Go down


Post  Stan Daniels on Wed Jan 26, 2011 10:32 am

DETAILS: We brought back the old NWA cage made of chain-link fencing, which will be attached directly to the ringposts. To win, you have to escape the cage, but the referee won't give you the win unless your opponent is BLEEDING before you escape the cage.

RP RULES: ]: All King of the Cage tournament matches are seventy-two hours with a three posts per day hard cap. In addition, there is a two hour continuation rule, meaning that one wrestler may not post back-to-back flashes until at least two hours has passed from the posting time of the first flash.

RP JUDGES: Krusher/Mr. Francis I. Cartier - Tiebreaker Living Deadgirl

Phil was inside a closet-sized locker room in the Fed-X arena, obviously not too happy about something. To tell you the truth, he'd rather be anywhere than right here right now. At the moment, he is talking on the cell phone with his newly-wed wife, Starlight. Despite Starlight being British, she went to school in France at some point in her life, which allowed her to learn the language, allowing Phil to have the following conversation in his mother-tongue, a rarity in his career.

Of course, there was always Chevalier with whom he could speak a little French with, but the truth is, Chevalier left France so long ago that even him has lost a lot of his French, and besides, conversations with Chevalier aren't THAT interesting to have to begin with, so Phil is really grateful to destiny to have put on his road a woman who can understand him when Phil didn't feel like lowering his mind to anglo-saxon standards.

Phil Stone : Allo Starlight... Comment ça va aujoud'hui, ma chérie? La Fédération se porte bien?

Of course, the Federation Phil is referring to here is the UWF, in which Phil invested his own money into, saving it from closure last month as it was going through one of its worst slumps in its history.

Phil Stone : Excellent. Continuez comme cela toi et Eden, et ça ne sera pas long que le Comité Éxécutif me confiera la charge de NGPW. J'ai entièrement confiance dans les capacités de Victor Simmons pour que cela se produise...


Phil Stone : Comment c'est ici? Comment te dire... Terrible? Désolant? J'en perds presque mon vocabulaire tellement cet endroit n'est qu'une "dump".


Phil Stone : C'est sur, c'est sur... Je m'y attendait un peu... Ce n'est qu'une minable Fédération Indépendante, après tout.


Phil Stone : Merci, Star, mais tu sais aussi bien que moi que la chance n'a absolument rien à y voir. Merci quand même... Oui, on se revoit à Chicago dès que j'en ai terminé avec ce tournoi à la con. Bye, mon amour.

Phil flips his cell phone shut, and mere seconds later, a knock is heard on the door.

Phil Stone : Wait a second! I'm coming out. There's no way two people could stand in this closet space at the same time... *Sigh*

Phil opens the door and he is stopped dead in his tracks when he realizes just who in on the other side.

Shelly Simmons : Hi, Phil! Would you care to give me an interview for the fans?

Phil Stone : Shelly?!? What the f*** are you doing here? Did Victor fire your ass already?

Shelly Simmons : *Giggles* No, you silly! I work here AND in NGPW.

Phil Stone : What?!? But... How could you be at two places at the same ti-... You know what? Never mind. I think it's already sad as it is that this place couldn't live if it weren't for at least half its roster being supplied by Wrassle Industries, but the backstage staff as well? I didn't know that Fed-X was so desperately sad... And it just shows me just how much of a whore you actually are.

Shelly Simmons : *Frowns*

Phil Stone : So, let's go... Shoot your questions so that I can get over with this.

Shelly Simmons : Hmmmppphhhh.... OK... So, how does it feel to be here in Fed-X and competing for the King of the Cage Tournament?

Phil Stone : It feels awful, Shelly. I'd rather be anywhere else than here right now. It feels even more awful as if I was in *Ugh*CE, and that, I think, speaks great lengths as to what I really think of this Indy dump.

Shelly Simmons : Wow! Nice way to make friends with the people down here... Especially the powerbase...

Phil Stone : I'm not here to make friends, Shelly. What friends I made in this business through the course of my career have been made so through mutual respect and admiration, two things that are earned over time and that aren't cheap in my eyes... Unlike you, obviously. You must really be cheap to work here.

Shelly Simmons : Ooooo-K... I'll pretend I didn't hear that... Your views on the Tournament?

Phil Stone : What tournament? OH! Right! You mean, Maverick's and Rude's latest attempt to attract me into one of their "cleverly-schemed" trap which the sole purpose of is to put me into a vulnerable spot where they could attack me outnumbered and make me pay for daring to stand in the way of their paths?

Shelly Simmons : Well... I wouldn't put it quite like this, but...

Phil interrupts her and takes her mic, then speaks straight at the camera, ignoring Shelly as if she wasn't there...

Phil Stone : Because this is just what this whole "tourney" thing is about, folks. Rude was already Maverick's lackey when both these men inserted themselves in my career, Mav being the brain while Rude being the henchman. I won't go over that free verbal attack Mav did on me many years ago when he picked ME out of the whole NGPW roster in one of his Wrassle-Wide interviews. The details of how I later on got banned from NGPW when he took over, me busting his eardrum with a handgun shot from point blank range, and how he sent my former tag partner to me with an opening on the NGPW when I was threatening of sucking out all the talent he had on his roster over to *Ugh*CE when I was working there before I had to prematurely step down from business are all widely known things in the business, I won't lose too much time about this... Their latest attempt to trick me, just prior to the OWC, involved a match in Fed-X putting me vs Johnny Rude as poor Rude didn't know what to do back then to make me stop the people realize just how much over-rated he is just proved how much they under-estimated me, when I didn't fall into that cheap trick. They forgot to realize that their cheap ploy missed a purpose to convince me into risking such a match, when in fact, I was actually very confident that I'd face Rude sooner or later in the next month as the OWC progressed. I guess they tried to fix that with this attempt by putting a large sum of money at stake and by making this event one of gigantic proportions that is on par with my own standard awesomeness.

Phil stops talking, and feeling dead air coming, Shelly grabbed the mic back.

Shelly Simmons : And what do you think your odds of winning this tournament are?

Phil Stone : Pretty slim, Shelly, given the circumstances. I told you, this is nothing but a trap designed to get at me, I DON'T expect to win such a thing. What I did expect, though, was to get brutally assaulted 15-on-1 during the Pre-Tournament Selection show. THAT didn't happen, but I still got attacked viciously by Johnny Rude in the backstage in ways that would have had him suspended WAY before things escalated the way it did until the Powerbase finally decided to step their foot down. Which just proved to me once again how much of a sub-standard organization Fed-X actually is.

Shelly Simmons : Are you looking forward to an encounter with Rude in the upcoming rounds if you manage to get past Aaron Action?

Phil Stone : Not particularly, Shelly. I have so little left to prove towards Rude. Sure, he'll grasp at straws and shout to everyone who can hear him that his record against me is 5-0, when in fact it's 4 1/2 to 1/2. And even if it was actually 5-0, the fervor with which he keeps mentioning it does a good job to show how insecure he is about his status in the fans' eyes. What Rude fails to realize with his half-baked 5-0 record against me it's that he's won many battles, yes, but he is on the verge of losing the war, and in the end, this is what actually counts. After all, did he not mention it himself that if I was to beat him in the OWC, and I'd tend to think that the same logic applies here, that he would retire from the business once and for all?

Shelly Simmons : Well... He DID say that, it's true...

Phil Stone : So, you see, even if Johnny stacks up a 10-0 record on me over time, all I have to do is beat him ONCE, and this business as a whole will be forever be ridden of the plague that is Johnny Rude. But to answer your question Shelly, I'd much rather face off against Hank Hooligan or Carnage, both worthy competitors with whom I have some unfinished businesses, and who both pose an actual challenge to me.

Shelly Simmons : Rude isn't a challenge to you?

Phil Stone : Not in my eye, no...

Shelly Simmons : Well, before you get to Round 2, you still have to defeat Aaron Action tonight. Do you think you can beat him?

Phil Stone : Well, I know next to nothing about my opponent apart from the fact that he is overweight and has a diction problem. I've dealt with Obese on many occasions, and he's fatter than Aaron. And I've worked with Hank Hooligan for many months. so I think I'll be able to understand whatever insult Aaron tries to throw at me even with his poor diction. Other than that, it'll come down to skills, and in that department, I'll always have confidence in mine.

Shelly Simmons : Well, thanks for your time, and good luck for tonight, Phil.

Phil Stone : Luck's got nothing to do with it.

*Picture fades*

The cab pulled up to the Fox News Arena in Schaumberg, Illinois. The two men stepped out of the cab. They carried cans of Moulson in their hands. They wore down coats with fur collars. The coats were open exposing t-shirts that had WDN with a large X made of red duct tape pasted over the logo. On their heads were heavy stocking caps with Fed X logos on them.

The Federation X fans standing in line to enter the building cheered mightily as the men moved down the line handing out Moulsons from a large rolling cooler they pulled out of the cab’s trunk. The fans joined in as the two men led “Wrassle Sucks” cheers giving high fives and toasting the men along the way.

The two men got to the end of the line and took their place happily bouncing on the balls of their feet as they waited excitedly for the doors to open. A large swarthy man with a heavy mustache approached them looking angry.

MUHAMMAD: You must pay for the cab ride. Thirty-Four dollars!

The cab driver was glaring at the two men who seemed confused.

BOB: What? We thought you were just offering us a ride, eh.

DOUG: Yeah. Take off, you hoser. We aren’t going to pay for a free ride! We may be from out of town, but we’re not from Saskatoon! Now get oot of here before we kick you ass, eh.

Muhammad started to reply. He stopped and spun on his heel going back to the cab.

BOB: Yeah! Run away, you hoser! We’re Fed X fans from Canada. We give you an Acid Cutter!

DOUG: We can’t give him an Acid Cutter. The Acid Cutter is the most dangerous move ever used in a wrestling ring. You have to train for years to pull off that move, eh.

BOB: Take off! I could so give him an Acid Cutter. I’ve seen Acid Ed give that move to Reverend Future too many times to count.

The two men stopped and lifted their beers to the sky.

BOB: To Acid Ed, eh?

Doug nodded at his brother.

DOUG: To Acid Ed.

The two men smashed their beers together. The foamy liquid sloshed out of the tops of the cans and sprayed all over a woman and her ten year old son.

WOMAN: Would you please be careful? My son smells like beer now!

Bob opened the cooler and handed one to the boy.

BOB: Here you go. You should be able to drink one of you’re going to smell like one, eh?

The boy took the beer and started to pop the top when his mother whipped it out of his hand.

DOUG: If you wanted one, all you had to do was ask, eh. You don’t need ta steal one from the kid.

The woman glared at Bob and Doug. She handed the beer to the man in front of her with a RUDE’S MY DUDE! T-shirt on. The man shrugged and popped the top. The shaken up beer sprayed everywhere. The woman threw her arms in the air. She grabbed her son’s hand and stomped off to find a restroom to wash the beer off.

BOB: What got up her butt, eh?

DOUG: Yeah, you’d think her kid never had a beer before. We were half his age when dad started takin’ us oot ta the Moosehead Tavern!

Bob and Doug lifted their beers high and smashed them together again. The spray reigned down on the RUDE’S DUDE guy who just laughed and toasted with the two men.

BOB: To the Moosehead Tavern!

Doug nodded at his brother again.

DOUG: To the Moosehead, eh! Too bad that guy shot dad there. The place never recovered.

BOB: Neither did Dad, eh.

The two men lowered their heads and took off their tooks. They stood with their heads down for a minute and then put their hats back on.

BOB: But then he lived a long life.

DOUG: Forty-three good years, eh!

As the two men toasted again, Muhammad came calmly walking back carrying a tire iron. He had a from on his face that seemed to encompass his whole head, even his turban.

MUHAMMAD: You must pay for the cab ride. Thirty-Four dollars!

This time the comment wasn’t a request. It was a demand. And it was punctuated by the tire iron that was being held in the air. Bob looked at Doug. Doug looked at Bob. Finally both men began to laugh.

BOB: Oookay. Oookay. We’ll pay.

DOUG: Just havin’ some fun with you, eh?

Muhammad lowered the tire iron and seemed to be less angry. He held out his hand as Bob dug into his pockets and pulled out a wadded up bunch of cash. He carefully flattened the money on his brother’s shoulder and then counted the money into Muhammad’s outstretched palm.

BOB: Twenty … thirty … five. … Keep the change, you hoser.

DOUG: And don’t spend it all in one place, eh?

Muhammad grumbled and balled the cash up in his fist. He turned and started walking back to his cab.

BOB: What a grouch, eh?

DOUG: You got that right. He’s more miserable than Battlestone after they took Logo off his cable system.

The line started moving and Bob and Doug fell into step with the others. They made their way to the gate and reached into their coat pockets for tickets. The ticket taker took the tickets and scanned them. Bob and Doug started into the arena, but a burly guard stepped in front of them.

