The stage lights come to life in the Best Arena, getting the crowd on their feet, as the HOTv logo fills the HOV, followed by the logo for High Octane Wrestling. “The Machine” by Three Days Grace plays over the PA, signalling the beginning of Friday Night Chaos. The crowd loudly cheer as the camera pans across them, zoomed out so far to fit in all the people crammed into the stands that the signs they brought in are too small to be legible. However, with the pyro and ballyhoo out of the way, the shot changes to that of the Hall Of Fame commentary team.
Benny Newell: You hear that, Hoffman? That’s a crowd of people that know they’re about to see a murder tonight! I’ve got a boner just thinking about it!
Joe Hoffman: The crowd is on their feet tonight, as we welcome you all to Friday Night Chaos! My name is Joe Hoffman, alongside my broadcast colleague Benny Newell, and if you picked tonight to join us for the first time, you picked a good night to join us. In our main event, two of the finest in HOW history will square off in an all-out brawl, as Mike Best takes on Kostoff.
Benny Newell: And just think, if they actually put up any good performances until now in the RMI we might not have gotten this match!
Joe Hoffman: The match got bumped up to the main event, that’s a sign that somebody in charge has a feeling we’re not going to see similar performances tonight. What we will see, however, is the ICON Championship on the line for the third week in a row, as new champion Ray McAvay takes on former champion Cecilworth Farthington, after Cecilworth lost the belt to Austin Reeves two weeks ago.
Benny Newell: Cecilworth should never have lost that belt, I’ve got a good feeling he’s gonna get it back and continue his record breaking reign! Over four hundred days and counting!
Joe Hoffman: Elsewhere in the RMI, Julliet Brooks and Darin Zion have must-win matches against Scott Stevens and Hugo Scorpio. If they lose, Scottywood is guaranteed a spot in the next round and Ryan McKenna might sneak his way into the next round alongside him.
Benny Newell: And he made sure of that by putting Brian Hollywood as the special ref for Zion’s match. I’m calling it now, between those four matches, it’s gonna be a very good night for the Best Alliance.
Joe Hoffman: Maybe so! But before that, we have the fight for second place in the Kaley Matheson group, and we may even see one of these two in the next round as a wild card! Which one? Let’s find out!
“HEAVY DAY” by Daisuke Ishiwatari blares over the PA, and the giant known as Trent makes his way to the stage, glaring out at the packed arena and everyone in it.
Bryan McVay: The following contest is scheduled for one fall! Introducing first, from Hereford, England, weighing in at 330lbs… TRENT!!! And his opponent, already in the ring… EEEEEEELECTRAAAA!!!
Trent climbs over the top rope, staring holes through the much smaller opponent already standing in the ring. Electra, to her credit, doesn’t back down, instead watching as Matt Boettcher checks Trent for weapons. Satisfied, he turns to the timekeeper and rings the bell.
DING DING DING!
The two fighters tentatively approach each other, both with their guards up. Trent is the first to make a move, calling for a show of strength, but the big man holds his hand way too high for Electra to reach, the crowd booing him for his cockiness. Electra, to her credit, returns the challenge at a much more sensible height, and Trent responds by taking her hand, grabbing her other shoulder, and tossing her across the ring to the turnbuckle.
Joe Hoffman: What a show of strength by Trent! Electra nearly landed head first right at the corner.
Benny Newell: When you’re so small you don’t register on the scales at the weigh in, you don’t square up to a guy like Trent! You cheat like your life depends on it, because it probably does!
Joe Hoffman: What do you mean “too small to register”?
Benny Newell: Why else do you think McVay doesn’t announce her weight when she comes out?
A little dizzy, Electra nonetheless makes it to her feet quickly, and Trent lets her come back out instead of pressing the advantage. Again, he holds his hands up high for a show of strength, but Electra doesn’t take the bait this time, instead kicking him on the inside of his leg. It doesn’t work. Trent doesn’t even flinch, driving his knee into Electra’s gut. He doesn’t so much whip her into the ropes as throw her, and on the rebound, he tosses her high in the air and lets her fall back down to the ground with a thud. She immediately rolls from her back onto her side, but instead of going for the cover, Trent just pokes her with his foot. She starts getting to her feet again, so Trent heaves her the rest of the way with both hands, but when he picks her up again she counters into a headscissors and manages to take the big man off his feet.
Joe Hoffman: Electra with an opening here, she needs to utilise it!
Before the big man can react, Electra is on him with rights and lefts, punches and kicks, until eventually he gets into the corner. Boettcher steps in, counting to five, and reluctantly, Electra relents on four. She gets some distance, while Boettcher checks on Trent, but as she charges forwards with some sort of attack planned, Trent steps forward and levels her with a Big Boot.
Benny Newell: Holy shit, I think I saw a tooth fly out!
Taking a few seconds to gather himself, Trent picks Electra up off the ground and goes for the finisher. He picks her up for a Torture Rack, but she slips free, going for a Sunset Flip! This is unwise, as Trent is too big for that to ever work, and he grips her by the neck with both hands. With surprising strength, he deadlifts her above his head, going for a powerbomb of some sort, but instead, she does a hurricanrana, landing in a pinning predicament near the ropes, and Boettcher drops to make the count.
Joe Hoffman: Electra’s got her hand on the ropes!
As soon as Boettcher counts three, Electra releases her grip on the ropes, and Trent powers out, but it’s too late, as Boettcher calls for the bell.
DING DING DING!
Benny Newell: What did I tell ya, Hoffhole? Cheat like your life depends on it!
Bryan McVay: Here is your winner… EEEEEELECTRAAAAA!
Just like last week, Electra tries to get out of dodge as Trent realises what happened. However, as she makes it to the ropes, Trent grabs her by the ankle. The crowd, supporting Electra as the underdog apparently, boos as Trent pulls her towards him, and lifts her on his shoulders, before hitting the Toke Driver in the middle of the ring. He looks like he wants more, but Boettcher gets in the way, giving the barely conscious Electra enough time to roll out of the ring and hide underneath it. Trent shoves Boettcher out of the way, going to where he saw Electra leave, but she made a clean getaway. Satisfied with what he got, Trent instead rolls out and makes his way up the ramp as the camera returns to the commentary table.
Joe Hoffman: Well, regardless of circumstances, Electra and Trent are now both tied for second place. For now, they’ll have to wait and see if either of them make it into the next round. We’ve got plenty more action lined up for you tonight folks, but for now, let’s take it backstage!
Following the matchup between Electra and Trent, the camera pans to a shadowy figure leaning against a flickering street lamp outside the main backstage corridor. It’s difficult to identify the figure as the camera moves towards him but after a few moments, his identity is revealed.
It’s Reggie Rivid, peering out into the darkness of the parking lot as he lifts a pint of Wild Turkey to his chapped lips. He emits a brief cough as he finishes the swig, his breath lighting up in the cold Chicago air.
Reggie feels the presence of the camera behind him but doesn’t bother turning around to address it. Instead, he keeps his eyes fixated on the blackness, taking another quick gulp from the bottle of bourbon he’s clutching in his hand.
Reggie Rivid: You know the old saying “I’ve hit rock bottom”? I’ve thought that a billion different times in my life. Then, what I thought was “rock bottom” turned out to be just another cliff and I just kept cascading into another false realm. What was once “rock-bottom” became something I yearned for, seeming like an improvement compared to where I was at currently.
Reggie polishes off the rest of the bourbon, grimacing as the swill at the end of the pint clashes with his war-torn intestines. He reaches into the side pocket of his Carhartt jacket and procures another pint, unscrewing the cap and taking a brief tap of the poison.
Reggie Rivid: A month ago, I was finally certain that I had reached the bottom of the valley. After tumbling down the mountain for nearly fifty years, my old bones had settled in their final resting spot. I’d lost to Julliet Brooks, disappointing my team and fans. I was flat-broke, barely able to afford the trip to Chicago for my brief return to wrestling. I’d relapsed after staying sober for close to a year. And finally, I’d lost my beloved Lola, the most important thing in my life.
Reggie hangs his head, feeling the sting of his own words.
Reggie Rivid: Then, something wonderful happened. I realized that if I couldn’t be with the one I loved, then I might as well be with the one I hate; and that person is Scott fucking Woodson. After over a decade of coming up short in the World title hunt, I watched painfully as Scottywood yanked the title from the runner-up for most unlikely title holder, Scott Stevens. Initially, I was appalled and confused. Surely, Woodson had sold his soul for such an accomplishment considering he possesses the wrestling ability of a quadriplegic geriatric. It was then that I realized however, that Scotty’s unlikely victory provided me with the opportunity of a lifetime. An opportunity to become champion.
Reggie pulls a cigar from his coat-pocket, igniting it for a dozen seconds or so before taking a long drag from it.
Reggie Rivid: I mean, how funny is this gonna be? Me grabbing the title from Scottywood would be like Bob Dole snatching the presidency from Hillary. Me, a man who was completely forgotten about, is being given the chance to disrupt my arch-rival’s first World title reign within a month after returning to the ring. I mean, c’mon folks, you can’t write this shit. Last week, we all got to see Scottywood prance around the ring and attempt to trash my name despite the fact that I had beaten the man he’d beaten for a title a week earlier. He had the audacity to call me pathetic when, close to a year ago, I nearly killed the motherfucker at March to Glory. In less than one year in High Octane Wrestling, I developed a reputation for myself that made Scottywood seem like a god-damn towel boy. I was the shining star that NGW had produced and Woodson, well . . . he became a dust-covered relic who had trained itself to funnel IPA’s like an alcoholic hipster.
