The match I wanted to hand in...

[Guest fosta]

I just want you people to know that I didn't plan on no showing. Here's the match I wanted to hand in, but lost count of time. Being in Australia and all, I thought I had a little more time. Hopefully I'll have myself in an American timeframe now.

 

 

“Welcome back, ladies and gentlemen, to SJL Crimson!” Wails Axis in his typically over hyping tone.

 

“And coming up in just moments, the Pentagon match, for the number one contendership to the European Title!”

 

“That’s right King. Last week, four of the five of these men were in singles matches against each other.”

 

“Are you sure?” Queries King, with the memory of a pound a day toker.

 

“Fosta was defeated by Tryst, and Blackwell made Storm tap.” States Axis “So tonight, Fosta and Omega both have a chance at revenge.”

 

On Axis’ last words, the lights in the arena fall, and the fans become eager for the match to begin. Strobe lights begin flashing menacingly throughout the arena, reminiscent of lightning, and the crowd begins to boo.

 

“Turn those off! Now!” Shrieks King “I’m an epileptic!”

 

With King’s words of wisdom, the entire arena is rattled with the sound of thunder.

 

“AHH! What are you people trying to do to me?!”

 

“One of a kind” by Breaking Point stirs up, and the audience responds with the suitable reaction, as Omega Storm walks out onto the rampway. Various crowd members shout various obscenities, and are rewarded by Storm with their very own personalized rebuttal. The audience love to hate this man, and he loves to be hated.

 

“On his way to the ring, weighing in at two hundred, forty five poouunds… Omega… Stoorrm!”

 

The smartly dressed Funyon’s voice echoes through the arena as Storm steps through the ropes. His face is emotionless, and Storm is determined, that this time, he gets his win, and begins the trudge down his muddy path to a European title reign.

 

“This man is focused tonight King.” Suggests Axis.

 

“Is he trying to kill me with his entrance? Tone it down you imbecile!” Cries a distraught King.

 

But if Storm is to take the contendership home he has to beat four other men, and with the eerie-then-evil guitar intro comes just one of them. Fosta walks out, as focused as he was last match, and just the same. The crowd throw the same obscenities to this man, but get different reactions altogether. Fosta doesn’t even acknowledge their existence tonight.

 

“Introducing next, from Chicago, Illinois, Fossstaaaa!”

 

“Fosta will be looking for his first win tonight as well. He has been given a great opportunity tonight in just his second match.”

 

“He looks like a homeless man.” Says King in a ridiculing tone, “If he wrestles half as bad as he shaves, he has no chance.”

 

Fosta rolls under the ropes into the ring, and stares directly at Storm with a slippery grin after standing. Storm stares back, looking slightly confused. He wonders what is going through Fosta’s cruel mind, as the man moves closer.

 

But our attention is turned to the rampway again as Rob Zombie’s “Superbeast” fires up with a drone. The crowd react with an excited cheer, the instant the song begins, and Aecas feels it from behind the curtain. Fired up by the eager crowd, he bursts out from behind the ramp way.

 

“And their competitor, at a height of six foot, seven incheess… Aecas!”

 

“This is the tallest competitor by three inches, King.” Exclaims Axis, hoping that King will think properly, and try to put Aecas over.

 

“So if Blackwell, six foot four, had your little Axis standing tall on his head, he would be as tall as Aecas?”

 

“…”

 

Aecas continues down the rampway, and remains cautious. He sees two heels in the ring, and he knows that they would have no moral dilemma if given the chance to double-team him at the beginning of the match. He read them perfectly, as that is exactly what Fosta had in mind, and now Storm is a happy part of the plan.

 

“…”

 

Aecas stops at the bottom of the ramp to wait for the other two competitors. He is by no means thinking that they are going to team up, but he decides to take his chances with them, rather than the two in the ring.

 

“…Yeah, if Blackwell was five feet seven.” Says an excited Axis.

 

“Too slow! WAAAAY TOO SLOW AXIS!”

 

“…If you were my mother, and I only had to be indifferent towards you to save myself from being shot in the balls, I would still hate you.”

 

The odd beginning of “Forests” by System of a Down bounces through the speakers to an increasingly accustomed crowd, and heads turn towards the Smarktron with a mass of cheers for their new face, Tryst. And with an odd song comes an odd character. The distorted guitar riff rumbles and crackles through the speakers as Tryst appears on the stage to a warm ovation for a rookie.

He stands; bow in one hand, arrows in the other, and makes his way merrily to the ring. He slaps hands with his fans, happy to be in the spotlight after just one match, and looks down towards his opponents. Fosta and Storm: One of these men he wrestled last week, and got a quick win over, but he realizes he won’t be seeing him by himself much in this match. Aecas: A big, scary individual. He seems to have trust in Tryst, opting to stand by his side at the beginning of the match, rather than the other two. But before he is to the ring, the two heels spill out of it.

 

“And this one’s been started early!” Calls Axis.

 

“These men too impatient to wait for Blackwell.”

 

Storm goes straight for Aecas. These two are both powerful men, and they meet at the mat, exchanging vicious forearms. Tryst and Fosta lock up a second time, both eager to restart the match from Metal. Tryst makes first contact, and knocks Fosta back, to the delight of the crowd, and to the surprise of himself. With a grin, he follows Fosta, and makes contact with a side knee to the stomach.

 

“What a way to start this match. These men treating the fans to a brawl to start.”

 

“But Where’s Blackwell?”

 

As If being called by Suicide King, Blackwell decides to rush out from behind the curtain and down the rampway, hardly giving his theme music time to begin. The fans pop warmly for the late entrance, and Blackwell runs eagerly to the ring, excited to join such a match.

 

“Here he is King!” Says Axis.

 

“Oh, joy!” Cries King in an extremely sarcastic tone.

 

He makes contact with Aecas with a flying forearm across the back. The strike jolts Aecas roughly, but he sucks it in and stays on his feet. He turns to face Blackwell, and grabs him by the head, then heaves him off the ground and onto his back on the steel.

 

“What a brutal move. Pure power there by Aecas. What a scary individual.”

 

Satisfied with seeing Blackwell writhing on the ramp, he turns back to his fallen opponent, Storm. But to his surprise he finds Storm on his feet, and Aecas catches a poke to his eyes.

Fosta is leaning against the apron after sending a hard kick to the groin of the not-so-merry-anymore Tryst. He wasn’t expecting such a defiant start from his last opponent, whose face is turning blue. Storm calls to Fosta, and sends Aecas towards him. Aecas stumbles blindly into a sharp forearm from Fosta. He is shaken heavily and falls to his rear.

 

“Now that was a stiff shot.” Scoffs Axis, “Aecas stands to most forearms, but he had to fall after that one.”

 

With a sore jaw, Aecas is lifted reluctantly to his feet. He tries to fight Fosta and Omega off, but eventually the two teammates hoist him into the air, and Aecas is double suplexed on the outside.

 

“These two are looking like a dangerous team, King.”

 

“Look at that!”

 

Tryst flies off the second rope with a springboard moonsault, and lands on top of a standing Blackwell.

 

Tryst isn’t holding anything back in this match… He’s taking this contendership if he has to spend most of the match in the air. He pulls Blackwell to his feet but gets sent crashing into the ring post in an attempt to do just that to Christian.

 

“A rough move by Blackwell. This match has been quite brutal King.”

 

“Good… Great… maybe Storm can be injured.” Mumbles King. He then comes alive again, “I need a break from his entrance, or I’m going to have a nervous breakdown.”

 

“Near Fall!”

