Post by Ampersand on Aug 10, 2021 4:10:26 GMT
Ambient tones fill the air in the Colosseum, lights pulsing along with it dreamily. They flash more harshly as the music is punctuated by sharp, muffled sounds like truncated battle cries and the rhythm of percussion and guitars.
Frater Perdurabo stands among the pines in a forest, the cold, hard light of early morning illuminating the mist wreathing the man. The scene shifts to a grimy back alley, a silhouette of a man leaning against one of the brick walls. As he draws in a breath, the cherry of his cigarette throws the facial features of Arthur Drake into sharp, red relief. The scene shifts to show Silvio Leon lounging languidly upon a high-backed chair with deep red upholstery, a leg slung over one of the chair’s arms, holding a tarot deck. He draws a card, grins, then flicks it at the camera with a wink.
The Adorable Death Captain, eyes alight, laughs maniacally while brandishing a chainsaw. He turns to the camera and blows a spray of blue and pink from his mouth that obscures the scene. The color is fractured and carried away to reveal David O’Toole blowing on a dandelion, releasing its seeds to swirl across the sky, carried on the same wind that ruffles the hair of Roy Valentine, who scowls at them as they come to rest among the roses in a garden. The scene flashes again and SKUP9 is shown in the ring, dismantling opponents, utterly dominating with his size and strength. The scene dissolves into a blaze of rage, resolving again to show Zephyr Quinn dressed in a white sleeveless hoodie, perched atop the dragon-patterned Historic Chinatown Gate in Seattle’s International District, gazing at the full moon.
The round moon shifts in shade, becoming the blue eye of Jimmy Allen, the camera zooming out to reveal as he pulls a bandana down from his face, his gaze searching the Seattle skyline from his apartment’s rooftop. The view swoops through the city, finally coming to Kyle Beckett, his face determined even as the camera continues to swing behind him, showing him staring up the expanse of the Harbor Steps, taking a deep breath before he begins sprinting up them. The scene fades to white, the view circling Mara Lang as she sits at her office desk, dispassionately reviewing test results. Her image is rent by darkness, the Lab Rat King shown crouched atop a wooden pallet in a tunnel of the Seattle Underground, amber eyes baleful twin stars blazing into the viewer’s.
The view shifts to the interior of the Colosseum, the camera sweeping over the cheering crowd, signs held aloft.
The view shifts to the commentary table to show Artemis Direction, Del Ramos, and Hiro Suzuki.
Del Ramos: What’s going on, Ascended Army? You making your weekly sacrifices to the nameless gods of death metal and blood?
Artemis clears her throat delicately, eyeing Del.
Del lets out a rumbling sigh, rolling their eyes before continuing.
Del Ramos: Okay, we can talk about the sacrifices later by the docks at midnight; usual meeting place. Anyway, being professional and shit, joining me tonight on commentary are drag goddess, Artemis Direction -
Artemis winks at the camera with a smile.
Del Ramos: And the reason I drink, Hiro Suzuki.
Hiro Suzuki: Hey, speaking of drinking, tell me if you’ve heard this one! A priest, a rabbi, and a monk walk into a bar. The bartender looks at them and says, ‘What is this? Some kind of joke?’
Del Ramos: I hope you get eaten by a hundred starving, crazed weasels, you talentless ass collection.
Artemis Direction: Ooh one of my drag colleagues has an ass collection; a different ass for every occasion! It’s really something to see all on display.
Hiro Suzuki: Collections ass-ide--
Del’s hands clench into fists on the top of the table.
Hiro Suzuki: We’ve got a great card tonight!
Artemis Direction: Starting with some new blood to the company for our first two matches. And goodness if they aren’t simply paragons of masculinity!
Hiro looks wistful.
Hiro Suzuki: Such lush beards…
Del Ramos: Heh I’m pretty excited for these first two bouts. Frater and Drake both just radiate the promise of the kind of violence that I live for. And considering how shitty Dropkick and Jerky have been, I get the feeling it’s gonna be a bloodbath.
Artemis Direction: After that we get my darling Silvio facing off against a man who lives up to his name, Adorable Death Captain. I have my favorites, obviously, but I can’t deny ADC is simply precious.
Hiro makes a face, raising a brow.
Hiro Suzuki: Yeah in a totally insane way!
Artemis Direction: Hiro, dear heart, caramel is always better salted, if you catch my drift.
Hiro Suzuki: I dunno if that’s an apt comparison, but the match afterward definitely has my attention! Valentine vs. O’Toole! It’s a classic match up between the working class and the upper crust!
Del Ramos: I like O’Toole; he’s scrappy. But Valentine has a mean streak I respect. Stoked about the next fight, though. SKUP9 has shown he’s a monster in the ring, but so has Zephyr. They might need to reconstruct the ring after that match is over.
Artemis Direction: Well I’m looking forward to the match after that! Beckett and Allen are a couple of young lions vying for dominance, and I might need my smelling salts, darlings.
Hiro Suzuki: I think we might need an ambulance after our main event.
Del laughs lowly, eyes glinting, mouth a rictus grin.
Del Ramos: Oh ho ho the Rat King has to be pissed after that promo Lang released. Something tells me he’s going to be downright homicidal tonight.
Artemis Direction: Before we get into our first match of the evening, we take you backstage with Kevin Kim and Frater Perdurabo!
The cameras cut backstage and reveal Kevin Kim standing by with a rather nervous look on his face. That's probably due to the giant human being standing next to him with a scowl framed by a wild, unkempt beard. Kevin's able to retain his composure long enough to put the mic to his lips.
Kevin Kim: In just a few moments, the third opening contest in Collision history will take place between Biff Jerky and Frater Perdurabo...
Kevin looks to the subject of the interview, who's staring right back with wide eyes.
Kevin Kim: ... who is my guest at this time. Frater, tonight marks your first match in the United States and as an exclusive competitor to Ascended Wrestling. How do you see this historic night in your career playing out?
There's a silence that comes over the interview area. Not once has Frater broken his trained gaze, and he isn't about to end that streak. Instead, he runs a hand through his beard before he rips the mic from Kevin's grasp.
Frater Perdurabo: Historic? Historic? Tonight will be the farthest thing from people's minds when they look back at what I've done here. Tonight isn't some grand reveal and it isn't about some cheap test of strength that will get people off of their feet. Tonight is about the end of a career - and if I have my way, the life - of an unremarkable man. Tonight will be a milestone in the life of Biff Jerky, a man who is either bettered from being ripped apart like a wounded deer or one that is reminisced upon - gone too soon. I'm going out there to do the same thing I've been doing since I was a kid. I'm opening eyes to the truth of what this world really is. It's bleak, and it's out to destroy you. Only those that've gone through their trials, that have stared into the mouth of madness understand what it takes to merely survive, let alone be free. Tonight is Biff's test and the unveiling of the larger truth to everyone backstage and the people sitting in those seats; it's a matter of survival and I'm the measuring stick wielded by The Great Dreamer. I am his agent of chaos, here to prove that once you understand, consequences are meaningless. Tonight, Biff Jerky will either survive or be broken.
With that, Frater forcefully plants his mic into Kevin's chest. Kevin goes to return it to his lips for the follow-up question, but he's instead bet with Frater's boot to his face after he takes a few steps back and hits the interviewer with a big boot! Frater lifts Kevin to his feet and actually has to support him to keep him upright. After a few good punches, Frater snatches Kevin by the throat, lifts him for a chokeslam, and drives Kevin's spine across his knee! He lets Kevin hit the floor in a sprawled, motionless mess. A pleased smirk starts to crawl across Frater's face as he snatches the mic that was abandoned in the assault. Once it's to his lips he puts his focus on the camera.
Frater Perdurabo: WHAT I want, WHEN I want, and to WHOMEVER I want! Biff Jerky! Enjoy these precious few moments before you're sent to your public execution!
Frater spikes the mic into Kevin's chest. He goes to storm off of the interview set but takes the time to stop and release a primal scream at Kevin before he's completely gone. The shot fades to black.
As the shot fades back to the commentary table, Hiro and Artemis’ jaws have dropped, eyes wide. Del is laughing fit to split their sides, pounding one hand on the table.
Del Ramos: Holy shit did you see that? AHAHAHA!
Hiro is pale, teeth set, a little hiss of sympathetic pain forced through them.
Artemis Direction: Well, this leaves us at somewhat of a quandary for the evening. Who are we going to get for the ring announcement?
Del Ramos: Huh. Well, fuck, I mean it’s not like we don’t use our voices to make a living.
Hiro Suzuki: Good point! I guess we can take turns until Kevin is, er, conscious again.
Artemis sniffs disdainfully.
Artemis Direction: Well, I’m certainly not going to announce the brute--
Del Ramos: DIBS!
Vaulting over the commentator’s table, ripping off their headset, Del makes their way to the ring, mic in hand. After tapping it a couple of times, they bring it to their mouth.
Del Ramos: Alright, Ascended Army! You all saw Kim get his shit rocked, so we’re going to be doing things a little differently tonight! Okay, so already in the ring is this entire toolbox, Biff Jerky.
Biff Jerky: Hey!
Del Ramos: Your cowboy schtick is stupid and fake. Have you ever even been on a ranch or a farm in your miserable little fake cowboy life?
Biff Jerky: ...They’re dirty...
The house lights dim.
The unrelenting introduction of "The Heaviest Matter of the Universe" is accompanied by strobes flashing in time with the drums as Frater Perdurabo emerges onto the stage.
Del Ramos: The following contest is scheduled for one fall! Introducing from Cefalù, Sicily, weighing in at 336 pounds, he is ‘Necesse Malum,’ FRATER PERDURABO!
Frater wastes no time heading down the ramp and stops once he reaches ringside. He reaches up, takes hold of the ropes, hauls his frame up onto the apron, then climbs over the top rope. Once in the ring, Frater heads to the opposite end and paces back and forth between the corners as the building's lighting returns to normal.
Hiro Suzuki: Why do we keep attracting such creepy people?
Godric Smith presides over this opening match, stepping back as Frater and Jerky immediately start going at each other, trading stiff blows.
Artemis Direction: Looks like Biff feels as if he has something to prove now.
Del Ramos: Is it how to get his ass kicked? Because if it is, we’ve got plenty of footage already.
Hiro Suzuki: And it looks like Frater’s aiming to make an impression!
Frater catches Biff by the arm, Irish whipping him into the ropes before hitting him with a running low-angle shoulder block, sending his opponent to the mat! Frater doesn’t bother following, instead pacing a tight circle around Jerky, staring at him with predatory intensity. Biff climbs to his feet again, only for Frater to seize hold of his hair, yanking his head in close and seeming to whisper malicious things into the ear of his opponent, with a joyfully vicious smile. Whatever he’s saying seems to infuriate Jerky who wrenches free and takes a wild swing at Frater! Frater dodges easily, malicious glee still shining in his eyes as he swings around and secures his arms about Biff’s waist, executing a savage powerbomb!
Hiro Suzuki: Yep! Definitely an impression. On the mat. Specifically of Biff Jerky’s body.
Del is cackling with delight.
Del Ramos: Even your shitty humor can’t bring me down right now, Suzuki! I’m ecstatic we have this motherfucker on the roster now!
Artemis Direction: Well, someone needs to speak with him about assaulting the non-fighting staff. We can’t have him just beating people up outside of contractual obligation.
Biff Jerky writhes on the mat in pain before rolling under the bottom rope and off the ring apron to hit the mats outside.
Del Ramos: Looks like Biff is trying to get a break from the fight to gather himself.
Hiro Suzuki: Artemis! Knock-knock!
Artemis Direction: Who’s there?
Hiro Suzuki: Interrupting commentator!
Artemis Direction: Interrupting commentator wh--
Hiro Suzuki: FRATER’S COMING AT JERKY WITH A SUICIDE DIVE!
Biff sees it a split second before it makes impact; Frater flying from the ring to collide with his opponent! Both men climb back to their feet, but Jerky is just a bit faster. Desperate, almost terrified, Biff executes a quick superkick that catches Frater in the jaw and sends him staggering back. He scrambles back into the ring, scuttling back against the turnbuckle furthest from where Frater stands.
Artemis Direction: I think Jerky is genuinely scared of Frater.
Hiro Suzuki: Who in their right mind wouldn’t be? The guy’s relentless and he hasn’t given Biff a moment to come up with some kind of strategy or even rest!
Del Ramos: Heh...something tells me Frater’s the kind of dude who can smell fear.
Like some kind of inhuman slasher stalking their prey in a horror movie, Frater climbs back into the ring. Biff shakes his head, trembling before throwing caution to the wind with a warbling battle cry, arm raised as if to execute a lariat. As he makes his blind run, Frater catches him by his throat and waistband. Biff Jerky barely has time to choke out a protest before Frater lifts him off the canvas and slams him, back down, on his extended knee in his signature Culling of the Weak!
Hiro Suzuki: Oof...I hope our insurance covers chiropractors. Y’know, comedians and chiropractors have a lot in common!
Artemis Direction: How so?
Hiro Suzuki: We both crack people up!
Del Ramos: I’m going to put a crack in your fucking face if you don’t shut up, Suzuki.
Artemis Direction: I think the end may be in sight, darlings!
As Jerky starts to rise to his knees, Frater comes up behind him, gripping both sides of his opponent’s head and applying pressure! Biff lets out a cry of pain and frantically taps out!
Del Ramos: Your winner by submission, FRATER PERDURABO!
Hiro Suzuki: Yeesh. That was disturbing as all get-out.
Del Ramos: Hell yeah it was! Gimme that fuckin’ Jason energy any day of the week.
Del lets out a contented sigh.
Del Ramos: This place is a hardcore gal’s dream come true, man. My cup runneth over. With blood and brutality.
Artemis Direction: The next new arrival at Ascended has made no bones about his attitudes regarding fighting and his love of a good scrap.
Hiro Suzuki: Drake seems tough as nails.
Del Ramos: Well that’s going to be put to the test, isn’t it? Anyone can talk a big game. It’s put up or shut up time now.
Artemis Direction: I’ll handle the announcement for this one, sweetlings.
With that, Artemis rises from her seat, tossing her hair dramatically before ascending the steps into the ring.
Artemis Direction: I hope you’re all having a fabulous evening, Ascended Army! In the ring with me right now is this example of how to sin against God using your wardrobe, Hot Dropkick.
Hot Dropkick: Hey!
Artemis Direction: You look like a Hot Topic manager - and not one of the cool ones - taking advantage of his employee discount to try and bring his Killjoy OC to life for a Danger Days LARPing session, darling, so kindly shut your mouth while mother is talking. Anyway, let me tell you all about the competitor you’re actually here to see, Ascended Army! The following match is scheduled for one fall!
