HGW FREAKING ANNIVERSARY: H20

HGW FREAKING ANNIVERSARY: H20

HGW Arena - Atlantic City, NJ

January 28, 2017

(The internet-exclusive pay-per-view fades into sight with Dylan Whiplash, 44 years old, standing mid-ring. He's surrounded by more than 2500 roaring maniacs, many of whom have bled HGW blood since day one, on January 25, 1997. Humbled and bewildered by the response, Whiplash shakes his head smiling, soaking in the thunderous, "H-G-DUB!" chants. Nowadays working as an account executive outside of the wrestling industry, Whiplash takes the mic for what could be the final time in his life. He rises to the occasion the moment there's a lull in the crowd's flurry)

DW: "HELLO EVERYONE, AND WELCOME TO HGW FREAKING ANNIVERSARY: H20!"

(The roars only intensify following Whiplash's declaration. He takes a moment to look skyward, remembering that he's beneath several tons of reinforced steel and glass that will be coming to into play later in the night. Refocusing on the braying lunatics in black t-shirts that have circled around him, Whiplash continues his spiel)

DW: "Coming to you live from the city where the revolution kicked off, Atlantic City, New Jersey, right here in the world-famous HGW Arena!"

(The fans cheer loudly once more, kicking off another "H-G-DUB!" chant. Whiplash lets the acknowledgement soak in for a few moments before resuming)

DW: "On this night, we will crown one final HGW World Heavyweight Champion, with six men competing for their right to wear the gold. And that champion will be crowned..."

(Dylan points upward)

DW: "....inside the Chamber of Hell!"

(The fans let out a collective frenzied roar at this turn of events, although it was hardly a surprise; there's a fucking two-story cage hanging over them. It's not a decoration)

DW: "The participants in that encounter are six of the original members of the HGW roster, going all the way back two decades into the past. They paved the way for HGW to be the machine that it was, and they will be the ones to get the chance to have bragging rights over their legendary peers once more tonight!"

(A respectful applause ensues)

DW: "And now, without any further ado, I would like to bring out my commentary partner for this evening's festivities. He's the most outspoken, outrageous, and outstanding partner that a man can have, and I'm obviously not talking about David Otunga! Please welcome, "The Straight Shooter", CHRIS LEDBETTER!"

("Whiskey in the Jar" by Metallica plays, heralding the arrival of a long-time crowd favorite in Ledbetter, 50. The smiling, grizzled, fun-loving "Straight Shooter" emerges from the entrance curtain to a rapturous ovation, wearing a black suit and blue-collared shirt, which is far nicer than anyone in Atlantic City has ever seen him dress. Ledbetter hobnobs with the fans, shaking hands and hugging a few, before making an exaggerated, showy entrance through the ropes. Presently a personality on ESPN 790 on Atlanta's "GrappleTalk" radio show, Ledbetter embraces Whiplash warmly beneath a chant of "LED" from his old constituency. The two-time HGW World Champion steps up to the mic to address those very people)

CL: "Goddamn, it's great to be back home!"

(Ledbetter takes in the positive response)

CL: "You know, I've got so many memories of Atlantic City involving blood, assault, decadence, bad decisions, nightmarish situations...and some of them even involved wrestling as well..."

(Big laugh for the insinuation on Ledbetter's part, though most accept that his swath of debauchery is legitimate)

CL: "In fact, Dylan, weren't you with me the night I brought back four of the finest girls from Bare Exposure, and I had that industrial-sized tub of lube..."

(Dylan protests with bug-eyed apprehension, trying to get Ledbetter to cut off his story while the crowd buzzes with laughter)

CL: "Yeah, and that one girl Cinnamon said you were kinda cute, so you slathered your head, glasses and all, with that cheap lube, and you slid--"

DW: "We also have an Extreme Death Match, pitting Rich Ashley and Andrew Costeal against the duo of Hardcore X and Michael Killjoy! Yes, lots of action! Chris, for crying out loud, will you shut up?!"

CL: "Some thanks I get! I was the one who managed to pull you out when you were suffocating!"

DW: "CHRIS!"

CL: "You were wheezing like a dying goat, Dylly-boy! But it had a silver lining; that's how we discovered you had a deviated septum! I saved your life in TWO ways!"

DW: "ANYWAY! It's a Chamber of Hell, an Extreme Death Match, and a whole lot more tonight here at HGW Freaking Anniv--"

("It's Going Down" by the X-ecutioners hits, prompting a mix of cheers and boos from the Atlantic City faithful. Interrupting Whiplash's opening is Chris Rage, 40. Despite having retired in 2008 due to injuries, Rage is in wrestling trunks and a black t-shirt, looking in pretty decent shape despite the layoff. With a disgusted grimace on his face, the surly Rage storms the ring, trying to menace Whiplash and Ledbetter. Ledbetter stares back pensively, watching as Rage takes the mic from Whiplash's hands)

CR: "All of the freeloaders in this goddamn building know that I should be in the Chamber of Hell tonight, and that I should be the final HGW World Champion!"

(The reaction is one of chilly boos, prompting Rage to scream at the fans further off-mic. He makes like he's going to go out and assault a fan or two personally, but thinks better of it)

CR: "Ever since I stepped foot in this building, there's been a conspiracy to keep me out of the main event! Because everyone from Justin Henry on down knows that if I became top dog, I'd never lose my spot!"

(Fans continue booing Rage's claims while he yells at them more. Coolly, Ledbetter retorts)

CL: "You'd think you'd want to avoid the Chamber of Hell at all costs, since you'd probably be a runner-up to Nickmaster...AGAIN!"

(Fans oooh at the put-down. Rage glares at Ledbetter, who shrugs disaffectedly. Whiplash turns away from the confrontation, cheeks puffed as he tries to stifle a laugh)

CR: "You know something, you dumbass yokel, I never liked you. All you did was talk shit and start shit. You know what? You could never finish shit, could you?"

CL: "Hey, I'm a two-time World Champion, little man. I've had a loooong history of finishing shit. But if you want a match so badly, I'm sure there's somebody in the back willing to get their hands dirty in dealing with your sorry ass. I'm gonna take the high road, because I've gotta conserve my energy for later. Dylan and I are goin' cattin' after the show, and I need my strength!"

(Dylan offers a pantomimed protestation to Ledbetter's statement, before resigning himself to the fact that he and Led will probably be waking up Sunday morning to yet another unexplained disaster in their hotel room. The two announcers peaceably leave the ring, and a steaming Rage, behind. Rage, however, refuses to leave)

CR: "Well, if Bad Grandpa here won't fight me, get somebody else out here then! I'm gonna kick somebody's ass, and show the world why I was the greatest wrestler HGW ever had!"

(Rage chucks the microphone and begins pacing the ring like a predator, flaring his nostrils and almost foaming at the mouth. After some caustic threats toward the entrance curtain, and cursory shouts at fans who taunt him, "Nosebleed" by The Deftones plays, prompting a loud, somewhat surprised, cheer from the long-time fans that actually recognize the tune)

CL: "Dylan, this isn't a familiar song to me."

DW: "Oh, this is before your time in HGW! And what a find this is!"

(Emerging from the curtain, loosely-applied straitjacket and all, is Mental Home Mike, a relic of HGW's infancy. Now 44, Mike all but disappeared from the mainstream wrestling scene by the year 2000, with little known about his whereabouts, aside from popping up at the occasional indy show in the Massachusetts area. Still wearing the slicked points of red hair and circles of black grease paint that barely shield his demented eyes, Mike casts off the jacket and lets out a crazed howl before sliding into the ring to confront Rage, who stares with slack-jawed blankness at the skinny imp that shambles before him)

DW: "Mental Home Mike, the rubber room reject, has returned to HGW!"

CL: "Is there some kinda government reward for his capture? Even a tiny one?"

(Rage charges at Mike, who sidesteps and shoves his impromptu opponent into the buckles chest first. Reeling, Rage backs into Mike, who piggybacks Rage and begins biting his ear ravenously, causing Rage to flail about screaming. The fans chant "MIKE!" as their protagonist continues trying to devour Rage's auditory appendage. Finally, Rage manages to flip Mike over with a snap mare, before clasping the side of his head in pain)

DW: "Old habits never go away!"

(Rage looks up just in time to see the obdurate Mike come flying at him, landing a tornado of strikes and kneelifts in a short amount of time. Rage manages to escape to the floor in order to flee the attack. Mike pauses to gather whatever minimal reason he's capable of, and takes off from the ropes, looking to land a dive. Mike hurtles through the middle rope, only to be caught by a forearm smash to the face mid-move)

CL: "Rage doing the right thing, luring Mike into leaving himself open for a counter strike. Rage is a lot of things, and most of them are unsavory, but a patient tactician is definitely one of them."

(Rage pulls Mike to his feet and smashes his face into the guardrail, sending the lunatic careening across the ringside area. A running clothesline grounds Mike on the concrete floor, giving Rage a chance to collect himself)

DW: "I think Mental Home Mike tried to do too much too early. He didn't look before he leapt, quite literally, and he's paying for it now."

(Rage slides Mike under the ropes and crawls back in, covering him for a count of two. Undaunted, Rage picks up Mike and snapmares him over, driving knees into his back before finishing the brief flurry with a kick to the side of the head. Another quick cover yields another two count for Rage. Rage continues to put Mike through the wringer, sending him into the ropes and catching him on the rebound with a spinning tilt-a-whirl backbreaker for two, with a bit of frustration becoming evident)

DW: "Mental Home Mike was known for his resilience. It's going to take more than just Wrestling 101 to put him away."

CL: "Anyone that wears a straitjacket requires a "heavier dose" to be put down, sure."

(Rage sets Mike up on the top rope, then follows up for an attempt at a superplex. Rage cinches up and steps to the top rope, only for Mike to block the move by grabbing the buckle. Rage struggles to lift, but Mike holds on tightly. Quickly, Mike lands hard gut shots to Rage's abdomen, driving in a few more before pushing him off, causing Rage to hotshot himself across the top rope. Mike resets his feet, waits for Rage to turn around, and hurtles himself off the buckles with a diving knee to the face. Mike crawls over and gets a count of two)

DW: "Only a two count, and it was close! Mike with a devastating move from the top rope!"

(Mike takes off from the ropes and lands a basement dropkick to the side of Rage's head. He then ascends the middle rope, looking to lower the boom with a diving forearm strike, only for Rage to get the knees up, spiking the chest of Mike. With his opponent stunned, Rage tries to roll him over into the Fit of Rage, with Mike resisting all the way)

DW: "This could be it if he can hook the hold!"

CL: "Mike's kicking and screaming like Shia Labeouf does when he's confronted by reality! Rage scissoring the arms; he just has to torque the neck!"

(Mike shimmies his body across the canvas, not allowing Rage to get his fingers locked around his face. Using his knees, Mike begins bucking like a wild animal, until he's finally able to knock Rage back and roll across his body to escape. In the process of getting free, he tweaks his shoulder, which he quickly grabs. Sensing blood, Rage lands an elbow strike to the clavicle, twisting the arm and landing clubbing blows to the crook of the limb)

CL: "You cannot show a hint of weakness to Rage; he will capitalize in a hurry"

(Rage tries again for the Fit of Rage, but Mike pulls the arm away. Rage charges for a clothesline, but Mike ducks and counters with a one-armed face slam. Mike is unable to follow up due to the pain, clutching his arm and grimacing. He manages to get to his feet and waits for Rage to stand. Clearing the cobwebs, Rage uses the ropes in the corner to pull himself up. After measuring his opponent, Mike charges, only for Rage to get the boot up, jacking the jaw of Mental Home. Rage snatches Mike from behind and lands a beautiful German suplex, and looks to follow up with another in a string of rolling Germans, only for Mike to flip over behind Rage. Hooking the arms, Mike spins Rage around into Shock Treatment, driving him face first into the canvas. The fans cheer Mike on as he rolls Rage onto his back, getting the arm across for the three count)

"Time of the match, 4 minutes, 38 seconds, your winner....MENTAL HOME MIKE!"

(Mike ascends the middle ropes, wildly celebrating his win in front of the appreciative fans, while a defeated Rage rolls his battered self under the bottom rope)

DW: "An impressive win for Mental Home Mike, who literally came out of nowhere to be a part of tonight's event!"

CL: "Yeah, Chris Rage won't have to worry about being second fiddle to Nickmaster. He's got a continental divide to leap over before he even thinks about second place!"

(Mike leaves the ring and scampers up the aisle, just as crazed as ever. He picks up his discarded straitjacket and exits the arena, back into parts unknown as he prefers it)

---

("Fireproof" by Pillar signals the arrival of one of the most gifted athletes to ever grace an HGW ring. Stepping through the curtain is "The Spanish Menace" Amenaza, 38, fresh off of leaving Lucha Underground after appearing sporadically through the first three seasons as the masked Vibora. The nimble Amenaza is still in incredible shape, having recently blazed through the United Kingdom with appearances in PROGRESS and WhatCulture Pro Wrestling, once more under the Amenaza name. Amenaza tags hands with the faithful before vaulting his way into the ring with a springboard backflip off the top rope. He sticks the landing to an impressed round of applause, and humbly bows before the capacity crowd)

("Voodoo People" (Pendulum mix) by Prodigy kicks up, preceding a strobe-light display by the entrance curtain. Thrusting his way through the curtain is the eccentric Spiker, 30, still dazzling fans across the left coast with his limitless agility. After being passed over in the WWE Cruiserweight Classic, Spiker took to Twitter to denounce the promotion with a series of off-color tweets that burned any and all bridges to Stamford. Fresh off of a brief run through AAA in Mexico, Spiker hits the ring with unbridled energy, mixing a breakdance routine with general spastic movement as a pre-match ritual. Amenaza looks on from the corner stoically, looking forward to adding another chapter to the ancient Los Luchadores/Ranting Ravers rivalry)

"The following contest is scheduled for one fall. Introducing first, in the corner to my left, from San Jose, California, weighing 223 lbs, he is "The Spanish Menace"....AMENAZA!"

(Amenaza takes another bow and acknowledges the crowd, who applaud him with plenty of respect)

"His opponent, hailing from Edmonton, Alberta, Canada, weighing 215 lbs, this is...SPIKER!"

