Refueled XXX

One week removed from one of the most competitive nights in HOW history, the logo for HOTv flashes across the screen, followed by the logo for High Octane Wrestling. As “Welcome To The Jungle” begins to blast through the speakers of the Allstate Arena, and the Chicago fans get on their feet– not an ass is in its seat as HOW returns to its home for another episode of Refueled. 

The HOV lights up at the top of the ramp, mirrored to screens at home, playing some highlights of the War Games pay-per-view that took place last Saturday night. Brutal still frames of the grudge match between Darin Matthews and Brian Hollywood tell the story of two former friends beating the absolute hell out of one another, and finally Matthews emerging victorious with his feet sneakily on the bottom rope. We see the eGG Bandits battling Andy Murray, as Jesse Kendrix delivers a picture perfect Bellend to Joe Bergman, and then another still frame of the Hollywood Bruvs holding the HOW Tag Team Championships aloft. 

Finally, the package changes to a breakdown of the main event War Games match.Various photographs taken throughout the match, from the attempted hanging of Lindsay Troy to the entrance of The Minister via helicopter, play over the HOV as the crowd stay on their feet, cheering throughout. The still frames get faster and faster– MJ Flair eliminating Lindsay Troy from the match. Dan Ryan delivering a Humility Bomb to Perfection. Cecilworth Farthington, veins bulging, with the Article 50 locked onto The Minister. Finally, at the crescendo of the montage, the clip switches to a video of Michael Lee Best colliding knee-first with Andy Murray’s head, and the final three count that would end the War Games match. 

The music suddenly stops, as we see the final image of Mike Best, Andy Murray, and The Minister laying in the ring. There is a flash across the HOV, and suddenly the still frame shows The Minister with his closed fist plunged into the cheek of the new HOW World Champion– clenched in that fist is Lee Best’s “Bottomline” pen. 

The War Games logo flashes across the screen, and then it all turns to black. 

But the video isn’t over. 

“You see, this is gonna happen, Lee. One more time, for the final time.”

Like an after credits scene, we see sudden video over the audio– a darkened shot of HOW Hall of Famer Chris Kostoff, staring down at the bloodied face of Lee Best himself. 

“On August 22nd, this worthless old man is going to finally kill you.”

As the camera pulls back into the arena, the fans are still on their feet. The recap finished, we resume our regularly scheduled camera pan– fans have brought signs to the show this week, from intricate art to shitty sharpie-on-cardboard, and the cameras highlight some of the best: 

MURRAY’S LOSSES > YOUR WINS

MELISSA JOAN FART

DARIN & BRIAN GO TO WHITECASTLE

STEVENS THE VAMPIRE SLAYER

ONCE, TWICE, NINE TIMES A KNEEZUS

THE MIRACLE WHIP

KOSTOFF’S GONNA KILL YOU (REALLY)

BROKEFECTION

CMF + LSD = OMG

BANDITS GOT FUCKED

With Lee Best not running the production truck tonight on account of being maybe dead, there is no one to carefully choose which signs make the air. The camera finally falls to the announcer’s table, where the Hall of Fame announce team is waiting at their desk for the beginning of tonight’s show. Joe Hoffman adjusts his papers in front of him, as Benny Newell empties the last of a small fifth of Jack Daniels down his greedy little throat– he taps the upside down whiskey like a ketchup bottle, before shrugging and pulling another fifth out from below the desk. 

Joe Hoffman: Good evening, everyone, and WELCOME… to another episode of HOW Refueled. I’m Joe Hoffman, joined as always by my broadcast partner “Big Buff” Benny Newell. We’re just seven days out from War Games, and it may have been one of the most impactful War Games in company history, folks. 

Benny Newell: What a fucking disaster, Joe. Mike Best is the HOW World Champion? What is this, 20fucking15? Cecilworth Farthington is the champion of the murder division? LEE BEST IS IN THE HOSPITAL?! Fucking kill me, Joe. I don’t wanna live on this planet anymore. 

Joe Hoffman: It was a night of new champions for sure, Benny. In fact, every single belt in High Octane Wrestling changed hands last Saturday night, including the HOW Tag Team Championships. With War Games now seven days past, we’re looking ahead to HOW No Remorse. Tonight’s card features four matches from eight wrestlers who are absolutely looking to be a part of HOW’s next major show, which will take place on August 22nd from a location that has not yet been revealed. 

Benny Newell: It may as well take place in Hell, Joe, because once Lee Best is out of the hospital, that’s where the fuck he’s sending Chris Kostoff in a HOFC rules match! Just book the damned pay-per-view there and save on postage! 

Joe Hoffman: Our first announced match surely is Lee Best versus Chris Kostoff, ladies and gentlemen– one of the most anticipated matches in the history of High Octane Wrestling. We’re told that Lee Best is not in the building tonight, after that brutal assault at the hands of long time nemesis Chris Kostoff, but that he is still fully operational from a day-to-day business perspective. And with that, we’re heading to the ring for the first match that Lee has booked for this evening as High Flyer takes on Black Mamba. 

As the camera cuts away from Benny and Joe at ringside, we head to Bryan McVay who is already in the ring with the first participant in tonight’s opening match.

Bryan McVay: This match is scheduled for ONE! FALL! With a twenty-minute time limit. Introducing first, in the ring and hailing from London, England and weighing in at 200 lbs…..he is JAMES RANGER! BLAAAAAAACK! MAAAAAAAMBAAAAAAA! 

The crowd gives Black Mama a warm reception as he paces back and forth like a caged animal waiting to pounce. 

“All Aboard! 

“AH HA HA HA HA HA HA HA…” 

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

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

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

Joe Hoffman: High Flyer has been in a bit of a funk and has been trying to find his footing as of late.  

He stomps his way to the ring, paying very little attention to the crowd. Once he reaches ringside, he slips in under the bottom rope, and then sprawls on his back. He begins to make snow angels while residing on his back, looking up at the lights before recovering to his feet. High Flyer then leaps onto the second ropes and looks out to the crowd as McVay gets out of the ring and Joel Hortega calls for the bell.  

DING DING DING

Joe Hoffman: And here we go….. 

Harmen and Ranger come out of their respective corners and begin to circle one another. 

Joe Hoffman: Two men who could really use a victory tonight, folks. All it takes is one to get back on track in HOW.  

Benny Newell: I heard the loser is getting the Scott Stevens treatment. Isn’t that asshole back now? 

Joe Hoffman: Well, unless he says something super racist on his first show back, yes.

Black Mamba makes the first move and goes to lock up but Harmen avoids the lock up by side stepping it and as Ranger turns back toward  High Flyer he gets lifted and slammed back onto the canvas. 

Joe Hoffman: High Flyer with a spinebuster slam. 

Benny Newell: Big whoop. Not like he actually busted his spine. 

High Flyer doesn’t waste any momentum as he builds up a head of steam bouncing off of the ropes and connecting a single leg dropkick to the face of Black Mamba. Harmen begins to stomp away on the head and neck area of Mamba. 

Joe Hoffman: Harmen is showing a mean streak tonight. Things might be turning around for High Flyer. 

Benny Newell: Maybe he should turn around and go home. 

Harmen grabs Mamba and goes to pick him up, but Ranger has some fight as he sends a punch to the gut of Flyer. Harmen takes it like a champ and sends a clubbing blow to the back of Mamba’s head. 

Joe Hoffman: Mamba trying to fight Flyer off, but Harmen shifted into another gear. 

Benny Newell: Shut the fuck up Hoffman. I’m watching. 

Harmen motions for Mamba to get up and waits until he is in a sitting position before delivering a stiff kick to the chest of Mamba driving all the air out of his body.  

Joe Hoffman: What a sickening kick from Flyer. 

Benny Newell: Shhhhhhhhhhhhhhh! If you listen closely you can hear Mamba begging for help. 

Harmen delivers another kick to the chest of James Ranger and he begins rolling around grasping for air after that kick, but a sickening grin forms over the face of Flyer as he walks over to Mamba and looks down at his opponent. 

Joe Hoffman: Flyer has evil intentions in his eyes.  

Benny Newell: Oh, I thought it was gas. Maybe from all those beans he got from–

Joe Hoffman: DO NOT SAY THE RACIST THING, BENJAMIN.

Benny Newell: THE GROCERY STORE, JOE. ONLY A TOTAL MORON WOULD THINK I SAY OPENLY RACIST THINGS.

Mamba tries to pull himself up using Harmen as a crutch, but High Flyer isn’t having it as he sends Mamba back to the canvas with a slap to the face.  

Benny Newell: HAHAHAHAHAHA! Mamba just got the shit slapped out of him! 

Flyer picks up Mamba and delivers a sit-out front slam. 

Joe Hoffman: High Flyer with the Flyer Driver!  

Mamba goes limp, but Flyer isn’t done as he’s looking to make a statement by locking in his Dragon Sleeper. 

Joe Hoffman: Dragon Sleep by Flyer! 

Hortega checks Mamba and when Ranger doesn’t respond he rings the bell.  

Bryan McVay: And your winner by submission,….he is HIGH! FLLLLYYYYYYYEEEEEEEER! 

Hortega goes to raise Flyer’s arm, but he snatches it away and heads out of the ring. 

Joe Hoffman: What was that about? 

Benny Newell: I guess he doesn’t like referees, Joe. You know what they say about referees. 

Joe Hoffman: I really don’t, Benny. But regardless, High Flyer looked impressive tonight.  

After much editing, the production truck lights up the HOV, as we move on to the next segment of the evening.

PREVIOUSLY UNSEEN – WAR GAMES FOOTAGE. 

CUTTO: The hallways of the USS Octane, and Brian Bare, hastily put together after his mysterious tryst, walking with purpose.

Brian Bare: We’re on our way to the medical unit here on the USS Octane, and we’re going to try and get an update on Lee Best’s condition. War Games has been over for approximately twenty minutes and this company is still reeling by the change in literally every championship! We’ll continue to cover the fallout at Refueled Thirty, but for the moment–

His monologue cuts off as he enters the medical area, greeted by the back of MJ Flair’s head. She’s facing away from the camera, pacing in a two to three step area, her head tilted slightly back. 

Brian Bare: And before we give you an update on Lee Best’s status, I’m here with MJ Flair, who competed in tonight’s main event, and MJ, how are you feeling? 

He steps in front of her and his eyes widen a bit just as she stops pacing. 

MJF: Lee’s not here anymore.

Brian Bare: He–oh? Are you all right? 

She laughs, and Brian steps back like he’s been hit with something.

MJF: Am I all right. What’s that phrase, I look as good as I feel, dude? 

He nods.

MJF: That don’t apply here.

And she turns toward the camera. Her upper lip and chin are stained with blood, as is the towel she’s been dabbing her face with. Actually, the towel used to be white – but it appears saturated with blood. As are her hands. Her eyes are wide and feral. 

MJF: Because I feel fucking great.

She holds the towel out towards someone off – camera.

MJF: Hey. Almost-a-doctor. Need another one. 

Brian Bare: You were the third athlete eliminated tonight. Do you feel disappointed in your performance, especially compared to how you did last year? 

MJF: Fuck no, man! 

She throws the towel down and gestures with her hands like she’s trying to articulate something. 

MJF: Getting that fishing line around that bitch’s throat… pinning her ass for the three. Do ya know how good that felt? 

MJ closes her eyes and exhales. Hard.

MJF: Dude. Better than a full body massage. With happy ending.

And she pokes her index finger into Brian’s chest, but not in a threatening way. 

MJF: Do I wish I’d won one’a the titles? Sure. But I’m takin’ a long-term view’a this shit.

She wipes her nose with her hand, leaving a bloody smear on an entire side of her face. Holds up one finger.

MJF: Lindsay Troy. Choked her stupid cunt ass out and knocked her outta the match. First.

Two fingers.

MJF: Little Jimmy. Did exactly what I predicted – fuck all. He brings nothing ta’ the table and I’m glad the world finally saw what I’ve been preachin’ for years. And what happened next? 

Brian starts to say something, but seems almost afraid to answer.

MJF: I PINNED MIKE BEST.

She smiles a scary smile.

MJF: He didn’t kick out. He didn’t have it in ‘em. Two feet over and he doesn’t get his foot on the ropes. That means something.

Another laugh, somehow even creepier than the last.

MJF: The fact that he eliminated me next almost doesn’t matter when ya’ realize what happened after- Dan Ryan’s out. BYE, DANNY!