The house lights dim as harsh, stark pulses of white light strobe from the entrance at the top of the ramp. As the beat of London Calling drops, Arthur Drake marches out onto the stage, wearing a leather jacket adorned with various 70's and 80's Punk band logos.
Artemis Direction: Coming to us from Tower Hamlets, London, England weighing in at 234 pounds and positively oozing punk rock realness, he is ‘The King of Catch,’ ARTHUR DRAKE!
He continues his march down the ramp and to the steel steps, walks up and wipes his feet on the apron, before entering the ring.
Artemis makes her way back to the commentator’s table, settling into her seat before freshening up her lipstick.
Del Ramos: How would you rate that walk?
Artemis Direction: 10/10 for the category! The gentleman knows how to present himself.
As Jill Kincaid calls for the match to begin, Arthur stalks over to Dropkick with a smirk, spreading his arms and beckoning for his opponent to hit him. At first, Dropkick looks uncertain, but he reels back and gives Arthur a chop across the chest that elicits sympathetic, ‘Oooh’s!’ from the crowd. Drake, however, just keeps smirking, having not moved an inch, beckoning for Dropkick to try again.
Del Ramos: Oooh I think poser boy’s bitten off more than he can chew.
Hiro Suzuki: You know, I once saw a beaver chewing on my favorite tree! I asked him to stop and do you know what he said to me?
Artemis Direction: No, sweetness, what did he say?
Hiro Suzuki: Gnaw!
Dropkick is hesitant, seeming shaken by his opponent’s resiliency, but he winds back and takes another swing, only to have his arm caught by Drake! Working with a speed and finesse that belies his huge frame, Arthur maneuvers around Dropkick, drawing him in almost like a dance partner, before wrenching his arm behind his back and forcing his hand toward his neck. Dropkick cries out in pain!
Del Ramos: HA! Look at our boy drawing that moron in like a pitcher plant.
Artemis Direction: What a vicious way to apply that hammerlock!
Hiro Suzuki: Looks like Dropkick is trying to fight back!
Fighting through the agony, a grimacing Hot Dropkick circles one foot around Drake’s ankle, yanking forward with all his might! Arthur goes down, Dropkick landing on top of him and breaking the hammerlock, scrambling to his feet again. He tries to capitalize on Arthur’s prone position, hitting him with an elbow drop and going for the pin!
1--
Kick out from Drake!
Del chuckles darkly.
Del Ramos: Oh, if you could bottle the panic on Dropkick’s face…
Hot Dropkick does indeed look panicked, scrambling to his feet only to have Drake stop him in his tracks by catching hold of his arm again and just slamming the other man onto the canvas! Both of them prone, Arthur grins. The pair tussle on the mat, Dropkick struggling to try and escape his opponent! In a seated position, Drake tries to lock in the Stranglehold, but Dropkick tucks his chin down and slides a hand up before his opponent can do so. Squirming, he manages to elbow Drake a few times before popping to his feet and nailing his opponent in the head with a knee strike!
Artemis Direction: Oof! I think Arthur Drake might have just gotten his bell rung.
Hiro Suzuki: Somehow I don’t think that’s going to do much to stop him.
Sure enough, Drake seems little more than mildly perturbed about the shot, getting to his feet, eyes never leaving Dropkick as he does. Swallowing visibly, looking like he’s just seen a ghost, Dropkick takes a few running steps, rebounds off the ropes, and comes flying at his opponent with a lariat! Waiting for the last moment, Arthur hits the canvas, leg slightly elevated, tripping Dropkick and causing him to land with all of that momentum directly on his face. The audience groans in sympathy as Drake tangles himself up with Dropkick’s prone form, locking his leg around him and grabbing his opponent’s left wrist in his right hand. He then swiftly places his left arm over Dropkick’s arm, grasping his right wrist to lock in the Old Bailey!
Dropkick lets out a muffled wail of pain, trying in vain to break free before finally tapping out!
Artemis Direction: Your winner by submission, representing punk rock realness with full points awarded, Arthur Drake!
Hiro Suzuki: Let’s take a quick break to peek backstage and see how our usual ring announcer, Kevin Kim, is holding up!
The scene cuts to the infirmary where Ascended’s nurse, Dante Hill, is addressing a disheveled, disoriented Kevin Kim seated at the end of an exam table.
Dante Hill: Okay, Kevin, you’re doing great! Regaining consciousness is the first step to a happy and healthy recovery! Now, I’m going to have you count to ten for me. I’ll help you get started! One…
Kevin: ...two...threeve…
Dante Hill: Gosh, wow, okay! Kevin, you seem to have created some kind of numerical chimera out of the numbers three and five! While impressive and horrifying to consider such a mathematical monstrosity, it’s not quite what we’re looking for!
Kevin: It’s fine just...gimme a minute an’ I’ll count to potato.
The scene cuts back to the commentary table where both Hiro and Artemis’ expressions can only be described as, ‘Oof,’ and Del is laughing darkly.
Artemis Direction: Eesh. Well, hunties, our next match is sure to be entertaining! Both competitors place a great deal of stage presence.
Hiro brightens, picking up his mic.
Hiro Suzuki: That means it’s my turn!
Del Ramos: Are we sure we want to give him a turn?
Before anyone can object, Hiro has left the table, making his way to the ring with a smile plastered across his face.
Hiro Suzuki: Hello, Ascended Army! Our next fight will be between a sweetheart madman from the True North, the Adorable Death Captain, and our friendly hometown cryptid, Silvio Leon! Hey, did you all hear the one about the ghost who went on vacation?
Del Ramos: Christ this is the worst idea ever.
Hiro Suzuki: He went to the Boo-hamas!
A collective groan rises from the audience, and what appears to be an empty water bottle flies from the seats, caroming off of Hiro’s head.
Del cackles.
Del Ramos: Alright, I take it back - this is a great idea.
Hiro Suzuki: Ahhh didn’t like that one, huh? Well, er, hey! Did you hear about the guy who got the Canadian map tattooed on his butt? Every time he sits down, Quebec separates!
A round of boos thunders through the Colosseum.
Fan: YOUR JOKES ARE BAD AND YOU SHOULD FEEL BAD!
Hiro Suzuki: Thanks for the feedback guys! Always appreciated! The following match is scheduled for one fall!
With that, the lights in the Colosseum go out, the Titan-tron displaying a black and white image of a Ouija board lit by candles and surrounded by scattered tarot cards and raw crystals. A planchette's point moves of its own volition across the name, ‘Silvio Leon’ written in the classic Ouija font as the opening solo of ‘Superstition,’ by Kyle Primus goes careening around the arena. The entrance is bathed in blacklight, a figure moving through it to stand at the top of the ramp, lifting their hands in front of their face to create the shape of a planchette.
Hiro Suzuki: Now entering the ring from Seattle, Washington, weighing in at 195 pounds, he is your 'Mystifying Oracle,' SILVIO LEON!
At the top of the ramp, Silvio throws down his hands, a pair of white pyros going off on either side of him as the house lights come back up. Making his way to the ring, he interacts heavily with the fans, giving them high fives, fist bumps, and taking selfies as he progresses. He does an acrobatic little flip over the top rope before landing on the canvas, striding over to a turnbuckle on the opposite side of the ring and leaning against it, grinning.
Hiro Suzuki: And his opponent!
The house lights dim, flashes of purple, blue, and pink illumination pulsating from the entrance as the first notes of Queen’s, ‘Don’t Stop Me Now,’ swell.
There’s a burst of purple, blue, and pink lights as the Adorable Death Captain makes his entrance!
Hiro Suzuki: From Calgary, Alberta Canada, weighing in at 220 lbs, he is THE ADORABLE DEATH CAPTAIN!
He sprints out in a light up jacket and runs from side to side across the stage brandishing a chainsaw! The crowd cheers appreciatively as he drops it and cartwheels down the aisle, skipping as he makes his way towards the steel steps. He walks up them gallantly, and hops into the ring.
As the two combatants regard one another in the ring, Godric Smith signals for the bell!
The pair begin circling one another, each sizing the other up. There’s a tense moment of stillness before Silvio makes a move to tie up, only to be met by a spray of purple mist to the face!
Del Ramos: HA! Looks like ADC’s got a nasty streak.
Silvio staggers back, rubbing at his eyes to clear his vision. While he’s preoccupied with that, ADC does a baseball slide between his legs, reaching up with both hands to catch Silvio by the waist, the pair tumbling together in an O’Connor roll before the Cutest Canadian goes for an early pin!
ONE!
TW--
Kick out from Leon!
Having cleared his vision, the Oracle gets to his feet, smiling ruefully at the wily veteran, who gives a cartoonish shrug mouthing something that looks a lot like a Bugs Bunny-esque, ‘Ain’t I a stinker?’
Leon doesn’t waste a moment, taking advantage of ADC’s teasing to catch him off guard with a spinning heel kick! While he staggers, the Adorable Death Captain does not fall. Feeding off of the momentum of his previous attack, Silvio continues to spin like a dervish, following up with a discus back elbow that connects with the side of ADC’s head, sending him to the canvas! He tries to follow with a standing corkscrew moonsault when the Cutest Canadian rolls out of the way, Leon colliding hard with the mat! Both wrestlers now on the canvas, ADC quickly capitalizes and locks in a Fujiwara armbar onto his opponent, causing Silvio to let out a yelp of pain.
Del Ramos: Your boy’s in trouble there, Artemis.
Artemis Direction: Come on, darling!
Teeth set, Silvio scrapes with his free hand across the mat, grimacing with the effort as he tries to drag himself to the nearest rope. When it’s clear that’s not going to happen, he plants his hand instead, focusing and pressing upward with all of his strength, tucking a knee beneath himself to give a little extra leverage the instant he’s able. Releasing the hold, ADC climbs to his feet, Silvio following, only for the Oracle to be hit with a knife-edge chop across the chest!
Hiro Suzuki: Owch! That knife-edge chop looked like it stung! You know, I just started designing my own knives recently. I’m using cutting edge technology!
Del Ramos: If only you were creating implements I could murder your face with. How poetic would that be?
Leon staggers back a step, but his eyes have taken on a determined gleam. ADC attempts to follow up, grabbing him and beginning to lift him off the ground, only for Silvio to swing his body upward! Scissoring his legs around the Captain’s neck, Silvio follows the motion of the move, spinning around ADC’s body and swinging his legs downward, slamming his opponent to the mat with his signature Miskatonic Twist! Climbing quickly to his feet again, Silvio ascends the nearest turnbuckle, not wanting to give ADC a chance to rise, and executes his finisher, a flashy corkscrew shooting star press he calls, ‘ The Color out of Space’! He pins the Adorable Death Captain, grimacing as his dazed opponent tries to escape! Godric Smith slides in!
ONE!
TWO!
THREE!
Hiro Suzuki: Your winner by pinfall, ‘The Oracle,’ SILVIO LEON!
Artemis Direction: Goodness, it was certainly close there a few times, wasn’t it?
Del Ramos: Whenever I get to watch a wrestling match that opens with a maniac playing with a chainsaw, I count that as a great fuckin’ day.
Hiro Suzuki: Our next match ought to be as exciting. I’m fascinated by the pair that’s going to be duking it out.
Artemis Direction: They really do come from completely different worlds, don’t they? I guess we’re going to find out what happens when worlds collide.
Del approaches the ring, mic in hand.
Del Ramos: First of all, thank you to everyone for greeting Hiro in a manner befitting his shitty sense of humor.
Hiro Suzuki: Hey, it’s not that bad!
Del Ramos: Hiro, they should fucking use your stand-up sets to compel coma patients to wake up if only to punch you in the mouth. This fight is a standard rules singles match scheduled for one fall. Now entering the ring from Cape Elizabeth, Maine, weighing in at 219 pounds, ROY VALENTINE!
Beneath crimson and gold spotlights, the arena's monitor shows an empty throne of red velvet flanked by fiery wall sconces at the top of a flight of pitch-black stairs. The camera cuts to the side of the stairs' foot, where Valentine—defined only by his gold-tasselled black dress pants and snakeskin shoes—slowly ascends, camera following in profile. The shot cuts to the back of his suit, the black fabric checkered with golden plates; then to his front, where he busies himself adjusting a golden bowtie beneath his self-satisfied smirk. At the zenith of the stairway, the camera cuts to face the throne again. Valentine spins, smooths his suit, and sits laissez-faire, legs draped over the throne's arms while he strokes his chin. Comfortable and regal, Valentine snaps his fingers; from the bottom of the screen rise animated stems, sprouting leaves and buds which consecutively burst into twisted rose blooms that spell the name "ROY VALENTINE".
In a shower of petals, Valentine now enters the arena bare-chested, sporting gold spandex leggings with a crimson vine pattern and crimson boots with golden tassels. Next to his heart he carries the signature scarlet of a "Valentine Velvet" rose, which he smells with rapture on his face before tossing it to the crowd. Valentine showers the audience in blown kisses, holding his arms aloft to the adoring—or, perhaps, disgusted—Ascended Army, as he slips below the ropes and into the ring. In his corner, leaning into the turnbuckle, Valentine lounges.
And lounges.
… And lounges.
The heavy operatic guitar has long since trailed into silence. Murmurs of confusion trail through the audience. Valentine approaches the referee and the two share a private discussion that grows to shouts and flung hands. The ref lays down the law with a hand thrust beside Valentine’s shoulder, pointing him back to his corner. Valentine brushes their arm away like a fly as he rolls his eyes and trots back—but remembers to smile and wave at the audience en route. Locked in the turnbuckle, he smolders.
Artemis Direction: Well, that’s a bit of a power move. Somehow I get the feeling Valentine isn’t the type used to waiting on what he wants.
Finally, after a few long seconds, the first beats of Dropkick Murphys pulse through the Colosseum, with lights in time. As the drums kick in, Del gestures to the ramp.
Del Ramos: And his opponent—from Astoria, Oregon, weighing in at 190 pounds, the Sidewinder, DAVID O'TOOLE!
Down the ramp comes a hooded silhouette, and as he comes more into the light David pulls back the hood on his green sweatshirt, this one zipped. As before he is otherwise in black, plain and simple. He is as deliberate and focused as before in his entrance, though he does raise each hand, carefully taped, to the crowd.
David easily ducks into the ring, but he lingers by the ropes. He looks to Valentine and the official, and only then does he unzip his hoodie and pull it off, casually and entirely unhurried, now down to a beige tank. Only after pausing to look across the ring again does he toss the hoodie aside, this time keeping his gaze on his opponent, and approach the center of the ring. He shifts his weight, light on his feet, but there's no extra hype to build, no excess energy to burn.
As he draws his arms in, O’Toole allows himself a twitch of a smile, then, ever so slightly, nods his head to one side—inviting Valentine in.
Hiro Suzuki: I don’t think O’Toole’s impressed by Valentine’s presentation.
