CCW Unleashed! - 12/25/06:

[+Donald $. Carlos+]

Taped Earlier In The Day:

A camera fades in from black, & opens up ona full-bodied shot of a local New York City mall.

A quick cut, & seconds later, we are inside said mall . . . a cameraman capturing the hustle & bustle of all the last minute Christmas shoppers as they nearly trample over each other for their commercially necessary material possessions; some of which won't even last the full year.

Another quick cut, & the lens is focused on a shot of a "Santa's Workshop". There are self-described "elves" hammering away at fake "presents" . . . fake "reindeer" chattering away through their mechanically controlled mouths . . . & hoards of exhausted parents holding onto their brat kids in hopes of getting them to shut up for a few minutes as they wait in line to talk to "Santa Claus".

However, this isn't your average, ordinary Santa Claus. No, no . . . this jolly old fat man is neither old, nor jolly, as he sits upon a throne wearing all black. A kendo stick is poking through the neck hole of his shirt . . . a giant gold belt is wrapped around his waist . . . & the santa hat is tilted toward the right side of his head. A cigarette is hanging out of the right corner of his mouth, which he quickly inhales from, before exhaling the smoke into the air above him.

To the left of said faux Santa stands his best helper . . . a tall, lean, attractive looking blond woman who is dressed as a scantily-clad version of Mrs. Claus. She has glasses that are down further on the bridge of her nose than usual . . . her lips bright red like rudolph's nose . . . & a skirt that stops just past the top of the thigh, with black calf-high boots to match. Her hair is pulled back in the usual bun, which is visible as she is not wearing a hat like the man beside her.

After a few seconds to give those at home a chance to take everything in, "Santa" clears his throat out of sheer annoyance . . . looking up at the face of his assistant, before shaking his head in disgust.

Violence: "Jesus Christ, Heather . . . I still can't believe you talked me into this."

St. Clair: "Oh, shut up you Grinch. It's good to give back every once in a while . . . especially if you want to receive that present I was telling you about, earlier."

She lets her lips curve into a smile, before winking toward Violence with her right eye.

St. Clair: "Is that something you really want to pass up, Jay-Jay?"

Violence sighs in apparent defeat, before taking another drag from his cigarette . . . holding in his smoke for longer than usual, before releasing it with an emphatic burst of air from his lungs. He then stabs the cherry out against the right arm rest of his chair, before flicking the butt off-screen, & repositions himself in the seat.

Violence: "I really hate it when you call me that."

St. Clair: "God Dammit, Josh . . ."

Violence: "Shut the fuck up, woman! I'm here, aren't I?"

St. Clair crosses her arms in defeat, & looks away toward the oncoming swarm of children . . . allowing Violence to lift up the back of her skirt, & check out her ass with a satisfied nod, before returning his attention to the matter at hand.

Violence: "Yeah . . . that's what I thought. Now let's just get this bullshit over with before I do something I won't regret . . . which, of course, is something that a normal person would regret, & would most definitely serve jail time for . . ."

St. Clair: "Will you be quiet, already! It's time to go to work . . ."

St. Clair trails off as she greets the 1st family with a cheery demeanor, & bends down to play nice with their 7-year old son. As she takes the boy by the hand, & turns around to lead him toward Violence, the husband gets a nice shot of her ass flesh . . . prompting his wife to slap him upside the back of his head, before ripping into him verbally in front of the rest of the small crowd behind them. Violence chuckles at the sight of this, & it keeps him content until the little boy is mere inches in front of him.

St. Clair: "Here you are, Santa . . . this is Jake! Say hi to Santa, Jake!"

Jake: "Hi, Santa!"

Jake goes to sit upon Violence's lap, but is immediately thwarted by the bearded man himself . . . who places him right bak down on his feet, before speaking up in his normal tone of voice.

Violence: "Whoa, now . . . easy there, Jake. Do I look like Michael Jakson to you?"

Jake: "I don't know who that is, Santa."

Violence: "Well, there's one of your presents, right there . . . just to let you know."

Jake looks Violence up & down with a confused look on his face, before glancing over at St. Clair. She smiles at him, & waves, which further confuses him . . . so he looks bak at his still fighting parents. Finally, he shrugs his shoulders, & looks back up at Violence as though he's just come to a conclusion.

Jake: "Wait a minute . . . Santa doesn't wear black! You're not Santa!"

Violence bends down & places his left hand on the boys shoulder . . . signaling for him to come closer, as Violence looks to keep everything calm.

Violence: "Hey, now, let's not get ahead of ourselves Jakey boy . . . I'm the real deal. I mean, do you think I'd dress up like this all the time if I wasn't?

Would Mrs. Claus, either, for that matter?"

Jake looks over at Heather for a 2nd time . . . for even longer, mind you . . . & smiles. He then looks back at Violence before answering.

Jake: "I hope so!"

Violence can't help but form a smile of his own, & pats the kid on the head as though he's just done a good job.

Violence: "Atta boy, Jake. Now, before I forget . . . what do you want for Christmas?"

Suddenly, the smile from Jake's face disappears . . . which catches Violene completely off-guard. He cocks his right eyebrow to illustrate this.

Jake: "Well . . . Santa . . . all I want for Christmas is for my grandma to not die from cancer."

All of a sudden, a recorded sitcom audience "Aw" is heard from an unknown source . . . prompting Violence to look toward the ceiling in confusion, & then toward the Christmas tree to his right, before fixating his gaze back on the sad little boy in front of him.

St. Clair: (whispering) "Oh my God!"

Violence: "Oh, man . . . Jake . . . I'm afraid that's something Santa Claus doesn't have any control over . . ."

Violence looks toward the ground, before swallowing, & then looks back up into the now crushed spirit of the boy through his tearful eyes.

Violence: "Sorry. I can give you a candy cane, though. Mrs. Claus . . ."

Violence motions for a candy cane with his right hand, & Heather is quick to hand him one. He quickly unwraps it, & hands it to Jake, but it's too late . . . as he has now started bawling uncontrollably. Violence leans back in his chair & looks toward the ceiling as St. Clair crouches down to try & calm Jake down . . . prompting his bitch of a mother, & his pussy of a father to take off down the aisle, & swarm to their son's side.

Mother: "What the fuck is going on here?!? And who are you supposed to be?!?"

Violence clears his throat, & stands up in an imposing manner before the visibly upset woman before him . . . placing his hands on his hips, & hawking a luhgie toward his right, before answering.

Violence: "I'm fucking Santa Claus, bitch! Who are you?!?"

Mother: "I'm this boy's mother!"

Violence: "Well, I think that's painfull obvious, lady. My question was more rhetorical than anything . . ."

Mother: "Don't get smart with me, you jackass! What did you do to my son?!?"

Violence looks up toward the ceiling in an attempt to keep himself cool in this heated situation, before glancing over at St. Clair. She quickly walks up to the right side of her man, & tries her best to explain the situation without making it any worse.

St. Clair: "Ma'am, please . . . this isn't anyone's fault. Your son asked our Santa Claus, here, for something impractical . . . & when he tried to explain this to Jake, he just started . . ."

