- #8 Arthur Pleasant vs. #20 Darin Matthews
- See you soon
- Hail Eris
- Put a Sock on it
- NR Lester Moregrimes vs. #8 Clay Byrd
- Two Strokes to Midnight
- #12 Hughie Freeman vs. #15 Desmond LeRoux
- Warm Return Welcome
- Stay Tuned
- Full of Shit
- Grapplers Local 214 vs. The Best Alliance
- King of Everything
- What are friends for?
- Best Bites
- #8 Conor Fuse vs. #15 Cancer Jiles
The HOTv logo gives way and we immediately cut to our Hall of Fame announce team as the 59th edition of Refueled is underway!!
Joe Hoffman: Good evening and welcome to Refueled! We’ve got an interesting line of matches for everyone here and tonight has all the makings of a great night!
Benny Newell: If you mean getting blown under the table then count me in hoffmeister!
Joe Hoffman: ………….anyways, we’re all set for our opening match of the evening. This match will be between HOW newcome Arthur Pleasant and HOW veteran, Darin Matthews.
Benny Newell: Great so a jobber against a jobber? It’s a good thing I already started drinking!
Joe Hoffman: Well I wouldn’t discount this match just yet Benny. Arthur had a good debut just the game and well, not exactly sure what happened to Matthews but it’s probably a good bet he’s going to be looking to take some hatred out towards the rookie.
Benny Newell: Well if it’s to see Darin get murdered or humiliated again then I’m all for it!
The wonderfully horrific screeching of violins cut through the arena like a knife through flesh as “Danse Macabre”, the classic orchestral piece written and composed by Camille Saint-Saëns and condensed into a much more frightening version for entrance theme’s sake, plays throughout the arena. Soon thereafter enters Arthur Pleasant, The Provocateur himself, from the Gorilla position. Standing with his arms out and a smile as sick and evil as the day is long and the fans are fickle, Arthur Pleasant sniffs the air with his eyes closed. Taking in the snarky shouts and cynicism from the internet wrestling community, Arthur begins skipping down the ramp with utter delight plastered onto his face. Behind him, several steps away, is Yuri Reznikov, his contracted Russian “heavy”. Ignoring the High Octanians, Yuri follows his Boss to the ring… but does not step inside it.
Bryan McVay: The following contest is scheduled for one fall! Making his way down to the ring first, Under the Midnight Sun in Utqiaġvik, AK, he weighs in at 207 pounds….he is ARTHUUR PLEAAAAAAASANT!
Arthur runs the ropes a few times, making a mockery out of colleagues who like to warm up before a match. Retreating to the corner furthest from the ramp way, Arthur hunkers down with his arms holding onto the top ropes at his sides and sitting on the middle turnbuckle. A lustful look bearing the need for violence and mayhem, Arthur grins as widely as his jaw and skin will allow him to while he waits for his opponent.
Joe Hoffman: Here’s a man who had a very impressive debut and he’s already trying to stir up the HOW waters by calling people out.
Benny Newell: I don’t know if it’s dumb or plain old genius…but the guy better watch out otherwise he’s going to have a beating happen to him in the not so fucking long future.
Meredith: Introducing the man ailing from The Lake of the Ozarks, Missouri. Tonight he weighs in at lean, mean 223 Pounds. He is the man know as the Pinnacle of Pro Wrestling, The Artiste of Atlantic City, The Messiah of Missouri Valley, your Tyrant of the Territories and your HEEEERO OF HIGH OCTANE: DAAAAAAAAAAAARIN MAAAAAAAAAAAATHEWS!!!! The lights dim as the opening chords to Icon for Hire’s “Cursed or Cured” queue up and blare over the arena speakers.
Joe Hoffman: Matthews looks a little bit more comfortable tonight than normal.
Benny Newell: Well wouldn’t you be if you were the one who went splash in a pool of sewage? And before you answer that, I don’t care if it cost me a match…I ain’t traveling down that road. However, I would pay good money to watch it happen again to Matthews…in a fucking heartbeat. Prick.
Suddenly, a spotlight shines down on both Meredith and Darin Matthews. Decked out in his Gold Robe with Black Collar, Matthews takes a deep breath raising his arms in the air while Meredith hugs and gives him a kiss on the cheek. Matthews spins around and throws his robe off. Meredith collects his robe while Matthews charges towards the ring, handing out high fives along the way. Matthews climbs up the top turnbuckle basking his glory, taken back by the loud cheers from the crowd tonight. He smirks before he flips off the top turnbuckle.
Boettcher calls for the bell and Matthews starts off the festivities by charging straight for Pleasant. He catches Arthur by surprise as he nails him with a buzzsaw kick bringing Pleasant to one knee. Matthews then ricochets off the ropes and comes back at Arthur this time sending hm back first into the mat with an enzuguri. Matthews goes for a cover.
Joe Hoffman: Quick kickout there by Arthur. It looks like Darin is trying to end this match as quick as possible.
Benny Newell: Are you really that fucking surprised hoffhole? The longer a match goes on, the higher the odds become of Darin getting fucking obliterated in that ring!
Matthews picks Arthur up and plants him into the mat with a body slam before proceeding up on the top rope. As he climbs, though, Arthur is able to get back up to his feet quickly…like lightning quick as he pops behind an unexpected Matthews. Matthews turns around and is surprised and taken off guard as Arthur grabs him and connects with a tornado DDT. Arthur hits his own variety of shining wizards as he lays a couple perfect level with Friends to the end taking Matthews down to the mat. Now it’s Arthur who goes for a cover.
Joe Hoffman: Arthur has been a spectacle to watch inside that ring, Benny.
Benny Newell: The closet is that way in case you were wondering there, hoffy. Arthur knows that he has to keep on Matthews so that way the fucker doesn’t gain any momentum. I mean, I already know it’s impossible to gain any of that. That’s like making Bobby Dean lose weight….the fucker had to defy the laws of physics you know.
Pleasant starts dishing out some hard rights into the face of Matthews before pullilng him up to his feet and sending him flying into the corner turnbuckle. Matthews hits the corner hard as Arthur charges at him only for Matthews to grab him just in time and send him shoulder first into the turnbuckle. Arthur grabs his shoulder as Matthews grabs Pleasant and connects with a snap suplex. Matthews again drops down for the cover.
Benny Newell: KICKOUT BITCH!
Joe Hoffman: Darin knows he’s got to put Arthur away early. It seems like the pattern as of late when it pertains to Matthews is that the longer the match goes on, it’s a lot harder to put someone away. I’m not taking anything away from Darin, but he should know by now to try and end matches quicker.
Benny Newell: I actually enjoy watching all that hope blossom within Matthews only for it to be snubbed away from him.
Darin starts to unleash a flurry of rights of his own. You can see the raw emotion in Matthews grow as he is channeling his inner peace and determination against Pleasant as he tosses Pleasant in the corner. Matthews charges right at him before he strikes him shoulder first sending him reeling back into the corner turnbuckle as Matthews grabs him and connects with a codebreaker that takes Pleasant to the ground. Matthews again goes for the cover.
Joe Hoffman: ANOTHER kick out by Arthur there! You can see Darin is starting to get frustrated!
Benny Newell: Typical Darin…when nothing goes his way he starts to pout like a little fucking heathen!
Matthews begins to argue with Boettcher as Arthur starts to stir. Boettcher gives Matthews a warning as Matthews rolls his eyes and scoffs as he sees Arthur getting back to his feet. Matthews scopes Arthur as he starts to charge towards Arthur and you can see how frustrated Matthews is. Before Matthews can establish any hold on Arthur, Arthur grabs him mid attack and takes him down to the mat without any warning.
Benny Newell: CALAMITY PAIN!!
Bryan McVay: Here is your winner….ARTHUUUUUR PLEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAASANT!!
Arthur falls to one knee as Boettcher raises his arm up in victory. Meanwhile, Matthews slides under the bottom rope and falls to the outside.
Joe Hoffman: Another win here for Arthur and even though some people would argue against the contrary, Arthur has been nothing but impressive since his HOW debut.
Benny Newell: It’s Darin Matthews….like he needed any credentials before he beat him here tonight.
Arthur is able to get back to his feet and he turns around and all of a sudden—
Arthur is smacked head first by a steel chair. Arthur falls to the ground as we see who hit him is none other than Mr. Executive himself, Brian Hollywood. Hollywood looks down at a fallen Arthur and just studies him for a little bit. He shakes his head before unleashing two more chair shots to the side of Pleasant. Hollywood shakes his head as he tosses the chair down with authority in the ring and begins shouting at Arthur.
Brian Hollywood: IS THIS WHAT YOU WANTED YOU SON OF A BITCH?! This is what happens when you don’t fucking think before you talk and the end result is this! You want a challenge? Well…you’ve got one asshole! Just remember, his was all YOUR doing!
Arthur is reeling in pain as he uses the ring ropes to pull himself up to his feet. Everyone is still trying to figure out what Hollywood’s motive is for coming out here and attacking Arthur the way he did. Finally, pleasant is back to his feet but not for long as Hollywood nails him with an Executive Promise sending the HOW rookie back down to the mat.
Brian Hollywood: Oh I’m just getting fucking started!
Hollywood smiles as he admires his surprise attack as Refueled heads backstage.
Instead of heading backstage, the HOV comes to life and we are greeted with the words “EARLIER THIS EVENING” before a video begins to play…
Backstage Steve Harrison is walking towards the Miracle Enterprise kiosk.
Steve Harrison: Come on Jack, keep up. I did not get you camera access for you to lose your breath because you smoke so much.
Jack Marley is this evening’s cameraman. Steve stops in front of the Kiosk and starts looking at and counting quantities of the products they will no doubt sell out of during tonight’s Refueled.
Steve Harrison: It was annoying enough to have to transfer all of this from The Best Arena too…
Jack Marley: Dallas.
Harrison sighs and shakes his head.
Steve Harrison: At least it isn’t Houston…absolutely nothing good is from there or lives there or has left there. You get the point, right?
The Man who claims miracles started with him grabs something from the kiosk and tosses it at Jack.
Steve Harrison: Seriously, why are there so many of these Jatt Starr corn holders left?
Jack responds behind the camera, which is always great since nobody wants to see his aging hippie look.
Jack Marley: I did a case study…
The Miracle Milk Man interrupts Jack with a confused look on his face.
Steve Harrison: YOU did a case study?
Jack Marley: So, I asked the janitor at The Best Arena…
Steve Harrison: Of course, you did.
Jack Marley: He mentioned that Jatt’s appeal is mainly to middle aged lonely moms and they don’t eat much corn.
Steve chuckles and looks back up to the camera.
Steve Harrison: Sorry Jatt, but at least you have a demo you can pander to unlike The Grapplers yawn who gives a flying fuck 214.
Jack Marley: There is talk of a Jatt Starr codpiece though.
Harrison puts his hand up.
Steve Harrison: Nope and who the hell is talking about that…never mind I think it is obvious. After The Best Alliance wins all of their matches tonight we can have a bonfire and burn these damn corn holders.
Jack Marley: Even Cancer Jiles?
The Miracle Man lifts his hand in an attempt to hide his face from the camera catching him roll his eyes.
Steve Harrison: GOD himself had the foresight to toss me some extra cash so all I can do is wish our World Champion luck tonight because losing to that Vitamin D deficient basement dweller is not a good look. The Best Alliance demands the BEST from us all and as the heart and soul of us I cannot accept failure. Cancer, my new friend…will not let me down.
Harrison nods at what he said, enjoying his opinions as usual and starts checking prices for the products and then looks back at Jack.
Steve Harrison: But you know, Jack? I am starting to feel like some has-beens in this business are just not getting the message. I made it very evident last week that I want to erase these past their prime wrestlers, and I have not heard a word from the multi time world champion I knocked out last week. I am not surprised because there was a reason he retired and now I am just trying to figure out what he came back for–
Before Steve could finish his sentence, a steel chair entered the frame, and connected to his back, causing a loud thud, as he fell forward, bumping into the cameraman, who did everything in his power to maintain his footing, to no avail. Steve’s momentum was too much, and they both went crashing to the floor.
