Elsewhere
Get Your Motor Runnin', Head Out on the Highway
Scott Kamura: We’ve got a special treat for you, fans! Mary Kelly is on hand with the SHOOT Project Tag Team Champions, the Coltons!
Dutch Harris: Didn’t they chicken out two weeks ago after messing up the Midnight Cowboys’ rides?
Scott Kamura: I think they’d call it a “tactical retreat,” Dutch.
Dutch Harris: Well, I call it chicken.
Cut.
Backstage. There’s Mary Kelly, with her microphone. There’s the Coltons, with their title belts. Let’s go.
Mary Kelly: Thanks! Just like you said, I’ve got Benjamin and Dennis Colton here with me. Guys, between the challenge laid out by the Midnight Cowboys MC and the gruesome attack on Dan Stein…you must have a lot on your minds.
Benjamin Colton: No doubt, Mary. We wanna send love and prayers to our main man Dan. And we hope the fans here at the Epicenter make it REEAAAALLL loud for him, so he and Molly can feel the love whether they’re watchin’ or not.
RRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHH!!!
Dennis Colton: As for the piece of trash coward who tried to turn “The Lights’ out…time’s gonna come that you get what you deserve, and you’d better believe that the Coltons will be at the front of that line.
Benjamin Colton: As for M-C-Squared…
Dennis Colton: There is no way you’re smart enough to make that joke.
Benjamin Colton: Lemme tell ya, it’s one thing when you–
When you what? We’ll never know, because there is suddenly the revving of engines…
VRRRRRRRMMMMMMMMMMMM-RRRRRRMMMM-RRRMMM!!
…and a booming voice.
“COOOOOLLLLLLLLLLL-TOOOOOOOOOOONNNN!”
Benjamin Colton: I think they mean you.
Dennis Colton: I think they mean both of us.
The camera turns down the hallway, where Sho Yoshida and Tafugai sit on their bikes. They rev the engines some more, filling the hallway with exhaust, and then Tafugai screams again.
Tafugai: COOOOOOOOLLLLLL-TOOOOOOOOOONNNN!!!
Sho Yoshida sports a wicked grin, but he doesn’t say anything. He just…points.
Benjamin Colton: I feel like that’s a bad sign.
At that point, six or seven other motorcycles round the corner and advance down the hallway.
Dennis Colton: Run. Run! RUN!
Benjamin Colton: Sorry Mary gotta go!
The champs haul ass down the haulway…er, hallway. Moments later, the deafening roar of engines accompany several motorcycles as they zoom past and after their targets.
Once the chaos subsides, a stunned Mary Kelly looks back at the camera.
Mary Kelly: Umm…back to ringside, I guess.
Blackhawk Gym Vs. The Empire
Tag Team Match
ELSEWHERE
Flowers for a Friend
We cut to an unfamiliar parking garage…one that is definitely not attached to the Epicenter. Somebody is walking briskly, hidden behind a giant bouquet of flowers. We can sort of make out some of the features…hot pink wrestling tights with hearts on them…grotesque tattoos…until finally a stubbled face appears on the other side of the flowers with a shit-eating grin…NC-17.
Scott Kamura: We’ve got an off-site video transmission coming in…looks to be from number one contender to the Premier Championship, NC-17.
Dutch Harris: With flowers of all things! Didn’t think the guy had it in him!
The cream of obscene is wearing a pair of powder blue oakleys, and a five o’ clock shadow adorns his face. We follow him into an elevator where he presses a button. The doors close behind us.
NC-17: Well hello there ya fucks! Fancy runnin’ into you here, huh? Don’t mind me…I’m just visiting a sick friend in the hospital. And nooo…it’s not Dan Stein.
He lowers his shades, the grin getting even bigger.
NC-17: Can ya guess who it is? I bet Black Sheep Baez can.
There’s a collective groan from the Epicenter, who’s watching on the SHOOTtron.
Dutch Harris: Ohh…ohh noo, Scott. He’s not referring to…not to Matty Ice, is he?
