...The lights go out, and all you see is a spotlight on the stage. The crowd falls silent, as there is no light or sound for a good 30 seconds or so. Then...

(OVER THE SPEAKERS)

***Don't you know we fuck for money, I'm a big dick motherfuckin'....PORNO STAR!***

...While the music plays, a woman, dressed in a very tight, low cut black dress, walks out and drops to her knees. A man, very tall...light brown hair, who is very well dressed in a fine suit and sunglasses, walks onto the stage. He takes his sunglasses off, and the woman begins running a finger down his chest. He pulls her up by her hair, runs a hand up her thigh, turns her head to the side, and licks her neck. As she bites her lip and looks away, he is handed a microphone...

???: "Ladies, gentlemen, and ladymen. I would like to welcome you to the inaugural Strike Towers Wrestling in the era of SeXXXcellence. The era of...SHAYNE.....STEELE!"

...The crowd, recognizing the name, is heard letting out a chorus of boos...

STEELE: "You can jeer all you want. Go ahead, boo. I'll wait."

...The boos get significantly louder, as Shayne is visibly, and somewhat audibly, laughing...

STEELE: "See, I've been spending my time nowadays wrestling at shows twice a year, and making my daily bread in...other forms of entertainment. Just Google 'Shayne Steele and a midget' and you'll see what I mean. When I was in the RWA, I wasn't dedicated to wrestling. I was dedicated to nailing EVERY broad that I met, doing a line of coke off of her tits, one off her ass, and then nailing her friend. For 9 years in the wrestling business, I just wrestled, fucked, and snorted blow. So why not do it all in front of a camera to make MILLIONS? And believe me, I made....MILLIONS."

...The fans start an 'ASSHOLE!' chant, Shayne just stands there and soaks it up...

STEELE: "You guys have me all wrong, I'm a tits and twat only sort of guy."

...Amidst a smattering of laughs and boos, Shayne goes on...

STEELE: "So, why come back? It's simple. The thrill of victory, the competition. The porn world is a strange beast. There's no competition. There's nobody like me, who does what I can do on camera. Nobody who is in demand like me. Not like there's any competition for me here, either. There is, however, an opportunity. The opportunity to get my name back on the tongues of every red blooded sonofabitch in this country, on this planet, and in this UNIVERSE. If I - pardon - WHEN I become the SFT World Heavyweight Champion, the world will know EXACTLY who I am and what I'm about. And judging by the people you have running around this place, I figure I was in line for a title shot when I was still nailing bitches in my trailer between shoots. So let this be a warning, all of you stuffed shirt, tight ass, suit wearing pricks...Arianna and I are the best you've got, we're already celebrities...so put this mess you call a wrestling outfit on MY back, and watch the ratings...amongst other things....RISE."

...The music comes back through the speakers...

***Take off your clothes, and shut the door...pornographic, monster on the floor...***

...Shayne begins to take off his suit jacket and unbuttons his shirt, as Arianna reaches down and begins to unzip his pants. Just as this happens, all the lights go out, and the music stops. When it comes back on, all you see on the stage are Shayne's clothes, and Arianna...who goes running to the back, smiling...

Jim Martin and Cheeky Joe are both in the ring as the bell rings, but as soon as the bell rings we see Cowboy Jack Jones come running down to the ring with cowbell in hand. He avoids a clothesline from Jim and a knee from Joe, he nails first Jim right in the forehead then he nails Cheeky in the neck, knocking out both men.

JC: The Wall has taken out the trash it would seem

RW: What a waste of time.

Winner: No Contest

No More Fears" by Dale Oliver begins to play. T.K. walks to the ring loosening his wrists and stretching his neck. Meanwhile on the StrikeTron images of him in his matches are showing and watermarked in them are his accomplishments shown at the tempo of the notes, during the sustained notes the words "SFT Hero" become static for the length of the note.

As T.K. climbs into the ring, his music stops suddenly and is immediately replaced by Dave Van Dam's theme song, "Changes" by Tupac. Dave walks out from the back and pyro explodes throughout the arena. As he makes his way down to the ring pyro in the pattern of DVD shoots off behind him. He hits the ring and the word Icon blazes the ringside area.

