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One Eye stood perched on the edge of the bench in the locker room, as he breathed deeply. Meditating on his inner-power he looked to push the hardships of the last few weeks out of his body. The hard fought victory, the mysterious attack, and the string of losses. In the depth of it all, he felt a warmth nearby, something different from the cool wind of those simply passing by him on the way to and from there own lockers.It was someone standing by him, observing him. “I so sorry to hear about you loss agains’ Kenjiro Ito, Phoenix-san. I know what honor for all of Jolt mean to you.” One Eye opened his eye, and turned to acknowledge his fellow enigmatic masked superstar. Phoenix nodded his head, uncrossing his arms. “Thank you, One Eye. Your kind words mean a lot to me… but I won’t let one loss affect my momentum. I… have a plan.” Phoenix stepped closer, but Taito Ryuko held up his hand. “I no want you to face Derecho.” Phoenix paused for a moment, and let One Eye’s statement hang in the air, “Excuse me?” “Do no fight, Derecho.” One Eye repeated as best he could, as he turned to face Phoenix, “‘Least not for my honor. He never attack me.” Phoenix chest puffed out at One Eye’s statement, “How can you be so sure?” One Eye nodded at Phoenix’s question and with his own inner-strength he replied, “I am sure.” Phoenix breathed in deep through his nose, causing his mask to flex on his face and his voice deepened in his response, “Whether or not that is the case, that wasn’t my plan, not for tonight. I have set-up a match for the both of us against former Tag Team Champions, Fueled By Ignorance.” One Eye’s visage tightened, and the normally light-hearted put his hands on the shoulders of Phoenix and tightened his grip. “I rather face you, Phoenix-san.” “Why must you live in the past, One Eye?” Shaking off One Eye, Phoenix continued, “Have you let the attack on you throw you that much off of your game that you didn’t notice your shot at the Underground Championship slip away? Whether or not you want that title, I wouldn’t mind a shot at it myself.” As Phoenix turned away, One Eye stopped him in his tracks. “What more importan’, championships or frien’ship?” “How is that even a question?” One Eye paced around to face Phoenix, one enigmatic masked superstar to another. One in black and jade, the other in white and gold. “Our frien’ship built from… initial call for honorable fight, for those stand up for this ENTIRE company and not jus’ again’ it’s Champions… for honor, not just opportunity.” Phoenix lowered his gaze, meeting One Eye’s gaze and clasped the forearm of the warrior in front of him. “Yes, I made the call… and you listened. I will never forget that.” Phoenix tilted his head, and the lower half of the mask stretched as if he were smiling, “It’s as I said, in the land of the blind, the one eyed man is king. See that the tag team match tonight is an opportunity to not only regain our momentum but to strengthen our trust." Releasing his grasp on One Eye, Phoenix once again turned to walk away but the proud heir of Clan Ryuko still still had one more thing to this Golden Man of Fire. “Phoenix-san… I feel you never intend'd to face anyone when you made challenge on first edition of Warriors. That you never intend to face me.” Phoenix chuckled, shaking his head as he turned to face him compatriot. “One Eye, I am Phoenix. I am life and and I am death, the Warrior of the Sun. I do not run from the light of any battle. The Divide & Conquer pay-per-view will be upon us soon. I feel that when it comes to Divide & Conquer… people tend to get so hung up on defending against conquest that they fail to realize they’ve been divided… and then it is too late. Prepare for the tag team match, King. I’ll see you out there."  
The scene opens and we’re taken backstage. Standing there is Donny Layne.“Ladies and gentlemen… at this time I would like you to welcome the Underground Champion, Derecho.” The people in the audience boo and the camera pans out and gives us a shot of Derecho standing there with the Underground Championship over his shoulder. Derecho just stares forward as Layne brings the microphone up to his lips again. “Derecho… everyone wants to know what you think of the Underground Tournament. We see you sitting out there each and every week watching the matches. We’d like to know your impressions.” Derecho closed his eyes for a brief moment and then opened them to find the microphone by his mouth. “Do you know what the technical definition of a king is, Donny?” Donny hesitantly brings the microphone back to his lips. “A leader of royalty, I suppose?” stated Donny Layne. Derecho glanced at Donny and cracked a grin. Donny placed the microphone back in front of Derecho’s mouth. “Well, yes. That is the stereotypical definition of a king, but my definition is a bit.. different. You see.. a king is someone who sits atop the food chain and looks down on everyone as something insignificant. That is what I do when I sit at ringside and stare into the ring at everyone fighting so hard for my attention because that’s all they’re doing.” Derecho paused for a moment then continued. “They’re not fighting for the chance to become Underground Champion. They are fighting to put themselves in a position where they can be within the presence of the man holding the championship. The Underground’s King.” Derecho cracked another grin and laughed to himself faintly. “But I’m not your typical king. I don’t believe in robes and scepters and crowns and banquets and castles and all of that stereotypical nonsense. I am the essence of a king because when it comes to the Underground, I OWN this division and anyone who has challenged me for that proverbial throne has fallen at my feet and has been vanquished from my kingdom, which is the squared circle… and you want to know why, Donny Layne? Do you want to know why I stand atop of the Underground and remain there?” Donny nervously brings the microphone to his lips. “N-no, I don’t” said Donny. Derecho ripped the microphone out of the hands of Donny Layne and with his free hand, grabbed Donny by the suit and pulled him into very close and uncomfortable quarters. “Because a king lives to serve his people. People like you who said that I was a mockery of the Underground. That I was NEVER fit to be champion. I’m sure you said it, DIDN’T YOU, Donny? Everyone in the back has said it. All of the fans out there in the arena have said it. I NEVER had what it takes to be the Underground Champion.” Derecho tightened his grip as venom filled his voice. “But what now, Donny? I have given you and every one of the naysayers what they asked of me. YOU WANTED BLOODSHED.. YOU WANTED A PATH OF DESTRUCTION! Derecho paused for a moment as Donny began to sweat just a little. Derecho then brought Donny almost nose to nose with him and with even more venom in his voice, Derecho growled. “Like a true king, I have conquered all that tried to overthrow me and it’s still not enough, is it, Donny? “ Derecho shoves Donny away. Donny staggers back and looks at Derecho with fear in his eyes. “So what do I think of this tournament? I think it’s a joke. I think it’s just delaying the inevitable… and that’s for someone else to throw themselves at me, but that’s just fine because it’s what you want, isn’t it Donny? It’s what you and everybody out there wants.” Derecho paused one final time. “Now and forever more… remember this… whatever happens to the winner… all of you brought this upon yourselves and for that reason alone I shall forever remain as king of the Underground.” Derecho tosses the mic back to Donny Layne and walks away. Donny let the microphone just drop to the floor as he couldn’t bring himself to even catch it. The scene fades to black.  One Eye & Phoenix vs. Fueled by Ignorance    
