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Thread: CWA: ONE NIGHT ONLY! [card and promo thread]

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    CWA CWA: ONE NIGHT ONLY! [card and promo thread]

    proudly presents

    LIVE from the 2300 Arena in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania!
    Wednesday 20th May, 2020.

    (Match graders: none required. Match Writer: SuperSaiyan).

    (Match graders: Jimmy King, SuperSaiyan, and The Golden One. Match writer: Rawr).

    (Match graders: AON, Comeback Kid, and SmoothJazzWolf)

    Semi-Final #1
    (Match writer: SuperSaiyan).

    Semi-Final #2
    (Match writer: SmoothJazzWolf).

    ??? versus ???
    (Match writer: SuperSaiyan).

    versus ASHLEY ADAMS
    (Match graders: Comeback Kid, SmoothJazzWolf, and SuperSaiyan. Match writer: ???).

    (Match graders: none required. Match Writer: ???).

    Plus, special appearances from:

    and MORE!!


    (Matches on the pre-show will not require a promo)
    (Match Writer: AON).


    Please post promos for the main card in this thread! You have until Tuesday 26 May (as long as it's still Tuesday somewhere in the world, you're good) - that's two full weeks. Promos will go in here, but all discussion should be done in the other thread:
    Last edited by SpecificSecretary; 05-27-2020 at 06:57 AM.

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    Re: CWA: ONE NIGHT ONLY! [card and promo thread]

    VOLUME 30.
    "East Coast Odyssey."


    20th MAY, 2020.

    I will never step foot in that place again, even if it rises like a phoenix from the flames and is the only wrestling promotion on this or any other planet…

    She was struggling to keep her eyes on the reporter who was asking the question. He was a young man, not unpleasant to look at, but with wild hair and sleep-deprived eyes and ragged attire. He looked as if he’d spent the entire night waiting to ask his question, unable to sleep with excitement like a toddler on Christmas Eve.

    “I’m sorry,” she said, leaning back in her chair and squinting, as if that would wash the sleep from her eyes. Her body throbbed with a thousand dull aches. “Did you have a question? Or are you just reading me your favourite Michelle von Horrowitz quotes?”

    Her head was pounding. Her head was always pounding. An unopened bottle of water sat in front of her on the table. Its contents looked clean and refreshing, capable of washing away the sins of the previous night (and, hopefully, the dozen nights before that) upon contact with the host. But the idea of wrestling the lid off whilst simultaneously answering the loaded questions of pretend journalists, faux-analysts, pseudo-pundits, bloggers, vloggers, and listiclers was too much for her. Instead, she just stared at the colourless fluid, dreaming of its salvation.

    “The question is implied,” the journalist continued. One of his legs was folded over the other in a casual affectation. “These are your words, not mine. And from only two months ago. The question is obvious: what has changed? Why are you here?”

    Why am I here? She thought to herself, as she resisted her brain’s incessant throbbing. It felt as if her cortex desired fresh air and was attempting to spill out of her skull. She hadn’t even begun to think about why she was here. She was more concerned with figuring out how she was here.




    She sat in the corner of a bar off Frenchman Street, sipping idly at a glass of Jameson’s and staring out of the window. On the nearest corner, the one connecting her backstreet to the renowned tourist trap, a large ram-shackle band of about fifteen musicians regaled anyone that would stop and listen. She couldn’t hear them, of course. Her bar had triple glazed windows, which was only fair to the four-piece that performed on a stage in the corner. They were mid-way through a rendition of ’My Indian Red’, upbeat enough but comparatively lo-fi. A heavy-set man happily plucked away at a double bass whilst three shorter, thinner men sat around him. One with a trombone, another with a trumpet, and a third tapping at a drumkit. Intermittently, the man at the front would lower his trumpet to sing a verse in a handsome voice. Before them, scattered across the large dance floor that dominated the centre of the room, a couple dozen young people danced in twos or threes. Those that weren’t grinning from ear to ear were focusing on their foot work. It was late: eleven or twelve. She drained her glass and signalled for another.

    She had been up at five that morning to catch her bus from Huntsville, Alabama. It had only been a handful of hours since the events of Fight Night, and her tag team match with Kevin Cromwell, Nova Diamond, and Cyrus Truth. She hadn’t been able to sleep afterwards, of course. The manner in which that match-up had unfolded, and particularly the fashion of its climax, had left a lasting impression on the young woman’s mind, rendering sleep impossible. And so, she had packed her rucksack and headed for the bus station, intending to snake her way towards Philadelphia, Pennsylvania over the next four days.

    The first stop was New Orleans. It felt only appropriate. Back in 2015, when she had first entered a CWA ring, she had called Louisiana a ‘home’ of sorts. Fighting out of New Orleans, Louisiana, Lindsay Monaghan used to say. Michelle had asked her to change it to currently residing in. It felt more accurate.

    Another Jameson’s arrived, and Michelle tore her eyes away from the revellers within the bar, focussing them instead upon the revellers without. Today was quickly disappearing into the past and being usurped in the present by tomorrow. She would not need to sleep for many hours. She had done that on the bus. The people on the Greyhound were too much for her, and instead of engaging she had retreated into sleep. As always, she dreamt of a crying baby and a bird that ate itself.

    She had come here a few weeks prior on duty for the Fantasy Wrestling Alliance, but hadn’t been able to sample - or at least enjoy - the parts of New Orleans that she did remember fondly. It had been nearly four years since she had been to the city, and the memory of fleeing it so abruptly was still fresh. She had won the High Voltage Championship at King’s Reign Supreme 2016, beating the current champion LIGHTBRINGER in a triple threat match that also involved Elijah Edwards. The next day, when the coroners had called from Rotterdam with news of her mother and her sister, she had vague intentions on returning with the belt at some stage in the future. But then it was stripped from her, and handed to Nate fucking Savage, of all people. What was the point in returning and defending your honour, when her hard work was rewarded with oppression and misogyny at every turn?

    Until the present, of course. In the bar just off Frenchman Street, Michelle took her cigarettes out of her rucksack and contemplated the journey to the door. Her head was already fogged, and the live music coupled with the stale odour of a couple dozen overdressed dancers was dizzying. The usual respite provided by a cigarette was unavailable thanks to the ever expanding street band outside. She was caught in a pincer movement. Out of nothing more than habit, she forced herself outside, and sat on a stack of crates on the opposite side of the road.

    From across the street, a young woman - a handful of years younger than herself - broke off from her pack and meandered across the road. She wore a long dress with a plunging neckline and no sleeves, and her black hair fell behind her in thick, wild curls. Her skin, imbued with youth, shone under the moon. She sipped her drink as she stepped up onto the sidewalk next to Michelle.

    “Excuse me,” she began, politely and with a thick Louisiana accent. Her eyes were big and bright and brown. “Do you have a cigarette?”

    Michelle allowed her eyes to wander to the group across the road, who were closely observing the interaction. Tentatively, she offered the box and a light to the young woman, who took one and placed it between her lips. She held it delicately to the flame. The wrestler feared some sort of lampoon. Young people loved lampoons. But when she looked at the woman, the glint in her eyes did not suggest unkindness.

    “Could you settle a bet for me?” the young woman asked, pulling at her cigarette before and after her question. Michelle motioned her onwards without speaking. “Well, me and my friends over there, we noticed you in the bar. We were wondering… what’s in the rucksack?”

    “What do you think is in the rucksack?” Michelle asked. Sitting upon her crates, her foot idly tapped the bag in question.

    “Well…” she began, sharing her attention between her cigarette, her drink, and Michelle. The effect of this, of an aloof charm, was deliberate. “One of my friends thinks it’s drugs, another said guns. I went with books.”

    “Boring guess,” Michelle said. She had finished her cigarette and discarded it into a nearby drain.

    “That’s what they said,” the young woman answered. She finished her drink and placed the empty upon the sidewalk, before taking a seat next to Michelle on the crates. “So, go on… what’s in the rucksack?!”

    Michelle smiled, and reached down for the bag. She retrieved the FWA X Division Championship and placed it between them on top of the crates. After what felt like a respectfully long pause, the young woman began to run her fingers over the gold, eventually tracing the letters on the engraved name plate. Michelle von Horrowitz. As if to break the spell, the wrestler picked the belt up once more and placed it back in her rucksack.

    “Do you dance?” the young woman asked. Her smile made her cheeks blush, dimples appearing beneath them on either side of her mouth.

    “No.” There was no point delaying this truth. “I only sit and drink, and sometimes I talk.”

    “Okay,” her new friend replied. “I can do that, too.”



    She opened her eyes, and was horrified to find herself still in the club. Next to her at the bar, three men who seemed to be dressed in identical clothing with identical haircuts tapped their shot glasses against the bar and then threw the contents down their throats. All three of them roared with laughter. Two of them even embraced, as if overwhelmed by the feelings of comradery brought about by twenty five millilitres of whiskey. In unison, they turned and meandered through the crowd towards the dance floor. They were content. Simple pleasures.

    Michelle shook her head and took a sip from her own whiskey, staring up at one of the four podiums that sat at each corner of the dancefloor. Upon it, a woman with an elaborate outfit seemingly comprised entirely of feathers danced suggestively around a pole. She was young and looked like the good kind of filth, vacantly staring out into the distance and refusing to make eye contact with either her fellow dancers or the revellers at her feet. Every so often, the DJ would mumble something over the end or the beginning of a song, and she found it very hard to distinguish the individual words in his doubtlessly enlightening analysis of the night. The only thing she was able to decipher was that he was saying ’HOT-LANTA!’ a lot, and that the assembled disciples approved of his word play because everytime he said ’HOT-LANTA!’ she could hear a half-dozen of them repeating ’HOT-LANTA!’ within earshot. Each time it happened, she shuddered. She didn’t think she was better than them. She fucking well knew she was better than them. She finished her drink and, when placing her empty glass down on a table, retrieved a full one from under its owner’s nose as she passed by.

    Before the victim had clocked on, she had disappeared into the crowd, making her way across the dance floor in order to find the boy that had brought her there. He had a lot to answer for. As she went, she began to reflect on the one other occasion that the Great Puppet Master had brought her to this city. She had only been nineteen years old, but the events of her childhood had forced her into a woman before it was time. That day, back in 2009, she had come to Atlanta from her sister’s dorm in New York with a singular purpose. The Greatest Show on Earth had rolled into town and pitched its big tent around the Philips Arena. She could still remember them: The Ultimate Pain, Nickolas Kennedy Arsen, Rich Stone. Early pioneers of a great organisation that was still only in its infancy. When she had seen the arena, and the eighty-foot banner that was hanging from the rafters promoting ‘CWA: Adrenaline Rush’, she had almost been overwhelmed. A couple of years fighting has-beens and nobodies in gymnasiums around Central Europe had taught her to expect very little respect for her craft. These men - Stone and Pain and the like - they were being worshipped. And this was their temple.

    Back in 2020, Michelle found her boy in the corner she had left him in. On the wall behind him was a painting of a man holding a small dog up by its tail, a shotgun in his free hand. There were no windows in the room. The only lights were shards of unnatural blue fluorescents projected by large machines either side of the stage. Upon spotting her approach, he made a concerted effort to look alive, leaning forward and wiping the perspiration from his temples with a sleeve. He was dressed - overdressed, of course - in a pair of black jeans and a black shirt buttoned up to the top. He wasn’t unattractive, but he had come poorly equipped for this dungeon bar. It was only one o’clock, and she feared he wouldn’t last much longer.

    “Do you come here often?” she asked, staring out over the vacuous faces on the dance-floor. They had little control of their limbs, and seemed to move like one pulsating mass. He didn’t seem the sort to go in for this. She’d found him in a dark corner of a quiet wine bar, and asked him to take her somewhere fun. Two hours later, for better or for worse, they were here.

    “No,” he said. “I’ve never been here before.”

    She nodded. She was beginning to lose interest in the boy and the night. He lacked conviction.

    “Do you want to leave?” he asked, turning to face her. When his eyes weren’t rolling back into his head, they were filled with a vile lust.

    “Yes,” she answered, draining her stolen drink. “But not with you. I have to be at the bus station in three hours.”

    “Where are you going?” he asked, in between failed attempts to drain his own drink. Most of which ended up on his shirt. “I can drive you.”

    “I don’t know,” she answered, reaching around for her rucksack. “Atlantic City, maybe. That’s a long drive.”

    “Okay,” he said, his fist clenched and raised in defiance against oncoming slumber. “We’ll drive to Atlantic City.”

    She couldn’t help but smile at him.

    “If you’re not awake in three hours, I’m taking your keys and driving there myself,” she warned. He nodded in agreement, and then struggled to his feet.

    When they had finally reached his apartment, he had taken three drags of a joint before falling face-first onto his bed and passing out. For three hours, she stared out of his window on the twenty third floor, watching as the sun gradually began to show its cowardly face. When he didn’t wake up, she took his keys, and drove to Atlantic City herself.



    Her left hand stroked the green felt that covered the table, whilst her right played with the black chips stacked high in front of her. Her eyes were directed across the table at the fat, stupid Texan who leant back on the hind legs of his chair. He tapped idly on the side of the table with the green chip in his hand as he observed the young woman. Between them, five cards were turned over:
    two red aces, the three of hearts, the seven of clubs, and the nine of spades. The look of extreme focus on his face, which was growing more red by the second, only made his cowboy hat and bolo tie look even more ridiculous.

    She had spent the paycheck she was given after the last edition of Fight Night in its entirety on a little black cocktail dress, having asked a shop girl which one she would buy if all of her income was disposable. She was quite plainly a wolf in sheep’s clothing: her hair remained a tangled mess of knots, whilst the soft, pale skin of her face remained untouched by make-up. The dress was a token gesture, and even if she liked the way the material felt against her skin beneath, this wasn’t something she intended to make a habit of. At the poker table, Michelle took a slow sip from her amber drink. Either side of her, men in suits watched on as she mulled over her hand. They had lost their own chips some time ago, but had stuck around to watch her play. She must have seemed exotic to them, and not just for her accent. She was a stranger to their world, and they to hers, but she had come visiting with open arms.

    “You ain’t got shit,” the fat cowboy said, throwing a few chips into the centre of the table. The croupier dealt with them and announced the bet: he’d seen her $600, and raised her the same. Michelle was amused. Her opponent was anything but.

    The last and only previous time she’d been here she had wrestled at the Etess Arena. Her opponent had been one of the Connors. She was sure that at one stage in her life she could tell the difference between them, but now, four years on, they were almost clones of one another. Ethan, if she had to guess. What was the other one called? When she had returned to America, part of her had been worried that each city would bring back memories of her doomed first run with the Clique Wrestling Alliance. Each new town, each new arena, would be accompanied by a snippet of that woeful tail. At least, that’s what she’d feared. It hadn’t been true. Every city in America blurred into one. Only the history books reminded her which foe she’d fought in which stadium. All that waited for her was a clean slate.

    “She ain’t got shit,” the fat cowboy repeated, this time to the wiry companion that sat to his right. They had continually called each other brother throughout the game, but they were so disparate in their frame and demeanor that Michelle assumed it was only a term of endearment. The wiry fellow smirked and nodded. He didn’t think she had shit either, it seemed. The fat cowboy hated her. She could see it in his eyes. It’s what was driving her on. Slowly, she tossed another six black chps, one by one, into the pot. The croupier announced it as Michelle drained her drink: a raise of $600.

    The East Coast tour took place during the first half of her year in the Clique Wrestling Alliance, when each match had been a new hand. The Wrestle Royale had propelled her into the spotlight on a night in Detroit, Michigan. The thought of wasting more time in the undercard, competing in Women’s Proving Grounds Matches or against has-beens who showed up half-drunk and half-forgotten? This concept was repugnant. She would not sit in a corner, rubbing chips together in the hope that they spontaneously reproduced. She had gone all in. It had paid off, and each week brought with it new gambles, with stakes even higher than the last.

    The fat cowboy watched her over his ever-dwindling pile of chips. His eyes were alive with suspicion. Eventually, after the silence seemed to stretch on a few seconds too long, he pushed his remaining funds into the centre of the table. The croupier announced it and began counting up. He arrived at a total of $950, a raise of $350.

    “You aint got shit, honey,” he said, once again. She raised an eyebrow at the informality of it. She would have objected to it more harshly, if she wasn’t about to take all his money. He’d have to abuse another army of cows on his ranch to rake it back. She leant back and deftly tossed three black chips and two green into the centre of the table, nodding flippantly at the croupier as a fresh drink was placed down in front of her.

    “And seen. The pot is six thousand and two hundred dollars. If you will…”

    The croupier passed the floor over to the players, and the fat cowboy was eager to flip. Perhaps he felt it would dispel some of the tension.
    Two red nines were suddenly revealed in front of him, and both of the brothers seemed quite happy with the reveal. A full house. How adorable. She lifted her glass with her right hand and, whilst sipping at the amber, flipped over her two cards with the left. Two black aces stared up at the world, joining their red brothers in the center of the table. The assembled audience gasped.

    “Four of a kind takes it,” the croupier said. He began to shovel the chips onto Michelle’s half of the table. The fat man seethed, rocking slightly in his chair, clenching his fists, his face turning a shade of scarlet beneath the hot casino lights.

    “She didn’t have shit,” he said again, as if trying to convince himself. Michelle smirked once more as she took a handful of chips from the fresh pile and began to stack them with the rest. “Where are you hiding those cards? Up your snatch?”

    Michelle paused for a moment, her hand outstretched towards the plot. Her smile dissipated. If anything, she seemed to grow even paler, as if the blood in her body was slowly cooling towards freezing point. She continued to reach for the chips, and, when a dozen of them were between her fingers, she flung them across the table at the fat cowboy and his wiry brother. They both recoiled, the plastic projectiles peppering them, momentarily throwing them off their guard. In an instant, she threw herself across the table, following the chips’ trajectory. She took the fat one and his chair backwards, crashing down on top of him and onto the ground, throwing rights and lefts as gravity took its toll. The wiry one had gained some sense of himself, and was attempting to drag her off his brother... but as soon as she felt his cold, clammy hands on her skin, she turned and bit him on the forehead. Her mouth filled with his blood.

    This brought back memories. This was America.

    The next thing she knew, she was being flung onto her back on hard concrete. Her rucksack landed next to her body with a profound thud. She was in the parking lot and three large men were looking down at her. One of them had a black eye, the product of a stray elbow thrown in his direction during the brawl.

    “Where’s my fucking chips?” she asked, dragging herself to her feet. Away from the table, her expensive cocktail dress proved a stark contrast to the battered Vans that adorned her feet. “Give me my fucking chips!”

    Your chips?” one of the security men - the biggest and loudest - couldn’t stifle a laugh as he spoke. “You’re lucky we’re not calling the police…”

    And with that they turned on their heels and marched back into the building. They left Michelle on the outside, kicking the door and branding them thieves until she tired herself out. Only then, as she turned and spat someone else’s blood from her mouth, did she realise that she’d left her whiskey inside. She cursed and kicked the curb.

    A few metres away, one of the bar staff smoked a cigarette.

    “Where can I get a drink?” she asked.


    20th MAY, 2020.

    “Why am I here?”

    She repeated the question out loud. A hush descended, the assembled media awaiting what seemed like (to her at least) the twenty fourth answer of the press conference. Amplified as her senses were in this delicate state, she felt she could hear each flash and click of every camera. They were leaning in closer, demanding what they’d come for.

    “The answer to that question is shorter than you might expect. But, no doubt, longer than you will hope. I can summarize it in two words: Jon Snowmantashi. The kaiju, as he was when I knew him. Inhuman, as he is now. Perhaps that means the same thing. I don't know, I don't speak Japanese. But the truth remains that the failures of my CWA run can be traced directly back to that man. It has been reported often that only one man pinned my shoulders to the mat for a three count whilst I competed in this company. It is a harsh truth, but he did it twice, and it would be foolish of me to claim that this was luck. Snowmantashi knows something that nobody else on this lousy continent knows: he knows how to beat me.”

    The journalists were enraptured once again, and she felt as though she could hear the sounds of their pens scrawling against their notepads echoing in her ears. They loved to hear about failure. It was their favourite theme.

    “I was invited onto this show a month ago, and I left the invitation hanging in the air for as long as I could. I did not, for a moment, expect that I would be drawn against the kaiju on this card. I thought the chances of him accepting his invite were low, and even if he did it was unlikely that I'd get to face him. I have been fucked over by CWA management once too often to expect any favors. But if he was going to be here, then I would be, too. The one blemish on my record must, in time, be wiped clean. I know this in my heart. I feel it in my bones. Tonight, I will see the kaiju for the first time in four years, and I intend to make it my business to find him. Don't expect me to throw out any wild challenges in his direction. I will save those for Bell Connelly, and for the other place. Knowing what kind of a man Snowmantashi is, a public challenge will no doubt fare worse than a private one. But I can be quite persuasive, and we both know that one more dance is in the cards before we both hang up our boots."

