Defiance TV S01E02

[The lights in the Soul Kitchen Music Hall go dark. A roar of excitement echoes as the crowd gets ready for the start of the show. Several moments pass until a faint hissing sound is heard. At first the crowd is unsure if its just feedback or that it was something to pay attention to. Finally, the hissing becomes clearer and distinctly animalistic.]

[A single green spotlight shines at the entrance area and out walks several dozen men wearing green hooded robes. They make the slow walk to ringside, surrounding the ring, all the while chanting something unintelligible, almost Gaelic in origin. More green spotlights shine down at the men as they make their walk. The ring itself continues to be in darkness.]

[Once around the ring, the chanting changes. The robed men are now chanting a phrase very recognizable to any wrestling fan. They are chanting “The Serpent Saves Us All”, the battle cry for the Church of the Serpent and their leader, the former two-time WWA World champion, Cobra.]


The Serpent Sucks A Dick! The Serpent Sucks A Dick! The Serpent Sucks A Dick!

[The crowd shows their appreciation for the church, as now they are aware of what the start of the show will be about. Unfazed, the Serpentalists around ringside continue to chant for several moments until they all stop at once. At that moment, the lights in the hall go out again.]

[Silence. The crowd has stopped their chanting battle with the Serpentalists and wait eagerly to boo the former champ. Finally, the distinct Middle Eastern intro to “Wherever I May Roam” by Metallica starts to blast through the speakers. Once the drums kick in, the lights in the arena turn back on.]

[Standing in the middle of the ring, that now has a green top over the mat, at a podium is the former two-time world champion Cobra. He wears the same green robe over his wrestling attire as his cronies that still stand at ringside. The most noticeable thing about Cobra at the moment is that he is indeed sans the WWA World title belt. He allows the music the play a little longer before he brings his arms up and slowly brings them down to cue the music to be faded away, as it does.]

[Cobra looks around the hall at the fans in attendance and finally addresses them.]

Cobra:
As you can see, I am no longer the WWA World champion.

RAAAAAAAAH!

Cobra:
I was stripped of the title at the last Appalachian Wrestling show, where the high and mighty Chance Worthington ripped it from my grasp and awarded it back to Jack Amethyst.

RAAAAAH!

Cobra:
Cheer all you want, but you are faced with a dilemma here. You now cheer for a man that you booed just a week or so ago when we decimated him here on Defiance territory. You now cheer for a man that will just bring you more of the same. More apathy, more avoidance, more nothing. Amethyst is nothing but a title holder. He does not defend it, he does not honor it. He just holds it. Is that what you want? Do you want a champion that is just going to piss away the title just like everything else in his career?

No. The time for that is over. The time for disgrace is now over. I came here to change that. I came here to change the WWA. I came here to fix everything. To bring it back to the glory days. To erase the last three years. Amethyst is just more of the same. He’s more David Paige. He’s more Python. He’s more Brad fucking Jackson. We’ve had enough. That’s why we’re here.

We have started a war with the WWA. We will take it over and we will rebuild it back to what it was when it meant something to say the letters W W A. We made the first strike in the war. We took out the WWA’s pride and glory. We left him for dead. And we took what meant most to them.

But then they had to strike back.  Chance Worthington retaliated and stole my title. A title I worked so hard to get back. And he fucking stole it away from me. A guy who didn’t give a shit about the WWA for years. A guy that left it for dead, just like so many others before him. He just watched it fade away and did nothing to stop it. But now, now, he has the balls to interfere. He has the balls to take my title away from me. Chance Worthington has drawn a line in the sand. He has picked his side. He will pay for it just like those he supports. He will pay for taking my title away from me.

Tonight was supposed to be a great moment in Defiance history. It was supposed to be a celebration. It was supposed to be a night where we celebrated the rebirth of the WWA in our eyes. It was supposed to be a night where I was honored as World champion. But Chance Worthington took that all away from us.

I stand in a ring decorated for celebration. I stand alone at a time where I was supposed to stand before you and raise the WWA World title over my head. Instead I stand here awkwardly, with no title, no celebration, in a ring that is decorated for no reason. My moment has been stolen. Chance Worthington stole that away from me, from us. Instead of this being our shining moment, we look like fools, tricked by the old WWA. But that ends now. We will not be tricked again. We will not allow the old WWA to fight back. We will not let them survive.

As of now, we underestimated the WWA. We anticipated this to be a quick and easy war. Apparently we were wrong. And that will never happen again. We are now at war. We have our enemies. And we will defeat them. We will come at them harder. We will destroy them, and we will take no prisoners.

You know, tonight, I feel sorry for Josias Solaine. I really do. He will be our sacrificial lamb. He will be our example. He will be the message that we send to Worthington and the rest of the WWA. We will not be made a fool of. We will not be defeated. We will crush the WWA and we will rebuild it in our eyes. Bigger and better than it ever has before.

So Jormungand has said, so it will be.

The Serpent Saves Us All! The Defiance Saves Us All!

Serpentalists:
The Serpent Saves Us All!


=-=-=



[Outside, Josias is about to enter. In mere minutes, he will face the WWA World Champion. Reaching for the door, ultimately forearm-slapped by a red and blue cane matching his ring attire. Josias rises a scarred brow, looking down at five foot E. Harland Grady.]

Grady:
Had yuh listened tuh Ol' E, yuh might uh pinned Aaron 'Chica' Vasquez. -- Chump.

[Pouting his bottom lip out, the tiny Talent Negotiator stuffed a candy cane in his mouth, attempting to quit his cigar chomping.]

Grady:
An' now yuh got good Ol' Cob, an' he is uh snake inna grass sunnabish. Why, Ol' E. been roun' these parts manuh uh time. I could actualluh help yuh, but since yuh wanna be stubborn mule 'bout thangs, -- nice knowin' yuh, sparkuh.

[Josias grabbed the Haiti colored cane, dead in the face.]

Josias:
Don't be confusing youself by assumin', friend. I be comin' to do whatever it be and then aplenty. An' be not mockin' me Motherland's colors or you be in predictament another loudmouth be attemptin' to step in with Josias. I'm mad disgusted, friend, with the Cobra and Jimmy Kort's of Defiance. Jimmy Kort can go smother under his sheet, an' be quick 'bout it.

[Speaking on behalf of himself from a previous Jimmy Kort Podcast, Josias places the cane in a ripped duffel bag he carries over his shoulder.]

Josias:
Be worry with you own self, an' be stayin' out me business.

[Door opens and shuts.]


=-=-=



Cobra and Solaine circled each other for a bit before locking up. Cobra immediately layed in with front elbow shots and Solaine traded for a while, but it was clear that Cobra had got the upper hand and Solaine began to falter. Cobra saw his advantage and tried to open it wider with a big lariat, but his wind-up took a hair too long and Solaine dropstepped and dropkicked Cobra in the knee! Solaine grabbed Cobra's head and cinched him into a front facelock, but Cobra simply charged forward and slammed him back-first into the turnbuckles. Solaine cringed but he didn't get much time to reflect because Cobra leaped up and snapped him over with a huracanrana!

"CO-BRA! CO-BRA!"

The crowd finally got back behind Cobra for the moment owing to last week's action against Amethyst and his handling of the rookie, but Cobra was content to take his time, allowing Solaine to start his upward struggle before rushing him with a leg lariat. Cobra pinned, but he could only get a two count. Unfazed, he brought Solaine to his feet and whipped him right back down to the mat with an overhead belly to belly suplex! Solaine didn't move and Cobra headed to the top rope, squatted on the top buckle for a moment to let the fans appreciate how high up he was before launching off with a frog splash... that found nobody home!

The crowd cheered mightily as Solaine rose to his feet, shaking violently with energy and screamed "BATAY!" to rally the crowd. Cobra, stunned after his failed drop, started to get to his feet and Solaine served him a series of thunderous kicks to the chest. Though each hit jarred Cobra, obviously hurting him, he managed to rise to his feet and snap Solaine to the mat with a dragon screw. Solaine popped up and did exactly the same thing! Cobra rose just as quickly and staggered Solaine with a European uppercut, then sweept his legs out from under him, re-positioned himself, and sling-shotted Solaine chest-first into the corner! Rapidly, Cobra was back on his feet and executing a flying leg roll-up that got a two count before Solaine kicked out.

Solaine rolled through his kick-out, but Cobra was there to greet him, only for Cobra to be greeted himself by a stomp kick to the knee that flipped Cobra to the mat. Solaine rested against the ropes, regaining his breath after Cobra's assault. Cobra was back to his feet before Solaine got too much of his wind. Solaine rushed Cobra, launched a palm thrust that Cobra caught, dragged Solaine into a vorpal lariat! Groggy, Solaine wandered to his feet, which allowed Cobra to catch him and haul him high into the air before spiking him with a high-angle german suplex! The crowd EXPLODED when Solaine flopped sickeningly onto the mat, smelling the end of the match:

ONE!

TWO!

THR-NO!

"BATAY! BATAY! BATAY!"

The crowd was thoroughly impressed with Solaine's heart, but that alone wasn't going to get Solaine out of the woods. Cobra methodically brought Solaine to his feet and backed him into the corner where he could begin to dissect the Haitian's chest with knife-edge chops. Cobra lifted Solaine up to the top rope and arranged his legs on the outside of the ropes. The buzz in the crowd built as Cobra rose to the second, weakening Solaine. Cobra leaped up and hooked Solaine for a rana, but Solaine summoned up some hidden energy and shoved Cobra off of his shoulders, sending him crashing down to the mat!

"BATAY! BATAY!"

That's the crowd again, because Solaine was definitely too drained at the moment, hunched over and doing his best to regain his energy. Finally, Solaine climbed to the top rope proper, sizing Cobra up before leaping off with an elbow drop... that does not connect! The crowd groaned in sympathy Cobra has rolled out onto the apron in the nick of time, and now he rose, slingshotting himself over the top for a senton bomb! Cobra peeled Solaine off the mat and fed him a series of front elbows before pulling him into a standing fireman's carry. Cobra carried the lighter man to the center of the ring and then shoved Solaine into the air, catching him on the fall with a gutbusting knee, then fluidly drilling Solaine with a DDT!

"OHHHHHHHHH!"