Mother: "Excuse me, ma'am . . . but if I wanted your opinion, I'd ask how much I should charge for giving away my dignity! This is between me, & him!"

Heather is taken aback by the viciousness in the tone of the woman's comments, & Violence quickly jumps to her defense . . . poking the woman in the chest as he talks, which causes her husband to take notice of the degree to which this has just escalated.

Violence: "Yeah, well, maybe if you did ask for her advice on what that's like . . . your husband wouldn't have to get his jollies by looking at my girlfriend's ass. It's called Christmas spirit, by the way . . . that's the only reason she's dressed like this, in the 1st place.

I think you're just jealous of the fact that you coudn't pull it off, yourself. Shit, if you even tried, I wouldn't blame your husband if he decided to cut his dick off. I know that's what I'd rather do than ever stick your gaping hole of a vagina!"

SMACK!

"OOH!"

The father, out of nowhere, slaps Violence along the left side of his face . . . causing Violence to turn away, seething uncontrollably, as Heather does her absolute best to keep him from reacting in a manner that his last name suggests. All the people who have been watching on out of interest gasp in one simultaneous group . . . under the impression that the confrontation couldn't possibly progress any further without some sort of extreme consequence. How wrong they would soon be proven to be . . .

Father: "Listen to me you sorry ass motherfucker! Now, I don't know who you think you are, but . . ."

The man is cut-off in mid-sentence as Violence reaches forward to grab him by the collar of his t-shirt . . . looking deep into his eyes with a fire that the man has undoubtedly never seen before. Heather uses all of her strength to try & pry Violence's grip . . . as does the childs mother . . . but it is only by the voice of their son that his trance is broken.

Jake: "STOP Santa! Don't hurt my dad!"

Violence looks down at the little boy's angry, puffed up face, & pushes his father away . . . bending down to say something coforting to the young lad, before the design of his fathers shirt catches Violence's attention.



Violence: (speaking to Jake, while looking at his father's shirt) "I'm sorry, Jake . . . I won't hurt your dad. Too much, anyway. I mean, only as much as it takes to KILL HIM!"

And, with that, he pushes Jake to the side . . . shooting back to a full-on vertical base, & spearing the boy's father off of the platform to the aisle below!

People's screams can be heard at various points in time as Violence begins pummeling the man's face with repeated, & increasingly forceful right hands . . . busting him wide open within mere seconds from the nose & mouth, as Heather tries valiantly to hold him back from killing the defenseless man.

Violence: "THE LION WILL BE PUT DOWN! AS GOD AS MY WITNESS, THE LION WILL BE PUT DOWN!"

One last shot to the forehead, & Violence pops back to his feet . . . standing over the unconscious carcass of his unfortunate victim, & spitting at his head, before allowing Heather to guide him away from the scene. He stops her before they reach the end of the aisle, however, & turns back to face the mother . . . unsheathing the kendo stick from the neck hole of his shirt, & swinging for the fences!

CRACK!

More screams are heard as the wooden instrument wraps around the woman's skull, before breaking into several pieces . . . forcing her down onto her stomach in immediate reaction to the pain, as she is most definitely near unconsciousness herself. As soon as the act is committed, however, Violence seems to snap back to reality . . . clutching the base of his neck as though he is in pain, before taking Heather by the left arm, & forcing both of them through the crowd of shocked bystanders on their way out of the building.

St. Clair: "Good fucking Lord, Josh! What's the matter with you?!?"

Violence: (completely ignoring her question) "Tonight is a test . . . for on the 31st of December, The Lion gets put down for good."

They both disappear into the parking lot, & the camera has no choice but to:

Fade 2 Black . . .

[+Donald $. Carlos+]

The Buffalo, New York, crowd go crazy as the theme music for CCW Unleashed . . .

“Breathe” by The Prodigy
www.youtube.com/watch?v=zonX0Me6EZ4&search=prodigy%20breathe

. . . plays as the opening video shows various CCW Unleashed superstars in action.

JR: "Seasons greetings! We welcome you to the HSBC Arena here in the beautiful, yet awfully chilly city of Buffalo, New York!

I'm Jim Ross, as always, with Paul Heyman at my side . . . & what a slobber knocker of a card we have tonight! Isn't that right, Heyman?"

Heyman: "Yes indeed, Ross . . . tonight, we see Griffin Young go one-on-one with Union Jakked member James Brody."

JR: "And that's not all . . . believe me!

Later we will see Cowards take on Georgy Moscow . . . & the returning Balistic faces off against The Body Count's permanent lackey, in The Joker. With just 6 days left until Resurrection, there's no telling how the outcomes of these matches will effect the event."

Heyman: "Particularly the 30-Man, Over The Top Rope Melee match, Ross! The match that will single handedly resurrect CCW from the crumbling foundation around it, & re-assert the company as the most dominant in the industry.

Not only that . . . but Resurrection will also bear witness to a CCW World Heavyweight Championship match for the ages. "Big Daddy" Josh Violence, puts the title on the line against "The Lion" Thomas Richards! I can't wait for the Lion to be put down once & for all, Ross!"

JR: "Yes, well, we'll have to wait & see how that turns out, Paul. But, for tonight's main event, we'll all get a little preview of this upcoming title match . . . as Violence teams with fellow Body Count member "The Mack" Adam Machiavelli, to take on the unlikely team of Thomas Richards, & Vincent Reinahrdt!"

Heyman: "And speaking of grudges . . . Machiavelli & Reinhardt are no stranger to each other, as well. What a week to be a wrestling fan!"

JR: "You aren't kidding, partner . . ."

[+Donald $. Carlos+]

The screen is completely black. The sound of someone's footsteps across a room is audible.

*Click*

A light flashes on, and a long, mop haired man is stood by the lightswitch. He looks at the camera, and it becomes apparent that it is the Hereford Hoffmeister, Cowards. He quickly dashes to a seat set up directly in front of the camera, and promptly sits his ass down.

Cowards: Is it rolling?

Man: (Offscreen) Yep. Good to go.

Cowards: Hang on... Do I look alright?

Man: Um...

Cowards: Mirror!?

Man: I don't have one. I'll send the boy.

Cowards: In the mean time... Who wants to play Naked Deal or No Deal? I'll be the banker!

Man: Can I be Noel?

Cowards: No.

We fade out to black.

After that brief pause, we cut straight back to Cowards, sat on the chair staring directly at the camera. But, something is different about him. He's wearing...

MAKEUP!!?

Cowards: (Looking off screen) Are you sure this doesn't make me look gay?

Man: Not at all. Paul Hill never leaves the house without his trusty foundation and mascara, in pocket and on face.

Cowards: Ah... So that's why I'm so attracted to him. Anyway, if Paul Hill does it, I am down like a clown.

Man: Good. So can we finally shoot this thing?

Cowards: Yes.

Man: Alright then. In 3... 2... (Pause)

Cowards: ...

Man: (Whispering) Go!

Cowards: Pardon?

Man: (Whispering, slightly louder) Action!

