Hot on of the heels of an ever-arrogant Barbie Summers, Zachary Wake grabbed a mic, then waited eagerly in the gorilla position for his match. Wake quite liked the woman’s work, but her arrogance was nothing compared to what was about to come. Zack looked over to see Roger from sound give him a smile with his unkempt goatee, then pressed a button on his computer, signifying the beginning of Zachary’s theme. Zack smiled back and nodded at the man, then walked out onto the stage. Even beyond the loudness of Zack’s epic theme, the boos were phenomenal. After all, who could forget what Zack did to Winters just two weeks ago? Not only had Caiden just lost the most intense match of his night the previous night for the AWE championship, but Wake stole away his second opportunity the very next day with a low blow.

Wake’s music died down as he stood in the middle of the ramp, and he let the boos continue for a few more seconds before holding the microphone up to his lips. As he opened his mouth to speak, the boos grew louder, and Wake had to stifle a laugh at the reaction he got.
God it was fun to be hated.

“As many of you know, two weeks ago I laid out Caiden Winters in the middle of the ring, killing his opportunity at the gold he so obviously works hard for. Now, I understand that you’re upset he lost, what smark doesn't? But the part that I don’t quite understand is that you BOO ME for it. In case all of you have forgotten, I am a tag team champion, and intercontinental champion, and I’ve worked in this business for TEN GODDAMN YEARS. If anyone in this tournament deserves to be here IT’S ME.” Zack walked down the ramp and up the steel steps, then continued. “Caiden Winters was a joke, and tonight, I’ll prove that Thunderbird is no different. After all, if you recall, last week he defeated Sexton with a roll-up pin.” Zachary laughed as he stepped into the ring. “A roll-up, huh? That is quite possibly the cheapest way to pick up a victory. I have no respect for cowards like him.”

The flurry of boos resumed here with a chant of “YOU’RE A CHEATER!” clap clap clapclapclap started up.

The Native American drums started up and A Tribe Called Red’s music came blaring over the speakers throughout the stadium. The fans in the arena were on their feet cheering for the masked hero of the masses. Thunderbird’s last opponent didn’t see the roll up coming, and after locking eyes with Sexton backstage before stepping out, he knew he’d gained an enemy for life. He just did the job he was told. Jon couldn’t help what the writers decide. He stepped out of the curtain and entered down the ramp leading to the ring.

The fans went nuts. Truth be told Redcrow was a bit nervous. This guy he was facing had twice the experience and was a little bigger. And a damn good heel. However, he looked across the crowd and knew he wasn’t there for the win, he was there for the people. The kid near the front in the Thunderbird mask. The old man in the head dress. Other fans reached out to touch their hero from the sides of the entry ramp and Thunderbird reached out to slap as many hands he could. The kid in the mask up front? Thunderbird got down and shook the kid’s hand and pulled him close for a selfie the child’s mother was taking. The Native didn’t care if he took a beating tonight, he knew that kid would remember this night for the rest of his life. Before Wake could open his mouth again Thunderbird slid into the ring quickly and his opponent dove through the ropes. Then the war dance started from the four sides of the ring ending in the wrestler standing on the second turnbuckle and beating his chest before removing the large head dress. As he did so he felt a double axe handle on his back, being hit from behind, and the ref signaled for the bell.

Wake wasted no time in gaining the upper hand in this fight. He knew Jon loved his flippy shit, and the first opportunity to do said flippy shit, he would take. Now, with Thunderbird hunched over on the top rope, Zack pointed and laughed. The crowd booed in response. Then, in an attempt to finish the match before it really started, Zack placed his head in between Thunderbird’s legs, setting up the electric chair. Jon managed to use the ropes to keep from getting lifted and in luchador-like fashion he threw the heel out of the ring through the ropes with a head-scissor. As his opponent went to the outside of the ring, Thunderbird stepped back on the top rope and after screaming a battle cry threw himself like a corkscrew at his adversary, who scrambled to his feet only to see a body flying in his general direction. Goddamn lucha-bullshit.

Zack held his hands up to catch his adversary, yet still put on a scared expression to make it appear as if he were cowering in fear. The duo tumbled to the ground, and the crowd popped at the intense move right out of the gate. Without hesitation, Thunderbird sprung up from the ground, seemingly unhurt by the move, and picked up Zack, slamming his head into the barricade a few times for good measure before leading him back to the ring. Zack rolled in and stood up on his knees, dazed as Thunderbird climbed back into the ring.

The face stared down at his opponent, then reached to pick him up, being stopped as his legs were pulled away from underneath him, and hitting the mat hard. Not to be caught off guard Thunderbird kicked up at the heel who was still low to the ground and connected to the side of his face before springing up from his back like martial artists often do. The crowd lit up and using their momentum Jon ran and hit the ropes coming back at Wake with a knee strike to the head. He grabbed him up from the ground and sent him into a totem pole suplex. If the crowd could see under the sky blue mask they’d see that smile that gets Jon Redcrow in everyone’s good graces. It was a completely different atmosphere than the Japanese circuit he’d began in. He picked Wake up again and whipped him to the ropes. Thunderbird went for a clothesline, and the heel ducked and came off the ropes with with an explosive clothesline, turning the tide of the battle.

Zachary looked down at Jon and laughed, before getting down in one knee, grabbing a handful of hair, and lifting it up before bashing The Native’s head back down with a fist directly to the nose. Wake repeated twice more before the referee forced Wake’s hand off of Thunderbird’s hair. As Wake stood up once more, then stomped a black boot onto Thunderbird’s face. Methodically, Zack paced around Thunderbird in a circle, stomping on several more limbs, before once more yanking The Native to his feet by his hair.

Wake then kicked Redcrow in the gut, and lifted him up into a stalling suplex, leaving him in the air for a good seven or so seconds before letting his opponent crash down onto the ground. Quickly after getting up, Zack grabbed both of Thunderbird’s legs and folded him overlocking in a vicious Liontamer. Jon’s back was arched such that his face was being smooshed against the ground, and his legs were up above . No cresent expect the moon could rival it, and even then the liontamer would put up a pretty damn good fight. Thunderbird struggled on the floor arms flailing to touch anything. Hit Wake, grab a rope, it didn’t matter, ‘cause it HURT. Zachary only continued to apply pressure, arching The Native’s back further and further.

Even if this was a work, the pain was sure as hell real for Jon. Nevertheless, the hold continued. Zachary looked down, then quietly said. “I’ll lift up, curl up and get out of the hold.” And though Jon was too busy practically being tortured, he heard the message. Zack then looked up, and shouted into the crowd. “YOU DON’T DESERVE THIS!” Whether he was talking to the crowd or Thunderbird, it didn’t matter, because as he did, Zack took some of the pressure off of the liontamer, allowing Jon to push up with his hand and duck his head underneath himself, then launched up into the air, grabbed Zachary’s shoulders, and leant backwards, flipping Zack over the top of him. Zack took the monkey flip well, soaring through the air, then crashing into the mat with a flat back.

Redcrow took the opportunity to climb back to his feet, using the ropes as to assist himself. As he got up, now leaning against the ropes, Zack ran full blast at him, attempting to connect a clothesline. Thunderbird, however, had a different idea. He ducked down and pushed up on Wake’s chest launching him over the top rope, with Wake landing on the apron. As Zack was flying overhead, Jon said to him: “Springboard dropkick.” Zack grabbed with both hands onto the rope, preventing himself from falling onto the hard ground below. He acted groggy, and to an extent, he was. Rassilin’ really takes it outta you. Thunderbird looked at Wake, looked at the turnbuckle, then quickly looked at the crowd, who cheered in anticipation. Thunderbird ran at the ropes perpendicular to the ones Zack was at, jumped on them, then leapt off towards Wake feet first, crashing into him with a vicious dropkick.

