CONTENT

DREAM WRESTLING: SUNDAY NIGHT SLAUGHTER 7/19/2009

Posted by Webmaster

Slaughter XII

19 Jul 2009

Houma Terrebonne Civic Center, Houma, Louisiana (seats 5,000)

 

No More Patience for The Dooze

The show begins in a peculiar fashion tonight. Everything appears basically the same as always, but something is amiss. That something is the man always ringside by kickoff time known as Jason Whiteside. Before anyone can wonder for long, cameras cut to the hallway backstage just outside the entrance to the ring. Jason is in the middle of a conversation, looking a bit red in the face, with Mark Zylbert.

"I don't like to complain, Mark. You know me. I come here and do my job, on time. Every show-"

Mark quickly holds his left index finger up to Jason while raising his right arm, bent at the elbow, and glances at his watch.

"By the looks of it, you might not get to tonight’s, buck-o. And I’ve already told you there’s not much I can do here. The guy has always been like this. I never understood why the fans loved him, to be honest. I can see the admiration while feuding with my brother Matt, The Big Shot, who wasn’t a fan favorite by any means… But why else?"

Jason, taken aback by Mark’s apparent ill-temper toward a wrestler who supposedly feuded with an old Dream Wrestling heel, replies in earnest to clear up his intentions.

"Mark. This isn’t about Doozer and The Big Shot. That was years ago! AND that is the problem! The fans, Mark! They won’t stop bothering me… They loved the first one. They didn’t even mind the second. It was a great match. But, the third… The third just started to piss them off. They expected him back by now."

Zylbert, looking at this point to be quite fed up with the conversation, slowly nods his head and positions himself almost as if to assert dominance over Whiteside.

"You want it over? I’ve wanted it over since that first week. That day when he strolled in here… He didn’t look any worse for the wear. He didn’t look washed up after eight years and it bothered me. He was the same, arrogant, son of a b that I used to watch battle and disrespect my brother week after week."

Jason Whiteside, now wearing a face of confusion, is shaking his head.

"Well I didn’t say it needed to end. I’m excited for the comeback. I just can’t take the fans. They bother me everyday. I can’t go out in public anymore. Me!! Jason Whiteside! I should be able to go out in public without this type of harassment. They just want to know when… And none of them believe that I don’t know… None of them believe that we actually haven’t been able to contact him since-."

"No. His selfishness is affecting part of our staff’s personal lives. It was unacceptable, in the first place, for him to prance in here with talks of a comeback and then disappear to wherever he’s been hiding the past eight years. He’s always been full of himself and concerned about few others outside of his click. He hasn’t changed. That’s obvious."

Mark, for the first time during this conversation, turns and acknowledges the camera. His face, over the past minute, has taken on deeper and deeper shades of red.

"As of right now, Doozer, if you are in… You’re in! You approached us almost a month ago now. We prepared career highlights and promoted your…" Mark makes quotation marks with each of his hands. "TRIUMPHANT return."

Mark quits the quotation marks and points, with his right hand, angrily into the camera.

"You wanted in, last we knew... Well you got it. You’ve had enough time… GLORY! Next Sunday. Doozer will return to the ring… Or he will get a recorded loss in his records. And, Dooze, if you ever do come back after getting that loss for not showing… Then you will begin your comeback with a ZERO win and ONE loss record! Being the egotistical maniac you are that should be all the motivation you need."

Mark, his right hand now lowered and no longer pointing, seems to contemplate something for a moment or two. Then, a smile subtly grows on his face, looking out of place.

"Hmm… T-Money. There’s a young gun who wants to prove a lot. He’s fighting Level-One tonight. If he wins, he’ll get a title shot at Glory. But I’ve also noticed he shares some of my dismay for Doozer, as well. He shares so much of it he’s even voiced the opinion on Slaughter before outside shows, unlike many others… I like it. Here’s a chance for T-Money to really prove himself. Doozer will most likely no show and give T-Money the win automatically, anyway. Regardless of what happens tonight, whether or not it’s Level-One vs. T-Money for the title at Glory… Doozer, I really hope you’ve been watching this. You will face T-Money at Glory! If you aren’t there, you’ll be ZERO and ONE and it will go down in Dream Wrestling history that your final match was a cowardly no-show forfeit."

The camera zooms out from the close-up on Mark to show Jason Whiteside still standing by, now with his hands in his face and shaking his head. This is not what Jason wanted. Now even more Doozer fans could be upset with him… Or maybe not... Maybe there really is no more patience for The Dooze.

An Apogoly... of sorts.

The screen turns black.

A pre-recorded video is starting to play with Dream Wrestling's logo in the center. A hand carrying a can of spray paint begins to methodically writing an "O" over the Dream Wrestling logo. The logo fades away.

We all know that this is the opening of a pre-recorded Owen Manton interview. He sits on a black leather chair, leaned back with what we suppose looking past the black sunglasses is a serious look on his face. His legs are crossed, and along with the jeans he has a wife beater on.

Owen Manton: "Many people have contacted me, including the staff and leadership of Dream Wrestling Federation in an effort to ensure that I enlist my apologetic feelings towards what transpired last week."

Manton shifts slightly, uncrossing his legs and leaning his elbows on his legs.

Owen Manton: "This, of course, is in reference to the punch heard around the world - with Kiersten Jake falling like a sack of prescription pills."

Manton smirks slightly,

Owen Manton: "... Or something like that. So I would like to offer my apologies, at the very beginning of this show. I want the fans of Owen Manton, the enemies of Owen Manton and the wrestling public in general, to know that I am a sympathetic man. That I do have character and an understanding of what is right and wrong. Therefore..."

Manton pauses, taking his sunglasses off and hanging them off the top of his wife beater.

Owen Manton: "I'm sorry."

The fans are heard in the background slightly gasping, some faint cheers and some faint boo's are heard.

Owen Manton: "I'm sorry."

Owen Manton looks down at the ground. For a four second pause, it looks as though Owen Manton is truly apologetic. Then he looks up, with that Devilish smirk that has been made famous here in DWF.

Owen Manton: "I'm sorry that Myles Jake is such a bad f**kin' husband. Leaving his wife hung out to dry like yesterday's underwear. Leaving that pretty little face, with that gorgeous body, and sweet smile in the front row so accesible to the Devil himself..."

Manton's smirk ends.

