Refueled LXVI

Joe Hoffman: Welcome everyone to the Capital One Arena here in Washington D.C. where tonight we will see Steve Solex defend the High Octane Television Championship in the main event against High Flyer……..but before we get there we’re going to kick it off right now. Darin Zion against Xander Azula, two men who were on the same team at War Games.

Benny Newell: First off kudos for doing your fucking job there Joe. But can we please recognize that this is July 4th weekend and while all these fucking assholes are blowing off fireworks, cooking out on their grills, getting drunk on their Watermelon Mojitos, and enjoying their fucking days off…….THAT MAYBE we should be celebrating the fucking soldiers that have fought and DIED for them to have the freedoms to be the bottom bitches that they are. Yes I said it. You all are bottom’s….and America is the fucking Top. GOD BLESS FUCKING AMERICA!!!!

Joe Hoffman: Yes I agree with your sentiment that we should be celebrating our armed forces but….

Benny Newell: There is NO BUT. The only butt is at the end of my fucking M4 which I will gladly shove down your fucking commie throats.

Joe can only shake his head as Benny stands up and places his hand over his heart as we cut to Bryan McVay for our opening contest.

Bryan McVay: This match is the opening contest for one fall! Introducing first… from Long Beach, California, weighing two-hundred-thirty pounds… he is Xander Azula!

The whistling intro of “Engel” plays over the PA system, setting the crowd off in a chorus of boos as Legion and his Eternal Circle disciples step out onto the stage, surveying the fans with a gleeful grin. The crowd boo Azula and his crew, as Xander leaves them and marches down the rampway.

Joe Hoffman: Azula was briefly supported since he was on the Grappler’s side but it sounds like things may get back to normal. You good Benny?

Benny Newell: Ya I am fucking good. Put some fucking respect on our country is all I ask. Ya we got some fucked up people but what country doesnt? And fucking normal? Nothing normal about this guy. Although I do have an Eternal Circle I see every week, too, for my drinking problem.

Joe Hoffman: You don’t go.

Benny Newell: No, you’re right, I don’t. Because I don’t have a drinking problem. DRINK!

“Happy Song” by Bring Me The Horizon begins as Darin Zion, who is wearing a black leather jacket, comes down to the ring.

Bryan McVay: And his opponent, from Lake of the Ozarks, Missouri, weighing two-hundred-twenty pounds… DAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRIN ZIIIIIIION.

Zion slaps hands with the fans before climbing the turnbuckle and sticking his hands out as we reach the chorus of the song. He flips off the turnbuckle pad and hands the referee his jacket.

Benny Newell: I need to get something off my chest. Whoever fed Darin this bullshit #RallyZion saying should immediately book themselves a doctor’s appointment to get fucking castrated. Seriously. Do it. We already have enough idiots in the world already. We DO NOT need one more. #RallyZion? Fuck off.

Joe Hoffman: Umm, okay. We are about ready to go here as Zion has entered the ring and referee Matt Boettcher calls for the bell.

DING DING

Joe Hoffman: Azula takes charge but Darin has it well scouted, drops to his knees and rolls out of the way. Zion hits the ropes but hooks both hands on the top, halting all momentum. He must have seen Azula leave his feet for a dropkick because Xander crashes to the mat!

Zion races over and rolls Azula into a small package.

ONE.

KICKOUT.

Benny Newell: Gonna take more than that to keep Azula down.

Zion pulls Azula to his feet and Irish whips him into the ropes. This time Zion drops his head, looking to catch Xander with a backdrop but the Eternal Circle leader stops before reaching Zion’s shoulders and kicks him right in the face!

Zion stumbles back as Azula snatches Zion by the waist, connecting with a release German suplex.

Joe Hoffman: Zion landed on his feet!

Darin charges at Xander but once again, the Long Beach native moves away from a high knee. Azula latches on to Zion’s waist and this time connects with the release German suplex. A drop toe hold follows into a sleeper… but Zion uses his energy to pull up to a knee and hammer three solid elbows into Azula’s gut before the hold is dropped. Darin hits the ropes…

Joe Hoffman: Powerslam by Azula!

ONE.

KICKOUT.

Joe Hoffman: Both men kicking out early in this one.

Benny Newell: I should’ve come to work late.

The combatants are up. They exchange blows before Darin knees Xander in the stomach and then connects with a jumping DDT. Zion stumbles into a corner, waiting for his opponent to rise before racing towards him with a running knee, right before Azula stands up.

Whack!

The stiff shot knocks Azula up in the air and for a loop but the Eternal Circle leader surprisingly collects himself and takes Zion down with a clothesline!

Joe Hoffman: I don’t know if that was conscious or second nature for Xander to get that clothesline in.

With both men on the mat, Azula attempts another sleeper hold on Zion. He applies the move, this time from a much better base. #RallyZion tries to do just that by waving his hands in the air and kicking his legs frequently, hoping he’s somewhere close to the ropes before fading out.

He isn’t.

Joe Hoffman: Zion’s losing blood to the head. Azula has quite the impressive sleeper locked in. You don’t see sleeper moves like this applied so well in wrestling anymore.

Benny Newell: I’ll give him that. It’s a lost art. Zion got outta the first one but this one seems different.

Zion’s struggle looks to be over as Boettcher slides into position and lifts Zion’s arm up. It falls. Twice. It falls. Three times…

Joe Hoffman: Zion picks up his arm RIGHT before it drops to the mat!

Benny Newell: If you say that hashtag…

Joe Hoffman: I haven’t said anything!

Zion gets on a knee but then falls back down, proving the sleeper hold is a legitimate one. Boettcher goes back into position and the arm check is performed all over again. It goes to a third attempt but Zion punches Azula in the side of the head. Again. Again. Again. It’s Darin’s only hope of breaking the move.

Joe Hoffman: Zion’s done it!

Benny Newell: Fuck. Off.

Zion’s on wobbly legs as he tries to make it into the ropes. He sees Azula coming, racing in with everything he’s got.

Joe Hoffman: Zion drops the top rope on Xander! Xander falls out of the ring!

And Darin Zion slingshots himself over the top, crashing onto Azula! The fans give a cheer as Zion, albeit with much difficulty, rolls his opponent back into the squared circle.

Joe Hoffman: You can tell Darin doesn’t have his balance. The full blood flow doesn’t rush back to the head that quickly! Not all of it.

Benny Newell: Since when did you get your PhD?

Zion makes it to the apron but Azula meets him there. He elbows Darin in the stomach and then vertically suplexes Darin over the ropes and into the ring. Azula looks to end the match as he wheelbarrow lifts Zion but is rolled into another pinfall attempt!

ONE.

Joe Hoffman: Azula breaks out of it and knees Zion square in the temple! This is followed by a snap suplex.

Benny Newell: The fighting spirit of Darin Zion is gone-

As soon as Benny says the words, Zion pops to his feet with a second wind. He takes a hard chop to the chest from Azula but withstands it. He takes one more… and then returns the favour. The two men go chop for chop until both of their chests are redder than the ring ropes.

Joe Hoffman: Azula with a knee to the ribs!

But Zion returns the favour.

The two wrestlers go back and forth on knees to the ribs now… until it looks like Zion’s got the better of his former War Games teammate.

Joe Hoffman: Zion is wearing down Azula with knees!

Side Russian leg sweep follows. Azula’s head ricochets off the mat. The fans cheer as Zion drags the cult leader to his feet but Xander tries for a desperation headbutt.

Joe Hoffman: Azula’s off the ropes- OH THE BAN HAMMER!

Darin hits his finishing move as Azula comes racing in.

ONE.

TWO.

THREE.

DING DING DING

Joe Hoffman: A really good back and forth. You could see Azula wasn’t right bouncing off those ropes so he didn’t see The Ban Hammer coming.

Bryan McVay: Here is your winner… DARIN ZION!

Joe Hoffman: I, for one, wouldn’t mind seeing this match again down the road.

Benny Newell: I, for one, would not. DRINK!

The scene switches to backstage as Zion celebrates his victory

The scene cuts backstage where Steve Harrison, the HOW Tag Team Championship adorns his waist, is walking down the corridor.  Coming (or rolling) from the opposite direction, is the bloated, crippled living corpse that is Jatt Starr, who looks about fifty pounds heavier and sporting a cowboy hat, slowly plodding forward in his wheelchair.   As they pass, Steve Harrison’s hand inadvertently grazes the Hero of Jattlanta’s arm.   Jatt Starr spins.

JATT STARR:  Steve!  What the hell was that?

A befuddled Steve Harrison turns towards the Thane of Starrkarth.

STEVE HARRISON:  What?

JATT STARR:   I told you!  I don’t need your help!

STEVE HARRISON:  What are you wearing?

JATT STARR:  Clay Byrd’s spare hat.  He gave it to me!  And my “he”, I mean “I”. And by “gave”, I mean “borrowed”.  And by “it to me”, I mean “temporarily with every intention of giving it back, should he notice it missing and threatens my life, which he won’t because he’s my Brohemoth.”   And don’t change the subject!

STEVE HARRISON:  I am happy you are out of the Hospital and all but you can just walk off or roll away or whatever if you are going to act like a hyper child after stealing Seks cocaine, I have other places to—-

JATT STARR:  You think you can beat Dan Ryan on the behalf of Jattlantis and suddenly—– GARRRRRRGH!!!!

Suddenly, Jatt Starr begins convulsing and choking, he suddenly falls out of the wheelchair on the floor.   Steve Harrison can only raise an eyebrow and look around.  He pulls out his phone and takes a photo of Jatt Starr writhing and spasming on the ground.   As Steve Harrison answers a text, Jatt Starr slowly stands up.

JATT STARR:  I can walk!!!!  I CAN WALK!!!!!

The Thane of Starrkarth begins running in place and does a couple of stretches.

STEVE HARRISON:  Couldn’t you always?

JATT STARR:  What???? NO!!!!  I’m no faker!!!  Who do you think I am, Dan Ryan?  No doubt, he faked that so-called injury knowing Lee Best would fire him, just to get out of facing the Ruler of Jattlantis one-on-one.

STEVE HARRISON:  Of course, I am sure it has nothing to do with me snapping his leg.  But, hey least you can walk and do some cardio…finally.

Steve Harrison slaps Jatt Starr on the shoulder (perhaps a little too hard based on the Starrcelona Icon wincing in pain).  As Steve Harrison turns, Jatt begins clutching his bloated face, screaming.

JATT STARR:  What did you do to MEEEEEEEEEEEEEE?????

Harrison turns back to witness the Sultan of SeaJattle clawing his neck, pulling latex from his skin, revealing a less obese and perhaps infinitely more healthy looking Jatt Starr.   Steve Harrison looks bewildered.  Jatt Starr, on his knees, with fists full of latex looks up at Steve Harrison wide eyed.

