moise here, for the last time with Eric Dane. Eric, ever since your epic flameout last year and for pretty much the entire time that you’ve been back you’ve done everything that you could possibly do to piss off the God of HOW, Lee Best. Now he’s put you square in the sites of his rebuilt Best Alliance, and you seem hell bent on pushing every button that you possibly can. Care to explain yourself?

Impressed, The Only Star nods.

Eric Dane: I admire your chutzpah in the face of adversity, Ms. Moise.

She rolls her eyes.

Blaire Moise: Just answer the question so I can go wash the ick off of me.

Eric Dane: Fair enough.

He clears his throat.

Eric Dane: Pushing buttons is what I do. Standing opposed to Lee Best is in my nature. I’ve been doing it since 2009. Maybe longer. As far as this business with the Best Alliance…

He shrugs insolently.

Eric Dane: When you’re in the habit of pissing in Uncle Lee’s Cheerios, it’s only a matter of time before he finds a bunch of flunky fucks to do his work for him. That’s fine, I knew that coming in. It took a while, to be honest, to get here. But hey, we’re here now and that’s what counts.

Blaire Moise: So what’s the master plan? I’m sure you have one, and I know how much you like to hear the sound of your own voice.

Eric Dane: The plan? Tonight the plan is simple. Survive. It’s not about beating Steve Solex in a throwaway main event, it’s about setting the tone. Establishing the narrative, so to speak. Doesn’t matter if I win or lose tonight, Blaire, what matters is that Solex, and more importantly John Sektor get it through their thick fucking skulls that I ain’t afraid to take a beating to make a point.

Blaire Moise: And so?

Eric Dane: And so I hope they show up. En masse! Bring the whole fuckin’ crew! Send a couple of Lee’s personal goon squad too, I don’t give a fuck. I’ll take my lumps and I’ll smile for the cameras! It’s all a dog and pony show until Alcatraz anyway, am I right?

Blaire hesitates.

Eric Dane: Well, am I?

Blaire Moise: Sure. Whatever. Are we finished here?

Eric Dane: One more thing.

Blaire Moise: Fine.

The Straw that Stirs the Drink takes the microphone from Blaire’s hand, she doesn’t even pretend to fight it. Dane steps in closer, his attention now gone from the diminutive inquisitor. She takes this as her excuse to fuck all the way off and allow Dane to finish this off himself.

Eric Dane: You see this?

He rips the sling off of his arm.

Eric Dane: A small price to pay for the opportunity to make Steve Solex eat that fucking mustache tonight.

Eric’s eyes are wide, the look on his face slightly unhinged.

Eric Dane: So bring your friends, Steve, bring ‘em all. I really don’t give a fuck. The world already knows that none of you dickheads can function for five minutes without a buddy to hold your hand, may as well go ahead and get it out of the way! And as for you, Sektor…

He pauses momentarily, mentally collecting himself.

Eric Dane: You’d better make sure I’m all the way dead before the night’s done. Toe-tagged, cold-slabbed, body-bagged! Because if you don’t, I’m coming to Alcatraz with a prison mentality and I have every intention of fucking you into submission just like the bitch that you are. You’re fuckin’ meat, Sektor, and I’m hungry.

A snarl curls onto his lips as the shot fades to darkness.

We cut back inside the arena where the ring announcer is ready to get the introductions started for our next match…

Bryan McVay: The following match is one fall…

The lights dim, instantly quieting the crowd. A chill moves through the air… then a long howl raises the hair on your neck.

“I am the COOL” explodes over the speakers.

~I’m the one your mama warned you about

~When you see me, I will leave you no doubt

~I’m the coolest man that ever walked this earth

~I’ve been the coolest since the day of my birth

~I AM THE COOL.

Out from behind the curtain, after nearly thirty seconds of unnecessary suspense, emerges The Crestfallen. Shades nowhere to be seen, gray hair unkempt, he pauses at the top of the ramp. Instead of basking in the love from the die-hard Octabandits, he sighs.

Joe Hoffman: It looks like we get more of the morose Maestro here tonight, Benny.

Benny Newell: It’s almost getting sad, Joe.

Joe Hoffman: Wait. Really?

Benny Newell: NOPE! DAAAAAHHHHHHRINK!

Bryan McVay: Introducing first, from Philadelphia, Pennsylvania… weighing in at 229 pounds…

McVay rolls his eyes, remembering the request.

Bryan McVay: Still lonely, lost, and with less friends than Stevens… But please stop with the health checks…

As Jiles finally makes his way ringside and rolls into the ring, the announcer shoots him one last cross look before finishing the introduction.

Bryan McVay: The One Man Wolfpack… a very sad, lonely wolfpack… Cancer… Jiles.

CJ picks a corner and slumps into it.

Benny Newell: I think from here on, this guy shouldn’t even be allowed an entrance. I don’t think we have enough therapists in Chicago for all the High Octane following.

Joe Hoffman: Like you care!

Benny Newell: I care about not seeing another Cancer Jiles entrance!

