Shockwave 2011

Th GCW Moondome | The Moon | July 04 2011

Two feuds collide as four of the biggest names in GCW history find themselves paired up for what promises to be an epic bout between rivals. GCW Champion Andy Murray hasn't defended yet, but a win for Triumph and Terror could boost each man's claim to the title. Terror better watch out for Rollins here, though. While Jay might have some double vision, Rollins has only one goal in mind...maiming Jay.




Ladies and gentle-beings of the GCW Universe, welcome to the MOON DOME.





Fireworks inexplicably explode across the surface of the moon as the jam-packed Moon Dome comes unglued, filled to the brim with wrestling fans of every age, race, sex and species. "Also sprach Zarathustra" (better known as the theme to Stanley Kubrick's classic "2001: A Space Odyssey") fills the Dome as a stream of fireworks run up the ramp and erupts above the elaborate moon-themed stage, complete with a MoonTron that resembles a falling meteorite. The cameras pan over a number of fan-made signs:

Andy Murry Jr. = First Monkey on the Moon!

I left my real sign back on Earth

GAY CATS IN SPACE PT. 3

Bryan: Hello ladies and gentlemen, happy Fourth of July and welcome to Shockwave... IN SPACE~! What an incredible introduction!

Yale: Our production values are going up, that's for sure! We're on the MOON, JB! Can you believe it?

Bryan: We've got a spectacular show tonight, starting with a three-way dance between Alex Pierce, Terrence Kingsley and the longest-reigning HDTV Champion of all-time, Johnny Borealis! All three of them secured guaranteed spots in the Rampage tournament at NC-17, and tonight we see who gets first pick in the upcoming Bracket Draft. Lots of bad blood in that one, Dave.

Yale: You're not kidding. Last week on WorldWide 150, Terrence Kingsley nearly caved in Amy Campbell's skull with a steel chain. Aimz has many scars because of that man, literally and figuratively, and tonight Alex Pierce gets the chance to even the score!

Bryan: Then there's the Rampage Royal where we fill the final four spots in the Rampage tournament! Falls count anywhere in this one folks, so it's sure to be one to remember.

Yale: Especially with this crowd, JB. I think we picked up some intergalactic strays... just look over there, is that a family of Romulans in the front row?!

Bryan: They could just be really convincing cosplayers.

Yale: Knowing our target demographic, I wouldn't be surprised.

Bryan: To top things off, we have one hell of a clash between arguably four of the most dangerous competitors in GCW history. You have GCW World Champion Andy Murray and Hall of Fame legend Rich "The Renegade" Rollins teaming up to take on "The Established" Jay Terror and Triumph Frost!

Yale: In a Last Man Standing tornado tag, no less! Murray and Frost have traded some heated words as of late, and you KNOW that Triumph wants a shot at that title. He deserves it, JB.

Bryan: And he probably would have been given that shot if he hadn't stepped on the wrong side of the Renegade a few weeks ago at WorldWide 149. Rollins has wanted no less than Jay Terror's head on a platter since his shocking return at NC-17, and Terror wants to put Rollins into the grave for good.

Yale: Let the Fourth of July fireworks fly, JB! Let's get this insanity started!

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No sooner has the dust settled than it’s being kicked-up again.

"Please allow me to adjust my pants…"

Clutch kicks-in full-pelt as power chords and a steady beat pound from the PA system. The fans leap to their feet and scream themselves hoarse for a man they wish they saw more of these days.

Bryan: Oh boy, here comes the champ!

Yale: About time he decided to show his face. It’s been a quiet couple of months for Andy Murray, despite his recent conquests.

Dressed from head to toe in black and white, Andy Murray brushes the curtains aside and walks onto the stage. He doesn’t pause for posing and immediately heads down the ramp, extending a hand for fans to slap as he goes. After climbing up the steps he removes the GCW Heavyweight Championship from his shoulder and ducks into the ring.

Bryan: Not much spring in Murray’s step tonight, is there?

Yale: I’m not surprised. Murray has fought some wars in his time, but tonight’s clash is going to be nothing short of brutal. A Last Man Standing tag match against Frost and Terror? Rather him than me…

Bryan: True, but he does have one of the all-time greats on his side. Personally I can’t wait to see Murray and Rollins combine.

Having taken a mic from Joey Andrews, Murray looks to the rafters and waits for the music to dim.

Murray: How’s it going… uhhh, Moon

Turns out even people who live on the Moon know what a cheap pop is. Their reaction brings a smile to Murray’s pale features, but only just.

Murray: I don’t want to hold the show up. I know it’s not the done thing for a guy to come out and slow a pay-per-view’s momentum before it’s even had a chance to get going, but I’ve gotta get this off my chest. I won’t keep you for long…

The King, standing steady, lets his voice peter out. He swallows.

Murray: Professional wrestling has been my life since I was eighteen years old. Fifteen years ago, almost to the day, I followed my elder brother to America to follow my dreams. In Scotland, you tell someone you want to be a wrestler and they look at you like you’re insane. Here, in America, you can make something of yourself if you’ve got the talent and the drive. Wrestling barely exists in Scotland: if I wanted to achieve my goals I knew I had to go to America or Japan, and I don’t like sushi.

Laughter ripples around the arena, but Murray stays sombre. He gazes around the arena, eyes hanging heavy behind lightly tinted shades.

Murray: My father was a North Sea fisherman. He’d come home after a fortnight on the boat only to be called back out for another three or four weeks just days later. We barely saw him over the summer, but he had four kids and a wife to feed. He risked his life on those choppy waves not knowing how much of a catch they were going to take-in, but he did it for his family. He did it because he had to.

Yale: Where’s he going with this?

Bryan: Let him finish.

Murray: Understand from this that sacrifice is in my blood. I left almost everyone I knew behind to chase a pipe dream in a foreign land, but it paid-off. After skipping on University I knew I had to make sacrifices to make something of myself, but it paid-off and wrestling has been nothing but good to me. The job, of course, comes with its own sacrifices. On a good week I’m home for three or four nights; on a bad week I’m not home at all. A life on the road takes its toll on your family life, but that’s the price you have to pay. Wrestling has given me fulfilment and riches beyond my wildest dreams, and I wouldn’t have seen either if it weren’t for the things I’ve given up.

Andy pauses, letting his jaw hang. His cold, expressionless face is as stark as it is troubling.

Murray: Now I have to make a different kind of sacrifice.

Whispers and mutters travel between the spectators. The King gently pats his title as he paces slowly to one side of the ring.

Murray: Let’s be honest, my second title reign has been a disappointment. I’ve not defended the belt and I’ve barely wrestled since winning it. Heck, I’ve barely even shown my face on television. That’s not me: I know it, you know it. I know you all want answers, and that’s what I’m going to give you tonight. If you want to know why this title reign hasn’t lived-up to my first…

He closed his eyes and sighs deeply.

Murray: Six weeks ago a car hit my son on his way home from school.

Silence.

Murray: Last week we found out that he may never walk again.

A vacuum sucks the life out of the arena. Andy Murray looks like he’s going to be sick. He waits a few moments, his lips trembling, before slowly raising the microphone again.

Murray: This is the hardest thing I’ve ever done. I’m sorry, guys. I can’t do this anymore.

Bryan (softly): Wow…

Yale: I’m speechless, JB.

Bryan: Poor guy, no wonder he’s been preoccupied.

Andy lifts the GCW World Heavyweight Championship from his shoulder.

Murray: As of tonight I am no longer your World Champion. I, Andy Murray, hereby relinquish this title with immediate effect.

Bryan: Oh no.

He kneels down, folds the belt, and places it in the middle of the ring. Andy gets back to his feet and turns his gaze back to the crowd before stopping to dab the corner of his eye.

Murray: My father always taught me to look after my family before everything else, even myself. My son’s well being has been the only thing more important to me than pro-wrestling since the day he was born, so guys, I hope you understand why I have to do this.

Yale: Andy Murray is… finished?

Bryan: It seems that way.

Yale: I know his appearances have been scarce but this is the last thing I expected to hear tonight. Just… wow. What a horrible, horrible way to go out.

Murray: This is my last night in Global Championship Wrestling. To those in the back, I’ll be in my locker-room all night if you want to come and say goodbye. Otherwise, to each and every member of this audience, I’ll see you later for the last match of my career as a professional wrestler.

Andy lowers the mic for a second as muted conversation starts to breakout.

Murray: Thank you.

Clutch’s inappropriately raucous rhythm fills the arena again and Andy wastes no time in getting out of the ring and walking up the ramp. Those who’ve managed to remove their jaw from the floor start to speculate as the GCW World Heavyweight Championship belt sits in the middle of the ring, homeless.

Bryan: What a tragic, tragic turn of events. Dave, surely even you can’t help but feel for Andy Murray in this situation.

Yale: My dislike of the man is strictly professional, JB. On a human level, Andy Murray is one of the most decent guys in the game. He doesn’t deserve this, and I can only wish him and his son all the best.

Bryan: We’ll see and hear more from Andy later this evening folks, but somehow we’ve got to move-on from this sombre opening and get on with the show.

Yale: I don’t know how possible that’ll be, JB.

Bryan: Me neither, Dave. Me neither.

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Photobucket

We cut to that logo, followed by an opening shot of a young man that no one has seen before! A handsome man, he is: only covered in splotchy brown face paint and dressed like an old school basketball player (peach-colored headband and matching wristbands/knee-length socks with thigh-length brown shorts and a matching brown tank top jersey reading the words "YAY, PUDDING!") The logo that brought us in is also displayed repeatedly in the background at an angle, and the contrast of the camera is set at a maximum level, giving off the impression of a 1987 news broadcast.

There's a reason for this, too.

Handsome Man: Hey everybody! This is Pudd'Nhead, the SNACKPACKKID, here with a Puddin' Pointer for all of ya!

The reason for the contrast: it's a direct ripoff of "Brule's Rules," as indicated by the slurry and completely awkward delivery of the one named Pudd'Nhead.

SPK: If you see a girl you want to ask on a date, give her a Snack Pack!

On cue, a pudding cup drops from the sky on a (visible) thread and into the conveniently outstretched hand of the Snack Pack Kid.

SPK: Then maybe she'll let you get to first base, you butt-dumb! Yay, Pudding!

The pudding cup then explodes into smoke and confetti, as if it were a magic pudding cup all along, and turns into a heart-shaped brown valentine.

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The Moondome crowd looks up in awestruck silence at the big screens all over this state of the art facility as a sweet-ass Azuma hype piece begins to stream.

Mamoru Azuma hits a crazy-ass enziguri to start. Cut to him delivering a suicide dive through the ropes to three random Japanese guys at ringside. Now some big fat sumo-guy charges at him and holy shit, he throws him into the turnbuckles with a T-bone suplex.

There's the legendary puroresu star the Great Imagawa in the ring now, who you would know if you ever bothered watching a tape of Japanese wrestling, you fucking noob! Azuma plants him hard in the center of the ring with a stiff brainbuster.

Now he's in there with that jobber guy from PCW, I forget his name, but you would definitely recognize him if you saw him. You know the one. He had that stupid haircut and the really corny one-liner. Anyway, it's definitely him and he's getting dropped on his head with an exploder suplex that looks like it has "ambulance ride" written all over it. So much for a second career in Japan.

Segue to Azuma delivering a huge powerbomb, dropping his bloodied opponent onto a bed of nails, and it's a goddamn 11 on the Muta Scale. If this wasn't PPV we would be in some serious shit for showing that one.

And we end with a running burning hammer that sends his opponent through the ring, opens a crater in the earth, and causes Mt. Fuji to erupt after 300 years dormant. Well...not really. But it might as well have, because his opponent is FUCKING DEAD IN THE MIDDLE OF THE RING!!!

The thing about this video is, it's a shoot on the entire roster without even saying a word. Because if a picture is worth a thousand words, then this package is the length of at least half a Desade roleplay. And not a single word of those tens of thousands has anything nice to say about the current GCW roster, who are as of this moment, officially on notice.

Terrence Kingsley, who has never in his life had a problem with a bowel movement due to growing up in a southern church. It certainly didn't help matters that he was always told he had "a purdy mouth".

All 250 of the flippy-kicky bitches on the roster, with drapes every shade of the rainbow but carpets in only a single flavor: scabies.

Bryan Mayhem, the ex-KISS bouncer/wanna-be band member, who still has wet dreams at night of Gene Simmons' six-inch tongue penetrating the depths of his large intestine.

Shaman. That one doesn't even require a predicate.

Rich Rollins, who isn't even in the tournament, but he'll kick his washed-up, beer-gut having ass just for the hell of it. And the same goes for the Commish, with his pedophile mustache, Murr, with his sheep-shit smelling cock, and everybody else on the roster I don't have the time or energy to think of an disgusting, offensive sexual blurb to drop. If you feel left out, by all means, come get some.

Either way, you're all fucked, every single boy and girl in the back, from the main event to the scum-sucking depths where Chris Bagwell dwells in a sub-human, devolved form, just barely sentient enough to suffer in the knowledge that he is who and what he is.

Keep in mind that none of this is being said explicitly, but you know it is all true. You can feel it in your bones, like your creepy great-uncle's knee that acts up before every big storm. This is like that times one hundred.

Finally words materialize on the final black screen, which has been black for only a second or so, as you obviously internalized all of that shoot stuff in a single instant.

"Mamoru Azuma: First Japanese man on the moon," they say. And then in much smaller print near the bottom of the screen "(or possibly the second, if that Kamigawa cat managed to show up first)."

Bryan: *Ahem* Mamoru Azuma, one of the toughest men the Japanese wrestling scene has ever produced. Tonight, we'll see him in the GCW ring for the first time as he attempts to establish his footing inside the Rampage tournament. That was a very impressive package we just saw. How do you rate his chances Dave?

Yale: Pretty fucking good.

Bryan: It's hard to disagree after seeing that. We'll see exactly what he's capable of later tonight.

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A sour expression paints Rich Rollins's face as he stalks through a rather space-aged looking hallway in the Moon Dome. Soft blue running lights line the floor and convex ceiling, bowing around the occasional view port window every ten feet or so. A shooting star flies across one window and bleeds into the next, but the awesome beauty of space doesn't seem to register to Rollins as he clomps along, focused on whatever agenda his mind is set on.

Rollins turns a sharp corner and comes to a nifty-looking sliding door straight out of Star Trek; as soon as the camera catches the name "Alex Pierce" above the frame, the Moon Dome fans erupt with anticipation. He swipes his Chief of Staff access card across the door control panel and it slides open with a woosh.

Rollins: Knock knock, anybody home?

But it's not the cold-blooded Spider in the Web that Rollins finds, not the so-called Best Wrestler in the World. It's not even the Devil's Daughter, Quinn Gregory. No, this is a large man, broad of shoulder and thick of middle, who appears in the doorway, built like a barrel with a bucket for a head. His name is Roderick Ashe, the Mushmouthed Man-Mountain, and... it's been a long time since he's been on any kind of wrestling show.

Ashe: Whodafuck... she ain't seein' nobody wit' no bandanna. Wuzza guy wiffa bandanna las' week.

The Renegade's eyes widen in surprise, but whether it's at the fact that he's looking at a Man-Mountain instead of Alex or that the guy doesn't seem to recognize him is anybody's guess. Curious, Rollins folds his arms and narrows his gaze.

Rollins: Who are you 'spose to be, gorilla? I'm the Chief of Staff, which means it's my business to know every yokel face breathin' the air in my Dome. Name's Rollins, but you can call me Mr. Chief Rollins, Esquire. Is Alex in there? I need to talk to her.

Ashe: Me, I'm the fuggin' babysitter.

He puffs out his chest. Ashe was a three-time World Tag Champion in days gone by (and the last Infinite Gauntlet holder the PTC ever had), but he hasn't wrestled regularly in years, and his physique makes that clear. Still, he considers it. It takes the voice of a young girl to bring down the tension.

"Uncle Roderick! Quit being a dick!"

The girl who peeks her head around the wall of flesh blocking the Renegade's entrance is in that stage where she's changing from a girl to a woman (231 days till she's legal, guys), with dark hair and a sky blue t-shirt (it reads, "How Do I Block You in Real Life?"), and thin, fashionable eyeglasses.

Quinn: Uh, hi. He's just...

She gives the big man a shove in the arm, forcing him aside.

Quinn: He's overprotective.

Ashe: He's standin' right fuggin' here. An' he's paid t'be fuggin' overprotective.

Rollins grins at the young Alexandra spawn as his posture visibly relaxes. He jerks a thumb at the big brute and shakes his head with a chuckle.

Rollins: It's guys like this that keep guys like me a safe distance from girls like you. (to Ashe) Keep up the good work, my man. (back to Quinn) Go tell your momma that Rollins wants a word. Hey, you seen Aimz? How's she doin' after... you know, fuckin' Kingsley?

Quinn: Yeah. She's...

The girl retreats to another door, which cuts the locker room (no, she's not sharing with Vivica without Amy there to be mediator) in half. She raps her knuckles against it without turning.

Quinn: I'm not supposed to say.

Ashe: Docs wouldn't let her come. Y'know, achievin' escape velocity plays hell on a fucked-up brain an' all.

Nodding his head in grim agreement, the Renegade motions past the bulky guard dog and into the lounge room. He tilts his head amicably.

Rollins: Mind if I come in?

Roderick Ashe offers an equally amicable shrug and steps aside, giving Rollins enough room to enter. The Renegade takes the opportunity to do so and follows Quinn, doing his damnedest to keep his eyes from wandering in ways that would likely get him arrested back in the States. Rollins remains acutely aware of the fact that the Man-Mountain, while currently comfortable with his presence, is still watching him like a hawk. Instead, he nods as he turns his attention to the cushy digs.

Rollins: Nice set-up they got for us up here, huh? All these Moon Dome rooms make me feel like an astronaut caught in some kinda Twilight Zone Space Hilton. Loved that show, you know?

Ashe: I was more'a an Outer Limits guy. Y'know, we control the horizontal an' all'at. But yeh. I don' feel like seventeen percent'a my body weight, but... eh. I had some nachos when we got in.

The door opens a crack, a short, murmured conversation following between the woman on the other side and the girl on this one. Then it's pushed open for the Spider herself. Her hair is damp and clinging to her face, her fists already taped and her jaw set. She doesn't smile for the Hall of Famer.

Pierce: Mr. Rollins, good of you to... to come by.

A few beats go by, an awkward silence filling the room. Alex stands like a statue, her eyes expecting some kind of response, but it's clear that Rollins isn't quite sure what to say. You could say that he had turned over a new and rather large leaf since his return at NC-17, and since their match last week at WorldWide 150, a healthy dose of respect resides in Rollins' eyes as they size the Spider up.

Rollins: I wanted to, ahem... well, after what happened last week, I only half remember the end of it. I watched the rest on replay. You and Aimz, you guys did all right by me after Terror went ape shit with that chair, and I appreciate it. I don't do this kinda thing Alex, not ever. But you came to dance like a pro last week, and we put on a fuckin' clinic.

For what may be the first time in his entire career, Rich "The Renegade" Rollins extends his hand in a shocking show of respect and class. Don't get used to it, folks. Alex eyeballs it like a hot wire at first, her face briefly scrunching in surprise.

She doesn't take his hand, but his wrist. It's a grip of two warriors, because that's what they are.

Pierce: It was my honor.

Nearby, the teen beams, unable to actually stop herself from clashing.

Quinn: It's like you're Batman and Superman. Green Lantern and the Flash. Wolverine and Cyclops.

Ashe: Uh, all'a them's dudes, Quinny. Yer Mom's... not a dude.

Rollins: She definitely ain't a dude, I mean, she still hits like a girl.

The look that Alexandra Pierce fires at Rich Rollins sums up exactly why they call her the Medusa. Her eyebrow climbs one side of her forehead, to which the Renegade chuckles.

Rollins: I'm just givin' ya shit, Alex. Not too many people kick out of the Anarchist Elbow, and none of 'em women. Not sayin' that women are the weaker sex or anything, 'cause you damn sure do 'em proud. (coughing in his hand) That's what Aimz said.

The Medusa's cold gaze simply grows colder at the mention of her lover's name. Realizing that it might not have been the best joke in the world under the circumstances, Rollins' face goes flush. He clears his throat.

Rollins: Oh hell, forget it. That's why I came by, actually. I told that fuckin' swamp rat Terrence Kingsley in no uncertain terms that the women in this company weren't his personal rag dolls. He obviously don't give a shit, 'cause I saw what he did to Aimz after our match. It pissed me right the fuck off, Alex. I just want you to know, if you need me for anything...

Pierce: (quickly) No.

She amends with a smile that might actually be called kind. Chalk it up to her daughter's presence.

Pierce: No, thank you. At least not tonight. Terrence is... Terrence is mine. Whatever happens, whatever the result of the match, Terrence Kingsley will learn what happens when you fuck with the people who are close to me to get to me. He will learn what I can do. He will learn why an entire generation of wrestlers has learned to fear me.

She breathes out, combing a hand through her hair, making an effort to keep calm.

Pierce: He'll learn. Perhaps... perhaps after I've taught him my lesson, you can put him through a remedial class.

Rollins snorts.

Rollins: He strikes me as the kinda guy who never had much interest in higher education. But my offer stands, if Kingsley gets outta hand and does anything – anything - to put you or any of the other ladies in my locker room in traction one more goddamn time, I'll fuckin' kill him. You have my word on that, sister.

He crosses his arms and bites the inside of his cheek, thinking better of what he was about to say, and instead offers the obvious question.

Rollins: So. How is she, if you don't mind my askin'?

Pierce: She'll be fine.

It's clipped, maybe a little curt.

Pierce: She'll be back and hell on wheels before either of us knows it, so if you're asking whether Johnny should give her Rampage spot away, the answer is not only no, but hell no.

