DISCLAIMER: The following show contains vulgar language, extreme violence, nudity, and overall animosity. New Blood Wrestling can be reached at: New Blood Wrestling 125 South Broad Street Trenton, NJ 08625 All complaints can be directed to the above address. This show is rated TV-MA. There will be a five second pause before the show begins, so that you may put your [BLEEP]in' children to bed! [The old school movie scrolling image begins counting down... 5... 4... 3...2... ] nbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnwbnbwnwbnwbnwbnwbnwnbw [We hear the voice of the legendary President, Franklin D. Roosevelt, quoting the founder of Lutheranism, Martin Luther. The image is black and white, and _very_ hazy.] ROOSEVELT: No one need thinks that the world can be ruled without blood. The civil sword shall and _must_ be red and bloody. [The image fades out. "Blackout" by (hEd)p.e. blasts in your ears.] # ___ I BLACK OOOOOOUUUUUUTTTTTT !!! ___ # [The image of Gabriel Thorn hitting the Crown of Thorns on Matt Harris through a table at an outdoor arena. It quickly switches to Chris Walker applying a figure-four leglock to Texas Jack. Giggles hitting a Gigglesault on a chair which rests on Matthew Reason's chest.] # Don't you put words in my mouth # # Don't try to shut me up # # I'm not about plastic skin # # I gotta get out, gotta get out, in # # What about those things you said to me? # # What about the time we've wasted? # # Everyday's just like the one before # # Everytime I see your face... # [Justin Ryerson holding Mike Magnum against a door by his throat. Shawn Bryson locking the Superstar Stretch onto Marc-Andre Laprise. Jedah hitting Total Salvation on Doyle Woodall. Lark Fenriz jumping from the top-rope, with Oeste Neblinoso, Jr. in his grasps, landing Sammael across the guardrail.] # I BLACKOUT! # # YOU KNOW I GOTTA GET IN! # # I BLACKOUT! # # JUST LET ME IN! # # I BLACKOUT! # # YOU KNOW I GOTTA GET IN! # # I BLACKOUT! # # BUT I GOTTA KNOW NOW WHERE DO I FIT IN?! # ["Intrepid" Ryan Howard applying the Rear Naked Choke to Yasi Masir, on a craps table in Atlantic City. Matt Harris spin kicking Gabriel Thorn _through_ a glass wall in Asbury Park, New Jersey. Mr. Happy putting Ethan McBride through a table with the Happy Ending sitdown splash. DeathRow hitting a _massive_ chokeslam on Justin Ryerson, off a ladder, through a flaming table!] # Don't you tell me what to think # # You'll never know how I should feel # # I see through plastic skin # # I gotta get out gotta get out, in # # What about the five o'clock news? # # What about the Sunday paper? # # Everyday's just like the one before # # Everytime I turn the page... # [Mark Chaos hitting Pop Goes Yer Neck on Chris Walker. Chris Walker holding the NBW Northeastern Title high in the air. "Ultraviolence" Gabriel Thorn, on his knees, staring into the NBW Heavyweight Title. Cut into the NBW logo... _______ __________ __ __ \ \\______ \/ \ / \ / | \| | _/\ \/\/ / / | \ | \ \ / \____|__ /______ / \__/\ / \/ \/ \/ N E W B L O O D W R E S T L I N G presents... ___ ___ ___ ___ ___ / /\ / /\ / /\ / /\ / /\ / /::\ / /:/ / /::\ / /::\ / /::\ / /:/\:\ / /:/ / /:/\:\ / /:/\:\ / /:/\:\ / /::\ \:\ / /:/ / /:/ \:\ / /:/ \:\ / /:/ \:\ /__/:/\:\_\:| /__/:/ /__/:/ \__\:\ /__/:/ \__\:\ /__/:/ \__\:| \ \:\ \:\/:/ \ \:\ \ \:\ / /:/ \ \:\ / /:/ \ \:\ / /:/ \ \:\_\::/ \ \:\ \ \:\ /:/ \ \:\ /:/ \ \:\ /:/ \ \:\/:/ \ \:\ \ \:\/:/ \ \:\/:/ \ \:\/:/ \__\::/ \ \:\ \ \::/ \ \::/ \__\::/ ~~ \__\/ \__\/ \__\/ ~~ ___ ___ /\ \ /\__\ \:\ \ /:/ _/_ ___ \:\ \ /:/ /\ \ /\__\ ___ ___ ___ \:\ \ /:/ /::\ \ /:/ / /\ \ /\__\ /\ \ \:\__\ /:/_/:/\:\__\ /:/__/ \:\ \ /:/ / \:\ \ /:/ / \:\/:/ /:/ / /::\ \ \:\ /:/ / \:\ /:/ / \::/ /:/ / /:/\:\ \ \:\/:/ / \:\/:/ / \/_/:/ / \/__\:\ \ \::/ / \::/ / /:/ / \:\__\ \/__/ \/__/ \/__/ \/__/ [And we open into the sold-out Lehigh Valley Center in Easton, Pennsylvania! The crowd goes _nuts_ as fireworks explode throughout the arena.] # I BLACKOUT! # # YOU KNOW I GOTTA GET IN! # # I BLACKOUT! # # JUST LET ME IN! # # I BLACKOUT! # # YOU KNOW I GOTTA GET IN! # # I BLACKOUT! # # BUT I GOTTA KNOW NOW WHERE DO I FIT IN?! # ### BOOM! ### ### BOOM! ### ### BOOM! ### ### BOOM! ### ### BOOM! ### ### BOOM! ### The camera pans all over the arena, to screaming, crazy Blue Hens. We pan into the front row, where the various members of the Blood Gallery are screaming their God damned heads off. Finally, fade to the commentator's table.] TA: LADIES AND GENTLEMEN... WELCOME TO THE SOLD-OUT LEHIGH VALLEY CENTER! WELCOME TO EASTON, PENNSYLVANIA! _WELCOME_ _TO_ _BLOOD_ _LUST_! CR: These Quakers are on their feet and in our face! TA: They've got good reason to be fired up, because tonight, ten men will compete in an Anything Goes, Over-the-Top-Rope Battle Royale! The winner gets a shot at the Northeast Championship at Nuclear Winter! CR: And the champion _himself_ will be competing in that match as well! That's got to be either the ballsiest or stupidest decision I've ever seen! TA: Also tonight, we'll hear from "Intrepid" Ryan Howard! Are the rumors true? Has Matt Harris got the Most Hated Man in Wrestling spooked out of his wits? CR: I highly doubt that. Howard's probably luring Harris into yet another trap! A better question to ask would be whether or not "The Extreme Jesus" is ever going to _learn_! TA: We're all set to go; let's head down to the ring! nbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbw ["Powerless" by Nelly Furtado hits the speakers, the crowd turns to the entrance as the music is not something you expect to hear at a wrestling show. Out comes Justin Ryerson, Ryerson wearing khakis, and a white t-shirt. Both of his arms are in a double sling so over his head sits a headset with a microphone attached, the same as any singer would use. He walks down the aisle as the fans look at him with sincerity and remorse. Justin Ryerson slowly steps threw the ropes and begins to speak.] RYERSON: I'm not changing my theme song... however, there was no better way to tell you how I feel right now. My entire life, doctors have tried to keep me away from this ring, from participating in front of all of you. My entire life i've been held back but I fought and no matter what was said, I found a way to get in this ring, I found a way to fight in front of every single one of you. Yet... right now... I feel powerless, just like Nellie.... that little solid piece of ass said... when you feel so powerless, what are you going to do? [Ryerson takes a breath, he looks around as his facial expression is one of great sorrow.] Now before I carry on with... [Ryerson looks at both of his shoulders] With this... I want to adress something. I read internet reports that said I was leaving New Blood Wrestling, how I had a disputement with management and how Justin Ryerson was leaving this federation once his contract expired in the middle of next month. I read my shoulders were... quote unquote "SEPERATED" as part of a way to write me off... well, in case you're wondering, my shoulders hurt, there in a lot of fucking pain and it's no write off, Justin Ryerson isn't going anywhere, Justin Ryerson like him or not.. is here to stay! [KISS UP CROWD POP!] So, now that we know I have no place to go, that I have all the time in the world, I'd like to take this time to address my friends, Lark Fenriz and Deathrow. They say I'm the crazy one, that I have problems yet one guy think he's a wolf and the other guy still has nightmares of dropping the soap. Allow me to explain something to the both of you, bones heal... my shoulders will feel better. Any shit you broke or pulled or strained will eventually heal. You've made me feel powerless but the most dangerous people in this world are the little people you don't f***ing notice, the little people you push around your entire life, the ones who turn around and stab you 46 times with a letter opener cause you went another morning at work without saying hello. You see, I've been pushed from day one and my doctor said it's not good for me, it's not good for my health. Deathrow, me and you... STAIRWAY TO HELL... you made me bleed like a stout pig. Lark, you pulled my arms out of their damn sockets, you put my head threw a mirror... I think that's a little worse then not saying hello. At Nuclear Winter.... I may feel powerless now... but trust me, I won't then. I won't feel powerless when I watch you two bleed as I watch you two twitch around like trouts out of water, I won't feel powerless then... I think then, I'll actually feel horny... I'll get _off_ on it! [Ryerson smirks and leaves the ring as "Powerless" kicks up once again.] TA: JUSTIN RYERSON LAYING DOWN A CHALLENGE TO THE TWO GIANTS! HE WANTS THEM _BOTH_ AT NUCLEAR WINTER! CR: This guy's officially out of his mind! nbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbw [Somewhere else in the Lehigh Valley Stadium. Oeste Neblinoso Jr. has _jussssst_ slipped on the mask. Damn, we almost saw his face. Oeste adjusts his three-piece suit, preparing himself for the battle royal later this evening.] OESTE: I'm ready. Bring them on, NBW... [Suddenly, everything goes dark. Oeste thinks its another blackout, but as the camera swings around, the darkness is revealed to be the looming shadow of the Hardcore Hero-- Kyokudo Ishiguri!] KYO: Yo Yo wassup wassapp?!?!?!?! OESTE: Hola, Kyo-- Kyokudo, right? [Kyo nods.] OESTE: I don't believe I saw your name on the format. What brings you hear tonight, in Easton Pennsylvania? [HOMETOWN MENTION POP!!!] KYO: My fellow foreign brother, you gotta do me a solid! I just hafta get in the Battle Royal tonight, it's my only shot at Deadpool! So whatcha say, let me have your stop? [Oeste doesn't even hesitate.] OESTE: No. KYO: No? Damn man, everyone knows that you haven't wanted to compete lately, you're semi-retired! OESTE: I'm sorry, mano. Much as I'd love to see you go "Godzilla" all over NBW's finest-- I just _can't_. I came very, very, VERY close to blowing my shot at Thorn by turning in my resignation last week. Getting my second chance might cost me the most valuable thing in my career. [Points toward his mask.] OESTE: I have nothing else left to trade for a third. [Kyo's head sinks. He mutters something dejectedly like "understood" and turns around, preparing to leave.] OESTE: I'll tell you what though. I could certainly use you _help_ tonight. KYO: (dejected, but interested) Sure bud, whatcha need? OESTE: Like I said before... all I have are my fists and my agenda. I'm not one for weapons, and to be honest, I didn't bring any tonight... which was muy stupido on my part, I know. I could certainly use your refined expertise when it comes to getting "hardcore." I need a _weapon_. Got any ideas? [Kyo smiles. He reaches for something in the top of his boots... pulling out his trademark metal chopsticks.] KYO: Weapon? I think I have the perfect weapon for ya. nbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbw TA: And now I'm getting word that we're going to be cutting to the back where Dave Stenton is standing by with some important news. [The camera cuts to what can only be the backstage area of Lehigh Valley Stadium-- specifically, the parking garage where the wrestlers will tend to park their cars or, if they are lucky enough, be delivered in their limousines. Dave Stenton stands at attention, the open garage door and an endless, starry Pennsylvanian night taunting a frigid grin at his back.] DS: Thanks, Tony. Now, most viewers or fans might not have been privledged to this information, but for the past _week_ Ryan Howard has been AWOL. Everyone from Dallas Reed to various investors in the company have literally been on _edge_, as nobody seems to have any clue to his whereabouts. I've received confirmation that neither calls to his home were returned, nor were any to his cellular telephone number. Now, this could.. [Clint Reed suddenly voices in, cutting off Dave Stenton in mid-sentence.] CR: Dave, you really take this reporting job seriously? I mean, heh, you have all these facts and figures, and you're reporting "hot" from the scene. I mean, seriously man.. do you really think of yourself as a journalist. [Dave, obviously a bit flustered and a lot agitated, opens his mouth to speak.] CR: No, no, let me finish. Let me finish. Can I finish? [Dave goes to open his mouth.] CR: Can I finish? [Dave pauses for a moment, before closing his mouth and taking a deep breath.] CR: Seriously, Dave.. you take this way too seriously. I think the black community should be ashamed of the fact that you aspire to be Walter Cronkite. I mean, the closest you'll ever get is possibly in a movie like "Bruce Almighty", and even at that, it'd be "Bruce All-Nighty" for you. I mean, I know this Ryan Howard thing is important, but.. [A muffled sound can be heard, followed by the faint murmurs of Clint in the background, saying something about.. Tony Adams knocking off his headset?] DS: Thanks, Tony. As I was saying before "hung-like a fly" honkey interrupted me, this could have a great deal to due with what transpired on the last Blood Lust. I spoke to some of the road agents and wrestlers and they all agreed that Howard looked incredibly embarassed after what happened last week, and once source went as far to say "..he looked humiliated, like fresh meat being broken in at prison." [Stenton pauses for a moment, before continuing.] DS: Now, this has led a lot of individuals to believe that the "Intrepid One" himself is _scared_ of Matt Harris, and is _ducking_ him. With the contract signing tonight, as well as the battle royale he was to be entered in, there could be be some ramifications to these actions. All wrestlers were _required_ to be here two hours ago, yet still no sign from Howard. I've been asked to report back later, but for now, I'm Dave Stenton reporting for New Blood Wrestling.. back to you, Tony. [The camera cuts back to the broadcast booth Tony Adams and Clint Reed call the shots during Blood Lust.] TA: So "Intrepid" Ryan Howard, possibly _no_ _showing_ Blood Lust? Possibly showing a side of _cowardice_ we've not yet seen, here in the face of one of the toughest competitors in the NBW, "Extreme Jesus" Matt Harris? [Clint shakes his head, gesturing figuratively with the pencil in his hand.] CR: I can't disagree more Tony, and here's why: "Intrepid" means "fearless," so automatically Howard _can't_ be afraid. Do you follow me? He can't be called "Intrepid" and be afraid at the same time, so if he is called "Intrepid," than he isn't afraid of anyone, especially not that chump Matt Harris. [Tony pauses for a moment, pursing his lips together in thought. He turns to face Clint, raising an eyebrow.] TA: Did you come up with that brain buster all by yourself, Clint? CR: No.. I mean, yeah, and let me tell you another thing, Ryan Howard doesn't _need_ to be here tonight. Howard has wrestled _every_ week for like the past two months, all the while having to deal with Jeremy Steele banning the Rear Naked Choke and Matt Harris practically _stalking_ him, possibly with intentions to _end_ his _career_. [Clint sits back, tossing the pencil down onto the shared desk. He shakes his head, crossing his arms.] CR: I'm one hundred percent behind Ryan Howard's decision to boycott the show. He is getting a raw deal from the En-Bee-Dub. Fight the power, brother! TA: Anyways... Malvado "Wicked" Juarez is in the ring...we've got a Double Debut Match coming up! Let's head down to Singh Hemlock! nbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbw .--..-. .----..----..--. .-. .-..-..---..---. |-< | |__ | || || || || \ \ | |__ | || | \ \ `| |' `--'`----'`----'`----'`-'-' `----'`----'`---' `-'| | DOUBLE DEBUT MATCH! | | Xavier N. Vain vs. Malvado "Wicked" Juarez | |______________Writer: Ryan Howard_______________| [Richard Strauss' 1896 masterpiece "Also Spake Zarathustra begins to boom over the arena's sound system.] SH: Making his way to ringside... Standing 6 feet, one inch high and weighing 234 pounds... ... X A V I E R N . V A I N ! [At the sound of his name, Vain emerges at the top of the ramp. An arrogant grin dominates his face as he slowly turns his head, taking in the arena. He is wearing amateur-style wrestling tights, midnight blue in colour and emblazoned with a gold "X" on the front. His raven hair is pulled neatly back into a short ponytail. The arena lights reflect brightly off the gold of his ICON Heavyweight Championship belt. Vain begins to slowly walk to the ringside, adopting a cocky stride. At about the halfway point he turns and shares a couple words with a fan, rolling his eyes and shaking his head as he walks away. Reaching the ring, Vain methodically climbs up the steps, cracking his knuckles in anticipation of his match. He eyes the referee with disdain and leans casually against the ropes as he waits for the bell to ring.] TA: This should be an exciting contest, Clint. CR: Yeah, I'm just _tingling_ with anticipation after that _amazing_ freshman class that was inducted only weeks ago. I don't think they even had time to unpack their bags, sort out their belongings, and rub a quick one off in the shower before Weeks sent their asses packing. TA: I think things might be a tad different this time around. Malvado "Wicked" Juarez comes from a rich lucha libre wrestling background that dates back to the earliest years of the prior century. CR: I'm more interested in Xavier N. Vain, and really.. who wouldn't be? He has the balls to walk down the aisle carrying a title belt that is a direct slap in the face of everyone in attendance and everyone in the back, and you have to wonder, Tony.. how do you think the champ, Gabriel Thorn feels about Vain walking around with the ICON Heavyweight Championship? TA: I'm sure he's not very happy with it, at the very least. Right now, however, he's about to get his hands dirty with a true blue chip prospect in the form of Malvado Juarez. [Ding! Ding! Ding! Both men tentatively approach the center of the ring, Vain with a cocky, rolling gait to his stride and Juarez with a lower center to his weight, crouching slightly with a nature akin to a coiled diamondback poising its strike. Rather uncharacteristically, however, Vain offers a charitable smile and extends his hand to Malvado in a sign of sportsmanship and comraderie. Juarez pauses for a moment, glancing to endless sea of crowd on his left and then to his right for counsel. A moment passed, he steps forward to accept the handshake.. HEEL POP!!!! ..only for Vain to draw his hand away, up to "slick back" his raven locks and toy with his pony tail!"] CR: HAH! You know, no matter how many times I see that, Tony.. it never gets old. Classic, Vain. Simply classic. [Vain doesn't have much time to grin and enjoy his cocky nature, however, as Juarez quickly springs forward, landing a volley of forearm shots to the jaw of the ICON champion, stunning him. The crowd begins to cheer as the forearm shots continue to send Vain reeling back until he meets the ropes. Juarez quickly sends him across the ring with an irish whip, meeting him with a dropkick square on the jaw. Both men make it to their feet at the same time and Juarez connects with another picture perfect dropkick that lands flush on the jaw of Vain. This time Juarez beats Vain to his feet and sizes him, preparing to.. "HOLY SHIT THAT WAS COOL" POP!!!! ..land a spectacular backflipping dropkick that easily finds its mark, and then quickly diving forward with a dropkick to the back of the head of Vain!] TA: What a beautiful backflip dropkick by Wicked Juarez, followed up by a dropkick to the back of the head! I wonder just what went on in that suburban Mexico City gym where he was trained by his father, Pablo! CR: I think that's between father, son, and protective custody, Tony. [Jaurez quickly pulls Vain to his feets and whips him to the ropes, leaping up and spinning around.. ..and around.. ..and around.. ..and around.. ..before releasing the flying headscissors and sending Vain rolling into the ropes. Vain decides now would be the proper time to perhaps re-evaluate his strategy and quickly rolls beneath the bottom rope, ducking out of the ring to the outside.] TA: It looks like Vain perhaps took his size and weight advantage for more than it was worth and underestimated the skill and speed of Wicked Juarez. CR: He just needs some time to think things over, like mom and dad. I mean, sure, it's wrong for a man to hit a woman, but dad told the bitch to stop her nagging and yelling.. [Clint just sort of trails off.] TA: ..right. Anyways, it doesn't look like he's going to have much time for reflection! [Certainly not, as Jaurez steps back to the opposite ropes, before running forward and leaping through the air.. <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> ..and landing an _amazing_ front flip, cannonball style plancha over the top rope -- that is, with no aid of the top rope itself. Just One-hundred and eighty-seven pounds of speedy Mexican flipping over the top rope and crashing into the back of Vain! The crowd cheers loudly as Vain is sent chestfirst into the steel guardrail. Juarez quickly makes his way to his feet, leaping up onto the apron.. <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> ..and sailing through the air with a Asai moonsault! LOVECHILD OF "OUCH, THAT'S GOTTA HURT" POP AND "HEEL" POP!!!! ..as Vain steps to the side! Juarez lands on the guardrailing stomach first and quickly folds, hanging there for a moment before Vain capitalizes on the opportunity and stomps at his head until he falls free -- sort of like hacking away at the trunk of a tree in hopes that it will drop apples.] TA: GOOD GOD! Juarez was nearly _split_ in _half_ by the guardrail! CR: I wonder if he'll need two Green Cards now, you think? [Vain quickly rolls Juarez back into the ring. Not giving him a moment's rest, he quickly goes for the cover, gouging the jawline of Juarez with his forearm and elbow in the process. ONE!!!!] TA: KICKOUT! Jaurez still has some gas in the tank, but I have to hand it to Vain.. he sure knows how and when to capitalize on a situation. I may not like the man's attitude, but this first glimpse of him in the ring, just the way he moves.. you can see he has a lot of tenacity. CR: You're damned right. The ICON Cham-peen excels at _everything_. He is a student of every game, Tony. I'm telling you, he's gonna rise to the top of the En-Bee-Dub very fast. [Vain quickly pulls Juarez to his feet by the back of his mask and then sends him hurdling with a fireman's carry takedown. Keeping Juarez's head and neck in close proximity, he quickly moves in locomotion, executing a second and third fireman's carry in a row. On the fourth, he simply holds Juarez's on his shoulders and stands. Then, in a mild feat of strength, he juts Juarez up over his head and sends him crashing down onto his knee with a stomachbreaker! Juarez immediately goes fetal, coughing and gasping loudly. Vain once more goes for the cover, grinding his forearm and elbow into the jawline of the blue chip, Mexican prospect. ONE!!!!] [TWO!!!!!] TA: Kickout by Juarez! That was a close call after having the wind knocked out of him, Clint. CR: After taking a hit like that, I'm suprised we didn't see candy start to fall out of his mouth. Ole! [Vain takes a step back as Juarez begins to make his way to his feet with the aid of the ropes. Lunging forward, he swiftly kicks the left (outer, in respect to the ropes) leg out from beneath Juarez, sending him flipping onto the back of his head. Wasting no time, Vain quickly begins to assault the leg, stomping away at the hamstring and back of the knee, holding the leg up with a firm grasp of the ankle. After several more seconds of abuse, he drapes the left ankle of Malvado Juarez across the bottom rope, and using the middle rope as a stepping stool of sorts, leaps up and.. WHUUUUUUUUMPPPPPPPPPPP!!!! ..brings all his weight down on the inner knee! Juarez howls in pain as Vain leaps up again, sizing up that knee.. WHUUUUUUUUMPPPPPPPPPPP!!!! ..once more crashing down onto that increasingly tender region. WHUUUUUUUUMPPPPPPPPPPP!!!! And after the third consecutive blow, Vain finally relents, kicking Juarez's leg free from the bottom rope. Juarez only has a small moment to nurse his injury before Vain rips his leg away, dragging him to the center of the ring where he wraps him up in an STF.] CR: Xavier N. Vain is like a shark, Tony. He smells the blood, and he attacks the wound. Right now he's doing a great job of maiming that leg leg of "el hoppero de el bordero." TA: You really don't know any Spanish, do you? CR: Not a lick. [The crowd begins to pound their feet, and in a few short moments, the rafters are shaking as Malvado Juarez begins to pulls himself towards the ropes with his arms -- not an easy feat with a larger man on your back. BOOM - BOOM - BOOM!!!! BOOM - BOOM - BOOM!!!! BOOM - BOOM - BOOM!!!! BOOM - BOOM - BOOM!!!! As Juarez grows closer, the rampant slamming of feet grows to a peak.. BOOM - BOOM - BOOM - BOOMBOOMBOOMBOOBOOMBOOM - FACE POP!!!!] TA: And Jaurez makes the ropes! CR: ..but Vain is reluctant to break the hold! He's gonna milk this for all that it's worth, and really tear into the hip flexor and quadricepts. He's pretty much deconstructed the left leg of Juan Valdez! I'm telling you, I've heard a lot about this guy and he's like a surgeon in that regard -- he takes apart a body quickly and efficiently. [The referee steps in to break the hold, and Vain is none too pleased. He finally releases it five seconds after the count, hurriedly making his way to his feet so that he can give the referee a piece of his mind. They jaw back and forth for a few moments, giving Juarez enough time to at least make it to his hands and knees, and then one knee -- obviously favoring that left leg. As Vain reaches down to pull Jaurez fully back onto his feet, he is met by a hard right to the breadbasket, which catches him off-guard and stuns him slightly. He quickly retaliates with a hammer blow to the back of Juarez, who in turns fires off another right! And another! And another! The crowd begins to fire up alongside the rising Mexican star, who switches to left-right combinations as he makes his way to his feet. Just as he begins to stagger Vain with a series of forearm shots to the face.. HEEL POP!!!! ..Vain claws away at the eye sockets of Juarez's mask, drawing a series of boos as he gouges away at his eyes. The act gives Vain the upper hand once more, and he makes ample use with a Russian legsweep. Making his way back to his feet, Vain begins shaking his head as he draws Juarez, wobbly-knee and all, to his feet. Vain quickly applies double underhooks and heaves Juarez up for what would appear to be a double underhook backbreaker.. FACE POP!!!! ..but in an amazing feat of flexibility and agility, Wicked Juarez breaks free in mid air and locks his legs around the head of Vain, sending him reeling with a hurricanrana! The crowd cheers loudly as Jaurez makes his way back to his feet. He takes a few steps back, hopping on one leg as Vain makes his way to his feet, a bit rattled by the sudden surge of offense by Juarez. The crowd roars as Juarez hops forward..] TA: Hurricanarana! Juarez is digging deep right now, basically getting all of his hang-time from one leg! Another! A third hurricanarana and Vain looks incredibly dazed! CR: He's hopping around like a Mexican jumping bean! I haven't been this nauseous since Freddy vs. Jason. TA: Not a fan of horror flicks? CR: Not a fan of crap-ass movies where the black girl is all like, "Yo, Jason, o'er here muh-fug." Just horrible. TA: That sounded a bit racist, Clint. CR: Fifteen percent of the population and ninety percent of the crime. Do the math, Tony, do the math. [Jaurez continues the fast-paced assault with a series of armdrag takedowns - - four to be exact, before clutching the wrist of Vain and hobble-jogging toward the turnbuckles. He quickly scales and then springboards off the top rope, sending Vain across the ring with another armdrag that is met by applause by the fans. Wait, no! That was a bit pre-emptive! No, that wasn't a springboard armdrag takedown.. that was a springboard arm_bar_ takedown, as Vain is now clutching at his wrist to keep his arm from being hyperextended by Malvado Juarez! The crowd continues to cheer as Vain lies on his back, rolled slightly to the side caught in the nearly impossible fight of keeping himself from being armbarred. After several seconds, Vain begins to his kick legs out to the side, flailing them in an attempt to swing them beneath the nearside bottom rope. The crowd seems somewhat let down when he accomplishes the task before Juarez can extend the arm, but they are somewhat vindicated when Vain begins to receive a meteor shower of stomps to the side of his head.] TA: That was a close call there! One thing you can say about the En-Bee-Dub is that we have some of the greatest submission artists in the game today, guys who can end a match with an armbar and their submission skills on the mat. It looks like we can chalk up each of these individuals to that list. [Seemingly out of nowhere, Juarez executes a full la magistral cradle, but Vain quickly kicks out, much to the dismay of the crowd. In typical lucha libre fashion, Juarez twirls his index finger in the air as he drags Vain to the corner with a front chancery locked in tight. The crowd realizes what they're about to see as Juarez sits himself up on the top turnbuckle, and then jumps off, twisting like a tornado in midair.. VERY RANDY HEEL POP!!!! ..in an attempted tornado DDT that Vain morphs into an inverted atomic drop! Juarez stumbles in a circle as well as backwards as the crowd boos, turning around to meet a boot to the guy by Vain, followed by double underhooks..] CR: Brahmin Buster! That's his set-up for the X-Plex! [Indeed the double underhook backbreaker is, and will be, as Vain wastes no time in drawing a