Refueled XLI
  • Event Type: weekly

Refueled XLI

Event Date: October 3, 2020 at 11:00 pm

#NR Jatt Starr vs. #NR Kevin Capone

The HOTv logo gives way to a live shot inside The Best Arena and we are greeted by a sold out crowd waiting for tonight’s Refueled broadcast.

The camera pans across the arena before settling in on the Hall of Fame announce crew of Joe Hoffman and Benny Newell:

Joe Hoffman: Welcome everyone to Refueled!! Tonight we got a great lineup as we have literally only one more show after tonight before we head to Alcatraz for the Rumble at the Rock PPV.

Benny Newell: Tonight is all about the in ring debuts of The Best Alliance. Clean sweep or we riot.

Joe Hoffman: Who will riot?

Benny Newell: Really? Already? Come on. We got an original High Octane Wrestling Hall of Famer returning to singles action in our FIRST MATCH of the evening….and you are calling bullshit on me already?

Joe Hoffman: Yes….yes I am.

Benny stares a hole thru Joe while flipping the man off while taking a drink of his customary glass of Jack Daniels.

Joe Hoffman: Well anyway folks……Here we go. Jatt Starr back at it against our newest signing, Kevin Capone!

Benny Newell: And Jatt is going to put this new guy straight into retirement!

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

Joe Hoffman: Capone looks as ready as I’ve ever seen someone for their first HOW match.

“I WANT IT ALL!”
“I WANT IT ALL!”
“I WANT IT ALL!”

“AND I WANT IT NOW!”

Benny Newell: Ohhh I have waited for this!

Pyrotechnics explode at the top of the ramp as “I Want It All” by Queen blares across the arena. Emerging from the curtain being followed by his bodyguard/employee The Switch is Jatt Starr. The Ruler of Jattlantis smugly walks down the ramp carrying a walking cane with a weighted spherical head that reads “Mr. Whacky”. Jatt Starr hands The Switch his cane, “Mister Whacky”, walks up the ring steps and enters the ring.

Joe Hoffman: Jatt in singles action for the first time in-

The combatants pause, as Conor Fuse’s “Mega Man Select” theme song interrupts the ringing of the bell.

Benny Newell: That punk has a lot of guts coming out here right now for Jatt’s return match!

Joe Hoffman: Conor has every reason to be here, since the young gamer had Dan Ryan dead-to-rights for the ICON Championship! If it wasn’t for Jatt Starr, HE’D have the gold!

Benny Newell: Could’ve, would’ve, should’ve. Story of my life, Joe.

Fuse strolls out to the ramp, steel chair in hand, wearing lime green Adidas track pants and carrying a same colored green bag.

Benny Newell: No Game Boy?

Joe Hoffman: Doesn’t look like it.

The camera switches to Jatt inside the ring, almost taken aback. Jatt points to The Switch, telling his employee to watch Conor. However, “The Vintage” doesn’t go any further. Instead, he simply unfolds the chair and takes a seat on the rampway.

Benny Newell: Uhhh, okay moron. Whatever.

Jatt goes back to focussing on the match and referee Matt Boettcher. Matt rings the bell.

Joe Hoffman: We are off… Jatt, giving up some size to the newcomer but will challenge him into a grapple regardless. Kevin Capone gets the upper hand and works Jatt’s arm behind him… Jatt tries to break free but Capone is staying one step ahead- literally, as he’s moving to the side each time Jatt attempts to pull away, in order to keep the leverage and positioning on the original Hall of Famer.

Starr seems frustrated, or perhaps taken off his game by the sight of Conor Fuse. It takes Starr a good minute to break the hold by pulling himself forward and bouncing into the ropes. Capone looks for a clothesline but Jatt ducks it and goes off the next set of ropes. This time, however, Jatt is hit with a sitdown hip toss!

Benny Newell: Jatt just needs to get some singles rust out.

Joe Hoffman: I… actually agree with you. Starr to his feet, Capone goes for another clothesline but Jatt ducks and he’s off the ropes again… oh a flying forearm by Kevin Capone and it knocks Jatt to the canvas! The Hall of Famer takes a deep breath and rolls out of the ring to collect his thoughts.

Capone tries for a baseball slide but Jatt sees it just in the nick of time. Kevin misses… leaving Jatt to come at the newbie with his own clothesline and knock Capone down. Starr receives a chorus of boos, lifts Capone to his feet and runs him back-first into the ring post and then tosses him into the ring. Pleased with himself, Jatt gets on the apron and his eyes meet Conor with a look along the lines of “that’s how you do it, kid”.

Joe Hoffman: Jatt is still on the apron and Capone comes over and throws him over the top rope and into the ring. Capone puts the boots to Starr and hurls him into a corner… incoming! No! Starr ducks and Capone eats the top buckle. Now Jatt with a Man-Jattan drop, followed by a Russian leg sweep and an elbow to the chest.

Jatt pulls himself up, trying to ignore eye-contact with Conor Fuse this time and shoots off the ropes. He crashes down on Capone with an elbow drop again and then using the ropes to pull himself up, the Hall of Famer also uses them as leverage to choke Capone with his boot to the neck.

Joe Hoffman: Jatt’s not letting up… he’s really letting Capone have it.

Benny Newell: Welcome to HOW!

Joe Hoffman: Jatt is slowly pulling Capone off the mat for everyone to see… inside cradle by Capone!

ONE!

TWO!

KICKOUT!

Joe Hoffman: Capone almost stunned the world right there!

The newcomer wastes little time. While Kevin may have thought it was a three, he’s not going to argue with the referee. Instead, he Irish whips Jatt into a turnbuckle and comes racing in with a stinger splash! The bigger opponent rocks the elder former champion as Jatt wobbles around the ring before Capone builds up a head full of steam and finally lands that clothesline to Jatt! It nearly takes Starr’s head off, turning him inside-out in the process and back to the canvas.

Joe Hoffman: Nice showing here by Capone. He was able to absorb a beating and keep coming at the wiley vet.

Benny Newell: [dismissive] It’s early.

Capone drops the leg across Jatt’s neck and then looks for an arm bar… Jatt screams out as Capone sinks the hold in but not before Starr works his way to the ropes! Referee Matt Boettcher tells Capone to break the submission and he reluctantly does so.

Benny Newell: See? Solid work by Jatt. The second Kevin Capone went for that arm he was already moving to the ropes.

Joe Hoffman: But Capone is non-stop here, Benny. He takes hold of Starr’s legs and throws them into the air, causing Jatt’s entire body to fly off the mat and crash back down in a heap! Now Capone is looking for another submission… but once AGAIN Jatt dives into the ropes!

Benny Newell: Picking things up like it was yesterday…

Joe Hoffman: Capone is trying for a belly to back suplex but Jatt won’t let go of the ropes… he’s trying and trying and- OH. Low blow by Jatt!

The fans boo as Capone stumbles to the middle of the ring. Jatt smiles, knowing the referee didn’t see a thing because of his positioning. Starr walks over to Capone and dropkicks him in the head! Starr bounces off the ropes and is looking for another-

Joe Hoffman: Capone SHOOTS to his feet and rocks Jatt Starr with a SNAP powerslam!

ONE.

TWO.

SHOULDER UP.

Joe Hoffman: Capone seemed DOA and then grabbed a second wind!

Capone continues the assault. He hammers elbow after elbow into Starr’s chest, overwhelming the HOW icon. Jatt is trying to get to the ropes, or trying to reach for the referee but this time Kevin Capone is a house on fire. Finally, Capone puts Starr on his shoulders and lands a running powerslam!

Joe Hoffman: Into a crossface chicken! He’s got Jatt Starr dead to rights in the middle of the ring!

Benny Newell: Say it ain’t so, Jatt! Hang in there…

The camera cuts to Conor Fuse, who is still sitting there, emotionlessly. Meanwhile, back in the ring Jatt is screaming out and trying to move himself forward. The crowd is stirring… seeing this newcomer take Jatt to his limit…

Joe Hoffman: Jatt has moved a bit but he still has a long way to go!

Benny Newell: C’mon… dig down deep!

Joe Hoffman: Jatt is getting closer… but his face has gone red!

The Hall of Famer’s hand rises in the air… the crowd is rumbling their feet on the floor, wondering if they are going to see the “HOW Classic” give up.

Then, with one final gasp…

Joe Hoffman: JATT STARR MAKES IT TO THE ROPES!

Benny Newell: I knew it!

Capone breaks the hold, only to drag Jatt to the middle of the ring… but takes a thumb to the eyes from Starr!

Joe Hoffman: I don’t think Matt Boettcher saw this, either. It was so quick, so crafty by the vet…

Jatt is struggling to his feet. He knows he’s bought himself a small amount of time because he got that thumb in there real good. But he also knows he made Kevin Capone angry.

Starr pulls on the second rope. He’s up to one foot.

He pulls on the top rope… and now he’s on two feet.

Joe Hoffman: In comes Capone… but Jatt drops the ropes on him and out he goes!

Jatt bumbles to the center of the ring, trying to catch his breath. He looks over at Conor Fuse and for the first time in this contest, “The Vintage” breaks his stone face. Conor reaches into his bag and pulls out…

An XBox controller. Lime green, obviously.

Conor’s eyes light up alongside a mischievous smile. He starts “using” the controller.

Benny Newell: What the hell is Conor doing?

Joe Hoffman: I think… I think he’s “playing” as Jatt Starr???

Indeed, Conor is pressing buttons on the controller like he’s playing as… someone. Either Jatt Starr or Kevin Capone, it’s anyone’s guess as to who.

Joe Hoffman: And during this distraction Kevin Capone is back in the ring… Jatt charges at him with a flying crossbody but Kevin Capone catches Jatt and turns it into a fall away slam!!

The fans are on their feet, realizing the upset might be a reality. Kevin Capone marches over to Jatt and throws him onto his shoulders…

Joe Hoffman: Looking for The Scenic Route. I’m told this is an F5 which sets up Kevin’s finisher… NO! Jatt is holding onto the ropes.

Benny Newell: Those ropes are becoming his best friend in this match!

Joe Hoffman: It’s smart. It’s knowing your surroundings. Like him or not, Jatt knows how to survive.