At long last, a new towel is handed to her, and she immediately wipes her face to no avail.

MJF: It  was almost worth going out when I did, just to see Lindsay and Danny fail so fucking hard. Couldn’t’a happened to two more deserving shitheaps. But!

MJ points her finger in Brian’s face, very manically making a point.

MJF: I have to thank the two’a them for showin’ me the light. 

And she points at her eyes.

MJF: Loyalty? Is fuckin’ bullshit. Friendship in this sport? Jesus fuckin’ christ, it’s worthless. All we can hope for is temporary allies ta’ suit our purpose. And they’re dropped at the first sign that they’re no longer lucrative. 

Brian Bare: Can I remind you–

MJF: My family in this sport? Exceptions that prove the rule. Mike and Cecilworth? Exceptions. That prove the fuckin’ rule. 

She applauds towards the camera, with droplets of blood splattering on Brian’s face and shirt.

MJF: Props to ya, Mike… not just for winnin’ the World Title, but for convincin’ two dopes that ya actually gave a shit. 

And she puts her hand to the side of her mouth like she’s telling a secret.

MJF: Lindsay? The champ’s fuckin’ you in more ways than one.

Wink. She returns her attention to Brian.

MJF: But it’s cool. If there’s no loyalty, there’s no disloyalty. Which means I’ve been beating myself up for months for the breakup of The Industry. Which is stupid when The Industry never existed in the first place.

And she looks directly in the camera. There are a few flecks of blood in her steel gray eyes. 

MJF: I’ve been fighting with one hand tied behind my back, because I thought that’s what I deserved. So thank you, The eMpire’s ball-washers.

Smile.

MJF: For setting me free.

Flair steps out of frame, while Brian Bare looks, wall – eyed, into the camera, not really sure where to go from here. 

Mercifully, we quickly cut.

The camera opens with prerecorded footage all the way from Alcatraz, with an overhead shot of Hughie Freeman. The imprisoned HOW star daydreams in his bed within the lonely confines of his cell.

Hughie Freeman: Plenty of time spent in this bird cage makes the man reflect. Maybe your man Hughie Freeman should feel guilty. Maybe melting plastic pumpkin wasn’t the right thing to do. Fuck man, maybe Woody isn’t the one that has gotten away scot free. Maybe it’s your resident pikey that really needs to be.. sorry.

Freeman sits up in his bed covering his exposed body with a thin sheet.

Hughie Freeman: But as long as I’m here your bully-boys seem hell-bent to beat the HATE out of me. If I’m not sorry for the crime I committed then your trusted H.A.T.E. guards will make sure my stay here becomes as hateful as you HATE me right now.

Hughie dangles his feet over the side of the unforgiving bed of cold steel.

Hughie Freeman: You forgot one thing though, Mr. Squeaky Clean…… I’m a traveller.

Freeman immediately retrieves an item hidden under his bed.

Hughie Freeman: And I don’t need to travel far and wide to get what I need, fella.

The hidden item is nothing more than a big jar of goose fat. With Freeman then proceeding to unscrew the lid.

Hughie Freeman: Only problem is that your man Hughie Freeman does not dream of pretty little rainbows and a little hole of daylight at Rumble At The Rock.

Freeman starts to rub big hand scoops of goose fat on his head and face.

Hughie Freeman: My only reflection is how much I miss punching people in the face and knowing that only a fighter’s life is for me.

Hughie gets out of bed and takes the bed sheet with him.

Hughie Freeman: With no apologies..

Wider-shot of the cell.

Freeman drops the bed sheet and a pixelated area instantly covers his nether-regions. Hughie proceeds to cake his bottom-half in goose fat.

Hughie Freeman: With..

Freeman stands up firmly with an animated psychotic expression etched across his face.

Hughie Freeman: ..NO REMORSE!

Freeman in a rampage then begins to slam his fully naked body covered in goose fat off of the walls of the cell. In total lunacy he beats his own face in with his fist and screams bloody Mary.

Sirens within the prison blare.

This stations a frenzied Hughie Freeman as he looks on with a gleeful smile. The sounds of H.A.T.E. guards storming the wing become increasingly louder and daunting by each given step.

  The High Octane Ad Exchange is open for business, bringing you advertisements, merch, and all the fucking hype.

We open with a camera man walking down the hallway, he turns a corner and Steve Harrison. Already in full match gear for his contest tonight against Chris Kostoff, he seems to have been distracted by a conversation with Brian Bare. Steve sees the camera man coming around the corner and hands Brian a piece of paper and a bag of something that Brian quickly puts in his pocket. Brian takes a few steps back and the camera man finally gets to them. 

Brian Bare: Great timing, today we have a quick interview with Steve Harrison. 

Steve frowns and points. 

Steve Harrison: And? 

Brian looks down at the paper and nods with a smile. 

Brian Bare: Ah yes, sorry, where are my manners. I am talking with The Miracle Man, The Suplex Saint, The Enlightening One, The Generous Guide of Humanity, and a real swell guy. 

Steve claps his hands 

Steve Harrison: Excellent, Brian. It is hard to find someone in HOW with your intelligence. I see why Mr. Best keeps you employed and as we all saw recently you are quite the ladies’ man. 

Brian Bare laughs and nods in agreement 

Brian Bare: It is great to finally meet with you, Steve. So, the world wants to know: how will you beat Kostoff tonight? 

Harrison rubs his chin in thought and puts his index finger up as if he thought of something 

Steve Harrison: The dude lives in Tampa, Brian. I think it goes without saying I will just use my brain. You know—the one thing that steroid freak doesn’t work out. As we all know and I know you were as disgusted as I was, Kostoff ambushed and sucker punched the boss. This is a business and some out of control monster should not be allowed to be in that ring. 

Brian Bare: I agree, Steve, that hurt me too. 

Steve laughs and slaps Brian on the shoulder 

Steve Harrison: I think it was something else hurting you…huh? 

Brian Bare: Yes, well—would you like to let us know how Miracle Enterprise is doing? 

Steve Harrison: After that interview with Jack Dawson I have been inundated with hundreds, thousands, would you believe me if I said millions? Everyone is asking what I can do for them. It is great but too often I am being bothered by penniless buck tooth savages that have less education then Jeb Martin. 

Brian Bare: That is dumb. 

Steve Harrison: Exactly. Now let me explain to you lesser humans: it takes money to make money and it takes money to become GREAT. The Miracle Man has the tools to help you, but nothing is free.  

Brian looks down on the paper again, it is becoming obvious that Steve gave Brian questions to ask him 

Brian Bare: What would you say if someone disrespects Miracle Enterprise? 

Steve fakes anger and begins tapping his foot. He stops and shrugs a small smirk showing 

Steve Harrison: I would ignore such nonsense. Those who would speak badly about it or sarcastically call me ‘Miracle Boy,” are just ignorant to the truth of this world. It is a fake experience world and I am promising you reality. An experience that isn’t phony and an opportunity for you to help others—with my help, of course. 

Brian Bare: Of course. So, I do have one question from the audience. 

The Man of Miracles left eyebrow rises in surprise 

Steve Harrison: Huh? 

Brian Bare: The person wants to know if what Bobby Dean said about the Miracle Enterprise Pamphlet saying too be continued inside it. 

Steve’s eyes get large in embarrassment. He wipes his brow and chuckles softy as he attempts to compose himself 

Steve Harrison: Whoa…this wasn’t agre…I mean uh—let me tell you, Brian. Nobody should listen to Bobby Dean about anything unless it is about getting Brazzers Passwords for free online and a good Chocolate Cake recipe. Bobby Dean cannot even read anyway, am I right? 

Brian Bare: Probably. 

Steve Harrison: Exactly, now look, I don’t know how that perverted fat chick thriller even got the Pamphlet but I am sure it involves him dumpster diving for chicken wings and having the pamphlet stuck to his greasy cheek when he poked his head back out like a turtle coming out of his shell. 

Brian Bare: Well to end our interview today on a high note and later an 8 Ball note, what are your plans for after you beat Kostoff tonight? 

Steve gives Brian a surprised look since he mentioned 8 Ball. He gives it a few seconds and sighs. 

Steve Harrison: Yes—well…I am hoping the boss realizes he can count on me. I will face anyone who insults the Miracle Man and I will defeat them as well.

Steve glances at his imaginary watch.

Steven Harrison: Oh, look at the time– TIME FOR VICTORY! I need to run, Brian. Duty calls. 

Steve shakes Brian’s hand and walks away getting ready for his match that happens next, as we cut away. 

“Take the Money and Run” by The Steve Miller Man starts to play and the curtain flies open. Steve Harrison walks out with his arms in the air, a smirk across his face. He begins walking towards the ring and begins waving at that crowd who return his waves with boos and indifference.  

The smirk begins to fade after hearing the response so the Miracle Man begins jawing back at some of the audience and pointing to himself yelling over and over “ME, ME, ME!”

Joe Hoffman: One confident individual. He’s going to need every last bit of that to compete with someone like Chris Kostoff.

Benny Newell: He does not need confidence.

Joe Hoffman: Tell us, Benny.. what beats Chris Kostoff then?

Benny Newell: Lee Best at the No Remorse pay-per-view! You heard it here first!

Steve walks faster to the ring with his smirk now a scowl. He enters the rings and leans against one of the turnbuckles and begins self-motivating himself. His face becoming red in anger.

Joe Hoffman: If looks could kill..

Benny Newell: Kostoff has already signed his death certificate, Joe! 

“Wolf Totem” by the Hu blasts with the fans instantly erupting. The opening chords scream across the speakers as Kostoff steps out onto the stage. Looking out he slowly makes his way to ringside with zero faff. Kostoff circles the ring before sliding in; creating Harrison to bail out of the ring. 

Joe Hoffman: There he is.

Benny Newell: There is the cocksucker!

Steve Harrison is in no hurry to get back in the ring as he stands with his hands on his hips; smiling from ear-to-ear.

Kostoff immediately slides out, with Harrison sliding back in the other side.

Joe Hoffman: Harrison toying with The Monster.

Kostoff rampantly slides back in with Harrison skipping back out.

Benny Newell: What’s the matter Kostoff? Your prime running away from ya?

Kostoff is furious as Harrison embellishes in teasing the HOW phenom. Kostoff then slides back into the fray but Harrison is on him instantly. He unloads punches as Kostoff tries to fight back up to his feet. Once doing so, Kostoff manages to create some distance by pushing The Miracle Man away. The wrath of Kostoff is shown in his facial expression as he charges at Harrison. The crafty Steve Harrison reacts quickly and ridiculously drop-kicks Chris Kostoff’s shin. This is like a little bee sting to Kostoff as he tries to shake it off.

Joe Hoffman: Harrison needs to capitalize.

Kostoff charges Harrison; Harrison ducks and bounces the ropes. When finding Kostoff in the middle of the ring..

Joe Hoffman: HELLO!

Kostoff grabs The Miracle Man by the throat and the crowd come alive. Kostoff tightens his grip and the crowd rupture with a chant of: Kostoff’s gunna kill ya.

Benny Newell: He’s the one with a death wish.

Harrison breaks and bounces the ropes again..

Joe Hoffman: He killed him!

Kostoff pounces with a shoulder tackle and it causes Harrison to fly across the ring; through the ropes and flop to the outside.

Benny Newell: Lee would of kicked his fucking head off.

The chant for the HOW veteran is deafening as Kostoff is pumped to hell. He truly is enjoying the euphoria he has created here with the HOW faithful.

Joe Hoffman: Look at this.

Benny Newell: These fans are suckers for a sob story, Joe.

Kostoff then travels in Harrison’s direction but out of complete desperation Steve Harrison rope-slices Kostoff’s neck on the top rope.

Benny Newell: Taken straight from the Lee Best wrestling handbook!

Harrison enters back into the ring and nails Kostoff with a high knee. He then covers with Matt Boettcher on hand to count.

ONE

TWO

Kostoff easily powers out.

Joe Hoffman: Harrison applying himself better here.

Harrison takes a headlock. However, Kostoff does not waste time in fighting back up to a vertical base and shoots Harrison off the ropes. Kostoff tries to clothesline Harrison but it is ducked, he then tries to back-elbow but it is also bypassed…. big boot? No, that is scouted also..

Joe Hoffman: Spear!

Harrison lights-up on The Monster with furious punches.

Benny Newell: Break his face, Lee!

Joe Hoffman: You mean Steve.

