Chaos 033

The High Octane Television video ends and we cut inside a sold out Coliseo General Ruminhui arena here in Quito Ecuador.Joe Hoffman: Good evening and welcome to Chaos 33.  Tonight, High Octane Wrestling kicks off an overseas tour that will also travel to Peru, Brazil, Uruguay, and Argentina on the way to the 97 Red Pay Per View in Melbourne, Australia.  Benny, any thoughts?

Benny Newell: Fuck Lindsay Troy. She is a generational cunt.  Other than that, no.  The Final Alliance holds all the gold except the LSD.  HOW is where it should be with Lee’s men on top.  How could it get any better?

Joe Hoffman: Tonight, we have four matches for you.  Brian Hollywood and Xander Azula is our opener.

Benny Newell: Yawn.

Joe Hoffman: Then we’ve got Rhys Townsend, coming off his win last week over Zach Kostoff, going up tonight against a very familiar HOW wrestler- Scott Stevens.

Benny Newell: Yawn. HOW has Townsend not been arrested for assault on Lee Best yet?

Joe Hoffman: ALSO….We’ve got a HUGE showdown tonight between Texans Dan Ryan-

Benny Newell: FINAL ALLIANCE!

Joe Hoffman: …and Clay Byrd.  And then in the main event.  The LSD title WILL be on the line as champion El Hombre Blanco defends the belt against HOW Hall of Famer Michael Lee Best.  Benny, what do you think about that….

Benny grins.

Benny Newell: ….May the Best man win.

The powerful beats of Disturbed’s “Stronger on Your Own” fill the air. The crowd roars, their energy palpable as Brian Hollywood steps out on stage.

Joe Hoffman: And here we go…

Eyes closed, Hollywood breathes deeply and blocks out the noise and distractions around him as he mentally prepares for the match.

Bryan McVay is already in the ring.

Bryan McVay: Ladies and gentlemen.  Our opening match tonight will be one fall.  Introducing first, weighing in at two hundred and twenty-five pounds and wrestling out of Los Angeles, California. Please welcome two-time HOW World Champion!  BRIAN! HOLLYWOOD!

As Hollywood opens up his eyes, pyro shoots off in opposite corners of the stage as it makes its way to center stage. As the pyro hits the center, the camera zooms in to see the reflection in Hollywood’s eyes as he finally makes his way down the ramp, quickly taking off his vest and throwing it down with intensity.

Bryan McVay: And his opponent…

The whistling intro of “Engel” by Rammstein plays over the PA system, growing louder.  As the piercing whistle echoes through the arena, Xander Azula steps out on the stage.

Bryan McVay: Weighing in tonight at 230 pounds and hailing from Long Beach, California… XANNNNNNNN-DER.  A-ZUUUUUUUUU-LA!

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Xander Azula absorbs the boos, raising his arms as if demanding more.

Close-up shot of Xander Azula’s intense eyes.  The crowd’s boos intensify, but Xander remains unfazed, reveling in their animosity.   His snarl fades into a smirk as he taunts those jeering him during his journey to the ring, sliding in to get ready for the match at hand before leaning against the nearest turnbuckle.

Joe Hoffman: All right.  Joel Hortega will be the referee for our opening match.  Both men are trying to bounce back from a string of bad results.  Both Hollywood and Azula were eliminated at War Games in the four-way match won by El Hombre Blanco which earned him entry into the War Games match.  Last week, Azula fell to newcomer Scott McKlayn who in turn parlayed the win into a HOTv Title match next week on Chaos 34 while Hollywood was defeated by Charles de Lacy.  Which man will get a much-needed win tonight?

Hortega finishes the pre-match and calls for the bell.

**DING-DING**

Azula wastes no time and charges toward Hollywood.

Joe Hoffman: Azula rushes in and smashes Brian Hollywood against the turnbuckle pad.  Now Azula with right hands and Hollywood has to cover up.

Hortega comes over and tells Azula to step back.

Joe Hoffman: Snapmare takedown by Azula.  He rolls Hollywood up.

Hortega down to make the count.

UNO..,

DOS-

Joe Hoffman: No!  Hollywood kicks out!

Hollywood gets back to his feet. Azula looks furious. He stomps his feet and glares at Hollywood.

Joe Hoffman: Azula off to a quick start- Hollywood charges.

*SMACK*

Joe Hoffman: OH!  Hollywood connects and sends Azula to the mat.  Leg drop by Hollywood.  He pulls Azula up and whips him into the ropes.

*SMACK*

Joe Hoffman: Azula catches Hollywood with a spinning wheel kick!

Hollywood crashes to the mat.

Joe Hoffman: Azula covers.

UNO…

DOS-

Joe Hoffman: Again, Hollywood kicks out!

Hollywood is up to his feet and Azula is furious.

Joe Hoffman: Azula can’t believe Hollywood kicked out.

Xander stares at Hollywood and charges at him with a fury.

Joe Hoffman: Azula forward. Hollywood ducks the swing.  He drops down… drop toehold to Azula!

Azula lands face-first on the mat.

Joe Hoffman: Elbow drop by Hollywood.

Hollywood climbs to the top rope.

Joe Hoffman: Hollywood going high risk… and drops a second elbow on Azula.

Hollywood rolls Azula over and hooks the leg.

UNO…

DOS- 

Joe Hoffman: Azula gets the shoulder up.

Hollywood grinds Azula with a chin lock.

Joe Hoffman: Hollywood in control.  But Azula fights his way out. Body shots and elbows to Hollywood.

Hollywood knees Azula low.

Joe Hoffman: Hollywood sends Azula for a ride.

Azula ducks ‘n’ dodges and continues through to the opposite ropes.

Joe Hoffman: FLYING FOREARM BY AZULA!

Hollywood staggers up into a scoop and slam.

Joe Hoffman: Azula pulls Hollywood back up… NECKBREAKER.

Azula covers.

UNO…

DOS- 

Joe Hoffman: And again, Hollywood kicks out.

Hollywood gets back to his feet.

Joe Hoffman: Azula shoves Hollywood into the corner.

Azula runs in.  Hollywood ducks.

Joe Hoffman: Azula goes up and over.

Azula lands on the apron. Hollywood turns around.

Joe Hoffman: HOLLYWOOD CLOCKS AZULA!

Hollywood grabs Azula.

Joe Hoffman: Hollywood lifts… GERMAN SUPLEX BACK INTO THE RING!

Azula lands on his back on the mat.

Joe Hoffman: Hollywood now goes up top.

Hollywood takes off and hits a textbook Moonsault.

Joe Hoffman: MOONSAULT BY HOLLYWOOD… COVER!

UNO…

DOS…

Joe Hoffman: NO!  Azula kicks out in time!

Hollywood scrambles up to the top of the turnbuckles.

Joe Hoffman: Hollywood leaps again… CROSSBODY!  COVER!

UNO…

DOS…

TRE-

Joe Hoffman: NO!  SHOULDER UP!

Hollywood looks incredulously at Hortega.

Joe Hoffman: Azula got the shoulder up!

Azula crawls to a corner.

Joe Hoffman: Hollywood goes over to Azula.

Hollywood watches Azula and waits.

Joe Hoffman: Azula using the ropes to pull himself up.  Hollywood’s just measuring him.

Azula turns around.

Joe Hoffman: EXECUTIVE DECREE!

Hollywood launches the Claymore kick…

Joe Hoffman: AZULA DUCKS.

…and Hollywood’s foot connects with the ring post.

Joe Hoffman: HOLLYWOOD WENT FOR IT ALL!  AZULA DUCKED OUT AND HOLLYWOOD’S FOOT SLAMMED INTO THE RING POST!

Azula slides out of the corner.

Joe Hoffman: Brian Hollywood may have injured his foot on the ring post.

Hollywood limps to his feet.  Azula strikes.

Joe Hoffman: THE SNUB!

Hollywood staggers back into the corner.

Joe Hoffman: That bullhammer elbow strike knocked Hollywood for a loop and… FIST OF ERIS!

The spinning backfist connects flush on Hollywood’s jaw.

Joe Hoffman: HOLLYWOOD FALLS TO THE MAT.  AZULA COVERS…

UNO…

DOS…

TRES!

**DING-DING-DING**

Joe Hoffman: AZULA WINS!

Hortega raises Azula’s hand.

Bryan McVay: YOUR WINNER AT FIVE MINUTES AND FIFTY-THREE SECONDS… XANDER AZULA!

Joe Hoffman: Much needed win for Xander Azula here tonight.  Benny?  Anything to add?

Benny Newell: Nope.

Joe Hoffman: Okay then.  Xander Azula is your winner here.   The night has just begun and have more matches coming up right after this.

Action cuts elsewhere as we see a final shot of Azula with his arms raised victoriously.

We cut outside the storied Coliseo General Rumiñahui here in Ecuador, the fans outside the arena are buzzing, as the local rumour mill places this as the time and place to be if you want to get a free taco.

Professional wrestling is nothing if not predictable, as we can, as we did last week, hear the screeching of tyres, followed by a blast of some late eighties early nineties goodness. Last week, we were serenaded by the sweet voice of Kenny Loggins, and this week? Slash. I mean, it could have been Axl Rose, but the Welshman appears to have chosen the intro solo from You Could Be Mine to accompany his and the truck’s entrance to the evening.

As he did last week, upon pulling to a screeching halt, he appears, throwing the boards out from inside the truck, a healthy cloud of cannabis smoke flooding out as he does so.

The menu?

The same as last week. Single King Crab Tacos for all. One per person. Townsend’s Taco Truck is not responsible for what happens if you have Trent’s Curry Sauce of Death on your taco.

And, shortly after causing what appears to be, frankly, an oversized cloud of smoke to come billowing out from the truck, the Hall of Famer is ready to serve tacos, apron tightly fastened. Only it takes a moment for the madness to calm down because, well…this ain’t no crowd of half baked stoners. Once it does, the tacos leave the man’s hands with machine like precision, one after the other. Without even looking up, he starts talking.

Rhys Townsend: Well…last week went alright, no? Walked out there, did exactly what I said I was gonna do – put the grind in – and got my arm raised at the end of the night. Left alone by the Alliance, got a nice little moment for myself…and maybe you reckon, sweet. Maybe that’s enough to appease that asshole. Give him a little pat on the head, a little golf clap, get him to move along nice back to the retirement home, right?

He snorts, still serving the tacos at the exact same rate.

Rhys Townsend: Except, see, all it did was give me a taste for more. Made me want to live up the shit I was talking about putting the grind in. Because literally everything else I say – anything about a sixth World Championship, about taking the Alliance down – means absolutely fuck all if I don’t show up every time and fucking grind. Wins and losses, they don’t matter – but putting that grind in? That does. So now we find ourselves here in Ecuador tonight…

Yup. He went there. Naturally, the crowd in the arena pops, the crowd outside pops, and Townsend seems to enjoy being a cheesy asshole for just a minute.

Rhys Townsend: And I could keep talking the same shit…

And right about this point, the Welshman trails off, as the customer in front of the truck right now is significantly larger than your average patron of such an establishment. If you want to be horrifically obvious about it, the man is the muscular tattooed Texan we all know as Scott Stevens. Townsend gestures towards the taco and the various fillings, speaking into the tense gap that just suddenly appeared.

Rhys Townsend: Taco?

Towsend asks his opponent for later tonight.

Scott Stevens: Sure. Why not?

Scott replies as Townsend hands him the taco and the Texan takes a massive bite out of it and nods his approval.

Scott Stevens: Those things have some kick to them.

The Texan replies, noticing the spices of the delicious meal.

Rhys Townsend: Like I’ve been saying…I’m here to play the greatest hits. So what is it dude? You just swinging by to shoot the shit before our match later? Or are you here to be the first one to have a dig at me calling out everyone for being weak willed motherfuckers who have adopted a whole “no, after you…” mindset? Cause look, dude, you’ve done some shit that’d make people quit. Yet you’ve hung around long enough to get World Championships and a Hall of Fame to your name…so what is it, dude? You gonna walk out there tonight and give me the contest I’ve been begging for since I walked back through that door, or are you just gonna slap my back and tell me how awesome it is that Rhys Townsend, like, actual Rhys Townsend seems to be back?

There’s a challenging look on the Welshman’s face as he monologues at his opponent for later tonight as Stevens casually takes another bite of his taco.

Scott Stevens: Shit dude, I was just coming to shoot the shit and enjoy some of the food, but since you want to poke the bear so to speak.

Stevens replies putting down his food.

Scott Stevens: I’m glad you’re back and you want to play your greatest hits as it were, but you have forgotten who you’re talking to. I’m going to make you earn a victory here tonight. I’m the one that is going to give you the challenge you have been craving because let’s be honest, the dickheads in the letterman jackets don’t want none of this.

Stevens informs Townsend as his motions between the two of them with his index finger. Townsend smiles right before he starts speaking

Rhys Townsend: Yeah, Stevens, I’m fully aware of who I’m talking to. I haven’t forgotten. We both know I could stand here for, literally, the next twenty minutes and I still probably won’t get near being done going through all of the stupid, inane shit you’ve been put through here in High Octane Wrestling. So it feels like an entirely valid thing to be asking…y’know? But you’re saying to me that you’re up for it. You want a fight. Cool. That’s exactly what I want to hear.

The Welshman turns away from the seasoned Texan, going back to preparing tacos with machine like precision.

Rhys Townsend: We’re both here for the same reasons at the end of the day, right? We both love professional wrestling…and anyone who knows shit about our industry is aware of your family history in the sport. So it makes tonight real simple for me – I don’t want nice Stevens, I want Stevens the competitor – so we can go out there and pay tribute to everything we love about this sport. So…see you out there?

The Welshman stops preparing the taco and leans forward, out the window, offering up his fist for the obligatory fist bump. Stevens looks at the fist and gives it a bump before exiting as we fade to a different part of the arena.

Outside the storied Coliseo General Rumiñahui here in Ecuador, the fans outside the arena are buzzing, as the local rumour mill places this as the time and place to be if you want to get a free taco.

Professional wrestling is nothing if not predictable, as we can, as we did last week, hear the screeching of tyres, followed by a blast of some late eighties early nineties goodness. Last week, we were serenaded by the sweet voice of Kenny Loggins, and this week? Slash. I mean, it could have been Axl Rose, but the Welshman appears to have chosen the intro solo from You Could Be Mine to accompany his and the truck’s entrance to the evening.