 

Aecas powers out from a Storm pin, after being rolled into the ring. The referee finally starts creating some order in the match, and manages to get Fosta, Aecas, Omega, and Blackwell into the ring. Tryst climbs tenderly into the ring after them. Blackwell isn’t happy with the double-teaming situation taking place on Aecas, and leaves Tryst, attacking Fosta with a forearm. Fosta cowers from the blow, but Blackwell keeps the pressure on, despite his fiendish acting. Fosta is guided unhappily to the ropes, and he reverses a whip. Frustrated with the interruption from Christian, he puts all his strength into a clothesline, which misses by more than a foot. Blackwell spins around behind him, and sends Fosta crumpling to the mat with a german suplex!

 

“Blackwell just delivered a damaging german suplex, and he manages to bridge it!”

 

“No! Blackwell can’t get a pin!”

 

1…

 

2…

 

A late kick-out keeps Fosta in the match, Winded, he keeps himself grounded and on his stomach, and slides out of the ring to catch a breather. Blackwell is to his feet in time to catch a dropkick from Tristan, and he tumbles out of the ring as the referee begins to panic with his match falling out of his hands again.

 

“And Tryst is alive again!”

 

“Hey Tryst, Bush is taxing me! I want your money!” Yells King to the man himself, trying to muffle his microphone.

 

“What the hell are you talking about?”

 

Tryst’s face lights up with excitement as he hits the ropes on the opposite side of the ring. He comes hurtling back towards Blackwell, and Fosta, who is now standing right next to him. Fearlessly, Tryst jumps up onto the top rope, then leaps off, spinning in mid-air.

 

“A spinning cross body!”

 

The fans are ecstatic for Tryst, who collides with both opponents, and all three men tumble to the floor in a painful heap.

Back in the ring, Storm pulls Aecas to the middle of the ring and loads him up for an underhook face first piledriver. But as always in wrestling, a move set up so straightforwardly is always reversed, and Aecas isn’t about to let this be an exception to the rule. He slowly stands, dropping Storm to the mat behind him.

 

“Aecas reverses the piledriver. He’s looking for the chokeslam now King!”

 

“Put him away Aecas! This man’s theme music MUST BE STOPPED!”

 

The giant individual’s eyes open wide as he grabs Storm by his throat. The fans explode, enthusiastic to see one of the most exciting moves in modern wrestling. Almost ceremoniously, Storm’s arm is thrown over Aecas’ and lands coincidently on his shoulder. Omega’s other arm shoots up into the air in defiance, as he begins to panic. But it is to no avail. Aecas hoists him into the air, as the fans cheers grow. He reaches his vertex, and at this point realizes there is only one way down. All he can do is try to soften his landing.

 

CRASH!

 

“He got it! The chokeslam!”

 

“YES!”

 

But Aecas doesn’t pin. As Fosta, Tryst and Christian scrap between themselves, Aecas goes to the corner and waits for Omega Storm to find his feet, which he slowly but surely does.

 

“HHHOOMMFVF!”

 

The wind is knocked out of Storm’s lungs with tremendous force. The fans are rumbling this time. Aecas GORED Storm to HELL.

 

“The Gore! But can Storm kick out?!”

 

1…

 

2…

 

3!

 

“NO!”

 

DING DING DING!

 

“Aecas got him! Four men left.” States Axis.

 

Aecas pulls himself slowly to his feet. The monster was double-teamed for the beginning of the match, but he was able to fight back with brute power. The giant watches Storm roll outside the ring, while holding his arms high in the air, celebrating his pin.

 

1…

 

2…

 

3!

 

“What the fu-“

 

“YES! Fosta rolled him up!”

 

With Suicide King in Nirvana, and Axis crying for the pin to be overruled, Fosta climbs to his feet, releasing the handful of tights he had bundled up.

 

“This is a travesty! Fosta grabbed the tights, and Aecas only pinned Storm seco-“

 

“A pin is a pin, Axis.”

 

“You were just backing Aecas!”

 

“I wasn’t backing Aecas, I hardly back anyone; I just hate their opponents.”

 

Fosta is quick to exit the ring. With a worried look on his face, he directs the referee around who tries to hold back a furious Aecas. Fosta is genuinely sacred, not playing chicken. His hands are shaking slightly as Aecas pushes the referee to the mat.

 

“Yes! Aecas is going to get his revenge!”

 

“Get that freak out of here, and take Omega’s vomit inducing entrance with him!”

 

Fosta’s eyes open widely as he begins to run from Aecas, who moves amazingly quickly for a big guy. His face turns crimson in anger, as he swings around the corner of the ring in hot pursuit. Fosta turns to look behind him, and then trips on his temporary partner, Omega. Shocked, he tumbles to the mat, and slides across it, leaving a trail of sweat in his path.

 

“Aecas has him now!” Cries Axis, as he nearly jumps out of his seat with excitement, “And Fosta is going to get his ass handed to him!”

 

“Under the ring Fosta! Hide under the ring!”

 

As if he heard King’s advice, he attempts to scramble under the apron in a panic. His body is covered, with just his legs outside the apron when he is grabbed by the ankle. Aecas, with his prey in his grasp, begins to pull on Fosta’s leg, who comes out kicking and wriggling in an attempt to free himself from Aecas’ giant hands.

 

“Fosta can’t run now, he has to fight!”

 

“Aecas can’t do this! He was just pinned!” Debates King.

 

Aecas loads up a right hand, with a fistful of Fosta’s wooly hair in it. Fosta just lost Aecas his match in the most cowardly possible situation. The newcomer has messed with the wrong guy.

 

WHAM!

 

The punch sends Fosta stumbling backwards, and he trips over the steel steps as officials make their way to the ring. After a second thunderous right, Fosta is rolled into the ring. Still in a panic, he tires to climb to his feet, but stumbles on his own feet in his haze. He pinned Aecas however he could; no need for sportsmanship.

 

“He walked right into it! Aecas wants to chokeslam Fosta as well!”

 

“Kick him in the nuts you homeless loser!”

 

Before Aecas can hoist him into the air, several officials break up the two. With tears in his eyes from being choked, Fosta falls to the mat. He looks up to the officials, then to Aecas.

 

“Why not get one more in?” He thinks to himself, while picking himself up off the ground.

 

Aecas has finally been convinced to leave the ring. Fosta, with right hand held high, moves towards him from behind. He is about to land his right fist into the back of Aecas head when…

 

“German suplex! Blackwell gets another german!”

 

Fosta falls to the mat before he even knows what’s happening. He finds himself in a daze…

 

1…

 

He tries to shake his cobwebs, and a tremendous pain rises from inside him…

 

2...

 

He realizes he’s being pinned, and tries to roll off his shoulders…

 

Threenooo!

 

“Blackwell was less than half a count away from eliminating our third competitor.”

 

“Yeh, but he had to come from behind.” Rebuts King.

 

“Fosta just done that and you were fine with it.”

 

“I’m a heel commentator; I don’t need justification.”

 

Blackwell lies on the mat for a minute, tired from his intense brawling with Tryst. He sees that Tryst is definitely a man to be taken seriously in the ring, even with his odd gimmick. He climbs to his feet, worn out, but relatively painless, and brings Fosta to a vertical base. But Fosta isn’t about to be anybodies rag doll- oh wait, yes he is. He falls back to one knee, and his face cringes as he feels the pain of a forearm across the back.

 

“Three men left, King.” States Axis, “Who’s your pick for the winner?”

 

“Blackwell. One of the men looks like he owns less than ten dollars, the other thinks he is Robin Hood.” Explains King, in logic only he can understand, “Blackwell is the only one there that seems sane.”

 

Blackwell sends Fosta into the ropes as Tryst climbs into the ring. Fosta is met with a side knee on his return, and he keels over, holding his stomach. Tryst runs, and executes a front flip onto his back, grabbing Fosta by the neck on his way over, with a variation of the swinging neckbreaker.