(Spiker performs a standing backflip and pumps his fist to a hail of cheers)

(The bell sounds, spurring the two speedy wrestlers to quickly circle each other in a competition for the early advantage. Amenaza seizes Spiker with a collar-and-elbow tie-up and maneuvers behind him, applying a waistlock. Amenaza tries to lift Spiker with a takeover, only for Spiker to hook the head and roll Amenaza forward in a counter. Both men immediately get to their feet, with Spiker striking fast using a simple dropkick. Amenaza stumbles backward into the corner, but avoids a Spiker flying attack by catching him around the legs. Amenaza tosses Spiker backward with a cheerleader-style hand-under-foot throw, causing Spiker to backflip. When he lands on his feet, Spiker is immediately struck with a savate kick to the abdomen. Amenaza takes off from the ropes, Spiker leapfrogs the first pass, and then drops to his back to catch him on the rebound with a monkey flip, only for Amenaza to evade by cartwheeling to the side. Spiker springs back to his feet and misses a front roundhouse kick, then ducks a standing buzzsaw counter from Amenaza. The two freeze into a stand-off, earning a chorus of cheers and claps from the fans)

DW: "You'd think they'd have slowed down a bit over the years; I still can't keep up with the action!"

CL: "Dylan, you struggled to keep up with Drop Top and Doomsday throwing lumbering punches at each other."

DW: "Eh, fair point."

(Amenaza initiates a Greco-Roman knucklelock by offering his right hand to Spiker's left, and follows up on the opposite side. The two slam torsos in an attempt to gain the upper hand, with Amenaza's strength advantage coming into play. Spiker is unable to resist being forced down to a knee while Amenaza applies further pressure downward. Spiker quickly rolls to his back and gets the monkey flip he was looking for earlier, rolling back with his shins across Amenaza's arms for two. Spiker, still with Amenaza's hands locked, is knocked forward to where both men are on their backs. Amenaza rolls backward and tries the same pinning technique, but Spiker uses the ongoing momentum to push Amenaza back off of him. Their hands remain interlocked as they both get to their feet, at which time Spiker attempts another monkey flip. This time, in mid-move, Amenaza relinquishes the hands and comes down with a double stomp to Spiker's chest. The fans applaud the brilliant sequence while Spiker thrashes around, trying to catch his breath)

CL: "It wasn't the prettiest move in the run, but it's the most effective! And now Spiker's sucking wind like me at Planet Fitness!"

(Amenaza peels Spiker off the mat and unloads with a stinging double chop that elicits a loud "WHOO" from the gallery. A few more chops have Spiker on wobbly legs. Amenaza springs off the middle rope and lands a vicious knee strike to the side of Spiker's head, garnering a two count. Spiker tries to roll to the apron, but Amenaza prevents him, landing a series of stomps to the chest. Amenaza springs off the ropes and flips himself into a round-off, landing with a splash to Spiker for yet another two count)

DW: "Spiker hasn't recovered from that earlier double stomp, still gasping for air, and Amenaza isn't letting him have even a puff."

(Amenaza pulls Spiker to his feet and grounds him once more with a snap suplex. He tries again for the round-off splash, but Spiker gets the knees up, this time taking the wind out of his opponent. From his back, Spiker throws a lashing kick to the side of Amenaza's head, dropping him to a knee in front of the ropes. Amenaza goes to use the middle rope to get to his feet when Spiker runs up, leaps over both Amenaza and the top rope, and drives an elbow into the back of Amenaza's head as he hurtles to the floor. The spectacular move leaves Amenaza hanging upside down, tangled in the ropes. Spiker, finding his second wind, slides back into the ring, runs off the opposite ropes, and comes flying in with a baseball slide to a hanging Amenaza's face. The fans show their appreciation for the wild sequence) 

CL: "I'd comment on how Spiker manages to rejuvenate himself, but I'd rather not get the kid in trouble."

(The referee dutifully untangles Amenaza from his predicament, and "The Spanish Menace" slumps to the apron in a fog. Spiker patiently waits for Amenaza to get to his feet. Once he does, Spiker springs off the middle rope, turns, and dropkicks Amenaza off the apron, sending him tumbling to the concrete floor. Waiting once more for Amenaza to shake off the cobwebs, Spiker eyes his opponent until he gets to his feet. He then takes off from the ropes and tries for a corkscrew plancha, only for Amenaza to drop down, sending Spiker crashing spine first onto the top edge of the metal railing. The crowd reacts immediately, many with a "HOLY SHIT" chant, while some closer to Spiker are more concerned about his predicament)

DW: "My goodness, Spiker could be injured! He hit that railing with his lower back! You could hear bone smacking metal from up here!"

CL: "He'd be laid out on the floor if that rail weren't keeping him semi-vertical. He doesn't know where he is on the best of days, let alone after a fall like that."

(Amenaza pulls himself up to the apron and watches as Spiker tries to set his feet in his daze, holding onto the railing gingerly. The referee asks him if he wants to continue, while Amenaza uncharacteristically yells for the official to move out of the way. The referee decides to let it play on without a surrender from Spiker, and that's immediately followed up by Amenaza hitting a running flipping senton off the apron and into the first row, taking Spiker out amongst a sea of revelers. Another "HOLY SHIT" chant follows, with both men on the floor)

DW: "A suicidal move from Amenaza, and perhaps neither man will get to their feet!"

(Fans across the venue stand on chairs, others jockey for position to see who can possibly be the first to their feet. Amenaza is the first to really stir, rolling to all fours, making a conscious effort to grab the railing, Spiker rolls to his side, holding his mouth with spots of blood on the upper lip. The referee and everyone else can only watch as Amenaza gently resets his feet. With full awareness, Amenaza grabs Spiker by the frayed mohawk, pulls him semi-vertical, and deposits him over the railing, back to ringside. Amenaza hurdles over and picks up Spiker yet again, sending him back into the ring. Instead of following up with another move, Amenaza makes a quick cover, only for two)

CL: "I think a follow-up there would have done Spiker in. A backbreaker with some gusto oughta do it."

(Amenaza pulls Spiker to his knees and delivers a rough kick to the pectorals. Another one to follow has Spiker reeling on his axis. Stepping back to telegraph the third, Amenaza swings and misses when Spiker dips the head. With a sudden burst of energy, Spiker leaps up, knees Amenaza in the back, knocks him into the ropes, and catches him on the rebound with a leaping neckbreaker, getting a count of two. Knocked a bit loopy from the wave of action, Spiker staggers a bit before gathering Amenaza and grounding him with a jumping DDT. Spiker then heads to the top rope with his back to the ring, bringing some alarmed fans to their feet. Spiker then attempts an imploding shooting star senton, but Amenaza gets the knees up, affording Spiker a horrible landing)

DW: "If Spiker's back wasn't broken before, it might be now! Amenaza's one sadistic chiropractor!"

(With Spiker finding it onerous to even move his legs comfortably, Amenaza flails his legs back toward Spiker's head, wrapping him up with a Koji Clutch. Spiker squirms inside the tightening coils, trying to feel for the bottom rope with his foot while Amenaza ratchets up the pressure. Spiker can't find the ropes, but rectifies his predicament by getting to his feet. Still hunched over in the hold, Spiker drives his knees into Amenaza's back until he forces a break. Freed, but woozy, Spiker tries for a standing tornado DDT, only to be flung off against the buckles. Amenaza charges with the rolling koppo kick, only for Spiker to move away, causing Amenaza to crash and burn)

CL: "Spiker's had no better chance to take control than now; Amenaza may have knocked the wind out of himself. Spiker's got to take advantage, and do something that's not from his usual bag of high risks."

(Spiker pulls Amenaza to his feet and manages to lift him into a swinging Blue Thunder Bomb, scoring just a two count. Amenaza crawls across the mat to try and catch a breather, but Spiker snatches him in a waistlock. Amenaza goes behind with a waistlock and gets an O'Connor roll for two, before being kicked off through the ropes and to the outside, coming within inches of the railing. Spiker makes it back to his feet as Amenaza tries to do the same outside. Moving as quickly as possible to the apron, Spiker kicks back at Amenaza's face, and then springs off the middle rope with a corkscrew quebrada that puts both men in a crumpled heap against the rail. "H-G-DUB!" chants ring out while both men lay pained)

DW: "What was that about Spiker not doing anything crazy?"

CL: "If he doesn't listen to his barber, why in the hell would he listen to me?"

(Spiker picks Amenaza up, lightly rolling him back into the ring. Spiker, instead of going for the cover, heads to the top rope. Due to his imbalance, it takes him longer to climb the buckles than he would ordinarily need. Amenaza manages to find a burst of energy, and quickly ascends the buckles from the front, striking Spiker with two forearm dekes. Grapevining his own lower-leg around the top buckle, Amenaza hooks Spiker and tosses him overhead with a throwing suplex, which hangs Amenaza in an intended tree-of-woe. The impressed oohs and ahhs fill the HGW Arena as Amenaza does a vertical sit-up to re-establish himself on the top rope, after unhooking his leg. Amenaza attempts a twisting 450 splash, but Spiker rolls away. In mid-move, Amenaza manages to roll through to his feet instead of splatting on the mat, drawing more astounded cheers)

DW: "Amenaza with the wherewithal to abort the move in the blink of an eye!"

(Spiker, perhaps unaware that Amenaza successfully ditched himself, pulls himself up in the opposite corner while his opponent measures him. He turns to find Amenaza charging at him. As Amenaza takes to the air for an attempt at a flying baisuke knee, Spiker instinctively charges forward and catches Amenaza in a running sit-out powerbomb. Both men are laid out while the fans shower them with yet more thunderous cheers)

CL: "I don't even know if I can hang on much longer! These two are leaving it all in the ring, and at ringside as well!"

(Spiker and Amenaza both struggle to get to their feet, with Spiker a second ahead. He tries for the Raver Defacer, but is instead volleyed into the air and dropped with a flapjack. Amenaza scampers over to Spiker and tries for the Dragon Clutch, only for Spiker to block the hook around his head. Spiker grabs the forearm and fights the application with his remaining power, causing Amenaza to give up on the move and instead club away at the back of Spiker's neck with forearms. Spiker absorbs a few blows before sliding out from under Amenaza, vaulting onto his shoulders and rolling forward with a victory roll for a count of two, reversed by Amenaza with his own pinning predicament for a count of two. Amenaza tries to waistlock Spiker, only for Spiker to go behind and stymie Amenaza with a double-leg backroll press for the three count, and a thrilling conclusion to a fast-paced war)

"Time of the match, 10 minutes, 13 seconds, your winner....SPIKER!"

(Spiker sits dazed on the canvas, mind clouded by the thrill of victory. The crowd cheers and applauds feverishly, which doubles to cheer up a disappointed Amenaza, who worked just as hard as his opponent. The pair help each other to their feet and embrace out of respect. Spiker raises Amenaza's arm to a standing ovation, as well as a chant of, "THANK YOU BOTH")

DW: "A helluva way to kick off, in terms of scheduled matches, the twenty-year celebration of HGW here at Freaking Anniversary: H20!"

CL: "I kinda hope the rest of the night is pretty pedestrian, because I don't know how much longer I can keep up my focus! That was incredible!"

(Spiker and Amenaza take their leave together, and head up the aisle while the applause persists. Once more, the two dynamic athletes bring their A-game to HGW, and do so in style)

---

("Drown Soda" by Hole blares, taking the HGW Arena crowd back to the year 2000. Emerging from the entrance way first is Orange Valkyrie, 37, the eccentric "Suicidal Swede" whose brief run of dominance at the turn of the century is an indelible part of HGW lore. Valkyrie performs one of his animated dance moves before the entrance curtain, still as fleet-footed as ever. He stops, gesturing to the crowd that he is not alone. With a tip of the hand toward the curtain, he signals the arrival of noted unintentional comic relief Tommy Soulberg, 36, his partner in crime from Softcore Conception. In fact, Soulberg wears a musty-old t-shirt bearing the team name. Valkyrie continues to perform in the United Kingdom wrestling scene, while Soulberg is still a regular performer in his native Indiana, working weekend shows while supervising a cold storage warehouse. The mismatched duo makes their way toward the ring to a bit of a tepid reaction, and some scattered "SOULBERG SWALLOWS" chants. Valkyrie makes one of his typical eclectic entrances through the ropes, continuing to ham it up, while Soulberg watches with a dull smile, failing to add anything, even a generation later)

("No. 14, Moonlight Sonata: III" by Beethoven draws some cackles and cheers from a number of fans that have already put two and two together. Making his entrance with teased-out hair and a full-length red duster is White Trash, 46, who clearly didn't have to grow his beard special for the occasion, thrusting his arms outward with a maniacal grin and laugh. Following right behind him is Robazeri Misawa, 36, partially unrecognizable in smeared facepaint and a black duster, spastically flailing his arms like a car dealership tube-man. These days, Trash remains retired from the business, still working as a merchandise vendor, while Misawa also lives life outside of wrestling doing as a self-employed tech support guru. Stephen Green is not with the pair, as he will be in action much later. The other two members of Gimmick Infringement, known for the night as The Broken Tardys, make their absurd entrance under a chorus of "DELETE! DELETE!" chants. The pair, Broke 'n Fat and Brother F-Zero, enter the ring, with even Valkyrie giving them WTF-eyes)

"The following tag team contest is scheduled for one fall. Introducing first, in the corner to my left, from Gothenburg Sweden, and Fort Wayne, Indiana, respectively, at a total combined weight of 452 lbs, "The Suicidal Swede" Orange Valkyrie, Tommy Soulberg....SOFTCORE CONCEPTION!"

(Valkyrie and Soulberg soak in the boos with little care)

"Their opponents, hailing from The Tardy Compound, at a total combined weight of 421 lbs, Broke 'n Fat, Brother F-Zero....THE BROKEN TARDYS!"

(Fat and F-Zero ape it up for the cheers and the persisting "DELETE!" chants)

(F-Zero and Valkyrie begin the encounter, which is made clear when Valkyrie charges at the broken brother, only to miss and plow chest-first into the corner. F-Zero busts out the classic kicks to the legs and abdomen for old times sake, doubling over Valkyrie with a swift kick to the gut. He takes off from the ropes and tries for a sunset flip, but Valkyrie leans down and breaks up the attempt with a fist between the eyes)

CL: "Uh, Dylan, I'm lost. What are Trash and Misawa supposed to be?"

DW: "They're doing the Hardy Boyz' current TNA deal, Led."

CL: "...."

DW: "I'll explain later when you're drunk. It'll make more sense."

(Valkyrie tags Soulberg, who makes a move toward the prone F-Zero, when Fat throws a baby doll at Soulberg, who instinctively catches it. Confused, Soulberg jawjacks with Fat, who is entertaining the irony-loving crowd by yelling in Pig Latin with a British accent from the apron about massacres and lawn care and the like. Still holding the doll baby, Soulberg has his legs swept out by F-Zero, who quickly follows with a rolling senton. F-Zero quickly makes the tag to Fat, who brings in with him an RC car with the remote)

DW: "That must be the Vanguard 1 stand-in!"