Gathering himself, Jack grabbed the camera, and made it to his feet, turning it in the direction of the chair wielding culprit, slowly panning upward to see Sean ‘Triple X’ Stevens in blue jeans, a grey Ralph Lauren t-shirt, and a leather biker jacket.
Trip stood over Harrison’s body for a second, admiring his work, before taking the steel chair and placing it on Harrison’s neck, and pressing down, causing him to gasp for air.
Triple X: Hi Steve. You might not know this, but what you did last week, when you attacked me from behind? That was unacceptable.
He smiled as he continued.
Triple X: At first, I thought it was an accident … a case of mistaken identity, because no one in their right mind fucks with me. So here’s the thing, I’m going to give you a pass and pretend like last week didn’t happen. If last week wasn’t a mistake? We’ll see each other again. But, Steve, if I have to come and find you again, I won’t be so forgiving next time. Be careful, kid. Balls in your court.
Stevens removes the chair, allowing air to circulate throughout Harrison’s body once more, and walks over to the Kiosk, tipping it over, causing all of Steve’s items to crash onto the floor and fly everywhere.
Trip glanced into the camera once more.
Triple X: I don’t think we’ve met … Hi Jack, I’m Sean. Nice to meet you.
The blue-eyed badass walked off.
Jack goes to help Steve not at all feeling like he was a coward in that exchange because he already knows that he is. Steve sits up and stares in astonishment at all The Miracle Enterprise products scattered on the floor. He rubs some tears from his eyes from not being able to breath and stares daggers at Jack.
Jack Marley: You ok boss-mon?
Steve Harrison: (Speaking softly cause of throat) you recorded that and didn’t do anything? Look at all this profit getting damaged on the floor. Clean it up!
Jack puts the camera down, so it just points at him and then scurries off to clean up the mess. Steve leans against the tipped over kiosk and rubs his back from the chair shot.
Steve Harrison: (points at camera) I will see you very soon, Sean.
Steve grabs the camera and all you see is blurry images and then the sound of it crashing as the len breaks and everything goes dark as we cut to more footage.
The feed cuts to grainy footage as we see Xander Azula and his group of disciples taking a leisurely walk. The camera appears to be rather shaky, making the location difficult to tell as Xander begins to speak.
Xander Azula: The world is at war. Always has been, but this is different. You’ve heard the rumors and speculation, and even the statements being thrown around online…High Octane Wrestling is about to be split in two, and everyone is being told to take a side.
The disciples continue their journey toward an unclear destination as Xander continues, looking on with a sense of pride.
Xander Azula: My goddess, however, thrives on chaos…she relishes in it, in fact. So, choosing sides in this war is not my most immediate concern…I’ll tell you what is, though.
The group finally stops, as the camera settles in on where we’ve ended up…just outside the American Airlines Center, a giant banner out in front promoting the evening’s Refueled event and featuring the champions of the promotion. Xander’s face sours with anger as he points at one man in particular, Michael Lee Best with the HOFC title over his shoulder.
Xander Azula: It’s been on my mind more than I would care to admit this past week, just how close I came to knocking the Son of GOD off his perch. If I truly have to pick a side in this war, I want to be squarely opposite from Michael Lee Best…but more importantly, I want that championship. May it be a pleasing offering in the eyes of my goddess.
This gets a response of “Hail Eris” from his fellow disciples as Xander turns his attention squarely on us now.
Xander Azula: And so help me, I will do whatever it takes to get what is rightfully hers. I will run through anyone necessary to get that opportunity…Best Alliance, 214, or otherwise…and Eris will smile upon me.
With that, Xander and his disciples walk off as we fade to black.
We cut backstage where Sutler Reynolds-Kael can be seen angrily stalking the halls until he comes to a door marked LEE BEST. Pausing Sutler stares at the door taking in a deep breath before shoving his way into the office.
Sutler Reynolds-Kael: Grandpa! Buddy! We need to talk.
Breezing past two EPU security guards Sutler approaches the desk where a #97red high back leather chair is turned around with the shiny top of a bald head visible just over the top of it.
Sutler Reynolds-Kael: I’ve been in the company almost as long as that infuriatingly low talent hack Conor Fuse and HE’S getting a World Championship Title Match against Jiles tonight? Unbelievable! I DESERVE IT!
The petulance in Sutler’s voice reaches a fever pitch as he slams his hands angrily on the wood desk. Slowly the chair turns to reveal Lee Best, his grim, perpetually annoyed face staring blindly out at the world. Lee does nearly a full rotation and a half before stopping, staring far to the left of Sutler.
Lee Best: ..who the fuck is this?
Sutler’s face flushes red as Lee taps his fingers on the armrests of his chair.
Sutler Reynolds-Kael: It’s me, your grandson, Sut.. hey.. Hey over here.
The Son of Scions waves his hands toward Lee to try and draw his attention but being blindish Lee doesn’t react, his scowl shifting slightly.
Lee Best: I don’t have a grandson, Mike fires selective blanks, try again, asshole.
Sutler Reynolds-Kael: I’m not that one’s son, I’m Max’s son, Sutler Reynods-Kael! The Son of SCIONS?! President of Human Resources?!
The owner of High Octane Wrestling is quiet for a moment before shrugging.
Lee Best: Sounds familiar, what the fuck do you want?
Sutler Reynolds-Kael: I just.. Didn’t you hear me when I came in here?
Lee Best: I’m blind….and selective hearing.
The President of Human Resources’ eyes narrow as he glares at Lee who shifts his body slightly, his head snapping to the far right, once again failing to look in the direction of SRK.
Sutler Reynolds-Kael: I. Want. To. Be… in the Main Event!
Once again there is silence as Lee appears thoughtful. After a few moments his hands stretched out toward the desk fumbling with the drawers while feeling around for something.
Lee Best: Alright, you want to be in the Main Event? You gotta earn your way there, work your way up the company like everybody else. You can start right now.
Finding what he was searching for Lee pulls a #97 apron with the HOW logo emblazoned upon it. A smirk crosses his face as he tosses the apron well over Sutler’s shoulder hitting one of the EPU guards. Sutler stares at the apron in confusion then back at Lee.
Sutler Reynolds-Kael: What the fuck am I supposed to do with an apron?
Lee Best: You fucking WORK, kid…sell 100 beers and we’ll talk about what you need to do next. Now fuck off down to the stands.
He doesn’t wait for Sutler to reply, turning back around in his chair. Of course he misjudges how far he has to go, rotating fully back around with a smug looking smile stretched across his lips. The Son of Scion sighs then turns, quickly exiting the office as he rips the apron off the EPU guards head as we hit our first commercial break.
Back from commercial we cut to the office of the COO of HOW… The Hardcore Artist… Scottywood. His freshly shaven head is glistening from the lights above as he sits gingerly in his office chair and enjoys an IPA while Frankie the Cameraman organizes some of the stuff in his office that has been neglected the past few weeks.
Scottywood: Let’s get this out of the way right now. Mike Best beat me. He beat me and we’re both moving on, the past between us… is dead.
There is no but, no excuse, no asterisk that he tries to tack onto the end of that sentence. Just a period. End statement.
Scottywood: For those though that want to try and say a single word about my failure… I’ll advise you to shut your fucking all purpose piss, shit and fuck holes before you spew words that you will sorely fucking regret. For all the doubters… for all those that thought I could never beat Mike Best again and take that HOFC Title from him… you were right. But what none of you expected was just how fucking close it was. Just how close I came from giving Mike Best his first back to back losses in HOW in who know HOW fucking long. HOW close I came to finishing a COOL Reality sweep of the titles off Mike Best.
Rubbing his bald head, Scotty smiles as he looks down at the can of Anti-Hero IPA on his desk. He grabs it and takes a drink as he surveys the mess that his office is in after months of neglect.
Scottywood: I didn’t ask… nor deserve that shot at Mike Best… but being saddled with the chance… the opportunity… I threw everything I had at it. Yes, I failed… but what the fuck have any of you fuckers done in the past two years? Who else can even claim a victory over Mike in the last two years? Who the fuck has even stepped up and wanted a match so bad against Mike that they called their fucking shot at the start of the HOFC tournament.
Scottywood: Call me fucking stuipd… but I’ll call you all fucking cowards! I stood my ground… I fought with everything I had… I survived the fucking Murder Elbows… and I did not have my head removed from my fucking shoulders with a goddamn shovel. In fact we all know if one move went the other way in that fight… we could have easily had a different finish and a new champion right now.
Scottywood: So to everyone that thought I was gonna slink the fuck away after shaving my head and losing to Mike Best… well then you are the ones who are truly stuipd. HOW could you ever fucking think that when this place runs through my fucking blood… the blood I spilled on the USS Octane trying to do something none of you motherfuckers would ever fucking volenteer for. Please, someone step the fuck up and challenge Mike Best for that HOFC title… I fucking dare you. Shit… I dare you to challenge me. Because I might not have beaten Mike.. but I won a fire lit under my ass and I would love to burn some fuckers and prove to you all that this Hardcore Artist is still very much alive and no one is taking my spot here in HOW.
Finishing his Anti-Hero IPA he tosses the can to Frankie who dumps it into the recycling bin he is holding where a bunch of old HOW paperwork is also filling up.
Scottywood: In fact you all are choosing sides like you think it matters… like you think that there are only two. Oh you naive fuckers… we could say I’d HATE to make fools of any of you… but that would be a dirty fucking lie. Remember the number 39… remember the HATE…
Action cuts elsewhere…
The scene cuts backstage to the entryway of the temporary epicenter of StarrSek Industries. Brian BARE, the somewhat disgruntled and oft disrespected HOW interviewer, stands next to Jatt Starr who is one championship short of a pair. The Ruler of Jattlantis is sporting his red polo shirt and a white suit, the sleeves of the jacket are pulled up to his elbows.
The HOW Tag Team Championship rests on his left shoulder.
BRIAN BARE: I am standing with the former LSD Champion, Jatt—-
JATT STARR: Really? Do you have to say it like that?
BRIAN BARE: What?
JATT STARR: There was a little hint of glee in your voice when you said “former” LSD Champion and you completely omitted the fact that you are in the presence of one half of the current tag team champions, StarrSek Industries. Try it again.
BRIAN BARE: I am standing next to Jatt Starr, one half of the HOW Tag Team Champions, StarrSek industries. First of all, where is Sektor?
JATT STARR: He was in desperate need of alone time with his masseuse, nutritionist, physical therapist, and personal trainer in order to prepare for our match later tonight, as evidenced by the sock on the door.
The Thane of Starrkarth shifts over to the left revealing that there is, indeed, a sock on the door knob.
JATT STARR: I am confident he will be along shortly.
BRIAN BARE: Tonight, you and Sektor are defending your Tag Team Championships against him and Lindsay Troy. First off, how do you feel knowing you are stepping into the ring with the man that, just last week, defeated you to become the LSD Champion?
JATT STARR: You know what? I am going to answer your question, but I am getting the distinct feeling that there is some underlying Anti-Jatt Starr bias to these questions. Teddy Suckspin is the new LSD Champ. Good for him. It sucks that I lost, sure. But as far as not having the LSD Title? I am completely indifferent to it. Sure, I could throw a tantrum like that festering pimple, Darin Zion but why waste the energy?
BRIAN BARE: Does it concern you that after Teddy Palmer has beaten both you and Sektor over the past couple of weeks—-
JATT STARR: There it is! More Anti-Jatt Starr bias. You filthy muckraker, I see you trying to tear down StarrSek Industries before our match!
BRIAN BARE: I am just asking how concerned you are that—-
JATT STARR: There is no concern. Sektor and I have beaten Teddy Palmer to retain these championships before and we’ll do it again tonight. What concerns me is how many championship opportunities this fribble is being handed! You would think he was in the Best Alliance! He’s not in the Best Alliance, is he? I haven’t missed a memo, have I?