Zack took the kick and, with both its force and a little jump from him, he flew backwards, crashing back first into the announcer’s table. Zack dropped to his knees in pain and grasped him back, then made a show to hobble pain to the ring and roll in ever so slowly. Thunderbird wasted no time getting back in the attack, stomping on Zack once before stepping out onto the apron and up onto the top turnbuckle. The crowd started to stand up, take out phones, cheer, chant, and wait in anticipation for Wake to stumble to his feet. Wake obliged, doing the old “turn around slowly while dazed” action, then ate a big dropkick as The Bird soared through the sky. Zack fell onto his back, then rolled further backwards so he flipped around onto his stomach, in the centre of the ring. Jon got up onto his knees and pounced onto Wake, before grabbing Wake’s arm, trapping it in between his legs, and tugging on Wake’s chin, locking in a disgustingly beautiful Crossface. Wake waved his free hand around in desperation, holding close to the ground to make it appear as if it were going to tap, before going back to waving it around.

Even though the babyface had his finisher locked in in the centre of the ring, boos started coming from all directions. Thunderbird looked around, confused, only to see the Sexellence of Sexecution come running down the entrance ramp, equipped with a chair and all. The referee approached the Lovely One, who had jumped up onto the apron, trying to get the ref to let him get into the ring. The ref only responded by pointing at the locker rooms and shouting at Sexton’s face to leave.

This was it. Zack’s opportunity. Granted, they had all planned out the spot beforehand, but it still felt like it was an opportunity Wake would have taken in real life. “You gotta seize opportunity by the balls and never let go.” At least, that was how Zachary was always taught it.

Thunderbird released his hold on Wake and began to walk over to Sexton Love, but was stopped in his tracks as he, just like Caiden Winters two weeks before, got smashed in the groin with a cheating fist. He lurched over onto his hands and knees, then collapsed onto the ground. Zachary only smiled at Sexton as the Lovely One dropped off the apron and told the ref to get back to work. Zack pounced onto Thunderbird and hooked one leg, staring and nodding at Sexton with a grimace as the ref got down to pin.

“One…” The ref started counting. The crowd got up on their feet, aggravated by what was going down. Sexton laughed and bowed towards the ring as he backed away up the ramp.

“Two…” Boos flooded the arena.

“Th-” The ref was cut off. The boos were cut off and Sexton was stopped in his tracks as Redcrow’s hand flew up into the air, his shoulder getting off the mat. Cheer upon cheer, chant upon chant rose in number and volume, and Zachary Wake could only sit up in disbelief and look down at his opponent, the man who just kicked out of a low blow.

Sexton walked back over to ringside, astonished by what happened. Zack slowly stood up, turning to the referee. “Are you freaking kidding me?! Did you not see that? Are you blind or something? That was three, shoulders down, end of story!” Zack slapped his hands together three times, making sure to get all up in the referee’s face as he yelled and complained.
“Give me a break, Wake. You’re luckily I didn’t see what happened while I was arguing with Sexton or you might not have been allowed that pin at all.” Thunderbird slowly started to rise to his feet, using the ropes to assist himself.
“EXCUSE ME? Did you just accuse me of cheating?! Some official you are, ya crapshoot!” Jon quickly exploded out of the corner he was in, curling an arm in between Wake’s legs and pulling him backwards into a rollup.

The referee jumped down and quickly counted to two, but Wake stuck a shoulder up and rolled backwards out of the pin before that final number could be said. Immediately, the two wrestlers stood up, and locked up in the centre of the ring. Both knew that if they gave up now, there would be no more AWE Championship for them. Their dream was as good as gone.

Thunderbird overpowered Wake and began to push him to the ground. At first, the heel resisted, but quickly stopped and dropped to one knee. He then took one hand and hooked it under Redcrow’s left leg and yanked, pulling the hero to the ground. Thunderbird was quick to respond, getting onto his knees and striking with a blunt, brute of a forearm, sending Wake reeling. The crowd cheered as the bird boy stood up, marching forward with a series of sickening strikes. Punches, chops, knees, you name it. It was comeback time baby. A palm strike knocked Wake onto the ropes and Redcrow pressed him backwards then pulled an arm, sending Wake to the ropes on the opposite side of the ring.

As Zack ran the ropes, he looked down at ringside where Sexton Love was chatting up a lovely looking lady. The Lovely One exchanged a nod with his heel friend, and it was decided. Time to finish this thing off. Wake ate Thunderbird’s clothesline and hit the ground hard, and crawled over to a corner, but more specifically a corner where the referee stood, making sure everything was going down smoothly. Heh. Sexton caught the ref’s attention with some snarky, probably sexist remark, and Zach positioned himself in front of the referee, standing weakly on his feet.

Redcrow let out a yell, getting the crowd riled up, and ran full throttle at Wake. He leapt up into the air and tucked up his legs, then shot them out like bullets from the gun that was his body. A beautiful dropkick that would have lead to a sweet, sweet victory - if it weren’t for Zack dropping down and ducking out of the way. Those beautiful feet crashed into the referee, and pushed the poor guy back. The ref’s head bounced off the turnbuckle, and true to form, was out cold. Thunderbird stood there, shocked at what had just transpired. Zack crawled over to an adjacent corner, grinning at Thunderbird. He’d gotten away with this filthy way of battle. Again.

Redcrow was done with this shit, and his expression showed it. Zack’s smile slowly turned to a look of fear as the birdboy marched over to him. Luckily for Wake, however, a third wrestler entered the ring. Boos ensued as the crowd realised what was about to go down. “Boy, you better learn to watch your behind!” Sexton Love proceeded to thrust at the air as he waited for the One They Call Bird to turn and face him. And as soon as the bird did, he head met a new best friend - a chair. Sexton made sure the strike was a big wallop straight down the middle. Jon’s head nearly retreated into his spine.

Thunderbird staggered backwards, almost collapsing to the ground, but being caught by a head in between his legs. Zachary Wake lifted up, raising a limp, barely conscious Jon Redcrow up into the air on his shoulders. Sexton laughed at the sight, and simply said: “Drop him.” Zack pushed up and sent Thunderbird forwards, executing a picture perfect Electric Chair Facebuster. Sexton slid out of the ring, and Zachary Wake covered Thunderbird just as the referee regained consciousness. A simple one, two and three, and the match was over. Wake’s music hit once more, and he stood valiantly over his opponent. Zack looked over at the Sexellence of Sexecution, nodded respectfully at him, and left. Once more, dirty tactics secured Zachary Wake a victory.

---

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It was time for another match, one that would see the end of Savaka's run in the tournament. It wasn't going to be a huge spectacle, because they had to save something for the rest of the feud. Still, he wanted to make the fans feel like they saw a match that made sense, one that didn't waste their time and made them hungry for more. A couple of stretchs and some pacing while the backstage crew counted down, then he snuck out on the ramp while the thick clouds from the fog machine hung in the air. As his music hit and the fog cleared, Savaka stood up from his kneeling posture and walked to the ring, carrying the Intercontinental title belt on his shoulder.

