Refueled XXVI

The HOTv logo gives way once again on a Saturday night as it is time for another episode of Refueled.

The 26th Refueled since the restart a year ago, cuts immediately to the middle of the ring, as we once again start directly with some in ring action.

Standing in the middle of the ring is the longtime ring announcer Bryan McVay, and he is ready to kick off tonight’s action….

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

Crowd:  One fall!!

“Stronger on your Own” by Disturbed blares over the PA.  Hollywood and Alan Ventura slowly walk from the back and takes center stage. Hollywood pulls up on his vest while he stands there for a few brief moments, closing his eyes while Ventura shoots down past him.  Hollywood embraces the cheers from the crowd as he gets in final mental preparation for his upcoming match.  As Hollywood 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.  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 smiling at his fans before he takes his place in the corner turnbuckle before turning his gaze intently in the ring as he awaits for the bell with Ventura calling for Hollywood to focus on his incoming opponent.

Bryan McVay:  Introducing first:  from Los Angeles, California:  please give it up for BRIIIIIIIIIIIANNNN HOLLYWOOD!

The crowd erupts in cheers as we hear Benny let out an angry sigh.

Benny Newell:  I don’t see what anyone sees in this new Brian Hollywood.  YAY!  He made changes!  He made sacrifices.  We’ve all done that.  Give me someone with a killer instinct for a change.  Someone who loves to fight!

Joe Hoffman:  Already put down $100 on Hughie tonight haven’t you?  I thought we already said that High Octane Gambling was shut down last week because Lee has more important things to focus on.

Benny Newell:  Doesn’t mean I can’t gamble using other sites!  Besides!  There’s a War Games opportunity on the line tonight, Hoffhole.  Don’t you think Scott Woodson wants HATE to focus after last week’s fiasco with Bobby Dean costing them a War Games spot!

Bryan McVay:  And his opponent tonight; REPRESENTING HATE, From wherever he may roam….please welcome HUGHIE FREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEMANNNNN!

The sound of eerie flutes playing and a small drum beat rumble the arena terraces.  “The Lonesome Boatman” by Dropkick Murphys is the anthem playing at this time, with Hughie Freeman expected for his traditional walkout. The camera pans onto the curtain underneath High Octane Vision as Freeman soon storms through it. The Irish traveller does not showboat for the HOW audience in capacity here tonight; choosing to ignore all unpleasantries.   Hollywood turns his back and removes his vest lays it down to the side as Hughie Freeman quickly approaches Alan Ventura and blasts him with a Fatality Punch square across his face.  As Hollywood turns his focus to what’s going on the outside of the ring, Hughie takes Alan’s head and smashes it against the steel steps.    He hits the Liquorice Laces right against the steel steps as Hollywood’s face turns bright red.

DING!  DING!  DING!  DING!

Hughie turns around while Hollywood lunges himself over the top rope onto Freeman with a suicide dive as HOW officials rush out to take Alan Ventura back into medical.

Benny Newell:  Hughie got what he wanted!  The old Brian Hollywood’s back in form tonight.  No Ventura there to guide him to victory now.

Joe Hoffman:  That was a sick move and you know it Benny.  It’s going to play with Hollywood’s game now.

Benny Newell:  Don’t be such a kill joy Hoffhole!  Fuck pleasantries.  Drink and fight like a man.  That’s exactly what Hughie did.  He wants a fair fight here tonight.

Hollywood stomps holes straight into Freeman as Matt Boettcher begins the count.  Brian grabs Freeman and launches him head first into the turnbuckle.    Hollywood picks Freeman up and sets him on the barricade.  As he turns around, Hollywood rushes straight into the ribs of Freeman and nails him with sick spear into the barricade.  No smiles from Hollywood; he means absolute business as he pulls Freeman up off the ground and tosses him back into the ring.

While Hollywood slides back into the ring, Hughie grabs Hollywood’s hair and pulls it before he sinks his teeth straight into Hollywood.  Hughie grabs Hollywood and nails a Dangerous DDT straight to the mat.  Hollywood kips back up to his feet and motions for Freeman to come charge at him.  Freeman rushes towards him and Hollywood sends him shoulder first into the turnbuckle.  Screaming out in anger, Hollywood grabs Freeman and signs the papers before hitting the Ultimate Executive Promise straight into onto Freeman’s face, driving it face first into the turnbuckle.  Hollywood demands Boettcher makes the count.

ONE!

TWO!

TH…

Joe Hoffman:  NO WAY!  ABSOLUTELY NO WAY!  Freeman’s leg was under the ropes.  Boettcher caught it last minute.  And Hollywood’s losing it in the middle of the ring.  He’s pounding his fists into the ground in pure anger!!!

Benny Newell:  I can drink to that Joe!  Hughie’s got the ring presents of me:  a drunken Irishman.  He’s thinkin’ with that old noggin’.

As Hollywood regains his composure, Freeman comes from behind and nails a sickening low blow to Hollywood bringing him towards his knees.  Freeman nails stiff kicks onto Brian Hollywood’s head.  In a sudden frenzy, Freeman lands punch after punch on Hollywood before he scoops him up and hits a Gutwrech Suplex.  He grabs Hollywood and picks him up for a standard suplex and drives him back first into the mat.  Freeman locks Hollywood’s head in a sleeper on the ground and proceeds to nail punch after punch into Hollywood’s rib cage stiffly.  Hollywood struggles free and gets to his feet before Freeman nails a stiff roundhouse kick to Hollywood’s face.

Freeman’s eyes then widen.  As Hollywood lays lifeless on the ground, he charges for the Liquorice Laces as Hollywood rolls out of the way.  Hollywood gets back to his feet, hits the ropes, then charges straight at Freeman with the Danger Zone kick connecting with his jaw.   Hollywood makes another cover.

ONE!

TWO!

TH…

Freeman kicks out!  Hollywood’s shocked!  He turns to Boettcher to scream at him to count faster.  Without hesitation,  Freeman grabs Hollywood’s hair, locks him in and drives him head first into the mat with the Reverse DDT.  Freeman whips Hollywood straight into the turnbuckle and mounts punches across his face.  Hollywood recovers and nails a stiff powerbomb on Freeman.  Hollywood grabs Freeman and sets him up for the Basic Instinct, but Freeman fights it off and once again hits Hollywood square in the crotch.

Joe Hoffman:  Another tough break for Hollywood in this match up.  I can feel the pain from that one over here from Freeman’s cheap tactics!

Benny Newell:  Joe, we both know there’s no such thing as a fair fight.  You fight to survive in HOW.  Especially during War Games time.  Win by any means necessary!

Freeman drops and elbow straight into Hollywood’s gut.  He pulls Hollywood to his feet and nails a beautiful backbreaker on Hollywood.  Freeman then grabs Hollywood and lands a quick slingblade on him to bring him down.  Freeman then charges at Hollywood and nails a his Liquorice Laces across Hollywood’s chin.  He’s done it!  He locks Hollywood’s leg this time as Matt counts.

ONE!

TWO!

THREEEEEEEE

Benny Newell:  God damnit!  Damnit all to hell.

Joe Hoffman:  Hitting Hollywood in his glass jaw tonight won’t help.  Hollywood’s firing on all cylinders.  He desperately wants that War Games draft pool spot.  With Ventura out; we are seeing some of Hollywood’s primal instincts coming into play.

Hollywood struggles towards the ropes.  Freeman tries to stomp down, but Matt Boettcher pulls Freeman away and lectures him as Hollywood latched onto the bottom rope.  He slowly pulls himself up and locks eyes with Freeman defiantly.  Freeman charges at Hollywood for the Fatality Punch, but Hollywood ducks, grabs Freeman’s legs and hits a Samoan Drop on him.  Hollywood scowls this time and slams his feet into the ground defiantly.  He’s going to knock Freeman’s jaw off and send it into Section 214 for Joe Bergman’s fans this time.  He pounds feet towards the ground as the crowd cheers Hollywood on.  Hollywood screaming “COME ON” at the top of his lungs.  This kick is for Ventura!

Benny Newell:  GOOOOD!  FEEL THE HATRED!  COME BACK TO THE DARKSIDE!  Be the Hollywood you’re meant to be!

Joe Hoffman:   This might be all she wrote for Hughie Freeman in HOW.  I haven’t seen this look out of Hollywood ever.  He’s getting retribution for what happened to Ventura and he’s about to draw blood out of compassion for a friend.  He’s signed the papers and…

As Boettcher checks on Freeman, he gets flung straight into the path of Hollywood’s foot by Hughie.  Hollywood realizes Boettcher’s in his path and corrects the kick missing him getting all discombobulated.    Reacting quickly, Freeman rushes towards Hollywood and strikes.  He nails the Fatality Punch straight on Hollywood knocking him off his feet.  Hughie locks Hollywood’s leg as Boettcher makes the count:

ONE!

TWO!

THREEEEEEE!!!!!!

DING!  DING!  DING!  DING! 

Bryan McVay:  Here is your winner and first qualifier for the War Games Draft Pool tonight:  HUUUUUUGHIIIIIIE  FREEEEEEEEEMAN!

Boettcher lifts Freeman’s hand up, but Freeman pulls his hands back and smirks at the lifeless Hollywood in the ring.  He quickly walks towards the High Octane Vision taking pride in his debut match.

Benny Newell:  Hell yeah!  Just made me some money.  Time to drink to that victory by Freeman here tonight.   Hughie is tough as nails and he came to put in a fight in his first match in HOW tonight by ending Brian Hollywood’s hopes and dreams for any shot at War Games.

Joe Hoffman:  HATE picked themselves up a true fighter with Hughie.  He made his statement known that he wants someone to draft him to their War Games team.  But the question is, Benny; did he impress Mike or Lee with that performance tonight?

Benny Newell:  We shall see, but this shot of Jack is for you Hughie! Congratulations!  Now Hoffhole!  It’s time to drink.

Benny Newell downs a victory whiskey as the scene fades to black.

As we cut to the backstage area we see the blonde bombshell of HOW, Blaire Moise, waiting patiently as she waits for her guest to arrive. The sound of footsteps gets her attention and once she sees her guest in the vicinity she begins.

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

Blaire introduces the Texan but Stevens isn’t dressed in his ring gear or his Chief Information Officer attire either. Stevens is dressed in jeans and an old, faded Scott Stevens t-shirt from years past.

Blaire Moise: Scott, I’m a little surprised as to why you’re here tonight; you have no match and you’re still technically banned from the arena.

Scott Stevens: That is true Blaire.

Stevens responds to Blaire’s statement.

Blaire Moise: I got to ask, why are you here?

Scott Stevens: I’m here to say my final goodbyes before I have to disappear back into the darkness until War Games is through.

Stevens says as a smile crosses his face.

Scott Stevens: Last week, being in front of a live crowd like that put me in a place that I haven’t felt in a long time and that is why I also want to send a heartfelt, “Thank You” to my buddy, Max Kael.

Stevens’ comment raises the eyebrow of Blaire.

Blaire Moise: A thank you?

She repeats to make sure she heard correctly and Stevens shakes his head.

Scott Stevens: That is correct Blaire because Max Kael has always helped me in my HOW career directly or indirectly and last week he did so again.

Blaire Moise: How so?

Scott Stevens: I told Max that I was going to bring the fight to him and honestly I didn’t know if I could live up to my own words until we were actually in the match and as Max pushed me to my limit and I pushed back he refueled something in me that I haven’t felt for a very long time……a time when I was this man.

Stevens says as he points to the faded image of himself on the shirt.

Scott Stevens: This Scott Stevens that had fire and passion in his heart and soul, but more importantly, an unquenchable desire to compete among the absolute best in HOW and I did that last week as I competed against the top ranked wrestler in the company.

Blaire Moise: A tough loss in the eyes of many as you and Max beat the Holy Hell out of each other.

Blaire replies and Stevens shrugs.

Scott Stevens: Wins and losses aren’t everything Blaire and honestly, I believe I learned more from my defeat to Max than I probably would have if I would’ve beaten him for the LSD championship.

Blaire Moise: How so?

Scott Stevens: As much fight I brought to Max that night it still wasn’t even to beat the top wrestler in HOW. That told me that I’m on the right track but I’m not there yet and during my time off I’ll be looking for a change of scenery.

Blaire Moise: What do you mean by that?

Scott Stevens: I’ll be looking for a new place to train to properly push me to where I need to be because I love my family and they did an awesome job to get me ready for Max last week in a short period of time, but the truth is it wasn’t enough and I don’t want to get complacent. I think being around places too familiar is what has been holding me back these last few years and I need someone or someplace to challenge me and push me like I haven’t been pushed in a very long time.