BRIAN BARE: No.
JATT STARR: Then there can really only be one reason why.
BRIAN BARE: Talent?
JATT STARR: Bollocks No!!!!! Blackmail! He must have something on Lee and considering all the messed up, depraved, deviant actions we KNOW about Lee Best, this must be something REALLY scandalous. Like, Lee is secretly into My Little Pony or something. Does he have videos of Lee Best dressed like Rainbow Brite anally penetrating a Care Bear? Or the other way around?
BRIAN BARE: I don’t think—
JATT STARR: I’m not done. Don’t interrupt me. This Yokel Local Union Two-Something is malarkey! They like to sit on their high horses and cast judgment on me. This whole Anti-Jatt Starr bias going around? It’s all Lindsay Troy’s doing. This trollop has had the hots for me since “Rumble at the Rock” and it has caused such self-loathing in her because she despises herself for her unhealthy Jatt Starr infatuation, that she has to resort to bad mouthing me to people like Conor Fuse.
BRIAN BARE: Speaking of Conor Fuse—-
JATT STARR: Shut up, Brian. I am not finished yet. Teddy Palmer and Lindsay Troy are frauds! Those two are so desperate to start some second rate Legion of Darkness that they will say anything and do anything to get someone to join. Look at Conor Fuse, the guy just wants to play the game his way, but Teddy and the Tramp are trying to convince, nay, FORCING him to play the game THEIR way. By the HOW gods, they had Zeb Martin BRIBE him with a video game! That’s disgusting and hippocratic to what they claim they stand for!
BRIAN BARE: Um…
JATT STARR: Mark my words, after Teddy and the Tramp LOSE tonight, if…and this is a BIG if, Conor Fuse comes up victorious and becomes the HOW Champion, Lindsay Troy will say “Jatt Starr is the sexiest man alive” to which Teddy Palmer will state, “WE DID IT! WE ARE THE HOW CHAMPION!” Frauds, Brian. And Sektor and I intend on exposing their duplexitous nature to the world tonight.
BRIAN BARE: Yes, what are your thoughts on—-
JATT STARR: And don’t think for one moment it’s in the name of the Best Alliance. I don’t believe in the Best Alliance. I believe in StarrSek Industries.
BRIAN BARE: Well, that’s—
JATT STARR: And one last thing, Brian? Next week, I am officially inviting Conor Fuse, win or lose tonight, to be my very special guest next week on “STARRGAZING with Jatt Starr”! Now, you had a question?
BRIAN BARE: Yes, I suppose I would—-
SEKTOR (off camera): JATT!
The Sultan of SeaJattle turns towards the door behind them.
JATT STARR: Yeah, bro?
SEKTOR (off camera): TURN AROUND, DUMBASS!
The Ruler of Jattlantis turns around and the camera pans over to the corridor, showing Sektor standing in front of an open door.
SEKTOR: The fuck you doin’ over there? I’ve been waiting here for fucking ever for you!
JATT STARR: Waiting for you to take the sock off the door.
The King of Grapple from the Big Apple points over to the sock on the door handle.
SEKTOR: That’s not our locker room, you dumb fuck! This is!
The Gold Standard points to the door next to him.
JATT STARR: Are you sure?
SEKTOR: FUCKING POSITIVE!
The Jattlantic City Idol looks at the door and then the sock ensconced doorknob and then the door, with curiosity.
JATT STARR: Then whose locker room is this?
SEKTOR: How the fuck should I know?
JATT STARR: You wanna talk to Brian? He might have a question for you!
SEKTOR: FUCK NO!
JATT STARR (to Brian): I should go.
The Hero of Jattlanta proceeds to walk off towards what turns out to be his locker room as Brian BARE glances over to the door with the sock. Brian BARE goes to reach for the doorknob as the scene ends.
We cut immediately to the announcers.
Joe Hoffman: Welcome back everyone and Lester Moregrimes is already in the ring waiting. His wrestling debut is a very odd story.
Benny Newell: Who cares, Joe? Are you seriously not getting amped for the entrance of our next wrestler? He is the BEST Texan in HOW.
Joe Hoffman: Crowd seems to agree tonight as they are already chanting for their Texas compatriot.
Guitar and harmonica begin to blare through the arena, the start of “Gunning For You” by Nick Nolan sends a silence across the crowd as Nick Nolan’s lyrics echo through the arena. Red letters slash across the screen as “BYRD” is spelled out. Clay appears through fog on the entrance ramp, cowboy hat low over his eyes, a long black duster on and a rope in his hand. My Gun is loaded it’s getting time Two shots of whiskey i’m takin’ what’s mine Ain’t what you’re sayin it’s what you do Your time has come boy i’m Gunnin for You When hell is rainin down you’ll see my face won’t heara sound You’ll feel that bullet burnin through Take your last breath boy I’m Gunnin for You Clay begins his slow walk down the ramp. His eyes are fixed on the ring, and he trudges on. Not paying any notice to any of the fans in attendance. There’s desperation deep in your eyes No turnin back now no compromise Cause only one of us walks out that door The other bleedin out on the floor Clay walks up the steps, and climbs into the ring.
Joe Hoffman: Lester seems to want a handshake from Clay Bryd.
Benny Newell: Oh, come on, the wrestling equivalent to Lennie from of Mice and Men is not going trick a veteran with this.
Lester walks towards Clay. Clay puts his hands on his sides confident in his abilities to take down this rookie. Lester’s hand is out for a handshake and Clay shakes his head and clenches his fists in response but instead of going for a handshake Lester with a quick double poke to the eyes.
Benny Newell: That cheating SOB, where is Joel Hortega!
Joe Hoffman: No time to complain, Lester is looking confident now.
Moregrimes claps to himself and kicks Clay in the stomach. Clay doubles over and is met with an awkward but hard looking forearm from the tall rookie. Lester realizing this is his shot picks Clay up and slams him down on the mat. He starts celebrating his accomplishment as he mouths off to some fans.
Joe Hoffman: Good start but he might want to turn around.
Benny Newell: Oh, this is going to be grand.
Clay Bryd has popped back up and Lester is still mouthing off to some fans.
Huge clothesline to the back of Moregrimes head. His eyes go back in his head and he falls over and hits the ropes bouncing back into the waiting arms of Byrd. He lifts him up and hits a release belly to back suplex. Lester looks knocked out, but Clay does not stop as he moves quickly and starts dropping elbow after elbow on the prone chest of Moregrimes. Clay grins and lifts Lester up and tosses him in the corner just so we can start choking whatever life is left in the lungs of Lester.
Joe Hoffman: I think he should have gone for the pin there, even a monster like Clay Bryd shouldn’t play with its opponents.
Benny Newell: Are you kidding me? This is a lesson this rookie needs to learn and that’s to not mess with The Best Alliance.
Joel Hortega finally gets Clay off from choking Lester. Moregrimes catches his breath and stumbles from the corner right into a Spear. Lester stares at the ceiling barely moving after taking a Spear from the extremely large Clay Byrd. Byrd gets up as the crowd goes wild for him and covers the rookie.
Bryan McVay: Here is your winner, Clay Bird!
Joe Hoffman: Another win for Clay Byrd tonight but I think with a little training and some seriousness Lester Moregimes can be something. You know you can’t teach height.
Benny Newell: This isn’t basketball, Joe and by the way fuck you Bucks, Liverpool, and Bobby Dean. What he learned tonight is that Clay Byrd is a beast and The Best Alliance is going to continue to be the best.
With that we cut elsewhere as Hortega is seen helping Lester up off the mat.
We cut from the destruction of Lester Moregrimes and we cut to the stands where Sutler Reynolds-Kael is donning the #97Red High Octane Apron (Now available online) while carrying a tray with beers on it. Unfortunately for him it doesn’t appear like any High Octane Wrestling fans want to buy anything off him as everyone appears to be turning away from him.
Sutler Reynolds-Kael: I got beer! Cold beer! It’s wet! It’s foaming! It’s Detroit’s Finest, Taste the Brown Bullet!
He moves down the steps stopping next to two young girls who look between the ages of 15-18 with their middle aged father there.
Sutler Reynolds-Kael: You want some craft Detroit IPAs, CPAs, NDAs or NFTs?
The two girls look at each other in confusion as the father waves Sutler away.
Sutler Reynolds-Kael: Hey, listen dude, I need to sell five more of these shitty beers before I can get into the Main Event so buy some fucking alcoholic beverages for your family like a real man! Hey, it might even make your daughters look hotter, I heard there’s a market for pre-legals in Florida.
The father immediately stands up, slapping the tray of beers out of Sutler’s hands causing them to pour down over the fans below him. Sutler immediately retreats up the stairs though he has a huge smile on his face.
Sutler Reynolds-Kael: You broke it, you bought it! YES! You’re on the line for all fifteen of those beers, loser! Main Event here I come! Sutler OOOOoooOOOOOoooOUT!
The Son of Scions skitters away ripping his #97Red High Octane Apron off as he does so as we cut elsewhere.
Our scene transitions to the interior of a locker room where Teddy Palmer is pacing back and forth, his newly won LSD Championship slung over his shoulder. His strides are taken with agitation, his lips pursed in frustration. Lindsay Troy is leaning against the partition separating two locker room stalls, finishing the tape job on her left wrist, the look on her face that of indifference.
Teddy Palmer: Well Sektor, you got to me. Mission accomplished. You went above and beyond to do so. In fact, I think you struck a nerve with anyone who has a woman in their life they care about. And I’m not just talking about girlfriends or wives either. Mothers, sisters, daughters, friends. Hell, anyone who has even the slightest shred of respect for women, you got to them. Your diatribe was absolute fuckin’ garbage and is massive reflection of how much of a piece of shit you really are.
Teddy’s pacing stops, as he turns to face the camera.
Teddy Palmer: Your five minutes of cringe was an attempt at what, I don’t know, but was clearly spewed in desperation. You can’t hide the fact you’ve done fuck all since the crack of the New Year. You’ve long overstayed your welcome, and you just can’t cut it anymore. Look no further than that ‘promo’ of yours. If that’s your go-to when your back is pressed against the wall, well fuck, that’s all the proof we need you have nothing of value left to offer. Not that what you offered before was of much value anyways.
Teddy scoffs, shaking his head in disbelief.
Teddy Palmer: I can’t believe I’m actually about to say this, but I gained a bit of an appreciation for you, Jatt. No, I don’t think your vagina jokes or transgender quips are funny, but at least you didn’t sink to the levels of sexual assault. I’m still gonna drop you on your fuckin’ head for your troubles, but kudos for showing the smallest sliver of couth.
Teddy removes his Championship from his shoulder, placing it on the wooden seat of the locker behind him. Lindsay’s since moved on to taping her right wrist.
Teddy Palmer: But you, John? You’ve got something far worse waiting for you. I’m not only aiming to make sure those vile words you regurgitated are the last you speak. Nah man. I’m gonna do my damndest to make sure you also take your last breath tonight, you fuckin’ waste of skin. The only ‘dip test’ taking place tonight is gonna be the trainer pressing two fingers against the side of your neck, searching for a pulse. This ain’t just about the Tag Team Championships or The Best Alliance versus The Grapplers Local 214 anymore. It’s about making misogynists worldwide think twice about opening their fuckin’ mouths.
Lindsay Troy: Isn’t it amazing that we’re in the year 2021 and shit like sexual assault threats and transphobic jokes are still making it to air and that bitch-made cornballs like Jatt Starr and John Sektor think they’re a great source of entertainment. That they’re “edgy” and “clever” and “funny.” That they’re “what makes a good bad guy.” Well, I’ve got news for you two, you pulled that garbage with the wrong person.
The Queen of the Ring tosses the tape roll off screen and lifts her eyes to the camera, her expression remaining neutral, her tone of voice staying even despite the words she speaks.