GUARD: Can’t bring the cooler in boys.

Bob and Doug looked at the large man incredulously. Then Bob nodded. He opened the cooler and started putting beers into his coat pockets. Doug began doing the same.

BOB: No problem, big guy.

DOUG: We can drink ‘em warm. Eh?

The guard rolled his eyes and sighed. He put a hand on Bob and Doug’s shoulders.

GUARD: You can’t bring beer in here. If you want it you have to buy it.

Bob and Doug looked horrified at each other.

BOB: But that means we’d have to drink American beer.

DOUG: I’ll have to drink so much that I’ll be peeing my buzz off all night.

The guard gave a shrug.

GUARD: Not my call, man. I just enforce the rules. You want to drink, you drink our beer.

Bob and Doug looked toward the Bud Light sign at the beer stand and shuddered. Then the lowered their heads dejectedly.

BOB: All right. I guess it will be worth it to see King of the Cage, eh!

DOUG: You got that right, hoser!

The two men high fived and walked off into the crowd. The guard looked down.

GUARD: Hey, wait! You forgot your cooler!

But Bob and Doug had disappeared in the mass of people. The guard gave a shrug and grabbed handle. He pulled the cooler into a nearby closet. He started to open the cooler when he heard a commotion at the gate.

MUHAMMAD: I must be allowed to enter!

TICKET TAKER: Sorry you can’t come in without a ticket.

MUHAMMAD: But those two idiots! They paid me with Canadian currency! I need to get my fare.

TICKET TAKER: Sorry, you have to have a ticket to come in.

Muhammad started to argue, but then he saw the guard standing behind the ticket taker. He cursed and stalked off. The guard moved back to his post watching for suspicious characters that might enter the arena.


Bob and Doug emerged from the Men’s room. They no longer wore the tooks, coats or anti-wrassle shirts. In fact they were dressed in jeans and polo shirts. They had combed their hair differently and Bob had even removed his glasses.

BOB: That worked just the way Fats said it would. Let’s get out of here before that cooler goes off.

DOUG: What’s the rush? The timer is set for a couple hours from now. We can stay here and watch a few matches and be long gone before it goes off.

The two men made their way to their seats.

BOB: Hey, if the bomb goes off everyone could be killed.

DOUG: Not my problem. I’m just doing what I’m paid to do.

BOB: But that would include the guys here from Wrassle.

DOUG: Yeah, I mentioned that. Burnt said he doesn’t care. The wrestlers aren’t his problem. Their just sheep who do whatever he says.

Bob couldn’t argue with that. Instead he took his seat and looked at the program he was handed on the way in.

BOB: Phil Stone! One thing’s for sure. If that guy gets blown up, it will be a boon to all wrestling.

DOUG: Got that right … you hoser!

The two men laughed as the bomb ticked away in the closet.



Ralph Madison hated his job.

Sure it sounded impressive, working for a major international television program. And that was how he described his job at parties. When pressed for what he did or what show it was, Ralph was very quick to point out a flaw in the hostess’s décor or a bad toupee on the head of the host’s favorite uncle. This, of course, explained why Ralph seldom got invited to parties.

That and the smell.

Ralph was the head janitor at the Fox News Arena, the home of Federation X and the general hangout of most of the roster almost all the time. Ralph often wondered if these people even had homes. To be honest, there was a few of them that he knew for a fact didn’t have homes. They lived in their locker rooms among the foot fungus and spoiled hot dogs and old gym socks.

Thinking about all the trash, reminded Ralph of why he was here. Looking left and right Ralph casually leaned on the door marked Green Room in Genocide’s palatial dressing room. He slid the large black garbage bag next to the beanbag chair. He leaned down and unzipped the beanbag and stuffed the trash inside. Ralph zipped up the bag and headed out of the locker room. As he did he saw Genocide approach.

[color:b5de=900000]GENOCIDE: It better be clean or they’ll be no tip this Christmas.

Ralph laughed genially and then walked past Genocide. The jerk slapped him on the shoulder as he went by. Ralph wasn’t real worried about the Christmas tip. Last year it had been a five-dollar gift card to the XS Steakhouse. Ralph had checked. He couldn’t even get a soda at the XS Steakhouse for five dollars.

The janitor pushed his cart past the fans who were filling the arena. They all stepped around him. None of them even noticed that he was there. Idiots. How he hated them all. He wanted to finish up and get out of there. The one perk of being head janitor was making the schedule and he always made sure he never worked after the events. He wasn’t exposing himself to sweat soaked towels, blood-stained bandaged and whatever it was that they regularly found in Hairy’ locker room.

Reaching the janitor’s closet, Ralph unlocked the door and went to push his cart into it. The cart hit something and stopped. Ralph pushed the cart again, but it wouldn’t budge. He cursed under his breath and pulled the cart back. He saw a large cooler on wheels sitting in the closet. Ralph allowed himself a fleeting moment of hope. Maybe somebody had noticed his efforts and was rewarding him with a cooler full of cold ones.

Ralph reached down to open the cooler when he heard a voice behind him.

WILLIAM VON BRAUN: There is it! Great job, Ralph. We thought we lost that cooler full of weapons. Could you please take it out and put it under the ring. … And be discreet we want the weapons to be a surprise.

Von Braun patted Ralph on the shoulder.


The head jerk of personnel walked away with the hot piece of ass on his arm explaining how things would never get done around here if he wasn’t around. Ralph just shook his head and grabbed the cooler handle. He began dragging the cooler to the ring area mumbling about how Von Braun could discreetly stuff the cooler up his ass.


PARAGON: Well, we’re seeing more caged action than I ever thought possible, Hank. What an amazing night.

PROCTNER: I’m most amazed by the fact that this place is big enough to hold all these cages. Who invented the wormhole that allowed that to happen.

PARAGON: I’m told it’s all a matter of creative engineering. By using a series of separate cranes, the crack Federation X stage crew can switch the cages out in a matter of minutes.

PROCTNER: Kind of goes to show you how much more sophisticated a product you see here in Federation X than you do in that other company.

PROCTNER: Well, they ARE based in Canada. What can you expect?

The two men chuckled at the joke as the chain-link cage was slowly lowered over the ring. A large group of stagehands stood around the cage guiding it into place. They were carefully lining up the corners to slip directly over the ring posts.

As the men did their work, the screen showed an interview with Phil Stone. The man was droning on and on in a thick French accent about Johnny Rude.

PARAGON: Stone does know he’s facing Aaron Action tonight, not Johnny Rude, right?

PROCTNER: As I understand it, Stone is Johnny Rude's biggest fan. He claims to hate the guy, but all he ever talks about is Rude. You know the type.

PARAGON: Kind of like how you constantly talk about your heterosexualness?


Stone went on with his interview lulling the fans into a slight state of catatonia. As the fans started to glaze over, Ralph came stomping down the ramp. Thanks to the hypnotic state induced by Stone’s promo, no one seemed to notice.

Ralph made his way down to the ring. He saw the cage was being tied into place around the ring posts. Ralph wondered how these guys were going to use these weapons when they were locked in the cage. And then he decided that he didn’t care. Tonight was his book group. They were going to be discussing Nietzsche’s Beyond Good and Evil. And Ralph had a lot to say about the book and how it applied to the people he worked with.

Giving the cooler a shove, Ralph watched as the red plastic carrier slid under the ring apron. He brushed his hands together and walked back up the aisle. His day was done. He could head for his book group.

Ralph cleared the curtains and cursed under his breath. Living Deadgirl, the Queen Bee of The Powerbase, stood in front of him.

LIVING DEADGIRL: Oh, thank God, I caught you, Ralph. It seems that some idiots in the line were handing beers out to a bunch of underage kids and now the kids are puking their guts up in the bathroom by section 716. Can you please go take care of it?

Ralph nodded as Liv patted his now slumping shoulders. Ralph began a slow shuffle to the janitor’s closet to get his cart again. He moved slowly with the weight of the world on his shoulder.

Ralph Madison hated his job.



Bob : So... Where's our section?

Doug : Section C, Row F, seats 13 and 14.

Bob : All right. It's this way...

Doug : Eh!

And the two men on a secret mission from Wrassle head towards their seats, they mix with the crowd who also proceeds to do the same. Amongst them, completely unnoticed as they wear no particular feature, Harry and Francis.

Francis : Man! I can't believe that you've gotten ourselves a backstage VIP pass!

Harry : Whoo, Francis! I got only ONE VIP pass, not two.

Francis : So what? We're twins, dumbass!

Harry : *Sigh* Must we really have to abuse this situation at every opportunities that arise?

Francis : We'd be idiots not to do so. It's just a matter of taking turns... And we've been doing that for years, now, so it's just second nature to us...

Harry : I know... *Sigh*

Meanwhile, backstage...

Phil Stone : Man, I can't believe you tried to talk me into working here full time. I thought that we were friends.

Kieran Crowe : You swerved me so that you could marry Starlight under Genocide's protection, dude... That's kinda asking for it...

Phil Stone : Ahem... If you remember correctly, you told me about this dump way earlier than that.

Kieran Crowe : You're right. That's about when I was kidnapping Starlight, right?

Phil Stone : Well... Now that you mention it... I think you're right. I guess that "this" explains "that", doesn't it?

Kieran Crowe : That was the whole point, actually...

Phil Stone : Stop it! You're starting to sound like me...

Kieran Crowe : And who's fault is it, again?

Phil Stone : *Sigh*

Kieran Crowe : By the way... I heard what you said to Shelly earlier... I'd be more careful about what you say while you're here, if I were you...

Phil Stone : I'm not here to make friends, Kieran. You know me well enough to know that.

Kieran Crowe : Yes I do, actually. And must I remind you once again where this path may lead to once you carry it too far and make too many enemies? *points at his missing eye*

Phil Stone : Yeah, yeah, I know... By the way, that makes me think... I'm almost surprised that Johnny's hasn't grown back yet.

Kieran Crowe : Oh, man... *Facepalms* There you go again... *Shakes head*

Meanwhile, in the seats...

Doug : Man, I gotta go pee... Again...

Bob : Stupid American beer, heh?

Doug : Damn right...

Doug stands up and goes to walk his way across the row of seats, bumping knees with people as he excuses himself.

Doug : Excuse me...

Harry : No problem, really...

Doug pursues his way to the toilet while Harry begins a little small talk with Bob as the techs were mounting up one of the cages needed for the show.

Harry : So... You guys Canadian, huh?

Bob : Yep! North Bay, Ontario!

Harry : Interesting. I was born in Oxford, in the UK.

Bob : Oh! So, you're a Queen-Lover, heh?

Harry : Oh, no... Not quite...

Meanwhile, backstage...

Francis : Cool! If they had EVER told me that I'd ever get a backstage pass to an event like this, I think I would have laughed in their faces.


Paragon : And as we are setting up the cage for the next match, folks, here's Stats Sipowicz with The Philosopher Stone, backstage...

Proctner : And there goes our ratings! Stay with us, folks, excitement will be right back after this...

~On the Tron~

Stats Sipowicz : Good evening, Phil.

Phil Stone : Good evening, Stats.

Stats Sipowicz : Phil, let's cut to the chase, shall we?

Phil Stone : Please, proceed...

Stats Sipowicz : Phil, your record shows that not only do you have a 0% win/loss ratio in tournaments like this, but you also have about 30% of success when it comes to defeating a reigning King of Karma, with about a 50% record at actually defending the belt. What makes you think that you may stand even a remote chance at winning if not this tournament, but even this Round One match?

Phil Stone : Well, I could counter-argue with some stats of my own, Sipowicz, like how I'm a 4-time King of Karma, a feat that very few accomplished, while I'm also fresh out of a 3-months long run with the title, and that, practically undefeated. Or the fact that I get creative control of about hmmmm... I'd say... roughly 90% of my matches, but the actual figure is higher than that.

Stats Sipowicz : Interesting...

Phil Stone : But actually, I'd rather answer you simply by telling you this. Over the course of my career, I've become a specialist at over-coming impossible odds.

Stats Sipowicz : Well, I guess that this is what that we're all waiting to see! Back to you, John and Hank!

Paragon : Thanks, Stats.

Proctner : Man... What a snore...

TBC by ???


Working in the Federation X commissary was a thankless job. Millie Maxwell didn’t care. She loved cook. The wrestlers loved to eat. She could make mounds and mounds of food each day and know that eat would all be eaten. She made piles of broiled chicken breast, pots of pasta and pounds of steamed vegetables. She made sure that everyone had their favorites. Alan Scott had his broiled salmon. Chance ahd her jambalaya. Battlestone had his skinless bratwurst in the buns. Millie made them all not often receiving any thanks from the men and women who ate her food.

She loved what she did.