"CO-BRA! CO-BRA! CO-BRA!"

Cobra confidently went for the lateral press.

ONE!

TWO!

THRE-SHOULDER UP!

The fans were stompstompstomping and slapping the guardrail. Cobra stared his dead crimson stare at the referee, but he pulled Solaine to his feet anyway, deciding not to argue. Solaine was out on his feet, knees wobbling dangerously. Cobra hit the ropes, coming back and slinging Solaine across the ring with a spinning headscissors takedown! The momentum made Solaine sit up and he actually blinked and started to pull himself to his feet. Cobra allowed him to rise before spinning him around and booting him in the stomach. Cobra hooked the arms for the tiger bomb and brought Solaine up to his shoulders, but mid-swing Solaine managed to free his arms and he double-axehandled Cobra on the forehead at the apex!

"BATAY! BATAY!"

Cobra staggered back into the ropes and Solaine swung himself down, lurched forward and knocked Cobra over the top with a stiff lariat! Cobra toppled out of the ring and collapsed against the rail. Solaine, seeking any way to put Cobra down, climbed to the top rope, gauged Cobra's position, and soars from the top, CREAMING Cobra with a flying shoulder block that ends with them both in the crowd!

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!

The shocking crowd reaction wasn't for the insane dive that Solaine had just made, but for the sneaky appearance of the newly re-crowned Alliance World Champion Jack Amethyst. Jack had lain in wait and picked his perfect spot, laying Cobra out with a boot as the Serpentalist tried to recover from dive.

Jack plastered Solaine, too, and then turned his attention back to Cobra, kicking at his downed opponent before grabbing a chair and throwing it hard with his good hand down at Cobra. A rowdy fan got into Jack's face, but the Champion took his beer and threw it in his face. Event Staff was quick to intervene, getting between the fan and his friends while Jack went back to his work.

He grabbed Cobra by the mask and pulled him back over the guard rail and into the ringside area. He ran Cobra head-first into the ringpost so hard that a trickle of blood could be seen forming and spilling through the holes in his mask. Jack sent Cobra inside the ring and followed quickly. Beer cups reigned down in the ring as Amethyst mounted Cobra and began driving fists into the former World Champ's face with his good arm.

RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHH!!!

It was shortlived, though, as Josias Solaine had once again recovered. He made his way back into the ring and pulled Amethyst off of Cobra by his bad arm, hammer-locking him and bulling him to the ropes. Jack screamed in pain as Solaine dumped the World Champion over the top ropes.

"You not be welcome here, Jack!" Solaine screamed at Amethyst.

"Yer next you little fuck!" Jack barked back. It wasn't to be, though, as Event Staff finally got their shit together and realized that the World Champion wasn't part of the Defiance show. The formed a wall around him and literally corralled him away from ringside.

Meanwhile, Josias Solaine smiled.

For a second.

The look on his face as Cobra pulled him into the mat with a Schoolboy roll-up would be plastered all over the internet it was so priceless. The Serpentalist grabbed a handfull of tights and pulled back with all of his might and that of the almighty Jorgomund.

ONE!

...TWO!!

......THREE!!!

In the confusion, the former World Champion had stolen one. The crowd, completely oblivious to the fact that he'd just taken a beating from Jack Amethyst, turned on Cobra once again as he rolled out of the ring and made his way back up the aisle with an arm raised and a smirk on his face.

Winner via Schoolboy: Cobra


=-=-=


[Quick cut to the Defiance studio.]

[The is no fancy video package this week, just a cold open to an exasperated Angus Skaaland.]

Angus:
Are you serious?

[Blink.]

Angus:
I'm in charge for one friggin' week because Eric didn't make it back from Florida on time, and I have THIS shit to deal with?

[Pause.]

Angus:
FUCK!

[Skaaland takes a calming breath.]

Angus:
Alright. I'm better now. I'm going to call Eric, and we're going to make a plan.

[He smirks, ideas brimming.]

Angus:
Jack Amethyst is going to die.

[Cut.]


=-=-=



[Leon Booth and Sawyer Reed are sprawled comfortably on a couch in the backstage lounge, watching the night’s events on a large, flat screen monitor. Sawyer appears attentive, her arms crossed in front of her and her brow creased. Booth is next to her. He looks bored.]

Sawyer:
That was a great match.

Booth:
It was alright.

[He speaks in his usual slow, southern drawl, but his voice is not without a notable hint of interest. He’s lying.]

Sawyer:
Either one of those guys could be a threat in the tournament, ah think.

Booth:
Ah don’t know. They’re alright.

Sawyer:
Cobra is the World Champion, Leon.

Booth:
Is he, now?

[He clearly already knows this.]

Booth:
Well, ah’ll cross that bridge when ah git to it. Ah’m tryin’ to focus on one win at a time, faw now.

Sawyer:
That’s… uncharacteristically rational of you, Leon.

[Booth smirks, turning his attention away from the screen and running a hand through her hair.]

Booth:
Hey. Ah know how to git to the top, and ah’ll be there soon enough. You can count on that. Ah just gotta concentrate on gettin’ mah steps right along the way.

[She nods.]

Sawyer:
Ah think that Johnny Lightnin’ fella could be a problem, too.

[Booth laughs and climbs to his feet.]

Booth:
First of all, ah suspended the use of that name. He is still “Johnny Almost”, and he proved it last week. He almost beat me and he is almost good enough to be a problem.

[He closes his eyes and inhales deeply, quite pleased with himself.]

Booth:
Ah love when ah’m right. It happens so often, and yet… it nevah gets old.

[Sawyer grins.]

Booth:
Ah’ll win this tournament, git mah title, and then ah’ll be maw than happy to deal with Johnny Almost.

Sawyer:
You gonna call him out, Leon?

Booth:
Yea, maybe ah will.

[A murmur of anticipation from the crowd.]

Booth:
But not today. Like ah said, tournament first. Until then, the only one ah gotta watch out for is that Joe Drago. Ah’m no fool, ah’ll give credit where credit is due. That guy is good. Lucky for me he’s on mah side this week.

Sawyer:
Yes. Too bad it doesn’t count toward the tournament.

Booth:
Consider this match a steppin’ stone, Sawyuh. A chance to pick up a bit of momentum goin’ back into the tournament. Maybe ah’ll hog a lil’ extra ring time tonight, you know? Just to outshine ol’ Drago.

Sawyer:
You shouldn’t be thinkin’ like that, Leon.

Booth:
Ah know. And if our opponents were the least bit promising, ah wouldn’t be. But ah’m really not concerned.

Sawyer:
Ah know.

[She rises from the couch and moves toward the door. Her soft, southern voice carries just a hint of concern.]

Sawyer:
Do what you’ve gotta do, Leon. But if you get in trouble, use yaw partner. The world will be maw impressed with a man who tags his partner and wins a match than a man who loses on his own.

[Booth laughs and lifts her up in a playful bearhug, spinning her around once and placing her back on her feet.]

Booth:
Oh, Sawyuh! What is a wise, beautiful gal like yawself doin’ with a guy like me?

[She smiles and places her hands on her hips.]

Sawyer:
Why… ah have no idea.

[She winks, turns, and exits the room. After a moment of thought, Booth calls after her.]

Booth:
One thing… just stay away from that Monroe fella tonight! Ah like the little slimeball, but ah’m not shaw ah like him within arm’s reach of mah girlfriend…

[Her voice carries back into the room from down the hallway.]

Sawyer:
Shame. Ah was thinkin’ of givin’ him a call after the show…

Booth:
Not funny.

[Booth exits.]


=-=-=



[Fade in]

[Murray Monroe, dressed as usual in a dirty, sweat stained black polo shirt, a mustard stain just above the Defiance logo stitched on the left breast, black trucker cap with the word Defiance scralled across the front. Drago, standing to his left, arms crossed, intense stare is dressed in his ring gear, with his trademark white towell covering his head.]

Monroe:
Defiance, daddy! The money man, the manager of champions is right here in Mobile Alabama daddy and standing right here next to me daddy is the baddest man on the planet, the wolf, the grim reaper himself, the wrestling machine Joe Drago.

[Murray is even more animated then he normally is, pacing back and forth and making gestures with his hands as he talks.]

Monroe:
Normally daddy, the baddest man on the planet is a one man wolfpack, going out to the ring and taking care of business all on his own daddy. Tonight the office has decided to team the wolf up with the Lion, and that means nothing but trouble for the kaiser rolls tonight daddy.

[Murray pauses to whips some spittle from his chin, as Drago continues to stare ice daggers into the camera.]

Monroe:
Leon Booth daddy, now don't go all thinking that things are all good between you and Drago daddy. What tonight is about is business, if you take care of your end if the business deal daddy, everything good. If you don't, well then we're gonna have a problem. My man Drago here daddy is gonna be pissed, and trust me daddy you don't want to piss him off.

[Murray steps back as Drago moves forward to speak angrily into the camera.]

Drago:
Booth, the office has decided to slap us together as a team tonight, that's fine I'm a company man and will do whatever the boss asks. But make no bones about it, if you screw up tonight I will have no problem snapping your neck in two. As for our opponents, get ready for pain.

[out]


=-=-=



The Kaiser Brothers stood in the ring waiting on their opponents Joe Drago and Leon Booth.

Booth came out with Sawyer Reed, his main squeeze to “Remember to Feel Real”.

Drago came out with his manager Murray Monroe to “You Can’t Kill Integrity”.

The two teams heard the bell; Drago and Kasimir started it off as Drago was towered over by Kasimir.  They locked up, Kasimir pushed Drago away.  Drago used the momentum, spun and connected to the chest of Kasimir with a spinning back fist.  It backed Kasimir back a few steps as the giant just looked like a bitch.

Drago bum rushed Kasimir and took him down with a double leg take down.  He made Kasimir the same height and delivered a little ground and pound to his face.

ONE…

TWO…

Drago got off of Kasimir so he wasn't DQ’d and transitioned into a kneebar trying to submit the giant.  Kasimir reacheed for the ropes and Drago broke quickly.

“GET ON HIM DADDY!”  Screamed Murray Monroe.

Kasimir made it back up to his feet, ran towards Drago with his arm out and crooked for a lariat.  Drago ducked it.  Kasimir bounced off the ropes to return with another lariat but Drago fired a forearm straight into the ribs of Kasimir, he doubled over, Drago DDT’d him and covered him for the pin.

