Open Fed Battle Royal

[Chris Casino]

Post RP's in this thread.

[KRENSHOV]

There are so many questions that have gone unanswered. Some of those questions may remain unanswered, but inevitably, some of the truth will be uprooted from the dark ground where it is buried. Many in the southeastern part of the United States of America have no idea of how tainted the “Colossal” Kenny Krenshov’s past really is, but there are those in Canada that still remember. There are those in Canada who are still talking about it… hell; there are those in Canada who are still feeling it.

Kenny Krenshov slides on shiny black work-out pants, and stands up on his toes with his arms in the air, stretching everything from his enormous deltoids, to his tight quads. A new tattoo, one he must have acquired after his departure from NAPW, of a red and black dragon with piercing devilish eyes runs from the small of Kenny’s back, all the way up his back, and ending at the head between his shoulder blades. The Colossal one sits down in the poorly lit surroundings of a makeshift gym in a basement, and begins to put on his shoes.

Ever since the Unified event, Kenny Krenshov had not received a single phone call from Eli Potts. Is that a surprise to you? Kenny blasted Potts with one of the most brutal moves in the wrestling industry, the Total Eclipse. Normally the NAPW community would have been on his balls in less than a second to figure out why Krenshov turned on his last, and probably best friend in the world. However, immediately after driving Eli Potts into the mat like a worthless animal, Kenny Krenshov didn’t just punch, he blasted an NAPW fan in the face. That was what led to his contract severance with NAPW, and what made everyone forget the act of brutality on one, Eli Potts.

Once the laces are tight, Kenny reaches behind the steel fold-up chair and grabs tape. Slowly he begins wrapping his wrists with the white tape, then around his palm and back down his wrist. Perfect. Now the other side…

Why would he hurt his friend and manager? Why would he punch out a fan? Why did he end his partnership with Chris Casino? No one knows. Don’t even bother asking him, he’d never tell you. Some would speculate that there were backstage workings that led to his snap. Others would say that Krenshov was nothing more than a domesticated beast that finally figured out he was being mistreated, and just like a beast, he turned and bit the hands of those who fed him. If the second theory was true, then the question that remains, can the beast fend for itself now that it’s on its own? On May 8th, that question will be answered, when Kenny Krenshov steps in the ring with several other men to fight it out in a battle royale, an environment that Krenshov has tasted on several occasions.

Kenny clenches his fists, feeling his muscles push against the tight wrapping of the tape as he bends his neck from side to side. The near 400 pound man closes his eyes while rotating his neck, loosening his muscles, and preparing for…

The only thing different, Kenny isn’t stepping into a NAPW ring, this time it will be in Rebel territory. The winner of this match will go on to fight the Rebel champion at the NAPW/Rebel “Supershow”. This is a one shot deal for Kenny, but if he goes on to win the Royale and the Championship, a contract is a done deal. Some of the faces in that ring will be ones Kenny is already familiar with, but when it comes down to it, they are all just objects keeping Krenshov away from attaining his goal.

The animal stands from his chair, swinging his arms and loosening his rotator cuffs. He bends over, wraps his arm around an unforgiving steel bar, attached to it are a horrific amount of weights. It’s hard to tell how much weight is on the bar, but it’s more then most men will ever see in an entire gym. Krenshov squats down, his grip even with his shoulders, he breaths deep. With a strong pull the beast rips the bar from the floor, and stands in the upright position with his hands tilted upward, and the bar across his collar bone. From the back, the red and black dragon looks ready to strike between the muscled wings of Kenny’s upper back, and the rippling contours of his quenched lower back. A thrust and a grunt later, the bar finds itself arms length above Kenny’s head. The muscles in his chest are astounding, his abdominals are profound, and his arms are tremendously huge. The red dragon screams without making a sound, as its stretched body looks more sinister than ever.

For as disliked as Kenny is, the monster has always had someone in his corner. Be it Eli Potts, Chris Casino, Joseph Winchell, Jay O’Brien, or Kurt Castle… Kenny has never been alone. How will he fair in competition with no direction or guidance? Some would think worse. Others would believe it could go either which way. Some would even say he’ll be better than before. Without a leash and a muzzle, the dog can bite anyone he chooses.

Kenny drops back to the squat position, and the bar on the floor, creating a loud CLANK. His face is red, and a few veins shine through, but he’s just getting started. Again Krenshov stands in the upright position, then hoists the weights in the air high above his head.

It’s curious that the entire time Kenny was in NAPW, that he never received a single title shot. Even with his impressive mean streak no one presented him with a title opportunity, or if they did it was far stretched. One has to wonder who is to blame in that situation. Joseph Winchell had Krenshov in his back pocket for months, he could have booked a title match for Kenny on any given Tuesday, yet he never did. Eli Potts, Kenny’s former motor-mouthed manager, for all the talking he did, where did that get Kenny? The Untouchables, what the hell did they ever do for their enforcer? Aside from being the ones getting pinned in tag title matches, they never did a damn thing. Hell, Casino made it almost openly obvious that he was the ace, and no one had better outshine him. In Sole Survivor, Chris even attempted to eliminate the beast from the competition. What a fool. After that it was all Chris, all the time, even more so than before (if that’s even possible.) Without all the strings, the puppet finally free from all of his strings, perhaps it’s time for the rolls to be reversed. No one is pointing the finger telling Krenshov who to attack. Ignorant people would assume that would make the world of wrestling a much safer place, but those of sound mind understand that this is only going to make things worse. With no direction, that means anyone at any time could get it for any reason. Those in Rebel would be wise to attempt to get rid of Krenshov before he gets the chance to become a fixed figure that is synonymous with pain.

Three more squat thrusts and Kenny throws the bar to the ground, shaking the cement floor. Red and sweaty, the beast turns and blasts a hanging full body punching bag full force. The bag swings back three feet, stunning to say the least.

For those that knew Kenny in NAPW, remember every thing about him. Remember the punishment he delivered, remember the rage that ensued whenever he entered a room. Take all of the former knowledge you have of the colossus, and expect more. Expect harder hits, expect more chaos, expect that if Kenny is even mentioned that pain will be soon to follow. If you expect all of that, you may survive.

Oh, and for those of you who don’t know him… heh, well good luck.

[chriscorstenoca]

We are all mortals…
One day, we will die…
But what matters most is the legacy that we leave behind…
Did we become all that we are able to become?
Did we reach above…
In order to lift ourselves above horizons?
Did we chase dreams…
When all around us thought we were chasing illusions?
Only those bold enough to chase dreams…
Are the ones that catch them.
Showcase your immortality.
- Chris Corstenoca

Time to stand out… time to show them what I have… time to take what I truly need… and want. What I truly want is the REBEL Heavyweight Title. A title that I need even more. Why? Because my career has been fading in the last few months. My whole life, my entire mental state has been flipping wildly amongst the wrestling world. Only a few short weeks ago I had in my mind that I was done with wrestling. That I was finished with this business. But something changed that. Two words… REBEL Pro.

REBEL is the one thing that can help my dream become true. What makes REBEL So different, and what gives me the right to go in there and take the top prize? REBEL is a place where my true abilities can soar above horizons. I am no “true grappler” as old timers say. No, I am a “crazy mother (BLEEP)er” as we call it today. I take risks that normal men would not take, I take risks that god himself would not take. And hell, I take risks that George Bush wouldn’t take. Sure I can say all that, but still what gives the right, no, the opportunity to take the REBEL Title? Time… time is what will make me the champ… time is what makes everything. From humans, diamonds, and oxygen, everything takes time.

But one thing won’t take time, one thing will be noticed, tagged, and sent packin’ as soon as I arrive at the REBEL Arena. And that is the ego’s of all the REBEL sons a’ bitches! They all think they can defeat anyone, they believe themselves to be immortal. But once I show them what a god looks like, they will bow and worship me. Soon enough boys… soon enough.