Harrison covers.

ONE!

TWO!

Joe Hoffman: Not today.

Harrison takes a head again. The fans call for Chris Kostoff to get to his feet and he answers. He then shoots Steve off the ropes and hits him with an impressive tilt-a-whirl back-breaker.

Joe Hoffman: Power from Kostoff!

Harrison feeds to a corner and Kostoff soon charges. However, this gets telegraphed with a stiff boot from Harrison. The Miracle Man wastes no time on the offensive this time as he charges Kostoff. Chris Kostoff throws a meaty clothesline that gets ducked under and Harrison unbelievably…

Joe Hoffman: Belly to back suplex on Chris Kostoff!

Benny Newell: Leave some for GOD!

Harrison clutches his back as that impressive feat of strength took its toll. The Miracle Man pleads for Kostoff to get up and Kostoff is in a seated position..

Joe Hoffman: Could this be The Enlightenment?!

Benny Newell: Enlighten his damn head off!

Harrison charges but as he gets close to the big man, he spins like the exorcist and grabs the leg that was destined for his face.

Joe Hoffman: Kostoff caught it!

The HOW vet then spins Harrison and in a flurry: body-smash, body-smash, big boot and…

Joe Hoffman: Body-slam!

The crowd are on their feet as Kostoff looks over a desperate and fallen Steve Harrison. Harrison clambers up Kostoff’s legs as The HOW Monster sets him for.. 

Joe Hofman: Cradle To The Grave!

Benny Newell: We need a miracle!

Kostoff lifts him and dangerously spins and plants his neck hard on the canvas. Kostoff covers.

ONE!

TWO!

THR-

Benny Newell: YES!

Harrison manages to get a shoulder up. However, this only angers Kostoff more and enough is enough. The time is near..

Joe Hoffman: NO REMORSE TIME!

Benny Newell: Kostoff needs to be really fucking sorry!

Chris Kostoff lifts Harrison for the No Remorse and Harrison sits on The Beast’s shoulders; in no-man’s land. Kostoff walks the ring with Harrison perched. 

Joe Hoffman: Wow.

Harrison fires a punch and this causes the men to dip forward.

Joe Hoffman: Hanging in the balance!

Kostoff then powers Harrison back up.

Joe Hoffman: The Monster!

Kostoff reshapes his grip but the slippery Steve Harrison slips down the back..

Joe Hoffman: School-boy!

ONE!

TWO!

Grabbing the tights–

THREE!!!!!

Bryan McVay:  Here is your winner….. STEVE HARRISSSOOONN!

Benny Newell: Are you watching Lee?!

Joe Hoffman: You said he needed a miracle.

Benny Newell: Thank-you GOD!

Steve Harrison is in complete hysteria. The Miracle Man has conquered the mountain and he’s celebrating like he’s done the impossible. He’s grabbing Matt Boettcher and frantically gloating. However, he’s forgotten about one thing..

Joe Hoffman: CHRIS KOSTOFF!

Kostoff slowly elevates up to a vertical base off the mat (behind Harrison) like if you were to imagine any famous horror cult slasher. With the fans rippling into voice with the famed Kostoff chant we heard earlier.

Chris Kostoff spins The Miracle Man and gut kicks him..

Joe Hoffman: NO REMORSE! NO REMORSE!

Chris Kostoff crashes Harrison’s body hard to the canvas with his head snapping back.

Benny Newell: Fucking animal!

“Wolf Totem” hits with the HOW fans on their feet, as Chris Kostoff stands over the body of his prey like a wounded animal. He points at the back, yelling out some very angry words for Lee Best as the cameras go backstage.  

Backstage. 

Benny Newell: THERE’S MY GUY!

Joe Hoffman: There’s Andy Murray, coming off a weird, weird night at War Games, where he lost one title without getting pinned but won another by getting pinned…

Benny Newell: Even when he “fails” The King still wins! Bend the knee, Hoffhole!

It’s a familiar setting for Andy Murray – just outside the Manly Man Cave, flanked by big beefy security boys – but things look a little different for the new ICON Champion. He’s with HOW’s most overworked interviewer.

Blaire Moise: Andy Murray, you stand here on the back of the most eventful night of your High Octane Wrestling run to date, and you’ve already had plenty of those over the past four months. What are your thoughts coming out of War Games?

Andy Murray: Hmm.

The King of Wrestling takes a second or two to compose himself. He has the HOW ICON Championship resting on his shoulder, where the Tag Team Title strap that now belongs to Mikey Unlikely used to sit.

Andy Murray: Who else do you know that can “lose” twice in one night and still come out a winner? The win/loss record may not look as flattering as it did before War Games but the hardware most certainly does…

Murray slaps the belt’s front plate. Looking at him, this is the first time the 42-year-old has looked the part as a big-time pro-wrestling star since walking into HOW. The grey in his beard and hair has been dyed black and he doesn’t wear a dopy GoD-goading t-shirt, but a maroon button-up with the sleeves rolled up and a pair of black suit pants, under which (presumably) lies a big old knee brace that may or may not still be dented by imprints of Zeb Martin and Cecilworth Farthington’s skulls.

Andy Murray: I was fighting two-on-one with the Bandits while my partner got isolated by the best tag team on the planet. I was tired, sore, and pissed off… and then, I had to do it all again. “It couldn’t be done,” they said. “Not by Andy Murray! Not with his wear and tear!”. Turns out those people were full of shit. I downed Dan Ryan, became the first man to pin the invincible Cecilworth Farthington in an aeon, made it all the way to the end…

He pauses.

Andy Murray: … and fell, finally, after dragging myself through hell twice in one night. The last hurdle proved too much after fighting harder and for longer than anyone else in HOW history, and so I lost. Again.

The King adjusts the belt.

Andy Murray: Facts are facts and in that moment, Mike Best outdid Andy Murray. Fair fucking play.

Blaire Moise: A disappointment, perhaps, to miss out on the World Title, but what does it mean to you to be ICON Champion?

Andy Murray: It means that I now possess a hunk of white leather and gold worth more than 90% of the so-called World Championships in this sport…

Murray pulls the belt off his shoulder and instead clutches it down by his side, just like your dad’s favourite wrestling protagonists.

Andy Murray: The ICON Title is a lot of things. It is one of the industry’s greatest prizes, a ticket to immortality, a symbol of workrate and, in the words of our esteemed six-time champion, a “starmaker.” But as much as holding this belt is a blessing, it is also a curse – because right now, the HOW ICON Championship is a symbol of my failure.

He pats his chest with his free hand.

Andy Murray: And that’s why I must purge it. I will not settle for maintaining the lofty standards set by the previous holder, but strive to elevate them. I will not be a fighting champion, but a prestigious one. “Fighting champions” undermine prestige by handing shots out like candy, putting it on the line against any old goober, regardless of their record, and this won’t be me. I have outlined my expectations to the ownership triangle. If you want a shot at this – if you want a shot at my ICON Championship – know that you will have to earn it. Whether your name is Scott Stevens or Lindsay Troy, I won’t even entertain you if you haven’t put in the work first. Then, dipshits, you will have earned the right to meet The King.

There’s a little less aggression in Andy’s voice than we’re used to. His space is slower and more deliberate, too.

Andy Murray: I’m switching gears. You’ll see me cutting loose with 24K but you won’t see me in the tag division, and I won’t be involved in any Freebirding. This is the focus now.

He points down to the ICON.

Andy Murray: For as long as I hold it, I shall treat strap like a parent would their firstborn child. I shall dismantle challenger after challenger until the ICON Championship is no longer a symbol of my failure, but something as important to my legacy as it is Mike Best’s and eventually, I will be undeniable. We’ll meet at the top of the card again and this time, I won’t be at the end of my second War Games match in one night…

Andy looks down at the belt this time.

Andy Murray: Until then, I’ll take comfort in the knowledge that the thing Mike Best cherishes the most in this business – moreso, even, than the World Title – is in my possession, and there isn’t a damn thing he can do about it.

The interviewer pipes up, delivering her point like she’s been holding onto it all night long.

Blaire Moise: Speaking of Mike Best and the Group of Death, do you have any thoughts on the speculation that Dan Ryan could be an early ICON contender? It feels like the bad blood between you two is still simmering away after War Games…

Andy Murray: Is it?

The King of Wrestling smiles, snort-laughs, and shakes his head, looking to the roof before returning to Moise.

Andy Murray: Piss off. Jimmy and I beat him at March to Glory, the Hollywood Bruvs got him a few weeks later, and when we met one-on-one, the big, scary ‘Ego Buster’ – who “runs to the fight, not away from it” – shortcutted out of it, seemingly to weaken me for War Games. And what happened at War Games? I kicked his arse. Again!

Again, Andy shakes his head. He’s still smiling.

Andy Murray: Fuck Dan Ryan. That dipshit should have engaged his brain before saying I was “nothing,” because I have proven, without question, that that husk’s name doesn’t even belong in the same sentence as mine anymore. Now he brought the fight at War Games, I’ll admit, and he’s capable of hospitalising almost anyone here… just not me. He has come at The King several times and missed on every occasion.

Murray puts the belt back over his shoulder, getting ready to depart. 

Andy Murray: “Unfinished business,” you reckon? There is only one GOD I recognize and if he decrees it, it is what it is. I’ll make sawdust of that big wooden cunt.

A nod to Blaire acts as an “excuse me” as the ICON Champion turns around, walks between his security guards, and heads back inside the Manly Man Cave, his business concluded.

Joe Hoffman: A change is occurring within Andy Murray, it seems. Parts of that were almost eloquent, though I guess he couldn’t help himself when it came to Dan Ryan!

Benny Newell: I could watch those two massive fucks smashing years off each others’ careers forever! Gimme that violence. NOW!

The show feed picks up backstage upon returning from commercial break. More specifically, the screen is fixated on the entrance High Octane talent use when they need to subvert their massive followings.

The Rockstar Entrance, if you will.

Blaire Moise is seen standing close by, ready to meet and greet whomever it might be that walks on through the yellow colored door. 

Suddenly, and not at all on cue, the closed door explodes open, seemingly hit by a gust of hurricane force winds.

Time stops.

Then, a large POP resonates throughout the AllState Arena.

Benny Newell: Great.

Joe Hoffman: Looks like the eGG Bandits have arrived!

Benny Newell: Just great.

As you might have guessed from the reaction, the first man through the door is the beaten, battered, drained, but yet still glowing with childlike confidence, “Beautiful” Bobby Dean. His pace is oddly quick, and his demeanor serious. So serious in fact, he’s wearing dress slacks and a baby blue button down. He even cruises past Blaire Moise as if she didn’t exist.

The history.

Benny Newell: Quick! He’s speed walking! Someone, please charge the defibrillators! Test him for roids! Do something!

Joe Hoffman: I thought you liked Bobby Dean?

Benny Newell: I do, that’s why I want those defibrillator paddles charged! 

Joe Hoffman: The steroids?

Benny Newell: In case he doesn’t have enough!

Joe Hoffman: Oh.

On Bob’s heels is his partner in War and Games, Zeb Martin. Zeb looks like he’s aged ten years since last competing, aka the price you pay. 

Joe Hoffman: It would seem the old adage, war makes men out of boys, still holds true today.

There’s no fishing rod slung over the shoulder of the young Bandit upstart. He’s simply dressed in blue jeans and a Bandit tee, with his Levi Garrett trucker cap sitting snug atop his head. Being a gentleman through and through, and more importantly still uncorrupted by Bobby Dean, he tilts the brim of his cap in Blaire’s direction while striding right past her.

Benny Newell: Who the fuck names thier kid Zeb?

The next Bandit through happens to be the eldest one: Doozer. He is sporting a company red jumpsuit with a pair of wireless headphones covering his ears. A yolk colored eB gym bag is in his one hand, and a tightly closed fist makes up the other.

Joe Hoffman: Watch out, Darin Matthews!

Doozer marches into the building and right past Blaire with his shoulders starched upright, and his head held high. His electric blue gaze is too fixed on what’s ahead of him to be bothered by Moise’s whimsies– giving him the aura of a man who not only knows where he’s going, but he’s also looking forward to getting there. 

Benny Newell: I’ll say this about the old Bandit. I am absolutely shocked he’s not using a cane. I guess all those cups of coffee have reinvigorated him.

Joe Hoffman: Benny. 

Benny Hoffman: What? Is a walker more PC?