A nod from One Eye let the referee know that he was serious and the referee motioned for Chris Titan in all his scared glory, to climb up on the apron. The match was now very much in the FBI’s favor and they knew it. “Fueled by Ignorance are out here, One Eye is out here, but where is his partner?” Nathan Powers commented from the booth before asking the questioned that everyone wanted answer to, “Where is Phoenix?” “Phoenix or no Phoenix, there ain’t NO way that Titan and Register are walking out of here without the W,” Michael Buhrman chuckled. One Eye turned around to approach Register once again and was sent crashing to the mat with a huge lariat. Before the masked man could blink, he was being dragged to their corner. A blind tag allowed Titan to enter the ring and deliver an elbow drop to One Eye‘s back, as Register held One Eye’s leg. Focusing on the back, Register tried to break his opponent in half with a picture perfect pendulum backbreaker and clamped on a Boston Crab. He pulled back with all of his might, while positioned in the corner with him facing the turnbuckles and One Eye out into the ring. Despite his great reach, One Eye couldn’t make the ropes, but the great warrior in him wouldn’t let him tap out. Several moments passed and seeing that One Eye wouldn’t tap, Register slapped Titan on the shoulder and slipped back in. Just as Titan released the crab with a growl, Chris Register smiled and applied a camel clutch. Their strategy was simple and the FBI, especially on there recent losing-streak, were not going to stray from it. Keep One Eye close to the BOTH of them and work over the back just as much if not more then they were working there numbers advantage, simple as that. Still refusing to submit, One Eye was released from the camel clutch. Register stomped on One Eye and then tagged in Chris Titan to hold One Eye as he climbed the turnbuckle. One Eye could do nothing, as Register came crashing down upon him with a top rope jumping foot stomp. REGISTER CHECK! An elbow drop for flavor later and Chris Titan covered One Eye, making sure to hook the leg. ONE... TWO... … NOOO! The embattled fan favorite was able to use his arm strength to shove the slightly smaller Titan off in time. The grungy-haired Titan of the Industry looked to the referee in annoyance and clapped his hands three times, showing the ref how to count that high. One Eye was returned to his feet and slammed face first into the turnbuckle. After delivering a pair of punches to his enemy’s back, Titan made the tag to Register. Picking up right where his partner left off, one of the biggest show offs you could ever meet, struck One Eye in the back with a trio of punches before repeatedly driving his shoulder into the small of One Eye’s back. After pulling his foe from the corner, Register looked to be going for a body slam, but instead he spiked One Eye through his legs with a piledriver. SYSTEM FALIURE! SYSTEM FALIURE! SYSTEM FALIURE! In a flash, Chris Register was looking for a pinfall. ONE... TWO... THREE! Holy sh*t, no, One Eye had kicked out at the very last second. Not willing to accept defeat, the Masked Enigma kicked out with the remaining energy he had left as the crowd roared, cheering him on. Register climbed up to his feet and ran the sole of his boot along the masked face of One Eye, taunting him, before unleashing a horde of stomps to the small of the back. Titan roared to be tagged in, from the corner. “ALL I DO IS WIN,” Register exclaimed, pounding his chest on each word, and raised his arms in victory for the entire crowd to see, with Titan pounding the turnbuckle in frustration in the background. Knowing things were finally going their way, no matter the resolve that One Eye currently had, Register motioned for the angry Titan to enter the ring. Foregoing the tag, Titan did just that. The two men forced One Eye back to a vertical base and backed him into the ropes. If one man couldn’t put away the fan-favorite masked superstar, then the 2-on-1 advantage that they had thanks to Phoenix… would do just that. The two men nodded at each other, once again on the same page, and sent One Eye racing towards the other ropes. They charged after him and luckily for One Eye, he had enough wits about him to avoid sure defeat. He leapt into the air, causing Register to miss him and catch Titan with a leg lariat. Register looked back to One Eye in shock before charging at him. He faired no better than his partner, as One Eye twisted his lower base and caught Register square on the jaw with a beautiful crescent moon kick. All three men lay motionless in the ring. One Eye’s energy was gone, Titan was seeing stars, and Register was checking his jaw for holes. Then, clear out of the blue, power went out in the arena. No one was sure what was going on and people tried various methods in hopes of seeing what was happening. BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! Suddenly, the four corners exploded with fire and the lights came back on. There standing in the opposite corner of Fueld by Ignorance was none other then One Eye’s tag team partner… the bird from the ashes, PHOENIX! His gold and white masked face looked down at One Eye and he extended his hand. There was no emotion coming from the man in the gold and white phoenix mas, he just stood there like a statue, offering his hand for the tag. “Tag, King,” The Golden Man on Fire demanded and One Eye looked up in disbelief. The crowd roared in applause for One Eye and for Phoenix, but what had taken Phoenix SO LONG?! He knew he had no other choice and One Eye mustered all the strength he had left to make it over to the man in white and gold, tagging just before Titan could grab his ankle. With urgency, Phoenix hopped into the ring and was met by Titan. Phoenix simultaneously blocked an incoming right hand with his left and socked the scarred mad man in the mouth with a right of his own. Before Titan could react, he was kneed in the gut and whipped through the middle and top rope, directly into the steel post. As Phoenix turned his sights to him, with Titan tumbling to the outside in the background, Register regained his senses and got to his feet. Chris Register charged and a lariat missed. Phoenix exploited the opening by kicking the inside of Register’s left knee and pulling the same foot backwards into Register’s right knee. The quick double strike forced the Master of the System Faliure’s knees to buckle and to drop him to them. A thunderous chop to Register’s chest made the crowd cringe as it echoed through the arena. A second knife-edge chop did the same. Phoenix wound up for what looked like a third and instead, hooked Register’s head and drove him down to the mat face first with a spike DDT. The Masked Enigma quickly darted to the ropes. SLAP! He saw Titan slip back into the ring behind Register, who had regained a bit of his base but was still on all fours. Changing his plan of attack, Phoenix instead did a front handspring off of Register’s back and took Chris Titan back down with a hurricanrana. THE CROWD WENT NUTS! Phoenix had taken his time getting himself down to the ring, but now that he was there they were LOVING every minute of it! Phoenix continued his assault of Titan outside of the ring, but little did Register know that One Eye had executed a blind tag when Phoenix hit the ropes (that slap noise you heard earlier). Therefore, they were the two legal men. Register staggered to his feet and stumbled backwards right into the waiting One Eye. In a flash, a kick found the FBI member’s torso and a knee tried to shatter his nose. A spinning heel kick to the back of the neck put Register down for good and One Eye went for the cover. ONE! TWO! THREE!  The referee called for the bell, as the Visual Escapade claimed another victim, bringing One Eye and Phoenix back into the win column. Still holding his back, One Eye climbed up to his feet and was met by the heaving chest and stoic stance of Phoenix. The two men watched as Titan dragged Register out of the ring and turned their focus back to each other, Titan lifting Register to his feet only to drop him with one huge haymaker to the chin and following that up with a verbal berating of his partner. One Eye was unsure what to make of the man who had taken SO LONG to assist him in victory. He offered his hand and Phoenix didn’t even look at it. Instead Phoenix hug One Eye, to the delight of the Warriors 3 crowd. The cameras at ringside were able to pick up words being said from Phoenix to One Eye… but the extent of the conversation wasn’t clear, just mumbling under the loud din of a happy crowd and “Crawling” by Linkin Park over the PA system. When they separated, Phoenix smiled and bowed towards his friend. One Eye however had a surprising look of fear, and confusion, as he watched his tag team partner back his way out of the ring, flipping out over the ropes. Watching One Eye stand there, stuck in the ring… Phoenix knew the secret that had caught One Eye off-guard, and under his mask he smiled. It was why he was late to the match, this secret... and it wouldn't be staying a secret for much longer. The fans around Phoenix applauded his last minute save in this match-up, his VICTORY! One Eye, as well as Phoenix, was their hero… all because they didn’t know any better. 