Owen Manton: "Me. Owen Manton. What did you expect? Me not to terrorize the bi**h? Pphhh... please. She deserves everything and more for being so stupid to stay with that old piece of selfish trash."

Manton's eyes glare forward, letting the words sink in.

Owen Manton: "I'm sorry for what I'm going to do to Myles Jake. I'm sorry for my intentions to end his career right here tonight. Myles Jake's legacy will not be remembered as a World Champion, and a Cinderella story. Myles Jake's legacy will be remembered as a poor husband whose career was cut short by the only d*mn real Wrestler in this DWF."

Manton pauses again.

Owen Manton: "I'm sorry, for sending Lupin Cy packing - in fear of being embarrassed because I made him eat every f**king word that he spoke. And I'm SORRY... I'm SORRY..."

Manton is shouting now, standing up from the chair and before continuing he back kicks the chair which falls backwards.

Owen Manton: "I'm sorry that T-Money is in the Main Event and you fans have to stomach that ghetto-rip off take on our so-called "Champion". I'm sorry you've had to put up with hours of Doozer sh*t, from videos that are years old and no one cares about."

Manton grabs his sunglasses and puts them back over his eyes.

Owen Manton: "I'm sorry for anyone who cheers for what DWF stands for. Because the Manton Creed... the Puritan Creed... will be one step closer tonight."

Cut.

Cody Brews versus Michael Dame

The fans in attendance rise to their feet as "You're Gonna Go Far, Kid" by The Offspring begins to emanate from the public announce system speakers. White and green strobe lights flash at the top of the entrance ramp as 'Kid Danger' Cody Brews steps from behind the curtain. He lifts his hands for only a moment before sprinting towards ringside and sliding under the bottom ring rope. After rolling to one knee and pointing down at the ring, he stands ready to fight.

"Great showing by brews last week, even if he didn't pick up the win. This week could prove different though."

'One' By Metallica begins to play. The legendary Michael Dame steps out from the back, before heading down the ramp.

"Michael Dame has a very colorful past in the sport of professional wrestling, and I think he will be a good addition to the Dream roster."

Once in the ring, the music fades and the two men get ready to kick things off.

"As the bell sounds, Cody Brews and Michael Dame lock up. Dame takes control with a quick knee to the mid section of Cody brews."

He leans back, coming forward with a big chop. Brews falls to the mat.

"Brews quickly to his feet, behind Dame, belly to back. Michael Dame is able to slip out of Cody's grip and roll behind him."

Michael Dame throws Cody Brews behind him.

"Brews lands on his feet."

Cody grabs Dame's head and trunks, lifting him into an inverted suplex. As Michael Dame floats over, he lands on his feet.

"Dame pushes Brews into the ropes."

Cody grabs onto the top rope, as Michael runs at him.

"Brews pulls down, Michael Dame goes over the top rope!"

He catches it, rolling under the ropes right back into the ring. he then pulls himself up.

"Cody Brews grabs the arm of Michael Dame. Irish whip, NO, reversal. Brews on the return. Leap frog over Michael Dame. Off the opposite side."

This time Michael Dame falls to the mat. Cody Brews jumps over him. Dame gets to his feet, running behind Brews.

"Cody Brews jumps to the second rope. Moonsault. Michael Dame catches Cody Brews' legs!"

He lifts Cody up for a face buster. Cody rolls down, rolling Dame over.

"Hurricarrana!"

Brews quickly covers Dame as the referee drops for the three count.

"Cody Brews has done it! Taking his first DREAM victory over Michael Dame!"

Cody's music begins to play as he gets to his feet, holding his arm high. We get a couple replays of the back and forward action.

A New Backyard To Shit In

Travis walks up the arena, where the same security guard stands. Travis walks up to him with his Marlboro in his mouth, and stops.

Travis Williams - "Do you need to see any identification?"

The security guard looks down at the ground, attempting to hide the remainder of his shiner, and shakes his head no. Travis smirks and tosses his cigarette on the boot of the guard, before walking into the arena.

Several Minutes Later

Travis is in a locker room applying the paint to his face. A camera stands there watching him. He pauses for a second and staring into the mirror, he speaks.

Travis Williams - "Tonight is the start of something new. Path to Glory is just a term this company is using to hype some show. Tonight is without a doubt a true path to glory. Tonight, The Dark Shadows, takes Dream on a sick and demented ride!"

Travis smirks as he starts back on his final stages of getting ready with his paint, the camera exits his locker room.

And Then Come The Fireworks!

In a dimly lit hallway deep in the back of the Houma Terrabonne Civic Center, a lone camera man raced ahead. Somewhere off in the distance, presumably around the corner about forty five steps ahead, something had caught his attention. Violent screams emanated from the distance as he turned the corner and stopped in both shock and terror. Fumbling to turn the power on to his video camera, he pressed forward.

"THWACK!"

The sound that you would hear if someone was ran over by a speeding train rang out through the hallway as a steel folding chair crashed into bone and muscle. The camera man had begun filming what could only be described as assault with intention to mame and murder.

As the Dream Wrestling Federation feed aired the live footage from the backstage, officials from all around the building were hurrying to the scene. A behemoth of a man spat towards the concrete floor the headed as far from the on coming rush of security and officials as possible. His face, better yet his identity, never revealed.

A group if paramedics rushed in front of the camera as the knelt before the lifeless body of Dream Wrestling Federation super star Cody Brews. The self proclaimed "Star Of The Show" laid motionless in a pool of his own cold blood. Security guards swept nearby halls in search of the perpetrator of such an act, yet to no avail.

Stephanie Jonas, famed Dream Wrestling Federation interviewer and a host of 'suits' stood in the distance. The upper brass agitated by the irresponsibility of whoever allowed this to happen, demanded Stephanie get to the bottom of whatever or whoever was responsible for this. With much hesitation she agreed to the task, "I'm not so sure about being the star of the show but Cody is certainly seeing stars."

Travis Williams versus Pierce

The lights in the arena dim, as the steady sound of a phone being left off the hook beeps throughout the arena. The hollow sounds of a woman’s voice saying, "House Keeping, HELLO" followed by some knocking and another "HELLO?". The guitar strums ever so lightly.

"You Find Me
But I Don’t Know
What You Wanna Say
Well God Is Great
And God Is Good
But God Didn’t Help Me When He Could
And Love Dances Slowly By!"