Cowards: Speak up, man!

Man: Oh, for fuck's sake! I did the countdown. You go!

Cowards: I was waiting for 1.

Man: We don't say 1. It goes 3... 2... Pause. And then you go.

Cowards: So I go after pause.

Man: Yes.

Cowards: Why not count all the way down?

Man: Because that's not what they do in Thunderbirds.

Cowards: Yeah it is. They go 5! 4! 3! 2! 1! Bla....

Man: No, they never said 1.

Cowards: They seriously did. There was a Thunderbird for every number on the countdown. Thunderbird 1 was the yellow rocket. 2 was the turtle. 3 was the white one. 4 was the Trotter's 3-wheeler which was aquatic. And no one gave a shit about 5.

Man: I'm sorry, the TURTLE?!

Cowards: Yeah, it was green and humpy. Like a turtle. And what guy doesn't know Thunderbirds!? Cheeze...

Man: Cheeze?

Cowards: Yeeesh?

Man: What?

Cowards: Huh?

Man: Are you good to go!

Cowards: What. Yeah. I've been good to go for the past 40 seconds. During which we talked Thunderbirds and Numberbirds. And sexuality. Et al.

Man: Alright then... 3... 2... (Pause)

Cowards: ...

Man: OH GOD!! Just TALK!!

Cowards: You didn't say Pause.

Man: I don't SAY pause. I DO pause.

Cowards: But, the countdown goes 3... 2... Pause... and then I go.

Man: Pause isn't a word!

Cowards: It's not?

Man: No!!

Cowards: Is it punctuation?

Man: WHAT?!

Cowards: I'm sure it's a word. It is. I'm sure.

Man: WHAT IS YOUR PROBLEM!!

Cowards: Look, I'm just following direction! The bad director always blames his actors.

Man: You're not an actor!

Cowards: I could be.

Man: But you're not. You're here to talk about being National Champion...

Cowards: I am?

Man: YES!! You won it months ago.

Cowards: Oh yeah. I nearly forgot. Where's the belt?

Man: It DOESN'T MATTER!! Just sit there, say something after I tell you too and leave me alone. FOREVER!

Cowards: Alright. But just remember who pays your salary when you talk to me like that.

Man: It's NOT YOU!! FUCKING HELL. WHAT IS YOUR PROBLEM!?

Cowards: I'm British.

Man: Oh.

Cowards: Yeaaah...

Man: Alright then, are we GOOD TO GO?!

Cowards: I was born Good, Togo.

Man: Ok. 3... 2... (Pause)

Cowards: Georgy Moscow. Tonight I face you. And I have something to SHOW you.....

*Phhhzz*

The lights go out.

Man: FUCK!!!!!

Cowards: Anyone for Murder in the Dark? I'll get the guns...

Fade to #000000

[+Donald $. Carlos+]

Michael Buffer: The following contest is scheduled for one fall and is a non-title match.

"Run Like Hell" by Pink Floyd hits the speakers bringing jeers from the crowd. Smoke comes from the top of the ramp as sparks rain down from the titan tron. National Champion Cowards steps out of smoke, arms raised to a chorus of boos. He walks to the ring taunting the fans and upon entering the ring removes his title belt from around his waist and holds it high above his head.

Michael Buffer: Introducing first..... from Hereford, England and weighing in at 257 pounds..... representing The Monsters of Pro-Wrestling..... the CCW National Champion, Cowards.

The boos continue until "Streamline" by Newton starts to play. Georgy Moscow starts out in the crowd and starts slowly running down toward the ring, pretending to fly like superman. Once he reaches the guard rail he jumps up on it and then rips over it and falls face first into the mats around ringside). He then puts his fists on his hips and strikes a pose. He rolls himself into the ring and strikes the same pose, then he breaks out into dance, going along with the beat.

Michael Buffer: His opponent..... from Moscow, Russia and weighing in at 257 pounds..... Georgy Moscow.

The fans cheer as Georgy continues with his dance. Cowards gives Georgy a wake up call as he starts to tag him with Boxing rights and lefts. As Cowards uses Georgy's head like a punching bag the referee calls for the bell officially starting the contest. With Georgy in a daze Cowards hands out a stiff Uppercut sending Georgy falling to the mat.

Ross: By gawd!. Cowards almost decapitated Georgy. Right now this poor kid is getting beaten worse than a government mule.

Heyman: You sound surprised J.R., Georgy has only won a single match in his entire CCW career. He's not gonna get one over on a member of The Monsters.

Cowards doesn't let up as he drags Georgy back to a vertical base. He gets in behind Georgy locking his hands around his waist before executing a Regal Suplex. Following the move Cowards takes his time getting to his feet. He then stands in wait catching a breather as Georgy uses the ropes to somehow pull himself back to his feet. As Georgy stumbles into the middle of the ring Cowards spikes him face first into the canvas with The Final Cutter. He then follows it up with a cover.


1...



2...



No


Georgy kicks out before the 3. Cowards shakes his head and glares at the official. He then stands up once again watching and waiting as Georgy struggles to a vertical base. After nearly a minute of patiently waiting Georgy finally gets up. Cowards though greets him with a Body Blow that winds Georgy. It's the perfect set up for Cowards to grab the head of Georgy and plant him head first with a Lifting DDT. Following the impact Cowards looks for the pin fall again.


1...



2...



No


Georgy somehow shoots his shoulder up.

Heyman: What the hell is this. That referee is making slow counts. This is a travesty. I can't watch.

Ross: Oh come on Paul you know that's bull crap. Georgy is showing just how much fight he has in that heart of his.

Cowards pounds the canvas in frustration and then hurls abuse at the referee. Meanwhile Georgy crawls into the corner and with the help of the turnbuckle once again pulls himself back up to his feet. Cowards sees this and charges into the corner looking for a Spear. Georgy though leapfrogs the oncoming Cowards who's momentum takes him shoulder first into the steel ring post.

Georgy steps back as Cowards stumbles out of the corner holding his shoulder in agony. Georgy runs into the ropes and comes off hitting Cowards with a Clothesline sending him down to the mat. Georgy though follows him down due to exhaustion. Both men lay on the mat already feeling the effects of the hard hitting encounter.

After several seconds both men get back to their vertical bases with Cowards slightly favouring his shoulder. Georgy attempts another Clothesline but Cowards ducks it and gets in behind Georgy. Cowards wraps his arms around Georgy waist again and pulls off another Regal Suplex. This time however due to his bad shoulder Cowards doesn't execute the move fully and Georgy ends up landing straight on his head.

Ross: What a sickening landing. This kid might need some help out here. He could have a broken neck.

Heyman: I hope he does have a broken neck. That way I won't have to see him inside that ring week after week. I'm sick of Georgy Moscow.

As the referee checks on Georgy, Cowards leans against the turnbuckle trying to suppress the pain in his shoulder. As this happens a man dressed in a Santa Claus outfit makes his way down to the ring. In his hands he holds a massive candy cane. Cowards spots him and seems bemused. Santa Claus climbs up the ring steps and walks along the apron toward Cowards.

