DaVE? Where Have I Heard That Name Before?

[sebsplex]

BACKSTORY SHORTFORM: This dynasty is interconnected to events of Monkeypox's "Mark Cuban Does DaVE" and Eisen-verse's "DOA The Evolution of GREED" and combines both dynasties to form it's canon / timeline.

 

The story begins in August 2010, flashing forward two weeks in time after John Greed walked out of the taping of Rapid Assault episode #11, plunging the future of the Deadly Overloaded Action project into doubt. American entrepreneur and owner of the NBA basketball team the Dallas Mavericks, Mark Cuban has seized control of DOA's assets after a series of complex negotiations and intends to use them as the core of his attempt to relaunch Danger and Violence Extreme (DaVE), the promotion he purchased from Phil Vibert back in 2007, subsequently driving it to bankruptcy less than a year later. Meanwhile StallCorp (the corporation founded by J.K. Stallings Jr) sit on the periphery, moving to push DaVE into bigger and better territories, providing 'corporate sponsorship' and are believed to have played a pivital role in convincing Cuban to reignite the ashes of DaVE.

 

At the beginning, this dynasty will face forwards, jumping straight into the first show, an episode of Danger Zone TV that will make or break the promotion. However in true Lost fashion, there will be times when I will flashback to events that have taken place in the interim to explain exactly this scenario came to be as placing everything in one massive, convoluted backstory post was just too overwhelming to write - and I suspect for many to want to read. Instead, I'll sprinkle in the details more sparingly.

 

THE CUBAN LIMO CRISIS

 

http://i80.photobucket.com/albums/j178/sebsplex/DaVE%20Diary/MarkCubansml.jpg

 

"This is the problem, when you think you understand where the solutions come from. For a smart man, you made a dumb move."

 

Too immersed in his world of thrills and dollar bills, Mark Cuban hadn't seen the man hiding in full view of the Crowne Plaza Hotel in Downtown Seattle, let alone assume control of the vehicle, but judging from his attire, no one would have mistaken him for being a guest. A dark gray hooded sweatshirt tightly drawn over his head, the man occupied the driver's seat of the luxury limousine, having 'obtained' the vehicle's keys from a parking attendant who'd had the misfortune of possessing them earlier in the evening. Now he determined the fate of Cuban's journey to the site of tonight's premiere episode of Danger Zone TV™, however he had no intention of altering their destination.

 

Not that his billionaire passenger knew that.

 

"What the fu..."

 

Cuban's body whiplashed before he could complete his statement of exasperation as the unidentified driver unexpectedly stomped his foot down on the gas pedal, spilling the contents of the manilla folder that lay on the lap of the Dallas Mavericks' owner as the vehicle lurched forwards. He clawed at the scattered sheets, trying to retrieve as many as he could before the car swerved hard to the right, sending Cuban sliding along the upholstery and into the door, where out the window he saw traffic flying by in the opposite direction at a similar rate to that of his racing heartbeat. He was coming to the realisation that he may not be leaving this vehicle of his own accord, if at all.

 

"I've been watching them, Mark." The man continued, his face partially revealed via the flickering screen of the on-board mini-television. "Watching for a long time now..."

 

Cuban's mind frantically fought through all the past sins he’d committed inside and outside the confines of the business world, trying to place the voice, attach a motive, anything that would add reason to this ordeal. None were forthcoming. He felt trapped on the wrong side of a two-way mirror.

 

"Look, I don't know who you are, but if it's money you want..." Cuban blurted out, unsure of what to say or do. Gripped by a prevailing sense of helplessness as various car horns blasted in the background.

 

"I can appreciate that this situation may appear as a threat to your well-being, but in actuality Mark, I'm here to protect you from them."

 

"Them?"

 

Eyes lingering on the driver separation window, Cuban refused to look elsewhere, eager for an explanation from the hooded antagonist on the other side.

 

"You've looked into their hollow eyes, taken them by the hand and accepted their word. Yet you haven't peeled back their heart of darkness and sought what lies beneath their rhetoric, the horror within. They crave control. They seek the finality that is to exist underneath their umbrella; or not at all."

 

Car horns continued to blare in the background as the limo swung violently to the left.

 

"We're just one block away from our destiny, Mark. There's still time to pull out of this misguided venture. Back out of the deal and avoid sentencing us to their pre-determined fate. If you decide to make tonight the start, then I assure you that it will bring forth our end. They will own us. They will destroy us."

 

Those words appear to resonate with Cuban, after all he wasn't the one who had arranged the initial meeting with StallCorp. They became aware of his aborted negotiations with Arcadia. His desire to purchase Deadly Overloaded Action and told him to reopen Danger and Violence Extreme instead, to honour the men who bled for that promotion using Arcadia's jettisoned project as a foundation. Perhaps he had been seduced by rhetoric and promises of unequivocal financial backing, blinded by his own opportunism, without pressing them for sufficient information on their own plans. Their agenda. When the possibility of investment surfaced from Los Angeles and readily presented itself, he felt he could ill-afford to refuse the rendezvous, even if it were with Gordon Wright, the right hand man of J.K. Stallings Jr, rather than the unassuming IT billionaire himself. Perhaps there was more to DaVE's resurrection than the corporation had allowed him to believe? Perhaps this was a mistake?

 

No, the only mistake Cuban had made was to allow this lunatic to introduce doubt into his mind.

 

"How do I know I can trust you?" He replied diplomatically, anxious not to antagonise a man whom he suspected was borderline schizophrenic and presently in control of the vehicle.

 

"You don't." Came the reply as the car screeched to a halt, propelling the billionaire from his seat, to the floor below. Resting on his hands, Cuban looked up towards the driver separation window that finally and ever so slowly wound downwards.

 

http://i80.photobucket.com/albums/j178/sebsplex/DaVE%20Diary/ShawnGonzalezsml2.jpg

...The Lone Wolf...

 

His expression impassive, Shawn Gonzalez gazed down at his reluctant passenger, removing his hood and the doubt as to his identity, yet failing to offset the uncertainty caused by his presence.

 

"I can do nothing more than ask you to believe in me. To act on my word as opposed to theirs. You do whatever it is you’re going to do tonight, as I have no fear for what our future holds and I know what responsibilities I must uphold."

 

Looking to both sides of the car, Cuban exhaled deeply, the adrenaline gradually subsiding in his system upon discovering that both of the passenger doors were now unlocked. He could see the lights of the arena through the tinted glass, the fans huddled several deep, shoulder to shoulder, lined outside the entrances, in anticipation of this new era for the promotion Cuban drove to bankruptcy, fused with the project that John Greed had abandoned. They'd arrived. More importantly, in one piece.

 

“You’re on medication, right?” The Dallas Mavericks owner said through gritted teeth as he flung the door open, snatching his files and grasping the championship belt that had been safely concealed underneath his seat. "Listen, freak... I have friends. Important friends who can make problems like you disappear. Nobody f**ks with Mark Cuban!"

 

Gonzalez sneered, as if he'd just been threatened to death via mambo with Cuban's old dance partner, Kym Johnson. Slowly pulling the hood of his sweatshirt back over his head, he opened the driver side door.

 

"I knew you’d be willing to take that chance, because I know you well, Mark. You're a betting man."

 

Cuban watched as the former DaVE fixture exited the vehicle and began walking away from the boisterous scene, towards his own destiny, leaving the billionaire with one burning question.

 

What if Gonzalez was right?

 

________________________________________________

[sebsplex]

WHAT'S THE BIG IDEA?

 

Originally this story was little more than a private game, never intended to grace/soil these forums. I'm aware that by converting it into a dynasty, I'm treading on almost sacred ground with some of the content used here, but after having a considerably unenjoyable last couple of months, several dynasties on this board have provided me with a very welcome distraction. This dynasty is little more than a chance for me to creatively unwind and pay tribute to a couple of the authors, taking some of their themes and creations to mesh with my own, to create this complete concept clusterfudge and tell my own story. Having forewarned them and secured their approval for direct ideas used, I hope they enjoy seeing my interpretation of elements of their work. For everyone else, I'd say simply to take this dynasty for what it is. Not an attempt to carve a reputation of dynasty greatness, but an extension of ideas and my own creative way of repaying/entertaining some of the people who've produced some much appreciated reading material on this forum... and of course hopefully anyone else who's reading, although I can appreciate that this won't be to everyone's taste (but then, what dynasty is?).

 

WHY DaVE? WHY SO COMPLICATED?

 

Reviving DaVE in a 'believable' fashion isn't exactly easy, especially due to how their roster has been scattered across the C-Verse, but then the main point of this dynasty isn't too revive the DaVE of old. This backstory leads to a version of DaVE that is a like a softcore Frankenstein creation, cobbled together with the vital organs of DOA, some old DaVE body-parts and some new shiny limbs from the free agent pool. Despite my love of Pox's vision of DaVE, this isn't an attempt to recreate it and write some pale imitation, so Eddie Peak, Sammy Bach, Brandon James, Emma Chase & co are nowhere to be seen and will stay that way unless the game legitimately 'frees' them. Instead, like I said in the opening paragraph, this dynasty merely incorporates the tales told by Pox & E-V into the existing C-Verse and takes place in the hypothetical aftermath - blending them with concepts used and un-used in my previous dynasties. This is sounding messy already isn't it?

 

WHAT HAVE I CHANGED IN-GAME?

 

Not much, to tell the truth. Greg Black has been moved via the editor to reflect his signing to DOA, Art Reed also starts on the roster due to moving the game start date forward to August 2010 and Nemesis has returned from hiatus. The rest of the roster are readily available workers on ppa deals, so are shared with the promotions they originally start with in game. On the promotion side, DaVE hasn't been directly ported over from TEW 2007 as I've tweaked the popularity, lowered their prestige to reflect Cuban's disastrous previous reign and the product settings have been appropriately watered down. Mark Cuban is the user character and Danger Zone TV airs on Arcadia in the same Thursday night timeslot that DOA's Rapid Assault held as per backstory.

 

Beyond that, everything else is true to the default data.

 

WHAT CAN YOU EXPECT?

 

Despite the base, this dynasty will be somewhat darker in tone and written in the same pseudo-kayfabe fashion I can only seem to write in, although that doesn't mean I won't throw some nuggets of humour in as well. I'm booking with Cuban's influence in mind, so some aspects will be deliberately flawed and I've also made a deliberate attempt to use some workers that are generally less-talented, which is good news for the likes of Tank Bradley. Speaking of which...

 

THE ROSTER

 

I'll put together something more detailed and graphical at some point after the first show, but without giving too much away, it will be subject to a little bit of flux. For now, this is just in simple text format for reference and to give everyone a picture of the bloated roster available for use ahead of Danger Zone TV and how it breaks down in backstory terms.

 

DOA Season 1 Roster Survivors (following the purchase of DOA's assets by Mark Cuban)

Eric Tyler :: Greg Black :: Acid :: Kazuma Narato :: Fumihiro Ota :: John Pathlow (Johnny Vicious aka Hell Monkey) :: Torment (aka Marc Speed) :: Matty Sparrow :: Donnie J :: Fox Mask :: Masked Cougar :: Mikey James :: Citizen X :: Teddy Powell :: Jettstream (aka Jacob Jett) :: The Elder Statesman (aka Ted Brady) :: Dick Eyezen (aka Handsome Stranger) :: Tom Kornell (aka Steven Parker) :: Jay Chord :: Rayne Man :: Donte Dunn :: Frankie Perez :: Sammy Strung (aka Brains McGhee) :: Sara Silver ::

 

DaVE Alumni Re-Signed (alumni as per continuation from "Mark Cuban Does DaVE!")

Nemesis :: Bulldozer Brandon Smith :: Alex Braun :: Johnny Martin :: Art Reed :: Hell's Bouncer (repackaged as Justice) :: Shawn Gonzalez :: Missus Smith (aka Rita Charles) :: Tank Bradley :: American Elemental :: Mitch Naess ::

 

Brand New Hires (previously unattached to either promotion)

Big Cletus (aka Larry Wood) :: Sammy The Shark :: Ford Memphis (aka Ford Gumble) :: Jeremiah Moose :: Henry Lee :: Victor Kahn (aka Air Attack Weasel) :: The Idaho Punisher :: Silver Shark :: Dermot O'Logical :: Antonio Del Veccio :: Insane Machine :: Miss Emily (aka Queen Emily) :: Sara Marie York ::

 

CREDITS...

 

Obviously Eisen-Verse's 'DOA The Evolution Of GREED' dynasty was a strong catalyst behind this one, with the consuming and immersive Arcadia-driven world prompting me to explore the concept of a pseudo second season led by Mark Cuban. Immense thanks to him for being so cool, letting me run with a number of his characters and use his work as a base and canon for this, also spanning into a couple used from his all too brief ELITE dynasty (Big Cletus and Victor Kahn). I also need to pay massive thanks to jhd1 for supplying me with numerous awesome alts (some yet to appear) and allowing me to run with a couple of familiar faces from his awesome 'USPW The Battle For Prime Time' such as Gordon Wright and of course, Ford Memphis, although the former is rather different character. And of course I need to give a big nod to Monkeypox for blazing the C-Verse/Real World trail by introducing Mark Cuban to DAVE in the logically named 'Mark Cuban Does DaVE!'. Wherever you are Pox, I miss the days when you, me and Jehovah (someone else who needs to reappear around here) were running dynasties and pinging ideas off one another... I still haven't forgiven you for posting snippets of THAT rendering pm though

 

Plus Kam and ReapeR, for not only creating all the DaVE logos and belts, but leaving them free for use.