Scott Kamura: For those of you out of the loop, last Ruination, Black Sheep Baez’s friend and confidante Matty Ice was VICIOUSLY attacked backstage by the cream of obscene, NC-17. Matty Ice, or Mathias Martinez as he’s known on That Smoke cast, was hospitalized with a nasty concussion, and has been at the Sunrise Medical Center in Las Vegas ever since.
Dutch Harris: BSB has been pretty mum about it these past two weeks. Between that and the betrayal of Lexi Gold, I can see why we haven’t seen much of him…but what the hell is Seventeen doing at the hospital?
The little banana from Indiana fills us in, hardly able to contain his excitement.
NC-17: I hope that goofy cunt’s watching somewhere. ‘Cause ya see, I got his pal Matty these B-E-A-UTIFUL flowers. He can sniff ‘em, pick the pedals off with he loves me, he loves me nots, hell, he can take ‘em home with him and plant ‘em in his vegetable garden, I could give a single fuck. But after I get down on one knee and present these bad boys, courtesy of Wally World…only the best for the Slob-on-my-knobtourage…I’m gonna drag that dumb motherfucker outta his hospital bed and I’m gonna crack him right outta his full body cast like an egg into an egg-pan, baby. See if I can’t give him ANOTHER concussion. And ANOTHER one. And ANOTHER one.
The elevator dings and Seventeen steps out into a hospital lobby. He sniffs the flowers and shudders, closing his eyes.
NC-17: Until ya boi’s visiting his boy at the funeral home. And who knows. Maybe while your buddy’s corpse is still warm, I’ll c’mon down with an even bigger bouquet and beat that motherfucker into the afterlife. Or maybe I’ll go see your other fangirl, Curious George or Boy George or Georgie Pordgie, whatever the fuck you three stooges call each other…
NC-17 saunters up to the front desk, licks his hand, and slicks his mohawk back. He beams at the camera knowingly.
NC-17: Ah yes, I’m here to see Mathias Martinez?
NC-17 winks at the camera before it cuts out, leaving the arena booing and in total suspense. Scott Kamura and Dutch Harris sound somber in their analysis.
Scott Kamura: Oh wow. Oh man. This is not good. Where the hell is Baez?
Dutch Harris: I’m being told we’ve got eyes on him backstage. Hold on a second.
The cameras switch to a backstage dressing room…and the Epicenter goes fucking NUTS. Black Sheep Baez is standing there with his Premier championship fastened around his waist, watching the scene on a television. When the transmission cuts, he strokes his chin, trying to contain his anger. But it’s clear where he stands on all this. He shakes his head and IMMEDIATELY heads for the exit.
Black Sheep Baez: Aw HELL NAW. Hold on Matty! I’m comin’ bruh!
The Premier Champion SPRINTS out the dressing room and down the hallway and the crowd LOVES IT!
Scott Kamura: SAVE HIM, Black Sheep Baez! You’re his only hope!
Dutch Harris: But what about the main event?
Elsewhere
Oooooooh, the chaaaaaaaaase.
You might be asking: how did the Coltons escape all those dudes on motorcycles?
The answer: they didn’t.
“Shit shit shit shit shiiiiiiiiiiiiiit…”
VVRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHMMMMMMM!!
Yep, here come the Coltons, with four or five dudes on motorcycles right behind them. Their taunts and cackles can be heard over the sound of their engines.
Benjamin Colton: You know what I just thought of?!
Dennis Colton: What?!
Benjamin Colton: We’re getting really good cardio out of this! Chick Grillbreast’s gonna be pissed!
Dennis Colton: OH MY GOD SHUT UP!
Things aren’t looking good for the champs, what with a whole-ass motorcycle gang chasing them through the halls of the SHOOT Project Epicenter. Honestly, it’s a shock they haven’t been caught and murdered to death already.
Dennis Colton: This way!
Denny grabs his cousin’s collar and pulls him around a corner, and they continue running.
Benjamin Colton: I can’t keep this up, man! They can outrun us easy!
Dennis Colton: Maybe! But you know what they can’t do?
He points at the T-intersection ahead of them.
Dennis Colton: Turn.
He shoves his cousin down the right-hand path, and he takes the left. The lead rider has just enough presence of mind to hit the brakes, but the bike slides out from under him and he crashes into the wall.