Blaire Moise: I hear Six Time Academy is always looking for new recruits.

Blaire says jokingly.

Scott Stevens: Funny.

Stevens responds with a chuckle.

Scott Stevens: Once I find this new place or trainer I’m hoping the next time I face any HOW champion the result will be in my favor.

Blaire Moise: Speaking of HOW champions, after your match with Max do you think you went a little overboard when you attacked him with a chair and put him through the announce table?

Blaire asks and Stevens takes a moment before responding.

Scott Stevens: Maybe I did Blaire. Maybe the fire and passion that Max resurrected in me set me off to the point that the thought of being put back on the sidelines isn’t something I’m comfortable with. Maybe the thought of being gone for two more fucking months set me off to the point that I wanted to make a lasting impression in my small window of time left on HOW television before becoming an afterthought once again and the television screen is filled up by guys that think being a Tyrant of Independent Territories is awesome. Or guys that that work out at non-existent wrestling academies or guys that say they are better than everyone else but can’t even bother to show up to prove it!

Stevens emphatically states as the fire in his voice grows.

Scott Stevens: That should be ME! NOT THEM!

Stevens shouts as he glares into the camera as the thought of continuous being from HOW disgusts him.

Blaire Moise: Maybe so, and that fire and passion you took out on Max got the attention of the GOD.

Blaire states and Stevens nonchalantly shakes it off.

Scott Stevens: I’m not worried about the Group of Death.

Blaire Moise: You should be after what you did to Max.

Scott Stevens: Why should I be Blaire? I’m not going to be around for two more months and if they want to come to Texas I’m sure my family and friends can welcome them with some southern hospitality.

Blaire Moise: What if you’re booked unexpectedly?

Blaire asks and Stevens chuckles.

Scott Stevens: Blaire, you act like I’m some lone wolf that doesn’t have a couple of Bruvs he can call on if the situation arises. Now if you’ll excuse me I’ve taken to much of the show’s time already and I’ll see ya’ll in a couple of months.

Stevens says with a wave before turning and exiting the area.

The HOW cameras bustle backstage and burst out into the parking lot. There, at the heart of it all is controversial star, Jonny O’Dell. He’s yelling and shouting the odds all dressed in a tuxedo about two sizes too small for him. But with all the fuss, there seems very minimal interest around stationed parked cars.

O’Dell: Character infringement! You want me back in HOW, Mr. Bestwick?! Then pay me in damages!

O’Dell starts to unravel some heavy duty chains he has in his possession.

O’Dell: Ohh, nice. Where did you get this prop from?! You never gave me any props, GOD!

In reference to the caravan pitched behind him.

O’Dell: Try using this this son bitch with me chained to the bastard!

This isn’t a contract signing.. this is a protest! From what we thought was going to be a standard business meeting between Lee and Jonny in regards to a potential return has only resulted into one-sided chaos.

Suddenly, the door of the caravan swings open and there stands Hughie Freeman. O’Dell looks mortified.

Freeman: Hughie junior has just gone down, fella.

Hughie is decked out in nothing more than a bath towel as it it is wrapped around his waist. Presumably, fresh out of the shower from his gruelling match with Brian Hollywood earlier tonight. His facial expression does not relate to a man that is overly ecstatic to say the least; referencing to a possible new-born just being laid down to sleep.

O’Dell: Mr. Hughie, there’s no beef here.. just with the office.

Hughie remains deadpan in his expression, whilst droplets of water continue to run down his half-naked body.

Freeman: Then fuck off of my land.

Hughie Freeman, without no prior warning, delivers his deadly finishing manoeuvre: The Fatality Punch. Meanwhile, his left hand remains tightly gripped to his towel. Preventing any Janet Jackson 2004 Super Bowl malfunction.

The devastating blow causes O’Dell to leave his feet and take a huge nasty bump on the hood of a parked car behind him. On collision, the car blares out its security alarm.

Hughie quickly puts in a cigarette in his mouth and heads over towards a fully concussed Jonny O’Dell. Reiterating, still grasping the towel.

Freeman: Like a sack of spuds.

Hughie adjusts his towel tighter and with a grimace on his face, begins to drag O’Dell by the legs. The limp body of O’Dell bumps his head on the caravan step before we lose sight of the pair. That is until Hughie reaches out to pull the door shut without any considered forethought.

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

WAR GAMES MATCH FOR THE TAG TEAM CHAMPIONSHIPS
The eGG Bandits vs. The Hollywood Bruvs vs. ?? vs Joe Bergman and Andy Murray©

WAR GAMES MAIN EVENT DRAFT POOL QUALIFIERS
Mikey Unlikely, Jessie Kendrix, Doozer, Cancer Jiles, Zeb Martin, Bobby Dean, Lucian Santangel, Perfection, Joe Bergman© and Andy Murray©

We return from commercial break to see Alex Redding already standing in the ring alongside Bryan McVay and referee Joel Hortega. Redding looks amped standing in his corner stretching as the crowd murmurs with excitement for the next War Games qualifier match.

Joe Hoffman: Folks, welcome back and if you are just joining us you’re timing couldn’t be better because up next is our first War Games qualifying match of the evening pitting seasoned tag wrestler and one half of the two man stable Alex Redding against the cunning veteran High Flyer. Both MJF and Teddy Palmer, respective tag team partners to both of these individuals, will be wrestling in our second qualifier later tonight.

Benny Newell: Yeah, yeah, and I can’t wait to see which one of these turds makes it to War Games, I mean for fuck sake Mike already said he is just drafting the Group of Death so the rest of these jerks are fighting to get on the God of High Octane Wrestling, Lee Best’s team!

Joe Hoffman: That is true, Benny, with Mike’s announcement two weeks ago about his intentions of simply picking the Group of Death for his team means that everyone else looking to make it into War Games is going to have to pick up a win and impress the boss at the same time!

In the ring Bryan McVay steps forward and lifts the microphone to his lips.

Bryan McVay: Introducing first, already in the ring, from Kitchener, Ontario, Canada, at a height of 6’1’’ and weighing in at 233 pounds.. He is the Willing Villain..AAAALEEEEEX REEEEEEEDDING!

Alex steps forward making a minimal effort to interact with the fans before he would return to his corner.

The lights in the area cut out as the ominous laugh of Ozzy Osborne as “Crazy Train” cracks over the sound system. Fog rises from the entrance ramp as the music enters its aggressive guitar riff causing the fans to jump to their feet. Slipping through the smoke is the silhouette of High Flyer causing the fans to grow steadily more excited.

Bryan McVay: Introducing his opponent.. From Bethlehem, Pennsylvania, at a height of 6’ and weighing in at 224 pounds.. HIIIIIIIIIIIIIGH FLYYYYYYYER!

Throwing up the devil horn taught Jack Harmen makes his way toward the ring, slipping beneath the bottom rope and stops, sweeping his arms and legs side to side as he appears to make a snow angel.

Joe Hoffman: Alex Redding, the Willing Villain as he calls himself, attacking Flyer before the match even starts!

Benny Newell: And it’s tactics like that that will win matches, Hoffman! The idiot was making snow angels in the middle of the ring, that fucking dummy!

Suddenly Alex Redding is on top of Harmen raining down fist after fist at the ill prepared High Flyer! McVay swiftly exits the ring as Hortega signals for the bell!

DING DING DING!

Alex jumps up to his feet and begins laying in the heavy leather as the match begins! Dragging Fyer up to his feet he whips him into the corner and charges in looking for a splash..

Joe Hoffman: Alex Redding looking to press the advantage likely looking for that edge to fire off his Grady Special #3!

CRACK!

High Flyer snaps out of the corner hitting a massive Locomotion kick using Redding’s own momentum to nearly behead him. Redding’s body hits the mat as his eyes stare up at the lights, clearly off in another world! Flyer drops down for the pinfall..

UNO!

DOS!

TRES!!

WINNER: HIGH FLYER VIA PINFALL IN 35 SECONDS

Redding slowly rolls out of the ring clutching his jaw with a distant look of surprise on his face while High Flyer celebrates to the classical rock of “Crazy Train”.

Joe Hoffman: Quick as a hiccup the match is over! High Flyer had Redding scouted out and managed to get the pick pinfall!

Benny Newell: WHAT?! OH FUCK ME, DRINK!

Joe Hoffman: A bad start for Red and Ted, the two man stable, hopefully his partner will have more luck tonight. As for High Flyer, he picks up a huge win and has officially qualified for War Games 2020!

The camera immediately pans backstage where we see Brian Hollywood rushing down the hall in an almost panicked motion.  Hollywood’s had a lot on his mind as it’s been a busy night for him.  But he’s not worrying about the earlier events in his match.  No..he’s worried about his manager, Alan Ventura, who is currently being seen by HOW medical officials. Ventura got injured pretty badly in Hollywood’s match by Hughie Freeman.  Hollywood stops short, though, of the other corner which leads to the medical room.  He paces back and forth as his mind begins to race.  At first, he didn’t feel ready to turn that corner and walk into the medical room.  There was obviously an interesting relationship between Hollywood and Ventura, but you couldn’t deny that Hollywood genuinely cared for Ventura and for his well being.  Hollywood is breathing heavily, and you could see the split emotion of anger and confusion on his face. Hollywood finally gets a thought out as his voice is visibly shaken.

Brian Hollywood: I…I don’t know what to say!…I don’t know what to feel.  It’s a constant switch that continuously gets turned on back and forth and right now I want blood for what happened to Ventura.  But this is what does it for me…I had a limit…a levee if you will, about how I would maintain myself and how I would carry myself since I started on this new journey.  But I’ve about fucking HAD IT!!!  I CAN’T FUCKING DO THIS ANYMORE AND IT’S TIME THAT I START SENDING A MESSAGE BECAUSE THIS IS MY LAST FUCKING STRAW WITH DEALING WITH THINGS IN HOW!!!

Hollywood lets out the hatred within himself as the emotions that were bottled up for so long within him finally overflow on the surface.  Hollywood can barely contain himself as he shakes his head as you could see the hate in his eyes.  Hollywood then looks at the corner as he takes another breath before he simply couldn’t wait any longer.  Hollywood needed to see Ventura.  It was as if Ventura was that lock…that locked safe that kept Hollywood at bay and kept him straight.  Even if it didn’t appear as if Hollywood needed it or said it, you could see the actions and emotions he’s displaying and the urgency to see Ventura in an effort to get answers for himself but mainly to make sure Ventura was alright.  Hollywood finally takes that turn and in sight is the medical room.  Hollywood takes a deep breath before he enters the room.  Upon entering the room, however, Hollywood’s facial reaction immediately changes as there seems to be a blockage into the medical room.  That blockage?  You could see the look of shock on Hollywood’s face as it Darin Matthews with Meredith holding a camera.  Hollywood didn’t have to wonder that before he blurts out in a rage of defense.

Brian Hollywood: WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON IN HERE?!  MORE IMPORTANTLY….WHY THE FUCK ARE YOU HERE?  THIS BUSINESS DAMN WELL DOESN’T FUCKING CONCERN YOU!  So..I’m going to say this once and only once….GET THE FUCK OUT!

Darin Matthews:   Welcome everyone to D!  True Hollywood Story:  The Rise and Fall of Brian “Hollywood”…if we can call him that any more..

Brian Hollywood:  Are you deaf, Matthews?  I don’t have FUCKING TIME FOR THIS SHIT RIGHT NOW!!!   LISTEN HERE!

Hollywood yanks on Matthews’ shoulder, but Matthews steps ahead, dodging Hollywood and ignoring him while Meredith continues to film.

Darin Matthews:  We alIl know I was the more talented member of Sex and Money, the Order, and whatever other tag teams Hollywood frag my ass into.  But I won  23 Wrestling Championships, travelled all across the world, and became your Tyrant of the Territories.  And Hollywood…he’s just spending time, jerking his curtain while I became the more recognized name.

Hollywood pulls Matthews in glares straight in the eyes and puts his fingers straight in the chest.  Hollywood’s face is bright red while Matthews shoots him a sinister smile curling around his face.  Definiately, Matthews flashest Hollywood a big “FUCK YOU” look while Hollywood’s experience pain.

Brian Hollywood:  GO. THE. FUCK. AWAY!!!!!

Darin Matthews:  Why should I?  I begged you to help my career out.  I let you drag my ass down the drain for years.  I sacrificed 15 years for what?  To put your ass over mine?  I spent time working my ass off to garner success.  I won championship after championship.  Yet you disrespected my career and aspirations.  You threw them under the bus to put yourself over me.  I never got any attention.  I put in the hard work and dedication and now…you’re trying to redeem yourself for the sins you committed when you ruined me.   Fuck you!  Burn the past like you said, right?

