Refueled 007

Refueled 007

The screen is black, as the HOTv flashes over the screen, followed by the logo for High Octane Wrestling. The show opens with a quick pan of a Yuengling Arena filled with a rowdy crowd tonight. Many in the crowd hold signs, and we get a few.

O’Dell = O’Verrated

Bobby Dean stole my Snickers

Listerine will sponsor Halitosis

I got concussed writing this sign pick me for War Games!

I’ll pay to keep Stevens at home

If Hollywood goes live from his mansion we riot

Crash doesn’t have car insurance

The Official Theme Song for War Games, “Gasoline” by I Prevail is blaring through the speakers. Amongst the palpable excitement, the show feed cuts to the best in the business, the Hall of Fame announce team.

Joe Hoffman: Hello everyone and welcome to the seventh episode of the Refueled era! I’m Joe and as always Benny Newell is by my side, and boy do we have an action packed show for you tonight!

Benny Newell: Joe, it’s the go home show before War Games and this is the last show before blood will splatter, bones being broken, and brains being scrambled inside a locked cage!

Joe Hoffman: You’re correct about that Benny as War Games is after this and this is the last opportunity for everyone to make a statement whether you’re in the Main Event for the ICON and World titles or the Tag Titles. Everyone is jocking for position at the top of the mountain leading into the pay-per-view.

The sound of tires screeching and then a loud crash.

♫ “Heroes And Villains” (Instrumental) by Powerman 5000 ♫

The HOW newcomer comes out onto the stage and stars towards the ring.

Joe Hoffman: Crash lost his debut match in HOW, but the rookie is looking to rebound tonight.

Benny Newell: Hoffman, him showing up tonight shows more than most of the revolving door in our history. Most can’t take a loss and they head back to whatever Fisher Price company they came from.

Crash runs full speed towards the ring and slides under the ropes and hops to his feet to shake the ropes like a wild man.

Joe Hoffman: Crash looks focused tonight.

Benny Newell: He better be Joe unless he wants a repeat performance.

♫ “My Time” by Fabulous♫

After a few seconds Jace Savage comes out excited hyping the crowd up. Pointing to his wrist as if he was wearing a wrist watch, then points to himself as he makes his way to the ring.

Benny Newell: No one cares about you or your imaginary watch. Fucking drink.

Jace walks up the stairs and when he is on the apron he wipes his feet off on the mat before climbing into the ring. He makes his way over to the corner and once again points to his wrist, then himself and finally throws both of his arms in the air.

Benny Newell: The next time this fuck points to his watch I’m going to point to my dick and skull fuck him until he has herpes of the brain.

Ding. Ding.

Joe Hoffman: And here we go.

Crash, like a bat out of hell, comes running out of his corner to deliver a double knee to Jace that staggers him into the corner. Crash begins to viciously attack the body of Jace Savage as does his best to cover up. Hortega almost reaches a count of cinco before Crash lets go. Hortega yells at Crash, but he tells him to go fuck himself in Spanish.

Benny Newell: Well, well. It looks like someone understands that beaner and told him off in his native Mexican tongue.

Joe Hoffman: It’s Spanish Benny.

Benny Newell: If it isn’t making America great again I’m not buying! DRINK!

As Joe shakes his head at the asinine comments from his broadcast partner, Jace takes the opportunity while Crash and Hortega spat to sneak up from behind and deliver a diving reverse DDT.

Joe Hoffman: Jace with a nice reverse ddt as he takes advantage of the distraction.

Jace lays on top of Crash after hitting the move.





Crash is able to kickout, but his legs are seen kicking about as Jace locks in a dragon sleeper.

Joe Hoffman: Nice fluid movements by Jace Savage.

Benny Newell: I’m about to have a fluid movement when I take a piss during the break.

Hortega asks if Crash wants to quit but the youngster flips off the official as he flails around trying to reach the ropes with his feet.

Joe Hoffman: Crash showing his defiance towards authority.

Benny Newell: Shhhhhhhhhhhhh!

Joe Hoffman: What?

Benny Newell: You can’t say that.

Joe Hoffman: Say what?

Benny Newell: The D word.

Jace tries to pull back on the submission and prevent the rookie from reaching the ropes but it comes a tad too late as the youngster hooks the bottom rope forcing the break. Jace quickly attacks the dazed Crash with a boot to the face followed up with stomps to the body.

Joe Hoffman: Savage showing no mercy towards the newcomer.

Benny Newell: HOW is a kill or be kill promotion. No room for Fisher Price pussies.

Jace goes to pick up Crash, but the youngster sends him staggering back with an up kick. Crash rushes at Jace and jumps on him.

Joe Hoffman: Crash with a Thesz Press.

Benny Newell: HOW is a kill or be kill promotion. No room for Fisher Price pussies.

Once Crash lands he begins unloading punches to Jace while screaming obscenities.

Joe Hoffman: Crash letting Jace know what he thinks of him.

Benny Newell: I’d tell him the same thing Joe.

Crash delivers one final punch before getting up and running the ropes.

Joe Hoffman: Rolling Thunder coming up….

Jace is able to get his knees up in time.

Benny Newell: He crashed and burned Hoffman, see what I did there.

Jace gets to his feet and drops a leg across the throat of Crash. Cover.




Crash kicks out before the count of three.

Joe Hoffman: Crash showing tremendous heart and determination.

Benny Newell: I’m impressed Hoffman and I don’t impress easily.

Jace lifts Crash up and whips him towards the ropes. Jace bends over and Crash leaps over and lands behind Savage. Savage turns around as fast as he can but gets doubled over from a boot to the gut and Crash hooks him.

Joe Hoffman: Twisted Memories coming up.

Crash spins, but in mid-spin Jace reverses the maneuver into a Northern Lights Suplex.
















Crash kicks out in the nick of time.

Joe Hoffman: Oh my! Crash kicked out and Jace can’t believe it!

Jace holds up three fingers and Hortega says it was a count of dos. Jace steps out onto the apron and yells for Crash to get up. Crash pulls himself up and when he turns around he sees Jace flying at him.

Joe Hoffman: Bankroll connects!

The Superman punch collides with Crash’s face sending the youngster backwards and stumbling through the ropes to the outside.

Benny Newell: That punch was savage!

Joe Hoffman: Just stop.

Benny Newell: What?

Jace makes his way over to where Crash went out but Hortega stops him.

Benny Newell: A count out victory is a victory.

Jace argues with Hortega before stepping back so he can begin his count.






Crash begins to move around.



Crash crawls halfway under the ring apron.

Joe Hoffman: What is Crash doing?

Benny Newell: Probably playing the jailhouse version of Peek-a-boo.


Jace has had enough waiting as he pushes Hortega aside and reaches through the ropes to grab Crash only to slingshot back into the ring.

Joe Hoffman: The heck was that?

A devilish smile appears on the face of Crash as he tosses a hammer to the ground before climbing onto the apron.

Benny Newell: Love it! DRINK!

Crash launches himself and places a picture perfect elbow into the chest of Jace. Cover.




Hortega calls for the bell and Crash is announced the victor.

Joe Hoffman: An evenly back and forth match tonight and Crash comes out victorious.

Benny Newell: This kid is the future Hoffman, we need to call and get him his green card so he doesn’t get sent back to his country. However, we need to celebrate with tequila shots and a Mariachi band playing La Cocorocha. Arriba.

Joe simply face palms as we head backstage.