As the sounds of Sixx AM’s "Courtesy Call" slams into the arena, the lights come back partly as the man of man personas known only as Travis Williams, The Dark Shadows, walks out on top of the stage. The crowd tosses mix reactions towards the veteran of the sport, as he stands perfectly in the center of the aisle away from the fans’ fingertips.

"This Is Just A Courtesy Call
This Is Just Matter of Policy
This Is Just An Act of Kindness
To Let You Know That
YOUR TIME IS UP!"

Travis walks down with his arms beside him, elbow to his palms out in front of him with his palms open facing towards the air. He walks to the ring, where he stands for a second. He looks around the arena, and grabs the middle rope and steps up on to the apron. He wipes his feet on the apron, and then steps between the top and middle ropes. He enters the ring and walks over to a corner awaiting the opening bell, never blinking.

The arena lights cut out, bringing the arena to life. Strobe lights and the Train Whistle sound of a soft, robust harmonica starts "The Wizard" by Black Sabbath. Fans jump, children scream, and women feint to see the devilish Pierce is coming. The DreamTron shows one word on the screen, flashing over and over.

PIERCE

Fans scream and begin chanting in unison with the flashing text.

PIERCE! PIERCE! PIERCE!

On cue, the black curtain jerks open to a thunderous reception. Pierce steps out in full ring attire, eyes scanning the crowd, and waits for the third and final long, harmonica riff to near its' end. Suddenly, the arena goes off when the guitar riff comes in.

So does Pierce. Stomping the steel floor beneath him, he raises his head and taped-fists to the crowd; bringing the arena lights back to full blast at his signal, almost. A brief display of walkway pyrotechnics shoot off before Pierce takes off running down the ramp, and jumps through the bottom and second ropes. He rolls gracefully into the middle of the ring and locks his torturous gaze on fans nearby as he stands slowly. An abnormal smile stretches over Pierce's face, ear to ear.

"Travis Williams stands over Pierce, he has a good two inches and at least twenty pounds on him. But Pierce is a man who's been here since our return. He is a man known to take a beating and still come out. Is Williams just another huge hurdle for Pierce before his inevitable reign at the top? Or is this the final nail in the coffin? We're about to find out!"

The bell sounds to begin the match.

"Big lock up. Travis Williams shoves Pierce off of him quickly and to the mat. Pierce waste no time getting to his feet and lunging at the bigger man. Pierce with two big rights before going for a whip. Travis Williams reverses, sending Pierce into the ropes. The Ranger on the return, he leaps with a shoulder block."

Travis Williams just stumbles back a bit as Pierce pushes back to his feet.

"Pierce unleashing a flurry of rights and lefts. Going for another whip, no, reverses again!"

As Pierce returns, Travis throws a big boot up. However, Pierce falls to the mat, hooking under his leg and twisting him down.

"Dragon Screw by Pierce, finally gets the big man down."

Pierce mounts Williams and begins to punch him with hard rights and lefts.

"Pierce going for pure power in this match, as he needs to wear down Travis Williams."

Williams blocks a punch and punches Pierce back, causing him to roll to the left on the mat. Travis Williams gets on top of him, holding Pierce's head and begins to lay into him with heavy rights.

"Now Williams on the offense, trying to cave Pierce's head in with those big fist."

The referee warns Travis Williams who finally stops his assault and stands up.

"Travis Williams pulling Pierce to his feet."

Pierce throws a fist into the gut of Williams, causing him to let go momentarily. Pierce then grabs his head, leaps up and comes down, cracking Travis' jaw on the top of his head.

"That's smarts."

Pierce rolls around on the mat holding his head, while Travis rolls over holding his mouth.

"Even though there is a size difference, I think this match may be pretty evenly matched up."

Both men begin to pull themselves up, using the ropes on opposite sides. Once up, they both use the ropes to gain momentum while running at each other.

"Both men duck each others clothesline attempts."

They turn to face each other.

"Kick to the gut of Pierce by Travis Williams."

He goes to lift Pierce into a power bomb position.

"Pierce is up, he begins to punch Williams."

He leans back, attempting to flip Williams over, but Williams is able to use his strength to lift Pierce back up and throw him down.

"Big power bomb!"

Pierce grabs his back as Travis Williams begins to stomp him. Finally, Pierce is able to roll out of the ring.

"Pierce taking a much needed breather."

He gains his composure in enough time to see Travis Williams taking a big risk.

"Williams off the ropes, across the ring, he leaps OVER THE TOP ROPE! SUICIDE DIVE!"

Pierce moves, raising a knee, smashing Travis Williams face with it as both men fall to the floor on the outside.

"Pierce somehow able to counter that huge risk. Of course, that's why they call them risk though. Because one miscalculation, or one second breath can turn things around."

Pierce now crawls over to the ring, and grabs the apron. He pulls himself to his feet and rolls in, then out, to restart the count.

"Pierce isn't finished yet, as this match continues."

He walks over and pulls Travis Williams up, then introduces his head to the barrier, before grabbing his arm and whipping him hard.

"Travis Williams is sent flying into the unforgiving steel steps."

As he crashes into them, the loud clanking sound echos through the arena. Pierce runs at him, and hits a rising knee.

"Pierce just ran through Williams. He may finally have this match under control."

Pierce pulls Williams up enough to roll him back into the ring under the ropes. He then climbs to the apron and climbs the corner post from the outside.

"Travis Williams using the ropes to pull himself up."

Once he's up, Pierce leaps with a double axe handle, landing on his feet as he hits. Travis takes a couple steps back, then comes forward lifting Pierce from the back and up, before putting him down.

"Big sidewalk slam by the big guy."

Pierce doesn't lose hope as he rolls over and gets to his feet.Travis Williams grabs him, lifting to a sideways hold. He twist him around before throwing him down on top of his knee.

"That deadly catatonic back breaker which he calls the Shadow Cast!"

Williams pins Pierce.

"Travis Williams pulls off an impressive victory over DREAM's own, Pierce."

His music begins to play as Williams stands tall.

The Challenge

Sixx AM’s "Courtesy Call" starts to play. The crowd gives off a mix reaction to the new Dream superstar. As he goes to step between the ropes, the music ends suddenly. Travis pauses and looks at the referee, who is clueless.

The big screen flashes ‘HISTORY OF REALITY’ several times, as Metallica’s "King Nothing" starts play around the arena, as a man in a suit comes out with a black bag in his hands. Travis’ eyes grow wide, and the music stops. The man reaches into his coat and pulls out a microphone.