Hollywood clinches his hands together and shakes it off.  He doesn’t need this.  He wants to move past this part of his career.  He just wants to forgive and let Matthews go.  As Hollywood walks towards the medical area and turns the door, Matthews’ turns, smirks, and continues on his smear campaign of Hollywood’s career.

Darin Matthews:  Take a look at your former HOW World Champion.  Once a man who had the best killer instinct in this business as he sobs over some worthless trainer that doesn’t give a shit about him.  This former businessman lost his balls and now his career resembles the career of his former moniker of Brian James Thomas.  A one dimensional fuck face that…

WHAM!

Brian Hollywood grabs a lead pipe set on one of the crates nearby and lays it straight into Matthews’ chest.  Hollywood hammers Matthews multiple times across his back as Meredith screams at the top of his lungs.  HOW officials run towards Hollywood and pull him off as Matthews lies on the ground motionless.  He screams out in agony as Hollywood screams out towards Matthews.

Brian Hollywood:  Told your worthless delusional ass to leave.  I told you….

Hollywood gets dragged away as HOW officials check on the uncontracted Darin Matthews lying unconscious as the scene cuts away.

Backstage.

Andy Murray roams through the guts of the Allstate Arena flanked by two members of 24K’s private security force – because you never know when some Group of Death gimp is gonna show up and tell lies about a coffee machine. He’s dressed in jeans and a dumb “91 Days” t-shirt and has his Tag Team Championship over his shoulder, though he wears a face like thunder and walks with a slow, stomping gate. Frankly, he looks like a man on a death march.

Boos ring through the concrete as Murray finally arrives at his destination. He sighs, shakes his head, and grumbles…

Andy Murray: Put it off long enough I guess…

The King of Wrestling looks to the security guys.

Andy Murray: Beefy, Bifter, keep an eye out for Troys, Ryans, and other unpleasant sorts, please.

Finally Andy turns, wrapping his fist against the door.

Voice: Come in.

Andy opens the door and walks into the office of The Godfather of the HOW Tag Team Division. Mario smiles and rises from his desk chair. He straightens up his suit jacket and walks around the desk to greet ½ of the HOW Tag Team Champions.

Mario Maurako: Hey old pal, long time no see! Seems like it’s been an eternity.

Andy Murray: 18 years. Not long enough…

Mario stops and shoots a confused look towards The King of Wrestling.

Mario Maurako: Actually Murray, I was talking to my old friend there on your shoulder. It’s a thing I used to do. I guess you had to be there.

Mario turns from Andy and gestures towards a chair in front of his desk.

Mario Maurako: But do come in, have a seat if you’d like, or stand, it makes no difference to me.

Andy takes a few steps towards the desk and chair but chooses to stay on his feet.

Mario Maurako: Let me just cut to the chase Murray. Two weeks ago I went to go have a quick little pep talk with you and Bergman before your tag team match and I couldn’t help but notice you weren’t there. Then I asked you to meet me here tonight and bring your partner, but I don’t see Bergman anywhere. You didn’t even tell him did you?

Andy Murray: Absolutely not.

Maurako folds his arms across his chest.

Mario Maurako: Why?

Andy Murray: Because he’s not my friend and you’re not my boss. Look, chief. I couldn’t care less about any of this. I would rather push rusty nails through my own eyelids than spend a single second of my valuable spare time with that vanilla dickhead. HOW books the match, we show up, Joe gets his ass kicked, I win. That’s how it works. That’s all it needs to be.

Mario grits his teeth for a second before immediately regaining his composure and taking his seat at his desk. He grabs a glass of whiskey on his desk and leans back and takes a drink.

Mario Maurako: Let’s try this again. Listen, this isn’t easy for me, I’d just assume reach across this desk and smack the shit out of you right now. But I can’t do that anymore. Doctor’s orders; the old ticker ain’t what it used to be. Thus here I am. IN CHARGE of the Tag Team Division, which would include the Tag Team Champions, and that looks like for now it includes YOU. 

Mario leans forward and places the glass back on the desk. Mario leans his elbows on the desk and presses his fingertips together forming a pyramid.

Mario Maurako: Now listen, I don’t want to be that guy that sits here and pulls rank. I simply want what’s best for the HOW Tag Team Division. You’re a smart man, I’m sure you understand that. That would include some sort of teamwork out of my Champions. Two weeks ago I talked to Bergman about maybe some matching tights or a tag name, looks like MurrBerg might be the best we get. But I also talked about a joint move set for you guys, specifically a finisher. That finisher on MJF and Flyer looked an awful lot like your singles finish.

Andy Murray: Yeah, because my singles finish works.

He shrugs.

Andy Murray: Dipshit gets picked up, dipshit gets dropped on their head, dipshit loses. Simple. Why the fuck does it matter how we win? Joe was down and out. What am I supposed to do? Wait for him to recover, wait longer for him to get in place, then wait even longer so we can execute the dumb, choreographed Flippyity-Doo-Dah Flippity-Day 2000? You are literally trying to chastise me for winning a goddamn match here.

The King of Wrestling taps the belt on his shoulder. 

Andy Murray: You and Paul were taking straps like this when I was barely off the plan, chief. You should know better. I get that you’re trying to flex your newfound power or whatever but we already beat the best tag team on the planet – the Hollywood Bruvs – and Flair and Flyer, and guess what? We did it without the window dressing.

Murray plants a finger on Maurako’s desk for emphasis.

Andy Murray: I’m here for the fight, not the beauty pageant. So, no. We don’t need a goofy finisher, we don’t need an entrance, and we don’t need a goddamn name – especially not fuckin’ MurrBerg. Stop trying to make MurrBerg happen. It’s not going to happen, Gretchen.

He refocuses, getting back to it.

Andy Murray: None of this gimmickry matters. What does matter is that there isn’t a guy on this goddamn roster who can honestly say they’re better than me, okay? And Joe? The past few weeks have proven that he isn’t totally useless – and that’s it. That’s enough. No goofy name, no wacky finisher, no coordinated ring entrance with high fives, pyro, matching gear, and bouncy castles. Just two guys showing up at bell time and eating another two guys alive. Alright?

Clearly tired of his former OCW roster-mate’s patter, Mario looks down at his wristwatch, then feigns surprise seconds after Murray has finished.

Mario Maurako: Oh good, you’re done. Well that was nice and all, but how does this sound? You come to my office next with, with Joe Bergman, and we work on all of this together. Or I strip you of the HOW Tag Team Championships…

A spark goes off within Murray though he does his absolute best to let it show on his face. If Maurako’s power move has stumped him, he isn’t going to give the Godfather the satisfaction of knowing.

Mario Maurako: Is that okay with you, Mr. “I Don’t Like Losing Championships?”

Andy Murray: Politics it is, then. Don’t worry, pal: I’m great at that too.

The King of Wrestling turns, walks to the door, grabs the handle, then looks back.

Andy Murray: I’m not sure playing your strongest card in the first betting round was wise though. Ciao Mario.

And with that, he is gone and Mario is left smiling.

Mario Maurako: God, I missed that dude.

With that the show cuts to a classic Patriotic War Games Commercial…

The show feed comes back to life after the commercial break, and picks up inside one of the executive suites at the Allstate Arena. If the shot had started outside of the fancy room, you would have seen a large sign that simply read, OVER-EASY. But it didn’t. It started inside, where all of the eGG Bandits are present and accounted for. Dooze, CBD, Beautiful Bob, Jed Zartain, and of course, the Qualifier of COOL, Cancer Jiles. 

The old man, Doozer, is seated at the head of a large table. He’s dressed in his non-candied cardinal colored wrestling gear, twirling a familiar ballpoint pen. There’s a manila folder on the table in front of him.

CBD is posted up in the corner, watching the door, as usual. 

The somewhat recently returned to life, Beautiful Bobby Dean, is in his non-pearl colored wrestling gear. He stands next to, and is having a one sided conversation with the cardboard behemoth. Let me tell you, it’s an invigorating conversation.

Zeb, young and still in awe from his run in with the Mother Queen at the last Refueled, is in blue jeans and a trucker cap. He’s changing the line on his fishing pole, and doing so seated off to the side somewhat. He doesn’t want to risk hooking anyone. 

Lastly, The QoC, in his 97red jumper, stands with his back to everyone. He’s busy looking at the pictures hanging on the wall of prior famous events to take place in the Allstate Arena. And by busy I mean trying to find where his win last week is.

Doozer: Is that the hundred pound test, Zeb?

Zeb agreeingly nods.

Doozer: Good man. Trust me. We are going to need it if HATE decides to come for us again. Buncha sharks. We have got to be ready, gents. Their numbers are growing by the show, and HATE continues to spread…

The Beautiful Bandit finishes Doozer’s comment before the old bag of bones has the chance to deflate the room.

Bobby Dean: …worse than AIDS in the 80’s?

The Dooze shakes his head in disgrace. Everyone else chuckles. Even CBD tears up some.

Doozer: Okay, cut the silly shit. We still have a match to get ready for. 

Regaining order, The Dooze opens the folder in front of him. It contains a single piece of paper and…

Doozer: But first, and they should be here any minute, we got an interview with… I don’t know if this person is even on the roster? Xa… I could be pronouncing this wrong, Xam Leak? Have any of you guys ever heard of him? Is it a him? I guess it could be a her. There’s no picture. Just a name and this… button?

Bobby Dean: Sounds Asian. I think he is the guy with on–

Aghast, Bobby stops in mid joke, his jaw dropping to the Earth’s core. Erring on the side of caution he quickly shuffles behind CBD, dragging the bottom part of his mouth behind him.

Zeb quickly turns to see what has shriveled Bob’s dick, and in doing so gets caught directly in the gaze. He freezes. Like, Demolition Man freezes. His new fate, to be forever star struck in his youth. Or at least until he gets used to it.

Cautiously, Doozer slowly rises from his seat. His fists clenched hard enough to turn his knuckles white.

Jiles: You guys feel that? I just got a chill. I know, me? Who’d have thought?

After a few seconds of dead silence, the Maestro senses the awkwardness and slowly turns to face the disturbance. What he sees, Xam Leak, the newest Bandit applicant, causes the COOLYMPIAN to spit-take his yolk mist in disbelief.

Jiles: Max Kael?

To everyone’s surprise, well, the Bandits certainly, it really is Max Kael. LSD Champion. Number one ranked talent in High Octane Wrestling. Hall of Famer. The first of his name. 

The Lord Supreme Dictator of High Octane Wrestling glares at the lot of them, his glowing blue eye moving from Bobby then Zeb, Dooze and finally upon Jiles. An unapproving frown stretches down his face. The tension builds to an almost suffocating level, then Max snaps both his fingers into a pair of finger guns. A broad smile instantly replaces the frown.

Max Kael: I’m In! And while I’m here I’m thinking you shall all call me Max Shell. You know, to go with the whole eGG Bandit motiff, maybe come out with a ukulele that I attack people with, call it something clever like uh.. The.. the.. The Yolkulele!

And much to everyone’s surprise Max reaches behind his back and manifests what appears to be a ukulele with the eGG Bandits logo on it. Furthermore it appears that Max can actually play it as his fingers pluck the strings letting a silly sounding song play out.

Beautiful Bob peaks out from behind CBD, his eyebrows scrunched. Zeb’s trance only strengthens. Doozer looks annoyed, yet impressed at the same time. Cancer looks like Lee’s Gay Dead Brother returned… for real this time.

Jiles: Wait. What?

Max Kael: I’m in!

Doozer: In what?

Max Kael: The Bandits! Didn’t you guys just hear the song? I can play it one more time if you’d like?

The Maestro looks at Doozer with genuine concern. Then, after a shared nod, they hesitantly motion for Max to go again. It’s not that they didn’t appreciate the song, the reluctance is more to do with stealing some extra time to unfuck their minds. 

While Max Shell once again plays the Yolkulele, the soothing hymn causes the Bandits to relax. 

Doozer slowly sits back down. 

Bobby creeps out from behind an unfettered CBD. 

Zeb remains legit frozen. He stared into the sun for too long. Again, youth. 

And Jiles plops down on one of the empty chairs, kicks his feet up on the table, and leans back like Dooze in an attempt to fool himself into thinking everything is under control. The attempt backfires. He flails, and then falls backwards and out of his chair. He quickly kips up, adjusts his T-shades, smiles like it was meant to happen, and decides to stand for the remainder of the interview.

Gracefully, Max’s spirited rendition of, “Ode to the Bandit” comes to a close for the second time. An emotional Bobby Dean wipes a tear from his eye, and then does the same for CBD. Jiles looks like he still needs a minute. Luckily, Dooze notices.