Reggie takes a drag from his cigar and powders his throat with a swig of bourbon.
Reggie Rivid: A week from now, I’m gonna be given an opportunity to enact revenge on the grandest scale possible. I’m gonna walk into the Best Arena, slap Scottywood around like a backtalking prostitute and walk out of the building a World Champion. Lots of things have changed since I left the promotion. The Davidsons are a non-factor, Mike Best has returned and hasn’t made the splash he once did. Scott fucking Stevens became champion and Austin Reeves, of all people, has managed to win a title despite his inherent suckiness. But one thing remains the same . . .
Reggie turns to the camera for the first time during the promo and smiles broadly.
Reggie Rivid: I will ALWAYS be better than Scott Woodson. Fuck PTC Night of Champions. Fuck NGW and fuck your World title, Woodson. I’m gonna pull that belt off your waist and watch as you weep like a schoolgirl who just got her favorite toy taken from her. I’m gonna take that belt, defend it at March to Glory and then walk off into the sunset. I’m gonna show you how meaningless and easily obtainable the World title has always been to me regardless of all the blood, sweat and tears you’ve put in over the past fifteen years or so in trying to finally nab it. It’s gonna be in that moment, that fleeting moment that the world finally realizes something it’s secretly always known . . .
Reggie smiles again, the smoke of his cigar billowing from the corner of his mouth.
Reggie Rivid: Scottywood has . . . and always will be . . . Reggie Rivid’s bitch.
Reggie turns from the camera and cackles to himself as he drunkenly staggers towards his parked Chevrolet Silverado
Will tonight be the final time we ever see Hall of Famer Chris Kostoff on High Octane Television?
Back live and Darin Zion starts pacing around the locker room completely nervous. Everything finally sets in for him between knowing McKenna and him are neck and neck in the tournament to Hollywood refereeing his match, he immediately grabs his head and just wants everything over and done. Tensions show on Zion’s shoulders and movement in general as he moves around stiff and sore like the pressure is driving him mad. After the final pace around the locker room, Clara immediately arrives in the room and locks lips with him on public television as the crowd immediately gives Zion some cat calls. Both their eyes light up as she sits down at the bench waiting for Zion’s pep talk. But Zion starts letting everything hit him at once.
Darin Zion: I just can’t…can’t…God damnit. I’ve spent nearly one full year’s time scratching and clawing my way up to the HOW World Title and it all comes down to this. McKenna’s pissed off that I’m getting wise to Lee’s plans and wants to bury me back to Stevens land…but I just…I just can’t go back to that any more. I’ve tasted the promised land of milk and honey and torn apart everyone in my bracket minus Boyd and I need this victory. You don’t know how much stress it’s caused me. It’s driving me insane and I’m afraid if it continues; I’m going to do something that’ll ultimately get me fired. I’ll just snap and…
Clara puts her arms around Zion and hugs him before pulling his cheek close and giving him a really long peck. Zion blushes for a moment as he turns over to Clara who’s batting her sparkling eyes. Hope drives her at this moment. She trusts Zion; knows and hopes he’s got everything under control. She takes a deep breath and smiles innocently. Her sweet, loving tone begins to calm him down. The crowd immediately roars and chants for Zion, almost feeling sorry for as many times as Zion’s gotten screwed over.
Clara Macey: Just keep doing what you’re doing. You hear that crowd out there tonight? They’re on your side. I haven’t seen a crowd more electrified to see Darin Zion than Chicago’s crowd tonight. They’re tired of watching that story of you coming this close only for them to move the class ceiling closer and closer and closer down on you. I mean think about it; you don’t need me out there. You’ve almost got yourself a 2nd wind with these guys. They’ve come far and wide to escape the bullshit of real life. They line up from their jobs and watch the exact same thing happening to you in that ring. Instead of hating you; they draw inspiration from you. You’ve almost become their hero. You keep taking bullshit circumstance after bullshit circumstance and you get back up. You don’t give up and you stay determined as ever that you’ll reach the mountain top. And as your desires grown their chants for Zion grow louder and louder.
Zion rolls his eyes and chuckles for a moment. He looks completely vulnerable at this point as the crowd’s chants get louder and louder with his name. He hadn’t thought with each passing week; he’d had crowd support and even at those times, felt like his confidence in HOW kept getting shaken. He turns and grabs Clara’s hand and just relaxes for a moment.
Darin Zion: Thank you! I needed that more than you know. It’s just with people like McKenna and Hollywood they’ve already spent weeks and months here trying to bury me and it makes me want to give up so easily. I don’t get the encouragement I feel any more and every time I hear the cheers of these Chicago fans; I feel it’s out of pity. Not the supportive pity, but more like the sad clown at the circus type pity. I’m not made to feel like I’m worth anything and I guess I’m just tired of it all. I spent 11 whole years in this business busting my ass trying to win a world championship and I get awarded a top title shot in Boardwalk out of luck, but HOW constantly wants to over look me. And I don’t blame them. I choke each time under the pressure.
Clara Macey: But that’s your past. Just like you said a month ago; you have to let it go and set it free. Otherwise it’ll eat you alive.
Darin Zion: I know. That’s why I’m glad you’re out there to support me tonight. While these fans give me that extra edge and push me over the limits of reality; seeing your bright and smiling face cheering me on in that ring brings solace. I can focus on the one thing that matters; our wedding. I see our venue and just how gorgeous you look in the expensive wedding dress with me carrying the World’s greatest prize the HOW World Championship down the aisle and I want that moment to live up to the hype. It’d be the one moment I get in my life. I don’t have some idiot yanking food away from me, or me begging someone to sleep in the wrestling ring in the back alley. I get to stand atop my mountain and I get my celebration. While McKenna can steal that from me with putting Hollywood in my match; he didn’t expect us to come together, solidify, and have a contingency plan. He didn’t know I’d bring you back tonight. Hell, he probably doesn’t know how I trained you until 3 AM on a Thursday night at Gold’s Gym to take some basic bumps and improve your fighting style. He couldn’t calculate how hungry I am for that moment.
Clara’s eyes deviously bat for a moment and her smirk almost mirrors that of Zion’s mischievous look. She knows about a plan and her ‘innocent’ smile tells the world Zion’s breaking the script again. As Zion stands up, he pats and rubs her leg for a moment and his eyes glow as he gets ready for Hugo Scorpio tonight.
Clara Macey: He won’t know what’ll hit him.
Darin Zion: Definitely! Thanks again for the pep talk, baby, but it’s time now for us to get ready and go on queue. You ready for this moment?
Clara Macey: Ready as I’ll ever be! Now let’s go get Scorpio…
Darin Zion: Don’t worry, I will…and once I knock his ass out and make him passed out…Lee’s going to have to drag his carcass out of his fucking office.
Clara gets up and grabs Zion’s hand and both of them walk off towards the entrance area, ready for whatever challenge comes their way tonight as we cut to the announcers for our next match.
Joe Hoffman: Scott Stevens and Julliet Brooks have been at odds with each other since this incident took place at ICONIC.
(Before the ICONIC Main Event Match- Scott Stevens vs. Michael Lee Best )
…Scott Stevens walks out of his dressing room to go to the trainers to get taped up before his big match tonight and we see him immediately bump into Nigel Lette.
Scott Stevens: What out Ni—-
Nigel Lette: What? What the fuck were you about to say? Were you about to call me Ni—
Scott Stevens: Nigel…I was about to call you Nigel…..you dumb Ni—
Stevens goes down hard to the ground as we see Julliet Brooks standing over him…smiling ear to ear…holding a steel chair.
Nigel Lette: What are you doing here????
Julliet Brooks: I was the one Lee told you about earlier…..now do your job.
Nigel Lette: NOW?
Brooks just nods as Nigel looks around and nods in agreement.
Nigel Lette: The Falls Count Anywhere Match for the World Championship is now underway!!
With that official proclamation, Brooks brings the chair up above her head and slams it down again on Stevens……and again…..and again…..
When then see Lee come around the corner.
Lee Best: Lets go….I need to introduce you to the rest of the guys….in the meantime I got another guy to keep Stevens company for a little while..
Lee puts his arm around Brooks and the two head off to his office and as the camera watches them disappear into his office, it turns back towards Nigel and the prone Stevens and we see another figure come out from around the corner…
Joe Hoffman: And then last week, the two tangled once again.
(Last Week’s Friday Night Chaos)
…Brooks pulls out a cell phone from her back pocket and puts it on her ear. Before she could say a simple “Hello” Scott Stevens comes into the frame and grabs the phone from her hand and throws it on the ground, leaving him to smash it with his boot.
Scott Stevens: I couldn’t but help overhear your conversation and Lee shouldn’t be your focus. I should be your sole focus.
Stevens says as he looks up from the ground and stares at Julliet.
Julliet Brooks: Well look who decided to be a big boy and finally show up. I knew eventually I would catch your attention.
Scott Stevens: You look all cute when you’re trying to play bad ass.
Stevens says as he touches the point of Julliet’s nose.
She pulled his finger away from her.
Julliet Brooks: Don’t fucking touch me! Need I remind you I’m Best Alliance and what I did to Jace when he got cute with me?