Artemis Direction: It looks like he’s finding a way to play mind games before the bell’s even rung. Cheeky little darling, isn’t he?
An invitation Valentine accepts by approaching the centre of the ring. David keeps his cool—and his distance, circling Valentine, testing his responses, keeping his stance fast and loose as he probes for an opening. Valentine isn’t rushed. He follows O’Toole in a slow spin, hands at the ready in a bastardized tiger stance. Neither are willing to make the first move. Then Valentine drops his stance and, with an eyebrow cocked and a hand at his hip, waves his fingers at O’Toole, gesturing for him to approach. David feints a bite: he steps in, then flows back as Valentine reaches for his forward arm. Valentine rolls his eyes—and David sees his opening, stepping up for a superkick! It connects to Valentine’s chin with an audible snap and Valentine reels. O’Toole rebounds against the opposite ropes and rushes Valentine, keeping his momentum strong. He draws close and whips his arm out for a lariat—but Valentine ducks and catches an arm around O’Toole’s midsection, pulls his other arm beneath O’Toole’s shoulder, and locks him in a half-nelson. David seems frozen in flight as Valentine raises him from the mat, then slams him front-first back to the earth! Valentine moves to cover!
One!
Two!
Th—
David slides out!
Artemis fans herself.
Artemis Direction: The tension is palpable between these two!
Hiro Suzuki: They’re both taking this fight personally. It’s like they’re each facing off against the manifestation of their personal ethos.
Del Ramos: FUCK EACH OTHER UP!
O’Toole leaps to his feet and the crowd cheers. Valentine rises and scoffs, amused. O’Toole immediately rallies and charges Valentine, striking across him with a punch that skims off Valentine’s chest—but it’s another feint! In that moment David has slipped around to Valentine’s other shoulder, and he reaches for his head and rolls them both forward in a snapmare. And as Roy staggers back on his feet, David hooks his leg around Valentine’s, and in a modified leg sweep he shoves Valentine’s shoulder to send him sprawling onto his back. David drops on top of Valentine and hooks him in a cradle pin!
One—
Valentine kicks out!
Del grins.
Del Ramos: I bet our mean-streak marigold didn’t appreciate that very much.
O'Toole wastes no time allowing Valentine to recover. While Valentine stares blankly at the ceiling, David falls upon his opponent. David bends Valentine’s arm at the elbow and wrenches it beside Valentine’s head, holding it in position by leaning his chest into Valentine’s tricep; then wraps a bicep around Valentine’s neck, cinches his hands together, and completes the anaconda vise! Valentine’s free arm flails for freedom—but O’Toole does not relent! Blood rushes into Valentine’s face as he writhes in O’Toole’s grip, clearly struggling for breath. It seems like David has felled goliath... until Valentine whips his free hand towards O’Toole’s head and gouges a thumb into his opponent’s eye! David pulls away, clutching his face!
Hiro Suzuki: Oof! Desperation from Valentine!
Artemis Direction: I get the feeling a loss to O’Toole isn’t what our botanical baron had in mind going into this fight.
Del Ramos: Heh! Knowing Valentine’ll do whatever he has to to win in a fight just makes me like the guy even more. People might argue somebody like Valentine’s got no place in a ring; it ain’t for the hoity toity well-to-do types. But who’s going to crueler in the ring than some fucker that just does whatever he wants when he wants and looks at human beings as resources to be exploited and exhausted in the name of their own profit? Those motherfuckers will feed your ass into a meat grinder if it means one extra dime. You think they’ll be any nicer to their opponents in the ring?
On his feet again, Valentine looms over a prostrate David like a buzzard circling carrion. He leans down and drags O’Toole back up by the hair. O’Toole grabs at Valentine’s hand, but hasn't regained his feet as Valentine launches him into the ropes. David spins and rebounds towards Valentine’s open, waiting arms. But Valentine’s been busy preparing his next move—he hasn’t noticed the spark of rage burning in David’s now clear eyes! The grapple finds nobody home as David ducks it and hits Valentine square in the gut with a powerful right fist! As Valentine reels, David follows with an elbow to the side of Valentine’s head, and finishes with a standing enziguri! Down goes Valentine!
Artemis Direction: What a little firecracker Mr. O’Toole has turned out to be!
Del Ramos: See, guys like O’Toole are just on the opposite side of things. They don’t get to have countless second chances or have the money to fall back on if they fail. Valentine’s fighting for his pride, O’Toole’s fighting for his survival.
With his opponent trying to gather his senses, David turns now to the ropes. He mounts the first in the centre, then climbs the second and third in short order. At the ropes’ zenith, O’Toole pumps his fist, and the crowd roars! He checks Valentine—still flat on his back—and tests the ropes once, twice, three times—and yelps in surprise when Valentine crashes into his back in a flying tackle! Both fighters tumble off the apron, clattering to the ground below. Valentine falls hard on his hip; David lands high on his back; both men clutch their injured bodies in raw pain. Seeing both fighters incapacitated, Jill Kincaid starts the count out!
One! Two! Three! Valentine’s injured hip gives under him as he tries to stand!
Four! Five! Six! O’Toole can't quite regain himself as his chest flutters with shallow breaths!
Seven! Eight! Nine! Ten!
Del Ramos: Ascended Army, we have a DRAW!
Artemis Direction: My goodness! I don’t think that’s the ending either of them expected.
Del Ramos: Oh, I bet Valentine’s fucking pissed. Heh! Good. Add fuel to the fire so that rematch will be nice and bloody.
Hiro Suzuki: Kevin Kim being indisposed reveals a need we have for a dedicated on-staff interviewer. Thankfully, it looks like one is on the way!
It had been a long time since Belle Silva tried to prep herself for an interview. She didn’t remember feeling so nervous at her previous job, but from what she heard from backstage rumors, Jodie Nguyen wasn’t a person to take lightly.
Belle’s heels tap lightly across the concrete floor as she makes her way to Jodie’s office. She could do this, she WILL do this. With hesitant bravery, she knocks lightly on the proper door.
A voice comes from the other side, smooth and cool as cut quartz.
Jodie Nguyen: Come in.
Belle takes a deep breath and opens the door, distracting herself from the extravagant decor and the breathtaking views, by keeping her eyes focused on Jodie Nguyen. She holds out a hand she hopes isn’t trembling and manages to say.
Belle Silva: Hello Ms. Nguyen, I’m Belle Silva. It’s a pleasure to meet you.
Seated behind a desk of gleaming koa wood, Jodie’s eyes flick to the extended hand, then back up to Belle’s face. She offers a small smile before taking the hand and giving it a firm shake.
Jodie Nguyen: Hello, Ms. Silva. Please have a seat and we’ll begin.
Belle smoothes out her skirt and sits.
Belle Silva: Thank you! I’m really excited about the prospect of working for you!
Jodie lifts a tablet from the desktop, flicking through a few pages of it.
Jodie Nguyen: Your credentials as an interviewer are impeccable. Why do you want to work with Ascended? What is it about us that makes us a superior choice to other journalism or voice work options elsewhere?
Belle Silva: Outside of personal reasons, I love what the company stands for. I enjoy the fact that you’re upfront and honest about why Ascended is the place for any given person be it a wrestler or a crew member.
Belle chews on her lip as she thinks about her answer further.
Belle Silva: I want to be a part of something big and work to make it even bigger from the ground up.
She nods to confirm that she is finished.
Jodie nods, watching Belle closely.
Jodie Nguyen: Normally, I would have no reservations about hiring you, however I have concerns about you assaulting talent. Would you care to speak about your incident with Kane King involving that syringe at your previous place of employment?”
Belle sighs, ashamed.
Belle Silva: I was worried about my girlfriend and her well-being. It was a one-time thing that won’t happen again. Period.
Belle’s tone takes on a note of firmness to assure Jodie that it was indeed a one-off situation.
Jodie observes Belle for a silent moment longer before nodding.
Jodie Nguyen: I want to hire you on a trial basis. While what you did may have been a one-time event, it was extreme in nature. I want you to maintain a twenty foot distance from Mr. King at all times, and should Zephyr and he be in a match together, you are not permitted to enter the building in which it is taking place. I think you’ll see that our salary and benefits package is superior to others you may find elsewhere. How do you feel about this?
Belle considers for a moment before smiling.
Belle Silva: That’s more than fair. Thank you so much!
Belle smiles again and stands, offering her hand to her new boss.
Getting to her feet, Jodie takes Belle’s hand, eyes never leaving her face.
Jodie Nguyen: I’m trusting you to be a professional, Ms. Silva. Don’t disappoint me.
The scene cuts back to the commentary table, Artemis clasping her hands together.
Artemis Direction: Well, isn’t that exciting! We’re going to have a new staff member!
Del Ramos: One with the guts to attack King? Fuckin’ metal.
Hiro Suzuki: Her girlfriend is in our next match.
Artemis Direction: Ah, yes! Zephyr Quinn versus SKUP9! I’ll take this one, dears.
Rising from her seat and entering the ring, Artemis clears her throat delicately before speaking.
Artemis Direction: Ascended Army, the next match is set for one fall! Introducing first, he says he hails from Grand Junction, Colorado, but in my opinion, this rugged fellow comes straight out of bear country! Weighing in at an impressive 369 lbs and walking in the category of unstoppable lumberjack, we have, ‘The Eliminator,’ SKUP9!
The arena's lights snuff out as a distant voice proclaims:
A chorus of violins and organs rise in the darkness, and the voice speaks again.
Bass and drums reverberate through the speakers, filling the arena. A spotlight kicks in on stage and reveals the hulking silhouette of a man standing before the entrance. The lights flare up and The Eliminator's hands fly into the air. He treads down to the ring with thundering steps, casting a hard gaze across the crowd. Most of the audience shy from his stare. At the ringside, one step takes SKUP9 to the apron, and another takes him over and inside, where he stretches in his corner with eyes locked on the entrance.
Hiro Suzuki sighs wistfully.
Hiro Suzuki: Do you think they make beard implants like hair implants?
Del Ramos: If they do, you have to let me see how they mess up your face. Botched cosmetic procedures are fucking brutal.
Artemis Direction: And now approaching the ring from...well, it says parts unknown, but hunties, we all know our ultraviolent angel was heaven sent! Joined by her lovely girlfriend who will soon be on the Ascended payroll, she is the, ‘Crazy Angel,’ walking in the category of Amazonian bad-ass, ZEPHYR QUINN!
"Send Me An Angel," rings out as the fans in attendance pop. Zephyr Quinn comes out to the stage, Belle Silva at her side. A look of pure confidence crosses over Zephyr's face as she strolls to the ring with Belle trailing slightly behind her. She hops up lightly onto the apron as Belle climbs the stairs. Together the two enter the ring and pose in the center as the music fades.
The two opponents approach one another, the size and height difference unignorable with SKUP9 standing a whole foot taller than Quinn.
Hiro Suzuki: Quinn’s got her work cut out for her. Hey, who’s the greatest babysitter in the Bible?
Del Ramos: Every day I look to the sky hopeful for piranha rain, and every day I am disappointed when I see you haven’t been devoured by a torrent of ravenous fish delivered from the sky by a God making up for their biggest mistake.
Hiro Suzuki: David! He rocked Goliath to sleep!
Del looks up toward the ceiling.
Del Ramos: Satan hasn’t done me a solid yet even though he owes me. I guess that’s what you get when you deal with the Father of Lies, but you live and you learn. You take this guy out with a miraculous downpour of bloodthirsty fish, I’ll be back on the team, Lord. Your move.
After a long moment in which nothing happens, Del scowls sourly.
Del Ramos: Fucking bullshit.
SKUP9 looks mildly amused as Zephyr walks up to him, undaunted. They bump chests briefly, Quinn staring up at her opponent intensely before flexing her arms to show off her biceps. Laughing, SKUP9 flexes his own only for Zephyr to nail him under the chin with a headbutt! Shaking his head, surprised, Zephyr doesn’t waste a moment, hitting her opponent with a flurry of punches to send him back-first into the corner! Quinn continues her assault, mounting the second rope to get a boost above her opponent as she lays in with strikes to SKUP9’s head!
Artemis Direction: My my my! Ms. Quinn is in all out assault mode!
Del Ramos: She’s smart. SKUP9 outweighs her by at least two hundred pounds, if I had to guess, and he’s got a foot of height on her. The best thing she can do is keep the pressure on. If she gives him a chance, that size differential is going to be a problem.
Sure enough, the Eliminator manages to shove at Zephyr’s mid-section, causing her to stumble off the second ropes! While she manages to land nimbly, SKUP9 catches hold of her, swinging her back around into the turnbuckle where she was just punishing him! Before Zephyr can react, he catches her, turning her around and taking a few running steps toward the center of the ring before hurling the Crazy Angel over and down to the mat in a Biel Throw that leaves her stunned!
Hiro Suzuki: Jeez, it’s like she didn’t weigh a thing to him!
Del Ramos: She’s in for it now.
Stalking back over to his opponent who’s just recovering and trying to get vertical, The Elminator grabs onto Zephyr, wrapping an arm around her neck and gripping onto her waistband, then hoists her, inverted, and upward! He walks around the ring as easily as if he were carrying a child, Quinn’s contorted face beginning to turn red.
Del Ramos: Oooh those delayed vertical suplexes are brutal. All the blood’s rushing out of her extremities into her head.
Like a tree being felled, The Eliminator falls backward, slamming Zephyr into the canvas with authority! Hooking her leg, he goes for the pin!
ONE!
TWO!
THR--
Kick out from Quinn!
Hiro Suzuki: Talk about endurance!
Artemis Direction: They’ve both got something special, that’s for certain.
SKUP9 gets up again, looking mildly annoyed, and seeming to be done with fun and games. As Zephyr is still recovering, struggling to her feet, he wraps an arm over her neck and clutches onto her waistband. It looks like he’s about to perform another vertical suplex, but as he lifts Zephyr, his arm shifts to position her for the Abolition!
Del Ramos: I think at this point, it’s all over but the crying.
Finding some hidden well of strength, Zephyr twists in the Eliminator’s grip! Wrapping her own arm over his neck, she swings herself under SKUP9’s arm, using the momentum to plant his head onto the mat in her Angel’s Penance finisher! Quinn goes for the pin!
ONE!
TWO!
THREE!
Artemis Direction: Your winner by pinfall, the Crazy Angel, ZEPHYR QUINN!
Hiro Suzuki: Quick thinking on Quinn’s part got her the win!
Del Ramos: She’s wily like that. And all this does is help her figure out how to fight other monsters she’s got her eye on. You ask me, this girl’s fixing to be our giant slayer, which would be metal as fuck.
Hiro Suzuki: Hey, what did the giant say when he caught Jack snooping around his castle?
