---

---

Andrew left the viewing room, smiling. His segment from last week had been even better that he’s hoped. In fact, it had even scared him once or twice! Now he was even more excited about his return. Even though he hadn’t wrestled for over a year, just being back in the AWE machine brought such a wave of nostalgia. This was truly where he belonged, and now he was single again, he didn’t have to feel that constant guilt of leaving a loved one behind. She’ll be happier with Brian, anyway. He’ll be around.

His happiness twinged with sadness, Andrew headed towards catering. With helping backstage wherever he could, Hector has forgotten to eat. This would be his second meal of the day, and it was late. He was famished!

Duncan was sitting in the men’s locker room, watching the show through his phone. His eyes widened when that creepy music played through the miniature speaker at the bottom of his phone. He had not got the memo that the one and only Hector was back. Immediately, the Brit set off to find the man himself, Andrew.

Almost bursting into the first place he looked, the cafeteria, he immediately spotted his quarry. ”ANDREW!!!” He yelled out before rushing over beside him. ”You’re back? Since when? What!?” He said in a rush. Duncan enjoyed the matches he had with Andrew before he had to leave the business temporarily.

Andrew recognised the voice and turned smiling to the direction it came from. ”DUNCAN!” the friendly Scot replied in a voice just as loud, before giving the smaller man a bear hug. When he let go, he chuckled, and grabbed an empty paper plate, ready to load up. ”I came back last week after finishing the shoot for my hype package, but I was tired so I didn’t do much. This week feels like my real first week back. It’s good to see you, mate! How’ve things been while I’ve been away?”

Duncan happily accepted the bear hug. ”I missed the memo. Speaking of the shoot, think that went over with the crowd well enough for the return of THE Hector? ‘Cuz, between you and me, I sure as hell did.” Duncan replied, also getting a plate for his meal.

Andrew quickly finished the large mouthful of food he had sneaked in while Duncan was talking, and washed it down with some beer from a red plastic cup. ”I heard the cheers, and the silence, more importantly. That wasn’t the apathetic ‘nobody’s cheering or booing but they’re talking to their mates’ silence. That was true silence. It was the sound of half the audience literally making no sound. It was like a void!”

Duncan grinned. ”That’s the best reaction Hector could’ve gotten. I prefer the noise myself.” He said, glad that he could discuss these things with an old friend. It was pretty cool how the contrasting reactions for different wrestlers achieve the same effect. ”What about the competition? Been out for a year and a half, that’s a lot of ring rust to shake off.” Duncan asked, quite cheekily. He was very aware of what Hector can do.

”Hey, I’ve been training for a month or two in preparation for this return. Plus I start back on the house show circuit starting tomorrow. Besides, I’ve never been the most fast or acrobatic wrestler. My skills are the kind of skills you don’t lose just by lack of practice.”

Duncan chuckled. ”Many a chokeslams you have given me shows that you have skills that make up for that.” In ring, Hector vs Clayton would be quite a show due to the difference in wrestling abilities. Hard slobber knockers from Hector to quick, flashy combos given back by Clayton. The fans ate it up.

The crowd booed as Hector sat up before a cover could even be made from that devastating spear that had managed to even floor the large man, though Hector was staggering, and clutching his head, and the audience knew that this was telegraphing Hector’s own spear….thing. The commentary team also hyped this up with the first utterance of what would be the frame for every phrase used to cover this move since; ‘Uh oh! Chaos better watch out….because Daddy’s Home!’

In that brief pause, the lights started flashing, leaving the ring in alternating darkness and green light in quick succession, and in this window, Hector charged Clayton and performed a spear-takedown hybrid. With Clayton now down, Hector stalked around Chaos with slimy, snakelike movements that looked even more disturbing coming from the giant’s cumbersome and ungraceful frame, as if he was distorting himself somehow. He was toying with Chaos, waiting for him to get up when any sane wrestler who cared about winning instead of inflicting pain would have made the cover.

The Anarchist lied dazed, slowly swaying his head to convey regaining consciousness. He slowly turned over and began to try and stand up, managing to push himself up to one knee, panting and clutching his stomach from the shattering force of an almost 300 pound man. Clayton stumbled forward, falling onto both knees as he leant against the ropes, eyes wide at the crowd, clearly shook from the impact.

Clayton’s recovery was slow and cumbersome, almost how Hector moved in the ring, proving the kind of strength the Monster was packing. Clayton turned around and made a charge at his opponent. While Hector went to decapitate him with a clothesline, Clayton adeptly slid onto his knees and under the tree-trunk like arm. He planted his hands onto the apron and swung himself around, trying to perform a sweeping kick to down Hector once again, but to no avail. While he did connect, Clayton had to immediately pull back, exclaiming in pain as he clutched his shin that practically ricocheted off of the leg of Hector.

Hector practically no-sold that attack, and turned menacingly and slowly towards Chaos as if that kick had simply made him angry. He grabbed Clayton by the neck, and delivered a devastatingly high chokeslam. The slamming sound it made on the canvas could be heard even without mics. Hector then made the cover. 1...2...3
Andrew chuckled and rubbed his head. “Maybe I shouldn’t be so rough with them in future. We’ve already lost Drayden to the shelf. I don’t want to injure any other members of the roster. We’re all too important.”

Duncan nodded but smirked. ”Hey man, it’s what the fans want. But you’re right, probably more now than ever…”

Andrew sighed, then looked at his watch. ”Christ, I promised somer of the guys I’d help with the setup five minutes ago!” He cried, shoving the rest of the food into his mouth and waving as he ran off. There’d be time to chew on the way.

---

Manuel had turned up to his first AWE show- BACKSTAGE! If getting the phone call from the business that told him he got the contract wasn’t enough to hype him up, then this experience certainly did the trick. Getting to watch the wrestlers amongst the other wrestlers was fantastic! He was sitting at the back with some loose tracksuit bottoms and a white vest. It would be ludicrous to think anyone knew who he was. However, Manuel hoped that he’d soon be good friends with everyone at the business.

”Mind if I sit here? asked the voice of a man who, after asking permission, sat down without waiting for a response. The man was dressed in a grey sports sweater, and black gym shorts. Looking at his face, though, it would dawn on Manuel that this was Oscar Sullivan, or Oscar O’Sullivan, as he was known in the AWE. As if to confirm this obvious fact, he offered his hand and introduced himself as Oscar Sullivan.

Manuel was like a fan meeting his hero. ”Y-Yes, Mr Sullivan! Of course!” He said, words tumbling out of his mouth as he accepted the handshake. ”Manuel Hernandez. I… uhhh… hope to be in the ring with you one day, Mr Sullivan.” Manuel introduced back. This… is… awesome!

Oscar couldn’t help but chuckle and be humbled by seeing a seasoned wrestler marking out for him. “I hope to see you in the ring too. I’ve heard nothing but good things about you.”

If Manuel’s brain could be heard, he was squealing like a girl. ”Really? Th-Thank you Mr Sullivan! That’s… well.... It means a lot…” He replied. The luchador enjoyed this moment. Perhaps he could learn some great things from Oscar, but of course Oscar has way more time in the AWE world. League’s above El Fuego Diablo even.

”You don’t need to be so timid,” Oscar answered. ”You’re a season wrestler yourself, and I bet there’s a lot you could do far better than I could. Even so, you should probably learn some things about how things work in the AWE, and with Will on the shelf, I have a lot more free time backstage than I used to.”

Manuel chuckled and smiled. ”Thank you Mr Sullivan, but compared to you and the other veterans here, I might as well be having my first match ever.” He joked a little. While Manuel truly did appreciate the compliment, he was also not delusional. It would be a tough, arduous journey ahead, but Manuel was willing to make every step even if the path was covered with shattered glass. ”I really look forward to learning the ropes of AWE, especially if I can learn from wrestlers like yourself.”

”That sounded like a request to be taught a few things,” Oscar replied, chuckling. ”I’ve admittedly never been an actual mentor before.”

Manuel beamed but stayed humble and cautious. ”R-Really? You’d help teach me and mentor me? I don’t know what to say… that would be greatly appreciated if that’s the case.” The luchador replied. This was exactly the kind of start he’d need in the AWE.

”Sure,” the veteran replied. ”I should probably find out how much you know first. I might try and pull some strings, see if I can get some house show matches with you this week. I trust in your ability to wrestle well, but that’s only half of it. Maybe not even half of it. It’s all about the crowd. They like a story. Whether it’s storytelling in the ring, or promos, they need a reason to care about who wins and who loses a match. Even the purest of smarks, who claim to their friends that nothing matters but pure skill in the ring, won’t get invested in a hypeless match.”