Lindsay Troy: Lee Best may not want to check you on it, because he’s too busy sticking his finger up his ass instead of having it on the pulse, but I’ve got no problem doing it and neither does Teddy. It’s not going to be enough for me to simply take the HOW tag team titles from you tonight.
A slight shake of her head.
Lindsay Troy: No…I’m going to make it my personal mission to humiliate, embarrass, and beat the dog shit out of you both on my way to my third tag team title reign of the Refueled Era. You should’ve asked your buddy Steve Solex what happens when you insist on living in a bygone era and you don’t come correct with me. And since you didn’t, when it’s all said and done, I’m going to leave your bodies for dead in Dallas and your careers along with them.
On that final, ominous note, HOW heads to commercial.
Back from commercial break we see Desmond LeRoux standing in ring as his theme music fades out.
Benny Newell: Uh oh, someone got their entrance cut from the show Joe…we saw what that meant earlier tonight.
Joe Hoffman: Must just be production snafu as we get ready for Desmond LeRoux versus Hughie Freeman here.
Benny Newell: Right… not foreshadowing anything here or anything….
‘Sweet Caroline’ by Neil Diamond hits and the arena ruptures into total hysteria. The majority of the fans sing along as the rest wait for the chorus. Meanwhile, Hughie Freeman comes onto the scene from behind the curtain with gleeful appreciation. The HOW Resident Pikey slowly walks down to the ring with his arms stretched out wide; touching the fingertips of the fans. Once Freeman hoists himself up on the apron (crowd side) the voice of Neil is overpowered by the fans reaction. Freeman quickly enters the ring, heads for the furthest turnbuckle and climbs it.
Bryan McVay: And his opponent from Wherever He May Roam and weighing in at 215 pounds….. HUGHIE FREEMAN!!!!
The chorus blasts with a real party atmosphere; everyone singing, with your man Hughie Freeman placing up a solid fist in acknowledgement. He jumps off the turnbuckle and loosens off. Also a touch of shadow boxing.
Joe Hoffman: Hughie looking to build some momentum here as he takes on this HOW rookie in LeRoux.
DING DING DING
LeRoux comes out goes to lock up with Freeman, but Hughie will have none of it as he connects with a quick jab and then battles LeRoux back into the corner with some rapid fire body shots. Another quick jab to the jaw stuns LeRoux as Boettcher tells Freeman to get him out of the corner. Another couple quick body shots and LeRoux stumbles out of the corner.
Joe Hoffman: Fast start by Freeman…
Benny Newell: Clothesline! I think he decapitated LeRoux!
With LeRoux down Freeman backs up and delivers a punt straight across the face of LeRoux.
Joe Hoffman: Licorice Laces! And LeRoux’s nose may be broken as the blood is flowing from it.
LeRoux stumbles back up to his feet but it’s not for long as hughie crouches down and stalks LeRoux.
Joe Hoffman: Fatality Punch! Light out for LeRoux. Cover by Freeman.
DING DING DING
Bryan McVay: Here is your winner in 1:32…. HUGHIE FREEMAN!!!!!
Benny Newell: Thanks for showing up LeRoux… or no showing up.
Joe Hoffman: He may have been better staying home as Hughie Freeman completely dominated that encounter and may have rearranged the face of LeRoux.
Benny Newell: He fucked that shit up Joe!
Freeman rolls out of the ring and raises his arm as he makes his way back up the ramp, not even looking back at LeRoux who is still out cold in the middle of the ring.
Joe Hoffman: Lee isn’t paying Hughie by the hour and the Best Alliance Tax Collector took care of business quickly tonight as we move onto backstage as Refueled continues on.
Benny Newell: Can we get a shovel here at ringside? Think we may need to scrap th=is fucker off the mat.
Joe does not answer as we cut away…
Close up of Ray McAvay with a single lightbulb shining. Despite the lighting, we can see he still wears the nicks and stitches from Jace Parker Davidson’s attack him on last week.
He takes a drink from his can of Budweiser and faces the camera.
Ray McAvay: I want thank Jace Parker Davidson for the warm welcome back to HOW last week. No, really. I’d forgotten just how much fun it is to get jumped in the dark and wake up the next morning after getting the crap beat out of you. Fun times, right?
McAvay shrugs. He’s got the Big Bertha driver propped against his shoulder.
Ray McAvay: Of course, the 2015, 2016 Ray McAvay was a lot more laid back and would have simply sloughed off what happened last week as the price of doing business in HOW.
The camera then pulls back. Jace Parker Davidson is laid out on the floor, unconscious, and bleeding profusely.
Ray McAvay: But it’s not 2015, 2016 anymore, is it.
McAvay flips the golf club like Bill Murray and steps out the room. He encounters a janitor and points back towards JPD.
Ray McAvay: Sorry about the mess.
And he walks away.
Further backstage, the camera zooms in on a plaque hanging on the door. It says “Brian Hollywood.” The door is opened as we see Hollywood sitting down in complete thought and silence. With every passing second, he grows ever so further frustrated. However, he is able to maintain his composure as he speaks calmly and looks up at the camera.
Brian Hollywood: I told everyone what was coming. I told everyone that things would be changing around here. Did anyone listen? Of fucking course they didn’t listen! But I’m done talking about it like anyone even gives two Tommy Lee Jones’ worth of shit. I’ll tell the world when I want them to know.
Hollywood points to the side of his head firmly.
Brian Hollywood: Remember…it’s all about perception and staying ahead of the curve. I like to think I do just that. But take what happened out there tonight with Arthur for example. Here you have a rookie…not just any ordinary rookie though. Heh, he kind of reminds me of myself in a way when I debuted in HOW little over a decade ago. Eleven years is a long time. I almost forgot the person I was back then compared to the man I am today. Not to worry…I will spare you all from the “then and now” picture showing. I’m not here to play games tonight. Tonight is about business and continued instructions from last week.
Hollywood pauses momentarily as he slides his hand through his hair. He looks back up at the camera as his expression doesn’t change.
Brian Hollywood: I told everyone I would be making a choice. I can only imagine how this one week went for everyone waiting to hear my inevitable announcement on which side I will be aligning myself… I suppose I couldn’t contain myself even wanting to go ahead and let you all know right now…but why would I want to do that?
Hollywood lets out a slight smile before it vanishes as quickly as it came across his face.
Brian Hollywood: I suppose you’re all assuming with my attack on poor rookie Arthur Pleasant earlier tonight that I showed the hand that I was dealt. I can assure you that isn’t the case. No….on the contrary, Arthur just had that coming to him. I wanted him to know just who the fuck he’s trying to mess with. By the way homie, congrats on your win against Matthews. I’ll give you credit there…you beat him. Then again, it feels like all Matthews is anymore is a rookie. He identifies with the term so make sure you’re politically correct around him!
Brian Hollywood: But back to the task at hand…this is what happens when you call me out the way you did, Arthur. I’m not really sure you know me as well as you claim to. What I do know is that you paid for your transgressions. You wanted my attention…well you fucking got my attention! I just want you to be aware that I’m in the middle of a fucking war right now and I have places to be and people to meet to conduct and finalize a particular piece of business that I’m currently engaged with. What is that you all ask? Well you should all know what follows from here….I’m just not going to reveal that hand and you’ll just have to wait and see from here! Ha, ha!
Hollywood lets out another smile only this time a longer one. He shakes his head one more time before the serious look comes back across his face.
Brian Hollywood: No…last week you made a mistake in calling me out Pleasant…and I’m going to make you pay for it. If you thought tonight was bad, you’re in for a rude awakening Arthur. There’s nothing pleasant coming your way…I can promise you that much. You’re about to find out what happens when you cross me and it’s going to cost you dearly. And I plan on making that happen next week! You wanted to get my attention….well you got it! So now all that remains is pulling you back down to planet earth and making you realize that you haven’t even begun to scratch the surface here in HOW! I’ll see you next week kid! As for my other business…well….heh….you’ll just have to stay tuned!
Hollywood smiles from ear to ear as he stands up and leaves the locker room area as Refueled pans elsewhere…
We catch up to none other than HOW’s own President of Human Resources who is now dressed in a #97Red Hazmat Suit with the High Octane Wrestling Logo emblazoned upon the back. He is armed with a plunger and a toilet snake which is coiled up under his right arm. Roving reporter Brian Bare appears, running to catch up with Sutler Reynolds-Kael.
Brian Bare: President Kael! President Kael!
Sutler pauses as he turns to stare at Brian through the clear window of his suit’s helmet.
Sutler Reynolds-Kael: President Reynolds-Kael, I hyphenated the name idiot. I’m really busy, what do you want?
From the look on Sutler’s face it doesn’t look like his trip to the Main Event was secured by selling the beers. Grim determination is etched on Sutler’s face while a look of fear glimmers in the corner of his brown eyes.
Brian Bare: Apologies President Reynolds-Kael. After you managed to sell the 100 beers we here at High Octane Wrestling were curious if Lee had moved you into the Main Event tonight?
The President of Human Resources sighs and turns to continue marching down the hall.
Sutler Reynolds-Kael: Walk and talk, Bare, walk and talk! To answer your question no, I am not in the Main Event yet as there are several other..jobs.. That need to get done according to Lee. I’m on my way to one right now, apparently someone let Bobby Dean eat cheese and now the shitter’s clogged.
Brian Bare: So you’re presently on your way to unclog a toilet?
Sutler Reynolds-Kael: Yes, alright! I’m on my way to liberate a Dean shit so the rest of us can use the bathroom without worry about a rising brown tide, okay?! I’m a fucking hero here, I’m a blue collar stiff getting taken advantage of by the man! I need to talk to HR…
Sutler pauses, his head snapping up as he comes to a realization.
Sutler Reynolds-Kael:..shit I am human resources. You know what, fuck off Bare, I’ve got poo business to attend to and mark my words, Brian.. I will be in this God damned Main Event! Sutler… OOOooOOOoOooOOOUT!
Reaching the bathroom door Sutler crosses himself before kicking the door in. Brian Bare’s face contorts in disgust as the smell wafts out into the hallway before retreating away as we cut to a commercial break.
Bryan McVay: The following match is scheduled for one fall, and is for the High Octane Wrestling Tag Team Championship!
The chugging guitar riff of “Re-Education” (Through Labor) by Rise Against pulsates through the PA system as blue, white and gold spotlights swirl around the stage and throughout the crowd. Similarly colored pyro shoots from cannons on the stage as Lindsay Troy and Teddy Palmer emerge from behind the curtain a resounding cheer from the High Octane Faithful.
Brian McVay: Introducing first, representing Grapplers Local 214…at a combined weight of 430 pounds…Teddy Palmer and Lindsay Troy!
Joe Hoffman: And here come the challengers, with an anthem fitting for their fight against Lee Best and his goon squad.
Benny Newell: You mean, here come the LOSERS with their shitty “statement piece.” Can’t wait for StarrSek to make quick work of them and we can move on with the night.
Two of the three founding members of GL214 make their way down the ramp to the ring, and the introduction of a stable theme isn’t the only thing brand new about the pair tonight. Palmer has traded in his jeans for black tactical pants that feature a navy, gold, and silver paint splatter, black combat boots, and black wrist tape. The Queen of the Ring sports her traditional halter top but has replaced her customary long pants for mid-thigh MMA shorts and a short navy colored hooded robe with gold and silver trim.
However, when they arrive, they do not even bother to follow standard protocol: instead of climbing into the ring, they simply make a lap around the area to greet the fans and allow for the music to pump through the PA system of the American Airlines Center. They then stand poised at the end of the entranceway. Shrugging his shoulders, Bryan McVay waits for his cue of the Rise Against song to stop and the next one to start.
“HEEEEEEERE WE ARE! BORN TO BE KINGS! WE’RE THE PRINCES OF THE UNIVERSE!”
“Princes of the Universe” is the well-known entrance theme that is remixed with a chorus of boos.
Bryan McVay: And their opponents! Representing the Best Alliance, they are the reigning Tag Team Champions!