Del Ramos: I brought the scorpions, Suzuki. They’re here. In the building.
Hiro Suzuki: Have you bean stalking me?
Del Ramos: Just introduce the next fight, I’m going to figure out how to get scorpions from an IV into your veins.
Hiro climbs into the ring, raising the mic to his lips.
Hiro Suzuki: Hello, Ascended Army! Thank you so much for your feedback from my last ring introductions! I’ve taken it to heart and I think I’ve got some new material you’re going to love! So for our next fight, we’ve got The Catalyst Jimmy Allen and the Culture Clash Kyle Beckett! Say, do you know why cowboys always ride horses? Because they’re way too heavy to carry!
Fan: DIE IN A FIRE, SUZUKI!
Hiro Suzuki: Ah, okay, gotta workshop that one a little! You’re coming through loud and clear! Now I’m still trying to deal with the idea of spider rain and murder birds that were brought to my attention the other week, but that got me thinking! There are cute, cuddly animals in Australia, too! In fact, did you hear about the Australian animal that was hired by H.R.? He was koala-fied for the job!
Fan: KOALAS ARE RIDDLED WITH CHLAMYDIA, HAVE SHRIVELED BRAINS AND EAT POISON!
Hiro blanches.
Hiro Suzuki: Is there any animal in Australia that isn’t deadly, bizarre, or full of STIs!?
Fan: IT’S NATURE’S PETRI DISH, JACKASS! DEAL WITH IT!
Sighing, he shakes his head and clears his throat.
Hiro Suzuki: The following match is scheduled for one fall! Introducing to the ring first!
‘Stick to Your Guns,’ by the Sick Puppies comes on over the sound system and Kyle stands at the top of the entrance ramp, bent slightly forward and arms crossed. He drops the hood of his jacket and throws his arms out wide, letting out an excited roar to the crowd. He looks around to take in the arena before striding down the ramp.
Hiro Suzuki: From Brisbane, Australia weighing in at 201 pounds, he is the Culture Clash, KYLE BECKETT!
Kyle ascends on to the ring apron, looking out to the arena again with a sly grin on his face and climbs to the top of the turnbuckle where he cries out “Aussie, Aussie, Aussie!,” to which the crowd responds, ‘Oi, Oi, Oi!’ before leaping down to the ring and preparing himself for the match.
Hiro Suzuki: And his opponent!
Contrasting other fighters’ entrances throughout the night, no pyro or special effects heralds this wrestler; just the haunting, wandering strains of Seattle’s own Foo Fighters’ ‘The Pretender,’ bouncing around the Colosseum.
As the percussion kicks in, Jimmy Allen makes his way out onto the stage, arms extended, hands balled into a fist over his head. He looks out over the crowd and smiles as he crosses them into an “X”, the crowd pops as he rushes toward the ring. At the last possible moment, he leaps up and deftly baseball slides under the bottom rope towards the center of the ring. He pops back to his feet and goes to the nearest turnbuckle, where he repeats his pose from the ramp before leaping off into a backward flip back towards the center of the ring.
Hiro Suzuki: From Dallas, Texas, weighing in at 246 pounds, he is The Catalyst, JIMMY ALLEN!
The two young men begin circling each other, steps terse, tension crackling between them. As if sensing some shift in energy, the pair fall in toward each other, trading stiff punches! Falling out of the rhythm and swinging around to position himself at Kyle’s side, Jimmy takes advantage of the momentary mis-step by the Culture Clash, hooking one hand behind his head, tangles their legs together and takes him down with a Russian legsweep! Kyle seeing stars, Allen leaps to his feet and swiftly executes a springboard leg drop across his opponent’s chest! Beckett gasping, Jimmy goes for the pin!
ONE!
TWO--
Kick out from Beckett!
Artemis Direction: Well, our blue-eyed cowboy is quick as a bunny, isn’t he?
Hiro Suzuki: It seems like he’s trying to differentiate himself from his father, who’s a bit of a bruiser.
Del Ramos: Serve it to me however you want, I just want to eat the violence.
Kyle Beckett gets to his feet, breathing ragged, eyeing Allen. Jimmy steps in quickly to re-engage, but this time, Beckett’s ready for him. Once the cowboy has built up some momentum, Kyle ducks out of the way, causing Allen to collide with the turnbuckle behind him. With Jimmy momentarily stunned, Beckett grabs him roughly by the shoulders, spins him around and starts laying into him with forearm chops! Satisfied with the damage done, Kyle hoists Allen up onto the top turnbuckle, grips the back of his head and slams him to the mat with a one-handed bulldog!
Hiro Suzuki: Beckett showing he’s not one to be underestimated!
Artemis Direction: If they’re this exemplary this early in their careers, just imagine what they might make of themselves here at Ascended! We’re looking at the future of our company here.
Climbing to the top of the turnbuckle, Beckett positions himself for the Reality Check! As he sails through the air, too late to make an adjustment, Allen rolls out of the way, Kyle colliding with the canvas! Jimmy gets to his knees, gasping, eyeing his fallen opponent. Still dazed, Kyle can’t prevent Allen from grabbing his arm and dragging him to his feet. In a motion that’s almost balletic, Jimmy begins to set Kyle up for The Plot Twist; a ripcord knee strike. But as he starts to draw Beckett back in, Kyle lets out a cry, straining his entire body into resisting and using the momentum to send Allen into the ropes! Jimmy takes it in stride, using the ropes to spring at Kyle with a crossbody, but shockingly, Beckett catches him! Grimacing with effort, Allen trying to break free, Kyle rotates his body before swinging Jimmy around him, nailing him with his Break the Cycle signature!
Beckett goes for the pin!
ONE!
TWO!
THREE!
Hiro Suzuki: Your winner by pinfall, The Culture Clash, KYLE BECKETT!
Artemis Direction: Well that was certainly thrilling! I think it’s safe to say we’ve seen a couple of future champions in this match tonight.
Del Ramos: Absolutely. They both got grit, and I think they’re both going to come away from this match with wisdom that’ll serve them well in their next one.
Hiro looks a bit nervous, glancing between Artemis and Del.
Hiro Suzuki: So, uh...speaking of next matches...our main event is coming up…
Del grins madly.
Artemis sighs.
Artemis Direction: Evidently Mara Lang has never heard the advice, ‘Don’t Poke the Bear.’
Del Ramos: Well consider this bear thoroughly prodded.
Taking their mic to the ring, Del lets out a dark little giggle.
Del Ramos: Goddamn this is gonna be good. King’s gonna fucking burn Lang in effigy and I am here for it.
They clear their throat.
Del Ramos: Ascended Army this is your main event of the evening! Introducing first to the ring from Bellevue, Washington weighing in at 185 lbs, she is MARA LANG!
The Titan-tron screen comes to life with what looks like a network of nerves branching out in silvery spikes, electrical impulses crackling through them along to the strains of, ‘Twisted Nerve,’ by Bernard Herrmann. Those impulses form the name, ‘Mara Lang,’ in shivering silver letters before they burst into brilliant sparks. The lights on either side of the entrance rotate, flashing white beams in an almost hypnotic pattern as Mara steps through to the top of the ramp. As the sharp whistling sound of Mara’s entrance music cuts through the air, the crowd is quieter than would be expected. There is something unwholesome about the way she strides to the ring, not a motion wasted. The only thing that would suggest any distraction from her destination is the motion of her eyes; casting back and forth among the assembled as if assessing them.
Del Ramos: Hehehe...and her opponent...
The screens display a flickering, static-struck screen with the crowned rat logo, bone-white over a black and red spattered background as the first riffs of "Hail to the King" begin playing; when the first heavy thrums of rhythm guitar in the music strike, the logo shudders and glitches, electricity running through it from left to right like a broken heartbeat. Below the screens the entrance is flooded with rolling fog cast in blood-red light and white strobe lights that match the beat of the song and of the electric shock waves on the screen.
Del Ramos: Weighing in at 280 pounds from Portland, Oregon, accompanied to the ring by Grace King, he is THE LAB RAT KING!
When the Lab Rat King emerges at the top of the ramp, there’s something… visibly off about his behaviour. Even Grace, his wife and valet, looks livid, as though she’s ready to jump into the ring and tear Lang apart herself. With blue eyes as cold as ice, she wordlessly lifts her hand away from King’s arm.
Like a wolf being released from a chain, the Lab Rat King comes tearing down the ramp before the music even stops, slipping through the ropes like his namesake, and taking Mara Lang to the ground with a no-mercy clothesline!!
Hiro Suzuki: OH MY GOD!
Del Ramos: AHAHAHA! YES! FUCKING YES!!
Mara Lang arches her back off the mat in pained reflex, though there’s a mile-wide grin plastered to her face.
Artemis Direction: Oh, this is just…unsettling.
As though she anticipated this brutal start, Lang quickly returns to her feet. King lunges to grab her with a furious snarl--anticipating this, Lang sidesteps to slip halfway out of the monster’s grasp, hooking his left leg with her right and pulling him backwards to the mat with a Russian leg sweep! King’s shoulders hit the canvas with a thunderous noise. Lang goes for a quick pin while she has the element of surprise.
ONE--NO!
And a bone-chilling howl of rage erupts from the monster as he rolls to his feet.
Del has mounted the commentary table, eyes blazing with joy.
Del Ramos: IT’S YOUR BIRTHDAY, KIDS! TIME TO BREAK OPEN THE PINATAS AND GET THE CANDY INSIDE! AND BY CANDY I MEAN BLOOD AND INTERNAL ORGANS!
Artemis Direction: Yes, Del, I don’t think you needed to explain that bit.
Apparently smart enough to know a chop isn’t going to cut it against this beast of an opponent, Mara Lang is ready with a Superkick as soon as King is back on his feet. Her boot makes a solid impact with his muzzled jaw, sending him staggering back a step… but King rights himself with a growl, drawing in seething breaths that swell his massive chest, his eyes wild and bright in their sunken sockets.
Lab Rat King: STOP LOOKING AT ME!!
The scream is loud enough to be heard in the nosebleeds without the help of any mic. King rushes his opponent again, but this time he seems ready to counter her strategy of taking the beast off his legs. When she attempts a similar maneuver, he voluntarily lets his boots leave the mat, avoiding her sweep and coming down with a brutal right hand that knocks Lang directly down into the mat!
Hiro Suzuki: Should we let this keep going? I think there’s something...really wrong…
Del Ramos: THE ONLY THING THAT’S WRONG IS WE DON’T HAVE A FACE MELTING SICK AS HELL METAL TRACK AS A SOUNDTRACK!
But King isn’t done. While Lang is dazed by the impact, the monster picks her up bodily, flipping her onto her back and promptly returning her to the canvas with a protobomb! He steps on her sternum, attempting to hold her shoulders down to the mat!
ONE!
TW-- KICKOUT!
Still grinning as though she’s won the pain lottery, Lang is back on her feet and attempts an uppercut, once again trying to stun the monster. Multiple strikes have King backed into the ropes. Abruptly he seems to have had enough of it, and howls with fury as he throws his weight forward, catching Lang midway through her next strike and throwing her down again with a sidewalk slam! The Ascended Army is a mess of jeering and gasps as he just keeps going, picking her up again around the waist and into his devastating finish-- Empty, Hollow, THUD!
This time he takes the pin by dropping his knee across her shoulders, snarling!
ONE!
TWO!
THREE!
But the monster isn’t done.
After the bell rings, possessed of some blind fury, King drags Lang to her feet with both hands, throwing her into the turnbuckles! As she crumples against them, he rushes her again, viciously attacking her head and shoulders with knee strikes, trapping her in the corner in an unsanctioned Rat Cage!
Lab Rat King: I SAID!!! STOP!!! LOOKING!!! AT ME!!
Both refs rush in to pull the pair apart, but they can’t get close enough--even Godric Smith is knocked back, shouting diffusing words that fall on deaf, monstrous ears. The Lab Rat King is out of control!
Grace King tries to enter the ring, but Smith catches her by the shoulders, holding her back and shaking his head frantically. It looks like he’s mouthing the words, ‘It’s too dangerous!’ She continues trying to reach King, calling out his name, but he’s not responding! Lang herself is minimally responsive at best, her wheezing, disjointed laughter seeming more like reflex than choice, but that doesn’t stop King from continuing!
??: KANE!
At the top of the ramp stands Silvio Leon, LRK’s tag partner and friend, eyes wide with alarm, mic held to his mouth.
Silvio Leon: Big Guy, you don’t want to do this! You--
A figure approaches in the shadows from behind the Oracle, and there’s a sharp clang as a steel chair comes swinging out of the dim to nail him in the back of the head! Silvio’s eyes roll up into his head and he wobbles before collapsing onto the ramp.
Artemis Direction: SILVIO!
Hiro Suzuki: Oh my God!
The figure steps into the light, looking down at the fallen wrestler at his feet. Laughing to himself, the Insensate kicks Leon to roll him over before planting a foot on the incapacitated Oracle’s chest, the steel chair still held in one hand.
Artemis Direction: That little monster!
Del Ramos: I think we should be way more worried about the big one in the ring right now. Well, you guys should be, anyway. This is Christmas in August for me.
Security is dispatched to the ring, but anyone who gets close to the Lab Rat King is met with a snarl and a blow to send them sprawling!
Artemis Direction: Can anyone stop this!?
Like she’s answering a prayer, Ascended’s Crazy Angel, Zephyr Quinn, vaults over the guardrail, flying into the ring and letting out a wild cry as she launches herself at King. The man turns just in time to get a Superman punch right between the eyes!
Hiro Suzuki: Quinn hoping to end this with Swift Termination!
LRK, exhausted, battered, and emotionally eviscerated, sways once before collapsing to the canvas. Zephyr whirls around, seeming to look for the Insensate, but Lang’s magnum opus has since retreated. EMTs are rushing from the back, tending to all of the fallen fighters and staff who were caught in the crossfire. Lang has lost consciousness, a bloodied heap on the mat. Grace King is kneeling beside her fallen husband, choking back tears as she takes his hand.
Del is grinning with bloodthirsty glee, hands rubbing together and eyes alight.
Del Ramos: Oh this is fucking good. You know the best part of this fight?
Hiro Suzuki: It’s finally over?
Del Ramos: Ohhh no, Suzuki. If you think this is over, you’re delusional. The best thing about this fight is that it’s just getting started.
Artemis Direction: Thank you for joining us tonight on Collision, everyone! We’ll keep you up to date about everyone’s conditions on our social media accounts. See you in two weeks on the next edition of Collision at the Colosseum!
