Collision #13 Results
Feb 25, 2022 8:26:29 GMT
The Madness Menagerie, Roy Valentine, and 2 more like this
Post by Ampersand on Feb 25, 2022 8:26:29 GMT
Killer for hire, soldier of fortune
Gotta walk through fire for what's important
And the warrior's blood through your veins is coursing
Killer for hire, soldier of fortune
The big screen lights up and Richard Dweck sits on the bench in the locker room backstage taping up his hands. Kyle Beckett stands nearby looking at him sidelong with a raised brow. He’s ready to show this guy for the flash in the pan he is and reassert himself at Ascended. Another newcomer, Moxie Golightly, is passing by just outside in the hallways. Her gaze is thoughtful, thorough, and her smile sparkles as eagerly as her eyes. This is it. The big time. Thistledown, walking through the halls, spares the young woman a glance as she walks by, then retrains her attention on a poster pinned up in the hall featuring the main event for this show - Viola Williams vs. David O’Toole. We see the pair of them on the rooftop of the Colosseum, looking out across the city. O’Toole looks somewhat haggard, dark circles under his eyes, but his expression’s determination matches that of his companion and opponent. Viola turns her gaze from the city stretching out around them back to Davie, extending a hand that he reaches out to take.
The whole world's watching every move
Take your shot, don't act a fool
All you've got and all you'll ever need
In the parking lot below, Mia Rayne… No. Not Mia… Loki Synn has chalk in hand, looking down with satisfaction at a grim blueprint they’ve sketched out on the asphalt of what appears to be a two story building outfitted to apparently murder anyone who steps inside. The intended victim of this house of horrors lurks nearby, Frater Perdurabo watching his opponent from the shadows of the Colosseum. His eyes, intense, deep in ways that are difficult to define, stray from his upcoming opponent to a rat that skitters nearby, disappearing into a nearby sewer grate. Camera following, we spy the Lab Rat King pacing through the Seattle Underground, dragging his fingers into the earthen walls as he goes. Even beneath his mask, he’s clearly smiling. Presently he comes to a part of the Underground illuminated by the amethyst-colored prisms that disperse sunlight into the structures below. One of the few places plants grow here. He snatches a handful of greenery, tearing its roots between his fingers. Following the root system in the Underground, we’re brought above ground once more to see Roy Valentine standing in his rose garden, gazing at his estate. His expression cold and cunning, he winds a length of vines tight between his hands..
Is one bullet in the chamber
Breathe easy, take your aim, boy
Ain't nobody gonna save you
So what you gonna do?
All eyes on you
The camera sweeps across the audience, catching a few signs as it passes over them.
KEEP THE STREAK ALIVE VI
ROOT OUT THE RAT
I WANT A TICKET TO THE DARK CARNIVAL
We’re brought to the commentary table where Artemis Direction sits between Del Ramos and Hiro Suzuki. Hiro is back to his usual navy suit and bow tie, and Artemis is dressed in a white blouse, black pencil skirt, seamed black stockings and gleaming red pumps, her hair twisted into a graceful knot. Del is in a well-worn metal band shirt with indecipherable writing on it supposedly spelling out the band’s name. Their brow is furrowed, and they’re grumbling as they flick the screen of their phone, raising it to their ear.
Artemis Direction: Hello, darlings, and welcome to Collision at Ascended Wrestling! I am Artemis Direction and joining me tonight on commentary are Hiro Suzuki–
Hiro Suzuki: Say, Artemis, why are drag queens such great swimmers?
Artemis Direction: I don’t know, darling. Is it our bubbly personalities?
Hiro Suzuki: It’s because they can be so flambuoyant!
Artemis Direction: Hm. Not your worst, darling! Also joining me tonight is former hardcore wrestler and metal vocalist Del Ramos. Who is… hunty, you have been on the horn for a dog’s age now. Marcus is going to get his undies in a twist over ‘what he pays you for.’
Del Ramos: Listen, this is important. I wouldn’t be fuckin’ taking this call if…
They sigh and bring the phone to their ear again, talking with whoever is on the other end of the line.
Del Ramos: …I don’t care! If the other kids’ parents took a fukken interest, maybe their costumes would be better. But Belinda is not gonna wear some cast off bullshit from a public elementary school’s drama department. If they didn’t want the Butterfly Princess in the Spring play to be upstaged by Ladybug #4, then they should have gotten out the Cricut and the bedazzler! Listen, I gotta go, but if that uptight educational PhD who calls themselves the principal has a fukken problem, I’m happy to meet them in the school parking lot.
They hang up, looking annoyed. Hiro’s eyes are as round as saucers.
Hiro Suzuki: Wait a minute, do you have kids?!
Del rumbles, rolling their eyes.
Del Ramos: Ugh let’s just get on with it.
Artemis Direction: We have quite the show for you this evening, Ascended Army! This evening we’ll be kicking things off with a debut from our newest roster member, Moxie Golightly against Hot Dropkick! Now, she is just cute as a button!
Del Ramos: That’s all just to lure people into a false sense of security. I bet under all that surface level charm, she’s a killer.
Hiro Suzuki: Are we just gonna ignore the fact you’re a parent?!
Del Ramos: If you wanna keep your fukken tongue and eyes in their current locations. Otherwise I’m totally fine with helping you find out what the insides of your eyelids taste like.
Artemis Direction: Then we’ll be seeing Dweck versus Beckett! These two young lions are each eager to show their claws!
Del Ramos: Beckett doesn’t seem too impressed with Dweck’s background. Looks like he’s aiming to put this walking meme out to pasture. We’re gonna see some serious sparks with these two. Beckett’s been looking to carve out a piece of Ascended just for himself and he doesn’t care if he has to be mean to do it.
Artemis Direction: After Dweck and Beckett, we’ll be seeing Frater Perdurabo facing off against Loki Synn!
Hiro Suzuki: Don’t you mean Mia Rayne?
Artemis Direction: Not at all, darling! Apparently MiAtlantis houses more than one person, and we’re getting a taste of another resident who calls Ms. Rayne’s mind their home. The hardcore harlequin will be in action this evening!
Del Ramos: Heh. And it’s gonna be in a little fun house put together by the grim jester herself. I can’t wait to see what Frater has in store for her. Those two have been going at it since the Bash and I am goddamn elated with their escalating violence.
Hiro Suzuki: I just don’t know how you can be comfortable watching Frater work. There is something seriously wrong with that guy.
Del Ramos: I think you mean seriously right. Frater gets it. He embraces violence and depravity as part of the human condition and doesn’t let anything get in his way while indulging those impulses. He’s exactly the kind of guy we need in the Underworld championship scene. If he and King want to get their hands on each other, I say bring the gore and celebrate the mayhem.
Artemis Direction: Well if you want to see our Underworld champ in action, look no further than the next fight! He and Roy Valentine will be mixing it up as singles competitors for the first time!
Hiro Suzuki: You don’t suposey Roy has a strategy in mind to take care of King?
Del growls warningly, eyeing Hiro.
Artemis Direction: I’d be surprised if he didn’t. Roy Valentine is a schemer of the highest caliber.
Hiro Suzuki: Ah, I guess you could say he’s no stranger to plotting?
Del Ramos: I swear if you don’t stop this, I’m gonna find a plot for you marked with a headstone.
Artemis Direction: If he’s looking for any strategies, he’s likely been watching the matches King had with O’Toole and Silvio. King has never seemed in the pink of health, but, hunties, is it just me or is our Underworld champ seeming a bit more under the weather lately?
Del Ramos: I don’t know about that, but something is different about him. Not just in the ring, but in his promo work, too. Something about King is changing. Still, I dunno how Valentine would feel about the student surpassing the master this quickly. O’Toole’s one of two people who can say they have a win over King. If he can beat him but Valentine can’t, then what does Valentine really have to offer O’Toole he can’t figure out on his own?
Artemis Direction: David certainly has a chance to prove his mettle in our main event tonight! He’ll be facing off against Viola Williams and evidently the two have quite the history with each other!