ONE…

TWO…

Just before the three Kasimir got his right shoulder up.  Drago dragged him up to a doubled over position.  Drago ran the ropes and came off with a running yakuza style kick, Kasimir ducked out of the way and fell back into his corner to tag in his brother Dietrich.

Drago looked at him, and then looked to the outstretched hand of Booth.  Drago tagged in Booth as he knew the win was in the bag.  Booth and Dietrich locked up, the larger Dietrich took the upper hand for a second, and then he took a knee to the gut from Booth, which slightly doubled him over.  

Booth elbowed Dietrich on the neck knocking him to the mat.  Booth stomped him on the back and kneed him in the ribs.  Booth bent over, picked up Dietrich, grabbed his right arm, pulled Dietrich towards himself and delivered a short arm clothesline knocking him back down to the mat once again.

“YOU KILLED LINCOLN!”

Booth fed off the hatred.  He squatted down and started tearing at the eyes of Dietrich.

ONE…

TWO…

Murray confronted Sawyer about the lack of respect Booth had for his opponent.

THREE…

FOUR…

Booth released his hold on Dietrich’s face and happened to look over toward Sawyer’s direction only to see her and Murray arguing.  Booth ran over and slapped Drago across the chest for the tag as he went straight to the outside of the ring to have his own words with Murray.

Drago rushed in and picked up Dietrich for the overhead belly-to-belly suplex with his left arm hammer-locked, DRAGOPLEX.  Drago went for the pin.

ONE…

TWO…

No, Kasimir got into the ring in time to kick Drago in the head to break up the pin.  Dietrich stayed on the mat as Kasimir picked Drago up in a fireman’s carry looking for VERRUCKTES TIER, Drago elbowed him repeatedly in the side of the head and manageed to wiggle free of his hold and landed behind Kasimir.  Drago waist locked him and delivered a german suplex to him, he kept his hands locked, rolled and delivered another german suplex before releasing the hold.  Kasimir rolled out of the ring.

Drago looked to tag in Booth; however Booth was still on the floor jawing with Murray.  Drago went over, hollered at Booth to get on the apron however before Booth answered him Dietrich comes up behind Drago and attempted a Russian leg sweep, Drago grabbed the top rope as Dietrich pulls and landed flat on his back.

Drago turned his attention back to Dietrich; he picked him up, locked him in THE WOLFS BITE, pivoted and delivered him straight down to the mat.  He went for the pin.

ONE…

TWO…

THREE…

Winners via The Wolfs Bite: Joe Drago and Leon ‘the Lion’ Booth.

Drago celebrated in the ring; Murray rolled in to join him.  Booth followed.  Booth had more words with Murray and Drago stepped between them.  Booth backed away from Drago heading towards the ropes.  Drago talked to Murray as Booth came back, spun him around and delivered a devastating spinebuster to Drago.  Booth looked and pointed at Murray.

“STAY AWAY FROM SAWYER!”

Murray backed away and Booth left the ring hand in hand with Sawyer.


=-=-=


[Angus. Studio.]

Angus:
You know, you shouldn't sign up to Defiance if you're gonna get your head caved in on your debut.

[He shakes his head.]

Angus:
Son, I am dissapoint.

[Cut.]


=-=-=



Brooks:
What do mean you’re not going to let me in?

[Justin Brooks stood outside of the Soul Kitchen with his hands behind his hand as he frustrated sigh escaped his lips. The Security guard shrugs his shoulders as he looks at the Yellow memo pad in his hand as he scanned over the list.]

Security:  
I dunno what to tell you…but Justin Brooks isn’t on this list.

[Justin groaned out of frustration at he shook his head.]

Brooks:
This can’t be happening. Can you check again?

[The Security Guard sighs and looks through the list of names and mumbles…]

Security:
Brooks….Brooks…Brooks…Brooks…No Justin Brooks here, dude.

[Justin reaches up and pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs.]

OSV:
Don'tcha worry 'bout it or nothin'. He's wit me.


[Justin looks over to see Jimmy Kort with a large smile on his face and a black duffel bag in hand. He drops the bag at Justin’s feet.]

Kort:
Ya forget this in the car boy.

[Kort turns to the workers.]

Kort:
It's damned near impossible to find any good help now a day.

[Jimmy smiled and patted the Security Guard on the shoulder as he walked past him.]

Security:
Good Luck, Mr. Kort.

[Jimmy stopped and turned in the middle of the door as he looked over at Justin.]

Kort:
You comin’ or what, boy?

[Justin smirked and lifted up the bag reluctantly as nodded his head.]

Brooks:
Yeah, I’m coming…I’m coming…

Kort:
Yeah?

[Kort smiled and took a moment enjoying the moment as he placed a finger in the middle of Justin’s chest.]

Kort:
I don't pay ya to address me with yeah. It's sir, ya got that?

[Justin grits his teeth and growled deep in his throat.]

Justin:
Yes…

Kort:
Yes…what?

Justin:
...yes sir.

Kort:
Now that's more like it. Let's move boy.


=-=-=


[Back to Angus.]

Angus:
Hoo-boy...

[He shakes his head.]

Angus:
The FCC's gonna climb directly up our asses for that one.

[Smirk.]

Angus:
'Atta-boy, Kort, 'atta-boy.

[Cut.]


=-=-=



With D.R. Kongo already in the ring, "Hillybilly Deluxe" by Brooks and Dunns started over the PA System and out of the back stepped Jimmy Kort. Most of the crowd boo’d him as he made his way to the ring. He jawed with a few fans who looked significantly weaker than him and then slid into the ring where he posed on two turnbuckles before readying himself for the match.

The two faced each other from opposite corners as the bell rang. At first, neither made a move. Kort calmly took his stance while Kongo appeared patient, but ready to explode. They moved slowly to the beginning of the ring and began to circle, sizing each other up, looking for an opening to strike. After a few moments, the crowd began to grow restless and voiced its disapproval. Kongo turned his head for a split second, and that was all it took.

Kort wasted no time in bounding forward and throwing a cheap right hook in the face of D.R. Kongo to start things off. He continued to pummel Kongo, backing him up into the ropes and taking his arm to attempt an irish whip. Kongo reversed the attempt, sending Kort to the ropes and following up with a vicious lariat. Kort went down, crashing hard to the mat and bouncing immediately back to his feet. Kongo struck quickly with a clothesline. Kort rebounded again, a little slower this time. Kongo hit once more with a lightning-quick spinning heel kick, connecting with the side of Kort’s face. This time, Kort crumbled to the mat and rolled away, clutching his head.

Kongo clapped his hands over his head and let loose a celebratory “WHOOOO!”, which the fans were happy to echo.

WHOOOOOOOO!!!!

D.R. Kongo pursued Kort across the ring and bent to pick him up. Kort, always the opportunist, took this moment to come alive with a swift punch to Kongo’s kneecap and a perfectly executed jawbreaker. Both wrestlers ended up on their backs. Kort climbed quickly to his feet and took a moment to shake off the cobwebs. He lifted a groggy Kongo to his feet, only to drop him again with a DDT. He followed up by locking in a half crab, and the crowd was not liking it. They began a steady rhythm of clapping, urging the struggling Kongo to somehow break the hold. His face twisted in pain, Kongo began to claw at the mat, inching his way toward the ropes from the center of the ring with Kort on his back.

Closer.

Closer.

A tremendous effort later, Kongo stopped neared the ropes. Instead of reaching out to grab them, he managed to push himself up off the mat, roll forward, and use his feet to push Jimmy Kort over himself and through the ring ropes to the floor.

THUD![/I]

RAAHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!

The referee began his count as Kongo climbed warily to his feet inside the ring.

1…

2…

3…

4…

Slightly nursing his back, Kongo made his way over to the turnbuckle and quickly ascended it. He waited patiently for Kort to get to his feet outside the ring.

5…

And begin to enter the ring.

6…

Kort rolled under the bottom rope and climbed quickly to his feet, expecting to find Kongo waiting for him. Kongo was waiting, but not where Kort expected. Kongo launched off the top rope and blasted Kort from behind with an explosive flying leg lariat. He never even saw it coming. Kort was sent sprawling across the ring flat on his face. Kongo immediately dove on top of him, flipped him over, and hooked the leg.

1…

2…

Kort managed to fight his way out of the pin JUST in time. Kongo slapped the mat in frustration and took hold of Kort by his hair, raising him to his feet. On the way up, however, Kort swung a blind fist and connected with Kongo’s groin.

OHHHHHH!

As if that weren’t enough, he quickly raked his fingers across Kongo’s eyes and shoved him staggering toward the far end of the ring. Kongo took a few steps and fell, temporarily blinded and in a great deal of pain. Clearly winded, Kort tried to cover it by taking a moment to play to the fans. He spread his arms and happily conducted the crowd as their boo’s rang through the arena.

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!

Second verse, same as the first.

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!

Having caught his breath, Kort approached the slowly recovering Kongo and began to rain down on him with punches and kicks. Once he finished working him over, Kort followed up with a snap suplex and rolled over into a lazy pin attempt.

1…

2…

Kongo got a foot on the bottom rope.

Kort rose to his knees and stared grimly out at the crowd. His frustration was obvious as he grabbed Kongo's afro and dragged him up, slugging Kongo in the jaw before he had his knees under him. The Sheriff then rapidly cinched Kongo up and drilled him an evenflow DDT, floating over into a cover. Kort hooked the ropes for leverage, but the referee caught him at two. The crowd booed the hell out of Kort as he got in the ref's face, even grabbing him by the shirt and shaking him. Kongo rose with a vengeance, but Kort was a step ahead, spinning around and putting the ref between himself and Kongo. Kongo shoved the ref out of the way, but the Sheriff was there to meet him with a Polish hammer! Kort punted Kongo in the black mamba's lair and spiked him with yet another evenflow!

The cover!

ONE!

TWO!

THR--KICKOUT!

Kort sat up abruptly, staring with blank confusion once again as the crowd cheered on the patriotic Kongo. Shaking his head and jawjacking furiously, Jimmy Kort pulled himself up to his feet and ascended to the second rope. He turned around, gave the "Hook 'Em Horns" to the jeering crowd, and dove off the rope with a knee drop to the face! Kort immediately went for a pin, rolling his forearm roughly across Kongo's face. To Kort's frustration, Kongo grabbed the ropes at two.