Credits
Frater Perdurabo Interview - Bill
Roy Valentine vs. David O'Toole - g and Roy Valentine
Belle Silva Interview - Ampersand and Mia
LRK vs. Mara Lang - Zen
Everything Else - Ampersand
I'm checking my vital signs, drawing my battle lines
Going to war again
Feeling the rhythm inside of my chest
All I need is just a pen
I know I was born for this
I know I was born for this
Don't care for the critics, my words are like physics
A force that they can't stop
They just don't get it, I think they forget
I'm not done till I'm on top
I know I was born for this
I know I was born for this
The Adorable Death Captain, eyes alight, laughs maniacally while brandishing a chainsaw. He turns to the camera and blows a spray of blue and pink from his mouth that obscures the scene. The color is fractured and carried away to reveal David O’Toole blowing on a dandelion, releasing its seeds to swirl across the sky, carried on the same wind that ruffles the hair of Roy Valentine, who scowls at them as they come to rest among the roses in a garden. The scene flashes again and SKUP9 is shown in the ring, dismantling opponents, utterly dominating with his size and strength. The scene dissolves into a blaze of rage, resolving again to show Zephyr Quinn dressed in a white sleeveless hoodie, perched atop the dragon-patterned Historic Chinatown Gate in Seattle’s International District, gazing at the full moon.
I believe, I believe
We can write our story
I believe, I believe
We can be an army
The round moon shifts in shade, becoming the blue eye of Jimmy Allen, the camera zooming out to reveal as he pulls a bandana down from his face, his gaze searching the Seattle skyline from his apartment’s rooftop. The view swoops through the city, finally coming to Kyle Beckett, his face determined even as the camera continues to swing behind him, showing him staring up the expanse of the Harbor Steps, taking a deep breath before he begins sprinting up them. The scene fades to white, the view circling Mara Lang as she sits at her office desk, dispassionately reviewing test results. Her image is rent by darkness, the Lab Rat King shown crouched atop a wooden pallet in a tunnel of the Seattle Underground, amber eyes baleful twin stars blazing into the viewer’s.
We are the warriors, who learned to love the pain
We come from different places but have the same name
'Cause we were born for this
We are the broken ones, who chose to spark a flame
Watch as our fire rages, our hearts are never tame
'Cause we were, 'cause we were,
'Cause we were, 'cause we were born for this
We were born for this!
The view shifts to the interior of the Colosseum, the camera sweeping over the cheering crowd, signs held aloft.
ROSES > DANDELIONS
CULL THE WEAK!
LONDON CALLING!
BATTLE OF THE BEARDS WHEN??
The view shifts to the commentary table to show Artemis Direction, Del Ramos, and Hiro Suzuki.
Del Ramos: What’s going on, Ascended Army? You making your weekly sacrifices to the nameless gods of death metal and blood?
Artemis clears her throat delicately, eyeing Del.
Del lets out a rumbling sigh, rolling their eyes before continuing.
Del Ramos: Okay, we can talk about the sacrifices later by the docks at midnight; usual meeting place. Anyway, being professional and shit, joining me tonight on commentary are drag goddess, Artemis Direction -
Artemis winks at the camera with a smile.
Del Ramos: And the reason I drink, Hiro Suzuki.
Hiro Suzuki: Hey, speaking of drinking, tell me if you’ve heard this one! A priest, a rabbi, and a monk walk into a bar. The bartender looks at them and says, ‘What is this? Some kind of joke?’
Del Ramos: I hope you get eaten by a hundred starving, crazed weasels, you talentless ass collection.
Artemis Direction: Ooh one of my drag colleagues has an ass collection; a different ass for every occasion! It’s really something to see all on display.
Hiro Suzuki: Collections ass-ide--
Del’s hands clench into fists on the top of the table.
Hiro Suzuki: We’ve got a great card tonight!
Artemis Direction: Starting with some new blood to the company for our first two matches. And goodness if they aren’t simply paragons of masculinity!
Hiro looks wistful.
Hiro Suzuki: Such lush beards…
Del Ramos: Heh I’m pretty excited for these first two bouts. Frater and Drake both just radiate the promise of the kind of violence that I live for. And considering how shitty Dropkick and Jerky have been, I get the feeling it’s gonna be a bloodbath.
Artemis Direction: After that we get my darling Silvio facing off against a man who lives up to his name, Adorable Death Captain. I have my favorites, obviously, but I can’t deny ADC is simply precious.
Hiro makes a face, raising a brow.
Hiro Suzuki: Yeah in a totally insane way!
Artemis Direction: Hiro, dear heart, caramel is always better salted, if you catch my drift.
Hiro Suzuki: I dunno if that’s an apt comparison, but the match afterward definitely has my attention! Valentine vs. O’Toole! It’s a classic match up between the working class and the upper crust!
Del Ramos: I like O’Toole; he’s scrappy. But Valentine has a mean streak I respect. Stoked about the next fight, though. SKUP9 has shown he’s a monster in the ring, but so has Zephyr. They might need to reconstruct the ring after that match is over.
Artemis Direction: Well I’m looking forward to the match after that! Beckett and Allen are a couple of young lions vying for dominance, and I might need my smelling salts, darlings.
Hiro Suzuki: I think we might need an ambulance after our main event.
Del laughs lowly, eyes glinting, mouth a rictus grin.
Del Ramos: Oh ho ho the Rat King has to be pissed after that promo Lang released. Something tells me he’s going to be downright homicidal tonight.
Artemis Direction: Before we get into our first match of the evening, we take you backstage with Kevin Kim and Frater Perdurabo!
The cameras cut backstage and reveal Kevin Kim standing by with a rather nervous look on his face. That's probably due to the giant human being standing next to him with a scowl framed by a wild, unkempt beard. Kevin's able to retain his composure long enough to put the mic to his lips.
Kevin Kim: In just a few moments, the third opening contest in Collision history will take place between Biff Jerky and Frater Perdurabo...
Kevin looks to the subject of the interview, who's staring right back with wide eyes.
Kevin Kim: ... who is my guest at this time. Frater, tonight marks your first match in the United States and as an exclusive competitor to Ascended Wrestling. How do you see this historic night in your career playing out?
There's a silence that comes over the interview area. Not once has Frater broken his trained gaze, and he isn't about to end that streak. Instead, he runs a hand through his beard before he rips the mic from Kevin's grasp.
Frater Perdurabo: Historic? Historic? Tonight will be the farthest thing from people's minds when they look back at what I've done here. Tonight isn't some grand reveal and it isn't about some cheap test of strength that will get people off of their feet. Tonight is about the end of a career - and if I have my way, the life - of an unremarkable man. Tonight will be a milestone in the life of Biff Jerky, a man who is either bettered from being ripped apart like a wounded deer or one that is reminisced upon - gone too soon. I'm going out there to do the same thing I've been doing since I was a kid. I'm opening eyes to the truth of what this world really is. It's bleak, and it's out to destroy you. Only those that've gone through their trials, that have stared into the mouth of madness understand what it takes to merely survive, let alone be free. Tonight is Biff's test and the unveiling of the larger truth to everyone backstage and the people sitting in those seats; it's a matter of survival and I'm the measuring stick wielded by The Great Dreamer. I am his agent of chaos, here to prove that once you understand, consequences are meaningless. Tonight, Biff Jerky will either survive or be broken.
With that, Frater forcefully plants his mic into Kevin's chest. Kevin goes to return it to his lips for the follow-up question, but he's instead bet with Frater's boot to his face after he takes a few steps back and hits the interviewer with a big boot! Frater lifts Kevin to his feet and actually has to support him to keep him upright. After a few good punches, Frater snatches Kevin by the throat, lifts him for a chokeslam, and drives Kevin's spine across his knee! He lets Kevin hit the floor in a sprawled, motionless mess. A pleased smirk starts to crawl across Frater's face as he snatches the mic that was abandoned in the assault. Once it's to his lips he puts his focus on the camera.
Frater Perdurabo: WHAT I want, WHEN I want, and to WHOMEVER I want! Biff Jerky! Enjoy these precious few moments before you're sent to your public execution!
Frater spikes the mic into Kevin's chest. He goes to storm off of the interview set but takes the time to stop and release a primal scream at Kevin before he's completely gone. The shot fades to black.
As the shot fades back to the commentary table, Hiro and Artemis’ jaws have dropped, eyes wide. Del is laughing fit to split their sides, pounding one hand on the table.
Del Ramos: Holy shit did you see that? AHAHAHA!
Hiro is pale, teeth set, a little hiss of sympathetic pain forced through them.
Artemis Direction: Well, this leaves us at somewhat of a quandary for the evening. Who are we going to get for the ring announcement?
Del Ramos: Huh. Well, fuck, I mean it’s not like we don’t use our voices to make a living.
Hiro Suzuki: Good point! I guess we can take turns until Kevin is, er, conscious again.
Artemis sniffs disdainfully.
Artemis Direction: Well, I’m certainly not going to announce the brute--
Del Ramos: DIBS!
Vaulting over the commentator’s table, ripping off their headset, Del makes their way to the ring, mic in hand. After tapping it a couple of times, they bring it to their mouth.
Del Ramos: Alright, Ascended Army! You all saw Kim get his shit rocked, so we’re going to be doing things a little differently tonight! Okay, so already in the ring is this entire toolbox, Biff Jerky.
Biff Jerky: Hey!
Del Ramos: Your cowboy schtick is stupid and fake. Have you ever even been on a ranch or a farm in your miserable little fake cowboy life?
Biff Jerky: ...They’re dirty...
The house lights dim.
The unrelenting introduction of "The Heaviest Matter of the Universe" is accompanied by strobes flashing in time with the drums as Frater Perdurabo emerges onto the stage.
Del Ramos: The following contest is scheduled for one fall! Introducing from Cefalù, Sicily, weighing in at 336 pounds, he is ‘Necesse Malum,’ FRATER PERDURABO!
Frater wastes no time heading down the ramp and stops once he reaches ringside. He reaches up, takes hold of the ropes, hauls his frame up onto the apron, then climbs over the top rope. Once in the ring, Frater heads to the opposite end and paces back and forth between the corners as the building's lighting returns to normal.
Hiro Suzuki: Why do we keep attracting such creepy people?
DING DING!
Godric Smith presides over this opening match, stepping back as Frater and Jerky immediately start going at each other, trading stiff blows.
Artemis Direction: Looks like Biff feels as if he has something to prove now.
Del Ramos: Is it how to get his ass kicked? Because if it is, we’ve got plenty of footage already.
Hiro Suzuki: And it looks like Frater’s aiming to make an impression!
Frater catches Biff by the arm, Irish whipping him into the ropes before hitting him with a running low-angle shoulder block, sending his opponent to the mat! Frater doesn’t bother following, instead pacing a tight circle around Jerky, staring at him with predatory intensity. Biff climbs to his feet again, only for Frater to seize hold of his hair, yanking his head in close and seeming to whisper malicious things into the ear of his opponent, with a joyfully vicious smile. Whatever he’s saying seems to infuriate Jerky who wrenches free and takes a wild swing at Frater! Frater dodges easily, malicious glee still shining in his eyes as he swings around and secures his arms about Biff’s waist, executing a savage powerbomb!
Hiro Suzuki: Yep! Definitely an impression. On the mat. Specifically of Biff Jerky’s body.
Del is cackling with delight.
Del Ramos: Even your shitty humor can’t bring me down right now, Suzuki! I’m ecstatic we have this motherfucker on the roster now!
Artemis Direction: Well, someone needs to speak with him about assaulting the non-fighting staff. We can’t have him just beating people up outside of contractual obligation.
Biff Jerky writhes on the mat in pain before rolling under the bottom rope and off the ring apron to hit the mats outside.
Del Ramos: Looks like Biff is trying to get a break from the fight to gather himself.
Hiro Suzuki: Artemis! Knock-knock!
Artemis Direction: Who’s there?
Hiro Suzuki: Interrupting commentator!
Artemis Direction: Interrupting commentator wh--
Hiro Suzuki: FRATER’S COMING AT JERKY WITH A SUICIDE DIVE!
Biff sees it a split second before it makes impact; Frater flying from the ring to collide with his opponent! Both men climb back to their feet, but Jerky is just a bit faster. Desperate, almost terrified, Biff executes a quick superkick that catches Frater in the jaw and sends him staggering back. He scrambles back into the ring, scuttling back against the turnbuckle furthest from where Frater stands.
Artemis Direction: I think Jerky is genuinely scared of Frater.
Hiro Suzuki: Who in their right mind wouldn’t be? The guy’s relentless and he hasn’t given Biff a moment to come up with some kind of strategy or even rest!
Del Ramos: Heh...something tells me Frater’s the kind of dude who can smell fear.
Like some kind of inhuman slasher stalking their prey in a horror movie, Frater climbs back into the ring. Biff shakes his head, trembling before throwing caution to the wind with a warbling battle cry, arm raised as if to execute a lariat. As he makes his blind run, Frater catches him by his throat and waistband. Biff Jerky barely has time to choke out a protest before Frater lifts him off the canvas and slams him, back down, on his extended knee in his signature Culling of the Weak!
Hiro Suzuki: Oof...I hope our insurance covers chiropractors. Y’know, comedians and chiropractors have a lot in common!
Artemis Direction: How so?
Hiro Suzuki: We both crack people up!
Del Ramos: I’m going to put a crack in your fucking face if you don’t shut up, Suzuki.
Artemis Direction: I think the end may be in sight, darlings!
As Jerky starts to rise to his knees, Frater comes up behind him, gripping both sides of his opponent’s head and applying pressure! Biff lets out a cry of pain and frantically taps out!
DING DING DING!
Del Ramos: Your winner by submission, FRATER PERDURABO!
Hiro Suzuki: Yeesh. That was disturbing as all get-out.
Del Ramos: Hell yeah it was! Gimme that fuckin’ Jason energy any day of the week.
Del lets out a contented sigh.
Del Ramos: This place is a hardcore gal’s dream come true, man. My cup runneth over. With blood and brutality.
Artemis Direction: The next new arrival at Ascended has made no bones about his attitudes regarding fighting and his love of a good scrap.
Hiro Suzuki: Drake seems tough as nails.
Del Ramos: Well that’s going to be put to the test, isn’t it? Anyone can talk a big game. It’s put up or shut up time now.
Artemis Direction: I’ll handle the announcement for this one, sweetlings.
With that, Artemis rises from her seat, tossing her hair dramatically before ascending the steps into the ring.
Artemis Direction: I hope you’re all having a fabulous evening, Ascended Army! In the ring with me right now is this example of how to sin against God using your wardrobe, Hot Dropkick.
Hot Dropkick: Hey!
Artemis Direction: You look like a Hot Topic manager - and not one of the cool ones - taking advantage of his employee discount to try and bring his Killjoy OC to life for a Danger Days LARPing session, darling, so kindly shut your mouth while mother is talking. Anyway, let me tell you all about the competitor you’re actually here to see, Ascended Army! The following match is scheduled for one fall!