But most of all Millie Maxwell loved Awesome Aaron Action. Millie had met Aaron on his first day in the federation. In fact Millie was perhaps the first Federation X employee Aaron spoke to outside of the Powerbase. The Son of the South came into the building at lunchtime. He looked over the offerings and immediately knew to take the French onion soup, turkey marsalla, mushroom risotto and pecan pie.

The man ate with gusto. He had stolen Millie’s heart, not that she could ever say anything to him. The man was a giant walking mound of charisma. Every woman seemed to be attracted to him. And he was nice to them all. What could she offer when all these hard-bodied female wrestlers were throwing themselves at Aaron.

Millie sighed and gazed across the steam table at Triple A. She let out a sigh and then a gasp. Johnny Rude was approaching Aaron Action from behind.

Johnny Rude was among the few men in Federation X that Millie despised. The man had threatened, belittled and insulted her on a regular basis. In fact, he seemed to threaten, belittle and insult anyone and everyone around him. He was a mean, miserable man and Millie couldn’t stand him.

Not to mention that Rude and Aaron had been trading the Bloodsport belt for the past month. Rude had gone out of his way to hurt Aaron and Millie couldn’t stand it. Her hand wrapped around a pot of boiling coffee as she slipped out from behind the counter and made her way toward Johnny Rude. Millie set her jaw and resolved that if Rude attacked her beloved Aaron, she would do what she had to do.

But Johnny Rude surprised Millie. He stepped around Aaron Action. He pulled out a chair and sat down. Millie hovered by the table. She made herself look busy by rearranging the condiments on the table behind Aaron.

Millie listened in while she arranged.

JOHNNY RUDE: Hey, loser.

Aaron put down the fork he was using to scoop up melon from the fruit salad he was eating.

AARON ACTION: What kin I do for you, Rude?

Johnny’s eye narrowed as he smugly looked at Aaron Action. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. Rude made a show of pulling out a lighter. He flipped the top of the Zippo and sparked the lighter. He took a drag from the cigarette and blew a long line of smoke over Aaron’s food.

Millie started to pick up the coffee pot, but she saw Aaron casually reach across the table and take the cigarette from Johnny. Aaron dropped the foul-smelling stick from Rude’s lips. The Son of the South dropped the cigarette into a pitcher of water that was sitting on the table.

Rude glared and then laughed. He nodded at Aaron.

JOHNNY RUDE: All right. I’ll give you that one, but only if you send your boy Rico round to polish my car.

Aaron started to get up. His eyes locked on Rude. Rude held up his hands.

JOHNNY RUDE: Joking. Joking. I thought fat men were jolly.

Aaron sat back down. He picked up the fork and took a bite of pineapple and strawberry. He chewed thoughtfully never taking his eyes off of Rude.

AARON ACTION: Did you want thumptin’, Rude?

JOHNNY RUDE: I’d think you’d be coming to find me. You getting soft as your belly?

Aaron gritted his teeth. It galled him that Rude had the belt that Aaron considered his own.

AARON ACTION: You kin bet dat I will be comin’ for the belt, Rude. You kin count on it. But tonight, I have ta think about beating Phil Thtone.

Rude stared for a few seconds. Millie was concerned. When Rude was still, it usually meant that extreme violence was about to happen. She held her breath waiting for the explosion.

JOHNNY RUDE: Bwah-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha!

Aaron and Millie both stared at Rude. It was seldom that Johnny Rude laughed. And it was even less often that Rude laughed so heartily.

AARON ACTION: What are you laughing about?

Johnny Rude leaned back in his chair. He finished laughing and leaned toward Aaron.

JOHNNY RUDE: You want to know a secret about Phil Stone?

Millie glanced at Aaron. He seemed suspicious and rightly so. Johnny Rude always had an angle.

AARON ACTION: Theriouthly, Rude. Thith ith getting tirethome.

Rude leaned back. He looked serious again.

JOHNNY RUDE: Look, fat boy. I don’t like you. But I hate Phil Stone. The guy is a no talent hack who had made a career of picking up my sloppy seconds. You may be a slob. You may be a jack ass. You may be a ****** for all I know. But the one thing that is absolutely certain is that you can beat Phil Stone tonight.

Aaron’s face lit up. Millie thought it looked like Triple A finally understood what Rude was going after.

While Rude didn’t like anyone. He hated Stone. That made him tolerant of anyone who could beat Stone, hurt Stone or embarrass Stone. So tonight for one night only, Johnny Rude was a fan of The Son of the South.

AARON ACTION: Look, Rude. Ah know I kin beat Thtone. And ah’m not looking for your help. Eef you weel.

Rude stood up quickly. Aaron was up just as fast. Millie was always impressed at Aaron Action’s quickness. He was amazingly fast for man of his size. But Rude didn’t want a fight.

JOHNNY RUDE: Relax, tubby. I’m not going to hurt you tonight. I don’t want to give Stone even a small opening. Just keep one thing in mind.

AARON ACTION: What’th that?

JOHNNY RUDE: You even look like you’re losing to that ****, I’m coming out and getting involved.

Aaron got nose to nose with Rude.

AARON ACTION: Trutht me, you won’t need to come out there. … But if you do, you may find two men who want ta beat your athth.

A small growl escaped from Rude’s throat. Millie saw his jaw clench and his fist. She stepped back to escape the explosion.

But then Rude smirked. He stepped back from Aaron and started to walk away.

JOHNNY RUDE: You better win, fat boy. You better win.

Millie watched as Rude spun and walked away. He turned and started around a corner. Millie saw a fan wearing a backstage pass round the corner at the same time. The fan bumped into Rude.

The fuse was too low. Rude exploded. He drove a fist into the fan’s face and his nose exploded. The man’s hands went to his face as Rude drove a knee into the man’s gut bending him over. Finally Rude grabbed the man’s head and drove him to the concrete floor with a DDT.

Johnny Rude got back to his feet and brushed himself off. He lit a cigarette.

JOHNNY RUDE: Watch where you’re doing ******.

Millie watched as EMTs ran to help the man. She moved in the direction of the steam table. Her eyes were on the poor man who was moaning and calling Rude a wanker, when she felt a hand on her shoulder. She turned to see the hand belonged to Aaron Action.

Triple A leaned in and kissed Millie’s cheek.

AARON ACTION: Thankth, darlin’. It wath perfect ath alwayth.

Aaron walked away toward his locker room.

Millie felt the blush on her face as she watched him walk away.



Phil was hopping from one feet to the other in order to stay warm for when his entrance cue would come up. A voice from behind broke him our of it.

Genocide : I think it's kinda amazing, in some sort of lame way, that such an amateurish hack like you would even make it to such a tournament.

Phil Stone : What is amazing, Geno, is that you didn't see it coming. Or how easily I manipulated you and the whole Network to finally marry Starlight without fear of a psyched-up Kieran Crowe kidnapping Starlight and wanting to marry her before me just to piss me out of my mind.

Genocide : I knew, too, that there had to be a snake lying in there somewhere for the two of you to come back as a tag team once again after all the tormenting he had put you through.

Phil Stone : Yep! You just realized it too late, like they always do...

Genocide : Amateurish hack!

Phil Stone : Fake-bone propagandist!

Tech : Your cue is up, Stone.

Phil Stone : All right, let's go.

Genocide : I'm going back to the green room to watch this on HDTV. Phil Stone getting his ass handed to him, somehow, this is almost as good as a Genocide vs. Hank Hooligan count-out world tour.

Phil Stone : Heh.

Paragon : And here comes the first contestant for this match!

The fans erupt into a loud boo as Phil Stone emerged from behind the entrance curtain, wearing a white speedo and black wrestling boot gratified with a t-shirt labeled U-UWF on the front, and the W[d]N logo on the back.

Proctner : Well, one thing's sure about this guy, it's that he knows how to make friends. Listen to that reaction.

Paragon : It is quite deafening, indeed.

Phil posed proudly for a moment, showcasing himself as one proud Wrassle[dot]Net representative, then walked down the ramp under the boos and some garbage thrown at him. Phil climbed the steel steps confidently, then entered inside the ring, and the cage.

Then, he brought a mic to his lips.

The boos immediately came down with a new found vigor.

So did the trash. Thank God that this is a cage match.

Phil Stone : Yes, yes... I know... You'd all prefer to die horrible and painful deaths rather to hear one more second the sound of my voice... I, somehow, seem to have the power to do that...

He lowers the mic to make a small pause, trying to get the roaring boos down a little before continuing... To no avail...

Phil Stone : But believe me or not, people, but I did not come in here with an aggressive attitude towards you all, folks... Sure, this place is a dump...

More boos...

Phil Stone : ...but as far as wrestling dumps go, this one actually have some valuable talent in it. I simply think that it's a shame that this federation only have a half-decent roster, though, only because half of them are provided directly from Wrassle Industries, and these wrestlers actually have to split their work time between two "rival" companies. Remove the people from Wrassle from the Fed-X roster, and you come up with a handful of wrestlers who would suddenly find themselves in the middle of nowhere.

Did I mention that it never stopped booing yet?

All right... Just checking...

Phil Stone : At the same time, Wrassle is currently coming up with success after a hard slump caused by the exodus that Fed-X created. Lots of new blood! Determination! Skills! Blossoming talents! The very future of this industry. And as such, I think that working full-time for Wrassle Industries at this point in time would be an AWESOME idea!

Just think about it, people? What happened with Indycar split in two and became IRL and Indy? When the World Hockey League was competing with the National Hockey League? What I'm getting at, people, it's that the people in charge of the two companies should start thinking about a merger here, for the benefit of the business as a whole. Professional Baseball would never be what is has become today if it weren't for the inclusion of players from the Negro Leagues. WHL finally merged wit NHL, and the league is now bigger than ever...

Yes, people... The future of this business depends on it. YOU, fans, can make it happen.


Paragon : Now, THAT was uncalled for...

Proctner : No, but... Could you believe what this guy just said that? A merger between Federation X and Wrassle? What's this guy smoking? Crack?

Paragon : Very possibly, I'm afraid...

TBC by ???

Phil Stone's video package had just began playing as he appeared on top of the ramp for his entrance in the match. Meanwhile, mixed with them other rabid fans, were Francis making small talk with Doug, as it was now Bob's time to go pee.

Speaking of which...

Bob : Excuse me... Excuse me... Excuse me... *Quickly turns towards the ring* YOU SUCK, PHIL STONE!!! *Gets back to making his way to his seat* Excuse me... Man... This guy sure knows how to work up a crowd, heh?

Harry : I know... That guy's like... Über-obnoxious or something...

Doug : You know him?

Harry : Well... Only from what I see of him on the TV. I watch NGPW... *Shifty eyes*

Bob, seating : Figures, heh...

This is when Harry's attention got caught by something very particular... The double-toned whistle coming from the aisle leading to the concession stands and toilets area.

Harry : Well, huh... Gentlemen, if you'll excuse me...

Bob : Your time to take a leak, huh?

Harry : Huh... Yeah, that's right... Damn American beer...

Doug : Damn right!

Harry got up and made his way towards the corridor. As soon as he turns the corner, he is met by his twin brother.

Francis : OK, here's the VIP pass. Give me your seat ticket.

Harry : *Sigh* All right. I was there chatting with two Canadian guys, by the way... One of them names' is Doug, and the other bloke is Bob. Nothing particular about them.

Francis : All right. Just let me know when you want back on the seat, I may go back there a bit later see if I can't have a chat with Hairy about the good old days...

Harry : Yeah, ok...

Harry handed Francis the seat ticket while Francis gave him the backstage VIP pass. And then, they simply parted ways...

Francis made it back to "his" seat, and acknowledged his seats neighbors with a nod.

Francis : So... What did I miss, huh... Bob?

Doug : No. I'm Doug. He's Bob.

Francis : Sorry, must be the beer that's confusing me...

Bob : Wow... I thought you rosbifs were more accustomed to beer than that...

Doug : Yeah, getting hammered on American beer, that's almost like... you know... a "gay" thing back home in North Bay.

Bob : Damn right!

Meanwhile, Phil had just ended yet another rant which ended in this way...

Phil Stone : Oh, and "Awesome" Aaron... GET YOUR FAT ASS DOWN HERE!!! I HAVEN'T GOT ALL NIGHT!!

John and Hank proceed with a little banter, but they are suddenly interrupted as The Fight Son by Marilyn Manson plays on the P.A. speakers.

And like a Clockwork Orange, there was Johnny Rude coming up on the ramp from the backstage area, a mic in hand...

Paragon : Oh, no! As unsympathetic Phil Stone may be, I was actually hoping that we could see a fair and legitimate fight here, folks!