No sooner does Dave hit the ring than T.K. Money hits him with a knee to the ribs and a forearm to the head. Van Dam throws punches to the body of Money as T.K. pounds him in the head with elbow smashes and right hands. Referee Rudy Hebner quickly decides to go ahead and call for the bell.

Jane: This Hardcore Title contendership melee has started off red hot!

Chimpo: I guess you could say that.

Dave Van Dam wisely lowers his head and pulls out T.K. Money's legs out from under him double leg style. Dave follows up by dropping down to his knees and raining down heavy-handed lefts and rights to T.K.'s head. Money rolls backwards, tumbling out of Dave's grasp. Before The Immortal Icon can react, T.K. is back on his feet, charges and connects with a shining wizard.

T.K. Money quickly looks to take advantage, heading to the nearest corner to Dave's location. Money climbs the turnbuckle, slowly balancing himself on the top rope. As T.K. is crouched on the top rope, still holding the rope with both hands, Dave Van Dam rises suddenly. Van Dam swings and connects with a high kick which connects with the left temple of Money.

Jane: Look at the flexibility of The Immortal Icon!

Chimpo: Not bad, old man. Not bad.

T.K. Money is now reeling on the top rope, holding his head with his left hand and the rope with his right. Dave Van Dam turns his back to him and leaps up in the air, yanking T.K off the top with a jumping cutter. Money's face bounces off the mat as Van Dam drops him hard.

Jane: Original Sign!

Chimpo: Is it Sign or Sin?

Jane: I don't know, on the website it says Sign.

Chimpo: Weird.

The impact with the mat causes a potentially knocked out T.K Money to tumble under the bottom rope and all the way to the floor. Dave Van Dam stands and quickly pursues T.K to the outside. Van Dam grabs Money and lifts him onto his shoulders in a torture rack.

Jane: This could be Legendary Mark!

Chimpo: Not on the floor!

"Wait And Bleed" by Slipknot hits suddenly. Dave Van Dam releases T.K. Money, who falls to the floor. The lights go out, and a green spotlight focuses on the stage. Shadow suddenly appears beneath the glow of the light, and the spot follows him as he walks half way down the ramp. The spotlight goes out as Shadow stops, plunging the arena into darkness once again. The music stops in the blackness.

At last the lights come back up, and Shadow still lingers on the ramp. Dave Van Dam stands there glaring at him.

"What are you doing? I've got a match here. Get out!"

T.K. Money stands quickly and grabs Dave Van Dam in a rear waistlock. Money turns Van Dam so that he is facing the ringsteps. T.K. runs forward a little, and pushes Dave hard in the back. Both of DVD's knees smack hard against the steel steps, leaving clear dents in the steps and possibly having the same effect on Dave's patellas.

As Dave Van Dam rests with his hands on the steps, T.K. Money grabs him from behind with a roll-up. Rudy Hebner slides out of the ring as Money forces Van Dam's shoulders down to the thinly padded concrete. As T.K. holds Dave, he lifts his legs and rests his feet on top of the ringsteps.

Jane: The schoolboy! T.K. has his feet on the steel steps!

Chimpo: That's innovative, I've never seen that before!

1... 2... 3!

Jane: Oh, come on! T.K. Money used the ringsteps for leverage!

Chimpo: It's a Hardcore Championship contenders match, Jane. That pin was as legal as an Oklahoma roll or crucifix pin.

T.K. Money releases Dave Van Dam and hops to his feet, celebrating as though he had just won the Rose Bowl. Van Dam is quickly back up as well, and he slams his fists down on the ring apron, then kicks the steel steps- knocking the top portion right off the base.

Shadow walks backwards up the ramp, with a mysterious but satisfied grin on his face.

Winner: TK Money

Stood with his hands on his hips in the middle of the ring, the referee assigned to the match which should have started some five minutes before takes another glance at his watch, and the top of the ramp. Shrugging his shoulders, he ducks under the top rope and hops down to ringside, to consult with the timekeeper.