JATT STARR:  You turned my fat into latex!!!!

The Saviour of Starrkham proceeds to remove his red Hall of Fame polo shirt to reveal…..

JATT STARR:  ….AND A FAT SUIT!!!!

STEVE HARRISON:  I…um….what?

The Sovereign of Starrgentina proceeds to rip off the fat suit revealing a rather athletic physique.

JATT STARR:  IT’S A MIRACLE!!!!!  A MANJATTAN MIRACLE!!!!!

STEVE HARRISON:  Miracle?  Yes!  Of course it is!

JATT STARR:  I’M BACK, BABY!  PRAISE TO THE HOW GODS, I’M BACK!

STEVE HARRISON:  Hoo….ray?

JATT STARR:  And with the power of Clay Byrd’s chapeau, I will be unstoppable!!!!  They will fall at my feet from that bedwetting eunuch Conor Fuse to Zeb Martin to Teddy Palmer to Xerxes Appleseed and everyone else!!!   It’s Jattlantis Rising, Steve!!!

The Ruler of Jattlantis looks almost manic as he hugs and kisses the forehead of a reluctant Steve Harrison.  An almost maniacally giddy Jatt Starr begins charging down the hallway, knocking people over as he goes before eventually stumbling over a trashcan and not-so-gracefully recovering letting out a faintly heard groan.

The camera cuts to the backstage interview area, where Brian Bare is waiting with a microphone in hand and a professional smile that’s just nervous enough to be noticeable. Noticing that he’s on fairly quickly, a faint clearing of the throat and Bare brings the mic to his lips.

Brian Bare: Joining me now is a woman who may not have been victorious in her debut, but there’s no denying the fact that she is making waves regardless. Ladies and gentlemen… Eli Dresden!

The aforementioned blond makes her way into the frame, dressed to compete. There’s still some lingering bruising along one side of her face, but Eli doesn’t look all that fazed by it If anything, she’s outright beaming as she claps Bare on the back.

Dresden: Told you that tie was flatterin’ on you. Lemme guess–you bought another one so you can rotate’em out?

…and Brian’s clearing his throat.

Brian Bare: Tonight, you’re facing off against another member of the Best Alliance in Clay Byrd. Considering the fact that it was Lee himself that signed you, do you think that there’s something at play here?

Dresden: Nah.

Bare tilts his head to the side faintly, clearly puzzled at how quickly Dresden answered.

Brian Bare: And why do you say that?

Dresden: Well for one, Lee Best wouldn’t have signed a contract with someone he didn’t think would be worth the investment. There’s no denyin’ that a lot of why HOW has been around as long as it’s been is because of that. And second…

Leaning back overdramatically to look left and right as if making sure the Wahl that has ears isn’t about, she leans in as if imparting a secret.

Dresden: The Best Alliance ain’t exactly a brotherhood of besties, y’know? Clay and Jace don’t braid each others’ hair and watch old nineties rom-coms on the weekends–though that’s one Helluva mental image. SNL-level shit, even.

Brian nods, the barest hint of a smile on his lips as if he doesn’t want to clue Eli in on how he;’s amused.

Brian Bare: Speaking of Clay–he had some very strong words for you leading into tonight’s match. What do you have to say to his assertions that you don’t belong here and how you being here is a waste of everyone’s time?

Dresden: Beyond how he’s hardly one to talk about wasting people’s time?

Eli quirks a brow.

Dresden: It’s painfully obvious that he’s so focused on his crush on Mike Best that he can’t be bothered to actually think. Just because I’m not pointin’ my finger at what I did in the indies doesn’t make me a rookie, for one. And for another, I know I’m a hot little blond, but I’m not stupid. I knew that coming to HOW was gonna be like jumpin’ into the middle of a lion’s den–and guess what, Bri.

Her gaze locks with the camera’s lens, as if she’s speaking to more than just Brian–she’s addressing the roster, the fans, everyone.

Dresden: That’s why I chose here, because I knew that when I made it in HOW? There wouldn’t be a single solitary sonovabitch that could deny that I belong–

Before Eli can finish her statement the sound of someone clearing their throat can be heard. Both Eli and Bare turn their attention to the King of Everything Jace Parker Davidson walks into camera range alongside Madison.

JPD: Do my ears deceive me or is the ‘replacement pussy’ out here talking about how she belongs here in HOW? Let me correct you there blondie, as seen last week the only place you belong is underneath my boot.

The blond chuckles to herself, a sly grin tugging at her lips as she–once again–doesn’t actually grant Jace her direct attention. Instead, she’s once again zeroing in on Madison.

Dresden: More like I belong between Maddie’s thighs, but hey–can’t stay in Heaven forever. Am I right or am I right?

Madison: Forever is such a long time but I wouldn’t be opposed to revisiting that little situation we found ourselves in.

Madison smirks as Jace steps between the two of them and Bare just watches on.

JPD: I heard about your little ‘play date’ with Madison and boy do I ever hope you enjoyed it. You know what I’m going to enjoy? I’m going to enjoy watching Clay Byrd clothesline your head off of your shoulders and watching it land in the cheap seats.

…and Eli’s just leaning to look around Jace, Madison barely containing her bemusement. Even if JPD is her client, it’s clear that the two women have taken a liking to one another.

Dresden: Seriously, no manners. But anyway–

Once again Jace interrupts Eli but this time he grabs a hold of her and lifts her up off of her feet. Jace looks his opponent from last week directly in the eyes with a snarl.

JPD: I’ve had it up to here with your little immature attitude. I’m only going to say this once. If you don’t want a repeat of what happened last week then I highly suggest you show your superior some respect.

There’s a deadpan look as, for the first time, Eli’s gaze meets Jace’s properly.

Dresden: I did, though.

…and she’s craning her head to, once again, address Madison

Dresden: I mean, I even paid for the Steak Diane. And I made breakfast!

JPD: That’s it forget Clay, I’m taking you out before the match even happens!

Before Jace can do any harm to Eli, Madison grabs ahold of JPD by the shoulder.

Madison: You’re not going to do anything to her. She has a match tonight and you’re not booked. Now put her down and behave yourself.

JPD: Just whose side are you on here?!

Madison: Yours obviously but she’s done nothing wrong. Now put her down before I go to Lee’s office and find the 4th Wahl to stop you from ruining a match on tonight’s card.

As Madison and Jace bicker, Eli just kind of–hangs out. One gets the feeling that if she had any, she’d be eating popcorn as she watches the arguing. When Madison mentions having to fetch someone to stop Jace like the blond needs to be rescued, though?

Dresden: ‘Kay, bored now.

Hearing that, Jace’s head whips around to glare at Eli.

JPD: I thou–

The sound of the air being driven out of his lungs cuts JPD off as Eli kicks him hard in the stomach, forcing him to release his grip on her. Landing nimbly on her feet, Dresden’s quick to bring her knee up between his thighs, Bare wincing in the background at seeing another man get hit in the balls. As Jace drops to his knees and the color leaves his face with a wheeze, Eli leans in.

Dresden: Sounds like I ain’t the only pussy on the roster anymore, eh Sugartits? Cuz I just made one out of you.

Meeting Madison’s gaze, Eli makes the classic ‘Call me’ motion in her direction before she places a hand on Jace’s shoulder and pushes him over sideways to lay on his side in the fetal position as she meanders off as we head to commercial break.

We cut back to ringside from the commercial break where Bobby Dean is already in the ring, the catchy lyrics to Joe Esposito’s ‘You’re The Best’ fading out.

Joe Hoffman: Up next we have Bobby Dean versus the newcomer, Mitchell Quinlan.

Benny Newell: Who?

After a brief lull, the PA kicks back in with a decidedly more jaunty tune.

Benny Newell: Hoffhole, is that a fucking flute I hear?

Hilltop Hood’s ‘Nosebleed Section” soon picks up with Aussie rap verses over a chopped up sample of a 1920s classic, backed with a baseline that would’a made you great grandmother’s knees weak, but yes, there is a flute.

Joe Hoffman: Good ear, Benny.

Benny Newell: Good ear? Fuck, I’ve never wanted to see Bobby Dean kill a fool so much.

Bryan McVay: Introducing next! Hailing from Bell City, Ontario!

As McVay has started round 2 of introductions, the curtainway shows no signs of activity. The crowd is buzzing: anticipation or frustration is dealer’s choice.

Benny Newell: Stupid song, and now not even the balls to come out for his first match? If I haven’t said it before, Hoffman, fuck Canada.

Joe Hoffman: You have, several times.

Soon enough the techs working the spotlight are able to find the commotion coming down the lowerbowl steps between sections 111 and 110. With pace, it’s a good bet the shirtless guy in the gunmetal grey double breasted leather jacket is Dean’s opponent for the night.

Benny Newell: I’m not even… DRINK!

To the rail, Quinlan swings a leg over and hops on for his shift. The camera now finally able to pick up the loose grey pinstripe shorts, boots and kick pads that cover his lower half. Scampering up the steps, Q gets to the second rope to stare out to the packed house.

Bryan McVay: This is MITCHELLLLL!! QUIN!LAAAAANNN!!

A short prayer said and a bow to the faithful assembled, Quinlan plops over the top rope to carefully discard the jacket, and run through the last second stretches, before meeting eyes with a grinning Bobby Dean.

Joel Hortega stands between both men, who have taken refuge in their respective corners. First he looks to Dean, who gives a nod. Then to Quinlan, who does the same.

DING DING DING!

Both men circle one another, Quinlan with a little more bounce to his step, whereas Bobby methodically saunters to preserve his energy. The two grapplers jockey for position, closing in on one another, Bobby choosing to be the first to lunge in.

CRACK!

Quinlan sidesteps the dash, countering with a thigh kick that hobbles Bobby.

Joe Hoffman: That kick echoed like a shotgun blast!

Bobby lunges forward a second time.

CRACK!

Quinlan again with a sidestep, again with a thigh kick. This time an audible ‘Ooooh’ is the audience’s reaction.

Joe Hoffman: Smart move going after his opponents sturdy base.

Benny Newell: Lock up already you pussy!

Bobby feigns lunging in once more, the third kick whiffing at air. Bobby jumps in with a waist lock and transitions to a side headlock. He grinds down into Quinlans neck. Quinlan grips onto Bobby’s love handles, forcing his way free by sending Bobby rebounding off the ropes.

Benny Newell: Cheater! Illegal clutching of loose skin.

Their shoulders connect, and Quinlan loses, dropping back first to the mat. An elbow is dropped, but Mitchell rolls out of the way. Up to their feet and charging forward, Quinlan is met with a boot to the stomach followed by a snap suplex which Dean floats over into a pin. Hortega drops for the count.

UNO!

DOS!