Out walk Jatt Starr and John Sektor, both of whom do not appear to be in the best of spirits — especially as Jatt is missing his second prized piece around his opposite shoulder. However, both men carry the tag titles proudly as they come through the curtain and immediately lock eyes with their opponents who stand and wait for them.
Bryan McVay: JATT STARR and JOHN SEKTOR…STARRSEK INNNNNNNNNNNDUSTRIES!
Sektor and Starr brace for a brawl before the bell as they make a slightly more cautious approach to the ring.
Joe Hoffman: The 214 appears to want to start this match down on the concrete floor.
Benny Newell: Of course these two dickheads would want to do something as stupid as this! Those titles can’t change hands unless it happens inside the ring!
Joe Hoffman: It’s certainly an odd strategy. But wait a second here…
Both Lindsay and Teddy exchange a look, nod, and then begin to walk slowly in opposite directions back around to the other side of the ring. Jatt and Sektor are both puzzled, but the veterans know an opportunity when they see one. With Starr’s sights on Palmer and John’s radar homing in on LT, the two sprint to try to catch them off guard.
Benny Newell: Ha HA! That’ll teach them not to follow common entrance etiquette!
However, it was just a clever ruse. Anticipating the footsteps behind them, Palmer times a back kick straight to the incoming guy of Jatt. Meanwhile, Troy opted for the sharp point of her elbow that caught Sektor right in the jaw.
Joe Hoffman: It was a bait and switch all along! Teddy and the Queen of the Ring using a little pre-bell strategy to obtain the early advantage!
Benny Newell: That’s not very fair at all, Hoff-hole!
Joe Hoffman: Well, a lot of people might think that Starrsek attacking them from behind is very fair, either.
Benny Newell: They weren’t going to attack them! They just had a secret they needed to tell them really fast!
While LT follows up the onslaught by whipping Sektor as hard as she can into the respective corner post, Palmer opts to roll Jatt in the ring. With two now in there, Joel Hortega calls for the opening bell to officially start the match.
DING DING DING!
Palmer continues to capitalize on the surprise by grabbing Jatt in a side headlock. However, Starr gets his wits and pushes Ted into the ropes: but it’s exactly what Palmer wanted. After the rebound, he flies back with a cross body block that sends them both to the canvas: and it’s a quick pin attempt!
He could have done it at one, but the extra second buys Jatt enough time to add some oomph to the kick out. Ted is a step slow to his feet but runs to the ropes to bounce off them once again. This time, Jatt is ready: ducking under him and forcing a leap frog. Palmer continues the momentum, only to be met with a Starrlite Express spear!
Benny Newell: How’s THAT for your fucking strategy, Teddy? The Mayor of Jattlantis just knocked the stuffing out of him!
Joe Hoffman: Yes, it might have been for nothing after that change of tide. The impact of Jatt Starr’s shoulder into the fast-moving Palmer stopped him in his tracks.
Sektor gives an encouraging clap from the corner as he has finally shaken off the cobwebs and is poised on the apron. Lindsay offers her own words of motivation to Palmer to shake it off. Of course, Jatt gives her a glance and pretends as though Troy is talking to him. He feigns bashfulness as he waves to her, then leans over to grab Teddy by his hair: purposefully going slow to give Lindsay a look at his ass in the ready position.
Joe Hoffman: I don’t think I’d do that if I were him.
Benny Newell: Oh, come on. It’s just good-natured flirting! You know she has a huge crush on him!
Joe Hoffman: I think the only thing relative to a “crush” that Lindsay wants with either Jatt or Sektor would involve a steam roller.
Starr, with his free hand, licks his finger and “sizzles” it on his right butt cheek, then wiggles it at Troy. He then jerks Palmer’s hair and tosses him into his corner, making the tag to Sektor. The two then begin to lay the boots to him despite Joel Hortega’s protests. Finally, Jatt makes his way out, only to then feign as if he’s coming back in to angrily charge at Lindsay.
As Hortega is distracted, this gives Sektor a nice window to place his boot heel on Teddy’s windpipe and press down. However, Lindz is not taking Jatt’s bait, and Joel is able to redirect his attention back just to start the four-count. Sektor takes all four seconds, and hoists a woozy Palmer back to his feet.
He then puppeteers Teddy over toward the direction of Troy, gyrating his arms and mocking her.
Benny Newell: Ted better stop being romantic here! Sektor is literally right behind him! Why isn’t he making the tag? Ha!
Joe Hoffman: John obviously trying to goad Lindsay Troy into the ring, much like his partner just did. But it doesn’t appear to be working!
The ploy did however give Teddy enough time to recover, and to the delight of the crowd, the jacking jaw of Sektor was snapped shut with a cutter. He makes the quick tag to Lindsay and immediately turns to head off a charging Jatt. Those two begin to trade blows, and Troy delivers a sharp kick to Sektor, following it up with a standing somersault leg drop!
Joe Hoffman: A little of the older aerial style from Lindsay! She makes a cover!
As the crowd loudly chants the “UNO DOS TRES,” it is all for nothing. Hortega is currently busy trying to corral Teddy Palmer and Jatt Starr away from one another to catch the pin.
Benny Newell: And that’s exactly why the Best Alliance is walking out of here still the tag champs! Absolutely no awareness with this mish-mashed bunch of Union schmucks! Not like the tag genius of Starrsek Industries!
While Teddy is compliant, Starr is protesting Hortega’s demands to get back to his corner, claiming that “it’s a free country and I can do what I want.” Joel ends up having a little help, as Lindsay stands up and bolts toward him, coming directly at his surprised face with a pair of flying knees!
Joe Hoffman: Queen’s Gambit out of nowhere to Jatt! That force knocked him right through the ropes and outside the ring!
Benny Newell: Lindsay Troy should be disqualified! She’s trying to do the referee’s job for him!
Joe Hoffman: Sektor now on the prowl, look out, Lindsay!
John proceeds to grab Lindsay from behind and lock in a reverse bear hug. Using every ounce of his strength, he turns slightly and gives Palmer a shout to grab his attention, then proceeds to gyrate behind her.
Joe Hoffman: Now that is just sickening. What a lack of respect shown for a warrior and veteran of our sport.
Benny Newell: What’s the problem? You want to see them do the Waltz instead? Maybe the Charleston? John’s just trying to dance with her!
Teddy, visibly irritated at the display, still manages to let cooler heads prevail. Instead of immediately coming to her defense, he begins to stomp the apron and encourage the crowd to get behind Lindsay to break the hold. As the sound of claps becomes louder and closer together, it seems to work: Lindsay throws a few elbows into Sektor, slowly beginning to break out of his grasp.
Sektor does release the hold, but is able to push her into the ropes. She comes back with an attempt at a clothesline that’s ducked. Lindsay is then hit with a boot to the gut, doubling her over. He is then able to position her head between his legs, setting her up for a powerbomb.
However, what Sektor had failed to see was Joel Hortega signaling that a tag was made: Troy subtly holding her arm out to tap Teddy’s outstretched hand. Had he not been more concerned with adding a little extra time in the current position to attempt to piss off both Lindsay and Teddy, he might have heard the sound of someone springboarding off the ropes.
He didn’t. Teddy dives off and places a well-positioned elbow to Sektor’s head. Lindsay is able to wriggle free and grab hold of his head! She calls for a slight boost from Teddy as she grapevines Sektor’s left leg…and lifts him up and nails her small package driver finisher….
Benny Newell: NOOOO!
Joe Hoffman: Thy Kingdom Come on John Sektor!!!
Troy rolls out of the way and out of the ring as Palmer makes the cover as Boettcher gets into position…
DING DING DING
Bryan McVay: The winners of the match, and NEWWWWWWWWWW HOW TAG TEAM CHAMPIONSSSSSSS…LINDSAY TROY AND TEDDY PALMERRRRRRRRRRR!
The Dallas crowd goes crazy as we see Jatt Starr finally up to his feet and is in complete shock as he sees Palmer take a title from him in back to back weeks.
Refueled heads to commercial break as The Grapplers head up the ramp with their heads on a swivel with the Tag Titles in tow.
After the commercial break the camera focuses on the backstage area of the American Airlines Center here in Dallas, Texas. The camera shows former 2016 War Games winner and the newest member of Local Grapplers 214 Ray McAvay strolling down the hallway still dinged up from last week. Ray has his Big Bertha driver over his shoulder and a grin on his face from the number he did on JPD earlier in the night.
Ray turns a corner and is suddenly stopped by a beautiful young woman who has a pen and a notepad in her hands. The woman hops up and down barely able to contain her excitement of standing face to face with Ray McAvay.
Woman: Oh my God I can’t believe I just ran into the Ray McAvay! You’re a former HOW World Champion and a member of Local Grapplers 214! If you’re not too busy do you think I could get your autograph?
The young woman reaches out her notepad and pen towards Ray with a hopeful look in her eyes. Ray smiles always happy to accommodate his fans as he takes the notepad and pen. He begins to sign his name as the woman twirls her long hair with her finger. Ray hands back the notepad and pen to the young woman.
Woman: Thank you so much Mr. McAvay I can’t beli-
Before the woman can finish a bandaged up Jace Parker Davidson nails Ray with a clubbing blow to the back of the neck that floors him.
JPD: Attack me?! You have the fucking nerve to lay me out after the beating I gave you last week?!
Jace leans down and grabs a hold of Ray pulling him back up to his feet. However before he can do any further damage Ray swings his driver hitting JPD in the midsection doubling him over. Ray raises the driver into the air to strike JPD across the back but the young woman drops to her knees and hits Ray with a low blow that drops Ray like a sack of potatoes. The woman bounces up and down clapping her hands together.
Woman: I can’t believe you fell for that act! Like a would really want the autograph of a worthless piece of shit like you.
JPD grabs Ray by the hair pulling him back up to his feet before tossing him spine first into a nearby wall. JPD kneels down as the woman hands him a pair of brass knuckles. He slides them on and begins raining down shots to the head of McAvay.
JPD: This? This is the new and improved Ray McAvay?! Bullshit! You’re the same old guy that stumbled his way to a War Games win. However that’s good because I’m the same old Jace Parker Davidson. You couldn’t keep me down in 2016 and you sure as fuck can’t do it now!
JPD gets to his feet and grabs the bow bloody McAvay and drags him around the backstage tossing him head first into every storage crate and dressing room door along the way.
JPD: I am a motherfucking KING OF EVERYTHING and you are nothing. You wanna help those 214 bitches have their moment in the sun at War Games? No, you’re the one that needs their help because now that you pissed me off you’ll be lucking to make it to Tokyo in one piece.
JPD gives Ray a shot to the gut with the brass knuckles that doubles him over before pointing over towards catering.
JPD: Clear that table Madison.
The woman who had been following along the whole time nods her head towards JPD. As instructed she heads over to the catering table and clears it in one swift motion knocking all the food to the floor. JPD grabs Ray by the head and shoves it between his legs. He hoists him into the air and powerbombs McAvay through the catering table. JPD kneels down and gets into the face of the now lifeless Ray McAvay.
JPD: Your buddies Troy and Palmer might have just won tonight but once again you lose Ray….and once again no one is here to fucking help. You lose because you chose the wrong side and this is going to keep happening until you’re on the shelf for good. It doesn’t matter that your friends have the LSD title, the Tag Team titles or even the World title later tonight because they are gonna be short one Ray McAvay.
JPD reaches down and slaps McAvay across his bloody face.
JPD: Then at War Games… High Octane Wrestling is gonna be short one group by the name of Local Grapplers 214. Even if I have to see to it single handedly.
JPD smiles and get his feet while taking off his bandages. He tossing him down to McAvay who appears to need them more at the moment. JPD leaves the scene with the young woman named Madison while the camera gets one last shot of the bloody and broken former HOW World Champion as we cut elsewhere.
The show picks up backstage with another stable interaction after the beat down we just witnessed.
The crowd instantly pops.
