7th August 2021 @ 9PM
FIGHT! Tower, Manhattan
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Not At All Like I Expected
Somewhere in South Jersey lies the elusive Compound, where the Wolf — Fagan — and Black families dug their roots into the Earth. Over time more buildings were constructed, including homes for Anicka Swan, and the Riggs family, given their tight bond over the years. It is here that Damon Riggs stipulated his fight with Brandon Moore should occur, provided Moore accepted his challenge.
In the early hours of dusk, Damon ‘HavoK’ Riggs, the combatant not the commentator, is seen pacing the grounds. With little more than Otomix wrestling shoes, gym shorts, and both hands taped up, Damon looks as if he is about to become unhinged. Stopping, dead in his tracks, Damon turns his head slowly, his sadistic Billion Dollar Smirk crosses the span of his face.
The sound of an incoming chopper is heard off in the distance. Damon makes his way toward the helipad, arriving just as the chopper touches down. Arms folded across his chest, Damon watches as Brandon Moore steps out of the chopper. No mask, no ring gear, black jeans and a black tee shirt with all black Chucks.
The blades, despite slowing down, were still too loud for either man to speak without being in each other’s personal space. Considering the nature of this meeting, that would not be wise. Damon turns and walks away, Brandon, being no stranger to the Compound, follows as he knows exactly what lies ahead.
Brandon Moore: The almighty Damon Riggs, voice of FIGHT! has nothing to say to his former pupil and current executioner?
Damon ‘HavoK’ Riggs: I have plenty to say, but it will fall on deaf ears.
The two come upon the Compounds’ outdoor fighting circle, where Damon steps inside and extends both arms out.
Damon ‘HavoK’ Riggs: We’re men of action, so whaddya say we let our actions do the talking for us?
Brandon Moore: It’ll be your funeral, old man…
At that, the men closed in on each other and the fists began to fly. This was not a wrestling match, it was not a sanctioned fight of any kind. This is simply an old fashioned, donnybrook. Two extremely prideful men settling an old score.
Riggs, in his early fifties, battling cancer, appears to be in good condition, though looking lighter and less muscular than he had six months prior. It was clear, however, that this would go on as long as either man could continue. In the early goings of this fight, Damon was holding his own, blow for blow, he was showing that he was still the man who Brandon despised.
After trading some hard right hands, the men split apart and caught their breath. Brandon spat at the ground outside the circle, wiping a trickle of blood from his bottom lip. Damon fared no better, with a slow trickle of crimson trailing from his left eyebrow down his cheek.
Brandon Moore: Alright you sumbitch, I get it, you can still throw them hands. But can you still go? Can you still get down and dirty?
Damon ‘HavoK’ Riggs: I’ve got something just for you. Remember, I taught you a lot, but I didn’t teach you everything I know. I’ve still got plenty of tricks…
And then Brandon rushed him, throwing a weak ass right clothesline that Damon ducked. But that’s what Brandon wanted as he was right on his ass, head tucked, and Riggs’ head planted on the hard ass ground. Brandon kept hold of his head and quickly got him flipped over to his back. Moore took a full mount position with Damon immediately putting his arms up to protect his face.
Elbows are dropped that are leaving marks upon the elder Riggs’ forearms, but to the old man’s credit, he wasn’t allowing any to pass through. Brandon stops, allowing Damon to push himself out from under him. Both men get back up to their feet, a look of seriousness on the old man’s. A grin on the young buck’s, holding himself like he wasn’t yet taking this cancer riddled old man seriously. No, seriously he was not.
Damon ‘HavoK’ Riggs: I know you’re toying with me right now. Why?
Brandon Moore: Why should I take you seriously now, when you’ve never taken me serious, period?
Damon ‘HavoK’ Riggs: Is that what you think? After all these years? Have you never once thought about why I denied you the opportunity to face me in the ring? Why I left without giving you this?
Brandon Moore: You know, I am not going to sit here and listen to you give out one of your infamous Damon God damn Riggs speeches. Matter of fact, I ain’t gonna listen to you say another fuckin’ thi…
Damon cuts him off mid sentence.
Damon ‘HavoK’ Riggs: You scared the living shit out of me! You reminded me so much of me, but at the same time something altogether more terrifying than me. There is no denying that you were meant for greatness in this business. But you were reckless, careless, and you almost took Dane down a path he didn’t need to travel again.
Moore became incensed and pushed the attack once more, this time with a guttural scream as he advanced on Riggs. Shooting in, Brandon attempted a double leg takedown, which Damon countered with a sprawl and a front guillotine.
Before Riggs could lock it in, Moore rolled and reached between Damon’s legs with his free arm, picking him up and slamming him to the ground in a modified capture suplex.
Both men landed with a sickening thud, Brandon landed on top of Damon, taking less of the impact than his former mentor. Taking advantage of the moment, Moore takes full mount once more, raining rights and lefts down, Riggs trying to get his hands up too little too late as the damage had been done.
Blood was flowing from Damon’s nose, there was no one there to stop him. Brandon could literally kill this man, and they both knew it, the thought gave Brandon pause. Standing up, Brandon kicks Damon in the ribs as he takes a few steps and lets out another scream, this one out of frustration.
After all the years of pent up frustration, being discarded by a man he once idolized and learned from, then denied the opportunity to redeem himself inside a ring, Brandon was having a war inside his own mind. The word FAMILY came to the forefront of Brandon’s mind. Plopping down on his ass, Brandon sat in silence…
Damon ‘HavoK’ Riggs: I’m sorry Brandon.
Brandon Moore: What the fuck did you just say?
Damon ‘HavoK’ Riggs: Something I should have said years ago.
Brandon’s demeanor turns from indecisive to an embodied rage, he practically flies from the ground and pounces on Damon once more. The older man got his hands up this time, but it was clear that he was unable to mount an offensive against the younger, and much hungrier Brandon.
Brandon Moore: Come on old man! Where’s that thrill of the fight? Huh? Where’s the rage? Where’s the holier than thou crap!?!
Punch after punch, Damon kept his head covered, so Brandon resorted to rib shots, repeated THUNK sounds echoing off the nearby gym. These two men very clearly had an emotional stake in this fight.