The scene opens on a small, local armory in North Carolina. On the outside door it reads as “REBEL Pro Arena.” Inside there are a few men talking around a desk, discussing profits. In another room, one man laces up his shining black boots. But in the main room, the amphitheater of REBEK Pro, Chris Corstenoca sits in one of the 300 or so chairs located around the ring. He is sipping from a bottle of Disani and reading a magazine. On the cover we can make out Stone Cold Steve Austin in his “Condemned” outfit. Flipping a page and taking another swig, Chris leaned to right and peered up to the ring. In only a few days he would be competing in there.
Chris Corstenoca: Man, so long… so long since I’ve seen the view from there

Soon enough a couple workers walked out from behind the black curtain with a toolbox. They began to work, diligently, on applying the mat to the wood ring. Chris, now walking towards them, threw his magazine in one of the seats.

Chris Corstenoca: Hey guys, need and help with that?

Worker: No thanks man, you can go get ready for your match.

Though the show wasn’t until May 8th, Chris knew the man was right. The match he was in wasn’t a test of skill or strength. It was a test of endurance. Something Chris was short on, and something he would need. After grabbing his things again, Chris headed to the back to check up on his status with REBEL Pro. Soon enough he was strutting the halls of REBEL Pro. Though there weren’t many, people flooded the halls for a time when the show was a week away. Upon entering the locker room, Chris noticed a group of guys gathering around something. When he went to check it out, he noticed Jenny Jersey, flooded with testosterone and hormones. Chris looked away, content to keep the women he had, and continued on down the hall. When he reached the “dreaded” office, he twiddled his fingers and then knocked twice.

REBEL Owner, Rick Garrett: Come in!

A man pled in a grey business suit looked up when Chris entered the room.

Rick Garrett: So, what do you need Mr. Corstenoca?

Chris Corstenoca: Well, sir, I was just wondering about that signing bonus we talked about. Could I be able to get that now?

Rick Garrett: Well, Chris… We usually have to wait until you at least give us a few matches. So we knows you will be faithful to REBEL and all. So the answer… No!

Chris Corstenoca: I understand, but it’s just…

Rick Garrett: No, no, no, no, no!

Chris Corstenoca: Listen Mister!

Rick Garrett: No, you listen Mr. Corstenoca, we hired YOU! Not the other way around. Gees, my girls are more well behaved than you.

Chris Corstenoca: You know what, I think I'm gonna…

Rick Garrett: What?

Chris Corstenoca: I “would” mouth you off right about now, but somehow, by no way intentioned, I feel no need to. So, good day Mr. Garrett.

Owner, Rick Garrett: Wait! Hold on a second… you decided “not” to mouthy off to me?

Chris Corstenoca: Yes, sir. Because I have a wife and child to support. I need this job.

Owner, Rick Garrett: You know what, that gives me an idea…

Chris Corstenoca: No way, man!

Rick Garrett: What?!

Chris Corstenoca: I’m not gonna be one of your dancers!

Rick Garrett: Oh, shut up, boy! That’s not what I meant. What I meant was, a storyline.

Chris Corstenoca: A storyline?

Rick Garrett: Yep.

Chris Corstenoca: With all do respect, sir, I’ve only been here a few days. Why would you give me a storyline so suddenly?

Rick Garrett: Well, don’t think of it as a storyline. Because here in REBEL we don’t use storylines. We use anger, hatred, and pure, unadulterated murder to settle scores. Think of it as an opportunity.

Chris Corstenoca: Oh, I see where your going with this.

REBEL Pro Owner, Rick Garrett and Chris Corstenoca walk off towards the hall, discussing business. The camera slowly fades out as the REBEL logo flashes on the screen.

FADE TO BLACK

[Jake Phoenix]

We fade outside of an arena somewhere near you, where the camera is focused in on NAPW rising star and all around swell guy Donovan Astros is standing, with his eye swollen up from the attack he recieved at the hands of Chad Kurtis this past Tuesday at REBEL Pro.

ASTROS - Chad Kurtis, I'm glad it took me questioning your family for you to finally find your balls.

Astros gently rubs his black eye.

ASTROS - It's too bad you can only show your face for these toothless rednecks in Ca-Ro-Li-Nay and you can't be BOTHERED to show up in NAPW, to look the face of greatness right in the eye...

Astros grimaces.

ASTROS - The slightly swollen and tender eye... it's too bad you can only do it in a REBEL ring. A ring, and a promotion that I'll never be an active part of because I don't need to be hardcore to win matches, I can win them in the ring on my own talents!

Astros smirks.

ASTROS - And Chad, I know you'd like to get your hands on the best wrestler on God's green Earth as soon as possible, but as much as you may want to beat my ass this Tuesday, I'm too busy being NAPW's Savior to get my hands dirty in REBEL's ring... but this man will.

The camera pans over and up as a six foot, nine inch monster walks into the scene, that monster, of course, being Astros' current running buddy, Jake Phoenix. Phoenix saunters in wearing a black "Bad Samaritan" t-shirt, jeans, and a pair of Oakleys. He adjusts the shades as he comes in.. and promptly smacks Astros hard in his black eye, causing him to stagger to the side.

ASTROS - Ok, Jake, I know the check cleared, what the heck was that for?

PHOENIX - You told me the (BLEEP)ing match was in a (BLEEP)ing cage! Now these punks can run away! I told you if you screwed with me you'd get it, and you're lying to me right off the bat!

ASTROS - I'm sorry! I couldn't understand the commissioner when he was talking! Besides, if one team runs.. another one's gotta come along right behind em!

PHOENIX - So stuff 'em all in the cage and I'll beat 'em all down! Well, whatever, whatever, it's not important. Besides, that ain't why I'm here, is it?

ASTROS - No, it's not, what you're here for is the REBEL open invitational battle royal which you so kindly invited yourself to. Too bad for REBEL that means eight of their favorites sons and daughters get the ever loving piss beaten out of them by the one and only Career Killer himself!

PHOENIX - Who's in this damn thing anyway?

Astros pulls a piece of paper out of his pocket.

ASTROS - Let's see, we've got...

Astros clears his throat.

ASTROS - One half of the NAPW Tag Team Champions, "The Chairman" David Banks... Some guy I've never heard of named Ca$h... "Stylin'" Kyle Roberts... The Crusher, he was really good against Bugs Bunny... Chris Corstenoca, wow, the lead singer of Soundgarden's gonna be in this thing?... KRENS-

Phoenix calmly snatches the paper out of Astros' hand with one hand, crumples it up, and throws it over his shoulder.

ASTROS - I was almost finished!

PHOENIX - Big deal. Don't know 'em, don't know 'em, don't care. What's it matter who's in there? I'm just gonna beat the shit out of all of them and throw 'em over to the floor and win this thing. There ain't nobody in there that's important to me so I'm gonna just treat 'em all the same - just like little punks waiting to get what's comin' to 'em.

ASTROS - Yeah, this doesn't look like all that star studded of a lineup... This is the best REBEL has to offer? I can't wait to see what 4 misfits you bring to the supershow to face me, Jake Phoenix, Sebastian Martyr, and Chris Casino... this is going to be too easy!

PHOENIX - Ohyeah.. I knew I forgot to mention somethin'. I ain't gonna be in that match, y'know?

ASTROS - Oh, right, cause that'll be when you win the REBEL Heavyweight Title from Rex Caliber! It won't be the same in that 8 man tag without ya, Jake!

Astros pulls out a second piece of paper from his pocket.