Realizing Starr has hold of the ropes, Capone just sticks his leg out and drops the HoF onto his knee, stomach-first. Jatt screams out as Capone drags the newly dubbed “HOW Classic” to a vertical base…

Capone wants to behead his opponent with a windup and a clothesline from hell…

Joe Hoffman: JATT DUCKS. Starr follows it up with an elbow to the side of Capone’s head and then a German suplex!

Benny Newell: Nicely played!

Joe Hoffman: Starr rushes in with a dropkick to the right shoulder of Capone!

Meanwhile, it’s become clear by now that Conor is “playing” as Jatt Starr. His tongue is out and he’s trying really hard.

Joe Hoffman: Jatt is looking for that killswitch… The FALLING STAR…

Kevin Capone pushes off and moves Jatt into the ropes…

Joe Hoffman: Spine buster by Capone! He has Jatt down again-

Roll up by Jatt.

ONE.

TWO.

KICKOUT!

Benny Newell: How is this not over yet!?

Both wrestlers gain a vertical base. Jatt hammers a fist into the side of Kevin’s head… but Capone gives it right back to Jatt with the same forearm blast! Back and forth they go… neither man giving an inch.

Joe Hoffman: Kevin Capone has come to play, let me tell you!

Benny Newell: So has Jatt!!

Joe Hoffman: Looks like Capone is getting the advantage now… not someone you really want to get into a fist-fight with. Capone has Jatt reeling… and I guess Conor on his last button-mash combo!

The crowd rumbles again as Kevin Capone—

Jatt grabs the referee and throws him in front of Capone. This leaves Kevin confused for just the right amount of time for Jatt to hit him with a second low blow and then work him into the killswitch.

THUMP.

Joe Hoffman: DAMMIT. Jatt Starr hit The Falling Star on Capone!

ONE.

TWO.

THREE.

Referee Matt Boettcher signals for the bell and Bryan McVay makes it official over the arena PA system…

Bryan McVay: Winner of the match…JAATTTTTTT STARRRRRRR!!!

Joe Hoffman: If it wasn’t for that desperation move, Kevin Capone had him, no doubt about it! Instead, JATT STARR gets his first singles win in YEARS!!

Benny Newell: Should’ve, would’ve, could’ve. Jatt, baby! HE’S BACK!!

Starr’s theme song plays but immediately it comes to a close as Conor Fuse puts down his controller, drops his smile and marches down the ramp.

Joe Hoffman: The crowd is ready for this… Conor is about to get his revenge!

Jatt is on one knee, eyes growing in fear as Fuse is making his way down to the ring.

Joe Hoffman: Fuse would’ve been the ICON Champion if it wasn’t for Jatt!

Benny Newell: Didn’t you hear what I just said? Should’ve, would’ve, could’ve… same shit applies here.

Fuse slides into the ring. The crowd readies for “The Vintage” to get his hands on Jatt when-

Joe Hoffman: The Switch!! Jatt’s own recently appointed henchman and complete blatant rip-off of Conor’s!

Benny Newell: You had to know The Switch wasn’t going to stay silent on the outside! What an oversight by Conor!

The Switch crushes Fuse in the back with a forearm as he throws the star in lime green track pants at the feet of Jatt. And although Jatt is recovering… he’s still got enough for one more…

Joe Hoffman: FALLING STAR!

Benny Newell: Clean. Fucking. Sweep.

The crowd boos as “The HOW Classic” rolls out of the ring, wanting to get away from the scene as quickly as possible… leaving Conor Fuse laid out on the canvas and a recovering Kevin Capone in the corner as we cut away.

Angry Old Man

We cut backstage where Brian Bare is looking as dapper as ever tonight in his TJ Maxx sportcoat, the defining characteristic of such being the oversized HOW logo patch sewn over the breast. As usual, he’s got a microphone and something to say!

Brian Bare: Ladies and gentlemen…

The shot widens out, beside him is Eric Dane standing with his back turned to the camera.

Brian Bare: I’m standing here this evening with-

HOW’s Head Inquisitor is cut short.

“Walk away, Brian.”

Turning his head slowly Eric glowers down at Brian. The look on the half of The Only Star’s face that is visible tells the story of a man not in the mood to be dealing with anybody’s shit.

Brian Bare: That is to say-

The Adversary interrupts again.

Eric Dane: Walk. The fuck. Away. Brian.

Bare darts his eyes back and forth between Dane and the camera. Finally he makes the command decision to leave Eric to his own devices rather than put himself in any sort of harm’s way. Dane, clad in his ring gear and accessorized with a studded leather jacket and a pair of Maybach sunshades that cost more than Cancer Jiles’ house slowly turns to face the camera fully. After an awkward moment of leering through the lens, he snatches the shades off and stunning cerulean eyes gleam in the lights.

Eric Dane: Fine.

Eric’s expression remains as it always does, obstinate.

Eric Dane: Everything is fine.

He snorts, unceremoniously.

Eric Dane: Everybody knows that Blind Dog Lee has been compensating for something for a good long while now. He’s the walking, talking, non-seeing definition of Little Dick Energy. But hey, that’s cool, everybody’s got a gimmick, am I right?

Nod.

Eric Dane: Yeah. I’m right. Mine is Angry Old Man. Anyway. The way I see it, Lee’s still pissed off that not only did Lindsay Troy not fuck him, but she did fuck Mike, and then I didn’t murder her or whatever the fuck he thought I was gonna do for him. And that’s fine too, he’s always mad at about two-thirds of the population of the universe for some made up shit or another, why not focus on me for a while? Did I mention he’s still pissed off that I had a nervous breakdown right around this time last year and fucked up his little plans for his little “Best” Alliance. He did.

Dane turns to another camera, off to his left. It pans into a closeup of The Only Star’s bearded face. The cross carved into his head weeks ago by The Minister isn’t healed up enough to not be noticable.

Eric Dane: Sorry about that, Superchief, but ya did.

Rest assured that The Only Star is not sorry, not one little bit. The camera blasts back to the original shot before anymore walls can be approached.

Eric Dane: So now there’s a new Best Alliance. Or, an old Best Alliance. Or… A new… old… What-the-fuck-ever. It’s a retread of the renovation of a revamp of a tired old fuckin’ trope that turned into a meme before anybody outside of Reddit even knew what the fuck a meme was. Lee Best pays a bunch of schmucks to do whatever weird shit Lee Best wants said schmucks to do. I would know, I was Head Schmuck for a while. What I found out the hard way, though, is that if you’re not in it to lick his bootheels and stir his drink, it ain’t gonna fuckin’ last too much longer than it takes that blind fuck to pull his dick out and jerk it to a bunch of video tape of the good ol’ days.

The Antagonist pantomimes a masturbatory gesture.

Eric Dane: Two-thousand and two was a long fuckin’ time ago. Last year was a long fuckin’ time ago. Historically speaking, the past is nothing if not a never ending list of shit that could have been avoided and a pack of lies about shit that didn’t happen told by people who weren’t there. While all of that is true, the one cliche that always manages to find an opportunity to poke it’s beady little head into the proceedings is that those who fail to remember the past are doomed to repeat it.

A beat passes, Dane smirks.

Eric Dane: Which brings me to John Sektor.

The smile widens into a full Cheshire grin.

Eric Dane: You remember the past, don’t ya Sek?

He nods.

Eric Dane: I do. The last time I dealt with you was the beginning of the last good run I had in this business. You remember, John. And believe me, I don’t give a French fried fuck about cliche, we’re gonna be repeating that little piece of business come Alcatraz whether you remember it or not. Your weird Uncle Lee wants you to make an example out of me, Sek, and maybe you will. Hell, you were tough as microwaved meat back then and I don’t expect you’ve lost too many steps…

Eyes narrow, thin lips curl around bared teeth.

Eric Dane: But if you think this is gonna be any ol’ walk through the prison yard then you’re in for the kind of rude awakening that us junkie types like to call a Moment of Clarity. All of a sudden you’ll wake up and remember that while you and your friends might just be the apocalypse, Eric Dane is harder to kill than a fuckin’ cockroach on amphetimines!

A chuckle escapes from behind those pearly whites.

Eric Dane: An’ on the odd chance you don’t remember, see if you can’t scrape Jack Harmen’s corpse off the mat when I’m finished with him and ask Zombie High Flyer what happens when you come up against the HOW’s Last Outlaw, the Only fuckin’ Star…

Nod.

Eric Dane: The motherfuckin’ STRAW that stirs the-

He stops mid-sentence and cocks his head inquisitively.

Eric Dane: Who the fuck are you supposed to be, John Sektor Junior?

Steve Solex strides into the scene. He looks Dane up and down, sizing him up in a way that tells you he’s seen more than his share of fucked up situations.

Eric Dane: Look at’cha! All mustache and muscles, I’ll bet you get confused counting to three don’t ya big boy?

In the most thoroughly unimpressed way possible, Steve Solex shoulders past Dane without so much as a single modicum of respect. Dane, having just been bodily displaced from where he was standing, shoots hatedaggers with his eyes at the back of Solex’s head as he walks on down the hallway, presumably on his way to Section 214. Once Solex is out of earshot Dane begins muttering to himself.

Eric Dane: That’s right, walk away you ugly prick…

Hatedaggers.

Cut back to ringside.

Section DD214

The scene transitions to the main arena as “This Means War” by Avenged Sevenfold begins to play. The camerawork is sporadic around the arena but finally lands at good ol’ Section 214. Or as Steve Solex has renamed it…Section DD214. Steve Solex is shown sitting in the famed 97Red seat in the section, and as the spotlight shines on him the crowd begins to boo wildly.

Joe Hoffman: The crowd booing the blatant disrespect that Steve Solex continues to show Joe Berman week in and week out!

Benny Newell: Fuck ‘em, Joe. Steve Solex is the shit. He’s a war hero, Joe!

Steve Solex sits back with his feet propped up on the chair in front of him. He holds a microphone up to his mouth as the music begins to fade.

Steve Solex: Welcome to….Section…D..D..2…FOURTEEN!

The crowd boos wildly.

Steve Solex: (loudly, over the crowd) Ya’ know, it’s not all that often that someone like Joe Bergman touches the hearts of the savage High Octane Wrestling crowd, so I just have to give credit where credit is due. But that’s where the buck fuckin’ stops! That’s it, that’s all Joe Bergman will ever get from me.

The crowd continues with the raucous boos. Solex mocks the crowd by balling his fists and twisting his wrists at his eyes. You know, that old mock-cry face.