Brandon was unrelenting, an axe to grind a decade in the making, Damon didn’t know the meaning of the word quit, his competitive nature was not always a strength. Suddenly, Riggs cried out in pain, something cracking after one of Moore’s rib shots.
The sound of Damon crying out snapped Brandon out of his rage and he rose to his feet, and began pacing around talking shit to himself. It was as if he was having a conversation with someone else inside his head, trying to decide whether or not to finish Damon off then and there.
Minutes passed. Damon, clutching at his ribs, had gotten himself to a kneeling position, slowly trying to get himself back to his feet. Blood was still pouring from his nose and left brow, his face was swollen in several places.
Damon ‘HavoK’ Riggs: I should never have sent you away…
Brandon stands across from the man he hated most in the world, and is hearing words he had unknowingly longed for. His arms drop to his sides as he looks away from Damon. Moore is stuck in time, staring at the ground. He looks up at Damon.
Damon ‘Havok’ Riggs: I love you.
Brandon Moore: I know.
And Brandon blasts Damon in the jaw with his own Sudden Impact Superkick, the very same move that Riggs had won many a belt with. Crumbling into a heap, Damon Riggs has been broken by the man he let down all those years ago.
Once more Brandon paces around, looking back at his former mentor, rival, enemy. Looking at Riggs one last time, Moore suddenly feels remorse for his actions. Struggling to move, Damon unsuccessfully tries in earnest to roll over. Could it be that Damon hadn’t really ducked him in OPW?
Was he really that far gone and Brandon could see past the hate, resentment and bitterness? Shaking his head with a groan in frustration, Brandon walks over, kneels down and lifts Damon up to his feet.
With a bewildered and confused look on his face, Damon locks eyes with Brandon. Not another word was said between the two men as Moore helped Riggs hobble back to the helipad. The chopper was ready to go, Brandon instructed the pilot to fly them to New York-Presbyterian Hospital.
Midway through the flight, Brandon texted VooDoo, Allison and Jenna to inform them that Damon could be found there. The chopper had landed twenty minutes later.
Brandon stood by as Damon was taken off the chopper and loaded onto a gurney before he was taken away. Like a ghost, the unmistakable crimson locks of VooDoo appear next to Moore.
VooDoo: You two finally ground that axe down?
Brandon Moore: Possibly.
VooDoo: How does it feel now that you got your hands on him?
Brandon Moore: Not at all like I expected.
VooDoo: Well, I hope you’ve gotten that out of your system. Because that part of him can’t come back again.
Brandon Moore: I know…
With that VooDoo heads toward the elevator, leaving Brandon alone as he takes a breath, puts his hands behind his head and turns his gaze toward the Statue of Liberty…
Brandon Moore: What the fuck do I do now?
We fade into Hearst Tower, Miss F is standing in the ring as shots from the end of Venom #3’s main event float translucently over the screen, Warstein becoming the third man in, seemingly to dogpile onto Clauson, before he licks his lips and hits KING’S CROWN on Brandon Moore blindsided. The Cure swarmed on Clauson and Warstein. Paul Montuori, Joe Montuori and Tommy Kain appeared. Dickie Watson, all of FYA. Anyone and everyone who was anyone piled into the ring, and soon spilled into the ringside area.
The scene starts to dissipate, and VENOM by EMINEM starts to fade out, as Miss F stands in the center of the ring.
Miss F: Chaos is defined by some as being the religion of the same actions with the expectation of different results. For some of our Fighters, thst can be highlighted by their inability to look past their hatred for the other to see the bigger picture.. After tonight we are one show away from our feature event – TAG WARS: TOXIC TAG. Where we will give these men and women the chance to do just that, by putting the best of enemies together and asking them to set aside their differences and work together for the greater good…or not. On the 28th August, we will find out who can and who can’t. Will the winner choose to continue as a team and challenge for the FIGHT! Islands Championship? or will they cave to chaos and fight each other once more for a chance to win 10k in Blood Money. Of course, there are surprises in store. Wouldn’t be fight if it wasn’t.
Miss F pauses whilst the crowd commotion starts to roar.
Miss F: And here is the first one. The first team that will be taking part in our tournament. It could be said that this team is inevitable. From the first moment on Venom #1 when I explained the system of earning title shots, this was a foregone conclusion. Team One, who will be in the first position on the bracket, will be our FIGHT! NYC EMPIRE CHAMPION, “THE CALAMITY” DICKIE WATSON, and his partner will be none other than PAUL MONTUORI!
The crowd pops for this, and Miss F smiles as she stands in the center of the ring. Visuals overlay the screen, showing Dickie and Paul facing off against each other in a fighting stance.
Miss F: Additionally, I am here to let you know that the competitors that comprise the Bronx Division will all be competing in a ladder match at TOXIC TAG to crown the inaugural Bronx Champion! Dark Tiger, Jason Ryan, Miss Michelle, Ryan Elias, and others to be announced will all be involved!
The crowd cheer again.
Miss F: But that isn’t all!
The Steve Jobs maneuver.
Miss F: The first person to win a singles title in one versus one competition, our esteemed FIGHT! NYC Brooklyn Champion – AMARI KENT – will be defending his belt against an up and coming star that will be announced at the start of Venom #5, next week, right here streaming live from fight-now.com
Miss F looks left, then right.
Miss F: As for what we saw prior to the titles? Riggs and Moore better be in my office before they step in this Tower again. We don’t do unsanctioned. This is not that kind of establishment. So let’s get to what you came to see, and they came to do, and FIGHT!!!
And with that, she was done. The crowd popped all over again for the Moore and Riggs fight that aired from cold open.
Noelle Rivers vs Valkyrie vs Ophelia Pain
After a round of stalking around the ring, Ophelia gets the action going with a slap to Noelle. Blows are thrown all over the ring as the three competitors jockey for the upper hand. Noelle is thrown out of the ring at one point and Valkyrie takes the upper hand on Ophelia. A failed pin attempt and a few stomps later has Valkyrie ready for another pin when Noelle hits her with a bulldog from the top rope.
