Week 1: 24th January
Flags from all over the world flew high outside the NovaSports Arena in Copenhagen, the first of many so-named arenas all over the world where Chaos Generation Wrestling was to be hosting shows over the year. The Danish flag was flanked on one side by the CGW flag, with its angular red and black lettering on a white background, and on the other side by the flag representing the sponsor, NovaSports Incorporated, the world's largest contractors of sports arenas. Its logo, 'NSI', with each letter superimposed upon each other in white on a black background, stood out proudly from the rest as if to show all the world their support for this new venture.
Inside the building, a young man hurried down the corridor to a perfectly ordinary-looking door, upon which there was a badly-taped sign reading 'CEO'. The name 'Theodore Mariolakis' shone next to the Greek flag on his name tag which hung over the standard CGW Technical Staff T-shirt he was wearing. He knocked and entered. Adjacent to the door was a desk bearing the name plaque 'Laurens du Preez', and in the chair sat the man himself: well-built, South African, in his late thirties. His long strawberry blonde hair was pulled back tightly from his face in a ponytail so as not to obscure his reassuring azure-blue eyes and strong, well-defined features. He could almost have been a wrestler himself. He smiled as he saw Theo enter the room, and gestured for him to sit down. Theo was surprised, as it was his first time to meet his CEO in person, but the warm countenance of the man he was contracted to serve under produced such a powerfully calming aura in the room that he found himself obliging without hesitation.
Behind Laurens du Preez was a gigantic map covered with pins representing NovaSports Arenas across the world, all of which CGW would visit in its first year of programming, all in the name of bringing wrestling around the globe. The sponsor was happy, at any rate; they were all his arenas that they were planning to use. Theo was admiring the lofty ambition that the map displayed when his gaze was drawn to the coat rack along the left-hand side of the office, upon which was hung a stunning crimson velvet suit jacket. It could not have belonged to du Preez, for he wore a much more modest navy blue number. A rustle of a newspaper behind Theo made him start, and he had just begun to turn his head when du Preez finally spoke softly. It was almost a whisper, but in the silence of the room the paper and his voice seemed deafening.
"You have a message for me?"
Theo's gaze snapped back to the CEO and he stammered at first, the tranquil feeling that surrounded him broken for a second, but du Preez raised his hand kindly in a gesture to slow down, and fixed him with his calming eyes. Theo took a few deep breaths and started again.
"Yes, sir. The ring is all set up, the pyros are ready and Mr. Langer is waiting for the go-ahead, sir."
Laurens brushed the air with his hand.
"There's no need to call me 'sir'… Theo, is it?" he said, reassuringly. "Please, call me Laurens. We're all friends here." He leaned forward and patted Theo's hand which lay on the desk. "You've done great work, Theo. Tell Timo he can go ahead. Enjoy the show!"
"Thank you, sir… Mr. du Preez… Laurens… sir."
As Theo got up to leave, he was distracted by a cough from a couch at the other end of the room. In his hurry to speak to Laurens, he had completely missed it before. A figure was sitting there, cross-legged, and with a newspaper covering their face, but Theo noticed that their trousers were the same crimson velvet as the jacket on the rack. He stared for a moment until a hand appeared over the top of the paper, gesturing Theo to leave. At that moment, the low lilt of Laurens' voice wafted towards him.
"Is there a problem, Theo?"
Theo glanced back at Laurens, but shook his head and hurriedly left the room. He dashed back down the corridor to his station in front of the operations desk, put on his headset and began twiddling controls. The lights went down in the ring area. The chatter of the crowd turned silent immediately as they waited for the beginning of this brand new show. Theo had worked in entertainment before; he knew how to create excitement, and he waited for that moment when the tension could not mount any more before firing off an instruction to his assistant through his headset.
"Cue music."
The CGW theme music began to play, and Theo switched his headset over to the ringside speakers. His voice echoed around the arena.
"Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to Chaos Generation Wrestling!"