Hiro Suzuki: That’s right! Apparently O’Toole and Williams were fighters in another promotion out East. O’Toole lost against Williams six times, though he managed a draw against her once. We’re going to see if he can change his record here tonight!
Artemis Direction: A perfect crescendo for the evening, but we’ll never get there if we don’t begin, darlings! Kevin Kim is ready in the ring to get us started on an evening of mutilation and mayhem!
Kevin Kim:The following contest is scheduled for one fall with a twenty minute time limit. Already with me in the ring tonight, you know him, you love him: Hot Dropkick! And now, introducing his opponent!
As the emphatic opening brass and percussion of Tank! by Yoko Kanno and the Seatbelts blasts from the sound system, the big screen flashes with jagged washes of black, white, and red. The screen divides into white on top and red on the bottom, the thin red line that runs between them pulses and vibrates along with the impatient thrum of the bass, smoke billowing around the entrance like fog rolling in.
I think it's time we blow this scene
Get everybody and the stuff together
Okay, three, two, one, let's jam!
Get everybody and the stuff together
Okay, three, two, one, let's jam!
Kevin Kim: Hailing from Spokane, Washington, weighing 150 pounds, she is Girl Detective, MOXIE GOLIGHTLY!
As the rest of the band kicks in, ‘MOXIE’ appears in black letters in the white division of the screen, ‘GOLIGHTLY’ in white text in the black division. Moxie strides out onto the ramp, emerging from the fog in a film noir detective style overcoat and fedora. The images on the big screen shift to ones of a steamy Seattle right out of a Raymond Chandler novel - all sharp silver angles awash in neon rain. Moxie watches the ring as she approaches as if trying to replay the scene of some mystery she's trying to solve, mounting the stairs and hanging her hat and jacket on the turnbuckle to reveal a bodysuit done in Art Deco style lines of black and white with red highlights, fishnet stockings, knee pads, and kick pads. She paces a circle around the ring as if examining a crime scene before standing in the ring's center and raising a fist to the sky.
Artemis Direction:Well, isn’t she just darling!
DING DING!
Hot Dropkick surges across the canvas at a strolling Golightly—but stops dead a mere foot from Moxie when she holds up a finger.
Del Ramos: What the Hell is this? GET TO THE SLAUGHTER! I’M HUNGRY!
Staring Dropkick dead in the eyes, Moxie starts to talk.
Moxie Golightly: Listen up, Hot-n’-bothering-me. Way I see it, this waltz ends one of two ways. Here’s the easy way: you admit what you done did, you turn yourself in, and we forget this ever happened. Or we can do things my way—which, trust me, ends with me leaving you another reason to keep that mask on. ‘Cuz one way or another, if you’re—
Dropkick, tired of Moxie’s monologue, aims a surprise elbow strike at her head!
Del Ramos: All that talk is gonna cost our little bunny rabbit.
Artemis Direction: Don’t speak too soon, my violent delight!
Golightly just ducks under! She hits the mat and slips through Dropkick’s legs. Dropkick bends down to watch her disappear, only to see Moxie rebounding with a vicious chop block that flips Dropkick onto his belly! Golightly hops up and comes right back down, hitting a leg drop across Dropkick’s shoulders, then locks Dropkick in a fujiwara armbar!
Moxie Golightly: Like I was sayin’—if you’re lookin’ to cash in an easy win tonight, buster, you’re a couple nickels short of a dime!
Hiro Suzuki: Y’know that reminds me - I paid $20 back to a friend of mine the other day in dollars, loose change, and fried chicken.
Artemis Direction: Oh really?
Hiro Suzuki: It was all legal tender!
Dropkick still has a few tricks up his sleeve. He rolls under Golightly and spins her onto her shoulders for a cheap pin!
ONE—
Moxie’s forced to release her hold just to escape! She rolls to her knees in time to catch a shin kick from Dropkick across her face! The masked wrestler follows up with a stomp on her stomach, then a senton that knocks the air clean out of Golightly’s lungs!
Del Ramos: Golightly might hand Hot Dropkick his first win here at Ascended if she doesn’t get her shit together.
Golightly is under the ropes and on the floor before Dropkick’s onslaught can continue. Ravenous for blood, Dropkick follows the gasping gumshoe to the apron—but Golightly escapes again by sliding under the ring! Blindsided, Dropkick drops and follows her down. The ensuing clatter of equipment shakes all four corners of the canvas. Left without a clear fate for either wrestler, referee Jill Kincaid begins a count-out!
ONE!
TW—
Suddenly Moxie pokes through the apron! She wipes a bead of sweat from her forehead and starts to crawl out. But then her face goes pale—Moxie cries “Awh, nuts!” before being dragged back under the ring! It sounds like chaos down there!
Kincaid resumes her count!
Del Ramos: OH COME ON IF YOU’RE GOING TO RIP EACH OTHER APART AT LEAST DO IT WHERE EVERYONE CAN SEE THE VISCERA YOU SELFISH FUCKS!
TWO! THR—
Dropkick pops out, dizzy-eyed, scrambling to get free. He manages to grab hold of a corner post and hangs on for dear life. Golightly sticks her head out over his shoulder; after a quick survey of the situation, she locks Dropkick in a choke-hold! He struggles to break out and lets go of the post, allowing Golightly to pull him into the darkness!
Hiro Suzuki: I’ve heard of dark matches, but this is ridiculous!
THREE! FOUR! FIVE—
Moxie and Dropkick appear out of the same apron! They stare at the crowd, then in opposite directions, then finally at one another—before slipping right back under the ring!
Artemis Direction: I think we may be getting a surprise Underworld rules match tonight, darlings!
SIX! SEVEN!
Dropkick stumbles up to ringside and leans against a turnbuckle post. For reasons unknown, he’s clutching the same arm Moxie had locked down earlier. Moments later, Moxie follows him out, shaking the cobwebs from her hair and the fog from her brain. Seeing Dropkick’s back to her, Moxie rushes forward and aims a bicycle kick at him. But Dropkick sidesteps! Moxie’s heel smacks the steel post.
Hiro Suzuki: Oof! That ringpost had a lot in common with a mountain near Java!
Del Ramos: I swear to Satan–
Artemis Direction: Really, darling?
Hiro Suzuki: It sure can Krakatoa!
Del Ramos: …Wait. Volcanos. Fuck. Rainier’s right in our backyard. Why didn’t I think of this before? Hey, Suzuki, you ever gone bungee jumping before?
Moxie hops on one foot, clutching her pained leg, when Dropkick appears at her back and hits a reverse DDT! Dropkick rolls Golightly into the ring and pins!
ONE!
TWO!
TH—
Moxie kicks out!
Artemis Direction: Golightly just will not quit!
Wasting no time, Dropkick drags Moxie by the turnbuckle, stomping on her stomach one last time for good measure. He ascends the ropes, back to his opponent, and takes to the skies! It’s a picture perfect moonsault—destined for tragedy! Moxie whips her knees up at the last second!
Del Ramos: HA! Those high risk, high reward moves are always choice. Either way they shake out, it’s fun to see the consequences.
Dropkick’s eyes nearly bulge out of their sockets as he gets the wind knocked straight out of him and he tumbles to center-stage. Moxie rolls over and slams the canvas; the Ascended Army begins to clap in time. She slowly rises, shaking a powerful fist at her opponent. As soon as Dropkick’s back up, Moxie’s flying through the air, and—
POW! Moxie hits Dropkick with a Superman Punch right in the kisser, sending his mask spinning a full 360 around his head! Dropkick sways, listening to a personal choir of tweety-birds singin’ him a lullaby. Sympathizing with her foe’s fatigue, Moxie folds Dropkick in half and tucks him in with The Big Sleep! She pins!
Hiro Suzuki: This is it!
ONE!
TWO!
THREE!
DING DING DING!
Kevin Kim: Your winner by pinfall, MOXIE GOLIGHTLY!
