But You Are A Champion

“But you are a champion. You do know what it’s like.”

The voice of the FIGHT! NYC Empire Champion is heard before we see anything. DIckie Watson is stood, queued up, like a child in the lunch line.

As the camera pans back from him, we see he’s stood behind FIGHT! NYC’s Brooklyn Champion, Amari Kent. The pair of them are queued for the FIGHT! Restaurant, which overlooks the lobby area via a balcony. Tonight, as is standard on show nights, there is a celebrity chef in the house. Tonight it was the turn of neighbor, Jean-Georges Vongerichten. He could be seen dazzling on-looking roster members, as the crowds filtered into place, and the Empire Champion and Brooklyn Champion smiled at the presentation as he tossed something, seared something else, and cracked a joke.

Amari’s plate was full, and then the chef took a moment to draw everybody’s attention to the “man of the organization”. As he did so, Amari held his response to Dickie and moved through to take a seat at one of the tables off to the side.

Dickie seemed uncomfortable, almost, with everyone looking at him, but he swallowed deeply, nodded his head toward Jean-Georges, and accepted a plate of food. He walked, with his plate, beside the balcony, and could see the thousands of New York locals and tourists alike, swarming into the building like an army of locust. Some dipped into the official merchandise store, others peered through the window at the closed FIGHT! Inn.

The moment of hesitation as he overlooked the Empire.

He turned to the table without even really looking, the one that Amari had saved a spot for him on. But as he went to straddle the seat and put his china plate on the table, he was interrupted by Paul Montuori, who scuffled across the marble floor and got into the chair first.

Montuori looked up over his shoulder at Dickie, who was perplexed, and then at Amari. He throw a thumb over his shoulder as he started to speak.

Paul Montuori: You don’t wanna learn nothin’ from him, papi. He’s basura, you see him get smashed by DANE FREAKIN PRESTON last week? If you want a mentor, you look no further than the next Empire Champion!

Amari frowns at Paul.

Amari Kent: Man, you tryna press yesterday’s news and think you got some kinda wisdom to impart on me? You the one followin’ in my footsteps.

Dickie snorts as he tries to stifle his laughter. Paul Montuori has been dating the ex-girlfriend of Amari Kent recently, and Amari’s bringing it up publicly took Montuori by surprise.

Dickie Watson: Come with me, I have a lounge where we can take this and finish our conversation uninterrupted.

Amari nods, offers a fist bump to Paul Montuori, who obliges in pure confusion, and then watches as Amari walks behind Dickie.

Previously... on FIGHT!

Graham Clauson grabs Austin Ramsey and throws him down a flight of stairs.

Vincent Black merely utters the words “Taze them” as the wreckage of his caddy unfolded before him and the two mothers of his children were at each other’s throats. VooDoo and Vhodka Black were both laid out on the concrete.

Anicka Swan knocks out Eoin O’Rourke in the first ever Bare Knuckle Match.

Denzel Porter sits down with Joe Montuori, who sings for Allison Riggs-Preston. It quickly fast-forwards as it devolves into nonsense.

Austin Ramsey beats the fuck out of Clauson with a copier, covering the camera, Clauson himself and anything in sight in toner. He clearly has lost his mind as blood spews from every part of his face.

Brandon Moore tells Jason Ryan that he’s going to join forces with Apathy and the Cure to make sure “maggot” Montuori and their kind don’t run roughshod over FIGHT! NYC, and it means that this is the end of the road for their allegiance. Jason Ryan seems confused, but Moore just walks off.

Paul Montuori unmasks after impersonating Brandon Moore, which he did to attack Dollface. Dollface smiles at Brandon as they work out a deal that calms him down.

Brandon Moore emerges as Shawn Warstein and Graham Clauson are fighting for supremacy in Venom #2’s main event. He says he isn’t here to interfere, but ultimately he causes the end of the match in rapid fashion, with Warstein countering Clauson’s finisher with his own and putting him away.







Beneath The Heel

Kasey Winterborn is staring intently, focused. Her eyes are unwavering, and Shawn Warstein happens to think that if she doesn’t stop, a pair of pupil-sized holes would soon appear in the black curtain that separated her from the gorilla position where she currently was and the stage and the thousands of spectators.

She could hear the rumble of commotion, she could feel the pressure, she was trepidatious. The curtain was about to go up, so-to-speak, and although she felt like the preparation had been done, she couldn’t stop the butterflies in the pit of her stomach.

Shawn Warstein: You’ve got this. I promise you. Take a deep breath.

She did have it, she told herself. Possibly lying.

Warstein was stoic in his reassurance, but out of the corner of his eye, he could see two figures pacing. One was tall, muscular, cropped dark hair and the other was shorter, stockier, and had long red hair. It was the woman who spoke, catching the attention of Kasey Winterborn.

Apathy: Ophelia Pain.. I hope you crush her beneath your heel. Nothing would make me more pleased.

Apathy was ambivalent towards Ms Winterborn. She could feel that her newest ally, Brandon Moore, didn’t much like Shawn Warstein. The mean-mugging from behind her gave it away for sure, but Apathy just saw people. They might be useful one day, she was always amenable to a person that could do a job for her, after all..

Ophelia, opined Apathy, was responsible for wrecking Jayson Violence, and whilst Apathy had no sympathy of regrets over relieving that waste of oxygen from his duties, she didn’t much care for Ophelia, and seeing her suffer would bring a smile to her face.

Kasey Winterborn surveyed the situation. On the one hand, she felt the tension in the room amp up to eleven with the Y chromosomes, and on the other hand was a fearsome giant of a woman offering her what she felt was a genuine bidding of good wishes. She wasn’t exactly sure what to make of it all.

Kasey Winterborn: Thanks.. I, uh, guess?

Kasey Winterborn vs Ophelia Pain

Ophelia Pain stared at Kasey Winterborn.

She wasn’t sure why, but she’d declared Kasey her new bestie the moment she inked her deal. Perhaps it was her own insecurity at being new, again, and wanting somebody that she could claim her own? She had always felt a little on the outside with all the other friendship groups that had formed and sustained through her absences. And it wasn’t her fault that she had a career outside wrestling, but nevertheless.

It was plausible at least.

Kasey was just as unsure, but she went along with it anyway. And yet as fate would twist its often-mysterious blade, they found themselves staring each other down. One would need to step over the other. The first test in an already fragile foundation.

