WorldWide 156

High Spirits Casino | Las Vegas, NV | December 19 2011

One of GCW's four championships will be on the line in a one on one competition that could change the landscape of GCW going into Dangerous Games.


Riiiiinnnnnnngggggg....

The crowd gives a mixed but surprisingly mostly positive response as the face of GCW Commissioner Christian Zenith appears on the screen. His expression is that of frustration, biting his lip as it continues on.

Riiiiinnnnnnngggggg....

Panning out, the monster who assaulted Shaman last week stands next to him, stoic and silent. Rasa II simply watches on as Christian looks down at his watch, impatiently waiting to hear something on the other end. Anything.

Hello, you've reached the voicemail box of...

Zenith: Goddamn it.

The Heir to New York explaims under his breath before ending the call on his iPhone 4. Shaking his head, Christian begins to speak to Rasa.

Zenith: Are people as unreliable in your line of work as they are in mine?

This, of course, is given no answer.

Zenith: I come from a world where if you're early to work, you're on time, and if you're on time... you're late. It's a bit frustrating when you've been in the building for six hours, the show has already started and there are still people who haven't even bothered to show up.

Rasa looks on from beneath its mask with a blank stare. Suddenly, Christian stops his natural movement. He feels like he's being watched. Looking over his shoulder he looks back at someone just off camera. Slowly turning towards them, he is blunt in his response.

Zenith: And you are?

The camera fumbles around to lock in on the center of Zenith's attention. In the doorway stands a techie, clipboard in hand, and a nervous expression on his ugly mug.

Techie: Charles. Mr. Zenith, I hate to bother you but, there's somebody out here claiming to work here. He doesn't have credentials, no driver's license, but he-

The current Boss Hog of GCW steps up, glancing briefly at Rasa II, and marches toward the door. He steps out, past Chuck, and locks eyes with an ink-laden young man wearing a black skullcap and sunglasses.

Bryan: Is that... who is that?

The security detail parts like the Red Sea as Christian steps closer. The young man removes his sunglasses, slowly, and then peels the cap off even slower.

Yale: Oh great.

Bryan: Ladies and gentlemen... I believe... is that... that's Danny Francisco. That's Dynasty. Dynasty is here!

RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

A roar of delight rips through the crowd. Zenith, hearing the audio from the broadcast clear as day, can't help but jerk his head at that horrid sound of joy and happiness. His eyes narrow.

Zenith: And you are...?

His response is only silence as the man soaks up the cheers of the crowd he can hear deep inside of the arena.

Zenith: Hello? Do you have a name?

Dynasty: If you give me one.

Zenith: What?

Dynasty: Word on the street is you need help, big time, Zenith. You're losing control of this place, losing money, too, and they say...

Francisco flashes a grin full of satisfaction.

Dynasty: ...they say you've lost the locker room.

Zenith scoffs at the outlandish remark.

Zenith: That's Mr. Zenith to you, and I'm afraid you've let the internet gossip get the best of you.

Dynasty: That's why I'm here. I'm here to give you a hand, and give myself a shot... at that.

He points to a poster of Triumph Frost donning the GCW World Championship. In fact, the poster is of all the current GCW champions taken to promote the upcoming GCW trademark show, Dangerous Games.

Zenith: I don't know where you come from mister...

Dynasty: Just call me Danny, Danny Francisco.

Zenith: ...Mr. Francisco, but the men and women here in Global Champioship Wrestling have to pay their dues to the top. One does not simply walk into...

Dynasty: Mordor, I know. I've been telling Elrond that since the second age, but he doesn't listen to me... no one ever does.

Zenith: You're a waste of my time, Mr. Francisco.

Before Christian can shut the door in his face, Dynasty shoves his foot into the door, keeping it from closing. Rasa towers over Dynasty, who then immediately stops his attempts to get inside.

Dynasty: Wait, wait...

Zenith: You have 30 seconds.

Dynasty: Leaving was a mistake, I've been through a lot of crap to get here tonight and I just want a chance. One chance. I'm here, I'm on time, I'm ready to go, and unlike the Damien Cross guy I had the decency to show up... if only this one time.

Christian glares back at Rasa, who appears to stare up and down... measuring up Dynasty from judgmental eyes behind its mask. Rasa then moves its head back towards the Commissioner.

Zenith: Get your gear on, you're next.

Back to Top


You feel the rumble. The trepidation. It's not just camera's shaking, a rabid crowd stomping their feet, or the San Andreas fault opening up and carving the West coast apart.

Nope, it's the whole shit load of fireworks we bought for dirt cheap from those Triad guys that hang out at in the industrial section of town. And hoo-boy, there was a whole lotta 'em. Bada Bing Bada Booms, Tropic Thunders, Golden Pyro Fusions and the Battle of Antietam. I assure you, Katy Perry ain't got shit on us.

And to the tune of Rage Against the Machine's "Wake Up", they all blow up RIGHT IN YO' MUTHAFUCKIN' FACE!

Bryan: Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the internet-famous and Shaman-owned High Spirits Casino here in Las Vegas, Nevada, as we get ready to present a very special edition of WorldWide! It's High Stakes time, folks, and once again, we've got no clue who's fighting who!

Yale: You got it. But we do know the matches they'll be competing in. Four GCW superstars will face off for the American Dream, with the winner getting a shot at the United States champion anytime, anywhere. No Aaron Fujita-Television title shenanigans; this one's for the stars and stripes. You even get a gold medal, too! It's like a prize within a prize!

Bryan: After that, it's two competitors' shot at trading places.

Yale: I love that movie!

Bryan: I can assure you it won't be Aykroyd and Murphy this time, but the winner gets a heckuva deal: they can change places one time only with the loser on any card, for any match, in the entirety of 2012. If the loser gets a World title shot, the winner can take their place if they decide to. It might be the biggest prize of the night.

Yale: I dunno. We've got two different title matches, so one half of the championships in GCW will be on the line tonight.

Bryan: And another one will be on the horizon. Sandwiched between those title matches is what we're calling a "guaranteed gold" match. It's like it sounds, folks. The winner gets a World title shot, guaranteed, any time they want in 2012.

Yale: It really is a high stakes affair, isn't it?

Bryan: For some more than others, Dave. Some...more than others.

And then the camera cuts away to a match or a seg or some shit. Whatever. It's not like you read this anyway.

Back to Top


The ripping guitar and drum line that starts "My Reward" hits the PA system, and the crowd reacts.

BOOOOOOOO!!!

On the stage stands Alexander Redding, decked out in complete gear, a Big Sugar T-Shirt, and the United States title, again backwards. He stands still, only rolling his head to either side, smiling all the more wider as the boos intensify. From behind him strides Grady Patrick, classic sports coat, bowler cap tilted just so, jeans, cane and neck brace, to really sell last week’s beating.

Yale: We heard during the week that Grady planned to come out here and reveal just exactly what started that chaotic ending at World Wide 155, and I guess there is not time like the present.

Bryan: You can see the neck brace Grady is wearing; he claims to have suffered major neck trauma from Aimz’ assault.

Yale: We’ll see just how well you hold up after a Bitchkiller from a furious Amy Campbell.

Now at the bottom of the ramp, Grady Patrick takes to the stairs as Alexander Redding continues around the ring. Gingerly through the middle and top rope, Grady enters the ring. By the time he has taken to the center of the squared circle, Redding has grabbed a steel chair from under the apron. He takes it over to the English announce table and takes a seat next to David Yale.

A buzz cuts through the mic as Grady taps it twice, making sure it is on.

Patrick: If I could ask you to be so polite as to get over yourselves, I have something to show you all.

It does nothing but renew the chorus of booing from the Vegas crowd. Grady looks annoyed, but refuses to continue until the crowd noise is lowered down to section 134 chanting profanities.

Patrick: Last World Wide, I was the victim of a wanton assault. I was helping a minor, who has no business what-so-ever being at ringside. The young girl collapsed. I only caught it out of the corner of my eye. The concerned gentleman that I am, I immediately made my way to her side to offer any assistance I could. But it wasn’t long after that I found myself rushed, disorientated and unable to defend myself.

He takes his free hand and brings it up to his neck. He winces a little for effect.

Patrick: Amy Campbell went too far. My lawyers have been asking me to press assault charges. But what good would a stretch in jail be, for you, the GCW fans!

The cheap pandering gets almost no response.

Patrick: No, what I want is an apology. An acknowledgement of wrong and act of contrition. Ms. Campbell, I know you are in the building. I would appreciate it if you were out here when I show the world the footage that proves my innocence, and proves your recklessness.

Yale: Grady’s calling out Aimz. Wha?

The much muffled and nearly muted voice of Alexander Redding can be heard making a joke, its punch-line, "she’s already been outed."

Yale: Ha. Heh. Uhm.

Bryan: The Red Raver is never one to back down from any sort of challenge. I am sure she is just as curious to see what happened at the last World Wide as we are.

Cue the beginning of "Run This Town" and bring this crowd up to its feet for the little redhead in jeans and the brand-spanking-new Aimz tanktop (get yours today at the GCW Shop and your nearest concessions stand). We know the deal by now: Campbell steps out onto the top of the ramp, using her hand to shield her eyes as she looks over the screaming fans. She tosses them a grin, moseying down the aisle with the odd hand-slap. Despite Redding's assault at WorldWide 155, Amy seems to be in quite an amiable mood. Those who know her would say that's probably bad news for Grady and the US Champion.

Bryan: Aimz not making any bones about going down there, and it doesn't look like she's coming alone.

There's a seventeen-year-old girl trailing in Amy's wake. Quinn Gregory isn't used to the spotlight quite yet, but her head is up and she's a little more accommodating for the hand-slaps and photo ops than Campbell; blame the Red Raver's laser-like (well, for her) focus.

Bryan: Anytime you have Aimz involved, you automatically have a combustible element, but Redding and Grady seem... particularly focused tonight.

Yale: I'm particularly focused, too. In my pants.

Aimz slides under the bottom rope and pivots up to her feet, never putting her back to Redding. Quinn slinks up the steps, lingering in the corner as Amy ascends to the middle rope to drink in some cheers.

Bryan: It's clear this crowd at least is supportive of the Red Raver.

Yale: This crowd is made up of drunkards and gamblers. Who cares what they think?

Campbell is handed the microphone, and she turns back to Grady and Alexander, lifting it to her lips.

Aimz: What're you trying to pull here? Really. I don't cheat, I didn't screw anyone over. I fought.

Her outrage is short-lived, but a smirk touches her lips.

Aimz: You know, there're only about four, maybe five people in this entire arena who wouldn't want to see me kick your head clean off your shoulders. Two are standing in the ring - unless you hate yourself as much as I do - one's the poor EMT who'd have to pretend to be nice to you during the ride to the hospital, and the other's a fan who only just started watching wrestling and hasn't heard you before tonight. The fifth would be a worst case scenario - there might be two uninformed fans here - but I think the general consensus is that my friends in these seats would really appreciate it if someone cut your mic and sent you packing. Believe me, I've been trying to arrange it, but I don't feel right putting pressure on Gary up in the booth like that.

Yale: Gary would never. He's the United States Champion, JB! Do you know what that means?

Aimz: But go ahead, and pray that what you're gonna show is at least entertaining. I'm sure we'll all get a good laugh in.

There’s some nervousness to Grady, peaking over his shoulder, wishing Redding was a little closer, or maybe that Aimz was a little further away. Faking confidence, he strides on.

Patrick: Please shelve the threats, Ms. Campbell. This really isn’t about you. Per se. But it does have her in the leading role.

Patrick points his cane in the general direction of the Devil’s Daughter.

Patrick: Play it.

Up on the big screen plays the footage aired on WW 155: The long blonde hair, apart of Quinn’s Robin outfit, sails through the bottom left corner of the screen. The girl drops like she was shot. We can’t see much, other than Grady shortly coming into view near her. Next we see Aimz with a suicide dive to the outside, knocking down Grady.

Patrick: Okay, not that part. Cut it.

We see a few more shots to the forehead of Grady. Then back to the live shot.

Yale: He’s still in pain, and now he has to relive it again? Tighten up back in the truck.

Patrick: Useless footage, and why at least one cameraman got a pink slip for Christmas.

BOOOOOOOO!!!

Patrick: So, then on twitter, this fan sends me a video. A video he took live from the second row. Let’s see that now.

Again, the big screen cuts from the live feed and is replaced with a floor level view, and the vantage point of one audience member a little too focused on the seventeen-year-old. There’s no sound, just the image of RobQuinn standing, then falling. There is no one within arm’s, or cane’s reach of her. Quinn holds a hand to her forehead, but the 10 MP phone camera picks up a subtle flash of pearly whites, lips curled into a grin. Grady into frame. Aimz diving onto Grady.

Patrick: Ms. Campbell, any words from the...

He pauses, smirks.

Patrick: Any words from the proud woman-fucking-her-mother?