Manuel’s smile got bigger and bigger. ”Why.. That would be great, Mr Sullivan!” He said excitedly. ”I look forward to that chance! I promise I won’t waste it and you won’t regret it, Mr Sullivan.”

---

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The Man They Call Love walked through the doors of the Golden 1 Center in Sacramento. He didn't enter through the front doors of course, but rather through the back (as was his specialty), where some marks had already started hanging around hoping to catch a glimpse of the wrestlers. As The Lovely One arrived, a few of the fans started yelling at him for autographs but Sexton politely flipped them off while continuing to knaw on an old piece of cajun chicken form the night before. Ragin' cajun chicken. In a few hours he would probably have the hot shits. Hopefully not while he was out in the ring.

Nobody wanted to see that again.

Last week, Sexton had main evented the show in a tournamnet match against Thunderbird. Originally, the ol' Birdie was gonna beat him with his finisher clean in the middle, but after evaluating the tournament bracket Sexton had lobbied for the roll-up finish they went with instead. It wasn't that Sexton had a problem putting over T-Bird's big move, it was that he wanted to do it at the right time. When it really meant something. He saw that Thunderbird was scheduled to be eliminated from the tournament in the next round, and this presented an opportunity.

Rather than simply having two talented wrestlers languishing without direction, The Love Machine pitched an angle to the head office for a long term feud between himself and the Bird. It seemed like a natural fit and would give both characters a clear direction. Sexton simply refused to go through the same motions week after week, and as a result was consistently involved in storylines and feuds. Sexton had no doubt in his mind that even with the ongoing World Title tournament, he could turn this feud with Thunderbird into the hottest thing on the show.

Things were really going to heat up tonight, as Sexton was going to cost Thunderbird his next tournament match and cut a scathing promo afterwards. He knew he didn't require that much TV time in order to be effective, but on this night he was particularly glad he wouldn't be out in the ring for a prolonged period due to the aforementioned cajun chicken currently gestating in his murky depths.

Sexton made his wall through the halls backstage, saying hello to some of the crew. On his way to the locker room he bumped into Owen Sparks, a young up-and-coming wrestler he had taken a liking to.

@JamesMuddy

"Sparky baby!" said Sexton, clapping the young wrestler on his shoulder. "I saw your match last week at TV daddeh, and my heart damn near stopped! You were high spottin', hot shottin', elbow droppin', you did it ALL daddeh!"

In fairness, Owen's match probably had very little to do with any kind of cadiac problems Sexton may or may not have experienced. Nevertheless, he continued.

"You had a couple of close calls darlin', but by God you're one hell off an athlete. Glad to see they gave you the nod."

It was true, Sexton was pleased to see Owen Sparks get the win, if only because it meant they might be pushing a new babyface for the Sexcellence of Sexecution to eventually work with down the line.

"Just remember daddeh, you don't need to do too much out there. Save all that crazy stuff for the right moment, and make it feel special. If you do it at the right time, it'll mean so much more. Remember, it's just like kickin' it with a fat broad..."

Sexton took another bite off his chicken.

"...She might was to get all crazy, want you to throw her around. And by God daddeh, you might WANT to do it too. You might even be ABLE to do it. You just can't do it ALL THE TIME. It's dangerous. Your body can't take it. Eventually you'll crash and burn, daddeh. Even worse, you do it too damn much and she'll get bored of it, ya feel me? Make it a special occassion, darlin'. Make it special. Then when you put that big bitch in the air at the right moment...woooooo daddeh, then you know you did it right."

Satisfied with the wisdom of his analogy, Sexton clapped Owen on the shoulder again. He then noticed another wrestler down at the end of the hall. It was Oscar O'Sullivan, the "One and Only." Oscar also had a match last week.

@Silver Carrot

"Oscar baby!," Sexton yelled, getting the Canadian's attention. "Saw your match last week too. That's a great finisher you got there, daddeh. That crucifix cutter..."

Sexton turned and began to walk away.

"Can't wait to kick out of it."

He started laughing to himself, and nearly choked to death on a piece of chicken.

---

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“Mr. Harvey, I'm going to be completely honest with you.” Alexandra's voice came out sharper than she intended, but she was tired, and this call had gone on long enough. “I have no intention of letting any of the AWE wrestlers onto your show. I've listened to your radio show, I've watched your youtube videos. You're condescending, and you go for audience shock value. Everyone I have spoken to says you go completely off script and are unreliable. I'm here to help the reputation of the talent I represent, and putting anyone on your show will only hurt it.”

Alexandra's statement was met by grumbling that she was sure was supposed to be tough and convincing, but it only served to annoy her further. She had just traveled from Connecticut to California, spending any moment she wasn't sleeping putting out the latest AWE PR fires. On top of that, her bag was full of files on the talent that was coming and going from the AWE rosters, and she barely had time to go over it. One new member coming from Japan already seemed like he was going to be a handful, and she wasn't looking forward to it.

Alex wasn't supposed to have to travel with the wrestlers, but Drayden had to relinquish his title, and everything went to shit from there. Put a bunch of hot heads on a bus, and chaos ensues. Caiden Winters was shaping up to be a particular thorn in her side, and if she got one more report of a certain wrestler washing down pills with booze she was going to lose it. With one problem following another, Alex got called onto the road. Sure, she had made the trip on a private jet, but the travel was unplanned and it pissed her off.

She didn't mind traveling, loved it actually. But she was a woman who planned things out and this was very much not planned. Luckily, her new intern that would be starting in a few weeks had also agreed to the sudden travel plans and would be joining her soon.

Alexandra pulled open the backstage doors to the arena, not missing a step as her black heels transitioned from one surface to the next. Her floral skirt swished delicately around her knees as she walked, taking in her surroundings as she went. Although she was of similar height to some of the smaller female wrestlers, with her plain black shirt and minimal makeup, no one would mistake her for a member of the wrestling team. Everyone let her pass by without question, as it was obvious to even those that did not know her that Alex belonged at the arena.

Over the din of the backstage commotion, Alex became aware of another incessant buzzing sound. She was still on the phone with Sam Harvey, sleazeball on air radio personality. He had been pestering her for far too long about getting some of the talent from AWE to go on his radio show. Not. A. Chance.

“I'm going to say this one more time, and slowly, Sam.” Alex said, done with formalities at this point in the conversation. Pausing to wave at some of the crew members as they passed her by, she stepped off to the side to check her watch, making sure she was out of the way of crew. “I have a lot of friends in this business. A lot of them are even outside of AWE. There is a reason I made it into my current position so quickly. A lot of people owe me favors, and I will be sure to call in all of them just to make your life hell. Goodbye Sam.”

With those final words, she hung up her phone, shoved it in her bag and ran a hand through her mahogany waves of hair, lamenting over not having time to get it cut before hitting the road. Almost immediately her phone began to ring again. With a muttered curse, Alex plucked the phone from her bag, completely prepared to engage in battle with Mr.Harvey again. Already she knew exactly who should plead a favor from to really put a wrench in his career.

One look at the caller I.D had Lex throwing her phone back in her bag. Obnoxious radio show hosts she could handle. Her mother was a different story. No, that call was going to voice mail.

@ZeusTheMoose

Oscar turned when he heard his name being called. It was Sexton, in much better condition this week, probably due to having matches and promos to do now. There was nothing wrong with drinking on your time off. Oscar was a bit of a beer fan himself. He didn't even judge anyone for drug usage even though he'd never done that himself, but from when the came into the venue, to when they left, they ought to be clean, and professional at all times.

Despite this, Oscar had a lot of respect for the fellow veteran. He was no slouch in the ring, and he might even surpass Oscar in the ability to cut a promo, work the crowd and make stars out of his opponents. 'Might' was the key word there. Oscar didn't like to stroke his own ego but knowing what you're great at is just as important as knowing what you're bad at in his opinion.

"That's not my finisher," he answered back, "though...I might start using it more. The knee drop fake-out's lost its heel heat. I would enjoy a match with you, though, when your program ends. Think of the promos! See you around, Sexton!"

Oscar continued walking to nowhere in particular. It's as if he was patrolling the backstage area like a sheriff, making sure the superstars were all in line.

---

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The audience had been very surprised by the unexpected attack that Caiden had dealt to Roddy, but they weren’t able to dwell on the surprise long because the titantron went dark and the well known phrase from V for Vendetta began to start. The lights were dimmed to a mixture of some dark blue and some dark red. As the song started a solitary figure stepped out in front of the crowd with his signature weapon. As the beat began to pick up the lights got brighter and moved rapidly around the stadium. Initiate simply stood there as the crowd cheered. As the singers voice said ‘death’ Initiate began rushing down the ramp.

