[VPW.com - Click For News & Information]
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Madison Square Garden, New York City, New York.
Pyrotechnics spatter in barely choreographed succession, throwing colour into the arena. The silhouettes of thousands of screaming New Yorkers contrast against the light of the fireworks. The pyrotechnics stop, leaving only the noise of 20,000+ wrestling fans, hyped up by the claims of a "wrestling revolution" lead by one of the greatest superstars the industry has ever produced.
For a few moments longer, there's inactivity. The crowd begins to settle down, quieting to a low drone. And then:
If ya smeeeeeeeellll! What The Rock! Is cookin'!
Over 20,000 people simultaneously shit themselves in sheer excitement as The Great One, The Most Electrifying Man In Sports Entertainment, The Rock makes his way into the arena. He stops on the ramp, tips his head up and breathes in the atmosphere as his audience works itself into a collective fit. Even in New York, they love The Rock.
"Rock-y! Rock-y! Rock-y!"
He breaks his silence, every syllable sending ripples through the room:
The Rock: "FINALLY..."
He stops again, soaking up the reaction like you or I would soak in the bath.
The Rock: "THE ROCK HAS COME BACK TO NEW YORK CITAY!"
Typically, the fans go absolutely nuts again.
"Wel-come back! Wel-come back! Wel-come back!"
The Rock: "And not only that, not only that, but The Rock has come back with a purpose. The Rock's purpose is this: to create the most electrifying brand in wrestling. VPW. The Rock already has the people he needs to do this. The Rock has the hardcore legend Mick Foley and the crazy son of a bitch that is Paul Heyman on commentary. The Rock has Mean Gene Okerlund backstage and The Rock, well, The Rock has Jeremy Borash as his announcer... but let's forget about that. Because The Rock, without a shadow of a doubt, also has the greatest superstars on the planet. Sure, The Rock doesn't have a Viper. And yeah, The Rock only has one seven foot tall, big smelly bastard - and it ain't The Big Show. But I'll tell you what The Rock does have. The Rock has the most formidable man in sports entertainment today, The Undertaker. The Rock has the icon, Sting. The Rock has the best tag team on the planet, the Motor City Machine Guns. The Rock has the man that some people call "the best wrestler in the world", Daniel Bryan. The Rock has the human jar of mayonnaise, Sheamus, fella! The Rock has the hottest new talent in the business, Wade Barrett. And, like him, love him, hate him, loathe him, do what you want with him, The Rock has--"
The Rock is cut off by a familiar sound; John Cena's theme music. The questionable hip hop brings out a frenzy - girly screams and manly woops (before, of course, the men realise they're meant to be booing him). Cena flies out as an orange blur and bounces around like a hyperactive child. The Rock seems completely apathetic.
John Cena: "Well who were you expecting; Paul London? Rock, I know you don't like being interrupted, but I just had to come out here and say--"
The Rock: "No. You didn't have to come out here and say anything. The Rock was in the middle of talking. You didn't even let The Rock get to the part where he expressed regret over not being able to sign Justin Gabriel. Have you seen that freak's 450 splash?"
John Cena: "Impressive--"
The Rock: "The Rock knows it's impressive. The Rock doesn't need you to come out here and validate everything he says. You don't see The Undertaker coming out here with a big ol' "BONG." and reassuring The Rock that he's doing a good job. You don't see Sheamus running on out here and giving The Rock one of his famous Irish massages to ease The Rock's tense muscles. So The Rock has to ask, John Cena, what you're doing out here."
John Cena: "Well Rock, it's funny you ask that. I mean, I appreciate you taking time out from filming The Tooth Fairy 2: Too Much Teeth to be here tonight. So, I've come out here on behalf of all the guys backstage and all the fans in attendance tonight, and give you a big ol' welcome back."
The Rock: "If you must know, John, The Rock is currently filming the sequel to The Game Plan. And yes, before you ask, The Rock wears a dress in one scene. Problem?"
John Cena: "No. No problem--"
The Rock: "Good, because as much as The Rock likes being welcomed, The Rock is being forced to skip to the end of his speech. And so, The Rock has to ask John Cena this - how many WWE titles have you held?"
