Chris stood again, and the two met in the middle once more. The ref stood back, waiting for the tensions to flare, just like the fans, who had "ooo'd" the previous exchange. After a few moments, the Shadow Master sent the first shot; a quick jab to Chris's face. Chris staggered a little, holding his nose. The Shadow Master then showed how much he respected his opponent by slapping him across the right side of his face. Chris spun around, and an angered expression grew. He turned and sent a blow to the Shadow Master. Shadow responded in kind. They brawled, sending overhand and underhand punches to each other. Shadow pushed ahead, and soon sent Chris through the middle ropes. Chris tumbled to the outside, where there were no mats.
The Shadow Master stepped onto the apron and hopped off, nailing a double ax handle shot to Chris's back as he tried to stand. Chris was down on one knee, and the Shadow Master sent a concrete-style fist to Chris' head, and Chris went down again. As he pushed himself up with his hands, the Shadow Master went to the guard rail and retrieved the first weapon, a chair that he had to steal from a frightened man in the front row. He turned around and sent slammed the chair into Chris' back. He looked around at the crowd, then did it again while Chris was laying on his stomach.
Shadow picked Chris up from the concrete floor and leaned him against the ring apron. He turned to the crowd behind him and signaled that he was ready to use the chair again, then turned back to Chris and swung an over head shot. Chris dodged out of the way, and the chair caught the canvas' edge. Now what Chris' first chance; he sent a quick right jab of his own to the Shadow Master's face, catching him by surprise. The Shadow Master still clung to his chair, though, prompting Chris to send a boxing-like flurry of right and left jabs, swift and speedy, right to the nose area. When the Shadow Master got a sneaky boot into Chris' midsection, he thought the ball was back in his court, and raised the chair. Chris blocked, though, using both hands to grab the gray metal instrument of destruction and halt it in the air. He dropkicked the Shadow Master in the knee, forcing him to let go of the chair and fall.
He didn't fall face first onto the concrete, but swerved so that his shoulder took the brunt. He held onto his leg as Chris swung the chair at his back. After the shot, he held onto his back. Chris used the top of the chair to tap Shadow's leg. He went back and forth, hitting the back, then the leg, for a couple times, just to make the fans laugh at the Shadow Master's plight. Then he pulled his opponent back up and dropped the chair.
Chris whipped Shadow into the guard rail. Shadow rammed back-first into it. He raised his head back, but refused to scream. Chris picked the chair back up and threw it at his opponent. Shadow moved out of the way, and the fans scampered from the loud crash of the chair onto the railing. Shadow staggered around the ring. Chris snatched the ring bell from the timekeeper and perused. When he caught up, though, he found that the Shadow Master had simply been playing possum, as he kicked backwards into Chris' stomach when he sensed his presence.
The Shadow Master grabbed Chris, who had bent over, by the hair. He looked around at the crowd that hated him, and fired a right into Chris' head, but refused to let go. The referee wanted to force a break, but it was no DQ, and he had no option. Another shot to the head. And another. Now a slam into the apron. Another. Shadow Master grabbed Chris' head and forced Chris to face him. He yelled something incoherent to everyone else, except to maybe a couple people in the front row, and kicked Chris below the belt. Chris moaned as the fans booed.
Shadow Master rolled Chris under the bottom rope and into the ring. He climbed onto the apron, paused to yell something spiteful to the crowd, then swung over the rope and hit a leg drop. He quickly followed with the first cover of the match, but barely got a two-count. He stood, pulling Chris with him. Whip into the ropes, big boot to Chris' jaw. Shadow fell down on top of Chris for a cover, but still only a two. He pulled Chris up again and went for the same move again. Chris ducked under the kick and slid under the ropes when he met them. Now on the outside, Chris tried to take a breather.
The Shadow Master wasn't up for that idea, however, and ran into the opposite ropes, came back, and dove over the top with a suicide "plancha", a simple flying body attack, coming down right on top of Chris. The fans had never seen a high flying move of this sort from the most hated wrestler on the Indy circuit. They were shocked, and it showed. Some actually applauded.
It took a few moments for both men to get to their feet. Shadow Master beat Chris up, and tried to punch him back down. Chris fired back with shots to Shadow's stomach. Shadow kicked him in the gut, then attempted to whip him into the apron. Chris used his momentum to leap up onto the apron, however. He glanced at his opponent, kicked him back to stun him, then nailed a beautiful springboard corkscrew moonsault, similar to the Asai Moonsault, or backflip splash, but with a twist...literally. Both men were down again, but Chris had landed in a manner where his opponent's body had broken his fall. He stood as quickly as possible, then yanked the guardrail towards him, making as much room between the front row of seats and the railing as possible. The fans scattered.
