Refueled XXIV

As the cameras come to life, the High Octane Wrestling logo flashes over the HOV, followed by the logo for HOTv. The opening montage for HOW Refueled begins to play on the screen, before the camera slowly pans across the stage.

The shot continues out over the hyped up, violence-hungry Chicago crowd, showcasing fan made signs and the kind of screamed obscenities that don’t make the air if your shitty wrestling show is on basic cable.

SORRY ABOUT YOUR SHITTY DEAD FARTHINGTON

HAVE YOU CONSIDERED READING MY SIGN OUT LOUD

BIG MONEY PAID ME $5 TO MAKE THIS SIGN

PUT ME ON TEAM SPOOKY MASK PERVERT

KOSTOFF’S GONNA KILL YOU

SCOTT STEVENS ON A POLE MATCH

MAURAKO + MIKEY + KENDRIX = SUPER MARIO BRUVS

THE ZEB MARTIN-I: TEQUILA + BUDWEISER

BRRRRRRAPPLEDOOZER

NO SERIOUSLY CALL IT MURRBERG NOT KIDDING

Whilst in the production truck, Lee Best diligantly looks for shitty, passive aggressive inside joke signs to edit out of the broadcast, the cameras cut to the Hall of Fame announce team to officially begin tonight’s show.

Joe Hoffman: Good evening everyone, I’m Joe Hoffman, joined as always by my broadcast partner “Big Buff” Benny Newell. It’s Saturday night, which means it’s time once again for–

Benny Newell: Everybody to come aboard the HO TRAIN?

Joe Hoffman: What?

Benny Newell: Nothing, sorry. Does anyone else smell toast?

Joe Hoffman: Well, while Benny tries to figure out if thirty years of mainlining cocaine and Jack Daniels has caused him to have a stroke on live television, I’d like to welcome everyone to HOW REFUELED!

Benny Newell: Roll a fatty for this pimp daddy, Joe.

Joe Hoffman: Benny, are you alright?

Benny Newell: YEAH LIGHT THAT BLUNT UP AND SAY PIMPIN’ AIN’T EASY JOE– FUCK, HELP ME SERIOUSLY I CAN’T FEEL MY LEFT ARM.

Joe Hoffman: Can… can we get someone out here to check on Newell? I think he needs some assistance.

EMTs from ringside quickly hustle over to the broadcast table, as the show enters an uneasy pause during the opening moments of Refueled. Benny is poked and prodded with various medical instruments, but eventually he takes a double shot and appears to be feeling better.

Joe Hoffman: …you all good, Benny?

Benny Newell: RIGHT AS RAIN, DICKHEAD. Let’s not speak about this again until at least the main event.

Joe Hoffman: Deal. We have an incredible show for you tonight, ladies and gentlemen, as the Hollywood Bruvs go two-on-two against Dan Ryan and Lindsay Troy in an exhibition contest. There can’t be a lot of love lost there, Benny– 24K took the HOW Tag Team Championships from Troy and Ryan at March to Glory, that they’ve been itching for a pinch of revenge ever since.

Benny Newell: Of course, that was before Andy Murray beat himself for his own tag team championship, Joe. I know that doesn’t have anything to do with this match tonight. I just wanted to remind everyone.

Joe Hoffman: After that, we’ve got singles action, as two strong up and comers, Zeb Martin and Lucian Santangel, look to continue impressing here in High Octane Wrestling. With Lucian Santangel qualifying for War Games during the Lethal Lottery, I have to imagine he’ll be looking to show off for the captains here tonight in the interest of being drafted early. And if I was Zeb Martin, I’d be looking to send a message– a victory over Santangel might go a long way to qualifying for War Games himself.

Benny Newell: I don’t have any jokes about this, let’s move on.

Joe Hoffman: Very well. At March to Glory, Jack Harmen and MJ Flair won a number one contender’s match for the HOW Tag Team Championships. Tonight, we’re going to see that showdown– the team that fans are affectionately calling “MURRBERG” face off against Harmen and Flair, and the titles are on the line! A lot of history between the fo–

Benny Newell: MAYBE ANDY MURRAY WILL BEAT HIMSELF FOR HIS OWN—

Joe Hoffman: Nope, you already did it, Benny. You used your joke too early. Deal with it– you should have looked ahead at the lineup.

Benny Newell: ….shit.

Joe Hoffman: And finally, in tonight’s main event, the unstoppable force meets the immovable object. Cecilworth Farthington has been undefeated in High Octane Wrestling for over a year now, and has been the reigning HOW World Champion since Rumble at the Rock last November. That could all come to an end here tonight though, because for the very first time in history, Farthington faces perhaps the most dangerous man in the history of the sport… Chris Kostoff. Hall of Famer. HOW Legend. A man who has literally cheated death.

Benny Newell: I can’t. Fucking. Wait. It’s finally happening, Joe. KOSTOFF’S GONNA KILLLLL YOU, you limey prick! Old Benny’s arm didn’t die in vain, because tonight I’m gonna watch a man get FUCKING MURDERED!

Joe Hoffman: We’ve got all that and more for you, folks, as we prepare for our opening contest of the evening. But first… it was a given that the Lethal Lottery would shake things up in High Octane Wrestling two weeks ago, but I don’t think anyone was prepared for what happened last week at HOW Refueled. Instead of the planned main event for “ReSurrected”, Lee Best emerged from the backstage area, interrupting what would have been the 400th HOW match of his own son, the HOW ICON Champion.

Benny Newell: The Era of Tough Love has begun, Joe! Last week, that pompous little brat experienced LIVE CHAIR MURDER at the hands of Lee Best’s handpicked assassin!

Joe Hoffman: Boy, you really just have zero loyalty, do you? You’ve been kissing Mike Best’s feet since the new era began, Benny. Suddenly no love for the self-proclaimed Son of God?

Benny Newell: You know Mike is my boy, Joe. But more importantly, he’s LEE’S ACTUAL BOY, and this is the ERA OF TOUGH LOVE, BAYBEE! Who am I to stand against the GOD OF HOW?

Joe Hoffman: Well in addition to a tough love speech for his son, Lee Best offered one final gesture of good will— the very first pick of the 2020 War Games draft. Tonight is the night that Michael has to make his first pick, and—

Dad, how come nobody likes me?  

Cause you’re a mothafuckaaaaaaaaaaaa… 

The head bopping intro to “Motherfucker” by Hopsin begins to slap over the sound system, interrupting Joe Hoffman and heralding the arrival of the SON OF GOD. The bastard child of Lee Best appears on the stage, stepping through the curtain with the HOW ICON Championship over his shoulder. The Hall of Famer appears to have seen better days– the side of his face is bruised to all hell, and he’s moving slow here tonight.

Joe Hoffman: The ICON Champion is lucky to be walking upright this week, folks. The “Era of Tough Love” has only just begun, and already it could have cost Michael Lee Best his career.

Benny Newell: Don’t be melodramatic, Joe. Lee Best loves his son– he’s not going to throw anything at him he can’t handle. See, he’s smiling!

It’s less of a smile, and more of a painful wince with each step. Michael carefully makes his way down the ramp before climbing slowly up the ring steps and ducking into the ring. He borrows a microphone from Bryan McVay, as he stands before a crowd who is surprisingly accepting of the favored Son– it’s called sympathy heat, you fucking superheroes.

After a brief pause in the ring, the ICON Champion decides to waste absolutely no time.

Mike Best: I choose Farthington.

There is a mixed reaction for this, but to be honest, not a particularly loud one either way. The news isn’t surprising. Somewhere out there, Rhys Townsend is screaming the word “PREDICTABLE” at this television set, wielding dual tacos.

Mike Best: I know that’s not how I’m supposed to do this. I know I’m supposed to drag it out and leave you all in suspense, right? Come out here and hem and haw and hype, and keep you on the edge of your seats. But that’s a bunch of bullshit. You all knew it was Farthington. Lee knew it was Farthington. The woman who cleans my apartment, doesn’t speak a word of English, and thinks my name is MEESAR BESS knew it was Farthington. My first official pick for War Games is Cecilworth M. J. Farthington, the HOW World Champion and the holder of the single longest winning streak in HOW history. And let me tell you something, the rest of my picks aren’t gonna fucking surprise you, either.

A slight smirk.

Mike Best: I’m drafting the Group of Death.

Another mixed reaction– the Group of Death could be the most hated group of human beings on the roster some nights, and be cheered out of the building on others. This is the nature of HOW, and the prospect of seeing the whole group together at HOW’s tentpole match is exciting enough to merit some cheers from the Chicago crowd.

Mike Best: It should be obvious. It should be obvious, that if I was the divine architect of what I believe to be the best five athletes in the history of professional wrestling, that those are the people I want on my team. It should be obvious that I want the people who have my back in the most infamous match in HOW to be my closest friends. My family. The people I trust most in this world. And so it should be obvious, Mr. Mysterious, Cheap Shot, Spooky Masked War Games Captain, that you’re gonna need to think long and hard… about your first pick.

He waits a beat, strolling toward the other end of the ring and leaning on the ropes. He looks up toward the entranceway as he speaks.

Mike Best: See, last week, Daddy Dearest came down to ruin my 400th match and he told me that he was doing it out of “tough love”. That this was the “Era”… of tough love. That he had chosen the second War Games captain, and that he was going to “help me” become a man. And then, he watched with that stern little sour puss on his face, as I was beaten into a bloody fucking pump by a man who looked a whole lot like Shane Reynolds. Who fought a whole lot like Shane Reynolds. Who really, really wanted me to think that he was Shane Reynolds.

He turns back toward the crowd, the smirk returning to his face.

Mike Best: Of course, that wasn’t Shane Reynolds.

A mild chuckle, the type that everyone seems to use every time they can’t think of another way to laugh in a wrestling promo.

Mike Best: It’s never that easy, with Lee Best. The GOD OF HOW, the Lord of the Swerve, hallowed be his name. We’re four shows from War Games, and Lee Best isn’t going to show his hand until he absolutely has to– he is going to do his best to undermine me, to manipulate me, and to make sure that I barely make it into War Games with my body or my sanity intact. And he will likely succeed, because he is the best at what he does. Because he knows me down to my soul, and he understands what makes me tick. But see, I know him too– whoever he chose as the second War Games captain, he’s made sure that it will terrify me down to my bones, and he’s going to keep me hanging by a thread, all up to the big reveal. But I’m too old for games, I’m too tired for swerves, and I’m too impatient to play the waiting game. So I’ve shown you my hand, almighty War Games Captain… why don’t you show me yours?

For the first time tonight, the crowd perks up above a good buzz.

Mike Best: Since you were so confident about coming out to attack me from behind last week, why don’t you come down here and look me in the eyes? Why don’t you put on your little rubber mask, and your little white suit, and come down here… right now… and give me your first fucking pick. Come on, fuckface! I’m putting you on the clock.

The buzz becomes a roar. If there is anything that the fans in the city of Chicago love to see, it’s a brutal fucking brawl before the first bell of the show has even rung. Despite looking like he’s seen better days, the ICON Champion’s eyes tell a tale of a man who is ready for war. He stares at the entranceway, all hints of a smile having disappeared from his face.

Mike Best: Come on down here and tell me that you’re drafting out of my fucking pool. That you’re going to try to split the Group of Death, because I’ll tell you right now, we are a FUCKING. UNIT. Go ahead and draft Lindsay Troy, and find a pair of knees in back of your skull on the beach at Normandy. Go ahead and draft Dan Ryan, and have fun cleaning sand out of the gaping hole that his fists leave in the center of your chest. Go ahead and draft Max Kael, and find out what kind of scars you leave with when you try to play mind games with the Group of Death. I fucking dare you. 

He leans over the ropes, speaking right to the back, now, as the adrenaline in the arena begins to rise. The fans are itching for a fight just as much as the champion is, and they want it now.

Mike Best: Come on out, OH SPOOPY ONE. Come and look me in the eyes. Come and get yourself a fair fight this time.

There is only silence from the back, and frustration upon the face of Michael Lee Best. The angry vein in his forehead begins to protrude, as his face goes that particular shade of red that is so infamous in HOW.

Mike Best: COME ON! GET THE FUCK OUT HERE, GODDAMNIT!

The silence is deafening, broken only as Michael lets a snarl escape from the deepest parts of his chest. With still no hint of an answer from backstage, he hurls the microphone to ringside. His face is a sweaty, flushed mask of frustration as he realizes that his assailant will not be making their presence known tonight.

Mike Best: FUCK!

Even without the microphone, it can be heard very clearly around the arena. Taking a deep breath, the HOW ICON Champion adjusts the title back over his shoulder, shaking his head as he walks to the ropes. He ducks out to ringside, making his way back up the ramp as Refueled cuts to its first commercial break of the evening.