"TRAVIS!" Yells the man directly at him. "I bet you never thought you would ever run across me again." The man gives a big smile, as Travis demands a microphone from ringside. As one is handed to him, Travis quickly starts to talk. "Chris Bladez, what in the hell are you doing in Dream?"

"Simple Travis, I’ve come to bring your past back to haunt you!" Chris says with a cocky tone.

Travis shakes his head. "Six years ago I was better than you, and six years later…I am still better than you will ever be! If you want to go down this road again, be my guest!"

"The last time we went down any path, I helped you take over a promotion we were in together. I paid attention, I realized what drives you and what makes you, well, YOU! But, I keep my enemy really close, to study." Chris laughs at the idea.

"I’m in the ring, and you are all the way up on the ramp…What are you waiting for?" Says Travis, with a pissed look on his face.

"I have something to show you Travis, a blast from the past!" Chris removes what is in the black bag, as he reveals a belt.
 



"You remember this Anarchy Championship right? It’s a belt you captured in NEO, but it came up missing off your trophy wall. I decided to take it as payment for aiding you in whatever you accomplished!" Chris throws the belt over his shoulder.

"Mister Money man…A thief like I always said you were!" Travis looks at Bladez with an evil eye.

"Hold up, slow down a bit Travis. I want to give you a chance to regain what you believe is yours. I was given permission to do this, all you have to do is accept. At Glory, you and I, for this strap!" Chris says as he holds up the title.

"A chance to destroy my brother’s brother in law and best friend, you are on!" The crowd cheers at the challenge being accepted by Travis.

Chris turns to walk to the back, but stops. "By the way Travis, it’s under Anarchy Rules, meaning, THERE ARE NO RULES!" Chris drops the microphone as Travis’ entrance theme, Sixx AM’s "Courtesy Call" starts to play.

Mike Polowy/Jak Nemesis versus USXF

The fans in the arena pipe up as the lights begin to dim and the opening rock riff to Muse's "Yes Please" pours through the sound system. There is an abrupt chorus of jeers and boos as Hostility's patron saint, 'The Mike Effect' Mike Polowy, steps out from behind the curtain and onto the ramp. MPlow flexes a bicep, slapping the DWF Women's Championship over his arm and giving it a little kiss. He then turns to his other shoulder, looking lovingly at the DWF Tag Title as well. Smirking, he takes a cocky, casual stride down to the ring, carefully hopping up the ring steps, ducking under the second rope and sauntering into the ring. 'Dead Bodies Everywhere' begins to play as Jak nemesis steps out with his tag title. He raises it high before heading to the ring.

"The tag team champions not coming out together. This can't be a good sign about their trust as a team."

'Feel so numb' by Rob Zombie hits the sound system. After a few moments it morphs into 'Born in the USA' by Bruce Springston. USXF runs down from the back to the ring. A few moments later they are deciding who will start the match. As the bell sounds Shaun XF and Mike Polowy are in the ring to begin the match as their team mates and the other two people are on the apron.

"Polowy of the tag team champions and Shaun XF of USXF will kick things off in this tag team match."

Shaun XF runs at Mike Polowy.

"Polowy scoops XF up, and slams him down."

The ring shakes. Polowy goes for a cover.

"This could be it for Shaun XF all ready!"

America enters through the ropes and runs in, stomping Polowy for the save.

"Jak Nemesis rushes the ring now!"

Jak goes to clothesline Lady America. She ducks, as Mike Polowy gets up behind her.

"Nemesis took down Polowy! That had to be an accident... right?"

Jak nemesis looks down at Mike in shock. Lady America turns him around and smiles. She puts her hand out to shake his.

"MY GOD! IT WASN'T!"

Jak looks at her oddly then pushes America away before bending down and helping his partner up.

"I am so confused... Wait, behind Polowy, school boy by Shaun XF"

Jak drops an axe handle breaking the roll up. America bounces off the ropes, as Nemesis turns she jumps.

"Drop kick by Lady America!"

Jak Nemesis rolls out of the ring. Lady America is told by the referee to exit the ring. She heads to the apron.

"Shaun XF getting to his feet. He pulls Mike up with him. Chop, followed by another. he grabs his arm, whip. No, Polowy reverses. Shaun XF on the return. Arm drag. Both men up. XF runs at Polowy again. Another arm drag. Both up again. Once again Shaun XF charges Polowy. Mike Polowy sidesteps, knee to the stomach of XF. Right into a DDT!"

Mike rolls to his feet and walks over to his corner where Jak Nemesis now stands.

"Polowy and Nemesis apparently having an argument. I don't think he believes that Nemesis did that on purpose."

Jak puts his hand out for a tag but Polowy refuses to tag. Jak screams for him to make the tag. Mike hits his hand with force before exiting between the ropes. jak looks at Mike, agitated, before entering.

"Nemesis lifts Shaun XF to his feet. Shaun pushes Nemesis back. Nemesis retaliates with a thumb to the eye of XF."

Shaun grabs his eye and turns away. the referee warns Nemesis.

"Jak Nemesis grabs Shaun XF's head and directs him to the nearby corner post. He introduces his head to the top turnbuckle."

Nemesis pushes XF into the corner, back to the post. He then grabs Shaun, sitting him up on the top then climbing up himself.

"Nemesis with big punches to the head of Shaun XF."

He locks XF in and lifts.

"Superplex!"

Shaun XF crashes to the mat. Nemesis grabs his back in pain as well. Lady America screams for Shaun to make the tag as Mike Polowy reaches for one from Nemesis.

"All it will take is one tag, who will be able to do it?"

Both men crawl, slowly, to their corners. They reach.

"Who will it be?"

Both make the tag at once.

"Lady America and Mike Polowy rush the ring."

America lunges forward with a shoulder block, taking down the Women's Champion. Both get to their feet.

"Lady America runs at Mike. She uses his legs to run... up him. She locks her legs around his head... hurricaranna.. NO!"

Mike places his legs over her arms and jumps.

"THE MIKE EFFECT! Out of nowhere!"

Polowy rolls America over and pins her as the referee drops.

"Mike Polowy and Jak Nemesis pull off a victory. But will they be able to put aside their differences?"