Moxie sighs, returns to her corner of the ring and swings on her overcoat and hat in a single fluid motion. But before she leaves, Moxie fumbles inside her arm-length pocket, pulling out a toothpick—which she jams between her teeth—and a notepad, pen in its bindings. Her hand is a blur as she scrawls a hasty message, rips out the page, and whips it through the air.
Moxie Golightly:And with Hot Dropkick on ice, I guess we can call that…
Her fluttering note settles across Dropkick’s face.
Moxie Golightly: Case closed.
Moxie tips her hat to the ref, then slips through the ropes. Confused, Kincaid picks up Moxie’s note and, after a quick read (gotta keep that PG-13 rating!), shows it to the camera:
Wherever you go,
GOLIGHTLY
GOLIGHTLY
There’s a dramatic horn outro as the smoke machines go off, Moxie disappearing again into the ‘fog’ that obscures the entrance ramp.
Artemis Direction: Well, darlings, I think our gutsy little gumshoe has left her mark!
Del Ramos: Ehhh less talky, more fighty. And where we can see it next time! That chick’s got fire in her blood, and I wanna watch when it burns the canvas!
Artemis Direction: Hunty, I don’t think you’re going to have to wait long if you have murder on your mind!
Del Ramos: What the fuck do you take me for? When don’t I?
Del makes a face as their phone goes off on the commentary table. Hiro perks up, watching, eyes alight. Rolling theirs, Del picks up the phone and brings it to their ear.
Del Ramos: Yeah? Well, fuckin’ good! I’m glad they’re gonna rise to the occasion instead of dragging Belinda down to their level. What? Ugh. Listen, I’m busy, can you guys do it yourselves? It’s not fucking rocket science, it’s a running stitch, plastic jewels and– The hot glue gun? It’s–
Del stops, glowering at Hiro who is watching with fascination.
Del Ramos: …Listen, I’ll call you back. The hot glue gun’s in its holster in my studio.
Del switches off their phone, leveling a look at Hiro that could freeze water in July.
Del Ramos: If you keep your mouth shut, I’ll at least make sure your family can find your body, Suzuki.
Hiro Suzuki: I’m not saying anything!
Del Ramos: Fuckin’ right you’re not.
Artemis Direction: Save your breath for our next match, darlings! We have Kyle Beckett versus Richard Dweck in what’s sure to be a thrilling bout between two electrifying competitors!
Del Ramos: Kyle has been showing off a mean streak I’ve been eating up lately. Hopefully we’ll see more of that this week.
Artemis frowns.
Artemis Direction: I don’t like the attention Lang has been paying him. Mara has already shown us with Sebastian Hawke that she can’t be trusted to have the best interests of her ‘proteges’ at heart.
Del Ramos: That’s something Beckett’s gonna have to decide for himself. Like it or not, Hawke’s a champ. Mara Lang could represent a chance for Kyle to become something different, and I’m curious to see what that could be.
Kevin Kim: The following match is scheduled for one fall with no time limit. Introducing first, from Brisbane, Queensland, Australia and weighing in at 201lbs. He is the Culture Clash, Kyle Beckett!
‘Stick to your Guns’ by the Sick Puppies hits the speakers. 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. He 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!” with the excited crowd shouting back in reply. Kyle hops down from the corner post and readies himself for the arrival of his opponent.
Kevin Kim: And the opponent, making their way to the ring, from New Jersey and weighing in at 235lbs, Richard Dweck!
He walks out, to Breaking Benjamin’s ‘I Will Not Bow,’ clasps his hands together to crack his fingers, then turns his head side to side to crack his neck. He salutes with a peace sign and makes his way down to the ring. As he makes his way up the steel steps, and climbs into the ring, his foot gets caught in the rope and he trips but saves himself with a somersault! He rises gallantly, spreading his arms, extending both hands with twin peace sign finger gestures, and cartwheels into a basic martial arts stance.
Ascended referee, Godric Smith pats down both competitors for a final spot check then calls for the starting bell without hesitation.
DING DING!
The two competitors’ approach to square up. Richard offers up his hand and Kyle pauses a moment to consider the gesture. In that moment Dweck pastes the Boy from Aus with a quick-fire jab! Then another! And another! Following up with a bell clap that has Kyle Beckett reeling, helpless to defend against a double palm throat thrust!
The commentary team lets out a groan of sympathy!
Hiro Suzuki: Reminds me of a potato with a cough I once met!
Artemis Direction: A potato with a cough, sweetling?
Hiro Suzuki: Yep! He had a case of tuberculosis!
Del Ramos: Maybe he was just sick of your routine. I know I wanna hurl whenever I hear you tell a joke.
Hiro Suzuki: Uh oh! Sound like you’ve got a gag reflex!
Kyle has stumbled into a corner, Richard Dweck nary a step behind him. Richard with a hip toss, but the Boy from Aus has snapped back to reality and as his opponent lifts him up, Kyle gives into the momentum, carrying himself fully over to counter the hip-toss by landing on his feet and taking Dweck by surprise rolling with him in a parallel snapmare. Before the seated Richard can make another move, Kyle takes him down with a low-angle roundhouse kick to the chest. The impact echoes throughout the arena.
Del Ramos: 100 bucks says Kyle is pissed he let Richard get the best of him at the start.
Artemis Direction: What? Kyle having anger issues? Unheard of!
Richard Dweck stumbles to his feet and Kyle is on him in the blink of an eye, leaping up for a twisting Cyclo-rana, the Australian version of a good ole fashion hurricanrana. Dweck is sent reeling, end over end, over the ring ropes to land unceremoniously on the ringside mats. He barely has time to recover before Kyle Beckett comes crashing down upon him with the Air Zoomer suicide plancha. The two competitors are left in a tangled heap!
Del Ramos: The Culture Clash is turning up the heat and I am here for it. GO FOR THE JUGULAR, BECKETT!
The better off of the two, Kyle is first to his feet. Without warning someone gets a hand of Kyle and slams him down, face first on the security rail. The Boy from Aus is left stunned and staggering, at the mercy of his opponent. Richard takes a page out of the mystery attacker’s book, slamming Kyle down against the ring apron before rolling him back into the ring. Dweck connects with the RDDT and goes for a pin.
1…
2…
Kyle kicks out!
Artemis Direction: Oh, my stars and garters!
Hiro Suzuki: Was that a fan?!
Del Ramos: Whatever that might have been about, Dweck’s not about to let the opportunity pass him by! NO MERCY, DWECK!
Richard moves to maintain his offensive and sets up for the first technique of his patented Epic Trifecta. He hoists Kyle up for a pump-handle single knee gutbuster but the Aussie slips free from Dweck’s grasp, sliding behind. Kyle charges at his opponent. Richard lashes out with a Rick Kick, Kyle rolls underneath, keeping his momentum to bounce off the ropes. On the rebound, the young Aussie strikes back at his opponent with a running Kick that Defines a Generation. Dweck drops like a bag of bricks. Kyle pauses, scanning the crowd to see if he can spot whoever attacked him.
Artemis Direction: Looks like our suspect has fled! Hopefully security can get a handle on him. That’s simply inexcusable!
Unable to pinpoint anyone who could be behind the attack Kyle just flips the crowd at large the middle finger then turns back to Richard. First, he connects with the standing version of his Break the Cycle backbreaker. He pauses once again to scan the crowd, then connects with his swift Turn of the Century finisher. With a hook of the leg Kyle goes for the pin.
1!
2!
3!
DING DING DING!
Kevin Kim: Your winner via pinfall, The Culture Clash, KYLE BECKETT!
Del Ramos: So, who is your money as the one who attacked Kyle?
Hiro Suzuki:How long you got? He isn’t exactly known for making friends.
Del Ramos: Heh! Or keeping ‘em. Can’t imagine whoever has beef with him will stay a secret for long, though. There’s blood in the water and the sharks can’t resist.
Artemis Direction: Speaking of, I’m sure the prospect of our next fight has you on pins and needles, darling!