 

“A nice innovation by Tryst… definitely a move you don’t see very often.”

 

“Have you seen that website where people pay bums to fight?”

 

“Look I don’t think this relates at all t-“

 

“Well this reminds me of that website. But they’re just paying the bum to have his teeth kicked out.”

 

Axis murmurs under his breath, “Please, give me someone I can work with.”

 

Fosta knows he’s in trouble now. These two men seem to have decided to eliminate a competitor, and then fight for the number one contendership themselves, he thinks to himself. But Blackwell has a higher moral standard than that. He fires a chop into Tryst’s chest as he stands. Happy to be the only man in the ring to fall that low, Fosta rolls away from the two before climbing to his feet.

 

“Blackwell and Tristan definitely aren’t thinking of teaming up to eliminate Fosta, King.” Axis suggests, hoping to get a wrestling based conversation out of King for the benefit of those who force themselves to listen to these two fools.

 

“I’ll give you the address of the website after the show, Axis… It’s better than this crap factory.”

 

“Oh God.”

 

Blackwell has backed his opponent into the turnbuckle. He lifts Tryst onto the turnbuckle, and fires a hard right chop to his chest, causing Tryst to waver dangerously on top. Tryst looks down for a second to the outside, then grabs tightly onto the turnbuckle with fear covering his face. Determined, Blackwell climbs up the turnbuckle with Tryst, standing on the second turnbuckle. Blackwell, along with Tryst, is going to do whatever it takes to win this match. If all Blackwell has to do is fall backwards off the top turnbuckle, then hell, sign him up. Tryst, temporarily dazed, or so it looks, sits on the turnbuckle awaiting his opponent. Tryst is willing to wage war atop the turnbuckle and see who falls first. And if it’s not him, he’ll jump on the man who lies on the mat.

 

“Both men on the turnbuckle now King. And with two people like this, you don’t know what they’ll do.”

 

“But we have a third person, don’t forget.”

 

Fosta makes his way over to the turnbuckle eagerly, as the two do battle, exchanging forearms. The fans grow restless as the competition comes to a halt, with Blackwell emerging victorious. He puts Tryst in a front facelock, and looks out to the sea of people, as they begin to cheer for a superplex. Tryst’s arm is thrown over Blackwell’s shoulder, and Blackwell prepares to suplex him off, pulling Tryst so he stands on the top turnbuckle.

 

“What the hell is Fosta doing Axis?”

 

“Fosta wants to powerbomb Blackwell?”

 

Fosta has ducked under Blackwell, and came up between him and the turnbuckle, putting Blackwell in a powerbomb position, as if to powerbomb him off the buckle.

 

“But Blackwell’s suplexing Tryst?”

 

Blackwell pulls Tryst off the turnbuckle, and Fosta lifts Blackwell off as well. For a split second, Blackwell holds Tryst in a suplex, and Fosta holds Blackwell in a powerbomb, but the whole thing comes crashing to the mat soon after.

 

“Wow! What a move! Blackwell just suplexed Tryst from the turnbuckle, but Fosta powerbombed Blackwell at the same time!”

 

The crowd erupts for the innovative move. Fosta, with a giant grin on his face, stays where he is, in a pinning predicament with Blackwell from the sitting powerbomb. The referee jumps to the mat to make the count on Blackwell…

 

1…

 

Blackwell starts to move slightly, waking from the move…

 

2…

 

He feels his head throb heavily, and contemplates whether or not he can continue the match…

 

Threekickout!

 

“He kicked out! Blackwell still in it!”

 

But Fosta isn’t done. He scrambles over to Tryst, who fell from higher than Blackwell did.

 

1…

 

Tryst feels the ref’s hand hit the mat, but feels too sore to move. Why not just lay here?..

 

2…

 

No, he can’t do that. His drive is too strong. His heart is too big.

 

Kick-out!

 

The fans, who counted with the referee, are on their feet, happy that this match is continuing.

 

“Two extremely close counts! Fosta could’ve pinned both men then, if the count was milliseconds quicker!”

 

“If he went straight to Tryst he may have been able to eliminate him, but Tryst was given time to recuperate while the pin was made on Blackwell.”

 

“We’ll never know now King.”

 

Fosta stands, his back slightly jarred from having to hold both men in the air. He arches, and wonders what to do from here. Tryst is still down, and Blackwell is beginning to move to his feet.

 

“Fosta doesn’t know what to do next, King.”

 

“…Try to find a house to move into?”

 

He climbs out of the ring onto the apron, and pulls on the ropes, while keeping his eyes on Blackwell. Fosta is convinced that Blackwell has just one high impact move left in him, and prepares to hit him with the springboard forearm. Confident, he heaves himself up onto the ropes with half as much grace as Tryst, but with just as much potential damage to be done. He bounces off, and extends his forearm, but Blackwell reverses with a…

 

“Superkick! What a reversal to the springboard forearm!”

 

“Fosta has been knocked senseless!”

 

He lies on the mat, after crumpling to the mat. Blackwell drops to his knees, the adrenaline from coming that close to being knocked out rushing through his veins. He covers Fosta…

 

1…

 

Fosta feels like his jaw has been knocked off his face, it throbs as the ref lifts his hand back into the air…

 

2… He lifts his leg into the air, and realizes how tired he is when his abdominals can barely hoist it up…

 

Kick-out!

 

“Fosta managed to kick out of the superkick!”

 

“Only by a split second, Axis.”

 

“Tryst is up now, and looking to finish Fosta off.”

 

Tristan is planning to do just that. Although resolute to eliminate him, he doesn’t have the energy to pick him up easily, and Fosta is dropped once. Tryst sucks it in, and lifts Fosta to his feet, but he groans… He still has to perform a move… but he doesn’t get the chance.

 

“Low blow by Fosta!”

 

The fans droning boo fills out the arena, and Fosta stays down on his knee. Tryst is on the ground in agony. This is the second time this match Fosta has went low, and it has him in a caged rage. He is picked up slowly by Fosta, and manages a forearm.

 

“But Tryst fights back viciously!”

 

Tryst absorbs the forearm, and grabs Fosta by the back of the head. He fires his own forearm that would have knocked Fosta over if it wasn’t for the stability Tryst is adding. A second jaw-breaking forearm knocks Fosta silly, but Tryst doesn’t stop. Fosta has cheated and played dirty all through this match; double-teaming, going low, and attacking from behind, and Tryst is determined to eradicate the match of the bottom-feeder he is. A third elbow, and Fosta falls to the mat.

 

“Tryst has lost his mind, King!”

 

“He lost his mind when he decided he was a part of historical folk lore.”

 

But Fosta doesn’t want to stay on the mat. Actually, I don’t think he even thought about it. He’s running on instinct and adrenaline, and his body picked itself back off the ground.

 

THUMP!

 

A fourth forearm from Tryst. His forearm is actually sore from bouncing off Fosta’s face so many times. But to the frustration of Tristan, Fosta stands up again. He isn’t even able to look into Tryst’s eyes, just stand there in a living-dead state. Tryst is fed-up, and decides to put Fosta out of his misery with…

 

“The Crusade! Tryst got the crusade!”

 

“It has to be over for this fool now. Why didn’t he just quit when Tryst knocked him down the first time?”

 

1…

 

Fosta feels the pain in his body.

 

2…

 

He’s been superkicked in mid-air, hit in the face with four forearms, and now been slammed face first to the mat with the crusade… and that’s in the last few minutes.

 

3!

 

DING DING DING!

 

“Tryst got him! Fosta is eliminated!”