Doozer: Okay, Shell. So what’s the catch? What are you really after? Why live in limbo when you dwell behind the pearly gates? 

Max Kael: I’m not one for gates. You can’t trust them. Just an archway and two metal things that swing.. Or one big one that swings and rolls up. Besides we have a lot of history, everybody knows it. I mean, I’ve personally known you all for.. What?.. A long time. It’s not an answer that even needs to be given. It just makes sense that Max Shell would be part of the eGG Bandits and this isn’t at all a flimsy excuse to try to get me kicked out of War Games. Hey, how about those Tag Titles huh? Wouldn’t it be great.. If Max Shell.. Was in the Tag Team War Games match?

Finger guns fire off from both of Max’s hands as his eye begins to flash all manner of different colors, a real discoball of a display. 

Composure regained, and blatantly ignoring the subtle signals of caution Dooze tries sending his way, The Maestro does the math and steps forward.

Jiles: Shell, I think I’m picking up on what you’re putting down. I want you to know that you’ve definitely come to the right place. Welcome aboard!

Before everyone can jump in the air and celebrate by touching dicks, Doozer Downer makes his intentions known.

Doozer: Not so fast. Now Max, gotta say, I do like your chances. AAAND, barring an accident, this is probably the closest any of us will get to the LSD Championship. But, the Bandits would have to discuss it first. You understand.

Jiles: No. We wouldn’t. 

A dart shoots out the corner of Doozer’s eye. Not a real dart, though. He’s not Max Shell.

Doozer: Yes, we would.

Jiles: Fine. 

The Dooze sighs in relief.

Jiles: I’m exercising my qualifying veto power! If the number one ranked talent wants to represent the yolk and shell, please and thank you. I don’t care about where he lives, who he may or may not be related to, if he’s killed before, or about the flesh mounted steroid where his nose should be. He. Is. Welcome. 

The Dooze tries to interject. He is abruptly cut off.

Jiles: WELCOME TO THE BANDITS, MAX SHELL! First of his name! Long may we maim! You’ll get a pin in about 3-4 months commemorating the moment.

Not to be out done, The Dooze still has a trick up his sleeve. He stands from his chair, reaches behind the jubilant Jiles’ ear, procures the egg which hides there, and launches the yolky delight at Max Kael!

Doozer: Think fast!

Max Kael: Too slow.

Max’s disco eye switches to laser mode. Without flinching, he bounces a beam off of Jiles’ T-shades, which then omegas Doozer’s way and evaporates the egg before it even has the chance to leave his hand.

Jiles: Number one for a reason, eh Dooze? Well done, Shell. Well done, indeed.

Stumped, Dooze can only look at his empty hand, and the dust particles of yolk oozing between his fingers. Max takes a deep bow.

Bobby Dean: Where were you when I was fat!? Can you imagine how helpful that would have been when I was dieting?

Bobby turns to CBD, and marvels at the magnificence of Max Shell.

Zeb Martin: …

Apparently, Zeb’s trance still remains intact, which finally catches the attention of his fellow Bandit in Doozer. The Dooze looks toward him and mouths “you alright, man?” which miraculously breaks his hypnosis. Or, maybe his internal clock just realized that the professional wrestling interview segment was about to come to a close.

Zeb Martin: Huh?

Max simply gives a knowing smile in response, then proceeds to snap his fingers.

Zeb Martin: COCK-A-DOODLE DOO!

Standing to his feet and doing his best rendition of Chanticleer the Rooster, Martin puts his fists to his hips and begins to cluck around. After a few “bok-boks” and comedic bird strutting, the newest eGG Bandit claps his hands together, triggering Martin to come back to Earth.

Zeb Martin: …hey y’all. Uh, what’s he doin’ here?

Cut to ringside.

Joe Hoffman: Up next, we have the second of our two War Games main event qualifiers as Teddy Palmer takes on MJ Flair. Red and Ted weren’t able to qualify for the draft pool last week in their tag match against the Hollywood Bruvs and we just saw Red fail in his second qualifying attempt against High Flyer.

Benny Newell: Yeah, way to squander your second chance, asshole. Imagine our benevolent GOD giving you two chances to make his War Games team and you piss them away.

Joe Hoffman: Teddy Palmer still has a chance to qualify and potentially represent his team in the main event at Normandy, however. To do that, he’ll need to get past MJ Flair, who is looking to turn her luck around after several disappointing matches so far this year.

Benny Newell: Several disappointing matches? Try every one but one. Ugh, I hate this match already, Hoffhole. No matter who wins, I’m going to lose. At least I have Jack Daniels to take away my pain.

While Benny laments his misfortune, “Welcome to the Party” by Diplo, French Montana, and Lil Pump cues up. The obnoxious beat reaches the point of lyrics, which coincides with Teddy Palmer’s emergence on the stage. Arms outstretched, his swagger brings him a few steps forward before he rips the hood from his sleeveless jacket down, then makes his way down the aisle to cheers from the fans.

Brian McVay: Introducing first: from Toronto, Ontario, Canada…weighing in at 221 pounds…TEDDY PALMER!

Teddy avoids use of the steps in favor of rolling underneath the bottom rope. He hops to his feet, decides on a corner, and pops himself up on the middle ropes to yell out to the crowd.

Joe Hoffman: Teddy’s also looking to shift his momentum back to the winning side of things, after two disappointing losses to Cecilworth Farthington and Max Kael in addition to the aforementioned tag match last week.

Benny Newell: I’m still mad at him for not ending that fuck Farthington’s year-long win streak at March to Glory. Because of him, we got bell murder and arm breakage on Kostoff. Everything is terrible.

Brian McVay: And his opponent…

“Hail Mary (Stigmatic Mix)” by Chumbawumba crashes through the speakers, the prayer eventually being drowned out by heavy guitars, drums and synth. MJ Flair storms out onto the stage and right down the ramp, Eli Flair following behind.

Brian McVay: …from Warwick, NY, weighing in at 135 pounds…M! J! FLAIR!

Having no use for hand-slapping and fan acknowledgement this week, MJ also slides under the bottom rope. She yanks the zipper of her hoodie down once she’s to her feet and aggressively pulls her sweatshirt off, tossing it into the corner and locking her eyes on Teddy.

Benny Newell: Oh, someone’s looking MIGHTY SERIOUS tonight, Joe.

Joe Hoffman: Can’t say I blame her, Benny. The stakes are raised, and this might be the only opportunity for MJ to get on the pay-per-view card.

Benny Newell: She’s lucky she’s getting any opportunity at all, tee-bee-haich.

DING DING DING!

MJ rockets out of the gate toward Teddy, who is equally as eager to get this contest underway. The two lock up and Teddy uses his height and weight advantage to push MJ back to the corner. Matt Boettcher starts the count and Teddy breaks it at two, putting his hands up in a friendly gesture. MJ’s not looking to play nice, though, as she shoves Teddy back a few steps and jumps into the air, landing a dropkick to the brace on the Canadian’s right arm. Teddy turns away, grimacing in pain, holding his arm.

Joe Hoffman: MJ Flair immediately targeting Teddy Palmer’s arm, which was injured in his match against Cecilworth Farthington almost two months ago.

Benny Newell: First smart thing she’s done in…

There’s a long pause.

Joe Hoffman: Benny?

Benny Newell: I’m thinking. Something will come to me.

MJ grabs Teddy and shoots him into the ropes with an Irish whip. She tries for an armdrag on the rebound but Teddy counters, not without wincing, and shoots around behind MJ. He lifts her up and over his head, dropping her down to the mat with a German suplex. Teddy stays on MJ, bringing her back up to the mat and connecting with an European uppercut that staggers the former LSD champion. After an Irish whip of his own, he charges toward MJ, looking for a single-leg high knee strike, but she rolls under and is back to her feet quickly. Teddy stops his momentum, whirls around, and is leveled by a jumping roundhouse kick. He hits the mat, MJ follows up with a legdrop, and makes the cover.

ONE!

TW-Kickout!

Joe Hoffman: MJ with the early advantage, using her speed to get Teddy grounded.

Benny Newell: Gonna take more than a kick and a legdrop to come out a winner, though.

A couple forearms to Teddy’s face leaves the Canadian dazed as he’s pulled up to his feet. He shakes the cobwebs and fires two knife-edge chops to MJ’s chest. She stumbles away while Eli Flair passively looks on. Teddy darts forward, grabs a handful of MJ’s hair and runs them both into the corner. He drives her face into the turnbuckle once, twice, but his momentum is halted by MJ putting her foot on the middle pad. She drives an elbow into Teddy’s gut then grabs his right arm and twists it around into a hammerlock that forces Teddy down to a knee. He tries to ignore the pain the best he can, pushing himself back up to his feet and throwing an elbow toward MJ’s stomach. She moves out of the way but Teddy stomps on her foot to get her off balance and then throws his head back, following through with a headbutt that forces her to break the hold. He hooks her quickly and plants her to the mat with a double underhook DDT.

Joe Hoffman: A nasty headbutt followed up by a DDT plants MJ to the canvas!

Benny Newell: Rearranging her features, I like it. DRINK

Teddy hooks the leg!

ONE!

TWO!

Kickout!

With the momentum back in his favor, Teddy hauls MJ to her feet. Two quick elbow strikes to the temple rock the second generation wrestler. He backs up a step and levels MJ with an Enziguiri near the ropes, which sends her toppling between the top and middle cable to the outside of the ring. Teddy follows her out, grabs her hair again and drives her face against the ring apron, while Matt Boettcher begins his ten count. MJ grabs her face and careens toward the ring steps, and Teddy quickly dashes toward her…

Joe Hoffman: THEODORPEDOOOO…

CRASH!

Benny Newell: Suckerrrrrrrr!

At almost the last possible second, MJ has the wherewithal to dive out of the way of Teddy’s knee trembler, and the man has no way to stop himself from barreling into the steel ring steps. Palmer goes up and over the stairs, crash-landing on the mats. Even though MJ is disoriented, she recognizes the tide has turned, and starts immediately stomping away at Teddy’s right arm and knee. He tries to cover up but MJ is relentless, hauling him to his feet and, with all her strength, pushes him as hard as she can arm-first into the ring post.

Joe Hoffman: MJ Flair is smelling blood now, Benny.

Benny Newell: OK OK, I can get behind this aggression. Maybe. After a few more shots of Jack. DRINK!

Teddy’s grabbing his arm and trying to shake the pain away, but MJ clutches his wrist, wraps his arm around the ring pole, and slams his bicep against the metal. Boettcher is up to eight with his count, so MJ quickly grabs Teddy by the scruff of his neck and shoves him underneath the bottom rope, following him back into the ring. Wasting no time, and not wanting Teddy to get back to his feet, MJ hastily grabs for his injured arm, locks hers around it and clutches his wrist, jamming it up into his armpit.

Joe Hoffman: Double wristlock! MJ pounced on the opportunity and Teddy’s in a world of trouble!

Benny Newell: I think it’s about all over but the crying, Hoffhole!

With nowhere to go and his arm in agony, Teddy quickly taps the mat.

DING DING DING!

Brian McVay: Your winner of this match, as a result of a submission, M! J! FLAIR!

MJ immediately releases the hold and gets to her feet, “Mary Mary” playing over the speakers once more. Matt Boettcher moves to raise her hand but she’s not in the mood, opting to leave the ring instead.

Joe Hoffman: An impressive win for MJ Flair tonight and both she and her tag partner High Flyer have punched their tickets to the draft pool.

Benny Newell: Well, just because they’re there doesn’t mean they’re getting drafted. Wouldn’t that be ironic, eh Hoffhole?

Joe Hoffman: You make a good point, partner, but we’ll have to speculate on that another time.

On that note, the camera cuts backstage.

As we cut to the backstage area we see nothing but darkness. It is silent for a few moments before we hear the familiar voice of Blaire Moise in the distance.

Blaire Moise – “Hello?, Is anyone there?”

Her words echo into the darkness.

Blaire Moise – “Hello?…”

Suddenly we hear more footsteps, however this time it sounds like there are many people walking backstage, Blaire begins to breathe heavily as she can sense she is no longer alone. A light flickering from a candle begins to come into focus showing us the scared look on Blaire’s face. Holding the candle is none other than HOW’s resident freak Lucian Santangel.

Lucian Santangel – “Hello Blaire”

Lucian smiles to Blaire as he slowly waves the candle from side to side showing us her emotions,

Lucian – “I hope we didn’t scare you”

Blaire instantly asks Lucian a question, whilst looking around for other people in the room.

Blaire Moise – “What do you mean we?”

Lucian starts to laugh a little, one would say this sounds rather psychotic,

Lucian Santangel– “My friends are coming to Blaire, you see I cannot run the carnival all by myself now can I, Yes I am good but I am not a god. Do you believe in God Blaire?”