The Sheriff dragged Kongo to his feet again, but quickly drove him back to a knee with a European uppercut. Stunned, Kongo shook his head, his vision swimming. Kort spat on Kongo's chest, berating him verbally. He leaned back into the ropes and propelled himself into Kongo, levelling Kongo with a diving tricep smash. Somehow, Kongo's resilience had sunk into Kort and the Sheriff quickly picked Kongo back up, pulling him into an inverted facelock, the prelude to the Hillbilly Deluxe.

OHHHHHHH!

Kongo drove his knuckles into Kort's throat, wriggled his way out of the hold, and executed a twisting leap to snap a Strong Kick into the back of Kort's head! Kort flopped to the mat face-first and Kongo failed to rise immediately. The referee had counted the three when Kongo used the ropes to pull himself up to a knee, and then to his feet.

LET'S GO KONGO!

KICKS BE STRONG YO!

Kongo pulled Kort back to his feet as well, supporting the Sheriff's body until he could slam his knee into Kort's chest. Kort stumbled backwards and began to throw wild bombs, but a second Strong Kick sent Kort reeling into the ropes. Incensed, Kongo stalked him to the ropes so he could hoist him high and destroy him with a teardrop suplex! He wasted no time, covering and hooking both legs.

ONE!

TWO!

THR--SHOULDER UP!

The momentum and adrenaline dragged Kort to his feet and he attempted to regain his bearings, but Kongo charged into him with a knee to the temple. The Sheriff rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling as Kongo climbed up to the top rope. Kongo didn't even play to the crowd, first scouting and and then launching himself with a flying elbow drop! Kongo hooked the leg again, but Kort kicked out just before the three!

D.R. Kongo rolled onto his back, working out his frustration for a moment. Abruptly, Kongo kipped up from the mat and "WHOOOOOOO!"ed to a roar from the crowd. He turned around on the ball of his foot, wagging his finger at Kort, who was already trying to get up despite the colours out of space. As soon as Kort stood up, Kongo sought the full nelson for the Concrete Shot. The Sheriff's eyes snapped open and he desperately fought his way out of the hold, throwing a back elbow at Kongo, who ducked it. Kort spun around and Kongo popped up just in time to lock in the full nelson, kicking forward and then drilling Kort with the Concrete Shot!

Kongo rolled Kort onto his back and hooked the leg for extra insurance, counting along with the referee.

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

"Saliva" sauntered onto the PA system and the crowd celebrated, mostly for the defeat of Kort at any hand. Kongo jumped to his feet and seemed to draw a difficult bow until he arrived at a superman pose. Kongo heaved a heavy breath before heading to the turnbuckle, climbing to the top and motioning the belt around his waist. He signaled D1 with his hands.

Winner via Concrete Shot: D.R. Kongo


=-=-=



[Backstage, brick wall backdrop. D.R. Kongo with a shit-eating grin on his face, fidgeting, overflowing with energy. Lance Warner with the microphone.]

Lance Warner:
Impressive victory over "The Sheriff" Jimmy Kort, thoughts?

[Kongo chuckled lightly.]

D.R. Kongo:
What did I tell you, Jimmy? You put up a good fight. You took a solid run at me. But that ain't enough. Ain't enough to get close, kid. We talkin' three points on my record now, we talkin' a serious. title. campaign, you heard? We talkin' takin' this all the way.

[Kongo paused to let that grin hold his audience.]

D.R. Kongo:
There is a new sensation, all ac-ROSS the nation: D.R. Kongo. Kongo of America. All eyes are on Defiance, all eyes are on this right here, and if you think what I did out there to Jimmy Kort is all I got...

[Kongo scoffed.]

D.R. Kongo:
... you just watch me keep breakin' skulls in this Carnival.

[Warner allowed a slight pause before piping up with question number two.]

Lance Warner:
What about Aaron Vasquez?

[Kongo's eyebrows raised suddenly.]

D.R. Kongo:
Vasquez? What about him?

Lance Warner:
He's been asking where you are.

D.R. Kongo:
He sound like he wanna fight?

Lance Warner:
No, didn't sound like that to me.

[Kongo shook his head slowly, curious.]

D.R. Kongo:
Alright, alright. You tell him to get at me, you know where I'm at.

[Kongo headed off screen, leaving a bewildered Warner in his wake.]

Lance Warner:
I, uh... actually...

[Cut.]


=-=-=


[Backstage at Defiance, a man stands before the camera against a Defiance backdrop.  His face sports a snarl that might make your granny's pace maker stop dead in it's tracks.  Eyes green and piercing, looking you dead in the eye as you watch on your meagre cheap 12" black and white television set, causing you to look away, unable to maintain his stare.]


[The man is Sam Skull.  No.  Wait.  THE Sam Skull.]

Skull:
Last time this wrestling God forsaken company held an event those idiots at American Airlines couldn't even get their flight schedule to work.  It just goes to prove that if you need something done right... DON'T get an American to do it.

[The fans in attendance boo as Skull shakes his head in disgust.]

Skull:
Needless to say... those idiots at American Airlines cost me my Championship.  No.  Not just my place in the Championship Carnival.  But MY... God damn... Championship.  It's matter of fact that if I had've stepped inside the Defiance ring I'd have shown you all a wrestling show second to none... unless God himself strapped on a pair of tights and climbed into the ring with me.  And I'd make THAT motherfucker tap... too!

[A gasp works it's way around the arena like a Mexican wave as Skull calls God himself names.]

Skull:
See... the wrestling world as we know it is stricken by tainted worshippers.  These idiot fans worship nothing more than the spilling of blood.  Get on bended knee for chair wielding maniacs destined only to shorten the lives of themselves and those they work with.  More ready to pack cutlery than a punch.  These people make my stomach turn over and the bile rise up my throat.  I spit on you idiots.

[That snarl begins grow, as if it were even possible.]

Skull:
All these high-spot hacks... these one-trick ponies... these grinder monkeys dancing to the tunes of a thousand flaming tables being shattered beneath powerbombs.  These are not the war drums to which I march to.  This is not the battle I fight.  My war is with these idiots who proclaim their loyalty to disintegrating the honour of this sport with their hardcore spots.  Yes.  This sport.  NOT Sports Entertainment.  I spit on the words.

[Skull spits on the ground.]

Skull:
You idiots can continue to dissipate the future of this industry but I just want you all to realise that sooner or later your speeding car will come head on with a Mack truck.

[Skull thumbs himself in the chest.]

Skull:
THIS... Mack truck.  A vehicle carrying 100% passion for this sport.  A man who represents pride and self-respect.  Self-respect not to sell myself out for the sake of spilling what's mine.  My blood.  Not spilling my blood for these idiots chanting for it.  This is NOT... Ancient Rome.  This is professional wrestling.  And I'll die making each and every one of you hardcore idiots tap to the Skull Clutch.  Scream for mercy as I snap your spines in front of the very people who coat you in their adulation.  I will do this until I wear my Championship title belt.  Until I rise it high above my head with pride.

[Skull thumps his chest with an open hand.]

Skull:
I'm NOT just a man... I'm a God... damned... wrestling... LEGACY!


=-=-=


[Studio.]

Angus:
You know, we almost fired Skull last week.

[Shrug.]

Angus:
Eric figured he was trying to pull some Jason Ramsey shit or another.

[Shrug, ptII.]

Angus:
Turns out American Airlines fucked him, and by proxy, us.

[The Bastard is not amused.]

Angus:
Yeah, well, fuck American Airlines.

[Snicker.]

Angus:
Fly Delta.

[Cut.]

Angus:
They're still in business, right?


=-=-=



“Hero” by the band Skillet pumped through the Soul Kitchen’s sound system as Joseph Justice made his way out towards a Defiance ring for the first time, receiving a rather nice applause from the crowd.

Once he made it inside the ring, the Jadakiss jam "We Gonna Make It" hit the sound system, but you couldn’t really tell because the jeers emanating from the crowd in Mobile were so thunderous that it was actually drowning out the entrance music. Justin Brooks came out from the back with a look of almost disbelief, the perennial fan favorite was certainly not used to this kind of fan reaction.

Brooks slowly made his way up to the ring as the crowd littered him with insults and taunts, he paused for a moment and shook his head in disgust at a sign which read, “go back to NY, Brooks you’re not wanted here.”

Brooks made his way into the ring, with Justice standing in the center starring him down.

The bell rang.

The two competitors took a moment to size each other up before locking up center ring. The slightly bigger Justice managed to push Brooks into the ropes, Brooks grabbed hold of the top rope and paused for a second in disbelief as the crowd cheered boisterously for such an inconsequential move by Justice.

Brooks nailed Justice with a big boot to the gut, which sent him crouching. Brooks followed up with a series of forearm smashes to the face. Justice however managed to shove Brooks into the ropes and on the bounce back sent Brooks to the canvas with a vicious clothesline.

Brooks stumbled up to his feet as Justice grabbed him by the neck and sent him back first into the corner turnbuckle. Three rapid fire shots to the chest of Brooks by Justice, were followed by a stiff kick to the gut and then a thunderous DDT to the canvas.

Thud!

ROOOOOAAAAAR!

The crowd was going absolutely bonkers for Justice, it was obvious that the Defiance faithful were not warming up to Justin Brooks one bit. Justice went for the pin attempt, but Brooks kicked out after a one count.

Brooks back to his feet now, let out a big roar as if to say, “fuck this shit, its on.” The Defiance crowd still booed the man who in any other arena would be a huge baby face as he brought Justice down to the canvas with a huge spear.

Justice got up to his feet slowly as Brooks sized him up and waited for just the right time to nail Justice with a German suplex. Brooks quickly went for the cover.


One…


Two…


Justice kicked out at three and the crowd in the Soul Kitchen went bonkers. Justice pulled himself back to his feet using the ropes for leverage as Brooks just couldn’t believe what was going on. Brooks went for a boot to the midsection, but Justice grabbed the leg and spun Brooks around sending him flying into the corner turnbuckle.