He pressed a button, which released the fireworks all around the big screen. The crowd's cheers were seismic in their intensity, and all but drowned out the pyrotechnics exploding all around them. The arena lights swivelled round, almost as though they themselves were excited to be a part of CGW's pilot show, and finally all spotlights shone on the ring, while the house lights and music faded. All that could be heard in that room full of thousands of people was the tapping of a single pair of footsteps coming down the entrance ramp, but the area was in total darkness. The footsteps came to a halt at the edge of the spotlight that spilled over the edge of the ring just a little. All one could see were the toes of an immaculately shiny pair of black shoes slightly jutting out onto the light, but the rest of the new arrival was still shrouded in darkness. All eyes stood and watched the figure, waiting for the revelation, and the arena fell so silent that Theo's announcement made several thousand hearts leap with fright.
"Please welcome your ring announcer… Timo Langer!"
At that announcement, the figure stepped out of the shadows and made his way up the ring steps. He waved at the Danish crowd, many of whom recognised him from German TV as the announcer for the national boxing league. He had a youthful, chiselled and bespectacled face that belied his real age, and his dark hair was slicked all at once towards the back of his head, The timekeeper, seated perpetually at the south-east corner of the ring next to his beloved ring bell, handed Timo a microphone, and he began to speak, every word speaking volumes about his announcing experience.
"Thank you, everyone, for coming to this: the very first recording of Chaos Generation Wrestling! I am your ring announcer Timo Langer, and we are coming to you live from Cogenhagen!" He pointed at the crowd all around him at that moment, and his gesture was met with a great cacophony of cheers of national pride. "Now please allow me to introduce the two gentlemen who will be joining me on the announcing team over the next year! From France, your play-by-play commentator Marcel LeFevre, and from Australia, your colour commentator, the legendary Marcus Armbar!"
The first of the two commentators to make their appearance was Marcel, a well-groomed French man in a well-pressed black suit and sporting a David Niven-esque pencil moustache. He stood on the stage and seemed to glare at the crowd in disdain, his small eyes piercing through his half-moon glasses, but then he suddenly broke into a smile and made his way down the right-hand side of the ramp, shaking hands with the front-row fans. However, the attention was quickly drawn to the appearance of the brash Australian wrestling legend Marcus, still strikingly good-looking for a retired wrestler approaching his 60s, and considerably more casually dressed in a crew-neck khaki T-shirt and jeans. He dashed down the left-hand side of the ramp, high-fiving the fans before rolling under the bottom rope and showing off to the crowd. Marcel, fresh from his news reporting career, calmly walked around the outside to the announce table while Marcus slid out of the ring and rushed to get there first. There was a small tussle as Marcel made to grab his headseat before Marcus and cheekily stuck his tongue out at his colleague, which Marcus responded to in his own personal way; with a headlock and a friendly reminder that he was known in his heyday as the 'Master of Holds'. Finally, however, both sat down and put on their headsets.
"Good evening, everyone…" began Marcel, but his natural journalistic flow was immediately interrupted by his excitable partner.
"G'day, guys and girls," roared Marcus, "and welcome to the greatest wrestling experience of the year! Yes, mate, this is Chaos Generation Wrestling, and we have a real bottler of a show for you tonight, so sit back, grab a bottle or five of Victoria Gold and enjoy yourself!" He then leaned back on his chair and grabbed a beer for himself from the mini-fridge installed specially on his side of the commentary booth. He offered one to Marcel, who refused it as he struggled to regain control over commentary, which was his right, he believed, as play-by-play commentator.
"Yes, as my partner here says, tonight will be an amazing night, so please…" he managed to get out in the time that Marcus downed his first bottle, but that was all before...
"Well, let's get on with the show. As I said, it's gonna be a corker. No one knows what to expect!"
"We don't even know…"
"Yeah, we don't even know what matches are coming up. I'm really excited. He's really excited, ain't ya, Marky?"
"I wouldn't know. I haven't had a chance to…"
"I knew it! I have wrestled a ton of matches in my life and I really wanna get stuck in here…"
Marcus launched into a series of anecdotes about his in-ring career. He continued to reminisce for a while before Timo finally decided to cut him off.
"Ladies and gentleman, to start off the show, we have a bit of fun and music for your delight, so allow me to introduce… From just across the bay in Sweden, our resident band… The most famous Beatles tribute act in Europe… The Swedles!"