The mid-tempo backing drone and accompanying piano and outlaw Nashville guitar licks begin to kick up. The voice of Ben Nichols pierces through the melody as “Everything Has Changed” by Lucero blares over the sound system, and the vocal queue signals the entrance of Zeb Martin.

Bryan McVay: And his opponent… making his way to the ring, from Comer, Georgia… weighing in at 235 pounds…..ZEB MAAAAAAARRRRRRRTIN!!!!!

The Watson Mill Kid steps out to greet everyone with the bill of his Levi Garrett Racing hat worn low to shield his eyes. A friendly grin on his face, he attempts to pull the hat down even further as he makes his way down to the ring while making sure to outstretch his arm for some old-school hand slapping.

Joe Hoffman: Zeb Martin, another former member of the Egg Bandits, making his way down to the ring.

Benny Newell: Maybe this kid’ll actually make something of himself now that he’s not wasting his time and talent with the loser waiting in the ring for him!

Upon arrival, Zeb climbs the apron and wipes his boots before ducking underneath the top rope, then gives a friendly nod to his corner audience before awkwardly waiting for Boettcher to kick things off.

Benny Newell: Thinking on it, Joe, it’d be remiss to fail to mention the amazing booking here by our GOD! Kill ‘im with his own kin! DRINK!

Matt Boettcher shares some words with each competitor, then calls for the bell.

DING!

The two ex Bandits stare each other down in the middle of the ring. You can see almost every known emotion running through Zeb Martin. Cancer Jiles, a perfect juxtaposition, looks void.

Joe Hoffman: Zeb, being the good, ol’ Watson Mill kid he is, extends out a hand toward his friend and a mentor of sorts, looking for a shake before they get things going.

Jiles slaps the hand away then reaches forward for a grapple.

Joe Hoffman: Cancer denies the show of sportsmanship! Not the response I was expecting, Benny.

Benny Newell: Then you’re an idiot, Hoffhole. But hey, it’s a sign of life, at least. I guess?

Cancer quickly transitions the grapple into a side headlock.

Benny Newell: A WRESTLING MOVE! HE CAN STILL DO THEM?!

Boettcher leans down toward Zeb, but before he can even open his mouth, the youthful Martin waves him off emphatically.

Joe Hoffman: Looks like Zeb’s turned red, but I’m not sure if it’s from the headlock. I don’t think he appreciated the reaction to his friendly gesture.

Martin clenches his left hand into a fist, then grabs it with his right, and throws a sharp elbow into Cancer’s COOL tattoo, loosening his grip on the headlock.

Joe Hoffman: Martin puts a pair of elbows to Jiles! He grabs him around the waist and lifts! Belly to back suplex by the Watson Mill Kid!

Zeb pops back up to his feet in an instant, throwing his arms up at his former friend to get up.

Benny Newell: The kid’s feeling it now! Let the HATE flow!

Jiles rolls over toward the ropes, looking more demotivated than in pain, and pulls himself up.

Joe Hoffman: The Maestro’s up and taking his time getting back to the middle of the ring. A fired up Zeb Martin ain’t waiting, though! Martin charges with an outstretched arm- Jiles ducks under the clothesline! He throws up a kick as Zeb, a bit shocked by the sudden signs of life, turns with a smile on his face…

Benny Newell: That dipshit won’t be smiling for long if-

Joe Hoffman: Jiles looking for a TERMINAL CANCER- WHAT THE HECK WAS THAT?

The yellow boot of Cancer Jiles flies haphazardly to the side of Zeb Martin’s face, missing it’s mark by nearly a foot.

Joe Hoffman: Looks like Cancer Jiles is grabbing near his groin. Yes, he’s in pain. Maybe he pulled something trying to pull off his patented superkick?

Benny Newell: That’s exactly what he’d want you to think! The snek!

Already bent over, holding his groin, Martin shakes off the thoughts trying to figure out whatever the hell just happened and hooks under Cancer’s arms, tucking his opponent’s head under his left armpit.

Joe Hoffman: Martin’s got Jiles set up for what looks like his signature – YEP! HE LIFTS! ZEB HITS THE NECK CRICKER ON CANCER JILES!

Benny Newell: Well that happened real fast! I can’t believe that wasn’t a ruse or some bullshit Jiles trick.

Instead of going for the pin, Martin moves to the feet of his downed opponent, grabbing his legs and locking into them.

Joe Hoffman: Looks like Zeb is locking in an inverted cloverleaf down on the mat. HE FLIPS JILES OVER HIM! He calls this one the Dang Tangler, Benny!

Benny Newell: Maybe this kid won’t be better off on his own…

Before Boettcher can even lean in to check on Cancer, the former LSD Champ shouts for the tap, unable to do so himself given the complex lock applied by Zeb. Boettcher obliges and calls for the bell.

DING! DING! DING!

Bryan McVay: The winner of this match… ZEB! MAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRTIIIIIIIIIIIIINNNNN!!!

Martin quickly releases the hold and jumps up to his feet, raising a hand in the air with the help of Matt Boettcher. He shoots a quizzical look down at Jiles, who rolls out of the ring seemingly in no pain at all, and starts walking to the back without any acknowledgement at all.

