MD80: Barbosa and S.H.I.T. vs 'Showtime' David Cougar (c) and Drake Callahan

[a0161613]

Big Dave has put together an explosive main event for Meltdown as the two men who have been feuding over the World Championship (Callahan & Cougar) will be set to take on another two who have been involved in their own chaotic adventures (Barbosa & SHIT). Don't expect a proper finish for this match as both teams will be trying to get their hands on their partners as well as their opponents but hopefully, the General Manager has anticipated a brawl and increased security for this match.

Deadline is 11:59pm Central Time, Wednesday 24th October. Extensions as per thread.​

 

[Барбоса]

*Barbosa emerges from front door of Murphy & Son Refridgerator Repair thoroughly disappointed with his week's work. As he wlaked down the street back towards his hotel, he thought about how he had interviewed/browbeaten fifteen different people

5 EMTs
4 Referees
3 Commentators
2 Refridgerator repair men - Mr Murphy and his petrified doofus of a son/store clerk
1 Ring Announcer

And not one of them had been able to give him any kind of definitive answers to the questions he had asked them - the EMTs had been flabbergasted, the referees had been astonished bystanders, Copeland, Cohen and Connor had been too focused on the in-ring action, Truman Harrys was the same and Mr Murphy had not had the chance to get a look at the victim.

There were others Barbosa could talk to but Alhazred had proven himself completely uncooperative; so much so that Barbosa had been left with no choice but to drop him on his head and this Gustav Gustavsson was probably on the run again.

By all rights his mind should have been on other things - the physical pain he was still in days later, the victory he had achieved at Apocalypse in spite of that pain, the poor refereeing decisions that had dogged him in recent months or the new WZCW champion who had thought it was wise to kidnap Barbosa and lock him inside a cage. Even Ty Burna had found out that that was not a good idea.

But there was only one thing on Barbosa's mind.

"HOLY SHIT"

The crowd had chanted that at Apocalypse. They had meant it as an exclamation of the violence that Barbosa had just perpetrated - an admittedly somewhat accidental powerbomb over the top rope onto the ring steps - but they could easily have been commenting on how the Scaled Humanoid Industrial Technology had just been sent to the Heavens above.

It had seemed that another PPV appearance by Barbosa was going to end with someone carted out on a stretcher - how many was that now anyway? Three ? Four? It did not matter.

What did matter was that at Apocalypse that number had not increased. SHIT had not been made holy.

Instead, SHIT had gotten real.

Real angry.

As Barbosa had turned his attention to Alhazred, almost expecting to be removed from the match much like at Kingdom Come - where was the consistency? - a cadre of medicine men, glorified ironmongers and slackjawed gawkers had tried to remove the SHIT-heap of wreckage.

Instead, SHIT had gotten back up. And not only that, he had preceded to beat Barbosa almost to a pulp.

How had he… no, it… how had it done that?

Moreover, how had it still got the drive, determination and ability to nearly pound a former World Champion into oblivion?

From his interviews, it clearly had not been any miraculous work from the EMTs or a jumpstart from the refridgerator repair man. But somehow all of the King's Horse and all the King's Men had been able to but Humpty SHIT Dumpty back together again…

Barbosa had to find out.

He had to find out and then he had to destroy.

That had been made more difficult… or was it easier? Barbosa was not sure… by the booking of the latest General Manager of Meltdown. Big Dave was throwing Barbosa and SHIT back into the ring together. But, not as opponents - as tag partners.

Now, Barbosa would admit that the idea of teaming with SHIT had gone through his mind in the past. His previous partnering with another oddball in Kravinoff had been productive, ending with him taking the KFAD briefcase and then becoming World Champion for a fleeting moment. But now, after all that has transpired in recent months and in his search for direction, teaming this seemingly indestructible machine was a ridiculous notion.

Big Dave must be having a good chuckle to himself. Maybe this was his first step in using his newly found power to exact the revenge he felt he owed Barbosa for the aforementioned cash in. What other reason could he have for putting together such a inevitable disaster of a tag match?

Scratch that thought - this is not going to be a tag match at all. The egos of Callahan and Showtime will not allow them to co-exist as a team at all but it is doubtful that even they will be able to match the lack of tagging that their opponents would 'achieve.'

