Wrathapalooza Losing Matches

[Guest Drew_K]

Howdy, y'all. As I've heard this was a ridiculously close match, here's mine for your own judgement. Read, enjoy. And I can see why Renegade won, but I'm still mad. Congrats, Rene.

 

(Oh, read his match too, duh. Good stuff. Nowhere near as funny as mine.)

 

 

 

 

 

The blatant capitalism of more commercials ends, bringing the audience all ‘round the world back to the blatant bravado of SJL Wrathapalooza! The camera zooms around the crowd, showing they are indeed crammed shoulder-to-shoulder to fit in Ash’s palatial backyard, while leaving the combat areas sealed off by quickly erected guardrails. The camera swoops past the makeshift ring, roadies already beginning to take everything down. They zip past Ash’s home, site of the hide and seek match earlier in the evening. Finally, the cameras come to a halt centered on the empty pool, now surrounded by SJL superstars, and even a few of their SWF brethren, who seem to be having some kind of party. The shot tightens, zooming in close on the hard concrete surface of the pool floor, and a familiar Australian voice rings out over the din of the crowd.

 

“Ladies and Gentlemen, we are back, in Ash Ketchum’s backyard, of all places, and ready to kick off the final brutal battle of this evening. Our main event is only seconds away, and the crowd here can barely contain their excitement. I’m your friendly Aussie play by play man, Axis, and with me as always are my two compatriots in commentary, The Suicide King, and another World Champ, Edwin MacPhisto!”

 

“That’s right, my not so pithy play-by-play friend. I am your SWF World Champeen, Edwin Macphisto. But the fans aren’t here to see me tonight…”

 

King smiles, looking towards the loony Brit. “Finally something truthful comes out of your mouth, you pitiful sap. The fans NEVER come to see you, and tonight is not your night. Even if I don’t like either of these two competitors very much, they’ve both fought to get here, and made it to this, the very pinnacle of the SJL. However much that means.”

 

“Queenie, Queenie, Queenie. You just don’t get it sometimes. These men have fought with all they have, and they aren’t gonna stop now. Together, they’ve fought through every other man on our roster. And in a hard concrete pool, they’re gonna let it all hang out. I personally cannot wait one more second.”

 

Axis nods in agreement with Edwin’s words, turning towards the camera. “This is it. Tonight, one of two men climbs to the top of the mountain. Let’s go to Funyon and get those two men out here. It’s time for a fight.”

 

The image on television screens all across the country does not change, shot instead rising and turning till it catches sight of a man with absolutely no fashion sense standing tall on the high dive above the pool, gaudy suit bedecking his body, microphone gracing his hand. He is Funyon, and when he raises the mic to his lips and speaks a few short words, the crowd explodes. “Ladies and gentlemen, the following contest is scheduled for one fall, with no time limit, and it is for the SJL World Heavyweight Championship!”

 

The fans are on their feet, waving at the cameras, screaming with delight, and generally jacked. The shot shows the superstars gathered around the pool as well, and there seems to be an air of excitement all around. The camera cuts to a close up of Funyon, view looking down and past him as well to the hard concrete pool floor, many feet below. Funyon raises the microphone to his lips, and the fans quiet as his spiel begins anew, though a few quiet murmurs pass through the crowd as the music begins to blast, familiar words ringing out behind Funyon’s words. “PICK UP THE PACE!”

 

The sounds of Slipknot’s “(SIC)” fill the yard through Ash’s high tech stereo system, but Funyon’s voice overrides it all. “Introducing first, hailing from New York City, standing six feet, six inches tall, and weighing in at two hundred and sixty pounds, give it up one more time for the renegade masta, REEENNNNNEEEGGAAADDDEEEE!!!!”

 

At that, the music’s volume rises, and the rather plainly attired grappler emerges, making his way through the crowd, who part to let him pass. Some cheer, but most boo Renegade as he marches past. Renegade doesn’t seem to care, making his way quickly to the guardrail, hopping over, marching past the security guards to poolside, stopping before the stairs. Looking down towards the ground, Renegade pauses a moment, finally raising his head quickly, raising both hands in a self high five, his music cutting out suddenly as he does so.