 

AND FINALLY

 

If you haven't read either of the aforementioned Pox and E-V dynasties from back-to-front, this dynasty should still make sense as a standalone piece. However they can be found below, along with an awesome summary article on this version of DaVE by Beeker.

 

Mark Cuban Does DaVE!

DOA: The Evolution of GREED

The Rebranding of DaVE - Article By Beeker

 

Anyway, I'm always willing to answer questions or explain things if they don't come across correctly, although some elements of the story have intentionally been left shady/vague at this juncture. The first show should be up by weekend, but in general, due to my style of writing and general lack of much free time, this will be a fairly slow-moving affair.

 

NEXT: DANGER ZONE TV EPISODE 001!

[Eisen-verse]

*Duh, Duh, Duuuuuuuuuuuhhhhhh*

 

The Plot thickens....

 

I have to say, I absolutely love this idea, Sebs. I have no doubt you'll do a great job with this one here.

 

Also, it'll be great to see Cletus & Kahn still alive somewhere! ELITE was a fun program to work with for a bit. Now, selfishly, I get to watch them come 'back to life'; crazy excited about that.

 

All in all, You have a reader in me. 100%.

[jhd1]

If TNA's 'this is awesome' didn't annoy me to death I'd be typing it in chant form.

 

Great start Sebs, I can't wait until the shows start. I love the fact Gordon Wright is returning, and Ford Gumble has never been so popular! One demand from this reader...I want Stern

[The Celt]

So what does all this mean for PSW?

[20LEgend]

The only way to describe this is 'Crazy-Awesome'

[sebsplex]

I have to say, I absolutely love this idea, Sebs. I have no doubt you'll do a great job with this one here.

 

Also, it'll be great to see Cletus & Kahn still alive somewhere! ELITE was a fun program to work with for a bit. Now, selfishly, I get to watch them come 'back to life'; crazy excited about that.

 

All in all, You have a reader in me. 100%.

 

Thanks E-V, although you're probably not my most objective reader

 

I'm enjoying using both Cletus and Kahn so far, although in game terms they're smaller fish in a larger pond than in their ELITE days, but hopefully you'll like what I have in store for both.

 

If TNA's 'this is awesome' didn't annoy me to death I'd be typing it in chant form.

 

Great start Sebs, I can't wait until the shows start. I love the fact Gordon Wright is returning, and Ford Gumble has never been so popular! One demand from this reader...I want Stern

 

Thanks jhd. At least now I can prove this wasn't just a scam to persuade you into whipping up a bunch of alts!

 

You can't be surprised about Gumble getting so much use. If his Ford Memphis alt doesn't get him a job in the next edition of TEW, then there's no justice in this world! As for Stern, well he won't be around from the outset, although I will say that Henry Lee is all-sorts-of-messed up.

 

So what does all this mean for PSW?

 

Ah, thanks for bringing this up Celt, I thought somebody might.

 

In general terms PSW is still present in it's start of game form as all of their workers listed to appear in the relaunch of DaVE are on non-exclusive deals, so they're just working additional dates and gaining a bit more exposure. As to their motivation for appearing as well as whether and what DaVE's re-emergence entails for PSW as a promotion, well that's something that gets touched on during the first show and is somewhat of a reoccuring theme.

 

The only way to describe this is 'Crazy-Awesome'

 

Well if the first show is anything to go by, I'll certainly have the 'crazy' portion down.

 

Thanks for the comment 20LEgend, it's cool to see you rocking the Moth Man as your avatar.

 

Speaking of which, I might as well use this opportunity to post the full-sized Mark Cuban render, should anyone else have a wish to use it...

 

http://i80.photobucket.com/albums/j178/sebsplex/DaVE%20Diary/MarkCuban.jpg

Render courtesy of Sebsplex

 

It's an update of the one I made for Pox once upon a time.

[sebsplex]

OOC Note: This is a very story-laden show, but there’s a lot of groundwork to lay for the events to come. This sort of length won't be typical for the more standard editions of Danger Zone TV. I'll give a cookie to anyone who reads more than 50% of it

_______________________________________________

 

"As time passes, the limits of growth and progression within a set paradigm get reached. If it is the goal to continue to produce then there are two paths that can be taken: expansion outside of the set paradigm or stagnation and inevitably, repetition. To satisfy themselves as a collective, the trajectory of growth and change has to be acceptable to all. However, it must be kept in mind that 'acceptable' is often inherently a compromise and thus, laced with internal tensions."

 

 

http://i80.photobucket.com/albums/j178/sebsplex/DaVE%20Diary/Davedanger_alt.jpg

FROM DANCING WITH THE STARS TO DANCING WITH THE DEVIL

DAVE Danger Zone TV

: Episode 001 - Thursday, August Week 1, 2010 - From The Compound, Seattle

________________________________________________

 

For those expecting 'atonement' as the set theme of

Mark Cuban

's night, the demeanour of the Dallas Mavericks' owner barely resembled that of a man heavily burdened with guilt as he strode purposefully towards 'The Compound', an elaborate facility far removed from the grungy, industrial ambience conveyed by the home of the promotion in it's previous incarnation. Those who had once worshipped at Phil Vibert's altar of anti-establishment decried the consumption of their beloved promotion, it's legacy absorbed and very identity re-imagined by the billionaire fanboy. Nobody knew whether he genuinely felt bad about what happened, whether he was really sorry for the months of mismanagement or if he spent more than a few fleeting moments thinking about his decision to shut down back in 2007 during the time that followed. It seemed beyond comprehension that the corpse could be exhumed after so much time, propped up by the crutch of Deadly Overloaded Action, like a mocking homage to Weekend At Bernie's, all endorsed by the soulless mechanism of StallCorp. Yet this was the reality, encapsulated by the visual of Cuban cradling the Unified Title belt in his arms as if it were a newborn child, his eyes flashing with excitement as he surveyed his surroundings. Tonight would be a fresh start. A system reboot for the Danger And Violence Extreme 'franchise' the billionaire originally obtained three years ago. Mistakes were made, Cuban conceded that himself, but whilst their approach had been flawed, he steadfastly held on to his conviction that with a little retooling and some new sets of hands working behind the scenes, he could deliver his vision of the organisation and successfully sell it to mainstream America, achieving vindication for his previous failure in the process.

 

And it been a failure. A catastrophic one for those associated with DaVE. Furthermore it was his fault.

 

Cuban himself had seen 80% of his investment in DaVE evaporate, but it equated to a fraction of his personal liquidity, something like 2%. He'd lost more on the stock market in the same year than he did on DaVE. And when those doors finally shut on twelve years of history, half of the DaVE raised their heads, said their farewells, and moved on with their lives. They went on to other promotions, to other glories, and to other walks of life.

 

Tonight has nothing to do with any of those people. Tonight was for the rest of them. The ones that spent the last three and a half years clinging on to the few precious memories of what being an extremist once entailed. The ones for which there was no SWF, no TCW, no pot of gold at the end of the blood-splattered rainbow. The ones that were left behind.

 

Tonight, on the special Arcadia produced and nationally airing premiere episode of Danger Zone TV™, Mark Cuban would once again attempt to sell not the medium of wrestling, but in his own words, a unique and emotional experience. Whatever his motivation for doing so, tonight was their last chance, the final roll of the dice of Danger and Violence Extreme. It was everything.

 

http://i80.photobucket.com/albums/j178/sebsplex/DaVE%20Diary/SaraMarieYorksml.jpg

...Behind Every Good Man...

 

Rolling a black pen gently across the glossy surface of her bottom lip,

Sara Marie York

is positioned patiently outside a set of firetruck-red double doors, spread open to expose the veritable hive of activity backstage as the clock ticked closer and closer to the start of the broadcast. Stagehands move crates, technicians attach themselves to their equipment and officials hurry to their designated positions with military precision. As dictated by her new role, York was a key component in the new organisational mechanism, evidenced by the clipboard in her hand. She pounced on Cuban before he managed to cross the threshold, systematically going through a list of preparatory measures that had been completed prior to his arrival as they walked. For all the talk of pyrotechnics meeting EPA standards, secured permits and the many rigours that holding a wrestling show necessitates, his concentration laid elsewhere on other matters. People like Sara were paid to handle these aspects of a project so that people like Cuban didn't have to pay such trivialities any undue concern. That didn't mean he underestimated her value, however.

 

Heads turned, necks twisted and eyes focussed as the workers congregated displayed varying degrees of interest, unease and mistrust as Cuban passed through the sterile backstage area. To all intents and purposes he was still an outsider. An outsider with some previous involvement in the business, including a notable presence on the judging panel of Arcadia's "So... You Wanna Be A Pro Wrestler?" in the past year, but an outsider none the less. Added to the mix of differing circumstances and contrasting motivations already present, a prevailing sense of turmoil now resided behind the scenes and without sufficient regulation, had the potential to engulf the Compound.

 

"...and we understand that Nemesis is yet to arrive."

York finished, almost breathlessly.

 

Cuban simply arched his eyebrows, trying to remain facially neutral to the news, aware of the several sets of eyes that currently lay on him. More than he had bargained for.

 

Fixated on the khaki-clad entrepreneur, three figures maintained their menacing visual from an indistinct area, a place where light fails to penetrate and even the shadows seem to pull away from their masked forms. No words were exchanged as they monitored Cuban and his assistant disappearing beneath the over-arching rear entrance of the arena. None were necessary. Instructed to hold council in response to the dramatic shift in what once consisted of the DOA landscape, they held a shared understanding and disperced in synchrony, slithering deeper into the darkness.

 

The Tribunal had begun.

 

************************ MAIN SHOW ************************

 

http://i80.photobucket.com/albums/j178/sebsplex/DaVE%20Diary/MitchNaesssml.jpghttp://i80.photobucket.com/albums/j178/sebsplex/DaVE%20Diary/EricTylersml-1.jpg

Your Announce Team: Mitch Naess & "The Voice Of Tradition" Eric Tyler

 

The opening montage was sleek, lending itself towards a Tarrantino-esque stylised portrayal of violence, yet retained an overtly aggressive tone that stepped to the unrelenting beat of DAVE's marching anthem, "Danger, Violence, Extreme!". This continued during the transition to the LIVE feed, fading out slightly as it was overpowered by the barrage of major league pyrotechnics that exploded around the new set, where the camera rested, shuddering violently to emphasise each explosion. The set itself bore all the hallmarks of StallCorp's flawless design process, a masterpiece crafted in steel and surrounded by the trappings an industrial warehouse - oil drums, wooden pallets, security fencing, complimented by a high-quality lighting rig, loaded with the strongest strobes and beams from the studios nearby and several very large high-resolution screens to complete the HD set-up. No expense had been spared to insure that this historical edition of Danger Zone TV would be unlike any edition witnessed before it, boasting production values that were intentionally reminiscent of those implemented in the 'Land of Supreme'. Meanwhile, the familiar voice of

Mitch Naess

reached new octaves, reeling off monikers to attach to the celebrity charge who navigated his passage through the unfamiliar environment and eventually emerged underneath the electric blue glow of the entranceway, a simple octagon shaped opening with a steel framework border that led straight out onto the stage.

 

"Make no mistake about it folks, 'the billionaire Maverick' has returned! Welcome to Danger Zone TV! You're watching the Season Premiere of the Danger and Violence Extreme and we come to you LIVE, from The Compound, right here on the Arcadia network! I'm Mitch Naess, sitting alongside me is a man who is as synonymous with DaVE as thumb-tacks and barbed wire baseball bats, 'The Voice of Tradition' Eric Tyler!"

 

"It's good to be back, Mitch..."

Tyler began somewhat insincerely.

"The place has changed a little, ain't it."

 

For the sake of Arcadia continuity,

Eric Tyler

needed to address his dysfunctional stewardship of Deadly Overloaded Action, like the proverbial elephant in the room it was. An apology wouldn't have been suitable, nobody who tuned in an episode of Rapid Assault would have bought that, but his presence in such a supplementary role, a field general abandoned by his soldiers and stripped of his network granted powers, warranted the minimum of a loose explanation for Arcadia's regular viewers. None was forthcoming, however.

 

Clad in a generic black DaVE t-shirt, faded blue jeans, a pair of jackboots and sporting a thin mask of stubble, it was as if Eric Tyler and Deadly Overloaded Action had shared no association, a figment of collective imagination. His eyes were dark, not due to the effects of prolonged drinking, but an intention to hide his true feelings... at least, for the time being.

 

"Like adding new chapter to an old story."

Tyler mused with a wry smile as numerous members of the roster filter out to form an uncomfortable gallery on the stage, ahead of Mark Cuban's opening monologue.

 

http://i80.photobucket.com/albums/j178/sebsplex/TEW%20Diary/ecwbreak.jpg

 

http://i80.photobucket.com/albums/j178/sebsplex/DaVE%20Diary/MarkCubansml.jpg

Emphasising The EXTREME

 

Already well-versed in the art of addressing a crowd, Mark Cuban took hold of the microphone with the assurance of a man who had grown increasingly familiar with LIVE television and embraced it with his own brand infectious enthusiasm. His speech began like any good wedding speech begins, he thanked everyone for coming, acknowledged the viewers at home and drew attention to the throng of wrestlers near the entrance, an awkward compilation of DaVE alumni and remnants of DOA stock carried over from the takeover, spliced with some brand new hires, all of whom were effectively being paraded for show. The camera theatrically swoops over them, revealing some notable absences and closes with a shot of Matty “The Pecker-Wrecker“ Sparrow, leant against part of the steel support rigging, kitted out in the crotch hugging pink shorts and a black t-shirt emblazoned with "I put the dic(k) in dictionary" in white text across the chest, instantly familiar to the small contingent of 'dead-heads' still clinging to the franchise.