The Shadow Master struggled to his feet, shaking off the effects of the previous two "high spots." Chris grabbed him and tossed him over the railing, then quickly slid into the ring. He took a quick look to see that his target was standing, then ran to the ropes, came back, jumped onto the top rope, and flew through the air, hitting his opponent with a suicide senton, front flip. The fans cheered wildly for their resident luchadore. Chris stood and absorbed the adolations. He then grabbed his enemy from the floor and began to drag him through the crowd.
On the way, the Shadow Master regained his strength, and elbowed Chris's ribs a couple times. He grabbed a nearby chair and used it on Chris' back. Chris fell, holding his lower back, a look of pain on his tired face. Shadow Master grabbed Chris by his hair again and began dragging him in the same manner as he himself had been towed. He stopped by the wall that went up to the higher seats, straightened Chris, and nailed him with a stiff chair shot to the head. He tossed the chair aside and made the cover. The referee, who had been following them, slid across the concrete as he went to count. One...two...NO! Chris got the left shoulder up.
Shadow was frustrated by now, and he picked is opponent up, then hit a stiff right to prove it. He slammed Chris into the wall, then pulled him along, stopping at a certain area, where a large hallway opened and led out into the concession areas. Shadow kicked Chris again, then hooked him up for a vertical suplex. His first attempt at lifting Chris failed, as Chris blocked it. Chris blocked the second attempt, as well, prompting Shadow to punch him in the side a few times. His third attempt appeared to be successful, until Chris twisted out in midair and landed behind his attacker. Shadow spun around to meet Chris' fist in his face. Chris punched and kicked the Shadow Master back into the wall, then whipped him into the seats next to them. Shadow stumbled and fell when he tripped on the first metal chair.
The fans kept their distance and cheered. They began to cheer even louder when they noticed where Chris was going. He was ascending the nearest stairway that took him up to a different section of seating. He found his way to the corner, overlooking his fallen opponent, who was trying to untangle himself from the pile of chairs he was stuck in. Chris stepped over the railing that kept the fans from falling, thus defeating the purpose. As the audience cheered and rallied behind him, Chris awaited the Shadow Master, who finally stood and began throwing chairs away from his person, unaware of the vulture eyeing him. The fans nearest him pointed to Chris, hoping to make the Shadow Master look and prompt the spot to happen. Shadow did look, and Chris dove from his perch, legs outstretched, hands over the back of his head to guard him. He caught the Shadow Master with an eye-popping "Hurricanrana", wrapping his legs around the Shadow Master's neck, swinging around and causing the Shadow Master to flip and land on his back.
A huge pop echoed through the building, and fans who had left to go to the bathroom or food stands cursed themselves for doing so. The two bruised and beaten combatants laid on the concrete. "Carcrash" Chris had sure created a scene that lived up to his nickname. Not a butt was in a seat, as everyone was applauding, even the large group at the other end who had no idea what had happened. They all hoped to get a videotape of the match later.
After what seemed like forever to anyone watching, Chris, still holding his head, staggered to his feet. He was barely able to stand, let alone walk, but he brought himself to it somehow. The referee was checking on the Shadow Master, seeing if he was even breathing. Chris ignored the ref and pulled his opponent to his feet, then slowly led him back to the ring area. He threw him over the railing, then followed, slowly. Hardly knowing he was doing so, he flung a chair into the ring, then rolled the Shadow Master under the bottom rope. He then climbed up on the apron and hit an over the rope "corkscrew" splash. The ref slid into the ring and counted...one...two...and the Shadow Master kicked out at two-and-seven-eigths!
Chris rolled to his back, unable to follow up. His leap of faith had taken more out of him than his opponent. Had he gone for the cover earlier, he would have more than likely won the match. Alas, mistakes happen.
Both men were worn out by now. The Shadow Master knew that it was about time for the finish, and he wobbled as he stood. He dropped an elbow across Chris' chest, causing him to lay almost totally motionless. Had he not been breathing so heavily, the fans would have thought he was dead.
The Shadow Master climbed out of the ring and grabbed another chair. He held it up for the crowd to see. Some cheered, some boo'd. The Shadow Master took the chair into the ring, then crawled over to Chris and wrapped it around his left leg. He then grabbed the other chair that was already lying in the ring. He stood and held it up, then pointed to the chair that trapped Chris' leg. Shadow ascended the turnbuckle furthest from Chris, still clutching the chair, ready to leap across the ring and end the match...and Chris' career.