Most wrestling matches, especially debuts, start out with a feeling out process. These two have never wrestled together, and reports of them training together would be highly suspect given Pain’s propensity to travel back and forth between New York and Los Angeles between shows, so this was straight off the bat, and Kasey ducked under an attempted forearm, grabbed the head of Ophelia Pain and set her adversary’s chin on top of her own head, then threw herself violently to the mat. A loud ooooh emanated from the crowd, getting to see the Violent Delight live up to her nickname within seconds.

Less than twenty seconds into her debut, it felt like she’d done enough, and as Ophelia clutched her face, Kasey went for the cover. Unsuccessful as it may’ve been, the debutant kept up the momentum and followed up with a series of offensive moves, leading to an axe kick that Ophelia narrowly avoided. The momentum then swung HARD in the other direction, as the more experienced Ophelia swept the leg of Kasey, and started working her over on the mat, swapping between arm-trapping holds, choke holds, and finally an STF.

Given that Ophelia is really not known for her mat work, this came as a surprise, but the veteran had done her homework and knew how to make the most of what she did know to her advantage. That sentence didn’t really make sense. Easter egg.

As Kasey reached for the bottom rope to break the hold, the referee in the booth above started imploring Kasey to show some sign of meaningful defense lest he call it a technical submission. Those unable to defend themselves would forfeit in the interest of fighter safety. Inching closer, she yelled to the referee that she was fine, and Ophelia growled low and bit down on her lower lip. She’d be damned if Kasey was gonna wriggle free. Mat-work she was no expert, but locking in and finishing a submission was another matter.

All Kasey could think about in this moment was the record scratch. You know the one. Where there’s a record scratch, the film stops, and the narrator says “I bet you’re wondering how I found myself in this predicament. Well, this is how I fucked up…”

She was in her own head, imagining the voices telling her that she’d lost it, she wasn’t good enough, she was a loser, and then she started questioning what stupid part of her brain got let out of its’ cage for her to have even decided this was a good idea in the first place. And as she got lost in her thoughts, a face kept appearing on the periphery, the horizon of her mind’s eye.

“Take a breath. You can do this. I promise you.”

It’s pretty hard to take a breath when she’s squeezing my carotid with all of her might, Shawn. But she relaxed, thrust an arm up with an elbow and created an inch of space, which she used to thrust herself to the ropes.

Ophelia was furious, so furious that she drove an elbow to the back of Kasey’s skull. Kasey’s forehead bounced off the canvas and she started to see stars. Everything was blurry and distant. Now she could taste the blood in the air, Ophelia Pain didn’t feel like she was in control anymore. Something deep inside her, gutteral, had taken over. The fun and games stopped a few moments ago, but now it felt like she was insulted. She picked a clump of stop-sign-hued hair and dragged the attached, lifeless body to its feet.

A momentary signal to the crowd was followed by her lifting Kasey onto the turnbuckle. This is the beginning of the end, because the Spookshow Thriller happens just like this, and as Ophelia started unstrapping part of her ring attire, Kasey started struggling and fighting against her.

“Take a deep breath.”

“Breathe, Kasey.”


Second underhood.


From nowhere. Damon Riggs on the booth is out of his seat, J Michael Brilliance is remarking about its banality as a move, but the rest of the world are positively unglued. Kasey looks as shocked as everyone else, not because they didn’t think that she could do it, but because they didn’t expect her to pull it out of the bag right then. Ophelia rolls out of the ring, unsure of how that just unfolded. She contemplates congratulating Kasey, but then looks down at the black floor.

It's electrifying

Vhodka Marie Black had walked around the small convenience store in a corner of the lobby of FIGHT Tower and by the time she made it to the counter she had an arm full of junk food.  Doritos, gummy bears, pixie stix, slim jims, candy necklace, a handful of ring pops, and the largest cup she could find of crushed ice.

Cashier: Just ice?

Vhodka Marie: Just ice.  The Gravid En is here tonight.

Cashier: The what?

Vhodka Marie: The Pregnant one.

Cashier: Ohh.  

Although that could have been a couple of them, this time it meant Vhodka Marie’s sister in law, Le’Andra Black.  While she was standing there waiting for the guy at the register to ring up, she added in a handful of Lindor truffles and a handful of fireballs.  The guy who was ringing her up stopped and stared at her.  She reached over and picked up one of each of the small packs of gum and added them and then looked up.

Vhodka Marie: That’s it.  I am done.  

He went back to ringing things up, all while she was eyeing the display in front of the counter.  She quickly reached down and pulled a couple of twizzlers from the box and added them.  When the guy at the counter stopped and looked at her again,  She was looking up at the ceiling, pretending to be looking at something.

Cashier: Are you sure?

Vhodka Marie: Positive.  

She nodded but then after a moment then her eyes grew wide and she reached down and wrestled the whole box of poprocks off the shelf and onto the counter.  He stopped ringing up the stuff.

Cashier: The whole box?

Vhodka Marie: It’s up there isn’t it?

He stared at her for a moment, she stared back and as he started ringing stuff up again, she grabbed a handful of Bit o’ Honeys and added them.  He didn’t bother stopping this time, he figured if he hurried up and rang everything up eventually she would leave.  And he was right, as soon as he bagged everything and told her the total she stopped adding things and handed him a credit card.

Cashier: Have a nice day.

Vhodka Marie: You, too.

She took a bite out of a twizzler and walked out of the door, made her way across the cavernous sized lobby to the elevators.  She walked past the one she and VooDoo almost drowned in, deeming it untrustable and hit the button for the one beside it.  The doors slid open and she stepped inside and turned around and looked down at the floor and over top the marble flooring was a flexible metal grate that seemed to slide under her feet; she pressed the button to the floor where X’s office was and where Le’ would be.  She continued to stare at the metal on the floor, she scuffed it with her shoe, wondering if this was some sort of new security measure.  

Up and up the elevator went until it finally came to a halt, she waited for the doors to open and nothing.  She reached over and pressed the button to open the doors and nothing happened.  She pressed the button a couple of more times and still nothing.  Her eyes narrowed and shot up to the trap door in the ceiling half expecting to see VooDoo face smirking down at her.

Seeing her not there she pushed the button a couple of more times and then all of a sudden her body seized up, hand squeezing the cup of ice and her body jerked and ice went everywhere and the bag of candy went flying.  No sooner than it started, it stopped.  Vhodka stood there for a moment as she caught her breath and looked around and then looked down at the metal grate she was standing on.   Again, her body tensed up and started jerking for a few moments and stopped and then she heard it.  Her laughter on the other side of the door.   

Vhodka Marie: I should be shocked, but I am not.  Well, I am, but I am not.