 

"This is Danger And Violence Extreme, but not as you know it... our brand is evolving, we are going to be bigger and better and most of all, we are going to redefine the way that many of you perceive our business!"

 

Naess brought up the fact that this was the first edition of Danger Zone TV™ to air since the Caulfield Incident gave their old network the excuse they'd been waiting for to cancel the show, but beyond that reference, the dark days of DaVE's end remained deliberately unmentioned. Recounting the high water moments of his previous reign, Cuban's diatribe ticked all of the rhetorical boxes, but it was all mandatory hype, laced with buzzwords and devoid of real explanation as to how tonight really came to be. The owner of the Mavericks presses ahead with another minute or so of hyperbole, despite the growing sense of restlessness, before touching on a subject that would resonate with the many faces staring back at him from the stage. That happened to be the ostentatious prize that Cuban had fastened around his waist before stepping through the curtain. The Unified Title. Tonight's episode of Danger Zone TV™ will herald the dawn of the next Unified Champion, but absolving himself from the process, Cuban stresses that the choice of the competitors involved is not that of his own preference, but the volition of the fans.

 

"This company will not be dictated to by a voice of reason. Instead it will respond to the voice of you, the fans. In this world, you can be the best wrestler on the planet, but if nobody wants to watch you, then it doesn't matter. You won't see the broad side of a main event. I need to create viable contenders and marketable champions and simply stringing a few wins together ain't gonna cut it. You need to connect with the audience. You have to DRAW. I don't really care about the details of how you do it, but if you want air-time, you'll figure something out. Otherwise, you're gone. No exceptions. If I can't put you on television, then I don't have a reason to keep you on the payroll."

 

Cuban pointed and smiled at the crowd who in turn were unsure how to receive their new found influence, whilst it was safe to assume that cups would have been thrown at monitors and chairs kicked across locker rooms in the back had the wrestlers been allowed to reside there during this segment. Naess speculated that their boss could be taking his cues from the scoring process of shows like

Dancing With The Stars

or

American Idol

, but such relevant pop-culture references were lost on the Tyler who was familiar with neither franchise - and had cracked open a bottle of Budweiser in the meantime, remaining strangely detached from proceedings. Neither announcer was sure how the concept would be rewired to fit the rusty framework of DaVE's remains.

 

"It's simple formula of performance and popularity. Quantified, it provides us with the most cutting edge and responsive ranking system this industry has ever known. It's a little something I like to call the

Extreme Index

. You want title shots, screentime, favours from the front office? Make it to the top of the Index and you'll receive it. Languish at the bottom and you receive nothing. Zilch. In fact I might pink-slip you one night just for showing up."

 

The lights in the Compound flicker in an uncoordinated fashion, accompanied by the hissing feedback of the microphone upon Cuban's last words. A technical hitch no doubt.

 

"As of tonight, the Extreme Index is in force. Like I said, I will reward those at the top and to prove that point, after analysing the data, I've determined the two men who will contest the Unified Title in tonight's main event..."

 

Attention diverted to the big-screen above the entrance for the graphical reveal as studio-shot images of

Acid

and

Greg Black

front up to one another with the #1 and #2 denoting their current Index positions respectively. Perversely as the Compound buzzed with excitement ahead of the proposed bout, the electrics shorted once more, this time plunging the interior of the arena into a near complete state darkness. The crowd fall silent, as if the breath is removed from their lungs and a chill envelops ringside. The temperature had dropped off as abruptly as the power. Undaunted, the ever resourceful Cuban withdraws his cellular phone from his pocket, flipping it open to utilise it as if it were a torch, one which did at least provide enough illumination to reveal the ring filling with smoke around him.

 

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...Enter The Dragon...

 

Four figures coalesce out of the haze, seemingly stepping out of nothing. Before Cuban can utter a syllable, he's disarmed of his phone and struggling for breath as a hand clamps around his throat like a vice, tilting his head backward. The billionaire's face betrayed his discomfort, his eyes struggling to focus on those of his assailant, whose in turn were burning a hole through him. A window directly into the unsettled soul of Fumihiro Ota. A man who no longer exists in the state of inner serenity and peaceful contentment that surmised his DOA tenure, his present demeanour is more akin to a one of unrelenting intensity. Yet in the mysterious collective that now surround Mark Cuban, he is a subordinate. One who relinquishes his grip at the silent command of the man who stands at #2 in Cuban's new pop-tocracy, the focal point of this ancient order of warriors, Acid.

 

Stepping forth, Acid thrusts his foot behind Cuban's knee, forcing the Mavs owner into a position of kneeling submission. The acrid smoke had dissipated enough to expose Fumihiro Ota and Kazuma Narato spread out in a triangle alongside Acid around their humbled employer and enough for Cuban to see the wrestlers he'd summoned for the opening segment remaining statuesque on the stage, showing no inclination to rush to his aid.

 

"Diiiiirrrrrrnnnntttt! Diiiiirrrrrrnnnntttt!"

 

The shrill bleeping of the BlackBerry in Cuban's pocket sliced through the silence, but as inappropriate as it appeared, Acid was unphased. He'd expected the outburst of modern technology and commanded Cuban to address the device through little more than a guttural hiss. Cuban understood, but despite this apparent approval, his hand trembled uncontrollably as he withdrew the BlackBerry and tended to his inbox, confused by the message displayed upon the screen;

 

Bow to The Dragon. For we are his Tribunal. Adhere to his word... or suffer his claws.

 

The plastic casing of the BlackBerry began to fizz and bubble as it inexplicably overheated, forcing Cuban to toss it to the canvas. By the time he raised his head upward, the Tribunal of The Dragon were little more than a memory and he remained in the middle of the ring, alone.

 

Humbled.

 

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The Hunter, For Now

 

A trail of blood and dirt enticed the camera to delve further into the designated loading dock of the Compound, tracking the trail's origin to a mangled mass of flesh and fur being dragged onto the premises by a primitive, seven foot, late arrival to Danger Zone TV™. Released from his lifetime of severe isolation within the mountains of Appalachia,

Big Cletus

's head hung forward as he trudged into the venue, his filth encrusted long brown hair draped over his eyes as he hauled his fresh kill across the ground courtesy of the man-trap that had ensnared the creature. A nearby group of nameless backstage personnel debate how best to resolve an issue with the water supply to the concessions area, until a cold silence replaced their heated argument as the menacing figure of Cletus shuffled through the vicinity with his grim prize in tow. The piercing sound of his steel chain scraping across the concrete floor is enough to send a shiver down the spine of most mortals, but fortunately for the workers who find themselves within in his path, 'The Appalachian Madman' pays them no attention, sparing their souls on this occasion.

 

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DaVE? Sorry Buddy, I Don't Recognise You

 

Nemesis

glanced around with raised eyebrows. This wasn't what the DAVE legend had expected upon arriving, especially given his three year vacation from the business. He didn't consider himself to have an inflated sense of self-importance, but he held expectations that his arrival would cause some sort of a stir amongst the personnel massed behind the scenes. Perhaps reminiscent of a scene from one of the grainy old spaghetti Westerns that Vin Tanner used to indulge himself in, where the out-of-towner sets a spurred-foot in the saloon for the first time. The locals would stop drinking, cease their fighting and shield their poker hands as all eyes locked on the new arrival amidst a feeling of unease and the sense that the whole situation could degenerate in a heartbeat. Maybe it was a case of knuckling down to impress the new administration? No, the atmosphere here was far removed from that of any other event he'd attended in his tenure. Usually the mood in these areas would be productive, but with the prevailing sense that the whole operation was being held together by sweat, blood, duct tape and a little improvisation. Here, the backstage area seemed more like a well oiled machine running at full efficiency with an element of organised chaos as it shifted into a higher gear. The days of Phil Vibert calling the shots from his makeshift office, typically a folding wooden table positioned behind the curtain and surrounded by empty takeaway containers, had well and truly been consigned to history. Instead, Nemesis was confronted by a sprawling backstage expanse where production assistants and other backstage workers were running in every direction, criss-crossing one another carrying notes, running schedules, logo and branding ideas amongst other things. They all seemed neat, trim and exuded an air of confidence and purpose in their duties as their several pairs of meticulously shined shoes clicked across the concrete flooring in an almost rhythmic fashion.

 

It just served to illustrate that DAVE was alive in name only.

 

"Ahem, there's been an issue with tonight's itinerary, Mr Campbell..."

 

Nemesis turned to find a young man standing on toes behind him in a white turtle-neck sweater, holding a clipboard and another one of those headsets that several of his co-workers also appeared to be wired up to. He introduced himself as 'Drake', one of the lead production assistants, although Nemesis had forgotten his name almost as soon as the man had offered it, distracted by his eagerness to appear helpful.

 

"Transport complication."

Nemesis cut in, explaining his delayed arrival in typically blunt fashion.

"Cuban's here though, right?"

 

The man nodded nervously, hesitating before speaking again, unsettled by Hardcore Icon's growling delivery and whether it indicated a rising sense of anger. It didn't of course. That was how Nemesis always sounded.

 

"That's the thing, sir..."

The Drake finally interjected.

"There's been a slight change in our running order... as per Mr Cuban's instruction."

 

"What sort of change."

Nemesis growled, banging his over-sized fist on the closest equipment crate.

 

This time, the well dressed assistant detected the simmering undercurrent of aggression in the voice of Nemesis. Drake was a fast learner.

 

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[standard Rules, Singles Match]:

ART REED

w/

Miss Emily

versus.

JOHN PATHLOW

 

Outside of Acid, Art Reed is the most significant link this new incarnation of DaVE has to it's past, but it's safe to say here's something different about the "Pure Athlete" these days, beyond the presence of Miss Emily at his side. Reed appears to be in a state of transition, as if his eyes have been opened to the fact that since the promotion folded the first time around, his career has been as stagnant as three-week-old pond water. For Emily's part, Naess paints her as a success-craving talent agent, a similar role occupied by Emma Chase in her previous working environment, explaining that Reed has recruited in a bid to dispell the notion that his career has reached its plateau. Meanwhile, the former Johnny Vicious cracks his taped knuckles in anticipation of a DaVE debut that could have occurred three years earlier had Cuban's prohibitive hiring restrictions not prevented it, defying the prototype of a big-league superstar, unmarketable, uncompromising, unreasonable and in essence, uncontrollable.

 

The opening bell sets Pathlow loose and in typical fashion, he relished the commencement of battle, immediately forcing Reed on the defensive as he unleashes a barrage of kicks and strikes. Emily observes with a quiet concern from the other side of the ropes as her meal ticket is mauled, her trademark cold demeanour conveying as little emotion as Pathlow does, setting about his quest to resculpt Reed's facial features with the sole of his boot. Naess interjects that her apparent detachment from proceedings is due to her 'supreme' confidence in the abilities of her client, a position that seems justified once Reed finally found his bearings and bought himself some breathing space with a trademark reverse DDT neckbreaker (Art Attack). Thus provides the general theme of the contest, one of DaVE's few remaining 'marquee' names struggling to adapt to the unorthodox and unpredictable arsenal of strikes dispatched by an opponent who seems intent on putting him in traction and stating his claim to compete at the upper-reaches of the card, a privilege denied him by the previous administration in DOA, led by our resident colour commentator, Eric Tyler.

 

Art Reed tried to control the pace of the match by resorting to his methodical moveset, with crisp suplexes and arm-wringing well represented in an offensive repertoire, attempting to work the artist formerly known as Hell Monkey like a human pretzel, all in anticipation of feared Dread Lock. It bought limited success, but Pathlow is more durable than most and remained a constant threat, seemingly only one or two well directed attacks away from claiming victory himself. Slipping out of a vertical suplex, the rugged street-fighter attempts to capitalise with his own match-ender, a dose of “Blunt-Force Trauma” (Running Leaping Sidekick), but despite his disorientation, Reed pays homage to the matrix with a spine-contorting dodge, leaving Pathlow to briefly bundle into referee Eugene Williams following a momentum-driven lurch towards the ropes.

 

It's during this pivotal moment that Miss Emily earns her 'crust' so to speak, clutching a fountain pen from her pocket and driving the writing implement into the leg of John Pathlow with obvious and painful results. Naturally hunched over from the blow, Reed takes full advantage, grabs a handful of flame-red hair and forces Pathlow to not only absorb some "Dark Matter" (Inverse Russian Legsweep), but soak up his first loss under the promotion's new banner.

 

Result: Art Reed d. John Pathlow w/a "Dark Matter" following interference from Miss Emily

Rating: C+

 

Reed remains as oblivious to Emily's involvement as the hapless official until he catches sight of his agent retrieving the blood-tainted pen and concealing it in the fabric of her skirt. Using deductive logic, Reed puts the pieces of this rather simple puzzle together and is far from impressed by the picture that presents itself. Emily on the other hand retains the same casual indifference exhibited throughout the bout and disappears back up the ramp with her client trailing, eager to discuss what had just transpired, unaware that Pathlow's beady red eyes were locked on them both.

 

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Securing The Danger Zone

 

With another set of commercials absorbed by the viewing public, Danger Zone TV™ resumes by tracking down 'Head of Security'

Justice

as he patrols one of the many featureless corridors backstage. Disturbed by the distressing chatter that crackles from his radio, the one-time bouncer unearthed by Nemesis was unable to act on the message being relayed by a member of his security team, having already been summoned elsewhere by his new employer. Courtesy of a convenient split-screen display, indy worker Chris Perkins is shown slumped against a wall in a different location, blood trickling from numerous wounds on his body and convening in a sticky pool of crimson that covers the floor. Backstage attendants huddle around the relative newcomer, displaying varying levels of concern before the scene shifts back to Justice, who maintained his composure without much effort. After all, this is modern pro-wrestling and workers assaulting one another backstage was a common occurrence.