Justice with a series of open fisted punches to Brooks in the corner, Brooks came firing back with flying fists of his own. Justice ducked a big punch and drove his shoulder into Brook’s gut, before whipping him into the ropes, on the bounce back however Brooks nails Justice with a Jumping Shoulderblock sending Justice to the canvas.

Brooks went for the cover.

One…


Two…


And Justice kicked out at three, once again to the delight of the fans in attendance.

Brooks grabbed Justice by the head and whipped him into the ropes, Justice on the bounce back ducked the clothesline attempt from Brooks and sent him flying into the turnbuckle post as the fans went wild.

Justice then hooked his arms around the waist of Brooks and lifted him up into the air for a running power bomb.

Thud!

RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHH

The crowd went wild, instead of going for the cover however Justice lifted Brooks up and signified for his finishing move the Verdict, Brooks would have none of it as he nailed Justice square in the jaw with a forearm smash and then wailed away with fists of fury.

Irish whip into the turnbuckle and on the bounce back Brooks brought Justice down with a thunderous spear. As the fans booed Brooks he signified for the Hook and Ladder.

But Justice refused to go quietly into the night as Brooks attempted to pick him up to his feet.

Justice dropped to a single knee and blasted Brooks right in the crotch, crumbling to his knees as the crowd broke into cheers. Pain and agony were painted over Justin’s face as Justice slid out of the ring and made his way towards the timekeepers table. Grabbing the poor and rather unexpecting Timekeeper, he deposited him on his face with a hearty shove and grabbed the black steel chair, folding it flat.

Sliding back into the ring, Justin was still trying to pull his nuts out from stomach as Justice smiled and sized up Brooks, who slowly climbed to his feet and with a swing that even Ken Griffey Jr. would love…

CRACK!

Justice connected with Brooks skull with a sickening thud as Brooks hits the mat like a ton of bricks with a large cut right above his eye, as blood begins to pour down his face. Referee Mark Shields had little choice but to call for the bell, not that he (or anyone else in Defiance) particularly gave a shit about the rules, but it was rather blatant.

Winner: Justin Brooks via Disqualification


=-=-=



[We send it backstage where interviewer Lance Warner stands microphone in hand with the ready for battle "Bombastic" Bronson Box.]

Lance Warner:
I'm here with alliance newcomer Bronson Box as he prepares for his possibly career making encounter with Team Danger superstar and one half of the current WWA World Tag Team champions, Stephen Greer.

[Bronson nods at Lance.]

Lance Warner:
Bronson, I'll get right at the point here. You had some vicious words for your opponent earlier in the week, do you still stand by your opinion?

[Box immediately goes from his usually stern visage to absolutely annoyed.]

Bronson Box:
What I said to Mr. Greer was truth not opinion. Can anyone point me in the direction of any one of 'is accomplishments that he could possibly be proud of? From 'is pathetic death match victories to 'is NWA [air quotes] World title win. All pathetic 'ollow victories of the lowest caliber. He epitomizes an old guard with a weak moral code that needs to be expelled post 'aste.

Lance Warner:
Weak moral code? Care to elaborate on that one?

Bronson Box:
These wrestlers, these officials, these fans, even you are all cut from the same weak bolts of moral cloth, Mr. Warner. You look at me and you see the 'air and the clothes and you figure it a gimmick. These clothes, this 'air, even my entrance music are a tribute to a time in our 'istory as a culture where yer' morals and health and yer' true standing as a man were things of the utmost importance. More important than simply obtaining by any means any accolade or trophy.

Lance Warner:
So you aim to make Stephen Greer an example?

Bronson Box:
Something like that, indeed. My goal is to be considered the greatest wrestler on the planet earth. My goal is to be a man truly feared for what he can do as a fighter, not a cheating chair swinging poofter with a bunch of thugs by his side. My goal is to do all of that and still be on 'igher moral ground than any of these fatties and sinners here in audience and those watching at 'ome.

[Boo's are heard emanating from the arena at that last comment.]

Lance Warner:
You seem confident, are...

[Box cuts Lance off. Grabbing hold of the mic.]

Bronson Box:
I am confident. Tonight will be remembered as the night the "Bombastic" Bronson Box truly debuted in Defiance Wrestling.

[Box lets go of the microphone, shoving it into the hands of Lance Warner then troops off towards the entrance staging area.]

[We cut back to ringside.]


=-=-=



This match began began with the fury of a 12 year old's arm the day the Victoria's Secret catalog arrived.  Box and Greer met in the center of the ring, a mash of fists and teeth, the pleasantness of a pitbull party during a meat shortage.  Box whipped Greer into the corner, following with a clothesline and several brutal knee strikes to the abdominal region.  Greer dropped to one knee, and as Box prepared to floor the King of Pain with a brutal double axe handle, the Kay oh Pee responded with a brutal punch right to the penile region of Bronson Box.

CRUNCH

As Bronson searched the canvas for the composite pieces of his external genitalia, Greer slinked back, stalking the prone Box.  As Box stood, Greer met him with a chop block, taking the big man's legs out from under him.  Greer sprung up, running the ropes to attempt a big man senton, giving Box time to rolls towards the ropes and out of the ring to compose himself.

Greer, taking the oppurtunity, shifted his focus to an awkward big man plancha, sending Box once more to the cruel, cruel ground.  Once grounded, the King of Pain yanked Box into the air, planted him with a fireman's carry, and Box, having scouted the move, countered with a cockblocking uppercut to the groin.

POW

As the nerves firing in Greer's parieto-insular cortex reccomnded he take a moment or two to peruse the backs of his eyelids as a form of pain management, Box schemed his next offensive maneuver.  Box ragdolled Greer with a vicious clothesline, sending the big man reeling back into the metal ring steps.

KA-BLAM

Box rolled the limp King of Pain back into the ring, following briskly up the stairs and into the ring.  He picked up Greer, setting him up for a poweslam, but Greer somehow managed to wriggle out of it, throwing Box off balance in the process.  Box wheeled around, fists up in front of his face, ready for serious fisticuffs.  Greer pulled himself up by the ropes, squinting through the pain at the mustrachioed strongman Box.  The traded strikes back and forth, back and forth, each deftly blocking the incoming blow and turning to deliver a blow of their own in succesion.  This impressive exchange lasted a full 14.53 seconds before Greer, out of pure frustration, back-handed Box clear across the mouth, leaving an instant reddish splotch on the strongman's face.  

SLAP~!

Box, incrediulous, retaliated with a open-hand slap of his own!

SLAP~!

Box grabbed the KoP by the hair and planted him in the corner, delivering a HUUUUGE fist to the face of Greer!  Greer, enraged, gave Box a quick fingerbang, grabbed each end of his moustache, and delivered a devastating moustache-headbutt to the bridge of the nose.  Box stumbled back, placing his large hand over his nose (to obviously prevent the inevitable swelling), and was shocked to discover the unpleasant dribble of blood from his noseal-region.  

Box, enraged, charged Greer, fists a-flyin', looking to take his toll in teeth from the legendary Team Danger member.  Greer managed to duck the first blow, but caught the second and third square on the jaw.  Sencing oppurtunity, Bronson wheeled around a full 360, delivering a hardway elbow to the eyesocket of greer, rattling his brain and cutting his left eye in the process.

Greer, perhaps running on pure instinct, responded by driving Box to the mat with a spinning spinebuster to the delight of the crowd!

THWOMP

RAHHHHHHH

Greer then rolled over, his body gasping for air, whole body heaving like a fish out of water.  Box was content to lay there and, at least for a brief period of time, partake in the circus parade running through his head.  In his pain fueled hallucenation, Bronson was the toughest strongman to ever grace P.T. Barnum's Circus, complete with lion taming, heavy load pulling, and wooing the bearded lady.. Yes, life was grand, except for that dag-blasted Calliope.  Bronson hated that calliop--

ONE

The referees count brought Bronson back to present day.

TWO

Well, at least it was trying to.

THREE

Greer, on the other hand

FOUR

Greer wasn't sure what present day it was.

FIVE

Both men searched their rattled brains for any clue that could explain...

SIX

Where they were.

SEVEN

Almost simultaneously, both men realized exactly who the were, where they were and what they had to do.

EIGHT

They had to get the fuck up.

NINE

NOW~!

TE--

RAHHHHHH

Both men scrambled to their feet, beating the ten count by a cunthair.

Their eyes met, each trying to subdue to the exhaustion and emphasize the intensity, to middlin' affect.  

They locked up, a standard collar and elbow affair, when the wily KoP quickly gained an advantage with a knee to the solarplexus of the exhausted Bronson Box.  The curiously strong Bronson doubled over in pain, allowing Greer ample oppurtunity to drop a rapid series of elbows onto the back of Bronson's tree-trunk like neck, dropping him to one knee.  

Greer reared back and delivered one HELL of a Uraken to the temple of Box, dropping him hard to the canvas, blood now more steadily trickling from the nose of Box, dribbling down, getting caught in his chest hairs.

Greer, on the other hand, had a much steadier flow from the laceration on his eye, totally messing up his beard and with any luck giving him one more cool scar.  

Smelling victory, Greer pulled up a woozy Box, smacks the Defiance rookie around a bit, and pulls back every bit of energy he can muster to finish off the Scottish Grappler.

"BURNING LARIAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAT!!!" Greer shouted as he unleashed his finishing strike.

But he whiffed.

Bronson ducked out of the way at the last possible second, spinning himself around and ridiculously overbalancing himself in the process. Box used the opportunity given to him and leaped at Greer, connecting with his Flying Strongman guillotine choke! He snapped Greer's head hard to the mat before gripping both legs and holding on for a pinfall.

ONE!

...TWO!!

......THREE!!!

Bronson Box popped up and raised both hands to a stunned crowd, he had upset the perennial favorite and earned himself two points in the process!

Winner via Flying Strongman: Bronson Box

=-=-=



[With the Defiance banner spread proudly behind them and across their chests respectively, the Sex Symbols are set to belittle Southern Hospitality... or are they?]

JD Hart:
I thought our rivalry or feud with Southern Hospitality was over. I thought we were done, I guess not, huh?
 
[JD pauses.]

JD Hart:
I guess it’s time for us to put a boot in your asses and a fist in your grills.

[Sean blurts in.]
 