In the ring, there's a little redhead cringing. She puts a hand on her forehead, shaking her head. There's something grumbled, and an obvious curse before she brings the microphone back up.

Aimz: Watch your fucking mouth, first of all. Second, it's obvious I'll need to deal with this off camera, but I... Jesus Christ. Where in that video does it show me seeing that? Seriously.

Quinn stands at Amy's side, tugging on the Red Raver's arm, her brow furrowed. "I'm sorry!" the girl cries, just off-mic. Campbell jerks her arm away, running her fingers through her hair.

Aimz: Okay, okay. You know what? I apologize that I dove on you for that. Obviously I was misled. That doesn't make it unjust, though - there're a trillion reasons to tear any of you jerkoffs up, so let's pretend I picked another one of the many. What're you trying to accomplish? You wanna get this fuckstick into another fight with me? Because we can make that happen, and I guarantee there won't be anybody meddling.

Patrick: Well, I hardly think that is an act of contrition…

Outside the ring, Redding has stood up from his spot at the announce table, but he is taking his seat with him. In the other hand he holds a microphone.

Redding: Give it up Grady. I think it’s obvious her scrambled egg of a brain ain’t getting this. You’d sooner get one of these fat fucks to walk away from a buffet than get an act of contrition out of our tattooed darling.

The mic gets buried under an armpit as he strides through the second and top rope, exchanging glances with Grady Patrick, and then focusing his attention on Quinn.

Redding: Well, the kiddie portion of the show is over. I suggest you run along now and let the adults talk this one through.

Aimz: You only speak to her like that if you're looking to get a broken jaw. I apologized for cracking your pal for the wrong reason, but that doesn't mean I wouldn't happily do it now for another. And you can talk all you want about it, but if it wasn't for that mistake, you would've walked out with a straight loss. Instead of trying to paint me as a cheater, maybe you should consider a thank you.

That draws a grin from Your Willing Villain.

Redding: Hell, I’d maybe respect you some if you tried cheating. Instead of this win-at-all-costs champion I watched, all that’s left here is a domesticated knockoff.

Again Alexander takes his eyes away from Aimz to look at Quinn.

Redding: And little lady, when a man holding a folding chair makes a suggestion, it really isn’t a suggestion.

Campbell puts an arm across Quinn, forcing her back a step and putting herself in Redding's line of sight instead.

Aimz: Your fight's not with her - and again, watch your mouth. If you're bent on using that thing, take a few steps and I'll show you that vicious, 'win at all costs' chick you remember. I promise the memories won't be as fond.

Redding: Well…

One step.

Redding: One.

Two steps.

Redding: Two…

He doesn’t wait for three before throwing the chair at Aimz. She is quick enough to grab it, but doesn’t see the driving forearm behind it.

Bryan: Redding with the forearm! Amy staggers back against the ropes! But the Red Raver comes firing back out! Left hand! Left hand by Aimz!

Yale: Somebody get in there!

Bryan: Grady and Quinn trying to separate Aimz from the United States Champion! Redding with a right hand! Aimz with another left! Here comes security and some officials to break this up!

"BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"
"LET THEM FIGHT! LET THEM FIGHT! LET THEM FIGHT!"

Bryan: GCW officials trying to stop this from breaking down! We've hardly even started here at WorldWide 156 here at the High Spirits Casino in Las Vegas!

Yale: They don't want to stop!

Without her mic, it's hard to hear, but the cameras pick up just enough of Amy's taunting. It's mostly roared cursing and flailing through the flood of personnel, but it makes one thing clear - this isn't over.

Bryan: Aimz finally forced out of the ring! Campbell is itching for a fight, and she'll get one tonight -- but who knows against who? We'll find out!

Yale: Bitches be crazy, JB.

Back to Top


Darkness fills the screen, accompanied by a steady, pulsing beat. Lub-dub. Lub-dub. Rhythmic and monotonous. It's almost like the sound of a heart beating, steady and sure. The pulse grows louder, resolving itself into a bass beat which seems to be oozing from a pair of earphones, given its tinny sound. A voice shatters the silence, filled with gravel and rust. Strangely familiar, it resonates, echoing in the darkness as the camera fastens in on two midnight blue eyes.

Jackson: Live the moment, breathe the moment. Attack everything with fearless tenacity. That's what those New Age types call a motivational mantra. Me, I just call it reality.

The camera pans out more, showing the man's full face, revealing his identity without question-- Brad Jackson. He shakes his head, a self-deprecating smile on his lips. The eyes blink. Just once. Crow's feet at the corners, bracketed by dark brows, they are still and focused. The tinny metal music continues to play from the earbuds dangling against his bare chest.

Jackson: And that shit's just a bunch of empty talk. Just a sorry bunch of bullshit meant to inspire brainless knee-jerk reactions. Like a fuckin' pep rally, y'know? This long in the business, you have to have your little tricks. Little mental games you play with yourself. Psych yourself up, get the adrenaline pumping. Nothing like a nice fight to make you feel alive, eh?

A snort of laughter comes from between those lips, the sound bitter. They eyes reflect back nothing but that cold bottled fury that Jackson is known for. He pauses, slipping a cigarette between his lips, and lighting it slowly, without the usual flair. A serene smile curves his lips as he takes a long drag.

Jackson: Nothing like a waste of breath to remind you that time is fleeting, fading, fuckin' passing us by.

Jackson amends, shaking his head as he blows a plume of smoke towards the ceiling.

Jackson: Control's is a good thing to have in this moment, but it's not something that was drilled into me through conditioning. It's something instinctual. It's just the way I was made. Animal instinct's nice, too. Once upon a time, I was a hunter.

The eyes close for a brief moment, as though he is searching for words or losing himself in a memory. He shrugs his shoulders, taking another leisurely haul from the Camel clamped between his lips.

Jackson: You people don't get it. This is what I was born to do. And a place like this, heh, this is where I was meant to be.

He rolls his eyes towards the rafters.

Jackson: Determination. That's what I want to show you. That's what I want to teach you tonight. The eventual unravelling you're banking on isn't going to happen. I'm not the same guy I was two years ago.

Standing there bare-chested, already in his ring gear, he is a dominating sight. The anger, and the tensing of his jaw helps things along nicely and the cigarette dangling from the sardonic smirk edges it more towards James Dean cool. He drops his cigarette, grinding it out under his boot with violent motions.

Jackson: Everyone's looking for a handout these days. Everyone wants a free ride. Let me give you a nice little life lesson, folks. The world meets nobody halfway. When you want something, you gotta take it. That's the way life is here in the real world.

He hesitates, a sarcastic grin stretching across his face as he leans his head back, letting his eyes close.

Jackson: That's what this is all about, tonight. I'm here to win. I'm here to destroy!

He falls silent again, shaking his head. Snapping open, the eyes are lit with the fires of a thousand burning suns. Fierce. Angry.

Jackson: I endured the bullshit for so long. That was my fucking point. I forged my legacy out of nothing. Pulled it from thin air and the only thing that kept me going was SHEER determination. You don't get it, do you? I don't give a shit about losing. Hey, you get the three count on me, I'll be the first to shake your hand. I do this because I love this. Pain is my catalyst. I go out there, and smash myself to bits every week. Sick trip, but it gets me through. Another week. One at a time. Live for that moment of pseudo-existence for them… not for you. I put myself out there, on the limb. Put myself in places where I'm up there, and they're all down below, pointing and laughing at the idiot working without a net. They wonder if I'm crazy. A lot of people do these days. Doesn't matter, really; I still get up, dust myself off, and fake a smile when I fall.

Penetrating now, those eyes stare forward resolutely. Stolidly.

Jackson: For the last fifteen years, I've put myself under their microscope. Let them pick me apart. I could care less about their scrutiny, really. I get spat on, dented up, hollowed out. Scoop it all clean; make space for that false pride. I hit myself to get the blood flowing. I don't talk to them before a match. I have my solitary ritual. After I go out there, and spill my guts for glory, there's nothing left. Just bones that even a vulture can't pick clean. This isn't about my never-ending ego. This isn't about me being better than you. Reaching for something I was always denied. You want to know why I'm here now?

One eye closes. Sly wink. He laughs softly.

Jackson: I am a survivor. I am a fighter by trade. You think winning whatever shit they throw at me tonight isn't the first and foremost thing on my mind? Yeah, it is. I'll win. I'll grin about it, and pat myself on the back. Damn right I will. So, you ready for a little war, friends? You ready to come after this jaded asshole with all the tenacity, heart and passion you claim to have? You'd better be, because like it or not, I stand by my words.

The grin widens, almost a snarl now as he stares forward, his face half cloaked in shadows.

Jackson: Someone's getting hurt tonight. Someone's gonna lose. And it won't be me.

The look in his eyes is fearful and intense as he glares into the camera lens before the screen fades to black, leaving behind a ghostly afterimage of the ferocity that Brad Jackson embodies.

Back to Top

And we start off with a bang, with a briefcase hanging over the ring and ladders around ringside. The only question was: who would be in the match?

The opening strains of the JAX remix of "Lies" by Evanescence answers at least a quarter of that question, as Brad Jackson steps out onto the stage with a grin on his lips and a sneer in his eyes. Jackson comes quickly down the ramp, ignoring the undercurrent of jeers that drift down towards him. He looks up at the red, white, and blue briefcase hung above the ring and tests his shoulder as he heads up the steps and into the ring.

Xander Searle steps out next, getting a nice ovation from the Vegas fans, but that could be because he comes out in a Las Vegas 51s minor league baseball jersey. Searle slaps hands with the fans at ringside, rolling under the bottom rope to come to his feet. He looks up at the American Dream hanging over his head --

And that's when Brad Jackson strikes.

Before the bell, before the rest of the competitors come down to ringside, the Mechanical Animal clobbers Searle in the back of the head with a forearm and spins him around, dropping him headfirst to the mat with his Therapy Michinoku driver. Jackson rolls under the bottom rope, tossing a ladder into the ring. Quickly, he's got it set up.

Not as quick as Cameron Garret's race to the ring. Garret -- sans entrance music, even -- jumps from the ground to the apron to the top in a pair of lightning-fast leaps, driving both feet into the side of Jackson. He waits patiently as Jackson comes up to his feet and goes for the Perfection, his version of the RKO, but Jackson pushes off, sending the smaller man pinwheeling through the air.

He turns around into a big boot from Xander Searle, as our commentators begin to speculate on who might be the fourth man in this match. Searle drives Jackson back with a European uppercut, then picks up Brad's ladder, propping it up against him in the corner. A running Yakuza kick puts the ladder into Jackson's face, but the impact also puts Searle down.

Conveniently, this is when "Badass" by Saliva hits and the crowd leaps to their feet for the return of Dynasty to GCW competition. The Bad Boy from Buffalo dives into the ring, rolling into a spear that nearly shears Cameron Garret in half. He continues on, leaping off the middle rope into a blind flying DDT on Xander Searle. He kips up and blasts Brad Jackson in the face with a picture-perfect dropkick. He rolls backwards, coming up to one knee with both hands in the air to a chorus of cheers.

Dynasty scans the carnage in the ring area, then slides out to grab a second ladder. He sets up the new one and bridges the previously used one to the middle rope. Dynasty picks up Garret, going for a suplex across the bridge. Cameron lands on his feet on the other side and continues on. He bounds off the ropes and clears the bridge entirely on his flying clothesline. He lands on his feet on the other side but gets blindsided by a lariat from Jackson.

Jackson is immediately buried by Xander Searle's roaring elbow, and the rookie climbs the ladder. His climb is unsteady, however, and Dynasty bounds up the other side of the ladder. The two trade blows atop the ladder, the briefcase hung over their head, until Buffalo Bad Boy doubles Searle over with a shot to the gut. He goes for a back body drop which would drop Xander across the ladder bridge.

Cameron Garret comes underneath, climbing the ladder behind Dynasty and pulling him into a powerbomb through the bridge. He's unable to maintain his balance, though, and he knows it, leaping towards Brad Jackson. Jackson catches Cameron, however, shifting him across his shoulders in a Canadian backbreaker and runs him face-first into the ladder, tipping it over and sending Searle throat-first on the top rope.

The Machine yanks the refuse of the ladder from underneath Dynasty, picking his corpse out of the mess. He drops Dynasty across the ladder pieces with Welcome to the Machine, then turns into a kick from Cameron Garret -- which he catches, leg-capture suplexing Garret across Dynasty. He comes up to his feet, but Xander Searle catches Brad in the stomach with a boot and bulldogs him across Garrett and Dynasty (and, of course, the ladder).

Again, Xander Searle is the only one left standing, and the youngster sets back up the ladder, again climbing. At the last minute, he looks down at the pile of Jackson and Garret and Dynasty and ladder and turns on the ladder towards them, leaping into a splash. All three of his opponents roll out of the way and Xander eats nothing but ladder.