Steve Solex: Boo-fucking-hoo! I’m not even out here to address Joe Bergman, but typical to this generation…you’ve got to make it all about you. Shout over people who aren’t in it for you! Ya’ bunch of useless little pricks.

The crowd continues the chorus of boos.

Steve Solex: I didn’t come out here to tout and brag about the Best Alliance either, but I do have to tell all of you fuck-sticks….you ain’t seen shit yet. What you saw last week when I decimated Rick Dickulous, and this week you saw Jatt Starr fuck up some newbie piece of shit and at The Rock, you’ll see John Sektor absolutely destroy Eric fucking Dane. Who, I don’t think I’ve quite had the pleasure of meeting yet. And I don’t even need to bring up the fucking Minister, do I? I didn’t fuckin’ think so.

The crowd boos.

Steve Solex: And I damn sure didn’t come out here to address the old fuck I just bumped into backstage. I mean, since when do we let the fucking janitor get in front of the camera? What in the actual fuck is really going on around here?

Joe Hoffman: We might be one f-bomb away from getting our TV contract revoked.

Benny Newell: Fuck.

Joe Hoffman: Damnit, Benny. I swear to Christ!

Benny Newell: Fuck.

Steve Solex: Fuck it. I came out here to directly address, Brian Hollywood. Brian and I do have a match tonight, and he is one half of the tag team champions. So, really…the goal here is very simple. I’m here to fuck his shit up! Once I’m done with Brian Hollywood, I just might declare myself one half of the tag team champions, much like that coward and former partner of mine, Joe Bergman…I can be a champion with someone who isn’t even on my team. I mean, in this case though, I’d be in a much better spot than Joe was. I’d take Darin Zion as my tag team partner any day over Andee fuckin’ Murrrree. I mean, seriously. But that’s not the point here. The point is, in t-minus however fucking many minutes, Brian Hollywood is going to meet Steve Solex, and t-plus 5 seconds after that, Steve Solex will be crowned the victor of the match. You can stamp that with a guarantee.

Avenged Sevenfold’s “This Means War” begins to play once again as the crowd continues to boo Steve Solex as we cut to a commercial break.

#15 Eric Dane vs. #12 High Flyer

Back live and the opening riffs of “The One You Love to Hate” tears through the sound system and before anything can be done about it Rob Halford’s voice tears through the building like fingernails down a chalkboard. Silver and blue laser lights strobe together to form swirling stars up and down the entrance ramp as a single pyrotechnic explosion of silver magnesium heralds the arrival of The Only Star. Dane steps out of the curtain to an odd reception, his eyes hidden behind sunglasses and his shoulders covered in leather. He makes his way down toward the ring and smirks at the somewhat hostile reaction from the High Octane crowd before walking around ringside, climbing the steps, wiping his feat on the apron and stepping through the ropes.

Brian McVay: Introducing first. Hailing from New Orleans, Louisiana! ERRRRRRRRIIIIICCCCCCCCCCC DAAAAAAAAAANNNNNNE!

“All Aboard! AH HA HA HA HA HA HA HA…” A light fog rises up from the entrance way as the opening guitar rift kicks in. Parting the smoke is High Flyer, who stands confidently at the top of the entrance ramp. He tosses one hand up in a devil horn taunt, and smiles slyly to the camera. He stomps his way to the ring, paying very little attention to the crowd. Once he reaches ringside, he slips in under the bottom rope, then sprawls on his back. He begins to make snow angels while residing on his back, looking up at the lights before recovering to his feet. As the announcer introduces High Flyer, he leaps onto the second ropes and looks out to the crowd.

Brain McVay: And his opponent, from Bethlehem, Pennsylvania! HIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIGH FLLLLLLLLLYYYYYYYYYYERRRRRRRRR!

Both men approach each other in the center of the ring as Brian McVay finishes the introductions and then high tails it out of the ring through the second rope.

Joe Hoffman: Here we go, a match against two of wrestlings veterans.

Benny Newell: So, two old fucks going at it?

Joe Hoffman: Not what I said, Benny.

Eric Dane and High Flyer stand nose to nose in the center of the ring. Your typical jaw-jacking is taking place as referee Joel Hortega sticks an arm between the two veteran wrestlers. Hortega swiftly pulls his arm out and shouts “Vamanos!” as he calls for the bell and the start of the match. Eric Dane goes for the first punch, but it’s blocked by High Flyer who then rears back for a punch of his own. Eric Dane, ever the crafty veteran, drops to the floor and quickly rolls out of the ring. Dane paces the outside floor as High Flyer leans over the top rope inviting him back into the ring. But Eric Dane just laughs and like a classic heel, points to the side of his head and grins letting High Flyer know just how smart he thinks he is.

Joe Hoffman: Eric Dane, wasting time on the outside as High Flyer tries to bait him back into the ring.

Dane walks up to the ring apron and points up at High Flyer, who immediately grabs Dane’s hair and tries to lift him up to the canvas, but to no avail. Dane, instead, reaches under the bottom rope and pulls High Flyers legs right out from underneath him and then drags him to the outside.

“UNO!”

Benny Newell: What the fuck is he counting for?!!

Joe Hoffman: Both men are on the outside of the ring, Benny.

Benny Newell: Eric Dane’s been out there for like 20 fuckin’ minutes! He better not pull this shit against John Sektor and the Best Alliance!

Joe Hoffman: Calm your tits, Benny.

Benny Newell: Oh, you’re getting bold now!

Dane lands a couple of stiff punches to the side of High Flyer’s head and then whips him into the far ring post. High Flyer’s shoulder meets steel as he’s unable to avoid the ring post and slams flat on his back on the outside floor.

“DOS!”

Benny Newell: Vientedos, pinche cabron! Longest count I’ve ever fucking seen!

Joe Hoffman: Spanish, Benny? Really?

Benny Newell: Drink!

“TRES!”

Just as Hortega shows the count of three high in the air, Eric Dane rolls High Flyer back into the ring. Dane quickly slides in after him, and just as High Flyer gets to his feet, Eric Dane leaps – as high as an old man can – and brings High Flyer down to the mat with a Lou Thes Press. Dane viciously assaults High Flyer with a myriad of straight punches and hammer fists. High Flyer is successful in covering up however and takes most of the punches on the shoulders and forearms, rather than his chin which was definitely the target. Dane becomes infuriatingly frustrated with High Flyer’s savvy defense and instead of continuing the barrage of punches he sticks a thumb right into High Flyer’s eye and pushes it in as the referee begins a count of five.

Joe Hoffman: Eric Dane showing no regard for the rules and shoves his thumb right into High Flyer’s eye!

Benny Newell: He hasn’t been knuckle deep in…

Joe Hoffman: High Flyer with an arm-bar!

High Flyer, while Eric Dane was concerned with how deep he could get that thumb inside High Flyer’s eye socket, was able to shrimp his way out from underneath Dane’s mounted position and rotate on his back to scissor in an arm-bar!

Joe Hoffman: Eric Dane is in trouble here!

The grizzled vet, Eric Dane, frantically lunges his body around trying to break the hold, but High Flyer has this arm-bar locked in deep and in the center of the ring. Eric Dane, not one to lie down and tap, reaches his feet out for the ropes hoping to get the break from Joel Hortega. “No te rindes, ¿no?” Hortega asks Dane, seeing if he’ll submit to the hold.

Joe Hoffman: Hortega really talking in this match. I don’t know if we’ve ever heard him…oh come on!

Eric Dane gives the referee a big middle finger before he finally gets his foot on the bottom rope. Joel Hortega calls for the break from High Flyer, but instead he wrenches back one last time on Dane’s arm, prompting Dane to scream out in pain. High Flyer smirks as he releases the hold. He stands over Eric Dane, who writhes around on the floor in agony. But High Flyer is no better off, as it’s now become apparent that he can’t see – or barely see – out of the eye that was attacked a few minutes ago by Eric Dane. High Flyer wipes away the salted tears that continually pour from that eye before turning his attention back to Dane’s arm with a well placed stomp right on the elbow. High Flyer then reaches down and pulls Dane’s arm up, and wrenches it around his leg. He continues to yank on the army, but again Dane has reached the ropes. Hortega calls for the break, and just like last time, High Flyer wrenches hard one last time before releasing the hold.

Joe Hoffman: High Flyer really paying attention to the arm and elbow of Eric Dane!

Benny Newell: DRINK!

High Flyer pulls Eric Dane to his feet and lands a pair of punches before whipping Dane across the ring and into the corner. Without hesitation High Flyer charges after him and plants a running-flying knee right into Dane’s jaw. Eric Dane stumbles out of the corner and walks right into the LOCOMOTIVE!!!!!

Joe Hoffman: No, Dane ducks under! Starbreaker Knee from Eric Dane!!!!!

But High Flyer avoids the knee, and when Dane returns he plants him in the center of the ring with…

Joe Hoffman: Cold Snow! In the center of the ring!!

High Flyer springs to the cover, and hooks Dane’s outside leg.

UNO!

Joe Hoffman: The first cover of this match by either men, and it could be the end!

DOS!

TRES!

NO!

Joe Hoffman: Eric Dane with his shoulder up at the last millisecond!

High Flyer is in disbelief and briefly argues his case for a three-count to Joel Hortega, who without hesitation shows High Flyer two fingers. High Flyer shakes it off and heads to the top rope. Slowly he climbs to the top as Eric Dane begins to stir below. The referee begins his count of five, but before he can get to the count of two, High Flyer goes for a splash, but Dane is able to get a foot up. High Flyer, however, sees the boot from a mile away and instead of going for the splash, he lands on his feet and grabs a hold of Eric Dane’s foot. High Flyer stomps at the lower hamstring before grabbing control of Danes other foot. High Flyer shouts “See ya!” as he catapults Eric Dane into the corner.

Benny Newell: I need to catapult a drink down the back of my fuckin’ throat!

Joe Hoffman: Eric Dane goes head first into the buckle!

Dane stumbles backward from the corner, and High Flyer rolls him up for a pin…but Eric Dane quickly rolls all the way backward and onto his feet and goes for a punch.

Joe Hoffman: Dane can’t lift his arm to punch! The damage was done earlier in the match and is paying dividends for High Flyer now!.