This time when the charge came, Vhodka jumped up and grabbed onto the grid holding the ceiling tiles in place and put her feet on the hand rails on the walls.  The elevator doors opened and VooDoo was standing outside, in her right hand she had the remote trigger to the electric grating and her thumb was on the trigger.

From down at the end of the hallway, Le’Andra Black was sitting in her husband’s office, she found out that morning sickness didn’t always happen during the morning and had been laying on the couch, which gave her a clear view of the elevators.  She saw VooDoo standing outside of the open door laughing.

Le’Andra Black: By the Gods now what?  She got up and padded barefoot through his office and down the hallway and came up behind VooDoo.  Candice!

Vhodka Marie: LE’!  Attack!  

Le’Andra Black: I will not, I am not playing this game with you two.  Both of you should be ashamed of yourselves, what are your children going to think if they ever find out about this?

VooDoo: That their mothers were crazy and they hope mental illness skips a generation?

Vhodka Marie: She made me drop your ice!!!

Le’Andra face took on a look of pure shock and she walked over and stood right by VooDoo and looked in, Vhodka was still clinging to the ceiling and on the floor was the crushed cup and ice.  Le’s head snapped in VooDoo’s direction, she moved so fast that it caught VooDoo off guard, she grabbed her hand holding the trigger and snatched it from her hand and then shoved her inside the elevator.

As soon as Vhodka realized Le’ had the trigger and the current was turned off, she jumped to the floor and both her and VooDoo grabbed each other and started wailing on each other.  Outside the doors, Le’Andra shook her head in disgust with both of the womens’ behaviors these past couple of months.  She raised her hand with the trigger and pushed it.  Both the women dropped and began jerking on the floor.  Le’ reached inside, careful not to touch the metal and pressed the button for the lobby then stepped back and watched as the doors closed.

Le’Andra Black: Call the lobby and let them know a Code M is coming their way.  

Xavier’s secretary quickly picked up the phone and made the call while Le’Andra stood and watched the numbers above the doors, making sure to keep her finger on the trigger until they made it the whole way down.  As she made her way past the secretary’s desk, she tossed the trigger on it.

Le’Andra Black: Look into purchasing a couple of shock collars.

The secretary looked at Le’Andra as she passed, wondering if the woman was joking or not, it was hard to tell with those people.  Then she thought about what she just saw… a pregnant viking electrocuting two people over a cup of spilled ice.  She wasn’t taking any chances, she quickly hit the internet looking for shock collars.

The Color Of Commentary... is Green

Valkyrie and Ricky Rodriguez are both in the ring already, but as the crowd are starting to prepare for this match, TERA-FIED by Static X plays and it only means one thing. Brandon Moore struts out to the ring.

Ricky Rodriguez is pissed off, this fuckin’ guy is always in his business. Lauding himself. Why can’t he come out at literally any other match ever?

But Moore makes a big deal of the fact that he ain’t here to stir shit up with Ricky and its “just business”.

Brandon Moore: So, we playin’ the whole game? Or cuttin’ to the chase?

Damon Riggs feels like he has got to put a stop to this. If he doesn’t, where will it end?

Damon Riggs: You’ve taken a million from me in two weeks. It is enough.

Brandon Moore: The price this week is a million.

Damon Riggs: Get. Fucked.

Brandon Moore: Guess we’re callin’ some matches, mook fuck.

Damon stands up now.

Brandon Moore: Who are you stepping up to, old man?

And this time, Brandon spits in his hand and then throws it with all his might into the face of Damon Riggs. Damon Riggs, though, expected it. Hoped for it. Behind his stoic eyes, he was begging for it. Unlocked the forbidden path.

And now, he drove his Toyota Truck sized fist into the skull of Brandon Moore, who dropped like a sack of shit. Riggs dove over the announce desk and started wailing on him, but it wasn’t long before swarms of officials had pulled them apart.

Ricky Rodriguez vs Valkyrie

Valkyrie came into this match like a bat out of hell looking to make a statement all over the face of Ricky Rodriguez. Somewhere along the way Mitchell had managed to draw blood on her opponent and the sight of it dripping from her fingers seemed to break something open in the much younger, much less experienced competitor. From that point on the tides of this match changed drastically with Rodriguez doing his best to pinpoint the already damaged hand of Robi Mitchell. 

As tough as she was, as seasoned as she was, as fucking angry as she was not even Valkyrie was at her best fighting with what amounts to being one handed and it was clear midway through this match up that she was obviously suffering with hand spasms from Rodriguez methodical attack on her one weak spot. Everytime it looked like she might gain the upper hand (no pun intended) Rodriguez targeted the damaged limb again giving him just enough time to regain the high ground he had gained with her. The stronger her competitor became, the weaker she became, the more enraged she became until her face twisted into an ugly vicious thing. If looks and hatred could win matches then this would have been Valkyrie’s match to win. Unfortunately with the injury she was never able to regain the sure footing she had in the beginning, finally succumbing to the pinfall when Rodriguez hit Real Style for the win.

Eoin Case you Forget

Enforcer stands in his dressing suite, doing curls with massive weights that most of the world would have a better chance of lifting thors hammer than they would even one of these. He drops them at his feet, and wipes off with a Cool Ranch Doritos Towel. Which is just a towel that looks like a bag of CRD’s and not a towel made out of CRD’s. As that would be insane.

As he wipes off, we can see Eoin creeping to the doorway, a sinister look upon his face. He leans into the doorframe, and prepares himself to rush in. His eyes glance at the weights, and in his mind, he’s already lifted it above his head, and is bringing it down on the back of Enforcers head, putting him out of commission tonight, as well as for life.

Eoin’s face changes drastically from one moment to the next, as a hand grasps the back of his head, and pulls him away from the door. The Occhi system switches views, and we see that the hand belongs to none other than Anicka Swan. Pulling Eoin away from the door, she spins him around and the two begin a stare down that could crack redwoods down the center if applied correctly.

Anicka Swan: Eoin, we have ourselves a catch 22. You know what those are? It’s a situation where no matter what, there is no escape from. Long and short of it, my pale friend. You can try to walk into that room right now and Ani will kick your ass. Or, you can wait me out, find him later when I’m not around, and he can kick your ass. Either way, you’re going to get your ass kicked. Ani thinks that maybe you should take the chance with Enforcer this time. As I can see the last time we danced is still fresh on that baby face of yours. So what’s your choice?

Eoin turns and walks way, angry and grumbling to himself before vanishing down the hall.

Anicka Swan: Ani is so proud of you!!

Enforcer steps up to Anicka, downing a bottle of water in a single gulp.

Enforcer: What was that about?

