Defiance TV S01E07

[Defiance will begin in...]

[5]

[4]

[3]

[2]

[1]

[...]

[Static breaks into a black screen.]

[Jerkily a logo finds it’s way in front of your eyes.]



[The image breaks as the Defiance theme, Lamb of God’s “Again We Will Rise,” blasts through the background. The graphic pulls away.]

[The camera switches.]

[The fans in the Fort Worth Convention Center are buzzing, waiting for the seventh episode of Defiance to get off the ground.  “Still Unbroken” by Lynyrd Skynyrd plays on the PA system, and the fans in Forth Worth, Texas are wondering who this entrance music belongs to.  A few seconds later, Kasper Braddock, one of the newly signed Defiance superstars, steps onto the stage and looks out into the crowd.  Some of the fans who’ve been following his career for him.  As for the others well, they no idea who this person is.  Even Angus Skaaland, sitting behind his color commentary table, raises an eyebrow at this seasoned—using the term loosely—veteran makes his way down to the ring.]

SKAALAND:
Hey, who let the old guy in?

[Kasper Braddock, dressed in his wrestling gear, along with his black leather trench coat and cowboy hat, steps up onto the ring apron with the assistance of the middle rope.  A man of his age can’t risk the slightest of injuries, don’t you know?  He slowly steps in between the ropes—putting a large paw on the top of his cowboy hat to keep it from falling off his head—and enters the ring.  Fans are cheering, fans are looking on as Kasper ask for a microphone.  He gets one, thanks the person, and steps into the middle of the ring.  He raises the microphone to his lips.]

BRADDOCK:
How y’all doin’ tonight?!

RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHH!

[Considerable pop from the fans.  Awesome.  Kasper can roll with this.]

BRADDOCK:
I’m gonna keep this short and sweet, so I don’t take up a lot of your time.  As you can plainly see…

[He motions to himself.]

BRADDOCK:
I’m dressed to do some rasslin’.  I’m opening this little shindig up, goin’ up against a young man my the name of Dylan Dubois.  My daddy once told me, when I was getting picked on by a bully, he said, “Son, never underestimate the power of alliteration.”  I never knew what he meant by that—he normally drank himself stupid—but I digress.  I shouldn’t underestimate the power of alliteration—that’s when a person’s first and last name starts with the same letter, if you don’t know—because well, this is my first match here in Defiance.  But this ain’t my first rodeo, I can tell you that much!

RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHH!

[Larger pop.  Nice.]

BRADDOCK:
Dylan Dubois, you’re goin’ up against a man who’s been rasslin’ longer than you’ve been born.  Sure, I may be old, I should retire, but I’m still here!  You cain’t keep this Old Bull down, son, for I’m too Texas tough!  I’ll either dump you on your head with my Texas Pile-driver, or I’ll take your head off with my Texas Lariat.  Either way, son, I’m stompin’ a mud hole in your ass!

RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHH!

[“Still Unbroken” by Lynyrd Skynyrd plays again on the PA system.  He throws his right arm in the air, doing the bullhorn sign, and bellows out BOOOOOOOOOOOO! to the fans.]

RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHH!

[Smiling, he leaves the ring, and heads back towards the backstage area.]


=-=-=


[Angus Skaaland, as always, finds himself inside the Defiance Studio.]

Angus:
You know, I remember watching tapes of this guy when I was in high school some eleven, twelve years ago.

[Pause.]

Angus:
And I've got to say, he was old as dirt then, and he's only gotten older.

[...]

Angus:
I sure hope he's on steroids...


=-=-=


[The sound of "The Entertainer" by Scott Joplin rings through the arena. As the over one hundred year old ragtime piano tune bounces off cement and eardrums the crowd erupts into a chorus of boos as the one and only "Bombastic" Bronson box comes strutting out to ringside already dressed out for his match later tonight. His silky boxing style ring robe glinting under the bright arena lights as he makes his way down to the ring.]

[As Bronson makes his way up the ring steps the announcers go back and forth discussing the Heavyweight Crown and the last four men vying for the belt. They go over Bronson's rise from virtual obscurity to his current place as one of the top dogs of Defiance Wrestling much less the World Wrestling Alliance.]

[Box grabs a microphone and starts pacing the ropes.]

Box:
Last week you blighters got my goat there didn't you? Got me frazzled.

[The crowd gives a little cheer for the collective victory of their predecessors back in Austin.]

Box:
Tonight is my night and not even you bloody cockroaches can take that away from me! Tonight I'm going to 'umble the 'eavyweight champion of the world, Cobra. Tonight I'm going to make The King Of Pain lick my boots clean and 'umble 'im too. And since I'm a nice fella' I'll give Mr. Lightning a good swift kick in the mush just for good measure. Tonight will serve as a poignant reminder to all of you 'ere and all of you at 'ome just why I'm mere steps from claiming the Defiance 'eavyweight Crown.

[The crowd is seething at this point.]

Box:
Cute little group 'ydra, bunch of bollocks if you ask me. A broken old man, a flippin' idiot and a sinful cretin that wears a pair of onesie pajamas and a bloody ninja turtle mask to the ring. Watch me shake in my boots at the mere thought. Then again, the fools Dane 'as me paired up with aren't much better. Jimmy Kort, a man I humbled quite soundly last week and some chinaman all you bloody internet dweebs seem to be going ape over.

[Bronson paces the ropes. Narrows his eyes, cracks a smile then commences to shocking the crowd by speaking directly to Fujita in picture perfect Japanese.]

Box: [in Japanese]
Fujita, you don't impress me. This isn't the rings of Japan, this is Defiance Wrestling. My home. Everyone seemed to bow down and lick your boots the second you set foot in the locker room but not me. Your background means nothing here. Put up, shut up and get in line to be knocked down a peg or two by the Bombastic one Bronson Box. Tonight, stay out of my way and do your damn job.

[As the announcers continue to be baffled by the seemingly endless surprises from Box, Bronson clears his throat and continues.]

Box: [back to English, staring right into the camera]
As for you Kort? Not much else to say. You weren't able to cheat your way to victory last week despite your best efforts. The strongman pinned your shoulders to the mat, just like I said I would. 'Nuff said.

[Bronson turns back to the audience]

Box:
And when I claim my prize? When I claim the Defiance Crown. What's next you may ask? Well, I ask you dear fellows and ladies, how far down the rabbit 'ole do you care to go? That belt will not only be a 'uge step forward in my quest for violent perfection but will serve as a pulpit from which I will save the lot of you from utter damnation.

[Bronson stands center ring, his arms out stretched.]

Box:
Psalm 16:8, I have set the Lord continually before me; because 'e is at my right 'and, I shall not be moved.

[With that "The Entertainer" starts back up for a few bars before splicing into "Gunman" by Them Crooked Vultures. As the beat kicks in Bronson gives a passionate grin to the camera before rolling under the ropes and marching up the ramp.]

[Before disappearing behind the curtain he treats the crowd to his trademark vaudevillian bow before taking his leave.]


=-=-=


[FADE UP]

[We get a view of "The Loose Cannon" Dylan Dubois sitting on a stack of lighting boxes, slowly wrapping his hands with black tape. With his head bowed he seems oblivious to the camera focused in on him as he prepares himself for his match with Kasper Braddock. The camera shifts to the right and zooms in on Defiance's token blonde interviewer, Christie Zane.  Zane seems torn between speaking to Dubois or walking off and has a perplexed look on her face.]

Dubois:
Are you going to stand there all night with that deer in the head lights look, or do you plan on actually saying something.

[The camera zooms back a little so that both Dubois and Zane can be seen.  Zane takes a step forward and extends the microphone so that both her and Dubois can be heard clearly.]

Zane:
With me is Defiance's newest signing, "The Loose Cannon" Dylan Dubois.  [camera quickly zooms in on Dubois who is still intently taping his wrists.]  Can I have a few words about your debut here tonight and your thoughts on Kasper Braddock.

[Dubois glances up at Zane, stares at the camera and goes back to the wrapping. An awkward silence follows for several seconds.]

Dubois:
If I said no,what would you do? [Zane looks perplexed but says nothing.] Okay, kid. [Dylan sneers at Zane.] What do you want to know?

Zane:
How are you feeling leading into this match??  Do you think your lack of ring experience over the past couple three years will effect the outcome of tonight's match with Braddock?

[Dubois hops off the crates, takes a quick step and comes face to face with Zane. The shark grin is plastered on his face, and a now worried Zane takes a step back. The camera zooms in on wrestler and the interviewer.]

Dubois:
Feeling?  I don't feel.  [Dubois slowly turns his head towards the camera. His right hand shoots out and grabs the lens and pulls the camera closer.] Feelings leave you weak and cost you precious time and momentum when you need it most. [Dubois taps the camera lens] And what kind of dumb ass question is your lack of experience lately going to effect the outcome of the match. [a harsh smile]  Compared to Braddock, I have no ring experience, probably because that old fucker wrestled Spartacus back in the day, and saw Jesus Christ crucified.  

[Pause for dramatic effect]

Dubois:
Win or lose, it doesn't mean shit to me.  It's all about what I accomplish outside the three count. Don't get me wrong, a win over the man who farts dust would be a good way to start things off in Defiance, but I am not gonna get all torn up inside if things don't completely go my way.  

Zane
But........

Dubois
But, nothing. If you expecting me to wax poetic about shit that would just fly over your head anyways, you are dead wrong.  [Dubois shakes his head]  If I win, I win. If I lose, I'll still be the one standing at the end. [Zane is about to speak again but Dylan cuts her off]  Now if you will excuse me, I have a stepping stone I need to walk over.

[Dubois turns his back on Zane and begins a slow walk towards the ring entrance.]

[FADE OUT]


=-=-=


[Back in the studio.]

Angus:
Well, the stage is set.

[Pause.]

Angus:
An old fuck against a crazy fuck.

[...]

Angus:
Only in Defiance, folks...


=-=-=



“Still Unbroken” by Lynyrd Skynrd played over the PA System. Kasper Braddock, good old plastic hip, came out of the back with his leather jacket and black leather Cowboy hat. The fans cheered for him slightly as he made his way down the ramp.

Between you, me and the lamp post, I wonder what the insurance pay out would be if he were to die in the ring.

Braddock entered the rind, rolling under the ropes to the inside. He got to his feet and threw “bull horns” into the air, getting a pop from the fans. He gave his trench coat and Cowboy hat to the time keeper and retreated to a corner to await his opponent.

The arena lights went dark and smoke began to filter down the ramp. Strobe lights started to go off, no one had an epileptic shock. Then Dream Theater’s “Burning My Soul” played. Out of back came “The Loose Cannon” Dylan Dubois.

Dubois was wearing black full length wrestling tights, like normal. He had black boots on his feet and he had taped his hands and wrists. He slide under the bottom rope and climbed the turnbuckle, furthest away from Braddock and raised his arms.

Finally both men came toe to toe in the center of the ring and referee Carla Ferrari called for the bell to be rung. Both men took a second to circle each other up and then quickly came together and locked into a collar and elbow hold. While both men were the same height, it would be Braddock who used his weight advantage to back Dubois into the ropes.

Braddock sent Dubois over to the other side of the ropes before dropping him with a rather textbook clothesline. After that thought it was a back and forth battle for the beginning goings of the match. Braddock used a combination of fists, kicks and elbows to hault almost any and all momentum that Dubois would try to gain. Dubois backed Braddock into the corner at one point and whipped him straight across the ring into the other corner. Braddock hit his back on one of the turnbuckles causing him to whince in pain. Dubois ran in looking to take the wind out of Braddock with a shoulder block, but the old timer used a turn shoulder to stop Dubois.

It was much of that back and forth in the early goings. Dubois was trying to work over the back and got Braddock with a DDT at one point. While on the ground Dubois stomped a hole into Braddock’s back but Braddock quickly rolled outside the ring.

The foxy Ferrari started her ten count, but it was merely a quick breather as Braddock rolled back into the ring after three. Carla instructed both men to stay in the ring, she didn’t want to see this thing get ugly.

After playing the back and forth game for the majority of the match Dubois decided that he needed to make a statement. Dubois slapped Braddock hard across the chest as the crowd echoed his move.

Whooo!

Braddock didn’t budge. He delivered a chop of his own to Dubois’ chest.

Whooo!

The crowd was excited again as Dubois looked to be in pain. Braddock raised his arm to celebrate only to be caught low with a low blow. Carla was instantly in between the two men berating Dubois on his cheating. Dubois still milked the slap that Braddock had given him across his chest. Carla backed him into the corner and when Braddock got to his feet, ordered both men to keep it clean.

Dubois came out with a few punches and caught Braddock with a left and right combination that backed him up to the ropes. Dubois sent him across and swung wildly for a clothesline. Braddock ducked it and bounced off the other ropes he came close and Dubois caught him a dropkick right to the chest. Braddock fell to the mat and Dubois was quick to pin.

...ONE....!
....TWO...!

Only a two count as Braddock was able to get the shoulder up easily. Dubois shook it off and continued to go on an offensive surge. The offensive surge lasted a little while and the fans began to get on the Loose Cannon a little bit, except for a small section of clear die hard fans in the nosebleeds, who seemed to be cheering for Dubois. Dubois hit Braddock with another DDT that seemed to catch the old timer hard. Dubois quickly picked him up back up to his feet and dropped him with a Cobra Clutch Leg Sweep, trying to wear down the old timer. While on the ground Dubois positioned Braddock just so, NO HOMO, for the Boston Crab, a move that could possibly have ended the match. Braddock moved and squirmed, he attempted to break the hold but he couldn’t.

This was it.

Or was it?

Braddock moved his way towards the ropes and the crowd got behind him.