No Pride Before The Fall

As the final bell rings, Shaun XF and Lady America prepare to make their exit from the ring. Shaun steps onto the apron, ready to hold the ropes for his partner, but as he does, Jak Nemesis charges across the ring and lays hard into the unsuspecting knock-off, hitting him with a hard clothesline that sends him sprawling to the concrete outside. Before Lady America has a chance to react, Women's Champion Michael Polowy grabs a hold of her hair, wrapping an arm around her neck and wrenching her into a vicious looking choke. Jak Nemesis is quick to supply him with a microphone, giving it over to MPlow's free hand as the crowd explodes into boos.

"Boo one more goddamned time, I dare you." Polowy shouts into the microphone, with a sneer plastered across his face. "I'll snap her f[bleep]ing neck. You think I'm f[bleep]ing joking? Do it. Boo again. Please."

Caught beneath his bicep, Lady America struggles to free herself from his grasp to little avail. The look on her face very closely matches that of many faces around the arena--shocked and horrified. The raucous jeering of the crowd seems to stifle almost immediately.

"What, you're gonna give up so easy?" MPlow taunts, a certain mockery in his voice as he acts surprised. "The valiant DREAM fans don't have it in them to defy the insurgents? You wouldn't sacrifice this piece of ovarian garbage to stand up for yourselves? It doesn't surprise me."

He tightens his grip around the neck of the obvious Miss USA knockoff, his face contorting into a gleeful sort of rage. Even Jak Nemesis begins to look a little unsure as he lowers his gaze, averting his eyes from the events unfolding in front of him.

"Come on, people!" Polowy commands, his voice full of a calm anger. "Boo away! Hell, I'll boo with you! Ready? BOOOOOOOOOO!"

The audience remains silent, staring on at a man who suddenly seems a lot less harmless. In the front row, the camera very candidly catches many of the DWF's fans squirming awkwardly in their seats.

"Nothing? Not even one of you?" He asks, the question merely rhetorical. "I'm surprised. Because you have every right to boo. Every single one of you paid for a ticket tonight, and every single one of you has a First Amendment right to show your distaste for what's going on here. For this great injustice you're viewing tonight. And what is that great injustice, you ask? THIS. You're staring at it. A couple of cheap knock-offs in place of a real tag team. Guys like myself, and my partner Jak Nemesis here, and especially our esteemed World Champion, Mr. Level-One? We walk into your arenas and we piss all over your company, and you scream for our heads week in and week out. You cry for a hero to come and save DREAM from the nightmare it is slowly becoming. We're the bad guys, after all, aren't we? And yet there is nothing. From the still of the battlefield, there is no resounding warcry from the battered and broken heroes of DREAM. There is no last stand. There is no epic comeback. You have extended a call to arms from the battle-worthy that remain in the ranks of your little-company-that-couldn't, and your cries have fallen on deaf ears. Ladies and gentlemen, the heroes of the Dream Wrestling Federation have taken. Their. Balls. And. Gone. Home."

He quickly jerks the hair of his captive, forcing her to stare him in the face as he releases her from confinement. For a moment, her eyes meet his and there is true fear staring him back in the face. But as quickly as he jerked her forward, Polowy tosses her backward in disgust. With a stumble, she falls head over heels, her body slumping to the canvas like a ragdoll. With her safety no longer in question, the booing from the heart of the arena begins again.

"That's the spirit." The Mike Effect smiles, the corner of his lip curling near the top. "Come on, DREAM, tell us how you really feel."

The jeering becomes even louder, and as it does the grin on the face of Lady America's former captor only widens. He glances over at Jak Nemesis, who simply shakes his head. A look of disgust upon his face, Jak drops to his back, rolling under the ropes and separating himself from the nervous breakdown in the making taking place within the ring of the Houma Terrabonne Civic Center. Polowy seems unfazed as his tag team partner and co-champion vacates the ring.

"See?" MPlow continues. "Jak Nemesis is apparently so disgusted with the state of the union right now that he couldn't bear to look out into the hopeless sea of faces in this arena tonight. And who can blame him? Tonight, I boo with you, ladies and gentlemen, because you have asked for vengeance and DREAM has given you nothing but empty promises and a whole new reign of terror. They have allowed us to run roughshod over everything you hold dear, and they have done it with lips closed and eyes shut. They are seen but not heard, walking around the backstage areas and stuffing their faces fat at the catering tables, turning a blind eye to the blatant acts of terrorism we perpetrate in this ring week in and week out. I look at the DWF tag team division, and I can't help but shed a tear for the state of things as they are. Did you know that on the official list of DWF title contenders, not only am I one half of the tag team champions, but also third in line for a tag team title shot? To make matters worse, the other two teams on the list... well... it doesn't look so good. The number one contenders to these tag team titles took themselves a little bit of... sick leave... last week, and stood by and watched as I laid waste to their gorgeous young manager. And the number two contenders? The Mexican Express? Well, apparently they finally listening to that cute little Taco Bell dog and hightailed it back for the border."

More racism. A womanizing, chauvinistic, racist... wonderful qualities in a champion. The fans can't possibly boo any harder, but if they could, they would. Polowy holds a finger in the air, making it obvious that he isn't quite finished.

"Which means..." He begins again, but silences himself until the booing diminished slightly. "Which means... that for all intents and purposes, myself and Level-One are the SOLE CONTENDERS to the tag team titles that myself and Jak Nemesis are already in possession of! Cry for your heroes, DREAM, but they are nowhere to be found. An entire division not only built on our backs, but constructed by DREAM's own resident contractors and book keepers. And it's not just the tag team division, either. When is the last time you saw a single member of DWF's female roster so much as step into the ring? I know you women like to take bathroom breaks together, but for an entire month? What's left to powder? And our World Title division? I hate to break it to you, but once you pull Stephen Greer out of the running due to his... 'swine flu'... the entire contender talent pool for Level-One's not-so-prestigious little prize is made up of guys on the Path to Glory tour. How does it feel to know what not a single DREAM original was good enough to make that list? Level-One, Jak Nemesis, and Michael Polowy... three damned pillars in the world of professional wrestling. Three unmatchable skyscrapers in a city that is falling down around the edges. It makes me sick to my stomach."

He grunts, clearing his throat as he shakes his head. This time, there is no booing from the crowd around him, surprisingly. Instead, they are actually listening to the words he's saying, and it's sadly making a lot of sense.