Anicka Swan: Eoin is out for blood. Yours, specifically.

Enforcer: And in other news?

Anicka Swan: Water is wet, night is dark, and the cure are cowards. Come on, I’ll hang with you on your way to the ring.

Mason Alexander Vanderbilt vs The Enforcer

The match started off with MAV leading much of the early minutes with a slew of technical wrestling moves that would make even the purest wrestling proud. Enforcer seemed to come into the match the over confident veteran and had spent the last several minutes paying for his original hubris. Enforcer has started to turn the tide finally, bouncing off the ropes to hit a flying lariat on a disoriented MAV center ring. MAV shakes the cobwebs free just in time to catch Enforcer attempting to climb the turnbuckle with a beautiful textbook neckbreaker. MAV moves to cover Enforcer for the quick win but Enforcer easily gets the shoulder up before the two count, jostling MAV away from him as both men rise to their feet. MAV is the picture of frustration at this point in the match, having seemingly pulled out all the stops to make the Enforcer lay down for the three but finding himself unsuccessful thus far. Things hadn’t gone quite the way that Mason Alexander Vanderbilt had hoped ever since he first appeared here in FIGHT! He was a fantastic performer, one hell of a wrestler and had a great look. Any other promotion he would be an absolute top tier talent but he just hadn’t seemed to get his bearings yet in the strange new world that was FIGHT! NYC. The position was unenviable but more so, it was unacceptable. Not just to Vanderbilt but also to his manager Sienna Sharpe who had started this match ringside but now found herself on the ring apron desperately trying to distract Enforcer who was circling her client in the ring for the kill. 

What some of you may not know about Enforcer is that he’s actually a happily married man, but more importantly, he’s a happily married man who is also very scared of his diminutive wife so the buxom blonde bouncing and gyrating on the apron for his attention didn’t do a whole lot to capture his gaze. Thankfully for MAV, Sienna Sharpe was more than just beauty, she was also brains and had a backup contingency plan for situations just like this. The plan came in the form of a snack sized bag of Cool Ranch Doritos pulled from the breast of her dress, jiggled in the air in from of Enforcer much like a human shakes a box of cat treats to find Mr. Mittens. 

Enforcer turns like a velociraptor who has just heard the snap of a twig below some tasty human footsteps nearby. Enforcer takes a few steps closer towards Sharpe and the bag of chips as Sienna smiles at him looking very much like the cat that ate the canary. Out of nowhere MAV springs up running for Enforcer but instead connects with Sienna Sharpe, knocking his manager off the apron and to the ground below. In the commotion Enforcer lands the Death Penalty on MAV and secures the pin for a one, two, three.

There Is Always Somewhere There To Remind You

Enforcer drops down to the floor, and slaps hands with the fans, when two of the fans leap the barrier and we see that they are not friends at all, But Eoin and Dollface. Unaware of their presence, Enforcer keeps interacting with the fans, while the sneak up on him. Suddenly a popcorn vendor leaps over the barricade and rushes them, nailing Dollface with an elbow to the back of the head. Eoin turns and attempts to strike back, but the popcorn vendor rips off her hat as she hits him and reveals herself to be Anicka Swan. Enforcer, now aware of the attack, slides under the bottom rope and slides all the way across the ring, grabbing Eoin by the head. Dollface stands and goes to attach Enforcer but Anicka shoves her back. Ani then grabs Eoin and throws him at Dollface, who side steps and lets him fall.

Anicka Swan: Ani is sick of this shit. We’re gonna settle this. No more fucking sneak attacks, no bullshit. Or are both of you afraid of what will happen…AGAIN?

Eoin O’Rourke: You think you can just make matches because you’re friends with Xavier?

Anicka Swan: YEP!

Dollface pulls Eoin toward the entrance way, and avoids looking at Anicka head on. Enforcer and Anicka discuss back and forth what the deal with those two are, and then begin to hand out the popcorn that didn’t spill when she leaped over the barrier.


Miss Michelle is walking back and forth backstage with a worried look on her face. She is not dressed in her gear, instead she is in a pair of black spandex like shorts and an oversized black Nike hoodie.  

Miss Michelle: What am I going to do? Do I just go out there and pretend like I know nothing and just go on like I have been?

Michelle looks up and is shocked by who is approaching her.. the last person she thought.. the husband with his best Bastard in tow.

Brandon Moore: I knew you’d be pacing.. look, you aren’t going out there anymore. Poptart..

Brandon slaps his ass.

Brandon Moore: Get em boy.

She looked at him like he was crazy. 

Miss Michelle: What? Who made you the boss?

She crossed her arms over her chest.

Miss Michelle: Even if I agreed, who says the boss would go for it?

Brandon Moore: Let’s just say it’s a case of mutual respect. X prolly watching us right now from the eye in the sky with a tissue in hand

He says, giving her a little sly grin.

Brandon Moore: Besides, I am Brandon Moore. They gonna tell me no?

Miss Michelle: I guess you’re right.

She smirked.

Miss Michelle: Probably isn’t a good idea for me to go out there anyways.

She turned her attention to Poptart who was standing next to Brandon.

Miss Michelle: It should be an easy match, it’s Ryan Elias.

She glared at him.

Miss Michelle: You better not lose..

Poptart looks at Michelle, and sees the serious evil twinkle in her eyes and gets the message. He pulls his mask down and walks off down the hall. Brandon leans against the wall in front of Michelle with his left arm holding up his head as he looks at her.

Brandon Moore: Yano.. I wanted to thank you for coming last night. It meant a lot to momma.

He rubs his hair a little bit and sways gently forward and back against the wall.

Brandon Moore: And I would be lying if I didn’t say that I enjoyed your company. It was refreshing to see and hear that smile.

Miss MIchelle: It was nice to see your mom, she looks good.

She looked up at him.

Miss Michelle: Her and your uncle really didn’t have to buy all those things for the baby. Its still pretty early, you know?

She smiled,  looking him in his eyes.

Miss Michelle: It was nice to be there with you, I can see a difference but I’m still not so sure.. I can’t take anymore tricks and games anymore, Brandon.  I really cant.

She turns away from him towards her locker room doorway. Brandon quickly grabs her by the hips.

Brandon Moore: Whoa whoa, watch the fuck out! That’s dangerous! Here.

Brandon grabs a roll of bubble wrap pleasantly placed right there on a cart and starts trying to wrap it around Michelle’s belly.

She looks down and watches him wrap her stomach and she can’t help but laugh.

Miss Michelle: Really? Do you think this is necessary?