Del Ramos: And barbed wire. And broken glass. We’ve been seeing Perdurabo and Rayne mixing it up since the Jingle Bell Bash, but now we get to see a whole new side of Mia - Loki Synn.
Hiro Suzuki: I never thought I’d say it, but I think Synn might be even more deranged than the Forsaken Psychotic!
Del Ramos: She’s gonna need to be if she hopes to stand a chance against Frater. Perdurabo is a fucking monster and I’m so goddamn happy we get to call him ours.
Artemis Direction: I don’t like the threats he seems to be directing at Silvio. And through Kane King no less!
Hiro Suzuki: He’s been making noises about going through King to get to Silvio.
Del Ramos: Well if anyone on the roster stands a chance, it’s definitely Perdurabo. And King ain’t the unassailable wall he once was, either. Frater might have his number.
Artemis Direction: He definitely has a chance to show us that potential tonight, but don’t count Ms. Synn out of the title scene. All of the residents of MiAtlantis have tremendous in-ring experience and aren't shy about indulging theirs wild sides. Something we’re doubtlessly going to see as we go to our special off site location to watch our competitors show us their best by doing their worst!
With that, the house lights go down and the big screen cuts to black briefly and then opens to a seemingly abandoned warehouse. A two-story building, some windows long since shattered. Usually, the building lies dormant and dark, just another eyesore to be ignored. Tonight, however, the building is lit up with floodlights around the outside while inside…
A loud crash is heard and the cameras switch to an inside feed where Frater Perdurabo stands across from a battle-ready Loki Synn, each wielding a shattered fluorescent tube. Loki is the first to move, looking to shove her shattered tube straight into Frater’s chest! Frater waits for the very last moment to dodge, catching some of the tube fragments with his chest and tearing a thin, red stripe across his chest. Frater responds by growling in anger and stabbing his tube right into Loki’s back!
Loki goes down hard, the glass still sticking out of her back. Quicker than expected, Frater lifts a boot up and drives it down hard, right on top of the glass, driving it further into Loki’s back! Loki stays silent for a moment before she shrieks in laughter, reaching out and grabbing a heavy-looking sack, turning onto her back, and using all of her strength to swing it upward! It connects right between Frater’s legs and he is quick to back down. Loki isn’t finished though as she gets up to her feet and swings for the fences with the sack, connecting with the side of Frater’s head and sending the contents of the bag, thumbtacks, flying in all directions!
Loki charges at Frater, lifting him up and dropping the two of them through a nearby table. Spying a nearby chainsaw, Loki gets up and rips the chain from the saw. She wraps it around her hand and pins Frater’s arms down with her knees and drags the chain across his face as hard as she can! Frater roars but she doesn’t stop until he is able to throw her off balance and get an arm up, grabbing her around the throat and tossing her to the side! She gets to her feet unsteadily but Frater is that much quicker than her, getting a running start and spearing Loki through a pane of nearby glass!
Glass scatters everywhere and Frater grabs the closest shard, stabbing it deep into Loki’s shoulder, breaking it off deep in her skin. She grunts but giggles as she grabs for a shard herself. Frater is quicker though and grabs a nearby bamboo skewer, stabbing with it, aiming right at Loki’s head! Loki gets her arms up just in the nick of time but Frater takes advantage of the leverage of his position and leans down, the sharp point of the skewer mere millimeters from Loki’s mask! With a harsh laugh Loki drops her arms, throwing Frater off balance and off of her, the skewer digging into and through her mask. A trickle of blood begins to ooze out of the fresh wound on Loki’s head.
With a grunt and giggle, Loki gets to her feet just as Frater gets to his. The two regard each other for mere moments before they each let out a war cry and charge at each other. The two jockey for position as they throw punches at one another, crashing into everything from chairs, to ladders, and even some tables. Eventually the two find the staircase and Loki takes a few steps up before throwing a boot into Frater’s face! Frater catches her foot though and with a feat of strength throws Loki over the banister and through several glass tables stacked up underneath her! With a scoff Frater heads to the second floor as Loki recovers…
After several moments pass, Loki crawls out from the wreckage of the glass tables, several cuts covering her arms, legs, and torso. If she was in pain, she didn’t show it as she cracks her neck and follows Frater up the steps. Where the first floor was lit, the second floor lies dark, the only source of light coming from the combination of floodlights and the moonlight outside coming in through the windows.
Loki Synn: Hahahaha… Come out, come out wherever you are CraterFakes! Throw me through a window… If you can…
Her last word is ice cold as she takes cautious step after cautious step into the center of the room. She twirls around, laughing at the obscenity of the scene before her. Tables are placed along the walls, with razor sharp scissors pointing out of every inch of the surface. Ladders laced with razor wire are strewn throughout the room and the floor is already littered with tacks and broken glass. Loki stops her spinning and is about to yell out again when Frater attacks from behind, grabbing her and trying to ram her into the closest table he can find! Loki manages to get her hands on either side of the table to brace herself, but Frater continues to put pressure on her, forcing her head slowly down, Loki’s eyes going cross eyed as they near the point of the scissors.
Loki screams as the point of the scissors pierce her mask and digs into the skin on her head. With a sick smile, Frater drags her face back and forth across the point before releasing her, backing up and getting a running start, aiming a big boot to the back of Loki’s head! Loki waits until the last moment before moving, barely making it out of the way of Frater’s leg as the blood laced scissors pierce the bottom of his boot and into his foot. Loki quickly grabs a nearby chair wrapped in barbed wire and swings for the fences, connecting with Frater’s outstretched leg! She swings again, this time at his other leg, and finally slams the chair right into Frater’s skull, taking the big man down. Loki uses the time to wipe blood from the eyes of the mask she wears as she fights the fatigue of the battle. She spies something but is quickly distracted by the roar of Frater as he stands up.
Loki makes a grab for the item she saw, throwing herself out of the way of a charging Frater, through tacks and glass as Frater turns toward her. She grabs her cast iron skillet and gets it up in front of her as Frater throws a punch aimed for her head. The resounding CLANG echoes in the otherwise empty building. Frater withdraws his hand and Loki uses the space to spin around for momentum, swinging the skillet down at Frater’s outstretched hand! The skillet connects and Frater howls in pain as Loki goes to swing for the fences, taking aim at Frater’s head!
Frater spins to dodge and grabs a container of salt from a nearby shelf, opening it in the process, and tossing the contents in Loki’s face! Loki’s laughs quickly turn into haunting howls of pain as she drops her skillet and drops to her knees, scratching at her face. Frater smirks to himself as he takes aim and gets a running start, driving his knee right into the side of Loki’s head! Loki slumps down into the sea of glass and thumbtacks.
Frater picks her up and brings her over to the closest window, winding up to throw her out of it! Loki wakes up in the nick of time and plants her feet on either side of the window, pushing with all of her might and driving Frater backwards and down onto the floor! She struggles and breaks his grasp, managing to get to her knees and behind his head. She grabs the salt canister and dumps it over Frater, relishing in his pain. As he gathers himself Loki grabs a small ladder and waits. With no hesitation she charges with the ladder, connecting right into Frater’s face! He stumbles backward as Loki takes a few steps back. She charges again and this time Frater breaks through the glass of the window, holding onto either side of the pane!
Loki curses as he grabs hold of the ladder with one hand and pulls, the ladder tumbling out the window! He grabs hold of Loki and smiles, both of them realizing that all he had to do was let go with his other hand. Thinking fast, Loki makes a desperate grab for something, anything that would help her, her hand closing around the handle of a serving fork. She quickly stabs at Frater with all of her might, even catching herself a few times leaving red dots over her already red skin. Frater finally lets her go and she takes a few steps back before ramming Frater with the heel of her boot, forcing him to let go! Frater tumbles out of the window and falls to the ground behind him, Loki’s laughter the only noise the camera hears as it fades to black…
Hiro and Artemis are gaping openly, and Del is absolutely howling with sadistic delight.
Hiro Suzuki: Should… we call an ambulance?!