dazed and weary Juarez to his feet and hooking the leg.. ..the crowd booing loudly as he throws him back with his signature fisherman's suplex, the "X-Plex!"] CR: X-PLEX! X-PLEX! IT'S OVER, TONY! ONE!!!! TWO!!!! THREE!!!! [Ding! Ding! Ding!] SH: HERE IS YOUR WINNER... ... X A V I E R N . V A I N ! CR: What an impressive showing by _the_ champ! TA: What an impressive showing by _both_ men! I think there will be a lot more to be seen, not only by Xavier N. Vain -- who was victorious tonight, but also by Malvado "Wicked" Juarez, who showed a lot of talent as well! nbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbw [Guitars pierce over the PA system as Breaking Benjamin's "Natural Life" hits. The audience begins to boo, the expectant already engaged in hate.] TA: Alexander Anderson vowed to speak his mind last week. CR: He nearly caused a riot last week with what he said and did. He denied us of boobs... OF BOOBS! #All of my life #All of my time #I don't wanna come back around tonight #And all that I need #Is serenity #I don't wanna feel your new disease [From the entrance, back turned, arms out at his side comes the man in question. He is dressed in street clothing: baggy jeans, a t-shirt, on the front two raised arms forming a large X, and a dark skullcap. What appears to be a magazine juts, folded, from his back pocket. The African American takes several steps out, pauses, rolls his neck... and then turns. Alexander Anderson has nothing but a cocky smile on his face as he shakes his head in disgust.] CR: It should be interesting to see what he wants to say this week. TA: My guess? What we saw last week is gonna be nothing to what we see here tonight in the Lehigh Valley Center! #The natural life #You're born, you die #The natural life #You're wrong, you're right #The natural life #You're born, you die #The natural life's a lie SH: Ladies and gentlemen, once again please welcome.. ALEXANDER ANDERSON! [An athletic and muscular black man, Anderson is quite handsome and well kept... minus the seemingly permanent look of disgust crossed with arrogance on his face. He bears no discernable scars, only a couple tattoes. His head is near shaven with a small soul path his only facial hair. The insufferably arrogant straight edge saunters up the stairs, stepping into the ring. He spins with a flourish... mouthing off to several crass fans as he snatches the microphone.] AA: I was reading an interesting article on my trip here tonight. [And with that he pulls out the magazine.] AA: In this magazine, there was a lengthy article about competitors in THIS sport who've died in the past several years. I read over it and noticed a very weird thing. Something odd. Something I read and well... wasn't really shocked by. [He unfurls it, opening it to we're guessing the article.] AA: None died from car accidents. VERY FEW from old age. Let's see... heart attack attributed to steroid use. Overdose from drugs and alchohol. Suicide with drugs found beside them. Overdose from painkillers. Hrmm... lesse. They died from drugs, booze and steroids. TA: Come on, Anderson, make your point. [Anderson smirks as he tosses the magazine over a shoulder. He pulls up a sleeve to reveal a large and bold "CLEAN" tattoed on his shoulder.] AA: I guess I'm gonna live forever in this sport! [Disrespecting the dead HEEL POP!] AA: Read this... read my shoulder. Clean. I... am... clean. CC: Man, this guy is sure full of himself. [Anderson scans the crowd, contempt written allllllllll over his face.] AA: I am not gonna come out here and say the same things as last Bloodlust. I don't need to. Everyone, _everyone_ in the audience, in the back, in the business heard what I had to say whether they wanted to or not and I guarantee more then a few couldn't get it out of their heads. As they were drinking back beer after beer or smoked their drugs or did their lines or did their hookers they all begun to second guess themselves. Maybe what they did WAS wrong. Maybe I DID have a point. [Pause.] AA: But then they went back to doing what they were doing, letting their minds and bodies be controlled by something they have no power over. Me? _Nothing_ and _no one_ will control me. Unlike the addicts filling up the locker room, I am my own man. CR: You tell them... wait... no. I hate you! I love beer! TA: ... [He snorts... derision dripping off every word. Then he stops, spotting something in the crowd. That something, more specifically someone, walks through the crowd with a tray of beer around his neck. Anderson quickly hops off the apron, grabbing the poor guy as he comes close. The beefed up security quickly rushes over, not letting the fans near him. They hate him... bet you didn't know that!] AA: You, come with me. [All around him the fans hate on him with nothing stopping them. Anderson merely brushes them off.] AA: Come on, get in the ring. I will use you to prove my point. [The vendor tries to protest but to little avail. Anderson helps him in, even spreading the ropes open so he can get in.] AA: What is your name? VENDOR(stammering): T... Tim. AA: And you're a beer vendor, correct? TIM: Y... yes. [BEER VENDOR POP!] AA: I see... [Anderson nods.] AA: So your job is to walk around the crowd, selling beer to people? TIM: Y... yes. [Again, a nod... and a pro beer POP!] AA: How many beers you have left? [Tim counts.] TIM: Um, fourteen. Each beer is four dollars. [Anderson nods... and then reaches into his pocket. Rummaging through his wallet he pulls out a wad of bills, throwing them at Tim.] AA: Here, that should cover it. [Pause/smile] As a matter of fact leave the entire tray. CR: What in the hell is going on here? TA: Anderson doesn't drink, I think he's made that point enough. [Anderson picks the tray up under one arm, avoiding the smell. It's horrid you know!] AA: Fourteen beers. Enough for a couple college kids. Enough to get the panties off about ten of you girls out there. [SCREECHING HEEL POP!] AA: Enough for some jocks to get into a fight for no real reason. Enough to kill whatever brain cells you have left. Enough for... [Anderson puts the microphone in his back pocket, holding the tray in both hands. He walks to the ropes... ...and throws the entire tray to the ground, dumping them all!! MAJOR F'N "OH NO YOU NEVER!" HEEL POP! Several nearby security members are incensed as they are splashed, fans even moreso.] CR: NOOOOOOO! TS: He dumped ALL that beer! Is he trying to make a point?! [Yeah, the fans are hating him right about now. Mic back in hand, he has to yell over the crowd noise.] AA: WHEN I BECOME THE TELEVISION CHAMPION, NONE OF THIS WILL STAND! _I_ WILL BE THE ONE BRINGING IN REVENUE! _I_ WILL BE THE ONE BRINGING IN RATINGS! _I_ WILL HAVE FULL CONTROL OVER THIS DAMN SHOW AND THIS DAMN PROMOTION... [He takes a deep breath, calming himself.] AA: ... and I will make the rules around here. Rules like... no beer on NBW television. [BOO!] AA: Like mandatory drug testing for anyone who wants to wrestle on _my_ television show. [BOO!] CR: And the delusions of granduer. AA: And if it's only me on television because of that and this company goes even farther into the dumps then it already is, don't blame me. Blame yourselves. Blame your alcoholism. Blame your drug addiction. Blame yourself for being to lazy to work at getting in shape. Don't blame me when I am the last hope for this place. Blame yourselves. I will be. [He smirks... what an asshole-ish smirk!] AA: Don't blame me for being Alexander Anderson. ...and don't blame me for being better then you. ["Natural Life" hits again as the crowd goes rabid with heel heat. Anderson stays just out of reach of the swinging arms and yells of the fans... close enough to make sure he gets his own word in as he leaves.] nbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbw TA: I'm being told that we have some footage backstage that we don't want to miss! CR: I don't know...I kinda do want to miss it. [BIG ASS FACE POP !!!] TA: IT'S ALEX ADAMS !!! CR: I'm suprised he's even showing up here tonight. Thorn having made him wet his pants last week and all. TA: That is _NOT_ true. ["The Offensive One" is smiling through his trademark blond stubble as he steps in front of a door with "Weeks" pasted on it within a glittery gold star. Adams turns to the camera and smirks, pointing at the star as his hand rises and yanks it off the door. He plays with it for a moment, staring down at it's surface. His upper half covered in a red sleeveless t-shirt reading "The Offensive One" in small cursive writing down the middle. His long platnium blond hair is back in a ponytail. And with the star in his left hand, he reaches up with his right and opens the door. Seated at the desk is NBW's Lord and Master, fiddling with a small jewled crucifix in his hands.] WEEKS: [Looking up from his desk.] I guess we aren't knocking anymore? [Adams steps into the makeshift office. Still tinkering with the flamboyant gold star in his hand. He tosses it carelessly onto the desk.] OAA: Tell me the arena put this up on your door. Tell me you didn't take the time to put that gay ass star up there yourself. [Weeks smirks in amusement. His smirk returned by Adams.] You didn't say "no" ... interesting. [Alex now has a big ass grin on his face. Weeks speaks.] WEEKS: Adams...you've been summoned here because you've been causing quite a stir since you walked in NBW's front doors. Exhibit A: your attack on Gabriel Thorn! Taking a hunk of metal to his temple! You could have _killed_ the man! Exhibit B: your unprovoked involvement with Oeste Neblinoso last week! [Glances a cold stare.] You are treading on very dangerous ground here, Adams! I trust you have _some_ idea of what you're doing, so I'd love to hear just what it _is_! [Adams steps closer to the desk, and sits down on it's frame. Weeks stands up from his seat. Adams simply tilts his head sideways, giving Weeks a slight glance in return before continuing.] OAA: You know, Weeks. I came here for _many_ reasons. None of which should really concern you. But...if you must know. I came here primarily to take that beast of a man you call "champ" and bury him in his own s*** until he _suffocates_ in it! Everybody seems to walk around these parts on eggshells. Like his very glance is filled with violence. Well ... you can't bulls*** a bulls***er, Weeks. And I see Thorn for the fraud he is. I see the lie written within his name. The same name he throws around to strike fear in the public. He's no god ... he's no machine ... he ain't indestructable. He's just a creepy freak with a load of tattos that probably cost less than your bikini wax. [WEEKS BIKINI WAX POP!!!] And when I'm done here ... he'll be collecting disability and I'll be bitching about him even getting that much. I _promise_ you that. [Weeks eyebrows raise.] WEEKS: You seem pretty sure of yourself...for somebody who really hasn't done a single _THING_ to justify the hype he came in here with! [CONFRONTATION POP!] CR: WHOA! TA: This looks like it's about to get ugly... WEEKS: Make no mistake, Adams. Whatever you think of Gabriel Thorn, he's homegrown talent! He's been here since Day One _earning_ the fear that the rest of the locker room has of him! _Earning_ his reputation as the Devil Incarnate! _Earning_ the vile hatred of the fans who've grown to love to loathe him! Now some of our fans may have heard what you've done elsewhere. But here in NBW, your past accolades don't mean a damn thing! So if you think your name entitles you to walk around here as if you have a liscence to do what pleases you, think _again_! Cross me once too often, don't justify the salary we're paying you and your ass will be replaced with one of the thousands of people who would do _anything_ to be here! But...I do see money to be made in you. And I do want to see if your big mouth can back all that talk that's been coming out of it these past two weeks. So... I'm making an exception. [Holds up his right index finger.] One night only. For the NBW Heavyweight Championship. [Weeks walks around the desk and pats Adams on his shoulder. Adams' eyes lock with the hand, and he slides off the desk, prying the hand off his shoulder with a simple shrug.] You want Thorn out of power? Do it yourself. [MIXED POP!!!] Because next week ... he's all _yours_! [Adams eyes light up and a smirk crosses his face.] OAA: About frickin' time. I _have_ been here about three weeks now. I was wondering when I'd get my shot. [The sarcasm just flows out of that last statement as OAA pats Weeks on the shoulder and walks out of the room. A few seconds pass before a voice is heard.] OAA: Oh yeah ... Weeks ... [Adams head peers back around the doorway.] ... I'LL SEE YOU IN HELL!!! [The camera pans back over to Weeks...] WEEKS: I will never hire another blue-chipper as long as I live... nbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbw [We open to a dark, dank, rundown, biker bar in the middle of god only knows where. We are at one of those type of places where you feel like you need a shower when you leave. The sign above the door simply reads "BAR" with the typical neon signs for different beer brands in the windows. A shot of the bikes (and there are many) leads us to one that catches our eye. It is a HUGE black bike, almost 2 times bigger than all the others. On the side, a cartoon of a tough looking pig smoking a cigar. We know we are in the presence of HOGG. Moving inside, we see rowdy bikers all over the place, drinking, singing along badly to the jukebox, and playing pool in the corner. But in the corner of the bar, amidst all the smoke, sits a large man in the corner. We only see his back to us, but he wears a denim vest with the same pig logo on the bike. Moving towards the man, he holds up one beefy arm to stop us.] HOGG- I know who ya are. I know why you are here. Right now, I don't feel like talkin to ya. But let me let you in on 3 things before you leave me alone. ONE-Never mess with another man's bike, women, or pets. IN THAT ORDER. TWO-Beer should always be cold, food should always be hot. Roads should always be dry, and women should always be wet. THREE-The Hogg is comin, so New Blood better be ready, cause if you aren't the lead bike, the view never really changes. And a lot of people are gonna be seein the Big Pig in front of em when I get done. NOW GET OUT. [The camera quickly moves out as we fade to the Hogg logo and the words COMING SOON.] nbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbw TA: Well folks, up next we've got two relative newcomers looking to climb the ladder here in New Blood Wrestling, "White Tiger" Mark Gray and "Rat King" Christopher Maxwell! CR: This Maxwell guy has impressed me! TA: Well, he's impressed a _lot_ of people, just as Mark Gray has ever since his spectacular debut match against NBW Champion Gabriel Thorn. CR: That was a _fluke_! Maxwell's gonna make short work of this overrated punk here tonight! TA: We'll just have to see about that...let's head down to ringside! .