 

Tryst drops Fosta’s leg with a look of satisfaction, although it is masked by a look of exhaustion. The fans are cheering for the new man in the spotlight as he climbs to his feet, and sees Blackwell in the other corner of the ring. Surprised that Blackwell didn’t attack him, he nods across the ring. Blackwell smiles back, and nods as well, happy that his sportsmanship hadn’t gone unnoticed. But neither man is going to go easy, and neither is expecting that from their opponent. Fosta is rolled sorely out of the ring, with a hand as close to his jaw as he can rest it without it hurting too much.

 

“This is it King. This is what it comes down to. Tristan Whitt, in only his second match, versus Christian Blackwell.”

 

“Although both these guys are pussies, this will be a great finish.”

 

The fans agree. A small Tristan chant goes up, than grows until it involves most of the arena.

 

“Tristan! Stompstompstomp! Tristan! Stompstompstomp!”

 

Both men move to the middle of the ring, and begin to circle each other. Tryst has a small smile on his face. He is stunned at the following he has already gathered, and excited at the chance to wrestle Blackwell one on one. Blackwell looks across the ring without the smile. Although excited to meet this new prodigy, his excitement is focused into concentration.

 

“And here we go!” Bellows Axis.

 

“What’s this?”

 

Both men extend a hand, and they grasp each others hand momentarily.

 

“Oh my God!” Gasps King “These guys are GAY!”

 

Both men are fatigued from the match that has already taken place, and a drip of sweat is flung from Tryst’s face as a he brushes his hair back. And with no further hesitation, the two lock up! Tryst with a speed advantage manages to move through to a hammerlock, but the well-seasoned Blackwell finds his own hammerlock instantly. Tryst is able to get an arm wrapped around Blackwell’s neck, and move into a side headlock. From there he moves quickly into a front headlock and drops to the mat, forcing Blackwell to the mat too.

 

“Both men look to be educated in mat wrestling, King.” Suggests Axis.

 

“Well,” says King, mocking Axis’s seriousness “that has to be the most boring feature of professional wrestling one could possibly study, doesn’t it?”

 

Tryst jumps to the back of Blackwell, and catches Blackwell’s leg between his own in record time, then lunges forwards for a chinlock. But Blackwell sees the STF coming, and manages to evade Tryst’s grasp. Tryst falls to the mat, and Blackwell snaps an armbar on immediately.

 

“A nice piece of mat wrestling,” Sates Axis, before becoming excited “and Tryst looks like he’s in trouble!”

 

Blackwell applies pressure, and Tryst writhes in pain, his shoulder with the weight of Christian on top of it. But Tryst isn’t going to give up, not even to the determined Blackwell, whose face is tight showing his strain. Tryst makes the ropes after a few long moments, and Blackwell relieves the pressure, to Tryst’s gratefulness.

 

“He makes the ropes this time, but he is really favouring that shoulder now, King.”

 

“I’d say that Blackwell has him right where he wants him, but he’d probably prefer him handcuffed to his bed, wearing a pink fluffy thong.”

 

“…Where do you come up with this stuff?”

 

Blackwell smells blood. He hoists Tryst from the mat, and throws him into the middle of the ring with an armdrag and begins to apply pressure, with his confidence growing. But Tristan makes his way to his feet quickly, reversing the hold with one of his own, with a standing armbar. He quickly forces Blackwell to the ground, as his face lights up.

 

“Now Tryst has Christian in the same move!”

 

The fans are screaming for Tryst as he applies all the pressure he can. Blackwell struggles to move himself. He’s come all this way, and he’s not prepared to submit now. The only way that Tryst is going to win this one is if he knocks him out.

 

“He’s fighting it! Blackwell doesn’t want to tap, but he may have no choice!”

 

He fights for every inch, but he finally makes the ropes. His salvation. It seemed like hours, but it was all over in seconds. Tryst lets go and sits against the ropes, getting his breath. Blackwell isn’t taking so long. Facing one of the SJL’s toughest competitors, Tryst doesn’t have time to rest, and he realizes that with a groan, as he finds his vertical base.

 

“Blackwell is already on his feet. He’s going to fight on in any state, King.”

 

“Would he fight in Mexico?”

 

Tryst sends a backhand chop across Balckwell’s chest, and it rings out through the arena, with a Flair-like “WHOO!” from the crowd. Blackwell answers back with a rock solid chop of his own, and it sends Tryst back steps, trying to rub the heat off his chest as he yells out. He sizes Blackwell up again, and lands another chop. But Blackwell answers with something bigger a second time. This time Tryst is knocked off his feet. He climbs to his feet again right away, and endures another two hard chops across the chest before hitting the ropes.

 

“Blackwell has fought Tryst to the ropes with hard chops, and now he’s got the advantage again.”

 

“This is going back and forward with every move!”

 

Christian Grabs him by the arm and throws him across the ring. Tryst ducks a clothesline and hits the ropes again, determined to turn it back around, which he does with a…

 

“…and Tryst gets a headscissors, and the lead back.”

 

“This match is going back and forth faster than you and your sexual preference, Axis!”

 

Blackwell is sent hurtling through the air, and he crashes into the referee, both of them falling to the mat. The referee is motionless. Blackwell climbs to his feet, and he watches as Tryst comes after him, and realizes that Tryst thinks he is more hurt than he actually is. Tryst tries to whip him, but Blackwell is able to reverse the half-hearted attempt. Tristan hits the ropes and comes back to be armdragged. He hits the mat hard, and before he can react, he feels Blackwell’s legs wrap around his neck and arm. He feels himself being squeezed by Blackwell’s legs, and feels his arm being pulled towards Christian’s body. Tryst begins to panic, now, as the pressure is applied, and the pain builds.

 

“Blackwell has him! He’s locked the triangle hold on!”

 

“Tryst isn’t reaching the ropes this time, Axis!”

 

But King was wrong. Tryst knows that he can’t escape this move, or reverse it. Blackwell has the move on too tightly, and he’s in a better condition than Tryst thought. He starts dragging himself to the ropes, adding pressure to the hold each time he has to. He continues single-mindedly, trying to block out the pain, and finally reaches the ropes as the fans go up in cheers.

 

“He made it!”

 

“But Blackwell dragged him back!”

 

Blackwell stood, and pulled Tryst by the arm, reapplying the hold. He puts everything he has into the move, feeling the submission coming any second now, but, as he didn’t drag Tryst out back to the middle of the ring, he is able to roll over and find the ropes a second time.

 

“Again, he gets the ropes!”

 

Frustrated, Blackwell gets to his feet, and waits for Tryst to stand. It takes Tryst a long time just to move, but the fans help him to his feet. Determined to continue the match, with this pain shooting down his neck, he gets to his feet.

 

“He’s up!”

 

“But here comes Blackwell.”

 

Blackwell runs at him in a last ditch effort, wanting to knock Tryst’s head off with a forearm. But Tryst sends a heavy front kick into Blackwell’s chest. Blackwell hits the ropes, and comes back off to be caught in…

 

“Another Crusade! Tryst may have this match won!”

 

“But that Crusade took the rest of his energy! He can’t make the pin!”

 

Tryst lies on the mat with his opponent. Both men are too sore to move. Tryst has fought until he has expelled his last breath, and Blackwell who lies less than a foot from him, has tried as hard as he can to squeeze a submission out of Tryst. But it hasn’t come.

 

“What the hell is Fosta doing here?”

 

The chorus of boos alerted Axis to the rampway, and he glares towards it to see Fosta. Fosta makes his way down the ring angrily, with a steel chair in one hand, and an ice pack in his other, pressed against his jaw. He has his eyes set on his target… a downed Tryst.

 

“It doesn’t look like Fosta’s business is done here Axis.”

 

“Of course it is! Get out of here! Somebody get him out of here!” Yells Axis in a futile rage.

