“How many does this make?”

[My memory fails me when it comes to the games. Too many hard fought losses I guess. Now I am leading a group who no one in the alliance even gives a chance to make it into the ring, I could be setting myself up for another one of those hard fought losses.]

“Mike, it will be five tonight.”

[The president of WCWA, I was beginning to wonder when he was going to make his appearance today. I have walked these halls all afternoon, just trying to shake out the nerves in my legs and I have not seen as much as a peep from Vince Webb.]

Sloan: Vince… It is good to see you.

[I extend my hand and await his.]

Webb: I am so glad you did not bail on me Mike. WCWA hosting the games this year, I have been a complete wreck this last week.

[His tan hand meets my white flesh and we shake as if we have been friends before.]

Sloan: It has been a rough one Vincent. This comeback… Meeting Ms. Smith…Learning to trust again… It has been tough.

[I brush my black hair out of my face; I think it is time for another change of styles, and smile at Vince.]

Webb: No shit, between chasing, you and Cynthia down I have had my hands full. Mike, I could not have had a better choice to lead this team of misfits. You will do me proud.

[It felt like a father talking to his son for a moment. My gut begins to tingle a little, nerves, I know the feeling all to well.]

Webb: Mike, the Show is about to start. I just really wanted to thank you for helping me get WCWA off the ground. Moreover, good luck tonight. I will be rooting for you.

[He is a good man, but he could not have made his exit any sooner. I need time to prepare for the team’s arrival; maybe I can come up with something good that will inspire them to do their best.]

“Summer Games 8, it’s where all the dreams come true. Tonight, for some, will be like the night they lost their virginity, short and to the point. They will go away learning a few things that will further their careers and eventually making them a success."

[Like me, each defeat I have built on top of what I have already learned. I improve every match and Summer Games has never been an exception. My palms begin to gather sweat.]

“Some of them might walk away with a feeling of loathing-ness. They may never want to compete in this tournament again. To them, I will call them faint of heart. They need to find another way to make a living.”

[Guts, glory, and tears, this event has brought out all of them in me. From coming up just short in Summer Games 2 to watching this event propel me into winning the WWA World, title on two occasions. I give all of the credit to Summer Games.]

“Then there will be that one individual that will walk away with a guarantee. A guarantee at facing the winner of Paige, Horrey, and Bane for the world title. This man will have the distinct pleasure of being able to call him one of the six other individuals to walk away from Summer Games with the win. He will be the Gladiator who faced every form of man and beast and still walked away in glory.”

[Tonight, I feel it. Summer Games is going to have Mike Sloan as a champion.]

“Tonight, Summer Games makes a career.”

[Tonight, has the same feeling as ACW’s reunion show.]

[The scene opens up in the backstage area in the lobby. The entrance opens and AWA wrestler Adrien Cochrane walks into the door, holding a few of his bags. He stumbles into the room, struggling with holding the four bags with only two hands. A backstage worker walks in the room and notices Adrien struggling.]

Man: …um, Adrien, would you like some he…

[Adrien loses control of the bags, and one flies up in the air and lands on top of the worker. Adrien, who still has one bag in his hand, puts it down and helps the man back to his feet.]

Adrien: Dude, I am so sorry. Are you okay?

[The man dusted off his shirt and pants and looks at Adrien.]

Man: Yeah, I’m okay. Um…I have to go do something…OVER THERE!!!

[The man, probably not wanting to get hurt again, runs off in the opposite direction he pointed to. Adrien tries to grab the four bags and head back to the locker room. A woman walks over to Adrien.]

Woman: Hey, Adrien…you need a hand?

[Adrien, still struggling since he doesn’t have four arms, looks at her.]

Adrien: Yes, thank you very much.

[Adrien hands her one of the bags, but as he hands her a second one, a sock falls out of the bag she already has. As soon as she turns around and heads towards the hallway, she slips on the sock and falls down. Adrien immediately put down his two bags and assists the woman to her feet.]

Adrien: Whoa! Are you alright?

Woman: Yes…get someone else to help you!

[The woman storms off. Adrien calls to her as she storms off.]

Adrien: It was an accident…I’m sorry!

[The woman seems to ignore him as there is no answer from her. Adrien looks at his four bags in disbelief.]

Adrien: Damn, why did Brandie and Clint have to pack so much stuff!?

[Adrien stares at the bags for a minute and thinks for a second, rubbing his chin. Suddenly, he grabs two of the bags, heads to the hallway and disappears for a second. He comes back and grabs the other two bags. Before leaving with them, he randomly mumbles.]

Adrien: (mumbling, barely audible) Well, with this luck, my opponent’s might accidentally hurt themselves. Heh.

[Adrien then stops and looks into the camera.]

Adrien: Welcome to Summer Games Eight!!!!!!

[Adrien smiles and heads back to the hallway, turns a corner, and disappears.]

“This thing on?”

[We get light, as a hallway is shown, followed by a few KABOOM and BAM sounds like a Batman episode come from behind the camera. Before long, it's set straight, and we see a very distraught and perturbed man.]

[Calib Wallace.]

“We ready here moron?”

[The camera moves up and down, as the camera man nods his answer, trying to be as quiet and professional as possible. Calib just shakes his head, before getting his composer back at his helm.]

[Smirk.]

“Welcome ladies and gentlemen, to something I'd love to call, Summer Games, slash, Night of Calib Wallace. It's set to be a great show if I do say so myself. I'd personally like to say hello also to you all from my friend, Goldy. Say hi to the people.”

[The camera lowers and shows the AWA Heavyweight Title in his possession still. After a moment of silence, the camera pans up to a very happy Wallace.]

“Tonight, you will be the first to witness the greatness that is Team Wallace, as we step into the ring with Team HRW. It should be a tough showdown, with the likes of Angel of Death, who seemed to die away into the wind tonight, along with guys like Cobra and Justin Brooks, and Ryo-Wo. The nervousness over Team Wallace is in the air, but I think we can deal with it. Having a monster by the name of Goliath helps, along with some HTML guy on our team can keep our side safe. Then we pull out the wild card, Demetrius Burrell, our current Team Wallace Arena Champion. Last and not least of course, is your's truly, the Champ-i-on himself, Calib Wallace.”

[Calib quickly flicks the title, as it makes the sound that a glass being tapped by a spoon would make at a wedding.]

[Gotta love sound effects these days.]

“Now I know you fans of Team Wallace are a bit nervous about this situation, but don't worry everyone, everything will be alright. With my guidance and leadership, we will keep the ship alive and into the finals.”

[Calib adjusts his notes for a moment, before looking back at the camera, smiling like he actually knows what he's doing as a host.]

“The other three qualifier matches look to be tough for everyone, but once whoever makes it to the finals against Team Wallace, will have the deck stacked against them. It will be a war, but once everything finishes, the final two left will obviously be Team Wallace members....Demetrius Burrell, and Calib Wallace, of course.”

[He smiles, going to the next page, quickly grabbing a pencil, tapping it off the table like a cheap talk show host.]

“This is where the drama for all the loyal Wallace fans begins. As sad as it will be, Demetrius will then lie down and let me pin him, to become the Summer Games Champion. It's just in the nature of a Team like ours, that they will make sure their leader takes the victory. That's war for you, and I'm glad to have such guys like him, Monster and HTML on our team. Team Wallace will reign supreme, and I'm glad each and every loyal fan out their paid to see our dream as Team Wallace members, come true.”

[He grabs his Title, stands up and smiles, before tossing it over his shoulder and doing the Uncle Sam point that is on every military poster.]

“Team Wallace wants you. Join up, and get on the winning team. Thank you.”

[He nods, and then nods the belt like it's not a inanimate object, but a human being, as he exits the picture.]

[Fade.]

[Pyro explodes throughout the arena as the thousands of fans in attendance scream their hearts out. Pictures of the prior winners of Summer Games in their victory flashes across the screen as we are brought down to our announcers, Mario Jackson and Sylvia Sanchez.]

Jackson: Hello everyone and welcome to Summer Games Eight!!

Sanchez: This is the premier event of the World Wrestling Alliance, and man, is this one a doozy or what??

Jackson: It certainly is, Sylvia. Not only do we have the best of the best competing for the coveted label of being a Summer Games Champion, but we have other outstanding matches as well.

Sanchez: We've got OCW and AWA representing their tag division and defending their belts on the PPV.

Jackson: Not only that, but we have the potentially Earth-shattering match of Victor Mandrake and Ryan Corey as they wrestle for control of this very alliance!

Sanchez: I'd love to have Mandrake as my boss!

Jackson: I bet you would.

Sanchez: After that, we have the Conspiracy defending their straps against Superiority Complex, followed by Thomas Bane defending his belt against arguably two of the greatest wrestlers this alliance has to offer, David Paige and Sam Horrey.

Jackson: That oughtta be a helluva match! Then after that, the match we'll all be waiting for, the Summer Games Final! Who do you think's going to win it all?

Sanchez: It's hard to say, Mario. You've got Mike Sloan, hungry for the win to try and re-establish himself in the alliance, but then you've got men like Jake Devins who's always on the hunt to be at the top.

Jackson: Don't forget about Calib Wallace. That man's been smelling the gold for a long time now. He's got to be very hungry.

Sanchez: I figure Josh Styles is a shoe-in for the Final, given his history with the NWA and the revenge he'll be looking for. Whether or not he'll go all the way, I'm not sure.

Jackson: What about Jeff Andrews and Python?

Sanchez: Those are two solid picks for the Final as well. Andrews won the CAL World Championship, so he knows what it's like to be at the top. I know he'll be wanting to be there again, VERY soon. As far as Python, he's already got gold in the Double Crown Title, and you know he's just itching to take that next big step.

Jackson: They'll have to get past OCW first, though. There's enough bad blood between those two feds to fuel a full-scale war!

Sanchez: There sure is! But for now, let’s check up with one of the contender’s for tonight’s title match, “Irish Fire” David Paige.

David Paige is standing in his locker room, already dressed for his match. He holds a jump-rope in his hands, and is obvious well into his work-out routine. His regularly pale skin is a bright red, and his face is somewhat contorted in exhertion. It looks as if he is in danger of wearing himself completely out even before the match begins. He notices the camera has entered the gym, and stops the routine. His chest rises and falls slowly, and he takes a drink of the water, making sure he remains perfectly within the camera’s line of sight the entire time. As he finishes his sip, he turns to the camera man.

Paige: “I know you’re not supposed to talk to people you’re filming, supposed to be that invisible third eye and all, but sit down here for a bit.”

The camera stands still.

Paige: “Come on.”

He gestured a little. The camera man sits down, trying to keep his view on Paige as best he can.

Paige: “Mind if I take a look at that?”

Paige reaches for the camera, and pulls it to his face. He focuses on his own eyes, and part of his left cheek.