It would take a reprogramming beyond Alhazredian proportions to make SHIT hold out his hand to accept a tag from Barbosa after what he did to him at Apocalypse. A situation made all the more unlikely by the fact that that outstretched hand would instead be a balled up fist aimed straight at SHIT's cardboard head or a running knee to his cardboard gut.

Why was Barbosa so happy to throw away a tag team victory and blemish his basically impeccable tag team record? One word.

Direction.

Apocalypse had suggested that SHIT was indestructible. Barbosa wanted… no, needed to test that seeming indestructibility. That is what this 'tag team' match was going to be - a test of the 'indestructibility' of the automaton; a test of Barbosa's new mantra…

Break SHIT

Smash SHIT

DESTROY SHIT

This brought a smile to Barbosa's face. He was going to enjoy this challenge.*

 

[Miko]

S.H.I.T stands in the corridoor, looking noticeably battered and beaten, its frame moving up and down as if to indicate heavy breathing, the hole from the screwdriver wound still in its head.

A shuffling of feet can be heard up the other end of the corridor, as if on instinct the Machine rises from its former huddled form, standing upright like it normally does, still it doesnt bother to turn its head towards the newcomers.

"Brother Westhoff," comes the roaring tones of Derek Jacobs, "its that cardboard man."

Jacobs raises his hand as if to touch the head of the robot but Mason gently puts his hand on his wrist to stop him.

"No Brother Jacobs, you've seen how this creature reacts to that, this is not a fight for us to involve ourselves at this time."

Jacobs, not to be fully deterred stands face to face with the Machine, attempting to stare into the abyss of its eyes.

"Does it do anything?"

"Brother Jacobs," said Westhoff soothingly. "You saw not long ago what this thing does. A tool built seemingly for nothing but destruction."

"Its just a man in a box!" Jacobs exclaimed.

"Belief, Brother Jacobs. It believes it is a Machine built for destruction, so utterly that it could even be dangerous to suggest that it isn't." Westhoff paces around the Machine. Jacobs merely grunts and finally breaks his stare, in all this time the Machine has not moved, not one inch.

This is an example of the corruption that festers in WZCW, were we not otherwise enganged the Almighty would surely direct us to deal with this, this creature." Mason stops pacing, now he stands face to face with the Machine.

"It still isnt doing anything."

"That does not mean it is not alert to its surroundings."

Jacobs again gets in the robots face.

"Jellybeans!"

"Brother Jacobs, said Westhoff, "what are you doing?"

"Trying to get a reaction. Porridge!"

Mason watches and sighs while Derek Jacobs continues his barrage.

"Kurt Russel!

"Firetruck!"

"Beer!"

". . . Money!"

Nothing.

"I guess it wont do anything until it sees Barbosa."

Crush!

Both men turn to face S.H.I.T after its sudden reaction, Mason takes a step closer.

"The Almighty!"

No reaction.

"Barbosa!"

Kill!

"Barbosa!"

Destroy! The answers come almost instantly after the name of S.H.I.T's recent troubles is exclaimed.

Jacobs and Westhoff look at each other, Jacobs goes to say it again but Westhoff raises his hand.

"You see Brother Jacobs, perhaps there is a reason we have not been set to purge this thing from WZCW. The one called Barbosa. . ."

Crush!

". . . Is every bit as bad as this creature."

"What are you saying?"

"I am saying that this thing and Barbosa. . ."

Kill!

". . . Will most likely destroy each other in the course of the war they insist on having with each other. The World would be a better place for it."

Both men stare at the now once again entirely still Robot before them.

"Come Brother Jacobs, we have waisted enough time here, we have problems of our own."

The New Church continue on with their journey, leaving the Machine standing entirely still, staring at nothing.

"The World would be a better place for it."

Two merciless Machines of destruction on a collision course with each other.

"The World would be a better place for it."

Cruel, unrelenting.

"The World would be a better place for it."

Barbosa had tried to destroy S.H.I.T entirely with a powerbomb from inside the ring to the outside, onto the steel steps no less. Nothing with feeling would commit such an act of cruelty. Yet, S.H.I.T was no better, somehow it had returned to the ring under its own power and would have continued its barrage on Barbosa had Alhazred not interfered.

"The World would be a better place for it."