Jonny O’Dell and Scott Stevens are seen walking the hallways of the Yuengling Center. In their possession, a large… bench?! They are both dressed in black, and are stomping through the halls with no regard for human life. They approach a door and come to an abrupt halt.

The name on the door: Lee Best.

GOD himself.

The two share a nod, and plop the bench right in front of the bosses door. The newly formed tag team simply look at each other, then at the bench… and now back at each other once again. They take a seat on said bench soon after; sitting a noticeable unfriendly distance away from each other.

After the two dig their heels in, a camera crew spots them, and quickly closes in.

Thank god for coincidence.

Oh look, there’s HOW’s THOT Blaire Moise as well.

Blaire: Gentleman, afte—

O’Dell: Take a hike, scamp. All I need is your microphone and feed. There’s no room on this bench for you.

Blaire awkwardly slumps off out of sight as there really is plenty more room on the bench. However, O’Dell and Stevens look in no mood for simple pleasantries and negotiation.

O’Dell: GOD won’t speak with us? Well you better hope and pray that he does because once this crazy old fool is sat, don’t expect him to get back up. That’s right. Get used to this, because this has been my seat for the past thirty fucking years, GOD only knows why.

Stevens allows O’Dell to rant and rave with both vacant expressions slapped across their faces.

O’Dell: So you want to glorify this shit? You want to be entertained?! Then you just wait till this bench is hot…. cos we ain’t moving. Not until your precious GOD answers our prayers.

There’s a gasp from the crowd. Suddenly it seems the duo of O’Dell and Stevens have gained the attention of the HOW audience and everyone viewing at home on HOTv for all the right reasons.

This time.

O’Dell: You know, I don’t speak for the fellow Benchwarmer beside me…

O’Dell glances at Stevens with an absent expression and no change. Stevens simply doesn’t react.

O’Dell: But for the first time in my life I’m kind of enjoying sitting on this bench. Just a couple of Benchwarmers waiting to be put in, coach.

Stevens offers O’Dell a murderous glare.

O’Dell: We’re only giving the people exactly what they want. We’ve heard the laughs, we’ve smelt the verbal diarrhoea coming from this very office… and we are fully prepared to shove all of that, and this fucking bench down your ungrateful throats come War Games!

Another huge gasp from the HOW audience. Even the camera crew in the back filming gasp from the sheer audacity. As the general tone and theme of the promo cuts straight into all parties.

O’Dell: You sick to death yet? Welcome to our bastard world.

O’Dell reaches out the microphone in the direction of Stevens, dismissively. The Texan produces his own mic and continues their protest.

Stevens: I know you’re watching. What are we not good enough for you to open your door? Have you seen enough of us to treat us as if we are from Valor Pro?

HOTv plug.

Stevens: For weeks you’ve had us running around here with the idea that we may be competing in the War Games main event. That we may be on one of the last filled spots, but we both know that wasn’t true. If it was you would’ve picked us a long time ago.

Stevens says as he points to O’Dell and himself.

Stevens: A guy that has been with you since 2012 and another even longer.

Stevens says as he looks at O’Dell.

Stevens: But it’s fine, you don’t want loyalty you want the flavor of the month. How’s that working out by the way?

Stevens asks as he continues to address the door.

Stevens: Seems like concussions aren’t the only thing plaguing Zion these days. Seems like your precious Eric Dane caught the disease and may have to miss War Games. You could’ve had me old reliable, or someone from your favorite era in HOW, but you rather have outsiders. Your loss because this team you threw together on a whim that you see as a bunch of jokes and a bunch of losers is going to walk into Warm Games backup match and win unlike you and your pathetic group of mercenaries.

The door to Lee’s office swings wide open. Whatever Stevens said, it would seem he finally woke the sleeping giant.

Stevens: Finally! Took long enough! I’m a thr—

Both O’Dell and Stevens turn their heads, and gaze into the doorway to Lee’s office. Both, look  like deer standing still in the middle of the road, contemplating life seconds before the pickup truck puts them to eternal sleep.

Stevens: Bu–

Jiles: Shhh. It will all be over soon.

O’Dell: You moth–

Jiles: Doozer, release The Cracken.

The Cracken is a single use only catapult egg launcher that is capable of death– if taken head on and at full blast, at least. Not only is it mobile, it can also easily fire a deadly barrage of eggs with the flick of a wrist. Luckily for Stevens and O’Dell, Doozer stands, with a fresh cup of coffee in his hand, lined up a ways down the hallway.

Unluckily for Stevens and O’Dell, Doozer has already flicked his wrist, and the new duo don’t have a second to escape.

The Dooze takes a quick sip.

Doozer: Releasing The Cracken!

Smug, Jiles stands contently, watching the newly formed tag team get erased like they got hit with an unsuspecting fire hose. Instead of water, think egg shell and yolk. The hallway becomes an instant mess. Shell is everywhere. A yellow trail of yolk follows O’Dell and Stevens like the yellow brick road to The Cockerel Of Oz.

Shots fucking fired.

After another sip of coffee, the older Bandit casually speaks out.

Doozer: That’s a hit. Mandell and Scorpion Boy are down…

The Dooze pauses for dramatic effect.

Doozer: and they are out.

With his special style of swagger, King COOL steps out from the bosses office. The smile on his face reaches his incredible hair line. He looks down the hallway at Doozer, giving his partner in crime a hefty thumbs up. He then casually lowers his shades, and peers down the opposite way at Stevens and O’Dell, who now lay incapicated some twenty feet away.

Their bench right along with them.

A top a white horse, figuratively speaking that is, The Maestro of COOL calls out to them as if they were now the best of friends.

Jiles: Welcome to the Carnival boys! I hope you’ve brought your appetite!

Before Jiles trots off with Doozer towards War Games, he attaches a note to the bosses door.

The note reads:

Hey Unc,

Fucking Bobby got into our stash.

Just as mad about it as you are.

Your Bandits.

P.S. He drank your coffee that you told me to get while you were out talking to the medical staff.

P.S.S. He also smoked a joint while sitting at your desk.

P.S.S.S I stopped him before he could poop on your desk, unlike last time.

P.S.S.S.S Don’t worry about thanking me.

With that, the show heads to its first commercial break.

War Games Match for the World and ICON Championships
The Best Alliance (Eric Dane, Lindsay Troy, Dan Ryan, MJ Flair, High Flyer vs. The eMpire (Farthington©, Max Kael©, Scottywood, Halitosis, John Sektor)

Tag Team Title Match with the titles hanging from War Games Cage above each ring
The Egg Bandits vs. The LOD (Kostoff and Silent Witness) vs. Scott Stevens and Jonny O’Dell vs. Darin Zion and Noah Hanson

The clatter and clanging of The Flying Lizard’s version of Money booms out of the PA system as Refueled returns to the ring, heralding the arrival of the current HOW ICON Champion, although it is very important to stress he does not have a herald.

Hoffman: Well it looks like we are about to hear from the HOW ICON Champion, Cecilworth M! J Farthington.

Newell: Surprised that fucker hasn’t added another letter to his name this week. I don’t know how this coward can even show his face by running out of the cage petrified by the Best Alliance’s Dan Ryan.

Hoffman: You mean winning the match?

Newell: Like a coward would!

