The sound of three gunshots go off, each one blasting out an O.W.F. on the screen and the cameras open panning over the crowd. Signs are closed in on, alot of support rallied for the Youngbloodz and a fair sized section dedicated to Bryan Tann. A few particularly witty fans have signs up that reads "Go Tann, Jackson, Silkk, Dyce, Meca. I root for the black guys!" and "Prissy! PDA Match! My bedroom!" The camera spirals in from overhead, closing on the center of the ring where stands Perry, microphone in hand.
Mr P: Welcome, ladies and gentlemen, to OWF Heretic! We've got a spectacular line-up for you guys tonight, and with only one more Heretic before High Voltage, there's alot of exciting things lined up tonight. So no need to tune in to ASW Showdown and watch me beat Cesar Elles in the US Title rematch, or Meca win complete control of the TV Title, even the OWF can't save that floundering program when it has to run against Heretic!

The audience screams. Giving Showdown spoilers seems to be becoming a weekly occurance for the newly assigned OWF Chairman. Perry grins while the audience cheers, scanning over the crowd and pointing a camera off to film a sign which reads "I watch Heretic because Showdown results are done faster there." With a mirthful expression, Perry spins in a circle, arms out at his sides, relishing in the crowd.

Mr P: Tonight we'll find out exactly what other two superstars are moving on to the semi-finals of Blood, Sweat, and Tears, and also I promise to sign one official match for High Voltage to get the ball rolling. So without further delay, let's paint this canvas red with blood.

Bloodthirsty shrieks from the crowd seem to delight Perry as he climbs out of the ring. Geraldo steps up at ringside, microphone in hand.

Geraldo: The following match is scheduled for one fall. Introducing first, the cruiserweight sensation, the OWF's own MVP, MIIIKE VAAAN PEEEEELT!

M! V! P! OWWWW! The sound system blasts for Van Pelt as he bounds through the curtains, tossing his arms up at his sides, then guesturing at himself with his thumbs. The audience booes and heckles, which seems to surprise Van Pelt as he makes his way towards the ring with a less than friendly response. Climbing to the middle turnbuckle, Van Pelt points to himself with his thumbs once again, then does a backflip to land on his feet center ring, but still can't seem to win the crowd over.

Larry King: Tough crowd, tonight.

Mancow: Not really. I think you're about to see why.

Geraldo: And his opponant, from Boston, Mass, the 2005 King of the Mountain, PIIITEEER SVOOOBOOOOODAAA!

"Chain" by Switchblade Symphony plays out over the PA and the curtains jerk aside, Svoboda standing center stage with a big grin. The audience errupts. Bowing with dramatic flourish, Svoboda makes his way towards the ring, pausing at ringside to rub a hand over the back of his sore neck, then sliding into the ring under the bottom rope. Bouncing on the balls of his feet, Svoboda and eyes Van Pelt up and down confidently.

Larry King: These are two of the OWF's most talented cruiserweights.

Mancow: Svoboda seems to still be favoring his neck a bit. I can't believe Jommy forced him into the ring so soon.

Larry King: Van Pelt was in that same match, and he seems to have rebounded well enough. Now it's time to find the truely greatest of the cruiserweights.

Now wait just a moment.

Attention turns to the entrance ramp where Kellan Hunter and Tad O Minor stand wearing their OWF Handicapped Match titles, Hunter sporting a tag title belt over one shoulder. Hunter points down the isle at Svoboda and Van Pelt, making a haulting motion with his hand.

Kellan Hunter: Now somebody just mentioned "greatest of the cruiserweights", and I don't think that's a title that should be tossed around over a match between two LoserRates like you. Peter Sla-Blow-Ya and Mike Sans Belt can't hold a candle to Tad O Minor.

Hunter points towards Minor with his thumb. Minor holds up a chair over his head threateningly.

Kellan Hunter: Now if you two even want this match to take place, you'll add my partner here in, otherwise we'll just mop the floor with you right now. Because you think this match is going to make you the best of the cruiserweights, you must be NUTS!

Svoboda shakes his head No. Van Pelt shrugs noncommittally. Perry stands up at ringside, eyeing over the two men in the ring.

Mr P: You know, if I learned anything from watching a hundred six-man luchadore matches it's this: when it comes to little guys, more is always better. Go ahead, Tad, have at it.

Svoboda turns his glare from NUTS to Perry, tossing dagger eyes at Mr P as Perry grins smugly from the commentary table. The bell sounds and Svoboda tags Van Pelt in the back of the head with a dropkick as Van Pelt watches Minor run down the isle. Van Pelt stumbles into the ropes, while Minor simply stumbles and falls forward, the chair unfolding in his hands and planting himself face first into the seat of it. Svoboda snap kicks forward, catching Van Pelt in the chin as he turns around. Staggering back to the turnbuckle, Van Pelt catches his balance. Svoboda cuts side-ring, springboarding off the middle rope and at Van Pelt with a flying spin wheel kick. Van Pelt springs himself backwards onto the top turnbuckle, Svoboda bouncing unceremoniously off the ropes and coming to the mat in a jumble. With a forward somersault, Van Pelt slams a plancha down overtop Svoboda's downed body, hooking a leg up for a pinfall. 1... Svoboda kicks out early, GIJoe rolling to the side and under the bottom rope to regain his footing outside the ring. Van Pelt springs back to his feet, pointing at his chest, then blowing kisses out to the crowd. They boo once again and Van Pelt rolls his eyes in frustration. Svoboda takes a seat on the commentary table, taking a sip of Mancow's water and catching his breath while Van Pelt watches him from the ring.

Mancow: So Piter, what about your blank contract? Everyone's dieing to know what you signed.