As he did last week, upon pulling to a screeching halt, he appears, throwing the boards out from inside the truck, a healthy cloud of cannabis smoke flooding out as he does so.

The menu?

The same as last week. Single King Crab Tacos for all. One per person. Townsend’s Taco Truck is not responsible for what happens if you have Trent’s Curry Sauce of Death on your taco.

And, shortly after causing what appears to be, frankly, an oversized cloud of smoke to come billowing out from the truck, the Hall of Famer is ready to serve tacos, apron tightly fastened. Only it takes a moment for the madness to calm down because, well…this ain’t no crowd of half baked stoners. Once it does, the tacos leave the man’s hands with machine like precision, one after the other. Without even looking up, he starts talking.

Rhys Townsend: Well…last week went alright, no? Walked out there, did exactly what I said I was gonna do – put the grind in – and got my arm raised at the end of the night. Left alone by the Alliance, got a nice little moment for myself…and maybe you reckon, sweet. Maybe that’s enough to appease that asshole. Give him a little pat on the head, a little golf clap, get him to move along nice back to the retirement home, right?

He snorts, still serving the tacos at the exact same rate.

Rhys Townsend: Except, see, all it did was give me a taste for more. Made me want to live up the shit I was talking about putting the grind in. Because literally everything else I say – anything about a sixth World Championship, about taking the Alliance down – means absolutely fuck all if I don’t show up every time and fucking grind. Wins and losses, they don’t matter – but putting that grind in? That does. So now we find ourselves here in Ecuador tonight…

Yup. He went there. Naturally, the crowd in the arena pops, the crowd outside pops, and Townsend seems to enjoy being a cheesy asshole for just a minute.

Rhys Townsend: And I could keep talking the same shit…

And right about this point, the Welshman trails off, as the customer in front of the truck right now is significantly larger than your average patron of such an establishment. If you want to be horrifically obvious about it, the man is the muscular tattooed Texan we all know as Scott Stevens. Townsend gestures towards the taco and the various fillings, speaking into the tense gap that just suddenly appeared.

Rhys Townsend: Taco?

Towsend asks his opponent for later tonight.

Scott Stevens: Sure. Why not?

Scott replies as Townsend hands him the taco and the Texan takes a massive bite out of it and nods his approval.

Scott Stevens: Those things have some kick to them.

The Texan replies, noticing the spices of the delicious meal.

Rhys Townsend: Like I’ve been saying…I’m here to play the greatest hits. So what is it dude? You just swinging by to shoot the shit before our match later? Or are you here to be the first one to have a dig at me calling out everyone for being weak willed motherfuckers who have adopted a whole “no, after you…” mindset? Cause look, dude, you’ve done some shit that’d make people quit. Yet you’ve hung around long enough to get World Championships and a Hall of Fame to your name…so what is it, dude? You gonna walk out there tonight and give me the contest I’ve been begging for since I walked back through that door, or are you just gonna slap my back and tell me how awesome it is that Rhys Townsend, like, actual Rhys Townsend seems to be back?

There’s a challenging look on the Welshman’s face as he monologues at his opponent for later tonight as Stevens casually takes another bite of his taco.

Scott Stevens: Shit dude, I was just coming to shoot the shit and enjoy some of the food, but since you want to poke the bear so to speak.

Stevens replies putting down his food.

Scott Stevens: I’m glad you’re back and you want to play your greatest hits as it were, but you have forgotten who you’re talking to. I’m going to make you earn a victory here tonight. I’m the one that is going to give you the challenge you have been craving because let’s be honest, the dickheads in the letterman jackets don’t want none of this.

Stevens informs Townsend as his motions between the two of them with his index finger. Townsend smiles right before he starts speaking

Rhys Townsend: Yeah, Stevens, I’m fully aware of who I’m talking to. I haven’t forgotten. We both know I could stand here for, literally, the next twenty minutes and I still probably won’t get near being done going through all of the stupid, inane shit you’ve been put through here in High Octane Wrestling. So it feels like an entirely valid thing to be asking…y’know? But you’re saying to me that you’re up for it. You want a fight. Cool. That’s exactly what I want to hear.

The Welshman turns away from the seasoned Texan, going back to preparing tacos with machine like precision.

Rhys Townsend: We’re both here for the same reasons at the end of the day, right? We both love professional wrestling…and anyone who knows shit about our industry is aware of your family history in the sport. So it makes tonight real simple for me – I don’t want nice Stevens, I want Stevens the competitor – so we can go out there and pay tribute to everything we love about this sport. So…see you out there?

The Welshman stops preparing the taco and leans forward, out the window, offering up his fist for the obligatory fist bump. Stevens looks at the fist and gives it a bump before exiting as we fade to a different part of the arena.

The camera cuts backstage where we see a familiar woman walking. We see the caramel complexion and familiar face of the only female in the Hall of Fame but which side is it? The flowing long black hair, The short red dress with a plunging neckline and her feet covered black red bottom heels, let us know it is none other than Nettie. Nettie walks with a determined look on her face. She struts through backstage of the arena till she reaches her destination. She walks to a door with a name plate “Conor Fuse.” Nettie knocks loudly on the door then looks over her shoulder to make sure no one is following her. Nettie taps her foot impatiently then knocks again, she sighs with frustration and opens the door stepping in with her back turned. She clears her throat.

Nettie: Hey there buddy.

She clears her throat again to sound more like Bobbinette. She takes a deep breath before talking.

Nettie: I just wanted to let you know that, had I actually made it into War Games I was going to help you.

Her voice almost sounds sincere.

Nettie: But somebody prevented me from even getting in the match. I saw how much you were struggling.

She’s pouring it on thick.

Nettie: With that being said, I think moving forward… what we need to do is make sure that we’re teamed again.

She doesn’t hear anything as she continues.

Nettie: Because that person prevented me from helping you and cost you your chance at War Games! So, really it is Shane Reynolds’ fault. But I wanted to let you know how proud I am of you and how amazing you were that night.

She nods sounding like a proud parent.

Nettie: Sure I had to rewatch.. you know because I wasn’t conscious for most of it…

A slight tone slips from Nettie but she clears her throat and continues on as there’s no response.

Nettie: But you, you are an amazing person, you don’t let this stop you. I’m just sorry I couldn’t be there to help you…

She appears to be sobbing as she wipe away a tear before sniffling. There are no tears nor is her eyes watering.

Nettie: If only Shane Reynolds would not have interfered I would have been able to help you and you would have walked out of War Games as the champ. I think I know where our energy needs to be focused now. What do you say friend?

She turns around with her arms open for a hug to see the room empty.

Nettie: Conor?

She looks around the room before grabbing her phone and looking at the card.

Nettie: Damn it… he isn’t even booked tonight!

She stomps her foot down onto the floor.

Nettie: The one time that little shit would come in handy and he decides not to show up. Now I have to find someone else to protect me…

She pauses and corrects herself.

Nettie: …support me in my efforts to defeat Shane Reynolds. There has to be someone here worth the time and effort.

She grumbles and walks out of the locker room. She tucks her phone in her pocket seeing a locker room door with the name “Jace Parker Davidson.” She stops and stares at it for a moment before shaking her head.

Nettie: I am not that desperate….

Nettie flips her hair over her shoulder and heads back to her own locker room as the feed cuts out and we head to our first commercial break of the evening.

The show returns from commercial to the backstage interview area where Brian Bare is waiting to introduce his latest guest.

Brian Bare: Welcome back. Tonight, ladies and gentlemen, I have a very special interview with the man who shocked the world last week when it was revealed he wasn’t actually dead after all, but he was just pretending to make a fool out of everyone, Evan Ward.

The camera pulls pans out to reveal the very much alive Evan Ward sat in his tankchair. He is facing Brian but his eyes most certainly are not focussed on the interviewer. He just sits there unmoving.

Brian Bare: Evan, first of all welcome back, I’m sure many are relieved that you’re alive and well, but it was a rather sick joke to pretend to be dead like that. How did it feel spending the whole show lying still in that coffin while the roster and crew paid their respects to you?

Evan Ward: …

Brian Bare: It’s a simple question, Evan, what was going through your head while you laid there?

Evan Ward: …

Evan just stares off into the distance, entirely unresponsive to the questions. He doesn’t move a muscle, twitch his face or even blink. Brian leans in and waves a hand in front of Evan’s face.

Brian Bare: Hello? Anyone home?

Bare moves his head closer, practically nose to nose with the wrestler. The camera draws in closer on the impromptu staring contest between the two when…

“BOO!!!”

Brian Bare: HOLY FUCKING BARBARA STREISAND!!!

The interviewer practically jumps out of his skin. The camera pulls back again to reveal the

seven foot giant, Trent, bent down after shouting directly into Brian Bare’s ear. He stood upright, pointing and laughing at the poor, scared little man.

Trent: Hahaha, I fucking got you! You fucking thought that was fucking Evan, dincha?

Brian heaves a deep breath to calm his nerves.

Brian Bare: Trent, this is a bit, right? He’s just going to get up and be all annoying isn’t he?

Trent: Fuck you, Bare, this is a fucking serious condition. This fucking dude’s a fucking survivor, the amount of shit he bloody went through is a fucking inspiration. You can take that fucking ablist bullshit and stick it if you’re gonna fucking question the fucking validity of this poor cunt’s condition. I mean just fucking look at him.

Trent “gently” (not gently) backhands Evan’s cheek. There is no reaction at all, apart from his head tilting and turning with the force of the hit. He didn’t even blink. Trent repositions Ward’s head so he is almost looking in the right direction again.

Trent: See?! Can’t fucking fake that, dude.

Brian Bare: Then how the hell am I meant to interview him?!

Brian is visibly frustrated.

Trent: Oh, right. I fucking forgot.

Trent walks over to the screen on the wall and whacks it. Evan’s grinning face appears on it. The video was obviously pre-recorded in the same Mexican office as the videos shown at Evan’s “funeral” last week.

Trent: There we fucking go. Ask your fucking questions and Video Ward will fucking answer them.

Brian Bare: Right… Ok… Evan, nice to have you here, back in the land of the living.

Video Ward: Hello to you too, hot lips. You’re looking as skanky as ever in that whorish black dress.

Brian Bare looks offended while Trent looks confused. He pulls the cardboard sleeve of a VHS tape out of his cavernous pocket.

Trent: Oooooh fuck, sorry dude, I got the fucking “Interview With Blair” tape. Totally thought it fucking said “Interview With Bare.” My fucking bad, man.

Bare frowns but carries on like a professional, even though we all know he isn’t one.

Brian Bare: Evan, why did you pretend to be dead?

Video Ward: What a stupid question, Blair. Do you really think I’m going to answer that?

Brian Bare: Well, I was only ask-

Video Ward: Let me stop you there. Don’t worry your pretty little tits about how I felt when my brain went pop. Instead I’ll tell you why I pretended to be dead.

Brian Bare: But that’s what I asked you!

Video Ward: I did it, or rather I will do it, because it’s a bloody laugh, right? I mean, you’d do it too, right?

Brian Bare: Well, it did happen that one time in Vegas…

Video Ward: Don’t try to deny it, Blair! No one’s falling for this good-girl front. Next question.

The video of Evan shows him folding his arms in a huff.

Brian Bare: Last week you declared that, regardless of your physical condition, you would still be partaking in in-ring competition. How will that even work? An opponent could just push you out of that wheelchair and pin you with their little finger!

Video Ward: Yes. Blair, I was very disappointed that, I assume, whoever killed me didn’t turn up at my funeral.

Brian Bare: That’s not the question I-

The video of Evan Ward doesn’t take any notice of Bare’s interruptions because it’s a pre-recorded video and despite the interviewer’s own high opinion of himself, he is superfluous to this segment. Literally just set dressing.

Video Ward: After what they did to me the least they could have done was show up and eat the lasagna… There was lasagna, right?

Trent shakes his head.

Trent: Nah, dude, fuck that shit, I ordered in the fucking casserole instead.

Video Ward: That one-eyed shithead better not be going on about the casserole again. What kind of brain damaged idiot the hell gets excited about Casserole, seriously!

Brian Bare: Have you had any contact with your family since the events at War Games? Are they aware of your condition?

To his credit, Brian Bare is trying his best to keep this ridiculous interview on track, but is failing to grasp the rather key concept that he’s talking to a video which was made for an interview with Blair Moise and answering questions which Evan had guessed would be asked almost a month ago.

Video Ward: How very dare you, Ms Moise! You don’t go up to a paralympian and question their capability in taking part in a marathon! You don’t go to a wheelchair basketball team and ask them how they’ll play when they can’t jump for a slam dunk! No, you support them and buy their merchandise (Tankchair Ward action figures coming soon, T-Shirts available at the kiosk) and watch them succeed in spite of their conditions. We are not disabled, Blair, we are differently abled. I can wrestle, oh most definitely, and next week I will prove it. As long as I have my manager in my corner-

Trent: Heyo!

The big man waves.

Video Ward: To spur me on then there’s no bloody way I’ll lose against anyone!

Brian Bare raises an eyebrow at this statement.

Brian Bare: Did you just announce that you’re going to have Trent interfere in your matches for you?

Trent: Fuck off, ya fucking crackhead motherfucker. I’d never fucking interfere in Evan’s fucking matches. I’m shocked, fucking shocked at the accusation! Such shitty slander. I won’t fucking hear of it!

Brian Bare: Trent, you’re the worst liar in the world, even worse than me. Anyway, Evan, after your injury at War Games it was revealed that your long time teammate and friend Rhys Townsend had returned. Rumour has it you haven’t spoken to him in quite some time, so how do you feel now he’s back in the HOW ring? Does it… does…

Bare is suddenly very distracted by the screen.

Brian Bare: Are you…

He stops himself asking the video and turns to Trent.

Brian Bare: Is he trying to catch something?

Trent: Fucking well looks like it.

Indeed, the Evan Ward in the video seems to have gotten distracted and could be seen swatting at something buzzing around his head. He stands up and tries to hit the mosquito with a Third Generation Award Winning Knee towards the back of the shot. Bare throws his arms up in despair.

Brian Bare: Fuck this. I’m out. I can’t be dealing with this bullshit.

Brian walks out of shot, grumping to himself as he goes. Trent folds his arms.