WAR GAMES MAIN EVENT FOR THE WORLD AND ICON CHAMPIONSHIPS
Captain Michael Lee Best©, Cecilworth Farthington©, ??, ?? vs. ??, ??, ??, ??

Back live and “Stronger on your Own” by Disturbed blares over the PA.  Hollywood slowly walks from the back and takes center stage as he stands there for a few brief moments, closing his eyes.  He pumps up the crowd, energizing them as he gets in final mental preparation for his upcoming match.  Alan Ventura walks out from the back, patting Hollywood on his back.

Joe Hoffman: Well no one can be surprised by Mike picking Farthington as his first pick but one has to wonder how the rest of the teams will fill out as we push thru the qualifiers as well.

Benny Newell: Perfection….Dan Ryan….Lucian….I guess our World Champion was an automatic qualifier….insert my eyes rolling for DAYS.

Joe Hoffman: Well it is War Games. It is for the World Championship….oh never mind. Michael got the obvious pick out of the way and we move forward. It is time for Brian Hollywood and his redemption tour to continue again the debuting Max Stryker.

Benny Newell:  He wins the important matches, but this guy keeps losing to all the new blood coming into HOW.  I tell you, Hoffhole.  Hollywood’s not himself.  He lost his killer instincts.  He’s not the man I once support.  He disgusts me by being too nice now.

Joe Hoffman:  Take it easy on him, Benny.  He’s learning again.  Alan Ventura and him seem on the same page.

Benny Newell:  How about I don’t and I just take a drink to make the pain go away.

Bryan McVay:  Our opening contest is scheduled for ONE FALL!

Crowd:  One Fall!

Bryan McVay:  Introducing first, from Los Angeles, California; weighing in at 225 pounds….he is BRIIIIIIIIIAN HOOOOOOOOOOLLLLLLLLYWOOD.

Benny downs a big shot of Jack Daniels as Hollywood kneels down then opens up his eyes, pyro shoots off in opposite corners of the stage as it makes its way to center stage.  As the pyro hits the center, the camera zooms in to see the reflection in Hollywood’s eyes as he finally makes his way down the ramp, quickly taking off his vest and throwing it down with intensity.  Ventura and Hollywood make eye contact, on the same page this week.  Hollywood makes his final push as he charges the ring, rolling under the ropes.  He gets back to his feet and looks about the entire arena embracing the chorus of cheers from the fans before he takes his place in the corner turnbuckle before turning his gaze intently in the ring, waiting for Max Styrker to come into the ring.  He’s more focused this week.

“Throne” by Bring Me the Horizon blares over the PA System as Max Stryker comes out wearing a gold robe, gold trunks, and wearing a signature Rolex watch, taunting Hollywood as he strides out, embracing his own glory.  Max snuffs the fans as he walks by, just exuding confidence in his abilities.

Bryan McVay:  And his opponent tonight; ailing from London, England; weighing in at 245 pounds:   MAAAAAAAAAAAX STRYKER!!!!!!!!!

The crowd boos erupt as Max rolls into the ring and takes off his robe, revealing his perfect complex.  He absorbs the chorus of boos from the HOW crowd as he brags about his accomplishments.  As he leaps off the top turnbuckle after McVay finishes announcing him, he locks eyes with Hollywood, pointing at his watch.  Hollywood sticks his hand out as a sign of respect towards Max Stryker.  Before Hortega can roll into the ring, Stryker hammers Hollywood with the gold watch with a fast clothesline across Brian’s throat and folds him up.  Stryker takes the Rolex and chucks it at Hollywood’s head as Hortega calls for the bell.

DING!  DING!  DING!

Stryker immediately smirks as Hollywood struggles to his feet.  He slams his foot against the mat, He’s signing the papers!

Benny Newell:  That’s Hollywood’s old finishing move.  Clearly, he’s been watching some of the archived Hollywood matches on HOTV.  I can drink to these mind games right here!

Stryker lands the superkick straight to Hollywood’s chin.  Alan Ventura is on the outside losing his collective shit screaming at Hollywood’s knocked out carcass as Hortega goes for the count right away.

Joe Hoffman:  It can’t be over this quickly!!!!

UNO!

DOS!

Joe Hoffman:  Holy shit!  Hollywood kicked out with pure adrenaline!  Look at his eyes!  He’s pissed off.

Benny Newell:  I’m putting my money on this Stryker kid still, Hoffman!  He’s vicious!  You know this has been an effective strategy on Brian Hollywood over the past few weeks, Joe.  Zeb Martin pulled this off easily.  Stryker’s going for what works.

Stryker charges straight towards Hollywood landing a fury forearms to his face, but Hollywood throws him off at gets back to his feet.  Hollywood’s focused.  He looks to Ventura for advice.  However, after hesitating, Hollywood jaw meets Stryker’s stiff European Uppercut.  Hollywood buckles towards the ground as Stryker laughs.  Stryker taunts he’s studied Hollywood’s game.  He quickly locks in a Front Chinlock on Hollywood.  The crowd cheers Hollywood on as he gets back to his feet.  He pulls Stryker up for a Back Suplex and drops Stryker on his head stiffly.

Benny Newell:  SLOPPY!  SLOPPY!  SLOPPY!  Hollywood’s suplex was sloppier than drunken sex I had last night! You can’t be sloppy taking an athlete like Max Stryker!

Joe Hoffman:   Hollywood’s been knocked silly by Stryker and you’re critiquing how he’s hitting moves, Benny?

Hollywood begins a hat trick of German Suplexes.   Before he can finish the third one, Stryker elbows him hard in the ear.  Discombobulated, Hollywood pulls himself back towards the ropes.  Stryker launches Hollywood straight into the ropes, lifting him up and nailing the stiffest Tower Bomb ever.  Stryker quickly makes the cover as Hortega goes for the count:

UNO!

DOS!

NO!  Stryker pulls up Hollywood’s shoulder off the mat, gloating.  He tortures the former World Champion more with stiff kicks to the rib.  Ventura climbs the turnbuckle and starts screaming at Hortega.  Stryker sees the distraction and nails Hollywood in the balls with a kick to a chorus of boos.  He then locks Hollywood in the Union Jack, but Hollywood rolls him off his feet.  His eyes lock on and he hits a stiff Danger Zone kick sending Stryker over the ropes.

Hollywood hits Stryker perfect Suicide Dive into the barricade head first.  Brian goes for the spear before colliding with the steel steps head first as Stryker rolls out of the way, laughing.  Ventura walks over to Stryker giving him a mouthful.   Stryker doesn’t take it kindly and nails a stiff clothesline on Ventura!!   Hollywood kips up, looking to hit the Executive Promise.  The temptation begins to gets to himHe wants to do things his old ruthless way.

Benny Newell:  GOOOD!  FEEL THE HATE HOLLYWOOD!  FEEL IT!  SNAP!

Joe Hoffman:  Hollywood’s in his own head again, Benny.  He’s rushing towards him.   Could he do it?   Could he go back to his old ways?

Hollywood thinks twice nailing a picture-perfect Paper Cut on Stryker.  He tosses Stryker in the ring.  He gets back in the ring and continues to hit kick after kick straight to Stryker’s face.  He tosses Max into the turnbuckle and hits a huge dropkick to his gut.  Hollywood leaps up to the turnbuckle, trying with all his might to pull Max down for a Superplex, but Stryker nails Hollywood in the ribs.  Stryker lifts the weakened Hollywood up and nails a picture perfect powerbomb off the top rope.  Both men lie on the mat, with Max crawling over towards Hollywood.  He rests his arm on top of Brian’s chest as Hortega makes the count.

UNO!

DOS!

TRE…..

Joe Hoffman:  Holy Moly, Benny!  Brian’s still got gas in the tank after all that!  He’s kicked out at a 2.5 count!

Benny Newell:  Don’t be so hopeful Hoffhole.  Stryker’s about to end it, right after he teaches Hortega how to count.

Stryker slaps his had 3 times and counts to 3 staring straight into Hortega’s eyes before hoisting Hollywood up on his shoulders for the Valkyrie.  This is it!  It’s his win.  As Stryker spins Hollywood around, Hollywood drops down to the mat, then Irish Whips him.  Hollywood rushes and nails a stiff, ugly Danger Zone kick straight to Max Stryker’s jaw.  Ventura’s back to his feet finally and screams “FINISH HIM” at the top of his lungs as Hollywood pulls Stryker back up.  He nails a hard Basic Instinct, driving Max Stryker to the mat head first.  Hollywood covers Stryker as Hortega starts the count:

UNO!

DOS!

TRES!!!!!!!!

DING DING DING DING! 

The crowd erupts as Hollywood looks on in completely shock as Ventura’s rushing the ring to give Brian a huge hug.

Bryan McVay:  Here is your winner of the match:  BRIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIAANNNNN HOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOLLLLLLLLLYWOOOOOOOOOOOD!

Joe Hoffman:  WOW!  It feels weird to say it; but Hollywood has pulled off an upset over an upstart in HOW.  Hollywood’s broken his streak!

Benny disappointingly mumbles into the headset as he tosses it down and chugs a few shots of Jack Daniels because even he can’t believe it.

Joe Hoffman:  Brian Hollywood wouldn’t give up in this match.  Even when the going got tough.  And let’s face it; Max Stryker put it in here.  He threw everything he could to take Hollywood down.  He climbed in his head.  He studied.  He threw his brute strength.  But in the end, Hollywood would not give up.  Thus proving his time at Six Time Academy is paying off.

Hollywood and Ventura walk back up the ramp, celebrating the win as the cameras fade to the next segment.

The show feed switches from ringside to the backstage area.

More specifically, the video stream picks up at the very end of a long line of people. Slowly, the camera starts to progress alongside the single file, velvet roped, yolk carpeted, wall hugging  gathering. The line’s makeup features quite the array of talent; some are born of flesh, some are powered from batteries, some are printed atop a cardboard silhouette, and some look to have been beamed up from the depths of High Octane’s Archives. 

Regardless of the line’s diverse constituents, ALL who wait appear eager for their chance to go OVER EASY.

Finally, we reach the beginning of the line, and the shot slowly pans to the lucky individual with the chance to make a first impression.

Zeb. 

Martin. 

The young, verile, marbled mouthed, paint chip prospect himself.

Young Zeb readily stands at attention in his blue jeans, bad tan, and mesh trucker cap. Of course he has his fishing pole– the people he’s waiting to talk with like that kind of thing. 

Props.

Maybe fishing. 

Wouldn’t know. 

Suddenly, the closed doors before Zeb swing open like a whimsical magic trick. The young rodman takes a deep breath to focus his poise; the smell of fate and opportunity stinging his nostrils. Then, he and his fishing pole fatefully step into the eGG Basket. 

Jiles: This guy must be lost.

The founding fathers of Egg and Shell are seated behind a large, fancy desk with the name plate and all of the family pictures facing down. Jiles is on the right. He appears agitated with the company already. Or, it’s because he is uneasy with the setting. One of the two. Or both. Time will tell. Doozer is on the left. He knows how this is probably going to go, so he’s trying his best not to think about it while twirling a ballpoint pen he found sitting on the desk.

As for CBD, he is standing ominously in the corner, gazing a hole through young Zeb.

And though he’s not in person, there is a beautifully oil-painted portrait of a robed Bobby Dean hanging on the wall.

Decadent frame and all.

Life size, too.

The Dooze motions for Zeb to come forward.

Jiles: Nope. No shot. No way. Sorry! NEXT!

The Dooze quickly turns to his brother of the shell. His face stern, like he’s got the belt in his hands.

Doozer: Easy there, dickface. This is the kid I was telling you about. We are going to hear what he has to say. Period. End of discussion.

The adamance in Doozer’s words is astounding.

However, it doesn’t stop The Emperor of the Undercard from picking his nose as a retort.

Doozer: And what happened to being open minded? Did you already forget that this is a big deal? 

The Count of COOLsylvania rolls his eyes, further putting on that he is unbothered by Doozer’s sidebar.

Doozer: Ya know, if all goes well this could be the person sitting next to you on the plane ride to Rome next year, so tighten it the fuck up, would ya.

The COOLYMPIAN sighs. He knows Dooze is right, but still doesn’t like it.

Jiles: Fine. For Bobby.

Doozer: For Bobby. Oh, another thing. He has a twang to him. It grows on you. 

Jiles: Twang?

Doozer: Zeb, sorry for that. Please, take a seat.

Zeb Martin: ‘Preciate y’all takin’ the time. Obliged tuh make yer ‘quaintence, Mr. Jiles.

A confused twitch shoots across Jiles’ T-shades. Then, he grabs the desk to brace himself.

Jiles: I think I’m already dizzy from the bumpkin.

The Dooze kicks Jiles’ shin under the table.

Doozer: Zeb, the pleasure is all ours. Thank you for coming in. It’s funny actually, when the Bandits were putting all of this together, I was telling them how impressed I was with you in the short time we shared inside the ring. And now, here you are. Fate? Possibly? I don’t know.