John Cena: "Well Rock, it's somewhere between--"
The Rock: "IT DOESN'T MATTER HOW MANY TITLES YOU'VE HELD. Because in VPW, The Rock is in charge - and The Rock doesn't pay a whole lot of attention. It doesn't matter if you've been wrestling for twenty years or three months. It doesn't matter if you've won fifty titles or none. It doesn't matter if you're Paul London... or John Cena. VPW is The Rock's show. And on The Rock's show, everybody starts at the bottom and everybody works their way to the top. On The Rock's show, there's only one - count 'em - one championship. The VPW World Heavyweight Title. And that one title will be awarded in four months time on The Rock's pay-per-view. So until then, John Cena, I invite you to KNOW YOUR ROLE and SHUT YOUR MOUTH! And that's the bottom line, 'cos-- wait, no."
John Cena: "That's not it."
The Rock: "Wait, wait, I got it, I got it. Because I'm The Rock and I'm AWWWWES-- wait, nope, that ain't it either."
John Cena: "You'll get there."
The Rock: "I got it this time. Because I'm MISTERRRRRRRRR... AN-DER-S-- no, that's definitely not it."
John Cena: "Almost there. Almost there."
The Rock: "Got it. If you smeellllll-ell-ell-ell! What The Rock! Is! Cooking!"
[CLICK FOR THEME]
Paul Heyman: "Ladies and gentlemen, welcome! This ain't Tuesday Night Massacre! This ain't Wednesday Night Temptation! This ain't Friday Night Poison, and this definitely ain't Saturday Night Excellence! This is V! P! Fuckin'! W!"
Mick Foley: "That it is, Paul. That it is. Tonight, we start the VPW World Tour in Madison Square Garden in beautiful New York, New York. And to start us off, we have a man that was brought into our new family early on, the American Dragon, Daniel Bryan."
Indeed, Bryan is in the ring, testing the tenacity of the ropes and the tightness of his wrist tape as 'The Final Countdown' by Europe fades away in the background.
Paul Heyman: "Of course, you've got to take into account what The Rock said earlier tonight. Daniel Bryan might well be a big hope for this company, but he has to start at the bottom like everybody else. He's got to prove himself and impress like everybody else. And that means, I'm sure, that Daniel Bryan will want to face the biggest, baddest son of a bitch that he can--"
Holy shit, it's The Great Khali. The Punjabi Playboy haphazardly shuffles down to the ring, looking pissed off and yelling indecipherably. Bryan, despite being totally and utterly dwarfed by the giant, doesn't seem intimidated in the slightest. The two attempt to stare each other down as Khali's music fades away. The referee calls for the bell.
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DANIEL BRYAN vs. THE GREAT KHALI
Bryan rushes over to Khali, refusing to be daunted by the monumental challenge in front of him. He throws caution to the wind and starts trying to chop his opponent down with stiff kicks to the legs. Khali regains his bearings long enough to yelp and desperately shove Bryan away. Bryan rolls backwards a few feet but, much to the crowd's delight, immediately rushes back over to carry on his attack on the giant's legs. Khali whines in pain and takes a hurried swing at Bryan, who dodges behind Khali with ease and topples him with a chop block. Khali lands with a thud and Bryan is already on him, dragging his entire weight into the center of the ring, where he applies a figure four leg lock.
Woooooooo!
However, Khali is too massive; too strong - he has too much reach. He drags himself to the ropes, forcing Bryan to break the hold, and then proceeds to drag himself out of the ring in an effort to catch his breath.
Paul Heyman: "That's right - Daniel Bryan is such a dangerous submission artist that the 7 foot, 3 inch, 400+ pound Great Khali is actually fleeing from him."
Khali doesn't escape for long. Ignoring the referee's discouragement, Bryan leaps onto the top rope and springboards himself hard into Khali, sending the giant into the guard rail. Khali clumsily drops, but Bryan is up almost immediately, screaming triumphantly and getting the crowd hyped up.
With some difficulty, Bryan lugs Khali's imposing frame into the ring and, smelling blood in the water, goes in for the kill. He mounts Khali and batters him with hard forearm after hard forearm, bloodying him. Out of desperation, Khali manages to lift one giant hand and shove Bryan away. Bryan, however, ricochets off the ropes and answers straight back with a hard, hard kick to the face that lets off a sizeable SMACK. Before the crowd can even wince, Bryan has rolled Khali onto his front and has a rudimentary crossface applied to his opponent's massive neck and arm.
Khali squeals like a stuck pig-- well, a stuck pig with a really deep voice. He claws and wails and tries to break the hold, but to no avail. Bryan is much too tenacious, keeping the hold on with all his might. Khali gives in, smacking the mat over and over with his massive palm. The referee calls for the bell and has to physically peel Bryan off of Khali.