“The Equalizer” walked into his locker room and noticed Keith having a conversation on his cell phone. Keith paced back and forth, never noticing Ray had entered the room. “Ya that’s right. I need to wrap my head around this one, because so far, it’s not going how it needs to go,” Keith said as he caught a glimpse of Ray in the corner of his eye. “I’ll call ya back.” Keith, all smiles, walked over to Ray and gave him a pat on his shoulder. “How’s the head holdin’ up champ?” he asked, not knowing it Ray was about to spring news of a concussion or not. Ray slowly nodded; his eyes squinted in a fixed lock on Keith’s. “I’ve been better. I’m still having a hard time understanding why that idiot attacked me with a chair.” Keith had the perfect answer, “Because this nothin’ of a punk is trapped in a flashback. He’s like a combination of a bunch of crap! Seriously champ, pay this guy no never mind, cause he’s definitely bad for business. Either way, you did pull off a win, if you can call it that.” With a confused expression, Ray commented, “If I can call it that?” Keith raised his hands up, motioning for his client to relax. “Follow me champ. When the fans look at ya they see championship material. They see a guy that used to walk into that ring and destroy the competition. You’re a living legend, but ya ain’t showin’ them ya still got it. Hell, I know ya do, but whatever slump this is, ya need to turn it around and start rackin’ up the pinfalls and submissions. That’s how ya show them you’re a winner!” Ray stood there and listened to Keith. “I’m not worried about ya, bud. Ya got the gift, that’s a no brainer. I’m going to keep booking ya in singles matches until I feel you’re ready to step it up. Pretty soon the ring rust will be a thing of the past. Ya feel me, baby!” Keith shouted, his face cringed with a smile, reminiscent of a used car salesman trying to spring an offer you can’t resist. Ray did not say a word in response to Keith. He briskly turned around and exited the room, leaving Keith standing there, sweat dripping down his forehead. Keith slumped down onto the wooden bench and buried his head in his hands. What am I going to do about this guy?  Manzo Tanaka vs. American Panda
“I am not amused by your country cerebrations for Independence. A country with head sooooo far up own ass it does not rearise while it celebrate oooown Independence that it take that away from others,” he told the fans. Talk about picking your audience. The fans booed loudly at the abuse their country was copping from the Japanese ex-pat. “Tonight in this ring... I, Manzo Tanaka, charrenge AAAAANY roster member back there to come out here In front of all these stupid Americans to cerebrate Independence by kicking your ass.” Tossing the mike ringside, Tanaka snickered to himself as the fans voiced their displeasure. However, the fans boos gave way to a sound. The opening bars of “2001: A Space Odyssey”. And those who knew rose to their feet popping loudly. Those who didn’t joined in for not knowing any better. Smoke began to filter onto the stage and strobes began to flash. Within the midst of the flashing lights and the smoke stood a figure. A figure from wrestling folklore. The toms reach their first crescendo pyros burst from the stage floor as the figure burst out through the explosion, hands raised above his head with the fingers shaped into claws, roaring at the fans at the fans. American Panda. He slowly made his way down toward the ring as the lights came back up with the fans cheering loudly and Manzo’s eyes widened in shock as American Panda made his way around the ring to the far side, climbed up the ring steps, walked along the apron eyeballing Tanaka the whole way along before climbing up the outside of the ringpost and raising one “claw” hand up high above his head to a louder pop from the fans. His arm dropped down by his side as he locked eyes with Tanaka, a snarl on his face as Manzo returned the glare. Panda dropped down into the inside of the ring, getting up into Tanaka’s face, nose-to-nose, taking Tanaka aback. As Manzo took a step back, not knowing what to expect from American Panda, the Walking Contradiction took a step forward. Stepping away, Panda snatched up a microphone from the same techy Tanaka took one from and paced back and forth in front of Tanaka as his music faded and he raised the microphone to his lips. “I was walkin’ my panda ass down the street here in...” (pauses for dramatics) “...ORRRR-LAN-DOOOOO, FLORIDA...” (POPS~!) “...when this great, big, odourous, foul, decaying, filthy, rotten, disgusting smell entered my nostrils. “The smell entered my nostrils, slid down my throat and filled my lungs. “My lungs then grabbed a hold of my ribs and heaved themselves up my chest, up my throat and proceeded to crawl out of my mouth to demand that I track down what that smell was before they hightail it to Cuba and take a shot at being a dictator.” He paused, never looking at Tanaka but addressing the fans instead. They cheered loudly as he nodded matter-of-factly. “When I swallowed my lungs back down into my chest I took a vow. I vowed to my lungs that no matter WHAT it took, HOW LONG it took, I would track down that stench most foul and do something about it. Not do something about it... Get rid of it.” He stopped again, this time turning to Tanaka. “I was walking down the God damn street just two minutes ago. I tracked down the smell. I tracked it down AAAALLLLLLLL the way inside the jOlt Arena. I tracked it down AAALLLLLLLL the way down the ramp. I tracked it down AAALLLLLLL the way to this ring. “Turns out the smell is Yokozuna here ate Mr. Myogi whole and he’s rotting away like bad sushi in that gelatinous mess