 

"Ugh, he's a real mess Chief... what th-... SCHRRRRRTTTTTT!"

 

The piercing burst of static causes Justice to yank the radio from his ear. Was it a scream? The snapping of bone? Justice wasn't sure. He'd been on duty since four hours prior to the show and was overdue a strong coffee. There was no need to be unduly troubled yet, but there was enough evidence to suggest the hit on Perkins required further investigation.

 

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...Mr & Missus Smith...

 

Justice makes his exit as

Bulldozer Brandon Smith

trudges into view, returning to the locker room area and looking somewhat deflated having been assigned nothing more than dark match duty on the night of DaVE's big return show. Something

Missus "Missy" Smith

is doing her best to remedy, bouncing down the corridor with a beaming smile, doe eyed and almost skipping, trying to raise her husband's mood.

 

"Come on honey, give me five minutes to take a shower. Then we'll go take in those big city lights, grab something to eat. My treat!"

 

Dozer perks up slightly and forces an accepting smile, cajoled by his wife who tugs on his arm in earnest. It wouldn't be up to the standard of her homemade cooking, but it should be good eatin' none the less.

 

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Know Your Nemesis

 

"Tell me who pays their wages, Sara? ...I do! They work for me! I OWN THEM! And yet, they stand and watch as I'm manhandled by some pseudo-super-natural attackers? I have the greatest power of all, Sara. I am so rich, I can do ANYTHING!"

 

A gourd or yerba sails across the personal suite of

Mark Cuban

and explodes into an unappealing green mash on the wall, thrown by the man himself. Having already failed to subtly explain to her petulant boss that an ultimatum, which translated to 'make me money or have your contract terminated' was always unlikely to endear him to the locker room, Sara Marie York almost welcomed the distraction provided as the "The Godfather of Graphic Violence" thundered into the room, virtually bringing the wooden door in with him.

 

"You must have a real short memory, computer boy..."

 

Nemesis

' deep voice boomed across the immediate landscape, sounding much like an infuriated Orson Welles as he grasps at Cuban's shirt-lapels, making sure to grab the billionaire with enough authority to make his point and shake some information out of him. Cuban for his part squirmed awkwardly as he attempted to explain why he'd aborted the planned Unified Title tournament the pair had agreed on prior to the show, gazing fearfully at the club-like hands of his interrogator throughout, scarred and weathered to the point they resembled a road map.

 

"C-come on John, we all know how these things w-work... this way, the right guys make it to the end zone. I'm just saving us some time..."

 

Continuing to inhale and exhale noisily, Nemesis remains unconvinced, his volcanic temperament teetering on eruption and his perpetual scowl deepening.

 

"Look I did everything else we agreed... w-with the contracts for the guys..."

Cuban stuttered, trying to back-pedal, his face turning a deeper shade of purple.

"DaVE is already kickin' ass... w-we're selling tickets, sponsorships... we're going to be successful and we're going to surprise a lot of people!"

 

Nemesis snorted, almost disappointed that his rage had began to dissipate. After all Cuban had kept his word and authorised open contracts to be issued to any former DaVE workers willing to return. Generous contracts at that - his way of taking the first step to righting some of the wrongs of his previous regime. It almost made him look like a nice guy, but Nemesis reminded him in no uncertain terms of their conversation with Head of Arcadia Programming, Jensen Tarver and that the former four time Unified champion's involvement in the project was the key to persuading the network to stay onboard. It was Nemesis who provided the leverage for Cuban to acquire the assets of Deadly Overloaded Action, from Rapid Assault's slot on the television schedule, to the talent lucrative contracts of the Acid's and Greg Black's of this world. If Nemesis walked, then Cuban would be back at square one, in possession of DAVE's burnt out remains, the worthless shell of the underground sensation it once was.

 

"Don't play me, Mark..."

Nemesis snarled, seemingly pacified enough to release Cuban, but not before jerking him forward one final time, a mere inch from his face.

 

"Because if you do, I swear... I'll crack your skull open like a coconut, scrape out what's inside... and pulverise it until it looks like that ridiculous green puke you drink!"

 

Down on all fours, Cuban gasped for breath on the carpeted floor, barely registering that Nemesis had faded from his peripheral vision. By the time he raised his head, Nemesis was gone and instead, a flustered stagehand stood before the billionaire owner in his place, similarly short on breath, but high on dramatic delivery.

 

"Mr Cuban, (deep breath)... sir, we have a

problem

."

 

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Totally Dominated

 

Sammy Strung

stood in the VIP section of the parking garage, three foot and six inches of pro-wrestling satire, impatiently puffing on a brown cigar as a white limousine rolled into camera shot. Still donning the nostalgic Sam Strong t-shirt and sporting the same clearly unofficial USPW trucker hat seen during his brief DOA exposure, "The Wee Legend" is obviously in a state of considerable irritation as

Dick Eyezen

disembarks from the vehicle.

 

"He ain't 'ere, Dick! I told ya we couldn't trust 'im! Kornell's sold us out! This Cuban fella has moved in on our territory, Dick, and we ain't takin' it! Kornell told me that this guy is making all these promises 'bout changin' our company and writing about his plans in some prissy girl diary he keeps on the darn interweb! But where is Kornell, Dick? I'll tell ya where... he's taken some of this new fangled interweb money and deserted the A-murican people!"

 

"Tricky Dick" never had the chance to rationalise Strung's rant. If he had, he'd have remained adamant that The United Dictators Of Total Supremacy would still be able to challenge this new authority known as Mark Cuban, even with only two thirds of their 'Big Three' contingent. Tom Kornell or no Tom Kornell. Instead, he faced a more dangerous and immediate threat than the one presented by the owner of the Dallas Mavericks.

 

"What ya starin' at, boy?"

 

...

 

There was no response, no explanation, just frenetic and uncoordinated violence. Taking advantage of his small physical frame, Strung scrambled to relative safety underneath the limousine, leaving Eyezen to the proverbial wolves that had set upon them. It was an act of self-preservation, but there was nothing more he could have done. Nothing that would have spared the remaining half of Totally Supreme from the fate that awaited him. The camera remains fixed from Strung's perspective, capturing little above ground level from beneath the vehicle's undercarriage and provided a visual that is little more than a blur of feet and blood, underscored by the sound of Eyezen's body repeatedly slamming against the exterior of the limo. Several uncomfortable moments later, the anguished cries cease and the rapid beat of footsteps pounding the concrete floor suggested that the unknown assailants had fled in the same manner to which they arrived.

 

"Dick?"

 

Strung's voice rippled with uncertainty as the body of Dick Eyezen lay mere inches from the sheltered position occupied by "The Wee Legend", staring emptily back at him through dim, lifeless eyes.

 

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In The Spirit Of Hardcore

 

"It don't make no sense. Why do it? Why now?"

 

DaVE ever-present,

Johnny Martin

removed the bag of compressed ice from his elbow and glanced across the locker room in the direction of

Alex Braun

, not really expecting an answer.

 

"You're sound'in like a one-note tune over there, Johnny..."

Braun replied, pausing to force his duffel-bag into the upright locker.

"Ain't no point second guessin' Cuban."

 

Almost creaking upward from his chair, Martin nods in agreement, reaching for the bottle Jack Daniels from the table nearby and necking it. Practically furniture in the original DaVE, both men had taken up the offer of new contracts, beneficiaries of the billionaire's apparent crisis of conscience.

 

"Just go with it. Roll with the punches. Like Mitch said."

Braun continued, returning his attention to the locker.

"We milk this cash cow for all it's worth, take the money back to Pittsburgh and keep the part of DaVE alive that really matters..."

 

Martin cackled, amused by the mental image of Mark Cuban being shaken by his scrawny chicken-neck and literally spewing forth money from his mouth like a foppish Pez-dispenser, now etched firmly in his chair-scrambled mind.

 

"I'll drink to that!"

 

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[Magic 8 Tag Team Match]:

FELINE FANCY

versus.

VIVA LAS VEGAS

versus.

THE CALI DRAGONS

versus.

THE MERCHANTS OF WAR

 

Conceptually, the Magic 8 Tag Team Match was born out of the awkward merger of Fatal Fourways and Eight Man Tags. Four wrestlers declared as active participants at any one time, but restricted to tagging their partner alone, who remained on the apron. The first man to score a pinfall or submission on any one of his three opponents, sealed victory for his team. Of all the match creations pitched ahead of the show, this was one of the least convoluted, however it's execution was chaotic and even the veteran official Jay Fair struggled to maintain any semblance of order once the bell sounded. In fact, even the formation of the match had proved challenging, with one of the advertised teams (Totally Supreme) missing in action and replaced via executive decision by the anarchy-embracing 'Merchants of War'. Overlooking this minor booking detail, the match does serve as an effective exhibition of the tandems involved.

 

Feline Fancy are straight onto the front foot, intent on proving they can still cut it as a premier team. The masked feline high-fliers are icons in CZCW, however their stint with DOA has proved less remarkable and saw them overshadowed by the likes of the Tokyo Express and the Moral Majority in what was once the realm of the Death Defying Duos. Tonight they certainly fought as if Cuban's takeover of their former workplace heralded a new personal dawn for their championship aspirations, pulling out all the stops and providing the highlight of an ongoing night in a sequence that saw them coordinate dual diving planchas on both members of Viva Las Vegas on the outside mats. Whatever Fox Mask and Masked Cougar can produce however, Frankie Perez and Mikey James appear equal to it, with James in particular dazzling the fans as he pings between the tightly wound ropes, a constant ball of non-stop energy, throwing himself directly into anything that moves. Such an approach is a far cry from that favoured by The Merchants of War, the beneficiaries of Totally Supreme's unexplained no-show. More commonly known as Citizen X, Charles Weston had abandoned not only his familiar moniker, but the morals (albeit questionable) that constrained the Moral Majority by teaming up with Victor Kahn, an arms dealer and a polarizing figure who has no qualms profiting from the ills of human nature. Still wearing his full dress attire, Kahn's involvement in the contest is minimal, preferring to maintain a visual on his briefcase at ringside, a Zero Halliburton brand brushed-aluminium model, the first choice of terrorists, drug dealers and other characters “The Instigator of Violence” would find acceptable business clientèle. Viva Las Vegas themselves could meet such loose criteria, men who first hustled their way through the Vegas Strip out of necessity having been cast adrift by TCW, now adopting it as a valid career choice, of which their attire was well suited. Conducting the match in a studded red jumpsuit, Ford Memphis is a sight to behold. Having piled on several pounds since his last appearance on mainstream television as Steve Gumble, the former Young Gun is every inch a wrestling incarnation of Elvis, unleashing comical stalled punches and stuttering slams that send his waistline rippling on delivery. Living his own persona as much as his partner, Silver Shark exemplifies a compulsive gambler who's vice clouds his judgement, leading him to put his well-being on the line with increasing abandon and frequency in order to make an instant impact on the DaVE landscape. The replay of the well-travelled high-flyer crashing into the padded security wall after a failed Nuclear Warhead plancha, was testament to that.

 

The match has all but broken down by the eight minute mark. Losing track of a never-ending list of infringements, Jay Fair is criminally out of position as Masked Cougar ascends the turnbuckle in anticipation of finishing Charles Weston off with the "Cougar Pounce" (Frog Splash). Fearing for his partner, Kahn slides his steel briefcase under the bottom rope as if it were a life preserver that would keep their hopes of victory afloat, but despite Weston groggily clutching the object, Cougar's innate cat-sense detected the danger...

 

"Thunk!"

 

The briefcase rattles off of Weston's skull courtesy of Cougar's thrust kick, knocking him senseless. Before the hooded high-flier can capitalise however, Kahn intervenes on a more personal level and treats Cougar to a taste of "The Wrath Of Kahn" (Superkick), only to then by removed from proceedings himself as Ford Memphis bull-rushes him through the ropes. Now with each remaining member of the match occupied with their own conflicts outside of the ring, Memphis covers the prone body of Weston, hooking the leg and thrusting his hand into the air with each successful count belatedly made by the referee, channelling the spirit of Presley.

 

Result: Viva Las Vegas d. The Merchants of War, Feline Fancy & The Cali Dragons when Ford Memphis pinned Charles Weston

Rating: C-

 

Ford Memphis and Silver Shark soaked up the strains of "Viva Las Vegas!" as it pounded obnoxiously out of the Compound sound system, the vocals clearly not those of 'the King' himself, to a mixed reception. Naess and Tyler carried out the post mortem of the first ever 'Magic 8' match, leaving the losing participants to reflect on their thoughts, particularly Frankie Perez who is shown sat on the apron, ripping away his necklace and scrunching it in his fist.

 

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A Shower Scene Like No Other

 

Bulldozer Brandon Smith

paced the corridor backstage, clearly growing impatient by the time Danger Zone TV™ returned from the commercials. Anxious that his wife was yet to return from freshening up, he had collared

Sara Silver

into checking up on her and although Silver had a job to do trying to dig up the next big scoop or exclusive interview backstage, she was sympathetic to the cause and obliges. Besides, she liked the petite Minnesota native and with the exception of Miss Emily, the women generally looked out for one another backstage in what often proved an unforgiving business. Entering the ladies designated suite and changing area, Silver closes the door behind her and heads towards the shower facilities. The room was located deep in the arena, far enough away from the action for the walls to prevent any external noise from penetrating them, leaving only the sound of running water and... something else. Calling out Missy's name, she receives no initial response other than the sound of repetitive thumping, almost as if a butcher were continually slamming lump of meat down upon a counter over and over.