Jeremy Borash: And the winner, by tap out, the American Dragon, Daniel! BRYANNNN!
The giant lays there like a dead fish, while 5 foot, ten inch, 190 pound Daniel Bryan, roars to the crowd, sans microphone: "I AM THE BEST WRESTLER IN THE WORLD TODAY!"
The crowd roars their approval back.
Mick Foley: "In Soviet Russia, Daniel Bryan squashes The Great Khali."
Paul Heyman: "That's just how dangerous that man is. He's a technician, an artist. He's tenacious and, no matter how big you are or how much you weigh, he will hurt you and he will make you tap out. Daniel Bryan just sent a message to the locker room. That, in my opinion, is the man to beat."
Bryan lifts the dead weight that is Khali's head and defiantly yells into it: "YOU ARE NOT BETTER THAN ME!"
=====
We cut to the backstage area with Paul London sitting in a chair. He seems completely apathetic and doesn’t even notice the camera on him. At one point, he scratches his beard.
Mick Foley: “Huh. That was weird.”
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Cut back to inside the arena. Sting’s music plays and the fans get to their feet. The man, the icon emerges complete with leather jacket, face paint, black bat and scorpion-branded attire.
Wooooooooooooooo!
He stalks down to the ring and--
Wooooooooooooooo!
Next out is Wade Barrett, accompanied by The Nexus’ theme music. Additionally, he’s still wearing his N arm band.
Mick Foley: “Ladies and gentlemen, I can confirm that none of the other members of the former Nexus are signed with VPW - for, I presume, the safety of the roster. What Wade Barrett is doing wearing that arm band is a mystery.”
Barrett steps into the ring and stands there with a cold indifference. Sting, on the other hand, seems weirdly agitated - angry, even. It’s like he wants to eat Barrett’s face or something. The ref calls for the bell and here... we... go.
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STING vs. WADE BARRETT
The two stalk each other briefly before locking it up and going old school - test of strength time. Sting, the man famed for unlikely feats of strengths, manages to get the leverage and force Barrett down to his knees. But wait, what the hell? Barrett begins to rise up - with as little fuss as possible - forces Sting down. It doesn’t look like he’s even trying. He lifts a boot up and smacks into Sting’s face. And again. One final kick and the icon - a supposedly formidable opponent - drops to his back. Barrett seems to sense the ring rust on the old man and keeps up the pressure, kneeling over him and delivering stiff right after stiff right, before dragging him up and throwing him to the outside.
Paul Heyman: “Forgive me if I’m speaking too soon, but it seems to me that the fifty-one year old Sting is getting his ass handed to him.”
Mick Foley: “That seems like a fair assessment, Paul - however, if there’s one thing I learned in TNA, it’s to never count Sting out.”
Wade Barrett tries to count Sting out, smacking his head against the announce table twice and then suplexing him onto the floor. He rolls into the ring and watches as the referee counts. Sting feebly makes his way back into the ring at about eight, but Barrett is quickly treading all over him, before throwing him so hard into a corner that he collapses forward. Sting writhes in pain as Barrett stands over him, taunting him: “Is that all you’ve got? Is that all?”. Apparently losing his patience, Barrett gathers Sting onto his shoulders and actually strolling around the ring, smiling before smacking him back down to Earth with a Wasteland. He flexes his muscles and smirks as he puts a foot on Sting’s chest and the referee counts to three.
Jeremy Borash: And the winner, by pinfall, Waaaade! BAAARRRETT!
Paul Heyman: “And it’s impressive performances like that which make Wa-- wait, what the hell is this!?”
Michael Tarver, Skip Sheffield, Darren Young, David Otunga and Heath Slater emerge from the crowd in their ring gear, wearing N arm bands. Tarver has his mask up and, for whatever reason, is carrying a handkerchief. They get in the ring and, along with Barrett, form around Sting in a semi-circle. Barrett grabs Sting under the arms and forces him to sit up as Tarver rubs the make-up off his face. Barrett is handed a microphone and begins to preach to a fair few thousand pissed of New Yorkers.
Wade Barrett: “This... is just a man. He’s not an icon, he’s not a legend. At best, you could say he’s a myth I just proved how human he really is. He doesn’t deserve your respect - he certainly doesn’t deserve your adulation. This man, Steve Borden, Sting just got used as an example. An example that the winds of change are blowing just as strongly in VPW as they were in the WWE. Get this piece of trash out of my ring.”