Trent: How fucking rude. What a shit eating twat of a fucking pisshole.

Trent looks at the camera as Video Evan climbs up a massive ornamental bookshelf full of really old looking law books.

Trent: Well, I fucking guess that’s the whole fucking interview over with, ain’t it? Fuck’s sake. How the fuck can we do an interview without a bloody interview, can we? Back to you fucksticks at ringside then.

The show cuts away to ringside just as the bookshelf comes away from the wall and Video Evan was about to crash into the ground, presumably with the bookshelf on top of him, so we do not get to see the impact of it.

The show returns to ringside to once again find Joe Hoffman looking perplexed by Evan Ward’s antics and Benny Newell amused by them.

Benny Newell: That was the best interview I’ve ever seen!

Joe Hoffman: What on earth even was that, Benny? I don’t blame Brian Bare for walking off, that whole thing was such a joke!

Benny Newell: And a fucking funny one at that! Can you believe he’s still such a douchebag even when he’s in a coma? I can’t wait to see him in the ring!

Joe Hoffman: He’s catatonic, not in a coma. And I can’t condone any of this, it’s tantamount to cruelty to put him in the ring in this state.

Benny Newell: You’re such a bigot, Joe. Just because he’s stuck in a wheelchair doesn’t mean he can’t wrestle.

Joe Hoffman: He can’t even blink, let alone throw a punch! Anyway, we need to move on because next up we have Scott Stevens taking on Rhys Townsend. Hot off his dominant win over Zach Kostoff last week, it will be interesting to see how Townsend fairs over a fellow Hall of Famer.

Benny Newell: Joe, this is another case of win-win for us all. Whoever gets the shit beat out of them it’s a win for us, if they both kill each other then its a double win!

The arena lights and screens turn off as the klaxon sounds, filling the air with it’s abrasiveness. The sound of boots stomping starts quietly, and slowly builds into it’s clear crescendo as Corey Taylor’s monologue begins

“This is the year where hope fails you.

The test subjects run the experiments,

And the bastards you know,

Is the hero you hate.

But cohesion is possible if we strive.

There’s no reason,

There’s no lesson,

No time like the present.

Tell me right now,

What have you got to lose?

What have you got to lose,

Except your soul?

Who’s with us!”

Immediately after this, the klaxon and boots fade out, and the aural assault begins, the drums booming through the sound system with military precision, the riffs stuttering over the top like machine guns. The music quickly drops into a brief fill, accentuated by a big fuck off pyrotechnic explosion right in the centre of the stage. It’s around this time that the screen sparks back into life, showing a fairly simple, barebones video of Townsend hitting some cool moves and looking generally cool. Like professional wrestler entrance videos generally do.

The man himself appears after the explosion, towel wrapped around his neck. There’s no real pizzazz to his entrance, it’s why he put a big fuck off explosion in it.

Bryan McVay: The following match is scheduled for one fall with a 15 minute time limit, introducing first, hailing from Llanelli, Wales, he weighs in at 273lbs, RRRHHYYYYYSSSSS TOOOOOOOWWWNNNNSSSSEEENNNDDD!

He walks from ramp to ring, not stopping, not acknowledging anyone, carrying the face of someone totally focused. There’s no wasted movement as he walks up the steps, wiping his feet on the apron before climbing into the ring, discarding the towel he’d been wearing around his neck to one of the ring attendants, ready to do some wrestling.

The lights in the arena go black as the sound of bells are heard throughout the arena as the High Octane Vision comes to life as images begin to appear.

Shattered murals.

An abandoned church falling apart.

A field of tombstones.

The Book of Best with the Cross of Best driven through it with blood pouring down it.

The blood pours down into it forms the words…..

THE….DEMI….GOD….OF….H….O….W

The crowd knows who is about to walk out and they are letting him know it by cheering and chanting a chant not heard outside of Quito:

“WE LOVE YOU, STEVENS!” Clap x5

Benny Newell: What the fuck, Joe? Why are these mooks cheering for Stevens? Also since when do we have a 15 minute time limit?

Joe Hoffman: His family has a lot of history competing in the area, Benny, they love him down here….also…I can only assume that Lee is being Tom Petty again and not wanting Townsend to be on the screen that long considering the attack at War Games?

The wait is finally over as a spotlight shines towards the top of the entrance ramp as “O Fortuna Excalibur Remix” by Apotheosis begins as Scott Stevens appears from behind the curtain wearing a black duster trench coat, a black Stetson hat, and his trademark 97 Red colored circular sunglasses.

Bryan McVay: Introducing! From The Great State of Texas, weighing in at 256 pounds….he is the “Demi-God of HOW!” SCOTT! STEEEEEEEVEEEEEEEENS!

Stevens’ 97 Red circular sunglasses glisten in the light and his usual devilish grin is replaced by an emotionless stare before pointing towards his opponent before he begins to slowly walk toward the ring. Once he reaches the nearest set of ring steps he climbs up and wipes is feet on the apron before proceeding inside the ring. Once inside, The Demi-God takes off coat and tosses it to the outside. He begins to slowly take off his Stetson before taking off his sunglasses to reveal a red eye as he places the glasses in the hat as he steps up face to face with Townsend.

Joe Hoffman: These two have quite a storied history. Stevens was in Ground Zero at one point and the last time they met in singles action it was Stevens who came out the dominant victor at Iconic 2015.

Benny Newell: Oh yeah, that Lonesome Loser utterly demolished Townsend. Those were good times.

Joe Hoffman: Good times? You bet a lot of money on Townsend to win that night and we’re furious he lost.

Benny Newell: Fuck you, Joe. Fuck. You.

Matt Boettcher calls for the bell to get the match under way but the two wrestlers just stare at each other, almost nose to nose. Scott starts to trash talk Rhys, who trash talks back, but the cameras don’t pick up what they’re saying. Rhys steps back and slaps his chest, goading Stevens to give him a chop. Stevens is sceptical but shrugs and throws a stiff chop to Townsend’s chest. Rhys takes it with barely a flinch and Stevens offers his chest in return and the 5 time World Champion obliges with an equally stiff chop of his own. Stevens grimaces slightly but laughs it off and throws another, to which Townsend immediately responds, sparking an intense chop contest between the two of them, as soon as one hits the other hits back.

Joe Hoffman: They are lighting up each other’s chests with these chops, neither is letting the other get the better of them.

Benny Newell: Yeah but it’s gonna sting in the morning for sure!

Townsend begins to get the advantage in the chop contest but Stevens throws a knee to Rhys’ gut and levels him with a DDT. The crowd cheer at their local favourite wrestler gaining the advantage while Stevens stomps on Townsend a bit before picking him up and throwing him into the corner where he does some mudhole stomping. Rhys slumps on the floor against the turnbuckles. Stevens gets a run up and aims a knee squarely at Townsend’s face, but Townsend rolls out the way and Stevens gets his leg hung up on the ropes. Townsend throws a series of elbows to Stevens’ jaw before he can get his leg out the ropes, then grabs Stevens’ arms behind his back and throws him overhead with a tiger suplex. The Texan slams a fist on the ground in frustration from missing the knee. Townsend shrugs and seems to beckon Stevens on with a taunt about the suplex.

Joe Hoffman: Looks like Townsend is confident in his suplex skills against Stevens.

Benny Newell: Look, I know Townsend is known for his suplexes, but he knows, what, 7 or 8? Stevens knows ALL variations of suplexes and can hit them from any position!

Stevens rushes at Townsend and ducks under his grab to hit a northern lights suplex. Stevens shrugs this time and Townsend gestures to say it was a bit meh. Stevens frowns and the two lock up, jockeying for position, Townsend throws Stevens’ arm over his shoulder and hits a huge exploder suplex. Stevens gets up and nods approval of an acceptable suplex. They lock up again, Townsend nips behind for a rear waist lock, but Stevens breaks the hold and twists Townsend’s arm, spinning them both around and hitting full nelson suplex, bridging for the pin.

One!

Two!

Kickout! The crowd cheer at the superb technical exchange and Townsend nods his approval to Steven’s suplex.

Joe Hoffman: First a chop battle and now a suplex battle. These two are really going all at it to see who is the superior wrestler.

Benny Newell: We all know they answer, neither! They’re both shit. STRONK! could wipe his ass with these two shit rags!

The two wrestlers lock again, pushing back and forth, Stevens uses his height advantage to get leverage over Townsend, pushing the heavier wrestler back into the ropes and whipping him off them. Reversal! Townsend uses his weight advantage to swing Stevens across the ring instead. Stevens ducks a clothesline attempt from Townsend on the rebound and bounces off the opposite ropes, aiming a leaping knee at Townsend’s face, but somehow Rhys manages to catch it in a variation of a dragon screw! Stevens hits the mat and Townsend wrenches on Steven’s leg!

Joe Hoffman: SINGLE LEG BOSTON CRAB OF DOOM! Townsend is going for the win already!

Benny Newell: Boooorrrriiiinnngggg.

Boettcher checks on Stevens who is showing a great amount of pain but refuses to give in. He drags himself to the ropes and manages to grab hold of them with both hands. Boettcher counts to 3 before Townsend gets up, lifts Stevens up by the foot and slams his knee into the canvas.

Joe Hoffman: Townsend putting the punctuation point on that crab there. Stevens escaped the hold but how damaged is that knee?

Benny Newell: Hopefully very, but not enough that he can’t break Townsend’s face with it.

Stevens gets to his feet, slightly tender on his leg, Townsend pushes past the ref to get back on the attack. He throws an elbow to Stevens face and hits a snap suplex. As Stevens gets to his feet Townsend throws a massive lariat at him but Stevens counters!

Joe Hoffman: Total submission to the demigod of HOW!

Benny Newell: I still say that’s a dumb name for a move.

Townsend hits the mat hard from the armbreaker and Stevens transitions into a crossface. Townsend is in a lot of pain as Stevens wrenches back on his head. Boettcher asks if he wants to submit but Townsend refuses. He eventually manages to get his feet under him, fighting through the pain and rolls Stevens over into a pin!

One!

Two!

Th-Kickout! Stevens rolls back over into the crossface! Townsend grunts in pain as Scott pulls back as hard as he can. With a final push Townsend closes the distance to the ropes and reaches out with his free hand to grab the bottom rope. The ref counts up to 4 before Stevens lets go and drops a knee to the back of Townsend’s head.

Joe Hoffman: Stevens taking a leaf out of his opponent’s playbook there. He’s going after Townsend’s neck in the same way Townsend went after Stevens’ leg.

Benny Newell: Urgh, I hope this doesn’t turn into a full on boring submission match. They need to drop each other on their heads.

Townsend pulls himself up to his feet rubbing his neck and shoulder while Stevens stretches his leg and tries to get some life back into it. They both step up to each other and start exchanging strikes, Townsend ducks a lariat and grabs a rear waist lock. Stevens throws a back elbow to Townsend’s head, then another but Townsend ducks a third, setting up for another exploder suplex. Stevens hooks a leg to block it then lifts Townsend up vertical but his leg gives slightly, allowing Townsend to slip down behind him and hit a leg sweep, smoothly locking in another crab!

Benny Newell: Fucking hell, not another one!

Joe Hoffman: Townsend is going for the kill with the second Single Leg Boston Crab Of Doom of the match!

Townsend doesn’t quite have the hold locked in as tight as the first time, his arm and neck are clearly causing him issues. He pulls hard but Stevens struggles and eventually is able to twist himself around onto his back and kicks Townsend in the face. Townsend stumbles back into the ropes as Stevens gets to his feet. Townsend decides it’s lariat time and…

Joe Hoffman: REMEMBER THE ALAMO!

Benny Newell: The fucker nearly kicked Townsend’s jaw clean off!

The force of the superkick has caused further damage to Stevens’ leg but even more to Townsend’s face. Townsend looks to be out cold while Stevens rolls on the mat clutching his knee. Boettcher begins a 10 count.

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

Stevens crawls over to the ropes.

FOUR!

Stevens pulls himself up to sitting but Townsend is still unmoving.

FIVE!

Stevens is up to his feet but in a lot of pain, leaning against the ropes to keep the weight off his leg.

SIX!

Townsend begins to stir.

SEVEN!

Townsend rolls onto his front.

EIGHT!

Townsend is on all fours.

NINE!

TEN!

NO! Townsend pushes to his feet at the last moment.

Joe Hoffman: They’re back to their feet!

Benny Newell: God dammit I was hoping that was the end!

The two wrestlers stumble to the middle of the ring and start slugging away at each other with punches and elbows and forearms and chops, desperately aware of how the clock was running down while the fans go wild for both wrestlers. Townsend takes a kick to the gut and Stevens lifts him into a fireman’s carry.

Joe Hoffman: HOUSTON WE HAVE A PROBLE-NO!

Townsend slips off behind Stevens and lifts him up for a backdrop driver! But Stevens flips off the backwards, landing on his feet and shoves Townsend into the ropes. Townsend rebounds and hits a lariat but Stevens bounces straight up and throws The Fist but Townsend dodges. He goes to grab the Texan but Stevens counters.

Joe Hoffman: TOXIC STING!

Joe Hoffman: NO! TOWNSEND SHOVES HIM OFF!

Stevens is shoved hard into the ropes and stumbles back straight into…

Benny Newell: DAS SUPLEXEN!!!

Joe Hoffman: Stevens blocks it!

Stevens loosens the hold and turns, hooking up for a suplex but Townsend drops to a knee, grabs hold of Stevens’ ankles and uses all the strength in all his leg muscles to stand up and leap in one smooth motion…

Joe Hoffman: HASHTAG PREDICTABLE!

Benny Newell: Urgh… so fucking predictable.

Stevens is flat out in the middle of the ring, Townsend is feeling the pain in his neck from the impact but he manages to get up and over to Stevens…

Joe Hoffman: SINGLE LEG BOSTON CRAB OF DOOOOOOOOOOOM!!!

Benny Newell: A third one?! Why isn’t that idiot just pinning him?!

Townsend has the hold locked in tight, sitting right down on Steven’s lower back as he pulls as hard as he can on the leg. Stevens is in the middle of the ring, nowhere near the ropes and too banged up to move Townsend’s enormous weight towards them. He scrambles in pain, Boettcher asks if he wants to submit but Stevens refuses. He clutches his head with both hands desperately trying to stop himself from tapping.