The self proclaimed MEGASTAR and Best Boy steps out from behind the curtain of the Yeungling Center to the delight of the HOW faithful. Cecilworth looks slightly bemused as to why a man who has made his current mission in life to be the complete and total destruction of the company is getting such a positive reception but decides to roll with it, giving a little bit of a regal wave as he stands atop the entrance way. Cecilworth holds his ICON Championship up on high and then slings it atop his sound as the beeps and boops of “Money” begin to play.

Newell: Where’s that fat alcoholic prick that normally laps up this fuckers shit? At least there’s hope that aging fuckstick will be able to reform himself.

Hoffman: I believe that the flowery language from my colleague is questioning where Cecilworth’s manager Dirk Dickwood is this evening. The word from the back I’m getting is that Cecilworth requested this time alone to address the audience and the War Games field.

As Cecilworth begins to make his way to the ring it is very, very clear he is limping down to the ring and moving incredibly gingerly, showing clear signs of battle scars from his Steel Cage match with Dan Ryan a mere week prior. Bryan McVay rushes over and hands a microphone to Cecilworth as he carefully makes his way up the ring steps and into the ring as the fans begin to bizarre chant of “BEST BOY! BEST BOY! BEST BOY”, which is very confusing what with two people with the surname Best in the company. Cecilworth pivots into the ring and rests himself against the ropes with a large smile on his face.

Hoffman: Last week this man went through hell to retain the ICON champion against perhaps one of the toughest opponents I’ve ever had the pleasure of seeing him face, the Best Alliance’s Dan Ryan. It was hell for both men and I can’t say many were predicting that we would see Cecilworth with the ICON championship resting upon his shoulder tonight. Cecilworth has clearly gained the fans here in Tampa’s respect.

Newell: As if we needed another reason to get the fuck out of Tampa A S A P. Fucking pussy ran out of the ring instead of trying to pin Dan Ryan LIKE A MAN. He’s a pretender and at War Games he will be exposed by Lee Best’s team of killers.

“Money” begins to fade as Cecilworth winces in his attempt to stand front and centre in the middle of the ring. He raises the microphone to supple lips.

Farthington: Hello denizens of the BEER ARENA. It is I, the Megastar, the Hot Lad, the Best Boy and most importantly of all…. STILL YOUR BLOODY ICON CHAMPION… Cecilworth M! J! Farthington!

Newell: Dark days Hoffhole, dark days.

Hoffman: The man is a three time ICON champion, one of the longest combined reigns of the modern era, I think he deserves some respect.

Newell: Maybe he can fuck off to OCW and get the respect he desires.

As the camera zooms a bit closer towards the face of Farthington we see there is very much still a large bump at the side of his head from being brutalised by Dan Ryan. Cecilworth nurses the bumps for a few seconds as he runs his fingers through his hair.

Farthington: I asked Dirk to take a night off because I have a few things I need to say and they need to come from me. They need to come from THE ICON, not the mouthpiece of the ICON. You see, before my brutal battle with molten Duke Nukem last week, I stood in front of an HOTv camera and expelled the virtues of the beautiful belt that sits atop my marvellous shoulder right now. I told the man who looks like the after scene from the smelting pit in Terminator 2 that this was not a shiny trinket to collect, that this was no second place, that this was THE title in HOW and I would rather die than have someone undeserving trot about with it around their waists.

Cecilworth looks over to his shoulder to admire his ICON Championship for a few moments, shining it up real nice with the pocket square from the suit jacket that he is wearing but I didn’t mention before but have mentioned now.

Farthington: Well, I didn’t die but Dan Ryan… I can’t say you’re undeserving any more. You threw EVERYTHING at me. I think you finally understood exactly what this title means. The history, the legacy and my personal connection to it. You clearly had a great desire to murder me with everything you had to try and take my beautiful championship away from me but you just couldn’t withstand MY NEW HOTNESS, the MURDER. DEATH. KILL. And who could blame you? It’s a very powerful force!

Newell: Couldn’t pin Dan Ryan with it though, could you?

Hoffman: It was a cage match! Cecilworth knew the rules and took the win however he could. That new MDK looked brutal, if he went for the pin, who can say what would have happened.

Newell: I can say, Dan Ryan would have kicked the fuck out. Cecilcuck won’t be able to weasel his way out of War Games.

There’s a small “EM DEE KAY” chant from pockets of the crowd that Cecilworth nods to acknowledge as he continues on his merry way.

Farthington: In the next few weeks, I am certain you are going to hear from the entire War Games field. You’re going to hear why they want to be the HOW World Champion and how they will never settle for second best. You will hear them try and drown the ICON Championship as nothing more than a mere silver medal. That… that upsets me. This championship, this is MY championship. If anyone doubted that this championship MATTERS, that this championship is worth fighting forth, that this championship is NO ONE’S SECOND BEST before last week they better not now. If anyone thought this championship was a mere bauble they would use to pad their statistics then they damn well know better now.

Cecilworth glares down the camera hole and mutters “I’m talking to you Eric”.

Farthington: The ICON Championship means something to me. It was my first ever singles championship in this industry we call grappling. It was the sign that I finally belonged in this company, hell that I even belonged in the industry alone. This championship told me that I was a competitor who could stand on my own two feet. That I could battle out with the best the industry has ever seen and still come out of the other side in one piece. If you think that you can just… waltz in and sleepwalk your way into earning this baby at War Games… think the fuck again.

Newell: He’s swearing again! This is a disgrace! What got into this man?

Hoffman: He has spent a lot of time around Mike Best recently…

Newell: There’s a fucking corrupting influence if ever I saw one.

The crowd swells up into a large “ICON! ICON! ICON!” chant. Cecilworth stills looks a bit unsure with how to handle this sort of reaction, he gives a kind of half hearted smile.

Farthington: Now let me be very, very clear. I want this company to die. I want it all to burn down.

A large (probable fat) man yells “BURN IT DOWNNNNNN!” in response to this comment.

Farthington: …in its current form. Lee Best has proven that HOW should have never been revived under his leadership and vision. Look at the hell he has wrought. Emergency hire after emergency hire to boost his team of legends. It would be ridiculous to say they weren’t. I’ve stood toe to toe with some. I know what they can do, I know what they’re capable of but they decided to shack up with the Himmler of wrestling himself and that… that I just cannot abide by. A man like High Flyer, he is killing his legacy right now. Ms. Troy is burning hers down to its last ember. MJF… well… do twelve year old kids hopped up on cocaine have legacies? Hard to say.

Hoffman: She’s nineteen!

Newell: Oh she’s legal?

Hoffman: … I… no. No. Nope. No.

Farthington: Some people are upset that Lee put his trust on quote unquote outsiders for War Games. I’m upset these people who from my understanding have functional brain minds have put their trust in Lee Best. Can’t wait for all of them to become pirates. Lee Best lies. This is a mantra, this is a truth, this is a man who deserves nothing but scorn, disdain and a homeless man to urinate upon his sad, untended grave and yet here we are with people WHO SHOULD KNOW BETTER signing up to wave his flag. Hell, maybe they’ve got a fetish for becoming one eyed, who can say.

There is a large contingent of the Yeungling Center who begin to make pirate noises such as “ARRRRRRR” and yelling “ME HEARTIES”.

Farthington: It should have stayed in the ground dead when wrapping the World Championship around the waist of Boring Hollywood put it to sleep the first time around. Since I stepped in the building Day 1 of the Refueled era, I was reminded of how the Jack of Spades tries to manipulate, tries to injure, tries to kill. This monster called HOW should have never have that spark of lightning to rise her from the grave with the almighty Cyclops at the helm. Yet… yet… at War Games, there’s a chance, there’s a small chance that we can rebuild her. We have the technology.