Let’s go, Brad-Dock
(Clap, Clap, Clap-Clap)
Let’s go, Brad-Dock
(Clap, Clap, Clap-Clap)

Braddock is able to get close enough that he reached out and grabbed the bottom rope. Carla instantly started the five count for The Lose Canon to break the hold.

...One...!
...Two...!
...Three...!
...Four...!
...Five...!

Dubois broke the hold right before the count got to five, and by the skin of his teeth stayed in the match. The question thought was the damage already done?

While Dubois argued with the red hot Carla, outside of the ring Baddock held his back and looked in pain. The fans tried to rally him as Dubois slide out of the ring. When on the outside Carla realized that this match could easily get out of control.
Dubois was on Baddock like white on rice, nailing him with mixed left and right hands until the older man slumped onto the divider separating the front row from the action. Dubois took Baddock’s head and slammed it right onto the barrier, before posing for the crowd, which showered him with boos.

Dubois smirked, as Carla’s count ran to five. She begged both men to get into the ring, Dubois turned to say something and that’s when it happened.

He was met with a hard left hand from Baddock, the tide’s of change were shifting. The move which sent Dubois off course allowed Baddock to toss the Lose Cannon back into the ring under the bottom rope. Action then returned to the ring and saw Baddock put on a clinic.

It was a mix of things that really sold the crowd on the old man. A delayed Suplex that sent Dubois crashing to the mat was one of them. Baddock hadn’t done enough, he took a deep breath and continue the punishment. He hit a Belly to Back, holding onto Dubois by the waist and his final flourish was a huge DDT after a double counter on an Irish Whip. After the DDT Braddock pinned.

...ONE...!
...TWO...!
...THRE...!

NO! Dubois got the shoulder up and Carla popped to her feet and called off the count. Both men had poured their hearts into this opener and the fans rallied to their feet, mostly in favor of Braddock. The Old Bull waited for Dubois to get to his feet, he raised his left arm, pulled off his elbow-pad, and as soon as Dubois was to his feet Braddock unloaded a Texas Lariat on him.

Ferrarri jumped into position as Braddock made the count.

One...

...Two...

......THREE!!!

Winner via Texas Lariat: Kasper Braddock

Dubois kicked out at 3.1, Kasper's Lariat not quite carrying the same weight as a Stephen Greer or a Kazuma Fujita. Kasper was up quickly to celebrate his debut victory, but Dubois would have none of it! He was up quickly and charged the older grappler and dropped a clubbing forearm on his back. Kasper hit the ropes and bounced backward into the waiting arms of the former Ripper Longshanks, who wrapped him up and dropped him squarely with his signature Belly to Back Brainbuster.

Dubois stood over the fallen Texan as thousands of his brethren rained boos down on the Defiance newcomer.


=-=-=


[Angus.]

Angus:
Well, that's certainly an interesting way to treat the elderly...

[He trails off as if contemplating.]

Angus:
Ya gotta give it to Gramps for getting a win over a guy like Dylan Dubois, but at the same time, you've got to give it to Dubois for having the sack to drop the first President of Texas on his head like that in a sea of Texas Longhorn and Dallas Cowboy jerseys.

Angus:
And on a personal note to Dylan Dubois, I have to ask you, do you hate money?

[...]

Angus:
Seriously, do you understand how many more t-shirts you'd sell as Ripper Longshanks than you will as French Guy named Dylan?

[...]

Angus:
Seriously.

[Cut.]


=-=-=


Voiceover:
Hey, kids!

[Camera pan in on a whole squad of kids, all looking antsy and pent-up. One is bobbing a foot, one is tapping his foot, one little girl is pouting, with her arms crossed.]

Voiceover:
Are you bored?

[The kids began to glare at the cameraman, one kid even stepping forward.]

Kid:
GIVE ME MY DOLL~!

Voiceover:
Whoa, not so fast there, Jimmy. Do you think you have what it takes?

[The kid clenched a hand into an angry little fist, holding it up before him.]

Kid:
HELL YES!

[All of a sudden, brutal, loud metal began to blast, and the voiceover announcer's voice went deep, bass-y, and gravelly.]

Voiceover:
NO! I SAID, DO YOU HAVE WHAT IT TAKES?!

[The kid's face began to falter, before the door to the kids' set blasted open. In corpsepaint and leather with plenty of spikes on it, a man with blonde hair just covered in blood standing in the doorway. With a Tom Sawyer Wrestling Pal in each hand, he let out a loud war bellow.]

Tom Sawyer:
YOU CLAIM READINESS, BUT ARE YOU READY FOR THE GRIM BRUTALITY THAT I BRING?!

[The kids watched Tom warily, before he tossed the Wrestling Pals into the group of them. They began to cheer and whoop and holler, Tom reaching behind the door to grab more, hurling them into the crowd of children. As they flew through the air, the Wrestling Pals began to speak.]

Wrestling Pal #1
We can be yours, for the low, low one-time price of $16.95!

Wrestling Pal #2:
Be a good consumer! SPEND SPEND SPEND!

[The kids caught Pal after Pal, until each kid had one. They hugged them, held them up, and smiled for the camera. All of the Wrestling Pals' voiceboxes turned on, at once.]

Wrestling Pal Chorus:
If you collect us all, you can unlock your hidden true powers! Be a true champion! Be a PROFESSIONAL WRESTLER!

[The kids began to play with the toys, as the camera panned around and around, until it found Tom Sawyer once more.]

Sawyer:
That's right! If you buy MY Wrestling Pal, you'll be a TRUE professional wrestler! Come off the top rope! Do a dropkick! Hit your finisher, with the Tom Sawyer Wrestling Pal!

[The camera slowly panned down to the kids below Tom, playing with their own Wrestling Pals. One looked up to the metal-dressed man, just in time to see Tom come flying off the rafter, with a resounding "OOOOOHHHHH YEEEEEEEEESSSSS!" Elbow extended, and a child screamed, as Tom plummeted towards the kids with his Ode to Madness!]

[One kid hurled a Wrestling Pal at Tom's face, and the flying wrestler was taken surprise, and with a shout of "HOLKY FU-", he landed in a heap of the fallen toys! Grabbing one, Tom held it up towards the camera.]

Sawyer:
The... Tom Sawyer Wrestling Pal. Get one.

[And Tom fell back onto the pile, with a groan.]


=-=-=


[With a knock on the door, Leon Booth, seated in front of his open locker, looks up to see the door open and “Beautiful” Bobby Dean walking in. BBD takes care to close the door behind him as Leon Booth sits there with a smile on his face.]

Leon Booth –
“What can I do for you tonight Bobby?”

“Beautiful” Bobby Dean –
“Well Mr. Booth it seems we’re at a cross roads, you and I…

Leon Booth –
“Oh? And how is that?”

“Beautiful” Bobby Dean –
“Well, if you haven’t heard, I’m forbidden to lay my hands on our good friend Xavier Langston.”

Leon Booth –
“I did hear a little something like that the other day… Shame, really…”

[Leon goes back to lacing up his boots completely ignoring BBD as BBD continues to pace throughout the locker room, smile on his face.]

“Beautiful” Bobby Dean –
“It is a shame. But I think I may have found an alternative that suits both our needs.”

Leon Booth –
“Oh?”

[Leon looks up just in time to see BBD, steel chair in hand, rear back and blast Leon Booth over the head! Booth is rocked but still in an upright position so BBD rears back a second time and for a second time he nails Leon Booth over the head! The second one sends Booth sprawled to the floor as blood begins to ooze slowly from his forehead. BBD smiles at the camera.]

“Beautiful” Bobby Dean –
“This is all your fault Xavier.”

[BBD takes the chair and lines up a shot directly towards Leon’s knee! He drives the edge of the chair into Booth’s knee cap causing Leon to scream out in pure agony upon contact! Clutching his knee Leon begins to roll along the floor trying to put some distance between himself and the advancing BBD. Stepping on Leon’s ankle, BBD pins Leon’s leg down and proceeds to strike the knee again in exactly the same location! BBD looks to the camera again as Booth screams out in pain.]

“Beautiful” Bobby Dean –
“Just remember X, when you’re looking down at your crippled friend here, all you had to do was agree to a match. No Julian Fiasco, no Eric Dane, no Leon Booth, no sneak attacks, none of this petty shit! Just you and I. But noooooo you just had to play this little game. So like I said X, when you’re in the hospital signing this fool’s cast, just remember it’s all your fault.”

[BBD grabs a hold of Leon’s leg, placing the leg in between the seat of the steel chair BBD turns around and grabs a second chair. Winding up BBD proceeds to blast the steel chair with his chair completely shattering Leon’s ankle in the process!]

“Beautiful” Bobby Dean –
“I’ll be waiting for you Xavier…”

[With Booth clutching his leg on the ground, BBD drops the chair and casually makes his way out of the locker room. With the damage done and the message sent, BBD makes his way out of the locker room and back to his with a smile on his face, whistling a tune as he goes.]


=-=-=


[In the studio Angus has a finger pressed into his ever-present ear-piece.]

Angus Skaaland:
Uh-huh, yeah.

[He listens.]

Angus Skaaland:
Gotcha, Booth is out, Gauntlet is out.

[...]

Angus Skaaland:
Right-o.

[Finally the Foulmouth of the South acknowledges the camera.]

Angus Skaaland:
Well. Apparently Bobby Dean has grown a set of nuts and kicked the shit out of Leon Booth. Badly. For all intents and purposes, Leon Booth appears to have been injured, possibly with a concussion, and will be out of action tonight.

[Well, now that's intersting.]

Angus Skaaland:
Furthermore, the Double Elimination Gauntlet is off, tonights Main Event will now be a 3-Way Dance to determine the first ever Defiance Southern Heritage Champion featuring Joe Drago, Xavier Langston, and Justin Brooks.

Angus Skaaland:
Well, at least now I won't have to sit through (read: write) like seventeen matches for the main event!

[Cut.]


=-=-=



In what amounted to a going away present, Southern Hospitality destroyed Nuwave and Insano.


=-=-=


[Fade In]

[Darkened room, extreme close-up of a yellow stained snaggle toothed grin. Its unmistakably Murray Monroe.]

Murray Monroe:
Defiance tee vee, season one episode seven, it the penultimate episode before the season comes to a close, daddy.

[The camera zooms back to reveal Murray Monroe and Joe Drago standing before the charcoal gray banner with the Defiance logo plastered across it in red. Murray is dressed as always in a pair of black referee’s slacks, dirty black polo shirt and black truckers cap. Drago is in his ring gear, a black defiance tee and trademark white towel partially covering his head.]

Murray Monroe:
The Southern Heritage Title is on the line daddy. Xavier “lookin’ like a fool with his pants on the ground’ Langston, Justin Brooks and Leon Booth get the chance to get their asses kicked by the baddest man on the planet, the wrestling machine Joe Drago as he takes that strap daddy.

[Drago nudges Murray aside and steps forward to face the camera.]

Joe Drago:
Langston, Brooks, Booth… do yourselves a favor and stay in the back tonight. I’m taking that strap and I don’t care whose skull I have to smash in to do it.

[Drago grabs the camera lens with his hands shoving it and the cameraman to the ground, and cutting the segment short.]

[Out.]


=-=-=


[Backstage.]

[Julian Fiasco is standing at the soda machine, pulling a dollar out of his jeans.  He slips the dollar into the machine, and pushes the button for a nice, cold, refreshing can of Coke.]

[But sadly, the machine took his dollar and gave him nothing in return.]

[Furrowing his brow in frustration, Fiasco slaps the side of the machine with his big hand, but it was not at all effective in providing a Coke.]

[Fiasco steps back, about to give the machine a large kick, when he feels a slap on the back of his bald head.  Angrily, he turns around to find who it was that smacked his head, to find Da Man, Xavier Langston, smiling at him.]

"Da Man" Xavier Langston:
What?  You was expectin' Mark Cuban?

[The scowl grows on Fiasco's face.]

Julian Fiasco:
Just wait, I'm gonna kick your ass next show.

Langston:
Why wait?  I know you ain't got what it takes to beat Dean, so you might as well get yo' ass kicked right here, right now.

Fiasco:
RAAAHH!

[Fiasco grabs for Langston, but he's too quick for the Sicilian.  Xavier starts to run, staying just ahead of Fiasco, making sure he's following Langston.]

Langston:
CMON SUCKA, I ain't got all day to wait for ya.

[Fiasco tries to pick up the stride, but it's pretty clear that he can't keep up with Xavier in speed.  Xavier turns on the backburners and turns a corner in the back catacombs.  The camera stays with Fiasco as he strides down the hall.]

[Turning the hall, Julian Fiasco sees an open door down the hallway slightly.  Running at full bull speed, he charges down the hall, makes a quick, agile looking turn into the room with the open door.]

[And no sooner does he turn into the doorway that the door slams shut behind him.  Grabbing a nearby stage box, Xavier Langston drags it from next to the door to in front of the door, just in time to block an attempted exit by Fiasco.]

[Xavier stands up straight, brushes his hands clean, and begins to walk away.]

Langston:
Bye bye sucka.  

[Xavier walks away from the door, back in the direction he came.  As he walks away, we see the name on the front of the door that was previously obscured: Wargods.]

Bronson Box[v/o]:
What the bloody 'ell is this?

[And then, the sounds of fist on flesh commences.  It doesn't take much to figure out that this might be the last time we see from Julian Fiasco for a long, long time.]


=-=-=


[The locker room of The Hydra, only Team Danger* and the "Whore Next Door", Kelly Evans, are present at the moment.]