    As soon as she could finish, a spotty young writer with a white man’s afro spoke up. He sensed that their time was running out, and wanted to make sure he got his big scoop.

    "Ms von Horrowitz. Lenny Stephenson from Power Slam Weekly. Are we to believe that this is the only reason for your presence here? I don't feel this is likely. Some would point to other failures, like the manner of your exit, as your real downfall in the organisation…"

    She almost winced at the question. They had no right to her motivations.

    “There were many failures besides Jon Snowmantashi, this is true. The fact that, for the entire time that I was employed by this company, Jon Snowmantashi occupied the main event of every single pay-per-view. And in all but one of them - the month that I managed to commandeer that spot thanks to sheer hard work in the Wrestler Royale - he was joined there by Jonathan McGinnis. This: I would call a failure. And who could forget when, after winning match after match, week after week, beating and emasculating every top guy outside of the kaiju, I was rewarded with a shot at the company’s secondary championship. Wasting the talents of the world’s foremost purveyor of violence: I would call this a failure. The god damn gall of a company that strips me of a championship belt a day after I win it, after weeks of being the highest rated goddamned motherfucking segment on our television show? Yes: this story is riddled with failure.

    “But let us talk of the most relevant of these failures: that surrounding the CWA High Voltage Championship. When the puppeteers asked me to be a part of this gay parade, a natural question was what they had planned for me. I was surprised, of course, to hear that I would be competing in the High Voltage Tournament. Not because of any misgivings about my position on the card. I gave up any hope that the people in charge of this company would do the right thing years ago. I will find my vindication at the other place. I was surprised because you only have to look at the CWA’s history books to surmise a simple fact: that my contributions to this division are so de-valued that they have been eradicated from the record books. And now, I am to compete in the High Voltage Tournament? Interesting choice.”

    Her headache began to dissipate as the rage swelled up inside of her. Nothing got her going like a healthy portion of perceived injustice.

    “Despite, as I’ve mentioned, my chase of the title being the very best thing on Adrenaline Rush for months, you will not find the night that I pinned LIGHTBRINGER to claim this prize written down anywhere. I still remember it well: my beautiful Burning Hammer, and then a man in black and white counting to three. I stood in the eye of the storm, clutching my newly won championship belt to my chest and soaking in the derision of the troglodytes that surrounded me. And now? It simply says ‘TITLE VACATED’ between the reigns of Elijah Edwards and Tokyo Kisai. Granted, I left with their belt, and I paraded it around Europe, but I had business to attend to. Business that I will not discuss with you or anyone else from your sordid profession. And now? That moment is forgotten. I am here to right that wrong.”

    As a few more cameras flashed, she felt signs of perspiration on her forehead. She didn’t know if it was exhaustion or withdrawal. Either way, as she let her words sink in, she reached for the bottle of water. Her hands were shaking, and rather than grasping the bottle she simply knocked it onto its side, sending it rolling from the table. She closed her eyes, and hoped that when she opened them she’d be somewhere else… anywhere else...

    “You will no doubt have seen the tournament bracket,” another reported began, bringing her crashing back down to this unfortunate reality. “Your path to, as you say, righting a wrong, is blocked by none other than Humanity. A former High Voltage Champion and a two-time Tag Team Champion, and a man whose run in the company overlapped with your own. What can you tell us about Humanity, your history with him, and your strategy for tonight’s semi-final match?”

    “All I know of Humanity is reputation. And, in essence, his reputation has now dwindled to the frail list of accomplishments you just recited. But let me tell you the one story that I do have about our resident creeper. The 7th of December, 2015. A long time ago, my tulips. My most ardent fans will be aware of this date: the Wrestle Royale. I bring this up not as yet another reminder that I am the only female winner in this match’s history. Though it is, and I am. I was waiting behind the curtain, only four matches into my CWA career, and with the taste of my first defeat - which, I must add, featured a pin-fall that I was no part of - fresh in my mouth. I cannot say I was my usual picture of confidence and gusto.”

    This was a rare candid admission. She allowed a few moments of silence, staring out over the sea of pundits before her. They hung on her every word. It was almost too easy.

    “Instead, I watched a small monitor at Gorilla as Humanity was dumped over the top rope by his partner, Nightmare. The crowd’s count-down hit zero, and my music hit. A tepid reaction, as you might imagine. This was my first pay-per-view appearance, and the audience was yet to be sold on my talent. You may have noticed, but I don’t exactly present a positive first impression. But, as I walked through the curtain and onto the stage, and stared around an arena that didn’t even care that I was there… that was the first moment I believed I would win. Hell, I had already won. But what should have been my moment in the sun was trounced upon by some second rate cliché between two tag team wrestlers. I stared down the ramp at the ring, and in front of it was Humanity, laughing at his partner’s betrayal. Jovial at the idea that he had failed. And the fans were more interested in this menial character progression than my introduction to the match. Please.

    “Of course, the people in the audience knew no better. I was an unproven under-carder. But Humanity should’ve known better. As he passed me on the ramp, he refused to yield the centre, forcing me - the soon-to-be goddamned winner of the match he’d just been dumped out of - to circle him. A small thing, you might say. And I would agree. But that slight show of disrespect has stuck with me. As I slid under the bottom rope, preparing to take the fight to a veritable who’s who of CWA, I lamented that I wouldn’t be able to eliminate that big oaf from the match myself. It feels fitting, in a small way, that I will be able to right the biggest wrong committed against my person by the CWA puppeteers, whilst simultaneously tying up this loose end.”

    Her eyes flitted down towards her FWA X Championship belt, which sat proudly on the table in front of her. She felt that it added weight to her words, which otherwise would be hollow. Almost as a reflex, the fingers of her left hand were stroking the gold plating.

    “And who comes after Humanity? Does it really matter? Whether it’s Vanilla Hardcore or Vanilla Androgenous, I’m willing to bet the house on tonight’s outcome. You know, all of these questions - why are you here?, why did this company erase you from its history books?, how have you prepared for this tournament?, what qualifies you to preach these truths? - they each have the same answer. It seems you have forgotten what you used to know. But you will know it again soon enough. Your answer: I am Michelle von Horrowitz.”

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    Re: CWA: ONE NIGHT ONLY! [card and promo thread]

    #<| #IlluminatideJapon #CWAONO
    “CWA: One Night Only” - Illuminati de Japon Ep. 3
    13,023 views - May 21st, 2020

    Izaya Snowmantashi has a big fat silly grin on his face. He's at the Haneda airport wearing a crop top and full wrestling gear.

    "Oi, it's Izaya Snowmantashi. I just finished a show here for SPJ, and I did the math. If I fly to Philadelphia right now, find my brother's agent John Duncan by looking at his insta story and go straight to the 2300 Arena, I can probably get a match on there. You know, big brother Kaiju Jon Snowmantashi is there, that dick Tokyo Kisai LIGHTBRINGER is there. Why wouldn't they take another big star from Japan, is two too many? No. I'm sure they've got room for me."

    Izaya is on the airplane now, he's got a window seat next to a young woman who looks absolutely enthralled with him. He doesn't quite notice, instead making deliberately sure to be as comfortable as can be, that includes the most aesthetically pleasing he can find some pillows he's brought on board himself, some ear plugs on the table in front of him, and eye covers.

    "Can I touch you?"

    He finally notices the girl.


    She's not offended.

    "So, am I on Illuminati de Japon right now? Is that why he's filming you - I mean," she smiles, "us?"

    Izaya looks at her skeptically.

    "I don't know what you're talking about."

    "That man right there with the camera, looking straight at us."

    "Who? I don't know who you're talking about."

    "What's his name, he's always getting pinned. Lost Post!"

    "Oh, Lost Post Sami Banderas?"

    "My name's not Lost Post!"

    The camera man, a Spanish foreigner called Sami Banderas that elected to join Izaya's slowly burgeoning Research Institute, Illuminati de Japon. And by burgeoning we mean those were the only two members. The pair did not team up on SPJ cards but had found cameraderie outside the ring. One of the veterans had called him Lost Post as a sign of knowing mockery and he'd come to be called such by everyone else in interviews even though he'd begun getting his fairer share of wins lately.

    "Hey, turn the camera back to me, it's my show."

    "Come on, man. You gotta round out your cast. Expand a little."

    "Can I be part of your cast?"

    "Oi, who are you?"

    "W-what? I'm- I'm the girl sitting next to you."

    "Is that supposed to mean something."

    "I started the conversation."

    "She doesn't know who she is."

    "My name's-"

    Izaya Snowmantashi is walking alongside camera carrying Sami Banderas inside what any keen eye would recognize as the Philadelphia International Airport. Izaya walks gleefully before stopping suddenly.

    "You've ever been to Philadelpha?"

    "No, I've been to California and that's about it. You?"

    "Yeah. A few times. But I've got a bad sense of direction. We might get lost."

    "Just call your agent."

    "He's not my agent."

    "Right, but he's your brother's agent. He'll listen to you. This isn't one of those things where you lied to me and you're just banking on things working out."

    "No, no. I just don't have his number."



    "Just do your thing."

    "What thing."

    "You know your thing."

    He breathes deeply.

    "Okay, fine."

    The camera zooms in on Izaya's cellphone. He tweets out to over one hundred and forty thousand followers a request for them to contact "@AGTJohnDuncan" and get him to call me. A minute later, an unknown number phones in.

    "Izaya, is that you?"


    "Oh, so this is your number after all. This number *** *** ****?"

    Izaya looks at the camera.

    "We'll bleep it off."

    Izaya nods.

    "Yeah, that's what I gave you."

    "Yes, but every time I called it, nothing."

    "You know I don't like to use my phone much."

    "But I've been watching your shows there on youtube, they're very popular by the way, well done."


    "No problem. Anyways, you're always on your phone there."

    "It's for show."

    "For show? Huh. Well, who am I to call you a liar, am I right?"

    Duncan laughs, so Izaya half-heartedly joins in.

    "I gotta say Izaya. My phone won't stop blowing up with demands that I contact you from very aggressive teenage kids. So what did you need me to contact you so urgently for. Ready to sign up with Duncan Corporations."

    "He owns a company? Can he sign me up too?"

    "No, sorry. Uh, just a joke. There is no Duncan corporations. As for you Sami Banderas, win a few more world titles or get a hundred thousand more followers, and maybe you and I will get talking."

    "Hey man, can you get me one hundred thousand followers."

    "Why don't you just win some titles?"

    "Just tweet your people to follow me."

    "No, I don't do that sort of stuff. Anyways John Duncan, I want you to come pick me up."

    "P-p-p-pick you up. Didn't you have a show over- you're not in- nooooo, you're in Philly, right now? Wait, did you come to support your brother? No. You're here for revenge. Are you here for revenge? You know he's not going to like that. Oh god, I can't imagine what Jon will do if you get involved in his match."

    Izaya stares at the camera, frowning.

    "No, I'm not here for Kaiju Jon Snowmantashi. I'm here for myself. Come pick me up, we'll talk in person."


    "No. You know what Izaya, I am sick and tired of you abusing me. I get you're a free spirit, you need space, you need to be able to fly around. But clearly you keep coming back to me because you need my ressources and you won't admit it. If you want my help, you're going to have to sign the deal."

    "Oh, are you bribing me? You know I'm recording this."
    "You're recording this."

    "Of course, I told you, I only use my phone for my show."

    "So I'm on your show right now."


    "Follow me at AGTJohnDuncan."

    "Shouldn't you be ashamed about trying to blackmail a young athlete like me."

    "Oh yeah. No, see, what I'm doing is not blackmailing you. What I'm doing is telling you to pay me for my services."

    "I thought we were familly, John Duncan."

    "No. No. Never. You are money to me. Dollar signs. Dollar signs. Dollar signs."

    "I get why you don't save his number."


    "John Duncan, you come pick us up and we'll talk about your services, okay?"

    "Tell you what, I'll come there, and either I convince you to leave with me as your agent, or I leave alone, not your agent."

    "You really want to waste money on parking."

    "Won't be a waste if I convince you."

    Izaya shakes his head.


    The camera sits on the table when John Duncan comes in sight from far off. Izaya and Sami sit at either side digging into Starbucks bagels until they spot Duncan and Sami picks up the camera.

    "Wow, I really am on youtube. Isn't that nice. Good evening gentleman."

    Izaya stares at him emotionlessly.

    "Oh, you do look like your brother sometimes. Fascinating. May I grab a seat? I'll just grab a seat."

    Izaya keeps staring.

    "I guess I'm the star of the show, huh?"

    "No, you're not. A star doesn't need to be talking to be a star. I have star aura no matter what. I can look at you while you talk and say nothing and the focal point of the show will always be on me."

    "What are you-"

    "But I'm not here to discuss the eye's natural attraction to me. I'm here to talk about CWA's One Night Only."

    John Duncan looks confused.

    "What about it? I thought you said you weren't here for your brother."

    "I'm not. I want a match on it."

    "A match? You barely wrestled in the CWA before bailing. This isn't for you."

    "This is why I didn't want you as an agent."

    "Wait, what, come on, anyone would tell you that."

    "That's why I don't have one. They keep trying to tell me what's for me. I just want to wrestle in CWA. What's the problem with that?"

    "The card's been booked for weeks and you're here at the last second asking for a match. I'm good, but I'm not that good."

    "Huh. Is that so, well, tell you what. You get me a match at One Night Only, I'll take you as an agent. You don't get me a match at One Night Only, you pay my trip back home. How's that? I proved I'm good enough for you to want me. Now prove to me that you're good enough for me to want you."

    "Oh, for the love of-"

    We're at the 2300 Arena and the arena's already getting packed up. John Duncan, Sami Banderas, and Izaya Snowmantashi are hustling through the arena to get backstage. Anytime they run into a security guard, John Duncan works his word magic to get them through.

    "This isn't going to be easy. Honestly, I don't even know who's in charge. Out of nowhere. Not even expecting us. God, I'm going to have to pay for your ticket back home."

    "Tickets. Mine too."


    "Yeah, Lost Post Sami Banderas doesn't make much money. He's part of the deal."

    "We did not agree to that."

    "Oi, we're here."

    "Would you look at that. Well, you're going to have to put away the camera, you don't want to make a bad impression."

    "Don't tell me what sort of impression to make, just get me a job."

    Izaya turns to face the camera.

    "Well what comes after this is John Duncan gets me a match tonight and I do something crazy. Or he doesn't get me a match tonight, but I'm here so I'll do something crazy anyways. Then he pays for my ticket back home."

    "No one's going to hire you if you ruin a show right after being rejected for a job."

    "I said don't tell me how to do my job. Anyways, this is Illuminati de Japon out. "


  4. #4
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    Re: CWA: ONE NIGHT ONLY! [card and promo thread]

    One Night Only

    Jim Taylor: Good day folks, welcome to Cliquecast! If you don’t know by now, this is THE number one podcast for everything Clique Wrestling Alliance, or simply put, CWA! My co-host with me as always is the man himself, Tim Coleman!

    Tim Coleman: Remember Jimbo…

    Jim Taylor: Oh brother, please don’t…

    Tim Coleman: Number one by default is still number one!

    Jim Taylor: I really wish you would just listen to me and think of another tagline

    Tim Coleman: I see nothing wrong with the current one

    Jim Taylor: Of course you don’t. Anyways, on today’s episode we’ll be speaking with a very special guest that we have yet to have on the show until now! Before we get to that though let’s talk about the big news…

    Tim Coleman: and that is...that the CWA will be returning...for one night only

    Jim Taylor: Why did you feel the need to pause?

    Tim Coleman: To give it a more dramatic feel

    Jim Taylor: Odd, but whatever works for you I suppose. You’re correct though, it will be for one night only and it will take place in the city of brotherly love...Philadelphia, PA! Our guest today will be at the show and he’ll be competing as well...but first let’s get to today’s sponsor...Omaha Steaks! You like steaks Tim?

    Tim Coleman: Sure, yeah they’re alright, why do you ask?

    Jim Taylor: Well you’re in luck my friend because if you order an Omaha Steak right now you will get 20 percent off by using the promo code: clique. That’s promo code: clique for 20 percent off your next order, so what are you waiting for? Order your Omaha Steak today!

    Tim Coleman: I can’t do that right now, we’re in the middle of a show

    Jim Taylor: Tim, I didn’t mean it literally...whatever it’s not important. What is important however is our guest, he’ll be in action at CWA One Night Only event in a High Voltage tournament and he just so happens to be a former CWA High Voltage champion, you might remember him as “The Icon”...please welcome to Cliquecast, Clint Shepard!

    Clint Shepard: Thank you for having me guys, boy it’s good to see you two again!

    Tim Coleman: If you missed us so much, why haven’t you been on before?

    Jim Taylor: Tim, please show some respect

    Clint Shepard: No, it’s quite alright Jim, no offense taken by Tim’s words

    Jim Taylor: Well I see you still know not to take anything this knucklehead ever says seriously

    Tim Coleman: Hey, come on now

    Clint has a chuckle at watching the two partners have a go at each other.

    Clint Shepard: I’m sorry that I haven’t been on here before Tim, but if it makes you feel any better I’ve listened to every episode

    Tim Coleman: Well...I suppose so

    Jim just sighs and shakes his head before continuing.

    Jim Taylor: Before we get to One Night Only, how has life been for The Icon?

    Clint Shepard: Life’s been good, my little girl just turned 15 recently…

    Tim Coleman: Not so little anymore then

    Clint Shepard: True but to me she’ll always be my little girl no matter how old she is

    Jim Taylor: Your wrestling school is still open?

    Clint Shepard: Yes, it is. Shepard Wrestling Academy is open and still going strong

    Jim Taylor: For those unaware, where is the school located again?

    Clint Shepard: It’s in my hometown of Phoenix, AZ

    Jim Taylor: The most notable graduate from there is someone most of our audience might be familiar with, “Nasty” Nate Savage, who is currently signed to the FWA. Do you keep in touch at all with Nate?

    Clint Shepard: Not as much as I used to, the last time we saw one another I believe was at that one special event that the CWA had in Madison Square Garden, which was maybe two years ago if I remember correctly. I do watch him in the FWA and I’m proud of what him and Jackson Fenix have accomplished there already as a team but to be honest, I would love to see Nate branch out on his own because I truly believe that he’ll be a big star in the FWA…

    Tim Coleman: Why won’t he and Fenix be at this one night only show?

    Jim Taylor: Tim, didn’t you just hear the man say that they haven’t really spoken?

    Clint Shepard: I’m sure that they have their reasons and that’s fine, and that’s quite frankly none of mine or anyone else’s business

    Jim Taylor: That’s right, and speaking of which we may as well address the show now, you’ll be stepping back into the ring for one more night in a High Voltage tournament. Are you at all ready to step back inside the squared circle after being out of it for so long?

    Clint Shepard: To be honest Jim, at first I wasn’t so sure. When I got the phone call asking if I wanted to participate of course I said sure, but then I was asked if I wanted to be in a match I had to think about it. I had to think if I was ready to go back down that road again, one last time if you will. I thought about how much I missed the roar of the crowd chanting my name and then I thought about my last match I ever had, against my protege Nate Savage. It was one hell of a match that I unfortunately did not come out victorious. I realized that as proud as I was of that match, that I don’t think I’m done yet. I feel like I have something, deep down inside, still left in the tank. I want to see if I can still hang with the best of them out there…

    Jim Taylor: Well Clint, you’ll have that opportunity as you’ll be in the High Voltage tournament, a tournament consisting of former High Voltage Champions and in the first round you’ll be facing a man simply known as XYZ…

    Tim Coleman: That guy was…

    Clint Shepard: Unique?

    Tim Coleman: Not exactly the word I would have used, but sure we’ll go with that

    Clint Shepard: Well he is certainly unique, a bit odd, eccentric even. That doesn’t make him any less of a formidable competitor inside of that ring. I’ve watched him in there whether it be when he was in the CWA or in the FWA, I’ve seen him work and the man has tremendous talent, there’s no denying that at all and he has a way to captivate an audience like so few in this business can...

    Tim Coleman: Eccentric, yeah that’s the word I’d use…

    Clint Shepard: He’s someone that I’ve never faced before, to be honest I don’t think I’ve ever faced anyone like him at all...ever. I know I’ll have my hands full with him but I believe in myself that I can handle it…

    Tim Coleman: Well, then you’ll have either Michelle von Horrowitz or Humanity in the finals, compared to everyone else in this tournament you’re the most sane one there is…

    Clint Shepard: Whoever it may be, whether it’s Michelle von Horrowitz or Humanity, I believe I’m ready. I believe I can handle this, one last time. Michelle, despite how she handles herself in the ring is extremely talented, and speaking of extreme, you can’t forget about Humanity. He went toe to toe with some of the biggest and baddest that walked through the CWA, and if it comes down to him and I, well I welcome the challenge…

    Jim Taylor: Well, before we wrap this up Clint, anything else to add?