Newell: Fucking ingrate. LEE BEST MADE THIS MAN. He was nothing before HOW!

Hoffman: If you listen to the man himself, he’d tell you Dan Ryan made him.

Newell: And Dan Ryan works for Lee Best, I think I’ve proven my point.

Farthington: And when this better HOW comes to pass, this dawning of a new age comes about, I will remain YOUR ICON Champion. You see, the eMpire we’re in a good spot, there’s no reason to fix what’s broken. Max Kael is a very worthy HOW World Champion, I am the best boy for being your ICON Champion. At War Games, it is very much my intent for that to remain the picture for this promotion. We will continue to own the heart and soul of the company and we will do it in a glorious new tomorrow. A tomorrow where Lee Best has been bested.

Cecilworth raises his ICON championship high above his head once more as he raises the mic to his moistened lips.

Farthington: Flyer, Emm Jeff, Troy, Dane… do not expect anything less than what I did to Dan Ryan in that cage if you think you can just waltz out of here with this GLORIOUS belt around your inferior waist. If you come for my ICON Championship, you best not miss.

Cecilworth drops the microphone as “Money” cues up once again.

Hoffman: The ICON Champion there, really putting his championship front and center for the War Games match.

Newell: The idiot has just painted a target on his head. The Best Alliance knows how to crush him for good. Make sure that title leaves his possession and we’ll never have to see the entitled little fuckstain darken our doors again.

Hoffman: As Dan Ryan has already learned… that’s easier said than done. Stay tuned folks, there’s a lot more segments to come and we have Brian Hollywood taking on Bobby Dean in our main event.

Newell: Fat fuck’s gonna die.

With that we cut to another commercial break

In the center of the bowels of the backstage area, one would find the office of Lee Best. Of course, it is normally hit or miss on whether or not he is in said office, but for Crash Rodriguez, it would appear to be his lucky night. With a bit of steam Crash crashes into Lee’s office and storms right up to the desk of the #Bossman himself.

Lee Best: Woah, woah, woah, slow your role there newcomer.

Lee barks out, stopping Crash in his tracks before he can utter a syllable.

Lee Best: Now, you wanna turn back around and try this again?

Crash looks a bit uncertain, but knowing the reputation that Lee Best has, and kind of knowing that it is a reputation that he lives up to, Crash reluctantly turns around and walks out only to then re-enter the room. But he is immediately stopped as Lee tsk tsks, waving Crash back.

Lee Best: Where I’m from, one knocks before entering a room unannounced.

Lee informs, causing Crash’s anger to rise from a simmer to a boil. Nevertheless, Crash does what he’s told, turns around and closes the door. Knocking, Crash waits, then knocks again.

Voice: Doesn’t look like anyone’s home.

Crash turns around and spots Bobby Dean lurking in the hallway, shuffling along in his slow, meandering way.

Lee Best: Enter.

Crash opens the door and begins to walk, at a much more sedate pace, entering the den of Lee Best once more.

Lee Best: Ahhh, Crash, what a pleasant surprise. What can I do for you this fine evening?

Sure, the words are sweet, but the look in Lee’s eyes tell a different story.

Crash: I want to know why I’m not on the card for War Games?

Lee Best: “Well…”

Crash: (Interrupting) I just beat the tar out of Jace Savage earlier tonight. I think I earned my shot. I’m not asking for a spot on your team or Mike’s or nothing, but at least give me a match on the show!

Out of the corner of his eye, Lee spots a rather large figure strolling, or more like trolling, the halls outside his open door. A smile begins to emerge on his face as he slowly begins to nod.

Lee Best: You’re right, what a great idea.

Lee says this, as he rises from his chair.

Lee Best: You’ll have your match at War Games, in fact in keeping with the War Games theme,  you and your partner, Bobby Dean, will compete in the Tag Team Title match……..

Crash smiles, until he hears “your partner” and suddenly his smile fades away to pure abject terror.

Crash: “But, but, but.”

Lee Best: “Nope. Just shut the fuck up…..go pray to whatever wrestling GOD you want to but this one is done listening to you for the night. I got some bigger fish to fry…..

Crash stumbles out of the office in a daze, as Lee shouts out to the hallway.

Lee Best: Speaking of bigger……BOBBY! Get your fat ass in here, now!

A few minutes later Bobby stands in front of Lee’s desk, as if he were a child standing before the principal, awaiting a scolding. Lee simply sits in his chair, reclining back, looking Bobby Dean up and down. Judging, sizing him up, looking into the man’s soul.

Lee Best: “Two-sixty.”

Lee says this unexpectedly, then sits up straight and returns his attention back to the work on his desk.

Bobby Dean: Two-sixty what?

Lee ignores the fat man inquiry; in fact, Lee probably forgot the fat man was still standing in front of his desk.

Bobby Dean: Uhm, Boss? What do you mean two-sixty? Lee?


Lee shouts out of nowhere, jumping to his feet, his almighty pen in hand, inches away from Bobby’s face. Bobby quickly scrambles backward, almost going down on his ass in his haste to get away. He turns the corner and disappears from view as Lee slowly regains his seat, chuckling.

Lee Best: “Who knew he could move so fast?”

Lee shakes his head as he looks at his watch and slowly smiles.

Lee Best: Time for my special surprise for Michael….

With that, we fade away to a prerecorded video package.

We open to a shot of a full moon sitting high on a cloudless night sky. The murmur of late-night traffic can be heard in the distance, and above that the screeching of a police siren. As the camera moves down to street level, we find ourselves in a dark and decrepit alleyway behind a bar, the chatter of music from which is spilling faintly out into the alley. There, sitting atop a dumpster with a beer in one hand and a black baseball bat in the other, is none other than former World Champion and current Hall of Famer, the LSD legend himself, David Black. But as he sits there, his clothes worn and tattered and his face somewhat haggard, he doesn’t look like a World Champion. He doesn’t look like a Hall of Famer. He doesn’t look like any kind of a legend. But as we all know…looks can be deceiving.

David Black: You know…I really thought I was done with all this. When HOW closed its doors, I was done. I was out. I closed the door on that part of my life, and I told myself that I was ready to move on, that I was ready to turn the shitshow that was my life around and make something of myself outside the ring. But looking back now…I don’t know what’s more ridiculous; that that was ever my plan to begin with, or that I actually thought I could pull it off.

He scoffs at himself, then downs about half the beer.

David Black: But of course that all fell apart pretty much from the get-go. I was doomed to fail from the start—and I knew it—but I was stupid enough to convince myself to believe in a lie, to believe that positive thinking, and having a positive mindset, would actually make a difference this time. I lied to myself that this was all over. I lied to myself that I could be more than I was, that I could be better. Hell, I lied to myself that I could be…happy.

He shakes his head, an incredulous expression on his face.

David Black: What can I say? I guess I’m just a slow learner. Everything I thought I was going to build? Gone. All the plans I had for the future? Nothing but ash and crumbling ruins. I was running on empty, going through bottle after bottle trying to find the courage at the bottom of one of them to finally put myself out of my misery once and for all. Speaking of—

He pauses to down the remaining contents of the beer, then tosses the bottle away and it shatters on the concrete.