… Boettcher asks again but Stevens tells him to fuck off.

… Stevens’ tries to roll over like he did before…

… Townsend leans back further, pulling harder, lowering his centre of gravity onto Stevens’ back…

… Stevens’ hand hovers in the air, shaking…

DING DING DING!

Stevens taps and Boettcher calls for the bell. Townsend lets go of Stevens’ leg as “Pulse of the Maggots” hits the speakers again.

Bryan McVay: Here is your winner, in a time of 14 minutes and 41 seconds, RRRHHHYYYSSSSSSS TOOOOOOOOWWWWWNNNNSSSEEEENNNNDDD!

Most of the crowd cheer as Townsend has his hand raised by the ref, while a contingent boo as they were hoping for Stevens to win.

Joe Hoffman: Stevens held out as long as he could but in the end the pain to that injured leg was just too much.

Benny Newell: What a fucking idiot, why’d he tap?! He just needed to hold on for 20 more seconds!

Joe Hoffman: 20 seconds is an eternity when you’re in a submission hold, Benny.

Inside the ring Stevens could be seen getting to his feet with the help of the ropes. He glares at Townsend as he limps towards him, the music cuts out and the fans go silent as they get face to face, staring down each other. The tension could be cut with a knife (purchasable from Knife City) when suddenly Stevens offers out a hand. Townsend looks at it for a moment before taking hold of it and shaking it. Stevens raises Townsend’s hand in victory as Slipknot hits once again and the crowd cheer unanimously.

Benny Newell: What sort of soft pussy ass shit is this nonsense?! We want to see them kill each other!

Joe Hoffman: It seems Stevens is magnanimous in defeat, Benny. What an amazing match that was!

The show leaves the two wrestlers to celebrate in the ring as we cut away somewhere backstage.

The view cuts to the back where we see Blaire Moise standing, on one side of her is Scott McKlayn and the other is Alexandria Reynolds the manager of both Scott and her brother Raziel who is noticeably absent. Blaire smiles at the camera before speaking, looking in the direction of Scott as she does so.

Moise: Scott you burst on the scene last week pick…

Before she can finish Alexandria clears her throat interrupting her, this causes Blaire to look in her direction where Alexandria speaks.

Alexandria: Please direct all questions to me, I am the one with the answers here.

Moise glances at Scott who just nods in agreement before turning towards Alexandria.

Moise: Well Miss Reynolds both your cli..,

Alexandria: Please, don’t waste your breath we are not live yet.

Moise points to the camera speaking again.

Moise: We are live right now to just to the fans in attendance but the…

Alexandria: No one cares about that, I am talking about real views.

She pulls out her phone and holds it up as she faces it towards the trio she sighs and speaks again.

Alexandria: Blanche honey your in my shot..

Moise: It’s Blare..

Alexandria: Of course it is, anyway Blake switch spots with me we don’t need your face in the shot at all.

Before Blair can say much Alexandria moves closer to Scott pushing Blare to the side of the frame she then raises her Phone pressing the button and going live on social media.

Alexandria: Hello out there in Reynolds world! I am here with our good friend Scott live in the backstage of some run down arena at a live HOW show! As you can see..

Moise interrupts now.

Moise: This is supposed to be an interview I..

Alexandria: Honey, your not needed you can go..

She pauses as Moise is shocked.

Alexandria: Shoo now, I am live your ruining my stream.

She motions for her to leave and Blare tosses her hands up and does so as Alexandria returns her attention to her phone.

Alexandria: Anyway as you can see my brother is not here tonight. For some reason the genius behind this promotion didn’t realize booking him and Scotty here was pure money and there is no reason he would show up in this rat infested town without a match. Still Scott was kind enough to come with me and protect me from all the Spam Sucking trailer trash that dwells in Ecuador. However as you all known this man here..

She points to Scott who has stood with his arms crossed and completely silent for the duration of their interview. He simply nods as she acknowledges him.

Alexandria: is going to Chaos next week and capturing gold for our team, just his second match ever and I can promise he is bringing the HOTv title to our little enterprise. Meanwhile despite HOW putting my brother in a no win situation where he would either have to lose his first match or get canceled online for beating a middle aged fat woman, he is still eager to show the world his vast talent and is issuing an open challenge to ANYONE who thinks they can hang with him in the ring. Anyway this rude man behind the camera seems to be rushing me, so Lexie is out! Remember #ReynoldsWreckum, #GoldenScotty, #Lex….

Before she finishes the camera cuts and we head to our next commercial break of the evening.

Back live and the scene cuts backstage to the private dressing room of HOTv Champion, Steve Solex. The camera pans through the exquisitely decorated and furnished room. Solex is seated casually in a black, leather chair with a glass of whiskey – poured neat – in his right hand. Dressed in jeans and a tight fitting black t-shirt, Solex is seemingly underdressed for such a high-class environment, but in typical Solex fashion he doesn’t seem to care. A bottle of half empty premium whiskey and a box of Cuban cigars rest on the glass table next to him.

Steve Solex: I’m sure everyone is up in arms this week, bitching and moaning about how I didn’t have to defend the HOTv Belt and that I never really have to do anything I don’t want to do because I’m in the Final Alliance and wah fucking wah.

Solex takes a sip from the glass of whiskey, his eyes staying locked on the camera the entire time.

Steve Solex: Why even lie? It’s true! I can do whatever the fuck I want and yes it’s because I am in the Final Alliance. What’s wrong with that? If any of you were any good at your fucking jobs you would also be in the Final Alliance, but you’re not…so quit your bitching and have another cupcake. You’re a bunch of fuckin’ NERDS and no one likes any of you, that’s why you are where you are.

He shakes his head as the boos from the arena roar through the walls of his private dressing room.

Steve Solex: What? It’s not my fault. It’s just facts. If you want to be lied too and get something with round, padded corners..ask the fuckers at PRIME to help you out.

A mixed reaction from the live audience penetrates the walls which causes a smirk to tug at the corner of Solex’s mouth.

Steve Solex: Look, I know. Nobody likes those fuckers and everyone of you is on a level above them…even Scotty Stevens.

He chuckles to himself and takes another sip from his glass of bourbon.

Steve Solex: Is that funny? Cause I seem to remember Scott Stevens dragging that PRIME fuck all around Mexico City and deciding when he wanted to end that match.

With a hint of sarcasm etched on his face, he winks into the camera.

Steve Solex: I’ll get to the real reason I’m off this week and it isn’t because I’m in the Final Alliance. No, in fact…I actually wanted to defend my championship this week, but the man himself, Lee Best, insisted that I take the night off and enjoy myself. And he even bought me this bottle of Pappy Van Winkle as a reward.

He holds the bottle of whiskey up and examines it as he gently rocks it back and forth, The dim lighting in the room dances through the amber liquid as it sways back and forth in the bottle. Like a fuckin’ boss, he unscrews the bottle with a quick flick of his thumb and winks at the camera as the cap lands safely on the glass table. He tilts the bottle over and slowly pours the velvety bourbon into his glass, topping it off. He casually places the bottle back onto the table before taking another sip.

Steve Solex: Why? Are you really wondering why? Let me tell you exactly why. It’s because three weeks ago I completed the mission of all fucking missions. I was given a simple, but tough mission and that was to win War Games. To lead my team to victory and to ensure that a member of the Final Alliance was crowned the HOW World Champion. Whether the champion ended up being Christopher America or another member was completely trivial, it just had to be a member of the Final Alliance. But in order to achieve a 100% success rate on this mission, my team had to win.

He tilts his head to the right and with a glimmer of arrogance in his eyes, he raises his eyebrows and smiles.

Steve Solex: With all of the blood, sweat and Tears that STRONK! and I put in to get him back up to his true form and fighting weight of 307.1lbs, we absolutely, one-hundred-percent, deserved to secure the win and together we ensured that two of the three championship belts in HOW would stay in the Final Alliance.

He takes another sip of the whiskey.

Steve Solex: And we did it all by our damned-selves.

He points a finger into his chest as he leans forward in his chair momentarily.

Steve Solex: And now, with all of that said and done, I can proudly proclaim myself once and for all as the single greatest War Games Captain in the illustrious history of High Octane Wrestling!

He leans back into his chair and sits casually again before taking another sip from his glass.

Steve Solex: But, a day off? Just for that? No, dick. I didn’t get a day off just for being the best War Games Captain to ever grace the squared-circle, I earned it only two weeks removed from War Games, when I went back to that shithole Mexico City and in front of the entire world I proved that Lindsay Troy has no business ever setting foot inside a wrestling ring EVER again.

He laughs as he plays the match back in his head, humorously rolling his eyes into the back of his head.

Steve Solex: I beat that bitch from pillar-to-post and rag-dolled her right in front of that Russian asshole, Ivan Stanislav, and proved to the entire world that, even with the help of the Russian Federation, women just don’t have the required chromosome sequence to compete with men…especially not against me.

The expression on his face suddenly turns from one of confidence into a mocking version of shock.

Steve Solex: Wait? Is that hurting your feelings? Is that triggering some kind of deep emotion that’s making you leak liquid from your eyes and causing you to publish your disdain for Steve Solex on some on some fucking website? Is it causing you to suddenly call your digital team for an interview so you can act like some desperate, cringey, white-knight and talk about how much you revere Lindsay Troy for being an icon and a Hall of Famer, everywhere except for the one place that truly matters…HOW? Is it upsetting to you that her past “world” championships mean absolutely dick in HOW? I’d make a joke about LT being the FIST of DEFIANCE…but that’s too fuckin’ easy.

He takes a sip of bourbon as he shakes his head.

Steve Solex: I’m here for it…all day long, you whiney fucks. You’re all as soft as baby shit bundled up in a roll of Charmin Ultra that’s been placed on a goose-feather pillow in the middle of a fucking snowstorm. Maybe…just maybe you should retire and join a beer league softball team before I sic STRONK! on you one more time, so he can beat the piss out of you just like he did in Mexico City. Stay in your lane you overrated, tofu eating, pile of fucking marshmallows. You make LT look like a roided out version of Mike Tyson, you pathetic fucking NERD.

He leans forward in his chair once more as he stares intently into the camera.

Steve Solex: THIS IS PROFESSIONAL WRESTLING, GROW A FUCKING BACK BONE. Whether any of you bitches like it or not, HOW IS THE BE ALL, END ALL. We’re the only professional wrestling company on the planet that matters, and we prove it EVERY SINGLE WEEK.

He rests back into the chair.

Steve Solex: So, that’s why I’m off this week. And did I mention, it’s fucking Father’s Day? I’m the #1 MERCDad, or have you forgotten? But, I digress and now, as a humble champion, a leader of men, a man of compassion, and the best damn dad that ever lived, I made the request early this week to give a championship opportunity to one of HOW’s newest wrestlers, Scott..

Solex looks over to the pad of paper on the glass end table next to him. He grabs it from the table and reads from it.

Steve Solex: …McKlayn.

Without looking and with perfect accuracy, he tosses the pad of paper back onto the end table.

Steve Solex: All I’ll say at this time is…good luck, kid.

Solex gives a smug smile and wink as he addresses the newcomer, but in a sudden surge of rage his expression shifts and his face becomes etched with rage. His eyes burn with intensity as he stands up from his chair. He places the glass of whiskey onto the glass table and adjusts his black t-shirt, putting his massive, hulking frame on full display. He snarls as he points into the camera lens.

Steve Solex: And to the dickless, coward-fucks that took our friend and Christopher America, I’m going to paraphrase my favorite father’s day movie of all time: Taken.

We don’t know who you are. We don’t know what you want. If you are looking for ransom we can tell you that you ain’t gettin’ shit. But, what we will give you is what we have. And that is a very particular set of skills. Skills we have acquired over our very long careers. Skills that make us a nightmare for NERDS like you. If you let him go now, we might let you live. But if you don’t, we will look for you, we will find you and we will kill you.

And without warning, the scene cuts back to the arena.

Guitar and harmonica begin to blare through the arena, the start of Gunning For You by Nick Nolan sends a silence across the crowd as Nick Nolan’s lyrics echo through the arena. Red letters slash across the screen as “BYRD” is spelled out. Clay appears through fog on the entrance ramp, cowboy hat low over his eyes, a long black duster on and a rope in his hand.

Bryan McVay: Our next contest is scheduled for one fall…

Joe Hoffman: There he is. The Monster of Plainview.

Benny Newell: Sad Cowboy vibes.

My Gun is loaded it’s getting time

Two shots of whiskey i’m takin’ what’s mine

Ain’t what you’re sayin it’s what you do

Your time has come boy i’m Gunnin for You

When hell is rainin down you’ll see my face won’t heara sound

You’ll feel that bullet burnin through

Take your last breath boy

I’m Gunnin for You

Clay begins his slow walk down the ramp. His eyes are fixed on the ring, and he trudges on. Not paying any notice to any of the fans in attendance.

Bryan McVay: Introducing first…

There’s desperation deep in your eyes

No turnin back now no compromise

Cause only one of us walks out that door

The other bleedin out on the floor

Brian McVay: From Plainview, TX and weighing in at 295 lbs….he is THE MONSTER FROM PLAINVIEW! CLAY! BYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYRDDDDDDDDDDD!!!

Clay walks up the steps, and climbs into the ring.

Joe Hoffman: These fans in Ecuador are in complete awe of Clay Byrd.

Benny Newell: Wait until the HAMMER of GOD hits the ring, Joe. They’ll be picking their jaws up from the floor!

The camera cuts from the ring and pans over the Coliseo General Rumiñahui. There’s a buzz in the air as the High Octane faithful wait. Slowly, the lights in the arena start to dim, almost to black, but not quite.

A lightning effect flashes in the arena, followed by a thundering sound, and music begins to play.

“Daddy’s Home” by JT Music.

Somewhere beyond the sea

Something slumbers underneath

When she wakes up from her dreams

We’ll be reborn from the deep

Brian McVay: And his opponent…

The strobe lightning effect continues, and as the opening lines of the first verse start to play, a large figure steps out onto the stage. His appearance is met with another thundering sound, this time the sound of boos from all over the building.

Dan Ryan stands center stage, soaking it in. He’s been booed most of his career. This time, for a unique reason. But he soaks it all in, then starts to walk down the ramp.