Ordering the bell to be rung, as an apparent formality, he slides back under the bottom rope as it chimes three times to indicate the official start of a bout no-one has apparently turned up for.

No sooner does the official turn to order the bell rung again and the contest forfeit, than his attention is piqued by a loud but localised cheer from a section of the arena to his left. Leaning over the top rope, narrowing his eyes, the referee picks out two men – the supposed competitors tonight – engaged in a vicious exchange of punches and jabs, as they make their way towards the ring through the crowd itself.

The crowd whoop with delight as the taller of the pair, Redd, accepts a proffered steel chair courtesy of a particularly blood-thirsty fan and crashes it down against his opponent's head. Mike sinks to his knees, then down backwards to the hard floor courtesy of a knee to the face designed to help him on his way.

Taking his opponent by a slack arm, Redd drags him the short distance to the perimeter wall dividing the crows from ringside, and unceremoniously tosses him over, back-first, so he crashes against the steel steps rising up to the apron. Stopping to offer the fan his dented chair back with a nod and a high-five, Redd steps over the wall and “helps” Mike into the ring proper.

Leaning against the turn-buckle, giving Mike enough time to unsteadily climb up to his knees, Redd reaches a hand around the front of his opponent's neck and roughly pulls him up to standing. Laying a supporting hand on Mike's back, one impressive show of strength and its resulting brainbuster brings the farce of a competition to a speedy close.

Leaning over to hook a slack leg, The Forgotten One nods every time the official's hand strikes the mat.

One, two, three.

Patting Mike on the shoulder as if to thank him for the workout, Redd climbs to his feet, gives the referee a few seconds to raise his hand and finish the job, and promptly steps back over the rop and down to the floor.

The referee watches as The Forgotten One makes his way back up the ramp; glancing down at the prone Awesome Mike, before shaking his head.

Winner: Redd

John Schoonover's music hits, and he silently walks to the ring. The crowd is almost as stone silent as the mute monster known as the Silent Assassin.

Static can be heard ringing through the loud speakers as clouds pass through the screen of the Strike-Tron the words "Continue the Revolution" appear on the screen in blood red letters, seconds later we hear the opening riffs of "Revolution Begins" by Arch Enemy ring out through the arena as the crowd stands to their feet knowing who is to appear. Within a few seconds we see the curtains get thrown aside, we then see the figure of Rachelle Deviose, Dameon's valet, step out onto the rampway with a large figure following closely behind this soon enough is realized to be the one and only Dameon, wielding his ever trusty kendo stick in his right hand, and his Hardcore Championship tightly gripped in the other. As usual half and half the crowd boos and cheers for "The Beast" as him and his psychotic temptress make their way down the ramp, randomly yelling things out towards the crowd. "Never too late to stand your ground - Revolution begins. In you - In me - Revolution! " The song continues to play as Dameon and Rachelle are now arriving near ringside, Dameon then hands off his title to Ms. Deviose as he grips a couple of fans shoulders, hoisting himself up onto the guardrail while raising the kendo stick high into the air, drawing a reaction from the entire crowd before him. A moment later Dameon hops down from the guardrail, hitting the ground and instantly spinning around leaping onto the apron, spinning around and throwing his arms out in a very "Messiah-like" fashion as Rachelle sits on her knees next to "The Beast" staring first up at him and then out to the crowd. Helping his valet to her feet Dameon then steps into the ring, making his way over to his corner, handing his kendo stick to Rachelle, Dameon then throws up the ever familiar "X" before he begins to loosen up for his match.

Jane: Quite a contrast in entrance style there.

Chimpo: Yeah, Schoonover walked out almost bored and disinterested almost as though he were walking the Green Mile.The Silent Assassin showed very little animation and liveliness, while The Beast is ever the narcissist when it comes to flaunting himself.

Referee Hendrix takes the Hardcore Championship from Dameon, and displays it in all four direction to the half-interested cheers of the crowd. Hendrix then passes the belt to ring announcer Amanda Summers.