CL: "....you need to watch better TV shows, man."

(After turning on the remote, Fat directs the car by driving it toward Soulberg's feet. Soulberg for his part, keeps jumping over the car with ease. Valkyrie isn't so lucky, as one Soulberg evasion sends the car barreling toward Valkyrie, hitting his foot and startling him, causing him to fall from the apron, hitting his jaw on the apron and knocking him out. The fans continue chanting "DELETE!")

DW: "Valkyrie has been rendered obsolete by Vanguard 1!"

CL: "....what is with your accent?"

(In all of the confusion, F-Zero wallops Soulberg in the back of the head with doll stand-in of King Maxel. The blow sends Soulberg falling into Fat, who drops Soulberg with the Twist of Fate. F-Zero mounts the buckles and comes off with an adequate Swanton Bomb, which Fat follows with a fast pinfall attempt to end this absurdity quickly enough)

"Time of the fall, 2 minutes, 45 seconds, your winners....THE BROKEN TARDYS!"

(Fat and F-Zero celebrate their win vigorously, with F-Zero holding the now headless baby doll up by the leg, a trophy of their joyful ignominy)

DW: "Gimmick Infringement has done it again, appropriating modern wrestling culture with the sharpest of satirical wit!"

CL: "I'm starting to see why Bad Ass chose to wrestle tonight instead of sitting up here..."

(Fat and F-Zero pose on both turnbuckles, soaking in the incessant "DELETE!" chants with heaping smiles, happy to still have a niche in the wrestling world)

---

("Drunk With Power" by Discharge whirs into high gear, summoning Tommy Danger, 50, from the entrance way. Danger's aggressive spirit has not dulled in his middle age, still engaging in hard-hitting brawls and technical masterpieces alike in his native England. Danger recently acted as a talent liaison for WhatCulture Pro Wrestling, even spurring an offer of an agent's position for WWE's United Kingdom brand. With gray hair and a beard to match, Danger would look like a political science professor if not for the frayed leather jacket and wrestling trunks. Danger salutes the crowd as he passes, and they in turn respond with a "TOMMY DANGER" chant. As England's perpetual representative in the annual HGW Patriot Cup, Danger made a residual splash on HGW fans with his impressive mat mastery. Danger casts off the leather jacket upon entry, showing that he's still in impressive shape at his advanced age)

("Hollow" by Alice in Chains follows, bringing out latter-day indy standout Travis King. Now 35, "The Wrestler's Wrestler" plies his trade in Ring of Honor, EVOLVE, and occasional west-coast jaunts to Pro Wrestling Guerrilla, where he and former partner/rival Spiker have teamed up for a nostalgic lark. Since HGW's closing, King established himself as one of the premier technicians on the independent circuit, even earning a brief foray in TNA back in 2011, as X-Divisioner Ronnie Pierce. King is given a warm reception from the die-hard fans who follow him with regularity today, one of the few HGWers that is still highly visible in the modern wrestling scene. King tags some hands, exuding confidence and poise. For him, it's a chance to compete against a renowned figure in the sport of professional wrestling)

"The following contest is scheduled for one fall. Introducing first, from Telford, England, weighing in at 243 lbs, this is....TOMMY DANGER!"

(Danger takes a bow and waves to the crowd, who respond with a rousing ovation)

"His opponent, from Baltimore, Maryland, weighing in at 230 lbs, he is "The Wrestler's Wrestler", this is....TRAVIS KING!"

(King climbs to the middle rope and makes open-armed appeals to the crowd, which showers him with love and cheers in kind)

(The bell sounds and King and Danger waste nary a second engaging each other in a particularly-aggressive lock-up, each jockeying to get the upper hand on their opponent. Danger ultimately establishes a beat of leverage by pushing King backfirst into the corner buckles, a position which is quickly reversed by the faster King, who spins Danger against the post and hammers away with unfettered rights and lefts. Danger absorbs the brunt of the strikes before pushing through, snaring King's limbs for a swift double-leg takedown, at which point he applies a basic kneebar. The fans applaud the early explosiveness)

DW: "As expected, neither King nor Danger holding anything back, as we see Danger trying to stifle King's truculent offense here in the early going."

(King scurries while trapped in the hold, trying to find a simple but effective escape. He pushes himself off the mat, bracing himself on his free leg. He twists Danger's legs around his in an attempt at a Scorpion Deathlock, but Danger kicks him off before he can wrap his arm around. Still, King managed to free himself, but his next problem was running right into Danger's next attempt at onslaught in the form of forearm strikes to the face, delivered machine gun-style. King's head rocks backward with each devastating blow)

CL: "Those shots to the face may not seem all that game-changing, but they'll add up over the course of the match, especially as Danger's content to just keep chopping away. He's got that sadistic streak, ya know."

(Danger sends the dazed King into the ropes, and unwisely ducks the head early to try for a back body drop, only for King to plant his knee into the crown of Danger's skull. Taking control of the match, King snapmares Danger over, and follows up with a sharp kick to the back of Danger's unprotected head. Backing up a few steps, King lunges forward with a Curt Hennig-style running neck snap, folding Danger up like a futon. That can only draw a count of two, as Danger still has plenty of life left)

DW: "How quickly the momentum shifts, as Travis King begins working over the head and neck of Tommy Danger."

CL: "Danger's gonna be throwing strikes anyway, so you might as well daze him, and give him three of yourself to swing at."

(King resumes clubbing away at the neck of Danger, pummeling relentlessly in an attempt to leave the Brit on rubber legs. He goes for a swinging neckbreaker, but Danger spins his way out and sends King falling to the canvas with the swing of an arm. Taking a few steps back, Danger quickly capitalizes by charging forward, planting a crunching knee to the face of a hunched-over King, sending the 2007 Patriot Cup winner falling to the canvas awkwardly. King rolls to the outside in a desperate haze, as blood pours from his nose like a waterfall. Knowing an opportunity when he sees one, Danger quickly climbs through the ropes and continues the attack, stomping at King's face from the apron, and then jumping down to hammer away at the gushing nose)

DW: "Travis King may have a broken nose from that knee charge, and if he doesn't, then Tommy Danger's gonna grind it into dust!"

(King subconsciously wipes away the blood that coats his upper lip while in the grasp of Danger, who uplifts him with a punishing uppercut. Danger attempts to send King flying across the ringside area with an Irish whip, only to have the move countered, and Danger himself takes a hard throw into the metal railing. Shaking off the previous pain, King shunters over to Danger, pulls him to a vertical base, and lifts him into a back suplex, dropping him neck-first into the metal barrier. The fans erupt with shock and awe at Danger's horrifying landing, before chanting "HOLY SHIT!" King spurs them on with a battle cry, even with blood coagulating on his face)

CL: "Get somebody down there, that railing may be dented! Oh, and Tommy Danger could have a broken neck. But that's an every week occurrence if you know how he lives his life."

(King rolls Danger back into the ring and covers the battered vet for two. He continues to work over the neck, twisting the head on its pivot and driving clubbing blows into the strained muscles. Pulling Danger to his feet, King attempts a piledriver, only for Danger to run him back-first into the buckles out of desperation. Quickly, Danger unloads with rights and lefts, wildly targeting the nose with his two-fisted blitzkrieg. Danger pulls King back into the center of the ring, and takes his younger foe down with a short-arm into an STO for a count of two)

DW: "This really can't go on much longer at this frenetic pace. Sooner or later, neither man is going to be able to move!"

(King rolls to his stomach, trying to collect himself. Danger steps over the back and rains down blows to the sides of the face, hoping to render the orbital bones just as damaged as the nose. Blood drips onto the mat with each landed strike. Danger then goes back to his technical arsenal, lifting King up by the waistlock and throwing him back with a bridging dragon suplex for only a count of two, though earning impressed applause from the fans, who don't know many 50-year-olds that can do that)

CL: "I hope I'm that flexible when I hit 50!"

DW: "You are 50!"

CL: "Shh, Ecstasy's watching, don't embarrass me in front of her."

DW: "Who's Ecstasy?"

CL: "You'll see. By the way, I need you to drive."

(Danger goes for the coup de grace with his patented Tommykaze, but is tripped up by King, who quickly twists Danger's legs around one of his in the first half of an attempted Muta Lock. Instead of applying the hold, King drops back to the mat, wrenching the legs with a reverse Indian deathlock. Danger pulls himself to his feet hobbling, groaning in pain as he clutches his left leg. Acting fast, King clips the left knee out from under Danger. King kicks away at the leg, trying to soften it up even further. He attempts a figure-four leglock, but is instinctively cradled for a count of two by the wily veteran)

DW: "I know Danger's a tough man, but I don't know how long he could have held on if King had slapped on the figure-four! That could have been all she wrote right there."

(Both men scrape up what's left of themselves in climbing back to their feet. Despite his pained leg, Danger surges forward with a clothesline, but misses by a mile. King pulls him back and spins him into the King's Crown, dropping Danger on his shoulder blades with authority. A slow crawl-over can only yield a count of two, however. Maintaining his cool, King pulls Danger back to his feet and begins to throw strikes, which are volleyed back by Danger. A slugfest develops, with King bleeding once more, and Danger's left eyebrow swelling mightily from the volume of hits)

CL: "We might actually see a match end with a TKO, if the referee feels it's warranted. But if the man he rules it against is still conscious, it might be the ref that gets stretchered out!"

(King gets the upper hand in the brawl, and tries to pull Danger in for the Royal Exile. Danger manages to leverage his head out of KIng's grasp, and tries for a spinning elbow smash, only for King to quickly duck it. King plants a hard knee into Danger's gut, doubling him over in pain. King tries to follow-up with a quick clothesline, which Danger ducks and immediately counters with a high-velocity spinning elbow across the jaw. King falls to the mat and Danger collapses on top, which is enough to earn the three count and the hard-fought victory, as well as an immediate standing ovation from the HGW Arena crowd)

"Time of the fall, 9 minutes, 17 seconds, your winner....TOMMY DANGER!"

(The crowd continues applauding, with their enthusiasm morphing into a loud "H-G-DUB!" chant for the efforts of both men. Danger manages to sit up, gasping a bit for air. King, barely awake, is reached out by Danger, who takes his hand and thanks him for the spirited contest. Danger and the referee help King to his feet, and the fans applaud the continued embrace from the two warriors, after a skirmish for the ages)

DW: "HGW has always been about more than just chairs and tables and barbed wire. It's about the competitiveness of the human spirit, and what drives a man toward victory."

CL: "My hat's off to both men. They're among the toughest men to ever set foot in an HGW ring, and that really says a lot, doesn't it?"

(Danger helps the still woozy-King through the ropes, while assisting him in applying a towel to his splattered face. Along with the referee, the two walk back up the aisle together, under a hail of cheers and appreciation from the scores on hand)

---

(The ring crew gets to work bringing out various instruments of torture for the following match, an Extreme Death Match. First, six stout crewmen carry out a big plank of plywood with a lengthy strand of barbed wire fashioned in loops across one side, stapled in many spots as to envelop the entire board. That's placed against one turnbuckle. Next, two six-foot panes of glass are brought down, and leaned together against a second turnbuckle. Four bunches of lightbulb tubes are placed in front of the third turnbuckle. Finally, a trash can overflowing with various forms of weaponry is set in front of the fourth post. With the arena of combat set, "Asche Zu Asche" by Rammstein plays, providing a cacophonous backdrop for the arrival of Michael Killjoy, 33, and long-retired from the ring. In fact, this will mark his first match since injuries ended his career prematurely in 2008. Killjoy worked in WWE's social media department up until 2014, and just recently earned his MBA in marketing from The University of Penn. None of that matters to the HGW faithful, who heartily boo Killjoy, dressed in a black sleeveless shirt and cargo pants, with his fists taped. Killjoy sneers somewhat lovingly at the vociferous crowd, before addressing them on the trip to the ring)

MK: "Yes, you lucky motherfuckers one and all, you get one more look at what a real star looks like, because for one night, Michael Killjoy is back!"

(The fans boo everything that is wrong with that sentence)

MK: "I've got enough left in my body for one more fight, and all of you mongoloids, misfits, and welfare recipients of Atlantic City get to bask in the glory of witnessing it! But I won't be doing it alone! My tag team partner is the best that any man can have, because he's the baddest fighter to ever set foot in any ring, let alone HGW!"

("X Gonna Give It to Ya" by DMX blasts out across the venue, the signal that precedes the arrival of Hardcore X, 41, one of the most accomplished big-match performers in HGW history. A crossover star, X jumped to mixed martial arts in 2009, most notably for the now-defunct Strikeforce organization. X trains fighters on Long Island today at his own facility, X-Terminators Gym. Still imposing with less weight on his 6'6" frame, X shadow boxes his way out of the entrance terminal, high-fiving Killjoy in the aisle. The unforgiving heavyweight wears four-ounce gloves and Anderson Silva-style shorts to honor his second career, but made sure to keep the wrestling boots, as the four-time former HGW World Champion may be literally walking on glass tonight)

("Down With the Sickness" by Disturbed is next to play, sending the fans into a frenzy. With the lights dimmed, Andrew Costeal makes his standard ominous entrance at the tempo-shift thirty seconds into the song. "The Living Dead Man", 42, can still frighten onlookers, despite retiring in 2011, and turning to life as an entrepreneur in the restaurant business, mostly in the New Orleans area, putting his likeness on Dead Man's Kitchen. Shifting his feet toward the ring with his intentionally-plodding gait, Costeal peers between his long strands of hair at X and Killjoy, who look back with cool indifference. Costeal and X have had a long and storied history over the HGW World Championship, which Costeal himself has held four times)

("Scotland the Brave" by Scottish Clubland is the last of the four songs, heralding the arrival of Red Mode Rich Ashley, 38. Ashley remains a force of nature in the United Kingdom, literally burning up the likes of ICW and Grand Pro Wrestling, the latter of which he reigns as current Heavyweight Champion. In all, Ashley is a six-time HGW World Heavyweight Champion, and is still a crowd favorite in his rare trips stateside. The fans roar in approval for Ashley, responding to him with epic "WELCOME BACK!" chants. Ashley is clearly humbled by the response, shaking hands and even hugging several aisleway fans, with even the icy Costeal peering back with a half-grin. The two share a quick fist bump in the aisle before headed to the ring, at which time they're quickly met by X and Killjoy, who strike at ringside before the bell. The match is immediately under way)

DW: "And here we go! Everyone around the ringside area knows they have to be on high alert, ready to move if the action gets too close!"