David Black: But then one day my phone rings; Lee Best is bringing HOW back and he wants me to be a part of it. Now to me, this is great. I can go back to HOW, the only place that I have ever belonged, and be David Black again. I can kick ass and relive my glory days and pretend that I’m not hanging on by the skin of my teeth. So, I go back. And what happens? I get my ass handed to me in about five seconds flat. I’m down and out before I even realize what the fuck is going on. This was supposed to be the one place where I belonged, and I can’t even hold my own for a single fucking second. Mike Best fired me but I was already done before he even made it official….. I had been humiliated and embarrassed and I was never coming back. I was done with wrestling. I was done with everything. I just wanted to get back to drinking myself into an early grave.

He pauses for a moment, mostly for effect, and then he jumps down from the dumpster as he continues.

David Black: But then the damnedest thing happened; I couldn’t let go of it. Being back in an HOW ring, even for a few pitiful seconds, reignited something deep inside me, something that I truly thought was gone forever. And it remained there, eating away at me, pushing and prodding until finally I realized that I wasn’t done. I came back and I sucked—big deal. I’ve had my ass handed to me before. I wasn’t ready to come back and I paid the price for it, as well I should. But I’m not done. I’m coming back to HOW one more time, but this time…I’m coming prepared

He starts twirling the baseball bat with his right hand, as if he’s gearing up to ‘knock one out of the park’.

David Black: But you see, I’m not coming back for the titles, or the glory, or the fame. I’m not coming back to relive my glory days, or to live off my past accomplishments in order to cash in a few more paychecks. No, I’m coming back to HOW for one reason; I’m coming back…to hurt people. And I promise you this; even with everything that I have accomplished in my career…

He pauses for a moment, the expression on his face both dark and sinister as he twirls the bat a few more times.

David Black: My most…memorable…accomplishments are still to come. I’ll be seeing you all very soon……and one last thing… make it official….yes Lee….I obviously have signed that contract you sent over this week and have agreed to ALL the stipulations…..there is no turning back now.

He takes a step forward and swings the bat at the camera, turning everything to static in the process.

War Games Match for the World and ICON Championships
The Best Alliance (Eric Dane, Lindsay Troy, Dan Ryan, MJ Flair, High Flyer vs. The eMpire (Farthington©, Max Kael©, Scottywood, Halitosis, John Sektor)

Tag Team Title Match with the titles hanging from War Games Cage above each ring
The Egg Bandits vs. The LOD (Kostoff and Silent Witness) vs. Scott Stevens and Jonny O’Dell vs. Darin Zion and Noah Hanson vs. Crash Rodriguez and Bobby Dean

The scene opens up in a dimly lit room. A chain hangs from the ceiling with a low watt light bulb swings slowly. He walks into the room and looks around. With his back to the camera, he takes in a breath.

Kostoff: I am back. We have seen me over the last few months kind of get back to what I did in the past. But see, right now something is missing for me. Right now, i am half empty.

Turning around slowly, he stares into the camera. The camera pans back a bit, his bald head glistens with sweat, the scars on his body from his wars are seen. His face is half covered with a bandana as the sweat drips down his face.

Kostoff: So as me and Wittness gear up for our tag war… which let me be honest that is what it is going to be. I finally took a look at some of the names that are going to be in this. Jiles, that lippy little cunt. He is talking alot. Way more than he needs to be right now. That is ok, when that match is done and in the books he’ll be drinking his food for a few months. I’m gonna break your jaw boy and get it wired shut. Noah, sorry you are gonna be a part of that beating as well.

Kostoff: I know me and Wittness are facing more but right now, those are the only two I am thinking of.

He nods his head and sways from side to side a bit. His eyes narrow as his leans into the camera.

Kostoff: I have said I have unfinished business left here. Can anyone guess what I am getting at?

He slowly raises his hand. His eyes light up in glee.

Kostoff: I do. Oh do I know what I am getting at. The bane of my fucking existence. Go ahead guess, I can wait.

He leans back

Kostoff: So, any ideas?

Kostoff: No? Ok. Well, look here folks…

He pulls the bandana off his lower face and spits on the floor.

Kostoff: Here soon, real soon, I’ll refresh y’all’s minds. See I am here for one thing and one thing only. It may take a while to get what I am after, and I can wait. I am a patient man.

Kostoff: Just remember, things have never been ended proper. This time I will end it all proper.

He grins….

Kostoff: See y’all real soon.

He lets out a sigh as the scene fades to black.

We cut elsewhere where we see The Herald of Maximillian Kael, Sub-Marquis Bentley Tennyson Farthington-Primrose, standing before the camera, a wide, toothy smile stretched from ear to ear. His absurd Herald outfit, a smattering of browns, reds, greens and yellows coupled with his floppy feathered hat stand as a stark stands out against the dark and gloomy appearance of the backstage area from which he is broadcast from.

The Herald: Plebians of High Octane Wrestling fall to your knees and raise your hands in glorious praise for it is I, Sub-Marquis Bentley Tennyson Farthington-Primrose, the Herald of the Awesome and Amazing Maximillian Kael, First of his Name, Long May He Maim, Prime Minister of Maxopotamia, Lord of Kaelsalvania and High Octane Wrestling WORLD CHAMPION!!

Raising his hands high into the air the Herald jumps up and down in excitement while the crowd in the arena lets loose a mild series of boos and jeers that manage to penetrate deep into the backstage area. The Herald takes a step to the side as Maximillian Kael, dressed in his black track suit with the #97red HOW World Championship slung over his shoulder, appears seated upon a massive throne cobbled together from random boxes and backstage equipment. His blue eye stares down toward the camera while a deep frown is etched into his face.

The Herald: As the Voice of the best Wrestler in HOW I have been tasked with relaying to you, the sad fans of High Octane Wrestling, a message from your incredible iMperial Champion!

Reaching into his pocket the Herald retrieves a scroll which he opens up, clearing this throat as his grin never vanishes.

The Herald: On this July 19th, in the year of our Maximillian, 2019, I so do declare that as World Champion of High Octane Wrestling ALL peoples shall pay their respects to me. With War Games on the horizon it should be made clear that I, Maximillian Kael, am without a doubt the TOP wrestler in this Federation and that regardless of whatever anyone else says, so long as this World Title rests on my shoulder, this is truth. But worry not, dear friends, dear little people, for I am a loving and kind champion.

Turning toward Max the Herald flashes a thumbs up, his grin never fading even as the HOW World Champion shoots him a vicious looking sneer. Bentley giggles like a school girl for a moment before returning to his task.

The Herald: This is the last week before War Games and despite the injury that I sustained, which would have left a weaker individual concussed, crippled or otherwise unable to continue, I shall endure. Despite the Best Alliance’s best efforts the healing power of the High Octane Wrestling World Championship has kept me in fighting trim capable of taking down anyone who has their sights set upon the relic that sits upon my shoulder. Know that I, Maximillian Kael, live in immortality so long as the title is mine. The Heart of High Octane Wrestling belongs to me and so long as this blood soaked title is firmly in my grasp I shall suffer no pain great enough to stop me, I will endure any injury, inflict incredible suffering, engage in any manner of atrocity.. To ensure this title remains home.. With me. Under mine rule.

The Herald offers a golf clap while Max’s eye seems to burn into the back of Bentley’s head. He then winks, or perhaps just blinks, then rolls that pale blue orb set deep into his brow toward the camera staring directly into it once again.