Heyman: What the hell is he doing here. Who the hell is that. Is this bizarro world or something?.

Ross: Well that's Santa Claus. It is of course Christmas Day. Although for the life of me I can't work out why he's here at ringside.

Cowards gives Santa the finger and starts to laugh. Santa though retaliates whacking Cowards in the head with his candy cane. The collision makes a loud thud and seems to knock Cowards through a loop. Santa then drops down from the apron as Georgy gets up. The official is once again able to turn his attention to the contest not knowing what has transpired between Cowards and Santa.

Georgy sees that Cowards is dazed and catches him with a kick to the gut. With Cowards doubled over Georgy grabs his head and then pulls off the Russian Revolution. Georgy then covers Cowards hooking the leg.


1...



2...



3


Michael Buffer: Here is your winner by pinfall..... Georgy Moscow.

Georgy begins to dance as the referee raises his arm in victory. Cowards lays on the mat with his eyes rolled back in his head. The arena then begins to quiet as Santa climbs into the ring.

Ross: A miracle on Christmas Day. With a little help from Santa we just saw Georgy Moscow beat CCW National Champion, Cowards.

Heyman: He still has the gold J.R., Santa just screwed Cowards. I hate Christmas, I hate Santa and I hate Georgy Moscow.

Santa stands in the ring looking over the fallen Cowards. He then removes the top of his candy cane and pulls out what was cased inside. The crowd roar as Santa produced a 2x4. He then removes his hat and beard, to reveal a familiar bearded face underneath. "Born in the U.S.A." by Bruce Springsteen blares through the arena as Al Woodbridge chuckles to himself standing in his Santa costume holding a 2x4.

Ross: Santa, Al Woodbridge, Cowards..... Why?.

[+Donald $. Carlos+]

A camera fades in from black, & opens up on a shot of Balistic's locker room door.

After a few moments of complete silence, the door is flung open . . . & out steps the man, himself. He is dressed in his ring attire, & slowly wrapping a spool of black athletci tape around his right forearm . . . noticing that a camera is there, & immediately refocusing his attention on speaking the words that come out of his mouth:

Balistic: "1st of all, I just wanted to say how good it is to be back on TV. After Gangsta G & I lost our Tag Team Titles to The Underworld, we both had to take some time off for minor injuries . . . but believe me when I say that we're back, & we're ready to reclaim our property!"

The crowd within the arena pops at the very mention of Balistic & Gangsta's successful tag team, & Balistic takes notice of this by flashing a quick smile. Once the cheers die down, though, he picks up where he left off without missing a beat:

Balistic: "But I'll get back to Headhunter & Maison another time . . . at another place. Tonight, however . . . I've got a date with The Joker."

The crowd boos at the very mention of Joker's name, & Balistic responds by shaking his head in disgust . . .

Balistic: "I know, I know . . . I'm just as upset as you guys are. I mean, normally, I'd rather not be on the show than have to lower myself by stepping into the ring with this asshole . . . but, tonight, I just feel like taking out my pent up aggression on someone. And if I have to use the human punchline to do so, then with God as my witness . . . I intend to take complete & full advantage of the opportunity."

Another loud pop distracts Balistic momentarily, before he walks closer to the camera . . . leveling his eyes with the lens, & blinking repeatedly as though he has just entered some kind of zone . . . before speaking up one more time:

Balistic: "So, if you manage to remember one thing while the beating is commencing, Joke . . . it's this:

Balistic isn't just a gimmick. Shit, it isn't even a name.

It's what happens . . . when things don't go MY WAY!"

Balistic continues to stare into the buzzing glass lens for a few moments, before disappearing off-camera in a disgruntled hurry . . . leaving the camera man to focus on the nameplate of his locker room door, before eentually cutting the feed from the production truck. This, in turn, causes the screen to:

Fade 2 Black . . .

[+Donald $. Carlos+]

Camera comes in on Joker slumped in a shadowy corner in a Raven-esque pose. He has his bandana covering his eyes, Emo style.

Joker: I've called myself the Joker since day one, and every day I've had to hear that stupid "r is silent" joke. Is that what you people think, that I'm a joke?!

Crowd cheers

Joker: Yeah that's what I thought. But does a joke have this??!!!!

Joker pulls out a chainsaw wrapped in barbwire.

Joker: You see I picked this name because I am what the card opitimizes, I am the wild card! You don't know what I'm gonna do!!!!! So from now on, I'm not the Joke around here. Because that's just what Joker was!

Unwraps the chainsaw, and wraps the barbed wire around himself.

Joker: This is a new entity, this is no longer Joker.......just call me.... CACTUS JOKER!!!!!!

A new age is dawning, and you will all fall at my feet, because from now on, I don't beat my oppenents, I destroy them.

MY TIME HAS COME
Fade to black

[+Donald $. Carlos+]

As Unleashed returns from a commercial break, those people watching from home are treated to an angled birds eye view of the ring, & the Unleashed set . . . the latter, of which, is being set-up for the next match, which Michael Buffer is standing in the middle of the ring to announce.

Michael Buffer: “Ladies & gentlemen . . . this next contest, is scheduled for ONE (1) FALL!”

The already riled-up fans explode with their approval, as they all simultaneously rise to their feet . . . watching on as the video screen above the entrance opening begins flashing with the familiar cut-scenes of one of their favorites, in the returning Balistic, before expressing their gratitude with an even more enthusiastic series of cheers as the lights around the set dim into darkness.

Buffer: “Introducing first . . .”

Ted Nugent’s “Stranglehold” begins playing over the series of loudspeakers spread throughout the arena, as a waterfall of yellow sparks begin raining down onto the stage from above the entrance opening. Balistic steps out onto the stage, amidst the smoke & pyrotechnics, & begins jogging in place as more & more cheers are sent his way . . . repeatedly slapping his fists against either side of his chest, before letting loose with one enthusiastic, yet ever so primal scream . . .

BOOM!

As Balistic screams, the pyro around him fuses together into one gigantic explosion . . . clearing the way for him to begin his pre-match stretching, before eventually stepping forward to begin making his way down the aisle:

Buffer: “From St. Louis, Missouri . . . weighing in at two hundred & seventy (270) pounds . . . BALISTIC!”

“AW!”

As Balistic reaches the ringside area, however, he is bum rushed from behind by a barb-wire covered Joker . . . who slams his right forearm down against the base of Balistic’s neck, & forces his face into the ropes from the force of the blow.

Balistic tries to climb back to his feet as Joker proceeds to pound away at his neck & shoulder blades, but the barbed wire increases the pain to what would otherwise be normal offense . . . allowing Cactus Joker to gain the upper-hand before the match has even officially begun, & cause Balistic to bleed in doing so.

He pulls Balistic up to his feet after dealing with 2 front-row fans, & body slams him near the foot of the ramp . . . following this up with a well-placed stomp directly to the face, before turning back to face the apron. He climbs up onto it from the floor, & throws his left arm into the air . . . using this as a means to warn the people of what is to come, as he then leaps forward with an elbow drop to the concrete floor below!