Lucian runs his right hand over the candle flame, he doesn’t flinch at all or acknowledges the pain from the flame burning into the palm of his hand.

Blaire Moise – “I don’t see why I am here, or why that matters”

Lucian Santangel – “You’re here because we all have a purpose in life Blaire, I just hope you figure yours out before HOW finally see’s my true purpose for being here.”

Blaire Moise – “I’m Leaving”

As blare turns around to leave she freezes and looks up and down before shaking her head in disbelief, Lucian places his hand on her shoulder and turns her around to face him once more.

Lucian Santangel – “You are not going anywhere! I asked you here Blaire to be a witness, a witness that I always back my words up. You see I told the world they had never seen anyone like me, and I proved this right in my first match qualifying for the draft of war games. I told the world I would dispose of Zeb Martin and lone behold I did just that. Hell, I ended Max Stryker’s career before he even had a chance last week. You see something else happened last week Blaire, I saw a man”

Blaire Moise – “A man?”

Lucian Santangel- “Yes a man who will unlock the secrets I have been wondering my whole life. Its no surprise I came to HOW for answers, answers to the questions locked in my mind. You see last week I saw someone that previously I have only ever seen in a picture. That man is Scott Woodson”

Blaire Moise – “The COO of HOW?”

Lucian Santangel – “Yes Blaire, Look at this”

Lucian takes an old crumpled up Photograph out of his pocket and hands it to Blaire who studies it for a few moments.

Blaire Moise – “I don’t quite understand what you are showing me”

Lucian Santangel – “The future Blaire! You see that man standing next to Scott Woodson is my father, Woodson must know him and I must know the answers!”

Blaire Moise – “Well Scott Woodson is here tonight. Later he is having a match…

Before Blaire can finish her sentence Lucian cuts her off.

Lucian Santangel- “Yes, I know! We all know Woodson is here, and I feel he will HATE the questions that I have for him, You may now leave. For I have someone I need to talk to”

Lucian blows out the candle leaving the room again in complete darkness.

Lucian Santangel – “Oh yes, He will be HATEd for his Actions”

Lucian begins to laugh once more as the scene fades.

Back from commercial and we see the COO of HOW Scott Woodson sitting in his office, which has since been cleaned back up after his “redecorating” of it last week.  We see the slightly delayed feed of Lucian still on the screen for a moment before he shuts it off.

Scott Woodson: Oh Lucian… You’re gonna be the one to HATE just HOW much you have to learn about your father…

Rick Dickulous: That’s one creepy motherfucker…

Scott Woodson: Who you calling a MFer?

Questions Woodson as he turns around to Rick, who is standing behind a table filled with trays and trays of brownies.

Rick Dickulous: Lucian… creeps me the fuck out.

Scott Woodson: Ah… so what are we going to do with all these brownies after The Bandits refused them?

Rick Dickulous: Who refuses free brownies?  Seriously?  I’m gonna bring them to the ring tonight and try one more time to tempt the former fat fuck.  If he doesn’t… then I’ll force feed him till he chokes on them.

Walking into the office is the already busy Hughie Freeman who is cleaning his hands off with a hand towel after his attack on Johnny O’Dell earlier.

Hughie Freeman: What’s cooking? Plate of HATE, lads?

Scott Woodson: There he is.  The man that beat the fuck out of that worthless sack Johnny O’Dell.

Hughie Freeman: And you guys still fuckin’ with granny’s recipes, now?

Rick extends the tray out to Hughie who takes a look in the and reluctantly takes a bite of a brownie…?

Hughie Freeman: HATE to say it.. Not too shabby, lads…

He then suddenly kicks the brownie tray out of Rick’s hands and causes the brownies to fly everywhere.

Hughie Freeman: I didn’t sign up for this shit, Woody! Brownies.. Eggs.. and a bunch of fat surfers trying to make fools outta us, here.

Rick Dickulous: Bobby used to be fat.  He’s like 230 pounds now.

Scott Woodson: I don’t think that’s the point.

Hughie Freeman: Bring back the HATE before it’s too LATE! I ain’t goin’ down the shitta with ya fucks like O’Dell did with ya in Da Orda.

Hughie storms out of the room leaving Woodson, Rick and the rest of the brownies.

Rick Dickulous: Luckily we have like twenty trays left Bobby.

Scott Woodson: One shot Rick… you get one shot with them.  You fuck this up.  Then you’ll end up the bottom of a dumpster along with those brownies.  Freeman has a point, the jokes need to end tonight… the brownies… and The Eggs Bandits. I will not let this group spiral… not like my others.  HATE is gonna flow through HOW… and if we can all get on the same page… nothing will stop us.

Woodson grabs his hockey stick as he walks out of his office, shaking his head at the mess that’s been made in his freshly cleaned office.  Rick is left by himself as he grabs two more trays of brownies and stares at them for a moment, debating what to do with them before he leaves the office himself to follow Woodson to the ring as we cut elsewhere.

The camera opens to the inside of Mario Maurako’s office.. The man in charge of the highly decorated High Octane Tag Team division sits behind his desk carefully going over the information he has about tonight’s Refueled. The legendary figure brings his pen to the papers and scratches out a line. He furiously writes a note in its place.

Suddenly the door to the office bursts open and in walks two of the newest members of said tag division.

Mikey Unlikely: It’s OK Mario. Put. The. Pen. Down! No need to desperately try and put two singles competitors into a makeshift tag team…The Hollywood Bruvs are here!

Mario looks up from his desk with a less than impressed look upon his face as Mikey and Kendrix both adorn the latest 24k Hollywood Bruv t-shirts.

Mario Maurako: That’s how you enter my office!? Without knocking?

The Bruvs look confusingly at each other, Mikey mouths the word knocking at JFK, shrugging.

Kendrix: No time for knocking Mr Mario. We’re finally here to save you from your HOW tag team nightmare!

Mikey Unlikely: That’s right. Now clearly you’ve been waiting for the two of us to burst through your office door sans knocking since the moment you arrived in High Octane Wrestling! We’ve had some prior engagements these past few weeks, namely winning a couple of VERY high profile matches…

Kendrix: The LBI heroes, Red and Ted and the scaaarrrryyyy Group of Death members, Troy and Ryan. Maybe you heard of them?

Mikey Unlikely: …But we’re here now! OBVS

Mario raises his hand in an effort to interject but the Bruvs have had a couple of Frappes already this evening.

Kendrix: Totally Obvs! In fact we all know that the only reason you, a HOW hall of famer, decided to get back involved in HOW, to get back involved with the division you built…was because of the Hollywood Bruvs. Who could blame you?

The C Lister slaps the back of his hand off his Bruv’s chest.

Mikey Unlikely: Not I Bruv! So Mario… let us help you, help us, so that we can help you, help HOW, together!

Unlikely says it again under his breath to make sure it makes sense. He nods confidently.

Kendrix: Hey, by the way, since you’re the Godfather of the tag division then you should see us as your God Sons! We’re totally great sons! I’ve always said that.

Mikey Unlikely: Yeah but I said it first.

Jesse gets a lightbulb moment as he raises his index finger by the side of his head.

Kendrix: Oooh, with your legendary status running the tag division and The Bruv’s undoubted abilities, everyone will call the three of us the Super Mario Bruvs!

Mario Maurako: Listen guys….

Mikey cuts him off as he sits at the seat in front of him. Propping his feet up on the desk, leaning back comfortably.

Mikey Unlikely: We come well prepared! We have our own entrance music, our own matching tag team gear, all the merch in the world, we have a team of people who market the SHIT out of us!

Kendrix: We even have our own tag team name. How many tag teams here even have a name? We took a hell of a long time and put in a lot of effort to come up with it all by ourselves. It’s actually quite clever. Picture this.

Mikey looks up excitedly at Jesse who has his hands held out in front of him in the shape of a camera lens.

Kendrix: Because Mikey is soooooooooooo Hollywood!

Mikey quickly gets back up to his feet.

Mikey Unlikely: And because Kendrix is sooooooooooooo Bruv! Together we are….

The two look at eachother, Mikey gets up, and they jump back with their arms held out by their sides to present themselves to Mario.

Mikey and Kendrix: THE HOLLYWOOD BRUVS!

Mario sits stoically as he studies the HOW Tag Team.

Kendrix: Any questions?

Unlikely raises his hand anxiously.

Mikey Unlikely: Oooh! Oooh!

He waits to be called on.

Kendrix: Yes young Michael?

Mikey Unlikely: How did Mario here get so lucky to have the Hollywood Bruvs ready and willing to work with him and become DESERVED Tag Team Champions after beating Lindsay Troy and Daniel Ryan as well as Red and Ted back to back?

Kendrix rubs his hand through his beard in deep thought.

Kendrix: You know what…that’s a fantastic question as always from you, Mikey…. And I’m going to defer to our good friend Super Mario here! How did you get so lucky?

Mario stares at Kendrix and then Mikey. His stoic features are then suddenly replaced with a big smile as Mario smacks the desk.

Mario Maurako: Finally, my lucky socks paid off I guess!

Mikey Unlikely: You have lucky socks!?

Mario Maurako:  Sure do! I’ll send you guys a pair. Matching of course. Then all three of us can have a pair. Let me just call my assistant.

Mario leans forward in his seat and reaches his hand down to a silent alarm button situated under his desk. Almost immediately four of HOW’s finest security men enter the room.

The bruvs jaws gawp in shock as they are led away, arms forced behind their backs.

Kendrix: But, but…Super Mario Bruvs?!

Mikey Unlikely: How can you pass up on a marketing idea like that?!

The door is slammed firmly shut behind the bruv after their less than gracious exit.

Mario Maurako: Next time they’ll know to knock.

Mario shakes his head and scribbles down some notes on the papers in front of him. The camera zooms in and the notes read “Send The Hollywood Bruvs some lucky socks”. The scene fades to a commercial break.

The show feed comes back from commercial break and picks up with Joe, Benny, and Cancer Jiles?

Joe Hoffman: Welcome back. Up next, we have tag team action as the eGG Bandits faceoff against HATE, in what can be considered round two of their budding feud. But first, joining us at ringside is special guest commentator and fellow eGG Bandit himself, Cancer Jiles. Cancer, thank you for joining us.

Jiles: Thank you for having me.

Benny Newell: Quick question. Do you plan on being down here, more specifically, next to me for the whole match?

Jiles: I most certainly do.

Benny Newell: That’s a shame.

Jiles: I’m sorry to hear you say that, Benny. Please, allow me to tell you something that might brighten your spirits some. Not only do I plan on sitting here while you’re under the constant threat of egging for how you greeted me just then, but if those HATE mongers come my way, I don’t plan on moving a muscle. 

Joe Hoffman: Really?

Jiles: I, the all honorable Qualifier of COOL, will sit here, comfortably, and watch Doozer and Bobby Dean extinguish the dimly lit torch that is HATE before our very eyes– without doing a thing. Promise. Hey, speaking of eyes, did you guys hear the BIG NEWS?

Joe Hoffman: Max Kael?

Jiles: SHELL, Joe. But yes, THE LSD CHAMPION, NUMBER ONE RANKED TALENT, HALL OF FAMER, FIRST OF HIS NAME, MAX SHELL, IS AN EGG BANDIT. What a day. LONG MAY WE MAIM.

Benny Newell: Pretty sure that’s Max Kael you were describing, no? 

The Maestro does not answer. Instead, he casually spins an egg atop the tip of his pointer finger as if he were a Globetrotter with a basketball. Joe impressively gulps. Benny yawns and makes a jerking off motion.

Jiles: Do you guys think I can do it for the whole match?

Benny Newell: If you can’t, do you leave then?

SPLAT~!

In one swift motion, the unthinkable happens. Cancer Jiles, eggs, Benny Newell. Not by throw either, but by open hand smack. Yolk and shell bits ooze, drip, and stick to the horrified reddened face of the alcoholic half of the HOF announce team.

Jiles: Hey, Benny. Is this what me leaving looks like?

Euphoric, Jiles digs in, trying to magnetize himself to the chair. Then, like the gentleman he is, he reaches under the 97red jumper jacket he’s wearing, and pulls out an ascot.

Jiles: Here. Take this and clean yourself up. We still have a match to call.

On cue the lights dim and the eGG Bandit’s music hits. Confidently stepping out from behind the curtain is the robed ruser himself, Beautiful Bobby Dean. His partner for tonight, Doozer, comes walking out a few seconds later, joining the rest of the Octabandits in rousing applause.

Jiles: Doctor’s said he would never walk again. And now here he is, about to take the ring.