of MONGOLOID!” The fans roared loudly as American Panda took up pacing back and forth again, like something were on his mind. He stopped dead in his tracks and addressed the fans again. “I also think your mother owes your father an apology. I think she ought to turn to him, wherever she is pretending to be no relation to you, and apologise. She should apologise for the fact that...” Panda gets right up into Tanaka’s face “...YOU SHOULDA BEEN A BLOWJOB!” Tanaka, obviously offended, begins to charge forward, only for Panda to put a hand up to halt him, which he surprisingly concedes to. “Hold yer horses for a minute there, Monstro. Before you go eatin’ the old man and the little wooden boy, let me stop you there JUST for a minute. “I heard you talkin’ about this country. I heard you bad-mouthin’ America. I heard you callin’ these Floridian’s piggies. I heard about your little challenge to the roster back there. But unfortunately there’s nobody back there that’s gonna do anything about it. “There’s not one wrestler out the back there that’s gonna do anything to shut your damn gum flapper up and do you know WHYYYYYYY?” Tanaka snarled, narrowing his eyes angrily at American Panda, awaiting the explanation. “Nobody back there is gonna come out here and kick your ignorant ass coz I’M GONNA DO IT MYSELF!” The microphone squealed like a banshee as American Panda drove it into Tanaka’s skull. Panda tossed the broken mike aside and laid quick, successive right hands into his skull, pushing him into the corner. He whipped Tanaka across the ring and into the corner, chased hard and leapt into the air delivering a massive avalanche splash to a huge pop from the fans. “Tanaka really laid the venom into America on it’s day of celebration and an unlikely hero comes OUT OF NOWHERE to save the day, Nathan,” declared Buhrman. “Did you know he was coming? I never knew. These fans are in for a treat as the Ayatollah of Jugular Chomp-ah takes it to Tanaka to shut him up!” Powers stated. Roaring at Tanaka in the corner, American Panda climbed up onto the second rope, standing high above him and began to deliver a ten-punch to a cheer from the fans, who counted out the punches. “ONE!” - “TWO!” - “THREE!” - “FOUR!” - CRASH! Down went American Panda as he was shoved viciously out of the corner by Manzo.. He tumbled backwards into the ring as Tanaka shook the cobwebs. Tanaka stomped away at Panda a couple of times before pulling him to his feet. He pulled him into a bearhug which Panda tried to break free of feebly since his arms were trapped in the Japanese monster’s grasp. Panda was thumped forward into the ring with a bearhug frontslam to a groan from the fans. Tanaka clapped his hands to dust them off before dropping for a cover. ONE! TWO! THREE! NO! Shoulder up! Moving on quickly, Tanaka pulled Panda to his feet, whipped him into the ropes and cracked Panda’s throat with a devastating chop. Gasping and staggering around the ring, Panda wandered right into Tanaka’s grasp where he drove the Bamboo Warrior into the canvas with an Exploder suplex. The fans groaned as Panda seemed to be in certain strife. Tanaka heaved Panda to his feet and shoved him into the corner, stepping back a couple before charging in with a big clothesline into the corner. The fans growing more silent by the second as Panda gasped for air. Grabbing Panda by the back of the head, Tanaka drove a knee into his face and Panda dropped flat on his back. Tanaka mounted his chest and slapped his face a couple of times. “MORE PIGS TO THE SRAUGHTER!” he screamed into Panda’s face. He rose to his feet, turned to the ropes and bounced off them, leaping into the air and aiming a knee at American Panda who rolled out of the way at the last minute, narrowly missing the three hundred ten pounds crashing down on top of him. Tanaka rolled onto his back, clutching his knee, as Panda caught his breath. Gaining his vertical base awkwardly, Tanaka charged at Panda with a lariat but the Walking Contradiction ducked it and came off the ropes on the otherside, spinning around with and drilling Tanaka with a spinning palm thrust to the forehead. “American Panda just hit Tanaka with a Panda Paw and he has gone down, Nathan,” informed Buhrman. Tanaka rose to his feet, rubbing his forehead before charging like an angry bull, but Panda showed off his strength by hitting a sidewalk slam, driving his elbow into Tanaka’s face as they made impact with the canvas. Panda rose to his feet and raised a “clawed” hand into the air, roaring at the fans who roared back at him. Climbing up to the top, Panda breathed on his knuckles before leaping and hitting the Ode to Moneybags fistdrop right onto the softened forehead of Tanaka. The fans were loudly roaring their approval as Panda began to stalk his prey. Waiting for Tanaka to get to his feet as the fans grew noisier in anticipation. Using the ropes to pull himself up, Tanaka was blind to the stalking American Panda behind him. He turned around and two hands wrapped tightly around his neck. American Panda drove his face into the neck of Tanaka and seemed to be chewing on his jugular. He pulled his head back and spat blood mist into Tanaka’s face before hoisting him up into the air and driving him into the canvas with a double handed sitdown chokeslam. The fans were in a frenzy as Panda grabbed both of Tanaka’s legs and put them over his shoulders, placing his feet onto the chest of Tanaka for the cover and the referee slapped the canvas. It was academic. ONE! TWO! THREE! It was over and the fans were noisy as Panda tossed Tanaka’s legs away from himself and climbed the turnbuckle, blood trickling down his chin while he roared at the fans as they chanted his name. 