Hendrix (giving pre-match instructions): Okay, boys, this match is for the Hardcore Championship. That means no count outs or disqualifications, and falls count anywhere. I'm going to ring this bell, and then the two of you try to tear each other apart. Understood?

The Beast and The Silent Assassin both nod without a word. Hendrix calls for the bell. Dameon quickly initiates a collar-and-elbow tie-up, instantly transitioning that into a rear waistlock. The Beast hooks John Schoonover for a leg hook belly to back suplex, but as Dameon lifts him up for an early Revolutionizer attempt, The Silent Assassin slips out of his grasp and lands behind The Beast. A startled and surprised Dameon turns around only to get a powerful hand slapped around his throat in a single arm choke.

Chimpo: The goozle!

Jane: What?!

Suddenly, "Let It Roll" by Divide The Day hits and Lars Adams walks out with James Halford in tow. Halford is carrying a sledgehammer, which Adams takes from him as they walk down the ramp.

Jane: God, now what?

Chimpo: It's The Motorhead Lars Adams along with The Priest James Halford. It's been awhile since we've seen these two guys, but it appears the self-proclaimed High King of Strike Towers has returned.

In the ring, John Schoonover ignores the intruders and lifts Dameon for a chokeslam. The Silent Assassin holds The Beast up by the throat until Halford hops onto the ring apron. Schoonover lips turn up in a scowl, and he releases Dameon, allowing The Beast to fall to the mat on his knees.

John Schoonover goes to confront James Halford, but Halford grabs him in a vise grip from the apron and lifts him off the mat. James clobbers John with a headbutt and releases him, causing him to fall to the mat. Halford steps into the ring and grabs Dameon as soon as the Hardcore Champion gets to his feet. James whips Dameon to the ropes, and nails a bicycle on the return. Lars Adams slides into the ring with the sledgehammer still in hand. He points to John Schoonover, who is using the ropes to get to his feet.

Halford grabs hold of Schoonover, and whips him in the direction of Adams. Lars drives the head of the sledgehammer into John's temple, causing the Silent Assassin to drop to the mat with an audible THUD. James then grabs hold of Dameon and pulls him to his feet, holding The Beast's head tightly. Halford releases Dameon's head just in time for Adams to pound him with a sledgehammer shot as well.

James is not done yet, as he grabs the motionless Dameon by the throat. He pulls The Beast up to his feet, and Dameon appears to be out cold. This does not stop Halford from tranquilizing The Beast with a hard Chokebreaker. He stands up with a grin.

John Schoonover manages to turn over onto his stomach, holding his head with both hands. James Halford smiles and walks towards the prone prey. Halford lifts Schoonover to his feet, and locks his limp body in an inverted full nelson. James hoists John as high off the mat as he can before falling forward and driving the Silent Assassin nearly through the mat with a spinebuster. Lars Adams gestures outside the ring to Amanda Summers, who hands him her microphone.

Lars Adams: You know, I'm getting pretty damn tired of the lack of effort around here. The two of you guys screwed up at November Reign, yet get thrown into this title match against one another tonight. Dameon, I thought I already "warned" you about such behavior once.

Lars Adams: John Schoonover, you haven't said anything in weeks. Come to think of it, you haven't said anything in your entire life. But allow this to be the message sent. No longer will anyone get a free pass around here for slacking off. Either show a little initiative, or else we'll come beat it out of you. I have invested a lot in Strike Towers, and I must protect my investment. Unlike "Connor MacDaddy," I do care about SFT and its performers. I want what is in the best interest of Strike Towers because it just so happens to coincide with my own best interests.

Lars Adams: And a championship match where neither man displays any desire or effort is NOT in the best interest of SFT. Thereby, this match is officially OVER.

The High King tosses the microphone out to the floor, where Amanda Summers squats to pick it up.

Winner: No Contest

The World Champion did not wait for his pyrotechnics or crashing entrance theme – flinging the curtains aside and marching towards the ring with a singular purpose, even as Disturbed's Perfect Insanity began another playing through a surprisingly sparse arena. Groups of fans separated from others by rows of cold, empty plastic seating rose to their feet to cheer, or boo, working up their enthusiasm as Amanda Summers announced the particulars of the match.