There, shown for all to see is Conor Fuse in full ring garb. He exits the 214 locker room and is making his way through the backstage area. Wearing a look of determination, Fuse has a confident pep to his step, and is clearly focused on the frightening task ahead of him. Just as he’s about to turn the corner and out of the frame, he walks right into the lumbering behemoth, Laser. Like, face first into Laser’s chest.
Which of course means…
Jiles: HEY! Why are we stopped?
Agitated, The Maestro quickly hops down from the piggy back position, and arrogantly strides to the front of his diesel powered bodyguard to see what the commotion is all about. Ironically enough, Jiles is also in full ring garb. Laser wears a 97red jumpsuit.
Jiles: Oh look, Laser, it’s piss pot. Where are the rest of the scabs? Out clotting?
A boisterous, condescending, just outright mocking cackle booms from the World Champion. Laser even cracks a brief smile. Fuse, who is in fact all by himself, darts his eyes around as if he’s looking for an answer to appear out of thin air.
Jiles: I know, they are probably getting ready to pop champagne– for after you lose! HA. Pathetically wretched group of bottom feeding, blue collar crumbs. They couldn’t even walk you down for your Saltality, the cowards.
A short snicker.
Jiles: My guess is they probably couldn’t contain themselves.
Jiles: Shit, I’m so right I almost want to dare you to prove them wrong, but we both know you’re incapable of doing such a thing so why waste my time? Maybe if our match was fought with joysticks instead of flesh and mist, but alas it is not.
Laser and Jiles arrogantly bump fists. Fuse, yet to say a word, looks the COOL Champ over from head to toe. Then Conor locks eyes with him, doing his best to hold back intensity.
Conor Fuse: First, what’s wrong with joysticks? You’ve been touching tips with quite a few of them recently. Was it magical? Did it pop your rocks? Did you spill your salt all over the place?
Conor takes a moment to collect himself.
Jiles snorts, as if to say it will take more than a couple of well timed jokes to break his COOLYMPIAN reserve.
Conor Fuse: I’m not scared of you anymore. I think… you’re scared of me. [Laughs] That’s rich, isn’t it? Cause I’m as physically unimposing as you, like you mentioned earlier. Can’t trust my co-op? Okay COOL guy, I’ll play along. You trust yours?
The challenger is rather reluctant to continue. He’s likely still nervous, even if he says he’s not. However, Fuse tries his best to keep his shoulders back and head upright, awaiting a reply.
Jiles: Okay Gamer Guy, I’ll keep this nice and easy as to not overheat that one bit graphic’s card slotted inside your skull. See, I have this, and Lee needs this.
This = 97red, High Octane World Championship around Jiles’ waist.
Jiles: Therefore, Lee needs me. Therefore, the Best Alliance needs me. Therefore, I don’t have to trust them, Conor. I don’t have to like them, or believe in them. I don’t have to stay up all night drinking Jolt cola, and playing Ridge Racer Revolution with them. No, all I have to do is trust, like, and believe in the fact that they won’t cross the boss.
The Champ spits right at Conor’s feet. A big, nasty, black licorice flavored loogie. Like a mini tar pit.
Jiles: Which of course I do, because you don’t ever want to know what happens to the people who cross the boss, Conor. Trust me on that.
Fuse continues to take this all in. He looks down at his boots, standing in front of Cancer’s savila.
Conor Fuse: Guess I crossed him a little. Chose the Union side, right? So this awesome battle is organized to embarrass me in front of the world. That’s fine. Is what it is.
The Vintage takes a moment to place his right boot into Jiles’ “tar pit”. Fuse kicks it around and glances back up.
Conor Fuse: You ever heard the term ‘wolf in sheep’s clothing’? My dad told me that definition a few weeks ago. I play dumber than I look, dude. A LOT dumber than I look. Sutler as the referee. Best Alliance out numbering me and all the Grapplers. I’m walking straight into Koopa’s 8-4 lava. And I don’t just mean your dribble at my feet.
Conor Fuse: Or maybe you’re walking straight into it. BA-shades on. Koopa’s Castle IS dark, you know. Because if you don’t pull this off, you have every achievement to lose. Your status. Your !rank. Your co-op. Definitely your World Title.
Jiles: That soun—
Amazingly, Fuse, with his hands full of oats, suddenly raises a flexed index finger and cuts the High Octane World Champion off mid remark.
Conor Fuse: By the way, please place my beautiful face on your left ass cheek, if that’s okay. [Looking Jiles over one more time] Enjoy your cheat codes, I hope The Best Alliance gives you double the life bar. See ya out there and I’ll await your COOL introduction, Mr. Final Boss.
The Vintage throws his purple SNES Mega Man 7-inspired trench coat over his shoulders and brushes past the champion.
Jiles: The ring is that way, Fusebag.
We cut backstage where Sutler Reynolds-Kael can be seen running down the hall in a #97Red Vest and Baseball Cap with the HOW logo and the words “Best Bites”. His face is flushed and it’s clear that he’s been running his ass off most of the night. Tucked under his arm is a #97Red Delivery Bag with Lee Best’s face and BEST BITES also written beneath it.
Sutler Reynolds-Kael: What the fuck I didn’t know Lee owned a food delivery business..
Pulling his phone out, Sutler wanders the back halls of the stadium looking very lost.
Sutler Reynolds-Kael: Where is this place even supposed to be? Conference Room C.2, what even is a C.2? This is sounding distressingly more and more like algebra and I don’t have a math teacher handy.
Fumbling through the halls he eventually comes to a broom closet door with a sign that reads Official Conference Room C.2. The sign is well written but looks to have been hastily and messily slapped up on the door. Arching his eyebrows Sutler reached out and knocked on the door with his knuckles.
A muffled voice called out from the other side of the door.
Sutler Reynolds-Kael: Best Bites Delivery, The Perception of Timely Food.
He says the line but there is no life or spirit behind it. His brown eyes, earlier in the night filled with fire, were dead and hollow.
???: Leave it there, I’ll pick it up when you leave. I’m technically in hiding.
Sutler Reynolds-Kael: ..okay then. Have a great day, Sutler..
Setting the bag in front of the door, Sutler sighs and walks away.
With Sutler gone the lock on the door clicks before it opens slowly. A shadowy figure peers down at the bag before stepping out into the hall.
Shane Reynolds: I wonder how I’m supposed to tip him. Oh Well.
Picking the bag up the former World Champion and HOW Hall of Famer disappears back into his weird broom closet/conference room as we cut to a commercial break.
We cut live inside the office of Lee Best.
Lee throws his glass against the wall and Redrum is barely able to dodge it before it smashes against the wall.
Lee Best: Fuck Lindsay Troy and her fucking mom complex. Fuck Her for thinking she is the moral compass of MY FUCKING WORLD…….FUCK YOOOOOOUUUUU LINDSAY TROY!!
The GOD of HOW slams his hands down on his desk.
Lee Best: Two weeks in a row those fuckers have taken a belt from The Best Alliance and now LINDSAY FUCKING TROY IS A CHAMPION AGAIN??!!!! FUUUUUUUCKKKKK THAT!!!!!
Lee picks up the bottle of Eagle Rare off his desk and takes a looooong drink straight from the bottle.
Satisfied…..Lee puts the bottle down and tries to compose himself…..and as he does…he smiles.
Lee Best: Next week…..those fucksticks will put the tag titles back on the line and its Freebird Fucking Rules baby……..Zeb Martin…..Ray McAvay……will defend the titles against Steve Solex and fucking JACE PARKER DAVIDSON!!!! HOW YOU LIKE THAT YOU FUCKING PIECE OF FUCKING SHIT LINDSAY TROY……YOU ARE GOING TO LOSE THE FUCKING BELTS WITHOUT EVEN BEING IN THE FUCKING MATCH…FUUUUCCCKKKKKKK YOOOOOUUUUU!!!!
Lee collapses in his chair as he motions for the cameraman to cut away and we promptly do.
Backstage in the American Airlines Center, HOW interviewer and known drug addict Brian Bare is standing by with a microphone in hand and a slightly nervous glaze over his eyes. The reason for his nervousness is soon readily apparent– the camera pans back slightly to reveal the ominous frame of HOW Hall of Famer, HOFC Champion, and legally recognized Greatest HOW Wrestler Of All Time, Michael Lee Best.
The HOFC Champion is looking somewhat worse for the wear– the last remnants of stitches from last week’s brutal cage match against Scott Woodson are still hiding in plain sight across his otherwise glorious visage, and there is still a fair deal of bruising around his left eye. The strangest thing, however, isn’t the damage on his face… it’s the smile.
The Son of God isn’t smirking.
Mike Best: Brian Baaaaare. The fuck is up, bud? How you doing tonight?
The interviewer takes a small but clearly defensive step backward, waiting for the follow-up. But the follow-up doesn’t come. This appears to be a legitimate question. After eleven years of being called a scumbag drug addict, being beaten up during interviews, being verbally abused by the Son of God, and generally treated like garbage, one would be hard pressed to blame Brian Bare for his apprehension.
Brian Bare: I… uh. I’m good?
Mike Best: Are you asking me, Bry Bry? Or are you good? Have a little conviction, boss!
Brian Bare: Michael, in eleven years, you have never once asked me how I was doing.
The smile on Best’s face grows wider, as he gives Brian a playful little punch on the arm. The swing nearly makes the strung-out Bare flinch on it’s own, but he holds it together.
Mike Best: Hey, come on, man. That was then, this is now! We’re living in the present, Brian. And the present is a fucking gift. This belt over my shoulder? It’s a fuckin’ gift. These stitches on my face? A fuckin’ gift. This time I have here with you today, to talk about how absolutely fucking unstoppable I am? Do you know what it is, Brian Bare?
Brian Bare: ….is it a gift?
Another hard punch on the arm, this one enough to ACTUALLY make the interviewer flinch a little bit. It’s not overtly violent– just like, a really hard punch bug.
Mike Best: A MOTHERFUCKIN’ GIFT, BRIAN! Last week, when I was wrapping that barbed wire around my knee, and Scottywood and I were beating the UTTER FUCK out of eachother in that cage.. I realized why I’ve been so goddamned UNHAPPY for so long. Why I’ve been living in abject misery, to the point that it has been leaking out of my pores. I’ve been slogging up and down the road, week after week, watching for countouts, minding my Ds and Qs. And I was great at it. I was the best, Brian. Lee Best said it himself on the HOR. It’s canon now. But last week, when Scottywood punched me in the face until it busted me the fuck open? I felt at peace. I felt at home.
He puts a light hand on the shoulder of Brian Bare
Mike Best: I felt… happy. This is what I was meant to be doing all along, man. Nine World Titles, seven ICON Titles, three LSD Titles… honestly, man, how many trophies does a man really need, before he’s just jerking himself off? I am the HOW HOFC Champion, and yes, this belt does feel right sitting over my shoulder. But when I’m in that cage? When that bell rings, and it’s just two men, no holds barred, until someone is physically unable to continue? Fuck, Brian… that’s where I belong. That’s where I need to be. So yeah, man, I guess… I’m sorry. I’ve been treating you like shit for a long time, haven’t I? So much toxicity. That’s just… my bad, dude. Seriously, my bad. And I’m being so rude right now. What do YOU wanna talk about? You have any questions for me?
Brian raises an eyebrow. In over a decade, he has not been permitted to ask the Son of God a question without being interrupted and berated. This feels like a trap.
It isn’t. Shrug emoji.
Brian Bare: I, uh… I’ll be honest. I don’t? I just didn’t think that I’d… I mean…
Mike Best: Don’t even worry about it. I’ll be honest with you, bud, I don’t even have anything to promote here tonight. Uh, let’s see, let’s make this good business. HOFC Title defense next week! Don’t know who it’s against yet, so like… just know we’ve got one of those happening. Cage murder. Always legit. Uhhh… we’re almost done building the new HOFC Arena? Lee says that’s still a few weeks off. So just know we’ve got that happening too. And uh… hey, if you’re trying to fight BIG KNEE ME inside of a steel cage, and you want a shot at this HOFC Championship, just… you know. Fucking step up and speak up, folks. I’m taking on all challenges.