Paige: “You know, Roland Barthes said that the camera was the only form of message without code. He also said that Professional Wrestling was no different from the tragic theatre of Greece. I suppose he was probably wrong about both of those, now that I think about it. But one thing he did say, that I believe, is that the camera never catches reality. That it always, always catches but a performance. The moment the lens is turned on you, you become an actor on a stage.”

Paige puts the camera on his shoulder and zooms in on the cameraman himself. The short, thinning haired man seems uncomfortable with the attention.

Paige: “So, how does it feel? You’re the star now, your face is being shown to a crowd of thousands, and an audience of millions around the world. What’s your name?”

Camera Man: “Doug”

Paige: “Well Doug, how does it feel to be me? Because I have to tell you, it feels great right now being you. Watching you. Getting a peak into who you are. This is your fifteen minutes Doug, what do you want to say to all those watching at home?”

Doug: “I don’t know.”

Paige: “Well you gotta say something Doug. Everyone is listening.”

Doug: “Love you Betty.”

Paige: “There you go. Now, why did you say that?”

Doug: “I dunno.”

Paige: “Now, I am not saying that you don’t love Betty, but think about why you said it. You said it because the Camera was on you. The Camera made you say it. It made you do something you would not otherwise do, only because its there. Do you understand the power you wield by having this?”

Doug: “It’s just a camera.”

Paige: “Maybe to you. Let me guess, they sent you in here to see how I was getting ready for my match right? To show the contender in preparation.

Doug: “Yeah.”

Paige: “Do you know what its like to be the Odd-Man Out Doug? To be the one almost no one is counting on? Especially when cameras like this show up?”

Doug: “No.”

Paige: “It demands everything from you. It points its glassy eye and says, ‘you, perform for me.’ And when you’re in my position, do you know what kinda of performance it demands?”

Doug: “What kind?”

Paige: “Strength, it demands strength Doug. They expect me to be weak, so the camera demands that I am strong. It demands I show myself making a formidable foe out of myself. That I demonstrate the underdog’s spirit. But do you know something Doug?”

Doug: “What?”

Paige: “I am getting tired of having to be strong, every time this damn thing shows up. I am tired of having to build myself up for its command. To prove myself, and my federation. And what of my federation? It seems they have been riding on my success too much. WR, home of David Paige. Afterall, I am the WR Golden Boy. Perhaps its time they have to face the motivation I do. The same thrust. Mind if I borrow this camera?”

Doug: “I do not think I can let you have it.”

Paige: “I will bring it right back, I promise. Pinky swear.”

Doug: “Al…Alright…”

Paige: “Thanks… now get out.”

The Camera-man slowly gets up and heads for the door. Paige films him the entire time, waiting until he is gone. Then the screen goes black.

Jackson: Interesting words from the World Title contender.

Sanchez: I wonder what he's up to?

Jackson: I'm sure we'll find out soon enough. For now, we have our first match of the evening, the OCW Tag Team Title Match!

Isaac Davenport: The Opening Match of Summer Games is Triple Threat Tag Team Match. It is scheduled for one fall and is for the OCW Tag Team Championship.

[“Rising to the Top/We Run This” remix blares on the P.A. The crowd gives a faint cheer as Malik Johnson and Vince Webb Jr. walk down the ramp.]

Isaac Davenport: Introducing first, hailing from Shreveport, Louisiana and weighing in at a combined total of 480 lbs. They are the former OCW Stampede Tag Team Champions. Malik Johnson and Vince Webb Jr., They are Southern Hospitality!

Jackson: Tonight, we got three teams that have a grudge that needs to be settled and a championship that they want to win.

Sanchez: Southern Hospitality has held the titles before and they want them back on the biggest stage in the WWA.

[Money (Dollar Bill) by Everlast begins to play as the Billionaire Brats exit the curtain dressed in reverse patterned Green and Gold colored tights. The group strolls to the ring to a mixture of cheers and mostly boos.]

Isaac Davenport: And their opponents. Hailing from Los Angeles, California and Greenwich, CT, respectively and weighing in at a combined weight of 472 lbs. They are “Steady Freddy” Fred Kurner and “Big Willy” Will Sates. They are The Billionaire Brats!

Jackson: Honestly, I’m surprised that the Brats even made here tonight. Will Sates has not had his mind on this match since he found out that one of his closest friends was admitted into the hospital.

Sanchez: Fred Kurner on the other hand has nothing on his mind but winning the titles. Don’t be too surprised if Kurner tries to keep Sates out of the action as much as possible.

Jackson: That could be a dangerous thing in such a match.

[“South Texas Deathride” by Union Underground hits the PA system as Chris and Jeremy King step out from behind the OCW logo curtain holding their OCW Stampede Tag Team Titles. Jeremy’s in front as Chris follows him out, their wearing matching navy blue and gold colors on their various attires. Boos from the crowd can be heard as they make their way down to the ring. Various items are hurled in the direction of the OCW tag team champions as they walk down the ramp. Jeremy walks up the ring steps and jumps into the ring as Chris bends over to enter the ring. The two pose in the middle of the ring with their titles then hand them to the referee.]

Isaac Davenport: And their opponents. They are the reigning OCW Tag Team Champions. Hailing from Evarts, Kentucky, weighing in at a combined weight of 520 pounds, Jeremy and Chris, the SOUTHERN KINGZ!!!

Jackson: The champs may not be the most liked but they know when to take care of business when it comes to working as a unit in the ring.

Sanchez: That has to be paramount because under Triple Threat Rules, they don’t have to be in the decision to lose their titles.

Jackson: Greed, power, and teamwork and gold in the balance. Gotta love it!!!

[The ref holds up the OCW Tag Team Championship belts high in the air before he hands them off to the timekeeper. The ref gives all three teams final instructions before he calls for the bell.]

[Ding…. Ding.]

Jackson: And it looks like The Brats and the Kingz are going to start where they left off.

[Jeremy King and Will Sates circle each other in the ring before locking up. Jeremy King comes away with a side headlock. Will Sates shoots Jeremy King into the ropes and Jeremy King comes back with a shoulder block. Jeremy King hits the ropes again but Will Sates comes up with a hip toss that takes Jeremy King to the mat. Jeremy King gets back to his feet and runs into an arm drag takedown by Sates. Sates takes control with an arm bar.]

Jackson: Looks like The Billionaire Brats are trying to set the tone.

[The ref checks on Jeremy King who is shaking him off before getting back to his feet. Jeremy King grabs a handful of hair to push Will Sates into a nearby corner. The ref calls for the break. Will Sates lets go as Jeremy King starts to pull back but returns with a quick knee to the midsection. Jeremy King delivers another knee to the midsection before taking Will Sates out of the corner with a snapmare.]

Sanchez: Those shots are kind of stiff.

[Will Sates sits up and Jeremy King hits a modified neck snap on Will Sates before making the tag to Chris King. Chris King picks up Will Sates and clubs him with a forearm smash before shooting him into the ropes. Chris King goes for a clothesline but Will Sates ducks underneath as Fred Kurner makes a blind tag. Will Sates comes back with a bulldog as Fred Kurner hits the ropes and connects with a knee drop. Kurner goes for the cover.]

1...

2...

[Chris King quickly kicks out while Kurner brings Chris King to his feet and tries to bodyslam him but he won't budge. Chris King counters with a bodyslam of his own. Chris King goes for an elbow drop but Fred Kurner rolls out of the way. Fred Kurner hits the ropes and catches a rising Chris King with a dropkick to the chest that sends Chris King to the outside of the ring.]

Jackson: No break for “Steady Freddy”. Here comes Southern Hospitality.

[Vince Webb, Jr. steps into the middle of the ring where Kurner just stands there staring at Vince and connects with a slap to the face. Vince responds in kind until Kurner walks away and goes for a right hand but Vince blocks and goes into a collar and elbow tie-up. Fred Kurner comes away with a side headlock and turns it into a hammerlock before taking Vince down with a drop toe hold.]

Sanchez: He's just trying to show this punk Vince up a little bit.

[Vince gets back to his feet and dusts himself off before locking up again and this time, Vince comes away with a side headlock. Kurner quickly shoots Vince into the ropes and goes for a clothesline but Vince ducks under and comes back with a shoulder tackle. Vince hits the ropes again while Kurner goes low when Vince hits the ropes again and gets taken over by a hip toss by Kurner but Vince lands on his feet. Fred tries to throw Vince but Vince blocks the throw and goes for a right hand but Fred ducks under and hooks Vince into a backslide.]

1...

2…

Sanchez: Much too early for a pinning combo like that.

Jackson: But a damn good exchange so far.

[Vince quickly gets back to his feet and gets whipped to the ropes by Kurner. Fred goes for a backdrop but Vince rolls over his back and takes Fred down with a side Russian leg sweep before rolling into a cover.]

1...

2…

[Kurner gets the shoulder up while Vince pulls him up to his feet and runs him head first into the top turnbuckle before turning him around and unleashing a vicious knife edge chop to the chest.]

Jackson: I got one word for that...HURTS LIKE HELL!!!!!

[Kurner slumps back into the corner while Vince pulls him and connects with another chop as the fans are reacting to each shot. Vince sends Kurner into the opposite corner with an Irish whip and charges in but Kurner walks up the turnbuckles and nails a charging Vince with a thunderous lariat to the throat. Vince hits the mat hard while Fred Kurner hits the ropes and comes down with a springboard leg drop over the throat and follows up with a cover.]

1...

2…

Sanchez: Kurner with a near fall on Junior.

Jackson: More like having something to prove.

[Vince kicks out while Fred Kurner picks him up and sends him to his corner and tags his partner in. Will Sates and Fred Kurner whip Vince into the ropes and goes for a double elbow shot but Vince ducks underneath and comes back with a cross body block on both guys for the cover.]

1...

2...

[Both Brats kick out when Malik comes in and waits for both of them to get up and knocks them down with a double clothesline. Kurner rolls to the outside while the ref ushers Malik back to his corner, leaving Vince and Will Sates in the ring. Vince grabs Sates and goes for a front facelock. Vince lifts Sates up for a suplex but Will slips out and lands behind him. Sates goes for an Irish whip but Vince reverses it and sends Will into the ropes and catches him in a waistlock before dropping him with a belly to belly suplex. Will gets to his feet only to run into a boot to the midsection before getting taken over with a swinging neckbreaker. Vince makes the tag to Malik who comes in and stomps away at the midsection of Will Sates before picking him up and slamming him to the mat before hitting the ropes and coming down with a big elbow drop to the chest of Sates. Malik goes for the cover.]

1...

2...

[Will kicks out while Malik brings him back to his feet and knocks him down with a big right hand to the jaw. Sates tries to get back to his feet when Malik grabs him by the hair and throws him to the outside. Malik quickly follows him out when Sates goes for a right hand to the midsection to slow him down. Sates grabs Malik and goes for the Irish whip but Malik reverses the whip and sends Will Sates up and over the steel barricade. The ref starts his count.]