--..-. .----..----..--. .-. .-..-..---..---. |-< | |__ | || || || || \ \ | |__ | || | \ \ `| |' `--'`----'`----'`----'`-'-' `----'`----'`---' `-'| | SINGLES ACTION! | | Christopher Maxwell vs. Mark Gray | |______________Writer: Matt Weeks________________| SH: The following contest is scheduled for one fall! Introducing first... ["Psycho man" by Black Sabbath begins to play over the speaker system. The camera directs it's attention to the Bloodshot where the following image is displayed is red letters that are dripping blood.] __ | \ |__| __ _|_ __ | \ |__| | |__ | \ | | |_ ___| o o o o o o [The word dissolves and a video of hundreds of rats running wild are shown.] __ | | |__| _ __ | | |/ /__\ | | | \__ o o o o o o [The next word bursts onto the Bloodshot in blood letters. The word dissolves and images of dead rats in traps are shown.] __ | \ | |__| __ __ __ | __ | /__\ / \ | \ | /__\ | \__ \__/ |__| |__ \__ | | [The final word blasts onto the Bloodshot. The silhouette of a man is now displayed on the screen.] SH: Making his way to the ring at this time, he stands at six foot six, weighs in at three hundred and thirty pounds and hails from the Sewers of New York City. Here is... ___ " T H E R A T K I N G " ___ . . . C H R I S T O P H E R M A X W E L L ! ! ! [HEEL POP!] # The midnight hour approaches # The killing chill takes over him # His victims will not know when he appears [With that, the curtain slowly opens and out walks a giant of a man, known as Christopher Maxwell. Maxwell is dressed in a pair of black leather pants and a black overcoat. His long black hair hangs down in front of his face, hiding his demonic eyes.] # The lust of death's possession # Will overtake his psycho mind # He won't be happy till he smells their fear [Maxwell begins to stalk down to the ring, the camera fixates on what he's holding. In his left hand, he holds a large rusted steel pipe. In his right hand, he holds a cage. But not just any cage. This cage holds three large sewer rats. Maxwell talks to them as he continues his walk.] # He's the angel of death # Psycho man, psycho man, looking for a victim wherever he can # He's the angel of death # Psycho man, psycho man, he's a killer [Maxwell reaches the ring and slides in with his rats, or as he would call them "his children". He stands up and removes his overcoat revealing a pale complexion and a scar running about three inches down his left arm. Maxwell hands his rats and his steel pipe to someone at ringside and tells them that if something happens to his "children", something will happen to them. He stands in the corner with his black finger gloves and starts to punch as he awaits the opening bell.] SH: AND HIS OPPONENT! [POP!] [Cue Earshot's 'Not Afraid' to a face pop from the crowd as Hemlock's intro starts.] SH: Introducing next...weighing TWO HUNDRED and TWENTY THREE pounds...from MELBOURNE, FLORIDA...this is... ___ " W H I T E T I G E R " ___ . . . M A R K G R A Y ! ! ! #Doesn't it hurt?# #Forget and move on# #I'm here and I'm strong# #I've got you to blame when it's finally done# [As the song fully kicks in, 'The White Tiger' walks to the rampway to a growing face pop. At first, the cruiserweight stands on the rampway staring at the ring for a moment with a serious expression on his face, before heading down...] #I'm not afraid# #Of these feelings here inside# #I'm sure someday I'll let go of all this hate for you...# #I'll let go of all this hate# [As the song continues, Gray jogs toward the ring, slapping hands, but focused on the ring with his intense blue eyes. As the blond haired babyfaced wrestler in the ring, he briefly acknowledge's the crowd before facing his opponent.] *** DING DING DING *** TA: HERE WE GO! This should be a GOOD one! CR: Got a nice contrast of styles here...an aerial wrestler versus a power brawler...it's obvious whoever can dictate the pace of this match will have the clear advantage! TA: Here's the Collar-and-Elbow Tie-up to start things off... Maxwell goes low and steamshovels Gray into the turnbuckle! SHOULDERBLOCK BY MAXWELL! ANOTHER! MAXWELL FIRING OFF A SERIES OF SHOULDERBLOCKS! Absolutely nothing fancy here by the Rat King! CR: Nope, and that's what I love about him. No frills, no nonsense, just straight-up, raw power! TA: Maxwell pivoting... *** BOOM *** [POP!] TA: GOES FOR A BIG ELBOW, BUT GRAY MOVES OUT OF THE WAY! Gray mounting Maxwell on the turnbuckle...RAINS DOWN PUNCHES! Crowd (counting along): 1 . . . . 2 . . . . 3 . . . . . 4 . . . . 5 . . MAXWELL SHOVES GRAY OFF! Gray somersaulting to his feet...Maxwell out of the corner...DROP TOE HOLD AND MAXWELL EATS THE CANVAS! Gray into the ropes... *** CRACK *** Crowd: UUUUUHHHHHWWWWWAAAAAHHHHH!!!!! TA: BOTH BOOTS PLANTED INTO THE SIDE OF THE HEAD OF THE RAT KING!!! THE COVER! 1 . . . . . . . . MAXWELL _POWERS_ OUT AT 1!!! CR: Did you see the _authority_ on that kickout? Gray's really going to have to wear the Rat King down if he wants to have a prayer! TA: The White Tiger into the ropes again...BUT THIS TIME HE GETS CAUGHT BY MAXWELL! *** BOOM *** TA: WHAT A _HUGE_ SIDEWALK SLAM!!! COVER BY THE RAT KING! 1 . . . . . . . . . . . . 2 . . . . . . . . NO! MARK GRAY KICKS OUT! CR: Gray cannot let himself get caught in too many of those power moves! His best bet is to stick and move here! TA: Maxwell with the White Tiger now...sets him up... CR: LOOK AT _THIS_! TA: MILITARY PRESS BY THE RAT KING! CR: MARK GRAY LOOKS LIKE A RAG DOLL UP THERE! <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> *** THOOM *** TA: MAXWELL DROPS GRAY DOWN ACROSS THE TOP ROPE! A HOTSHOT FROM NINE FEET IN THE AIR! COVER! 1 . . . . . . . . . . . . 2 . . . . . . . . AND THE WHITE TIGER GETS A SHOULDER UP! CR: Maxwell is _really_ looking dominant! An ordinary move from a man his size is like ten from an average-sized man! TA: The Rat King pulling up the White Tiger...Irish whip to the corner! TIP- UP BY GRAY! [The crowd buzzes.] CR: MAXWELL CAUGHT HIM! TA: LOOK AT THIS! MAXWELL HAS THE WHITE TIGER SEATED ON HIS SHOULDERS! <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> *** THUD *** Crowd: UUUUUHHHHHWWWWWAAAAAHHHHH!!!!! TA: OH MY GOD! MARK GRAY THREW HIMSELF FORWARD AND TOOK MAXWELL OUT AND OVER THE TOP ROPE WITH A FLYING HEAD SCISSORS! GREAT PRESENCE OF MIND! CR: Good strategy too...using Maxwell's height and weight against him... TA: AND MARK GRAY'S NOT FINISHED! CHECK _THIS_ OUT! <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> *** CLANG *** Crowd: UUUUUHHHHHWWWWWAAAAAHHHHH!!!!! TA: GRAY WITH A _BEAUTIFUL_ NO-HANDS PLANCHA OVER THE TOP ROPE! He flattens Maxwell into the security barricade! CR: Gray didn't even _touch_ the top rope! TA: Gray rolling Maxwell into the ring...stepping to the apron... *** BOOM *** TA: SLINGSHOT LEGDROP BY THE WHITE TIGER! COVER! 1 . . . . . . . . . . . . 2 . . . . . . . . . . . 2.5 . . . . . . . . . . . 2.9999 . . . . . . . . . . . . THR - NO!!! OH, THE RAT KING _JUST_ GOT HIS SHOULDER UP! CR: So close, and yet so far, huh? [POP!] TA: BUT IT MAY NOT BE CLOSE FOR LONG! THE WHITE TIGER IS SIGNALLING FOR THE TIGER STRIKE! IF HE HITS THIS, IT'S OVER! HERE'S THE DOUBLE SPRINGBOARD... <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> *** BOOM *** [SHOCKED POP!] TA: NO!!! CR: YES!!! OH MY GOD, THAT WAS BEAUTIFUL! TA: Gray went for the Tiger Strike, but Maxwell popped up to his feet and delivered the BIGGEST DAMN GIANT LARIAT _EVER_ to catch Gray in mid-air! CR: Gray turned a full _flip_ before he hit the mat! That was one of the damndest clotheslines I've _ever_ seen! TA: Now it's Maxwell setting up Gray... <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> *** BOOM *** [HEEL FINISHER HEAT!] TA: THE CULTURE SHOCK!!! THAT'S GOTTA BE ALL! MAXWELL COVERS! 1 . . . . . . . . . . . . 2 . . . . . . . . . . . 2.5 . . . . . . . . . . . 3!!!! *** DING DING DING *** SH: HERE IS YOUR WINNER... ___ " T H E R A T K I N G " ___ . . . C H R I S T O P H E R M A X W E L L ! ! ! TA: THE RAT KING PICKS UP A _HUGE_ WIN OVER ONE OF THE BIGGEST NAMES IN THE BUSINESS! CHALK THAT ONE UP AS AN UPSET, CLINT! CR: Oh, _bull_! Chalk it up as _talent_! Maxwell had the Tiger Strike scouted, he countered it with nothing but a stiff clothesline, saw his opporunity, hit his signature finisher, and that was all she wrote! Maxwell just made a _huge_ name for himself tonight! nbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbw [We cut to backstage. The camera gets a closeup of a door somewhere in the executive section of the arena. It reads: "NORTH FAIRVIEW - RESIDENT BILLIONAIRE"] [The camera pans away from the door. Flanked on each side of the screen stands two monstrous security guys.] SECURITY GUY #1: So....what's the deal with this Danson guy? SECURITY GUY #2:(In a "Popeye-esqe" dialect) Dunno. All I knows is whats I gets tolds. SECURITY GUY #1: And if we see him? What then? SECURITY GUY #2: Won't happen. That Danson guy ain'ts even gonna shows his face. [From the corner of the screen we see Jack Danson---better known to you at home as Texas Jack--walk into camera view.] [FACE POP!!!!!!!] SECURITY GUY #1: Um..can we help you? JACK: Yeah. Hold my coat. [He tosses the moron his leather duster. Jack tries to open the door, but finds its locked. He curses under his breath and begins to bury his workboot into the finely crafted oak door.] JACK:(strangly calm) Come out..come out.....where ever you are, North. [Kick.] SECURITY GUY #2: HEY!! STOPS THAT!!! [Jack continues to kick the door in. The security "goons" look at each other apparently dumbstuck on what to actually do. One of them finally grabs Jack by the arms.] SECURITY GUY #1: Mr. Fairview told us that he's not to be dist------ [His voice trails off into a high pitched girlish scream. Jack removes his knuckle from the man's testicles as the goon falls to the ground clutching his go-nads.] JACK: That has to hurt. SECURITY GUY #2: JESUS CHRISTS!!! JACK: (lighting up a Chesterfield) I guess I gotta cut through you two Mensa scholars before I see Northy. Lets make this short.. [Jack lunges toward the goon..and buries a fist into his eye. Blood squirts out as the goon collapses over top of his fallen comrade. ] JACK:..And painful. [The door slowly creaks open. And North Fairview's smug face peeks out! THAT'S HEEL HEAT~!] FAIRVIEW: Bruiser? Brutus? What on earth is going on h--EEP!!! [Texas JAck immediately lunges for North, but the Bastard Prince is too slippery, hiding back into his locker room. North follows suit, but as the camera follows...] FAIRVIEW: Well... that was pretty _easy_. [Texas Jack is in the ring, only three feet away from North... but standing around him are TEN other huge monstrous bodyguards. Even so, they struggle mightily against Jack, barely holding him down.] FAIRVIEW: What's with the attitude, Danson? Listen... I've met with your daddy Dutch a few times since my...acquisition of your company. By golly, he's a _likeable_ sort! To be honest, I don't even consider him just a business partner anymore... he's more like FAMILY, to me, Jack! [Smell the Bullshit Heel POP!!!] FAIRVIEW: And I guess... that makes us _brothers_, TJ! Now I ask you-- what kind of a brother charges into his own kin's private room, eh? The way I see it, the aggrieved brother -- i.e. ME -- has the right to "beat up" the offending party -- i.e. YOU -- in the event of such a transgression. But you know what... I won't. [He smiles.] FAIRVIEW: These guys will do it for me. Gentlemen, start you engines. [North turns, and begins pouring himself some whiskey. Six goons restrain Jack as the others move in...] FAIRVIEW: Wait. [They pause.] FAIRVIEW: On second thought... a battered and beaten Texas Jack would be pretty useless in tonight's Battle Royal, wouldn't he? [North walks in close, his demeanor one of utter _finality_.] FAIRVIEW: Pay attention, dweebs***. As I noted before... if you so much as LOOK at me the wrong way in tonight's event, I'll FIRE your father's ancient ass, and make damn SURE he never gets close to _any_ of his dreams for the rest of his life. I'm rich, y'know. I can make it happen. But you can prevent that, Jackie. I'll make you a proposal-- you protect me tonight, and make sure _I_ get the title shot against that wanker Bryson-- and I'll keep your father happy as a senile old dweebs*** can be. ...deal? [Texas spits at the ground.] JACK: You_son_of_a_bitch. [Jack shakes his head in disgust.] JACK: ..............deal. [North smiles, and instructs his men to let him go. Jack puts his head down and walks off camera, just as Security Guard # 2 walks into the room, covering his bloody eye with his hand. North looks on in disgust.] FAIRVIEW: Brutus-- you're fired. SECURITY GUY #2: Buts... why?!?!? FAIRVIEW: You're an idiot. [Brutus walks off dejectedly.] SECURITY GUY #2: I yam what I yam... [Cut to the announce table!] TA: That's just _terrible_! North Fairview is going to _force_ Texas Jack to make sure he wins the Battle Royale tonight! If not, he'll _tank_ Danson's father's _business_! CR: When you've got money, Tony, you can make _anything_ happen! It's a simple law of nature! nbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbw TA: And now we're going to check back with Dave Stenton, who is back in the parking garage here at Lehigh Valley Stadium. Dave, what do you have for us? [The camera cuts back to Dave Stenton, who is once more standing beneath the open garage entrance to the building, standing on the thin line between bitter Pennsylvania winter and the moderate climate of the building.] DS: Thanks, Tony. We still have no signs of Ryan Howard, though in an interesting development, a source that wished to remain anonymous stated that after the last edition of Blood Lust was over, he claims to have overheard Howard talking to himself, plotting some sort of revenge against Matt Harris. Now, this could have been purely misinterpretation of Howard's obvious frustration after being publically _man-handled_ by the "Extreme Jesus," but at the same time, there could be more to it. We'll be keeping a camera in the back just in case something does come up, so if something _does_ go down, rest assured you and all the viewers will be the first to know. I'm Dave Stenton reporting living for New Blood Wrestling.. back to you, Tony. TA: Thanks, Dave. We certainly _hope_ to see Ryan Howard here tonight - and I must say _that's_ not a common occurrence! Wait...I'm being told there's something going on backstage! nbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbw [In a loud whisper... pfft, you know the kind.] "PSSSSSSSSST.... HEY! COME OVER HERE!" [We see Justin Ryerson with his arms in a sling. He stands inside a door as a stage hand points at himself.] Justin Ryerson: Yes you, now come here! [The man walks into the room as Ryerson lets the door close behind him.] Justin Ryerson: Listen, I want you to take off my pants. Stagehand: WHAT!? Justin Ryerson: You heard me, take them off... I can't do it myself. Stageand: Ughh... Scott Chase? Justin