Brooks lets the question linger.
Julliet Brooks: I smashed his fucking brains in with a sledgehammer! If you are trying to get under my skin it’s not working. Nice attempt though.
She tapped him on his shoulder for effort, but Stevens doesn’t seem fazed by Brooks’ threat.
Scott Stevens: Let me remind you of something little girl…..
Stevens says as he gets closer to Brooks.
Scott Stevens: I’m not afraid of the fucking Best Alliance because they are a joke. I’ve made them my bitches more times than I can remember, and two….
Stevens slaps Julliet across the face and she falls to the floor holding her cheek in pain as she looks up at Stevens with hate filled eyes.
Scott Stevens: And two, I’m not Jace. My name is Scott fucking Stevens and you or anyone else aren’t going to prevent me from winning the HOW world title. Got that bitch…
The lights in the arena go pitch black, as red lasers and spotlights light up the area as the angelic voice of Lauryn Hill serenades the live crowd. “Ready or not, here I come, you can’t hide – Gonna find you and take it slowly – Ready or not, here I come, you can’t hide – Gonna find you and make you want me”
The video screen lights up and flashes across the screen a Texas flag, with the words, “Texas Born. Texas Bred.” “Texas Forever.“ branded into the flag. The crowd reaction is mixed, but there are more cheers than boos, as “Ready or Not” by Fugees plays throughout the PA system. As the chorus begins to fade, Centuries” by Fall Out Boy begins to play. The cheers intensify as the chorus hits the speakers, drawing out the man from Texas.
Bryan McVay: And making his way to the ring at this time, representing the Great State of Texas, from Houston, Texas…HE IS….SCOTT! STTTTEEEEEEEVVVVVVEEEEEENSSSSSSS!
Walking down the aisle, Stevens fists bumps some of his fans while raising a fist at a few of the more vocal bashers. As he finally gets to the ring, he climbs the nearest turnbuckle and stares out into the crowd.
“Ruin” by I:Scintella hits and out walks Julliet Brooks onto the stage to a chorus of boos from the audience, she simply ignored it and continued to walk down the ramp. There she teases a clap from a hopeful fan at ringside, but instead she holds back with a smirk and brushes the side of her hair as the hatred for this woman only increases throughout the arena.
Bryan McVay: From Albuquerque, New Mexico…JULLIET BROOOOKKSSSS!!
She climbs up the stairs, gets into the ring and soaks up the reaction, then she leans against the ropes and glares at Stevens.
Joe Hoffman: Matt Boettcher checks both wrestlers out. Benny, this is a big match for Julliet Brooks.
Brooks slaps Boettcher’s hand away from her and then pushes him back.
Benny Newell: No fucking duh, Hoffman. Tonight is Brooks’s night. She’s going to stomp all over the Lonesome Loser and I can’t fucking wait to watch.
Joe Hoffman: Brooks with a win would put herself in position to possibly move on in the Rob Michaels Invitational. Scott Stevens is just looking for a win to jump start what’s been a slow start to 2016.
As Boettcher walks over to tell the timekeeper to ring the bell, Stevens and Brooks circle each other- both not taking their eyes off the other.
Joe Hoffman: Boettcher is ready to start the match.
Brooks marches right over to Stevens and pokes her index finger on his chest. Caught off guard, the Texan momentarily takes a half step back.
Benny Newell: YES! THAT’S MY GIRL!
Stevens shows no emotion at all as Brooks unleashes a verbal barrage on him.
Joe Hoffman: Stevens and Brooks exchanging words in the middle of the ring.
Brooks steps forward to invade Stevens’s personal space even further but he holds his ground.
Benny Newell: Look at her go!
Boettcher puts his hands on his hips and just watches as Brooks chews out Stevens.
Joe Hoffman: Brooks is not showing any fear whatsoever.
Benny Newell: There’s nothing to fear Joe. It’s Scott fucking-
Brooks reaches back and whips her hand forward, slapping Stevens across the face with enough force that everyone inside the Best Arena hears the slap clearly.
Joe Hoffman: WOW!
Benny Newell: YESSSSSSS!
Joe Hoffman: Julliet Brooks just slapped the ever living hell out of Scott Stevens!
Jerked to the side by the force of Brooks’s hand coming across his face, Stevens’s head slowly turns back to a forward looking position.
Benny Newell: Best Alliance Hoffman! Best Alliance! DRINK!
Stevens rubs the side of his face. When he stops and drops his hand, there’s a clear red mark left behind.
Joe Hoffman: That has got to sting.
Then he smiles and stares down at his opponent.
Joe Hoffman: But he’s…smiling?
Benny Newell: He’s smiling? Scott Stevens is fucking stupider than I thought. Julliet Brooks is about to make Stevens her bitch and he’s SMILING-
Stevens strikes out with a boot to the stomach and literally bends Brooks in half.
Benny Newell: WHAT!
Joe Hoffman: BIG BOOT BY STEVENS!
Stevens grabs Brooks around the waist, lifts, and slams her right back down.
Joe Hoffman: POWER BOMB!
Benny Newell: NOOOOOO!
Joe Hoffman: Brooks bounced about a foot off the mat after that Scott Stevens’s power bomb!
Benny Newell: WAKE UP JULLLLLIET!
Stevens methodically reaches down and grabs Brooks by the hair- cue admonishment by Boettcher- and pulls her back up to her feet.
Joe Hoffman: Her legs are wobbly Benny. She can barely stand up.
Benny Newell: Shut up Hoffhole. She’s probably just playing possum. It’s all part of the plan. You just wait. Just when you think she’s done she’ll strike back!
Stevens places Brooks’s head in between his legs.
Joe Hoffman: Another power bomb?
Benny Newell: NOW, Julliet! NOW!
Brooks is lifted up and her body is held in the air perpendicular to Stevens. Then in one motion, Stevens spins her from face up to face down, reaches behind her neck with both hands, and drops, planting Brooks face first to the mat.
Joe Hoffman: POWER BOMB INTO THE TOXIC STING!
Benny Newell: Huh?…
Joe Hoffman: What a move by Scott Stevens!
Benny Newell: Shut up!
Joe Hoffman: Stevens lifted Brooks up as if he was going to hit another power bomb on her and then at the last moment, flipped her over and turned it into a Toxic Sting.
Benny Newell: Shut the fuck up Joe.
Stevens rolls Brooks over and sticks his boot on her stomach. Boettcher slides in to make the count…
Joe Hoffman: And that’s it!
Benny Newell: That’s impossible! There was a plan. What about the plan?
Ring announcer Bryan McVay climbs into the ring to make it official.
Bryan McVay: Your winner, ‘The Scorpion’ SCOTT! STTTTEEEEEEEVVVVVVEEEEEENSSSSSSS!
Stevens rises up to a seated position off of Julliet Brooks by pushing off of her face with his hands and looks down at her and shakes his head in disgust. Boettcher raises Stevens’s hand in victory.
Joe Hoffman: Scott Stevens bounces back from some early 2016 adversary to kick start the year with a decisive victory over Julliet Brooks.
Benny Newell: But there was a plan!
Joe Hoffman: Stevens’s victory puts him in good contention and a strong wildcard contender with the way things have been resulting as off late….what’s this?
Stevens rips the microphone from McVay.
Benny Newell: Fucking Stevens. Drink.
Joe Hoffman: Looks as if the victory here tonight wasn’t enough for Stevens.
Stevens waits for the audience to quiet down before raising the microphone to his lips.
Scott Stevens: This is the “best” the Best Alliance has to offer?
Stevens says as he points to the unconscious Brooks.
Scott Stevens: No wonder the Best Alliance is considered a fucking joke because it is comprised of people who look good and fail to fucking show up than actually being an alliance of the best talent HOW has to offer.
Stevens shouts as the crowd begins to boo his criticism of the Best Alliance.
Scott Stevens: You boo me because you’re nothing but sheep, and Lee Best has brainwashed you that way. I mean if you actually thought that Lee Best personal cum dumpster actually had a shot at defeating me you need to go home put a gun in your mouth and pull the fucking trigger because you are sucking the life out of the intelligent people in the world.
The crowd jeers loudly as they begin to throw trash into the ring and begin to chant Stevens sucks.
Scott Stevens: Yeah I suck alright that I once again defeated a Best Alliance member because that’s what I fucking do!
Stevens informs the crowd and the jeers grow louder.
Scott Stevens: It doesn’t matter which incarnation or who the fuck is in it because I am the Best Alliance Conqueror and I have been that since I stepped foot into this fucking company.
Stevens says as he looks towards the office of Lee Best.
Scott Stevens: I know you’re up there listening Lee, and I’m informing you that I’m done taking out the trash….
Stevens says as he points to Julliet.
Scott Stevens: Because I’m going to get back what’s mine and that’s the world heavyweight championship!
Stevens screams as the crowd boos loudly and begins a, “Go Away Stevens” chant.
Scott Stevens: I’m gonna go away alright, I’m gonna go to March to Glory and whether I win this tournament it evoke my rematch clause, I will be a three time HOW world champion whether you fucking like it or not.
Stevens says sternly before dropping the mic and exiting the ring.
The camera pans up to the Les Miserables section of the Best Arena where once again everyone is having a great time. This week, there’s a few English football fans in the group taking up a couple rows and notable for wearing their favorite teams shirts. There’s a Manchester United shirt represented. A couple Chelsea fans. Manchester City. And a Liverpool shirt.