The World would be a better place for it, S.H.I.T had to stop this creature, and perhaps, if all went well, the other would stop S.H.I.T as well. Perhaps they would end each other and the World would be a better place for it. Both are beyond helping now.

Callahan and Showtime would fight each other but both men possess a certain pride, they may even temporarily put their differences aside for a victory, S.H.I.T was concerned with Barbosa, Barbosa with S.H.I.T. The feud between the Humans ran deep, but was ultimately about gold and success, S.H.I.T wouldnt hesitate to drop either should it become necessary, it knew Barbosa wouldnt either, perhaps they could co-exist, briefly. . . but whatever it was between The Machine and Barbosa was unquenchable. They couldnt co-exist for long.

S.H.I.T allows itself to slip back into its hunched pose, its frame rising up and down again.

The World would be a better place for it.

"BARBOSA!" Came a shout from the end of the corridor.

Destroy!

 

[Harthan]

The scene - a huddled figure in an obscure corner of the arena where WZCW Apocalypse has wrapped up some time ago. The figure is difficult to distinguish, covered in a suit jacket and ducked over such that his head is below his shoulders. A slight murmuring can be heard from the corner, punctuated by the occasional laugh and hacking cough, before the slow, dull, unceasing murmuring returns. From time to time, it grows louder.

"The axial tilt of the Earth is approximately 37,000 degrees Fahrenheit, according to Albert Oppenheimer....if my feet smell, what does my nose think?....the third day of Wednesday is Tuesday, but when is it Friday, Friday, gotta get down on...."

Meaningless, unceasing rambling continues to emanate forth in the corner. It continues until one Darren Bull rounds the corner, carrying his bag and listening to some trite piece of modern pop music. He stops as he encounters the huddled figure and looks startled, looking about for someone to help him with this unforeseen situation. He slowly takes out his earphones, and we hear the blasted sounds of "Call Me Maybe" emanate before he silences his Zune. He clears his throat for a moment, but the huddled figure doesn't stop its mumbling for a second. Bull looks around once more, and, with an unsettled look on his face, speaks.

Bull: Uh...hey, buddy? You uh...you okay over there?

The figure stops mumbling for a moment, as if considering, before it resumes its maddening chatter. Bull takes a long swallow and considers before stepping over to the figure and placing a hand on its shoulder.

Bull: Hey, uh...you okay, champ?

The figure stops speaking entirely, becoming deathly silent. It stands up slowly, shrugging off the suit jacket as the figure reaches its full height, revealing the figure of a man in wrestling tights...tights that we think we've seen before...the figure turns around excruciatingly slowly, revealing the face of recently made former WZCW World Heavyweight Champion, Drake Callahan. His face is long and pale, his expanding beard stuck out in varying directions, and a mad gleam in his eye. He steps closer, coming as close to Bull and his face as he could possibly be without touching him. In a slow, rasping whisper, the result of hours of speaking to himself, he speaks.

Drake: What.

Bull, looking thoroughly unsettled, tries to take a step back, but Drake calmly grabs hold of his arm. Bull swallows and looks at the iron grip on his arm, before looking back at Drake's face. Sounding out of breath, he responds.

Bull: Whoa, hey, Drake, listen, I just wanted to make sure you were okay...

Drake continues to look him dead in the eye without any sort of human emotion, only a wild animal stare. He comes closer once again.

Drake: What. Did. You. Call. Me.

Bull: I, uh, uh, I called you Drake, you know, your name -

He is interrupted by Drake slapping him across the face as hard as he could possibly manage, but while maintaining his death grip, refusing to allow Bull to fall. Caught off guard and already unsettled, Bull doesn't retaliate; he only looks intimidated.

Drake: Before.

Bull: Jesus, I, uh, uh, I called you....oh, sh - I called you, uh, Jesus, my face, champ....

Drake drags Bull closer to his face, now closer than he's ever been. Suddenly, he starts laughing, breaking into a mad, mirthless laugh without any semblance of humanity to it. He laughs until he breaks into coughing, clears his throat, recovers, and starts laughing again. Bull looks beyond freaked out, but eventually he, too starts laughing. He even begins to look relaxed by the time Drake winds down, just chuckling, despite the growing red mark across his face. Drake smiles widely, then, looking warmly at Bull and letting go of his arm. Bull backs off a step and smiles back. Drake takes a long look at him, then says:

Drake: Fuck you.