    Clint Shepard: I’ll try to keep this brief but like I said, I feel like I’m not done yet. I want to show the world that this old man can still go. I want to be able to say, like Frank Sinatra...I did it my way

    Jim Taylor: Well, thank you for that Clint and good luck at the show. That’s all for today’s show, until next time I’m Jim Taylor and…

    Tim Coleman: I’m not Jim Taylor, this is Tim Coleman saying so long...

    *End show*
    Rest in power, Flock U
    Rest in power, TCON

    Team Cyrus T is Best for Business


    Quote Originally Posted by Ed
    Stop the hating of the E-Feds. If you don't like something, that's fine, just ignore it and let the people who do enjoy what they're here on WC to do. Mocking them to make you feel less of a geek for being on a geek on a wrestling forum is lame. If you want to not read their posts, I can fix that for you.

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    Re: CWA: ONE NIGHT ONLY! [card and promo thread]


    So everybody everywhere ah
    Don't be afraid, don't have no fear
    I'm gonna tell the world
    Make you understand
    As long as there be music
    We'll be coming back again

    Oh, boy, oh, boy. The long-defunct CWA.Com has come back to life and wouldn’t you know it? The Connor Brothers have released a video, The internet is truly a terrific place to be, and it goes without saying that our world would be different without it. Featured on the front page of CWA.Com net was a video entitled 'The Echo goes to a Retirement Home' and, being the sad, pathetic person you are, you click the video because you just love Drew and Ethan Connor. You’ve missed The Echo terribly, and you thrive off of them. Don't worry; I do too. Click that video, sir or madam.


    The sound that the left mouse button made as it clicked that video because, you know, the description is so f*cking important that you NEED to know what a mouse sounds like when it clicks. It's plastic for God's sake. Anyway, the video starts with an advertisement for the new 'Scoob”' movie that was coming out soon. Why don't you have AdBlock plus, again? Stupid idiots! The video finally starts as we see a still-frame shot of a Retirement Home with the date, time and location on the video. Things were already off to a good start hereThe video pans away to reveal none other than Drew and Ethan, standing outside at the entrance to this beautiful retirement home; Both men wearing their black “Later Dorks”, not much has changed since the last time we’ve seen them, both have particularly slappable faces. Ethan moving back and forward, cracking his knuckles as Drew stares blankly at the camera, standing totally still, long enough for people to check if the video has paused before for the first time in three years, The Elder Conner speaks.

    Drew Connor:Fuck you.”

    Wow, right off the bat, huh? Guess absence hasn’t made the heart grow fonder.

    Drew Connor: No really fuck you all; if I can physically reach through this lens like that chick from the ring and personally flip every single person off, I promise you I would.

    Ethan Connor: “I’d just slap the piss out of them, “thanks for the views dork, don’t forget to like, comment and pick your teeth off the floor.”

    Drew Connor: As always an apt if not violent point, Ethan, and honestly? They’d deserve it. See, we’re reasonable guys. When we want something, we don’t pussy around. I think over the years we’ve been really fucking clear about the two things we wanted out of CWA: The main event slot...and a challenge. And three years after we left this sinking ship? Two years after you run this company into the dirt...Now?! you give it to us?! You give us what we want now?! You’d think I’d be happy, but honestly, I’m pissed because CWA knew exactly what we wanted, and they cock tased us for five years before giving us the main event at their last ever show.

    Ethan Connor: “...Co-Main Event”

    Ethan spat bitterly on the ground, and Drew bit his lip, clearly neither of them not fans of sharing the spotlight.

    Drew Connor: “Oh yeah. Because god forbid, we give tag team wrestling ANY kind of spotlight. Oh no, oh no, we have to give it to two Strong Style Shit heads no selling each other for an hour. Joy.

    Ethan Connor: Yeah, sorry, Johnny, sorry, Light-Bringer. Because by the time you get out there. All that’s going to be waiting for you is a smothering pile of ash, because this Ladder match? It’s going to set the building ON FIRE-!

    Drew Connor: “God damn, why the hell did you make us wait for this guys?! Do you know what we’ve been through ever since CWA closed?! Going from shitty regional promotion to shitty local promotion. Collecting belts wherever we go? Locked in our own personal hell, preforming in shitty high school gyms that smell like piss and being booed out of the buildings. We have been trapped.

    Ethan Connor: “The choice was either that or join FWA.

    Ethan stops pacing for a brief moment, raising an eyebrow at his brother. Both Connors seem to contemplate the concept...before they both start to giggle at the thought.

    Ethan Connor: “Fuck. That. Shit. Can you believe people ask us that question all the time?”

    Shaking his head over and over, Ethan gets back to pacing as Drew turns back to the camera.

    Drew Connor: “Well, I got some questions of my own; Why would we do a stupid thing like that? Why would we curtain jerk for wrestlers that aren't worth a single superkick? Why would we play grab-ass with bland Echo rip-offs in an afterthought of a division?! Do we seem like afterthoughts to you? Do we look like team players to you? You think we’re here to do jobs?! Do you think we want to be put in handicaps with Michael Fucking Garcia?! Yeah, like we’re putting that oversized turd over.

    Ethan Connor: Hey Mike, it’s been six years. You’re not getting near the main event. You’re a mid-carder. Get over it. No amount of Tag Team burials is going to help with your inferiority complex or convince anyone you don’t have a tiny penis.

    It’s like they never left, isn’t it? Two minutes in front of the camera and they’re already set on pissing off the entire wrestling world...and they both look particularly proud of this, sharing a high five. Before Drew mock frowns at the camera.

    Drew Connor: “Ohhhh, I’m sorry, is this getting too real? Too raw? Are we stepping on toes? Did you forget how The Echo operates?

    Ethan Connor: “Well strap in dorks, we’re just getting warmed up. “

    Drew Connor: In fact let’s burn that bridge a little more shall we? Because a large part of the reason we’re doing this revolves around those fuckwards at FWA, Because we’re not here to make people smile, or honour the traditions of CWA or put on a show. We’re here to throw the middle finger up at the wrestling world. One more time;

    Before you ask, that last line came complete with a visual aid.

    Drew Connor: “See, we remember the date well; December 30th 2015. You all remember that day, right? The FWA-CWA Supershow. The eyes of the wrestling world on that show. The eyes of the world on The Echo, and we couldn’t be more excited, Because that night was the night, we’ve been waiting for our entire lives for. The night we leave no doubt whatsoever that we’re the best tag team in the world. For years, FWA kept talking about how THEY were the home of tag team wrestling, that THEIR tag champions were the best in the world, and it pissed us the hell off, and this was our chance to prove we’re the best, by pinning the FWA Tag Champs One-Two-Three. In the middle of the ring.

    It seems like at that point, Ethan couldn’t control himself anymore, finally moving towards the foreground of the picture jabbing his finger at the camera.

    Ethan Connor: “But we never got that shot, because when The Echo came a-calling, When it came time to fight...THE FWA TAG CHAMPS BITCHED OUT. They just threw us two dorks....which we beat.

    Drew Connor: Of course.

    Ethan Connor: But, so what? We were screwed out of our shot. Our right. Because FWA corporate daddy didn’t want their tag champs to be destroyed, they didn’t want their PR machine, get ripped apart by, two hick brothers from the trailer parks. On that night; FWA spit in the face of The Echo. So when FWA wanted us to sign a contract, we told them “Go fuck themselves”

    Drew Connor: Exact words.

    Ethan Connor: Because FWA don’t respect The Echo and they don’t respect Tag Team Wrestling, that’s why we never gave them, the fucking honor. Sure we filled their numbers for their tag team tournament bullshit. But sign a contract? Piss off.

    Drew Connor:...and that’s the difference between The Echo and the Elite and Gang-Stars. See you can say what you want about the Connor Brothers. You can call us assholes.

    Ethan Connor:....liers

    Drew Connor: Cheaters.

    Ethan Connor: Egomaniacs.

    Drew Connor: “Sex gods.”

    Ethan Connor: “Sexy mother fuckers.”

    Drew Connor: But not one person, can call us sellouts. We’ve never bent over to the suits. You could never excuse us of selling out, and Never forget, when FWA opened it’s fly, “The Heart and Soul of CWA” got down on both knees and said “Mhh, thank you, Corporate daddy" When Noah and Trevor said, they were loyal to CWA. All FWA had to do was dangle some meaningless titles from a dead division and their on their backs with their legs spread open for daddy FWA.

    Ethan Connor: ..And you know; when you think about it. No one wants us to win those titles. Least of all, Daddy FWA. If The Gang Stars or The Elite win those belts? Then FWA will throw a big ol’ party. “Whoopie-! Look how great our tag teams are”

    Drew Connor: But those titles deserve better than to be paraded around on Fight Night like a god damn prop. But when we climb those ladders and we take down those belts?

    An evil little Chester cat grin grows on the elder brother’s face before continuing.

    Drew Connor: “I mean, I can’t think of a better way to go out, one hand holding those tag belts, the other, flipping off FWA, as we ride off into the sunset. Finally proving we are the best, and anything Daddy FWA throws out from this second forward?

    Ethan Connor: “Second. Rate.”

    Drew Connor: “...and all that’s standing between us and shitting on the biggest company in the world. Is those two jujitsu-Jerk offs dorks and our ol’ buddy Krash and Ally Black?

    Ethan Connor: Dude should have stayed in The Netherlands.

    Drew Connor: “Wait, what?!

    Ethan Connor: “You know man, the emo, death metal dude with all the spin kicks and sits like he just shit himself an-

    Drew Connor: “Alyster. Not the other one.

    Ethan Connor: “What...Like...Alyster-Alyster?! Krash’s boyfriend?! The one who dresses like the gimp from pulp fiction? That Alyster Black? I thought he died-!

    Drew Connor: Well, you know something; Let’s find out. This after all why we’re here;

    Drew gestured behind him at the retirement home

    Drew Connor: Here at FWA headquarters..

    Ethan Connor: It's a retirement home, Drew.

    Drew just shook his head

    Drew Connor: Whatever. Same difference. Anyway, we're here because we have to confront The Elite and The Gang Stars personally, and if we were as old and washed up as they are?, we'd be here, living the last of our days playing Bingo.

    Ethan smirked as Drew nodded his head and laughed at his own joke. Cheeky bastards, m8

    Drew Connor: So let's see if we can get a hold of The Elite and The Gang Stars, shall we? Camera guy, keep up because we want to document this entire thing. We want to document The Gang Stars and The Elite in their natural habitat!

    With that, both men started walking toward the entrance to the retirement home as the cameraman followed suit behind. Drew and Ethan made it to two big glass double doors as they opened the doors and entered the extremely cold and disgusting retirement home. The smell of medicine and urine was overwhelming, which meant that The Elite and The Gang Stars must have been really close. They entered through two more doors and walked directly to the receptionist desk where a beautiful blonde woman sat behind a computer. Her name was Crystal, (Either that or this was an imposer who killed “Crystal” and stole her name tag) and she was incredibly cheery but was a bit taken back by the two men and their personal cameraman.

    Crystal: Welcome to Sunrise Senior Living, what brings you... three in today?

    Drew Connor:: Howdy, Howdy Howdy. We are looking for four residents who are staying here. Noah Stocke, Trevor Ocean, and Alex Gray and Clash---

    Ethan nudged Drew in the shoulder as if he said something wrong. Drew nodded his head and acted like a light-bulb went off in his head. Oh boy.

    Drew Connor: Sorry, I meant to say Krash and Alyster Black. We're... friends of them, and we'd just love to see them. We have some business to attend to.

    Crystal is confused

    Crystal: Soooo.... Alyster Black and Crash--

    Ethan Connor: KRASH!

    Crystal: “Riight...Those are some odd names.”

    Drew Connor: “I know, super pretentious and reeks of trying too hard, aren’t they?

    Crystal just let out a deep sigh.

    Crystal: “One moment please….”

    She started typing away at her keyboard and maintaining eye contact on her screen, whilst peaking away at Drew, Ethan and the poor cameraman. She cleared her throat and spoke.

    Crystal: There is no one under those names here.

    Ethan looked at her, leaned in and placed his hands on her desk and said aloud in classic Ethan Connor yelling voice.

    Ethan Connor CHECK AGAIN!

    She started to get impatient.

    Crystal: Sir, if you raise your voice at me again, I will have to get security and escort all three of you out of here.


    At this point, Ethan was fuming. Drew looked on a bit concerned. Poor Crystal. She gulped and stood up and spoke.

    Crystal: Okay, I've had it. I quit. I am not getting paid enough to deal with this shit. I'm done.

    Crystal walked away, pushing Drew and Ethan aside. The cameraman fixated on her as she left her desk and she gave the camera the finger. She left her position and virtually quit as Drew and Ethan stood there, almost dumbfounded. Ethan smirked and chuckled a bit as Drew did the same.

    Ethan Connor: Stupid broad, my plan worked GREAT! Come on, let's find those dorks on our own. They have to be somewhere! It smells like piss in here, so we MUST be close!

    The brothers both would then take off with cameraman in tow, down a hallway located on the right-hand side of the desk. They walk with a sense of purpose, a sense of pride - but good God is it hard to do that when you're in a funeral retirement home. The aroma of death and oatmeal is in the air, but Ethan sees something that smells far worse....

    Ethan Connor: DREW, I FOUND THEM! That moron lied to us, they had to have been here, and they WERE! They're right here! The Elite AND The Gang Stars

    Drew who had been a few steps ahead of his partner due to not stopping to ogle at “The Gang Stars” and “The Elite”' would stop dead in his tracks and turn to see just what his brother had found. The look on Drew’s face was one of utter disappointment.

    Drew Connor: You know that's just a couple of garbage cans, right?

    The cameraman would then pan over to where Drew and Ethan were looking, showing that it was, in fact, TWO garbage cans. The camera quickly goes back to focus on Drew and Ethan, the shot set up perfectly to see the dismay on the face of Drew while Ethan does a few double takes of the cans just to confirm what they are.

    Ethan Connor: Are.... are you sure?

    Drew Connor: ETHAN!! COME ON!

    Drew would shake his head and continue on down the hallway while Ethan did one last take at the trash cans.


    Ethan Connor would walk away somewhat fast to catch up with his brother, who seemed to know exactly where they were headed.

    Ethan Connor: Where are we going? Aren't we supposed to be finding The Elite, and Randy Dark and Crush?

    Drew Connor: Krash.

    Ethan Connor: Right, that guy.

    Drew Connor Yeah. You think you'd remember to call him that after you yelled it at that front desk girl.

    Ethan would look at his brother with a hint of anger, but it was quickly washed away as Drew continued to speak.

    Drew Connor: And we are, because what better place for old corpses to be than the rec room? The way I see it, We gotta confront The Elite first, if we’re going to bore everyone watching this promo, we might as well get it out of the way. I know they’re here probably in front of a bunch of people, boss them around, tell them how 'great' they think they are…

    Drew would stop for a second, watching his tag partner think. Ethan would then open his mouth, and some gold is on the way.

    Ethan Connor: “You’d think we can just follow the trail of dead bodies from the mass suicide trying to listen to Trevor Ocean cut a promo.

    Jesus Christ.

    Drew Connor: Ethan.... what is the one thing we know these dorks like more than anything else?

    Ethan Connor: Wrestling?

    Drew Connor: Well, yeah but I mean something else

    Ethan Connor: Awful T-Shirts?

    Drew Connor: No, i-

    Ethan Connor: Their stupid “Wrestling is super serious” Bullshit that they think makes them sound intense, but they just come off as a pretentious tool?

    Ethan looks excited at the prospect of being fully entrenched in the guessing game his tag partner has decided to play. Drew, on the other hand? Looks full of regret, like Mrs Dave Sullivan on her wedding night.

    Drew Connor: Ethan, pl-

    Ethan Connor: Their whole generic vibe like someone left the default function on the “Create-A-Wrestler” on one of those wrestling games?

    Drew Connor: If you let me just finish wh-

    Ethan Connor: OH! THEIR TERRIBLE MUSIC! The fact that They never shut up about “Pure” wrestling. Noah’s new clothing line called 'Father Figure' for everybody with dad bod's! I mean, It could work just for guys who want to dress like dad's bods bu-



    Drew just shook his head in disbelief. Both men continued down the hallway and turned a sharp right corner and approached the Gymnasium area of the retirement home.

    Drew Connor:
    So if the Elite are trying to be us..where would they be?

    Ethan Connor:
    Strip Club? Naa they're not that cool

    Drew Connor: I mean it makes sense right? Ever since we left the scene, they’ve been trying to copy our act for years. You know those lame cereals supermarkets have when they don’t want to pay the real cigarette companies? That’s the Elite. They’re the frosted flakes to our frosties, the diet coke to our coke. I mean they stole everything from us. Our attitude. Our “Tag team revolution” shit

    Ethan Connor: “My charming disposition.”

    Drew Connor: “Right, exactly-! They wish they were us, but they can’t because they’re exciting as stale bread?" and they can’t ride a train of thought all the way to the end of the line, without ever stopping at a relevant destination? Whatever the appeal of Ju-Jitu Jerkoff and Mixed Martial Asshole is supposed to be, They’re two guys who already know better than anybody what stepping into the ring with us can do to you....They know they have to fight harder, work harder, and push themselves more than they had before. And hey, fair's fair. They’re good. They raised their game, and it paid off for them. But both of them know they wouldn't be anywhere close to the level they're at today if it wasn't for us. It's because we’re every bit as good as we’re always said we are, which means anyone competing with us HAS to raise their game or be left in my dust. We make everybody around us better, because they HAVE to push themselves just to keep up. And The Elite have reaped the benefits of working with us all those times. Just look at where they are today! Tag Team Champions.

    Ethan Connor: FWA Tag Champs. That’s not saying much Remember when one guy held those belts?

    Drew Connor: It would be hard to argue that Noah and Trevor aren't at the top of the mountain right now. But it would be just as hard to argue they wouldn't have reached the mountaintop if they hadn't been striving to get to the summit where we already planted our flag. We gave them a goal to reach, a standard to try and measure up to. And hey, we’ve not expected them to thank us for it.

    Ethan Connor: “ No one ever does.”

    Drew Connor: We’ve learned a long time we'll be waiting a long time if we want ANYONE in the wrestling world to so much as acknowledge us for pushing people to raise their game. But it's still the God's honest truth, and they both know it.

    Ethan Connor: “You know what I say, man? Let’s give Ocean and Stocke one last little 'push', Just one last little reminder that as good as they THINK they are? There's never room at the top for complacency, and someone can come along at any second to take it all away. Maybe that would wipe those smug smiles off their faces, and give them a little bit of the edge they're going to need if they REALLY want to get ahead. They talk a good game, but at the end of the day. They’re just two failed single wrestlers pretending to be a tag team, and we’re going to prove it

    Drew Connor: You know what? I don’t even think they’re here; they’ve been avoiding us for so long why would that change no?

    Ethan Connor: “Yeah, screw this man I don’t eve-

    Ethan stops in mid-sentence his nose in the air like he has a super sniffer or something, following the scent around the rest home

    Ethan Connor: I picked up the scent!

    What is he? A dog?

    Drew Connor: What are you?! A dog?!

    (See, told you) Ethan just motioned to follow him.

    Ethan Connor: Drew, look!

    Ethan pointed at something near the squat rack. There, sitting perfectly on the bench (it was an obvious plant for comedic reasons) was an old school Gang Star T-shirt from 2012 Ethan picked it up and looked at it, disgustingly.

    Ethan Connor: You know what this is, Drew? Only one team on this planet would wear an ugly shirt like this; Holy shit, you’re right! Smash is here, and Alexander Grim is alive!. I think I know where they went! C'mon, follow me. Camera guy, keep up, alright?

    Both men exited the hallway on the opposite side where they entered and were in another hallway. Ethan, using his Super Sniffer (patent pending) was picking up a scent. Ethan turned a sharp left and Drew was having a hard time keeping up. Finally, Ethan stopped abruptly at the door to a resident's room. The room number?

    ROOM 666

    By God, he found it! The number of the beast! The number of the Devil! 666! Could this be the room where Alexa Ink and Bash... do their own thing together? Gotta' keep it somewhat PG. Drew looked at Ethan, who was completely dumbfounded at what he was seeing. The room was ominous, as random noises were coming out from behind the door. Muffled screams, smoke was exiting from the bottom of the door through the small hole. Ethan gulped and looked a bit afraid to open the door.

    Drew Connor: Well?? What in the hell are you waiting for?? Open the damn door! What are you? Chicken?

    Ethan took a deep breath and grabbed the golden door handle and opened the door and immediately, smoke exited the door. This was an obvious set-up for this segment; we all knew that.. Drew and Ethan, along with the cameraman, entered the room which was covered in thick, grey smoke. Drew and Ethan coughed, waving their hands to try to break up the smoke. Drew walked over to the end of the room and opened the window to get the smoke out. After a few moments, the smoke was clearing, and we could see our not-so Dynamic Duo standing in a room that was empty. There was no Artemis Grumpy. There was no Crash Bandicoot insight, but laying on the bed was a familiar sight. It was red and black and it just-so-happened a didgeridoo I know, cliche and stupid, but sue me. Drew picked the traditional instrument from The Gang Stars homeland up and looked at it, then looked at his compatriot with a confused look upon his face

    Drew Connor: You know what this is, Ethan?