He held the belt out, not raising it high because that would seem like a bragging gesture not appropriate for a detached monk, but doing something to draw attention to it before he place it on the ring apron next to one of the turnbuckles. He climbed under the ring ropes and then clasped his hands together as he stood and waited for his opponent to enter

Speaking of bragging, the lights dimmed, and the music of Savaka's opponent started, building towards a crescendo until the speakers blared the words 'I AM THE ONE AND ONLY!', emphacised by fireworks, as, with his fist raised, emerged Oscar O'Sullivan, and with his head held high, a cocky grin on his face, and swagger in his step, he made his way down to the ring, basking in the boos he recieved as he did so. He slid into the ring, and faced Savaka, still grinning and posturing, as if he did not take Savaka seriously as an opponent.

The bell rang to start the match, and Savaka circled around Oscar, keeping his eyes on him and his face emotionless. He held out his arms and got closer, ready to lock up and start wrestling. Oscar responded by backing away, and laughing at the crowd as he did so as the hissed at his supposed 'cowardice'. Oh yeah, refusing to lock up with such an amazing grappler as Savaka was 'cowardice'. No, it was wrestling smart.

Once Oscar was close to the ropes, he turned, leapt straight onto the second rope, and then propelled himself towards Savaka, turning in midair and hitting him square with a dropkick. No, Oscar wasn't going to fight Savaka at his own game. He was going to fight with his own high-flying style.

Savaka took the hit from the drop kick and tumbled backwards, land on the mat. He rolled to his knees and stood himself up, but kept his stance low to the ground, inching closer to Oscar. One in range, he doves for his leg with an arm outstretched, trying to get a hold of it. Oscar slipped his leg out of Savaka's reach, and with the same leg, delivered a still looking knee to Savaka's midsection, before cicling the monk, occasionally zipping in, hitting him with a quick but inneffectual jab, and zipping out. He was clearly trying to aggrivate rather than hurt.

The strikes stung him, not enough to sell with full bump but he slowed his pace to show their effects. He got hold of one wrist and then reached for Oscar's head, pulling it down and getting him into the classic side headlock takeover.

Oscar struggled in the headlock, trying to escape, but it wasn't going to be that easy this time for him to be slippery in the monk's iron grip. Instead, he got Savaka in his own headlock, though it was so weak and loose that it was completely inneffectual. That's because he wasn't trying to apply a hold. In a fluid motion, Oscar kicked Savaka's legs from under him, tighted the headlock, and delivered a DDT. Wasting no time, he juped up to the nearest second rope, and sprang off into a Second Rope Moonsault, following that up with a cover attempt, though he didn't even get to 2 before Savaka kicked out.

After the moonsault he rolled back and forth to sell the impact, but turned one of those rolls into a smooth transition to standing up. Oscar wound up and threw a punch as soon as he was standing, but Savaka deflected with an open hand then grabbed the wrist. He twisted it into a wristlock, and Oscar rolled forward in attempt to break it. Savaka held it tight even as Oscar bridged himself off the mat to create space, and Oscar's flipping jump back to standing looked spectactular but failed to break the hold.

They were close to the ropes, and Oscar saw his next move. He jumped onto the bottom rope with both feet and sprang into the air, hoping to gain height and escape. Savaka turned his back while Oscar was in mid air and pulled the arm tight, making Oscar's leap into the setup for an impressive over-the-shoulder shoulder throw and sending Oscar straight to the mat. Looming over Oscar, he clasped his hand together around the side of Oscar's head and wove a leg over Oscar's as he returned to standing, locking in the classic abdominal stretch. It was once of the oldest holds in the whole business but it looked good and had many usese, such as giving both wrestlers a breather and some time to build tension. The drama of the hold played out as the audience's chants began to build.

Oscar sqirmed and gritted his teeth in the abdominal stretch until he was sure that the crowd had cooled down, then hooked his hand under Savaka's leg and tried to lift him into a fireman's carry, but Savaka let go before that could happen. Free, and with his back to the monk, Oscar then leapt back and hit Savaka square in the head with a pelé kick, stunning and staggering him.

The high flier then rebouded off the ropes and hit Savaka with a running european uppercut. Without stopping, he rebounded off the opposite ropes and hit Savaka with a second one. Now that he was sure his opponent was dazed, Oscar climbed the turnbuckle, and hit Savaka with a 450° splash, knocking both men to the floor. Oscar was up slightly faster than Savaka, and took advantage of this by flipping forwards, catching Savaka's neck with his legs, and delivering a Frankensteiner to the monk, before grabbing both of his legs and attempting a pin. 1...2...kickout at 2. Oscar got back to his feet and shook his head, disbelieving that this match couldn't be that easy a win. With his back to Savake, he didn't notice his foe recovering.

With both wrestlers standing, Savaka went for a collar and elbow tie-up then got Oscar into a headlock. He tightened, trying to get that across to the audience, then lifted him up for a snap suplex. It didn't have the full height of a pure vertical suplex, but it was quick move, and the perfect set up for the guillotine choke spot. After landing Savaka kept hold and Oscar sold it, mugging for the hard camera pointed at both wrestlers on their backs.

He worked the hold and moved himself into a sitting position, holding the headlock and putting his weight on Oscar. The referee started to count a pin for a moment but Oscar got a shoulder up, and Savaka caught one of Oscar's arms with his legs. Oscars landed some stiff chops to the back of the head with his free hand, loosening the grip enough to get his other arm out. After pushing Savaka's head with both hand to create space, Oscar got to his knees and pounced on Savaka's back.

Oscar held on and launched a flurry of activity, getting Savaka in a hammerlock and then augmenting it with a choke around the neck. He held them tight and Savaka couldn't break free, but when he began to shift position and try to bring his leg into it Savaka found an opportunity. He grabbed the leg and slipped the hammerlock, then got enough space to apply a leglock, clinging onto to it as Oscar crawled away. With Oscar's foot tucked under his armpit and his hands clasped in a praying position, he closed his eyes to play up his gimmick. When Oscar made it to the rope to break the hold, he made a show of not noticing, and the referee had to tap him on the shoulder to signal to release the hold.

While the referee was busy trying to get Savaka to reliquish the hold, Oscar looked around, and saw, in his reach, the Intercontinental Title belt, still perched on the same turnbuckle that Savaka had left it. Oscar grabbed the strap, and pulled the belt towards him, hiding it under his body.

Savaka had finally let go of Oscar's ankle, and was now advancing towards Oscar, ready to continue his offense. Unfortunately, he was walking on Oscar's left side, and the ref was on his right, so the ref didn't noticed that when Svaka bent down to pick oscar up, Oscar suddenly reared up and smacked the monk square in the face with the metal play of the title belt, and then conspiculously deposited it from the ring.

The blow knocked Savaka out cold, and the moment he landed on his back, Oscar capitalized and covered the prone technician. !...2...3! Oscar had won, and would be advancing to the semifinals! The crowd booed at this cheating scoundrel, and he just smiled and took it all in. But he wasn't done yet. Oscar slid out of the ring, picked up the IC title and was given a mic from an official.

"This belt...Some of you in the audience might be a little angry with me after how I treated it. And I understand. i'd feel just as angry about this prestigious title being used in so crude a manner....if this was a year ago! The truth is that Savaka has turned this title into a piece of trash. And Oscar O'Sullivan doesn't want trash! I'm aiming for the championship title that's worthy of me! I want the One! And! Only! A! W! E! World! Heavyweight! Chamipinship!"