1...

2...

3...

4...

[Malik reaches over the barricade and brings Sates back over.]

5...

6...

[Malik throws Sates back into the ring and rolls in afterwards. Malik goes to pick up Will Sates but Will Sates seems to be clutching his ribs. Chris King makes the blind tag on Malik, who does not look happy about it. Chris King tries to move in when Kurner comes in and hits the ropes and leapfrogs over Will Sates and lands on the back of Chris King before leaving the ring. Sates gets to his feet and hooks Chris King and takes him down with a side Russian leg sweep and goes for the cover.]

1...

2...

Sanchez: Save by Jeremy King.

Jackson: This match was good as over if someone didn't come in.

[Jeremy King goes back to his corner waiting for the tag as Sates hooks Chris King in a front facelock and makes the tag to Fred Kurner, who climbs up to the top turnbuckle and jumps off with a double ax-handle to the back of Chris King. Kurner hooks a back waistlock and tries to power Chris King over but Chris King responds with a back kick that doubles over Kurner when Chris King picks up Kurner and drops him with a belly to back suplex as Kurner lands on the back of his neck.. Both men are down on the mat as the ref starts to count.]

1...

2...

3...

4...

5...

Jackson: Who ever can get to their corner first can take this match right now.

[Both men start to stir as Chris King sits up as Kurner starts crawling towards his corner. Kurner makes the tag to Will Sate as Chris King makes the tag to Malik Johnson. Malik rushes in and nails Will Sates with a flying forearm. Kurner comes back in and is met by a thunderous right hand by Malik. Malik whips Sates into the ropes and takes him up and over with a back drop. Kurner comes in and is met by a boot from Malik. Malik hooks him in a waistlock and takes him down with a gutwrench powerbomb. Malik grabs Sates and whips him into the ropes and takes him up and over with a powerslam. Malik goes for the cover.]

1...

2...

Sanchez: Sates gets the shoulder up.

Jackson: Damn, Malik Johnson has just taken over this match.

[Kurner kicks Malik in the head as he and Sates grab Malik and whip him into the corner. Malik charges out and drops both men with a double clothesline. Chris King comes back into the ring and throws Malik out of the ring. Jeremy King grabs Fred Kurner and sets him on the top turnbuckle. Chris King climbs up to the top and hooks Kurner for a suplex. Jeremy King throws Sates to the outside while Chris King takes Kurner off of the top with a superplex. Jeremy King climbs up to the top turnbuckle and leaps off with a flying elbow drop and connects. Jeremy King makes the cover.]

1...

2...

3!!!

Sanchez: He got him.

Jackson: NO!!!

Sanchez: DAMN!!!!!

Jackson: Fred Kurner gets the shoulder up at the last millisecond while Jeremy King can't believe his eyes.

[Sates grabs a chair from the outside and sets it up before backing up and jumps off of the chair leaps onto Chris King with a Thesz Press before pummeling away with punches to the jaw. Jeremy King grabs Kurner and looks to put him away but Kurner slides down his back and grabs him in a waistlock as Sates rolls back into the ring and nails Jeremy King with a clothesline as Kurner takes him over with a German suplex with a bridge.]

1...

2...

Jackson: Save by Vince Webb, Jr.!!!!

Sanchez: This is nuts. Will someone lose already?

[Sates grabs Junior, who looks in wonderment before picking him up and whipping him into the ropes but Junior reverses the whip. Vince goes for a powerslam but Sates slips through and turns Vince into an inverted DDT while Vince's skull just bounces off of the mat. Both men lay on the mat while Kurner whips Jeremy King into the corner. Kurner charges in but Jeremy King ducks underneath and hooks him into a sunset flip.]

1...

2...

Jackson: Save by Malik!!!!

[Chris King comes in and knocks Malik down with a right hand. Vince gets back up and gets knocked down with another right hand. Kurner gets back to his feet and cuts off a rushing Malik with a dropkick. Kurner picks up Vince and grabs a front face lock before taking Vince over with a snap suplex. Fred Kurner kips up to his feet and gets caught with a big boot to the face from Jeremy King. Malik pulls Will Sates to his feet as Fred Kurner comes in and nails Malik with a flying forearm to the mouth sending him over the top rope. Kurner quickly scales up to the top turnbuckle before flying off with a flying body block knocking Malik down.]

Sanchez: Looks like Malik got his teeth smashed up from that shot.

[Sates slowly picks up Vince and connects with a thunderous chop to the chest before sending him into the ropes. Will barely gets up off the ground and goes for a Hurricanrana but Vince stops in his tracks and drives Sates down to the mat with a powerbomb into a pin.]

1...

2...

Jackson: No one wants to lose this match.

[Sates just barely gets the left shoulder up while Vince complains about the count. Malik grabs a nearby chair and goes for a home run swing but Kurner ducks under and Malik gets nothing but ring post. Vince picks up Sates and whips him into the ropes but Will reverses the whip and catches Vince in a fireman's carry and nails him with a Samoan drop just as he grabs his ribs. Sates gets to his feet when Jeremy King sneaks behind him and grabs a single underhook DDT.]

Sanchez: CONFEDERATE BREAKER!!!!!

Jackson: Sates is out cold.

Sanchez: Wait a minute. There’s Kurner sneaking in the back door.

[Jeremy King gets up slightly dazed when Kurner turns him around into a boot into the midsection and grabs a front facelock.]

Jackson: BILLION-DOLLAR BUSTER!!!!!

[Kurner makes the cover and hooks the leg.]

1…

2…

Sanchez: Malik is trying for the save.

3!!!!

[The ref calls for the bell…Ding!!!! Ding!!!!]

Jackson: The Billionaire Brats win the OCW Tag Team Titles here at Summer Games.

[Kurner grabs Sates and roll him out of the ring when the ref hands them the OCW Tag Titles.]

Voice over: "I am TTO, and that is all you need to know."

Mario Jackson: "Oh great. Here comes OCW's favorite."

Sylvia Sanchez: "If there was ever a person who deserved to be a victim of a mugging, it's this guy."

Mario Jackson: "Just relax Sylvia, he'll get his in the end."

[The lights dim down and "Animal I've Become" by Three Days Grace begins to play as Sean Jackson emerges on the entrance ramp. As soon as they see him, the Hispanic fans immediately begin to boo him as they've heard his stance on immigration, and the vile comments made towards Hispanics. As he starts heading towards the ring, he takes out a house mic and begins speaking.]

Jackson: "Hey, just so you people know. I just got off the phone with immigration, and they're on their way."

[Without fail, dozens of Hispanics begin to race for the exits, fearing that what Sean Jackson has said is true.]

Jackson: (starting to laugh) "They fall for it every time."

Sylvia Sanchez: "Mr. Vino had better do something about this guy, because I'm not going to tolerate much from him tonight."

[As he continues to stroll towards the ring, he begins to turn his attention towards the announce crew, most notably Sylvia Sanchez.]

Jackson: "Now that we've gotten rid of the English speaking illegal aliens, let's start working on the ones who don't understand proper English."

Mario Jackson: "Just don't do anything stupid Sylvia."

[She is digging her fingernails deep into the announce table, to say that Sean Jackson has gotten under her skin is an understatement. If she could kill this man and get away with it, she would have already done so.]

Jackson: "Starting with that little Mexican whore at the announcers table..."

Sylvia Sanchez: "Excuse me?"

Mario Jackson: "Uh oh!"

[More boos.]

[He now enters the ring, standing directly in front of Sylvia Sanchez.]

Jackson: "Yeah, well screw you son of a bitches as well..."

[Sure, that went over well.]

Jackson: "Now then, as I stand here in front of yet another Mexican dominated crowd. I wonder just how many white American fans didn't get tickets because of you mother fuckers?"

[Stuff starts flying in the ring as Sean continues to blast away, still staring straight into the eyes of the one woman who wants to kill him dead...]

[Sylvia Sanchez.]

Jackson: "Well don't worry, because the only reason why I'm here is because the World Wrestling Alliance forced us to come here..."

[He looks around.]

Jackson: "To this place, a place that resembles Mexico in the only way that it can..."

Sylvia Sanchez: "Don't you dare say it."

[He gets that shit eating smirk on his face. Oh yes, he's going to coin a phrase that Eric Dane made famous.]

Jackson: "It smells like piss."

[More boos.]

Jackson: "That's right bitch, I said that this place smells like piss. And from what I can see, the smell seems to be coming from..."

[He begins to look around the arena, but it isn't long before he is leaning over the ropes, again staring straight at Sylvia Sanchez, and he points directly at her.]

Jackson: "Right over THERE!"

[Sylvia leaps up from the announcers table. It is everything that Mario Jackson can do to hold her from flying into the ring. As security sees Mario struggling to keep her in check, they too come down to give assistance.]

Sylvia Sanchez: "Let me at him, let me at him."

[Sean then flips her off.]

Jackson: "Well here is something you can tell your Hispanic speaking fans Sylvia. You can tell them that they can kiss my ass."

[He goes to drop the mic, but hesitates.]

Jackson: "That is IF you can say it in proper English."

[Sylvia is now beside herself. As Mario and security attempt to hold her at bay, Sean takes this opportunity to fire one last shot at her.]

Jackson: "Hey, why don't you give up the Spanglish bull shit already. It was horrible enough when J-Lo did it, so we don't need any butt ugly rip-offs trying to copy it."

[He drops the mic and exits the ring. As security struggles to hold her back, he keeps flipping her off, trying to further piss her off. Finally he makes his way to the back, arguing with the Hispanic fans every step of the way.]

[It was here.]

[It had come.]

[The biggest event of the year.]

[The place where the alliance’s best gathered for a night of bloody betrayals and shattered dreams.]

[The place where the most coveted prize in the industry was fought over and won by breaking bodies and piling them high.]

[The man with the biggest pile wins.]

[But of course, the man with the biggest pile of them all wasn’t competing in the Games, nor was he involved in the World Title match. He was competing for something that would prove to be infinitely longer lasting and more influential then any of the other competitors could hope to achieve tonight.]

[This was the night that Victor Mandrake seized control of the alliance.]

[This was the night that he was to begin to shape and mold the alliance into his own design.]

[But tonight, Victor had another agenda in addition to changing the job title of Ryan Corey. This was the night that he sought to fill his empty arena in Rome with the frenzied mob that would cheer for every gallon of blood and shard of bone that was spilt and broken, and jeer for any ounce of leniency and mercy. Victor wished to bring to this alliance the most blood-thirsty crowd ever seen since the ancient days of the original Colosseum.]

[But first, he needed Gladiators.]

[Terry Woods walked through the parking garage with thoughts on his mind, and a phone on his ear.]