The other riders slow enough to avoid piling onto him, and split off in pursuit of the now-divided cousins.
Once the forces have gone in their separate directions, the rider who hit the wall finally sits up. He shakes his head, and hauls his ride back to a standing position.
Joshua Breedlove Vs. Daichi Oyama
Singles Match
Previously Recorded
A View from Above
At first we don’t know what we’re looking at, or even how we’re looking at it.
A seemingly impossible first-person view reveals an initial void of darkness punctuated occasionally by stabs of light in the distance that seem to be coming closer. Suddenly we realize we’re moving, our vision being controlled as the stabs of light illuminate the edges of the Epicenter catwalk.
The hum of the crowd below can be heard as we are led to peer, slowly, over the edge of the railing. We quickly see the audience, the tops of thousands of heads visible before our attention is focused on the ring below as, from dozens of feet above, we see Jack Johnson and Jamie Johnson talking to each other in one corner as Golden Burkhalter and Izzy Sia’s eyes are focused on the brothers.
The view stays focused on the scene for just a few seconds before we’re back up on the catwalk, looking across an assortment of steel beams, cables, and electrical wires. We hear the ringing of the match bell, prompting the scene to swing us upward, violently, toward the ceiling and then back downward – directly through chain flooring of the Epicenter catwalk as the match gets underway.
We hold on this image of the fighters feeling each other out before preparing to strike as we watch from the shadows above for just a few seconds before the feed cuts to broadcast color bars and a high-pitched, wailing tone.
Backstage
Serving a Bench Minor
A backstage camera finds Daihmbreast in their shared locker room as the pair get ready for “Part 2” of a growing feud between their team and Lucha Fitness. Yet, the tension in the room is palpable as the pair sit facing away from each other, uncharacteristically focused, laser like, on seemingly innocuous details of their preparation.
Daihm is consistently tying and then re-tying his boots while Chick is apparently testing out his best “mean” face in his locker mirror. There is a heavy silence between the pair that hangs in the air until Daihm angrily kicks off one of his untied boots.
It swings, arching backwards into the air, and falls at Chick’s side. Chick doesn’t flinch and doesn’t look at Daihm, who can only let out a frustrated, exasperated sigh.
Daihm Ferguson: Bloody hell, Chick. Are we going to talk about this or not?
Chick grumbles something under his breath.
Daihm Ferguson: Look. I’m sorry if you think that you have to fight Maximo because of me; but I had nothing to do with this! In fact, I tried to get this match canceled! I don’t see the point in fighting these guys anymore – they came after us and I showed Kid Lucha that we’re not some wanker pushovers at the last Revolution, didn’t I? I don’t understand what’s gotten under your skin so badly.
Chick spins around, his “mean” face still locked on, causing Daihm to recoil slightly. Chick’s eyes betray his facial expression as he looks wounded.
Chick Grillbreast: You smell like him.
Daihm blinks, clearly not understanding what his partner is saying.
Daihm Ferguson: I don’t underst-
Chick slams his burly fist into the closest locker in his vicinity with a huge crash, causing Daihm to yelp in surprise. Chick lowers his head in a mix of embarrassment and sadness. He speaks softly… so softly it’s jarring.
Chick Grillbreast: Yes you do, Daihm. You’ve smelled like Maximo all week. Every day we’ve trained together I have smelled him. I thought that tonight would be different but…
Chick takes in a big, comically long, wiff and then spits on the floor.
Chick Grillbreast: I thought we were a team. I thought we were friends.
Daihm’s face has grown almost as red as his hair as he stands up, clearly frazzled.
Daihm Ferguson: Christ Almighty, you SMELL him on me? What does that even mean, Chick? And of COURSE we’re friends. Of COURSE we’re partners. At least I thought we were! But you’ve done a complete 180 these last two weeks and I can’t, for the life of me, understand why!
Chick Grillbreast: 500.
Daihm looks confused.
Daihm Ferguson: What?
Chick Grillbreast: My bench is up to 500! I benched 180 back when I was nine! I’m much stronger now! Stronger than Maximo!
Daihm’s face cracks as he holds up his hand to his face.
Chick Grillbreast: HOW HARD IS IT!? HOW LONG IS IT!?