He looks inside the locker room, and every sharp corner and pointy space makes him lose his shit.

Brandon Moore: It’s a Goddamn death trap in here. Aye yo!

He whistles, and Silas and Dominic swiftly bust on into the room with foam padding, the works.

Brandon Moore: Hey, get that spot right on over there!

He points over at a ridiculously placed table. That could hurt somebody yano?

The Bastards make quick work protecting this man’s queen from harm, saving the day, high fives, and they are out.

She brings her hand up and rubs her forehead, shaking her head. 

Miss Michelle: Oh my God, I literally can’t right now.

She looks at Brandon.

Miss Michelle: This is all very nice but are you going to follow me around and protect me for the next 6 months?

Brandon Moore: I’ll protect you forever if you let me. I swear.

He says, that damn smile. Gets them every time. But this time it was serious. Super serious.

She smiled back at him before grabbing onto his shirt, pulling him into the room towards her as she backed into it.

Miss Michelle: Why don’t you come protect me from this shower before your match then? I wouldn’t want to slip and fall or anything..

Brandon Moore: I got protection.

Brandon pulls a condom out of his back pocket. 

Poptart vs Ryan Elias

The Bastard, Poptart, and Ryan went back and forth to open the battle. Michelle watched from a monitor in her locker room and had a smile on her face every time the Bastard took the upper hand and anger when Ryan managed a counter. The feed flicked back and forth constantly. Poptart seemingly took the advantage over Elias with a series of chain tosses and hip drags culminating in a swinging neck breaker. A failed pin attempt preceded an angry Elias slipping out of the ring for a quick breather. 

J Michael Brilliance: Elias definitely seems to be pissed off. He clearly didn’t expect to be taking on some random person in this match.

Damon Riggs: There is no doubting that, you spend a whole week getting ready for one opponent, having to face another can be daunting.  

Elias stalked the ring and rolled back in, the bastard went on the offensive but Ryan was prepared for it. A series of missed strikes led to Elias taking the upper hand with some takedowns and a leg lock that nearly got him the win.  As the bastard limped around the ring, Elias strutted with a new found sense of attitude.  Elias haphazardly pulled the bastard to his feet and slung the man all over the ring. But the bastard countered an attempted back body drop and narrowly rolled Ryan into a small package.

J Michael Brilliance: LIttle bit of swagger out of Elias but the bastard isn’t giving up on the fight.

Damon Riggs: No one ever just gives up in a fight, you need to accept and understand that right now boy. These things go until someone finally beats the other person

Poptart takes the offensive with a series of strikes and a whip into the corner followed by a splash. But Elias counters a powerbomb into a fall away DDT in the middle of the ring. Both the bastard and Elias get their feet at the same time, they exchange some blows but Elias ducks a hook, grabs the head and drives the man head first into the mat with the HMG!

J Michael Brilliance: Head meet ground, this one is probably over.

Damon Riggs: An astute observation there slick, and there is the count, this one is over and Ryan Elias is the winner over Miss Michelle’s proxy fighter.

Proving Him Wrong

Jason Ryan seemed a bit lost, it could be said.

When Brandon Moore told him that they needed to go in their own directions last week, it could be said that Jason Ryan felt like an explorer in the Antarctic with no map. He’d followed Brandon this far, questioning nothing, to New York. From Saudi Arabia and everywhere between. He didn’t know what his own path looked like anymore.

As he prepared for his match with Todrick Tabor-Ramsey, he paced.

Jason Ryan: If I win, maybe he’ll be fine and we can go back to normal. If I win. I need to beat him.

He punched the wall prior to leaving the locker room, making his way to the ringside area.

Jason Ryan vs Todrick Tabor-Ramsey

Jason Ryan stands center ring with his hands on his hips as the quiet in the main competition area stretches on much longer than is typical between competitors entrances. As the silence that should be his competitors entrance music stretches on at a snail’s pace an already agitated Ryan begins to prowl the ring back and forth, yelling unintelligible remarks up towards the referees box above. After what seems like forever but in reality has only been a couple of minutes at the most the sound system jumps to life, not with Todrick Tabor’s entrance music but with the referees voice instead. 

FIGHT! Official: The winner of this match by forfeit, JASON RYAN. 

Jason Ryan does not look as happy as one might expect someone who just got paid for doing nothing should look. This was an important match for Ryan, a chance for him to show Brandon Moore what he was missing out on by dropping Ryan by the wayside. Instead of making a statement, it appeared all Jason Ryan would be doing would be making his way to the back. As Ryan stomps frustratedly up the ramp toward the back the slender and poised figure of Miss F steps out to stand center on the small platform at the top of the ramp. 

Miss F: There is a saying that time is money and that is especially true here in FIGHT! The fans around the world quite literally give us their time every week when they tune in to our program, an even luckier and smaller subset of those fans spend hours waiting outside in the elements for the opportunity to witness our fighters first hand for themselves. The fans expect a fight and we expect to provide them with what our name advertises each and every week. When the fans give us their time we in the position of power expect our roster to give them the fight that they deserve, if for some reason one of our roster members does not deliver then it will quite literally cost that person money.

Miss F smiles to no one in particular pausing in her speech before she continues on.

Miss F: With that being said, Todrick Tabor-Ramsey’s Blood Money pot will be docked five hundred dollars by reason of non-fight.

Left On Read

Jason Ryan was victorious.

It didn’t matter the circumstance, the record book reflected a victory. Jason was furiously tapping away at his smartphone, and the Occhi system zoomed in from a favorable angle to show that he’d sent a message to Brandon Moore, letting him know that he finally had a follower he could be proud of.

But the excitement drained out of his face, as he saw the green circle appear next to Moore’s face, then two blue checkmarks next to the message, and then the green circle by his profile picture disappeared.

Jason Ryan: Left on read. What the..

Druscilla White vs Tommy Kain

Tommy Kain came out like a man on fire, taking the upper hand early and using his power to dominate Druscilla. A failed spear in the corner led to Kain going shoulder first into the post, and Druscilla took full advantage.  What followed were a series of Arm drags on the shoulder, and a few shoulder locks and takedowns. 

J Michael Brilliance: She is like a dog with a bone on that shoulder in there, really working Tommy over!

Damon Riggs: That is what a true professional in this industry does, your desire to state the clearly obvious is both annoying and getting tiresome at the same time.

A few failed pin attempts and a shoulder stomps later, Drucsilla has Kain hooked up in the corner and trapped. She climbs the middle rope to and a few blows to the head, but Tommy counters out of the corner with a spine buster. Neither is quick to their feet, but Tommy gets to his just as Druscilla rushes across the ring for a flying knee, She gets hung in the ropes and Tommy DDTS her out of them into the ring.