Joe Hoffman: Easy kickout by Quinlan.

Benny Newell: Hook the leg you lazy bastard.

Bobby is first to his feet, but isn’t first to strike as Quinlan connects with a knee lift to his abdomen, hunching Bobby over. A rigid uppercut rips across Bobby’s chin, popping him up vertically. A knife edge chop and punch rotation backs him into the corner, where he flails his arms trying to shield from the barrage of strikes.

Joe Hoffman: Quinlan with the rapid fire shots.

Joel Hortega begins to administer his count, warning Quinlan to back out of the corner. He obeys almost immediately, taking a few strides backwards with his hands raised innocently.

Benny Newell: About time you do your job Hortega.

Joe Hoffman: Here he comes…

Quinlan comes flying in towards Dean with both knees tucked into his chest and with the velocity of a speeding bullet. At the last possible second, Bobby dodges out of the corner, Quinlans knees violently connecting with the top corner turnbuckle.

Joe Hoffman: Near miss! Quinlan looks like he hurt himself there.

Quinlan stumbles backwards, favoring his left knee. Bobby locks in a full nelson, and with a swift thrust of his hips, fires backwards, driving Quinlan head slash neck first into the unforgiving canvas.

Joe Hoffman: Picture perfect Dragon Suplex by Bobby Dean.

Benny Newell: Now pin that flute blowing Canucker.

Bobby doesn’t bridge the suplex, rather climbing back to a vertical base. Quinlan clutches his neck, rolling in discomfort, all the while not paying close enough attention to his opponent.

Joe Hoffman: What’s Bobby doing here?

Benny Newell: He’s gonna finish this kid before he even gets started here. Climb Bobbo, climb!

Bobby first climbs onto the bottom rope. Then he pulls himself up onto the second. The fans begin to get excited, and Bobby begins to debate his decision.

Joe Hoffman: No, he can’t be thinking?

Benny Newell: Do it! Crush him! Do it!

Bobby looks as if he’s about to climb to the top rope, but his exaggerated leg lift goes down instead, repositioning himself on the bottom rope.

Benny Newell: Really?

Bobby hops bounces off the bottom rope as if it were a mini trampoline, kicking his legs forward to land back first across Quinlan’s torso, the senton splash expelling all air in his lungs.

Joe Hoffman: Effective, nonetheless.

Benny Newell: Anticlimactic, nonetheless.

Hortega drops to the mat for the count.

UNO!

DOS!

KICKOUT!

Quinlan thrusts his shoulder up with time to spare, Bobby Dean rolling off his opponent slightly discouraged.

Benny Newell: Top rope would have finished him…

A handful of hair helps Quinlan back to his feet, and Bobby scoops him up and onto his shoulder. The momentum sees Quinlan slide down onto his feet, latching on with a side headlock of his own. He runs forward, leaping onto the middle rope and bouncing back with a bulldog.

Joe Hoffman: Beautiful counter by Quinlan.

Benny Newell: Don’t you dare use Bobby’s moniker to compliment this nobody.

A forearm across Bobby’s jawline and Hortega drops.

UNO!

DOS!

KICKOUT!

Joe Hoffman: Near fall almost gave the newcomer his first win.

Bobby lifts his shoulder off the mat, breaking up the attempt. Quinlan is up and offers a few not so friendly stomps to the downed not so big man. Timing Bobby’s rise, Mitchell comes screaming off the ropes with a crossbody block that drops him quicker than he rose.

Benny Newell: Smart move here by the veteran. Suck wind damnit!

Before Quinlan can get ahold of Bobby, he’s rolled outside the ring in an attempt to get a breather.

He’s not afforded the opportunity.

Joe Hoffman: But you can’t take your eyes off your opponent!

Benny Newell: Look out!

Quinlan launches himself over the top rope, flipping forward and crashing into Bobby.

Joe Hoffman: Tope Con Hilo!

Benny Newell: Hortegas rubbing off on you. English, damnit!

Both men tumble into the barricade, the fans the loudest they’ve been yet. Quinlan is the first to his feet, letting out an exciting battle cry, his adrenaline pumping.

Joe Hoffman: Quinlan has him right where he wants him.

Benny Newell: Who cares? It’s not that impressive, we’re talking about Bobby Dean here.

Grabbing onto Bobby, Quinlan hoists him up, using his strength to roll Dean in the ring. Quinlan follows closely behind. Quinlan begins to stalk Bobby, who has slowly begun to show life against the ropes.

Joe Hoffman: It looks like Quinlan might be setting him up for the Needle Drop.

Benny Newell: Is that a Crack reference?

Joe Hoffman: No it’s…No…

Bobby climbs to his feet slowly, using the ropes for leverage. Quinlan waits until Dean is vertical with his back to him, and leaps up onto his shoulders, flipping backwards.

Joe Hoffman: Bobby blocked it!

Benny Newell: Ha! I never lost faith in you Bobby!

Bobby keeps both hands on the top rope, refusing to let go as Quinlan spills belly first onto the canvas. Bobby turns around and quickly ticks Mitchell’s head between his legs, hoists him up by the waist and drops him on top of his skull.

Joe Hoffman: Modified Danshoku Driver!

Benny Newell: Bullshit! I want the REAL Deaner Weiner!

Bobby rolls over onto Quinlan’s chest, hooking onto a leg as Hortega drops for the count.

UNO!

DOS!

TRES!

DING DING DING!

Bryan McVay: Your winner at ten minutes and thirteen seconds, BEAUTIFUL! BOBBY! DEEEEEEEAN!

Joe Hoffman: Big win for the HOW veteran, and impressive debut for the newcomer in a hard fought losing effort.

Benny Newell: Missed opportunity on Bobby’s part, not making the rookie blow his flute…

Joel Hortega raises Bobby’s hand, who is met with mild fanfare as we cut backstage.

We cut to backstage where Blaire Moise has an interview and she does not look overly enthused about it.

Blaire Moise: All right.  Let’s bring in…

She’s interrupted by a most peculiar and annoying sound.  Blaire’s head swivels towards the source of a high pitched, melodramatic, dark and foreboding melody- a woman playing a pan flute.  

Blaire sighs and finishes the introduction.

Blaire Moise: …’Defective’ Marty Pratt.  

Pratt comes out again dressed in what could charitably described as an outfit that looks strangely similar, but yet different, recognizable, a cheesy rip-off but not quite of something that would violate any copyright or intellectual property laws.  He also has the same oversized pencil used to attack Darin Zion’s manager Meredith two weeks ago in Rockford, Illinois.  

Pratt seems genuinely pleased with what the music being playing on the pan flute.

‘Defective’ Marty Pratt: Won-

But before he pronounces his happiness in earnest and acutely aware that backstage the HOW legal department is once again on red alert, huddled around a television to monitor the situation, Pratt refers to the pocket thesaurus that he always carries with him to make sure he says the right word.   

‘Defective’ Marty Pratt: Marvelous!  Aaaaaaaaaahmazing!!!

Once again, there’s a huge sigh of relief backstage from HOW’s legal department even though one person can be seen downing a bottle of Maalox.  

Blaire Moise: All right Marty, let’s talk about-

‘Defective’ Marty Pratt: My beautiful wife.

Blaire Moise: No.  About this whole thing with Darin-

‘Defective’ Marty Pratt: No no.  I mean to say my beautiful wife… Rebecca… is not done with her song yet.  

Rebecca, the aforementioned wife of ‘Defective’ Marty Pratt continues to play the dark and foreboding song on the pan flute.  

Soon someone else comes out.  He’s dressed not as weirdly as Pratt and he almost appears to be wearing a mask of some sort.

‘Defective’ Marty Pratt: Behold the angelic voice of Brother… Spiro who will make you understand what Dar-reen Zyyy-on’s arc of circumstance will be once he is ultimately… ERASED!    

Pratt erases something in the air with the oversized pencil while Becky plays the pan flute again and Brother Spiro sings.

Brother Spiro:
You’ll disappear and catalogue yourself as archaic.  

Brother Spiro holds out the microphone expecting people to shout back ‘Archaic.’  But they don’t.  So he harrumphs and pulls out his cell phone and punches up an audio file.  Then he turns up the volume as high as it will go, holds the phone close to the microphone, and sings again.

Brother Spiro:
You’ll disappear and catalogue yourself as archaic.  

He hits the button on his phone.

Manufactured Crowd Response: ARCHAIC!  

Brother Spiro:
You’ll disappear and catalogue yourself as archaic.  

Manufactured Crowd Response: ARCHAIC!  

Brother Spiro:
You’ll disappear and catalogue yourself as archaic.  

Manufactured Crowd Response: AR-

Blaire Moise: OKAY, WE GOT IT!  Marty, why did you send a card to Darin Zion’s manager Meredith that read… and I quote… It is unfortunate your beau views my vow to my benefactor in an idle fashion. He should now take his ULTIMATE ERASURE serious after my actions tonight. Soon I will free you from his burdensome shackles. I promise you, I will…………ERASE him from existence. And just who the hell is this benefactor who’s paid you big mon-….

She stops herself in mid-sentence and becomes annoyed now that she’s had to catch and correct herself.

Meanwhile, the HOW legal department begins to hyperventilate.

Blaire Moise: …HUGH SUMS OF CASH to stalk Darin Zion?

Collective exhale backstage. 

‘Defective’ Marty Pratt: Blaire of Moys-see-see-see-see.  You knew I’d…

Pause as Marty peruses the thesaurus once again for the right wording and the HOW legal department collectively holds their breath one more time.  

‘Defective’ Marty Pratt: …be here.  

Marty nods.  He slowly turns his head as if he’s hearing something or ‘acknowledging’ someone.  

‘Defective’ Marty Pratt: Yes-s-s-s-s-s—s.  Your chants of ‘Erase’ are almost orgasmic-ic-ic-ic-ic.

Blaire looks around.  There’s no one else in the vicinity.

Blaire Moise: Ah, there’s no one’s chanting, Marty.  

‘Defective’ Marty Pratt: Can’t you hear the glorious chants of ERASE ringing throughout the arena?

Cut to the arena.

…

…

*crickets*

…

…

Cut back to a thoroughly unimpressed Blaire Moise.

Blaire Moise: No.  All right, look. You broke Meredith’s orbital bone with an oversized pencil.   Darin Zion wants to kick your ass.  You want to erase Darin Zion.  Zion wants to erase you from his life.  You know what has to happen now.  I know what has to happen now.  Everyone knows what has to happen now. 

Quick cut to the San Diego Municipal Courtroom.  We see Rah sitting at a desk next to what appears to be a high-priced attorney.  

Even more peculiar about this random cut scene is the fact that Rah is actually wearing an expensive suit.

Rah sees the HOTv cameraman and tries to shoo him away with his regal hand. 