 

“What are you doing?” Asks King in an irritated manner, “Are you expecting him to hear you, and turn around and leave the ring?”

 

With the referee inanimate, Fosta slithers under the bottom ropes with his chair after dropping his ice pack. The boos continue as Tryst begins to climb to his feet. The fans can see it, the commentators can see it, but Tryst is blind to the impending assault.

 

SMASH!

 

“Oh! What a cold-blooded chairshot!”

 

The fans ‘Ohh!’ at the shot as well, as a metallic crash echoes through the arena to Fosta’s delight. He swung that chair so hard that it is nearly knocked out of his hands, and he shakes them from the vibration that sent a shock running up his arms. Tryst is a pain ridden heap on the mat, unable to stand or protect him self. Fosta has completely destroyed him, as well as his chances at winning this match, and is extremely proud of it. He stands above Tryst in his despicable moment of glory, before noticing the ref moving. He slides the chair out of the ring and exits it to admire his heartless action’s consequence from the rampway.

 

“What a heartless animal, King.”

 

Blackwell begins to stand, stumbling first, then straightening up. He is unsure why Tryst didn’t make a cover, and sees him lying on the mat. Confused, he begins to pull Tryst to his feet as the referee regains consciousness, and starts to climb to his feet. Blackwell knows how hurt Tryst is, and loads him up into the 404.

 

“Blackwell can’t win like this. He’s a worthy competitor for the title, no doubt. But he should win the contendership fairly.”

 

“Well Fosta has eliminated any chance of that.”

 

“And there it is. The nail in the coffin. Blackwell hits the 404.”

 

1…

 

Tryst is barely even conscious. He just can’t…

 

2…

 

Kick…

 

3!

 

Out.

 

DING DING DING!

 

Funyon stands, disappointed to see such a match end like this, he announces our winner.

 

“You’re winner, and number one contender to the European title… Christiaaaan, Blackweeell!”

 

The fans are booing, but not due to a dislike of Blackwell… to an utter hatred of Fosta. He killed Tryst’s chance of a title match. He has derailed an explosive new superstar. But surely not for long…

 

“What a disappointment King.” Says Axis with a sigh, “That was one exciting match, and Fosta had to come in and ruin it.”

 

“Why did he even attack Tryst? What was his motivation?”

 

Fosta stands at the top of the ramp with a sadistic grin on his face. He brings the ice-pack back to his face, and he is reminded of why he just chairshotted Tristan. His grin soon reforms to a staright face, and he turns his back on Tryst, to retreat behind the curtain.

 

“Folks, we have to go to a commercial. Stay tuned, maybe Fosta can be repaid for his actions.”

[Guest Crowe]

I lost, I am disappointed... oh well. Here is the match I wrote...

 

---

 

The commercial break comes to its completion and the screen fades in to SJL Crimson – location, the Olympic Arena in Moscow, Russia. The camera swoons across all sections of the Russian crowd, and my god I have never seen such an abundance of alcohol anywhere in my entire life. Children as young as three can be seen knocking shots of Vodka down their throats and drinking an amount that would put even Janus, the hoss-fuckin-monster to shame. The crowd does not exude wealth, as most are wearing clothing that is not classy or professional, but a tad painful on the eyes. There are some that are not drinking, and it’s these people who are wasting their time holding up various cardboard signs. Majority (when I say that, I mean ALL) of the signs are all in Russian, so... yeah, there is no point in listing them. The camera cuts to an outer shot of the SJL ring, and pans around to the two men sitting at the commentary position. On the left sits the self-proclaimed “Lord Of The Shed” Axis, shivering in his boots, the daft Aussie not used to the extreme level of cold that Russia has. On the right sits The Gambling Man or The Ladies Man, as he likes to be called, is everyone’s favourite colour commentator The Suicide King. Both men banter with each other, discussing a wide variety of things ranging from the idiotic to the intelligent.

 

“Axis! I got a present for you!” says King.

 

“Oh yeah? What?” replies Axis.

 

“It’s over there in the crowd,” says King as he points into the crowd.

 

Axis turns to look over and gets confused.

 

“Where is it, King?” asks Axis.

 

“What!? You think I’m going to tell you, you have to find it yourself!” exclaims King.

 

“Oook...” responds Axis as he continues to search through the crowd for his present.

 

King grins, and grins widely, because of course he did not get Axis a present and he sure as hell didn’t hide it in the crowd.

 

“You keep looking Axis, I’ll introduce the next match up...” says King, trying to hold back his laughter.

 

Axis nods and continues peering out into the crowd, scratching his head and whispering to himself...

 

“Where the hell is this present? No, I’ve already looked in that part of the crowd...”

 

“Well fans, we just saw a decent matchup, that being the 5 man Prism match. A deserving winner if you asked me... or not, since I can’t remember who won. Anyhoo, the next match we have for you is a little something the JLCC cooked up after last week’s show. It has been called the Smirnoff Match. Somewhere insi... uhh... what the... hello? NOOOO! Come back!” screams King in the midst of his explanation.

 

He taps his earpiece repeatedly, Axis noticing King’s cries looks back at him.

 

“Guy in the back go for a piss?” queries Axis.

 

“Yeah...” replies King.

 

A silence in commentary ensues.

 

“He’s back!” exclaims King in glee.

 

“You’re such an idiot... now... back to finding this present!” exclaims Axis.

 

“Somewhere inside the Olympic Arena here in Moscow are three bottles of authentic Smirnoff Vodka. Three bottles? There’s about a million in the audience tonight! Oh, specially marked bottles of Smirnoff Vodka. The first wrestler to find and drink two bottles of Vodka will be declared the winner, and will probably hurl their guts up soon afterwards,” reports King.

 

“... King, did you like... get smarter overnight? Or did I just get dumber and more ignorant?” asks Axis.

 

“A little bit from a column A and a little bit from column B,” replies King.

 

“Right, anyway fans, I should start to do some calling before I get fired. This match is no disqualification absolutely anything goes. Now, let’s get this match happening!” shouts Axis.

 

Darkness falls upon the Olympic Arena as all the lights go suddenly out. The audience quietens and the beginning of Fear Factory’s monster metal hit blasts through the arena sound system.

 

“Consumed with memories, that preceded today... given a chance to bereave... life that’s slipping AAAAAWWWWWWWWAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAYYYYYYYYYYY!”

 

Blue pyrotechnics fountain into the air! The crunching heavy as hell guitar riff explodes and almost destroys every speaker in the arena!

 

“MMEEEETTTTTAAAAAALLLLLL!!!!!!!!” screams Axis in a high pitch glam vocal style.

 

“Hey hey hey, keep your glam stylez in check while I’m here, got it?” snarls King.

 

A spotlight focuses onto the entrance curtain as Janus, the hoss-fuckin-monster pushes the curtain aside and walks into the spotlight. He flicks back his long white hair back off his face and strides down the Crimson stage.

 

“The monstrous Janus, chiselled frame an unstoppable force in the ring...” conveys Axis.

 

“Mike Van Siclen DID beat him on the last show, so he isn’t unstoppable... idiot,” remarks King.

 

Each blue pyrotechnic dies as Janus walks by it, and he climbs into the ring... slowly and surely.

 

“Good point, Janus obviously seething from that loss... look at his face, he’s fuming... Oh look at those eyes, he’s really pissed off!” reports Axis.

 

“Oh course he’s pissed off, Axis ya wanka, he not only lost his match against Mike Van Siclen, he lost the world title... and it was not only in his home country, but in his home town!” replies King.

 

“Standing in the ring, weighing in at a three hundred and fifty pounds and towering at a height of seven foot two, he is JJJJAAAAAANNNNNNNNUUUUUUUUUUUSSSSSSSSSSSSSS!!!!!!!”