Sheffield picks Sting up and, like a rag doll, tosses Sting over the ropes. Thud.
Wade Barrett: “The Rock says that everybody has to start off from the bottom? That serves us just fine. In four months time, it will be me in the main event of Know Your Role, winning the VPW title. And then, the Nexus, collectively, will be ontop of the wrestling world.”
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We come back into the arena just in time to hear:
It’s a shame for they lost their head.
A careless man could wind up dead.
You wear your sin like it’s some kind of prize.
TOO MANY LIES! TOO MANY LIES!
Oooooh, ooooooh...
Sheamus emerges, his skin sparkling in the light of a thousand camera flashes, his hair as perfectly red as ever. He marches down to the ring - as straight-faced as ever.
Sheamus: “This night will not be remembered as the first night of VPW. No - it will be remembered as the continuation of the legacy of the Celtic Warrior, Sheamus. And it all starts right here, right now. So Rock, fella; if you’d be so kind as to send out my next victim - ‘cos fella, no man alive can beat me.”
Silence. Nobody comes out.
Sheamus: “I said, no man alive can beat me.”
DONG! And out comes The Undertaker.
Paul Heyman: “My, what good timing that was.”
He takes, like, a half hour to get the ring. Sheamus is such a great worker that he sells The Undertaker’s very presence, putting on a look like he just pooed his pants. The Undertaker completes his whole schtick and begins to remove his coat. Sheamus, sensing an opportunity, rushes over to Taker’s corner and begins battering him with all his might. The referee seems to think this is a legal way to start a match; the incompetent twat calls for the bell.
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SHEAMUS vs. THE UNDERTAKER
Sheamus runs to the opposite corner and promptly charges back, attempting some sort of body splash. The ever savvy Undertaker dodges out the way and boy is he pissed off. He unleashes lefts and rights all over Sheamus’ face, leaving his formerly white skin black and blue.
This begins The Undertaker’s initial domination of the match - he knocks Sheamus from pillar to post before a reversed Irish Whip and a kick to the gut turns it the Celtic Warrior’s way again. Sheamus, keen to inflict as much damage as possible, rolls The Undertaker to the outside and removes the cover and the monitors from Heyman and Foley’s announce table.
Paul Heyman: ”Not this way! Not this way! Actually, you know what? Fuck it - put him through the table!”
Sheamus complies, hoisting the Deadman up and slamming him through the table with a powerbomb. Almost exhausted from his monumental effort, he breathes a sigh of relief and gets back in the ring, waiting for the ref’s count.
Unfortunately for him, the referee only manages to get up to eight before The Undertaker sits bolt upright and darts back in; completely no-selling being put through an announce table. Sheamus looks likes he’s seen a ghost, but The Undertaker wastes no time in mounting a fightback. He smacks Sheamus about, tosses him into the ropes and-- OH SHIT, BROGUE KICK!
Mick Foley: “The Undertaker nearly got his head taken off with that one.”
Paul Heyman: ”Cover ‘im! COVER HIM!”
The Celtic Warrior obliges, meekly rolling ontop of The Undertaker. 1! 2! The Undertaker sits bolt upright, pushing Sheamus off. The Irishman scrambles to his feet, terrified and shaking his head. The Undertaker pulls himself up off the floor - right into another Brogue Kick.
Paul Heyman: ”Surely, SURELY that’s enough.”
‘Fraid not, Paul. The Undertaker sits up at two again, this time miming cutting his throat as Sheamus scrambles away. The crowd pops, hard. Sheamus, however, is less enthusiastic. He dives through the ropes and runs for his life up the ramp and out of sight. The referee counts to ten and calls for the bell as The Undertaker stalks back and forth impatiently.
Jeremy Borash: “The winner, by count-out, THHEEEEE UNDER-TAK-ERRR!”
The Undertaker is not impressed, taking his frustrations out on the referee - grabbing him by the throat and choke-slamming seven shades out of him. The crowd pops as the lights go down and The Undertaker poses; complete with eye roll, kneels and chin-licking. Lightning rumbles and--
Your time is up, my time is now
You can't see me, my time is now
It's the franchise, boy I'm shinin’ now
You can't see me, my time is now!
Out bounces John Cena, who stops on the spot. He stares long and hard at The Undertaker - who stares hard back - and then, um, points.
Paul Heyman: ”What the hell does this mean!?”
I don’t know, Paul. I just don’t know.