Svoboda nods at Mancow for just a moment, then topples backwards over the table as Van Pelt sails through the air behind him, smashing through the commentary table alone. Svoboda gets back to his feet, draggin Van Pelt up by the hair and propping him against the security rail.

Larry King: You didn't even look. How did you-

Piter Svoboda: Oh please. Who could resist an opportunity like that?

With one foot stepping to Van Pelt's thigh, Svoboda slams his knee into Van Pelt's face with a shining wizard. Perched precariously on Van Pelt in that split second, Svoboda slings his leg over Van Pelt's shoulder, head scissoring him down to the concrete while ring attendants bring the commentary team a spare table. Svoboda climbs up onto the apron, running along the apron and leaping off with a shooting star press to the floor, smashing into Van Pelt as he tries to get his to feet and planting him back into the concrete amidst the cheers of the crowd. Svoboda stops, leaning against the turnbuckle and striking up a Newport cigarette while making conversation with Mancow while Van Pelt slowly comes too. Grinding out the cigarette butt, Svoboda gives Van Pelt the nod and climbs up the stairs into the ring. Shaking the cobwebs free, Van Pelt follows behind him, but while Van Pelt passes through the ropes, Svoboda throws himself flat to the ground and launches a kick backwards into the middle rope, jarring it upward and crotching Van Pelt over it. Van Pelt tumbles into the ring, curled up in the fetal position, and Svoboda is back atop the turnbuckle with a few quick bounds, perched above Van Pelt.

SAAANGRAANIIISSMOOOOO!

Svoboda only half completes the Impressive Display of Agility, his entire leap thrown horribly off-kilter by a chair shot from behind by Tad Minor. Dropping the chair (accidentally) as he climbs through the ropes, Minor finally takes his place in the ring, Hunter pounding on the apron and screaming out directions. Minor seems confused, approaching the corner from which Hunter is directing traffic, only to catch a front drop kick from Svoboda, one foot in the crook of each of Minor's knees, dropping him to the mat and bringing Minor's face down into the middle turnbuckle. Svoboda jerks Minor's head back by the mask, cinching him into the dragon sleeper. Hunter grabs Minor by the ankle, jerking him out of Svoboda's grasp as Minor flails his limbs about, managing to catch one of his legs on the far side of the ring post so Hunter's saving effort slams him groin first against the steel. Hunter tugs at his hair in frustration as Svoboda rolls backwards away from the NUTS corner, turning his attentions back to Van Pelt. Van Pelt pulls himself up to his feet, sidestepping at running high knee from Svoboda, then planting a spinning back kick to the small of Svoboda's back. Svoboda catches the top rope to keep himself from falling down. Van Pelt backs up several steps, then races at Svoboda, leaping into the air with a flying cross body block. Svoboda throws himself over the top rope, hanging by it from the outside while Van Pelt bounces off the ropes and again slingshots himself hard to the canvas, Svoboda then doing an impressive pull-up, hanging crunch to bring himself over the top rope and to his feet within the ring once again. Climbing to the top turnbuckle, Svoboda eyes Van Pelt's downed body, leaping off with the Impressive Display of Agility. Hunter shoves Minor into the referee, distracting him just long enough for Hunter to slide a chair into the ring, it coming to rest over Van Pelt's chest while Svoboda flies through the air. Svoboda comes down over the chair, driving it hard into Van Pelt's ribs while bouncing aside himself clutching his knee and elbow in pain with the chair skittering away from the impact. Minor climbs up top, grinning and pointing down at Svoboda and Van Pelt, then leaps from the turnbuckle with the Minor Threat. Turning up perfectly between the two men and leaving the audience unsure which one he was even aiming for, Minor instead lands headfirst on the lone chair, dropping himself in a limp pile, folded in half like an accordian, knocking the chair out of the ring in the process. All three men lay downed for several moments before Svoboda stirs. Pulling himself to his hands and knees, he turns to crawl towards Minor. Hunter grabs Svoboda by the ankle from ringside, jerking him abruptly out of the ring. Svoboda lands hard, favoring one knee slightly as he catches himself on his feet, face to face with Kellan Hunter. Blackout! Onto the chair. Svoboda lays still, his neck kinked at an odd angle as the referee screams at Hunter from inside the ring, pointing up the isle. Hunter kicks Svoboda sharply in the ribs before turning to leave, with Minor pulling himself back to his feet with the aid of the ropes. Climbing to the top turnbuckle, Minor points down, out of the ring at Svoboda, while Van Pelt gets back to his feet, creeping up behind Minor, posed to strike. Minor squats down in preparation for his jump, loses his footing on the turnbuckle pad, and topples backwards, lashing out a blind elbow into Van Pelt's throat as he lands atop Van Pelt. The referee slides into position to make the count. 1... 2... 3...

Geraldo: Your winner, TAAAD O MIIIIINOOOR!

Minor springs up just a split second after the three, looking around shocked and confused as the referee raises his hand and EMTs attend to Svoboda outside the ring. Perry steps into the ring, personally raising Minor's hand as well.

Mr P: That's what I like to see. Action. Excitement. Injury. That's what makes the OWF great, and wild, unscripted action like this is something you won't see on ASW. This is what makes Heretic great, and we've got lots more where that came from.

Minor jumps up and down excitedly, springing over the top rope, tumbling head over heels for a moment, then bounding his way up the isle to join Hunter backstage while Larry King makes his way into the ring, setting up two chairs. Holding up a microphone and guesturing out over the crowd, King smiles and clears his throat.

Larry King: It's a very special privaledge for me this week to host this segment of Larry King: In The Ring, and have the chance to speak with a man who's carried the OWF on his shoulders through all it's incarnations. Ladies and gentlemen, let's give a big round of applause for my guest here tonight... "The Loose Cannon" Bryan Tann!