 

The crowd boos the big man, the Russian crowd not showing the love and affection the Australian crowd did. Janus stands in the centre of the ring, lit only by the spotlight......and lifts his arms into the air.

 

*BOOM!*

 

Blue flame-pyros explode upwards from the turnbuckles, and the lights come back on. “Resurrection" fades out as Janus paces around the ring, waiting for his opponent, Crow.

 

.

 

..

 

...

 

“WAIT FOR CHAOS! WAIT FOR WARFARE! AT THE POINT OF NO RETURN! BLEED FOR MONEY! BLEED FOR JUSTICE! GOING STRAIGHT TO HELL WITH A WOUNDED SSSSOOOOOUUUUUUUUUUUUULLLLLLL!!!!!!1”

 

The brutal anger-ridden vocal line from Soilwork’s “Natural Born Chaos” blasts out of arena speakers, louder than ever before and that thrashy groove heavy metal riff follows it. The crowd boos and jeers in response to the song, knowing that Crow, The Antichrist Superstar is soon to walk down to the ring. Crow steps out from behind the entrance curtain on the SJL Crimson stage, lit Dunhill cigarette in left hand. The finest blend of world tobaccos indeed; Crow sucks back on the cigarette, filling his mouth and lungs with thick, spicy tobacco smoke.

 

“There is the Antichrist Superstar, coming off an impressive win back in Sydney, Australia over “Hollywood” Spike Jenkins and the Insane Luchador Andrew Rickmen in the infamous Ball Crawl match,” says Axis.

 

“I remember that match, it was... interesting. Though Axis, I’ve looked at that replay many times and I’m positive that the greatest wrestler in the world touched the ground first,” replies King.

 

“Coming down the aisle, weighing in at two hundred and thirty-one pounds and standing at a height of six feet two inches, he is The Antichrist Superstar, this.. is... CCCCCRRRRRROOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW!!!!!!1”

 

Crow blackens some lung as he walks down to the ring, he gazes left and right into the crowds, boos echoing through the Olympic Arena and through the ears of Crow. He puts his cigarette out on the ring post and climbs under the second into the ring. An ascension to the heavens is seen as Crow steps up the ropes onto the turnbuckle; he sticks his arms out in a crucifix pose.

 

“More and more boos from the crowd... hey, did someone just throw a shoe at him?” asks Axis.

 

“Looks like a vagina and penis to me,” responds King.

 

“Everything looks like that to you now, King,” replies Axis, widespread grin on his face. Glee in his mind, oh the joy of a successful prank.

 

Crow walks past Janus and asks for a microphone; the timekeeper hands a microphone to him.

 

“Looks like Crow is going to say something here,” reports Axis.

 

Crow begins... but is cut off by large scale booing.

 

“Shut the hell up, why don’t you cheer me like the aussies did!? Huh!?” yells Crow.

 

More and more boos! Crow stands in the ring, hands on hips, waiting for silence...

 

“Janus man, we don’t need to fight, we can just find all three of the bottles and drink them together...” begins Crow.

 

Janus looks down upon Crow ferociously, his green eyes gleaming in the light. He cracks his knuckles and his neck, and looks back down on Crow.

 

“We’re soul mates dude, we’re bros...” continues Crow.

 

Janus glares at Crow... his mind ticking over with thoughts, arguing...

 

Ignore Terrence, he is of no use... do not let Crow tempt him.

 

“No,” coldly replies Janus.

 

“What? Come on, man! Terrence, talk to me! We got pissed together, played cricket and fucked up Russell Crowe! You’re the first friend I’ve had since... since... Terrence, let’s not fi...”

 

TERRENCE IS WEAK! WEAK! YOU ARE JANUS! KILL CROW!

 

“My name is NOT Terrence, my name is Janus!” screams Janus.

 

Janus launches his massive, muscly arm at the throat of Crow; Crow’s head is almost knocked right off his shoulders! Crow lands hard on the canvas clutching at his jaw – the point of contact, and the microphone falling out of his hand.

 

“Janus just knocked Crow’s head off, that was a clothesline from hell if I’ve ever seen one!” exclaims King.

 

The bell rings.

 

“Fans, this match has begun! Let the race to the Smirnoff Vodka begin!” says Axis.

 

Janus lifts up the fallen Crow by the hair, pulling out strands as he lifts him up; Janus not caring for his former little buddy grabs onto Crow’s pants and hair. Janus runs in the ring and throws Crow over the top rope to the outside!

 

“Janus just threw Crow like he was a rag doll, I think that’s an indication of how the match is going to pan out,” reports Axis.

 

Janus stands high and mighty in the ring, watching Crow roll on the floor, clutching at his back in pain. Some wounds take time to heal, a lot of time, and some obviously had enough time for Crow. The Cradle Of Filth “Vestal Masturbation” shirt still on his back, for the 4th show in a row.

 

“Janus steps out of the ring, and is stalking Crow...” says King.

 

Stalking is exactly what Janus is doing, his eyes are fixed on Crow and only Crow... Distractions do not exist for this monster of a man. Crow looks back, only to see Janus getting closer and closer to him. Out of pure desperation, he starts to crawl away from Janus, trying to escape the face of doom.

 

“That poor, poor man... how would you like to have a seven foot two man, coming off a huge upset loss chasing after you, King?” asks Axis.

 

“I’m The Suicide King, he’d be too afraid to chase after me, I’d get my fully sick leb connections onto him,” replies King.

 

Crow’s attempts to escape fail as Janus pulls back on Crow’s hair, pulling him flat onto his back. Janus places his boot on Crow’s forehead, pushes down and slides his boot down – scraping skin off Crow’s forehead. A little amount of blood seeps from a minor cut on Crow’s forehead, but it is nothing major. Janus, continuing his assault jumps up in the air and drops a big hoss-sized leg on Crow!

 

“Standing leg drop!” exclaims Axis.

 

Janus torques Crow up to its feet, latches onto his arm and pulls back - irish whipping the six foot two Australian. Crow goes flying into the security railing of the Olympic Arena, his back hitting hard. He lets out a cry of pain and showcases a face of torture, so early into the match up and already the pain becoming too much to bear.

 

“Crow in obvious misery here... he still has those stitches in his back, he really should take time off for the to heal,” conveys Axis.

 

“But then he wouldn’t be “HARDKORE!!!” Axis...” replies King.

 

Janus runs at Crow, the slumped wrestler looks up to see a huge beat of a man running at him; he thinks quickly and moves out of the way at the last minute! Janus runs into and over the security railing, landing on the concrete in front of the first row of Russian fans.

 

“Smart thinking by Crow, moving out of the way just in time!” shouts Axis.

 

Crow recovers himself and jumps over the security railing, where the fallen Janus lies – clutching at his right arm. Crow pushes a Russian fan off his chair, amidst a heckling of boos from the crowd. He grabs the chair and folds it up. HE BRINGS IT DOWN ON THE RIGHT ARM OF JANUS!

 

*THWACK*

 

A large noise is heard! Arm, concrete and chair combined! Janus clutches at his arm trying to protect, but Crow brings it down again on his arm!

 

“Crow using good psychology here, focusing on the arm Janus seemed to have hurt in that fall,” reports Axis.

 

“Crow? Psychology? Yea, right,” replies King.

 

Crow latches onto Janus’ right arm and twists it, Crow steps back onto the security railing – forcing the giant to stand. Crow stays with the hold, bending Janus’ elbow back... he jumps backward into the ring area bringing the elbow of Janus down on the railing!

 

“Ooooh! Crow making use of this predicament trying to gain some form of advantage,” says Axis.