JMB: Fast start here, and man is this one hell of a cat fight in this one. Loving what I am seeing right now, what a way to get things going.
Miss F: So not only do you look like a child, you talk like one too. Who the hell thought you were even remotely a decent idea?
Noelle rides the momentum for a bit. After a failed pin attempt and some sure fire frustration she turns into a back heel kick from Ophelia that lays her out. Ophelia jumps on Valkyrie and sends her flying out of the ring. Noelle catches Ophelia with her own back heel kick, then sends her on a ride all over the ring. Valkyrie breaks up the fun with a reverse DDT. Valkyrie splits her time between both Noelle and Ophelia.
JMB: Great idea there splitting time between them both.
Miss F: It doesn’t quite work that way. Eventually the numbers catch up with you, winning a match like this is all about taking advantage of the opportunity.
Valkyrie sends Ophelia through the middle rope to the outside and sets her sights on Noelle. A series of slams, slaps, and punches lead to Valkyrie stomping around the ring with a smile on her face. She brings Noelle down with a spike DDT and hops up motioning for the pin. Before she can get the cover Ophelia leaps over the top rope and drops a double axe handle to the top of Valkyrie’s head. Valkyrie stumbles backwards into the corner. Ophelia rushes in and before anycan figure out what is happening has the spookshow thriller locked in.
JMB: That came out of nowhere, I think Valkyrie is going to tap! But Noelle is stirring.
Miss F: Will Noelle make it in time? Valkyrie just tapped this one is over and Noelle came up a second short of breaking the hold. What a finish, and like I said it all came down to opportunity!
Keep It Up
The lights suddenly dim in the FIGHT! NYC arena at Hearst Tower and a static image wavers on the jumbotron as if the signal is somehow crossed with the originally planned feed. The image slowly begins to stabilize, bringing us back to the infirmary ward, with a timecode that looks to take place shortly after Blood Money.
The camera slowly zooms in on Sahara’s perfectly manicured hand caressing it’s way up Dane’s leg, a slight smirk on the blonde’s face as she stares across the bed at Allison Riggs-Preston.
Allison’s eyes narrow–
Allison Riggs-Preston: Keep it up, I’ll cut your fucking hand off–
Sahara immediately lifts both hands up rather innocently.
Sahara: Hey, just tryin’ ta’ help him relax.
Dane Preston: Ladies, please!
Joe Montuori: Punch her lights out Allie. Do it for Me!!!!!!!
Dane and Allison and Sahara: SHUT UP JOE!
Joe Montuori: Jesus….a hostile crowd today….and i just thought of a great idea… When we get better I will make 2 separate dinner reservations at 2 different locations.. One for myself and Allison and then another for Dane and Sahara…. PERFECT!
Sahara: Keep talkin’, Joke Montuori, n’ maybe we can make this little trip to the infirmary a bit more permanent. I don’t need you pimpin’ me out. I only came in here to check on Dane, n’ I don’t need this from you or this bitch.
Joe Montuori: Watch your mouth when it comes to Allie before we switch spots and you’re stuck here with Dickless Dane and I leave hand and hand with Allie you BITCH.
Dane Preston: You really don’t know when to shut up, do you? This woman puts up more of a fight by herself than you did in our first match where all your lackeys had to fight for you…
Sahara: Thank you, but I don’t need you to fight my battles for me…
Dane Preston: And you — he pauses and glares at Sahara — don’t call my wife a bitch. Save that for the Meatbol over there who deserves it.
Joe Montuori: Hey, fuck you Dickless Da —
Allison Riggs-Preston: And YOU — she stomps over to J Mont — I have told you to stop calling my husband that!
Dane puts his hands behind his head and kicks back, crossing his ankles. Allison storms over to him and shoves his Harper’s Table and Guinness into the trash bin.
Allison Riggs-Preston: Don’t act so smug, I really didn’t appreciate you of all people calling your favorite Meatbol my boyfriend. You’re supposed to have my back! Remember!?
Without another word, Allison snatches Sahara by her arm and escorts her out of the infirmary room, slamming the door shut behind them after they left–
While this surveillance type footage originally stayed in the infirmary room, somehow — someway — we follow Allison and Sahara out into the hallway, where Allison yanks the platinum blonde’s arm with vigor, almost slamming her up against the opposing wall. But this merely brings something of a sarcastic smirk to Sahara’s face…
Allison Riggs-Preston: Okay, let’s get something straight, right here, right now–and wipe that fucking snarky smirk off your goddamn face right now, I swear to God–
Sahara almost laughs with a mocking tone.
Sahara: Ohhh, super scurry!
Allison Riggs-Preston: You’re Goddamn right I’m scary, bitch. I don’t know what it is with you, ever since we met years ago, but you’ve had it out for me. And this?! Touching my husband in front of me while looking at me?! This shit stops NOW.
Looking down at Allison’s hand, which was twisted up with a deathgrip of Sahara’s shirt, she calmly motions for her to let go, with an ‘or else’ look on her face. Only Allison smirks back at the taller blonde–
Allison Riggs-Preston: I’m not afraid of you, Lauren — (she puts some emphasis on the name) — and I know damn well you aren’t afraid of me, but at some point we’re gonna figure this out, woman to woman.
Sahara: Ok, Princess, let’s figure this out then…I ain’t the one playin’ both sides with your whole ‘ohh, he’s just my tag team partner’ shtick, when it’s clearly affecting the man you supposedly love–
Allison Riggs-Preston: Tread. Lightly.
Sahara’s face contorts as she pushes herself off the wall and twists, swapping positions with Allison, who she now holds against the wall.
Sahara: Or what?!
Not giving an inch, Allison responds in kind, twisting and shoving Sahara up against the wall.
Allison Riggs-Preston: I’ll make you wish you never had that FIGHT! Invitation sent to you, much less you answer it’s call.
With one final wrenching up of Sahara’s arm to prove a point, causing Sahara to clench her teeth through a grimace of a smile, Allison let go of her arm and stormed off leaving Sarhara rubbing her arm with a slight smirk on her face.