    He shoved the instrument in Ethan’s face, as Ethan stepped back, almost disgusted.

    Ethan Connor: Whatever it is, it smells like shit!

    Drew sniffed the instrument and threw it down, disgusted himself.

    Drew Connor: I should have known Krash’s Didgeridoo would reek of Alyster Black.

    Both men pause and turn directly to the camera, both wearing matching knowing gazes, and if you listen carefully, you might just hear the “Ba-dum tis” of the snare drum. A couple of degenerates, I tell 'ya

    Ethan Connor: God I knew that Clank was sick in the head-

    Drew Connor: Krash.

    Ethan Connor: OH, WHATEVER WHO EVEN CARES?! BOTH THEIR NAMES ARE DAMN STUPID! Just because Krash replaced a C with a K doesn’t automatically make him counter-culture oh sorry. “Kounter Kulture” It just makes him look like an ass. What a kunt-!

    Drew Connor: “You know who else replaced the C with a K for no reason? The Klan.

    Ethan Connor: ...And people call us racist?! Seriously?!

    Drew Connor: “We’ve not the ones calling ourselves “The White Wolf.”

    Ethan Connor: I mean, honestly, I can’t believe we have to deal with that self-righteous dork Klang again, didn’t we stop his shit like five years ago? We bitch slapped him like he owed us money for like six months and he could never beat us. No matter what.

    Drew Connor: “Oh, well you know why that is? It’s because he didn’t have his REAL tag team partner with him

    Drew rolls his eyes

    Ethan Connor: “Oh. Right. That guy.

    Drew Connor: His best friend. His Buddy.

    Ethan Connor: “His life long tag partner

    Drew Connor: “...That he hasn’t seen or heard from..or had a match with; for like seven years.

    Ethan shrugs at the camera in a bemused kind of way.

    Ethan Connor: “I mean; is this a joke? Is this a game? How is this even fair? They haven’t even spoken to each other for seven years, and we’ve been teaming since the day we came out of the womb. This isn’t a dream match. This is a slaughter.

    Drew Connor: They must have forgotten; that shit might fly in the FWA where teams can be made up on the fly, but when you put our bond against a team, that’s barely a team...No contest.

    Ethan Connor: Honestly? I find it insulting, the fact that they think they can take a scroll through the trailer parks one more time, and use The Echo as a warm-up? Fuck that shit.

    Drew Connor: Who is this guy anyway? Candy Crush’s best friend? I didn’t see Andre Blinkybill. Come help him out when we were destroying him? I don’t remember Abigail Frowny Face running down the ring when we were ending his career? And what; Now he cares? This is a joke.

    Ethan Connor:: ...And we won't allow Ally BlackBerry to waltz back into the world of tag team wrestling like he owns the damn place, and breeze past us with his boyfriend to the spotlight we deserve. We won't let all the work that we put into our career all count for absolutely nothing if someone like Criss-Cross apple sauce and Timmy End can show up out of nowhere, Prance around to impress the fanboys, and suddenly claim that they’re the best tag team in CWA history And take the belts that we love so damn much.. No...For our entire career, we’ve beaten the best that CWA has to offer. And tonight? Kit Kat and Abercrombie and Fitch comeback is going to hit a roadblock that they can't avoid; they’re going to realize; that as good as they are? They’re not a Connor.

    Drew nods to himself proud of his words before he started looking around trying to figure out his next move

    Drew Connor: Look, I think The Elite and The Gang Star were onto us. They heard us coming, and they left because they are afraid of us. Dammit, I really wanted to get my hands on them. Maybe they're still here…

    Ethan started sniffing around but Drew put a stop to that. WOULD YOU CUT THAT OUT?! Drew yelled, stopping Ethan in his tracks. Drew squared up to Ethan, and the two began to bicker back and forth about the sincerity of Ethan’s' Super Sniffer, but they were quickly interrupted by someone off in the distance. Both men turned their attentions to a big, tall, black man in a security officers uniform. Drew and Ethan’s' eyes were huge, as big as their egos as they looked at this big man. His name was 'Rick', as his badge said. Rick, in a deep, almost Louis Armstrong voice, said aloud.

    Rick: HEY! You two! Are you supposed to be here?! We got a complaint about two men wandering the halls without passes, and you fit the description.

    The brothers look at each other, but Drew, being the smart man that he is, quickly think on his feet and addresses the situation at hand.

    Drew Connor: Yeah, they went down that way, toward the Gymnasium.

    Both men waited to see if it would work.

    Rick: Thank you, sir.

    Rick leaves Drew and Ethan alone and walks toward the Gymnasium. Did that really just work? It couldn't have worked... that was so elementary. Drew looked at his compatriot with a smirk on his face, as Ethan just shook his head in disbelief. Drew peeked around the corner to make sure that Rick was gone and gave Drew the thumbs up, signalling that the coast was indeed clear. Drew let out a sigh as Ethan continued to shake his head. Anyway, Ethan pushed Drew aside and exited room 666 with a purpose! Drew followed suit, as did the cameraman as they made their way into the hallway once more. Ethan turned left and walked down the halls, looking around for any sign of The Gang Stars or the Gangsters? Whatever, f*ck you. Where did Originality go? It died a long time ago it seems, and only the Connors were bringing it back to the limelight! Ethan and Drew pressed forth, but it was Drew who stopped in his tracks and got Ethan's attention. Ethan turned around and saw what Drew saw.

    Drew Connor: You've GOT to be kidding me! Now I am SURE this was all a joke!

    The cameraman focused on what both men were looking at and it for sure was something that was a joke it would seem.

    ROOM 69K

    This was getting out of hand. Drew had a giant smirk on his face, as Ethan just shook his head. From inside the room, muffled sounds could be heard like before in room 666 where "Krash" was supposedly at. These sounds, however, were different. Muffled guitar riffs and everything we heard. It was music playing! But what music? Drew looked at Ethan and slowly opened the door, and the sounds of the music immediately caught Drew and Ethan off guard. The music was bad. Really, really bad. Like, dad rock bad. Not as bad as Nickelback or Pop Evil, but still pretty bad.

    Do you come from a land down under?
    Where women glow, and men plunder?
    Can't you hear, can't you hear the thunder?
    You better run, you better take cover.

    We see Drew and Ethan poke their heads into the room and they see.. Well, we’re not exactly sure...The Connors are blocking the view into the room, but we can certainly hear over the truly terrible music, two separate voices with truly over the top Australian voices begin to scream out.

    “Aw Cricky mate-! Keep on doing that to me billabong, I feel it right in my Hugh Jackman.”

    “Imma, abuse your butt like our culture abuses the English language.”

    “I love you, Krash.”

    “I love you, Aleister.”

    “I’m Alyster.”



    Drew quickly slammed the door shut as both Connors groan and shut their eyes as if they just witnessed something unholy, in desperate need of eye bleach but nothing will ever bleach away whatever it was they saw in that room.

    Drew Connor: “That was-”

    Drew grunted like he was trying to resist the urge to vomit in his mouth.

    Drew Connor: “I never thought I’d say this, but that was the single most stereotypical Australian gay bash I’ve ever seen.

    Ethan Connor: Did you see where that boomerang was going?

    Drew Connor: “Never mind that-! How did they fit a kangaroo in there?

    Ethan Connor: “Dude, what was Steve Irwin doing there? I thought he died?!

    Drew Connor: I don’t know, but he’s clearly upgraded from wrestling crocodiles

    They both share a brotherly shudder clearly processing what was happening in that room.

    Drew Connor: The important thing was my hunch was right! I knew that both of them were here and that just confirmed it, and you thought we wouldn't find anything here…

    Ethan just shook his head angrily,

    Ethan Connor: I just found it hard to believe that they'd stay at a retirement home right before One Night Only

    Which was, for all intents and purposes, a good reason to be doubtful. It has made for great television (or, online video. Whatever, f*ck you) and has been hilariously entertaining thus far.

    Ethan Connor: I can not WAIT till we get them in that ring man, I can't wait to knock that smug, self-satisfied grin off their stupid faces. To think they can challenge us? When we’ve been the best thing going in CWA history. We’ve put on Five Star matches, every time we went out to that ring. We’ve single-handedly dominated the world of tag team wrestling. We’ve made those belts actually relevant again. WE’VE the reason why people watched CWA….

    Drew Connor:...And then along comes The Gang Stars AND The Elite thinking they’re in for an easy payday But when One Night Only rolls around. It’s the biggest night of OUR lives. Those titles mean EVERYTHING to us. Without those belts, we’ve nothing! Without us, those belts mean nothing! We’ve fighting for our lives come Sunday, and I don’t think The Elite and The Gang Stars know that. How could they? They think we’ve just loudmouth punks! They think we’ve all talk! They think we're just young boys for them to smack around. Because that’s what they ALL thought, but we’ll prove once and for all that we’ve the BEST. We’ve walked in as the best and leaving as GOATS. And there’s NOTHING The Elite. The Gang Stars. Daddy
    FWA can do about it because, with all of our achievements that we’ve had and memorable moments that we’ve created, people might think they've seen the "Best of The Echo"...But believe me, The Elite and The Gang Stars are going to be the first to discover that as far as we're concerned. The best is yet to come….

    Drew beats his chest his little speech pumping him up, and Ethan nods his agreement.

    Ethan Connor: Let’s get out of here.

    Like assassins in the night, Drew, Ethan and the camera guy were crouching, trying to avoid all of the old people, making their ways out of their rooms and toward the cafeteria area. It was like an autistic version of Splinter Cell, honestly. Drew and Ethan turned a right corner, and there it was--- the exit! By God, they were so close. Drew motioned for Ethan to follow as both men in their nice clothes made it to the exit and immediately saw the light of the outside. Drew and Ethan stood up and exited the retirement home and took a big, deep breath and inhaled the outside. They were free! They were finally away from the old people, and they were on their way back to their hotel it would seem. Drew dusted himself off, as did Ethan. They looked at each other as Drew spoke one last time.

    Drew Connor: Mission successful, We infiltrated enemy territory and found both of our adversaries in their natural habitat, and we lived to tell the tale. Congratulations, bro.

    Ethan Connor: We snuck into a retirement home filled with OLD PEOPLE! How hard could that be?!

    He made a good point; it's like taking candy from a really gross, wrinkly baby. Drew smirked.

    Drew Connor: Ethan, we learned a very valuable lesson today, didn't we?

    Ethan Connor: Lesson?! What lesson could we have POSSIBLY learned from this?!

    Drew Connor: ”Australians make terrible music, now come on; let’s go find some whores.”

    Drew went to walk away, but Ethan stood there at the entrance to the retirement home. Drew turned around and motioned for Ethan to come with him, but Ethan was not having any of it.


    The two started bickering, just like they normally do. The fighting was going on off-camera as they walked away from the scene.
    Last edited by An Original Name; 05-27-2020 at 06:33 AM.
    The most amazing thing about this recent conversation is that I've learned AON is even more of a waste of space than I thought he was previously

  6. #6
    I'm a Stone Cold Lee Guy.
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    Jul 2010
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    Re: CWA: ONE NIGHT ONLY! [card and promo thread]

    "The Structure Of Man"
    -Sing to me songs of the darkness
    Farewell to heaven, my friend
    Come to me, bury your sorrow
    Temptation await the condemned

    From the very first moment the scene opened up, we can tell this is going to be a weird one. We're instantly greeted by the sight of what can only be described as the dilapidated remains of a small old-timey house with warped metal railings, mounds of decaying rubble, and a door that could be seen hanging from its hinges. There was someone...disquieting about this place. It seemed somehow paranormal, otherworldly—the type of house that seemed to suck in the colour from the entire landscape. No noises could be heard from the surrounding trees. Not a single bird nor breath of air dared to whisper for fear of disturbing a nameless fear lurking within this crumbling structure. Only one dared to approach, dared to push open the door and stride forward into the darkness….The one that called the darkness home; Lilith.

    As she opened the door, she was faced immediately with a flight of steps which ran down into some unseen darkness. It seemed like a yawning gateway to Hell itself, but The mother of ravens had walked through greater dangers than this. With one hand on the railing, she stepped slowly down the concrete rungs, one by one, each as dramatically and patiently taken as the paces of her iconic ring entrance. If this road was indeed to lead to Hell, then she was in no hurry to get there it seemed. Finally, she reached the bottom…

    What faced her when he turned the corner at the base of the staircase seemed to be some sort of cellar. It was as worn and destroyed as the surface structure and seemed wholly unsafe to be in, but Lilith stood his ground. The cellar had been a small room in its original state but now the back wall, the wall which Lilith faced, was collapsed away. Placed before it was a single chair, behind which there was now nothing more than another yawning void. This time though Lilith did not advance. There were perhaps limits to how far even she would venture in this place. Suddenly there was a sound from the deep, cavernous beyond. It might have been a slamming door. Her head flicked quickly in the direction of the sound her face looking uncharacteristically concerned, maybe even...intimidated. Which raised one question; what in the world could inspire fear in someone that so easily inspired fear herself?

    Lilith: Even in this place… you know who I am. Come forward.

    There came no reply for a while but then another, much louder slam and… laughter!? The laughter of a child. Lilith seemed to take a step back from the darkness, but still, she did not fully retreat.

    Lilith: Come forward!

    A bell tolled in the darkness. It was a high pitch, almost more like the noise of a triangle, but deafening and it echoed through the building. It sounded three times, and every time it did figures appeared in the shadows for the merest moment before disappearing once more. It was surreal, almost like illusions of the mind, but there was no denying that they had been there. There was no denying the three sullen-looking young girls standing shoulder to shoulder all clad in what looks like victorian nightclothes. And there was no denying the terror they seemed to inspire in Lilith, yet she stood her ground silently. She seemed to acknowledge that the next move did not belong to her

    "Look! She's here!"

    A single lone child's voice rang out from the trio followed by more giggles and some whispering, yet none of them opened their mouth.

    "Is it really you? Have you really come back?"

    Lilith looked around the cellar, as though needing to check herself that she had indeed come back to this place... wherever it was.

    Lilith: A person who once steps foot over the threshold of this place… can never truly leave again. You know better than I of the forces which bind souls to these ruins; of the dark, eternal powers at work to preserve the balance of the world.

    " We know better than you Lilith, about a lot of things."

    Shrieks of laughter this time from the girls, once again none of them opened their mouths

    "Isn't that why you came here, came to us? For information?"

    Lilith: I came here to speak to those that would dare call on me.

    "You came because you were summoned to do so. Do not confuse being chosen with being an authority.This place is not the origin of the darkness,, The darkness is the origin of it, and you still have a debt to pay. We come with a message from the darkness."

    Lilith: Speak it and be done.

    "The balance of light and darkness needs to be restored, and transgressions against the laws of nature will not be tolerated. You will go to Ashley Adams. And you will offer her soul to the darkness"

    There was a silence as Lilith processed the words she was hearing. She was unused, talking down to him from a position of higher knowledge and power. He was out of his natural environment and seemed unsure of exactly how to deal with it. Fortunately, she was spared from saying anything else for the moment as the girls decided finally to reveal themselves properly.

    Lilith: If this is some kind of mockery, I do not find amusement in it I can understand, if you changed me with providing you with an offering the darkness Jon Snowmantashi, a true warrior or even the one they call "Light-Bringer" This I can understand. But I'm to be changed to offer the darkness...this...this mewling welp? Such a vapid and hollow task, this is beneath me.

    "You forget your place, Lilith."

    Lilith: Call it what you will, Darkness overcomes any light. You know this as well as I. I do not fear Ashley Adams. Whatever force you believe her to have...will falter. It will fail as surely as all the others. It will fail because it cannot comprehend the lengths that I would go to, the fury that I would unleash, to ensure that I reclaim what's mine. Of this, you have my word.

    "Silly, Lilith!"

    It was such an infantile thing to say, and it was accompanied by yet more giggles from the other two girls. It was bone-chilling to think that these… whatever they were, they might have knowledge of such dark and unfathomable forces, but deep down they were still children the girls appeared in full view, almost right beside her. Their faces were obscured by the overwhelming glow, creating a terrifying image. Yet Lilith would have to persevere.

    "You underestimate her, so be it. You refuse to listen, refuse to learn from the past, and so we have nothing more to say. Except this: Light comes in many forms, and it is not the light of purity and goodness that comes to lay siege to your kingdom. You know better than anybody what real light is capable of…and what happened if you should fail."

    And at these words, a bright glow formed around the girls the entire cellar was suddenly illuminated by its radiating power and Lilith seemed to lose strength, faulting on her feet and wilting just a little, and she seemed to be having trouble breathing, she seemed to look down at her hands noting with no small amount of horror, they seemed to have aged eons in mere seconds becoming brittle and weak But all of a sudden the light died and the energy was gone, and she can breathe once more, The girls turned their backs to Lilith and with a final youthful laugh they skipped away, care-free, back into the darkness and were not seen again. Lilith didn't seem to notice all of her attention on her hands now back to their youthful form.

    "The Darkness was never yours to control, Lilith. You have been nothing more than the recipient of its power, never the possessor. And if you fall us against Ashley Adams? You will suffer."

    Viewers who had clicked on Lilith's video (entitled "For Whom The Bell Tolls") was immediately confronted by a blank screen. It was only the sound of the wind howling across an unseen landscape which evidenced that a video was playing at all. When at last the scene opened, viewers were greeted by a nightmarish hellscape, the likes of which seemed at odds with some of the more family-orientated segments in FWA programming: Graves rose from the ground like the broken teeth of some long-slain beast, and an eerie fog rose up from fissures in the ground to choke the atmosphere and herald a mood of profound foreboding. All of this gloom was set against what appeared to have once been a cathedral, now laying broken and ruined amid the utter desolation of its surroundings. The colourless, lifeless scene was made all the more harrowing by the sepia filter placed on the video to rob viewers of even the comfort of the light. This, undeniably, was the lair of a Demon.

    Lilith: STRIP AWAY the flesh... and you will find the structure of man.

    Lilith's words were a voice-over, but they heralded a fade to black. When the scene reopened, the video had transposed to what appeared to be the clocktower of the ruined cathedral. Sat on a makeshift throne, dressed all in black is the woman simply known as Lilith; She did not smile nor look directly at the camera or even explain her bizarre statement she just instead surveyed the scene around her.

    Lilith "In a time long since passed... the ill-educated creatures of this world looked up to the night sky with bemused wonder. They saw stars, yet they could not explain them. They could not question them... and so, in their ignorance, they resolved to decorate them in myth and legend. They connected them... bestowed names and tales upon them... until they were content these objects possessed no malice and there was nothing to fear from them. These tales... they proved ever-lasting. Even in a society which values the teachings of their sciences and facts, the constellations continue to withstand the test of time. These legends remain... miss-guiding the ignorant... inspiring the children... consuming... the Sodom... Below."

    Lilith pauses, staring blanking into the camera, this organ music still playing somewhere deep in the background; she sneers, as she continues.

    Lilith And FOR YEARS, the city of Sodom have looked to the night sky, and seen their stars, DECORATED in their tales of conquest and trials. They aspired to stand beside those atop the summit, and they bayed for their recognition. But one by one... those stars... have all burned out. ONE BY ONE, the constellations fall, and with them, their legends. NOW... when the citizens of the land look to the night sky... it is not illuminated by the glow of those stars... it is ablaze, with the orange, musky haze darkness RADIATING from the fires of persecution."

    Another pause. This time perhaps to enforce that image... the skies consumed by smoke... and in the distance,

    Lilith: "My crusade to tear down the fabric of CWA established by those cloaked in fable has been a swift, and brutal process. CWA... the Sodom Below... they may resist... but with each fallen star, the haze continued to strangle their skies. The heroes of Sodom were powerless to resist the hand of darkness... Jon Snowmantashi. Krash. Lightbringer. The citizens of Sodom have tasked these men with an unenviable venture... to douse those embers. And in their failure. The sky grew silence forevermore.

    Lilith tilted her head up to the sky as if imagining a void above her.

    Lilith: "I do not take pride in my part that I played in the demise of CWA, but it was inevitable, since the moment I arrived in CWA the entire company was swimming against the tide. Struggle and fight against it all you want, but one way or another. Nature will take its course...and so, it did; and it wasn't so much of a war...but the darkness slowly choking all the air out of CWA's lung until slowly but surely... it's heart stopped. The task that I was changed with was done, and I considered...maybe foolishly that this matter had been laid to rest….and yet here we stand once, a challenger comes rapping her knuckles on my chamber door ready to stand in the circle of the lustful...Ashley Adams

    Lilith rolled the name around her tongue like a fine white, not angered by the idea, if anything she seems...amused by the concept, a dry chuckle escaping her pale lips.