Jiles: For the record, I don’t remember any of that. Carry on.

Zeb Martin: Welp, I heard what yuh hadda say last week, and reckon it felt right tuh at least come by and see if I might be the one sho’nuff tuh join the choir. Thank y’all fer hearin’ me out.

Jiles: Uh, maybe we should try writing it out instead?

The Dooze shakes his head, fighting away the urge of tearing off Jiles’ face from the rest of his inflated head.

Doozer: Now Zeb, tell us, what do you think the eGG Bandits can do for you?

Martin, habitually adjusting the brim of his hat as he momentarily ponders the question, gives an elongated sigh before responding.

Zeb Martin: Well, reckon I’ont know if I’m a good fit as an Aig Bandit. I mean, I ain’t even sure if I’m what yer lookin’ fer. But one thang I come tuh find out ‘round here is ya gotta have folks you kin count on and lean when there’s hard times. Saw how y’all took care uh Bobby, and figg’red if yer lookin’ fer new meat, why not take a shot? Y’all seem like good people tuh me, and that’s about all I want. Good people around. And in return, I guess I’ll be able tuh do what y’all need me to do while Mr. Dean ain’t here. Know that’s some awful big shoes tuh fill.

The Dooze nods approvingly.

Jiles: Ya know, Zeb? I actually understood that. Shit, didn’t even get dizzy, either. Now, I also understand that you have a match coming up here shortly, so we will let you go so you can prepare for that. We wouldn’t want to cost you. That said, I do appreciate you taking the time to come visit with us, and we’ll be in touch.

Doozer: Good luck. 

Jiles: Lose and you’re done.

A gasp.

Jiles: Just kidding.

The doors swing open.

Zeb stands from his chair, shakes hands with Dooze and Jiles, and turns to walk out.

Jiles: Oh, and Zeb? Fetch.

The Magical Maestro of COOL manifests, and then launches an egg at lightning-like speeds. The yolky delight goes soaring past Zeb and out into the hallway. Zeb, like the master bait and tackler that he is, somersaults out of the room and uses the forward momentum to unleash a seemingly rocket powered cast.

SPLAT~!

Jiles: Egg. Fucking. On. I’ll be…. not bad, kid. Not bad at all.

Zeb hooks the egg in mid air, causing the innards and shell to go splattering all over the gathered eclectics standing in line.

The opportunistic doors close, leaving the Bandits to themselves.

Doozer: That’s one way to trim the field.

Jiles: Correction. That’s OUR way of trimming the field.

Doozer: Oh? In that case,I told ya so.

Jiles: You sure did, Blamer. You sure did. Just know this, he better pan out… ‘cause ef hee dawnt.

The shot ends with a jubilant Jiles lusting over his flexed pointer finger.

We cut away as a video begins to play on the HOV and to the viewers at home….

Set on a bleak lonely hill at a location plucked from the middle of nowhere. The wind causing pressure to the trees around the surrounding areas. However, causing little-to-no-effect on an idle caravan homed at the peak of the hill. The caravan being on bricks might I add.

When getting closer into the setting; waste and rubbish left abandoned around the perimeter of the caravan. Additionally, due to the high winds; rubbish swirls into the air like a limp mini-tornado. Most notably, a shitty diaper flies by.

We close in on the caravan door and a disturbance can faintly be distinguished coming from inside the beaten camping home.

Suddenly, the door flings open and a man appears almost immediately. The man stands at approximately 5’11” and weighs around 215lbs give a snotty nose hair or two. The argument continues with a female as Irish incoherent gibberish comes out from the lips of the traveller. None of which can be discerned. With or without subtitles.

“Early worm… shit the bed, Billy boy?”

The Irish traveller immediately turns his attention to the viewing HOW public. He shows a total disregard for the cold temperatures here as his half naked body is in full view. The gypsy on the hill wears a trilby hat and some slack jeans that he’s probably thrown on in the last five seconds. Additionally, grasping a saucepan, inexplicably.

“Three Hundred bar. No problem. I’ll fight anyone for three hundred bar. Name the time and place and God’s honest truth you got yourself a fight, big man. ”

The female voice inside of the caravan seems to be getting more vexed as it increases in volume.

 “Names Hughie Freeman and fightings the game.”

The voice… louder.

Hughie Freeman: Dog’s grand, man.

Houghie looks totally shifty as he reverts his attention back to the HOW audience. Almost like he doesn’t actually believe in what he’s just said. He looks left, then right, and puts his head forward like he’s about to tell us all a little secret.

Hughie: Shitting through an eye of an needle. Jobs fucked, Billy.

Pause.

Hughie: Proper mustard and curry.

A quick cutaway to a window of the caravan where a little small mongrel dog can be seen looking out of it. The long gaze of a dog looking very sorry for himself indeed.

Abruptly, Hughie leaves the caravan step with the saucepan in possession. The HOW camera follows as he crosses dead brownish grass in mere bare feet. The wind comes into play immediately, with the stench from the pan blowing evident aroma we’re all too familiar with. The nostrils don’t lie with a distinct smell of urine circulating from the pan.

Without hesitation, Hughie then hurls the piss on the heap of rubbish. However, the force of the wind blows it in the complete opposite direction.

Hughie: Pissing in the wind there, Billy.

Hughie Freeman does a few random stretches. But when doing hip rotations to slacken up those aching joints, the mood changes significantly changes.

Hughie: Big boys, Billy. Not ones to be messed with. Big scary boys with big scary reputations. Tell me, Billy. No tell me, here.. all legit now? No cheap shots, here now. Gotta go easy with me. Tell them to go easy, Billy.. needs to be a proper fair fight you here. None of the silly nonsense, now. Tell your people I’m coming..

Hughie freezes in an upright position from loosely stretching out. With a methodical crack of the knuckles.

Hughie: Listen, I’m a fighting man. Ya can’t tell Hughie Freeman nothing about fighting that he don’t already know. And what Hughie Freeman don’t know.. it ain’t fucking worth knowing anyway. Right, Billy?

Hughie Freeman throws a right hook.

Hughie: Now get your man. Get your best man, now. I’ll fight you down at your hill, with your pals, in front of your people. Then we’ll see who has them balls. Those king kong balls.

Hughie places his hands on his hips, hocks on the floor and looks deep into the lens.

Hughie: Now fuck off, Billy.

With the end of the video we cut to commercial break.

As we return from commercial we see Lucian Santangel warming up in the backstage area, dressed with a black cut off denim jacket he starts stretching out his arms. He suddenly sees a camera zooming in on him.

Lucian Santangel– “It’s Time Zeb!”

Lucian smiles before shaking his wrists together.

Lucian Santangel – “it’s time

For the Carnival of horrors to claim

It’s next victim”

Lucian smiles to himself before walking off  towards the arena entrance.

Bryan McVay: The following match is scheduled for one fall!  First, making his way to the ring from Sinaloa, Mexico and weighing in at 227 pounds… Lucian Santangel!!!!

Benny Newell: Welcome to the freakshow carnival Joe!

Joe Hoffman: We’re ready for our second match of the night and both men here are looking to gain a big edge in their early HOW careers.

Lucian slowly walks down the ring he looks at the crowd with an unhappy look on his face, he walks around the ring before rolling under the bottom rope. Some fans in the crowd throw streamers at him as he raises his hands once in the ring. He walks over to the comer and slumps down resting his head on the lowest turnbuckle.

Benny Newell: Think Lucian could get me tickets to see a donkey show later?

Joe Hoffman: Wow… what you should be mentioning is how in his HOW debut, Lucian qualified to be picked for the War Games match at the next Pay Per View.

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

Bryan McVay: And his opponent, from Comer, Georgia and weighing in at 235 pounds… Zeb Martin!!!!

Joe Hoffman: Zeb comes into this match one and one, with a win over Brian Hollywood and a loss at Lethal Lottery in the tag team match to qualify to the War Games pool.  There he team with Doozer against Dan Ryan and his opponent tonight, Luician Santangel

Benny Newell: Maybe tonight we’ll see a fishing pole used for the first time as a weapon.

The Watson Mill Kid steps out to greet everyone with the bill of his Levi Garrett Racing hat worn low to shield his eyes. A friendly grin on his face, he attempts to pull the hat down even further (a real shy boy) as he makes his way down to the ring while making sure to outstretch his arm for some old-school hand slapping.  Upon arrival, Zeb climbs the apron and wipes his boots before ducking underneath the top rope, then gives a friendly nod to his corner audience before patiently awaiting for the match to begin.

DING DING DING

Zeb goes for the lock, but Lucian ducks it as he slips behind Zeb and catches him with a quick inverted DDT.  With Zeb down Lucian hits a standing senton as he quickly leaps up the turnbuckles as Zeb starts to climb back to his feet.  As Zeb gets up, Lucian starts to tight rope walk across the top rope as he leaps off and nails Zeb with a flying lariat.

Joe Hoffman: A little ode to the carnival there by Lucain as he takes control here early.

Lucian follows it up with a superkick on Jeb that drops him to his knees and Lucian connects with a step up enzuigiri as he goes for the first cover of the match.

ONE!!!!

TWO!!!!!

Zeb kicks out as Lucian goes for a quick armbar to maintain control but Zeb counters with two hard rights that gains him some much needed space.  Lucian shakes off the punches as he gets back to his feet and gets caught by Zeb and hit with a spinebuster in the middle of the ring.  Lucian pops up and again gets nailed with a bulldog as the crowd roars and Lucian tries to roll out of the ring.

Joe Hoffman: Comeback mounting here by Zeb if he can keep the pressure on Lucian.

But Zeb grabs the legs of Lucian and pulls him back in the ring as he pulls Lucian to his feet and connects with a gutwrench suplex.  Climbing the ropes Zeb eyes a knee to the head of Lucian and connects hard as he now goes for the cover.

ONE……..

TWO………………….

Lucian gets the shoulder up as he holds his head and adjusts his mask for a second before Zeb ragg dolls him back to his feet and irish whips him into the corner.  Zeb charges and goes for a splash but Lucian rolls out of the way and Zeb hits the turnbuckles hard.  Lucian then drop kicks him back into them as he rolls Zeb up for a pin.

ONE…….

TWO………

Joe Hoffman: Tights by Lucian!!!

THREE……

Joe Hoffman: Shoulder up!

But instead of complaining Zeb grabs the legs of Lucian and as he stands up locks him into an inverted cloverleaf submission

Joe Hoffman: Dang tangler!  Will Lucian tap!

Lucian struggles and reaches for the ropes as he goes to slam his hand on the mat but rolls between the legs of Zeb and throws him towards the ropes.  Zeb’s throat gets caught on the second rope as he staggers back towards the center of the ring and gets boot in the gut from Lucian who connects with his canadian destroyer.

Benny Newell: Flippy Carnival Shit!

Joe Hoffman: It’s called Espiga de la muerte… and Zeb is out!  Cover by Lucian!

ONE…………..

TWO………………

THREE………………………….

DING DING DING

Bryan McVay: Here is your winner… Lucian Santangel!!!!!

Joe Hoffman: Hard fought win there by Lucian… just barely squeezing that one out that coulda gone either way.

Benny Newell: And I’ll be having nightmares later tonight from that mask Joe.

Joe Hoffman: I didn’t know it was possible to dream while blacked out in a pool of vomit.

Benny Newell: That was one time… this week!

Joe Hoffman: We anyhow… stay tuned folks as we still have two title matches to come on Refueled including our main event… Kostoff versus Farthington for the HOW World Title!

Back live and we cut backstage to see Darin Matthews walking around hassling the staff.  Matthews has his nose stuck up in the air, snuffing everyone walking by him.  He’s wearing a Peter Millar beige suit with a checked blue shirt and blue tie.  He shoves his hand into everyone of the production staff’s face as he walks by.  As he spots Blaire Moise and a camera crew walking, he rushes up alongside them begging for the chance to be interviewed.  Matthews puts his arm around Blaire’s shoulder, creeping her out as she pushes his arm away.  He puts on the fake charming smile trying to get her attention.

Darin Matthews:  Blaire!  Be a dear!  I need another interview.  I haven’t impressed Mr. Best to hire me back.  I want to show him my interview skills are top notch now.  Ask me a question!  Anything!  Your 23-time wrestling champion and tyrant of the territories needs a spotlight on him after the last two week’s fiascos.

Blaire Moise:  Um…no!  Like I said three weeks ago, pull your head out of your ass and stop annoying the shit out of everyone.  Lee doesn’t like that.  It’ll get you hired back faster.  Besides, I’m getting ready for a more important interview than you.  So, go sit in catering and wait until Lee calls you.  I’m sure he’s seen your 52 other desperate attempts begging for your job.