ASTROS - I would like you to do me one favor this Tuesday night, though, Jake. There's one person in this battle royal that I'd like to see suffer, see hurt, see sacrificed for what some of their associates have done to me. Save 'em for last. Jake, and I'll make it worth your while.

Astros slides the piece of paper over to Jake.

PHOENIX - Yeah? Who could be that import-

Phoenix catches a glimpse of the photo, and stops dead in his tracks. He slowly removes his Oakleys, and stares at the photo... as a sadistic grin spreads on his face.

PHOENIX - Yeah... yeah, I think I can do that. Don't you worry, Donnie - I'll treat 'em REAL good in there. REAL good.

Phoenix chuckles - a bonechilling chuckle - as he grips the photo tightly, crinkling it somewhat, before releasing and letting it float to the ground. Astros laughs along with Phoenix as Phoenix shoves the cameraman down and they walk away. The video continues, though, as the cameraman lands to get a perfect shot of the crumpled up photo on the floor...

The photo of Lyndsey Valentine.

[Lyndsey Valentine]

((((Lyndsey Valentine is seen leaving a local grocery store carrying two bags of stuff, walking with her is Matthew and Chad's younger brother Jonathon,well on his way to a full recovery, who is in North Carolina for a visit.They head for Matthew Kurtis' truck as Lyndsey puts her burden away "Redneck Woman" is heard playing as her cell phone rings. She answers her phone...)))

LYNDSEY:Hello. Oh hi Chad what's up? Oh he has has he and did he say anything worth repeating? So Astros showed up first huh? So that's how is going to go down then? We'll just see about that won't we?

(((Lyndsey holds her hand up to Jonathon as she closes her phone and drops it back into her pocket...)))

LYNDSEY:Yeah Jonathon?

JONATHON KURTIS:What was that about?

LYNDSEY:It was Chad,obviously

JONATHON:Oh yeah what did he want checking up on me?

LYNDSEY:Well no actually, Donovan Astros seems to be pissed about being sent packing by Chad. Well sent packing is a tame way of putting it he ran like away like the Cowardly Lion running out of the Wizard's Castle.

JONATHON:Well he was warned by both Chad and Matt to shut up about our family business.

LYNDSEY:Well loud-mouth (BLEEP)s like him love to hear themselves talk. Anyway like a lot of bullies when someone calls their bluff,he's trying a sneakier method of pissing us off, he thinks he has a plan to hurt your brothers,specifically Chad, indirectly. Of course he uses the excuse that he don't belong to REBEL to get out of directly facing Chad but that's okay Donovan will get what's coming to him at some point in NAPW.

JONATHON: What a sec,Lyndsey. What did you mean when you said that he has a plan to try to hurt Matt and Chad indirectly?

LYNDSEY:Well Chad said that during the promo he just saw that Donovan has basically enlisted his tag team partner Jake Phoenix,who is a REBEL competitor as well one for NAPW, to try and make sure I suffer,get hurt, and in his words get "sacrificed" during the battle royal for what happened between him and Chad. I have news for Donovan,if i can take what Krenshov dishes out I can definitely take anything that Jake Phoenix can do. So bring it on Jake if you think you're man enough. I can already see that Donovan ain't.

JONATHON:Hang on Lyndsey,I don't like this. I mean Phoenix is a good sized guy. Not as big as Matt but still way bigger than you. Maybe you should take this a little more seriously.

LYNDSEY: Thanks for the concern Kid,but I'm taking their little plan seriously but it really seems to me that Donovan and Jake are scared of Matt.

JONATHON: Well that can't be too afraid of him if their plan is to intentionally injure you,Lyndsey.

LYNDSEY:Well yes and no,Jon. I mean listen to them when they talk about us no-showing in Canada. All their talk is directed at Chad and he's the only one mentioned by name. It kinda looks like they are trying to avoid really making Matt mad. Even after he had his comments for Donovan,there's been no response from either one to Matt.

JONATHON:Yeah but eventually they will piss Matt off and what happens then?

LYNDSEY:Then they get hurt like he said. But I've spent too much on Astros and Phoenix for now,especially since Astros,like he's fond of pointing out, ain't part of REBEL or the match.I know something about a few of the men in this match from watching them in NAPW. I know alot about Krenshov.But there are new guys who are always wild-cards,but then again so am I a little bit.

JONATHON:That's true you've only had a few matches most of them battle royal appearances. Do really think you can win this?

LYNDSEY:You know something I ain't really sure,I mean I'll try my damnedest but this kind of match don't really favor me. It ain't like I can throw some of the guys out of the ring at will. But each match like this I've been in I've always managed to hang in longer than people think I will.

JONATHON:Yeah you're tougher than most people like to give you credit for.

LYNDSEY:I'm used to that but it's also why I keep signing up for matches like this. Anyway we'd better get going,we still need to pick Matt up from the gym.

JONATHON:Are you going to tell him about Donovan and Jake's plan?

LYNDSEY:Maybe,maybe not Matt and Chad have a big match of their own to worry about.

(((They climb into Matt's truck and drive off to meet him.)))

[chriscorstenoca]

When is a man truly happy? When is a man truly “well-in-doubt?” Is a man ever happy? Those are only a few questions I ask myself everyday when I awake from a few hours of sleep. Then I get on the road, onwards to another event, compete, then it’s back on the road and home again. Just for a few more hours of restless sleep. Us wrestlers forget the meaning of happiness. Amidst the wide arrays of brutal match types, greed for glory, power to rule, and backstabbing enemies (…and friends), we forget what it was like to lead a normal life. But that is the thing, we aren’t normal people. We drive hours just to get our ass kicked in a the squared circle and then we finish our jobs and go home again. Like I said, were not normal people.

But one thing I am is hungry. No, not for food. But for gold. I’m hungry for the glory of being the richest man in the entire entity of REBEL. REBEL is not much different from myself. I was created a greedy man, for greedy men. We all want our shot, we all want to respect, but is it really worth it? Is the brutality and bloodshed worth it? My answer, hell yeah! Because brutality and bloodshed are my two best friends. Because when I step out into that ring, adrenaline, fear, anxiety, nervousness, and anger race through my mind like the Daytona 500. I am a time bomb waiting to explode! I am the apocalypse now! … I am Chris “THE SPARX” Corstenoca!

The scene opens abruptly on the static camera of REBEL Pro Wrestling. We are overlooking the empty blue chairs of the REBEL Arena, with Rob Martinez awaiting the “okay” from the cameraman. Rob Martinez is dressed to impress in a tan suit and a green tie, with his Rolex sparkling in the lights of the empty arena. But soon, nothing but chaos will fill that arena. Once the cameraman counts down from five on his fingers, Rob situates his mic and begins…

Rob Martinez: Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to another edition of REBEL TV, and I am your hosts, REBEL Announcer, Rob Martinez. First off tonight, I would like to congratulate all of the roster for another show well done this past week, and to management for a spectacular job on running it. But, down to business. Tonight! Here in the what is now being called the “REBEL Arena,” we have REBEL Pro newcomer, Chris “The Sparx” Corstenoca!

The camera turns slightly to Rob’s right, revealing a smirking Chris Corstenoca, wearing light blue jeans, a REBEL Pro shirt, and some black boots. He too wears a Rolex, yet slightly higher quality. Chris turns to Rob and then at the camera, awaiting his queue.

Rob Martinez: First of Mr. Corstenoca, thank you for being able to take time out of your busy schedule and conduct an interview with us here tonight.

Chris Corstenoca: Fo’ sho’ Rob, always a pleasure.

Rob Martinez: Well, the big question, what happened? A few months back you had signed with REBEL, but then decided to leave for another company. Did they have a better offer?

Chris Corstenoca: Well, it was all a matter of who wanted to use me on their show the most. Unfortunately, the other guy won.