And just as the door is about to shut, the last of the Bandits slides into the Allstate Arena with a shell shaped rolling suitcase in tow. He too, is dressed in a company red jumper and walks with purpose. Though, to be fair, his strut is WAY more pompous than that of his similarly dressed counterpart.

Benny Newell: Damn it.

Joe Hoffman: There he is! The Maestro! One half of tonight’s MAIN EVENT! What a head of hair! My GOD! I’m overcome, Benny!

Benny Newell: I’m sure whoever the fuck that dirty shitbag is facing is shaking in his combat boots because of yolk colored hair. Idiot.

Jiles’ vibrant, blinding, pulsating, yolken stained locks of COOL would cause a serious lens flare if it weren’t for the black hairnet he has on. Obviously, his precious Skynet SE T-shades are fully engaged and ready to reject the malicious intent of a Mongoloid at a moment’s notice.

Blaire Moise: Care to comment on the main event?

Which just so happens to be the case for Blaire when she tries to grab a word from the Maestro as he passes her by.

Rejected.

Joe Hoffman: Guess you could say the time for talking is over! The eGG Bandits are looking focused and ready, Benny. Jiles and Doozer not partaking in War Games has seemed to give them a renewed focus. Dare I say even an edge. I think we’re in for quite the interesting second half of our night!

Benny Newell: Fuck them. They suck. When do the real wrestlers get back?

The shot ends with Blaire looking a tad perturbed about the cold shoulder she received from the Bandits. Then, she quickly remembers her prior interactions with said group and counts this encounter as a win.

We head to the ring, where the Bandits are about to be in action here tonight. 

“The Man” by Aloe Blacc begins playing throughout the arena as Darin Matthews accompanied by Meredith, makes his way down the ramp and into the ring surrounded by a chorus of boos from the hostile crowd in attendance.

Brian McVay:  Introducing first, from the Lake of the Ozarks, Missouri.  Weighing in at 225 pounds, DAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRIINNNNNN MAAAAAAAAAAATHEWS!

Just then “Doozy” by Token begins to play and Doozer makes his way out from behind the curtain.

Joe Hoffman:  This does not look like the happy-go-lucky Doozer we are used to seeing.  He has eyes of steel tonight!

Benny Newell:  Blue steel…

Joe Hoffman:  What?

Benny Newell:  ….

Brian McVay:  And his opponent, representing the eGG Bandits.  He hails from Boston, Massachusetts and weighs in at 273 pounds.  He is DOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOZZZZZEERRRRRRRR!!!!!

Brian McVay quickly exits the ring as Doozer slides in under the bottom rope.  No smile, no emotion.  Doozer just waits in the corner.

Brian Hollywood wastes no time and immediately ejects Meredith from ringside.  Darin Matthews pleads with Brian Hollywood to reverse his decision, but he declines, and calls for the bell as Meredith storms off up the ramp and disappears behind the curtain.

Joe Hoffman:  Brian Hollywood obviously doesn’t want any shenanigans here tonight!

Benny Newell:  Get her ass outta’ here!

DING DING DING

Matthews turns his attention to Doozer and darts across the ring. Matthews attempts to lock up with Doozer, but is doubled over by a stiff kick to the midsection from Doozer.  Doozer wastes no time and follows up with a stiff forearm shot to the upper back and neck area of Matthews, that puts Matthews face down in the center of the ring.

Joe Hoffman: Doozer really showing an animalistic side here tonight!

Benny Newell: When you spend time with that tatted, bearded, freak of fucking nature Kostoff, this is what you become!

Joe Hoffman:  No doubt, Benny!

Benny Newell:  Overrated band.

Doozer stalks his opponent, and plants a few stiff boots to the back of Matthews neck, before Matthews wisely rolls himself under the bottom rope and out of the ring.

Matthews walks around on the outside holding onto the back of his neck, but Doozer is quick to follow Matthews to the outside by sliding under the bottom rope.  Wasting no time at all, Doozer sprints toward Matthews and shows Matthews from behind sending him head first into the ring post.

Matthews lies flat on his back as Doozer slides under the bottom rope and into the ring and quickly rolls back to the outside, breaking the referees count.

Joe Hoffman: Doozer looking to keep this match on the outside of the ring, it seems.

Benny Newell: Does it seem like that Hoffhole?  Really?  Such astute observation commentary.

Doozer pulls Matthews up by the hair on the back of his head, and lands a couple of closed fist punches on the forehead of Matthews before whipping him to the barricade opposite of them.  Doozer grins sadistically as Matthews crashes into the barricade and drops down to a knee.  Matthews appears to be in agony as again, he grips the back of his kneck.  But Doozer proves to be relentless and slowly approaches his downed opponent and delivers a stiff boot to the ribs of Matthews.

SEVEN!

Doozer quickly turns toward referee Brian Hollywood, as the look on his face clearly says that he’s forgotten about the count.  But again, Doozer slides into the ring just long enough to break the count, before rolling back to the outside.  Doozer taunts the guest referee by imitating the outside count, but when he turns his attention back to Matthews he’s  drilled down to the ground with a flying clothesline by Matthews.  Matthews appears to have a spark of energy after the offensive move and plants a few boots onto Doozer before lifting the eGG Bandit to his feet and rolling him into the ring.  Matthews quickly climbs up onto the ring apron, and the climbs up to the top rope.  Doozer, looking a bit confused wanders about in a circle and is absolutely clobbered by a top rope double axe handle from Matthews.  Doozer falls flat to his back in the center of the ring, and Matthews makes the first cover of the match.

1.2.Thre….

Joe Hoffman:  That was lightning fast count by our special guest referee, Brian Hollywood!

Benny Newell:  Seemed legit.

Joe Hoffman:  Really?

Benny Newell:  Fuck it, the faster this one’s over, the faster I can…DRINK!

Matthews seemingly complains to Hollywood, who is breathing pretty deeply after that fast count, but immediately Matthews goes back to work on Doozer and slaps on a chin lock.  Doozer, slowly brings both men to their feet and turns his head inward, changing the hole to a side headlock.  Doozer marches backward into the ropes and flings Matthews against the opposite side.  Doozer bends over for a back body drop, but Matthews has it scouted and leaps over top of him and hits the opposite side ropes.  Doozer doesn’t turn around fully, and attempts a hip toss on Matthews, but Matthews blocks and drives Doozer headfirst into the mat with The One Percenter!

Joe Hoffman:  The One Percenter by Darin Matthews!  He makes a cover!

1.2.Three…NO!

Brian Hollywood again makes another quick count, but somehow Dooze is able to kickout just in the nick of time.

Joe Hoffman: Seems as though Doozer has to contend with Darin Matthews and the fast count of Brian Hollywood tonight.

Benny Newell:  Maybe that’s just his cadence, Hoffhole.  Doozer hasn’t made a single fucking cover yet!  How do we know?!

Joe Hoffman:  Touché.

Matthews once again, half-heartedly argues with Hollywood before returning his attention to Doozer.  Matthews pulls Doozer to his feet and lifts him for The Sixth Star!

Joe Hoffman:  Here comes the sixth star from Darin Matthews!

Benny Newell: The what now?

Joe Hoffman: REVERSED into EggU!!

Doozer was able to hold his ground, and stop the execution of the Sixth Star and planted Matthews with the EggU.

Joe Hoffman: You Can’t Yolk Me!

And Doozer was able to follow up with the You Can’t Yolk Me!  Doozer Makes the cover…

1…

2….

Joe Hoffman:  This has to be the slowest count in history by Brian Hollywood…

3!

Benny Newell:  Seemed like a fast count to me!

Joe Hoffman: Get the hell outta here Benny!

Brian Hollywood reluctantly and begrudgingly makes the count of three and Doozer quickly rolls out of the ring, not knowing what to expect from Matthews and Hollywood.

Bryan McVay: Here is your winner, by pinfall… DOOOOOOOZERRRRRR!

Doozer holds the back of his neck with one hand and shouts into the ring pointing at Brian Hollywood, obviously arguing the quick counts as well as the slow count at the end. He makes his way up the ramp, eyes locked in anger with the special referee as Refueled cuts backstage.

Backstage, Dan Ryan is stalking his way through the hall as if hellbent on finding something, or someone.

The clatter of much smaller shoes races up to him, and he doesn’t turn his attention away, but we see Blaire Moise enter the frame and put a hand on his arm to try and slow him down.

The hand does nothing, obviously, but he stops anyway, sighing deeply and looking down at the much smaller interviewer.

Blaire Moise: Dan Ryan, everyone saw what happened at War Games…

Dan Ryan: Let me cut you off right there. What happened at War Games was that the Group of Death, minus one, worked together flawlessly to ensure victory. We fought unselfishly for the greater good and came out on top. Mike is the HOW World Champion, Cecilworth is the LSD Champion, and I couldn’t be happier for either of them. As for anything else that happened, I have absolutely nothing else to say about it, at least, nothing I feel like saying on camera.

Ryan starts to walk away, but sensing she won’t have another shot to ask, Blaire fires off one last question..

Blaire Moise: And what about Andy Murray? After War Games, where he was able to pin you during the main event, are you moving on to other things?

He tenses up, noticeably and turns around.

Dan Ryan: (leaning down and into Blaire Moise’s face, intensely) No. I’m not… done… with Andy Murray. I’m not moving on to other things. I’m not done with Andy Murray by a long shot. I’ve never wanted more to mangle, cripple and scrape the very face off of the skull of Andy Murray than I do right now. Until I’m dead… I will not be done with Andy Murray. I will absolutely murder every one of his teammates, cut their limbs off and beat him over the head repeatedly with their graying, rotting corpses if anyone tries to stop me. Does that answer your question?

Moise hesitates, saying nothing, then slowly nods her head.

Dan Ryan: Cool.

Ryan turns away from her and stomps on down the hall as she looks on.

The lights shut off in the Allstate Arena with a thundering boom, which makes the crowd erupt in cheers with cell phone camera flashes and screens glowing up the darkness. A voice comes over the PA system.

PA: Ladies and gentlemen… Mister Bryan McVay.

A single spotlight beams down at the ramp stage, and out comes Bryan McVay dawning a full tuxedo with a card in one hand to read from and microphone in the other. The crowd doesn’t calm down causing Bryan to talk over them.

Bryan McVay: Members of the Audience, especially those sitting in the ‘Triple One’, Viewers from Around the World, and to the Strippees in the suite!

Joe Hoffman: I feel like they’ve done this before…

Benny Newell: I love sequels! Especially starring Mikey Unlikely!

Bryan McVay: I have the high privilege and distinct honor of presenting to you for a SECOND time- the newly, freshly, recrowned undisputed High Octane Tag Team Champions- THE HOLLYWOOD BRUVS and the High Octane ICON Champion Andy Murray!

His hand with the card shoots out and left in the direction of the Triple One. The spotlight then shuts off before quickly transitioning to the suite that sits at the top of the section. Standing outside of the suitebox in the seating area is The Hollywood Bruvs with Andy on one side of the pair and Perfection on the other. 

The spotlight begins to dim out as the house lights are cranked up. Frankly, the scene up there is ridiculous. 24K’s old countdown click has been removed, replaced by a big neon monstrosity that reads “MORE BELTS THAN YOU!”. Two Strippee poles have been put up at either end of the outside seating area around which two women dressed in golden frapp costumes twirl. Another Strippee strolls around the Manly Men, tossing handfuls of gold confetti around, singing “theeyyyyyyy are the champions!” without a microphone.

Joe Hoffman: Jesus, that might be the most self-indulgent thing I’ve ever seen!

Benny Newell: Hey, when your group contains a King, the greatest tag team on the planet, and literal Perfection, you can do what you want. Gluefist me Hoffhole!

Joe Hoffman: … no.

The security at 24k’s Manly Man Cave has grown since the last time they were out of the suite. But it doesn’t stop us from getting a shot of Mikey Unlikely with the Golden Microphone™ ready to address the loud and rowdy High Octane audience in Rosemont. Per normal, it’s too noisy to start for the newly minted champs. Perfection kindly borrows the microphone, which doesn’t help the issue at all.

Perfection: Shhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!

A little movement in quieting down. Not much.

Perfection: Listen you ungrateful little pricks, I know you’re all so upset that Joe Bergman dropped the ball! Some of us, especially right here!

Points around the group and a ‘meh’ sort of address with the same hand towards the ‘Triple One’.