Greg Vincent sat in his secluded dressing room, gulping down an ice cold Miller Lite. He struck fire with the lighter in his possession and inhaled on the Marlboro Black cigarette positioned in his mouth, as it was lit. The cigarette slowly burned and smoke began to fill his lungs. He blew out the cancerous smoke, followed by another drink of beer. The MegaSTAR kicked back in his brown leather recliner, as he watched the tape, of Sunday Night’s iNtense. For his own amusement, Greg played the chair shot to Darius Underwood’s head, over and over again. As Greg replayed the footage, there was a knock on the door. He smashed the can with the palm of his hand and tossed it into a plastic sack, hanging from the lever of his recliner. He stood up and retrieved another beer from his cooler, as he took another hit off the cigarette. “Who the hell is that?” he muttered, as smoke escaped from his lungs, compiling more of the hazardous substance within the room. He flicked the butt of the cigarette, knocking the burned up tobacco onto the cold floor. He swapped the input on the television, so Warriors were within eyesight. GV walked towards the door, but his head still cocked towards the TV. Another knock echoed throughout the room, taking Greg’s attention away from Jason Rau, who was on air, at the time. When he opened the door, a young man stood; in a pair of slacks, and a white collared shirt, with a jOlt badge hanging around his neck. It was obvious, the man was part of the production crew, but what was the young man doing, standing before Greg Vincent? The question was in plain sight, but Greg was too busy glaring at the young man, out of frustration. The MegaSTAR neededHIS alone time, for whatever reason he deemed necessary, and this asshole was cutting into his time. GV inhaled on the Marlboro Black cigarette, sucking in more smoke, as he propped the opposite arm on the wall, using it as leverage to hold his sturdy frame at ease. Greg pushed the chemicals filling his lungs, and smothering the jOlt employee with gray smoke. The man coughed. “What the fuck do you want?” Greg said, flicking ashes in his face. “I have a letter from Mr. Lee, Sr.” responded the young man. Greg’s eyebrows raised out of curiosity. He quickly snatched the envelope from the young man’s hand and slammed the door shut. As he turned and walked to his recliner, he sipped on the cold beer, letting the taste simmer on his tongue. Greg moaned, satisfied with the aftertaste. He rubbed the residue off of his chin, with the top of his wrist, and took one last puff off of his cigarette, before dropping it. He stepped over the butt of the cigarette and twisted his foot, as he open the envelope, and retrieved the letter. The letter reads. “We’ll just have to see about that shit, won’t we?” he smirked, pulling another cigarette from the white the black Marlboro pack. Greg reached deep into his pocket and pulled out a lighter. He sparked the lighter and held it under the letter, setting it on fire. He twisted it in every direction, to insure the flame stability. Once all four corners were burning bright orange, he tilted his head, and lit the cigarette. He then dropped the letter, captured by the burning flame, and watched it fall to the floor. “Burn, bitch, burn.” he released the smoke from the clutches of his mouth with each word. GV took another drink of beer and wiped his mouth, “He obviously...OBVIOUSLY...doesn’t realize who he’s talking too. I’m Greg F’n Vincent. I don’t need title shots; I don’t need ****ing money, because I’m a MegaSTAR. I can fight...I can wrestle...I can fuck like a pornstar. I don’t need him, or these jOlt bitches telling me what to do.” He groaned with anger, “It’s time to make a statement.” The MegaSTAR picked up The Iconic Chair positioned by the television. He walked to the door and started to open it, but he paused, as a familiar voice sent vibes through his ears. Greg turned, only to see Darius Underwood; with a small bandage over his head, and Jason Rau having a friendly conversation, somewhere backstage. “Well isn’t that ironic?” Greg sucked in more smoke and flicked the cigarette with his thumb, bouncing it off the ground. He strutted down the halls of the jOlt arena, with chair firmly within his grasp, and a sly smirk cocked on his face. Greg was obviously intoxicated, but years of drinking had taught him how to keep his composure. Vincent staggered through the halls, with his eyes half squinted, as he searched for Darius Underwood. He turned a corner, followed through a door, and there stood the Referee having a conversation with Jason Rau. Greg pointed directly at Darius, who now had his attention. “Hey numnuts!! Get over here!” Darius was not about to let the MegaSTAR get close enough to do damage again. He fumbled with his footing and ran as fast as he could, in the opposite direction, with his tail tucked between his legs. Greg was in no condition to chase him through the entire building. He would rather just raise his middle finger as a farewell salute to the frightened referee. He chuckled to himself before he noticed Jason Rau looking in his direction. “What the fuck you looking at!?” This Australian was not one to be easily intimidated, especially by a loud mouth like Greg Vincent. He stood his ground. “Nothing to say?” Greg said, as Rau stared him down. “...” “Damn idiot! No wonder you can’t win a match, you're too fucking stupid. But I have an idea that might help get your career kick started; maybe this will knock some sense into ya?” Jason felt his entire body tense up as he prepared to block a chair shot. One second off and he knew he would be knocked out cold. He readied himself, as Greg brought the chair up high over his head, and slammed it down in one single motion. CLANK! Greg expected the sound of Jason’s body falling to the floor to be heard. Instead, he realized his opponent from Intense was standing before him. ‘The Equalizer’ had stopped the chair in midair and he now had his sights on Greg Vincent. Ray pushed away, causing Greg to stumble backwards and lower the chair. “Well if it isn’t Ray Fucking Chavez, here to save the day.” With that, Greg lifted the chair up again, taking aim at Chavez this time. To his surprise, Ray did not budge. He stood there with his massive chest heaving in at out. The vein on his neck bulged as the blood shot through his entire body. His teeth were clenched tightly as he waited to be hit with the Iconic chair. Greg’s curiosity began to grow, as Ray stood still, arms folded, and his eyes fearlessly peering down at Vincent. There was something in his eyes that caused Greg to lower the chair, as a smirk formed on the corner of his mouth. Ray quickly glanced at the chair and then focused on Greg, as both men stared at each other, in silence. Suddenly, Ray felt an angry Jason Rau as he tried to push past him and wrap his hands around the MegaSTAR’s throat. Ray, realizing Greg was still holding the chair, turned around and held Jason back. “It’s not worth it.” This was the first time Ray had spoken to somebody other than Keith Kane since his entrance into jOlt. The mere shock was enough for Jason to relax. Ray turned back around… THWACK!!! The Iconic Chair struck Ray right on his forehead causing his knees to buckle and his body to fall hard to the concrete. Jason quickly lunged at the MegaSTAR, wrapping his hands tightly around Greg’s throat, forcing him into the wall behind him. Rau maneuvered his hands around Greg’s face and began pounding it into the concrete blocks behind him, until blood spewed from the back of Greg’s head. With blood splattered on the wall, Jason turned Greg loose and he dropped to the floor. Jason looked down at Ray, who was slowly beginning to move around on the floor. He turned his attention back to Greg, laying there in a pool of his own blood. After he paused for a few moments, he shook his head in frustration, leaning down to check on Ray’s condition.  