Woods: "I'm here. Heading to the front as we speak."

[Woods looked his normal, grim self. The product of his own demons. The blood stained tattoos on his hands were freshly inked, meaning he recently felt the need to re-live his past.]

[He was dressed in white leather, as usual. He sported a fresh shirt, the word "GLADIATOR" embedded across his chest. An eye-patch over his left eye, from a recent accident. Woods had yet to explain it, but it is believed he did not fall down the stairs and land on a doorknob.]

[Woods shut the phone as quickly as he had opened it, an obvious hint that a meeting between men was about to take place.]

[A meeting between men with a common goal.]

[Woods eyed the camera as it follows him towards the entrance to the arena. He couldn't help but smirk. Everyone wanted to get their fucking camera shot.]

[Especially since, by all rights and purposes, Woods wasn’t even supposed to be here tonight, his ban still being in effect.]

[That situation would soon be remedied.]

Woods: “Do me a favor,” he said to the camera man. “If you see your boss, you know, the one all the way up the food chain, let him know that I’ll be seeing him shortly to ‘catch up’. Thanks.”

[Woods flashed the camera a wink with the only eye he could, and proceeded into the building.]

[The camera fades in to Ryan Corey, sitting in his locker room, already dressed and ready this early in the card....his match will most likely not take place for at least an hour and a half, if not two hours.]

[He wears the trademark long red tights, the right leg emblazoned with the word "Nightbringer" down the length. His red boots are on, the red wrist tape is secure, and his long red hair is back in the familiar ponytail. He hangs his head low.]

"So, here it is Victor. D-Day, as it were, for you and I. Time for one of us to make a statement that will shake the very foundations of this alliance. Either you tie our little battle, or I establish a clear and definitive advantage over you."

[Corey rocks back and forth a bit as he speaks.]

"Either I retain my controlling interest in the WWA, or you take it over. I've had a lot of time to think about that, Victor. You, in control of this alliance. The surge of power that will surely rush to your head if you win. The countless careers, nay even lives that you will crush to further your own personal vision of this alliance. I've thought about that a lot, Victor. I've had that weight on my mind every day since International Wars."

"You see, I accepted this match to save my wife's life. You, with Morrigan, surely would have done the same. But now, now that she is safe, I carry the hopes and dreams of thousands of wrestlers on my shoulders. I carry the hopes and dreams of millions of fans all around the world on my back. From the kid in Ireland, to the teenager in Rome, to the woman here in California, to the old man in Delaware. I hear all their voices in my head Victor."

"A lesser man, a less focused man, would crumble under that weight, under that pressure."

[Corey looks up, the ice-blue eyes of the killer he once was now all that is seen in the camera shot.]

"As you know, Victor, I am no ordinary man. I survived a gunshot from a .50 caliber Desert Eagle at close range. I survived forty-eight days of torture in the desert sands of the Middle East. I'm the only man walking the arenas of this alliance to defeat you more than twice. You know, perhaps better than anyone else, what you face when I stand across from you in the ring."

"You call yourself a cold-blooded killer. Willingly. One might even say that you revel in that evil. You've urged me to fulfill my destiny, to become the cold-blooded killer that you are, and to stand by your side, dominating the world together."

"All myth, Victor. All myth. As usual, you fail to understand the dynamic that exists between us. You always have. My destiny is secure, win or lose this match. My legacy is not in that ring, but in the lives of my children. Twice, I have been at the very top of this alliance's mountain. You have always failed to understand what drives me, what motivates me. You fail to understand why I continue in this sport, why I continue to stand up to you, and your ilk."

"All those wrestlers, all those fans, they don't pressure me Victor. They drive me on. The give me the courage, the will, and the fighting spirit to keep standing up for what is right, regardless of the personal cost. And you have never, ever, seen that. You've never understood the true source of my strength."

"And you never will, because you've turned your back on it. Because you refuse to stand for what they believe, because you fail to see. Much like the great literary villain of our day, Lord Voldemort, you are so obsessed with your own power that you have overlooked the most powerful things. The simplest things."

"My family. My Lord. The fans. The boys in the back, and secure futures for all of them. That's what drives me, Victor. That's what keeps me going. The one thing you can't extinguish, is the one thing that keeps me strong."

"So, Victor, what remains for you is precious little. When the chips are down, and you're inches from defeat at my hands, what will keep you from allowing the third count to fall? Pride? I've beaten you at the height of your pride. Courage? Alas, unless the odds are in your favor, you have none."

"So tonight, I don't fight for myself. I could care less what happens to me. No, I fight for them. The ones you would crush, the ones you would use. I fight for WCWA, HRW, HATE, FSW, WR, AWA, and even those you would sign to GEC. I fight for every wrestler in this alliance that wants simply a fair chance. I fight for every single fan that has ever, or will ever, purchase a ticket to a WWA event, or purchase a WWA pay-per-view show."

"One on one, Victor, it's a tossup between you and me. Even as good and as big as you are, though, one against millions isn't even fair, Victor."

"Let The Games Begin."

"Night Falls Soon, Victor Mandrake....the Nightbringer is coming to save this alliance's soul."

[The team members all came out to their respective boos and cheers. Though Josh Styles was easily the most hated member on Team WWA, the boos were much much louder for the whole of Team NWA. No matter how much the fans hated Styles or any other wrestler in the alliance, they were still their much hated wrestlers.]

[Team NWA was in foreign land. And they were not welcome.]

[The match started out as most matches with bad blood do.]

[Chaotic.]

[Styles started in for WWA, and Brannon for NWA. Styles, having recently been disgraced by the NWA, was finally able to release all those feelings of disrespected rage on to a representative of the corporation. Styles wasted no time making short work of the NWAer. Sure, Brannon got in a few moves here and there, but there just wasn’t anything Brannon could do against such unbridled anger.]

[Joey Brannon was eliminated at 5:43.]

[Styles, having worn himself out a little, tagged in Lemual Jordon, who met with Ronnie McNeil in the middle of the ring. The two duked it out back and forth for a while before Jordon tagged Maxx Devlin in. Devlin hopped in the ring with McNeil, but McNeil proved to be too much for Devlin.]

[Maxx Devlin was eliminated at 9:12.]

[Adrien Cochrane hopped into the ring, being the fresh man from WWA, and Ronnie tagged in Seamus MacArthur. Cochrane and MacArthur tied up and fought. Ultimately, it was Cochrane who gained the upper hand on Seamus with a pinfall. Vialetti tried to make the save, but Styles interrupted him with a dropkick right to the face.]

[Seamus MacArthur was eliminated at 14:06.]

[Vialetti became the legal man at that point as the ref chased Styles out of the ring. Cochrane and Vialetti didn’t fight for very long before Cochrane was able to tag out to Jordon. Jordon and Vialetti wrestled at length, but in the end, it was Jordon who got the upper hand on Vialetti.]

[Angelo Vialetti was eliminated at 18:32.]

[The three on one situation looked grim for Ronnie McNeil, but he stepped in regardless to face Jordon one on one with confidence. The confidence, it seemed, was well earned. McNeil beat Jordon squarely in the middle of the ring.]

[Lemual Jordon was eliminated at 21:52.]

[Josh Styles exploded into the ring to take on McNeil, intent and determined to end this match and put the NWA in his past forever. McNeil couldn’t do much to save himself except for one or two comebacks, but it wasn’t enough. Styles locked on his Submit, Bitch! crossface chicken-wing, and McNeil did exactly that.]

[Ronnie McNeil was eliminated at 23:10.]

[Team WWA wins: Josh Styles and Adrien Cochrane advance to the final.]

[Victor Mandrake strode confidently down the halls, coming upon the office of the current chairman of the executive committee, Robert VanSingleton. Victor barged in through the door. Robert looked up and sighed.]

"Victor. What a surprise."

"Oh, the evening's filled with surprises, Chairman," Victor taunted. "One surprise I heard in particular was that Eric Ramirez hasn't been performing as well as the alliance had hoped. So much so that OCW may be getting cut as soon as the broadcast is over."

"You should know better then to fill your head with backstage rumors, Mr. Mandrake," VanSingleton replied.

[Victor threw a manila envelope onto his desk.]

"And you should know better then to engage in the sorts of, shall we say, 'extracurricular activities' that I've photographed you doing in there."

[Robert frowned as he dug through the envelope, producing a set of polaroids. As he flipped through them, Robert's face went pale. Mandrake grinned.]

"What do you want?" Robert asked shakily.

"It's simple, really," Victor said. "OCW's on their way out. My federation is going to be on it's way in, effective immediately after OCW is dismissed. We wouldn't want the general public to know that an upstanding businessman like yourself is engaging in such atrocious activities, now do we?"

[Robert buried his head into his hands.]

"I thought so," Mandrake said. "Also, after I win tonight, I'm going to make an announcement. The board will stand by that decision and also standby any other decision I may happen to make. So long as that's understood and abided by, we'll get along just great."

[VanSingleton looked back at Mandrake, shooting daggers with his eyes.]

"Careful Chairman," Mandrake warned. "You so much as look at me in a way that I find to be displeasing, those pictures go public."

[Robert said nothing, just swallowed the defeat as Mandrake exited the office laughing.]

[The locker room was quiet and he stood there looking down at the book that had caused all this trouble. He was The Japanese Superman.]

Ryo-Wo: It begins tonight.

[Suddenly the door to the locker room opens and in strolls a masked man. He was called Demonio De la Sangre III.]

DDlS III: Tonight’s the night.

[The two eyes each other up.]

DDlS III: You know if you give me that book you won’t be hindered in anyway tonight. Fight me and you’ll lose, and you’ll ruin your chances later on.

Ryo-Wo: I’m surprised they let you in here with Lost Highway defunct.

DDlS III: I have my means.

Ryo-Wo: I think I’ll keep the book and use it to destroy you.

DDlS III: You don’t even know how.

[The two stared at each other quietly.]

DDlS III: Give me the book, kid. It’s the only way you’re going to…

[Suddenly a huge hand grabs the head of Demonio De la Sangre III and smashes it hard into the wall. The masked Luchador slides down the wall limp.]

Ryo-Wo: I guess you came for the book?

[The Einheri, WCWA wrestler walks in followed by his master, Bathasar Guldsen.]

Guldsen: [Motioning towards DDlS III] This is what you wanted the book to destroy? This is the demon I should be scared of?

[Bathasar chuckled.]

Guldsen: Pathetic. Give me the book.

[Ryo-Wo glances at the monster surprised.]

Ryo-Wo: His weakness is gone?

[Bathasar smiles.]

Guldsen: We all have tricks up our sleeves. Are you going to give me the book or are you going to take chances that my Monster won’t snap your neck tonight?

[Ryo-Wo reaches down and picks up the book.]

Ryo-Wo: You can’t hide weaknesses forever.

[Bathasar chuckled.]