Perfection: Are trying to celebrate! So please, kindly, shut your mouths and show some fucking respect to your champions who’ve successfully recaptured their belts. Show some goddamn respect to the man who is not only the ICON of High Octane, but has a newly minted belt that fits that status goldenly!

Great effort. Little effect though as he just shrugs at Mikey and does the Golden Microphone pass back. Unlikely basks in the limelight as long as he can before speaking. 

Mikey Unlikely: High Octane Wrestling… we are here to address the events that transpired in Normandy! We’re here to address WAR GAMES! We’re here to celebrate as your NEW High Octane Wrestling MAJORITY Champions! 

He allows them to sit on that for a moment. 

Mikey Unlikely: Not only did the Hollywood Bruvs do exactly what we told the world we were here to do, but we did in record timing! YES! The world’s shortest War Games match has come to its inevitable conclusion and without as much as a scratch on us, the Bruvs stand before you as undisputed Tag Team Champions. 

He goes into pitch mode. 

Mikey Unlikely: BUT THAT’S NOT ALL! 

JFK leans in and adds to it. 

Kendrix: THERE’S MORE, BELLENDS!

The golden microphone comes back to the Hollywood C-Lister. 

Mikey Unlikely: The people want to know, they’ve been asking me all week. Twitter is blowing up! Instagram is on fire! Facebook…well no one’s on Facebook anymore except maybe Doozer… But the question that everyone asks is “What will the Hollywood Bruvs do next?” 

The new champion looks down at the belt, he buffs it with one hand and smiles. 

Mikey Unlikely: Well that’s fairly simple. We don’t want to be a flash in the pan. We don’t want to be one of these throwaway tag teams that no one remembers! We don’t want to be Joe Bergman, or Red and Ted… that’s for sure! 

Kendrix shivers at the very thought of being Red. 

Mikey Unlikely: So our NEW goal is to become the most decorated Tag Team Champions this promotion has ever seen. We’re going to wear these bad boys out by the time we’re done with them. We’ve done the research, we’ve looked up the records…. Well we paid someone to do it… nevertheless our goal is to ride roughshod across this entire division, to defend the titles like they’ve never been defended before, a RECORD number of times! We’re going to reestablish the BAR for tag team wrestling in High Octane… Raise it a few places, and never fucking let it go! 

The crowd gives a very heated mixed reaction to Mikey’s passionate speech. 

JFK asks his tag partner for the microphone, and gets it. 

Kendrix: Listen, Yeah!? 

The boos come from section 214 in droves. 

Kendrix: After much discussion and hullabalu, we’ve decided within 24K that we WILL NOT be freebirding OUR Tag Team Titles. The Bruvs are going to keep our record as pure as all you lads keeping your virginity ’till your thirties. Bless.

Jesse shakes his head before holding a single finger up gesturing for a moment over the boos reigning down on him.

Kendrix: In fact… if you want these beautiful titles, you’re going to have to beat the Hollywood Bruvs two on two. No games, No gimmicks, just the best damn tag team this side of anywhere! You love it! You gotta love it! 

Kendrix passes the microphone over to Perfection.

Perfection: I know I sure as hell love it! I might love it as much as all those window-licking losers up there love their soybloated Joe Bergman! The last thing on my agenda is having to defend those tag titles you won in such a convincing fashion… again! You can take rolling around with the likes of Bobby Dean and that guy who idolizes and wants to be me so badly, Cancer Jiles, or even HATE!

Easy and cheap heat and done intentionally.

Perfection: BUT! I think we need to hear from someone who busted their ass up and down War Games. Something simpletons in 214 haven’t done their entire lives. So here to motivate your lazy asses to be better than beggarly- is the only man to have to wrestle twice in Normandy! The newly crowned and well deserved ICON Champion, Andy Murray!

Perfection leans the microphone towards Andy, who has spent the past minute or so picking bits of gold confetti out of his beard.

Andy Murray: I mean, I’ve already said loads tonight. So…

The King of Wrestling looks down the line of Manly Man. He shrugs.

Andy Murray: Fuck Scott Stevens.

Kendrix (off mic): Fuck Scott Stevens! I’ve always said that…

Andy Murray: Yeah but I said it fi– oh.

Kendrix: HE SAID THE THING!

Murray’s veneer almost shatters as a smile creeps halfway across his face. He hands the microphone back to Perf.

Perfection: He almost did kinda say the thing! By the way! To you dopes up there, these gentlemen among me aren’t sore winners. They actually feel so bad about what happened to dearest Joe, 24k is going to provide you free shirts! 

You can tell they really don’t want 24K’s shirt.

Perfection: The 24K “We Are Men” t-shirt! Someone hand this manly man the cannon! 

Joe Hoffman: They have a cannon?!

Benny Newall: Look at it! It’s a beautiful gold t-shirt cannon! I want a free shirt! I want a cannon! Want a drink!

The camera begins to pull back as Mikey Unlikely fires the first shot up into section 214. T-shirts are soon getting popped all over the arena, much to the chagrin who hates these shit-eating arseholes. As fans reach out to catch what they can, HOW Refueled goes to commercial break.

Lee Best is said to be reviewing his Term Life policies in preparation for No Remorse… just in case.

As we come back from commercial break we see HOW’s “ACE” interviewer, Brain Bare. 

Brian Bare: Ladies and gents, my guest at this time is new to the HOW roster, and his name is Scott Stevens. 

Stevens comes into view not looking impressed. 

Scott Stevens: Wow. You’re jokes are getting worse just like your credibility. 

Stevens says as the wave of sarcasm overflows from his mouth. 

Brian Bare: Careful, I don’t want to be turned into a vampire or some other creature by your law firm. 

Brian says and Stevens fist clinch in anger. 

Scott Stevens: Well you have me there because I thought it would be a funny way to re-introduce my return to HOW, but it backfired. 

Stevens says with a sigh. 

Scott Stevens: Everything I have done since my return to HOW has been nothing but a giant cluster fuck to the point where I’m forced to miss pay-per-views and weekly shows, but no fucking more!  

Stevens states.  

Scott Stevens: I have returned to prove that I am worthy of being on this roster. I am here to prove that I am not a fucking joke anymore. I am here to prove why I am a fucking former HOW World Champion!  

Stevens shouts as he snatches the microphone from Bare.  

Scott Stevens: Since the return many recognizable names such as Eric Dane, Rhys Townsend, John Sektor, Silent Witness and others have come and gone. Many new faces such as Alexander Redding, Teddy Palmer, Warrick Hill, and others have come and gone as well. However, one name as remained and that name is Scott Stevens. 

Stevens says as he points to himself.  

Scott Stevens: And if I have to start from the bottom and fight my way back to the top that is what I will do to regain all credibility that I have lost in this era of HOW. It doesn’t matter if I have to face Mike Best next week or Cecilworth next month or if I get my hands on the luckiest man in HOW, Andy Murray. Hell, I heard that HOFC is coming back and I will be the first to throw my name in that division to prove that I am worth a fuck. I will bring the fight each and every match I am placed in and I will prove to everyone that Scott Stevens isn’t a joke anymore and I will remind everyone why I was a former World champion.   

Stevens says as he stares into the camera. 

Scott Stevens: Lee. Mike. Scotty. Or Mario. It doesn’t matter who makes it, but just know I’m ready for my opportunity. 

Stevens stares at the camera, before dropping the mic and leaving the area. 

We cut backstage where Brian Bare is standing by in front of a large HOW logo smiling dumbly toward the camera. 

Brian Bare: Ladies and gentlemen I have an exclusive interview with former LSD Champion, Maximillia-

Before Bare can finish, a flash of gold and black appears on the screen. The LSD Championship Title flies past Brian’s head causing him to dunk; a rather unflattering yelp echoing into the microphone in his hand. The title smashes into the HOW logo and clatters to the ground in a heap. 

Slithering forward in his white suit appears the Minister, a smile stretched across his face as metal teeth gnash together. His hands wring together slowly as golden rings cover his fingers, each studded with precious gemstones. As Brian slowly uncoils and stands up the Minister reaches out, his fingers coiling over Bare’s shoulder.

The Minister: Mea culpa, brother Brian, I didn’t see you there. You’re fine, you’re all right?

The Minister’s golden fingers crawled across Brian’s shoulders, dusting him off and straightening his tie while is murderous #97Red eye burned like an ember of spite. Brain nodded, his eyes not fully locked on to the Minister, distrust and discomfort apparent on his face.

The Minister: Good, I am so glad you’re fine. What would High Octane Wrestling be like without Brian Bare? You better take a moment to collect yourself, you almost died, friend! Here, may I?

Not waiting for Brian’s answer the Minister yanked the microphone from his hand before shoving him, with a considerable amount of force, off screen, the sound of him clattering to the ground heard though his fall unseen. Taking a deep breath Minister clasped the microphone in both hands as his he looked pensive, thoughtful even.

The Minister: We all know what happened at War Games. Mike Best was the soul survivor and is now the High Octane Wrestling World Champion. Andy Murray, who came up short, still managed to collect the ICON Championship. It was the previous World Champion, the as of yet defeated Cecilworth Farthington who did the deed and eliminated me. Eliminated the Minister and he did it in the exact manner I would expect an LSD Championship to do so.. But.. 

Turning, the Minister reached down and picked up the LSD Championship, holding it toward the camera, the smile still on his face.

The Minister: This is yours now, Cecilworth. You beat me, fair and square, at War Games and so now this is yours. You earned it. This is your responsibility now, whether you want it to be or not. You left it back on the beach and Normandy but I felt you should have it.

He dropped it on the ground where it clattered once again. Licking his lips the Minister looked down at the title before looking up.

The Minister: At War Games, Cecilworth, you were a good friend. A GREAT Friend even, the denizens of High Octane Wrestling could learn a thing from you. When you had a chance to defeat Andy Murray you gave it up to save your best friend, Mike. Save him from getting his eye stabbed out, to help stop me from getting what I wanted. Magnificent play, I didn’t see it coming and you put me down like a rabid dog.. Heh-heh..

Clearing his throat the Minister lifted his chin, a cruel, arrogant smile washing down over his face. 

The Minister: ..The Minister does not surrender, I do not submit. I never give up no matter how much pain you inflict on this body but all that pain, all that torture, all that agony, it has to go somewhere. I admit that I personally have never known what physical pain is.. I live in Max’s brain but I get to choose what I feel.. And what he feels. Oh it’s true, I have memories of the pain, Max’s memories, and I know it was agony. I know Max would have tapped immediately, I could hear his suffering in my mind, heard him begging for mercy. For your mercy, Cecilworth.

Another giggle gurgled up his throat as his face twitched with sadistic humor. He lifted a hand to cover his mouth as he composed himself and continued.

The Minister: And that is what you ultimately saved Mike from, Cecilworth. See, Max had convinced me that just taking Mike’s eye, that’s all I really wanted, that’s all I felt I would need to do.. But you, Cecilworth, you opened the doors I never thought I’d have the keys too. You BEAT the last scraps of Max’s mercy out of me..heh-heh.. The day is coming, Cecilworth, where I’ll Mike at my mercy again and you? You won’t be there to stop me. Look me in the eye Cecilworth..

Beckoning the camera to zoom in on his bloodshot blue eye as his wicked grin grows larger. Once again holding the microphone in both hands his voice lowers.

The Minister: ..Game recognizes Game. Mike’s reckoning is coming. Have your fun. Make your peace. You can not save him. 

As he speaks his voice drops into an unpleasant gravelly tone, the smile hardening into a sneer as his red eye pulses hatefully. Taking a slow deep breath the Minister’s smile returns, his metal teeth gleaming in the light.

The Minister: Have a blessed day!

Joe Hoffman: Here we go, folks. Hope everyone’s ready for what’s sure to be a scintillating main event here on Refueled Thirty! We’ve had quite the night here already, Benny. And I couldn’t imagine a better match to bring us home!

Benny Newell: Oh you gotta be kidding me, Hoffhole! Look, no disrespect to the #1 Dad, but he’s no match for Perfection here tonight. The guy’s been on a tear and having been drafted to Lee’s War Games team, no matter the outcome, just proves my point.

Joe grabs the mic from his headset in order to muffle his audio. Inaudible whispering ensues.

Benny Newell: Huh? He’s facing who?

Newell straightens up and clears his throat.

Benny Newell: Well, sadly for those of us with eyes, I have been made aware tonight’s match actually features Steve Solex and the insufferable, Cancer Jiles. So now I’m really not looking forward to this shitshow.