Daihm sputters from behind his hands, trying not to laugh.
Chick Grillbreast: DON’T LAUGH AT ME! I NEED TO KNOW HOW HE GRIPS IT AND HOW LONG IT TAKES HIM TO FINISH!
Daihm collapses to the floor in laughter as Chick stands up in anger. Daihm is crying on the floor and wiping away tears, trying to get back up. Chick steps over the bench and reaches down to yank Daihm up from the ground. As he does, Daihm extends his arms and wraps his arms – as much as he can fit anyways – around Chick’s waist.
Chick looks confused; his anger fading as Daihm looks up into Chick’s eyes with a sense of affection.
Daihm Ferguson: You’re too good for this world, Chick. You know that, right?
Chick thinks, pondering the statement, but doesn’t get a chance to respond before Daihm pushes himself out of the embrace and gives Chick a mocking punch to the chest, which he then forms into an open palm that he presses so he can hear the beating of Chick’s heart.
Daihm Ferguson: You know what I hear right now, Chick?
Chick squints, trying to look around and find the source of some unnamed sound.
Daihm Ferguson: I hear YOU. And, I promise you that is the only thing I will be listening to tonight. Cross my heart.
Daihm reaches with his free hand and grabs the ham hock that is Chick’s forearm and places it against his own chest, over his heart, so Chick can hear his heartbeat.
The two look at each other in silence as the camera feed cuts and find ourselves back at ringside.
Chick Grillbreast Vs. Maximo Fisico
Singles Match
Elsewhere
Aren't you forgetting something??
Benny Colton is worried, and not just because he has three motorcycle gang dudes right behind him.
He’s been weaving his way through the backstage areas of the Epicenter for God knows how long, and he hasn’t seen his cousin in maybe an hour. Dennis might be a big tough man, but he doesn’t have the speed or stamina of…say, a Benny Colton. And even that was running out; he had a brutal stitch in his side and was flagging, fast.
Yet he runs on…mostly because he’ll get stomped into goo if he doesn’t, and that would ruin his clothes.
Benjamin Colton: I need a plan.
Benny is not a planner.
Benjamin Colton: Aha!
But sometimes a plan falls in your lap. Like now, when he runs past a table in the hallway with a few random items on it. As he runs past, he grabs an end of the table and swings it outward, blocking the path of his pursuers.
Benjamin Colton: Hahaha! Suck it, losers!
That won’t hold them for long…it’s just a folding table, after all. But a few seconds is all he needs; he just needs to create enough space to–
“HEY, DUMMY!”
Fun fact: Benny always looks when someone yells “Hey, dummy!” in a crowd, because he assumes they mean him. In fairness, they usually do.
This is one of those times, as Benny turns to see his cousin standing by an open door. He books it as fast as he can book, down the corridor and through the doorway, where they are at last faced with the one thing that can save them.
Stairs.
Denny shuts the door behind them, and they bound down the stairs until they reach an emergency exit, where they escape out of the arena.
Benjamin Colton: They’re gonna…be right behind us…
Dennis Colton: Nah, the door’s locked. I borrowed a key from maintenance. Good to see you’re not dead.
Benjamin Colton: Back atcha. Let’s…not do that again.
Dennis Colton: Yeah, we better get while the getting’s good. We’ll just grab the belts and…
He looks at his cousin’s waist, which is devoid of gold.
Dennis Colton: Don’t tell me you lost your belt.
Benjamin points at Dennis’ shoulder, which also is suspiciously lacking in title belts.
Benjamin Colton: So…did you…
They both cast their eyes back to the door, where no doubt one of the gang members is currently gnawing through the door.
Benjamin Colton: Son of a bitch. We’re gonna have to go back in, aren’t we.
Dennis Colton: ‘Fraid so, cuz. Gotta get our property…
Through several feet of cement and steel, a bone-chilling cry emerges.
“COOOOOOOOOOLLLLL-TOOOOOOOOONNN!!!!”
Dennis Colton: …tomorrow?
Benjamin Colton: Tomorrow.
They leave for safer pastures, if not greener ones.
Cut.