Dane holds his arm in pain and frustration, while High Flyer ceases the opportunity and plants a stiff kick right into Dane’s stomach. Dane doubles over and High Flyer…

Joe Hoffman: Hypothermia!!!

But no! Eric Dane blocks the hold, shoves his way out of High Flyers grips and pulls Referee Joel Hortega in between the two men. High Flyer attempts to move the referee, but Eric Dane cowers behind him. Frustrated, High Flyer gives Hortega a slight shove out of the way, which distracts the referee long enough for…

Joe Hoffman: Low blow from Eric Dane!

Benny Newell: Ouch! Straight dick punch!

High flyer goes down to a knee, and Eric Dane wastes little time and plants High Flyer with…

Joe Hoffman: Strardriver from Eric Dane! Joel Hortega is in with the count!

UNO!

DOS

….

Benny Newell: Holy shit, this guy takes forever!

Benny Newell: DRINK!

TRES!

DING DING DING!

The referee signals for the bell as Eric Dane grabs a hold of his arm and rolls off of High Flyer. The crowd boos wildly as Eric Dane, using the ropes for assistance climbs to his feet and High Flyer rolls out of the ring. Hortega holds Eric Dane’s good arm high as Dane clutches his other arm in tight, still feeling the arm-bar that High Flyer had locked in.

Joe Hoffman: It’s John Sektor!

John Sektor slides into the ring and clubs Eric Dane with a forearm shot to the back of the neck, sending him tumbling across the ring.

Joe Hoffman: Wait, there’s Steve Solex! And Jatt Starr!

Benny Newell: Fuck yes! The Best Alliance baby! I’ll drink to that!

Solex and Starr slide into the ring and quickly wrangle up Eric Dane. They lift Dane to his knees and hold both of his arms back. Solex rakes back on what little hair Eric Dane has as Sektor walks up and gets eye-to-eye with his upcoming opponent. Dane appears to be passing out, but Jatt Starr ensures that doesn’t happen as he slaps some whiskers right off Dane’s beard.

John Sektor: This fuckin’ guy. He ain’t ready.

Sektor rears back and lands a clean haymaker right on Eric Dane’s jaw. The remaining Best Alliance members just let go of Dane, and he falls face first into the mat. Starr and Solex slide out of the ring at the direction of John Sektor. Solex rips the steel steps from ring and tosses them into the ring.

Benny Newell: *cough*HGH*cough*

Joe Hoffman: Oh, come on. He’s had enough!

Sektor isolates the injured arm of Eric Dane and steps down on his hand, securing him in place. Solex slides into the ring and hands the steel steps to Sektor. With a devilish look in his eyes, Sektor lifts the steel step above his head.

Joe Hoffman: Don’t do it!

CRASH!

John Sektor slams the steel steps down right into the injured elbow of Eric Dane!

Benny Newell: Yes! DRINK!

The scene fades backstage with The Best Alliance, and more importantly…John Sektor, standing over Eric Dane as “Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap” by AC/DC blares over the PA system.

Original Player

The scene is a backstage hallway, where a dazed Conor Fuse walks with an ice pack on the back of his head. The ice pack is in some kind of lime green container, of course, as “The Vintage” stumbles about while a camera catches up.

Conor Fuse: Jatt, I’ll give you that one. I should’ve been smarter…

Conor stops walking, leans against the wall and takes the ice pack off his skull.

Conor Fuse: [shaking his head]… Smarter than to enter the ring and fight you with your… Switch standing right there in wait. But also smarter than to underestimate you’d get in my way, cost me a “life” AND the ICON Achievement.

There’s no boyish charm in Conor’s voice tonight. No sense of mischief, humor or fun…

Conor Fuse: I also should have read your cheat codes a long time ago. You’re so retro, I didn’t know you had a manual. However, since I’ve caught up… I should have known you’re a snake. For every Game Boy there’s a Gizmondo or Sony PSP. You don’t need to give your employee the title of Switch to have me fooled.

Fuse starts walking down the hallway again as the camera follows him.

Conor Fuse: I gave my Game Boy the night off. I might give him the pay-per-view off, too. I heard Big Boss’ statement, coming straight from The Big Shell. It’s you and I in just a few short weeks. I saw what you just did to that bot Eric Dane with your fellow players…….

Fuse is in deep thought before moving on.

Conor Fuse: HOW is a difficult system to navigate. I’m going to make mistakes. I’m going to lose lives. And I’m going to overlook some BOTS I shouldn’t have. You were a great BOT, Jatt. You were a great BOT. Soon enough, I’ll prove it.

The camera stops walking with Conor as he trails off down the hallway, still a little wobbly on his feet.

Conor Fuse: Nothing will stop The Original… The Throwback… The Vintage. I’MMA COMING FOR YOU, JATT. LET’S GO OLD SCHOOL TOGETHER!

…And by now, Conor’s out of sight as we cut to a commercial break.

DEATH MATCH
The Minister vs. Michael Lee Best

ICON CHAMPIONSHIP MATCH
Leenzee Troy vs. Dan Ryan©

LSD CHAMPIONSHIP MATCH
Scottywood vs. Hughie Freeman©

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

SINGLES MATCH
Eric Dane vs. John Sektor

SINGLES MATCH
Conor Fuse vs. Jatt Starr

The Minister Banks

We return from commercial break to find Brian Bare standing in the loading docks of the Best Arena as a cold Chicago wind cuts straight through the intrepid, sometimes drug addled backstage interviewer. He looks around, as though he is lost before staring toward the camera.

Brian Bare: This is where he told us to meet him right?

The camera nods up and down as Bare’s face takes on a look of annoyance.

Brian Bare: Another joke probably. Does nobody take me seriously around here?

There is a brief pause before the camera nods up and down again.

The Minister: Mister Bare!

From across the loading dock the Minister appears, a crooked smile stretched across his scarred visage. The pale suit appears to still be the same ruined one from No Remorse, the once virgin white turning a sickly, puss like yellow. Bare seems to recoil from the Minister as he grows close, a certain ripeness accompanying the filthy Number One Contender.

Brian Bare: Max–er.. Uh.. Minister! Sorry..

The Minister: Oh no, no, no need to appleogize.

Brain Bare: ..did you just appleogize?

The Minister: No I said apologize.

Brain Bare: Oh. It just sounded like you said app-

The Minister: I said apologize.

The two stare at each other for a tense moment, the burning red eye of the Minister searing a hole into Brian before the Minister relaxed his stance.

The Minister: You probably want to know why I’ve called you here?

Brian Bare: Uh yeah, yeah that would be great to know.

In the background a loud beeping could be heard. Both men turn to look at a large semi-truck, painted to look like Optimus Prime, backing into the loading dock. The smile on the Minister’s face grows wider as he turns to stare back at Bare.

The Minister: Perfect timing! You’d think this show was produced or something. So Brian, as we watch this magnificent piece of nerd culture backing into the Best Arena’s loading dock let me tell you what I’ve been up to the last week. I’ve been thinking of mortality, Brian, and what it means to be alive. This body is old, Brian, it’s not going to last forever. Sure, it’s been repaired, I’ve had operations to keep me as fit as possible but.. Heh-heh.. Entropy is a numbers game, eventually the numbers come up against you. That’s all Rumble at the Rock is going to be, Brian.. A numbers game.

The red and blue Optimus Prime Semi finishes docking with the loading platform, the air breaks squealing loudly causing Brian to flinch noticeably. Rubbing his hands together the Minister slinks toward the two metal doors on the back of the trailer.

The Minister: The numbers say I don’t have much longer in this world. I thought I had failed at No Remorse but over the last two weeks I’ve come to recognize that I succeeded more than I had hoped! This body?.. Sure.. at Rumble at the Rock Mike might destroy it and in doing so, he’ll destroy his brother Max Kael.. but he won’t kill me. You know why? When I look him in the eye now.. When I see him speak and I look into his eyes I can see me there, like an infection growing just behind the apple of his eye.

His fingers eagerly wriggled around the lock, disengaging it before ripping it off, tossing it to the ground with a clatter. A giggle gurgled up from his throat and snuck out into the worth in a disquieting tone.

The Minister: I’ve already won, Brian. Now.. Look upon my works, oh mighty and despair!

Pulling the doors open with a dramatic flair to reveal several pallets of cash, stacked high and wrapped in plastic. The currency seems to be a mix of different varieties from around the world though the full amount is difficult to determine based on appearances. Brain stares at it both in confusion and awe while the Minister cackles loudly to himself.

The Minister: You might be asking yourself why does the Minister have a literal truck load of money? Well, over the last week, I took out several multi-million dollar short term loans all across the world from several different banks representing several different governments! How did I achieve this you might ask? You would be surprised how many doors open for you when you insinuate you’re the inheritor of Lord Farthington’s fortune.

Reaching into his suits breaks pocket the Minister flashed what appeared to be Lord Fathington’s, father of Cecilworth Farthington, singed inheritance and title papers last seen in the process of immolation by Cecilworth himself. With another cheerful, guttural laugh the Minister jumped onto the first pallet of money, sitting upon it like some kind of throne.

Brian Bare: But.. won’t they come looking for you to repay all this?

Another laugh escapes the Minister’s lips as he flashes a coy smile at Brian Bare.

The Minister: What are they going to do?..Kill me? Now shoo, Brian, I’m done giving out exposition!

With that the Minister made a dismissive gesture with his hand, his expression of joy quickly shifting into annoyance. Brian’s shoulders slouch as he turns to leave.

The Minister: ..wait, Brian!

Just as Brian turns to look back over his shoulder what looks like a stack of Russian rubles, probably close to a million or roughly thirteen thousand dollars, smashes into his head. He lets out a pathetic sounding yelp as he is knocked to the ground.

The Minister: Have a Blessed Day!

The feed cuts out as we head back inside The Best Arena for our next match…

#13 Brian Hollywood vs. #9 Steve Solex

DING DING DING DING!

Bryan McVay: The following contest is scheduled for one fall….