Matthews scoffs at Blaire.  The nerve of that old hag!  How dare she disrespect him like that.  He stomps off further into the backstage area, feeling dejected as he runs into lesser known and used HOW interviewer Brian Bare who continues to look through his notes for the evening.   As he’s fumbling, Matthews kneels down beside Brian, all excited to see a former colleague who used to interview him.

Darin Matthews:  Brian!  It’s so awesome to see you again.  I’m going to need a solid.  See I need to cut a promo for Mr. Best again.  I kind of need to show him how I’ve improved at the game a bit.  Gotta work on the old chops and all.  And I need your help.

Brian Bare:  Yeah, sure, Zion, I would be glad to do it.

Matthews face goes completely expressionless for a moment.  His eyes twitch.  He freezes up in complete anger at the use of Zion in front of him.  He wants to destroy the backstage area and he is trying desperately not to fling Bare around the last time he treated Bare like a rag doll he got fined.  As he continues to stare blankly in the mirror before Bare pats him on the back and stands up.

Brian Bare:  Listen, Zion…I get it. You’ve got stage fright.  But Lee won’t hire back someone that’s worthless at cutting a promo.  Why don’t you sign up for some lessons at Six Time Academy or go to MVW and sharpen your skills first before you talk to Lee.  Meanwhile while you make those calls, I’m going to go get a coffee.  I can’t be around someone who can’t talk.  It’ll ruin my reputation.

As Bare walks off, Matthews begins to charge towards him before Meredith grabs his shoulder and yanks him back.  She hands him his special-order Frappuccino.  He grabs it and takes a giant sip before venting towards her.

Darin Matthews:  I can’t believe that he said Zion in front of me.  That dirty word!  I’m not that loser any more.  I’m a 23-time champion!  I’m the Tyrant of the Territories.   It’s so disrespectful of the brand I’ve spent mouths trying to develop for myself.  Clearly, he’s not talented enough to sell my brand to Lee.  Come on let’s…

Matthews turns his eyes towards Bare’s desk.  He’s left an unattended microphone just laying there.  His eyes grow ever mischievous.  He turns to see a camera person taking a break.  He pulls Meredith in as he sets his drink on one of the equipment boxes.

Darin Matthews:  Grab that me that microphone and I’ll grab the camera guy.  This interview is about to start.

Matthews rushes towards the camera guy and Meredith grabs the microphone off the desk.  She walks over towards Darin Matthews who is taking in deep breathes all excited while adjusting his suit.  Meredith comes into focus holding the microphone nervously as she begins to conduct the interview herself.

Meredith:  Good evening ladies and gentleman I am here with Darin Matthews and…

Matthews puts his hand up right in her face.  He’s offended she had the audacity to interview him.  He wags his finger at her.

Darin Matthews:  No!  I will not have a gutter slut like yourself interview the likes of me.  Business managers are meant to be seen and not heard, remember?  This isn’t YOUR spotlight.  It’s my spotlight.

Meredith:  The nerve….I never….

Meredith can’t remain professional and can’t deal with Matthews’ bullshit anymore for today and storms off.  Matthews shakes her outburst off knowing she will be back.  She needs the money to feed her kid.  Matthews takes the microphone as his eyes light up with excitement.

Darin Matthews:  Ladies and gentlemen of High Octane Wrestling.  I have the honor….no the privilege today of interviewing the Greatest Superstar in all of HOW history.  Not only has he been decorated with 6 of our championships including the ICON, the LSD, and the Tag Championships; he’s decorated with 17 other accolades in this business.  Some call him the Pinnacle of Pro Wrestling.   Others dub him the Tyrant of the Territories.  I call him your unsung Hero of High Octane Wrestling.  Tonight, on the Darin Matthews Show with Darin Matthews:  I give you the gift of viewing a man who once he receives his new HOW contract from Lee Best; he will make waves like you’ve never seen before!  Here he is……the Independent Sensation:  DARIN ALEXANDER MATTHEWS!!!!!

Matthews steps out of frame with the microphone, going behind the camera guy, clapping his hands audibly and enters stage left.  He bows and pulls the microphone up shaking his own hand basking in all his own glory.

Darin Matthews:  Thank you!  You’re too kind, my friend.

Matthews scoots over to his right and smiles sticking his hands up in the air just giving praise to himself.  Matthews then goes back to his left and continues and looks over into the camera.

Darin Matthews:  While it’s true I bask in the glory of my championship victories, Darin.  I’m here for much more than that.  I’m here to…

Immediately the camera guy walks out from the interview.  He’s seen enough off Matthews’ losing his collective mind and can’t be apart of this segment any more.  Matthews rushes towards him begging and pleading.

Darin Matthews:  No! Comeback with my spotlight.  I need this to get my job back.  Please!  I’ll pay you.  More than Lee Best could ever pay you!  I just need to make a promo for my resume.  Just give me this one thing!  Please!  Don’t be disrespectful!  If you do, I swear you will rue the day you cross Matthews’ path.  Rue it!  I will end your career and…

Matthews incessant sputtering continues to fade away as the cameraman walks around the corner to end the segment.

We return to Benny Newell and Joe Hoffman, the former drooling slightly as he stares at his phone while Joe, ever the professional, keeps a smile on his face with his eyes pointed directly at the camera.

Joe Hoffman: It’s been a hell of a show thus far with more to come as the Hollywood Bruvs, Mikey Unlikely and Jesse Kendrix, face off against Lindsay Troy and Dan Ryan of the Group of Death!

Benny Newell: Didn’t they have another name before?

Benny slumps forward while narrowing his watery eyes down at his phone, flicking his thumb rapidly across the screen.

Joe Hoffman: The name you’re looking for is the Inner Circle and I actually believe they still use the name.

Benny Newell: Oh. Uh.. okay.

The usually vibrant and loud Benny seems drained, tired and clearly out of step with Joe as he continues to stare down at his phone.

Joe Hoffman: Right.. Well.. Anyway, let’s send it up to Bryan McVay!

We cut to the ring where Bryan McVay and Joel Hortega are standing by. The crowd lets out a low cheer as we prepare for the next match to begin.

Bryan McVay: The following match is a Tag Team Match, introducing first..

“Kicking and Screaming” by Blues Saraceno queues up right on schedule as the lights dim. A mix reaction from the fans goes back and forth over the introduction of the Inner Circle of the G.o.D.. Lindsay Troy is the first to make an appearance followed Dan Ryan as a series of pyro blasts showers the stage in light.

Bryan McVay: At a combined weight of 500 pounds, LIIINDSAAAY TROOOY and DAAAAAAAN RYAAAAAAAN!

Both competitors make their way to the ring, Dan Ryan with a focused, grim expression while Lindsay Troy seems less serious, a smart smirk on her face, the kind of expression you expect to see one someone who doesn’t give a fuck. Both enter the ring and move to their corner while quietly discussing strategy. The music cuts off as both competitors turn their eyes toward the stage.

Bryan McVay: Their opponents, at a combined weight of 448 pounds, THE HOLLYWOOD BRUVS, MIIIIIIKEY UNLIIIIKELY AND JEEEESSE KEEEENDRIX!

“F*cking in the Bushes” by Oasis begins to play as a spotlight falls on the stage. The first thing we see is a full on merchandise shill as Kentrix appears backing up with the newest Hollywood Bruv’s t-shirt, available right now. With both hands held aloft he points to the sky two ghouts of brilliant white pryo rip across the stage Taking his time, Kendrix slowly turns around with a seductive smirk as he is joined by his fellow Hollywood Bruv, Mikey Unlikely.

Joe Hoffman: The Hollywood Bruvs recently lost the High Octane Tag Titles to their own stable mate, Andy Murray and PBR member, “Average” Joe Bergman. Before that it was actually Dan Ryan and Lindsay Troy who had been defeated allowing 24K to claim the titles so both of these teams here tonight have tasted defeat in recent weeks.

Benny Newell: Why.. uh.. Why you gotta.. Bring that up?

Joe Hoffman: For starters a win for either of these teams would be huge for getting back in the title picture and as an aside, Benny are you okay?

Benny Newell: Oh.. that make’s sense, Hoffman. And I’m.. just.. Tired.. Ugh..

The two slowly make their way down to the ring ignoring the fans for the most part as they exchange looks with their opponents in the ring. They enter and pose before moving to their corner to prepare for the match. Joel Hortega signals for the bell.

DING DING DING!

Joe Hoffman: And our match is under way!

Benny Newell: Oh.. g.. gre…UUUPMPH!

Joe Hoffman: BENNY! Not again!

The sound of Benny Newell suddenly and rather explosively vomiting fills the airwaves while Dan Ryan and Mikey Unlikely start off the match circling each other, testing the others strengths before they tie up in the center of the ring. Dan Ryan manages to power Mikey into the corner, laying in a few stiff chops instead of engaging in a clean break. He is admonished by referee Joel Hortega which Ryan largely ignores as he shoves past the referee to continue to attack Mikey with a series of stiff forearms.

Joe Hoffman: Benny has vomit all over the ground here, ladies and gentlemen, it smells like mom’s speghetti and cheerios after they’d been buried in a landfill for a few weeks to marinate. Oh folks, I’m going to try to keep up with the action but it’s very distracting as Dan Ryan is having his way with Mikey Unlikely right now.

Benny Newell: Ughh… BRAHJDKFADfuutth

More wet, vomiting noises. Dragging Mikey toward the center of the ring Dan slings him into the ropes and manages to cut him down with a vicious clothesline. Keeping the pressure up Ryan continues to work over Mikey in the center of the ring with a variety of punishing knees and elbows before he drags Mikey to the corner. A quick tag brings in Lindsay Troy who goes to work on Mikey’s left leg.

Joe Hoffman: Seriously, how do you have this much inside of you? The Group of Death continue to display their pack mentality while Benny somehow continues to spew waste from his mouth..

Grapevining Mikey’s leg Lindsay continues to work over her opponents base while keeping him far from his corner. She executes a chained series of leg and ankle locks avoiding any high impact attacks while Dan Ryan supports her verbally from their corner.

Joe Hoffman: Great team work here by Troy and Ryan as they slowly and effectively dissect Mikey Unlikely keeping Jesse Kendrix out of the fight! Oh jeez, Benny you got it on my shoes!

Benny Newell: ..s..stop.. Getting yours shoes.. On my.. Guac..a.. Mooooole.

Another tag brings in Dan Ryan as Lindsay hits a wicked dragonscrew to Mikey’s left leg followed by a spring board leg drop from Ryan as he goes for the pin..

UNO!

DO-

Before the second hand can fall Mikey kicks out much to Kendrix’s relief. Dan Ryan keeps on task reigning down a heavy offense focused on Mikey’s left leg and joint attacks. It isn’t exciting but it is effective at keeping Mikey neutralized as Ryan makes another tag with Troy. Dan powers Mikey up into a dragon suplex before it is Lindsays turn to enter the ring with a front flip leg drop across Mikey’s neck and chest.

UNO!

DOS!

Joe Hoffman: A couple of hear falls as Troy and Ryan continue to grind down Mikey Unlikely like some kind of ruthless wrestling machine!

Benny Newell: Uhgh.. Hoffman.. Quick.. Get me.. The.. the baggie I taped under the desk, it’s on your side..

Joe Hoffman: Would you stop it, we’re live! I don’t have a bag tape.. Wait.. I do. What the hell is this Benny?

Benny Newell: It’s medicine in case this.. Oh boy.. In case this happened..

Mikey powers out, fully pressing all 195 pounds of Lindsay Troy off his chest before rolling to the ropes. Troy smirks at Mikey as she climbs to her feet before sending a few kicks to her down opponent. Pulling him up to his feet Troy sends him into the ropes before swing her leg out for a vicious heel kick only for Mikey to duck under and counter with a brutal back suplex dropping the Mother of G.o.D. on the back of her head.

Joe Hoffman: A great counter by Mikey Unlikely but can he capitalize on it!?

Benny Newell: Okay.. okay.. One second, I’ll be right back with you Hoffhole…

His leg hurting Mikey begins to drag himself toward his corner as Lindsay Troy, stunned by the suplex, tries to shake the cobwebs free. Both Kendrix and Dan Ryan yell encouragement to their partners, both with their hands outstretched. The smoke seems to clear from Troy’s mind as she suddenly realizes that Mikey is attempting to tag out and charges forward, nailing Kentrix with a forearm, knocking him off the mat before turning to kick Mikey across the face. Hammering him with another barrage of kicks to the ribs and head Lindsay confidently drags him back to her corner and tags in Dan Ryan.The sound of Benny snorting something fills the audio.

Joe Hoffman: Benny is that cocaine!?

Pulling the dazed Mikey to his feet in the center of the ring and signal for their Roaring Elbows in Stereo, spinning and slam their elbows at Mikey’s head.

Joe Hoffman: A double Roaring Elbow might be enough to put Mikey away!

Benny Newell: LET’S GET THIS SHIT DONE, HOFFMAN! DRINK!