Joe Hoffman: Another odd display here tonight from The Meastro, to say the least.

Benny Newell: Cut up the contract, Lee! Spare us all! 

The feed hangs on that last statement from Benny for a few seconds before cutting to a commercial break.

Back from commercial and Refueled cuts backstage to the Best Arena hallways and stretches of locker rooms that are oh so familiar by this point.

Or…are they?

The ground is littered with paper; it’s as if a tornado blew through here, picked up a recycling bin and scattered its contents all over the place. And that might have been the case, if some of that paper didn’t also look strategically placed on the walls directly within eyesight of people exiting their locker rooms.

Joe Hoffman: What the hell happened back there?

Benny Newell: Fuck if I know, Joe, except it looks like the cleaning crew’s gonna be working overtime tonight picking all this shit up.

The shot cuts abruptly to another hallway where more paper is strewn about but this time, but this time, the corridor isn’t empty.

Lindsay Troy slams a piece of paper up against the wall before banging against an adjacent door with her forearm. She moves on, letting more papers fall from her fingertips, even flinging some into the air. Another piece of paper on the wall, another bang on a door. And on and on she goes, just like this, until she’s out of the camera’s sight.

If she knows eyes are on her, she doesn’t acknowledge them. Or even care.

Benny Newell: Oh, well, there’s the fucking culprit. Surprised she didn’t get a paper cut on her old wrinkly hands and bleed to death.

Joe Hoffman: May I remind you that you are fifteen years older than Lindsay Troy is.

Benny Newell: Yes but jokes about my age aren’t acceptable and I’m like a fine wine anyway, DRINK!

Eventually, people filter into the hallways. Wrestlers and staff alike pick up the discarded sheets off the ground and examine them in horror. They murmur amongst themselves; some can’t believe what they see, but all talking ceases once a single imposing figure emerges from his locker room, plucks a paper off the ground, and inspects it.

Dan Ryan tilts his head, taking in the familiar bright reds of police and rescue lights. The mangled cars, doors ripped off, sides smashed in; jaws of life were needed to extract the occupants. The white cloths draped over gurneys. And on the wall across from his door, a little girl awaits him, blonde hair caked with blood, half her face caved in beyond measure, eyes closed as she lays on a cold, metal slab, that white sheet pulled back from her head.

Joe Hoffman: Jesus Christ…

Benny Newell: Oh shit, Hoffhole, it’s fucking on now!

The Hammer of GoD stares at his dead daughter – his first daughter, Danielle, on the wall and a slow, disturbing, demented grin creeps across his lips.

For the first time in ages, his heart rate increases, breathing accelerates, and his eyes widen in manic excitement.

It’s fucking on now is fucking right…

The feed cuts away as the crowd is buzzing with what they just saw.

Cutting to inside an office we see Hughie Freeman.  Dressed in a bright orange Alcatraz jumpsuit, he is fully shackled and has a gag in his mouth.  He tries to fight free but the two H.A.T.E. guards have him secured in position.  Missing from him though is the LSD Title.

In front of him as the camera pans out we find the LSD Title hanging in front of him… from the right hand of The Hardcore Artist who has a huge smirk on his face.

Scottywood: You’ve done such a good job Hughie.  I’ll remember this all after Rumble at the Rock.  Trust me.  I mean you did everything I wanted so perfectly to bring this back to me.  From setting the carny fuck Lucian on fire… to getting motivated by the hope of winning your freedom so much that you earned an LSD Title shot… and then beating that rotten egg Jiles.

Hughie struggles more as the H.A.T.E. guards raise their taser and Hughie reluctantly settles back down, burning a hole through Scotty with his eyes.

Scottywood: Now in just two short weeks my baby will be back home.  My name etched on her and once again, where it belongs.  Not tainted by some fucking pikey.  I can’t wait.  You should see the plans I have for us Hughie, in the chapel… it is going to look so good.  You should see the cross I am having brought in.

Getting an idea where Woodson is going with this Hughie cocks his head and tries to smile through the gag.

Scottywood: Yes Hughie… our story of HATE will end in a place of LOVE… with you nailed to a fucking cross.

Voice: Who the fuck signed off this being a crucifixtion match?

The camera pans around to the source of the unmistakable voice… of Lee Best.

Scottywood: It’s all right there in the contract I brought in.  Didn’t you… read it?

Lee Best: Think that’s fucking funny?

Scottywood: The fact that Mister Bottom Line is blind?  I find it ironic… and yes fucking hilarious.

Lee Best: Well I find it fucking funny that you are getting a shot at the LSD Title despite not having wrestled a match in HOW since fucking War Games.  A match you didn’t even win.

Scottywood: I find it to be a perfect plan.

Lee Best: Perfect huh?  Oh I can change that in fucking second Scotty.

Scottywood: The contract is already signed for Rumble at the Rock, with the stipulation he must defend any title he holds at the time.

Lee blindly stares back at Scotty and just smiles…

Lee Best: True… that is set.  Hughie will defend his LSD Title against you at Rumble at the Rock.  But the part that isn’t signed yet… is how it will be defended.