[The mood is definitely not a happy one. One could almost say that Stephen Greer and Johnny Lightning look like they just officially lost the World Tag Team Championships in a travesty of justice, got their heads handed to them by the top team the WWA could muster and have been at odds with the third part of their trio for the better part of two weeks.]

[Seated at a round table, the three sit in silence. Greer is noticebly more agitated than Lightning, tapping his foot like a rabbit with an eightball.]

Greer:
Seriously, I'm not going to sit here forever.

Lightning:
I know, right? Forget this shit, man. We should just bail on this and go talk strategy for the match.

Greer:
You know what, Johnny, you're right. Let's go.

Lightning: [under his breath]
I'm usually right.

[As Greer and Lightning rise from their chairs the door swings open and the serpent enters.]

[The WWA World Heavyweight Champion.]

[Cobra.]

Cobra:
Gentlemen, Kelly.

Evans:
What's up?

[Kelly winks. TD* glare at the champ.]

Greer:
Where the fuck have you been, man? We've been waiting here forever.

Lightning:
Seriously.

[Cobra looks at Johnny and shakes his head.]

Cobra:
I was addressing a few items with security to ensure that what happened last week with you two doesn't happen again.

Greer:
Which thing? The Untouchables giving us headaches or me and the kid saving your title?

[Lightning snickers.]

Cobra:
The Untouchables.

Greer:
Oh, crazy, I didn't think we ranked all that high on your agenda, all things considered.

Lightning:
Yeah, we've had your back, where the hell were you when we needed some backup?

[Cobra releases a slow and exasperated sigh from beneath his mask and shakes his head again.]

Cobra:
Look, I thought we were past that. You felt I didn't back you up, you backed me up right into a loss and...

[Greer throws his hands up in disgust.]

Greer:
You fucking ingrate! We saved your damn precious title reign and kept the gold in The Hydra's grasp.

Cobra:
I had Drago under control...

[Cobra pauses and sets the World Title down on the table. Kelly immediately scoops it up and admires her own reflection in the belt's face, carefully running her fingertip under her eye to wipe away excess mascara.]

Cobra:
And maybe you should have worried less about my title and focused a little more on not being pinned by a ninety pound woman.

[Greer rips the World Title from Kelly's hands and holds it about an inch from Cobra's face.]

Greer:
You see this belt?

Cobra:
Three seperate times now.

Greer:
We did what we had to do to keep the power. Fuck your win/loss record, that doesn't mean shit.

Lightning:
Yeah, you should see the .500 Greer's got going.

Greer:
Shut it, Johnny!

[Greer turns his attention back to Cobra, who pushes the belt out of his face only for Greer to shove it right back.]

Greer:
The only thing that matters is that this belt is still right here with The Hydra. And don't forget that the only reason you're still holding this belt is because Johnny and I were there to watch your back.

[Cobra nods his head and smiles.]

Cobra:
And the only reason you're holding that belt is because you latched onto a strong champion like a leech, just like you've done your entire career.

[Cobra snatches the belt from Greer, folds the straps underneath the faceplate and tucks it under his arm.]

Cobra:
It's not my fault that you can't seem to get it for yourself.

Greer:
Fuck you!

[Greer violently shoves Cobra aside as he storms out of the locker room. Cobra collects himself and sets the title belt down again, turning his attention back to Johnny Lightning.]

Lightning:
Seriously, what the fuck was that all about?

Cobra:
Just putting us all back on even ground.

Lightning:
Bullshit, dude. We're supposed to be a fucking team, man. We just got royally screwed out of our titles, got our heads smacked around and then you come in and talk to us like we're pieces of shit. And even after all of that, we were still there to watch your back and make sure you're still the World Heavyweight Champion.

Cobra:
Again, I had it under con--

Lightning:
No, fuck that and listen. You had it under control? Fine, maybe this time you did. Maybe you would have gotten up after Drago turned you retard with that DDT and you would have beaten him and glory, riches and snake women throwing themselves at you. This time.

[Lightning inches closer to the champion, nearly face to face now.]

Lightning:
You're the World Champion. The face of the DEFIANCE movement. You have a great big target on your scaly back and you'd better believe that there's a long line of fuckers just itching for a chance to take a shot and put you out for good.

[Lightning leans towards the World Champ, voice lowering.]

And you know what stands between you and everyone else? Team fucking Danger with a snowflake. You need to recognize the fact soon or you're going to be swinging alone out there.

[Cobra nods.]

Cobra:
What the hell happened to you?

Lightning:
What the fuck is that supposed to mean?

Cobra:
You need to get over this thing you have going on before it kills whatever is left of Johnny Lightning.

[Johnny scoffs.]

Lightning:
Seriously, what the fuck is that even supposed to mean?

Cobra:
Didn't you almost win Summer Games?

[Lightning nods.]

Lightning:
Long time ago. So?

Cobra:
So you need to figure out why you're so angry at the world and get your head right. I expect Greer to be angry, it's who he is. He's not used to losing and I'm sure he just needs some time to put it into perspective. But you? I think this is all smoke and you need to get focused or Johhny Lightning is always going to be that guy who almost won Summer Games and then pissed away a golden ticket instead of cashing it in.

[Cobra turns.]

I'll see you out there.

[Cobra scoops his championship up from the table and exits the locker room. Lightning yells out into the hallway after him.]

Lightning:
I AM NOT FUCKING ANGRY, MOTHERFUCKER!

[Johnny slams the door shut and leans against it. Leering at him from across the room is Kelly Evans. Leaning back in her chair, she pops the top button on her blouse and flashes a flirtatious grin at the young man before her.]

Evans:
I've got a little something to cure that anger.

Lightning:
Chlamydia?

[Evans sneers as Lightning leaves the room in disgust.]


=-=-=


[FADE UP]

[Camera focues in on Dylan Dubois, the shark grin plastered on his face, a wild look in his eyes.  Sweat glistens off his forehead, and he slowly brings his hand up to wipe it away. When he pulls back he leaves a smear of blood from Kasper Braddock instead.]

Dubois:
Old man, you fought well. Hell, you even surprised me a few times, but in the end the outcome was just like I thought it would be. Myself standing over the broken bloody body of someone who should of retired back when hair metal was the in thing. [Dubois winks at the camera], I would be lying if I said I didn't take immense pleasure in doing what I did to you, but truth of the  matter is it was a hell of a good time.  You were exactly what the doctor ordered, a small dose of competition to get the blood flowing. [the shark grin becomes larger]  And flow it did.  But enought about Braddock...

[Dubois slowly starts unwrapping his wrists but continues speaking]

Dubois:
Before I go and take a well deserved shower and wash the stench of old man blood off me I have a few things to say to the rest of the WWA.  There is a new kid in Defiance's playground and if you decide you wanna come kick sand at us then be prepared to pay the price. As for the rest of Defiance, Welcome To Dark Times................

[Fade Out]


=-=-=



The bell sounded as this tag match got underway as The Foreshadowing faced Chris King and “The Sexnition” Sean Peters. King and Peters went on the attack from the start, knocking their opponents to the outside. There, King used his power to muscle Tom Sawyer around early on, including lawn darting him face first into the steel ring post!

OOOOOOH!

After putting the boots to him on the outside, Sean Peters rolled Lucas Harper into the ring to officially start the match proper. Peters isolated Harper in his corner, while working over the ribs with short punches and knees to the body. It wasn't that much later that Peters tagged out, bringing in Chris King, who immediately began attacking Peters with shoulder thrust to the body, driving every ounce of air from his lungs!

BOOOOOO!

King finally pulled Harper from the corner, before whipping him off into the ropes. As he raised his big boot, Harper managed to duck out of the way, before rebounding and catching King with a crossbody block!

ONE...

TW-KICKOUT!

As both men scrambled to their feet, Harper made a mad dash between King's legs, before making the tag out to Tom Sawyer, who was more than ready as he jumped from the top rope, before CRACKING King with a springboard forearm! Sean Peters quickly jumped in to try and make the save, only to be immediately hit with a Japanese style lariat from Harper! With Peters momentarily subdued, The Foreshadowing sized big Chris King up, before BLASTING him with the Final Elimination! Harper quickly went for the cover...

ONE...

TWO--KICKOUT!

Not to be dejected, Sawyer and Harper aimed to finish it once and for all as King slowly stumbled to his feet. Sawyer jumped over the ropes and onto the apron, as Lucas measured King for the Superkick, which is step one of “A Farewell to Kings.” However, as he threw the kick, King managed to block the shot, before giving Harper a powerful shove through the ropes, and to the outside! Sawyer leaped back over the ropes, before making a mad dash towards King. King however side-stepped, sending Sawyer directly towards Sean Peters on the apron, who proceeded to drape Sawyer throat first across the top rope!

BOOOOO!!!!

As Sawyer stumbled around, he walked straight into a SICKENING Powerslam from King!

OOOOH!

King folded Sawyer in half as he hooked the leg for the pin...

ONE...

TWO...

..THREE!!!

Winners via Powerslam: Chris King and “The Sexnition” Sean Peters


=-=-=


[Voices shouting, and the faint sound of music, coming from the parking lot.]

Skaaland:
“What the hell’s going on out there?”

[…]

Skaaland:
“That meant take the damn cameras out there and find out.”

[OK.]

Skaaland:
“And you know what?  Get some security out there too.”

[This is gonna end well…]


=-=-=


Ronnie Long:
“RETARDED – FUCKING – CULT!”

[The parking lot was swarming with fans.  Some angry, some excited, all of them milling around frantically, jumping in place, waving their arms and throwing whatever random things they happened to have in their possession.

Long:
“As in, Defiance is a!”

[The Untouchables stood on top of a tractor.[

[Yes, an entire fucking tractor.]

[They were dressed to fight.  Jeff Andrews in his wrestling trunks and an Old Line Wrestling tee, and Long in his standard dark gray jeans.  He held his trusty shovel in his right hand and a bullhorn in his left.]

Long:
“Look at you people! Acting like you’re going to come up here and do something.”

Jeff Andrews:
“But you’re not, because you know I’ll kill any motherfucker who puts his hands on my tractor.”

[One particularly brave fan did just that, reaching out and slapping the thing, leaving a hand print on the glossy green finish.]

Andrews:
“…yeah well since that dude’s obviously never had sex I’m not gonna kill him.”

[The fans, truth be told, were acting more than a bit like monkeys, bouncing around and shrieking.  Not to say that professional wrestlers are the model of human poise and dignity.]

Andrews:
“You people are acting like you don’t even know Eric Dane’s scurred of us.  Did y’all know he locked the arena doors to keep us out?”

[Another burst of noise rose.]

Long:
“The entire stupid promotion is a cult.  Eric Dane has you people cheering for whoever he has traipse out and repeat the company line.  He’s got Aaron Vasquez playing the home fed hero card.  He’s got you fans acting like you’re on the fucking Defiance roster, trying to ‘front’ like you’re gonna help out by surrounding the tractor.  Like we wouldn’t just run you all over.  If Heidi nearly ran down half the roster, what do you think we’d do?”

Andrews:
“Here’s a hint – we’re about as likely to do it as Buffalo Butt Slater is to actually carry out Dane’s threat to shoot us.”

[And as they say, speak of the devil and he appears.  BBS along with a foursome of security guards marched out the front entrance and up to the front of the tractor, the fans parting way to make room for him.]

BBS:
“The hell’re you doing, son?  You’re risking your life just being seen down here.”

Andrews:
“A safe life… is not a life worth to be living~!”

[God, he’s a drama whore sometimes.]

[The security crew closed in on the tractor.]

[A blonde woman, paying no attention to the mob scene, walked in the front doors of the building.]

BBS:
“Andrews, you annoy the fuck out of me.”

Andrews:
“I’m rubber you’re glue whatever you say bounces off me and sticks back on you.”

[Slater’s eyes practically turned red, but he kept his cool admirably.]

BBS:
“Mr. Dane tells me you aren’t as stupid as you look, Jeff, so I’m gonna explain this once.  You got the right to stand out here in the parking lot and do whatever you want so long as it remains within the laws of the state.  

[By the way, did you know that you can see one of the loading bays from here?]

[Because if you did, you might have noticed one of the heavy sheet metal rolly-down door things, I’m sorry I don’t know what those are called, start to go up.  It stopped maybe a foot in the air.]

BBS:
“But, I am legally authorized to try to prevent you from accessing the arena.  And if you do get in, you are legally trespassing.  And we’re in Texas right now.”

[Andrews heaved a long sigh.]

Andrews:
“Well, way to take the fun out of this, man.  Just… it seems kinda lame, you know?  Eric Dane sends his roster to stomp around all over the Alliance, brags like he’s gonna use his dick as a pole vault, and then when a couple dudes stand up to him, he’s so damn desperate that he hires armed security.  I hope he only knows how sad he looks in the eyes of others.”

[He jumped down off the tractor, pushed a fan out of the way and scrambled into the drivers seat.  He pushed the passenger door open, Long swung down off the roof and through the door.]

Andrews:
“Smell ya later, Defiance.”

[The tractor slowly rumbled off and disappeared around the far corner of the building.]

[BBS frowned.]

BBS:
“Show’s over, folks.”

[The crowd dispersed.  That loading bay door was still open, though.  And the camera wasn’t that clear at long distances, but it almost looked like a pair of heads poked around the corner of the building.]


=-=-=


[Back to Angus.]

Angus Skaaland:
Oh for fuck's sake!

[Pause.]

Angus Skaaland:
These assholes again?

[...]

Angus Skaaland:
You'd think they'd be too busy not mattering in AW...


=-=-=


[Backstage.]

[Aaron Vasquez emerges from around the corner, looking absolutely thugtastic. 'Chico' nods his head up and down, jiving to the beat in his ear phones. His mood quickly changes from bliss, to guarded.]