The Shadow Master was perched on the top. Chris wasn't moving. There was only one way this was going to end. Everyone saw it coming...or did they? The masked man on the turnbuckle suddenly rotated his body to face away from the ring. He had one foot on the top rope, and one on the middle, balancing himself. He held the chair in both hands. He gave it a long hard look. Then, to the shock of everyone, he suddenly rammed his own head into the chair and took a freefall off the ropes, landing on his back in the center of the ring.
The referee jumped backwards, keeping his eyes on the man who had just knocked himself off the turnbuckle. Chris sat up, suddenly breaking character. He was still breathing heavily, still tired, but he had to know what was going on. Wasn't he supposed to lose? Maybe Scott had slipped...maybe he was legitimately hurt and couldn't continue? He pulled his leg from the chair and crawled over to his fallen "opponent," trying to see through the black mask. He couldn't; but he did hear something.
"Pin me, Chris," Scott was saying. "Do it. I told you I had a big surprise, and it won't work unless you pin me."
Chris was confused. He didn't know what to do. Scott didn't want to wait. He reached up and grabbed Chris by his tanktop, yanking him down on top of him. The ref, possibly more confused than anyone in the building, got down on his stomach, watching the shoulders of the Shadow Master. He raised his hand and slammed it down on the mat once, then twice, and finally a third and final time. He got up on his knees and signaled for the timekeeper to ring the bell. He did, since he'd retrieved it when the two opponents had gone into the crowd. The ring announcer, however, decided to converse with the referee in the ring, as opposed to announcing Chris as the winner.
Chris got up on his knees as the Shadow Master sat quickly. He then stood and walked to the announcer, asking him for his microphone. The announcer, also not knowing what to do, got the mic snatched from his grip. The Shadow Master went and sat on the top rope of the nearest turnbuckle, watching the fans, seeing if he could find the bewildered looks on their faces. He knew they were there.
The man under the mask looked down at Chris, who met his gaze. He looked up to the entrance, where the curtains separated the fictional storylines the fans saw from the real people in the back. Finally, he looked straight ahead. He lifted his left hand, grabbed the top of his black, featureless mask, and pulled the whole thing from his head. The crowd gasped, despite the fact that they didn't recognize the face as anyone in particular.
Scott Shadows, revealed for the crowd to see, brought the microphone to his mouth. "Is this thing on?" he asked into it. "Hey, sound guy, turn it up. I've got an important announcement to make." Scott waited for a moment, then tapped the mic to see if it was louder. For some reason, the sound guys had actually cranked up the volume.
"All right," Scott continued, watching everyone that moved. "I'll bet you're all wondering what on Earth is going on here...well, I'll tell you. You see, there's a guy in the back, and I know he's here. It ain't a wrestler, it ain't some TV personality. It's probably not anyone anybody here has ever really seen. But he runs the whole show here at IRW, and I've got a message for him, if he's listening. Titus Stewart...you are a crook! You are a liar and a cheater and a disgrace to the wrestling world, if not the entire world!"
The no one who was listening, sans Valerie Said and Titus himself, who were in the back, had any idea what was taking place. "Titus, if you're still here, I'm hoping that you don't mind if I let everyone in on a little secret of ours. Because, you see, you were a little too greedy when it came to your promotion, and you wanted everything you could get that would make it the best on the planet, and you didn't care who got in the way, you'd annihilate them like a tank. Good old Chris Parceles here," Scott nodded to Chris, who remained still, "is just trying to make a living by doing what he's good at. You want to go sign Marty Thriller, a big name out here, but Marty doesn't want to work with Chris. So, you decide that it's better to destroy Chris' future than not gain a profit on Thriller.
"Ladies and gentlemen, I am ashamed to tell you that I was in on Titus' plan the whole time. Titus has given me more fame and press with all his money. Well, I don't need money to make you famous, Titus. I'll make you famous by telling everyone that iyou/i hired me to break Chris' leg in this match so that you could bring up a clause in his contract and fire him after he was out for a month!" The fans gasped again. They didn't know if this was a true story, or just an angle. Either way, it was interesting...
"Then you could hire Marty Thriller and make more money than ever, because that's all that matters to you. You don't care about anyone here, any of the boys in the back. I'm just here to do your dirty work and lie about it. Well, I refuse! I'm not going to do anyone's dirty work anywhere!"
By now, Titus himself had come through the curtain and was standing at the entranceway, watching Scott with anger.
"Well, well, there's our man now," Scott said, pointing in Titus' direction. "It's all true, isn't it, Titus? You wanted me to do your evil deeds so that you could make more money. You wanted me to jeopardize someone's career, and pretend it was a mistake?"
Titus had a microphone of his own. "Shadows, you son of a..."
"Uh-uh-uh, Titus...there are children present!"
"You want to turn your back on me? You want to play hardball? I'm going to make your life a living hell! You won't get away with this, you traitor!"