    Lilith: "Strip away the flesh... and you will find the structure of man…..Through all the men that had been cut down by my blade, Through all of their sins… They were man built on righteous foundations. Warriors... who dedicated their existence, to inspiration and achievement. They had for SO LONG...they worked alone. they followed their own paths, DICTATED their own destiny…All of these worthy offerings for the darkness, sacrifices that would please my masters...but when I look at Ashley Adams, I do not see worthy pray. I do not see a warrior...I see a vulture; someone that plucked apart her wounded prey, so that YOU could rise again. Woman's wrestling, ... a name you bled dry, all to slate your own ego; you're so proud the fact you were CWA woman's champion for so long...and yet you neglect to mention the fact you had no challenges to your reign. No battles to fight, yet you sat there on your throne of ashes, queen of the wastelands until you too grew weary of it all. Deceit... contempt... jealousy... THESE are the foundations upon which Ashley Adams is built. "

    As she spoke, all amusement began to seep out of her face to be replaced by a steely resolve, her enchanting dark eyes burning a hole through the camera, as if zeroing in on all of Ashley Adam's insecurities.

    Lilith: "I confess myself disappointed; Tonight, two-man I have defeated and cast down will now ascend and be treated like Gods in mortal form in the main event, and yet I must deal with a spoiled child You see Ashley Adams is a woman who does not believe that it is her responsibility to evade the grip of mortality. Ashley Adams believes that it is Mortality who must ensure that they do not cross paths. Her method of ensuring survival is the most corrosive of all because Ashley has surrendered herself to the most deadly of sins: pride. I have watched as she cited herself as some kind of queen and I have sensed her rising incredulity at being confronted by a world that did not bend to her whim or offer her a shortcut to the success to which she believes that her brilliance entitles her. For women like Ashley Adams… there is no responsibility, and there is no accountability. There is neither duty nor honour. There is only… the self. Ashley Adams alone among us is not concerned by her Mortality, because her pride has blinded her to the vulnerability of her position. Her pride has destroyed the ability to understand and empathise with the world around him. And now? Her pride has led Ashley Adams down a road which she will be immensely sorry that she embarked upon because Mortality does not have an obligation to respect you, Ashley. The grave does not concern itself with your material gains. One by one, each and everyone will be judged upon the scale, and it is only their soul which will determine their fate. I… am that scale. And tonight I will measure this so called "bad girl", and I will find her soul...wanting...undeserving then the opportunity that she has been given. I will find… "The Queen Bee"… to be unworthy."

    Lilith raised her arms, outstretched, and offered her hands to the camera.

    Lilith: "Mortality is not evading you, Ashley, and make no mistake about it: the rules do apply to you despite what your pride may tell you. I am to be the embodiment of your destruction. And tonight you will learn what countless others have learned before you: that when the hour of your demise draws close at hand, there is no bargain to be made. There will be no reasoning with the finality of my judgment, and there will be no deference to the status that you perceive yourself to have. There will be a shortcut for you tomorrow night, Ashley, but it does not lead to glory. It leads to the darkness it leaves to your grave. And I will ensure that you occupy it."

    Lilith sniffed and turned her head, clearly not enjoying her time, speaking about someone she has so little respect for the mother of ravens was no respecter of entitlement, believing that only that which you took by force was ever truly yours. If Ashley Adams wanted to be lauded as the all-time great, she professed to be; this would be her opportunity to validate that claim. But she wouldn't do it by insisting on preferential treatment; she would do it by looking Lilith in the eye in her yard and taking out the heart of darkness Lilith was, to say the least, skeptical as to Ashley's chances.

    Lilith: "Mortality… is inevitable. But there is a lot to learn about a man by the way in which he confronts adversity. There is a lot to learn about a woman arrogant enough to believe she can invade this place in which I sit.

    Lilith gestures idly around her.

    Lilith: These are the halls of fame. Not the CWA Hall of Fame, not any recognizable wrestling hall of fame. What this is… is the place where the souls of the great warriors come to reside. This is the place the souls of those who have built legacies and legends beyond the comprehension of mortal man… where they bask in the reverence and respect of their victims. And while it is correct that IF Ashley prevails against me, she will join an elite list. She would earn passage to this place. But where she is wrong is in her assumption that she can somehow FORCE her way in. Where she is wrong is in her assumption that just because she held a belt and has not defended it, she could ever be worthy.

    Another glance at the cavernous walls

    Lilith: There are great names represented in this place. Names that will live for eternity. Names like Jon Snomantashi… names like Mr Showman… Cyrus Truth… The Ultimate Pain. Roberto Superstar … Each and every one of those names carry weight and brings with it a recognition that Ashley Adams could not aspire to if she lived for a thousand years, tonight you do not have to prevail to be granted immortality. It is simply a question of who will write your name into the pages of history. You see some men, like Cyrus Truth and Roberto? They wrote their own names. They etched themselves forever in greatness; they did not become famous. They were MADE famous. Tonight that is the fate that awaits you. Tonight that is the HORROR that awaits you. You have no idea, Ashley … no idea what you have done in crossing my path.. This is an enemy, unlike any that you have faced before Ashley. This is a being that few have SEEN before. On this night… on this stage… the things that I have done to human beings are things that would haunt the most battle-hardened warrior. Oh yes, Ashley… right now, you are feeling helpless. Right now, you are questioning the decisions that brought you to this place, to the mouth of the cave. But they were YOUR decisions, YOUR choices and in your blind desire to achieve something beyond your capacity you have risked everything. These halls around you? This status? This level of greatness? It has never been for you. It has never been your fate. Tonight you will receive fame. But you do not get to write the end of this story. You do not get to become the narrator of your own success; instead, I will write your epitaph upon that canvas tonight, Ashley. And I will write it in your own blood. Yes… right now you're feeling helpless… but make no mistake about it: This night… has just… begun.

    Her face was still lost in nostalgia, her eyes clouded as her mind disconnected from the world around him and returned to somewhere else, somewhere from her darker past. She had more to say. She had more to say, and yet she seemed reluctant to speak, reluctant to allow the thoughts swirling in her mind to come to the fore. She almost looked… troubled. This was something new. When she next spoke, there was a humility – and indeed a humanity – in her Voice that was rarely heard.

    Lilith: Tonight, I return to this place, and I open the door to something that I thought I had locked away forever. I release something that I thought there was no longer a use for, something that I had outgrown. inside that circle of the lustful men tear the flesh from each other's faces, they bleed each other to a point where they are barely able to stand, they inflict brutality and suffering upon fellow human beings until only one of them is conscious… and I am the master of this. I don't know whether that is an accolade to be embraced… or feared. But beyond you tonight Ashley, To accomplish this greatest task you must open up that locked door and go to a place even I fear to tread, summon a beast that even I cannot tame.. Because no force of nature and no act of God could stand between me and this victory. But I KNOW that it is you that has forced me to this place, Ashley. I know that it is you who has called the darkness out to the open forced my hand, unleashed my darkest elements upon the world. And that I do not forgive. That I do not forget. Tonight… your soul… and your LIFE… all… belong… to me. Ashley Adams... still bearing the insignia of Sodom... will return to her people, a charred, and shattered relic... THE STENCH... emanating from her burns... a constant, POIGNANT reminder of the world we leave behind. PRIDE... will no longer be rewarded. PRIDE... will not guide the Sodom Below, and PRIDE will no longer consume those who lead. The stars above Sodom continue to fade... and one...night...only. will spell the end of the final constellation. Ashley Adams is the doomed prophet of Sodom... and for that... she must face this unholy requiem. She will face the wrath of darkness.

    Lilith's blank, yet haunting stare is the exclamation point on that rather striking line.

    Lilith"One Night Only.. Ashley Adams will enter a queen, and she will return... a timid... shattered... husk."

    Slowly, Lilith begins to break into a smile. Her shoulders begin to bounce, as suddenly her evil, demonic laughter begins to consume the scene. The camera effects twist and distort... the laughter is morphed, complimented only by echoes and groans... until suddenly... the scene ends. Darkness envelops the picture, and this promo has reached it's conclusion.
    Last edited by An Original Name; 05-27-2020 at 06:34 AM.
    The most amazing thing about this recent conversation is that I've learned AON is even more of a waste of space than I thought he was previously

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    Re: CWA: ONE NIGHT ONLY! [card and promo thread]

    Chubby Carlos: This feels...just right doesn't it?

    We hear the voice very loud and clear but we still see nothing! Soon? As there's a moment of silence, our CWA cameras start to fade in as we see the CWA logo on the corner and the background setting of things. We see highlights of Chubby Carlos's career throughout, and we see everything that entails it from his debut match to his epic with Cyrus Truth, we see a lot of things, and we wonder a lot of things as we see sitting down is Chubby Carlos We see him dressed in a long-sleeve khaki-coloured shirt with the American eagle on it. A matching coloured skullie that covers his head, and we can see the watch and a few children made wristbands on his wrists. As he leans forward in place with a confused look

    Chubby Carlos:.....Wait, who's that good looking, charismatic and oh so likeable dude that just appeared on my screen. Oh hey, is Jorge Garcia making a comeback? Or is that….Could it be- No, it couldn't possibly be your friend and mine, Mr Chubby Carlos?!

    Cue mock gasp of surprise

    Chubby Carlos: "There's no way, I mean, it's not 2011, Ska music isn't making a comeback. Green and black still clatches like hell; and in today's culture; calling a fat man Chubby is NOT going to fly in today's PC culture…..and let's not even start on the whole Race thing..Is he Mexican? Is he white? He's just a waiting PR disaster! He just kind of goes back and forward

    He raises his hands back and forward in a see-saw manner.

    Chubby Carlos: ...But even when you consider all that; You should know, You can't have a party without inviting ol' chubs! All right, cool. So… what's up, New York? You keep that energy for the big One Night Open , and we'll be rocking.

    Chubby Carlos takes in a deep breath and relieves it with a huge sigh. Getting some thoughts and emotions off his brain and chest

    Chubby Carlos: You see, I'm going to have my first match in five years against two dudes…Prince Ali...and Mark Merryweather. I gotta admit. I don't know a lot about them, and I don't want to harsh the vibes but... isn't that kind of weird? Like here we all, at CWA One Night Open….The biggest party of them all, a celebration of everything this company was. Going out with a bang...and yet; I'm not seeing hall of farmers. There's no Roberto Super Star. No Ultimate Pain. No Mr Showtime. Naa. I don't see those cats anyway. Instead, I see two dudes that have barely contributed to this company..

    Chubby shrugs for the camera as if apologetic.

    Chubby Carlos: I'm sorry, but it's true. Like I've had literally hundreds of matches in CWA and you two? I don't know, maybe ten? Combined? So I'm not really getting your vibe, or why you're here on this historic night. Do you even know who the wrestlers I mentioned are? Do you know who I am? Do you even care?

    Chubby stares at the camera, his head slightly tilted as if expecting answers before moving back, still cool and collected

    Chubby Carlos: "Whatever, it is what it is. It's all good, this may not be the match I wanted to honour CWA with, but I'm going to do it, the best way I know how….Standing in the centre of the ring with my hand raised. I'm pretty sure I got this anyway, after all, that Mark Merryweather guy?

    Chubby Carlos takes another deep breath here, thinking carefully of everything he's saying.

    Chubby Carlos; How the hell did this guy become such a jackass? I mean...Dude, This guy has always been so angry at the world for so long, and I guess I'd be too if I wasted all my potential and was going to lose to an incredibly talented, charismatic and altogether cool dude. He had all the potential in the world to be something in CWA...but he kinda blew it right? But now I've come to learn that he's STILL acting like he's on a whole 'nother plane of existence from us like we're not even worthy of being in his presence or something. Mark, dude… we're right here in New York, home of the brave and still, you can't even respect a New York crowd? Dude, I don't know what your deal is, but it's like, this is your new crowd, isn't it? You abandon CWA to have a hissy fit because you can't let yourself grow from a lost, and now that you're back, you wonder why is it that the fans still boo your ass? Dude… how much of an asshole can you be? Just because you ditched wrestling all those years ago. Back in the day. You stood there and talked and acted like you were above us like you were better than us. Now tell me this, Mark, if you're too good for all of us, why are you back here, why in the "blue hell" are you even stepping into a wrestling ring tonight? If we're too good for you, then why are you in the arena, sitting in your locker room, staring holes into my beautiful face through your TV screen right now? Did you come back for yourself? Just because you felt like it? Well, that doesn't even make sense! You're gonna sit flat on your ass and act like you're too good to wrestle for years even though you're here tonight, on a Pay Per View, with a match on the card. Even worse, you're sitting there acting like you aren't respected. Like you deserve more respect. Like the people need to "appreciate" you. Dude, seriously, that's always been your problem. You always think about what wrestling should be doing for you, when you never once considered what you could do for the fans. If there's one thing that YOU need to learn to appreciate, it's these fans. Because you could be a good wrestler...You could be a great wrestler! But if the fans don't like you... You're kind of done. I became such a success because they like me. Well I mean-

    Chubby shrugs in his typical faux humble manner.

    Chubby Carlos: I'm Chubby Carlos, come on. I'm pretty awesome: and they didn't take to you because; you're kind of boring and complain...a LOT. Whether you love them or you hate them, you owe the people, Mark. Those are the guys that add the zeros to your paycheck. Those are the fans that gave you exposure and fame. Those are the fans that allowed you to get a damn job in the first place! Believe it or not, Mark even if you totally boned it, you still owe the fans. These guys give their money, so it goes into your paycheck. These guys sit there and talk about you, and make you famous, but if you're not going to acknowledge that, fine....

    Chubby makes a dismissive gesture.

    Chubby Carlos:...No one paid to see you or Ali I mean seriously? On the biggest show, CWA has ever put on, who paid to see Mark Merryweather or Prince Ali...They wanted Roberto; They wanted Cyrus Truth, no one wants to see you two moan and complain and bitch….and bitch….and bitch. They want to see me kicking both of your asses. One. More. Time

    Chubby holds up one lone finger to empathize the point.

    Chubby Carlos: See, I know your vibe, Ali. I know why you're here, I know why you demanded you get on this card. I know why Ali: Because you could never get to the main event, and you want to slay this big beautiful demon to prove that you do belong in the main event...but tonight isn't about you dude. It isn't about me. It's about history! A whole decade of CWA. This is history. We're living it! This is about paying back the entire company for everything. It's not about winning and losing; It's about putting on the best show I can to thank the fans for well..everything. If I win, that's just because I'm Chubby Carlos, and if I lose; I'm still Chubby Carlos. This is the one match in my career where I can honestly say I don't care about winning or losing Tonight is about fun for me, but that doesn't mean I'm going to be taking either of you two lightly. Because if there's one thing I owe this place; is a performance. To show how much I love this place, How passionate I am about CWA. How, much I love this place, that no one can perform like I can on THIS STAGE! And you think I'm going to let Ali and Mark walks away on tonight of all nights? I BLEW MY KNEE OUT TWICE FOR THIS PLACE! But that doesn't matter because I'd CRAWL to be his tonight! Prince Ali and Mark don't have my heart, my soul or my love for this place. AND THAT'S WHY TONIGHT OF ALL NIGHTS THEU WILL GO DOWN.

    Chubby screams out suddenly his passion evident, through every verb, showcasing that fire that clearly hasn't dimmed since the last time we've seen him.

    Chubby Carlos: You've forgotten why these people matter, but I haven't. I'm still here, and the fans still love me, and I love them back. I appreciate them; they appreciate me. It's that simple. You're old news. People don't care about you anymore. There's only one dude who everyone's talking about. One dude who everyone pays to see. One dude who everyone appreciates. One dude who everybody knows is gonna smoke your ass later tonight. You know what people call him? Some call him a former world champ. Some call him The Chubster. Personally, I like to call him the winner of the match, and you know what his name is? It's real simple. Two words, six letters each, and if your time off has screwed both your heads up so much that you can't figure it out, let me, that dude with a bald head that'll be in the stands, that chick that's going to be off at the side with the soda, that dude that's going to be dropping his popcorn in the front, and all the rest of these fans remind you; In 1999, 2009, 2019, 2029. There's only one...Chubby Carlos

    Chubby Carlos sends his message loud and clear, licks his lips once again as he leans in closer to the camera and looks directly at it.

    Chubby Carlos: Enjoy the show....Dude.

    Last edited by An Original Name; 05-27-2020 at 06:31 AM.
    The most amazing thing about this recent conversation is that I've learned AON is even more of a waste of space than I thought he was previously

  8. #8
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    Re: CWA: ONE NIGHT ONLY! [card and promo thread]

    The Queen Bee

    The scene begins inside of an extravagant, lavish looking room. There’s a fireplace roaring in the background and sitting in front of the fireplace, in her throne, is “The Queen Bee” herself...Ashley Adams. Once she realizes that the camera is on her, she glances over to face it with a smirk.

    Ashley Adams: One...night...only

    She says in a dramatic way, pausing after each word letting them linger a little. In her hand is a wine glass filled with the best wine money can buy, she takes a sip of it before turning back to the camera.

    Ashley Adams: For one night only, I will grace you all with my presence when I step inside the ring for a special CWA event. When I got the call for this show, I had no second thoughts and no hesitation, I immediately jumped at the idea to get back in the ring because I know all of my loyal peasants have been begging and pleading for me to get back in the ring, and being the gracious queen that I am, I am granting them their one desire.

    Also, if it weren’t CWA, I wouldn’t be who I am today. I must admit, CWA made me who I am today. I am forever grateful to them and besides, what would a CWA special show be without the longest ever CWA Women’s Champion and the last ever...CWA Women’s Champion…

    She takes another sip of that wine while the audience soaks all this knowledge in.

    Ashley Adams: It would be a travesty, hell it would be downright silly if they didn’t hold a show and I wasn’t invited. I put the women’s division on the map and then dominated the entire division, sending each of them packing, never to be heard from again. I beat them all, none of those other females could hold a candle to me. They couldn’t find any women that wanted to face me because they knew that they would just be upstaged by yours truly, so the women’s division was never heard from again…

    She places her glass down on the table near her and stares at the camera while the sound of the fire can be heard.

    Ashley Adams: Many women came after it was gone, but none of them couldn’t even compare to me...not even you...Lilith…

    Just saying that name makes her skin crawl, she shudders as she says it.

    Ashley Adams: The powers that be that are running this event have decided that it would be a good idea to pit us against each other. Honestly, I would have preferred getting my hands on Gabrielle Montgomery one more time or even Shannon O’Neil, but no I get the witch. Yes for those of you at home and unaware, Lilith is a literal witch. At least that’s what she tells people but in reality she’s nothing more than...a freak!

    She laughs to herself at this and shakes her head.

    Ashley Adams: Lilith, did you honestly think for one second that I would give you credit for what you accomplished in the CWA? Not a chance! You held the CWA World Heavyweight Championship? So what? Am I supposed to be happy for you? Nope. You want to know what I think of you? You’re an Ashley Adams wannabe, and you want to know how?

    In my time I had my followers, Ashley LaBella and AmaZon. Ashley was my protege but my god she was dumb as a box of rocks, and AmaZon, well she wasn’t the brightest either but she did my dirty work.

    You on the other hand had your followers, Thomas West, and two others that I cannot even begin to remember because they’re so irrelevant. You wanted to be so much like me that you had to put irrelevant losers underneath a spell to be your followers so you could be the next Ashley Adams but the thing is there’s only one Ashley Adams and you’re looking at her sweetheart…

    At One Night Only, I will do what I do best and that’s put you down for Sweet Dreams, and the only things you can do about it like it and accept it…

    With that she blows a kiss to the camera as the scene ends.
    Rest in power, Flock U
    Rest in power, TCON

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    Stop the hating of the E-Feds. If you don't like something, that's fine, just ignore it and let the people who do enjoy what they're here on WC to do. Mocking them to make you feel less of a geek for being on a geek on a wrestling forum is lame. If you want to not read their posts, I can fix that for you.

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    Re: CWA: ONE NIGHT ONLY! [card and promo thread]

    The Dream Lives On

    What could be the opposite of "Philadelphia, Pennsylvania"? What is the opposite of an old American city rich with history from the Revolutionary War, some of the inception moments of the country during the 18th century, birth of the Declaration of Independence, United States Constitution, and a bell that people line up to see? A city with more than one million people, four professional sports teams, the famous steps immortalized in the Rocky movie?

    It would be a city with less than one million people, not immortalized in an infamous movie, without any professional sports teams and not rooted in the U.S. history aside from owning slaves, holding onto racism and misogynistic ideals, and a lack of any popular industries.

    Philadelphia, Mississippi is a town in Neshoba County, right in the middle-eastern sector of the worst state in the United States. Philadelphia, Mississippi, sits around 40 miles northwest of Meridian, which is the largest nearby "city." If you could make Philadelphia a marker, then it forms a nearly perfect triangle with Jackson and Meridian.

    That's about all there is to know regarding Philadelphia, Mississippi. Oh ... there was a lot of racial segregation back in the day.