Kasey Winterborn vs Ricky Rodriguez
Everything starts with a fury of action. Ricky lands a few blows, but Kasy always seems to have a counter. Ricky gets the first major move in with a spinning scoop slam. Ricky uses the opportunity to work Kasey until a back elbow catches him by surprise. Kasey shakes off the pain from Ricky’s onslaught but Ricky is quick to get back into attack mode. Kasey is able to counter a few more blows and strikes using a snap DDT to get a chance to catch her breath.
JMB: She planted him like a flower in the garden.
Miss F: Interesting metaphor there slick, but there won’t be any waiting around to find out what grows. Ricky is already trying to regain his feet.
As Ricky works to get his feet back Kasey shakes off the pain and takes the advantage with a baseball slide followed by some stomps and a leaping knee drop. Kasey goes on to press the advantage, whipping Ricky all over the ring. She ends the series of moves with Ricky in the corner and setting him up for something big, but RIcky counters out and sends her crashing to the mat with a slam out of the corner. Both competitors are slow to get up, Ricky reaching his feet first at the standing 8 count.
JMB: That looked painful, surprised either of them managed to get up.
Miss F: It is amazing how much you can push through when you have the adrenaline going. Ya know what that is right squirt? It is the chemical your body releases when you get excited or scared!
Ricky runs and lands a series of moves only to have Kasey counter back to take the advantage. A series of moves lead to RIcky taking the upper hand and both competitors painfully standing in opposite corners. Neither of them is happy but they move to the middle of the ring, Ricky throws a right but Kasey dodges, then she dodges another, and another. Kasey manages some takedowns. A whip to the ropes is countered and Ricky rushes in, but Kasey slips to the top rope and hooks up Ricky as he hits the corner. She brings him down with the Little Miss Vex!!!!!
JMB: Ricky might be broken, that was absolutely brutal and damn brilliant the way she managed it.
Miss F: There is the pin and she is the winner in this one, what a match, back and forth and it came down to the littlest miss calculation in this one.
Anicka Swan & The Enforcer vs Dollface & Eoin O'Rourke
The four combatants stand in the ring, each of them obviously motivated by something other than the promise of Victory. Dollface has her bloodshot eyes locked on Enforcer. Her mind replaying the moment he turned his back on a downed Xavier whatever-his-last-name-is-now, and chased her, after she did him the favor of blinding him with her Hate. A mistake she was sure he’d never make again. Eoin, with his eyes on Anicka. Her threat to his world having gotten to the point where he could no longer stand it, he also reminded himself of the all the times she’s gotten the best of him. Blood Money. The threat that chased him away last week. The time for that sort of shit was officially over. It was time for payback. Anicka, alternating her concentration on both of her opponents. Eoin, for having been on the attack with people she considered friends, and family. And of course, Dollface. Who Anicka had the honor of eliminating at Blood Money, but had also had to watch as she regularly attacked Vincent Black, a man who adored her for her relationship with his children. Children that adored her back, and had an hour ago, asked her to settle the score for dear old dad. She was so intent on doing so, that she never noticed Enforcer, who’s eyes were locked on her.
The crowd gasped as he grabbed her head and bashed her in the mouth with his elbow. Anicka stagged, staying on her feet, but lost her balance when Eoin kicked her in the chest, and she fell backwards. Enforcer and Eoin began to stomp on Anicka, kicking her in the chest, and head, as she tried to crawl to the corner to get to her feet. The crowd begins to boo as the crawl at the bottom of the screen is full of sad face emojis and WTF’s and the like. Dollface watches from the other corner, not moving a muscle. Enforcer and Eoin lift Anicka up, and position her in the corner. Blood gathers in the corner of her mouth, and Eoin and Enforcer go thirsty for more, attacking her with little regard for anything but the production of more blood. Dollface slowly back away, and suddenly, Sarah Wolf leaps over the barricade and pulls Anicka out from under the bottom rope. Eoin swipes at Sarah, but Enforcer stops him, knowing damn well what will happen if he lays hands on Xavier’s sister. Dollface turns to see Vincent Black sliding into the ring, and leaps out between the ropes, tripping on the rope and tumbling to the floor before scurrying away.
Vincent turns his attention to Eoin and Enforcer, and bum rushes them. He clotheslines Enforcer and grabs Eoin by the ears, headbutting him repeatedly until he falls. Apathy rushes out and attacks Vin from behind. The two begin to throw lefts and rights until security comes sliding into the ring. Sarah helps Anicka away from the ring, as Eoin and Enforcer rush into the ring and join the attack on Vin. Unexpectedly, Paul Montouri runs down the aisle and slides into the ring, throwing hands at Eoin, then Enforcer and finally Apathy. He can’t keep the three of them occupied for the whole time, but doesn’t have to. Vhodka Black joins the fray, and Vincent gets to his feet, Spearing Enforcer with brutal efficiency. As the security team trys to break it up, Apathy calls her soldiers to her heels, and they exit through the crowd, as Paul and Vin talk and Vhodka waves at a cotton candy salesmen, only to tell him if he makes a burrito out of it she’s gonna fuck him up.
Mason Alexander Vanderbilt: Listen, the way you speak about Sienna on social media, you have no right. No right at all.
The Occhi camera system lights up somewhere backstage, where Austin Ramsey is stood in front of Mason Alexander Vanderbilt.
MAV: Sienna isn’t even here tonight because people like you just have no idea the impact of words, you think you’re tough but you’re just a keyboard warrior, and I’m challenging you to go one on one with me RIGHT NOW. I DONT CARE if I have a match later. I’ll fight twice. Three times, whatever. I’m riled up and I’m gonna prove that I’m no loser.
Ramsey is laughing in his face by this point.
Austin Ramsey: What a joke. What a loser. I’m not a keyboard warrior, because I happened to say something horrible on the internet. I’d do it in person too. Now, go find that skank and let her know I got a kiss right here for he–
And then Austin’s world went black.
Graham Clauson came bolting from the blue and levelled Austin with a Macbook Pro. He looked up at Mason, apologized for interrupting, and then continued to beat on Ramsey.