J Michael Brilliance: There is no way that felt good at all, From in full control to out in the middle of the ring.

Damon Riggs: Well not too out of it, she just kicked out of that pin attempt and Tommy is not very happy about it. 

Tommy shakes out his shoulder as he stalks around the ring getting his bearings on the match. He takes the time to pull Druscilla to her feet multiple times and slam her down with authority, his shoulder loosening up with each move. With a strut he pulls Druscilla to her feet but on the whip she counters with a slide, pops up, kicks him in the stomach and hits him with a stunner in the middle of the ring. 

J Michael Brilliance: Where the hell did that come from?

Damon Riggs: As I said before son, no one just gives up, and she was not going to let Tommy just railroad her in this match.

Druscilla pushes the pace on Tommy, working over his shoulder and landing various takedowns on him in the ring. As she wears him down, Tommy is whipped into the corner and stumbles out of it. Seeing the opportunity with a smile, Druscilla hooks him up and takes him down with the Voodoo Queen.

J Michael Brilliance: Voodoo Queen, I think it is over.

Damon Riggs: There is the pin and this one is indeed over, Druscilla has walked away with the win over Tommy Kain.

Amari Kent vs Apathy

Amari Kent and Apathy circled each other for a bit, both having a reason to do so. Amari, not wanting his back to the aisle as any moment, Apathy’s army could show up and get involved, and Apathy, knowing that Amari is nervous, and wanting to foster that as much as possible. Amari on the other hand is at a loss of a set of eyes, having asked North Winters to remain backstage in order to keep her safe. A move that was both smart, and stressful.

Over the next 20 minutes, Apathy and Amari would test the limits of each other. Amari hitting Apathy quickly, and Apathy throwing Amari around in her typical powerful fashion. Amari doing his best to run the much more bulkier woman to exhaustion, and Apathy using her size and strength to keep Amari off kilter by grabbing him and throwing him around every chance she got. And then it happened, they both finally zeroed in on the parts of their opponent they needed to Nuetralize them. Amari, leaping off the rope, landed an impressive knee to the shoulder of Apathy, ensuring that she would think twice before lifting himn up, and directly after, Apathy irish whipped Amari into the ropes and when he fired back, she bent over toward him. He instinctively went to flip over her, which she had predicted, and quickly grabbed his leg, and yanked it as he fell, almost pulling it entirely out of the socket.

Amari limps to the middle of the ring, and Apathy walks toward him with one arm dangling at her side. Amari attempts to grapple, but Apathy sends a swift kick to his leg, and almost sends him down. Just then, as if on call, Todrick, TK, and Paul meander from the entrance way, discussing what they’re seeing. Amari and Apathy both stop and look at them, and Apathy takes the moment to blast Amari in the back of the head with a hard shot, sending him to the floor, at the feet of Dynasty. From under the ring, Dollface and Eoin roll out and roll into the ring, backing up Apathy. Amari now finds himself between The Dynasty, and The Cure, by himself and of himself. He takes a deep breath and prepares himself for whats about to happen, when the crowd erupts.

Dickie Watson and Shawn Warstein leap over the barrier and as they collide with the Dynasty, The Cure slides out of the ring and joibs the fray. Apathy, Paul and Dicke begin to pummel each other as Eoin, Todrick, and Warstein do the same. Amari, Dollface, and TK also break off and before long, the three groups all became one gigantic fight. The scroll at the bottom of the screen matches the energy of those in attendance by filling up with “HOLY SHIT” in both written and verbal form. Eoin and Warstein spill to the audience area as Dickie and Paul battle their way up and down the entrance way. Toddy and TK both advance on Dollface, who is backing up and letting them get to a chokepoint. Amari decides to try and take the chance at getting Dollface, when Apathy slide kicks Amari from under the bottom rope.

Amari falls to the ground and in the chaos of all that is going on, Dollface slides into him, kicking him in the head. Toddy and TK give chase, and Apathy slides out and throws Amari into the ring. As Amari rises, Apathy squats in the corner, awaiting for him to get to his feet. As Amari gets up, Apathy rushes toward him, extending her leg outward to take his head off with a kick, but is amazed at the speed in which Amari bends over and avoids it. Popping back up behind her, he runs over grabs her chin and falls backwards with his knees firmly planted on her back. The crowd as well as the scroll gives out an ‘oooohhhhh’ in both verbal and text form.

Covering her and hooking the leg tightly with both arms, he secures the 3 count and the victory.

Paul Montuori vs MDM

Paul Montouri stands in the ring, his hair pulled back into a ponytail, looking across the ring at Murphy, whose equally long hair is done into a tight fishtail updo that makes it look like he’s going to junior prom. The two men just look at each other, awaiting the bell to ring. But when it does, neither moves right away. Instead, they begin to talk across the ring to each other.

Paul Montuori: yanno, I remember you.

MDM: After tonight, ye’ll never f’rget me.

Paul Montuori: In another life, I think we could’ve gotten along.

MDM: Why don’cha come across this ring, see if i can’t get yeh to that next life a lil quicker.

Murphy and Paul rush toward each other, locking up with a slap that echoes over all other noises. Both men go pale face as they try to force the other one down on their knees while also trying to keep themselves off their own. Paul begins to push Murphy backward, and as they get to the corner, Murphy puts his leg out between the ropes. An alert goes off and Paul releases the hold. Murphy steps back inside, and they lock up again. This time Murphy begins to push and as they reach the corner, Paul puts his leg out of the ropes, and Murphy releases the hold, but immediately slaps Paul in the face. This one move would set the tone, no, cement it, for the remainder of the match.

Every time Paul Montouri got the upper hand, including tossing Murph airborne off an irish whip, SLAP.

Every time Murphy found himself reversing a manuver, instead of a punch or a kick or a slam, SLAP.

Paul would lock Murphy’s arms onto the corner ropes, and instead of pinning him against the ropes with his legs and delivering a set of punches, he instead laid into him with fronthand and backhand slaps. And instead of counting to ten, the crowd simply chanted SLAP.

This would go on for the duration of the match, each man getting the upper hand and then using that hand to deliver a merciless slap to the face of the other. Each of their cheeks, the ones on their faces, began to almost glow from the red flesh resulting.

But as much as the fans enjoyed it, and as much as Paul and Murphy seemed to find joy in finding new ways to slap the other, it had to come to an end. And Murphy was the one who brought it on.