And on that bombshell, Oscar dropped the mic, dropped the IC title and headed back up the ramp to the sound of nothing but boos and hisses, but he stopped at the ramp entrance, and with his back to the audience, raised his fist in the air. Only then, did he leave.

As she waited backstage, being counted down for her entrance, Dawn was a lot less nervous than last week, even though this week was a championship match. The simple fact was she hadn’t had to do any talking on the mic this week, and won’t have to for the rest of this feud, meaning she could work on her mic skills in private until next month, where she’ll have to take to the stage more.

10...9...8..

Dawn put her cap on. This time, she wasn’t wearing camo, but a black tank top and black shorts, along with grey boots. Her cap, though military style, was also black, and had several pins in it. The overall look was very punky. She wasn’t “That G.I. Jane nobody” this week. She was an ass-kicking legitimate contender.

Her music started, and Sydney Ellis marched down the ramp to, there was no mistaking it, cheers. Was this what being a face felt like? It was amazing. Dawn would have to see about her chances for a turn somewhere down the line! But for now, she was Sydney Ellis. She did not smile as she carried on marching. She stopped on the ramp. There was a plant holding up a sign supporting Barbie. Sydney snatched it from the plant’s hands and carried it into the ring, whereupon she faced the hard camera and made a show of ripping it to shreds to a true face pop, then motioning around her waist. ‘I’m going to be the champion’, she was boldly claiming.

Watching from the gorilla position, Barbie sized up her soon-to-be opponent. She made note of the change in Sydney’s outfit style, foregoing the usual camo in favor blacks and grays. It was almost comical, how the top card wrestlers in AWE women's division seemed to be dividing into cliché high school stereotypes: the prep, the goth, the punk… what’s next? When Sydney ripped up the faux fan poster, Barbie let herself feel the anger at the action to pump her up.

The championship belt that was currently fastened around her waist was hers, and it would remain hers at the end of the day. It was time to go teach that girl who runs this show. To teach all of them that Barbie Summers is on the top, and she will remain on top. Smirking at the surprise she had in store for everyone, Barbie lined herself up to take her strut down to the ring.

Instead of the hot bubble gum pink get ups that she usually wears, Barbie also changed her look this week, wearing a royal purple two piece ensemble, showcasing her best assets. Glittering gold boots that reach almost up to her knees match the golden crown that is emblazoned across the rear of her purple booty shorts. A lot like Sexton Love, Barbie’s character design is all about ‘sex sells’, albeit in a much more appealing way.

After last week’s callouts and Joy’s interview with Barbie, the audience knew who to expect in the ring next. The rumblings of hisses and boos started to the fill the stadium in preparation for the arrival of their favorite heel to hate. Said rumblings came to a sudden halt when the theme music started playing and, instead of the tinkling bells that fell into heavy metal riffs, soft piano and a melodic voice filled airwaves.

The lyrics spoke volumes, Barbie wouldn’t have to say a single thing to get the message across. What she does, she does best. This was a sassy retort to all of the wrestlers (and fans) that accused her of fucking her way to the top. Maybe she did, maybe she didn’t, whichever it was… Barbie owned it. Knowing that all eyes were on her, including the most important pair of eyes from the other side of a TV screen states away, Miss Summers slowly danced her way down the runway. Dripping sex appeal, she sultrily moved her body to the song as she practically stripped her way to the ring.

Sliding up onto the canvas, Barbie’s smirk returned as she eyed up Sydney. Taking a few steps forward, she squared up to the other woman and looked down her nose at her as if she was nothing more than last week’s trash. Sydney, at first, snarled back, but then nodded, and sported the twitches of an amused grin at this display of taking pride in the fact that she did not get to this spot by fighting. As the girls shared a pre-match staredown, Barbie’s new theme music faded out on one final lyric. This is my show…

The bell rang, and the women locked up, both trying to show their dominance by overpowering the other in this test of strength. Though Sydney was undoubtedly pushing harder, Barbie was standing her ground by keeping low to avoid being pushed over. Sydney, with agility, speed and grace that she hadn’t shown that much, let go, slid behind Barbie and wrapped her arm around the champion’s throat, locking in a Standing Chokehold mere seconds into the match!

A finisher, this early on? It was a bold choice, and one that shocked both the crowd and Barbie. Struggling against the solid muscular arm of her opponent, Barbie gasped and elbowed into Sydney. The powerhouse was relentless, and Barbie knew that the ropes were her only way out of this before she turned blue. Elbowing harder now, Barbie forced her weight back into the other woman, causing them to stumble backwards towards the ropes.

Seizing the opportunity, Barbie darted her right hand out to grip the rope and the ref called it. Quick on her feet, Barbie turned so that she was now standing between Sydney and the referee. On impulse - and out of the ref’s sight - Barbie viciously poked her opponent in the eyes, as payback for the early chokehold. Summers usually fought fair, despite her heel status, but perhaps a new Barbie was on the rise now.

Sydney staggered back, clutching her face, shaking with rage. She shook her head as if to try and shake the sight back, looked right at Barbie, and then charged at her, though there was something off about her charge. Her eyes were still sore. She was literally charging blind.

Barbie felt the full force of Sydney as she slammed her weight into her. The punkish woman grabbed Barbie by the wrist and flicked her towards the ropes. Their bodies fell back towards the canvas together and Barbie hooked her arm under Sydney's knee in a roll-up. Sydney kicked out of the move after a 1-count from the ref.

Once again seizing the moment, Barbie went in for another hold. Another statement to be made. Barbie wrapped both of her own legs around Sydney’s left and let her knees fall to the canvas. Deftly rolling into the maneuver and pretzeling their legs together, Barbie had Sydney in one of her signature submissions - the same one that the punk had tried out on Morgana last week. Loud enough for the ring mics to pick up, Barbie taunted her. “This is my move, sweetie.”

Sydney gritted her teeth and shook her head, writhing around in the hold, before she turned onto her side and looked behind her. She was in reach of the ropes! With a Herculean surge of willpower, she pulled herself, and Barbie, towards the ropes, and resisted Barbie’s attempts to pull back with the sheer strength of her arms. Almost...there...She reached the ropes! Grabbing a tight hold of them and then collapsing as she waited for Barbie to let go, or for the ref to make her let go.

Barbie held onto the hold, wearing Sydney down for as long as she could. It wasn’t until the ref screamed warnings into her ear that Barbie finally released her grip. Sydney pulled away and Barbie stood up, taking a few steps back to calculate her next moves, and waiting for the other wrestler to recover.

Sydney got to her feet shakily. Her legs were not unaffected by that hold. Nevertheless, one rope break each. They were back to square one. Stalemate. Sydney got very close to the champ, staring her down again. Their foreheads were touching, and hate shined in the eyes of both wrestlers, as it dawned on them both that to put the other away would not be as easy a task as first thought.

They lock-up again, and this time, the powerhouse succeeds in pushing the now slightly more worn out champion back towards the turnbuckle. Barbie glared at the other wrestler as she felt the padded turnbuckle press into her back. With a flash of determination in her eyes, the reigning champion kicked at Sydney’s legs, wearing them down even more. Barbie knocked her prone on the floor.

Staring down at Sydney, Barbie took a moment to look up at the crowd. They were loud and thirsty for violence, and Barbie indulged them. The blonde bombshell threw her knees into Sydney’s exposed midsection, Summersaulted forward and then flipped back in a Rewind the Clip. This was another signature move, one which really put her background in gymnastics on center-stage.