VPW Entertainment, All Rights Reserved.
=====
Madison Square Garden, New York City, New York.
Pyrotechnics spatter in barely choreographed succession, throwing colour into the arena. The silhouettes of thousands of screaming New Yorkers contrast against the light of the fireworks. The pyrotechnics stop, leaving only the noise of 20,000+ wrestling fans, hyped up by the claims of a "wrestling revolution" lead by one of the greatest superstars the industry has ever produced.
For a few moments longer, there's inactivity. The crowd begins to settle down, quieting to a low drone. And then:
If ya smeeeeeeeellll! What The Rock! Is cookin'!
Over 20,000 people simultaneously shit themselves in sheer excitement as The Great One, The Most Electrifying Man In Sports Entertainment, The Rock makes his way into the arena. He stops on the ramp, tips his head up and breathes in the atmosphere as his audience works itself into a collective fit. Even in New York, they love The Rock.
"Rock-y! Rock-y! Rock-y!"
He breaks his silence, every syllable sending ripples through the room:
The Rock: "FINALLY..."
He stops again, soaking up the reaction like you or I would soak in the bath.
The Rock: "THE ROCK HAS COME BACK TO NEW YORK CITAY!"
Typically, the fans go absolutely nuts again.
"Wel-come back! Wel-come back! Wel-come back!"
The Rock: "And not only that, not only that, but The Rock has come back with a purpose. The Rock's purpose is this: to create the most electrifying brand in wrestling. VPW. The Rock already has the people he needs to do this. The Rock has the hardcore legend Mick Foley and the crazy son of a bitch that is Paul Heyman on commentary. The Rock has Mean Gene Okerlund backstage and The Rock, well, The Rock has Jeremy Borash as his announcer... but let's forget about that. Because The Rock, without a shadow of a doubt, also has the greatest superstars on the planet. Sure, The Rock doesn't have a Viper. And yeah, The Rock only has one seven foot tall, big smelly bastard - and it ain't The Big Show. But I'll tell you what The Rock does have. The Rock has the most formidable man in sports entertainment today, The Undertaker. The Rock has the icon, Sting. The Rock has the best tag team on the planet, the Motor City Machine Guns. The Rock has the man that some people call "the best wrestler in the world", Daniel Bryan. The Rock has the human jar of mayonnaise, Sheamus, fella! The Rock has the hottest new talent in the business, Wade Barrett. And, like him, love him, hate him, loathe him, do what you want with him, The Rock has--"
The Rock is cut off by a familiar sound; John Cena's theme music. The questionable hip hop brings out a frenzy - girly screams and manly woops (before, of course, the men realise they're meant to be booing him). Cena flies out as an orange blur and bounces around like a hyperactive child. The Rock seems completely apathetic.
John Cena: "Well who were you expecting; Paul London? Rock, I know you don't like being interrupted, but I just had to come out here and say--"
The Rock: "No. You didn't have to come out here and say anything. The Rock was in the middle of talking. You didn't even let The Rock get to the part where he expressed regret over not being able to sign Justin Gabriel. Have you seen that freak's 450 splash?"
John Cena: "Impressive--"
The Rock: "The Rock knows it's impressive. The Rock doesn't need you to come out here and validate everything he says. You don't see The Undertaker coming out here with a big ol' "BONG." and reassuring The Rock that he's doing a good job. You don't see Sheamus running on out here and giving The Rock one of his famous Irish massages to ease The Rock's tense muscles. So The Rock has to ask, John Cena, what you're doing out here."
John Cena: "Well Rock, it's funny you ask that. I mean, I appreciate you taking time out from filming The Tooth Fairy 2: Too Much Teeth to be here tonight. So, I've come out here on behalf of all the guys backstage and all the fans in attendance tonight, and give you a big ol' welcome back."
The Rock: "If you must know, John, The Rock is currently filming the sequel to The Game Plan. And yes, before you ask, The Rock wears a dress in one scene. Problem?"
John Cena: "No. No problem--"
The Rock: "Good, because as much as The Rock likes being welcomed, The Rock is being forced to skip to the end of his speech. And so, The Rock has to ask John Cena this - how many WWE titles have you held?"