Joe Hoffman: I don’t remember that ever being–

Jiles: Are you calling me a liar, Joe? I hope not, pal. I was there. In the room. Watching Doozer cry.

Joe Hoffman: I would never.

Benny Newell: Pull another fucking stunt like that again, and I will fucking kill you.

SPLAT~!

No. Just kidding. Almost. Jiles, with the same silky smooth motion as before stops just short of egging Benny for the second time tonight. It’d be a shame if he did, too. Not only is Benny all cleaned up, there’s no way Jiles has another ascot. 

The fakeout did induce a nice flinch out of Benny, though.

Jiles: No, NO! Look at this, my guys are already in the ring! God damn it! I missed out on them being introduced, and more importantly, on making fun of Doozer struggling up the steps. I had a great handrail line and because I was busy with you, Benny, it’s ruined. 

Benny Newell: Good.

Jiles: Just now, I have decided it would be rather regrettable if I were to miss out on anymore of these upcoming opportunities because I was dealing with you. That said, how about you relax, we act like it never happened, and just call this thing? I’ll buy ya a bottle of booze and we can egg some cars after the show.

Benny Newell: Just booze. Two bottles.

Doozer and Bobby bounce off the ropes a few times before exchanging in a thumbs up with the guest commentator.

“HATE by Design” by Killswitch Engage hits as we see the HATE logo flash on the HOV and boos fill the Allstate Arena as we see Scott Woodson walk out onto the stage with his trademark hockey stick, followed by Rick Dickulous with two trays of brownies.

Joe Hoffman: And I guess Rick is going to try one last time to tempt Bobby Dean with some of their brownies.

Benny Newell: For fuck sakes!

Jiles: He can try all he wants. Bobby’s willpower is too strong to break.

Bryan McVay: And their opponents, weighing in at seven hundred and one half pounds… the COO of HOW Scott Woodson and Rick Dickulous… HATE!!!!

HATE makes their way into the ring as Rick walks up to Bobby Dean, pulling the tin foil off the top tray and exposing the delicious… and not plastic brownies to Dean. Without hesitation though, Dean smack the tray away, sending the baked treats sprawling across the mat.

Jiles: That a boy, Bob-bay!

Joel Hortega gets in between both teams, sending them to their corners as he kicks the trays of brownies out of the ring and calls for the bell.

Bobby Dean and Rick Diculous start the match. They stand in the middle of the ring, nose to chest, jawing back and forth at one another. Rick has a massive weight advantage, and towers over Bobby. However, if it were precoma their weights would be comparable. 

Bobby, not wanting to engage in the brutal tactics Rick employs, gains the quick upper hand by raking the eyes of Diculous. He lands a series of rapid chops to Rick’s chest, turning it bright red. He then kicks him in each of his high shins, which would have been the knees for any normal sized man. 

Quickly, Bob bounces off the ropes, ducks under a clothesline attempt, bounces off the opposing ropes, leaps, kind of, and hits a flying cross body splash to Rick’s abdomen.

Joe Hoffman: What looked like a nice start to Bobby Dean’s comeback, has quickly turned otherwise.

Rick, using his size and strength to his advantage, catches the 230 pound Bobby Dean. He  spins him into position, and delivers a vicious sidewalk slam. Rick rolls over, mounts, and then starts to maul Beautiful Bobby.

Jiles: Get the fuck in there, Doozer!

Benny Newell: He’s trying, too. It takes him a moment.

Even before Jiles was saying it, Doozer was in the ring, running in and breaking up the mount. Hortega struggles to get the Bostonian back to where he belongs. While the ref’s back is turned, Rick grabs Bob and whips him into the HATE corner’s turnbuckles. 

Hard. 

Not wasting any time, Scott seizes the opportunity and quickly gets into the ring. He starts blasting Bobby with an array of HATEful punches and kicks, sending the beautiful man from Honalee to the seated position in the corner. 

Benny Newell: Not looking good. Maybe you rushed him back?

Jiles: *greif moaning*

Rick antagonizes Dooze to keep him occupied with the referee. Then, he turns his attention back to the legal man. He revs that 400 plus horsepower motor of his, and charges in, ready to knee Bobby back into the hospital.

Jiles: YES! 

Dean grabs Scott by the jeans and pulls him into the line of fire at the last second. 

Jiles: Always thinking, us Bandits. I’ll tell you guys this much, we are way too smart to lose to these Mongoloids.

Rick tries to stop short, but alas, 6’9, four hundred plus, that’s not going to happen. Instead, he goes tumbling over the top rope and crashes down to the outside of the ring after colliding with the COO. 

Scotty, for his trouble, gets kneed in the back AND driven face first into the top turnbuckle. He immediately slumps down atop of a beat up Bobby Dean. 

Doozer, noticing the turn of events, quickly gets back to his corner so his winded partner can make the tag.

Joe Hoffman: Here’s his chance. Bobby needs to somehow get out from underneath Scott Woodson, scoot his way across the entirety of the ring, and get Doozer in this match.

Benny Newell: Hot. 

Doozer is banging on the turnbuckle, rallying his teammate to make the tag. It works, and Bobby fidgets his way out from under Woodson. He starts to crawl towards his partner, and gets about half there before the artist formerly known for hardcore gets to his feet. Much to Scott’s surprise, Bobby isn’t where he should be, so he spins on a heel, and begins to chase him down. 

Jiles: Trim your skin flaps, Bob! He’s closing in!

Bobby reaches out, shimming his way towards Doozer. He’s just about there, Hortega is ready to call the tag… 

Nope.

Woodson grabs Bob by the boot, and starts to drag him back to the HATE corner. While doing so, he takes his eye off the ball, possibly because he was preoccupied glaring through the ropes at Jiles. Whatever the case may be, Bobby is able to flip over on his back, kick Scotty in his manhood, and roll his way to the Bandits corner.

TAG.

Jiles: Time to get it done, old man. Let’s fucking go!

Doozer hits the ring like it was thirty seven years ago, and levels the COO with a stiff clothesline. Scotty was a sitting duck, seeing as he was still grabbing at himself in pain from Bob’s nutshot. 

Dickulous is back on his feet, and starts to climb his way into the ring. He steps over the ropes, and Dooze meets him in midair with a diving shoulder block.

Joe Hoffman: WOW. What an impact. Vintage Doozer.

Joe wasn’t kidding, the patented signature move sent Diculous once again tumbling over the top rope and back to the outside. Scotty now stirring, Dooze slides in behind him, lifts, and lands a side german suplex. He springs to his feet, removes one of his arm bands and throws it at Jiles of all people.

Jiles: Dick.

Dooze leans down, waves a finger in Scotty’s face, then bounces off the ropes. The problem is, when Dooze knocked Rick out of the ring with a shoulder block, Rick landed on his feet. Dooze didn’t notice, and Rick pulled down the top rope causing Doozer to spill over to the outside. 

Rick lays a boot to Dooze, and then scoops him up and rolls him into the ring.

Bobby Dean is on his feet, trying to gather himself as the effects of laying down and not wrestling for a month have started to catch up to him.

Scotty is up right, and starts to work over Doozer while he is down. After getting a few good shots in, he goes for a pin.

Hortega drops down and starts to count, but Dooze is able to kick out at one.

Scotty lands some more shots, and tries to pin Dooze again. Again, Doozer is able to kick out at one. Frustrated, Scotty stands up, reaches down, grabs Doozer by his ear, and walks him over to the HATE corner.

TAG.

Rick, after going over the top rope twice, isn’t as nimble as he usually is. It takes a second too long, and Dooze first elbows Scotty, and then hammers away at Diculous, catching the big man off guard. Dooze whips all four hundred plus pounds of Rick across the ring and into the Bandits corner. Dazed, Rick slowly stumbles forward and Doozer hits the ropes once more and lands a running bulldog on Dickulous.

Dooze rolls over, and attempts a pin.

Hortega drops, and starts the count.

Uno. Dos.

KICKOUT.

Jiles: That’s fine. Egg U, is next! And I can’t wait to see the hernia’s instantly form when Doozer lifts him up. Tell someone to zoom in on his ass.

Bobby’s cheering, for an oxygen mask, but cheering nonetheless. 

Doozer pulls Rick to his feet, and after a few forearm smashes to the back later, he tries to hoist the 6’9, 400 plus pound man over his shoulders. His knees start to weaken, and he has to abandon the move. He grabs at his back as if he tweaked something, and starts to walk over towards Bobby.

Bobby, who can see what is happening behind Doozer, quickly enters the ring and pushes Dooze out of the way. Rick was lining up a kill shot, and instead of eliminating Doozer, he whiffs.

Bobby, still sucking wind, drops to his knees. 

Scott Woodson, not one to sit idly by, illegally enters the ring.

Joe Hoffman: Hortega is about to lose control of this one!

The COO lines up Bobby for the ICE KICK, but just before he removes Bob’s head from his neck, Doozer jumps in front of it, taking the full brunt of the attack. Scotty shrugs, tackles Bobby, and the two of them roll out of the ring.

Rick Diculous lumbers his way towards the incapcated Doozer, lifts Dooze’s stagnated body into position, and at 6’9, four hundred plus, delivers a Canadian Destroyer, aka THE MISERY WHIP.

Jiles: And I thought Max Shell evaporating an egg was impressive. FUCK.

Rick quickly rolls over, hooks both legs, and the ref counts to three.

Brian Mcvay: Here are your winners, Scott Woodson, Rick Diculous, the team of HATE!

Hortega raises Rick’s hand, while Scotty and Bobby continue to tussle on the outside.

Joe Hoffman: Hey, where are you going?

Jiles: Match is over now, Joe. I can do whatever I want. Have a nice day, Benny. You still got some shell in your hair.

Much to Benny’s delight, Jiles jumps to his feet, and slithers his way towards Bobby and Scotty on the outside. Bobby is on his back, protecting himself, as Scotty straddles him reigning down fists. 

Jiles whistles, causing Bobby to reach out and push Scotty’s jaw upwards.

Joe Hoffman: Terminal Cancer! Scotty is out!

The Maestro helps Bob to his feet, and the two turn their attention to big Rick D, who still stands in the ring. Jiles gets too close to the ropes, and Rick lunges out and grabs him by the hair.

Joe Hoffman: Big. Mistake.

Bobby grabs Rick’s free arm, and pulls him close. Close enough for Jiles to release the COOLYMPIAN YOLJK, blinding Rick who goes staggering backwards. Both Bandits slide into the ring, and get Doozer to his feet.

Joe Hoffman: Here comes HATE!

The remaining HATE members, Hughie Freeman and John Hitchin come storming out from the back, only to get tangled in Zebs fishing line.

Think lasso. 

But with a fishing rod.

And just to make eggstra sure Freeman and Hitchin don’t go anywhere, the newest member of the eGG Bandits, Max Shell, joins Zeb at the top of the ramp and zaps the line with his magical laser eye, in essence tazing the two.

Back in the ring, Jiles starts to yell at Doozer to finish the job, pointing to Rick Dickulous. Doozer looks uninterested, and because of such, Jiles smacks him across the face. 

In the meantime, Bobby is ballerina dancing around yellow faced Rick, dodging his blind fists.

Doozer’s fading electric blue eyes run serial cold. He buckles down, and catches one of Rick’s wild punches with an open palm. Then, without a thought, he scoops up all 400 plus pounds atop of his shoulders, and carries Rick across the ring as if he were a dry towel. Once Dooze reaches the ring ropes, he releases a visceral scream, followed by an over the top rope, EggU!

Bonus points for Rick landing on top of Scotty.

Joe Hoffman: Dear god! The power! The rage!

Benny Newell: Maybe Jiles should smack him in the face before the match. Just a thought. 

Jiles, Bobby, and Doozer roll out of the ring, head back up the ramp, regroup with the rest of the Bandits, and leave HATE in a heap.

We cut to another commercial break after the extended action we just saw…

Back from commercial and we see the camera zoom into Blaire Moise in the midst of a raucous Section 214.

Blaire Moise: Hello HOW fans!  Blaire Moise up here in a noisy Section 214 with one half of the HOW Tag Team Champions Joe Bergman!

The section erupts and stand up, temporarily obscuring Blaire and Bergman.  A quick pan of the camera shows that many of the people in the section are wearing the brand new PBR/anti-24K t-shirts that Bergman debuted last week on Refueled Twenty-Five.

Blaire tries to talk above the noise.

Blaire Moise: Joe!  First off, can you let the HOW fans know the condition of HOW’s #1 Dad Steven Solex?

Joe Bergman: Yes.  Blaire, Steven is fine.  He was treated and released last Saturday night from the hospital and hopefully he’ll be back in action soon.