Scottywood: In a crucifixion match.

Lee Best: Fuck off with your crucifixtion match.  No.  Since you have held Hughie at Alcatraz for some 97 fucking months or something, you’re gonna get a taste of it yourself.  The next two weeks, solitary confinement leading up to your match.  You’ll both be let out when the bell rings.

Scottywood: I’m not agreeing to that.  I’m not some fucking dog like Hughie who deserves to be locked up at Alcatraz and never let out.  I’m the fucking Hardcore Artist!  I’m the fucking COO of…

Lee Best: And I’m fucking GOD!  It wasn’t a proposition.  You’re going into solitary… and you’re going there now!  Guards, take Scooter McGavin the fuck out of my office and to his fucking cell.

Scottywood: Those are my guards Lee.  They’re not gonna take orders from you.

Lee Best: You may have hired them… but who signs their fucking checks?

Scottywood: Not gonna work Lee, they aren’t gonna take orders from some blind old fuck who hasn’t learned, that unlike me, he can’t beat Chris Kostoff and that he will never….|

ZAAAAAAAAAAAPPPPP! 

One of the H.A.T.E. guards plunges the taser into the back of Scottywood who shakes for a second before collapsing to the floor.

Lee Best: About fucking time.  Tired of him yapping his fucking mouth.

In the background Hughie has nearly fallen out of his chair laughing at what has happened to Scottywood as Lee turns his attention to the LSD champion.

Lee Best: I wouldn’t be laughing too much Mister Freeman.  This is no favor to you.  I just made one already very determined fucker a lot more pissed off for your match at Alcatraz.  I honestly could care less who wins your fucking match.  Torturing that fucker for two weeks, that’s all I care about and can only hope both you assholes fucking murder each other live on Pay Per View.

The laughter quickly drains from Hughie’s face as one H.A.T.E. guard pulls him out of the chair while the other starts to drag the lifeless body of Scottywood out of Lee office.

Lee Best: Fucking dumbasses…

Lee can be shaking his head as the scene fades out to a final commercial break.

Back live from commercial and we are once again somewhere backstage…

Two chairs sit against a dull black curtain, an otherwise unassuming backdrop for an otherwise unassuming interview. In one chair, HOW staple Brian Bare sits with a notepad in his lap, his chair turned diagonally to face the subject. In the other chair sits HOW World Champion Mike Best, dressed in his street clothes. The HOW World Championship rests over his shoulder, in a position becoming so comfortable for him that it has left a permanent indent on his traps.

Brian Bare: I am joined at this time by the Son of God himself, Michael Lee Best, for his final thoughts before Rumble at the Rock. Michael, thank you for joining me tonight.

Mike Best: You know, I don’t think I’ve ever been nice to you, Brian. Not once in ten years. How are you tonight, brother?

Brian Bare: …I’m good, actually. I had a little bit of–

Mike Best: I’m just kidding, I don’t give a fuck. Ask your questions.

An awkward pause, as Brian’s smile deflates into a flat mouth. He grabs hold of his notepad, trying to keep track of his questions.

Brian Bare: January 7th, 2010. Your HOW debut, in the Lee Best Invitational against Max Kael. Ten years later, and a decade long rivalry is going to come to an end at Rumble at the Rock. Do you wish that someone else had accepted your challenge, or is this perhaps the best possible bookend to one of the longest rivalries in wrestling history?

Mike Best: I think it was always going to end this way.

Brian Bare: Do you want to expand on that?

Mike Best: It all started with Max, and it was always going to end with Max, one way or another. When Lee Best pulled the usual suspects back together almost two years ago, Max and I used to joke that the last ever match in HOW would be a deathmatch between the two of us, and we’d fight to a draw as the building burned around us. It seemed… funnier… back then. I love my brother. In the strangest ways, we’ve always loved each other. I don’t know if he’s crazy, or if he’s sick, or if he really does have a fucking demonic preacher living in his head, but I love him even as we walk into this match at Rumble at the Rock. I didn’t want it to be him, man… but I knew that it would be. I knew that it would be Max. It had to be.

Brian nods his head, making a note at the bottom of his pad. He tucks the pencil behind his ear, leaning forward in his chair. The expression on Michael’s face is relatively flat– he isn’t doing that bullshit over-serious face, which might be expected. Instead, he’s just… talking. Like a human being.

It’s off putting.

Brian Bare: How do you even prepare for a match like this?

Mike Best: You either prepare to end a human life, or you prepare to die. There’s really no other option. You look inside yourself and you ask “Am I prepared to do whatever it takes? Am I afraid to die?” You can lie to the people, but you can’t lie to yourself– you’re the only one who knows the answer to that question. And it’s okay to be afraid– sometimes that fear response is what you need. Not a lot of guys can walk into that building with their life on the line and survive without a little bit of fear. Self preservation is a powerful tool.

Brian Bare: And what about you? Are you afraid to die?