 

The cameras swing up towards Funyon once more, but he seems to be gone from the high dive, and for a moment, it seems the cameras are focusing on nothing but the sky. A few seconds later, however, it becomes clear that the shot is centered on a hastily erected flagpole in the distance, as a fluttering Canadian flag is raised into the breeze, and the speakers sputter to life. The crowd is cheering madly, as the anthem plays. Some fans cheer, some sing, some merely search to find the second grappler in the crowd. The first words of ‘Oh Canada’ end, and the opening riff to secret agent man begins, without the usual accompanying pyro. The fans can’t seem to spot their man, until a fluttering shower of red drifts down on the breeze, and every eye turns towards the pool house. On the roof, four roadies stand, emptying bags of shimmering red confetti into the air.

 

A voice rings out, loud, and a bit faster than usual, ringing out through every ear in a singsong manner. “Ladies and Gentleman, boys and girls, every fan through the whole wide world! It’s time for a fight, on this glorious night; one man gets beat, while the other gets gold, right? Well you know what is clear, that crazy Canadian’s here, and win lose or draw, tonight I’m drinkin’ a LOT of beer! So give it up, what do you say? Do you have a cheer for me, eh?”

 

The fans seem happy to oblige as the door to the pool house comes flying open, and the second man stands, arms raised high, eyes looking up. Waiting, the cheers finally die down, and CIA shrugs off his jacket, marching over towards the pool, ending up at the ladder near the diving board, straight across from Renegade. Both men stare across the concrete expanse at each other for a few moments, before almost simultaneously beginning to enter the pool. In just a few more seconds, both men are in the center of the pool, all alone but for SJL ref Mark Hebner. The camera zooms in close while Hebner explains the rules to both men, showing that neither man breaks his gaze, staring eye-to-eye, mere inches separating them.

 

“Amazing!” exclaims Axis. “These two men do not want to back down. Neither man even flinching at the prospect of a brutal fall on that concrete, instead choosing to try to stare the other down. You can practically feel the intensity from here.”

 

King seems to be alight with glee, as he chimes in with his opinion. “Are you kidding, Axis? You can TASTE the intensity, and it tastes like blood. That concrete makes every fall more dangerous, every move potentially crippling, and every step a dangerous risk. It’s beautiful in it’s brutality.”

 

Edwin seems to agree with King, at least in theory. “It is a more violent, dangerous situation than a standard in ring fight. This is no game; this is serious. And it doesn’t matter to either of these men. They want gold, plain and simple.”

 

*DINGDINGDING*

 

Both men move immediately, and the fans cheer, referee Hebner quickly ducking out of the way. The two determined wrestlers trade punches, going back and forth with tremendous intensity. Both men continue to punch as long as they can, and it is a long time before one man gains the advantage, but one man does, Renegade beginning to land more punches, staggering the smaller Canadian back away from him. After taking a few hard shots, CIA steps forward, tugging Renegade into a collar and elbow tie up. At first, Renegade is forced back slightly, but it is only a moment before he once again gets the better of the masked wrestler, shoving him back and away with a burst of strength. CIA quickly rushes Renegade, stepping in to lock on a front waistlock. The Canadian is quick, but Gade seems to be quicker still, swiftly breaking the hold and locking on a grapple of his own, tugging the smaller man’s body up to his side, sitting out and sending CIA crashing across the concrete with pulling sidewalk slam, leaving his patriotic foe writhing from the hard landing on the concrete.

 

“Oooh!” A wince of sympathy escapes Axis, even the first shot of this match brutal enough to elicit such a response. “That’s a painful landing, and CIA seems to be having a little trouble getting started in this matchup. Surely his skill in singles competition cannot be doubted, but one must wonder how he’ll deal with this situation.”

 

King laughs aloud, shaking his head. “Look at the big picture, boys. The foreigner has no chance, for three very important reasons. Renegade is stronger than he is, Renegade is quicker than he is, and Renegade can take more of a beating. Can you honestly tell me the masked moron there has a chance?”

 

Edwin is silent for a moment, but he finally speaks up, rather cheery with his response. “You know, there’s always two possibilities, Kin. First, he has the fans on his side, and that’s a powerful factor for some wrestlers. And then, of course, neither man’s really going to get DQed in this match. Maybe he can take advantage of that.”