The Herald: Prepare yourselves. We have each endured our own personal battles, engaged in a physical war across collective decades worth of ring time. Each of us thinks we know what awaits us in that cage. Each of us believes we have faced worse odds. Each of us believes that there are no new surprises in the artistry of violence and brutality. We are each wrong. Never before have there been such weapons of violence, cruelty and precision skill locked into this historic event. I freely admit that I could be defeated at the hands of the Best Alliance. I openly accept that Eric Dane could potentially pin me. I knowingly enter the ring against Dan Ryan in a situation where he could take the title from me. There is a distinct possibility that MJF might best me on what should be one of my greatest victories..

Bently looks confused as he continues to read, his brow furrowed as he lifted the scroll closer to his perplexed face. Max’s expression changes, however, his sour scowl twisted into a growing smile. The glimmer of his metal teeth shimmers of the low light of the room around him. He slowly rises from the throne, slinking his way toward the camera.

The Herald: What wonderful destruction will we create together? What horrific damage will we weave into a tapestry of violence? What sweet, sweet suffering will we share with each other? The End of HOW isn’t simply about tickets sales, it isn’t about making money or selling merchandise. The End of HOW comes when we are all too beaten, broken and bloody to continue this company. It ends when a blood soaked ring swallows Lee Best, The Best Alliance, the eMpire and every other sorry, sad excuse for a talent in this company into oblivion, when the walls fall in, when the fans last savage, blood thirsty cheers get choked out by the carnage they have witnessed..  War Games is coming, friends.. This has been a message from the Baleful and Brutal Maximillian Kael.. First of his Name..

Max’s hands push the Herald out of the way, a small yelp escaping his lips as his body crashes to the ground off camera. The HOW World Champion’s face fills up the screen, a wild, bloodshot blue eye and sharpened silver teeth filling up the screen, lips pulled back over sour, bleeding gums.

Max Kael: Heh-heh… long.. May We.. Maim..

With that Refueled heads to another commercial break.

The camera cuts backstage into the office of High Octane MOGUL Mike Best, who is standing alongside his father, Lee. Both men look tired, as the previous few shows have tested the bond of their father and son relationship, due to the very real war between their respective teams.

And yet tonight, the father and son stand together, as the arena begins to buzz at whatever announcement is about to come.

Mike Best: When we brought High Octane Wrestling back to television earlier this year, we did it with a vision. A father and son, running this company FIFTY FIFTY. We each run– and own— fifty percent of HOTv. Fifty percent of HOW. Fifty percent of everything. And we each set about doing things our own way.

He leans against the desk, crossing his arms in front of his body.

Mike Best: Lee Best scoured the country and found some of the hottest, most talented wrestlers that money could buy. Dan Ryan, Eric Dane, MJF, High Flyer, and Lindsay Troy. To my father, these established stars are the future of High Octane Wrestling. Higher contracts for new talent, subsidized by reduced production costs in the state of Florida. A rigid division system, with spreadsheets and numbers tracking wins and losses to determine everything. A rebirth of High Octane Wrestling— a brand new coat of 97 red paint on everything.

Lee Best confidently nods his head, agreeing both with that being his mindset and that it is the right way to go. Michael doesn’t look as confident, but he continues nonetheless.

Mike Best: Me? I see things differently. A reliance on the old guard– the lifers have always been the lifeblood of HOW. They are the men and women who always come home, who always show up, and who always do good business. The Hall of Famers. The men who have helped to carry HOW on their backs, era after era. Max Kael, Cecilworth Farthington, Scottywood, John Sektor. Technically Halitosis, or at least his extended universe. I value the things that I think made HOW great– you never knew what was going to happen next. Seven straight ICON Title matches. The Lethal Lottery. The roar of the Chicago crowd every time something unexpected went down. This was the HOW that made me what I am today, and I say if it ain’t broke… well, you know how old sayings are.

Clearly this is an argument they have had before, as Lee now crosses his arms, rolling his eyes. They don’t look angry with each other, so much as exasperated.  

Mike Best: And so what do we have? Half the roster is shitting all over the Hall of Fame and burying the company, while the other half is shitting all over the undisputed talent of the newcomers and… burying the company. We’ve got longtime vets calling for the company to die, newcomers tanking ticket sales with burial artistry, and Lee Best and I have reached a deadlock on how things should run day to day. In short, fifty fifty isn’t working. War Games is two weeks away. We don’t know what happens on August 3rd, and we don’t even know exactly what goes down at War Games, but one thing we do know is that the fate of High Octane Wrestling is currently riding on the outcome of that match. And that is because my father and I… made a bet.

Lee Best nods his head, patting his son on the shoulder.

Mike Best: At War Games, two teams will compete for the HOW World Title. They’ll compete for the HOW ICON Title. They’ll compete for the bragging rights and the closure of months worth of back and forth, maybe ending some of those dick measuring contests once and for all. But the biggest thing they’ll be competing for is maybe the smallest– they’ll be competing for one percent.

Michael reaches into his jacket, producing a folded contract. He unfolds the paper, setting it on the desk as Lee pulls the ever infamous pen out of his own pocket.

Mike Best: Fifty fifty dies at War Games. Because the captain of the winning War Games team will win one percent control from the loser– one percent of HOW, one percent of HOTv, one percent of everything. Fifty one percent control– the majority share. One small number, that will affect the rest of High Octane history.

With a flourish of the pen, Michael signs his name on the contract before handing it over to Lee. His father does the same, inking his name as both men look down at the contract and then back up at one another’s eyes.

Lee Best: Good luck, Son.

He extends his arm out to shake his boy’s hand– Michael takes it, shaking firmly.

Mike Best: Good luck, Dad…..fuckdavidblack….

Before Lee can respond we cut away to our final commercial break with a final shot of Lee glaring a hole thru his smirking Son.

War Games Match for the World and ICON Championships
The Best Alliance (Eric Dane, Lindsay Troy, Dan Ryan, MJ Flair, High Flyer vs. The eMpire (Farthington©, Max Kael©, Scottywood, Halitosis, John Sektor)

Tag Team Title Match with the titles hanging from War Games Cage above each ring
The Egg Bandits vs. The LOD (Kostoff and Silent Witness) vs. Scott Stevens and Jonny O’Dell vs. Darin Zion and Noah Hanson vs. Crash Rodriguez and Bobby Dean

As we come back from commercial we see the Hall of Fame duo hyping up the Main Event of the evening.

Joe Hoffman: Welcome back ladies and gentlemen for tonight’s Main Event between Brian Hollywood and Robert Dean.

Benny Newell: Bobby.

Joe Hoffman: What?

Benny Newell: His name is Booby Dean.

Joe Hoffman: Anyways, as we learned from earlier tonight Crash and Robert Dean will be forming a tag team and competing for the tag titles at War Games.

Benny Newell: Can the belt fit around his fat ass Hoffman?

♫ “You’re the Best” by Joe Esposito ♫

There is a mixed reaction as the familiar tune fills the arena and the lovable Robert Dean waddles out from the back and onto the stage. Dean waves to the people in attendance as he makes his way down the ramp before stopping to catch is breath.

Benny Newell: Come on fat ass we don’t have all night!

Robert using the barricade to hold himself up before stealing some Sour Patch Kids candies from a young man in the audience and the sugar rush seems to have energized the “Beautiful One” as he makes his way up the ring steps and steps waddles through the ropes only to get stuck.