Dynasty is the first one up to his feet, clambering to the second rope. Garret joins him and Dynasty leaps, looking for the Down Arrow jump-swinging DDT. Garret leaps and twists, however, drilling the Buffalo Bad Boy with Perfection. Searle has rolled out to the floor and seems to be bleeding from the mouth. Dynasty is down. Garret climbs the rope without opposition.

But that's because Brad Jackson waits until Garret is on the ropes to come up after him, scooping Cameron onto his shoulders and dropping him into the middle of the ring with his Head Trip burning hammer. Now he sets up the ladder, climbing up virtually unopposed. He gets fingertips on the briefcase before somehow, bloody lips and all, Xander Searle grabs his foot. Searle climbs a few rungs, and it looks as though he's going to hit a Japanese Ocean Cyclone Suplex. Jackson fights free, sliding off Xander's shoulders. Momentarily stunned, Xander never sees Dynasty leapfrog the ladder, hitting a modified DynaJump DDT on Xander Searle off the ladder.

Dynasty turns into another Perfection cutter from Cameron Garret, who is alive --

Until he gets a boot to the gut and Brad Jackson buries him six feet under with Something Wicked.

There's no one left standing to prevent the Mechanical Animal from ascending the ladder and claiming the briefcase.

Whether it's Alexander Redding or anyone else, they have a nightmare coming after them, and his name is Brad Jackson.

Winner: BRAD JACKSON

Back to Top






The scowl on Triumph Frost’s face could ignite a million rainforests. He didn’t want to be there. In Shaman’s casino, a place that makes Circus Circus look like the Waldorf. In Las Vegas, where people lose their life savings and the strippers sport bullet-holes. It was not exactly how he wanted to be spending his day.

Three quick knocks on the door of his private suite followed by an immediate jiggling of the handle somehow manages to irritate him even more, and he crosses his arms as the doorhandle is turned again. And again. Then more knocks. The pure anger swept over the champ fast and furiously. You know, like the movie.

Frost: What, goddamn it?!?

As the portal swings open, Triumph’s face drops even more. Johnny Borealis was not exactly who he would have picked to brighten his mood right now.

Frost: Oh, goodie. As if today wasn’t shit already.

Borealis: Yeah, yeah. We can skip the whole spiel. I get it. You can’t be bothered.

Borealis, standing just a bit awkwardly with the HDTV Title no longer slung on his shoulder, strides into Frost’s room and pops off his patented Oakley sunglasses. Purple pools under his eyes and a touch of stubble mar his usually flawless features.

Borealis: I’ve picked up on your "I’m such a badass but I don’t care about anything" vibe.

Frost: Have you picked up on my "I’m the motherfucking champ and have important shit to do like absolutely nothing, which is better than listening to you bitch about something or other" vibe?

Borealis: Look. I’ve got my plate kind of full myself, alright? So why don’t we both save the pleasantries and get down to some brass tacks.

Frost: How ‘bout I do you one better. Get the fuck out. Whatever you’re going to say, I don’t care. There’s nothing else really, honestly, for me to put there.

As Frost tries to return to doing the nothing he was enjoying previously, Borealis takes a step forward, grabbing one of the unopened beers on the table. He holds it in his hand, the condensation dripping onto the carpet below. He has the champ’s full attention now.

Borealis: You and I both know it’s bullshit you’re giving that straight edge pain in the ass my title shot tonight. Meanwhile I’m stuck babysitting the B-squad like winning the Rampage tournament doesn’t mean anything.

Frost: Firstly, I’m not giving anyone anything, let alone that mealy-mouthed twat another chance to take what I got. Secondly...

Triumph pauses, tapping his finger against his temple.

Frost: Here’s an idea. Why don’t you make like every other Rampage winner and disappear into obscurity.

The Swaggerer’s stare is ice cold, while Frost’s eyelids are half open.

Borealis: Listen. My schedule’s had me flying coast to coast since I topped Alex Pierce. But if you think a little lack of sleep and shooting some movies is going to slow me down, you’re in for an unpleasant surprise. Because 2012 is going to be my year. And your little reign as champ...it’s going to disappear more quickly than it came about. Mark my words.

Borealis drops the beer back in the bucket, and stands like the stoic badass he comes off as. Sometimes. At least in this case. Just go with it.

Triumph, however, remains unamused.

Frost: That’s great. Real Goldstein material. So why don’t you go find him, yammer that for a while, and have your little match tonight.

He reaches forward, grabs the beer that Borealis didn’t touch, and pops it open.

Frost: Now.

He takes a sip, and glares at the Swaggerer.

Frost: Fuck off.

Borealis slaps his shades back on and makes his exit, as Triumph keeps his eyes focused on his Rampage opponent.

Bryan: There’s no love lost between those two, but it’ll all have to wait until Rampage.

Yale: What was he talking about, championship match? Why would Triumph lower himself to defend on a non-PPV event.

Bryan: He’ll do whatever Christian Zenith tells him to.

Yale: Yeah, I’m sure that’ll go well.

Back to Top

Bryan: Okay, fans, this next match has a rather interesting stipulation attached to it.

Yale: Remember that movie with Dan Aykroyd and Eddie Murphy where they switched places?

Bryan: ... yeah?

Yale: This is nothing like that.

Bryan: What's going to happen is that two people --

Yale: We really don't know who.

Bryan: -- will wrestle, and then sometime in 2012, the winner will be able to switch spots with the loser on an edition of WorldWide. If one of them is getting a title shot, the other can take it. If one of them is facing someone the other wants a piece of, they can have it.

Yale: And if the winner is facing somebody they don't want to, they can bail.

Bryan: It's a very interesting contest, and that's before we know who's in it. One person does, and he's up in the ring.

His name is Joey Andrews, and many fans are just learning what he looks like here, since there is no picture of him.

Andrews: Ladies and gentlemen, the following contest is scheduled for ONE FALL with a thirty-minute time limit and is the special TRRRRRRRRADING PLACES MATCH! The winner of this match can, one time during 2012, change places on a WorldWide card with the loser!

Yale: We just said that.

Bryan: Yes, but the crowd here at the High Spirits Casino didn't hear it.

Yale: Well, the hell with them.

Andrews: Now introducing... the participants.

The arena goes dark for a beat or two.

BREATHE!

An "OH SHIT!" pop hits the crowd before the gentle hum of boos fill the air as gold and white lights flicker at the top of the stage.

Andrews: Making his RETURN to GCW action! From Newark, New Jersey ... weighing in at 227 pounds ... the 'Rajah of Ratings' CCCHHRRIISSS BAAAAAAAAAGWEEELLLL!!!

Yale: He's back, JB!

Bryan: Chris Bagwell making his first in-ring appearance since WorldWide 149!

Chris Bagwell steps out from behind the curtain with his arms extended slightly upwards to each side of his body. He pauses, insinuating to the crowd to 'idolize him'. He whips his arms down to his side and begins his triumphant march to the ring.

Bryan: Bagwell looks like he's in great shape here tonight.

Yale: He's always in great shape!

Bagwell slips into the ring under the bottom rope and quickly pops back onto his feet. He flicks his arms back in the air once more, flaunting his pose to the compliment of a few pyrotechnics around the ring. As he lowers his arms, the lights rise.

Bryan: Bagwell in the ring now, waiting for his opponent.

Yale: It doesn't matter who it is. This is Chris Bagwell. The Rajah of Ratings! The Human Hype Machine! Longest in-ring time for any Dangerous Games match! Former Rampage Tournament runner-up! The best damn--

Show me a smile on your silly face
'Cause I'm gettin' tired of this human race
My darling


It's the acapella open to Hurt's "Wars", and it generates a rumble of approval -- from everybody not named David Yale, at least.

Yale: ...goddammit.

Andrews: She hails from Tampa, Florida! Weighing in at one hundred and forty--

"Hold on, hold on, hold on..."

Yale: That's not how the song goes, is it?

The brunette stepping through the curtain is only wearing a dress in the technical sense -- there's enough sheer and outright missing fabric to have practically made a whole second dress. The sequins across the bust sparkle in the low light as she saunters down the ramp.

Bryan: Kathryn Shaw out here and I'm not -- I've got no real idea what the Siren is after.

Yale: If she keeps wearing dresses like that, I'm not sure I care.

Shaw: If we could... fellas, if you'd be nice enough to kill the music and turn on the house lights? Thanks.

They comply as she reaches the steps, stopping on the top stair, one hand on the ringpost.

Shaw: Step back there, hotshot. I promise I won't take up too much of your time, but you're probably going to want to hear this.

He steps back and to the side, but makes no bones about the fact that he checks the Siren out as she steps through the ropes. He's not the only one based on that hoot.

Shaw: As some of you might know, my name is Kathryn Shaw--

"I Love You, Kathi!" shouts a gentleman at ringside.

Shaw: Mmm, right back atcha, handsome.

Yale: If I knew it was that easy, I would've shouted that a while back.

Shaw: My best friend -- and, more importantly, my client -- is the best wrestler on the planet, Alexandra Pierce.

There's a smidgen of unrest for that (especially from Bagwell himself), but that only stretches the Siren's catlike grin.

Shaw: A number of weeks ago, Lexi hurt herself against some asshole whose name I can't remember. So she couldn't wrestle last week and she can't wrestle this week, sorry.

Bryan: Desade's knee injury still causing the Spider some problems, obviously.

Yale: Wait a minute, here. Doesn't that mean...

"Then I win," Bagwell declares, just audible over Kathryn's mic. He gestures to Cameron Wrigley, pointing to his wrist.

Yale: Shortest return match ever?

Shaw: However -- however -- if you'd like, Chris, then you and I can wrestle. If you promise to be gentle.

She steps up closer, one hand on his chest.

Shaw: What do you say? Wrestle Alexandra and presumably win without breaking a sweat or wrestle me and I promise you'll be very... very sweaty.

Kathryn tips her head down, looking up through dark lashes.

Yale: Jesus Christ, that's like Sophie's Choice.

Bryan: Kathryn Shaw seems to have offered Chris Bagwell sex in order to bypass this match.

Bagwell steps backwards, his hand to his chin with a smirk on his face.

Bryan: And Bagwell's thinking about it! Bagwell is thinking about taking her up on the offer! Bagwell--

Yale: What's going on over there?

Bryan: A woman just bounded over the guardrail! That's -- is that Alexandra Pierce? She's got the red hair, but that outfit is a little... a little--

Yale: Just say it: it's slutty.

Bryan: Shaw posing -- Bagwell doesn't realize it! Bagwell doesn't realize it and--oh! Lowblow!

Yale: Disqualification!

Bryan: The match hasn't started! And Bagwell didn't even feel it! Chris Bagwell didn't even feel it!

Bagwell turns, sticking his hand... well, down the front of his pants, honestly. And his smirk, it is cocky.

Bryan: He's got a cup! Chris Bagwell was wearing a cup! Bagwell came prepared, even if he didn't realize who he'd be facing! Bagwell was safe--

"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

Yale: Why did he take it off?

Bryan: Shaw from behind with that kick! Shaw just DROVE her foot into Chris Bagwell's groin! She calls that the Kitten Kick!

Yale: She NAMED her low blow? That tickles me. You know what else tickles me?

Bryan: I bet we can guess. Cameron Wrigley FINALLY calls for the bell--

[DING-DING-DING!]

Bryan: And we're underway!

Yale: Now disqualify her!

Bryan: Technically, the low blow happened before the bell so there's nothing Wrigley can do! Bagwell up to his knees! I'm not even sure who his opponent is. This Desade impersonator charges -- running blockbuster on the kneeling Rajah! That's the same move that we saw beat Aaron Fujita back at Rampage!

Yale: Is that Devonshire, then?

Bryan: I think you may be right! Drusilla Devonshire hooks the leg! Trying to steal one here!






ONE!!!









TWO!!!








THREE!!


Yale: No! Foot on the ropes!

Bryan: Wrigley waving off the three! Chris Bagwell gets his foot on the ropes! Kathryn Shaw and Drusilla Devonshire just about stole one in the name of the injured Spider in the Web!

Yale: Yeah, but now what? No way is either of these women as good a wrestler as Pierce is, and they're not even in the class as Bagwell! He got out of her big move and Shaw's huge low blow kick -- do they have anything else that can put him down?

Bryan: Devonshire up now... she looks to shaw for an idea and pulls Bagwell up to his knees again! Is she going to try it again? Running start -- no! Sliding D! Blocked back Bagwell! Chris Bagwell back up to his feet and now it's Devonshire that's on her knees!

Yale: Ordinarily, I'd say that was hot, but everything I've heard about Drusilla leads me to believe she'd bite it off.

Bryan: Drusilla begging off! Drusilla begging off!

Yale: She looks a lot like Pierce, but... I don't think we'd ever see Alex Pierce begging.

Bryan: Bagwell... backing down? Bagwell takes a step back! He looks like he's agreeing to give her the chance to get up! Drusilla back to her feet--BAGWELL! Discus lariat! Dru goes inside out!