But the group along with several others hold up scarves with ‘Ray McAvay’ stitched across them a la their favorite football team. Even Dark and Stormy, who are back again this week…
Benny Newell: TITTIES!
…hold up the custom made Ray McAvay scarves.
Joe Hoffman: And here comes the ICON champion…
McAvay arrives and begins to hand out cigars with pink and blue ribbons. He gives one to Dark and Stormy at the top of the section.
Joe Hoffman: Ray McAvay just arrived at the Best Arena after flying in from Texas earlier this evening. He’s spent most of this week at home with his wife Dawn McGill and his two newborn children leaving General DeBauchery to hand out free tickets this week.
Panning down to where General DeBauchery, sporting an authentic captain’s hat right out of World War II, smoking a cigar, grinning obnoxiously, sits and collects every beer and liquor label he can get his hands on with Al Cahall, doing curls with a six pack of beer and Nic Koteen who smokes a cigarette and shreds several city anti-smoking ordinances in the process.
Benny Newell: And it shows Hoffman. I really don’t know about some of these people who are sitting in his section tonight.
Someone passes a hot dog down to the Manchester City shirt wearing person in the crowd. Suddenly, two rows stand up, clap, and break out in song- just like at an English football match.
“He’s eating a frankkkkk – eating a frankkkkk – he’s eating a frank, eating a frank, he’s eating a frankkkkkkkk.”
The hot dog reaches its intended destination. The man opens up the tinfoil and looks at the hot dog. He rises back up from his seat and shouts to the vendor in the aisle. So the group changes the lyrics.
“Does he want some sauce – does he want some sauce – does he want some sauce, does he want some sauce- does he want some sauceeeee.”
The vendor reaches into a pouch and pulls out a few packets of ketchup. He hands it to a man on the aisle who passes it down to the person next to him…and so on down the row.
“He’s got some redddd – he’s got some redddd – he’s got some red, he’s got some red, he’s got some reddddd.”
The Man City guy raises the ketchup packets in the air and everyone cheers.
Joe Hoffman: You don’t see at a wrestling show very often.
Benny Newell: And there’s a good reason why.
Meanwhile, walking into the nearly carnival-like atmosphere, McAvay continues to hand out cigars as he makes his way down the steps.
Benny Newell: You know, I would love to see Dark and Stormy do a Monica Lewinsky and stick one of those cigars in their-
Joe Hoffman: BENNY!
Benny Newell: Oh come on, Hoffman. That’s tame compared to some of the shit I’ve seen.
McAvay reaches the row of English football fans. The scarves go up again and people start jumping up and down.
Benny Newell: Look, congratulations and all that shit to McAvay and McGIll on the birth of their children and I understand why he’s all happy and all…but this is still High Octane Wrestling dammit and he’d better get his mind focused on Cecilworth Farthington tonight. Not only is he a member of the Best Alliance but he’s a fucking former ICON champion who didn’t lose his title. Dirk Dickwood threw in the towel and stopped the match. Tonight, Farthington gets back what’s rightfully his.
Joe Hoffman: That I agree with, Benny. Tonight is potentially a huge night for the ICON champion. If Ray McAvay wins tonight, not only does he keep the ICON Title, he becomes the second wrestler to win his group outright and automatically move on in the Rob Michaels Invitational.
Benny Newell: Yeah, but Farthington regains his title tonight…DRINK!
Benny rears his head back and starts swigging copiously from his bottle of Jack- also noticeable to the English football fans in the stands who immediately start singing…
“Let’s all do the Benny – let’s all do the Benny – let’s all do the Ben-nieeeeeee…”
They then pretend to guzzle down a bottle of Jack Daniels.
“…and you can all fuck off!”
Benny Newell: God I hate those guys.
Will this finally be the end of Michael Lee Best tonight when he takes on long time family rival Chris Kostoff in the Main Event?
Joe Hoffman: Welcome back folks and we’re moments away from a match up with potential ramifications in the Embosser group, Hugo Scorpio against Darin Zion.
Benny Newell: Seriously? That shit ain’t got any ramifications! For fucks sake, I’m not even politically correct right now and that is just fucking messed up!
Joe Hoffman: As much as this match may have a lot of meaning, it’s about Zion getting a win here tonight. While Hugo has no chance in winning at this point in the Invitational, people who fight with nothing to lose are always the most dangerous.
Benny Newell: Anyone who fights Zion is dangerous. Let’s be honest here though, hoffhole, Zion has no fucking chance to move out of his group. The delusional fuck thinks he is always getting through everything. Fucking cunt.
Bryan McVay: The following contest is scheduled for one fall, and it is being contested in the Embosser group!
The lights cut off and the opening of Not Gonna Die by Skillet blares across the PA system as a picture of a moving mask appears on the screen the screen. As soon as the lyrics appear on the screen; Darin Zion immediately comes from the back with a mask on his face, as well as Clara Macey, wearing a trenchcoat with a lead pipe in his left hand. As soon as Zion hits the ramp, he removes the mask and tosses it straight into the crowd.
Bryan McVay: Making his way to the ring, from Chicago, Illinois, weighing in at 230 pounds, DARIN ZIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIION!
Zion rushes down to the ring and slides into the ring, immediately holding the lead pipe up. He then slides it down and gets on the turnbuckle and pounds his chest. He then points out his finger and twirls it around as he runs to each of the turnbuckles, screaming his name. Zion then hops on the bottom rope and points at the ground while bouncing on the ropes as he stares at Hugo who is already in the ring. Meanwhile, Clara hangs out at ringside as she looks on cheering for her fiancé.
Joe Hoffman: Well Hugo’s apparently already in the ring and was waiting for Zion to show up.
Benny Newell: The guy was probably taking a fucking nap in the corner turnbuckle or something. Sounds like something Hugo would do especially when you know you’re going to face Darin Zion.
As the bell rings, Hugo actually stands confused as he sees Zion is completely distracted with something else.
Joe Hoffman: Why is Zion staring at the referee?
Benny Newell: He looks like he wants to fuck him or something. He’s got those “I wanna fuck you” eyes. JESUS CHRIST! That’s disgusting!! Leave Hortega alone! The man has to deal enough from the government watching him everywhere he fucking goes!
Zion had a right to be confused as it was announced last week that Brian Hollywood would be the special guest referee here tonight. However, Joel Hortega stands in the ring just shrugging his shoulders as it appears Hollywood was nowhere to be found.
Joe Hoffman: Oh that’s right, Brian Hollywood was supposed to be the special guest referee for this match! So where the heck is he?
Benny Newell: Who the fuck really knows with Hollywood. I’ve given up trying to figure out what goes on in that man’s head. However, who can blame him? Nobody wants to spend any effort on Zion. I can’t sympathize with Zion, though, that would just be suicide!
As Zion continues to try to figure out what the hell is going on, Hugo Scorpio has had enough of his patience as he charges at Zion and takes him down with a huge clothesline. Hugo thrusts Zion into the ropes before flipping him up in the air and hitting a samoan like back drop on the blindsided Zion. Hugo goes for the cover.
Joe Hoffman: Zion looks completely out of his element right now and Hugo is taking advantage of it right now!
Benny Newell: I’ve never seen someone so concerned about a missing referee. Fifty shades of no one gives a fucking shit!
Zion finally getting his shit together, starts to throw some punches into Hugo. Zion grabs Hugo and flings him into the ropes only to charge him and clip him with a spinning heel kick. Zion grabs Hugo and dismounts from the ropes connecting with a springboard bulldog taking Hugo into the mat. Zion covers Hugo.
Joe Hoffman: Zion looks to be back in HOW land now after getting his focus back on what matters, Hugo.
Benny Newell: You can never say that Zion is truly ever focused on anything. The guy’s own ego doesn’t even want any part of him and that’s fucking sad.
Hugo gets back to his feet as Zion levels him with a roundhouse kick that sends him back down again. Zion rushes the ropes and reflects off the ropes and connects with a lionsault on Hugo. Zion once again goes for a cover. As Zion is attempting to pin him, Hortega starts to drop down but all of a sudden, Brian Hollywood is seen running down the ramp with a referee shirt. Hollywood grabs Hortega and violently tosses him over the top rope as Hortega hits the floor hard which knocks him out. Hollywood drops down and makes the count.
TW-Hugo kicks out.
Joe Hoffman: Well there’s Hollywood. He’s a little late to the party..
Benny Newell: He put his hands on a HOW official!!! Has Hollywood truly lost all respect and honor to the rules around here?!
Joe Hoffman: Hollywood’s behavior has become quite the outlaw lately in HOW.
Benny Newell: Yea and Hollywood is walking a fine line and sooner or later, he’s going to fall into a fiery pit of FUCKED!
Zion looks up to see that Hollywood is now present and in a referee uniform. Clara looks on from the outside and Hollywood spots her and he just blows her a kiss which gets Clara all fired up on the outside. Zion sees it as well and immediately gets in Hollywood’s face. Hollywood doesn’t budge a single bit as he reminds Zion that he’s the referee and that he will not hesitate to DQ Zion. Zion sneers and turns his attention back to Hugo who gives him a buzzsaw kick to the head. As Zion starts to fall forward, Hugo grabs him and sends him into the mat with a DDT. Hugo goes for the cover as Hollywood drops down to make the count.