Bull barely has time to respond before Drake viciously uppercuts him, sending him reeling wildly. Drake, still smiling, pursues him and knees him in the gut before he can do anything, eliciting a loud groan of pain that echoes throughout the recesses of this forsaken corner of the arena. Bull falls to one knee, trying to raise his arms to defend himself, but Drake kicks him ruthlessly in the head and sends him collapsing to the ground, barely twitching. Drake takes a look at him, smile still painted on his face, before dragging him up to his feet and whipping him hard across the floor to a large pile of crates, smashing Bull into them. He pursues leisurely, whistling as he goes to Bull, and pulls him up once more, lifting him onto his shoulders. He holds him for a minute as voices echo down the hallway, a scattered group of security personnel and at least some of Drake's entourage charging down the hall. Drake gives a half wave - as much as he can with Bull on his shoulders, before smashing his skull in with the Faded Memory. He wipes his hands and drops down to the floor, locking in the Bitter End, leaving the half conscious Bull moaning in pain as the security personnel reach them, tearing Drake off. A medic immediately begins to work on Bull as the security guards hold Drake back, though he doesn't resist. They relax their grip for a moment and Drake lunges for Bull; they just barely pull him back. Max Powers and Stoya Vidic are both there, Max shouting furiously, Stoya merely looking harassed.

The guards have learned their lesson this time, dragging Drake further back and holding him tight, as he looks with hungry and ferocious eyes at Bull, intent on no less than murder. Perplexingly, an empty smile still covers his face from ear to ear. The medic is tending to Bull as best he can, but is radioing for help. Stoya is running interference with the rest of the guards, while Max runs a hand through his hair and walks slowly, cautiously, over to Drake.

Max: Jesus, Drake, what the hell. The show's been over for two hours, we can't find you anywhere. Is this what you've been doing? Stalking people, trying to murder them?

Drake slowly looks over to Max, and after a long minute, his smile fades and his eyes clear, though not entirely.

Drake: He came to me. I was busy.

Max: Doing what?

Drake: Sitting, thinking, talking. That sort of thing.

Max: And what the hell induced you to do....this?

Drake looks at Bull with entirely new eyes; faint disgust this time, but little regret.

Drake: It felt like the right thing to do.

Max looks at Drake with bulging eyes and exasperation on his face.

Max: Jesus, Drake, I mean...Jesus. This night's been enough of a disaster already, now you have to drag this kid into it? Taking your frustrations out on him was that important? Just because you lost the championship -

Drake bursts into laughter as Max says that, interrupting him. He laughs harder than he has all night, doubling over and wheezing. The guards even deign to let him go, as he is starting to seriously disturb them. He laughs so hard he falls to his knees, but slowly the laughter changes into something between choking sobs and a guttural scream, not unlike an animal slowly dying, painfully. Max looks around wildly, trying to figure this situation out. Stoya, meanwhile, has apparently talked down security and more medics have arrived to deal with Bull, stretchering him away. Stoya spares Drake one look, before returning to damage control. Max steps over to Drake and shakes him by the shoulders. The motion causes Drake to stop quickly. Max drags him to his feet; Drake now can only seem to look at his feet, all but catatonic. Max gestures to Stoya, who has dealt with the situation - for now, anyway - and she supports Drake on the other arm, attempting to escort him out of the arena. They take a few awkward steps together as a six legged unit, before rounding a corner.

There, standing at the end of the hall, is Stacey Madison. Her face is expressionless as she stares headlong at the group. Max and Stoya stop; the interruption causes Drake to look up and see Stacey standing there. She was wearing black; half a visage of the Grim Reaper itself, or so it seemed to Drake, half her usual deadly beautiful self. Still, he didn't see her, so much as he saw everything she represented. He saw and remembered their conversation before his match. He remembered how he had seen her once, in a brief moment, not her, but the only woman he had ever loved, and he saw her again, his heart shattering, rent in twain, as he saw Kate. His whole world, his whole reality crashed in around him as he saw her again, imagining her standing there as he saw the only woman he'd ever loved. He remembered throwing her away to get what he thought he wanted, needed. And it hurt ten times over, like a thousand thousand needles piercing his brain, to know that even that feeble prop that was supporting him had been taken from him. He had thrown away everything, for nothing. He was without meaning or purpose; consigned to oblivion, beyond the point of no return, and for absolutely nothing.