Bryan McVay: From HOUSTON, TEXAS!!! Weighing in at 295 lbs. Representing The Final Alliance, he is one-half of the PWA Tag Team Champions. Please welcome ‘The HAMMER of GOD’ DANNNNNNNNNN! RYANNNNNNNNNN!!!

Hold your noses cuz we’re going for another long dive

Some call me Father, others call me Johnny Topside

Long forgotten, I was swept up by the wrong tide

Thought my bed was made but I just woke up on the wrong side

Halfway down the ramp, someone throws something in his direction, but he sidesteps it, and glances over as EPU rush in to subdue the fan responsible. Ryan makes it to the ring, then stops and looks out into the crowd once again, soaking in the reaction with no expression.

I’m the heavyweight champ, you won’t even last a round

Too long you brutes abused the juice, now you get smacked around

Delta’s held the belt so many years here in Rapture now

Baddest motherfucker in the building, who’s your daddy now?

I’ll ask you nicely, would you kindly put your weapon down?

And cut the cameras cuz I’d rather not be ratted out

I’m on the path to power, I would’ve made Atlas proud

Hit you with the one two punch, zap and whack you out

Ryan flashes an arrogant smirk at Byrd, cracks his neck, then climbs up onto the apron and climbs through the ropes. He dashes into the ropes, bounces off and sprints to a turnbuckle, step-climbing up and then roaring into the crowd and settling into a snarling stare out at the masses.

Benny Newell: I’ve been waiting for this! No flippy shit. Just to big hosses beating the piss out of each other! I can’t fucking wait!

Ryan hops down, then circles the ring for a moment, letting the boos continue to rain down all over him, then finally backs into a corner.

From across the ring, both men lock eyes and begin to size one another up. Neither man appears to be intimidated as both competitors march toward the center of the ring, their thudding footsteps reverberating throughout the arena. The tension builds as the monsters get chest to chest, neither man relenting as their imposing frames tower over Hall of Fame referee Joel Hortega. Horgeta places a hand between the two men and struggles to keep a bit of distance between them as they begin to bump into one another repeatedly.

The air is thick with anticipation and the crowd’s restlessness is palpable as they wait on the opening bell. Hortega, being a bit more assertive in his approach, is finally able to get some separation between the two behemoths as he talks them back into their respective corners.

Joe Hoffman: Both men are six-feet-seven inches tall. Both men are two-hundred-ninety-five pounds. This is sure to be a battle of the titans! The Monster from Plainview up against The Ego Buster!

Benny Newell scoffs into the microphone.

Benny Newell: It’s the Sad Cowboy vs The HAMMER of GOD, Hoffhole!

The crowd erupts into a frenzy of cheers as Joel Horgeta calls for the bell.

DING! DING! DING!

The two mammoths begin to circle one another and in a sudden burst of animosity, the two men lock up like a pair of roided out Texas Longhorns in the center of the ring. The crowd cheers them on as both men push with every fiber of their being, with every hulking muscle in their bodies as they each try to gain an advantage over their opponent.

Joe Hoffman: A real test of strength here, neither man able to get the advantage over the other!

Ryan leans in hard, trying to catch an angle on Byrd, but Byrd quickly transitions and firmly locks Ryan into a side-headlock. Ryan wastes little time and backs into the ropes using them to slingshot Byrd across the ring into the other side. The crowd goes ballistic as both men collide in the middle of the ring, both trying to knock the other man off of his feet with a titanic shoulder block, the thunderous sound of the collision reverberates throughout the arena, but neither man budges an inch and once again the unbelievably massive men stand tall in the center of the ring staring one another down.

Benny Newell: Big meaty men, slapping meat! Let’s fuckin’ go!

Byrd snarls at Ryan and out of nowhere he throws a wild right hand that finds its mark and stumbles Ryan backward into the corner. With a menacing grin, Byrd charges in at his opponent and crushes Ryan into the turnbuckle with a running back elbow. The crowd goes wild as Byrd hustles out of the corner and lines up Dan Ryan once again and like a force of nature, Byrd launches himself into Ryan with another devastating back elbow.

Joe Hoffman: The Monster from Plainview drives a couple of elbows into the side of Dan Ryan’s head as he smashes him into the corner! I think the ring might have moved a couple of inches with those impressive shots!

Byrd pulls Ryan from the corner and with an incredibly powerful Irish whip, he hurtles the Ego Buster across the ring, whose back is driven into the opposite turnbuckle. The impact echoes throughout the arena as the crowd continues to cheer on Clay Byrd. Momentarily dazed and disoriented, Dan Ryan stumbles out of the corner and right into a bone rattling spinebuster from Clay Byrd!

Joe Hoffman: What a spinebuster! Clay Byrd really taking control of this match here in the early going!

Benny Newell: Let’s go Dan! You promised all of us canteens full of cowboy tears, let’s fuckin’ go!

Byrd springs back to his feet, adrenaline surging through his veins, but before he can capitalize and make the cover, Dan Ryan rolls under the bottom rope and slips out of the ring to the outside. The crowd lets out a chorus of boos as Dan Ryan, holding the back of his neck, finds solace against the guardrail on the outside.

Benny Newell: Brilliant move by Dan Ryan! He’s a bonafide ring general!

Joe Hoffman: Very smart move by Dan Ryan, but Clay Byrd is coming out after him!

Byrd, unrelenting in his attack, quickly drops to his back, and he too rolls underneath the bottom rope to the outside.

Benny Newell: Get that fucker back inside the ring Hortega!

Byrd connects with a ferocious open-handed chop across Dan Ryan’s chest, creating a resounding crack that echoes throughout the arena and instantly raises a fiery welt across the Ego Buster’s chest.

Benny Newell: Yo!

Joe Hoffman: Oh my, what a chop! Here comes another!

Wincing in pain, Ryan instinctively covers up, but Clay Byrd doesn’t relent and another chop cuts through the air and lands right on top of the newly formed welt on Ryan’s chest.

Benny Newell: Has Ortega even started a count!? Count this Sad Cowboy motherfucker out already, do your damn job!

Joe Hoffman: He’s at the count of four, Benny.

Almost on cue, Byrd swiftly slides into the ring and then right back out leaving Hortega no choice but to restart the count.

Joe Hoffman: And now we’re back at one…

Benny Newell: Who the fuck do you think you are, Joe? Brian McKnight?

Dan Ryan, attempting to create some distance between himself and the Monster from Plainview, stumbles across the outside floor but before he can get too far Byrd unleashes a running forearm smash to the back of Ryan’s neck.

Joe Hoffman: What a shot from Clay Byrd, who is in firm control of this match right now.

Benny Newell: I need a drink…

Ryan stumbles forward, his momentum driving him all the way. He instinctively reaches out and grabs hold of the cold steel, using it as a support to stay upright as he shakes off the cobwebs from the clubbing blow.

Joe Hoffman: Clay is still on the attack here and the crowd is loving it!

Benny Newell: Hortega’s inability to count a true second is being completely exposed here tonight, Joe. That is the real story of the match. This is unbelievable!

Ryan turns right into a running clothesline from Clay Byrd, but his instincts kick in and in the nick of time he is able to duck under and out of harm’s way. But as he turns to face his opponent a swift kick to the stomach doubles him over and with a thunderous crash he’s body-slammed onto the outside floor as the crowd cheers wildly for Clay Byrd.

Joe Hoffman: Clay Byrd with a beautiful bodyslam to the outside floor.

Benny Newell: Ten. Fucking ten. My Apple Watch has already reached the count of ten.

Joe Hoffman: That’s a Samsung.

Benny Newell: Fuck off.

Byrd grabs Ryan back the back of the head, grabbing a firstful of hair in the process and lifts him to his feet. With a determined stride, Byrd begins to lead Ryan toward the steel ring post. Byrd rears back, his intentions clear to the riotous live crowd, and thrusts Ryan’s head toward the unforgiving ring post.

CCCCCCRRRRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAACKKKKKKKKK!!!!!

Benny Newell: YES!!!

Joe Hoffman: DAN RYAN GETS A FOOT UP, GIVES BYRD AN ELBOW TO THE GUT, REVERSES AND IT’S CLAY BYRD’S HEAD THAT IS DRIVEN INTO THE RING POST! AND HE’S BUSTED WIDE OPEN!!

The crowd collectively gasps as the crown of Clay Byrd’s blonde head is driven into the unyielding steel ring post. The force of the impact sends a shockwave down Byrd’s spine, forcing him to crumble down to the outside floor. The cold, hard, steel post carves a deep gash into the forehead of the Monster from Plainview that immediately flows a river of blood down his face and paints his blonde beard the darkest shade of 97Red.

Benny Newell: Sad Cowboy blood is the only thing that tastes better than Liberal tears, Hoffhole!

Joe Hoffman: I’d like to take this opportunity to remind everyone that Benny Newell’s opinions and statements are his own and do not reflect HOW…

Benny Newell: Shut the fuck up, Joe! No one gives a shit about your pronouns! LOOK AT THE BLOOD!

Ryan paws at Byrd’s wound and wipes a streak of crimson across his chest. He stares up at the ceiling and every muscle in his body ripples and strains as he holds his arms out wide and lets out a primal scream as he stands over the fallen behemoth. The crowd falls into a deafening silence, captivated by the carnal rage of the Ego Buster as the raw intensity of his animalistic scream booms throughout the arena.

Benny Newell: …Jesus Christ. (whispers) I love it.

Joe Hoffman: I don’t know if Clay Byrd can recover from this. He seems to be knocked for a loop and Dan Ryan’s intensity is on a completely different level after seeing the blood.

With a display of unbridled and raw strength, Ryan hoists Byrd to his feet and unceremoniously hurls Byrd into the ring through the middle rope like a rag doll.

Joe Hoffman: Clay Byrd is nearly 300lbs and Dan Ryan chucked him like he was a little kid!

The crowd trembles with a thunderous chorus of boos as Ryan slowly makes his way around the ring and stomps up the steel steps with a methodical and almost psychotic pace. He slowly walks across the ring apron, facing away from the hard camera. He pauses and stares out into the crowd as an evil grin stretches across his face. He stares down at the streak of blood across his chest as he soaks in the negative energy from the live crowd.

Benny Newell: The HAMMER of GOD, Ladies and Gentlemen! The true Monster of HOW! The one and only Behemoth of professional wrestling!

Joe Hoffman: Dan Ryan showing exactly why he has been chosen for this job by Lee Best. Relentless, violent and remorseless.

Ryan slowly climbs through the middle rope into the ring, his eyes locked on his opponent the entire time. Byrd, a bloody mess, crawls toward the corner as he’s stalked by Dan Ryan.

Joe Hoffman: Dan Ryan being very methodical and deliberate with his approach here as he lets Clay Byrd slowly climb to his feet.

Benny Newell: The Sad Cowboy can’t do it on his own though, Joe. If there were no ropes, he’d still be down on the mat like he should be. Let’s go Dan, finish this motherfucker once and for all! He’s been a pain in all of our asses long enough!

Joe Hoffman: Clay Byrd has his hands up and the crowd is rallying behind him!

Dan Ryan smirks at Clay Byrd’s apparent bravery and motions for him to come out of the corner and to the center of the ring. Byrd cautiously steps out and throws a right hand that connects and – to the disbelief of everyone in the arena, including Dan Ryan – stumbles the Ego buster back a few steps.

Benny Newell: Goddamnit.

Joe Hoffman: Clay Byrd still has some life left in…OH! A knee to the gut from Dan Ryan has Clay Byrd doubled over.

Benny Newell: Thank you.

Dan Ryan hits the ropes and as he rebounds, he connects with a devastating running big boot that smashes into the side of Clay Byrd’s head. Clay stumbles away, circles and blindly turns right into the HAMMER of GOD!

Benny Newell: GOD is smiling right now!

Joe Hoffman: HAMMER of GOD from Dan Ryan and Byrd is down! He’s in serious trouble!

The crowd boos wildly as Dan Ryan stands by patiently, waiting for Clay Byrd to get to his feet. Clay is knocked for a loop and wobbles his way up to his feet and as he does, Dan Ryan charges in and drives him into the corner, crushing him with a three hundred pound corner clothesline.

Joe Hoffman: What a shot from Dan Ryan! And now he’s driving his shoulder right into the midsection of Clay Byrd!

Benny Newell: HEADLINER BITCH! FUCK YES!

Joe Hoffman: A Headliner from the Ego Buster and Clay Byrd is down!

Dan Ryan drops to his knees, makes the cover and hooks a leg. The crowd boos ferociously as referee Joel Hortega drops down and makes the count.

UNO!

…

…

DOS!

…

…

Benny Newell: THREE!

Joe Hoffman: NO! Dan Ryan has pulled Clay Byrd out of the cover and the fans in attendance can’t believe it! Enough is enough! Make the damn cover!

Benny laughs audibly into his microphone as Dan Ryan pulls Clay Byrd back up to his feet. Blood continues to drip from Byrd’s blood soaked beard and Dan Ryan hoists the Monster from Plainview up onto his shoulders for a second time and again, drives him heck and neck first into the mat with another Headliner!

Joe Hoffman: Dan Ryan with a lazy cover here, just laying backward onto Clay.

Benny Newell: He’s got the leg hooked!

Hortega slides in for the count as a pool of blood begins to form on the mat next to Clay Byrd’s head.

UNO!

…

…

DOS!

…

…

…

TRES!

…

…

DING! DING! DING!

Bryan McVay: WINNER OF THE MATCH IN 14 MINUTES AND 23 SECONDS….DAAAAANNNNNN RYAAAANNN!!!

Joe Hoffman: Thank God this one’s over! A big win for Dan Ryan here tonight.

Benny Newell: Dan Ryan serving the GOD of HOW just like he’s supposed to!

Ryan climbs to his feet and stares down at the Monster from Plainview and with a sadistic grin drawn on his face, he relishes in the moment. The crowd unleashes a tirade of boos and jeers as Byrd lies sprawled out and motionless on the mat.

Benny Newell: Oh, I think I know what he’s thinking. Fucking do it!

Joe Hoffman: Can we get some security out here, please?!

Benny Newell: (laughs) Yeah, bring out the EPU!

Ryan takes a step over Byrd’s body, bends over and with two hands firmly gripped around Byrd’s throat he lifts the Monster from Plainview to his feet, once again showing off his raw strength and uncontrolled power.

Joe Hoffman: ENOUGH IS ENOUGH!