Sean Peters:
In yo fuckin' grrriiillllzzzzz, son!
 
[Sean's playful antics, which are sometimes funny, don't amuse JD as much as they seem to Sean.]

[JD wants to keep to the regular no nonsense type so they'll be more respected amongst their peers and taken serious. However Sean's apparent brain damage or seizure is really taking away from that.]

[JD shook his head as he looked at Sean, who made him loose his train of thought.]

JD Hart:
The time's come for this, you all and us to be over. Neither teams getting anywhere with it, its like were both at 500 and the next matchup won't be the last.

Sean Peters:
With Team Danger as champs neither team will get anywhere.

[Dumbstruck JD tries to ignore Sean.]

JD Hart:
Yeah.

[JD humors Sean.]
 
JD Hart:
This...

[JD points at the Defiance logo on his shirt.]

JD Hart:
…means more than a new start, more than a new adventure and damn sure more than just another match with you all. It means new challenges and new opportunities.
 
[Sean stares at his shirt moronically.]

JD Hart:
We plan on doing things that we needed to do years back to get better, things that we didn't do and barely got by because of it. If we'd listened to the one man who knows his shit, maybe we'd still be on top.
 
Sean Peters:
Fuck that, were close enough to be tops now.
 
[JD shakes his head and rolls his eyes at the inconsistency of Sean's thoughts.]

JD Hart:
Ah come on, we got a match.
 
[JD motions for Sean to follow behind him like a little lost dog.]

Sean Peters:
Yeah, ya beat tonight ya bitch ass bust'rrrrzzzz!
 
[The feed ends as Sean walks away.]


=-=-=


[Suddenly, there is a disturbance in the audience. The camera pans to a particular section of the crowd where some people are shouting, some are laughing, and some just look annoyed. It appears that somebody is pushing through the fans and making his way toward the ring, making a slight jingling sound as he walks. Somebody carrying a large red sack over his shoulder. Somebody large and bearded.]


Santa:
Ho, ho, ho!

[Ladies and gentlemen, Santa Claus is on Defiance TV.]

[Win.]

Santa:
Pahdon me, excuse me… ah’ve just got to get through here…

[Santa awkwardly stumbles his way through the seats, speaking in a familiar southern accent and nearly losing his hat several times. He stops next to a young boy in the front row. The boy looks like he may pee his pants.]

Santa:
Ho, ho. Ah’ve got somethin’ faw you, little boy!

[Santa reaches into his sack and pulls out a framed promotional picture of Johnny Lightning…  with a mustache, a unibrow, and a speech bubble saying “I suck” drawn on it. His last name is scratched out and the word “ALMOST” is written over it in red marker.]




Boy:
What the heck is this?

Santa:
It’s a vandalized picture, hang it on yaw bedroom wall. Merry Christmas!

[The boy sticks his tongue out at Santa and hands the picture to his father, who shakes his head sadly. Santa has already taken off in the opposite direction, rummaging through his sack and approaching a group of teenage girls nearby.]

Santa:
Evenin’, ladies.

[They giggle.]

Santa:
Ah’ve got somethin’ for the three of ya’ll, too.

Girl #1:
I’ll bet you do.

[They giggle again. He pulls out three matching black t-shirts. They are… well, see for yourself.]



Santa:
Merry Christmas!

Girl #2:
Ohh, thank you! Did you make these yourself? You must be great with your hands, “Santa.”

[She is clearly flirting. He completely misses it.]

Santa:
Naw, course not. Mah elves make the presents, everybody knows that.

[The girls look at each other uncertainly.]

Santa:
Merry Christmas! Wear ‘em proud. Or don’t wear ‘em, ah don’t care. Ho, ho, ho!

[Santa Claus marches on through the seats, handing out a few more random pieces of custom-made “Johnny Almost” merchandise before finally reaching the guard rail dividing the front row from ringside. He starts to climb over, but somebody taps him on the shoulder.]

Man:
Excuse me, Santa.

[Santa turns to find a man eagerly holding a baby boy in his arms. He nods toward the child, expecting a gift. Santa frowns down at the boy.]

Santa:
Uh. Ah’m not sure there’s anythin’ in here you would like, kid.

[He speaks to the baby as if expecting it to answer. It sort of does.]

Baby:
GAH!

[Santa sighs and peaks into the nearly empty sack. He recoils in surprise. A moment later, he produces… a tiny plush frog.]


[Looking confused, Santa hands the toy to the baby. The baby is stoked.]

Baby:
GAHHHH!!!

Man:
Thanks, Santa!

Santa:
Ah… actually have no idea how that got in there. But, yaw welcome. Ho, ho.

[With that, Santa leaps the guard rail and runs up the entrance ramp, his big, fake belly bouncing with each step until he disappears.]


=-=-=



Southern Hospitality was already in the ring, hungry.

DQ:
The following is a tag team bout.--

Malik Johnson went toward the rope, stern-jawwed. Vince Webb had not taken his eyes from the aisle. They wanted this.

DQ:
Already in the ring, Defiance brings to you.--- Malik Johnson --- Vince Webb Jr.--

Some inaudible jaw-jacking was executed from Webb towards Official Mark Sheilds.

DQ:
Southern Hospitality!

The crowd rumbled. They knew they're in for a spectacle!

“Sharp Dressed Man” by ZZ Top started to play as strobe lights start flickering as the arena goes dark and the music started to play. The Sex Symbols walked out from behind the curtain wearing black vests and black pants. They started dancing at the top of the ramp way and then strip away the black vests revealing the suspenders that were holding up their pants. They kept on dancing as the music played.

DQ:
Coming to the ring from the Sunset Strip, weighing in at four hundred and sixty five pounds, JD Hart, Sean Peters, they are the Sex Symbols!!!

Then they walked down the ramp way, stopped and posed, holding both arms up and flexing. They then turned around and walked back up the ramp to where they took off the vests and posed some more. They started walking back down the ramp way this time they un-strapped the right side of their suspenders and then un-strapped the left ones. They walk up the stairs and look around at the fans that are having a mixed reaction to them. They started dancing again after they enter the ring through the ropes. Still dancing they grabbed their waist bands of their pants and tore them away from their body revealing their wrestling attire. They began to dance again to the music while they awaited the ring bell.

Mark Sheilds slang his finger forward and the bell sounded.

Almost immediately, Vince Webb sprinted across the ring past the Official and dropkicked JD Hart into the corner, hard. Webb scrambled up as Hart immediately advanced with a sweet dropkick of his own that caught Webb on the chin. Causing an inadvertant backflip from the dropkick, Webb staggered up into a Hart armdrag as the pace was being set. Webb, not to be shown up, gathered himself.

The Crowd ate it up.

Hart went for a short-arm, Webb ducked and went behind for a german suplex. Hart quickly reversed into his own go-behind but got plastered from behind by a Malik Johnson forearm to the neck. Official Mark Shields attempted to run off Johnson, but Sean Peters charged Webb and with a Hart-assisted spinning of Webb, hit him in the stomach with a well-placed spinning back kick. It's was on, now! Johnson attempted to breeze past Shields but not before The Sex Symbols took Webb down with a Double DDT!

Peters stayed in, illegally, as Mark Shields is too much of an ass to bother with legalities. He stepped up the offense with a mean-looking sitting gordbuster and a quick get-up and sliding dropkick to the face.

Cover.

1!

KICKOUT!

Peters dragged Webb up and tagged in Hart.

Double Back Suplex, followed by a Reverse Neckbreaker by Hart. Another cover.

1!

KICKOUT!

Hart pulled Webb up by the arm. He went for a suplex but Webb charged him into the neutral corner turnbuckle. Jockeying for position but Sheilds separated. Webb and Hart eyed each other hatefully as Webb looked over at the fresh Malik Johnson. Tag Allowed, as Johnson came in and Hart decided to stay in. Traditional tie-up, with Johnson shooting a quick knee into Hart's rib and attempting a suplex.

FLOATOVER!

Hart from behind. ROLL-UP!

1!

2!

KICKOUT with Authority!

 Hart dazzled Johnson with a quick headscissors and then a deep armdrag and armbar to the mat. Johnson, never one to stay down, muscled up despite the armbar being tight. Pushing him into the ropes, Hart gets whipped off.--

T-Bone By The Paragon!

Johnson got up and stomped the head of Hart, quickly tagging to Webb. A Johnson hold as Webb came off the top with a missile dropkick that turned JD upside-down! Webb hit a 360 leg drop and loosely coverd Hart!

1!

2!

KICKOUT!

Webb immediately set up Hart for a fireman's carry into a rough airplane toss. Tag to Johnson, who put the boot to Hart's nose. A pick up later, Johnson hit a tilt a whirl backbreaker followed by a taunt to the awaiting Sean Peters. Johnson grabbed Hart by the throat, picking him up. COUNTER BY Hart!

Kick to knee and swinging Fisherman! My GAWd!

1!

2!

DEFIED!

A winded Hart scrambled to a ready Sean Peters. Slap of the paw, and Peters dogged Johnson with multiple vertical suplexes with the last being a slingshot vertical into a floatover cover!

1!

2!

KICKOUT by The Paragon!

Antsy, Webb flew into the fray and rocked Peters with a hurracanrana that sent Peters flailing outside! Webb hit the ropes but midway to flight a recovering JD Hart schooled him with a ddt! With Webb down and rolling groggily outside and Johnson gathering to his feet, Hart beamed his body at Johnson, cross-bodying themselves over the top rope to a face-melting pop!

Heel LOVE!

With all four feeling the effects, Vince Webb and Sean Peters traded kicks on the outside as Hart and Johnson were both on their feet, - seeing each other, they collided in a frenzy of general hatred for the other. Johnson got the upper hand, sending Hart into the post followed by a lariat! Hart slumped!

Johnson in-ring, as Peters had blasted Webb with an outside Hiptoss into a neckbreaker! Peters got caught entering!

CRACK HEAD DREAMS! followed by THE PITT BULL!

The Anklelock submission on Peters, Johnson believed he had it won!

Shields made him break the hold! He obviously lost track of who was legal!

The Paragon broke the hold as Peters slipped away on his side. This gave the other two men time to gather on their respective corners, exhausted but ready. Malik saw Sean Peters attempting to scram away and quickly stomped on Peter's ankle! Dragging him clear across the ring, he tagged in Webb who immediately went for a Figure Four. Parting kick at the knee from Johnson!

