Round 4 Day 2: Super Battle Royal Slam Jam
(AN: The following is a bit of a glossary, to all the wrestling promotions mentioned and the games they come from.
Tag Team Wrestling (TTW): Tag Team Wrestling for the NES
Capcom Wrestling Association (CWA): Saturday Night Slam Masters, part of the Street Fighter Universe)
SNK Wrestling Federation (SWF): 3 Count Bout, part of the SNK universe for the purpose of this story
Royal Pro Wrestling: From the 3DO game of the same name. Features a lot of bootleg wrestlers, which is part of the backbone of wrestling video games
Virtual Wrestling Association (VWA): Pro Wrestling for the NES
World Network Wrestling (WNW): Referenced in King's Tekken 5 ending, I'm assuming this is the pro wrestling arm of the Mishima Zaibatsu
WWWWW (?): Part of the Sudaverse, which includes Fire Pro Wrestling and No More Heroes, another great place for legally distinct wrestlers)
Quinn
2030
Smash City
Street Fighter Section
Capcom Arcade Stadium
Even through watching, Quinn Marmaduke had learned more about wrestling than he'd ever known.
While wrestling pundits analyzed every match, Royal Pro Wrestling's Kid The Wolf defended his Cruiserweight Championship against the legendary Virtual Wrestling Association bad guy The Amazon, defeating him by countering a top rope choke with a mighty Superplex.
"Blah," a blond grappler in an ornate robe had said in the locker room, "Them flippy kids are gonna kill the business."
The show began in earnest with Kunio and Ricki defeating The Lee Brothers in a martial arts showcase of a tag team bout.
The hubbub around the locker room told Quinn that two the two school friends earning the right to fight either The Strongbads, from the bizarre Tag Team Wrestling organization or the tag team champions of the overall conglomerate that brought all these leagues together, Royal Pro Wrestling's The Warriors.
A man in a black jaguar match had growled disinterestedly.
"Yeah," agreed a massive man next to him, "Those guys are comedy goofs. The face-painted guys are gonna kill 'em."
The man was right. The match had ended quickly, the Strongbads deciding to throw old cartography equipment at the hulking champions, leading to their immediate, and gruesome defeat.
Quinn had always known wrestling was a land of strange stipulations, but the next match of the night was the strangest he'd ever seen.
"Who booked this shit brother?" asked the soul woman of the locker room, a punk rocker sitting atop the shoulder of a giant.
Called a 'Burning DK Pitch Black Match,' featuring the spooky Underdise Morgan from Royal Pro Wrestling against VWA's King Slender, a loudmouthed, good-looking Texan.
"This King Slender jabroni is gonna get buried six feet under. Woooo!" the man in the ornate from other shouted
The two grappled under an eerie blacklight, any surface that could contain liquid filled with the neon goop the match was named after. It ended when Underdice deposited Slender into a casket while other unnamed ghouls watched on.
Quinn was finally graced with a familiar sight. Much like the Smashers had many times, 30 other wrestlers crowded around the monitor for the semi-main event.
"I'll tell ya, brother," said a mustachioed man with a perm, "Gunloc's got this, as the kids say, on lock."
"I dunno," mumbled a mound of blubber in overalls.
Quinn winced as the squirrel on the man's shoulder chittered as he pet it.
"That Terry Rogers kid has the fundamentals down," the lumberjack said in a thick Canadian accent.
"No, you're all wrong," snarled a mulleted man in a suit, his two underlings nodding obediently, "Jesse Ventura will win,"
Unfortunately for Quinn, the argument began well after the opening bell rang. Things changed towards the midpoint of the match when a woman dressed very formally in a pencil skirt and buttoned shirt stepped into the room.
"Hey, who are you toots?" snapped a thick-bodied cowboy wrestler, chewing tobacco dribbling from his lips and onto his half-naked form.
The guys in the locker room laughed. For the hundredth time since the night began, Quinn glanced at his new temporary contemporaries. Almost 40 men, representing seemingly all nations, and the thing that unified them all was fragrant sexism.
Just as Quinn rolled his eyes behind his sunglasses, the woman spoke, "My name is Sylvia Christel. You've each received marching orders through your usual bosses, but they have been answering to me."
A murmur of disgust snaked its way among the parade of grapplers. Ignoring it completely, Sylvia snapped her fingers, and two security guards brought in a lottery drum.
"Those of you who have worked in federations with numbered entrant battle royales know how this works. For those that don't, you pick a number from the drum. The higher your number the later your entry. We have two-minute intervals between entrants in this iteration. Your entrance music will play for thirty seconds so get your posing out of the way quickly, and get to the ring. Now, when I call your name, please step forward."
She paused, and the men murmured among themselves once again. From the neck of her shirt, she produced a whistle, blowing into it.
"QUINN MARMADUKE!" she shouted.
On instinct, the Mii Fighter bolted up. Ignoring the chuckles of some of the other wrestlers, Quinn stepped up to the drum. A security guard, the one on the right, cranked the handle unenthusiastically.
Quinn squinted.
Maybe there's some trick to it, he thought.
The security guard cleared his throat, causing yet another round of chuckles. Quinn snapped out of it, only to meet the short yet muscular security guard. Quinn reached into the drum, pulling out a gacha ball, popping it open, and retrieving the slip of paper inside.
His heart sank
"One," Quinn mumbled.
"What was that brother? I couldn't hear you," snapped a balding blond, the mountain of a man somehow sharing Incineroar's voice.
"Number one!" Quinn said louder.
The sniggering continued, Quinn slumping back to the bench he had come from. He couldn't take his eyes off the slip of paper that bore his fate. Hoots of glee from picking a high number, to grumbles of defeat to picking a low one, all were lost on the despondent Quinn.
A jaguar-masked man grunted confusedly. His contemporary, a man in a black jaguar mask, nodded feverishly in agreement.
"The number 30 entrant is running late. He'll be here," Sylvia assured.
The jaguars grumbled
"Yeah," said the giant man who could understand them, "Why doesn't mullet man and the goon squad have to draw?"
"We're the Bad Wrestlers Association," gloated the man, "I also own the CWA, so my men gain preferential treatment."
A shiver went up Quinn's spine. The silence that followed afterward was palpable, only broken by the cheering of the crowd from the monitor, A bloody Jesse Ventura raised the belt in the air, the fallen body of Terry Rogers laying prone, while Gunloc lay on his stomach in the ring, having slid in a failed attempt to break the pinfall, looking disappointed.
"Alright," Sylvia said, "You know your entry numbers, two minutes between each. The only way you can be eliminated is for both feet to touch the floor after being thrown over the top rope," Sylvia said as the ring announcer explained the same thing to the audience, "Now, enter the garden of madness, Quinn Marmaduke!"
As he stood, Quinn's forehead wrinkled in thought. Had he heard that before?
As he walked to the curtain that led to the ring, Jesse Ventura walked in the opposite direction, the belt slung over his shoulder.
"Hey kid," said Jesse, "You're Marmaduke right, that Smasher?"
"Yeah," Quinn nodded.
"I'm havin' a hell of a time watching you guys fight, but I dig your suplexes."
"Thought you'd be more of an Incineroar fan,"
Jesse's jolly demeanor evaporated, "No. He reminds me of an old co-worker from back home."
"Oh," was all Quinn could muster.