Cry little sister. Come to your brother.

The arena suddenly is flooded in red light as pyro explodes at the entrance way as well as the four corners of the ring post! The crowd erupts as "Swamped" by Lacuna Coil hits over the PA. Stepping out from the fire stands the one, the only, the man, the myth, the legendary, "The Loose Cannon" Bryan Tann. Making his way towards the ring, the crowd cheers him on, but Tann's attention is focused on the sole steel chair sitting opposite Larry King in the ring. Ring attendants hand Tann a microphone at ringside as he climbs through the ropes and takes his seat. Larry King: Pleasure to have you here, Mr Tann. Thanks for joining me.

Bryan Tann: I've got a few things I wanted to get off my chest myself. I guess this should be interesting.

Larry King: Mr Tann, a little bit later you'll be stepping into the main event for your first round match in Blood, Sweat, and Tears. What would you say your chances are for advancing?

Bryan Tann: My "chances" Larry King aren't just chances, they're written in stone by Lady Fate herself. Greg Jackson may have come a cunt hair away from winning the OWF World Heavyweight Title, but the fact of the matter is that he just didn't get the job done! Not only will I advance in this tournament but Jesse Williams will have another dance with the Devil. And this time, the outcome will be as it was meant to be. With the OWF World Heavyweight Championship rightfully around my waist.

Larry King: Well, I have to say I'll be looking forward to that, and I think alot of our fans here will be as well. We can just forget about the semi-finals for now. Who do you expect to be facing in the finals at High Voltage?

Bryan Tann: It doesn't matter a toss who I face. Because whoever it is will be facing a man that is the living, breathing personification of EVERYTHING the OWF represents. It could be Kremlin, it could be Jaypac, it could be ANYONE, the out come WILL be the same.

Larry King: The buzz is Stewart against Williams for the World Title at High Voltage. What about Shawn Stewart? You've seen him in action before. Does he deserve this shot?

Bryan Tann: Shawn Stewart has the talent, but do I think he deserves to be meeting Jesse Williams for that strap? Hell no. There's only ONE person that I feel deserves to take on Jesse Williams for that strap, and you're lookin at him. But if he gets the shot then I say more power to him. But if he wins that match, and gets that title, then he's out of the frying pan, and right into the fires of hell. Because as far as the OWF Title is concerned, I am not that far off.

Larry King: The Tann-imals worldwide were shocked to see you leave UKW earlier this month, and come full time to the OWF. What can we expect coming up here from The Loose Cannon?

Bryan Tann: Well, the Tann-imals around the world knew that where there is the OWF, there will be Bryan Tann. I have a legacy in this company to uphold. I've wrestled in some of the most brutal matches the OWF has EVER seen. From being hurled through a barbwire steel cage, to God knows what else. All I can say is that I'm not done yet. I've done more in 8 years than most have done in their whole careers. I would give EVERYTHING to the OWF, and believe me I will ensure that the OWF/Tann-imals out there WILL NOT be disappointed. The OWF is my home...and NO ONE is going to out do me in my home.

Larry King: Last question, because I know you'll want to get backstage and prep for your match against Jackson...

Tann laughs.

Larry King: Diamond Kid? Where is he? Can the OWF survive without him? And what do you think of the idea of an OWF run by Zack Perry?

Bryan Tann: Scott "Diamond" Kid and I have rarely seen eye to eye. Where he is, I don't know. Can the OWF survive without him? Yes. I have kept the OWF alive in my heart since the first day I walked through these halls. And Zack Perry...and yeah people may think I'm kissin ass but they can meet me either in the ring or out back and we can discuss it fist to fist, but Zack Perry is a man who has ALWAYS bled the OWF colors. Much like I always have. The man has the drive and the dedication. If he keeps the OWF alive, I will keep it alive in my own right. I will make it my personal mission to do my part to keep the OWF going.

Be Prepared ASW
Cuz WE'RE BACK!

Larry King: Thanks, Bryan, this has been a real honor for me.

Bryan Tann: Can't say "honor", Larry, but it's been fun.

The crowd cheers once again as Tann stands to his feet, kicking his chair aside and throwing his fists up over his head. Marching his way confidentally to the back, Larry King carries his chair back out of the ring, Lights flicker and dim as "Love It or Hate It" by 50 Cent starts playing over the PA.

Geraldo: The following is a first round match of Blood, Sweat, and Tears, scheduled for First Blood. Introducing first, from New York City, weighing in at two hundred twenty-five pounds, DAAANIIIEEEL GREEEEEEEENE!

Out from behind the curtains comes "The Dragon" Daniel Greene. He remains ominously cold and emotionless as he marches to the ring, ignoring the mixed cheers and booes from the crowd. Greene reaches the ring and slides underneath the bottom rope, taking his place in his corner, staring up the isle, his eyes burning intensity. His music begins to die down, giving way to "Playa You Don't Know" by Slim Thug.

Geraldo: And his opponant, from Norman, Oklahoma, weighing in at two hundred fifty-six pounds, SIIIIILKK!