Yale: I think her head might be in the third row.

Bryan: Bagwell's not done! If he beats Devonshire, he still gets to jump Pierce's spot in WorldWide! Bagwell with the front facelock! He lifts Dru up--stalling vertical suplex! He's got Drusilla up in the lights!

Yale: He's a strong guy, JB, and she's not a very big girl!

Bryan: Bagwell now... ten seconds! Count along at home!

"Eleven! Twelve! Thirteen! Fourteen! Fifteen!"

Bryan: Bagwell goes airborne in the suplex! A hard landing for Drusilla Devonshire!

Yale: Look at Shaw -- all that beauty and brains, too!

Bryan: Kathryn pulls Devonshire out to the floor! Shaw pulls Drusilla down to the floor, and she took another rough landing, but she can't be pinned out there! Now Kathryn up on the apron! Kathryn Shaw up on the apron, and those words she's saying are not nearly as kind as the ones she was saying earlier!

Yale: You don't want to be saying stuff like that to a guy like Chris Bagwell, hon.

Bryan: Bagwell steps forward cockily and -- I don't know what he just said, but Shaw's eyes have gone wide! Kathryn hauls off to slap Chris Bagwell--

Yale: Blocked by Bags!

Bryan: Bagwell blocks the slap and --

Yale: You don't do this to a lady!

Bryan: Bagwell bends over Shaw with a kiss!

Yale: He's copping a feel! I want to say, "This is not right," but how can that be wrong?

Bryan: Meanwhile on the other side of the ring, Drusilla Devonshire is crawling under the ring? Dru going slowly, and --

Yale: Who's this now?

Bryan: That's... a second woman with red hair? Drusilla Devonshire under the ring and --

Yale: Now this is not two-on-one, but THREE-on-one?

Bryan: Bagwell steps away from Kathryn, rolling outside the ring -- he picks up... whoever this is and throws her into the ring! Bagwell climbs in after!

Yale: He has no idea that's not Drusilla, who's also not Desade!

Bryan: Bagwell grabs hold of the hair of this woman, whoever she is...

"TORN IDENTITY!" he shouts.

Bryan: He pulls her up--SPIDER'S KISS!

Yale: Is that the real Pierce?

Bryan: Bagwell just got blindsided! This Pierce -- who looks a little thinner than when last we saw her -- climbs to the outside! The Alex Pierce we know is an expert from the air, but this one seems a little unsteady! Bagwell getting to his feet...

Yale: What's she gonna do, JB?

Bryan: Flying DDT -- NO! Blocked by Bagwell! Northern Lights Suplex!



ONE!!







TWO!!!






THR--

Bryan: Shot to the midsection breaks the bridge! Bagwell up -- off the ropes with a splash! He hooks the leg again!



ONE!!







TWO!!





Bryan: Clean kickout by -- I don't know who. Let's go with Fauxlex. She rolls out of the ring!

Yale: Careful, Bags -- there might be a third one of them under there!

Bryan: Bagwell with a long look at the woman on the floor! He's thinking about it! Suicide DIVE--Pierce dives out of the way!

Yale: "Dives"? I'd say more like "falls"!

Bryan: Either way, Chris Bagwell just got a face full of security barricade! Now what's Shaw doing?

Kathryn steps over the fallen Rajah of Ratings, one foot on either side, and she grinds her hips.

Bryan: Oh, come on! Kathryn Shaw paying Chris Bagwell back for that kiss by embarrassing him out on the floor! Cameron Wrigley out to force the Siren back and--

Yale: What the hell is this?

Bryan: Fauxlex is being rolled under the ring by... by--

Yale: By Slutty Pierce!

Bryan: Drusilla Devonshire back out from under the ring! She had all that time to recover from that beating she took!

Yale: This is unfair!

Bryan: Hard kick to the gut as Kathryn is pushed back by Wrigley! Devonshire rolls Bagwell into the ring! She's waiting on the apron for Bagwell to get up!

Yale: This is ridiculous, JB! It's three-on-one out there! Bagwell is literally wrestling two people out there!

Bryan: Bagwell up -- slingshot spear from Drusilla! She hooks the leg!




ONE!!!!











TWO!!!!!








Yale: Bagwell will not be denied!

Bryan: Bagwell slips the shoulder up! Drusilla Devonshire with another impressive maneuver!

Yale: Well, she was... I mean, she was with Pierce, right? Before Campbell? Chances are, she picked up a thing or two.

Bryan: Bagwell still down! Devonshire backs up a few steps -- Bagwell sits up--flying double knees! She reaches back for both legs!



ONEEEEE!!!










TWOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!







THRE--


Yale: He kicked out! Oh, thank God, he kicked out!

Bryan: Bagwell is out! Devonshire slaps the mat in frustration! She pulls up Bagwell by the ears--

Yale: Well, to be fair, dude's got some big ears.

*SMACK*
"WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"
*SMACK*
"WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

Bryan: A pair of knife-edge chops from Devonshire!

Yale: But they had no effect!

Bryan: Bagwell just shrugged off two hard chops!

*SMACK*
"WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

Yale: And all it takes is one!

Bryan: A single chop from Bagwell sends Devonshire down! He pulls Drusilla up! Belly-to-belly overhead suplex!

Yale: I overheard that.

Bryan: Devonshire nearly got suplexed out of her boots! Now Bagwell coming over! Bagwell--THE FULL NIELSEN! Bagwell going for the Full Nielsen! That seated full nelson with the body scissors! Drusilla -- oh, the headbutt! The headbutt! The back of Devonshire's head into the bridge of Chris Bagwell's nose!

Yale: His beautiful, Roman nose!

Bryan: Bagwell never got the hands locked! Drusilla breaks free! Running start, under the lariat attempt! Flying dropkick--

Yale: Swatted away!

Bryan: Devonshire crashes and burns! Bagwell -- dragon sleeper! The dragon sleeper into a surfboard by Chris Bagwell! This is where Devonshire's lack of in-ring experience will hurt her! What kind of condition is she in? How long can she hold on here?

Yale: I know this is going to sound casually sexist, but... choke her out! Choke the crazy bitch out!

Bagwell's bleeding a bit -- maybe from the nose, maybe from the mouth -- and he's cranking back on the dragon sleeper with a sneer on his face.

Bryan: A little trickle of blood coming from the face of Chris Bagwell after those headbutts! Now Drusilla--dammit, referee, get her off the apron!

Yale: Or at least move her to the apron over here on this side.

Bryan: Kathryn Shaw AGAIN has Cameron Wrigley's attention!

Yale: She's got a broken strap on that dress! Can't have a wardrobe malfunction, can we?

Bryan: Yeah, and I wonder how that strap broke? Now on the other side of the ring, that other Pierce impersonator slips out from under the ring! The other Pierce into the ring from behind! Superkick to the back of the head!

Yale: But he won't let go!

Bryan: Bagwell won't let go of the hold! Fauxlex--

Yale: Turn around, Wrigley! There are TWO PIERCES in the ring!

Bryan: She's gouging the eyes!

Yale: If the kick don't work, you do what you have to, I guess.

Bryan: Bagwell still on his knees--low-flying neckbreaker bends him backwards! The other Pierce rolls Drusilla out of the ring and then she falls face-first!

Yale: Oh, and now Shaw's strap is okay.

Bryan: Wrigley turns, and all he sees are unmoving bodies! He doesn't know the doppelganger is fresh!

Yale: Now she's making a show of crawling over! Give me a break!

Bryan: Fauxlex drapes an arm over Bagwell there!




ONE!!!








TWO!!!





TH--


Yale: Not so fast!

Bryan: Bagwell slips the shoulder out! Fauxlex rolls onto her side, slapping at the mat, trying to get these fans behind her!

Yale: Not as loud as you might think, is it?

Bryan: We have very smart fans, Dave -- I think they know that this hasn't all been on the up and up. There's Eddie Guerrero style cheat to win nonsense and then there's the chicanery that Kathryn Shaw, Drusilla Devonshire, and whoever this Fauxlex character is are perpetrating here!

Yale: Look how into the whole "heroic comeback" malarkey she is.

Bryan: Bagwell up to his hands and knees--

"SMACK!"

Bryan: Kick to the top of the head! And now a sloppy rolling side cradle by Fauxlex!



"OOOOOONNNNNNNEEEEE!!!!"


Yale: He kicked out at one!

Bryan: Bagwell has had about enough of this! He shoots up to his feet -- superkick! A superkick sends Fauxlex crashing into the corner! He measures her -- huge running boot into the corner on the seated imposter! She's send spilling halfway out of the ring!

Yale: Again? Doesn't Shaw know when to say when?

Bryan: Apparently not! Shaw up to he apron again! This is what, the third or fourth time she's interjected herself into the ring? Kathryn shouts at Cameron Wrigley again! And I think Bagwell has had enough of that, too! Chris shoves aside Cameron and -- OH!

In the maybe two seconds that Bagwell's shove diverts the referee's attention, Kathryn's hand comes around from behind her back, holding some kind of aerosol can.

Bryan: Shaw sprays that can at Bagwell--

Yale: Ducked!

Bryan: This isn't Bagwell's first rodeo! He slips out of the way, but Cameron Wrigley wasn't so lucky! Wrigley gets a face full of--was that hairspray?

Yale: You're asking me?

Bryan: Bagwell knocks the can out of Shaw's hand, and he's got her by the hair again!

Yale: I don't think he's gonna kiss her this time.

Bryan: He may make her kiss something! Bagwell runs Shaw down the apron and -- bam! Face first into the turnbuckle!

Yale: See you later, Kathi-baby!

Bryan: Meanwhile, on the far side of the ring, the Fauxlex trying to get out of the ring!

Yale: They're gonna switch again!

Bryan: Bagwell across the ring! He grabs Fauxlex by the back of her pants and pulls her into the ring! The Rajah stands her tall and--

The Las Vegas crowd just cheered Chris Bagwell.

Bryan: RANDOMIZER! Bagwell hit the RANDOMIZER! Fauxlex just got DRILLED! He makes the cover! Wrigley moving slowly, trying to get that crap out of his eyes!

Yale: I don't think that matters. You could count to a hundred.




ONE! "OOOOOOOOOONNNNNNNE!"








TWO! "TWWWWWWWWOOOOOOOOOOO!!!"

















"THRRRRRRREEEEEEEEEE--AWWWW!"

Yep, that just came from the crowd. This, too:

"BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!"

Yale: For crap's sake!

Bryan: Devonshire! Drusilla pulls Cameron Wrigley out of the ring! Bagwell turns--

Yale: I think he just figured it out!

Bryan: Bagwell has finally realized he's being conned! Bagwell is livid!

Yale: Who's this, now?

Bryan: Fans, some--some man in a cowboy hat has jumped the barricade! That's... is that Phillip Kennedy? It is! Former SCCW Gateway Champion Phillip Kennedy slides into the ring!

Yale: Weren't Kennedy and Shaw fucking at some point?

Bryan: Yeah--Kennedy! Kennedy from behind! Northern lariat! The Nuts!

Yale: I thought he was retired? I heard he turned down GCW and PRIME after SCCW folded!

Bryan: That's what I thought, too! He's not done! Kennedy's not done! That lariat to the back of Chris Bagwell's head has knocked the Rajah of Ratings loopy, and the man they used to call the Big Stack is just waiting!

Yale: Don't turn around, Chris!

Bryan: Kennedy off the ropes -- he flips upside-down for added momentum! Lariat! The Acecracker Lariat!

Yale: I think he just knocked Bagwell into next year!

Bryan: Kennedy drags the Fauxlex over onto Bagwell! Devonshire shoves Cameron Wrigley into the ring and rolls under the apron! Cameron never saw her!



OOOOOOOOONNNNNNNEE!!







TWWWWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOO!!!!





THRRRRRREEEEEEEE!!!!

[DING-DING-DING!]

Bryan: Oh, come on!

Andrews: Ladies and gentlemen, time of the fall twelve minutes, forty-seven seconds! Here is your winner... DESADE?

If Joey sounds unsure, surely you can't blame him.

Bryan: Kennedy helps Shaw to her feet -- together as part of the Dead Man's Hand, they were SCCW Strength in Numbers champions together -- and strength in numbers was certainly the order of business tonight!

Yale: It took FOUR people -- not one of them actually NAMED Alexandra Pierce, but two dressed to look like her -- and two of the DAMNEDEST lariats I have ever seen to put him down for three!

Bryan: Lord knows I haven't always been the biggest Chris Bagwell guy, but what happened here was nothing short of highway robbery. Devonshire pulls the Fauxlex out of the ring, but... fans, we have GOT to take another look at that Acecracker Lariat!

We do, watching in slow motion as Kennedy hits the ropes. He flips backwards, both hands gripping the middle strand. When his legs hit the top rope, he's catapulted back into the ring like he's been shot from a cannon. He hits Bagwell with an outstretched arm, and the impact is blistering.