John Cena: "Well Rock, it's somewhere between--"
The Rock: "IT DOESN'T MATTER HOW MANY TITLES YOU'VE HELD. Because in VPW, The Rock is in charge - and The Rock doesn't pay a whole lot of attention. It doesn't matter if you've been wrestling for twenty years or three months. It doesn't matter if you've won fifty titles or none. It doesn't matter if you're Paul London... or John Cena. VPW is The Rock's show. And on The Rock's show, everybody starts at the bottom and everybody works their way to the top. On The Rock's show, there's only one - count 'em - one championship. The VPW World Heavyweight Title. And that one title will be awarded in four months time on The Rock's pay-per-view. So until then, John Cena, I invite you to KNOW YOUR ROLE and SHUT YOUR MOUTH! And that's the bottom line, 'cos-- wait, no."
John Cena: "That's not it."
The Rock: "Wait, wait, I got it, I got it. Because I'm The Rock and I'm AWWWWES-- wait, nope, that ain't it either."
John Cena: "You'll get there."
The Rock: "I got it this time. Because I'm MISTERRRRRRRRR... AN-DER-S-- no, that's definitely not it."
John Cena: "Almost there. Almost there."
The Rock: "Got it. If you smeellllll-ell-ell-ell! What The Rock! Is! Cooking!"
[CLICK FOR THEME]
Paul Heyman: "Ladies and gentlemen, welcome! This ain't Tuesday Night Massacre! This ain't Wednesday Night Temptation! This ain't Friday Night Poison, and this definitely ain't Saturday Night Excellence! This is V! P! Fuckin'! W!"
Mick Foley: "That it is, Paul. That it is. Tonight, we start the VPW World Tour in Madison Square Garden in beautiful New York, New York. And to start us off, we have a man that was brought into our new family early on, the American Dragon, Daniel Bryan."
Indeed, Bryan is in the ring, testing the tenacity of the ropes and the tightness of his wrist tape as 'The Final Countdown' by Europe fades away in the background.
Paul Heyman: "Of course, you've got to take into account what The Rock said earlier tonight. Daniel Bryan might well be a big hope for this company, but he has to start at the bottom like everybody else. He's got to prove himself and impress like everybody else. And that means, I'm sure, that Daniel Bryan will want to face the biggest, baddest son of a bitch that he can--"
Holy shit, it's The Great Khali. The Punjabi Playboy haphazardly shuffles down to the ring, looking pissed off and yelling indecipherably. Bryan, despite being totally and utterly dwarfed by the giant, doesn't seem intimidated in the slightest. The two attempt to stare each other down as Khali's music fades away. The referee calls for the bell.
=====
DANIEL BRYAN vs. THE GREAT KHALI
Bryan rushes over to Khali, refusing to be daunted by the monumental challenge in front of him. He throws caution to the wind and starts trying to chop his opponent down with stiff kicks to the legs. Khali regains his bearings long enough to yelp and desperately shove Bryan away. Bryan rolls backwards a few feet but, much to the crowd's delight, immediately rushes back over to carry on his attack on the giant's legs. Khali whines in pain and takes a hurried swing at Bryan, who dodges behind Khali with ease and topples him with a chop block. Khali lands with a thud and Bryan is already on him, dragging his entire weight into the center of the ring, where he applies a figure four leg lock.
Woooooooo!
However, Khali is too massive; too strong - he has too much reach. He drags himself to the ropes, forcing Bryan to break the hold, and then proceeds to drag himself out of the ring in an effort to catch his breath.
Paul Heyman: "That's right - Daniel Bryan is such a dangerous submission artist that the 7 foot, 3 inch, 400+ pound Great Khali is actually fleeing from him."
Khali doesn't escape for long. Ignoring the referee's discouragement, Bryan leaps onto the top rope and springboards himself hard into Khali, sending the giant into the guard rail. Khali clumsily drops, but Bryan is up almost immediately, screaming triumphantly and getting the crowd hyped up.
With some difficulty, Bryan lugs Khali's imposing frame into the ring and, smelling blood in the water, goes in for the kill. He mounts Khali and batters him with hard forearm after hard forearm, bloodying him. Out of desperation, Khali manages to lift one giant hand and shove Bryan away. Bryan, however, ricochets off the ropes and answers straight back with a hard, hard kick to the face that lets off a sizeable SMACK. Before the crowd can even wince, Bryan has rolled Khali onto his front and has a rudimentary crossface applied to his opponent's massive neck and arm.
Khali squeals like a stuck pig-- well, a stuck pig with a really deep voice. He claws and wails and tries to break the hold, but to no avail. Bryan is much too tenacious, keeping the hold on with all his might. Khali gives in, smacking the mat over and over with his massive palm. The referee calls for the bell and has to physically peel Bryan off of Khali.