Proctner : Well, if he's actually coming down here to shut the guy up once and for all and make sure he doesn't speak again, I'm all for that, John. Wait! ... Oh no! He's bringing a mic to his lips... *taps forehead*

Johnny Rude : Well, well, well... If it isn't everyone's not-so-favorite douchebag, folks...

Phil Stone : Biggest Douchebag EVER, according to you, Johnny... I heard that you had hurt Pikazap's feeling with that one, Johnny-boy!


Phil Stone : Did you ever think of attending anger management classes, Rude?

Johnny was boiling... It was true that Phil had found, and possibly even abused, many ways to get inside Johnny's head in recent months. The man was on the verge to snap, it was that obvious.

Johnny takes out a crowbar from out of nowhere apparently, and a sick maniacal grin appears across his face.

Johnny Rude : You remember this, shithead?!

Paragon : Oh no! Johnny Rude is sporting that crowbar menacingly and is slowly starting to make his way down the ramp.

Proctner : He's taking his sweet time because he's savoring the moment. Stone is trapped inside the cage, and has nowhere to go for escape before Johnny can actually get to reach him, and he knows it too...

Paragon : Wait! Someone's coming through the curtain!

A big hand grasped Johnny Rude by the shoulder and spun him around on his tracks, leaving The Rude One with a look of surprise on his face.

Awesome Aaron Action : What do you dink you're doing, Rude?

Johnny Rude : Me? *quickly puts both his hands behind his back* *drops the crowbar to the floor* *brings both men forward and upwards in an interrogative fashion* Nothing... *Shifty eye*

Awesome Aaron Action : Den, if it ith tho, Rude, get yout thtinking athth the hell out of here!

Paragon : The tension is at a maximum, here, folks! It's almost as if things are just about to explode here!

TBC by ?

Charlie Mortenson liked being an announcer. He had done it since high school. He had worked with the A/V club on announcements every morning in middle school. Made his way through high school as the official announcer for girl’s track and the men’s and women’s archery team.

He had gone to college and proudly hosted the only pro wrestling show ever on Wheaton University Campus radio. It was the highest rated show on campus from 2:30 to 2:45 a.m. Tuesdays – and don’t think people didn’t take notice.

Upon graduation, Charlie saw that Richard Grayson himself had attended. Charlie knew that the man called Grayson, who was the head of Chicago’s most famous wrestling federation, must have heard the show and was there to offer him a job. The whole ruse that Grayson was there to see his niece graduate was a nice cover, but Charlie knew.

The only problem was that Federation X had shuttered its doors just months before graduation. Charlie had covered the whole sordid incident on his radio show. It was tragic the way that the men who ran Wrassle had come in and pulled the plug on the federation that was regularly doubling and tripling the ratings of Wrassle’s top shows. But Wrassle owned the timeslot. They pulled the plug on the show and called in the note that had funded the starting of the fed. Top stars left.

Charlie sadly reported the loss of Nighthawk. He wiped away a tear when Gilgamesh left. He even missed the famed Rainbow Connection – Alan Scott and Layne Flack. The first ever gay tag team had brought Fed X serious national attention.

That was why when Grayson worked out new funding and Stranger X reopened Federation X, Charlie Mortenson was the first man to contact them about a job. Charlie had kept up his announce skills. County fairs, tractor pulls and the occasional drag race had honed his voice into a smoky rasp that fit perfectly for wresting events. The sample tape had put him over the top.

And now, Charlie got to sit ringside at every Chicago Federation X taping. He got to ccall out the names of the greats. Chance, Johnny Rude, Marlowe, Joe Power – even that apparently back in the closet Alan Scott! Charlie got to introduce them all.

Here he was calling out the participants in the King of the Cage. Including the jerk in the ring, Phil Stone.

Charlie didn’t hate the guy. It was tough to hate Stone. He mostly seemed to inspire apathy. Following the business, Charlie had seen many guys who could draw heat. Guys who inspired hatred of their characters and actions. Stone didn’t do that he inspired people to get up and change the channel. If there was a term called Reverse Charisma, Phil Stone’s picture would be next to it in the dictionary.

That was why Charlie wasn’t surprised when Johnny Rude came down the ramp. More than likely one of the agents had seen what Charlie had seen, the crowd was starting to get restless with Stone. Even his tirade against Federation X wasn’t getting over. But then references to hockey leagues that operated in the 70s were more than obscure. Rude had been sent out to get the heat back in the crowd. It was obvious Rude knew how to draw a response from a crowd. He had them booing a jeering three times as loud as Phil Stone just by walking through the curtain.

With the crowd back to life, Charlie watched as Aaron Action emerged from the curtains. A lot of people in the business didn’t understand the heavyset man’s appeal. He was for all intents and purposes a fat slob with a Southern accent and a lisp. But Aaron had what Phil Stone lacked. The man oozed charisma.

When Aaron Action walked into a room, he was the center of attention. He had an easy-going likeability that made people at ease in his presence. What was more, he had the ability to convey the likeability through the camera and into the viewers’ homes.

Surprisingly, Rude backed off when Aaron confronted him. It was out of character for The Rudeness. But it fit in with Charlie’s theory that Rude was just doing his job in this situation. Otherwise, Johnny would have gone after The Son of the South and a long drawn out battle would have ensued.

Charlie watched as Rude slipped out of sight and Aaron Action stood on the ramp looking up at Phil Stone. There was a small pop in Charlie’s ear. Then a voice told him that they were still going on with Aaron’s entrance.

The screen came to life and Aaron’s entrance video played.

Triple A danced and wiggled for the fans. The crowd joined in for the dance. Charlie grinned as he saw fans all over the arena dancing uproariously. He scanned the crowd as he waited for is cue. He noticed a bloody fan in an entryway trying to get the attention of a man who looked very much like him, but less bloody. Charlie started to wonder what that was about, but then his cue came up.

CHARLIE: And presenting from Stone Mountain, Georgia, the Son of the South … the Awesome One … The NEW Hardcore Legend …. AWESOME … AARON … ACTION!

The crowd popped like they always did. Aaron danced around the cage. He passed Charlie. Aaron held up two hands and Charlie slapped them. He watched as Aaron move to the announce table where he also offered a high ten to John Paragon.

Hank Proctner seemed to be sleeping and missed his chance. But Aaron didn’t seem to mind. He worked his way around the ringside fans finally stopping to grab a mic from a stagehand.

The music faded and the crowd got quieter. Aaron looked up into the ring. He shook his head sadly and pointed toward Phil Stone.

AARON ACTION: Phil Thtone! The Philothopher, eef you weel. You come here into mah houthe talking bout how the talent in dat other plathe ith better. You come inta mah houthe talkin’ bout all dethe fanth should bow down to you and the people from dat other plathe. You need ta lithten ta me, daddy! Ain’t no plathe in all of wrethtling like Federation X!

Charlie listened to the fans pop. Aaron could play them like a xylophone, hitting just the right notes to get them to react the way they wanted.

AARON ACTION: Now it cometh time for me and you in dat cage dere! Two thousand pounds of twithted thteel and pain juth waitin’ ta take a bite out of uth. But you know what, you dirty yellow dog? It’th only gonna happen ta you! There’th no way that I’m gonna let thomethin’ ath pretty ath my fathe get cut up in dat cage. Inthtead, I think I’ll thee if I kin fit you through all dem tiny holeth between the chain link!

The fans went off again. Aaron had them eating out of his hand. They guy could have asked them to storm the ring and take Stone out for him, and they would have moved as one to do so.

Well, except for the bleeding guy. He seemed to be pursing his swollen lips and broken tooth trying to whistle at someone, but no one was noticing. Even the guy who looked like the injured guy was rapt in Aaron Action’s promo.

AARON ACTION: Tho, I guethth it’th time! Time ta get down and go out on the town. Ta bring that pain like a poundin’ rain. That show you what Federation X and the Thon of the Thouth have for you, eef you weel. … What I’m tryin; ta thay ith dat it’th time ta git …

Charlie watched as Aaron Action held up the microphone. The fans responded just like they always did.

[color:b5de=900000]CROWD: FUNKY LIKE A MONKEY!

Aaron moved around the cage. Phil Stone stalked him around each side, bad mouthing Triple A in French. Aaron just worked the crowd. He reached Charlie and tossed him the mic. He gave Charlie as small nod. Charlie heard the voice of John Paragon as Aaron headed up the stairs.

PARAGON: And it looks like this match is about to start. Awesome Aaron Action of Federation X versus Phil Stone of UWF. This match will take place in the chainlink cage you see here. The only way to win is to make your opponent bleed and then get out of the cage. … Hank? You have anything to say?

PROCTNER: … What? Sorry, I must have dozed off during the Phil Stone promo.

Charlie sat back to watch the match begin.



The match was about to unfold in its early stages when Charlie Mortensen was still deeply lost into his thoughts. One last minute glimpse of awareness that could possibly explain why Johnny Rude was so out-of-character when he just didn't assault on Aaron up the ramp a bit earlier...

Maybe... Just maybe... Johnny wasn't a complete moron who didn't want to risk being getting beaten two-on-one by two fresh guys who hated his gut like there was no tomorrow just as he walked out of his own cage match himself.

Charlie Mortensen : Yeah... That's got to be it...

Paragon : You said something, Charlie?

Charlie Mortensen : Nah... Just thinking to myself...


Abigail Lester was approaching the toilets of section 716, pushing her janitorial cart into the entrance way. She was mildly lost into her own thoughts as she entered inside the men's toilet room.

"Stupid Ralph Madison", she thought to herself... The head janitor had just asked her to clean this particular toilet, unaware herself that LDG had asked Ralph to do that very same job. She'd be late home... AGAIN! And her babysitter had told her that she was best to get back home on time too, this time, or else Abigail could just try and find another one who can be trusted as much as the one she has right now, Meredith Jones.

Abigail's life hadn't always been like that, however. She was not destined to be a single-mom of three, one of them being sick with Tourret's syndrome and Attention Deficit Disorder, spending her life mopping floors and wiping toilet bowls not to make a living, but merely to try and make ends meet by month's end.


As a kid, Abigail was the perfect daughter that every mom would love to have. Never a word higher than another. Always doing as she was told. And Grade A's all over her school years. That is, until she hit 16, accepted to sleep with Rocko Longhourne, and got impregnated by him before he left her there and went to the prom with Leslie Manchester, the leader of the cheerleading squad.

Her family being fervent Catholics and firm believers of the Bible, forced her to have the baby, even though an abortion would probably have been best both for the baby and the mother at this point in time in the mother's life. No need to say, she became the shame of her family, and was forced to drop-out of school to raise her burgeoning family.

Her life just went downhill since then...

That is, until...

Abigail Lester : OH... MY... GOD!!! *Puts both her hands on her cheeks*

Harry, shaking his zinger : What!? You've never seen a guy pee before?


Francis was walking backstage once again as the two twin brothers had switched position a few times already with no one even noticing about it. This is when he saw Hooligan walking in the distance.

Francis : Hey! Hoolie! How are you doing, old bud?

Hooligan turned around, surprised to be called by someone who knows him, and even more surprising, who wants to speak to him, in this place of all places.

Then, realizing who he thought this was, his face lighted up with a smile!

Hooligan : Harry! Man, what the fuck are you doing here?

Francis : Huh... Yeah, I'm Harry, that's right... *Shifty eyes*

Hooligan : Well, yeah! That's what I said, right? Harry Something-Something, Francis' brother, right?

Francis : Totally!

Hooligan : Ha! I knew it. Most people can't tell a twin brother apart from the other, but I do have quite an eye for this kind of things...

Francis : Is that so?

Hooligan : Yeah, definitely. *Gulps beer* So, that still doesn't answer what the hell you're doing here?

Francis : Well, long story short, I got this pass... *Shows him the VIP Pass*

Hooligan : Cool. *Gulps beer*


Inside the caged ring, the two men began circling each other as the bell rang, studying each other, waiting for the other to make the first move, while throwing whatever insult they could think of to get inside the head of their opponent.

Aaron Action : You know, Thtone, I wouldn't laugh tho mucz as my own dic-shion problemth, eef you catcz my drift. With dat dick Frencz-Canadian accent of yourth, you're not in a pothi-shion to thpeak!

Now, in Phil's mind, this comes out in perfect English diction and pronounciation.

Phil Stone : I speak English very well and have no accent at all!

But in reality, to true Anglo-Saxon ears, this sounds actually more like this.

Phil Stone : Aye spik Anglishe verree well ande ave no accentte atoll.

This could be a long night indeed...

Paragon : I wonder what they're saying? My Super-Hearing isn't quite what it used to be...

Proctner : I can't tell either, they're too far from us and the crowd makes way too much noise...


Bob : *Gulps beer* *American, of course* Man... About time that this thing started... Heh?

Doug : Yup! *Gulps beer*

Bob : So... When's the package is sent to blow up, again? Heh?