 

Janus turns around hastily, clutching at his right arm with his left one. He shakes it, trying to numb the pain. Crow quickly climbs back onto the railing, intently watching the giant, as he stumbles around clutching his arm. Janus turns around to face Crow, and Crow leaps off the railing with a plancha!

 

“NOO! Janus catches Crow in his arms!” exclaims Axis.

 

“This is going to hurt, Axis!” reports King.

 

Janus shimmies Crow so he is upside down, belly to belly. Janus drops to one knee – driving Crow’s left shoulder into his knee! Janus doesn’t let go of Crow and stands back up, and drops to one knee again! Crow cries out as he falls to the ground, his shoulder in agonising pain.

 

“Two shoulder breakers in quick succession, Janus makes a come back!” says Axis.

 

Janus picks Crow back up quickly and hoists him up onto his shoulders – holding him there with his left arm. Janus motions with his right hand to the Russian crowd, telling them to move out of their seats. They do so, at the request of Janus... and Janus scoop slams Crow onto the bunch of unfolded chairs!

 

“Oh my god! Did you see how Crow landed!? Like... on pointy erected chair and stuff!” screams King.

 

“That was painful to say the least,” blandly says Axis.

 

Janus has taken Crow out for a while, and now it is time to find those bottles of Vodka and win the match up! Janus runs off through the crowd and into the backstage area.

 

“Janus the first wrestler to start the hunt for those two bottles of Vodka,” states Axis, stating the obvious as usual.

 

The camera switches to the backstage where Janus is seen running down the hallway, scrummaging through various boxes and throwing people out of his way!

 

“Talk about leaving a trail of destruction, Axis...” remarks King.

 

Janus passes a door... but he backtracks and looks at the door.

 

“Hollywood Spike Jenkins”

 

A sadistic grin appears on his face, he opens the door and charges in! Janus, once again, stops as Spike Jenkins....

 

....

 

... Is role-playing with SWF Action Figurines!

 

“AHHAHA! What an idiot!” laughs Axis.

 

“Bah! He should be in this match up, beating Crow and Janus down!” replies King.

 

Spike is playing with the Crow, Janus and Spike Jenkins figures!

 

“I am Spike Jenkins, bow before my amazing ability to handle my alcohol!” says Spike in a commanding voice, as he moves the Spike Jenkins figurine across the table.

 

“Yeah! He’d show Crow and Janus how a REAL MAN drinks!” screams King.

 

Spike makes the Crow and Janus figurines bend down and bow continuously.

 

“We’re not worthy! We’re not worthy! We’re not worthy to you, oh great Hollywood!” continues Spike, in a changed tone of voice, trying to sound like Crow and Janus combined together.

 

Janus’ eyes are look a little confused, he turns to his left and sees a toy box full of SWF figurines. He picks up the Authentic Dace Night action figure, with rotating blades “RYOBI Weedwhacker” in his hand. Janus switches on the weedwhacker and a small buzzing noise is produced by it. Spike turns around and sees the giant Janus, a high pitched scream escapes from his mouth!

 

“AAAAHHHHH!!11”

 

Spike Jenkins drops the figures and runs at Janus! Janus breaks the Dace Night figurine on the forehead of Spike and then fires a back fist at Spike’s cheek!

 

“SPIKE DIDN’T DESERVE THAT, DAMMIT! He was just, he was just...” shouts King, cut off by Axis.

 

“...Playing with dolls!” exclaims a laughing Axis!

 

Spike Jenkins lies on the ground, holding his jaw, as Janus rips apart his change room. He searches through the toy box of SWF figures, throwing each one at Spike. He can find nothing, continuing his search for the bottle of Vodka, he opens the toilet door... but quickly retreats!

 

“Oh damn! You must have dropped a few kilos making that thing,” blandly says Janus, the comment gaining a small reaction of laughter from the crowd.

 

Meanwhile, back in the crowd, Crow gets to his feet, grasping at his left shoulder. He begins to walk to the backstage area to search for the bottles of Vodka.

 

“Crow is back up on his feet, King. Maybe he’ll have more luck finding two bottles of Vodka than Janus is currently having,” conveys Axis.

 

The camera cuts back to Janus, who is approaching another door, this time it reads...

 

“Male Toilet”

 

... Janus enters without hesitation, he bursts into the toilet smashing urinals and breaking tiles on the walls. He kicks open the first of 3 stall doors, the first one flies open revealing nothing more than a dirty, urine stained toilet.

 

“Great hygiene here in Russia,” remarks Axis, disgusted at the sight of that toilet.

 

Janus kicks open the second stall door, the door flies off its hinges to reveal just another dirty toilet, though not as dirty as the previous one mind you.

 

“Ahhhhh, that was good... those friends really wanted me to drop them off at the pool” a familiar voice speaks.

 

Janus turns to the third stall, recognising the voice. Ben Hardy, the resident SJL interviewer opens the door. Seeing Janus eyeing him, he jumps back in shock.

 

“Hey.. Janus... you’re probably better off using one of the other stalls, this one doesn’t seem to wanna flush,” says Ben, before quickly walking out of the toilets – without washing his hands.

 

Janus looks into the cell, not wanting to venture into it for... let’s just say... obvious reasons. Janus though, catches a glimpse of something in his eye... a bottle of Vodka, behind the toilet, a specially labelled bottle of Vodka. Reading...

 

“SJL Smirnoff Vodka – Limited Release”

 

...

 

“Oh dear god no,” says Janus, rubbing his forehead with his left hand.

 

“OH NO! Poor Janus! He has to bare seeing Ben Hardy’s “friends” to get that bottle!” exclaims King.

 

“Not to mention the smell, King. Cause I imagine Hardy’s friends don’t use deodorant,” remarks Axis.

 

Janus being unusually large has to get on his knees and reach over the toilet to get the bottle of Vodka. Janus does so and reaches over the top of the toilet.

 

Don’t look down, Janus. Don’t look down!

 

As we all know, when we are told not to look down, we always look down... and Janus almost throws up seeing how Hardy left his friends in the pool!

 

OH GOD! I TOLD YOU NOT TO LOOK DOWN!

 

“Thank god the camera didn’t pan down, Axis,” says King.

 

Janus quickly grabs the bottle of Vodka and retreats back out of the stall, he retreats back into the wall - a look of disgust written on his face. Janus stands up and opens the bottle of Vodka.

 

This should be pretty easy, I can handle my alcohol very well.

 

Janus brings the bottle to his lips and drinks it down, all in one go! He burps after sculling the Vodka in less than 5 seconds.

 

“Janus drinks the bottle, one bottle to him and none to Crow. Easy done, King. Janus is a king drinker, how many Jac... hey, wait a minute..” stops Axis, watching his monitor.

 

Janus’ face changes... his cheeks become a shade of beetroot, and a huge, widespread cheesy grin appears. He takes a couple steps forward, and falls on his face and right onto his hurt arm... But Janus just laughs and laughs!

 

“Axis! Axis! I think he’s drunk!” shouts King.

 

“WHAT!? I think we’ve found a drink that Janus cannot no sell!” exclaims Axis.

 

“No sell?” asks King.

 

“... I can’t believe you’ve actually wrestled,” replies Axis.

 

Meanwhile, not too far away, Crow slowly searches through the nursing room where some random worker is getting an arrow removed from his buttocks.

 

“What the hell happened to you?” asks Crow.

 

“Some crazy man shot me right up in the ass! I don’t know who he was!” screams the random SJL worker.

 

“Some guy shot you up the ass? Heh.” Snickers Crow.

 

“I’m sorry, but I cannot remove this arrow, you’re gonna have to go to a proper hospital...” says the nurse trying to remove the arrow.

 

“Could I have a go?” queries Crow.

 

“Uhh... I’m not sure that’d be a good idea,” replies the nurse.