Guldsen: What are you going to do about it?

[With a motion from Bathasar, The Einheri snatches the book from Ryo-Wo’s grasp.]

Ryo-Wo: This is a small alliance.

Guldsen: [Smirking] Not small enough for you.

[With a motion Bathasar backs up and leaves his monster following.]

Ryo-Wo: If it’s war you want I’ll bring your friends war.

[Ryo-Wo glances down to where Demonio once laid and his body is gone.]

Ryo-Wo: I have more important thing to worry about. Nothing else matters now.

[Cut to next segment.]

[We find one Mr. Danny Argus back stage in the hallway just outside the locker room, clad in a red sleeveless hooded sweatshirt and jeans, finally having shaven the stubble from his face and scalp. He leans back against the wall. It’s only a moment before red-haired Amy Remington walks into view.]

Argus: Alright, where the hell is he?

[Amy stops, having almost walked past him and into the locker room. She cocks an eyebrow in his general direction.]

Remington: You mean he isn’t here yet?

Argus: You’re his manager and you don’t know where he’s at?

[Amy takes a step back, having not gotten the third degree from Danny in quite awhile she doesn’t know how to respond.]

Remington: Look, he wanted to drive here separate because he said it’d help him clear his head before the match. He even left before I did!

Argus: [sighs] Whatever. You think he’s going to be ready?

[Amy scratches her head and looks at the floor, only a moment before looking back up at Danny.]

Remington: Between you and me, I’m not really sure. He hasn’t been himself.

[She’s cut short as Daemon himself walks into view, duffel bag slung over his shoulder. He takes long strides up and nearly walks past the both of them and into the locker room.]

Remington and Argus: Where the hell have you been?

[Daemon stops dead and looks at them in much the same reaction Amy had to the same question earlier, but his look of confusion turns into arrogance and annoyance.]

Curtis: I ain't late.

Argus: You ain't ready yet either.

Curtis: Man! [shakes his head] I’ll fuckin’ be ready. O-C-Dub ain’t makin’ it past me no-how.

[Daemon shoves past them and into the locker room, leaving Danny pissed off and Amy concerned.]

(The following is in Japanese. But it has been subtitled for your viewing pleasure. Worship.)

[A small crowd of journalists was gathered. All of them Japanese. Most of them looking jetlagged as all hell. Bags under their eyes, clothes rumpled... They probably all came on the redeye flight at the same time, from Nippon to Cali, earlier this morning.]

[However, one of the Japanese assembled there was not all tired and road-weary. That man stood behind a podium, an AWA t-shirt on his chest. Slightly modified, of course, in the traditional wrestler's style. Sides were cut off, showing off the front and back of said shirt, with no damn sleeves or sides. Moustache neatly groomed, hair trimmed, nostril hair mowed down, face glowing... Kengoro looks as if he's spent time in a tanning bed, got exfoliated, got a manicure and pedicure, got head, and THEN got to the show.]

[A very good look for any man. And of course, he looks like his normal

“200 pounds of muscle, 40 pounds of thinly spread flab all over his frame” self. Slightly toned, mostly solid. It was... er... a powerlifter's build. Yeah, that's the ticket.]

“Thank you all for coming.”

[The journalists scritched and scratched away at their pads, wanting to get every word down. After all, this was the first press release that the Japanese wrestling press has had at a WWA pay-per-view with a native son of Japan in months. Years, maybe!]

“First of all, I just wished to tell you all what you already know, that this is the first press release done by a native son of Japan, at a World Wrestling Alliance pay-per-view, especially this, the crown jewel of the WWA, SUMMER GAMES! I am very appreciative for the opportunity to represent glorious Nippon here in the WWA, here at Summer Games.”

[Oh, the journalists were scratching furiously away, writing down everything that Kengoro Sugamoto, ½ of the Faces of Death was saying.]

“Tonight, the Faces of Death, Kengoro Sugamoto and Sergeiev Bogorovich, will face Stephen Greer and Tyrone Walker, for the All-Star Wrestling Association Tag Team Championships. It will be an epic fight, between one of the most renowned tag teams on the planet... and Team Danger.”

[A smirk.]

“But seriously, the opportunity that the AWA management has given Serbo and I is greatly appreciated. While the changing of the management is inevitable, I personally will be sad that the current management of the AWA seems to be changing. He has treated me well, and I know I speak for Sergeiev when I say that Marc Hightower will be missed.”

[A hand went up. Kengoro pointed.]

“Yes? You.”

“Are you sure you speak for Sergeiev?”

[Kengoro thought for a moment, tapping his well-shaved chin. Eyes angled skyward, as he silently thought for a moment. The pens stopped scratching over the paper, as everyone looked to the Japanese grappler.]

“...I know I speak for myself and Splenda when I say that Marc Hightower will be missed.”

[The pens resume scratching.]

“But tonight is the night where I prove all the naysayers wrong! I will attain championship gold, not against a has-been like Tatsumichi or a wanna-be like Akamatsu, or a never-was like Ramsey. Tonight, I will defeat Team Danger! My partner and I will cause the most powerful force in tag team wrestling, the stable, the legend, the war machine of Team Danger, to come to a crashing halt, and either Greer or Walker will be pinned cleanly.”

[Another hand went up.]

“Yes? You.”

“To be quite blunt, Mr. Sugamoto, every other time you have been given a shot at golden immortality, you have choked. You froze up and lost, with Yoritomo and against Ramsey. So, what makes tonight different?”

[Kengoro curled his lip in irritation at the journalist. How dare he speak this way?]

“That is a very impertinent question, and I am insulted. I did not “choke”, as you put it, I simply failed to achieve victory. I was reckless and not as experienced. But now, I have learned from my mistakes, and will apply this knowledge to Greer and Walker.”

“Mr. Sugamoto... Again, every other time, you have faced people who are legends in Japan only. Akamatsu, Tatsumichi, Ramsey... None of these men have achieved the kind of notoriety and name-brand recognition that a Team Danger has. How will a new partner help you when you have lost to men that some, especially Team Danger themselves, would claim are already inferior to Walker and Greer?”

[Kengoro's eyes widened, lip curled in a silent, feral snarl of anger. This... this reporter was being completely unfair, and also making Kengoro extremely angry. This would not stand... Kengoro almost jumped into the crowd, but Splenda, decked out in his very best, crystal-ended cane held under an arm, big golden aviator sunglasses perched on his nose, zebra-print cowboy hat on his head, with a massive feather in it, a huge wall clock around his neck on a spray painted gold chain, ran between the Japanese Wrestler and the crowd.]

“Whoa! Calm dah, big Suge! Mayne, no need t' get all killin' minded!”

[The American turned to the crowd, slipping behind the microphone. In perfect Japanese, Splenda began to speak.]

“Lemme put it like dis, mayne. Yo' punk ass axes who gon' win. Eff oh Dee o' Tee Dee. Yo' punk ass axes who's betta, Kengoro o' Walka, Serbo o' Greer. But one o' my main maynes' is gon' be killin' th' dynasty, one o' these homebwoys is gon' hu't somebody real bad... Yo' ass axes all dese things, all kin's o' dumb questions... But they's only one answer.”

[A grin from the black man, as he adjusted his pimp hat. It was stylish as hell.]

“Now, this is a story, all about how my life got flipped, turned upside down.”

[The journalists were confused. Who wouldn't be?]

“And I'd like to take a minute. Just... sit right there. I'll tell you how I became the prince of a town called Bel-Air.”

[Kengoro just blinked, and shook his head slowly. He turned, and walked right out of the press release room set up for all the WWA wrestlers. Splenda's teeth flashed as he kept rapping, out of the best of his memory. He wasn't Will Smith... but it wasn't TERRIBLY bad.]

[And yes, most of the journalists left before Splenda finished. Americans...]

[The AWA section of the locker room area, which is identified by the AWA banner hanging in the corner.]

[Sitting under the banner with his back against the wall, legs out in front of him, is a man some may recognize. Dressed in blue jeans, black hiking boots, dark sunglasses, and a white t shirt which simply says “The Best”. His shoulder length blonde hair is hanging freely. He notices the camera man and figures now’s a good time as any.]

“Please to meet ya. Hope you guess my name.”

[A familiar smile forms on his face.]

“Sorry about that. That damn song has been in head since I saw the Stones recently. Some of you may remember me, some may not. However, it won’t be long till all of you know just who the fuck I am.”

[Smile fades to a smirk.]

“You see the greatest wrestler alive today is once again back in the WWA. Notice I didn’t say entertainer or ass kisser, I said wrestler. You see there are a lot of stars here, some deserving of the acclaims, some not. I’m saying there isn’t one person here that can out wrestle me. Whether you love me or you hate me, the fact of the matter is I always back up what I say.”

[He stands up and stretches a bit. Smirk still on his face.]

“Yes it’s true, I have returned to the AWA. It’s been over a year since I dominated the place and just like last time I’m sure I’ll rise right up to the top in no time. After all I’m just simply...”

[He points to the shirt which says “The Best”.]

“You see I’m not just going to be content dominating the AWA. You see I’ve been there and done that. I’ve got bigger things in my sights this time around.”

[Smirk becomes a smile again]

“I doubt they will let me get anywhere near Bane, so I’m setting my sights on the DC champ Python. Well the DC champ whomever it is after this shindig we’re at is all said and done. So whoever it is, don’t get too comfortable, you’ll be seeing me soon.”

[He walks towards a room and closes the door. On the door is HJD in black spray paint.]

“So you ready?”

[We cut backstage as we see Calib Wallace standing behind his partner, Demetrius Burrell. Demetrius looks up at his partner, and just gives a gazed look, pondering the correct answer to the question. Happy go lucky, Calib smirks, tapping his strap a bit, trying to show dominance between the two.]

“Yeah sure.”

[Calib tosses the belt aside and sits down on the bench, giving a confused look to Demetrius. He nudges his shoulder, trying to get a grasp on the situation.]

“What gives bro? Serious. We have the ball in our court right now, we are the guys to beat in this thing, and you’re giving me a 'Yeah Sure' gimmick back? Are you kidding me right now?”

[Demetrius just looks at Calib and shakes his head a moment.]

“Don't talk to me about getting on the fucking ball when I tried to get a hold of you because I had something going on. You left me hanging, you weren't there. So why should I be here for you, or our team for that matter?”

[Calib stands up, shocked and almost upset at that comment, as he looks at his partner.]

“Excuse me? I wasn't even in the state, I had shit I had to take care of to save our chances. I was dealing with some shit that I didn't need to have you get involved in and slow me down with. You need to fuckin' relax and get on the same page right now, because we gotta go out and shut Team HRW down, fast.”

[Demetrius simply nods his head.]

“Yeah, I guess your right. We have to think about this though, we are kinda handicapped cause of the two losers on our team.”

[Calib just pulls a lighter out of his kick pad and plays around with it.]