Mike Best: Am I afraid? I don’t know yet, man. I’ve been asking myself that question for a long time now. And I think that the answer scares me, because I really don’t think that I do. I don’t think that I fear death. But that doesn’t mean I’m not afraid. I’m afraid every day. I’m afraid of what happens if I survive— maybe I fear what comes next for me, if I make it out of Rumble at the Rock. How do you come back from that?

Brian Bare: What do you mean?

Mike Best: Uh… I don’t know, man. How do you go back to rest holds and wrist locks after you watch a man’s soul leave his body? What the fuck does a pin, or a submission, or even a knockout even mean to you anymore? When I took out Kostoff back in 2016… it uh, I don’t know man. It took me a long time to get human after that.

Brian Bare: To get… human?

Mike Best: I was so beyond scared shitless going into that match. I was fucking terrified, man. I didn’t want to do it. I didn’t know if I had it in me. I didn’t know if I could… kill. But when you’re fighting for your life, and it’s you or it’s him… you do what you gotta do, man. It’s war. It is what it is. I remember raising that shovel over my head with tears in my eyes, knowing I had no choice. Knowing that if I let him stand up, he was gonna do the same to me. And so I closed my eyes and I just… swung.

He pantomimes the shovel coming down, making a soft “thwap” sound with his tongue and teeth. A heavy lump forms in his throat, as he speaks so casually about such an important and scarring moment in his career.

Mike Best: I watched him die, Brian. Rebar sticking out through his chest, tough old motherfucker through and through till the end. A human life ended in my hands that night… and nothing has ever made me feel so alive, ever again. That feeling of supremacy… of immortality. The power to end a human life is like nothing else that you’ve ever experienced. It’s like it turns the volume down on everything else in your life. I chased that feeling for a long time. Months, maybe years? I don’t know… I eventually chased that feeling all the way into retirement.

Brian Bare: Until 2019, when Lee Best came calling.

Mike Best: Yeah, man. Thought I was done. Took me almost four years to get back into a HOW ring. To finally get that volume up loud enough to hear anything anymore, and now here I am… ready to do it again. I’m starting to feel that rush. Starting to get dialed in. Everything else is getting a little quieter, again. People keep talking about the “unhinged champion”, but they– I mean you think I want to be knocking guys out in front of their fucking kids? You think it makes me happy, getting dragged away from some face I just busted up, knowing that I just destroyed a fucking family? I don’t want to do this shit, Brian. I have to. I’m fucking… numb. I need to feel something. I need to feel alive. So yeah, maybe I’m a little afraid of what happens if I survive. Maybe I’m afraid to see what gives my life meaning after something like that.

Brian Bare: And if you don’t survive? What then?

Mike Best: Then I die, Brian. Kind of a stupid question. This match isn’t a joke. This isn’t pandering. There’s no cheeky swerve coming. One of us is going to die on October 24. We’re not just fighting for the HOW World Championship. We’re fighting for immortality. Champions die, Gods don’t. Two men who have cheated, swindled, and no-sold death for over a decade in High Octane Wrestling collide in a match that does… not… end… until one of them dies. So I’ll either see you on the other side, or I won’t. I’m going to Alcatraz to become a God.

The HOW World Champion shrugs his shoulders, weakly.

Mike Best: One way or another.

Refueled cuts back to the announcers for our Main Event of the evening.

The opening riffs of “The One You Love to Hate” tears through the sound system and before anything can be done about it Rob Halford’s voice tears through the building like fingernails down a chalkboard. Silver and blue laser lights strobe together to form swirling stars up and down the entrance ramp as a single pyrotechnic explosion of silver magnesium heralds the arrival of The Only Star. Dane steps out of the curtain to an odd reception, his eyes hidden behind sunglasses and his shoulders covered in leather.

Brian McVay: Introducing first! From New Orleans, Louisiana! He weighs in at 230 pounds and stands at six-feet, three inches tall! ERRRRRRRRRRRRRIIIICCCCCCCCCC DAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAANNNNNNNNNEE!

He makes his way down toward the ring and smirks at the somewhat positive reaction from the High Octane crowd before walking around ringside, climbing the steps, wiping his feet on the apron and stepping through the ropes.

Just then, the beginning of “This Means War” by Avenged Sevenfold thumps from the sound system as the crowd explodes into a fury of boos and hisses. A montage of Steve Solex plays on the HOV, flashing on and off in rhythm with the music. As the music stalls, the HOV goes black as the lights throughout the arena go dark. A bomb like explosion blasts at the top of the entry way sending a plume of smoke up and in front of the HOV in the shape of a mushroom cloud, and at that moment the music returns and Steve Solex makes his way out from behind the curtain. The montage continues to play on the HOV as Solex stops atop the entrance ramp and pounds his chest twice with a white knuckled fist before throwing his hands high up into the air.

Brian McVay: And his opponent! Weighing in at 252 pounds and standing six-feet, three inches tall! He is from Huntington Beach, California! THIS IS STEEEEEEEEVEEEEEE SOOOOOOOOOOOOLLLLLLEXXXXXXX!!