Bryan: Good God, it's like Bagwell got hit by a damn truck!

Yale: And I think this... this Fauxlex as you called her just realized she won.

Bryan: She can hardly stand, but--

Make a list of things you'd find unlikely for Alexandra Pierce to do. Are "squee" and "leap into Phillip Kennedy's arms on it? They should be.

Yale: ...uh.

Bryan: Fauxlex seems surprisingly ecstatic about even this tainted win.

Yale: You can say that again.

It would be something of an understatement to say that the Big Stack has no idea what to make of the outburst. Fauxlex slides down unsteadily to her feet, only kept aloft by leaning heavily on Drusilla as they back up the ramp.

In the ring (and on the MegaTron behind them), Chris Bagwell rolls onto his side, knuckling his lips to check for blood. When his gaze finds the quartet on the stage, his eyes narrow with fury.

Bryan: Bagwell rolls out under the bottom rope, and the four of them bolt like thieves in the night! When he gets hold of them -- especially Kennedy -- you can bet there will be hell to pay!

Yale: As well there should be. Except...

Bryan: Except?

Yale: Well, you've kind of got to admire the audacity of it, that's all. Two doppelgängers switching out without the referee seeing, Shaw putting her body on the line like that, then Kennedy comes in to bat clean-up? I'm just saying... I don't like Pierce herself, really, but I respect the hell out of what I just saw.

Bryan: Respect it? RESPECT it? I don't think Chris Bagwell respects having his return stolen from him like that, and I REALLY don't think that Alexandra Pierce -- the REAL one, not the scrawny impersonator -- will respect having it done in her name, either.

Yale: Relax, JB! You're gonna give yourself a coronary.

Bryan: I can't help it. Things like this make me miss Jay Terror. Fans, I apologize for my outburst -- we've got plenty more to come tonight, including not one but two title matches! Don't touch that dial!

Yale: [low] Really was kinda cool.

Bryan: ...will you stop?

Cut away.

Back to Top






Back to Top

Bryan: We're just about halfway through this... odd little evening.

Yale: How is this fair to anybody?

Bryan: We've already seen a new American Dream given away and we just witnessed that, uh... that match between the returning Chris Bagwell and--

Yale: And about thirty-six people pretending to be Alexandra Pierce.

Bryan: So we can only wonder what's next. And for that, we need Joey Andrews.

It may be difficult to tell which one of these guys is our ring announcer, because nobody knows what he looks like. His milk carton would be blank.

Andrews: Lllllladies and gentlemen! THIS! Is the first of two championship matches!

Bryan: Well, all right! A title is on the line!

Andrews: It is scheduled for ONE FALL with a thirty-minute time limit, and is for---

Cue up some guitars. Hail the Villain. "My Reward".

Andrews: THE GCW UNITED STATES CHAMPIONSHIP!

The curtain is thrust aside by Grady Patrick's cane, and then the title belt itself.

Andrews: Introducing first! From Kitchener, Ontario, Canada and weighing in at two hundred and twenty pounds! He is the REIGNING and DEFENDING GCW United States Champion! The greatest athlete ever produced by the country of Canada! THE WILLING VILLAIN! ALEXAAAAAANNNNNNNNDER!!! REEHHHHHHHH-DIIIIING!!

Redding follows his manager out through the curtain, the title held aloft in both hands. Redding pays hardly any attention to the crowd, but Grady Patrick does enough shouting and mocking for the both of them.

Bryan: Alexander Redding won that belt back at Rampage in a match he didn't know was going to be for it -- he was awarded the title when Johnny Borealis surrendered it for a chance to win a shot at the GCW Heavyweight Championship -- a shot he won.

Yale: And how is it fair that his first title defense is against somebody he had no opportunity to prepare for! He didn't even know for sure that he'd be defending tonight!

Bryan: Redding and Patrick in the ring now, they're awaiting the challenger... perhaps hoping to get a last-minute strategy session in before the bell r--

Lights out.

Feel it comin' in the air - and the screams from everywhere
I'm addicted to the thrill - it's a dangerous love affair
Can't be scared when it goes down - got a problem tell me now
Only thing that's on my mind is who's gonna run this town tonight?


RRRRRAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH

Andrews: From Halifax, Nova Scotia, Canada! She is the Red Raver of Wrestling! Amy Campbell -- AAAAAAAAAIIIIIIIIIIMMMMMMMMMZZZZZZZZ!!!

Yale: WHAT?

Bryan: Aimz is getting her shot at the US Title! We saw Grady Patrick force Aimz to apologize earlier--

Yale: And justly so! She had no reason to assault him and she's lucky she's not facing criminal assault charges!

Bryan: And now--

Campbell jogs through the entranceway, stripping off a chunky beaded rosary necklace. She peers out into the crowd, first to the left and then the right before she pitches it into the crowd.

Bryan: Redding's going to have to put his title where his mouth is!

Aimz jogs down to ringside, rolling under the bottom rope and coming to her feet, both fists in the air. David Fellows checks the little redhead for foreign objects, but the moment she's endured the patdown, Amy is off to the races.

Bryan: Aimz! Aimz with the running leap into the corner! Redding barely out of the way! Campbell lands on the middle rope! Fellows calls for the bell--

[SFX: DING-DING-DING!]

Bryan: And here we go!

Yale: Typical Aimz, back-jumping Redding!

Bryan: Redding pops up to his feet, turns -- head-and-shoulders fake from Campbell! Aimz leaps off, lands on her feet! Campbell backing up -- Bitchkiller already?

Yale: Look out, Alex!

Bryan: Aimz charges--Bitchki--Redding rolls out of the way! Redding out to the floor! The United States Champion out to the floor to confer with Grady Patrick!

Yale: He wasn't ready! He wasn't prepared to face Aimz! Or else he wouldn't have--

Bryan: He wouldn't have what? He wouldn't have said what he said earlier? Is that what you're saying?

Yale: No. No, it is not.

Bryan: Aimz lounging in the corner -- but not for long! Aimz charges! We saw this in the tag match in Seattle! Suicide dive--no! Redding ducks, and Campbell pulls up short! Aimz hops to the floor and --

The smack of hand-on-skin is loud in the casino arena.

Bryan: She slaps him on the back! Campbell with a hard slap to the back! Amy rolls into the ring and she calls in the Willing Villain! Aimz wants to handle business in the ring!

Yale: She just wants to get him away from the wise counsel of his manager!

Bryan: Redding nods to Grady and rolls in after Aimz! Remember, fans, this is Amy's second shot at the United States Championship in her short tenure here -- she beat Karina Wolfenden earlier in the year by disqualification. Will she be more successful this time?

Yale: Nope.

Bryan: Redding in the ring -- he raises a hand for a test of strength? Alex with a definite size and weight advantage against the Red Raver, but you've got to believe she's too smart to fall for that!

Yale: Apparently not.

Bryan: They lock one hand in the Greco-Roman knuckle lock... Redding reaches for the other hand--but Aimz kicks the hand free! She runs up the turnbuckles and back in -- armdrag! Amy showing off some lucha libre tonight!

Yale: Which should be an automatic disqualification! This is the United States Championship! Wrestle in American!

Bryan: Redding up to his knees -- Amy with a low-flying ace crusher! She pivots up, leaps to the middle rope! Quebrada! Hook of the leg!



ONE!!




TWO!!

Bryan: Just a two count! Campbell pulls up Red and slaps on a hammerlock!

Yale: She better not get too cocky here, JB! This is Redding's world she's walking into here!

Bryan: Alexander Redding might be the finest technical wrestler on the roster! He reaches back for Aimz' head--snapmare! She flips out of it! Amy lands on her feet! Running st--

Yale: Sometimes you don't have to be a technician!

Bryan: Redding with a blatant hair pull to take down Aimz! Now -- double knees! He drops all two hundred and twenty pounds onto Campbell's ribs! He pulls the challenger up! Hot shot! Aimz dropped throat-first across the top rope!

Yale: If she can't breathe, she can't fly!

Bryan: Amy still draped across the rope! Redding to the apron and -- oh! Straight kick to the side of the head puts her down! Alex follows her in with a slingshot senton!

The Willing Villain rolls through, coming up to one knee with both arms spread.

Yale: And a little bit of showboating! Why not, right?

Bryan: Redding turns, two fingers in the air! Is it time for the Grady Special II? That's the move he put the Red Raver down with after the tag match in Seattle!

Yale: Aimzsy sleep now!

Bryan: Redding charges in -- Aimz! Spider's Kiss! Aimz just caught Alex Redding out of the clear blue sky with her girlfriend's move! Redding flops head over heels back into the corner! Campbell kips up to her feet! She sees Redding down!

Yale: LOOK OUT, ALEX!

Bryan: Campbell charges! SHOOTING STAR CANNONBALL INTO THE CORNER!

Yale: Ho. Lee. Crap.

Bryan: Aimz just used her own body like a missile! She pulls Redding out of that corner and slips out onto the apron! What's she going for here?

Yale: Something bad, I'm sure.

Bryan: Slingshot! Lionsault! Red Raver Revolution! What height! What velocity! She hooks both legs!




ONE!!!!









TWOOOOO!!!





Bryan: NEW CHAMPION!!

Yale: No! Hand on the rope! Hand on the rope, thank Jeebus!

Bryan: Great ring awareness from the United States champion!

Aimz looks up at David Fellows, holding up three fingers questioningly.

Bryan: I think Amy thought it was three, too! She pulls Redding up! Freetekno time? REdding twists free into --

Yale: MEH, SHADDUP!

Bryan: The twisting short-arm lariat! He caught her flush under the jaw! I don't think I've ever seen anyone counter Aimz' big move like that!

Yale: Alex Redding isn't just anyone, JB!

Bryan: Redding waiting on Aimz to get up! He's wanting to--

Yale: KICK HER FACE OFF!

Bryan: Shining wizard! Campbell's eyes roll back into her head! She might be out! Redding pulls Amy into the corner! Split-legged corkscrew moonsault! Everyday Oktoberfest! He got all of that one! Cover!




ONE!!





TWO!!!




THREE--


Yale: She kicked out?

Bryan: She kicked out!

Yale: How?

Bryan: I think Redding is wondering the same thing! He signals to Grady, who's immediately up to the apron to argue the speed of Fellows' count!

Yale: It was a little slow. He's obviously biased against Canadians.

Bryan: Aimz is from Halifax!

Yale: Yeah, but that's like northern Maine.

Bryan: What's Redding doing? He's untying the turnbuckle pad! There's a steel ring under there!

Yale: I think he knows that. He's just making sure it was put together properly.

Bryan: Redding drops the pad onto the floor! He lifts Amy up over his shoulder!

Yale: Pitch her like a lawn dart!

Bryan: Redding with a running start! But Aimz! Aimz out the back door! Aimz--

"RRRRRRRAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH!!!"

Bryan: FREETEKNO! FREETEKNO! Alex Redding just got drilled with Campbell's corkscrew neck breaker! Grady Patrick is livid out on the floor! Amy out to the apron! She's setting up for Dead Aim!

Yale: Somebody do something!

Bryan: Springboard--

"BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!"

Bryan: GRADY PATRICK! Dammit! Patrick pulled her down! And -- oh! A shot to the face with that cane! David Fellows has no choice! Fellows has no choice but to call for the bell!

[SFX: DING-DING-DING!!]

Bryan: Grady Patrick just blatantly got Alexander Redding disqualified! And look at him! He's actually proud of himself!

Indeed, he has snatched the US title belt off the timekeeper's table with a wide smile -- one that means he hasn't seen the little redhead with a dribble of blood on her forehead standing up behind him. The crowd does, and they roar for it.

Yale: Look out!

Bryan: Amy is up! Amy is up! Grady turns and Aimz has him! Aimz has Grady Patrick by the lapels!

Yale: Let him go! Let him go! Rmeember, the last time, you had to apologize!

Bryan: This crowd is begging Amy to lay out that little--

Yale: Hey, watch it, JB! Your blood pressure!

Bryan: Aimz -- left hand! Down goes Grady! Amy turns!

Yale: Redding!

Bryan: Alex Redding from out of nowhere! Grady Special -- no!

Yale: Holy--

There is a crash.

Bryan: HIP-TOSS! A HIP-TOSS! Aimz just pitched Alexander Redding through the damn security barricade!

Andrews: Ladies and gentlemen, time of the fall thirteen minutes, thirty-three seconds! Your winner, as a result of a disqualification -- AAAAAAIIIIIIIIIIIMMMMMZZZZ!!!

Campbell picks up the US title belt, taking a moment to stare at its face.

Andrews: However! The title does not change hands on a disqualification! THEREFORE! STILL your GCW United States Champion! THE WILLING VILLAIN! ALEXANDERRRRR! REDDIIIIIIIING!!

Bryan: Aimz got screwed! That's TWICE this year that she's had a sure-fire win stolen from her!