[The Wargods.]

[Bronson Box.]

[Evan Hurley.]

Hurley:
Well well look what happened to roll out of the fuckin' gutter.

[Vasquez takes out his earphones completely, before offering a response.]

Vasquez:
S' 'bout time our pathes be crossin'. Ain' ju da ones who be plottin' t' be da muscle of dis whole outfit? Talkin' slang t' da boss man Dane 'bout takin' ova dis nigga spot as da lieutenant?

Box:
Enough gobbledygook Mexican, where's your dark skinned friend? What's his name? Doctor Jungle Bunny, something along those lines?

Vasquez:
Who da fuck cares, a nigga back be gettin' soar from da extra weight dis nigga be carryin'. Dat nigga afro twenty pounds itself, ju feel me? No Play-Play, dis nigga rollin' 'n a different direction wittout anyone 'round gettin' soft.

[Bronson steps forward getting nose to nose with Vasquez.]

Box:
Do you 'ave a bloody brain inside that tiny border jumpin' brain of yours boy? Next week I'm going to break your bloody neck and leave you lookin' up at those pretty lights. Next week the last image burned into the brains of all these pathetic fans will be me 'olding the 'eavyweight Crown over my 'ead as the credits start to roll.

[Vasquez seems to like the heated staring exchange.]

Vasquez:
Ju jus' gon' ignore da fack dat dis nigga smashin' fools on the daily? Ju tink ju gonna be any different? No fuckin' chance dis nigga goin' lose t' some ginger cracka, who be needin' a skirt n' bagpipes t' whistle dat tune, ju feel me?

[Vasquez spits on the ground beside Bronson Box, before returning nose to nose.]

Vasquez:
Ju already taken dis nigga lightly cous' ju lookin' like ju wanna throw hands, dat ain' gon' end well f' ju...even wit dis fuckin' freakish cracka beside ju.

[Vasquez shoots Hurley a stern glare.]

[Hurley looks to Bronson.]

Hurley:
The fuck did that little midget just say?

[Bronson's eyes never leaving Vasquez.]

Box:
Not a clue...

[Bronson loves like lightning taking Vasquez down with a short clothesline and begins laying boots. It dosen't take long for Hurley to join in, the duo eventually pulling Vasquez to his feet throwing him head first into a nearby soda machine, the plastic causing a huge gash across Vasquez's forehead.]

[Vasquez slumps down in a heap, Box slowly kneels down next to him, his lips just a few inches from Vasquez's ear.]

Box:
See you next week boy'o.

[Box swiftly to his feet he turns on his heels and marches off down the hallway.]

Hurley:
Punk...

[Hurley reaches down and snags Vasquez's ipod from his jacket pocket, popping the buds in his ears. He lays one more boot across Vasquez's face before he takes off down the hall after his tag team partner.]


=-=-=


[Angus.]

Angus Skaaland:
Hrmph.

[Pause.]

Angus Skaaland:
Well, you can better believe that Chico's not gonna let that one slide...

[...]

Angus Skaaland:
In the mean time, did you notice how the Wargods have now taken out not only Aaron Vasquez, but so far as anyone can tell they put a good kicking on Julian Fiasco a bit earlier too.

It's like Bronson Box and Evan Hurley are here in Defiance to just wreck people.

[Cut.]


=-=-=


Darren “DQ” Quimbey:
Ladies and gentlemen, this match, scheduled for one fall, will be to determine who will face Xavier Langston at our next and final show of this season!  Introducing first...

#Feel it comin' in the air
#Hear the screams from everywhere
#I'm addicted to the thrill
#It's a dangerous love affair
#Can't be scared when it goes down
#Got a problem, tell me now
#Only thing that's on my mind
#Is who's gonna run this town tonight...

RAAAAAHHHHHHHH!!!

[The expression on DQ’s face is easy to read; it’s clear that’s not who he expected to come out.  But out Da Man comes, to “Run This Town” by Jay-Z and others.  Dressed in his wrestling gear: a pair of shades and an open black sleeveless trenchcoat, as well as the black wrestling tights with "Da Man" written in shiny silver letters down the legs, Langston parades down the aisle, letting his mouth run as fast as his feet can.]

[Walking down the aisle, Langston takes the time to interact with all the fans at the metal barricade, slapping what hands are out and letting everyone in earshot know he's Da Man.  After a full lap of the ringside area, Langston takes a position opposite the ramp and waits.]

[DQ makes with the introductions.]

DQ:
Introducing first...

[Cue “You’re The Best” by Joe Esposito.]

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!

DQ:
...standing at six feet, two inches and weighing in at two hundred and fourty pounds, he is Simpky Beautiful, he is Simply The Best, he is “Beautiful” BOBBY DEAN!

[Bobby Dean, usually as much a person to play to the crowd as the next man, wouldn’t know there were more than two people in the building if you paid him to look.  His eyes, which are so full of hatred, are focused on Xavier Langston, standing ringside with a smirk on his face.  Bobby walks with a purpose down the aisle.  As he reaches the ringside area he quickly sheds his robe and walks over to the other side of the ring, ready to strike.  DQ is close enough that his mic pics up the conversation.]

“Da Man” Xavier Langston:
Go ‘head, Bobby!  You know you wanna, take the shot!

[You can tell Dean’s thinking about it.]

“Beautiful” Bobby Dean:
You son of a bitch.  I could knock you out, right here, right now.

Langston:
Do it, see how fast yo’ ass is outta here in handcuffs.  

[Dean and Langston’s faces are inches away from each other as You’re The Best fades.  Dean’s gaze could burn two holes in Xavier’s sunglasses if they stared long enough.  But it was not to be today, as a surprise song kicks over the PA: Black Label Society's Mass Murder Machine.]

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!

[Even DQ seems surprised by this one.  Dean's attention immediately breaks from Langston, turning to look down the aisle as The Bexar County Butcher himself, Evan Hurley, appears at the top of the ramp, geared up and ready to fight.  Langston points to the ring.]

Langston:
Yeah, chumpchange, you think I ain't got surprises up my sleeve?  There's been a li'l change in plans.  Julian Fiasco got his ass carted outta here.  You want a piece o’ this, ya better get ready, cause you gon’ have to bury The Butcher alive.

[Langston slips off the sunglasses and winks at Dean, that cocky smirk never leaving his face.  Dean’s fists clench in anger, but his cooler head prevails.  He extends the world’s angriest middle finger to Langston before he rolls into the ring, just in time to see Evan Hurley climb into the ring on the ramp-side.]


=-=-=



Dean just about shat himself.

The crowd went ape shit as "The Bexar County Butcher" Evan Hurley made his way to the ring.

Dean turned around to argue with Shields about this change in the match, getting in the referee’s face. Shields for his part just shrugged it off, so Dean got right up in his face only to be met by a shove sending him stumbling backwards into an inverted facelock neck breaker, courtesy of Hurley.

Shields leaned against the corner turnbuckle and pulled a pack of smokes out of his pocket as Evan Hurley pounded into the downed Dean with a series of vicious stomps. The bell had yet to ring on the match yet.

Mark Shields lit a cig as Hurley picked up the downed Dean and Irish whipped him shoulder first into the ring post. Shields signaled for the bell and the match was finally officially on.

Hurley grabbed Dean by the hair and arm, pulled him back and drove him shoulder first back into the ring post, Shields took a drag from his cigarette.

Out of desperation Dean sends his leg flying backwards square into the knee of Hurley who stumbles backwards.

Dean nailed Hurley with a big boot to the gut, sending him crouching backwards. Dean followed up with a series of chops to the chest of the Butcher, Hurley however managed to shrug them off and sent Bobby Dean to the canvas with a vicious clothesline.

Hurley stood above the fallen Dean, tauntingly and ready to strike waiting for him to get back to his feet. Dean made his way up, to be met by the Mass Murder Machine. Dean’s skull cracked violently against the canvas.

Thud!

Hurley made the cover as Shields, cig dangling from his lips dropped down to make the count.

ONE...!


...TWO...!


......THREE...!

Winner via Mass Murder Machine: Evan Hurley


=-=-=


Angus Sklaaland:
Whoa, just... whoa.

[What?]

Angus Skaaland:
Does anybody have a clue what that was about?

[Don't look at me, I'm just brackets.]

Angus Skaaland:
Maybe Hurley's banking on Langston to win the Southern Heritage title tonight, which would now put Hurley in contention for the first title shot!

[Shrug.]

Angus Skaaland:
Or, and much more likely, Hurley is a certified bag of nuts and he just figured that since he and Bronson Box kicked the shit out of Julian Fiasco that he'd go ahead and take his place and fuckstomp Bobby Dean in the process.

[Uh, sure.]

Angus Skaaland:
Interesting...


=-=-=


[Jimmy Kort, backstage, black backdrop. Nothing fancy.]

Kort:
Johnny Lightin’ you better check your attitude at the door before you even arrive here tonight. ‘Cause if ya don’t I’m gonna smack you in the mouth so hard that your Grand Poppy will feel it. Try an’ test me tonight, Lightin’, I mean it. I ain’t in no mood to play ‘round with your bullshit tonight. But if you wanna flap your gums, if you wanna be somethin’ ya ain’t...I can arrange a teeth re-arrangin’.

Stephen Greer, Grand Daddy a’ Pain, I dun just messed with you a few weeks ago, and lemme tell ya, you came out on the shitty end a’ the stick. You wanna a repeat? You want the young buck, the Sheriff to embarrass you one more time? That’s what I thought Greer, ya ain’t shit without that Tag Title. I’m out to prove that tonight, that’s for damned sure.

Cobra, you’re the God damned champion, ya think I’m not gunnin’ for you. Ya think that I’m not comin’ for your head on a pike. Then you got a damned ‘nother thing comin’. I’m rearrangin’ your teeth tonight for damned sure. I gotta face you at the big ol’ Season Finale and if ya think I’m gonna roll over and die, ya ain’t got a clue who ya dealin’ with. I’m gonna make sure you think twice ‘fore you just throw me off as a piece a’shit Southern hick.

[Kort spits on the ground and shakes his head.]

Kort:
Aaron Vasquez and D.R. Kongo, don’t think I dun forgot about the two of ya’s either. I ain’t finished knocking the shit outta both your damned skulls. You two just don’t get it anymore, and it’s ‘bout time someone forced you to get it. When I get the time, and the things get cleared off a’my plate, or maybe when I meet Aye Vee in that little Carnival Finale, I can set the damned record straight. Beat the two of ya into bloody hell.

Oh yeah and Justin Brooks, if ya don’t get your head on your shoulders and start rememberin’ just why the hell you’re here, your gonna get stomped into the curb. I know you darkies fuckin’ like that.

[No more.]


=-=-=


[Mass Murder Machine still plays as Evan Hurley is still in the ring. In his hands now is a mysterious black satin bag, he must have retrieved it from under the ring.]

Hurley: [waiting a few moments for the crowd to settle down]
What's up motherfuckers?

[The crowd erupts in cheers once again.]

Hurley: [smiling]
Glad to see me back, huh? Glad to see my cock-punching faggots like Bobby Dean?

RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHH!!!

[Hurley's smile quickly becomes a scowl.]

Hurley:
Yeah, well you know what? Fuck you! You ungrateful pieces of shit didn't seem to give a fuck where I was the last few months since Summit closed down, did ya'? I was laid up in a hospital bed with my leg in a cast, bunch of pussy doctors saying I might never wrestle again. Where were you fucks then? Huh? Where were you then you sorry sons of bitches?!

[He motions to the large brace on his knee.]

[Evan paces the ring absolutely livid.]

Hurley:
But enough on you unimportant fucks, down to God damn business...

[Hurley reaches down into the mysterious satin bag and pulls out the actual World Wrestling Alliance Double Crown title, Jak Nemesis' name plate still in place at the bottom.]

Hurley:
See this Jak? This is the belt you stole from me and subsequently defended so piss poor the Alliance retired the fucking thing. Remember all that Jak? Remember you little fuck? This was my first taste of Alliance gold and you stole it from me like a little punk. Tonight? We're doing this shit violent suicide style, you understand? I'm going to remind you and all these inconsequential fucks just who I am, just what I'm capable of, why I'm here and just why I won this now useless pieces of tin in the first place.

[Hurley tosses the title out into the crowd, the fans in the front row starting a legitimate brawl over who takes the belt home. Luckily a security guard snatches the rather expensive piece of hardware away from the frothing fans and hands it to a stage hand.]

Hurley:
Like dogs fighting over a piece of rancid meat.

[Evan looks now towards the entrance ramp.]

Hurley:
Come out out Jak! Let's get this blood bath started. The sooner I beat your ass into a wet red puddle the sooner I can get the fuck out God damn of Dallas Fort Worth...


=-=-=



The crew came out and started wrapping the ring ropes with barbed wire. The crowd was a buzz, they wanted blood.

So naturally the best thing to do was to give them Frank Dylan James as a guest referee.

Without much to do “Stranglehold” by Ted Nugent played over the PA and out came FDJ. He was barefoot, he was wearing a ripped ref’s shirt and he had cut off jeans on. This was who he was and the fans loved it. Frank actually carried a beer can with him and when he reached the end of the ramp he chugged it’s contents.

FDJ:
I done heard dese hippies was havin’ theysefs a rasslefight!

Frank slid into the ring under the bottom rope, catching himself on the barbed wire and already drawing blood. He ran a finger over it and licked it off his pinky finger and nodded his head. The crowd would’ve been aghast, if it wasn’t FDJ.

The King of the Death Match Jak Nemesis is out to the ring first to “Halo” by SOiL. The long hair, the beard, the elbow pad, the taped wrists and most important the fighting gloves are all featured. He eyed the barbed wire wrapped tables outside the ring carefully and nods his head as he carefully entered the ring. FDJ approached him.