Rollins: Well, that's sumthin' I guess. Good news ain't exactly in abundance these days, especially not with jackals like Terror and Kingsley and Frost doing whatever the hell they like to whoever the fuck they want. Johnny has been real lenient with the riff-raff lately, but I don't have that kinda patience. If I had my way, certain GCW "superstars" wouldn't make the trip back through re-entry... if you catch my drift.

Alex's smile is quiet and not a little cold.

Pierce: Get in line. I have wanted this for...

She skims her hand through her hair, an effort to keep her controlled.

Pierce: I'd never heard of Terrence when the GTT started. He was some hotshot kid whose most extensive experience came from a federation that literally played in gymnasiums. And then he clipped his way through to face me, and I'd already had a hell of a first round war and then the match with Tempest. And we went to war, but it wasn't personal. Not from me, at least. I beat him, sure, but I hadn't won any great victory or closed any great hole in my soul.

She sighs, looks away. This is harder than it should be.

Pierce: And then on that night in Raleigh, he... Quinn had already been forced to wrestle. Sixteen years old and she's in a wrestling ring and she asked to go home. I thought... I thought it'd be okay.

Quinn: Mom...

Pierce: I thought she'd be okay. She wasn't speaking to me. Was barely looking at me. She was never in the locker room when I was, like... like they'd planned it that way. To make sure that I wouldn't make a scene.

Quinn: It's not your fault, Mom...

Pierce: I should have been there. I should have tried to stop him. At least I could have failed and been taken to the hospital along with, instead of hearing about it at a Dairy Queen.

There's a short swallow, and those eyes lift up.

Pierce: Whatever you want to do to Terrence, you do it after that match tonight. Because I don't care about anything else. I made this ridiculous trip for one reason, and Terrence will learn – painfully – what happens when you try to use the people I love to get to me.

The Renegade throws his hands in the air, stepping back slightly from that glare.

Rollins: Whoa, I wasn't sayin' anything bad. Just if you ever need a hand, or a good pair of fists, you know where to find me, yeah?

Pierce: Yeah. Yeah, I do.

Rollins: And if you see Amy around, say behind any closed doors nearby, you tell her the same goes for her, twice over.

Pierce: I'm sure she'll get the message.

Tossing a curt two-fingered salute, Rich Rollins nods at Quinn and turns to the Man-Mountain at the door.

Rollins: Take 'er easy, palooka.

Ashe: Who you callin' palooka, Chief?

Rollins: Touche.

And with that, the Renegade swipes his card at the door and slips into the sterile calm of the backstage hallway just in time to catch another shooting star cross the windows.

Back to Top

How many people fit in The Moondome? We’ll say eleventy thousand times two. Well they’re all going fucking crazy because this shit’s about to get under way and they’ve been antsy since getting off the rocket after that looooooooong ass ride.

Bryan: Ladies and gentlemen, we’ve got ourselves a small number of matches tonight but by no means would I call it "small."

Yale: You got that right. The Rampage Royal is an absolutely titanic match. The tag match is going to be like worlds colliding.

Bryan: And our opening bout is geared up to be nasty, brutal, personal, and it come with one heck of a prize for the winner!

Yale: Call me skeptical...but does our illustrious commissioner really think he can have a civil, organized draft with Terrence Kingsley and Alexandra Pierce? They’ll be at each other’s throats the entire time. Not to mention Johnny "Look At Me Look At Me" Borealis will want to stick his nose in there, and we don’t even know who the fourth draft participant will be!

Bryan: Civil? Organized? He’s probably counting on the chaos.

Andrews: The following contest is an elimination match...

RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!

The crackling recording begins his music.

"How much evil is there?
"As much as you see."
"What do you see?"
"All of it."


BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!

Andrews: From Li Grand Zombi and weighing in at two hundred and thirty-five pounds... this is The Pit Viper! TERRRRRRRRRENCE! KIIIIIIINGSLEY!

"Carbon" by VNV Nation rings out through the arena, all eyes turning to the entranceway for the Curse's arrival. Terrence Kingsley stares straight ahead, ignoring the booing crowd of onlookers as though he just wants to get this entrance over with and get his hands on Alex Pierce.

Bryan: Kingsley...I don’t know what can be said about him, Dave. This guy might be giving Bryan Mayhem a run for the money on the most disturbing individual I’ve ever watched in the ring.

Yale: He’s a guy that can get the job done, JB. What else do you want down there?

Bryan: Last week he could have permanently disfigured Amy Campbell. He’s a man with a mission, and that mission is to end two women in the prime of their careers.

Yale: Funny how that works, JB. Alex Pierce is the GTT7 champion and Aimz is a very accomplished veteran of her own right...you can’t play to "poor girl" card with them at the same time. They know what they’ve gotten into.

With little fanfare and less patience, Kingsley smoothly slithers into the ring and positions himself in one corner, staring icily at the entrance and letting his muscles relax.

Two reverberated guitar notes are enough to get the crowd on their feet. They know what's coming. Kingsley’s face is stone and he may not even notice the lights dimming as "Gone Guru" by Lifeseeker kicks into gear behind the pumped up fans and a sound wave pops up on the MegaTron and moves in rhythm with the music.

Bryan: And here comes the x-factor of this match if there was one.

Yale: JB, you ever see a tuxedo with a pair of brown shoes?

Bryan: While it’s true that Kingsley and Pierce have a longer continuous wrestling history, Johnny Borealis has been on an absolute tear since returning to GCW at High Stakes 2010. He’s shattered the TV Title record, had the belt officially redubbed the HDTV Title, and won a guaranteed spot in the Rampage tournament.

Yale: Yeah yeah yeah...

Amidst the fire spitting rhymes, Johnny Borealis struts out from the back with a boyish smirk on his face and the "HDTV" Title, adorned with blinking Christmas lights and an LCD screen, slung over one shoulder. Behind the Oakley's and perfect hair, Johnny B soaks in just how fucking awesome he is.

Andrews: Making his way to the ring...from Aurora, NY...weighing 195 lbs...Your Guilty Pleasure, The Swaggerer...JOHNNY! BOOOOOOORRRREEEEAAALLIIISSSSSS!!!

Timed with the chorus of "Gone Guru" Johnny heads down to the ring with a bubbling energy behind each step. A couple high fives to a couple outstretched hands, The Swaggerer lives up to his nickname and makes it clear that he's here to give these fans exactly what they want.

Yale: He’s the mayo on a murder sandwich if you ask me.

Bryan: We know Kingsley’s got his eyes set on Pierce. We know Pierce is going to concentrate on Kingsley. But it would be foolish of either of them to ignore this guy right here.

Sliding into the ring, he hands the "HDTV" Title off to Joey Andrews and cracks his neck, and sneers at the Pit Viper in the corner. Kingsley hasn’t moved a muscle, hasn’t even watched Borealis descend the entrance ramp. He’s looking back...scanning for one person and one person alone.

Kill those fucking lights.

The MegaTron lights up first, slow-moving clouds drifting across in a building thunderhead. Writing spills across the screen like a blood spatter, forming words.

"If you have to kill a snake, kill it once and for all" --
Japanese proverb


Bryan: Well, I guess the question of where her focus will be has been answered...

Andrews: And introducing the third participant!

The first peal of thunder degenerates into the deceptively calm plinking which begins AFI's "Prelude 12/21".

Andrews: Representing PRIME Wrestling! She hails from Oakland, California and weighed in tonight at one hundred and forty-seven pounds!

This is what I brought you, this you can keep
This is what I brought, you may forget me
I promise to depart, just promise one thing
Kiss my eyes and lay me to sleep


As the music kicks on, the lights surrounding the stage flash on and then dim again. A silhouette rises slowly through the stage.

Andrews: This is the Medusa! This! Is the GTT7 Champion! This! Is the SPIIIIIIIIDER IN THE WEB, ALEXANDRA PIERCE -- DEEEEEEEEE-SAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHD!

This is what I brought you, this you can keep
This is what I brought, you may forget me
I promised you my heart, just promise to sing
Kiss my eyes and lay me to sleep


Her head is bowed, hair damp and covering her face. We've covered this before, but in case this is the first time you've tuned into GCW programming (perhaps enticed by reports that we're on the fucking moon), let's review: black pants tight enough that she couldn't hide a quarter in her pocket, a simple tanktop (this one is black and gold and features the name "Aimz" printed one letter to a knuckle on a set of brass knucks), black boots, fists taped, hair the color a deep, dark pool of blood.

Alex snaps her head back, that curtain of hair flying away from her cold shark's gaze, which immediately finds the Pit Viper. Nostrils flare. By rote, she rubs a hand against the tape binding her left hand.

Bryan: Hell hath no fury...

Alex Pierce has been waiting for this chance for ages, whether she wants to admit it or not. Kingsley makes no bones about it. Borealis, as dumb and jaded as people would like to claim him to be, knows the score; he lets the two monsters have their war. It's better to be a winning vulture, picking up the scraps, than it is to get caught in their maelstrom. Also he doesn’t want to mess up his hair.

The Spider In The Web bursts into motion so quickly, it's all Timothy Vale can do to ring the bell before she goes to work.

DING DING DING

Bryan: Underway here and Alex is in the ring as fast as a bullet!

Kingsley wildly swings his lariat, looking to cut her off the second she draws near, but Alex is nimble enough to duck under and carom off the ropes, picking up even more momentum as he explodes off her feet, bringing her knee up and smashing it into the Pit Viper's jaw and causing him to backpedal. He grabs the ropes for support, his hand pawing at the blood pouring from his cracked lip. Pierce springs back to her feet without a second's hesitation, launching herself onto the top rope, tight rope walking with ease before launching herself and catching Kingsley with a trapping hurricanrana that drives the top of his skull into the canvas.

Bryan: And right off the bat it’s Desade and Kingsley going at it like wild animals!

Yale: The two of them have some serious history, JB. Especially after what happened to Amy Campbell last week. Why should Johnny B wanna get in between that?

The HDTV Champion sits at the ready as Terrence staggers to his feet, his hands wildly swinging for air as Pierce bounces off the far ropes and punts him in the head so damn hard, his head violently jerks upward and she can't help but think she might've broken her damn foot.

Bryan: A vicious punch from Desade almost decapitated Terrence Kingsley!

The Pit Viper's mind gone (if it was ever there to begin with), he stagger roles from the ring, grabbing at the guardrail. Alex sees nothing but him. Sees nothing but that biker chain and Amy Campbell crumpled on the cold hard floor. Silently sobbing. She takes off. Oxygen is burned quicker than she can draw it in. And with grace, she leaps toward the top rope.

Yale: NO!

And has her head caved in by a superkick from The Swaggerer, who finally sees his chance to explode on the scene.

Yale: YOU IDIOT!!!

The crowd rose to their feet the second his heel caught her jaw, a collective roar and gasp sounding throughout. The replays show it perfectly; Alex Pierce, jumping toward the rope, the leg of Johnny Borealis lashing into the frame and deadpinning her momentum from the blow. If you were to go to extreme slow motion, you'd see her eyes cross before her crumpling body slammed onto her left shoulder, her head clapping the canvas. It was a made for HDTV moment, so well timed and punishing it will be put on an endless loop on every WorldWide opening from now to eternity.

Bryan: Oh lordy lordy lord! Camera flashes and highlight films galore, he knows how to get the GTT7 Champion’s attention!

Yale: He’s a damn moron, JB! He should’ve just let Alex Pierce dismantle Kingsley, but his own freaking ego wouldn’t let him give up the spotlight for the two smartest minutes of his life!

The Swaggerer, ever amazed at his own abilities, takes a second to admire what he just did on the Tron (making sure to admire how great his ass looks in these pants), and when he saw that she wasn't moving, he quickly springs to the second rope, jumps to the top turnbuckle, and before he can lose his balance, swings around and drops a leg drop across the side of the GTT7 Champion's head. Her limp body doesn't fight as he quickly rolls her over from his seat, a murmur going through the crowd as he makes the cover and eliminates her.

Bryan: I would normally say that he Lit her Up, but her lights are Out.

One.

Yale: Give me a miracle!!!

Two!

THRE-one violent tug at the hem of her boot from the Pit Viper saves Alex from certain elimination. Her fall isn't kind. Her head ricochets off the razor thin mats, and as if reflex is taking over, she guards her head with her hands and arms. Borealis grabs at the canvas, his head slowly turning toward the ring apron and the staggering Terrence Kingsley who braces his back against the railing. Blood from his temple pours through a shock of greasy hair along his left temple. His eyes are fierce. And before Borealis can even try to do something, the Pit Viper pulls Alex off the mats by her hair and crushes her cheek with a punch that crumples her over into a heap once again.

Yale: Ha! That’s why you should’ve let her finish him, Johnny. And when he’s done with Pierce, you know he’s coming for you!

Bryan: I thought you were pulling for her?

Yale: Let’s get this straight. I’m pulling for Not Johnny Dumbass.

Timothy Vale, as blatant a blow as it was, does nothing. The animals, he reasons, need to fight it out for themselves. Everyplace outside his ring? It didn't have rules. But once they stepped between his ropes? There will be order. Kingsley stands over 'Desade', watching her writhe, her body failing to help her protect herself after the vicious kick that may well have broken and dislocated her jaw. Her head is ringing. The visage above her is blurry and frightening. She was finally helpless before him, like so many had been before, and every muscle twitch she has misfires as she tries to do anything to get away. But he doesn't attack. Instead, he cranes his head toward the ring, slithering under the bottom rope and pulling the ropes to a stand.

Yale: If there’s anything left of that pretty face of his, Borealis is about to learn from experience.

Bryan: Kingsley’s made a career out of maiming and injuring anyone who stands in his way. And the man in his way isn’t exactly known to react courageous in the face of bodily harm.

Yale: I just hope there’s enough of a spine in Borealis that he doesn’t run away and cheat us out of a show!

Borealis, behind a veil of moxie, stares back toward the slowly advancing Kingsley. Their eyes meet, and as they do, his head softly lolls near his shoulder. Stone faced. So not pretty. The HDTV Champion is all about nonstop action. The Pit Viper doesn't move. Just looks back. Borealis makes his move, going for a collar and elbow tie up, only to get a rib full of punch that doubles him over and drops him to a knee.

Bryan: And it’s about to get ugly.

The Pit Viper grabs at the Swaggerer's head, pulling him back to his feet. Vale reaches for the arm, yelling about the hair pull, but Kingsley snaps another fist into Johnny Borealis's face, making him stagger to the corner. There needed to be control. But Terrence didn't care. He just zeroes in, grabbing Johnny's jaw and forcing him ramrod straight in the corner before digging his knee into his breadbasket, driving all air completely from his lungs. The arch of his snake skin boots finds his midsection time and time again until he couldn't stand anymore. The Pit Viper then grabs hold of the top rope, his heel digging and tearing at the flesh of the HD TV Champion's cheek, causing his body to awkwardly arch as his hands grab and try to pull the foot away at the ankle.

Bryan: C’mon, get them out of the corner!

Yale: What are you talking about, JB? Let them go at it!

Bryan: Meanwhile we’ve got Alex Pierce still trying to piece herself together on the outside.

The split cam hovers over Alex Pierce and the EMTs gathering around her. She can't breathe. They're greedily sucking in all her oxygen for themselves, their hands pawing at her and trying to stabilize her and all she can feel is growing claustrophobia. She pushes them away as best she can, slowly gathering herself and grabbing at the railing near the entrance ramp to bring herself to a stand.

Yale: Hey JB. What’s got four arms, four legs, and one good skull between them?

Bryan: As tasteless as that is, the head trauma delivered to Amy Campbell and Alex Pierce has been absolutely unrelenting as of late. And it’s been from two polar opposite sources.

Kingsley backs away, Vale fighting his own fear of this savage bastard and getting in his face, jabbing his fingers into his chest and chastising him over the boot to the face of Johnny Borealis. The Pit Viper, without a stitch of emotion spread across his face, draws his hands up and out from his sides in an act of defiance that pours boos from all across the arena. Borealis, drunkenly trying to bring his head back in place, slowly braces himself in the corner, trying to gather himself. Kingsley flashes a sinister glare as he pushes Vale aside, taking off and burying a kitchen sink knee into the stomach of Borealis, quickly grabbing him and slamming him into the canvas with a snap russian legsweep that rattles through the first three rows.

Bryan: Kingsley is a machine. He is methodical, cold, unrelenting-

Yale: The word you’re searching for is ‘awesome,’ JB. And I mean that in the classic sense...he inspires awe. You watch him in awe.

Bryan: I think your definition of ‘awe’ is more like ‘nausea’ or ‘disgust.’

He doesn't pin. He just stands back up, lazily pushing his hands out from his sides as he lords over the downed Television Champion. Snake skin boots toy with the man's head, and then the Pit Viper steps over top of him, slapping The Swaggerer across the cheek. He does it again. Again. More forcefully. He winds up and backhands him across the face and stabs his hand at his throat, tightening his grip as Borealis grabs at his wrist. Vale grabs Kingsley by the shoulders, trying to pull him off. Terrence tries to brush him off. He can't. Johnny trips him up, pulling him through and pinning his shoulders to the mat with an inside cradle.

One.

Yale: Borealis wants to play with the big boys-

TWO!

Yale: -he’s gotta act like one.

KICKOUT!

The two are quick to rise to their feet, and Kingsley catches him with a punch. More admonishing from Vale. In desperation, Borealis looks to throw one of his own, but The Pit Viper grabs hold of him with a side headlock as tight as vice. All he can feel is constant pressure around the crown of his head. Kingsley tightens, pounding his feet into the mat and wrenching as he bears his teeth with forceful grunt. Johnny's arms limply splay forward with every crane. He tries to grab Kingsley around the waist, but the pressure is too much. The fans can't help but boo their little hearts out at the slow pace, at the dominion in the ring.

Bryan: Come ON!!! We’ve got three of the most explosive stars in the sport today, and Terrence Kingsley is willing to slow this match to an absolute grind!

Yale: He’s got some brains, JB. If he takes away their octane, he knows he’s got both these competitors right where he wants them.

This isn't TV, and it isn't HBO. It's Pay-Per-View, and people don't pay their hard earned money on slow grindfests. Borealis was losing. He knew that. All the arrogance in the world couldn't hide the fact that he was fighting against forces he'd never faced in his life. He grabs Kingsley around the waist, trying to bring him over or do something to break free of that vice around his head. The Pit Viper merely grinds his forearm as best as he can after he leaves his feet for moment, a snicker only Borealis can hear showing just how arrogant is. Another try, and that flaring smirk goes away as he desperately tries to maintain. Borealis can't keep it up. Kingsley stoops to his knee for a moment, trying his best to leverage his weight and strength. It's all Johnny needs. Before he can get all the way down, Borealis lifts up and drops Kingsley on his head with a back suplex and that breaks the headlock and causes Kingsley to stagger to his feet. A shot of adrenaline, of fresh air, takes the HDTV Champion to his feet, running across the ring and hitting a picture perfect dropkick that tumbles Terrence Kingsley to the canvas! The crowd unleashes a deafening roar as he readies for another one!

Bryan: What a reversal! From deep within, he wouldn’t be slowed down, he wouldn’t give up, he wouldn’t cave to that pressure!

And another drop kick the second gets up. And another. Each one slows Kingsley's progression. But he still staggers up, looking to charge in. Borealis catches him in the gut with a boot, and quickly snaps through with a swinging neckbreaker and a cover.

One.

Bryan: No!

Not even a two count before the Pit Viper kicks out, but Borealis is already to his feet and steps on his face, quickly giving him a booted face wash and that causes Kingsley to grab his face and roll to his knees. Another quick jump around and Borealis artfully cradles Kingsley.

Yale: Johnny’s trying to end this quickly, so that it’s just him and the recently lobotomized Alex Pierce.

One.

TWO!

Another kickout. Borealis scrambles to his feet. Kingsley, however, is slow to follow, resting on his knee and staring up toward his opponent. As hot as the fans have been, they reach another octave. Terrence rises, and in the next moment, charges toward The Swaggerer, looking to take his head off with a lariat. He hits air. Johnny ducks under and the second Kingsley turns around, he grabs him around the chest and looks for a belly to belly. A headbutt breaks the hold, causes him to grab at his mug. He doesn't have a chance to respond.

"HO-LY SHIT! HO-LY SHIT!"

The Spider didn't fall from her web; she launched herself and took them both out with a double yakuza drop kick from legs that snapped from her chest at blinding speed and precision.

Bryan: Alexandra Pierce just showed why she’s the best in the world! She just absolutely cold cocked both men at the same time!

Yale: That was amazing, JB! Extra amazing when you realize she’s probably still seeing triple out there! Which means she just connected her two feet on six targets at once!

She didn't much care for Borealis before, and after having her face damn near caved in, that isn't about to change. When he staggers on empty footing, she uses his sloppiness to her favor, springing him across the ring with a Japanese-flavored armdrag. The Pit Viper charges her, thinking he has her dead to rights. The uraken she blasts him with drops him to a knee, and before anyone can react, she charges the ropes, bouncing off and launching herself full force into a driving shining wizard that crumples the bastard in a heap.

Bryan: I don’t know what reservoir she dipped in to, but she looks like a brand new woman right now.

Yale: Alex Pierce knows what’s at stake here. She’s not about to sit back and let the men decide the tournament layout for her, she’s going to wrench it from their hands if she has to and she’s going to bury Terrence Kingsley before this is over!

There is no cover. Why would there be? She doesn't want him gone; she wants him dead. And if he's out, then she will have to get into a wrestling match with Johnny Borealis, and while he is a threat, she damn sure thought of him as the gnat in the current equation. She yanks Kingsley by the hair, bringing up so he is seated on the canvas. Her first kick echoes throughout the arena. She bites down and throws another and obliterates his chest, and while he rocks back from the blow, he is still somehow there for more punishment. She roars. The fans roar behind her. She throws a wild barrage of kicks, uncharacteristic and unintelligent, simply raw and savage. She kicks him to a pulp and as Borealis charges her to get his piece, she hits him with an armdrag, then pops up and thrusts her legs out and caves in the Pit Viper's skull with a double stomp that would make Karina Wolfenden take notice.