MDM vs Mason Alexander Vanderbilt
Murphy holds up the Queens title and points to MAV who shakes his head ‘noooo’ in response. Murphy smiles, and drops it down to the ground. The alert goes off and MAV rushes MDM, attempting a cross body that Murph destroys with a kick to the stomach, removing MAV from the air and sending him crashing to the ground. MAV gets up quickly and gathers himself. Murphy beckons him to try that again. MAV says ‘no.’ Murphy says ‘come on, i’ll catch yeh this time. Be fun.’ MAV tells him to ‘fuck yourself, bro.’ Murphy smiles. ‘Maybe later.’
MAV starts to pace, trying to find a way to approach Murphy. Murphy follows him with his eyes alone, and after a beat starts to chant ‘this is boring’ which the fans immediately take up as well. MAV, who is in his own head over this match is hesitant. Not winning a match is one thing, but losing a match and getting saddled with a championship such as this. Could his career ever recover? Bad enough being the first loser champion, but the second? Second place king loser? That’s worse right?
Over the course of 20 minutes, Murphy and MAV put forth the best effort they could, and an amazingly entertaining match, to prove the other was more worthy of the title than they were. Several pin attempts were made, most ending in a two count due to the pressure of not wanting to maintain that title. But then something happened. Murphy was thrown into the corner right by where he’d dropped the belt. Looking down at it, Murphy became distracted and when he stepped away from the turnbuckle, MAV hit a running bicycle kick that landed dead on Murphy’s jaw, and laid him out. MAV quickly covered him, and in an emotional ending for him alone, MAV scored the pinfall, the win, and the right not to be the loser’s champion. Leaping to his feet, MAV celebrated like he’d actually won a worthwhile title. The audience clapped and cheered and laughed, as MAV exited the ring, and celebrated his way backstage. Murphy on the other hand got to his feet, slowly exited the ring, grabbed his belt, and walked over to the announcers booth. After a discussion that lasts a beat, Murphy and J. Micheal Brilliance both step into the ring, where JMB announces to the audience.
J Michael Brilliance: Your loser…AND STILL QUEENS CHAMPION, MURPHY DOYLE MAHER!!!
Murphy’s theme kicks on and he marches around the ring, holding the title aloft and pointing to it, as the crowd sings along with ‘Shipping Up To Boston’ by replacing the words with ‘Simpin’ Up For Murphy’ as they’ve been known to do.
Dolly Ain't Jolly
MAV walks backstage, still hyped that he didn’t win the chance to be a loser. When suddenly a door to the left of him in the hallway flies open and a flat screen TV shoots out and shatters against the wall. A chair follows a beat after and a scream of blood curdling volume emits from within. Carefully walking toward the door, MAV looks in to see Dollface sitting on her knees, out of breath. The walls are full of fist sized holes and every piece of furniture is tipped and/or broken. On either side of Dollface, beneath her fists, are small gatherings of blood drops, which are building toward being more of a puddle.
MAV slinks away, not wanting any piece of this, and Dollface continues to scream. She can be heard muttering under her breath ‘two versus one…’
To The Top, Ricky
Ricky Rodriguez is upset.
He’s upset because he came off on the worse side of one of the closest matches in FIGHT! NYC History. Sure, it’s a short history, but nonetheless, he thought he’d done enough. He knew he’d done enough, but he came up short.
And when I say upset, I really mean furious. Furniture is flying, expletives are too.
Arriving through the same corridor are the brothers Montuori, and their friend Tommy Kain. Notably, for all the bustle and bluster, they do lack Allison Riggs-Preston, who, if you believed half of what you read on social media, would have been by their side fawning at Joe and unable to even look where she is going. Nevertheless.
They’re talking among themselves, when out of nowhere, the Manhattan and Islands Champion decides to speak up.
Joe Montuori: Hey pal, you ok?
Ricky looks back at Joe, waiting for the insult. Joe Montuori isn’t typically a nice person. So it isn’t typically expected that he’d just ask how someone is doing.
Paul Montuori: Hey hey, wtf man? Don’t be a dick, you can clearly see he’s pissed.
Joe Montuori: I asked him… if he was okay… ?
Joe looks as perplexed as Paul. And Ricky is flat out confused.
Paul Montuori: Oh my bad. Force of habit I guess.
Ricky Rodriguez: I can’t believe I lost, man. I don’t know what I have to do to get ahead here.
Joe softens his body language, something that nobody ever expected to see.
Joe Montuori: Seems like ya been in a funk. I know that feelin’. After months of build up, I came back with all this fanfare and proceeded to lose my first three big matches or somethin’. Nothing more deflating. But look at me now, on top of the world. Look. It’ll turn around. I promise you. Why don’t you roll with us? I always appreciate a man who got another man’s back and I see that you’re going to bat for me over this Allie thing. Roll with us, kid, we’ll take you back to the top.
Ricky and JMont bump fists, Paul is surprised but not in an unhappy way.
Shawn Warstein vs Apathy
Warstein paced. He wasn’t happy in the slightest. The Cure had made it their mission to make his life a misery, and as they surrounded the ring, he knew that this was just another step down a long path that would seemingly never end. Cut one of the heads off, another two appear. They’d already grown in numbers on this very night, although of course the one who seemed to have the biggest problem with Shawn was nowhere to be found. Convenient.
But he’d settle for the defacto leader of the group. When he was done manhandling her, the message would be heard loud and clear. At least, that was the intention. But no sooner had they tied up with a collar and elbow, did Warstein start to realize that he was naive. Her back had barely touched the turnbuckle by the time a thick hand had gripped at his ankle, trying to distract him or better yet pull him off balance. Eoin O’Rourke.
Shawn Warstein: Fuck this.
Warstein knew this was a possibility. A likelihood. But five seconds in? Before he’d even gotten to clean her clock? The referee above them played a sound indicating a foul, but what good did this do for Warstein? Resetting the position, when he already had the upper hand? It just gave her time to adjust. He was going to take matters into his own hands, and he grabbed a handful of the fiery ginger hair that sat on top of Eoin’s head and clanged him into the ring post whilst leaning over the ropes.
Shawn Warstein: Anyone else want to take a cheap shot? I’m right the fuck here.