"Don't let this old man's crap getcha down," Jesse shouted, looking happy as a clam again, "Hit me up after the tournament and we'll talk about this place's surveillance state. Scary stuff if you ask me."
Quinn choked back laughter. Something about a bloodied muscleman broaching such a broad and intelligent subject struck him as humorous.
"Yeah, I'd like that,"
The two walked past each other, bumping passing a silent Gunloc, and pausing to eye up Terry, his bloody, bruised form muttering a song.
"Come, on Fhqwhgads, said come on Fhqwhgads, everybody to the limit everybody to the limit everybody come on Fhqwhgads."
Rogers stopped, noticing Quinn eying him.
"Oh," Terry said, in a Midwestern American accent, "I'm sorry, I just had the Strongbads' theme stuck in my head,"
"No problem dude," Quinn said, casting a gloved thumbs up.
As Terry meandered away, the ring announcer beyond the curtain began to hype the crowd up for the Super Battle Royal Slam Jam. All he had to do was wait for some kind of music queue and he could run out.
Suddenly, the lights that peaked through the curtain shut off. Pounding drums and Gregorian chanting began
"In the year 2000, the island of Wuhu saw the birth of their greatest son, a Mii Warrior destined to be a champion for the ages, and a treasure for all of the time," an overdramatic base-voiced announcer narrated.
Quinn tried to wipe the confusion off his face. A red spotlight shown down on him as soon as he stepped through the curtain. Quinn picked up on the beat of the electric guitar that blanketed his entrance, walking to the beat of it.
"Introducing at number 1, representing the Super Smash Brothers, QUINN MARMADUKE!"
Sinking to his knees and pounding the ground, he charged the rest of the way to the ring, ascending one of the corners to raise his hands to the crowd, who cheered. Quinn let the tiniest of smiles escape him. His crowd perception had improved since he stepped foot in the Smash arena, much to his eternal befuddlement.\
As Quinn jumped off the turnbuckle, the lights returned to normal.
"And now, let us all find out, the individual who drew number 2," said the posh-sounding announcer.
The silence went on for only a few seconds, but for Quinn, who could only busy himself by doing squats in the corner, it felt like an eternity. The silence was broken when an orchestral piece began to play, the video screen becoming a waving South Korean flag. A stocky, yet heavily muscled man stepped from beyond the curtain, wearing a ceremonial gown adorned with the same flag.
"Introducing Number 2, from South Korea, weighing in at 280 pounds, from the VWA, Kin Corn Karn!" the announcer boomed.
"Bah gawd number 2 is VWA legend Kin Corn Karn," a southern accent boomed over the PA, "It's striker versus striker here in the opening of the Super Battle Royal Slam Jam. What do you think Tony Pepperoni?"
"Well, Jim Haus I think Quinn will have to watch out for the much bigger Karn's overhand chop!"
Quinn watched Kin disrobe, the wily old veteran never taking his eyes off of him. And then, the bell rang. The two circled, eventually taking their combat stances and inching toward the center of the ring. Lightning fast, Karn unleashed an overhead chop, which Quinn dodged by falling on his rear in shock.
"Well that's one way to dodge a chop," Tony snarked as the crowd giggled.
Quinn swept the leg, causing Korn to collapse to the mat. Scrambling to top him in a ju-jitsu mount, Quinn rained down punches. Karn managed to block a left punch, hooking the wrist. Quinn stood slowly, dragging his opponent's weight with him. Quinn made his way for the ropes, but Karn only used his other hand to lift him. Seeing the danger in being aloft in a match where hitting the floor meant your end, Quinn used his free arm to hook the rope.
"Wow," Jim shouted, "This Marmaduke kid has a higher ring IQ than I thought,"
Karn let his grip on Quinn's legs slip for a second allowing him to land on his feet in the ring. Quinn flipped out of the wrist hold with his free hand, drop-kicking Karn for his trouble. He immediately scrambled to his knees, shaking out his wrist, only to be met by an overhand chop from Kin Corn Karn. For a split second, his eyes rolled into the back of his head and he collapsed. When he came back, a second later, he could see the video screen displaying a countdown.
"Five, four, three, two, one!" the crowd chanted as the buzzer went off.
Quinn blinked as the opening strings of Pomp and Circumstance began to play. A flamboyant-looking man in a large, star-bedazzled green robe erupted from behind the curtain.
"INTRODUCING NUMBER 3, FROM ROYAL PRO WRESTLING, ANDY SAVAGE!"
Before Quinn could even move, the man had leaped up to the top rope, driving a flying elbow right into Quinn's chest. Quinn limply rolled to the bottom rope, hugging it for dear life.
"And Quinn Marmaduke still has the wherewithal to get out of dodge," Tony narrated.
"Yeah," agreed Jim over the PA, "Luckily Andy Savage and Kim Corn Karn are busy with each other."
At first, Quinn could only hear the cheers and boos of the crowd as the two exchanged wrestling moves. When the pain subsided enough for Quinn to roll over, Andy was jabbing Kim, the flummoxed South Korean only seeming able to walk into each jab.
Quinn winced. Karn's eyes gleamed when he was about to hit the Overhand Chop. Had he been paying attention a few minutes ago, he could've avoided it himself.
Luckily, Andy shared no such regrets, weaving around Kin's lightning chop, laying in more jabs. Six of them finally fell the battle-hardened Korean, Andy pointing to the sky and ascending the turnbuckle just as the timer hit. Andy scowled, pointing to the ramp, a prone Kin underneath him as the timer reached seven
Why did Andy stop, Quinn wondered as the clock reached five seconds.
"Four, three, two, one!" the crowd chanted.
Triumphant synth played over the speakers, and the blond who had mocked him for mumbling earlier appeared, ripping off a branded yellow shirt and charging down to the ring.
"INTRODUCING AT NUMBER 4, FROM ROYAL PRO WRESTLING, GOLDEN LIPS!"
By this point, Andy meanwhile, had abandoned his perch, scaling the apron to enter the ring.
"You," shouted Andy, "You philanderer, you fornicator!"
Quinn held in a confused snort of laughter as he eased himself to his feet.
"I loved Beth with all my heart, brother," insisted Golden Lips.
"You promised Beth would never be in a dangerous situation, and yet Andy Savage had to cover for you again!"
"So, after all these years, the cancer hasn't gone into remission has it jack!"
"How could it? I have to put up with your grand-standin' and your hot doggin'..."
Kin had eased himself over to where Quinn stood, staring at him, and then pointing at their bickering opponents.
"My priority was the safety of the Large Power Team!" growled Golden.
"No!" insisted Andy, his face beat red, his eyes filled with tears, "All you've got is jealousy in your black heart!"
Kin nodded to Quinn, and the two charged, picking both men up by the feet and depositing them over the top rope.
"Golden Lips and Andy Savage have been eliminated!" the announcer explained.
"What the hell was that?" Quinn asked Kin as the two thirds of an apparent steroid love triangle brawled to the back.
Kin simply shrugged, gesturing to the center of the ring. Quinn took up the offer, the two taking up combat stances, and ducking each other's strikes until the timer came again.
"Five, four, three, two one!"
Triumphant jazz played, as a small man in a luchador mask stood in a generic hero pose at the top of the ramp.
"INTRODUCING AT NUMBER 5, FROM THE STREET FIGHTER CIRCUIT BY WAY OF THE CAPCOM WRESTLING FEDERATION EL FUERTE!" the announcer explained.