Doug : Late enough for us to get far away before it does, don't worry. We can stay here and watch another 15 minutes of this crap and still have plenty of time to get out before it goes ka-boom! Don't worry about a thing... Heh? *Gulps beer*

Bob : All right, then... *Gulps beer*

TBC by ???

Stan Daniels
Stan Daniels

Posts : 88
Join date : 2011-01-20

View user profile

Back to top Go down


Post  Stan Daniels on Wed Jan 26, 2011 10:33 am



BOB: Over hear, eh.

Marty looked over at the two idiots that had been buying beer after beer all night. He prepared himself for another insult.

BOB: Hey, Doug, why is American beer like doing it in a canoe?

DOUG: I dunno, but I’d love ta find oot.

BOB: Cause it’s ******* close to water!

DOUG: Bwah-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha!

Marty shook his head sadly. He had heard that joke on a Monty Python CD ten years ago when he was in junior high. He looked at the guys and laughed at the joke. He had learned that laughing at the customers’ jokes tended to get you a tip.

MARTY SKORSKI: Ha-ha-ha! Good one, guys. You want another round?

Marty glanced toward the ring, Phil Stone had ducked behind Aaron Action and was attempting a waistlock take down. Marty smiled as Aaron glanced over is shoulder and waved his finger no. Aaron swiveled his hips and pushed his pevis forward then he slammed his large posterior back into Stone. The philosopher went flying back into the ropes which bent into the cage.

There was a loud crash as Stone hit the steel links. The sound got the attention of the two drunks.

BOB: Give it to him, Aaron!

DOUG: Phil Stone is a tool! Even if he does work for the same company we do!

The guy on the right hit the other guy in the ribs with an elbow. Marty stood patiently. He was willing to wait for the order as in his experience, drunks tended to hand you a twenty for a $14 order and say, “keep the change.”

Marty looked to the ring again. Aaron Action had moved in and hit Phil Stone with a back elbow. The Son of the South had then grabbed Phil in a headlock and run him face first down the ring ropes.

Phil staggered back holding his face. Marty wondered if Stone was bleeding. It would be a good thing for Aaron to get color on his opponent as soon as possible. It would help build the crowd up. At least that’s what Marty learned at the Stevie IConn Wrestling Academy where he trained on weekends during the day. Mom and Dad had allowed him to go to the Academy so long as he stayed in college and kept his grades up.

The one codicil was that Marty had to pay for the wrestling training himself. Which reminded Marty.

MARTY SKORSKI: You guys want something?

BOB: Two more of thozze weak-ash beersh.

DOUG: An’ two for me!

Marty looked at cups in front of the guys. They had stacked their empties under their new beers. Experience told Marty in a quick glance these two had downed eight beers each already.

MARTY SKORSKI: You sure, guys? You seem a little buzzed already.

The smaller guy tried to stand up and get in Marty’s face. He got halfway to his feet and fell back into his seat.

BOB: You shell the beersh. We’ll worry about drinking them, eh.

DOUG: What he shaid!

Marty gave a shrug. It was still early. Beer sales would go on for another two hours, maybe more this would be a long card. He poured four Millers into a cup and handed them to the two drunks.

MARTY SKORSKI: $28 bucks.

There was a loud slam. Phil Stone had sent Aaron into the ropes and caught the big man with a drop toe hold on the way back. Aaron had fallen face first onto the mat. Phil Stone was working an ankle lock right now.

Marty wondered why Stone would work a submission in a First Blood cage match. He thought for a second as the first guy fished in his pocket for money.

The it dawned on Marty. If Stone could take out one of Aaron’s wheels, it would be a lot harded for Triple A to be the first one out of the ring.

BOB: How mush?

MARTY SKORSKI: Twenty-eight.

Aaron reached the ropes and the ref called for a break. Stone waited until the ref counted four and then let go of the Amazing One’s ankle. Aaron rolled to the side and held his leg as Phil stepped back with his hands in the air as the ref admonished him.

The guy finally got the money out of his pocket. He handed Marty the money. It was forty bucks. Marty reached into his cash belt for change.

DOUG: Keep it!

Marty smiled a wide smile and nodded thanks. The other guy seemed a little miffed. After all, the other guy was the one who had paid. But Marty knew to just say thanks and walk away. He lifted his tray and started up the stairs.


HARRY: Oi, how about one of those?

Marty nodded. He glanced toward the ring as he poured.

Aaron Action ducked a clothesline attempt from Phil Stone. Aaron came to a stop and when Phil turned around, he was met by a stiff left jab followed by a right. Aaron hit another left to Phil’s jaw. Stone took a step back to catch himself. Aaron spun his hands like a disco dancer and then lifted his arm into the air. The fans screamed as Aaron drove his Bionic Elbow into Phil Stone’s head.

Stone went down like a sack of cement.

Marty turned and handed the English guy the beer.


The guy handed him a ten. He held his hand out for change. Marty sighed. He fished into his cash belt for three ones. He pulled out the two twenties and several ones. He handed the English guy the ones figuring he’d get at least one back. The cheap bastard walked away.

Marty shook his head. At least he still had the two twenties. He looked down at them and saw that there was a piece of paper folded up in between the two bills. Marty pulled the paper out and unfolded it as he looked at the ring.

Stone was in the corner as Aaron Action drove fists into his stomach. Triple A grabbed Stone’s arm and whipped him to the other corner. Stone reversed the whip and sent Aaron crashing into the turnbuckles. Stone charged in after Aaron. He drove an elbow into the Son of the South’s head.

The paper was unfolded. Marty looked down at it. He glanced toward the ring, but then the words on the page sunk in.

MARTY SKORSKI: Place the bomb in the closet? What the hell?



What had startled poor Abigail Lester so much? Was it the size of Harry's zinger as he was shaking it after a pee? Was it the size of the puke stain caused by under-age children drinking beer? Or was there something even more mischievous at work here?

I guess we will find out soon as Paragon and Proctner are calling at the action.

Paragon : And a standing drop-kick to the face sends the Son of the South knocking his back against the cage.


Proctner : Yeah, but Aaron just used the bounce-back momentum to flatten Stone on the mat with a devastating shoulder tackle.

Paragon : Stone should have stayed on the mat after his drop-kick. Triple A definitely having the size advantage here, and despite speed being one of Stone's strong points, Aaron can practically match with him toe to toe in that department.

Aaron proceeded to lay a few stomps on Stone to soften him up for good measure, then raised an arm in the air to get a pop from the crowd.

Then, satisfied with it, went down on Stone hard with a big elbow drop on his chest.



Marty, the beer-seller, was backstore of the concession stands, which somehow are contiguous with the backstage area, when a glimpse of colored movement caught the corner of his eye. Forgetting about his current task of filling up his beer crate, he shifted his head a little around a pile of stacked beer cases as he saw what he thinks was the cheap bloke from earlier, apparently finishing getting undressed and changed into a spandex Super-Villain costume.

Francis : Harrison will never see that one coming... AH!AH!AH!AH! Sucker... I guess that having a popular twin brother DOES have its perks, after all...

Then, Francis applied the patented little black Super-Villain mask that barely covers the area around the eyes, then stood up in all of his Super-Awesome Villains Forever glory.

Stonerman : BEHOLD!!! *Strikes a Super-Villain pose*

Marty had to rub his eyes for a moment, wondering if he hadn't got drunk accidentally from breathing all the ambient alcohol in the air from the beer he was selling.

Then, when he re-opened his eyes, Stonerman had disappeared...


Harrison F. Doubleday, aka "Harry" : Man... I wonder what's taking Francis so long... Phil asked me to be ready in the backstage for like, 10 minutes ago or so...

Doug : Man, I gotta go pee, Heh? But I'm freaking tired to go back and forth to the bathroom, heh? So, I'm gonna put this pissh-assh beer back in the same cupsh that it came in, and I'll shpare myshelf all the trouble of travelling to the loo. Heh?

Bob : Awesome thinking, dude. Here... Let me hold the cup for you... Let's see from what distance you can still manage to aim correctly into the cup. Heh?

Doug : Is that a challenge?

Bob : It sure sounds like one... Heh?

Now, if Ralph Madison had some sort of Janitor-Tingling Super-Power, it sure would start tingling right now...


Paragon : Awesome Aaron Action now sending a stunned Stone into the ropes, and the wall cage, in fact, and... OH! Stone "ran" over the wall and used it as a springboard to launch himself in the air over Aaron, grabbing his head with the legs and sending him down on the mat with a quick flying head-scissors!


Proctner : Desperate move... That's all that it was... A lucky shot, really...

TBC by ???


Marcus Johnston’s radio crackled. He heard the call but he was sure he misheard it.

MARCUS: Say again.

The radio cracked and then the voice came over again.

RADIO: I said, there are two idiots up in Section C peeing on people. Get your ass up there now!

Marcus shook his head. He was having a bad day. Someone had taken the cooler full of Candian beer from the closet where he hid it. An idiotic cab driver tried several times to sneak into the arena to get his fare from some skippers. Some fan with an English accent had been beaten up by Rude. And now, Marcus had to deal with drunks pissing all over the place.

Marcus sighed and grabbed the microphone on his shoulder.

MARCUS: All right, I’m on it.

Marcus made his way down the hall past Abigail the cute woman on the cleaning staff. She was beaming. Marcus gave her a wide smile. He had been working up the courage to ask her out, but had yet to do it.

His smile was legendary, at least that is what the ladies tended to tell him, yet, Abigail, just blew by his without a second look. She seemed to be holding something tightly in her hand. Marcus wondered what it was, but then heard a woman screaming something about pee. He broke into a run.

Stepping through the door to Section C, Marcus first looked down on the cage in the center of the arena. Phil Stone was trying a fast pace attack to wear down Aaron Action’s stamina. A quick kick to the bigger man’s leg and then scramble away to regroup for another attack. Bounce off the ropes and hit a forward roll into a forearm to the jaw and move back to the other side of the cage.

The strategy seemed to be working well, Aaron seemed winded from trying to catch Stone. Marcus wanted to see what happened, but he heard another scream. He cursed under his breath and shoved his way past the ring of fans.

The crowd in Section C had pulled back. Marcus pushed his way to the front of what seemed to be a circle. On the edges of the circle several fans were taking bets. In the middle of the circle stood the two guys that Marcus had confiscated the cooler from, the problem was one of them had his **** out and the other seemed to be trying to catch the pee in a beer cup.

MARCUS: Mother ******. Why is it always me?

The security guard shook his head. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the jumbo screen that was showing the match. Phil Stone moved in for another quick strike, but Aaron Action wasn’t a slow as Phil planned. That was the problem with small quick guys, they never thought that guy the size of Aaron -- or Marcus for that matter – could move quickly. They thought fat and lumbering went together. Sometimes fat guys had a little quick in them.

Aaron Action ducked under Phil’s attempt at a punch and caught the Philosopher by the throat. He lifted the man up and dropped him to the mat with a sidewalk slam.

Someone yelled, “You wankers got piss on me!”

Marcus’ head snapped back to his job. He shoved past the guy taking bets and was confronted by an Englishman. The guy’s pants leg was all wet. He was shaking his foot and looking rather annoyed.

HARRY: Pardon me, officer, but these two Canadian twits are completely out of hand. I’m going to need a new pair of shoes now.

Marcus grabbed the taser. He pulled it from its holster and held it up. The two guys were drunk out of their gourds and Marcus wasn’t in the mood to play. He walked behind the guy pissing.

BOB: I can go further, eh!

DOUG: Let me back up then.

Placing the taser into the small of the pissing guy’s back, Marcus pushed the button and watched the convulsion. The guy dropped to the floor and continued to piss on himself. Reflecting on the less than effective solution, Marcus moved over to the other guy. This one was holding a beer cup nearly full of pee.

DOUG: Stay back or I’ll piss you up real good, eh.

Marcus wondered if this was a big pastime in Canada. Lord knew there wasn’t much to do that didn’t involve a moose and things that Battlestone would enjoy. He paused for a second and then stared the guy right in the eye.

MARCUS: Get a drop in me and you’ll regret it for a long time.

The guy stared into Marcus’ face and realized that Marcus wasn’t bull*******. His expression changed to one of sorrow. The guy took the cup and tossed it backward. Marcus watched the cup of pee arc up and turn over. The yellow liquid poured all over the Englishman.

HARRY: Bollocks!

The guy was going to need more than new shoes, now.

Marcus grabbed the tasered guy by his belt and pulled him to his feet. The guy’s legs were jelly-like, but he could stand. He motioned for the other guy to come along as well.

They fell into step with Marcus. As they walked into the hallway the radio crackled again.

RADIO: Hey, Marcus, you see anybody up in the rafters? A couple of fans are saying they saw some guy in a mask up there.

Marcus looked up, but didn’t see anything. The radio crackled again.