 

"Missy? Is that... you?"

 

Still no response. Just more thumping. Edging cautiously forward like any investigative journalist worth her salt would, she approaches the final cubicle to discover Missy with her back to her, half-naked and pounding on the wall to the point where her hands are bloody, smearing crimson down the tiles. Silver watches the cloudy mixture of water and blood flow around her feet, her feeling of relief quickly transforming to one of great unease. Missy's name slips from her mouth one final time and the thumping ceases, replaced by the sound of erratic breathing. Sensing something is dreadfully wrong, Silver begins to backtrack when Bulldozer's loving wife suddenly spins around, her eyes wide and bloodshot, burning with an intense rage that is a million miles from her usual meek and friendly manner. It was a look that Silver had never witnessed before and had no intention of witnessing any further, almost slipping as she turns to flee. Alerted by her screams, Dozer rushes towards the door at the same moment as Silver reaches it, wrenching at the handle as she desperately tries to open it. Her efforts are in vain as Missy is already on her before her husband can intervene.

 

"MISSY! NOOOOO!"

 

Instead, he can only watch through the window in horror as she forces Sara Silver's face against the glass, splitting her top lip and nose, causing an explosion of blood as if she had just squashed a tomato.

 

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They Say Money Talks. Greg Black Doesn't Listen

 

Oblivious to the bloodbath in the womens shower area, "Peerless"

Greg Black

is stood in front of the designated interview set backstage. The interview set itself is of standard issue, a large DaVE logo emblazoned in the background, supported by steel struts and illuminated by several surrounding spotlights, the beams of which bounce back off of Black's designer shades. The pre-arranged segment is far removed from Sara Silver's usual brand of investigative journalism, but her presence should have been mandatory. Instead, Black had come to the realisation that he had been stood up. Perhaps she could sense a bigger story unfolding in the Compound than quizzing him on current affairs and reminding the fans that he not only occupied the top spot on the newly unveiled Extreme Index, but was due a title shot in less than thirty minutes time.

 

"I'm going to keep this simple. This may be the only time in your unimpressive existence that you hear me utter these words to you, but you have something that I want."

 

"Double $"

Samuel T. Shark

strides into view and assumes control of the segment, donning a suit that he assures Black cost more money than whatever car he drove to the arena in. Clearly not dressed for competition, Shark has something else in mind. He has a proposition for Elmo Benson's ex-partner. Referring to the title shot that his aforementioned rank entitled him, Shark doesn't want to see it go to waste and urges Black to cash in on his good fortune and sell it to somebody who would actually seize such an opportunity with both hands.

 

"You want to buy MY title shot? Keep talkin'..."

 

Patronising, arrogant and condescending to boot, Shark reiterates his proposition, throwing in the additional carrot that when he defeats Acid, Black will be given automatic rights to be the first challenger. So in Double $'s eyes, Black can't lose. Although he is perhaps the only individual (other than Samuel T. Shark of course) within the walls of the Compound who finds this proposition an attractive one, Black strokes his lower jaw, apparently contemplating the deal. The grin on Shark's face widens as he pulls out a wad of bills and thrusts them into Black's hand as a sweetener, waiting for the acceptance of his terms to follow. Black briefly examines the cash, flicking through the notes with his fingers before hurling them straight back in Shark's face.

 

"Here's what you can do with your money...

BET IT ALL ON BLACK

!"

 

Incensed by the blatant disregard paid to his personal wealth, Shark launches himself at Black. The pair tussle in front of the set, but Shark fights dirty, securing the upperhand with an eye gauge before looping a nearby cable around Black's thick neck and trying to choke the life out him. Resorting to 'plan B', Shark calls out to Rayne Man who he believes is waiting in the wings to attack. Only Rayne Man doesn't appear. He ran the scenario past Rayne Man earlier and the former SWF rookie readily agreed to take part, if only to add another small entry into the diary of the Rayne/Black rivalry that continually rumbled along in the background of anything else either superstar had going on since their days together in the Land of Supreme, battling on the undercard until the former was released. Shark believed they shared an understanding of how to do business, but for whatever reason, Rayne Man had backed out and that proved a problem as Black powered back to his feet and jettisoned Shark into a set of equipment crates, drawing a line underneath their brief skirmish.

 

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Abandoning More Than Just Principles Of Fair Play

 

Although the camera starts at her chest, most of the audience identify

Miss Emily

before it moves upwards to her face.

 

"Look Art, you need to understand the bigger picture. Have you forgotten about that SWF dark match already? You lowered yourself to slipping on that headband, bouncing around the ring as 'Da Monsta', begging them to hand you a thread of opportunity and they still gave you nothing. If you want to make big money here, become a top name, overcome lunatics like Pathlow, then you can't always be the nice guy. I'm not a simpering cheerleader who's just going to stand around and watch you lose. I guarantee my clients success, by any means necessary if the situation demands it."

 

Staring off into the distance and idly toying with his braids as the pair walked backstage,

Art Reed

accepted that his agent had a persuasive argument. He still maintained a disapproving stance towards her interference in his earlier match, but ultimately, he was the beneficiary and frankly, he needed to notch up a victory and justify his billing on the card. It had been three years since DaVE sank, three long years and whilst many of his colleagues clambered onto the proverbial lifeboats provided by the SWF, TCW and even USPW, he was left behind. There was no inundation of lucrative offers. The deal with Mark Cuban's new venture was the best deal on the table, a promotion with the oxygen of mainstream exposure and the only thing that spared him the indignity of floating the independent scene for months to come.

 

Reed needed success and despite not appreciating it at this juncture, he needed Miss Emily substantially more than she needed him.

 

"Big Money? Y'know what would make really big money? Me... you... a videocamera... anywhere you fancy it."

 

Matty Sparrow

materialises from a doorway out of shot, whistling as he admires the business suit that clings to Emily's form in that classic 'look but don't touch' way as she presses ahead. Disregarding Emily's instruction to ignore the amorous superstar, Reed rises to the verbal bait and fronts up Sparrow who continues to look beyond him, his eyes fixed on the Reed's manager as she turns her back on her client and continues down the hallway. Her majesty doesn't take kindly to being disobeyed.

 

"Pick your jaw off the floor before I brea... GNUUERGH!"

 

Coming completely out of left field, the illogical pairing of

Ted Brady

and

American Elemental

bundle into the Reed, dragging him to the floor. Sparrow can barely draw breath before he too is set upon... this time by what appears to be referee

Ryan Holland

. The official claws at the resident pornstar's face, spraying him with globules of blood and spit as Holland thrashes his head around like a man possessed.

 

"Enough of this Art. We've got better things to..."

 

Emily's ice-queen facade drops the moment she turns round. Assuming the commotion came from Reed and Sparrow's alpha-male contest, she's taken aback to see Sparrow waffle Ryan Holland with a steel tray while Reed struggles to fend off his own attackers. That's when Emily realises, like Sara Silver before her, that something is dreadfully wrong tonight on Danger Zone TV™. Am-El and Brady are joined by another two men. Not superstars, but ordinary guys who work in the back during the show. The kind of guys who Emily wouldn't pay a moment's attention to if they weren't currently trying to crack her client's head open on the ground like a watermelon. Decked out in the same cheap poloshirts that most of the crew are required to wear, the men, like American Elemental and Brady are almost primal in their aggression. The faces of all four attackers contorted with rage, twisted into something inhuman as they rain blows down on Reed.

 

She instinctively takes a step forward to help, but Sparrow pulls her back, telling her that there's nothing she can do and drags her away as Art Reed stretches a quivering arm out towards them, before Ryan Holland recovers and bundles on top of him, drowning him in a sea of (in)humanity.

 

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[DaVE Rules, Singles Match]:

JOHNNY MARTIN

versus.

HENRY LEE

 

Elsewhere in the back, "The Icon of Insanity" Henry Lee is perched atop one of the equipment crates with his Singapore cane in one hand and a can of beer in the other. Fellow DaVE veteran Johnny Martin walks into view packing a steel chair and asks his fellow hardcore soldier if he's aware that their match is up next. Lee nods in response and adds that it's gonna be just like old times, rapping the cane against the crate. Martin asks him if he's ready as a wry smile forms on the mugs of both hardcore icons.

 

The fact that this match had to be denoted as a “DaVE Rules” contest highlighted the product ambiguity that remained from Cuban's previous tenure in charge, dipping into the muddied the waters of what was deemed acceptable in the context of a typical match. In Vibert's day, he kept it simple. Short of firearm usage, the wrestlers were empowered to inflict whatever punishment they deemed necessary on their opposing counterpart, immune from the threat of disqualification. No rope breaks. No count outs. No excuses. Cuban however baulked at the cumulative toll such an approach took from the collective talent he'd invested in and introduced a different business model, one that regarded this form of unregulated combat a special attraction as opposed to the norm. From a business perspective it made sense, enabling a more durable and available roster. The fact that Eric Tyler featured in more matches through the seven months of Cuban's regime than the previous year and a half under Vibert was testament to that. In truth, both of the two men involved in this skirmish had a style of working that was inclined to fully embrace the freedom granted to them.

 

Shooting to his feet, Lee wields his cane and cracks it against the steel chair of Martin who shared similar, violent intentions. The pair duel with their weapons of choice for a few moments longer until Martin bundles his opponent against the nearby wall and effectively disarms him. DaVE's face of the East Coast War then takes a swing for the fences, but connects with nothing other than concrete pillar before Lee tackles him to the floor. The pair then embark on a brief tour of the backstage area, slamming one another into every conceivable object and surface that appears on their travels. It doesn't take long for referee R.M. Stones to catch up with the combatants and count the nearfall that results from Lee delivering a cane-assisted forward Russian legsweep on top of a wooden palette. The match is the standard television fare, with steel trays and aluminium trash-cans being used in abundance, serenaded by the announcers trying to sell the contest as best they can.

 

Naess in particular makes sure to mention that this is just an example of how lawless the promotion can be as Martin mounts a comeback by back-body-dropping his fellow DaVE alumni onto a nearby table. This leads to the finish where Martin improvises with a Twist On The Rocks (Slingshot Suplex), slamming Lee to the floor below, landing amongst a pile of cardboard, wires and other debris.

 

Result: Johnny Martin d. Henry Lee w/a "Twist On The Rocks"

Rating: D

 

Tyler guffawed as Martin slowly adopted a sitting position, trying to shake off the proverbial cobwebs and ignoring the tingling sensation that stemmed from his elbow, the one 'iced' earlier.

 

"I've seen those guys fight over a round of drinks harder than that..."

 

 

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Coming Around To A Different Point Of View

 

By the time

Henry Lee

had roused from his state of semi-consciousness, Danger Zone TV™ had once again descended into a commercial break and Johnny Martin was long gone. Left alone with his thoughts, Lee contemplated his decision to return from Japan after four years away in a period of introspection that would be shattered by the sound of a blood-curdling scream.

 

He identified the assailant as one of the DOA outcasts and had groggily tried to intervene in his mauling of the Arcadia camera-man who had been assigned to track Lee's match. He'd caned the bejesus out of

Brendon Idol

, but the former RIPW rookie didn't fall, his cranium apparently soaking up the strikes with little effect. And it wasn't just Idol, there were others like him, sharing a single-minded focus, apparently hunting together. That was when instinct took over and Lee retreated to the nearby toilet block, throwing the door open, seeking some sort of respite from a backstage conflict far more barbaric than his brawl with Johnny Martin moments earlier.

 

Only to be confronted by the most grotesque and stomach-churning visual on display in the entire Compound...

 

"Problem?"

Grunted

Tank Bradley

, stepping away from the urinal and tucking 'Little Tank' back into his Speedo-like spandex tights. The waistline of which appeared to fold inwards, swallowed by his stomach.

 

Lee wouldn't be proud of what happened next, but when the chips were down, it was a case of self-preservation. Survival.

 

"Thud!"

 

The door flew open and Bradley barely had time to scream as Lee thrust him into the gaping jaws of them, the infected, like a sacrificial lamb, before diving into the nearest cubicle and bolting the door shut. The thin walls vibrated menacingly as Bradley's body collided with them, before the deadweight of the New Jersey Devils is dragged out into the corridor, his fingernails scraping against the tiled floor.

 

Silence followed as Henry Lee sat on the cold cystern, his feet tucked from view.

 

Praying.

 

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Passion In Times Of Crisis

 

"What was wrong with them Matty... what the **** was wrong with them!?"

 

Matty Sparrow

doesn't answer, he just maintains a tight grip on

Miss Emily

's wrist as he leads her towards the security room, devoid of his trademark arrogance. “The Pecker-Wrecker“ had little knowledge of the Compound's layout, but he'd seen the room when he arrived earlier and figured it were as safe a place as any to seek respite from the state of anarchy gripping building. It had been several minutes since they left Art Reed at the mercy of his frenzied attackers, but it soon became clear that this wasn't an isolated incident. Ribbons of blood painted several of the corridor walls while discarded items such as pens, security passes and even Donnie J's broken white-framed glasses littered their floors. The sooner Sparrow could find the security room, the better.

 

"Here it is! We'll get inside there, lock the door and then... well, then I'll think of something else!"

 

Emily isn't convinced, but the feeling of relief as Sparrow seals the door shut behind them is overwhelming. They take a moment to catch their breath before Emily starts to examine the room, her face bathed in the blue light emanating from the wall of monitors that are airing the sporadic acts of violence being captured by the various cameras laced throughout the arena. She can barely comprehend the scenes unfolding on the screens in front of her. One shows Dermot O'Logical having the clothes torn from his back as he tries to evade a chasing mob, on another screen Jeremiah Moose's seemingly lifeless body is shown sprawled across a doorway as more of 'them' trample over CZCW mainstay, hunting for fresh blood.