Joe Hoffman: Oh, come on. These are two eccentric talents, not to mention they are both coming off wins pre War Games! Hell, Jiles is even on what you could call a win streak!

Benny Newell: DRINK!

“Cats in the Cradle” by Harry Chapin begins to play through the sound system as the words “#1 Dad” display on the HOV. The words dissolve and a montage of Steven Solex is shown playing on the HOV as the man himself steps out from behind the curtain and onto the entrance ramp.

Bryan McVay: The following contest is scheduled for one fall. Introducing first, hailing from Huntington Beach, California and weighing in at 252 lbs…..he is HOW’s #1 Dad! Steven! SOOOOOLLLLEEEEX!

The crowd boos unceremoniously as Solex prematurely, with that right hand, holds a number one high up in the air. The biggest, cheesiest of smiles spreads across his face. The boos die down quicker than normal as the fans grow curious with Steve still standing at the top of the ramp. He reaches into a cargo pocket of his jean shorts and pulls out a…

Pabst Blue Ribbon!

Solex holds it up in the direction of Section 214.

Joe Hoffman: Steven Solex showing some class here, ironically, by pulling out a Pabst. But it’s for his teammate, Joe Bergman, and his following in 214. What a guy.

Benny Newell: (respectfully) I will drink to that.

Steven brings the PBR back in and cracks it. He holds it up to Section 214 one more time, then takes a sip.

214 starts to chant,

P-B-R

P-B-R

P-B-R

The chant grows throughout the entire arena as Solex makes his way down to the ring.

P-B-R

P-B-R

P-B-R

Solex rolls under the bottom rope and into the ring as the crowd continues to roar.

P-B-R

P-B-R

P-B-R

Solex goes camera side and again hoists a number one high in the air, but this time shouts out,

Steven Solex: LET’S GO JOE!

Solex goes to the corner, and double knots his all white new balance shoes as he awaits his opponent.

Joe Hoffman: Awesome little tribute there by High Octane’s #1 Dad. And boy does he ever look ready for this match.

As Solex paces around the ring, randomly pulling on the ropes as he reaches them, “I am the COOL” hits the sound system.

Brian Mcvay: Coming to the ring, standing six feet and one and a half inches tall… weighing two hundred and twenty nine pounds… from the summit of Mount COOLYMPUS, and representing the eGG Bandits, he is the Maestro, CAAAANCEEEERRRR JIIIIIIIIILES!!!

Solex charges forward and leans into the ropes in anticipation of his opponent’s appearance.

Benny Newell: HEY, THAT’S NOT-

Instead of King COOL, his long-time tag partner and fellow eGG Bandit, Doozer, steps out of gorilla and into the spotlight to a pop from the crowd. Solex’s face scrunches up in confusion. Before Steven can even blink, Bobby Dean and Zeb Martin step out to a deafening roar from the High Octane faithful and flank each side of The Dooze.

Joe Hoffman: Wow! The fans are sending a lot of love to the Bandits here tonight! Especially Bobby Dean and Zeb after their strong showing at War Games and Doozer’s victory just earlier against a reinvented Darin Matthews!

Doozer scans the cheering Octabandits spreading across the All State arena while nodding, then leads the Bandit’s march down to the ring with Solex watching every move. The twenty plus year vet takes his time, appearing a little sore from his match with Matthews that just occurred. Bobby takes advantage of the eldest Bandit’s slow pace and runs up and down the ramp, slapping each and every hand reached out to him. Zeb, all smiles, continuously waves and nods toward the different sides of the crowd. The Dooze remains stoic, eyes locked on Solex who’s staring right back at him.

Benny Newell: Oh please don’t tell me these idiots are joining-

Cutting Benny’s comment off is the sight of Bobby, just reaching ringside, kneeling down and pulling something out from under the ring…

Joe Hoffman: Cutting right to the chase, it looks like Dean just pulled out a carton of eggs!

Bobby holds the dozen eggs up, points to Benny, and smiles like a devious child. 

Benny Newell: NOT AGAIN! Good luck with these fools, Hoffhole!

With that, Benny rips off his headset, grabs his bottle, jumps the barricade, and runs off into the crowd.

Joe Hoffman: Looks like we’ve lost Benny tonight, folks.

The Bandits reach the announce table; Doozer and Solex are still locked on to each other. The Dooze takes a second to break from the staring contest and turns to Zeb, delivering him a quick head nod. Zeb walks over and rings the bell.

DING DING DING

Doozer looks back at Solex, who is now up in arms and complaining to the ref that the match can’t start without his opponent. The Dooze smiles like Jiles.

THE CROWD ERUPTS.

Joe Hoffman: Looks like the Bandits have a surprise in store for High Octane’s Number One Dad!

Solex, trying to figure out the reason for the pop, looks left and right. Then back at the Bandits standing near Joe at the announce table. Doozer nods toward Steve and barks at him, 

Doozer: Might wanna watch your back, Dad!

Solex complains once more to the ref, pointing to Doozer specifically. The ref leans through the ropes toward the Bandits outside the ring and warns them all. 

Back in the ring, Steven turns ghost white as he feels a light finger tap on his shoulder. He slowly turns around-

Joe Hoffman: Cancer Jiles was under the ring this whole time! And now he’s face to face with an off guard Steven Solex! OH MY! 

Jiles puckers up, then SPRAYS!

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOHHHHHHHHHH!

Joe Hoffman: COOLYMPIAN YOLK from Cancer! While the ref was distracted by the Bandits! And I think we’re seeing a new Doozer here. He usually refrains when his friends play dirty pool.

Solex quickly brings his hands to his face, trying frantically to wipe the yellow muta mist from his eyes.

Cancer stands, with a smile from ear to ear, and begins to play the air violin.

Joe Hoffman: The Maestro taking the opportunity for some fanfare! Not sure that’s the best use of this opportunity.

While Jiles serenades Solex with a song, at ringside we see Doozer sit in Benny’s chair next to Joe Hoffman. He puts Newell’s headset on and nods toward Bobby Dean. A quick nod from the Beautiful Man from Honalee and he takes a seat in the special guest announcer seat and equips the corresponding headset.

Doozer: Hey, Joey.

Joe Hoffman: It’s my pleasure to be joined ringside by a founding father of the eGG Bandits in Doozer. Here to show solidarity for your-

The Dooze holds up an open hand to Hoffman’s face.

Doozer: Please. Don’t insult Zeb. There are only three headsets at this booth, Joe.

The look Doozer shoots Hoffman says it all. The Hall of Fame ring announcer just nods, then stands from his chair while removing said headset. He delivers one last quizzical look to The Dooze, then leaves.

Zeb Martin, also scanning Doozer in confusion, slowly walks around the announce table and ultimately sits in Hoffman’s chair. He puts the headset on, still showing signs of trepidation.

Doozer: Welcome to the real show, our beloved Octabandits. And others.

Bobby Dean: TIME TO PARTY!

Zeb Martin: Uh, yeah…time to party.

The Dooze shoots both of his cohorts a WTF glare.  Especially to Zeb, whose strategy to fight his nerves is just to repeat what the last guy said.

Doozer: We have a job to do here. Let’s get to the action! Look at the talent on display right now.

Bobby Dean: Eat your heart out, Bach!

Jiles, after finishing his solo, stomps a foot on the mat signalling for an early Terminal Cancer.

Doozer: What’s Jiles thinking? Way too early. Why wouldn’t you want to put some hurt on him first?!

Bobby Dean: I’m with The COOL guy on this one, Dooze! Why do extra work?

Zeb Martin:  Yeah, why do the extry work?

Solex, barely done wiping his eyes clean, instinctively drops down into a pushup to avoid the kick. He quickly twists on the mat like a breakdancer and sweeps Cancer’s legs out from under him.

Bobby Dean: Whoa! I didn’t know Dad could move like that!

Zeb Martin: Yeah!  Me neither!  Reckon how we didn’t know Deddy could move like that?

An enraged Steven Solex pounces on the grounded Jiles and delivers a storm of rights and lefts. He stops, a sadistic look crosses his face, and grabs each side of Cancer’s head.

Bobby Dean: If this is what I think it is, I can’t watch!

Dean covers his eyes with his hands as Solex dives headfirst at his opponent and bites Jiles’ forehead! 

OOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!

Cancer frantically pushes Solex off him and shuffles back into the nearest corner. He feels his forehead, then brings the hand in front of his face to see he’s already bleeding.

Doozer: Oh, I have a feeling Steve’s gonna pay for that.

The #1 Dad charges and throws a knee at the cornered Cancer, but Jiles rolls out of the way just in time causing Solex to run into the turnbuckle. The Maestro, quick to his feet, runs and hits Steven with a stinger splash into the corner. Jiles steps back to the center of the ring as Solex stumbles backward, still facing the turnbuckle. Cancer charges and jumps for a running bulldog, but Steven instinctively ducks and pushes the surging Jiles hard into the turnbuckle.

Bobby Dean: BOOOOO!

Doozer: Well said, Bob.

Zeb Martin: BOOOOO!

Doozer: Well resaid, Zeb.

Jiles bounces backward from the impact but manages to stay on his feet. Father Solex steps up and grabs Cancer around the abdomen from behind – German Suplex!

Solex charges and starts putting the boots to Jiles. He stomps like a man possessed.

Doozer: Big Daddy S going to town right now. 

Steven suddenly stops, then with an over cheesy smile, points to section 214 shouting and pumping both hands up and down in what is the most awkward and fatherly ‘raise the roof’ taunt you’ve ever witnessed.

The Fallen COOL rolls over in pain and yells to the Bandit announce team.

Cancer Jiles: PLAN C!

Bobby Dean nods, slowly rising from his chair with a single egg in hand. Doozer shakes his head, puts a hand on The Beautiful Man from Honalee’s shoulder and brings him back to his seat. Jiles throws his hands out in anger, and rolls to push himself up.

Solex runs up to Cancer just as he stands, grabs and whips him into the ropes. On the return, the #1 Dad takes a quick side step and kicks the COOLYMPIAN right across the COOL tattoo on his stomach.

Doozer: I’ve always told him that stupid thing was a target.

The Maestro doubles over, arms over his abdomen. Steven stalks him, ultimately stopping by his side and clutches Cancer over his midsection.

Bobby Dean: DAD STRENGTH IS SCARY!

GUTWRENCH POWERBOMB!

Father HOW with the pin-

1…

2…

KICKOUT!

Bobby Dean: Too close for comfort!

Zeb Martin: Yeap, if ya’sked me that there’s waayyyyyy too close’fer comf’rt!

Steven picks Jiles up and whips him into the ropes once again, but this time Cancer reverses the whip! Solex bounces off the ropes and Jiles leaps over him on the return. The #1 Dad bounces off the opposite ropes and comes back looking for a clothesline – NO! Jiles ducks under it. Steven turns on a time and Jiles throws a punch – SOLEX GRABS HIS FIST. Jiles throws his other hand – SOLEX GRABS THAT FIST TOO. HEADBUTT, quite possibly from HECK, however that’s yet to be confirmed.

Doozer: Jiles is just straight up getting outmatched in there. Looks like fighting with his fellow PBR partner in mind has really given HOW’s Number One Dad a little something extra here tonight.

Bobby Dean: I’m not sure how much more I can watch!

Solex grabs a groggy Jiles and whips him into the corner with power. Cancer turns just before impact, hitting the turnbuckle back-first so hard he starts stumbling forward. Steven charges and connects with a vicious shoulder tackle sending Cancer down hard.

Father HOW goes for another pin!

1…

2…

Kickout!

Steven jumps to his feet, determined, and sends a knee down on Cancer’s chest. Solex pops back up and climbs the nearby turnbuckle to the middle rope. He points down at Jiles and jumps – FACE STOMP from the middle rope! Jiles rolls over onto his stomach, holding his face in pain.

Bobby Dean: NOT MORE BLOOD!

The bite that trickled blood at the beginning of the match opens up after the foot stomp. The #1 Dad grabs the bloody Maestro and lifts him up, then charges toward the nearest corner and throws Jiles face first into the top turnbuckle.

Doozer: I think he’s trying to dye our friend’s hair 97RED…

He turns Cancer around and delivers a back elbow to his face. Then another. Then another. Solex steps back and taunts the fans again. Then charges back at Jiles for another elbow – Cancer raises a boot which meets Steven’s face sending him back into a stupor!

Bobby Dean: Get him, buddy!