 

In the pool, Renegade stands quickly, reaching down to tug CIA up to his knees, hand entangled in the Canadian’s hair. CIA rolls to his front and rises onto his knees rather slowly, one hand holding onto the side of Renegade’s thigh. Gade tugs harder on CIA’s hair, beginning to bring him to his feet. The masked wrestler begins to rise, but as he does so, he moves quickly, bringing his one arm up hard, delivering a Galatea Special express to Renegade. Gade’s eyes shoot wide, and the Canadian continues to stand, moving much quicker now, bringing his other arm up over the R-masta’s shoulder, and flipping his body over, slamming Gade to the concrete with a vicious powerslam. Releasing his grip, CIA slowly begins to come to his feet, only to drop back down with a hard knee, driving into the chest of Renegade.

 

“CIA able to catch Renegade with a powerslam, starting by making a very... painful lower body strike on his opponent.” Axis seems a bit unsure how to make that particular call, but King is as opinionated as always, adding his voice to the matter.

 

“Lower body strike? That was a blatant low-blow. I don’t care how acceptable the fans might find it, but it’s inexcusable tactics. Tell me where it says ANYWHERE Edwin, that this match is no DQ? ANYWHERE?”

 

“King, it’s the main event, with weeks of buildup, for the world title, in a match where both men’s bodies will be bouncing off the concrete. I hardly think a low blow holds quite the same seriousness in this case. And it looks like the ref agrees with me. Besides, Rengade’s not the type to complain when another man breaks the rules. He’s likely to break them worse for payback.”

 

In the concrete confines of Olympic size swimming pool, CIA continues to drop hard kneedrops across the chest and shoulder of Renegade, following with a short hop, both knees coming down hard into Renegade’s ribcage. Reaching down, the Canadian grabs a handful of hair, pulling Gade to his feet. The Candian begins laying in with stiff shots to the jaw, keeping his plainly dressed opponent staggered just long enough to grab his wrist for an Irish whip. Tugging hard, the masked wrestler whips Gade hard towards the nearest concrete wall. Knowing what is ahead for him, Renegade reverses the whip, and suddenly it is CIA who is headed for the concrete wall instead. The Canadian has only a second, but he reacts quickly, running up the curve of the concrete wall, and flipping over backwards to land on his feet. The fans cheer this audacious move, but they cut off quickly as Renegade slams into the patriotic wrestler from behind, hitting him with a spear and driving his body into the hard concrete wall. This elicits a fierce boo from the crowd, but Renegade ignores them, tugging CIA back and down into an inverted front facelock. Reaching forward to grab the waist of the Patriotic one’s tights, Renegade pulls him back and into the air, stalling for just a moment before falling back and slamming CIA to the floor of the pool with a fierce reverse brainbuster.

 

“Yikes. I tell you what, I hate that Canadian with a passion, but that’s unforgiving concrete, and I can’t help but feel just a little like…. Well, sometime’s there’s some things you just have to say.” King seems to contemplate this, and his compatriots chip in with their guesses, starting with Axis.

 

“Like how no man should ever have to take a shot like that?”

 

“No, that’s not it.”

 

Edwin is next, although he seems a bit apprehensive. “Maybe that it was tremendously brave for CIA to even enter this matchup?

 

King considers this even longer, and it almost seems he will agree. Alas, it is not to be so. “No. It’s times like this that I want to say….. HIT HIM AGAIN! Crush that foul foreigner’s skull on the floor, and if he’s crippled for life, at least I wont have to watch him anymore!”

 

In the pool, Renegade is quickly making his way to his feet, taking hold of CIA as well. As both men rise, the camera catches a shot of the Canadian’s face, blood trickling down from his nose, which is clearly broken. Not wasting time, Renegade hooks CIA once more, hefting the masked wrestler from the ground up onto his shoulder. Turning back towards the center of the pool, Renegade falls forward, bringing CIA’s back down to the unyielding concrete with a powerslam. Rolling over slightly, Gade covers the masked wrestler, hooking the leg as Hebner drops into position, hand slapping the concrete gingerly.

 

ONE!

 

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TWO!

 

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CIA kicks out!

 

Rolling over to his knees, Gade stands again, reaching down to adjust his kneepads while CIA clutches his chest in pain on the mat. As Renegade tugs on the right kneepad, he reveals a small trickle of blood, from where his knee scraped the concrete when he slammed CIA down.

 

As Gade moves over to CIA, kneeling down to lay into the downed grappler with stiff punches to the jaw, Axis’ voice can be heard. “Renegade asserting dominance so far in this match, and we have clear evidence that in this environment, every move is dangerous for both men, though I’d guess that powerslam was much worse for CIA.”