Ryerson: WHAT!? NO! Just [bleep]ing take them off, I don't have time for this I gotta take a leak. Stagehand: Dude, ugh, no offense. I really don't want to take off your pants. Justin Ryerson: And I really don't want to kick the shit out of you when my hands get better, now be a man and take off my pants. [With MUCH hesistation the stage hands pulls down Ryerson's pants. Ryerson smiles.] Justin Ryerson: Ok. Wait right there. [Ryerson walks around in the room, he then spots a pair of shoes sitting next to a locker that reads "Deathrow" above it.] Justin Ryerson: JACKPOT! Hey bud, come over here.... [With Ryerson back to the camera.... Justin Ryerson: Ok, wanna drop my trousers for me. Stagehand: WHAT!? Are you __SURE__ you're not Scott Chase? Justin Ryerson: I _WILL_ beat you.... Stagehand: That's what I'm afraid of. Justin Ryerson: Will you just take off my damn boxers, I gotta pee. Stagehand: WHERE!? Justin Ryerson: HERE.... [Ryerson motions down with his head.] Stagehand: Ummm... ok. [The stagehand pulls down Ryerson's pants as Ryerson lets out a HUGE MOAN...] Ryerson: Ohhh yeaaaaaaaaaa... let it flow.... [Tune music plays as the words "Technical Difficulties" appear over a cartoon bee looking embarrassed. The music haults and we are back with Ryerson's pants back up.] Justin Ryerson: Thank you. Stagehand: You just pee-ed in Deathrow's shoes. Justin Ryerson: [chuckling] Yeah, I did... HEY! I need one more favour. Stagehand: I'm not wiping you off... Justin Ryerson: No, No... See that pen and paper over there? [Ryerson points with his foot over to a table.] Stagehand: Yea? Justin Ryerson: Grab it. I want you to write this. [The stagehand walks on over and grabs the notepad and paper.] Justin Ryerson: Ready? Stagehand: Yeah. Justin Ryerson: Dear Deathrow, I hope you enjoy my urine in your shoe, I hope it brings back memories of the faint smell of your home, you know, piss in the cells, dropping soap in the shower... the whole ordeal, I hope you like the squishy feel of my pee on your foot." Love, Lark Fenriz. Stagehand: Love Lark Fenriz? Justin Ryerson: [chuckling] Yeah... LOVE LARK FENRIZ. [Fade out.] nbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbw [The lights dim as "Back to School" by the Deftones hits the speakers, sending a heel pop throughout the building. As the voice kicks in and the guitar riff blasts out across the speakers, a spotlight focuses in on the curtains.] TA: Oh, great... I thought he wasn't booked tonight! CR: Adams, you don't know a good thing if it took a s*** on your face. Papa Fresh is here! [And out comes Winter Fresh with his arms held out to the fans, taking in their love... if that is what you can call it. He is attired in black boots and a long white robe, which is held up by a large portly man that follows behind him.] CR: Phew... if Andre weren't there, Fresh's bomb ass robe would be dragging along the ground. TA: And what a shame that would be... CR: Do I detect a sarcastic tone in your voice, Adams? TA: Yes, you do. But what I really want to know is why is he here? He isn't booked... which means... he has no business being here! [Making sure to stay in the center of the aisleway, to avoid touch with any of the mindless slugs that lean over the guardrail, Papa Fresh reaches the ring steps, walking up them with Andre following behind, back of robe in hand. He steps into the ring, immediately walking to the center and calls for a microphone... which is quickly tossed to him from referee, Garrett Stablestone. Fresh brings the mic up to his face, turning to the audience.] WINTER FRESH: Hola... all my little Winter Fresh's! Papa Fresh is in the house! [Fresh raises his hand in the air in greeting as the jeers come from the crowd.] WINTER FRESH: But enough with the chit chat... I came out here to make a bad situation... _right_. [He nods his head.] WINTER FRESH: Last week, I was booked for this edition of Bloodlust to battle that big ape of a man, Jedah. But... when I stepped into the locker room a couple of hours ago, and began preparing for my match... I was told by Matt Weeks that I had no match tonight. That I wasn't "booked". [He shrugs to his large companion, Andre.] WINTER FRESH: I thought to myself... this is ludicrous, why do I not have a match? Wasn't I to fight Jedah? Well... apparently plans got changed... that stupid cracker Matt Weeks tells me that due to the injuries that I inflicted on Jedah last week... the big dolt was unable to attend tonight's event. And to me... that is just absolute bulls***! I was prepared here tonight to whoop some ass... and now that I can't, I'm pissed! Not only that... all my little Winter Fresh's here in attendance and watching worldwide have been robbed of seeing Papa Fresh wrestle! And that... is just something that I can't take. [Andre leans in to the mic..] Andre: You tell em', Fresh! "SMAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAACK!!!" [And Andre's head snaps to the side as Papa Fresh's hand swipes across his cheek.] WINTER FRESH: Shut the f*** up, you fat piece of s***! I'm talking to my peoples' right now! [HEEL POP!] WINTER FRESH: Papa Fresh sends out his apologies for that interruption... but basically what I'm getting at is that I'm not accepting Jedah's cop out. What I am saying is that... the match is _still_ on! So ref... I want you to give Jedah to the count of ten to get out here, and if he doesn't... then he has forfeited! [Stablestone steps forward, speaking to Fresh, shrugging with his arms.] WINTER FRESH: What? You can't do that!? Jedah doesn't have the balls to come out here and face yours truly... and you can't count him down? He has a mean case of the _Winter Jitter's_, son! That's not my fault! He was booked against me for _tonight_... I showed up and kept my booking... and he didn't. So count his ass out! [Stablestone once again responds, shrugging some more.] WINTER FRESH: You won't do it!? Then get out of the ring! [Fresh turns to Andre, who is rubbing his cheek.] WINTER FRESH: Andre, I dub you special referee! Now count him out! .--..-. .----..----..--. .-. .-..-..---..---. |-< | |__ | || || || || \ \ | |__ | || | \ \ `| |' `--'`----'`----'`----'`-'-' `----'`----'`---' `-'| | "UMMM...WHAT?" MATCH! | | WITH SPECIAL GUEST REFEREE: ANDRE | | Winter Fresh vs. Jedah | |_______Writers: Matt Weeks and Rob Winters______| [Fresh tosses Andre the microphone. The fat man holds it for a second, pausing as Fresh turns towards to the face the aisleway.] Andre: Okay... ONE! TWO! THREE! FOUR! FIVE! [Fresh motions with his hand to the back, begging for Jedah to come out.] SIX! SEVEN! EIGHT! NINE! TEN! [HEEL POP! Fresh snatches the mic back from Andre.] WINTER FRESH: Now ring the damn bell! [... nothing.] WINTER FRESH: You stupid bastards! Move out of my way, fat ass! [Fresh pushes past Andre, stepping through the ropes and hopping to the outside. He walks to the time keepers table, grabbing the hammer..] "DING! DING! DING! DING! DING! DING!" WINTER FRESH: And the winner of the match as a result of forfeit... the only _Winter Approved_ wrestler alive today... _ME_! ["Back to School" by the Deftones hits the speakers.] TA: That was...unusual... CR: Hey, _I_ liked it! TA: You _would_... nbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbw [The camera cuts backstage to the Spartan office of CEO Matthew D. Weeks. The big man sits behind his desk, idly fiddling with a jeweled metal crucifix in his hands.] *** KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK *** WEEKS: ENTER! [The sound of a door opening and closing is heard off-camera. Into the left side of the frame walks "Kamikaze" Seth Hicks. Hicks wears baggy camo pants and a non-descript white tee shirt, and stands in the doorway, waiting for Weeks to direct him.] WEEKS: Come in, come in. [Hicks walks up to the desk, somewhat apprehensive, looking around to the shadows.] WEEKS: Relax. Just need to ask you something... [Hicks settles into the chair on the other side of the desk.] WEEKS: Now, you've made quite a name for yourself in the past few weeks finishing your matches with knockouts. The fans seem to enjoy it, and it's definitely something I can't recall seeing in a long time, so if that's how you want to promote yourself, I can't argue with you. HICKS: Well, hey man... WEEKS: I'm not finished. HICKS: Oh, my bad. WEEKS: What I want to know is, are you willing to risk the consequences of finishing matches that way if you seriously injure someone doing it? HICKS: Ahh...beg your pardon? WEEKS: I mean...taking out the trash of this company for me is all well and good, but what's going to happen if you put someone on the shelf who's booked in a title match? Or a main event? Someone who's got potential to draw huge ratings? You're going to put a damper on my normally sunny disposition, _that's_ what! HICKS: Alright, I wouldn't wanna do that. Hmmm. [Hicks scratches his head.] HICKS: Tell me again how I'm gonna know who's off limits and who you don't care about. Maybe you could laminate them. WEEKS: You'll know _afterwards_, when you get in trouble. HICKS: Okay boss, is there someway we could come up with an easier system? [Beat.] WEEKS: No. HICKS: Great... WEEKS: Just use your common sense. Ask yourself... What Would Weeks Do? HICKS: WWWD? Like, the bumper stickers? WEEKS: Make that your credo and you'll do just fine. HICKS: ...I'll do my best. [Cut back to ringside.] CR: WWWD, huh? TA: I suppose that's _one_ way to stay on Weeks' good side... nbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbw TA: Well, we're about ready for the contract signing for the match between Matt Harris and Ryan Howard. CR: A table has been set up in the ring, and we all remember the last tiem there was a set-up of this nature, that wiseass Harris got the business end of a Bic Extra Fine in his arm! TA: Yes, it wasn't a pleasant day... Let's hope this time out it's a little more civil! CR: Or not... Whatever. [The camera cuts to the ring, where, as it has already been stated, a table is set up, complete with two contracts, and two pens. Ring announcer Singh Hemlock stands in front of the table ready to announce the participants.] SH: Ladies and gentleman, this is the contract signing for the upcoming match between "Intrepid" Ryan Howard and "The Extreme Jesus" Matt Harris! [POP.] SH: Coming to the ring first, I give you, MATT HARRIS!! [The lights go totally out as "Millennium" by Killing Joke begins to play over the PA. The crowd begins to cheer and a great number begin the now famous-among-NBW fans chant...] CROWD: EX - TREME - JE - SUS! (CLAP CLAP CLAPCLAPCLAP) EX - TREME - JE - SUS! (CLAP CLAP CLAPCLAPCLAP) [The Bloodshot flickers to life with grainy black-and-white war footage: battleships crossing the Pacific, a cluse-up of marching infantry boots, a nuclear warhead testing blast.A The cuts are quick, keeping in pace with the guitars of the song: Two classic planes in a dogfight, two field medics rushing with a stretcher, a soldier drops a shell into a mortar and covers his ears as it blasts into the distance.A Soon, color shots of Matt Harris in action are inserted into the footage: Matt Harris hits the Hardcore Driver on numerous competitors, gunfire lights up the night sky, a few shots of a bloodied Matt Harris' arm is raised in victory, a tank rumbles across the desert, Matt Harris uses various implements of destruction on opponents...] ## I was born to see two thousand years ## ## Of man's effect upon the planet ## ## Extinction seems to be a plausible risk ## ## Whatever happens well I'm part of all this ## ## My life ## ## I've been waiting ## ## For this moment ## ## All my life ## ## I've been waiting ## ## For this moment to come ## [A spotlight hits the curtain, silhouetting the outline of a man who can only be Matt Harris.A He steps through to the cheers of those in attendance.A He wears a throwback New York Mets jersey with the number 1 below the block letters M. HARRIS, black windbreaker pants, and combat boots.A His spiked brown hair sticks up through the top of his I (heart) NY visor.A He stands in front of the entranceway, below the footage of himsel fon the Bloodshot, and starts pumping his fists at the crowd.A Many return the gesture.] ## Taste the salt of my tears ## ## Take the wealth of my years ## ## Singing in the millennium with you ## ## Resolutions for show ## ## Old ways don't seem to know ## ## Singing in the millennium with you ## TA: You can't deny the popularity of Matt Harris among these frenzied NBW fans assembled here tonight! CR: Sure you can.A Look.A I deny it. TA: ... [He strides down to the ring, slapping the outstretched hands on the fans, and at times even pausing to damn near throw himself headlong into them, riling them up even more as he makes his way down the aisle.A He eventually pries himself and jogs the rest of the way to the apron before jumping up to it, and throwing his arms over his head.] ## Fire burn all our uncertainties ## ## Water wash away impurities ## ## Contradictions and predictions abound ## ## Yes I believe that we can turn it around ## ## My life ## ## I've been waiting ## ## For this moment ## ## My life ## ## I've been waiting ## ## For this moment ## ## All my life ## ## I've been waiting ## ## For this moment ## ## All my life ## ## I've been waiting ## ## For this moment to come ## [Huge POP.] CR: Well, I never said they didn't like him. TA: Yes, Matt Harris is definitely in favor here tonight.A Probably because the last time we set up that ring, Harris decimated Ryan Howard over by the entrance! CR: Decimated is such a strong word, Tony. [Matt climbs through the ropes and circles the ring once, pumping his fist to all four sides of the arena before he takes the far seat at the table.A He gestures for ___ to continue.] SH: And his proposed opponent in this match-up, RYAN HOWARD!! Crowd: BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!! ## I've felt the hate rise up in me... ## ## Kneel down and clear the stone of leaves... ## ## I wander over where you can't see... ## ## Inside my shell, I wait and bleed... ## [As the arena goes dark, the Bloodshot lights up with an eerie, supernatural crimson glow in the form of smoky tendrils extending from the edges and across the length of what is otherwise a completely black screen.] ## I've felt the hate rise up in me... ## ## Kneel down and clear the stone of leaves... ## ## I wander over where you can't see... ## ## Inside my shell, I wait and bleed... ## ## GOODBYE!!!!!!!!!!! ## Crowd: BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!! [The loudspeakers explode as "Wait and Bleed" begins to tear through the arena like a whirling dervish, assaulting the eardrums of those in the crowd with its vicious beat. Large, dark red letters roll out from the darkness, spelling out the name in the industry that has, up until recently, only been quietly whispered in the most inner of circles.. 