He drops his hands to his sides, looking at Brian Bare for further guidance on what might happen with this interview. Brian Bare is confused, because he’s never been allowed to stay this long before when the Son of God was on screen.
Brian Bare: Okay, uh. How’s life outside the ring? What about that nice girlfriend of yours?
Mike Best: Oh, she got hit by a car. She’s dead.
The moment hangs in the air, just long enough to be weird.
Brian Bare: Okay, folks. I’ll be honest, I don’t even know how to conclude an interview with Michael Lee Best, so this has certainly been an interview with Michael Lee Best. Any parting words, Mike?
Michael eyes the microphone thoughtfully for a moment.
Mike Best: I’m a prizefighter, bayBEEEEEE.
ReFueled takes a final commercial break
As the final commercial break for Refueled LIX ends we cut to Joe Hoffman and Benny Newell standing by at ringside. Benny is staring down at his hands with a perplexed look on his face while Joe greets the camera with a friendly, professional smile.
Joe Hoffman: Ladies and gentlemen here we are, tonight’s main event for the top prize here in the land of High Octane.
Benny Newell: Oh fuck me, Hoffman, I think the LSD is kicking in.
Joe Hoffman: LSD? Benny when did you..actually, you know what, I don’t care. Get yourself together, Benny, it’s World Title time!
Benny Newell: I’ll be fine once I can get my thumbs to stop arguing..
“Believer” by Solence drowns out the boos of the crowd as Sutler Reynolds-Kael jogs out onto the stage wearing a referee outfit. He doesn’t slow down or acknowledge the fans as he quickly jogs to the ring, rolling in and whispering something to Bryan McVay.
Joe Hoffman: Well it looks like Sutler managed to get into the Main Event after all his hard work tonight.
Benny Newell: Oh thank Christ, I thought Matt Boetcher was looking a lot hotter than normal and was about to blame the acid. SHUT UP LEFTIE, you don’t tell Rightie what we do at night together!
McVay leaves the ring and moves to the timekeepers table where he conveys something to the Time Keeper. Both men then look back up at Sutler who points toward the backstage area before lifting the microphone to his lips.
Sutler Reynolds-Kael: Go on, get out of here! You heard me, orders from the top!
The Time Keeper and Brian McVay both vacate the ringside area as the crowd reigns boos down on Sutler.
Sutler Reynolds-Kael: Hello Chicago!
Somehow the boos get louder with chants of Asshole beginning to spring up. After a few moments Sutler seems to realize his mistake.
Sutler Reynolds-Kael: Or wherever the hell we are. I’m Sutler Reynolds-Kael, President of High Octane Human Resources, World’s Greatest Gamer, Son of Scions and High Octane Wrestling’s Most Valuable Employee! Tonight, thanks to my hard work and can do attitude, I have ascended to the role of referee in tonights Main Event!.. And also the Time Keeper.. And also the Ring Announcer. What a steal I am, huh?
More boos as Sutler clears his throat, a smirk crawling across his lips.
Sutler Reynolds-Kael: ..the following match is your MAAAAAAAAAAAIN EVENT!
The lights dim, the High Octane jumbotron cues up…
To a Mega Man 3 inspired stage selection screen with Conor Fuse’s face in the middle. There are 8 faces surrounding him, all 8-bit renditions of various HOW Bosses.
HARD (CORE) MAN
TOP (HAT) MAN
Figure out who’s who.
Sutler Reynolds-Kael: Introducing first.. The Challenger..
Suddenly, the screen flickers. The Bosses disappear and Conor’s face does, too. He’s replaced with The Final Stage.
The Ultimate Boss. Reading…
The emblem is automatically clicked.
It rolls into an 8-bit rendition of a floating spaceship. The spaceship lid opens and COOL Cancer Jiles sits inside, with a miniature 8-bit championship, shifting his eyebrows up and down before the spaceship floats away.
Begin a remix to the Mega Man 3 Boss theme.
With glowing “E” tanks lined up and down the rampway (but the “E” is replaced with a “V” for Vintage), Conor Fuse emerges from a lift underneath the rampway as smoke fills around him. He’s dressed in his normal SNES Vintage attire but sports a purple Mega Man jacket.
Sutler Reynolds-Kael: ..Allegedly from Toronto, Ontario, Ca-Na-Da.. He stands at a surprising 6’1’’ and a questionable 210 lbs… COOOOOOOOONOR.. FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUSE!
As Conor lifts his head, a “life bar” appears on the left hand side of the broadcast feed. The hit points fill all the way up.
Upon completion, The Vintage storms down the rampway as the V Tanks light his way.
Conor hops onto the apron and then leaps over the ropes, somersaulting into the ring.
Benny Newell: This is the stupidest fucking thing I’ve ever seen in my life. Virgin Tanks ridden by velociraptors singing Christmas Carols?
Joe Hoffman: No, they’re energy tanks- What on Earth are you talking about?
Benny Newell: I can see them there MOCKING ME! WHERE IS JILES?! I’M GOING TO GET YOU RAPTOR!
The lights rise in the arena as Benny attempts to jump over the desk to attack some unknown enemy only he can see while Joe does his best to restrain his broadcast partner. The lights rise as Sutler can be seen admonishing Conor in the ring about something.
Screamin’ Jay’s guitar riff booms through the airwaves. The crowd reaction is hard to make out because the music is turned up to 97. It’s fucking loud. Everywhere. And to make matters worse, a blistering, absolute heat wave of pyrotechnics soon follows that scorches the air and illuminates the entrance ramp like it got hit with a flurry of lightning from Zeus himself.
…I’M THE ONE YOUR MOMMA WARNED YOU ABOUT…
Then, some more of the boom boom flashy works.
A 97red carpet unfolds from behind the curtain.
…WHEN YOU SEE I’LL LEAVE YOU NO DOUBT…
Out walks the Grand and Righteous Maestro of the Best Alliance.
New shades and all.
Sutler Reynolds-Kael: Introducing the Champion..
Almost tantric, the COOLYMPIAN stops at the top of the ramp to gently rub his fingers over the faceplate of the World Championship. After soaking in the moment for three long hours, and a thunderous series of firework and pyro displays, the Crown Prince of the Best Alliance starts to make his way down to the ring. He stops halfway as if to let out that last bit of a long and nasty fart, but in this case it’s one last pyro.
…I’M THE COOLEST MAN THAT’S WALKED THIS EARTH…
Joe Hoffman: JESUS CHRIST WE GET IT JILES IS IN THE BEST ALLIANCE!
Benny Newell: In door voice Hoffman!
…I’VE BEEN THE COOLEST SINCE THE DAY OF MY BIRTH…
The World Champion slyly slides under the bottom rope, athletically springs to his feet, and quickly ascends the turnbuckles. He arrogantly unfastens the World Title, holds it above his head for all to see, and then violently releases a burst of mist into the air. He then whips his head around — mist juice dribbling down from his chin — and stares directly into Conor Fuse’s infant soul.
Sutler Reynolds-Kael: From Philadelphia, Pennsylvania.. Apparently also at 6’1’’ and weighing roughly one metric Darin Zion/Matthews… he is your High Octane Wrestling World Champion… “COOL” CANCER JIIIIIIIIIIIIIILES!
…I AM THE COOL!!!!!!!!
More fireworks/obvious Machine backing display.
Joe Hoffman: Of course the mist is red now, Benny.
Benny Newell: Red and purlette-beige.
Joe Hoffman: I do not know what color that is, Benny.
Benny Newell: ..it’s beautiful.. Like whiskey poured down a hookers tit..
Jiles hops down, and tosses the belt to Sutler. The Champ shares a few recommendations with the guest referee, and then retreats back to his corner. Sutler stares down at the HOW World Championship with envious eyes before presenting the title to the camera and Conor Fuse.
Inside the ring both men move to their respective corners as Sutler quickly jumps out of the ring, sets the title at the time keepers table before rolling back into the ring. He signals for the bell, rolls back out of the ring and rings it.
DING DING DING!
Rolling back into the ring Sutler already looks winded as both Conor and Jiles stare at him. He motions for them both to fight as he sits down in the corner to catch his breath .
Joe Hoffman: Looks like Sutler is pulling triple duty tonight as Referee, Time Keeper and Ring Announcer.
Benny Newell: What the fuck does the Time Keeper actually do other than ring the bell?
Joe Hoffman: Keeps track of the time, Benny.
Jiles and Conor circle each other around the ring, “Let’s Go Conor” chants are rivaled only by “You Sold Out!” chants directed at the newly christened Maestro of the Best Alliance. The two lock up in the center of the ring, both men evenly matched for power and size as each jockeys for an advantage. Jiles is able to slip beneath Fuse’s defense applying a hammer lock with a cocky grin on his face. He slaps the back of his challengers head and shoves him away.
Joe Hoffman: Both men are pretty equally matched physically, it’s Jiles experience that gives him the edge here..
Benny Newell: And being Lee Best’s Chosen Champion don’t hurt much either, Hoffman.. Are.. are you seeing a World Title still hanging around Cancer’s waist?
Joe Hoffman: I am seeing it, from what I understand Jiles wanted everybody to know he was champion even if the title isn’t actually around his waist.
Benny Newell: Oh good, I thought it might have been me. Since when does the HOW Championship have Puff the Magic Dragon living on it?
Sutler points and laughs as Conor brushes off the insulting attack from the Champion. Once again both men lock up in the ring and once again Cancer is able to apply a hammer lock on Conor however this time the younger challenger is ready, stepping back and using Cancer’s own weight to send him flying over his shoulder to the ring apron. Cancer shoots up to his feet with a wide eyes look of surprise only to get caught with a clothesline from Conor!
Joe Hoffman: The Champ wasn’t ready for Conor there!
Benny Newell: Cancer Jiles is an idiot!..wait.. Wait no, he works with Lee now.. Uh.. Cancer Jiles is just luring him into a false sense of safety!.. Also why is everybodies skin moving around?!
Jiles immediately rolls out of the ring though he is followed by Fuse who is eager to keep the advantage. The Cool One barely has time to catch a breath as he is grabbed by Conor and chucked head first into the ring pole, his body clattering to the ground after the contact. Seeking to end this all as quickly as possible Fuse snatches up Cancer, throwing him into the ring where he immediately attempts a pin.
Joe Hoffman: A near fall by the Challenger who scores first blood in this Main Event!
Benny Newell: Get up, Jiles! Lee isn’t promoting you to lose!
Conor is quickly up to his feet, pulling Jiles up with him. After a few aggressive chops across the Champ’s neck Fuse takes to the ropes catching Jiles with a beautifully smooth Sling Blade. Kipping up after taking down Jiles, Conor legs it to the ropes, leaping up to the middle before executing a beautiful Moonsault!
Joe Hoffman: Look at Conor fly, it’s a beautiful thing!
Benny Newell: High risk, high reward, Hoffman! Like Vegas Prostitutes! DRINK!
Unfortunately for Conor the experienced Champion scouts the Moonsault and baits the younger wrestler in waiting for the last moment before he throws his knees up. The air is driven out of Conor’s lungs as he crashes and burns. The Maestro climbs up to his feet and begins to kick at his opponents head, ugly, mean, aggressive kicks with the heel of his boot. With each kick the smug expression on Cancer Jiles grows as he barks demeaning insults down at Conor.
Joe Hoffman: And just like that the Champion takes the advantage away from Fuse.
Benny Newell: EXPERIENCE!.. That’s the experience..and.. And.. the colors. I can see.. So many colors..
Sutler appears as though he is about to admonish Cancer for the stiff kicks but he shrugs it off checking his phone. Dragging Conor up to his feet by his hair Cancer drives him back down to the mat with a beautiful standing Drop Kick square in the challenger’s chest. With a methodical cruelty Cancer puts his foot on the side of Conor’s head and grinds it into the mat as the challenger screams trying to free himself.