Solex soaks in the boos from the crowd before marching down to the ring. No glitz, no high fives, just a fast paced march and the look of a cold blooded killer. He slides under the bottom rope and stares down the referee before finding his corner and resting back into it.

Solex points at the KT tape all over the arm of Eric Dane and laughs while pointing and holding his stomach. Solex imitates lifting the steel steps and smashing Eric Dane’s arm.

Joe Hoffman: Steve Solex reminding Eric Dane just how he got into that sling last week!

Benny Newell: The Best Alliance fucking destroyed that arm last week, I’m surprised Eric Dane had the nuts to show up tonight at all! And would you look at Steve Solex! He’s a fucking masterpiece! He should change his name to Steve Swolex!

Eric Dane stretches to arm out, as referee Joel Hortega calls for the bell.

DING! DING DING!

Both men, eager to get started, waste no time and lock up in the center of the ring. Solex easily takes the strength advantage and begins to force Eric Dane backward into the corner. Dane has nowhere to go, and takes the one way ticket into the corner. Solex ducks his head away, knowing how crafty Eric Dane can be, and forces a palm under Dane’s bearded chin and drives his head back. Dane struggles for air, as the referee starts a five count, urging Solex to release the hold. Solex obliges nearly immediately, backs up to the center of the ring, and taunts Dane with his arms held out to his side.

Steve Solex: Is that the best you got, you old bitch!?

Joe Hoffman: Steve Solex letting Eric Dane know exactly what he thinks of him.

Benny Newell: Look at those muscles, Hoffnips! Solex is an adonis!

Eric Dane laughs at Solex’s grand gesture, and charges toward him. The two lock up in the center of the ring once more, but the momentum from the charge gives Eric Dane the advantage, forcing Steve Solex into the ropes.

Joe Hoffman: To the outside!

Solex loses his footing and both men, still engaged in the lock up, spill out onto the outside floor.

Benny Newell: Yes!

With his back to the ring, Eric Dane shows the fans just how smart he is by pointing a finger at the side of his head and giving the fans in the front row a wink and a smile. But that expression is short lived, as Steve Solex reaches down over the top rope and grabs a hold of Dane’s head. Dane grunts and groans trying to fight off his much more muscular and obviously stronger opponent, but against his will, Dane is pulled up onto the outside apron. Dane however, reaches around Solex’s head and drops off the apron, guillotining Solex across the top rope. Solex springs off the top rope and lands flat on his back in the center of the ring, as Dane once again shows everyone in attendance his smarts, but this time with just a smile. Dane quickly turns around and slides into the ring under the bottom rope.

Joe Hoffman: Referee Joel Hortega is going to need to establish his position as the referee, and quick! This one could turn ugly any second!

Benny Newell: Simmer down, Hoffnuts! This is getting good!

The two men tussle on the floor, each trying to gain an advantage in the early goings as Referee Joel Hortege begins his cout.

UNO!

…

Eric Dane is first to his feet. Dane plants a couple of punches into Solex’s forehead, but Solex is able to brush them off and get to his feet as well. Both men trade punches as the crowd animalistically cheers on the violence. After landing two successful punches in a row, Solex is able to take the early advantage.

DOS!

…

TRES!

…

Solex forces Dane back up against the ring apron and lands a blistering cop across Dane’s chest that echoes throughout the arena and prompts the obligatory crowd response of “WOO!”

Benny Newell: Right across the nips! This is Solex’s version of the purple nurple, Hofftaint!

Joe Hoffman: You’re all class and grace, Benny!

Benny Newell: I’ll drink to that!

QUATRO!

…

Solex doesn’t waste anytime, and lands another chop across Dane’s chest.

Joe Hoffman: A welt is forming across the chest of Eric Dane! My God, that’s brutal!

Solex appreciates his handy work with a smile, as Eric Dane falls down to a knee.

CINCO!

…

Solex slowly lifts Dane back to his feet with a hand under his chin, and making a shushing sound like Dane is some kind of child. He positions Dane against the apron and once again lands an echoing chop across Dane’s chest, and once again the crowd responds appropriately with a collective “WOO!”

Benny Newell: That one landed right across both chesticles!

SEIS!

…

SIETE!

…

Steve Solex: Alright, goddamnit!

Solex adheres to the count, and slides into the ring. Quickly, he slides back out, restarting the count. He grabs Eric Dane by the beard and pulls him to his feet. Solex jaw jacks at Dane for a minute as the crowd seemingly begins to rally behind Eric Dane with a few boos. Solex, using every strand of hair in Eric Dane’s beard, yanks Dane toward him and then absolutely levels him with a belly-to-belly suplex on the outside.

UNO!

…

Joe Hoffman: Oh my! What a move by Steve Solex!

The crowd boos wildly as Solex hops to his feet like some sort of olympic gold medalist and spins and hops with his arms extended out on either side of his body.

DOS!

…

Solex turns his attention back to Eric Dane, and rolls him into the ring. Solex takes the long way into the ring, up the steel steps as he taunts the crowd who seem to be getting more and more behind Eric Dane.

Joe Hoffman: Solex being very methodical here!