He found himself walking slowly to Stacey, all the same. He had no reason to do so; he had no reason to do anything. No reason to live. All the same. He stopped just short of being too close to her. She held her ground, staring at him levelly. The two stood for a long moment there, no expression in either face. After a long time, he speaks.

Drake: Are you happy?

Stacey draws in a breath before responding.

Stacey: Are you?

Lightning quick, he grabs her by the chin and draws himself closer to her. She exhales her sharply at his rough grasp. Max and Stoya advance behind him, but a sharp wave from his free hand cuts them off. The two look at each other briefly, but stop, not believing that he would actually hurt her.

As close to her as he was to Bull before, he looks at her, really, truly, for the first time, realizing how beautiful she was. He had always thought of her as cold, but here, holding her, staring into her eyes, eyes full of rage and anger and something else he couldn't understand. They stayed like that for a while; he couldn't tell how long. He tightens his grip a little bit and is half sickened, half satisfied to see her face tighten in a concession to pain.

Drake: I said - are you happy?

He could feel her tense, knew how much she wanted to pull away, knew she was so arrogant she wouldn't give in to him. She was everything he wasn't. Hard, where he was soft. Once, he might have said brittle like steel, while he bent like willow. But he knew better than that now. What would he do, if he were her? Struggle, scream, fight to get away. Compromise an image - no. Compromise an identity to get away. Until there was no identity left. He wanted nothing more than for her to fight him. Could she know that, as she stood there like a burning pillar of ice?

Stacey: You want to know? Really? Am I happy? No. It doesn't make it better that you lost. It doesn't make anything better. You - everything - it still makes me sick. I would be happy if you were dead.

He flinches a little, at that. He wasn't ready for it, still raw emotionally. But he didn't let go of her. Not yet.

Drake: Don't you listen, Stacey? What did I tell Showtime? If he wanted my title, he'd have to kill me. If he's got it, then I'm a dead man. So be happy. Rejoice. Laugh!

He roughly shoves her away and she stumbles, but recovers quickly. She turns to face him, conceding to brush her hair back into place, but only that. Was it a victory? Did it matter? What would such a tiny victory mean in the face of so great a loss?

Drake: Dance. Sing. Make merry in the street, because I am dead. Everything that gave me a reason to be alive is gone, Stacey. Half of it I threw away, half of it was stolen from me. But I'm dead, Stacey. My body just hasn't admitted it yet.

Stacey: So what? You're going to go kill yourself? Be my guest.

Drake: Would it make a difference? Dead and walking or just dead, dead is dead.

Stacey: But? You're going to keep walking, then? Keep showing up? What, do you want me to be impressed? Frustrated? What, am I your will to live, Drake?

Drake: No. I'll be here. But not for you. Because the only thing that can help is here. The only thing that has half a shot at bringing me back to life is here. You don't mean a goddamn thing to me, Stacey.

He lied through his teeth with that one. She fascinated him, mystified him. Part of him wanted to be her. Part of him wanted to break her. But she meant something.

Stacey: Pathetic. You really are pathetic. Your whole life for some golden bauble?

Drake: I don't expect you to understand.

Stacey: Understand this. You're a washed up one hit wonder, and you're never getting your title back.

He was on her in a flash, his hand around her throat as he presses her to the wall. Stoya and Max charged this time, but he only needed one look into her eyes, that brief look of fear, before he backed off. She put a hand to her throat - he hadn't even hurt her, just scared her. But it still reminded him of that one night, in a lonely hotel room, when he'd done the unthinkable. He remembered then, and he thought of now. It made him want to vomit.

He liked it.

Drake: I'm going to do you a favor, Stacey. Here's an exclusive front page story for you.

He turned his back to her and took a few strides away. Max and Stoya, both looking completely dumbfounded at what they'd seen transpire here. Drake stopped.

Drake: Showtime has the title. Showtime has my title. If you think it took him a lot to pry it away from me, you have no idea what I'm about to do to get it back. When I had the belt, I was a feral dog, doing everything to protect my territory. But good job, Showtime, you killed me. You made me a dead man, and that's going to be your downfall. Death itself is coming for you and yours, Showtime, and there's nobody, nobody in the whole world who can cheat death.