As the funk in his theme began to play, Fuerte charged down the ramp, leaping to the top rope.
"TOSTADA PRESS!" screeched the new entrant
Jumping onto both Quinn and Kin, Kin was the first one up. The masked man charged, head standing atop the Korean's head.
"FAJITA BUSTER!" he screeched.
Somehow rolling him in midair, the two-man contortion crashed to the mat, Kin looking the worst for wear. Quinn thought it best to roll to the apron again and watch the action Karn, meanwhile took refuge in one of the corners. El Fuerte laughed, pointing at the spent Korean.
"You will feel the spice of the mighty El Fuerte," he threatened.
Charging, he flew into the air, belly first
"Quesadilla Bomb!" hooted El Fuerte.
Body collided with body in a mighty smack. El Fuerte confidently moonwalked out of the corner, in contrast to Kin Corn Karn's tired stagger.
"And now, for the main course," Fuerte bellowed.
At first, Fuerte spun on Kin's arm. He hooked his legs around Kin's neck, the spinning motion El Fuerte was able to get going spinning them both into the air.
"EL FUERTE SPARK DOS!" the luchador screamed. Throwing him with his legs, Kin Corn Carn cleared the ropes, falling several feet to the floor.
"Kin Corn Karn has been eliminated," the announcer stated.
The two competitors circled each other.
"Senor Marmaduke," Fuerte bellowed, "I hope our moves blend together like a fine soup,"
Quinn cast a thumbs up, "Me too dude."
The two charged each other, locking up in the center of the ring, Fuerte quickly positioned Quinn into a side headlock, Quinn attempted to shove him off but the luchador stayed on,
"I'm glad you and Senor Karn eliminated the Big Powers," El Fuerte said absentmindedly, "The rumor around the locker room is that they've been feuding for over 30 years over the same woman, I don't think I could have listened to-"
Quinn shoved him off the headlock, but the Mii Brawler wasn't ready for Fuerte to bounce off the ropes. The two collided heads, flopping backward, unmoving. It was at that moment the clock began.
"10, 9, 8"
Maybe the next guy will have mercy on me and go after Fuerte, Quinn thought.
Despite Quinn's musings, the timer marched on, as did the crowd's chant.
"7, 6, 5,"
Man, I gotta give Master Hart some cred for his glasses. These things haven't cracked yet Quinn mused, still sprawled out on the map.
"4, 3, 2, 1,"
The buzzer sounded. Pounding drums and aggressive horns blared over the speaker as an enormous, hairy man, held his hand flat toward him.
"INTRODUCING, AT NUMBER 6 FROM ROYAL PRO WRESTLING, FRANK THE GORDISH,"
"Oh shit," Fuerte grumbled as he slowly got to his feet.
Despite half a ring ramp between him and Quinn, he could hear his foreboding call.
"Huss! Huss! Huss!" barked Frank.
Stepping cleanly over the ring ropes, he awaited a charging El Fuerte. Scooping the significantly lighter Fuerte up and slamming him down with no effort, Quinn was victim to a charging Brody jumping into the air and dropping a knee over his chest.
"HUSS! HUSS! HUSS!" screamed Gordish
Before Quinn could even cough, Fuerte had drop-kicked Frank in the back of the head, Quinn once again rolled to the apron, watching Frank slowly turn to confront the visibly shaking Fuerte. The luchador ducked the first two clotheslines of his beastly foe. Stopping to strike a hero's pose made him easy picking for a third clothesline. Gordish picked up Fuerte with ease, attempting to hoof the Mexican lucha star over the top rope and to the floor, but the spider monkey-like Fuerte held on. Meanwhile, as soon as Quinn stood, he drew the ire of Gordish.
"Shit," hissed Quinn.
Frank didn't even have time to jump to step forward before a flying dropkick caught him in the back of the head, knocking him down.
"You! Help me!" begged Fuerte.
As Quinn stumbled over to help Fuerte stand Gordish up, the clock started.
As they had before, the crowd counted along "10, 9, 8,"
Despite their combined strengths, Gordish refused to budge.
Heavy bastard, thought Quinn.
"7, 6, 5,"
Suddenly full of fire, Gordish shoved the two bothersome wrestlers so effortlessly that Quinn was caught off guard when he found himself on his rear end again. Quinn briefly mulled over the feeling that Fuerte was used to this sort of thing as he was already on the attack, stomping a kneeling Gordish. Sighing, Quinn joined in as the buzzer went off. Dynamic symphonic music straight out of a western began to play as the same thick-chested tobacco lover from earlier charged down to the ring, whipping a bullwhip
"INTRODUCING AT NUMBER 7, FROM ROYAL PRO WRESTLING THE TEXAS LONGHORN!"
The tobacco-addled cowboy slid into the ring, standing beside Gordish as Fuerte backed away. Quinn followed suit.
"Don't tell me they're friends,"
"Former Royal Pro Wrestling tag team champions, si," huffed Fuerte.
Quinn's shoulders slumped, "Great,"
Fuerte and Quinn charged, the former locking up with Gordish, while Quinn for himself interlocked with Longhorn. The two tag team partners pushed their bothersome foes to the corner, laying in clubbing fists on their chests, Longhorn going as far as to rip Quinn's gi to further expose him to more punches. Now, he found him off his feet, hanging in the air, clawing to the ropes. They hung there for the rest of the interval, completely missing the buzzer as an 8-bit-sounding tune played.
"INTRODUCING AT NUMBER 8 FROM THE VWA, STARMAN!"
Quinn blinked as he saw the pink body-suited man charge to the ring. He had caught peaked into Sans' room when Dante and Travis were over and had seen this man behind the commentary desk. Was this his big comeback?
Quinn didn't have time to think about it, as Starman intercepted Frank from eliminating El Fuerte, which drew the ire of Longhorn, a veritable four-way brawl taking place just beside him. Quinn slumped down, his every muscle on fire as he watched the unfolding ballet of fancy high-flying moves blocked by animalistic throws into the ropes and into the corners.
Well, Quinn thought, It couldn't possibly be worse.
The timer elapsed as Quinn faded out, the odd music playing waking him back up. Club music intertwined with men chanting began to play over the speakers, as a man a whole foot taller than Gordish sauntered down to the ring, adjusting his MMA gloves with a sinister look on his face.
"INTRODUCING, AT NUMBER 9, FROM THE TEKKEN CIRCUIT BY WAY OF WNW, CRAIG MARDUK!"
The man slowly stepped over the rope, laughing as he turned to Quinn, who scrambled to his knees on instinct.
"You're like h'what, eight feet tall?" slurred Quinn, "Well, if we could talk this out, we could…"
Quinn sprang to his feet, the Tekken's Vale Tudo beast's eyes widening.
"EXPLODING KICK!" Quinn cried.
Much as Zangief had done during their match, Marduk caught the kick, throwing Quinn into the deluge of bodies that was Fuerte, Longhorn, and Gordish. Unfortunately, a seething Longhorn found him amidst the pile, ripping off his sunglasses and launching a barrage of clubbing blows into his face. Quinn blinked the water out of his eyes just as Longhorn raised him up for some sort of strike. But Quinn grabbed his waist, floating behind for a German Suplex. But, a stray elbow connected with Quinn, leaving him open for a meaty forearm to the jaw.
"LARIATOOOOO!" the audience cried as Quinn flopped to the mat.