SMACK!

“AW!”

The barbed wire around his body creates more of an impact than such a move normally would, which causes Balistic to grab at his midsection & roll over onto his right side . . . allowing Joker more than enough time to climb back to his feet, taunt toward the fans to a deafening chorus of boos, & then bend down to pull the enigmatic superstar back to his feet. He then grabs the bleeding neck of his opponent, & uses that as his means to drive Balistic’s face into the top tier of the nearby steel stairs . . .

BOOM!

Balistic hits hard, & rotates over onto his back as Joker slaps the hat from off of his head . . . using the prone positioning of his opponent to follow through with repeated, barbed wire-covered right hands to the left cheek & jaw! Balistic struggles to maintain his balance throughout the assault . . . managing to do so as Joker abruptly stops, & turns around to walk toward the opposite ring post. Once he reaches his intended destination, he turns back around to face Balistic . . . charging forward at full speed, & attempting to hit him with a hard knee lift . . .

BOOM!

“AW!”

Balistic throws himself out of the way at the very last minute, however, & watches on as Joker runs straight into the stairs . . . knocking the top tier loose from the force involved, & toppling over onto his back due to the momentum! Balistic gradually pulls himself up with the assistance of the security barrier, & makes his way toward Joker’s writhing carcass . . . forcing him up onto his feet in a lackadaisical base, before scooping him into his arms for an attempted Spinebuster!

BOOM!

“AW!”

Just as quickly as he scoops Joker up, Balistic slams him down onto the base of the stairs . . . prompting those fans behind him to let loose with a sigh of disbelief, as Balistic then falls back against the security barrier to hold himself up. Several fans slap at his bleeding neck & back for encouragement, & egg him on as he then pulls Joker back to his feet by a handful of his bandana . . . guiding the hardcore enthusiast toward the left, & slamming him face first into the top right hand ring post!

PING!

“OOH!”

Joker hits hard, & falls back first to the protective mats along the floor . . . immediately rolling away from his advancing attacker, & toward the Spanish announce table, as Balistic follows in hot pursuit. He eventually reaches his destination, & uses the table top to pull himself up . . . tagging Balistic in the ribcage with his left elbow, before immediately turning around to face him, & driving him spine first into the apron with a shoulder to the gut . . . using this to stun the big man, before giving him a hard right forearm to the chest. He then grabs Balistic by the base of his neck, & slams him face 1st into the table . . . walking around to one of the commentators, & pulling him out of his seat so he can take control of the chair.

From there, he comes back around to unfold the chair for a 2nd time, & places it in front of the table . . . rolling Balistic up onto the table, & following him there to continue the fight as the commentators scatter. Once both men are on the table, Joker pulls Balisitc up to his feet . . . kneeing him in the gut with enough force to double him over, before hooking his arms back to execute The Punch-line.

CRACK!

“AW!”

As Joker looks to execute his signature move through the table, however, Balistic repositions himself to where his ass is facing the ring . . . summoning all of his strength to thrust forward, & back body drop Joker through the chair below!

Joker hits the seat of the chair, back first, & clutches his midsection in immediate response to the pain . . . allowing Balistic time enough to climb back down to the floor, & roll Joker’s unresponsive body inside the ring. Balistic then bends down to take control of the chair, & follows his adversary with bad intentions in mind . . . imploring for the Body Count member to get up, which he eventually does amidst a chorus of buzzing from the fans.

CRACK!

“AW!”

Balistic lunges forward, & wraps the chair around Joker’s neck due to the force behind the shot . . . dropping Joker to his knees in front of Balistic, who then pushes him back down to the canvas out of disgust. Balistic the removes the chair from around Joker’s neck, & places it near the center of the ring . . . using it as an impromptu target to drive Joker’s head against as he then executes a breathtaking “Murder-Go-Round”!

“AW!”

Joker’s body bounces due to the force of the finishing move, & Balistic shoots back to his feet . . . ordering the official to ring the bell, which he does reluctantly. this marks the official beginning of the contest:

DING! DING! DING!

Balistic immediately bends down, & drags Joker back to his knees by the bandana . . . using this position to then hoist Joker’s dead weight up onto his shoulders, before turning to face the top right hand corner. Once he reaches said corner, Balistic turns to where his back is facing the turnbuckles . . . using them as stepping stones until he is perched upon the 2nd rope, before maneuvering Joker’s body into position to deliver a POWERFUL “Midwest Massacre”!

“AW!”

Both bodies hit the canvas simultaneously, as Balistic lands in a sitting position with Joker’s body between his legs . . . allowing the St. Louis native to simply reach forward, hook both legs, & count along with the official as he slaps the mat for 3:

ONE . . .

TWO . . .

THREE!

DING! DING! DING!

Buffer: “Here is your winner . . . BALISTIC!”

Balistic shoves Joker’s legs out of his way, & climbs back to his feet as the crowd goes wild . . . allowing the official to raise his right arm in the air as a sign of victory, before almost immediately shoving him away in order to favor the injuries sustained during the contest. He looks down at Joker’s writhing form along the canvas, & spits at him out of disrespect . . . using this as his calling card, before rolling to the outside through the gap underneath the bottom rope.

He looks on at Joker while simultaneously backing up the aisle, & slaps the hands of fans on either side of him along the way . . . just barely catching the fact that Joker has begun to stand out of the corner of his left eye, & stopping dead in his tracks as the bloodied, defeated man begins asking him for more. Joker immediately falls back down to his knees near the center of the ring, & begins rocking back & forth . . . watching on with a smile as Balistic disappears behind the entrance curtain with a rather confused look upon his face.

The referee then bends down to help Joker to his feet, which actually sees the fans give him a standing ovation of sorts . . . continuing on all the way until another commercial break forces the screen to fade out to black . . .

[+Donald $. Carlos+]

Just moments before his match James Brody of Union Jakked stands backstage in his locker room with a smug grin on his face. His tag partner Chad McKenzie sits in the background reading a book. Brody appears on the big screen as Jim Ross begins his interview.

Ross: Well folks here he is James Brody. James I have to ask how you feel about Bret Hart's decision to put you in a match with a man who is on fire right now in Griffin Young.

Brody: Well Jim what do I think about Bret's decision to make this match. I think it's genius. This is a money making contest. See I demanded this match from Bret. It wasn't his idea. The punishment I want to lay out on Griffin Young in that ring. Let's just say if it happened anywhere else. I would be nicked and thrown in the clink.

Brody then chuckles while a grin comes across McKenzie's face upon hearing his tag partner's words.

Ross: Sorry James but I don't understand why you have this hatred for Griffin Young.

Brody grits his teeth and seems frustrated by J.R.'s comment.

Brody: Griffin Young is yet another example of why we hate this country so much. He believes his own hype. He sees himself as a man on a mission. Griffin Young needs to realize just like the rest of you yanks that you will never be worthy of walking on this Earth.

Body starts to shake with anger.

Brody: I work in this country and have to look into all your faces. Chad has to hear your whiny voices. The world has to suffer because you think your more important then anyone else. Tonight will be a wake up call. I beat Griffin Young. Union Jakked beats America.