FDJ:
Spread ‘em ya hippie.

Jak:
The fuck?

FDJ:
Weapons check.

FDJ smirked and Jak spread his arms out. FDJ patted him down, very generously. Jak passed the test, whatever the hell it was, and FDJ indicated he was ready for the next contestant.

The Violent One Himself, the Butcher, the Former Double Crown Champion, a member of the “Wargods” came out had left the ring a few minutes earlier to head to the back. Mass Murder Machine by Black Label Society played and Evan Hurley came back to the ramp. He was pushing a cart full of fun weapons. Some notables included: a 2x4 wrapped in barbed wire, a staple gun, a Wet Floor sign, a golf club with a light tube attached to it. Jak was inside the ringing nodding his head, it was going to be one of those nights.

FDJ motioned for Hurley to get in the ring and Hurley did.

FDJ:
Nice cart. Fag.

Then FDJ called for the bell.

Both Hurley and Jak circled one another, neither man wanted to be the first to break this thing into a full out fight. Hurley lunged and caught Jak in a side head lock. Jak pushed off and countered with a wild ride, that Hurley was able to easily duck. Hurley countered with a charging clothesline. Jak ducked that. The two men stopped stared at one another and took a breath.

FDJ:
None a’y’all are bleedin’ yet!

FDJ sounded upset, he was promised mayhem and he wanted it.

Hurley shrugged his shoulders and went in for the kill but Jak was a step quicker. As Hurley charged him Jak side stepped him and dropped him a Drop Toe Hold right into the bottom rope. Hurley took barbed wire right to the head in the beginnings of the match. FDJ clapped his hands like he was at a fine theatric performance; ya know something that he saw on TV.

Hurley rolled over and was bleeding a bit from the head, nothing major he shrugged his shoulders and it was on. Both men came toe to toe in the center of the ring and started trading punches. And not just those faggoty punches that some wrestling companies like Dream and HOW throw at a guy, but those manly ones that come from guys with beards. FDJ separated both men.

FDJ:
DO IT LIKE THIS GODDAMMIT!

FDJ was officially in the action. Whomever had within the first five minutes on the office pool just won. FDJ nailed a right hand on Hurley who nailed a left hand on Jak who nailed a right on FDJ. All three men were brawling in the middle of the ring and only one of them was bleeding and the crowd loved it thus far. Finally FDJ backed off out of the melee and it stopped for a second.

Then it immediately continued, this time without FDJ who just stood back and watched. Hurley was able to get a few good shots on Jak and tossed him back first into the ropes catching him on that barbed wire.

FDJ:
DON' IT HURT BOY!!?

Hurley smiled and took Jak by the neck and dropped him with a neckbreaker (that Jak sold very well). Hurley smiled and slid out of the ring careful not to cut himself on the barbed wire.

FDJ started counting, to everyone’s surprise.

Hurley:
What the fuck? This isn’t a regular match.

FDK:
I’m just timin’ ya boy!

Hurley shrugged and went over to his cart. He pulled out the golf club and the 2x4 and slid both of them into the ring, before getting in himself. Jak was coming to his feet and Hurley was ready to tee it up but Jak ducked the swing and hit Hurley with a Thumb to the Eye to distract the Violent One. Hurley dropped the club to tend to his eye as Jak regained himself.

After that it was Violent City. They were tame in the first few minutes but then things got crazy in a heartbeat. Jak took Hurley by the hair and ran his forehead across the top rope and now Hurley was “getting color”. Hurley then was Scoop Slammed to the mat by Jak, who slide outside of the ring as well.

Jak headed right to one of the barbed wire wrapped tables. He slid it into the ring, or should we say he tried to. The barbed wire got tangled with...well the barbed wire.

FDJ:
Lemme help you with that!

FDJ one handed it into the ring and stuck his hand in the process. Blood appeared and he sucked it once again. The crowd laughed and clapped as he gave them a little wave. Meanwhile Hurley had started to come to.

Jak was on Hurley again with a quick punch that doubled him over, Jak gained a little steam and looked to be going for a DDT/Neckbreaker, something of that variety when Hurley stood up and dropped him with a stiff punch to the face. Hurley pulled Jak to his feet and slapped him hard across the chest. He didn’t even wait for the crowd reaction he kept pushing on. Hurley slipped behind Jak and dropped him with a German that he held for a bridge.

...ONE...
...TWO...

FDJ only got to two by the time Nemesis was able to wiggle out. Hurley rolled to his feet but Jak beat him there. Jak hit a kick to the legs and the mid section, he went for another kick but Hurley caught his foot and spun him around, bringing him in and dropping him with a Inverted DDT in the process.

Hurley was about to go violent. He took the golf club and he waited, he scouted his opportunity and SLAM! connected right to the skull of Jak. The white powder went everywhere, the barbed wire on the golf club and parts of the light stayed stuck in Jak’s forehead. Jak collapsed to the ground like a sack of potatoes, pieces of light bulbs imbedded in his hair. Hurley collapsed against the ring ropes, tired from his early encounter with BBD.

FDJ egged Hurley on a bit.

FDJ:
Come on ya hippie’ finish it.

Hurley got down on his knees and rolled Jak over to the ring ropes. FDJ applauded wildly and anyone in the know could see what was coming. Hurley got Jak in the Indian Deathlock with a surfboard and then with his free leg up, he drove Jak right into the barbed wire ropes.

Jak fell to the mat and Hurley covered him.

Game. Set. Three count.

Winner via Barbedwire Curbstomp: Evan Hurley


=-=-=


Angus Skaaland:
Well, nobody can say Hurley doesn't mean business. This is his first night back in action and he's already beat up several people and won two matches.

[Pause.]

Angus Skaaland:
Why didn't he ever do shit like this before?

[Uh, he did...]

Angus Skaaland: [shrug]
Eh well, whatever works for ya...


=-=-=


[The sound of rubber on concrete is heard, moments before a black Lincoln towncar pulls into the parking lot, metalic black paint shining under the overhead lights and chrome rims a reflective silver. The tinted windows allow only the vague shape of three individuals inside to be seen -- the driver, plus two individuals sitting in the backseat -- but their details are obscurred beyond that by the privacy glass.]

[Sitting with his arms crossed over his chest, his chair tilted back against the wall, the on-duty security guard manning the gate to the parking lot glances over at the vehicle's approach. A frown creases his expression.]

[Dropping his chair to the ground, he gets up and makes his way to the driver's side window of the vehicle as the car pulls up to his booth.]

[Bending over, the security guard knocks on the tinted glass. The driver's window lowers slowly with the hum of the automatic mechanism.]

Security Guard:
Can I help you?

Driver:
We've got business with the boss.

[The driver reaches a hand out the window, clutching a folded up piece of paper, which he then hands it to the security guard.]

Security Guard:
That so?

[The security guard takes the piece of paper, a skeptical expression painted on his face. He unfolds the piece of paper, his eyes scanning over its contents. His eyes widen and his jaw drops, the skeptical expression disappearing in a flash. He glances from the driver, to the piece of paper, then back to the driver.]

Security Guard:
Is ... Is this legit?

[He tries to peer inside the car to catch a glimpse of the two individuals sitting in the backseat, but the driver tilts his head at an angle blocking his view.]

Driver:
What do you think?

[The security guard hesitates. No doubt he's been given strict instructions not to let just anyone through the gates. But on the other hand, he also knows that if what's written on the piece of paper *is* legit, he'll be in a bigger world of trouble for turning the car's occupants away.]

Security Guard:
Uh ... Alright, then. Go on in. I'll radio ahead and let 'em know you're coming.

[The driver offers the security guard an insincere smile.]

Driver:
You do that.

[Not waiting for a response, the driver's side window slides up as the Lincoln towncar continues through the gate and into the parking lot.]

[The security guard reaches for his handheld radio as he watches the car go, speaking into it in a frenzied pitch. His eyes fall on the license plate of the vehicle.]

[It reads: 'BAMN-1']


=-=-=


[Angus.]

Angus Skaaland:
Now who in the Christ is this?

[Cut.]


=-=-=


[We are backstage, as Head Medical Officer Iris Davine attends the still-throbbing elbow injury of 'The Haitian Redemption' Josias Solaine. Solaine arches his back in a sharp spasm as the excruciating jolt creeps into his shoulder.]

Iris:
Now, hold still.- My children don't even squirm as much as you do.--

[Iris leans into his body, preparing to pop the dislocated elbow into place, when an unexpected 'Rick Moranis' voice behind her grabs her attention.]

Male Voice:
Phone call, Iris. --

[Iris casually walks toward the sink in the Medical Room, stripping off her gloves and slapping them into a corner on the counter. As she blows past the surgeon-masked male in blue doctor scrubs, Josias catches glimpse of the eyes and immediately scrambled off the cold metal table, sumo palm strike ready. Wasting zero time, the blue mask is yanked off as well as the tie-on hat, revealing a wrestler of DREAM fame that shares Talent Negotiator with Josias.]

Male Voice:
Take a chill pill, Peanut. If I wanted to bust your nuts, I would have done it last week at the Caddy.--

[Josias, being no stranger to the constant WWA attacks in Defiance, makes certain he is in a fighting stance capable of being successful. The Jak Nemesis attempted Dragon Suplex and Solaine twist-out from last week obliterated Solaine's chance to compete in Ft. Worth. The man speaking, of course, is the co-owner of the DREAM Tag Team Championships that were placed on the desk of Eric Dane weeks ago. 'The Permed Punisher', -- along with about seven other equally lame nicknames, flicks his 'Weird Al' Yankovic curls about. Meet Terry Spruhen.]

Terry Spruhen:
-- 'The Spru' isn't present to take the piss out of you, JoSo. Actually, up until last week, I was digging your vibe. You kiss alot of community ass, but I can appreciate that. Now, evidentally, Dane-o Five-o will be here lickedy-split, so ears up. I know you didn't crack Grady's melon a month back with that cane. --

[Sly smile. Lip lickage.]

Terry Spruhen:
-- You know better.

[Josias snarls, digging in his jean front pocket, and tossing a pre-paid cell phone given to him by giftbox last week at the Medical Room door. The phone cracks in peices, but Spruhen shrugs it off like most things.]

Josias Solaine:
- What be you here, Spruhen? If not be fight, what be your motivation?--

Terry Spruhen:
-Didn't you get the post-it, Joey S.? -- 'The Spru' is lookin' to get in new with The Dane Man.-- the Main Dane.-- The Head Pecker. and I say that as a Term of Endearment. See, I'm not here to beat around the bush. I got a zillion and three chicks in the Parking lot beckoning my long strokes of.---

[Josias raises his hand, almost pleading.]

Josias Solaine:
-- I not want to be hearing that vulgarity, no!-

Terry Spruhen:
- GoodGAWD, you're tight-cheeked. Leggo the Imodium, and don't be afraid to give up the dingles. - anyway, before 'Buffalo' Bob trots in and strong-arms my svelte body to the exit, reread your E. Harland Grady Provisions Contract.-- He owns you, Josie. And, since I'm in tight like white, do yourself a solid and make nice with your potential tag team partner here in 'Reliance.'--

[Josias gritted his teeth. Terry Spruhen was the reason he wanted no part of E. Harland Grady, and now it appears he may be backed into a corner.]

Josias Solaine:
-- Mister Dane never let you be here, 750!--

[Heavy footsteps. Terry perks up, then hauls ass outside wanting no piece of any confrontation.--yet.]


=-=-=


Angus Skaaland:
Great.

[Pause.]

Angus Skaaland:
That's all we need running around here, another guy with a mouth on him...

[Angus just shakes his head.]


=-=-=



Hydra, the team of Cobra and Team Danger*, tentatively made their way from the locker room to the ring.  Once inside, the three men stood uneasily glancing at one another as the team of Box, Fujita, and Kort began their march towards ringside.

The teams selected their starters, for Hydra, Lightning would start.  For Box/Fooj/Kort, Jimmy Kort began.

Lightning and Kort immediately went after one another, trading a series of blows in the center of the ring.  As Lightning began to get the upper hand in the exchange, Kort reared back and delivered a staggering thumb to the eye of Lightning.  Kort capitalized on this immediately, stomping a proverbial mud hole into a prone Johnny Lightning.  Referee Benny Doyle stood them up in the middle of the ring, and Kort whiffed on a standing dropkick, enabling a still-dazed Johnny Lightning to fall back into the corner, tagging the King of Pain himself.
Kort scrambled to his corner, slapping the wagging, outstretched hand of one Bronson Box.

The burly brawler Box brought forth a rapid torrent of fisticuffs to the facial region of the King of Pain.   Greer, doubled over, hooked the outside leg of Box, flipping him back onto the mat, where he swung a quick elbow to the crotchal region.  

As Doyle admonished Greer, Box swung around to one knee, gasping for vapors.  Greer charged, smacking Box with a vicious running knee.  Box took it like a potential champion, however, shaking it off and continuing the arduous process of standing up.

Greer charged once more, but this time Box bit back.  Box laid into the Kay Oh Pee with a nasty headbutt, knocking him flat to the canvas.  Box staggered over the downed KoP scooping him up and driving Greer back to the canvas with a vertebrae bending full nelson slam.  Box rolled onto Greer for the pin, getting to about two and a quarter on the King of Pain.  Box admonished Doyle, clearly showing Doyle that it was a three count by slamming his palm on the mat quickly and violently.

Taking advantage of the momentary distraction, Greer aligns his body with Box.  As Box stands Greer lunged at him with the Hellfire Lariot!!  Box’s eyes rolled back into his skull as he lay flat out on the mat.  Greer reached over for the cover, getting only a two and a half before Box got his shoulder up.  