Silkk steps through the curtains admists a shower of pyrotechnics as the audience errupts in cheers. Jennifer follows through shortly after, walking alongside Silkk and drawing nearly as much attention as the legend as Silkk raises the roof while a rousing chant of "Carr-Ring-Ton! Carr-Ring-Ton!" begins to echo through the arena. Reaching the ring, Jennifer gives Silkk a kiss good luck, then Silkk jumps to the apron, stepping through the ropes and raising the roof again while the audience showers him with praise, their cheers deafening. Silkk climbs the turnbuckle to stand on the middle rope, his hands held over his head while the Silkk chants continue, until Greene drills Silkk in the small of the back with a forearm shot, catching him off guard and slamming him down from the turnbuckle. The bell sounds while Greene takes an early offensive, stomping at Silkk as he backpedals slightly, regaining his footing and pulling himself back up to glare down at Greene. Greene seems unphased, rolling his shoulders and stretching out momentarily while Silkk pops his knuckles, grinding a fist into his opposite palm. With a snap, Silkk shoots in with a right hand while Greene ducks low, taking it across the ear, and dives forward tackling Silkk around the midsection and bringing him down to the canvas. Stradding Silkk over the chest, Greene drives down a quick left, right, left combination to Silkk's face before Silkk kicks up his legs behind Greene, scissoring them around Greene's arm and jerking him backwards off Silkk's chest. Rocking forward up onto his knees, Silkk slams a forearm shot down over Greene's throat, grinding it down hard and cutting off his air. Greene gouges the eyes and Silkk lets up, getting to his feet and stumbling backwards to put some distance between the two of them while his vision clears. As Silkk's hands lower from his face, his blurry vision returning, he spots the incoming superkick from Greene in time to step aside. Greene's kick plants firmly against the top turnbuckle and Silkk slams Greene across the side of the head with a big lariett which knocks the smaller man down. Grinding his foot down over Greene's throat, Silkk chokes away at the smaller man again, Greene coughing and flecks of spit coming up at the corners of his mouth. With a left hand shot, Greene punches Silkk in the back of the knee, taking his leg out from under him and rolling Silkk aside while Greene follows through with an ankle lock. Silkk grabs the bottom rope, muscling up and dragging himself away, Greene still hanging on his leg, to pull both of them under the bottom rope and out of the ring. Rolling back to their feet on the outside, Silkk and Greene stare each other down again, Greene wiping his mouth off while Silkk runs a hand back over his head, clearing away the sweat, then flicking it in Greene's face. Greene's eyes flash back with anger, Greene lunging forward again, but this time Silkk is ready, sidestepping and grabbing Greene by the shirt, following through with him and driving him head first into the steel ring post.

Mancow: Now we're finally getting to something that might make someone bleed.

Larry King: These two have given a brilliant display of technical wrestling so far.

Mancow: Hello? First Blood Match.

Grabbing Greene by the back of the hair, Silkk drives his face into the ring post for a second time. Greene smacks a spinning back fist into Silkk's throat, breaking his grip for a moment, then whirls around and grabs Silkk by the head, leaping into the air and drilling Silkk into the concrete with an implant ddt. Greene methodically picks up a chair from the broken remnants of the first commentary table of the night. Arcing it down from overhead, Silkk's head pulls out of the way of Greene's chair shot only a split second before impact. Greene instead folding backwards the backrest of the chair. Silkk rolls to the side again, into the table fragments, flipping a large wooden table section over his knees to shield himself, bouncing Greene's second chair shot aside with minimal impact. The table half flips out of the way as Silkk bursts back to his feet, the metal leg from the broken table clenched in one fist, a small hunk of wood still attached at it's base. Greene takes a third shot, sideways and aiming for Silkk's head, but Silkk ducks low, bringing the table leg up hard, a hollow sound echoing as the metal strikes against Greene's ribs. Greene drops the chair, hugging one arm in close to his ribs while Silkk takes the metal leg overhead and brings it down at Greene with a chop. Greene throws his other arm up into the way, taking the shot across the forearm, then rocking in forward with an uppercut into Silkk's throat and following it up with a headbutt. Silkk staggers back, then takes a big crosscut swing at Greene. Rolling aside, Greene clears out of the way, the end of the metal leg smacking against the ringpost instead, the wood splintering from off it and leaving four exposes screws gleaming out of the tip. With a tiger-like pounce, Greene dives forward through the air, crashing into Silkk's chest and knocking him to the cement while the table leg skitters out of his hand, Greene sitting over Silkk's midsection. Greene slams a right hand down into Silk's cheek, then a left over his brow. Silkk responds with a downward elbow strike into Greene's midsection that doubles him up stunned, taking the wind out of him, then showing Greene off of him and pulling himself back up to his feet. Staggering along the apron, one hand touching the ring as if to hold himself up, Silkk walks away from Greene while gets back to his feet, shaking off Silkk's attack and following in from behind. Greene leaps onto Silkk's back, wrapping his powerful arms around Silkk's neck and choking him while riding along Silkk's stumbling steps. Silkk falters to one knee, then to his hands and knees, seeming to lose consciousness.

Mancow: This has got to be it.

Silkk drops face first to the concrete, laying still. Greene lets go, standing up and turning back towards the chair. With a flash, Silkk spins around onto his back, lashing out with the table leg again, bringing the metal cracking off Greene's skull, the screws raking down over his face. Greene stands perfectly still for a moment and the audience falls silent as blood begins to patter across the concrete, Greene looking up through a crimson mask of blood and sweat.

Geraldo: Your winner, and Blood, Sweat, and Tears semi-finalist, SIIIIIILKK!

Silkk pulls himself back to his feet while the audience errupts in cheers, only to be cut short by a huge clothesline from Greene taking him off his feet. Picking up the table leg, Greene brings it down hard over Silkk's shoulder. Security floods ringside, grabbing Greene with batons and cuffs, four men forceably removing Greene from ringside. Silkk gets back to his feet, Jennifer running around the ring to check on him.

Silkk: Let him go! Hey assholes, I said let him go! He wants to get beat down again, I'm ready for round two.

Jennifer stands close at Silkk's side while security continues to drag Greene off, Perry stepping up to ringside, microphone in hand.