And she isn't done. She hovers above his corpse, looking to stomp, punch, smash this piece of cursed shit who's been hunting her down for damn near two years. The slap across her ass almost lifts her off her soles.

Bryan: ...he didn’t.

Yale: Oh. Lord.

Johnny Borealis knows how to play the game, and hell, who wouldn't want to clap that voluptuous backside of Desade? She stares daggers through him, her face tightening into a mix of shock that he'd actually has the audacity to do it and rage because of the Fonz pose he is pulling off from a safe distance. All as Kingsley escapes to the outside, crumpled in a heap on the apron.

Bryan: I-...I’ve got nothing, Dave.

Yale: Have you ever seen a freight train derailed, JB? Have you ever seen that same train get up and stare at the thing that derailed it? This sends chills down my spine.

She bursts forward, sliding across the canvas with an ironbroom legsweep, but The HDTV Champion bunny hops out of the way, landing on the balls of his feet and springing a pitch perfect drop kick that catches Alex on the way up. They both are quick to their feet, and Johnny's charge seems like a good chance to blast him with her patented uraken. Too bad Borealis ducks it, catches her, and plants her with a german suplex, bridging through.

Bryan: He got her off her game just enough! And here’s the count!

One.

TWO!

THR- Kickout at the last second, and the Moondome is rocking so hard as the two scramble to face off, the base almost lifts off the moon entirely and gets caught in the vacuum of SPAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAACE.

Alex clutches her neck and shoulders as she stares toward The Swaggerer, her pride wounded just enough to make her see red. What had gotten into her? She was used to keeping cool. But in the ring with these two, it is hard for her to keep herself mellowed out. No amount of smarts can overcome the human heart. She slows herself, looking to calm down. Borealis raises his eyebrows playfully a couple of times as she fits into a wrestling stance, her taped hands flicking toward him as she shoots toward him. He bounces away from her attempt, a cocksure grin (which probably describes him throughout the match) spreading wide.

Bryan: I mean, is he even trying to take this seriously? He’s in the ring with the two most dangerous people in this sport.

He isn't smiling the second she hits him in the shin with a hard flick of a kick. And another. She tries to bury a kick into his ribs, but he catches it. He spins her around, looking to hit some kind of crazy dazzling suplex, but in the spin, gets caught with whip kick that causes him to stumble into the corner. She charges toward him, diving through and hitting a kick around the post before launching herself to the top turnbuckle and crashing into Johnny's shoulder with a 450 splash, crumpling them both to the canvas.

One.

TWO!

THREE- KICKOUT JUST in the nick of time.

Yale: ARE YOU KIDDING ME! Is Vale’s count slowing to a crawl in his old age!?

Bryan: Johnny B has stuck around a lot longer than I thought, Dave. He might look like he came to play, but he’s running neck and neck with Alex Pierce right now.

Grabbing his shoulder and body, Borealis tries to fight to his feet. Alex is busy sucking in wind to her burning lungs. Moving at such a frantic pace was starting to burn through her reserves, and Borealis was game for everything she had. Jumping to the second rope, she springs off, pushing in and thrusting a kick for The Swaggerer's grill. He catches her back with a dropkick to the small of her back, her eyes shooting wide the second she drops to the canvas. He hit something. Some nerve. Suddenly, her entire body froze, unable to move.

Bryan: I can’t believe it!

That was how it'd go down. One kick, not even anything dangerous. He scooped her off the canvas, digging his boot into her gut, grabbing a hold and driving her into the canvas with a resounding and crushing Northern Lights Out. She's done. Out. He goes for the cover.

The next thing he knows, his world is black. The Pit Viper strikes, spinning him around and snapping him into the canvas with a DDT that deflates everyone.

Yale: OH-

One.

Bryan: -MY-

TWO!

Yale & Bryan: -GOD!

THREE!

Eliminated: Johnny Borealis

Yale: Did you see that impact, JB? Did you...did you see that?

Bryan: That DDT was surgical. That was like a sports car crashing into a brick wall.

It isn't fair. Borealis had taken out Alex Pierce, had taken down a GTT Champion, and now, all there was was a savage vulture, ready to pick the bones of the carcass he'd made. The boos from the crowd rocked the foundation of the arena as the Pit Viper slowly rose to his feet, his eyes glued to Alex Pierce.

Bryan: We’d had a fantastic battle of reversals and technique between Johnny Borealis and Alexandra Pierce...and Terrence Kingsley just stopped this entire show.

Yale: I mean...I can’t stand that obnoxious prick. But did you hear the sickening thud when his skull hit the mat?

Bryan: Well and as we said...Johnny B was all smirks and running at a high speed. And all that stopped in a heartbeat with one absolutely brutal move from one absolutely brutal man.

Yale: And now Alex Pierce has to deal with him by herself!

There isn't joy. Isn't a sadistic smile. It's as if there is no emotion in him as he looks down at the barely writhing Spider. Timothy Vale rolls Borealis to the apron, making sure not to dump him out completely.

Kingsley hovers over her, one hand grabbing her by her hair and lifting her to her knees, the other clubbing the back of her head and dropping her back to the canvas. The sole of his snake skin boots pin her splayed out hair, and then he drives his knee into her brainpan. Alex’s hands reflexively raise to protect her already damaged face, but Kingsley’s legs prevent her from reaching. He twists his hips to grind further in, then slowly stands up and back off as she cradles away.

Bryan: Good lord! Just pin her and get it over with!

But why would he do that? Terrence Kingsley is living the dream, as he has the one and only Alex Pierce all to himself. Pierce gets a hand up to brace herself, trying to work her way to her feet, and Kingsley nonchalantly kicks it out from under her. She collapses back down and he limply kicks her with the same boot, redirecting her more than doing any damage.

Bryan: This is sick. This is absolutely wrong.

Yale: I’ll agree with you there, JB. What he needs to be doing is finishing this. Then he can kick and toy with her and do whatever.

The Pit Viper cocks his head to the side and cooly enjoys the sight before him. Alex Pierce just will not stay down, as she’s already pushing herself back up off the mat in a vain attempt to match his intensity. Now that the third party has been removed from this match, it has become about more than just beating Alex Pierce. Now it is about her limit...how much of a beating will it take to break her?

Kingsley punches her in the side of the head and sends her back down in a heap. The booing of the crowd in the Moondome reaches an all-time disgust. Younger members of the crowd look disturbed, near the brink of tears, as they are forced to watch a systematic mauling take place in front of them.

Bryan: At what point is Timothy Vale going to stop this damn match?

Yale: Hey. She’s the one that just won’t stay down, JB. If she’s willing to end her career for something like first pick in a draft, that’s her mistake.

Bryan: But what’s he trying to prove here? What does he gain by doing this instead of just beating her? Just give her the same DDT you gave Borealis and get this over with!

Yet again the woman known as Desade tries to get up, this time by pulling herself to standing with aid of the ring ropes. Kingsley takes a step toward her, but manages to slip backward just in time to narrowly miss catching a sweeping kick to the stomach. Desade’s kick was wild and she telegraphed it so bad that Thomas Edison saw it from his grave 250,000 miles away. But that’s because she wanted him to see it, and he’s caught off guard by the sudden change in direction as she sticks the landing, then cracks him in the side with her opposite knee!

"RAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!"

Yale: Desperation move, JB.

Bryan: That was planned. That was calculated. She sold him on that miss and gambled that he would play with her instead of finishing her.

Kingsley’s wincing and holding his side, but she’s not dumb enough to think that did any serious damage. Before he can react she is already in motion, her eyes glassed over like she’s fighting with half her consciousness. The moment her knee landed Alex Pierce was already throwing a ridgehand that catches Kingsley right in the temple, sending him down to the mat in a heap. He catches himself, however, and shoots in to her.

Bryan: Alex Pierce is reaching deep. She’s pulling out every stop she can to throw anything at Terrence Kingsley-

Yale: And he’s batting them away like they’re nothing.

Kingsley’s bull rush pins Alex Pierce against the turnbuckle, and she comes down on his back with a dual elbows right in the spine. Kingsley’s back arches slightly, but he throws a left to her ribs, then a right to the opposite side. Pierce reaches up to come down on his back again when he shoots up to standing, catching her jaw with the top of his head!

Bryan: She had to have lost a tooth, or put a hole in her lip!

Yale: Check to make sure she didn’t bite her tongue off with that one, Vale!

Kingsley doesn’t want to give him that chance. He is running full till now as he grabs two handfuls of her red locks and uses them to lift her off the ground. When he throws her across the ring, there are enough hairs left in his clenched fists to make the crowd collectively cringe.

Bryan: End this! Will someone end this!

Blood streaming from a hole in her lip, Alex Pierce’s chest rises and falls shallowly as she’s sprawled spread eagle from the landing. Kingsley slithers up to her body and, with a deceptive calm, lowers himself down next to her and applies a scissor lock to her head, starting to squeeze the blood away from her brain. Timothy Vale dives down to check the hold, making sure Kingsley has at least one arm besides her neck in between his legs.

Yale: This. Right here. This is why you never let a snake go when you’ve got the chance. Pierce messed up as bad as Johnny-boy, and she’s going to wind up in worse shape than him. She should’ve ignored the HDTV prick and finished Kingsley earlier.

Alex Pierce shows some desperate signs of life, her foot flailing to find a hold. No! She’s using her foot to search for the rope, hoping for even that undignified break from this hold. Anything is better than going out to the slow, warm black of the chokeout. Timothy Vale’s eyes leave her throat for one second to see if she touches the ropes, and Terrence Kingsley takes advantage by shifting his leg over her mouth and nose.

Bryan: COME ON!

The leg flailing becomes erratic as Pierce can’t breathe and can’t call for Vale to check, and Kingsley shifts his weight again to angle her just right so that he can’t tell when he looks back on the hold. The burning in her lungs, the desperate need for any bit of air, is enough to finally drag her down, sap the last bit of energy from her. Alex Pierce’s foot was an inch away from the ropes, but now it can only manage two inches...now six.

Yale: This is it! New Champion!

Bryan: Umm...no. But unless we get a miracle, Alexandra Pierce is about to be smothered by Terrence Kingsley!

Alex Pierce might be the most talented person in this match. But Terrence Kingsley is the most vicious. However...neither of them are the most button-pushing or obnoxious...

"She can’t breathe, Vale. And that gutless, childish pussy thinks he can pull a fast one on you."

It doesn’t matter if Timothy Vale breaks the hold or not. Terrence Kingsley lets up the pressure just a bit as he slowly turns his head. Two ice cold eyes stare a hole right through Johnny Borealis, who has found himself a microphone on the outside.

Yale: Oh what is this? Is he the match police or something? You let Timothy Vale do his job, and you try to get better at doing yours!

Johnny B, still a mess, has one hand nursing the back of his head, is leaning on the guard rail, but has found his greatest asset to seek revenge on Terrence Kingsley. Mass media.

Borealis: Oh aren’t you just some special brand of badass, you inbred, Southern fried piece of crap. You chickenshit, gator-skinning waste of sperm.

Kingsley’s eyes narrow, but he is not about to let go of his prize.

Borealis: I mean I can respect it, I really can. At the end of the day...who doesn’t fear a man that needs a chain wrapped around his wrist to fend off a woman half his size?

Alex Pierce can breathe again, but Terrence Kingsley’s pressure on her neck hasn’t let up. She’s still fading in and out, not hearing the words that her former opponent is throwing at the man that’s choking her.

Borealis: Who isn’t afraid of a grown man that assaults a woman from behind. Hey...I’m with you. If that spider bitch in there, or any of the women backstage, wants to be equal or better than us guys, they do it by showing it in that ring. And they have.

The Swaggerer takes a step toward the ring, and Vale shakes his head. He’s been eliminated from this match, and he’s got no business poking his nose back in there.

Borealis: I’ll be man enough to admit it...strong women scare the hell out of me. A strong woman can make a man feel like a little kid, and we’ve got our share of women here that are stronger inside than any man I’ve met.

Yale: This isn’t A&E Biography time, Johnny-boy. Let them finish the match.

Borealis: But really...I’m surprised at how much more they scare the living shit out of you, Bayou Billy.

That finally got Terrence Kingsley’s full attention. The incredulous look that emerges from those frozen snake’s eyes is matched by the confusion in the audience.

Bryan: I don’t know the motivation, but Johnny Borealis is trying to get the attention of Terrence Kingsley. And I think it might be starting to work!

Yale: NO! Finish her you dolt!

Borealis: I mean at least I’ve got the stomach to stand up to her two shows in a row and give her everything I’ve got face to face. Even Chris Bagwell had the nards to meet up with Vivica Valentine last week without stooping to the bullshit you hide behind up there. So what is it with you, you yella-bellied piece of shit? … Did your daddy-brother choke out your momma-sister and now you’ve got the need to emulate?

This time Terrence Kingsley advances, still semi-crouched, toward the edge the ring. He checks back once and Alex Pierce isn’t moving a muscle.

Bryan: Johnny Borealis has interrupted matches before, but this might be his last!

Yale: I can’t believe what I’m hearing! He’s about to get gutted like a fish!

Borealis: Did sad little Terry always want to suffocate his mommy too? Did she by chance have red hair-

The Pit Viper has been coiled, and without warning he springs. Kingsley is under the bottom rope before Borealis can finish his sentence, but there’s enough room between the two that Johnny has time to drop the mic and back off. Kingsley advances and Borealis retreats around the ring. He trips on the ring steps and Kingsley catches up, all the while keeping Alex Pierce’s motionless body in the corner of his eye.

Yale: WHAT is he DOING!? Don’t worry about him! You can skin him alive after you finish Desade!

Bryan: Johnny B is doing something awfully heroic, though it might be the single most boneheaded maneuver I’ve ever witnessed. Is he really just trying to buy time for Pierce?

Yale: Well he’s probably none too keen on the way Kingsley took him out of this match. He was going toe-to-toe with the GTT7 winner when that got snatched away from him.

Borealis has backed himself into the corner of the guard rails, opposite the entry way. Kingsley cuts off the angle to escape, then zeroes in as Borealis pleads to be left be.

Bryan: This might be the end of the HDTV Champ!

Kingsley’s fist is quick, catching Johnny in the jaw. The Swaggerer is down and is ripped right back up, then given another punch for good measure. Borealis stumbles away and falls again, and Kingsley is right on top of him.

Yale: That DDT must’ve really scrambled his circuits. This is absolute suicide!

Kingsley delivers a punch to the ribs, then a knee to the gut that doubles Borealis over. The Pit Viper mercilessly and unceremoniously throws Borealis into the guard rail, then lifts the thin mat on the outside to expose the Moon Concrete underneath.

Bryan: You can’t say Johnny didn’t ask for this.

With the cold cement exposed, Kingsley grabs a hold of Borealis one more time. He says something that lip readers think is "goodbye" before punching a closed fist into Johnny’s gut. With Borealis’ head lined up perfectly, Kingsley DDT’s him skull-first onto the floor.

Well...that was the plan.

The split second that Kingsley goes for the front facelock, Johnny Borealis bear hugs his waist, finds Kingsley’s wrists, and pulls them behind The Pit Viper’s back as hard as he can. With Kingsley’s instincts pulling back, Borealis has one shot at this as he arches backward for all he’s worth!

Yale: NNNNNNNNNOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!

Bryan: GOOD GOD! GOOD GOD!

Yale: TH-...TH-...NOOOOO!!!

Bryan: Northern! Lights! OUT! Johnny Borealis just cracked Terrence Kingsley’s skull! On the exposed pavement!

The fans are doing the Moon Bounce. Timothy Vale is losing his fucking mind. Alex Pierce has managed to sit up and has been watching for the past few seconds. Terrence Kingsley is on the ground, a small trickle of blood trailing from behind his head, as Johnny Borealis slowly pulls himself up to standing. Hunched over and hold his ribs, wincing from excruciating pain, he looks down at Kingsley, and then slowly up at Pierce.

Bryan: I can’t believe he suckered him in! Bittersweet though it may be, Johnny Borealis has payed Terrence Kingsley back for eliminating him...in spades!

Yale: Kingsley had this match won! And a temper tantrum from a spoiled brat may well have ruined it!

Bryan: Give me a break. He should have finished Alex Pierce a long time ago instead of playing around with his food. This is his just reward!

Amidst the cacophony of the roaring crowd, Alex Pierce simply stares coldly at Borealis. After a moment of staring back, breathing shallow, heavy breaths, he finally, sincerely, without a sneer or snide smirk...smiles.

Yale: I hope he’s not expecting any payment. Or even respect.

Bryan: No Dave, I think he got what he wanted. And now it’s her turn.

Johnny Borealis raises an eyebrow at Pierce as if to say "You gonna take him out already?" and he turns to limp out. She watches him with the utmost caution as he slowly makes his way to the entrance of the ring. He puts one foot in front of the other, making his way up the ramp and not looking back. It isn’t until he is near the stage that Alex Pierce no longer considers him a threat, just as Terrence Kingsley is starting to move again.

Bryan: UnbelIEVABLE! He just reset this match.

Yale: ALRIGHT! Enough of that crap! Will one of these two please stop horsing around and finish the other?

Terrence Kingsley is leaning against the guardrail and Alex Pierce is leaning near the ropes. She has her eyes dead set on him, just waiting for the opportunity to strike...but she’s not going to go to him. No. He will come to her.

Timothy Vale hasn’t started a ten count yet because of that whole Johnny B bunch of B.S., but now that Kingsley is back up and going he tells him to get in the ring. Terrence Kingsley, with his eyes on Pierce, ignoring the trickle of blood from the back of his head, slides under the bottom ropes. She charges. She dives. She connects.

Bryan: What impact!

Yale: That spear just about broke him in half!

It actually takes Alex Pierce a moment to pry herself out of Terrence Kingsley’s gut. He’s pressed up against the turnbuckle, having been bent almost in half, by the force of her shoulder in his stomach. She’s holding her collar bone as she stands back up, and Terrence Kingsley is coughing while holding on to the top rope. Pierce wastes no time and grabs him by the hair, a snarl of hatred plastered on her face.

Bryan: No distractions now. Nothing in her way.

Her wrist should still be hurting from that very first uppercut, and it’s starting to swell a bit, but she doesn’t care. Maybe it’s because she almost blacked out a few minutes ago and her nervous system is still recovering, but maybe Alex Pierce just doesn’t give a rat’s ass. Because hitting Terrence Kingsley right between the eyes, hearing the crunch of his nose breaking, gives her so much more pleasure than her wrist gives her pain.

Bryan: Desade’s hand is going to be useless! But she just busted open The Pit Viper’s nose!

Yale: I guess she wanted to top the wound Borealis put on the back of his head.

The blood is gushing from his nose, but Kingsley doesn’t seem to notice. Pierce comes in to grab him and he grabs ahold of her arms with both hands. His nails dig in to her biceps as he slams his already profusely bleeding face into hers. The sickening crunch of his nose sends shudders down the spines of everyone that can hear it. But Alex Pierce will not be denied.

Bryan: Spinning heel kick! Right to the face!

Yale: He’s not going to have much of a face by the end of this.

But he’s still standing, albeit with the assistance of the ropes. Pierce grabs Kingsley by the wrist and whips him to the far side. On his way back he snaps to, looks for the clothesline, but Pierce reverses with a hip toss, then she immediately springs off the ropes. Kingsley pops back up and turns right as Desade launches a diving lariat that catches him right across the neck and drops both wrestlers to the ground.

"RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!"

Bryan: She needs to finish this! Now!

Yale: I CAN’T! HEAR A WORD!!! YOU’RE SAYING!!!

Kingsley’s face is a bloody mess, and the last bit of his strength is spent trying to roll out of the ring. Alex Pierce has enough left in the tank to raise her head and see Kingsley trying to slither away, and she goes to grab ahold. She’s got him where she wants him. She’s not about to let him slip out of her grasp.

Kingsley’s head and arms are outside the ring, but Pierce manages to grab his foot before he can slide out.

Bryan: He’s not getting away that easily!

Alex Pierce pulls him back in to the ring. Just like he wanted her to. She catches a glimpse at the last second, but it’s too late. The long fluorescent light in Kingsley’s hand is already swinging at her, and it’s all Pierce can do to get her hands up to protect her face as the light tube shatters.

Bryan: NO!

"BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!"

Pierce stumbles backward, her hand up to her eye and blood streaming down her face. Kingsley seems to actually have stunned himself, his hands a blood mess with glass fragments littering the ring! Timothy Vale gets between the two, trying his best to help Alex Pierce leave the ring as he calls for the bell.

DING DING DING!

Andrews: Here is your winner...via dissssssssssqualification......ALEX PIEEEEEEERCE -- DEEEEEEEEESAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAADE(ah)!!!!

Terrence Kingsley wants in his heart of hearts to chase after her and beat her until he cannot beat her anymore. His broken nose keeps him from breathing enough air, he can’t see through the mask of blood caking around his eyes, and his hands are embedded with glass. Alex Pierce, her hand being haphazardly raised by Timothy Vale, does not seem to fair much better. One hand is to her eye, hoping there isn’t a piece of glass in it, as she backs up the entrance ramp.

Bryan: All three of them went through a war! But in the end, Alex Pierce is limping out with the first pick of the Rampage Draft!

Yale: And if Terrence Kingsley and Johnny Borealis can piece themselves together, we might have a repeat of this chaos next WorldWide when they do the drafting!

Bryan: Not to mention we’ll be adding a FOURTH person to this mix! Ladies and gentlemen, this night is only going to get wilder. But for now we’ve got to go to a break, clean up the glass, and get ready to launch this Moondome show into orbit!

Terrence Kingsley is on a knee in the ring, bleeding all over the fucking place. But he stares, through the blood he stares, knowing that he will have the chance to put his hands around Alex Pierce’s neck once again. Right now he has to fight through an entire bracket in a tournament just to have the hope of meeting her in the finals...and she will be prepared to meet him yet again.