"Congradulations, boss-man," Scott said, smiling. "You're admitting to it, then? You're admitting to your crimes?"
Titus didn't answer, but instead said, "You are a dead man, Shadows! You're dead!"
"Dead? No, I don't think so. I am alive in Christ, and actions like yours have no place in His world! You want to try and jeopardize people? I'll give you a Jeopardy answer: the five cops about to surround you. The question? Who did I call and tip-off before I came to the show tonight?"
All of a sudden, five police officers, accompanied by Valerie, came out from the curtain and gathered around Titus. "There's your man, officers," Val said.
"Excuse me, sir, but we're going to have to bring you down to the station for questioning," one of the policemen said, putting his hand on Titus' shoulder.
"You let me go!" Titus yelled, jerking away. "You have nothing on me! You can't prove anything!"
"Actually, sir, we have this video tape, which contains the entire conversation you had with Mr. Shadows a few weeks ago," another cop held up the video cassette. "I think that's enough evidence, don't you?"
"Wha...?!?" Titus couldn't believe it. The five officers cuffed him and escorted him from the building.
"Bye bye, birdie," Scott called. He hopped off the turnbuckle and walked over to Chris. "Folks, I think the IRW is going to be on hold for quite some time. Thanks for coming to the show. I hope you enjoyed it. Me, I'm gone. Let's go, Chris." With that, he tossed the mic to the perplexed announcer on the outside. Then, putting his arm around Chris' shoulder, he escorted his friend out of the arena. They met Val at the entrance, and the three left together.
The news was all over it the next day. "PRO WRESTLER RATS OUT PROMOTER." "Professional wrestler Scott Shadows (AKA the Shadow Master) calls the police on his employer in the nearby Intensity Rulz Wrestling federation, accusing his boss of trying to make him cripple his opponent for the night, Christopher Parceles. Police took Titus Stewart into custody after receiving a video tape that showed the entire conversation between he and Shadows. Shadows was later brought in for questioning, but released soon afterwards. The IRW is currently seeking new ownership..."
Chris looked up from the paper. He and Scott sat on the couch in Valerie's apartment. Val sat on the floor, flipping through the television channels, and stopping at every news show that mentioned the incident.
"I still can't believe it," Chris said, looking at Scott. "You were actually going to do that to me?"
"As much as I hate to say it, yes," Scott replied. He set his cup of coffee down on the table next to his side of the couch. "Titus wanted me to break your leg so that Marty Thriller would be willing to work for him. He told me Thriller was mad at you for some drunk driving incident that put him in the hospital..."
"Marty Thriller? You were talking about him, then. Yes, I remember him...but I've never driven drunk in my life!"
"That's what he told Titus. He said that you'd gotten drunk and wouldn't let him have the keys, and you crashed the car. He got hurt badly and couldn't get hired by ECW after it."
"Are you talking about the time that he got drunk and drove the car? Because there was one time that he got drunk, and I didn't notice it...we were just leaving a bar after doing a show in Mexico. It was, like, five years ago. He crashed the car. Is he blaming me now?"
"I guess so," Scott replied, sounding relieved. "Dude must be too proud to admit he made a big mistake. It would've cost him if someone had found out." Scott turned to Valerie. "Hey, Val...the cops say that they have a video tape of me and Titus...but I don't recall Titus having a security camera or anything like that in his office..."
"Me, neither," Val responded, not turning around. "I don't know where they got it, either. Maybe he had a hidden camera, but he didn't remember or something?"
"...Well, maybe...ah, what does it matter? The fact is, we aren't under his control anymore. God's our boss from now on. My friends, we are officially free agents."
"Where do we go now?" Chris asked, lying the paper down between himself and Scott.
"I got in touch with a guy in Mexico City," Scott said. "He runs a promotion down south of the border. He told me that they'd welcome any 'big name' American talent, and he called me 'big name.' I talked him into my bringing a few friends."
"So we are going to do it?" Chris asked, as if he couldn't believe that Scott would live up to his word.
"Oh, yeah. 'Carcrash' Chris Parceles debuts in Mexico City in a month, my friend, with Shadow Master and Emerald in tow. How's it sound?"
"It's perfect," Chris said. "Just like old times...only with new friends! I'll need to get my old lucha uniform! I can wear it without the mask, and maybe someone will remember me."
"I'm game, Scott," Val said. "Never been to Mexico before."
"How's about we get a jump on the culture, then?" Scott inquired. "Casa de Marcos just opened a few blocks from here. Who's hungry?"
"Sounds good to me," Val said, turning off the TV and standing.
"Okay, but you supply the newspaper for the car."
"What?"