This beginning of “This Means War” by Avenged Sevenfold thumps from the sound system as the crowd explodes into a fury of boos and hisses. A montage of Steve Solex plays on the HOV, flashing on and off in rhythm with the music. As the music stalls, the HOV goes black as the lights throughout the arena go dark. A bomb like explosion blasts at the top of the entry way sending a plume of smoke up and in front of the HOV in the shape of a mushroom cloud, and at that moment the music returns and Steve Solex makes his way out from behind the curtain. The montage continues to play on the HOV as Solex stops atop the entrance ramp and pounds his chest twice with a white knuckled fist before throwing his hands high up into the air. He soaks in the boos from the crowd before marching down to the ring. No glitz, no high fives, just a fast-paced march and the look of cold-blooded killer. He slides under the bottom rope and stares down the referee before finding his corner and resting back into it.

Bryan McVay: Introducing first, from Huntington Beach, California, representing the Best Alliance, weighing in at 252 pounds……STEEEEEEVE SOOOOOOOOOLEX!!!!

Benny Newell: YAAAAS! Hoffhole! Look at Solex! This is why Lee Best chose him over anyone else on the roster. He gives no shits about you or anyone else on this roster. He wants to destroy anything in front of him. Last week he destroyed RICK in a decidable fashion and now…he fucked up Dane earlier….and NOW he’s targeting one half of the HOW Tag Team Champions in Brian Hollywood.

Joe Hoffman: I wouldn’t count Hollywood out just yet. He might be annoying, but he’s reliable in that ring.

As Solex stands up on the turnbuckle to glare at the crowd, immediately the Hollywood Boyz’s music “The Boys are Back in Town” by Thin Lizzy blares over the PA System. Brian Hollywood comes down to the ring pumping up the audience to a chorus of cheers while Darin Matthews comes out in a “Hollywood Boyz are Back In Town” jacket on his back and his tag belt draped around his waist, cheering on Hollywood as he’s heading towards the ring.

Benny Newell: What the hell is this, Hoffman? They’re already looking to cheat this match? Solex comes down to the ring without the Best Alliance and Matthews decides to come down and cheer on his buddy this week? This is some grade A bullshit!

Joe Hoffman: Matthews is supporting his best friend in tonight’s match. The Hollywood Boyz clearly don’t have any trust for the Best Alliance to pull any tricks.

Hollywood climbs the turnbuckle, but before Bryan McVay can announce Hollywood to the ring, Solex runs up behind Hollywood and low blows him bringing him to the ground. Matt Boettcher rings the bell and begins the match as Matthews stands up on the turnbuckle and lectures Boettcher about the low blow. Boettcher doesn’t care and continues to focus on the match at hand. Solex continues to stomp a hole into Hollywood’s face as the crowd just erupts in boos.

Benny Newell: Look at the edge in Solex. He doesn’t even want his opponents to get any introductions! He wants that kill right out of the gates. That’s what a true war hero would do. SHOW NO MERCY!!!!

Joe Hoffman: He’s already hit Hollywood’s in the mouth, he’s bleeding a bit.

Brian Hollywood spits blood out as Solex rushes to the other turnbuckle to get momentum. As Solex charges towards Hollywood with a stiff kick, Hollywood rolls out of the ring while Solex’s ankle connects with the buckle. Matthews approaches Hollywood with a nice cold bottle of water and wipes the blood away, but Solex powers through the pain and clotheslines Hollywood straight into Matthews. Solex continues his onslaught of offense with elbow after elbow to the back of Hollywood’s head as Matthews springs up and just glares a hole straight into Solex. It’s taking everything to restrain himself and beat the Holy Hell out of Solex on the spot, but he knows Boettcher would call the match in Solex’s favor.

As Boettcher continues to slowly count on the outside, Solex picks Hollywood up and flings up with a belly to belly suplex straight into the barricade. Hollywood pulls himself against the wall, but Solex immediately tackles him over the barricade and rolls back into the ring at Boettcher’s four count. Boettcher quickly ramps up the count.

FIVE..

SIX..

SEVEN..

Matthews just shaking his head out of desperation quickly leaps over the barricade and flings water in Hollywood’s face to wake him from the daze. He points at Boettcher and Hollywood’s eyes bulge from his head. He leaps straight up over the barricade and mounts a sprint for the ring.

EIGHT..

NINE..

TE..

Hollywood makes it back inside the ring and Solex is already at the offense just unleashing more stomps at Hollywood, but he powers through it with anger and makes it towards Solex with a few haymakers to Solex’s gut.

Benny Newell: Call the match Boettcher! He’s got illegal fists to Solex’s amazing abs! You can’t allow that to happen to a War Hero!

Joe Hoffman: You had to expect this out of both men. They have a history in this ring. They’ve traded wins over each other under different circumstances. You didn’t think Hollywood wouldn’t get angry with Solex’s dirty tactics tonight? Come on! Hollywood has a vicious streak of his own! He’s not going to back down.

Hollywood gains advantage and grabs Solex and launches him with a German Suplex. He picks Solex up and nails a DDT on him out the gates. Hollywood ramps back straight into the corner and as Solex gets back to his feet, Hollywood charges him and cracks Solex in the jaw with his Danger Zone kick. Boettcher makes the count.

ONE!

TWO!

THRE…

Joe Hoffman: WOW! Solex barely gets the kick out. And he looks angry after that fury of offense from Brian Hollywood.

Benny Newell: He’s about to declare war on Hollywood’s ass. He’s gonna need some whiskey for the wounds he’s going to leave on Hollywood tonight!

Flabbergasted Hollywood just shakes his head while Matthews gets on the ropes and rides Boettcher’s ass to count faster. Boettcher gets in Matthews’ face threatening to eject him, but Boettcher feels it coming, dodges out of the way, and Solex clotheslines stiffly into the barricade. Hollywood tries to pick Solex up with a German Suplex, but Solex nails Hollywood stiff in the groin with a kick.

Solex grabs Hollywood’s arms, pulls him in the middle of the ring, drops a knee into his back and locks Hollywood into the Camel Clutch. Hollywood’s screaming in pain as the crowd to cheer on. Hollywood continues to struggle towards the middle of the ring while Solex is hold the lock in deep. With each clap, Hollywood pulls himself closer and closer towards the ropes. As he gets closer, Solex finally releases the hold and stomps Hollywood’s face straight into the mat. He then pulls him back into the center of the ring. As the crowd’s cheers grow, Hollywood slowly uses the strength in his knees to get back to his feet and drops himself and Solex back first into the mat.

Joe Hoffman: Desperation attempt by Hollywood! Solex pulled a lot of energy out of him! Both men are down on the mat, exhausted.

Benny Newell: But look who is moving first! It’s HOW’s resident hero! It’s my hero! He should be your hero! He’s a man who I will take a drink to!

Joe Hoffman: Blah, blah, blah! Steve Solex! You’re singing his praises.

Benny Newell: You better do that too! You know Lee will fire you if you don’t.

Solex wastes no time and hoists Hollywood up and nails a stiff spinebuster on the ring. Solex goes to start exposing the turnbuckle. Matthews begins to move on the outside and sees what Solex is up to and rushes towards the turnbuckle. As Solex has the turnbuckle nearly exposed, Matthews grabs Solex’s hands to try and keep the padding on as much as he can. Solex’s eyes light up with Matthews defiance. He wastes no time in pulling his head back and immediately smashes in straight into Matthews’ temple. Matthews releases the padding and Solex won the battle. The turnbuckle is exposed! As Solex is trying to turn around…

WHACK!!!!!

Joe Hoffman: SUPER KICK TO THE BACK OF SOLEX’S HEAD! IT’S WHIPPED OFF THE TURNBUCKLE! Hollywood with the quick roll up…

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!!!!!!

Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding!

Bryan McVay: Here is your winner of the match; BRIAAAAAAN HOLLYWOOD!

As Boettcher reluctantly raises Brian’s hand to celebrate, Solex immediately goes for the chop block right into Hollywood’s knee. Solex quickly stomps at Hollywood’s knee hard trying to break it and cause permanent damage.

Joe Hoffman: How in the heck did Solex get up so fast?

Benny Newell: *coughHGHcough* This dude has survived rockets, explosions the whole nine yards. You think a measly freaking turnbuckle would take him out permanently. That win was cheap luck by Brian Hollywood. He should be thanking Steve Solex for teaching him tenacity right now. And!

WHAM!

Joe Hoffman: RATINGS SPIKE FROM OUT OF NOWHERE!!!! Matthews is pissed off!

Benny Newell: Fuck Darin Zion! He’s fucking the reason Solex lost. He should be fired for insubordination! You heard me Zion! I used your old name again after that shit. How dare you step into Solex’s business!

Matthews immediately unleashes a flurry of kicks straight into Solex’s gut one after one. He then picks him up and nails a stiff locking T-Bone Suplex on him. Hollywood struggles to his feet and Matthews and Hollywood nod. Hollywood pulls back with the V-Trigger, Matthews goes to hit the Springboard Forearm Smash for Lights! Camera! Action!

WHAM!

Benny Newell: YES! STARRSEK INDUSTRIES IS OUT HERE! BEAT THIS FUCKS UP! Make them use those worthless extra Z’s on the end of their name and put them to sleep!

Joe Hoffman: Chaos is erupted out here with the Best Alliance’s John Sektor and Jatt Starr coming down for the save on Solex much to the crowd’s displeasure.

As Sektor yanks Matthews down, Jatt nails an uppercut. But before both members of StarrSek Industries can even make it into the ring, Hollywood hits a suicide dive onto both Jatt Starr and John Sektor. Hollywood quickly grabs Jatt Starr and flings him head first into the steel steps. Sektor wastes no time before chopping the hell out of Brian Hollywood’s chest. Matthews’ rebounds and both Hollywood and Matthews grab Sektor and nail a double DDT on the mat outside before they go pick Jatt Starr up and throw him into the ring. They once again motion for their finishing move, but as Hollywood is going for the V-Trigger on Jatt, Solex connects with a stiff chair shot smashed against Hollywood’s head. Matthews’ connects with his springboard forearm smash to Jatt, but as he recovers, Solex quickly rails Matthews with the chair. Sektor rolls into the ring and grabs Hollywood and lays in the Sektor Stretch on him, trying to break Hollywood’s neck. Solex grabs the chair and places it against Matthews’ throat. He kicks it a couple of times before Starr comes in and holds the chair down on Matthews’ throat while Solex climbs the turnbuckle. Sektor releases the hold and then turns Hollywood around to watch what’s about to happen.

John Sektor: Last Outlaw my ass…….