"This is my final, desperate plea." Polowy sighs, no hint of mocking this time. "This is my last outcry for someone... ANYONE... to step up to the plate. Anyone that DREAM considers to be a hero, or a warrior, or a foot solider. I'm begging you... PLEADING with you. Come down here and kick my ass. Step between the ropes and teach me a f[bleep]ing lesson. Show me and my crew that we can't just come in here and rape what you've so lovingly created. Because if you don't? If no one man, woman, or child can step forward and prove to me that this place can be cured of the apathetic cancer eating away at it's insides? Then the quest to save DREAM is over. The lofty goal myself and my compatriots have set for ourselves to redeem this place and make it worth a damn will all be for nothing. And if DREAM is really on it's last legs... if it's really on the life-support it is so very... truly... resembling?"

He takes a long pause, staring out into the crowd with glassy eyes.

"Then I'm going to have to pull the plug."

He lowers the microphone, his mouth closed and his eyes hazy, as he drops it to the canvas. The crowd, still nearly silent, is unsure of how to even begin to respond as Polowy steps through the ropes and hops down off the apron. In the ring, Lady America feels safe enough to get back to her feet, watching as MPlow makes his way up the ramp. We go to commercial.

Myles Jake versus Owen Manton

"Fire It Up!" by Jamglue pounds through the system and the crowd jumps to their feet in delight as the 39-year old wrestling superstar, Myles Jake, steps out from the curtains. Dressed in his regular wrestling trunks, with matching elbow and knee pads; Myles Jake begins his trot to the ring, stopping by the hoards of fans that continue to crowd the barriers. Jake pats a few young children on the head and slaps a few more hands before reaching the ring.

"The fans sure do like this Myles Jake guy."

The lights dim in the arena, and the big screen Dream-a-thon shows the DWF logo. A hand carrying a spray paint can comes above the logo and the letter "O" is written, defacing the Dream Wrestling logo. This video is synamous with "Puritan" Owen Manton, and the fans begin to boo as "Wish" by Nine Inch Nails begins to play through the sound system.

"A less then welcome hello for Owen Manton as he steps out from the back. This originally was supposed to be a triple threat match, but as dreamwrestling.com reported a few days ago Lupin Cy has rushed home to be with his family after an emergency situation earlier this week."

Owen Manton comes out with a smirk on his face. He has a New York Yankee hat on backwards, no shirt, and wrestling pants that are black with gold "Puritan" written down the right leg. He struts to the ring, ignoring the chorus of boo's from the explosive Dream Wrestling fans. As Manton reaches the ring he climbs the stairs, and climbs the outside of the turnbuckle lifting one arm in the air to another chorus of boo's and "You Suck!" chants.

"Both men, complete opposites in the ring and in the fans eyes as we head into one on one action here on Slaughter!"

The bell sounds to officially start the match.

"They lock up. Manton quickly takes control, rolling Jake into a wrist lock."

Myles is able to twist and reverse the lock.

"Reversal."

Manton boots Jake, who jumps back and lets go to avoid too much contact.

"Manton rushes Myles. Drop toe hold by Jake, he attempts to place Owen into a cross face, denied as Owen is close enough to grab the bottom rope."

Owen Manton rolls out of the ring and stands, catching his breath. In the ring, Myles Jake stands, waiting.

"Stare down as the referee counts."

Myles Jake slides out of the ring, as he does Owen Manton slides in. Jake goes to slide back in, Manton slides back out.

"Myles Jake is getting frustrated by Owen Manton's antics, with much reason."

Jake runs to slide out again, Manton does the opposite. This time, Jake grabs the rope and spins himself back into the ring at the same time as Owen.

"Both men up, Manton turns, Myles Jake shadows him from behind."

Owen Manton turns.

"Boot to the gut."

Myles Jake locks him in and lifts, holding Owen Manton vertically before dropping him.

"Very nice vertical suplex as the fans go nuts."

Jake floats over into a pin.

"Two count before the kick out."

As Jake gets up, he pulls Manton up with him by the head.

"Owen Manton with a punch to Myles Jake's gut, followed by a European Uppercut."

Myles Jake hits the mat, but gets right back up.

"He's caught with a second European Uppercut."

Owen lifts Myles Jake's legs up. He then proceeds to stomp his inner thigh.

"Owen Manton attempting to weaken the leg of Myles Jake."

Manton begins to step backwards, pulling Myles Jake with him. When he gets into the corner, he drops to the mat and rolls out.

"Owen Manton reaches into the ring and pulls Myles Jake's legs."

He places Jake's legs so they are on both sides of the corner post.

"Manton grabs that left leg and pulls back, with force slamming his knee into that post!"

Myles lets out a scream of pain. Owen Manton climbs up on the apron. A few moments later he has Myles Jake in a figure four and falls back, hanging off of the apron.

"Ring post figure four. Myles Jake is going through intense pain right now!"

The referee stops counting and warns Manton to release the painful lock. After a few more moments he does.

"Owen Manton rolling back into the ring. What type of damage has he done to the legs of Myles Jake?"

Manton bends down and slaps Jake before pulling him to his feet. Myles shows obvious pain on his legs as he stands.

"Owen Manton goes to whip Myles Jake."

Jake just crumbles to his knees as he can't even run across the ring. Owen Manton walks behind him and slaps the back of his head.

"Once again, Owen Manton toying with Myles Jake, adding insult to injury."

Manton runs past Jake, hits the ropes. As he returns he jumps.

"Dropkick to Myles Jake."

Jake is laid out. Owen Manton stands up, placing one foot on his chest.

"The referee goes to count. We have a winn... NO!"

Myles Jake pushes Manton's foot off of him.

"Myles Jake will just not give up!"

Owen Manton angrily lifts Jake to his feet. He places him in a suplex lock and lifts vertically.

"Vertical suplex, NO! MYLES JAKE COMES DOWN BEHIND OWEN MANTON!"

He grabs his head, and twist, falling at the same time.

"Inverted neck breaker!"

The fans go crazy.

"Myles Jake crawls over to the ropes, using them to pull himself up. Manton, slowly getting to his feet."

Owen Manton runs at Myles Jake with a clothesline so hard they BOTH go over the top rope, and crash HARD to the floor.

"Reminiscences of their first match against each other where there was a double count out. Will this be the case again?"

Both men begin to get up. At the last possible moment they both roll back into the ring.

"Both opponents getting to their feet. What a match so far. Manton grabs the arm of Jake. Irish whip into the ropes. Myles Jake on the return, HE JUMPS! Cross body!"

Owen Manton catches him and smirks. He then twist Myles up into a pile driver position before dropping to his knees.

"PILE DRIVER!"