The arena lights illuminated the stage near the big screen to reveal four men all dressed in white with light blonde hair. They kicked off with a medley of some of the Beatles' most famous songs, including 'Yesterday', 'Twist and Shout' and the compulsory audience participation song 'Hey Jude'. While they were performing, the screen showed a close-up of each of their faces, showing their names on the screen, accompanied by the flag of their home country. The bassist was identified as 'Pal Makardsen', the pianist was 'Jan Lennard', the guitarist 'Goran Harissen' and the drummer 'Rik Starsgård'. They were just embarking on their fortieth round of 'Na na na nas' and 'Hey Judes' when they were interrupted by a heavy and dark industrial rock song over the sound system. They stared as a huge man with a crew cut and wearing a dressing gown over his ring gear, just like many classic wrestlers used to, emerged from backstage and stood at the top of the ramp, glaring out at the arena in a wide, sweeping gaze. He clocked the Swedles for a moment, but he did nothing and looked to the front again. A small middle-aged man carrying a microphone came out next, marched straight past the stony-glared giant and descended the ramp. The golem followed after him.
"Ladies and gentleman, please welcome to the ring… Spencer Kennedy and The Man!" announced Timo, and both men climbed into the ring. The big man, who was now obviously the one known as The Man, leant against a turnbuckle while little Spencer Kennedy paced the ring.
"All right, quiet!" Kennedy shrieked nasally in a refined New England accent. The music shut off quickly and the crowd silently waited for Spencer to talk. They were ready to see some action. "My name is Spencer Kennedy, and I'm gonna make this quick. The man you see before you is not just a man. He possesses more brains and more bite than every one of you in this arena put together. But that's enough about me. The man you all have the privilege, the undeserved privilege to witness here tonight is the most dangerous, the most barbaric, the most incredible example of the sheer destructive power of the human body. When I found him in some godforsaken European city he was living proof of the idiom 'survival of the fittest'! But not only is this a powerful partnership that we have. We also have the brains to work out that if you have power… only use it for gain! So how, you ask, did we end up here, in this paltry little low-budget show? Truth is, we don't know, but since our pay checks are so small we'd like a little more cash in exchange for our services." He turned towards the big screen, talking now to the wrestlers in the locker room. "And that's where you come in. Each week we will listen to an offer of cash in return for a chance to form a tag team with the most powerful, destructive force in wrestling today. But don't start thinking now that we will accept any amount you throw at us. If we don't like your offer, you can expect a beatdown that will have you begging us just for mercy, let alone a partnership. So don't let The Man grind you down! Now, who's first? Who's willing to put their money, or their body, on the line?"
Almost immediately, an epic piece of American patriotic music began to play, and a man in his early forties, dressed in a pinstriped grey suit with a royal blue tie, appeared. His hair was parted at the side and greased, and he had a very respectable look about him. As he was approaching the ring, a podium with a built-in microphone was put in place by Timo, who went on to introduce him.
"Ladies and gentlemen, allow me to introduce… The Candidate!"
The crowd and Spencer were somewhat taken aback by the sudden anticlimax of the man's name. However, the man was unperturbed as he waved to everyone in a presidential candidate kind of way. He took a piece of paper from his jacket, along with a silver glasses case. He put on his reading glasses and prepared to speak.
"My fellow Americans…"
Remembering he was in Denmark, he took out a pen and scrubbed out the 's' in 'Americans'. Gesturing to Spencer, he continued.
"My fellow American, The Man, people of Denmark, thank you for taking me into your city tonight. Now it seems to me, Mr. Kennedy, that we seek what each other possesses. You seek money, I seek power. I can offer money, and you can offer power. One day, this company will realise that, far from the questionable leadership of some young and penniless entrepreneur, it will benefit greatly from the assistance of a mature, influential leader such as myself. That is my offer, Spencer… May I call you Spencer? You get me to that position of power, as President of Chaos Generation Wrestling, and the incredible revenue we can generate with my influence will mean a huge amount of money for you. That is my offer. What do you say?"
Spencer looked to The Man for his answer. The Man pondered for a moment, and then approached The Candidate. He extended his hand for a handshake and The Candidate reached out to take it, with a look of immense triumph and pride on his face. However, at the last moment The Man withdrew his hand and slapped The Candidate across the face. Dan Jackson, a referee sitting at ringside, leapt into the ring. He had to separate the men for a moment while The Candidate removed his suit to reveal his patriotic red, white and blue ring gear, then rang the bell.