    Oh ... and there was a tornado here back in 2011.

    "Are you one of them escapers from the hospital?"

    The woman behind this question is absolutely flummoxed. She has curly white hair and her skin is freckled and sort of dented, in a strange way. She's easily topping 70 years old, with a round face and a tooth missing. She has reading glasses to help look for coupons, which is how she spends her time behind the counter of the 7-Eleven store and gas station.

    She's gazing at an African American man who is wearing ... a long green cloth around his neck that he imagines as a cape. Then wild curly black hair and green tights. XYZ's attire is perfectly on point for his classic CWA persona.

    "No ma'am. I ... wrestle the demons of the world from the glowing, bright stars of the present and future. I am here to pull the evil from the light and protect the innocent."

    "Ah, how cute."

    "It's a dream ... I'm giving it my all ... turning it to reality."

    "Sir, I got lots of customers comin' through. So I'ma need the three dollars and seventeen cents. Alright, boy?"

    Hearing the phrase "boy" brings back some old emotions and memories from childhood. XYZ quickly rustles through his pockets for change. He feels like he's getting his caricature pulled back, like curtains are being drawn on him.

    "Can I tell you about this world ... this world I fight for?"

    "No, sir. You can talk to that guy out there, though."

    The woman looks and points to a man standing on the side of the 7-Eleven parking lot. He's directing cars through the car wash, which isn't one of those fancy car wash side businesses at gas stations but just him with a bucket of soap and a green hose.

    XYZ quickly runs over to him, a man with a name tag spelling out "Jason" across his chest, specifically his heart.

    "Jason ... hi ... XYZ here ... the leader of the downtrodden ... the pusher of the good ... the hero for the small animals, the ants and snails. I am here for the wrestling show. CWA. One Night Only. Philadelphia."

    "Uh huh. You want a car wash."

    "No ... but let me tell you about how I'm going to wash the sins of Philadelphia and the CWA on the One Night Only, the final show in a long, great history ... one with sadness and despair. One with no Gods and many men.

    And then me."

    XYZ stands in front of Jason, who is feigning interest while soaking up a big sponge in soap and cleaning his hands in a very country, rural manner.

    "The world ... is watching. XYZ ... Clint the Shepard ... Michelle von Horrowitz ... and Humanity.

    Clint is a man who corrals sheep. He's someone who wants to keep the sheep in line. I used to be a sheep. I used to be ... one of the sheep.

    Then I stepped out ... and became the black sheep. I left the clan ... and I stand on the mountain cliffs and watch the shepards and sheep going about their days and nights. They ... can't change their routine. They fall in line with the status quo. And the shepards ... are part of the machine.

    Clint ... is not my Shepard. I have my own Shepard. And it's BIG AL ... who is off chasing his own dreams. He's off ... being his own shepard."

    XYZ pauses and then looks at Jason washing the car.

    "Humanity is not the representation of Humanity. Not my Humanity. My Humanity is ... good, wholesome, lively, full of wonder and awe. And the Humanity that will be out there ... is a farce. A fake. An imposter planted by the machine, the devil, the sacred hate that has turned the earth black for centuries and millenniums.

    Humanity is tough, but he is not worthy of voltage so high that it ELECTROCUTES THE SUN THROUGH THE BLOOD OF THE TIGER!"

    XYZ suddenly begins yelling in the middle of this 7-Eleven larking lot in Philadelphia, Mississippi. Jason stops washing and wide-eyed looks at him, stunned and a bit threatened.




    XYZ stops once again and looks out to the air, smiling as he stands in the Philadelphia summer sunshine and humidity.

    "Do you know where ... the house of contest might be?"

    "I think you might have the wrong place. You said Philadelphia. This is Philadelphia, Mississippi. Were you wanting Philadelphia, Pennsylvania?"

    This question takes XYZ off guard as he looks around at swampland and a pack of lizards walking across the pavement. XYZ looks around and sees a desolate Motel 6 across the ring.

    "Philadelphia is going to be the epicenter of my rise to the top of the forrest. Whether it's Philadelphia, Miss---issippi, or Philadelphia Penn --- sylvania, I am going to fight for the beauty of the crowd's heart. I will stand on the rooftop of our collective arms and hold up the rest of the world.













    XYZ walks away momentarily, then turns back to Jason the man who washes cars. He stands there holding the sponge and green water hose. He's confused, looking around to see if anyone else is paying attention. Unfortunately, he's stranded, an audience of ONE.

    "CWA One Night Only will be ... THE ... END ... of CWA. Sadly. Unfortunately. Lovingly. Graciously. Epically.

    But it will be the renewed vengeance of XYZ ... the man who never quits, who never lays down, who never stops moving forward. The man with no special talents ...

    with no superhero abilities ...

    with ABSOLUTELY ... nothing setting him apart physically from anyone else. Except an inner peace with the subtlety of iron and gravy.

    I have what HUMANITY does not have. I have the good of HUMANITY in my blood.

    I have what Michelle von Horrowitz doesn't have. I have the desire for voltage of high ... in my blood. The need for this energy.

    I have what Clint Shepard doesn't have. I have the black sheep blood, and I break away from the other sheep to rebel against the status quo.

    XYZ ... is going to Philadelphia ... to make people remember ... to make people NEVER ... forget ..."

    XYZ pauses briefly, and then points at Jason, who leans back a bit to get an inch or two further from XYZ.

    "That the dream ...

    never ...

    Last edited by The Golden One; 05-27-2020 at 12:37 AM. Reason: Coding issue

    3x FWA World Heavyweight Champion
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  10. #10
    Young Gunz
    Comeback Kid's Avatar

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    Re: CWA: ONE NIGHT ONLY! [card and promo thread]

    High for This

    The scene opens to complete darkness and the low hum of ambient noise seeping through the void of black. The sound of a door closing interrupts the normalized hum and its sound is soon replaced by that of footsteps. The click of the toe hitting the ground followed by the clack of the heel echoes throughout growing louder and louder as whoever is making the noise grows closer to what we can only assume is the focus of our scene. The footsteps stop and while one would think that the low him would return, it doesn't. It's sound is replaced by hastened breathing and frantic movement. The footsteps begin again, but they don't last long. The flick of a light switch brings an explosion of fluorescent light into the room. Our eyes slowly begin to adjust to the change in illumination and we see a large void room with white marble flooring and a square tiled ceiling. The tiles on the ceiling are clear and the source of light in the room. In the center of the room is a hooded individual sat on a chair. As our eyes adjust further to the light, the individual is revealed to be tied with thick brown rope hugging their body to the chair and their arms to their sides. Their feet are tight to one another and their hands clasped behind their back.

    The individual moves their head around frantically, but for what reason no one knows. They weren't getting out of this. The person who tied them their specifically made sure of that. Every knot, every twist of the rope carefully done to ensure no escape. The footsteps begin again and the individual behind them slowly comes into focus. The camera pans up from the black loafers of the individual, up their black linen pants, past their black slim fit gold buckle leather, to their white button down long sleeve shirt, and silk black tie. The individual adjusts their suit jacket before running their hand through their hair, revealing themselves to be one half of the CWA and FWA Tag-Team Champions, Noah Stocke.

    Noah slowly walks towards the hooded individual and rests his hand atop their head. He taps his fingers on their head multiple times, almost as if he's thinking. The individual squirms and Noah stops his fingers taps, grabbing what can only be assumed to be a handful of hair and the fabric of the hood.

    Noah Stocke - Behave...the more you resist, the longer this will take.

    The individual reacts to the calm monotonous tone of Noah's voice. Noah releases his grip on the hair/hood and slowly begins to tap his fingers on the individuals head, again.

    Noah Stocke - I'm going to remove this hood, do you understand? (The individual nods) And when I do, you're not going to react. You're going to remain calm, and you're going to listen. Nod your head if you understand.

    The individual nods it's head and Noah slowly removes the hood from their head. As the hood slowly moves up from the neck of the individual and makes its way over the curve of their nose and forehead we finally are given the identity of our hostage. The tired, wrinkled face of former CWA General Manager Dash Carlisle is revealed as the hood fully comes off his head and rests in the hands of Noah.

    Noah slowly walks around Dash, bends his knees and manages to get eye level with his former boss.

    Noah Stocke - Hello, Dash. It's been a while, no? When was the last time we saw each other? Was it Japan? Backstage at the Saitama Super Arena? Yeah, that's it. That's the last time we saw your smug little face. You telling us that due to "unforeseen circumstances, CWA would be shuttering operations effective immediately". Do you remember that moment, Dash? I remember that moment. I remember it because that was the night that American mainstream tag-team wrestling died.

    Dash shakes his head "no". While he would prefer to use his words to answer Noah, he was unable to due to the fact that he had a ball gag in his mouth.

    Noah Stocke - We had REALLY started to builds something special, Trevor and I, in CWA. We had made tag-team wrestling interesting and gave it a spotlight on each and every show. We managed to get the Diamond Dogs to come out of retirement and compete in our division. We managed to make the generic and uninteresting Nate Savage and his comedic sidekick Jackson Fenix bearable to watch. We managed to make tag-team wrestling matter...until you killed it. (Noah smiles at Dash) So, now I'm going to kill you!

    Dash Carlisle lets out a loud squeak from the ball gag and begins to squirm in his chair much to the amusement of Noah, who has now moved from a crouched position to standing up right. Dash squirms and squeals until Noah thrust his foot into his chest sending him tumbling over in the chair. Noah kneels down beside the downed Carlisle.

    Noah Stocke - Dash, I thought you said you were going to remain calm and listen. That's all I want. I just want someone to listen to me as I get my thoughts out because writing in a journal is so damn boring. Plus, you're one of the only people that understands what I'm feeling as I mentally prepare for this little CWA reunion show.

    Noah stands to his feet and slowly begins to pace around the downed Dash. He laughs to himself before beginning again.

    Noah Stocke - Did you know that at this reunion show they decided to put me and Trevor against The Echo and the Gang Starz. I know, it's crazy but wait until you hear this. Our match is for the CWA Tag-Team Championship...and it's a ladder match. A fucking ladder match. That's crazy right? Of course it's crazy. You put the most dominant tag-team in CWA history in a ladder match...a match that doesn't prove they're the best tag-team in the world. A match that you don't need to have any skill or talent to win. All you have to be able to do is climb quicker and grab with a little more passion than your opponents. Who booked this shitshow of a showcase of CWA's best tag-teams? (Quickly dropping to the floor so that he is directly next to Dash) Was it you? I only ask because this seems like some shit that you would book. A bunch of matches where you don't have to be the best wrestler, you just have to be the best performance monkey.

    Noah gets to his feet and slowly begins his pace around the downed and now crying Dash Carlisle.

    Noah Stocke - This is a dream for a team like The Echo. They're glorified spot monkeys cheesing in their pants at the thought of the next spot that they can set up in a match to get that oh so coveted "pop" from the crowd. Can you imagine all of the things that they've thought up for this match? I mean, they've had a ton of time to think of things to do to get that "pop" they crave. You know...due to the fact that they've been inactive on the tag-team scene for a while. I think the last time they had a match was against the Diamond Dogs in their "match to end the fued" b.s. that YOU and your booking team thought anyone gave a fuck about.

    But, let's talk about that match. The Echo were...not the two prodigal brothers of the tag-team division that the CWA roster had come to loathe and adore over their time with the company. They didn't have that spark they once had. They lacked the youthful spirit and determination that they once had. I mean, at one time they were known as the best goddamn tag-team in the world. They were the measuring stick of all tag-team wrestling and were sure fire first ballot hall of fame candidates...until The Elite came around.

    Noah stops pacing and looks down at Dash. He uses his foot to lift Dash's head upwards and tilts it towards him.

    Noah Stocke - You know, not every idea that you had was utterly terrible. You had the idea of the Pride pay-per-view event. A whole event where every match was contested under pure...WRESTLING...rules. (He drops Dash's head back on the ground) The Echo had to compete in a match that was literal kryptonite for them, but like the suns rays for me and Trevor. I said it in the pre-match promo hat I cut on The Echo, they weren't in our league. I knew it he moment that we signed the contract for that match. The trembling of Ethans hand as he picked up the pen and signed on to a wrestling match with two collegiate wrestlers. The stutter of Drew's words as he worked up the courage to make a wise crack about us. They knew that they were signing on to step into the ring with two men that would break them physically and mentally in a matter of 15 minutes.

    With every rest hold that we put those two in, we could feel the intensity of their heart rate increasing. It was exhilarating to me. To know that our opponents, the two guys that sought to be cool and crack jokes at every chance they got, were in a fight or flight moment....probably the first time they'd felt this feeling since they started wrestling. (Laughing) That feeling brought out the best of those the end...their best wasn't good enough when it came time to face The Elite Tag-Team in all of professional wrestling. It was a pleasure to take the tag-team championship away from the crown princes of American tag-team wrestling, but it was an break them the next night on Adrenaline Rush.

    Now, Dash, you may not have known it then, but you played a LARGE part in breaking the spirit of The Echo by giving them an immediate rematch for the tag-team titles. The boys were broken. They were beaten. They were shells of who they used to be and you put them in the ring against the men who did all of that to them. (Laughing) You're more of a sadist than I am. Nevertheless, I was honored to break their spirit and break the mediocre streak that CWA tag-team wrestling had become synonymous with. The "Echo" of their screams of pain and hows of sorrow filled that Vegas arena and at the end of the match...The Echo...was finally....silenced.

    Noah slowly leans down and starts to unravel and unknot the rope tied around the body of Dash Carlisle and the chair.

    Noah Stocke -And now, two years later, Trevor and I are going to have to do it...again. I guess this time we'll have to break them physically, because let's be clear...those boys...they aint their mentally anymore. We took care of that. They can make all the jokes they want and put on all the fake smiles the world has to offer, but inside they are terrified of stepping into the ring with me and Trevor when there's nothing stopping us from legally ending their careers.

    Noah finally finishes unraveling the knots and helps Dash to his feet. He shakes his head at the cowering former General Manager before removing a knife from his pocket. Dash flinches in fear much to the annoyance of Noah.

    Noah Stocke - Relax...

    Noah reaches down and cuts the rope tied to Dash's feet and points to the staircase at the end of the room.

    Noah Stocke - I told you, I just wanted someone to listen to me. That's all I wanted. I needed to get my thoughts together as I prepared for this little show. You're free to go. Go on, go about your life. GET!

    Noah points to the staircase and Dash stumbles away from him, his mouth still gagged and his hands still tied. He takes another look back at Noah before picking up the pace and running up the stairs. As he reaches the middle step the force of another body crashes into him causing them both to come tumbling down the stairs. In the distance, Noah Stocke howls with laughter as Dash groans through the ball gag.

    Foot steps can be heard coming down the staircase as the body of the individual that crashed into Dash slowly starts to stir. The footsteps stop and we see Trevor Ocean, dressed in a black hoodie, black jeans and a pair of black and white classic Converse shoes. He looks down at Dash and the individual with a blank stare.

    Noah Stocke (excitedly) - Dash...I'm sorry...we can't let you go...yet. We want you to meet somebody, don't we Trev?

    Trevor Ocean - That's right. Dash, have you ever heard of The King of the Indies? It was the nickname that pro-wrestling icon, Steven Ashton went by.

    Noah Stocke - Oh, come on Trev. You know that absolutely nobody knows who the hell Steven Ashton is. Please, refer to Dash's guest by his ring name so we're all on an even playing field.

    Trevor (playfully smacking his forehead) - Duh, where are my manners. Dash this is Steven Ashton, also known as "The King of the Indies" Steve Storme! Now, you're probably asking, "who the hell is Steve Storme?" It's a question a lot of people ask because it's a name we haven't heard in YEARS but let me let you in on a little secret.

    Trevor walks down the stairs towards Dash and Steve, his hands in the pockets of the hoodie.

    Trevor Ocean - Steve Storme is....well...was the leader of the legendary trio of wrestlers that were known as The Gang Starz.

    Noah Stocke - THE GANG STARZ?!?! Wait, I thought that the Gang Starz was just a duo consisting of Krash and Alyster Black?!?!?

    Trevor Ocean - Nope...Steve Storme was the leader of this band of middle class white dudes mocking the nature of true gangsters that are "about that life". But, Steve had...HAS a drug problem and...well...he wasn't of use to KRASH and Alyster Black anymore so they kicked him to the curb. Without his partners to help him out, Steve spiraled and stumbled until he found his way

    Noah wags his finger at Steve Storme who mumbles something inaudible and reaches out towards Trevor Ocean's pockets.

    Noah Stocke - Now, Steve. It's rude to interrupt when people are talking. You'll get what you want soon enough. But, right now we're explaining something to Dash. You see, Dash. This is a pattern of Krash. He gets rid of people that no longer serve him a purpose. The shocking part of all of this is the fact that he convinced Alyster to do the same thing to Steve...considering...Alyster knows how this feels. I mean, Krash completely betrayed Alyster in their old fed, Apex Pro Wrestling, to claim the world championship. (Noah raises his hand up) Hand to God, Krash slammed a cage door in the face of Alyster and then pinned him in a match to win the championship. Alyster never saw it coming...but if you're smart you totally saw this from a mile away. You see, Krash is from Australia and in Australia they have a little bit of a problem. They got a problem with rats. In the past, they've had what is often referred to as rat plagues because they became overrun with so many rats all vying for food, shelter, and warmth. Eventually, the plague goes away.

    Trevor Ocean - And the rat's find new homes. One of the Australian rats, Krash, found his new home in the wrestling world. He scurried around from company to company, infecting them with his joyful personality and gets everyone to let their guard down around him and then BAM he somehow scurries his way into title shots. Then he scurries his way into tag-team matches and then he scurries himself into the main event picture until he's shit all over everything he's a rat. And, when a rat is done with something, it discards it to the side in order to find the next best thing. That's what Krash did to Alyster and that's why Alyster and Krash did to Steve.

    Noah Stocke - Krash did it to CWA too. He was done with it and decided to scurry over to FWA. But, since he has the opportunity to get the tag-titles in CWA for the final time, he's scurried back for the reunion show. But, it begs the million dollar can Alyster Black team up with a rat like Krash after all the betrayal in their past? It's because Alyster Black is a leach that must attach himself to a host and ride their coattales to prominence. He did it with Steve Storme. He did it with Krash, once. And now, he's going to try and do it again. The onyl difference between this time and the last time is...Trevor and I fancy ourselves exterminators.

    Trevor Ocean - We specialize in getting rid of rats, echos, and leeches. And that's what we plan to do at the reunion show.

    Noah Stocke - Now, you two are probably wondering "what the hell do we have to do with this?" Don't worry, we're going to tell you. We want you two to be our guest of honor at the show. We want the Echo to see you Dash, the man that had a hand in the end of their tag-team supremacy. And Steven, we want you there so The GangStarz can have a proper reunion. Isn't this going to be fun.

    Trevor Ocean - Oh, and don't think about NOT showing up or going to the police. We've made sure to cover our asses.

    Noah Stocke - Our attorneys can fight this little misunderstanding but I doubt your attorneys can fight embezzlement of funds, Dash. And, we KNOW you don't have a lawyer to fight drug charges, Steve. So, we want you two to stay down here...get to know one another and when it's time for the event, we'll bring you on up and you get to watch US solidify ourselves as The Elite tag-team in all of professional wrestling.

    Noah Stocke steps over the bodies of Dash and Steve as Trevor tosses a white baggie down the stairs. The two men make their way up the steps as the lights slowly turn off, one by one, as the scene fades to black.

  11. #11
    Friendship King

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    Re: CWA: ONE NIGHT ONLY! [card and promo thread]

    October 31th, 2009

    "-The show's tomorrow. Remember, this is your debut, a lot of eyes on all of you. If you disappoint, you won't be getting a second chance." The producer in a suit stared pointedly at the group of wrestlers, all seated or standing awkwardly around the board room. A mix of ethnicities and styles, from the Technician from Canada to the Luchadore from Mexico, the Brawler from America to the High-Flyer from Australia. All of whom were only one day away from debuting in OWW. For some, it was their first match in a new company. For others, it was their first match in any company, period.

    "This isn't some rinky-dink bingo hall, alright? This is the big leagues." The producer said, smirking, seemingly eyeing a masked man at the back of the room, arms crossed. "This is the big-time. You're all here because someone put in a good word for you, or because we saw something in you we can make money off of. Don't botch it, got it?" The masked man held his gaze, or at least it was assumed he did.

    The producer turned to exit, before stopping himself. "Oh, and one more thing. You're all welcome for the opportunity." He proclaimed, the smile turning into a smug smirk, as he promptly exited the room.

    Around the room, the wrestlers all acted in different ways. Some immediately left, not wanting to spend any more time in the same room as their would-be opponents. Others split off into groups, vague associates bonding over a shared debut. The masked man scoffed, mumbling beneath his breath as he sat down at a table. "Big league, my ass."