Marduk sauntered over, laughing as Longhorn and Gordish squared up to him. Fists flew, and two Lariats not dissimilar to Longhorn's earlier had no effect on the tag team the two combined their efforts for clotheslines which knocked down the beast. Stomping him for several seconds, to presumably make sure the job was finished, the two turned to Quinn,
"10, 9, 8, 7" the timer read.
As Quinn came back, he saw himself being lifted into the air. The only thing below him was the ring floor. As best as he could, he squirmed.
"3, 2, 1"
The buzzer went off. Something he recognized immediately as Moonlit Wilderness played, the jaguar masked man from earlier charging down.
"INTRODUCING AT NUMBER 10, FROM THE TEKKEN CIRCUIT, BY WAY OF WNW, HE IS KING!"
As soon as he jumped into the ring, Marduk somehow grabbed the waists of Gordish and Longhorn, German Suplexing both men. Quinn, once again having landed flat on his face, retreated to the apron. Longhorn was the first one up, charging for yet another mighty Lariat, but Marduk was able to boot him in the stomach, holding him up for a Suplex. King jumped into the air, power bombing him off of Marduk's shoulders and to the floor below.
"TEXAS LONGHORN HAS BEEN ELIMINATED!"
Frank was up next, charging the tag team, only for them to duck, the massive man spilling himself over the top rope and to the floor.
"FRANK THE GORDISH HAS BEEN ELIMINATED!"
King and Marduk leaned against the ropes, the latter bearing an evil grin on his face. A charging attack from El Fuerte only saw the luchador be powered over the top and to the floor for his efforts.
"EL FUERTE HAS BEEN ELIMINATED!"
"Yo King!" snorted Marduk, "You thinkin' what I'm thinkin'?"
An affirmative roar came from the jaguar man. Marduk immediately went into position, power bombing a defenseless Starman. Meanwhile, King hoisted Quinn onto his shoulders, marching through the ropes, onto the apron, and off the turnbuckle to jump onto Marduk's shoulders. As they stayed frozen in place for pictures, the timer buzzed.
"INTRODUCING, AT NUMBER 11 FROM THE CAPCOM WRESTLING FEDERATION, THE GREAT ONI!"
Traditional Japanese instruments gave way to rocking synth as a white-faced kabuki warrior stepped out, from behind the curtain, tossing aside his kimono as he charged down the ramp. Marduk tossed Quinn to the mat, leaping off of King's shoulder for an insane diving shoulder barge. Mist erupted from the mouth of The Great Oni, causing the man to fall to the mat screaming, his face covered in green sludge. King, staring down Oni and pointing a threatening finger at him, tossed Starboy over the top rope to the floor.
"STARMAN HAS BEEN ELIMINATED!" the announcer informed the cheering crowd.
Much as Quinn and Kin Korn Carn had at the beginning of this endurance bout, King and The Great Oni took combat stances, ducking around each other's kicks, each taking turns to lock up, and pushing their opponents against the ropes threateningly while Quinn lay prone, and a ring attendant got Marduk some water to free his eyes of the magical mist. The luchador and the kabuki-adjacent fighter exchanged punches as the timer counted down.
While the other theme songs had been triumphant, and heroic, this one was pure grunge, its droning guitar permeating the air. A filthy-looking denim-wearing man lurched from behind the curtain, a chain draped over his shoulders, a pushcart of weapons behind him.
"INTRODUCING AT NUMBER 12, FROM THE SWF, LEO BRADLAY!"
Before Quinn could even move, Leo's chain found its way around his neck. Like a coiling cobra, it constricted his airway, Leo pulling him out off of the relative safety of the apron. With an efficiency that would likely make either Belmont jealous, Leo unfurled the chain, wrapping it around his fist as Quinn struggled to his feet. Clocking him in the forehead, Quinn could only topple backward as Leo snarled over him. One of the referees stationed outside the ring got in Leo's face, issuing instructions to get into the ring, but he was clocked for his trouble as well. The next thing Quinn knew, Leo had mounted him, punching him with his chained hand as the referees pulled him off.
"He's busted wide open Tony Pepperoni bah gawd," remarked Jim Haus.
Sure enough, the blood oozed down Quinn's face, the metal chain making quick work of his forehead skin. All Quinn had was his hearing. The clatter of the weapons from Leo's pushcart hitting the mat one by one, the sound of the 2 on-1 kick fest that Great Oni appeared to be fending off from King and Marduk…
The background noise of the action was soon drowned out by a hoard of additional referees standing over Quinn, a duo of them flanking to check on their fallen comrade.
"You alright kid?" asked the ref, "I can getcha a stretcher if ya need it?"
Quinn rolled to his stomach, spitting the blood out of his mouth.
"Grover?"
The gnarled form of Grover Calhoun stood before him, a wry grin etched on his face.
"In the flesh kiddo," Grover nodded, "Now, do ya need a stretcher or not?"
"Can I just…wait it out?"
"A little heelish for my taste but eh, do whatever ya want."
Quinn smiled pivoting to watch the action. Bradley held a chair in each hand, windmilling at the weakened Great Oni. When the buzzer stopped, another Kabuki-styled wrestler joined the fight, his theme much more Americanized, the Japanese instruments serving as only a background to the rocking guitar and thrashing drums.
"INTRODUCING AT NUMBER 13 FROM THE SWF, THE RED DRAGON!"
Immediately, Dragon kicked Leo in the nards, stepped back, and charged, running up his chest to deliver a knee.
"SHINING WIZADOOOOOO!" the crowd screamed.
Each of the four remaining men, Dragon, Oni, King, and Marduk took some of Leo's bountiful plunder. Now armed, the two alliances squared up to one another, exchanging cracks over the skull and back with various objects, from steel folding chairs to planks of wood,
Glad I'm not in there, Quinn remarked to himself
The mutual bashing when Leo latched himself onto Oni's back, wrapping his signature chain around his throat. The Red Dragon immediately unleashed his own mist, the gnarled Canadian thrashing through the second rope and to the floor immediately. The two factions inside the ring exchanged punches, kicks, and suplexes as the timer buzzed again.
A thrashing metal song played over the speakers, the crowd cheering as loudly as they had for any entrance so far. Quinn's eyes widened. He'd heard Terry talk about Tarkun and Kitapy, as well as the man associated with it.
"Oh no," moaned Quinn.
A large fat man in a blue singlet and matching mask slowly paced out to the ring, observing the damage as the Tekken contingent and the Kabukis traded moves.
"INTRODUCING, AT NUMBER 14, FROM THE KING OF FIGHTERS CIRCUIT, BY WAY OF SWF, RAIDEN!"
Hands-on his hips, Raiden circled the outside of the ring, throwing in Leo, then making his way to Quinn.
"Well, this was fun while it lasted," Quinn thought aloud as Raiden aggressively picked him up by the shoulders.
Wordlessly throwing Quinn into the ring, as soon as he scrambled to his feet, the blinded Bradlay shoved him into Raiden, making him an easy target for a clothesline, Raiden once again gripped Quinn by the shoulders, this time depositing him in the corner, wailing on Quinn with windmill punches.
"YOU'RE GOIN' DOWN!" snarled the man, "But not until I've had my fun!"
Quinn would've had a sarcastic quip or thought had Raiden not spent the time bouncing his brain around in his skull with punches until the next entrant.