Seton/Kabuto Vs. Matsumoto/Terry
Tag Team Match
Backstage
WORTH IT
We go backstage, our focus being Abigail Chase. She stands with her beautiful smile to the camera, awaiting her ready-to-go cue.
Abigail Chase: The SHOOT Project World Championship is about to find itself in the spotlight more than ever these next few weeks. Tomorrow night features Azraith DeMitri’s first defense since defeating Nate Robideau…
A cheer from the in-house crowd can be heard.
Abigail Chase: The ensuing challenger appears to be known as well–or so we think, and that challenger is who joins me right now. A savvy vet still going as strong as ever after two decades… she is Laura Seton.
The crowd cheers again as the camera pans back to reveal Laura beside Abigail.
Abigail Chase: Thank you for joining me tonight. As you know, Azraith faces Timothy Roy tomorrow night for the World Championship. You had hoped that you would be getting that first crack at the title. Do you feel slighted?
Laura seems to brush that off.
Laura Seton: Not really. Yeah, Az and I both want to face each other. Seeing him with the belt–its a SHOOT icon I’d have a chance to beat for the World Championship. As a challenger, you can’t ask for much more. Never mind the level of a challenge he is, even today. But am I surprised at the booked match for tomorrow? No. I’ve had times in the past in other places where there’s a new champ, like say a their version of the Sin City… and while there’s this huge moneymaking match on the table–they’ll come up to me and go, “You got first shot,” and it’s like, “Really?” It happens quite often. Or something like me going and trying to force a hand around here. Plans change.
Abigail Chase: Do you have a rooting interest tomorrow?
Laura smirks and nods.
Abigail Chase: … Would you care to share?
Laura has a big breath. Certainly most people are expecting what her answer could be.
Laura Seton: Still Azraith. And it’s not a slight on Timothy Roy at all–but you look at Az’s history. He deserves that Hall of Fame honor. He deserves everyone’s respect because he’s nearly… done it all. Multiple times over. And I just want that kind of challenge. I’ll gladly face Timothy some day, but for the World Championship? As the kids say; all day, every day!
Abigail Chase: And if Timothy Roy pulls the upset?
Laura Seton: I’ll be first to congratulate him. I know it’s not impossible for him to win. And I’ll be out there watching, knowing that. Selfishly, I hope Az wins or even a draw, but everything else being equal, I wish him the best.
Abigail Chase: Being in the chase for the World Championship again–does that make this comeback worth it?
Laura Seton: It was worth it the first night I stepped out and heard everyone’s cheers. It was worth it the last year defending the Rules of Surrender Title. It was even worth it drawing twice with Lindsay Troy earlier this year. My return has been “worth it”
EVERY…
FUCKING …
DAY
that I’ve been here. This situation? Just makes it more special.
NC-17 Vs. Black Sheep Baez (c)
Premier CHAMPIONSHIP
Singles Match
With the main event seemingly still in question, we go to ringside, where we’re met at the commentary table by the uncertain-looking duo of Dutch Harris and Scott Kamura.
Scott Kamura: Folks, I…hate to say it…I know this Premier championship match was highly anticipated, and a lot of people paid good money to be here in the Epicenter tonight…but I think this main event may be CANCELED. That’s right, I’m getting word from backstage that our evening WILL be concluding.
Dutch Harris: For those of you tuning in just now, earlier in the evening NC-17 was spotted at the Sunrise Medical Center and Hospital in Las Vegas with a…uh, big bouquet of flowers and some…nefarious intentions, to say the least.
Scott Kamura: The implication was that he was there to harm Baez’s long time friend, Matty Ice, and Black Sheep Baez…well, Al was NEVER going to accept that.
Dutch Harris: Baez didn’t even hesitate, Scott…I mean, you wanna talk about friendship? He BOLTED out of that dressing room after watching the threat air live, and unfortunately we haven’t heard a single peep from either competitor since. It doesn’t look like either one will be competing…er…hold that thought. Wait a second…I’m getting word from the back now? I’ve got NC-17’s manager, Johnny Vignochi, in my headset right now telling me…the main event is still on?
Scott Kamura: Well where the hell are they? I don’t hear Samantha Coil announcing anybody?