 

King is the next to chime in, voice conveying a real sense of enjoyment for what he is seeing. “Asserting his dominance. Of course he is, you dolt. CIA has no chance to win this, and it’s going to be nice, slow, brutal sailing from here. He’s got about as much chance of survival as…”

 

“…. A Suicide King Fan Club? The spice girl’s acting career? The AVRO Aero?” Edwin merely smiles as King glares at him.

 

Gade continues to batter the downed CIA, fierce punches cracking off the masked wrestler’s jaw and temple. Renegade steps away, and, looking to be sure CIA is downed, makes his way quickly to the side of the pool. Since the fight has taken them into the shallow end of the pool, it is not hard for Renegade to lift himself to the outside, taking a step back from the edge and kneeling in a tackle position, eyes locked on the slowly rising Canadian still in the confines of the concrete crevasse. CIA is slowly rising, back turned towards Renegade. Looking up and shaking his skull, the Canadian can hear the fans booing, and he slowly turns around. As he starts his turn, Renegade takes a running step, launching himself through the air. CIA completes his turn just barely in time to see Gade flying at him like a javelin, and he tries to step to the side. Renegade still catches most of his flying spear, but he spins slightly as he comes to a landing, shoulder impacting with the hard concrete bottom of the empty pool. CIA is taken off his feet hard, slamming to the concrete again, immediately holding his head in pain.

 

The fans let out a sympathetic ‘oooh!’ for the impact, and it only takes a moment before Renegade reaches over for the pin attempt. CIA rolls away, stopping just before the incline leading to the deep end of the pool, and both men stay down for a few moments, the fans starting a rhythmic clapping, until both men roll over, beginning to rise. Renegade is up first, and he rushes the smaller CIA, trying to take him down off his feet once more. Gade extends his arm, looking for a fierce clothesline, but he is caught by CIA, who grabs his arm and the back of his neck as he steps aside, whipping Renegade hard towards the deep end of the pool. Moving too fast, Renegade loses his footing at the top of the incline as he is shoved, and he sails forward, coming to an awkward landing about halfway down the dip and beginning to roll.

 

“Oooh, good counter by CIA. Normally you see that moves used to propel an opponent over the top rope, here it gave Renegade just enough air to land…. Unpleasantly.”

 

Edwin shakes his head, looking at Axis. “Unpleasantly? Boy. You sure know how to make a match exciting. Let’s just say Renegade’s doctor is not going to be pleased to see what he’s been doing to himself. This match is vicious.”

 

“And wasn’t it the commissioner who booked these two relatively healthy young men in this potentially career ending match? I know you like CIA, and if this is what you do to your friends, I’m glad we’re not on speaking terms.” Edwin is glaring at King, and King just smiles back, further annoying the Crown Prince.

 

In the pool, CIA scampers down the ramp to Renegade, who is currently on his stomach, attempting to rise. The Canadian kicks him in the spine, however, and forces him back down to the concrete. Taking the mounting position over Renegade, CIA begins to throw forearms with bad intentions, each one connecting with Gade’s head and sending it forward only to bounce off the hard concrete of the pool floor. Even once Renegade gets his hands in front of his face, these full force shots each bring a sympathetic wince from the crowd. Coming up from his position, CIA reaches down, tugging Renegade up by the hair, only to drop down and drive a knee into the back of his neck, sending his skull bouncing off the concrete one more time, particularly brutally. The fans let out a loud groan of pain in sympathy once more. The Canadian finally comes completely to his feet, bringing Renegade up as well.

 

Swinging hard, CIA connects with two powerful shots to the jaw of Renegade, spinning around to deliver a roaring elbow, which tumbles Renegade down to his back. Turning away from the fallen Gade, the Canadian makes his way across the pool, some distance away, and begins to climb the wall mounted ladder, ceasing once he has made it about halfway up. Turning back, he looks at Renegade, who is coming to his feet, some distance away. Looking up the ladder, CIA climbs higher, till he is almost to the rim of the pool, turning around to face Renegade, who is just finishing his rise, about thirteen feet down, and easily as far away.

 

“My gosh. Some serious aggression from CIA, really pounding Gade’s skull, and he has him staggered. But he wouldn’t try this…. Would he?” Axis seems shocked and appaled at the very idea, though King doesn’t seem to mind.

 

“If he does, someone’s gonna pull, tear, or snap something, that much I can say for sure. Which means I for one hope he makes the jump. The fans would love it, it’d make a great highlight, and Renegade would just move anyway.”