Dropping below their strikes Mikey manages to avoid the contact before charging into the ropes before colliding with both his opponents with a huge clothesline! Lindsay and Dan are stunned as Mikey uses the ropes to drag himself up to his feet, hobbling to the corner where he makes the hot tag to Kendrix!

Joe Hoffman: A must make tag by Mikey Unlikely to Kendrix as he enters the ring for the first time this match!

Benny Newell: I LOOOOOVE COCAINE!

The fresh and fired up Kendrix flies into the ring targeting the bigger of his two opponents first. Sweeping behind big Dan Ryan, Kendrix deadlifts the man into a German Suplex! He immediately releases and ducks a clothesline from Lindsay Troy before he hits a huge German Suplex on her! Rolling through he releases Lindsay Troy and targets Dan Ryan who has staggered back up to his feet only to get caught in another huge German Suplex, bridging it into a pin!

UNO!

Kickout!

Joe Hoffman: Dan Ryan might be reeling from those suplexes but the veteran in him manages to pop his shoulder before a two count!

Dan Ryan easily pulls his shoulder off the mat out of pure instinct as his face still is a reflection of pain. Kendrix skips up to his feed as Joel Hortega turns his attention to making sure Lindsay Troy leaves the ring. Taking advantage of the refs distraction Kentrix pulls Dan up while racking his eyes and kicking him square in the balls, an act that draws the ire of the fans who still can not decide for sure who to support.

Joe Hoffman: A mixed reaction from the crowd as Kendrix sinks to a new low with some dirty tactics!

Benny Newell: HA! Hoffman I don’t even know what you are talking about but I’ll tell you something, when Kendrix kicked Dan Ryan in the balls I could see the color of pain leaving his soul!

Joe Hoffman: I think I liked it better when you were down, Benny.

Benny Newell: Yeah well go fuck yourself, Hoffman, how’s that for feedback?!

Joe Hoffman: I.. what?

As Dan Ryan clutches at his groin Kendrix rolls him into the center of the ring before dropping not one, not two but three elbow drops driven right into Dan Ryan’s heart, before the final Kendrix offers the world a thoughtful wanking gesture. Lazily hooking the leg Kendrix blows Lindsay Troy a kiss as Joel drops down for the pinfall..

UNO!

Kickout!

Joe Hoffman: Another kick out by Dan Ryan but you know it’s draining every time he has to throw that shoulder up, it’s just a little more gas out of the tank.

Benny Newell: I got a little more of this Colombian Marching Powder if he needs it, works great!

Joe Hoffman: Benny!

Another authoritative kick out by Dan Ryan as Kendrix nonchalantly shrugs the lack of a three count off with a smug expression. With the Hollywood Bruvs in control Kendrix once again slows down the pace, administering a series of resting headlocks as he wears down Ryan. Working his opponent back into the Hollywood Bruv’s corner Kendrix tags out as Mikey returns, rested and ready to fight.

Holding Dan down Kendrix opens him up for an attack from Mikey who launches himself over the top rope, driving his knees down hard across Ryan’s chest, driving the air out of him. The two then shove him into their corner and take turns kicking and stomping Ryan through a series of rapid tags.

Mikey finally ends the series of tags hooking Dan into his punishing submission, the Backstory, an elevated Boston Crab hold. Keeping him away from the ropes Mikey arches Dan Ryan’s legs and back contorting his body as he howls in pain.

CRACK!

Out of nowhere Lindsay Troy flies from her corner and nails a missile drop kick right to the jaw of Mikey causing him to release Dan Ryan. Kendrix jumps in and charges Lindsay Troy only to have his momentum used against him as he catches the Raynes of Castamere straight to the face. He crumbles to the ring like a rag doll as Joel Hortega, having lost control of the match, checks on him.

Joe Hoffman: Lindsay Troy with some hiccup fast offensive swinging the tide, I have to believe, back into the favor of the Group of Death!

Benny Newell: I could really go for some Denny’s!

Troy drags Dan Ryan to the corner, still in pain from enduring the Backstory, and tags herself in as Hortega looks up. With Kendrix effectively eliminated you can see the hunger on Troy’s face as she looks ready to send Mikey to dream street with his own taste of the Raynes of Castamere. Mikey pulls himself up by the ropes once again, his eyes swimming in his head as Troy launches herself at him!

ROLL CREDITS!

Joe Hoffman: He countered it! He countered it!

It’s Mikey Unlikely’s chance to catch Lindsay Troy off guard as he throws himself at her catching her with the Lariat/Backbreaker combo before she can fire her knees off! He quickly grapevines both legs and locks in the pin! Dan Ryan realizes what is happening and begins dragging himself into the ring, his back and legs still wracked with pain.

UNO!

Lindsay Troy can be seen struggling as Dan pushes past the ropes!

DOS!

Knowing he can’t run Dan Ryan launches himself at Mikey and Lindsay!

TRES!!

As Hortega’s hand falls Dan Ryan collides with Mikey, unfortunately it is too late.

Bryan McVay: WINNERS OF THE MATCH……THE HOLLYWOOD BRUVS…..MIKEY UNLIKEY AND JESSE KENDRIX IN 14 MINUTES 41 SECONDS!

Joe Hoffman: Mikey and Jesse, the Hollywood Bruvs, pull out a close win! No doubts this will help propel them toward another chance for High Octane Wrestling gold while Linsday Troy and Dan Ryan return to the Group of Death to wrestle another day.

Action cuts to a commercial break

Cut to backstage.

Joe Bergman strides towards the gorilla area of the Allstate Arena, Tag Team title belt slung over his shoulder.  He appears deep in thought as he passes by an open office.

Mario Maurako pokes his head out from inside said office.

Mario Maurako: Hey Joe.  Can you stop in here for a minute?

Joe’s train of thought and mental match preparation derailed, he stops at the door and acknowledges the new HOW Hall of Famer.

Joe Bergman: Um.  Sure. 

Mario shows Joe inside of his office. The office is decorated to the hilt with memorabilia celebrating the six times he won the HOW Tag Team title.

Joe’s impressed.

Joe Bergman: Congratulations on the Hall of Fame by the way.

Mario Maurako: Congratulations yourself on winning the Tag Team title.

Joe Bergman: Thank you.

Mario Maurako: I really want to promote you and Murray as the new tag team champs, the belts, and tag wrestling in general.

Joe Bergman: Okay. I can appreciate that.

Mario Maurako: I have to say, I’m not real thrilled with having a makeshift tag team as champions.

Joe makes a gesture with his hand to denote he understands Mario’s sentiment.

Joe Bergman: To be honest, this wasn’t the way I imagined winning the tag belts.  That being said, I’m not complaining.  The random element of the Lethal Lottery aside, it’s still an honor to be a champion, no matter what the circumstances were.

Mario leans back in his chair.

Mario Maurako: I’d like to find a way to take a lemon and make lemonade out of this situation and see if we can get you two to be more of a real tag team.

Mario rubs his chin.

Mario Maurako: Have you thought of a name?

Joe Bergman: What would you call a team of two people with nothing in common except a title belt?

Mario Maurako: I’m listening.

Joe starts blurting out random names.

Joe Bergman: Apples and Oranges.  Involuntary Incorporation.

Mario just listens and tries not to react as Joe fires names at him.

Joe Bergman: Two Peas Not in the Same Pod.  The King and That Other Guy.

Grimacing, this was not going the way Mario had hoped.

Joe Bergman: Oil and Vinegar.  Implosion Inc.  One of These Things is Not Like the Other.

Joe pauses for a second.

Mario is about to say something but then Joe comes up with another set of potential names . . .

Joe Bergman: The Dumpster Fire.  Chalk and Cheese.  The Incompatibly Odd Couple.  The Ticking Time Bomb of-

. . . and finally the new HOW Hall of Famer has heard enough.  He raises his hands to stop Joe.

Mario Maurako: Okay okay.

Joe shrugs.

Joe Bergman: You see what I’m saying?  I’m not really trying to be a smart-ass here.  But after what happened last week in our first joint interview as the tag champions, those were the first things that popped into my mind.

Cringing and shaking his head while moving the seat on its swivel back and forth, Mario quickly realizes this was going to be a lot harder than he thought it would be.

Mario Maurako: Okay.  We’ll work on the name a little later.  How about this?  Could you two possibly just dress alike when you come to the ring?

Joe just looks at him and mouths ‘dress alike?’

Mario realizes right away that’s probably a no-go as well.

Mario Maurako: Yeah okay.  We’ll forget about that one too.

Mario folds his hands in front of him and leans forward.

Mario Maurako: How about a distinctive tag finish?

Joe Bergman: A distinctive tag finish?

Mario Maurako: Joe, every great tag team has to have cohesion.

Joe Bergman: I completely agree.

Mario Maurako: One way to get that cohesion is from tag team moves.  If you and Andy could just find a way to work together to pull off moves that can be associated with your team, maybe it would help.

Joe’s not sure.

Mario Maurako: It can be just a few moves.  It could be a whole set of moves.  The bottom line is great tag teams develop their own special finisher to differentiate themselves from other teams.

Joe considers and digests what Mario is trying to say and realizes that he’s trying to help.

Finally, he exhales.

Joe Bergman: Mario.  I respect you.  I respect what you’re trying to do here and I give you my word that I will consider everything that you’re saying.  But hear me out for a second.  I tried to play nice-nice with Murray last week and the whole world saw what happened.  So right now, my one and only focus is MJ Flair and High Flyer.  I really want to win this match and I really would like to successfully defend these titles.  In my view, the best way to deal with what is clearly an imperfect situation, is to go out there tonight and do the best I can to make sure I leave that ring still one half of the HOW Tag Team Champions.

Joe pauses and finishes.

Joe Bergman: Nothing else matters.

With that, Mario nods.  Joe turns and makes his exit.

As we come back to ringside we see the Hall of Fame team ready for the next highly anticipated match up.

Joe Hoffman: Next up is the tag team championship match and everyone has to wonder are Joe Bergman and Andy Murray going to be on the same page against the well oiled machine of MJ Flair and High Flyer?

Benny Newell: Well oiled machine? You been snorting my coke again Hoffhole? The only thing well oiled about Flair and Flyer is their knack for taking a loss. Murray and Bergman don’t have to like each other to succeed here tonight because they are facing Stevens and Zion…..er……Flair and Flyer so a victory is as easy as a layup.

Bryan McVay: Tonight’s match up is scheduled for ONE FALL!

Crowd: ONE FALL!

Bryan McVay: with a thirty minute time limit. And it is for the HOW TAG TEAM CHAMPIONSHIP OF THE WOOOOOOOOOOOORLD!!!!!!!!!!!!

As McVay finishes the introduction to the match…… 

“Mary Mary (Stigmatic Mix)” by Chumbawamba

begins to play over the PA system. The lights dim as the music builds and MJ Flair walks out with purpose, stopping right at the top of the ramp for just a moment before she heads to the ring.

Bryan McVay: Introducing first, from Warwick, New York and weighing in at 135 lbs….she is EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEMMMMMMMMMMMEEEEEEE! JAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY! FLAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAIR!

A few outstretched hands are slapped, but for the most part, she remains focused.

MJ takes a lap around the ring to greet another handful of fans, and then stops by the far ringpost. In one fluid motion she climbs from the floor to the top turnbuckle on the outside of the ring, raising her hands while encouraging as much noise from the fans as possible.

Joe Hoffman: MJ Flair has been trying to right the ship since she lost the LSD championship.

Benny Newell: Ship is sinking? Ship done sunk.

Joe Hoffman: Regardless, Flair has shown flashes of her old glory when she took Andy Murray to the limit and help win this shot at the tag titles.

Benny Newell: Murray was sick and they beat two guys who never showed up. Big victories.

As MJ Flair drops to the canvas…

“All Aboard!

“AH HA HA HA HA HA HA HA…”

The cackle from Ozzy Osbourne is heard throughout the arena as “Crazy Train” by Ozzy starts to play and a light fog rises up from the entrance way as the opening guitar rift kicks in.

Bryan McVay: And her partner, hailing from Bethlehem, Pennsylvania and weighing in at 224 lbs….he is HIGH! FLLLLYYYYYYYEEEEEEEER!

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.

Joe Hoffman: Since coming into HOW, Jack Harmen has brought the fight to everyone he has faced and as challenged for various championships as well.

Benny Newell: And the end result as been a big fat “L.” Listen Hoffman, Flyer can lose a thousand times like Kostoff has but you know the difference between Flyer and Kostoff?

Joe Hoffman: No.

Benny Newell: People are still afraid of Kostoff.

Joe Hoffman: And joining us now on commentary, Cecilworth…..

The sound of Jack being spit out.

Benny Newell: WHAT THE FUCK?!??!?!?

Joe Hoffman: Gotcha.

Benny Newell: Fuck you!