Artemis Direction: I think calling a mortician or a spirit medium might be more appropriate at this point, darling!
Del Ramos: THIS IS THE SHIT I LIVE FOR! ATTEMPTED MURDER MAKES THE BEST TELEVISION!
Artemis Direction: Good heavens, well… darlings, while our emergency medical staff is en route to make sure no one has died, we take you backstage where a bit of drama appears to be unfolding!
Kyle Beckett: Are you fair dinkum? I mean how’s your bloody form?
Kyle barks out a greeting as he comes upon Viola Williams readying herself for the match against Davie O’Toole. Vi sighs, her response short as she otherwise tries to ignore him.
Viola Williams: Hi, Kyle.
The Boy from Aus crosses his arms, leaning against a wall as he replies to her.
Kyle Beckett: No better way to punish some drongo for leaving you on read, than high-key beating the living shit out of them.”
The message is plain and clear. He isn’t going anywhere anytime soon.
Shaking her head, Viola grumbles.
Viola Williams: That’s not what it was about.
Kyle Beckett: You’re bloody pissed at Dave-o. I get that. The cobber’s been high-key ghosting us both for a while now, and that defs hits a little different. But that don’t mean you get up in my bizzo and cost me my match.
Viola snaps as she replies.
Viola Williams: Oh you were doing that all on your own. I was trying to help–
Kyle Beckett: I had it all under control.
Viola Williams: Bullshit, Kyle, that assbag was about to break you in half and you were gonna let him.
Kyle Beckett: Fuck me, that’s a real mood. Where’s the faith? The trust? I wasn’t gonna give that bloody wanker any satisfaction of tapping. I was fighting through it. I still coulda creamed the bloke, even with a broken body.
Viola Williams: Oh yeah? And then been out for how long? You weren’t thinking—you’re still not thinking.
Despite himself a slight grin crossed Kyle’s face.
Kyle Beckett: You have met me right?
A shape looms up from behind Viola.
Roy Valentine: Yes, I have had that unfortunate privilege.
There was a jolt of surprise from Viola, then she scowled, fingers flexing into fists at her sides.
Valentine stood sneering from the locker room entrance, skin glowing pallid and cold under the fluorescence.
Roy Valentine: You two might consider finding another venue for your squabble; some of us are here for a fight, not marriage counseling.
Kyle Beckett: Yeah, ok Boomer. But I am glad you’re here, cause now it's a real fair dinkum kiki.
Kyle tenses up, squaring off to face Roy Valentine.
Kyle Beckett: And if you want a blue, well…I gotta cash the receipt for that cheapshot during my match against Dweck. So c’mon.
The Culture Clash motions for Valentine to advance. He's ready to go right then and there. Valentine, forever haughty, simply rolls his eyes and hangs in the doorway.
Examining his glossy nails for dirt, Valentine scoffs.
Roy Valentine: I see no reason to debase myself so. Unlike the eternal Culture Shock, Roy Valentine has nothing to prove. Besides; I have a pre-existing commitment and wouldn’t want to scuff my attire with your blood, sweat and tears. It would be quite an embarrassment for you. And, on the subject of public embarrassment…
He turns to Viola.
Roy Valentine: How do you feel about your legacy at Ascended thus far, Ms. Williams?
A sly grin creeps across Vi’s face as she glances back at Valentine.
Viola Williams: How’s yours, shitbird?
Valentine stares at the ceiling.
Roy Valentine: Let me think.
Holding up one hand, he begins to count accolades on his fingers.
Roy Valentine: Inaugural Emerald City Champion. Close friend of the company. Partner in a successful—and emotionally stable—tag team. Mentor to a future world champion, whose career has done naught but improve since my tutoring…
He runs a hand through his hair, face aglow with triumph. Viola raises an eyebrow and made a show of leaning to look behind him, where his ‘star pupil’ was nowhere to be found.
Roy Valentine: Meanwhile, you have made nothing but enemies since your arrival; not even your tag team partner can stand you. Though, in all fairness to young Beckett, it must feel excruciating knowing that you are your team’s weak link. In fact—
Valentine takes in a sharp breath—but reconsiders his words.
Roy Valentine: No, not even you could be so wicked.
Viola Williams and Kyle Beckett: What?
Roy Valentine: A thought just occurred to me. Perhaps, Beckett—if it be revenge you seek for your match against Dweck…
Valentine side-eyes Viola.
Roy Valentine: You might turn your attention a little closer to home.
Viola snorted a laugh at the absurdity of it.
Roy Valentine: Oh, please. A vengeful streak a mile wide? In need of a convenient patsy to excuse your shame? Your desperation precedes you, Williams, and I have experienced firsthand your proclivity for, ah, ‘physical’ therapy.”
Kyle rounded on an annoyed Viola.
Viola Williams: You’re about to experience it again.
Roy Valentine: Temper, temper! You see, Beckett? A little heat and she boils over. Imagine her indignation given time to steam…
Valentine’s eyes go to the locker room clock.
Roy Valentine: But would you look at that! I had best be off; I have a regicide for which I must prepare.
Waving his fingers, he twirls out the door.
Roy Valentine: Ta-ta, lovebirds.
Viola rolls her eyes and turns back to her locker, grumbling.
Viola Williams: What an absolute bag of dicks.
The Boy from Aus shuffles uncomfortably, his face creased by rapidly shifting emotions.
Viola Williams: Kyle?
Kyle Beckett: Ah yeah. Gucci.
From his tone, the Culture Clash is clearly unconvinced.
Kyle Beckett: I gotta shoot through. Cheers.
In a heartbeat Kyle turns on his heels and disappears around a corner, his pace increasing with each step.
The view returns to the commentary table where Artemis’ elegant face is pinched with concern, brow furrowed.
Artemis Direction: Now this is just ridiculous. Viola doesn’t seem the sort to try for underhanded tactics!
Del Ramos: You sure about that? That chick is thirsty for blood and she hasn’t been shy about sticking her nose into other peoples’ business uninvited. She keeps it up, sooner or later it’s gonna get cut off.
Hiro Suzuki: I guess from then on she’d be committing scentless acts of violence!
Del Ramos: You are so fucking lucky our next match has the potential to sate my blood lust or I’d be tearing your throat out with my teeth right now.
Artemis Direction: Roy Valentine versus the Lab Rat King in their first singles competition! Valentine is aiming to join the rather exclusive club of people who can boast a singles win over our Underworld Champion.
Del Ramos: Before now I would have said, ‘good fuckin’ luck,’ but Roy has shown us he cheats as easily as he breathes, and there have been some chinks in King’s armor lately.
Artemis Direction: Looks like we’re about to see if Roy can capitalize on them, darlings!
Kevin Kim: Ascended Army, the following contest is set for one fall with a thirty minute time limit! Introducing first!
Symphonic guitar screeches through the stadium. The screen follows a trail of twisting, thorny vines as they wind over a pitch-black floor to the foot of a marble throne. As the thorns begin to engulf the stone, the camera rises to reveal Roy Valentine lying sideways across the marble seat, legs pitched over its arm. The plants trace a deferential space around Valentine, but utterly consume every inch of bare throne. When the vines finally stop twisting, Valentine snaps his fingers, and the all-encompassing wall of green bursts into bloom, red and gold roses spelling out the name, “ROY VALENTINE”.
Kevin Kim: Hailing from Cape Elizabeth, Maine, weighing in at 219 pounds, he is ROY VALENTINE!
Valentine then makes his entrance in the flesh, strutting on stage under a shower of crimson petals. Alongside him stalks his steel wall of an assistant, Anastasia Keller, metal clipboard in hand. Valentine holds a scarlet “Valentine Velvet” rose at his heart which he tosses into the crowd on his way down the ramp, all the while blowing kisses to the disgusted Ascended Army.
Kevin Kim: And now coming to the ring, his opponent and your Ascended Wrestling Underworld Champion!
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.
Kevin Kim: From Portland, Oregon, weighing in at 285lbs, he is THE LAB RAT KING!