Barbie stood above the woman once more. Breathing heavily from the exertion of the match thus far. Even so, the blonde still smiled, drinking in the sight of the damage that she’d inflicted. Circling the prone wrestler, Barbie kicked at her abdomen again, urging her to get up. When Sydney didn’t, Barbie saw the opportunity to end this right here and now, if Sydney truly didn’t have any fight left in her - which she doubted was the case. Barbie fell down into the other wrestler, hooking Sydney's left leg up in the crook of left elbow while Barbie’s right arm was pressed into the side of Sydney’s throat, pinning her in place.

Sydney kicked up out of the pin rather quickly, without there even being enough time for the ref to start a count. Barbie backed off for the moment, stepping aside while Sydney recovered. Ever the showwoman, Barbie approached the referee and snatched a mic from him. Sydney was up on her knees now, panting and catching her breath.

Grabbing a fistfull of the other blonde’s hair, Barbie yanked Syndey’s head up to face her fully as she spoke. “You look good down there on your knees. A simple peasant, bowing before the Queen.” She smiled proudly at the taunt. “Why don’t you just give up already? Your war is over, soldier. Surrender the fight, just like you surrendered your uniform.”

Sydney has clearly heard as much as she could stand, as she immediately knocks the mic out of Barbie’s hands, stands up and grabs her by the hair, then hits a BFT, causing Barbie to stagger back. Sydney then picks up the mic and raises it to her mouth. There was silence as it looked like she was about to reply, but instead she simply threw a punch with the hand holding the mic so that it (appeared to) hit Barbie square in the forehead. Sydney discarded the mic, and lifted the champ over her head in a Gorilla Press, as if she weighed nothing, before throwing her out of the ring, to a large cheer.

She followed her out, sliding under the ropes, and picked the Plastic Princess up off the floor, before throwing stiff punches at her. Barbie returned the favour, throwing punches at Sydney’s head in return, and going so far as to pull the powerhouse’s hair. All the while the ref counted them down. Sydney, still recovering from the blows and the hair-pulling, was in a daze, while Barbie rolled back into the ring as the Ref shouted “Seven!” and proceeded to deal with her pain there. Sydney took a few more moments to recover, then slid under the bottom rope and back into the ring just after the shout of “Nine!”

Both women were breathing heavily and nursing their wounds now. This fight was long, hard, and well-matched. The crowd was alive with energy, cheering the wrestlers on in their brutality. Encouraged by their support, Barbie was the first to get to her feet in the ring. Once Sydney was up as well, Barbie used her stamina and impressive airborne athleticism in the form of a Full Moon. Barbie ran at Sydney, turning at the last second, twisting and throwing her body high into the air and leaving Sydney with face full of ass. Kiss the crown, baby.

Sydney staggered, almost as if she was about to fall onto her back, then regained her footing and swung a devastating looking right hook into Barbie’s perfect face. Sydney refuses to give the champ and inch, and runs to the ropes, rebounding and attempting to run through Barbie with a clothesline.

The reigning queen ducks in time to dodge Sydney’s stiff, waiting arm. Sliding along the canvas, Barbie reversed the move and rebounded off the ropes to clip Sydney’s throat with a clothesline instead. Using the wrestler’s moment of shock to her advantage, Barbie threw her out of the ring to buy herself some recovery time.

Barbie was panting with exhaustion when Sydney slid back into the ring - looking equally as worn out. Sydney was strong, her body was one of the most well-oiled machines in the business - for the women, at least. It was impressive, and Barbie knew that if she wanted to have any hope at ending this soon, she would have to do it by wearing down those toned muscles. Without her strength, Sydney was nothing.

Before Sydney could get to her feet, Barbie slid over to keep her grounded on the canvas. After a few moments of struggling between the women, Barbie caught Sydney in a Pole Dancer. Straddling the shoulder of Sydney’s dominant arm, Barbie pulled back on her wrist, increasing the intensity of the hold.

The placement of the wrestlers wasn’t the most ideal for Barbie’s hold. Center ring was the most effective, and they were currently positioned close to the edge, where Sydney had just climbed up. Sydney squirmed beneath Barbie’s hips and managed to wriggle her way to a ropes.

Frustrated by the rope break, Barbie pulled Sydney further from the edge of the canvas. Being as strong as she was, Barbie couldn’t force Sydney very far, as she was fighting back. Despite how little distance they had made it from the ropes, Barbie went in for another Pole Dancer, this time on Sydney’s non-dominant arm. Even though she managed another rope break, Barbie was proud of the work she’d done in grinding her opponent down.

It was time to finish this, once and for all. Barbie would have Sydney seeing stars, just like she had promised in last week’s interview. Barbie climbed up onto the top ropes, straddled the turnbuckle, and prepared to attempt one of her aerial finishers.

By this time, Sydney had gotten back to her feet, and hyped herself back up with some face-slapping and angry screaming. She looked up at Barbie, beckoning her down with her hand. The message was clear. She was ready for Barbie’s aerial move. She would catch her.

Barbie stared down at the dark-clad wrestler. There was a ferocity in her gaze, a readiness. If she tried to land a Seeing Stars now, she had no doubt that she’d be caught, and would most likely suffer some serious damage in the process. And so, much to the shock of everyone in the crowd, Barbie stepped down for what might be the first time in her AWE history.

The moment Barbie’s feet touched the canvas again. Sydney was waiting with a rolling wheel kick to the champ’s head, knocking her into the corner. Sydney then grabbed the champ, escorted her to the center of the ring, and raised her arm. She was calling for the Jackhammer!

However, while Barbie’s head was locked in Sydney Ellis’ arm, as the soldier did an arm raised taunt, distracted by the moment of finishing the monarch off, a snake slid into the ring, with malevolent spite written all over her face. Too fast for anyone to react, nothing massively showy, but still caused the crowd to go into an uproar, Morgana reminded the audience, her audience, why they loved her. She knew where she came from.

While Sydney was changing Barbie’s position to where the Plastic’s arm was rested around her neck, giving a clear moment where her grip on the doll wasn’t as tight as it could be, the sorceress swiftly gave a 360-degree spin, her pink locks whipping with her turn, and ended it with a sharp strike with her outer elbow straight to Sydney Ellis’ face. This was not her move. Actually, it was her father’s Maw Elbow Smash. The only other time Morgana used this move was when she earned the title. While the soldier fell fast onto her back, the witch glared at Barbie and fiercely screeched, “Well?!” And for the first time in Morgana’s career, the audience witnessed her assisting Barbie. Regardless of the history between them and her intentions, this was a monumental moment.

They had thought they’d seen it all, then suddenly the entire audience gasped in unison at what happened next. In an even more shocking twist, the gothic wrestler extended her hand to the fallen blonde. The cameras panned to Barbie’s face as she acted out the perfect expression of shock and distrust. It was acting, of course, as this stunt was an idea the girls had cooked up together at Joy’s little gathering last week. With Morgana’s helping hand grasped firmly, Barbie brought herself back up to her feet.

The camaraderie was cut short, as they released each other’s hands and Barbie stared down her opponent. Ever the opportunist - as many fans and wrestlers alike often cheekily pointed out - Summers rolled in for a pin on the grounded ex-soldier. The ref slid and fervently slapped the canvas with a thunderous open palm - one, two, THREE! Winning like this burned at Barbara’s inherent pride, the crowd would no doubt eat this up, and she would be once again painted as the wrestler who couldn’t win without someone else’s assistance. For the sake of the story, though, she persevered. A win was a win, and the title would remain hers for a little while longer. As it should.