Benny Newell: Fat ass is stuck because he’s fat Hoffhole!

Dean motions for Boettcher to open the ropes for him and Matt opens the ropes and once Dean squeezes himself.

♫ “Perfect Insanity” by Disturbed ♫

Blasts over the PA system as the crowd starts erupting in boos. A horn starts blaring and a black limo pulls out close to the ramp on the left side of the arena.

Joe Hoffman: The one thing odd is that this is the go home show for War Games.

Benny Newell: And?

Joe Hoffman: And, isn’t it weird that the final HOW World Champion of the Modern Era and the runner up in the Refueled Era isn’t on the card?

Benny Newell: Yeah that does seem a little strange.

The limo driver steps out of the car and walks towards the back of the limo. The writing on the door is inscripted as “Mr. Hollywood.” The Limo Driver then opens the door and showcases Brian Hollywood as he steps out of the car.

Joe Hoffman: Brian Hollywood looking confident tonight as he knows this is probably his last best effort to get on the War Games card since both Best Teams are filled.

Benny Newell: Besides, who’s he going to team with Hoffman? Zion and Hanson have the Ex-Lax and Refund Reunion already covered.

Hollywood looks around each sides of the arena before making his way to the ramp. Walking down the ramp he smiles as he walks towards the fans and just when he’s about to give them a handshake, he blows them off and laughs. Hollywood then stops at the end of the ramp, closest to the ring, and his smile turns to seriousness as he stares at the ring for a moment. Hollywood then gets to the ring and walks around the ring once looking about the crowd before walking up the ring steps.

Joe Hoffman: Hollywood has only lost one singles match since HOW returned and that was to the former World champion, Halitosis. So him not being at War Games will be a major disappointment.

Benny Newell: I agree Hoffman. I’m not the biggest Hollywood fan but the man dominated the last portion towards the end of HOW. Hell, he held all the titles when we went on hiatus and he almost became champion again in this era. Lee and Mike must know something we don’t.

Hollywood slides into the ring then walks over to the ropes and stretches by pulling on the ropes. He then walks to a turnbuckle and leans up against it and waits for his opponent. Brian Hollywood is pacing like a cage animal in the ring waiting for the bell. 

Ding. Ding.

Joe Hoffman: And here we go.

Before Bobby Dean can stop hyperventilating, Hollywood rushes at him with spear into the corner and begins to drive his shoulder into the gut of Bobby Dean.

Joe Hoffman: Hollywood starting out fast.

Benny Newell: If he’s not careful he’s going to blow his load.

Boettcher yells for Hollywood to get out of the corner but the former world champion flips the official off and continues to use his shoulder as a battering ram in the mid-section of Bobby Dean.












Hollywood backs off.

Joe Hoffman: Hollywood almost got himself disqualified there.

Benny Newell: He needs to be careful Hoffman because I’m sure he doesn’t take the fat fuck seriously, but he doesn’t want to do something stupid and cost himself the match.

Hollywood delivers a stiff knife edge chop to the pasty chest of Dean causing “The Beautiful One” to yell out like a girl.

Benny Newell: Bobby screaming just like my hooker from a few nights ago.

Hollywood delivers another chop and the crowd wooooooooooos in unison. Hollywood delivers another chop followed by a forearm and a back elbow that rocks Dean. Hollywood grabs Dean by his long and brings him out of the corner and drives his boot into the gut of Dean to double him over. Hollywood hits the ropes and delivers a swinging neckbreaker. Instead of going for a cover Hollywood taunts the crowd.

Benny Newell: The fuck is he doing Hoffman?!?!?

Joe Hoffman: Not being smart Benny.

Benny Newell: No shit!

Hollywood walks over to Robert and places a single boot on his chest.




Hollywood stomps away on Dean before jumping up and hitting a leg drop. Cover.




Joe Hoffman: Hollywood is still not taking Dean seriously as he didn’t hook a leg.

Benny Newell: Maybe he just couldn’t lift Dean’s leg.

Hollywood open hand smacks the stomach and chest of Bobby Dean causing the former LSD champion to shriek in pain. Hollywood helps Dean to all fours before taking a few steps back so he can deliver a claymore kick.

Joe Hoffman: The Termination by Hollywood!

Hollywood covers.





















Hollywood breaks his own pin by lifting up the head of Bobby Dean.

Benny Newell: What the fuck is he doing Hoffman?!?!?!?

Joe Hoffman: I don’t know Benny. I guess he wants to make a statement to Lee and Mike for not picking him.

Hollywood slaps the taste out of Bobby’s mouth before taking a break as he lies across the ropes in the nearest corner as the crowd boos.

Joe Hoffman: Hollywood will end this match when he wants to.

Benny Newell: And I hope it’s soon. I got hooker supposed to suck me off in my dressing room after the show ends.

Hollywood cheers on with the fans to get Bobby back into this match.

Joe Hoffman: Hollywood mocking the fans as they encourage Dean to not quit.

Benny Newell: The only thing that doesn’t quit for Bobby is his gut.

Hollywood makes his way over to Dean and slaps him once more. He goes to slap him again, but Dean blocks it and staggers the former world champion with a right hand before locking in the dreaded Purple Nurple.

Joe Hoffman: Bobby Dean has locked in a…..nipple twister.

Benny Newell: It’s a fucking titty twister! Don’t be all P.C. now.

Hollywood screams out in pain as Dean sinks his long, disgusting looking, hot Cheetos filled nails into the pecks of Hollywood.

Benny Newell: That hurts just watching!

Joe Hoffman: At least it’s not the Native American Burn.

Benny Newell: The fuck is that?!?!?!?

Joe Hoffman: The Indian Burn….

Benny Newell: Got you to say it, drink!

Apparently the twisting of titties has caused Bobby Dean to start to breath heavily again as he grabs a hold of Hollywood for dear life with a bear hug.

Joe Hoffman: Bobby Dean with a Bear Hug submission. Will Hollywood quit?

Benny Newell: Better question is will Bobby have a stroke?

Boettcher asks Hollywood if he quits and the former world champion says no and as the official circles around the dark side of the moon, Hollywood takes advantage and goes low during the eclipse causing the moon to double over.

Joe Hoffman: Low blow! Boettcher didn’t even see it.

Benny Newell: Can you blame Bitcher? It takes ten years to go around Dean.

Hollywood begins screaming at Dean that he’s an embarrassment and he’s embarrassed to be in the same ring as him. Hollywood delivers an Executive Promise to the chest of Dean and the momentum staggers him all the way back into the nearest corner and as soon as he hits he gets drilled by a running clothesline. Hollywood hits the ropes again and delivers a massive running boot to the face of Dean that staggers the Texan. Hollywood goes to the opposite corner and measure Dean and runs full force at him and jumps into the air looking for a splash, but Bobby staggered out of the way and Hollywood hits face first into the turnbuckle and falls onto his back and Dean falls on top of him.




Ding. Ding. Ding.

Benny Newell: No fucking way!

Boettcher points to Dean and signals him as the winner as Hollywood scrambles to his feet in shock.

Joe Hoffman: The cockiness and recklessness cost Brian Hollywood here tonight.

Benny Newell: It cost him War Games Hoffman!



Hollywood, frustrated with the result, pulls a fast one of his own and nails Bobby with an Executive Promise. Hollywood stands over Dean as he brushes his hand through his hair. Hollywood looks down at a fallen Bobby and shakes his head. Hollywood grabs a mic and walks back over Bobby.