Where once the Lab Rat King would enter in chains, he now walks freely, his slow and deliberate steps taking him down toward the ring with his valet, Grace King, at his side. She casts a sharp look at Keller as she approaches the ring, wordlessly daring Valentine’s assistant to try anything. There's something bestial about the way the Lab Rat King moves, like an animated gargoyle, as he clambors into the ring; scaling one of the turnbuckles and looming as the Ascended Army cheers. Soaking in their cry for violence, he snaps around, Valentine’s body tensing briefly at the sudden motion, and lets out a blood-curdling chuckle.
DING DING!
Valentine seems to know better than to come at King head-on, but the mutant has no such compunctions. With a roar, he lunges for his opponent, attempting to bull-rush him into the corner!
Del Ramos: HA! My boys’ not wasting a fuckin’ second! GET HIM, KING! BREAK THE BONES AND SUCK OUT THE MARROW!
Artemis Direction: Don’t get ahead of yourself, darling!
Valentine sidesteps, barely dodging underneath King’s reaching arm, nailing him in the spine with a sharp elbow! The Lab Rat King takes a surprised extra stumble forward, then turns on Valentine with a hiss, rebounding his considerable weight off the ropes for a boost of uncharacteristic speed. But Valentine is ready, catching King with a short-arm clothesline–in the throat!
Hiro Suzuki: Hey, what’s worse than a giraffe with a sore throat?
Del Ramos: The punchline of this joke.
Hiro Suzuki: A centipede with sore feet!
Knocked to his knees, coughing, the monster is briefly stunned, one hand clasped over his own throat.
Artemis Direction: That one really seemed to get to King…
Valentine doesn’t waste a precious moment, slipping behind him to secure a facelock, shoving King’s muzzle hard into his mouth and nose as he pulls him backward! King’s scream of frustration and pain is muffled as he grabs at Valentine’s offending arms–and in a frightening display of strength, planting one boot on the mat, he pulls Roy over his own head and lets him crash sideways over his knee in a merciless rib breaker!
Del Ramos: BREAK HIM IN HALF, KING!
King throws himself forward over Roy’s prone body for a pin!
ONE!
TW–
Kickout from Valentine!
Before righting himself, Valentine spares no effort in barraging King’s chest and flanks with a series of strikes, ending the chain with a kick to the ribs that sends the monster sprawling! Kane howls in pain, clutching his side as he climbs to his feet, his breathing haggard.
Hiro Suzuki: Valentine is really focusing on King’s upper body!
Artemis Direction: Is it just me or does King look like he’s having a hard time breathing?
Something is wrong with his ribs–fractured?--but it doesn’t stop him. The pair clash again the moment they’re on their feet, exchanging holds–both demonstrating an impressive technical ability–until Roy takes the advantage again, breaking away to rebound off the ropes, landing his signature Whipvine on King! With the beast downed, he once again gets behind him–just as Keller decides to pick a fight with the referee on the apron! While Godric Smith’s back is turned, Valentine slips something from the waist of his gear, which finds its way around King’s neck. He wrenches back to a standing position, wrapping his arm over whatever he’s got to hide it from sight as King starts to choke on his own furious growling, scratching at Valentine’s arms with blunt nails!
Hiro Suzuki: Hey now!
Artemis Direction: Referee Godric Smith didn’t see Roy take out that garrote! He doesn’t know what’s happening!
On the outside, Grace King grabs Keller by the leg and yanks her forcibly off the apron, shouting obscenities as she pulls a steel chair out from under the ring and threatens the assistant with a capable swing!
Artemis Direction: Mrs. King showing her spark!
Del Ramos: Expect nothin’ less from whoever the Rat ended up with.
The referee turns back to the fight, only to see King sinking to his knees, eyelids fluttering. He’s barely breathing, shoulders jerking and chest twitching, struggling for air as Valentine squeezes tighter with a wicked grin…!
Hiro Suzuki: Come on! Not like this!
Del rumbles with annoyance.
Del Ramos: Fukken pansy gonna cheat us out of a decent match.
Godric Smith moves to see if King will tap out… but he’s not responding! His eyes are barely open, crumpled on the mat. No response– no response– Godric is forced to signal!
DING DING DING!
Kevin Kim: The winner of this match–by Submission–! ROY VALENTINE!
Artemis Direction: This is completely unacceptable!
Valentine proffers a Cheshire grin the Ascended Army jeering in response, letting King drop to the mat like yesterday’s news so that the referee can lift his hand in victory… and as he does so, behind him, King rolls over onto his back, gasping in deep breaths, a long strap of athletic tape falling away from his bruised neck.
Smith’s eyes dart from the illegal weapon to Roy, to the Rat, and back to Roy again, who sneers and mouths ‘Don’t you dare’.
But it’s too late. Smith flags down Kevin Kim with urgency, leaning over the apron to speak with him. He points at Roy, then the piece of tape, and makes an X with both arms.
Kevin Kim: Oh… Ladies, Gentlemen and Nonbinary Finery, the referee has ruled this victory as invalid due to the use of an illegal weapon… as this is a Standard Rules match and not an Underworld match, the match WILL CONTINUE!
Roy blanches as he feels King rise to his feet behind him, clutching his ribs and snarling breathily through clenched teeth.
Del cackles lowly.
Del Ramos: Oh now here we go!
Valentine turns around just in time to be on the receiving end of a chokeslam that takes him off his feet. Roaring with rage, King makes short work of making Valentine regret his recent choices, Picking him up again to drop him into a spinebuster, and then again into a protobomb, and again into the EMPTY, HOLLOW, THUD!
He steps on Roy’s collarbones and howls at the crowd like the monster he is.
ONE!
TWO!
THREE!
DING DING DING!
King doesn’t even wait for the announcer to finish, already dragging Roy prone across the ring by the leg as the man flails and attempts to grab the ropes–to no avail. King lifts him up one more time, teeth bared, and throws him over the top rope, where he crashes spine-first into the ringside table and snaps it in half.
He stays there in the splintered remains, unmoving.
Lab Rat King: YOU’LL NEVER BREAK ME! I CAN NEVER– HHAH– BE– BROKEN!!
King drops to one knee, shaking, still gripping his side and gasping for air. Grace meets him there in the ring with concern on her face, helping him up–the Rat can barely stand, staggering out of the ring with his wife’s help and a grimace of pain etched into his half-masked face.
Artemis Direction: …Oh my…
Hiro Suzuki: I don’t… think our Underworld Champ is doing too well…
Del grumbles, narrowing their eyes.
Del Ramos: It’s his lungs. That’s what keeps getting to him. In his fight with O’Toole he was suffocated by the ceiling collapse, and in that fight with Leon, he kept taking those hits to the chest. Valentine clocked it and took advantage.
Artemis Direction: This does not bode well for King.
Hiro Suzuki: Roy may not have been able to pull off a win against LRK tonight, but one of the people that has is part of our main event tonight.
Del Ramos: O’Toole keeps showing us that he’s one wily motherfucker. Just when you think you’ve got him figured out, he pulls something new out of the bag.
Artemis Direction: Even so, Viola Williams has apparently beaten David O’Toole in all but one of their matches from a previous promotion. And the only one where she wasn’t victorious outright was a draw. The track record doesn’t favor Davie coming out the victor.
Hiro Suzuki: Maybe, but I doubt O’Toole is the same fighter now that he was even a year ago. We’ve seen him grow and mature as a fighter in Ascended alone.
Del Ramos: Even if that’s true, Williams and O’Toole share a close bond. She might have a bead on him no one else in this promotion could. If that’s the case, we’re going to see her clean house tonight.
Hiro Suzuki: Reminds me of a really one-sided fight I had with a mop the other day.
Del Ramos: Don’t get my hopes up about you impaling yourself.
Hiro Suzuki: No worries there! I really wiped the floor with it!
Kevin Kim: Ascended Army, your main event tonight is set for one fall with a 30-minute time limit.