Black.

Back to Top






Photobucket

Once again, it's another exciting installment of Puddin' Pointers, featuring Pudd'Nhead the Snack Pack Kid! After the logo sequence, we cut to the same setting: this time only with Pudd'Nhead being put into a vicious headlock by a man dressed as an old timey bank robber. Choking out the words, Pudd'Nhead manages to get his introduction out. Barely.

SPK: Hey GCW fans! It's me, Pudd'Nhead, the SNACKPACKKID with another Puddin' Pointer for ya!

Pausing to take a breath, the old timey bank robber wrenches in the side headlock, almost squeezing the blood through the top of Pudd'N's head like a volcano.

SPK: If you want to defeat an enemy, just offer him a Snack Pack!

Suddenly, an anvil falls from the sky to smash the bank robber on his skull, knocking him out instantly and allowing Pudd'Nhead to escape from the painful hold. Brushing the dust off of his outfit, SPK grins and pulls a pudding cup from the back of his shorts.

SPK: Just kidding, just wish really hard for an anvil to kill him! And also his family.

The camera zooms in on the pudding cup (the wrapper was opened,) and the enhanced graphical images of a female old timey bank robber and two little bank robber kids are drowning in the pudding. A fist comes down BRUTALLY to smash the pudding cup and the family.

Back to Top


Backstage.

She should be happy. Alexandra Pierce should be happy. She won the seeding match (though Lord only knows what that means), got a piece of Terrence Kingsley, and a measure of revenge. Except that she won because Kingsley hit her in the face with a fluorescent light bulb. Except that she had the Pit Viper until he escaped. Except that that her revenge was just a taste, like someone put a plate of the finest food in the world in front of her and only let her smell it.

Except that she was the one in the trainer's room getting her eye checked out by a pudgy man with an attitude problem. Not even the presence of her daughter (standing nearby with her bodyguard – don't call him a "babysitter" – Roderick Ashe) can brighten her mood.

God bless her for trying, though.

Quinn: Yeah, but you got to... y'know, kick the crap out of him. Like there was a serious amount of face-kicking going on in there, am I right?

Ashe: A serious fuckin' amount, yeh.

Alex turns slightly, fixing the pair with her gaze.

Pierce: Quinn, hon, you don't understand. It isn't just about beating him up – I could do that in the parking lot. I could do that on a street corner. It's about beating him. Getting rid of him. So he doesn't bother Amy. So you don't need a bodyguard anymore.

Ashe: It's cool. They're readin' Don Quixote an' shit. I love that book a lot. Wanted t'be Sancho Panza a lot when I was a little guy.

The Spider sighs, and the man with the tiny light standing nearby sighs, too.

Trainer: Ms. Pierce, please...

To make things worse, the door opens, letting any change the trainer had of getting Ms. Pierce to stay absolutely still fly right out with the breeze. Desade immediately thinks the worst, pushing the trainer aside to try and prepare herself for the worst. Yet it wasn't the Pit Viper that closed the door politely behind them as they entered the room. It was Vivica J. Valentine.

Valentine: He sure has a knack for breaking faces with things, doesn't he?

Pierce: You think this is funny?

The irritation comes off her in waves.

Pierce: Yeah, he does. Hee-hee, ho-ho, he hit me on the other side that he hit Amy on! Two one-eyed redheads! Make your joke.

The teen steps to her mother's side, one small hand on Alex's shoulder.

Quinn: Mom... don't jump to conclusions.

Alex seethes, taking a long breath. Her head drops – at least until the man with the light prods her chin up.

Valentine: You're absolutely right, Alex. I put my face, and life might I add, in danger at the last WorldWide running into the same room as that psycho because I think this is all fucking hysterical. God forbid I care about your well being.

Still seething Alex's eyes never leave the figure of the Fearless Phenom as she approaches the table.

Valentine: That's a pretty nasty shot you took there.

Pierce: It is. I've taken worse. Wish Vale hadn't DQed him.

She sighs, dips her head.

Pierce: You came to Amy's aid, not mine. Don't insult me and pretend your friendship wasn't what mattered.

Valentine: What mattered is that I was there, isn't it? I was there when you swore on your life that I wouldn't be? I certainly wasn't there because it was the "easy thing" to do. Maybe if you hadn't just assumed I was here to ruin your life, I would've came to your aid that day too. The fact that you and I aren't friends is your own fault. I feel I've given you the opportunity.

The Bulletproof Blonde shared a glance with Quinn, who smile and waved hello as Vivica looked back over at Desade again.

Valentine: Look, I realize more than most people what blood I have on my hands and I'm not always the easiest person in the world to get along with. I make dumb mistakes and tend to think with my heart instead of my head... but am I really so much different than you?

Pierce: No. No, you're not, and that's the problem, Vivica. I know what beats in your chest. I know what you are, who you've been, what you've done. And it scares me a little to know how close to her you are. It scares me a little to know that you could have helped him. You could have stood there. You could have told me that it serves me right. And maybe you say you wouldn't do something like that, but... there was a time that you would have.

She shoves the poor trainer aside with an irritated, almost lazy push.

Pierce: Amy was never like us. Even in her deepest, darkest, coldest hour, Amy was never the blackheart. Never the reprobate. Not really. She let herself get caught up, but we know what it's like to be captaining the boat, and... it scares me to think that my little girl, that the woman that I love and would do anything for is... is vulnerable. I don't want to hate you, Viv. In all honesty, I don't. But you have to understand how much she means to me. You have to understand how much I worry.

Valentine: I understand more than you'll ever know, Alex. If you want to see how personal it is to me... Andy Murray has an open-locker room tonight. Once they fix you up, why don't you walk in there and ask him if I know what it's like to deal with someone who is over-protective, Alex. He'll then proceed to tell you about how I stabbed him in the back and laughed as he bled at my footsteps because I couldn't see the forest for the trees. The only thing that could ever come between you and Amy... is YOU.

The feeling in the room gets really dense.

Valentine: I've watched it happen. I've been the one involved. If I didn't care about you in some fashion, I wouldn't even bother trying to make friends with you. I would just be friends with Amy, and say the fuck with what you think of me... but I can't. Because I genuinely CARE. I don't have ginger-twin powers or anything fucking cool like that, I'm just a girl who has lost it all trying to keep two very special people from doing the same. That's why I can't "finally" drop the Andy Murray thing. I'm watching it happen right before my eyes.

Alex doesn't respond as the trainer takes the opportunity to further explore her injuries.

Valentine: I can say all kinds of things about how I'm just going to put it all behind me and move on with my life... but it's so hard to do because I care so much. I understand you. You don't want to do it, but you're going to have to trust me.

Pierce: Kingsley says that all the time. "Trust me."

Another sigh, another shove of damp hair from cold gray eyes.

Pierce: The only people who ask for trust are people who lie. A... a woman I used to know told me that.

Valentine: You have some really fucked-up friends.

Pierce: I do. And it's true.

She stares up, finally allowing the trainer to look at her eye.

Pierce: I've been mean to you. I've been awful. I've been... I'm sure you can put whatever word you want here. We're on pay-per-view, it's not PG, right? I've been kind of a cunt.

Valentine: No arguments here.

Pierce: I don't want to apologize for it, because... "I'm sorry" rings so hollow. But I overstepped. I... it won't happen again. I'm not saying I'll be perfect – I seem to find new ways to fuck things up with Amy every couple weeks – but... yeah. I guess I am sorry.

Valentine: I get it, your apology is accepted.

A smirk crosses the lips of the Bulletproof Blonde.

Valentine: Just wish it didn't take Kingsley maiming the lot of you for you to come to your senses. Congrats on your win none-the-less, but I better be going. I have something I need to do tonight. She going to be okay doc?

Trainer: If she'll sit still.

Quinn: She will. I'll make her.

The fierce teen (who's as tall as her mother now), sets her jaw and folds her arms. The sight of it draws a short laugh from the Bulletproof Blonde.

Valentine: I'd listen to her.

Quinn: She never does.

Pierce: Magic ginger powers.

Vivica can't keep the chuckle to herself as she looks up at the doctor.

Valentine: Fucking gingers, how do they work?

The doctor simply looks back at the former US Champion blankly before she taps Alex on the shoulder and walks out of the room, leaving Desade to deal with possibly a bigger pain in the ass... her own daughter.

Back to Top


Never in a million years did Andy Murray ever think he'd see the day where it'd all end. People never do. All the times, good and bad, he's had in Global Championship Wrestling flash through his mind like a projector. The craziness of being on the moon doesn't even cross his mind while he sat inside of his locker room alone, taking it all in. This would be his last night in GCW, and the thought of what he'd do tomorrow... or even the day after still wouldn't process. It was going to be a whole new life with his family, but he never wanted to lose his old one.

As the door opened into his locker room, he didn't even as much raise his head. Footsteps echo closer to him, yet his eyes stay fixated onto the ground. A shadow cast of a hand reaches out and touches him on the shoulder, startling him from the mind's eye and forcing his gaze upwards to look into the brilliant eyes of a familiar and beautiful face.

"I don't know what to say."

The words didn't come easy for Vivica J. Valentine, and the expression of her face showed that to be true.

Valentine: It's easy to run around the back and say "Forget Andy Murray, I'm starting over." When the words cross your lips you even believe it, but when I heard the news... I had to come. It's not as easy to do as it is to say, it turns out.

Forcing a deep sigh through his nose, the now-former GCW World Heavyweight Champion bows his head and and rises to his full 6'7".

Murray: I'm not interesting in getting into it with you tonight, V. I hope you didn't see my invitation to come backstage and say goodbye is an opportunity to dig your claws in again.

Valentine: You'd think with as long as you've been in GCW and as many people as you've seen walk through this hall that you would get the point, just as I have, that sometimes people change. What benefit do I have digging my claws into a retired former World Heavyweight Champion on his last night? What strategic advantage do I get out of that? At the end of the night, these people are never going to see you again no matter what I do.

Murray: What's the benefit? You tell me; I've been trying to work it since the day you decided to be "good" again.

He pauses.

Murray: You can probably tell I'm not in the mood for small-talk or mudslinging tonight. Normally I'd have shown you the door by now, but seeing as this is my last night I suppose I should give you an audience. Go on. Tell me you have a reason for walking into my locker-room.

Valentine: It's your last night here, and I've tried giving you one of these before and you decided to throw it away. But...

Vivica pulls a picture out from behind her back, it's a picture of Murray Clause and Vivica J. Valentine dressed as his elf sidekick, completely miserable. She sets it down next to him.

Valentine: Funny enough, it was the only picture of us I had left or else I would've went with something a little more happy. I got kinda angry and threw everything else away. I was being kind of a bitch, you know.

Murray: Huh.

He picks the photograph up and straightens its crumpled edges. Memories of better days flood him, and although they're not enough to bring a smile to his miserable features, the corner of his mouth twinges.

Murray: I'd forgotten all about this. Funnily enough, the only thing I remember about Christmas Chaos that year is you damn near kicking my head off...

Andy's expression doesn't change and neither does his tone. He shifts his glance back towards Vivica.

Murray: "Kind of a bitch". Bit of an understatement, no?

Valentine: I suppose it is... but I can't imagine what you're going through. I had a family growing up, but I never really had a family that cared about my well-being. If something would've happened to me, I can't imagine my father packing up shop and tending to my bed side. It says a lot about the kind of man you are Andy, and how lucky he is to have you as a father.

Vivica paused for a moment collecting her thoughts.

Valentine: He's a cool little dude, and I know how strong he is. Even if he's only half as strong as his father, he'll be walking again in a few years... no matter what the doctors tell him he'll be doing. I'm sure he doesn't think I'm as awesome as he did the first time I met him, but I'd like to see him again. After tonight, I'd hope I'd get to see you again too. Not as a girlfriend... I know that boat has sailed and went but as a friend.

Murray: Any loving father would do the same for his only son. Seeing your child suffer makes you see things from a different angle. The wrestling business has been nothing but good to me. It's been in my blood for a long, long time, but it's nothing compared to my son's wellbeing. I'm not trying to create a song and dance and I don't want any fanfare: I just want to get tonight over with so I can get back home and make sure everything's okay.

Andy pauses to slide the old photo into his pocket.

Murray: I don't deal with betrayal well V, and I still can't figure out if you're earnest when you say these things, but if you are... thanks.

Valentine: You're welcome, but you can't get up and leave yet. You still have a match tonight. I just want you to know that I'll be watching and if anything goes down, I have your back. Whether you want me to or not, I'll be there.

Murray: I don't want you to watch my back, V. I don't want anyone to watch my back tonight. Truth be told, my mind's elsewhere, this probably won't be a vintage performance... but I'm either going out victorious or going out on my shield. I wouldn't want it any other way. Winning might mean everything to Triumph or Jay tonight, but it doesn't mean a damn thing to me anymore.

He stops himself from getting too worked-up.

Murray: I know you feel like you've got something to prove to me, but please, just leave it. Tonight could be my last night as a professional wrestler. I might never see you again. Let's draw a line under all this bullshit and be done with it.

Valentine: Aye.

She spoke in a respectful manner, hoping this would be a moment to smile but instead understood. After all, not needing help was the exact reason they were in this situation to begin with.

Valentine: Then good luck out there, champ.

Murray: I can never forgive you, V. Never. I can't call you a friend and I can't shake your hand, but...

He pauses, looking for words.

Murray: I can't hate you anymore either. I don't have it in me. Thank you for your best wishes.

Valentine: Well, it's a start... if anything.

With a smirk, the Bulletproof Blonde turned her back and left Andy Murray back to his own devices. With only a photograph left with him as a memory of a life he was leaving behind.

Back to Top

Bryan: Well here we are, fanboys and girls! The 2011 Rampage Royal is up next, and four tournament spots are up for grabs! To make things even more interesting, I'm getting word from the back that we are lowering the gravity by twenty percent throughout the Moon Dome, just because we can!

Yale: Wait, so the competitors are going to be bouncing around the arena like a bunch of little Neil Armstrongs?

Bryan: Well, kind of. Twenty percent isn't quite enough to turn the arena into the universe's largest bouncy castle, but it WILL give everyone a slight spring in their step!

Yale: Man, I love this company.

In an effort to streamline the entrances for this match which was written so last minute it isn't even funny, the epic swelling opening of the theme from "2001: A Space Odyssey," also known as "Also sprach Zarathustra," (or for the film-illiterate, Ric Flair's entrance theme) begins to play as the MoonTron lights up with the iconic crescent sunrise peeking around the edge of the Earth. As drums begin to pound and a solo horn blasts the unmistakable chords into space – we rigged speakers up OUTSIDE the Dome, too! - a solemn stream of GCW talent begins to emerge on the stage. First comes Bryan Mayhem touting his Hardcore title on one shoulder, followed by Christopher Carter Cash who keeps a good twenty feet between himself and the Lunatic.

Bryan: This match is the debut for a whole lot of new GCW talent, Dave. Christopher Carter Cash is just one of the rookies who came to the moon tonight with a heart full of promise and a head full of glory, but I have to admit, the structure of this Rampage Royal heavily favors our Hardcore Champion!

Yale: Falls count anywhere, no disqualifications, low-gravity atmosphere... Mayhem is going to be right at home in this thing! And the best part is, he already HAS a guaranteed spot in the tournament!

Bryan: Then what is he doing here tonight?!

Yale: If you were a hardcore maniac and YOU had the opportunity to beat people up on the moon, would you turn it down?

Bryan: Fair point.

More competitors begin marching single file down the ramp. Ryan Gallway, "Well-Known" Zip Gordon and Azuma make their respective entrances to a modest reaction from the GCW fans in attendance. We use the term "GCW fans" very loosely; every now and again the camera catches someone in the crowd that isn't exactly... human. Zip Gordon takes note of this as a large green blob-like creature near the entrance ramp gargles something unintelligible and tosses a can of Slurm at the newest-but-oldest GCW Superstar, who catches the can happily and displays it for all to see.

Bryan: Oh how I love product placement!

Yale: And now a word from our sponsors!



Bryan: Oh boy, this is going to be fun!

Ryuji Kamigawa makes his entrance next, followed by Khaos... at least we're pretty sure it's Khaos. He is a very large, very mean-looking Darth Vader, complete with asthma-inducing breath mask and flowing black cape.

Bryan: Is that Khaos?!

Yale: Hahahahaha... this is going to be awesome!

Coming up on the tail end of the competitor conga line is Shaman, his face stoic (read: stoned with ORB power~!) and ready for battle. He points at Bryan Mayhem who waits in the ring. Mayhem grunts back and beckons his nemesis to bring it as "Also sprach Zarathustra" hits its epic climax. The rest of the competitors circle the ring warily, eying one another cautiously, giving Mayhem a noticeable bubble of personal space on the canvas.

Bryan: We've got referees all around ringside, and I believe that's everybody in the Royal! Eight men, four tournament spots to fill, pinfalls and submissions anywhere in the Moon Dome... and we are GO for LAUNCH!

DING-DING-DING!!!

Yale: Rocket puns, JB? Really?

Bryan: Oh c'mon Dave, it'll be a BLAST!

Yale: (groan)

The action begins immediately as Ryan Gallway and Christopher Carter Cash share a look and immediately dart at Bryan Mayhem, who is still watching Shaman come down the ramp. The two new superstars take the Hardcore Champion completely by surprise, bowling him over the top rope with a double clothesline to the back of the head. Mayhem flies a ridiculous fifteen feet away from the ring, spearing Shaman into the ramp to a massive pop.

Bryan: Holy crap, Mayhem just flew like a big painted missile from hell!

Yale: Ha! The gravity is officially turned down a notch, let the insanity begin!

Azuma and Ryuji single each other out, locking up and tussling into a turnbuckle. Ryan Gallway picks up some momentum as he ducks under a clothesline attempt from Zip Gordon and hits the ropes. He bounces back and LAUNCHES himself across the ring with a spectacular flying double-knee strike (if you've seen "The Protector," bonus points for being awesome!) that catches Darth Khaos square in his chest-buttons, causing both the big man and the smaller Gallway to tumble over the top and out to ringside.

Bryan: An impressive opening by Ryan Gallway, who has taken a page out of Tony Jaa's playbook by planting Khaos with those flying knees!

Yale: THEY TOOK HIS ELEPHANT!

Azuma takes a step back and delivers a knife-edge chop to the burly Ryuji Kamigawa in the corner, and the crowd goes "Oooo!" Ryuji strikes back with a chop of his own. Azuma returns with another, this time an open-hand SLAP that leaves a bright red hand print above the Man in White's singlet. Ryuji roars back with a stiff short arm lariat as he powers out of the corner, knocking Azuma onto his back.

Meanwhile, Bryan Mayhem and Shaman have begun brawling on the steel ramp. Seemingly unfazed by the Hell Missile(tm) spear from Mayhem, Shaman plants the painted Lunatic with pure fist power. He swings from the heels, driving into the security barrier.

Bryan: Shaman is getting some serious revenge on Mayhem's cranium! Those fist bombs are big enough to put a crater through that thick skull!

Yale: Mayhem isn't taking it too kindly though, look! He's got Shaman's leg!

Holding Shaman by the ankle, Bryan Mayhem manages to get up on one knee and scoop the Kansan Forrest Dweller under his base. Mayhem snaps to his feet and tries to flip Shaman with a modified belly-to-belly suplex, but Shaman grabs the security rail. Instead, Mayhem takes out the first row of spectators (some of them Klingon) as Shaman shoots him over the rail, cracking his own head into the barricade in the process.

Yale: Oh dear, do you know how to say, "Sorry about that?" in Klingon?

Bryan: QoS chuH seng.

Yale: ...you are such a nerd.

Shaman regains his bearings and follows Mayhem into the crowd while "Well-Known" Zip Gordon and Christopher Carter Cash lock up in the ring. Gordon switches around to a rear waist lock; Cash counters with a hip toss. Cash is about to drop a standing elbow on the fallen Zip Gordon, but a rampaging Ryuji comes out of nowhere, nearly decapitating the Redneck Rocker with a running clothesline. Ignoring Zip Gordon, Ryuji lifts Cash to his feet and sends him careening into Azuma's corner with an irish whip. Cash runs straight into a big boot from Azuma and crashes to the mat.

Bryan: Triple C is getting manhandled in there! But wait, what is Ryan Gallway doing? He's got Darth Va- I mean Khaos, laid across the ringside barricade! He's climbing the apron!

Yale: He's going all the way up top, JB! Darth Khaos is Vader-wheezing on the rail, he has no idea!

Scaling the turnbuckle, Ryan Gallway sizes up the distance between himself and Khaos far below. In a split second he is airborne, and in the low gravity atmosphere of the Moon Dome he springs twice as high.

Bryan: SPACEMAN PLANCHA to the outside!

Yale: NO! DARTH KHAOS MOVED! Gallway just crushed himself across the barricade!

"HO-LY SHIT! HO-LY SHIT! HO-LY SHIT! HO-LY SHIT!"

Having been splattered like a mynock on the Millennium Falcon's windshield, Ryan Gallway flops into the front row and curls into the fetal position. Darth Khaos plants his fists on his hips and wheezes through his mask like a true Dark Lord.

Yale: How does he even breathe in that thing?

Bryan: I don't have a clue... LOOK OUT!

While Khaos' attention is turned outward to the crowd and the fallen Ryan Gallway, Azuma flies through the ropes in a suicide dive that catches the big man across the shoulders. Both men slam into the barricade with enough force to push it back a few inches. Darth Khaos collapses, but Azuma is quick to catch him with a judo throw that flows into a triangle choke. Hal Jenkins jogs over and drops down to make the check.

Jenkins: Do you submit?

Darth Khaos: I find your (wheeze)... lack of faith (hiss)... disturbing!

Azuma wrenches back on the hold, but Khaos uses the barricade to heft himself halfway up. In a last ditch effort for freedom, the faux Dark Lord slams the dangling Azuma into the ring apron. Azuma drops as Darth Khaos stumbles backward and catches himself on the barricade. Quickly, he reaches under his cape to produce...