Jeremy Borash: And the winner, by tap out, the American Dragon, Daniel! BRYANNNN!
The giant lays there like a dead fish, while 5 foot, ten inch, 190 pound Daniel Bryan, roars to the crowd, sans microphone: "I AM THE BEST WRESTLER IN THE WORLD TODAY!"
The crowd roars their approval back.
Mick Foley: "In Soviet Russia, Daniel Bryan squashes The Great Khali."
Paul Heyman: "That's just how dangerous that man is. He's a technician, an artist. He's tenacious and, no matter how big you are or how much you weigh, he will hurt you and he will make you tap out. Daniel Bryan just sent a message to the locker room. That, in my opinion, is the man to beat."
Bryan lifts the dead weight that is Khali's head and defiantly yells into it: "YOU ARE NOT BETTER THAN ME!"
=====
We cut to the backstage area with Paul London sitting in a chair. He seems completely apathetic and doesn’t even notice the camera on him. At one point, he scratches his beard.
Mick Foley: “Huh. That was weird.”
=====
Cut back to inside the arena. Sting’s music plays and the fans get to their feet. The man, the icon emerges complete with leather jacket, face paint, black bat and scorpion-branded attire.
Wooooooooooooooo!
He stalks down to the ring and--
Wooooooooooooooo!
Next out is Wade Barrett, accompanied by The Nexus’ theme music. Additionally, he’s still wearing his N arm band.
Mick Foley: “Ladies and gentlemen, I can confirm that none of the other members of the former Nexus are signed with VPW - for, I presume, the safety of the roster. What Wade Barrett is doing wearing that arm band is a mystery.”
Barrett steps into the ring and stands there with a cold indifference. Sting, on the other hand, seems weirdly agitated - angry, even. It’s like he wants to eat Barrett’s face or something. The ref calls for the bell and here... we... go.
=====
STING vs. WADE BARRETT
The two stalk each other briefly before locking it up and going old school - test of strength time. Sting, the man famed for unlikely feats of strengths, manages to get the leverage and force Barrett down to his knees. But wait, what the hell? Barrett begins to rise up - with as little fuss as possible - forces Sting down. It doesn’t look like he’s even trying. He lifts a boot up and smacks into Sting’s face. And again. One final kick and the icon - a supposedly formidable opponent - drops to his back. Barrett seems to sense the ring rust on the old man and keeps up the pressure, kneeling over him and delivering stiff right after stiff right, before dragging him up and throwing him to the outside.
Paul Heyman: “Forgive me if I’m speaking too soon, but it seems to me that the fifty-one year old Sting is getting his ass handed to him.”
Mick Foley: “That seems like a fair assessment, Paul - however, if there’s one thing I learned in TNA, it’s to never count Sting out.”
Wade Barrett tries to count Sting out, smacking his head against the announce table twice and then suplexing him onto the floor. He rolls into the ring and watches as the referee counts. Sting feebly makes his way back into the ring at about eight, but Barrett is quickly treading all over him, before throwing him so hard into a corner that he collapses forward. Sting writhes in pain as Barrett stands over him, taunting him: “Is that all you’ve got? Is that all?”. Apparently losing his patience, Barrett gathers Sting onto his shoulders and actually strolling around the ring, smiling before smacking him back down to Earth with a Wasteland. He flexes his muscles and smirks as he puts a foot on Sting’s chest and the referee counts to three.
Jeremy Borash: And the winner, by pinfall, Waaaade! BAAARRRETT!
Paul Heyman: “And it’s impressive performances like that which make Wa-- wait, what the hell is this!?”
Michael Tarver, Skip Sheffield, Darren Young, David Otunga and Heath Slater emerge from the crowd in their ring gear, wearing N arm bands. Tarver has his mask up and, for whatever reason, is carrying a handkerchief. They get in the ring and, along with Barrett, form around Sting in a semi-circle. Barrett grabs Sting under the arms and forces him to sit up as Tarver rubs the make-up off his face. Barrett is handed a microphone and begins to preach to a fair few thousand pissed of New Yorkers.
Wade Barrett: “This... is just a man. He’s not an icon, he’s not a legend. At best, you could say he’s a myth I just proved how human he really is. He doesn’t deserve your respect - he certainly doesn’t deserve your adulation. This man, Steve Borden, Sting just got used as an example. An example that the winds of change are blowing just as strongly in VPW as they were in the WWE. Get this piece of trash out of my ring.”