Rob Martinez: So your saying that the “other guy” used you more.

Chris Corstenoca: No, and that’s just the thing of it. But that is all said and done, REBEL Pro is “The Sparx’s” new home.

Rob Martinez: That’s sure good to hear, but what are you thoughts on the Battle Royal that you and nine other men will be competing in?

Chris Corstenoca: It’s easy as pie,… Go there, kick ass, leave.

Rob Martinez: Well, you sure seem confident, but what about when, or should I say for now: “if,” you win the Battle Royal, you have to face the current champ. And by the looks of things lately, that could very well be Rex Caliber.

Chris Corstenoca: First off, Rex Caliber is past his prime. I mean c’mon man, look at yourself. Old and decrypted. You are nothing but a has-been, no, a never-was. Let some new guys win something, Rex. Don’t get me wrong though, I respect you and what you’ve done for the business. But really, when it comes down to it, nothing is better and badder than Chris Corstenoca.

Rob Martinez: Wow, it seems you have made a definition of Rex Caliber.

Chris Corstenoca: Your damn right! When me and him face each other, there will be brutal, even murderous moves created in that ring. That match will be written down as the single most devastating match in REBEL history. But then again, that’s only if Rex has it in him to keep the title until then. As I always say, “anybody can win a title, but only the best can keep it.” Good luck Rex, you’ll be needing it.

Rob Martinez: Well people, you heard it first from Chris Corstenoca. A man to be reckoned with, you’ll have to wait and find out!

The camera fades out slowly as Rob and Chris shake hands, then proceed to step down the ring steps and off it to back.

FADE TO BLACK

[Stylin' Kyle Roberts [REBEL]]

(Backstage at "Ladder to Success," after most everyone's gone home, Jenny Jersey, REBEL's hottie interviewer, takes a cameraman through the halls of the Raleigh Civic Center.)

JENNY JERSEY: (looking straight into the camera) Hello, Internet Wrestling Community! I'm Jenny Jersey, reporting live from the aftermath of "Ladder to Success," giving our fans online a chance to see things that get missed from the main show.

(She stops at a dressing room door.)

JENNY JERSEY: I've been going around getting comments by REBEL talent about their matches, and now I'm at the door of Stylin' Kyle Roberts, who was victorious against Celtic Assassin BObby O'Brady tonight.

(The door opens, and Kyle Roberts steps out. He's wearing a towel. And apparently, a bearskin rug. Nope, my bad, that's just his voluminous chest hair.)

KYLE ROBERTS: Jenny! If I had known you were coming, I would have ordered a red wine, turned on the Marvin Gaye, and we would have had a proper victory celebration. Four times.

JENNY JERSEY: Oh, please. Kyle, I'm here to talk to you about your victory.

KYLE ROBERTS: Damn. And here I thought the camera was for us to get a memento of our passionate lovemaking.

JENNY JERSEY: You beat Bobby O'Brady, and now you face off against eight other opponents to get a shot at the REBEL Heavyweight champion at the REBEL/NAPW Supershow on May 15th.

KYLE ROBERTS: I'd be happier if I had the title shot last month, but that just goes to show you the monstrous bias that REBEL and Raleigh fans have against non-Americans and, more importantly, me. Who's been in the heavyweight picture since REBEL started? Well, you had Rex Caliber facing MackaBEE and Brian Bruno on the second show, and all those men were from the States. Then Tommy Deathrow got a shot, even though nobody heard hide nor hair from him after that four-way match. And now Bruno's getting ANOTHER shot? You've got to be KIDDING me!

JENNY JERSEY: The way I see it, you lost to Rex on the first night, and Deathrow beat Rees in your fatal four way match the very next week. So you've had two shots at getting to the main event.

KYLE ROBERTS: That's exactly what I'd expect an American to think. It's always about pointing out my failures, isn't it? I'll tell you something, I NEVER lost that four-way. That was Lloyd Rees. I was distracted by another American who's been constantly trying to screw me over for YEARS, the jerk-faced Ravager! But I'm back to my winning ways now, baby! That Bear-tamer in the middle of the ring was pure awesomeness. And now they've got me in a match where I can't win by submission! It's just like REBEL Pro to handicap me so!

JENNY JERSEY: Kyle, when the open call for this battle royal was announced, you were the first man in line to sign up!

KYLE ROBERTS: I'm looking forward to this match. It's so one-sided, it's not funny. I'll be like a whale swimming amongst chum. One by one, every single person in that ring will be thrown over the top rope until only yours truly is left standing. The odds are against me, mind you, since a great deal of that ring is filled by Americans. Look, guys, it's okay to feel envious of me! I'm Stylin' Kyle Roberts! A five-time NAPW champion! Winner of the illustrious Hegstrand Cup!When I said I was going exclusively to REBEL-Pro, heads turned!

"Why?" they asked me. "Why would you go into the boondocks of North Carolina and give up everything you've accomplished in NAPW?" It was to take this company to the top! And the only way for that to happen was to get that big shiny belt, become the figurehead for this company, and give it the polish it needs! Granted, it hasn't turned out that way. Yet. But give it time, Jenny. Once all you Americans get your heads out of your asses and realize that everything I do in REBEL-Pro is to make it better, you'll be on your hands and knees giving me the opportunity to work my magic!

But until them? All I can do is pity you. Turn the other cheek so you can spit on that one too. I am not the bad guy here, Jenny! But if all you Raleigh rednecks want to go about calling me the evil Canadian, hey, it's a free country. No, wait, you people gave up your freedoms to the government to save you from terrorism. Whoops. My bad.

JENNY JERSEY: Is there anyone you're NOT looking forward to facing in that battle royal?

KYLE ROBERTS: KRENSHOV. They let that maniac back in after what he did to a fan in NAPW? The only way I'm going up against that monster is with a whole bunch of backup.

JENNY JERSEY: The man you beat tonight, Bobby O'Brady will also be in that ring.

KYLE ROBERTS: Jenny, what happened in that ring tonight was inevitable. I was hungry for a win. O'Brady was hungry for fan support. Who do you think will benefit from those circumstances? I don't give a shit about the fans. Did you see how crestfallen he was when the fans booed him at every opportunity? When a man's that demoralized, it's pretty easy to get a victory over him. Bobby, this is a country that cheered "Stone Cold" Steve Austin for giving a stunner to a lady who didn't drink a beer with him. This is a country that cheers "USA! USA!" against many of the very best in this business, just because someone grew up in Calgary, Alberta, or England or Mexico! I said it before and I'll say it again, the only way you can make these ingrates cheer for you is to completely parody yourself. Eat your pride.

Or, you can follow my lead in this battle royal, and take out every single American who's there to take you out. By my reckoning, that's everyone other than me.

It's your choice, Bobby. Embrace your Irish heritage, or shit all over it.

Is there anything else, Jenny?

JENNY JERSEY: No, thanks.

KYLE ROBERTS: Then how about you come into the room, and I can show you what Canadian pride is all abo-

(Jenny closes the door, and smiles at the camera.)

JENNY JERSEY: Up next, we talk to Dio Meurte.

(Fade to black.)

[KRENSHOV]

A visitor?

Kenny Krenshov is a man who believes the finer things in life are the things hard worked for or taken from someone else. He was never someone to cherish in such things as fancy cars, shiny jewelry, or even doorbells. No, especially not doorbells. To get into Kenny Krenshov’s home, you have to knock, and you better knock hard. KNOCK-KNOCK-KNOCK.

It better not be another vacuum salesman, I swear to god I’ll beat him with his own product and suck up his remains with his product.