    The man next to him, a young pale fellow with an assortment of rainbow colors in his hair, glanced at him, quietly fidgeting.

    "I mean, sure, talk yourself up, give the big sales pitch and all." The masked man continued, running his fingers across the polished table. "But compared to CGS, this isn't anything groundbreaking."

    The rainbow-haired man next to him glanced at his fingernails, then back at the mask. "CGS?" He quietly echoed.

    The masked man nodded, boastful. "My other fed. It's not as 'mainstream' as this place, but it's more workrate focused. Shit you can look back at and know you were performing at peak quality, because they didn't accept anyone else. You heard of it?"

    The rainbow-haired man nodded, then slowly shook his head. "... No." He admitted sheepishly, scratching at the back of his neck.

    The masked man only shrugged, barely perturbed in the slightest. "Eh. Like I said, not as 'mainstream.' But if you ever want to see people take it up a notch, give it a look. Might like what you see. A whole world of other feds outside this place, y'know?"

    The rainbow-haired man coughed awkwardly into a fist. "I don't know any other feds."

    "No shit?" The masked man turned, attempting to raise an eyebrow. "This your proper legit promotion debut, then?"



    The rainbow-haired man let out a short chuckle. "That obvious, huh?"

    The masked man slapped a hand against his back. "I'll let you in on a little secret: If you're debuting or returning to a fed, and you don't have those nervous jitters, then something's wrong. Be confident, be cocky, but if you're not nervous on the inside, then your heart isn't gonna be into it."

    "Alright, I'll... Keep that in mind." The rainbow-haired man said, as the masked man started to rise from his seat. "Hey, what's your name?"

    "Alyster. Alyster Black, spelt with a Y." Alyster Black said, tugging on the jaw of his mask.

    "Hi, Alyster. I'm Krash, spelt with a K." Krash said, beaming politely.

    Alyster tilted his head. "Why?"

    Krash squinted, before shrugging. "... I don't know. Seemed like a good idea at the time. Probably won't last long. Anyway, nice to meet you, Alyster."

    Alyster Black nodded, then started to walk away... Before pausing as a thought occurred to him.

    "You seem like a nice kid." He said. "If I start screaming like a viking warrior in the ring, don't approach."

    Krash raised an eyebrow. "Why not?"

    "Because I'll probably punch you in the dick."

    "Oh. Good to know."

    "Yup. See you tomorrow, kid."

    November 1st, 2009
    OWW Takedown - The Phoenix Rebirth
    Within the chaos of a 10-man battle royal, filled with those new to the promotion hoping to start their OWW career on the right foot, a young, fresh-faced man with a mess of rainbow dyed hair clung onto the ropes in sheer desperation, as a larger man, clad in a police officer's uniform, took every chance to beat the smaller man into elimination.

    To say the rainbow-haired man had done nothing but play defence since the bell rang would be an understatement. His very first match on PPV, with a 'big name' company, had caused his nerves and anxiety to go haywire. He looked lost, completely out of his depth, and barely maintained a hold on the ropes as Officer P. Murphy continued to beat the everloving shit out of him.

    "I'd quit while you still can, Krash!" Officer Murphy shouted, blind to the many other bodies falling to a heap around him. In desperation, Krash struck with a pele kick, staggering Officer Murphy and sending him reeling into the center of the ring, where he bumped into a masked man, clad in a black bodysuit, not a single flake of skin showing. As Krash carefully crawled back into the ring, finally able to let go of the ropes, Officer Murphy whirled, staring down the strange masked man.

    "The hell is this? Some kinda gimp thing?" Officer Murphy spat derisively. "I don't know what the hell your deal is, but around here, we-"

    "Oh fuck, it's a cop!" The masked man suddenly shouted, reeling back and raising his hands in surrender. "This is racial profiling! I havn't broken any laws! What's your badge number?!?"

    Officer Murphy shook his head, and took a step forward. "Fuckin' newbies."

    It was then that Alyster Black struck, his fakeout having lowered Officer Murphy's guard enough to get within swinging range. Dropping to his knees, Alyster let out a wild battle cry Vikings of Norse would be proud of, and thrust his fist forward with all the power in his being.

    His fist collided with Officer Murphy's crotch.

    Having been introduced to the sharpest of jabs to the most painful of areas, Officer Murphy slowly crumbled, mouth agape with silent cries of agony. Falling to the mat, curled into a fetal position, Officer Murphy could only twitch and shudder at the sensation.

    Alyster Black continued screaming his battle cry for a good ten seconds after the fact, his fist frozen mid-jab.

    The scene was both comical and darkly horrific.

    From his corner, Krash watched, quietly observing, as Alyster's battle cry slowly faded into silence. He stared in shocked silence, before quietly chuckling, trying and failing to hide his smile.

    Alyster slowly lowered his fist, staring at it in wonder.

    A pair of hands firmly grasped Krash's shoulders, taking him by surprise. It was Jack Storm, a Canadian technician, who seeked to take advantage of this distracted Australian.

    Unfortunately for Jack, Krash was quick enough to struggle out of his grasp, and grab Jack Storm in an Atomic Drop position. His eyes flickered to Alysters, and he threw Jack back onto his feet, towards the middle of the ring-

    - Just in time for Alyster to thrust his fist up again, catching Jack Storm in the junk with an uppercut.

    Jack Storm wimpered, crumbling.

    Alyster Black started screaming again.

    And Krash laughed a little bit louder.

    December 4th, 2009
    OWW Call To Arms
    "We need another body."

    Alyster Black glanced up at the statement, a cigarette dangling from his fingertips. "Another?"

    A tall, black-haired, world-weary man nodded, as he and Alyster sat in a black sedan, watching talent from OWW enter the building for tonight's event. "Can't have a takeover with only two people." Steve Storme stated with self-assured confidence.

    Alyster paused. "We have three people. You, me, and Blade."

    Steve shook his head, scowling. "No. Dash Blade dropped out."

    Alyster let out a puff of smoke, 'accidentally' letting it drift into Steve's face. "Well, shit. What could've been, huh? Alyster Black, Steve Storme, and Dash Blade. An unholy trinity." He shrugged. "Oh, well. You've got a plan B, right? A backup option? Omega or someone? Not Dagger?"

    "No, not fucking Dagger." Steve snapped. "Besides, this might be for the better."

    "How so?"

    "Three people from another company invading is one thing, but two and a third from the current company buying in? That's something to boast about. You get that? We're such a big deal we turned one of OWW's lifers to our side."

    Alyster let out a sigh, tapping his cigarette against the ashtray. "Who are we looking for?" He asked, leaning forward to observe the talent.

    Steve paused, and gestured broadly with his hands. "Someone malleable. Easy to mold into something better. Someone with potential just waiting to be unlocked. If they can follow orders too, that'd be good. You've been in this shithole of a company longer than I have, you got anyone in mind?"

    Alyster drew in another breath from his cigarette, letting out a sigh as his gaze flickered from person to person. His companion tapped his fingers against the armrest impatiently, but soon, Alyster's gaze settled on one person.

    "... You know what? I think I do."

    February 21st, 2010
    OWW End of Days
    "Welcome to the winner's circle, kid." Steve Storme clapped a shoulder over the latest addition to the Gang Stars, and tapped the faceplate of his new OWW Takedown Tag Team Championship with his free hand. "Gotta say, winning a championship by doing absolutely nothing feels good. I should do it more often.

    In sharp contrast, the newest addition to the Gang Stars looked shaken, paled, by what just happened, as he kept glancing over his shoulder. "Is AJ gonna be alright?"

    Steve scoffed. "Kid'll be fine. You know how often people backstab each other in this business? It's a pretty common occurrence, Krash."

    Krash frowned. "I didn't really backstab him-"

    "You kinda did. Own up to it, man. You had a choice, and you chose this." Steve slapped the Tag Team Championships once again. "Now, unless you want to pussy out when you've already reached this point, I suggest you quit giving that thought any more attention. Besides, Alyster's already waiting at the club for post-game celebration drinks. Better not keep him waiting, huh?"

    July 21st, 2010
    OWW Road to Desolation
    With an exhausted gasp, Alyster Black fell to his knees, blood pouring out of a torn hole in his mask. His fingers scrambled, before they settled on a golden faceplate on a silver leather belt. Holding the belt in his hands, running his fingers across the indents, the engravings, the markings, Alyster held back a cry, as he slowly rose to his feet.

    All around him, carnage resided. Broken bodies and torn flesh, within a heavy-duty steel cage, surrounded him.

    OWW's first-ever Elimination Chamber.

    Six men entered - Mr. Showtime, Jarek Synkaid, Lojax, Cesar Pineda, Krash, and Alyster Black.

    Five men lay in varying degrees of unconsciousness.

    And one man stood the victor. The bloodied, the beaten, the bruised, but most importantly, the victor.

    "Here is your winner, and NEW OWW Takedown World Heavyweight Champion - Alyster Black!"

    August 17th, 2010
    OWW Manifest Destiny
    The referee's hand slapped the mat for a third time, and Krash jolted off the prone body of his opponent, barely believing it even as his own music echoed throughout the arena. As he was handed the prestigious OWW Takedown World Heavyweight Championship, Krash openly sobbed with joy, cradling the title against his chest.

    "Here is your winner, and NEW OWW Takedown World Heavyweight Champion - Krash!"

    Krash raised his hands - and his newly-won title in the air, before glancing at his new recovering opponent.

    Alyster Black rolled groggily to his knees, clearly hurt, clearly woozy, before his gaze settled on Krash, holding the title aloft.

    Krash glanced at the title, and could only gesture semi-apolegetically.

    After a long pause, Alyster applauded, clapping once, twice, three times, before lying back down on the mat, clutching at the back of his head.

    October 6th, 2010
    CGS Livewire
    Krash fell to the mat in a heap, groaning, as Rashad Maddison & Jakob Azazel put the boots into him, stomping a certifiable mudhole in his behind. He could do little more than try and put forward some sort of defense, block as many blows as he could, but he was tired from his match, and barely had any energy left to do anything.

    As Jakob Azazel held Krash up with his hands behind his back, Rashad Maddison motioned for a haymaker, pantomiming pointing a gun at Krash's head and pulling the trigger. But as he wound up-

    He was stopped by someone new entering the fray. A masked man slid into the ring and leveled Rashad with a wicked lariat! Jakob Azazel dropped Krash to the mat, dropping forward to face this newcomer - only for the masked man to surprise him with a superkick, rattling his teeth against his jaw! As Jakob slid out of the ring, joining Rashad on the outside, the masked man appraised Krash with a gaze.

    Before he held out a hand.

    Grinning in relief, Krash took it, and allowed himself to be dragged to a vertical base. Alyster Black smirked, nodding at the two retreating villains.

    "Welcome to CGS, Krash."

    April 1st, 2011
    "So what's this place called?" Krash asked, as he idly flipped through the TV channels for his Spanish soap opera. It was surely on one of these channels...

    "CWA." Alyster replied, flicking through his phone, squinting. "Stands for Clique Wrestling Alliance."

    Krash made a noncommittal grunt of acknowledgement as he found his treasured show - Days of our Knives, now on it's third season. "Rolls off the tongue nicely. And what makes it different from any other fed we've joined?"

    Alyster looked up from his phone to pointedly stare at Krash. "A tag team division, for one."

    His attention seized, Krash tore his eyes away from the TV, eyebrows raised. "No kidding? Havn't seen one of those since OWW, and even then it died out after me and Steve ran that joint."

    "Exactly." Alyster nodded, gesturing vaguely. "Feds struggle to have a semi-decent tag team division, but this seems pretty loaded."

    Krash tilted his head. "I don't know... What about CGS?"

    "I love CGS, don't get me wrong, but sometimes you wanna try something new, you know? A change of scenery, change of atmosphere. Change of direction, that sort of thing." Alyster paused, before he leaned forward. "Besides, don't you want to be tag team champions once again, except this time with a partner who you like and trust?"

    Krash huffed. "I liked and trusted Steve."

    "Pity it wasn't a two-way street."

    "But honestly?" Krash continued, tapping a finger against his chin. "A chance to be tag team champions, with YOU? There's nothing I wouldn't give. Where do we sign up?"

    Beneath his mask, Alyster smirked. "I knew you'd say that. We're gonna run this joint, man. You and me."

    October 19th, 2011
    CWA Meltdown
    Alyster Black comes in from behind and hits a Rolling Elbow to the back of Kenneth LeBlanc’s head! Guardian Devil rushes to Black but gets a devastating Spear! The crowd get all fired up as Black & Krash go crazy! Krash throws Guardian Devil to the outside – AND THEN BLACK HITS KENNETH LEBLANC WITH SATAN’S SPIKE! THE CROWD GO CRAZY! AND THEN OUT OF NOWHERE, KRASH HITS THE KILL! BLACK COVERS!


    "Your winners at 16 Minutes and 2 Seconds, and NEW CWA Tag Team Champions, Alyster Black, Krash – THE GANG STARS!"

    As a referee handed the tag team titles to the exhausted Gang Stars, Alyster Black & Krash accepted the titles, each helping support the other, and raised them into the air. The fans cheered, as they should've, at the new champions, and Krash whipped Alyster into a tight embrace.

    "I told you." Alyster whispered, a conversation only he & Krash would hear. "I told you we'd run this joint."

    Exhausted, Krash could only nod."

    "Misery? Rich & Famous? Brotherhood?" Alyster made a spitting motion. "Fuck 'em. These titles, this division, is ours."

    Krash gazed into the golden faceplate of his new title, then back at Alyster with a smirk.

    "No-one else I'd rather run it with." He said, laughing as Alyster pushed him away.

    December 17th, 2011
    APW on HDnet 1.1
    With a cry of victory, Alyster Black reached up with all his might, ignoring the wave sof pain running down his shoulders, as he snagged the APW Championship from the rafters, ripping it into his grasp as the bell rung.

    "Here is your winner, and the FIRST APW Champion, Alyster Black!"

    Standing atop a ladder, with the prone bodies of Wes Malvora & Chris Helter beneath him, Alyster Black roared into the night, a thousand fans roaring with him. He thrust his newly-won title into the air, chest heaving, stamina spent.

    It was one thing to win the world title of a company. It was another to be the first in it's lineage to do so.

    June 24th, 2012
    APW King of the Cage
    "Here is your winner, and the NEW APW Champion, Krash!"

    As the cage was slowly lifted from the ring, Krash scrambled out, snatching the APW title from the hands of a referee. Stumbling as he retreated up the ramp, heaving, he locked eyes with the man in the ring, sprawled against a turnbuckle.

    Though his eyes were hidden beneath a mask, Krash knew, that Alyster was staring directly at him.

    As Krash raised the title to a very mixed reaction, Alyster glanced down at his hands.

    And clenched them into fists.

    November 14th, 2012
    CWA Adrenaline Rush
    Shawn Summers waits for Alyster Black to get to his feet, and once Black is up Summers lifts him over head with Wipe Out! Black goes flying across the ring like a rag doll, and lands hard on the mat. Summers then goes to lock in Alpha Male, and has it locked in tight without letting go. The official checks on Black, and he’s unconsious so the official has no choice but to signal for the bell and end the match.

    "Your winner via knockout, Shawn Summers!"

    The official is telling Summers to let go, but Summers refuses and spits in the official’s face! The crowd begins to cheer wildly as Black’s partner, Krash sprints down to the ring because he’s seen enough, and Summers lets go. Krash tackles Summers to the mat, and begins wailing on him before Summer's partner, The Andrew Alexander, runs down to make the save for his partner. He shoves Krash off of Summers, and the two begin tumbling around the ring as Summers goes back to work on Black. Summers then locks in The Best F’N Ankle Lock Period! on Black, and doesn’t let go until he hears a bone snap as Black screams out in agony! Summers finally leaves the ring along with Alexander as Krash comes in to check on his fallen friend.

    "Jesus christ, Alyster, you okay?" Krash gasped, instantly regretting the words as an agonized Alyster clawed at the mat.

    "He broke my fucking ankle!" Alyster swore, clutching at his shattered ankle with his hands. "Godamnit!"

    "Doc! Give us a hand!" Krash shouted, waving a doctor over. With one of Alyster's arms over his shoulder, and the other over the doctor's, they began the slow hobble up the ramp to the medical area.

    "I'll be back." Alyster muttered furiously. "Does he think this'll cripple me? No. No, I'll be back, and when I come back I'll fuck him up. But until I do, Krash, you'll have to act on my stead and fuck up Shawn for me. Reckon you can do that?"

    Krash nodded, an uncharacteristically serious expression on his face. "I'm going to fuck him up so badly he'll need stitches."

    Alyster nodded, before grimacing in pain. "'Atta boy. Fuck."

    June 14th, 2013
    CWA Adrenaline Rush
    Alyster Black kicked in the door to the CWA arena, sending a frightened stagehand scattering. "Guess who's back, bitches?!?"

    Startled, Krash very nearly dropped his phone, before he smiled with relief. "Alyster! I didn't think you'd be back so soon!" The CWA World Heavyweight Champion & 1/2 of the CWA Tag Team Champions embraced Alyster in a brief hug, patting his friend on the back.

    "And yet, here I am!" Alyster remarked, pushing Krash away. "I'm back, I'm pissed, and I made a to-do list." He whipped out a notepad, upon which several hastily-scrawled notes were written. "Step one: Ensure that I have no ring rust when I step into the ring to get revenge on Shawn Summers. Step two: Get revenge on Shawn Summers. He broke my ankle, so I'm going to break something of his. I haven't decided yet. Something he uses a lot, so not his pelvis. Step three: Find a way to kill Dan Maskell and take his spot as CWA Tag Team Champion with Krash. Seriously, I didn't think you'd move on that quickly."

    "I haven't moved on!" Krash protested. "It's one of those 'rivals somehow win the tag titles' things. I don't know. It just happens."

    "Mmmm. Right, sure. So, here's the plan - This week, it's Twister Excel. Gotta warm up the muscles, y'know? Next week, Shawn Summers dies. And the week after that? Let's see where this road takes me."

    "Be careful, Alyster." Krash warned, his voice low, foreboding, as he glanced behind him. "Things have changed since you were gone."

    "I know, you somehow became CWA World Heavyweight Champion and replaced me for a psychopath WITHOUT a mask."

    "I didn't- Look. It's a wild place right now. This masked guy, Blight, has been tearing apart CWA for some reason. I don't want you caught in his crossfire right after you came back."

    "It's the masked guys you gotta watch out for. Souless husks of human beings." Alyster remarked, with zero trace of irony. "But hey, maybe I should cut to the chase and find Blight myself, huh? There's room for only one masked sadist on this roster."


    "Say no more. Give me a month and I'll have him running with his tail between his legs."

    July 26th, 2013
    CWA Adrenaline Rush
    Blight hits the Piledriver!




    Blight has defeated Alyster Black! Blight has his hand raised in victory as Alyster lays flat on the mat, not moving for a worrying amount of time. Paramedics and members of the ringside crew enter the ring and attend to him. It’s not long before he starts responding and they manage to get him out of the ring and moving up the aisle with their assistance.

    Alyster stumbled through the curtain clutching his neck and cursing at himself. He mumbles the words “useless” and “has been” ad nauseum. The CWA personal that had helped carry him backstage were trying desperately to attend to his injuries but he wasn’t having any of it. He swung at them and shooed them away. Too angry, too prideful, too self-loathing to accept their assistance.

    Krash was waiting for him, just a few feet away from the curtain. A look of concern crossed his face as his masked partner approached and then practically collapsed against him. Krash supported Alyster on his shoulder and carried him into the locker room. He helped Alyster sit down on a bench and brought him an icepack. Alyster was sweating, panting like an exhausted dog, and in a tremendous amount of pain.

    “I can’t do this anymore.” He muttered under his breath.

    Krash raised an eyebrow, “What are you talking about Alyster?”

    Mr. Black slammed his fist down on the bench, shaking his head, crying from behind his mask. “I can’t do this…” He raised his arm, motioning around him. “The travel, the fighting, the constant performance. I can’t deal with this, everything hurts, everything is bleak and shit and I’m not coping. I don’t want to do it anymore.”

    Krash’s face dropped. This wasn’t the first time he was hearing an overly dramatic speech like this from his best friend. Alyster was barely a month into his return from an injury suffered at the hands of Shawn Summers and in the days leading up to his return his demeanour had changed from bright and optimistic to downtrodden and blue. On the days leading up to Alyster’s return Krash has received at least a dozen late night phone calls from Alyster. Phone calls from a man uncertain about his place in the wrestling world. Lacking confidence in himself and dreading the prospect of returning.

    Krash clenched his teeth and bit his tongue. He wanted to lash out at Alyster, grill him about why he was acting like this, what went wrong for him? He decided against speaking too harshly, “Why are you even here Alyster? If you’re so miserable why did you come back?”

    Alyster looked up at his friend and shrug his shoulders. “It’s like a drug.” He stood up and walked over to grab his bag, nearly losing his footing along the way catching himself against the locker room wall. He picked up his bag and looked back at his partner. “I don’t want to be addicted anymore.”