The lights in the Epicenter dim, and the SHOOTtron boots up. It’s showing the Sunrise Hospital and Medical Center in Las Vegas. We cut to inside, where we find BSB storming up to an information desk FURIOUSLY. Ya boi was in such a hurry, he’s STILL wearing the Premier Championship around his waist. The man didn’t waste any time getting down to the hospital.
Black Sheep Baez: Yo, sign me in to see Matthias Martinez NOW. And get security on the phone. Where he at? Mad-Max-in-Thunder-Dome lookin’ ass, he better not touched a HAIR on Matty’s chinny chin chi-
Out of NOWHERE NC-17 FLOORS Baez with a clothesline! Where the hell did he even come from? The nurse behind the desk jumps up to get out of dodge, and several people in the waiting room head for the exits!
The “cream of obscene” is shirtless and wearing a white doctor’s coat as well as an old school doctor’s head mirror around his forehead. He’s got his hot pink heart wrestling tights and white tassels on, and he’s VICIOUSLY pummeling BSB with a…doctor’s clipboard?
NC-17: IS THERE A DOCTOR IN THE HOUSE? WOOO!
The mohawked scumbag SNAPS the clipboard over the head of BSB and GRABS him by the back of his neck, slowly walking him down an adjacent hospital hallway.
Scott Kamura: Jesus Christ! They’re in a hospital for crying out loud! Somebody call security!
Dutch Harris: Is…this what Johnny Vig meant when he said the main event was still on? Are they REALLY having a hospital brawl right now?
Seventeen continues to lob lazy overhead punches at Baez, who is struggling to regain his composure. The Premier Champion is stumbling down the hallway, shielding himself groggily with one arm. He tries to steal away through the closest door to evade Seventeen’s attacks, and the two suddenly find themselves in a vacant examination room. NC-17 is still squawking.
NC-17: Ya fuckin’ sucker! I can’t believe you fell for the ol’ “attack your friends and family at the hospital” trick!
The cream of obscene slaps Baez’s head against a nearby side table, scattering an assortment of medical instruments. He immediately spots one he likes as he does so…a stethoscope! Seventeen grabs it and wraps the cord around Baez’s neck, choking him!
Dutch Harris: He’s choking him with a stethoscope! HA!
NC-17: Hmmm, sounds like an irregular heartbeat! I think I got somethin’ for that!
Seventeen reaches for a scalpel that’s still on the table. But Baez isn’t about to go down without a fight. While he’s grasping at the tightening cord around his neck, he spots a urine specimen on the counter in front of him. He grabs it swiftly and SPLASHES it into NC-17’s eyes behind him, temporarily blinding the aggressor!
Scott Kamura: Oh HELL no! He hit him with the pee sample!
Dutch Harris: Not the urine sample! God I hope that’s clean urine!
Scott Kamura: He better hope that specimen wasn’t STD positive!
Dutch Harris: Who are you kidding? It should be the urine who’s worried!
Seventeen clutches at his eyes like he’s the wicked witch of the west and he’s melting! Meanwhile a recovered BSB BOUNCES the plastic cup off of Seventeen’s head before straight BITCH slapping him!
NC-17: IT SMELLS LIKE COFFEE!
Black Sheep Baez: Bro, the FUCK is WRONG wit you? Huh? HUH?
Baez is LIVID. He hits Seventeen with a RIGHT. And a LEFT. RIGHT! LEFT! RIGHT! LEFT! The head mirror FLIES off of Seventeen’s head! BOOM! Back out the door and into the hallway again! By now the doctor’s coat has fallen from Seventeen’s shoulders! He doesn’t appear to be having fun anymore!
Baez has steered the brawl back into the hospital waiting room in the mean-time. It looks like he’s trying to preserve the sanctity of the hospital! Er, WAIT! Scratch that! He picks a potted plant up off the front desk and SMASHES it over NC-17’s head. The pink-clad cokehead collapses to a knee, trying to shake off the sensation of ceramic breaking over the back of his skull. BSB puts his hands up and apologizes to the scared hospital workers still in the vicinity.
Black Sheep Baez: I’m really sorry, yo! Ya boi finna send ya’ll the biggest, nicest plastic plants money can buy after he whoops this monkey’s ass! On GOD! We finna take this outside now…sorry ‘bout the ruckus! Eat ya vitamins!