He then noticed a small cluster of people sitting in the front seats wearing the mask. Mathys smiled as he walked to them. He held his hand up in a fist and the ones wearing a mask joined in crossing all their arms with fists held up above them. He stayed there a moment then backed away and slid into the ring. Once in the ring he moved to the center and got to his knees. Grabbing the bat with both hands, one on each end, he sat there for a moment then proceeded to hit the mat a few times with the bat. Standing up he took his jacket off and then tossed them outside the ring in front of the commentators.

A few brief moments later, the Golden One Centre was sunk into crimson red. The titantron flourished back to life, showing the signature silver symbol of Anarchy. Mathys’ opponent walked out, head down until the music crescendoed into the lyrics, and the wave of fire erupted either side of Chaos Clayton, and his wild, crazy eyes scanned the crowd. This time, Clayton’s hair highlights and cargo pants were a dirty, mustard yellow. Clayton then fixated on the cluster of “Initiates” at the end of the ramp. He then procured a copy-cat mask, but this time it was cracked across it. He waved it about as he strode across the ramp.

Clayton faced the camera and put the mask beside his face, running his thumb across his neck then turning to Initiate who stood in the ring. Clayton pointed at the Opponent and tossed the mask towards the side of the ring, sliding to the bottom of the ring before the Anarchist leapt up and turned back to the crowd, roaring out before stepping in. Clayton got right up to the Initiate and pressed his forehead against the mask. It took the referee to push Clayton away and get the two in the corners for the match to start properly.

“This match is going to be an all out war between the idea of Chaos and the power of Revolution. Whoever wins this match is going to be able to advance in the tournament and push his agenda on the AWE with force! Holding the world title brings all eyes on you, and if you have those eyes… your message will be heard.”

Initiate cocked his head as the ref made Clayton go to his corner. When the bell rang Initiate slowly moved towards the man he nearly towered over. Initiate made the motions to go for a collar and elbow tie up but as Clayton reacted Initiate brought his leg up to kick Clayton right in the gut. Quickly Initiate grabbed Clayton’s head in a sprawl position. It was obvious at this point what Initiate was doing. Keeping Clayton on the ground should cancel out his brawling and high flying.

“The Initiate is doing his best to keep the Anarchist down on the ground so he can’t do what we all know him for: flying high and knocking heads. If he can keep the okizeme rolling, then this match is almost a surefire victory for him.”

“The what now? Is that even a proper Japanese word?”

“It’s a video game thing… it means ground game.”

“WHAT A NERD.” Kane chuckled to himself and continued his banter, “Nurdddddddddd.”

Clayton grasped at Initiates’ arms, managing to scramble up onto his knees but was nowhere near able to push the Initiate off just yet. Clayton attempted to wrench Initiate away but it was clear that his strength would get sapped away too soon if he couldn’t break away. The Anarchist freed up one arm to strike Initiates’ abdomen to try and force his opponent to deal with two things at once.

“Clean moves from Clayton, he’s fighting back. He doesn’t want to be kept on the ground game for very long!”

“It’s a game of wits now so Chaos Clayton can have the high ground. What the Initiate doesn’t realize is great changes usually start with a bit of chaos. The power of a revolution needs the idea of chaos.”

Initiate took the blows to his abdomen in order to try and switch the hold to where Clayton couldn’t hit him. Initiate slowly started standing bringing Clayton up. Before getting fully to his feet Initiate grabbed Clayton’s head and slammed him down into the mat. Initiate jumped in the air and delivered an elbow drop to Clayton’s torso. He quickly moved into a pin trying to hold Clayton down.

“An early pin here from the Initiate, he’s looking to close this match out as fast as he can. And who can blame him? The ideal way to advance in the tournament is quick and fast, don’t you think? Save your energy for the next match. Save it for the finals.”

“No. I don’t agree. That just means he ain’t got enough endurance. The best way to advance is to tire your opponent out so you’re guaranteed to win. If you don’t got enough energy and drive, what are you doing in the ring?!”

Clayton only had a brief opportunity to hold the back of his head from the slam before taking a gravity-fuelled elbow drop from the Initiate. The referee slapped the mat once before Clayton managed to kick out.

“Of course that isn’t going to work with Clayton! He’s got a lot left in the tank, you’ll have to do better than that to put him away! He’s got a lot left in the tank!”

“It’s the endurance, man. Fueled by pure mayhem. Chaos Clayton can fight all day, everyday.”

He attempted to roll away to the side of the ring and clutching the ropes, using them to help him scramble up onto his feet. Clayton sprinted at the Initiate, leaping up to deliver a flying forearm smash.

Initiate stood up from the failed pin and watched curiously as Clayton rolled towards the ropes. When he got up and leaped at Initiate with a forearm, Initiate brought his arm up to deliver an uppercut. He didn’t fully connect and the forearm sent him to the ground. He held the back of his head as he rose to one knee still bent over.

“High energy moves from Clayton! Chaos is going to force the Initiate to wrestle his type of match, and that’s the bottom line — because Chaos Clayton said so.”

“Like a boss.”

Clayton landed and turned around, looking over his shoulder at his handiwork. Clayton looked up at the roof of the building and chuckled as he threw his arms out, turning as he did it. After his maniacal laughter was over, Clayton grabbed the Initiate's head and pulled him up onto his feet, tossing him into the ropes with an irish whip. As the Initiate rebounded back towards Clayton, he leapt up and twisted his body round, jutting his arm out for a Corkscrew Elbow.

“Beautiful elbow right to the damn dome. Business is about to pick up!”

“Toldja, the Anarchist knows what he’s doing.” Kane wasn’t fully impressed. He wanted more blood. But he was sure they had tricks up their sleeves. He honestly couldn’t wait until the PPV. Shit would get real, real fast.

Initiate landed in a way to make it look like a hard landing. However, he quickly sat up arching his back and holding his hand there. Looking straight at Clayton he stood up and mocked him by gesturing him to bring it. Initiate ran to the ropes, bounced off in Clayton’s direction, and began spinning around to deliver a Cyclone Kill.

Clayton readied himself and caught the Initiates’ foot. The Anarchist shook his head as if to say “Oh no you don’t” before spinning the Initiate around and kicking him in the midriff before pushing him to the floor.

“Not today, Initiate. Today, Chaos Clayton says no and you sit your ass down and wait and see what happens! I love it! I love it!”

“Is Clayton converting you, Wade? Are you actually down with disorder?”

“I’m down with this match that’s happening right here, right now.”

Clayton wasted no time and hopped up onto the turnbuckle, turning around before standing up and throwing his arms up high, hands turned into the Rocker signs before flying through the air for a Meteora aerial attack. Initiate stood up and turned to see Clayton flying at him. He didn’t have time to move or dodge and was hit by the attack. Clayton dropped beside the Initiate but rolled up onto his feet before moving over and pinning down Initiate, trying to secure the win, going as far as to push his hand down onto his opponent’s face, which in reality didn’t hurt thanks to Mathys’ mask.

“That’s gotta be the end of this! Clayton’s gonna advance!”

Initiate raised his legs in the air and swung them down to give him momentum to knock Clayton away just after the ref got to one. He quickly stumbled to his feet and stumbled back until he hit the ropes then ran forward at Clayton going for a running clothesline.

“KICK OUT! Maybe the Initiate has more in him than I thought he did.”

“Said NO ONE ever. COME ON, CLAYTON! What are you DOING?”

Clayton landed hard on his back as he collided with the Initiate’s clothesline. Clayton stood onto a knee, panting and recovering. Mathys grinned as he grabbed Clayton’s head and pulled him into a knee. He lifted Clayton to his feet and threw him towards the ropes. As he bounced back to where Initiate stood he grabbed him and spun around in a Spinning Side Slam. Initiate jumped to his feet and walked to the ropes screaming. The crowd joined in by chanting



“You can say whatever you want about the strangeness of the Initiate — and it is there, but he certainly gets the crowd behind him.”

“By crowd, you mean the children.” Kane scoffed in annoyance.

Initiate fell backwards to the mat and imitated Clayton as he stood up. Once both were standing Initiate shifted into a mock runners starting position then ran towards Clayton trying for the Cyclone Kill again. Clayton just managed to duck under the kick and brought both of his fists up to unleash a combo of strikes. He began with a solid left jab followed by a swift kick to Initiate’s shin. Initiate staggered back after every strike and as soon as he was pressed against the ropes, Clayton grabbed his legs and flipped him over, sending The Initiate tumbling to the ramp.

“This time the Initiate fails to hit him with the kick! Clayton ducked under, let’s see if he can capitalize on that dodge!”