The beast hadn’t entertained a guest since a day before his final NAPW show, and that guest was none other than Eli Potts. Kenny sipped on his protein shake, sitting in his crude reclining chair, fully reclined. His attire was a black wife beater and black warm-up pants, he must color coordinate with his mood. The animal was comfortable sitting in his dark and drab room, the thought of answering the door annoyed him. He even considers not opening. KNOCK-KNOCK-KNOCK.

Go away.

Thoughts rushed through his head as he attempted to telepathically ward off the person at his door. Who could it be? Eli? Maybe. That money grubbing prick always saw Krenshov as a meal ticket and would set aside emotions for opportunity; especially if Eli had heard of Krenshov’s participation in Rebel’s battle royale. The thought of Eli’s client getting a possible title shot must give the little prick full wood. Casino? Hell no. Chris wouldn’t have the balls. Casino never had the balls for anything spectacular; he couldn’t even keep his shoulders off the mat in what many consider the match of the year. THUD-THUD-THUD!.

Argggh, alright already…

What did I tell ya? You better knock hard if you want to come inside the beast’s lair. Krenshov slammed his protein drink down with authority, and pushed himself to his feet, stomping his way to the door. Kenny might as well ripped the door from its hinges as hard as he opened it, but to Kenny’s surprise the figure standing at his doorstep was someone Kenny didn’t know. The bright sun burned his eyes at first, making it hard to see exactly who it was, but eventually the colors came into focus. It was a man, who would be considered large to normal people, tall and fat, in a blue jog suit with thick black sun glasses. He was, if anything, overly Italian, which you get a lot of in the state of Jersey… but this guy was REALLY Italian. His slicked back black hair, pronounced features, and even the outline of a gun holster on his hip really lived up to the standard of stereotypes. This man was much smaller than Krenshov, but he wasn’t afraid. In his hand he held a cardboard box that was heavily taped in packing tape, and attached to the top was a manila envelope that read, KRENSHOV, in bold letters.

The plump man cocked his head to the side, “Yo, you this ah, Kenny Krenchoff?” His round second chin reminded Kenny of a bullfrog, and it jiggled with every movement of his jaw.

“Yeah, I’m Kenny KRENSHOV. What’s it to ya?” The big man sneered, disgusted by this overweight thug, but also intently interested.

“Special delivery.”

“Who’s it from?” This was suspicious, and Kenny hates suspicion.

“I don’t ask for his name, he don’t ask for mine. All he did was paid me quite handsomely to safely and securely deliver this package to you.” The Italian bull frog held out the package, hesitantly, the animal took it from him. As Kenny turned to go inside the bull frog opened is mouth, “what no tip?”

Kenny kept his back to him, rolled his eyes and smiled, “Don’t (BLEEP) with me. That’s the best advice anyone will ever give you.” With that, Krenshov kicked the door shut with his heel and began tearing open the package. He threw the manila envelope to the side, which makes sense, as Kenny has always been one to get right to the point. Once he tore threw the ridiculous amount of packing tape, he popped open the top to see something unbelievable. Four even stacks of green. Cash. Kenny scooped out one of the four large stacks, snapped the rubber band off of it, and began counting. Excited, nervous and confused were three emotions that reigned overly prominent in the beast. In this one stack of cash there was more money than he had ever seen in his life at one time.

What the…

The colossus set the stack down, and looked down at the envelope. He snatched it off his counter top and instantly broke the seal, digging inside for an answer. All he found was a single piece of paper. Holding it up to the light he intently read;

TO KENNY KRENSHOV:

I wanted to donate a generous gift to your cause. I apologize for the falling out we had in the past, and I wanted to make good on our friendship. Not only that, but I offer this gift to you in hopes you understand I fully appreciated your services.

There is no doubt in my mind that you will win this battle royale, and bring the Rebel Championship to the group. That is, if you still consider us allied, and I hope you do. You may not be able to represent us in NAPW, but making the move on Rebel is just as equally important to our cause.

Again, please forgive me in the past, I know you felt underappreciated and betrayed, but I wish you wipe that slate clean. I don't expect anything in return for this except for you to keep an open mind to reopening our friendship.

Sincerely,
Your dear friend

Slowly, Kenny set the letter on the countertop, dumbfounded. There was only one person that this could be, and only one person. This was suspicious, and we all know, Kenny hates suspicion. While the letter indeed seemed sincere, when was this obvious "mystery man" a sincere. He was many things, such as cocky, a total smartass, egotistical, but sincere was not a characteristic Kenny's "friend" ever exerted. Krenshov ran his hand through his short silver hair, pondering on what was real and what where the truth was hidden.

[Bobby O'Brady]

Bobby O'Brady walking into a restaurant. (this takes place before the events in the Celtic Assassin promo for Thoes vs Caliban) Bobby notices the camera following him, and it does not help his already foul mood.

I'm bloody sick and tired of it all. I'm tired of losing. I'm tired of being booed. I'm tired of feeling like a joke when I've done so much. I was part of the NAPW tag team champions. The Celtic Assassins went undefeated for months. And we got one shot in that time. We lose the belts, and get suspended two weeks later. We come to Raleigh, and are disrespected. So I make challenges. Some impossible. But this battle royal? Not so impossible. Sure, my record in these matches hasn't been great. But I've never been this angry. I've never needed the win more than I do now.

I've never wanted it more than I do this second. To end the catcalls. To show the Americans how good I really am, and how much credit I deserve! This Tuesday, I'll earn my shot at the Rebel Pro title by any means necessary.

Boo me. Cheer me. I don't care anymore. All you people have to do is accept everything that happens from here on out. I'm not going to suck up to anyone. I'm not going to beg for your love. I'm going to win no matter what people think. And I bloody well should have done this sooner.

Bobby enters the restaurant where Al Thoes and Leland Conrad are waiting.

Fade to Black.

[Ca$h]

"A battle royal? As a debut? Man, you're getting the fast track, aren't you?"

We find our hero back in the offices of Ari Goldstein, Attorney At Law, Sports Agent, and All Around Good Guy.

"Yeah, and get this. Winner gets a shot at the title on the 15th. All I gotta do is take out eight other guys. Well, seven guys and a chick."

Ari furrows his brow and gives his client a stern look.

"Listen, don't get too cocky. Remember how that ended last time? The most you've ever beaten in one match was four, back in the day, and you had some help on that one. You're not exactly getting any younger, either."

"Oh, look who's talking, Mr Premature Gray. Tell you what, get yourself some Just For Men, and then you can lecture me about age. Don't worry about this thing, man. I got it covered."

A buzzer sounds on Ari's desk, and his secretary's voice comes through on the other end of the line.

"Ari? Your ten o'clock is here."

Ari presses a button, and responds.

"Alright, send him in when Casey leaves."

This time, the look comes from the other end of the desk, and Ari shrugs.

"What can I say, time is money. And you're not paying me anymore, are you?"

"I see how it is. Typical Jew, going where the money is."

A wry smile from both men solidifies the running joke. They stand, and Ari crosses to the near side of the desk. The two friends embrace, and when they separate, Ari gives Casey a slight slap on the cheek.

"You do your thing. I'll be waiting when you decide you can afford an agent again. Don't be a stranger in the meantime, though."

"Thanks, Ari. I appreciate it. I'll see you around."

Casey turns and leaves, holding the door for Ari's next client. As it closes behind him, Ari loudly greets the fresh face.

"So, John, what can me and my 15% of your checks do for you?"

Another smile crosses Casey's face, and he walks out of the shot chuckling.

(Fade to black for a short second, then back in to a different scene.)

It's apparent that someone has a limited budget for videos, as the tape is seemingly doing double duty. This time, Ca$h is in a locker room, sitting on a wooden bench. His head is hung low, chin touching his chest. His hands sit on the back of his head, with his fingers interlaced. He speaks from this position, slowly, making sure each word is used to its maximum.