Mr P: Calm down, Silkk. Just calm down. I know you're ready for round two. But round two is next week. The Sweat Round. And I think it's just about time you people all heard what we've got in store next.

The audience errupts while Silkk seems temporarily placated.

Mr P: We've seen three men four men bleed already, and we've still got tonight's main event to go. But for Silkk, Seth Price, Starker, and whichever of our fine OWF talent comes out on top tonight, this was only the beginning. Next week, the Sweat Round, is going to make these matches look like a stroll across the playground.

The audience howls out their bloodthirsty cries of approval.

Mr P: What says "sweat" more than a thirty minute Iron Man match?

The audience screams while Silkk sets his jaw, looking determined.

Mr P: How about turning up the heat in an Inferno Match?

Jennifer looks up at Silkk, seeming concerned while audience shrieks even louder.

Mr P: Well we'll have one of each. Two men face off in an Iron Man match, two men try to light each other on fire in an Inferno match. And the most beautiful part is, you won't know who's fighting who, or in what match, until that entrance music plays next week!

The screams become deafening.

Mr P: So for our four unlucky semi-finalists, for the next week, I guess you'll have to "sweat it out."

Silkk spits on the ground at Perry's feet.

Silkk: No sweat.

The audience errupts. Chants of "Carr-Ring-Ton! Carr-Ring-Ton!" flood the arena once more. Silkk and Jennifer walk triumphantly up the isle while Perry takes his seat again, a smug look across his face.

Larry King: You're not even going to tell the men who they're fighting?

Mr P: I want the BeST. The BeST needs to be ready for anything. We'll see the two top men come out of Heretic. That's a guaruntee.

Mancow: Good God. What do you have planned for the Tears Round?

Mr P: Just wait and see, my friend. Just wait and see.

The big screen overhead cuts to camerafeed backstage. Nick Thunder is seen talking to Martin.

Nick Thunder: ...I STILL can't believe that that fogey Hunter stole the pin from me. I can't wait to face him again and prove who the real icon is.

SANGRISSIMOOOOOOO!!!!

Nick suddenly starts to panic and look around in every direction like a war veteran who hears gunfire. The camera looks down...

STAND HERE
\ /
\ /
X
/ \
/ \
FOR TITLE SHOT

...is spray-painted on the floor.

Mr. P: It looks like we might be having a BONUS match!

The crowd pops as Tad O. Minor is seen entering the scene. He's no longer screaming, and instead of running towards his opponent, he is just casually walking up with a chair. Nick seems to be paralyzed with confusion. Minor walks up to Nick and hands him the chair.

Tad O. Minor: Can you autograph this?

Nick suddenly smiles.

Nick Thunder: Why...absolutely, sonny. It's great to see some of you guys have respect for the true greats.

Nick starts to pat himself.

Nick Thunder: ...Sonny, you wouldn't happen to have a pen on you, would ya?

Voice: Here!

Before it can be gathered who the voice is, a coffee mug full of pens and pencils enters the scene and SMASHES into Nick Thunder's head! The mug doesn't break upon impact, but after hitting Nick, the hand holding it lets it go, and it shatters on the concrete. The camera pans over...

Kellan Hunter: What kind of legend doesn't have a pen for autographs?

Suddenly, Tad runs off while Kellan picks up Nick, gives him a couple of jabs to the face, then picks him up and bodyslams him on the concrete! Nick grabs his back in pain as Tad comes back to the scene, with a ref.

Kellan Hunter: LADIES AND GENTLEMEN...THE FOLLOWING CONTEST IS A HARDCORE MATCH FOR THE OWF HAAAAAANDICAPPED TITLES...YOUR CHALLENGER...BIG...BLUNDER! YOUR CHAMPIONS...N.U.T.S.!

Tad gets a running start then leaps in the air and goes for a legdrop. He misses Nick's head, but overshoots in such a way that he lands on Nick's stomach. Kellan picks up the chair and drapes it on Nick's stomach.

Kellan: Here, Tad! Let me help you aim right!

Tad nods then runs away about a dozen feet. He then yells SANGRISSIMOOOOO! and runs at Kellan. Kellan grabs him under the armpits and lifts him in the air right over Nick. Tad's forward momentum still makes him miss his intended mark, but he lands with his knees hitting Nick in the chair in the gut and his head colliding with the concrete!

Mancow: ...was that the Minor Threat? Did he just hit the Minor Threat?

Both Tad and Nick seem to be motionless. Kellan rolls Tad off of Nick, and grabs his hair and gets him to his feet. Kellan grabs Nick's head...BLACKOUT ON THE STEEL CHAIR! Nick is busted open as Kellan rols him on his back for the cover...1...2...3!

Kellan Hunter: YOUR WINNERS...AND STIIIIIILL OWF HANDICAPPED CHAMPIONS...N.U.T.S.!

Kellan walks off camera and comes back, now carrying both Handicapped Titles as well as his half of the OWF Tag Titles. He lays one of the Handicapped belts down beside his partner. Amazingly, Nick seems to actually be conscious. He's not moving, but his eyes are open. Kellan stands over him.

Kellan Hunter: You know, I knew a guy that was a lot like you in QWW in North Texas. He had a big-shot attitude just like you. I hope, for the sake of your health, that you learn the lesson now instead of needing more instruction. The last person who tried to challenge me ended in Intensive Care.

Tad starts to roll around a little, and Kellan helps him up to his feet and helps him walk off camera. The cameras pan back onto Nick.

Nick Thunder: ...Q...W...W? I know...

Nick very gingerly begins to start moving around as the scene cuts back to ringside.

Larry King: It looks like bad blood between these two has boiled over from last week.