Apathy elbowed him in the back of the head, and then threw him over the top rope. There was no pretense in this at all. Korrupt slithered right up behind him and grabbed him by the neck and swung him violently down to the concrete with a maneuver he called TOTAL KORRUPTION. Immediately a horn sounded, and the screen lit up with
WINNER BY DQ. SHAWN WARSTEIN.
Talk about blueballs. Warstein, though, was valiant, and he got to his feet fairly quickly. O’Rourke was already a mess on the floor, Korrupt was shocked by his resilience to get to his feet after eating Total Korruption, and didn’t see the DDT coming. EGO TRIP. The newest member of The Cure was next. The Enforcer. The crowd booed heavily as he became the focus. Knee, elbow, spinning elbow – PPF! Enforcer staggered back.
Eventually, though, it was Apathy who managed to restrain Warstein and Dollface who unleashed her rage on him. She cocked her head to the side as she slid across the mat toward him and then obliterated him with a pair of knees flying through the air to his face.
The Occhi camera system did its work as it zoomed in on Warstein, laid amongst the bodies of Korrupt, Enforcer and Eoin O’Rourke, blood trickling from his lip.
Overlaying the main image was a shot of Kasey Winterborn, who was trying to get to the ringside area and was being held back by people in black polo shirts, insisting that she was going to end up suffering the same fate. She seemed desperate, though.
There Are Levels To This
Austin Ramsey and Graham Clauson had been doing the same dance since Blood Money. Neither man could accept their lot in life, always wanting to go one step further than the previous week, wanting to up the ante. And that’s where it’d begun to spiral. Previously, Austin Ramsey had been thrown down a flight of stairs and cut his face open, but still managed to chase down Clauson and cover him in copier ink. Ridiculous.
Tonight, however, Clauson had no interest in letting there be a comeuppance. It’d cost him before and he’d be damned if he left it to chance again. He cleaned that kid’s clock good, and now Austin Ramsey was zip-tied to an industrial sized copy machine, the type that are chained to the struts that hold the building together.
Graham Clauson: That’s enough… Enough! I’m sick up to my back-teeth of this. Of you! Of everything! Treading in the kiddie pool with people like Austin Ramsey taking a piss in the water is not what I’m here for. You’re not on my level, you don’t deserve to share the spotlight with anyone, let alone me.
Ramsey is barely conscious, Clauson nudges his head with his foot and laughs at him. He’s walking away, as a familiar sound is heard over the intercom.
WINNER BY FORFEIT. GRAHAM CLAUSON.
Graham Clauson: Forfeit?! How is beating a man and cuffing his ass down a forfeit?! I’d say this was a pretty decisive knockout victory, ya disembodied-sounding fuck… Come out the wall and explain it to me, Deathly Hallows.
Nevertheless, regardless of the official call, Clauson considered it easy work, and a job well done. But as his feet click into the concrete floor, he noticed that another set of footsteps is walking in step with him. He stops short, turns around and notices a rather tall, elegant and slender figure standing behind him. Druscilla White.
Druscilla White: Clauson, right?
Graham Clauson: You don’t need to ask. And no, I’m not available for any weird polyamory thing that you’ve got going on. I know all the horny weirdos around here want to jump anything but let’s just say…well, you’re the wrong sex.
Druscilla White: Oh I definitely want to jump your bones, but not in that way. No. It seems like you ended up with the night off, so I wanted to see if you wanted an alternative dance partner. One that can keep up.
Clauson laughs out loud, almost having to double take.
Graham Clauson: Wait…you’re not joking, are you?
Druscilla White: You aren’t going to break into the main event scene if you keep making your opponents forfeit before they make the walk.
Graham Clauson: Oh…you really weren’t joking. Okay, well…here’s the thing, though, uh…who are you again?
Druscilla White: Don’t be coy now, Gray.
Graham Clauson looks genuinely perplexed.
Graham Clauson: Are you new? I seriously have no clue who you are, and I really don’t give a shit. Likelihood is, you’re getting buried by these idiots just like I am. I’m not here to give you a platform or let you piggyback on my climb up. I’m here to take my own. Bigger fish to fry, all that shit. Maybe one day, but today isn’t your day. See, these troglodytes seem to have forgot just who the fuck they’re dealing with. I’m The Shoot King, I’m the fucking Kingpin, and I knocked the owner’s twin brother out cold not even a month ago. I’m a motherfucking problem, whatever the hell you’re supposed to be, and I need the opportunity to prove it because it feels like these guys have forgotten.
Dru smirks at him, watching him get agitated.
Graham Clauson: Maybe it’s time I got Vin Black the fuck out of bed and beat him half to death again. Maybe after that, they’ll remember just who they should be burying.
Graham Clauson feign apologizes again, and the occhi system cuts away from him and we see Miss F standing beside J Michael Brilliance in the commentary booth. She smirks to herself.
Miss F: That just gave me an idea for next week. Not the one they wanted, though. We’ll get Vincent Black “out of bed”, so-to-speak. And he can tag with his wife, Vhodka Marie. Against the pair of them.
Joe Montuori: Lets just go out there and beat him senseless. Look at what happened with Apathy’s match. Who cares?
Paul Montuori: What? Why? No.
The scene fades in to the locker room of Tommy Kain, where Paul and Joe Montuori are sat either side of him, like an angel on one shoulder and the devil on the other.
Paul Montuori: You’re always trying to do shady shit, man. Dickie knows his time is coming, we dont need to resort to those cheap tactics.
Tommy Kain: Besides, you think I can’t take him? Even Dane beat him.
Paul Montuori: EVEN DANE BEAT HIM. BASURA. Go get him Tommy. I believe in you papi.
Tommy Kain: I believe in me too, for the DYNASTY!
Paul Montuori furrows his brow. Was he in a fucking sitcom?
Dickie Watson vs Tommy Kain
Dickie Watson stood across from Tommy Kain, and he could just see Paul Montuori’s stupid face screaming BASURA down the microphone right after he’d fallen short to Dane Preston. They run together, the message will be delivered. The former Co-Southern Champion of the OPW, and one of the longest running XKore champions was no joke, and Watson wasn’t looking past Kain. He was looking through him.