"And now, we found out what I'm made of. I find out. The big question right now is 'Can I hack it?' Can I make it back to the top of my game, like I was just a year ago?"

He looks up, and his eyes are bloodshot, reddened by his latest bout with his own self-concious mind. Tears still leak from the corners of his eyes, but he makes no effort to wipe them away. They track down his face, coursing through the stubble of his five o'clock shadow, dripping from his chin like some faulty plumbing in a decrepit apartment. The kind of apartment a washed up, injured wrestler might stay in while his lawyers fight a judge that wants to take away everything he owns. An apartment with rats the size of chihuahuas and mosquitos that could eat a man alive if given the chance.

All of these things are reflected in his eyes. These eyes have seen everything the world has to offer; from the elation of a young boy blessed with rich parents, to the despair of a suddenly orphaned teenger; the joy of a young man finding his true calling, to the pain of an unemployed twenty-something just trying to stay afloat. These eyes are blue, but not that dreamy shade of blue that the girls go gaga over. These eyes are the dark blue of a cold steel gun barrel, the icy blue of a cold ocean that will kill you if only you give it the chance. These eyes slice through the dark like a hot blade through soft flesh, cutting to the core of your soul.

These eyes are the eyes of a man that doesn't give up. A man that knows nothing but how to keep fighting. A man that doesn't have the word "quit" in his vocabulary. He only thinks of the end, how things will finish when he's done inflicting pain and suffering onto his opponent.

"Banks, Roberts, Crusher, Corstenoca, Krenshov, Valentine, Phoenix, O'Brady... Get ready. When you get into that ring with me tonight, there's no turning back. I've been waiting a year for the chance to prove myself again, to my friends, my enemies, and myself. The last year of pain and frustration is coming out at once tonight. I've been saving it up for this very moment, and now I have eight different people to release it on. My advice to you is to just get out of the way. If you're lucky, you'll be able to leave the ring before I take out my aggression on you. And that... You can take to the bank."

FADE TO BLACK

[chriscorstenoca]

There is always a choice, for the warrior knows that even at birth he is granted the ability and right of choice of whether to accept the gift of life… or to terminate it, throw it back in the faces of his mother and father.

Each time he picks up his sword he has the choice between violence or knowledge, whether to cut down his enemies with the edge of the blade… or whether to use its sharp tip to write upon the ground.

It is the choice between verbal or non-verbal communication… whether words are necessary to complete the chain of understanding which binds two individuals… or whether such vocal pleasantries may be dispensed within favor of something a little more direct.

A warrior knows that it is not his speed… nor strength… nor technique on the battlefield which is to be his measure. Nor even his oratory, vocal abilities. It is not knowledge alone, nor similarly action which determines the depth and abilities held by him. He smiles to himself, for he knows that it is a measure of all things, and the determining of their balance, their comparative weight which will decide his fate.

Before he became skilled or wise, knowledgeable or accomplished, he was a human… a man from birth and all things were lacking, all things were equal. In becoming a grown man, he must maintain this equality. He must take all knowledge from where it may be grasped and use it in the great fight for his own destiny, balancing all, consistent in everything.

When confronted by a warrior of supposed equal standing… a warrior who questions the balance of his mental and physical dominance… the true warrior smiles for he knows that he has been greatly underestimated and therein he knows that he is on the road to victory before conflict has even ensued… before combat has begun.

In doubting our mind, an opponent affords us the opportunity to display how wrong he was when we use intricate and elaborate tactics to ensure victory… and in doubting our strength, we are afforded the opportunity to display our overpowering dominance and brute force against an opponent ill-prepared for such an eventuality.

He who is strong in mind must be strong in body. He who is strong in body must be strong in mind. The warrior's greatest asset, his greatest virtue, his greatest single tool and weapon is his ability to balance all things, to see their purpose and relativity to others.

The warrior always smiles...

And for now… that is all I can do.

The scene opens suddenly, as it usually does, and we are located inside the dressing room of Chris Corstenoca. Actually, it’s not a dressing room, it’s a large locker room that everyone shares. That is, except for the champ, who gets his own. The camera begins to focus in of Chris Corstenoca, sitting on a wooden bench, tired from a long day of training. Beside him sits a few magazines and a MP3 Player. After removing the black headphones from his ears, he proceeds to set them in his blue locker. When he closes it, the glimmering, new nameplate that reads, “Chris Corstenoca,” shines back at his face, creating a rainbow on his brow. When he turns, he notices the camera in his face and smirks.

Chris Corstenoca: You know, yesterday it was announced that I would be competing in a Four Corner Elimination Match. And you know what? I won’t even be participating in that match. Because I’ll be headlining that Supershow. When I defeat the current Heavyweight champ and become the new REBEL King. REBEL will turn into my creation, REBEL will be mine. But you know, all good things must come ot an end, but it’s a good thing REBEL will not be a good thing, necessarily. Blood, tears, adrenaline, and pain will reign supreme.

Chris grabs his MP3 Player and slides it in a side compartment on his gym bag. Once grabbing the handle of the bag, Chris proceeds to carry it over and set it down on the table closest to him.

Chris Corstenoca: You know, the dictionary defines violence as an action that is intended to cause destruction, pain, or suffering. Well, when the time comes, that is all that REBEL Pro will feel. My intention is not to rape REBEL of it’s pride, but to show it what it feels like to, well, “Sparx.” But first, what is “Sparx?” Sparx is the original killer the original “V.S.O.B” The Original Violent Son of a Bitch! I’ am Sparx! I am Chris “The Sparx” Corstenoca. And what does that mean?

Chris gets close enough to the camera to where we can see his partially shaved whiskers.

Chris Corstenoca: That means absolutely nothing! But when it comes down to it, the only place I can show people what I have… is out in that ring. Among the cussing, beer-drinking, cancer-stick smoking fans that come every week, by the hundreds, to witness REBEL Pro in the making.

Chris grabs his bag and opens the door to the parking lot. Before leaving, he turns back once more.

Chris Corstenoca: And what is REBEL pro? Time, only time will tell. But for now, it will be my dominion… The Dominion of Sparx!

[chriscorstenoca]

You know, one of the hardest things for us wrestlers to do, if not the hardest, is balance our family time with work time. When we’ve been wrestling for a week straight and after all that traveling, all we want to do when we return home is sleep and eat. But what good does that do us and our families. Luckily enough for me, I’m young and strong. So I can at least I have time to spend time with my wife and son. If it wasn’t for them, I wouldn’t be in the mental and physical state I’m in.

That brings me to another subject, conditioning. As with all REBEL boys, I am well conditioned in my art Which is, on most occasions, wrestling. But after a long flight and countless hours at the gym and in the ring, my condition doesn’t give me ****. When it comes down to it, conditioning is just cheap steroids. And no, I have never taken roids. But I can tell you a few guys I think haven‘t ever taken them, my opponents this Tuesday. Banks, Ca$h, Roberts, Crusher, Krenshov, Valentine, Phoenix, and O’ Brady are all worthless baggage to me. Just take a look at my body, I am Zeus compared to Banks, Ca$h, or Phoenix. And as for Valentine, there is no place for a women in this match. Just for fun, I’ll make sure you’re the first out of that ring. And as for “Stylin’ Kyle Roberts?” You are doing everything except “Stylin’.” You are a flake amongst my bowl of Frosted Flakes. And I’ll make sure it’s me a and you as the last two come Tuesday, just to show everybody that Roberts is fluke.

Doomsday is coming Krenshov, Roberts, Ca$h, Banks, Valentine, Phoenix, and O’ Brady, and Crusher. And it’s all coming in the form of a Sparx!