~SNAP-HISS~

Bryan: Khaos brought a damn LIGHTSABER?!

Yale: Of COURSE! What self-respecting Sith leaves home without one?

It's more of a glowing red cattle prod than a "lightsaber," but it glows the right color and makes the right sound effects, so we'll go with it. Azuma's eyes widen as Darth Khaos swipes the weapon inches from his nose, forcing the Demon Azuma to retreat. Before Khaos can follow however, another sound catches his attention from behind...

~SNAP-HISS~

Perched on top of the security barricade, Ryan Gallway raises his own green-glowing cattle prod "lightsaber" as the Moon Dome erupts.

Bryan: DUEL OF THE FATES~!

Darth Khaos turns just in time to block a downward slice as Ryan Gallway flips off the barricade like a Jedi badass. Their makeshift lightsabers clash, sending electric sparks and that oh-so-awesome TZZT sound in every direction. An explosive flurry of red and green lights up the arena as both men begin to duel, lunging and parrying and spinning in ways that would make Ray Park proud.

"THIS IS AWE-SOME!" (clap, clap, clap-clap-clap) "THIS IS AWE-SOME!" (clap, clap, clap-clap-clap)

Yale: Gallway is insane, you can't beat a Dark Lord at his own game!

Bryan: Or can you?! He's showing off an impressive fencing offensive tonight, and it looks like Khaos is losing steam!

Out of breath and unable to fend off the savage onslaught of the Intergalactic Space Cowboy, Darth Khaos falls to one knee as he leans one arm over the apron. Gallway relentlessly presses on, raining down overhanded blows that spark and sizzle with every half-hearted deflection. Finally Khaos buckles as a final strike knocks his weapon aside. Desperate and alone, Khaos holds a defensive arm out and motions for Gallway to stop.

Darth Khaos: Join me, and together we will rule the galaxy as wrestler and manager!

Ryan Gallway: Don't tell me what to do, you're not my dad!

Darth Khaos: NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO-

Ryan Gallway swings three more times, knocking Khaos right between the eyes of his mask. Khaos jerks as the green-glowing cattle prod shatters his Vader mask, sending jolts of electricity through his body. He crumbles like a house of cards as the Prince of Precision drops down to hook the leg.

The crowd counts along as Hal Jenkins does his job.

Crowd: ONE!!!


Yale: You can't win like this!


Crowd: TWO!!!


Bryan: Why not? It worked for Mark Hamill in "Jedi!"


Crowd: THREE!!!

DING-DING-DING

Eliminated: Khaos
Ryan Gallway enters the Rampage Tournament


Bryan: And the Space Cowboy lives up to his name here at the Moon Dome! That's one of four Rampage spots claimed, and Khaos is out!

Yale: This is bullshit! Evil will always triumph over good, because good is supposed to be DUMB damnit!

Bryan: You're getting a kick out of this, aren't you?

Yale: Kind of.

Back in the ring, Ryuji Kamigawa and "Well-Known" Zip Gordon have started a game of ping pong punch-out with Christopher Carter Cash. Staggering around like a drunk, Cash catches a right hand from Ryuji, stumbles backward and turns into a follow-up left from Zip Gordon. This continues back and forth for a little while, until both Ryuji and Gordon get the same bright idea to rush in at Cash simultaneously. Triple C collapses to the canvas at the last possible second, causing Zip Gordon and Ryuji to catch one another in a double clothesline.

Bryan: COLLISION! Ryuji and Zip Gordon just floored one another, and Cash might be able to capitalize!

Yale: Ha! The Redneck Rocker is covering both of them!

Josh Briggs slides in for the cover.

ONE!!!!







TWO!!!!







TH-kickout!!!

Ryuji jerks violently, tossing Cash off of him and Gordon like a doll. Zip Gordon rolls over and crawls to his hands and knees to catch his breath.

Bryan: Kamigawa is showing a lot of brute strength out here, Dave. That is one massive specimen of Asian ingenuity!

Yale: He's got muscle, but does he have the brains to back it up?

Ryuji tilts his head, looking at Christopher Carter Cash as if hearing David Yale's douchy comment. Yelling some kind of Japanese insult, Ryuji Kamigawa whips Triple C into a corner and backs up, pumping his fist in the air. The crowd cheers as the three hundred pound behemoth charges across the ring and jumps, using the low gravity to his advantage as he soars in for a crushing avalanche splash...

Yale: NO DICE! Cash moved out of the way!

The odd momentum of the gravity-enhanced atmosphere causes Ryuji to bounce rather painfully off the turnbuckle. Cash grins as he turns to watch the big Asian catch nothing but air, but doesn't notice Zip Gordon creep up behind him until the surprise schoolboy roll-up turns his world upside-down.

Bryan: Zip Gordon with the schoolboy! Cash got caught gloating!


ONE!!!!!!






TWO!!!!!






THREE!!!!!

DING-DING-DING

Eliminated: Christopher Carter Cash
"Well-Known" Zip Gordon enters the Rampage Tournament


Bryan: Holy crap, Zip Gordon just flat-out stole a spot in the Rampage tournament! Cash is absolutely livid!

Yale: I'd be pissed too if a sixty year-old man in purple underwear rolled me into a ball! You think Zip Gordon was "Well Known" enough to know Mr. Miyagi? I think they shared the same stylist.

Bryan: In any case, the action has come down to the four competitors left in this thing! It looks like Azuma and Ryugi Kamigawa are starting to circle one another in the ring, but ...where did Shaman and Mayhem go?

Yale: Just follow the path of destruction, JB! Look!

Halfway around the Dome and surrounded by screaming men, women, Gray Men, Cybermen, Slenderman and a pack of zerglings, the Hardcore Champion wrangles Shaman with a loose cable and swings him into a Shockwave promotional banner. One tier above, a Cyberman raises his metallic arm in support of Mayhem's dominance but the Dalek sitting next to him incinerates the appendage with a laser-sighted eye stalk. Oblivious to this, Bryan Mayhem continues his cable assault with a sharp wire-assisted snapmare.

Bryan: Those two are going to kill each other some day.

Yale: I thought Mayhem was already a zombie?

Bryan: Right, because that's not a terrifying thought.

Once again using the cable to herd his opponent, Bryan Mayhem shoos Timothy Vale out of his way as he slingshots Shaman back into the floor-level seating.

Bryan: Reversed! Shaman just planted himself and used that cable like a whip! Mayhem head-first now into a row of spectators!

Well, "spectators" is a very general word. What Bryan Mayhem actually slams into is a seven-foot-tall Cylon Centurion. The bulky 70's-era automaton stares at Mayhem with its one roaming red eye; offended, Bryan Mayhem smashes the toaster in its creepy face and puts it in a headlock. With a roar the Hardcore Lunatic rips the robot's head right off its shoulders and turns around just as Shaman comes diving in for a tackle.

Bryan: Mayhem has that thing's head! He swings at Shaman...!

Yale: Too slow! Shaman had that one scouted! What a spear!

Shaman shatters Mayhem's stance like a piece of plywood as both men tumble deeper into the crowd, scattering chairs and onlookers alike.

Back in the ring...

The Demon Azuma connects with a series of elbows to Ryuji Kamaigawa's face and whips him into the ropes. Running counter to his opponent, Azuma bounces back and goes for a clothesline but Ryuji ducks, hits the ropes again, and comes flying back around with a raised boot that catches Azuma on the chin. Azuma merely staggers from the blow, refusing to go down. Frustrated, Ryuji hits the ropes a third time and goes for another big boot, but Azuma shifts to the side and catches the bigger man around the middle.

Bryan: SIDE BELLY-TO-BELLY! Azuma took Ryuji off his feet!

Yale: Not for long JB, look! Ryuji held on! Cross armbreaker!

Caught with his arm hyper extended and a 300-pound man's legs digging into his chest, Azuma slaps the mat in pain and frustration as senior official Josh Briggs slides in for the submission.

Bryan: Ryuji is showing a lot of agility for his size.

Yale: Both of these guys are impressing the hell out of me, JB. Either one of these guys could be a player in the Rampage tournament.

Bryan: And here comes Mayhem and Shaman! It looks like they've managed to work their way back up to the front, and... oh my god, what IS that on Shaman's shoulder?!

Yale: Sweet Jesus, James! It's a... it's a CRITTER!

Flailing his arms like a seizing epileptic, Shaman swats wildly at the small, round, fuzzy creature of classic 80's B-cinema that has latched on to his shoulder. The little monster wrenches and squirms, trying to swallow a chunk of Shaman's flesh. Pushing his way through the crowd, a green-faced Martian midget in an over-sized space helmet whips a ray gun out of his belt and levels it at the tiny razor-toothed terror.

Mars Attacks! Martian: ACK-ACK!

ZZZAP~!

The ray beam completely misses the fuzzy Crite, ricochets off the inside of the Dome and kills Jack Black who was trying to be all incognito up in the third balcony section. The Martian slaps his ray gun to his palm with an agitated ACK-ACK and takes aim again...

Bryan: LOOK OUT!

...until an out-of-nowhere chair shot from Bryan Mayhem shatters the poor Martian's helmet. Mayhem steps over the writhing Martian and swings again, this time clocking both Shaman and his furry parasite.

Yale: Wait, that thing isn't furry... those are QUILLS!

The demonic little bastard finally lets go of Shaman's neck, bristling like a pissed off porcupine. Poisoned barbs shoot from its fur hitting Mayhem's shoulder, cheek and throat. Stunned, Mayhem falls to one knee, using the chair as a crutch.

Bryan: Oh my god! What just happened?!

Yale: Sleepy time for Bryan! The only thing that sucks more than getting hit with one of those quills are the "Critters" movies themselves!

The Crite gurgles with maniacal glee as it tries to slip away into the crowd, but a spiky-haired Gremlin pops the bastard like a balloon with an oversized knitting needle. Critter-goo explodes all over the crowd as Spike cackles, then disappears.

Bryan: WHAT IS HAPPENING HERE?!

Yale: WHY ARE WE YELLING?!

Fortunately for Azuma, some of the Critter-goo manages to fly from the second row and land squarely on Ryuji's face, forcing the big man to release the armbreaker in disgust. He notices Shaman and Mayhem in the crowd and scowls, wiping a glob of slime off the bridge of his nose.

Bryan: Uh-oh. Ryuji Kamigawa doesn't look too happy about that.

Yale: If some kind of alien space critter exploded all over you, I'll bet you wouldn't be too thrilled about it either! Who knows what kind of intergalactic space herpes that thing was carrying!

Rising to his feet, Ryuji yells until the veins on his thick neck bulge. He grabs the straps of his singlet and pulls them down, exposing his chest and shoulders as the Moon Doom fans explode.

Bryan: Ryuji is going to the top rope! What the hell is he thinking?!

Yale: Victory, JB! Victory!

Ryuji stomps over to the corner and begins to scale the ropes until he gets his entire frame perched on the top. He looks over his shoulder and measures the distance between himself and the two men in the crowd; both Shaman and Mayhem are winded, oblivious of the massive Man in White who steadies himself for something no doubt incredibly stupid.

Bryan: Oh you can't be serious!

Yale: There is no way...

Ryuji Kamigawa: TEN KARA!

Yale: … HOLY SHIT!

Kamigawa leaps from the top, soaring into the sky with a picture-perfect moonsault. The lowered gravity of the Moon Dome gives him an extra five feet of air and another fifteen in distance, just enough to make the entire leap from the ring to the second row. Ryuji crashes on top of Bryan Mayhem, sending chairs, people, and various extraterrestrial wrestling fans flying in every direction.

"GC-DUB! GC-DUB! GC-DUB! GC-DUB!"

Bryan: MY GOD! Ryuji Kamigawa just killed somebody! He's got Mayhem on his back, and here comes Timothy Vale!

The official slips on some Critter-goo trying to dive in for the count, but manages to correct himself and get into position as Ryuji hooks Mayhem's leg.

ONE!!!!!







TWO!!!!!







THREE!!!!

DING-DING-DING

Eliminated: Bryan Mayhem
Ryuji Kamigawa enters the Rampage Tournament


Bryan: It took a crowd full of angry aliens and a Ten Kara moonsault to put Mayhem away, but Ryuji Kamigawa did it! He's in the tournament!

Yale: And we have one spot left to fill! It's come down to Shaman and Azuma!

Azuma gathers his strength in a corner of the ring while Shaman uses some of the scattered chairs to stand, his neck bleeding from a semi-circular Crite bite. Shaman steadies himself and walks up to the security barricade, locking eyes with the Mamoru Azuma.

Bryan: The Demon from Osaka and the Mojave Madman, here at the Moon Dome! Azuma springs to life and hits the ropes!

Yale: Oh no, not again!

Azuma dives into the ropes for a second suicide dive attempt, but he catches the top rope behind his neck and shoulders and bounces back into the ring in a fake-out that causes the Moon Dome crowd to pop. Shaman sneers and throws one leg over the barricade, then the other, motioning Azuma to meet him on the outside. Azuma refuses, pointing emphatically to the canvas inside the ring and mouthing insults that probably shouldn't be broadcast.

Bryan: Well it IS falls count anywhere, but Azuma wants this thing between the ropes! He must be familiar with Shaman's history in the hardcore division and doesn't want to give him any kind of edge.

Yale: Or, he's a massive pussy.

Bryan: Oh would you stop it!

Yale: Go choke on a whole bushel of bananas, Monsoon!

Not to be outdone, Shaman walks up to the ring apron and flips it up, rummaging underneath the ring for a weapon. It doesn't take him long to produce a large two-by-four wrapped in barbed wire, which he hoists in the air like a trophy to a huge ovation.

Bryan: This can't end well.

Blood runs from Shaman's neck and covers his chest as he slowly climbs the apron. Azuma beckons him to enter the ring, dancing from foot to foot in preparation for the showdown. As Shaman sticks one leg over the ropes and starts to enter, Azuma attacks.

Bryan: Azuma dives in with a lariat... NO!

Yale: Shaman just smashed Azuma in the face with that barbed wire! What the hell was Azuma thinking?!

Azuma crashes to the mat as the barb-wrapped weapon connects, allowing Shaman enough time to fully enter the ring. Rearing back with both arms, Shaman drives the end of the weapon into Azuma's neck, keeping him pinned to the mat as Josh Briggs swoops in for the cover.

ONE!!!!!








TWO!!!!!








THR-kickout!

Bryan: Azuma kicked out! His forehead is busted wide open, but he won't quit yet!

Shock fills Shaman's face as he backs away, looking at the weapon in his hands, then to Azuma who begins crawling to the ropes. Angry that the Spirits of the Orbs have apparently failed him, Shaman rears back again and makes a run at Azuma, but Azuma springs up and smacks! him in the face with a resounding Yakuza kick out of nowhere.

Yale: WOW, that had to sting!

Bryan: GUTBUSTER! Azuma just took Shaman off his feet, and he finally drops that damn weapon!

Bloody, winded, and so close to victory that he can smell it, Azuma screams at Shaman to get to his feet. Shaman rolls onto his stomach and pushes himself on all fours as Azuma continues to berate him, whipping the crowd into a frenzy with animated expressions and gestures. The second Shaman pulls himself to one knee, Azuma strikes with a vengeance.

Bryan: SHINING WIZARD! Azuma with a BRUTAL enzuigiri, and that might be all she wrote! He goes for the cover!

Josh Briggs once again slides in as the crowd goes nuts.

ONE!!!!








TWO!!!!!









THREE!!!

DING-DING-DING

Eliminated: Shaman
Azuma enters the Rampage Tournament


"Also sprach Zarathustra" once again hits the speakers as Azuma rolls off his opponent, his arm raised in victory. Josh Briggs looks around in confusion, then motions to the timekeeper and yells something in an attempt to get his attention. Azuma climbs to his feet and scales a turnbuckle, drinking in the adulation of the GCW crowd.

Bryan: Something isn't right here! Briggs is trying to get the timekeeper's attention.

Yale: What now?

The Moon Dome explodes as Black Sabbath's "Iron Man" cuts into the festivities. Dressed in his usual bandana and blue jeans, GCW Chief of Staff Rich Rollins strolls out to the stage with a microphone in his hand. An exasperated expression sits on his face, but that's pretty much even keel for the Renegade.

Bryan: Hail to the Chief, the Renegade is here! What's going on?

Yale: Shut up and maybe he'll tell us!

Rollins taps the microphone and clears his throat.

Rollins: Cut the music. (silence) It's come to my attention that the idiot who wrote this match fucked it up royally. This is a Royal after all, and we need to see one man walk out a winner. We've already filled the four open Rampage tournament spots, sure. But TONIGHT, in THAT ring, we're gonna do one better. The man who wins this contest will join Desade, Johnny Borealis and Terrence Kingsley at WorldWide 151 in the Bracket Draft, so get your asses back out here boys. This just became a Fatal Four Way, elimination-style! Ring the goddamn bell!

Bryan: Woah!

Yale: What are you "woah"-ing about? This is what was supposed to happen, Andrew's just a moron.

DING-DING-DING

Satisfied, Rich Rollins steps aside as "Well-Known" Zip Gordon, then Ryuji Kamigawa, then Ryan Gallway emerge once again from the back. The Renegade motions for them all to head back down to the ring. Meanwhile, Azuma has jumped down from his premature celebration on the turnbuckle and turns to face the other three men who have all just secured their place in the Rampage tournament.

Bryan: Four GCW rookies have just earned their place in the biggest tournament our company has to offer, arguably the biggest tournament in wrestling today! Who will join Borealis, Pierce and Kinglsey in the Bracket Draft, though?

Yale: So they get to be like a team captain?

Bryan: If they win this Royal, yes.

Yale: Like in kickball?

Bryan: Something like that, yes.

Yale: I'd pick you last.

Zip Gordon is the first man to reach the ring, but Ryuji and Gallway both realize that the bell has rung and falls still count anywhere. Coming to the same conclusion simultaneously, both Ryan Gallway and Ryuji Kamigawa start tearing into one another on the entrance ramp, knocking each other around with lefts and rights as they begin to brawl back up onto the stage. Hal Jenkins peels away from the clump of ringside referees and runs up the ramp to keep an eye on things.

Bryan: Well that didn't take long! We've got an all-out brawl up on the stage, and Zip Gordon looks ready to take on Azuma!

Yale: You think so, JB? Gordon looks more like he's ready to check into a retirement home.

Josh Briggs, in the ring...

Zip Gordon grabs the top rop with both hands and takes his sweet time with a stretch, ignoring the angry Azuma who looks ready to chew nails. Azuma rushes Gordon, but the old bastard sees him coming and rolls out of the ring, tapping his head with a smile.

Yale: Ha! Zip Gordon†with some mind games in there! At least he beat dementia.

Bryan: But can he beat these other three for a chance to choose the participants in his bracket? That's the question, Dave!

Azuma keeps his temper in check as he ducks under the ropes and hits the ground running, making a beeline for Zip Gordon. Suddenly not so smug, the "Well-Known" One starts running around ringside, trying to keep his distance from Azuma. Gordon tears around one corner and rolls back into the ring with Azuma hot on his heels.

Bryan: Gordon is in great shape for a man his age, Dave. I hope I can run that fast when I'm that old.

Yale: Hell, I hope I can move like that when I'm half his age.

Zip Gordon takes advantage of his high ground as Azuma rolls into the ring after him, dropping a stiff knee on the back of Azuma's neck. He follows up with a boot to the back of Azuma's head, then grinds and twists his foot into Azuma's hair. Now right and properly pissed, Azuma snags Gordon's other ankle and stands, holding on to the old man's leg like a vice. Hopping on one foot, Zip Gordon freezes up, not sure where to go.

Azuma helps sort him out with one stiff kick to the head, then another. A few good well-positioned shifts and Azuma kicks Gordon's other leg out from under him, keeps hold of the first leg, and drops into an ankle lock.

Bryan: And Gordon has no place to go! Azuma looks to make quick work of the "Well-Known" One!

Scratching and clawing for every inch, Zip Gordon pulls himself along the canvas, towing a rather persistent Azuma behind him. Azuma twists harder, forcing a yelp from Gordon that slows his progress considerably. A few moments pass, and Zip Gordon stops moving all together.

Yale: His old bones can't take this, JB! Do your job Briggs, get in there and call it!

Josh Briggs takes one of Gordon's arms and raises it up, then lets go. It flops lifelessly to the mat.

Briggs: ONE!

A second time the arm is raised, and a second time it falls.

Briggs: TWO!

A third and final check, and Briggs lets go. Zip Gordon's hand comes within a hair's breadth of touching the canvas, but an inner reserve of strength springs out of nowhere as Gordon clenches his fist with a shake, refusing to submit.

Bryan: No! Gordon may be down but he's not out!

Catching his second (probably third) wind, Zip Gordon crawls four more inches and finds the bottom rope, grabbing†it like it was the last bottle of Propecia on Earth... er, the moon. Briggs forces Azuma to release the hold.

Hal Jenkins, on the stage...

The Shockwave stage is a veritable playground of dangerous drop-offs and large, craggy moon-like outcroppings just waiting for someone to climb it. Ryuji Kamigawa and Ryan Gallway waste little time doing so, kicking and punching and clawing at one another as they fight to scale the side of the massive falling asteroid that makes up the MoonTron.

Bryan: Kamigawa and Gallway have lost their minds! That video screen is fifty feet tall, they can't possibly survive a fall like that!

Yale: Well they'll fall twenty percent slower with the gravity adjustment, so... maybe?

Bryan: I'd rather not find out!

Halfway up the MoonTron, Ryuji finally stops his climb and looks down at Ryan Gallway who struggles to find another hand hold along the side of the screen. The massive Man in White leaps without warning, hooking his arms around Gallway's middle along the way. Half a second and thirty feet later, both men crash into an off-set moonscape set piece, destroying everything in their path. Pieces of splintered plywood go flying as a big cloud of "moon dust" puffs out of a new crater on the stage.