0000000000000000000000000000000000000000000 0~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~0 0~~~~ ~~~~ ~~~ ~~~0 0~~ ~~0 0~~~~ H O W A R D ~~~~0 0~ ~~~ ~~~ ~0 0~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~ ~~0 0~~ ~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~ ~~~~~0 0000000000000000000000000000000000000000000 The Bloodshot segues into a string of various video clips concerning the man, the myth, and the legend. Various shots from mixed-martial arts events and other, lower-tiered cage fights are shown, as well as brief glimpses from archived wrestling footage. ## I WIPE IT OFF ON A TILE, THE LIGHT IS BRIGHTER THIS TIME ## ## EVERYTHING IS 3D BLASPHEMY ## ## MY EYES ARE RED AND GOLD, THE HAIR IS STANDING STRAIGHT UP ## ## THIS IS NOT THE WAY I PICTURED ME ## ## I CAN'T CONTROL MY SHAKES! ## ## HOW THE HELL DID I GET HERE? ## ## SOMETHING ABOUT THIS, SO VERY WRONG... ## ## I HAVE TO LAUGH OUT LOUD, I WISH I DIDN'T LIKE IT LIKE THIS ## ## IS IT A DREAM OR A MEMORY? ## Crowd: BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!! [And...nothing.] TA: Well, I guess the rumours are true! It appears that Ryan Howard will not be showing up tonight on this edition of Blood Lust. CR: Of course he isn't showing up! You think he's going to give these stupid formalities the time of day? Everyone knows this match is going to happen, so why should he bother to sign his name? TA: You may make a good point, Clint, but this is a blatant show of disrespect both to Matt Harris and to New Blood Wrestling in general, not to mention the fans in attendance who may have shown up just to see this contract signing? CR: Yeah, and we're talking about Ryan Howard. TA: I have no good answer for that. CR: Figures. SH: Again...RYAN HOWARD!! Crowd: BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!! [...nope... Nothing.] TA: And it looks like we won't have a contract signing after all. CR: Shucks. I was looking forward to people writing words on a wrestling program...you know...wasting time that could be used for actual wrestling and all. TA: You are such a killjoy. SH: Ladies and gentlemen... [Matt Harris stands up from the table with such frustrated force that his chair tips over and hits the mat. Singh Hemlock stops mid-sentence and just tosses the microphone to Matt Harris before darting from the ring. Matt snatches it out of the air and does a slow turn in a circle, taking in the arena.] MH: So...we've got all these people here who were expecting to see a contract singing...maybe even expected to see some words exchanged...they _definitely expected to see some _shots_ ehchanged, at least? Am I right? [Matt points the microphone at the crowd.] Crowd: YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAH! MH: Well, I'll tell you what...Ryan Howard... Crowd: BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! MH: OK, I take it you hate the guy, but Ryan How- Crowd: BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! MH: Now Ry- Crowd: BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! MH: ObviouslyRyanHowardisacoward. [Matt flinches, waiting for a boo, but instead...POP.] MH: Whew. Thanks for letting me get it out. Now, do we have all of that out of our systems? Can we get to talking about the matter at hand here? I am being ducked. In the process of me being ducked, this contract is going to go only half-signed. That means that there is an ever-growing possibility that that match you all want to see in the near future may not even take place...and why? [Matt looks around, possibly for an answer, which many people in the crowd are screaming. Actually, in the camera's view, you can see a young child in the background with a big "HOWARD = COWARD" sign.] MH: BecauseRyanHowardisacoward. Sure, I'm sure it's not a new rhyme...I'm sure plenty of people have used this line of character defamation in the past, but never before has a man so blatantly ducked, blindsided, and/or ran screaming from competition than we have seen in the past few weeks from Ryan Howard. Honestly, what did you think was going to happen tonight, Ryan? Did you think I was going to get violent? Please don't tell me you think I was going to get violent. I know...and you know...and these fans know...that I would _never_..._ever_...._NEVER_....get violent. Not at a prestigious contract signing. No. Never. Not me. [Matt winks...a big, obvious, let-me-move-my-whole-body-to-emphasize-the-wink wink. POP.] MH: You didn't even have the common courtesy to make other arrangements to sign the thing because as I look at it now... [Matt walks back over to the table and picks up the contract.] MH: Yeah...your line is blank. But I'll sign my half, anyway. [Matt produces a pen from his pocket, puts the contract down, and places the pen on paper to add his signature to the written agreement. He crosses his t's and dots his i and then lays the pen down beofre facing the crowd again.] MH: Now, that's half-way official. And we really _need_ this to be all the way NBW official in order to have thematch everyone wants to see, right? [Matt points the microphone skywards.] Crowd: YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAH! MH: So, here's what I will do...for all of you. I am going to take this contract. I am going to put it in my pocket. I am going to walk back through that curtain and I am going to find Ryan Howard backstage. Now, it is speculated that Ryan is not showing up, but I htink we all know better, don't we? Ryan loves to look at the camera lens, and Ryan loves to hear himself say witty, witty things. So, I conclude Ryan is here tonight, and I will follow the smell of urine backstage to find the puddle of piss he is standing in...and then and there I will give him... [Matt reaches into his pocket to produce...] MH: _THIS_ _PINK_ _HIGHLIGHTER_! [MONSTER POP.] CR: Oh, no, he didn't. TA: Oh, yes, he did. MH: And Ryan Howard will take his dainty hand and he will need help to remove this cap, which I will provide! And then he will dangle his hand over the paper and he write his name, but instead of an o he will draw a heart and it will be in big bubble letters so THAT THERE CAN BE NO MISTAKING THAT HE IS STILLLLLLLLLL A GRAAAAAAAAAADE AAAAAAAA BEEEEEEEEEEEEEE-ITCH!!! [POP! POP! Oh, and POP!] [Matt rolls up the contract and jams it in his front pocket.] MH: He'll have no trouble finding it there. [POP for good measure.] MH: OK, Ryan...ready or not, here I come, kid. That's a fact. Deal with it. [With that, "Millennium" blares once more, and Matt begins pumping his fist at the crowd one final time for before breaking for the curtain double-tme in search of his opponent.] CR: There goes a dead man. TA: Well...you know...I guess. He definitely asked for it. nbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbw TA: Well, ladies and gentlemen, are you ready for _this_? It's gonna be a ten-man, over-the-top-rope Battle Royale to determine who will face the new NBW Northeast Champion, "Superstar" Shawn Bryson, at the Nuclear Winter supercard! CR: Absolutely anything goes in this match! The only rule is, you go over the top rope and have both feet hit the floor, you're _eliminated_ from the contest! The last man left at the end becomes the Number One Contender! TA: Unless, of course, that last man _is_ the champion, because the Superstar himself is entered into this match, and if he wins this battle royale here tonight, he will have the night _off_ at Nuclear Winter! CR: Bryson will spend the supercard in a luxury box with all the food, drinks, and scantily-clad cocktail waitresses he can _handle_! But besides that, he will have lain waste to all 9 of his top challengers in one fell swoop! What a statement _that_ will be! TA: It's going to be a happeneing, folks, and it's all coming your way...RIGHT NOW! .--..-. .----..----..--. .-. .-..-..---..---. |-< | |__ | || || || || \ \ | |__ | || | \ \ `| |' `--'`----'`----'`----'`-'-' `----'`----'`---' `-'| | MAIN EVENT! 10-MAN BATTLE ROYALE! | | WINNER GETS NORTHEAST TITLE SHOT! | |______________Writer: Matt Weeks________________| SH: Ladies and gentlemen, the following contest is our special 10-man, over- the-top-rope...BATTLE ROYAL! [KA-POP!] CR: That's "BATTLE ROYALE!" TA: That's what he _said_! CR: No, he left off the silent "e" at the end...I could tell! SH: Introducing the participants... ____ _____________________/ \______ _ _ _ ___ _ |_|__;___) | | |_ |_' | |_ ; (___) |_| |_ ._| | |_ \(___) ---------------------\___(__) [The new fan favorite of NBW... HAS ARRIVED!!!] # I hear it fading I can't speak it # Or else you will dig my grave [Oeste Neblinoso Jr., dressed in a three piece suit and a purple mask adorned with two questions marks, makes is way steadily to the ring, flanked by none other than Kyokudo Ishiguri. The fans love him, and he shows his appreciation by nodding and touching the hands of his supporters while he walks.] SH: Introducing... from Guadalupe, Mexico... weighing in at 240 pounds... O E S T E . . . N E B L I N O S O . . . ___ J U N I O R ___ ! ! ! # You feel them finding # Always whining [Oeste rolls into the ring, raises himself up on the turnbuckle and beats his chest, absorbing the cheers. Jonathan Davis' "Forsaken" comes to a thrilling crescendo.] # Take my hand # I'LL BE ALIIIIIVE!!! CR: Now what's _he_ doing in this match? He's already fighting for the World Title at Nuclear Winter! Does he really think he can win both belts in one night? [Oeste walks over to a ringside attendant, completely ignoring the other competitors.] OESTE: I'm not one to beat around the bush-- just ask the last chica I slept with if you don't believe me--so I'll keep this short. I'm not one for weaponry use... I'd much prefer settling my differences mano y cabeza. So, gentlemen... and EASTON PENNSYLVANIA~! [POP!!!!!] OESTE: Please give a Hero's welcome to my BIG, FAT, PSYCHOTIC WEAPON OF CHOICE... ... K Y O K U D O I S H I G U R I!!! [POP!!! as Kyokudo's "Godzilla" hits the PA system. The fans continue to cheer as the hardcore giant makes his way towards the ring. The other competitors look dumbstruck~!] CR: What th--!? TA: Oeste's weapon is none other than Kyokudo Ishiguri himself!!! CR: He-- he can't do that!!! TA: I don't know... listen to these fans! Oeste has the mandate of the people!!! [Kyo slides into the ring, smiling excitedly, and bowing towards Oeste, who bows in kind.] TA: Well, that's going to change the complexion of this match in a _huge_ way! [A small midget dressed in a suit, complete with top hat, rolls a 27 inch color television onto the entrance ramp, a VCR sits on top. The midget hits play, and then scampers away. The image of a wolf's head comes onto the TV. In it's mouth is a pentagram.] SH: Introducing first, standing to my right, hailing from Cleveland, Ohio... He stands at six feet seven inches and weighs in at two hundred and fifty pounds. He is evil personified! He is... __ " T H E W O L F " ___ . . . L A R K . . . ___ F E N R I Z ___ ! ! ! [The wolf head begins flashing violently on the TV screen. Suddenly a blood curdling howl is let out as the picture flashes violent, as the beginnings of "Massacre" by The Berzerker pounds over the piss-poor PA system. The few fans immediately turn their attention towards the entrance way, waiting for the one and only Lark Fenriz to show his face. And show his face he does, right into a heavy onslaught of complete boo's. Clad in a trench coat, and his wrestling pants, Fenriz stops at the top of the entrance ramp, squinting in the bright light. He smiles, looking at all of the wonderful people that despise him, and continues on to the ring. He rolls under the bottom rope, and gets to his feet. Laughing, he removes his coat, and his music ends. The midget comes out and removes the TV, just as Lark hands over his coat, and positions himself on the top rope.] TA: This man has had a fantastic rivialry brewing with Deathrow over the past few weeks! We'll see both of them in the ring tonight! [The arena is plunged into darkness as the opening strains of the Juno Reactor remix of "Millenium" by Killing Joke play over the PA system.] [As the drums kick in, the spotlight behind the curtain silhouettes a man who the crowd immediately recognizes..] SH: Introducing... from New York, New York! Weighing in at 275 pounds! [Matt Harris steps through the curtain, and douses himself with the better portion of a gallon of water before discarding it to the crowd, who all lunge for it. He then runs his hands backwards through his hair once, so that we can clearly read that written on his crimson tape is "TAPOUT". He removes his hands, his hair now spiked up, and begins his slow, deliberate march to the ring, his mouth locked in an amused smirk.] SH: Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome... " T H E E X T R E M E J E S U S " . . . ___ M A T T H A R R I S ___ ! ! ! [Harris wears his tattered grey denim vest, and matching grey martial arts pants, ripped at the knees. His black leather belt and giany gaudy silver belt buckle relect the lights of the arena and everyone can clearly see the blood red MH on it. He circles the ring once, interacting with the fans who reach out and try to slap his hand, making sure no one gets ignored and gets to be a part of the spectacle that is sure to unfold soon.] [Matt then pauses, and leaps from the floor to the ring apron in one swift movement, tossing his one arm in the air and yelling out to the crowd, who yell back just as ardently. He then gets in the ring, discarding his vest, and proceeds to his corner to check his pads.] TA: The Extreme Jesus is focused tonight! But you have to wonder, is he focused on winning this match or is he here for Ryan Howard? [The lights dim. The Bloodshot comes to life with a pair of fists handcuffed. The fingers twitch till only the middle finger on each hand is erect. A cold voice blares....] V/O: Time To Hit The SWITCH! ZZTZZTZZTZZTZZTZZTZZTZZTZZTZZTZZTZZT!! [The sound of electricity echoes the rough the complex followed by a scream.The handcuffed hands giving the middle finger melt off the Bloodshot followed by only one word in crimson red.... DEATHROW Light blue lights shine on the entranceway as two guards in full riot gear come out and stand to either side of the entranceway. The Bloodshot shows clips of the big convict in action as the thundering lyrics of 'Angry Chair' begins to blare.] # Sitting On An Angry Chair Angry Walls That Steal The Air Stomach Hurts And I Don't Care # [Seconds later the big man known as DeathRow walks out flanked by two guards that are also in full riot gear. The convict is shackled in leg and hand restraints as he looks around at the crowd before turning his attention to the ring. A look of pure business written across his face.] # What Do I See Across The Way See Myself Moulded In Clay Stares At Me, Yeah I'm Afraid Changing The Shape Of His Face # [The two front guards begin their walk down the ramp with DeathRow and the other two guards close behind. Once at the steps one of the guards turns and unshackles the big