"It's a joke. You know, about your transforming...you didn't think I'd forget about that, did you?"
"No, but I don't get the joke. Newspaper?"
"So the dog doesn't get the car messy and stuff! Jackals are dogs, right?"
"What are you guys talking about?" Chris asked. As Val and Scott argued, he decided to just get his coat and wait.
The Shadow Master stepped onto the apron and hopped off, nailing a double ax handle shot to Chris's back as he tried to stand. Chris was down on one knee, and the Shadow Master sent a concrete-style fist to Chris' head, and Chris went down again. As he pushed himself up with his hands, the Shadow Master went to the guard rail and retrieved the first weapon, a chair that he had to steal from a frightened man in the front row. He turned around and sent slammed the chair into Chris' back. He looked around at the crowd, then did it again while Chris was laying on his stomach.
Shadow picked Chris up from the concrete floor and leaned him against the ring apron. He turned to the crowd behind him and signaled that he was ready to use the chair again, then turned back to Chris and swung an over head shot. Chris dodged out of the way, and the chair caught the canvas' edge. Now what Chris' first chance; he sent a quick right jab of his own to the Shadow Master's face, catching him by surprise. The Shadow Master still clung to his chair, though, prompting Chris to send a boxing-like flurry of right and left jabs, swift and speedy, right to the nose area. When the Shadow Master got a sneaky boot into Chris' midsection, he thought the ball was back in his court, and raised the chair. Chris blocked, though, using both hands to grab the gray metal instrument of destruction and halt it in the air. He dropkicked the Shadow Master in the knee, forcing him to let go of the chair and fall.
He didn't fall face first onto the concrete, but swerved so that his shoulder took the brunt. He held onto his leg as Chris swung the chair at his back. After the shot, he held onto his back. Chris used the top of the chair to tap Shadow's leg. He went back and forth, hitting the back, then the leg, for a couple times, just to make the fans laugh at the Shadow Master's plight. Then he pulled his opponent back up and dropped the chair.
Chris whipped Shadow into the guard rail. Shadow rammed back-first into it. He raised his head back, but refused to scream. Chris picked the chair back up and threw it at his opponent. Shadow moved out of the way, and the fans scampered from the loud crash of the chair onto the railing. Shadow staggered around the ring. Chris snatched the ring bell from the timekeeper and perused. When he caught up, though, he found that the Shadow Master had simply been playing possum, as he kicked backwards into Chris' stomach when he sensed his presence.
The Shadow Master grabbed Chris, who had bent over, by the hair. He looked around at the crowd that hated him, and fired a right into Chris' head, but refused to let go. The referee wanted to force a break, but it was no DQ, and he had no option. Another shot to the head. And another. Now a slam into the apron. Another. Shadow Master grabbed Chris' head and forced Chris to face him. He yelled something incoherent to everyone else, except to maybe a couple people in the front row, and kicked Chris below the belt. Chris moaned as the fans booed.
Shadow Master rolled Chris under the bottom rope and into the ring. He climbed onto the apron, paused to yell something spiteful to the crowd, then swung over the rope and hit a leg drop. He quickly followed with the first cover of the match, but barely got a two-count. He stood, pulling Chris with him. Whip into the ropes, big boot to Chris' jaw. Shadow fell down on top of Chris for a cover, but still only a two. He pulled Chris up again and went for the same move again. Chris ducked under the kick and slid under the ropes when he met them. Now on the outside, Chris tried to take a breather.
The Shadow Master wasn't up for that idea, however, and ran into the opposite ropes, came back, and dove over the top with a suicide "plancha", a simple flying body attack, coming down right on top of Chris. The fans had never seen a high flying move of this sort from the most hated wrestler on the Indy circuit. They were shocked, and it showed. Some actually applauded.
It took a few moments for both men to get to their feet. Shadow Master beat Chris up, and tried to punch him back down. Chris fired back with shots to Shadow's stomach. Shadow kicked him in the gut, then attempted to whip him into the apron. Chris used his momentum to leap up onto the apron, however. He glanced at his opponent, kicked him back to stun him, then nailed a beautiful springboard corkscrew moonsault, similar to the Asai Moonsault, or backflip splash, but with a twist...literally. Both men were down again, but Chris had landed in a manner where his opponent's body had broken his fall. He stood as quickly as possible, then yanked the guardrail towards him, making as much room between the front row of seats and the railing as possible. The fans scattered.
The Shadow Master struggled to his feet, shaking off the effects of the previous two "high spots." Chris grabbed him and tossed him over the railing, then quickly slid into the ring. He took a quick look to see that his target was standing, then ran to the ropes, came back, jumped onto the top rope, and flew through the air, hitting his opponent with a suicide senton, front flip. The fans cheered wildly for their resident luchadore. Chris stood and absorbed the adolations. He then grabbed his enemy from the floor and began to drag him through the crowd.