"HO-LY SHIT! HO-LY SHIT! HO-LY SHIT! HO-LY SHIT!"

Bryan: SUNSET FLIP OFF THE MOONTRON! With all due respect to Joey Styles... OH MY GOD!

Yale: Get in there Jenkins, do your damn job!

Hal Jenkins coughs through the cloud of moon dust, trying to find the easiest way into the hole created by both men's incredible plunge. He finally catches sight of an arm and (what he hopes is) a leg and jumps down to check for survivors.

When the dust finally settles, Ryuji Kamigawa has clearly fallen across an unconscious Ryan Gallway. Jenkins drops down for the academic cover.

ONE!!!!!



...



TWO!!!!



...



THRE-

Yale: You have to be SHITTING me!

Somehow, some WAY, Ryan Gallway manages to twitch just enough to raise a shoulder, silencing the count. Rolling off of his opponent in a dejected heap, Ryuji Kamigawa stares into the starry sky beyond the overhead Dome, sucking air in gulps. Gallway raises a shaking hand out of the crater, propping himself on one side as he tries to pull out of the crash zone without much success.

Bryan: I... I have no idea how either of those men are still alive, much less able to move!

Josh Briggs, in the ring...

Zip Gordon staggers back as Azuma wallops him with a right hand. Woozy, Gordon lashes out at Azuma with a desperate rake to the face, staving off another blow for a few precious moments. Seizing the opportunity, Zip Gordon grabs his opponent and plants him with a scoop slam, falling to one knee in the process.

Bryan: There's still some fight left in the old man!

Yale: Give 'em hell, Zip!

Crawling to the nearest turnbuckle, Zip Gordon turns to face the prone Azuma and heaves himself up to the first rope, then the second. Securing his purple elbow pads, he more or less falls off the second turnbuckle and lands an elbow in Azuma's chest. He flops over his opponent, too exhausted to hook the leg.

ONE!!!!



...



TWO!!!!!



...



TH- nope!

Azuma kicks out, causing Zip Gordon to sit straight up with a pained look on his face. Shaking his head in frustration, the "Well-Known" One moves around to Azuma's legs, wraps them around his own, and sits down into his grapevine finishing hold.

Bryan: FIGURE-1 LEGLOCK! Zip Gordon has his finishing maneuver synched in, and Azuma has nowhere to go!

Azuma shakes back and forth trying to swat Gordon with an open-palm strike, but Zip Gordon doesn't let it happen. He pumps his arm in an attempt for more leverage, trying to counter Azuma who is trying desperately to flip over.

Bryan: Azuma is giving it all he has! Can he reverse it?!

Yale: NOPE! Gordon just pulled him back down! Tap, damn you! TAP!

But Azuma will not submit. Instead, he does the next best thing; with Josh Briggs in his face asking for the submission, Azuma grabs the referee by his collar and pulls him down, throwing Briggs on top of Gordon. The hold breaks as Gordon and the referee collapse in a pile.

Bryan: That's one way to do it!

Now on his feet, Azuma limps over to a corner and turns to taunt his opponent, screaming at him to stand up. Zip Gordon shoves Josh Briggs to the side and hobbles to his own vertical base as he turns to face Azuma...

Bryan: T-BONE! Good god, Azuma just struck like a viper and planted Zip Gordon straight into the turnbuckle with a T-Bone suplex!

Yale: NO! NOT LIKE THIS!

Sliding in to replace the downed Josh Briggs, Timothy Vale drops to the canvas.

ONE!!!!






TWO!!!!






THREE!!!!

DING-DING-DING

Eliminated: "Well-Known" Zip Gordan


Yale: Bullshit, I call ageism! Timothy Vale hates old people!

Bryan: Be that as it may, the official's call is final and Zip Gordon is out! He still won a spot in Rampage, but he won't be taking home the grand prize.

Yale: Well played, you well-known bastard. Well played indeed.

Catching his breath in the middle of the ring, Azuma turns his attention to the stage where Ryan Gallway and Ryuji Kamigawa still lay sprawled in the middle of a disaster zone. Gallway claws fruitlessly at the the side of the hole they've created, too worn out to pull himself up but too stubborn to stop trying. Ryuji has managed to turn onto his elbows and begins digging into the broken bits of demolished plywood and plexiglass, determined to beat his opponent out of the pit.

Bryan: Ryan Gallway is still trying to move, but I don't think he can! Screw the officials, somebody get a medic in that hole!

Right on cue, three medical officers in full Starfleet uniform come jogging onto the stage. Leonard McCoy, Beverly Crusher and the holographic Doctor (the annoying bald guy from Voyager, not the cool time-travelling one) quickly take stock of the situation and start climbing into the crater.

Bryan: Okay, this is just getting ridiculous.

Yale: Where's Will Wheaton when you need him?

"Bones" McCoy attends to Ryan Gallway while Beverly Crusher and her holographic assistant slide down next to Ryuji Kamigawa, brandishing an overly sophisticated hypodermic needle. Ryuji slaps the needle out of Beverly's hands and tries to kick the holographic Doctor, but his foot passes right through the Doctor and gets stuck in more rubble. Hal Jenkins watches everything from the lip of the crater, shrugs, and starts to count both men down.

Jenkins: ONE!

Bryan: Oh NOW he starts counting? C'mon, ref!

Jenkins: TWO!

Yale: If these guys get counted down, Azuma wins! There's no way either of them can continue after a fall like that.

Jenkins: THREE!

Caught like a bear in a trap, Kamigawa shoves Beverly Crusher on her sweet ass and tries to remove his leg from a mound of moon debris.

Jenkins: FOUR!

McCoy rolls Ryan Gallway onto his back while flashing a pen light in his eyes.

Jenkins: FIVE!

Ryuji pulls free and begins grabbing anything sturdy in an attempt to climb out of the hole.

Jenkins: SIX!

Gallway pushes Bones aside and rolls over, hefting himself up on one arm.

Jenkins: SEVEN!

Ryuji grabs the lip of the crater with both hands, ignoring the splintered wood as he swings one leg out of the pit.

Jenkins: EIGHT!

Gallway matches the big man's progress on the other side, flopping his upper body out of the hole and onto his belly.

Jenkins: NINE!

Both men stand on shaky legs and stare across the shattered pit at one another as the crowd goes wild.

Yale: They did it! They made it out! These guys just won't quit!

Bryan: It looks like Azuma has seen enough, Dave! He's leaving the ring!

Having been watching the other men's progress from the safety of the ring, Azuma shakes his head in frustration as both men make it to their feet. Taking matters into his own hands, he drops to the canvas and rolls out, making a steady beeline for the stage while senior official Josh Briggs tags along.

Bryan: There he goes!

Oblivious to Azuma's march, Ryan Gallway and Ryuji Kamigawa stare one another down, both men trying their best to hide their pain. Gallway takes a few steps back from the crater, but immediately runs forward and leaps with his knees once again, using the enhanced gravity to soar over the wrecked stage.

Bryan: We have liftoff!

Yale: Look at the distance he's getting, this is surreal!

Ryuji is ready. Scouting his opponent's trajectory, the Man in White crouches down and locks his knees, ready to pounce. As soon as Ryan Gallway crosses the threshold of the crater, Ryuji springs up with a savage spear that catches the Intergalactic Space Cowboy square in the gut. Gallway's momentum carries both men away from the hole and back onto the steel section of the stage where they land with an awkward clang.

Bryan: Woah! I'm not sure who caught the worst of that exchange, but it sure wasn't pretty to watch!

Wincing in pain, Ryan Gallway crawls away from Ryuji until he reaches a large Shockwave video screen. Ryuji pushes himself onto his knees. Gallway presses his back against the screen and slides his way up until he is standing and leans against a large sound speaker for support, motioning for Kamigawa to bring it.

Yale: Ryan Gallway is goading Ryuji! This kid just won't quit!

Bryan: Ryuji on his feet now, and he accepts the challenge! Here he comes!

Ryuji takes off at a dead sprint, rushing at Ryan Gallway like a runaway train. Gallway pushes away from the speaker and dashes toward his oncoming opponent. The moment they collide, Gallway ducks down and forces his head into Ryuji's sternum, flipping up into a seated powerbomb position on the massive Man in White's shoulders. He snaps back, flipping both himself and his opponent backward in a spectacular inverted sunset flip that plants Ryuji Kamaigawa on his back with Ryan Gallway's legs holding his shoulders to the steel.

Bryan: SUPERNOVA!!! Ryan Gallway nailed it!

Yale: Holy shit!

Referee Hal Jenkins drops to the ground.

ONE!!!






TWO!!!






THREE!!!

DING-DING-DING

Eliminated: Ryuji Kamigawa


Bryan: HE DID IT!

Yale: There is no way that man could flip a guy the size of Ryuji like that!

Bryan: It's a miracle in the Moon Dome, Dave! This kid is downright determined to win this thing!

Yale: Well there's no rest for the wicked... look! Here comes Azuma!

Before Gallway has time to right himself, the Demon Azuma comes tearing across the stage threshold and punts the Prince of Precision square in the head. Azuma grabs the smaller man with a snarl and jerks Gallway violently, turns him around, and drops him with a neckbreaker.

Bryan: That kid has to have a concussion at this point.

Yale: His skull will break before that steel does!

Bryan: Azuma isn't slowing down! A series of elbow strikes now, and he refuses to let Gallway get up!

Azuma repeatedly pounds Ryan Gallway's head with his forearms and elbows, then rakes his face into the steel grating of the stage. A standing knee drop into Gallway's side causes the smaller man to cry out, but Azuma jerks his arm and drags him to his feet once again.

Bryan: Azuma came in with a game plan and it's proving to be an effective one! He controlled the ring for most of this match, letting his opponents wear themselves out on the outside! After that fall off the MoonTron, I don't see how Ryan Gallway-

Yale: POWERBOMB~!

Azuma lifts Gallway onto his shoulders, but if he had been paying attention a few minutes earlier he would have known this is a bad idea. Ryan Gallway comes alive and stalls Azuma from dropping him with a few sharp jabs to the face, then locks his knees behind Azuma's head and flips backward. Both men twist as the Supernova claims its second victim.

Bryan: REVERSAL! HE DID IT AGAIN, RYAN GALLWAY HIT IT AGAIN!

Landing in a perfect pinning position, Ryan Gallway clutches his opponent's legs and squeezes as Hal Jenkins drops to make the cover.

ONE!!!






TWO!!!






THREE-

Bryan: NO! HE KICKED OUT! AZUMA KICKED OUT OF THE SUPERNOVA!

Yale: I can't take much more of this!

Rolling backward, Azuma ends up on his feet and plants a sitting Ryan Gallway in the face with a standing dropkick. Gallway sprawls out across the stage with a thousand-yard stare in both glassy eyes. Holding his lower back in pain, Azuma stands and raises his other arm in the air which gets a loud pop from the Moon Dome crowd. Azuma cuts this thumb across his throat and grabs Gallway by the arm.

Yale: What's he doing, JB?

Bryan: Azuma is lifting Ryan Gallway to his feet... suplex? NO!

Azuma hefts Gallway straight into the air and stalls just long enough for a thousand flashbulbs to light up the arena. Suddenly, he drops Ryan Gallway straight on his head with a brainbuster on the steel. Rolling through the impact, Azuma wraps his legs around Gallway and locks in a guillotine choke.

Yale: That man is a machine!

Bryan: Is he...? YES! RYAN GALLWAY TAPS! IT'S OVER, IT'S OVER!!!!

Hal Jenkins calls for the bell as Ryan Gallway slaps Azuma's back like a limp noodle.

DING-DING-DING

Eliminated: Ryan Gallway


Andrews: Your winner... and the FINAL entrant into the 2011 Rampage Tournament Bracket Draft... THE DEEEMMMMOOOONN AAAAZZZZZUUUUUMMMMMAAAAAA!

"Also sprach Zarathustra" plays a third and final time as Azuma pushes Ryan Gallway off of him. Hal Jenkins grabs his wrist and tries to raise his arm, but Azuma remains still on the stage, breathing heavily.

Bryan: I've never seen anything like that before, Dave! What a brutal contest, and what a HELL of a debut by both of these men!

Yale: Not to mention Ryuji Kamigawa and "Well-Known" Zip Gordon! All four of them secured their place in the tournament and showed the GCW fans what they are capable of tonight!

Bryan: It looks like our crew has a mess to clean up on the stage, but we've still got one hell of a main event to go! We'll be back, LIVE from the MOON, after a word from our sponsors!

Back to Top






The screen fills up with a tight view of the ink embedded in Aaron Fujita’s arm for eternity. The tattoo depicting a tornado ripping apart a house glistens in the lighting, allowing its detail to show through. Slowly the camera pans out to reveal Aaron Fujita standing backstage clad in street clothes; a pair of jeans and an Affliction t-shirt. His jet black hair is spiked up as it usually is and a smirk sits on his face. As the frame fills with his presence, the crowd inside the arena boos loudly at the sight of The Atmospheric Phenomena.

Fujita: I know it’s been a while since I graced all of you GCW fans with my presence, so I hope you haven’t forgotten me. Just to be safe, why don’t we go through a little bit of a recap? At NC-17 I stepped into the ring against three of the best young stars this company had to offer. Actually, forget about The Magnificent Messiah. Even taking him out of the picture, I was still against two top of the class wrestlers. Dynasty could talk a good game. He was absolutely gold on the stick, but when we matched up inside the ring, he didn’t compare. Of course we can’t forget El Moreno. The guy that everyone said was taking GCW by storm. I’ll give credit where it’s due; the man was doing well for himself. He was off to the hottest start in GCW in recent memory. And what did I do?

Aaron brings his right hand up to rub his black goatee in contemplation. His face fills with confusion for a few seconds as he pauses, but suddenly changes to a look of enlightenment.

Fujita: I beat Moreno and won the right to challenge for the United States Title whenever I want. As soon as the match was over, people were talking. The word was that I had beaten Moreno on a fluke. People said I was lucky to walk out of NC-17 a winner and Moreno would beat me if we ever tangled again. Well wouldn’t you know that we were paired into the same group in the pre-cursor to Rampage. Everyone knew that Moreno would get his chance to prove that he was better than me, but GCW played it right. They saved our rematch for the last bout in our group. The tension built and finally we stepped across the ring from one another again. The outcome didn’t change. When the bell rang it was my hand being raised once again, proving without a shadow of a doubt that I am better than El Moreno.

Aaron folds his arms across his body and stares at the camera.

Fujita: So this is directed to you Karina Wolfenden. Don’t think I have forgotten you. I still have that United States Title in my back pocket and trust me; it won’t go to waste. You may think you have me figured out; that you know what moves I will make. But when it comes down to it, I am just plain smarter than you. I’m going to cash in when you are at your weakest; when you least expect it. Don’t underestimate me bitch. You do and you’re going to find yourself getting burned. Now get that camera out of my face. I’ve got some business to take care of.

With that Aaron walks away from the set leaving it empty. The shot switches back to ringside where James Bryan and David Yale sit at the announce table.

Bryan: Business to take care of? What on the moon could he mean by that?

Yale: You’ve got me, James. Let’s hope that we find out soon!

Back to Top




… ~static~ … ~static~ … ~static~ …


Bryan: I'm getting word from the back that our live feed is having some technical issues.

Yale: Well we ARE broadcasting over two hundred and twenty-five thousand miles from home, JB.

Bryan: Indeed we are. The boys in the truck are having trouble maintaining a clear signal, but we still have a main event to call!

… ~static~ … ~static~ … ~static~ …


Yale: So what do we do?

Bryan: The cameras will keep rolling folks, but we may experience a bit of a delay in getting it on-air. Rest assured, as soon as this issue is resolved we'll be back on for the final match.

Yale: We can put an arena on the moon, but we can't keep a simple broadcast on the airwaves. Technology, gotta love it!

… ~static~ … ~static~ … ~static~ …

Back to Top

Bryan: Welcome back Ladies and Gentlemen. It’s main event time here on the Moon, and I wish I could say that with the enthusiasm that the night’s biggest match usually encourages.

Yale: This match will be tinged with sadness regardless of the result, JB. On paper it’s a scintillating clash, but we know now that this is probably going to be Andy Murray’s last ever GCW match. Even I’m a bit disappointed.

Bryan: Regardless of what you think of the guy’s personality, Dave, you’ve got to acknowledge the immense contribution Murray has made to GCW since he’s been here. He debuted at NC-17 2007, and he’s going out at Shockwave 2011. That’s over three years of sterling service, Dave.

Yale: Absolutely. I’ve not always agreed with the way Murray conducts his business, but this man is a franchise player. He’s one of the best wrestlers in the world and one of the nicest guys you could hope to meet out of the ring. It’s almost tragic that his GCW career is going to end like this.

Bryan: A Last Man Standing tag team match isn’t exactly the easiest way to go out either. Only man member of the opposing team has to be incapacitated for the match to end, but this is still going to be a war.

Yale: Throw Triumph Frost, Jay Terror, Rich Rollins and Andy Murray into a match with such relaxed rules and fireworks are pretty much guaranteed, JB. Thank God only one guy has to be taken-out though: can you imagine how long this would take if both team members had to be eliminated?

Bryan: The length of that match would test even our patience, Dave. Let’s get this one going.

Focus turns to Joey Andrews, who stands in the centre of the ring clutching a microphone. Josh Briggs and David Fellows mill behind him, ready to be called into action.

Andrews: Ladies and Gentlemen! The following Last Man Standing tag team match is our MAAAAAAIIIIN EEEVEEEENNTTT of the evening!

The crowd roars as Joey summons his inner Bruce Buffer, but their verve is soon extinguished as Kanye’s "We Major" fires-up on the PA system. Ire fills the room but none of it bothers Triumph Frost as the teenager sways out with characteristic nonchalance. He doesn’t pause at the stage; just slowly slowly drifts down the ramp, minding his own business.

Bryan: Triumph Frost has made no secret of his distaste for Andy Murray since joining GCW, Dave.

Yale: Triumph Frost has made no secret of his distaste for just about everyone since joining GCW! This kid is a lightning rod the likes of which we’ve never seen before, and this is one of the biggest matches of his young career.

Bryan: Frost had been mooted as potential challenger to Murray’s now-vacant GCW World Heavyweight Championship just after NC-17, but things never quite fell into place. You’ve gotta believe that a win tonight would catapult him straight into the title hunt, though.

Yale: There’s no doubt he’s got the talent and the potential, now lets see if he can deliver. He’s in there with three GCW legends tonight, after all.

Andrews: Introducing first… making his way to the ring from San Francisco, California… he weighs-in at 2256lbs… "THE FUTURE"… TRIIIIIIIUUUUUUUMMMMMMMPPPPHHHHHHHH FRRRRRRRRROOOOOOOSSSSSSTTTTTTTTTT!

Frost enters the ring, but he barely has time to get comfortable before “Who Shot Ya?"’s opening bar hits.

"As we proceed…"

The audience begins to stand from their seats as they turn their attention to the JumboTron.

"… to give you what you need."

Biggie Smalls does his thing and I don’t even need to tell you how the crowd act. A shorn-headed Jay Terror parts the curtain and starts making his way down to the ring.

Yale: Terror is strictly business tonight, JB. After he was defeated for the title at NC-17 you know Jay would love to spoil Andy Murray’s going-away party tonight.

Bryan: There’s no doubt about it Dave. Those two guys have been at each other’s throats since day one. They don’t like each other one bit, and their frequent clashes have been as bloody as they’ve been enthralling.

Yale: And Rich Rollins isn’t exactly on speaking terms with Jay either, especially after last week’s bloody assault!

Bryan: Terror is a marked man tonight, and he definitely has more of a reason to be wary of Rollins than Murray. It took Aimz and Desade to run Terror off after his interference last week, and you know Rich is going to be foaming at the mouth tonight.

Andrews: … and his tag team partner! Making his way to the ring from Bow, New Hampsire… he weighs-in at 187lbs and is a former two-time GCW World Heavyweight Champion… "THE OUTLAW"… JAAAAAYYYYYYYY TEEEEEERRRRRRRRRRRRRRRROOOOOOORRRRRRRR!

Terror hops in the ring but doesn’t converse with his partner. Instead he heads to a corner and flexes, waiting on the imminent arrival of their opponents. All it takes for the arena’s atmosphere to change is a single bent note from Tony Iommi’s guitar.

"I aaaaam irooonnnnn maaaannnnn…"

The lights dim and the bass drum kicks. Soon "Iron Man"’s legendary guitar riff is playing and the legendary Ward/Butler rhythm section kicks-in. Rich Rollins steps onto the stage to a thunderous reception.

Bryan: I can’t wait to see this main in-action tonight, Dave. He and Terror have been trading blows since Rollins’ return at NC-17, and now it’s time for them to throw down.

Yale: Rollins/Terror could grow to become one of the greatest rivalries in GCW history, but Rich has to get through this match first. There’s no way he’s at 100% after Terror’s beatdown last week, and Terror is unrepentant under such relaxed rules.

Bryan: Never underestimate the fight in Rich Rollins. He’s recovered from worse and still performed. He’s carrying a knee injury that would’ve crippled most men.

Yale: That’s exactly why he could struggle tonight. Frost and Terror are both nasty enough to take advantage of Rollin’s physical ailments and he could still be smarting from last week. He’s obviously one of the best we’ve ever had but he’s putting an awful lot of strain on a damaged body.

Andrews: … and their opponents! Introducing first, from Chicago, Illinois… he weighs-in at 240lbs, and is a GCW Hall-of-Famer and former two-time World Heavyweight Champion… RICH "THE REEEENNNEEEGAAAADDDEEEEE" ROOOOLLLLLLLLLLIIIIIINNNNSSSSSSS!

Game for a fight but still composed, Rollins resists the urge to jump straight into the fire and waits by the edge of the ring. His foes standing tall, waiting for The Renegade to pounce when suddenly Clutch hits for the third time this evening. The reaction is as loud as it is predictable.