Mancow: Looks like Nick Thunder better do a better job watching his back to me.

Geraldo: Ladies and gentlemen, the following match is our Main Event and is a first round match of Blood, Sweat, and Tears, scheduled for first blood. Introducing first, from Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, weighing in at two hundred thirty pounds, "The Loose Cannon" BRYYYAAAN TAAAAANN!

The crowd continues to buzz as the anticipation is mounting. Finally, we hear over the PA a voice of a child. A voice that in it's innocense still has a dark, menacing sound to it, as though a dark prophecy is soon to come to pass. "Cry little sister. Come to your brother." The arena suddenly is FLOODED in red light as pyro explodes at the entrance way as well as the four corners of the ring post! The crowd erupts LOUDLY as "Swamped" by Lacuna Coil hits over the PA. Standing seemingly in the middle of the explosive pyro at the entrance way stands a lone figure who looks as though he's standing in the fires of Hell, preparing to do battle. Stepping out from the fire stands the one, the only, the man, the myth, the legendary, "The Loose Cannon" Bryan Tann! His walk down to ring side shows that of a man with a purpose. He rolls into the ring under the bottom rope, standing dead center in the ring. He then let's out a LOUD feral roar as he throws his arms in the air as the pyro explodes from the four corners of the ring! The lights go from red to normal as the music fades out and the fires die down. Tann stands in the ring, cheers ring out LOUDLY as Bryan Tann is one of the most beloved superstars on the OWF roster. He reaches for the mic that's in his pocket and goes to speak only to be drowned out as chants of "Tann!" come from the crowd. Tann has a grin on his face as he slides his sunglasses down from his face and slides them into his pocket. He nods a bit looking out to the crowd and brings the mic up to his face to speak.

Bryan Tann: CUT THE MUSIC! Now, this week I've talked ALOT of shit. I've basically put the ENTIRE OWF roster on notice. That not only, am I the PERSONIFICATION OF EVERYTHING THAT THIS GREAT COMPANY STANDS FOR, but I am the man that BLEEDS the OWF colors. AND THERE'S NO WAY IN HELL that anyone can kill the Outsider Wrestling Federation, without killing me right here where I stand by God!

The crowd cheers, chants of "Bry-An Tann! Bry-An Tann!" starting through the arena.

Bryan Tann: Now Greg Jackson, you've got it in your mind that you're the "Next Big Thing" here in the OWF. Well let me tell you somethin junior, you may very well be the next OWF Legend...BUT YOU'RE NOT THERE YET!!! And tonight, I intend to kick your ass from pillar to post AND TAKE YOU TO HELL AND BACK AGAIN! NOW GET YOUR ASS OUT HERE SO WE CAN GIVE THESE TANN-IMALS WHAT THEY PAID TO SEE!

The audience errupts. California Love by Tupac begins over the PA and things hush down.

Geraldo: And his opponant, from Los Angeles, California, weighing in at two hundred fifteen pounds, "The Other Loose Cannon" GREEEG JAAACKSOOOOON!

Tann looks irrate as Greg Jackson quickly appears at the entranceway. He stares out at the crowd for a few moments, before making his way down the entranceway. His brother/manager Matt Jackson aka the Massicrist follows shortly after well behind his brother, as Greg slides into the ring. Tann pounces on Jackson before the bell sounds, slamming him backwards into the turnbuckle and bludgeoning him with huge clubbing fists while the referee tries to restore some semblance of order. The bell sounds and Tann irish whips Jackson out of the corner, sending him hard into the far corner. Rushing in like a freight train behind him, Tann levels out a shoulder block, but Jackson throws himself flat to the canvas and Tann smashes into the turnbuckles alone. Shrugging it off like it's nothing, Tann grabs Jackson by the hair, jerking him up from the canvas and slapping him back into the corner, battering Jackson across the chest with a backhand chop.

Larry King: Bryan Tann has just been explosive.

Mancow: That dude seriously needs to learn to lighten up.

Jackson slows things down with a thumb to the eye, briefly stopping Tann's assault and taking control. Jackson steps out of the corner, bringing a knee up into Tann's midsection and doubling over the big man, then hooking him for a ddt. Tann wraps his arms around Jackson's waist, refusing to go down with the ddt, and lifts Jackson overhead, slamming him backwards with a northern lights Tannplex. Rolling up to his knees. Tann slams down a big fist for Jackson's head, Jackson rolling aside at the last moment and skittering across the ring in the opposite direction. Tann raises back to his feet, stalking after Jackson while Jackson slides outside the ring and steps behind his brother Matt. As Tann steps out of the ring, Matt steps aside, motioning Greg Jackson towards him. Tann explodes forward with a thunderous clothesline, taking Jackson off his feet, then jerking him up clean off the ground, carrying him with an arm under his neck and a hand on the seat of his pants. Tann drops Jackson onto the commentary table, then shoves him hard, dragging him down the length of it, knocking aside pens, papers, cups and various other miscelleneous office staff items before sliding Jackson completely off the end and sending him through the air, facefirst into the security rail. The audience errupts with cheers and Tann smiles, jerking Jackson back to his feet again. Jackson mule kicks behind him, catching Tann downstairs and stopping the big man's momentum, this time Jackson taking Tann by the back of the head and driving him skull first into the security rail. Holding Tann by the wrist, Jackson pulls him up and whips him into the ring post, Tann's skull bouncing off the steel with a dull thud. Jackson grabs Tann for a russian leg sweep, only to find Tann's hand on the back of his head, slamming Jackson's face down over the ring apron. Jackson grabs the bottom rope, pulling himself up and scrambling back into the ring while Tann follows in behind him. Tann catches Jackson by the scruff of the neck, turning him around and whipping him into the ropes. Jackson comes back with a head of steam. Tann throws one leg up with a big boot, but Jackson ducks it, grabbing Tann around the knee and dragon screwing him to the mat. Jackson double foot stomps onto Tann's back as Tann starts pulling himself up, driving him back into the canvas. Jackson takes to the top turnbuckle as Tann raises this time, not moving quite as fast. With a leap through the air, Jackson goes for the Blackjack. Tann catches him. holding Jackson close to his chest, then throwing him overhead with a fallaway slam. Jackson rolls back to his feet in the corner, with a few quick tugs pulling away the turnbuckle padding, while Tann stalks forward slowly, mindful of the turnbuckle. Jackson springs forward out of the corner, tagging Tann with a drop kick to the chest that sets Tann back a step, then dropping down with a monkey flip to send Tann headfirst into the exposed turnbuckle bolt. Tann catches the exposed steel in his hand, stopping himself short, then turning around glaring down Jackson. Grabbing Jackson around the throat, Tann picks him up overhead, slinging him into a gorilla press, then turning around to face the ropes and throwing Jackson out of the ring to send him crashing through the spare commentary table.