(Costeal slugs away on Killjoy, walloping him with lefts and rights by a ring post on the aisle side, while X and Ashley exchange blows on a tour of the ringside area. A pre-emptive "H-G-DUB!" chant breaks out in anticipation of the carnage that lay ahead. Hardcore gets the better of the smaller Ashley and tosses him into the ring at the same time Costeal launches Killjoy into the first row with little regard for anyone's safety. Just before X can inflict any further punishment upon Red Mode, Costeal hits the ring and attacks "The Immortal Rampage" from behind with a charging forearm smash. Costeal continues to deliver the hits as Ashley fishes two kendo sticks from the trash can. Together, Costeal and Ashley turn X into a human pinata, lashing him with the bound sticks of wood)

CL: "Some good Killjoy's been so far; it may as well be a handicap match. X couldn't pick a better partner?"

(Costeal continues the frontal assault, working X over with the stick, just as Ashley rummages deeper into the trash can, retrieving a cheese grater. Costeal knocks Hardcore to his knees with a mighty swing, giving Ashley the opening needed to embed the sharp openings into X's scalp. Even Ashley's most loyal supporters grimace and shriek while the Scotsman produces rivulets of blood down X's face within seconds. Costeal is caught unaware by a returning Killjoy, who manages to pull the big man under the ropes by a foot, and quickly jams a steel chair into his throat before crowning him with a shot to the skull. Killjoy brings the chair in and slams it across Ashley's back, saving his partner from further carving)

DW: "Hey, Killjoy did something right, taking down both opponents with mighty swings of the chair, while rescuing Hardcore X, who is caked in blood!"

CL: "X has the grater now, and he knows it's payback time! Look out, Rich!"

(X returns the favor by pulling Ashley's head back and digging the grater into his pale forehead, drawing instant blood, as well as screams of horror and sympathy from the crowd. Costeal pulls himself to the apron, only to be quickly knocked off by a trash can-wielding Killjoy. X drops the grater and moves over to where the window panes are, giving the opportunistic Killjoy an opportunity to put the boots to a downed Ashley. X takes one pane and leans it on a slight decline against the middle buckle in the corner where the trash can was. Fans begin buzzing with dread as Killjoy pulls a dazed Ashley to his feet and manually turns his head toward the glass, as if to give him a preview of his future. Killjoy shoves Ashley toward X, who lifts the lighter foe over his head, military pressing him clean through the glass, reducing the pane to smithereens. "HOLY SHIT!" is the chant of choice after that deadly assault)

DW: "Oh my, Rich Ashley may be cut everywhere! X threw him down full velocity through that pane of glass!"

(X goes for the cover, but Costeal pulls his partner to the floor by his foot, getting him to safety even if it means dragging him across jagged shards of glass. X and Killjoy descend upon Costeal like hungry wolves, coming after him to try and neutralize him as well. Costeal does a decent job of it at first, hammering both opponents with a flurry of right hands, and even clotheslines Killjoy down to the bare concrete, only to be run face-first into the ring post by X. X drags a stunned Costeal into the ring and muscles him into place for a Russian legsweep onto the already-broken glass, cutting both of their backs, for a count of two)

CL: "This is what both teams have to do, divide and conquer. It's a tenet of classic tag team wrestling, although this match is kinda far from classic. But as long as Rich is incapacitated, they can work over Costeal two on one with little problem."

(Killjoy re-enters the ring, taunting Costeal with his usual acidic verbiage. He picks up one of the kendo sticks and begins whipping Costeal across the back with it. One mighty shot breaks the stick in half, slumping Costeal to the mat in teeth-gnashing pain. Killjoy and X continue with the badmouthing as Costeal rolls to the apron to try and catch his breath. X walks over and begins putting the boots to a pained Costeal, while Killjoy goes over to the lightbulb tubes and grabs one of the clusters. Killjoy takes a few practice swings while X reaches through the ropes and works to pull Costeal to his feet. X balances Costeal and steps back quickly, giving Killjoy the opening to run up and swing for the fences, shattering the clusters into Costeal's face, sending the dust and glass chunks flying into the air, some of it into the crowd. Costeal falls motionless to the floor, blood pouring from his face at a horrifying rate. Another "HOLY SHIT!" chant is warranted, although with far more fear behind it)

DW: "Costeal may be finished!"

CL: "Trust me, that goddamn Nosferatu has more life left in him. I realize his face is probably missing, but he'll just take another form. I should know, I've fought the bastard."

DW: "Chris, there's blood everywhere!"

CL: "What bothers me more is that Killjoy's the only one not bleeding. I think I could wing 'em with this Snapple bottle from here, though..."

DW: "Chris, put it down."

(Killjoy chucks the remnants of the tubes with a big satisfying grin on his face, while X goads the fans. Neither is aware that Rich Ashley has climbed the post with a steel chair in hand. The fans cheer wildly when Ashley takes to the air like a red-haired, bloody kamikaze, and smashes the steel across Killjoy's skull with authority. He manages a two count, only to have it broken up by a quick-to-respond X. Hardcore hammers away on Ashley, trying to deepen the wounds in his forehead, while fans try to rally with a "LET'S GO RED MODE" chant. X drags Ashley toward the plywood with the coils of barbed wire stapled onto it, but Ashley does his damnedest to resist the pull. X attempts to throw him at the death trap, but Ashley breaks his grip and goes for the STFU, only to be pushed off, right into the path of Killjoy, who breaks what's left of one of the shattered tubes on his face. To add further insult, Killjoy pulls Ashley up and drives him down with Negative Input for a count of two)

CL: "Rich had momentum on his side, but you can feel it slipping aw--here comes Andrew!"

(Indeed, Costeal slides into the ring, looking like Carrie on prom night. He deftly pulls out the first weapon he can from the assorted pile, in this case a wooden bat wrapped in barbed wire. X is oblivious as Costeal slams the weapon in his back, causing the cage fighter to cry out in searing agony. X falls to his knees when Killjoy turns and gets the weapon slammed on his forehead, finally adding the former Payroll leader to the juice club. The fans cheer this development, as Costeal grinds the barbs deeper into the forehead flesh of the hated Killjoy. A blood-soaked Ashley pulls his way to his feet, takes the steel chair, and bashes Killjoy across the face, knocking him through the ropes and onto the floor, where he lands in a heap)

DW: "Well, Chris, you got what you wanted!"

CL: "Would it be greedy if I wished that he would be bisected like the Black Dahlia?"

DW: "Probably."

(Meanwhile, the crowd is buzzing as Costeal, after wiping away more flowing blood, points at the barbed wire-covered sheet of plywood. He and Ashley lay it on a slant using the middle rope. Ashley points at X, and the crowd can't give their approval fast enough. He and Costeal pull Hardcore to his feet, which proves difficult given his pained walk from having his lower back sliced open. The two send X into the ropes and catch him on the rebound, back body dropping him onto the plywood, cracking it in the middle, and hopelessly entangling X in the barbed wire spider web. This gives way to an "H-G-DUB!" chant as Ashley and Costeal soak in the adulation)

DW: "How in the hell is Hardcore X going to free himself?!"

CL: "Well, carefully, I'd assume."

(Costeal covers the stuck X, but only gets two when Killjoy suddenly reaches through the ropes with the cheese grater, digging it into Costeal's scalp to break the pin. Ashley quickly ends that assault by braining Killjoy in the head with the trash can, laying him out across the apron. As the only match participant momentarily mobile, Ashley sets up a steel chair in the middle of the ring. He takes the remaining pane of glass and lays it on the chair and the middle rope, creating a makeshift table. The fans get excited once more as Costeal, coming around from the brief cheese grater assault, pulls Killjoy into the ring and drags him to his feet. Together, Ashley and Costeal spot Killjoy up with "The Living Dead Man" wrapping his arms around Killjoy's waist, lifting him into a powerbomb. Ashley reaches up and grabs Killjoy's upper body, and the two drive Killjoy downward through the sheet of glass, sending jagged bits of it into the air. The fans erupt with screams once more)

DW: "POWERBOMB THROUGH THE SHEET OF GLA--who the hell is this?!"

(Before Costeal can cover Killjoy, two king-sized intruders hit the ring and begin assaulting both he and Ashley. They're instantly recognizable to HGW fans as Doomsday and Slammer, the southern-based colossuses that have both been Payroll members in the past, and today continue their presence in the southeastern indy scene. Doomsday drops Ashley with running big boot. Slammer manages to (painfully) pry X out of his barbed wire snare, but turns around to eat a chair shot to the head from Costeal. He dishes out another one to Doomsday, knocking both men to the floor in a matter of seconds. That's when, to the temporary confusion and eventual surprise of everyone, former X flunky Kevin Rush slides into the ring, spiking Ashley with a DDT, before turning to face Costeal. Costeal tilts his head with an "are you fucking kidding me?" glare at Rush, who seemingly vanished from the business in 2002. Costeal goes at him with a two-handed throttle in the corner, only to be struck in the back with a chair by X. Costeal slumps to the mat as Rush jumps up and down in a sugar rush frenzy, pumping his fists. He turns to embrace X, only for X to dent the chair over his head, out of annoyance more than anything. The spot earns a big laugh for the sheer gallows humor)

CL: "I dig the idea of Kevin Rush slowly descending into CTE oblivion, but c'mon, this is supposed to be two on two!"

(Costeal manages to knock the chair from X's hands and begins unloading with overhand rights, the only two men standing at the moment. His back is to the entrance way, and doesn't heed the horrified groans from the crowd as the 7'3", 448 pound Drop Top storms the ring, steps over the ropes, and seizes Costeal from behind by the neck. Doomsday and Slammer climb back in and help X and Drop Top assault Costeal and Ashley, all the while Killjoy lays against the bottom rope, his placated grin revealing this to be yet another use of his seemingly endless financial resources, which is all scored by a wave of boos)

DW: "It's a Payroll reunion of sorts! Killjoy's stealing this match!"

(The beatdown continues when another familiar face arrives: the masked Jason Pain. Pain hits the ring with a solitary light bulb tube, enters the fray....and then breaks it over Doomsday's head! The crowd erupts at the shocking turn of events, when Pain turns and swipes the remaining part of the tube across Slammer's face, taking down both members of Decimation. That's when "Pain", who looked a bit small for the role anyway, pulls off the hockey mask to reveal Phoenix, the ex-girlfriend of Costeal, and longtime Payroll nemesis. The crowd explodes at the return of the Queen of Extreme, but the adulation turns to horror when Drop Top and X have the smaller Phoenix cornered. She assumes a fighting stance, but faces long odds against the two super heavyweights)

DW: "Where are you going?!"

CL: "To do the right thing and save the girl!"

(At a speed faster than he has ever known, Ledbetter throws off the headset, jumps down from the commentary perch, and beelines toward the ring. He slides in, spins his former flunky Drop Top, and quickly drops the goliath with Led Poison to a mighty cheer. Ledbetter and X begin brawling as Costeal gets up, snares Slammer by the throat, and lifts the lanky redneck up and over the ropes with a chokeslam through the timekeeper's table, prompting a massive "HOLY SHIT!" chant. That only magnifies when a Ledbetter right hand spins X into the oncoming path of a fireball hurled by Ashley, sending Hardcore falling through the ropes in a flailing panic.Killjoy decides to try and get involved again, only to be kicked in the balls by Phoenix, prompting the biggest cheer yet)

DW: "It's absolute chaos! My commentary partner--I mean, Phoenix comes back--Kevin Rush isn't dead after all--I CAN'T KEEP UP!"

(Phoenix and Led hold Killjoy in place as Costeal and Ashley drag the remaining light bulb tube clusters to mid ring. Then Costeal holds the barbed wire bat straight out, allowing Ashley to set the wooden stick on fire, bringing everyone in the crowd to their feet. Killjoy pleads for his life, but the opposition ignores him completely. Ashley drops the weapon onto the pile of light bulb tubes, sending a wave of anticipation through the entire building. Together, Ledbetter and Ashley lift Killjoy up into Costeal's waiting arms, and together hit a triple powerbomb, sending Killjoy crashing down onto fire, glass, and barbed wire in one hellish ride. "HOLY SHIT" rings out as Ashley covers the remains of Killjoy for the academic three count)

"Time of the match, 17 minutes, 8 seconds, your winners....ANDREW COSTEAL AND RICH ASHLEY!"

(The quartet celebrates, with deference to Ashley and Costeal's various wounds. The loudest "H-G-DUB" chant of the night breaks out, as all four raise each other's arms in something of a group victory, standing tall over Payroll corruption one last time)

DW: "That was one classic all-out-war, HGW style! And I think you'll understand when I say it's time for an intermission to not only clean up the ring and surrounding area, but get pretty much everyone inside the guardrails to medical personnel immediately! Don't go too far, we'll be back in twenty!"

(Ledbetter and Phoenix help Ashley and Costeal out of the ring and up the aisleway, as the ring announcer makes a similar announcement to the fans about intermission. There's still plenty more mayhem to be had)

---

("All the Small Things" by Blink 182 brings out a triad of temerity from early-2000's HGW. Leading the way is 35-year-old Scott Harmon, longtime villain who still irritates ringside attendees with his weekend antics in his native Minnesota. Flanked behind him are the notorious Syndicate, comprised of Blake Martin and Sean Eclipse. Martin, 41, has left wrestling behind for a successful foray into indie and folk rock on a local level, as well as tireless work at local animal shelters. Eclipse, 40, coaches high school football in southern New Jersey, where he was at one time an athletic standout. The three make their way around ringside, rankling the ringsiders with playful taunts. Martin and Eclipse were sure to wear throwback RWA t-shirts for the occasion, further earning the ire of the HGW fans, although not as caustic as the hatred may have once been. All three look to be in pretty solid shape, especially given the layoff for the latter pair)

("I Fucking Hate You" by Godsmack replaces the contemporary punk tune, summoning the monstrous Hugo from behind the curtain. Now 37, Hugo tours the world in search of fortune, spilling blood in Japan, Australia, England, Germany, and all points in between. The behemoth even made successful "defenses" of his never-lost HGW World Heavyweight Championship against the likes of Fast Freddy, "The Blizzard" Lewis Young, and others during a United Kingdom tour in the spring of 2016. Hugo stops midway down the aisle and flashes a knowing grin at the crowd in the midst of his warm reception. His music gives way to "Holy Man" by One Minute Silence, drawing some surprised oohs from the fans. From the curtain emerges Little Blue Super Jew in his alternate "Father Jewcifer" attire, holding his arms out wide with a shark's grin, earning a sizable pop. He steps forward and turns to the curtain, joined seconds later by Jarred "Thor" Giles, 37, and the imposing Crimson Beast, 36, reunited for one night as The Lost Souls. The fans cheer loudly for the surprise acknowledgement of a beloved duo. Giles surfaced recently in Ohio's Absolute Intense Wrestling, while Beast joins Hugo, his half-brother, on tours of the globe, cashing in still on his impressive look and intensity. The terrorizing trio make their way up the aisle, led by Jewcifer, an amalgam of The Lost Souls and The Midway Monsters. Since Giles' native Indiana isn't far from Chicago, they may as well be The Lost Souls of the Midway)

"The following six-man tag team match is scheduled for one fall. Introducing first, in the corner to my left, at a total combined weight of 687 lbs, the team of "The Wild Card" Scott Harmon, Blake Martin, and Sean Eclipse!"