On the way, the Shadow Master regained his strength, and elbowed Chris's ribs a couple times. He grabbed a nearby chair and used it on Chris' back. Chris fell, holding his lower back, a look of pain on his tired face. Shadow Master grabbed Chris by his hair again and began dragging him in the same manner as he himself had been towed. He stopped by the wall that went up to the higher seats, straightened Chris, and nailed him with a stiff chair shot to the head. He tossed the chair aside and made the cover. The referee, who had been following them, slid across the concrete as he went to count. One...two...NO! Chris got the left shoulder up.
Shadow was frustrated by now, and he picked is opponent up, then hit a stiff right to prove it. He slammed Chris into the wall, then pulled him along, stopping at a certain area, where a large hallway opened and led out into the concession areas. Shadow kicked Chris again, then hooked him up for a vertical suplex. His first attempt at lifting Chris failed, as Chris blocked it. Chris blocked the second attempt, as well, prompting Shadow to punch him in the side a few times. His third attempt appeared to be successful, until Chris twisted out in midair and landed behind his attacker. Shadow spun around to meet Chris' fist in his face. Chris punched and kicked the Shadow Master back into the wall, then whipped him into the seats next to them. Shadow stumbled and fell when he tripped on the first metal chair.
The fans kept their distance and cheered. They began to cheer even louder when they noticed where Chris was going. He was ascending the nearest stairway that took him up to a different section of seating. He found his way to the corner, overlooking his fallen opponent, who was trying to untangle himself from the pile of chairs he was stuck in. Chris stepped over the railing that kept the fans from falling, thus defeating the purpose. As the audience cheered and rallied behind him, Chris awaited the Shadow Master, who finally stood and began throwing chairs away from his person, unaware of the vulture eyeing him. The fans nearest him pointed to Chris, hoping to make the Shadow Master look and prompt the spot to happen. Shadow did look, and Chris dove from his perch, legs outstretched, hands over the back of his head to guard him. He caught the Shadow Master with an eye-popping "Hurricanrana", wrapping his legs around the Shadow Master's neck, swinging around and causing the Shadow Master to flip and land on his back.
A huge pop echoed through the building, and fans who had left to go to the bathroom or food stands cursed themselves for doing so. The two bruised and beaten combatants laid on the concrete. "Carcrash" Chris had sure created a scene that lived up to his nickname. Not a butt was in a seat, as everyone was applauding, even the large group at the other end who had no idea what had happened. They all hoped to get a videotape of the match later.
After what seemed like forever to anyone watching, Chris, still holding his head, staggered to his feet. He was barely able to stand, let alone walk, but he brought himself to it somehow. The referee was checking on the Shadow Master, seeing if he was even breathing. Chris ignored the ref and pulled his opponent to his feet, then slowly led him back to the ring area. He threw him over the railing, then followed, slowly. Hardly knowing he was doing so, he flung a chair into the ring, then rolled the Shadow Master under the bottom rope. He then climbed up on the apron and hit an over the rope "corkscrew" splash. The ref slid into the ring and counted...one...two...and the Shadow Master kicked out at two-and-seven-eigths!
Chris rolled to his back, unable to follow up. His leap of faith had taken more out of him than his opponent. Had he gone for the cover earlier, he would have more than likely won the match. Alas, mistakes happen.
Both men were worn out by now. The Shadow Master knew that it was about time for the finish, and he wobbled as he stood. He dropped an elbow across Chris' chest, causing him to lay almost totally motionless. Had he not been breathing so heavily, the fans would have thought he was dead.
The Shadow Master climbed out of the ring and grabbed another chair. He held it up for the crowd to see. Some cheered, some boo'd. The Shadow Master took the chair into the ring, then crawled over to Chris and wrapped it around his left leg. He then grabbed the other chair that was already lying in the ring. He stood and held it up, then pointed to the chair that trapped Chris' leg. Shadow ascended the turnbuckle furthest from Chris, still clutching the chair, ready to leap across the ring and end the match...and Chris' career.
The Shadow Master was perched on the top. Chris wasn't moving. There was only one way this was going to end. Everyone saw it coming...or did they? The masked man on the turnbuckle suddenly rotated his body to face away from the ring. He had one foot on the top rope, and one on the middle, balancing himself. He held the chair in both hands. He gave it a long hard look. Then, to the shock of everyone, he suddenly rammed his own head into the chair and took a freefall off the ropes, landing on his back in the center of the ring.