Bryan: For the last time in GCW history, here comes the King!

Stepping out in full black and gold regalia (including the sequinned robe and completely necessary shades), Murray stops for a glance to the fans before making his way down to the ring.

Yale: What an explosive ovation!

Bryan: It sounds like a bomb’s gone off in here! Andy Murray couldn’t have hoped for a more appreciative farewell from this capacity crowd!

Andrews: … and his tag team partner! Making his way to the ring from Aberdeen, Scotland… he weighs in at 275lbs, and is a former two-time GCW World Heavyweight champion… "THE SCOTTISH KING OF COOL"… ANNNNDDDDDDYYYYYYYY MUUUUURRRRRRRRRRAAAAAYYYYYY!

The King slaps hands with the fans and gives his sunglasses away before joining Rollins at the base of the ring. No words are exchanged but the two nod at one another, and a fraction of a second later they’re both sliding head-first into the ring.

Bryan: Here we go!

Murray and Rollins hop-up faster than Joey Andrews can escape and soon they’re in the middle exchanging blows with Frost and Terror.

DING! DING! DING!

Rollins goes for Terror as Murray dives into Frost. The Scot's rushing force backs Frost into a corner which lets The King elbow his jaw before retreating far enough to remove his robe. Rollins, meanwhile, floors Terror with a short clothes.

Yale: What a start!

Bryan: Frost fires back at Murray with a big right hand!

Yale: And Terror hops straight up, brawling wildly with The Renegade in the centre of the ring!

A stiff strike from Rollins sends Terror to one knee and Murray stumbles into his path thanks to Frost’s assault. The Renegade floors Frost with a clothesline, before turning and giving the rising Terror the exact same treatment.

Bryan: The Renegade is on fire!

Frost is up quickly and runs straight at Murray. The King counters with a hip toss that sends the teenager falling down onto Rollins’ outstretched knee. Terror gets up too but Rollins grabs his arm and whips him across the ring as Murray sets himself up to toss Jay over the top rope.

"RAAAHHHHHHH!"

Bryan: Terror goes to the outside! What a start from Murray and Rollins!

Yale: These two should compliment each other wonderfully: Rollins is rough and rugged, Murray is crisp and clinical, and they’re both tougher than hell.

Bryan: They’ll need to be tonight. They’re opponents are younger, hungrier and just as talented. Take Murray’s situation out of the equation and this match has all the makings of a classic.

The King follows Jay out of the ring but the Outlaw has landed on his feet and is more than happy to meet his old enemy in a brawl. Back in the ring Rollins has pulled Frost up and has his arm wrenched. He tightens his grip and forces the teenager against the ropes, before turning him round and smacking a stiff knife-edge chop across Frost’s ribs.

"WOOOOOOOO!"

And another.

"WOOOOOOOO!"

And another…

"WOOOOOOOO!"

… before taking a step back and bringing Frost to the mat with a hip toss.

Bryan: Strong, strong strikes from Rollins, but it looks like Terror is gaining the upper-hand on the outside!

Yale: Murray is a great wrestler and a very powerful guy, but he’s definitely not a brawler. This is exactly where Terror wants the Scot.

As The King stumbles back against the barricade, Rollins puts a knee between Frost’s shoulder blades and clamps his hands under his jaw.

Yale: Chinlock from Rollins. Moves like this won’t win him the match, but they’ll certainly help grind Triumph down.

Frost, however, starts to rise. He uses his bulk to slowly power to his feet, before two elbows to Rollins’ ribs force The Renegade to slacken his grip just enough for Triumph to wriggle free.

Bryan: Frost’s loose!

Yale: And straight back in Rollins’ face!

He throws a few lefts and rights at Rollins, Frost, but the Hall-of-Famer puts his hands on the younger man’s chest and thrusts him backwards. Unimpressed, Frost shows no hesitation in suddenly booting Rollin’s left knee. The former champion immediately winces and stumbles. Frost just shrugs and offers Rich a coy smile.

Yale: There you go, JB. They’re already going for Rollins’ knee.

Bryan: I’m sure Rollins can fight through the pain barrier, Dave. He’s done it before.

Yale: If Frost’s callousness gives him the chance…

Ignoring the fans’ jeers, Frost leaves Rollins momentarily and slides out of the ring, where Jay Terror is having some difficulty keeping Andy Murray still. The Scot doesn’t answer every punch, but when he does answer it’s with authority. He soon finds himself outnumbered, however, as Frost’s kidney punch stops Murray before he can smack Jay’s jaw.

Yale: The tides are starting to turn with Rollins hurt and Murray isolated.

Triumph pushes his boot down behind Murray’s knee, forcing The King to his knees and allowing Jay to land a couple of stiff kicks to the torso. From behind, Frost grabs Murray’s shoulders and forcibly pushes him back against the barricade. Terror rushes forward and knees Andy brutally in the jaw.

Bryan: Jeeeeesh, these guys aren’t wasting any time…

Yale: Nor should they! Murray in-particular is a cardiovascular monster who has fought numerous 40-minute wars in his career. Frost and Terror need to wear him down quickly and effectively.

Bryan: But here comes The Renegade!

Rollins isn’t going to just sit and let his tag partner get destroyed. He gets out of the ring as fast as his smarting knee will let him, and immediately peels Frost away before whipping him against the side of the ring.

Bryan: Frost takes a sore one, but here comes Terror!

Jay jumps on The Renegade but Rich stands firm and stuffs the bulldog takedown. Terror lands in front of Rollins, so Rich quickly throws Jay’s head under his arm and drills him into the floor with a sharp DDT.

Yale: Huge DDT! And here comes the count…

…1!

As soon as Josh Briggs has started counting, Rollins is over to tend to his partner.

…2!

Andy rises to his feet from his seated position, rubbing his jaw. He notices something stirring behind Rich, and yells for the Renegade to "look out".

…3!

Rollins dodges Frost’s strike thanks to Murray’s shout, and Andy fires-in with a forearm of his own.

…4!

Bryan: Now Murray and Rollins are rolling Frost back in the ring! What a fast-paced start, Dave.

Yale: Terror’s coming around though.

…5!

Sure enough, The Established opens his eyes and rolls onto his side, giving the referee enough of a reason to stop the count. In the ring Andy and Rich are taking it in turns to hit Frost in the face as the young powerhouse stumbles back and forth between them. Murray stops the fun when he pulls Frost into his grasp and throws him across the ring with a belly-to-belly overhead suplex.

Bryan: Flawless execution from Murray on the suplex. He’s come a long way from the powerhouse of old, Dave.

Yale: He’s still got that incredible strength but what Andy Murray has been able to do over the years is to work that brute force into a very well-rounded skillset. That’s what makes him so dangerous.

Unbeknown to Murray and Rollins, Jay Terror has snuck back in the ring. He hops to his feet and clubs Rollins in the back of the head, sending The Renegade to the mat. Murray notices this and runs at Terror but the smaller man ducks the attempted strike and hits Murray’s chest with a dropkick. The King staggers backwards and comes back off the ropes, walking right into Jay’s drop toe hold.

Yale: Terror looks to go to work, but here comes Rollins!

Iron Man certainly isn’t going to give him that chance. He grabs Jay’s head and unceremoniously hauls him to his feet. After raking Jay’s eyes Rollins runs against the ropes but he’s cut-off by Triumph Frost, whose clothesline almost decapitates the veteran.

"OOOOOOOHHHH!"

Bryan: Huge clothesline from Frost!

Yale: Rollins will be seeing cuckoos after that one, JB.

Bryan: Lets see if Frost and Terror can use this opportunity to get back into the match.

Terror looks somewhat taken aback as Frost barks orders at him, but he shrugs and co-operates anyway. As Frost pushes Rollins into a corner and goes to work, Jay keeps Murray from rising with a series of stomps before stepping back, letting The King partially recover, and booting him hard in the gut. Jeers rain down as Terror rolls Murray onto his back and throws closed fists into his face.

Bryan: Terror is doing his best to ruin Andy Murray’s good looks as Frost goes to work in the corner.

Bored of hitting Rollins, Frost whips him to the opposite corner and follows-up with a big splash. Triumph steps backwards as Rollins stumbles out when…

Yale: Wham! Superkick!

Bryan: Where the hell did that come from?

Yale: I’ve no idea, but Jay Terror just blasted The Renegade with a superkick: Rollins’ superkick.

Frost is quick to voice his displeasure at Terror’s interruption, but there was no way Jay was going to miss an opportunity to hit Rich Rollins with the move he helped popularise. Terror just shrugs, and Frost follows him back across to Murray.

Bryan: Rollins is down, so here comes David Fellows with the count!

…1!

…2!

Murray, meanwhile, has been pulled to his feet and is being mauled in the corner. His opponents boot him down to a seated position.

…3!

…4!

Rich’s arm starts to twitch as Murray gets hauled to his feet.

…5!

Terror slams Murray with a back elbow splash, and Frost follows with a huge Northern Lights suplex.

…6!

On the count of six, though, Rich Rollins comes to. He pulls his shoulder blades off the canvas long enough for Fellows to stop the count, and watches through sweat-soaked hair as Frost and Terror stomp at his partner.

Bryan: Well Rollins is back in the game, but that’s two big counts we’ve had already. Surely these guys are going to start feeling it if they keep this pace up?

Yale: There’s a lot of bad blood in that ring so you’d expect such a heated start to the match. It’ll settle down soon enough.

Bryan: Good, because I’m having trouble keeping up at the moment!

Rollins is using the ropes to pull himself up but Frost has noticed the count stopping and marches over to grab The Renengade. He shows no remorse in kicking Rich’s knee again, but doesn’t count on a snarling Renegade pivoting on his good leg and tackling Frost to the ground. The crowd cheer as rich hammers away at Frost, before standing up and dropping an elbow across his chest.

Bryan: Rollins fires back into action, but Murray is at Terror’s mercy again.

Yale: Terror has the advantage here, JB. Rollins may be on top of Frost but his knee will take a while to heal, and Murray is completely out of it at the moment.

Sure enough, Jay casts a cautionary glance over his shoulder and steps up from Murray when he notices Frost struggling with Rollins. Terror marches over and pulls The Renegade off his partner, before charging forward and tossing Rollins out of the ring.

Yale: Out goes Rollins!

Rich lands on his feet but his wonky knee won’t let him stand. He’s fortunate to slump forward into the barricade, preventing Briggs from counting.

Bryan: And now Murray’s in there alone. Frost and Terror are doing an excellent job of isolating their opponents thus far.

Yale: Neither of these man are exactly high on each others’ Christmas card list, but they know what they need to do to win tonight and they’re executing their gameplan to perfection. I wouldn’t want to be in Andy Murray’s shoes at the moment.

The King has risen slightly. Jay doesn’t pause to help Frost up but goes over to Murray instead. He stands waiting for Murray to rise before eventually throwing the Scot’s head under his arm, but Murray powers out before Jay can attempt the suplex. Frost, however, cuts him off with a superman punch, but planting Murray in the mat with an inverted Russian legsweep. He turns to Jay and dusts his shoulder off.

Bryan: Are these two trying to one-up each other?!

Yale: Looks like it. I don’t think Frost appreciated Jay taking the superkick from him, JB.

Bryan: They’ll have to get over that if they’re to maintain this dominance, Dave. Murray and Rollins are on the backfoot, but that’s often when they’re at their most dangerous.

Content, Triumph follows Rollins to the outside, leaving Terror with Murray. Jay kneels down to pick-up the ailing Scotsman, but Murray throws a fist into his gut and rises on his own accord. Jay's smarting, so Andy hits him a couple more times before sending him to the ropes. Andy kneels to toss Jay over his shoulders, but The Established manages to stop short of Andy and kick him on the chest.

"OOOOOHHHHHH!"

Bryan: Uh-oh, Andy's reeling again.

Yale: Jay goes to whip him, but Andy stands his ground!

Bryan: He's too strong and bam! There's the clothesline!

With Jay on the mat, Andy takes a few steps backwards. He leans his giant frame against the ropes, clutching his chest.

Bryan: That was a pretty hard kick Andy just took, do you think he's hurt?

Yale: He's injured those ribs before, JB. The King could be in-trouble.

Terror rises and immediately locks onto the Scot. Noticing that Murray's apparently hurting, Jay darts across the ring..

Bryan: Here comes Ja--

Yale: Wait! Flapjack!

Bryan: SHUTTHE**beep**UPPERCUT!

Jay crumples to a heap on the canvas and the crowd erupt. Andy, tired from the damage he's sustained thus far, takes a step back and lets Fellows count.

...1!

Bryan: Huge, huge move from Murray!

...2!

Yale: He lured Jay in by playing possum and almost broke his face with the uppercut! We've seen that move before from Murray, but rarely has it looked so devastating.

...3!

...4!

Bryan: Jay could be out here, Dave! Andy's used that move to finish Vivica J. Valentine before.

...5!

...6!

Although watching Jay carefully, Andy makes the most of his rest time by sitting on the top turnbuckle...

...7!

… and he jumps down as soon as Jay shows signs of life.

Bryan: Murray brings Terror back to his feet and the action is go again. Meanwhile, on the outside, Triumph Frost has Rich Rollins in the palm of his hand.

A huge crrrrassshhh as Rich Rollin's back collides with the ringsteps. The Renegade arches his back and groans as Frost stalks him.

Yale: Ouch! I wish I had two sets of eyes, JB! I don't know where to look at the moment...

Bryan: This is what happens when you put four of the biggest names in the business in the ring together.

Dropping to his knees, Triumph Frost throws the ring curtain up and begins to rummage around beneath the ring. As Jay Terror drops with a mighty thump above him, Frost grabs blindly for an implement of destruction and soon pulls out a steel chair, hoisting it in the air for all to see.

Yale: Things are about to get fun!

Bryan: "Fun"!? Rich Rollins is helpless at the moment.

Yale: Exactly, and his face is about to be introduced first-hand to Mr. Chair.

Bryan: … "Mr. Chair." Really?

Yale: … shut up.

Frost, however, has dallied too long. A desperate lunge from Rollins takes him off his feet and sees the chair fall to the floor. Rich picks his downed opponent up, clubs the back of his neck, and pulls him into the air...

Bryan: Rambo Suplex!

Frost's back hits the chair with a crrrrack. Josh Briggs starts his count, but Rollins has other ideas. He immediately picks Frost up and smashes his face against the side of the ring.

Yale: What is Rollins doing? Frost was down there...

Bryan: He probably wasn't going to get a ten count though. For my money, that's a smart move on Rollins' behalf: why should he leave Frost alone and give him a chance to recover?

Seeing that Andy Murray is having his way with Terror in the ring, Rollins whistles at the Scot and circles his hands round each other. Andy smiles.

Bryan: What's he up to?

Yale: I think Rollins wants to swap, JB!

Bryan: Of course! He's desperate to get his hands on Terror; now he has his chance.

Andy nods, takes Terror by the neck, and throws him through the top two ropes. Frost is simultaneously rolled into the ring. The King rubs his hands together gleefully, going to work on Frost as a more interesting encounter develops outside the ring.

Bryan: It's revenge time for The Renegade, Dave. He's going to savour every moment of this.

Yale: It's not like Rich hasn't done much worse earlier in his career though. These fans obviously have short memories...

Rollins grins from ear-to-ear and throws his hair back. Using the toe of his boot, Rich nudges Terror onto his back before putting his boot on Jay's chest and saying something picked-up only by the first few rows of fans. Then he turns, grabs the steel chair, and slowly pulls Jay to his feet.

Bryan: Rich's gonna hurt him, Dave.

Yale: That chair's already got a huge dent from Frost landing on it, and the dent's about to be joined by an indentation of Jay Terror's facial features.

Standing his opponent at the post that had just had its steps removed, Rollins pulls the chair back and lines it up like a baseball player.

Yale: I don't like the look of this...

Rollins charges forward, swinging the chair at Terror's head.

Yale: WAIT! Jay ducks!

The chair hits the post with an almighty clang and shockwaves reverberate up Rich Rollins' arms.

Bryan: Rollins missed!

Yale: And here comes Terror!

Jay grabs the back of the chair and wrangles it free from Rollins' grip, but Rich is quick enough to duck under Jay's swing. The Renegade powers forward, spearing Jay into the barricade and dropping him to the floor.

Bryan: Just when you thought Rich had blown it, Jay gets clattered again. Rich is fighting like a brave tonight, Dave.

Yale: As he's always done, JB. Not even the most savage of beatings can phase this guy: his confidence, grit and determination are legendary, and it'll take a titanic effort for Jay or Triumph to put him away tonight.

Bryan: Or perhaps a concentrated attack on that knee?

Yale: But of course.

The Renegade, spurred on by the fans around him, puts both hands on the barricade and rubs his boot against Jay's face. Jay claws, spits and tries to swat Rich away, but he only gets met with a boot to the face for his troubles. With his opponent now suitable incapacitated, Rollins washes Terror's face again before backing off and putting an arm in the air.

"RAAAAAHHHHHHH!"

Bryan: These fans are loving Rich Rollins tonight!

Yale: They'd cheer for anyone who beats Terror up though. Rich is just humiliating him at the moment...

Bryan: And after last week who can blame him?

Given a few seconds to ponder his options, Rich looks around and takes note of his surroundings. Then an idea pops into his head.

Bryan: Rich picks Jay up, but where's he going?

Yale: Uhhh, I think he's coming over here.

The Renegade takes Terror around the outside of the ring, but it's not JB and Dave he goes to. He bypasses the English language announce table and the Spanish, before eventually stopping at the Scottish table. Finding himself under the glare of two kilt-clad Scots, Rollins rips the cover off the table.

Wallace: AYE, ROLLINS LADDIE! WHIT'RE YE DOIN' TAE OOR TABLE NESSIE?!

MacTavish: OCH LADDIE! THE HILLS, THE HILLS LADDIE!

Yale: Ummm, can we get some subtitles please?

Rollins mightn't understand a word they're saying, but they certainly understand him when he shouts "MOVE!"

Wallace: OCH! WHISKEY AND HAGGIS!

MacTavish: OATCAKES! GOLF! CRAIG FERGUSON!

Andy Murray's countrymen head for the hills as Rich Rollins yanks the monitors from the table and rolls Terror onto the top. Soon Rollins joins him and climbs to his feet, before pulling Jay up by the waist and throwing his head between his legs.

Bryan: Oh God, look out!

Yale: Rich hoists him up... POWERBOMB!

Bryan: Wait, no! Jay is battling back!

A desperate Terror pounds at Rich's head again and again. Eventually, inevitable, he catches the back of the skull. Rich can't keep holding on, and Terror glides safely down.

Yale: Thank God for that, JB. Terror would surely have been a goner had Rich put him through that table.

Bryan: It would've been nothing less than Terror deserves after last week's heinous attack. Jay's dodged himself a bullet there, make no mistake.

He hardly has time to adjust though. Suddenly he pulls a hand clamping his ankle, and by the time he's looked down Andy Murray has pulled him to the floor and jabbed his face. Jay absorbs the blow and fires back, clocking Murray's chin with a right hand. A left precedes another right and soon Jay is bundling Murray back into the ring. The Established follows him inside, but it doesn't take Rollins long to recover and sprint over himself.

Bryan: All four men are back in the ring!

Yale: Murray and Frost look hurt though. Rollins and Terror, let's get it on!

Finding himself standing eye-to-eye with Jay Terror, Rich Rollins cracks his knuckles. He and Jay circle one another before Terror makes the first move, running at Rich and getting kneed in the stomach for his troubles.

Bryan: Rollins stops Jay with that one, and the arm rake takes Jay to the mat.

Rollins drops a knee across Terror's body. He gets to his feet, turns around, and points to the turnbuckles to a mighty cheer from the crowd. In the background, Murray and Frost struggle to recover.

Yale: Are you thinking what I'm thinking?

Bryan: It's elbow time, baby!

He storms to the turnbuckles, Rich, and climbs up to the top rope. Taking a moment to steady himself on his bad leg, Rollins leaps off and a thousand cameras flash.

Bryan: ANARCHIST ELBO--

Yale: NO! TERROR ROLLS OUT OF THE WAY!

Missing Jay Terror by a matter of centimetres, Rich Rollins' elbow hits the canvas hard. The Established, though still hurt, rolls onto his stomach and grins.

Bryan: Rich Rollins is down, Dave! Perfect timing from Terror.

It doesn't take long for Jay to get back to his feet. When he gets up the first thing he does is neutralise Murray with a kick to the stomach, before disturbing Rollins before David Fellows can administer the count. Hauling Rollins to his feet, Jay takes him over to a corner and kicks his bad knee before climbing onto the second turnbuckle and balling a fist.

"BOOOOOOOOO!"

Jay hits Rollins in the face one, two, three times but nobody's counting with him. Four, five, six and there's nothing The Renegade can do about. Seven, eight and the jeers only intensify. Nine, ten and Jay hops down, dusting his hands together.

Bryan: Jay Terror is in firm control of Rich Rollins, and that missed Anarchist Elbow looks to be a huge turning point in this match.

Yale: Not only is Jay Terror taking it to his rival but Triumph Frost has Andy Murray exactly where he wants him as well. This isn't panning out well for the good guys.

Bryan: Jay Terror and Triumph Frost have a bit of history and they don't necessary care for one another, but they've begrudgingly helped each other out in the past and they're doing everything they need to tonight. Perhaps Andy Murray's GCW career won't finish with a happy ending after all...

As Terror sets about inflicting punishment on Rollins, Triumph Frost does the exact same on Andy Murray. He has the slightly larger man on his feet and is knocking him around like a punching bag. Adopting a boxer's stance, Triumph mocks his opponent by peppering him with in-and-out jabs, before lamping him on the cheek with a big haymaker.

Yale: Triumph Frost is relishing every second of this, JB.

Bryan: He's been itching for a shot at Murray ever since the Scot eliminated him at Dangerous Games, and now he has his chance.