 

“Now then, Queenie, every time you say something like that, the opposite ends up happening. This would be a crazy leap, and I for one hope he re-considers.”

 

Axis seems taken aback, though his eyes never leave the shot on his monitor. “Yes, fans, you just heard right. The Suicide King excited for something CIA is doing, and Edwin MacPhisto urging caution. As odd as that may seem.”

 

CIA seems a bit hesitant from his position, though the fans cheer him on, bloodthirsty, spot-addicted pavlovian dogs that they are. The Canadian seems to take re-assurance from this, and the masked wrestler’s legs kick out hard against the rung of the ladder, pushing him back and up into the air just as Renegade turns around. Seeing CIA beginning to leap, Renegade quickly rolls forward, trying to save himself. CIA comes up off the ladder, and seems to stop in mid light, his hands still tightly gripping a higher rung than the one he kicked off from. Swinging back down, the Canadian’s feet catch the rung he started on, and he kicks off again, soaring across the empty sky. Renegade finishes his roll, coming right up to his feet, only to be confronted the flying Canadian’s chest, powerful cross body block bearing him swiftly down to the concrete with a hard thud. The fans cheer this successful deception, and, for only the second time in the matchup, Referee Brian Hebner quickly gets into place for a count.

 

ONE!

 

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TWO!

 

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KICK OUT!

 

Renegade thrusts his shoulder up, breaking the pin bare milliseconds before the count finishes. The fans boo, and both men in the ring look to be in bad condition. They remain down, and Hebner begins to initiate a ten count.

 

ONE!

 

Edwin MacPhisto’s perplexed voice comes in over commentary, even as the fans begin to count along with Hebner. “You know, that’s the oddest thing in the world. King was EXACTLY right, and yet he still managed to be wrong. How is that even possible?”

 

TWO!

 

“Shut up, Edwin. This is not exactly your standard wrestling ring. It would be impossible to anticipate every strategy both of these men may break out in the course of this match.”

 

THREE!

 

FOUR!

 

FIVE!

 

Axis breaks in, seeming a little worried. “If there even is much of a match to continue. That last move can’t have helped either man, and neither one seems to be coming to his feet.”

 

SIX!

 

SEVEN!

 

EIGHT!

 

At the count of eight, both men suddenly start moving quickly, CIA rolling over and up onto his knees, Renegade sitting up in place, and quickly getting his feet under him. Hebner breaks the count, as it seems neither man is willing to allow the match to end that way. Turning towards one another, come combatants come up fully to their feet, stepping forward cautiously. When they get within striking distance, the Canadian makes the first move, lashing out with a hard, high superkick. Renegade grabs the incoming foot, spinning CIA around, and lashing out with a kick to the gut. The masked grappler is doubled over, and Gade steps forward, locking in a front facelock, setting up for a DDT. CIA grabs hold of Gade’s tights, quickly hefting him into the air, bringing him up overhead. Renegade responds to this by kicking his feet out hard, body swinging back down towards the concrete. Renegade’s DDT, now a jumping, swinging DDT, plants CIA’s head in the floor, a chorus of boos and groans of pain coming from the audience.

 

Ignoring the fans, Renegade takes a deep breath and comes to his feet, reaching down to take hold of CIA’s hair and tug him to his feet. He grabs a handful, of once blond hair, much of it seeming to have become suddenly many shades darker, and pulls CIA to his feet, camera zooming in close on the dripping lines of blood coming down the Canadian’s cheeks and nose where his mask ends.

 

Rather exuberant at this sight, King laughs, and is quick to make a quip. “Well, well! I’d love to say he had the crimson mask, but he already had one, didn’t he?”

 

Absolutely appalled at King’s humor, Axis speaks very angrily at the breaker of hearts and rules alike. “That’s deplorable King. While that mask may have provided CIA with protection before, all it does now is prevent us from seeing how bad CIA is hurt. He may very well be scarred for life from that vicious DDT.”

 

Edwin chimes in next, although for once, Edwin seems reluctant to take sides. “Both men knew what they got into when they signed this matchup, Axis. And King is a sick piece of trash, so there’s no use getting mad every time he says something moronic.”

 

King is quick to fire back, still in a gleeful mood. “I guess that’s how you tell yourself none of the pain is your fault, huh, Edwin? Sure, a swimming pool sounds FUN, but hard concrete in the face sure doesn’t. Was this the idea of your new Clan buddies?”