The referee jumped backwards, keeping his eyes on the man who had just knocked himself off the turnbuckle. Chris sat up, suddenly breaking character. He was still breathing heavily, still tired, but he had to know what was going on. Wasn't he supposed to lose? Maybe Scott had slipped...maybe he was legitimately hurt and couldn't continue? He pulled his leg from the chair and crawled over to his fallen "opponent," trying to see through the black mask. He couldn't; but he did hear something.
"Pin me, Chris," Scott was saying. "Do it. I told you I had a big surprise, and it won't work unless you pin me."
Chris was confused. He didn't know what to do. Scott didn't want to wait. He reached up and grabbed Chris by his tanktop, yanking him down on top of him. The ref, possibly more confused than anyone in the building, got down on his stomach, watching the shoulders of the Shadow Master. He raised his hand and slammed it down on the mat once, then twice, and finally a third and final time. He got up on his knees and signaled for the timekeeper to ring the bell. He did, since he'd retrieved it when the two opponents had gone into the crowd. The ring announcer, however, decided to converse with the referee in the ring, as opposed to announcing Chris as the winner.
Chris got up on his knees as the Shadow Master sat quickly. He then stood and walked to the announcer, asking him for his microphone. The announcer, also not knowing what to do, got the mic snatched from his grip. The Shadow Master went and sat on the top rope of the nearest turnbuckle, watching the fans, seeing if he could find the bewildered looks on their faces. He knew they were there.
The man under the mask looked down at Chris, who met his gaze. He looked up to the entrance, where the curtains separated the fictional storylines the fans saw from the real people in the back. Finally, he looked straight ahead. He lifted his left hand, grabbed the top of his black, featureless mask, and pulled the whole thing from his head. The crowd gasped, despite the fact that they didn't recognize the face as anyone in particular.
Scott Shadows, revealed for the crowd to see, brought the microphone to his mouth. "Is this thing on?" he asked into it. "Hey, sound guy, turn it up. I've got an important announcement to make." Scott waited for a moment, then tapped the mic to see if it was louder. For some reason, the sound guys had actually cranked up the volume.
"All right," Scott continued, watching everyone that moved. "I'll bet you're all wondering what on Earth is going on here...well, I'll tell you. You see, there's a guy in the back, and I know he's here. It ain't a wrestler, it ain't some TV personality. It's probably not anyone anybody here has ever really seen. But he runs the whole show here at IRW, and I've got a message for him, if he's listening. Titus Stewart...you are a crook! You are a liar and a cheater and a disgrace to the wrestling world, if not the entire world!"
The no one who was listening, sans Valerie Said and Titus himself, who were in the back, had any idea what was taking place. "Titus, if you're still here, I'm hoping that you don't mind if I let everyone in on a little secret of ours. Because, you see, you were a little too greedy when it came to your promotion, and you wanted everything you could get that would make it the best on the planet, and you didn't care who got in the way, you'd annihilate them like a tank. Good old Chris Parceles here," Scott nodded to Chris, who remained still, "is just trying to make a living by doing what he's good at. You want to go sign Marty Thriller, a big name out here, but Marty doesn't want to work with Chris. So, you decide that it's better to destroy Chris' future than not gain a profit on Thriller.
"Ladies and gentlemen, I am ashamed to tell you that I was in on Titus' plan the whole time. Titus has given me more fame and press with all his money. Well, I don't need money to make you famous, Titus. I'll make you famous by telling everyone that iyou/i hired me to break Chris' leg in this match so that you could bring up a clause in his contract and fire him after he was out for a month!" The fans gasped again. They didn't know if this was a true story, or just an angle. Either way, it was interesting...
"Then you could hire Marty Thriller and make more money than ever, because that's all that matters to you. You don't care about anyone here, any of the boys in the back. I'm just here to do your dirty work and lie about it. Well, I refuse! I'm not going to do anyone's dirty work anywhere!"
By now, Titus himself had come through the curtain and was standing at the entranceway, watching Scott with anger.
"Well, well, there's our man now," Scott said, pointing in Titus' direction. "It's all true, isn't it, Titus? You wanted me to do your evil deeds so that you could make more money. You wanted me to jeopardize someone's career, and pretend it was a mistake?"
Titus had a microphone of his own. "Shadows, you son of a..."
"Uh-uh-uh, Titus...there are children present!"
"You want to turn your back on me? You want to play hardball? I'm going to make your life a living hell! You won't get away with this, you traitor!"
"Congradulations, boss-man," Scott said, smiling. "You're admitting to it, then? You're admitting to your crimes?"
Titus didn't answer, but instead said, "You are a dead man, Shadows! You're dead!"