Rah: No no.  Rah cannot talk right now.

We cut right back to the ring.

Check that.  Everyone but Rah, who’s busy dealing with some sort of legal-type situation at the moment, knows what has to happen now.

‘Defective’ Marty Pratt: YES, Blaire of Moys-see-see-see-see.  My defective dissonance proclaims that Dar-reen Zyyy-onn will soon suffer an unfortunate twist…

Everyone holds their breath…

‘Defective’ Marty Pratt: …arc of circumstance called… 

 …annnnd exhale.

Pratt stretches his arms out wide for the overly dramatic reveal.

‘Defective’ Marty Pratt: …ULTIMATE ERASURE!  

Pratt erases something in the air with the oversized pencil.

‘Defective’ Marty Pratt: ERASE!

And again.

‘Defective’ Marty Pratt: ERASE!

And again…

‘Defective’ Marty Pratt: ERASE!

And again, Blaire’s done with this segment and wonders if Lee is really paying her enough to deal with all this nonsense.  

Blaire Moise: Commercial… NOW!

‘Defective’ Marty Pratt: ERASE!

Cut to commercial for an inside look inside The Best Alliance locker room……’Murica!!

The scene fades in from commercial to the locker room area.  Steve Solex is shown standing with his hands on his hips, and the HOTv championship draped over his shoulder.  He faces his locker with a look of concern on his face.

Steve Solex:  Look man, I know that you’re trying to help…but right now there’s nothing that you can do to convince me otherwise.

Pause.

Steve Solex:  Look, Shawn.  I’m wrestling this match, not you. How would you wrestle it anyway?  You’re not the HOTv champ.  I am, and this is my first ever title defense in HOW.  

Pause.

Steve Solex:  We? …  Our?

Pause.

Steve Solex:  Look, you prick…I’m wrestling High Flyer.  You don’t have a say in that matter.  I can beat him, and I will.  Don’t doubt me. Lee Best has put his faith in me to rid HOW of The Industry forever.  This is my hit job, I’m defending the title, and I’m the one that’s going to reap the benefits of doing so.  Not you.  Me.  Not us.  Me! Do you understand?

Pause.

Steve Solex:  Oh really? Well, talk to Lee Best then.  I don’t give a fuck.

Pause.

Steve Solex:  Look, I need to warm up.  I don’t have time for this.  Either get on the train, or jump the fuck off Shawn.  Tonight’s my night.

Pause.

Steve Solex:  Meet me in the trainer’s room.

Steve collects a few of his things, his eyes never leaving the back of his locker.  He briskly walks away and out of view as the camera focuses in on the red luchador mask hanging from the lone rail in Steve’s locker.

Joe Hoffman: Welcome back to ringside folks and oh boy, things are about to get rowdy here with this match!!!!

Benny Newell: DRINK! Byrd and Dresden are about to tear down the house with this match.

Joe Hoffman: Both desperately need a win after a rough last week…

Benny Newell: Lee threw Clay a soft pitch here. You and I both know he’s got the size advantage over Dresden. EQUAL RIGHTS, BITCH!!!!

Joe Hoffman: Don’t count Dresden out, Benny. She took JPD to his limit last week. It’s unusual any newcomer in HOW can go the limit with Jace.

Benny Newell: You ain’t see nutting from this former NFL prospect, Joe.

Dresden jolts rapidly towards the corner before flipping around and crashing her elbow straight into Clay’s heart. The force of the elbow causes Byrd to exhale forcefully. Eli climbs upon the turnbuckle throwing fists right into the face of the University of Texas graduate. But Clay’s eyes light up. He hoists her straight into the air with sheer force, trying to powerbomb the high-flying Dresden.

Benny Newell: DROP THAT BITCH ON HER HEAD!!!

Dresden reverses the momentum and flips Byrd over the top rope. Clay lands on the outside with a sickening thud. He grabs his head as Eli rallies the Washington DC crowd up. Clay stirs around on the outside before pulling himself off the mat, only for Eli Dresden to connect with a Flying Cross Body much to the delight of the fans.

The Capitol One Arena comes alive as Dresden picks up Byrd. She motions signaling for a bulldog, but the pissed off Texan wastes no time to take advantage of his opponents pandering. Clay drives Dresden neck first into the apron of the ring, gaining control of the match.

Joe Hoffman: The crowd is pissed about that ordeal. Clay Byrd used Eli’s momentum against her and heavily damaged her neck.

Benny Newell: That’s what we call ring presence, Hoffhole. That’s the positives of a veteran like Clay Byrd. He doesn’t need to showboat to these morons. He only wants to get the job done for the boss man.

Byrd’s eyes widen while he pulls himself up on the apron. He pulls Dresden’s lifeless body off the canvas and chucks her over the top rope with an ugly looking body slam. The Burly Texans mounts Eli and wraps his hands around her throat, cutting off her air flow. Boettcher takes his sweet time before he notices the hold. He slowly counts for Byrd as the crowd boos at the situation.

ONE!!!!!!

TWO!!!!!!

THREE!!!!!

FOUR!!!!!!

FIIIII…

Byrd releases his hand from around Dresden’s neck. He drags into the center of the ring before wrapping his thick arms against Eli’s neck cutting off the circulation. Dresden flails around in the hold as Byrd cinches the hold in deeper. The pace of Eli’s frantic scuffling slowly fades out. Boettcher lifts Eli’s hand into the air before it sinks to the ground.

THUD!

Boettcher repeats the process with the same result:

THUD!

Joe Hoffman: One more and Boettcher’s going to call this match, Benny. I don’t know how the newcomer gets out of this! She’s already turning purple.

Benny Newell: That’s the point, Hoffman. She’s not supposed to get out of it. Clay got control and she can’t escape. I told you size matters, Hoffhole. Didn’t you pay attention earlier?

Boettcher raises Eli’s hand straight into the air as the fans in Washington DC clap desperately hoping to energize the young HOW upstart. Boettcher’s hand releases Eli’s hand and…

THU…

Benny Newell: WAIT?! WHAT? You mean to tell me his girth didn’t end this shit?

Joe Hoffman: No! Eli’s alive! She’s clapping her hands together to draw from the crowd’s energy. Clay cannot believe this turn of events.

Eli shakes her fists trying to roll Clay through, but it’s no use. Clay’s anchored his body into place. Scrambling around desperately, Eli nails Byrd directly in the rib cage with some stiff looking elbows. Eli connect just right before Clay expels a load of air and releases the lock. Eli eyes the ropes crawling at a methodical pace. She clings at them in a desperate attempt to pull herself back up. She rushes towards the turnbuckle, but before she can get airborn; Clay grabs a fist full of the Pittsburgh native’s hair and thrusts her down towards the mat. Byrd’s about to fly! He climbs the turnbuckle at a sadistic pace. He cocks his fist back threatening to drive it straight into Eli Dresden’s heart.

But no! Dresden kips off the mat with immediate haste. Locking her arms around Clay’s thick skull, she signals for the Arabian Moonsault Slam she affectionately calls the GDI.

Joe Hoffman: This match is about to be over!!!!!!!!!

SLAM!

Benny Newell: HOLY SHIT, HOFFMAN! WHAT THE FUCK WHAT THAT?!

Joe Hoffman: That’s what we like to call a suicide mission. In a desperate attempt, Clay Byrd reversed Eli’s momentum and nailed an Inverse Suplex off the top rope, damaging her insides.

Benny Newell: I hope he made that bitch bleed.

Joe Hoffman: But at what cost, Benny? That move impacted him just as bad. Both competitors are scrambling to regain their composure. Who gets to their feet first!

Clay reaches his base first, but Eli follows behind him. She wastes no time in charging the Texas Behemoth with a flurry of chops to his chest. Byrd flings her back with no remorse; however, this minor setback doesn’t stop Dresden. Eli rolls back to her feet and changes course. She nails a stiff Dropsault kick directly to his chest. Clay hobbles back to the center of the ring, but before he can adjust, he is met with a luchador style arm drag from his opponent.

Eli flies across the ring and nails a picture-perfect springboard moonsault right into Clay’s chest, covering the behemoth. Boettcher makes the count.

ONE!

TWO!

Clay’s shoulder flies off the mat. Dresden doesn’t stop there. She kips back up to her feet to hit a beautiful looking Shooting Star Press on Byrd’s chest and makes another cover.

ONE!

TWO!

Byrd once more kicks out of her attempt. Her eyes lit up in anger. She rallies the crowd up she sees Byrd slowly climbing back up to his feet. She goes for the Tilt-A-Whirl head scissors take down again, but Clay grabs her body and slams it directly into the ring post like a battering ram. Clay doesn’t take any time continuing to mount his offense. He scoops her off the mat for a big German Suplex.

Benny Newell: Watch this, Hoffman! Byrd’s about to scramble Eli’s brains against the canvas. He’s motioning for a sick Drop German Suplex. She’s up…

Joe Hoffman: And she’s reversed momentum. OH MY GAWD, BENNY!

THUD!

Joe Hoffman: SLING BLADE! SLING BLADE! She’s caught him off guard with the move she calls the OMGN! Cover by Eli. It’s over!!!!!

ONE!

TWO!

THREEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!!!

Benny Newell: HAAAAAA! HAAAAA! HAAAAAA! God damnit that was close!

Byrd’s leg barely slid under the top rope before Boettcher almost counted the three. The Washington DC crowd is on their feet with how close she came. Eli’s shocked at Byrd’s tenacity, but she doesn’t stall for time. Eli rushes towards the ropes and attempts to nail a split legged moonsault, but Byrd rolls out of the way. She connects with the mat. Byrd pulls himself up against the ropes. He turns around to see Eli rushing at him. He reverses her momentum and sends her shoulder first into the turnbuckle. The former NFL prospect adjusts Eli in the corner and chokes her in the corner with his foot. Boettcher makes the count after pretending to look away for a moment.

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

Clay releases the hold and drives his body at her with a clothesline. He thrusts his opponent’s lifeless body against the ropes and drives it down with a stiff spinebuster. He makes a cover.

ONE!

TWO!

NO! Dresden survives! Byrd scoops her off the mat and tries to hit a sidewalk slam on her, but she reverses her body. Wrapping her legs around Byrd’s neck, she flings him across the ring. Without hesitation, Dresden hits a second OMFN to the crowd’s delight. She embraces the crowd’s affections as she looks around and eyes the top turnbuckle. She points at it as the crowd comes alive.

Joe Hoffman: INCOMING!!!!!

Benny Newell: Incoming what? I don’t see the USS Octane’s canon’s being aimed at this bitch. There’s no war here, Hoffhole.

Joe Hoffman: She’s going for her Shooting Star Cannonball, Benny. She’s trying something new to bring down this colossal Texan. Byrd’s been using his weight to shift out of the GDI. She’s gotta knock the wind out of his lungs to find any success.