 

“Don’t worry... I’ve done this kind of stuff before,” responds Crow, obviously lying.

 

Crow tries to pull the arrow out of the guy’s ass, but it’s deep up there... Crow grabs his shoulder, hurting it a bit from trying to remove the arrow. He tries again... UH OH! Crow broke the arrow in half! Crow flies back into the cabinet behind him, smashing it open and all these drugs fall out!

 

“Uh... shit...” says Crow, running out of there as fast as he can – grabbing a couple bottles of drugs by the way.

 

He quickly makes his way to his change room and raids the liquor cabinet. To his surprise, he finds a bottle of Vodka in there! It reads...

 

“SJL Smirnoff Vodka – Limited Release”

 

...

 

“You’d think they would put it somewhere out of the ordinary wouldn’t ya?” says Crow to himself.

 

Crow gets a shot class out of his cabinet and runs out of his change room. He pours a shot and knocks it down, an expression of disdain appears on his face.

 

“Oh god I hate Vodka,” he says to himself.

 

*Wwhhhhiiiiirrrrrrrrrrrrr!!*

 

Crow hears this strange noise... but thinks nothing of it. Except, a burst of laughter enters his ears and he turns around!

 

“Look King, Janus has got the buggy! The buggy!” exclaims Axis.

 

Janus puts the pedal to the metal, or the metal to the pedal or something like that and begins to drive after Crow!

 

“He’s drinking and driving, Axis! He should be stopped!” yells King.

 

Crow quickly fills his shot glass and knocks it down, the terrifyingly “FAST” speed of the buggy making him hurry!

 

“I’LLS GET DAT VODKA FROM JOO!1” screams the drunken Janus, much like an Australian yobbo would do.

 

Crow runs away from the chasing buggy, discarding his shot glass and throwing the vodka down his throat from the bottle! Onlookers watch the chase as Crow runs past the man with the arrow in his ass.

 

...

 

(A minute later.)

 

Janus drives past in his buggy going at a ferocious pace, F1 stylez, yo! Crow turns a corner, stops and sculls the rest of his Vodka down (round half a bottle).

 

“Crow drinks a bottle! That’s one bottle each for Janus and Crow!” reports King.

 

“It seems now that the alcohol has kicked in and now both wrestlers don’t care about their hurt body parts!”

 

He belches and almost falls over, the alcohol going straight to head! He looks around, and what is this that catches his eye...

 

“ANOTHER BUGGY, KING!” shouts Axis.

 

Crow jumps into the buggy, shoves his bottle of Vodka behind his seat and fires the bad boy up!

 

*Whhhhiiiiiirrrrrrrrrr!!*

 

He turns back the way he came on foot and drives on. Janus stops when he sees Crow on the other side of the hallway... the two men exchange looks... drunken ones at that. Janus revs his buggy...

 

*Whhhhiiiirrrrrr...*

 

Crow revs his back in response...

 

*Whhhhhiiiiirrrrrr...*

 

Another look is exchanged...

 

.

 

..

 

...

 

..

 

.

 

AND THEY’RE OFF! Janus and Crow put their feet down and drive towards each other at... a kind of, well to be honest... slow speed.

 

“It looks like we have a game of chicken on our hands!” report Axis, excitement in his voice.

 

Both men drive crookily, but in the general direction of each other. Remember, kiddies, drink drive and you’re a bloody idiot.

 

“And they turn their heads back at near impact!” says Axis.

 

*Bump.*

 

...

 

The buggy cars drive into each other, and merely stop. Janus and Crow look at each other, and laugh... both laughing so loud that they fall out of their buggies and onto the floor. Suddenly, Matthew Kivell walks out from behind a door in the hallway, and in his hands a bottle of specially marked Vodka...

 

“SJL Smirnoff Vodka – Limited Release”

 

...

 

“GEEEET IMM!!!” drunkenly scream Janus and Crow.

 

Poor Matthew Kivell not knowing what he did wrong starts to run anyway! Wouldn’t you if you had the Antichrist Superstar and the hoss-fuckin-monster screaming at you, drunk as all hell? Exactly.

 

“Matthew Kivell, the ref, the jobber, the man with your favourite song Axis as his theme music (How Do I Deal by JLH), has the third bottle of Vodka!” shouts King.

 

Janus and Crow are in lukewarm pursuit of Matty Kivell, whether intentionally or unintentionally Crow and Janus are smacking into each other on the chase. They take a corner, and Janus buggy pushes Crow’s into the wall! Crow’s buggy has stopped running!

 

“Janus has taken Crow out of the race, he surely has the win now!” yells Axis, sensing the end of the match.

 

Matthew Kivell trips over his own feet and falls onto the ground, he’s hurt and he begins to cry!

 

“Ahahaha! Matty Kivell’s crying! What a little pussy! Ahaha!” shouts King, almost falling off his chair and onto the floor in a fit of laughter.

 

Janus catches up to and stops his buggy right next to the fallen and crying Matthew Kivell! Janus picks up the bawling man...

 

“GIVF MES DAT DAMN BOTTLEZ!,” shouts Janus, still drunk as hell.

 

“*sniff*I don’t *bawling* wanna...!!!11” replies Matty Kivell.

 

Janus just grabs the bottle and launches poor Kivell into a bunch of boxes lying on the side of the hallway. Janus jumps in his buggy and drives off, laughing his head off! He drives off and around a corner, but no! A buggy hits Janus’ buggy side on and SLAM! Janus’ and his buggy go flying into the wall.

 

“It’s the GREATEST WRESTLER IN THE WORLD, Axis!” exclaims King, always happy to see one of his favourites.

 

“Hollywood” Spike Jenkins jumps out of the buggy he drove into Janus! He walks over to Janus...

 

“That’s for embarrassing THE KING OF THE WORLD... and breaking my figurines... bitch,” says Spike Jenkins, in his arrogant cocky fashion.

 

“Hey Spike?”

 

Spike turns around and asks, “What!?”

 

*SMASH!*

 

“It’s Crow! Crow smashes a bottle of Vodka over the head of Spike Jenkins!” reports Axis, having an orgasm in his seat.

 

“Oh you’re so dead...” Spike manages to say before falling to the ground.

 

Crow stumbles over to the buggy where the passed out Janus lies slumped forward on his buggy steering wheel, he grabs the bottle of Vodka and runs off – almost falling over many times.

 

“Crow is gonna win, King! He’s gonna win!” shouts Axis.

 

“Who cares!? HE JUST BROKE A BOTTLE OVER HOLLYWOOD’S HEAD! HE WILL PAY DEARLY FOR THAT!” screams King.

 

Crow opens the bottle, after having some difficulty and drinks some of the Vodka down.

 

“Farkk I ‘ate dis shhhhhitttttt!11” he blurts out.

 

He drinks more down and it’s all gone!!! The bell rings and Crow is declared a winner, Sexton Hardcastle appears out of no where and raises Crow’s hand!

 

“Crow wins! Crow wins! What a match! Oh what a match! King! King! What did you think of it!?” asks Axis.

 

Hardcastle drops Crow’s arm... and Crow falls to floor, beginning to vomit his guts out. Yummy.

 

“Oh that’s not a pleasant sight, Stop repeating yourself! Stop repeating yourself! The match was... alright, but as usual...” begins King.

 

“The match would have been better if I were in it,” both King and Axis say at the same time.

 

“I do say King, your commentary has been getting a bit stale recently,” remarks Axis cheekily.

 

“Say farkin’ what!? How dare you say that, evil fiend!” responds King, angered by Axis’ allegations.

 

“You need a gimmick, a stick or something, it’s good for ratings,” replies Axis.

 

“I’ll give you bloody sti...”

 

SJL Crimson fades to a commercial break before the commentators get out of hand.