At Paul Montuori’s behest, the rest of his crew, even the goat and the little guy were backstage. One on one, fair is fair.
But it would be anything but fair, with the FIGHT! NYC Empire Champion. He unstrapped his belt from his waist and placed it in the corner. Kain took the opportunity to try a cheap shot, but you don’t pull one over on the champion like that. In fact, the intensity displayed, and the focus in the champion’s eyes was everything. You could clearly see that everything he did, he was imagining that his opponent was not Tommy Kain but the one he’d face at some point in the future with the championship on the line.
Tommy wilted under the pressure, and it didn’t take long for Dickie to make a statement at his expense. He leapt into the air, grabbing Tommy by the head and drove him into the ground with DICKIE’S REVENGE, and that was all she, or he, or they, wrote.
Dickie stood over the body of Tommy Kain, and started gesturing towards a random camera.
Dickie Watson: Make sure he sees this. Remember he couldn’t beat this man, and I made him look like a journeyman.
It was true, Tommy Kain didn’t look like a man with a spark of excitement in his eye, he didn’t look like the guy who ran the best of them to the wire. He looked jaded. It could be because he didn’t have Pierre or the GOAT, it could be because Dickie’s that special. Nevertheless, it didn’t take but a moment for Paul Montuori to appear.
He got in Dickie’s face, no doubt remarking over the clinic that he just put on at his friends’ expense. The occhi system was certainly high-tech enough to have captured that audio in high definition, but the broadcast omitted it. They were yelling silently at each other, before finally Dickie threw an open-handed slap into the face of Montuori. Montuori drove one straight back and then they bundled back against the ropes.
For a solid thirty seconds, the pair of them managed to exchange three or four moves each and then boos started ringing out throughout FIGHT Tower’s arena. The Islands Champion and Manhattan Champion, Joe Montuori, appeared as if from nowhere, with Ricky Rodriguez in tow, and they swarmed onto Dickie. The Empire Champion got a few licks in on Joe, but ultimately was overwhelmed. Paul Montuori was pleading with his brother to stop, to let him fight his own battles, but even so, Joe drove another boot into the face of Dickie Watson.
The occhi system zoomed in real close to the face of Dickie, which had a welt and a cut around his right eye socket.
Shit Hits The Fan
A cab pulls up in front of the FIGHT building and none other than the Femme Fatale, VooDoo, gets out and makes her way across the side walk to the front doors, she walks as she always does, with purpose in her stride. It was a walk that made everyone scurry out of her way for fear of getting run over; despite the fans waving and asking for autographs, she made straight for the elevators and grabbed the first one that everyone had just stepped off of.
A Voice: Hold the elevator!
VooDoo held her hand out and stopped and stopped the door then soon regretted it when Joseph Montuori, aka JMont, stepped inside.
VooDoo: As if my day wasn’t shitty enough.
Joe Montuori: I love you, too, Voo. JMont smirked at her. How’s our girls?
VooDoo’s head snapped in his direction so fast that he thought for sure she might have given herself whiplash. Her eyes narrowed as she turned and faced him and stepped towards him in a manner that made him step back from her and into the elevator wall, holding his hands up in a defensive manner.
Joe Montuori: Whoa, now, easy, Voo. I was just joking.
VooDoo: If those words ever utter your lips again, I will rip your tongue out of your mouth and make you eat if just so no one else will have to hear the drivel that comes out of it.
VooDoo stood there staring up at JMont, who stood almost a foot taller than her and outweighed her by 100 lbs as if she was dating him to utter some more bullshit. The mood she was in, one wrong word and she would paint the elevator with his blood.
Joe Montuori: Shitty day, huh? He gave a half smile and then relaxed his guard. I feel ya. He lifted up his chin a little. If you need someone to choke, I’m here for ya, Babe.
VooDoo: I can almost imagine the look on your face as I strangled the shit out of you? She took a couple of steps back and turned back to face the doors again. She cast a sideways glance at him. Don’t make me kill you anymore than I already want to. I can’t believe you’re doing this to Dane and Allison.
The elevator stopped on the floor where JMont’s apartment was and the doors slid open. He stepped out and turned around and smiled at her.
Joe Montuori: The heart wants what the heart wants. He puts his thumbs and index finger together in the shape of a heart
VooDoo: One of these days, someone’s going to rip your heart out of your chest. She raises her right hand and flips him off as the doors slid closed.
The elevator continued up to its destination, the top floor where Xavier Black’s office was, she needed to talk to him about Damon and what happened at the hospital. The elevator grinded to a halt causing her to immediately look up where she knew the ceiling tile was. The door slid open revealing that the car was stopped between floors and there she was. Vhodka Marie Black, she was laying on the floor with a smile on her face and chin resting in the palms of both hands with her elbows on the floor.
VooDoo: Well, shit.
Vhodka Marie: View looks interesting from up here.
VooDoo: What do you want Vhodka? I don’t have time for your shit today.
Vhodka Marie: Oh but you do… VooDoo.
She got up on her knees and reached behind her and pulled a hose with a 5 inch cap on the end, VooDoo was about to ask her what she was doing, as she pulled the release switch on the side of the cap and human waste began to pour out and fill the car. VooDoo lept back as far away as she could and didn’t dare try for the door, she knew without a doubt that Vhodka would turn the hose on her.
VooDoo: For fuck’s sake, Vhodka. These boots are brand new.
Vincent Black: What are you doing?
Vhodka dropped the hose but left the cap open so the car continued to fill.
Vhodka Marie: Nothing. She said as innocently as she possibly could.
Vincent Black: What’s that smell?
Vhodka Marie: Burritos from last night?
VooDoo: Vincent?! Is that you? Get me out of here.
Vincent stepped closer and got a real good look before he sighed the most heaviest that either woman had heard him sigh and shake his head. He said nothing as he looked between the mothers of his children and then with that quickness his wife didn’t expect, he pushed her into the car with VooDoo. She let out a yelp as she fell in and quickly jumped to her feet.
Vincent Black: That’s fuckin’ it. I’ve had about enough of BOTH your shit. As he talked, the hose continued to pump the car full.. I’ve got no other option but family therapy.