Blaire Moise: And that’s right.  Solex did return home that night.  But Joe, you ended up coming back to the hospital the next day – am I correct?

Joe nods.

Joe Bergman: Yes Blaire.  One of the attending ER doctors is a huge HOW fan and he asked me if I would come back the next morning and visit with some of the patients.

Blaire turns to the camera and explains further.

Blaire Moise: Joe did exactly that and we’ve got some of the pictures for you.

The HOV fires up and beings to cycle through a series of photos showing Joe visiting several patients and posing for pictures with them.

Blaire Moise: And apparently, you stopped down to the children’s wing as well.

Joe sheepishly nods again and looks away.  The HOV then shows multiple photos of Bergman visiting and posing for pictures with numerous sick children in their hospital rooms.

Joe Bergman: Yeah.  It was nice to take some time to visit all the people at the hospital and we even gave away a few shirts in the process.

The HOV then shows several kids holding up their official PBR/anti-24K t-shirts.

Joe Bergman: Again, this isn’t just about me.  It’s about the people.

Suddenly in the back of the section, the people unfurl a huge PBR/anti-24K banner to a resounding cheer.  The HOW control room immediately pick up on it and shine several spotlights on the banner and then the sign also appears on the HOV.

Blaire and Bergman also see it.  Joe smiles.

Blaire Moise: That’s a big banner.

Joe Bergman: Well Blaire.  I guess we don’t need one of those glitzy, flashy, fancy signs like the folks at the 24K suite have to get PBR’s message across.

The section roars once again.

Joe Bergman: That’s right.  No fancy sign.  No golden microphone.  No fifteen minutes of self-congratulatory, self-patting ourselves on the back and self-glossing ourselves.  This movement isn’t about Joe Bergman or PBR.

Joe points at the people in Section 214 and at the people in the surrounding area.

Joe Bergman: This movement is about the folks in the section and the people all over the Allstate Arena!  The people who got behind me.  The people who stayed with me.  The people who continue to inspire me as I stand here as . . .

Bergman holds up the HOW Tag Team Title belt for everyone to see.

Joe Bergman: . . . one half of the Tag Team Champions.

Blaire Moise: Okay.  Last thing, your merchandise stand has been doing gangbuster business sales wise with the new PBR shirt and other accessories available at the table.  What do you credit your success on that front on?

Joe Bergman: Once again Blaire.  It’s all about giving the people what they want.

Quick cut the foyer just outside Section 214 that also appears on the HOV.  There’s a huge line queued up leading to the merch table.  The camera pans over and reveals two women inside a hot tub posing for pictures with the fans- hence the super long lines.

The crowd again cheers as the image also appears on the HOV.

Benny’s eyes immediately light up.

Benny Newell: FUCK YES!

Joe Hoffman: WAIT A MINUTE!  THAT’S . . . that’s Dark and Stormy!  Former HOW LSD, two time ICON, and former World Champion Ray McAvay’s former valets!

Benny Newell: THEY’RE BACK!  TITTIES!  TITTIES!

Benny nearly knocks over his bottle of Jack and splashes some on Hoffman.

Joe Hoffman: Jesus Benny!  Calm down!

Cut back to Bergman and Blaire.

Blaire Moise: You brought in West Texas Adult Entertainment Legends and former HOW personalities Dark and Stormy to pose for photos from inside a hot tub.

Joe Bergman: That’s the difference between PBR and 24K, Blaire.  Everything 24K does is all about celebrating themselves.  PBR is all about paying back the people who pay their good, hard earned money to come out to the show to watch us all perform.  Everything we do is about celebrating the people!

Blaire Moise: All right Joe.  Any last words about the upcoming main event?

Joe shrugs and doesn’t respond.  Section 214 on the other hand . . .

FUCK YOU JIMMY (CLAP CLAP CLAP-CLAP-CLAP) . . . FUCK YOU JIMMY (CLAP CLAP CLAP-CLAP-CLAP)

Blaire Moise: There you have it.  That’s all from Section 214.

We cut backstage where Maximillian Wilhelm Kael, dressed in a black and red North Kaelrean uniform can be seen standing. His mechanical eye flickers blue then red a few times before it settles on blue, a smug smile stretched across his weathered face. Standing next to him, but six feet away, is interpreted reporter Brian Bare having apparently survived his run in with the Lord Surpeme Dictator last week.

Brian Bare: Folks I’m standing by with High Octane Hall of Famer Maximillian Wilhelm Kael, how are you tonight?

Max’s face contorts into a look of disgust as he stares at Bare, his brows arched up as he looks as though he is waiting for something. After a few tense moments Bare seems to realize what has happened.

Brian Bare: Sorry, I mean I’m standing by with the Worthiest One, the Proud and Pious Maximillian Wilhelm Kael, Lord Supreme Dictator of High Octane Wrestling, LSD Champion AND High Octane Hall of Famer.

Max Kael: Much better, hello Brian Bare! I know last week we had a little misunderstanding that will not repeat itself this week, or you know, I’ll be forced to execute you. Or eggcecute you depending on who is standing around me at the time.

Max offered a shrug of his shoulders as his cheshire grin stretched ominously across his face once again.

Brian Bare: Yes, earlier tonight we saw that you joined the eGG Bandits, care to comment on that? Are you out of the Group of Death now?

Max Kael: It is true, I am now a card carrying member of the eGG Bandits, you know, once I get my card mailed to me. However with that said I am also still a member of the Group of Death.. Infact..

The LSD Champion begins pulling rotten blue raffle tickets out of his pocket, dumping them on the ground around him.

Max Kael: Joining other stables is now my thing. Forget the raffle.. The LSD Raffle is effectively over, after my record setting Pole match against Scott Stevens the whole bit peaked. So moving on now I’ve decided that every stable and team in High Octane Wrestling could use Max Kael and this is in no way some half-baked scheme to escape facing the Group of Death at War Games.

Shaking his violently Max places a hand over his heart and does his best to look somber.

Max Kael: I promise on the souls of my dearly departed parents that I am not, in any way, attempting to disqualify myself from participating in the War Games main event, that you would even mention it or ask me about it, well, it’s a real show of your character, Brian Bare! I’m an upstanding citizen of High Octane Wrestling and there are a couple of things I don’t do, Brian!

He lifts his hand to show a count of five, his blue eye flickering red once again.

Max Kael: One, I never cheat, cheating is a sign of weakness and Max Kael has no weaknesses. Two, I never try to game the system to get out of doing things I don’t want to do, I’m a soldier who always does what he is told! Three, I never use my relationship with Lee or Michael to get the things I want, I work, work hard for my money! Four, I don’t lose LSD Championship matches, if the records try to tell you otherwise they’re lying. And FIVE.. well I don’t have anything for five so just assume I said something really smart and clever about myself.

He winked at Bare before he turned his attention back to the camera, cutting the seasoned reporter from asking any further questions.

Max Kael: So get ready High Octane Wrestling, I’m putting you all on notice! 24K.. Two Man Stable.. Uh.. is MJF and High Flyer a stable or a tag team? Red and Ted have really made this confusing. I’ll make it easier, if you see yourself as a team in High Octane Wrestling expect Max Kael to come knocking! I’m on my question to join ALL of the stables in High Octane Wrestling and there isn’t anyone who can stop me!

Brian Bare: You failed to mention HATE, will you be joining Scottywood and his coterie of misfits?

Max’s head darts to the side to stare at Bare before he looks at the camera.

Max Kael: Never heard of them.

Brian Bare: They are a legitimate tag team in High Octane Wrestling.. I mean.. You even were in a-

Max Kael: NEVER HEARD OF THEM!

There is another silence between the two of them as Max stares down Bare, his eye flaring red as he glares at the smaller man. After a few seconds his eye snaps blue once again as he smiles toward the camera.

Max Kael: I’ve been the Worthiest, the Great and Glorious Maximillian Wilhelm Kael, Lord of Kaelsalvania, Prime Minister of Maxopotamia, the North Kaelrean General, Lord Supreme Dictator of High Octane Wrestling, Ultra-Hall of Famer, the Forever-LSD Champion.. FIRST Of my NAME! Long.. shall I Ma-

Brian Bare: HATE!

Once again Brian cuts off Max before immediately hoofing it off screen. Max’s face flushes red as he lets out a roar and proceeds to give chase.

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

WAR GAMES MATCH FOR THE TAG TEAM CHAMPIONSHIPS
The eGG Bandits vs. The Hollywood Bruvs vs. ?? vs Joe Bergman and Andy Murray©

WAR GAMES MAIN EVENT DRAFT POOL QUALIFIERS
High Flyer, MJ Flair, Mikey Unlikely, Jessie Kendrix, Doozer, Cancer Jiles, Zeb Martin, Bobby Dean, Lucian Santangel, Perfection, Joe Bergman© and Andy Murray©

Joe Hoffman: Tonight’s main event features the very first one-on-one competition between members of 24K and the Group of Death, but the rivalry between these two men has been brewing since long before either of these groups existed. In a match specifically requested by Michael Lee Best himself, tension finally boil over tonight as the Son of God takes on Perfection for the HOW ICON Championship.

Benny Newell: Honestly, Joe, I’ve always thought that Mike Best was a smart dude. I really did. Sung his praises for years. But what kind of idiot offers to defend a championship that he doesn’t have to? He already defended at the Lethal Lottery. He was free and clear until War Games! This is textbook dumbassery. Fuckin’ textbook.

Joe Hoffman: Michael has always called himself a fighting champion, Benny. But I don’t think you can give him all the credit for this match– I think that Perfection knew exactly what buttons to push to put himself to the front of the line for a shot at the ICON Title. 24K has been playing mind games with the Group of Death since literally the moment they burst into a High Octane ring, and tonight is perhaps the first of many culminations of that.

Benny Newell: Outsmarting the man who thinks he’s the smartest man in HOW. You know, I fuckin’ like this Perfection kid.

Joe Hoffman: He’s forty one years old, Benny.

Benny Newell: You know, I fuckin’ like this Perfection adult.

“Perfect Gentleman” by Helloween begins to play over the speakers, and the decided majority of the crowd begins to uproariously boo as James Witherhold himself steps out through the curtain and onto the stage. The man known as Perfection raises his arms into the air, and by the way he reacts, you’d think that they were cheering– the narcissistic grin of a true asshole shines through, as he takes a sarcastic little bow at the top of the stage.

Joe Hoffman: Don’t mistake him by the fanfare, folks. Perfection is a dangerous man, and he is undefeated in High Octane Wrestling. Tonight, he has an opportunity to not only keep that streak alive… to not only become the ICON Champion… but to be the man who ended the Final Reign of Michael Best.

Benny Newell: The walls of the 24K suite are gonna look like a Jackson Pollock painting by the end of tonight, BAYBEE!

Joe Hoffman: Well THAT’S disgusting.

Benny Newell: Eww, no, from champagne you fucking pervert. Why would you even…? Ugh.

Making his way toward the ring, Perfection takes his time, talking some shit to fans along the ramp guardrail. He poses once more at ringside, making the motion of a title around his waist before climbing the ring steps and onto the apron. He wipes off his pristine boots on the canvas before ascending onto the turnbuckle, showing off an obnoxious smile as he flexes his muscles on the top rope.

As he hops down from the turnbuckle and takes his corner, his music abruptly stops playing, instead replaced by words that send the crowd into an uncharacteristically large cheer.

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, as the HOW ICON Champion steps out from behind the curtain to one of most strangely positive reactions of this era of HOW. Michael Lee Best holds the HOW ICON Championship into the air on the stage, staring out into the crowd as he bobs his head to the sweet jams of his own entrance music.

Joe Hoffman: He’s here, folks. After taking last week off to heal some recent injuries at the hands of Lee Best’s masked hired gun, the HOW ICON Champion makes his return to in-ring action. With War Games on the horizon, there is no doubt that Lee Best is using this as a scouting opportunity– in fact, a victory tonight for Perfection would essentially guarantee his place on Team Lee Best for War Games.

Benny Newell: Unless he grew a pussy on his forehead since the last time we saw him, he doesn’t look healed up to me, Joe.

Joe Hoffman: Those are stitches, Benny.

Benny Newell: Oh.

As he saunters toward the ring, Michael skips out on giving the middle “Hall of Fame” finger to the fans at home, instead casually flipping the bird toward the ring and showing it directly to Perfection. Perfection isn’t so much offended by the gesture as he is supremely annoyed at how loudly the crowd cheers for it.