(Fans jovially boo all three men through their over-the-top mugging)

"Their opponents, accompanied to ringside by Father Jewcifer, at a total combined weight of 873 lbs, the team of Jarred Giles, "The Unbreakable" Crimson Beast, and "The Human Snuff Film" Hugo!"

(The response is much more favorable for this trio, particularly for the first Lost Souls reunion in close to 14 years. Hugo and Martin kick off the contest, and the man once known as "B-Money" is at a loss on how to approach the menacing ex-convict. Martin dances around an unimpressed Hugo, and tries to shoulder block him, only to bounce off like a superball with a fisherman's beard, to everyone's amusement. Not learning the first time, Martin tries once more to rock the big man, only for Hugo to scoop him up and drive him down with a sidewalk slam. Hugo opts not to cover, having way too much fun)

CL: "Hey, I'm back. Did I miss anything?"

DW: "Uh, Blake Martin thinks he's Superman and is learning that he isn't."

CL: "Goddamn it, it's a rerun. I hate those."

(Hugo allows Martin to tag in Eclipse, who tries to springboard his way in with a diving attack, only to bounce of Hugo just as Martin did. Harmon can only shake his head in disgust as The Syndicate goes full Keystone Kops before his very eyes. Hugo yanks Eclipse to his feet and emphatically blasts him with a short-arm clothesline. Hugo kicks Eclipse on the butt in Harmon's direction, wanting to do business with his former partner from The Human Snuff Network. Harmon boldly takes the tag, and tries for a clothesline, only for Hugo to duck. Harmon's momentum carries him to the wrong corner, where Beast knocks him goofy with a vicious right hand. That knocks Harmon back toward the direction of Hugo, who twists Harmon's arm and plows into the shoulder with his own, assuredly sending a tingle through all of Harmon's nerves)

DW: "I'm starting to think they could have saved on airfare and left Beast and Giles at home!"

(With Harmon's arm still twisted, Hugo lifts Harmon straight up into the air, forcing him to support his weight on one pained limb, before letting him drop to the mat with an agonizing thud. Still holding Harmon's wrist, Hugo makes the tag to Giles, who heads to the top rope, and flies off with a double sledge to the twisted arm, before twisting it himself. The velocity on the twist causes Harmon to flip over to his back, where Giles drops a leg across the arm. Giles runs off the ropes, but ends up taking a hard knee to the back from Martin, his former RWA peer. Martin feigns innocence to the official, just as Harmon makes it over to tag him in)

CL: "That's the only way those three are going to have a chance is if they can get in their cheap shots. Not that I'm against all underhandedness, but against a team with Hugo and Beast on it, it's practically a necessity."

(Martin takes control, lifting Giles up and depositing him across his knee with a stinging backbreaker for a count of two. Utilizing quick tags, Martin reaches out and tags Eclipse, who heads immediately to the top rope, showing off some of his classic grace with a diving legdrop for another count of two. Eclipse continues the weardown with a reverse chinlock, leading to Hugo and Beast, as well as Jewcifer and the crowd, to rally behind the Indianapolis-born technician. Giles manages to bridge his way to his feet, and break the hold with a jarring jawbreaker. Eclipse falls down in the direction of his corner, and he instinctively gets the hand up for a tag. He reaches Harmon just as Giles scrambles to his corner and leaps, tagging in the 6'9" Beast to a mighty cheer)

DW: "The Beast is on the loose! And Harmon has frozen dead in his tracks!"

(Beast wallops Harmon with overhand strikes, and does the same to Martin when he attempts to run interference. A still-ailing Eclipse steps back into the ring, but is cut off by Hugo, who dashes across the ring to meet the high-flyer. Beast tosses Martin into the corner as Hugo scoops Eclipse up across his shoulders, planting him with Hurricane Hugo to the fans' collective delight. Hugo joins Beast in the corner in the dual beatdown of Martin as Giles cuts off Harmon with a standing hurrachanrana, earning a nice pop for doing so. Beast and Hugo hold Martin in place, giving Giles a chance to Irish whip an unwilling Harmon into him. After the collision, Martin drops down in the corner and Beast turns to the staggering Harmon. The fans telegraph it with yells of the word, but Harmon can't stop The Gore from running through him. The pin is trivial from there)

"Time of the match, 6 minutes, 30 seconds, your winners...JARRED GILES, CRIMSON BEAST, AND HUGO!"

(Jewcifer hits the ring and raises the arms of his comrades, congratulating them for their victory. The fans shower the group with cheers and applause, and the appreciation of getting to see two well-regarded teams meld into one)

DW: "An impressive showing from Giles and his gargantuan allies here at the HGW Arena!"

CL: "My only regret is that they didn't hang Martin and Eclipse by those awful shirts. But then again, I ask for too much sometimes."

(Hugo and Beast lift Giles up onto their shoulders, with the height difference rendering him a bit lopsided. Beast compensates by dryly slumping down to a hearty laugh, as the cheers continue for the beloved trio)

---

("My God is The Sun" by Queens of The Stone Age plays, the theme of choice for Eric Omega, 31, and still in the prime of his career. Omega was one of the last true stars assembled within the HGW framework, parlaying his talent and youth into a brief run with NXT's predecessor FCW in 2011 under the name Troy Jetta, before an ignominious firing the following year dashed his WWE hopes. Nowadays, Omega has split his time between Ring of Honor and New Japan Pro Wrestling, molding himself into an all-around tremendous talent. The fans welcome him with open arms, and Omega is just as elated to see the old crowd. Hitting the ring with plenty of spring in his step, the lanky grappler looks to deliver another dynamite performance in an increasing series of them)

("Aerials" by System of a Down brings the entire crowd to their feet, dwarfing the ovation afforded Omega, although he understands. He, along with the 2500-plus in attendance, await the arrival of the seldom-seen enigma known as Riaz, who has not wrestled since competing against "Iceman" Mark Andrews in this building two years earlier, and lay away in retirement for six years prior to that. Only 34 years of age, Riaz took his world-class talents home after HGW's demise, but apparently still has something to prove. When Serj Tankian's pitchy vocals kick up, Riaz arrives, and the fans nearly blow the roof off of the HGW Arena. The Chamber of Hell above the ring rattles as "The Featured Player" basks in the earth-shaking reaction, showing little to no facial response. He strides slowly toward the ring, eyeing Omega, oblivious to the "WELCOME BACK!" chants being lavished upon him. Climbing to the apron, Riaz casts a quick glance back at the crowd before springboarding into the ring, punctuating his descent with a roll-through and standing pose. Riaz climbs to the middle rope and takes in a little more of the ovation before stepping down, and taking his place in the corner)

"The following contest is scheduled for one fall. Introducing first, in the corner to my left, from Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, weighing in at 243 lbs, this is....ERIC OMEGA!

(Omega raises one arm and humbly accepts the crowd's adulation)

"His opponent, from Richmond Hill, New York, weighing in at 220 lbs, this is....RIAZ!"

(Riaz moves hardly a muscle as the fans go crazy for the icon, chanting "RI-AZ!" in unison)

(The bell sounds and the two begin to dance around each other, quickly shaking hands out of mutual respect. Into the lock-up they go, aggressively jockeying for position. Omega gets a leg up by wrenching Riaz's arm, trying to leverage him forward to the mat. Riaz thinks fast, rolling forward with a one-armed handspring, responding with an arm twist of his own. Omega uses his strength advantage to get the arm twist back, hammerlocking Riaz's arm after a go-behind. With his free hand, Riaz reaches up and snap mares Omega over. Omega stands, but Riaz sweeps his legs and gets a one count. Omega does the same to Riaz, swiping the back of his legs and covering him for one, which Riaz kips up out of. The two are stalemated, and the fans feverishly applaud)

DW: "Evenly matched here early on, neither one getting a decisive advantage."

(Omega and Riaz engage in a second tie-up, which is quickly transitioned by Riaz into a drop toe-hold, followed by a side headlock. Riaz cranks on the noggin of Omega, who gets to his feet looking for an escape. He shoots Riaz into the ropes and catches him on the rebound with a sick elbow to the butt of the jaw. Omega snapmares Riaz over and plants a quick dropkick to the back of the head, wrenching Riaz's neck on the forward thrust. With Riaz still seated, Omega takes off from the ropes, and tries for a low kick, but Riaz catches the leg and rolls backward in one swift motion, snaring Omega in a half-Boston crab to conclude the sequence. The impressed crowd comes unglued at the marvelous sight)

CL: "A masterful counter by Riaz into the half crab! You're going to have to wake up pretty early in the day to get a jump on Riaz, layoff or no layoff!"

(Still with plenty left in the tank, Omega rolls over to his back and kicks Riaz off to break the hold. Riaz springs off the ropes and almost falls into a quick powerslam from Omega, only for Riaz to counter with a deep armdrag in mid-flight, yet another eye-catching move in a series of them. Dazed, Omega stumbles into a Riaz headscissors, which he follows up with a grounded armbar, earning more applause for his lightning-fast offense. Omega dismisses the idea of submitting, trying to grab Riaz's hair, but the referee prevents him from doing so. Omega manages to stand up while still ensnared, and quickly twists free of the hold, flipping Riaz into a nifty hiptoss-turned-backbreaker, scoring a quick two count on the agonized Riaz)

DW: "Omega with an impressive counter of his own! He's come a long way, and he may be on par with Riaz in terms of being a brilliant tactician!"

(Omega corners Riaz and pummels him with chops, kicks, and strikes, earning the Pavlovian "whoos" for each chop. He pulls Riaz into him and sinks his opponent with an overhead belly to belly for a count of two. Riaz appears to be out of sorts as Omega goes to corral him for further punishment. Riaz tries to crawl toward the ropes, but Omega grabs a hold of him. Quickly, Riaz grabs Omega by the waistband and leverages him toward the ropes, dropping him throat first on the middle rope. Riaz rolls backward to his feet after the wise counter and delivers a painful buzzsaw kick to the ear of Omega, echoing through the HGW Arena like a gun shot)

CL: "Oh, that'll throw off your equilibrium! Omega will be walking like I do at five in the morning!"

(Omega staggers off the ropes clutching the side of his head in blinded pain, giving Riaz a chance to step in front of him and throw back a Pele kick for the count of two. With Omega softened up, Riaz hoists him to his feet and tries for the Double Feature, only to have Omega stand up with both of Riaz's legs, fly-swatting him back-first to the mat. The impact is enough to hold Riaz down, but only for a count of two. Riaz makes it back to his feet, but he's clearly in rough shape, as Omega quickly clotheslines him up and over the top rope. Riaz tumbles in the direction of the guardrail, which he ably grabs onto to prevent from smacking it full force. He's able to get to his feet quickly, not seeing Omega, who measures him from inside the ring. With a running start, Omega torpedoes through the ropes with a suicide dive, which Riaz side-steps, causing Omega to smack into the railing at a frightening speed)

DW: "Eric Omega crashes and burns at ringside, and he may be out! Riaz saw the suicide dive coming, and managed to avoid it!"

CL: "It's the risk you take when you go airborne like that, and Omega paid a very heavy price for it. Riaz has Omega exactly where he needs him to be!"

(Omega is virtually dead weight as Riaz scrapes him off of the floor. He manages to lift Omega onto the apron and gives him a follow-up shove that results in a couple of rolls further into the ring. Riaz deftly jumps to the apron and slingshots his way in, planting an elbow to the heart of Omega, but opts not to make the cover. He drags Omega a bit deeper into the ring and then ascends the nearest turnbuckle. Fans know what's coming as Riaz sets his feet, but before he can fly off with Paranoia, Omega rolls back to the floor, each overt movement quite painful. Riaz simply turns to the floor and peers down at Omega, who turns just in time to see Riaz throw himself at him with a corkscrew somersault dive, wiping both men out. The fans leap to their feet nearly in unison cheering, before settling on a loud "H-G-DUB!" chant that reverberates)

DW: "Riaz goes airborne, and he takes out Eric Omega with a beautiful dive! But what has he taken out of himself?"

(Both men lay in a combined heap, trying to re-energize, and perhaps draw inspiration from the chanting revelers surrounding them. Riaz is the first one to really stir, rolling over onto his stomach and pushing up onto his knees. He uses the apron of the ring to get himself properly upright before leaning down to pick Omega up. Omega is barely with it as Riaz slides him back into the ring and follows right behind him. He tries for a pinfall but, seemingly out of instinct, Omega throws up a sharp knee that cracks Riaz in the face, sending him sprawling backward)

CL: "Omega's showing plenty of resilience, and that's a trait you absolutely need to beat Riaz. Now can he capitalize?"

(Pulling himself up, Omega tries for a powerbomb, only for Riaz to roll up and over with a sunset flip for a count of two. Trying to stay on top of the conflict, Riaz hooks Omega by the hips and tries for an O'Connor roll, which he gets a two count out of, before Omega rolls him back into a pinning predicament of his own for two, before Riaz pushes him off briskly. Omega turns and charges back, only for Riaz to fell him with a low dropkick to the knees. Riaz then wraps up Omega and spins him over with an Oklahoma roll, getting another two count. Fast on his feet, Riaz measures Omega and tries for a buzzsaw kick, but misses and gets rolled up for another count of two. The lengthy sequence draws a standing ovation from the fired-up crowd)

DW: "What's it going to take to hold either man down? They're both coming up with these elaborate pinfall schemes, but none of them have been successful!"