Myles Jake's neck defiantly lands wrong as his body limps over to the mat and Owen pins him. The referee looks down then drops, counting an extra fast three.

"Owen Manton wins!"

The referee makes the call for help.

"Wait, something is wrong."

From the back explodes officials and medical personal. Owen Manton just step back with his hands on his hips, not knowing what's going on.

"It appears that Myles Jake may have been seriously injured by that pile driver."

We get a few replays of the sicking wrong land that see's his head and neck move in ways they should not.

"Oh... My...God"

Owen Manton is on his knees looking at Myles Jake who lies motionless on the ring being attended by the ref. The crowd is in a hush knowing that something serious is going down.

"We... we have to go to a commercial break. Or something."

Owen Manton rolls out of the ring at the ref's request, as he begins to shout to the entrance for help. More Trainers begin to rush to the ring, and behind them is an ambulance. Paramedics rush out with a stretcher, as Myles Jake still hasn't moved.

"Ladies and gentlemen, Myles Jake has been injured in the ring. This is why we say not to do this at home, this is more than sports entertainment. These men put their bodies on the line for the fans, and are willing to pay the largest price. Myles Jake is not moving, as our staff attends to him".

The camera's show Kiersten Jake rush from the entrance, a single tear coming down her right cheek. She rushes in the ring and can't break past the circle of paramedics.

"We are going to a break now, stay with us. Myles Jake seems to have injured his neck. We will report when we can."

T-Money versus Level-One

The camera moves to the top of the stage. 'Stay Wide Awake' by Eminem starts to play. T-Money steps out. He raises both arms before throwing them down and continues to the ring as Whiteside comments on his recent match. He slides in and leaps to his feet. Quickly T-Money runs to a turnbuckle and raises and arm to the fans before jumping down and running across to the opposite post, doing the same thing.

"T-Money looking to pull off a big win tonight and get a title shot at Glory. Folks, Myles Jake has been taken to a local hospital. We still have no word on his condition, but if we get it before the end of the night I will pass that information along to you."

'Put you on game'' By Lupe Fiasco ruthlessly attacks the stereo system with little regard; shaking the ear drums of the crowd of thousands. Red smoke seeps through the upper ramp; and ripping through the curtains Level-One finds himself on top of the ramp; taunting the booing fans. Creating a ‘’L’’ with his left hand he places his index finger behind his thumb forming his initials ‘’L1’’ as the red and white pyro shoots up in the air indiscriminately.

"If the champion wins, he can choose his opponent at Glory."

Level-One lowers his hand looking into the crowd; whom craves for his entertainment, even as they boo relentlessly. Slow and methodically he works his way down the ramp, before sliding under the bottom rope. Level-One paces around the ring, his red eyes capturing the essence of his surroundings. This is where he belongs; he smiles. The bell sounds and they lock up.

"Level-One taking on T-Money in one on one action this week.."

Level-One takes the lead early, as he breaks the lock and whips Money into the ropes.

"On the return, Money attempts a clothesline, but Level-One ducks."

Both men quickly turn around.

"Kick to the midsection of Level-One. Money follows up with a elbow to the head followed by a big chop to the chest."

Money grabs Level-One, going for a belly to belly suplex.

"Reversal, Level-One with the suplex."

As Money hits the mat, Level-One gets to his feet and begins to viciously stomp his opponent. He bends down and slaps him.

"Level-One pulls his opponent to his feet."

On the way up, Money pushes Level-One back. He grabs his arm and pulls him.

"Short arm clothesline, knocking Level-One silly."

Money picks a leg of Level-One up, stretches it the thrust it down.

"Money trying to hyper extend the knee of Level-One."

He stomps the champion's knee a few times before lifting both of his legs up and stepping in.

"It appears that Money is going for a figure four leg lock."

As he places the lock on and leans back on the mat to apply pressure, Level-One yells in pain.

"Level-One now trying to get his bearings."

Level-One struggles a little before overpowering Money enough to reverse the hold.

"Inverted figure four by Level-One!"

A few moments later, both men break free and push themselves to their feet.

"Each opponent showing signs of discomfort as they get to their feet."

Level-One boots Money in the gut and follows it up with a head butt. As Money stumbles around, Level-One mounts the second turnbuckle behind him. Money turns to see him leap.

"Level-One grabs Money's head in mid air, twisting. Big DDT!"

Money is out on the mat, as Level-One holds his back from an improper landing.

"If he could make the cover, Level-One could capitalize and pick up the win here."

The referee begins counting both men as neither begins to get to their feet. Level-One finally begins to move. Using the ropes, he pulls himself up.

"Level-One is the first up, however, he is showings signs that he may have hurt his back."

Level-One bends over, grabbing Money's head, and pulls him to his feet.

"Big chop by Level-One that leaves Money's chest glowing. An Irish whip sends T-Money hard into the corner. Level-One follows up with a huge splash."

As Level-One moves away, Money falls face first to the mat. Level-One mounts Money, placing his hands under T-Money's chin and locking his fingers.

"Level-One hoping to end the match by submission, and he may very well be able to as he applies pressure."

A few moments later, Level-One lets go. He stands up and stomps Money. Level-One runs and bounces off the ropes, leaping up. As he falls with a big knee, T-Money moves.

"Money moved!"

T-Money rolls to his feet behind Level-One. As Level-One stands up, Money grabs his neck and drops.

"Inverted DDT! T-Money goes for the cover! HE MAY DO IT!"

Level-One kicks out at 2 and three quarters. T-Money gets to his feet. As he gets up, he pulls Level up with him. Level-One grabs Money's legs half way up, yanking and tripping him to the mat. He then begins to turn Money.

"BOSTON CRAB OUT OF NOWHERE! Level-One applies pressure."

T-Money tries to hold on, he tries to not give, but he must tap. The referee calls for the bell.

"Level-One has done it, and he will choose who he faces next week at Glory."

One chooses...

Level-One grits his teeth; pulling himself up to a single knee. Gingerly, he stumbles his way over to the ring ropes to help support himself. The fans unleash a see of boo, which had mixed in with the sound of the bell and provided an underlying track underneath the announcer’s final decision, embedding his victory into the record books for historical keeping. Level-One leans back over the ropes, looking at the sea of the crowd, upside down—their faces become much clearer this way.