 

"Could be rabies, I guess?"

 

Sparrow's theorising didn't really help, but before Emily could offer a retort, she froze at the sound of erratic footsteps, followed by a wild pounding on the door from outside. Sparrow steps forward, like a valiant pornstar protector and folds up the steel chair he'd been sitting on, raising it above his head until the noise subsides.

 

"They've gone Em..."

 

He turns back to Emily who plants him with the most unexpected and passionate of kisses. The tearing of clothes follows, but unlike outside, the motivation is far different.

 

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The Show Must Go On

 

Mark Cuban

contemplates his next move from the inside of the detached production trailer. Production staff and technicians huddle nervously at the consoles around him, some weighing up whether they fear more for their careers if they defy his direct orders or for their lives should they stay and adhere to them. The Mavericks owner promises they'll be safe as long as they remain inside and do their jobs. They didn't really understand what was going on outside, but they could see some it transpiring through the lens of many cameras and frankly, there were worse places to be holed up at a time like this.

 

"What I'm asking for here, is professionalism. We have less than twenty minutes of running-time left. During that time I am placing my faith on you all. This violence, this disorder... it is imperative that NONE of these visuals hit the air. We are not going to let this 'situation' screw with our show. I am NOT willing to gift our competition twenty minutes of technical difficulties to take advantage of. You stay with the main event and stay with it for the duration. If things go 'wrong', you cut away and air the pre-recorded promo package. No dead-air! Do we have an understanding?"

 

Hesitant nods in response. They understand, but they don't feel comfortable, despite Cuban's assurance that he has a security team posted outside to guard their position. Thanking them in advance, the billionaire takes his leave as the main screen behind him shows Danger Zone TV™ broadcast continuing as normal, with Greg Black making his way down to the ring for the main event.

 

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...The StallCorp Agent...

 

A man who bore a strong resemblance to a presidential bodyguard awaited Cuban as he disembarked, wearing a dark suit and even darker glasses, 'wired up' to the same inside message that seemed exclusive to those working for the corporation. The conversation between the pair is private and of a different tone to the exchange that just took place inside.

 

"Evacuation of all key personnel has begun, Mr Cuban."

Informed the agent, devoid of emotion.

"A car has been organised to depart as soon as possible."

 

A terrified

Sarah Marie York

stands beyond him, alongside

Justice

outside the trailer, itself engulfed in a circle of iron-clad security, his hand loosely covering the handle of the baton attached to his belt.

 

"OK..."

Cuban replied, his voice trembling slightly.

 

"The others will have to fend for themselves."

 

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[standard

Rules, Unified Title Match

]:

GREG BLACK

versus.

ACID

 

Tonight's main event carries a surreal tone, only enhanced as Acid's theme creaks out of sound system, but the prevailing sense of anticipation amongst the fans is enough to mask trepidation felt by those aware that it was no longer business as usual in the Compound. Despite Mitch Naess playing up the big title match atmosphere, this contest is firmly underpinned by a wider story of equal significance. The blissful ignorance of Naess and Eric Tyler had been a continuous theme throughout, unable to relay the turmoil behind the curtain to the viewers at home, but they too were aware that the broadcast now teetered towards a state of unspecified jeopardy, confirmed by the repeated appeals from the production manager via their headsets to 'just do their jobs'. Standing in for the pre-appointed referee, Jay Fair raises the Unified Title above his head, the gold-plating sparkled through the thin veil of rising mist that remained from Acid's unaccompanied arrival, his fellow Tribunal members no doubt watching undetected amongst the shadows.

 

For as long as anyone can remember, which incidentally dates back to his emergence in DAVE, Acid's approach to wrestling is personified by two key traits. The first is his high-degree of technical fighting ability. Each chop on Greg Black cuts into his chest like a machete, each kick pulverises his muscle tissue like hamburger meat and each move is executed with crisp, clinical perfection. The second, is that despite his demeanour as ancient, primal warrior, Acid is an unrelenting machine. The inhuman nature of his being makes him almost robotic in his movement. Every time Black lands a missile dropkick or a german suplex, Acid remains motionless on the mat, before snapping bolt upright and getting back to a vertical base. Naess accurately observed that it's like fighting the Terminator. Black on the otherhand is no slouch between the ropes either and after a sustained period of offence, punctuated by a baseball slide that slams Acid into the barricade, it becomes clear that his masked opponent is beginning to slow.

 

This in turn draws out the ominous audience of

Kazuma Narato

and

Fumihiro Ota

, who appear at the base of the ramp, standing side by side and otherwise completely unresponsive to the action.

 

Having offered little resistance to the flurry of punches rained down upon him by Black, Acid seems devoid of whatever force had enabled him to soak up so much of Black's repertoire without succumbing to a telling pinfall. For the first time in the contest, Acid appears human, possessing them same frailties and flaws that he had previously appeared immune to. Black too has rediscovered his familiar confidence, almost swaggering over to his opponent and hoisting him into position for the "Black Out" (a Standing Suplex into a Stunner), when he realises that Acid is playing possum. The Dragon's subject sweeps Black's legs, having dropped behind him and effortlessly ascends to the top turnbuckle as if he's hooked up to a wire. Eric Tyler calls the Acid Rain Bomb, but so too does Black, rolling out of the way and causing Acid to crash into the mat... or so he thought.

 

Acid lands in a crouching position, patiently waiting for Black to unwittingly stumble into the line of fire, but the former SWF stand-out fails to oblige and instead returns with a flying forearm. It's a glancing blow that Acid soon sheds the ill-effects of, rising up once more to face the Peerless One who has thus far proved a worthy and formidable foe.

 

Neither man however is prepared for what happens next as the raucous crowd fall silent, embroiled in combat and oblivious to the scramble of yellow clad arena security members attempting to form a makeshift human barrier to preserve the contest from the inbound chaos.

 

Result: Greg Black t. Acid when the match was abandoned at 17:57

Rating: B

 

 

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Dead Air

 

"Thunk!"

 

Both headsets hit the ground in unison as

Mitch Naess

and

Eric Tyler

abandon the announce desk. No sign-off, no hype for next week's show, no explanation given to the viewers, just dead air. The 'infected' seemingly appear from nowhere, but within seconds, they're everywhere. Like a swarm of locusts, they sweep from the back, overwhelming everything before them. Arena personnel, ringside technicians, cameramen, there is no discrimination of targets. The televisual perspective is inconsistent, shifting rapidly through different camera angles and sources at a nauseating rate in an attempt to hide the disorder. The result though, is even more distressing and stomach-churning. Numerous snapshots of violence are transmitted to homes around the country courtesy of the Arcadia network, captured albeit briefly, in their full brutal and visceral glory, before priority is switched to the overhead tracking camera suspended high above the ring. Usually reserved for capturing the spectacular thrills and spills of DOA ladder matches, this viewpoint reveals the true scale of the conflict, the combatants becoming barely distinguishable as individuals as the view pans further back to show the attackers picking off victims on the periphery of the ring with ruthless efficiency.

 

Borne in the bowels of the arena nearly an hour ago, it had spread through the Compound like a virus.

 

The final scene shows the Tribunal of The Dragon, now reunited in the ring and fighting alongside Greg Black, taking on all comers as they converge on the squared circle. Whether it were an act of mercy or a sign of mutual respect shared between warriors, Acid found a moment of solitude within the raging storm of violence that swirled around them and placed a hand on Black's shoulder, spinning him about-face. Gesturing almost mechanically to a clearing in the carnage, his silent communication required no translation and receives no more than an appreciative nod from Black in response.

 

The last discernible sound the former SWF stand-out heard as he departed was the hissing sound of laughter escaping from underneath Acid's mask.

 

Laughing as the lights are killed, plunging the arena into darkness and terror.

 

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Containment And Evacuation

 

All workers must remain in the arena until the final match is completed.

 

The Idaho Punisher

briefly gazed at the sheet of locker room rules and restrictions pinned on the wall as he re-entered The Compound. He'd returned from his assignment, coated with blood not that of his own, to find backstage protocol had been all but abandoned. Clad in a black bodysuit that features a prominent white skull chest insignia overlaying the outline of Idaho state and noticeably hugs his body tighter than one suspects is comfortable, The Punisher seemed unmoved, his stern demeanour constant. So much so that he doesn't blanche when

Bulldozer Brandon Smith

emerges from what appears to be a utility room, with

Missus Smith

visible inside, hog-tied with electrical cord and thrashing around on the floor like a fresh trout out of water.

 

"I'd turn around if I were you fella."

Dozer advised, returning his attention to his wife, but still talking in an inappropriately chipper manner.

"Things are a whole lot of crazy down here!"

 

Without extending the former football stand-out from Minnesota the courtesy of a reply, The Idaho Punisher moved towards the safety railing, overlooking the foyer to witness the bleak scene for himself. He watched as those twenty feet below swiftly made for the exit doors as security tried to stem the flow of disorder, screaming orders at one another to get safety equipment or evacuate the premises with the utmost haste. The Punisher had no idea whether the emergency services were inbound, but he struggled to believe that they would arrive soon enough to make much difference as he oversaw

Teddy Powell

being carried out by a couple of the officials, his face stained with blood and his eyes red with irritation.

 

"Hell, I mean this is a new one on me..."

Continued Dozer amidst the noise, unable to see the less talented half of Adrenaline Rush unexpectedly turn on those trying to help him, hauling one of the good Samaritans to the ground as the other scrambled through the door, barking instructions into his radio.

"It's gotta those chemicals these city-folk put in their food. I mean gosh, they don't eat it natural do they. Not like the missus makes."

 

"Seen it before."

Punisher muttered, his tone so low that it was difficult to tell whether it were a statement or a question.

 

Beneath them, security personnel co-ordinate their manpower towards barricading the glass doors that lead onto the street, from the outside. Recognised as an act of strategic retreat, it not only confirmed they'd lost control of the area, but prevented those yet to flee the foyer from doing so, depriving them of the same relative safety. Naturally this only saw the situation degenerate further as those penned inside hammer on the glass, pleading to be released as the human backlog accumulated. Behind them,

Victor Kahn

slices through the sea of bodies around him, the sole vessel of composure amidst the pandemonium. Punisher noted a flicker of metallic silver, suspecting Kahn was packing heat in the form of a .380 calibre handgun, concealed in his jacket. By the time Kahn's facade of sophistication cracks, the Punisher had already turned his back on proceedings, concluding that he needed to seek his own path out of the Compound, oblivious to the arms-dealer brandishing the firearm and threatening to blast his way to freedom.

 

"Well hey, it sure was nice to meet you!"

Dozer called out as The Idaho Punisher headed back in the direction from wence he came, not bothered that no such sentiment was returned.

 

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http://i80.photobucket.com/albums/j178/sebsplex/DaVE%20Diary/GregBlacksml.jpghttp://i80.photobucket.com/albums/j178/sebsplex/DaVE%20Diary/MaskedCougarsml.jpghttp://i80.photobucket.com/albums/j178/sebsplex/DaVE%20Diary/Jettstreamsml.jpghttp://i80.photobucket.com/albums/j178/sebsplex/DaVE%20Diary/FordMemphissml3.jpghttp://i80.photobucket.com/albums/j178/sebsplex/DaVE%20Diary/FrankiePerezsml2.jpghttp://i80.photobucket.com/albums/j178/sebsplex/DaVE%20Diary/JohnnyMartinsml.jpghttp://i80.photobucket.com/albums/j178/sebsplex/DaVE%20Diary/JayChordsml.jpghttp://i80.photobucket.com/albums/j178/sebsplex/DaVE%20Diary/DonteDunnsml.jpg

One Of My Better Ideas

 

Several footsteps ripple across the concrete as a flock of personnel rush through the flood-lit passageway, towards their most viable escape route. The parking lot. They're a diverse mix of individuals, ranging from lowly ringcrew, to referees, to highly paid superstars... and they're being hunted.

 

"We're not gonna make it! They're freakin' gaining on us! They're gonna rip us to pieces!"

 

Masked Cougar

takes a fleeting glance behind him. He can't fully distinguish the figures chasing them or gage their numbers, just a dark mass of silhouettes, eyes flashing, teeth bared and flailing their arms wildy as if they were using them to slice through the air that separated the groups. The anguished scream of one of the slower roadcrew members confirms the hooded feline's fears as the overweight, forty-something man is hauled to the ground and dragged backwards to whatever gruesome fate awaits him.

 

Gritting his teeth and having already escaped the main amphitheatre of the Compound,

Greg Black

remains determined to drive the group on.

 

"If you quit talkin' Thundercat, you'll run faster. We're almost there! We're... oh you motherf**kers!"

 

Black's expletive-laden analysis doesn't do the instance justice. The unsettling scene that lays before them is one of pure carnage, a veritable war-zone with vehicles overturned, blood, glass, bodies and Lord knows what else strewn throughout. A police car sits abandoned near the entrance, it's siren blaring uselessly and it's occupants nowhere to be seen and certainly of no assistance to the men and women still battling the crazed attackers around them, literally fighting for survival. The giant "Appalachian Madman",

Big Cletus

is one such man, grasping an assailant by the throat and tossing him through the air with a wicked recklessness, like a young child might discard an unwanted toy, slamming him against the side of a van several feet away. Although it appears Cletus has not been 'infected' by whatever has possessed so many of his colleagues backstage, the fact that he embraces the orgy of violence around him is chilling in itself.