(Omega lunges toward Riaz in the corner, but rushes in too unaware and takes a high-angled buzzsaw kick across the face. The lightning strike of a kick is enough to knock Omega to the canvas in a crumpled heap. Sensing opportunity, Riaz drags himself up to the top rope, steadying himself with a little more care than he would have earlier on. With his feet set, Riaz attempts Paranoia, only for Omega to roll away. Riaz splats onto the bare canvas, the wind knocked out of him. Omega crawls over, takes Riaz by the left arm, and rolls over Riaz's back with a bridging fujiwara armbar, stretching his opponent's limb, poised to rip it out of the socket. Riaz grunts in anguish as the referee asks for a submission)

CL: "Riaz is about to have his arm broken! Omega's leaning with all of his body weight on Riaz's back and he's got the arm torqued at the breaking point!"

(Searching desperately for an escape, Riaz manages to squeeze out from under Omega, dropping his opponent onto his back. Riaz covers quickly for a count of two. Both men are clearly getting down to their nitty-gritty as they rise to their feet. Riaz is distracted just long enough by his arm injury to take an elbow smash to the jaw from Omega. He tries to pull Riaz into the O-Wringer, but Riaz resists with everything he has left. Riaz twists out, kicks Omega harshly in the abdomen, and works fast to get him into the Double Feature, which he connects with. The effort was so grueling that he can only turn Omega onto his back at a snail's pace. When he finally rolls him, Omega kicks out on two, albeit barely)

DW: "We are witnessing one for the ages! Omega kicks out of the Double Feature because Riaz couldn't execute the pin fast enough! Riaz has to be frustrated!"

(Riaz pulls Omega up to his feet slowly, the look on face one of contemplation. He decides to try once more for the Feature, but Omega is wise to it, pushing off and landing a hard kick of his own to Riaz's midsection. He pulls Riaz back in, hooking the head and arm, and turns Riaz upside down, spiking him with an especially-nasty O-Wringer. He rolls Riaz to his back and gets the arm across, but can only get a count of two. Omega rolls off of his opponent, wiping away sweat as he too is frustrated)

CL: "The slow attempts at the pin aren't helping either man, though that's stating the obvious. They really do need a move where they can just land on the guy on impact!"

(Omega pushes Riaz against the buckles and goes all schoolyard, peppering his foe with rights and lefts, as well as a forceful kneelift. Omega tries to send Riaz across with an Irish whip, but Riaz puts on the breaks, reverses, and short-arms Omega in with a kick to the gut. That's followed with the 540 degree roundhouse kick that strikes Omega's jaw, perhaps even cracking it. Omega drops to the mat and Riaz quickly covers, but that too isn't enough, as Omega flushes his shoulder out on the count of two. Riaz measures Omega as the dazed Pittsburgh native works to get to his feet. With Omega up, Riaz tries for his lionsault DDT, but Omega sees it coming, catching Riaz over his shoulder before volleying him into the Omega Level. With Omega on top, the referee makes the three count, ending the fight for the ages to unanimous cheers from everyone in the crowd)

"Time of the match, 15 minutes, 34 seconds, your winner....ERIC OMEGA!"

(Omega soaks in the praise of the fans, who take to chanting, "MATCH OF THE YEAR" at what they just witnessed. Omega makes his appeals on the middle rope, barely able to hold his head up beneath all of the screaming and clapping. Riaz makes it to a seated position, just as exhausted, but nonetheless proud. Omega steps down and helps Riaz to his feet, and the two embrace out of mutual respect. The fans only cheer louder as Omega raises his hand, the chant turning into "THANK YOU RIAZ". Humble to the end, Riaz shakes his head and points to Omega, and the chant morphs once more, this time to "O-MEG-A". The young lion is clearly awed by the response, and he embraces Riaz once more, after perhaps the greatest match of his career)

DW: "A match like that, ladies and gentlemen, is exactly what made HGW such a special place, and it makes me proud to have been able to call matches of that caliber for a good part of my life."

CL: "Riaz passes a torch to Omega, and I'm sure Omega will do a wonderful job in carrying on HGW's legacy wherever he goes. He's among the last of his kind, and he earned the right tonight to be our flagbearer."

(Riaz exits, leaving Omega alone in the spotlight. Omega continues to take in the overwhelming reception from the Atlantic City crowd, on a night where he scored a seminal victory for his still-developing career)

---

("I'm Your Boogieman" by White Zombie plays, earning a knowing ovation from the gathered crowd. Through the curtain emerges the ringleader of all of this lunacy, Justin Henry. Wearing a three-piece suit on one of the rare occasions, the 47-year-old retired wrestler and promoter-turned author totes the official HGW World Heavyweight Championship belt. He makes a slow walk around ringside, thanking fans for their eternal patronage, shaking hands and sharing smiles. A light "THANK YOU JUSTIN" chant springs up, which he acknowledges with a simple fist pump. He points up to the Chamber of Hell above the ring and says to the general crowd, "Saved the best for last!" He enters the ring, shakes hands with the ring announcer, who exits after handing off the microphone to Henry. The boss passes off the gold to the presiding referee and goes to speak, waiting for the crowd to die down a bit)

JH: "When I began my wrestling career over two decades ago, I hadn't a clue that I would end up becoming more known as a promoter than as an actual in-ring wrestler. I never went to school for business management or marketing or whatever. By any standard, I'd be technically unqualified for suit-and-tie leadership. Hardcore Global Wrestling was borne from my disgust with the politics and red tape and shadiness I dealt with early in my career. I wanted there to be a place that good, hard-working men and women could be proud to represent. It was a small investment, but a worthwhile one, when 20 years ago, at the age of 27, I founded this company right here in Atlantic City, kickstarting an eleven-year revolution that would change all of our lives, and would persist in our hearts and memories for even longer."

(The fans applauds thusly, as Henry peers out over the expanse)

JH: "Hardcore Global Wrestling was powered by two engines. One was powered by the blood, sweat, and tears of everyone that ever set foot in this ring, striving to make their mark on this business, and reap the benefits of extreme self-sacrifice. If it wasn't for all of those good people that stained this canvas night in and night out, I wouldn't have had the charmed life that I've gotten to lead. I bled with them, I burned with them. And I was proud to do so. I didn't make them; they made me. They're half of the reason HGW was what it was, and is what it will continue to be for all of us."

(Those lines earn whistles and cheers from the standing horde, followed by an "H-G-DUB!" chant that Henry smiles at, shaking his head slightly bewildered)

JH: "The other half of that equation is you, all of you out there, not just here in AC, but all around this globe that supported HGW one way or other. Tonight is for you, just like every other night was. Thank you for everything, I love each and every one of you."

(The cheers grow louder, leading to a chant of "WE ARE AWESOME", which Henry mockingly shakes his head in disgust at)

JH: "Look, just because I love you doesn't mean you get to be self-indulgent. Save those shitty chants for WrestleMania weekend, alright?"

(Henry laughs along with the crowd, before refocusing)

JH: "This following match, our main event for the evening, is a very special match for a multitude of reasons. Not only will the match take place inside of the ever-so-frightening Chamber of Hell that hangs above my head...."

(Residual oohs from the crowd)

JH: "...but it will determine who gets to be the last man to wear that, the HGW World Heavyweight Championship belt. Making it more special are the six men that I've hand-selected for this encounter. You see, all six men are true pioneers. They were all here in HGW in 1997 and 1998, and all of them played a major role in helping me find my way in steering this ship. Without them, I definitely would not be standing here tonight. My reward for them is this moment of immortality, and the chance to stand tall among their long-time rivals. I owe them an immeasurable amount of gratitude. Weeks ago, when I asked each of them if they would want to take part in this match, given what it represents, they all immediately said yes, even though it's grueling as hell and they know they're in for a world of pain. I'm honored that all of them said yes to this endeavor, and I'm just as honored to be the one that introduces each and every one of them right here. There may not be an HGW Hall of Fame, but if one ever comes to pass, rest assured that these six men will be the charter class."

(The fans cheer loudly, clapping and whistling as Henry exhales through a thin smile)

JH: "This is going to take a little time to introduce all of them the way I want to, so if you could indulge me, I'd greatly appreciate it. Besides, if I know all of you like I think you do, you don't have anywhere to be on Sunday anyway."

(Lighthearted chuckle before Henry takes a deep breath, getting ready to do some legacies justice)

JH: "This first man, one of the original HGW Champions, is one of the true pioneers, one of the wrestlers that was in this ring on the first night 20 years ago, and hasn't strayed too far from HGW in his career. He's one of the most intimidating men you'll ever see, until you get to know him. Make no mistake, he's as tough as they come, but he's the greatest mentor a man can have. He's trained wrestlers, he's been an administrator in many capacities. He was a big brother for many of us, and as years passed, he became a father figure to the younger generation of HGW warriors. He's always prided himself on doing right by others, by setting an example for others to follow. I could handle myself among disgruntled wrestlers mostly fine, but by having this man at my side, HGW ran smoother than I could have asked for. He's a loyal friend, and I consider him that big brother, because he always had my back. Ladies and gentlemen, from the mean streets of Boston, Massachusetts, weighing in at 244 lbs, I give to you....BAD ASS JOHN!"

("Flashlight" by Parliament plays, almost drowned out by deafening cheers. Bad Ass, 57 and still stout like a tank, calmly strolls out from behind the curtain, fists raised in a sleeveless tee, graying beard framing a classy Borsalino hat. John swaggers his way up the aisle with immovable confidence, tagging hands with a few ringsiders. Bad Ass still mentors wrestlers in the Boston area and makes appearances at indy events, but mostly lives a quiet life in the suburbs with his family. He steps into the ring and embraces his long-time associate Henry, exchanging kind words with a friendly smile. John goes back to appealing to the crowd with relaxed duende, the fans chanting "THANK YOU BAD ASS". He nods his approval at the love)

JH: "Our next combatant is man that served mostly as a comedic figure here in HGW, but is a lot tougher than perhaps history remembers him for. A multiple-time Tag Team Champion, this individual embodied the spirit of HGW in that first year, tearing this building down with untamed brawls, spilling from one corner to the other, and even out into the parking lot. To you guys, he was both a wildman and an entertainer. To us, he was one of the guys, always smiling and joking around, able to keep the mood light and loose through his sheer presence. He has zero ego, and that above all else made him a fixture in our locker room. In a business where many take, he always gave. He's fought through unimaginable pain, and he prolonged his career by being one of the resident jesters. Tonight will be a night where you see him in his unvarnished form, as the "Animal" that he has always been beneath the surface. From Charlotte, North Carolina, weighing in at 235 lbs, please welcome back to the HGW Arena....STEPHEN "THE ANIMAL" GREEN!"

("Animal" by Def Leppard plays for the first time in many years at the HGW Arena, bringing Green out from behind the curtain. The fans welcome him more than warmly, clapping along with him as he jovially spurs them on with his taped-up hands. Green, 45, still competes in the odd match here and there in the Mid-Atlantic region, showing a little gray in his hair, which detracts very little from the manic grin and crazy eyes that are his signature. Green greets the ringsiders with genuine joy before climbing through the ropes, hugging both Henry and John before taking to the buckles to further bask in the crowd response)

JH: "Joining them is another southern-fried grappler, a time-tested technician who has kept himself in remarkable shape. Admittedly, HGW was far more chaotic in 1997 than it would eventually become, and some of the guys we brought in early on weren't exactly up to the higher standards we would hold in later years. This no-nonsense athlete helped to create those standards, by being one of the greatest technical wrestlers to ever grace this ring. There were so few wrestlers in his time that could match him hold-for-hold, and I dare say had he been born ten years later, he'd have fared just as favorably in an era with Travis King, Amenaza, Spiker, Riaz, and Eric Omega. Not to say he's lost a step; he's still the same mat mechanic he always has been, but he can brawl as well, as you're likely about to see. This man who helped set our foundation hails from Raleigh, North Carolina. He weighs in at 231 lbs. Here is...."THE CRIPPLER" CHRIS ANDERSON!"

("Four Horsemen" by Metallica blares, the thrashing guitars heralding the arrival of "The Crippler", still in impeccable shape at 55, with just a little gray in his buzzed hair. The enormous response doesn't seem to faze Anderson, mostly retired these days, mentoring his son Jayden, who is now a wrestler himself. Anderson holds up the four fingers to the crowd, smiling when it gets a favorable response, as it'd have been booed 20 years ago. Anderson hits the ring, and shakes hands with his three contemporaries, before holding the four fingers back up to another mighty cheer)

JH: "This next man came along at just the right time for HGW, and his impact in the ring is still being felt all of these years later. When quality talent was hard to come by, this man came around in 1998, and brought an instant star-quality to our promotion. Not only was he capable of captivating fans with his natural menace and his gift of measured prose, but he could back it up in the ring as well. His run as champion in the summer of 1998 was one of the periods where HGW found firmer footing, and he helped to carry the organization on his back. He was only 23 years old, but he handled the spotlight with earnest poise. I, for one, feel he doesn't get the credit he deserves for blazing a trail for the future stars of HGW to follow, and his spot in tonight's main event shall be a step in rectifying that. Ladies and gentlemen, from Cleveland, Ohio, weighing 238 lbs, I give you....COLDBLOOD!"

("Hate Me Now" by Nas blasts out across the venue, giving Coldblood an avenue to saunter his way through the curtain. Still looking youthful at age 42, Coldblood nonetheless retired to a private life many moons ago due to accumulated injuries. Coldblood pulls back the hood over his head and gazes at the sea of humanity surrounding him, assertively nodding at the loudly positive response, one he didn't always receive between these walls. He continues his slow glide toward the ring, keeping his focus on the ring and its inhabitants. Taking his time, the lanky slugger, steps through the ropes and raises his fists like the prize fighter he's always been. He fist bumps Henry and his three present opponents before quietly going back to mental preparation)

JH: "The fifth entrant is a man who I can honestly say is one of the greatest friends I've ever made in this business. If everyone in the world had his integrity, his loyalty, and his humanity, we would all be better off for it. As a wrestler, there are very few that can match his pure science, and his encyclopedic knowledge of moves and holds. He's a big-match performer that can adapt to any opponent, any style. But more importantly to me, he's a true man's man, a family man who has inspired me by the way he lives his life, and has taught me how to be open-minded and more considerate as I live my own life. The living example that he is extended to the locker room, where he was a leader for much of HGW's lifetime. Any organization would have been proud to have him on board, and we were fortunate enough to have him in our graces. Hailing from Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, weighing in at 226 lbs, he is...."THE ICEMAN" MARK ANDREWS!"