Benny Newell: That’s not fucking cool like REAL CANONBALLS! Thanks for teasing me for nothing, Joe.

Joe Hoffman: Eli’s got AIIIIIIIR!

BOOOM!

Joe Hoffman: WHAT THE? Byrd got his knees up and nailed Eli straight in the tailbone as she came down.

Benny Newell: YEEEEEEEEEEEES!!!!!! He’s setting up for the spear!

Byrd nails a stiff looking spear out of desperation as Eli tries to get back up. He drives her body down with extreme prodigious. Clay’s eyes light up as Eli’s holding her ribs, desperately trying to get back to her feet. Byrd winds his arm up, motioning for the Texas Lariat. Before Eli can finish collecting herself off the mat once again, Byrd charges at her with authority.

THWACK!

Joe Hoffman: Holy moly! Byrd just proverbially sent Eli’s head into Section 214 with that clothesline. That’s the most massive Texas Lariat I’ve seen out of him!

Benny Newell: Well, everything’s bigger in Texas, Hoffhole, even their damn clotheslines!

Boettcher makes the count.

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

DING! DING! DING! DING!

Bryan McVay: Here is your winner….CLAAAAAAAY BYYYYYYYRD!

Joe Hoffman: Hard fought battle by our newcomer Eli Dresden. She gave us everything she got. She’s a damn good and impressive competitor, but in the end, Byrd would not be denied.

Benny Newell: I told you size matters. That almost 300-pound Texan used his weight as an advantage and folded Dresden up like an accordion.

Boettcher raises Clay Byrd’s hand up before he goes to check on Dresden. She’s slowly struggling back to her feet out of frame as the cameras focus on Byrd. He smirks the work he accomplished. He walks off out of frame as HOW officials help Dresden to the back and the scene fades.

The scene jumps backstage as the fans cheer seeing Conor Fuse, dressed in his regular SNES purple trench coat, walking through the hallway. Fuse isn’t chipper, he’s not on his typical sugar rush but nor is he depressed or angry. Instead, the gamer wanders up to a locker room door, the Grapplers locker room door, and enters.

There across the way, head down, leaning forward, arms on his knees… is Teddy Palmer.

Conor Fuse: Hey bro.

Teddy looks up with a nod.

Conor Fuse: So, we should talk?

Before Palmer can reply, Conor takes a seat beside him.

Conor Fuse: It’s been all over my discord channel -which is weird because my channel is for FORTNITE but anyway- they’re saying “WTF is up with Teddy Palmer”. That’s like, so uncool of these keyboard warriors to say such a thing. Even though…

Fuse pauses as he glances to the floor. He leans forward, puts his arms on his knees and positions himself just like Teddy.

Conor Fuse: …We haven’t really talked since War Games.

Another pause.

Conor Fuse: No one has.

And another pause.

Conor Fuse: Okay, so listen, forget Lindsay Troy. That dumb SOB getting herself fired and all.

Teddy slowly pulls his head up and looks at The Ultimate Gamer. Fuse gives a wink.

Conor Fuse: It’s a joke, love LT. Butttttt where we are right now as a team, I dunno. It’s funny because I ripped on the Best Alliance for being a band of misfits where no one can get on the same page. And yet look at what they’ve done to us in a few short weeks. Gamers Loco 360, hanging by a thread. I saw the comments section on Silent Witness’ latest article. It’s all “Teddy isn’t a team player” bullshit. Which I know is bullshit. We all tried to have each other’s backs in the War Games match. And last week…

Teddy Palmer: I got my ass kicked. Seems like people chose to forget about that when Refueled came to a close. I mean, you’ve got Hoffman screaming in his headset like some doofus, asking where the hell I was? I was in fuckin’ medical, prick…

Teddy spits down past his boots, shaking his head.

Conor Fuse: I know, man. I know.

Palmer let’s put a deep, frustrated sigh.

Teddy Palmer: Honestly? That’s all that matters. You fuckin’ get it. It’s easy to play Monday Morning Quarterback and question everything and anything. But unless you’re fighting these battles and waging this war week in and week out, you have no fuckin’ idea. I’m glad you get it.

Conor agrees, shaking his head up and down with passion, hanging on Teddy’s every word.

Conor Fuse: Dude, all I know is, me, you, Zeb, Zion, we Game pretty good. Yeah it sucks losing Lindsay, Ray retired and Dan’s career might be over. But we had these BOTS. Those first few weeks we banned together, we had them by the balls. LSD Title, Tag Team Titles, victory after victory. And we can do it again, buddy. Tonight I will beat Cancer Jiles and if you get another chance against Sektor… it’s no contest, dude.

Teddy looks up at Conor.

Teddy Palmer: Not if. When. I might be without my crown at the moment, but I’m still the King of that division.

Fuse smirks and smacks Palmer across the back.

Conor Fuse: Guys like JPD think they are “Troy’s Daddy” now. LOL. Let’s get serious, we can take everything back. When I first joined this group I was scared AF going up against a Boss like Jiles… but because of YOU, Ray, Lindsay, Zeb, I started to believe in myself. Now I’m gonna go Halo this shit up and I don’t need help if things get outta control. We can still do this the right way, no cheat codes.

Fuse winks at Palmer before getting up and walking to the exit door.

Conor Fuse: But if there’s a post match beatdown, you can count on me. Otherwise, I booked us a nice AirBnB in Charlotte next week. Bunk beds, right near an arcade bar…

Conor turns back at the locker room door.

Conor Fuse: Super fun times ahead. You won’t need to take that anxiety medication because you’ll be like “holy shit this is more fun than Minecraft!” Bahaha, I’m hilarious. See ya, dude!

Fuse leaves, although he can still be heard down the hallway.

Conor Fuse OS: Hey Cancer Jiles, SRK can’t help you now. LET’S GOOOOOO!

Teddy smirks as the Gamers jubilant voice echoes in the hallway.

Teddy Palmer: You can count on me…

The scene fades out on Teddy Palmer to commercial break.

**The following video was NOT made by anyone in High Octane Wrestling…..FUCK YA**

Backstage THE Brian Bare is walking towards a locker room.  He stops and takes a deep breath and knocks on the door.  “Come in,” is heard and Brian slowly turns the knob to the door and walks intro the room.  Steve Harrison is sitting down with his legs crossed, his half of the now defunct tag titles sitting across his lap.

Brian Bare: I know.

Steve stares at him with a confused look on his face as he strokes his tag title like it were a friendly pet.

Steve Harrison: You know what?

Brian Bare: Well, you know?  Usually you don’t let me ask questions.

Harrison sighs and shrugs seemingly not caring about that.

Steve Harrison: Well this is your lucky day since we are in my backyard of Washington DC and now HOW knows that I am forever Tag Champion I will answer your amazing questions.

Brian Bare: Oh, well ok.

Excitingly Brian puts his hands in is pocket and comes out with a crumpled piece of paper and he opens it.

Brian Bare: I jotted some stuff down just in case this happened.

Steve Harrison: I am already bored, get on with it.

Brian nods.

Brian Bare: Well first you said you wanted nothing more then to retire Dan Ryan and it seems like you did just that last Saturday.  How do you feel about what went down and do you think you went too far?

Harrison stops rubbing the tag title and a small smirk comes to his chiseled face.

Steve Harrison: People like him do not deserve empathy as I stated before.  Last week I not only won the match I had my own Dan Ryan moment.  My head went blank and I remembered all the disrespectful things he said about me and all his dark actions that we are supposed to forget because Lee Best is some bad man.  I snapped and took that chicken leg of his and made it pop repeatedly.  He has ZERO cartilage left now and that is all thanks to The Miracle Man.  When a Union loses, they lose their right at the table so I hope he can afford COBRA because HOW is not paying for his leg to be repaired.  I mean…there is only a ten percent chance he will ever walk the same again and the man already had a knee injury.  I wish him well back at his dirt farm and I hope he and LT can make up and drink hot chocolate in front of the fireplace.  I am certain my name will come up but they both know that I have done more than enough to earn their respect.

Harrison pauses and stands up.

Steve Harrison: Wrestling is a cruel business and the only thing worth a damn is respect.  The fame will fade, the body will crumble, and the money will disappear, but NOBODY will ever forget that Steve Harrison retired the legendary Dan Ryan.  The only thing I feel bad about is that I will never get my singles win against him now.  I lost my shot at the ICON title against him because of an injury and then he beat me in HOFC.  You could say he is getting the last laugh but at least I am still relevant, and he is being covered in fucking mothballs.  My conscience is clean because all I did was defend my team and take out someone who has openly talked about harming us all.

The Man of all Miracles smile has faded by this point as this has become all business.  He lays the tag title down on his chair.  Brian gulps and nods back at Steve.

Brian Bare: Ok…so, um—we witnessed a Miracle today when Jatt Starr stood up and seemingly lost a few pounds.

Harrison leans against the wall and sighs loudly.

Steve Harrison: I almost…ALMOST wish I hadn’t visited that guy at the Hospital.  Lets just say I am happy he can walk because he has a lot to prove to The Best Alliance now and if two old friends need to beat the shit out of each other to get through their issues then so be it.  Do not think that LSD Title doesn’t look good to me either though, heh. 

Steve shrugs with a chuckle.

Steve Harrison: Just kidding, Sektor…one love my Cuban Brother.   Is that all because I have a number one contender match to watch?

Brian Bare: What are your thoughts about the upcoming match between Jiles and Fuse?

Steve Harrison: My former Best Bud and G’Odd Couple partner is going to decimate that choke artist.  Can we also make mention that Conor Fuse has a girlfriend…I mean what the hell man, is his mom paying for her services?  Regardless, Brian let’s just say that whoever wins is just holding that spot for when I come to collect.  The BA is going to win either way and we all can agree that being the Heart and Soul means doing what is best for the group.

Harrison walks out of the door to get a better look at the match as the scene fades. 

The action cuts back to ringside.

The lights dim. The arena quiets. A chill moves through the air…”I am the COOL” explodes over the speakers. ~I’m the one your mama warned you about~When you see me, I will leave you no doubt~I’m the coolest man that ever walked this earth~I’ve been the coolest since the day of my birth~I AM THE COOL. Out from behind the curtain, after a second or two of suspense, The Crown Prince of COOL, Cancer Jiles emerges. Shades on, hair on point, he pauses at the top of ramp and basks in the glorious affection of his precious OctaBandits. After having his fill, Jiles confidently makes his way down to the ring and slides on in under the bottom rope.

HOFFMANN: Cancer Jiles and Conor Fuse both have arguments on why they should face Sutler Kael for the HOW Championship. Cancer Jiles being the former champion and Conor Fuse being the last Grappler standing at War Games!