Sydney came back to her senses. That elbow had knocked her out cold. She looked up to see that Morgana had interfered, Barbie had capitalised and won the match, but most startling to her was that they’d been working together! The downed powerhouse looked up at both of them in shock, first one, then the other. Two of the more powerful heels of the roster united against her. It was almost enough to scare the soldier. Almost. She got to her feet and stared them both down, first Barbie, then Morgana, though not saying a thing. She was simply stunned to silence.

---

Near the beginning of the show, Mathis had found a solitary place in the arena to watch the show. At first, he was gonna watch everything, but seeing another LC match didn't appeal to him so he decided to rewatch the promos from last week's show. They were really good and Mathis got invested watching them. Last week he hadn't had the time to really pay attention to what was going on other than his match. By the time he got to the Hype Package for Hector a thought came to his mind. He knew that the higher ups were planning on doing a Coup d'etat storyline soon and Hector seemed like almost a perfect fit for it in Mathis' eyes. Thinking it over the tall Frenchman decided that he should at least mention this to the writing team.

Soon he was rushing down the hall while writing on his mini whiteboard, "A revolution is soon to come. What do you think of Hector joining it." Once he got to where the writing team was stationed he noticed Gary first and quickly walked over to his desk. He sat in the closest chair and held the whiteboard out for Gary to see it.

Gary’s desk was in shambles. Sticky notes were everywhere. Several notebooks littered the desk, all sporting unwritten handwriting. Three empty coffee cups were gathered on the lid of an empty pizza box. The chaotic creative space of a writer, in short. The young man in his smart shirt and jeans combination looked up, read the contents of the whiteboard, and then, with an expression of deep thought, started flicking through one of his notebooks.

“That’s an interesting idea. You certainly do need an entourage if you want to avoid you looking like you’re all bark and no bite. The more I think about the idea now that you’ve mentioned it, the more I like it. Hector’s booked against Ax, and then we’ve got him in a short feud with his old rival Chaos Clayton, but after that, all we need to do is keep him looking strong and dominant until….well, I don’t know how much of Hector’s future I should give away. But yeah, after Requiem it’s definitely possible. I’ll have to run it past the others first, as well as let Andrew himself know. Did you have any further thoughts about it yourself?”

Under the mask Mathis was smiling big. If this happened, along with the fact Kidd Neon may be joining soon, his stable would finally make an appearance in AWE. Mathis looked down at his board and wrote something new down. When he was done he presented it to the writer. “What if it started off as a match between us. Then after a time I need a tag partner because something happens to Neon and I reveal the mystery partner as Hector?”

Gary rubbed his chin, the gears turning again. He loved good, well-structured stories. That was his specialty. Kevin was the best booker, J.P. was the mad scientist, and Gary was the storyteller. ”Yes, that would be a nice shock reveal that nobody would be expecting. The match itself might have a few nods that won’t give it away but link it all together in hindsight. The good thing about Hector is that him behaving unusually isn’t unusual. I’ll work on this idea. If you’ve got nothing else to ask or add, it might be a good idea, going to find Andrew himself.”

Mathis nodded his head and sent a thumbs up Gary’s way, as the writer nodded in acknowledgement and went back to pulling his hair out trying to book all the new arrivals the promotion was soon to be getting without overbooking. This was good for Mathis. If even one writer liked the idea then odds of it happening were good. He left the room because he was on a hunt now. It didn’t really take him all that long to find the hulk of a man. When he found him, Mathis quickly wrote on his board, ”What would you think of joining my Coup d’etat stable?” He tapped the big man on the shoulder then presented the board to him.

The large Scot turned, and looked down at Mathis, reading the board. “Aye,” he answered in his loud-yet-friendly voice. “I assume you’ve already got the go ahead from the writers, but that sounds just fine to me! I’ve never been in a stable before, and to tell you the truth, I’ve always wanted to. You’re Mathis, right? The French guy with the mask?”

Mathis gave a thumbs up to the Scotsman. Then he looked around to see if anyone else was in the vicinity. Once sure that no one was around he started speaking, ”Since it’s seems like it’ll be a done deal I guess I’ll break kayfabe a little with you. Gary said he will be working on it. Man, finally speaking to someone besides Roddy is refreshing. No, nerves running up and down my spine. Have you got any questions about being in a stable?”

”Oh, so you can speak English! I wasn’t sure. As for questions, well,” Andrew paused, putting his hands in his pockets and looking up in thought. “How should I change my character to fit your stable? I obviously won’t change him too much, but a few subtle changes to make him suitable for teamwork are needed. What’s your stable’s gimmick and goal?”

”Yeah, most people react like that when they first hear me speak. I just generally don’t speak because I feel it brings familiarity to me. I find it makes people have better reactions to me if they aren’t as familiar with me.” At Andrew’s questions, Mathys started scratching his chin. Those answers are always different depending on the factors that surround the decision and the occurrences that bring about the forming.

”Well, yeah you’re character doesn’t need much changing. Since Hector is basically a monster the best way I can think to slot him in is having it be as if Initiate found a way to control Hector. Whether it be mental control or emotional control depends on how long we want this arc to go. The gimmick is typically is a band of brothers, as in brothers in arms, working together to fight the status quo. They can still have their own fights they handle but will always have the backs of each other. Especially when fighting whatever laws are in place. The goal would be to destroy everything and rebuild it to how we see fit with us at the top effectively creating new laws for someone else to destroy. I really like the cyclical nature of it. All of this is relative because the writers may have bits and pieces they may want to change. What do you think?”

”I definitely prefer mental control to emotional. I don’t want Hector to get humanised, or have any sympathetic traits. If his answers to why he’s decided to help you are all in riddles, it adds to the character rather than subtracts from it. As for the group’s purpose, I’m sure I can brainstorm some promos to tie both philosophies together and feed them to the writing team. That part about destroying and rebuilding is definitely something I could work with!”

His stay at Wyoming was short, but it was enough time to catch up before he started taking the most direct route towards Denver. Weather wasn’t the most pleasant, and almost opted to take a train to his destination, but it would ruin the effect that Michael and the AWE had desired for his debut. He envisioned a true surprise, and thus opted to stay in Buffalo with his parents for a few days to throw off the scent. It had been about two months since he left Japan, his non-compete clause had expired, and he got the call from the guys on the road to be at the Pepsi Centre.

He arrived a few minutes after the show had started as planned and had parked his hired car within the maze of production vehicles that littered the parking lot. There were people waiting at the gates, but the tinted windows would stop any cameras from seeing inside. He got out, grabbed the case containing his gear, and entered the Pepsi Centre as the faint sound of Roddy Quinn buzzed through the foundations.

With the show yet to start for a while, Wade Palmer was there to receive him. Another one of Wade’s ‘pet projects’ as Roddy liked to call them, or his ‘tests’ as Heath called them, Silas was mostly Wade’s responsibility. Which meant he had to meet him at the door, and show him around, and introduce him to everyone and just generally be the guy for the first couple of shows.

Which, to Wade, wasn’t really a big deal. He’d done it before for a few different wrestlers here at AWE, and he’d likely do it to many more as time went on. So, this was easy. Almost immediately after Michael stepped into the building, the unmistakable voice of the AWE filled the air to address him: “Hey, Silas. Welcome to the party, pal. I’m Wade, and I’ll be your guest until showtime, but I’ll hand you over to Kevin or something before that happens.”