Initiate fell to the ground and landed on his back. He rolled over onto his front and slowly made his way to his feet. After stretching his back he turned back towards the ring. However, Clayton was already rebounding off of the ropes and propelled himself towards Initiate, Suicide Diving straight between the top and middle rope like a dart. Initiate angled himself to do a Snap Scoop Powerslam but missed the grab and went down to the ground with Clayton on top.

“TOPÉ SUICIDA!” “TOPÉ SUICIDA!”

“...Get out of my head, Wade!”

However, due to how the Initiate angled himself, Clayton didn’t land the Dive perfectly, and took the landing pretty hard at the same time. He rolled off of the Initiate and stared up in a dazed manner. The cameraman zoomed in on both of the downed wrestlers as the referee began to count them out, the crowd counting along with the official.



“The ref’s count begins! If these two super stars don’t make it into the ring fast enough, then this match is over in the most dissatisfying way.”

Initiate slowly got up to his knee and from there used the apron to fully stand up. He walked over to Clayton and, grabbing him by the hair, lifted him up. He kneed him in the gut then turned around slinging him towards the barricade while the ref and crowd yelled,



Clayton grunted as his back collided with the barricade, but as the Initiate closed in, he delivered a major kick to the Initiate’s stomach before quickly making his way back to the ring to beat the count out. However, he turned around and saw that the Initiate was still hot on his heels. Clayton sped up and leapt up onto the side of the ring.



However, instead of catching the ropes, Clayton kicked off from it and delivered a pitch perfect Disaster Kick straight to the Initiate’s head. Initiate fell straight to the ground. Mathys reached up and slid the mask a little in a way no one would see to make it look like the kick had connected hard.

“Maybe Clayton doesn’t care about this victory, about that title belt! He just wants to hurt his opponent here!”



Clayton quickly turned on his heels and dove onto the apron, sliding himself securely back into the ring.



“You were saying?” Kane gave his coworker, and friend, a smug look.

The referee rung the bell and the match was over. While some of the crowd cheered, another part booed due to the circumstance of the win. Clayton rolled back out as his music blared throughout the arena again, and he made his way back to the ramp. Before he walked up it, he looked back at the Initiate, then back to the group of his white masked fans before scoffing and exiting the arena.

“And just like that, Chaos Clayton moves to the semifinals! Maybe not the most satisfying victory… but a victory and an advance in the tournament, nonetheless.”

Collaboration with @Lovely Complex,@Silver Carrot&@Universorum

“For this match, we’re joined on commentary by the one and only, Oscar O’Sullivan himself. He has a particular interest in this match, as whichever competitor wins, he will face in the next round of the tournament. Who would you like to face of the two?”

”Well, Wade. I’ve done my research on both guys. I already know a lot about Savaka. I mean, he is the Intercontinental champion. He’s no slouch in the ring, but c’mon. He’s a peace-loving monk. And Ludwig von Moltbag? What was his name? Never heard of him before. Sounds like a clown with a name like that. I don’t think either really pose a threat to me, but who knows? I could be proven wrong tonight.”

“Don’t get cocky. If there’s one thing I’ve learned over my years calling matches — and I’ve got a few years under my belt — it’s that exactly what you don’t expect to happen… will. You’ll find yourself getting locked in one of Savaka’s holds before long, and then what? You tap.”

“What? That isn’t being cocky. That isn’t being over-confident. Ain’t nobody got time to think less of themselves. To be a star, you gotta’ believe you are one and Oscar sure as hell believes he’s one. The one and only.”

The jobber got the first entrance. Ludwig von Moltbaug was the wrestling persona of a local fixture of the indie scene, a heel complete with monocle, pocket watch, and gold and black trunks. The Praxeological Pugilist, the Arch Grappler of the Austrian School marched his way to the ring with an air dignity and derision for the common men of the arena’s audience, literally turning up his nose at the sight of them as his entrance music played. He stood there in the ring, playing up his mannerisms until his arrogance was practically seeping out of him.

”Jeez, Wade, look at this guy. Somebody call the circus. They’ve got an act missing!”

“Hey, he’s a competitor just like you.” In a surprising lack of professionalism from Wade, there were chuckles laced into what he was saying.

“Damn exhibitionists. Don’t get me wrong, I’m sure Ludwig von Moltbaug got some things up his sleeves, but I’m with Oscar on this one. The guy looks ridiculous.”

Savaka’s music kicked in with the sound of Sanskrit chants, and the fog machine induced cloud gave way to show him rising from his prostration at the top of the entrance ramp. He walked to the ring in a measured fashion, eyes closed and hands clasped together, the sign of someone at peace with the world. After both competitors were in the ring, the lights turned on to full brightness and the bell rung, signaling the start of the match.

“Here comes the champion. What an awesome run from him we’ve seen over the past few months. Savaka has a unique fighting style that is unlike any other, and he wows crowds everytime he comes out here, with his ability to grapple like no other can.”

”Was that a challenge? That sounded like a challenge.”

“Those were some fightin’ words! Wade doesn’t think you can get out of Savaka’s Tripitaka Lock, Oscar. You gonna’ let him believe that? You gonna’ let him underestimate your skills?” If there was one thing Kane had a natural talent for, it was egging people on and being a massive troll. But hey, at least he knew how to make the wrestlers look good. All in a day’s job.

”Let him believe what he wants to believe, Kane. Next round of the tournament, I will show him by example how easy it is for the One! And! Only! Oscar O’sullivan to slip out of a Tripitaka Lock!”

Savaka wore a bemused, calm expression on his face, keeping his eyes on Ludwig as both circled. Ludwig threw a wide punch and Savaka ducked it, the follow up also failed to land. Then he grabbed at Savaka’s robe, balling up a portion of fabric in his hand. Savaka grabbed Ludwig’s forearm behind the elbow, and pulled in. A simple wristlock ensued, forcing Ludwig’s palm to hyperextend, and causing him to wince in pain. Struggling got Ludwig a little more distance, but Savaka held onto the wrist and flexed it again, turning it into a different lock. Flipping and rolling around the ring looked impressive, but Savaka followed every move of Ludwig’s and kept the lock on, all showing no emotion. When Ludwig stopped to catch his breath, Savaka pulled the arm wide and snuck his foot behind Ludwig’s legs, then sent him down to the mat with a gentle push from his other hand.

”Nothing Ludwig von Moltborg is doing is working! He just cannot get out of that hold! I guess they didn’t teach him how to escape a wristlock at the nineteenth century steam train museum!

“I don’t think that’s the case — I think you, Mr. O’Sullivan, have been doing nothing but underestimating Savaka all night long. I think that Ludwig von Moltbaug, as it’s properly pronounced, is locked in holds by an expert grappler, and that he’s never faced someone who can lock it in quite like Savaka can. You can’t beat what you’ve never experienced before!”

“Are you insinuating that Oscar won’t be able to take him down? Both of them have been in the business for a long time. The golden rule of life is to never underestimate your rivals, but is it underestimating when you know who you are and what you’re capable of? Hell, Savaka probably doesn’t think Oscar has what it takes either.”

With Ludwig on the ground, Savaka wrenched the arm harder, using his legs and getting low. When Savaka got close, Ludwig saw an opportunity, and kicked him right in the forehead. Savaka staggered and held onto the arm, rolling back and turning it into an arm drag just as Ludwig was using the opportunity to stand up. While on his back, Savaka changed his grip and wrapped his legs on either side of the arm, setting up a cross armbreaker on Ludwig, who anticipated the move and rose to his feet, then pushed down to try and stop Savaka from extending the arm.

”Both men seem to be at an impasse. Savaka’s a fluid, scientific, precise grappler, no doubt about that, but look how he’s been stopped in his tracks from such a simple act of resistance from Ludvig Von Meatbag!”

“Let’s wait and see how this turns out, don’t count the AWE’s premiere submission specialist out quite yet!”

“Hah. Meatbag. I like that.”

”Thank you, Kane. Somebody here gets it.

For a brief moment, Ludwig leaned enough weight on Savaka to get both shoulders down and the referee started to count a pin. Not disturbed at all, Savaka simply pushed out and wove one of his legs around the arm, then sat up to break Ludwig’s posture down. One slight adjustment with his other leg and the Tripitaka Lock was complete, with Savaka sitting in his meditative posture until the quick tap from Ludwig let him know the match was over. He thanked the pouting Ludwig for the match, then did a slight bow before leaving the ring.

“And just like that, we have our final quarterfinals match on lockdown. Next week it’ll be Oscar O’Sullivan vs Savaka, and Gethin Rhys vs Owen Sparks. Still to come tonight: Thunderbird vs Zachary Wake and Chaos Clayton vs the Initiate. Stay tuned!”