Match 1: The Man w/ Spencer Kennedy vs The Candidate – single match
The Candidate showed great agility, ducking behind a lunge from The Man and putting him in a headlock, but The Man effortlessly picked him up and broke the hold with an Atomic Drop. The Man picked up The Candidate again, pushed him back into the ropes and Irish whipped him to the opposite side, driving his knee into The Candidate's chest on the rebound. The Candidate stood up, still clutching his chest and trying to breathe, but he was knocked off his feet again with a shoulder block. He leapt up, and was knocked down yet again by a powerful clothesline. The Man picked him up yet again, this time right above his head, before falling backwards to drop The Candidate chest-first onto his massive knees. The Man looked over to Spencer, who nodded, then he placed The Candidate on the top turnbuckle and lifted him off again in the crucifix position. The Man fell backwards, once again dropping The Candidate onto his knees, driving them into The Candidate's back, and finally covered him for a three-count.
Winner: The Man via Pinfall
Meanwhile, backstage, the delicious smell of food from the canteen lured a backstage worker inside. He approached the hatch looking through into the kitchen, where a young man from the Philippines dressed as a chef, with tight teal-and-white-chequered trousers and a crisp white shirt, was cooking a wide range of food on the flame grill. He smiled at the stage hand when he saw him, then passed him a plate with a selection of the food he was cooking through the hatch and gestured for him to sit down. The door to the canteen opened again soon after and the stage hand turned towards it, his mouth bulging with the cosmopolitan delicacies that were too irresistible for him to avoid wolfing down. Standing in the doorway with her hands on her hips in disappointment was a young Spanish woman in a long fur coat. Her face was pretty, but it was obvious that she had been under the knife many a time. The young man peered through the hatch and gave her a cheery wave, but she shook her head in disbelief, causing him to turn back to the grill and roll his eyes. She entered the kitchen and they began to speak together in Spanish, the young man sometimes mixing in a few Tagalog words.
"Just what exactly do you think you're doing, Anghel?" barked the young woman.
"Isn't it obvious? I'm cooking," muttered the young man, knowing what was coming next.
"That's a lot of food for two, isn't it?"
"Who said it was just for us, Sylvia? I'm a chef. I cook for people."
With a sigh, Sylvia strutted over to the hatch and looked out. Aside from the gobbling workman, the canteen was empty.
"There's no one out there, Anghel," she jibed. Anghel growled quietly to himself, switching off the grill and turning to her.
"For goodness' sake, please don't call me Anghel. My name is The Squid."
"Oh, come on. I don't call you The Squid at home, do I? Anyway, there's no one out there, Squid, if you insist. What the hell's the point in cooking for people who aren't there?"
"They'll come."
Sylvia rounded on him again, smiling with all the warmth of the Arctic and none of the charm.
"And how do you know that?"
"They'll come," insisted The Squid, collecting the plate from the worker with warm gratitude before grabbing a sponge and heading out into the canteen to clean the table. "I trust them."
"You what?" yelled Sylvia through the hatch.
"I trust them!" he yelled back, gently wiping down the table top and replacing the chair.
"You trust them?! Hang on. Think about this for a moment. We're in a wrestling arena. 'They' are wrestlers. You're not just a chef. You're a wrestler as well. You can't just trust people, as a wrestler. These people will find any opportunity to strike you down, stab you in the back, especially if you do something so weak as to show your 'trust'!"
The Squid sighed and shrugged. He didn't want to have a shouting match across the canteen so he waited until he was back in the kitchen before firing off his retort.
"Drag me down?" he said, rinsing off the sponge in the sink. "What about the other side of that argument? You show your trust, you can be sure that they'll support and help you in the future." He placed several foil-lined trays on the edge of the serving hatch and started filling them with food before continuing. "That's why I'm doing this, Sylvia. I'm here to make friends as much as I'm here to wrestle and win." He looked up from his work and smiled. "So why don't I use my skills to provide for people who could become my friends?"
Sylvia, who was leaning against the door while Anghel was speaking, huffed and picked up her handbag from the worktop.
"This is stupid… I'm going back to the locker room. See you after you have to throw all that food away… You idiot, Anghel…"
"The Squid!"
As she left the kitchen, The Squid laughed dismissively about what she was saying, smiling broadly when he heard her curse and storm out of the canteen. He turned to the hatch and began serving food and chatting to pretty much the entire CGW roster that had gathered there, led by the stage hand, who was gushing loudly about how he'd never tasted anything so good.