Solex climbs the apron and nails an elbow drop straight into the chair around Matthews’ throat as he begins to hold his neck in pain and struggles to scream out. Sektor releases the hold and yanks the chair out of Solex’s hands. He grabs Hollywood’s neck and smashes the chair against it. Then both he and Jatt lock their finishing submissions onto the Hollywood Boyz and Solex kicks them shit out the Hollywood Boyz faces. Solex retrieves the HOW Tag Team Championships and hands them to Sektor and Starr as they release their holds. They both raise them above their heads. They then throw the belts right on top of Matthews and Hollywood’s lifeless body’s as HOW officials rush out. The crowd boos as the Best Alliance admires their dirty work.

Joe Hoffman: I think The Best Alliance made their statement clear tonight…and was Sektor talking to Dane before he attacked Matthews’?

Benny Newell: You heard him Joe…..The Last Outlaw? Who the fuck gives themselves nicknames around here…I mean c’mon….The only STAR? Really? Everyone has DESERVED what they got tonight.

Joe Hoffman: Well whatever the case is, Hollywood and Darin didn’t deserve this! We will keep you up to date on the status of the Hollywood Boyz after this brutal beat down from the Best Alliance.

The scene fades to black with the Best Alliance standing tall and the medics checking on the Hollywood Boyz as we cut to a commercial break.

Respect

Back from commercial and we cut backstage where Steve Harrison stands in the hallway tapping his foot to the floor impatiently as if he is waiting for someone.  Seconds later Brian Bare walks around the corner and sees Steve.  He smiles and walks swiftly with a mic in hand towards the man of Miracles.  Harrison sighs as Brian stops in front of him a big grin still on his face.

Brian Bare: Steve, great to see you.  I haven’t seen you since you made that mint selling the Holy Water.

Harrison stares down at him surprised at what is being said and shakes his head.

Steve Harrison: I have no idea what you are talking about, Brian…RIGHT?

Brian looks around his smile fading to a worried frown.

Brian Bare: Uh, sure, of course.  So uh…

Steve interrupts Brian and shakes his head.

Steve Harrison: Look, just put the mic in front of my face and stop asking questions.  I am not in the mood for stupid questions and trying to believe you are a reporter.

The Suplex Saint grabs a bag that is next to his feet and opens it up.  He pulls out last weeks suit that was ruined by fans throwing eggs at him.

Steve Harrison: LOOK AT THIS TRAVESTY, BRIAN?

Steve puts his hand up at Brian who is looking to respond already.

Steve Harrison: I said LOOK, don’t talk, moron.  This is what happens when the unfettered, uneducated masses are given special needs stables to look up to.  The eGG Bandits have destroyed the minds of so many of our youths that they dare throw eggs at me and ruin this beautiful suit.  Last week I was doing a service for all wrestling fans in burning in effigy that shitty stable of quitters and I was given nothing but harassment and assault.

Steve grabs Brian by the collar.

Steve Harrison: These rioters will be dealt with, Brian.  I do not fuck around with my suits and I do not forgive a pair of idiotic wrestling fans with eGG on the brain.

Steve tosses the suit back on the bag and look back up with snarl on his face.

Steve Harrison: That suit was worth more then five thousand of Hughie Freemans douchey hipster hats.  I mean my friend, Hughie Freeman…of course.  I can go on a passive aggressive tangent about being undefeated and that the new LSD champion, my PAL, was also beaten by me but hey…

Harrison shrugs his snarl getting big.

Steve Harrison: That would only make me a whiner, right?  When things don’t go people’s way they up and quit and find an easier solution.  Those people are weak.  Those people will be fodder to The New World. Those people lose titles on their first defense.  Those people are in Defiance.  Those people are eGG Bandits.  Those fucking people are not ME.

The Miracle Man extends his arm and punches the wall with bottom of his fist.

Steve Harrison: (deep breath) Those people don’t understand the grind anymore to be the best.  I am that missing hustle they once had, and it makes me increasingly angry that Cancer Jiles lost his title before he was to defend it against me.  The LSD title…I suppose it picks who is worthy of it because if Cecilworth was to be believed Loyalty and Sacrifice is what it is built on now.   Seems Jiles lacks both and was given a guilty decision for his transgressions.

Harrison smirks and laughs quietly to himself.

Steve Harrison: Do not get me wrong though, because Cecilworth can go choke on a vat of skeet for all I care about him and his LSD title.  That title is destined to be around my waist and a new LSD will be born but until that happens, I have a new roadblock.   Lee Best in all his blind glory has decided I need to face Cancer Jiles in a number one contenders match for the LSD title.

Stevey H and the funky bunch looks down at Brian and shakes his head.

Steve Harrison: Do you think that is fair, Brian?  You can respond now.

Brian Bare: Um…no?

Steve Harrison: Exactly.  Let’s do some simple math, shall we?  I beat the current champion who beat Cancer Jiles.  I am again as always, the undefeated man of myth, Steve Harrison.  I lied last week when I said I would beat Cancer regardless of him having a title.  I have no desire now to face this bumbling idiot.  He lost his title, he lost his friends, and he is going to lose tonight to that Amazonian bitch Lindsey Troy.  What respect can I even gain by beating this guy now?

Harrison pauses and taps his finger on his chin.  His face become beat red in anger, and he stares at the camera.

Steve Harrison: Oh yea, he kicked me in the face.

Steve begins walking down the hallway towards the entrance doorway for the wrestling going to the ring.

Bare watches Harrison exit and then towards the camera and motions for it to stop recording.

Brian Bare: THREE interviews tonight….turn it the fuck off.

Bare shakes his head as we cut away to another quick commercial break.

#4 Lindsay Troy vs. #5 Cancer Jiles

Joe Hoffman: Welcome back, everyone. We’ve got an interesting matchup ahead of us! A lot of interesting dynamics coming into play here between Lindsay Troy, looking to rebound after a loss to The Minister, and Cancer Jiles, who’s lost not only his LSD Title, but apparently also his entire stable in the last week.

Benny Newell: It only took months of praying, Joe. Every day. Twice on Sundays. Thrice on Sundays after he won, which was way too much lately. Frice after he won that title. You’re all welcome.

Joe Hoffman: Is frice four times or five times?

Benny Newell: Yes.

Bryan McVay: The following contest is ONE fall.

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

“I am the COOL” explodes over the speakers.

~I’m the one your mama warned you about

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

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

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

~I AM THE COOL.

Out from behind the curtain, after a second or two of suspense, The Artist Formerly Known as Blond, Cancer Jiles emerges. Shades weirdly nowhere to be seen, gray hair oddly off point, he pauses at the top of the ramp. Instead of basking in the love showered down upon him from the Octabandits still staying strong, he sighs.

Joe Hoffman: Quite a different Cancer Jiles we’re seeing here tonight, Benny.

Benny Newell: THE EGG HAS CRACKED, BAYBAY!

Bryan McVay: The following match is one fall. Introducing first, from Philadelphia, Pennsylvania… weighing in at 229 pounds…

Bryan, looking absolutely annoyed, pulls a small note out of his pocket and squints to read it with the mic still up to his mouth.

Bryan McVay: Representing… himself…

McVay shakes his head as he continues to read.

Bryan McVay: His lonely, lost, less friends than Stevens, self…

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

Bryan McVay: The Crestfallen… Cancer… Jiles.

CJ picks a corner and slumps into it.

Joe Hoffman: What a sad sight this is… I don’t even know what to sa-

Benny Newell: I DO! DRINK!!!

“Put’Em in the Grave” by Jedi Mind Tricks fills the Best Arena as the fans began to cheer in anticipation for the Queen of the Ring. Lindsay Troy steps out onto the top of the ramp, greeted by a series of pyros and cannon blasts so loud they drown out the fans.

Benny Newell: ALL HAIL! The Queen is about to crush whatever’s left of this cracked up shell of a Cancer Jiles! Every week just seems to get better around this place!

Joe Hoffman: She sure looks as determined as ever tonight. Quite the contrast from her competition…

Bryan McVay: And his opponent… from Tampa, Florida.. Standing at six foot, three inches and weighing in at one hundred and ninety five pounds.. She is the Number One Contender for the ICON Championship…

Marching down the ramp, Troy blows a kiss toward the camera before setting her sights on Jiles. She cocks her head to the side while staring him down, then cracks her neck, and coldly climbs the metal steps up onto the apron..

Bryan McVay: LLLLLLLLLLINDSAAAAAAAAY! TRRRRRRRRRROOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOY!

She slips between the ropes and moves toward the nearest turnbuckle, ascending it and posing for the pumped High Octane crowd!

Joe Hoffman: The energy between these two couldn’t contrast more.

Benny Newell: One has a future, the other has NOTHING! What would you expect? Ahhhhh, the world is finally right again!

After Troy jumps off the turnbuckle, Hortega takes center stage and calls for the bell.

DING!

Lindsay, skeptically sizing up Jiles, raises her fists.

Cancer slowly steps toward her, arms slunk to each side, shoulders dropped… defeat defining his demeanor.

Joe Hoffman: Ummmm, not sure what we’re seeing here, Benny?

Troy lowers her fists, a hint of concern emerging on her focused face.

Benny Newell: I knew this was too fucking good to be true.

Jiles comes full stop, just a couple of feet from his opponent. He slowly looks up to face Linsday, then sadly shakes his head. You can see Lindz voice a single word to him in response.

Lindsay Troy: Not sorry.

The Queen sheds the shade of concern before it can grow further, then sneers. Within the blink of an eye, she sends a swift kick to Cancer’s gut, then hooks his lowered head.

Joe Hoffman: Troy’s got Jiles up in a small package – THY KINGDOM COME! SHE HIT IT!

Benny Newell: YESSSSSSSS!!!

Lindsay rolls over, after dropping Cancer head first, and hooks a leg for the pin.

Hortega drops.

UNO…

DOS…

TRES!!!

DING! DING! DING!

Bryan McVay: And your winner… LLLLLLLLLLINDSAAAAAAAAY! TRRRRRRRRRROOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOY!!!

Benny Newell: What a roller coaster of emotion there, Hoffhole! Let’s hope from here on out, NO MORE EGG BULLSHIT!! DRINK!

The action cuts backstage as the crowd is stunned by the performance of the former LSD Champion.