Benny Newell: Everything that Steve Solex does has purpose, Hoffstick! Look at those biceps! He’s chiseled out of fucking stone!

Joe Hoffman: Alright, Benn..

Benny Newell: And that glorious mustache! My God!

Hoffman audibly scoffs over the airwaves as Steve Solex finally enters the ring. Eric Dane lies flat on his stomach in the center of the ring as Solex slowly approaches. Solex lifts a foot and viciously stomps it on the right hand of Eric Dane. He keeps his foot and Dane’s hand and grinds it in like he was extinguishing a cigarette. Dane agonizes in pain as he kicks his feet into the ring apron and grits his teeth while he lets out a deep groan.

Steve Solex: Look at you! You’re pathetic! You make me fuckin’ sick!

With that last word, Solex clenches his jaw and grinds the foot into the hand even harder, before stomping viciously into Dane’s right elbow.

Joe Hoffman: That’s the injured arm from last week! Eric Dane is in serious trouble here!

Dane screams out in pain as soon as the boot connects with his elbow. Solex puts his foot back on Dane’s hand, keeping him in place. Solex then reaches down and begins ripping the KT tape off of Dane’s arm. The crowd boos as Solex balls it up and throws it out into the fifth row.

Joe Hoffman: Is that really necessary?!

Benny Newell: Grab a drink and enjoy the show, Hoff-ticles.

Joe Hoffman: Hoff-ticles?

Benny Newell: DRINK!

Solex releases Dane’s hand momentarily and locks in a La Cerrajera. Referee Hortega slides in to check on Eric Dane, who immediately begins to struggle and try to break the hold. But Solex doesn’t let up, and leans back as far as possible, placing an unimaginable amount of pressure on Dane’s shoulder and elbow. Solex grins from ear to ear, and laughs out loud as the crowd begins to boo the Army veteran.

Joe Hoffman: Referee Joel Hortega doing his best to check on Eric Dane here. I don’t know how much more he can take!

Dane manages to shift himself into a more favorable position, and begins to crawl toward the ropes. Solex’s grin becomes a look of concern as Dane slowly pulls Solex with him. Joe Hortega stays close, continually checking on Dane.

Joe Hoffman: Dane’s got a hold of that bottom rope!

Joe Hortega shifts his attention to Solex, quickly getting to a count of four as Steve Solex reluctantly lets go of the hold. Solex get in the face of Joel Hortega and begins to poke the referee in the middle of the chest with his finger, attempting to intimidate the referee. He backs Hortega into the corner.

Joe Hoffman: Solex better turn his attention back to Eric Dane!

And on cue, Eric Dane grabs a hold of Solex’s shoulder and whips him around. The crowd comes unglued and cheers wildly as Eric Dane lands jab after jab, staggering Steve Solex from one end of the ring to the other.

Joe Hoffman: Where did he get the strength? The energy? Eric Dane is unhinged!

Dane backs Solex up into the corner, and whips him across the ring and into the ropes.

Joe Hoffman: Woah! Eric Dane just tossed Steve Solex over the top rope to the outside!

Benny Newell: With all those muscles, Solex just cracked the concrete floor!

Eric Dane stands in the center of the ring and wipes his hands clean. He pulls a pair of brass knucks from his tights, right in front of the referee.

Joe Hoffman: What is Eric Dane doing?!

Benny Newell: What an idiot! How do you do that right in front of the ref!?

Hortega and Dane briefly struggle as Hortega tries to take the brass knucks from Dane. Dane – purposely – releases the knucks and they go flying to the outside of the ring. Just not the side of the ring that Steve Solex is on.

Benny Newell: That crafty old bitch!

Joel Hortega goes to the outside to secure the brass knucks, as Eric Dane exits the ring on the opposite side. Dane plants a boot into the side of Steve Solex, keeping the war-hero down. Dane reaches underneath the ring, as the crowd cheers for blood.

Joe Hoffman: It’s a lead pipe!

Dane pulls a lead pipe out from under the ring and holds it high as the crowd cheers wildly.

Eric Dane: Is this what you wanted?!

Dane panders to the crowd and allows Solex to get to his feet as he holds the pipe like a baseball bat, waiting to knock that mustache right off Solex’s face. Solex spots the pipe and stands face to face with Dane. A smug look comes across the face of Steve Solex and he points to his chin.

Steve Solex: I fucking dare you!

Dane drops the pipe and it clangs against the concrete floor. Solex belly laughs and leans back.

Benny Newell: Dick kick!

Joe Hoffman: A punt down low from Eric Dane!

Benny Newell: Right in the dick! What an old bitch!

The crowd goes bananas as Solex crumbles to the floor, his mustache quivering. Eric Dane laughs and kicks the lead pipe back under the ring. He lifts Solex to his feet and rolls him into the ring. Dane quickly follows.

Joe Hoffman: This is Eric Dane’s chance to get some momentum going!

Benny Newell: DRINK!

Eric Dane plants a couple of stiff boots into Solex’s ribs before crouching down over top of Solex. Using a hand full of hair as leverage, Dane throws a couple of knuckle first punches right into Solex’s forehead. The mustached former #1 Dad can do nothing to fight back.