RADIO: Oh, and Marty the beer guy says he may have found a bomb threat.

The two drunk guys looked at each other.

DOUG: The bomb? Oh, ****!

BOB: My whole mouth tastes like electric.



Abigail just made her day. Today, it matters not to her that she's working overtime for a cheap-labor type of job which causes her to spend too little time with her 3 kids that she raises alone. Today, it matters not if she may lose yet another babysitter. Today, it matters not that the only type of men interested in her nowadays are natural-born losers like Marcus Johnston.

For today, she would go back home with a gift for her most troubled son that will really mean something to him... Something that will really relate to his short-attention-spanned interests.

A signature from none other than the REAL Stonerman himself.

Granted, the thing holds about as much value as a signature from Santa Claus.

But just the story behind it that she would get to tell to her sons... It would forever be remembered by her kids as "that day" that mom got called to clean up a mess of vomit in some bathroom and caught a glimpse of Stonerman's costume as the world famous Super-Villain was taking a leak under his civilian secret identity.

Today, Stonerman's made Abigail's life that much better because she thinks that because of what he gave her, her kids would finally stop to see her as a total loser and a complete failure in life. She'd give them an example that when life throws solid curveballs at you sometimes, and struck you out of the fast-lane, hard work and perseverance would sometime over-come the odds and still have something awesome happening in their life when they least expect it.

Today, she'd be able to give them hope.


Harry : Awww... Crap... I guess I really have no choice now... Francis or no Francis to take "my" spot, I really have to get into my Stonerman costume, now...

Harrison F. Doubleday, also known in the circles as "The Professional Jobber" or also as "Francis H. Doubleday's less-known twin and underachieving brother" gets up from his seat and follow Marcus closely as he takes out Bob and Doug, when something up in the rafters catches his attention.

And that of the whole arena at the same time. Only Marcus knows about it already, but he's kinda busy with his schedule right now...

Stonerman : MWAH-AH-AH-AH-AH-AH-AH *Strikes a Super-Villain pose while holding a cable*

The two grapplers inside the cage looked up, and the two of them began protesting immediately.

Aaron Action : Get 'way from here, lother!

Phil Stone : Yeah! This is totally not the way you were supposed to come in!

Paragon : A Super-Villain is in the house? Quick! I must do something!

Proctner : Hold on, Gramps! You don't want to break a hip or something.

Chaos and pandemonium reigned for a moment as Stonerman was causing quite a distraction.

Harry : Now, what do I do now? There just can't be TWO Stonermen, Phil would fire my ass if I did something that stupid... And yet, I can't remain covered in pee like that.

This is why the proverbial lightbulb appeared in Harrison's mind, and he quickly made his way out of the seats section and headed towards the backstage area.

Unfortunately for him, it was Francis who was wearing his pass...

Peter Papadopoulos : You can't come in here. Strictly reserved for performer only. And VIPs.

Harrison F. Doubleday : But I'M a VIP!

Peter Papadopoulos : Then show me your pass.

Harrison F. Doubleday : It's my twin brother who has it. His name his Francis H. Doubleday... He used to be big in the biz a few years back... Surely that this rings a bell, no?

Now, whether or not Peter was an avid long time Wrassle fan wasn't what was important, here. All that there is relevant to know about Peter it's that he's hired security muscle who's sole purpose is to make sure that no one gets past him to the backstage if they don't have the proper credentials. He took his job very seriously.

Peter Papadopoulos : No pass, you don't pass. It's that simple. Now, move it.

Harrison F. Doubleday : Listen... Look to my face! You must have seen it like a dozen of times already tonight as we... errr... I mean I came back and forth all show long! No?

Peter Papadopoulos : Maybe so, but that still doesn't change the fact that if you don't have a pass right now, I can't let you go the other way of this rope.

Harrison's plans were going to need a little help from the providence if he was to get through this obstacle. And providence showed its face under the form of Hooligan drunkily stumbling in the distance, but still within earshot.

Harrison stood as tall as he could on the tip of his toes and waved his hand high in the air as he shouted.


Hooligan : Well, I'll be damned... Francis H. F***ing Doubleday!

Hooligan quickly changes direction and goes straight to see Harrison.

Hooligan : I saw your brother Harry earlier tonight, but he didn't tell me that you were here too, Francis. Man, you should totally come backstage with me. Hairy's there too, and we'll...

HFD : I'm not Francis, Hoolie. I'M Harry!

Hooligan : What? I don't believe you. I've got an eye for such things, you know? *Gulps beer*

HFD : I'm telling you!

Hooligan : Prove it. *Gulps beer*

Peter Papadopoulos : Is this going to take long? You guys are kinda blocking the way, now...

HFD : No, no...

Harrison fetches a woolen sock from his pants back pocket and slides it over his right arm.

Mr. Sock Puppet : ...assface.

Hooligan spits the beer content currently in his mouth all over Peter as he just realizes the mistake he had just done. This WAS Harry, indeed. No doubt about it now.

Hooligan : Wow... It's the first time ever I ever mix up with two twin brothers.

HFD : Huh... No. You did it about a month and a half ago too.

Hooligan : Did I? *Gulps beer*

HFD : Definitely. Listen. I HAVE to go backstage, but this big dumb ape here won't let me just because Francis has stolen my pass. Can you help a friendly guy, here?

Hooligan : Aaaahhh... For the sake of the good times we had in CWA together, I don't see how I could say no to you. Peter... Let him in.

Peter Papadopoulos : But-...

Hooligan : *Stares at Peter* *Gulps beer*

Peter Papadopoulos : All right, all right...

Peter unhooked one end of the rope, and Harrison was finally allowed backstage.

HFD : Thanks, Hoolie. I owe you one.

Hooligan : *Thumbs up* *Gulps beer*

As Harrison quickly made it to Phil's closet locker room, he crossed another fellow Englishman who was following Krusher and harassing him with questions.

Random Fan : Listen here! I won this VIP pass by taking part of a radio contest! I did NOT come here expecting to be assaulted backstage like that by one of your sychos!

Krusher : Listen, the way I see it, it at least gives you a good story to tell your children when you get back home, all right? And if this can help things feel better, here's a pair of free tickets with backstage VIP pass for next month's PPV. How's that sound?

Random Fan : You think I want to come back here again after what happened, even for free? Are you nuts?

Meanwhile, as Aaron finally decided to use the distraction provided by Stonerman to his advantage, he slammed a huge axe handle in the back of The Philosopher, sending him on his knees. As for Stonerman, he had tied a rope to some fixture, and was beginning to attempt a descent.

However, someone was actually expecting this and was waiting patiently for him behind the entrance curtain...

Johnny Rude with a lead pipe that he was slowly patting in the palm of his hand, waiting for the right moment to strike.

All this while, Harrison finally made it to Phil's locker room.

HFD : Ah! Excellent. He brought it. As I expected.

*~* Spinning Stonerman Logo *~*

One quick change of clothes, and Super-Villain costume, later...

Harrison was looking at the red and white costume with a red maple leaf emblazoned on his chest, a Canadian flag posing as his cape.

HFD : *Sigh* I can't believe I'm actually doing this...

Then, he placed the patented Super-Villain mask over his eyes.

Canadalier : *Strikes a Reluctant Sidekick pose* Time to go, I guess...


Paragon : Stonerman is hanging dangerously from that rope that he's only holding with his bare hands. Didn't he ever hear of rappel?

Proctner : See? I told you you didn't need to get involved, John. The guy poses an actual bigger danger to himself than you ever could!

Stonerman was starting to swing widely on the end of his rope, trying to touch base with the top of a cage wall with the tip of a foot, while Aaron was keeping his beat down on Stone. Stonerman's feet finally found support to stabilize him with the cage, but unfortunately for him, the rope detached itself from the fixture and Stonerman just fell the remaining distance down to the ground at ringside, outside of the cage obviously.


Stonerman : Ouch! *Rubs his lower back*

NOW was the time that Rude was really waiting for. If he couldn't take shots at Stone directly, he knew all too well which members of Stone's cast to attack in order to weaken him.

Johnny was ready to to anything to prevent Phil Stone from making it past Round 1.

Stonerman was still on all fours, on his way trying to get back to his feet.

Johnny Rude : Surprise, surprise, motherf***er!

Stonerman : What?!?


The lead pipe shot sent Stonerman's head rocking backwards, sending a trickle of blood arching in the air. After the brief initial moment of shock, and after passing a hand over his face to realize that he was bleeding...

Stonerman : By dose! Dju broke my by vreaking dose! Oooowww!!! Probably cracked by cheekbode too!

Johnny Rude : Yeah, and now I'm gonna crack your skull open and splatter your brains all over the floor...

Johnny yanked the pipe shot back, lining up his shot like a baseball player would prepare for a home-run, but was suddenly stopped when "All by myself" from Céline Dion played on the arena's speakers...

Proctner : Now what...?!?

Céline Dion's music was enough to make Aaron release the front headlock he had on Stone, letting him fall to the mat and giving him a little chance to breathe.

Then, Canadalier finally appeared on the top of the ramp...

Canadalier : Not on my watch, Johnny Rude... *Sigh* *Strikes a Reluctant Sidekick pose*

Johnny Rude : Wait! Waitwaitwait! You've polluted the airwaves of this business for YEARS with this stupid Stonerman act by claiming that you were NOT him *points at Stonerman*, when in fact, it was OBVIOUS that it was you... Then you come out as Canadalier, and making it a point to the whole world that it IS in fact you... But then... If you are you... Who's in the cage with Triple A?

Canadalier : In the cage? Well, it's Phil Stone, obviously... Who do you want it to be?

Johnny Rude : Yeah, but... If Phil Stone is NOT Stonerman, but he IS Canadalier... Then, who the f*** are you?

Canadalier : Me? I'm... *Sigh* ...Canadalier! *Strikes a Reluctant Sidekick pose*

Johnny was now pulling at his hair...


Which was all the opportunity that Stonerman needed to get some revenge on The Rusdester for the broken nose and cracked cheekbone. Francis would feel the effects of that for days, if not weeks...


Meanwhile, Aaron had diverted his attention away from Stone just a tad too long, and got greeted by a vicious low blow as he turned around trying to pick his beating on Stone.

Aaron Action : Ooooowwwwwwww....

Paragon : Do you have any idea of what's going on, here?

Proctner : Nope. I think I'm as lost as you are... Who's that second loser in the red and white spandex suit, again?

Paragon : *Shrugs*

TBC by ???


The coffee was cold. It had sat on the console too long, but Gary Sabin gulped it down anyway. He needed the caffeine. As the third man in the production truck, Gary’s job was to not only keep an eye on the action, but watch what was happening in the backstage area. The production staff called it the Jetson Position. With a show as chaotic as Storm Warning, the Powerbase had learned long ago to just keep cameras rolling in hopes of catching something of import.

The guys in the truck took turns on this duty. It was draining. There were cameras placed strategically in every corner of the locker room, parking lot, concessions area. Hell, there were cameras in unused closets. And Gary’s job tonight was to constantly push buttons to change the camera views. This was how the job got its name from George Jetson famous button-pusher of the future.

Gary put the cold cup of coffee down on the console next to him. He absent-mindedly flipped the button.


Haley taking off her top. Seen it a hundred times.


Battlestone starting at something on the television. Gary didn’t flip to the opposite angle. He learned his lesson the one time he saw what Stone was watching.


Storm screaming at some IKI Storm Troopers for some perceived infraction.


Alan Scott staring at himself in a mirror.


Joe Power in an odd position with a naked chubby chick. Gary pushed the save button that one. He would save that for a the holiday blooper reel.


Some guy changing into a superhero costume with a Canadian flag on it.


Marcus Johnston dragging two guys the security office. Boy, those guys seemed to want out off there in the worst way.

TED WILTS: Now who the **** is that guy. I think the first guy is Stonerman.

ANDY JACKSON: Nah. Stonerman worked here before. He was a loud-mouthed jackass with long blonde hair. The build is all wrong.

TED WILTS: You’re thinking of Stoner BOY. That guy’s Stonerman. But that still doesn’t explain who the Hell the guy in the Captain Canada costume is.

Gary looked up from the screens.

GARY SABIN: Did you guys just say something about a dude in a Canadian superhero costume.

TED WILTS: Yeah, you got something? … Move back, looks like Stone is going to try and bodyslam Aaron.

ANDY JACKSON: Somebody have a truss waiting backstage for Stone.

Ted and Andy laughed. Gary glanced at the main screen. Stone was trying to lift up Triple A. The guy wasn’t that big, but he was big enough that if he didn’t want pulled up in a dead lift, he wasn’t going anywhere. Stone tried again and stepped away with his hand on his lower back.

The screen switched to the guy in the Canadian cape moving toward Johnny Rude and a bleeding Stonerman.

Gary remembered what he had been doing.