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, and 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. High Flyer then leaps onto the second ropes and looks out to the crowd.

A quick hammer-like bass drum-*thwack* beat blasts out of the arena speakers right into the guitar intro to the Michael Stanley Band’s epic Midwestern anthem “My Town” cueing Joe Bergman to step out on stage.

Benny Newell: The man riding the Murr-Train coattails.

Joe Hoffman: He’s a former world champion.

Benny Newell: So is Adonis Smyth.

Joe Hoffman: Two time world champion at that.

Benny Newell: So is Stevenspedia.

Bryan McVay: And their opponents, the champions, first, hailing from St. Louis, Missouri and weighing in at 195 lbs…..he is ONE HALF OF THE HOW TAG TEAM CHAMPIONS! ORDINARY JOE! BEEEEEERRRRRRRG! MAAAAAAAAAAN!

He slaps people’s hands along the way.

Joe Hoffman: Bergman is a man of the people.

Benny Newell: Yeah I heard he’s giving out participation trophies to anyone and everyone. Hell, Stevens became a champion again in some barn somewhere in back water Kansas thanks to Bergman.

“This old town’s been home long as I remember
This town’s gonna be here long after I’m gone
East side, West side- give up or surrender
Been down, but I still rock on . . .”

Joe continues on to greet the fans along the way.

“Oh, and this town – Is my town
Alright?
Love or hate it–it don’t matter
’cause I’m gonna stand and fight 

He reaches the ring area and continues to greet people around the front row.

Bergman then climbs up on the ring apron and leaps over the top rope into the ring.

This town – Is my town
It’s had its ups and down
Love or hate- it don’t matter.
‘Cause this is my town. . .”

Bergman climbs onto the turnbuckle and raises a can of PBR to the people in Section 214.

“The Facts” by Trap Them

fires up with its driving rhythm and razor-sharp guitar tone, heralding Andy Murray’s arrival.

Bryan McVay: And her opponent, representing 24K, hailing from Aberdeen, Scotland and weighing in at 280 lbs…..he is one half of the HOW TAG TEAM CHAMPIONS! HE IS THE KING! OF WRESTLING! ANDY! MURRRRRRRRAAAAAAY!

The big man strides out from the back with a loose swagger. He’s got a leather jacket on, the battered cricket bat slung over his shoulder and the Tag championship over the other.

Benny Newell: MY MAN! DRINK!

Joe Hoffman: Well, your man was arrested and thrown in jail after a bar fight.

Benny Newell: Hoffman, that just shows you this guy knows how to party.

Murray has a whole lot of bile in his body as he walks down, mouthing off at anyone dumb enough to hurl an insult in his direction.

Benny Newell: Slap that idiot Murr! Show him who’s KING!

Halfway down Murray switches to casually dragging the bat behind his back and holding his tag championship proudly high in the air before finally making it down to the ring, rolling under the bottom rope, and readying himself to hurt somebody.

Joe Hoffman: Murray displaying that championship with pride.

Benny Newell: It’s his division Hoffman.

Senior official, Matt Boettcher, checks both individuals as the ring announcer exits the ring before calling for the bell.

Joe Hoffman: And here we go.

MJ Flair and Harmen go over who should start first with Harmen eventually winning out the argument. Bergman tries to start the match but Murray puts a giant paw in front of him and tells him he’s starting the match.

Joe Hoffman: Murray looks like he wants to start the match.

Benny Newell: Of course he does. The King of Wrestling is going to show the Earl of Section 214 how it’s done.

Joe Hoffman: Surprised you know what an Earl is.

Benny Newell: I saw it on the History channel when I was finger banging a hooker last night right before I snorted some lines off of her taint…..

Joe Hoffman: ALRIGHTY THEN……

Harmen and Murray come to center ring and the larger Scotsman looks down at his opposition and smirks.

Joe Hoffman: Murray and Harmen are no strangers to one another as they have traveled the roads from DEFIANCE and beyond competing against or teaming with each other.

Benny Newell: FUCK DEFIANCE!

Murray shoves Harmen who in response shoves the King back. Murray chuckles a bit before playfully smacking Harmen in the face disrespectfully causing the Lunatic Fringe to vicious slap the King across his face as if he owed him money.

Benny Newell: DISQUALIFY HIS ASS BITCHER!

Joe Hoffman: Why?

Benny Newell: No one slaps the King!

Murray staggers back a bit holding his jaw as Harmen presses the attack with a set of knife edge chops as the crowd woooooooooooos.

Joe Hoffman: Murray’s chest is starting to blister.

Flyer stuns Murray with a quick kick to the stomach to allow Harmen to whip Murray to their corner. Harmen charges in and drills Murray with a clothesline to the back of the head. Harmen tags in Flair before dropping the King to the canvas with a neckbreaker and MJ Flair jumps inside connecting with a springboard leg drop. Cover.

One.

Two.

No.

Murray powers out.

Benny Newell: That was close.

As Murray tries to set up he eats a kick to the teeth.

Joe Hoffman: Murray isn’t fairing so well right now.

Benny Newell: It’s all part of the plan Hoffman.

Joe Hoffman: Regardless, the Hollywood Bruvs were victorious earlier tonight over the Group of Death when Mikey pinned Lindsay Troy and I’m sure Murray would like to sweep the night here.

Benny Newell: Mikey Money and the King always win Hoffman.

Joe Hoffman: Unless they face the King.

Benny Newell: Fuck you!

Flair makes the quick tag to Harmen and Harmen springboards in with a senton splash before the two quickly bring Murray to his feet only to bring him back down with a double suplex.

Joe Hoffman: The team formerly known as the Inner Circle using every bit of the official’s five count.

Benny Newell: Bitcher needs to count faster. How dare they treat royalty that way!

Harmen does what everyone should do when they face Murray and that is attack the legs, especially the knees, and he does this by stomping on them.

Joe Hoffman: Harmen keeping the big man down by attacking the legs.

Benny Newell: After Murray wins this he should make a decree that anyone who attacks his legs shall automatically lose the match and if they have a championship it’s forfeited to the King.

Joe Hoffman: And why would Lee Best or anyone else agree to this?

Benny Newell: Because it’s Andy Murray bitch!

Harmen grabs one of Murray’s legs and spikes it into the canvas before grapevining the leg and applying pressure.

Joe Hoffman: Murray’s issues with his legs and knees are well documented and he needs to tag in Bergman.

Boettcher asks Murray if he wants to quit and the Scotsman replies with the bird.

Benny Newell: Haha! Fuck you Bitcher!

Harmen pulls back and the big man yells out in agony and uses his size to try and pry the grip of Harmen off but High Flyer uses his free hand to begin to club the leg of Murray.

Joe Hoffman: Harmen adding insult to injury with those blows.

Murray puts his wrist into his mouth and bites down and sensing the end may be near, Bergman delivers a boot to the face of Harmen to break the hold.

Benny Newell: About time you carry your weight Ass Breath.

Bergman and Boettcher argue as the official leads Joe back to his corner. Harmen yells at Bergman to get back to his corner before turning his attention back to Murray who nails him with a…..

Benny Newell: SHUTTHEFUCKUPHOFFMAN UPPERCUT!!!

The popup European uppercut staggers Harmen into his corner and MJ Flair tags herself in. The former LSD champion rushes at Murray, but the Scotsman sees her coming and counters her attack with a massive…..

Joe Hoffman: SPINEBUSTER!

However, the move took a lot out of Murray as he drops to a knee and slowly begins to make his way towards his corner.

Benny Newell: Come on King!

Bergman begins pacing on the apron like a caged lion before beating on the top turnbuckle to get the crowd involved.

Benny Newell: That’s right you peasants, cheer for your King.

MJ Flair begins to shake the cobwebs out and she makes a dash towards Murray, but it’s too late as he is able to use his enormous wingspan to tag in Ordinary Joe.

Joe Hoffman: Murray with the tag and Bergman is in like a bat out of Hell.

Clothesline takes down Flair, but she pops back up and goes for a flying head scissors, but Bergman blocks the attempt and lifts her up.

Joe Hoffman: Buckle bomb coming up perhaps.

Benny Newell: I hear MJ Flair likes things that jar her spine. I can show her my spine tingle after the show if she wants.

MJ punches with all her might and Bergman has to settle with Plan B and throws her legs out forward and grabs her face as she falls forward.

Joe Hoffman: Face buster by Bergman.

Benny Newell: Got to give the man credit Hoffman, I didn’t see that move coming.

Bergman shoots the half and hooks the leg.

One.

Two.

Thre…..

NO!

Flair pops the shoulder up.

Bergman reaches down to pick up Flair, but the former LSD champion saw it coming and threw an up kick, but unfortunately for her it didn’t connect and Ordinary Joe shows he’s not ordinary when it comes to submissions when he locks her in an ankle lock.

Joe Hoffman: Ankle lock locked in.

Benny Newell: DRINKING! AND TAPPING!

Bergman tries to bring Flair down to the canvas to secure the hold better, but MJ who is slippery than a fish is able to break the hold by rolling through.

Benny Newell: Look out Bergerman!

As Bergman scrambles to he’s feet he’s sent crashing to the canvas after a running enzuigiri.

Joe Hoffman: MJ Flair is looking to make the tag.

Flair makes the tag to Harmen and the two begin to put the boots to the Man of the People. Harmen grabs Bergman and runs towards their corner and runs up the corner and delivers…..

Joe Hoffman: Sliced Bread Number 3!

Benny Newell: Better be sliced wheat bread.

Cover.

One.

Two.

No.

Bergman pops the shoulder up and Harmen maintained the front facelock throughout and now he locks in a dragon sleeper.

Joe Hoffman: Dragon SLEEP! Harmen is trying to submit Bergman with his own finisher.

However, the submission doesn’t stay in long as Murray breaks it up with a boot to the face.

Benny Newell: Eat the King’s boot bitch!

While Boettcher is busy with Murray and trying to get him back to his corner, Harmen picks up Bergman and throws him into their corner and tags MJ Flair.

Joe Hoffman: Harmen and Flair may be looking to end it here.

Harmen runs to the opposite corner across from Bergman and Flair climbs the turnbuckle.

Benny Newell: Come on Bergerman!

Harmen starts revving up and charges forward like a Locomotive out of control and before he can extend his leg a green mist shoots from the mouth of Bergman causing Harmen to collide with the wrong person as he extends his leg taking out MJ Flair instead of Bergman.

Benny Newell: HAHAHAHAHAHA! FUCKING DRINK!

MJ Flair hits the canvas head first and Harmen is rolling around trying to clean his eyes and Joe starts making his way over to Murray.

Joe Hoffman: Bergman trying to make the tag, but is moving fast enough.

Benny Newell: Hurry the fuck up Bergerman!

Murray not liking how slow Bergman is moving rushes into the ring and drags his partner to their corner before stepping out onto the apron to tag himself in.

Joe Hoffman: That’s one way to make a tag.

Benny Newell: Never send an Earl to do a King’s job Hoffman.

Murray makes his way to Harmen and Flair. Murray kicks Harmen until he rolls out of the ring and onto the floor. Murray pulls MJ Flair to the center of the ring and goes for a cover.

One.

Two.

No.

Flair is able to kick out which infuriates the Scotsman he yanks her up by her hair and spikes her back down with an Emerald Flowsion.

Joe Hoffman: Highland Hangover by the King and that’s all she wrote.

Cover.

One.

Two.

Three.

Bryan McVay: And your winners by pinfall, AND STILL! HOW WORLD TAG TEAM CHAMPIONS! THE KING! OF WRESTLING! ANDY! MURRRRRRRRAAAAAAY! AND ORDINARY JOE! BEEEEEERRRRRRRG! MAAAAAAAAAAN!

Murray sits up off of MJ and snatches both tag titles from Boettcher.

Joe Hoffman: This doesn’t look good.

Murray makes his way over to his corner where Joe Bergman is hunch over in the corner and Murray tosses him one of the tag titles before exiting the ring and heading towards the back.

Benny Newell: Would you look at that.

Joe Hoffman: Maybe that is a sign that Murray trusts him as a partner.

Benny Newell: Pump the brakes Hoffman. That is probably a reward for not fucking up. You know how kings reward their subjects. I’m sure Murray is pleased that Bergman was able to not fuck up and help win the match and that tag title is his reward.

Joe Hoffman: We shall see, but the tag division is certainly heating up.

Bergman rolls out of the ring and into the crowd to celebrate his victory with his fans as Harmen rolls back into the ring to check on Flair as we take a commercial break.

Back live and the screen darkens as the distant sound of patriotic North Korean music cheerfully plays quietly. The scene lightens up as we see the LSD Champion, Maximillian Wilhelm Kael, in full North Korean Military Officer regalia, his chest covered with medals and battle ribbons. He looks somber though now and again his face contorts and flexes, as though he is doing his best to repress a smile that keeps trying to worm its way onto his face. His glowing blue eye peers coldly forward.