Sinister synth played as a masked man in a shirt that showed his midriff marched out.
"INTRODUCING AT NUMBER 15 FROM THE SWF, GOCHECK BIG BOMB,"
As the big man entered the ring, Quinn briefly considered that with their similar blue masks, Gochack and Raiden might be tag team partners once upon a time, Gochack smiled at Raiden, sauntering over to him. Quinn somehow felt his strength return to him.
"EXPLODING KICK!"
Catching Raiden on the jaw, the big man slumped to a seated position, hooking his arms on the bottom rope. Meanwhile, Bradlay came swinging for Gocheck, a chain across the cheek was followed by a steel chair shot to the stomach, then to the back. By then, Raiden was free, having dragged Gocheck to the corner across the ring. It was then that Quinn got a lay of the land. The Red Dragon and the Great Oni occupied one corner, King and Marduk another. Similarly, Raiden and Gocheck sneered across the ring at Quinn and Leo.
"What's this all aboot," growled Leo, "Looks like a real 4-way tag."
"Quinn nodded, standing alongside the Canadian, "Yeah, yeah…"
He grabbed Leo by the shoulders, throwing him over the top rope, and grabbing his chain away in the process!
"LEO BRADLAY HAS BEEN ELIMINATED!" the announcer screamed.
"That's for earlier jackass," Quinn called.
Quinn wrapped the chain around his fist as he sauntered to the center of the ring.
"Anybody wants some?" muttered a loopy Quinn.
Marduk laughed, "I like the fire, but…"
Quinn caught Dragon and Oni on either side, ducking just as they sprayed their respective mists, each blinding the other. Staggering to the ropes blindly left the open for Quinn to clothesline them over the top rope and to the floor.
"THE GREAT ONI AND THE RED DRAGON HAVE BEEN ELIMINATED,"
Immediately, he felt someone snatch his waist from behind. On reflex, Quinn spun, snatching a waist lock himself and German Suplexing the perpetrator, King, over the top!
"KING HAS BEEN ELIMINATED!"
Quinn stepped forward, only to be picked up and slammed into a mount by a furious Marduk. Quinn attempted to assume a guard, but Marduk's meaty punches meant that he went limp just as the buzzer sounded.
"TURN THE BEAT BACK!"
Those infamous words followed by a hip-hop beat caused the crowd to cheer their loudest. Mike Haggar stepped through the curtain, charging down to the ring with his signature pipe in hand.
"INTRODUCING AT NUMBER 16…"
The announcer didn't even have time to finish his introduction before Mike slid into the ring. Marduk, meanwhile, broke his mount, standing up. Haggar swung his pipe, wrapping it around Marduk's head as it connected. The crowd let out a simultaneous 'ooh,' as Marduk stood smiling at Haggar, despite the fact that blood began to trickle from his forehead.
"That all you got old man?" Marduk sneered, "My partner King took you out before the Pandora incident, why do you think I'll have the…"
"LAUNCHER!" screamed Haggar.
Lurching forward, he through Marduk into the air, landing on the opposite end of Quinn.
"Huh, maybe you aren't as old and decrepit as I thought. But I've learned some new moves since we last talked."
Haggar raised a quizzical eyebrow, "Oh yeah? Let's see it big man!"
The two snapped into a lockup, vying for leverage. As Quinn faded back into consciousness, he figured Marduk was always going to win that argument, watching him pick up the equally huge Haggar like a small child, slam him down to the mat big his lag, and grab him as he bounced, falling backward.
"How do you like that, ya old…"
Marduk didn't even have time to finish his barb as Gocheck and Raiden jumped Marduk, windmilling him with punches that sounded like stone-crushing stones. At that moment, the buzzer sounded. Bells tolled as an enormous man, possibly the biggest yet, emerged from the curtain. As he observed the man's mohawk and facepaint, Quinn briefly considered that he was another ally of Gocheck and Raiden, but the utter disdain he looked at him with as he discarded his spiked shoulder pads told another story.
"INTRODUCING AT NUMBER 17, FROM THE SWF, MASTER BARNES!"
Gocheck and Raiden didn't pick up on the disdain, happily running to stand by the large man's side, Marduk steeling himself for the impending beatdown as the three lurched over him. But, Barnes grabbed both men by the mask, hoofing them to the floor from over the top!
"GOCHECK BIGBOMB AND RAIDEN HAVE BEEN ELIMINATED!"
With a manic smile on his face, Barnes turned into a charge from Marduk. He attempted to slam him into a mount, but Barnes stood still, his psychotic smile unwavering. Picking him up by the throat, he deposited the 7-foot-tall monster over the top rope like he weighed nothing at all.
"MARDUK HAS BEEN ELIMINATED!"
Barnes' bloodshot gaze snapped to Quinn, who was just rising to his feet, completely failing to notice that Haggar had gotten up and ascended the top rope opposite them.
"GIANT HAGGAR PRESS!" screamed the Mayor of Metro City
The sudden cry jolted Barnes, the giant turning to Haggar. Haggar had already leaped into the air by the time Barnes realized what was going on, slamming down onto the big man.
"Hey kid," huffed Haggar, "Why don't we do one of those suplexes you do in Smash together?"
Quinn nodded, "Right?"
They each took one side of the prone Master Barnes, jumping into the air.
"SUPLEX!" Quinn cried.
"SKY HIGH BACKDROP!" Haggar cried back.
Twisting in midair and launching downward, having each side of his body restrained that Master Barnes could do nothing but take a face full of ring mat. Meanwhile, Haggar dusted his hands as the crowd cheered.
"Hope you're superiors were watching that one," Haggar winked, "I'd like to get into the next Smash."
Quinn laughed, "I can put in a good word for ya,"
\The two hoisted Master Barnes to his feet, powering him over their shoulders, and marching him to the ring ropes, but Barnes hung on.
"Damn, what's it gonna take to put you away?" groaned Haggar as they attempted to hoist Master Barnes over.
Barnes' massive elbow clocked Quinn as yet another countdown began. As he fell backward, Barnes hoisted up Haggar for a suplex. The buzzer then went off. A triumphant synth played over the speakers.
"INTRODUCING, AT NUMBER 18 FROM THE CWA, BIFF SLAMKOVICH!"
Quinn was shoved aside by a mullet man in orange trunks and a red bandana. The man, who Quinn presumed was Biff, pulled Haggar's legs back to the floor, stomping Biff as he clung for dear life to the top rope. Quinn joined in, his foot immediately getting caught by Biff, and somehow shoved away despite Barnes' leverage disadvantage.
"What the?" barked Haggar.
The momentary lapse caused by shock was enough for Master Barnes to hit knife-edge chops to each of their chests. Stepping into the ring, Barnes executed clotheslines to the two stunned men. Quinn jumped into the air, twisting in mid-air as he landed on Barnes' shoulders. Quinn couldn't react in time, and Barnes drove Quinn's neck into the mat.
As the crowd collectively groaned in pain, Haggar and Biff immediately surrounded Quinn, falling to their knees.
"Are you able to fight comrade?"
"Yeah," Quinn grunted, "I've dealt with much worse."
Haggar shook his head, "Hell no kid, you need to get checked out by the.."
Haggar was grabbed by his waist and deadlifted into the German Suplex position and thrown over the top rope.
The boos of the crowd nearly muted the announcer's decree, "MIKE HAGGAR HAS BEEN ELIMINATED!"