Yale: He's mocking him, humiliating him in that ring. He's been doing it for months with that damn money, and now he's showing the world that he's more than Andy Murray's equal in the ring.

The Scottish King of Cool falls to all fours, his massive body heaving with every breath. Triumph stands with Murray between his legs, slapping the side of his head, shouting obscenities as he goes.

Bryan: This is just downright disrespectful now, especially on Murray's last night as a pro-wrestler.

Yale: This is what Triumph Frost does, JB! Do you honestly think he gives a damn about Andy Murray's son? Of course he doesn't!

Bryan: It's a shame that it's come to this, because Andy Murray vs. Triumph Frost is such an intriguing clash. In terms of size and style they're almost identical.

Yale: If it's clinical wrestling you want to see then you've come to the wrong place, I'm afraid. This one's all about bad blood and ill will.

Little does Triumph know, however, that he's about to get a taste of his own medicine. He goes to dish-out another slap to The King but Andy grabs his wrist in a vice-like grip. Twisting Frost's hand round, Murray grits his teeth together and powers to his feet, before putting Frost on his ass with a push and a trip.

Bryan: That's more like it!

Standing tall over Frost, Murray has no time to attack Frost as a revitalised and rejuvenated Jay Terror blindsides him with a blow to the temple. Andy judders towards the ropes but recovers in time to toss Jay over the top. Terror, however, lands on the outside and, after pushing Murray away from the ropes, quickly hops onto the top one and flies off with dropkick.

Bryan: Wow! I'm not Terror fan, but that was impressive...

Yale: What a recovery by Jay!

Unable to rest with Rollins still very much in the game, Terror abandons Murray and goes back to the Renegade. Murray gets to his feet quickly, but Frost is waiting for him. Andy ducks under Frost's punch and quickly kicks his gut before throwing his head under his arm, grabbing his waistband and pulling Frost into the air.

Bryan: Hanging vertical suplex! You know what comes next...

Yale: Triumph Frost is about to taste a Highland Hangover!

Andy keeps Frost in the air for a few seconds move, but the big man's weight is difficult to keep hoisted. A sway goes in Frost's favour, and with quick thinking he's able to put an arm around Murray's neck and...

Bryan: What the!?

Yale: HUGE COUNTER! WOW!

A gigantic reverse DDT puts Andy Murray into the mat. Triumph Frost sits up, smiling.

Bryan: That was absolutely ridiculous, Dave! I've never seen anyone counter the Highland Hangover like!

Yale: Frost is a hell of an athlete, JB! He's amazingly dexterous for his size, and Andy held him up there for just a second too long. Frost says he's Championship material and it's hard to argue with him when he pulls-off moves like that!

Bryan: Indeed!
.
Swaggering like a chihuahua with a ten inch penis, Frost sees the Rollins/Terror battle changing direction again and yanks Rollins away from his partner, drilling him with an elbow smash and throwing him to the outside. Triumph follows him out and starts looking for his steel chair.

Bryan: Looks like Triumph is fixing to finish what he started earlier.

Rollins, however, has a surprise of his own. It doesn't take long for Frost to reach the steel chair and he soon takes it round to where Rich lays. What he doesn't see is Rich Rollin's hand sliding beneath the ring, and he doesn't see the fire extinguisher until it's too late.

Yale: OH MY!

The gas hits his face before he can swing the chair and Triumph falls backwards, temporarily blinded. Rich takes a quick breather.

Bryan: Rollins again using a foreign object to his advantage.

Yale: He's never been shy of such tactics, unlike his partner Murray. Frost shouldn't have turned his back on Rollins: that's his inexperience showing right there.

Bryan: Couldn't have put it better myself. Rollins is in-control on the outside, and Terror and Murray are just getting up on the inside.

Inside the ring both men get back to their feet at roughly the same time. A mid-ring collision is inevitable, and Murray swats Jay's punch away before grabbing his arm and transitioning to a side headlock. Andy wrenches the hold and cranks it deeper, before bringing Jay down with a hip toss. Terror hops-up quickly but Murray ducks behind him and hooks him in a full nelson. With an almighty heave Andy hoists Jay into the air before driving his shoulders down into the mat.

Bryan: Full nelson slam!

Yale: Andy Murray is back in business, and Jay Terror is down! Here comes the count.

...1!

...2!

...3!

Predictably, Jay stirs almost immediately.

Bryan: Well a full nelson slam was hardly going to end this match, but it's been a while since Murray inflicted any serious offence. Lets see if he can take advantage.

Meanwhile, Rich Rollins is beating on Triumph Frost outside the ring. The Renegade slugs his opponent with a couple of body shots against the barricade, before a short elbow strike wobbles Frost enough for Rollins to duck down and toss him over the barricade.

Bryan: Oh my! This one's about to spill over into the crowd.

Yale: I can see this getting very messy very quickly...

Rollins is quick to follow Frost over the barricade as fans disperse for their own safety. Rich goes to punch Frost but a desperate counter strikes Rich's face first, and soon the two are stood exchanging blows, surrounded by fans.

Bryan: These guys have got to be careful! The last thing GCW needs on its first ever trip to the Moon is a fan getting hurt...

Yale: These two are far too focused on hurting each other that it could easily spill over, but I dunno. The fans are making themselves scarce pretty damn quickly.

Rollins get caught square on the jaw. With his opponent wobbled, Frost smacks him hard in the face, forcing Rollins further away from the ring. Josh Briggs follows them.

Bryan: I don't like where this is going, Dave.

Yale: Take a look back in the ring then! Murray is in firm control against Terror.

The King has Terror on his knees and is looking to finish his foe off. Suddenly a fist flies between Murray's legs, catching The King exactly where he didn't want to be caught.

"OOOOOHHHHHHHH!"

Bryan: Low blow! Jay Terror in cheap shot shock!

Yale: All's fair under these rules, JB. Now Terror has a chance to turn the tides.

But he doesn't. Instead, Jay slides out of the ring and grabs the fallen Scot's leg. He drags him out of the ring.

Bryan: Not these guys too!

Yale: This is descending into chaos, JB! Chaos!

Jay pulls Murray’s head back and slams it against the barricade. The dazed Scot slumps down onto the mat and David Fellows, sensing that Terror isn’t going to attack, starts the count.

…1!

Bryan: Big blow to Murray’s head! Is that going to be enough?

…2!

Terror isn’t planning on hanging around to find out. After the second count he puts one foot over the barricade and jumps into the crowd.

Yale: Where the hell is he going?!

…3!

Murray begins to stir as Terror brushes fans aside. The commotion caused by Frost and Rollins is visible in the distance.

…4!

Bryan: I think he’s going to help Frost with Rollins, but Murray’s getting up!

By now The King is on all fours and Fellows has stopped his count. Andy puts his hands over the barricade and hauls his tried body up. It takes a few moments for the butterflies to clear but the spectators’ cries help him come to his senses. He spies Jay marching through the crowd and hops over without hesitation.

Bryan: Murray’s giving chase!

Yale: I don’t think Jay’s interested in Frost and Rollins though. He’s going right past them!

Sure enough, Jay sidesteps the match’s other two competitors just as Frost throws a knee into Rollins’s ribs. He looks over his shoulder but only smiles when he sees Murray coming after him.

Bryan: Where is he going then?

Yale: I think he’s heading for that camera tower.

Bryan: What?! Why?

Jay comes to a cleared area and stops at the foot of a 10ft tall camera tower, built from pipe and planks and partially cloaked by a black curtain. It’s sole occupant looks down nervously from his camera nest as Murray stops a few feet from Jay. The Outlaw clamps a hand on one of the poles and winks.

Yale: Is he…?!

Suddenly Jay puts a foot on the bottom of the structure and starts climbing.

Bryan: He is.

It doesn’t take long for the nimble Outlaw to scale the tower, and he’s on its wooden top as quickly as the cameraman has leapt down from it. Jay stands tall and looks down at Murray, goading him through the camera flashes.

Bryan: That’s not a good idea, Andy.

Yale: Probably not, but it’ll be entertaining.

Bryan: No. He’s walking out of GCW because his son might not walk again: the last thing Andy needs is to be leaving here in the back of an ambulance.

Yale: It doesn’t look like he’s got much of a choice, JB. Jay won’t be coming down any time soon…

Bryan: He will if Murray and Rollins start doing a number on Frost.

Murray looks around, noticing Rollins mount a comeback against Frost by throwing a forearm into his jaw. He looks up at Jay, who smiles and folds his arms, then around to the expectant fans.

Sure enough, Andy Murray starts climbing the tower.

Bryan: Oh no…

It takes him a good while longer than Terror, but soon his 275lbs frame is at the top of the tower and Jay is stomping his back. Murray is strong enough to rise from under The Outlaw’s blows and is soon on his feet, knocking Terror with six with a series of short elbow strikes. Andy knees his opponent in the gut and takes a step backwards, steadying himself on a precariously unstable structure.

Yale: Murray can barely stay on his feet up there!

Bryan: That thing was built for a 170lb man to sit on, not for a 275lb man to fight on. Andy has to drag Jay down from there for their own safety!

Murray’s hesitancy gives Jay the opening he needs as the building’s higher cameras hone-in on the action. Jay rakes Andy’s eyes and kicks him straight between the legs.

"BOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

The jeers garnered by the low blow only seem to further encourage The Outlaw, who throws the camera to the ground to make more room. With Murray downed, Jay stomps the back of his head and leans down.

Bryan: What’s he doing now?

Yale: Is he trying to remove one of the planks?!

Sure enough, Jay Terror has both of his hands on the end on one of the wooden lengths that comprise the tower’s floor. He pries the wood loose from its slack binding and hoists it in the air.

Bryan: Jesus, Jay. Think about what you’re doing!

Yale: I’m sure he already has.

The wood hits the concrete below and already Jay is setting about loosening another plank.

Bryan: If he keeps going like this then there won’t be much of a tower left.

Yale: He’s already got a whole big enough to shove Murray down. What does he need a second piece of wood for?

Bryan: I don’t know, but somebody’s gotta stop this before somebody gets hurt!

Jay is only able to loosen the wood before Murray starts stirring again. Falling back to a seated position, Murray puts a hand down to steady himself but it shoots straight through a plank that isn’t there.

Yale: I think Murray just got a nasty surprise…

Jay drops the wood down without bothering to secure it. He steps over the gap and knees Murray’s forward, before labouring to haul the giant Scot to his feet.

Bryan: Oh no.

With Murray knelt before him and at his mercy, Jay goes to apply double underhooks. Murray, however, is too strong for him. The King summons enough energy to power out and punch Jay hard in the gut. Winded, The Outlaw doubles-over and Murray rises, carefully avoiding the gap.

Bryan: Thank God for that…

Yale: D’you think Murray’s going to get down now?

Bryan: I hope so, Dave. The last thing we want to see is Andy picking-up a nasty injury on his last night in GCW.

But Andy Murray doesn’t get down from the tower. Andy Murray, with one foot either side of the gap, positions Jay Terror’s body carefully and throws his head between his thighs.

Bryan: What the hell?!

The crowd cheer as Murray wraps his arms around Terror’s gut.

Yale: He’s going to power bomb him down that hole!

Bryan: It’s too riskó

Murray’s legs start to wobble as soon as he tries to lift Jay. He hesitates and looks down.

It’s not his legs that are wobbling: it’s the tower.

Bryan: Its… it’s…

Yale: It’s coming down!

Andy lets Jay go and tries to bail, but it's too late. Loosened by the missing planks and unable to cope with the weight of two bulky men, the tower's diagonal poles give way and the structure collapses with a deafening crash.

Yale: OH MY GOD!

The fallen tower settles as a misshapen pile of wood, metal and cloth. A jarred silence settles in the arena. Nearby, Triumph Frost pulls his balled fist away from Rich Rollin's face and gawks.

Yale: What the hell just happened?!

Bryan: Jesus Christ, Murray and Terror are under there!

Yale: Jay shouldn't have messed with the floor, JB. I hope nobody's hurt...

Bryan: Get some help over there! Quickly!

David Fellows and Josh Briggs rush over to the fallen structure. Briggs takes the initiative and peeks through a gap in the wreckage, looking for signs of life.

Yale: We could have a double knock-out here, JB.

Bryan: Who cares about the match? Jay and Andy could be seriously hurt!

It takes a few seconds for Briggs to find what he's looking for. Eventually he pulls his head out and waves.

Yale: Josh Briggs just waved for the match to continue!

Bryan: What?!

Yale: I guess this means Murray and Terror aren't dead.

Dead they may not be, but incapacitated they certainly are. Briggs, always the consummate professional, starts his count as Rich Rollins slyly takes advantage of Frost's distraction with a football tackle.

...1!

...2!

Bryan: I can't see either of them getting up after that, Dave. We could have ourselves a no-contest...

...3!

Yale: If you had it your way it'd already be a no-contest!

...4!

Rollins, now mounted, slugs fist after fist into Frost's jaw. He pauses only to look over his shoulder at the fallen twoer.

...5!

Yale: Wait... is that?

Movement from the tower. A small portion of debris shifts but no significantly.

Bryan: Somebody's pushing! Somebody's trying to get out.

...6!

Another heave, but again to no avil.

...7!

Bryan: C'mon!

Nothing. Rollins leaves Frost and darts to the pile to aid what he hopes is Murray's escape.

...8!

A pipe falls down from the top of the pile. A hand bursts out.

...9!

Yale: Somebody's up!

Bryan: Thank God...

Yale: Who is it?!

...10!

The camera angle isn't perfect but it's good enough to show a head popping through the wreckage.

A head with hair too short to be Andy Murray's.

Bryan: Oh no.

DING! DING! DING!

The Renegade, defeated, drops a pipe to the floor and falls backwards, exhausted. Jay Terror's torso claws its way out of what remains of the tower. He rolls to the floor and lands on his back, looking skyward.

Andrews: Ladies and Gentlemen, your winners... TRIUMPH FROST AND JAY TEEEERRRRRRRRRRRRRROOOOOOORRRRRRRRRRRRRR!

"Who Shot Ya?" hits but there is little celebration. Terror is bruised, bloodied, and move than happy not moving. Rollins is as deflated as each and every one of the fans in attendance. Frost is on all fours, smarting from Rollin's fists. Andy Murray is hidden somewhere beneath a pile of steel and wood.

Bryan: So it goes that Andy Murray leaves GCW on a defeat, but really this could've gone either way.

Yale: As soon as the tower went down everything was up in the air. It'd been a pretty close contest up until then, but chance was on The Established's side tonight.

Bryan: Terror was reckless to scale the tower in the first place, and Murray was foolish to follow him. Such risks always end in tears in this business.

Yale: Terror wanted to send Andy away with an injury to remember him by, and Murray wanted to go out with a bang. This sport is all about those high-risk, high-reward situations, JB. To fault either of them for what happened would be missing the point.

Briggs and Fellows start trying to dig Murray out of the pile, but neither are strong enough to make a significant dent. They wave to the back and, right on queue, a team of medics pile through the crowd with a couple of stretchers.

Bryan: Oh God, Murray is still under there...

Yale: This... this isn't good, JB. This isn't good at all.

The medical team split up. Two go to Jay Terror and one goes to Triumph Frost. Another goes to Rollins, who pushes him away, while the rest go to the pile.

Yale: Come on Andy, get out of there.

Bryan: If only it were that simple.

Yale: Well, Jay got out...

Bryan: We don't know if Murray's even conscious though. He's under a a lot of heavy materials and could be pinned the ground. I just hope he's okay. This is no way for a champion to go out.

Terror's theme is respectfully dimmed as poles and planks are slowly dislodged from where the tower once stood. The medics and referees tip-toe around the edges for their own safety but Rich Rollins, having shaken away the disappointment of defeat, barges through them and starts ripping debris away to a cheer from the heartened crowd.

Yale: Rollins is getting stuck-in, JB.

Bryan: And wait, who's that on the ramp?

Chris Bagwell piles over the barricade as fast as he's ever moved, and Vivica J. Valentine isn't far behind him. Soon the GCW staff have dispersed, content to let the wrestlers tear chunks from the pile.

Bryan: Bagwell and Valentine, two of Murray's closest friends, are out here now.

Yale: Rollins, Bagwell and Valentine are working in-tandem to get The King the hell out of there.

Valentine, sensing that a breakthrough is near, yells at the medical team to ready a stretcher. Soon a hole emerges in the middle of the pile and Chris Bagwell hops down it.

Bryan: I think they've found him, Dave!

Yale: Thank goodness for that. The sooner they get Andy Murray to hospital, the better.

The arena hushes with anticipation. Silence falls. Seconds later, Chris Bagwell emerges from the centre of the pile with a battered Scottish King of Cool over his shoulder.

Bryan: Well, there he is folks.

Yale: That was a huge, huge fall. All kinds of heavy just flattened Murray. He'll be very lucky if he hasn't broken a bone...

Bryan: He's out now and conscious by the look of things. The best thing to do now is to just strap him up and get him in that ambulance. This isn't the way he would've wanted to go out and it's unfair, but fate has a funny way.

Strengthless, all Murray can do is lean on the wreckage and let Rollins, Bagwell and Valentine pull him down. The only thing keeping his eyes open is the applause that ripples through the building. Rollins and Bagwell pick Murray from the floor and drag his 275lb body over to the stretcher, on which they set him down.

Bryan: Thank you, Andy. Thank you and goodnight.

Yale: It's been a hell of a ride, JB. Murray may have lost tonight but he can leave GCW with his head held high. His runs has been nothing short of remarkable.

Bryan: Rampage Tournament. Wrestler of the Year. World Championship. Dangerous Games. Andy Murray has won just about everything. Few can match his glittering resume. He has done enough to ensure that his name will be rightfully mentioned in the same breath as Rollins, Valentine and Knight when GCW's all-time greats are mentioned.

Yale: Nobody can deny the achievements this guy has racked-up over the years. He came into GCW with little fanfare following a disappointing AWC run but he's torn through GCW like none other. Andy, I salute you.

Murray is on the stretcher, but he's not cooperating. As the medics try to strap him in, Andy flails his weary arms and tries to usher them away.

Bryan: Come on, Andy. Don't struggle.

Yale: This is foolish. Murray needs to let the medical team get on with their jobs for his own sake.

Unfortunately for the medics, however, Andy Murray is too proud to go out like this. He barks at them, but they don't back off until the King pushes himself up from the floor and into a seated position. Breathing heavily, Andy leans onto his arched knees and looks around.

Yale: He's trying to get-up, JB.

He looks once to the crowd, once to the medics, and then once to his friends. He extends a hand and beckons them forward. Chris Bagwell obliges gingerly and takes Andy's hand.

Bryan: Bagwell's helping him up!

The King's legs are like Bambi's by the time he's on his vertical base and he immediately falls back against the barricade. Exhausted, Murray takes a moment to compose himself before standing to his full height and wiping sweat from his eyes.

Bryan: Well, for better or worse, Andy Murray is on his feet.

Yale: Remarkable, given what he's just been through. This guy is a warrior, JB.

Bryan: One last beating couldn't keep The King down.

It's hard to ignore the sadness in his eyes, but the last thing Andy Murray wants is a teary goodbye. He takes a bold, wobbly step away from the barricade and puts both hands in the air, clapping them together. He's on his feet, applauding the fans on his last night in GCW, and it isn't long before the whole arena's doing the exact same thing.

Bryan: A standing ovation for The Scottish King of Cool! What a poignant moment, Dave.

Yale: Sheer adrenaline and love for the fans are all that's keeping Murray going. His body's going to give way as soon as this feeling wears off, but good for him. He deserves every moment of this.

"THANK YOU ANDY!"

CLAP! CLAP! CLAP-CLAP-CLAP!

"THANK YOU ANDY!"

CLAP! CLAP! CLAP-CLAP-CLAP!


With Terror and Frost long gone, Andy walks towards Bagwell, Valentine and Rollins. With Bagwell he exchanges a handshake and a backslap. With Valentine he shares a hug that would've seemed impossible at the start of the night. Rollins removes his bandanna and knots it, before sliding it up Andy's arm and tying it. Next Murray goes to Briggs and Fellows, thanking them for helping, before putting his hands in the air and applauding the crowd one last time. He doesn't head for the ramp, but clambers over a barricade instead.

Yale: Where's he going?

Bryan: Andy is going out through the fans, Dave. How very, very fitting.

"THANK YOU ANDY!"

CLAP! CLAP! CLAP-CLAP-CLAP!

"THANK YOU ANDY!"

CLAP! CLAP! CLAP-CLAP-CLAP!


Surrounded by those who adore him, Andy Murray begins the longest climb of his life. Every stair is taken slowly as hands reach out to touch him.

Yale: And so Andy Murray goes out on his shield, just like he said earlier.

Bryan: Some have made grander exits, but few have ever left in such an appropriate manner. The King is still making sure the fans get their money's worth, even with his career effectively over.

Eventually Andy reaches the top of the staircase. He turns around and takes a long, deep breath, savouring the moment as he soaks-in the atmosphere one final time. Surrounded by thousands chanting his name, Andy puts a hand out in front of him and bows.

Bryan: And so ends one of the most impressive runs in GCW history. Dave, I sincerely hope that this is just "farewell" and not "goodbye".

Yale: That man is pure class, JB. Though it has sometimes worked to his detriment, Murray is as noble a man as I've ever seen. He's never let the fans down, never double-crossed an all and always shown complete dedication to his friends and allies. All the best to him and his.

Bryan: I couldn't have put it better myself. Thank you, Andy.

The King turns around with a heavy heart and slides through the swingdoors and out of sight. The visual feed fades, and all we are left with are the sounds of an arena full of admiration.

"THANK YOU ANDY!"

CLAP! CLAP! CLAP-CLAP-CLAP!

"THANK YOU ANDY!"

CLAP! CLAP! CLAP-CLAP-CLAP...

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Shockwave 2011 Credits


Results compiled and archived with Backstage V2.