“Simple fact being Demetrius, we don't need them. They will slow us down and probably get us in trouble. I say we just sit back, let them handle the dirty work, and then finish the job off after, getting us both into the finals.”

[Calib flips it open a few more times, as the initials 'RC' are on display right for Burrell's eyes, who catches notice to them.]

“How the hell? Where did that come from?”

[He closes it, and puts it back into his kick pad, giving a faint smirk.]

“Don't worry about it, let's just say I had to handle something before the show. Just think of it as we have fewer distractions from now on.”

[Demetrius looks at Calib confused]

“Nah, hold on a second, that's Cooke's lighter and the last I checked he was dead. So where did that come from? I think you owe me some damn answers here.”

[Calib just pauses, thinking about the one phrase that was told to him a few times by Ryan through notes.]

“Let's just say, the greatest trick the devil ever pulled was convincing the world he didn't exist.”

[He stands up and grabs his belt, giving a smirk to Demetrius, before turning to the door. Demetrius stops him short though before he can leave.]

“I gotcha bro, that's all I wanted to know.”

[Without saying anything, Demetrius shows that he understands what's going on.]

“So where do we go from here?”

[Calib smirks, picking up Burrell's Arena Title, tossing it over to him.]

“Where else man, the ring to take home the victory.”

[Demetrius grins as he stands up, and follows Calib out of the room.]

[Fade.]

[With black leather tights and boots, Angel of Death steps in front of a large white banner that reads HRW. The cruiserweight of the bunch, steps to plate to replace Dante Greco for personal reasons took his absence from Summer Games. Yet this kid is more than hungry, willing to take the last minute opportunity to make a name for himself outside of the HRW by taking the slot. He reaches up, he sliding his hand over the side of his face as his long black hair is tied behind him in a single ponytail.]

[Soon after, he is followed by Ryo Wo, only twenty-two years of age the ‘Japanese Superman’ steps next to Angel of Death and crosses his arms over his chest. His black hair is cropped short as he stares into deep into the camera not uttering a single word. He wears a black t-shirt with HRW written across the chest in bold red print as he tilts his head to the single a single crack seems the echo throughout the room.]

[The very first Manhattan Island Champion, the very first champion of the HRW and the man who brought victory to the HRW at International Wars, stands Cobra. His full snake-print body suit is complete with his trademark Cobra mask that has struck fear into the hearts of many competitors in and out of the Alliance alike. He comes into Summer Games wanting to make a impression that I-Wars wasn’t a fluke and despite his lose for the Double Crown Title, he’s more than a threat to be reckon with…he’s a force.]

[And then, there was the ‘rookie’ in Justin Brooks, He completes the picture as he stands next to Cobra, wearing a white Under Armor shirt and black mesh shorts, with taped wrists, the young twenty-three year old firefighter rounds out what is considered the underdog at Summer Games. The kid, like the other three, has something to prove…his lack of experience is nothing to look down upon. He’s hungry and with a head of steam and momentum behind him, he’s going to make them all take notice that Justin Brooks isn’t a play-by-night deal. He’s the –real- deal.]

[They represent the Hudson River Wrestling, that you call the HRW. They represent what wrestling is, each man with his one strengths, each man with his own goals and aspirations in mind, each man wanting what everyone wants.]

[A shot at the WWA World Heavyweight Championship…]

[Angel of Death steps up to speak. ]

"I may be new here, and I may be replacing Dante Greco, but don't think for one second that I'll be a pushover. Turner, I remember you from the King of the Deathmatch Tournament, and I remember what Greer did to take you out. I'll be more than ready for anything you can dish out. The rest of you neanderthals won't know what hit you! I'm a former WWA and NWA World Cruiserweight champion, well deserved titles in both cases. I've held a World Heavyweight Title on two separate occasions in promotions not affiliated with the WWA. I may be small, but I'm quick, I'm precise, and I'm deadly."

[Angel of Death takes a moment to look away from the camera and smile to himself, filling his heads with rather sadistic thoughts before continuing.]

"I'm the guy that took on David Paige, a man who has a chance at becoming WWA World Heavyweight Champion, and very nearly beat him in the King of the Deathmatch Tournament. If I can go toe to toe with the number three ranked wrestler in the whole WWA, then exactly how do you each feel you measure up? Turner? Wallace? Burrell? Code? Any of you come within a few seconds of beating a top contender here? Wallace, you're ranked fifth. My own teammate here is ranked seventh! Not a single one of you stands a chance against the four of us. Hudson River Wrestling will soon establish itself as the premiere promotion in the WWA, and Summer Games will be the place to do it! Team AWA will fall at our feet in glorious defeat as Brooks, Cobra, and Ryo-Wo and myself show the world just what Hudson River Wrestling is all about!"

[Angel takes a step back as Ryo Wo steps forward, taking his place in front of the other three men.]

“Do you hear it?”

“The roar of the crowd? The praise? The inevitable taste of failure that you will be introduced to?”

“Summer Games marks the pinnacle of mans conflict amongst themselves. The true mark of a man is to put all that has happened behind them and to reach for greatness itself. Soon we shall be arrayed against each other in a bloody battle. Sweat, blood, and determination all entwined.”

“Do you see it?”

“Summer Games. Where the best stand across from the best and those who have warred against each other stand as allies. The weak allow their differences to eat through their teamwork like an American eats through a cake.”

“We are above that. We are what you aspire to be. You sleep at night and wish to have been what I was at the age of sixteen.”

“The Future Of Puroresa.”

“You wish to be a symbol of everything that is right in the world. You dream that you could stand in the ring as a man whose blood if laced with the power of the gods and whose heart is empowered with destiny.”

“You can’t be that though. You can’t be perfection. You can’t be me. You can’t toss away your past like a baby with the bathwater. I can. I’m better than you.”

“Can you smell it?”

“The stench in the air. The smell of trans fat sweat and poor hygiene. The stench of you countrymen. The stench of decay. The decay of civilization.”

“Of course you don’t sense it. The smell, the images, the sounds are nothing to you. You don’t care about the future. You don’t care about the mistakes of the past. You hope for the glory with out a thought to the cost. You care about the zeros on your check.”

“I am better.”

“We are better. We are superior.”

“Calib, Goliath, Code and Burrell. You are nothing more than symbols of defeat. One by one you shall fall to the sword of the alliance. The warriors who have the heart to win by any means necessary. You are weak. Walk away. Walk away.”

“We are HRW.”

“We are One.”

[Ryo takes a step back as Cobra steps forward, he seems to slightly perplexed for a moment as his eyes have yet to made contact with the camera.]

“Cobra: They say that a team is only as good as its weakest link. Those things crumble once that weakest link hits that breaking point. No matter how good and dominant the other members of the team are, it is the weakest link that has the most important impact on the result. It is a scary thought that with my team, I am that weakest link.”

“With a losing streak that stretches back to the last WWA PPV, I can be seen as the reason why the HRW could crumble in out match against the AWA. A man that hasn’t won since the middle of May. A scary thought for these guys around me. They’ve all expressed their concerns, hell I would be too if I were in their shoes. But the fact of the matter is that we are putting all that aside. We are putting everything aside. We are coming together as a team regardless of our recent past.”

“To lose is a humbling thing. I certainly know what it feels like. A chance at the HRW title; taken away by this rookie next to me. A shot at the Double Crown title; defended easily by the champ. The possibility of becoming the captain of this team; outmatched by the three of these men. Three major losses, to some of the best in the game right now.”

“But with every loss you come out with something. You learn from the mistakes. You grow stronger. That is exactly what has happened here to me. I have learned from every loss. I have grown stronger. I have built up this want, this need, to prove to everyone that this is just a small setback in my goal to become the WWA World champion.”

“I accept the fact that currently I am the weakest link on this team. It is another reason for me to go above and beyond what people think I am capable of. I am here to show the world exactly what I am about and most importantly I am here to win.”

“It’s a scary thought that I’m the weakest link on this team. A top contender for the HRW title, one of the top Double Crown title contenders, and a contender for the World Title at one point earlier this summer. A pretty impressive resume for a guy that is supposed to hold the HRW team back. It just shows how stacked this team is with talent.”

“The way we see it here tonight, team HRW is not only going to win their first round match against the lowly AWA boys, but all four members of the team are going to advance. That’s right. Even me. The weakest link. That’s just how good we are, and that’s just how determined we are as a team tonight.”

“So what then happens in the big Summer Games finale? All four HRW men come at each other and combust over bad blood. Ruining everyone’s chances at a WWA world shot. No. That’s for another time. That’s for the Hammerstein Ballroom in New York City. No. Tonight is going to be so much bigger for the HRW. Tonight is going to be one of the most memorable WWA moments in its history. Tonight it is going to be team HRW in the final four of the main event. Battling it out over bad blood and a world title shot.”

“Only one man can win Summer Games. It will be coming from the HRW. It will be someone no one expected. It will be the weakest link. It will be Cobra.”

[Justin steps up to the dish as Cobra takes a step back slowly.]

“So I guess it’s my turn to speak on this, huh?”

“What to say that hasn’t all ready be said by these three men behind me.”

“The team captain left us in mid-stream and you know it, it didn’t break our stride. We found a more than capable replacement with Angel back here and we’re still rolling strong like never before because we got it like that. We show up and we show out. Zero Nowhere.”

“What is Zero Nowhere? It’s simple…it’s not mystery…we don’t like each other. And if it wasn’t for Summer Games, you’d never see these four faces in the same room, let alone on the same team but you know what, this is bigger than –all- of us and we know this. So just for a few days…we can put all the bullshit…all the animosity…all the anger…all the rage…and focus it on everyone in the WWA. Focus on everyone who says we don’t have it in the tank to take on the AWA…the WR…the WCWA…Team WWA. I got two for that.”

[Justin shrugs his shoulders.]

“Fuck ‘em.”

“We’re Team HRW. You can’t stop us, you can’t contain us…you can just only hope that we leave enough of you to be recognized once the night is over with. The Angel of Death, The Cobra…the Japanese Superman…and The Firefighter, who’s going to prove us wrong?”

“AWA or the OLW?”

“OCW or Team WWA?”

“WR or WCWA?”

“Or maybe the NWA?”

“Take a number and get a clue, no one can hold a candle to this crew because whatever you bring, we bring it harder, faster, stronger, and better. We are agile, mobile, and hostile…and if you stand in the way it’s pretty simple what will happen.”

[He looks over at the three men behind who simply shake their heads.]

All- “You just get run over.”

[Team HRW came out first, hooting and hollering like a band of men ready to go to war. There wasn’t really anyone who stood out as a leader, rather, they came out all as leaders of the same team, ready to live, fight, and die for the other. Team AWA came out in similar fashion, though Calib Wallace made it more known that he was the one running the show. Whereas HRW wanted to win Summer Games for the team and the fed, Wallace wanted to win it for his World Title shot.]