The SON OF GOD approaches the apron, rolling under the bottom rope and standing to his feet in the ring. Michael slowly makes his way toward his corner, handing the HOW ICON Championship off to referee Matt Boettcher on the way. He’s just about to start stretching and preparing for the beginning of the match, but the music quickly stops playing as Witherhold attacks him from behind, cheap shotting the ICON Champion and sending him face first into the corner with a flurry of blows! He rakes Michael’s face across the ropes, directly on the injured area of his forehead!

Referee Matt Boettcher struggles to get between the champion and the challenger, but Perfection doesn’t put up much of a fight. He holds both hands into the air like he’s innocent, smirking as he backs up toward his corner– Boettcher checks on Michael Best, who is holding the already stitched up area over his right eye socket.

Joe Hoffman: The bell hasn’t even rung yet! Come on!

Benny Newell: It’s not illegal, Joe. Like you said, the bell hasn’t rung yet. This kid is fucking SMART.

Joe Hoffman: Forty one, Benny.

Benny Newell: THIS MAN IS INTELLIGENT.

The fans are livid with the prematch attack, but Perfection couldn’t look more proud of himself as he relaxes in his corner, pointing at the side of his head and jawing off to the fans about just how goddamned smart he is. Boettcher begins checking the stitches of the ICON Champion, but Michael shoves him off and tells him to start the match.

Boettcher looks skeptical, but calls for the bell.

DING DING DING

Pissed off and riding on adrenaline, Michael Best rushes the corner right off the starting bell, but Perfection knows his old rival too well to get caught with anything early. He drops to his back, rolling out of the ring and flexing again at ringside, taunting the champion with a shit-eating grin on his face.

The crowd boos, but neither man in the ring reactions to it– their eyes are locked, as Mike leans over the ropes, daring Perfection to get back into the ring and fight.

1….

Boettcher begins the countout, as Witherhold makes his way toward the timekeeper’s table.

2……..

He snatches the ICON Championship up from Bryan McVay, throwing it over his shoulder and flexing again directly at Mike Best in the ring. This is enough to send the Son of God into a rage, and he bails over the ropes to make chase.

3………..

As soon as Best’s feet touch the floor, Perfection tosses the ICON Championship aside, sprinting back for the ring and sliding in under the ropes. He stands back to his feet, and you guessed it… he flexes, grinning like an asshole. Michael thrusts a foot into the barricade, beside himself with anger as he heads back toward the ring.

Joe Hoffman: Moments into this match, and Perfection continues to play games. I don’t know if this is the way you go about becoming the ICON Champion, Benny.

Benny Newell: He’s smart, Joe. Smart enough to know that he’s facing a guy who doesn’t do smart shit when he’s angry. He’s taking him off his game.

Joe Hoffman: I’m not sure if this is a sound strategy, or actual suicide.

Michael Lee Best rolls back into the ring, and immediately finds himself met with stomps from Perfection. He holds the ropes, really laying in the kicks as Boettcher counts him off for a disqualification.

1!
2!
3!
4!

Once again, Witherhold puts his hands into the air, proclaiming his innocence as he backs up toward the middle of the ring. The Son of God grabs the middle rope, pulling himself up to his feet. He stares at the challenger out of the tops of his eyes, a sneer on his face as he approaches Perfection once again.

Perfection smirks, as the two begin to circle in the middle of the ring. Each man is looking for an opening, but the raging ICON Champion is impatient. He strikes first, shooting in with a knee toward the midsection of Witherhold. Perfection stuffs his attempt, ready for it, and sweeps the opposite leg of his opponent– he takes Mike Best to the ground, in the middle of the ring!

Joe Hoffman: I hate to admit it, Benny, but you may have been right. He’s in Mike’s head.

Benny Newell: Yeah, and the champ’s on his fuckin’ back!

Perfection takes the neck of Mike Best, locking on a headlock on the canvas. He lays his body out sideways for extra leverage, talking shit to the champion as he clenches down on the hold. The Son of God struggles against it, trying to push up on his arms to counter. He gets almost to his knees, but Perfection swings his hips, and takes the champion down again with another rolling headlock! The crowd is livid, showering boos on the ring as Witherhold maintains complete and monotonous control of the match.

Mike Best curls his body up, pushing forth with a burst of energy that brings Witherhold back to his feet. He plants his boots into the canvas to maintain control, but Best throws a furious elbow into the gut of Perfection that loosens his grip. The champion throws another elbow, and this time has enough leverage to break the hold– he shoots Perfection off to the ropes, trying to regain some momentum, but Perfection ducks a clothesline!

Benny Newell: Shoulda fuckin’ known better. Didn’t he accuse Perfection of being a professional ducker? YOU’RE NOT USIN’ YER BRAIN!

Joe Hoffman: That’s a… solid Family Guy reference there, Benny. Jesus.

Witherhold bounces off the opposite rope, firing back with a clothesline attempt of his own. It’s Best’s turn to duck, and he grabs Perfection, spinning him around and catching him with a belly-to-belly suplex! Perfection hits the mat hard for the first time this match, but springs right back to his feet!

Before he can even get his footing, Mike grabs him up again and throws him overhead with a second belly-to-belly! The crowd is on fire now, as it seems that the HOW ICON Champion is finally making a comeback in a match that has been all Perfection thus far. Witherhold is slower to get up this time, but Best is waiting with a third belly-to-belly su–

Benny Newell: KICK IN THE DICK!

Joe Hoffman: OH COME ON! DISQUALIFY HIM!

Mike Best drops to his knees, clutching his groin as Perfection immediately begins apologizing to the referee. Boettcher is threatening to call for the bell, but Witherhold explains that he was trying to kick him in the midsection and it was an honest mistake. The argument between the two men goes on as Michael struggles to catch his breath and find his testicles– they appear to be co-mingling somewhere near the bottom of his lungs.

The crowd isn’t having any of it, and neither is Boettcher– the referee is about to call for the disqualification, but Michael Lee Best stops him cold. He tells the referee he wants to continue the match!

Joe Hoffman: Are you KIDDING ME?! What do you stand to gain?!

Benny Newell: HAAAAAA! What a fucking moron! YOU WERE GONNA WIN THE MATCH, YOU FUCKING TOAST SNIFFER!

Boettcher is apprehensive, but he avoids calling for the disqualification. Perfection looks half relieved, half confused, but he shrugs his shoulders and smirks down at the ICON Champion. He’s still trying to get to his feet, and Perfection decides to make it significantly more difficult– he throws a stiff boot to the side of Best’s head, putting him back down on the canvas to a showering of boos from the crowd!

Joe Hoffman: Mike Best is so hellbent on anger and grudges tonight that he seems to have forgotten what exactly is at stake.

Benny Newell: I told you, Joe. People sleep on Perfection. He’s smarter than he wants you to believe he is.

Perfection takes the opportunity to make the cover, if only to suck a little bit more energy out of the ICON Champion. Boettcher drops to count.

ONE!

TWO!

KICKOUT!

The Son of God slips a shoulder up, forcing the weight of Perfection off of him. Witherhold hardly seems surprised— he rolls back to his feet, backing up toward the ropes as Best climbs back up to his knees. Perfection sprints off the ropes, stepping up off the chest of Mike Best with a shining wizard…

Benny Newell: I KNEED A HERO! HAAAA!

Joe Hoffman: NO! He gets stuffed! It’s countered!

Perfection brazenly attempts to hit Mike Best with his own finishing maneuver, but the Son of God stops him cold with an outstretched elbow strike! It hits right on the button, clocking Witherhold directly across the jaw and sending him to the mat with the velocity of a man who’s been shot!

The crowd explodes into cheers!

Seemingly catching his second wind, Michael Lee Best bursts to his feet, diving onto Witherhold in a top mount and throwing a vicious series of ground and pound style punches as Perfection struggles to cover up. He isn’t in position for the elbows, but the champion continues to rain down strikes as the crowd gets louder and louder!

Joe Hoffman: The champion is back, folks! Mike Best is back in this match!

Benny Newell: The HUBRIS. Why the knee, James? WHY THE KNEE?

Perfection is able to throw a foot onto the ropes, which forced Boettcher to break up the punches. Mike Best doesn’t bother waiting for the five count– he stands up immediately, grabbing Perfection by his slicked back hair and pulling him to his feet.

A big right hand from the champion staggers Perfection back, and now Mike Best throws a standing superkick, taking the challenger off his feet and to the mat!

Joe Hoffman: HASHTAG MUTED!

Benny Newell: Motherfucker! I had fucking money on Perfection. I bet $24K!

The champion covers, as the crowd counts along.

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

NO!

The air escapes the arena, as Boettcher tells Michael Best that Perfection barely got a shoulder up before the three count– the ICON Champion is livid, and he stands up from the pin with his hands on his hips, furious that the victory has slipped through his fingers.

Perfection has had just about enough– he audibly curses about this not being worth it, and rolls back out of the ring. He doesn’t head toward the ramp, though– he beelines back for Bryan McVay, and the crowd boos as Witherhold snatches the ICON Championship, looking like he’s planning to take it with him. Mike Best isn’t having any of this, though, and this time he immediately bursts through the ropes to stop Perfection from getting away with his title.

1……

With an audible “fuck you” to the crowd, Witherhold throws the title over his shoulder and makes his way toward the ramp, ranting about this match not being deserving of free television.

2………

Mike Best makes chase, but this time he’s right on the tail of his opponent. Perfection turns his saunter into a run, and begins heading toward the back as quickly as he can.

3……………

Unfortunately, he’s caught by the champion!

The crowd roars, as Mike Best spins Perfection around, clocking him across the face with a closed fist! Perfection is staggered backward, and now Mike Best grabs him by the hair, trying to walk him back toward the ring!

4………………….

James Witherhold fights against his longtime rival, trying to get away from the grasp of the ICON Champion. In an act of desperation, he reaches up and gouges the eyes of Mike Best, freeing himself from the grip, but he has nowhere to go! Mike Best is standing between him and the ramp!

5……………………..

Running out of options, Perfection rolls back into the ring with the ICON Championship firmly in hand. Matt Boettcher begins arguing with Perfection, trying to wrestle the title away from him, but from behind, Mike Best is climbing back into the ring!

The crowd is on their feet, but Perfection shoves Boettcher backward, knocking him sideways against the ropes as soon as Michael’s boots touch the canvas. It’s a dirty trick! Perfection swings the ICON Championship about as hard as he can, and Boettcher can’t see it!

BUT MIKE BEST DUCKS THE SWING!

Perfection is staggered by the weight of his own swing with the title, stumbling down to a knee as Mike Best comes off of the opposite ropes. He steps up off the downed knee of his opponent, connecting with a running Shining Wizard that immediately turns the lights off for James Witherhold!

James Hoffman: I KNEED A HERO!

Benny Newell: I KNEED A FUCKING DRINK.

Mike Best desperately makes the cover, yelling for Boettcher to get his shit together. The referee pulls himself away from the ropes, counting the pin.

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

DING DING DING

The bell rings, as Mike Best rolls exhausted off of his opponent. He grabs the ICON Championship off the mat, clutching it desperately to his chest, as both opponents lay in the middle of the ring, pretty much spent.

Bryan McVay: Here is your winner, and STILL HOW ICON Chaaaaaampion…. Michael…. Lee…. BEEEEEEEST!

Perfection rolls out of the ring, looking furious with himself as he slams a boot into the ring steps. He couldn’t be more interested in getting the fuck away from ringside, not wanting to see the gloating as Mike Best climbs back up to his knees. But there isn’t any time for gloating, as it isn’t his music that plays in the wake of his close-call victory.

You know the music that plays……………….

A man emerges from behind the curtain. But this week, it isn’t Lee Best that makes his way out onto the stage. And it isn’t his masked hired gun, either. As he steps out onto the stage, the name and photo of Lee’s next pick are displayed directly on the HOV.

The Scottish King of Wrestling stands out on the stage, staring a hole into the HOW ICON Champion, a smirk coming over his face. Michael stares back down at him, and the fans in the arena are in a frenzy as both men say a whole lot to one another without exchanging any words at all. The staredown continues, as the production logo appears on the screen, and HOW Refueled comes to an end.

WAR GAMES MAIN EVENT FOR THE WORLD, ICON & LSD CHAMPIONSHIPS
Captain Michael Lee Best©, Farthington©, Dan Ryan, ?? vs. Maximillian Best©, Andy Murray©, ??, ??

WAR GAMES MATCH FOR THE TAG TEAM CHAMPIONSHIPS
The eGG Bandits vs. The Hollywood Bruvs vs. ?? vs Joe Bergman and Andy Murray©

WAR GAMES MAIN EVENT DRAFT POOL QUALIFIERS
Mikey Unlikely, Jessie Kendrix, Doozer, Cancer Jiles, Zeb Martin, Bobby Dean, Lucian Santangel, Perfection, Joe Bergman©