Larry King: Good Lord, these men are killing each other. How much longer until one bleeds?

Mancow: You know HIV is the number two killer of african american males age eighteen to thirty-five.

Larry King: What's the number one?

Mancow looks up as Tann climbs out of the ring, stepping over to Jackson's body laying in the wreckage of their table.

Mancow: African american males age eighteen to thirty-five.

Larry King: That's-

King's words are cut off as blood splatters across his face, Tann crunching a huge right hand into Mancow's jaw which sends the radio DJ toppling backwards over the security rail and into the front row of the crowd in a bloody mess. Tann screams a few things at Mancow which the censors cut the sound from while Jackson slowly crawls out of the table wreckage and begins sneaking off in the opposite direction.

Mr P: Great. Now I got no table, and I'm a commentator short.

Toby Wilks: Can I help?

Perry looks over his shoulder to find Wilks sitting in the front row, a huge grin on his face. With a lackluster shrug, Perry guestures towards Mancow's chair while Tann scans the ringside area, looking for Jackson once again. Matt Jackson points up the ramp where Greg Jackson can be seen standing in front of the curtains. A large spotlight shines down on Greg Jackson and he freezes in place, turning around and watching as Tann stomps his way up the isle to the stage. Jackson stands in place, waiting anxiously as Tann approaches. Tann gets closer and closer, Jackson still not moving. Tann lunges forward for a tie-up and Jackson leaps into the air, grabbing the bottom of the huge overhead screen and hanging from it, wrapping his legs around Tann's head. Squeezing Tann around the throat, Jackson's muscles flex and strain as he picks Tann up from the stage by the head, hanging with him in the air. Matt Jackson applauds briefly, looking surprisingly impressed while Tann batters some awkward angle punches at Jackson's sides. With both hands grabbing Jackson's waistband from behind, Tann pulls down and Jackson's position slips as he tries to avoid losing his pants. The moment Tann's feet touch the ground once again, Jackson is planted with a huge powerbomb, Tann dropping to one knee and gasping for air.

Toby Wilks: That was way too long for Jackson to have Tann's head in his crotch. You don't think-

Larry King: If your blood gets on me too, I'll be very upset.

Wilks falls silent as Tann raises back to his feet, Jackson crawling under the curtains and disappearing backstage. Wiping the sweat from his bald head, Tann throws open the curtains, only to find Jackson standing right in front of him. Jackson tips over one of the standing strobe lights for entrances, the metal and glass cracking over Tann's shoulder, then Tann shoving it aside as Jackson disappears further into the back. Jackson's image in a public hallway beams out on the big screen and all eyes turn upwards to watch as Tann comes stomping in after him, the two standing outside of the vendor's booth. Jackson kicks Tann in the midsection, slowing him for only a moment before grabbing a Jesse Williams tshirt from off the counter and pillowcasing it over Tann's head. Tann rips the shirt in half, looking up to see Jackson perched on the booth, and Jackson leaps off with the Black Jack. Catching Tann and bringing him down to the cement floor. Both men lay still for a few moments, Jackson catching his breath, then slowly Jackson raises back to his feet. Dragging Tann up onto the vendor's booth table, Jackson hooks him for a ddt. Tann clenches his powerful arms around Jackson, picking him up off the table and squeezing at him with a bear hug. Jackson spits in Tann's face. Tann sets him down just momentarily, hooking Jackson under the leg, then flipping him overhead, both of them slamming backwards off the table and into the floor with a T-bone TannPlex. Tann stands back up, lifting Jackson overhead with a feral sounding yell, then spins around slamming Jackson over the concessions counter and through the glass to leave him sitting in the popcorn machine. Yellow popcorn spills out over the floor, but what remains in the machine rapidly turns red as the deep gashes over Jackson's back and shoulders spill blood everywhere. Tann lets out an animalistic scream again which is echoed by the crowd.

Geraldo: Your winner, and final Blood, Sweat, and Tears semi-finalist, BRYYYAAAN TAAAAANN!

Larry King: That was incredable! Bryan Tann just silenced the naysayers there. It's matches like that that show why the OWF was built on his shoulders.

Toby Wilks: Let's not forget Greg Jackson. He's proved once again that he's prepared to take the top men in the industry and push them to their very limits.

Meca Blight walks through the lobby, dropping to his knees excitely and gathering up handfulls of popcorn as he crawls along closer and closer to the popcorn machine. Scooping up a sizeable bag from the floor, Meca tries a bite, then makes a disgusted look.