"ALL FALL TO MY GANZO BOMB!" roared Barnes, flexing his biceps.
"You dishonorable capitalist," growled Biff, standing up.
Master Barnes and Biff exchanged a barrage of punches as the crowd counted down.
A saxophone-filled jazz song played as a blond in a bandana marched through the curtain, ripping his shirt.
"INTRODUCING, AT NUMBER 19, FROM THE STREET FIGHTER CIRCUIT, BY WAY OF THE CWA, ALEX!"
Alex slid into the ring, clotheslining Biff from behind, sending him crashing into Master Barnes. Alex backed up, bouncing off the rope, a second charging clothesline sent them both careening over the top rope.
"BIFF SLAMCOVICH AND MASTER BARNES HAVE BEEN ELIMINATED.!"
Quinn attempted to roll to the apron again, but Alex grabbed him by the leg, "You good to go kid?"
"More than you," spat an angry Quinn.
Alex shrugged, "Your funeral Smasher,"
Alex hoisted Quinn onto his shoulders. Something about seeing the mats on the floor brought life back to Quinn's muscles. He clawed onto the ring ropes as Alex attempted to shove him forward. It felt like an eternity but the timer finally buzzed. Thrashing, foreboding rock gave way to a European techno beat. Alex abandoned his quest to throw Quinn over the top rope, Quinn clutching the bottom rope to see who was coming. The pink hair that barely cleared the frame of the curtain's frame gave away who it was right away. The woman smiled, her hulk huffing as he carried her down the ramp.
"INTRODUCING NUMBER 20, ACCOMPANIED BY POISON, FROM THE STREET FIGHTER CIRCUIT BY WAY OF THE CWA, HUGO!"
Like many other giants before him, he stepped clean over the top rope, Alex stomping up to stare him down, despite the giant being a whole head taller. A meaty clothesline was ducked easily by Alex, the following chest bump not even stunning the blond. But, as quick as a cat, Hugo grabbed Alex, flying up into the air, flipping and falling to the earth.
"DIS IS DE MOONSAULT PRESS!" roared Hugo, his thick German voice so loud the air ruffled Quinn's hair.
To the Mii's amazement, Alex simply rolled to his feet, despite having the weight equivalent of a kodiak bear crush him mere seconds earlier. Smiling like a child with a new toy, Hugo rebounded off the ropes, hoping, by Quinn's estimation, to attack him with his ample posterior. Alex didn't budge when the flesh connected, picking him, spinning him around, and jumping into the air for the signature Wild Bomb.
Quinn could only balk in amazement once again as Hugo rolled to his feet, flexing his biceps.
"COME ON LITTLE MAN!" Hugo bellowed
Alex charged, but Hugo's reach was longer, a massive claw reaching out and palming his head like a basketball, squeezing. Quinn figured this was a hold Alex had experienced a gazillion times before, as an immediate knee to the stomach saw Alex's freedom, slipping behind him for a double German Suplex, once again spinning him into Powerbomb position, and flying through the air.
"HYPAH BOMB!" declared Alex.
As the timer counted down, Hugo rose to his feet much more slowly, When the buzzer went off, a choir began to sing.
O Canada, our home and native land
As the national anthem played, the man with the squirrel companion emerged through the curtain, waddling his way down the ramp.
"INTRODUCING NUMBER 21, FROM THE WVBA, BY WAY THE VWA BEAR HUGGER!"
Stepping over the ropes, Bear Hugger found himself immediately clotheslined back from whence he came by Hugo and Alex."
"BEAR HUGGER HAS BEEN ELIMINATED!"
Swigging a gallon drum of maple syrup, Bear Hugger paid Alex and Hugo no mind, who turned back to exchanging strikes as if nothing had ever happened. Quinn marveled as the two refused to budge at each strike, completely missing the timer counting down, being brought back to reality by the buzzer sounding. Drums of war gave way to thrashing fast metal as the man with the darker jaguar mask charged through the curtain.
"INTRODUCING, AT NUMBER 22, FROM THE TEKKEN CIRCUIT, BY WAY OF WNW, ARMOR KING!"
Armor King immediately jumped to the top rope shoulder barging into both Alex and Hugo, knocking them down Quinn rolled from the apron to the mat, standing up and charging only for Armor King to grab him by the throat, headbutting him multiple times. Armor King hoisted him up so he lay across his shoulders.
"Argentine backbreaker," Tony Pepperoni called, "He's clearly going for an Argentine Backbreaker."
Instead, King tilted to the left, spiking Quinn down on his head.
"AHHHHHHHH!" Tony screamed.
Armor King turned right into a double Clothesline from Hugo and Alex, the two enemies now turned partners laying into the masked man with punches, Quinn scooted back to the ropes, raising himself up. Gritting his teeth, Quinn bounced off of the ropes, dropkicking the two Capcom Wrestling Federation alum. The surprised muscle men stumbled into the ropes, Armor King and Quinn hoisting them up.
"NO YOU DON'T!" snarled Poison
Hopping up on the apron, she flayed her whip at Quinn, causing Quinn to instinctively grab his face and collapse to the mat. Armor King was whipped as well, but he simply relinquished his hold on Alex. Unfortunately, the man in the jaguar mask took his ire out on Quinn, performing the Russian Leg Sweep as he stood.
"MOONSAULT PRESS!" Hugo screamed.
Grabbing Armor King by the mask, he launched into the air, much as he had with Alex earlier.
"HELL NO!" shouted Alex.
Alex took to the air, grabbing Hugo by the head, spinning him around, and spiking his head into the mat.
"A MOONSAULT PRESS DONE MID-TORNADO DDT! HAVE YOU EVER SEEN THAT TONY PEPPERONI?" shouted Jim Haus.
"I must admit, in my 20 years in this great sport, I have not," huffed an exasperated Tony.
Quinn stood, examining the carnage among him. Three wrestlers lay prone, Poison's screaming drowned out by the cheering crowd. Relishing at the moment, Quinn cupped his hand to his ear, going to each side of the ring to register a cheer from each side of the arena.
"You showboat, I'll show you," screamed Poison.
Jumping into the ring, she ran at him, arm poised to unfurl her whip at him. On instinct, Quinn scooped up Poison slamming her down for a classic body slam. Poison cried out, crawling to the ropes to raise herself to a standing position. Quinn charged, clotheslining Hugo's buxom manager out of the ring, to the cheers of the crowd. At that moment, the timer began to count down, Quinn beckoning whoever was coming next.
"BIO ARMOR KAISER!" appeared on the screen, a triumphant 80s anime theme as a man in a mask and bodysuit flexed for the crowd, discarding his glittery blue cape and charging down to the ring.
"INTRODUCING, AT NUMBER 23, FROM ROYAL PRO WRESTLING, KAISER YAMADA!"
Kaiser slid into the ring, staring the shocked Quinn down. Somehow, despite not being able to see his eyes, Quinn could tell Kaiser was beaming with excitement.
"YOU!" he pointed, "SHOOTING STAR PRESS!"
"Oh, that move I did on Sans?"
Yamada nodded, "YES!"
With that, he gestured to the three prone wrestlers, already pulling Hugo from the pile, and dragging him to a corner.
"You, with me?" asked Kaiser.
Quinn nodded, ascending the turnbuckle nearest Alex and Armor King. He glanced at Kaiser, who counted him down from the adjacent corner. On the count of one, both men took to the air, flipping in mid-air, and crashing down on their opponents. All three of the beleaguered wrestlers crawled to the ropes.