man. DeathRow takes off his sleeveless light blue prison shirt and black tuke and hands it to one of the guards. DeathRow walks up the steps rubbing his wrists and dips through the ropes.] SH: Introducing... hailing from the Kingston Penitentiary! He weighs in at 330 pounds... # Candles Red I Have A Pair Shadows Dancing Everywhere Burning On The Angry Chair # SH: Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome... ___ D E A T H R O W ___ ! ! ! # Little Boy Made A Mistake Pink Cloud Has Now Turned To Grey All That I Want Is To Play Get On Your Knees, Time To Pray Boy # [DeathRow walks to the middle of the ring, looks around at the crowd then raises a fist in the air. He starts to throw air punches and bounce up and down as the music fades.] TA: He is 7 feet tall, 330 pounds! The most physically imposing man anywhere in New Blood Wrestling! CR: Who is going to be able to throw _this_ man over the top rope? TA: And check out DeathRow's weapon of choice! CR: What else? The Warden's billy club! [The lights in the venue drop as the immortal voice of Bruce Campbell is heard over the PA...] "Hail to the king, baby." [HUGE CROWD POP! The venue explodes into a seizureiffic display of strobing red lights as "Exile" by Slayer begins to absof[BLEEP!]inglutely blast throughout the building...] # I'm suicidal, maniacal, self-destructive You leave me no hope, no life Nothing worth living for! I've taken it, can't take it anymore My worst nightmare You make me want to slit my own f[BLEEP!]ing throat... Just so I'll be rid of you... Just to get rid of you! # [Taking his damn sweet time, Mark Chaos slinks out the back, dressed in a black sleeveless hoodie and black wrestling pants, looking quite pissed off. Jennifer Reeves stands behind him, not bothering to pose or anything like that; she's just there to support her man. Chaos stalks to the ring, in time with the music, as Slayer's aural assault continues...] # You self-righteous f[BLEEP!] Give me a reason not to rip your f[BLEEP!]ing face off Why don't you take a good look in these eyes Cause I'm the one that's gonna tear your f[BLEEP!]ing heart out! My hate is contagious; you've got no one to run to... _EXILE_! _EXILE_! _EXILE_! _EXILE_! # SH: Introducing... hailing from Sarasota, Florida, and weighing in at 250 pounds... [Chaos merely rolls into the ring and acknowledges himself to the crowd, shrugging off all displays of his aloof persona, as he cracks his neck and hits the ropes as the song continues...] # You self-righteous f[BLEEP!] Give me a reason not to rip your f[BLEEP!]ing face off Why don't you take a good look in these eyes Cause I'm the one that's gonna tear your f[BLEEP!]ing heart out My hate is contagious... Anyone else need to vent? You've tried my tolerance... I just want you to die! There's nothing more for me to say There's nothing more for you to say There's nothing more for us to say I f[BLEEP!]ing hate you anyway _EXILE_! _EXILE_! _EXILE_! _EXILE_! # SH: Here is... ___ M A R K C H A O S ___ ! ! ! [Chaos leans over the nearest top rope and spits a huge loogie, shruging afterwards, making the universal statement that he "needed to get it out". The Chaotic King then continues to test the ropes as he waits fo his opponents...] TA: CHECK IT OUT! CHAOS HAS A BAG OF GOODIES WITH HIM! CR: Well, Chaos is in this match, so it's Anything Goes! Not that any Battle Royale _isn't_ Anything Goes, mind you... [Maddening metal growl/scream, melodic yet incredibly heavy guitar riffing in the background!] #DIE!!# [The arena falls to complete darkness. Then, black light strobes begin to mingle with a solid red light, one that has struck the entrance. A blood red spot light. From the newly brought pitch, the face of darkness could be seen. A pale visage of wraith like qualities, haunting, sinister as the mask he wore hid his true visage.] #She was My poor Angel, I knew Her weeeellll I really had no choice than to take Her to My hell!# [INSANE Riff] #As soulless as I am, as soulless as it gets! I don't give a fuck how She felt I saw Her pretty pale Angelface And erased it from My memory forever I saw Her burn, fed Her with flames!# #The Divine Burning Of Angggeelllsss!!# SH: Ladies and gentlemen, introducing... from Alesund, Norway... weighing 236 pounds... [The man began to move, past the curtain and down the aisle. It's then that a second form is noticed. She was blonde, tan and built like a porn Goddess. She was dressed in ure white, which to the look of crimson as the red light began to strobe along with the black ones. Her eyes where directed towards the ground, her face solemn as Deadpool lead her down the ring, a chain ran from her nose, to his right ring finger.. slowly, they walked.] #Think those grieving thoughts Feel Your pain before you watch the sun set forevermore Our lives grow short, Our lives grow dark As the longing re-appears in Our hearts# #She was my Dear Angel, I had Her killed I needed Her soul to get My Own fulfilled She was like blood, She brought me lust Her soul I now fuc[Censor]!# #Think those grieving thoughts Feel Your pain before you watch the sun set forevermore Our lives grow short, Our lives grow dark As the longing re-appears in Our hearts!!# [The sinsiter duo reached the ring area, and Ian, without a word raises his hand, and the small female lowers to her knees, her thighs parted as her hands rested on them, palms up. Ian then reaches up and removes that pale white mash, his face handsome yet cruel. He extends the mask to the girl, who takes it into her hands with reverence. As a Priest may a bible. Ian tosses his head back, his dark browed eyes looking to the fans with nothing less then sheer contempt. He unlocks the girl, for her part.. she does not move. Her eyes ever on the ground before her.] SH: Please welcome! ___ " D E A D P O O L " ___ . . . I A N ___ C H R I S T O P H ___ ! ! ! #I feel her trembling, inside My soul's on fire Now I suffer from My hellish desire Silence is broken, I hear Her scream My name She'll live forever in My mind insane!! # #In rapture I remain as the wickedness stays the same Inside My soul insane, I am reborn, I am reborn In rapture I remain as the wickedness stays the same Inside My soul insane, I am reborn!# [Ian then reached to his hip, and produces a small wood and rag torch. Drawing a lighter, the man lights the torch, and places it between the female's thigh, where her hands come to hold it, her eyes seeming to stare into the fire.. eerily.] #God bless You sweet Angel with My flesh Inside Me forever, Your Devil's nest My body, Your soul, now together as One Just accept Your loss, I have won You scream in pain, I laugh out high I cannot fear a God's parasite I watch You burn, feed You with flames!!# [Deadpool's head fly's back, and he laughs wickedly as he stares into the flames. The crowd erupts into a chorus of boo's. Then, as if finished, Ian strolls around the ring, and then walks up the stairs and enters the ring.] #And continue...# #The Divine Burning Of Angggeeelllls!!!!# TA: And where's Christoph going? [Christoph slides out of the ring under the bottom rope and lifts up the ring skirt. The crowd buzzes as he heaves a series of implements into the ring...a light tube, a steel chair, a couple of broomsticks, and a strand of...] TA: RAZOR WIRE! CR: Christoph is bringing some _toys_ into the ring with him! TA: My God, get that razor wire away from him! SH: Introducing, from Sacramento, California... # The man takes another bullet # # He keeps them all within # [The audience begins to respond with a chorus of boos! The man known as "The Upstart," North Fairview appears by the entranceway! He looks around indignantly, as the rest of Metallica's "Cure" envelops the arena. Britney and Cindy, his two beautiful assistants, shadow him from either side.] # The man take another bullet # # He's been fooled again # SH: Hailing from Sacramento, California... and weighing 240 pounds... ___ N O R T H F A I R V I E W ___ ! ! ! [Dismissing the crowd with a wave of his hand, he makes his way down the ramp. Fairview purposely ignores the fans trying to get his attention, raising his eyebrow arrogantly. Finally, he raises himself up slowly on the steps, walking slowly across the apron. Staring indifferently at the audience.] # Uncross your arms and take # # And throw them to the cure, say! # # I do believe! # # Uncross your arms now # # Take 'em to it, say! # # I DO believe! # # YEAH, I DO BELIEEEVE!!! # [A shaft of gold light illuminates the wrestler's figure as his two assistants slowly remove his stunning Egyptian shoulder piece. Fairview enters the ring, stretching himself on the corner, as his music trails off...] TA: It looks like North Fairview's brought his polo stick with him to the ring! CR: That's not his _only_ weapon, Adams! He's got the services of _this_ man! [The creepy twanging of a banjo begins to play over the loudspeakers.] [The crowd roars with approval.] TA: MY GOD, THEY'RE ON THEIR _FEET_! #20 MILES TO TEXAS!!!!!!# #25 TO HELL!!!!!!!!!# [And with Powerman 5000's "20 Miles To Texas, 25 To Hell," the chainsaw like power chords begin to kick in as Texas Jack walks out to the entrance way, dressed in black trunks. He tips his cowboy hat and gives the crowd a grin.] SH: Making his way to the ring, from Bon Rio, Texas this is... ___ T E X A S J A C K ___ ! ! ! [SOUTHERN FRIED POP!!!] #Where the weather's hotter I could never tell# #Spend most of my days doing nothing but no good# [Jack passes the camera, giving the fans at home a good look at his shaggy unshaven beard on his leathery face. He slaps a few fans hands on his way to the ring.] #Seems like I was born to be misunderstood# #20 miles to Texas!! 25 to Hell!! # #20 miles to Texas, 25 to Hell# [Jack jumps on the apron, wipes his feet on the mat and flips himself over the top rope to the ring.] #I was born for stealing I wasn't made to sell# #Carved out of bone and ash, steel, dirt, concrete# #An arm for an arm a leg for a leg# #One dead end street# [Jack climbs the turnbuckle, raises the Texas Longhorn hang gesture to the sky.] #20 MILES TO TEXAS!!!!# #25 TO HELL!!!!!!!!# [The music dies down as Jack stretches in the corner.] TA: This crowd is hot for Jack Danson! CR: Yeah, but he ain't got a _prayer_ of winning this match tonight! Not if he cares about his father's livelihood! TA: You can see Jack's weapon of choice: that good ol' branding iron! [The crowd begin to rise and cheer as "Lovin' Every Minute of It" by Loverboy blares through the sound system. On the Bloodshot, the Union Jack scrolls across the screen and then images of Bryson's work in the ring begin to appear. Bryson's full name flashes on the screen in red white and blue on top of the images and then...] *BOOM* *BOOM* *KABOOM* [Red, white and blue pyrotechnics blast in the entranceway and the crowd cheer loudly as Bryson steps out into the arena.] SH: About to enter the ring... From Portsmouth, England, he stands 1.93 meters tall and weighs in at 14 stone 5 pounds. Here is... " S U P E R S T A R " . . . S H A W N . . . B R Y S O N ! ! ! [Bryson walks confidently towards the ring wearing red trunks with the union jack on the rear end and matching red traditional wrestling boots. Bryson is a muscualr man with a shaved head, a trimmed blond goatee, and a bardbed wire tattoo around his left bicep. As he walks to the ring he takes the time to slap the fans' hands along the way. After reaching ringside, Bryson rolls into the ring and goes to the closest corner. He climbs the ropes and raises both arms in the air to a loud pop. He then jumps down and begins to stretch, waiting for the bell.] TA: Here's the Northeast Champion...we have one man left to make his entrance...and it's The Most Hated Man in Wrestling himself! ## I've felt the hate rise up in me... ## ## Kneel down and clear the stone of leaves... ## ## I wander over where you can't see... ## ## Inside my shell, I wait and bleed... ## [As the arena goes dark, the Bloodshot lights up with an eerie, supernatural crimson glow in the form of smoky tendrils extending from the edges and across the length of what is otherwise a completely black screen.] ## I've felt the hate rise up in me... ## ## Kneel down and clear the stone of leaves... ## ## I wander over where you can't see... ## ## Inside my shell, I wait and bleed... ## SH: From Dearborn Heights, Michigan. He stands at 6'1" and weighs in at 220 lbs.. ## GOODBYE!!!!!!!!!!! ## SH: ... "INTREPID" ... ... RYAN ... ... HOWARD!!!! [The loudspeakers explode as "Wait and Bleed" begins to tear through the arena like a whirling dervish, assaulting the eardrums of those in the crowd with its vicious beat. Large, dark red letters roll out from the darkness, spelling out the name in the industry that has, up until recently, only been quietly whispered in the most inner of circles.. 