Michael met the hand with his own. “Wade? We spoke over the phone, great we finally met,” It was nice to hear the voice that negotiated him to come back to the States for sometime, and to meet them face to face. “And, feel free to call me Michael,” he continued, gripping his case in his left hand.

“Yeah, I’m just not gonna do that. I never call people by anything but their ring name — it breaks kayfabe, dude.” Wade explained, dropping the newcomer’s hand and nodding, “it’s good to meet you too. If you look around you’ll see the usual suspects, and catering. We have like tons of food. As it turns out, a bunch of muscle heads eat a load of food. Who knew?” Wade explained as he led Silas through the halls of the arena, gesturing at catering as they passed by it.

Michael couldn’t help but chuckle to himself. He had maintained kayfabe during his time in public - it was why he decided to travel in secret - but having internal staff maintaining it to each other was fairly fascinating. Guess it was something to keep in mind. Outside he was Michael, inside he was Silas in name. “Can speak from experience,” replied Silas, referring to the time when he arrived at Japan looking like a literal circle. Wasn’t the best of shapes, though he couldn’t help but eat plenty when asked to wait to be called to the gorilla position.

“Anyway, I’d introduce you to Roddy, but he’s kinda busy right now. He always is during shows, so your best bet to find him would be during travel time or at least after the show starts. He tends to calm down, especially when he’s been involved… which he has been lately. I dunno what they’re planning really — I never read the segment list, I like to keep it spoiler free so I react as naturally as possible on commentary. Best way to do things, I think.” Wade explained as they walked through the building together, before he added, “however, somewhere around here is Kevin, Kevin Harrison. He’s the lead in creative here, so if you have any questions about your direction, that’s who you would hit up. He’s a lot easier to find, usually…” Looking around, Wade grinned as he saw someone up ahead slip out of a small room in the building, slightly adjusting his collar. “There’s the man of the hour, actually. Hey, Kev!”

Man, Kevin hated being jumped as soon as he made an appearance, but hey. Whatever, man. Wade was cool, so he spun on his heel and waved to Wade and the new guy… Silas? Michael? Warren? Kevin couldn’t remember. He had a lot going on up in his head, with all the work it took to get everyone booked and relevant. “Hey, Wade. Sup? Who’s your friend?”

Silas smiled and held out his hand. “Silas, pleasure to meet you.” He wanted to make a good impression; this was the guy who would present the tools and the better he presented himself, the better the bullet points he’d get.

Kevin accepted the handshake after walking close enough to and nodded. “Hey. You’re the new guy, yeah? Let me tell you how we do things around here: what I say goes. I’m the boss. You’re all pawns. Or… something like that? Just kidding, man. We’re all pretty chill around here, just don’t be an asshole and we won’t depush you for the most part. Basically, do what you want. We’re pretty relaxed as far as limiting talent goes. There are a few things that are outlawed, but you can talk to a road agent about those. Biggest thing I can think of is chair-shots straight to the dome. That’s a big nono. We basically tell you what we want you to do, if we want you to work heel or face, then you work it out with your opponent down to the letter. Sometimes we want specific finishes, sometimes we don’t. We’re a huge, multi-national company, and we’re ran by me and two other dudes who are equally jackass-y. So, get used to it. Roddy’s approachable if you ever wanna beg for special treatment.”

Silas smiled at Kevin, and replied, “Noted, was never a chairshot guy anyway, so you don’t have to worry about that.” He knew well what those shots felt like. Took one and his head span for a good week. Plus it hurt like the fires of hell. “Thanks for the heads up!”

“Right on, brother, right on. Anyway, we took the notes we have on your character and you’re getting a pretty standard debut match this week. From there, everyone is sorta in limbo until after the PPV… It kinda sucks, but it is what it is. Can’t account for injuries or human error, really.” Kevin shrugged his shoulders. It wasn’t his fault that Drayden had been working hurt for so long — that was all Roddy. Roddy was too reliant on Drayden, so reliant that he didn’t stop to see the future. With him being out for now, it was time to enjoy being in charge without the old man shutting everything down to focus on the old guard. It would be a fun few months.

“Shame, really enjoyed his work,” Silas said back. He was out of the country for most of Drayden’s run, but it was difficult to escape from that name, one of the biggest names in the medium. “Show must go on though...don’t suppose I can take a look at tonight’s line-up?” He wanted to prepare, the outfit took some time to put on, and there was no way in hell he would wear it in public outings outside of booked appearances.

“Yeah, it’s over there,” Kevin pointed off into the distance toward a place where a crowd of wrestlers were gathered, “we always just hang it over there. There are copies if you really want one. Need anything else right now?”

Silas wondered to himself for a brief moment, but said, “Not that I can think of outside of a general induction.” He held his hand out again. “Nice to meet you again.”

He got the sheet, simple but to the point. The match between Sexton and Sparks was well underway, and he could see from the highlighted points that we wasn’t due on stage for some time. Four blocks later to be exact.

When he saw his name and the booking plan, the new guy stopped without warning in bemusement. On one hand, he was elated to see that he was going up against Thunderbird, a lovable character who the fans would be behind, perfect to establish Silas as a villain. On the other hand, Michael watched the recent shows to get him up to speed with what is going on. It was clear that from space that Sexton and Thunderbird were going to collide in one form or another at the PPV, but was confused as to why Silas was to win clean at the go-home show, especially since Thunderbird could look potentially weak ahead of his scheduled rematch.

It needed to be adjusted, not for Silas, but for both Thunderbird and Sexton. Turning around, he marched to find either one of them.

The crowd were ready for the next match. The floor and the walls were vibrating from the thunderous applause and stamps of feet against the arena floor. Gethin stood at the gorilla position, watching as the lights went out in anticipation for his entrance through the curtain. As the first few bars of his music began to bleed out across the building and the low pink and blue lights seep through the darkness, he places his signature gumshield into his mouth; feeling every ache and twinge in his body as he did so. The hard hitting, savage style he used was wearing down his body but that wasn’t going to stop him; not by a long shot. He walked through the curtain, morphing into a silhouette seen through the smoke at the top of the entrance ramp.

As the song picked up and the lights flickered to a murderous blood red, Gethin emerged from the smoke and matched down the ramp with purpose. His slow, sinister walk harkened back to a predator of the animal kingdom, it was deliberate and precise, no wasted motion. Once he had reached the ring amid a chorus of boos, he made his way to the far corner, cracking his knuckle and neck joints, preparing himself for war. He locked his steely glare to the top of the stage to await his opponent. He could work magic with Oscar, he knew it. The fans in attendance were in for a show tonight.

And with the rising crescendo, the show had just gotten started, as fireworks and pyrotechnics exploded, turning the ramp into a carnival of light and color, and from the sparksm with his fist raised, and head held high, was Oscar O’Sullivan, who also got boos, but a few cheers, as many fans saw him as the lesser of two evils and chose him as the de-facto face of the match. The brutal, merciless sadist, vs the arrogant, slimy showoff. There were no good guys to be found here. Just two people who had their eyes on the title, and merely saw the other as a man standing in their way.