For those who remembered the mid-aughts Jolt, what happened next was an unpleasant blast from the past, courtesy of a little work called the Divine Comedy. I AM THE WAY INTO THE DOLEFUL CITY, I AM THE WAY INTO ETERNAL GRIEF, I AM THE WAY TO A FORSAKEN RACE JUSTICE IT WAS THAT MOVED MY GREAT CREATOR; DIVINE OMNIPOTENCE CREATED ME, AND HIGHEST WISDOM JOINED WITH PRIMAL LOVE. BEFORE ME NOTHING BUT ETERNAL THINGS WERE MADE, AND I SHALL LAST ETERNALLY. I AM KENJIRO ITO. And from the epic poet of his day, Dante, the scene shifted quickly to modern-day epic poets Jay-Z, Rihanna, and Kanye West, with their popular hit “Run This Town.” As the music blasted throughout the arena, the man himself emerged from behind the curtain. Kenjiro Ito stood before the thousands in attendance, jeering him with every bit of vim and vigor they could muster. The Bringer of the Ice Age was dressed for battle in his blue and white trunks, a pair of fancy blue-tinted sunglasses adorning his face as he power-walked down the ring. “Please welcome at this time, Kenjiro Ito!” Brad Arnold yelled out, to another chorus of jeers. Notably, this week he wore the three titles he had come to jOlt with weeks ago, the triad of belts that constituted the Jolt Triple Crown Championship. One belt was wrapped around his waist, and the other two adorned either shoulder. Sliding into the ring, and recollecting his belts, Ito plucked the microphone from the grasp of Arnold, shaking his head at the ring announcer. “That’s Jolt Wrestling Triple Crown Champion Kenjiro Ito, you rube. Hit the bricks. I’ve got something to say. Arnold grimaced, but a threatened backhand from Ito sent the much smaller announcer scurrying from the ring, giving Ito the platform he desired. “Now that I’m officially one of your own, I can say this. WELCOME TO MY ICE AGE, BITCHES!” More boos, as if you had to ask. “With Phoenix little more than an unpleasant memory in my rearview mirror, I’d like to tell all of you a little bit more about why I’m here, considering the last time I tried to do so, I got interrupted by the police. I’ve got a match coming up, but considering it’s only against Bane Loneheart, I think I’ll be okay. Seriously now.” Ito raised his free hand, making a “cuckoo” gesture at his right temple. “See, I’m a little pissed for more reasons than the obvious. Back in the mid aughts, you see, Damian Lee’s the guy who scouted me for Jolt. He came to Tokyo, Japan to watch me wrestle Jason “Shocker” Elliott in the seventieth reincarnation of IOW, IOW International. And believe me when I tell you that Damian liked what he saw. He signed me away from IOWi with one of the richest contracts ever promised to a rookie in the history of this BUSINESS.” Kenjiro nodded, once again sending internet-armed fans scurrying for their browsers to look up the particulars. “Trust me when I say that I didn’t disappoint him. I HUMILIATED Brandon Youngblood in my first ever Jolt match. I became the first ever Ambassador Champion in this company’s history by beating Jonathan Conspiracy AFTER going thirty minutes with Jeff Garvin. I defended that belt proudly for months on end. And, on the last ever Jolt show, I beat Carson Nash for the Jolt Wrestling Triple Crown Championship. I was The Man in Jolt. Damian Lee told me time and time again that I was the guy who was going to catapult the company to the STRATOSPHERE. And then, it all went dark because Mr. Lee scampered off into the night. I never got paid that night I won the Triple Crown. Nor did I ever get paid another red cent on my GUARANTEED contract, because Damian disappeared off into the night.” As Kenjiro Ito ranted and raved, though, a lone figure made his way through the crowd. The fans knew him instantly, particularly by the lead pipe he toted with him as he pleaded with the audience for quiet. Yet again, Bane Loneheart was coming for the knee joint of a jOlt talent. “So, Mr. Lee’s worst nightmare has happened. I’m back on the roster. He owes me $200,000 that I will sue him for if he does not pay me, and pay me with the quickness, I might add. First thing I do is ask for some of my old footage to be played. You know, show all of you sheep why I’m a far cry better than Sylo, Vince Jacobs, the…Nashvillain, Christ, that is a worse name than Wippit Guud, for Ito’s sake. You get the idea. Of course, apparently, none of those tapes exist anymore. Convenient, isn’t it?” With Kenjiro completely wrapped up in his diatribe, Bane Loneheart saw his chance. Creeping carefully around the far post, he slid into the ring, wound up, and lunged for the Bringer of the Ice Age. Too late, Ito heard the roar of the crowd, and adjusted. It wasn’t enough to stop contact with the lead pipe, but the pipe smacked Kenjiro in the hamstring. It was a loud shot, and would create one HELL of a bruise, but the precious ligaments in Kenjiro Ito’s knee were safe. With pain shooting up and down his leg, Ito flailed out with the other, kicking Loneheart in the face as he lay on the canvas from the half-successful attack. Immediately, using the good leg, Ito kicked the pipe out of the ring, leaving Loneheart unarmed. “You want to start now, you idiot? Fine by me. Get a referee out here, right now, and let’s do this. I’m gonna make an example out of you for having the TEMERITY to assault the Triple Crown Champion!” Kenjiro limped away from Loneheart, placing his three belts on the ring apron gingerly, before hobbling to center ring just as an official slid into the ring to get the evening’s contest under way. Kenjiro Ito vs. Bane Loneheart  
*DING DING DING* “The Hell are you trying to do,” Ito asked Lonehart, slightly larger than Ito himself. Without his trusty lead pipe, Bane was left with his skills in the ring to get it done against the Bringer of the Ice Age. Lonehart said nothing, but tried to work his way inside on Kenjiro Ito. Both men favored a grappling-heavy style, and Lonehart was the first to try to make use of it, hooking up the Osakan for a T-Bone Suplex that Kenjiro elbowed his way out of with two SHARP elbows to the temple. Lonehart staggered back several steps, allowing Ito to charge and take down Bane with a vicious, left-armed lariat. “News flash, anyone who tries to Nancy Kerrigan me is gonna get treated like THIS idiot,” Kenjiro proclaimed, reaching down to pluck the sunglasses off of Bane’s head and throw them into the crowd. If nothing else, it seemed to spark Lonehart, who rose to his knees and fired off a pair of sharp forearms into the abdomen of the newest Jolt signing not named Wippit Guud. FYI, Ito hates Wippit. Just ask him sometime. Bane leaned up and DRILLED Ito under the chin with a third rising forearm. Seemingly, actually competing in the ring was working out better for Mr. Bane than weeks worth of lead pipe attacks had thus far, as he had the former Jolt Wrestling Triple Crown Champion reeling from the big shots. Bouncing off the far ropes, Lonehart looked to connect with one more big forearm, but Kenjiro ducked under it, and then elevated Bane in the air with a flapjack. No small feat, putting a 265 pounder into the air, made even more impressive by Ito catching Lonehart with the Ace Crusher on the way down to complete the K-CUTTER. Ito rolled over his opposition for the evening, forearm disdainfully grinding into Bane’s face as he made the cover. ONE! TWO! KICKOUT! To Bane’s credit, he got the shoulder up, prompting a storm of curses from Ito, but the official held firm in his assessment of the cover. Lonehart was still down, though, and as Ito rose, he looked out at the jeering Jolt faithful. “ITO….STOMP!” It was the Garvin Stomp, really, misappropriated to the Bringer of the Ice Age, stolen from “The Original” Jeff Garvin during their thirty minute classic at WrestleSault…an event that