[Angel of Death and Code got things underway, bouncing and flying around the ring like only two cruiserweights can. Code got an early advantage with a quick bulldog, then with lightning fast speed, got to the top turnbuckle and executed a 450 splash.]

[Unfortunately for Code, AoD put up his knees.]

[Code reeled from the sudden loss of breath, which gave AoD the chance to capitalize on the situation. AoD hopped up on the ropes to launch down upon the prone Code, but Wallace came from behind and shook the ropes, causing AoD to land on his groin. Code sprung on the opportunity and leapt up onto the top rope, wrapping his legs around AoD’s head and flipping backwards for the super Hurricanrana. Code motioned to the rest of his team as he made the pin. As expected, Team HRW rushed the ring, but was met by Team AWA as the ref made the count.]

[Angel of Death was eliminated at 5:24.]

[The ring turned into an all-out brawl between the two teams. The ref managed to get the brawl to the outside of the ring and declared Ryo-Wo the legal man for HRW. Code and Ryo-Wo fought each other bitterly while their teammates distracted each other on the outside. Their fighting was briefly interrupted by the sounds of a crunching table.]

[Apparently, Calib Wallace decided he didn’t like Cobra and powerbombed him through the announcer’s table.]

[However, despite the ongoing distraction, Code and Ryo-Wo fought cleanly and uninterrupted, which was unfortunate for Code, as he fell victim to Ryo-Wo.]

[Code was eliminated at 8:50.]

[As the brawl on the outside came to a close, the men got back into their respective corners. Goliath stepped in for AWA, and Ryo-Wo tagged in the more evenly matched Justin Brooks. Brooks and Goliath fought together, having a few pins here and there broken up by their respective team members. Finally, though, through the cunning of Cobra and Ryo-Wo, Justin Brooks was able to score a pin on Goliath while the other two members of the team were distracted.]

[Goliath was eliminated at 12:35.]

[Demetrius Burrell slid in the ring and attacked Brooks, but Brooks managed to retaliate with a clothesline, which gave him enough time to tag in Cobra. Still shaking the cobwebs out from the prior trip through the announcer’s table courtesy of Wallace, Cobra made his way into the ring less then 100%. This probably wasn’t the smartest move by Team HRW, since Burrell was at 100%, and thus, made short work of Cobra.]

[Cobra was eliminated at 15:26.]

[Ryo-Wo hopped back into the ring, the fresher of the two men. Ryo-Wo played it smart and kept Burrell from tagging Wallace in, which allowed Ryo-Wo to exploit Burrell’s fatigue after fighting Cobra. Burrell got his kicks in as well, but as he went to tag in Wallace, Brooks had already hopped down to the outside and made his way to AWA’s corner to distract Burrell.]

[That wasn’t the smartest decision by Brooks. Sure, it distracted Wallace long enough for Ryo-Wo to put down Burrell and get the pin, but Brooks received a vicious knock on the skull when Wallace rammed it into the ring steps.]

[Demetrius Burrell was eliminated at 19:19.]

[Ryo-Wo, stiffness starting to set into his muscles, was forced to fight a focused, determined, and more importantly, fresh Calib Wallace while his only help lied semi-conscious on the outside. Ryo-Wo fought valiantly, but ultimately it was Wallace’s lust for the gold that beat the cruiserweight’s courage.]

[Ryo-Wo was eliminated at 21:06.]

[Wallace cracked his neck from side to side as he waited for Brooks to slide into the ring. Realizing he was the only one left, Brooks slid in with confidence that he could beat Wallace on his own.]

[And he nearly beat him.]

[After narrowly escaping a pinfall after Brooks’ finisher, Wallace rallied back and put Brooks down with a piledriver on the same patch of skull that was rammed into the stairs earlier.]

[Justin Brooks was eliminated at 27:22.]

[Team AWA wins: Calib Wallace advances to the final.]

[He stood in front of the door that used to be the entrance to Vince Webb's office. Since Summer Games came to the WCWA, they forced Vince to relinquish his office for the night to one Chance Wolfington, part owner and operator of the World Wrestling Alliance.]

[Victor grinned. It amused him for some reason.]

[He burst in through the door with a sort of dark enthusiasm, the same excitement that a serial killer feels when he's stalking his prey while the beg, plead, and try to run for their lives. But they know they're going to die horrifically anyways.]

[They always do.]

"Hello, Chance."

[Chance looked up from the paperwork he was working on, unamused. He set his pen down on his desk, crossed his arms, and sighed.]

"Well Victor, aren't you just a peach tonight?"

"Of course I am," Mandrake said as he sat down in the chair in front of the desk. "Why wouldn't I be? Aftter all, I'm in the presence of the man who's about to become my close and personal business partner."

[Chance snorted.]

"You seem awfully sure of yourself, Victor."

"Of course I do," Victor said. "You give me one good reason why you think the Nightbringer would prevail and I'll lie down for him in the middle of that ring and you'll never see me again."

"How about the fact that he's willing to die to keep this place from you?" Wolfington asked.

"Actually," Mandrake said matter-of-factly, "that's more of a convenience then anything else because I'd be more then happy to help him achieve that goal."

[Chance shook his head.]

"What do you want, Victor?"

"It's simple, really," Mandrake said. "Once I become the majority owner of this alliance, there's going to be certain things that I'll be implementing that I know for a fact you won't be happy with."

"Such as?" Chance asked.

"In due time," Mandrake teased with a grin. "What I'm trying to say is, stay out of my way, and I won't have to make sure you wind up like how Ryan will be after tonight. Broken, bloodied, and without any say in this alliance."

[Chance grinned.]

"Listen, Victor," he started, "I'm sure you'd like to think that you'd be some omnipotent man wielding unlimited powers within this alliance should you beat Ryan tonight, but keep in mind that there are certain ways that an owner can be circumvented and ousted from their position should they be deemed as abusing their power or not acting in the best interests of the alliance. You should read the by-laws sometime. They're really quite informative."

"Oh I've read them," Victor said with a grin. "Especially the part where an owner needs to be thoroughly investigated and obtain a three-fourths majority to oust another owner from their position. How long do you think that usually takes? Weeks? Months? With that kind of timeframe, I could just as easily dispose of you as you could of me."

"If you think that you can just come in here and-" Chance started.

"However," Victor interjected, cutting Chance off, "I don't want our partnership to begin to a rough start. I have every bit of faith in you that you know what's best for the company. I would hope that you would place the same amount of faith in me."

"The only faith I have in you is that you never fail to twist and manipulate everything around you to your agenda."

"Well in that case your mind should be put at ease," Mandrake said. "My agenda is no different then yours. I seek, just as you do, to take the alliance to heights that it's never been before."

"I'm pretty sure your vision of where to take the alliance and my vision contrast greatly."

[Victor smirked.]

"That may be, but I guess we're just going to have to wait and find out, won't we?"

"I guess so," Chance said.

"I'll be seeing you very soon, partner..."

[Victor got up and exited the room, letting the concept of him being his new business partner sink in. He didn't care what Chance thought. He didn't care what by-laws or text-book definitions he could throw at him. Victor had his ways. Victor has his, methods, so to speak, of insuring that he would be in power for a long time to come. Nothing can stop him now.]

[Nothing.]

[The camera fades in to a seemingly deserted locker room and pans slowly to the right. The sold-out Riot Center crowd cheers as their vision settles on Adrien Cochrane shaking his head dismally and unpacking a bag. He pauses for a second and looks at the three other bags lying next to it, mumbling to himself.]

Adrien: Bah… all this junk... damn Clint and Brandie...

[Adrien lowers his head and reaches again for the contents of the bag, but he’s interrupted by a voice to his left. He spins readily toward the source standing in the doorway.]

Python: Gee freakin’ whiz, Adrien.

[The fans cheer once again as tonight’s defending Double Crown Champion approaches his friend, clapping a hand on his shoulder and sitting beside the luggage with an amused look on his face.]

Python: I travel with a backpack and occasionally a duffel bag. What on earth could you possibly be carrying in four bags?

[Adrien looks back with a smile.]

Adrien: I don't know. I'm finding out myself, Matt...I mean, Python...can I call you Matt backstage?

Python: Matt Backstage... I like that. Has a nice ring to it.

Adrien: Haha that's totally not what I meant.

[Adrien throws out a snow coat out of his bag.]

Adrien: Seriously, why the hell did they pack this? It's the middle of August and hotter than freaking hell out here.

[Python shrugs his shoulders. Adrien closes the bag and tosses it to the side.]

Adrien: One down, three to go...let's see which bag they put the thing I need for the little contest I'm brewing up.

[Python cocks a curious eyebrow.]

Python: Contest?

Adrien: Long story...you'll see. But seriously, what the hell am I supposed to do with a pair of Clint's drumsticks?

[Python shrugs his shoulders and chuckles. He decides to humor Adrien with a ridiculous suggestion.]

Python: I don't know.. sodomy?

[Adrien makes a sarcastic smile.]

Adrien: Nah, not my style. I give up...

[Adrien tosses the bag to the side. Python looks in it and pulls out an air horn. His jaw falls a little bit and he pauses, clearly at a loss for words.]

Python: An... air horn?

[Adrien quickly snatches the air horn from his bewildered friend's hand. He suddenly seems to be bursting with excitement.]

Adrien: MATT!! YOU FOUND IT!!

Python: Yes!

[The two slap a quick high five, shouting excitedly.]

Adrien: THANK YOU MAN, THIS IS AWESOME!

Python: I KNOW, IT'S AN AIR HORN!

Adrien: YEAH!

Python: I LOVE AIR HORNS!

Adrien: YEAH!!!

Python: WHY IN THE NAME OF PETER GILMOUR'S SWEET KNEE SOCKS DO WE NEED AN AIR HORN!?

[Adrien looks at Python, lowering his eyebrows.]

Adrien: I need it for the contest I'm running.

[Python resumes his bewildered state.]

Python: ...should I even ask what it's for?

Adrien: Probably not. I was beginning to think they didn't pack it after I reminded them at least twenty times.

Python: Ah. That would have been a bummer... I think.

[Python takes one last reproachful glance at the contents of the bags and clears his throat, apparently deciding to move on.]

Python: So. How does it feel to be a part of something as huge as Summer Games? Enjoying the spotlight?

Adrien: Spotlight's cool, I mean, this is the most attention I've gotten in my seven years of wrestling. But I just feel like I don't deserve it.

Python: Nonsense. Apparently SOMEONE thinks you deserve it if you were chosen to represent team WWA. Those teams weren't picked at random, you know.

Adrien: Yes, that may be, but I'm just a filler person, just there to make it an even four.

[Python scratches his head, his mouth twisting into a disbelieving smile.]