 

Black has seen enough, he turns to those around him and issues a rallying cry, like a general preparing his troops for their last stand against an enemy of superior numbers.

 

"That settles it. We stand together and we fight! We all go home... or nobody goes home!"

 

But the group don't buy the former High Concept member's GI Joe-inspired rhetoric and blind panic takes over. Some remain by Black's side, but the rest flee and scatter in various directions, criss-crossing one another in the confusion. Within moments it's impossible to tell the difference between 'us' and 'them'... and the result is a proverbial slaughter;

 

Donte Dunn

bolts for a set of green 'exit' doors, but gets ripped from his feet before he can place a single finger on the handle. One of the stagehands unwisely rushes towards Cletus, but the monster doesn't discriminate between his targets and nearly beheads the incoming, red headed staff member with a “Back-Home Boot” (Running Big Boot). The young girl from catering runs aimlessly into the clutches of the oncoming horde, disappearing before she can utter a syllable.

Ford Memphis

ineptly wields his acoustic guitar like a battle axe, unable to protect those around him.

Jettstream

collapses against the side of a dumpster, burying his head in his hands as indistinguishable limbs and bodies blur past him, unable to watch as his colleagues are mercilessly cut down in the ferocious melee.

 

"Perez! Over here!"

 

http://i80.photobucket.com/albums/j178/sebsplex/DaVE%20Diary/SammyTheSharksml.jpg

...The Unlikely Saviour...

 

Frankie Perez

swung his head round, trying to establish who had just called out to him, struggling to locate his friend and tag team partner Mikey James amidst the mayhem. The shout hadn't come from James however. Nearly thirty feet away sat a white limousine, emblazoned with a double dollar-sign insignia on the hood, with

Samuel T. Shark

himself standing up through the open sunroof, waving his arms as if trying to direct a plane towards a runway in order to get Perez's attention. Without needing a second invitation, Perez sprints towards the four-wheeled sanctuary, doing his best to locate the missing half of The Cali Dragons as he navigates his way through the chaos, diving onto the roof of the vehicle and being pulled inside.

 

"Dude... (breathing heavily) I owe you one! But we gotta find Mikey!"

 

A pair of blood-stained hands batter the door from outside, prompting Shark to grab a bottle of wine from his cabinet and obliterate it over the unidentified aggressor's head before sealing the opening shut and casually sitting back down on the leather seat as if nothing out of the ordinary had transpired.

 

"First my friend, we need to get this vehicle moving."

 

"And then we can grab Mikey and the others?"

Perez replied, his eyes wide with expectation.

 

"Sure..."

 

Clambering over into the front seat, Perez franticly fumbles around underneath the steering wheel.

 

"Where are the keys?"

 

"My driver has them."

 

Halting his search, Perez turns around in his seat.

 

"Dude, where's your driver?"

 

Reclining backwards, Shark directs Perez's attention to the rear windscreen of the limo where a grey haired, fifty-something man with wild eyes and dressed in a ripped tuxedo is clubbing it with his forearm, trying to smash his way inside.

 

"That would be him."

 

Withdrawing a briefcase from underneath the seat, Double $ unlatches it and begins pulling out bundled banknotes.

 

"Now what I want to know, is how much it is going to cost me to get you to go out there and retrieve those keys?"

 

The colour drains from Perez's face. Some rescue. Slumping back into the seat, he gazes outward through the tinted glass to observe Greg Black and the other 'survivors' who have banded together to organise themselves into some sort of formation, hoping to hold out against the 'infected' until the night reached some sort of climax.

 

Like townsfolk gathered in the town square to make their last stand against an invasive outside force.

 

"Chord! Get back here, you spineless sunnuva-b*tch!"

 

No matter how much the steel chair-wielding

Johnny Martin

barked,

Jay Chord

wasn't stopping for anybody. He had a legendary bloodline to preserve and the elevator was just ahead. He hadn't noticed it until a few moments ago and he wasn't sure where exactly he was going to take it, but anywhere that wasn't the underground parking lot seemed an attractive option right now.

 

At least it did until the doors pinged open.

 

http://i80.photobucket.com/albums/j178/sebsplex/DaVE%20Diary/MarcSpeedsml.jpg

...Tormented To The End...

 

There stood

Torment

, an intimidating presence at the best of times, but the sight of him slamming the limp carcass of a paramedic against the interior of the elevator carriage caused Chord to stumble backwards, mouth agape. Now on all fours, the preening youngster gazed in sheer terror at Eric Tyler's former hired gun... he was one of 'them'. Tossing his victim aside, Torment crosses the threshold, demonstrating a little more composure than many of the other 'infected' as he takes in the sights around him, unaware that a subconscious seed of mistrust sewn by Eric Tyler over a fortnight ago would blossom into full-blown hatred. He singles out

Greg Black

and immediately barrels towards the Peerless One, swatting Rip Chord's offspring aside without so much as a sideways glance as he charges through the crowd. Seeing such violent intent inbound, Black charges forward to intercept him and the result is a four-hundred-plus collision of brawn and hatred, the centerpiece of the chaotic display and a bitter rivalry to the very end.

 

http://i80.photobucket.com/albums/j178/sebsplex/TEW%20Diary/ecwbreak.jpg

 

http://i80.photobucket.com/albums/j178/sebsplex/DaVE%20Diary/MarkCubansml.jpghttp://i80.photobucket.com/albums/j178/sebsplex/DaVE%20Diary/Justicesml.jpg

The Getaway

 

Pouring himself a tumbler of Bourbon,

Gordon Wright

continued to wait inside his chauffeur-driven car on the other side of the arena. He checked his watch for the sixth time in as many minutes. Danger Zone TV™ was all but finished in every sense of the word as

Mark Cuban

climbed inside the vehicle, anxiety written across his face, accented by several beads of sweat.

 

"Wright!? I don't know what the hell is going on around here, but..."

Cuban spluttered, his face contorting to convey bemusement and unease in a single expression.

 

Raising a calming hand, Wright instructs the driver to start the engine, then turns back to his Cuban, who clearly hadn't expected to see his business partner, as

Justice

is seen disappearing in the distance behind the rear of the vehicle as it rolls forwards.

 

"I've been informed that a 'situation' developed."

Wright replies, conveying his disappointment.

"I'm also aware the authorities have been contacted. The corporation will now have to clean this mess up."

 

Staring at J.K Stalling Jr's right hand man in disbelief, the crash of steel as Justice closes the security gate behind them almost makes the former Dancing with the Stars participant leap out of his seat.

 

"A situation!? It's like the dawn of the apocalypse! I just saw an ambulance back there! The back doors were damn near ripped off... blood everywhere! If this gets out, we're finished! Screw Arcadia,

nobody

is gonna touch us after this!"

 

Taking another sip of his drink, Gordon Wright doesn't even look Cuban in the eye when he responds after a short pause.

 

"It's under control, Mark."

 

http://i80.photobucket.com/albums/j178/sebsplex/DaVE%20Diary/Nemesissml.jpg

...Left For Dead...

 

Outside of the vehicle, Justice chains the steel gates shut and calmly turns to walk back to the getaway car, when the sound of footsteps attracts his attention. On the other side of the fencing,

Nemesis

emerges from the darkness. His battered and ageing limbs had struggled to carry him so far from the cauldron of the main arena, but somehow he'd managed to find a route out of the building and for all his years in the business, he'd never experienced a night like this. He hadn't just fled. He'd tried to help backstage, but there was little he could do to aid many of the individuals he encountered. He couldn't even save Drake, frozen to the spot as the over-eager production assistant was dragged down a stairwell by his turtle-neck sweater, finally separated from his headset. All Nemesis could do now, was attempt to save his own skin and hope for better fortune.

 

"Open the gates!"

 

Committed to his instructions, Justice blanks Nemesis, the very man who broke him into the business and pulls the final latch across the gate. After applying the padlock, Mark Cuban's own 'Silent Threat' heads back to his employer's vehicle and casually climbs in without so much as a cursory glance behind him.

 

"OPEN THE F***KING GATES!"

 

Throwing himself at the chain-link, Nemesis bellows in the direction of the glowing set of tail-lights as they pull away from the premises. He furiously kicks at the base of the gates, but they merely absorb the impact without buckling. Realising the futility of his situation, the legendary figure slumps against the mesh and watches as his breath hangs into the night air before dispersing, knowing they could be his last on this earth as the sound of commotion in the distance drew nearer, baying for blood.

 

What now for him?

 

What now for Danger and Violence Extreme?

 

_______________________________________________

Overall Show Rating: C+

TV Rating: 0.86

 

 

OOC Note: WTF, right? Like I stressed at the start, this first show is a step beyond what can be considered normal for the shows in term of length (especially given that Danger Zone TV occupies a 1 hour timeslot) and the content won't always be this extraordinary, I promise.

[Rathen4]

That was absolutely brutal, and I thought it was great all the way through. I particularly liked Nemesis not being fawned over. Good stuff!

[20LEgend]

Really good show throughout the subtle Eric Tyler change is great and the sell out Timmy Kornell was funny, the team look so funny as a Strong rip off and a Dick ripoff (haha dick ripoff) Nemesis is a great character and a cool segment with him in and the ending brilliant. So many cool, and crazy characters in this its so entertaining and Matty Sparrow is BACK! Silver shark = brilliant. Also loved the old school DAVE matches Acid/ Art, Martin/ Lee. Lee needs alot of air time aswell he is a great character. Mr and Mrs Smith are great. all in all great show and this post is all over the place but I just typed it as I looked back over can't wait for the status and roster update

 

PS The last thing I need is a cookie

[Big Roguey]

That was insane!

[jhd1]

I read the whole show in one go. I want a cookie. And something that will stop the nightmares

 

I have never read anything so long on the internet in one sitting, that should be testament enough to say that your show is awesome. If not, then that is one of, if not the, best written show I've read for a long time. Easy to read, interesting throughout and full of action. I want show 2. And I want it now.

[Beeker]

I made the second post! Go me. That's actually a pretty well written article looking back on it. I wish my current writings were that astute. I haven't read the first show yet but I'm looking forward to it sebs.

[MrOnu]

I often overlook long show posts as not many writers use their tools properly to keep people interested in the long run, but I read all of this first Danger Zone and I don't regret it. That was great writing Sebsplex, double kudos ! I can't see anyone not wanting to see what's next for DAVE, Cuban and Nemesis.

[Trell]

ok, I think I need a nap now, I am exhausted from reading that first show, I must say though it was a great first show, cant wait to see where you take Dave sebs

[Bigpapa42]

Helluva first show, Sebs. I have high hopes for this one and that delivered. Great work.

 

By the way, I want my cookie now.

[TLLK]

Need...cookie...

 

http://images.wikia.com/familyguy/images/5/55/Cookie_Monster.jpg

 

(Great show, by the way.)

[NoNeck]

Don't know how I missed this, but holy sh*t was that show outstanding. Epic even.

 

Good luck with this; it won't slip past me again.

 

[sebsplex]

Wow. First off, thanks for all the responses guys, far more than I expected for the first show tbh and it's much appreciated.

 

That was absolutely brutal, and I thought it was great all the way through. I particularly liked Nemesis not being fawned over. Good stuff!

 

Thanks Rathan4. I was a little torn on using Nemesis initially. It's difficult to bring him back and use him without too much fanfare, but I'm going a certain direction with him returning to 'DaVE' and it's cool that you picked up on how he was received amidst all the other chaos going on.

 

Really good show throughout the subtle Eric Tyler change is great and the sell out Timmy Kornell was funny, the team look so funny as a Strong rip off and a Dick ripoff (haha dick ripoff) Nemesis is a great character and a cool segment with him in and the ending brilliant. So many cool, and crazy characters in this its so entertaining and Matty Sparrow is BACK! Silver shark = brilliant. Also loved the old school DAVE matches Acid/ Art, Martin/ Lee. Lee needs alot of air time aswell he is a great character. Mr and Mrs Smith are great. all in all great show and this post is all over the place but I just typed it as I looked back over can't wait for the status and roster update

 

Feedback that runs off on different tangents, is awesome all the same.

 

The credit for characters like Eyezen, Kornell and Strung must go to Eisen-Verse as it was his stroke of genius to send-up the big three promoters. Initially they were there add credibility and a strong sense of identity from the DOA without having grand plans on what to do with them, although having written just one segment, there's so much potential with them. The same can be said for BBS and Missus Smith, with Pox doing such a great job of removing Smith's vanilla-ness, I feel able to just run with them. Silver Shark on the other hand, well that's from my head, excellently brought to life by jhd's alt'ing skills. As for the older parts of DaVE, they're going to have a key role in this 2010 incarnation and without giving anything much away, I'm developing a new-found love for Henry Lee.

 

That was insane!

 

Hopefully that's a comment of approval.

 

I read the whole show in one go. I want a cookie. And something that will stop the nightmares

 

I have never read anything so long on the internet in one sitting, that should be testament enough to say that your show is awesome. If not, then that is one of, if not the, best written show I've read for a long time. Easy to read, interesting throughout and full of action. I want show 2. And I want it now.

 

Seriously jhd, that's awesome to hear. It's pretty obvious from my earlier comments that I though such a mammoth first show might be rather unappealing and daunting for anyone swinging by, so the fact you could plough through it and give it such high praise given the quality of dynasties here at GDS... *grabs Carlito afro and apple*... now that's cool.

 

Show 2 is in the works. I'll deal with 'cookie status' in a bit.

 

I made the second post! Go me. That's actually a pretty well written article looking back on it. I wish my current writings were that astute. I haven't read the first show yet but I'm looking forward to it sebs.