Amy folds the title back up, tucking the straps underneath, and she pitches it towards the champion, who has only just rolled onto his side. Then she hops up onto the apron, climbing to the scond rope with a fist in the air. "Run This Town" blares though the PA system.

Bryan: You have to imagine that Aimz will find a way to win that title, fans! And certainly, her burgeoning battle with Alex Redding doesn't seem to be anywhere near over!

Yale: And of course these humanoids cheer her for another uncalled-for assault. Again.

Bryan: We still have two more matches left to go, fans -- including yet another title match! Have you figured out who'll be in them? Find out when we do -- LIVE!

Back to Top






Sitting behind his desk, Christian Zenith wears a frustrated scoul that has become his hallmark of this evening. With a black iPhone 4 pushed up against his cheek popped up by his left arm across his desk, he listens to the babbly that seems to be an endless stream of bullshit on the other side.

Zenith: So what you're trying to tell me, Miss Travis, in a nutshell is that TyDezno is an idiot.

Behind Christian now rolling his eyes, Rasa simply shakes its head.

Zenith: No, that's what you don't seem to understand... it doesn't MATTER if TyDezno will be here as soon as humanly possible, his match is already finished. There is no reason for him to waste his precious time getting from wherever he's at now to the casino here in Vegas. It's a waste of GCW money and honestly, my time.

His jaw almost falls to the floor.

Zenith: Wait a minute, he's still in Seattle?!

With those words Christian takes the phone away from his ear, calmly presses the "End Call" button, and lays it down screen first onto the table. Facepalm.

Zenith: What is so difficult about catching planes and making it to arenas ON TIM--

Knock. Knock. Knock.

His cadet blue eyes shoot out from under his palm and in the most defeated voice possibly mutters the words the individual on the other side of the door is no doubt dying to hear.

Zenith: Come in.

The roof blows off of the High Spirits Casino as the Fearless Phenom enters the office. She wastes no time getting down to business, closing the door behind her and taking a seat across from Christian before she's even invited to do so. Rasa takes a step forward, but the eyes of the former GCW World Heavyweight Champion glare back at Zenith, who raises his hand to stop the monster before its stride even starts.

Valentine: Leash it, I don't like those things... you know that.

Zenith: Well Miss Valent--

Valentine: Chris, cut the bullshit.

Zenith: Alright... Viv, it was nice of you to show up SOMETIME tonight. You do realize the show is over halfway finished, I presume.

Valentine: Personal emergency. I have a friend from around here who really needed the compan--

Zenith: Get to the point.

Valentine: I want another shot.

The crowd roars in approval as Christian simply shakes his head in disbelief.

Zenith: You show up to the arena over an hour late, then come into my office unannounced and tell me you want a shot at the World Heavyweight Championship. You do realize a lot of work goes into these shows, booking agents, travel plans, fight planning. There is a whole department of people who have meeting just to decide who gets shots and who doesn't.

Valentine: But you can give me a shot, Chris. Just one more without the bullshit. None of this chest-puffing, tyannical dictator, supressing the masses bullshit that has become so second nature to GCW that I can't even talk about it without bringing back memories to just about anyone who has ever stepped into a GCW ring to some extent. I want me... against Triumph Frost... nothing else.

Zenith: But I think this is where you've become confused...

Christian glares back at his counterpart.

Zenith: Just because Triumph Frost isn't in-charge anymore doesn't mean you can use your face-of-the-company and people-love-me card to get what you want. You don't run this place Viv, I run this place... and it isn't about what you want, it's about what you've earned. This card was booked over a week ago, and what was set in stone then is set in stone now. Just the way I booked it. Do I make myself absolutely clear?

Valentine: Crystal, but title or no title... I'm serving Triumph Frost's head to your big Grimlin over here on a platter with or without my match. Do I make myself clear?

Zenith: The day of demanding championship opportunities has past, I will not allow you to think that you ca--

Valentine: I don't want the title shot, Christian. I just want Frost. We can do this the easy way, where there is a match and music plays and I make you a lot of money... or we can do this the hard way where I slam his stupid fucking head through the side window of random rental car outside in the parking lot as soon as this thing is over for free. Your call.

Zenith: You're dismissed, Miss Valentine.

Valentine: The time that has past since I was engaged to you hasn't made me want to strangle you any less, you arrogan--

Rasa takes a step forward as Vivica J. Valentine pushes herself up to her feet.

Valentine: I told you I don't like that thing.

Zenith: Vivica, you need go.

Valentine: Just...

Zenith: Leave.

Vivica opens her mouth to speak again, but his voice cuts her off before it could even get started.

Zenith: Now.

With a look that could kill, Vivica took a few steps back, never taking her eyes off of the monster than stands behind her former lover. She can't help but take a parting shot on her way out.

Valentine: Don't do anything you're going to regret, Chris. I'm willing to put the past behind us if you are. "Business relationship" and all that propaganda you love to shove down my throat.

Zenith: I suggest you take your own advice, Viv. Try to stay out of trouble, I can't be bothered to bail you out of jail tonight.

Back to Top


Backstage.

You'd think that, after she practically broke the United States Champion in twain not even ten minutes ago, Amy Campbell would be in a better mood. And maybe she was -- at least until she laid eyes on the brunette in the short-short dress wandering down the hall.

Aimz: Shaw!

The shout goes unanswered -- likely owing to the fact that the Siren is on the phone.

Shaw: I know you're hurting, but suck it up and take an Advil, because I need you to do this. I can't get out of here until after I see that pompous fucktard.

Yale: [low] It even sounds hot when she says "fucktard," JB.

Shaw: Apparently, he has "concerns".

She turns, seeing the redheaded missile on approach.

Shaw: Listen, sweetheart, I've gotta run. Just take care of yourself -- it'll all turn out okay.

Campbell grabs the taller (and taller still in those skyscraper heels) woman by the arm, spinning Kathryn to face her.

Aimz: I'm talking to you, dammit.

Shaw: Yes, I can see that, but I was on the phone. Servicing you isn't my only job, Amy.

Aimz: You don't service me at all. The only reason -- the only reason -- I tolerate being in the same building as you is because, for whatever fucking reason, Al likes to have you around.

The Siren wrenches her arm free, smoothing her hand over hip.

Shaw: Whatever helps you sleep at night, hon. Did you need something?

Aimz: Where is she?

Shaw: That would depend on which "she" you're talking about.

Aimz: Pretty sure you know who I'm fucking talking about.

Shaw: Pretty sure I don't, but the answer is probably still "I don't know".

Aimz: You don't know? Just what does that mean?

Kathryn isn't dumb; you don't antagonize somebody like the Red Raver haphazardly. She steps backwards as she ticks off fingers.

Shaw: Either it means "I don't know, do I look like her keeper?" or "I don't know, I'd guess she's still at your place" or maybe "I don't know, but I think she might've cabbed it back to the hotel after you dressed her down on national television."

Aimz: I didn't--

She cuts herself off with a sigh.

Aimz: I did not dress her down on national television.

Shaw: Oh, that's right -- we're on XTV, so I guess "national" is overstating it, but--

If Amy Campbell got a punchcard for every time she's physically assaulted Kathryn Shaw since they first met, she probably could've filled it in 2011 alone, and they've ostensibly been on the same side all year. Campbell grabs the offending hand, twisting it behind Kathryn's back and ramming her into the wall.

Aimz: I'm sorry, did you think this was funny?

Shaw: It's had its moments.

Aimz: I'm gonna ask you one more time, and you'd better think about telling me the truth. Al's way less likely to let you hang around if I knock out a couple of teeth -- you'd be less useful. So how about it? Where. Is. Drusilla?

Shaw: I'm sorry, did you misunderstand the "I", the "don't", or the "know"? Look, I know you kids have your problems, but--

Aimz: You never tell the truth the first time, and you only push me when you know something - so talk, because I'm getting as wary of your bullshit as you are of me causing you bodily harm.

Shaw: Amy, come on and--God, you just get so pissy when Lexi isn't around to pat you on the head and tell you you're a good girl, don't you?

Aimz: I'll be nice and pretend I didn't hear that. Now, do what you do best and tell me what I DO want to hear.

Kathi lifts a shoulder in a shrug.

Shaw: I really don't know, okay? I don't.

It earns her a look, brow lifted.

Shaw: I don't.

"She's telling the truth, Aim."

The voice nearby? That's the seventeen-going-on-thirty-seven-year-old Devil's Daughter, leaning against a nearby doorframe with her arms folded. She's clearly tense, but then, the last time we saw her, Amy had just found out the girl set up Grady Patrick, and we all know how that turned out.

Quinn: God, is your default setting "Beat up Kathi" or something? I know you hate Dru or whatever -- and hey, I'm not like her biggest fan -- but can you at least admit that she stood up and, y'know, took a butt-raping from Bagwell so that guy couldn't come steal a match from her next year?

Aimz: And what about you?

Quinn: What about me?

Aimz: Where were you when all this went down? Because I couldn't help but notice there was another woman out there dressed like your mom.

Another diffident, uncaring shrug from the teen.

Quinn: I told you I'd stay back here after you gave me the death-glare, didn't I?

Aimz: Right, but we both know you tend to listen to my warnings about as often as your mom does.

Quinn: How about you stop threatening people and just relax. You already beat up a guy -- pretty bad, I might add. Let Dru crawl back under a rock and channel your anger... I don't know. Somewhere useful. If you find her, what are you going to do? Hit her a couple times? Kick her teeth down her throat?

Aimz: These all sound like good ideas to me.

Quinn: But you've done that. She did good tonight. Real, honest, decent good. Just take the win, Aim. Mom won, you won -- kinda, at least. Story's over, they all lived happily ever after, right?

Campbell sighs.

Aimz: One day, I'll tell you some things that might make you finally realize how stupid it is to deal with these people.

The teen smirks in return.

Quinn: Yeah, but until then, you'll totally admit I'm right, right?

Aimz: Don't push it.

Shaw: Does this mean I can go?

Campbell shoves the brunette in the shoulders with an irritated sigh.

Aimz: Go, before I change my mind. Tell your boyfriend that if he wants another go, I'll be happy to punt his head off his shoulders again anytime he wants.

If Kathryn Shaw can ever be said to "scamper" anywhere, this would be that time, as she hurriedly moves down the corridor, leaving Amy and the young Pierce alone. It should be noted that Quinn hasn't moved from the doorway.

Quinn: Do you feel better?

Aimz: Maybe a little.

She shrugs.

Aimz: C'mon, let's go grab a seat. Viv still has to wrestle, and I told her we'd go out after for some food. You can tag along if you want.

Quinn: Sure. If there was, like, a masseur around, that'd be great. I seem to have developed an aching back somehow.

Aimz: Yeah, I wonder how.

Campbell steps up to the dark-haired girl, and even her little touch on the girl's back draws a hissed wince as she guides Gregory back into the locker room.

Cut away.

Bryan: Aimz still in a bad mood--

Yale: I'm telling you, JB, she's got a hair-trigger temper, and it's only getting shorter.

Bryan: And was Quinn the Fauxlex we saw earlier?

Yale: What kind of seventeen-year-old girl can fight like that?

Bryan: As always, the relationships in Alex Pierce's little entourage quite complex. We've STILL got more tonight. Stick around, fans, you won't want to miss this.

Back to Top

Andrews: The following match is the GUARENTEED GOLD Match. The first competition to score a pinfall or submission will be GUARENTEED to be given a GCW World Heavyweight Championship match sometime in 2012.

The anticipation builds in the arena as they focus in on entrance number one, waiting for the first competition to be revealed. Their wish, is GCW's command and the shrieking voice cuts through the arena like a fucking knife.

"CALL 9-1-1 NOW!!!"

Skrillex's "First of the Year" blasts in right at the bass drop. The fans are still cringing from the cacophony as a quick burst of pyro draws all eyes to the entrance way.

Clad in black baggy cargo pants, black Doc Martens, and a pair of Oakley's, Johnny Borealis carries himself onto the stage exactly the way he wants: with all eyes on him. The crowd's reaction is more than mixed, and it's not warm.

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

The swagger is there, alright. Every step is a gift to the crowd. The man is lean, refined, and charged up to deliver. The smirk on his face comes from how amused he is at himself; his whole purpose of existence is to get the crowd loud and on its feet, and he couldn't give less of a shit if it's because they love or hate him.

Sliding into the ring, he passes Joey Andrews and cracks his neck and awaits his opponent.

The slow and soft opening guitar riffs of "Breathe Into Me" by RED hit the sound system. Ten seconds later, the music becomes heavy and loud. The crowd lets out a mixed reaction as Aaron Fujita pushes through the curtain with some pep in his step and the Television Title hanging from his shoulder. He stops at the top of the ramp and looks out to the crowd for a few seconds before heading towards the ring. His walk turns into a trot and then into a run, leading him to the ring.

Andrews: He weighs in at 225 pounds and hails from Plainfield, Illinois; he is "The Atmospheric Phenomena" Aaron Fujita!