Joe Hoffman: He’s biting him! Eric Dane is biting Steve Solex’s forehead!

Benny Newell: You can’t bite a member of the Best Alliance! This fuck-head is definitely going to be getting a fine from the boss! DRINK!

Eric Dane digs his teeth into Solex’s forehead, as deep as he can without breaking the skin. Referee Joel Hortega reaches the count of five, and Eric Dane shows no signs of letting up. Hortega pulls back on Dane’s shoulder as he pleads with the veteran to let loose of the bite. Finally, he does.

Eric Dane: Fuck you! You sack of shit, I told you I’d make an example out of you!

He shouts in the face of Steve Solex as spit flies in by the ounce into Solex’s face.

Joe Hoffman: Eric Dane has become unhinged!

Eric Dane pulls Solex up to his feet and lands a few punches that force Solex back into the corner. Dane whips Solex across the ring into the opposite buckle, and Solex crumbles down to a knee. Dane charges and is met with a stiff boot to the midsection and…

Joe Hoffman: Solexecution! Solexecution!

Benny Newell: I told you Hoffhole, Solex has this in the bag! He’s a fuckin’ hero to all!

Joe Hoffman: But he can’t make the cover! He’s down and out!

Solex can’t muster the strength to get to his feet, let alone make the cover. It’s become painfully apparent that this might be the end of Steve Solex in this match. Both men lay still in the center of the ring, and after doing his mandatory checks of both competitors, Referee Joel Hortega begins his count of ten.

UNO!

….

DOS!

….

Benny Newell: This motherfucker. He sure is counting much faster this week, Joe!

…

TRES!

Joe Hoffman: Neither man showing any signs of life!

…

QUATRO!

…

CINCO!

…

SEIS!

The cadence of Joel Hortegas count slows a tiny bit, as Eric Dane begins to army crawl his way toward the corner.

…

SIETE!

…

OCHO!

…

Joe Hoffman: Eric Dane is on his feet!

Dane has gotten to his feet, but before he can gain his composure Steve Solex charges in, knocking Dane into the corner. Solex unloads with a fury of right and left handed punches to Dane’s head and ribcage. One of those punches splits Dane’s eyebrow and a stream of blood begins to flow down his face. Dane tries to cover up, but it’s a useless effort as the punches come in from all different angles.

Benny Newell: Get him you purple asshole!

Benny refers to Solex’s complexion, which has become remarkably purple over the course of the match.

Joe Hoffman: All that muscle needs oxygen, Benny! I don’t think it’s getting it!

Benny Newell: He’s a Greek god, Hoffdick! He looks amazing!

The punches begin to slow down tremendously, and it’s become clear that Eric Dane, using every bit of his veteran savvy, was playing the old rope-a-dope, with Steve Solex.

Joe Hoffman: Solex is slowing! He’s fading!

Using his good arm, Dane shoves Solex backward. Solex’s arms hang low at his sides, as he pants in a panic, attempting to get his breath back. The crowd cheers Dane on. Solex falls down to a knee in total exhaustion.

Joe Hoffman: Starbreaker Knee! It’s over!

Benny Newell: Fuck!

Dane’s unable to make the cover, as somehow, Steve Solex bounced right back up to his feet. Solex stumbles around the ring and finds himself face to face with Eric Dane. Solex’ eyes widen, as he sees Eric Dane staring right back at him…the biggest grin on his face.

Joe Hoffman: STARDRIVER!!!!!!!

Benny Newell: Shit!

Eric Dane makes the cover, as Joel Hortega makes the count…

UNO!

…

…

…

…

…

…

DOS!

…

…

…

…

…

…

TRES!

Bryan McVay: The WINNER of the match…..ERIC DAAAAANNNNNEEEE!!!!

Joe Hoffman: Eric Dane has done it! He’s defeated Steve Solex!

The crowd cheers wildly as “The One You Love to Hate” begins to play throughout the arena. Eric Dane slowly climbs to his feet and raises a fist high in the air as the crowd continues to cheer him on. Blood trickles down his face as he drops down to a knee, tucking that injured arm back in near his ribs. Suddenly, the music is stopped and the crowd goes silent.

Joe Hoffman: C-SEKTION!!!!!

Benny Newell: YES! It’s fuckin’ John Sektor baby!

John Sektor was able to enter the ring undetected by Eric Dane, and absolutely obliterated Dane’s face with the double-arm lift right into a facebuster. The crowd explodes in boos as John Sektor, with all of his technical ability, quickly transitions into the Sektor Stretch!

Joe Hoffman: Oh no! The Sektor Stretch!!!!!

The crowd continues to boo as the blood begins to flow from Dane’s eyebrow like a faucet, and pooling on the ring apron.

DING! DING! DING!

Hortega tries to call for the bell to coerce Sektor into releasing the hold, but it doesn’t work and Sektor wrenches in the stretch even tighter. 

Sektor still has the hold cinched in tight as Refueled comes to a close. The final shot we see is of Eric Dane bleeding…….and smiling as he fades out along with the show.