Zeb Martin: Yeah! Gittem, buddy!

Jiles jumps up to the top rope. He takes a moment to gently touch over his hair, making sure everything is in place. 

Doozer: Springboard dropkick from the top rope sends Solex flying across the ring! 

Steven pops back up, to Cancer’s surprise, but is definitely staggered. The Count of COOL charges – running face buster! Jiles rushes to the opposite corner and jumps on the middle rope, facing the crowd, and screams,

Cancer Jiles: OVER EASY!

He jumps down and waits in his corner, stomping his foot once again…

Solex slowly up, Jiles stutter steps – TERMINAL CAN- NOPE! Steven ducks under the leg, turns to face Cancer’s backside, grabs his arms – TIGER SUPLEX! 

Father HOW with another pin attempt!

1…

2…

KICKOUT!

Doozer: Another near fall… Steven Solex has really dominated this one.

Bobby Dean: YOU DON’T SAY THAT!

Zeb Martin: Yeah! You don’- wait… we don’ say that, right?

Solex slaps the mat, gets up and pulls Jiles with him. He grabs the groggy Cancer by the shoulders, shaking him until he comes to.

Doozer: Not sure what-

The #1 Dad points to Cancer’s hair with a look of horror on his face, implying something is terribly wrong. Jiles looks up, as if that would help, and carefully moves his hands over his hair once again so he can fix the offending follicles.

THE FINGER POKE OF DAD!!!

Cancer grabs his face in pain, blood and sweat and maybe tears smearing all over it. Steven starts stomping on the mat then runs for the nearest ropes. He bounces off and catches Jiles with a running shoulder block. The Maestro somehow pops back to his feet, but only to receive another running shoulder block from Solex!

Doozer: Oh no, I hope this isn’t what it looks li-

King COOL pops back up as if he didn’t know what was good for him, and Solex charges-

Bobby Dean: BY GOSH! BY GOLLY! THE CLOTHESLINE FROM HECK!?!?! NO!!!!! JILES DUCKS AND KICKS A FOOT UP – TERMINAL CANCER! TERMINAL CANCER!

Zeb Martin: TERM’NAL CANCER!

Instead of going for the pin, though, Cancer yells at Bobby, 

Cancer Jiles: THE SHADES!

Bobby grabs the T-shades that were under his protection and tosses them into the ring. Jiles snags them and immediately uses them as a mirror to check his hair. 

Doozer: What a fuckin tool. PIN THE DAD, FOR FUCK’S SAKE!

After seeing that no strand is misplaced, Cancer turns full 97RED. And not from the blood. He walks over to Solex and picks him up, helping him stand while nearly knocked out.

Jiles walks to the furthest corner and starts stomping with Solex standing in the middle of the ring barely able to stay up.

Doozer: Another one?

Cancer reels back then shuffles forward looking for another TERMINAL CAN- Solex ducks just enough to miss the kick and grabs the leg of Jiles. He takes the leg and throws it causing Jiles to spin around in place-

Bobby Dean: BY GOSH! BY GOLLY! THE CLOTHESLINE FROM HECK!

Jiles hits the mat so hard he flips up over onto his stomach as stiff as a board. Boettcher lies down beside Cancer to check on him. Bobby pops up from the announce table, egg in hand ready to go again. Doozer puts up an arm, just like earlier, to stop him.

But this time Doozer grabs the egg! He hesitates for a split second, then fires it into the ring.

SPLAT!

The flying egg strikes Solex right in the face. He drops like a tree, rolling around holding his face. Boettcher, didn’t see but assumed it came from one of the members of the Bandit announce team and berates the three sitting ringside. Bob and Zeb show pure innocence. Doozer smiles like Jiles then shrugs innocently.

Solex slowly stands, still rubbing the egg and shell bits out of his eyes and off his face. Jiles gets on his hands and knees, and crawls over behind Steven. LOW BLOW! 

Bobby Dean: Ohhhhhh, never easy to watch that!

The #1 Dad doubles over. The Maestro hits him with a DDT! Cancer walks to the head of Solex, steps on his face, then twists! With Steven writhing in pain, Jiles runs toward the ropes and jumps – landing both feet on the middle rope, he flips back – SOLEX lifts his knees! 

Doozer: This could be bad. Both guys are running pretty low…

Cancer rolls around in pain as Steven climbs the nearest turnbuckle. He stands at the top, motioning toward Jiles to get up.

Bobby Dean: NOOOOOOOO-

Zeb Martin: OOOOOOOOO!

The Maestro finally gets up to his feet, rocking to and fro.

Solex holds both hands together above his head and jumps, DOUBLE AXE HAND- NO!

Bobby Dean:JILES SIDE STEPS AND SENDS A BOOT UP! TERMINAL CANCER! HE HIT IT AGAIN!

The #1 Dad flops to the mat like a dead fish. Cancer covers. Boettcher drops to count.

1…

2…

3!!!

Bryan McVay: And your winner, in twelve minutes and forty-two seconds… CAAAAANCEEEERRRRR JIIIIIIILESSSSSSS! 

The #1 Dad of HOW rolls under the bottom rope, slaps the ring apron in frustration, and stomps up the ramp while Jiles celebrates his victory inside the ring.

Doozer: Tough loss for Big Daddy tonight. Really thought he was going to pull this one off.

Bobby Dean: WOOOOOOOOOOOOO-

Zeb Martin: OOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!

As Solex disappears through the curtain, Scott Woodson appears on the HOV charging through the crowd. He’s clenching the corporate pipe wrench in his hand, using it to push fans out of his way as he stares intently ahead.

Zeb Martin: Hey, uh… guys? The HATER? Big screen!

Zeb points up to the HOV in panic as Scott Woodson jumps the barricade just beside the announce table with a look of malice towards the assembled Bandits.

Doozer, being the first to react, stands and charges Woodson, his headset clattering down to the table.  Woodson, a step ahead, greets him with an overhand strike to the top of Doozer’s head, knocking him back into his seat and out cold.

Woodson glares at Bobby Dean and Zeb Martin, while Cancer Jiles baseball slides through the bottom ropes, catching Woodson off guard and staggering him back into the barricade with a hard thud.  Jiles follows up with a well placed jab to the chin, but Woodson shakes it off with a sadistic grin and swings the pipe wrench at Cancer Jiles’ stomach, doubling him over.

Then, The Hardcore Artisan points the pipe wrench at Zeb Martin. In an attempt to further send the young upstart a message, Woodson slams his knee into the side of Jiles’ head, sending him crumpling to the floor.

Suddenly, RICK shoots out from behind the curtain, running towards the ring. The crowd begins to erupt in a chorus of boos. They even throw popcorn containers and full drinks towards the ramp, ringside, and at RICK to show their splendid appreciation.

Too busy to notice because he was soaking up the HATE from the crowd, Woodson begins slowly walking towards the commentary table. He taps the pipe wrench in his hand, causing Beautiful Bobby Dean to plead his innocence. 

Zeb Martin stands up, waves for Woodson to bring it, and gets ready for a fight.

RICK, still unbeknownst to Woodson, slides under the bottom rope.

Intent on injuring, Woodson swings the pipe wrench at Zeb, who manages to block the swing with his forearm and immediately regrets it.  As Zeb shakes his arm in pain, Woodson swings the pipe wrench underhanded at his gut and connects, lifting Zeb’s feet off the floor.  As Zeb doubles over, Woodson slams the pipe wrench across his back, sending him down to the floor.

Meanwhile, RICK continues his run through the ring and launches himself over the top rope, just as Woodson points the pipe wrench at a pleading Bobby Dean, eyes narrowed and filled with HATE.  And suddenly, to the amazement of everyone – the crowd, Bobby Dean…Scott Woodson – RICK LANDS DIRECTLY ON SCOTT WOODSON!!!

Suddenly the booing stops and a confused cheer begins to build throughout the crowd as RICK pops back up to his feet between Scott Woodson and Bobby Dean…is RICK protecting Bobby Dean?!

As Woodson clambers back to his feet and retrieves the pipe wrench,  he stares directly at RICK with a sneer.  RICK stares back, breathing heavily, eyes narrowing.

Woodson raises the pipe wrench and charges towards RICK with a yell, using the same overhand strike he knocked Doozer out with…but this time, instead of Scott Woodson connecting, RICK CATCHES THE PIPE WRENCH!  With a smile, RICK twists the pipe wrench from Woodson’s hand effortlessly.x x

Suddenly Woodson begins pleading with RICK, who just slowly walks forward, eyes never wavering from staring holes through Woodson’s head.  RICK swings the pipe wrench towards Woodson, but misses, Woodson barely managing to dodge out of the way.  RICK immediately swings back across the other way with the same result, a look of utter relief on Woodson’s face.

Suddenly, RICK closes the distance with a brutal overhand strike, the pipe wrench finding its mark directly on the top of Woodson’s forehead, opening him up and causing a trickle of blood to fall from the wound.  Woodson grabs for his head in defense, but too slow as RICK connects with another shot on the backswing.

The crowd begins going wild as RICK continues swinging the pipe wrench at Woodson, over and over again, causing him to fall to the floor and turtle.  Standing over top of Woodson, RICK raises the pipe wrench high above his head for a final coup de grace before looking at it, then back down at Woodson’s prone body, then back at the pipe wrench again…almost as if considering what to do next.

RICK looks around at the cheering crowd in bewilderment before letting the pipe wrench slip from his hand and fall with a clatter to the floor, and the crowd goes absolutely insane!  RICK reaches down and pulls Woodson back to his feet roughly, almost dragging him back towards the announce table, a shocked Bobby Dean, and a recovering Cancer Jiles, Zeb Martin, and Doozer.

Face awash in blood, RICK turns Woodson’s head to face his, then points at the Bandits, shaking his head no at the bloodied Woodson.

RICK: RRRRIIIIIIIIIIIICCCCCCKKKKKK!!!!

RICK then hauls Woodson upright before landing a few hard closed hand strikes to his face, leaving Woodson staggered, but still on his feet.  Suddenly RICK shoots forward, clutching Woodson’s throat and lifting him aloft with ease before slamming him down with a brutal chokeslam through the announce table with a guttural roar.

The camera slowly pans out from the carnage, giving us a wide shot of Scottywood laid out in the wreckage of the table. HOW Refueled cuts to its final commercial break of the evening, as personnel rush toward the ring to help sort out the chaos.

As Refueled comes back from its final commercial break of the evening, the ring has been cleared from the post-match fallout of Steve Solex and Cancer Jiles. Benny and Joe have been moved to a temporary table, with their announcer’s table destroyed by Scotty and Rick. It has been an emotional roller coaster of a show from literally the opening moments, and the fans are tired. Anxious. As ready to buy a t-shirt and go home as they are to see what might be coming next. Fortunately, they don’t have long to wait. 

The lights in the arena dim, as the HOV comes to life. 

“Hellalujah” by Hanzel und Gretyl blasts over the sound system, as somewhere in a hospital bed Lee Best grumbles about his Son always having the coolest media shit in the marketing department. From behind the curtain of the entrance way, Michael Lee Best makes his way out onto the stage, the HOW World Championship hugged tightly across his shoulder– he’s holding it like a child who just found his puppy, and it was missing for a very long time. There is a bandage over his cheek, covering the open wound from The Minister’s assault with a bottomline pen at War Games, and he definitely looks banged up tonight. 

At his flank on either side, LSD Champion Cecilworth Farthington and the Hammer of GoD himself, Dan Ryan, step out next. Conspicuously absent, it would appear that Lindsay Troy hasn’t joined them this evening– all three men stand at the top of the ramp, looking out into the crowd just seven days after securing a hard fought victory at HOW War Games.

The fans are either cheering their balls off or booing their brains out– it doesn’t really matter because everyone in HOW but Zeb Martin is a cunt anyway. The crowd noise sounds all the same to the three murderers as they saunter casually down the ramp, with Cecilworth taking the stairs, Dan Ryan stepping over the top rope, and Michael Best rolling directly into the ring. 

The SON OF GOD takes a stutter step toward Bryan McVay, making thim flinch. With a cruel laugh, the new World Champion swipes the microphone out of the ring announcer’s hands and turns back toward his stablemates. He faces the crowd, looking amped to get his speech underway, his eyes wild and potentially influenced by something other than pure adrenaline. 

Mike Best: The Era of Tough Love, ladies and gentlemen. 