The house lights dim as harsh, stark pulses of white light strobe from the entrance at the top of the ramp. As the beat of London Calling drops, Arthur Drake marches out onto the stage, wearing a leather jacket adorned with various 70's and 80's Punk band logos.
Artemis Direction: Coming to us from Tower Hamlets, London, England weighing in at 234 pounds and positively oozing punk rock realness, he is ‘The King of Catch,’ ARTHUR DRAKE!
He continues his march down the ramp and to the steel steps, walks up and wipes his feet on the apron, before entering the ring.
Artemis makes her way back to the commentator’s table, settling into her seat before freshening up her lipstick.
Del Ramos: How would you rate that walk?
Artemis Direction: 10/10 for the category! The gentleman knows how to present himself.
DING DING!
As Jill Kincaid calls for the match to begin, Arthur stalks over to Dropkick with a smirk, spreading his arms and beckoning for his opponent to hit him. At first, Dropkick looks uncertain, but he reels back and gives Arthur a chop across the chest that elicits sympathetic, ‘Oooh’s!’ from the crowd. Drake, however, just keeps smirking, having not moved an inch, beckoning for Dropkick to try again.
Del Ramos: Oooh I think poser boy’s bitten off more than he can chew.
Hiro Suzuki: You know, I once saw a beaver chewing on my favorite tree! I asked him to stop and do you know what he said to me?
Artemis Direction: No, sweetness, what did he say?
Hiro Suzuki: Gnaw!
Dropkick is hesitant, seeming shaken by his opponent’s resiliency, but he winds back and takes another swing, only to have his arm caught by Drake! Working with a speed and finesse that belies his huge frame, Arthur maneuvers around Dropkick, drawing him in almost like a dance partner, before wrenching his arm behind his back and forcing his hand toward his neck. Dropkick cries out in pain!
Del Ramos: HA! Look at our boy drawing that moron in like a pitcher plant.
Artemis Direction: What a vicious way to apply that hammerlock!
Hiro Suzuki: Looks like Dropkick is trying to fight back!
Fighting through the agony, a grimacing Hot Dropkick circles one foot around Drake’s ankle, yanking forward with all his might! Arthur goes down, Dropkick landing on top of him and breaking the hammerlock, scrambling to his feet again. He tries to capitalize on Arthur’s prone position, hitting him with an elbow drop and going for the pin!
1--
Kick out from Drake!
Del chuckles darkly.
Del Ramos: Oh, if you could bottle the panic on Dropkick’s face…
Hot Dropkick does indeed look panicked, scrambling to his feet only to have Drake stop him in his tracks by catching hold of his arm again and just slamming the other man onto the canvas! Both of them prone, Arthur grins. The pair tussle on the mat, Dropkick struggling to try and escape his opponent! In a seated position, Drake tries to lock in the Stranglehold, but Dropkick tucks his chin down and slides a hand up before his opponent can do so. Squirming, he manages to elbow Drake a few times before popping to his feet and nailing his opponent in the head with a knee strike!
Artemis Direction: Oof! I think Arthur Drake might have just gotten his bell rung.
Hiro Suzuki: Somehow I don’t think that’s going to do much to stop him.
Sure enough, Drake seems little more than mildly perturbed about the shot, getting to his feet, eyes never leaving Dropkick as he does. Swallowing visibly, looking like he’s just seen a ghost, Dropkick takes a few running steps, rebounds off the ropes, and comes flying at his opponent with a lariat! Waiting for the last moment, Arthur hits the canvas, leg slightly elevated, tripping Dropkick and causing him to land with all of that momentum directly on his face. The audience groans in sympathy as Drake tangles himself up with Dropkick’s prone form, locking his leg around him and grabbing his opponent’s left wrist in his right hand. He then swiftly places his left arm over Dropkick’s arm, grasping his right wrist to lock in the Old Bailey!
Dropkick lets out a muffled wail of pain, trying in vain to break free before finally tapping out!
DING DING DING!
Hiro Suzuki: Let’s take a quick break to peek backstage and see how our usual ring announcer, Kevin Kim, is holding up!
The scene cuts to the infirmary where Ascended’s nurse, Dante Hill, is addressing a disheveled, disoriented Kevin Kim seated at the end of an exam table.
Dante Hill: Okay, Kevin, you’re doing great! Regaining consciousness is the first step to a happy and healthy recovery! Now, I’m going to have you count to ten for me. I’ll help you get started! One…
Kevin: ...two...threeve…
Dante Hill: Gosh, wow, okay! Kevin, you seem to have created some kind of numerical chimera out of the numbers three and five! While impressive and horrifying to consider such a mathematical monstrosity, it’s not quite what we’re looking for!
Kevin: It’s fine just...gimme a minute an’ I’ll count to potato.
The scene cuts back to the commentary table where both Hiro and Artemis’ expressions can only be described as, ‘Oof,’ and Del is laughing darkly.
Artemis Direction: Eesh. Well, hunties, our next match is sure to be entertaining! Both competitors place a great deal of stage presence.
Hiro brightens, picking up his mic.
Hiro Suzuki: That means it’s my turn!
Del Ramos: Are we sure we want to give him a turn?
Before anyone can object, Hiro has left the table, making his way to the ring with a smile plastered across his face.
Hiro Suzuki: Hello, Ascended Army! Our next fight will be between a sweetheart madman from the True North, the Adorable Death Captain, and our friendly hometown cryptid, Silvio Leon! Hey, did you all hear the one about the ghost who went on vacation?
Del Ramos: Christ this is the worst idea ever.
Hiro Suzuki: He went to the Boo-hamas!
A collective groan rises from the audience, and what appears to be an empty water bottle flies from the seats, caroming off of Hiro’s head.
Del cackles.
Del Ramos: Alright, I take it back - this is a great idea.
Hiro Suzuki: Ahhh didn’t like that one, huh? Well, er, hey! Did you hear about the guy who got the Canadian map tattooed on his butt? Every time he sits down, Quebec separates!
A round of boos thunders through the Colosseum.
Fan: YOUR JOKES ARE BAD AND YOU SHOULD FEEL BAD!
Hiro Suzuki: Thanks for the feedback guys! Always appreciated! The following match is scheduled for one fall!
With that, the lights in the Colosseum go out, the Titan-tron displaying a black and white image of a Ouija board lit by candles and surrounded by scattered tarot cards and raw crystals. A planchette's point moves of its own volition across the name, ‘Silvio Leon’ written in the classic Ouija font as the opening solo of ‘Superstition,’ by Kyle Primus goes careening around the arena. The entrance is bathed in blacklight, a figure moving through it to stand at the top of the ramp, lifting their hands in front of their face to create the shape of a planchette.
Hiro Suzuki: Now entering the ring from Seattle, Washington, weighing in at 195 pounds, he is your 'Mystifying Oracle,' SILVIO LEON!
At the top of the ramp, Silvio throws down his hands, a pair of white pyros going off on either side of him as the house lights come back up. Making his way to the ring, he interacts heavily with the fans, giving them high fives, fist bumps, and taking selfies as he progresses. He does an acrobatic little flip over the top rope before landing on the canvas, striding over to a turnbuckle on the opposite side of the ring and leaning against it, grinning.
Hiro Suzuki: And his opponent!
The house lights dim, flashes of purple, blue, and pink illumination pulsating from the entrance as the first notes of Queen’s, ‘Don’t Stop Me Now,’ swell.
Tonight I'm gonna have myself a real good time
I feel alive
And the world I'll turn it inside out, yeah
I'm floating around in ecstasy
So, (don't stop me now)
(Don't stop me)
'Cause I'm having a good time, having a good time!
There’s a burst of purple, blue, and pink lights as the Adorable Death Captain makes his entrance!
Hiro Suzuki: From Calgary, Alberta Canada, weighing in at 220 lbs, he is THE ADORABLE DEATH CAPTAIN!
He sprints out in a light up jacket and runs from side to side across the stage brandishing a chainsaw! The crowd cheers appreciatively as he drops it and cartwheels down the aisle, skipping as he makes his way towards the steel steps. He walks up them gallantly, and hops into the ring.
As the two combatants regard one another in the ring, Godric Smith signals for the bell!
DING DING!
The pair begin circling one another, each sizing the other up. There’s a tense moment of stillness before Silvio makes a move to tie up, only to be met by a spray of purple mist to the face!
Del Ramos: HA! Looks like ADC’s got a nasty streak.
Silvio staggers back, rubbing at his eyes to clear his vision. While he’s preoccupied with that, ADC does a baseball slide between his legs, reaching up with both hands to catch Silvio by the waist, the pair tumbling together in an O’Connor roll before the Cutest Canadian goes for an early pin!
ONE!
TW--
Kick out from Leon!
Having cleared his vision, the Oracle gets to his feet, smiling ruefully at the wily veteran, who gives a cartoonish shrug mouthing something that looks a lot like a Bugs Bunny-esque, ‘Ain’t I a stinker?’
Leon doesn’t waste a moment, taking advantage of ADC’s teasing to catch him off guard with a spinning heel kick! While he staggers, the Adorable Death Captain does not fall. Feeding off of the momentum of his previous attack, Silvio continues to spin like a dervish, following up with a discus back elbow that connects with the side of ADC’s head, sending him to the canvas! He tries to follow with a standing corkscrew moonsault when the Cutest Canadian rolls out of the way, Leon colliding hard with the mat! Both wrestlers now on the canvas, ADC quickly capitalizes and locks in a Fujiwara armbar onto his opponent, causing Silvio to let out a yelp of pain.
Del Ramos: Your boy’s in trouble there, Artemis.
Artemis Direction: Come on, darling!
Teeth set, Silvio scrapes with his free hand across the mat, grimacing with the effort as he tries to drag himself to the nearest rope. When it’s clear that’s not going to happen, he plants his hand instead, focusing and pressing upward with all of his strength, tucking a knee beneath himself to give a little extra leverage the instant he’s able. Releasing the hold, ADC climbs to his feet, Silvio following, only for the Oracle to be hit with a knife-edge chop across the chest!
Hiro Suzuki: Owch! That knife-edge chop looked like it stung! You know, I just started designing my own knives recently. I’m using cutting edge technology!
Del Ramos: If only you were creating implements I could murder your face with. How poetic would that be?
Leon staggers back a step, but his eyes have taken on a determined gleam. ADC attempts to follow up, grabbing him and beginning to lift him off the ground, only for Silvio to swing his body upward! Scissoring his legs around the Captain’s neck, Silvio follows the motion of the move, spinning around ADC’s body and swinging his legs downward, slamming his opponent to the mat with his signature Miskatonic Twist! Climbing quickly to his feet again, Silvio ascends the nearest turnbuckle, not wanting to give ADC a chance to rise, and executes his finisher, a flashy corkscrew shooting star press he calls, ‘ The Color out of Space’! He pins the Adorable Death Captain, grimacing as his dazed opponent tries to escape! Godric Smith slides in!
ONE!
TWO!
THREE!
DING DING DING!
Hiro Suzuki: Your winner by pinfall, ‘The Oracle,’ SILVIO LEON!
Artemis Direction: Goodness, it was certainly close there a few times, wasn’t it?
Del Ramos: Whenever I get to watch a wrestling match that opens with a maniac playing with a chainsaw, I count that as a great fuckin’ day.
Hiro Suzuki: Our next match ought to be as exciting. I’m fascinated by the pair that’s going to be duking it out.
Artemis Direction: They really do come from completely different worlds, don’t they? I guess we’re going to find out what happens when worlds collide.
Del approaches the ring, mic in hand.
Del Ramos: First of all, thank you to everyone for greeting Hiro in a manner befitting his shitty sense of humor.
Hiro Suzuki: Hey, it’s not that bad!
Del Ramos: Hiro, they should fucking use your stand-up sets to compel coma patients to wake up if only to punch you in the mouth. This fight is a standard rules singles match scheduled for one fall. Now entering the ring from Cape Elizabeth, Maine, weighing in at 219 pounds, ROY VALENTINE!
Beneath crimson and gold spotlights, the arena's monitor shows an empty throne of red velvet flanked by fiery wall sconces at the top of a flight of pitch-black stairs. The camera cuts to the side of the stairs' foot, where Valentine—defined only by his gold-tasselled black dress pants and snakeskin shoes—slowly ascends, camera following in profile. The shot cuts to the back of his suit, the black fabric checkered with golden plates; then to his front, where he busies himself adjusting a golden bowtie beneath his self-satisfied smirk. At the zenith of the stairway, the camera cuts to face the throne again. Valentine spins, smooths his suit, and sits laissez-faire, legs draped over the throne's arms while he strokes his chin. Comfortable and regal, Valentine snaps his fingers; from the bottom of the screen rise animated stems, sprouting leaves and buds which consecutively burst into twisted rose blooms that spell the name "ROY VALENTINE".
In a shower of petals, Valentine now enters the arena bare-chested, sporting gold spandex leggings with a crimson vine pattern and crimson boots with golden tassels. Next to his heart he carries the signature scarlet of a "Valentine Velvet" rose, which he smells with rapture on his face before tossing it to the crowd. Valentine showers the audience in blown kisses, holding his arms aloft to the adoring—or, perhaps, disgusted—Ascended Army, as he slips below the ropes and into the ring. In his corner, leaning into the turnbuckle, Valentine lounges.
And lounges.
… And lounges.
The heavy operatic guitar has long since trailed into silence. Murmurs of confusion trail through the audience. Valentine approaches the referee and the two share a private discussion that grows to shouts and flung hands. The ref lays down the law with a hand thrust beside Valentine’s shoulder, pointing him back to his corner. Valentine brushes their arm away like a fly as he rolls his eyes and trots back—but remembers to smile and wave at the audience en route. Locked in the turnbuckle, he smolders.
Artemis Direction: Well, that’s a bit of a power move. Somehow I get the feeling Valentine isn’t the type used to waiting on what he wants.
Finally, after a few long seconds, the first beats of Dropkick Murphys pulse through the Colosseum, with lights in time. As the drums kick in, Del gestures to the ramp.
Del Ramos: And his opponent—from Astoria, Oregon, weighing in at 190 pounds, the Sidewinder, DAVID O'TOOLE!
Down the ramp comes a hooded silhouette, and as he comes more into the light David pulls back the hood on his green sweatshirt, this one zipped. As before he is otherwise in black, plain and simple. He is as deliberate and focused as before in his entrance, though he does raise each hand, carefully taped, to the crowd.
David easily ducks into the ring, but he lingers by the ropes. He looks to Valentine and the official, and only then does he unzip his hoodie and pull it off, casually and entirely unhurried, now down to a beige tank. Only after pausing to look across the ring again does he toss the hoodie aside, this time keeping his gaze on his opponent, and approach the center of the ring. He shifts his weight, light on his feet, but there's no extra hype to build, no excess energy to burn.