Hollywood: What did you think was going to happen here tonight Bobby?! I told you I was going to make you choose what direction you take and I can tell you thought it was going to be the easy way out with that quick ridiculous pin. I can assure you Bobby it’s not as simple as that!

Hollywood looks towards the back as he gestures his hand towards him as if he’s trying to signal someone.

Out comes Jace Savage running from the back as he rolls into the ring. Hollywood nods at Jace as Jace all of a sudden starts beating Bobby down and stomping into him. This prompts Hollywood to turn his attention to the ramp as his anger is more justified.

Hollywood: LEE!!!!!!

Joe Hoffman: Oh boy…this isn’t going to end well..

Benny Newell: Since when does it ever end better than worse?

Hollywood: So were going to do it this way then huh? You never seize to amaze me Lee! How many fucking times have I got to say it before you understand how serious I am?!

Hollywood signals for Jace to stop as Hollywood continues.

Hollywood: You want to know the problem with results Lee? You know I shouldn’t have been pushed this far but here we fucking are! I tried to get through to Bobby and looks like it had to be the hard way. But you see I gave him a CHOICE and this is what happens when you take the “easy” way out. Now here’s what we’re gonna do. Your going to put me and Jace in the Tag Team Championship War Games match and your going to fucking do it….NOW! Because if you don’t…I’m not leaving this ring until you do and ole Bobby here is gonna get it until I get WHAT I FUCKING WANT!!

Hollywood: You see all this could have been avoided if you put me in the main event match where I fucking belong…but you didn’t! Now it’s come to getting myself in this tag team title match because no one else in this match deserves to even fucking be in this match more than Jace and I. I mean look at the rest of this match Lee! You’ve got a washed up team like LOD in this match and you’ve got a couple of pouched eggs. Outside of that? What? Crash and Dean? A team that doesn’t make sense! Scott Stevens and Jonny O Dell? Again where’s the logic? And then you’ve got Darin Zion and Noah Hanson…a failed sex and money remake that is past it’s time. I mean seriously…where’s your fucking head at lately? You minus well put me in charge of fucking HOW because at least I’ve ALWAYS known what’s been best for HOW! But here we are…me forcing your hand like I force everything else. So again…it’s your move. So what’s it gonna be?

Hollywood waits a few moments for Lee but his demands falls on quiet ears as Hollywood shakes his head disgusted and angered. Hollywood raises the mic once again as he brushes his hand through his hair clearly upset.

Hollywood: Fine…have it your way. But again it looks like I’m not going anywhere until you fucking show yourself. Oh and Lee…congrats on losing Bobby and Crash from this match because Bobby isn’t making it to War Games after we’re finished doing this…

Hollywood drops the mic and nods at Jace again as all of a sudden both Hollywood and Jace begin to stomp into Bobby. Bobby is absolutely defenseless as Hollywood and Jace continue their relentless assault on Bobby.  Jace picks up Bobby and holds a steel chair in front of his face as Hollywood winds up and plasters an Executive Promise straight into the chair and through Deans skull.

Joe Hoffman: This assault is uncalled for!!!

Benny Newell: Well you can’t blame Hollywood for trying to get through to Lee. I mean he DID warn him…I always love to see some good violence!

The assault continues until all of a sudden Crash Rodriguez storms down the ramp from the back and slides into the ring. He clothesline’s Jace as Hollywood turns around and his eyes widen as he sees Crash but is taken down with a clothesline as well. Hollywood gets back to his feet as does Jace and the numbers game begins to take its toll as Hollywood and Jace hit a double DDT on Crash.

Joe Hoffman: Good admiration from Crash but the numbers were just too much.

Benny Newell: Crash is a rookie and doesn’t get the system yet so of course he was blindsided by that.

Hollywood and Jace then begin to double team Crash but this brings out the team of LOD as they rush the ring with steel chairs and both Witness and Kostoff send two chair shots into the backs of Hollywood and Jace as they fall to the mat. As they try to continue their assault Scott Stevens Jonny O Dell hit the ring and hit double drop kicks on Kostoff and Witness. Now The Egg Bandits hit the ring and they begin to go to work on Stevens and O Dell. Finally Zion and Hanson rush the ring and hit running boots on the bandits. Hollywood and Jace get back to their feet and start to stomp LOD into the ground before Hollywood and Jace clothesline then both out of the ring.

Joe Hoffman: Oh my God!! This is pandemonium!!

Benny Newell: An all out brawl between these tag teams thanks to what Hollywood fucking started!! This is chaos!! Someone needs to stop this now!!!

The show drops out of control as all the teams begin beating on the other as everyone continues the out of control fight as Refueled goes off the air!!

About thirty minutes after Refueled went off the air with a huge brawl breaking out, Lee has demanded all those men to gather in one room and it is a room that is high in tension as the God of HOW begins to speak.

Lee Best: Let one motherfucker in this room say one word and I am pulling them from the fucking Tag Title Match……OR Firing them……..I am looking directly at you Mr. Hollywood.

Lee walks up to Brian and gets directly into his face.

Lee Best: You want to know why you are not on a War Games team? You want to know why you, the last World Champion before the restart, is literally an afterthought right now?

It is taking everything in Hollywoods power not to say anything as Lee continues.

Lee Best: You are the reason I had to go out and sign Lindsay Troy. You are the reason I had to sign Dan Ryan………bring fucking Eric Dane into HOW……….MJ Flair……..and the reason I emptied the bankroll to bring High Flyer in………you and every other fucker in here have done NOTHING to advance the company. You all stand there and talk about the history of the company….how you are Hall of Fame this…Hall of Fame that……that you are the heart and soul of the company……..FUCK THAT.

Lee rips off his #97red suit jacket and slams it to the ground……..he then rips the buttons on his black dress shirt and reveals the multitude of scars that cover his body.


Lee is in full out rage mode as he stares down everyone in the room.

Lee Best: Kostoff……I got your message earlier tonight loud and fucking clear….trust me big man… will go down………in fact I got the message from ALL of you loud in clear. Hollywood…..Jace… are in the fucking Tag Team match……..strictly because I have pity on you. You are fucking pathetic and don’t deserve it but guess what…..I want to see you got hurt……and hurt badly.

Hollywood smiles, which prompts Lee to rush right up to the man and he gets nose to nose with him. Lee slowly takes off his eye patch….

Lee Best: Look at your future Hollywood…..look at your fucking future. You might not believe it but trust me…this is it.

Lee backs off and addresses the rest of the wrestlers.

Lee Best: You guys consider yourselves the reason we are still in business? Well you got the opportunity at War Games to steal the fucking show. Prove me wrong. Prove my Son wrong. Prove all of us that think you guys are replaceable or washed up…….Yes I am looking at you Witness………prove EVERYONE WRONG!

With that Lee storms out of the room and we fade to black.

War Games Match for the World and ICON Championships
The Best Alliance (Eric Dane, Lindsay Troy, Dan Ryan, MJ Flair, High Flyer vs. The eMpire (Farthington©, Max Kael©, Scottywood, Halitosis, John Sektor)

Tag Team Title Match with the titles hanging from War Games Cage above each ring
The Egg Bandits vs. The LOD (Kostoff and Silent Witness) vs. Scott Stevens and Jonny O’Dell vs. Darin Zion and Noah Hanson vs. Crash Rodriguez and Bobby Dean vs. Hollywood and Jace Savage