Joe Hoffman: Is it just me or did Hollywood count that a tad bit too fast?
Benny Newell: Actually, either I’m too fucking drunk or Hollywood actually counted that fairly. Who really gives a fuck though! DRINK!!
Hugo starts to pound away at Zion before Zion violently shoves him off. Zion Irish whips Hugo and takes him down with a Lou Thesz Press. Zion hammers away at Hugo for a bit before he heads to the top rope. Hugo is able to get back to his feet as Zion jumps off and spins Hugo down into the mat with a hurricanarona. Zion once again goes for the cover as Hollywood isn’t paying attention as his sights are set on Clara on the outside.
Joe Hoffman: Hollywood needs to pay attention to this match!
Benny Newell: Can you blame him?! I mean, Clara does have some PERFECT fucking tits!
Zion stops the pinfall as he gets up in Hollywood’s face again. He starts to yell at him as the tensions start to heighten. Clara, sensing danger coming, hops up on the apron and tries to get Zion’s attention. Zion says something to Hollywood and Hollywood isn’t having it. Hollywood pushes Zion and he stumbles back a few steps as Hollywood stomps his foot into the mat rapidly. Hollywood goes for the Executive Promise and Zion moves out of the way and ends up hitting Clara with the Executive Promise instead as Clara flies off the apron and to the outside.
Joe Hoffman: OH MY GOD!! CLARA JUST GOT KICKED BY HOLLYWOOD!
Benny Newell: Oh boy! This is going to get fucking violent!!
Zion looks on the outside in absolute horror at Clara who isn’t even moving on the outside. Zion’s eyes widen as he turns around at a laughing Hollywood. Zion kicks him in the gut and sends Hollywood into the mat with the Delusions of Grandeur. Hollywood rolls out of the ring and falls to the outside as Hugo attempts to take advantage of the situation. Hugo tries to grab Zion but Zion decks him and takes him to the mat and locks him in the Catalyst Clutch. He locks it in sharply and you can see the anger within Zion who channels that anger in the clutch. Meanwhile, Joe Hortega comes to and rolls back in the ring as he sees the submission locked in. Hugo is in absolute pain and he has no choice but to tap out.
Joe Hoffman: Zion’s anger has just made Hugo tap out!
Benny Newell: FUCK!
Bryan McVay: Here is your winner, DARIN ZIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIION!
Joe Hoffman: Well that escalated quickly.
Benny Newell: The last thing we needed was a motivated Zion.
Zion immediately rolls out of the ring to check up on Clara who is barely moving on the outside. Meanwhile, Brian Hollywood has completely left the ring and you can see him walking backwards up the ramp. He looks over at Zion and just laughs but points at Zion and yells something loud enough for some of the fans to hear.
Brian Hollywood: THAT WAS YOUR DOING, ZION! NOW DEAL WITH THE GUILT OF YOUR ACTIONS!!
Zion glares over and stares down Hollywood who obviously has no care in the world about Zion’s situation. Hollywood finally smiles sadistically and walks off and to the back.
Joe Hoffman: Hollywood has claimed that Clara’s downfall was Zion’s fault. That is only going to anger him more.
Benny Newell: Clara shouldn’t even have been down here at ringside to begin with! Zion should have known how dangerous it was for her to be involved and she was just turned into collateral damage!
Zion looks on in concern for Clara as we cut to another quick commercial break.
As we come back from the last commercial break of the evening we see the Hall of Fame team ready for the next highly anticipated match up.
Joe Hoffman: Up next ladies and gentlemen is the co-main event of the evening. We have the ICON championship on the line as champion, Ray McAvay defends his title against the former champion, Cecilworth Farthington.
Benny Newell: Fucking right it is Hoffman! Cecilworth was screwed when he was forced to defend his ICON championship against that simpleton, Austin Reeves, when the man was sick! It wasn’t fair!
Joe Hoffman: Well Lee is the one who makes the matches, and he must’ve thought Farthington was good to go.
Benny Newell: He should’ve offered Lee a bribe upwards of eighteen dollars because that’s all Austin Reeves is worth!
“When The Going Gets Tough” by Billy Ocean BOOMS over the speaker system as out from the back, with a ten mile grin, bounds Cecilworth Farthington. Not long behind Farthington is the manager of the aristocratic, Dirk Dickwood. As Farthington stands atop the entranceway, The Manager of Champions, Dirk Dickwood presents his client to a crowd not exactly pleased to see either man.
Benny Newell: The longest reinging ICON champion in the history of High Octane Wrestling is looking to regain his fucking title he never should’ve lost!
Cecilworth gives a regal wave to an unhappy audience, continuing to smile all the way down the ramp, oblivious to the negative reaction and the concept of human emotion.
Dirk Dickwood hops on the apron and opens the ropes for Cecilworth. Farthington walks up the steps, dabbing his sweet cherub cheeks with his Farthington Family towel as he pivots into the action zone. Cecilworth climbs atop the middle rope, smiling and giving another regal wave towards the fans.
Benny Newell: Look at him Hoffman, this is what a true champion should be, and not one that interacts with the filth we have here tonight. I mean why does McAvay waste his time with this scum?
Joe Hoffman: Because they can relate to him Benny. McAvay is a hard working, blue collar individual.
Benny Newell: More like neck beards living in their mom’s fucking basement.
Cecilworth jumps off the ropes and turns his attention back towards Dirk Dickwood. Dirk and Cecilworth have a small conference in their corner, violently gesturing in a variety of directions.
Joe Hoffman: Farthington looks ready to go here tonight.
Benny Newell: Of course he is Hoffman. He’s had a week to get heal up from whatever sickness he had and he’s ready to become a two time champion.
Joe Hoffman: Um….it would be his third reign….
Benny Newell: Fuck off Hoffman!!!!!!
♫ “Do you hear the people sing? – Singing the song of angry men?”
The camera pans up to the Les Miserables section of the arena. Ray McAvay looks focused and ready to head to the ring. McAvay’s manager ‘No Frills’ Chris Escondido also stood up from his seat. General DeBauchery, Al Cahall, and Nic Koteen also rise up from her chair.
♫ It is the music of the people. – Who will not be slaves again!”
McAvay rises up from his seat and edges towards the aisle. Escondido follows.
♫ “When the beating of your heart – Echoes the beating of the drums – There is a life about to start – When tomorrow comes.”
Before McAvay and Escondido start to descend down the steps towards the rail separating the stands from the floor of the Best Arena, McAvay gestures back to the Les Miserables and tells them to join him.
♫ “Will you join in our crusade? – Who will be strong and stand with me? – Somewhere beyond the barricade – Is the world you long to see.”
Again, urged on by McAvay, about forty people rise up from their seats and line up behind him and Escondido as the pair start their way down towards the ring.
♫ “Then join in the fight – That will give you the right to be free!”
The camera pans up as Dark and Stormy wave down to McAvay and the procession headed down to the ring.
♫ “Do you hear the people sing? – Singing the song of angry men. – It is the music of the people. – Who will not be slaves again!”
McAvay reaches the bottom of the steps. He climbs through the rails and drops down to the floor. Escondido then does the same thing. Then one by one, the other forty Les Miserables follow until they fill up the ringside area.
♫ “When the beating of your heart – Echoes the beating of the drums – There is a life about to start – When tomorrow comes.”
McAvay runs up the ring steps and climbs into the ring to hand the ICON championship to Nigel Lette before stretching out on the ropes as Bryan McVay begins the introductions.
Bryan McVay: Ladies and Gentlemen, this is the Co-Main Event of the evening set for one fall with a thirty minute time limit. Standing to my left.
McVay points to his left.
Bryan McVay: Introducing first…..
McVay gets cut off as Dirk Dickwood takes away the microphone to so can properly introduce his client.
Dirk Dickwood: If anyone is going to introduce my client it’s me!
Dickwood says sternly as he clears his throat.
Dirk Dickwood: Introducing first, hailing from Buckinghamshire, England, and standing at SIX FOOT THREE INCHES and weighing in at two hundred and thirty five pounds…representing The Best Alliance…He is the LONGEST REIGNING ICON CHAMPION IN THE HISTORY OF HIGH OCTANE WRESTLING AND THE MAN WHO IS GOING TO BECOME THE NEW ICON CHAMPION!
Farthington takes off his robe and motions that the title will be around his waist by the end of the match.
Dirk Dickwood: he is …..CECILWORTH! FAAAAAAAAAAAARTHINGTOOOOOOOOOOOONNNNNNNNNN!
The crowd boos as Cecilworth leans up against the turnbuckle, giving the crowd a big ole V for Victory, which is very Churchillian.
Dickwood tosses the microphone back to Bryan McVay before he steps out of the ring.
Bryan McVay: Standing to my right….
McVay turns to his right.
Bryan McVay: And his opponent, weighing in at 190lbs, he hails from Salome, TX, he is THE REIGNING! DEFENDING! UNDISPUTED! ICON CHAMPION OF HIGH OCTANE WRESTLING! HE IS……“Tin Cup“ RAY! MCAVAY!!!!!!!!!!!!!
The crowd cheers as McAvay raises his hand to the delight of the crowd.
Bryan McVay: The man in charge is official, Nigel Lette.
Nigel holds the ICON championship up for the world to see before folding it up and handing it to McVay.
Once the announcer is out of the ring, Nigel checks both individuals and calls for the bell.
Joe Hoffman: And here we go.