The scene opens up on a the home of Chris Corstenoca. The camera zoom sin on the garage, with a small, fiery-red, sports car sitting inside it. Beside that is a ice-blue sports bike with dual exhaust and a carbon fiber chassis. When the camera switches to inside the house we notice a beautiful looking woman sitting on a tan leather couch, eating a box of Haugen-Douche and watching “Days of Our Lives.” Her hair extends past her shoulders and it’s a golden blonde. Her frame is about 5’ 8” and her stomach is way above that of a normal woman. She lifts up her shirt and rubs her stomach, smiling with every stroke. All of a sudden in walks Chris Corstenoca, wearing his usual black boots and blue jeans. Only this time he is wearing a Miami Ink shirt. His face is unshaven and his shirt is wrinkly.

Woman: Hey baby, have a nice nap?

Chris Corstenoca: Yeah, just wish the neighbors dog would shut up.

Woman: Well, is I see Jenna I’ll be sure to tell her.

Chris: no, no, no. I don’t need her even more mad at me.

Woman: She’s not mad at you, just… okay, she’s mad at you. But can you blame her? Your bike left skid marks all over her front yard.

Chris: Well, what was I supposed to do? The garage was shut and the fence was closed, I needed a place to park. Oh yeah, that reminds me!

Chris jumps up off the couch and into their bedroom.

Woman: What do you have? Oh gees, did you buy another belt?

Chris: Nope.

When Chris returns he is carrying a small box wrapped in gold wrapping paper and a bright red bow. On the paper there is a name tag that reads, “Shanna.” When Chris sits beside her on the couch, she smiles and he hands the gift to her.

Shanna: What is it? Well, can’t be a ring, got one of those. Can’t be a baby, got one of those on the way. What is it?

Chris: There’s only one way to find out.

Shanna rips open the package to find a set of large black keys with a TT Roaster symbol on them. Shanna jumps on top of Chris and a few tears roll from her eyes. She proceeds to kiss and hug him.

Shanna: Is it here?

Chris: Maybe. Why don’t you go check the driveway.

Shanna jumps up off the couch and grabs Chris’s hands, just then his cell phone rings.

Chris: Go and see what’s out there, it’s my agent, I gotta take this.

Shanna: Okay.

Whilst Shanna runs out to the driveway, Chris takes out his cell phone and flips it open.

Chris: Hello?

Agent: Hey Chris, it’s Jimmy.

Chris: Oh hey man, what’s up?

Jimmy: Well, got some bad news.

Chris: What?

Jimmy: Well, it’s not bad, bad, but it’s not good.

Chris: Just tell me!

Jimmy: Okay, I signed you for an appearance in Virginia on Monday.

Chris: What?! I told you I was spending time with my girl this weekend.

Jimmy: I’m sorry man, I’ll cancel.

Chris: Wait, what does it pay?

Jimmy: It pays one hundred and fifty. Plus they will pay for you transportation fees.

Chris: Damn, that’s a good amount for one appearance. What time is it? You know I got my first REBEL match on Tuesday.

Jimmy: It’s at 3pm, just enough time for you to drive back down to North Carolina.

Chris: Okay, okay,. This is what I want you to do. Call them back, try to get it at Wednesday and call me back.

Jimmy: Alright man, see ya later.

Chris: Okay, bye.

The scene slowly starts to fade away as Chris ponders on how to balance his family and work. Once he comes to a conclusion, he runs out the front door to calm the ecstatic woman revving up the blue TT Roadster.

[KRENSHOV]

Four even stacks of money wrapped in rubber bands still remained inside the cardboard box atop the animal’s counter top. Sure, the cash was on his mind, but the letter that came with the cash was what remained on Krenshov’s mind. The gull of Casino is quite astounding. To completely betray the monster, then ask for forgiveness is almost amusing. Yet, there is only one man who really knows what Kenny Krenshov is thinking, and he’s not about to open up to anyone.

Kenny stuffed his wrestling gear into an open black duffle bag that sat next to another packed bag already filled with clothes and toiletries in the living room. Krenshov kept the package in eyesight through the open space between his gaudy kitchen and the drab living room. He tried to focus on packing, but that damn package beckoned him. The colossus was conflicted, to say the least. As he stashed away the last article of gear, he zipped up the bag and sighed.

This drive is going to suck…

It’s roughly a nine-hour drive from Middletown, New Jersey down to backwoods, North Carolina. Life had been rough for the time Kenny had been left unemployed, if it weren’t for this Rebel gig, he would barely have been able to front his rent. While they were giving him a nice little chunk of change, they weren’t about to offer to pay his flight from there and back. It was a raw deal, but even monsters need a roof and to eat. The thing that really worried Kenny was if his beat-up, 1995 Caviler would be able to make the trip. Again, he let his eyes dance over to the box of cash.

I wouldn’t have to drive if I grabbed a couple hundred…

That small box of green could most certainly increase his quality of life from low to very high, yet that cash stunk of Chris Casino. Kenny wanted no link to the Vegas Madonna, and taking any of that cash would make him feel like he would owe Chris. The behemoth grumbled and chewed over the idea of even having ties with Casino. It sickened him to say the least, but what if he took the cash as Chris worded it in the letter, “Not only that, but I offer this gift to you in hopes you understand I fully appreciated your services.” Yes, perhaps Kenny would take the cash as payment for his services. After all the flack Krenshov went through with the Untouchables; going off of balconies through tables, getting cracked in the head with a flaming chair, his partners not able to keep up their end in tag matches, then he sure as hell deserved more than hanging out in Vegas with Chris Casino for free. He eyed the box once more, swallowed hard, and marched over to the counter, scooping out more cash than he would have made in three months at NAPW, and shoved the wad of bills into his pocket. Krenshov closed the box tight, opened up his freezer, moved a few items and placed the box in the far back, then closed the freezer door after placing the choice items back in front of the box. He gripped the door handle after closing, looking almost through the door.

Should I…

Even justifying the money as owed to him didn’t seem to convince the giant quite enough, and he contemplated returning the few thousand dollars back to the box. His hate for Casino boiled past money, and an uneasy feeling bubbled in the pit of his stomach with the money in his pocket.

…No. This is mine.

Kenny released his grip on the freezer door handle, feeling slightly light headed from this mind battle with himself, and turned back to the living room. Now the beast could relax, and not hurry himself down to the boondocks of the east coast. Krenshov would be traveling by air, and could have a luxurious hotel room before dusk. The colossus snatched a fax he received hours earlier of the confirmed Rebel line up. This had been the first chance he had to look over the event, and of course he skipped over all the matches and went directly to his own.

Let’s see… Ca$h. Who the hell is that? Ah, who cares. David Banks. Heh, last time I saw him he was that fish kissers bitch. Maybe I’ll make him my bitch on Tuesday. Lyndsey Valentine? Well, well, speaking of a bitch.

The monster reminisces of NAPW’s Soul Survivor match, when Kenny had his hand wrapped around her throat and had her lifted high in the air. He smiled thinking about it, but then became slightly agitated when he remembered one of her Kurtis gang bangers chop blocking the back of his knee. The little bitch got away.

There’s no Kurtis brother to help you now my sweet Valentine, maybe this time I’ll get more than a handful. Bobby O’Brady can choke on a fat one. He should go back to dressing up like a monster, maybe that will bring up memories of me whooping his ass. Jake Phoenix, another chump I don’t know. Another chump that’s probably going to try and jump on the band wagon of eliminating me.

That seems to be the rhythm and rhyme of battle royale matches and Kenny Krenshov. They see the beast as the largest threat, and go after him like a group of savages.