“The following contest is scheduled for one-fall,” She began brightly, “ … And it is for the SFT World Heavyweight Championship! Introducing first--”

Summers was cut off abruptly as the Champion in question snatched the microphone from her hand and spirited her away with a dismissive wave of his wrist. Tugging the heavy, shining metal belt from his waste he shoved it into the chest of the match official, Rudy Hebner, and leaned back against the ropes.

“Let's cut to the chase!” He urged with a winding motion of his palm. “You don't want to be here, and I certainly don't want to be here. So what say you, Cowboy? Why don't you saddle up, ride on out here and we can get this defence going – sooner we start, sooner you can go back to making camp in the outback and strumming your acoustic guitar … Right?”

The World Champion nodded his head in mock-approval as the twang of “I got friends in low places” made its lazy way around the arena. Bright spotlights swivelled towards the top of the rampway, as Josh lobbed the microphone back to ringside and leant forwards, expectantly, on the top rope.

Several minutes later, as the crowd's expectation turned to boredom and then, booing, Konnely's frown increasingly deepened. Jaw setting, he leaned back from the top rope and directed his displeasure towards Hebner, who for his part, offered nothing more than a shrug of his shoulders. The World Champion took a step backwards, hands on hips as he narrowed his eyes and stared up at the curtain which refused to admit his opponent.

The roar of the crowd ended Konnely's wait with enough time for the World Champion to turn around and receive a solid boot to the underside of the chin. Josh stumbled backwards, against the ropes, bouncing back and being taken down hard by a driven clothesline courtesy of Jack Jones having chosen to make his entrance from the other side of the arena. The challenger drove the heel of his boot into the Champion's ribs in quick stomps, before levering himself against the rope and dropping his leg across Konnely's throat.

Remaining in a sitting position, with the Champion's shoulders pinned, Jack managed a short two-count before Josh found enough sense to kick a leg out of the pin. Dragging the stunned, slightly shorter man up to his unsteady feet and hooking his arm over the top of Konnely's head, Jones hauls the World Champion up into the air and over in a textbook vertical suplex which brings the latter crashing down to the mat, clutching the back of his head.

A chorus of cheers rise up from around the front rows as Jack begins to climb the nearest turnbuckle - looking to bring the cows home, literally, and cement his established place in SFT's halls by claiming the World Championship once more.

The cheers turn to boos as Konnely smartly, if gingerly rolls out underneath the bottom rope and down to one knee on the mats surrounding ringside. Shrugging his shoulders, Jones hops down to the apron first, and then the floor, rounding the ring and delivering a swift boot to the World Champion's ribs.

Pulling him upright and then thrusting Konnely back so he rests on the top of the announcer's table, Jones pulls back a fist to crash into Josh's features but gets no further than steadying his aim as a heavy plastic pitcher of water for the benefit of the commentators behind is crashed into the challenger's skull by the wild swing of the World Champion.

Jones staggers back, temporarily blinded by the impact and the chunks of ice, before doubling over and sinking to his knees as the heel of Josh's boot is driven into the Cowboy's gut. Konnely sits up and shakes his head, his breath coming in ragged gasps – body covered in a sheen of cold sweat.

Recovering his sense somewhat, he turns his attention back to an uppercut straight into Jones' temple, sending the challenger backwards to fall onto the support of the ring apron. Konnely brings his elbow down against Jack's neck, teeth gritted with the effort of the impact. Taking a hold of the challenger by the legs, the Champion pushes him back under the bottom rope and into the ring.

Nursing the back of his neck, Konnely storms over to the timekeeper's position and snatches up his heavy title belt; dragging it by the strap up the steel staircase and through the ropes along with him into the ring. Folding the leather straps behind the shining gold faceplate, Josh hefts the entire Championship up to head-height and steps forward to drive it into the back of Jones' skull.

Motley Crue's “Mutherfucker of the Year” screams to life through the arena's speakers suspended high above the ring, bringing the sparse crowd to their feet in excitement and Konnely to a standstill – eyes darting up to the ramp, and then around the front row as if a certain Kyle Murphy was liable to appear spontaneously from anywhere.