Meca Blight: Blech. No flavor. Needs butter.

Meca turns on the popcorn machine, the oil pan overhead beginning to crackle and splatter down the hot oil over Greg Jackson's battered body while Meca strikes the Egyptian pose and dances off the screen, his Network Title belt wagging along behind him. Moments later, with a howl of pain, Jackson pulls himself out of the popcorn maker, his brother Matt helping him back to his feet, blood dripping from off his entire body. Perry grabs a camera at ringside, pulling the lens close to his face while the cameraman tries to keep things steady.

Mr P: Jackson. Hey Greg! Look overhead.

Jackson looks around confused for a moment, until Matt points him out a monitor hanging overhead with Perry's face on it.

Mr P: You're not going on in Blood, Sweat, and Tears.

Jackson shakes his head, blood splattering over the floor all around him, then screams something up at the monitor that isn't caught on camera.

Mr P: But you're going to be at High Voltage anyways.

Matt tries to calm Greg down, but Greg looks irrate, pointing up at the camera and screaming.

Mr P: Greg Jackson versus Meca Blight. OWF Network Title on the line. Be ready for it.

Jackson's tantrum stops short, Jackson turning to his brother and the two of them speaking in more serious tones as camera feed cuts back to the ring.

Mr P: We've got one hellacious match-up signed for High Voltage already, and several more to come. And next week we'll have Bryan Tann, Seth Price, Starker, and Silkk in action for the Sweat Round. This is one you can't miss.

Larry King: For the OWF, I'm Larry King...

Toby Wilks: And I'm-

Dead meat!

The audience falls silent, cameras rapidly cutting to various shots around the arena trying to find the voice of the man who just boomed out over the PA.

How do you get away with choking out a legend? Not just a legend, but a LIVING LEGEND.... Well you dont...

The cameras move around and you hear ahahhhhhhh.... and its NONE OTHER THAN Chris Green who dived into Wilks and is beating him up!!! look at this Green has now thrown him into the ring as Wilks has lost his breath...

'fans are booing loudly as Green now is measuring up Wilks and hits him with the FALL FROM GRACE!!!! Green now leaning over Wilks taunting him.. calling for a mic..'

Green: THAT WAS A SLOBBERKNOCKER wasnt it good ole JR? Hell yes it was king hell yes. How do you humiliate one of the greatest legends in the game and expect him to just sit back like nothing happened?? Everyone thought it was funny? Funny!!! This is funny...

'Green gets out of the ring and gets Wilks headset and puts it on'

Green: Hello I cant call a match to save my life I am a fuckbag!

'He takes off the headset and rams it into the face of Wilks who is now bleeding...'

Green: Wait I have an idea? Let me put you out like you put me out...Of course this is much more legit. Much more REALISTIC right DK???

'Green locks in the tannmission on Wilks and has it locked in for a while until he finally lets go as Wilks is passed out...'

Green: Ok get this piece of shit out of MY ring. Now let me finish what I started at the pay per view. DK are you watching at home? Watching COLD GRASS in an OWF ring? I know you never forgot what happened... roll the fucking footage...

'Green hits DK with the FALL FROM GRACE AND FROST SUPERKICKS KOZMO!!!! Green and Frost look at each other with a devilish smile as they both put one foot on Kozmo and DK's chest for the 1...2....3!!! footage over'

Green: Wow that brings back memories doesnt it? Who ran the OWF elite out of ASW? Not Kremlin... Not Rose... CHRIS GREEN AND CAMERON FROST thats who. To say beat you within an inch of your life is to put it NICELY. Like it or not DK that was the end of your ERA. The end of a legacy. Am I a supporter of the ASW? FUCK no. The OWF though I saw something in it. I saw the beginning of something great until DK like usual up and left. Never commit to something if you dont have the balls ot see it through. I am sure you will show up sometime and tell us what really happened and I am sure in another reincarnation you will try to inspire me to come back because you had some stupid announcer beat me up after you attacked me with my back turned. Lesson. Respect me and that includes all you losers in the audience ok I am done now...

Mr P: Oh no you're not!

Green stops, turning around and looking down out of the ring at Perry.

Mr P: OWF "fans" aren't allowed to just climb up into the ring and attack people. You can't beat up a member of my staff and then just walk away.

Chris Green: I'm not an OWF "fan". I'm an OWF LEGEND!

Mr P: You're not on my roster. You got in here with a ticket. That makes you a "fan" in my book. So why doesn't security hit the ring and drag this guy off to jail.

The audience drops to a hush.

Mr P: Unless... you want to wrestle.

Green eyes Perry decerningly.

Chris Green: What's your deal, Perry? I know you don't cut favors.

Mr P: You let me sign you for a match on next week's Heretic, something little. You're officially a wrestler here, so you don't get in trouble for that little stunt with Wilks. I've got a battle-tested wrestler climbing into the ring to boost ratings. They...

Perry points out over the crowd.

Mr P: get to see Chris Green return to action. Everyone wins.

Green remains silent for several moments while two police officers quietly make their way down the isle, waiting patiently at ringside.

Chris Green: Chris green... UM RETURN?? um um...Look at my knee its hurt dammit.

Mr P: Excuses. I know what your capable of. Also you have been cleared for a while to return for a while. Dont you have the guts?

Chris Green: Guts! Me? DAMN right next week Chris Green vs Shaun Stewart I accept it! Bring on THA TRUTH.

Mr P: Great! You heard it here first, people. Next week, Chris Green versus Shawn Stewart! Winner marquies High Voltage against Jesse Williams.

Green's face rapidly spreads to a sinister looking smile as the cameras zoom in close and the OWF logo flashes in the corner taking us off the air.