the current incarnation of jOlt didn’t even recognize. Kenjiro barraged Lonehart’s body with stomps with the flat of his boot, and the Lead Pipe Cinch (his nickname, not mine) decided that it was high time to hoof it to the floor and regroup. This week, he knew Ito would be his opponent, and thus, he’d had time to prepare a more elaborate plan than the last few he’d attempted. It would get him a huge win over the much-hyped Kenjiro, and shoot him right to the top of jOlt. Step one, retrieve lead pipe. Check. Step two, charge the ring with the lead pipe as Kenjiro Ito ordered the referee to, and I quote, “stop that sheep-f***ing mother***er from trying to hit me with something seven-hundred times the size of his cock!” The official obliged Kenjiro, with a loud sigh, but to the zebra’s great surprise, Bane handed over the lead pipe without incident. Now, Kenjiro Ito had been around the block a time or two. He himself was known for being able to cheat pretty darned efficiently. So, when he saw Bane relinquish the pipe, he knew SOMETHING was up. Something, in this case, was step three: Unearth knuckledusters from within tights and slip them onto right hand as the referee disposed of the pipe. Bane Lonehart almost cackled with glee in his Scottish accent as he moved forward towards Ito. The Bad Will Ambassador had curled into a bent over position, shielding his body from Bane. Lonehart looked confused, but he tapped Ito on the shoulder, poised to deliver a huge punch to the jaw. The only problem for Mr. Bane Lonehart was that he was grossly unaware of step four. Step four, as it turned out, was Kenjiro Ito pulling out his OWN pair of brass knuckles, and beating Bane Lonehart to the bunch with a short left to the jaw. By the time the referee turned around from disposing of the lead pipe, Lonehart was flat on his back, and Ito’s knucks were safely back in his trunks. “This guy’s a dirty cheap shot artist, ref,” Ito said, clucking his tongue and gesturing to the knux on the hand of Bane. “I thought this place had the best talent in the wrestling world! Load of crap, that!” Kenjiro reached down, prying the brass knux off of Lonehart’s hand, and threw them out to the floor. With that taken care of, he kneeled down at Lonehart’s side, threading his arms through those of Bane, trapping the Lead Pipe Cinch in the Anaconda Vice, or, as Kenjiro Ito was now calling it, ITO’S COLD EMBRACE. With Lonehart, well, pretty much unconscious from being punched in the jaw with brass knucks, the official swooped in to grab the free arm of Bane. Up once. Down once. Up twice. Down twice. Up thrice. Down thrice. And that, as they say, was that.  *DING DING DING!* “Your winner of this contest,” boomed the voice over the PA system, “as a result of a submission, Kenjiro Ito!” For the second time in his jOlt tenure, Kenjiro Ito had his arm raised before a jeering capacity crowd. Wasting little time, he left the squared circle and retrieved his belts, arms raised triumphantly as he marched to the back. Just before disappearing behind the curtain, he turned, to find one of jOlt’s crack camera crew waving a camera in his face. Sneering, the Bringer of the Ice Age looked dead into the lens. “I’ve beaten the best in this business, but this company refuses to acknowledge any of those victories. So be it,” Ito said, conviction in his eyes. “Give me Sylo. Give me Vince Jacobs. Give me Jonathan Conspiracy – the guy I BEAT to become the first ever Ambassador Champion! Give me any of them. And I promise you, Damian, I will do exactly what I did last time I was here. I will beat them all. You remember, don’t you? You were there.” With a smile, and a wink, the Cocky Osakan disappeared. Another message sent. Sooner or later, though, one would think that his arrogant challenges would be met. Then, and only then, would we find out what the Bringer of the Ice Age really had.  
"Yeah, well, I just suspended Adam Lazarus on Sunday and I'm not even sure if he deserved it. We need to lay out some type of rules here. I can talk about enforcing punishments until I'm blue in the face but if, when push comes to shove, there's no action from the board then it's all empty threats."
Damien Lee stood peering through the mirror-tinted glass window of the Arena of Champions Skybox at the ring below. His cell phone was once again grafted to his face. "Clearly, just saying I'm going to do something isn't going to work. No, I won't increase the suspension for Laz. The punishment has to fit the crime. I'm going to allow him to return on Sunday. One week off is more than sufficient, he lost his opportunity at the Underground Championship because of it. And Bane? That guy's still running around with a lead pipe in his hand. Yeah, I know he's pulling in ratings ... but this has got to stop." The frustration was seeping into Lee's face. He was placed in a very tough position batting clean-up for Jim Johnson, a man that based his entire management strategy around random attacks and unfair punishments. After following that act anything Damien Lee would do that would seem a fair punishment for a crime would come off as weak. He knew he needed to make a statement but he refused to compromise his morals to do so. "Look, I was in charge of jOlt before. This company went down twice but neither time did it have anything to do with how I ran the company on air or how I enforced order around here. Empower me to make these calls on my own and I can promise you we will get to a resolution that won't cost us ratings or any money for the guys to sit at home. You're all sitting there right now ... make the call." A nervous pacing around the Skybox and biting of nails, Damien Lee knew that this had just as much a chance to blow up in his face as it had to work. What if they didn't do it? What if they unanimously renegged his position and he was replaced? Sure, he was a board member himself ... but he wasn't even close to the most influential of the group. His small stake in the company was enough to allow him to raise his hand in these meetings towards a decision, but not to make his own. "Thank you. You're doing the right thing here. Wait, what? You're going to send me someone to enforce the rules? I don't need a deputy here. It's just that ... Fine, if that's the decision everyone agreed with then I'll go along. Understood. I'll be in touch." *boop* *Knock-Knock* "Geez, they work fast. Come in!" If this was the board working fast then the word irony had never entered into any of their vocabularies. The towering frame of Rune Winters walked through the doorway. "You're not Jim Johnson." "And you're not my new Commissioner. Hasn't anyone told you? Jim Johnson was taken out by Sylo." "Heh ... figures. When?" "The same night your face was rearranged by Derecho." "Yeah ... funny you should mention that." Damien Lee just shook his head. "No," he said, "I can't let you take him on. We're a litle more than a week away from Divide & Conquer and he has to defend his Underground Championship against whoever wins this tournament. If I let you two go at it again I have a feeling both of you will be roommates in the emergency room." "Or you could just give me an Underground Championship match. I'll keep myself out of a hospital ... can't say the same for Derecho, though." "Look, Rune, we've never worked together before." "No shit, guy-I've-never met, and to be honest with you ... I don't really work with anyone." "Right, I'm well aware of your reputation. It's why Jim Johnson tried to end your career as many times as he did before realizing that wasn't going to work and, instead, tried to pay you off. I'm going to skip right to the second part of that equation and offer you a job." Rune Winters slowly walked right up and got into Damien Lee's "personal bubble." He sensed Lee's nervousness, they say predators can do that. Rune smiled and grabbed one of the steel designer chairs from the front of Lee's desk, flipped it around backwards, and took a seat. "I'm listening."  Mike Extreme vs. Khristain Keller  