As he draws his arms in, O’Toole allows himself a twitch of a smile, then, ever so slightly, nods his head to one side—inviting Valentine in.
Hiro Suzuki: I don’t think O’Toole’s impressed by Valentine’s presentation.
Artemis Direction: It looks like he’s finding a way to play mind games before the bell’s even rung. Cheeky little darling, isn’t he?
DING DING!
An invitation Valentine accepts by approaching the centre of the ring. David keeps his cool—and his distance, circling Valentine, testing his responses, keeping his stance fast and loose as he probes for an opening. Valentine isn’t rushed. He follows O’Toole in a slow spin, hands at the ready in a bastardized tiger stance. Neither are willing to make the first move. Then Valentine drops his stance and, with an eyebrow cocked and a hand at his hip, waves his fingers at O’Toole, gesturing for him to approach. David feints a bite: he steps in, then flows back as Valentine reaches for his forward arm. Valentine rolls his eyes—and David sees his opening, stepping up for a superkick! It connects to Valentine’s chin with an audible snap and Valentine reels. O’Toole rebounds against the opposite ropes and rushes Valentine, keeping his momentum strong. He draws close and whips his arm out for a lariat—but Valentine ducks and catches an arm around O’Toole’s midsection, pulls his other arm beneath O’Toole’s shoulder, and locks him in a half-nelson. David seems frozen in flight as Valentine raises him from the mat, then slams him front-first back to the earth! Valentine moves to cover!
One!
Two!
Th—
David slides out!
Artemis fans herself.
Artemis Direction: The tension is palpable between these two!
Hiro Suzuki: They’re both taking this fight personally. It’s like they’re each facing off against the manifestation of their personal ethos.
Del Ramos: FUCK EACH OTHER UP!
O’Toole leaps to his feet and the crowd cheers. Valentine rises and scoffs, amused. O’Toole immediately rallies and charges Valentine, striking across him with a punch that skims off Valentine’s chest—but it’s another feint! In that moment David has slipped around to Valentine’s other shoulder, and he reaches for his head and rolls them both forward in a snapmare. And as Roy staggers back on his feet, David hooks his leg around Valentine’s, and in a modified leg sweep he shoves Valentine’s shoulder to send him sprawling onto his back. David drops on top of Valentine and hooks him in a cradle pin!
One—
Valentine kicks out!
Del grins.
Del Ramos: I bet our mean-streak marigold didn’t appreciate that very much.
O'Toole wastes no time allowing Valentine to recover. While Valentine stares blankly at the ceiling, David falls upon his opponent. David bends Valentine’s arm at the elbow and wrenches it beside Valentine’s head, holding it in position by leaning his chest into Valentine’s tricep; then wraps a bicep around Valentine’s neck, cinches his hands together, and completes the anaconda vise! Valentine’s free arm flails for freedom—but O’Toole does not relent! Blood rushes into Valentine’s face as he writhes in O’Toole’s grip, clearly struggling for breath. It seems like David has felled goliath... until Valentine whips his free hand towards O’Toole’s head and gouges a thumb into his opponent’s eye! David pulls away, clutching his face!
Hiro Suzuki: Oof! Desperation from Valentine!
Artemis Direction: I get the feeling a loss to O’Toole isn’t what our botanical baron had in mind going into this fight.
Del Ramos: Heh! Knowing Valentine’ll do whatever he has to to win in a fight just makes me like the guy even more. People might argue somebody like Valentine’s got no place in a ring; it ain’t for the hoity toity well-to-do types. But who’s going to crueler in the ring than some fucker that just does whatever he wants when he wants and looks at human beings as resources to be exploited and exhausted in the name of their own profit? Those motherfuckers will feed your ass into a meat grinder if it means one extra dime. You think they’ll be any nicer to their opponents in the ring?
On his feet again, Valentine looms over a prostrate David like a buzzard circling carrion. He leans down and drags O’Toole back up by the hair. O’Toole grabs at Valentine’s hand, but hasn't regained his feet as Valentine launches him into the ropes. David spins and rebounds towards Valentine’s open, waiting arms. But Valentine’s been busy preparing his next move—he hasn’t noticed the spark of rage burning in David’s now clear eyes! The grapple finds nobody home as David ducks it and hits Valentine square in the gut with a powerful right fist! As Valentine reels, David follows with an elbow to the side of Valentine’s head, and finishes with a standing enziguri! Down goes Valentine!
Artemis Direction: What a little firecracker Mr. O’Toole has turned out to be!
Del Ramos: See, guys like O’Toole are just on the opposite side of things. They don’t get to have countless second chances or have the money to fall back on if they fail. Valentine’s fighting for his pride, O’Toole’s fighting for his survival.
With his opponent trying to gather his senses, David turns now to the ropes. He mounts the first in the centre, then climbs the second and third in short order. At the ropes’ zenith, O’Toole pumps his fist, and the crowd roars! He checks Valentine—still flat on his back—and tests the ropes once, twice, three times—and yelps in surprise when Valentine crashes into his back in a flying tackle! Both fighters tumble off the apron, clattering to the ground below. Valentine falls hard on his hip; David lands high on his back; both men clutch their injured bodies in raw pain. Seeing both fighters incapacitated, Jill Kincaid starts the count out!
One! Two! Three! Valentine’s injured hip gives under him as he tries to stand!
Four! Five! Six! O’Toole can't quite regain himself as his chest flutters with shallow breaths!
Seven! Eight! Nine! Ten!
DING DING DING!
Del Ramos: Ascended Army, we have a DRAW!
Artemis Direction: My goodness! I don’t think that’s the ending either of them expected.
Del Ramos: Oh, I bet Valentine’s fucking pissed. Heh! Good. Add fuel to the fire so that rematch will be nice and bloody.
Hiro Suzuki: Kevin Kim being indisposed reveals a need we have for a dedicated on-staff interviewer. Thankfully, it looks like one is on the way!
It had been a long time since Belle Silva tried to prep herself for an interview. She didn’t remember feeling so nervous at her previous job, but from what she heard from backstage rumors, Jodie Nguyen wasn’t a person to take lightly.
Belle’s heels tap lightly across the concrete floor as she makes her way to Jodie’s office. She could do this, she WILL do this. With hesitant bravery, she knocks lightly on the proper door.
A voice comes from the other side, smooth and cool as cut quartz.
Jodie Nguyen: Come in.
Belle takes a deep breath and opens the door, distracting herself from the extravagant decor and the breathtaking views, by keeping her eyes focused on Jodie Nguyen. She holds out a hand she hopes isn’t trembling and manages to say.
Belle Silva: Hello Ms. Nguyen, I’m Belle Silva. It’s a pleasure to meet you.
Seated behind a desk of gleaming koa wood, Jodie’s eyes flick to the extended hand, then back up to Belle’s face. She offers a small smile before taking the hand and giving it a firm shake.
Jodie Nguyen: Hello, Ms. Silva. Please have a seat and we’ll begin.
Belle smoothes out her skirt and sits.
Belle Silva: Thank you! I’m really excited about the prospect of working for you!
Jodie lifts a tablet from the desktop, flicking through a few pages of it.
Jodie Nguyen: Your credentials as an interviewer are impeccable. Why do you want to work with Ascended? What is it about us that makes us a superior choice to other journalism or voice work options elsewhere?
Belle Silva: Outside of personal reasons, I love what the company stands for. I enjoy the fact that you’re upfront and honest about why Ascended is the place for any given person be it a wrestler or a crew member.
Belle chews on her lip as she thinks about her answer further.
Belle Silva: I want to be a part of something big and work to make it even bigger from the ground up.
She nods to confirm that she is finished.
Jodie nods, watching Belle closely.
Jodie Nguyen: Normally, I would have no reservations about hiring you, however I have concerns about you assaulting talent. Would you care to speak about your incident with Kane King involving that syringe at your previous place of employment?”
Belle sighs, ashamed.
Belle Silva: I was worried about my girlfriend and her well-being. It was a one-time thing that won’t happen again. Period.
Belle’s tone takes on a note of firmness to assure Jodie that it was indeed a one-off situation.
Jodie observes Belle for a silent moment longer before nodding.
Jodie Nguyen: I want to hire you on a trial basis. While what you did may have been a one-time event, it was extreme in nature. I want you to maintain a twenty foot distance from Mr. King at all times, and should Zephyr and he be in a match together, you are not permitted to enter the building in which it is taking place. I think you’ll see that our salary and benefits package is superior to others you may find elsewhere. How do you feel about this?
Belle considers for a moment before smiling.
Belle Silva: That’s more than fair. Thank you so much!
Belle smiles again and stands, offering her hand to her new boss.
Getting to her feet, Jodie takes Belle’s hand, eyes never leaving her face.
Jodie Nguyen: I’m trusting you to be a professional, Ms. Silva. Don’t disappoint me.
The scene cuts back to the commentary table, Artemis clasping her hands together.
Artemis Direction: Well, isn’t that exciting! We’re going to have a new staff member!
Del Ramos: One with the guts to attack King? Fuckin’ metal.
Hiro Suzuki: Her girlfriend is in our next match.
Artemis Direction: Ah, yes! Zephyr Quinn versus SKUP9! I’ll take this one, dears.
Rising from her seat and entering the ring, Artemis clears her throat delicately before speaking.
Artemis Direction: Ascended Army, the next match is set for one fall! Introducing first, he says he hails from Grand Junction, Colorado, but in my opinion, this rugged fellow comes straight out of bear country! Weighing in at an impressive 369 lbs and walking in the category of unstoppable lumberjack, we have, ‘The Eliminator,’ SKUP9!
The arena's lights snuff out as a distant voice proclaims:
It's been a long time, been a long time comin'
It's life or death for me now
But you know, there's no turning back now
This is what makes me, this is what I am
Feel me, let's go
Hiro Suzuki sighs wistfully.
Hiro Suzuki: Do you think they make beard implants like hair implants?
Del Ramos: If they do, you have to let me see how they mess up your face. Botched cosmetic procedures are fucking brutal.
Artemis Direction: And now approaching the ring from...well, it says parts unknown, but hunties, we all know our ultraviolent angel was heaven sent! Joined by her lovely girlfriend who will soon be on the Ascended payroll, she is the, ‘Crazy Angel,’ walking in the category of Amazonian bad-ass, ZEPHYR QUINN!
"Send Me An Angel," rings out as the fans in attendance pop. Zephyr Quinn comes out to the stage, Belle Silva at her side. A look of pure confidence crosses over Zephyr's face as she strolls to the ring with Belle trailing slightly behind her. She hops up lightly onto the apron as Belle climbs the stairs. Together the two enter the ring and pose in the center as the music fades.
DING DING!
The two opponents approach one another, the size and height difference unignorable with SKUP9 standing a whole foot taller than Quinn.
Hiro Suzuki: Quinn’s got her work cut out for her. Hey, who’s the greatest babysitter in the Bible?
Del Ramos: Every day I look to the sky hopeful for piranha rain, and every day I am disappointed when I see you haven’t been devoured by a torrent of ravenous fish delivered from the sky by a God making up for their biggest mistake.
Hiro Suzuki: David! He rocked Goliath to sleep!
Del looks up toward the ceiling.
Del Ramos: Satan hasn’t done me a solid yet even though he owes me. I guess that’s what you get when you deal with the Father of Lies, but you live and you learn. You take this guy out with a miraculous downpour of bloodthirsty fish, I’ll be back on the team, Lord. Your move.
After a long moment in which nothing happens, Del scowls sourly.
Del Ramos: Fucking bullshit.
SKUP9 looks mildly amused as Zephyr walks up to him, undaunted. They bump chests briefly, Quinn staring up at her opponent intensely before flexing her arms to show off her biceps. Laughing, SKUP9 flexes his own only for Zephyr to nail him under the chin with a headbutt! Shaking his head, surprised, Zephyr doesn’t waste a moment, hitting her opponent with a flurry of punches to send him back-first into the corner! Quinn continues her assault, mounting the second rope to get a boost above her opponent as she lays in with strikes to SKUP9’s head!
Artemis Direction: My my my! Ms. Quinn is in all out assault mode!
Del Ramos: She’s smart. SKUP9 outweighs her by at least two hundred pounds, if I had to guess, and he’s got a foot of height on her. The best thing she can do is keep the pressure on. If she gives him a chance, that size differential is going to be a problem.
Sure enough, the Eliminator manages to shove at Zephyr’s mid-section, causing her to stumble off the second ropes! While she manages to land nimbly, SKUP9 catches hold of her, swinging her back around into the turnbuckle where she was just punishing him! Before Zephyr can react, he catches her, turning her around and taking a few running steps toward the center of the ring before hurling the Crazy Angel over and down to the mat in a Biel Throw that leaves her stunned!
Hiro Suzuki: Jeez, it’s like she didn’t weigh a thing to him!
Del Ramos: She’s in for it now.
Stalking back over to his opponent who’s just recovering and trying to get vertical, The Elminator grabs onto Zephyr, wrapping an arm around her neck and gripping onto her waistband, then hoists her, inverted, and upward! He walks around the ring as easily as if he were carrying a child, Quinn’s contorted face beginning to turn red.
Del Ramos: Oooh those delayed vertical suplexes are brutal. All the blood’s rushing out of her extremities into her head.
Like a tree being felled, The Eliminator falls backward, slamming Zephyr into the canvas with authority! Hooking her leg, he goes for the pin!
ONE!
TWO!
THR--
Kick out from Quinn!
Hiro Suzuki: Talk about endurance!
Artemis Direction: They’ve both got something special, that’s for certain.
SKUP9 gets up again, looking mildly annoyed, and seeming to be done with fun and games. As Zephyr is still recovering, struggling to her feet, he wraps an arm over her neck and clutches onto her waistband. It looks like he’s about to perform another vertical suplex, but as he lifts Zephyr, his arm shifts to position her for the Abolition!
Del Ramos: I think at this point, it’s all over but the crying.
Finding some hidden well of strength, Zephyr twists in the Eliminator’s grip! Wrapping her own arm over his neck, she swings herself under SKUP9’s arm, using the momentum to plant his head onto the mat in her Angel’s Penance finisher! Quinn goes for the pin!
ONE!
TWO!
THREE!
DING DING DING!
Artemis Direction: Your winner by pinfall, the Crazy Angel, ZEPHYR QUINN!
Hiro Suzuki: Quick thinking on Quinn’s part got her the win!
Del Ramos: She’s wily like that. And all this does is help her figure out how to fight other monsters she’s got her eye on. You ask me, this girl’s fixing to be our giant slayer, which would be metal as fuck.
Hiro Suzuki: Hey, what did the giant say when he caught Jack snooping around his castle?
Del Ramos: I brought the scorpions, Suzuki. They’re here. In the building.
Hiro Suzuki: Have you bean stalking me?