He pauses briefly and starts to walk away.

Drake: Except me.

Without another word he strides out of the arena, not caring to see if anyone follows him. Stacey, barely looking disheveled, strides off the other way, leaving Max and Stoya alone in the center of the room. They share a look.

Stoya: This is problematic. He is...extremely unstable.

Max nods slowly in agreement.

Max: We may have to consider...outside reinforcements.

 

[Showtime]

Scene opens on the set of The Show. Showtime David Cougar is standing off stage behind the curtain with the WZCW Title shinning brightly on his shoulder. The show is minutes away from starting and Showtime waits eagerly for his name to be called. The band can be heard playing, but their sound is only slightly louder than the voice of the fans in attendance, screaming "Showtime, Showtime", with their cameras out and ready to snap pictures of the new WZCW World Heavyweight Champion. Showtime adjusts his belt on his shoulder and catches a glimpse of Leon Kensworth standing around backstage. Showtime waves Leon over to see him.

Cougar: Leon, good to see you out here. How you been man?

Kensworth: Pretty good Show. Things have certainly been returning back to normal around here since Ty Burna lost ownership of the company.

Feels pretty good to be able to say his name without feeling his wrath though am I right? I'm glad he hasn't risen yet to the status of "He whose name shall not be spoken."

Well, I still get the feeling that wasn’t the last we've seen of Ty Burna.

Leon you couldn't be any more right about that. I spent years trying to rid WZCW of Ty Burna and what I've come to realize is you can't kill what's already dead inside. I have no doubt in my mind that Ty Burna will be back one day, and when he does return, I still plan on being here WZCW Champion.

Speaking of dead inside, I was wondering if I could get an exclusive interview with you after your show.

No need to wait Leon, let’s do this thing right. Usually I’m tied up after anyway.

But... Show, aren’t you about to go on stage.

Leon... no where would you get an idea like th...

Announcer: And now... ladies and gentleman, please welcome...

Showtime turns to his band leader on stage and signals to stall for more time.

uh... yes, please welcome... to your ears the wonderful music of..... Frank Sinatra.

Some Frank Sinatra 1940’s music plays as Showtime turns back to Leon.

Well that should give some time to do this interview now.

It must be great to be such a star in this business that you can basically control when you need to be on stage or not.

There is never a ‘not’ Leon. Showtime is always performing, always starring in, always being there for the fans. Drake Callahan thought that he could end that and well, seeing as I’m standing here now as WZCW Champion, he was unable to do that.

Yes it was an amazing match that you two had at Apocalypse. Easily a match of the year candidate and one of the best buildups to a PPV match in quite some time.

Years in the making Leon, and it really began to pick up steam just a few months ago right after Kingdom Come. Drake could learn a thing or two about being a star in this business from me. Listen to the fans out there chanting my stage. They are chanting Showtime because they are anticipating my arrival. They know it’s going to come, that I’m not going to take my title and leave the building right now, so they get louder, their suspense builds and then the big payoff comes and I walk out onto the stage and they are happy and they are excited, more excited than if I just walked out on stage earlier. Anticipation, suspense, build, payoff. That’s how you become a big star in this industry, mixed in with hard work and talent.

For months before Apocalypse, Drake was beating me inside the ring and outside the ring, in singles matches, tag team matches, multi-man matches, surprise matches, every kind of match. When he took this title off me, everyone was anticipating when I would get my revenge on Drake, not if, but when. Drake tried to duck my challenge, cast me off as irrelevant, the only thing Drake was building up was his contract negotiations and the only thing suspenseful about the whole situation with Drake was if he would do the unthinkable and leave WZCW with the gold. I ask you Leon, where’s the payoff in that? There isn’t one, unless we’re talking about Drake’s bank account. Fortunately, he did what any champ should do and accepted the challenge. I added the suspense of putting my career on the line, the build up helped out by our years of history was set and the payoff was unbelievable. Unfortunately for Drake, it was not in his favour. It didn’t matter to me that he had beaten me consistently since Kingdom Come. I was waiting for that one match, that one opportunity to extract some revenge one on one verse Drake and while he brought a whole army to help him fight this battle, the true champion was able to pull away with the victory and the payoff for me and the fans... was sweet.