Aaron slides into the ring and pops up to his feet. He heads for the ring ropes that face the camera and steps onto the bottom and middle ropes. He leans forward, thrusts the TV Title into the air and yells. Aaron's music fades and he steps off the ropes, taking off his shirt and preparing for the match at hand.

He looks across, locking eyes with the man he stole the GCW Television Championship from by accident. They would never cross paths again... until tonight.

DING! DING! DING!

The two men circle, feeling each other out with a few quick strikes before Fujita connects with strong kick to the stomach. Catching Borealis off-guard, he throws the former TV & US champ over with a series of arm drags, keeping him off balance. Borealis finds his feet only to catch a dropkick from Fujita sending him into the corner. Fujita rushes in after him with a crossbody into the corner positioning himself outside of the ring. As he jumps up for a springboard, Borealis drops to the mat and rolls outside of the ring.

While the crowd doesn't seem to be a fan of the tactic (nor either man in this match), it is the smart thing to do as Fujita jumps off of the top rope back onto the mat where Timothy Vale keeps him from following "Your Guilty Pleasure" to the outside. Taking his time, Borealis rounds the corner before suddenly Fujita blows past a napping Vale to go for a suicide dive. Falling into a trap however, Borealis meets him at the pass by jumping onto the apron and hitting a dropkick to Fujita's skull before he could even cross the plane of the ropes.

Sensing blood in the water, Borealis quickly goes on the attack to a helpless TV Champ. Stomping away at Fujita's skull, Johnny is pulled away for a rope break before shoving Vale back out of the way and cleaning off his boot across Fujita's face. Vale gets into Borealis' face about shoving an official and Fujita rolls him up for a near fall.

Breaking free, a frustrated Borealis slaps a hard kick to the side of Fujita's head, laying him back out on the mat before pulling him back up and forcing him into the corner. After a few shots to the cranium Borealis sets him up for a Tornado DDT, only to be reversed in mid spin and thrown out onto the floor. This is when Aaron Fujita finally lands his suicide dive as the Rampage Winner uses the barricade to pull himself up to his feet.

Both men get up slow, but Fujita stays on the offensive, slamming the head of Borealis into the barricade before throwing him back into the ring. As Borealis writhes in pain on the canvas, Fujita goes up top and nails a beautiful Convective Inhibition two a two count. Fujita argues with the ref that it was a clean three, but Vale stands his ground. Fujita goes to get Borealis back up and Johnny hits an elbow to the stomach, but a knee to his face puts him back in the defensive and now cornered in the ropes.

Looking for something bigger Fujita falls into Johnny's trap, setting himself up for a Tornado DDT once again, but again is reversed but this time Borealis lands on his feet mid-spin inside of the ring. Fujita hits a superkick causting Borealis to stumble backwards, but not lose his balance, before rocketing back with one of his own. Aaron Fujita just got lit up! A winded and battered Borealis falls on top of Fujita, hoping to secure a backup plan to championship dreams but only a two-count.

Sensing the wind coming out of both of their sails, you can almost see a switch turn on inside of Borealis head going into urgency. Pointing into the sky, Borealis goes up top signalling for The Highlight Reel. He flies through the air and connects! Hooking the leg he never breaks eye contact with Timothy Vale who only slaps the mat twice before Fujita escapes once again. In disbelief, Borealis states his case to the referee, backing Vale into the opposite corner and paying no attention to Fujita rising to his feet behind him.

The crowd is firmly behind Television Champion as he runs up behind Borealis and rolls him up into a school boy for a long, long two count. Both men reach their feet simultaneous and Borealis goes to Light Up Fujita once more, but Fujita sees it coming and ducks under the kick placing himself behind the #1 Contender. The crowd roars Fujita has Borealis in place for the QG-Theory, but upon lift-off Borealis has a trick of his own and rolls off the top of Fujita's shoulders to put himself behind the Television Champ! A desperation spinning back elbow attempt by Fujita misses! NORTHERN LIGHTS OUT! It's over! Johnny Borealis secures yet another GCW World Heavyweight Championship Match in 2012.

WINNER: Johnny Borealis

Back to Top






Backstage.

What people don't realize about running a company like GCW is that it's not all smarmy declarations and high-profile matchmaking. There's a great deal of paperwork involved -- contracts to be signed, future arenas to be secured, and advertising rates to be negotiated. What people don't realize about Christian Zenith is that, while they call him the Leader of Men, he doesn't actually mind the busywork, which is why we find him still hard at work, even this late in the show. There comes a gentle knock on his door, and he glances up only briefly.

Zenith: Enter.

Then he looks back to the papers he's signing. He doesn't need to look up to know who his visitor is -- there's really only one woman in this place who'd wear heels quite so high. Besides, he had asked to see her.

Zenith: Ah, Kathryn -- I was beginning to think you wouldn't be able to make it. Come in, come in...

She steps in meekly, her head bowed. The very picture of obeisance.

Shaw: Yeah, sorry about that -- things have been quite hectic this evening.

Zenith: I saw that. Are the three of you all right? I know Chris has a tendency to be a little bit... enthusiastic.

Shaw: [nodding] I'm fine. Just took a bit of the spill off the apron. It's the other two that took the brunt of it.

Zenith: Yes, the other two. Drusilla and the other one.

Shaw: That's right.

She forces a smile.

Shaw: They're fine, really. Can I ask why it is you wanted to see me?

Zenith: Yes, you see, I'd like to think I run Global Championship Wrestling like any good business. I am fair and firm, I don't let bias interfere with my work, and I am as respectful as possible to all of the talent regardless of my personal feelings about them. It's called a "professional relationship" or "professionalism," and it's a necessary pillar to any successful business venture.

Kathryn nods patiently, and the smile comes easier the second time.

Shaw: I absolutely understand. Believe me, I understand professionalism probably more than the rest of the locker room. It's about... it's about separating the emotion from the job. I'm with you. But really, if all you wanted to do was pass on management lessons, we could have--

Zenith: No Kathryn, you see when I give this respect to people, I expect to be given it back in return. Mostly that means when I promise the fans that Desade will be in action tonight, I fully expect Miss Pierce to show up to this building on time, and ready to compete. If you could indulge my requests for a minute, exactly where is Miss Pierce right now, precisely?

Shaw: I don't see how you'd expect me to know that.

Zenith: Aren't you her...

He peers at a contract -- hers, likely.

Zenith: Her manager?

Shaw: Yeah, but Lexi is... independent-minded. I was told she had physical therapy scheduled during the show. Something about not wanting to watch it live if she couldn't be here...

Zenith: I hope Miss Pierce recovers quickly from her injuries, but when I put her on the bill, I expect her to show up. Perhaps Miss Pierce feels that she is above having to listen to the rules and expectations set by those in charge? If so, I'd like to take this opportunity to send a very clear message to herself and the rest of the roster. You can follow my rules, or you can go follow someone elses.
Suddenly a shadow casts from behind Kathryn Shaw over herself, the desk, and Christian Zenith in front of her. Panning out the camera reveals Rasa II standing behind Desade's "manager" before walking around her and flanking the commissioner behind his desk.
Zenith: Can I trust you to relay that message for me, Kathryn?

Kathryn is no dummy, and she slide-steps out from between the two, looking up, up, up to the Rorschach mask of the mammoth man.

Shaw: My, you're... tall.

She blinks, large hazel eyes studying.

Shaw: Yeah, I'm sure I can pass on--

Zenith: I need you to make certain you do. Because if Alexandra were to be scheduled again and again this program were subjected to the kind of... frivolity... we saw tonight, steps would have to be taken to assure our fans they would be protected from this kind of bait and switch. And they would begin with her removal from the Dangerous Game match itself.

Shaw: Look, hon... I love how you seem to think that my name on a contract somehow means that I have any real say over what Lexi does. But I'll pass on your little threat when I see her. No need for the grandiose threats or for the theatrics with tall, tall, and hopefully well-hung here.

Her smile is wide and full of perfect white teeth.

Shaw: I'm a team player. Really, I am. You may have heard that about me. I love team activities. Your message will be delivered. But you still owe me.

Zenith: Your paychecks were prompt and very much real. I hand-sign all of them just to make sure little "mistakes" don't happen.

Shaw: No, just the answer to my question: Armani or Hugo Boss? Most guys in your position go for Armani -- it's what the rabble recognizes. But you strike me as a Hugo Boss kind of guy. Powerful. Well-mannered. In control.

Zenith: That's because it's neither... it's Gucci, and you're dismissed Kathryn. Have a great evening and try not to get yourself into any trouble.

She allows herself a smirk, backpedaling as she spreads her hands.

Shaw: Of course. You guys don't forget to try to have fun yourself. If you like, I know a few places here in town where you might be able to--

A glare from Zenith (and probably from Rasa II, but it's not like you can see its eyes) silences her, both hands coming up as she slips out the door from whence she came.

Back to Top

Bryan: Folks, we’ve made it all the way to the main event tonight.

Yale: I don’t think it takes a rocket scientist to figure whose gonna be in this matchup.

Bryan: Well, let’s see who happens to show up.

The crowd goes soft for a few moments. That is, until the horns blare out. The long and arduous entrance to the tune of DJ Shadow’s "What Does Your Soul Look Like (Part 2)" follows, the crowd gets their panties in a wad, and out walks GCW World Champion Triumph Frost, belt across his chest, Murr Jr. waddling at his side.

Bryan: Looks like Triumph brought some backup.

Yale: Don’t speak ill of Murr Jr.! You wanna get more poo thrown our way?

Bryan: …no. No, I do not.

Triumph endures the hatred with a smile on his face, and Murr Jr. walks along, as happily oblivious as always.

Bryan: This is Triumph’s first match since winning the title, and we don’t exactly know who it’ll be against.

Yale: I think we have a pretty good idea. The question is, will it mean anything?

Triumph finally gets to ringside, walks up the steel steps, and enters the ring. Murr Jr. slides underneath, and the two jump on turnbuckles and hold up fists for the prerequisite amount of time for the crowd to take pictures and boo and all that noise.

Bryan: I think it means less for him than his opponent, whose likely chomping at the bit to get a bit of revenge.

Yale: A ha! So you do know who he’s facing.

Bryan: I have an idea…

DJ Shadow fades into the ethereal, and the crowd goes silent, waiting in anticipation…

Bryan: Who will it be?

The lights go out in the arena, and a swath of red lights flood the arena. It’s not long before the familiar riffs of "Give it All" by Rise Against pump out, and the crowd loses its collective mind.

Bryan: It’s the Bulletrproof Blonde! Highland Park’s own Vivica J. Valentine!

Yale: Agh! Tone it down, will ya?

The crowd does not tone it down, as fiery explosions hit from the entryway, making the fire marshall nervous, and the lights rise as Valentine steps out, the crowd firmly cheering her on.

Bryan: We all remember how Triumph did all but murder Valentine at Rampage. Tonight, she might get a modicum of payback in the form of his title.

Yale: Who said it’d be for the title? No one knows that it will, and I’m sure Triumph doesn’t want it to be.

Bryan: He’s no longer in charge, so he might not have any say.

Valentine never takes her eyes off Triumph, who merely taps on the championship belt a few times with a grin. Valentine slides under the ropes and pops right up. But there’s no backflips or pandering to the crowd. She stalks right up to Triumph and begins to let him know what’s what.

Yale: She’s not messing around one bit right now.

Bryan: Valentine might be one of the few people in this company that’s legitimately not afraid of anything Triumph can throw her way. She’s got the battle scars and the win-loss record to back that up, too.

Yale: Well, who’s champ now?

Bryan: By the end of the night? Maybe not Triumph Frost. And I can’t tell you how good it feels to say that.

As the music dies down, and the two stare daggers through one another, Joey Andrews preps his cards as Josh Briggs stands as firm as a senior official could under the circumstances.

Andrews: The following contest is set for one fall, and it is for the GCW World Heavyweight Championship!

The crowd goes wild, but so does Triumph, who looks completely blindsided. He immediately starts to argue with Andrews and Briggs.

Bryan: I don’t think Triumph actually expected this match to be for the title!

Yale: Neither did I! This is a travesty! Someone fix this!

Bryan: Speak of the devil…

Amidst his tirade about not wanting to put his belt on the line, at the entryway appears Christian Zenith, the current HMIC in GCW. And where Zenith goes, the behemoth that is Rasa II looms not far behind.

Yale: Yeah, the devil and his pet demon. Maybe he’ll get this straightened out.

The crowd’s disdain for Zenith rivals that of their disdain for Frost, and Zenith takes his sweet time getting to the ring. Frost, however, shows some initiative and meets him halfway.

Bryan: I think Triumph is more than motivated to keep his title from being up for grabs.

Yale: Can you blame him?

Triumph doth protest, but it falls on deaf ears. Triumph tries to turn of the violent sort, berating him and calling him all sorts of names that are even of questionable merit for a television program rated TV-MA. But again, Zenith seems steadfast in his refusal to care or listen.