“Oh!” Kane wiggled his pencil in between his fingers, before finishing the match with a sell, “If you’re currently subscribed to the AWE network, we’d like to get you and your friends involved in the heat. If you refer a friend to the AWE network, and sign up yourself, both of you will receive a twenty five dollar gift card to aweshop.com! Though, if I were you, I’d refer TEN friends. That’s 250 dollars worth of merch. Yeahhhh boi.”

_{a collab with @Bee}

______________

There’s little in the way of fanfare as the pounding bass and hard hitting flow drones out, announcing the presence of someone who was clearly not one the gathered crowd was interested in seeing. Standing on the ramp, basked in the singular spotlight illuminating her, was a woman whose first identifiable feature was the crimson of her lips against the pale tone that was her skin. Her attire caught the light as well, making the all black outfit shine thanks to its sheen.

The black jacket with engraved white sleeves was hanging off her already, more for style than function, and her style was certainly on display; from the sleeveless top that rested above her navel, to the equally black pair of shorts that matched the near thigh-high boots; as far as attire went it was hardly conventional, but it was clear from the makeup and accessories that this was a woman who cared more about the style than the usability.

There was purpose in her stance, as she stood there in the spotlight listening to the thumping notes of her music. The thin fingers of her right hand were curled around a microphone and she lifted her left hand, closing it into a fist to kill the music. She had all the time in the world between here and the ring, and she was going to use every moment of it.

”I don’t know about you all but I’m bored. I’m bored of what passes for talent in the women’s locker room - though let’s not pretend the men are doing much better. How could I NOT be, with what slim pickings there are. Never in my life have I seen a larger gathering of basic bitches and fakers failing - or sleeping - their way upwards. And I come from Los Angeles, where every corner coffee shop or restaurant has ten women waiting for the casting call before deciding to take the backroom casting couch call. You all know the one.”

Death Adder was slowly making her way to the ring, having the audience’s attention if not their approval. It didn’t matter, she wasn’t here to garner applause.

”Of course we all know someone that’s very familiar with backroom couches. Honey, just because you’re a champion at throating doesn’t make you a champion of a division, title or not. When the boss of a company has his secretary take some dictation under a desk, she doesn’t get a promotion. Hell, she doesn’t even get respect. Calling yourself a queen doesn’t make it true, no matter how many metaphors or overpriced chairs you buy. People don’t boo you because they’re jealous or they’re haters, or whatever garbage you tell yourself to pretend it doesn’t bother you. They boo you because the most interesting thing about you is Drayden. The only thing you bring to the ring, queenie is something they can get better with a Google search, some privacy, and a box of Kleenex; and it’d be more stimulating and interesting than anything you’ve done in what you call your ‘career’.”

“But of course, one can’t talk about the wannabe queen without bringing up the other girl playing like this is high school politics and cliques all over again. For every preppy whore there’s the gothic creep that just discovered that ankhs and crosses go great with a helping of angst. The two of you can’t seem to co-exist, between the petty jabs of princess plastic and the poor-man’s bdsm styling of miss mixed metaphors. And you’d think they’d get along so well, what with them having so many things in common. Lack of talent, inability to enthrall, deep rooted daddy issues expressing themselves in different ways… Honey, no one’s afraid of you or your elementary use of mix-matched imagery. Here’s an idea. Go hook up with the rest of your little wiccan friends and conjure up an original personality. At least your dad had the good sense to rip off Jason Voorhes - people actually liked those movies.”

Though she was now circling the ring, Death Adder was not done. There were more than just two of the easiest targets possible. Who hadn’t had a go at the top slags of the company?

”Of course, I mentioned that I was bored of the division and nowhere is that more obvious than the personification of boredom that is miss can’t choose a career path. What, was the military too normal for you? Was it too hard to get beaten senseless by people who actually care enough to do something they believe in? How long is it going to take before you decide that the AWE isn’t for you? As soon as you start to lose over and over again? I thought the military was supposed to instill discipline and responsibility, yet did I not hear you go on and blame Jennifer’s Frumpy Body for you losing to a damn mute and Sailor Moon. The big strong soldier can’t fight her own battles. Boo hoo. I give it six months and continued losses before you move on to something else you can get bored of because of a lack of competence. You don’t care about this place, G.I. Jane. So do us all a favor and muscle your way out of here.”

“Oh, I’m not done. Not at all. Because for as utterly devoid of originality that the terrible trio might be, at least they do something, which is more than I can say for the god damn kindergarten class that exists back there. I thought this was a wrestling company, not AnimeCon with special guest literally who and the cosplayer with an alias about as decent as Hot Topic’s dye job. I’m sure hurricane otaku and still illegal in all fifty states fox-girl will do something to make us all collectively snore as soon as they’re done gushing over their magical girl collection. I wasn’t aware we were in a constant state of bring your child to work day.”

“But then how else am I supposed to account for nepotism given flesh and named after the ugly girl from The Matrix. I’m sure you’re doing your family proud, dear, you’re about as mediocre as the lot of them; doing the family name proud, you are. Given your sister’s lack of charisma during interviews maybe you’re the one that got the spurt of talent from your parents. Because one of you has to live up to the legacy of being absolutely forgetful, right?”

Having made her way through the roster in various forms, Adder finally took a moment to pause and take in the negative response to her string of insults. And yet she still lifted the mic to her lips once more, complete with a lethal smirk.

”And because I have each and every one of you fraudulent, boring, basic bitches pegged, I know that none of you are going to do anything about it. Barbie can’t even jump without Ken around to catch her, Morgana’s too busy taking notes on horror movies to rip off - when she should be taking notes on how to call bitches out from yours truly, but then she’d be made even MORE unoriginal. Sydney can’t find the time between lifting a dumbbell and flipping through a job booklet and the others? They’ve got homework and a curfew to worry about. But all of them, every single one - even the weird mute - would all say the exact same thing in response to my words here. Some junk about me being jealous, or a hater, or how it doesn’t bother them, the same exact spiel they spout night after night like the broken records that is their entire careers.”

“Which is why I’m putting the entire division on blast right here and right now. Show me that there’s more to any of you than your sub-par looks and your below-par personalities. But of course you won’t. None of you will. Because, like I said at the start, you’re all so utterly boring. Prove me wrong.”

With her statement of intent clear, the venomous Death Adder dropped her jacket as well as the microphone, widening her smirk and watching the ramp for anyone. The entire division was on her notice now, it was only a matter of time before they all felt the sting.

After hearing the challenge from Death Adder, Tsunami felt her blood boil after what witnessing what she had done to her allies. No one runs in on her allies like that without getting a piece of what Tsunami did best. She stood up from her seat on the couch and made her way to the main stage. She was seeing red and quite honestly wanted to beat the living shit out of Death Adder.

Walking up to the curtain, she put her hands on her hips and waited for her music to start playing. Standing there, looking down and swaying idly, she finally heard that sweet, sweet guitar riff and dashed outside. She still had to give the crowd a show, though. Tsunami came out, her arms raised and getting the crowd amped up as she went over to the side and gave a couple of people high fives, before going to the other side and doing the same to another few lucky fans.

With her entrance ritual finally over with, Tsunami stared down Death Adder wherever she was and made her way there, knowing that all she wanted to do was to get redemption for her friends.

For a moment, however brief, there was a smile on the Adder’s crimson lips. Of all the women backstage, of all the little wannabes and try-hards this was who answered the call? Under normal circumstances Adder might even have given Tsunami the smallest of props for having the fortitude and bravery to answer the challenge. It took some sort of moxie to essentially sign one’s own death warrant. Death Adder’s smirk dropped almost as soon as her fake clapping had. There was no time to waste on words or remarks; this was a statement, after all. And when one made a statement of intent, one didn’t have the luxury of wasting time.

As the stare-off, such as it was, ended, it was the venomous snake that pounced first, practically bounding forward to chop at Tsunami hard, swift, and fierce. There would be nothing pretty about this fight if Adder had her way. As far as the snake was concerned, the other woman was merely a rat wandering too close to a hunger predator.

Death Adder lunged forward at Tsunami, tying them up into a single collar tie. She tried shifting her weight to the right side to try to get her opponent off balance. Throwing a few uppercuts from the clinch she pulled Death Adder’s arm as if she was trying to drag it down. However, she instead transitioned into a hammerlock in the standing position. Pushing forward a bit, she let go with one arm to grasp around the hip, before letting go of the grip and wrapping her arms around Death Adder’s hip.

Twisting upwards, Tsunami arced her back into a German Suplex. Just as she was about to hit the apex, she released Death Adder from her grip at the appropriate time so that she would go flying. Landing on her belly, Tsunami was quick to get up and go to the ropes. She bounded off of them, dashing towards Death Adder so that she could drop her with an elbow, hopefully.