Murphy made no entrance grander than pushing through the curtains at the top of the ramp – dressed casually, rather than for battle. The SFT veteran strode towards the ring, an unreadable expression on his face. Konnely lowered the belt down to hold against his waist, defensively, as he stepped back and began to trade insults with The Standard.

Hebner was across a split-second before Murphy climbed the apron – hands spread to bar the way and voice raised demanding Murphy turn straight around and go back the way he came. The World Champion tensed, ready to face his mentor-turned-nemesis-turned-mentor the moment he presented himself as a target.

Feeling a hand tap on his shoulder and momentarily forgetting himself, The World Champion turned around and instantly regretted it, as a kick to the midsection from Jack Jones drove the heavy gold of the World Championship into his stomach painfully.

Instinctively released the belt fell to the ring with a soft thud, as Jones helped Konnely to finish doubling over in pain and forced the latter's head between his thighs. Linking arms underneath and further compressing Josh's bruised stomach, the challenger delivered a thunderous piledriver to his opponent such that Konnely bounced up a second time before settling, prone, on the canvas.

Jack followed up with a pin, pulling a single leg over with his weight on the World Champion's chest.

The crowd loudly counted its own one, two three while Murphy continued to argue with the referee. Eventually, Kyle shrugged his shoulders and hopped down to the floor – raising his arms in mock-surrender and stepping back.

Hebner was across and down to the mat as quickly as his legs could carry him after his eyes took in the pin. His hand came down for the third and final time, to crown a new World Champion – a moment from brushing the canvas before a shoulder rolled up and down and nothing more.

The referee almost slid face-first down into the mat in his eagerness to make his count clear at two and not three. He waved his hands towards the timekeeper, shaking his head. Jack Jones, for his part, sat up and puffed his cheeks out in frustration.

Forcing himself up, the challenger turned his attention back to the turnbuckle he had tried to deliver the finishing blow from earlier. Taking advantage of the opportunity again, he climbed upwards and balancing himself precariously at the top, leapt off to bring the cows home for a second time.

“Hebner!” Murphy called out at the critical moment, his course voice rising above the ringside crowd for the briefest of moments. “Rudy!”

Jones tasted Championship gold, literally, as the belt was driven into his exposed face by a half-concussed but nonetheless experienced Konnely. Clutching his bloodied features, Jones rolled to the side, eyes squeezed shut in pain. Hebner waved away Murphy and returned his attention to the action, only to see he had evidently missed something. Beyond directing a deep scowl at Kyle as The Standard made his way up the ramp to a chorus of boos and whistles, the official had no choice but to begin to count out both men.

The reigning World Champion is on his knees by the count of five and has a triangle choke – The Unholy Trinity – locked in on a fidgeting Jack Jones by the count of nine. Realising too late the challenger thrashes around, his neck already twisting painfully as the gravity of the situation breaks through his mental fog.

Hebner is in position, close enough to smell the stale mix of sweat and blood wafting off of Jones as he asks the same question, repeatedly; “Give the word and I'll end it. Gimme' an answer, Jack – You wanna' give it up?”

Grunting in pain, neck bending against his spine, Jones manages to shake his head. Konnely ratchets up the pressure, now in the ascendency. Jack's grunts become groans and cries of agony but still, he refuses to surrender.

Ultimately, willpower was a slave to time spent in agony and as Jones' grunts and groans faded, so did his resistance to the Unholy Trinity. His eyes glazed over, lids sliding shut as his arms grew limp and prone; head further twisted in a vicious circle of pain, as his neck stopped resisting the tension Josh put upon it.

Hebner lifted Jones' right hand up and watched it fall to the mat without resistance three times. Twisting his head round, Rudy called for the bell.

No sooner had the chimes sounded, and Disturbed's Perfect Insanity began its second hearing of the night, did Konnely break the whole and sit up awkwardly, nursing the pain in his gut with a grimace as he snatched the Championship belt away from the referee.

That had not gone according to plan.

Winner: Josh Konnely

The show just fades…

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