("Ghosts of War" by Slayer revs up, a throwback to classic HGW. The choice of tune, and the man whom it represents, conjure up a deafening ovation for Andrews, 42, still wrestling part-time for independents across the Delaware Valley, and also organizes charity shows for a variety of causes. Andrews embraces the response, holding up his arms to show off his "ICEMAN COMETH" t-shirt. Normally understated, Andrews can't hide his toothy grin, peeking out through his shaggy beard. He takes a full lap around the squared circle, tagging hands with every ringsider he comes across. The expert technician tosses his t-shirt into the crowd before stepping into the ring, shaking hands and sharing hugs with everyone, even his old nemesis Coldblood, even as they share a frigid, competitive stare. Rivalries will indeed be renewed on this night)

JH: "And last but certainly not least, a man who spanned virtually HGW's entire lifetime, and was in fact the very first champion of ours on January 25, 1997, by virtue of winning a 20-man battle royal. Most of the competitors in that match didn't last two months with us, but a few like Bad Ass, Anderson, and this man would make a far more indelible mark on this company. It's fair to say that when you think of HGW, you immediately think of the man that I'm about to introduce. He embodied HGW, he lived and breathed those letters. He didn't duck challenges, and he always rose to the occasion as a headliner. Just as importantly, he was accessible, a team player that never held his nose up in anyone's presence. His ego was never used to trample others, and he showed up every day with the same boyish enthusiasm that he had in younger days. His "Franchise" moniker is more than just a marketing hook, it's who he is, and I'm proud to call him a friend. Ladies and gentlemen, from Brooklyn, New York, weighing in at 235 lbs, he is "The Extreme Franchise"....NICKMASTER!"

("Man in the Box" by Alice in Chains is barely audible over the flood of screams and cheers for Nickmaster, 48, and all but retired from the sport, perhaps for good after tonight. Nick still looks the picture of youth, just some gray around the edges and in his goatee, but otherwise looks the same as he did in his prime, muscular with definition. He wears a classic "MESS WITH THE BEST, DIE LIKE THE REST" t-shirt as he tries to hold back emotion in the face of rabid, yet oh-so simple, chants of "NICK!" Nick, like Iceman, takes a full lap around ringside, tagging hands with everyone that extends their arm. Even the men in the ring clap for him, even though they're minutes away from ripping flesh and battering skulls with their old frien-emy. "Man in the Box" plays almost through its near five-minute duration before Nick finally enters the ring, bumping fists and shaking hands with the old gang. Nick kisses the fingertips on both of his hands and fans out a kiss to the entire audience, returning the love and respect)

(The lights dim, and a crystal-colored spotlight casts beams of heavenly shine in all directions above the cage. Henry once again shakes hands with all six men before exiting through the ropes, standing clear of the now-descending Chamber of Hell. There is no ominous musical soundbed, just the noise of 2500-plus eager onlookers cheering on the lowering cage as though it were the gaudy disco-sphere in Times Square on New Year's Eve. Instead of the classic Chamber, the cage is fairly reminiscent of Hell in a Cell, only with a reinforced glass pod in each corner. As such, it is possible for the combatants to take the fight to ringside, but they cannot circle the outside lap of the ring, due to the pods engulfing all of the space between the ringposts and the cage. Each pod has one weapon in it, which the competitors will bring with them into the war once they're dispatched: a bag of thumbtacks, a steel chair, a kendo stick, and a barbed wire baseball bat. The cage reaches its landing point and the lights illuminate once more. Nick, Coldblood, Green, and John all move to a pod, indicating that Andrews and Anderson "won" the random draw to start the match. Nick's pod has the bat, Coldblood's the stick, Green's the tacks, and John's the chair. Intervals for entry are every four minutes. Anderson and Andrews share a simple fist bump and a solemn nod as the fans grow increasingly frenzied, chanting "H-G-DUB!" once more, which Andrews beckons with a two-armed gesture)

DW: "If this is the final match under the HGW banner as we know it, it's a helluva good one to go out on!"

CL: "I concur, let's get this show on the road!"

(The bell sounds, sending both technicians into side-step circling, each looking for an advantage. The two lock horns and try to muscle each other backward. Anderson, being a bit more underhanded, goes to the eyes of Andrews, and follows up that claw with a brisk European uppercut that sends the Philly native skating back on his heels. With Andrews stunned, "The Crippler" shoots him into the ropes, but is less than prepared when Andrews picks up a head of steam and lariats him viciously for a count of two. Andrews keeps it mat-based, sending Anderson back over with a snap mare, then steps in front of him and plants his boot squarely into Anderson's face)

DW: "Andrews pacing himself, and Anderson is as well. They've got the tallest mountain to climb if either is gonna leave here with the belt."

("Iceman" hooks up Anderson and takes him over with a snap suplex that jars the lower back of his grizzled opponent. He goes to follow up with an elbow drop, but Anderson deftly rolls away, leaving Andrews favoring his arm. Anderson runs off the ropes and unleashes his sadistic side, headbutting Andrews square in the face like a charging bull. The smack of bone draws some squeamish oohs from fans throughout the arena as Anderson wraps up Andrews and tries for a German suplex, but Andrews embeds the feet against the mat and goes into a standing switch, reversing into his own German. Andrews holds on and goes for another, but Anderson counters with an elbow to the face. He goes behind and tries once more, but Andrews somehow manages to flip over onto his feet, rare grace at this stage in his life. Andrews wraps the arms around Anderson again and throws him into a bridging German suplex for a count of 2)

CL: "You could give Andrews a hundred more chances and he couldn't stick that landing again. And we're about to get somebody else in the cage momentarily! Who will it be, Dylan?"

(Andrews charges at Anderson, which is countered by "The Crippler" into a backdrop over the ropes, sending Andrews to the floor between Nickmaster and Coldblood's pods. Andrews manages to pull himself up, only to endure a baseball slide to the face that sends him flying back into the mesh behind him. The countdown from ten is sung by the crowd, culminating with the lights dimming and a flickering light spotlighting all four pods with turret-like quickness. It finally settles upon the pod of Bad Ass John, that revelation sparking the crowd. He emerges from his pod and slides into the ring wielding the chair, engaging in a standoff with long-time nemesis Anderson)

DW: "Anderson remembers how hard Bad Ass can swing a chair. You could live to be 80 years old and you'd never forget it!"

CL: "Most people who fight Bad Ass John don't live half as long!"

(After each man tries to get the other to make the first move, John swings and misses with the chair, and immediately gets hammered down by Anderson. The clubbing blows don't give John much chance to fight back, though he makes it to the corner. Anderson lays into him with a skin-blistering chop, earning the requisite "WHOOs" from the faithful. He sends John across to the opposite corner, but misses the concurrent charge. John snatches the chair off the canvas and immediately crowns Anderson with a skull-cracking blast, knocking the former Horsemen to the mat. Nickmaster watches on with half-concern as Anderson immediately bleeds from the hairline, laying in a daze on the canvas. Andrews crawls back into the ring, surveying the damage to Anderson. John admires his work as well, before turning and nailing an unaware Andrews with the same chair, horrifying some in the crowd. Every man for himself is the game, and John covers the downed "Iceman" for a count of two. However, he's drawn blood from Andrews as well, splitting flesh by his right eyebrow)

DW: "Andrews with a cardinal mistake, letting his guard down! Bad Ass John is a friend to all, unless he's in a match, and Andrews should know that!"

(John tries to cover the still-ailing Anderson, who forcefully gets his shoulder up at two. The Carolinian's blood stains the canvas at a troubling rate. The wound becomes a target for John, who hammers it while kneeling on the canvas, giving so far as to dig his knuckles into the cut like pry-bars. Andrews materializes behind John and grounds him with an arching back suplex that contorts his long-time friend. Seeing Anderson's predicament, Andrews hits a quick basement dropkick to Anderson's face, covering for another two count)

CL: "The night just gets worse for Anderson. If he somehow survives the current onslaught, there's still three fresh sickos waiting to step in there and do more damage."

(Wiping away the blood from over his eye, Andrews turns his attention back to John, engaging him in some back-alley fisticuffs. John gets the upper hand, targeting the cut, but Andrews manages to hold his own, doubling John over with a body blow. John fires back with an uppercut to the chin, and follows up with a knee to the gut that takes the wind out of Andrews' sails. John takes off from the ropes and looks to landing a charging blow, only to run right into an Andrews spinebuster. All three men lay on the canvas in varying degrees of pain and exhaustion as the clock counts down from ten once more. The lights dim and the spotlight flickers once more, alternating between three pods. It settles on that of Coldblood, who practically rips open his pod himself to a mixed reaction. Toting the kendo stick, Coldblood stands over the fallen Andrews with a sickening grin, and re-introduces himself to his long-time nemesis, cracking the weapon down across Andrews' back with deadly force)

DW: "It's 1998 all over again! Mark Andrews vs. Coldblood, and it's not starting out so well for Iceman!"

(Coldblood goads Andrews to his feet with manhood-questioning taunts, only to take the kendo stick to Andrews' legs, dropping him back to the canvas in an agonizing heap. Anderson somehow makes it to his feet, crimson mask and all, and sets up a steel chair in its sit-ready position in the middle of the ring. Anderson grabs Andrews' by the head and bashes his face into the seat, putting a round dent right in the middle. Bad Ass makes it to his feet and quickly floors Anderson with a simple running kick to the gut, only to turn and take a cross-check to throat via Coldblood's kendo stick. Coldblood pulls John back to his feet and sends him into the ropes, landing a drop toe hold that sends Bad Ass careening face-first into the back-rest of the chair. Bad Ass thrashes about on the canvas clutching his face and kicking his feet in the midst of an astonished "HOLY SHIT!" chant. Coldblood pushes Andrews under the ropes with his foot and then turns back to Bad Ass, who is bleeding profusely from the middle of his face. He takes to pounding the open wound, sending streams of blood cascading down John's chin and neck. The crowd recoils with a collective ooh when they realize how bad the damage is)

CL: "Bad Ass is in a really bad way here, Coldblood not relenting whatsoever! He's sensing that--wait, where in the hell is Anderson going?!"

("The Crippler" is climbing atop Nickmaster's pod, well above the canvas as Coldblood pulls John back to the center of the ring. Coldblood sees Anderson up above and tells him to hold up a moment. Coldblood then takes the weakened Bad Ass and violently powerbombs him onto the still-sitting chair, crushing it beneath John's weight. Another "HOLY SHIT" chant erupts in the midst of John's predicament, but it's not over: Anderson propels himself off of the pod with a form-perfect diving headbutt to John that does just as much damage to himself as it does Bad Ass. Anderson rolls away convulsing in pain as Coldblood covers John to score the first pinfall, soundtracked by a wave of boos)

DW: "Bad Ass John is the first man eliminated from the Chamber of Hell!"

CL: "The lengths these six are willing to go to be the last man standing truly is disturbing. Coldblood looks like the favorite right now, but there's a long way to go."

(Coldblood goes back to the outside and resumes his earlier beatdown of Andrews, still disoriented from the strikes to his legs. Anderson remains down on the mat as the next countdown commences. Anderson tries to pull himself up when the clock hits zero, the spotlight playing eenie-meenie-miney-mo between two pods. It settles on that of Green's, earning a knowing cheer from his long time fans. "The Animal" brings the bag of tacks with him, but leaves them on the canvas before taking down Anderson by the legs and hammering away at the gushing wound. He even sinks his teeth into it, messily biting it in spite of Anderson's screams and groans. The fans are half appalled by the spectacle, chanting "YOU SICK FUCK!", albeit with some love)

DW: "Stephen Green is trying to eat Chris Anderson's face right before our very eyes! They're friends now! They've visited veterans hospitals together! They've done charity work together, for crying out loud!"

(Coldblood rifles Andrews back into the ring and follows, but instead turns his attention to Green, who continues his attempt at turning Anderson into Mason Verger. Coldblood rips the unsuspecting Green off of the scuffle and snatches his throat, lifting and dropping him with a sitout chokeslam for a count of two. Coldblood goes back and forth between piles, stomping Andrews a few times, unaware that Green has grabbed the kendo stick. Coldblood turns his attention back to "The Animal", only to take the lash of the stick right across his eyes. Coldblood sprawls out over the top rope, holding his face, and stomping his foot subconsciously in agony as he cries out)

CL: "Steve may have just blinded Coldblood with that shot! I think he may have gotten him right in the eye!"

(Green's appetite has yet to be satiated, so he jumps onto Coldblood like a feral creature and begins biting the part of the forehead he struck, drawing blood from Coldblood's face. The blood runs down Green's kisser, making him look like he has half of Road Warrior Hawk's paint-job. Another "YOU SICK FUCK!" chant fills the arena, which is music to Green's ears. Andrews manages to get back into the mix, sending Anderson overhead with a throwing belly to belly suplex. He then convenes with long-time chum Green in assaulting Coldblood, which includes using his fingers to claw at Coldblood's open wound. The canvas runs red with his life essence, putting him in jeopardy, pun intended, in the blink of an eye)

DW: "The momentum has shifted for Coldblood. Moments ago, he was in complete control of the match, and now he's being ripped apart!"

CL: "It doesn't take much. If the numbers game turns its hostility against you, you're not long for this kind of match. It snowballed in a hurry, absolutely!"

("Iceman" jams the point of his elbow into Coldblood's widening cut while Green goes back to Anderson, stomping him low as he lay crumpled on the mat. Crotch-related violence continues when Andrews lifts Coldblood up and drops him underside-first onto the top rope, sending the many men in the audience into sympathetic hold-my-crotch fits of squeamishness. Green and Andrews go back to Anderson as the countdown rolls one last time, and this time there's no mystery. The pod simply opens and Nickmaster calmly strolls out, holding his answer to Negan's Lucille in his right hand. He climbs to the apron in Coldblood's vicinity and cue-shots him with the butt-end, knocking him off to the apron. Green turns away from the attack on Anderson and walks right into a crowning shot from Nick, the barbs embedding in his forehead. His own blood mixes with that of the others on his face as he squeaks out his suffering audibly. Andrews rolls outside to go after Coldblood, running him backfirst into an empty pod, followed by ramming him face-first repeatedly into the mesh. Nick steps into the ring, watching Green cope with the sudden blood loss)

DW: "It didn't take long for the "Extreme Franchise" to make his presence felt, and we've got blood everywhere! Who's going to survive all of this?!"