Brody pauses as McKenzie stands up and walks to the side of his tag partner.

McKenzie: This is a message to all of you. This means you too Griffin. Tonight when James beats you to a bloody pulp. You should understand that we're just trying to do you a favor. Send a message that you all need to change. We're gonna show you the big picture. You can look up to us and begin to try and become more than you are.

Brody: Young, the clock is ticking. The moment of truth is about to arrive. I can't put this any other way. Tonight I'm gonna punch your teeth down your throat and put you out of your misery.

Union Jakked then head out of the locker room. J.R. and the crowd are left speechless as Unleashed cuts to a commercial break.

[+Donald $. Carlos+]

The camera fades in slowly on a hand holding up three fingers. As the camera pans out, it is clearly a Griffin Young t-shirt worn by the man himself. The crowd gives an insane pop, and Griffin smirks, as though thanking all of his fans. He speaks, his tone even and calm.

Griffin: I don’t have problems with countries, or any large groups of people, really. It’s all a case by case basis. Everybody starts with a clean slate with Griffin Young. But see, it’s really easy for someone to make a mistake.

Griffin pauses slightly.

Griffin: We’re approaching the New Year. Resolutions are a big part of that, right? Pledges to make, goals to set. Well my resolution is to make damn sure 2007 will be the year of Griffin Young, and there’s nothing anybody can do about it.

Crowd pops loudly.

Griffin: But back to my original point. People start with a clean slate with me. I didn’t really have any sort of opinion of Union Jakked. Until the other night, that is. James Brody, you say I get caught up in my own hype. Well, Union Jackoff, it’s not getting caught up if you walk the walk as well as talk the talk, and last I checked, the MoPW were having trouble dealing with me, and you can’t hold a damn candle to them. The fact of the matter is, the only ones hyping themselves more than I am here are you and your little buddy Chad. So you boys have made one huge mistake. You have pissed off Griffin Young. You could’ve gone forever without getting in my way. But you did. So tonight, it’ll be one hell of a beating. And I’m gonna lay it on the line RIGHT now. 6 days away…CCW Resurrection…Lance Leonard, Griffin Young, a STREET FIGHT!

Crowd pops epically.

Griffin: Lance, if you have the courage, the determination, and the suicidal tendencies, accept my challenge, and in 6 days, we will settle this for GOOD. But tonight, James Brody, you will have the privilege of serving as my demonstration partner…a demonstration of what’s in store for Lance Leonard this Sunday. And if Chad wants a piece too, feel free. I could destroy both of you working backwards. I have a little something for every one of you here tonight. Come in!

A man, built like a bouncer, comes in dressed in an elf outfit. The crowd laughs at the sight while the man looks thoroughly disgruntled.

Man: Hey, if you weren’t paying me 10 grand for this, your ass would be grass, kid.

Griffin: Yeah, whatever. Anyway...James, Chad, Lance…

Griffin swiftly grabs the man by the throat and hits an explosive Breakdown on the “elf”, forcing him onto the floor and clearly knocking him out.

Griffin: Hey fellas. Happy holidays. And I got one for each of you, because the Breakdown? It’s the gift that keeps on owning.

Griffin grabs a Breakdown t-shirt from his bag and sets it beside the decimated man, and the camera zooms in on it. The crowd gives a major pop as the screen slowly fades to black…

[+Donald $. Carlos+]

As the camera fades in from commercial, “Shallow” is playing, and Lance Leonard is preparing to sit down at the announce table with JR and Paul Heyman.

Heyman: Good to see you, champ. What brings you out here?

Leonard: I’m looking to see Griffin Young get his ass beat, what else?

Ross: I think you’ll be sorely disappointed there, but in any event, let’s head down to the ring for the introductions!

Buffer: The following contest is scheduled for ONE fall! Introducing first…

“London Calling” hits, to a huge chorus of boos, and down comes James Brody, accompanied by his tag partner Chad Mackenzie. They both flip off the fans, slowly and cockily making their way to the ring.

Buffer: From London, England, weighing 225 pounds, he is one half of Union Jakked, JAMES BRODY!

Leonard: This is the man who’s going to destroy Griffin Young here tonight!

The lights go down, being replaced by strobes, and the crowd gives a huge pop. “One Man Army begins playing, but Griffin Young is nowhere to be seen, until he slides in the ring, and attacks both members of Union Jakked from behind as the song still blares. Bruce Buffer slides from the ring, seemingly in an act of self-preservation. Caught unawares, the tag team is stunned, and unable to stop Young from powerfully tossing them both from the ring. He taunts to a huge pop, and then, with both members of Union Jakked, he does his trademark countdown taunt to a huge explosion of pyro, after which the lights return to normal. James Brody slowly slides in the ring , and the bell rings.

DING DING DING!

Ross: And now this contest is officially underway!

Leonard: What a pansy-ass move that was! For all his talk, Young’s just a coward!

Ross: Actually, I think Griffin is just getting in practice for a no-holds barred environment!

Brody and Young begin an exchange of blows. Young wins the exchange and whips Brody off the ropes. As Brody comes back, Young lifts up a knee, forcing his knee powerfully and painfully into Brody’s midsection. Stunned, Brody doubles over, and Young grabs him by the back of the head, whipping his head forcefully backwards into the canvas!

“OH!”

Griffin covers…

ONE!

NO!

Brody kicks out with authority, and rises. Kicking Young quickly in the gut, he hits a powerful swinging neckbreaker! Following up quickly, Brody goes up to the second turnbuckle and, jumping off, hits a powerful leg drop on Young!

“OH!”

Leonard: That a way! Young’s not so tough now, is he?

Instead of covering, Brody goes on the turnbuckles again, going all the way to the top rope! He taunts and jumps off, going for a body splash, but Griffin forcefully brings his knees up into Brody’s midsection!

"OH!"

Ross: Brody went to the well one too many times!

Young quickly rises and nails Brody with a powerslam. Then he runs off the ropes and drops a fist across Brody’s head. Picking up the dazed Brody again, Griffin whips him into the turnbuckle and, climbing on the bottom rope, begins punching Brody in the had viciously!

Ross: Looks like Griffin is trying to send a message here, Lance!

Heyman: That’s Mr. Leonard to you, JR, and I’m sure Lance couldn’t care less what Griffin Young is trying to do!

Leonard: Damn right. Come on Brody, get back in this thing!

As Young lets up, Brody staggers forward. Young points at Leonard and does a countdown taunt, much to the delight of the crowd. Young grabs his arm, whipping him across the ropes. As Brody comes back, Young grabs him by the throat and hits a thunderous Breakdown!

“OH!”

Young covers for the emphatic…

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

DING DING DING!

Buffer: Here is your winner, GRIFFIN YOUNG!

Leonard: Big deal, so he beats a curtain-jerker!

Suddenly Chad Mackenzie coms in the ring and blasts Griffin in the back of the head with a chair!

CRACK!

“AW!”