0000000000000000000000000000000000000000000 0~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~0 0~~~~ ~~~~ ~~~ ~~~0 0~~ ~~0 0~~~~ H O W A R D ~~~~0 0~ ~~~ ~~~ ~0 0~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~ ~~0 0~~ ~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~ ~~~~~0 0000000000000000000000000000000000000000000 The Bloodshot segues into a string of various video clips concerning the man, the myth, and the legend. Various shots from mixed-martial arts events and other, lower-tiered cage fights are shown, as well as brief glimpses from archived wrestling footage. CR: Where is he? TA: Ryan Howard is taking his sweet time getting out here! [The camera cuts to the ring, where Matt Harris is pacing back and forth like a caged lion, eyes glued to the entranceway!] SH: Ladies and gentlemen... ... "INTREPID" ... ... RYAN ... ... HOWARD!!!! CR: Something's wrong, Tony! TA: Ryan Howard, under normal circumstances, would already be in that ring and laying waste to everyone in sight! But Ryan Howard is not coming down to the entranceway! [Harris, in the ring, pounds on the top rope and shouts, "COME ON!"] TA: And that might be the reason why! Is there truth to the rumor? Has Ryan Howard been _spooked_ by The Extreme Jesus? CR: That's impossible! Howard fears _no one_! [Hemlock finishes consulting with the referee on the outside of the ring...] SH: Ladies and gentlemen, I've just been informed that if "Intrepid" Ryan Howard does not come to the ring _IMMEDIATELY_, he will automatically be _eliminated_ from the Battle Royale! [MASSIVE POP!] TA: AND THAT WON'T SIT WELL WITH HARRIS! CR: Not a _chance_! He's been waiting for this match all _week_! [A pause as the camera cuts back to the entranceway. No one appears...] SH: Ladies and gentlemen, "Intrepid" Ryan Howard...HAS BEEN _ELIMINATED_! [BIG-TIME POP!] *** DING DING DING *** [Bodies and fists begin to fly in every direction.] TA: AND WE'RE UNDERWAY! THIS IS NOW A _9_-MAN BATTLE ROYALE! AND LOOK AT THE CHAOS IN THE RING! CR: Maybe Howard's the smartest one of them _all_! _Nobody_ should want to get into the middle of _this_ fray! TA: Rampant chaos has ensued! Deathrow and Lark Fenriz have singled one another out on one side of the ring! Ian Christoph and Kyokudo Ishiguri trade punches while North Fairview...he's hiding behind Jack in the corner! CR: Not a bad move! TA: On the other side of the ring, it's Bryson and Neblinoso continuing their longtime rivalry and Mark Chaos taking advantage of Harris' preoccupation to try and put him out! CR: Harris didn't enter this thing to win it; he wants _Howard_! TA: Ian Christoph getting the better of the exchange with Kyokudo Ishiguri...CHRISTOPH HAS THAT LIGHT TUBE!!! <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> *** SMASH *** Crowd: UUUUUHHHHHWWWWWAAAAAHHHHH!!!!! TA: CHRISTOPH _SHATTERS_ IT OVER ISHIGURI'S HEAD!!! [POP!] CR: UNBELIEVABLE! TA: BUT THE BIG MAN SHRUGS IT OFF! HE WANTS MORE! CR: YOU WANT MORE, CHRISTOPH WILL _GIVE_ IT TO YOU! TA: CHRISTOPH HAS A STEEL CHAIR NOW! CR: KYO _WANTS_ CHRISTOPH TO HIT HIM! <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> *** SMASH *** Crowd: UUUUUHHHHHWWWWWAAAAAHHHHH!!!!! TA: MY _GOD_, WHAT A SICKENING CHAIRSHOT!!! [Ishiguri stumbles backward into the ropes from the viscous chairshot and nearly falls over, but rights himself and throws a few Fred Sandford jabs into the air, pounding himself in the chest.] CR: HE WANTS _MORE_! TA: CHRISTOPH WINDING UP FOR ANOTHER BIG SHOT! ISHIGURI IS _INVITING_ HIM TO... <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> *** CRACK *** [KA-POP!] TA: HE FELL! ISHIGURI FELL, AND CHRISTOPH'S CHAIR BOUNCED OFF THE TOP ROPE AND HIT HIM IN THE FACE!!! CHRISTOPH IS STUNNED! KYO IS UP!!! <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> [MASSIVE POPPAGE!] TA: AND ISHIGURI _HEAVES_ CHRISTOPH OVER THE TOP! CHRISTOPH IS _OUTTA_ HERE!!! SH: "DEADPOOL" IAN CHRISTOPH HAS BEEN _ELIMINATED_!!! CR: THAT'S CRAP! ISHIGURI WASN'T EVEN _IN_ THIS RUMBLE! TA: MAYBE NOT, BUT HE WAS OESTE NEBLINOSO'S "WEAPON OF CHOICE"! And speaking of Neblinoso, he just took a _huge_ roundhouse kick from Matt Harris! Fenriz and Deathrow still _tearing_ into one another! Chaos trying to get Bryosn out, but the Superstar is pretzeling himself in the ropes! CR: What is Kyokudo... [Ishiguri readies himself, staring at Christoph, who is just coming to his senses on the outside.] TA: KYOKUDO ISHIGURI... <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> [ROOF-SHAKING POP!!!] TA: OH MY _GOD_!!! A 400-POUND ASAI MOONSAULT!!! ISHIGURI AND CHRISTOPH ARE DOWN!!! DID YOU _SEE_ THAT?!? CR: I _THINK_ I SAW IT! I DON'T KNOW IF I _BELIEVE_ I SAW IT!!! TA: That rivalry is a _long_ way from over, ladies and gentlemen! Shawn Bryson taking over control on Chaos...SNAP SUPLEX! AND NOW LOOK AT NORTH FAIRVIEW! [Fairview sneaks out from behind Texas Jack to take a few cheap shots at the downed Oeste Neblinoso, hovering close to Jack the whole time.] CR: What? The guy's _smart_, Adams! [POP!] TA: BUT FAIRVIEW RAN INTO MATT HARRIS! THE EXTREME JESUS HAS BEEN LOOKING FOR SOMEONE TO TAKE HIS FRUSTRATIONS OUT ON ALL NIGHT, AND IT LOOKS LIKE FAIRVIEW MAY BE THE UNLUCKIEST MAN ON _EARTH_! CR: Fairview looks loaded for bear! TA: Harris ducks the shot from Fairview! *** CRACK *** [A _roar_ of laughter sweeps through the arena!] TA: HARRIS JUST LAID A ROUNDHOUSE KICK INTO THE BACKSIDE OF NORTH FAIRVIEW!!! [Fairview scampers around the ring, both hands on his behind, occasionally falling down to his knees.] CR: Those kicks can shatter concrete, Adams! And thanks to Texas Jack's branding iron, that ass was _already_ sore coming in here! _Imagine_ how much pain North Fairview's in right now! TA: HARRIS IS _STALKING_ FAIRVIEW! FAIRVIEW'S CALLING FOR HELP! [Texas Jack remains motionless in the corner.] CR: You'd _better_ help him, Danson! Remember: North Fairview owns your dad's business! He owns your _dad_, dammit! TA: AND KYOKUDO ISHIGURI AND IAN CHRISTOPH ARE TRADING BLOWS ON THE FLOOR AGAIN! The referees are trying to separate them! CR (dry): Good luck with that... [North Fairview barks at Texas Jack. With a roll of his eyes, Jack finally steps between Fairview and Harris.] CR: OH YEAH! Texas Jack versus Matt Harris! I've been _waiting_ for this one! [Texas Jack says a few words to Harris, with a look on his face that seems to say, "Can you _believe_ this garbage?" Harris gets a similar look, then turns to the ropes and hops over the top to the floor!] CR: WHAT? SH: "THE EXTREME JESUS" MATT HARRIS HAS BEEN _ELIMINATED_!!! CR: Why'd he do that? [Harris jogs up the ramp towards the entranceway and out of the arena.] TA: Harris doesn't care about the Northeast Title! Harris was looking for Howard to show up the whole time, he finally must have realized that Howard isn't coming, and he eliminated himself! CR: That leaves us with, what? Six? TA: Seven, Clint! It's Chaos and Neblinoso in one corner! Texas Jack is choking Shawn Bryson with that branding iron! Fairview shouting encouragement! And Fenriz and Deathrow... *** SLAP *** TA: WAIT! STAY WITH THIS! DEATHROW HAS THAT MASSIVE HAND AROUND THE THROAT OF LARK FENRIZ! CR: HE'S GONNA CHOKESLAM HIM OVER THE TOP! TA: DEATHROW LOOKING FOR THE SWITCH! HE LIFTS THE MASSIVE LARK FENRIZ UP INTO THE AIR LIKE A SMALL CHILD! CR: FENRIZ IS ABOUT TO GO FOR A LONG DROP AND A SUDDEN STOP! <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> ["I CAN'T BELIEVE IT'S NOT BUTTER" POP!!!] TA: BUT FENRIZ HOOKED DEATHROW IN A HEAD SCISSORS AND TOOK THE BIG MAN OUT WITH HIM!!! BOTH MEN ARE GONE!!! SH: DEATHROW AND "THE WOLF" LARK FENRIZ HAVE BEEN ELIMINATED!!! TA: FENRIZ KNEW HE WAS HISTORY, BUT HE TOOK DEATHROW DOWN WITH HIM! [CROWD BUZZING!] CR: HEY! WHAT'S _HE_ DOING HERE?!? TA: IT'S JUSTIN RYERSON!!! [Ryerson, dressed in street clothes and wearing a sling on his arm, sprints to the ring, climbs the stairs and leaps to the top rope.] CR: Is he out of his _mind_?!? TA: _CERTIFIABLY_ OUT OF HIS MIND, CLINT!!! <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> [EL POPPO NUMERO UNO!] TA: OH MY GOD!!! JUSTIN RYERSON, FROM THE TOP ROPE, DELIVERS A LEGDROP TO THE FLOOR!!! HE DROPPED A LEG ON BOTH LARK FENRIZ AND DEATHROW!!! Crowd: HO - LY - S***!!! HO - LY - S***!!! HO - LY - S***!!! CR: That _idiot_! He popped both of his shoulders taking on those two giants, now he may have wrecked both of his _legs_ on top of it! This guy's an insurance agent's nightmare! TA: Back in the ring, it's Bryson and Chaos squaring off...Bryson setting up an Irish whip...CHAOS REVERSES! *** KRISH *** TA: CHAOS LAYS WASTE TO BRYSON WITH A BEER BOTTLE! CR: There's shards of glass everywhere! That ring just got a lot more dangerous! Crowd: UUUUUHHHHHWWWWWWAAAAAAHHHHHH!!!!! TA: AND TEXAS JACK _ALMOST_ ELIMINATED OESTE NEBLINOSO! Neblinoso plants himself on the apron! <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> *** CRACK *** Crowd: UUUUUHHHHHWWWWWWAAAAAAHHHHHH!!!!! TA: NEBLINOSO WENT FOR A SPRINGBOARD MISSILE DROPKICK, BUT TEXAS JACK STOPPED IT IN MID-AIR WITH A SUPERKICK!!! DANSON PICKS UP NEBLINOSO! NEBLINOSO'S DEFENSELESS! JACK'S GONNA TOSS HIM OUT! [BOOOOOOOO!!!] TA: BUT NORTH FAIRVIEW PULLS HIM OFF! WHAT IS THIS? [North Fairview barks orders at Jack to back off, then scoops up Neblinoso himself.] CR: _FAIRVIEW_ WANTS TO ELIMINATE NEBLINOSO! TA: North Fairview is taking a big risk raising the ire of... [MASSIVE POP!!!] CR: HEY!!! TA: TEXAS JACK JUST THREW NORTH FAIRVIEW OVER THE TOP!!! SH: NORTH FAIRVIEW HAS BEEN ELIMINATED!!! TA: TEXAS JACK HAS HAD ENOUGH OF NORTH FAIRVIEW!!! CR: OH, YOU'RE IN TROUBLE _NOW_, JACK! [Fairview points a threatening finger at Danson, then walks up the ramp, pulls out his cellphone, and dials a number...] TA: Who is North Fairview calling? [Fairview motions to Jack and we can see him mouthing the words, "you're fired" into the phone!] TA: OH MY GOD! NO! CR: YES! NORTH FAIRVIEW JUST FIRED TEXAS JACK'S DAD! TAKE _THAT_, DANSON! [The crowd buzzes as Oeste Neblinoso sneaks up behind Jack...] TA: WAIT A MINUTE! JACK IS DISTRACTED BY FAIRVIEW! <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> [BOOOOOOOO!] TA: AND OESTE NEBLINOSO DROPKICKS THE BASTARD FROM BON RIO OVER THE TOP TO THE FLOOR!!! SH: TEXAS JACK HAS BEEN ELIMINATED!!! CR: LOOK OUT, OESTE! <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> Crowd: UUUUUUHHHHHHWWWWWWAAAAHHHHHH!!!!! TA: BRYSON AND CHAOS TAKE NEBLINOSO OUT WITH A DOUBLE CLOTHESLINE!!! SH: OESTE NEBLINOSO JR. HAS BEEN ELIMINATED!!! [BOOOOOOOO!!!] TA: AND HERE COME THE DOGS TO PICK UP THE SCRAPS! IT'S THE BLACK PLAGUE! GABRIEL THORN! DEATHROW! THEY'RE GOING RIGHT TO WORK ON NEBLINOSO! CR: THEY'RE TRYING TO TAKE HIS _MASK_ OFF, TONY! [HUGE POPPAGE!] TA: BUT IT'S "OFFENSIVE" ALEX ADAMS COMING DOWN TO SAVE THE DAY! CR: THAT GUY JUST CAN'T HELP STICKING HIS NOSE IN WHERE IT DOESN'T BELONG! TA: ADAMS HAMMERING ON THE 7-FOOT MONSTER DEATHROW! NEBLINOSO TAKING THE MEASURE OF THE CHAMPION! WE'VE GOT A FOUR-WAY BRAWL UP THE AISLEWAY! [BOOOOOOOO!!!] CR: _FINALLY_! [A whole host of NBW staff, security, and officials come down the aisle to separate the four combatants. Deathrow and Thorn are led to the back, shouting indiscernible threats all the way.] TA: AND NOW WE'RE DOWN TO TWO!!! CHAOS WINS, HE FACES BRYSON FOR THE NORTHEAST TITLE AT NUCLEAR WINTER! BRYSON WINS, HE GETS THE NIGHT OFF!!! IT ALL COMES DOWN TO THIS! [Bryson and Chaos stare each other down, but neither makes a move towards the other. Bryson backs off and heads to the far side of the ring, calling for a microphone.] CR: What's _this_? BRYSON: Well mate, I don' know 'bout you, but I 'ave no plans on passin' up the opportunity to appear at Nuclear fookin' Winter. I could toss yer arse over that rope if I wanted to, but then I'd 'ave the bloody night off, and that's not wot yanks me chain. Wot yanks me chain is fightin'!! So I'll see yer fookin' arse at Nuclear Winter mate... Be prepared for the fight of yer fookin' life!! [Bryson tosses the mic, and to the astonishment of many, goes over the top rope and lands on his feet on the floor, eliminating himself from the battle royale.] TA: AND HOW ABOUT _THAT_?!? *** DING DING DING *** SH: LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, YOUR WINNER... ...AND _NUMBER ONE CONTENDER_ FOR THE NORTHEAST CHAMPIONSHIP... . . . ___ M A R K C H A O S ___ ! ! ! TA: BRYSON DIDN'T WANT THE NIGHT OFF! HE WANTED A _FIGHT_ AT NUCLEAR WINTER! IT'LL BE SHAWN BRYSON VERSUS MARK CHAOS IN AN ANYTHING GOES MATCH FOR THE NORTHEAST TITLE! CR: That's gonna be one hell of a battle! nbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbwnbw [The camera cuts back and is immediately jarred, rocking back and forth as the individual wielding the electronic device is forced back and into the side of the wall, nearly dropping the recorder. CLAAAAAAAAAAAAAAANGGGGGGGGGG!!!!!!!!!!! THWAAAAAAAAAAACCKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKK!!!!!!!!! CLAAAAAAAAAAAAAAANGGGGGGGGGG!!!!!!!!!!! Where the fuck are we? This is dizzying. As the camera once again comes into focus, aged and rustic blue lockers lined up like soldier against stained concrete walls becomes the setting. A man's howl of pain rings out in the night like the mournful cry of an alpha wolf, immediately followed by another.. CLAAAAAAAAAAAAAAANGGGGGGGGGG!!!!!!!!!!! The camera pans across the room before resting on none other than the "Extreme Jesus," Matt Harris. His chest rises and falls as he attempts to catch his breath, the shallow gasps coinciding with the soft pitter-patter of droplets of blood falling from his chin and splattering across his abdomen. The streaks of crimson run from rivulets, no doubt from a basin recently opened just a few inches above the blank eyes that stare up and out, stare directly into the eyes of hate personified.. ..the camera follows that blank stare all the way to the man. Huff. Huff. The language of the enraged bull. Short, shallow gusts of air ushered out flared nostrils. Eyes portraying a souless husk and lack of conscience stare out from beneath thick strands of sanguine that hang across his face like the branches of a wounded weeping willow tree. His upper lip twitches ever so slightly, revealing the smallest hint of ivory canines bared and prepared to rend flesh and crush bone. His chest rises and falls ever so slightly beneath the taut cotton of the standard issue NBW t-shirt. Then it explodes. You can see the rage in the way his body moves -- the way his shoulders rock back and forth, the contortion of his triceps just above the elbow joint. CLAAAAAAAAAAAAAAANGGGGGGGGGG!!!!!!!!!!! The camera pans back a bit late, just missing the first shot.. CLAAAAAAAAAAAAAAANGGGGGGGGGG!!!!!!!!!!! ..but doesn't miss the second reckoning of the steel locker door being shut on Matt Harris' head. His legs kick out in sheer reflex the blow his cranium takes. Huff. Huff. CLAAAAAAAAAAAAAAANGGGGGGGGGG!!!!!!!!!!! CLAAAAAAAAAAAAAAANGGGGGGGGGG!!!!!!!!!!! CLAAAAAAAAAAAAAAANGGGGGGGGGG!!!!!!!!!!! His breath comes out in a hiss as Harris no doubt stares up in a daze, the lighting fixtures burning a painful hole right into his brain. Denim creaks and cracks as Howard crouches down, grasping Harris' face by the chin. He tilts his face to the left, and then to the right, leaving a set of bloody fingerprints on the man's cheeks as he ravages his gaze, seeking to rape his soul of fear and defenselessness. Huff. Howard brandishes a crucufix from his side, an ornament no more than a foot in length. Gleaming and silver, it seems so.. familiar. He glances down to it for a moment, staring at the crucified savior, before retraining his eyes on the "Extreme Jesus" himself. Though facing away from the camera, it can't help but be wondered if there's a bit of a sneer working its way across his lips as he silently huffs out heavy breaths through his nostrils. He props Harris' head up against the adjacent and to the left of the one that was serving as a makeshift can-opener, and then sets the crucifix up against the face of Harris. Vertical beam along the bridge of his nose.. ..horizontal beam across his brow. He then sits up slightly and rears his leg back if he were to mule kick someone behind him.. CLAAAAAAAAAAAAAAANGGGGGGGGGG!!!!!!!!!!! Harris' slumps to the side immediately following the vicious knee to the face. The side of his head slowly slides down the peeling blue paint of the locker, leaving a trail of streaked blood, before it comes to rest on the concrete floor where it begins to pool. The ruffling of paper can be heard for a moment, and the camera swings to Howard just in time to see a flailing arm. The heels of his boots scuff audibly before he turns and silently walks away without a single word. The camera pans back to Harris, zooming in on the stapled collection of papers resting in his comatose lap. The contract. Signed. Sealed. Delivered. But wait.. ..the camera shifts slightly, focusing in now on the bloodied crucifix resting on the floor just a few scant inches from Harris' thigh. Metallic. Gleaming. Jeweled. So familiar. Wait.. isn't that.. Didn't he have.. ..does this mean? Fade.]