McAvay turns from his corner and starts walking towards center ring when he’s stopped by Nigel Lette.
Joe Hoffman: What’s Nigel doing?
Benny Newell: His fucking job Hofman. Are you fucking blind? Can’t you see Farthington isn’t ready!
The former ICON champion is kneeling in his corner still conversing with his manager, Dirk Dickwood. McAvay wait’s a bit for Farthington to quit talking to his manager, but the two continuing conversing.
Joe Hoffman: I hope they understand this is only a thirty minute match.
Benny Newell: Farthington only needs three seconds Hoffhole!
McAvay gets fed up waiting and pushes Nigel Lette asides and runs full force at Cecilworth and introduces his boot to the back of Farthington’s head.
Benny Newell: CHEAP SHOT!
McAvay begins to stomp away on Farthington and Nigel Lette has to force McAvay back.
Benny Newell: Get him back Nig! He attacked a defenseless man!
McAvay and Nigel have a heated argument before the champion pushes his way passed the official and reaches down to pick up Farthington and pushes him back into the corner and drives his knee into his stomach.
Joe Hoffman: McAvay isn’t playing around as he continues to drive those knees into Farthington’s stomach.
McAvay begins to light up Farthington’s chest with knife edge chops that has the crowd wooooooooing! McAvay continues his assault by jumping up and delivering a stiff knee to the face of Cecilworth! Ray grabs him by the back of the neck…Running Bulldog!
Joe Hoffman: McAvay with a variation of the Shaken and Stirred to Cecilworth Farthington.
McAvay quickly goes for a cover.
Farthington gets the shoulder up.
Tin Cup holds up three fingers towards the referee but Nigel Lette says it was only a count of two.
Benny Newell: My asshole tighten up just a little Hoffman.
McAvay quickly gets to his feet and picks up Farthington and places him between his legs.
Joe Hoffman: The end maybe near as McAvay is calling for the McGill-Bomb.
McAvay lifts Farthington and plants him into the canvas with his patented sit-out power bomb.
Benny Newell: Get up Farthington!
Instead of staying in a seated position, McAvay rolls backwards and makes his way towards the upper body of the former champion.
Joe Hoffman: McAvay with the dragon sleeper!
McAvay locks in the choke and grapevines Farthington’s body with his legs and wrenches back and Nigel slaps Farthington’s hand a few times and as he gets a non-response he quickly calls for the bell.
Bryan McVay: And your winner by submission, AND…..STILL THE REIGNING! DEFENDING! UNDISPUTED! ICON CHAMPION OF HIGH OCTANE WRESTLING! HE IS……“Tin Cup“ RAY! MCAVAY!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Nigel hands McAvay the ICON championship and Ray quickly snatches it from him and exits the ring to celebrate with the rest of the Les Miserables.
Elsewhere backstage, the camera comes up on the office of the GOD of HOW himself, Lee Best. The camera pans inside where we see Brian Hollywood sitting in a rolling chair with his feet on Lee’s desk. Hollywood looks up and sees the camera and takes his feet off the desk quickly as a smile comes across his face. Hollywood appears to also be wearing an eye patch covering his right eye as if he’s impersonating the GOD of HOW.
Brian Hollywood: Oh, good evening my fellow HOWers! This is your GOD speaking and I have a very important message for everyone!
Hollywood pauses as he leans forward resting his arms on the table.
Brian Hollywood: There will now be a new decree effective IMMEDIATELY for all HOW superstars. Starting immediately, you all are to report to me for screenings and will be required to follow these immediate instructions.
Hollywood lets out a sarcastic cough before he puts on a pair of reading glasses. He picks up a piece of paper and pulls it up close so he can read it.
Brian Hollywood: How do they expect me to read this shit? Don’t these incompetent fuckers know that I only have one good eye? Anyways, starting now, all superstars are required to become cowardly little bitches. This is nonnegotiable. Anyone that fails to act this way, you will get bottom fucking lined because that’s the bottom fucking line and your GOD has spoken.
Hollywood pauses again and shifts his attention down the piece of paper.
Brian Hollywood: Also, I’m quite concerned for my son and his confidence has been noticeably shaken after that epic loss to Brian Hollywood. So therefore, I am issuing a state of HOW emergency that when every HOW superstar encounters Mike, you are to kick him in the balls and tell him to stop being a whiny little bitch. Because I care, I hope that this helps Mike discover his inner self again and starts acting like a HOW Hall of Famer and not a lonesome loser like Scott Stevens. I don’t need that shit on my show!
Hollywood continues to look at the paper before he violently plants his face on the desk and plops back up. It looks as if he had a “seizure” and now he looks visibly shaken along with a pair of broken glasses.
Brian Hollywood: GOD DAMN IT! These glasses cost a rib and an eye! I lie so fucking much, I have these useless seizures and it makes me look like I could have been a spawn of Pinocchio’s creation! Anyways, where was I? Ah yes, to my fellow Best Alliance buddies. You are not “fisher price” so don’t let Hollywood get inside your heads! You are all WINNERS….winners of sucking my fucking cock! I mean seriously, I work all fucking day long to make you guys look good that I have to tell you not to do a god damn thing because I keep forgetting rule number one! Don’t break rule number one because COWARDS is what I’m all about! Please, follow in my image, because if you don’t, I will constantly remind you all just what my bottomline is all about. So I encourage you, continue to believe in yourselves and no matter what anyone else says, you are all COWARDLY WINNERS in my book!
Hollywood pauses again and this time, squints at the piece of paper with his left eye. After a few moments more Hollywood gets frustrated and just crumbles up the piece of paper and tosses it across the room.
Brian Hollywood: Who am I kidding, nobody is going to read this anyways! The only thing you all need to constantly remember is that I’m the GOD of HOW and even though I have gotten soft and have turned to cowering, I want you all to remember the person you are supposed to fear! When I’m called out on shit, I tend to just hide and not face it because deep down, I know they are right! I have also finally caved and told my production staff that I am in dire need of the match footage between Brian Hollywood and Mike Best a few weeks ago. I think it will do my son some good to see this footage so I can motivate him again. Everyone is starting to see him and myself to be weak and out of element. I don’t need my son being decimated by that hooligan, Brian Hollywood! I won’t be terrorized! I want my son to succeed. Everyone else in my alliance though? Just keep doing what you’re told and don’t step up to the fucking plate. I only pay you guys to suck my cock and do nothing else. I mean fuck, I don’t even know the rest of the people in my alliance! But that’s besides the point.
Hollywood pauses one last time as he sits back in the chair and puts his feet back on the desk.
Brian Hollywood: In conclusion, I’m just going to relax, kick back and not do a single fucking thing about Brian Hollywood because you know what, the fucker actually has the balls to call me out on my weaknesses and I’m going to return the favor by not doing a single fucking thing about it! So you all have your instructions. Obey the GOD of HOW and do your fucking jobs, and we won’t have any problems! The Machine will go on despite every fact that Brian Hollywood has tried to throw to all my fans in the Best Arena and in my face. I assure you, the consequences WILL come! I will EXPOSE Hollywood for the right fucking son of a bitch that he is. To keep myself protected and my image, I am granting him the automatic winner of the RMI and raising his pay because that’s the requirement under the HOW COWARDLY ACTS law. If any of you have any objections to my rule, you can continue to lube up my cock and suck it because your opinions do not matter to me. Thank you all for your time and now you all can go FUCK YOURSELVES!
Hollywood smiles as the blatant disregard to HOW management continues as he shoes out the camera guy out of the office as Chaos slowly fades to commercial.
As we cut backstage in the Best Arena we see Scott Stevens peeling the athletic tape from his wrists and hands as he stands next to Blair Moise.
Blair Moise: Congratulations on your victory over Julliet Brooks earlier tonight.
Scott Stevens: Thanks Blair, but it was like shooting fish in a barrel when the competition is not in your fucking league. I mean I hardly broke a sweat.
Stevens says snarkly as he continues to peel the tape from his left forearm.
Blair Moise: Regardless, next week is a big week for you?
Stevens ears perk up.
Scott Stevens: Why’s that? I’m getting my world title rematch against Scotty?
Stevens says with a laugh which causes Blair to crack a smile.
Blair Moise: You wish.
Scott Stevens: Damn right.
Blair Moise: No, next week Ryan McKenna faces Tyler Boyd.
Scott Stevens: And that’s important to me because?
Stevens asks with a confused look
Blair Moise: Because if Ryan McKenna loses you have a 95% chance of advancing to the next round because from the information I’ve been told you hold the tie breaker right now.
Blair informs Stevens and he simply shrugs.
Blair Moise: That’s it?
Scott Stevens: What would you have me say?
Stevens asks as he rips the final piece of tape off of his left forearm and tosses it to the ground.
Blair Moise: I don’t know, maybe something like how my hard work paid off or that I’m going to win the entire tournament…..
Stevens holds his hand up to silence Blair.
Scott Stevens: Just stop.
Blair Moise: What?
Blair asks confused.
Scott Stevens: All that’s a given. Let’s look at the facts shall we?
Blair Moise: Ok.
Stevens clears his throat.