Does 'The Sexnition" give?!

He shook "no," and after a valiant strength, turned onto his stomach! REVERSAL! -- Standing Up! Peters broke the reverse figure four leglock into a single leg crab!

BOOM!

Clothesline from 'The Paragon' Malik Johnson to break! Here comes 'The Luchadorible' JD Hart, rifling off a Super Kick. Grazed it! -- Side Russian floored Johnson! Official Mark Shields attempted to break up Hart's advance on 'The Paragon'! From no where, Peters punked Webb with a Gut Buster into a cover!

No Shields! Count DEFIED!

Restored Order, Mark Shields heard a few choice words from Sean Peters, who attempted a Vertical ! He's UP! He's UP!

From behind! Malik Johnson sledged Peters in the spine and Webb/Peters tumbled! Hart came flying in after Johnson!

Kick to gut! Swinging Neckbreaker by Hart! Followed by Headbutt to Paragon's groin and a Shields warning!

Webb KILLS Hart with CLEARING THE AIR! Wicked German Release! Webb turns into a Sean Peters' Inverted Atomic Drop!

Set-up to 'The Limp Noodle"!

DEFIED!

Johnson re-entered and yanked Peter's off his partner, hitting AT THE DROP OF A DIME!

Johnson looked down, looked over at Hart's whereabouts. Hart wasn't in position to stop him!

Quick Powerbomb Position! Malik hoisted Peters in the air! Peters leaped off the shoulders! Johnson turned, Peters turned. Head Collision! Standing 10 count by Mark Shields! J.D. Hart finally made it into the ring and interrupted the count by getting into the face of the referee.

Webb grabbed Hart from behind and blistered his chest with a stiff chop. Malik grabbed Hart again and whipped him hard into the ropes.

As Hart was hurled towards the ropes by Johnson, a figure clad in black jeans and a black collar shirt slid into the ring.  In one motion he rose to his feet, spun, and drove a back fist into the jaw of the running Hart!

“Radical” Roger Stevens shook his hand out as Hart rolled on the mat clutching his jaw.  The other three men in the match seemed to freeze.

And then, Webb was yanked off the ring apron, smacking his face into it on the way down.  A less familiar face with perfect gleaming teeth, perfectly combed brown hair and a god-awful cutoff football jersey jumped up onto the ring apron.

This was Paul Sterling.

Which meant that “Large” Leon Rigalski was also there.

Sliding into the ring, Rigalski, as swarthy as Sterling is clean cut, tore into Johnson and Peters, hitting them both with his “lanzarse” spear!

Not content with just that, he sent Peters off the ropes, and on the way back, caught him with a tilt-a-whirl into a powerbomb!  The “SUPAFREEK”, as he calls it, had Peters clutching the back of his head as he rolled from the ring.  

Johnson staggered up with the intention of fighting, but it came to nothing as Sterling hit him with a tomahawk chop.  Stevens easily picked Johnson up, tossed him over his shoulder and drove him head first into the mat with the “Headshot” schwien!

Sterling scooped Hart up onto his shoulders.  Then, performing a taunt - a thumb slash across the throat straight into a thumbs up – he dropped Hart down over his back, and then drove him into the canvas with the “Sterling Sharp”!  An axe guillotine driver and a very punishing finisher for a wrestler of Sterling’s status, the move had Hart _out_.

And the trio decided to make Webb suffer.  Rigalski hit him with a simple clothesline as he tried to enter the ring as Sterling headed up the ropes.  Grabbing Webb by the legs in wheelbarrow position, Rigalski lifted him up.  Stevens ran beneath Webb, and the two executed a double team powerbomb/lung blower combination – only they did not let Webb bounce to the side, instead holding him bent backwards over Stevens knees… and then Sterling came off the top with a pike split into a flying elbow drop!

Knocked out of his gord, Webb was rolled out of the ring by Rigalski's foot.

# Radio shit for all you pus-sies! #

“Inside Out” by Reveille blasted out as Stevens, Sterling and Rigalski posed in the ring. Stevens standing center, raising both arms above his head in the devil horns.  Sterling, left, slicking back his hair and regaling the camera with a sparkle-toothed grin.  And Leon Rigalski crossing his massive hirsute forearms across his chest and glowering.

Winners: No-contest.


=-=-=


[A semi-maniacal chuckle echoes, and then it’s fade up.]

[“Radical” Roger Stevens, the man who held the Cascadia Independence Cup for nearly a year before it got deactivated, and the man who just completely disrupted a tag team match a few minutes ago, is laughing at the camera.]

[His beard remains indescribably awesome.]  

[He’s smiling so hard it looks like he’s about to crack his teeth against each other.]

Stevens:
So I guess everyone is wondering, wondering, wondering why it is that Roger Stevens, Paul Sterling and Leon Rigalski decided to show up here tonight.  Why they decided to attack The Sex Symbols and the Mid South Syndicate.  

[His voice flutters in his chest, so much that he’s almost stammering.  Staring ahead like he’s going to stab the camera with his eyeballs.]

Stevens:
Well, I guess there’s three reasons for that!

[He breathes heavily.]

Stevens:  
REASON ONE!  Because the Sex Symbols… are the most PATHETIC… excuse for a set of WWA World Tag Team Champions I have EVER seen!  Male strippers… in an organization that uses ‘fag’ like it’s fucking punctuation… what?  Is there a reason no one else has a problem with that?  Does ANYONE IN THE TAG DIVISION have an excuse that those two haven’t been HATE CRIMED YET?!

[He pushes his hair back, spiking it even further.  A couple deep breaths…]

[Back to screaming.]

Stevens:
REASON TWO!  Because Southern Hospitality SUCKS! Hey, it’s two bald black dudes who talk like they’re Samuel L. Motherfucking Jackson.  At least they’re doing their part to not promote negative racial stereotypes.  Well, guys, good for you.

[Piling on the sarcasm until his voice nearly breaks at the end, along with a cheeky thumbs up at the camera.]

[And then back to screaming again.]

Stevens:
AND REASON THREE!  And this is the Most Damn Important Reason of the bunch, so you better be paying attention… it’s because I’m SICK OF IT!

[He slaps the back drop with an open fist for emphasis.]

Stevens:
I wrestled over in Wrestlecoast Cascadia for over a year, and you know what?  Straight into upper midcard hell!  Behind Bones, or AyVee, or whoever the fuck.  I bounced my fists off the heads of every person who tried to take my Cascadia independence cup, and didn’t get to do fuck all else until just before the place closed!

[Seethe.]

Stevens:
Well, it’s changing now.  See, I got the call from Skaaland, said “Hey Radical dude, you were pretty good in Cascadia so how about coming aboard for Defiance?”  And I’m like “Nah man it’s cool I’m hanging out in Japan maybe in a few months or so a’ight?”  But then it changed… see… Defiance wasn’t gonna have a tag division.  Then suddenly it did.  AND IT SUCKED!

[And he stops screaming as quickly as he started.  Smiling, eerily calm.]

Stevens:
I see The Sex Symbols and Southern Hospitality, and I’m like – not only can I do better, I can do TWICE better.  Ladies and gentlemen… Paul Sterling, and Leon Rigalski.

[Fade back, just a bit.  The shot, formerly centered on Stevens, now takes in Sterling and Rigalski.]

Stevens:
With Paul, and Large Leon here, we’re gonna Freebird the hell out of the tag division here.  Because, you see, the tag division is where the people who matter are.  Team Danger!  The Untouchables! …and I guess I oughta say the Sex Symbols since they did hold the titles and all. But hell.

[Cracking his knuckles, Stevens snarls at the camera.]

Stevens:
I’m tired of mediocrity.  And I’ll be done with it if I have to steal the belts and bash the board of directors faces in with them.  Our little attack on TSS and SoHo was just a preview.  Be fucking warned…

[Stevens pushes the camera out of his face, sending it spinning.]

[End.]


=-=-=


[Back in the studio.]

Angus:
You know, it's like some kind of conspiracy.

[Nod.]

Angus:
Legit. I think somebody's got it out for the black guys.

[Skaaland rolls his eyes.]

Angus:
I'm sure they'll bitch and complain about this just like everything else.

[Pause.]

Angus:
At least Hart and Peters pretty much admit that they're gay.

[Thumbs up.]


=-=-=


[The crowd buzzes with anticipation as the venue lights fade to black.]

[As the first notes of Metallica's Ride The Ligntning blare over the P.A., the crowd gets its feet in anticipation.  Yellow strobes flash in time with the thunderous kick drum, culminating in a intense flash of light at the fight riff begins.]

[Johnny Lightning steps onto the entrance ramp, arms raised into the air.  He lowers his arms, checking the tape on each wrist.  He then begins a measuered stride towards the ring, zig-zagging across the aisle to slap fans hands.

#Guilty as charged#
#But damn it, it ain't right#
#There's someone else controlling me#
#Death in the air#
#Strapped in the electric chair#
#This can't be happening to me#

[The crowd excitedly joins in, belting out the words:]

CROWD: Who made you God to say?  I'll take your life from you!

[Johnny pulls himself up to the apron from the bottom rope, then quickly switches his hands to the top rope, leapfrogging into the fing.  He walks to the opposite side, arms raised one more, appeasing the fans in attendance.]

#Flash before my eyes#
#Now it's time to die#
#Burning in my brain#
#I can feel the flame#


[As the songs cuts early into the thrashing solo, Johnny spins around and asks for a microphone from one of the ringside attendants. He receives it and begins to speak.]

Johnny:
A great man died this week, just days ago.  Gino Manetti, one time W-C-C-W TV Title holder, and the holder of any title that was worth anything in the Northeast..

I wouldn't expect anyone here to know or care, but I had to take just a brief moment to get this off my chest, so, if you'll all excuse me, I've got something to say:

I was born before the Axeman Minetti era.  In fact, growing up, steeped in the pomp and circumstance of the big name national wrestling, I never even heard of Gino until I was getting ready to make a run into the business myself.

[He bows his head for a second.]

Johnny:
Gino wasn't the kind of guy that headlined pay per views, amassed titled like republicans amassed political power, or sold out 60,000 seat venues..