Then Oscar entered the ring, he smiled mockingly at Gethin, as he paced. Here was a smile that spoke not of mere confidence, but a face that wasn’t even considering the notion of failure. While Gethin was the the corner, as if hiding in the bushes to strike at his prey, Oscar stood in the center of the ring; the place where all eyes were drawn too. Standing there in his eye-catching purple and silver ring gear, he was the center of attention.

Gethin tightened his grip on the ropes as the lights came up from Oscar’s entrance. He had respect for his opponent, no doubt about it. In fact backstage, away from the bright lights of AWE, The One and Only was someone that Gethin held in high regard. He was a veteran of the squared circle, a man who carried himself with the utmost ayr of grace. This needed to be a good match, not only because it’s what the fans deserve but because it was what Oscar deserved for his service to the business and Gethin wanted to give him that.

The bell rang and the welsh wonder moved forward towards his opponent and offered up his left hand; not for a handshake but for a grapple, a test of strength, one of the oldest traditions in professional wrestling, which Oscar immediately accepted The two men jockeyed for position trading hold for hold in an early contest of catch as catch can. The crowd applauded the two of them for their technical ability. Oscar was a crowd pleaser, big spots were his bread and butter but for the most part he was like clay and could adapt to any style, any opponent. It was that which truly adhered him to Rhys, another professional. As they locked up again, Gethin swept his opponent's leg and took him down to the canvass, wrapping his arm up into an armbar.

Oscar treated the armbar as more of an annoyance than a limb-wrenching hold. Not to say he no-sold it, but he had a natural intuition for escalation. You wouldn’t spike for a DDT delivered fifteen seconds into a match. You’d spike for a tornado DDT delivered ten minutes in. Still, he writhed around, not making any move to escape it until he sensed the audience were losing interest. Once he felt that time was coming, he got both of his feet flat on the canvas, then bridged, rolled back, stood up and then executed a crisp front flip. Now Oscar had Gethin’s arm twisted, he gave it a yank for good measure then faced the crowd and bowed in a way that was far too smug for any impressed individuals to decide to cheer him. He got booed for that impressive display.

Gethin rolled his arm free of Oscar’s hold and moved off to the opposite side of the ring only for a second before squaring up to hs opponent, face to face and nose to nose, the brutal artist hissed through his gumshield ”Ready yourself” He gave the man mere milliseconds before he slapped the taste from his mouth with a hard open hand strike. The audience released a shared gasp at the disrespect shown. Gethin quickly followed up with a barrage of similarly strong slaps and chops, driving the eleven year veteran into the corner. He took a slight run up before hitting a stiff knee strike to Oscar’s gut. He then proceeded to brutally kick the purple and silver attack in the chest with hard hitting roundhouse kicks. With each kick, Oscar’s skin became redder and redder. He mounted the lower turnbuckle and mockingly bowed over his opponents head to resounding chorus of boos.

Oscar hadn’t even needed to try and sell the pain of those chops and strikes. They hurt! The warning was definitely appreciated. Oscar made a show of rearing his read and looking around for the ref, just so that the audience's eye (As well as Gethin’s out of kayfabe) could be caught by his movements and realise what he was about to do. For good measure, he spoke quietly the words ‘low blow’, and when the ref wasn’t looking, he low-blowed Gethin as hard as he could, swinging his entire arm right up.

With Gethin reeling from that, Oscar slipped outside through the ropes, climbed the turnbuckle, and then caught Gethin’s head in between his legs and executed a Springboard Frankensteiner, sending Gethin crashing onto the middle of the ring. Now playtime was over, and Oscar wasted no time in marching to middle of the ropes, hopping to the second rope, and moonsaults onto Gethin’s prone body, before trying a cover, which barely made it past the one count. Even so, Oscar had made the first pin attempt. He’d drawn first blood.

Gethin rolled away from the pin attempt to the corner of the ring in order to try and catch his breath. He clutched his nether regions to sell the low blow, his face exasperated in pain. The moonsault had knocked the wind out of him. He growled through his mouthguard as Oscar rushed towards the corner only to be greeted by a strong knee to the jaw as the Welsh dragon sprang to his feet and leapt into the air. He hooked the back of Oscar’s head and proceeded to drill his opponent with several more heavy knee lifts before following with a snap European uppercut that knocked him down to the mat.

Not wasting any time, Rhys jammed his fingers into the roof of Oscar’s mouth and began to physically drag the personification of arrogance across to the corner of the ring. Once there he pulled him to his feet and began to climb the turnbuckle in reverse, wrapping his arm around Oscar’s chin. Gethin locked his fingers together and straightened his back, lifting O’Sullivan from the ground and pulling back, essentially hanging the One and Only right there in the ring. Oscar struggled, writhed, and flopped around, but to no avail, he was caught. The ref began the count to 5 and Gethin of course held on to at least 4 and ¾ before dropping him like a sack of potatoes.

Dropping from the apron, the brutal artist quick dove into a pin attempt only for Oscar to break it at 2. Oscar then sat up, with one hand on his jaw, selling the pain, and wriggling his jaw from side to side, before biting a few times. Content, he lay back down, and then kip-upped back to his feet, staring down Gethin with hate. The time for games and showmanship were over, and Oscar showed this by rebounding off the ropes and running towards Gethin. Gethin hoped to strike his opponent with a spinning backfist but Oscar ducked under the move, rebounded off the other rops, and executed a sliding tackle, knocking Gethin onto his back. Wasting not time, Oscar got to his knees and locked in his submission hold; Over And Out.

All of the sudden, the Cardiff Psycho felt an intense amount of pressure on his body and neck as Oscar locked in a patented submission hold. Despite the pain he was in, Gethin knew that this hold was simply to prolong the match, a rest hold was often used as a way to pan a show run time, give the wrestlers a breather and increase the psychology of the match and if for nothing else, Oscar was a master of in ring psychology. After a few fleeting moments in the hold, Gethin managed to move his long legs to just beneath the bottom rope, there in forcing the ref to break up the submission.

Gethin sold the pain by clutching at his body. He pulled himself up to his feet, as their war raged on he let out a visceral yell, feeding off the pain within his being to fuel his burning thirst for violence. Oscar was not going to give Gethin time to recover or am himself up, though, and turned round to hit the brutal artist with a pele kick. This made his foe reel but didn’t knock him down, so Oscar got back to his feet and followed it up with some quick and desperate looking punches. Gethin began to no sell Oscar’s moves, with every strike just increasing the fury on his face. As Oscar lunged forward for another attempt, Gethin caught his wrist in a double wrist-lock and drilled him with a roundhouse kick to the chest, causing the OAO to fall to his knees. Pulling Oscar into a front facelock, the welsh dragon promptly proceeded to strike him with several rapid fire point elbow shots to the back of the head. This match was intense and the crowd was eating it up but it was time to go home.

Oscar swept the legs out from underneath Gethin, bringing down to the mat beside him as he tried to reach his prone opponent, Gethin dove forward and applied a roll up cover, grabbing onto the ropes as he did so. The referee counted a quick 1 2 3 and the welshman hastily left the ring to a massive amount of boos. The fans had been robbed of a potential classic thanks to Gethin’s underhanded tactics. He pressed a finger to his temple and called out ”I thought you were supposed to be the smart one!” He smugly grinned as he began to walk up the ramp, basking in the hate of the paying fans.

Oscar was still looking down, in disbelief of what just happened. He didn’t see Gethin’s taunt, or if he did, didn’t react to it. The beaten up showoff slid out from under the ropes and hobbled up the ramp, following the path of the victor, Gethin, but didn’t look ahead as he did so.