GARY SABIN: Hey, prepare a drop in box. I’ve got some footage to toss in. We have backstage footage of the guy putting on the costume. Clear shot of his face.

Andy slid his chair over to Gary’s station. He glanced at the screen as Gary did a quick edit. The guy’s face looked familiar.

ANDY JACKSON: Hey, Ted. You know everybody who ever stepped into a ring. Who is that guy?

Ted had his eyes glued to the screen. Aaron had charged forward when Phil held his back and drove a shoulder into The Philospher’s gut. The Son of the South wrapped his arms around Phil and drove him back like a tackling dummy. At the last second, Aaron let with his arms. Phil hit the ropes and the side of the cage with all of his momentum a well as Aaron’s.

The shot looked solid. Ted let it ride long enough to take a quick glance at Gary’s screen.

TED WILTS: Harrison F. Doubleday. He’s a loser nobody. Kicked around the indies for a while. Ride’s Stone’s coattails. I should have suspected it was him. I’ll feed John and Hank the info. Put it on the tron and and as an inset.

Gary pushed several buttons and sent the footage to the main screen. He hit the audio button and his headset came to life. He could hear John Paragon and Hank Proctner as they called the match that Gary watched on the screen marked LIVE FEED.

PARAGON: –ction with a scoop slam. He get back up and give the crowd a wiggle then drops an elbow onto Phil Stone.

PROCTNER: And Phil is buried in the Flabalanche.

PARAGON: That’s an elbow drop. Not a Flabalanche.

PROCTNER: Hey, you can name moves. So can I.

PARAGON: Hang on. I’m being told that the guy in the Canadian costume is called the Chandelier. What? Oh, Canadalier. That makes more sense. He and the injured Stonerman are taking it to Johnny Rude.

PROCTNER: But who is the Canadalier?

PARAGON: Take a look at the tron, Hank. That’s Harrison F. Doubleday, failed wrestler who occasionally works for Phil Stone. All of this is an elaborate set up by Phil Stone. It has to be.

Gary watched as the footage played on the tron. He saw the shot change to Rude, Stonerman and the … Canadalier? They all looked up at the locker room footage. The shot plainly caught Harrison pulling on the cape and then yanking a mask over his head. The now Candalier ([i]Seriously?[i] Gary thought.) left the locker room.

Rude’s expression changed. He went from pained to amused. He laughed and mouthed the words, Harrison Doubleday? The Canadalier shook his head no and struck a superhero stance. Stone hit the side of the cage again causing another loud smash. Harrison looked up at it. Rude hit him in the center of the maple leaf on his chest with a side kick. Now there was some irony. Harrison went down in a heap. Rude spun and hit Stonerman in the face with a back elbow.

Stonerman fell to the floor. He rolled away from Rude as Johnny tried to stomp on the already injured face. Stonerman rolled right under the ring.

PARAGON: And Johnny Rude seems to have taken care of he interference.

PROCTNER: I guess we see that Johnny hates Phil Stone more than he does Aaron Action.

PARAGON: Or Johnny just doesn’t like no-talent hacks.

PROCTNER: That’s what I said, Johnny doesn’t like Phil Stone.

PARAGON: I was referring to the idiots in the superhero costumes.

PROCTNER: Po-tay-toe. Po-tah-toe.

Aaron pulled Phil up. He moved in to grab a hold and Stone raked Aaron’s eyes. Phil Stone’s attention seemed split. He kept looking to the tron wondering what would pop up next.

Gary remembered that he was supposed to be searching for what would pop up next. E began flipping again. He turned off his headset. Gary glanced at the main screen and saw that Rude was yanking Stonerman out from under the ring. Stonerman was holding on to a large red cooler on wheels.

When he got to the security office feed, Gary saw Marcus Johnston. He had the two drunks handcuffed to the chairs that were bolted to the floor. The cops would be along to run them in soon. After doing the job this long, Gary had gotten good at reading lips.

GARY SABIN: Did that guy just say, “The bomb in the cooler?”



Charlie Mortensen was having a lot of thinking to do right now as he tried to not only process all the information that's been given to him by Paragon and the technical crew backstage, but also how did they manage to find it out so quickly?

It must take one of the keenest eyes and the broadest of knowledge about the industry to see at first glance from a camera feed that the person you are looking at is, indeed, Harrison F. Doubleday.

Also, how did Aaron Action recovered so quickly from the most effective move in wrestling, the low blow? Stone must really be hitting like a girl if he didn't hurt Aaron more than that, he thought to himself...

Then, his mind was questioning itself as to how a Super-Villain Sidekick to the most famous Super-Villain of all time to ever be a member of the most famous Super-Villains stable in the History of wrestling, the Super-Awesome Villains Forever, would so suddenly begin to strikes Super-Hero poses as his attention actually attracted by the cooler pulled from under the ring by Stonerman.

"Man, am I glad to be working here... I never think I'd ever see so much crazy stuff just with my college show..."

Paragon : Stonerman pulling a cooler from under the ring... What gives?

Proctner : Well... Didn't we see a tech putting it under the ring, earlier?

Paragon : Yeah, but... This still doesn't explain it's purpose... OH! Stonerman just swung the cooler in the air and threw it at Rude, who deflected it with his arm!

Yeah, that was pretty much a desperate move by Stonerman to throw the cooler at him... But since this was the only weapon he'd find under the apron, he figured that he might improvise a little... As the cooler bumped against Rude's arm, the lid swung open and the bomb went flying somewhere into the audience.

Johnny Rude : Nice try, f***er!

Johnny had really snapped by now. Realizing that Phil Stone was now reduced to send certified jobbers at him to do the job spoke great lengths, in his demented mind, was really grasping desperately at straws.

Johnny Rude : Harrison Doubleday. Mr. No-Name #457! As Cana-F***ing-dalier!

Harrison didn't know how to react. He hadn't predicted his temporary secret identity as Stonerman's Trusty Sidekick would get blown off so easily.


Ted Wilts : Ok, so... If this Canadalier guy is Harry Doubleday, maybe we can find some footage of the other guy changing into his Stonerman costume. Can you look for that, Gaby?

Gaby Sabin : Sure.

Andy Jackson : So, who came first? Stonerman, or Stoner Boy?

Ted Wilts : Stonerman. Definitely.

Gaby Sabin : OK, I think I got something...


But it won't actually be necessary for the guys backstage to try and come up with some dramatic revelation once again, as to the surprise of all... And for the FIRST time EVER... Stonerman took off his mask...

Stonerman : No. I'M Harrison F. Doubleday.

Johnny Rude : How many of you stinking abortion rejects will Stone keep pulling out of his ass?

Canadalier : I AM Harrison F. Doubleday.

Stonerman : No. It is I, Harrison, F. Doubleday. *Strikes a Super-Villain pose*

Canadalier : And I tell you that it is I, Harrison F. Doubleday. *Strikes a Determined Sidekick pose*

Johnny Rude : *Exasperated sigh* *looks "above"* What did I ever do so wrong to deserve thi-...


Johnny was sent flying a few feet backwards before landing on his back while the now mask-less Stonerman and Canadalier high-fived each other.

Over at the broadcast table, both Paragon and Proctner couldn't believe their eyes...

Paragon : I... I can't believe me eyes...

Proctner : Me neither... It's like... there's TWO of them, now...

Meanwhile the action continued to unfold inside the cage, but nobody was really paying any attention to it by now, that is until Phil finally managed to regain the upper hand with a series of kicks on the back of Aaron's knees, making him buckle and fall on one knee, the face standing dangerously close to the cage wall. Stone took a few quick steps back, then ran towards Aaron, rolled onto the ring mat and used the momentum to shoot his foot at Aaron's shoulder-blades with an upward angle.

That shot sent his face crashing against the fencing links of the cage.


The impact of that shot sending his face against the rugged metal of the cage was enough to draw some blood onto Aaron's face.

Paragon : And Phil Stone finally manages to make Aaron Action bleed! He is now authorized by the ref to escape the cage...

Proctner : That is, if he CAN manage to escape the cage. That shot didn't stun Aaron... If anything, it just gave him a second wind!

Inside the cage, Aaron ran a quick hand over his face to wipe some of the blood away from his mouth.

Aaron Action : You are tho going to pay for dat, thucker!

TBC by ???

Marlowe watched from the locker room backstage. He shook his head and looked at the two men on either side of him.

MARLOWE: Can you believe this?

Adam Draven took his eyes off the TV set.

ADAM DRAVEN: You mean how Aaron is trying to carry Stone to a good match instead of just finishing him off quick? I’d think you would be commending him for doing good business.

Marlowe shook his head.

MARLOWE: No that’s not it.

RICO ANNEX: Joo mean de way dat de Phil Stone stumble around and not looks so good in de ring.

MARLOWE: Nah. That’s not what I mean.

ADAM DRAVEN: Oh, then you must mean that Johnny Rude is out there taking the spotlight off the match. I wonder if the Powerbase sent him out to make doubly sure that Stone’s mere presence on a Federation X show wouldn’t cause the ratings to drop two and half points.

Marlowe threw his hand into the air the index finger pointing high.

MARLOWE: That’s it!

Draven and Rico chuckled as the looked to the screen. Rude was recovering from a double kick from the unmasked job squad. In the background, Phil Stone kicked Aaron in the gut. He hit the ropes and drove Aaron to the mat with a DDT. The three men watching wondered when Rude as going to pull out a carpet knife and start carving his name in Stonerman and Canadalier.

ADAM DRAVEN: What the **** is a Canadalier anyway?

RICO ANNEX: I theenk eet es one of does lights dat hang from de ceiling.

ADAM DRAVEN: Bet that joke’s never been used.

Marlowe wasn’t enjoying the repartee that much. He was more concerned that his client wasn’t getting any screen time in his own match. The camera was focused on Rude putting a double testicular claw on Harry and Francis.

RICO ANNEX: I find eet disturbing dat Johnny Rude seems to take such joy in dat hold.

ADAM DRAVEN: Gotta agree with you there.

Rude’s happiness at holding two men’s testicles at one time wasn’t what was disturbing Marlowe. I was the fact that Aaron Action had just been sent into the cage and split open even further. Triple A was now wearing a crimson mask. Of course when a guy sweat like Aaron did in the ring, the blood from a head wound tended to run a little more freely.

Marlowe got to his feet.

MARLOWE: Okay, I’ve had enough. Let’s go.

Draven and Rico got to their feet. Rico grabbed a baseball bat. Marlowe had a steel chair. Draven picked up a kendo stick wrapped in barbed wire. These were the kind of things that laid around the locker room of a multiple-time Bloodsport champ. The three men kicked the pile of Moon Pie wrappers out of the way (The kind of thing that laid around the floor of any locker room that belonged to Aaron Action.) and headed for the door.

Marlowe watched the monitors as the three men made their way to the stage. He saw that
Phil Stone had gone for a sleeper hold to put Aaron. Phil was obviously hoping that he could put Aaron out and slip out of the cage for the win. Aaron leaned forward and took Phil off of his feet. The Bull of the Woods charged backward and slammed Phil’s back into the steel cage.

Of course this action was on the B roll monitor. The main monitor showed Stonerman and the Canadalier on their knees in front of Rude rubbing their genitals. Marlowe shook his head sadly.

Passing the security office, Marlowe heard two men pleading with the security guard. The guys were so desperate to be let go they were crying. Some guys just shouldn’t drink in public.

Marlowe, Draven and Annex made their way to the stage. They took the steps two at a time and then burst through the curtains.


PARAGON: I don’t know what’s happened here, but is seems like Johnny Rude has become the focal point of this match.

PROCTNER: That happens when Stone and Rude are in the same place.

PARAGON: In any case, Stonerman has Rude in a head scissors while The Canadalier is holding him down by the waist.

PROCTNER: So basically, Rude’s face is in a Harry crotch while Frank’s by Rude’s beans.

PARAGON: My partner, ladies and gentlemen. He’ll be here all week. … Oh, it looks like Aaron Action has Phil Stone in a headlock. He’s driving his fist into Stone’s head again and again.

The crowd roared.

PARAGON: And coming down the ramp are the other members of Aaron’s famed A Team -- Adam Draven, Rico Annex and their manager Marlowe.

PROCTNER: I get Adam, Aaron and Annex. How did Marlowe get into this group.

PARAGON: In 2008 a crack commando unit was sent to prison by a military court for a crime they didn't commit. These men promptly escaped from a maximum security stockade to the Los Angeles underground. Today, still wanted by the government, they survive as wrestlers for Federation X. If you have a problem. If no one else can help, and if you can find them, maybe you can hire, The A Team.

PROCTNER: The only time Aaron Action has ever dealt the Army is when he buys his clothes at the Salvation Army.