 

Seriously Beek, don't underestimate yourself, that was a great piece, hence my inclusion of it. I know what you mean on current writings though. Prior to this I looked back and some of what I've written and thought... where did that come from? I'd love to hear your thoughts on the first show if you get a chance to read it.

 

I often overlook long show posts as not many writers use their tools properly to keep people interested in the long run, but I read all of this first Danger Zone and I don't regret it. That was great writing Sebsplex, double kudos ! I can't see anyone not wanting to see what's next for DAVE, Cuban and Nemesis.

 

Thanks MrOnu. Like my reply to jhd, it's great to hear that you could stick with it. Whilst trying not to be overly sentimental with some of my replies, your comment is a real confidence-booster, so I return your double kudos with a double appreciation (or something). Hopefully the follow-up won't disappoint.

 

ok, I think I need a nap now, I am exhausted from reading that first show, I must say though it was a great first show, cant wait to see where you take Dave sebs

 

Cheers Trell, cool to see you dropping by. Sleep easy my friend

 

Helluva first show, Sebs. I have high hopes for this one and that delivered. Great work.

 

By the way, I want my cookie now.

 

Thanks BP, that means a lot coming from you. Glad you liked the show, although I suspect Desmond Hammer would have had a rather different opinion

 

Oh and the cookies... *stalls*

 

Need...cookie...

 

(Great show, by the way.)

 

Thanks TheLeviticalLawKid3, I'm looking forward to catching KANZEN's "Bring Out Your Dead!", I'll drag some of mine out of the Danger Zone. Damn, there's that cookie issue again.

 

Don't know how I missed this, but holy sh*t was that show outstanding. Epic even.

 

Good luck with this; it won't slip past me again.

 

 

Thanks NoNeck. For some reason, your avatar makes me imagine a Mirror-Universe Phil Vibert... hmmm, maybe I could run something with that. Again, thanks for the praise. My only fear now is that I may have set the bar too high for myself with such a big and dramatic first show. Like I've said before, it won't exactly be a typical episode of Danger Zone, but hopefully what I've got in store will produce a couple more 'epics'.

 

...

 

And finally, the cookies. The cookies, are in the mail. In fact, most of you should have received them by now and if you haven't, then I recommend raising this issue with your local mail delivery operatives, especially if they're looking rather more 'rotund' than in previous visits.

 

At the risk of losing 90% of my reader-ship, cookies for reads will not be a constant feature of this dynasty... times are tough an' all.

 

Speaking of which, I've been delayed filling out job applications the past couple of nights, but rest-assured, once they're completed and posted off, I'll launch back into this with a proper update.

 

I just hope the application forms fare as well in the mail as the cookies have.

[TLLK]

Ah, well, what can I say. No more cookies. I might just stop reading this project.

 

Between that and my computer making ridiculous statements, causing me to say...

http://laughingsquid.com/wp-content/uploads/cookie-monster-20080603-133713.jpg

...I'm just gonna have to stop reading this.

 

You know, to stop the heartache.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Just kidding.

[MJStark]

OK, I've read it 3 times now and I still can't tell which bits were broadcast and which were off camera I loved it, but was the whole zombie bit kayfabe or real??

 

PS: At this point I don't care if this question labels me as a moron

[sebsplex]

OK, I've read it 3 times now and I still can't tell which bits were broadcast and which were off camera I loved it, but was the whole zombie bit kayfabe or real??

 

PS: At this point I don't care if this question labels me as a moron

 

Three times? Now that's a feat. As for being labelled a moron, no, not in the slightest. In fact, I'm kinda surprised nobody else questioned it.

 

As for the answer... well, that would be telling.

 

Seriously though, it's an integral part of the overall story, so I will address it, but it's something that'll come at a later date after we're much further in, but thanks for the feedback and for bringing it up MJStark.

 

...

 

Onto current progress. Last week wasn't very productive. This week has been a different story. I've got a majority of the next episode of Danger Zone TV written up, so expect that by the weekend, if not slightly sooner. I also know I said something about a roster update, but I can't put anything graphical together to save my life at the moment and moreso, I'm in a spot of turmoil (probably too dramatic a term) over which peripheral characters will be 'killed off' / released in TEW terms. That's covered below and there's a chance for anyone who cares to have their say...

 

 

 

<HR>

THIS WEEK ON:

http://i80.photobucket.com/albums/j178/sebsplex/DaVE%20Diary/Davedanger_alt.jpg

 

http://i80.photobucket.com/albums/j178/sebsplex/DaVE%20Diary/davecaution.jpg

 

Preview From arcadia.com...

 

What now for Danger and Violence Extreme indeed? Since the shocking events of this past Thursday, that my friends, is the million dollar question. The Compound remains on lockdown, the promotion itself in the grips of what amounts to a communication blackout, itself only serving to intensify the swirling storm frenzied speculation and feeding conspiracy theorists and detractors alike. Maybe 'the outbreak' was caused by some ancient voodoo spell, maybe a satellite fell to Earth bringing radiation with it, maybe Hell got a little crowded and Seattle just happened to be a convenient overflow location or maybe it's all down to the fact we all have a few too many Facebook friends for our own good and somebody needed to 'thin the herd'.

 

Whatever transpired on last week's episode of Danger Zone TV, the only guarantee offered concerning the company's fate is that whatever transpires, the Arcadia television cameras will be present to document proceedings...

 

That's why the Arcadia Network is to be THE #1 source for Extreme Entertainment.

 

Because when the bodies hit the floor and the brains hit the wall, our cameras are rolling!

 

http://i80.photobucket.com/albums/j178/sebsplex/DaVE%20Diary/davecaution.jpg

 

Match #1

http://i80.photobucket.com/albums/j178/sebsplex/DaVE%20Diary/FoxMasksml.jpghttp://i80.photobucket.com/albums/j178/sebsplex/DaVE%20Diary/MaskedCougarsml.jpghttp://i80.photobucket.com/albums/j178/sebsplex/DaVE%20Diary/FordMemphissml2.jpghttp://i80.photobucket.com/albums/j178/sebsplex/DaVE%20Diary/SilverSharksml.jpghttp://i80.photobucket.com/albums/j178/sebsplex/DaVE%20Diary/VictorKahnsml.jpghttp://i80.photobucket.com/albums/j178/sebsplex/DaVE%20Diary/CitizenXsml.jpghttp://i80.photobucket.com/albums/j178/sebsplex/DaVE%20Diary/FrankiePerezsml.jpghttp://i80.photobucket.com/albums/j178/sebsplex/DaVE%20Diary/MikeyJamessml.jpg

Feline Fancy vs. Viva Las Vegas vs. The Merchants of War vs. The Cali Dragons

Overhead Wires Match

for the DaVE Tag Teams Titles!

We open the night by crowning a new set of Tag Team Champions. That's right, the winners will join the annals of DaVE history, earning the right to be mentioned in the same breath as teams like the New Wave, Adrenaline Rush and The Peak Brothers. In order to achieve such an accolade they simply have to grab ahold of the belts. The catch? The gold is suspended several feet above the ring courtesy of a series of overhead wires and for each team eyeing the prize, there's another three teams standing in their way. It'll be high risk! It'll be crazy! It'll be death-defying! It's a bit like Mad Max, but without the Thunder Dome… or Mel Gibson for that matter.

Match #2

http://i80.photobucket.com/albums/j178/sebsplex/DaVE%20Diary/AmericanElemental.jpghttp://i80.photobucket.com/albums/j178/sebsplex/DaVE%20Diary/BigCletus.jpg

American Elemental vs. Big Cletus

Standard Rules Singles Match

Judged by some to be too lightweight and fragile to survive in DaVE, American Elemental proved his doubters wrong during Mark Cuban's first stint at the helm of the good ship hardcore. This week however, the star-spangled super-junior faces a man to whom none of those aforementioned concerns would apply. Big Cletus. "The Appalachian Madman" makes his in-ring bow and Am-El will need to be on top of his game to avoid becoming the crazed mountain-man's lawn dart. Not that Cletus would recognise a lawn dart.

Match #3

http://i80.photobucket.com/albums/j178/sebsplex/DaVE%20Diary/MattySparrow.jpghttp://i80.photobucket.com/albums/j178/sebsplex/DaVE%20Diary/BulldozerBrandon_jt.jpg

Matty Sparrow vs. Bulldozer Brandon Smith

Standard Rules Singles Match

One man is a wholesome, all-American and faithful husband who delights in life's simple pleasures. Like chopping wood and sitting down to a serving of Missus Smith's delightfully fresh apple pie. His opponent is a pie-connoisseur of a completely different variety, DaVE's resident pornstar, Matty "The Pecker-Wrecker" Sparrow. What will happen when the immovable object meets the man with easily removable pants?

*THE MAIN EVENT*

http://i80.photobucket.com/albums/j178/sebsplex/DaVE%20Diary/GregBlack_alt.jpghttp://i80.photobucket.com/albums/j178/sebsplex/DaVE%20Diary/Acid.jpg

Greg Black vs. Acid

Barbed Wire Steel Cage Match

Last week Acid and Greg Black pitted their skills against one another in a classic main event encounter. Unfortunately 'the outbreak' put paid to that and left the DaVE faithful without a satisfactory conclusion. The Unified Title may have been removed from the equation this time around, but make no mistake about it, this rematch will be crucial in determining which man has the strongest claim to the vacant gold. Oh, and there's added detail that to ensure no outside interference prevents a winner from being declared, the bout will take place inside a steel cage… decorated like a Christmas Tree with barbed wire.

ALSO SCHEDULED...

http://i80.photobucket.com/albums/j178/sebsplex/DaVE%20Diary/MarkCuban.jpg

Mark Cuban will issue a statement on behalf of Danger and Violence Extreme following the most controversial wrestling event ever televised and the status of the still-unclaimed Unified Title.

 

http://i80.photobucket.com/albums/j178/sebsplex/DaVE%20Diary/Nemesissml.jpghttp://i80.photobucket.com/albums/j178/sebsplex/DaVE%20Diary/TankBradleysml.jpghttp://i80.photobucket.com/albums/j178/sebsplex/DaVE%20Diary/JeremiahMoosesml.jpghttp://i80.photobucket.com/albums/j178/sebsplex/DaVE%20Diary/RayneMansml.jpghttp://i80.photobucket.com/albums/j178/sebsplex/DaVE%20Diary/JayChordsml.jpghttp://i80.photobucket.com/albums/j178/sebsplex/DaVE%20Diary/DickEyezensml.jpg

An update on the status of numerous DaVE wrestlers, injured and maimed during last week's zombie apocalypse.

 

OOC Note:

As mentioned above, there are a number of roster members potentially facing the prospect of being 'future endeavoured'. The following are all pending on 'the list'... Dick Eyezen, Sammy Strung, Donte Dunn, The Elder Statesman, Rayne Man, Jay Chord, Tank Bradley, Tom Kornell (aka Steven Parker) and Brendan Idol.

 

I'm likely to only offer a couple of these guys a reprieve, so if anyone has any preferences as to who survives and who doesn't, speak up now or forever hold your peace.

 

http://i80.photobucket.com/albums/j178/sebsplex/DaVE%20Diary/SamPratt_alt3.jpg

Plus, DOA's Funk-Star himself, Cannonball Funk makes a belated first appearance in the Compound. Heeeeeeey! Get Down!

http://i80.photobucket.com/albums/j178/sebsplex/TEW%20Diary/ecwbreak.jpg

 

I'm not normally a huge instigator of prediction 'contests' as such, but I've decided to keep track of given predications and will issue 'prizes' of some form at various intervals in this dynasty - i.e. when I can come up with something. This will most likely be things along the lines of picking match types, renaming characters, picking from a batch of potential signings... stuff like that.

 

DaVE Danger Zone TV Quick Picks:

Feline Fancy vs. Viva Las Vegas vs. The Merchants of War vs. The Cali Dragons

American Elemental vs. Big Cletus

Matty Sparrow vs. Bulldozer Brandon Smith

Greg Black vs. Acid

 

BONUS POINT: Name a roster member on 'the list' worth saving along with a reason why I should spare them and if I don't release him, you get a point. Huzzah!

[20LEgend]

Feline Fancy vs. Viva Las Vegas vs. The Merchants of War vs. The Cali Dragons

American Elemental vs. Big Cletus

Matty Sparrow vs. Bulldozer Brandon Smith

Greg Black vs. Acid

 

Because Totally Supreme (sans Sammy Strung) can be the greatest jobber comedy duo ever, and behind the crazy gimmicks you've got 2 good wrestlers!

[MJStark]

Feline Fancy vs. Viva Las Vegas vs. The Merchants of War vs. The Cali Dragons

American Elemental vs. Big Cletus

Matty Sparrow vs. Bulldozer Brandon Smith

Greg Black vs. Acid

 

Bonus: Brendan Idol. The boy in the pink needs to get beaten till his shirt turns red!

[jhd1]

Feline Fancy vs. Viva Las Vegas vs. The Merchants of War vs. The Cali Dragons

Do I need to qualify this with a reason!?

American Elemental vs. Big Cletus

BC seems a little too Big for AmEl.

Matty Sparrow vs. Bulldozer Brandon Smith

Mrs. Smith goes crazy, powerbombs Sparrow and Smith wins. Or something to that effect.

Greg Black vs. Acid

Coin-toss, basically.

 

SAVE-A-WRESTLER: Rayne Man. Why? Because I like his picture (I'm biased, okay!), and because he doesn't get a chance in anyone else's promotion. He's not going to be a star in SWF or TCW or USPW, so DaVE is his best shot at fame.

 

By the same token, fire Ted Brady and Brendan Idol. Because I don't like them.