"See ya!" Quinn called.
Clotheslining Armor King and Alex over the top rope, and Kaiser doing the same to Hugo on the other side, the two cast each other knowing thumbs up.
"HUGO, ALEX, and ARMOR KING HAVE BEEN ELIMINATED!"
As the competitors still in the ring circled, eventually locking up, a low growl escalated in volume. It was only when its perpetrators exclaimed that Quinn and Yamada were in for it.
"YOU HURT POISON!" decreed Hugo, cradling his fallen manager.
Vaulting over the top rope, Neither Quinn nor Kaiser had the time to avoid the two clotheslines Hugo dished out to them simultaneously. Yamada, the fresher of the two by far, made the mistake of fumbling to his feet.
"MOONSAULT," roared Hugo, "PRESSSSSSSSSSS!"
And so, Hugo's finishing move was executed, flattening the smaller masked man. Hugo grabbed Yamada by the neck, throwing him from over his shoulders to the floor below.
"KAISER YAMADA HAS BEEN ELIMINATED!"
Hugo skulked over to the prone body of Quinn, nailing him with a Moonsault Press. Poison then slid into the ring, spreading his legs and planting several high-heeled stomps to his groin. Miming snapping a stick was all Hugo needed to know to pick him up and launch him over the top. However, unlike Yamada, Quinn was launched into Alex's waiting arms on the other side of the ring.
"Heh," Alex smirked, watching Hugo and Poison be tackled by no less than thirty policemen, "We can't let those two scum have anything can we Mister Marmaduke?"
"I wanna die," moaned Quinn.
"Considering you got up from a Burning Hammer, that move that idiot Pepperoni was calling an Argentine backbreaker, earlier, I think you've got this. Plus, I wanna put one over on Ken."
Quinn let out three single sobs before Alex pressed him into the ring, waving goodbye as Poison and Hugo were taken away in cuffs.
"AS QUINN MARMADUKE'S FEET NEVER TOUCHED THE FLOOR, HE IS NOT ELIMINATED," boomed the announcer.
As the crowd cheered, Quinn could only lay in the ring, looking up at the arena lights.
Stupid wrestling rules, Quinn cursed, Everything hurts.
The timer buzzed, and a metal version of Also Sprach Zarathustra played over the speakers.
"INTRODUCING, AT NUMBER 24, FROM ROYAL PRO WRESTLING, RICH FLAIR!"
It didn't take long for Quinn to see the curmudgeonly old timer with the robe peering down at him.
"WOOOO!" he yelled to the crowd, the crowd yelling back just as enthusiastically
As Rich grabbed at Quinn's limp leg, Jim Haus roared, "BAH GAWD, RICH FLAIR ALREADY GOING FOR THE FIGURE FOUR, LEG LOCK!"
In no time, Rich had intertwined Quinn's legs, wrapping his own legs into the knot, and falling to a sitting position. Everything on his legs, ankles, knees, and hamstrings, burned in a white-hot symphony of pain. For the first time, Quinn cried in pain, thrashing as animatedly as he could. For the next one minute and fifty seconds, Rich held the hold in, grinning evilly the entire time.
"You did good brother, but your time's up," shrieked the man in a Southern accent.
Untying them both from the hold, Rich used the ten-second warning to attempt to stand Quinn up, but the Mii fired back at his exposed stomach, his hand still wrapped in Leo Bradlay's chain.
The buzzer sounded just as Rich cried out in pain, lurching over to the rope, still hunched over.
The cry of a bird sounded over the speakers, heavy metal co-mingling with a Latin flavor as a man in a bird mask charged down.
"INTRODUCING, AT NUMBER 25, FROM THE SWF, TIZOC!"
The bird man jumped to the ropes, jumping from those to Rich's shoulders, standing perfectly upright and executing a hurricanrana maneuver. The crowd gasped, but Rich paid it no mind, immediately firing knife-edge chops back. The barrage of chops from Rich and overhand punches from Tizoc warred on until the buzzer went off again.
"INTRODUCING AT NUMBER TWENTY-"
The announcer went silent as three men walked through the curtain. Quinn rolled to his belly, recognizing the one with the blond man in the lead, but he'd only caught two hunched-over, wormy-looking masked henchmen.
As Quinn scrambled to his feet, he noticed that Flair and Tizoc had stopped fighting, taking defensive stances as the blond and his men surrounded the ring.
"We walk alone, in the unknown," muttered Rich.
"What?" barked Tizoc.
"A friend of mine got beat down just like this once upon a time. We can't let them separate us. That means you too kid."
Quinn nodded, bouncing on his toes from the adrenaline of the earlier leg lock, "Alright."
Quinn's eyes darted from left to right, watching the two masked interlopers circle. The feminine-looking one jumped up first. Quinn charged, throwing a punch that landed on nothing but air as she jumped off the apron.
"God damn it," cursed Rich. "She coulda pulled you over. Watch ou-"
Ortega and the one in the silver mask entered the ring, jumping Rich and Tizoc from behind. Rich was thrown over the ropes easily by the two men.
"R-RICH FLAIR HAS BEEN ELIMINATED!"
Tizoc fared a bit better, hitting the leader with a few punches, but the two in the ring launched him over the top rope. Tizoc flipped over but held on, but prying his hands away from the ropes was an easy feat for the two evildoers.
"OH GOD, TIZOC HAS BEEN ELIMINATED!"
The feminine one jumped up on the apron again, but Quinn grabbed her by the throat with both hands, throwing her into the ring. She scrambled to the side of her two cohorts.
"Great job Scorpion!" hooted the ringleader,
The man in the silver mask nodded. "Thank you, Victor….erm…Mister Ortega."
Victor's expression changed from a triumphant grin to a frown, "Black Widow, you served your purpose well. But you mean to tell me you couldn't eliminate this twerp?"
"I apologize Mister Ortega, but I will make it up to you."
She charged Scorpion following. A boot to the stomach from Widow sent Quinn to the corner and left him the victim of a duet of stomps. The two hoisted Quinn, nearly pushing him over the top rope.
"Not losing to you goobers, never," slurred Quinn.
He wriggled, and despite the pain he escaped the push out of the ring, only to stagger into a German Suplex from Victor Ortega.
"Throw him out over here," ordered Ortega, "He can't have much left!"
The three attempted to throw Quinn out of the ring. But Quinn knew what to do, wrapping his arms and legs around the ropes. The shoving turned to stomps. Even though the mounting pain he held on.
The crowd began to chant for the timer, but Quinn couldn't see the relief in it as the kicks continued.
Triumphant horns followed the buzzer.
"INTRODUCING, NUMBER 29, FROM THE WWWWW, NOTORIOUS!"
A metal club conked against all three of the villains, and the stomps ceased. Quinn jumped to the top rope, throwing his body into all three men. Quinn looked up to see a faceless man whose mask bore the shape of a lightning bolt.
"You okay kid?" he asked, spinning a Persian Club as the BWA lay prone.
Quinn coughed, "Been better."
Notorious laughed, "I can imagine."
The two dropkicked the BWA as they clamored for the ropes. Scorpion landed on the floor immediately, but Black Widow and Ortega held on.
"THE SCORPION HAS BEEN ELIMINATED!"