Del Ramos: Just introduce the next fight, I’m going to figure out how to get scorpions from an IV into your veins.
Hiro climbs into the ring, raising the mic to his lips.
Hiro Suzuki: Hello, Ascended Army! Thank you so much for your feedback from my last ring introductions! I’ve taken it to heart and I think I’ve got some new material you’re going to love! So for our next fight, we’ve got The Catalyst Jimmy Allen and the Culture Clash Kyle Beckett! Say, do you know why cowboys always ride horses? Because they’re way too heavy to carry!
Fan: DIE IN A FIRE, SUZUKI!
Hiro Suzuki: Ah, okay, gotta workshop that one a little! You’re coming through loud and clear! Now I’m still trying to deal with the idea of spider rain and murder birds that were brought to my attention the other week, but that got me thinking! There are cute, cuddly animals in Australia, too! In fact, did you hear about the Australian animal that was hired by H.R.? He was koala-fied for the job!
Fan: KOALAS ARE RIDDLED WITH CHLAMYDIA, HAVE SHRIVELED BRAINS AND EAT POISON!
Hiro blanches.
Hiro Suzuki: Is there any animal in Australia that isn’t deadly, bizarre, or full of STIs!?
Fan: IT’S NATURE’S PETRI DISH, JACKASS! DEAL WITH IT!
Sighing, he shakes his head and clears his throat.
Hiro Suzuki: The following match is scheduled for one fall! Introducing to the ring first!
‘Stick to Your Guns,’ by the Sick Puppies comes on over the sound system and Kyle stands at the top of the entrance ramp, bent slightly forward and arms crossed. He drops the hood of his jacket and throws his arms out wide, letting out an excited roar to the crowd. He looks around to take in the arena before striding down the ramp.
Hiro Suzuki: From Brisbane, Australia weighing in at 201 pounds, he is the Culture Clash, KYLE BECKETT!
Kyle ascends on to the ring apron, looking out to the arena again with a sly grin on his face and climbs to the top of the turnbuckle where he cries out “Aussie, Aussie, Aussie!,” to which the crowd responds, ‘Oi, Oi, Oi!’ before leaping down to the ring and preparing himself for the match.
Hiro Suzuki: And his opponent!
Contrasting other fighters’ entrances throughout the night, no pyro or special effects heralds this wrestler; just the haunting, wandering strains of Seattle’s own Foo Fighters’ ‘The Pretender,’ bouncing around the Colosseum.
Keep you in the dark
You know they all pretend
Keep you in the dark
And so it all began...
As the percussion kicks in, Jimmy Allen makes his way out onto the stage, arms extended, hands balled into a fist over his head. He looks out over the crowd and smiles as he crosses them into an “X”, the crowd pops as he rushes toward the ring. At the last possible moment, he leaps up and deftly baseball slides under the bottom rope towards the center of the ring. He pops back to his feet and goes to the nearest turnbuckle, where he repeats his pose from the ramp before leaping off into a backward flip back towards the center of the ring.
Hiro Suzuki: From Dallas, Texas, weighing in at 246 pounds, he is The Catalyst, JIMMY ALLEN!
DING DING!
The two young men begin circling each other, steps terse, tension crackling between them. As if sensing some shift in energy, the pair fall in toward each other, trading stiff punches! Falling out of the rhythm and swinging around to position himself at Kyle’s side, Jimmy takes advantage of the momentary mis-step by the Culture Clash, hooking one hand behind his head, tangles their legs together and takes him down with a Russian legsweep! Kyle seeing stars, Allen leaps to his feet and swiftly executes a springboard leg drop across his opponent’s chest! Beckett gasping, Jimmy goes for the pin!
ONE!
TWO--
Kick out from Beckett!
Artemis Direction: Well, our blue-eyed cowboy is quick as a bunny, isn’t he?
Hiro Suzuki: It seems like he’s trying to differentiate himself from his father, who’s a bit of a bruiser.
Del Ramos: Serve it to me however you want, I just want to eat the violence.
Kyle Beckett gets to his feet, breathing ragged, eyeing Allen. Jimmy steps in quickly to re-engage, but this time, Beckett’s ready for him. Once the cowboy has built up some momentum, Kyle ducks out of the way, causing Allen to collide with the turnbuckle behind him. With Jimmy momentarily stunned, Beckett grabs him roughly by the shoulders, spins him around and starts laying into him with forearm chops! Satisfied with the damage done, Kyle hoists Allen up onto the top turnbuckle, grips the back of his head and slams him to the mat with a one-handed bulldog!
Hiro Suzuki: Beckett showing he’s not one to be underestimated!
Artemis Direction: If they’re this exemplary this early in their careers, just imagine what they might make of themselves here at Ascended! We’re looking at the future of our company here.
Climbing to the top of the turnbuckle, Beckett positions himself for the Reality Check! As he sails through the air, too late to make an adjustment, Allen rolls out of the way, Kyle colliding with the canvas! Jimmy gets to his knees, gasping, eyeing his fallen opponent. Still dazed, Kyle can’t prevent Allen from grabbing his arm and dragging him to his feet. In a motion that’s almost balletic, Jimmy begins to set Kyle up for The Plot Twist; a ripcord knee strike. But as he starts to draw Beckett back in, Kyle lets out a cry, straining his entire body into resisting and using the momentum to send Allen into the ropes! Jimmy takes it in stride, using the ropes to spring at Kyle with a crossbody, but shockingly, Beckett catches him! Grimacing with effort, Allen trying to break free, Kyle rotates his body before swinging Jimmy around him, nailing him with his Break the Cycle signature!
Beckett goes for the pin!
ONE!
TWO!
THREE!
DING DING DING!
Hiro Suzuki: Your winner by pinfall, The Culture Clash, KYLE BECKETT!
Artemis Direction: Well that was certainly thrilling! I think it’s safe to say we’ve seen a couple of future champions in this match tonight.
Del Ramos: Absolutely. They both got grit, and I think they’re both going to come away from this match with wisdom that’ll serve them well in their next one.
Hiro looks a bit nervous, glancing between Artemis and Del.
Hiro Suzuki: So, uh...speaking of next matches...our main event is coming up…
Del grins madly.
Artemis sighs.
Artemis Direction: Evidently Mara Lang has never heard the advice, ‘Don’t Poke the Bear.’
Del Ramos: Well consider this bear thoroughly prodded.
Taking their mic to the ring, Del lets out a dark little giggle.
Del Ramos: Goddamn this is gonna be good. King’s gonna fucking burn Lang in effigy and I am here for it.
They clear their throat.
Del Ramos: Ascended Army this is your main event of the evening! Introducing first to the ring from Bellevue, Washington weighing in at 185 lbs, she is MARA LANG!
The Titan-tron screen comes to life with what looks like a network of nerves branching out in silvery spikes, electrical impulses crackling through them along to the strains of, ‘Twisted Nerve,’ by Bernard Herrmann. Those impulses form the name, ‘Mara Lang,’ in shivering silver letters before they burst into brilliant sparks. The lights on either side of the entrance rotate, flashing white beams in an almost hypnotic pattern as Mara steps through to the top of the ramp. As the sharp whistling sound of Mara’s entrance music cuts through the air, the crowd is quieter than would be expected. There is something unwholesome about the way she strides to the ring, not a motion wasted. The only thing that would suggest any distraction from her destination is the motion of her eyes; casting back and forth among the assembled as if assessing them.
Del Ramos: Hehehe...and her opponent...
The screens display a flickering, static-struck screen with the crowned rat logo, bone-white over a black and red spattered background as the first riffs of "Hail to the King" begin playing; when the first heavy thrums of rhythm guitar in the music strike, the logo shudders and glitches, electricity running through it from left to right like a broken heartbeat. Below the screens the entrance is flooded with rolling fog cast in blood-red light and white strobe lights that match the beat of the song and of the electric shock waves on the screen.
Del Ramos: Weighing in at 280 pounds from Portland, Oregon, accompanied to the ring by Grace King, he is THE LAB RAT KING!
When the Lab Rat King emerges at the top of the ramp, there’s something… visibly off about his behaviour. Even Grace, his wife and valet, looks livid, as though she’s ready to jump into the ring and tear Lang apart herself. With blue eyes as cold as ice, she wordlessly lifts her hand away from King’s arm.
Like a wolf being released from a chain, the Lab Rat King comes tearing down the ramp before the music even stops, slipping through the ropes like his namesake, and taking Mara Lang to the ground with a no-mercy clothesline!!
Hiro Suzuki: OH MY GOD!
Del Ramos: AHAHAHA! YES! FUCKING YES!!
Mara Lang arches her back off the mat in pained reflex, though there’s a mile-wide grin plastered to her face.
Artemis Direction: Oh, this is just…unsettling.
As though she anticipated this brutal start, Lang quickly returns to her feet. King lunges to grab her with a furious snarl--anticipating this, Lang sidesteps to slip halfway out of the monster’s grasp, hooking his left leg with her right and pulling him backwards to the mat with a Russian leg sweep! King’s shoulders hit the canvas with a thunderous noise. Lang goes for a quick pin while she has the element of surprise.
ONE--NO!
And a bone-chilling howl of rage erupts from the monster as he rolls to his feet.
Del has mounted the commentary table, eyes blazing with joy.
Del Ramos: IT’S YOUR BIRTHDAY, KIDS! TIME TO BREAK OPEN THE PINATAS AND GET THE CANDY INSIDE! AND BY CANDY I MEAN BLOOD AND INTERNAL ORGANS!
Artemis Direction: Yes, Del, I don’t think you needed to explain that bit.
Apparently smart enough to know a chop isn’t going to cut it against this beast of an opponent, Mara Lang is ready with a Superkick as soon as King is back on his feet. Her boot makes a solid impact with his muzzled jaw, sending him staggering back a step… but King rights himself with a growl, drawing in seething breaths that swell his massive chest, his eyes wild and bright in their sunken sockets.
Lab Rat King: STOP LOOKING AT ME!!
The scream is loud enough to be heard in the nosebleeds without the help of any mic. King rushes his opponent again, but this time he seems ready to counter her strategy of taking the beast off his legs. When she attempts a similar maneuver, he voluntarily lets his boots leave the mat, avoiding her sweep and coming down with a brutal right hand that knocks Lang directly down into the mat!
Hiro Suzuki: Should we let this keep going? I think there’s something...really wrong…
Del Ramos: THE ONLY THING THAT’S WRONG IS WE DON’T HAVE A FACE MELTING SICK AS HELL METAL TRACK AS A SOUNDTRACK!
But King isn’t done. While Lang is dazed by the impact, the monster picks her up bodily, flipping her onto her back and promptly returning her to the canvas with a protobomb! He steps on her sternum, attempting to hold her shoulders down to the mat!
ONE!
TW-- KICKOUT!
Still grinning as though she’s won the pain lottery, Lang is back on her feet and attempts an uppercut, once again trying to stun the monster. Multiple strikes have King backed into the ropes. Abruptly he seems to have had enough of it, and howls with fury as he throws his weight forward, catching Lang midway through her next strike and throwing her down again with a sidewalk slam! The Ascended Army is a mess of jeering and gasps as he just keeps going, picking her up again around the waist and into his devastating finish-- Empty, Hollow, THUD!
This time he takes the pin by dropping his knee across her shoulders, snarling!
ONE!
TWO!
THREE!
But the monster isn’t done.
After the bell rings, possessed of some blind fury, King drags Lang to her feet with both hands, throwing her into the turnbuckles! As she crumples against them, he rushes her again, viciously attacking her head and shoulders with knee strikes, trapping her in the corner in an unsanctioned Rat Cage!
Lab Rat King: I SAID!!! STOP!!! LOOKING!!! AT ME!!
Both refs rush in to pull the pair apart, but they can’t get close enough--even Godric Smith is knocked back, shouting diffusing words that fall on deaf, monstrous ears. The Lab Rat King is out of control!
Grace King tries to enter the ring, but Smith catches her by the shoulders, holding her back and shaking his head frantically. It looks like he’s mouthing the words, ‘It’s too dangerous!’ She continues trying to reach King, calling out his name, but he’s not responding! Lang herself is minimally responsive at best, her wheezing, disjointed laughter seeming more like reflex than choice, but that doesn’t stop King from continuing!
??: KANE!
At the top of the ramp stands Silvio Leon, LRK’s tag partner and friend, eyes wide with alarm, mic held to his mouth.
Silvio Leon: Big Guy, you don’t want to do this! You--
A figure approaches in the shadows from behind the Oracle, and there’s a sharp clang as a steel chair comes swinging out of the dim to nail him in the back of the head! Silvio’s eyes roll up into his head and he wobbles before collapsing onto the ramp.
Artemis Direction: SILVIO!
Hiro Suzuki: Oh my God!
The figure steps into the light, looking down at the fallen wrestler at his feet. Laughing to himself, the Insensate kicks Leon to roll him over before planting a foot on the incapacitated Oracle’s chest, the steel chair still held in one hand.
Artemis Direction: That little monster!
Del Ramos: I think we should be way more worried about the big one in the ring right now. Well, you guys should be, anyway. This is Christmas in August for me.
Security is dispatched to the ring, but anyone who gets close to the Lab Rat King is met with a snarl and a blow to send them sprawling!
Artemis Direction: Can anyone stop this!?
Like she’s answering a prayer, Ascended’s Crazy Angel, Zephyr Quinn, vaults over the guardrail, flying into the ring and letting out a wild cry as she launches herself at King. The man turns just in time to get a Superman punch right between the eyes!
Hiro Suzuki: Quinn hoping to end this with Swift Termination!
LRK, exhausted, battered, and emotionally eviscerated, sways once before collapsing to the canvas. Zephyr whirls around, seeming to look for the Insensate, but Lang’s magnum opus has since retreated. EMTs are rushing from the back, tending to all of the fallen fighters and staff who were caught in the crossfire. Lang has lost consciousness, a bloodied heap on the mat. Grace King is kneeling beside her fallen husband, choking back tears as she takes his hand.
Del is grinning with bloodthirsty glee, hands rubbing together and eyes alight.
Del Ramos: Oh this is fucking good. You know the best part of this fight?
Hiro Suzuki: It’s finally over?
Del Ramos: Ohhh no, Suzuki. If you think this is over, you’re delusional. The best thing about this fight is that it’s just getting started.
Artemis Direction: Thank you for joining us tonight on Collision, everyone! We’ll keep you up to date about everyone’s conditions on our social media accounts. See you in two weeks on the next edition of Collision at the Colosseum!
Credits
Frater Perdurabo Interview - Bill
Roy Valentine vs. David O'Toole - g and Roy Valentine
Belle Silva Interview - Ampersand and Mia
LRK vs. Mara Lang - Zen
Everything Else - Ampersand