Gino was the kind of guy that held the promotion together, the kind of guy that was there to teach the greenhorns about life on the road, to keep peace when tempers flared, and most importantly, the kind of guy that every night, sick, tired or hurt gave his company 110%.  

[A flash of anger in his voice.]

Johnny:
Gino was the kind of man that never let his friends down, and always kept his detractors starving for something negative to say.  He worked his ass off his entire life, and helped build this great sport, helped carve the course of Wrestling out of his blood, his sweat and his tears.  

He didn't have the flash, the pizazz, the charisma of a headliner.  He never made the cover of sports illustrated, never crossed over and worked Hollywood, and certainly didn't live a life of leer jets, limousines and beautiful women.

He died broken, broke, and alone.. shaken from one concussion too many, never able to even do simple tasks without great difficulty.. broken by his passion, crippled by his drive to wrestle just one more match, to take just one more hit, to entertain the fans just one more time..

[He pauses in quiet reflection for a moment, then, with a deep breath, continues.]

Johnny:
Gino was like a father to me.  Every single thing he knew, he taught any and every student that would listen.  That was just his way.  He wasn't concerned with anything, even in the twilight of his life, but pushing the sport he knew and loved forward, another generation.  

Tonight, I take on Aaron Vasquez, one of the toughest guys here, and certainly the nastiest.  The antitheses of Gino "Axeman" Minetti.  Where Gino was selfless, Vasquez is selfish.  Where Gino was kind, Vasquez is vicious..

In short, Everything I, and everyone that knew him, loved about Gino, simply doesn't exist in the soul of Arron Vasquez.

Here, tonight, I will beat you, Aaron Vasquez, and here tonight, in this very ring, I will show all these people exactly who Gino Axeman Manetti was, and how Manetti will be remembered forever.


=-=-=



Johnny Lighting and Aaron Vasquez had the crowd pumped since the beginning of the night. Now the crowd would get what it paid for, a pay per view quality match for free on a promotion that just started. This wasn’t a bad way to get everyone buzzed about the product.

Vasquez approached Lighting and the two of them jaw in the middle of the ring. Vasquez was very clearly the most vocal between the two men. Lighting did get toe to toe with Aaron although he was looking up a little bit. Eventually Vasquez pushed Lighting and from then on there was not a dull moment in this match.

Lighting and Vasquez tied up and Vasquez whipped Lighting from a side headlock into the ropes and threw a lazy clothesline, Johnny ducked it and popped up, bounced off the far side ropes and drove a shoulder into the mid section of Vasquez that sent him backing up and into the ropes. Lighting charged at Aaron, Aaron dropped his shoulder and sent Lighting to the outside. Lighting landed on the apron as Vasquez hammered a forearm shot right into the side of his head.

Johnny fell to the outside but landed on his feet he was dazed, but not down. Vasquez tooted his horn to the crowd as the ref started the customary ten count. The ref never got farther then five and Lighting slid back into the ring. The crowd applauded as Lighting shook his head, to clear the cobwebs.

The two of them tied up once again, Vasquez used the weight advantage he had to back Johnny into the corner and throw some punches into his mid section. Johnny did his best to block them, but most of the punches found their mark. Lighting was able to get a knee up and into the mid section of Vasquez to back him off though. After the knee Johnny charged and rocked Aaron’s head with a vicious forearm shot. Aaron stumbled back and Johnny charged, he was on Vasquez like a cheap suit. He threw another forearm shot that caught Aaron under the chin and pulled Vasquez in. He pulled Aaron up and stalled in the air and droped him to the mat with a Brainbuster.

LIGHT-ING!
LIGHT-ING!
LIGHT-ING!
LIGHT-ING!

The crowd chanted his name as Johnny rested in the corner with a smirk on his face. He looked at the turnbuckle and the crowd popped, they knew he wanted to take flight but instead he covered Aaron.

ONE!

TWO!!

Chico got the shoulder up and the match continued. Johnny picked Vasquez up by the back of the neck and bought down his elbow hard into the neck and then a few forearm shots to the side of the head. He whipped Aaron hard into the opposite corner and charged in with a full head of steam looking for a shoulder block.

NO ONE WAS HOME! NO ONE AT ALL!

Vasquez moved away at the last second and Lighting caught all of the ring post. Groggy as all hell he stumbled from the turnbuckle and Vasquez scooped him up and hits a Belly to Belly Suplex. The crowd began to boo as Vasquez picked up the far leg. The ref slid into position.

ONE!

TWO!!

THR!!!

NO! NO! LIGHTING KICKED OUT!

“Dat was t'ree,” Vasquez said.

“No it wasn’t. It was two, he turned the shoulder”, the ref said back.

Aaron got up in the ref’s face as the crowd continued to boo. “It was t'ree, holmes, learn how to count!”

Meanwhile Johnny Lighting had pulled himself up using the ring ropes.  The crowd cheered as Lighting got right behind Vasquez. Lighting wound up for a punch and swung, as he turned Vasquez ducked and the ref caught it right on the chin.

HOLY REF BUMP!

Lighting looked down at the ref and gave him a shake to try to bring him to, but no luck. As he came up he was met with Vasquez driving a forearm into the side of his head. Vasquez teed off on the body throwing left and right punches connecting to the ribs and mid section driving Lighting back into the ropes. The crowd started to make a noise as Jimmy Kort made his way through the seats. In his hand was a trusty steel chair and a smile was on his face. Kort waited with the chair on the apron as Lighting was whipped hard across by Vasquez, Kort bought the chair up and swung through and...

WHACK!

He made contact with Lighting’s face. Lighting doubled back right into a waiting Vasquez who nodded his head. Vasquez turned Lighting around and hooked him and bought him up for a Tiger Driver, however as he dropped Lighting down he raised a knee and hit a Double Underhook Back Breaker. The crowd began to boo loudly.

Jimmy Kort tipped his hat and the crowd let him have it. He headed slowly back up the ramp, he did the job he was intended to do. The ref slowly started to come to as Vasquez played to the crowd. He had his opponent right where he wanted him, right in his sights.

The ref was finally functioning but still a little out of it. Vasquez fell to his knee and covered Lighting.

ONE...

TWO...

THRE...

No! At the last possible second Johnny Lighting was able to get the shoulder turned and prolong the match. Jimmy Kort at the top of the ramp expressed frustration, as did Vasquez in the ring. Vasquez once again argued, “That was fucking t'ree”. The ref argued that it wasn’t. Vasquez shook his head and the crowd began to reign boos down upon him once again.

Lighting stumbled to his feet, clearly dazed and confused from the chair shot and the back breaker. Vasquez smiled and measured him up deliver a HUGE! slap to Lighting’s chest.

WOOO!

Vasquez reared back and delivered another.

WOOO!

Vasquez reared back to deliver another and Lighting blocked it. Lighting delivered a staggered right hand. Vasquez with a left, Lighting with a right and Vasquez with a left. Johnny was dazed but he kept fighting. Vasquez was on the edge, he had done almost everything he could think of to put this out of reach. Lighting hit a few punches in a row and whipped Vasquez across the ring. Lighting ran himself and with one last gasping move took Vasquez down with a leaping Crossbody as the crowd sprang to it’s feet.

LIGHT-ING!
LIGHT-ING!
LIGHT-ING!
LIGHT-ING!

The ref began counting to ten. Both wrestlers weren’t moving. There was no sign of life in either man, this had truly been worth the price of admission. Around four Vasquez moved slightly, Lighting worse for the wear seemed to be totally out of it. At six Vasquez was inching over to Lighting. The crowd was fully behind Lighting. At eight Aaron drapped an arm over Johnny, forcing yet another pin.

ONE...

TWO...

THRE...

Lighting got the shoulder turned again and the match continued. The crowd had reached a fever pitch. Both men were pouring a lot into the ring tonight. Neither of them were willing to say die. They stood up and shook the cobwebs loose. Lighting was clearly the worse off of the two. He stumbled forward and threw a wild right hand that came nowhere near Vasquez. Vasquez laughed it off and came in to a tie up. Aaron locked on a side head lock and threw Lighting into the ropes and bought him down with a clothesline. Lighting however was up quickly and let out a roar. Vasquez smiled again and did the same, leveling Lighting with a clothesline. Lighting comes up again. Vasquez whipped him into the ropes and went to level him with a clothesline but Johnny ducked it.

Johnny bounced off the far ropes and jumped into the air and hit a Elbow Smash to the side of Vasquez’s head. Vasquez stumbled and Lighting bounced off the ropes again hitting Aaron’s knee with a dropkick. Lighting backed up some more and ran and nailed Aaron with an Enzugri. Aaron fell to the mat and Lighting was up and celebrating. He wasted a little time before dropping down and making a cover.

ONE!

...TWO!!

NO!!!

Blake Samuels, who had been mostly quiet in his post at ringside, quickly jumped up onto the apron. He began pointing and shouting at Lightning, who made his way over to the lackey and grabbed him by the scruff of the neck, threatening him.

But he'd wasted too much time already, and Chico was not the kind of person you turned your back on. Ever. Lightning rared back as if he were about to jam his fist down Samuels' throat. The blow never came, though, as Vasquez had gotten to his feet, spun around and struck with all of his might.

"HAAAAAAAAADDOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOKEN!!!"

Chico put so much into the Roaring Elbow that he sent Samuels flying off the apron and himself to the mat in the process of knocking the lights clean out of the eyes of Johnny Lightning. He'd connected solidly to the base of the skull and put JL down hard. He floated over and went for the cover.

ONE!

...TWO!!

......THREE!!!

Winner via Roaring Elbow: Aaron Vasquez


=-=-=


[Back in the Defiance Studio, Angus Skaaland is impressed.]

Angus:
Holy FUCK!

[Srsly.]

Angus:
Johnny Lightning just got knocked the fuck out!

[Nod.]

Angus:
That puts Chico in the lead with four points, and the rest of the table is in serious flux! The D1 Champions Carnival is just going to get hotter, and next week Eric Dane will be back in the house!

[Canned applause.]

Angus:
That's all the time we've got for your Defiance this week, but don't worry, we'll surely invade Appalachian again, or maybe DREAM... you just never do know, do you...?

[Cut.]

[End.]