"Dead? No, I don't think so. I am alive in Christ, and actions like yours have no place in His world! You want to try and jeopardize people? I'll give you a Jeopardy answer: the five cops about to surround you. The question? Who did I call and tip-off before I came to the show tonight?"
All of a sudden, five police officers, accompanied by Valerie, came out from the curtain and gathered around Titus. "There's your man, officers," Val said.
"Excuse me, sir, but we're going to have to bring you down to the station for questioning," one of the policemen said, putting his hand on Titus' shoulder.
"You let me go!" Titus yelled, jerking away. "You have nothing on me! You can't prove anything!"
"Actually, sir, we have this video tape, which contains the entire conversation you had with Mr. Shadows a few weeks ago," another cop held up the video cassette. "I think that's enough evidence, don't you?"
"Wha...?!?" Titus couldn't believe it. The five officers cuffed him and escorted him from the building.
"Bye bye, birdie," Scott called. He hopped off the turnbuckle and walked over to Chris. "Folks, I think the IRW is going to be on hold for quite some time. Thanks for coming to the show. I hope you enjoyed it. Me, I'm gone. Let's go, Chris." With that, he tossed the mic to the perplexed announcer on the outside. Then, putting his arm around Chris' shoulder, he escorted his friend out of the arena. They met Val at the entrance, and the three left together.
The news was all over it the next day. "PRO WRESTLER RATS OUT PROMOTER." "Professional wrestler Scott Shadows (AKA the Shadow Master) calls the police on his employer in the nearby Intensity Rulz Wrestling federation, accusing his boss of trying to make him cripple his opponent for the night, Christopher Parceles. Police took Titus Stewart into custody after receiving a video tape that showed the entire conversation between he and Shadows. Shadows was later brought in for questioning, but released soon afterwards. The IRW is currently seeking new ownership..."
Chris looked up from the paper. He and Scott sat on the couch in Valerie's apartment. Val sat on the floor, flipping through the television channels, and stopping at every news show that mentioned the incident.
"I still can't believe it," Chris said, looking at Scott. "You were actually going to do that to me?"
"As much as I hate to say it, yes," Scott replied. He set his cup of coffee down on the table next to his side of the couch. "Titus wanted me to break your leg so that Marty Thriller would be willing to work for him. He told me Thriller was mad at you for some drunk driving incident that put him in the hospital..."
"Marty Thriller? You were talking about him, then. Yes, I remember him...but I've never driven drunk in my life!"
"That's what he told Titus. He said that you'd gotten drunk and wouldn't let him have the keys, and you crashed the car. He got hurt badly and couldn't get hired by ECW after it."
"Are you talking about the time that he got drunk and drove the car? Because there was one time that he got drunk, and I didn't notice it...we were just leaving a bar after doing a show in Mexico. It was, like, five years ago. He crashed the car. Is he blaming me now?"
"I guess so," Scott replied, sounding relieved. "Dude must be too proud to admit he made a big mistake. It would've cost him if someone had found out." Scott turned to Valerie. "Hey, Val...the cops say that they have a video tape of me and Titus...but I don't recall Titus having a security camera or anything like that in his office..."
"Me, neither," Val responded, not turning around. "I don't know where they got it, either. Maybe he had a hidden camera, but he didn't remember or something?"
"...Well, maybe...ah, what does it matter? The fact is, we aren't under his control anymore. God's our boss from now on. My friends, we are officially free agents."
"Where do we go now?" Chris asked, lying the paper down between himself and Scott.
"I got in touch with a guy in Mexico City," Scott said. "He runs a promotion down south of the border. He told me that they'd welcome any 'big name' American talent, and he called me 'big name.' I talked him into my bringing a few friends."
"So we are going to do it?" Chris asked, as if he couldn't believe that Scott would live up to his word.
"Oh, yeah. 'Carcrash' Chris Parceles debuts in Mexico City in a month, my friend, with Shadow Master and Emerald in tow. How's it sound?"
"It's perfect," Chris said. "Just like old times...only with new friends! I'll need to get my old lucha uniform! I can wear it without the mask, and maybe someone will remember me."
"I'm game, Scott," Val said. "Never been to Mexico before."
"How's about we get a jump on the culture, then?" Scott inquired. "Casa de Marcos just opened a few blocks from here. Who's hungry?"
"Sounds good to me," Val said, turning off the TV and standing.
"Okay, but you supply the newspaper for the car."
"What?"
"It's a joke. You know, about your transforming...you didn't think I'd forget about that, did you?"
"No, but I don't get the joke. Newspaper?"
"So the dog doesn't get the car messy and stuff! Jackals are dogs, right?"
"What are you guys talking about?" Chris asked. As Val and Scott argued, he decided to just get his coat and wait.