In the corner of the screen the word “Live?” is seen.

Max Kael: It’s me, your Lord Supreme Dictator, Maximillian Wilhelm Kael, your LSD Champion! I regret that I could not be there in person as I’ve been called back to North Korea. You see, recent developments have occurred that needed me to be here, with my people. Some of you might have heard vicious rumors about the condition of my Number One Fan, Supreme Leader Kim Jong-Un. Rumors about his heath.. That he might even be dead!

Max feigned shock as he lifted one gloved hand to cover his mouth, his shiny metallic teeth glittering in the light.

Max Kael: Well I’m here to tell you all that he is alive and well! Yes, I even recently took some Government Authorized selfies with him over the last few days to prove it. Can we throw up my pictures?

We are whisked away to a series of pictures of famous locations from around the world, each of them containing a badly photoshopped picture of Max and Kim Jong-Un. Scenes include holding up the Leaning Tower of Pisa, golfing in front of the Statue of Liberty, riding penguins in front of the Great Pyramid of Geza and other such loveable adventures that clearly never happened. We return to Max as the grim expression slowly melts into a predatory grin.

Max Kael: See? He’s just fine and I’m fine and we’re all fine up here in Best Korea where nothing bad ever happens, the weather is good everyday, everybody happy, don’t forget to smoke your Meth. Uh.. sorry, I’m used to my local PSA’s, kids, don’t smoke Meth unless its Uncle Un’s State Mandated Meth Products, putting the Me in Meth.

He flashes a thumbs up at the screen, a wide smile stretched over his face. The lights in the room he is standing in flicker and darkened as his glowing eye flickers red for a moment.

“..heh-heh..”

And just like that we’re back to normal. If Max noticed he doesn’t acknowledge what just happened as he clears his throat.

Max Kael: The LSD Championship still lies with me and with Lethal Lottery out of the way it’s time to focus on MY LSD Super Raffle! Now I know it’s been hard to get raffle tickets, lord knows I’ve been looking for them. And knowing that it’s hard to get all of you on board I’ve taken the initiative to just sign you all up for my raffle!

A gurgling chuckle escapes Max’s lips as he steps to the side to reveal a large, golden tumbler filled with large white balls. Reaching in, Max retrieved a few balls and showed them to the camera. One has ALEX REDDING on it, another has KOSTOFF written on it and another has MIKE BEST written on it. Max grins and tosses the balls back in.

Max Kael: As you can see I have everyone currently employed with High Octane Wrestling and a few Legends written on these balls as well. Every week I’ll pull a ball and that lucky individual will get a shot at my LSD Championship! Doesn’t that sound fun!?

Closing the lid on the machine Max grabs the tumble’s crank, rapidly pulling it as the balls tumbled over each other a few dozen times. Satisfied with his mixing job Max opens the tumbler once again and pulls out a ball before showing the camera. SCOTT STEVENS.

Max Kael: Looks like next week I’m facing.. SCOTT STEVE-oh wait. Oh well! I guess I’ll win by default. How about you do your job, Stevens, and get that new tally mark up on my score card, thanks buddy! Well that’s all the time we have for you this week.. I’ll see you all again next week on the ROAD TO THE LSD RAFFLE! Good luck everybody!

He flashes another sharp toothed grin at the screen before he steeples his fingers in front of himself.

Max Kael: As always I am the Worthiest, the Witty and Wild Maximillian Wilhelm Kael, Lord of Kaelsvania, The Prime Minister of Maxopotamia, the North Kaelrean General, the Lord Supreme Dictator of High Octane Wrestling, LSD Champion, Hall of Famer, First of my Name.

We are cast in darkness once again as Max’s voice roils up again, harsh, cold and…different.

“Long.. will we…Maim..”

The action cuts away from the LSD Champion and now it is time to focus on the World Championship Match no one thought they would ever see…..

Joe Hoffman: It’s time for the main event, ladies and gentlemen, and what a main event it’s going to be. For the first time since 2014, Chris Kostoff will step into the ring and compete for the HOW World Championship. His opponent? The unstoppable, unbeatable Cecilworth Farthington– a man who has not been defeated in HOW in over 365 days.

Benny Newell: You know what, Joe? FUUUUUUUUUUCK CECI–

Before Benny can continue, his chair is abruptly pulled out from behind him as he slips out of it and falls drunkenly to the floor. He looks up in a panic, only to see HOW Hall of Famer and known War Games Captain Mike Best standing over him.

Mike Best: Go take a powder, Benny. I’m on commentary tonight.

Benny Newell: Hey, fuck you man. This is my job, and we’re not friends again until Lee decides that–

Taking a stutter step forward, Mike feigns as though he’s going to strike the Hall of Fame announcer, who is still recovering from a broken arm– even before the injury, he wasn’t exactly in fighting shape in the first place. The commentator scampers away from the desk, allowing Michael to put his headset on and take his place.

Mike Best: Jesus, this headset smells like death.

Joe Hoffman: Well, folks, at this time I’m joined by the HOW ICON Champion, and the man who has selected Cecilworth Farthington as the first overall pick of the War Games draft. Here to scout your talent tonight, Mike?

Mike Best: Scout my talent? Come on, Joe– Farthington is the best in the game right now, bar none. You think I don’t want a front row seat for the first time he looks Chris Kostoff in the face? This is like a rite of passage in HOW. He’s about to get the fucking shit kicked out of him, Joe, but he’s walking out with the title. And I wanna see it.

With the crowd ready to go and primed for murder, “Wolf Totem” by The Hu begins to blast over the sound system, the crowd explodes into cheers for the entrance of Hall of Famer Chris Kostoff. Kostoff steps slowly through the curtain, holding his arm up in the air and staring intensely back at the ring for his first HOW World Championship match since 2014.

A “LET’S GO KOSTOFF” chant breaks out immediately as the big man makes his way down the ramp, stepping up onto the apron and literally stepping over the ropes. Joel Hortega appears to want to check him over for contraband, but the leering gaze of Kostoff seems to change his mind.

Joe Hoffman: A fun piece of trivia for HOW fans– Chris Kostoff faced a lifetime ban from competing for the HOW World Championship back in 2014, after a title match with the man sitting right next to me.

Mike Best: He sure did. And then I literally murdered him, he died, and now he’s allowed to compete for the title again.

Joe Hoffman: I mean you didn’t murder him, Mike. He’s standing in the ring, ready to have a match with Cecilworth Farthington.

Mike Best: Literally murdered. If I didn’t literally murder him, Joe, then technically he can’t have this match. Are you trying to take this match from him? Why are you being an asshole?

Joe Hoffman: I’M NOT! I mean, I’m just saying he’s still–

Mike Best: He is alive again, Joe. I don’t know the details. I assume he had a head transplant, and to be honest we don’t really talk about it much. Kostoff is a fucking legend, and I won’t have you besmirching his legacy by claiming that he was never murdered and then brought back to life by science. Good day.

Joe Hoffman: I don’t think a head transplant is a–

Mike Best: I SAID GOOD DAY.

The melodic delight of “Mr. Finishline” replaced Kostoff’s music over the speakers, beckoning forth the arrival of the HOW World Champion, Cecilworth Farthington. The champion steps out onto the ramp with an unusual seriousness in his eyes, and the HOW World Championship around his waist.

His eyes are focused intently on Chris Kostoff as he starts slowly down the ramp, patting the front of the championship as he makes his way to ringside.

Joe Hoffman: The champion has arrived, ladies and gentlemen. Love him or hate him, it is impossible to deny that Cecilworth Farthington is not having perhaps the greatest calendar year in the history of the company. I can’t say I approve of the way he wins a lot of his matches, but…

Mike Best: Toilet murder?

Joe Hoffman: Toilet murder, for one.

Mike Best: He’s unorthodox. But you know what? He’s a future Hall of Famer, and there’s a reason he’s the number one overall pick for War Games. You sleep on this guy, you get your fucking arm broken.

Cecilworth hops up onto the ring apron and ducks into the ring, handing the belt off to Joel Hortega. There is a hesitance in handing him the belt– he is still promising that he’ll be back for it as HOW’s Senor official wrenches it free.

DING DING DING 

*CRACK!*

Nearly before the final ding has dung, Cecilworth Farthington’s head is snapped back with a punch that nearly turns his skull into a decorative ashtray. The champion staggers back into the ropes, holding his right eye socket as he instantly feels the swelling begin.

Joe Hoffman: Maybe Kostoff should have been your first pick, Mike.

Mike Best: Maybe you should eat my whole ass with a very small spoon, Joe.

Having never considered the real life implications of fighting known murder survivor Chris Kostoff, Farthington charges back with a right hand of his own. It connects with Kostoff’s right cheek, closed fist, and is enough to snap Kostoff’s head back just slightly as well.

The behemoth smiles. Now it’s a fight.

KOSTOFF’S GONNA KILL YOU!

KOSTOFF’S GONNA KILL YOU!

KOSTOFF’S GONNA KILL YOU!

Kostoff throws a right hand, and then another, battling Farthington back into the ropes as he goes to work with the old school, fuck you brawling style that has made him a household name for nearly two decades. Farthington, a classically trained wrestler, tries to fight back, but it’s clear that he isn’t going to beat the man at his own game. Kostoff grabs CMF by the shoulders, flipping him around and throwing him hard into the turnbuckle. The champion winces at the impact, and then again as Kostoff throws his whole body into a shoulder charge.

Big right hand.

Bigger right hand.

Kostoff rears back and nails the biggest yet, knocking Farthington to the mat as he sits helplessly with his head against the bottom turnbuckle pad. Chris Kostoff takes a few steps back, rushing forward with another big boot…. but Farthington rolls out of the way!

Mike Best: THAT’S MY BOY, BLUE! How’s your balls, Kostoff?

Joe Hoffman: That has to hurt, but Kostoff has been firmly in control of this match so far. Farthington is going to need more than a few lucky rolls to make it out of this one alive, much less with his title.

Mike Best: Why are you so negative? This motherfucker hasn’t lost a match in a YEAR, Joe. Longest winning streak of all-time. Kostoff is a murder machine, but Farthington is the factory where they make the machines that do the murders.

Kostoff clutches his testicles as he snares them against the ropes, getting his leg caught in the process. CMF pulls himself up to his feet, taking the opportunity to tear into the arm of Chris Kostoff with a series of hard elbows and taking advantage of his staggered state. As soon as Kostoff gets his leg free, Farthington, throws a vicious boot to the back of the big man’s other knee, taking him down to a kneel facing the turnbuckle.

Holding on to the ropes, Farthington lets out a warcry, and then kicks Chris Kostoff in the fucking head about as hard as a man can.

It appears to anger the Kostoff.

Joe Hoffman: This is bad news for the champion.

Mike Best: Oh fuck. I know that look. RUN, BUDDY. NO SHAME IN RUNNING, JUST RUN.

Farthington throws a punch, as Kostoff stands up to his full height.

Kostoff shrugs it off.

KOSTOFF’S GONNA KILL YOU!

Another punch.

KOSTOFF’S GONNA KILL YOU!

Kostoff shrugs it off.

KOSTOFF’S GONNA KILL YOU!

Farthington feigns a third punch, but instead he goes low with a quick dropkick! It takes Kostoff down to a knee once again, but Farthington isn’t done– he throws a second dropkick, this time taking the big man down to his back as it hits him square in the face!

BUT KOSTOFF GETS RIGHT FUCKING BACK UP!

Farthington shrugs and charges in, but he takes a boot to the stomach…

Joe Hoffman: OH GOD ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!

Mike Best: Not this early, there’s no fucking way… FIGHT IT, BUDDY, DON’T LET HIM GET YOU OFF YOUR–

Kostoff swings Farthington up into power bomb position, ready to hit him with the NO REMORSE, but Farthington counters! He desperately grabs hold of Kostoff’s arm, wrapping his legs around it and flipping the giant to the canvas with a thunderous slam, locking in the cross-arm breaker in the process! He’s reversed it!

HE FUCKING REVERSED IT!

Joe Hoffman: He’s got it! Farthington’s got it! The Article 50! That’s it, this one is over!

Mike Best: THAT’S IT MOTHERFUCKER! That’s the man to beat, ladies and gentlemen!

Chris Kostoff flops unnaturally on the mat— it’s so uncommon to see the Hall of Famer in real pain that it’s almost uncomfortable to watch. He lets out a howl as Farthington cinches up on his left arm, really locking the cross arm breaker in as he leaves the big man with a choice.

Lose the match or lose the arm.

Kostoff snarls, flailing violently as he tries to escape. He can feel the bones in his arm trying to give way, as the hopelessness closes in. Fight or flight is failing him, as Hortega leans in to check for the submission.

Kostoff’s hand hits the mat… but he doesn’t tap out.