    It's a warm summer night in San Dimas, California, sometime past midnight, as a sole car cruised down the winding roads on the outskirts of the city. A '58 Plymouth Fury, the once bright and vibrant cherry red and off-white paintjob now faded, peeling with age and tear, slowly ground to a halt by the curb outside a brown brick home. Flicking the keys in the ignition, the man driving the car leaned forward, squinting at the address given. A two-story home, a bare lawn, no garden, no fence, not even a footpath towards the door. The appearances seemed completely basic, almost purposefully so, as if the owner knew he wouldn't be there 100% of the time.

    The man in the car placed his hands on the steering wheel, eyeing the building before him with caution. It seemed so... unassuming. Nothing like the man he knew for more than a decade. For a moment, he thought he had the wrong address. But he knew, if he checked his phone for the third time, it would still say the same address.

    A single speck light, glowing a bright orange in the night, flickered from within the second story of the home, a dull glow in the night. Krash frowned, before realising - the second story's walls were made from glass. Whoever was smoking in the house was almost certainly watching him from the second story.

    But the man in the car still hesitated. He leaned back in the driver's seat of the car, and ran a hand over this luxurious, waxed moustache. A thousand questions and a million thoughts raced through his mind.

    Is it worth it?
    Does he really want to see him again, after all that happened?
    After what he did?

    Question after question, all asking the same thing.

    And then, one answer for them all.

    Of course.

    With that, he stepped out of his car, let out a breath he wasn't aware he was holding, and began the walk through the grass towards the front door. Sweat trickled down the small of his back, his nerves jumping, bouncing with every step he took, the brown hardwood door growing ever so closer.

    Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he stood in front of the door. He glanced upwards, at the second story, where the tiny glow of a cigarette billowed. He felt, rather than saw, a pair of eyes bore down upon him, and he shivered. Krash raised a single fist, and knocked twice.

    After a brief second, the light of the cigarette dimmed, then vanished.


    Alyster Black stifled a cough in the palm of his hand, a harsh rattling cough that drew enough air from his lungs to cause pain. Clearing his throat, he put out the lit cigarette in the palm of his hand, barely reacting to the sizzle of his skin, as he began stepping down the stairs. What was the faint burn of a cigarette compared to anything else he did on a regular basis? It was probably the most healthy thing he did regularly, come to think of it.

    Alyster glanced at the clock. Krash was late, which, for Krash, wasn't unusual. The Krash he knew was anything but punctual. The term 'fashionably late' was often the cited reason, but Alyster always felt it was more 'obnoxiously poor at time management' in regards to Krash. Unfortunately the former was easier on the tongue, and so it made it's way into common lexicon, and therefore gave his weaselly ally a vaguely socially-recognised excuse to show up late.

    He paused at a mirror. His reflection, startlingly pale, with thin, sapphire blue eyes, stared back at him. The bags beneath his eyes were significantly more pronounced than they were yesterday, a series of questions echoing within his mind.

    What now?
    What happens next?
    What do you expect - nay, hope, for this to cause?

    The man's answer wasn't a satisfactory one, but it was all he had.

    Whatever happens, happens.

    Something nagged at his mind. He was forgetting something. He scratched at his cheek, grazing at the thin stubble, before spying his ever-faithful mask, lying on the headrest of the couch. He quickly grabbed it, tugged it on, straightened it out, and with barely a moment's hesitation, Alyster Black marched towards his front door, gripped the handle, and yanked it open.


    Light spilled onto the grass, and Krash raised a hand to instinctively shield his eyes from the glare.

    Alyster Black stepped into the doorframe, the light spilling from behind him, highlighting his silhouette.

    Seconds passed.

    A cricket chirped somewhere in the distance.

    Krash slowly raised his hand again. "Hey." He greeted, his voice low, quiet, hesitant.

    Alyster raised a hand of his own. "Hey." He echoed, loudly for someone up at this hour.

    It was one thing for them to wind up working in the same company again.

    It was another thing for one to text the other, right out of the blue.

    It was yet another thing to call, to hear their voice over the phone.

    It was an entirely different thing to stand face-to-face, mere inches apart, and understand the living breathing person before them genuinely existed right now.

    "Are you going to stand there comatose, or are you coming in?" Alyster remarked, tilting a head.

    Krash blinked. "Well, yeah. Yes, I- I'm just... I didn't think this would be happening." He eventually mumbled, tripping over his words like a first grader doing his first book report.

    Alyster shrugged. "Me neither. But hey, here we are. Come inside before you catch a cold."

    "It's summer here."

    "Yeah, but you're Australian, so it's backwards. Catch a cold in the summer, get heatstroke in the winter, you know the deal."

    "That's... That's not how it works in the slightest."

    "Good thing I'm not a weatherologist. Or a doctor. Or a parent or anything that requires knowledge of how the southern hemisphere works."

    Despite himself, Krash chuckled, as he followed Alyster up the stair, onto the second story. He paused, taking in the view from the room, the clear glass walls displaying an amazing view of the San Dimas city, in the distance.

    A glass of whisky was thrust into his hands, and Alyster turned on a ceiling light, illuminating the room.

    "You dig the view? Makes me feel like a god, watching over my city, or something." Alyster remarked, following his gaze. "From here, I can see everything, but anyone looking in won't see a thing unless I press a lamp against the wall."

    "It's pretty extravagant." Krash agreed, taking a sip of the whisky, before following Alyster to a duo of armchairs, positioned facing the city in the distance. They sat down with an exhale, and quietly gazed at the view, Krash taking sips of his drink, while Alyster cautiously twirled an unlit cigarette between his fingers.

    The silence was eventually broken when a portion of the whisky tumbled down the wrong pipe, and Krash coughed, spluttering. Alyster sent a glance his way, but didn't comment, as Krash huffed and recovered, clearing his throat. "So. It's been a while." He began, "How've you been?"

    Alyster stared, before shrugging. "Eh. Y'know. Surviving."

    "Same, same."

    Another brief silence reigned. Somewhere in the distance, a car alarm went off.

    Alyster cleared his throat, finally commenting on the elephant in the room. "I see you've grown a moustache in my absence."

    Krash ran a hand over the smooth black hairs, nodding proudly. "Yeah. You like it?"

    "No, not really." Alyster replied bluntly, shaking his head.

    "Ah. Shame."

    "You look like the member of the Village People that the others don't talk about."

    "Yeah, well..." Krash fumbled, trying and failing to find a comeback. "I don't like your haircut."

    Alyster Black stared incredulously. "... I'm wearing a mask."

    Krash nodded awkwardly. "Yes, well... For the better, then."

    Another beat of silence, an uncomfortable pause, before a series of shuddering grunts came from Alyster as he doubled over. It took Krash a few seconds to realise this was barely-contained laughter on Alyster's part. Alyster quickly recovered, his laughter turning into a hacking cough. "Ah. I've missed this." He eventually said, wheezing.

    Krash nodded, smiling. "Yeah, me too. It's been too long."

    "Far too long. How long's it been? Four? Five years?" Alyster idly wondered aloud, not noticing the smile slowly slide off Krash's face.

    "Seven. Seven years." He clarified, suddenly finding his cup of whisky very interesting.

    Beneath his mask, Alyster raised an eyebrow. "Really? That long?"


    Alyster sighed. "Shit. That's... Longer than I hoped it was."

    "I mean..." Krash coughed, pointedly looking at anything other than Alyster. "I can't blame you.

    Beneath his mask, his other eyebrow joined the other in being raised. "Why not?"

    Krash cringed, biting his lip. "I did some... pretty terrible things to you, Alyster."

    "Oh yeah? Like what?"

    "I don't-"

    Alyster chuckled. "Wow, if you don't want to say it, then it must be pretty terrible. But refresh my memory, I've taken a lot of shots to the head in my day and my memory isn't the best."

    Krash tried to hold Alyster's gaze, but crumbled after less than a second. "I... I stabbed you in the back. Twice. Worse than I ever did to AJ."

    "... Who the hell is AJ?"

    Krash stared. "AJ? AJ Tornado? The kid I kicked into a ditch, never to be seen again, to join with you and Steve?"

    Alyster tapped a finger against his jaw, before it finally clicked. "Oh, yeah. That guy. Nice kid, I wonder what happened to him."

    "I happened to him!" Krash all-but shouted, his grip on the cup of whisky strengthening. "But he got off easy compared to everything I did to you."

    "See, you say that, but I'm struggling to recall-"

    "Alyster." Krash interrupted, his tone sharp, pointed. "You had two world title reigns, one in OWW, one in APW. I ended both of them, out of my own greed and jealousy. I mean, christ, Aly, I stole your title and was selfish enough to try and justify it under some guise of 'standing up for myself.' Could I have been any more deluded? I turned into a cowardly paranoid dipshit-"

    "Is that it?"

    Blink. "... I beg your pardon?"

    Alyster shrugged. "I'm not seeing the grand scheme of treachery here. This is a business where we fight for our own personal glory. All of us. You, me, everyone. The matches were you vs me. Maybe another guy or two thrown in, but us pitted against each other, all the same. Hell, I would be significantly more pissed if you laid down and gave me an easy night. What you did those nights is no act of treason. It's you, doing your job, and performing as best as you can to win someone anyone else would kill for. I can't fault you for that."

    Krash opened, then closed his mouth, then opened it again for another mouthful of whisky.

    Sensing an opportunity, Alyster leaned forward. "If anything, I should be the one trying to apologise here."

    Krash forced the remaining whisky down his throat before he could respond. "What? Why?"

    "Dude. I left you high and dry, all those years ago, without even a goodbye conversation. I went off the grid without ever telling you why. When times got tough, when you needed me the most... I wasn't there for you. And honestly? I regret it. I regret not trying harder to stay around. I regret leaving you to fight our battles alone while I fucked off for seven years to 'find myself' or whatever bullshit I said. But most of all? I regret never admitting to you that my heart wasn't in it anymore."

    Krash fumbled, stuttering. "... I didn't... I didn't know."

    "How could you know if I never told you?" Alyster responded, rolling up the underside of his mask to slid a cigarette between his lips, lighting it with a flick of a lighter. Thin stubble lined around his jaw, the only exposed flesh of his face, as he drew on the cigarette, breathing sharply.

    Krash shook his head, mentally kicking himself. "I should've noticed something. Anything, that tipped me off that you fell out of love with our business. Damnit, Alyster. If I knew, I could've helped you. I don't know how, but I could've at least tried. How did I never notice?"

    "I'm very good at hiding my inner turmoil." Alyster remarked, before gesturing at the mask. "It comes with the outfit."

    Krash stared at his hands, his expression twisting in confusion. "So... So all this time, you being gone for seven years... It wasn't because of me?"

    Something in Krash's voice made Alyster pause, as he slowly shook his head. "No. No, of course not. Why would it be because of you?"

    Krash flailed aimlessly. "Because I'm an annoyingly insecure obnoxious dipshit who backstabbed you twice."

    "I told you, that doesn't count as backstabbing-"

    "I thought I said something, or did something, that got you so you upset that you just cut ties, just like that." Krash continued, rising to his feet and pacing too and fro. "A mistake I overlooked, or something. Wouldn't be the first time I drove someone I cared about away. Probably won't be the last."

    Alyster watched him pace anxiously, frowning. "Did you think I'd abandon you from a simple mistake?"

    "I don't know, because you never told me anything!" Krash snapped, brandishing his empty glass. His chest heaved, breathing heavily, as seven years of pent-up anguish rose to the surface. "Seven years. Seven, fucking, years, Alyster. All that time, I blamed myself for you leaving, second-guessed everything I said and did leading to those days. I mean, you stuck around after I stole both your world titles, so whatever I said must've been pretty abhorrent, right? And as I've been starting to admit recently, I'm capable of some pretty deplorable acts, so for me to do something to make you leave, it must've been big, right?"

    "It's not-"

    "Do you have any idea how much I began to hate myself, more than usual? Christ, I kept up the brave face, smiled for all the fans, while inside I just... I don't know. I kept going forward, because I knew you'd be back at some point, and I wanted to be there waiting with open arms and an apology for whatever I did to drive you away. And it was all for nothing. Because you never returned. Not purposefully, not to me, not for us. You just so happened to wind up in the same company I found myself in. This meeting, this reunion? It wasn't a planned thing, was it? It was just chance. Happenstance. Pure fucking luck."

    Alyster was silent, as Krash collapsed onto the chair, burying his face in his hands. "... Seems like seven years of anguish for both of us could've been avoided if we just communicated a little bit better, huh." He finally admitted, taking an extra long breath of his cigarette.

    Krash laughed, a dry laugh devoid of humor. "Yeah. Maybe."

    Alyster sighed, before passing Krash a half-full bottle of whisky. "Hey. I'm not good at this, I'm very out of practise, but how's this for an effort in communication - I'm sorry."

    Krash shook his head as he accepted the bottle, sagging into his chair, tired. "No, I'm sorry. I should've realised something was wrong much earlier and made the effort to find out."

    "I should've told you." Alyster countered.

    Krash shook his head, as he took a long, long mouthful of whisky. "Guess we're both pretty flawed human beings, huh?"

    "We fight people for living. If we weren't flawed in some way it'd be a godamned miracle."

    Once more, silence reigned. Despite the outburst, the tension in the air had lessened, both having finally gotten seven years of pent-up regret off their chests. It was still awkward, but somehow... Less so. A bridge between the two, long since fallen into disrepair, was in the process of being put back together.

    And both of them knew it.

    Krash finally exhaled, swallowing another mouthful of liquor. "So... What happens now?"

    Alyster tapped his cigarette against the ashtray, and paused. "This is just me spitballing here, but how do you feel about giving a masked sadist whose communication skills are piss-poor one more shot, for old time's sake?"

    Krash hummed. "That depends. How do you feel about fighting side-by-side with a backstabbing weasel with a habit for overthinking things?"

    Despite everything, Alyster Black smiled. "There's worse things I could do with my time."

    And despite everything, Krash smiled back.


    A hushed silence fills an immaculate courtroom adorned with beautiful wooden floors, matching walls, podiums and benches. Sitting down at the prosecutor’s bench is the White Wolf himself. Wearing a suit, brightly coloured of course. Purple this time around, but more subtle than his usual attire. A classic business suit in a dark purple with a matching tie. He’s rummaging through two files he’d prepared for today’s proceedings.

    The silence and study are interrupted by the sound of a door swinging open. Out of the judge’s chambers steps Alyster Black. Adorning his usual mask but wearing a judge’s robe and wig. He takes his place on the podium. Picking up his gavel and slamming it down. “Bring in the jury.” He announces in a booming voice. The chambers open again and out step 12 people of various shapes and creeds; the only thing they have in common is that they are all wearing Alyster Black masks too. They take their place in the stands, standing for a moment and then sitting down in union.

    Alyster looks amongst the jury and speaks to them, “You are here today to deliver fair and unbiased verdict on two cases. Accuser Krash, present your first case against,” his voice becomes cold and venomous as he says their name, “The Echo.”

    Krash stands up slowly, looking through one of his files for one final time. He walks out between the jury and the judge, adjusting his tie and clearing his throat. “Members of the jury, your honour.” He acknowledges all participants in this hearing. In a calm and booming voice he speaks “I stand before you today not just as an accuser but as a victim of the actions of these two,” just like the judge, when he speaks about The Echo Krash’s voice and mannerisms become cold and disgusted, “vile…twisted…sick…animals.”

    He clears his throat again and shakes his head, calming himself down. He directs the jury once more “Drew and Ethan Conner stand accused of the following crimes.” He has the long extensive list memorised but for the sake of not wasting the court’s time he decides to give them the short list. He knows their verdict will be the same no matter what combination of their crimes he lists. “They stand accused of actions so reparable and villainous as to make the most hardened of death row inmate cringe.”

    “The charges are as follows. Being from the South. Having a ‘complex’ and much too close relationship with their sister Sarah. No relation to THAT Sarah Connor. Rampant dickey and dick kicking rampantly. Using obscene language. And being a couple of grade A scoundrels.”

    Standing before the jury, looking away from them, unable to meet their eyes now. Krash stands there and whispers to them, “Not to mention what woe they’ve wrought onto myself. June 24 2016 the day I made my return to CWA after a one-year three-month long absence. The lights in the Adrenaline Rush arena went out. The crowd was hushed in anticipation. “The Kill” started to blare over the speakers and was quickly drowned out by the reaction of my adoring fans. Their hero, the Heart of the CWA had returned. I made my way from the curtain; I could feel the electricity in the air, it made the hairs on my forearms stand. These people wanted me, they really really wanted me, and they were welcoming me back with open arms and hearts. I was set to give my big return speech and then Primus hit on the speakers. A terrible band- “

    Judge Black interrupts Krash with an angered cough, “Don’t you dare insult Primus."

    “Correction, a great band whose music was being misused on the worst people. The Echo had come to spoil my party. They made their way down the entrance ramp and confronted me in the ring. Two-on-one, I was outnumbered. They proceeded to taunt me. To make outlandish claims, like that I was from New Zealand, and that the Gang Stars weren’t the greatest tag-team in CWA history, they were.”

    The jury is forced to gasp as this sudden development. Murmuring amongst themselves, horrified by the sheer audacity of this baseless claim. “Silence in the court!” Judge Black bellowed as he slammed down his gavel.

    “Then they proceeded to attack me. After I valiantly defended myself by striking Ethan over the head with a microphone. One of the brothers blindsided me with their CWA Tag Team Championship and both of them proceeded to shit stomp me. I was unable to defend myself against their cowardly attack.”

    He turns his back to the jury, dipping his head down lower and shaking it in disappointment. He wipes a crocodile tear from his eye and addresses the judge. “I have nothing further to say your honour, though those brothers have committed so many more crimes I feel that everything I have stated today will lead to a harsh enough punishment.”

    Judge Black nods his head and turns to the jury. “Members of the jury, you will now deliver your verdict with a thumbs up for innocent and thumbs down for guilty.”

    They begin to murmur again before all standing and in unison raise their fists in front of them. One by one they extend their thumbs to the side and turn them down.

    “Its unanimous.” Alyster says in a harrowing voice, “For their crimes against humanity and particularly against The Gang Stars. I have no choice but to sentence The Echo to death by ladder match.” Alyster slams his gavel down one last time.

    Krash raises his arms in victory, leaping off his feet twice and yelling out excitedly. “You are a fair man, your honour.”

    The judge nods his head. “Accuser Krash, please present your next case against The Elite.”

    Krash quickly composes himself and returns to his bench. He quickly opens his file on the Elite and reads some footnotes before addressing the jury again. “Noah Stoke and Trevor Ocean. The Elite.” Krash air quotes their tag team name as he speaks it. "If you have to call yourself cool, it's an admittance that you're really not cool. And if you have to call yourself The Elite, it's a clear admittance that you are anything but!"

    He slams his file down as the jury collectively laughs. Krash calms them down himself and continues. “They stand accused of being are a pair of grandstanding buffoons who want what's best for any tag team division, and what they believe is 'best' is a dull, bland, lifeless division, where the best kind of match is a 'Pure Wrestling' match. Gag. No personality, no character, no fun. Just 'who can wrestle according to these pre-set rules which no-one follows, no-one cares, and no-one had any interest in after those very same rules single-handedly killed the CWA High Voltage title and any interest in it.' The tag team part is mere happenstance. For all their talk of bringing a tag division up to their standard, they're just as guilty of killing a division with their hackneyed outdated ideas of what makes professional wrestling something to love, something to enjoy. At their surface, they have a very admirable goal, and that shouldn't be ignored. But at their core, they're a pair of bitter, miserable blowhards, struggling to understand why no-one bothers to even pretend to give them the slightest modicum of respect."

    Krash’s voice turns into a growl, “Their worst crime however. For the entire time they’ve been in the FWA, they’ve claimed to want to better the tag-team division. To want to make it main event worthy. Alyster and I have been together in FWA since February and NOT ONCE have they challenged the Gang Stars to a match. NOT ONCE have they challenged the greatest tag team in CWA history.” He grits his teeth and spits over his chin a little, trying his hardest to suppress his rage.

    “Wait, Noah is a student of Shawn Summers?”

    Krash is snapped from his daze. “What? Yes.”

    “The same Shawn Summers who snapped my ankle and put me on the shelf for a year?”

    Krash nods his head.

    Alyster slams the gavel down over and over again. “Guilty! Guilty! Guilty! I sentence the Elite to a punishment worse than death! Losing the CWA Tag Team Titles to us at ONE NIGHT ONLY!”

    The jury stands and applauds as the two Gang Stars meet each other in the middle of the courtroom. Embracing with a strong handshake.

    “We’ll beat them both and show the world that we’re the greatest tag team in CWA history, nay, wrestling history."

    "At the end of the night, The Elite and The Echo can take solace in the fact that despite all their differences, they both have one very important thing in common."

    "And that is?"

    "They ain't shit compared to the Gang Stars."



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