Both men then crawled towards their respective corners, Box tagging in Fujita just as Greer’s fingertips brushed Cobra’s.  Champion and challenger met in the center of the squared circle.  They circled each other cautiously, engaging in a collar and elbow tie up.  They jockeyed for position, with Cobra eventually gaining the upper hand, wrenching Fujita’s head into a side headlock.  Cobra wrenched Fujita’s neck, tightening his grip on Mr 300%’s sizeable frame.  

Fujita muscled Cobra off of him, sending Cobra to the ropes.  Fujita wound up, delivering an elbow stike, staggering the WWA Champion.  Cobra shook off the blow, meeting Fujita with an elbow strike of his own!  Fujita powered through the blow, grabbing Cobra by the waist!  Fujita picked the big man up but Cobra squirmed out, grabbing the arms of Fujita mid-air and delivering a solid double underhook DDT.

OOOOOOH!!

Both men scrambled to their feet, meeting in the middle once again.  The two men, virtually identical in size, exchanged a series of stiff knife-edge chops.  Fujita got the better of the Champ, sending him back to the ropes.  Fujita stalked Cobra, methodically working his way to the ropes, but Cobra was ready.  He stuck quickly, grabbing Fujita and threw him through the middle rope where he crashed to the outside.  Cobra wearily lumbered back to his corner, slapping the outstretched hand of one Johnny Lightning.
Lightning wasted no time, running the ropes while Fujita regained his footing.  Lightning feigned a plancha, flipping over the top rope and sending Fujita scrambling.  Lightning repositioned himself, and delivered a asai moonsault to the disoriented Fujita.  

Jimmy Kort took the opportunity to inform the official of his displeasure, distracting him long enough to allow Bronson Box the opportunity to nail Lightning on the outside with a vicious forearm shot.  Box then rolled Fujita back into the ring as Greer came over to clean house.  Doyle noticed the commotion outside and admonished Greer and Box, Box’s hands raised into the air so as to suggest he was innocent in the whole affair.  
Back ringside, Fujita made the tag to Jimmy Kort, leaving him all alone with one Johnny Lightning.

Rahhhhh!

The crowd roared in it approval for another showdown between the long-time rivals.  Kort went in high, and Lightning went low, tripping up Kort with a leg sweep.  Lightning kipped up, and landed a quick senton onto Kort.  Kort was quick to his feet this time, meeting Lightning with a quick eyepoke, followed by a school boy pin attempt that only got a one count.  Lightning didn’t get much chance to recover, as instantly Kort was back on him with a flurry of lefts and rights.

Kort went for the kill, lifting Lightning up in a vertical suplex, sending Lightning crashing to the canvas.  Kort went for the pin, drawing the Kay Of Pee over to break the count at two and a half.

This, of course, drew Bronson Box in, who was all over Greer like white on rice.   Cobra was in now too, nailing Box with a flying lariat.   Almost reluctantly, Fujita followed suit, leaving all six men in the ring!

Rahhh!

Doyle intercepted the incoming Japanese Puro King, trying to regain control!  Cobra dumped Kort over the top to the outside, leaving all three members of Hydra the opportunity to beat on Bronson Box.  They spend a looong few seconds raining down on Box with various vicious blows, and in an incredible display of tenacity, Box fought back!  He sent lightning reeling with a big right hand, and sent Cobra reeling back to his corner with a stiff headbutt.  Greer responded by whipping Box into Hydra’s corner, where he and Cobra continued to beat on the potential Defiance champion.  

Doyle, however, had enough, breaking Greer off the beat down and instructing Cobra to do the same.  Box, however, had another idea, and used the opportunity to charge Greer, sending him into Box’s corner.  Box made a quick tag to Fujita, who Allowed Greer to stagger out of the corner.  The two men met in the center of the ring, and quickly exchanged a series of chops and elbows, inciting the crowd.

Rahhhhhhhhhhhhh!

The intensity of the exchange quickly climbed, and both men, sensing the opportunity for a kill strike, ran the ropes, each prepping their respective lariats.  Greer and Fujita collided with the intensity of a trainwreck, arms poised, and met chest-to-chest in the center of the ring with a resounding thud, heads smacking right into each others, leaving both men sprawled out on the canvas.
Doyle began the ten count.

1...

2…

3…

Neither man stirred.

4…

Fujita began clawing his way to his feet.

5…

6…

Greer showed the faintest sign of cognizance, beginning his climb to his feet.

7…

8…

9…

Both men were up, and woozy!  Fujita made his way towards Greer, who made a hasty retreat to reach the outstretched hand of the World Champ, Cobra.  The crowd roared with approval for the international sensation.

Rahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh~!  

FU-JI-TA! FU-JI-TA!

Fujita charged in, dropping Cobra on his head with a side suplex.  Cobra scrambled back to his feet, tripping Fujita with a drop toe hold, which was quickly followed by an elbow to the neck of the downed Fujita.  Cobra pulled Fujita to his feet, and grabbed him from behind, lifting him for a german suplex!  Fujita somehow managed to shake Cobra off, switching positions with the Champ and delivering an overhead belly-to-back suplex for Cobras troubles!

To the delight of the crowd, Fujita signaled for the Fujita Lariat.

Rahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh~!~!

FU-JI-TA, FU-JI-TA, FU-JI-TA, FU-JI-TA, FU-JI-TA !!

Cobra wearily got to his feet, only to be OBLITERATED BY THE FUJITA LARIAT~!

Doyle slid into position, arm raised…

ONE…


TWO…


 THR–NO~!  The Champion kicked out, and with authority!

Cobra slapped the mat with frustration, climbing back to his feet.  Fujita calibrated his next move, grabbing a woozy and angry Cobra by the neck and planting him on the mat with a DDT.  Fujita once again raised his arm, and slunk back to his corner, awaiting Cobra’s return to his feet.  Cobra, after what felt like an eternity, did in fact get to his feet, only to be met with ANOTHER FUJITA LARIAT OMG !!ONE!

ONE…

TWO….

THRE-NO~!  GREER WITH THE SAVE!

Box immediately charged out of the corner, spearing Greer and sending both big men sprawling to the floor of the arena, and sending the three people in the crowd not yet on their goddamned feet TO their feet!

RAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH~!

The Champ was obviously shaken by the two monster lariats, and Fujita looked just the slightest bit shaken that TWO Fujita Lariats didn’t put the champ away!  On the outside, Box and Greer brawled around the ring, leaving a scar of destruction down the side of the ring.  Kort jumped down, ready to help Box take care of Greer, who had finally gotten the upper hand on Bronson.  Seeing this, Lightning burst into the ring, running and leaping into the pile with a  somersault plancha.

As the brawl between TD* , Box and Kort reached fever pitch, Cobra was back up.

And Fujita was ready.  Cobra whirled around to face Fujita, and was just in time to catch a THIRD FUJITA LARIAT square on the chin.

Doyle, distracted by the shenanigans on the outside was late to the count.


ONE…




TWO…




THREE!~~!

Ding Ding Ding.

RAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

Inside the ring, Fujita patted a downed cobra on the shoulder, and slightly bowed his head at the Champion out of respect.  Flying down the ramp came BBS and the rest of his security team, who were presently engaged at separating TD* and Box/Kort.

Winner via Fujita Lariat:  Kazuma Fujita, Bronson Box, Jimmy Kort.

Inside the ring, TD* was already checking on just-now-getting-up Cobra, visibly shaken from the inhumane number of lariats he suffered through.  Cobra tried to shake TD* off, and headed back to the locker room with a dejected TEE DEE SNOWFLAKE following in his wake.

And things weren’t going to get any better for TD.

If they’d been fresh, they might have been able to react – but they hadn’t.  And Cobra, who’d already suffered three lariats – now suffered a FOURTH one.  

Compliments of Ronnie Long.

Of the Untouchables.

Johnny Lightning, on the other hand, caught the sole of Jeff Andrews’ boot under his chin.  He was lifted straight off his feet and actually skidded on his back up the aisle.

Greer looked at the two men.  He probably figured he was in for a 2 on 1 beatdown.

Instead, he was in for one of the most brutal kicks to the head he’d received in a nearly 15 year career, compliments of Heidi Christenson.  His knees buckled, and he collapsed to the ground.

This only took about 5 seconds real time.

BBBBBBBBBBOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!
BBBBBBBBBBOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!
BBBBBBBBBBOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!

And on a signal from Andrews, the UTs charge the ring!

There’s only one catch here.  There’s a difference between attacking unsuspecting opponents, and running to the ring to attack awaiting, angry opponents… two out of three times at least.

Long slid in and Box ran to intercept him.  Rising to his knees, Long tackled Box across the ring and back into the corner.  Box clubbed away at his back.  Kort provided the two out of three thing.  One kick from Heidi sent him careening back into the corner, and from there he couldn’t do much except curl up into a ball and pray for the hurting to stop as she drove vicious, vicious soccer kicks into his head and ribs and legs and whatever part of him she could reach.

But it was Andrews and Fujita who stole center stage.  Instead of attacking Andrews as he stood, Fujita backed off to give him room, daring him to bring it.  And Andrews brought it, with an open hand strike to the chest that dropped Fujita to one knee.  

Fujita’s return chop took Andrews all the way off his feet!

RAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

Grabbing the invader by the head, Fujita threw him into the corner and let loose with chop after chop!  Andrews’ T-shirt was probably the only thing saving him from being chopped to the point of bleeding, but – even though his hand print was STILL visible on Fuji’s chest – he wasn’t mounting any kind of offense.

Box had somewhere opened up some room, and he was trying to take Long to school with boxing punches.  But there aren’t many people tougher than Long, and a hook that actually busted his lip open earned Box nothing but a glare of contempt.  Wiping his bloody lip, Long slapped Box across the face!  Box immediately went for the take down, planting Long on his back and looking for a submission, but Long countered by grabbing his head with both hands and driving in close range headbutts.

Heidi was still mutilating Kort, by the way.

On the aisle, Greer made his way to his feet, clutching the back of his head, his eyes full of murder as he grabbed a chair.

Kort finally decided to flee for the hills, leaving Heidi to turn and see the Hydra pulling it back together.

Time to go.  A nice stomp to the back of Box’s neck put him out of the fight with Long.  And a nice hard roundhouse to the kidneys of Fujita…

Didn’t really seem to have much effect.

If Fujita was The Juggernaut, he’d have said “silly bitch your weapons cannot harm me”.  At least it gave Andrews an opening to deliver a snap enzuigiri.  The UTs promptly bailed from the ring, just avoiding the chair swinging Greer, plowing through the fans and disappearing.

After examining security footage of the arena, it would be determined that Heidi had snuck into the arena while Andrews and Long caused a near riot in the parking lots and opened the door, which would be both their entrance and escape.


=-=-=


Angus Skaaland:
For the love of GAWD!

[Angus is not happy.]

Angus Skaaland:
What in Jesus H. Cocksucking Christ's name do we have to do to get a security staff around here that can actually DO THEIR MOTHERWHORING JOBS?!?

[Pause.]

Angus Skaaland:
I mean it, this is getting out of hand...


=-=-=


[Backstage.]

[Aaron Vasquez is noticably shaken and battered after his confrontation with The Wargods, but he would never want you to feel sorry for him. In fact, Vasquez has too much pride for all of that.]

[Instead, Vasquez is looking for someone or something to do, that might release the furious anger building inside of him.]

Aaron "Chico" Vasquez:
"Imma straight murk dat skirt wearin' bag o rubbish, lookin' bummish."

[Vasquez happens to come face to face with a relative newcomer to DEFIANCE, Xavier Langston.]

"Da Man" Xavier Langston:
"Word, Aye Vee, straight run up on that punk-ass bitch, clap back, you feel me?"

[Vasquez hasn't quite decided if Xavier is being fresh with him, or whether he comes in peace. Vasquez spits on his hand, thinking whether or not this would be the perfect opportunity for him to unleash his rage.]

[After deliberating, Chico decides to hear Xavier out.]

Vasquez:
"Aight white boy, dis nigga nevah really heard a cracka mothafucka spit da way ju spit. Where ju from?"

Langston:
"Yo dawg, I'm da X-Man representin' dat East-syde, comin' to ya from the heart o' dat dirty Jerzee, Newark.  I used to be up in the game, reppin' my crew, an', well, you know what they say, it takes one to know one, an' I'm here ta show dat respect dat's due, not only for holdin' it down in yo hood, but for steppin' to all these chumpchange motherfuckers wearin WifWah colors."

[Chico nods as Xavier speaks, keeping a close, discerning eye on his body language.]

Vasquez:
"Since ju street, ju know der ain' no room f' cupcake...ain' no room t' pussyfoot. Dis nigga gotta keep it real, speak from da heart ju know?"

[Xavier nods.]

Langston:
"Word, preach dat church."

Vasquez:
"Ju down t' ride fo da cause?"

[Vasquez is trying to gauge just how loyal Xavier could be, if he ever needed someone to call upon.  In response, Xavier points up at a nearby wall, which has a Defiance-logoed banner hanging on the wall.]

Langston:
"Word brotha, you best believe I'mma ride for this.  Far as I'm concerned, all o' us that be down for Defiance is crew, an' I'mma stick wit' em 'till I collapse."

Vasquez:
"Word, dis nigga wuz hopin' ju was gonna say dat."

[Xavier nods his head, and goes in for a dap.]

[Not so fast.]

Vasquez:
"Go fuck up dem Wargods."

[Xavier hesitates just a second, taking a quick glance at Chico, noting the cuts and bruises that he's currently sporting.]