Back in the ring area, an aggressive metal track hit the soundsystem, and a muscular woman in a purple flak jacket walked down the aisle, high-fiving everyone in the front row.
"This match is a single match scheduled for one-fall. First... From Mexico... She is known on the independent circuit as the Sexy Muscle Favourite Face Diva Powerhouse..."
"For reasons best known to herself, I should imagine..." chimed in Marcus.
"Michelle Martinez!"
Michelle rolled into the ring and struck a pose, prompting cheers from the fans, who were thrilled to see such charisma and warmth, after the cold stare of The Man in the previous match, but her crowd-pleasing antics were finally cut short by a rousing rock and roll riff that accompanied the entrance of the Swedles' drummer, which prompted a flurry of screams from the gaggle of girls with 1960s throwback beehive hairdos in the front row.
"And the opponent... From Sweden, and a member of our in-house band, The Swedles... Rik Starsgård!"
Like the rest of his bandmates, Rik was clad in the same turtle-neck shirt and matching trousers, both with rounded cuffs, as his bandmates, similar to the classic Beatles outfits except completely white. His hair and beard resembled those from the later career of the musician he represented, the Beatles' drummer Ringo Starr, with a similar, albeit blonde, beard and handlebar moustache.
Match 2: Michelle Martinez vs Rik Starsgård – single match
The second the bell rang, Rik lunged forward with a middle kick, but it was effortlessly caught by Michelle, leaving the Swedle hopping on one leg. Michelle threw the leg away from her, causing Rik to spin around, and she grappled him from behind to execute a textbook German suplex. As Rik was getting back up, Michelle rebounded off the ropes and went for a double-leg takedown, which she intended to bridge over into an early pin, but a spinning heel kick from Rik knocked her off her feet. Rik circled around, eager to make full use of his strong drumming arms, but he miscalculated a punch and was taken down by a big boot from the Diva Powerhouse. Michelle picked up her opponent by the legs and attempted a wheelbarrow suplex, but Rik managed to escape from her grip and laid her out with a stunner.
As Michelle tried to get up again, Rik used his powerful arms to keep knocking her flat again with a series of clubbing double axe-handle blows to the back, before rebounding off the ropes and taking her down again with a running thrust kick to the face. He went for the thrust kick again, but this time his foot was caught in Michelle's powerful grip and she applied an anklelock, which Rik was just able to escape from by scrambling to the bottom rope, forcing Michelle to break the hold. Rik crawled his way to the corner and leant against the turnbuckle, trying to regain his composure, but his reprieve was cut short by Michelle executing a running knee lift to his chest, causing him to fall to the mat on his back. Michelle took the opportunity to land a corner slingshot splash and go for the pin, but Rik was able to kick out just before the referee's hand hit the mat for the third count.
Michelle dragged Rik to the centre of the ring and laid him out with what appeared to be her signature move, a gutwrench powerbomb followed by a pin, which was finally successful. Michelle got up and waved to the crowd, who were all cheering her ecstatically for her impressive first performance, as the referee raised her arm in victory, before making her way backstage and high-fiving all the fans once again on her way up the ramp, excepting the Swedles fangirls, who turned their back huffily and refused to acknowledge her. Undaunted by the more opinionated of her fans, Michelle grinned widely and gave one final wave before heading backstage.
Winner - Michelle Martinez via pinfall
As soon as the groaning form of Rik was helped to the back rooms by two referees, a bagpipe solo played over the soundsystem, and a huge Scotsman with fiery red braided hair, wearing a kilt and little else, came down the ramp to the ring, pumping his shoulders and beating his chest for maximum intimidation.
"The following match is a single match. On his way to the ring... From Scotland… The man known as… Caber!" announced Timo.
Next, a very annoying J-pop song rang out from the speakers, and a man in a white and scarlet American high school sports jacket with very long jet-black hair sprinted down to the ring. He turned around and flicked his hair aside to reveal on his back an instantly familiar red and white circular pattern; the man was obviously a huge fan of Pokémon.
"And his opponent… from the USA… The PokéBomb! The referee for this match is Gardeep Roshan."
Match 2: Caber vs The PokéBomb – single match
Referee Gardeep called for the bell. The PokéBomb and Caber circled each other until Caber, taking note of the considerable size difference between himself and his opponent, lowered his guard, deliberately allowing The PokéBomb to make the first move. The PokéBomb sized up his opponent and, in the mystery for the ages, felt it necessary to shout out the name of his move before he used it.