Stylin’ Kyle, now there’s a snake of a man. ‘Used to applaud him for dumpin’ Richards, but in hindsight, he isn’t any better than Casino. He’ll probably be the ring leader against me; I might wanna bite the head off the snake before it starts moving. Who else… Crusher? Rebel must be in a real tight budget if they have to bring in these dollar-an-hour “wrestlers”. Anyone else? Chris Corstenoca. Is Rebel serious? I should demand they check his social security card for authenticity, he’s probably another one of these over-the-border-express employees hired for less money than the Crusher. That’s it?

Kenny looked over the list again, making sure he didn’t miss anyone, then scanned the rest of the card before crumpling it up into a ball. The monster slung both of his bags around opposite shoulders, grabbed a set of keys from a nearby countertop and was out the door. As he walked outside, the blinding sun revealed even more flaws in his piece of shit car than he originally thought it had. Krenshov’s mood went sour when thinking about cramming his near seven-foot, four hundred pound body into the tiny cavalier. He shook his head in disgust.

I’ll take it to the airport, but I’ll be damned if I drive this thing ever again. That box of money is going to be put to work.

[Stylin' Kyle Roberts [REBEL]]

(Kyle Roberts is working out in his condo complex's weight room. In the midst of some chinups, he notices the camera. He drops to the floor, grabs a towel, and downs the remains of a sports drink.)

KYLE ROBERTS: You know, I can't help but get the feeling that I, Kyle Roberts, have got the biggest (BLEEP)ing target on my back. Hey, can you blame my opponents? Taking down Kyle Roberts would be the highlight of their careers! Look at Clint Zellor: ever since he took me on - and won, mind you - he's been going nowhere but down. Which is a shame because there's a guy who had potential.

And whichever one of my opponents I study, it's the common thread through all of them: potential. They've got the rest of their lives ahead of them, and it's all sunshine and rainbows for them. But they've got to realize one thing: This match will not be the pinnacle of their career. Well, not unless getting one's ass whipped by Stylin' Kyle Roberts is a career highlight.

Because I'm in this match for one reason: to get the chance I so rightfully deserve to hold that REBEL Heavyweight title above my head. To go up against Rex Caliber or Brian Bruno and come out on top. To be the face of this federation.

Can anyone else in this match live up to that billing? Krenshov's just a big sack of rage. The Crusher's fallen out of the stupid tree so much that he's seeing Lloyd Rees everywhere he goes. Chris Corstenoca's got one foot out the door just in case a better company comes a-callin'. You don't believe me? He's already left once! Jake Phoenix and Cash aren't even members of this federation. Bobby O'Brady's not sure who he is or what he wants to be. And Lyndsey Valentine's a girl.

Seriously? This is the competition I've got to face off against? I'd have a harder time wrestling a premature ward full of babies! The only one I could actually give a (BLEEP) about is David Banks, and nobody's seen hide nor hair of him since the new Carolinas champion drove him into the mat last week.

I deserve to be the new REBEL champion. I know it, Rick Garrett knows it, every single REBEL fans knows it! They won't admit it, because they love to boo me, but it's true. Come on, you guys! You can't be so full of denial that you choose to ignore the (BLEEP)ing facts, can you?

People are scared of Stylin' Kyle Roberts. And it's not because I'm Canadian. It's not because I'm a five-time champion. It's not because I'm one of the sexiest men in Raleigh. It's not because I'm that much better then everyone else. No, it's because I'm not afraid to tell the truth.

I tell the truth about the unbelievable bias that REBEL and North Carolina have against non-Americans. I say the things that my opponents don't want to hear, because if they FACE that truth, then they'll have to admit that they are simply not as good as Stylin' Kyle Roberts.

Ask Bobby O'Brady. Given the right circumstances, that man can be a monster. A former NAPW tag team champion. He and Al Thoes managed to beat the most dominant tag team of this generation TWICE! But this past Tuesday, he tapped in the middle of the ring to me. Not that there's any shame in that. You hear that? Losing to Kyle Roberts is not shameful! Do you see Ravager crying at home about the times I beat him? It doesn't make him any less of a robot, sorry, I MEANT to say "person."

Let's face it: Bobby O'Brady lost to me because he knew in his heart of hearts that I was right; he can't expect these idiot North Carolinan fans to like him for who he is. My truth managed to crawl up his spine to lodge into his brain. And right now, it's eating him alive. But give him time, folks. He'll come around. He'll figure out that the fans don't DESERVE him! And when he does? Man, I wouldn't want to be on his bad side.

Krenshov, you think I should be the one to watch out for in that battle royal? Seriously, you think I can take down the monster? (Kyle chuckles.) I'll admit, I'm flattered, Kenny. But if you spend all your time looking at me across this ring, you'll realize too late that Bobby O'Brady is your equal in size and strength. And then, whoa! Out you go.

Lyndsey Valentine. Girl, you haven't learned your lesson at all, have you? You ARE aware that your boy toy Matthew will not be in the same ring as you this time, don't you? I must say, yes, I think I went a little overboard last time we faced in a ring. It's not nice to deck a lady, but honey, you're no lady when you're in that ring. You're a wildcat. You've got claws. But, really, let's face it, that's better suited for roughplay in the bedroom. Maybe after the match, I'll give you a safeword. You know, for my victory celebration.

Everyone else? (BLEEP) you. (BLEEP) you all. I will go into that ring and show each and every last one of you why you don't mess with Stylin' Kyle Roberts. Once you find your ass hurtling over the top rope by my hands, you'll realize that playtime's over, and I didn't handle you with kid gloves. You know why? Because Daddy's here, and he's ready to pick up the pieces. When it comes to golden opportunities, I don't (BLEEP) around. I go into that ring with a purpose. I come to dominate. I come to find your weakness and to exploit the shit out of it. This match isn't about finishers. It's not about being stronger. It's about Kyle Roberts being smarter than the lot of you. It's about Kyle Roberts being BETTER than all of you.

It's about Kyle Roberts kicking American ass and taking his rightful spot as the (BLEEP)ing figurehead of this federation. I've been shat upon long enough by North Carolina, by the fans, by the men in charge of REBEL Pro. When I beat Bobby O'Brady, I started to reverse the fortunes given to me, and I took my destiny into my own hands.

This battle royal, I'm facing off against a shitload of people I've never faced before. And everyone will realize that I'm not talking shit. I'm stating the cold, hard truth:

Kyle Roberts will be your next REBEL Champion.

(On the table beside him, a cell phone chirps. Kyle looks at the screen, and scans the text message that arrived.)

KYLE ROBERTS: Now if you'll excuse me, I've got some business to take care of.

(Kyle's towel flies at the camera as we fade to black.)

[Bobby O'Brady]

Al Thoes is busy tending to some nasty scratches and bruises on his back, the result of a few drops through a table. Bobby O'Brady stands watching, and he has a look of disgust on his face.

The things we do.

To get respect.

To get love.

To get glory.

Money.

Titles.

We stoop to the lowest if lows. Instead of working hard, training night and day, we try and work in the community, suck up, kiss babies.

We're wrestlers, but we're acting like bloody politicians. No wonder the fans hate us. So challenges are made. Matches are booked, and we still lose. And we still get booed.

So why bother? Kyle Roberts has it right, much as it pains me to say so. Skill doesn't matter here. Attitude. Quick success. No regard for the rules. that's what the fans want? That's what they'll get. This Tuesday I'm going to step into that battle royal and I'm going to vent all my rage that's been building for the last month. Crusher. Chris Corstenoca? Cash? Your time will have to wait. Crusher? Your time should have come when you won the NAPW TV title from Rex Caliber. But you blew it. And you'll blow it again. Your win last week was nothing more than a brief flash that I will extinguish. Lyndsey Valentine? Lass, you're in over your head. Banks, Krenshov, Phoenix, Roberts, all threats, all powerful in their own right, but all will fail.

It's my time. The Celtic Assassins are going to be back on top. Whether the fans like it or not...

Fade to black.