Scott Stevens: Scotty may be the world champion, but he’s not the top dog. McKenna may be Lee’s right hand as he continues to develop our sister fed in New Orleans isn’t the top dog either because I am. You see Blair, I am going to win this tournament because it is my destiny to be the HOW world champion. That championship and I have a symbiotic relationship ever since I won it and it’s crying out to be saved from the drunken hands of Scott Woodson. Everyone likes to make fun of me and shit on me because of the embarrassing things that have been done to me, but those same people have scratched the surface of the shit I’ve done in HOW. The Best Alliance may “run things” in HOW, but I run them!
Stevens states firmly as he grabs the microphone tightly.
Scott Stevens: I said it earlier after I destroyed Lee’s bitch in the middle of ring tonight. I am the Best Alliance Conqueror! My track record against them is better than anyone in HOW’s history, don’t believe me? Ask Max or Townsend. Better yet ask fucking Ryan McKenna because last time we were in a ring together I retired his fucking ass!
Blair Moise: Those may be true but what happens if you lose?
Blair asks as Stevens slowly glares at the blonde bombshell.
Scott Stevens: Then I lose, but it won’t stop me because I do have a rematch clause I can invoke anytime, and anywhere of my choosing, and Lee Best or the Best Alliance can’t do a fucking thing about it!
Stevens says as he loosens his grip on the microphone.
Blair Moise: Any last words?
Scott Stevens: Fuck McKenna. Fuck Lee Best. Fuck the Best Alliance because you can’t stop me from getting back what’s rightfully mine.
Stevens promises before exiting the frame as we take our final commercial break of the evening.
Joe Hoffman: Ladies and gentlemen, at this time I feel morally responsible to tell you that you may wish to change the channel. Though High Octane Wrestling regularly features acts of extreme violence, the following match carries with it a stipulation that may seriously disturb our viewing audience.
Benny Newell: SOMEONE IS GONNA GET FUCKING MUR–
Joe Hoffman: SHUT UP, Benny! Please pardon my broadcast partner, folks. The following match is being contested under modified HOFC rules– Michael Lee Best will take on Chris Kostoff for the High Octane Fighting Championship, but with a particularly morbid stipulation. The only way to win this match… is to put your opponent to death.
Benny Newell: Ohhhh this is it, Joe. Fourteen fucking years, and it’s finally fucking happening. Chris Kostoff is gonna fucking die. No bridge death. No six month turnaround comeback. No bullshit. That mongoloid retard is fucking dead and buried, TONIGHT. I didn’t even take a Viagra before the show– I’ve been hard as fucking stone all night.
Joe Hoffman: At this time, I will repeat– you may wish to change the channel. The commentary booth will now go silent, out of respect for the two men competing in tonight’s main event. Tonight marks the end of an era, and High Octane Wrestling will absolutely never be the same again.
“The Best Around” by Joe Esposito begins to play over the sound system, bringing a tremendous booing out from the very depths of the Chicago crowd. The Utah Turncoat isn’t seeing any love in the Best Arena tonight, especially since he’s tasked with literally murdering an HOW legend.
“LET’S GO KOSTOFF!”
“LET’S GO KOSTOFF!”
“LET’S GO KOSTOFF!”
The chant begins in the front row, until it’s deafening in the arena. It’s not a motivating way for Michael Lee Best to make his entrance tonight, but it doesn’t seem to matter– as he doesn’t appear in the entranceway. After a few seconds, the HOV sparks to life, and we find out exactly why.
Backstage in the Best Arena, the interviewing area is in absolute shambles– a destroyed television set lies over the body of HOW Hall of Famer Chris Kostoff, and standing over him is the scowling face of Michael Lee Best.
DING DING DING
The match is already underway.
“LET’S GO KOSTOFF!”
“LET’S GO KOSTOFF!”
“LET’S GO KOSTOFF!”
The chants are even louder now, as Michael Best clenches his fists and leers down at one of his longest time HOW rivals. The big man is crawling out from under the debris, as he literally chucks the television set away from him and climbs back up to his feet. The ease with which he does so is staggering, and suddenly the confidence in Mike Best’s eyes begins to dissipate.
And now, the beast begins to stalk toward Best Jr.
Before Kostoff can come any closer, Michael shows his hand– literally. He reaches into his jeans, producing a pair of brass knuckles and slipping them over his fist, before diving forward and cracking them against the decade old knee injury of Chris Kostoff, taking him down to one knee. The deafening chants in the arena turn to boos, as Michael steps back a few feets, pushing off the wall for momentum and following up with a decapitating punt kick, trying to damn near take Kostoff’s head off it’s shoulders.
Before Michael can continue the assault, referee Rick Stevens finally makes it to the backstage area– and he’s not alone. He’s carrying the ring bell, and with him stands a Chicago county coroner. With no pinfalls or submissions in this match, it’s pretty clear to see why he’s waiting with HOW’s original HOFC referee.
Stevens tries to reason with Michael Best, but the obstinate Best shoves him away. Kostoff grabs hold of a nearby overturned table, pulling himself up while still hobbling on his knee.
Michael is ready for him, grabbing a steel chair from up against the wall and brandishing it at his father’s mortal enemy. Kostoff isn’t having any of it, though, and he literally grabs the chair and rips it out of Michael’s hands, tossing it aside.The crowd explodes, and now he backs Michael down against the wall, fire in his eyes.
Kostoff grabs Best, irish whipping him into the adjacent wall directly kitty corner from them. Best smashes into the concrete, narrowly avoiding breaking his nose, and tries to steady himself. He grabs the discarded steel chair once more, brandishing it at Kostoff, but this time Kostoff simply charges at him. Michael swings the chair, hitting Kostoff in the charging shoulder, but the Monster of HOW basically shrugs it off and powers into the champion like a freight train, knocking him over the fallen table and sending him skittering out of the interviewing area, to the hallway behind!
Michael backs up, scooting his ass across the floor and trying desperately to get away from Kostoff by any means necessary. He grabs a nearby door handle, pulling himself to his feet, and quickly scurrying away to make Kostoff use his knees to make chase.
Kostoff limps toward Michael Best, beckons for the coward to come at him and have a real fight. This does not appear to be something that the 2015 Hall of Famer cares to do here tonight.
Suddenly, Kostoff charges forward, still limping, and swings a telegraphed clothesline at Michael Best. Mike ducks, kicking Kostoff in the back of the knee and sending him toppling over a pile of cardboard merchandise boxes. Best then brings the brass knuckles down hard, nailing Kostoff in the back of the head repeatedly.
Kostoff slides down to the floor, falling motionless as Michael orders Rick Stevens to check on him, having likely concussed the HOW legend with that series of shots.
But Kostoff is moving before the referee can even react.
The crowd is in a fucking frenzy as Kostoff seems to kick into overdrive, refusing to stay down! Michael is livid, standing up and stomping around on both feet, throwing an absolute fit backstage in the Best Arena. He turns around to argue with Rick Stevens, pleading with him that Kostoff is running on something other than oxygen and that it’s an unfair advantage.
“KOSTOFF’S GONNA KILLLLL YOU!”
“KOSTOFF’S GONNA KILLLLL YOU!”
“KOSTOFF’S GONNA KILLLLL YOU!”
By the time Michael turns back around, he’s in shock at what he sees. Not only is Kostoff no longer on the ground, but he’s standing about a foot from spoiled child of Lee Best. The crowd pops as he reaches out and snatches Michael Best by the hair, dragging him into the middle of the hallway and punching him about as hard as he can, right in the mouth! Michael starts to slump to the floor, but Chris holds him by his hair, and socks him one again! Best is out on his feet, and now Kostoff tucks his head between his knees, signaling that it’s time to put this one away!
Kostoff has Mike up for the powerbomb, but his knee crumbles and gives out beneath him. As he drops to his injured leg, it gives Michael Best a chance to wriggle free, and he comes down behind Kostoff to deliver the most improvised Jesus Complex in the history of the maneuver! Kostoff’s head smashes unceremoniously into the concrete, a wound opening up in the area where he’s already been punished with the brass knuckles, as Mike rolls away.
Michael stands up from the move, grabbing the coroner by the front of the shirt and telling him to check for a pulse. He stomps on the fallen Kostoff, grabbing referee Rick Stevens for leverage and wailing away on his opponent over and over again in absolute frustration.
But the coroner never has time to check.
Kostoff is sitting up now, and he snarls, baring his teeth at Lee Best’s only son and daring him to bring the fight once more.
Kostoff pulls himself slowly to his feet. He’s tired. It’s been a long, hard night and an even longer, harder career, but he’s still got enough left in the tank to go toe to toe with the eight time HOW World Champion. He steps forward, still limping on his knee, and stares down at Michael Lee Best as the crowd begins to buzz.
Kostoff glares down at Michael, who is now so pumped up on adrenaline and fear that he doesn’t even back down. The two are staring down, neither man being the first to back off, and as far as they are concerned this match is back to square one. And then, as if they were reading eachother’s minds, both men shoot in for a tie-up at the same time!
Kostoff is a behemoth, but somehow Michael Best is avoiding being overpowered as both men back off the tie-up and decide to try again. Kostoff nods at Michael, an odd measure of respect toward the son of his hated enemy, and Michael nods back in kind. But as they shoot in to tie up for a second time, Michael takes a step back and feints, swinging the brass knuckles forward and clocking Chris Kostoff right between the eyes! Kostoff steps back as the crowd erupts into boos, and Michael looks pleased with himself for his trick.