Bryan: I don’t think Triumph is going to get out of this, no matter how hard he stomps his feet.

Yale: What is Zenith thinking? This is career suicide!

Sweat begins to pour off of Triumph’s brow, when suddenly he becomes compliant and walks back to ringside and jumps back into the ring.

Bryan: I guess he’s conceding.

Yale: Not like he had a choice. What a sham.

Triumph calls for Briggs to ring the bell, which he does so. As Triumph scoops up the championship belt, he goes to hand it off to Andrews. But before he does, he swings around and smashes an unsuspecting Valentine in the face with the title.

Bryan: Good lord! What is he doing?!?

Triumph drops the belt and just shrugs, as Briggs runs over to call for the bell. Only Christian Zenith is standing in between Briggs and the timekeeper, shaking his head "no."

Yale: What in God’s name?

Bryan: Zenith isn’t letting Triumph off that easy. The title won’t change hands on a disqualification.

Triumph and Zenith exchange looks; Zenith’s of confidence, Triumph’s of complete disbelief.

Bryan: Triumph can’t believe that he’s being forced into this.

Yale: Can you blame him?

Bryan: Yes, I can! All the horrible things he’s done to people during his time here, he deserves every bit of this.

Triumph snarls as he grabs Valentine by the hair to pull her up, only she pokes him in the eye.

Bryan: Desperation move from the Black Mariah!

Yale: Unfair! Disqualify her, Briggs, damn you! Do your job!

He screams out "that fucking bitch!" over and over again, clutching his eye, which gives Valentine enough space to bounce off the ropes and come forward with a full head of steam.

Bryan: REPENTANCE!

…except Triumph has it scouted, catches her by the leg, and dumps her over the top rope instead.

Bryan: He was just lying in wait for her to do that. These two are certainly no stranger to one another.

Yale: They’ve fought so many times over the past year, it’s hard to believe they don’t know each other’s methods inside-out.

Triumph leaps to the outside and kicks the trying-to-recover Valentine square in the ribs. As she lets out an audible "oof", he goes right to work adding trademarks to her pretty little head.

Bryan: Damn him! He’s going to stomp her into oblivion!

Briggs starts the count and gets to around three, but it’s clear Triumph has no intention of paying attention to a countout. Before Briggs can get to four, however, Zenith has appeared, waving Briggs off.

Also appearing? Rasa II, behind Triumph.

Bryan: Uh oh.

Yale: Lookout, Triumph!

Triumph spins around and slams right into the monster’s chest. Triumph doesn’t seem fazed at first, but when it becomes clear that Rasa II doesn’t care about disqualifications or countouts either, Triumph backs off.

Bryan: Even Triumph’s not brash enough to try his hand with Zenith’s little pet.

Yale: Little? Maybe you need to get your eyes checked.

Triumph rolls into the ring, and Rasa II provides the assist for Valentine, grabbing her and sliding her underneath the ropes.

Yale: And see? He’s helping out. Clearly he wants things done by the books.

Bryan: Good grief.

With Valentine still woozy, Triumph goes back to kicking at Valentine’s head a couple of times to soften her up further. After he feels like she’s nicely tenderized, he throws her over his shoulders and brings her down with…

Bryan: BUSHINZAN! That inverted Death Valley Driver should be all she wrote.

Yale: Damn straight.

Triumph flips her onto her back from her stomach and hooks the leg.

ONE…

TWO…

…Triumph pulls her shoulder up.

Bryan: Oh no. Why? Why must he continually punish her?

Yale: How else is she gonna learn?

Scooping her up again, he throws her over his shoulders, and once more, another Bushinzan.

Bryan: Damnit, cover her and end this already!

Triumph does, and again…

ONE…

TWO…

…Triumph again brings her shoulder up.

Bryan: Enough’s enough! Ring the damn bell, someone!

As Triumph goes to pick up Valentine once more, the crowd roars, as out runs Johnny Borealis, chair in hand.

Bryan: Johnny Borealis is here to put a stop to this madness! Thank God someone’s willing to do something.

The distraction allows a woozy Valentine to slide off his shoulders and smash her forearm square into his nuts.

Bryan: Valentine with the low blow!

Yale: Unfair!

Borealis slides into the ring, chair raised, and looks at Valentine, who’s barely hanging on. He turns to Triumph, who’s clutching his ball-bag. The crowd makes it known what they want next.

Bryan: The crowd is clamoring Borealis to help Valentine, as right he should.

Yale: Even Briggs is doing nothing about this, that Judas!

With the crowd screaming for Borealis to deck Triumph with the chair, he brings it up high…and down upon the skull of an unsuspecting Valentine.

Bryan: Borealis just knocked out Valentine!

Briggs immediately rushes into the scrum and begins to scream at Borealis, so Borealis gives Briggs an extra bit himself, shoving the chair into the ref’s stomach before raising it up high and smashing it across Briggs’ back.

Bryan: What the…why is he doing all this?!?

Yale: I dunno, but I kinda like it!

Even Triumph has no idea why what went down just went down, but it did go down. Borealis just shows Triumph an enigmatic smirk and jumps out of the ring. Dropping the chair as he heads back, Borealis is all smiles.

Bryan: Why did Borealis just hit Briggs? Why did he help Triumph? What is going on here?!?

Triumph jumps out of the ring to chase Borealis down, but sees the chair at his feet and remembers that the two other pertinent people in this match are face down on the mat because of it. Triumph, never one to look a gift horse in the mouth, scoops up the steel for himself.

Bryan: Dammit, somebody stop this! Somebody wake up Josh Briggs and put an end to this!

Yale: Are you kidding?

Bryan: Oh, he's got the chair, now! Triumph Frost slides into the ring with a steel chair and bad intentions!

Yale: He's gonna make sure Valentine NEVER gets another world title match!

Bryan: Frost waiting... he's waiting for Viv to get up! He's waiting for--

Chances are, he's not waiting for this.

Yale: Uh, did Shaman forget to pay the electric bill or something?

Bryan: The entire arena has gone dark here, fans. I don't know--

Yale: What was that? Did something just run by us? Man, if I missed Valentine getting hit in the face, I'm going to be pissed.

The lights come back on as quickly as they died. The very moment that they do, a spin-kick disarms the champion. That kick does not come from Vivica J. Valentine, which is why the crowd just went apeshit.

Bryan: It's Desade! Desade is in the ring! Alexandra Pierce just disarmed Triumph Frost with a kick to the chair!

Yale: What business is this of hers, anyway?

Bryan: You heard her earlier in that interview with Kevin Jacobs -- she's looking for something to inspire her! Maybe she wants a crack at the title!

Yale: Then she should've beaten Johnny Borealis at Rampage and earned it! You can't just show up and demand things! Besides, Shaw told Christian Zenith she didn't know where Pierce was!

Bryan: You mean the Queen of Lies might not have told her the truth?

Yale: I tell you -- it's this kind of unprovoked two-on-one assault that makes this place so dangerous.

Bryan: They haven't even DONE anything yet! Pierce backs Frost into a corner and she reaches down to help Vivica to her feet! I think the World Heavyweight Champion might be in some trouble!

Yale: This is what I have been saying!

The Bulletproof Blonde is eager -- maybe even overeager -- bucking forward, and it takes a hand on her shoulder to stop her.

Bryan: What's Pierce planning here?

Yale: Based on that smirk? Nothing good.

Viv lifts both brows in question. Alex looks over her shoulder to the champion (now out on the apron) and back. She nods her head in Viv's direction, and Valentine's smile stretches.

Yale: I'm gonna be sick. Someone needs to --

And that's when Desade spits a cloud of viscous black mist right into Vivica J. Valentine's face.

Yale: -- give her an Oscar!

Bryan: What the hell? Pierce just -- Vivica can't see! What the hell was that crap? Alex chickenwings the arms and -- MASTERMIND! Corkscrew unprettier! Viv just got SPIKED! What is going on here?

Alexandra comes up to her knees beside Valentine, a slow smile sliding onto her lips, like a stiletto being drawn from a well-oiled sheath.

Bryan: Why is she doing this? Pierce slithers backwards out of the ring like the damn snake she is, and Frost wakes Josh Briggs up! Not like this! It can't end like this!

Yale: Cover her!

Bryan: Frost dives atop Valentine! He hooks both legs! Briggs crawls over! No! No!





ONE!!!!




Bryan: Come on, Viv!





TWO!!!!




Bryan: Please kick out!





THREE!!!


[DING-DING-DING!]

Bryan: ...dammit.

Andrews: The winner of this bout and STILL! GCW WORLD Heavyweight Champion! TRRRRIIIIIIIIIUUUUMMMPH! FRRRRRROOOOOOOSSSSSST!!


"BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!"


Bryan: I can't... I can't believe this.

Yale: I KNOW! It's great!

Bryan: Fans, Triumph Frost has retained the GCW title, and he takes his belt from the timekeeper and he's out of here. I don't think that's the story here, however. Alexandra Pierce slides into the ring -- what's she going to do now?

Yale: She's just... standing there in the corner. Smiling. It's creepy, JB. But it's also kind of hot, I'm not going to lie.

Alex knifes a hand through her hair, wiping the back of her hand across her lips as Vivica rolls onto her side.

Brysn: Is she... is she regretful? I can't tell what she's doing. She's lurking in Valentine's blindspot, but I really don't think it matters, Dave.

Yale: She doesn't even know where SHE is right now, nevermind where Pierce is.

Bryan: I'm not even sure how she's doing this? Vivica J. Valentine struggling to her feet!

Valentine reaches for the ropes and misses, then gets her knees under her and stomps a foot down, coming up to a knee. Gradually and by degrees, Desade's tiny smile flickers and fades, replaced by a curling snarl.

Bryan: Alex can't believe it! Valentine is getting up!

Yale: Not for long she's not!

Bryan: The bicycle! Bicycle knee to the side of Valentine's jaw!

Yale: Somebody's gonna need emergency dental surgery for Christmas!

Bryan: Pierce appears to be wearing some kind of brace on that injured knee, and she just BLASTED Valentine in the mouth with it! Viv collapses like she's been shot!

Yale: She's out, JB! Valentine's out cold!

Bryan: Get somebody out here! Get some help out here!

Yale: Viv's bleeding from the mouth!

The bell rings again, and a small knot of people bustle down the ramp.

Bryan: Finally! Here come officials and GCW security to stop this--this psychopath!

Alex comes to her feet with her hands in the air, and the officials turn to check on Valentine.

That's their mistake.

Bryan: Pierce! VICIOUS savate kick to David Fellows' face! And a Spider's Kiss! The Spider's Kiss to one of the security guards!

Yale: That's gonna cost her some money.

Bryan: I don't think she cares! The rest of the officials scatter like rats! Pierce back to Vivica -- MOONSAULT KNEE! That's the move she hurt herself trying to perform on Alex Redding!

Yale: She's like a whirling dervish out there! They might need the 82nd Airborne to get Valentine to safety!

As it turns out, they only need one five-foot-nothing redhead.

Bryan: Aimz! Aimz down the ramp! Amy slides into the ring and Pierce backs off IMMEDIATELY!

Campbell comes to her feet, carefully positioning herself between Alexandra and the fallen Fearless Phenom. Her brow furrows in concern, looking between the two women. "Al?" she asks, reaching out a shaky hand.

Bryan: Amy seems as shocked as everybody else here.

It isn't that the Spider retreats from that hand so much as it is that she flinches away. The camera gets a clean shot of Alex as she looks down to Valentine, finally being seen to by emergency personnel, and then up to Amy. You don't have to be a lip reader to know what she says. "I'm sorry. I love you."

Bryan: And Pierce rolls backwards over the top rope, landing on her feet on the floor!

Pierce and Campbell lock eyes on the ground briefly. Amy covers her mouth in shock. Alex looks down, turning quickly to leap over the guardrail into the crowd.

Bryan: I really don't know what to make of what we've just witnessed.

Yale: Alexandra Pierce went psycho. My buddy Eugene Ware called matches in SCCW and he told me what this was like. This... this terror and arousal. It's disconcerting, JB.

"ALEX!" Amy steps up to the middle rope, calling after the retreating form of her lover, but Pierce doesn't look back, hurrying through the crowd. Later, live reports about the show will disagree about whether the Spider in the Web was crying or not. Campbell drops to a knee by Vivica as the trainer's staff carefully sits her up. The towel they've covered her face with is pockmarked red with blood, and a woman in a black-and-blue GCW polo is still washing crap out of her eyes.

Bryan: Fans, we'll try to make some sense of this before we return to the air for WorldWide 157. Until then, for David Yale and all of us here at GCW, this is James Bryan -- have a happy holiday.

Yale: [low] Wow, JB. Just... wow.

Aimz puts her hand on Valentine's shoulder, murmuring something (an apology, perhaps) that goes unheard as we fade down to the GCW logo…

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WorldWide 156 Credits


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