And for Drake, the lose at Apocalypse has appeared to sour him up. I’m not sure if you’re fully aware of Drake’s change of late, but he’s acting as though you drove a steak into his heart since winning the title from him. His furious with himself and with you and it looks like he may want to hurt you.

You know he should be feeling the way he’s feeling. It’s only natural since I took something that he felt belonged to him. This is the fighter inside Drake coming out. He’s angry right now and wants to take some of that frustration out on someone and preferably me. Drake put my career to the absolute test and everybody I knew felt that he would end it at Apocalypse, but I was able to defy the odds and be victorious on the main event stage and that’s not surprising to me. It’s easier to chase a title than it is to hold one. Just look at my last reign as WZCW Champion. I don’t know if this reign will end up being any better, but I’d like to think I’m a little wiser now, a little more aware of what I have here and what this title means to everyone in the back, and I plan on working my damnedest to keep this belt for a long time.

This week on Meltdown you will be teaming with Drake against another unlikely team in Barbosa and S.H.I.T. Is anybody in this match thinking about winning or is the key to this contest survival?

A very interesting question Leon. I don’t quite know what Dave was thinking when he booked this match. I’m assuming that he is hoping that some fireworks will come out of this contest and leave the fans buzzing about what will happen next. That’s what we do in this business. We put on entertaining bouts and leave the fans wanting to tune in next show. If Drake wants to use this match to get another step up on me, that’s fine because I will be ready for when he strikes and when we do face each other one on one again, I will beat him, just like I did at Apocalypse. I faintly hope that me and Drake will be able to put aside our differences and face the very dangerous team of Barbosa and S.H.I.T., but at the end of the day it is just a match, one that I won’t try any less to win, but one that I know won’t make a difference if I do lose. I never back down from any challenge. Not from Drake, not from Barbosa, not from anyone.

Speaking of challengers, before Apocalypse ended Steven Holmes made his presence felt, coming out to his former associates music and signally that he is coming after you and your championship. What do have to say regarding Mr. Holmes?

Holmes is someone I know who doesn’t kid around. When he makes it known that he wants something he will stop at nothing to get at it. He’d even pop a little girls ballon if it meant getting something he wanted. Mr. Holmes has been building his career up steadily in WZCW, but has rarely been able to rise to the occasion and win the big match. Finally he had his breakout moment at Lethal Lottery 4, starting third and making it to the final four. That match put Holmes in the main event. While he may have again lost the big match at Kingdom Come, Big Dave may never be the same wrestler he once was and you can bet Holmes helped play a role in that demise, so Holmes has indeed proven himself qualified to be my next opponent. Like I said though Leon, I never back down from a challenge. If Holmes thinks he’s ready to step into the spotlight, I’ll be ready to put him down to the mat, 1... 2... 3.

I bet you were relieved to see that it was Holmes instead of John Constantine or else you may have had to pin someone again that night. Were you prepared at all to face Constantine if he did cash in at Apocalypse?

Showtime looks onto the stage. The band is splaying Jamaican now, but the crowd is growing restless.

Leon that’s a easy question considering I just finished a very competitive match with Drake Callahan minutes earlier, I think prepared can easily be thrown out the window here.

Alright one more question, better phrased, would you have been upset to have defend you newly won WZCW Title against your former friend and bitter rival John Constantine?

Showtime stops. He looks to the stage, signals the announcer, and then turns back to Leon.

Not at all Leon. Like I said, I had only one desire and that was to beat Drake Callahan. And then I said it didn’t matter if I never won another match again after that, but you can beat your ass I wouldn’t of let John take this belt easily and I would've fought my damn hardest to beat him. I’m going to make a new promise now, that when this belt is on the line my body won’t rest until I am victorious. At Meltdown though, I'm not defending this title, so I think I might be the first to start the cluster fuck in this match, and bash Drake’s head into a ring post for old times sake.

Announcer: And now, ladies and gentlemen, the new WZCW World Heavyweight Champion, Showtime David Cougar!

The crowd cheers and chants "Showtime, Showtime" louder than they’ve done all night. Showtime walks out on stage and the crowd cheers louder. He holds the WZCW title above his head as the scene ends.