He comes bounding toward Kostoff like a man possessed, but Kostoff grabs a tray of sandwiches off the catering table and swings it full-bore, wailing Michael in the face! Best drops to the concrete floor like a ton of bricks, his head covered in smeared blood and his body littered with destroyed sandwiches. Kostoff reaches down and grabs a half of one, stuffing it into his mouth and then spitting half of it onto his opponent, mockingly.
Kostoff picks Mike up from the floor, slamming his head down onto the first catering table and running him down the gauntlet, knocking plates and trays to the floor before throwing him into the opposite wall. Mike stumbles back, hitting a big right hand and then another, now staggering Kostoff a bit. He reaches down and grabs the first thing he finds– a giant frying pan, and swings it at Kostoff!
Best gets a two-for-one, not realizing that the frying pan isn’t empty! The pan collides with Kostoff’s head with a sickening clang, busting the big man open, but then it’s contents fly out as well. Hot soup covers the better part of Chris Kostoff’s upper body, and he screams as his body is scalded over!
Kostoff holds his face in agony, but Michael swings the frying pan again and knocks him to the floor. As soon as his opponent is down, Best begins tearing through the room, looking for a way to end this match quickly and efficiently. He picks Kostoff up off the ground and begins dragging him by the hair toward the door to the outside of the arena, Kostoff fights back, throwing his weight and slamming Michael into the hallways wall making him relinquish his grip!
Chris Kostoff picks Michael up, pulling him into spinebuster position but running him straight into the wall with all of his might! The wall creaks as the plaster smashes, but Kostoff isn’t done yet– he boots his rival in the gut, jamming Michael Lee Best’s head between his legs, lifting him up….
NO REMORSE ON THE FUCKING CONCRETE!
Chris Kostoff is exhausted, adrenaline dumping as he drops Baby Best on his fucking head and falls to the concrete beside him. He waves at Rick Stevens, trying to tell him that Best clearly has a broken fucking neck, and that he needs to get in there.
Immediately, Rick Stevens calls for the coroner– he’d probably call for EMTs as well, but there isn’t a lot that they can do in a match meant to end in death. Michael isn’t moving, and slowly Kostoff lets his eyes close, resting his head back against the concrete as he awaits the results.
The coroner goes to work, and he turns to Chris Kostoff– to inform him that there is still a pulse.
Closing his eyes tighter and shaking his head, Chris Kostoff slams his meaty fists against the floor as he rolls over onto his good knee, using it to push himself back to his feet. He shoves the coroner out of the way, grabbing Michael by the hair and yanking him up off the ground. He shoves Best Jr’s head between his legs a second time, getting ready to drop him once and for all.
The back of Chris Kostoff’s knee all but shatters as Michael Lee Best connects one more time with the brass knuckles, taking Kostoff back down to one knee. He staggers toward Kostoff, barely able to stand at this point, and reaches toward the wall for a heavy steel chair. Rearing back, he swings for the fences– and connects directly with the front of Kostoff’s face.
A third shot now.
Kostoff refuses to go down– each chair shot somehow seems to make him stronger, as he recoils from the blows and continues to stand on his wobbling knee. He reaches forward to grab the chair from Michael Lee Best, but Michael connects again, shattering the hand of Chris Kostoff in the process. And he’s not finished. He swings the chair again, landing it right on top of Kostoff’s head.
And fucking again.
This time, Kostoff hits the ground like he’s just been shot, and Michael collapses on top of him as both Stevens and the coroner lean in to check on the status of this match. Michael waves them off, knowing that he hasn’t finished yet, and now he reaches into the back pocket of his jeans…
….producing a pair of handcuffs.
He slaps the law enforcement implements over Kostoff’s wrists, tightening them to an uncomfortable degree before leaving him lying. Though the big man isn’t moving, he’s clearly still breathing, and this is a problem for HOW’s most obnoxious Hall of Famer.
Michael looks aroun desperately, finding a chain amidst some contracting tools nearby. He grabs the length of it, carrying it back over to Kostoff and looping it around the handcuffs, using them to literally drag Kostoff across the hallway! Like a strong man competition, he slings the chain over his shoulder and drags Kostoff’s unconscious body, carrying him off to continue whatever his nefarious plans are.
Best kicks open the door to the outside of the arena, yanking the chain to try and move the behemoth– but suddenly, he’s pulled backward, as Kostoff is climbing to his feet! Chris yanks the chain in the other direction, nearly taking off Michael Best’s head with a crippling clothesline that sends both men literally shattering through the door, as it comes off it’s hinges and crumples into a pile of debris with both men!
“LET’S GO KOSTOFF!”
“LET’S GO KOSTOFF!”
“LET’S GO KOSTOFF!”
The crowd is in a frenzy once more, as Kostoff discards the chain and raises the handcuffs over his head, bringing them down on the skull of Michael Best. And again.
And fucking again.
Michael is scrambling to get away, but Kostoff literally snaps the handcuffs into two metal bracelets, grabbing the Bestlette by the back of his shirt and stopping him in his tracks. He spins Michael around, booting him in the gut, and lifts him up over his head….
NO! IT’S REVERSED!
Out of fucking nowhere, Michael Lee Best turns the powerbomb into a triangle choke on the concrete, pulling Kostoff’s head down to the pavement as he locks it in tighter than he ever has before. Submission isn’t the goal– he’s literally trying to choke the life out of Chris Kostoff on live television, and end his fucking life.
Rick Stevens and the coroner both rush in to look for the signs, as Kostoff fights for his life. He struggles for ten seconds, twenty… mustering all the strength that he has left in his body as he slowly lifts Michael back up– he might not be able to break the hold, but he can sure as fuck break Michael Best’s spine.
NO FUCKING REMORSE!
Both men are shattered as they hit the concrete, with Kostoff gasping for breath and trying desperately to recover– but Michael Best isn’t moving. He landed hard on his spine and neck, and his limp body looks almost disturbing as it’s displayed on the camera. Chris Kostoff grabs hold of Rick Stevens, using him to stagger to his feet, as he walks it off and tries to catch his breath. He grabs a shovel from the side of the maintenance building in the parking lot, preparing to go back to work…
And that’s when the coroner says it.
“Michael Best is not breathing.”
He goes to work, checking for signs of life from the eight time former HOW World Champion, but it appears to be no use– his chest doesn’t heave, his eyes don’t flutter, and it looks like there is nothing left to do.
Rick Stevens consults with the coroner, and they decide to call it.
But that’s when Michael Best begins to stir.
The referee can’t believe it, and neither can the coroner– even the crowd inside the Best Arena cheers as Michael Lee Best proves once again that he’s the man who can’t be killed. With a sputtering cough, he violently spasms on the concrete, his lungs kickstarting on what we presume can be nothing but adrenaline and desperation at this point. Chris Kostoff’s eyes grow wide, but he doesn’t waste any time being shocked. Instead, he tosses the shovel aside, swallows his apprehension, and picks Michael up off the concrete, slapping him in the side of the head and knocking him back down.
But it only seems to bring Michael further to life.
The shock to his system brings him out of his haze, as he charges at Chris Kostoff with a mighty spear. He pushes the big man all the way into the concrete wall of the maintenance shed, but given the punishment both men have taken tonight, it doesn’t seem like it will make much of an impact– a close up shot, however, shows both men wincing in pain.
And that’s when the camera pans out.
A mess of blood covers both men’s midsections– it’s like a scene in a movie, as the crowd slowly realizes what has happened. Michael Lee Best got off easy, as his body took the secondary impact, but Chris Kostoff is worse for the wear– a sharp piece of rusted rebar was sticking out from the wall on the shed, and it has impaled Chris Kostoff all the through to the other side– and it’s sticking in the gut of Mike Best, too.
Kostoff’s eyes are wide, as blood trickles up from down in his throat.
Michael staggers backward, falling to the ground and out of the frame of the camera– his wounds aren’t deep, and he’ll clearly recover, but Kostoff has been impaled all the way through. He clutches the rebar sticking out through the front of his gut, screaming out in pain in a way that no one has ever heard from the toughest man in the history of professional wrestling. He tries to move– tries to pull himself off– but it’s too deep.
Rick Stevens tries to move in to check on Kostoff, but the big man orders him to get the fuck out of the way. Knowing that this is do or die, something rises up in Chris Kostoff that has never been seen before. Strength that no man should possess. Wincing and screaming, he grabs hold of the rebar and literally pulls himself off of the spike, seemingly pulling out some of his innards in the process. Slowly, and cripplingly painfully, Chris Kostoff frees himself from literal certain death and staggers forward, breathing hard and trying to ignore the amount of blood that he’s losing on a moment to moment basis. He steps forward toward Michael Lee Best with the fear of death in his eyes, but that’s when the camera pans to his opponent.
And the metal shovel that he’s holding.
With one stiff thunk, Michael Lee Best collides the metal shovel with the side of Chris Kostoff’s head– the big man first staggers, but then unceremoniously falls to the concrete. Immediately, he tries to sit up, by the camera pans upward suddenly as Michael raises the shovel over his head, this time bringing the hard metal edge down blade side first.
“Goodbye, old friend.”
The words are cold, as steam rises from the husk of a man below. Michael’s face and upper body, the only thing visible on camera, are immediately washed in a jet stream of crimson, rising from the unmoving body of Chris Kostoff.
The coroner has no need to check for a pulse.
WINNER AND NEW HOFC CHAMPION: Michael Lee Best
Friday Night Chaos comes to an end.