"Karate Chop!"
He attempted to land a chop on Caber's chest, but the huge Scotsman was unaffected by it. However, sportsmanship kicked in and The PokéBomb felt constrained to let Caber have a free shot at him. Unlike The PokéBomb, Caber did not hesitate at all and certainly did not feel obliged to call his own attacks. He lifted The PokéBomb off his feet with a blow similar in style to a Highland Games stone put. As The PokéBomb fell, Caber grabbed him by the legs, span him around and threw him towards a turnbuckle. He approached The PokéBomb to use his next move, but…
"Low Kick!"
The PokéBomb kicked Caber between the legs, forcing him to double over and roll around on the floor. Meanwhile, The PokéBomb climbed up to the top turnbuckle and waited for Caber to get up again. Caber finally got to his feet, and…
"Sky Attack!"
The PokéBomb leapt from the turnbuckle and took Caber down with a diving clothesline. He dragged Caber to the centre of the ring and shouted loud for all the arena to hear.
"Stomp!"
With this matter-of-fact call, he proceeded to foot stomp Caber multiple times, then ran towards the ropes. On the rebound he yelled out again.
"Body Slam!"
He leapt up in the air and splashed Caber. He tried for a pin, but Caber kicked out after a single count. He went to the corner and waited for Caber once again.
"Skull Bash!"
He attempted to use a spear to take down the big man for good, but Caber stepped aside, then grabbed The PokéBomb from behind in a full-nelson, turning it into a full-nelson slam. The PokéBomb sprang back up.
"Hi Jump Kick!"
The PokéBomb jumped up, aiming a powerful roundhouse kick to his opponent's head, only for Caber to catch his kicking leg, scoop up the other and slam him down to the mat with a powerbomb. He picked up The PokéBomb and stood him up near the turnbuckle. He drew back to take a run-up then charged at The PokéBomb, but the latter ducked out of the way, making Caber smash chest-first into the turnbuckle.
"Vital Throw!"
The PokéBomb grabbed Caber from behind and German suplexed him.
"Double Kick!"
When Caber got up, The PokéBomb leapt into the air and delivered two powerful kicks to the chest.
"Vice Grip!"
The PokéBomb then sat Caber up and put him into a Sleeper. Referee Gardeep lifted up Caber's hand, but it flopped back down... He lifted it again... It flopped down again... He lifted it a third time, and it looked like there was a little life left in Caber until…
"Mega Punch!"
The PokéBomb punched Caber right in the temple and the hand flopped down a third time. Gardeep rang the bell.
Winner: The PokéBomb via TKO
The PokéBomb celebrated his first victory with whooping and showing off to the crowd, until a movement on the stage caused him to look over that way. A man in the striped Liverpool St. Helens rugby union team jersey was standing there, glaring at the unconscious form of Caber. He shook his head in anger and walked backstage, without even acknowledging The PokéBomb.
Meanwhile, the big screen flickered on to show that The Squid's canteen was now full of people enjoying his cooking, wrestlers and CGW staff alike. The camera panned around the room and zoomed in on some of the wrestlers not yet seen on CGW. On one of the tables, it was difficult not to notice a massive Japanese man who greatly resembled a sumo wrestler. The screen revealed his name to be 'Furinkazan'. He was talking to the girl sitting opposite him who looked very young, barely out of her teens. Her appearance was very much like a student, complete with glasses and a black denim jacket over a white vest. The screen flashed her identity tag, showing that she was a South Korean named Lee Hye-Young. Next to her, to the surprise of many, was the CEO Laurens du Preez, and opposite him was Jan Lennard of the Swedles, and The Man and Spencer Kennedy were sitting at a table on their own. The PokéBomb rolled in, fresh from his match, and took a seat opposite a woman in very plain clothes. Her name was given as 'Kayako Shiraoi', but next to her name there was an as-yet unidentified flag: a red arrow piercing a white cloud on a cerulean blue background. While The PokéBomb was giving her a blow-by-blow account of his first victory in CGW, she happened to catch a glimpse over shoulder of Furinkazan, who appeared to be giving her a very suspicious look. She just ignored him and continued eating.