PARAGON: Okay, you got me. Marlowe was Draven and Aaron’s manager. He got some money from Dune Entertainment to build some buzz on the name since there’s a new A-Team movie next year.

Draven and Rico got to Rude, Stonerman and Canadlier.

HARRY: Thank, God someone to help us with Rude.

FRANCIS: We need no help for we are SUPER-VILLAINS.

Francis got to his feet and struck his Super-Villain pose. Draven smacked him across the face with the barbed wire kendo stick. Francis’ broken cheekbone exploded in even more pain. Draven smacked the stick across the now fetal Stonerman again and again.

HARRY: See what happens when you act like a super vi—Owww!

Rico Annex drove the baseball bat into Harry’s gut. When he doubled over exposing the Canadian flag cape, Annex grabbed both ends of the bat and smashed it horizontally across Harrison’s back. Rico was Puerto Rican and like many of his people, loved baseball. That was why he chucked at the thought of a gut named Doubleday being beaten by a bat.

Rude, slowly got to his feet. He was holding his own with Stonerman and The Canadalier – after all they were jobbers -- but he still was a little woozy from numerous Stonerkicks. He nodded toward Draven and Annex.

JOHNNY RUDE: Thanks for the assist. We Fed Xers have to stick to—

The chair smashed into the back of Johnny’s head and he fell to the concrete. Draven and Annex joined Marlowe in pummeling Johnny Rude over and over. The three delivered several more shots from the weapons to all three fallen interlopers. Then Draven picked up Rude, Annex picked up Stonerman, and Marlowe picked up Canadalier. Marlowe turned and saluted Aaron in the ring who was now putting a nerve hold on Phil Stone, who sometime during all of this commotion had begun to bleed. Aaron released his right hand from the hold and saluted back.

PARAGON: And it looks like the A-Team did their job.

PROCTNER: They took out the trash. Yeah, that seems right.

PARAGON: And it looks like Phil Stone is bleeding. When did that happen?

PROCTNER: Look, one of us has to pay attention to what’s happening in the ring. … And I call dibs on watching those kids in the stands playing with the ball with the flashing number on it.



Genocide was in his locker room, the FedX's version of The Green Room, applying his patented Fibia-bone treatment by way of aspiring it through a bong while enjoying watching Phil Stone get beaten from pillar to post on HDTV.


Paragon : And the question on everyone's lisps tonight, just WHAT the heck is a Canadalier?

Proctner : The hell if I know, John!

Genocide couldn't believe his ears at that one... After all, HE, Genocide, was THE man who came up with the Canadalier name. "The French Canadian Chevalier"! Of course, you had to know about Chevalier a little to get that one, but then again, WHO has never heard of Chevalier?

Genocide : *Sigh* Where's Larry Taylor when I need him to sign my praises...?

Then, the A-Team made an appearance in the fight and took care of all the side action concerning Johnny Rude vs The SAVF Team.

Adam Draven : What the hell is a Canadalier, anyway?

Marlowe : *Shrugs*

Genocide almost had a hacking cough at that one... How in the hell could Adam Draven FORGET just who, or what, the hell was "Canadalier"!

After all, Canadalier had made it in the History Books of Wrassle last month when he and Stonerman almost eliminated Johnny Rude from the OWC, one week prior to Adam Draven causing THE upset win of 2009 in Wrassle when HE took Rude out of the One World Championship Tournament.

And then, there was this whole thing were Draven and Rude joined his organization, The Network, and in which Geno thought he had made sure to tell Draven just about everything he could about the Genesis of "The Canadalier", since he was mostly responsible for it...

Well, he thought he did, anyway... Geno wasn't so sure about it anymore... Damn Fibia treatment... No! The treatment was NOT to blame...

Genocide : *Takes a bong hit*

The FIBIA was to blame... Not the treatment...

Exhaling the smoke of his last dose, Geno just shrugged it all with a relaxed smile on his face, and enjoyed watching the rest of the match.


The fans were now tossing the bomb from one person to another as if it was just a beach-ball with a timer attached to it. Up until...

Random Fan : Man, this match is DA BOMB!!!

Hearing this, and seeing the ticking numbers on the "beach-ball"...

Another Random Fan : A... BOMB!?!

Yet Another Fan : *SHRIEK!!!* THERE'S A BOMB IN THE ARENA!!! *SHRIEK!!!*

Upon hearing this, the mass collective hysteria of everyone wanting to save their own skin, even to the detriment of other people's skins, took over and ensued one of the most non-efficient collective escape stampede riot amongst the fans.

Paragon : Oh... My... God...

Proctner : What the hell is going on?

One of the production guys backstage tipped Paragon in about a bomb being located inside the arena. Of coruse, Paragon relayed the info LIVE on the mic while his camera feed had just been switched over on the Tron.

Paragon : Well, folks, I've just been told that there's apparently a BOMB inside the arena.

Proctner : A BOMB?!?

Paragon : Yes! A BOMB!!!

Proctner : *Shocked look on his face!*

Now, I could possibly go the sarcastic route and just pretend that the fans are getting blunt of Yet Another Bomb Scare in this Tournament, but I won't, since, well... a bomb is a bomb, after all.

So, for this reason, thanks to John Paragon's announcement LIVE, the riot in the stands just became worse as everyone was trying to run for their lives while trying to prevent anyone else from doing so for themselves. Because such was human nature when put under these kind of circumstances...

But for the two man inside the cage right now, none of that mattered, as they still had to get past over their opponent before getting out of the cage, and out of the arena by the same occasion.

Not that getting out of the cage was suddenly a newfound priority, since pretty much all issues to the arena are now blocked by swarms of panicking fans running for their life.

TBC by ???

Aaron Action was a true Southern Gentleman. That meant treating everyone with respect until the proved they didn’t deserve it. He was a good Christian who believed in the Golden Rule and the teachings of Jesus. But he also believed in the first half of the book which called for an eye for an eye and tooth for a tooth.

When Aaron was just a little Awesome one, his mama would say, “Triple A … Son of the South … The boy who will someday be the New Hardcore Living Legend, it’s Sunday and we’re going to church.

Little Triple A (LTA for short) loved going to church. He loved to listen to the fire and brimstone preacher. He loved the way they talked. He hung on their every pause. He jumped at their every well-placed shout. He listened carefully not only to what they said, but how they said it. It was the cadence of the preacher man that Aaron remembered when he began working on promos as a wrestler.

Of course thing Aaron liked most about church was the big Sunday dinners. One of Aaron’s favorite songs came from his good friend Lyle Lovett. Triple A loved the lyric that went.

To the Lord let praises be,
It's time for dinner now let's go eat.
We've got some beans and some good cornbread.
And I listened to what the preacher said.
Now it's to the Lord let praised be,
It's time for dinner now let's go eat.

But the only thing that Aaron remembered about his Christianity right now was praying to Jesus that he could get out of that cage before the bomb went off.

AARON ACTION: What kind of idiot would bring a bomb into a crowded arena?

Aaron grabbed Phil Stone by the back of his trunks and tossed his opponent away from the cage door.

Phil landed on his butt and hopped back up. He charged over and hopped in Aaron Action’s broad back. He pulled Aaron back from the door.

PHIL STONE: Johnny Rude! Johnny Rude would do it! I blame Johnny Rude!

Aaron shrugged Phil Stone off of his back. He thought about it.

It was true. Johnny Rude would plant a bomb in the arena. But then Aaron thought about the fact that Rude had been out here all that time. Johnny Rude was a sadist, a bully and a sociopath. But he was also a survivor. There was no way that Rude planted a bomb and then stuck around in the building. Rude would be two miles away watching on TV for the explosion.

AARON ACTION: No. It wathn’t Johnny Rude.

Phil got to his feet and jumped up and down.

PHIL STONE: It was Johnny Rude! It was! He’s the root of all evil!

Aaron shook his head. The guy was a little obsessed with Johnny Rude. Of course the important thing wasn’t finding out who put the bomb in the arena, it was getting himself and everyone else – even Stone – out of the arena before the bomb went off.

The Son of the South reached out and pushed on the cage door. It didn’t budge.

Aaron pushed again. It still didn’t move.




Marcus Johnston had been radioed about the riot. He didn’t want to let the pee pair alone in the security office. So he had grabbed Marty Skorski to watch over them. Marty was just a beer guy, but Marcus knew that Marty was training to be a wrestler and could handle these two. He tossed Marty the handcuff key and charged off.

He made his way to the main hallway. He was directing fans out of the arena. He reached down and scooped up a little girl who was about to be knocked over and trampled. He looked and saw the girls frantic mother charge over and reach out for her.

The girl threw her arms around her mother, who yelled thanks to Marcus and melted into the crowd.

Marcus keyed his radio.

MARCUS: Peter, you okay on that end?

Peter Papadopolis radioed back. He had things under control at the north exit. Peter was mostly muscle, but he could control a crowd.

Marcus moved into the crowd trying to calm the panic. It wasn’t working well.


Ralph Madison was discussing the dichotomies of Nietzsche’s theories. His book club group was hanging on his every word.

He had no idea what was happening at the arena.


ADAM DRAVEN: Are we seriously carrying these idiots out of the arena?

MARLOWE: There’s a bomb in here. Do you want to take the time to put them down?

[color:dbc7=993333]RICO ANNEX: I say we just take dem wit us.

Marlowe, Adam Draven and Rico Annex carried the still stunned, Johnny Rude, Stonerman and Canadalier out of the arena and into the employee lot. They dumped the three men on the asphalt and rushed to the side exits to help herd more people out of the arena.


Millie Maxwell nervously chewed her nails. He watched doors waiting for Aaron Action to come out. She looked to the door and then back to her nails. The knot in her stomach felt like a cocoanut.

Mille felt someone come up beside her. It was Charlie Mortenson, the ring announcer. Charlie looked into her eyes and then put his arms around her.

Millie put her face on Charlie’s shoulder and began to sob. Charlie patted her back as he watched the fans run out the doors.


Abigail Lester was once again in a bad mood. She had gotten home to find the baby sitter was pissed off to no end. She had to beg the woman and offer her double rate to keep her on the job.

Then her kids laughed long and hard when she showed them the autograph on the paper towel. She thought that she had messed up and not gotten the real Stonerman’s autograph until her kids explained that Stonerman was perhaps the lamest supervillain ever.

Abigail had sent the ungrateful little ***** to their room and had slumped into a chair. She flipped on the TV. Apparently the nanny had been watching Storm Warning because there was a shot from outside the arena.

PARAGON: Again, there is a bomb threat here at the Fos News Arena. The building is being evacuated.

Abigail flipped off the TV and tossed the remote across the room.

ABIGAIL: ******* place will probably explode and they’ll expect me to clean it up.


The inside of the truck was a mess. The Powerbase had relocated here to head up the bomb problem. Gary, Ted and Andy were cramped in a corner trying to keep things going. It was tough. They had a couple of cameramen outside the building with still working shoulder cams. And they had the one hard camera trained on the ring the arena.

Aaron Action and Phil Stone were banging on the cage door trying to get it open, but the in thing was jammed.

Gary remembered hearing William Von Braun arguing with Krusher over whether they should build a new cage or use the old WCW one Krusher had found on Ebay. Gary thought that maybe the new cage might have been smarter after all.


Marty Skorki led Bob and Doug out of the arena. The two men were still in handcuff.

They moved away from the building and Marty loosened a cuff on each man and latched it back onto the chain link fence that surrounded the parking lot.

Bob and Doug protested, but Marty was digging in his pocket and not listening. He pulled out a piece of paper that looked familiar to Bob.

MARTY SKORSKI: Why were you carrying this piece of paper outlining how to sneak a bomb into the arena?

Bob thought about an answer. The handcuffs and general panic had sobered him up some.

He opened his mouth to speak but then a giant man in a turban dropped over the fence. He began beating Doug and Bob with a tire iron.

MUHAMMAD: I want my thirty-four dollars!


Aaron and Phil were still banging on the door. They could see the ball with the flashing lights counting down. But they couldn’t make out the numbers.

PHIL STONE: Damn that Rude! Why didn’t he make the numbers bigger on his bomb.

AARON ACTION: Maybe eef you climb up the cage you kin thee dem better.

PHIL STONE: Yeah. Climb up … the … cage.

Phil and Aaron stared at each other for a beat. In their panic, they had never even thought of climbing out of the cage.

They both turned and started scaling the walls.

Now it was a race to see who could get out of the cage … and the arena … first.


In the Green Room, Genocide sat in his bean bag oblivious to the smell of trash all around him. His head lolled back and his mouth hung open, a small snore could be heard.

Apparently the Fibia Treatment had kicked in.



Stan Daniels
Stan Daniels

Posts : 88
Join date : 2011-01-20

View user profile

Back to top Go down

Back to top

- Similar topics

Permissions in this forum:
You cannot reply to topics in this forum