NEWELL: It should be Cancer Jiles, Hoffhole! Cancer Jiles and Steve Harrison defeated Dan Ryan and Conor Fuse for the Tag Team Championships just last week! Conor Fuse is Cancer Jileseses bitch!

BRIAN MCVEY: Currently in the ring, weighing in at 229 pounds, he is a member of thee Best Alliance, CANCER JIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIILES!!!!!

“Bloody Tears (Epic Version)” from Castlevania II begins. A purple mist floods the entrance way as “The Vintage” Conor Fuse emerges from behind the apron 23-seconds into the theme. He stands at the top of the rampway, head down, sporting a dark purple jacket with its high-collar raised. The jacket is open, showing his vintage SNES tights as he slowly raises his head. The fog continues to pump from the stage as Fuse methodically makes his way down the ramp.

The crowd starts a “!rank” chant, pointing in Conor’s direction as he marches towards ringside. Once in front of the squared circle, The Vintage leaps onto the apron and then with ease clears the ropes by jumping over them and somersaulting into the middle of the ring. Fuse tilts his head back and zen cries into the rafters while the fans in attendance continue to cheer him on. Conor removes his trench coat, revealing his trademarked light purple arm sleeve on his left arm. Fuse waits in his corner.

BRIAN MCVEY: And his opponent, weighing at 210 pounds, CONOR FUUUUUUUUUUUUSE!!!!!

HOFFMANN: Both men know what’s on the line here and yes, Benny, Cancer Jiles has defeated Conor twice, both times for the now retired HOW Tag Team Championships.

NEWELL: And Cancer Jiles is a FOREVER Champion now!!!

Joel Hortega sounds for the bell.

“DING!”

Connor Fuse and Cancer Jiles lock up. Fuse places Jiles in a headlock. Jiles breaks out with the help of several forearm shots to Fuse’s back. Fuse charges the ropes, comes off the ropes, Jiles ducks a clothesline. Fuse stops, turns, and Jiles gouges Fuse in the eye, causing Hortega to admonish the former HOW Champ.

HOFFMANN: Cheap tactic by Jiles there right at the jump.

NEWELL: There’s nothing cheap about Cancer Jiles, Hoffhole! His sunglasses alone are more than your shitty salary!

Jiles, after ignoring Hortega’s warning, nails Fuse with a shop across the chest, followed by a second, and then a third. Jiles proceeds to whip Fuse into the ropes. On the return, Jiles knees Fuse in the gut, causing him to flip and land on his ass in a sitting position. Jiles follows up with a springboard dropkick to the side of Fuse’s head. Jiles hooks Fuse’s leg.

HOFFMANN: Jiles, knowing the importance of this match, looking to put Fuse away quick.

NEWELL: YES!!!!

“UNO!”

“DOS!”

KICKOUT by Fuse

NEWELL: Fuck!

HOFFMANN: Clearly, it’s going to take more than that to beat Conor Fuse.

Jiles just shakes his head and gets to his feet, Conor Fuse slowly gets up. Jiles nails Fuse with a right hand, followed by a second. Jiles whips Fuse into the corner and charges behind nailing a clothesline. Fuse begins to stagger forward out of the corner and walks into an inverted atomic drop from Jiles followed by a boot to the gut and a DDT.

HOFFMANN: Jiles continues to dominate here.

NEWELL: No fucking shit! Conor should just let Cancer Jiles shit in his mouth and then thank him for the free meal!

Cancer Jiles covers Conor Fuse, hooking the leg…..

“UNO!”

“DOS!”

“TRE—–”

KICKOUT!!!!

HOFFMANN: A two and half count there! Conor is showing some grit here!

NEWELL: Fuck grit! He’s just prolonging this! DRINK!!!

Jiles looks over at Hortega, very frustrated and begins arguing the count. Getting nowhere, Jiles gets up, goes to pick up Fuse, but Fuse counters into a small package!!! Hortega starts the count!

“UNO!”

NEWELL: NO!!!!!

“TWO!”

KICKOUT BY JILES!!!

HOFFMANN: Jiles spent a little too much time with Hortega and got caught by surprise by the Vintage and it nearly cost him!

NEWELL: Fuck off, Hoffhole!

Both men are up. Conor Fuse connects with a spinning heel kick to Cancer Jiles’s head. Both men are down but not for long. Jiles is first up but he is met with a right hand from Conor, then another, as he is about to hit the third, Jiles stomps on Fuse’s foot. Jiles attempts to follow up with a right hand of his own, but Fuse ducks it, grabs Jiles, and hits a German suplex. Conor hits the ropes and nails a springboard moonsault! Conor Fuse gets up and screams “WEAPON GET!!!!” The crowd erupts!!!

HOFFMANN: Conor Fuse is preparing to give Cancer Jiles Terminal Cancer!

NEWELL: He can’t do that! That’s stealing!!! Disqualify Him!!!!!

Jiles slowly gets up, Conor Fuse proceeds to deliver the TERMINAL CANCER and……

Jiles ducks it and rolls out of the ring!!!! Jiles smirks and points to his head, taunting the crowd. However, Fuse reaches over the top rope and grabs Jiles by the hair and starts pulling him up. Jiles is on the ring apron, Conor blocks Jiles right hand and delivers one of his own. Both men begin exchanging punches with the rope between them. Finally, Jiles grabs Conor’s head and guillotines him on the top rope. Fuse flies backwards and hits the mat.

HOFFMANN: Cancer Jiles is firmly in control of this match. Anytime Conor tries to gain any momentum—-

NEWELL: Jiles shuts dweeby virgin’s shit down!!!

HOFFMANN: Not the words I would use.

NEWELL: Pussy.

Jiles quickly hops on onto the top rope as Conor Fuse gets to his feet, he leaps looking for a crossbody but instead, Fuse nails Jails with a dropkick to the sternum. Both men hit the mat.

HOFFMANN: Jiles going high risk there, knowing it’s going to take a lot to get him that number one contendership for the HOW Championship. But Fuse is battling! He wants it just as much as Jiles!

NEWELL: GET THE FUCK UP!!!! DRINK!!!

Both men begin to stir. Jiles begins pulling himself up using the ropes. Fuse is up on one knee. Jiles is up, Fuse is up, Jiles charges but Fuse delivers a sitdown hip toss. The crowd is getting back into the match. Conor Fuse is up, Jiles is up. Fuse with a knife chop, then another, he grabs Jiles tosses him into the ropes and delivers a spinning slingblade.

NEWELL: What the fuck is this?

HOFFMANN: A momentum shift, Benny.

Conor Fuse immediately follows up with a rolling thunder splash. The Vintage hooks the leg.

NEWELL: No fucking way!!

“UNO!”

DOS!”

“TR—-”

NOOOOOOO!!!! Shoulder up by Jiles. Conor Fuse gets to his feet, grabs Jiles to lift him up, but Jiles punches Fuse in the throat. Fuse staggers backwards, Jiles kicks him in the gut, it looks like he is going for another DDT, but Fuse counters into a Northern Lights. Another pin attempt!!!

UNO!!!!

DO—-

Kickout by Jiles!

NEWELL: Jiles needs to get his shit together!

HOFFMANN: Both Conor Fuse and Cancer Jiles know what’s at stake here. Neither one will relent to the other.

Fuse and Jiles are once again back on their feet. Fuse turns to Jiles and gets nailed by…..

TERMINAL CANCER!!!

NEWELL: YESSSS!!! FUSE IS DONE!!!!

HOFFMANN: That maybe, but he’s no longer in the ring.

The impact sends Fuse over the top rope onto the ring floor. Jiles exits the ring. He tries to pull up Conor Fuse’s dead weight to get him back into the ring. Slowly he manages to get Fuse over his shoulder and rolled into the ring. Cancer Jiles covers…..

“UNO!!!”

NEWELL: Jiles is going….

“DOS!!!”

NEWELL: ….to Bottomline!!!!

“TRES!!!!”

NO!!! Conor Fuse manages to get his leg onto the bottom rope.

NEWELL: That’s a fucking three count, dammit!!!

HOFFMANN: Joel Hortega, doing an amazing job, as usual, caught Conor Fuse’s leg on the rope!

Cancer Jiles slams his hands on the mat. Cancer Jiles starts jawing at Hortega before dragging Conor Fuse’s body into the middle of the ring. Cancer Jiles covers again, hooking the leg.

“UNO!!!”

“DOS!!!”

KICKOUT by Fuse and Jiles cannot believe it.

NEWELL: That was a slow count!!!

HOFFMANN: It was not.

Jiles is infuriated and goes back to yelling at the ref, giving Conor Fuse time to get to his feet. Jiles turns and gets nailed with Tilt-a-Whirl DDT!!!

HOFFMANN: PWN’D!!!!

The Vintage stumbles to the corner, hops to the top rope and delivers a 450 Splash!!! Conor Fuse hooks the leg!

“UNO!!!!”

“DOS!!!!”

“TRES!!!!”

Hortega calls for the bell!

“DING! DING! DING!”

NEWELL: NOOOO!!! This is some fucking bullshit!!!!

HOFFMANN: Conor Fuse is meeting Sutler Kael at Bottomline for the HOW Championship!!!!

BRIAN McVEY: HERE IS YOUR WINNER AND THE NUMBER ONE CONTENDER FOR THE HOW CHAMPIONSHIP……….CONOR FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUSE!!!!

The D.C fans are buzzing as its now official that Conor Fuse will get his long awaited singles match against Sutler Kael and now its for the biggest prize in the game.

The action cuts to a commercial break as we see a pained and dejected Jiles looking over at the victorious Fuse.

Backstage, Blaire Moise can be seen poised and ready holding her finger to her ear piece alongside John Sektor. Sektor is dressed to kill in a black shirt with green leaves, flowers and birds, marking his typical loud choice in shirts. Accessorising his look is his newly captured LSD championship as it is draped over his shoulder.

Blaire Moise: I am here with the NEW LSD champion, John Sektor!

Sektor smiles proudly as some mixed reactions can be heard coming from inside the arena.

Blaire Moise: John, how does it feel to finally capture the LSD championship? You’ve literally done it all now!

Sektor frowns, looking a little confused by the question.

Sektor: I think someones forgetting their history, Blaire. Incase you forgot, which you obviously did, the LSD championship was actually the first singles title I ever held in High Octane Wrestling. It was during a time before we kept records for the championships. However, what I will say is that this time it is different..

Blaire Moise: Different how?

Sektor: Well, the reason why the LSD championship and I have not crossed paths until now is for one simple reason. The Icon championship. See, everyone knows what I represent. I am the ambassador of technical wrestling. The most gifted technician to ever grave the canvas of a wrestling ring and that is what the Icon stood for. The LSD championship was always it’s ugly sister, but not any more..