The camera moved out the door, where a well-dressed, olive-skinned young man was standing, somewhat anxious. He peered into the room ever so slightly, keen to try the food served within, but he appeared uncomfortable with the number of people in there. All seats were taken, so finally he gave up and headed back to his locker room, shutting out the cameraman. However, no sooner had he shut the door than an announcement from Theo came over the PA.
"Could Vittorio Alegro Torro please make his way to the ring for his match?"
The man, now identified as Vittorio, whipped open the door again and barged past, not even looking at the cameraman as he made his way to the ringside entrance. In the ring, an Australian man in blue denim overalls was already standing next to Timo and referee Daniel Johnson, the former of which made his announcement.
"This match will be a submission match. Please allow me to introduce first the man standing here with me… From Australia… Locke Smythe!"
Locke waved to the crowd, then Vittorio's music played and he walked stiffly down to the ring, not looking anywhere except straight ahead.
"And his opponent… From San Marino… Vittorio Alegro Torro! The referee for this match will be Daniel Johnson.
Vittorio took off his expensive jacket and stared at Locke with a degree of disgust regarding his overalls. He lifted up his hands in a defensive position. Locke approached him and received a punch to the face from Vittorio for his trouble.
"Good opening move from Torro there, but..." began Marcel, but Marcus piped up again within seconds.
"Yeah, mate, there's no point using punches in a submission match. He needs to get some good holds going!"
Locke stumbled backwards from the blow and tried to regain his focus. He looked up only to see Vittorio leap from the top turnbuckle and prepare for another punch. However, Locke was ready for it this time; he grabbed Vittorio's punching arm, pinned him to the mat and applied a crossface, but Vittorio struggled hard enough for the hold to be broken almost immediately. Vittorio also seemed very uncomfortable with the amount of physical contact involved in the move. He aimed a few body punches at Locke, and a few of them connected, but Locke soon caught his arm again and twisted it round into a hammerlock. Vittorio spun out of it, kicked Locke in the gut and rebounded off the ropes to aim a jumping kick to Locke's head. He paused as Locke recovered on the mat, remembering that they were in a submission match, and began stomping on Locke's arms. He stopped for a moment and Locke seized his opportunity, grabbing Vittorio's leg and applying an anklelock. Vittorio tried to use his other leg to kick away at Locke's arms, but he could not seem to break the hold. He crawled toward the ropes, but Locke dragged him right back to the centre of the ring. Vittorio tried kicking again, and managed to catch Locke in the funny bone, breaking the hold. Vittorio attempted to kick away at Locke's shoulders with several high spinning kicks, but he was not able to do many before his already weakened ankle began to give way. After one spinning kick, Vittorio accidentally ended up with his back to Locke, allowing the former to grab him from behind in the first stage his signature hold, the Full Nelson Camel Clutch. However, Locke's arms had also been weakened from earlier, so he could not apply the full pressure, allowing Vittorio to jump up and heel kick Locke between the legs. Locke fell to his knees and Vittorio started to punch him in the face over and over again until it seemed Locke was on the brink of unconsciousness. He then placed Locke so that he was lying on his front and twisted his arms into the Figure-Four shape. Locke immediately writhed in pain and, since he could not use his hands, kept kicking the mat to show he was tapping out.
Winner: Vittorio Alegro Torro via Submission
At that moment, in the busy main street where the arena was located, the man in the rugby jersey seen earlier was doing some exercises in the arena car park when he heard a huge cheer from the football stadium just down the road. Seemingly infuriated, he stepped up his workout to try to relieve his anger. He looked up from his push-ups to see a young Danish man running down the street towards the stadium. He was wearing the red shirt and scarf of the Danish national football team, and he appeared to be late for the game. The man in the St Helens jersey stood up, watching him as he passed. Suddenly he dashed to get in front of the man and took him down hard to the asphalt with a shoulder block, then stomped on him several times before dragging him to the arena car park where he sneered while leaning the young man up against one of the parked cars and spearing him into it. Rugby Man towered over Football Man for a moment, before laughing and walking away toward the arena entrance. As soon as the doors slid shut behind him, a black limousine parked nearby pulled out of the darkness and slowly rolled over to where the football fan was left. A shadowy figure got out of the limo and stood in front of the young man for a while, then took out a black calling card marked with a large flaming red 'N'. He stuffed it into the man's hand, before climbing back into the limo, which drove away into the night.