Adder was on her back with a hard landing, only adding fuel to the fire that was slowly rising in her soul. She didn’t wait around for the follow-up elbow, spotting it coming and rolling onto her stomach in time to avoid the impact. Pressing her palms to the mat, she hoisted herself back up and kept her gaze ever locked on Tsunami. An inch couldn’t be given, nor would she give it. Still, she waited until Tsunami was getting up, only to pounce forward again - this time with a knee aimed squarely at the other competitor’s head.

Death Adder wanted Tsunami on the mat, down on the ground where she belonged.

As Tsunami went for the elbow, she failed to realize that Death Adder had rolled away before it was too late, and she landed on the mat hard. She recoiled in pain and groaned, grabbing her elbow before eyeing Death Adder.

She posted up with both hands, not even having time to get herself situated before her opponent came at her like a cobra. And then came the knee. The knee hit Tsunami and she fell backwards, lying on her back and breathing hard as she was trying to recover quick enough. But the knee had caught her off guard and she was stuck recovering from the attack.

There was no point in celebrating a hit, not when it meant it was time to follow it up. No grandstanding. No taunting. Just precision. Adder stood over Tsunami, her lips twisted in a foul grin, standing out amidst the pale complexion of her skin, like a hawk circling its prey. The serpent in the grass lifted a foot to stomp at Tsunami’s arm. What better way to make an example than by crippling such necessary tools.

As she stomped, Death Adder felt a unique sort of glee, and she wore it on her face like a badge of honor. The stomps were quick. At the moment, it was all she was focusing on. The feeling of stomping a limb beneath her boot. It took the referee stepping in and forcing Adder to stop before she backed up, still smirking, still leering towards Tsunami, daring the girl to swing back.

Watching Death Adder circle around her did not bode well for Tsunami. She was helpless at this moment, and there were a variety of things she could do to take advantage of the momentum she had just received. It could’ve ranged from a dropkick to a full press. She looked at Death Adder, but refused to show any fear knowing that it was what Death Adder wanted.

Feeling her get closer and her shadow looming over her, Tsunami didn’t know what to expect next. Then came the stomp, the loud crashing of boot to her arm. Tsunami recoiled and grabbed her arm in pain, groaning loudly going into a fetal position of sorts as she clutched her arm. Taking the pain, she rolled to a turtle position, before getting up. She was breathing hard, building up energy for her next bout of offense.

She lunged toward Death Adder with an elbow, using the arm that her opponent had stepped on earlier. Tsunami then quickly followed up with a roundhouse kick to the abdomen, before tying Death Adder up into a single collar tie yet again.

So there was still fight to be had in Tsunami - admirable, but ultimately pointless as far as the Adder was concerned. The scared mouse could take swipes but in the end it would still succumb. Adder reeled back when the elbow collided with her, then doubled over in response to the roundhouse. Exquisite. The spark of a fight, however fleeting, made all the difference in these situations. It would’ve been boring otherwise.

But the mistake was in bringing Adder so close. Though they were locked in a tie, Adder was still smiling, damn near laughing, the way one does when they know they have the upper hand. It happened suddenly, and just out of the eyeshot of the referee. When the collar tie was locked in, Death Adder delivered a shot of Venom. Quick and purple, just enough to be aggravating. Never corner a venomous snake.

The laughing from Death Adder was ominous, giving Tsunami a sinking feeling in her stomach before all she could see was purple. She let go of the tie and covered her eyes, selling it by groaning in pain and trying to get the furthest from Death Adder as she could. She still couldn’t see, and eventually she found herself on the ropes. Death Adder was definitely like a Cobra, but Tsunami was the Mongoose to the Cobra.

She glanced at Death Adder, her vision still slightly unclear from the venom attack from earlier. She rolled out of the mat and onto the floor, trying to take things out of the ring.

Running away or a tactical retreat? It didn’t matter where Tsunami went, Death was sure to follow. After taking a moment to admire the way in which Tsunami was clearly in pain, clearly feeling the effects of the Venom, Death Adder followed along, stepping through the ropes and outside of the ring in hot pursuit. Out here, the rules were different as far as Adder was concerned. She could hear the disapproval of the rubes in the audience and that only made her more eager to kill this inferior specimen.

Death Adder came up behind Tsunami, grabbing her by the neck with a loud, sinister laugh. There was no elegance or technical skill behind the hold, just a raw, brutal sort of application, and her intent was clear from the jump. Adder had every intention of using this leverage to throw Tsunami into the security barricade. Out here, this was no longer a match. It was, in the eyes of the Adder, lawless. This was a brawl now.

Landing against the security barrier, Tsunami recoiled in pain once again as she bounced back onto the floor. She lied on her belly, putting her arm up and trying desperately to get herself back up, but she couldn’t. Tsunami was stunned from the impact. She glanced up at Death Adder. She was strong for sure. But, Tsunami had been through worse. She figured that she had to change up the strategy in order to break through Death Adder’s overwhelming confidence.

Tsunami slowly mustered up strength to get back up, the crowd’s energy surging as she got back up. Breathing heavily, she summoned the energy to start sprinting. The wrestler put her leg on Death Adder’s leg, before going for the enzuigiri. If it worked, Tsunami had every intention in the world to try to pull off a gutbuster on Death Adder and reciprocate the damage and pain that she had inflicted on her.

After Tsunami hit the barrier, Adder was widening her grin. The way the body bounced and fell...the subtle sounds as the plucky little prey hit the ground...it was sweeter than any symphony. In the eyes of the predatory Death Adder, the sight of a loved member of the roster on the ground in pain was a victory in and of itself. She was reveling in the sounds of disapproval. She was taking pride in her handiwork. And she was savoring the moment before going in for the kill.

But the moment to bask in her brief success was met only with a kick to the head. The brief moment of pause was enough for the fight or flight instincts in the little mouse to kick in, and presently the switch was flipped to fight. In an instant, the predator was doubled over and then being dropped in kind, now on the floor in a bursting sting of pain. She could hear the swinging change to the crowd, happy that the hunter was being shown the floor. It wouldn’t end like that. Tsunami might have fought back and taken the advantage but in the process she made one major mistake.

She made Death Adder angry.

No more admiration. No more pausing to appreciate the aesthetics of a beaten idol. The Adder would slowly rise to one knee, eyes glaring towards Tsunami, and like a snake coiled and ready, she would make a move to strike, To pounce and to simply do whatever it took to strike at and drop this little upstart.

Abandoning the plan to hit a gutbuster, Tsunami backed up and gave Death Adder some space, after learning her lesson with the sudden venom attack. She took a deep breath, watching her and studying whatever she was doing. Watching her pounce, Tsunami failed to react accordingly and was hit by Death Adder’s burst of offense.

Tsunami stumbled back a bit, trying to make sure that she didn’t outright lose her balance. This had turned into a brawl, and Tsunami was more than willing to bring it to Death Adder. The distance between them was closed, coming in with a superman punch and then following with a rolling savate to the body. Backing away Tsunami was trying to figure out what else she could do to Death Adder, weary of the many tricks she had up her sleeves.

Whatever tricks were in the Adder’s bag remained tucked inside - ever since leaving the safety of the ring all pretense of elegance or by-the-books encounters were tossed aside. After being hit back with a hard punch and a kick, Adder only glared towards Tsunami - after gritting her teeth and grunting once the blows had subsided. One good turn deserved another and the space between them was again diminished as this time it was the coiled strike of the serpent taking her chance.

Like a sudden sting, so too did Adder jump forth - partially out of desperation - to use her momentum to bring Tsunami to the ground just to start giving mounted punches to the spry woman’s face. Adder’s brow was furrowed and her gaze murderous. Whatever it took to mop up Tsunami, Death Adder was going to find it. Or die trying.

Taken back by Adder’s takedown, she was helpless on her back. She tried to wiggle her way out of the position but she couldn't. This position usually meant she was going to be in some pain very, very soon. There was too much that she could do from this position.

Putting her arms up, she shielded herself from the onslaught of punches. Some went through some were blocked. Tsunami was now put into a position where she had to be more and more desperate. She put her arm on Adder’s abdomen, trying to get her to stand straight up so Tsunami could wiggle her way out. But just as she tried to do so, the bell rang and the referee was waving his hands as if the match was over. Tsunami was confused, but then she realized where she was and sighed in disappointment.

They had both counted themselves out, and neither had won the match.

Even after the bell sounded and the double count-out was ruled, Adder was smirking. To her it wasn’t about winning or losing, it had all been about making a statement. Her final message was a final, definitive punch before standing up to the chorus of boos. She looked over her handiwork, the young Tsunami on the ground, and again Death Adder grinned like a sinister villain. Her grin never faded, even as she walked her way back up the ramp.

Her job was done for the night.