Mackenzie gives the downed Young a few more chair shots before tossing it away and stomping him. Brody, who has since risen, joins in the stomping with gusto as Young tries to cover up.

Leonard: YEAH! This is the stuff right here! Oh, and by the way, Griff, about your challenge for a street fight at Resurrection? I ACCEPT!

Leonard takes off his headset and moves slowly towards the back, as Union Jakked, who have let Griffin virtually immobile, follow. “London Calling” blares as the crowd boos and Union Jakked return to the back. The medical team rushes in to check on Griffin Young as JR gets one last word and the screen fades to black…

Ross: Resurrection, Street Fight! Young, Leonard, the score gets settled!

[+Donald $. Carlos+]

INT. DRESSING ROOM

Fade in to Thomas Richards, taping his wrist bands on and tightening his knee pads. He finishes and looks up, stands and begins to move around the room, lifting each leg as high as his head and holding it for a couple of seconds with his hand. He drops to the floor and begins press ups, before a knock at the door stops him and he stands.

Richards: Who is it?

Voice: Jason Bronson, Karl Istaz's assistant.

Richards: Come in.

A large bodyguard, about 6'5, walks into the room and holds the door open for Karl Istaz (Lion's trainer) to walk into the room. Richards bows, and Istaz nods.

Istaz: Merry Christmas.

Istaz reveals a package and hands it to Lion, who raises his eyebrows and opens it. Inside is a DVD of CCW Vendetta, and Richards grins.

Istaz: Being at that Dome again was one of the greatest experiences I have ever had. You were tough, from that night you started competing like a man should. Without fear, using the full limit his body will take him to and never backing down. Last week, you won the chance of a lifetime, a shot at the title!

The crowd roars, Istaz looking round and smiling.

Istaz: You've got the crowd behind you, always a good thing. Who are you paired with?

Richards: Meat.

Istaz: Meat, eh? I would not provoke a quarrel with him if that's the case.

Richards: I wouldn't mind to match up with him, it would be a good work out.

Istaz: (grinning) That's the tenacity I travelled all the way from my pool in Florida for! (the smile fades and then he lowers his eyebrows.) I don't like your opponents, especially that big bastard.

Richards: He's the champion.

Istaz smiles.

Istaz: Come to Florida on New Year's Day, we can have a celebration for your victory.

Richards: Extremely tempted.

Istaz: Bring Julie and the kids as well.

Richards: That's if I can get the night off from Hart.

Istaz: Which Hart is your general manager?

Richards: Bret.

Istaz: We might have a problem then...leave it to me, I'll talk him round.

Richards: No arguments here.

Istaz smiles and nods, and then bows to walk out of the room. The bodyguard follows, and Lion watches him go. Richards continues to work out, before there is another knock at the door, and Nick Kelly walks into the room.

Kelly: Ooh, you want me to come back later?

Richards stands up from the press up position and swipes the air with a few punches, walking toward the door.

Richards: There is no later.

Lion kicks through the door at the handle and pushes it open, clicking his neck and baring his teeth, ready for action.

[+Donald $. Carlos+]

Michael Buffer enters the ring, microphone in hand.

Buffer: "The following tag team contest is scheduled for one fall, and it is our main-event OF THE EVENING!
Introducing first…"

Darkness falls over everyone, & everything, until & series of green strobes begin flashing from all around the width of the arena and Role Model plays. A black light shines down from the top of the entrance opening, as Heather St. Clair struts her way out onto the stage through an intense fog. She stops at the head of the entrance ramp, & stands with hands on hips . . . scoffing at various remarks made by fans, & looking back at the entrance opening, until Violence makes his way into the arena. He has the CCW World Heavyweight Championship around his waist.

As he reaches her left side, he wraps his right arm around her waist . . . taking a deep, deep drag from the joint roach in his left hand, before flicking it off to the side, & unsheathing his trademark kendo stick from the neck hole of his T-shirt. He thrusts his arm (& the weapon) into the air above his head . . . prompting a wall of green flames to shoot up from behind the duo, as Violence leans his head back to exhale the smoke. From behind him, Machiavelli walks to his side and looks the crowd up and down, sunglasses hiding his eyes.

Buffer: "Making their way to the ring, & being accompanied by Heather St. Clair . . . at a combined weight of 583 lbs . . . "The Mack" Adam Machiavelli, & the CCW World Heavyweight Champion "Big Daddy" Josh Violence . . . The BODY COUNT!"

After a few seconds, the flames eventually dissipate . . . causing the lights to flicker back into full luminosity, while still maintaining the green-colored effect. The trio reaches and enters the ring, fire bursts from the four ringposts, & Violence ushers St. Clair to the outside after giving her a quick peck on the left cheek. Machiavelli talks to Violence as he hands over the belt to the official and the music fades out. "Won’t Back Down" suddenly bursts out of the speakers and searchlights scan the arena.

Buffer: "And their opponents, first . . . standing 7 feet tall, & weighing in at 338 lbs . . . Vincent REINHARDT!"

As the song really kicks in Reinhardt appears from behind the curtain with a grin on his face. He then slowly but forcefully walks to the ring. He shows no emotion as he makes his way down the ramp, the two men inside the ring staring into his eyes and not liking what they see. He stops before the apron and takes off his sunglasses, snapping them. The music fades out, before Kashmir sounds and the crowd stands to cheer in a simultaneous fashion.

Buffer: "And his partner . . . hailing from Liverpool, England. Weighing in at 254 lbs . . . he is ‘The Lion’, Thomas RICHARDS!"

Fire rises from the stage slowly, and from behind the curtain steps a coated Thomas Richards, striding to the ring peering round at the crowd. He reaches Reinhardt, and exchanges an expressionless glance, looking him up and down unphased. He drops the coat from his shoulders and clicks his neck, entering the ring and begins trading blows with both opponents.

Reinhardt simply circles the ring, and gets up on the apron as Lion battles both men. Lion ducks a Violence clothesline and throws him through the ropes and out of the ring.

DING! DING! DING!

Machiavelli manages to get some offence, delivering more blows than Lion in a battle of right hands. Soon, he whips him into the corner, and runs toward him for a clothesline, only for Lion to exit the corner and let The Mack crash into it. As Machiavelli staggers forward from the corner, Lion hits an arm drag and applies a shoulder lock on the seated opponent. Eventually, Machiavelli manages to rise and reverse the shoulder lock into a hammerlock. Lion is quick to reverse it and apply his own, before reaching forward and applying a headlock, squeezing hard. Machiavelli manages to push back in the hold to make contact with the ropes and send Lion off the opposite set, and hits a hip toss. Before he can capitalise, however, Lion makes a backward roll and wraps his legs round Machiavelli’s waist to then roll forward again to execute a Victory Roll!

ONE . . .

TWO . . .

KICK OUT!