Sektor glances down at his title before raising his chin proudly.

Sektor: See, this title doesn’t represent me. No. I, represent this title, which means that the LSD championship will now be moulded and rebranded in my image.

Blaire pouts curiously and raises her eyebrows.

Blaire Moise: Care to elaborate?

Sektor: Well, before all the cult fans of LSD wrestling start losing their shit, I want to reassure them that I won’t be completely moving away from the hardcore element of this championship. This championship, however, was always intended to be flexible. At one time it was known as the “Lightweight Superstar Division,” a title for all the little people that sprung around the ring. Then, it became the “Lee Superstar Division,” for those who Lee Best saw as future potential.

Sektor runs his fingers through his moustache.

Sektor: What I am proposing is a merge of styles. The hardcore element that Lee loves, mixed with the technical supremacy that I am all about. So from this day forward, the LSD title will stand for…The Lee and Sektor Division!

The crowd boo’s at Sektor’s obvious attempt to lick Lee’s ass.

Blaire Moise: Well Sektor, it must have felt great to finally get a win over Teddy Palmer?

Sektor frowns a little, seeming to take exception to this, but he quickly smiles a laughs to himself.

Sektor: You know? I walked down to the ring that night knowing that I would beat Teddy for this championship. My mental strength has never been better. Positivity will drive me to become the greatest LSD champion of all time, eclipsing the likes of Silent Witness and Scottywood. Teddy had the benefit of wrestling me at a time when I was in a slump of negativity. But that is gone. What you see before you now is a Sekor at his best and I am going from strength to strength.

Blaire Moise: Well people are already talking about a rematch. Is that something you see happening in the near future?

Sektor shrugs slightly.

Sektor: Who knows? I’m sure Teddy wants an opportunity to take this back. If he does then I’ll be ready. Because as a champion I have to be ready for anyone. I have no problem proving again that I am better than Teddy Palmer. Put anyone in front of me and I will win because I am a fighting champion and I will not let this championship go easily. I am the most dangerous I have ever been. More focussed, more physically fit and more positive than I have ever been in my career. Anyone who thinks my best years are behind me? Well get ready to be amazed. Because the best? Is yet to come!

With that the scene begins to fade as Sektor walks out of shot as we cut elsewhere.

The action cuts to the back. There’s a line of three adjacent, rectangular tables, all topped with so much gourmet food you could barely make out the eGG Bandits themed table cloth beneath it.

Panning left, we see one more table. This one’s round, with a similarly themed cloth, and two chairs opposite of each other. In one of those chairs, sits an anxious Doozer. Not shirtless. Nor jean shorted. Instead, looking rather nostalgic in an old eGG Bandits t-shirt.

Suddenly, the door to the room swings open. Doozer jumps out of his seat and straightens up faster than a soldier at attention. But his expression quickly turns quizzicle.

Doozer: What the? What is this, the y-

Entering the room is not who Doozer expected, but actually…

High Flyer: – the year 2000? Nope. But I knew you were gonna say that. Which, by the way, nice job on the undefeated streak lately. Last time you were this hot, Silverchair released an Anthem…

Harmen, the presumably unexpected guest, doesn’t even look at Doozer as he’s looking past him. He smiles when he sees the spread laid out. Dooze returns it with a not so playful get the fuck out glare.

High Flyer: I figured with all this food and no friends, you could use some mouths to help out, right? Are those carnitas?

Doozer remains unamused, slightly dropping his head as he remembers the current status of those friendships.

Another throat clear.

High Flyer: I can tell I’m about to strike out here. See, baseball metaphor. I remember you liked that game. Always had that hat with the B on it. Never understood why… y’know, ‘cause you’re Doozer.

Doozer’s head lifts back up, then tilts to the side as if to silently ask Jack why the fuck he’s still in the room. Flyer looks away from the food for the first time and looks at Doozer for the first time.

High Flyer: I’m just here to carbo load before my match with Solex. Gotta fuel the tank, and I saw a bunch of food monkeys walking this way,,, So I’m just gonna…

Harmen slinks over behind the tables, casually grabbing some delicious foods with one hand, and a chair that seemingly appeared out of nowhere with the other, and perches himself atop it in the corner of the room. Flyer wastes no time, scarfing down. Through garbled bites while double fisting sandwiches…

High Flyer: *mumbled* When I’m HOTv, I’ll buy you ONE sammich, kay?

Doozer shakes his head, still speechless, and slowly turns back toward his round table.

A small smirk grows out the side of his mouth as he sees his expected guest, Zeb Martin, step through the open door.

Doozer: Thank god. Started getting scared I was stuck dining with-

The elder, former Bandit nods back to Jack. Jack clinks his sandwiches together like one would smash two beers.

Zeb’s brows furrow.

Zeb Martin: What’s goin’ on with him?

Doozer: No idea. But doesn’t matter, I guess. Sit down, man. We got plenty to talk about.

The Watson Mill kid skeptically scans the scene, then slowly takes a seat at the round table. He takes notice of the tablecloth, and smiles for a hot second before his face turns serious.

Zeb Martin: Don’t say yer tryna-

The Boston Brawler quickly shakes his head to fend off the question.

Doozer: Nope. Just remembered back when Jiles ordered this dumb shit. Don’t think we ever put it to use, so figured why not.

Martin nods.

Zeb Martin: A’ight then. What’ja wanna talk on, Dee?

The old man balks.

Doozer: Don’t want to grab any grub, first?

Zeb awkwardly waves his hand, and quickly checks over his shoulder looking toward the door, then returns his focus back on his former mentor.

Zeb Martin: Nah, reckon I got hungry not too long ‘go. Hadta eat some fish sticks real quick.

What could only be a delivery guy enters the room, dropping a bag on the table between Doozer and Zeb.

A single eyebrow raises on the old man’s face as Martin casusaly removes a box from the bag.

Doozer: The fuck is tha-

Zeb raises a hand.

Zeb Martin: Y’had yer turn.

Doozer: I don’t thi-

Zeb Martin: Sure did. Done wrecked everythang, too.

Z opens up the box.

Shrimp.

Doozer’s eyes roll.

Doozer: Let me guess, golden co-

Zeb Martin: Dang right.

The old bull facepalms.

Doozer: Thought I said-

Zeb Martin: You did. But I thought…

Doing his best to mask the sheepishness with manifested confidence, Zeb continues.

Zeb Martin: Well I thought, maybe this time you should listen.

Both eyebrows on Dooze’s face lift up.

Zeb Martin: But befo all that…

The kid nods toward the shrimp.

Zeb Martin: Eat one.

Doozer’s raised brows lower, and scrunch.

Doozer: No!

Martin begins to stand up.

Zeb Martin: Reckon that means we done here.

Doozer raises his hands up.

Doozer: Hey now, just sit back dow-

Zeb Martin: Eat. One.

Doozer’s lips pierce and his nostrils flare. In this moment of tension, Flyer takes one loud final gulp, sits up from his chair, and walks toward the two.

High Flyer: Welp, you two are weird. I like it, but I gotta go kill two people at once.

Flyer reaches down and a shrimp, plops it into his mouth, and wanders off frame.

High Flyer: (off screen) Say goodbye to Steve Solex! …er.. or … whoever.

As Flyer’s voice trails off, the elder Bandit, not taking his sights off Martin, grabs a shimp from the box and begins to raise it toward his mouth. Before he commits…

Doozer: I realized something back in that hospital. You know, watching daytime television gives you plenty of time to think. Anyway, I’m not sure when it happened exactly. But I realized, over all these years, I lost something.

He takes in a deep breath, now staring down the shrimp right in front of his face.

Doozer: But I know someone who has it.

With one last headshake of regret, Doozy opens his mouth and takes down the shrimp in a quick bite. He forces it down with a gulp, as Zeb returns to his seat.

Doozer: So let’s talk…

Before we can hear anything else we cut to our final commercial break of the evening.

Refueled returns to the announcers table as we get a glance of Joe Hoffman shuffling around his papers in anticipation for tonight’s main event. Benny, for his part, rolls his eyes at Joe’s professionalism and takes a glug from his under table stash.

Joe Hoffman: Well folks, we’ve reached tonight’s main event…

Benny Newell: Somewhere Cancer Jiles just had an aneurysm…if hes gotten over that fucking defeat that is. 

Joe powers through, barely giving space for the audience to process Benny’s words.

Joe Hoffman: Two weeks ago on a special one match show, Steve Solex brought yet more gold into the fold of the Best Alliance managing to sneak by Zeb Martin and Darin Zion, becoming the first HOTV Champion of this era. Lee Best told us to expect to see this belt regularly defended on Refueled and that’s exactly what we’re getting here tonight!

Benny Newell: PRAISE LEE! Generous and benevolent be he.

Joe Hoffman: Holy big words Benny!? Anyway…..on the other side of the ring will be a man who many overlook at their own cost, High Flyer. Certainly a legendary figure in this industry…

Benny Newell: Legendary LOSER. Eurgh. DRINK!

As we hear a chug through Benny’s headset, we cut towards the entrance way which is rapidly filling up with smoke.

“All Aboard! AH HA HA HA HA HA HA HA…”

Parting the smoke is High Flyer, who stands confidently at the top of the entrance ramp, slowly dragging an office chair in tow. He tosses one hand up in a devil horn taunt, and smiles slyly to the camera.

Joe Hoffman: Does that chair look like one from Lee’s office?

Benny Newell: This man is a thief and Steve Solex is legally allowed to execute him in the ring!

Flyer continues to stomp down to the ring, dragging the chair behind him, a dazed smile on his face. He pays little attention to the crowd as he reaches the ring, leaving his new chair-y friend next to the steel ring steps that he begins to stomp up.

Joe Hoffman: I know Flyer promised to use that chair on someone here tonight but that’ll only cost him his title dreams.

Benny Newell: The man has alzheimers, do you think he even knows he’s in a wrestling match? Some nurse from the “Home for Delusional Hasbeens” probably shoved him out here and he’s staggering around looking for a pudding cup.

Bryan McVay: The following contest is scheduled for one fall and is for the AITCH OH TEE VEE CHAMPIONSHIP! Making his way to the ring at this time, the challenger, hailing from Bethlehem, Pennsylvania, weighing two-hundred-twenty pounds… HIIIIIIGH FLYYYYYERRR!

Flyer rolls himself into the ring through the bottom rope and begins making snow angels with no visible signs of any snow on the canvas. He giggles to himself as “Crazy Train” fades away, replaced by “This Means War” by Avenged Sevenfold. The crowd that had given Flyer a reasonably warm response does not greet Steve Solex in a similar manner.

Benny Newell: These Washington miscreants should be shining the boots of this man, he’s the FIRST HOTV Champion of the era. That practically makes him a God!