He pulls his head back up, and motions for a microphone in addition to receiving his DWF world heavyweight championship. The stage hands scramble at his service, before one stick his arm cautiously through the ropes, as Level-One reached down over it, grabbing it from his hands knowing that there would be no consequence for his action. Level-One stumbles to the middle of the ring, beads of sweat pouring down his face, as he lifts the microphone…

‘’That was easier than I thought’’ Level-One sarcastically states on the microphone, which has the crowd picking up the base on their jeers. ‘’Maybe, just maybe—this will send the a lesson to the rest of you, who try to challenge my opposition’’ He says, looking down at T- Money who crawls to his feet. Level-One kicks him with the boot on the side of his head, knocking him back down again, before crouching down on one knee beside T- Money ‘’…But I doubt it’’

‘’I doubt it because you people are foolish. You have know understand of success, odds—or just plain luck, and how it rarely applies to me. Game plans have been based around luck, and they rarely ever work out. How do you think your little friend here was ever going to beat me?’’ Level-One smirks, before rising back up to his feet.

‘’Gimmicks and stupid stipulations; it’s all I have gotten from DREAM wrestling since I’ve been here, mixed in with an odd petty competitor tossed into equation’’ Level-One states with the discuss, before looking up the ramp. ‘’And so now, in part to this silly stipulation I get to choose my opponent for Glory, I get to choose who I believe deserves a title shot against my world championship. And quite frankly, the option was simple’’ Level-One states, cracking a sly smile. ‘’Come on out boys…’’

Almost as if they were on Queue, Michael Polowy and Jak Nemesis step out onto the ramp. Michael Polowy wears both the women and tag team championship around each of his shoulders, where Jak Nemesis sports his around his waist. The crowd immediately starts a Michael Polowy chant, which he merely tunes out, by uttering phrases of just how awesome he is back at the crowd who attacked him viciously. Jak Nemesis on the other hand, merely stared at Level-One—a lit flame in his eye, burning the portrait of the world champion.

‘’I have said since day one, that I am all about restoring the worth of the world championship. By putting prestige back into this title, and I honestly believe that I am the man to do it’’ Level-One nods his head humbly, turning around to T-Money, with his index finger pointing down at him. ‘’T-money brought up some interesting points, is that little shoot of his. He told me that I was going to take the easy way out, that I was going to choose someone who I could beat, because I feared a good challenge, that I only cared about keeping the championship around my waist’’ Level-One snarls, turning back to Michael Polowy and Jak Nemesis who stood at the top of the ramp.

‘’You two don’t fit that bill. You two are talented, you two are motivated, and you two would make great world champions one day…’’ Level-One states, to Michael Polowy’s ego, as he smiles and gives himself a round of applause; where as Jak Nemesis almost twitches in frustration. ‘’Imagine this. Level-One vs. Jak Nemesis!’’

The crowd boos.

‘’Or…Level-One vs. Michael Polowy!’’

The crowd goes ape shit; yet they’d still pay for it. It was their guilty pleasure, even if they didn’t want to admit it or not.

‘’It would sell. It would set the world on fire. It would really get eyes watching the DWF, and everything that came below it…’’ Level-One acknowledges, as he slowly paced around the ring. ‘’Unfortunately, choosing one of you two there would be a slight possibility of you beating me, and becoming a new world champion…’’ Level-One says looking up the ramp, pondering the thought. Jak Nemesis cracks a wide smile, which doesn’t seem to get to Level-One.

‘’And so, I have come to a tough decision. As much as I would like to give either of you a title shot, I’m not sure if it’s in the best interest of the DWF world championship’’ Level-One announces, by now we won’t even explain the crowd reaction. Michael Polowy’s grin fade’s as he looks to Jak Nemesis who pays him no mind, he’s too busy breaking down Level-One with his eyes.

‘’See, this championship has been plagued with unreliable champions, paper thin quality champions, and transitional champions. The last thing I would want is to have this title pass on, back and forth like a game of hot potato—this championship needs a face to go with it, a face that is attached to belt, and is melted in the minds of many…people want to see my face’’ Level-One says; a humble look written on his face. Jak Nemesis takes a step down the ramp, but Michael Polowy grabs onto his shoulder holding him back.

‘’So my decision is this…’’ Level-One says, looking up at Michael Polowy and Jak Nemesis. Michael Polowy sticks out his index finger, before waving his hands wildly in the air. Jak Nemesis smiles, as T- Money rises to his feet. ‘’I choose…’’

Level-One whips around swinging the world championship wildly around right into the face of an oncoming T-Money. The crowd sympathizes with his pain, as he hits the mat now unconscious, his eyes rolling into the back of his head. Level-One crouches to T-money’s side, tapping the side of his head cockily with the microphone.

‘’…T-money’’ Level-One says, a smile crossing his face.

‘’I beat you once…and I’m going to beat you again’’

Level-One drops the microphone beside the head of T- Money and stares out to Michael Polowy and Jak Nemesis, who aren’t the most happiest of friends, after all they’ve been slighted by Level-One’s choice. All that mattered in his mind though, was restoring the credibility of DWF world championship.

…even if the world championship didn’t deserve him.

From within the fans, comes someone with a chair. He wears a hoodie covering his head. Level-One is walking towards the ropes as T-Money uses the other side to pull himself up. The man slides in.

"What's this?"

CRACK

"No! The fan just hit T-Money!"

Level-One turns to see what the noise is about.

CRACK!

Level-One goes down

The hood falls off the head of the man, revealing the grizzly glare of the most influential piece of meat the DWF has seen since its' inception.

"PIERCE!"

YAAAAAAAHHHHHHH
BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Jack Pierce snarls at Polowy and Nemesis and then smiles at the reception he is getting. He mouths some threats, shouting to the downed wrestlers, amidst the thunderous DWF crowd.

"What's he saying? I don't know! But our Champ, our challenger, and Pierce will certainly have some questions to ask and some answers to give."

He raises the chair, which has some blood on it, to the half-booing half-cheering crowd of thousands. Polowy and Nemesis rush down the ramp but can not enter as Pierce hits the ropes every time they try.

"Folks, we are out of time for the show. I'm not sure how this will effect Glory next week which will take place of Slaughter, but you can rest assure that Polowy and Nemesis along with Level-One may have a few words for Pierce."

Pierce holds his ground in the ring.

"Before we leave, I have just gotten word about the condition of Myles Jake. He is currently in critical condition. My God. Be sure to keep up with DreamWrestling.com for more information on him as it becomes available."

The camera zooms in on Pierce continuing to not allow the tag team champions in as we fade to black.


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