Pressing against the mat, the big man uses every inch of reserve strength that he has left to push himself up off the canvas as a mystified Farthington pulls back harder on the gold, trying to end it. Chris Kostoff pushes one last time, pulling himself to his knees.

Joe Hoffman: I… I can’t believe this! He can’t possibly…

Mike Best: No. Noooo. NONONONO! FUCK! NO! NO!

On wobbling legs, Chris Kostoff lifts Cecilworth Farthington up with him, the Article 50 still locked firmly on to his left arm. He managed to get the champion up into powerbomb position, and every fan in the arena is out of their seat as he sets him up for the most iconic fucking finisher in the history of HOW!

With a mighty heave, Kostoff throws the entire weight of Farthington toward the canvas, neck first! The arena explodes into cheers, as we’re witnessing history live!

Joe Hoffman: NO REMORSE! NO REMORSE! NO RE–

Mike Best: NO FUCKING DICE, JOE!

The SON OF GOD’s voice turns chipper, as Farthington releases the hold just in time to grab the ropes and break up the move! Kostoff stumbles backward as Farthington falls limp into the turnbuckle, chest heaving and desperation in his soul. His eyes are equally full of fear and determination, as Kostoff comes charging into the turnbuckle to finish the job!

*CRACK!*

The big boot hits… but it doesn’t hit Cecilworth Farthington! Joel Hortega hits the mat like he’s been shot, laid out in the corner as Farthington throws him in front of the oncoming train that is Chris Kostoff!!!

Joe Hoffman: HORTEGA IS DOWN! KOSTOFF HAD IT!

Mike Best: COME ON, MOTHERFUCKER, FINISH THE JOB! YOU GOT THIS BUDDY!

Farthington looks at Hortega, and then at Kostoff. Kostoff looks at Farthington, and then down at Hortega. For a moment, there is a calm before the storm– Cecilworth flashes a nervous smile, and then in an instant, the calm is over. Kostoff lets out a roar and charges for the corner, but Farthington drops to his back and rolls out of the ring!

The fans are on their feet again, as the big man makes chase. He dumps his body over the ropes, landing on his feet and chasing the World Champion around the ring! Farthington grabs the ring bell from the timekeeper’s table, throwing it over the ropes and launching it into the ring– he’s searching for anything and everything that he can use to try to end this match without being actually murdered by Kostoff!

KOSTOFF’S GONNA KILL YOU!

KOSTOFF’S GONNA KILL YOU!

KOSTOFF’S GONNA KILL YOU!

The World Champion is sweating, as he finally finds the HOW World Championship resting near Bryan McVay. He slides back into the ring, brandishing his cherished championship and favorite weapon, as Kostoff bears down on him, climbing through the ropes.

Joe Hoffman: Chris Kostoff is looking at that championship like it’s made out of plastic, folks. I don’t think he’s as afraid of being hit with it as Farthington wants him to be– this is NOT your average HOW opponent. Chris Kostoff feels no pain. He feels no fear. He feels…

Mike Best: Don’t say it, Joe. Please don’t say–

Joe Hoffman: NO REMORSE!

Swallowing hard, Farthington ALSO realizes that using the HOW World Championship won’t be enough to put down Kostoff. He panics, throwing the belt directly into the face of the challenger, and Kostoff covers up to protect his nose and eyes, but he’s otherwise no worse for the wear after it connects with his protective arms. He essentially catches the belt, holding it in his hands for the first time in many, many years as he–

*DIIIIIIIIINNNNNNNNG*

Gets hit directly in the side of the head with the ring bell.

The big man is staggered backward, as the HOW World Championship falls from his grasp and lands on the mat below. He turns toward Farthington, but he’s struck with the ring bell again!

*DIIIIIIIIINNNNNNNNG*

Kostoff drops to a knee, his head throbbing as he takes a second concussive shot with the heavy, wood and metal implement of murder. He throws a wild haymaker, trying to end the onslaught, but Farthington narrowly avoids it.

*DIIIIIIIIINNNNNNNNG*

That’s the shot that fells the giant, as David stands over Goliath with rage in his eyes. Kostoff hits the mat face down, but Farthington isn’t taking any chances– Chris Kostoff has survived literal murder.

He takes aim again, but this time it isn’t for the head– it’s for the arm.

Farthington: MY.

*DIIIIIIIIINNNNNNNNG*

Farthington: FUCKING.

*DIIIIIIIIINNNNNNNNG*

Farthington: STREAK.

*DIIIIIIIIINNNNNNNNG*

Farthington: MY.

*DIIIIIIIIINNNNNNNNG*

Farthington: FUCKING.

*DIIIIIIIIINNNNNNNNG*

Farthington: BELT.

*DIIIIIIIIINNNNNNNNG*

His arms trembling and weak, Farthington throws the bell aside and pushes it out of the ring with his boot. He falls exhausted to the mat, grabbing hold of the now useless arm of Chris Kostoff and locking in the Article 50 for the second time tonight. He clinches down on it, as Kostoff lies motionless in the ring.

Joe Hoffman: This is disgusting. Someone get out there! GET SECURITY OUT THERE! Hortega is out cold, and he’s gonna end Kostoff’s career if someone doesn’t stop the match!

Mike Best: Jesus Christ, he’s gonna do it, Joe. He’s finally gonna do it.

Joe Hoffman: …do… do what?

Mike Best: He’s gonna break his fucking arm, Joe.

Joel Hortega begins to stir, as he grabs the ropes and tries to shake the cobwebs out. He’s still seeing little “estrellas” around his head, but he is able to glance over and see the submission locked in.

Hortega crawls across the mat, ready to check for the submission…

*SNAP*

The arm of Chris Kostoff twists unnaturally under the pressure of the cross armbreaker, as Hortega quickly snaps back to reality and calls for the bell. Immediately, EMTs and security rush to ringside to check on the Hall of Famer, whose arm looks entirely snapped by Cecilworth Farthington here tonight.

DING DING DING

It takes a moment to ring the bell, as the timekeeper is forced to track it back down from ringside. As he does, Cecilworth Farthington is smart enough to already be snatching his title belt from the other corner of the ring.

Bryan McVay: Here is your winner, and STILL HOW World Chaaaaampion…. CECILWORTH…. EMMMM…. JAAAAYYYY…. FAAAAAAAAAARTHINGTONNNNNN!

The EMTs are shoved aside, as the behemoth Chris Kostoff pushes his way through them and gets to a knee. His broken arm hangs limp at his side, as he lets out a roar and pushes back up to his feet. Farthington ducks through the ropes and hightails it out of the ring as fast as he can, knowing full well that Kostoff won’t be far behind him.

Once he’s at the top of the ramp, the champion can take a moment to celebrate. He hoists the World Title over his head, breathing heavy as he looks back toward the ring.

In the ring, Chris Kostoff stutter steps toward the ropes, trying to make chase before medical technicians pull him back. That’s more than enough for Cecilworth, though, who immediately high tails it back behind the curtain as Refueled goes off the…

STATIC.

The HOV comes to life, with the white noise of static before it hums to life.

The show isn’t quite over yet…..

The HOV flares to life, showing a shaky camera shot of a door backstage– as the shot comes into focus, we can see that it’s the HOW locker room of the Group of Death. At the commentary table, Michael Lee Best stands up to his feet, staring intently at the screen as a look of panic comes over his face.

Mike Best: Wait, what the fuck?

Joe Hoffman: The match is over… is the fight continuing backstage?

But neither Chris Kostoff or Cecilworth Farthington come into the frame. Instead, a familiar group of men storm into the shot, surrounding the locker room in full SWAT gear and riot armor.

Lee Best’s EPU.

The Elite Protection Unit.

Immediately, back in the arena, “Undead” by Hollywood Undead begins to blast over the speakers. The crowd explodes into cheers for the arrival of the infamous Lee Best, as he makes his way out from behind the curtain along with a few more members of the EPU for good measure.

Lee has a microphone in his hands, and he’s ready to use it.

Lee Best: The Era of Tough love, son. And you started it off exactly the way I said that you would– you picked your boy Farthington. And that’s fine. I respect that. That’s a good first pick right there. Proud of you.

At the commentary table, Michael locks eyes with his father. While Lee is wearing a nefarious little smirk, Michael’s face is cold. Nervous.

Lee Best: Not only did you make your first pick….you also demanded that no one pick from your stable named after me, made up of sloppy seconds from me, literally and figuratively. You see, even though I have been working 14 hour days while you are running around the neighborhood slapping your dick on everyone’s dinner tables, you think I am going to just let you get away with everything…….Well, I have been……..thinking.

Lee pauses as he debates on the route he wants to take next…

Lee Best: You see, I am tired of people coming to me and telling me what they are going to do. One week they don’t want to be in War Games and the next week they are back in on War Games. One week they rip the company to shreds and the next they are spreading their love across all their accounts.  I am fucking exhausted catering to everyones fucking feelings. I fucking tired of having to pacify the minority. So you know what….fuck it. Do I Look Like I Give A Fuck? Who is the other Captain? Me. That’s right motherfuckers. Me. General Lee Fucking Best. Jump on your social media accounts like the General Lee jumped over those daisy dukes…I don’t give a fuck. I am fucking OVER ALL OF IT and I am fucking DONE pussy footing around with YOUR BOYS AND THEIR FEELINGS…….

The Best General smiles, pauses, and takes a deep breath as he lets those words sink in….

Lee Best: And like I told you on the phone yesterday….these fuckers are going to keep fucking around with me and turn me into the old me………………….turn that fucking HOV back on.

The HOV comes to life once more, still showing the EPU standing outside of the Group of Death locker room. It doesn’t appear that anyone is planning to burst through the door– instead, the private army of Lee Best merely appears to be standing guard in front of it, keeping anyone from getting out. One of the members of the EPU sticks a key into the lock, barring the door from the outside.

The look on Michael Best’s face changes from anger and confusion to fear and clarity– the camera cuts back to ringside, just in time for the ICON Champion to realize that there won’t be anyone available to save him.

Lee Best: You want to go into business for yourself, announce your whole War Games team ahead of time, and think I’m just going to let it stand? Fuck you, not happening. We just had fucking qualifying matches a few weeks ago and you sold your 2% that would allow you to have any fucking say in overriding those stipulations. Nah Son……today you learn a valuable lesson. Again, you got the World Champion and that is fine and dandy as he would be in the match regardless and also in the draft pool……you know who else is in the draft pool already……and who will be defending their Championship at War Games?? That is right Son…..WITH THE FIRST PICK THE BEST GENERAL………SELECTS THE LSD CHAMPION…..MY SON……MAXIMILLIAN KAEL…….oh ya forgot……BAYBEE!!!!!

*THWACK!*

Michael’s face smashes against the commentary table, as Joe Hoffman jumps backward in shock– a gloved hand raises up from the back of the SON OF GOD’s head, as the camera pans up to reveal their face.

Well, sort of.

She looks familiar, a true caricature of a former HOW World Champion. A long blonde wig falls over an unnervingly accurate mask of HOW alumnus Tara Michaels Davidson. The head turns slightly to the side, taking “her” time as she watches Michael Beat recoil, holding his face.

But only for a moment.

As Michael turns around to face his attacker, he’s met with the thunderous clang of hard metal playing and white leather— his own ICON Championship shatters across his skull and sends him careening over the announcer’s table, to the concrete floor.

Michael rolls across toward the ring, clawing desperately at the floor for anything that he can use to pull himself to his feet. And then suddenly, his ribs are on fire, as a boot strikes him directly in the sternum and knocking the wind from his lungs.

The crowd is booing, but security doesn’t intervene— the assault is only going to continue. A stomp to the head, and then another. The mysterious masked assailant takes two jaunty steps backward, before running forward and punting the head of Michael Lee Best damned near off its shoulders.

And then, the grand finale.

The attacker picks the HOW ICON Championship up off of the announce table, admiring it briefly under the hot arena lights. We can’t see the eyes beneath the mask, but it doesn’t matter— the assailant’s whole head snaps back around to look at Michael Best, like a true predator ready to make the kill.

The belt is placed on the concrete floor, as the attacker picks Mike Best up off of the ground. He’s a bleeding, concussed mess, but it isn’t over.

Not just yet.

Standing directly over the championship, the masked attacker bends Michael over at the waist, leaping into the air and executing a picture-perfect scissor kick that sends his face smashing into the ICON Championship.

The Goodnight Kiss.

Lee Best watches from the stage, crossing his arms in front of him as his masked assailant disappears back into the crowd, leaving Michael Lee Best a bloody mess on the concrete.

HOW Refueled comes to an end.

WAR GAMES MAIN EVENT FOR THE WORLD, ICON & LSD CHAMPIONSHIPS
Captain Michael Lee Best©, Cecilworth Farthington©, ??, ?? vs. Maximillian Kael Best©, ??, ??, ??