Chasing Immortality

We cut backstage area of the Best Arena, we’re standing back but standing by with the Son of God himself, HOW World Champion Michael Lee Best. The champion sits informally against a hallway wall, somewhere off the beaten path of the hustle and bustle of Refueled. The blonde in his hair is long gone, along with the usual pageantry of his appearance– he sits with his forearms cocked across his knees, with the HOW World Championship slung lazily over his shoulder.

Mike Best: This belt doesn’t make me a champion.

With one hand, he loosely grabs a handful of the ninety seven red leather, yanking the belt off his shoulder and tossing it down onto his outstretched knees. He stares down at the belt, lacking much in the way of emotion on his face.

Mike Best: Make no mistake, I love this championship more than you’ve ever loved anything in your meaningless, miserable life. I would take a bullet for this championship. I would give my life for this championship, and at Rumble at the Rock, I may very well do that. But at the end of the day, this belt isn’t what makes me a champion. At the end of the day… this belt is, uh… well, it’s just a lot of leather and gold, and pomp and circumstance, isn’t it?

The slightest hint of a chuckle falls out of his throat, just a quick puff of air. He leans his head back against the wall, his eyes finding the lens of the camera again.

Mike Best: A cop wears a badge, but if you find a badge on the street, it doesn’t give you the right to point your gun at me, and all the same, this belt… it’s a signifier. It’s an accolade. It’s just a badge, just a piece of flair. Just another little feather in a cap so the feather counters know how many feathers to count. And boy I’ve sure had a lot of feathers in my cap, haven’t I?

The belt still resting on his knees, he raises his head up toward the ceiling, balancing on the back of his skull. He runs a hand through his sweaty, tousled hair, pushing it back out of his eyes.

Mike Best: You know the numbers. Who gives a fuck anymore, honestly. Five times, ten times, twenty times— I’m not a fucking peacock, I’m a CHAMPION. For ten long years, I have been a CHAMPION, and it’s not BECAUSE I wear this belt. It’s why I GET to wear this belt.

Leaning forward, his back comes off the wall as he grips the championship in both hands. It’s a loose grip– the leather hangs from his hands, the belt barely above the level of the floor. The production truck seems primed to cut the feed if it ever touches the concrete.

Mike Best: A lot of the guys here in the back, they don’t understand that, see. They’ll give anything for this belt. Sacrifice ANYTHING. Their pride, their bodies… literally their firstborn sons. Tonight, Scott Stevens is willing to tear his family apart just to wear this belt around his waist, and it’s for nothing. It achieves nothing. Because if he manages a shitty rollup tonight and gets a fluke win over MIke Best, it might put him back on the record books… but he might as well be finding a badge in the streets, because this belt is only worth as much as you make it.

He holds the belt up in front of his face, looking hard at the face of the title. His name is engraved on the title plate, already beginning to fade from his longest reign with the championship in ten years. He rubs a finger along the etching, trying to clean off the fingerprints, but the belt has been through a bit of hell since the day that he put his hands on it at War Games.

Mike Best: Plenty have names have been etched into this title, and plenty of them have been long forgotten. But not Michael Lee Best. Not the man with a statue in front of the Best Arena. Not the winningest champion in HOW history. My legacy as a champion is strong, and even if Scott Stevens can take it away from me tonight… even if they take my name off of the title… I will forever be known as a champion. Because Scott Stevens is a man chasing championships– I’m a man chasing immortality.

With a smug half-smirk, he does the unthinkable– Michael Best tosses the belt forward onto the concrete. Across the arena, Lee Best would be swearing up a storm, if he had eyes right now. But he doesn’t, so the Son is going to get away with it just this once.

Mike Best: I didn’t have to make Scott Stevens bet me a living, breathing child just to challenge me for the World Title. I didn’t need to knock Brian Hollywood out in an MMA cage, ahead of the biggest title fight of my career. I didn’t need to make an open challenge for Rumble at the Rock for a match that could and may end in my death. I didn’t have to– I wanted to. Because I can. Because I care a lot more about the history books than the record books these days, and there is nothing that matters more to me in this life anymore than being the champion. Than leaving behind a champion’s LEGACY.

Slowly, he begins to stand up from his place on the wall. Already dressed to compete in tonight’s main event, the champion lifts the belt back up off of the floor. He takes a deep breath, slinging the belt back over his shoulder as he takes a step toward the camera.

Mike Best: And Rumble at the Rock is my legacy. A million pathetic men have sworn they’d die for the championship, but I might actually be the first motherfucker in the world to go through with it. When I step into the Infirmary with The Minister on October 24th, the only way for him to become the HOW World Champion is to literally pry it from my cold dead hands, and THAT is what makes me a champion. THAT is why I will leave a champion’s legacy. And THAT is why until that day that I finally bite off more than I can chew and expire from this Earth, I will keep doing things to hurt the people who come for what is mine. It might just be leather and gold… it might just be a badge… but it’s my fucking badge. And if you want to take it away from me? You’re gonna keep betting your life. You’re gonna keep betting your children. You’re gonna keep sacrificing to the God King of HOW, because THAT is the price you pay for immortality. I am the Starmaker. I am the Gateway to Greatness. I am the Hall of Fame Price.

A beat. A smirk, through a much darker expression.

Mike Best: And immortality doesn’t come cheap.

With a shove, he pushes the camera out of his face as we cut away.

Locker Room Etiquette

We fade in to see Lindsey Troy……..and she is not happy.

Too heated at Cancer Jiles’ sad sack display of “wrestling” not even ten minutes ago. More than that, though, is the residual fury she’s been carrying from her and Dan Ryan’s little “chat” last week, the aftermath of which is still apparent on her face.

So rather than heading to her locker room, taking a few deep breaths, maybe kicking a couple lockers to calm herself down, she storms right past her door and keeps right on walking down the hall. She rounds a corner and breezes past catering until another stretch of dressing rooms appears and she makes a beeline for one of the doors in the middle.

Inside said room, The Hammer of GoD, Dan Ryan, enjoys a charcuterie board, his pre-show Clif bar having worn off long ago. Also, the entire High Octane crew is so terrified of him now that they’ve decided to stock his dressing room with various foodstuffs to, hopefully, keep him satiated throughout the night and out of sight and out of mind.

He’s unprepared for his dressing room door blasting open and his sister-in-law barreling in with a head of steam behind her. In fact, he barely has time to react before eating a flying knee to the face, which sends both him and the meat and cheese board flying. Troy capitalizes by taking the mount and raining down hard, relentless fists to his nose, mouth, and ribs, shot after shot after shot, a red curtain of rage in front of her eyes, all good sense having gone out the window.

Dan might’ve been taken by surprise, but he’s not taken out. One gigantic forearm catches Lindsay in the collarbone and it’s enough to send her off him. Both rise to their feet, Troy incensed as she sends a hard kick to his right knee, Dan detached as he takes the hit, which bends him over for a second or two, and then retaliating with a punch to Troy’s throat that staggers the Queen back a few steps.

Without a word, or a sound, Ryan lunges forward, grabbing Lindsay and launching her into the lockers. Her body crashes and clangs against them, and he throws quick knees into her ribs, mirroring her fists against his only moments ago. She tries to cover up, but much like last week she’s overwhelmed by Dan’s viciousness and sinks to the ground, coughing and gasping for air. Ryan watches her drop to the tile, then turns and walks out into the hall, his face emotionless, leaving yet another mess in his wake as we cut to our final commercial break.

DEATH MATCH
The Minister vs. Michael Lee Best

ICON CHAMPIONSHIP MATCH
Leenzee Troy vs. Dan Ryan©

LSD CHAMPIONSHIP MATCH
Scottywood vs. Hughie Freeman©

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

SINGLES MATCH
Eric Dane vs. John Sektor

SINGLES MATCH
Conor Fuse vs. Jatt Starr

#22 Scott Stevens vs. #1 Michael Lee Best

World Championship Match

Joe Hoffman: Welcome back everyone. It is time for tonight’s main event, and it was meant to be simple, folks. A singles bout for the HOW World Championship, between the champion Mike Best, and the challenger Scott Stevens. What it became was anything but simple, and I have to be honest, I’m not even sure that what is about to happen is legal.

Benny Newell: I got nothing. Seriously. Nothing.

Joe Hoffman: Ok…um….not going to lie…you threw me for a loop there…..but yes…. Seemingly taking umbrage with Scott Stevens’ claim that he would do anything to become World Champion, Michael Best made him a bet: If Scott Stevens wins, he not only gains the HOW World Championship… he gets everything. The money. The ring. The rights to Mike Best’s own name and likeness. But if Stevens should fail…

Benny Newell: Mike Best becomes a parent….will there be a registry for the baby shower?

Joe Hoffman: …please dont call a thirteen year old child a “baby”. It’s offputting and weird. But, I mean… yeah. He basically gets Baby Stevens.

Benny Newell: I have literally never been this happy.

Joe Hoffman: I honestly don’t even know what else to say about it. This is a real mess, folks. But it doesn’t come as a surprise— since No Remorse, the champion has been particularly unhinged. His last appearance on Refueled saw him arrested by law enforcement following an attack on a fan, and at Rumble at the Rock he is willingly stepping into a literal deathmatch against The Minister. Something is very wrong with Michael Best.

The crowd is getting settled in for the final match of the evening, as “Dead Man Walking” by Crucifix begins to play under the dimmed lights of the stage. The Scorpion himself, Scott Stevens, makes his way out onto the entranceway. There is a fire in his eyes as he stares out into the sea of fans. He knows what is on the line tonight, as he slowly walks down the ramp toward the ring.

He’s barely halfway up the ring steps when his music is interrupted— as usual, the ego of the HOW World Champion can’t allow him to let anyone else have a moment. Stevens climbs unceremoniously into the ring as the sound system changes abruptly and glaringly, with a spotlight appearing on the entranceway.

HALLLLLLELUJAH!

HALLLLLLELUJAH!

HALLELUJAH! HALLELUJAH!

HALLEEEEEEEELUJAH!

As Hanzel und Gretyl’s “HELLAlujah” begins to blast over the speakers, there is a chorus of boos that nearly matches the melodious choir at the beginning of the theme music. Stepping out from behind the curtain, the HOW World Champion emerges with the 97 Red leather belt slung arrogantly over his shoulder. He stares out into the crowd, hopping back and forth as he smirks down at Stevens in the ring.

Joe Hoffman: This can’t be legally binding, can it?