Joe Hoffman: Has Steve Solex seemed different to you in the past few weeks, Benny? He just doesn’t seem like himself… something about the eyes.

Benny Newell: He was in one of those wars they have these days, they all get dead eyes eventually, hic hic.

Bryan McVay: And his opponent, the reigning and defending HOTV Champion… representing The Best Alliance, he hails from Huntington Beach, California and weighs in tonight at two hundred and fifty pounds… STEVEEEEEE SOLEX.

The HOTv champion does not appear at first. Instead the crowd snaps to attention as we see a full military color guard come out from the back. The soldiers line up on both sides of the ramp and the front two soldiers raise their flags while the rest raise their rifles and “make a hole” for the champion.

Solex then slowly walks out with the Championship around his waist. He walks down the entrance ramp between the soldiers and about halfway down he pauses. He looks to his right and he walks up to a solder. He motions to the soldier that his belt is askew. Solex reaches back and punches the man in the stomach and he doubles over as Solex screams at him to fix his gig line.

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

Benny Newell: S’sat a man right there. FULL 97 COLOR GUARD FOR THE CHAMPION!!!!

More glugs, more hiccups.

Joe Hoffman: What an amazing entrance by the champion but the glint in High Flyer’s eyes shows that he’s here to compete, I just have no idea what he thinks he’s going to achieve with that giant office chair.

Matt Boettcher does his final checks on both of the competitors, taking the HOTV Championship from Solex and raising it high above his head. Flyer looks up to the belt for a fleeting moment, quickly locking his attention towards Solex as a buzz begins to flow through the DC crowd, an air of excitement you see when a title is on the line. Boettcher hands the HOTV title off to Bryan McVay and signals for the bell.

Ding ding ding

Joe Hoffman: And the first ever HOTV Championship defense of the Refueled Era is underway as Steve Solex looks to retain over the wily veteran, High Flyer.

Benny Newell: S’lucha marshk.

As Benny continues to drown his sorrows over the Washington crowd, High Flyer leaps immediately into action, putting his body on the line and launching his entire self at Steve Solex. Solex stumbles down to the mat and High Flyer takes a mount position, his fists flying in all directions. Solex tries to block but the barrage is too rapid for him to try and gain control of the situation. The HOTV Champion takes a deep breath as Flyer lands a blow right to the jaw. Solex sees red from this shot and uses his weight and power advantage to shove Flyer off. Flyer bounces into the ropes as Solex rolls into the corner to take a breather. Boettcher tries to get Flyer to back off with a clean break but Flyer shoves him aside, rushing towards Solex and drilling him with a shotgun dropkick and causing Solex’s skull to bounce off the bottom turnbuckle.

Joe Hoffman: High Flyer said he was coming here to fight, he said was shaking off his past failures linked to The Industry and the 2019 Best Alliance and you have to admit Benny, Steve Solex was not coming into this match expecting the speed or fury of Flyer.

Benny Newell: S’got green hair.

Flyer doesn’t waste time admiring the damage he has done, pulling Solex out from the corner, rolling over him and hooking the leg in the process. Flyer throws all of his weight atop Solex and Boettcher goes in from the count.

ONE!

TWO!

Solex with his wider reach manages to use his free hand to grab the bottom rope. Boettcher waves off the pin, much to the chagrin of Flyer.

Joe Hoffman: Great ring awareness from the veteran Solex, he knew he could reach that rope.

Benny Newell: Childsh play!

Flyer looks over to Boettcher in frustration as Solex uses the ropes to pull himself back up. As Flyer’s frustration with the count distracts him, Solex runs and drills his shoulder right into Flyer’s spine. Flyer clutches his back and turns around to face Solex, wincing in pain as Solex rubs the back of his skull. The two men lock eyes and Solex is first to make a move, smashing an elbow into Flyer’s temple. Flyer responds in kind. The two men battle back and forth with elbow blows and the crowd oos and ahs at the hard hitting exchange. Neither man appears to be backing down in the brawl until Solex ducks one of Flyer’s elbows. Flyer spins around and Solex drills a knee straight into his gut. Solex is quick to take advantage of the opening, nailing a double axe handle across Flyer’s back, sending Flyer to one knee. Solex looks towards the corner of the ring but this momentary distraction allows Flyer to drop down and roll out of the ring.

Joe Hoffman: I think the power of that knee winded Flyer, he certainly looks worse for wear out there.

Benny Newell: Coward. Lil bitch. Hic hic

As Joe Hoffman audibly shuffles his papers around once more in an attempt to distract himself from the sight of Benny Newell that he is all too familiar with, Steve Solex attempts to follow Flyer out of the ring. Flyer backs away towards the ringside barrier, throwing his hands up to imply he’s backing away. Matt Boettcher blocks Solex’s attempt to follow Flyer out of the ring, instead opting to start a count out. Solex looks irritated by the referee’s call but allows him to do his job.

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

FOUR!

Flyer rolls back into the ring and Solex quickly rushes towards him. He’s not quick enough as Flyer rolls right back out from the same direction he came. Flyer breaks the count and rests against the barrier once more, a sly smile on his face. He gives a tiny wave towards Solex which does nothing but further infuriate the HOTV Champion.

Joe Hoffman: High Flyer is creating some breathing room to recover after the stiff knee to the gut but I don’t know if firing up the HOTV Champion into a rage is going to do him any favours in the long run.

Solex once again tries to get his hands on High Flyer by jumping out of the ring and this time he pushes Boettcher aside as he Boettcher steps in to block his way once more. Flyer sees Solex coming and runs around the ring, he looks at the office chair that he had dragged out, stolen from Lee Best’s office earlier in the week and plunks himself down on it. He crosses his legs and leans back in the chair, giving a big smile and a cheeky wave towards Solex. As Solex storms towards Flyer in the chair, Flyer leaps from onto the back of the chair and hops back on the ring apron. Boettcher yells for both men to get back into the ring as Solex rounds the corner and moves in on Flyer. Flyer takes measure, jumps from the apron to the back of the chair and onwards to Solex. What Flyer was not expecting was for Solex to grab him and drill him into the ring mat with a powerful spinebuster on the way down. The HOTV Champion seems rather happy with his dirty work as Flyer writhes around in pain, Solex returns to the ring and instructed Boettcher to start the count again.

Benny Newell: Play games, stupid! Prizes!!!

Joe Hoffman: High Flyer started this match aggressively but he got a little bit too playful up against the HOTV Champion and now appears to be paying a great price for it.

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

FOUR!

Flyer starts to rouse, pulling himself up. Solex doesn’t seem very bothered by this development, challenging him to get into the ring.

FIVE!

SIX!

Flyer is back up to an even base and Matt Boettcher moves Solex back away from the ropes.

SEVEN!

EIGHT!

Flyer rolls back under the ring, breaking the count.

Joe Hoffman: That could have been all right there but veterans like High Flyer are built tough.

Benny: Z’ey shitty like a tough shteak too.

Solex makes a move, trying to stomp into the already tender spine of High Flyer but Flyer manages to spin around and grab Solex’s foot. Solex begins to hop around on shaky ground as Flyer spins him a full three hundred and sixty degrees. Able to take advantage of the dazed Solex, Flyer shoves him and sends him back first into the corner of the ring. Flyer looks back to ringside and the chair that seems to have consumed his thoughts, hopping back out of the ring and Solex looks pained, leaning against the turnbuckles. High Flyer hoists the office chair onto the ring apron and Matt Boettcher once again steps into the bout. He warns Flyer he’ll be disqualified and Flyer gives a sad, apologetic look that doesn’t quite portray sincerity. Flyer rolls back into the ring and drills a few elbows to the side of Solex’s temple, with Solex still primed in the corner. A frustrated Boettcher moves towards the illicit office chair, trying to move it out of the way.

Joe Hoffman: I know the idea of a man like High Flyer is to keep a promise but does it make sense to use an illegal weapon, costing yourself the match and the HOTV Championship to prove a petty point? Matt Boettcher did the right thing stepping in and keeping this match clean!

Benny Newell: Shtoopid idit.

A creepy smile starts to eek from the corner of Flyer’s mouth, he seems that Steve Solex is primed and ready. Taking his place at the opposite corner, Flyer bounces up and down, rushing towards Solex…

Joe Hoffman: LOCOMOTIO…. OOOOH NO!

Benny Newell: Hahahaha, yesh! Besht Alliance, bitches!

We quickly see what the commentary team is alluding to: As Flyer leaps up to drill Solex with a Yakuza Kick, Solex blocks the move by punching High Flyer square in the balls. Flyer shrieks in pain while Matt Boettcher is still occupied shoving the large office chair off the ring apron.

Benny Newell: More shtoopid game!

Solex, tired of the ongoing match shenanigans grabs the leg of High Flyer, hoists him up high and drops him down with a picture perfect SolexPlex. Solex keeps the leg locked and leans up into the tight bridge. Boettcher, successful at shoving a chair off an apron turns around to see the pin.

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

Ding ding ding

Joe Hoffman: Controversial methods at the end but it has done the job. Steve Solex has retained the HOTv Championship!

Benny Newell: It was fair play! Did you see what that green haired idiot was doing the entire match? Steve Solex was in that ring to prove why you don’t play around with the Best Alliance and he accomplished that mission here tonight!

Joe Newell: You seem better.

Benny Newell: I took a sip of water.

The HOTV Champion rolls back up to his feed as Bryan McVay hands off his title to Matt Boettcher. Boettcher raises Solex’s hand and presents him with the title belt as a frustrated High Flyer looks up to the ceiling of the Capital One Arena, his hands balled tightly in anger.

Bryan McVay: Here is your winner at a time of fifteen minutes and twenty six seconds… and STILL the HOTV Champion… STEVEEE SOLEX!

The crowd pelts Solex with more boos as he basks in his victory.

Benny Newell: The Best Alliance keeps all the gold! It’s beautiful and I love it!

Joe Hoffman: It does seem like Lee Best’s current crop of talent have the company locked down at the moment, you have to wonder if there’s anyone who can break up this current monopoly.

We start to fade away as the crowd continues to jeer a rather dead eyed Steve Solex, who keeps holding the title up high, rubbing in his victory to the less than satisfied audience as fireworks go off across the whole arena. 

Solex is grinning from ear to ear as he snaps the championship around his waist and slowly raises his arm.

Red, white and blue fireworks go off throughout the arena as a giant United States of America flag drops down the ceiling of the arena and covers the whole upper two thirds of the section of the arena across from the hard camera.

Solex’s arm remains steadily in place until suddenly a bald eagle lands on his arm.

Blood pours from the talons piercing Solex’s arm but the man does not flinch.

He is your High Octane Television Champion.

This is America.

Fade to black…