The two men stand for Lion to attempt a roundhouse kick, only for Machiavelli to back off and retreat to his corner. The crowd cheer as Machiavelli smirks at an energetic Thomas Richards. Violence talks to Machiavelli in the corner, offering assistance but The Mack walks back into the den to circle it as Lion does the same. They come into the middle, and Machiavelli goes behind Richards for a waistlock, and takes him down to spin over his fallen body and applies a front face lock, but Lion spins in the grip and lifts his leg round to roll sideways off the body of Adam Machiavelli. The crowd applauds as both men stand to a halt. Lion bursts from his immobility to sprint off the ropes, coming back only to be caught in a belly to belly suplex. Both men rise and Machiavelli connects forcefully with a shoulder clock, races off the ropes and hops over the front first Thomas Richards, comes back to attempt a clothesline but Lion has it scouted, ducks underneath and hits a back suplex!

"AW!"

Machiavelli hits hard on the back of his head, & rolls over onto his hands & knees before Lion can further his momentum . . . slowly, yet surely, crawling back toward his corner & an awaiting Josh Violence. Violence stretches his right arm down toward "The Mack" to signal that he wants a tag, which Machiavelli is quick to grant him . . . rolling to the apron through the gap underneath the bottom rope, & slowly rising back to a vertical base whilst clutching the base of his neck.
Violence steps into the ring amidst a deafening chorus of boos, & taunts toward the crowd in an effort to further the negative reaction . . . slumping his shoulders, & crouching down into a grappling position as Richards does the same. Moments later, they begin circling each other as richards had done with Machiavelli . . . allowing Violence to lunge forward with an attempted double leg takedown, before changing his mind in mid-move & kneeing The Lion forcefully in the solar-plexis.

"BOO!"

Richards doubles over from the force of the strike, & Violence follows through with a HARD hammer-like forearm to the spine . . . dropping Richards down to one knee, & leaving him prone to a right hand against the left temple . . .

SMACK!

"AW!"

Richards falls over onto his hands & knees, & Violence follows through with a straight kick to the exposed flesh of his abdomen!

SMACK!

"OOH!"

Richards rolls over onto his back, & clutches his ribs in understandable agony as Violence maintains his growing impetus with a jumping leg drop directly across the throat!

"AW!"

Violence remains in the sitting position, with his leg still pressing against Richards' windpipe . . . demanding that the referee dive down into position, & make the count:

ONE . . .

TWO . . .

"NO!"

Lion throws his right shoulder off the canvas in the nick of time, & rolls over onto his left side . . . allowing Violence to climb back to his feet, & drag his opponent toward The Body Count corner by the right arm. He gives Lion one more quick stomp to the head, before tagging "The Mack' back in . . . watching on as Machiavelli instantly drops down into a blatant chokehold, which the referee orders be broken by the count of 5. Machiavelli reluctantly agrees, & forces Richards back to a lackadaisical base by a handful of his hair . . . hooking him into position to then deliver a T-Bone Mackplex, before floating over into a cover:

ONE . . .

TWO . . .

"NO!"

Vincent Reinhardt climbs inside the ring before the officials hand can hit the canvas for 3, & Machiavelli willingly breaks up the pin out of fear . . . dragging Lion's body back toward his teams corner, & instantly tagging Violence back in. Violence has his right eyebrow cocked at Machiavelli's apparent cowardice, but steps inside nonetheless . . . nailing a slowly recovering Lion in the forehead with a straight right hand, before dragging him up into a front Facelock. He then thrusts Lion's body into the air in a vertical suplex position . . . walking toward the middle of the ring to display his strength advantage, before stopping in an attempt to deliver the move.

"OOH!"

At the very last minute, however, Richards is able to escape . . . landing on his feet behind Violence, & dropping him down to one knee with a forearm shiver to the kidneys. Then, as Violence tries his best to recover from the blow, Lion leaps into the air at his left side . . . slamming his left foot forcefully against "The X-Rated Superstar's" face with a makeshift Enziguri!

SMACK!

"AW!"

Violence collapses onto his back, & Lion rolls over onto his stomach . . . shooting to his feet as Machiavelli climbs inside to bring the fight, & ducking underneath his outstretched right arm to avoid being clothesline. "The Mack" stops himself, though, after almost running into Reinhardt in the adjacent corner . . . allowing Richards to sneak up from behind, & take him down with a devastating Half-Nelson Suplex!

"AW!"

Machiavelli folds up, & ends up on his stomach, as a result . . . allowing the legal man, in Josh Violence, to roll outside amidst the confusion. Richards sees this, races toward his corner, & makes the tag to Reinhardt . . . making him the legal man for his team, before racing toward the west side set of ropes at full speed:

"AW!"

Lion dives through the 2nd rope, & hits Violence with a Suicide Dive . . . taking him down near the aisle, & immediately straddling his chest to begin delivering a plethora of forearm shivers to the face!

Meanwhile . . . on the inside . . . Adam Machiavelli is frozen with fear as he stares up into Vincent Reinhardt's beaming puss. He attempts to somehow thwart the beating that is about to commence, but his body is frozen . . . allowing Reinhardt to grab Machiavelli by the throat, force him up onto his feet, & then drill him to the canvas with a powerful Chokeslam!

"AW!"

The referee has obviously lost track of who is the legal man on either side, as he merely watches on while this is happening . . . allowing Reinhardt to then scoop Machiavelli back up off the mat, & thrust his bald head in-between his thighs to a tremendous pop. He then raises a right fist into the air, & bends down to wrap his arms around "The Mack's" waist . . . hoisting the co-leader of The Body Count into a sitting position against his shoulders, before drilling him right back down onto his neck & shoulders with a FEROCIOUS "Hell's Beast Bomb"!

"AW!"

BOOM!

As the move is completed, Violence has managed to turn the tide on Lion by throwing him into the nearby section of steel stair . . . causing the top tier to come loose, & tumble along the protective mats as Reinhardt drops down to his hands & knees to make the cover on an unconscious Machiavelli:

ONE . . .

TWO . . .

THREE!

DING! DING! DING!

Buffer: "Here are your winners . . . Thomas Richards & Vincent Reinhardt!"

CRACK!

"AW!"

Immediately after the decision is announced, Violence makes his presence felt with a wicked chair shot to the base of Reinhardt's neck . . . dropping him down to his hands & knees, before following through with a 2nd, equally as forceful shot to his spine!

CRACK!

"AW!"

Violence then spikes the chair, & begins beating down on Reinhardt with repeated boots & forearms to the back & head . . . signaling for Machiavelli to join him, as he eventually rises back to his feet following the powerful, match-ending finisher. After a few minutes, however, a massive pop precedes Richards' valiant effort to make the save for his partner . . .

CRACK!

"AW!"

Before he is able to do anything, however, heather St. Clair catches him from behind with a Kendo Stick in-between the legs . . . forcing The Lion to collapse onto his knees, before Josh Violence drops him with a 3rd chair shot after recovering said weapon!

CRACK!

"AW!"

Richards goes down in a heap, & The Body Count members exit the ring before anything can come of the situation . . . all 3 walking backwards up the ramp, with smiles on their faces, & arms raised high overhead, as the show ends. the last thing those watching at home see is the CCW Logo swiping across the screen, before it ultimately:

Fades 2 Black . . .