Sheffield picks Sting up and, like a rag doll, tosses Sting over the ropes. Thud.
Wade Barrett: “The Rock says that everybody has to start off from the bottom? That serves us just fine. In four months time, it will be me in the main event of Know Your Role, winning the VPW title. And then, the Nexus, collectively, will be ontop of the wrestling world.”
=====
We come back into the arena just in time to hear:
It’s a shame for they lost their head.
A careless man could wind up dead.
You wear your sin like it’s some kind of prize.
TOO MANY LIES! TOO MANY LIES!
Oooooh, ooooooh...
Sheamus emerges, his skin sparkling in the light of a thousand camera flashes, his hair as perfectly red as ever. He marches down to the ring - as straight-faced as ever.
Sheamus: “This night will not be remembered as the first night of VPW. No - it will be remembered as the continuation of the legacy of the Celtic Warrior, Sheamus. And it all starts right here, right now. So Rock, fella; if you’d be so kind as to send out my next victim - ‘cos fella, no man alive can beat me.”
Silence. Nobody comes out.
Sheamus: “I said, no man alive can beat me.”
DONG! And out comes The Undertaker.
Paul Heyman: “My, what good timing that was.”
He takes, like, a half hour to get the ring. Sheamus is such a great worker that he sells The Undertaker’s very presence, putting on a look like he just pooed his pants. The Undertaker completes his whole schtick and begins to remove his coat. Sheamus, sensing an opportunity, rushes over to Taker’s corner and begins battering him with all his might. The referee seems to think this is a legal way to start a match; the incompetent twat calls for the bell.
=====
SHEAMUS vs. THE UNDERTAKER
Sheamus runs to the opposite corner and promptly charges back, attempting some sort of body splash. The ever savvy Undertaker dodges out the way and boy is he pissed off. He unleashes lefts and rights all over Sheamus’ face, leaving his formerly white skin black and blue.
This begins The Undertaker’s initial domination of the match - he knocks Sheamus from pillar to post before a reversed Irish Whip and a kick to the gut turns it the Celtic Warrior’s way again. Sheamus, keen to inflict as much damage as possible, rolls The Undertaker to the outside and removes the cover and the monitors from Heyman and Foley’s announce table.
Paul Heyman: ”Not this way! Not this way! Actually, you know what? Fuck it - put him through the table!”
Sheamus complies, hoisting the Deadman up and slamming him through the table with a powerbomb. Almost exhausted from his monumental effort, he breathes a sigh of relief and gets back in the ring, waiting for the ref’s count.
Unfortunately for him, the referee only manages to get up to eight before The Undertaker sits bolt upright and darts back in; completely no-selling being put through an announce table. Sheamus looks likes he’s seen a ghost, but The Undertaker wastes no time in mounting a fightback. He smacks Sheamus about, tosses him into the ropes and-- OH SHIT, BROGUE KICK!
Mick Foley: “The Undertaker nearly got his head taken off with that one.”
Paul Heyman: ”Cover ‘im! COVER HIM!”
The Celtic Warrior obliges, meekly rolling ontop of The Undertaker. 1! 2! The Undertaker sits bolt upright, pushing Sheamus off. The Irishman scrambles to his feet, terrified and shaking his head. The Undertaker pulls himself up off the floor - right into another Brogue Kick.
Paul Heyman: ”Surely, SURELY that’s enough.”
‘Fraid not, Paul. The Undertaker sits up at two again, this time miming cutting his throat as Sheamus scrambles away. The crowd pops, hard. Sheamus, however, is less enthusiastic. He dives through the ropes and runs for his life up the ramp and out of sight. The referee counts to ten and calls for the bell as The Undertaker stalks back and forth impatiently.
Jeremy Borash: “The winner, by count-out, THHEEEEE UNDER-TAK-ERRR!”
The Undertaker is not impressed, taking his frustrations out on the referee - grabbing him by the throat and choke-slamming seven shades out of him. The crowd pops as the lights go down and The Undertaker poses; complete with eye roll, kneels and chin-licking. Lightning rumbles and--
Your time is up, my time is now
You can't see me, my time is now
It's the franchise, boy I'm shinin’ now
You can't see me, my time is now!
Out bounces John Cena, who stops on the spot. He stares long and hard at The Undertaker - who stares hard back - and then, um, points.
Paul Heyman: ”What the hell does this mean!?”
I don’t know, Paul. I just don’t know.
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