A heavy beat begins reverberating through the arena.
Kevin Kim: Introducing first: From Baltimore, Maryland, coming in at 160 pounds, she is Viola Williams—LEGACY!
Viola enters with a bright, self-assured smile. She starts making her steady way down the ramp, nodding her head to the beat and letting the crowd’s reactions pump her up, pausing only once to give a small salute as she passes a camera on her way.
She picks up the pace, jogging, then running until she gets to the ring, rolling under the ropes and springing to her feet. She follows the stomp-stomp-clap beat that starts up in the chorus, breaking into a grin as the crowd joins in, then spins to soak in the entire arena’s energy, arms thrown wide.
Artemis Direction: The energy Legacy brings to the ring with her is always dazzling, darlings! 10/10!
Kevin Kim: And her opponent!
The dramatic sting of ”Shipping Up to Boston” kicks in, and the stage lights pulse green and gold in time with the beat.
Kevin Kim: From Astoria, Oregon, weighing in at 190 pounds, the Sidewinder, DAVID O’TOOLE!
The tune drives with its usual force—but O’Toole doesn’t enter when he normally would. Viola keeps watching the stage entrance, keeping stoic.
As the drums come into the first phrase, there’s still no sign of Williams’ opponent. The crowd murmurs with some confusion—Williams herself doesn’t look overly concerned, though she does begin to shift from foot to foot.
Del Ramos: Oh, you gotta be shitting me - there’s no way he chickened out.
But the track moves to its second phrase, and the spotlights kick on and swing around the arena to find something up in the rafters—and on a beam high above, opposite the stage, stands a long, lean shadow, hooded but triumphant.
The shadow strides across the beam, and pulling back his hood David O’Toole steps out onto a catwalk and into the light.
Artemis lets out a delighted squeal.
Artemis Direction: The drama! The danger! Oh, my sweet children, this is the sort of thing mother lives for!
David looks over the rail, surveying the lively arena beneath him until his gaze comes to the ring in the center, and his opponent below. He grins, and reaches up to find a rope fastened above him, anchored somewhere ahead—he grasps it, then quickly mounts the catwalk’s rail and leaps from it!
He swings across from one end of the ringside space to the other, then back again like a gritty urban aerialist, the rope lowering along with him. At the start of the third pass-over he’s low enough that as he’s coming towards the ring, he lets go and dives down to the canvas to land with a masterful shoulder roll, then pops to his feet.
He bows to each side of the crowd, then his smile brightening he bows slightly to Viola. She rolls her eyes, mouthing and signing, “show-off”, but she can’t help but smile. He gives her a quick gesture in reply, then he pulls off his hoodie to toss aside, and offers his fist. Viola comes forward to return the fist bump—and as soon as they’ve touched she steps in to brace his arm, and flips him forward!
O’Toole keeps the roll going to return to his feet, and pivots back to Williams, grinning ear to ear.
Artemis Direction: Hunties, if that doesn’t get you in the mood for a brawl, then nothing will! Goodness me, I think I need a cigarette.
DING! DING!
They fly at one another, and Viola is quick to strike first with a running lariat—David takes the hit, but twists himself to deflect most of the blow, and quickly rolls to his feet to come at her again. Williams charges, getting ready to leap onto him—but he’s come at her too quickly! Instead they lock up, and immediately O’Toole pivots to whip her over in a snapmare! He descends onto her shoulders to go for a chinlock, but Williams is far too fresh, and she hauls them both to their feet to buck him off. Trying to make the lock stick so early is foolish, so he relents and sidesteps—only to walk straight into Legacy’s vicious European uppercut! His head snaps to the side, but he keeps his balance, and swings right back with a jab to the gut that she barely avoids!
Del Ramos: These two are definitely familiar with each other. And they’re not interested in giving an inch just because they’re friends. This is gonna be personal.
The two of them have at each other, their grit and intensity on full display as they trade back and forth—Viola’s power spiked with a quickness uncommon for that strength; David’s speed and scrappiness generating a force surprising for his frame. So far they remain in the ring, but the spirit of brutal creativity that underworld rules allow is on full display. The flow of the fight hums with the depth of their history, comfortably familiar but still electric with surprise and discovery.
Del Ramos: These two are grasping the spirit of Underworld rules. Weapons and foreign objects are a part of it, but at the core of it all is the spirit of violence without limits. You don’t need nothin’ but your fists and a willingness to see how much blood you can swallow before you pass out.
And it’s a dead heat—when Legacy’s strength threatens to overwhelm the slight Sidewinder, O’Toole’s experience keeps him on his feet; but for all that experience, his firepower doesn’t leave the craters in Williams’ defenses that it might otherwise.
Artemis Direction: You would think Ms. Williams wouldn’t be as resilient as she’s shown herself to be, but good heavens! She’s a petite powerhouse!
Hiro Suzuki: Say, that reminds me! Why did they build an aquarium right next to the nuclear power plant?
Artemis Direction: I don’t know, darling, why?
Hiro Suzuki: To keep all the nuclear fission!
As the match wears on, however, an uneasy tension starts to come through Viola’s lines—she looks perplexed, trying to search David’s face as they tangle. She starts to quicken, shortening her movement, driving more force through her strikes. O’Toole is able to keep up and raise his own game, but he looks just as confused.
Finally Viola surges forward and lays David out with a Juggernaut Punch! She follows him to the canvas, and with a cry of effort she shoves him to slide across the mat out to the floor! O’Toole just manages to shoot an arm up to grab the bottom rope as he slides under it—but he’s got too much momentum to keep the rest of him from sliding off, and he dangles awkwardly with his back pressed into the corner of the apron.
And before he can gather himself Williams dives headlong into his shoulders, sending them both crashing to the floor!
Artemis Direction: Ms. Williams is cranking up the heat!
Viola starts laying into David with a barrage of strikes, electrified by a spike of desperation. O’Toole takes some heavy hits in his surprise, but he has just enough hold on his wits to then roll out of her immediate reach. But as they get to their feet and she comes at him again, instead of sidestepping he catches her hard in the gut with his knee, then takes a few focused jabs at her sides.
Del is growling, smile broad and toothy, eyes wide and eager.
Artemis Direction: FUCK YES! MORE GAS TO THE FIRE!
They surge into each other with the furious abandon of a full-on brawl, but something has shifted: Viola’s blistering intensity has shot up, but her shots are more wild and out of control. David, however, can see the shots coming, but instead of just moving around them, he moves through them, countering and reacting with greater precision to greater effect. And instead of dodging or countering herself, Williams simply absorbs the blows, but they come at such a clip that she's left reeling.
Artemis Direction: David O’Toole is indeed showing us just how much he’s grown since he came in through our doors!
He shoulder-checks her into one of the barriers, and as she hauls herself out to charge him again he catches her with a superkick to the right shoulder, throwing her back to the floor! He dives to cover!
ONE!
TW–!
Williams kicks out! But when she turns to lunge at him he catches her and sends her right back down!
ONE!
TWO!
THREE!
DING! DING! DING!
Kevin Kim: The winner is the Sidewinder, DAVID O’TOOLE!
O’Toole sprawls on the floor, breathing heavily—and quickly Viola has scrambled to him, scooping him upright and throwing herself around his shoulders. Her face is of total devastation, but not because it’s a loss against her—from her broken desperation it looks like she’s clinging to him to keep him from disappearing.
But before he can say or do anything, a sudden spasm wracks him!
He seizes and curls against it, clearly in agony—but just as suddenly as it comes it’s gone again, leaving him thoroughly spent but an odd relief washes over him.
Then he twists, trying to turn to Viola, tapping her arm to try and get her attention and waving his hands. She finally opens her eyes, still desperate but she releases her grip just enough for David to face her and to gather her in a tight hug. As they separate and kneel there on the floor they have a quick, silent exchange—David shifts himself just enough to make it difficult for anyone to see what they’re saying, but he’s gesturing with great excitement, and Viola’s broken devastation slowly melts to confusion.