Having gotten slapped twice in a row, Murphy became cleary irate, and kicked Paul in the gut, which made the crowd let out a collective ‘aww.’ Murphy grabbed Paul’s head, and in a swift move, attempted to drive Paul into a DDT, and as Murphy leaves his feet, he stops in mid air due to Paul having locked his arms around his waist, and was holding him while his back was bent over, a feat of strength not seen yet. And with a yelp, Paul straightens up and falls back in a flash, Sending Murphy flying through the air and onto the ground with a thunderous impact.

Paul rises, and looks down at the Irishmen, who is trying to collect both his thoughts and his breath, and having neither.

Lifting Maher up to his feet, Paul doubles him over and and hooks both arms, lifting him into the air, but only for a second. Forcefully dropping to one knee with the other planted under Murphy’s face, which sends his head bouncing off and making Murph twist in the air. As he crashes to the mat. Paul falls on top of him and hooks the leg.

As Paul Montouri celebrates the victory, he is interrupted by Eminem’s Venom, the theme song to the show as well as the theme for staff who have an announcement. Making her way down the aisle, Miss F who has a green case in her hands. She walks past Paul Montouri who is visibly confused but not at all concerned, as he keeps walking.

Murphy goes to leave, but Miss F stops him with a simple lift of her hand, and taps her headset, addressing the crowd and Murphy.

Miss F: Ladies and gentlemen, In the world of prize fighting there are many ways to motivate a person. We are all aware of the obvious standard, in which we hoist a position above all others, and dare the competitors to ascend. But there is another way. By showing them just how low they’ve fallen, and motivating them to dare once more. Dare to achieve, dare to attempt. With this in mind,  it is my honor to present Murphy Doyle Maher with the FIGHT NYC Queens Championship!! The Championship, like the borough of Queens, is only for Losers! Murphy, this belt will be yours until such a day comes that you can actually beat someone. Let’s hear it for ‘em folks!

Miss F watches as the crowd erupts in laughter, and the crowd erupts as Paul Montouri emerges from the entrance way, applauding with a smile on his face. Miss F then leans into Murphy, and whispers something, which of all the things that could possibly do so, angers him the most.

Long Live The Queen

Murphy enters his locker room, and Dane is waiting for him. Murphy holds up the title and looks at it, quickly looking back at Dane. Dane steps forward, his hands extended in a silent attempt to calm Murphy.

Dane: Murph, you know this is X fucking with you, ok? It’s a joke.

Murphy: Dane..

Dane: Murph, He’s just doing what he does, you know? He’s always messing with you. You have sex with his sister, it’s the least he could do is prank you, you know?

Murphy: DANE…

Dane: Listen, we get you in a match with one of the lower guys, you drop this no problem, at all. This…I mean, yeah youre still the first person to have it, which is going to follow you…but you don’t have to dwell on that. I mean, I would. But you. You got better things coming, you know..

Murphy: DANE!

Dane: …yeah?


Dane: I mean, I’m glad you do. But…no, I can’t see.


Dane: I’m having a hard time with this, on a personal and professional level, but…I guess..congraTs?


Brandon Moore vs Graham Clauson

Brandon Moore is not a man who likes to waste time and he wasted none when he arrived to the ring, spending only a moment in the center before sliding below the bottom rope and approaching the announce table and more specifically Damon Riggs. The frustration and annoyance on Riggs face was palpable as Moore hopped up to sit Indian style on the desk directly in front of Damon Riggs, placing his elbows on his knees and his chin on his fists smiling down at the enraged Old Man below him, Riggs handwritten match notes for the night crinkled up to stick out from under Moore’s ass on the desk. Damon has turned a very neat shade of purple as the infamous Riggs Rage threatens to spill all over Brandon Moore’s one man party but in what can only be described as an act of God, Damon Riggs stills himself and closes his eyes, bulky muscle bound chest rising and falling in the expensive suit he wore as he took deep calming breaths in and out to regain his composure. 

Damon’s eyes snap open and reveal a much calmer man, his complexion now almost back to its original color as he slowly smiles up at Brandon Moore before him in a way that conveys he’s definitely thinking painful thoughts about the man in front of him. Moore’s face instantly droops before he snarls at his old mentor, rolling off the desk and making sure to take all the papers and water bottles with him to meet the ground at the same time his feet did. Damon laughs, elbowing his broadcasting partner in the ribs as he points at Moore’s toddler tantrum in progress only adding fuel to the fire. It cannot be said that Brandon Moore is known for his sense of humor and it’s very evident that he does not appreciate being the butt of a joke as he lunges over the table coming face to face with Damon Riggs with Moore deranged my and exaggeratingly laughing into the older mans face, spraying spittle across his skin as if he was trying to use spit to console himself about the fact he cannot physically put hands on the man before him. A loud buzzing sound rings out over the arena and a familiar voice is heard. 

Miss F: Gentlemen, I would like to remind you of obligations. Damon Riggs is to provide commentary, nothing more, unless he is in imminent physical danger. Brandon Moore, your business is in the ring. 

Neither men move, their eyes drilling into one another as their noses brush up skin to skin. Miss F returns over the speaker system, firmer this time. 

Miss F: Brandon Moore I have been authorized to tell you that if you step near Damon Riggs one more time during this match you will be disqualified and fined three thousand Blood Money. You have thirty seconds to return to the ring and mind the business that pays you. Officials, please start the clock for Mr. Moore. 

A robotic female voice begins to count backward over the PA system overhead. The men stay rooted to their spots with years of hatred spilling out almost visually into the air around them as the strange robotic voice above continues her count. At the absolute last possible second Moore growls and pulls his body back, sliding under the bottom rope and laying flat on his back for a moment as the robotic voice hits one. The bell sounds and the fight is on. 

Graham Clauson, not impressed by the sideshow, demands Moore focus on him. Demands that Moore pay him the respect he deserves. And in that vein, he takes the early control of the match, driving Moore back into the corner and unleashing a series of rights, lefts, and thai kicks. Moore leans into the ropes and the referee from his perch high in the sky calls for a break. Clauson obliged, but not without a sharp elbow to the orbital as he disengaged.

Moore protested, only because it was something to do. He knew that, roles reversed, he’d do the same. Licking his lips, he began walking Clauson down. Straight left jab from Clauson snaps Moore’s head back.

Here’s the thing, Clauson is known for his lucha exchanges at the start of matches. Its a trademark. Anyone coming into a fight with him would know that. And yet today, that seemed absent. He was determined to turn around the misfortune of taking the defeat to Warstein last week, and changing up his gameplan had seemed to work. A hard lariat followed the jab and then Moore was on the floor.