Baez grabs Seventeen by his tights and gently guides the assailant into the elevator. There’s a woman, a child, and an old lady in a wheelchair in the elevator with them. Baez pushes a button for the garage and the doors shut. The three bystanders kind of look at each other awkwardly, nervously eyeballing the two professional wrestlers in front of them. But NC-17, now recovered, and BSB both fold their hands in front of them and wait idly as the elevator stops at each floor, smooth jazz music playing in the background.
When the elevator dings and the doors open to the parking garage, BSB tosses Seventeen out onto the pavement unceremoniously. The would-be attacker tries to use a parked car to get to his feet, but BSB slaps Seventeen’s head against the side mirror, breaking it off!
Black Sheep Baez: You on some evil arch-villain shit, ain’t you bro? But ya boi don’t PLAY THAT shit, ya feel me? You done fucked around and FOUND OUT. Oh nawww, bruh, you ain’t goin’ NO WHERE. We just gettin’ started!
Baez puts Seventeen’s head THROUGH the passenger side window! The cream of obscene SLIDES down the door and slumps on the ground, his face a crimson mask! The Epicenter is chanting! HOL-Y SHIT. HOL-Y SHIT.
Dutch Harris: I don’t think this scrum is going the way NC-17 thought it was going to go!
Scott Kamura: There was a lot of talk on his end, Dutch, culminating in…well, THIS. I definitely feel like there’s some regret being felt right now.
Dutch Harris: Well at least they’re already at the hospital.
BSB pulls a withering NC-17 to his feet, assuming position behind him. He grabs his arm and starts twisting his neck! It’s the BAEZ FAMILY SLEEPER, V.3! The Epicenter is ON THEIR FEET as a bloody NC-17 is grimacing in pure AGONY!
Scott Kamura: WAIT A SECOND! That’s JOHNNY VIG! JOHNNY VIG WITH A STEEL CHAIR!
THWACK!
Sure enough, NC-17’s manager Johnny Vignochi, wearing a REFEREE shirt of all things, comes running out of thin air to smack BSB in the head with a steel chair! BSB falls to the pavement on his hands, dazed and confused, and Johnny hits him again! By this time, Seventeen is cognisant of what’s going on! He’s back up, and he WRESTLES the chair from Johnny! He’s out for blood!
THWACK!
Baez takes the shot right on the back of his skull but he doesn’t go down!
THWACK!
A bloodied Seventeen has FOAM coming out of his mouth! He’s clearly seeing nothing but red right now!
THWACK!
Dutch Harris: Where the hell is security? Where the hell are the police?
NC-17 drops the chair to the ground and quickly covers a crumpled Black Sheep Baez in a pin! What the hell? Is this for real?!? Johnny Vig drops to the pavement and SLAPS the asphalt!
ONE!
TWO!
THREE!
There is no sound of a bell, and you could almost hear a pin drop in the Epicenter. Seventeen is laughing and snarling alongside his diabolical manager, Johnny Vig!
Scott Kamura: There’s no way this is legal, Dutch! Right? I mean, right?
Dutch Harris: I don’t think this is SHOOT legal, I don’t think this is regular legal! But here we are Scott…I can’t believe this is happening!
Johnny Vig unfastens the Premier Championship from around Baez’s waist and hands it to NC-17, raising his arm.
Johnny Vig: Ladies and gentlemen, your NEW SHOOT Project PREMIER CHAMPION! THE KING OF CRASS! THE LITTLE BANANA FROM INDIANA! THE CREAM OF OBSCENE, N-C-SEVEN-TEEEEEEEEN!
Scott Kamura: Wow Dutch. Just…WOW.
Seventeen is panting, his face covered in blood and dirt from the potted plant…but he’s smiling. He’s smiling dementedly. Johnny Vig fastens the belt around Seventeen’s waist while the superstar turns around to address Black Sheep Baez’s prone body.
He spits on him.
NC-17: Fuckin’ punk.
The Epicenter is HISSING their discontent. The boos are THUNDEROUS. And that’s the last thing we hear as Ruination slowly fades to black….