 

“Shut up, King, and do it now.”

 

In the depths of the swimming pool, Renegade has CIA in a side headlock, laying in with stiff punches to the forehead, focusing on the forehead as more blood continues to cover CIA’s hair and face. Renegade draws his fist back for an especially hard shot, and his Canadian foe shoves at his back, breaking the hold and sending Renegade rushing face first into the solid wall of the pool. Renegade seems to be staggered, but not seriously hurt from the blow, and he turns around, holding his own face in pain, to see CIA over by the ladder on the other side of the pool, one hand gripping the bottom rung while the other tries to clear the blood out of his eyes. Rushing across the concrete floor of the pool, Renegade arrives just as CIA gets about halfway up the ladder, and he quickly grabs the bottom rung, pulling himself up so he can grab at the patriotic warrior’s foot.

 

CIA feels the tugging on his leg, but does not turn around, instead holding tight to the ladder, and kicking back with his trapped limb, catching Renegade in the face, having to kick him three times before the handhold is broken, and he can pull himself further up the ladder. Renegade falls a foot or so back to the floor of the pool, and takes hold of his nose, which has a trickle of blood flowing out of it from CIA’s kicks. Looking up, Renegade sees the Canadian pull himself up out of the pool, and he quickly leaps up onto the ladder, climbing up after him.

 

“Both men leaving the pool, and CIA seems to be on the run. After a lot of cruel punishment, he needs a breather if he’s to have any chance of winning this match, especially since he was essentially fighting blind, his own blood filling his eyes.”

 

“Right you are, Axis. I’d say that’s the best plan for him, since out on the outskirts, the match cannot end.”

 

King looks at Edwin, almost incredulous that such an escape route exists “So you mean he’s running like a sissy, Edwin? Man. I should’ve known. Never trust a Canadian in a fight.”

 

Renegade pulls himself up onto the outskirts of the pool, and cannot find CIA, cursing as he sees the multitude of Superstars surrounding the ring. Pulling himself up completely, he looks around, trying to find his opponent. A cameraman quickly arrives at Renegades side, and both men start moving through the crowd, looking for CIA. Not many places for him to hide. The camera follows Gade as he passes by many interesting sights. Frost, looking quite dapper in a barbecue apron that reads ‘Fuck off’, flipping burgers at the grill. TNT a few feet away, apparently comparing baseball bats with Mark Stevens.

The camera zooms in on Tom Flesher, talking to one of the girls at poolside. "Hey, baby, I hear Ash has a hot tub... wanna lose the suit?" *slap" "No prob, babe, I like it rough."

 

Getting frustrated, Renegade heads over to the commentary table, followed moments later by the cameraman at his side. They arrive to find Z standing next to the commentary table dressed as a pizza delivery boy, and as Renegade leans over the table, looking in one of the monitors, Z’s voice can be made out. “One Pappa Squali anchovies, pickles and bacon pizza. Hey, you three wouldn’t happen to know why my SWF paycheques haven’t been coming in on time, would you?”

 

Renegade marches off, pushing past various other superstars, as the camera following him turns to focus on the monitor he was viewing. The picture immediately changes to that camera, the one that followd CIA, as he hides away behind the poolhouse, using a heavy towel to soak the blood from his face. He seems to have just managed to clean himself up so he can see, when a figure emerges from around the side of the building…..

 

It’s ‘Hollywood’ Spike Jenkins, right in the middle of lighting something in his mouth, which he quickly hides. “Woah. Sorry, dude, I didn’t know anyone else was back here. I’ll just go someplace else, right?”

 

Breathing a sigh of relief, CIA is just about to go back to cleaning himself up when Renegade emerges, rushing around the corner of the poolhouse and leveling him with a hard clothesline, sending him down to the grass. Moving quickly, Renegade tugs CIA onto his feet, and whips him hard towards the sliding glass door of the poolhouse, intending to finish him quickly. Unfortunately, CIA reverses the whip, propelling his opponent through the glass, which explodes with a shattering crash. Stepping in through the frame, CIA moves to Renegade, but is shoved back, bumping into the following cameraman, sending him sprawling onto the grass. His camera catches a shot of Spike Jenkins, staring at the broken window. “Woah. This stuff is AWESOME.”