A mean little laugh escapes from the throat of the brand new HOW World Champion, as he pulls the belt off of his shoulder and takes a good hard look at it. 

Mike Best: THE ERA…. OF…. TOUGH… LOVE… LADIES… AND…. GENTLEMEN!

Louder this time. Fiercer, and more guttural. The words leave his mouth in a spiteful cyclone of arrogance and annoyance, and now he thrusts the belt over his head, showing it off to the masses. Maybe they’re impressed. Maybe they aren’t. He doesn’t stop to notice, because HOW has enough shitty good guys who act like bad guys who act like good guys until no one could give fewer fucks. How’s your boyfriend, MJ? 

Mike Best: The Era of Tough Love can suck my whoooooole dick, ladies… and… gentlemen, because I am now the first and only nine time HOW World Champion in HISTORY. Nine times. 

He begins to pace around the ring as he talks, looking agitated and hyped up. 

Mike Best: NINE TIMES! 

With a dead stop in the middle of the ring, the douchebag sneer returns to his face. 

Mike Best: “But that means you lost it eiiiiiight tiiiimes— shut the actual fuck up. Nine times. The next best is five, from a man who got sad and went away. The next best is a guy you can’t even name without looking it up on a fucking website. I’m not ON the Mount Rushmore of HOW, I AM the motherfucking Mount Rushmore! Four of my head, with a different fucking haircut. So let’s get that straight right out of the gate, before any of you generic pullstring dolls get your favorite tired arguments lined up. I am a High Octane Hall of Famer. I am the man with the most combined days as champion in this company’s history, by a margin that you cannot even begin to comprehend. I am the HOW World Champion, the Architect of the greatest wrestling stable in history, the SON OF GOD, and GLORY HALLELUJAH, KNEESUS HAS RISEN, MOTHERFUCKERS! 

He lowers the microphone from his lips, briefly handing the HOW World Championship off to Dan Ryan. The Hammer of GoD looks confused, but obliged the request. 

It doesn’t take long to figure out the plan— Michael reaches into the pocket of his slacks, producing a small baggie of white powder. He dumps a small portion of it out onto the face plate, straightening it out into something that vaguely resembles a straight line. 

Mike Best: I am not Jesus Christ. 

He then literally buries his face in the pile, snorting a disturbing amount of cocaine directly off of the HOW World Championship. His eyes roll back as he raises his head back up, and he puts the microphone back to his lips. 

Mike Best: I’m better than Jesus Christ.  

The Son of God quickly gestures the powdered title to his stablemates, who each quickly but politely shake their heads ‘no’. 

Mike Best: Jesus Christ would have turned the other cheek and told you to love your fucking neighbors. Jesus would have died out on a cross so that you could play a harp with your douchebag grandmother after you’d expired from your meaningless, soul sucking nine to five existence. Let me tell you, ladies and gentlemen, Jesus Christ would have stayed down for a three count when MJ Flair did that adorable little finishing move in a three on one. But not me, folks. Not the man who entered at number two for his team at War Games, and survived. Not the man who could not be pinned. Not the man who kneed Andy Murray in the mouth so hard that it now makes MEDICAL SENSE that he’s talking out of his ass. 

Taking a swipe at the belt with his finger, Michael gets a little bit more of the illicit substance off of his belt and licks his finger clean, before taking the belt back from Dan Ryan. 

Mike Best: No, not me. I’m a survivor. In fact, they say I’m the “sole”… survivor. 

A big grin on the face of the champion, as he looks back at Dan and Cecilworth. For some reason, they don’t seem particularly miffed by his emphasis on the word. Maybe because they’re a team, and they already know what’s coming. Or maybe because it doesn’t matter, and you’re not reading this fucking part anyway, because you’re skimming dialogue. He turns into an elephant and rides off in to the sea. Fuck you. Who cares. 

Mike Best: That’s what the record books are going to say. A year from now, Stevenspedia will add a three pixel stroke to a “THIS DAY IN HISTORY” Twitter post, pointing to a title history that says that Mike Best won War Games. Even earlier tonight, the artist formerly known as undefeated, “The Dethroned King” Andrew Murray dropped a couple of hard goobers and talked about all of the members of the Group of Death who fell before him. But let me tell you something, dickheads. I ain’t the “sole survivor” of SHIT. 

Michael turns toward Dan and Cecilworth once again, but this time he appears to be talking just as much to them as he is to the crowd, and the people in the back. 

Mike Best: Andy Murray came in second place, and earlier tonight he put a bunch of stupid words together to make that sound like an accomplishment. See, because Murray thinks that my boy Cecilworth here came in third. He thinks that Dan Ryan came in fifth. He even thinks that Lindsay Troy, who isn’t out here with us tonight for her own reasons, came in last place. Humiliating, isn’t it? To come in last place at War Games? Do you find that humiliating, Andrew?

He stares directly at the entrance ramp, as though Murray was standing right there and looking back at him. Given that he’s done enough cocaine since the beginning of Refueled to reinvigorate the economy of Columbia, he may actually think Ol’ Murray is present. 

Mike Best: I hope you do. Because War Games is a team match, you insufferable puddle of mixed messages, AND YOU FUCKING CAME IN LAST. Second place out of two, you dumb motherfucker, and you were the best of the LOSERS. Mike Best, first place. Cecilworth Farthington, first place. Dan Ryan, Lindsay Troy, FIRST FUCKING PLACE. And all of you runners up can keep talking shit about how long it took you to lose, but it doesn’t change the fact that you LOST. Dan Ryan made a sacrifice, and saved me from being eliminated. Cecilworth Farthington walked away from a dead-to-rights pin on Andy Murray, to save my fucking life. We are a TEAM. We know the BIG PICTURE, and we PROTECT EACHOTHER. And that’s why WE won. That’s why YOU lost. And that’s why we continue to be the most dangerous faction in the Kingdom of High Octane, while you struggle to stay alive. 

The SON OF GOD shakes his head, as he makes his way toward the ropes. He rests his forearms on the top rope, after adjusting the belt more comfortably over his shoulder. 

Mike Best: I’ve been too soft on you fucking dorks, and that’s a fact, too. I’ve played nice almost a year and a half now, because we needed to rebuild a brand and I’m a good little boy who likes Daddy’s head pats. But let me tell you right now that the free ride is OVER. The shallow end is rising, and I no longer give a fuck if the new class sinks or swims. HOW isn’t headlocks and flippy shit. It isn’t backstage promo after backstage promo from the YEEHAW DALLAS SPORTATORIUM. People get hurt here. People fucking die here. I don’t give a fuck about your immersion. I don’t give a fuck if you really like the way they wrestle on TNT. I don’t give a fuck if it isn’t your taste. Adapt, survive, or leave. Rise to the occasion or sit the FUCK down. Because a few of you have had your dicks sucked a little too hard, for a little too long, and it’s time that someone told more than the things you want to hear. 

Michael laughs to himself, as he thinks about all the dogshit he puts up with one a weekly basis. HOW stars with lengthy IMDB pages. Wrestlers who are more concerned with the beer they drink than their records in the ring. Literally anything that Scott Stevens does, aside from updating the stats every week. He wonders quietly if it’s the smartest move to be talking this shit in his inner monologue, where no one else can hear it. 

Mike Best: Perfection, you did a dogshit job at War Games and no one gives a fuck about anything you say or do, because the Group of Death has now clowned you so many times that I’m afraid Joaquin Phoenix is gonna win an Oscar for playing you in the movie. MJ Flair? You suck, your dad sucks, your effeminate boyfriend sucks, and no amount of air freshener is gonna replace the new car smell you lost at last year’s Rumble at the Rock. Steve Harrison… get your own fucking gimmick, dickhead. Maybe become the KING OF FORMATTING, so you can suck at that too. Egg Bandits? You should be embarrassed that people are pulling for you to “finally win the big one”. You’re all former World Champions, and now you’re prouder to come in second than a cuckold on his wife’s third date with Tyrone. Start giving a fuck and stop settling for entertaining, and maybe you won’t have to quit HOW once a year to see what Ben Halkum has for you. 

He takes a deep breath at the mention of Ben Halkum, not wanting his promo to be downgraded for it’s massive blocks of text. Is this segment popping? Who can say? Seriously, you aren’t reading this, and if you are, you’re laughing at it, so fuck you again. 

The World Champion smirks, or some shit. Cause everyone is always smirking. Stevens says, Stevens says, Stevens groans. 

Mike Best: The Group of Death is the LIFEBLOOD OF HOW. Michael Lee Best. Cecilworth Farthington. Dan Ryan. Lindsay Troy. And yes, even Max Kael. We run this bitch. We own this show. And all of you, every single person in the back watching this, think that you’re just one little adjustment from taking our spot. You are not special. You are not lucky. You are not survivors. We. Are. Survivors. Not sole survivors, but SOUL survivors, because we are the heart and fucking SOUL of this organization. So Lee? You can have your Era of Tough Love. You can book me in a fucking ninety seven man gauntlet match for the HOW World Championship at No Remorse. You can stack the deck and rig the game and BLAH BLAH BLAH, it’s been TEN FUCKING YEARS, man. Your “Best Bet” is to find a new fuckin’ song, Dad, cause we already know the words to this one. 

He steps back toward the center of the ring one last time, throwing an arm around Cecilworth Farthington as he SMIRKY SMIRK SMIRKS out into the crowd. 

Mike Best: We will adapt. We will evolve. We will overwhelm. Because we aren’t the Group of Talk, you stupid motherfuckers. We’re the Group of DEATH. 

He flips the microphone in the air, dropping it to the canvas as he cheesily high-fives with Dan Ryan and Cecilworth Farthington in the ring. The three monsters of HOW slowly make their way out of the ring, and head back up the ramp as presumably, HOW Refueled is about to go off the air…. 

As 3/4ths of the Group of Death make their way back up the ramp, they are stopped suddenly as the HOV comes to life in front of them. Live on the screen before them, there is a closeup of something viscous and red. 

Blood, pooling in the parking lot. 

A quick pan-back shocks the HOW crowd, who are stunned to silence as they see the pained face of Group of Death co-founder Lindsay Troy. Her scalp is split, and the blood pours freely down the Queen’s face as she agonizingly tries to pull herself away from… 

Something. 

Or, more likely, someone.

A quick shot of the Queen’s eyes make it clear that while the lights may be on, there is officially nobody home. She collapses, clutching at her right knee, and a whimper escapes her in the form of a ragged breath. 

The camera-shot widens to find the antagonist still at the scene of the crime.

It’s the last motherfucker you ever thought you’d see again.

Joe Hoffman: No… no way. It can’t be. Is that…?

Benny Newell: ERIC FUCKING DANE???

Of course it is. 

The Only Star looms over the Queen of the Ring, not necessarily brandishing the steel pipe in his hand so much as white-knuckling it. A symphony of emotion plays across his face, eventually settling into an unfamiliar expression of remorse as he stares down on his former employee, tag team partner, and supposed friend.  

There is no smirk.  

No wink.

No hint of enjoyment.   

There may even be more than a hint of shame on his face as he steps around her and squats down in such a way that blocks her half-crawling away. He speaks softly, the camera barely picks it up.

Eric Dane: I’m real sorry, Mama, you didn’t deserve this. 

His voice is like hot gravel baking in the summer sun.

Eric Dane: When that knee mends, you come find me, and collect your thirty pieces of silver.

The on-site medics rush into the scene just as Dane stands and they do their level best to put themselves between The Only Star and the Queen of the Ring. Dane takes a step backward, shakes his head, and walks away.

Joe Hoffman: I… can’t believe this. 

Benny Newell: OH HAPPY MOTHERFUCKING DAY, JOE! The GOD OF HOW has answered my prayers, even from his deathbed! 

Joe Hoffman: You’re HAPPY to see Eric Dane, Benny? What he’s done is DESPICABLE! He walked out of HOW, he buried us in the media, and now he’s come back to– 

Benny Newell: MURDER MIKE BEST’S PERSONAL FLESHLIGHT! LEE BE PRAISED!  

Joe Hoffman: You are absolutely deplorable. I’m in actual shock, folks. I.. I don’t know what to say. Lindsay Troy’s knee looks to be almost irreparably damaged, ladies and gentlemen. I… I don’t know if she’s alright.  

Medics continue to work on Lindsay Troy, who is struggling to remain conscious as HOW Refueled officially comes to an end. Cue the logos. Cue the production credits.  

Eric Dane has returned to High Octane Wrestling.