DING! DING! DING!

…

DING! DING! DING!

…

DING! DING! DING!

…

Hortega repeatedly calls for the bell as he pleads with Dan Ryan to let Clay Byrd go as the crowd continues to boo with a deafening roar. Byrd can hardly stand on his own two feet and leans into Ryan to keep himself upright, eliciting a maniacal laugh from the Final Alliance member. Ryan hoists Byrd onto his shoulders and paces a circle in the ring, turning himself toward the hard camera.

Joe Hoffman: I can’t watch…

Benny Newell: Get me some fuckin’ popcorn and a diet coke, baby!

The crowd falls into an eerie silence as the anticipation of brutality builds. Ryan delivers a sinister wink into the camera, giving one last glimpse of his psychotic delight before mercilessly driving Byrd’s head and neck into the mat with an Earth-shatteringHeadliner that dangerously folds Clay Byrd’s massive body in half.

Joe Newell: He’s dead.

Benny Newell: GOD, I hope so. Fuck that Sad Cowboy…..too bad this didnt happen at a PPV in Texas!

The crowd continues to roar with a raucous chorus of boos as Dan Ryan pops back up to his feet and once again stands over Clay Byrd, reveling in his moment of triumph as the scene cuts backstage.

“I’m living like a landmine, waiting to explode. I’m ticking like a time-bomb, ready to go. I’m a danger to myself…and everybody else…”

The show cuts to a clearly unused section of the arena. Everything is eerily silent apart from the distant sound of “Landmine” by Three Days Grace. Tracking the song to its source, the camera moves along the corridor towards a door that rests ajar. The room beyond is darker than the hallway, dimly lit by only the glare from a television screen. Suddenly, Shane Reynolds’ voice speaks out from within.

Shane Reynolds: I know you’re out there.

The door swings open fully, a person in a mask holding onto the wood of it and staring blankly at the cameraman.

Shane Reynolds: Don’t mind them! Either come in or go back to where you came from.

The cameraman reluctantly opts for the latter, slowing moving inside as the masked disciple steps aside. As the rest of the room comes into view, more masked people can be seen scattered around the space – no doubt the same people that had terrorised Bobbinette Carey last week. The one from the door slams it shut again, before returning to his place on a chair. The camera, however, lingers on the sight of a man sitting cross-legged on the floor. The only one not wearing a mask, the light from the television betrays the various scars and disfigurements etched into the worn flesh.

Shane Reynolds: Ever since War Games, people have been asking me if I’m back. For the most part, I didn’t really have an answer…

Shane reaches down to the floor beside him and tightly grips a sheet of paper. He holds it up.

Shane Reynolds: …but, the cat’s out of the bag now. Yeah, I’m thinking I’m back. Just in case it’s escaped anybody’s attention, though, I am not back for championships. I’ll leave that to Rhys Townsend. I’m not back for pride. You can’t endure having a face like mine – a face not even a mother could love – without transcending such petty notions. No. I’m back for one reason and one reason only. Bobbinette fucking Carey…or whatever she calls herself these days.

Shane drops what was evidently his official HOW contract and, in its place, he picks up the remote as the television switches to static. Hitting one of the buttons, he rewinds the tape – revealing it to be footage from the night that Bobbinette awarded herself the World Championship. It quickly returns to static. At which point, Shane rewinds it back again and starts it over.

Shane Reynolds: You want to know a common misconception?

Shane doesn’t allow any time for somebody to answer his clearly rhetorical question.

Shane Reynolds: People seem to think that what’s about to unfold in the coming weeks has been fifteen years in the making. In truth, however, it goes back further and runs much deeper than that. No, it goes back to when Bobbinette Carey earned my trust and recruited me to her team. To when she convinced me that, should it come down to it, she’d do the right thing. That she would be an honorable captain. In short, it goes right back to the moment she decided to LIE TO MY FACE!!!!

Shane angrily hurls the remote at the television, shattering the screen at the exact position Bobbinette was standing with the World Championship. The room descends into almost total darkness now; only the light from the camera itself keep the action visible.

Shane Reynolds: And now this face is going to be the last thing she ever sees…

Shane turns his head towards the camera but just as the full horror of it is about to come into view, it’s blocked by his own mask as he fastens it in place.

Shane Reynolds: …but not yet. Though this thing started before, fifteen years is still accurate to how long I have been thinking about it. Fifteen years is still how long the need for revenge has nestled in in here.

Shane taps at his temple with his index finger.

Shane Reynolds: For 15 years… for 5479 days…for 131400 hours…for 7889400 minutes…it has burrowed deep like a tick and laid eggs in every part of my brain. Revenge has clouded every other thought I may have had and I can’t know peace until it’s finally been enacted. But I’m not going to rush it.

Shane takes a step closer to the camera, the darkness behind the mask’s eyeholes glaring straight down the camera – as though into the soul of Bobbinette Carey herself.

Shane Reynolds: I’m not going to drag your torment out for fifteen years. But it’s not going to be swift. It’s going to be merciless. However, there are only so many bones I can break. There’s only so many gallons of blood I can drain from your body. Even if I do it again and again, it’ll never prove equal measure. So, what I am going to do is make every moment count. You’ve already seen that we can be anywhere and that I can strike at any time. I want you to hold onto that feeling, to let that fear of me be your own personal tick, your own personal cloud, nestling deep and overshadowing every moment.

Shane’s mask shifts as he clearly smirks beneath.

Shane Reynolds: And when you can’t take it any longer, that’s when I’ll strip those fifteen years back from you in kind. I’m going to take them from what remains of your career and your physical wellbeing. You see, after decades of never really knowing who I was or how I fit into the world, I know now who I am and what my purpose is. I am your angel of death, Bobbinette Carey. I am your destruction. And the signs of your doom are going to litter your way…starting now!

Shane Reynolds suddenly lashes out towards the cameraman, knocking his equipment to the floor as the man’s scream rings out and the footage quickly cuts to static as we head to a quick commercial break.

As we come back from commercial, we see the door to Lee Best’s office open and Scott Stevens walks out. Scott’s mind is elsewhere as he doesn’t pay attention to where he is going and bumps into Brian Bare knocking him to the ground.

Scott Stevens: Shit. Sorry about that.

Stevens says as he helps Brian to his feet.

Brian Bare: Scott, did you just come out of Lee’s office?

Bare asks and the Texan nods.

Brian Bare: Care to share what you two might have been discussing?

Brian asks and Stevens mumbles.

Brian Bare: What was that?

Bare asks as Scott’s response wasn’t coherent.

Scott Stevens: The future.

The tone of disgust fills Stevens’ answer before walking off leaving Bare more confused than normal.

We are somewhere backstage in the Coliseo General Ruminahui in Quito, Ecuador. We could give you an in depth description of the corridor, but you’re not here for that. Neither are the fans in the arena. All you really need to know is that right now, we’re backstage. Because, see, right now, the location is frankly irrelevant.

Because as soon as the videowall cranks into life in the arena, the crowd absolutely loses their fucking minds.

On the right side of our shot, we have five High Octane Wrestling World Championships. And on the left? We have ten. You could say that this is the most highly decorated camera shot in the history of High Octane Wrestling. It doesn’t matter where they’re coming from or going, or what they were previously doing, because as soon as they saw each other, they stopped dead. And the tension?

Well, if you needed a knife to cut the tension at the funeral of Evan Ward…you’d need a diamond tipped drill bit to even make the tiniest impression on this tension. The crowd inside the arena in Quito, it’s like the collective is holding their breath.

Two men who scratched an absolutely indelible mark across the face of this company and it’s highest honor. Two men who fought in pretty much every single pay per view main event there is. Who some thought would be forever opponents…and, importantly, two men who haven’t seen each other in years.

And in what feels like a literal eternity while Quito holds it’s literal breath but is in reality, not that long, the two men stare each other down, like has happened many, many times before.

Unlike literally every previous time, things don’t erupt into a vicious war of words or a brawl.

Indeed, almost nothing happens. No words are exchanged, no punches, nothing except for Rhys Townsend and Michael Lee Best to nod at each other and bump fists before they pass each other like two USS Octanes in the night.

The beautiful sound that is a couple of thousand professional wrestling marks exhale and almost immediately erupt into a confused roar as we head back to ringside.

We return back to ringside as the speakers are up to eleven piping AC/DC’s “Back in Black” throughout the arena. Standing in the middle of the ring, sporting his 97Red and Black checkered suit, the HOTv Tag Team Championship around his waist, the PWA Tag Team Championship over his shoulder, is Jatt Starr, mic in hand. The music fades and the Ruler of Jattlantis addresses the crowd.

Jatt Starr: Last week, Dan Ryan and the Duke of Jattmandu, collectively now known as IN DANICUS JATTICUS VINCIUM defeated the Winds of Change from PRIME and the Surfer guys from someplace else to become the PWA CO-WORLD CHAMPIONS!!!

The HOW faithful in the audience provide a polite, appreciative applause because while the may not love Jatt Starr, he brought the gold the HOW.

Jatt Starr: But tonight isn’t about the PWA CO-WORLD CHAMPIONS IN DANICUS JATTICUS VINCIUM, otherwise Dan Ryan would be out here with the Ruler of Jattlantis. Nope. Last week, I invited Lee Best to come out here as my very special guest here on….STARRGAZING WITH JATT STARR!!!!!!

The audience gives a nice pop as the “Double Co-World Champion”, the Sultan of SeaJattle nods confidently in the ring.

Jatt Starr: Lee Best. He said he would be here. Just because he says he’s going to do something, does not necessarily make it true. He’s ridiculously wealthy and, let’s face it, he can do whatever the heck he wants. SO….ladies and gentlemen of Guatemala….please welcome…..He calls himself the G-O-D OF THE H-O-W…..LEEEEEEEEEEEEEE BEST!!!!!

The Marquis of MadagaStarr points towards the entrance at the ramp and waits.

UNDEAD hits the PA system and the crowd all turns their attention to the entrance ramp as the GOD of HOW indeed makes his way out from the back…flanked on both sides by EPU agents.

Lee pauses at the top of the entrance ramp and looks out at the crowd. There is a clear look of uneasiness from the leader of HOW as he makes his way down the entrance ramp.

Joe Hoffman: What a moment here for this fans here in Ecuador….we barely see Lee in the states and after what happened to America at PWA 02….well I am shocked to see Lee keep his promise to appear tonight.

Benny Newell: We need MOAR EPU AGENTS!!! Lee is clearly the bravest man I know. He has been assaulted by his roster for years and then to see Christopher America KIDNAPPED…I mean how does he power thru?! What a fucking man.

The camera cuts back to ringside as the EPU agents surround the ring…leaving only a few feet between each of them.

Lee CAUTIOUSLY climbs up the ring steps and makes his way into the center of the ring and stands across from Jatt.

We get a shot showcasing the 13 staples in the back of his head courtesy of Rhys Townsend.

Jatt takes a step forward and begins to raise his mic up but then Lee suddenly raises his hand and stops Starr literally in his tracks.

Lee Best: Hold on Jatt…..I need to get something off my chest before we start…..well before we start whatever the hell this is going to be.

Lee steps over to the near ropes facing the hard HOTv cameras and begins talking directly to the viewers at home.

Lee Best: I am talking to the fucking putas out there that are holding Christopher America hostage. I am giving you 24 fucking hours to release that man. There will be no negotiations. There will be no US Government bag delivered in the dead of the night on some river bank on the border. This is your first and LAST warning. RELEASE AMERICA NOW!!!!!

Lee is literally frothing at the mouth as his face is a version of 97Red that not many have seen in quite some time. Lee continues to stare into the hard camera and it zooms in until we see the all too familiar pair of damaged eyes…….eyes that are full of hate.

Slowly Lee turns back towards Jatt…

Jatt Starr: Hi. Sooooooo, how have you been?

Lee can only muster a smirk at Jatt.

Lee Best: Not going not lie here El Jatto…..I have been better. So what is the plan here? What is my Day One Hall of Famer needing me here for? GOD knows I wouldn’t be here for anyone else.

The Sultan of SeaJattle nods and senses now would be a good time to begin.

Jatt Starr: How long has it been? Twenty-one, twenty-two years? A long time. And yet, Lee, at War Games, you counted me out. You didn’t feign a heart attack. You didn’t get something in your eye. You let Joe Bergman pin me. And, I guess, this is the point where I forgive you, right?

The Ruler of Jattlantis, looking earnest, looking serious, looking even a little hurt.

Jatt Starr: It’s what the Ruler of Jattlantis does, right? Forgive people. Dan Ryan nearly crippled me a couple of years ago and we’re the PWA Co-World Champions. Conor Fuse masterminded the failed crippling and that didn’t stop me from marrying his hot mom. And then there’s a ton of other transgressions I’ve forgiven over the years. Stabbing my ex-wife in the eye. Saddling me with “The Union”, Shawn Stevens, no relation to Scott, and Shane Reynolds, not the cool, dangerous, emo Shane Reynolds but “2Xtreme” Shane Reynolds. The whole Princess Angel thing. I could go on and on. The point is, I always come back. Whilst we have had our ups and downs, through replacing me with Max then Mike and now STRONK with an Exclamation, I have always pretty much been a loyal soldier, have I not?

Lee slowly nods in agreement.

Lee Best: Yes, Jatt you have been a good and loyal soldier over the years. Soldier is a good word to use. There have been many battles won and lost over the years but the war has never truly been over……even during those lean years where one time or another we BOTH were not in it 110%……lets call it 97% huh? Look Jatt if you brought me out here chasing a hug and want me to say GOOD JOB…..you know for DOING YOUR JOB that I pay you VERY WELL for….then that is not going to happen nor have you been fucking paying attention these last two decades.

The Starrson City Icon cannot help but laugh.

Jatt Starr: Who am I, Scott Stevens? The Hero of Jattlanta knows darn well asking for a “thank you” or an “atta boy” is like asking the New York Jets to make it to the Super Bowl. Sure, I’d like to see it but it’ll never happen. No, I invited you here for three reasons….well four….I see you’re concerned about Christopher America. As we speak, he is probably being tortured and brainwashed and we will see him again. I have no doubt he will return to the HOW in a few weeks debuting as Cristobal Mexico.

The Baton of Boca Jatton nods as he believes every last word and believes they will console the GOD of HOW before him. It does not appear to work. Instead Jatt is met with silence.