Benny Newell: Don’t think of it as baby gambling. Think of it as a forced adoption. Might need to get Lee to trademark that so we can print the shirts…..although I think the HOAX is practicing social distancing at the moment.

Bobbing his head along to his own music, Michael Lee Best saunters down the ramp toward the ring. He rolls in under the bottom rope, popping up to his feet and making his way toward the champion’s corner for tonight’s main event.

Joe Hoffman: But I mean… he can’t legally force Scott Stevens to…

Benny Newell: THIS IS HAPPENING JOE JUST LET IT HAPPEN.

Referee Matt Boettcher runs down the rules for both men, ensuring that they’re both ready to compete. There is no semblance of hesitation in the eyes of either man, as they both nod in acceptance. Boettcher nods back, and calls for the match to begin.

DING DING DING

The crowd is hot off the opening bell, as Scott Stevens leaves no time for the World Champion to get into a groove. Stevens barrels into the corner, assaulting Mike Best with a series of right hands, devastating him with haymakers. The Son of God tries to get arms up to block the shots, but the fire in Stevens is rising with every punch— Best’s head ricochets off the turnbuckle pad, and the crowd is here for it!

Joe Hoffman: Scott Stevens is a man possessed! He’s fighting like it’s all on the line tonight… because it is!

Benny Newell: Of course he is. He got tricked into betting his first born son on a match against a guy who doesn’t lose matches. It would piss me off too, if I was dumb enough to get duped like that.

Michael Best slumps down into the corner, as Stevens continues to rain down hammerfists from above. The champion has no choice but to roll out of the ring and try to get his bearings.

The referee starts the count out on the outside, but he doesn’t need to get far— once Michael is free and clear of the blows, he quickly rolls back into the ring to restart the fight. Stevens doesn’t miss a beat, though, and he immediately grabs the ropes and begins laying stomps into the trunk of the World Champion, not giving him an inch. Matt Boettcher starts a five count, since the challenger is holding onto the ropes.

1!

2!

3!

4!

Stevens doesn’t want to stop, but Boettcher steps in and tries to be the voice of reason. He brings Scott back down from the ledge, and eventually the Scorpion puts his hands up in the air, taking a step backward to allow the rope break. The crowd actually boos Boettcher, who only shakes his head as the angry mob disparages him for ending the righteous assault.

Joe Hoffman: In two years, Michael Lee Best has lost exactly two matches in High Octane Wrestling, and they were both by intentional disqualification. When you play the Son of God’s game, he’s nearly impossible to beat, but Scott Stevens isn’t playing that game, and he isn’t playing by those rules.

Benny Newell: This isn’t really fair, Joe. He’s not even giving Mike Best a chance to be dominant!

His expression emotionless, the HOW World Champion grabs the ropes, pulling himself up to his feet. He stares at Stevens, taking a big step forward toward the challenger and daring him to try it again.

Stevens says… yes.

The Scorpion throws one more big haymaker, which catches his Hall of Fame opponent directly across the chin. Michael staggers backward holding his face, and as he pulls his hand away, notices the blood trickling down his mouth. He nods his head quietly, as the corner of his mouth turns upward into a smirk.

Mike Best: You done now?

He takes a step toward Stevens, who narrows his eyebrows and stands his ground. He goes chest to chest with the champion, getting right up into his face and showing absolutely no fear.

Mike Best: Yeah. You’re done.

Best throws a vicious headbutt, smashing Stevens right on the bridge of the nose. The crowd immediately begins to boo for the cheap but effective shot, but it’s technically not illegal. The challenger stumbles back, and now the champion follows right up– the Son of God throws a full weight lariat that takes Stevens down to the canvas, leaving him still holding his face from a potentially broken nose.

Joe Hoffman: …and the champion regains control.

Benny Newell: BOY FUCKIN’ HOWDY, JOE, WE GOT OURSELVES A TITLE MATCH! Sorry about your shitty dead parental rights!

Joe Hoffman: I still can’t believe he agreed to that.

Standing over his opponent, Michael Best sneers down at his handiwork. He wipes the remaining blood off of his lip, spitting the remnants down onto the mat next to Stevens’ head.

Mike Best: Stay down.

He throws a nasty looking kick directly to the ribs of the Scorpion, urging him to give up. Stevens rolls to his side, trying to pick himself up from the mat. He pushes himself up on his arms, his eyes glazed over from the crippling smash to his nose. Michael leans down, a vicious smile plastered across his face, the blood still clinging to his teeth.

Mike Best: I SAID STAY DOWN, YOU PIECE OF SHIT!

Stevens reaches out with his free arm, shoving the champion backward at the hip. He pulls himself up to a knee, raising his middle finger in a triumphant salute to how he feels about staying down at this particular moment.

Michael shakes his head.

Joe Hoffman: Scott Stevens is injured. If you’ve never been popped one between the eyes like that, let me assure you that the challenger is seeing stars right now.

Benny Newell: Are you saying he’s too starstruck to succeed, Joe? The only star he’s seeing is Mike fucking Best. Stay down, you stupid fuck! GIVE HIM YOUR BABY!

Stevens goes right ahead with pulling himself to his feet, but the champion says no. He throws a stifling head kick that knocks Stevens back to a knee! The crowd is booing, but Stevens won’t hit the canvas– he tries to regain his balance, as Michael Best stares on in disbelief.

Mike Best: YOU’RE IN MY HOUSE, DICKHEAD!

He slaps the Scorpion on the side of the head, admonishing him for having the audacity to get back up. Stevens grits his teeth, shoving the champion backward again to give himself some space. Once again, he pushes himself toward his feet, as Michael Best springs backward into the ring ropes behind him. He rushes forward, just as Stevens lunges for a spear…

Benny Newell: I KNEED A HERO!

Joe Hoffman: ….goodnight. Jesus.

The forward momentum of Scott Stevens makes the impact all the worse, as the winningest knee in pro wrestling smashes into his unprotected skull. He slumps to the mat like he was hit by a truck, landing sideways and eventually splaying out on his back. The crowd goes quiet, as Michael Lee Best grits his teeth. He shoves a boot onto the chest of Scott Stevens, ordering Matt Boettcher to make the count.

ONE!

TWO!

….the Son of God lifts his foot up.

The boos are overwhelming, as Mike Best slides his boot away right before the three count, slyly kicking Stevens across the face in the process. The champion takes a knee next to his opponent, grabbing him by the hair and pulling his face in close. The smirk falls off of his face, as he stares into the eyes of one of his longtime enemies.

Mike Best: I’m going to take your child from you, Scott.

Stevens weakly tries to pull his face away, but the champion grips his hair harder, yanking his head back in.

Mike Best: This is my fucking belt, Scott. I told you. I TOLD YOU, Scott. I told you not to be a hero. I told you to stay down. And I hope he’s watching, because I want him to see this. I want him to know that his father tried.

As he speaks, Michael slowly climbs on top of Stevens, taking position into a top mount. He keeps hold of Stevens’ hair with one hand…

Mike Best: I want him to know that his father failed.

The first elbow smashes into the skull of Stevens, sending his neck snapping backward toward the canvas. The second hits the fleshy area of his cheek, twisting his neck sideways. His whole body goes limp, as Michael Lee Best brings down elbow after elbow, smashing them into the head and face of Scott Stevens, over and over and over.

Joe Hoffman: Stop this! Stop this match, damnit!

Benny Newell: GIVE THIS MAN HIS BABY! HE IS DUE A BABY!

Matt Boettcher lunges in, trying to get between Mike Best and his opponent– he yells for the champion to let up, and that the match is over. He calls for the bell, desperately trying to keep Stevens from taking more unnecessary damage.

DING DING DING

The air is sucked out of the arena, as fans only stare on. The match is officially over, but even as Bryan McVay makes the official announcement, Mike Best doesn’t get up off of Scott Stevens.

Bryan McVay: Here is your winner, by KNOCKOUT, and STILL HOW World Chaaaaaampionnnn…. The Son of God…. MICHAEL… LEE… BEEEESSSSSSSTTTTT!

The elbows aren’t stopping– Mike Best continues to bring down chaos in the ring, as Boettcher is now throwing his weight into the champion and trying to pull him off.

DING DING DING DING DING DING

HOW security rushes into the ring from ringside, swarming over the HOW World Champion. He’s gone completely red, swinging at anyone he can find in his path to keep smashing his opponent. With enough bodies in the ring, they’re eventually able to separate the Son of God from the unconscious body of Scott Stevens.

The champion rips the HOW World Championship away from the hands of Bryan McVay, as he rolls triumphantly out of the ring. Medical staff rush to check on Scott Stevens, as HOW Refueled ends with Michael Lee Best laughing his way up the ramp.

 

BONUS SEGMENT

“You ever fucking waste my time again like that I will send you back to the defiant lands of Utah……you fucking hear me?”

We are live inside the office of Lee Best and he is absolutely fuming as he stares across his desk at the man sitting across from him.

Lee Best: What? No witty comeback? I have seen you and your fucking friends cut promos longer than that match you had out there tonight.

The man doesn’t answer.

There is only silence.

Lee leans back in his chair and we see that he is still wearing the dark sunglasses from last week.

He turns his head to his left and addresses his bodyguard Redrum.

Lee Best: Is he still there? Is the fucking idiot there?

“Yes boss….just sitting there like a sad sack of shit”

Lee Best: Is that true? Are you a sad sack of shit now that you lost he LSD Championship? Are you going to walk around the arena kicking rocks feeling sorry for yourself?

Again no answer.

There is only more silence.

Lee pounds his desk in anger.

Lee Best: Well you know what…fuck this. This will NOT happen at Rumble at the Rock……and after I heard what happened out there earlier tonight I made a call to make sure it WONT happen…….bring him in Red.

The bodyguard walks to the door, opens it up, and motions for someone to walk in.

Redrum heads back to the his position next to Lee, but not before whispering into the GOD of HOW’s ear.

After hearing what was said Lee just smiles.

Lee Best: Cancer Jiles I would like you to meet the special guest referee for your match at Rumble at the Rock versus Steve Harrison….and the NEWEST member of THE BEST ALLIANCE…….

Jiles’ head snaps to attention as he turns and a look of shock comes over his face as he jumps to his feet.

Lee Best: …………Doozer.

Refueled comes to an end as the two longtime friends stare each other down.