Langston:
"Dem two is who fucked you up like this?  Shit, man, it's jus' a matter of when."

[A pause.  Xavier and Chico look themselves over for a few seconds.  Then, this time, it's Chico who extends a hand.  Xavier takes it, and they share a terse, business-like handshake.]

Vasquez:
"Get dat scrill, make dat big paper when ju win da gold t'night."


=-=-=


Angus Skaaland:
Vasquez and Langston, huh?

[...]

Angus Skaaland:
We'll see if that lasts as long as Vasquez and Kongo...

[Cut.]


=-=-=


[Back in the Defiance locker room, Johnny Lightning sits, unlacing his boots.]

[Another tough day, and another tough loss.  This time, to the team of Kort/Box/Fooj.]

[And let's not even mention yet another Untouchables attack.]

[Greer told him that it wouldn't be easy, and Johnny wondered if The Hydra, or even TD*, would ever rise above and start turning this shit around.]

[Why bother?  Around every corner there was only more adversity.]

[Another challenge, another team looking to take them down a peg.]

[Everyone wanted a piece of The Hydra, and so far, pieces were not exactly difficult to come by.]

[And then,]

[Greer.]

Greer:
You look like you got a lot on your mind.

Lightning: [surprised.]
Oh, Greer.. well, yeah, you can say that.

Greer:
Did you not believe me?

Lightning:
What do you mean?

Greer:
I mean I told you it wasn't going to be easy, and I meant it.  You don't just get right out of the gate firing on all cylinders – it takes a lot of hard work.

Lightning:
Even for Team Danger?

Greer:
Of course, even for Team Danger.

Lightning:
Well, what can we do about that?

Greer: [slowly]
Well, we can suck it up, and keep at it... or...

Lightning:
Or what?

Greer: [Annoyed]
Or we can just give the fuck up.

We've got a lot to worry about, the chick and the retard, Cobra, Those goddamned Untouchables, Fujita... there is a lot to do, and a lot of beat downs to give, and we ain't gonna do it with you sitting here feeling like the world owes you something.

This isn't about you.. This isn't about me, this isn't about Cobra.  This is about Defiance.  This is about doing what our Boss wants, and doing it well.. because otherwise..

Lightning:
We're all standing on the bread line.

Greer:
Exactly.. and if you haven't had chance to notice, there ain't many promotions looking for old men and losers.

[Lightning looked like somebody just stepped on his ballsack.]

Greer:
Exactly.  We're not exactly in high demand at the moment, and that ain't something that I'm used to.

At all.

[Lightning nods.]

Greer:
So what's it going to be kid?  You gonna pack up your shit and go home, or are you gonna get your goddamn head on straight and start pulling your weight.

Lightning:
Well, what about you, Steve?  Are you willing to actually stop treating me like a fucking joke.

Greer:
Look, I don't owe you fucking anything.  You crashed this party, not the other way around.. and for the record, I'll stop treating you like a joke when you stop acting like a little kid who didn't get the right power ranger at his birthday party.

[Lightning stands, face to face with The King of Pain.]

Lightning:
Well, then it's settled.

Greer:
What's settled?  You still haven't told me what you're going to do.

Lightning:
I ain't quitting.  I ain't packing it in.  I cannot go back to nothing.  I can't go back to no work, no money, no way to support myself.

I have no option, Steve.  I don't have a strip club, or a pirate radio station, or a personal 24 hour escort like you.  I don't have the option of quitting like you do.

[Greer smirks.]

Lightning:
What's that for.

Greer:
Well, the thing is Johnny... well, two things actually.

Lightning: [Impatient]
What's that?

Greer:
The first thing is, if you think I've got a choice, you're dead wrong.  Dead fucking wrong.  This is my life, and everything else that I do is only to put me in a better position to do what. I. Love.  And what I love is fucking breaking fools.

[Lightning nods.]

Lightning:
Well, what's the other thing.

Greer:
The other thing is that all that shit.. The girls, the cars, and radio stations, the gyms, the Team Danger merch money..

Those are all yours now, too.

[Johnny tilts his head.]

Greer:
We're a fucking Team.  And not just any team, either.  Team Danger.  Snowflake or not, Lightning, you're what I've got right now.  And it's fucking time to start making the most of it, eh?

[Lightning nods.]

Greer:
Then it's settled?

Lightning:
Yeah, Steve.  It is.  

[Fistbump.]

Greer:
C'mon, kid, we've got a snake to catch.

Lightning:
Can you stop calling me kid?

Greer:
Would you prefer boy?

Lightning:
Point taken, let's go find the snake.


=-=-=


[In the studio.]

Angus Skaaland:
Will they? Won't they?

[Pause.]

Angus Skaaland:
When did this turn into As The Hydra Turns?

[Good question.]

Angus Skaaland:
On a serious note, my boss and yours, Eric Dane, has scheduled himself the next couple of minutes of TV time. The idea is to address the recent situation involving the World Tag Team Titles.

[...]

Angus Skaaland:
I'm quite sure this is going to net us a few enemies.

[Shrug.]

Angus Skaaland:
Story of my life.

[Cut.]


=-=-=


[Somewhere amid a myriad of rights and lefts in the backstage area at the Fort Worth Convention Center, Defiance head honcho Eric Dane has an office. You can find him here throughout most of the day of any show, unless he’s working on pre-tapes with the talent or running the Gorilla Position during the shows.]

[Currently he sits behind a polished mahogany desk, each side adorned by one half of the Dream Tag Team Titles. His head is lowered, one set of fingertips rubs at a tension headache on both of his temples.]

[The Baws looks up and into the camera, acknowledging it for once.]

Eric Dane:
Just exactly what makes any of you think that I’m any good at taking orders?

[He pauses, a sneer curling over his lips.]

Eric Dane:
Come now, Chance, you should know me better than that.

[His brows furrow.]

Eric Dane:
As a matter of conjecture I could say that you did know that I would ignore such a hollow threat like “Show up in Cleveland with the belts OR ELSE~!” because you yourself didn’t even bother to show up and pretend that you had any confidence my showing up and handing over the World Tag Team Titles to that wretched little Mexican girl and her perverted Uncle Umrage.

[Zing.]

Eric Dane:
Look at these belts.

[He motions to each DWF Tag Title on his desk.]

Eric Dane:
After I sent Aaron Vasquez and D.R. Kongo to Dream to fetch these little trinkets for me, Mark Zylbert demanded I return them to him, too.

And you see where it got him.

Spending money minting new belts and quitting the Alliance, running away back to wherever he came from with his tail lodged firmly between his legs.

[Eric snorts at the thought of Dream.]

Eric Dane:
And you actually thought that when given the same ultimatum about a pair of belts that actually matter, I would have a different answer?

[Pause.]

Eric Dane:
Idiots, the lot of you.

For so long as the World Tag Team Titles are in my possession, and rest assured they belong to me, Stephen Greer and Johnny Lightning will hold onto them, and they will defend them in the Honor of Defiance. If any of you insignificant little twits think that you’re smart enough, or strong enough, or even stupid enough to come down here and take them back, then by all means, my door is always open.

[Smirk.]

Eric Dane:
Matter of factly, the Season One Finale is coming up in a couple of short weeks, and I happen to know that Team Danger* will be in the building, and so will the title belts. So, consider this an open invitation to any of you ingrates to hop a charter on down to my neck of the woods, walk your silly little selves right into the front door, and take them back.

I dare you.

[Cut.]


=-=-=


Angus Skaaland:
Well there you have it.

[...]

Angus Skaaland:
Fuck Chance Wolfington, fuck Wrestling Mid-West, fuck Valora and Umbrage, and fuck the rest of the Alliance.

[Yeah, and fuck you too!]

Angus Skaaland:
You want the belts, we'll be in Dallas in just a few short days.

[Cut.]


=-=-=


[Hydra Locker room.  Kelly Evans sits alone, face scrunched into a discernible pout.]

[Enter Cobra, WWA World Champion, stage left.]

[Kelly's eyes widen in surprise.]

Kelly:
You're back!  Did you find the boys?  They were loo--

Cobra: [sternly]
No, Kelly, I haven't , and I really don't expect to see them any ti--

[And like magic, Tee Dee Snowflake is in the heezy, baby.]

[Kelly's doe eyes widen further, in anticipation of the explosion about to occur.]

Cobra:
Ahh, you're back, I see.

Greer: [gruffly]
Yeah, we're here, and so are you.  We've been looking all over for you.

[Underneath his mask, Cobra raised an eyebrow.]

Cobra:
Well, what is on your minds?

Lightning: [petulantly]
An awful lot, as it turns out.

[Lightning takes a breath.]

Lightning:
Well, it's just, what you said..

Greer:
What he's trying to say is that we hear you.

Cobra:
Now you've got my attention.

Greer:
Look, Cobra, we get what your problem is.. and we've talked about this, and we're all in.  

Cobra:
All in?

Greer:
Yeah, all in.  This, this right here.  Let's face it, DEF has a giant target on its back, and we're all the most vulnerable.

[Cobra nods.]

Lightning:
We need you to have our back, and you need us to have yours.

Cobra: [reluctantly]
As much as I'm loathe to admit it, I think you're quite right.

Greer:
But we can't do this if you're treating us like you black man-servants.

[Somewhere, Justin Brooks nodded in approval.]

[Cobra nods.]

Cobra:
I suppose I haven't been entirely fair.

Greer:
Well, enough of that shit.

Lightning:
Yeah!

Greer:
We've got it.  We need to start pulling our weight... and you need to start treating us with some respect.

[Cobra puts his hand to his masked chin, thinking intently.]

Cobra:
Only a fool would neglect to take advantage of an opportunity like this.

[Greer and Lightning both nod.]

Cobra:
Indeed.  I am sorry that I've been so... inconsiderate.

Lightning:
And we're sorry that we haven't been at 100%.

[Greer nods.]

Cobra:
Then for The Hydra!

[Cobra extends his fist towards TD.]

[Lightning and Greer extend their fists towards Cobra.]

Team Danger*:
For The Hydra!

[A fourth fist, diminutively joins the three way fist bump.]

Kelly:
For the... hey, what exactly is a Hydra.

Greer:
Jesus, those STD's have really affected your brain..

Lightning:
In Greek mythology, the Hydra was an ancient nameless serpent-like chthonic water beast (as its name evinces) that possessed 9 heads and poisonous breath so virulent even her tracks were deadly.

Greer:
Sounds a lot like Kelly.  

[Smirk.]

[Smack.]

Cobra:
I didn't realize you were so well-versed in mythology, Lightning.

Lightning:
Wikipedia.

[Cobra nods.]

Cobra:
Gentlemen, we have a lot of work ahead of us.  We've got the Untouchables to deal with.. and we've got some tag titles to re-reclaim.

Greer:
Yeah, we've got some alliance to deal with.

Cobra:
Well, I've got a plan.

Lightning:
Well, we're dying to hear it.  [Rubbing his jaw.]  I'm tired of getting kicked in the face.

Cobra:
When we're done with the Untouchables, they won't be able to kick anyone in the face, let alone you.

[Smirks all around.]


=-=-=


[Here he sits, cross-legged.]

[And it puzzles the shit out of Frank Dylan James.]

[Here he is, after refereeing like hell in the hardcore match tonight, attempting to gain an interview with Xavier Langston, one of the three men in the double-elimination main event gauntlet match...

[...and here he is, in a state of meditation.]

[Frank waves his hand in front of Da Man's face, trying to get his attention.  But Langston is not moving, aside from his bare chest moving up and down with his silent breathing.  Dressed as if he's ready to compete and holding the same police baton that he beat Bobby Dean with, he seems oblivious to the camera crew and interviewer in his presence.]

[Confused, Frank, still dripping blood from a wound on his arm, turns to the camera.]

Frank Dylan James:
Well I dun came here to git myself an interview an' it seems I ain't gon' get one.

"Da Man" Xavier Langston:
Ya look like hell, Frank.

[Frank, surprised, turned and looked back at Xavier, who was rising from his seated position.]

FDJ:
Ya done nappin' now, son?  

Langston:
I wasn't nappin', I was preparin'.  Y'all right?

FDJ:
Ain't nothin' I cain't drink off.  So how in the hell does catchin' some shuteye help ya git ready ta fight?

[Langston sighs, not about to explain the difference between shuteye and meditation.]

Langston:
Frank, I came up in this crib talkin' bout how my will is law, and it still is.  But in order for me ta really use dat power, I gots ta keep myself focused, jus' like a hunter gots ta keep his rifle clean an' his Bowie knife sharp.  Cause when it comes time ta use these weapons, dey better work or you's a dead motherfucker.  Dig?

[Frank nods.  The knocks he took has apparently silenced him a bit, but chances are Xavier Langston actually came up with an analogy that Frank understands.]

Langston:
Now, we's minutes away from decidin' da firs' Defiance Champ, an' I'm gon' be honest, it ain't gon' be easy.  I know Joey Drago's gon' be mad at me for what I said 'bout him, an' I know Justin Brooks is gettin' all set ta be the first man to hold that belt.  But dontcha think it's funny, Frank, dat the title's got a big X across the middle of it?  Like it's callin' to me an' shit?  

[Another nod from the West Virginian colossus.]

Langston:
I don't believe in coincidences, Frank.  I believe that, for the mos' part, we make our own fate, through our strength o' will.  But dat belt, dat's a sign.  One day I'm gon' hold that belt, an' make it somethin' worth havin'.  People'll be beatin' down our door to make dey name, an' jus' like I stood my ground an' held it down for Defiance when Bobby Dean came callin' wit' his eggy buddies an' loose asshole, I'll be da one wit' the Southern Heritage title strapped to my chest, beggin' fo' someone to come try an' take it from me.  