Jatt Starr: Okay. So, now, you kind of screwed me over at War Games and you’re probably think the Champion of Jattanooga wants something. Maybe you expect me to go on a tangent about how the Rembrandt of Wrestling has been with you since day one, that I’m the family you chose unlike that ungrateful Tyler Best who is stinking it up in PRIME, and that I should get a shot at the HOW World Championship against STRONK with an Exclamation Point. Well, I won’t….we both know how that will go….the Jattinum Standard will beat STRONK with an Exclamation Point, become the HOW Champion, and then lose the belt two to three weeks later to Jace….and no one…and I mean NO ONE wants to see a Jace Parker Davidson World Title reign….no, I just want to say….to your face, in front of these fans here in U-R-gay….

The Grand Overlord of Jatturn steps up to Lee, face to face.

Jatt Starr: I forgive you.

The Ruler of Jattlantis proceeds to blindsided Lee Best, assaulting him with love by placing him in a warm, comforting hug. Jatt Starr wraps his arms around Lee and embraced him. Through the microphone the faint sound of Jatt sniffling can be heard. Ten seconds pass, fifteen seconds pass….

Lee SLOWLY raises his right arm and pats Jatt on the back.

The crowd erupts with Lee seemingly giving into the hug…

But it is short lived.

Lee quickly shoves Jatt with both arms and the Hall of Famer falls to the canvas.

Lee kneels down and looks at the seated man in the eyes…

Lee Best: I should have known this was going to be an elongated waste of fucking time. You could not even name your reasons for bringing me out here. Jatt…..you may think you have been replaced….you may think that all those guys you named were the new shiny version of yourself…..but that could not be farther from the truth…

Lee now takes a knee and continues as Jatt looks at up him…still shocked that he was shoved away.

Lee Best: The fact of the matter is that you just got passed by. Not because of my feelings…..not because of my SON……no Jatt…..you got replaced over the years because you failed me….time after time.

Lee slowly stands up and extends his hand out to Jatt…

Lee Best: You were part of the very first Best Alliance over 20 years ago…..I wanted you to be part of the Final Alliance now……and I see you starting to regain the confidence that you lost over the years…….I do not give a fuck about what has happened Jatt. I only care about what is happening NOW and what will happen. Take my hand….let me pick you up off the canvas…and let’s go to fucking work….is that too much to ask??

Jatt Starr: I forgive you for pushing me.

The Marquis of MadagaStarr takes Lee’s hand and gets up off the mat, brushes himself and his pair of Co-World Championships off.

Jatt Starr: You say this is a waste of time. It wasn’t. This was my final FUCK YOU to Max Kael!

El Jattador de Starrcelona proceeds to flip his middle finger into the air, waving it around like a madman.

Jatt Starr: Wait…wrong direction…

The Sheriff of Jattingham points his middle finger down towards the ground.

Jatt Starr: THE RULER OF JATTLANTIS WINS AGAIN!!!!

Jatt Starr takes a moment, composes himself, and turns his attention back to Lee.

Jatt Starr: You wouldn’t have come out for that dead motherless fopdoodle. But more importantly, my contract requires that I compete in thirteen matches this year. I have already wrestled in ten. After these final three matches…other than defending my PWA Co-World Championships in your honor whenever and wherever and for however long….I intend to retire.

Lee nods his head as a man that has heard those very words many times over the years.

Lee Best: Look Jatt I get it……we BOTH are at the tail end of our time in this business. You got three matches left? I say right here….right now….we verbally agree to toss that to the side and say ICONIC is it. America is missing but The Alliance has never been stronger…..why put a limit on it when we have so much work left to do? Say yes….and I promise in the next few minutes the present I am going to give you will erase all doubt about sticking around till then.

Lee pauses as he waits for Jatt’s answer…

Jatt Starr: You’re asking a lot. Three means more time with Natalie….no pressure….no disappointment…no flaking out…no getting burned out….no German Funky Chicken dances….

The Sovereign of Starrgentina turns his back on Lee and walks to the corner and puts his head down. The conflict is real….tears begin welling up in his eyes….he knows what everyone expects him to do….he knows what everyone wants him to do….he knows what he wants to do. He walks back towards Lee, knowing what he should do is the right decision but….

Jatt Starr: ICONIC it is then.

Lee smiles and a sense of relief comes over him.

Lee Best: You have no idea how happy that makes me feel. Now….unless you got anything else to get off your chest or ask me…..I got something for you.

Lee gives Starr a moment to truly try to gather himself.

Lee Best: You know what…fuck it…let’s go ahead…

Suddenly an EPU agent turns towards the ring and walks up the ring steps.

A bag is in hand.

A black bag that clearly is holding something so valuable that Lee entrusted the EPU to guard it.

Joe Hoffman: OK we all know the rules here….EPU agent…..this literally could be ANYONE and there could be ANYTHING in that bag.

Benny Newell: Shut the fuck up Joe……let it play out!

The EPU agent takes his place next to Lee and hands the black bag to the GOD of HOW who takes it with the infamous Best smirk all over his face.

Lee Best: Inside of this bag is something that I want you to own. Something that I want you to feel good about once you see what it is. What you do with this…is totally up to you. For once…I am giving up power and empowering someone that I have long admired and respected….you.

Lee pauses momentarily and then slowly reaches out his arm to hand the bag to Jatt.

Lee Best: Now remember…..this is your choice.

Jatt nods and raises his arm to take the bag from Lee.

Suddenly music hits the PA system and EVERYONE, including Jatt and Lee, turn towards the entrance ramp and we see none other than Rhys Townsend making his way out to the abrasiveness sounds of Slipknot.

Benny Newell: What in the royal fuck is this idiot going to do??? HE ALREADY PUT STAPLES IN LEE’S HEAD!!!

Jatt steps forward and stands side by side with Lee as they look towards Townsend.

The EPU agents start moving towards the entrance ramp and Townsend just smiles.

He raises the microphone in his hand to his mouth….

WHACK

Rhys falls forward awkwardly as the steel chair collides with the middle of his back. The Hall of Famer falls face first on the cold steel and suddenly the chair is swung again…

WHACK

This time the blow connects on the back of Townsend’s head and the man begins to bleed.

Back in the ring……Lee is smiling.

He pats Jatt on the back and points at the figure doing the swinging.

A figure who was just wearing a black hoodie but not anymore.

Joe Hoffman: No!? It cant be?!

Benny Newell: YEESSSSSS!!!!!!

The camera zooms in on the face of the attacker….

John Sektor

Lee pats Jatt on the back and mouths the word “SURPRISE” as he is smiling from ear to ear. The King of Jatten Island is stunned, his eyes wide, his mouth gaped open. As Sektor makes his way down the ramp, Lee Best hands Jatt the bag and whispers something into his ear before exiting the ring. Lee Best and Sektor meet at the base of the ramp. Lee gives Sektor an exuberant handshake before the EPU lead him up the ramp towards the back.

Benny Newell: A StarrSek Industries Reunion!

Joe Hoffman: I don’t think Jatt wanted an invitation to this reunion.

Benny Newell: StarrSek Industries is BACK!

Joe Hoffman: I’m sure Jatt would disagree considering he and Dan Ryan are the PWA Tag Team Champions.

Benny Newell: StarrSek Industries!!!

The Gold Standard enters the ring and he is face-to-face with the Jattinum Standard. Sektor, smiling ear-to-ear gives the HOTv and PWA Co-World Champion Jatt Starr a hug of his own. The Scourge of Starrpathia does not hug back. Sektor releases Jatt Starr and begins talking to him as an old friend trying to catch up, “Jatt! Mi amigo! Que pasa? Look at those belts.” The Hero of Jattanta’s lip and left eye begin to twitch almost in sync. Jatt Starr awakens as if from a trance and he looks into the bag. Whatever the contents are, the Earl of GlouStarr is none too happy about it.

Joe Hoffman: Lee has given Jatt some kind of power—

Benny Newell: THE POWAH!!!

Joe Hoffman: —and I’m sure whatever Lee said to Jatt Starr before he left, were instructions and how does Sektor factor into it?

Benny Newell: StarrSek Industries!!!

The Duke of Jattmandu reaches into the bag and retrieves a letterman’s jacket. Jatt Starr sighs, forces a plastic smile, and reluctantly extends his hand holding the jacket towards an unusually happy Sektor.

Joe Hoffman: Is that—-Evan Ward’s letterman’s jacket? Is he giving Evan Ward’s jacket to Sektor?

Benny Newell: I am sure its not LITERALLY Ward’s jacket…but the meaning is obvious….Sektor is replacing Ward as Ward’s fucking dead! He doesn’t need it anymore.

Sektor goes to grab the jacket but Jatt Starr drops the jacket onto the mat and appears to sarcastically apologize. Sektor reaches down and picks up the jacket and puts it on. The Gold Standard grabs his fellow HOW Hall of Famer’s arm and raises it in the air. Jatt pulls his arm away and pats his PWA Tag Team Championship (that he holds with Dan Ryan, someone that won’t turn on him) as he backs away from Sektor before exiting the ring. The sound of AC/DC’s “Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap” blares across the arena leaving the newest member of the Final Alliance, Sektor, in the ring as head to our final commercial break of the evening.

Back live from commercial break and we cut once again to our Hall of Fame announce team as it is time for our final match of the evening.

Joe Hoffman: It’s time for the main event and I am definitely looking forward to this.

Benny Newell: I’ve done some investigative journalism and come to the conclusion that since El Hombre Blanco is currently holding a HOW championship belt, it means he’s successful and clearly can’t be half the idiots on this roster. Definitely not someone like Zion.

Joe Hoffman: I wouldn’t think Zion has Blanco’s body type.

Benny Newell: I’ve also come to the conclusion it’s nobody from PRIME, either because we fucking murdered them in PWA.

Hoffman decides to let Benny’s comment stand on its own merit as the scene switches to ringside and Bryan McVay.

Bryan McVay: This is the MAIN EVENT and it’s a ladder match for the LSD Championship!

The crowd roars with approval.

Bryan McVay: Introducing first… the challenger… THE SON OF GOD… MIKE BEST!!!

With ladders allaround the outside of the ring, as well as lining the rampway from top to bottom, “Hellalujah” by Hanzel and Gretyl blares on the PA.

HALLLLLLELUJAH!

HALLLLLLELUJAH!

HALLELUJAH! HALLELUJAH!

HALLEEEEEEEELUJAH!

The always polarizing legend steps out slowly onto the stage, making his way toward the ramp, receiving a seriously loud mixed reaction.

As he passes by numerous ladders, some big, some small, Mike makes sure he flips the camera double middle fingers, displaying his Hall of Fame ring in the process. He approaches the apron, rolls under the bottom rope and then stands in the ring. Michael slowly makes his way toward his corner, stretching and preparing for the match as his music fades away… but the crowd continues chanting in many different directions.

Joe Hoffman: Obviously everyone knows what Mike brings. I don’t expect this to be a technical battle, however.

Benny Newell: It’s a fucking ladder match, Joe. It’s not going to be a technical masterpiece at all. Knock the fucker down, climb the bloody ladder. It’s easy.

Joe Hoffman: If only.

The ring announcer changes course.

Bryan McVay: And his opponent… he is the LSD Champion… EL HOMBRE BLANCO!!!

Joe Hoffman: A man with the same moveset. A man of similar size. We don’t know who’s under the mask but we know he can bring it.

Benny Newell: He can bring it? Well then EHB is not that fucking can’t-hack-it-in-HOW mom in her PRIME, either.

Joe Hoffman: It’s clearly not a woman.

The lights dim and El Hombre Blanco makes his way down in white gear, with his white and gold mask firmly across his face. The LSD Title is already hanging above the ring, as the champion keeps his eyes locked on his opponent inside the squared circle.

EHB hops onto the apron and slips into the ring, through the top and middle rope, without subjecting his attention from Mike who waits patiently in the corner.

Referee Matt Boettcher calls for the bell and exits the ring as he does.

DING DING

Joe Hoffman: We’re off!

Both men take a moment in their respective corners, starting to circle around. EHB looks like he’s going to exit the ring for a ladder when Mike bursts forward and leaps in the air, looking for his famous knock out knee shot.

EHB moves! Mike flies into the ropes, becoming tangled in them. Blanco hops onto the second rope and then slams both his knees against Mike’s chest, sending THE SON out of the ropes and to the mat.

Joe Hoffman: That was a well thought out move by Blanco! He bated Mike, pretending to let his guard down. He didn’t let his guard down, though -he didn’t take his eyes off Mike for one second since making his entrance- but here he did, and it was strategic.

Benny Newell: Strategic? Well that eliminates up to 97% of the HOW roster being behind the Blanco mask. The majority of these fuckers don’t know strategy if it bit them in the ass!

Joe Hoffman: Way to bury the roster, which you were just proud of for defeating PRIME.

Benny Newell: Bury? It’s the fucking truth, Joe. Nobody knows what’s a good strat these days.

As the announcers bicker, Blanco isn’t done. He jumps onto the second rope again and tries for another diving foot stomp, this time to the head of Mike Best…

The legend rolls out of the way at the last possible second. Mike pulls himself up quickly with use of the ropes, spins around and delivers a well placed punt kick under the chin of Blanco. This shoots EHB’s mask up, but not off his face as he makes sure it doesn’t leave his head by grabbing onto the bottom of it.

Mike knows he has an opening. He races up to Blanco and snatches him by the waist, throwing the masked champion into a belly-to-back suplex. Blanco lands on his head.

Mike is merciless. He connects with a second suplex and then a gut wrench release one. He bounces off the ropes and sends a rocket shot straight across Blanco’s head in the form of a right fist to the face.

Best mounts, he begins unloading punches. Blanco is trying to cover up but it’s no use.

Joe Hoffman: This might be over rather quickly.

Benny Newell: Ladder match, Joe. You have the climb.

Joe Hoffman: I know that.

Mike pulls EHB up and slingshoots him into the ropes. However, the second Blanco meets the padding, he ricochets off and delivers a solid roundhouse kick to Mike, sending MLB to the mat.

Now it’s time for Blanco to exit the ring and take a ladder. He’s about to return with it when Mike pops up, bounces off the ropes and leaps through the top and middle rope with a knee, knocking the ladder into EHB’s temple.