With a gentle smile he pulls her in for another hug and drops a kiss on the top of her head. He helps them stand and gestures further, angling towards the stage, and nodding to her reassuringly. She stares at him for a moment, as if he isn’t quite real, until finally she starts back towards the entrance ramp.
Satisfied that Viola is safely on her way, O’Toole gestures for a mic and climbs back into the ring.
David O’Toole: What’s good, Seattle?
The crowd cheers. David takes a moment to bask in the sound, turning to look over the whole Ascended Army with a sort of wonder, and he can’t help but smile.
David O’Toole: Oh folks—what’s good is that it’s a damn fine night to be in Seattle with you all, let me tell you. What else is good is that I’ve actually got some words, and there’s finally time enough to say them.
He slowly starts to pace the ring.
David O’Toole: It’s no secret that I’ve had that training deal with the Valentine Estate, it’s kinda stayed the talk of the town this whole while. But the one voice that hasn’t pitched in about it has been mine. And I won’t deny it, folks, I have learned a lot; it’s been an opportunity to get an angle I’ve never really had before. It’s asked a lot of me—you fine folks have seen some of that asking in action. It’s had an effect on me, and there’s a lot I’ve taken in, and a lot of it I’ll take through the rest of my career—rest of my life, even.
He pauses his pacing, just for a moment, and a bit of a smile creeps onto his face.
David O’Toole: But it’s been a real intensive six months, and with all that learning I think we’re due for a midterm check. I’ve always been what my teachers used to most charitably call a “bold” student—always a little difficult, but one way or another I would ultimately learn, and learn well. And I’ve been around a couple of blocks a couple of times, in that sense—I have a good idea of what I can learn where. And I’m thinking I’m coming to a cul-de-sac in the avenues of opportunity on this end of town, so to speak.
David O’Toole: That’s what I’d argue, anyway. Dear master and mentor fairest is after a legacy—small L—so of course he’d want to exercise his influence for as long as he could get away with. And if I didn’t know any better, I just might reckon he thinks he could get away with it for a real long time.
David O’Toole: But we’re both too close to the art, I think. So it only makes sense to bring in a third party—the same knowledgeable third party that witnessed the entrance exam.
O’Toole gestures to the surrounding Ascended Army. The path he paces tightens as his focus begins to zero in on the stage entrance.
David O’Toole: So, I know you’ve had a lot of demands on your time lately, dear sir. But I think your ‘pupil and peer’ can afford to make such a demand. Two weeks from tonight we meet here. We see what I’ve learned, and whether there’s anything else you possibly have to teach me—’cause at this point? I’m thinking there isn’t.
The crowd starts to murmur and jeer in agreement, impressed with the audacity.
David O’Toole: And hey, let’s make it more objective. Let’s put this midterm in a cage—just you and me, under the watchful eyes of a couple thousand of the best proctors we could possibly assemble. Standard rules—which should be no problem, you yourself have preached that the truly excellent can wield their skill in improvising with only what they have at hand.
His smile curls impishly and he shrugs innocently.
David O’Toole: Wouldn’t want me tempted to try and make an unfair advantage– oh, sorry, facilitate ideal opportunities, trying to remember your exact turn of phrase.
David O’Toole: But yeah—midterm at Conquest, cage match, standard. It's about as good a test as we could get, because if I can’t win on my home turf, there might be some argument for staying on—talking true, though? You’re liable to get a lot of argument back, not just from me. But if I win? And the people give good marks? Then Davie O’Toole is a free agent once again.
The crowd roars at the idea. There’s no immediate movement from the stage entrance, so David starts toward the edge of the ring– until the arena’s screens sputter and switch.
One by one, the idle Ascended Wrestling promotional graphics on the stadium’s screens buzz statically, then show rainbow test cards. A synthetic, ear-rending screech momentarily fills the arena. As the screens switch to a shaking image of a sterile eggshell-and-toothpaste colored room, all that can be heard is humming fluorescence.
The camera shot shuffles, blurry, becoming distinct as it levels out. A man wearing Roy Valentine’s distinct rose-patterned trunks sits facing the wall, his bandaged, bruised back hunched and bare for all to see. At first, it seems as though he’s calm, or sleeping—but a second look reveals a subtle tremor, beginning in his shoulders, that radiates through his flesh.
Anastasia Keller:You’re live, sir.
Roy Valentine: Good.
Valentine jabs a thumb over his shoulder.
Roy Valentine: Tell me, David: do you know what these are?
Even with his back to the camera, Valentine’s wince as he retracts his arm does not go unnoticed.
Roy Valentine: Wrong answer, David. These are not receipts for writing a check I could not cash; such humbling tokens I would not dare reveal to my audience. Yes, I said it. The crowd knows this, and you know this: I am a man beyond modesty. After all, what use has a king for humility? The humble king invites the baying wolves at his door consume him whole, in sympathy for his hunger, and I am not—and shall never be—so weak.
Slowly, Valentine straightens to his full height, revealing the true extent of the putrid yellow bruises across his back.
Roy Valentine: I wear these badges with pride. They are marks of victory, David. Trophies for lessons learned: learned at the hands of the Lab Rat King, whose true weakness I unveiled tonight before his deluded worshippers; learned at the hands of the Ascended Army, who peppered me with insults as I lay injured at their feet; and learned at the hands of Marcus Asfah and the Ascended jury, whose flawed justice I have been a victim of tonight.
Valentine turns his face in profile to the camera, raising a single fist before him, broken athlete’s tape streaming in ribbons all around it.
Roy Valentine: My victory tonight over the Rat has been stolen from me by a wardrobe malfunction. Cruel irony, is it not? The time I take to ensure I live up to the hopes of my adoring fans proves my undoing. That and, of course, the ever-incompetent Godric Smith, whose villainous career history shall remember with naught but venom. That he could not understand the physical limitations of tape speaks volumes of the man’s intellect.
Sighing, Valentine lets his hand drop.
Roy Valentine: But were Smith the sole traitor tonight, I should be content to bask wearing the conquered crown I and mine know was earned.
A single, ice-blue eye rotates towards the camera. Valentine tilts his chin to lord over the camera.
Roy Valentine: But here you are. Of course, you cannot allow me to have a single victory. You cannot allow me to share your pedestal as one of three competitors to have felled the Rat in singles combat. A pity, that I could not see your approaching betrayal until after the embarrassment you caused the Estate at our annual Valentine’s Day fête. Not only did you and your band of fiends damage company property and nearly send several security officers to the hospital; no, by ruining an otherwise perfect evening, O’Toole, you have spit in the face my hospitality. You have forsaken every teaching I offered in good faith and stolen the good work every member of the Valentine Estate has poured into your training. I should have you strung up and beaten with every weapon known to the American justice system for your monumental theft.
Valentine faces away from the camera and crosses his arms.
Roy Valentine: But you know what? I would rather do it myself.
His arms stretch across the screen and his head tilts back, offering a complete view of his injuries.
Roy Valentine: Count them, O’Toole. For every hallowed wound I wear tonight, I shall repay you a scar, that all who see you shall know the depth of your betrayal. Upon your flesh I will carve a lesson you shall never forget. Study well, David O’Toole; for at Conquest, I declare…
The screens go black.
Roy Valentine: Class is in session.
The Ascended Army reacts with elation, a cheer going up from the gathered crowd!
Artemis Direction: And there you have it, Ascended Army! See us again at Conquest, the next Pay-Per-View from Ascended Wrestling!
Credits
Moxie Golightly vs. Hot Dropkick - Aedan
Richard Dweck vs. Kyle Beckett - Kyle Beckett
Loki Synn vs. Frater Perdurabo - Mia
LRK vs. Roy Valentine - Zen
Viola Williams vs. David O’Toole - g
Kyle Beckett/Viola Williams/Roy Valentine segment - Kyle Beckett, Legacy, Aedan
Post-main event match segment - g
Roy Valentine segment - Aedan
Everything else - Ampersand[/i][/font]