An' Frank, dat day is tonight.  Three men, all capable.  But I believe I'm Da Man.  An' because o' dat belief, I know dat above Brooks, an' above Drago...dat my will is [in a calm whisper]law.

[And with that, Langston put on his shades, folded up his baton, and made his way out of the locker room, with Frank staring at him walking out.]

FDJ:
Someone dun hit dat boy over da head one too many times.


=-=-=


 

Mark Shields didn’t have a clue how he’d managed to pull this match, a main event for a title belt no less, on such short notice. He was only supposed to help officiate the Gauntlet, which would have been cake, but now he found himself responsible for a 3-Way Dance for the Southern Heritage Title.

Eric Dane himself had stripped Shields of his cigarettes before telling him in no uncertain terms not to fuck this one up or he was going to find Dane’s cane rammed somewhere uncomfortable.

Like the back seat of a Volkswagen.

FUCK.

THE.

FRAIL.

SHIT!

Jadakiss’ “We Gon’ Make It” tore through the arena loudspeakers of the Fort Worth Convention Center, and that could only mean that the former Double Crown and World Champion, Justin Brooks, was on his way to the ring.

As usual, Brooks was met with relative disdain from the Defiance Faithful, what with having been designated as the top man on Eric Dane’s shit-list and relegated to being Jimmy Kort’s whipping boy. However, don’t let it be said that there wasn’t a smattering of cheers for the former World Champion, his match with Fujita last week having won him back more than a couple of fans.

Brooks hit the ring and immediately took to a corner. Shields, for maybe the first time in his life, checked a wrestler for weapons. Brooks cocked an eye at him but allowed him to go about his business.

The voice of Rhianna let us know it was time to kick it Langston-style

#Feel it comin' in the air
#Hear the screams from everywhere
#I'm addicted to the thrill
#It's a dangerous love affair
#Can't be scared when it goes down
#Got a problem, tell me now
#Only thing that's on my mind
#Is who's gonna run this town tonight...

The drums of "Run This Town" pick it up, and out stepped "Da Man" of the moment, Xavier Langston. Dressed gangsta in a pair of shades and an open black sleeveless trench-coat, as well as the black wrestling tights with "Da Man" written in shiny silver letters down the legs, Langston paraded down the aisle, letting his mouth run as fast as his feet could.

Walking down the aisle, Langston took the time to interact with all the fans at the metal barricade, slapping what hands are out and letting everyone in earshot know he's Da Man. After a full lap of the ringside area, Langston hopped to the nearest corner, stood with one foot on the top rope and one on the middle turnbuckle, and held his index finger in the air, letting everyone know he's number one.

Hopping off the turnbuckle, Langston took off his shades, stuffed them in an inside pocket on the coat, and took the coat off. Handing the coat to a ringside attendant, Langston turned his attention to the situation at hand, namely the former Champion staring holes in him from across the ring.

Shields jumped in and did another pat-down, apparently this match was going to have rules. Who’d have thunk it? Before anything had time to happen between Langston and Brooks, the lights dropped in Fort Worth.

They then began to flicker in a strobe light pattern as the opening guitar riff to Throw Down’s “You Can’t Kill Integrity” blasted through the PA system. The crowd lost their shit.

“DRAGO’S GONNA KILL YOU!”

# So what now? #
# Where do we go from here? #
# The damage is so severe #
# and what you've done will never fucking be repaired #
# But whats done is done, son 3
# You'll never understand, #
# but here we are again, yeah here i am again #
# And what the fuck is it gonna take? #
# How am I ever gonna make myself a man again #
# and bring myself to stand again? #
# On my own two fucking feet #

Murray Monroe stepped out from behind the curtain screaming and hyping up the fans, a few moments later behind him emerged Joe Drago with his customary white towel over his head. Slowly, purposefully, methodically he made his way towards the ring.

Murray Monroe:
That’s right, daddy! The Money Man’s got The Reaper ready to bust a few heads and bring gome some gold tonight baby!

# You better tell me what to do cus its you this time that failed me #
# You failed me #
# You failed us all #
# Nothing left for us to say #
# Nothing more between you and me #
# All my trust is gone #
# But never my vindication, vindication #
# So what the fuck? #
# Where do we go from here? #
# The damage is done so bite your tongue #
# because your words will never be sincere #
# Whats done is done, son #
#You'll never understand #
# Blood on my hands again #
# Thats what its gonna fucking take #
# And you can bet your ass I’m gonna make you pay #

Drago and Murray walked around to the far side of the ring, Murray took a spot near the steps as Drago walked up the steps and entered the ring between the top and second ropes.

# All my trust is gone #
# But never my vindication #
# You cant take my pride away from me #
# The one thing you'll never take away #
# You cant take my pride away from me and thats all there is to say #
# You cant kill integrity #

Once inside the ring Drago removed the towel from his head and threw it at Justin Brooks, he was all business and ready to get back on the winning track after losing to the World Champion on Episode 6.

Brooks responded by getting right up into Drago’s face.

Referee Shields got between the two grapplers and did his best to back them off. He managed to get each man into a neutral corner before calling for the bell and getting the hell out of Dodge. Brooks and Langston shared a glance from across the ring as the bell rung and both nodded before charging full bore at Drago.

Joe expected it though and ducked their attack. Brooks and Langston hit the ropes simultaneously and came back to Drago who force-fed them a double Lariat that put both men on the mat. DMX was up first and he suffered a hip-toss for his troubles.

Brooks was up next and Joe went to the well again, but Brooks used his power to block the hip-toss momentarily. That is, until Joe gave him a short-punch into the ribs that nearly doubled him over before finally suffering the hip-toss anyway. He was up quickly enough, but Drago grabbed him immediately and sent him flying over the top rope and out of the ring.

Outside the ring Murray Monroe berated the former World Champion.

Inside of the ring Langston was up, he used the distraction to get one up on Drago, catching him off-guard long enough to shoot in and grab a double-leg. He took Drago to the mat hard and began dropping fists on The Reaper.

Langston:
Come on, Tako! DAT ALL YOU GOTS F’ME?

Drago answered by bucking his hips and throwing Langston’s balance off. It wasn’t much, but it was enough for the tenacious Drago to take advantage. Drago turned both of their bodies until he was above Da Man and in total control in the top-mount position.

Much to the delight of the crowd, Drago began pistoning hard elbows into the face of Langston. Mark Shields hopped into position to check for a submission only to be swiped at by Langston as he tried to improve his current situation.

He didn’t have to wait long, though, as Brooks was quickly back into the ring. Drago wasn’t about to get caught by surprise though and he left his perch on top of Langston quick enough to meet Brooks in the middle of the ring. They started trading stiff-looking punches.

Drago landed a left.

YAY!

Brooks landed a right.

BOO!

Drago with a right.

YAY!

A left from Brooks.

BOO!

Drago.

YAY!

Brooks.

BOO!

Drago.

YAY!

Brooks.

BOO!

Drago came with another left, but Brooks was tired of trading with the Reaper and ducked it, he scooted behind Drago, popped his hips, and snapped him up and over with a quick German Suplex.

There was no release.

Brooks maneuvered himself over and around, pulled Drago up from behind, and snapped him back again.

And again.

And again.

RAAAH!

Brooks was again gaining fans as on the fifth Geman he finally released Drago, sending him skidding outside of the ring and once again to the floor.

Brooks didn’t have time to breathe, though, as Xavier Langston had recovered while Brooks was tossing Drago around like a rag-doll. He grabbed Brooks by the shoulder, turned him around, and planted him flat with a DDT.

DMX was up quickly and and sprung up to the nearest turnbuckle.

Xavier Langston:
C’MON SUCKA!

Brooks pulled himself to his feet just as Langston leped off the top rope looking for a flying head-scissors, but Brooks managed to counter him with a big Powerbomb!

He flipped over Langston into a Jacknife pin attempt.

One...

...Two...

…...THR-

NO!

Langston flipped out in the nick of time.

RAAAAAAAH!

The crowd was on their feet applauding the effort from everyone in that last couple of sequences. Inside the ring Brooks and Langston were sucking air as Murray Monroe was hard at work getting Joe Drago back to his senses on the outside.

Drago slid back into the ring just as his opponents managed to get to their feet and the three of them again met in the center of the ring. Drago slung a hard right at Brooks, who responded with a right of his own to Langston. Langston hit Brooks back, Drago hit Langston, it all broke down.

They began throwing rights and lefts at anyone moving, it was a three-way brawl in the center of the ring and the Defiance Faithful were eating it up.

THIS! IS! AWE! SOME! *clap, clap, clapclapclap*
THIS! IS! AWE! SOME! *clap, clap, clapclapclap*
THIS! IS! AWE! SOME! *clap, clap, clapclapclap*

Xavier Langston, the smallest man in this fight, was the first to try and end it, cracking Justin’s jaw with a spinning back-fist that put Brooks on the mat.

Drago saw an opening and he attacked it, locking Langston up as he came out of his spin, lifting him up, spinning, and driving him down hard with The Wolf’s Bite right in the center of the ring.

LET’S GO JOE!
LET’S GO JOE!
LET’S G-

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!

Before Drago had a chance to capitalize he found himself pulled downward to the mat by the tights. Justin Brooks rolled him up and held him down as tightly as he could between his own body weight and a big handful of tights.

Of course, Mark Shields saw nothing.

One...

...Two...

…...THREE!!!

Joe Drago has been eliminated!

Justin Brooks had scored his first pinfall since the beginning of Defiance.

On the outside Murray Monroe lost his mind. On the inside Joe Drago lost his. Brooks rolled over to the corner to pull himself up to his feet as Drago got into Shields face and complained about the cheating to no avail. Meanwhile, Brooks had gathered his senses and came up from behind Drago and sent him tumbling over the top rope and down to the floor.

Brooks taunted Drago, pointing down at him and winking.

RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHH!!!

Langston had his second wind and caught Brooks from behind, spun him around, and drilled him with the leaping Reverse STO that he called The First Rule. Fluidly as if he’d practiced a thousand times and maneuvered himself and locked his legs around the arms and head of the Koji Clutch that he called My Will is Law!

He had the former World Champion at his will in the center of the ring, pulling at Justin’s head in a backward direction that obviously it wasn’t supposed to go. Brooks screamed out in pain, but he held on, scratching and clawing, inching his way to the ropes.

Closer...

...closer...

...almost there...

Murray Monroe, enraged at Brooks pinning his charge, grabbed hold of the bottom rope from the outside of the ring and pulled as hard as he could, getting the rope just far enough out of Brooks’ reach that he was forced to tap out.

Winner via My Will is Law: Xavier Langston

The bell rang and Mark Shields retrieved the Confederate Flag plated Southern Heritage title belt, handing it to Langston who climbed the top ropes and celebrated as Monroe hurled obscenities at the beaten Justin Brooks.


=-=-=


Angus Skaaland:
Well whaddaya fuckin' know?

[What indeed?]

Angus Skaaland:
Turns out Xavier Langston isn't all talk, and Murray Monroe does have balls.

[Indeed.]

Angus Skaaland:
Too bad for Joe Drago he didn't decide to cheat a little earlier.

[Pause.]

Angus Skaaland:
And what's up with Justin Brooks pinning someone?

[Seriously?]


=-=-=


[The camera switches to the empty backstage hallway. The sound of booted feet is heard, echoing off the walls with each step. A couple of seconds later, two men walk into view.]

[The camera pans in on the features of the first individual. He's a serious looking fellow, around six feet tall, and has the kind of hair cut you'd expect of someone in the military; shaved at the sides, short and spiked up top. He's wearing a brown leather jacket, a pair of worn jeans, and a pair of brown winter boots.]

[If the description doesn't jog your memory, don't worry, it shouldn't. You don't know him.]

[Yet.]

[The second individual is the one you should pay close attention to, however.]

[He's got light brown hair, a bit on the messy and long side, cascading over intense green eyes. He's got a full beard, thick along the jaw line and around a mouth that seems intent on pulling back into a continual smirk. Wearing a pair of black Oakley shades, black Timberland boots, and long black winter trench coat, the tail seeming to trail after him like a cape, he walks with the stride of man full of confidence, as if he owns the place.]

[At first his face, hidden behind more facial hair than people are used to seeing him with, isn't recognizable. But the longer the camera focuses on him, the features become familiar to anyone who has followed the World Wrestling Alliance for the past four years.]

[Take away the beard and mustache, trim a good one or two inches from the mop atop his head, and minus a dozen pounds of retirement weight, and what you're left with is one of the most dominant wrestlers to ever set foot in a World Wrestling Alliance ring.]

[Two-time World champion.]

[Inductee into the WWA Hall of Fame.]

[Ryan Blasier.]

[The duo makes their way through the hallway, passing by the occasional backstage staffer along the way. Each time Blasier earns the same sort of 'Is that ... No, it can't be" expression, and each time Blasier simply smirks at their reaction.]

[The man beside him, silent the entire time, maintains his stony expression. His jaw is set, his eyes narrowed slightly. If he even notices the gawking staffers they pass, he shows no signs of it.]

[The pair reach a closed door at the end of the hallway. It's a plain wooden door, with a nameplate hanging off of it. The name plate reads: ERIC DANE, and when Blasier notices the nameplate, his smirk widens even further. Something about the need to capitalize the letters seems to amuse Blasier.]

[Reaching for the door knob, Blasier doesn't bother to knock. He simply twists the knob and pushes the door open wide in front of him.]

Ryan Blasier:
Eric! I'm home!

[He and his companion don't wait for a response from within. Instead both men invite themselves inside, shutting the door behind them.]

[From there the screen cuts to the static Defiance logo.]

[End.]