Joe Hoffman: That isn’t THE knee of Mike, but it’s certainly A knee.

Blanco drops the ladder. Mike picks it up and drives the object right into Hombre’s gut. Over and over and over, now EHB is hung up on the guardrail. Mike takes a step back and goes to deliver a ladder blow to Blanco’s head…

The champion ducks, rolls underneath and then hits a back stabber to Mike. Since Best was still holding onto the ladder, it shoots up in the air and then for added insult, comes crashing down on Mike’s chest, looking like it cut his chest him open.

Blanco quickly takes that same ladder and slides it into the ring. He follows into the squared circle just as fast and starts to set it up.

Meanwhile, on the outside, Mike sees he’s cut. It’s not a lot of blood… but it’s enough to take the piss right out of him.

Mike grabs a second ladder, one that’s right beside him. He slides into the ring with it and while EHB is making the climb, he destroys the ladder on Blanco’s back.

Blanco falls to the mat but Mike still has hold of his ladder and delivers it heavily into Hombre’s ribs.

The champion spits in the air as the wind is knocked out of him. Mike does it again… and again… and again… more spit flies out of Blanco’s mouth.

Benny Newell: The masked man pissed the legend off.

The Hall of Famer throws the ladder into the corner. It’s clear he was simply trying to discard it so he could continue to hammer his opponent… but then Mike’s eyes go wide and a shit eating grin crosses his face.

The ladder landed perfectly upright in the corner of the ring.

Joe Hoffman: The SON has ideas…

Best peels Blanco off the mat, while continuing to pound his head with forearm blows. Mike Irish whips Blanco into the corner where the ladder stands and Hombre goes in chest-first. Mike then folds the main ladder in the middle of the ring and rushes to the location EHB is standing.

SLAM!

Blanco is crushed between two ladders.

SLAM!

He’s crushed again.

EHB falls to the mat, but he’s in a seated position, leaned up against the ladder. Mike takes the OG ladder and locks it into the top of the second one. As this ladder hangs across the ring, Best props Blanco to his feet and then begins dragging one of the champion’s arms and head through a space in the second ladder, therefore, hanging EHB up in the second ladder.

Joe Hoffman: I don’t like the looks of this. If that ladder holds, since it’s locked into the first one… well, we have El Hombre Blanco literally hanging by his neck and arm!

The challenger exits the ring. He takes a third ladder and slides it in but not before finding another weapon and entering.

A steel chair.

Joe Hoffman: Mike wants to make EHB sorry he ever decided to wrestle him.

Mike smiles sadistically. Before he sets up the third ladder in the middle of the ring, he’s going to make EHB suffer.

Suffer hard.

Mike walks around the hanging LSD Champion and he finds the turnbuckle where the originally ladder is propped. Mike walks up the buckle on the outside and now he’s standing on the top rope.

…Where he can clearly see Blanco’s head poking out of the second ladder, his arm dangled through it as well.

Mike winds up the chair.

Joe Hoffman: He’s going to DESTROY Hambre with this shot! And I thought these two… well, I thought these two knew each other?!

Benny Newell: For a while I thought they were the same guy!

The crowd is stunned. Many of them boo as Mike’s eyes go wide and the biggest grin crosses his face.

He brings the chair up…

He slams it down.

WHACK!

Joe Hoffman: NO! Blanco escapes!

At the very last second, El Hombre wiggles his way out of the second ladder and crashes in a heap on the canvas! Mike’s chair meets nothing but steel as he furiously screams.

El Hombre, meanwhile, quickly shoots to his feet and loosens the second ladder, unlocking it from the first. He pushes the feet of the second ladder down and the top of it meets Mike Best, knocking the legend off the turnbuckle. Best losses the chair, it falls to the floor, as Mike lands on the apron, absolutely fuming.

Blanco still has the second ladder. He runs it right into Mike’s face! Best flies off the apron and CRASHES into the guardrail!

The crowd, who is seemingly coming together for El Hombre, begins cheering loudly.

Blanco drops the second ladder and starts setting up the third to climb, since it’s already in a perfect position.

Blanco ascends.

Mike tries to recover on the outside.

The SON of GOD wildly slides into the ring, but this time Blanco is ready for him. The champion jumps off the ladder, wraps his legs around Best and slings him into the ropes. Once Mike is returned to the champion, EHB connects with a Mexican strike to the side of the head.

Mike doubles over.

A running Mexican snap dropkick follows.

Mike stumbles into the ropes.

Blanco looks for the final blow. He bounces off the far ropes and charges the former World Champion.

Running Mexican knee strike!

Mike falls out of the ring!

The crowd is on their feet, cheering for Blanco as he starts firing them up. He goes back to climbing the ladder.

Joe Hoffman: Blanco can climb QUICKLY. This thing is just about over!

WHAM!

Mike’s in the ring, breathing heavily, steel chair in hand. Having just slammed it against the champ’s back.

The challenger tosses the chair away. He peels EHB from the ladder and into a powerbomb position… which he hits, on top of the second ladder.

Mike holds onto Blanco. He’s going to do it again.

Another powerbomb onto the ladder.

A third.

A fourth.

And a fifth performed as a sitdown powerbomb!

Joe Hoffman: Jesus, that’s harsh!

Benny Newell: LSD Title, Joe. LEE’s title. Literally named after the guy. His SON is the rightful owner!

Mike discards Blanco as the ‘Mexican’ rolls onto his stomach, revealing he’s been significantly cut open a number of times via five powerbombs onto a ladder.

Best sees the third ladder remains perfectly under the championship belt. It’s time he starts climbing. But Mike is hurting, too. He gained a second wind when he entered the ring, yet landing into the guardrail, he definitely hurt something.

Joe Hoffman: Mike does not climb as fast as Blanco.

Benny Newell: Doesn’t have to when you shred the guy’s back like grated cheese.

The crowd is on their feet as Mike reaches the second last step. The LSD Title is in clear reach now, all Mike has to do is balance himself accordingly, reach out and take it.

Easier said than done.

The ladder starts to wobble. Mike looks down and realizes nobody’s there so it obviously has to be him. He keeps his legs steady, but the ladder wobbles again, forcing him to place his hands back on the ladder and not reach out for the belt.

Mike plants his feet once more. He reaches out… this time, there’s no wobbling.

Then MLB realizes why the ladder wasn’t steady to begin with.

It wasn’t him.

It was because of El Hombre climbing to a top rope.

Blanco measures Mike. He jumps off as the cameras flash and the champion wraps his feet around Mike’s neck, looking for a hurricanrana off the ladder.

Joe Hoffman: OH MY GOD!!!

Mike catches Blanco.

Benny Newell: Fuck me!

And THE SON hits a modified Styles Clash as both of them go crashing to the canvas. There’s only one other issue…

The move was delivered on the ladder below!

El Hombre Blanco EATS the ladder on the floor. His entire body is driven through parts of the ladder, as Mike lands on top of him. The crowd is in horror from the move. Some cheer, some shout, some look away.

It takes the legend a moment but he rolls to his right and falls down beside the steel structure, looking to have survived the move.

Benny Newell: El Hombre might be dead. How do we send deceased Mexicans back across the border, Joe? Or is that a question for the other Joe…

Joe Hoffman: Enough with your stupidity. El Hombre hasn’t moved an inch. A muscle. ANYTHING.

Best stands, albeit he’s on rollerskates. He looks down at Blanco and spits in his direction, collapsing in a corner of the ring that doesn’t have a ladder laying near it. Mike tilts his head back, looking at the LSD Title. He nods and finds a more stable base as he emerges from the corner and repositions that third ladder perfectly under the title. He starts climbing.

Joe Hoffman: We’re going to have a new cham-

The crowd comes ALIVE as El Hombre Blanco kips to his feet! A seemingly murdered masked man has his hands rolled into fists and is shaking them. He tilts his head back, finds Mike Best and starts screaming in the legend’s direction.

Blood isn’t just dripping down Blanco’s back anymore, his chest has been carved up, too. Nevertheless, the ‘Mexican’ is going to climb the ladder.

Mike welcomes it. He sends a forearm blow Blanco’s way but El Hombre blocks it! Mike tries for another- no, Blanco blocks it, too!

Blanco with a headbutt.

Then a HARD knife edge chop.

Blanco makes a MAJOR play. He swings around the ladder and lands on the exact same step Mike Best is on!

Blanco hits that original hurricanrana he wanted.

CRUNCH!

Joe Hoffman: MIKE LANDS ON THE LADDER!

This time it’s Best who screams out in pain… but the LSD Champion isn’t done. He leaps off the ladder and lands a perfectly placed leg drop on Mike Best’s neck.

Mike’s body bounces off the ladder. Nobody knows how Blanco is doing it but he’s got a MASSIVE second wind and is pumping up the crowd. El Hombre falls into a corner and points down at his knee.

Joe Hoffman: He isn’t going to…

Benny Newell: Take Mike out with his own move!? It looks like it!

A lightbulb goes off in Benny’s head.

Benny Newell: So El Hombre Blanco IS Mike Best! I knew it, I fucking knew it!

Joe Hoffman: Uhhhhh…

Hoffman’s confused and so are the viewers, but it’s a moot point. As Mike is on all fours, Blanco is readying for the TKO Kneed a Hero…

Mike is on one leg…

Blanco waits.

Mike is on a second leg…

Blanco waits.

Mike turns around to the middle of the ring.

Blanco charges.

BOOM!!!

Joe Hoffman: DAMMIT! Mike with a pop-up knee smash!

All of Blanco’s force causes the impact of Mike’s knee to have even more damage! EHB instantly collapses to the mat like he’s been knocked out cold. For good. Ain’t getting up if he dreamed. For added measure, El Hombre’s head meets the entire ladder staircases on his way to the canvas. His head bounces off step-by-step until he’s flat on the mat.

Mike shakes his head. He’s CLEARLY in a lot of pain but, nevertheless, it looks like he’s got the last laugh.

And the LSD Title.

Mike rolls Blanco to the side of the ring, far away from the ladder before he starts to climb.

The crowd groans. Some boo. A few cheer. Regardless, Mike is at the top.

He reaches out. There’s no ladder wobble this time. Because El Hombre Blanco is DOA.

Mike has the LSD Title in his grasp.

He unstraps it!

The bell sounds.

DING DING DING

Bryan McVay: The winner of this match… AND NNNNNNNNNEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEWWWWWWWWWWWWWW LSD CHAMPION… MIKE BEST!!!

Mike’s theme song plays as he holds the belt in the air. However, it doesn’t look like he’s particularly thrilled with the outcome.

Mike climbs down. He pushes the referee away and places the title on the ground.

Joe Hoffman: What’s Mike doing!?

Benny Newell: I think he’s going to punish El Hombre!

Joe Hoffman: The damage has been done, Mike. You won the title. Blanco lost. Move on. Leave EHB out of this, we know he’s not you anymore!

It doesn’t matter, it’s not like Mike can hear Joe. Or care. Best walks over to Blanco and props him onto his knees. He takes a few steps back and-

WHAM!

I Kneed a Hero.

And…

WHAM!

I Kneed a Hero!

And…

WHAM!

I KNEED A HERO!

The crowd is destroying this notion with jeers. Mike Best has become unglued.

Everyone thinks he’s done, as the new LSD Champion walks away from the battered and wastes El Hombre.

Everyone thinks Mike is done… except Mike.

Joe Hoffman: Oh no. No. No no no no no no no.

Mike takes the ladder, the one he just climbed to win the LSD Title. He places Blanco’s head beside one of the steps.

Joe Hoffman: Mike is going to deliver the knee into the ladder and THROUGH EHB’s skull…

Benny Newell: Now I kinda hope it is one of those fucking HOW morons under the mask.

Mike walks ALL THE WAY BACK to the other side of the ring, to get the biggest running head start yet. Most of the crowd watches in horror but instead of shouting out with fear, or concern…

As Mike slowly turns, that’s when he hears the crowd ERUPT, and then he sees what’s coming at him… but far too late.

The high-angle stomp catches the champion square between the eyes as Best falls limply backwards and he sees the lights above him begin to blur.

We see anl image of the man that delivered the blow.

Conor Fuse.

The Vintage stands in the center of the ring, looking down at Mike and the now fallen title belt beside him. The crowd cheers heavily, but Fuse doesn’t want to bask in their response.

Instead, he has a sour face. An intense face. It’s almost like Conor is replaying their history in his head and it’s working him up. He takes a moment to nod at El Hombre, as if paying respect to the man who went blow for blow with Mike.

Fuse kneels down beside The Son, and takes the legend by the hair. Conor lets out a battle cry into the rafters. He drops Mike’s head and marches around the ring as !RANK chants flow throughout the building and the gamer starts pulling his hair.

Joe Hoffman: CONOR HAS COME FOR MIKE! He said he needed a change of course… is this it!?

Benny Newell: Come to get MURDERED. Change of course to NOT BREATHE ANYMORE. Mike is going to kill Conor when he wakes up.

The HOW signature appears in the bottom right hand corner as Fuse walks back over to the fallen Mike Best and continues to stare at him with a fury in his eyes unforeseen in a long, long time.

The following video was received by the High Octane offices and addressed to Lee Best.

An audible crackle and shuffling can be heard before the scene comes into view. A person masked in shadow from his chest upwards sits in a simple wooden chair flanked by two men who appear to be holding guns.

After a moment’s pause, the person gestures with their hand and a man comes into view of the camera, his face just out of frame to conceal his identity.

Man: We saw what you did.

You come to our country.

You spit on our flag.

You desecrate our land.

You vilify our culture.

And now… this one… he attacked one of us.

The camera pans over to show Christopher America, still in his wrestling gear tied to a wooden chair with a dirty rag wrapped around his head and mouth to gag him. America’s eyes are wide open, staring daggers into the man in front of him. He struggles against his restraints as the chair rattles.

Man: That man you attacked… Jose… he was one of us. He belonged to us. He IS us.

And now, your man is going to pay the price.

Normally, we don’t deal in people but this time, we will make an exception.

As an example.

Consider this a warning… from one ALLIANCE… to another.

The scene fades to a 97Red advert as the muffled screams of America are heard and slowly fade out.

LSD Championship Match
Conor Fuse vs. Michael Lee Best©

Singles Match
Bobbinette Carey vs. Shane Reynolds

Singles Match
Rhys Townsend vs. John Sektor