---

---

Like a piece of plywood, Thunderbird got screwed. Zachary Wake was advancing in the tournament.

Sexton Love climbed back into the ring, the same steel chair in his hands and the same Lakers jersey on his back. The jersey was simulataneously a cheap shot at the Sacramento fans, while at the same time a complete contradiction to Sexton's promo last week in L.A. He didn't plan to mention anything about the jersey, but it's presence just added that nice little extra layer of "fuck you" that the Love Doctor was looking for. But by the time the night was over, he was going to be a "fuck you" tiramisu.

CRACK!

The Lovely One lined up Thunderbird again, tattooing his forehead with a vile chairshot. He turned and started aggressively yelling at the fans, chair still in hand, while the Bird lay face down on the mat. As the proud warrior attempted to somehow push himself up off the canvas it was obvious he was busted open, a long cut at the top of his hairline, just above the mask. Blood was dripping down on the mat as Thunderbird tried to stand. Sexton wheeled around immediately brought the chair crashing down again.

SMACK!

The King of the Road threw down the chair, as the King of the Sky lay motionless from the attack. Sexton climbed on top of his adversary and began raining down short, piston-like punches as the boos from the crowd grew louder and louder. The gash on Thunderbird's head was a bullseye, and the Sexcellence of Sexecution was determined to hit his mark. Blood continued to pour from the wound, running down Thunderbird's mask to his chest. His hair was soaked in crimson red as Sexton finally relented his barrage of blows.

"Gimme a fuckin' mic!" said Sexton, hoping this would not become a trademark phrase. He ripped the microphone from the announcer's hand at ringside, and rolled back into the ring.

"I TOLD YA DADDEH!" yelled Sexton, pausing for a moment as the crowd voiced their displeasure. "I told ya that I needed the gold. I told ya that I NEEDED the World's Heavyweight Title!"

"Boooooooooo!"

He kicked Thunderbird in the head again as the Bird began to sitr.

"I am the Sexcellence of Sexecution!"

Kick.

"The King of the Ring--"

Kick.

"And the KING OF THE ROAD!"

Kick.

"The Sexiest There Is! Sexiest There Was! And SEXIEST THERE EVER WILL BE!"

Kick. Kick. Kick.

At this point the blood was really flowing, and Thunderbird's entire chest was drenched. He looked like he had undergone some sort of bizarre baptismal ritual. Sexton couldn't help but chuckle at the thought. The Bird's outfit wasn't doing him any favors either.

"...But you STOLE it from me darlin'. You stole the World's Heavyweight Championship belt when you stole that match last week. You're a THIEF daddeh, and I can't let that crime go unpunished. No, no, no. NO WAY darlin'."

Sexton paused for a moment, relishing in the heat of the moment.

"I'm the PIPER WITH THE PIPE..." said Sexton, pointing to his crotch. "...And EVERYBODY PAYS."

"Booooooooo! Fuck you Sexton! Get the fuck outta here!"

"...I'm the man with the plan, the man with the POWER, too sweet to be sour, too hot to handle, and too COLD TO HOLD. I am the judge... jury... and SEXECUTIONER!"

In truth, Sexton didn't expect Thunderbird to be bleeding so badly, but there wasn't much that could be done about it now. Besides, it had given him an idea. A pretty messed up idea.

He walked over to the corner and picked up Thunderbird's Native American headdress. Last week, he had tore up one of the Bird's headdresses in their match, to great effect, and he had something similar in mind for tonight.

"Birdy baby, I bet you thought when you stole that match last week, you were heading UP in the world. I bet you thought you were FLYIN' straight to the top darlin'. Straight to the Tournament Finals, and straight to the World's Heavyweight Title..."

He tore off a single feather from the headdress, and threw it down on Thunderbird's limp and lifeless body.

"Well daddeh I just clipped you're wings and brought you crashing down to Earth... And mark my words, when it's all said and done, I will put you SIX FEET UNDER!"

Again Sexton tore at Thunderbird's ceremonial garb, ripping off more feathers and throwing them down as his adversary, repeatedly kicking Thunderbird's carcas as he did so. Some fans in the crowd had stopped their relentless booing and jeering, and as the camera panned around the arena they could be seen with their hands over their mouths, looking on almost in shock at what was transpiring. Sexton Love was known for his over-the-top gimmick and promo style, but fans had seemingly forgotten just how vicious he could be. The level of violence and disrespect being shown towards Thunderbird, a legitimate hero as far as professional wrestlers were concerned, served as a reminder.

"I am a man's man and a ladies' man...but make no mistake about it, I'm a BAD MAN darlin'. A bad, bad man. And after I'm done with you, after your price has been paid, I'm taking the World's Heavyweight Title. Because SEX....... SELLS!"

The Man They Call Love stood tall over The Man They Call Bird, as the torn up feathers from Thunderbird's head dress were now stuck to the blood all over his body. Blood that had been spilled by Sexton P.S. Love.

Thunderbird had been tarred and feathered, with his own blood as the tar.

|| PLACEHOLDER || AFTERSHOCK with Wade Palmer and Joy Ryder, featuring Thunderbird

---

---

Sexton Love's music hit, but it was impossible to tell. The sound was completely overpowered by the thunderous chorus of boos eminating from the San Jose crowd. Sexton was still backstage in the gorilla position, and despite receiving the producer's go signal he took some time before making his entrance. It was all about about milking the crowd response. Although he might've phrased the analogy in slightly different terms.

"You gotta stroke it daddeh," said the Lovely One, finally stepping through the curtain.

There it was.

The noise in the arena multiplied upon Sexton's appearance, and continued to grow as he arrogantly sauntered down to the ring. Feeling as though the heat-seeking sports jerseys had run their course over the last couple of weeks, Tyrannosaurus Sex had instead settled on wearing his electrifying new "$EX SELL$" gimmick tee-shirt. Naturally the sleeves had been cut off. Bicep flexing was cruical.

"You see that daddeh?" yelled Bodzilla, directly into the camera. "I am the man with the largest arm. The man that causes harm. The real deal, sex appeal, man of STEEL..."

For a long time, Sexton had been fundamentally against the idea of selling merchandise as a heel. That was until he had received his first royalty cheque in the mail. Somehow money had made things slightly more palletable. It was a business after all.

"SEX SELLS darlin'..." he said, pointing at the slogan across the front of his shirt. "...nobody does it better..."

As the Love Doctor climbed into the ring, the camera panned around and was able to get a shot of his back. Written across the flip side of the shirt were the words "Gimme the f#%kin' mic!", and the ring announcer complied as soon as Sexton stepped between the ropes.

Sexton banged on the top of the microphone, obnoxiously checking to make sure it was on.

"I TOLD YA DADDEH," he began, already being interrupted by jeers from the audience. "I told ya I was a man's man, a ladies' man... and a BAD, BAD MAN!"

The San Jose crowd certainly seemed to think so, as Sexton lowered the mic and allowed the audience reaction to play itself out.

"Last week, LIVE on Shock N' Awe, the whole world got a reminder. A reminder of just how bad I am daddeh. They got a reminder when they saw their hero...The Man Called Thunderbird... bloodied, feathered, and LAID OUT AT MY FEET! ...I didn't think he could GET more red daddeh, until I saw him busted WIDE open!"

He was probably going to catch a lot of flack for that last line. But it was worth it.

"...Oh yes indeed... he had that HEAVY FLOW darlin'..." said Sexton, stopping momentarily as his gaze caught the eye of an overweight woman in the front row. "You know exactly what I'm talkin' about you big ol' nasty bitch!"

A hell of a way to talk to the woman that drove you to the arena.

"But it's not enough daddeh," he continued, getting back on point. "It's not enough for Sexton P.S. Love to show that he's a bad man. He needs to show that he's the BETTER man. I need to beat Thunderbird in the middle of this ring, 1... 2... 3. You heard that right darlin'. The Man They Call Love needs to put DOWN The Man They Call Bird. Down for the three count daddeh.

The challenge had been made, and just like selling those electrifying tee-shirts it was time to sell some pay-per-views. It was time to "talk 'em into the building" as they say, and a sell a wrestling match.

And nobody was a better salesman than Sexton Love.

"...THAT'S why I did what I did last week darlin'. Thunderbird got lucky in our first match. He got lucky when he knocked Sexton Love out of the World's Title Tournament, and denied this company the CHAMPION it deserves. Thunderbird got lucky, so Sexton Love got even. That's right daddeh. Sexton Love needs to be the FACE of American Wrestling Entertainment. He needs to be the FACE... the BODY... the MIND... and the BALLS of this company! He needs to be the World's Heavyweight Champion! We can't have a man like Thunderbird as the World's Champion. That just doesn't fly daddeh. Thunderbird can't be the face of anything, he HIDES his face behind a mask...