Vhodka Marie: What happened to letting us work it out on our own?
VooDoo: Yes, what happened to that indeed.
Vincent Black: You’re doing a shitty job of it. He yelled at both of them. He reached down and picked up the hose and shut it off, they were now up to their waists. If I were the kid, I would ask for maternity tests to make sure you were my mother. Without another word to them, he turned around and said to Xavier’s assistant. Can we find out who’s helping these two? I don’t think they are smart enough to figure it out on their own.
VooDoo: Excuse you. VooDoo crossed her arms over her chest.
Vhodka Marie: That was rude. Vhodka did the same
Vincent Black: Candice, hit the lobby button. He asked her since she was the closest, but all she did was look at him, arms still crossed defiantly. Please. She continued to stare at him for a moment before she reached over and pressed the button. Thank you.
As the doors closed, Vincent looked at the two women, standing almost the same way with their arms crossed, heads cocked just slightly staring daggers into him and realised that he had a type. Some men like blondes, some men like redheads, but him… he liked the mean ones.
The last thing the two Matriarchs heard as they stared at each other from neutral corners while the doors closed, was Vincent instructing the assistant to let the lobby know there was a Code M coming their way and to call Ani; finding out who was hacking the elevator system and aiding and abetting the two women was something up her alley.
Backs Against The Wall
Dickie Watson held an ice pack to his eye. His FIGHT! NYC Empire Championship was unceremoniously face down on a fold-out chair, and his wrestling boots were off too. He was impatiently waiting for the nurse to stitch his eye, frustratedly sighing every few breaths.
Dickie Watson: How long’s this gonna take, mate?
The nurse, a tall man with striking features, didn’t acknowledge Dickie at all. But someone else did. From across the room, a familiar looking man with an ice-pack of his own held to his face.
Shawn Warstein: Took them about forty minutes to put two stitches into my lip and it hurt like a bitch.
Dickie Watson: Great.
Warstein, flanked by Kasey Winterborn, sits perched on the same gurney that Watson was sitting on.
Shawn Warstein: Always seems like you gotta have your back to the wall around here, right?
Dickie Watson: They seem to run in groups and hunt in packs. Always looking behind me, never know where the next one’s coming from.
Shawn Warstein: Maybe we need to figure something out.
Fatal Attraction vs ROAR
The match began the way most tag matches go. Each team discussing strategy while looking at the other. Except Joe Montouri never took his eyes off Allison, while Allison never took her eyes of their opponents. Both teams finally decide who will start it off, and Joe Montouri meets Dark Tiger in the center of the ring. Dark Tiger, being a good and decent person tries to offer a test of strength by raising his arm in the air. Joe Montouri, being not those things, punches him in the ribs as hard as he can, and follows up with an alternate jab into his face. Backing him up to the rope banks, Joe whips DT to the opposite bank, but follows closely and elbow strikes him over the top rope and to the floor. DT gets up right off, but Allison runs past him and kicks him the head as he attempts to get back inside the ring. Stumbling away from the apron, he turns to head back in just as Joe Montouri slides under the bottom rope and kicks him the jaw, putting him on his ass against the guard rail behind him. Joe sits on the apron for a second, smiling before rolling out of the ring, and picking DT up by his hair. DT grabs Joe’s wrist, and levels him with a left hand. He attempts a second, but Allison is off the apron and knees him in the face, hitting the floor and rolling to her feet. She is on her feet for barely a second before LMA rushes over and after jump off the steps, dropkicks Allison into the crowd. LMA turns to find Joe rushing toward her, sending her spiraling with a leaping clothesline that almost takes her head off.
And so this match went for almost 15 entire minutes. The four of them battling it out with barely any of it taking place in the actual ring. Had it not been for Joe Mont’s presence of mind, and him rolling in and out of the ring, it would have ended in a double count out. But instead, the match came to an end when LMA tagged in DT at about the 15:30 mark. As DT rushed toward Allison who was the legal combatant, Joe slapped her ass lightly, making him the legal man. Unaware of this, DT grabs Alliso and pulls her away from her corner. He bends her over in an attempt to pile drive her, but Allison rallies and hoists DT into the air, where Joe Mont comes running, grabs his head and hits the Twized Thoughtz. Allison runs forward and spears LMA through the ropes and off the apron, and Joe goes for the count and picks up the win.
As Joe and Allison celebrate in the ring, Paul Mont and TK come out to celebrate with the happiest couple in FIGHT. No sooner than this happens, does Dane, Murphy, and Sahara come barreling out of the entrance way, all of them looking toward the ring with absolute anger in their eyes. Dane slides into the ring, as Paul and TK leap out. TK gets in MDM’s face and the two begin to argue about which amount of initials is best, 2 or 3, we assume. As Paul and Sahara seem to take a more traditional avenue of arguing and go right for the jugular so to speak.
Meanwhile, in the ring, Joe Mont and Dane are just about at each others throats in the physical sense, as Allison stands in the middle of the ring, listening to both and believing either. Two grown men in a pissing contest in a profession where they can hit each other is not an impressive sight. And as if on cue, TK punches Murphy, Paul shoves Sahara, Dane hits Joe, and Allison looks around at the chaos, and just picks up her belt and makes her way backstage.
As the chaos unfolds in the ring, Allison Riggs-Preston has left with her belt, and we see the melee on the screen zoom out, further from us, as the exterior of a monitor edges into the shot, then a table with a championship on it, and then a couple of silhouettes.
Shawn Warstein: These are the idiotic parasites that we’re competing with.
He laughs, resignedly.
Dickie Watson: They’ve got us over a barrel, taking pot shots at their whim. We ain’t competing at all, as it goes.
The second voice says.
Shawn Warstein: Outgunned, overwhelmed.
Dickie Watson: This shite ends now.
Dickie puts a fist up to Warstein. The shot pans back a bit, and you see Kasey Winterborn’s unmistakeable red hair catching the light despite them being shadowed out by the glow of the screen they’re looking at. A few more seconds, and a fourth silhouette. Again, instantly recognizable as the FIGHT! Brooklyn Champion.
The four of them touch fists as we lose the feed.