(Anderson pulls himself to his feet, barely recognizable with the caked crimson enveloping his face. He turns to Nick, who flashes him the four fingers with a wide grin. Anderson smiles through the mess and holds the four up in return. The two share a mock high-four and go to work on Green, one of their annoyances back in the day. Anderson snares Green by the leg and flips him over into a half Boston crab, wrenching back on the limb. As Anderson sets his feet, Nick strikes suddenly out of nowhere with a Sweet Nick Kick to Anderson's chin, shocking the capacity crowd. Green, laying right there, lays an arm across Anderson's chest and gets the three count, eliminating "The Crippler". So much for the Horsemen reunion)

CL: "I know Nick and Anderson didn't always see eye to eye, but damn, what a cold thing to do to your old partner! But hey, I realize what's at stake, so I can't say I blame him."

(Nick continues his indifference toward humanity by slamming the bat down on Green's knee, puncturing the denim pant-leg and the flesh beneath. Green howls in pain as Andrews finishes raking Coldblood's face across the chain-link. He rolls the semi-conscious street fighter into the ring for a count of two, aware that Nick is suddenly eyeing him. Andrews gets to his feet and ducks Nickmaster's charge with the bat, backdropping the rogue over the top and to the outside. Andrews lurches forward, only to walk into a low kendo stick shot to the ribs, swung by a desperate Coldblood from the mat. Coldblood quickly tries for the Deathanator, but Andrews swiftly counters into a DDT)

DW: "Andrews almost had Coldblood there, and he would certainly have loved to finish him off one last time. And look--Nick's playing possum outside!"

CL: "He's staying out of sight, letting the other three eat each other. He's always been crafty, Nickmaster. Always thinking in the moment."

(Nick stays hunched, ducked beneath the crest of the apron, but he can hear the clinking sound of Green finally opening the back of tacks and dumping them into one corner of the ring. The fans cheer the prospect of pin-cushioning as Andrews pulls up the punch-drunk Coldblood. Together, Andrews and Green hook Coldblood up and drive him down with a double standing uranage onto the tacks, prompting another "HOLY SHIT!" chant as Coldblood writhes on the mat. Coldblood instinctively tries to roll off, only hurting himself more. Green grabs the remnants of the crunched steel chair and lands a chair assisted legdrop to Coldblood's head, stopping his roll dead in its tracks. Andrews makes the cover quickly and scores the pin, eliminating his arch-nemesis)

DW: "And so we're down to three! Nickmaster, Mark Andrews, and Stephen Green for the HGW World Heavyweight Championship! And look!"

CL: "Nickmaster sliding a table into the ring. I'd lay even odds on who winds up going through! Who will be the next to go?"

(After sliding in the table, Nick snatches up Andrews by the legs and drops him back, hotshotting him off the top rope for a two count. Green, in the interest of every-man-for-himself, drops an elbow onto Andrews' chest, and works him over with right hands. Meanwhile, Nickmaster sets up the table against the turnbuckle, leaning with a high slope. Green sufficiently rattles Andrews with strikes and then stands, sees Nick in his peripheral, and charges, only to take a drop toe hold, his face bouncing off the base of the table, the painful echo spurring a collective groan from the crowd)

DW: "Green may be on dream street after hitting head on the table, and frankly I'm amazed that big medicine ball didn't bust the table on its own!"

(Nick goes to retrieve Andrews, but takes a hard shot to the gut. "Iceman" slugs away with a second wind lifting him, nailing Nickmaster with a series of short forearm dekes to the jaw. On rubber legs, Andrews tries to lift Nick up for the Spinechiller, but Nick goes to the eyes to break up that attempt. Nick drops down, then lifts Andrews up by the legs once more, except instead of hotshotting him, he runs him back at a now-standing Green, spearing both of them through the corner table, resulting in a three-man pile-up, wooden shrapnel everywhere. A resounding "H-G-DUB!" chant follows a wave of general pandemonium)

CL: "All three men are down, but I think Nick got the better of that exchange! Green was smooshed between two bodies, a table, and a metal post, and he's lying in a heap!"

(Despite taking the lowest amount of the brunt, Nick still needs the ropes to pull himself up. He begins stomping his foot lightly in the corner, eyeing Andrews as he uses the ropes on the other side of the ring to get back to his feet. Andrews is completely dazed, and unable to move away when Nick comes charging in with the Sweet Nick Kick, snapping Andrews' head back on its axis. "Iceman" falls motionless to the mat and Nickmaster drops down on top, scoring the three count, and bringing it down to two. The fans react with mixed feelings at the elimination of a well-regarded Andrews, but are just as invested in who survives the final pairing)

DW: "Nickmaster vs. Stephen "The Animal" Green. Twenty years ago, they headed up the Horsemen vs. Freaks battles that culminated in HGW's first ever War Games in the summer of 1997. How fitting that HGW's first faction rivalry plays out one last time with the leaders going head to head beneath the waiting final curtain, with the richest prize hanging in the balance!"

(Nickmaster slides over to the fallen Green and tries for a cover, but can only get two. Undaunted, Nick drags Green by his feet over to the tacks, and rolls him onto the bunch, sending many fans into a cringe. Green is spurred out of his lull but into a scream upon being poked by the sharp points. Nick then twists Green's legs around his and flips him into the Nickshooter, planting Green chest and stomach-first on those same tacks. Nickmaster cinches up on the legs, pulling back while the fans rally for Green, not to spite Nick, however)

CL: "Maybe I'm a bit sentimental here, but damn it, come on, Steve! Don't give up!"

(Green grunts loudly, dismissing the referee's inquiries for a submission. Tapping out isn't on his mind, even though Nick has no interest in releasing the hold. Green flails his arms over the sharp sea of tacks, trying to muster the fortitude. He manages to reach back and get his fingertips on the kendo stick. Able to grasp the weapon, Green strains to turn onto his side, giving him space to swing the stick at Nick, catching him across the shoulder. A second strike fails to break the hold, even as Nick grabs at his arm with his free hand. That causes Nick to lower his head, right into the path of Green's third swing, nailing Nick squarely in the face, causing him to relinquish the hold. The fans applaud Green's grit as Nick drops to the mat and rolls outside, favoring an open wound between his left eyebrow and his nose, blood trickling into his eye. Green pulls himself up, trying in vain to brush the embedded tacks off of him. He attempts a baseball slide at Nick, which is side-stepped. Nick, in spite of his searing pain, pulls Green to the floor and rams his head into one of the pods)

DW: "I don't know how in the hell Green managed to hang in there, but he has life for now. And that most assuredly gives Nickmaster ideas."

(Nickmaster pulls another table out from under the ring, and begins to set it up right out on the floor. After doing so, he goes to gather Green, who leverages Nickmaster by the front of his tights headfirst into the pod, putting a big blood stain on the reinforced glass. The smack echos throughout the building, and gives Green an opening. He takes Nick by the hair and rakes his face across the mesh, further opening the cut. He then pulls the cane out of the ring and measures his shot, braining Nick with a downward strike to the skull. Nickmaster leans on the table to barely keep himself up, which is just fine for Green, who drags Nick onto the furniture with bad intentions. The fans watch with a paradox of giddy terror as Green hooks up Nick and piledrives him through the table, shattering it into smithereens, and leaving both men on the cold concrete. "HOLY SHIT" shakes the foundation of the HGW Arena as both men lay virtually motionless)

CL: "What a piledriver! Neither man is moving, and I'm wondering how either one can get back in the ring! Pins can only count between the ropes, so somebody has to get up!"

(Green scoots backward, leaning on the pod for support. He grabs onto the chainlink of the adjacent cage and manages to get himself into a stooping position. With the remaining morsels of strength in his body, Green peels the drained Nickmaster off of the floor and rolls him back in, across some of the tacks, and climbs in to make the cover for one.... 

two....

NO! Green winces when he sees the thin layer of air beneath the referee's hand above the canvas, thin enough that a sheet of paper would feel cramped being slid under. Letting out a frustrated sigh, Green wills himself back to his feet, pulling Nick up with him. He tries for another piledriver, but is backdropped by a suddenly-rejuvenated Nick. Green crashes onto the tacks, screaming himself hoarse from the pain shooting through his body. Fans watch in horror as Green shakes and twitches, trying to transfer the pain. He staggers around the ring, and unwittingly walks right into a Sweet Nick Kick. Green drops, and Nick falls right on top of him...for a one....

two....

NO! Green musters the shoulder up just before three. Fans react with a litany of mixed emotions, trying to digest all of the twists and turns)

DW: "I have no idea how in the hell Stephen Green kicked out!"

(Forcing himself back to his feet, Nickmaster attempts another Nickshooter, but Green squirms, kicking his legs with whatever strength he has left. Nick steps through and tries to twist the limbs, but Green resists as though his life depends on it. Nick goes to try and step over, but Green flings Nick violently, sending him spinning off. Both men need to use the ropes once more to get up, as little things like breathing are becoming increasingly challenging)

CL: "My heart's racing like yours is, Dylan. It isn't going to be long now. Somebody's about to win this, and I have no idea who!"

(Nick is the first one to his vertical base. With Green still hunched slightly, Nick charges at his foe, only to be scooped up and planted with an inverted atomic drop. Nick is sprung backward off of the impact, but just manages to duck Green's attempt at Animality. Green turns, only to be nailed with a second Sweet Nick Kick. The air goes right out of the building as Nick conveniently collapses on top of Green's mangled body for one....

two....

NO! The fans rejoice as Nickmaster, through his veil of blood, glares coldly in disbelief at the referee. The official rules it a two count, while Nick grunts obscenities at him, frustrated beyond all fathoming. The fight is still going)

DW: "Stephen Green hanging on! Nickmaster cannot believe it! That's two Sweet Nick Kicks, and he still gets the shoulder up!"

CL: "One more would do it, though! I love Steve, but I have to admit, luck's keeping him going! He's withstood so much, but he has to just be running on fumes!"

(Nick staggers with a Neanderthal's gait to his feet, now more angry than annoyed. He reaches down to the supine Green and grabs his face. He begins screaming at him to just stay down. Green, eyes dilating, grabs one of Nick's wrists subconsciously, only for Nick to smack it away. He pulls a weary, uncomprehending Green to his knees and continues his tirade, not even bothering to wonder if Green can even hear him. Nick jerks Green up to his feet and continues his maddened monologue, while steadying him on his noodled legs. Nick spits in Green's face and two-steps backward in a gallop for the third kick, only for Green to lunge at him, nailing Animality first, and dropping Nickmaster on the tacks. Both men are down as Green feels blindly for Nick's body. The crowd is electric, unable to believe what they just saw. Green senses the location of Nick's upper body and raises his arm, dropping it limply on his opponent's chest. The referee makes the count for one....




two....





THREE! The crowd explodes in jubilation, nearly blowing the roof off the HGW Arena. They know, even if Stephen Green is unable to fully grasp it, that he has just scored the biggest victory of his life)

"Time of the match, 34 minutes, 57 seconds, your winner....and NEEEEEEEEEW HGW World Heavyweight Champion....STEPHEN "THE ANIMAL" GREEN!"

(The cage is raised back to the ceiling, giving the pandemonic crowd a full view of the carnage. The referee manages to pull Green off of Nickmaster, and into a kneel. Green begins to crawl, energized by the volume of the screaming fans. Justin Henry enters the ring and takes a knee before Green, trying to get his attention. Green finally looks his way through heavy eyelids, and Henry proudly holds out the championship belt that "The Animal" has finally won for the first time in his career. Green blinks back tears as he takes the belt into his grasp, staring at it, momentarily oblivious to all of the noise around him. An astonished Henry and the referee finally help Green to his feet and raise his arms to a thunderous ovation. Green gives in to the moment, hugging Henry, and getting blood all over his suit. Not that Henry minds, one would reason. White Trash and Robazeri Misawa zoom into the ring, mobbing their aching friend with hugs, both of them just as emotional as their long-time running buddy. Def Leppard's "Animal" begins to play as Misawa does the honors of wrapping the belt around his tag team partner's waist, fastening it for him. The locker room begins to slowly empty with the likes of Rich Ashley, Andrew Costeal, a still-wounded Mark Andrews and Bad Ass John, Phoenix, Hugo, Crimson Beast, Jarred Giles, and more. They all enter the ring to congratulate their long-time peer and road brother on his unlikely triumph)

CL: "Hell, Dylan, I'm gonna sign off now. I gotta be there for my boy!"

(Ledbetter unceremoniously ditches his headset and makes another trip back to the ring, just as Spiker, Amenaza, Travis King, Tommy Danger, Mental Home Mike, Softcore Conception, The Syndicate, Scott Harmon, Riaz, Eric Omega, Drop Top, Slammer, Doomsday, and even the likes of Coldblood, Hardcore X, and Michael Killjoy, head down for the grand celebration. Chris Rage and a gauze-wrapped Chris Anderson arrive, tending to the battered Nickmaster, who's made it to a position seated by the bottom turnbuckle. They pick tacks off of his body while Green continues to celebrate under the light-hearted strains of eighties' glam rock. The rousing ovation has not ceased. Green shares many hugs with his extended family between the ropes. He makes his way to each corner of the ring, overwhelmed and elated, basking in the love, and enjoying the thrill of being the conqueror of the lot. He makes the rounds before finally happening in front of Nickmaster, who has managed to use the ropes to pull himself up. The music halts as Green and Nick study each other, two old bulls that had one last tussle, with the underdog unseating the eternal champion at long last. Green graciously extends a hand to Nick, who stares at it. Fans, as well as their peers inside the ring, encourage him to shake it, but instead he violently slaps it away. The reaction is swiftly angry, but only for a split second, as Nick instead opts to hug Green. The champ returns the gesture, and the ovation kicks back up once more, along with the music. Nickmaster raises Stephen Green's arm as a measure of respect, and then claps along with everyone else. Soon enough, crew members bring out a plethora of coolers, and begin handing out brews to everyone that wants one)

DW: "I think that's my cue to join the party. Congratulations to Stephen "The Animal" Green on winning the HGW World Heavyweight Championship! To a better man, it couldn't have happened! And that's all for HGW Freaking Anniversary: H20! Thank you for letting us into your homes and hearts for two decades strong! For Chris Ledbetter, I'm Dylan Whiplash! GOODNIGHT FROM ATLANTIC CITY!"

(Whiplash makes his way down to the celebration, sliding into the crowded ring and offering his own congratulations to the new champion, with suds flowing freely. The fans let out one last hearty chant of "H-G-DUB!", spurred on by Andrews, Ashley, and John. Slammer and Doomsday lift Green onto their shoulders to another roar from the crowd. All Green can do is smile and shake his head at the entire spectacle, waving to the fans with the greatest of appreciation, while sipping his victory beverage. The camera slowly fades to black on the visual of Green as king of the mountain, closing out twenty years of Hardcore Global Wrestling)