Joe Hoffman: I can see the “fair and balanced” referee Sutler is really making sure that these guys are following the rules.
Benny Newell: He’s letting these guys work out their issues! The audience loves when these guys can do what they want! Just listen to them!
Joe Hoffman: Yeah, I’m listening to them boo, Benny.
Benny Newell: Fuck the fans, who gives a shit what they care about!
Eventually Sutler notices and begins a very, very slow 5 count. Around ten seconds in Cancer releases the hold and receives a half-hearted verbal lashing from the President of Human Resources. Jiles waves him off and pulls Conor back up.
A stiff chop lights up Jiles as Conor catches the Champion off guard.
Another chop backs Jiles up giving Conor some breathing room.
Though it appears that Conor is going for another chop it is in fact a ruse drawing the Champion to cover up his chest. Instead at the last minute Conor reverses and sends a Roundhouse Kick hard to the side of the champions head sending him crashing down. With a wild look in his eye Conor runs to the first corner..
Conor Fuse: Power up!
The crowd chants with him as Conor quickly scrambles to the next corner.
Conor Fuse: Power Up!
He reaches the third turnbuckle as the crowd is getting louder and more excited.
Conor Fuse: POWER Up!
Approaching the last turnbuckle finds Sutler standing in the way with his phone up looking as though he has no idea what is going on. The crowd boos loudly as Sutler refuses the move, ignoring Conor all together. Glaring at Sutler, Conor gets right in his face.
Conor Fuse: POWER UP!
However instead of slapping the turnbuckle he shoves Sutler back into the corner causing him to drop his phone. Incensed, Sutler shoves Conor back while pointing at his referee shirt while screaming about rules and regulations. Threats to disqualify the challenge are issued as Conor looks on the edge to strike Sutler.
Only it isn’t Conor who receives the Super Kick but rather Sutler as Fuse’s ring awareness affords him the moment he needs to dodge out of the way! Cancer stares down at Sutler with a mixture of surprise and amusement before he turns..
Conor Fuse: POWER UP!
Joe Hoffman: COOLYPIAN YOLJK!
Benny Newell: NO FAIR!
Traditional yellow yoke mist sprays from Conor’s mouth! But the World Champion isn’t about to be taken by his own move, closing his eyes at the last moment before kicking Conor straight in the dick!
Benny Newell: TERMINAL CANCER!
Joe Hoffman: The clever veteran has Conor scouted pretty well here tonight!
Once again Jiles cocks his leg and lets it fire this time catching his opponent square on the jaw! Conor drops like a pair of panties on prom night as the World Champion drops down for the pinfall!
Joe Hoffman: A blatant low blow from the Champion with nobody to make the count! Didn’t think of that did you Jiles?!
Benny Newell: SUTLER! GET UP! YOU HAVE TO GET THIS JOB DONE RIGHT!
Looking up over his shoulder Cancer looks across the ring at Sutler who has managed to roll over onto this side but still appears to be unconscious. Pushing himself up Cancer walks over to Sutler and grabs him by the collar of his referee shirt, dragging him over to Conor. With Sutler in position Cancer once again hooks the leg.
Joe Hoffman: A kickout by Conor who is still in this thing!
Benny Newell: Boo! BOO! Oh hey.. I like the way my body feels when I do that.. Booo.. BOOOOOOOOO!
In a painfully slow count it is apparent that Jiles likely had a solid eight count but Sutler was unable to execute the pinfall due to the lingering effects of the Termina Cancer he received. Cancer begins to swear at Sutler, the Crown Prince of COOL losing it for a moment as he clearly believes he had the match won, yellow dripping down his face.
He keeps the ground pound game up as he turns his attention back toward Conor laying the boots in. Pulling Conor up to his feet he whips his opponent hard into the corner before charging in with a corner splash! As Conor stumbles forward he catches a hard knife edge chop across his chest followed by stomping on Conor’s foot and an eye poke! Sweeping behind Conor Cancer rolls him up into a School Boy pin!
Having regained some of his senses Sutler was able to execute the pinfall however Conor’s reliance saved him once again as he managed the kickout. Jiles angrily argues with Sutler about the slowness of his count however the Son of Scions appears to ignore the champion, a look of bitterness on his face about being struck earlier. Laying a few more boots to Conor’s skull for good measure the World Champion climbs the turnbuckle..
Joe Hoffman: The Champion climbing to the high rent district..
Benny Newell: END THIS JILES!!
Top Rope Splash!
This time it’s Cancer Jile’s turn to crash and burn as Conor rolls out of the way! The Champions body smacks the mat hard, bouncing once before he instinctively curled into a protective ball. With life and energy crackling through his eyes Conor channels the roaring crowd as he tries to regain control of the match! Using the ropes to pull himself up Conor measures the World Champion, who has also started to navigate to his feet.
Joe Hoffman: Conor is swinging back into control, Benny!
Benny Newell: No! No this isn’t right, Conor can’t be a World Champion, Hoffman, Lee will literally lose his mind!
With his back to Conor the COOL One is caught completely off guard as Conor rushes forward, wrapping his arms around the Champion’s waist before pulling him into a release German Suplex! Cancer is sent flying, the back of his head being the first part of his body to strike the mat, the rest of him crumbling down after. His momentum, for better or for worse, carries a very dazed Jiles back up to his feet as Conor darts forward once again.
Joe Hoffman: The challenger Conor Fuse just dropped the World Champion on his head and is ramping up his offensive!
Benny Newell: Fucking get your shit together, Cancer! FOR LEE!
Leaping up onto his shoulders Conor once again throws the Champion, this time with a textbook Hurricanarana! Cancer rises once again however he is clear from his eyes that his brain is racing to catch up with what has happened over the last few moments in this match. Pressing his advantage Conor steps forward once again and lifts Jiles up and over in a Northern Lights Suplex, bridge for a cover!
Benny Newell: Fucking Hell, Hoffman, my heart can’t take this shit! I’m seeing purple monkies fucking next to us and I can’t handle it! I CAN’T!
Joe Hoffman: This match isn’t over folks! Benny, you’re going to have to hang in there!
Though Sutler’s hand does strike the mat he signals that Jiles managed to get his shoulder up just in time, a decision that is corroborated by replay footage. Conor looks exhausted but he trucks on, pointing toward the top rope once again. He carefully ascends to the top rope, a little wobbly as he rises, holding his arms out as he balances himself.
Suddenly Jiles is back up to his feet, a sudden burst of life sending him climbing the ring ropes looking to Belly to Belly suplex Conor off the top rope!
Conor Fuse: ..power up..
The Challenger whispers into Jiles ear before another gout of Yellow Yolk Mist sprays forward catching the Champion completely unprepared this time! Blinded, Jiles crawls at his face before Conor headbutts him sending the undisputed Crowned Prince of COOL down hard to the ring mat. Steadying himself Conor looks down at Jiles and leaps..
Joe Hoffman: PHOENIX SPLASH! That’s it! We could have a new champion!
Connecting with the massive splash, Conor hooks the leg as Sutler drops down into position..
Joe Hoffman: Another last second kick out by Jiles, how many more kickouts does he have left in the tank?!
Benny Newell: At least one more! COME ON!
Somehow, some way, “Cool” Cancer Jiles is able to get his shoulder up. Conor isn’t even mad, he looks exhausted and spent as he sucks in a few deep breaths, sweat dripping from his brow. Despite not getting the win the crowd is fully behind Conor as he climbs to his feet. He turns to look at the top rope, takes a deep breath and leaps to his feet. He climbs to the top turnbuckle in half a hummingbird’s heart beat before measuring Jiles up..
Joe Hoffman: That’s it, that has to be it!
Benny Newell: Ohfuckohfuckohfuck
He connects fully with a massive 450 Splash crashing Cancer beneath his body! He hooks both legs deep as he rolls Jiles up onto his shoulders! The crowd is losing their collective minds as Sutler drops down for the pinfall!
Instead of the striking the third pinfall Sutler suddenly stops, grabbing his hand in pain as he rolls onto his back screaming. The crowd’s cheers turn from joyful cheers to an ugly, hateful boo and mean spirited years aimed at Sutler. Conor releases the pinfall, climbing up to his feet as he glares at Sutler who is still selling his hand injury.
Joe Hoffman: That damn Sutler Reynolds-Kael! Claiming to have an injured hand, I’m sure! A bunch of malarkey!
Benny Newell: Language! Also Sutler is the hardest working employee in HOW! Thank fuck!
Getting to his feet Sutler appears to be explaining that he has a hand injury, apologizing for failing to make the pinfall to a very unimpressed looking Conor Fuse.
Conor’s patience has run out as he yanks Sulter into a devastating looking Tilt-a-Whirl DDT spiking the special guest referee in the middle of the ring much to the fans delight! Standing over the downed President of Human Resources, Conor Fuse has the crowd in the palm of his hand as they rage with applause and approval.
Joe Hoffman: Conor has had enough of Sutler and Lee Best’s games!
Benny Newell: That’s a disqualification, Hoffman! BLATANT DQ!
During this exchange Cancer has had time to recover and has been sneakily climbing back up to his feet preparing to attack the unsuspecting Conor from behind.. He rushes forward..
Joe Hoffman: Once again the Champion is down but there isn’t anyone to make the pinfall!
Benny Newell: What a fucking idiot! DRINK!
Once again the Champion underestimates Conor’s speed and awareness, the challenger driving his opponent head first to the mat! Out of instinct Conor hooks the leg however there is no referee.
Joe Hoffman: Wait.. WAIT! Look! It’s head referee Matt Boettcher!
Benny Newell: NO! NO!!!!
Matt Boettcher can be seen running to the ring as the crowd erupts once again! He slides into the ring and immediately begins the count!
Sutler drags Matt Boettcher away from Conor and Cancer, yanking him up to his feet before striking him across the face! The crowd is incensed as garbage begins to get hurled into the ring at Sutler. Conor scrambles up to his feet once again not even attempting to hold back his feelings as he decks the Son of Scions across the face flooring him! Conor immediately checks on referee Matt Boettcher, helping him up to his feet..
Joe Hoffman: The Champion with a low blow on Conor Fuse! What a dastardly, cowardly attack by the World Champion!
Benny Newell: It’s the smart play, Hoffman, and you know it! This is what it takes to be a champion, DRINK!
With his back turned Conor’s balls get crushed with a wicked low blow from the World Champion who has crawled over to his opponent on his hands and knees. Boettcher stumbles back, oblivious to what is going on as he recovers from the punch while Conor slowly turns around clutching his groin.
#97Red Mist fills the eyes of Conor Fuse as he is blinded, burning and nursing his hurt balls. Cancer pulls him up into a small package, one hand reaching out to hold onto the ropes for extra leverage! Scrambling across the ring, holding his face from where Conor struck him, is Sutler Reynolds-Kael to make the pinfall!
In an alarmingly quick pinfall Sutler rapidly slaps the mat as more boos and garbage are thrown into the ring. Sutler rolls out of the ring, approaching the time keeper area.
Sutler Reynolds-Kael: Winner and still High Octane Wrestling Champion… COOL CANCER JIIIIIIIIIIILES..
Sutler tosses the mic away before slipping into the ring with the World Championship, giving it to Cancer who looks exhausted, his face stained yellow from Conor’s own use of the YOLJK.
WINNER: COOL CANCER JILES VIA PINFALL IN 19 MINUTES 42 SECONDS
Joe Hoffman: Well a sickening victory for Cool Cancer Jiles with the help of Sutler Reynolds-Kael as he retains against a very driven, very impressive Conor Fuse who I personally believe would have won this match if it wasn’t for the installation of Sutler as the referee of this match.
Benny Newell: Oh fucking cry some more, Hoffman, the better man won with better friends and better allies! The Era of #97Red Mist lives on!
Sutler has already legged it into the back, dragging Cancer Jiles with him as both work to avoid any post match wrath from Conor Fuse who is left in the ring looking dejected and disgusted by what has just happened as Refueled comes to a close.