“Khristain Keller is in a very strange situation,” said Nathan Powers. “As he took over from Paulson’s spot, he technically has one lose on his total.” “So one more defeat, and he’s out,” Buhrman replied. “Melancholy (Holy Martyr)” by Iced Earth. Once again, Mike Extreme would receive a lukewarm reaction from the fans on his way down to the ring, followed closely by his female entourage of Misty Gold and Violet. “Making his way to the ring first, accompanied by Misty Gold and Violent, weighing in tonight at three hundred and thirty-eight pounds and hailing from…” BANG It looks like the King Shit was not in the mood to play games, nor was he in the mood to lose as he ran out from the back and clobbered Extreme on the back of the next with an axe handle. “Ring the fucking bell!” Simon Boulder, the match official, looked around nervously… but since this was Underground rules and all… DING. DING. DING. Here we go. Keller yanked Extreme up by his greasy hair and dragged him over to the security railing, as both of his ladies screamed in terror at the bald maniac who had just staged his first, of many, backstabbing attacks. Mike Extremes head, meet the cold hard steel of the railing. Two sounds were the result of such a meeting. The sickening thud of forehead smashing against metal, and the chorus like ‘boo’ that now circled around the arena. “YOU SUCK KELL-A” “YOU SUCK KELL-A” “YOU SUCK KELL-A” Popular chap. Pulling Extreme up again, Keller turned around his opponent and shoved him back first into the railing again, before opening up on his chin with some hard right hands. The referee had now made his way down to the ramp way after ringing the bell, not that there was much he could do? Keller placed his size 12 boot straight onto the windpipe of Extreme and shouted abuse at him. “Just end your pain now you fat dick.” “uehggggggggg.” That was about all he was going to get as far as a reply went. THUD. Until Extreme took his right leg and swept it behind the unsuspecting King of the Mountain, causing him to go flat on his back, allowing Extreme to catch his breath. The big man had absolutely nothing to lose tonight, and anything Keller could do… ELBOW DROP. … he could do better. The pointed angle of an elbow straight into his opponents Adams apple would be the start of the Extreme fight back, as the 6’10’’ monster tried to assert himself after that early attack. Pulling Keller to his feet, he looked to try and get this back in the ring, but Keller was having none of it as he stung the big man with an elbow into the rib cage. Extreme would reply with a big time head-butt which would leave Keller languishing on one knee, before Extreme took his own knee and launched it into the side of Keller’s head. “YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAS” Gold and Violet came to see their man as Extreme wandered his way back into the ring, as the referee began to make the count. 1… 2… 3… 4… Keller was almost up as Extreme planted both feet inside the squared circle, and watched as K2 realised he had to take the match into its legal limits. “Ha!” Extreme motioned for his opponent to come get some, but that crafty bugger wasn’t having it. He walked around the ring, keeping his eye on Extreme the whole time, and yanked a steel chair from the side of the announcers table. Things, as they say, were about to pick up. “Hey! Ref!” Boulder looked at Awesome and shrugged, there was nothing he could do… and so began the game of cat and mouse. Keller, would try and slide into the ring, but each time Extreme would be there, ready and waiting to give K2 another punt to the side of the head for his cheek to try and bring in a weapon so early in the match. So what would any homicidal maniac do? Go for the ladies. “Come here sweetheart…” The plan was fool proof, and it worked a treat as Extreme ran to the side of the ropes, reaching for Violet and Misty Gold, and as he did, he got a steel chair straight to the side of his right knee. Extreme dropped into the corner and anguished in pain as Keller slid into the ring, looking at his pray. But the plan wasn’t fool proof; he had just got the big man angry. “ARRRGHHHHHHHHHHH” A spine snapping spear from Mike Extreme sent the fans into jubilation as the power and acceleration had come out of nowhere. Seriously. Keller lay on the canvas dazed and confused as he no doubt experienced serious whiplash from the impact from the canvas. Extreme needed some time to let his knee settle, do he done what any big guy in his position would do, kicked Keller straight in the back of the head and then held him in a sitting full nelson. As Keller’s oxygen levels dropped, Extremes adrenaline grew… as the fans began to clap. “LET’S GO X-TREME!” “LET’S GO X-TREME!” “LET’S GO X-TREME!” Nothing like fighting a Bastard to get the fans back on your side… and that is exactly what Keller is, because as all this went on, K2 was still aware of the elephant in the room. The chair. Grabbing it on Extremes blindside, he took the steel chair and managed to lob it upwards, towards his opponents head. It wasn’t the hardest chair shot that jOlt would ever see, that’s later, but it would enough to break the hold as Keller rolled out of the ring and to safety. Or so he thought. BASEBALL SLIDE. Keller thudded into the announcers table and seemed to take a hard hit on his back. Extreme it would seem, let his excitement get the better of him, as he flexed his right knee once he got to his feet. Extreme picked up the Bastard King and smashed him to the mats outside with a power slam, causing more damage on that back… then he threw his arm into the air. What did that mean? It meant that he would climb up the ring steps, along the apron and in one smooth swoop launch himself into a high risk leg drop which would finish this match for all intents and purposes. That is… if he actually connected. A quick roll out of the way left Extremes ass in some state, as he rolled to his side and grabbed his now aching gluteus. Shaking the cobwebs clear, Keller was ready to get going again as he got to his feet. Kick to the stomach. DDT to the mat. That would give him some time, some time to plan a dastardly finish to the match. “YOU SUCK KELL-A” “YOU SUCK KELL-A” Middle fingers all round. “YOU SUCK KELL-A!!” Looking around at a possible way to end the big man’s chances at a shot at Derecho at the PPV. Only one way would do it. The King Shit of Fuck Mountain got his trusty steel chair, and waited. CLANG A hard chair shot to the back of the upcoming Extreme… but it didn’t stop him from getting to his feet. “I’m gonna need to put you down big man!” Kick to the stomach. Hook up the big bugger. painKILLA. The synchronised gasp from each and every jolt fan upon seeing the spike in that Jackhammer could be heard from everyone watching, as Keller rolled over and got to his feet, he looked at the referee and waited for the inevitable. 1… 2… 3… 4… Keller walked away in celebration. 5… … what the…. 6… … holy crap… 7… Extreme was getting up… he propped himself up on the announcers table as he tried to beat the count. 8… Yes… 9… YES! *CLANG* … oh well. A steel chair shot from hell climaxed onto Extremes forehead which sent him sprawling back onto the mat once again. This time. 1… Keller walked. 2… Right by the ladies. 3… Ignoring the fans. 4… Ignoring everyone. 5… But for the man at the top of the ramp. 6… Derecho stood. 7… Title in hand. 8… Looking at his Divide & Conquer opponent? 9… Maybe. 10.  
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