Ortega scooped Notorious into a suplex, hoisting him high into the air. Meanwhile, Black Widow hooked her legs around Quinn's throat, pulling her closer and closer to the edge. Tensing every muscle in his back, Quinn stood up, Black Widow still attached to his throat. Throwing Widow off of him and onto Ortega, the muscle man, and his female luchador cohort fell to the floor.
"VICTOR ORTEGA AND BLACK WIDOW HAVE BEEN ELIMINATED!"
At that moment, the timer began to climb down for the final entrant, Notorious rolling underneath the bottom rope to join him. The buzzer went off, and the music was immediately familiar to Quinn's ears.
"NMH," Quinn concluded, "It's fucking Travis."
As Quinn watched Travis run down to the ring, everything clicked into place. He'd heard Travis use Sylvia's Garden of Madness line. In fact, he'd recognized the name Sylvia too, from when he'd spied on one of Travis, Sans, and Dante's many anime nights. That was Travis' ex.
The time that Quinn had been idle had allowed Notorious to hoist Quinn onto his shoulder. Travis jumped from the ropes, shoulder barging into Quinn so hard that Notorious stumbled, sending them both over the top rope.
"YOUR WINNER, AND NUMBER ONE CONTENDER TO JESSE VENTURA'S TITLE AT NEXT WEEK'S SHOW, TRAVIS TOUCHDOWN!"
"ICHIBAN!" Travis screamed to his adoring fans.
Meanwhile, outside the ring, Notorious helped Quinn to his feet.
"Aren't you mad," asked the Mii as they walked up the ramp, "You helped him and you haven't got anything to show for it."
"Nah," said Notorious, "Look."
Quinn turned to see Travis with toddlers on each shoulder, basking in the glow of the crowd's adjuration.
"Travis and Sylvia's divorce is pretty nasty, so Travis wanted to do something cool for the kids."
Quinn nodded at Notorious, "Yeah. Yeah, that's cool."
And with that, they went in opposite directions, Quinn to the locker room, while Notorious jogged away.
30 minutes later
All Quinn wanted to do was sleep as he sprawled across the park bench. The rest of the wrestlers had showered and left as if this was no big deal, but Quinn couldn't move. Everything hurt.
Quinn was jarred from his self-pity by thunderous applause as Rainbow Mika and Zangief entered the room.
"You've done well my pupil," Zangief cheered.
"But I didn't win," Quinn moaned, pain surging through his back.
"This was all a training exercise, remember?" Mika said.
Quinn frowned. He was sure, given the context of this situation that she'd meant to be reassuring, but she'd come off as snide.
Zangief sensed Quinn's unease, sitting on the bench he laid across.
"Let me explain," began Zangief, "The art of professional wrestling is not about moves, and it is certainly not about gimmicks," Zangief said, spitting on that last part.
"Then what is it about?" Quinn asked.
"Battlefield awareness," Zangief answered, "You countered moves to score eliminations, you took advantage of those that did not pay attention, and you soldiered through the pain."
"Including Armor King's Burning Hammer, the most deadly move in wrestling," Mika added.
"Bah!" Zangief hollered, "Debatable. Burning Hammer is at least a runner-up to Final Atomic Buster!"
Zangief's muscles loosened as soon as he saw Quinn roll his eyes.
"But this is not the point," Zangief concluded, "The point is that these are the things you will need to fight Comrade Masters,"
"How'd he take to all this?"
"Comrade Masters is hard to read, as I'm sure you know Comrade Marmaduke."
"What he means is," Mika added, "His same old cocky self."
"You have earned the respect of your Smash Brothers peers, as well as their affiliates. Such a triumph requires a taste of Zangief's special borscht, da?"
Quinn briefly shot a glance at Mika. The excitement on her face caused Quinn to look at Zangief and nod.
"Wonderful!" cheered Zangief, "Let us head to Zangief's apartment for late-night borscht,"
The words 'Zangief's apartment' had caused his watch to open a portal, and the three stepped through.
30 minutes later
R. Mika glanced at a beaming Zangief as she watched Quinn devour a fifth bowl of borscht.
"I don't think I've ever seen anyone eat so much of your borscht," she said worriedly.
As if on cue, Quinn loudly, unapologetically burped, the warmth of a homemade soup soothing his aching muscles.
"Perhaps Comrade Marmaduke is a son of the motherland after all!" Zangief pondered.
Quinn stopped slurping the broth, casting a confused look at Zangief.
"They say that only those of Russian blood can enjoy borscht, but is old wives tail created by bitter mothers when Russian men marry non-Russian women."
"I can only imagine what weird shit they'll make up about me and Rosalina," Quinn muttered.
"Speaking of which my boy," Zangief said, "It's time for you to return home. You have, as Comrade McCartney once said, had a hard days night da?"
"Oh, it is Beatles night at the usual karaoke spot? Hell yeah!"
"You two do karaoke?"
Mika laughed, "Not just us two. It's a Street Fighter tradition! You should come out with us sometime, if for no other reason than to hear Zangief's rendition of "I Will Remember You" by Sarah McLachlan. There wasn't a dry eye in the house last time."
Zangief's massive frame seems to wilt in embarrassment, "Enough about me. To your opulent mansion with you comrade."
Quinn nodded, keying in the coordinates of the Mansion, waving goodbye to his trainers, and limping through. As soon as the portal closed, he heard a voice echo across the empty foyer.
"And where have you been?"
Quinn wheeled around to see Rosalina sitting in one of the lounge chairs, a children's book in her hand, bearing an uncharacteristic deep frown. As soon as she caught Quinn's shocked expression, she began to smile. Lumas lit up behind the chair, giggling as they zoomed around Quinn as if they'd participated in some great prank.
Rosalina followed, wrapping the still-reeling Quinn in a hug.
"You did great," she said, "However, you're never allowed to do that again."
Quinn laughed, "I don't plan to,"
"So you do have some sense," Rosalina laughed back.
"What do you mean?" Quinn asked, "You saw those moves they hit me with."
"Oh, I did. It was all so violent that I could hardly watch."
Quinn looked away sheepishly, "I mean…sorry?"
"It isn't your fault dear. Just…don't ever do it again."
"Again, I agree."
Still wrapped in a hug, Rosalina freed up a hand to wave her wand. A glass of water and a Megavitamin. Quinn popped the pill and gulped down the water without a thought.
"You'd better enjoy that," jokingly snapped Rosalina, "I had to practically beg Doctor Mario to let me keep a Megavitamin on me."
Quinn had a sudden realization as his fractured and dislocated bones magically reset themselves.
"Now that I think about it I've never seen a Megavitamin outside of the Doc's infirmary."
"He's the only one who can prescribe them. He thinks they'd be abused if he let anyone else have them."
Quinn smiled on reflex, unsure of what to think.
"But that's enough of that Mister Wrestler. For now, it's bedtime for everyone."
Quinn sighed. Being close to Rosalina somehow irradiated the warmth of a sunny spring day. He smiled more thinking about what snuggling her overnight would feel as they ascended the grand staircase
(AN: This is my tribute to non-simulation wrestling games, which were an extremely formative part of my gaming experience as a originally was meant to be a part of Round 2: Day 2 but spiraled into being longer than the chapter itself, hence the new chapter. If you're still reading, that means you read nearly 10 thousand words of this garbage fire of a chapter, and for that, I thank you. The next chapter is back to your regularly scheduled programming)