 

The camera switches again, showing the front of the tiny poolside building, and after just a moment, the front door bursts open, breaking off it’s hinges and crashing to the ground with both men atop it, hands on each other’s throats, faces covered in blood.

 

As both men rise to their feet and begin to trade intense punches, moving towards the pool, Axis’s voice can be heard. “Ladies and gentleman, this is nothing more than an exercise in human will. Both these men are battered and beaten, but neither one is showing it one bit.”

 

Edwin is apparently back to being all smiles, as he shakes his head and chuckles. “One of these men may just have to DIE before they give up that shiny gold belt. And as much as I hate seeing them both hurt so much, I LOVE the intensity.”

 

King is next, on his feet and yelling across the lawn. “Finish him already, Renegade! Heck, you can both just die, for all I care!”

 

The two men continue to fight, locking up and jockeying for position, very near the edge of the pool. Renegade once more seems to be getting the upper hand, forcing his opponent back till he has to step up on the back of the diving board. Backing away, rather foolishly, CIA moves back along the wobbly length of board, Renegade following as the fans cheer like crazy. Both men gaze down at the pool, far below, before looking back at each other. Hesitating a moment, finally both men lurch forward, locking into a collar and elbow tie up. Neither man seems to have the advantage, and there is not much maneuvering room. Slowly, CIA begins to go to one knee, Renegade’s superior strangth forcing him down, till he is leaning back slightly over the edge of the board. The fans are silent, and everyone’s eyes are locked on the two men. Finally, after a long moment of struggle, CIA breaks his hold on Renegade’s arms and neck, knowing he will fall, and reaches forward to grab hold of the R-Masta’s legs. Renegade’s eyes go wide, and both men go tumbling from the diving board, steadily plummeting fifteen feet.

 

Axis is on his feet, yelling at the top of his lungs. “OH MY GOD! There’s no way they’ll survive this!”

 

Edwin jumps out of his seat, and, even though he knows it’s impossible, cries out. “Someone do something!”

 

King remains seated, and speaks quietly, but his words are no less poignant. “That’s it. They’re gonna die, and we’re gonna be out of jobs.”

 

In mid fall, the two men break free, and both crash sloppily to the concrete in the center of the deep end, a loud wet smack ringing out. Luckily, neither man seems to have landed on his head, and as the fans chant ‘Holy shit’, Brian Hebner checks to see if either man is seriously injured. After what seems a very long time of neither man moving, and at least three replays of the fall, CIA makes the slightest motion, lifting his arm slightly. Very, very slowly, the Canadian rolls over, flopping his arm over Renegade. Stunned for a moment, Brian Hebner finally slides into position next to the two bloodied men, hand slapping the concrete as the fans in attendance count along.

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

THREE!!!

 

*DINGDINGDING*

 

The bell rings, and the fans explode, cheering crazily. A sea of officials rush into the empty pool, followed quickly by medical personnel, who begin checking on both men, as it seems CIA’s valiant roll was all he had left in him. Funyon emerges at the edge of the pool, Microphone in hand. “Ladies and gentlemen, your NEW SJL World Heavyweight CHAMPION! C! I! AAAAA!”

 

The fans continue to cheer madly, dying down as the two battered men are brought out of the pool, each one recieveing a standing ovation as they’re taken past on stretchers, SJL title belt draped across the chest of the unconscious CIA. The cameras move to the announce table as the cheers die out, and all three announcers seem to be speechless.

 

Axis is the first to speak, a tone of awe in his voice. “Ladies and gentleman, we have just seen one of the most brutal falls I’ve seen in all my days. We have just seen a new champion crowned. But we did not see his joyous celebration, or hear what he had to say, or even know for sure if he’ll be able to defend his belt. I guess we’ll have to wait for Crimson to find out the answers to our questions.”

 

King nods his head, speaking up next. “I never said I liked either of those men very much. But they gave us a hell of a show tonight. We should appreciate that. At least until they get better, at which point I will return to hating their guts and belittling all their accomplishments.”

 

Edwin rolls his eyes as the camera finally cuts to him, for the closing words. “Ladies, Gents, DO NOT try this at home. I don’t know what can be said about what we’ve just seen. Except maybe for this. Holy Shit.”

 

The cameras fade out at that, bringing another exciting SJL show to a close. Aren’t you glad you watched?

[Guest kelloggs]

One of your best CIA. I can't come up with anythin to say except I can't wait to read Rene's match that beat this out. Musta been as close as it coulda been.