So Birdy baby, here's what I want. I want The Man They Call Love vs. The Man They Call Bird... September 18th... Las Vegas, Nevada... LIVE on pay-per-view... AT SIN CITY SHOWDOWN! That's right daddeh, a SHOWDOWN in the wild west. The City of SIN will become the City of LOVE, and I will paint the town RED with your blood. I will prove that I am a MAN'S MAN, A LADIES'S MAN....and the BETTER MAN!

Because SEX......... SE--

His catchphrase was cut-off by the sound of Thunderbird's music, and the sound of the SAP Center erupting. Thunderbird was here. Fans were on their feet, and chanting the mighty Bird's name. This was the confrontation they wanted to see. This confrontation they had paid to see.

Thunderbird stepped out onto the ramp, his eyes fixed on Sexton Love standing down in the ring. He had a bandage still covering the gash across his hairline, just above the top of his blue mask. It was clear that Thunderbird was still the worse for wear, clear that he was still feeling the effects of last week's vicious attack. Clear to everyone except for Thunderbird.

The proud warrior stood defiant, a microphone in his hand. This was a somewhat strange sight, given the fact that the Bird was a man of few words. He did his talking in the ring, from bell to bell. Last week he was doing just that. He had come so close to advancing in the World Championship Tournament, until Sexton Love got himself involved, along with a steel chair, and screwed him out of the match. The Love Doctor proceeded to perform surgery on Thunderbird's head, with the steel chair has his instrument. Thunderbird had come to San Jose for payback. Indeed he held a microphone in his hand, but he was not here to talk.

He was here to fight.

"Why wait until September 18th?" said Thunderbird, walking towards the ring with ruthless intentions. "If you want a showdown, I'm right HERE."

Sexton readied himself in the ring, dropping his own microphone and raising his fights. The Sexecllence of Sexecution seemed just as ready to square off in San Jose.

"You ain't man enough darlin'," yealled Sexton, hands still raised. "You ain't man enough!"

The Love Doctor was a highly intelligent man, but in this case he turned out to be wrong. Without hesitation, Thunderbird rushed the ring, and without hesitation, Sexton love bailed out on the other side.

"Boooooooooo!"

Thunderbird stood tall in the middle of the ring, ready to fight, but Sexton circled around the perimeter shaking his head. Not tonight. Definitely not tonight.

"PAY-PER-VIEW daddeh... Pay. Per. View." said Sexton, with the camera clearly picking up on his words. "I'll see you in Vegas Birdy..."

Sexton continued to circle around the side of the ring, passing by the same large woman he had insulted a few minutes earlier. Enraged, the hefty fan reached out over the barricade attempting to grab the retreating villain, scratching and clawing at his sleeveless shirt and mullet. Sexton immediately yanked himself away and scampered up the ramp.

"Get your hands off me you funky bitch!"

Collaboration with @Silver Carrot


"Welcome to Denny's. Can I interest you in a grandslamwich? They're very popular!"

"May I ask what's in a...grandslamwich?"

"You get two eggs, a sausage, some bacon, some ham, mayonaisse, cheese and maple spread. All inside a sandwich."

"....I'll have the cranberry apple chicken salad, please. And some coffee. Thanks."

Oscar stared after the waiter as he left. That sandwich he just suggested sound like 500% of his recommended daily allowance of everything. Better to eat light than eat heavy, in Oscar's opinion. He'll just make up the macro defecit with dinner.

He looked around the restaurant. He'd arrived early and got a table. Jean should be arriving about now. It was surprising how few people had approached him recognising him, though half the bar had stared at him at some point, and one woman had asked if he was an actor. He had replied that he was, in a manner of speaking. Oscar just had one of those faces that people recognise but not where from. It didn't help that at the period where he was World Champ and main heel of the company, he had long hair and no beard. Casual viewers or parents of fans might have a whole conversation with him and not recognise him.

Denny's was a restaraunt that Jean knew well, because they were extremely consistent when it came to being mediocre. The same quality standard persisted across the country, but their grilled chicken was alright and you could find them at about half of the interstate exits in the nation. He didn't like to eat anything too greasy on the road, and Denny's did a better job that rivals like Fridays or Applebees.

He found the table where Oscar was sitting just as the waiter left, but he could flag them down on the next pass. Jean was pretty anonymous, not the kind of wrestler who sold many t-shirts or appeared in advertising, but sitting with Oscar might jog someone's memory more than he would on his own. While he waited, he figured that it would be good to get to business early, they could talk about other matters after their food came. [color=f26522]"So," he said "It's a short feud, but we can make something good. The first match is a throwaway on TV, so it won't be much, but we should think about how the others will go. For the PPV, I was thinking of working the legs, because you've got a lot of flying moves. What would you do, would you match me and go techical, or shift to brawling or something else?"

Oscar thought for a while. "If I mainly use high-flying moves in the tournament match to wrestle smart and keep out your reach, and you worked my legs in the PPV match, I'd probably start with technical, to try and prove that I can do that as well as you can, and when it turns out I can't, then start using a much dirtier brawler style. I think that would tell it's own story with nothing but the styles I'm using."

Jean took a look at the specials on the menu while they talked, just in case there was anything that looked tempting enough to tear him away from his usual dish. He said "You're good with that style switching stuff, I think the crowd would get into it. That's something that's neat about AWE, they encourage people to mix it up. Back in Japan, the promotion and the trainers had their style and I that's what I spent my time working on. I was fine with it, but some people, guys like Caiden, wanted variety so they spent their early years floating between promotions. Speaking of promoter's preferences, have they told you anything specific they want out of us? All I've gotten so far is the finishes."

"That's the good thing about being a pro in this company. You're trusted enough to make up the rest of the match yourself. Having said that, there was a part of the commentary where I claimed I could escape a Tripitaka lock. I'm sorry I have to ask this, and it's okay if you say no, but may I pretty please escape a tripitaka lock without rope-breaking?" Oscar pleased, even linking his hands together in a prey gesture.

Jean smilead and waved his hand, gesturing that everything was alright. "Yeah, I'm alright with that. I like to protect it, but this is program is a little bigger than what I usually do. One of the reasons I went with this finisher is because there's a good escape to it, the forward roll looks clean on the camera and you can chain it into something else. Anything else you want to brainstorm? I've got a couple leglock to armlock transitions that I was thinking of using for the third match, the one where I win. It'll be like I'm building on the working the leg from the PPV match, but this time also wearing down the arm to set up the finish."

Oscar's food arrived at that point. He thanked the waiter then took a forkful of the salad. When he finished, he responded. "I prefer to think up sequences in the training center, but I do have a few spots runing around my head, like hitting you with the belt to win in the first match, but winning the second with an Over and Out. I don't believe in dirty title changes."

Jean put in his order, knowing that it might be a while before it arrived, as the restauraunt was almost full by this point. "Sounds good. After this series, I heard you're going to be part of that big storyline with Caiden. If I remember, you've been wanting to work with him for a while now. It's great that AWE keeps bringing in fresh talent and trying new things, but some of the time I wonder about the new generation. Again, I don't have the benefit of being here long enough to see different eras, but the future of any promotion rests on how it cultivates it's young talent."

"Well," Oscar replied after another mouthful, "As one of the new kids myself once, along with Drayden and Johny Walker, though he left a few years ago, we ushered in the new era that actually seems to be ending now with guys like Caiden being the next faces of the company, and my job as one of the faces of the old generation is to get him over. Then again, from what I've learned about the story for him, we won't need that much of my help to become huge. It doesn't hurt that him, as well as the rest of the new arrivals, are some of the best wrestlers on the planet."

Jean thought for a moment, mulling over the changes AWE had seen. He wasn't a scholar of their history, and even when growing up he only knew about it from channel flipping and advertising, wrestling just wasn't something they watched in the Mpolondo household. "These guys might differ in many things, from styles to experience to personality, but I see the same drive in every one of them. Caiden might have it stronger than anyone. We both started around the same time in Japan and we crossed paths a couple times, but he's always been distant, like nothing outside of the ring matters. I get the feeling that this is what life is about to him, that it's something he can never leave behind even when it's time to go home after the show. I kind of stumbled into this career and I'm grateful for it, but I can't say that it's the fulfillment of my dreams or anything. To me, it's just what I do to support my family."

"I can understand you both to a degree. This used to just be a job to me. I clocked in, wrestled, trained, planned the next match, clocked out and then spent my free time how I chose. But the AWE...well, it is my family now. I don't leave the ring and go back to a normal life, I leave the ring and go back to the locker room, and only ever leave the locker room until it's time for the next match. At least that's how it feels. I'm not sure if I'll ever have time for a real family."