Python: You know, I don't get you sometimes. You're a great wrestler making a name for yourself. People are finally starting to recognize that you're a young, naturally talented, up and coming fighter who is worthy of matches like this. If everyone else thinks you can hang, why don't you?

[Adrien looks himself.]

Adrien: In the wise words of Dexter Holland, "But that's okay cuz' I'm a sucker with low self-esteem!! Oh way yoooooooooo heeeyyyy ohhhhh way yo way hey hey!!!"

[Python shakes his head in disbelief, almost laughing. Adrien blows his air horn, gets up, pats Python on the back, and heads out.]

Python: Ah, yes. The typical symptoms of post-conversation-with-Adrien syndrome.

...

Python: All you know is you are standing in an empty locker room with a smile, a partial loss of hearing, and NO idea what the hell just happened.

[Cut.]

[We bring you backstage, and the shining face of backstage reporter, Mr. X.]

Mr. X: Ladies and gentlemen, we're about to take you LIVE into the locker room of the Conspiracy, the World Tag Team Champions. Rumor has it that Wyatt Connors has a big announcement planned for tonight!

[He turns and knocks on a door, which has a sign that says "CONSPIRACY" conveniently taped on it. The door opens, and the head of "Rotten" T.J. Ratigan pokes out.]

Ratigan: You bring our sandwiches?

Mr. X: No, I'm here to interview--

[T.J. frowns, then closes the door.]

Mr. X: Hey! I've got a job to do here--

[The door opens again, only now it is "Wise Guy" Wyatt Connors who is facing the camera.]

Connors: Sorry about that. Trevor gets a little excited about his food. Now, what is it you want.

Mr. X: Word has it that you're going to make a statement tonight concerning the person who attacked you, all the way back at I-Wars.

Connors: We plan to make a statement tonight, yes.

Mr. X: Who was the culprit?

Connors: Right. Because first I'm going to tell everyone I have a big announcement, and then I'm going to spoil it by blurting out the secret to you. That sounds likely.

Mr. X: But the people want to know--

Connors: Then they can wait. They paid for the show, after all. I'm actually tempted to tell my boys that you did it, just to see them try to stuff you into a locker.

[Mr. X looks concerned for a moment, but he presses on. He's a trooper.]

Mr. X: Do you have anything to say to the challengers tonight?

Connors: No.

Mr. X: Okay. Umm...why not?

Connors: Listen, pal. Push your 'hardnosed investigator' shtick somewhere else. We're not telling you anything about our plans tonight, for Superiority Complex OR the bastard who ambushed me three months ago. Just know that when the time comes, they'll ALL get what's coming to them.

[And, with that, Wyatt Connors closes the door. Mr. X, feeling slightly dizzy but otherwise unshaken, turns back to the camera.]

Mr. X: There you have it. Very...mysterious words from the Wise Guy. Mr. X, backstage at Summer Games, reporting.

[Cut.]

[We cut backstage to one of the many dressing rooms lining one of the back hallways of the arena. With such a bulk of talent a huge block of conference rooms were sectioned off to form little cubical for each grappler to dress and gather their thoughts before their respective matches. Sitting quietly, back to back on the same bench we find WR Saint and Sinner Tag Team Champions, Adam Burke and Evan Hurley. Burke pulling on his knee pads, Hurley scribbling some nonsense on the tops of his tightly wrapped hands in white magic marker.]

[The silence is palpable for a good thirty seconds before anyone speaks.]

Hurley: This is a pretty big deal.

Burke: [nods, continues pulling on his gear]

Hurley: I just..

Burke: [looking up] What?

Hurley: Nothing.. [goes back to his doodling]

Burke: Don't do that.

Hurley: Do what? [looking back up]

Burke: Start some obviously out of character mushy statement then stop, it's silly.

Hurley: What makes you think I was going to say anything mushy?

Burke: Please, Evan, I know you. You've been through hell, we've reconciled, we've mended our fences, we're tag champions, and now we're side by side at a huge alliance wide event. It just fits that you'd drop the tough guy act and say something uncharacteristically heart warming.

Hurley: Well shit..

Burke: Yeah.

[The room falls back to silence, both men going back to what they were doing.]

Hurley: [stopping, looking up] What the hell, you know me that well?

Burke: We grew up together, I've worked with you for years, we've traveled all over the world together, I've pulled all manner of sharp metal objects out of your face, back, chest, and ass, so yeah, I figure I have a handle on you.

Hurley: ...

Burke: Listen, in the end that's what makes us a good tag team, I know what you're going to do, and you know what I'm going to do. That's how and why this thing we have here works.

Hurley: I don't know what you're going to do..

Burke: You don't huh? How do you think this little segment will end?

Hurley: Shit if I know, how?

Burke: No, no, give it a shot.

Hurley: Well...knowing what I do about you…

Burke: Yeah…

[The duo, fully geared up, get up and start walking towards the door.]

Hurley: …you'll probably…

[At that exact second Adam slams face first into an open locker door, sending him off camera and down to the floor.]

Hurley: …pull some completely in character slapstick insanity, totally undermining any sort of emotional or poignant message we might have stumbled upon in the last minute or so?

Burke: [weakly, from the floor] Booyah! See?!

Hurley: [a soft sigh, walking off camera towards the door]

[Short silence.]

Burke: [from the floor] Lil' help?

[Wrist-tape wrapping time. The Japanese sat on the dingy little chair, one of two pieces of equipment in the room. The other was... another chair. That one was full of Russian. The kickboxer sat, strapping his fingerless punch-gloves on. Aside from the sounds of tape ripping and Velcro rustling, the room was deadly silent.]

[Kengoro wrapped the tape, again and again, and again, around wrist and thumb and individual fingers. Wanna make sure you protect all those vital digits. Serbo kept re-checking the Velcro on his glove. Check glove, punch. Check glove, punch. Adjust Velcro. Check glove, punch. Check glove, punch. Adjust Velcro. Repeat ad nauseum.]

[The door to the little room, little more than a broom closet, opened outward with a squeak. Splenda leaned in his head, pearly whites gleaming. He wore the same zebra-striped pimp hat he wore before, crushed velvet with a peacock plume in it. The clock was still around his neck, the cane was in one hand. A lovely maroon velour suit on his lanky form, a tie of fine leopard-print satin. He looked like an amalgamation of every pimp in every Hollywood blaxploitation flick ever made, crossed with Flava Flav.]

“Yo' asses ready, my main maynes?!”

[Serbo's glare to Splenda could cut steel. The little man shrunk back slightly, as Kengoro flicked a glance up, to Splenda, and then to Serbo. The Japanese stood, adjusted the waistband of his spandex trunks. They were comfy, and worked well for his movements in the ring. Maybe he'd need to hit the Infinite Eclipse Smash tonight.]

[Serbo slowly rose as well, fingers clenching in the gloves. His baggy black shorts, made for a trip to the gym, a round in the boxing or ultimate fighting ring, or just quick jog, hung from thickly muscled hips. Rising onto the balls of his feet, Serbo tested his standard stance. Very acceptable.]

“Goro. Mayne. You ready?”

[The big Japanese looked up, fingers clenching. Knuckles popped as he tightened up his fists. A quick waggle of each foot, then a crack of the neck left, and right. His long hair perfectly trimmed, Kengoro's eyes lighted on Splenda, and he slowly nodded.]

“Yes. It is time to destroy.”

“Mayne. Remember. No pain.”

[Kengoro nodded, as he watched Splenda.]

“No pain. Total victory. Scorched earth.”

[Splenda clapped his hands, shuffling his feet in a quick butterfly step. He was amped. First payperview, and he didn't even need to wrestle, just make sure that his charges would win.]

“Dat's zacktly it, mayne! YES!”

[Serbo rose to his full height, as Kengoro stepped forward, sliding past Splenda. The Russian Superman looked to Splenda.]

“Have you brought her?”

[Splenda's joy was visibly diminished as he looked to Serbo. The Russian just seemed to put a damper on everything he touched.]

“Yeah, mayne. Got 'er all dress'd up nice.”

[Serbo nodded, and walked forward, booted feet slapping the concrete quietly. He walked to Splenda, who stepped aside, eyes averted downward. Serbo had that effect on people.]

“Good. Kengoro?”

[The Japanese formed up alongside Serbo, hands clenched into fists.]

“Time to destroy.”

[A fist slammed into a palm, Kengoro nodding once, firmly. On this, they were both in total agreement.]

[Team Danger lost their belts to a dominant team in Faces of Death. Match to be added later.]

[There they sit, next to each other, looking up at me. I see among them a real team, one that comprises of a young ego, a veteran's talent, an undiscovered hero, and a dark horse. I see, possibly, the most underrated team in the whole event, Team WCWA. Underrated and in our own arena, bullshit.]

"I'm not going to lie to you two..."

[I look at Hobo and Hanson, directly at them. I see their eagerness, their actions show that they are anxious to get this thing going. Feet are tapping, knuckles are pooping, and eyes are glazed, I love this feeling.]

"This event will break you. It has made some of the best talent quit wrestling all together."

[Hanson blows a bubble with his gum, pops, and continues to chew it. Their eyes look into mine, I see their confidence, and I see that they are ready.]

"Those who haven't left by now, Summer Games made. I've been in four and that's the most that anyone inside the WfWA has ever been in, I know my way around this event like it was my own creation."

[I see Easton smile, funny I don't ever think I've seen him do that. Nerves, they get to everyone.]

White: Dan....

[He tips his flask to Easton and he accepts.]

Hanson: Now, that is team work.

[We all smile at the joke.]

Sloan: Seriousness, after the first round some of us will be gone. A few might advance and then again only one of us could. Then there is the worst case scenario…

Hanson: Yeah, the one where we all just blow it.

[An intellectual. I like that.]

Sloan: Well, yeah, we could... But, it's only WR.

[We all share a good laugh.]

Sloan: Aight, no bullshitting we are going to advance even if I have to carry each and every one of you through the match. Easton, I need you on point.

[His head snaps up giving me a look like who the hell are you. Then he agrees.]

Sloan: You are the only other one in this room that has any experience working in this situation. I need you to help me get this team through the first round. Hobo, I need you to go out on a limb and not be drunk come time for us to enter the ring.

[He burps at me, maybe I should have had this talk earlier in the night.]

Sloan: Hanson, you are up first. Hopefully, they'll pair you up with Devins or Chambers. I've seen Devins in the past, he's par with you. Chambers you might have a little problem with, but I think you can eliminate both of them.

[I stop talking and take in a deep breath.]

Easton: And what will you do? Not to sound like an ass, but are you going to wait till the end to show up?

[This starts my blood boiling.]

Sloan: I've never left my team. I have never shied away from being in the Games. I'll start the damn match if I have to, but it seems like a more feasible plan if Hanson starts the match. If they start Valante or Burke first then he'll wear them down and leave it up to one of us if