Moore, on the other hand, was questioning everything. For what felt like the 100th time tonight, he was on his back. Riggs floored him, Clauson was schooling him. He’d allowed Paul Montuori to take advantage of him and eliminate him at Blood Money. He’d taken his licks, he’d waited out the recovery as per the insistence of the FIGHT! Infirmary staff, and yet something still felt off. All the bravado in the world couldn’t make up for a lack of proper preparation, and Moore wondered if he’d overlooked Clauson.

As Moore came back off the ropes, The Shoot King whipped him up in the air and dropped him with a signature Tilt-a-whirl backbreaker and once again he found the PA announcing a pinfall count.

This was perfect for Clauson, he felt like everything was coming to fruition. Hard work pays off. Moore, though, knew he had to dig deep. But he had an idea, an idea of deception. As he stumbled to his feet, he staggered, landed in the ropes. He half-lidded his eyes, and Clauson sensed blood.

Clauson pointed at Moore. The match had been going on for at least six minutes or so and it’d been primarily one-way traffic, Clauson knew he had his man by the balls here, and he wanted to let him know. Grabbing the opossum by the scruff of the neck, GC thrust him into the corner. He grabbed hold of Moore’s chin and Moore, the psychopath, let it happen. He followed him down in a snapmare driver, the move Clauson called LUDOVICO. Moore didn’t expect what was to come next, though. Because in his head, he figured he could roll through the move he knew was coming because he wasn’t as hurt as his opponent thought he was, but as he came for the pinfall, Moore could turn the tide. But the pin attempt didn’t come.

Clauson was too busy reminding the crowd of what they all had forgotten, that Graham Clauson was a big deal, and the man couldn’t keep him down if he just continued to show how superior he was to the other athletes. He signalled to the crowd that now was the time to go to the top rope. And thus, he scaled the top rope, still unaware that Moore wasn’t nearly as hurt as he thought he was. It was only when he was mid jump, twisting, that he realised that he’d fucked up. Moore brought his knees up and drove them into Clauson’s skull sickeningly as he corkscrew’d a shooting star press.

J Michael Brilliance, on play by play, remarked that he looked like he could’ve broken his neck with that landing, and Moore loved it. He was instantly on his feet, and had Clauson in his clutches. He dropped him to the floor again with a snapping DDT, picked him up once more and hooked him up in a full nelson, then snapping him back down to the mat with a snap dragon suplex known as The Living Tribunal.

Now it was Moore playing up to the crowd, then he caught the eye of Damon Riggs, and he started gesturing to the Old Man once more.

Brandon Moore: I’ll break your neck just like I’m going to do to him.

Riggs reminded him to concentrate on the straight killer he was fighting tonight.

Clauson was still prone on the ground, and Moore grabbed him.

Now it was the turn of the Shoot King to dig deep, and though he hadn’t been playing possum, his head was still fogged. He drove a European Uppercut into the jaw of Moore, he’d come too far to fall short. Moore’s head snapped back, he bit down on his lip and entered into a striking exchange with GC, then just as it seemed that The Deceiver was getting the upper hand, Clauson hit a spinning backfist out of nowhere. He went for a cover, but it wasn’t enough to put Moore away.

Moore stumbled to his feet. Clauson went to kick him in the gut, but Moore spun Clauson around and then picked him up on his shoulders.

J Michael Brilliance: Everblack??

Damon Riggs: No.. no..

Clauson, from on Moore’s shoulders, drives an elbow into his skull. He is able to slip off the back, and throw Moore’s arm over his shoulder, bringing him up onto his shoulder into a backbreaker type hold.

Damon Riggs: Oh! Call CPD!! He’s gonna swing him down on his skull!

And as Clauson attempts to do said thing, Moore drives a knee into the skull and wriggles free, landing behind Clauson again. This time he doesn’t make a mistake, he hoists Clauson onto his shoulders, steps forward three times whilst clutching the neck of The Shoot King and drives him headfirst into the mat…

J Michael Brilliance: EVER.. BLACK..!

And just like that, The Deceiver was victorious. He stumbled to his feet, battleworn. Clauson was already on his feet, furious.

This... is... FIGHT!

Graham Clauson: The better man didn’t win again. I can’t even with this bullshit.

Brandon Moore: Take your licks, kid. You don’t know the fire you’re playing with.

Shawn Warstein appeared now, as if from nowhere. He jumped the security rail and was in the ring with the two of them.

Shawn Warstein: That’s your problem, that chip on your shoulder.

Clauson looks left, and right, and realises that again he has two adversaries. Last week’s opponent and this week’s opponent, staring him down. He considered dipping between the ropes, and making haste, because nobody gets paid enough to get buried this deep. He considered cutting his losses.

But it was in that moment, as Brandon Moore advanced on Clauson to finish the job, that Moore took his eye off Shawn Warstein.

Warstein and Moore had been exchanging frowny glares for a few weeks now, and Warstein didn’t like it a bit. As soon as Moore lunged toward Clauson, Warstein nearly decapitated him with a leaping KING’S CROWN. He snarled as he looked down at Moore.

Shawn Warstein: But you? Who knows what your problem is? Jealousy or something. Afraid that your big bad wolf status is in jeopardy because someone good is here to piss in your yard.

Clauson and Warstein then started stomping a hole into Brandon Moore, which of course got a huge pop from ringside commentator, Damon Riggs.

Typical, though, that the dogs of war came as Eoin O Rourke, Korrupt, Dollface, and Apathy came to Moore’s rescue. Then Dickie Watson appeared, with Amari Kent, sliding under the bottom rope. Warstein still persisted on Moore, Dollface and Graham Clauson were battling, Kent was taking on Eoin O’Rourke, Korrupt was being thrown around the ring by Dickie.

Then Paul Montuori sprinted out, closely followed by his brother, and Tommy Kain and they joined the melee.

Dickie Watson was trading rights and lefts with Paul Montuori.

Brandon Moore was on his feet and giving as good as he got back to Shawn Warstein.

Dane Preston appeared, along with Murphy Doyle Maher, and they focused on Joe Montuori and Tommy Kain. Anicka Swan and The Enforcer were out there. In fact, apart from two notable exceptions of Todrick and Austin who hadn’t been seen at the arena at all, and Sahara who was in Hollywood, the entire roster was at ringside, and they were all teeing off.

There was no amount of sirens, or PA announcements chastising the roster, that would prevent this from happening.

All out war.

J Michael Brilliance was jumping up and down on the announce desk, screaming his scrawny head off, and then Damon Riggs gave the final address.